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idyllic-ghost · 11 hours ago

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Title: Boyfriend Privileges Pairing: Mingyu x gn(femme presenting)!reader Genre: fluff, suggestive, established relationship Wordcount: 9.9k Rating: 18+

Synopsis: The ten times Mingyu has shown off his "boyfriend privileges"

Warnings: suggestive content not suitable for anyone under the age of 18, food mention, pet names, reader presents as feminine at one point (wearing a dress) but it still reads as gender neutral, slight angst, bathing together

Disclaimer: The scenarios and depictions in my works are fictional and do not represent real-life situations. They do not aim to reflect the complexities of any culture, city, or individual. All characters are entirely fictional, regardless of names or descriptions.

A/N: this fic was created before i decided to leave this blog permanently, and put on queue to be posted now. this blog is still not active. read here to find out why

MDNI: Adults only. Minors are not allowed. Any minors found will be blocked.

Masterlists

You're not sure exactly when it began or what prompted it, but a few months into your relationship, Mingyu started asking you to do little tasks for him. They're always small, often tedious things. Whenever you hesitate, he flashes a charming smile and invokes "boyfriend privileges." Maybe it's the playful way he says it or the endearing look in his eyes, but you always end up giving in.

Mingyu, ever perceptive, has noticed this and teeters on the brink of abusing his "powers." But it doesn't bother you. You'd happily indulge your boyfriend's privileges.

ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚ 1. Overgrown puppy cuddles

Mingyu is a large puppy that just doesn’t understand how big he is. At least, that's how you see him. Whenever your boyfriend comes home from an especially rough day at work, he wants cuddles. It doesn't matter what you're doing, he'll pout and beg until you sit down on the couch and let him cuddle up in your lap.

"You're crushing me," you mutter.

You're sitting with your legs over the couch cushions, your back against the armrest. Mingyu's laying over your body like a human blanket—one of those electrical blankets that people use in winter. The man is warm.

"Boyfriend privileges," he mumbles, his voice muffled against your skin.

You sigh because you know he's right, you'd let him do this even if he's crushing your bones. Letting your fingers tangle in his hair, Mingyu let's out a sound of approval and nuzzles his head deeper into the crook of your neck. His arms are around your torso, making sure that you don't even try to move. Not that you would.

"Did you have a long day?" you ask softly and he hums. "My poor baby..."

You coo at him, and he whines—he's relishing in being doted on. Mingyu's arms squeeze you a little, a silent sign that he wants you to continue.

"You work so hard, don't you?" You wait for Mingyu to nod before you coo again, "My hardworking Gyu, you're doing such a good job. People love you, you know that? They appreciate your work. So do I."

Mingyu tilts his head up, his eyebrows raised as he silently asks for confirmation. "I really do," you add.

"Thank you..." He puts his forehead against your chest and sighs. "I needed this... needed you."

"I know, puppy." You smile and ruffle his hair.

Mingyu groans and lifts his upper body off of you, his arms resting on the armrest behind you. "Oh, finally! I can breathe!" you exclaim dramatically.

"Sorry," he mutters.

You cup his face in your hands. "I was kidding. I don't mind." You lean in and press a kiss on his pouty lips. "You're like my blanket... or like a Saint Bernard who's forgotten he's not a puppy anymore."

Mingyu smiles at that, before leaning in to litter your face with pecks that have you giggling and squealing.

ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚ 2. Random massages

You're in line for a ride at an amusement park when Mingyu suddenly turns to you. It's been at least five minutes since you started waiting, and you can tell he's getting impatient. His foot taps rhythmically on the ground, and he keeps glancing at his watch.

"Can you give me a massage? My shoulder's stiff," he huffs, rubbing the offending spot for emphasis.

"Again?" Your eyebrows furrow with concern. "Gyu, you should really go see a specialist..."

Mingyu pretends to ponder this suggestion, then shakes his head with a playful grin. "I don't need a specialist if I have you."

You sigh and roll your eyes, but can't help smiling at his pleading expression. His big, puppy-like eyes, the way his smile showcases his adorable canines, and his hands clasped together in a mockery of prayer make it impossible to refuse. "Sure," you mutter, already resigning yourself to his request.

The line moves a little, and you both shuffle forward a few steps. You're momentarily distracted by the imposing structure of the rollercoaster ahead, watching as the cart sends passengers hurtling through loops and dips at breakneck speed. Your reverie is interrupted by Mingyu poking your side.

"What?" you ask, looking back at him.

"Please?" he repeats, his tone even more imploring.

"Now?" You glance around at the crowd surrounding you—though no one seems to be paying attention, you feel self-conscious.

"Now," Mingyu insists, nodding earnestly.

"Babe, I can't massage you here. You know you shouldn't take off your shirt in public, right? Even if we do find somewhere private, I don't have any oils—"

"Not a big one." He interrupts, holding up his hand with his index finger and thumb inches apart. "A small one. Just on the spot on my shoulder."

"Gyu—"

"Boyfriend privileges," he pleads quietly, eyes wide and hopeful.

You can't say no to him when he gets like this. With a resigned sigh, you motion for him to turn around. He does so eagerly, bending his knees slightly to give you better access to his shoulder. Placing one hand on his neck and the other on his shoulder, you begin to work your thumb into the knot you find there.

Mingyu lets out a soft, contented sigh, only audible to your ears, as he relaxes almost immediately under your touch. The tension in his shoulder melts away, and his head drops forward slightly, eyes closing in relief. The gentle hum of the amusement park, the chatter of the crowd, and the distant screams from the rollercoaster all fade into the background as you focus on easing his discomfort.

Despite the oddity of the situation, there's something intimate and endearing about the moment. The world around you blurs, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of your own making. And as you massage Mingyu's shoulder, you can't help but feel a warm rush of affection for him and his silly, endearing ways.

ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚ 3. Sharing food

The restaurant is alive with the hum of conversations, the clinking of cutlery, and the occasional burst of laughter. However, all of this fades into a distant background as you focus intently on Chan's story. It's a rare opportunity to meet the members in person, despite your boyfriend working so closely with them, so you want to make the most of every second.

Mingyu, on the other hand, is lost in his own world. Ever since he finished his meal, he’s been zoned out—leaning back in his chair with a distant look in his eyes. You can't decide if he's impatiently waiting for Chan to finish or if he's just succumbed to a food coma. But when he casually reaches over and steals a fry from your plate, your doubts about the food coma vanish. You glance at him, and he meets your gaze with a small, mischievous smile before grabbing another fry. You let him.

A sudden gasp beside you snaps you back, and you turn to see Jun staring at you with mock jealousy from across the table. You smile and tilt your head questioningly.

"What?" you ask, bemused.

"You hit my hand when I tried to borrow a fry from you," Jun accuses, his eyes narrowed at you.

"First of all, I gently slapped it," you correct him. "Second of all, you were stealing, not borrowing. Don't try to make your crime sound better."

Jun huffs dramatically, and you can't help but grin. Meanwhile, Mingyu, taking advantage of the distraction, nabs another fry from your plate. There are almost none left now. As Jun reaches out to make another attempt, you slap his hand away with a swift motion.

"But he—" Jun starts to protest.

"Boyfriend privileges," Mingyu interjects smoothly, popping the last two fries into his mouth with a triumphant grin.

You hear a collective groan from the others at the table, but you just chuckle at Mingyu’s proud expression. "Mhm, boyfriend privileges," you repeat softly, unable to suppress a smile.

You lift a hand to gently brush the hair out of Mingyu's face, and he looks at you with a loving smile that makes your heart flutter. The warm feeling in your stomach is more than just the satisfaction from the delicious food you've eaten.

"Can I finish telling my story now?" Chan interrupts, a hint of exasperation in his voice.

You pull your gaze away from Mingyu and refocus on Chan, giving him your full attention once again. "Go on," you say, eager to hear the rest of his tale.

ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚ 4. Seeing you first thing in the morning

The feeling of someone's soft breaths feathering against your face makes you scrunch your nose in sleepy annoyance. Mingyu's warm hands travel to your waist with the familiarity of someone who’s done it a million times before. And he has. His touch is intimate and assured, sliding over your skin with practiced ease. He knows you're awake now, evident by the low hum you let out, so he presses a few tender kisses on the bare skin of your clavicle, each one like a gentle spark of warmth.

"G'morning," you mutter, your voice still heavy with sleep, the words blending into a sigh.

"Good morning," he whispers softly, his breath tickling your skin.

You recognize his morning voice—his "I just woke up" voice—so you can tell he’s been up for a while. His voice sounds clearer, more alert, like he’s had time to turn around and take a sip of the water he always leaves on his bedside table.

"Have you been awake for long?" you ask, your words barely above a whisper as his lips continue their gentle exploration, each kiss a tender reminder of his affection.

"Since eight-thirty," he answers between kisses, each one a delicate attempt to keep you as close as possible.

You glance at the clock, seeing that it's almost nine already. "Babe, you've been awake for half an hour... why didn’t you wake me up?"

Mingyu pauses his kisses to look up at you, his expression soft and affectionate, his eyebrows slightly furrowed in confusion. Turning his head slightly, he looks over at the clock and hums thoughtfully.

"I was busy," he says with a playful glint in his eyes. He nestles his head back in the crook of your neck, his warmth enveloping you, but doesn’t resume his kisses, much to your dismay.

"Busy doing what?" you murmur, curiosity piqued, your fingers tracing idle patterns on his back.

"Looking at you," he admits with a giggle, lifting his head to meet your eyes. His gaze is filled with affection, his eyes sparkling with sincerity, and he's trying his best to hold back a big grin. "It's my boyfriend privilege. Only I get to see you like this."

"It's a privilege to see my bed head?" You snort, but Mingyu stays serious, his eyes unwavering, his hand gently stroking your cheek.

"Everyday," he replies softly, his voice a tender caress.

You feel a rush of warmth at his words, and you can't help but smile. You reach up to run your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer for a soft, lingering kiss. His lips are warm and inviting, the kiss deepening with the love and tenderness that has grown between you over the months. The world outside fades away, leaving just the two of you in this quiet, intimate moment.

When you finally pull back, Mingyu's eyes are half-lidded, his expression content and serene. He gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheek, his touch light and loving. "I love these quiet mornings with you," he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm to your soul.

"Me too," you whisper back, your heart swelling with affection, your eyes locked with his.

You snuggle closer, your bodies fitting together perfectly. The world outside can wait a little longer as you bask in the warmth of each other's presence, the quiet intimacy of the morning making everything else fade away. Mingyu's hands continue their gentle caresses, his fingers tracing soft lines over your skin. You feel utterly cherished, each touch and kiss a testament to the love you share. The gentle rise and fall of his chest beneath your hand, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and the warmth of his body against yours create a cocoon of contentment that you never want to leave.

ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚ 5. Showing you off

"Gyu!" you shout from the bathroom, "What time is it?"

The sound of his long steps come closer and closer until the bathroom door pushes open. Mingyu's head peeks through the gap in the door, and smiles as soon as he sees you. You're wearing the new dress he bought you, the cute sundress that couldn't help himself from buying when he saw you looking at it.

"You're pretty," he murmurs and slinks into the bathroom.

He wraps his arms around you, your back relaxing into his chest. "Mingyu," you repeat.

"What?" He pulls his eyes away from the dress to meet your eyes.

"What time is it?" you ask again with a teasing smile.

"Oh, it's around three-thirty." His hands find your waist. "We should leave in half an hour."

You nod and start packing up your make up. "Good, I think I'm done anyway... do you think I look okay?"

Mingyu lets go of you, spinning you around to face him. You can only grin while he studies you carefully with his lips pursed and his eyebrows furrowed in focus. After a few seconds, he nods—satisfied with what he's seen.

"Perfect." He puts his hand right below your jaw, careful not to disturb the make up on your face. "You look perfect, baby."

His smile remains radiant as you arrive at his family's get-together, a constant beam of joy that lights up the entire evening. Mingyu keeps you close, his arm possessively yet gently wrapped around you, presenting you to the members of his family you haven't yet met. Every introduction is accompanied by a glowing remark about you, his voice brimming with pride. You feel like a movie star at a film premiere—the constant pampering, the way his eyes sparkle every time he looks at you, and the sneaky photos he snaps when he thinks you're not looking.

Mingyu can't seem to stop showering you with compliments. "This is my partner," he says, beaming, as he introduces you to yet another relative. "They're incredible, you know. Smart, kind, and absolutely stunning." He turns his head to you, trying to contain his big smile by biting down on his bottom lip.

You blush, murmuring polite responses, but his praise never ceases. It's in the way he looks at you, eyes full of adoration, and the way he never lets go of your hand, his thumb occasionally brushing against your skin in a soothing gesture.

Throughout the evening, Mingyu is a constant presence by your side, his touch grounding you amidst the whirlwind of social interactions. His family is warm and welcoming, their smiles genuine as they embrace you into their fold. The air is filled with laughter and conversation, the smell of delicious food wafting through the house, creating an atmosphere of warmth and togetherness.

Mingyu’s playful nature shines through as he snaps candid photos of you, his grin widening each time you catch him in the act. "You’re just too beautiful not to capture," he explains with a cheeky smile, earning a soft laugh from you.

As the night progresses, you find yourself growing more and more flustered under the weight of his unending compliments. Yet, there's a thrill in it—a heady mixture of embarrassment and joy at being the center of his universe. His family notices, and they tease him gently about his lovesick behavior, but it only makes him hold you closer, whispering sweet nothings in your ear that make your heart flutter.

By the time the evening winds down, you’re overwhelmed with affection, feeling cherished and adored in a way that leaves you breathless. The warmth of Mingyu’s family, combined with his constant praise and tender glances, has wrapped you in a cocoon of love and contentment. As you prepare to leave, Mingyu wraps his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close for a tender kiss on your temple, his lips lingering just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

"Thank you for coming with me tonight," he murmurs, his voice soft and filled with genuine gratitude. "You made everything perfect."

You smile, leaning into his embrace, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your own. "Thank you for taking me along... I don't think I've seen you like this before," you admit, your voice a gentle whisper in the quiet of the night.

"What do you mean?" He cocks his head, his eyes curious and endearing, making you laugh softly at his obliviousness.

"You were trying to show me off all night," you explain, a playful note in your voice. Seeing his slightly worried expression, you quickly add, "It was sweet, Gyu. Really, it was."

Relief floods his features, and he leans in to press a kiss on your lips. The kiss is soft, lingering a second longer than it should, filling you with a warmth that spreads through your entire body. "It's my boyfriend privilege to get to show you off," he says, his eyes sparkling with mischief and affection.

You groan playfully, rolling your eyes at his words as he starts giggling, the sound infectious and heartwarming. Taking your hand in his, he leads you to the cab he's ordered to take you home. The night air is cool and refreshing, a gentle breeze rustling through the trees, but Mingyu's hand in yours keeps you warm.

As you approach the cab, he pauses for a moment, turning to look at you with a tenderness that makes your heart swell. "You know," he says softly, brushing a stray hair from your face, "You should wear that dress more often."

"Oh yeah?"

Your breath catches in your throat at his words as he pulls you into a tight embrace. "Yeah," he whispers.

With one last lingering kiss, you both get into the cab, his arm never leaving your shoulders. As the city lights blur past the window, you lean into Mingyu, feeling his warmth envelop you.

ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚ 6. A shoulder to cry on

When you enter the apartment, none of the lights are turned on. You worked late that day, but not so late that Mingyu would've gone to sleep already. The apartment is eerily quiet, devoid of the usual warmth and liveliness. Toeing off your shoes and putting away your outerwear in their rightful places, you start to wonder if he's not home. He usually texts you when he gets home, but you haven't received any messages.

Concern etches between your brows as you walk further into the apartment. The kitchen is spotless, with no pots or pans on the stove—not that you always expect Mingyu to cook, but he had told you earlier today that he'd have something ready for you when you got home. You open the fridge, finding it just as you left it this morning. The absence of any signs of recent activity deepens your worry.

As you pass the bathroom by the guest room, you flick on the lights, casting a warm glow to see the path to your shared bedroom. By the ajar door, you notice a piece of fabric slumped together on the floor. Picking it up, you realize it's Mingyu's jacket. You drape it over your arm and continue to the bedroom, your heart pounding with unease.

He's not there, but you see that the light in your bathroom is on, a soft glow seeping through the cracks in the door. You place his jacket on the edge of the bed before approaching the bathroom door, only to find it locked.

You knock softly, pressing your ear against the door. "Mingyu, I'm home... are you okay?"

"I'm okay, baby," he replies, but his voice is thick with tears. "Sorry, I didn't have time to make you dinner... I think there's some leftovers from yesterday."

"Please, open the door." Ignoring his suggestion about dinner, you grab the door handle. "I can hear that you're not okay."

You hear him sigh, and his footsteps approach the door. Stepping back, you wait as the door swings open. The first thing you see is his bloodshot eyes and red nose. He sniffles and looks away, trying to hide his vulnerability.

"I'm..." He hesitates, torn between lying and being honest.

Before he can decide, you engulf him in a hug, wrapping your arms tightly around his torso. "Oh, baby..."

The dam breaks as a sob bubbles up Mingyu's throat, a raw, heart-wrenching sound that shatters the silence. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, his hot tears streaming down his cheeks and soaking into your shirt. You can feel the wet warmth of his tears spreading, a tangible sign of his anguish.

You rub his back soothingly, your hand moving in slow, comforting circles. Each sob wracks his body, causing his shoulders to tremble violently. His fingers clutch at your shirt, holding on as if he might drown without this anchor.

Minutes pass, each one heavy with his sorrow, until finally, his sobs begin to subside. His shoulders stop shaking, and his breathing slowly evens out, though occasional hiccups still break through. Only then do you loosen your embrace, though you don't fully let go. Instead, you gently take his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing away the tears that cling to his skin. His eyes are red and swollen, filled with a mixture of lingering sadness and gratitude.

"Do you want to talk about it?" you ask softly.

"...can I tell you later? I'll start crying again if I tell you now." He lets out a choked laugh, trying to relieve the tension, but your frown remains.

"Okay. Let's get you cleaned up."

You gently wipe away Mingyu’s tears, your thumb brushing over his cheeks with tender care. His skin is warm and damp, his eyes still glistening with the remnants of his sorrow. Your touch is gentle and reassuring as you guide him to change into more comfortable clothes. You help him out of his work attire, unbuttoning his shirt with careful fingers, and replacing it with a soft, worn-in t-shirt that brings him comfort. Each movement is deliberate, designed to soothe and calm him. You then help him into a pair of loose, cozy sweatpants, ensuring he's enveloped in softness and warmth.

Once he’s settled, you guide him to the couch in the living room, your arm around his waist, supporting his slow and heavy movements. The weight of his exhaustion is impossible to miss, his shoulders slumped and his steps dragging. He collapses onto the couch with a weary sigh, sinking into the cushions as if they might absorb some of his burden.

You start to leave for the kitchen, intending to get him something to eat or drink, but he grabs your hand. His grip is firm yet desperate, his fingers curling around yours with a silent plea for you to stay.

You turn back to him, your heart aching at the sight of his vulnerable expression. Mingyu looks up at you, his eyes wide and filled with a mixture of fear and need. "Don't leave," he whispers.

"I'm going to heat up some leftovers," you explain. "You haven't eaten yet, have you?"

Mingyu shakes his head no and lets go of your hand. You feel his eyes on you as you walk around the kitchen, quickly putting something together. It's not fancy, and it's nothing like what he usually makes you, but it's enough for the two of you right now.

When you return to his side, you give him his bowl before settling down next to him. You eat in silence, letting Mingyu sit as close to you as he pleases. When you're done, you take the dishes to the kitchen. Although you want him to sit still and rest, he follows you—his arms wrapped around your waist the entire time.

It's hard to move around, but you don't complain. Soon enough, the dishes are done and you're back on the couch. Mingyu has his arms wrapped tightly around you as you lay on top of him.

"Thank you," he mutters.

"You don't have to thank me." You lean up to look him in the eye. "Me taking care of you is your boyfriend privilege."

He smiles and presses a chaste kiss on your lips before closing his eyes. The two of you end up falling asleep on the couch on accident. But your stiff body is worth it when you get to see Mingyu smiling at you the next morning.

ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚ 7. A shoulder to nap on

On the flight back home from a much-needed vacation, Mingyu booked the two of you first-class seats. It was partly because he loves spoiling you, but also so you could sleep comfortably on the way home. The plush seats and extra legroom were a perfect idea, promising a restful journey, but right now, that comfort feels like a far-off dream.

The flight was delayed by a few hours, leaving you and Mingyu stuck at the gate. The airport buzzes with the quiet hum of late-night travelers, the occasional announcement crackling over the PA system. The two of you sit in the lounge, surrounded by weary passengers slumped in their chairs, eyes glazed with fatigue. The smell of coffee and cleaning agents lingers in the air, mingling with the soft rustle of newspapers and the muted clatter of luggage wheels.

Mingyu tries to make the best of the situation, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. His warmth seeps into you, a soothing balm against the weariness. "Just a little longer," he whispers, his breath warm against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. Despite the delay, his presence is a comforting anchor in the sea of exhaustion, his voice a soft murmur that calms your racing thoughts.

You glance at the clock, the minutes ticking by slowly. The soft lighting of the lounge casts a warm glow, but it does little to chase away the tiredness settling into your bones. Mingyu's fingers trace soothing patterns on your arm, his touch gentle and reassuring, each stroke a silent promise of love and comfort.

"I can't wait to be home in my bed," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, heavy with exhaustion.

Mingyu leans his head on your shoulder, his soft hair brushing against your cheek as he closes his eyes with a contented sigh. The weight and warmth of his head against your shoulder provide an unexpected comfort, grounding you in the moment. "This is enough for me," he says softly, his breath warm and reassuring against your skin.

"My shoulder?" you ask, a teasing lilt in your voice, feeling the vibration of his chuckle through the closeness.

"Yes," he replies, his tone earnest and affectionate. His closeness feels intimate and safe, a bubble of tranquility amidst the chaos of the airport.

"And why should I let you have my shoulder?" you tease, a smile tugging at your lips as you relish the closeness.

"Boyfriend privileges," he replies matter-of-factly, his lips brushing against your neck as he speaks. The slight pressure of his lips against your skin sends a wave of warmth through you.

You sigh, a mixture of amusement and tenderness filling your heart. The playful banter and the sincere love in his voice make your heart swell. You tilt your head to rest against his, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his breathing. The world around you fades into a comforting blur, the distant chatter of the airport and the mechanical hum of the environment becoming mere background noise.

For a moment, it's just the two of you, wrapped in each other's warmth and love. His presence is a cocoon of safety and affection, and you close your eyes, allowing yourself to relax fully in his embrace. The gentle rhythm of his breathing, the steady beat of his heart, and the soft, warm pressure of his head against yours create a symphony of comfort that lulls you into a peaceful state.

Your peace is soon interrupted, however. Finally, the boarding announcement crackles through the speakers, breaking the heavy silence of anticipation and sparking a collective sigh of relief that ripples through the gate area. The weariness of the long wait begins to lift as passengers gather their belongings. Mingyu helps you gather your things, his hand never leaving yours as you make your way to the boarding line. His touch is a reassuring anchor, grounding you amidst the bustling crowd.

"Almost there," Mingyu whispers, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

"Thank goodness," you reply, offering him a tired smile.

The atmosphere shifts as you step onto the jet bridge, a mix of excitement and fatigue hanging in the air. The cool, conditioned air of the plane greets you as you board, offering a welcome contrast to the stuffy terminal. The flight attendants greet you with warm smiles, guiding you toward the plush sanctuary of first class.

Settling into your spacious seats, the world outside begins to fade away. The soft cushions envelop you in comfort, and the generous legroom allows you to stretch out and relax. Mingyu stows your carry-ons in the overhead compartment with ease, his movements fluid and practiced.

As he sits down beside you, the overhead lights cast a gentle glow. "This is so much better," you murmur.

Mingyu smiles, reaching over to adjust your blanket, tucking it around you with a tenderness that melts your heart. "I told you it would be worth the wait," he says softly, his eyes filled with affection.

You can't help but smile at the thought of curling up next to him, the hum of the plane's engines a soothing backdrop. "You always know how to spoil me," you whisper, leaning into his touch.

"It's my favorite thing to do," he replies, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "Besides, you deserve it."

As the plane takes off, you lean into him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest. The world outside the window shrinks to a distant blur, and you close your eyes, surrendering to the warmth of his embrace.

"Thank you, Gyu," you murmur, your voice heavy with exhaustion.

"For what?" he asks, his lips brushing against your forehead.

"For everything. For this. For you," you whisper, your words trailing off as sleep begins to claim you.

"Always," he replies softly, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your arm. "Sleep well, my love."

Wrapped in the comfort of his love and care, you drift off, the promise of restful sleep finally within reach. The gentle touch of his fingers lulls you into a peaceful slumber

ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚ 8. Lunch boxes

When someone called out for lunchtime, the members collectively let out a big sigh of relief. With tired limbs, they make their way to the cafeteria. While everyone else lines up to buy something, Mingyu heads straight to the fridge and retrieves a carefully prepared meal. He sits down at a table, placing the metal box with a wooden lid in front of him. A pink, stretchy band adorned with tiny red strawberries holds the spoon in place. His face lights up with a smile as he spots the small note on the lid.

Hope practice is going well! I know you're working hard, so please enjoy your lunch and eat well! Can't wait for you to come home♡(>ᴗ•)

Mingyu carefully folds the pink post-it and tucks it into his phone case, a cherished reminder of your thoughtfulness. By then, people have started sitting down beside him, their eyes subtly glancing at the box in front of him. Nobody says anything—they already know what it is—until he opens it.

Inside the box is a beautifully arranged Korean lunchbox. The main compartment holds perfectly steamed white rice, topped with a sprinkling of black sesame seeds. Nestled beside it is a portion of crispy fried chicken, golden brown and glistening with a light coating of sweet and spicy sauce. The other sections are filled with a variety of colorful banchan: neatly sliced kimchi, lightly seasoned spinach, sweet and tangy pickled radish, and tender strips of stir-fried beef bulgogi. There’s even a small section of rolled omelette, its yellow hue bright and inviting.

The delicious aroma wafts up, drawing envious glances from his fellow members. The savory scent of fried chicken and the tangy hint of kimchi fill the air, making everyone's mouths water.

"Did Y/N make you another lunchbox?" Seokmin asks, his eyes wide with curiosity.

"Yeah, they were working from home yesterday, so they had some extra time on their hands," Mingyu replies, a small smile playing on his lips as he inspects the beautifully arranged food.

"It's not fair that only you get homemade lunches from Y/N!" Seungkwan whines, his tone a mix of genuine envy and playful teasing.

Mingyu responds by sticking his tongue out at Seungkwan, making the younger man groan in exasperation. "Boyfriend privileges," Mingyu states proudly, his grin widening.

As he digs in, Mingyu lets out a contented sigh, savoring the flavors and the love that went into preparing his meal. The meat is perfectly seasoned, the rice fluffy, and the banchan vibrant and flavorful. Each bite is a reminder of your care and effort, making the meal taste even better. The members watch with a mix of admiration and envy as Mingyu enjoys his lunch.

ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚ 9. Bath buddy

As you walk the last bit to the door of your apartment building, you notice a figure in the distance. A tall man, vaguely boyfriend-shaped, waving both of his arms over his head with enthusiasm. Your heart skips a beat, and your smile matches Mingyu's as you break into a run, closing the gap between you. He’s sweaty from the gym, his skin glistening in the fading light, but you don’t mind. You launch yourself into his embrace, pressing yourself as close as possible, feeling the familiar warmth and comfort of his body.

"Are you trying to squeeze me to death?" he asks jokingly, his voice vibrating against your ear.

You loosen your grip slightly, looking up at him with a soft smile. "You have no idea how much I've missed you today."

Instead of teasing you, Mingyu gently pats your head, his fingers threading through your hair with a comforting touch. He sees the weariness in your eyes and the way your hair seems to stick out in all the wrong places, evidence of a long, hard day. "Bad day, hun?" he asks, his voice filled with concern.

The moment he speaks, you feel your guard drop completely. Your lips naturally fall into a pout, and your hands grip the material of his shirt a little tighter. You nod, unable to find the words to describe the exhaustion you feel. Mingyu coos at you softly, pressing a tender kiss to your cheek, his lips lingering for a moment, offering silent comfort. He then guides you to the door, his hand resting on the small of your back, a steadying presence.

"Do you want to take a bath with me?" he asks as he opens the door for you, his voice gentle and soothing.

"Okay," you murmur.

Once inside, the apartment feels like a sanctuary, the chaos of the outside world fading away as the door clicks shut behind you. The familiar scent of home, mingled with Mingyu's comforting presence, immediately begins to soothe your frazzled nerves. He leads you to the bathroom, his touch a constant, reassuring anchor as he guides you down the softly lit hallway. The gentle hum of the apartment envelops you, creating a cocoon of tranquility.

In the bathroom, Mingyu starts running the bath, the sound of water filling the room like a calming symphony. You watch as he carefully adds your favorite bath salts, the granules dissolving into the warm water and releasing a soothing aroma. The scent of lavender and chamomile fills the air, creating a spa-like atmosphere that begins to unwind the knots of tension coiled within you.

Mingyu helps you undress with tender, loving movements, his touch feather-light yet filled with purpose. His fingers trace the contours of your body with a delicate touch, each gesture a silent reassurance of his love and care. The way his hands glide over your skin, unhurried and gentle, sends a wave of warmth through you, dispelling the day’s weariness.

He sheds his own clothes with practiced ease, the fabric slipping off his toned frame effortlessly. The sight of his familiar form, strong and comforting, brings a sense of security and warmth. His skin, slightly glistening from the exertion of the day, catches the soft light, highlighting the lines of his muscles and the contours of his body. There's a serene beauty in the way he moves, each action unhurried and filled with quiet confidence.

Stepping into the bath first, Mingyu eases himself into the steaming water with a sigh of contentment, the sound mingling with the gentle lapping of the water. He settles into the tub, the water enveloping him like a warm embrace. His eyes, inviting and filled with affection, lock onto yours as he extends his hand towards you. The look in his eyes speaks volumes, a silent invitation wrapped in love and intimacy.

You take his hand, feeling the warmth and strength in his grip as he helps you into the tub. The water envelops you in a gentle embrace, its warmth soothing your tired muscles. You settle between his legs, leaning back against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a comforting lullaby against your back.

As you relax into his embrace, Mingyu's arms wrap around you, holding you close. His hands begin to gently massage your shoulders, his fingers working out the knots of tension with skillful precision. The sensation is both relaxing and intimate, his touch a balm to your weary soul. You close your eyes, surrendering to the moment, feeling the stress of the day melt away under his tender ministrations.

The soft glow of the bathroom light casts a golden hue over everything, enhancing the sense of intimacy and warmth. Shadows dance along the walls, creating a serene and almost magical ambiance. The only sounds are the gentle sloshing of water and the occasional sigh of contentment from both of you.

"I love you," you whisper, your voice soft and content.

"I love you too," he replies, his lips brushing against your ear.

You stay like that for a while, the water lapping gently around you, the only sounds the occasional drip from the faucet and the steady rhythm of Mingyu's breathing. It’s a perfect moment of peace and connection, wrapped in the comfort and love that only he can provide.

After a few minutes, Mingyu shifts slightly behind you, his movements gentle yet purposeful. "Can you wash my hair?" he asks softly, his voice laced with a boyish charm that makes your heart flutter.

You smile, turning slightly to look at him, your eyes meeting his. "Of course," you reply, your voice warm and affectionate.

He hands you the shampoo, and you pour a generous amount into your palm. Mingyu dips his head back into the water, wetting his hair thoroughly before leaning forward to give you better access. The rich, lathering scent of his shampoo fills the air, mingling with the soothing aromas of the bath salts, creating a calming symphony of fragrances.

Your fingers work through his hair, massaging his scalp with gentle, circular motions. The silky strands slip through your fingers, and you take your time, ensuring each section of his hair is coated with the fragrant lather. Mingyu lets out a contented sigh, his eyes closing as he leans into your touch, his body visibly relaxing under your ministrations.

"This feels amazing," he murmurs, his voice a low, relaxed hum that sends shivers down your spine.

You smile, continuing your careful work. "You deserve it," you say softly. "It's your boyfriend privilege, isn't it?"

Mingyu chuckles, the sound a soft, comforting vibration against your chest. Before he can respond, you pick up the shower head, adjusting the temperature before gently rinsing out the shampoo. Tilting his head back with a gentle hand, you let the warm water cascade through his hair, washing away the suds and leaving his hair clean and soft.

He leans back against you once more, his hair damp and silky against your skin. His eyes are half-lidded with contentment, a serene smile playing on his lips. "Thank you," he whispers, his voice filled with gratitude and affection.

"Anytime," you reply, wrapping your arms around him and holding him close. The warmth of the water and the intimacy of the moment create a cocoon around you, shutting out the rest of the world. You can feel his heartbeat against your back, a steady, reassuring rhythm that syncs with your own. Mingyu's hands rest gently on your arms, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin as you both bask in the tranquility of the bath.

The two of you stay like that, cocooned in warmth, the soft glow of the bathroom light casting a golden hue over everything. The sounds of the water and your synchronized breathing create a peaceful ambiance.

ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚ 10. Tie-fixer

You were already in your pajamas, nestled comfortably in bed with your book, when Mingyu walked in, still dressed in his suit but without his tie. The crisp white shirt accentuated his broad shoulders, and the slight dishevelment of his attire made him look irresistibly charming. His hair was slightly tousled, a few strands falling over his forehead, adding to his effortlessly handsome appearance. He didn't have to say anything; the moment your eyes met his, you were already putting your book to the side and swinging your legs out of bed, the anticipation of helping him a welcome routine.

"Where's your tie?" you ask, a hint of amusement in your voice, tilting your head slightly.

Mingyu pulls the piece of fabric from his pocket and hands it to you, a weary yet appreciative smile playing on his lips. The tie is cool and smooth in your hands, its silk gliding between your fingers. Rising to your feet, you step close to him, your fingers deftly slipping the tie around his neck. The familiar action feels intimate, almost like a ritual between the two of you, a small moment of connection in your busy lives.

As you slowly begin to tie it, your fingers working methodically, you glance up at him. "How long is the event?" you ask, your voice soft and caring, eyes meeting his with genuine concern.

"I probably won't be home until after two," he says with a sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly as the weight of his long night ahead settles in. The lines of fatigue on his face tug at your heart.

"It's okay. I want you to have fun," you murmur, focusing on the tie but feeling the sincerity of your words. "I'll be busy with dinner and my book anyway."

Mingyu watches you, his eyes softening as he takes in your familiar, comforting presence. "I wish you could come with me," he says quietly, his hands gently resting on your hips as you finish tying the knot. His touch is warm and grounding, a silent promise of his affection.

You tighten the tie and smooth it down, patting his chest gently. "You know I'd love to, but someone's got to hold down the fort here," you reply jokingly, your smile warm and reassuring.

He chuckles, the sound deep and rich, resonating in the quiet of the room. He leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering against your skin. "What would I do without you?" he murmurs, his voice filled with a mix of gratitude and love.

You smile, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a warm embrace. "Let's not find out," you whisper, your cheek pressed against his, feeling the steady beat of his heart against yours.

Mingyu hugs you tightly, savoring the closeness, the scent of his cologne mingling with the comforting smell of home. When he finally pulls back, he looks down at you with a mix of love and reluctance. "I really should go," he says, though he doesn't make a move to leave just yet.

"I know," you reply, your fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead, tucking it back into place. "You'll be amazing, as always."

"Mm, especially with such a well-tied tie," he smiles playfully at you, his eyes twinkling with affection. "I'm so lucky for my boyfriend privilege."

You chuckle softly, resting your hands on his chest. "Yes, you're very privileged," you tease. "Just remember that when you're out there charming everyone."

Mingyu grins, leaning down to press another kiss to your forehead. "How could I forget? My number one fan is waiting for me at home."

You roll your eyes, but your smile is fond. "Just don't let it go to your head."

He laughs, the sound warm and rich. "No promises... I'll miss you," he says, his voice softening as he cups your face in his hands.

"I'll miss you too," you reply, covering his hands with yours.

He gives you one last lingering kiss, his lips warm and tender against yours, a promise of his return. "I'll try to be back as soon as I can," he promises, his voice filled with genuine affection, his hand squeezing yours gently.

"I'll be waiting," you say softly, watching as he finally turns to leave, the door clicking shut behind him. The room feels a little emptier without him, but you return to bed, your book waiting patiently. For a moment, you just sit there, feeling the lingering warmth of his presence and the subtle ache of his absence, already looking forward to his return.

ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚ ... 11?

The winter chill had settled in, but the warmth of Valentine's Day wrapped the city in a blanket of love and excitement. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of snow, mingling with the fragrance of roses that seemed to bloom on every corner. Everywhere you looked, couples were bundled up in cozy scarves and gloves, holding hands, sharing tender smiles, and exchanging sweet nothings. The city streets were transformed into a romantic wonderland, with heart-shaped lights casting a soft, warm glow on the cobblestone paths, creating a dreamy ambiance that made everything feel just a little more magical.

Mingyu had planned the entire day with meticulous care, wanting to make every moment special for you. The day began with the gentle sound of his voice waking you, and when you opened your eyes, there he was, holding a tray with breakfast in bed—fluffy pancakes drizzled with syrup, topped with fresh berries, and a steaming cup of your favorite coffee. The sweet aroma filled the room, and as you shared the meal, you couldn't help but smile at how perfectly the day had started.

The afternoon was spent strolling through the city, the two of you arm in arm as you visited all your favorite spots. The streets were alive with the hustle and bustle of the holiday, but for you, time seemed to slow down, every moment stretching into something memorable. You laughed over shared memories, pointing out familiar landmarks and reliving inside jokes that only the two of you understood. The cold air bit at your cheeks, but it was no match for the warmth of Mingyu's hand holding yours, or the way his laughter seemed to melt the chill away.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a soft, golden light over the city, Mingyu surprised you with dinner at the restaurant where you’d had your first date. The sight of the familiar entrance made your heart skip a beat, and when you stepped inside, the ambiance was perfect—low lights that cast a gentle glow over the intimate setting, soft music playing in the background, and a table tucked away in a quiet corner just for the two of you. Mingyu looked absolutely perfect, the flickering candlelight highlighting his features, making his eyes sparkle with a warmth that mirrored the love in your heart.

He was wearing the turtleneck you had gotten him last December, the deep burgundy color standing out beautifully under his sleek black coat. The sight of him, so effortlessly handsome, made you fall in love with him all over again.

The dinner was delicious, every bite savored as you reminisced about that first date and how far you'd come since then. But as the evening went on, you noticed a certain tension in Mingyu—a subtle shift in his demeanor. He was attentive as always, but his hand gripped yours just a little tighter, and his eyes, though filled with affection, seemed to hold something more—an emotion he hadn’t yet put into words.

When dessert was finished and the check was paid, Mingyu suggested a walk through the park. The idea seemed simple, but there was something in his tone that made your heart flutter with anticipation. The park was beautifully decorated for the holiday, with twinkling fairy lights wrapped around the trees and heart-shaped lanterns swaying gently from the branches. The path was dusted with a light layer of snow, which crunched softly underfoot as you walked side by side, the sound mingling with the distant laughter of other couples enjoying the night.

The cold nipped at your nose, but Mingyu’s presence kept you warm. He walked close to you, his shoulder brushing against yours with every step, and as you made your way deeper into the park, you couldn’t help but notice how quiet he had become. His hand, warm and reassuring in yours, was steady, but there was a nervous energy beneath the surface, a sense of something important hanging in the air between you.

The two of you walked in comfortable silence, the world around you gradually fading into the background as you simply enjoyed being together. The park was peaceful, the night air crisp and clear, with the soft crunch of snow underfoot being the only sound between you. The distant twinkle of lights reflected off the lake's surface, casting a serene, almost magical glow over the scene. The sky above was an expanse of deep navy, dotted with stars that peeked out from behind the clouds, adding to the romantic atmosphere.

As you approached a secluded bench near the lake, Mingyu began to slow down, his footsteps becoming more deliberate. His breath was visible in the cold air, curling upward in soft, white puffs. The quietude around you seemed to intensify, amplifying the sound of your heartbeat in your ears. Mingyu stopped walking and turned to face you, his eyes reflecting the soft glow of the lights strung up in the trees, making them look like they were sparkling with unshed emotions.

"Are you cold?" he asked, his voice gentle, almost tender, as he pulled you closer. Without waiting for your response, he wrapped his coat around you, his touch protective and warm.

"Not with you here," you replied with a smile, leaning into his embrace, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against yours. But as you looked up at him, you noticed something different, a subtle tension in his expression. "... you're unusually quiet tonight. Is everything okay?"

Mingyu smiled, though there was a trace of nervousness in his eyes, a flicker of vulnerability that made your heart skip a beat. "There's something I've been wanting to say all day," he began, his tone serious but laced with affection, each word carefully chosen. "Valentine's Day is all about celebrating love, right?"

You nodded, curiosity piqued, your gaze never leaving his. "Right..."

He took a deep breath, the cold air filling his lungs before he released it slowly, his hands still holding yours, their warmth grounding you both. His expression softened, and the affection in his eyes deepened, becoming almost palpable. "Well, I wanted to celebrate us... You know how I've always said I'm lucky to have boyfriend privileges?" His lips curled into a small, playful smile, the familiar phrase bringing a rush of warmth to your chest. It was an inside joke that had grown between you, a phrase that had come to symbolize the depth of his love.

You laughed lightly, nodding, your heart fluttering. "You've mentioned it a time or two."

"Well," he continued, the playful edge in his voice giving way to something more serious, more profound. His grip on your hands tightened slightly, as if anchoring himself for what he was about to say. "I've been thinking a lot about what that really means. About how much I love you, and how my life has been so much better with you in it. I don't just want boyfriend privileges anymore. I want... something more."

The air around you seemed to still, the world shrinking down to just the two of you. Mingyu's words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, and you found yourself holding your breath, your heart pounding in anticipation.

"Mingyu... what are you saying?" you whispered, your voice trembling slightly as you searched his eyes, hoping for confirmation of what you suspected.

"... I want husband privileges," he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. The words tumbled out like a secret he had been holding close to his heart, and as they settled between you, the weight of them was almost overwhelming.

Your heart skipped a beat as his words sank in, sending a rush of emotion through your entire being. Before you could fully process what was happening, Mingyu reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. The deep burgundy of the box stood out against the black fabric of his coat, catching the faint light from the lanterns around you. Your breath caught in your throat as he dropped to one knee, the world around you dissolving into a blur. The soft glow of the lights reflected in his eyes, making them shine with a love so intense it took your breath away.

"Will you marry me?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly, each word laced with raw emotion. "Will you let me spend the rest of my life loving you, taking care of you, and being your forever? I want to be your husband, not just today, not just tomorrow, but every day for the rest of our lives."

The sincerity in his voice, the way his hands trembled ever so slightly as he held the ring, and the sheer vulnerability in his gaze made tears well up in your eyes. Your hand flew to your mouth in disbelief, your heart pounding in your chest as the magnitude of the moment hit you. The world seemed to stop, the night holding its breath as you looked down at him, his expression filled with hope, love, and adoration.

"Mingyu," you whispered, your voice shaking with emotion, each word carrying the weight of your love for him. "Yes. Of course, I'll marry you!"

The tension in his shoulders melted away as his face broke into the widest smile, relief and joy flooding his features. His eyes sparkled with happiness as he carefully slipped the ring onto your finger, his touch gentle and reverent. The ring was perfect—simple, elegant, and exactly what you would have chosen. It glimmered softly in the light, a tangible symbol of the promise you had just made to each other.

Without hesitation, Mingyu stood up, wrapping you in his arms and lifting you off your feet. He spun you around in a joyful whirl, the cold air forgotten as you both laughed, the sound echoing through the quiet park. The night seemed to come alive with your happiness, the trees around you swaying gently as if to share in your joy.

When he finally set you down, his arms remained around you, pulling you into a kiss. His hands cradled your face, his thumbs gently brushing against your cheeks, his touch warm and steady. The tenderness in his grip made your heart swell, and as he leaned in, you could feel his breath mingling with yours, a soft, shared anticipation hanging in the air. When his lips finally met yours, it was as if time itself slowed. The kiss was soft at first, a delicate, reverent connection that conveyed everything words couldn’t.

But then, it deepened, his lips moving against yours with a slow, purposeful intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. Each movement was deliberate, filled with a passion that burned through you, igniting every nerve. His kiss wasn’t just an expression of love—it was a promise, a vow sealed with every ounce of emotion he had been holding back. You could feel his love in the way his hands held you, not too tight, but firm enough that you knew he never wanted to let go.

As his lips molded perfectly against yours, the rest of the world faded into oblivion. The cold night air, the distant sounds of the city, even the twinkling lights around you—all of it dissolved into the background, leaving only the warmth of his kiss, the rapid beat of your heart, and the overwhelming flood of emotion between you. It was as if the two of you existed in your own universe, a moment suspended in time where nothing else mattered.

"I love you," he whispered against your lips, his voice filled with reverence and devotion, as if the words were sacred.

Tears still glistening in your eyes, you smiled up at him, your heart bursting with happiness. "I love you too, Mingyu. I hope you're ready for all the husband privileges."

He laughed, the sound rich and full of joy, resonating with the happiness that radiated from him. It was a laugh that spoke of a future filled with love, laughter, and countless more moments like this. He pulled you into another embrace, his arms holding you close as if he never wanted to let go. "This is the best Valentine’s Day of my life," he murmured into your hair, his voice thick with emotion.

"It’s just the beginning, baby," you whispered back, your fingers tracing the outline of his jaw as you looked up at him, memorizing every detail of his face, every line that spoke of his love for you.

The two of you stood there in the park, wrapped in each other’s arms as the lights twinkled around you, the cold air nipping at your cheeks but failing to penetrate the warmth that enveloped you both. The world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in a moment that felt like it would last forever.

As you walked back home, hand in hand, the silence between you was filled with contentment and the unspoken promises of what was to come. You couldn’t help but glance down at the ring on your finger. The excitement of what lay ahead filled you with warmth, and as you leaned into Mingyu, you knew that your life together would be filled with endless love, laughter, and, of course, husband privileges.

feedback is always welcomed!

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chanranghaeys · 2 days ago

Text

🎼 complementary wavelengths

Wouldn’t falling in love with your research partner compromise the integrity of the research study? You had no idea. But if that were the case, then you were in for some major trouble.

pairing: university professor!vernon x high school teacher!fem!reader word count: 2.8k+ genre: fluff for valentine’s day! rating: g tags: non-idol au, distant college friends to ???, first love :(, they both grew up!, we stan emotionally healthy MEN in here warnings: i claim no accuracy on the academic process because i am not a teacher and no accuracy on the mathematics and scientific concepts here because i am absolutely not a mathematician or a scientist

a/n: surprise lexi @heechwe, i’m your secret cupid! a huge thanks to jupiter @ddeonghwa-s for hosting this secret cupid valentine’s event! it took A WHILE for me to churn this out but we persist and bounce back to writing! a very very special thanks to kae @ylangelegy for beta reading! and to @svtreverie, @choitcherryanne, and k for being my forever hypegirls mwa mwa

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ masterlist . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

“So, Ms. Y/L/N, do you have a Valentine's date already?”

You roll your eyes for what must be the millionth time. “For the last time, this is grounds for unbecoming conduct, young lady.”

“I’m just saying!” Your student Sofia laughs. “You deserve to have a good Valentine’s Day this year.”

“Since when have you played matchmaker for me, Ms. Chwe?”

“Since we saw you crying in the school parking lot,” Sofia’s best friend Meena chimed in supportively. Come on, Ms. Y/L/N. You can’t expect us to sit around and do nothing.”

“Especially not for our favorite Maths teacher!”

You shake your head at these two high schoolers. You knew you couldn’t play favorites amongst your students, but these two and their stubbornly infectious energy sparked a little of your youth back in you. Plus, you really couldn’t blame them because they were right about that school parking lot incident.

It was after this brunch date went terribly wrong a few weeks ago. And while it was very unbecoming of a teacher for her students to find her squat and sobbing against her car, these two were like guardian angels that took you under their wings and brought you ice cream and were girl’s girls all the way—as if they weren’t almost a whole decade younger than you.

Since then, Sofia and Meena would secretly try to find you a potential Valentine’s date amongst teachers, guardians, single parents, older siblings, school staff, or anyone at this point. They were wholly invested—and not just because you were the best teacher they’ve ever had in their very subjective opinion.

From afar, you see a familiar figure leaning against his car, signature plain white tee with jeans underneath his selected outerwear of the day—this time, it was a black denim jacket with a matching Yankees cap.

You've noticed him for a while now, dropping by a few days a week. You've thought about approaching him several times as well, but you always stopped this impulse. However, today was different.

“Sofia, would you mind calling over your brother here for a second?”

“What is this about?” Sofia had her eyebrow raised. Despite her age, it was hard not to take her seriously given that you were both standing at the same height.

“You know what this is about. He told me that you gave him my email address.”

A look of understanding lit in Sofia’s eyes. “Ah, that thing. Yeah, gimme a second.”

Meena stayed behind to continue the line of questioning. “So what’s that thing?”

“It’s a post-grad thing of sorts. Don’t mind it, you have enough schoolwork on your head to be thinking about this.”

She just chuckled in return. “Ms. Y/L/N, may I remind you that Sofia’s brother is single, handsome, respectful, decent, and smart. You can see why I personally have a vested interest in this thing already.”

“Meena.”

She heard your tone shift and straightened herself. It was a subtle reminder that she was still your student and that you were still her teacher.

“I’m just stating facts,” she said with a shrug and a quieter tone.

Sofia’s distant voice calling out for her friend caught both of your attention. At the same time, you see the figure in black and white walking toward you in his confident and deliberate strides.

“I’ll go ahead Ms. Y/L/N. See you tomorrow! And good luck on the thing,” Meena said with a smile and a wave. When she passes the figure, she does a slight bow out of respect, which he reciprocates. This exchange quirks up the corner of your lips. You recall what Meena said earlier, and it prods at you with an irk of frustration.

It frustrates you that she’s right.

When he finally stood before you with a smile, a flood of memories came crashing back. Suddenly, you’re back on your college campus standing underneath your favorite tree, a girl in front of a boy.

“I got your email, Professor Chwe. It’s been a while.”

“It has been a while Ms. Y/L/N.”

You chuckle at your monikers. Who knew two scruffy college students would turn out to be respectful academicians? “Formalities aside, it’s so nice to hear from you again Vernon.”

“Likewise.”

“I see the teaching gig in university hasn’t changed your sense of casual style.”

Vernon looks you up and down in your sensible collared button-up and slacks ensemble. You completely ignore the growing flutters in your stomach. “I can see that this high school has changed yours.”

“Well, you gotta do what you gotta do. The kids actually like my sense of style, mind you.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed Sofia starting to wear blazers all of a sudden. I never thought that it’d be you I’d blame for that.”

You feel something in your chest, a sudden churn and an unexpected leap. As a teacher, you’ve mastered your emotions enough to mask your face into one that wouldn’t give everything away. But these primal emotions were almost too much to bear.

Is this what it really feels like to face your first love after so many years apart?

“Anyway,” you continue as a means to deflect before anything else gives away your true feelings. “You emailed me about your dissertation? You really didn’t give much away. And you know you could’ve just sent me a message.”

“Oh, yeah!” Vernon nods vigorously in emphasis of your statement. “I need someone good in applied mathematics.”

“And you need me for that because?”

He blinks at you. “Because you are good at applied mathematics. I want your help for my musicology dissertation.”

You let out a sigh of disbelief. “Vernon, I—”

“And don’t you dare say you’re not good,” he insists with his finger pointed at you. “I’ve read your research papers. I don’t even know why you stay teaching in high school. You could’ve been tenured by now. Or on a sabbatical like me.”

He’s read my research papers? So he’s been following my work? You shake your head to clear these unnecessary thoughts, which are immediately replaced by a sense of uncertainty. “I don’t know, I’m pretty busy these coming months…”

You really didn’t know why you were avoiding it. This was the perfect academic opportunity and you had no idea why you were avoiding it.

Okay, scratch that. You knew exactly why—because of him.

“No problem, we’ll be able to pace the progress. Besides,” he continued, “you’ve always been my study buddy. I know we’ll be really good partners for this one.”

With one sentence, he has almost reduced you to a blushing schoolgirl with a huge crush.

Oh wait, weren’t you one already?

But still, you couldn’t resist stoking the flame that had been sparked inside you. So you ask, “Why me? Were there no other worthy research partners in your esteemed university?”

“Nope. I choose you,” he answered with a lopsided smirk. “I think you’ll understand why when you hear what my dissertation is about.”

“What is it about?”

“Do you wanna go out for coffee?”

“What?”

“What?” Vernon said in more of a statement than a question.

“What does coffee have anything to do with this?”

“Unless you want to keep standing here with your students watching us, I think it’s better if we continue this discussion somewhere else.”

You peer over his shoulder to see Sofia and Meena watching the two of you from the car like hawks, ready to catch any significant interaction that might give away what you two were talking about. When you met their line of sight, they were ready to bring their phones up to feign their disinterest.

“There’s a cafe on the next street over. If you’d like to go there…”

“Nice,” he said cooly, his voice low and sure.

He lifted his phone to his ear. From your peripheral vision, you see his sister raise her own phone in response. It was almost comical how you could see their silent reactions from across the courtyard, with Meena vibrating with excitement and slapping the other girl’s arm as you hear Sofia’s voice trying to sound calm through the speaker of Vernon’s phone. You see them hurriedly lowering the car window and lifting their thumbs up toward your direction.

They seem to think they have finally succeeded. You wouldn’t give them that benefit yet.

When he hung up, Vernon addressed your confused look. “Sofia’s been annoying me about getting the car anyway, so they can have it. Let’s walk?”

It was silent at first. The early afternoon sun cooperated with the cool breeze, setting the atmosphere for a nice leisurely walk. Students and office workers were milling around the nearby commercial strip, with the sounds and conversations all mingling in the background.

It had been years since you last spent time together like this, in an environment not too different from this one. After your study sessions in the library, you two walked together to your shared classes, which by some stroke of luck always seemed to happen for at least one class every semester until you graduated.

You both hung in different circles. He hung around with his fellow music majors in band practices and the college’s musicians organization, while you spent the majority of your time with your mathematics batchmates in the library or the school quad, catching up on problem sets and homework before you needed to make it to your choir’s rehearsals at night.

But when you ended up as seatmates in your first semester, you made a comment on the Bach piece he was listening to, how Bach was actually a pretty mathematical composer. He asked you how you knew that.

You said, “I take mathematics. I needed a cool fun fact for introductions.”

From that moment on, Vernon took it upon himself to make you appreciate how mathematical Bach’s pieces were. Music became your common language amongst everything else in the background, and the rest was history.

“Okay,” you began, “You know that we haven’t really spoken to each other since graduation. So…why choose me? Not that I’m complaining, though! I’m just…shocked, I guess. And confused. Because if you’ve read my research, you’d know that it’s been years since I published anything.”

Throughout your rambling, Vernon simply looked at you. When you finally stop, you notice the clear brown of them looking straight into you. It had been years, but they were the same eyes that looked at you, that listened intently when you were explaining a complex math concept.

It had been years, but that almost unblinking gaze of his still made your heart do unexplainable leaps in your chest.

You broke away from the intensity of his gaze. He took this as a cue to answer your question. “I was looking for research papers to help me form my framework. Then I stumbled on your computations of metered wavelengths and frequencies, and their relation to different kinds of sound.”

That paper. “Oh.”

His lips turned up in the corners when he continued. “I suddenly remembered how we randomly theorized this during one of our study sessions. I couldn’t believe you actually turned it into your master's thesis.”

“You still remember that?”

“Of course. I never thought I’d find someone so in tune with me and my random theories.”

“If you’ve read the paper, you’ll know that it wasn’t a random theory at all. You might just have discovered the makings of a postulate as a college sophomore.”

“It wouldn’t have been possible without your mind making sense of it. You really are the brightest of your batch.”

You scoff at the remark. “We’re not in college anymore, Vernon. There are a lot of other bright minds out there.”

“None quite like yours, I’m sure.”

You reach the cafe and order in—a decaf iced americano for you, and a hot chocolate for him. As soon as you two get seated, he finally launches into an animated discussion of his dissertation topic about discovering the medical applications of using the various sound wavelengths from certain types and compositions of music to aid in both the operation and healing process of a person, with the goal of identifying a singular formula to determine the right wavelength for each medical situation. He had his medical experts, all he needed was his mathematician.

It was a lot to digest, to say the least.

But by the end of it all, you were in awe of both Vernon and his mind. He is smart. He’d always been smart, but it felt like the confines of university and immaturity bounded his full potential. Now that he’s seen and explored the world of academia, he was able to finally showcase how bright of a mind he really is.

“Can I tell you something?” You set down your coffee and leaned forward.

As if second nature, he mirrored your action to the tee. “Shoot.”

“I’m proud of you. Really. You used to be this mysteriously awkward guy in college who just played around with guitars and 808s. But I always knew you’d put that big brain of yours to good use.”

He opens his mouth as if in reply, but stops midway and just smiles and scrunches his nose. After a beat, he nods with a look of quiet decision. “Can I tell you something, then?” He asks, worrying his thumb with his other hand as he looks at you. You nod in response.

“It was you that inspired me to be this version of myself. Because you can’t only be smart, you also have to work hard. None of my friends back then had that mindset, then came you.”

“What are study buddies for, yeah?” You raise your fist in front of you. He looks at it and smiles his trademark gummy smile. In return, he bumps his own fist into yours, reminiscent of how you two would check in on each other during extended hours in the library finishing a project or a paper. A fist bump to make the heads bump, you two used to say.

Instead of lowering his fist after, he holds it there flush against yours. “Would it be weird for me to say that it’s honestly more than that?”

“What do you mean?”

He took in a deep breath and let out an exhale just as deep. “When I read your papers, I remembered everything we went through in uni and I just…kinda fell in love with your brain again, I guess. Even until now, you—and your work—inspired me to just do it. Then you started popping up everywhere in my life again and…I remembered how I did kinda fall in love with everything else about you. I was just too young and chicken to see it before.”

It took you a whole minute to find your voice again because how could he be this nonchalant? “You’re really just here dropping all these truth bombs without any warning, huh?”

“Like you said, we’re not in college anymore. I’d rather say it now than never.” Vernon’s smile is a shy one, hidden behind his hot chocolate cup. You can’t believe it took a dissertation paper for anyone’s feelings to be revealed—much less his.

As your mind reels with Vernon’s revelation, you scramble your brains to come up with a lighthearted retort. “So are you still kinda in love with me? Just so I know what and how we’re working on this project.”

He chuckles. “I don’t think you’re doing any better. Don’t think I don’t see you staring whenever I fetch Sofia from school.”

You gape at his reply. “How do you even know where to look for me?”

“You’re her last teacher of the day and you both leave the school at the same time. I told you. You just came barging into my life again unannounced, and it wasn’t even your fault. You just sort of…fell in there.”

A smug look took over your features, one you really couldn’t help after hearing all that he had to say. “Vernon Chwe, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were so down bad for me.”

“For that whip-smart brain and that adorable smile, maybe—theoretically—astronomically and catastrophically down bad even.”

You fight the heat rising to your cheeks—and fail. After a cough to hide your growing embarrassment, you say, “I think we’re done for the day.”

“Sure. So. Same time tomorrow?”

You were about to answer when you suddenly realized, “Vernon, it’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow. Don’t you have any other plans?”

He shakes his head and looks you straight in the eye as he says, “Just you. If you say yes.”

Wouldn’t falling further in love with your research partner compromise the integrity of the study? You had no idea. But if that were the case, then you were in for some major trouble.

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steveseddie · 3 days ago

Text

in bloom

written for the @steddiebingo kissing booth mini event | prompt: rose | rating: t | wc: 2,3k | tags: modern setting, flower shop au, wayne is the owner, eddie works with him, meet cute

read on ao3

Work at the flower shop is always a little slow after Valentine’s Day.

Eddie has been helping Wayne at Munson’s Floral Treasures long enough to know this. They’ll still get orders, of course– fancy arrangements for weddings, smaller bouquets for birthdays and anniversaries, but most of these are ordered in advance. They don’t get many people walking in throughout the day, looking for a last-minute Valentine’s Day gift.

Eddie likes to send his uncle home on slow days like this. If there are no deliveries to be made and supplies aren’t coming in, Eddie is more than capable of handling however many customers come in by himself. If he can’t, all he has to do is run upstairs to the apartment and get Wayne.

So far there hasn’t been any need for that today. It’s been almost an hour since Eddie sent the old man away and no one has come into the shop. In the meantime, Eddie answers a few calls, writes down a couple of big orders, and sweeps the floor of the shop before going to the backroom to work on some new arrangements for their window display. In case anyone comes looking for a ‘Sorry I forgot about Valentine’s Day’ gift.

Eddie just got started on the second arrangement when the bell finally jingles.

He puts the shears down and steps out of the backroom, wiping his hands on his apron. “Greetings and welcome to Munson’s Floral Treasures!”

There’s a guy standing in the middle of the shop, facing away from Eddie as he studies the flowers covering the walls. He jumps when he hears Eddie, whirling around and offering a little wave. “Oh, hi.”

God, he’s pretty, Eddie thinks as he takes in the guy’s hazel eyes and soft lips. His eyes travel lower to the chest hair peeking out of the guy’s polo shirt and the way his jeans hug his thighs just right.

Then he remembers he’s working and ogling customers is probably rude. Clearing his throat, Eddie offers him a polite smile. “Can I help you?”

The guy shakes his hair out, running his hand through it to push it back. “Yeah, so, I have kind of a weird request.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “Lucky for you, I love weird,” he says, which sounds a little weird and makes Eddie grimace. Jesus, try to be normal, Munson.

But the guy chuckles, his eyes crinkling in amusement. “Well, I– I need a bouquet that says ‘fuck you’ in a passive-aggressive way,” he says, his eyes flickering nervously over Eddie’s face.

“That’s it?” Eddie asks with a snort. “Because I promise you, man, that’s not the weirdest thing someone has asked for.”

The guy’s eyebrows shoot up. “No?”

“Nope,” he says, leaning on his elbows and gesturing at the guy to come closer like he’s sharing a secret. “One time a guy came in and asked for a flower arrangement to apologize for breaking into a home.”

A disbelieving laugh tumbles from the guy’s lips. “What? Really?”

“Yup. That was the first time that a sale ended with me having to talk to the police,” Eddie says before pursing his lips. “Actually no, that’d be when I used to deal weed in high school.”

The guy lets out a loud laugh, scrunching his shoulders in a way that has Eddie melting against the counter. Pretty, hot and cute. That can’t be fair. “Well, I doubt my bouquet will involve any police investigation.”

“No?” Eddie asks, narrowing his eyes. “You’re not planning on murdering whoever you’re giving it to?”

The guy’s nose scrunches up. “God, I wish, but no, this is just for my own amusement.”

“Good thing I happen to be in the business of amusing pretty guys,” Eddie says, shooting him a flirty grin, getting all up in his space until the guy’s eyes widen and Eddie pulls back. “Uh, customers! I meant customers, Jesus.”

Luckily, the guy seems far from bothered by Eddie’s flirting. In fact, his eyes sparkle with something that looks suspiciously like interest, his cheeks turning pink.

Most times when Eddie has to put together an arrangement he asks the person to check out the shop while he goes to the work table they keep in the back, but he really doesn’t want to waste a moment with this guy so he says fuck it and starts working on the bouquet right there on the counter.

He can feel the guy’s eyes watching him curiously.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Eddie starts, breaking the silence after a moment. “Who is this going to? Cheating girlfriend? Asshole boss? Shitty family member?”

He glances up just in time to catch the guy staring intently at Eddie’s hands as he works. When he feels Eddie’s attention on him, his head snaps up, the color on his cheeks deepening.

“Uh, no– no cheating girlfriend. No girlfriend at all actually,” he says. Then after a short pause, he adds, “no boyfriend either.”

Eddie almost drops the shears. It has to mean something that the guy wants him to know that, right?

Before Eddie can reply with something stupid like ‘good, do you want one?’ the guy keeps talking.

“You were right about the other two, though,” he says. “My shitty father is also my asshole boss.”

Eddie grimaces at that. Wayne is his dad in all ways that count and working with him isn’t bad, but for a second he entertains the idea of having to work with his father instead and already he’s convinced he’d need a couple of ‘fuck you’ bouquets too.

“Our firm is throwing him a party for signing this big company but they don’t care about how many people he had to fire for that to happen or how many of those so-called business trips he spent cheating on my mom,” the guy explains and Eddie lets out a sympathetic whistle.

“Fuck, man. That’s definitely shitty.”

The guy shoots him a tiny smile. “Yeah, and since I’m expected to attend, I thought I could at least get some enjoyment out of it.” He points at the flowers that Eddie is carefully selecting. “This seemed like a better idea than, like, sabotaging his party.”

Eddie lets out an amused snort. “Yeah, that’s probably smart.”

They fall into comfortable silence with the guy staring at Eddie while he works. This time it’s him who strikes up a conversation.

“So, uh, Eddie,” the guy starts, squinting his eyes to read the name tag on his shirt. “I’m not like, telling you how to do your job or anything but isn’t that a lot of orange and yellow? Aren’t those happy colors?”

“Actually, these orange lilies symbolize hatred,” Eddie explains. “And the yellow carnations symbolize rejection and disdain.”

The guy’s mouth falls open in an ‘o’ shape. He leans on the counter and picks another one of the flowers that Eddie has spread out on the counter. “What about this one?”

“Foxglove. They can represent insincerity and deceit.”

The guy nods along as Eddie continues to explain the meaning of every flower he has picked, his eyes sparkling with interest. Flower language is one of the many things Eddie could ramble about for hours, but people usually don’t care enough about it to hear him out. But this guy is listening intently, his chin resting on his hand as Eddie talks.

“And what does that mean?” He asks, pointing at the greens Eddie picked for filler.

“Nothing, that’s just greenery.”

“Oh,” the guy chuckles, ducking his head with an embarrassed little smile. “You– uh, you know a lot about flowers, man. How long have you been doing this?”

“Since I was a little kid,” Eddie says, carefully arranging the greens. “My uncle owns the shop so even before I came to live with him I was helping out here. My dad wasn’t around much, he used to drop me off all the time so Wayne started teaching me how to take care of the flowers, how to make arrangements. Now I also help him with deliveries and stuff.”

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah, it’s nice. I've always liked flowers. And I like doing things with my hands,” Eddie says, wiggling his fingers with a smirk, watching as the guy’s eyes follow the movement.

“They’re good. Your hands,” he says, the color rising on his cheeks when his words catch up with him. “I mean, they look good. What they’re doing looks good.”

A pleased grin stretches over Eddie’s lips. “Thanks, big boy,” he says, grinning wider when the guy’s breath hitches.

“Uh, Steve. I’m Steve.”

Eddie thought he’d have to come up with an excuse to ask for his name, some bullshit about needing it for the receipt, but he’s glad he doesn’t have to now. “Well, Steve, any preference for the wrapping?”

“Um, no. You pick.”

“Alright,” Eddie says, grabbing some green wrapping paper and tying it neatly around the bouquet with a red bow. “All done.”

Steve grabs the bouquet with an awed smile. “It’s perfect. So pretty that no one will know I’m telling my dad he sucks.”

“I aim to please,” Eddie says, grinning smugly.

Steve chuckles, reaching into his jacket for his wallet and sliding a card across the counter. Eddie rings him up as slowly as he can get away with, not wanting Steve to go yet.

By the way Steve lingers after Eddie hands his card back, maybe he doesn’t want to either.

“I should go, let you get back to work,” Steve says eventually. Eddie tries not to look too disappointed. “Thanks, Eddie.”

“You’re welcome, Stevie. Good luck with your dad.”

Steve makes a face but thanks Eddie again before turning around to leave.

When he’s almost at the door, Eddie impulsively calls after him. “Steve, wait!”

Turning around, he raises an eyebrow at Eddie.

“You– uh, you forgot something.”

“I did?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, plucking a red rose from one of their leftover Valentine’s Day bouquets and ducking under the counter to catch up with Steve by the door. “This.”

“For the bouquet?” He asks, tilting his head.

“No, for you,” Eddie says, “on the house.”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up. “Do you give roses to all your customers?”

“Only the pretty ones I really want to see again.”

Steve smiles, finally reaching for the rose. “Well, then,” he says, winking. “I’ll see you, Eddie.”

Eddie grins. “Bye, Steve.”

***

The bell above the door chimes and Eddie pauses his pruning to greet the new customer.

“Welcome to Munson’s Floral Treasures, what can I do for– Steve!” He cuts himself off when he recognizes him, a too big grin appearing on his face.

Steve grins right back, offering a small wave. “Hi, Eddie.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie can see Wayne glancing at them over the shoulder of the old lady he’s currently helping. Eddie knows he’ll have to explain to his nosey uncle why he’s on a first name basis with a customer and why he’s so happy to see him, but he’ll worry about that later.

“You’re back,” Eddie says, turning his attention back to Steve. It’s been a week since the first time he was here and Eddie would be lying if he said he didn’t spend his days glancing wistfully at the door every time someone came in hoping it was Steve. “Here for another ‘fuck you’ bouquet?”

Steve chuckles, following Eddie to the counter. “No, I’m here for something else.”

Eddie ducks behind the counter, resting his elbows on the surface. “Another weird request?” He asks, playfully waggling his eyebrows.

“You tell me,” Steve says, copying Eddie’s position on the opposite side of the counter, leaving their faces only inches apart. Eddie gulps, heat rising to his cheeks. “I need you to deliver a bouquet for me.”

“That’s pretty standard for a flower shop, Stevie,” Eddie says, cocking his head in amusement. “But sure, whatcha need?”

“A bouquet that says ‘do you want to go on a date with me?’”

Eddie blinks, trying to make sure he’s not imagining the little smirk tugging at Steve’s lips. “Oh, um, of course. We can do that!” He says, his voice an octave too high. “What’s– what’s the address for the delivery?”

That smirk turns into a full-on grin. “Oh, that’s easy,” Steve says, leaning even closer. Eddie hopes Wayne is too busy with the old lady to see what’s happening or he’ll never hear the end of this. “Munson’s Floral Treasures– ever heard of it?”

Eddie’s stomach flip-flops wildly. “You tryna ask my uncle on a date, Stevie?” He teases, barely able to keep the giddy smile off his face. “He might be a little too old for you.”

“Maybe,” Steve shrugs, walking his fingers on the counter until they’re brushing against Eddie’s arm. “But I think his nephew might be perfect for me.”

Eddie’s knees go weak from Steve’s words and his featherlight touch on his arm. “I think you might be right,” he says, biting his lip.

Steve’s eyes flicker down for a split second. “So, you’ll send that for me?”

“Yup. Happy to.”

“Great.” Steve grabs a pen from the counter and writes something down on the notepad where they take orders. “Here’s my number. You know, so you can let me know how the delivery went and what the answer was.”

Eddie nods, and with a wink, Steve turns around and leaves.

As soon as he walks through the door, Eddie grabs his phone and dials Steve’s number. He watches through the window as Steve stops and digs his phone from his pocket, a smile twitching at his lips as he brings it to his ear.

“Hello?”

“It’s a yes,” Eddie says eagerly.

Steve peers through the window and shoots him a lopsided grin. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“So can I pick you up on Friday at 7?”

Eddie forces himself not to let a happy squeal or punch his fist in the air because Steve can see him. “Yeah, that’s– that’s good.”

“See you on Friday then,” Steve says, hanging up and waving at Eddie through the window before he disappears down the street.

As soon as he’s gone, Eddie breaks into a grin. He gets weird looks from Wayne and the customers that come in throughout the day but it hardly matters. He has a date to look forward to.

#steddie #steddie fic #steddiebingokiss #stranger things #stranger things fic #i remember reading a fic with this prompt a long time ago and i thought i’d write it for these two #eddie munson #steve harrington #monse writes

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little-jana · 1 day ago

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"Caffeine and Affection"

Pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!reader

Genre: Fluff

Words: 2k

Warnings: excessive caffeine consumption, but otherwise pure fluff

Summary: For Valentine’s Day Spencer surprises you with a very special bouquet!

a/n: requested: yes! Thank you very much, hope you enjoy it!

The BAU ran on coffee.

At least, most of it did. Hotch practically had a coffee IV, Rossi wouldn’t touch anything under espresso-level strength, and even Spencer—who could rant about the adverse effects of caffeine for hours—drank coffee when cases ran late.

But you? You were different.

Your fuel of choice came in cans, not cups. Whether it was soda or energy drinks, you always had something sugary and carbonated in your hand. It had become part of your identity—something the team liked to tease you about but ultimately accepted.

Spencer, however, took a particular interest in your habit.

“You know,” he had told you one day, watching you crack open yet another can, “the excessive consumption of sugar and caffeine can lead to increased heart rate, insomnia, and dependency.”

You had grinned at him, unfazed. “Sounds like a problem for future me.”

He had sighed, shaking his head. “Future you is going to be very disappointed in past you.”

Despite his concerns, he never actually told you to stop. If anything, he seemed intrigued by your preferences—often asking which flavors you liked best, what brands you preferred, and even quizzing you on why you liked soda over coffee.

It was… cute.

Spencer had always been the kind of person who paid attention, but when it came to you, it felt like he noticed everything.

Which was why, on Valentine’s Day, when he approached your desk with a nervous expression and something hidden behind his back, you immediately knew he was up to something.

“Spence?” You tilted your head, setting down your can of soda. “What are you doing?”

His lips twitched in that shy, almost awkward way he did when he was nervous. “I, uh… got you something.”

Before you could respond, he revealed what he had been hiding.

It wasn’t flowers. It wasn’t chocolates.

It was a bouquet. But instead of roses or lilies, it was made entirely of your favorite sodas and energy drinks, all carefully arranged and tied together with a big, bright bow.

You blinked. Stared. Opened your mouth. Closed it.

Then, finally, you burst into laughter. “Oh my God, Spencer!”

His ears went a little pink. “I read that people appreciate personalized gifts, and I know you don’t really drink coffee, so I figured this was a more… suitable alternative.”

You reached out, taking the bouquet from him with wide eyes. It was surprisingly well put together—each can securely fastened with ribbon, the entire thing looking both ridiculous and oddly adorable.

“This is—Spencer, this is amazing.” You grinned up at him. “Did you make this yourself?”

He nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “I had to look up a tutorial. It took longer than I expected.”

You could just picture him sitting at home, carefully arranging cans of soda into a bouquet, meticulously tying them together with absolute precision. The thought made your heart swell.

Without thinking, you threw your arms around him, squeezing tightly. “You’re the best.”

Spencer tensed for half a second before quickly melting into the hug, his arms wrapping around you just as firmly. “I’m glad you like it.”

You pulled back slightly, grinning. “Like it? Spencer, this is the most thoughtful gift anyone has ever given me.”

His smile was small but full of warmth. “Then it was worth it.”

You looked down at your wonderful bouquet and then back at him, your heart hammering a little harder than usual.

Maybe it wasn’t just the caffeine making it race.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds one shot #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x you #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x you #matthew gray gubler #valentines day

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knitmeatardis · 1 day ago

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Making Up for Lost Time

I can't believe I am actually posting this, but you all have given me such lovely Hotch x reader fics, I felt the need to add my own contribution. I do not usually write this kind of thing, usually slash all the way, but here we are. For my favorite Hotch smut dealer @aureatelys

Words: ~6.9K; Rating: 18+; Aaron Hotchner x fem bau!librarian!reader

Warnings: safe p in v sex, oral sex (f receiving), canon typical violence, reader is being stalked and threatened, smut, no use of y/n

There’s a certain anonymity involved in being the research librarian for the BAU. No one really takes notice of you, and you assume no one even knows your name, while you get to watch and observe everyone and get to know them from afar. Spencer and Derek, messing with each other like brothers. Emily, so assured and beautiful, confident in everything she does, especially the way she moves. JJ, open and warm despite the daily horrors she deals with. Rossi, the pater familia of the whole crew. Garcia is the only one you have any real rapport with, but she spends so much time in her cave that you rarely see her.

The only one you can’t get a read on is Hotch. In fact, you only know he goes by Hotch because that’s how you hear the rest of the team refer to him. You know he has a son and his ex-wife was killed. You know he’s often the first one here and the last one to leave. But his stern expression never really seems to change. He’s always polite to you, nodding his thanks when you bring the files he needs, but rarely speaks.

So it is all a bit of a shock when JJ stops me in the hallway. “Hey,” she greets you, but her face is pinched, worried. “We need you in the conference room.”

“Me?” you blanch, frozen to the spot.

“Yes. You. Right now,” JJ says, taking files out of your arms and walking quickly toward the conference room.

You follow in her wake, feeling like a bug under a microscope when you enter behind JJ and everyone’s eyes turn to look at you. It may be the first time most of them have ever really seen you.

Hotch stands behind a chair and looks at you. He pats it. “Sit, please.”

His voice is gentle, soft, almost apologetic. He offers his hand to you to guide me into a chair. His touch makes a strange flutter go through your body but with the way everyone is acting, it’s too hard to focus on it.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m sorry, but I need you to confirm,” Hotch says, looking at the screen and pressing a button, “that these pictures are of you.”

The screen fills with pictures of you outside your apartment, outside the grocery store, on the Metro on the way to work, and most alarmingly, through the curtains into your bedroom while you were undressing. Your blood runs cold. You clear your throat. “Yes. Those – those are all of me. What’s – I’ve never seen anyone…”

“These photos were sent to the bureau,” Hotch explains. “To me, specifically. It’s obviously a threat of some kind, but it isn’t clear exactly what’s going on.”

“Who else knows you work here?” Rossi asks.

“I mean, lots of people know I work for the FBI. It’s on all of my forms and employment records. Friends and family. But only my immediate family knows I work with the BAU. I don’t discuss it with anyone. Not anyone.” You can feel your heart racing and your stomach churns. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

You can feel Emily following you as you run for the ladies’ room. She’s waiting near the sink with a wet paper towel as you finish vomiting. You’re shaking violently and it feels like your legs are going to go out from under you.

“We’re not going to let anything happen to you,” she reassures you, pressing the towel to your forehead. “Do you think you can come back to the conference room and listen to the plan?”

You nod and follow Emily back to the conference room. Everyone else has cleared out, leaving just Hotch and you and the pictures up on the screen. You can’t help the way your eyes are drawn to them. Emily puts her hand on your shoulder for a moment and then leaves us alone. Hotch reaches over and turns off the television.

“I know this is distressing –”

“Why you?” you ask suddenly. “We’re not close. I’m not a regular member of the team. You’re only nominally my boss. I mean, technically I report to you but I spend more of my time reporting to the other librarians. We barely speak.”

Hotch’s brow draws together as he looks at you. “That’s a good question. We think that whoever this is has cast me in the role of protector and he has chosen you as the object of his delusion. He wants to draw me out for a confrontation.”

“So, what’s the plan?”

“We’re going to give him what he wants,” Hotch says, putting his hand over yours.

….

The next several hours are a blur. The team stash you in Garcia’s lair, deep inside the bureau and away from any windows. Garcia arms you with several of her comfort tokens to keep you safe. As soon as the team is ready, you’re shuffled down to the garage and into the back of an SUV. Hotch sits next to you while Morgan drives, Prentiss next to him.

“Once we get surveillance on your apartment set up,” Hotch says to you, “I’ll take the first watch. He’s going to want to see me protecting you.”

“I understand.” Of course he’s watching you. That’s what the photographs were all about. Making sure you knew that he could see you but you couldn’t see him. “And if there’s anything I need, I should call you.”

“Right,” Hotch says. He’s gone over all of the protocols with you several times, but he seems to understand that you repeating them is your way of dealing with your anxiety. “Agent Morgan will be walking the perimeter as well.”

You nod, looking out the window at the scenery without really seeing it. When you get to your apartment, Hotch keeps his arm tight around you as Morgan and Prentiss lead and take up the rear, respectively. Despite the circumstances, something about the way he’s holding you makes a little thrill go down your spine.

The three of them are efficient, almost brutally so. You want to laugh and cry at how comfortable they are with setting up this kind of surveillance. They barely even have to talk while they’re doing it. Still, it’s getting dark by the time they’re done.

“I can only imagine how invasive this feels,” Hotch says, his voice gentle as he sits next to you on the sofa. “As much as possible tonight, go about your normal routine. In the morning, one of us will pick you up for work.”

“Normal routine,” you huff. “At the moment, I can barely think of what that is.”

“Well. I know when I get home, I like to take off my tie, maybe fix myself a drink.” Hotch gives you a small smile. “Just close your eyes a second. Think about what you’d be doing if none of us were here.”

Obediently, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. “The first thing I do is change into my pajamas and fix myself something for dinner, I guess. I’m pretty domesticated and boring.”

“There’s nothing boring about having a normal life,” Hotch says. “We’ll leave you to it. And I’ll be just outside.”

“Thank you, Agent Hotchner.”

“C’mon,” he says, tilting his head and giving you a smirk. “It’s Hotch.”

“Hotch,” you say with a small smile.

….

You try not to think about the microphones and cameras around the apartment as you go through the motions of eating something and watching television. You work on some craft projects, not really paying attention to any of it. You keep listening for someone outside or trying to come into the apartment. Finally you give up and get into bed, but all you can do is toss and turn.

You contemplate picking up the phone and talking to Hotch, but you don’t want to distract him. On the other hand, he did say to reach out if you needed anything. And all you really want to do is sleep. You cave in, too exhausted to care about seeming weak or needy. You pick up the phone and call him.

“Hey. You alright?” Hotch answers immediately.

“I’m fine.” You huff. “I just can’t sleep. I keep listening for someone to come in.”

“That’s not going to happen. I’m here,” he says, his voice calm and certain. It feels warm. “Would it help if we talked?”

“Agent Morgan can’t hear us, can he?”

“No, he can’t hear us. Tell me what’s going on.”

You laugh humorlessly. “Oh, you know. I’m just staring up at my ceiling thinking about some random guy out there who wants to maybe kill me or kill you or both, so not much really. What’s going on with you?”

Hotch chuckles. “Fair enough,” he says. “I’m just sitting outside a nice woman’s apartment trying to make sure that no one hurts her. So not a lot going on here, either.”

That startles a real laugh out of you. “So yeah, boring.”

“All totally normal.” Hotch smiles to himself. “Tell me something about you,” he says. “How long have you been at the FBI?”

“You already know the answer to that,” you say. “You hired me.”

“So? Tell me again.”

“I’ve been a librarian at the Bureau for about five years,” you say. “After I got my masters in library science from Georgetown. I never thought that a librarian would be needed for something like the BAU, but once I started working with the unit, I loved it.”

Hotch leans back in his seat, looking at my apartment, imagining you laying in bed on the phone. “That’s not something I hear very often.”

“I imagine there’s a lot of burnout,” you say. “And if I was an agent, I’m not sure I could hack it. But when you all come home and you’ve saved someone or brought someone to justice, I get to feel like a little tiny part of that. It’s not a bad feeling.”

“I probably don’t say it enough, but we value your help. We couldn’t research everything we need to on our own.”

“Of course not. You need to get your boots on the ground. I know that,” you say. You pause, worrying at your lower lip. “Before today, though, I couldn’t be sure any of you even knew my name.”

There’s a long silence on the other end of the phone. “I know your name. I’ve always known it.” He clears his throat. “We’ve always known it.”

“Thanks, Hotch,” you say softly.

“You’re welcome,” he says, just as soft. “How are you feeling now? A little less anxious?”

“A little, yes. Thank you, Hotch.” You smile into the darkness. “Your voice is very soothing. And, forget I said that because that’s just embarrassing.”

“No, it’s fine.” Hotch isn’t able to keep the smile out of his voice. “I’m glad I can help. Do you think you can sleep now?”

“I think I’m ready to try again,” you say to him. “Seriously, thank you. For everything.”

He clears his throat again. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow might be a long day.”

….

You’re groggy and grumpy and still in your pajamas when Hotch calls you from outside your front door. You check the peephole like he instructed and then let him in.

“Good morning,” he says softly, holding out a cup of coffee to stall any protests.

All you can do is grunt and accept the cup, taking a long sip. It’s perfect. Exactly the way you take it. You look at Hotch, lifting an eyebrow but saying nothing. “Give me five minutes to fix my hair and put clothes on,” you say to him, turning away back toward your bedroom.

“You have at least ten,” he says, looking around your front room. You try to imagine what he’s seeing and the conclusions he’s drawing as he looks over your family photos, nerdy collectibles, books, and stuffed animals. You brush your hair and throw on some lipstick, thanking your past self for having your closet organized in such a way that makes it easy to pick something out and put it on.

You emerge from the bedroom, put together and ready to go. “Told you I only needed five,” you say, pushing your hair off my face.

There’s a moment when he looks at you that something surprised and interested crosses his face, but he quickly masks it with his patented professional stoicism. “Let’s go, then,” he says, holding an arm out to usher you ahead of him as he opens the door. Hotch escorts you down to street level. There’s an agent you don’t know driving as Hotch helps you into the backseat.

“I’m going to start expecting this kind of treatment all the time now,” you say lightly to him as he joins you.

Hotch smirks at you, lifting an eyebrow. He doesn’t say anything, just settles into the seat next to you. This drive is less anxious than the one the previous day, even though you’re still mostly looking out the window. Hotch is a solid, calming presence next to you.

“You’re so gentle,” you say out of nowhere, immediately blushing. “Sorry. I was just – I’ve seen you during briefings and with the team and you’re direct. Concise. I wasn’t expecting you to be so warm with me. Encouraging and solicitous.” You shake your head.

Hotch nods in acknowledgement. “Not everyone gets to see that side of me. It’s usually when bad things happen.” He glances at you. “I’m working on it.”

“Well, just know that I appreciate it,” you tell him, putting your hand lightly on top of his. There’s a small tinge of red across his cheeks, but he slips his hand out from under yours quickly enough that you think you might have imagined it. The rest of the ride passes in comfortable silence.

When you get to Quantico and up to the 6th floor, Hotch walks you to your office. “While you’re in the building, you can move around freely. But if you have to go outside for anything, get one of us and we’ll walk you.”

You take a steadying breath and nod. “I will. Thank you.”

He puts a soft hand on your elbow. “This isn’t going to be forever. We’ll find him. I promise.”

“I believe you,” you say, offering him whatever kind of smile you can manage. He nods at you and drops his hand, heading away as you go into my office. Without his hand on your arm, you feel suddenly cold, but you try to shake it off and concentrate on your work. You can already see that the messages light on your phone is blinking.

Trying to recapture some sense of normalcy, you sit at your desk and check your email, looking to see if there’s anything urgent that needs attending to. Then you start with your voicemail. The first ten messages are normal, mundane, then there’s the last one. All it contains is a long exhale and then a low laugh before he says, “I see you have your knight in shining armor giving you rides, walking you into the building. That’s good. It’ll be all the easier to kill you both.”

Your blood runs cold, but you manage to hit save on the voicemail system. Your fingers are numb when you pick up the phone and call Hotch’s extension. It feels like seconds between when you hang up and when he’s there in your office. Penelope has already pulled the voicemail off the servers and saved it to her own system, but he wants to hear it for himself. It’s somehow more disturbing the second time through. When you look up at Hotch, his lips are pressed into a hard, thin line.

“Does he sound familiar to you?” he asks you.

“No. But I talk to a lot of people when I’m processing requests. Everyone starts to sound the same after a bit.”

“He sounds familiar to me.” He frowns and crosses his arms. “As soon as I find out more, I’ll tell you,” Hotch promises, looking you in the eyes before he leaves.

You feel like you’re at loose ends, not at all sure what to do with yourself. You start to work on requests and email, but your attention keeps drifting away. Every time your phone rings you think it’s going to be him again, taunting you. Eventually you turn off the ringer and turn to stare into space, until Hotch returns.

“Anything?” you ask, looking up at him.

He shakes his head. “No. I’m sorry. Penelope is working on it.” Hotch takes a deep breath. “Are you okay back here? I could find a desk for you in the bullpen.”

“I’m fine. I can’t really concentrate, so not much is getting done. But I’m alright.” You try to give him a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll make sure someone picks up the slack for you,” he says.

“Hotch, isn’t it safer if I stay at home?” You look at him with wide eyes. “I was hoping that work would be a distraction, but that doesn’t seem to be working out so much.”

“Now that we have confirmation that the threat is to both of us, it’s better to keep you close.” He twitches an eyebrow. “I’ll get Garcia to set you up with some games on your computer.”

You chuckle and duck your head. “Thank you. I’m going to owe you so hard after all of this.”

“You don’t owe me anything. This is what we do for our own.” Hotch lingers in the doorway for a moment and then leaves.

….

Nothing happens the rest of the day except that you have a new obsession with video games thanks to Penelope. Hotch again rides with you to your apartment, promising to take the first watch again.

“Hotch, you should go home. I know you have a son. You don’t have to spend another night watching over me when you can go be with him.”

“Jack is on a trip with his aunt and cousins,” he says, ducking his head. “Which is good because since this unsub wants to kill me, too, I’d have to stay away from him anyway.” Hotch looks back at you. “I’d rather stay where I can get to you if I have to.”

There’s something in his voice, something beyond his professional concern, but it’s too quick to identify. “Okay. Good night, then. If I can’t sleep…”

“Just call me.” He smiles softly. “I’ll be here.”

Once again you try to go about my evening routine and after you try to go to sleep. When once again you can’t, you talk to Hotch. This time you’re on the phone for almost half an hour before you start yawning and he tells me to go to bed.

The morning is a repeat of the previous day except there’s no creepy voicemail today. Feeling a little more like you’re on solid ground, you start working. The requests have piled up, despite the help you’re getting from other librarians, so you dig in. Once you generate a list of materials to pull, you head to the archives.

The stacks are comforting and quiet as they surround you. The smell of paper files is familiar and strangely soothing. You start working through your list, putting files in carts and organizing them per request. You don’t even hear the footsteps as someone comes up behind you.

“Good morning.”

You jump and whirl, barely biting back a scream. “Jesus! Sean! You scared the shit out of me.” You laugh a little, pushing your hair off your face. “Sorry. Just a little on edge today.”

Sean looks you over. “That’s what happens when your white knight leaves you alone to fend for yourself.”

That’s when you see the gun. Your eyes go wide, but before you can ask any questions, he pulls you to him, your back pressing against him, the barrel of the gun pressed into your side.

“Shh, shh, your part in this little drama is almost over. Don’t worry. I’ll kill you quickly. Come on. We have to go see your knight.”

Sean walks you through the hallways, managing to keep the gun concealed. No one really looks at you, too absorbed in their own tasks to notice. When he pushes you into the bullpen, no one even looks up.

“They don’t even see you. They don’t care,” he murmurs in your ear. “And it’s a tragedy. So I am going to make sure that they never, ever forget you. Go on. Get their attention.”

“A-Agent Hotchner!” you call out. Everyone’s heads turn and in an instant he appears at the top of the stairs outside his office. Before you can even take the next breath, the guns of all the agents in the room are pointed in your direction, including Hotch’s.

“Oh, well done,” Sean says to you. He keeps you in front of him, using you as a shield and making sure no one can get behind him. “What are you going to do now, Agent Hotshot!” he says, looking at Hotch. “Huh? You, always in the spotlight, always getting attention! Think you can get me from there, Hotshot? The sniper expert.” Sean sneers at him.

Hotch stares at him for a long moment. “Lower your weapons,” he says, not raising his voice but adding a hard steel. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the rest of the team slowly lower their weapons. His gun doesn’t even waver. “Yes, I can kill you from here.”

You can’t take your eyes off of Hotch, the relaxed but poised stance, his sharp eyes focused on you and the tip of his weapon steady, trained on you.

“Can you do it before I put a bullet in her?” Sean says, ramming the barrel into your ribs and making you whimper.

“Before, no. Within a heartbeat after, absolutely. But it’s not really what you want. You want to be recognized, you want me to see you,” he says. “Well, Sean. I see you. Now what?”

“So you know my name. Am I supposed to be impressed? You walk around here like you’re the king of the castle and we’re just peasants under your feet. You have her, right here in front of you every day and you never see her worth,” Sean says, looking at you.

His arm is so tight around you that you can barely breathe and you’re suddenly afraid that you’ll pass out. “What are you talking about?” you manage.

“You. You’re amazing and they don’t even consider you part of the team. You do everything for them, and they never see you. Not the way that I do. Not the way you should be loved and adored every minute of every day.” Sean’s eyes are adoring for a moment but then they turn hard again. “So I’m going to take you away from them. I’m going to take you away forever, so they will know what it means to live without you like I do. And then I’m going to kill him for every slight you had to take because of him, every late night and exhausting pace and overloaded work. I’m going to punish him for all of it.”

“Sean, Sean,” you plead, tears streaming down your cheeks. “You don’t need to do that. Agent Hotchner, he’s been amazing. He’s taken such good care of me, and he always has. He’s never treated me badly or ever raised his voice. When I’m working late, he’s right here, working, too.”

“It doesn’t matter!” Sean yells. “He doesn’t see you when it matters! He doesn’t stand up for you! He doesn’t care! And I’m going to prove it.”

Sean’s grip loosens and he pushes you so that you’re facing him, his gun raised. You scream as strong hands tug you down and away and a shot rings out. You hit the floor hard and you’re immediately covered by the body of whoever pulled you down, protecting you. There’s a terrible silence for a long moment, the sound of your breathing loud in your own ears. Slowly, the body over you – Derek, you realize – starts to move.

“Hey, sweet heart,” he says, looking down at you as he gets up and then offers a hand down. “How you doing? Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m alright,” you say, breathless. You keep your eyes on Derek. “Is – is he…?”

“Yeah, yeah he is. I’m sorry,” Derek says, voice gentle. He turns you away and puts his arm around you.

You hear Hotch’s feet on the stairs as he comes down to the bullpen.

“Put her in my office, Morgan,” he says, still strong but quieter now. “Please.”

You feel more than see Derek nod and then your feet are moving. He leads you the long way around, through the round table room and along the catwalk around to Hotch’s office, all the while shielding you from the scene below. He closes the door and helps you over to the couch, quickly closing the blinds. “Is there anything I can do for you?” he says, crouching down in front of you.

You haven’t stopped crying, your eyes sting, your ribs and chest hurt from the way Sean had grabbed you and squeezed. You sniffle and wipe at your eyes, letting out a wry, slightly hysterical laugh. “I could use a shot of tequila,” you say, sniffling again.

“How about some water instead?” Derek says, putting a hand on your knee.

“Water. Yeah. Water is good.”

“Good. You just sit here and breathe and I’ll be right back,” he says, standing. You can hear activity outside when he opens the door, but when he closes it again, it is perfectly quiet. You sit on Hotch’s couch, wondering how long it will take your hands to stop shaking.

….

When you wake up, still on Hotch’s couch, you realize that someone has come and put a blanket on you. You’re not sure when you fell asleep, but it was sometime after Derek brought you water. You glance out of the window and realize it must be mid to late afternoon now. You sit up, groggy and confused after the adrenaline crash. You’re only sitting up for a few minutes before Hotch comes in.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, turning one of his chairs around to face you on the couch.

“Exhausted.” You rub your face. “I can’t believe Sean did all this.”

Hotch takes a deep breath. “We found more photos of you on his computer. It seems he’s been obsessing over you for some time.”

“I had no idea. He rarely speaks – spoke – to me. I’d smile at him in the stacks or if I saw him in the hallway, but not much else. Why did he fixate on you? And what was all of that about you not considering me part of the team?”

He opens the file folder he’d brought in with him and hands you some folded paper. You recognize it immediately as the internal FBI newsletter. Inside there’s a profile about Hotch after he broke the record for Quantico’s long-distance sniper accuracy. The article has a picture of the BAU team, naming everyone. The photo was taken in the bullpen, and in the background, there is a blurry picture of you pushing your cart and delivering files to the desks. “He had this pinned up in his office,” Hotch says. “We think this is where it all started.”

You start to laugh and it sounds hysterical to your own ears. “How do you deal with this kind of thing every day? The bizarre thinking and the leaps… that something as small as this could precipitate everything we just went through for the last 48 hours.” You shake your head. “I want to go home.”

Hotch nods. “I’ll drive you.”

“No, come on. You’ve done enough,” you say softly, reaching out and touching his knee. “I can make it home on my own.”

“I should take all the surveillance down. And you’re exhausted. This is going to hit you. Hard. You shouldn’t be alone.”

“Arguing isn’t going to get me anywhere is it?” you ask, smirking.

“No, it isn’t.”

You nod and stand. Your legs are still shaky though and you stumble a little. Hotch’s hands are right there to steady you, his breath ghosting over your skin as he holds you. “You’re alright,” he murmurs.

“Thank you,” you reply, matching his tone.

He walks you to your office so I can gather your things and then down to the garage. Instead of an FBI SUV, you get into his personal vehicle, you sitting up front with him while he drives. The ride is quiet still, but not the scared, tense silence from the other drives. When you get to your apartment, he escorts you inside, his hand on the small of you back instead of the protective circle from earlier. His body is firm and warm next to yours, and even though the danger is over, you still feel safer with him there.

He goes about collecting the cameras and microphones and putting them in cases as you toe off your shoes and head into your kitchen to look for something to eat. You are still staring into the fridge when Hotch pokes his head in. “I got everything, so…”

“Are you hungry?” you ask, looking up at him. “I’m starving and my fridge is in pathetic shape. I could order something.”

“That’s not –”

“Just – it’s the least I can do, Hotch. And you said I shouldn’t be alone,” you say, cocking your hip.

Hotch smirks and crosses his arms. “Arguing isn’t going to get me anywhere, right?”

“Exactly. So. You like thai?”

Laughing softly, Hotch takes off his suit jacket and drapes it over a chair in your small dining room. “I do. Very much.”

“Good,” you say, pulling your phone out of your pocket and starting a delivery order. You hand it to him when you’re done. “Get whatever you want. I’m going to change.”

When you come out of the bedroom in your pajamas, a tank top and knee-length short pants, Hotch is in your kitchen opening a bottle of wine. He turns his head when he hears me approach. You notice that his tie is off, too, and his sleeves are rolled up to show his forearms. Your mouth waters for a moment.

“I hope you don’t mind. I thought some wine might be helpful.”

“You know your way around a kitchen,” you say, approving. “Thank you.” You accept the glass from him after he pours and go sit on your couch. You drink in comfortable silence for a couple of moments, just sitting there examining his profile. “I meant what I said, by the way,” you say into the quiet. “About you taking great care of me. I appreciate everything you’ve done.”

“Like I said, we look out for our own,” he says, turning his head and looking at you. His face is soft and affectionate before he lowers his gaze back to his hands. “He was wrong, you know, about me not seeing you, not knowing your worth. When I saw him there with you, that gun pressed into your side…” He shakes his head. “The idea of living without you in my life really scared me.” He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, looking suddenly shy.

“Hotch… what are you saying?” Your hands tighten around your glass. It’s no secret that Hotch is attractive, and the way you’ve gotten to know him over the last couple of days has been alluring.

“I’m saying that I have been trying to maintain my professionalism,” he says, “around you. For some time now.” He licks his lips. “I know a lot about you. How you take your coffee. That you like the burritos from the place 10 blocks away even though there’s a place just around the corner. I know you have a sweet tooth. You get stressed out when there’s a chance of snow in the forecast.”

You laugh at that one. “You have been watching closely.”

“It is sort of my job.” He gives you a small smile. Then he puts his hand palm up on the couch between you, offering it to you to take. “But I’ll admit that I had additional motivation where you were concerned.”

“Hotch…”

“Aaron. We’re off the clock. You should call me Aaron.”

You slip you hand into his. “Aaron. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I’m your boss. And I didn’t want the risk of something going bad between us and losing you. You are part of the team. We need you.”

“Still, I wish you’d said something. We could have been doing this the whole time,” you say, leaning in and pressing your lips to his. The kiss is soft, almost chaste, but his free hand comes up to caress your jaw.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, thumb tracing your jaw line.

“No,” you say looking him in the eyes. “I’m worried about transference and hero worship and all those kinds of things, but at the moment all I know is that your hand is warm and I want you to touch me.”

Aaron takes the glass out of your hand and puts it on the coffee table before tugging you closer and over into his lap. He cups your jaw in both hands and pulls you into another kiss. This one is hotter, wetter, his tongue sliding between your lips and exploring your mouth.

You moan softly, pressing against him as he moves his mouth to your jaw and the side of your neck. You tilt your head back, encouraging him as his hands grip your waist hard. You can feel him as he starts to harden in his dress pants, and you can’t help rubbing your hips into him. “Fuck, Aaron,” you murmur, running your hands all over his chest. His hands slip under your shirt, caressing the small of your back. “Bedroom. Please, Aaron. I need to feel you.”

“What about dinner?”

“It can wait,” you murmur, running your fingers into his hair and claiming his lips again.

Aaron helps you onto your feet, then stands and scoops you into his arms. He carries you into your bedroom and lays you across the mattress, covering you with his body. He kisses you over and over, his hands slipping under your shirt and caressing your breast over your sports bra. You hook your leg over his hip, arching up into him.

“Aaron…” you moan. “God, you feel so good.”

“You’re incredible,” he murmurs, his already deep voice dropping into something even darker. “So stupid… wasted time. When I could have been –”

“Hey,” you say, putting your hand on his cheek. Then a wicked smile curls your lips. “You’ll find a way to make it up to me,” you tease.

Aaron actually laughs, his whole face relaxing. “Challenge accepted,” he says, licking his lips. His hands are deft and efficient as he removes your pajamas, and together you work on his dress shirt and the belt of his dress pants. You can’t help giggling as you get tangled up in a flurry of limbs and discarded clothing, but finally you’re able to press skin to skin, his mouth fastened on your neck and collarbone.

“God, Aaron…” you arch against him, your breasts dragging through his chest hair. “I need you.”

Pulling back, Aaron smirks at you but also tenderly pushes hair off your face. “I’m right here,” he murmurs. He shifts his kisses to the base of your throat and then over the curve of one breast, sucking your nipple between his teeth and making you gasp. His mouth travels down your body, his tongue seeking out any place that seems enticing to him. When he reaches my ribs, he runs his thumb over the skin and you wince, realizing that you must already be bruised badly. Aaron presses a soft kiss to the spot before he moves on.

Gently, he pushes your thighs open, and you groan as the cool air hits your hot skin. You arch as his tongue dips inside your folds, grazing your clit. He wraps his arms around your thighs, your knees bent over his shoulders as he licks and sucks on you. His chin and the stubble across his jaw rubs at the sensitive skin. His tongue teases at your entrance and then up to your clit. You reach back and wrap your fingers into the pillow as pleasure races along your spine. You’re breathless and panting, waves and waves of intense need and want running through you.

“Oh, god… god, Aaron. I’m – I’m gonna…”

Aaron sucks hard on your clit in response, slipping two fingers deep inside you. You arch and cry out as my orgasm swamps you. He licks and caresses you through it, helping you come down. Your heart is racing and you’re blinking fast to try to get your vision back online as he crawls back over you, licking his fingers and wiping his mouth. You grab his face in both hands and draw him to you for a kiss. Your tastes are mixed in his mouth and all you can do is moan. You can feel how hard he is, his tip teasing at your skin.

“I need you to fuck me,” you murmur, still holding his face and looking into his eyes.

“Do you –”

“In the nightstand,” you say, gesturing at the drawer.

Aaron lifts his eyebrow and smirks but says nothing as he shifts to reach over to the nightstand. He locates the condoms easily, and kneels up to show you as he rips the packet open. You can hear him sliding it on, his mouth dropping open as he wraps his hand around himself. “Fuck, what you’ve done to me,” he groans as he drags you closer and pushes inside you.

You gasp as he fills me up, the tip of his cock rubbing in exactly the right places. One hand is braced on your headboard while the other tenderly caresses your skin as he starts to move. Ecstasy settles across his stern features and you pant and moan together. He makes the most delightful soft sounds as he works inside you, his eyes screwed shut in pleasure. Your pleasure is spiralling up again, the coil tightening in your spine, but you push it down. You want to come with him, you want to crash through the barrier at the same time.

“Close… fuck, I’m so close,” he groans.

You run your fingers into his hair, tugging gently. “Yes. Yes, god. Aaron. Let me feel you.”

Aaron’s hips fall out of rhythm as he chases his pleasure. He groans, low and long, as he shudders through his orgasm. The feel of him twitching inside you sends you over the edge. You grind your hips against him as you come, your head thrown back in pleasure.

“Fuck… are you okay? Did I hurt you?” Aaron asks, braced above you. He pushes hair off your face, his eyes laced with concern.

“Right now, I am feeling zero pain,” you say, giggling as you look up at him. “I am riding the high of two spectacular orgasms. Jesus.” You caress his face and lean up so you can kiss him again.

Aaron drags his fingers along your jaw as you kiss. He slips out of you and rolls onto his back before efficiently removing and disposing of the condom. When he returns to the bed, he gathers you into his arms, caressing the curve of your shoulder and pressing a kiss to your temple.

“You’re so incredible,” you murmur, your hand caressing his pecs and abs. “You make me feel so amazing.”

“You’re amazing,” Aaron counters. He runs his fingers through your hair and caresses the nape of your neck with his thumb. “I didn’t think sexy librarian was one of my types but then I met you.”

You laugh, pressing a kiss to his chest. “Isn’t sexy librarian everyone’s type?” you ask, teasing. You tilt your face up and grin when you get another kiss. “So. Does this make us officially a thing?”

When you look up, Aaron is blushing delightfully as he smiles. “I wouldn’t begin to presume…”

You laugh again, shaking your head. “If you think I’m letting you go easily after all of this, you have another thing coming,” you say. “We’ll figure it all out. But I’m not giving up the chance to maybe have something great.”

Aaron nods, pressing another kiss to your forehead. “Neither am I.”

Your breathing settles and evens out and you can feel yourself starting to drift when both of your stomachs rumble loudly. You giggle. “Our food is probably downstairs in the lobby,” you say.

“I’ll get it,” he says, sliding out from under you. “We’ll need the fuel for later.”

“Later?” you ask, lifting your eyebrows and biting your lip.

“I’m not nearly done making up for lost time with you, yet,” he says, grinning.

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #aaron hotchner x reader #my fic

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xiaq · 2 hours ago

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Would you ever write a story or book about Kuzy? I need more of himmmm ❤️ one of the few characters I'd read MF for though I feel like if anyone would be chill about finding out he was bi and going with it, it'd be Kuzy lol #yeshomo

@rainbowsandcoconut

I don't currently have any substantive plans for a Kuzy story, but if you want some of my brainworms about him/his eventual romance, my thought is that he lives right next to a firehouse and there's a cute, kickass firewoman (cis, leans androgynous) named Nicole "call me Nic" who he has occasional banter-moments with (I used to live next to a firehouse and if they were out front they'd always chat with me when I walked the dog; I loved that community dynamic).

One night after a rough game, Kuzy is going for a walk and Nic is sitting out on a lawn chair in front of the house, processing a rough call, and they have a little moment of vulnerability together, looking up at the stars. She's the child of immigrants and they bond over how stupid the English language is. Kuzy tells her about Eli/Hawk and she mentions that she loves dogs but can't have one with her work schedule.

Over the next few days, Kuzy can't stop thinking about her and wants an excuse to see her more often that doesn't feel creepy, so he goes to the shelter nearby and offers to exercise dogs. Now he has a perfectly good reason to walk past the firehouse (sometimes multiple times a day!) on the off-chance the firefighters are out and he can politely offer a dog's brief company for Nic's enjoyment.

Except he's not super smooth about it because the rest of the folks at the house realize pretty quickly that the giant Russian walking dogs only happens to walk dogs on the days that Nic is on shift.

Convenient.

This continues for longer than it probably should. Until Kuzy is hosting some of the Hounds and one of the rookies does something stupid. Not sure what. I'm thinking gets his hand stuck in an expensive vase. Or maybe his head. And Kuzy very sheepishly has to walk him over to the firehouse like, "hello, this baby is my responsibility, can you please rescue him?" And they eventually get the thing cut off of his hand/head/whatever but one of Nic's bros pulls Kuzy aside and says, "maybe you should just ask her out instead of coming up with increasingly more creative excuses to talk to her—at this rate someone is going to get hurt" and Kuzy is like, “ok, this was 100% not contrived and while I would like to go out with her, she is a goddess who saves lives and I am but a goofy athlete, undeserving of her attentions," and Firefighter Bro like, "you know, I think she'd settle for you."

So, spurred on by this bit of hope, he's like, "I need to do this right, this can't just be some hookup, I like her." And he starts Operation Woo Nic.

And the whole time Nic is like, "would you just fucking take me home, I would like to bang you," but he's trying so hard to be a gentleman about it that she lets him for a while. She's never been woo'ed before. Might be fun. Eventually she gets fed up and when he's dropping off cookies or whatever on his daily dog-walk she's like, "hey, do you want to be my boyfriend? Yeah? Great. We should have sex about that. My shift ends in three hours, what's your address?"

It is possibly the best day of Kuzy's life.

Anyway. As usual, there's no real plot, just vibes. But he is Smitten. And she is hopelessly endeared. And she's certified as a paramedic, so she's constantly ragging him for his little injuries and keeping him honest about PT. At some point she gets injured in the line of duty and he gets to be suitably dramatic and probably make declarations at her hospital bedside. He dotes on her for a while during her recovery.

And eventually he convinces her to move in with him so she can be close to work and she's like, "yeah? That's the only reason? For the ease of my commute?" And he says, "well that but also because I love you more than I thought was possible and when we're not together I miss you like a limb and our schedules are shit enough as it is, I'm greedy for every second I can have with you," and she's like, "yeah, fair enough."

So. Not really sure how it would end, but uh. There you go! Kuzy and his Firefighter Lady. Also he definitely foster-fails multiple times and hires a full-time nanny to take care of all his and Nic's dogs when she's on shift and he's traveling. It's great.

AND I imagine some very funny cultural confusion moments when her family (Japanese) interacts with his family (Russian) but they all generally bond over their shared love of fermented foods and dumplings. And alcohol. There are hijinks.

Ok. The End!

#kuzy #answered asks #lrpd #lrpd adjacent #mywriting #Author things

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starfleetteddybear · 18 hours ago

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Ah! What a glorious feeling crawling into bed, cup of tea in hand, ready to indulge with some quality fanfiction kindle time. Especially if it’s another rendition of Emmrich and Rook rated R kissing.

Everyday I wake up to like 30 emails from ao3 of all these great fics updating and …I feel like that meme where Sabrina is eating all that food she can’t decide which first. It’s such a great problem to have! I thought I’d just take a minute to share a selection of stories I have on my radar and am absolutely loving! Maybe others will find a new favorite? 🤩

Gotta catch up with some amazing works:

@nerdanel01 has put out new chapters for their stories featuring Agnes and Emmrich. So excited to check those out! What a treat waiting for me. You created such a slow burn yearning. 😩 It’s such a high I haven’t come down from still.

@tethrawke I gotta finish that last little bit of your story Hope Dream featuring Hawke and Varric. 🔥🔥🔥🔥🙌

@crackinglamb Gotta get caught up on your story The Turning Tide. The way you write about Iron Bull…I… He wasn’t even on my radar! You did so well! I’m hooked! 🪝

@emmg Literally I’ve loved everything you have ever written. Seriously, you could have your Rook and Emmrich fucking in a cardboard box and you’d find a way to make it inspired and sexy. Honestly, I think about you and @eavangeek on the same wavelength because you both just take an interesting premise and turn it into something absolutely amazing. Like Rumpelstiltskin turning straw into gold. 💕

@farore05 I am loving your story Amaretto Sour. And I can’t WAIT for how you get rid of Johanna. Hate that woman (in your story) with a fiery passion already and we just met her. 🤬

@heylittleriotact I heard people are dying to get in here is such an interesting premise. I didn’t even know I would enjoy a modern au of Emmrich but…👀👀👀👀 You have my attention. As if you didn’t already from the other stories you put out already.

@livingmeetthedead I absolutely love the way you are writing Emmrich’s pov in your story Quietus. It’s so unique and not many people are doing that! I don’t think I could write his pov very well…I might try at some point but I think you do such a good job at it! Honestly, I’d say the way you are doing it is inspired. 🥰 You’re doing amazing sweetie!

@andthekitchensinkao3 “If the notion appeals, Pari… I’m going to put my face between your legs and eat you like a ripe peach. And that’s only the beginning of the things I want to do with you.”OMG Somebody call the coroner (heylittleriotact) because I’m dead. 😵 so freaking 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

@tired-truffle I know you just wrote that one shot about King Alistair and his queen warden but… 👀 God I loved it so freaking much. I hope you do more because you captured his voice and personality perfect in “Ball and Chain.”

@sabine79 You have been feeding us so good with Arsenic and Myrrh I literally can’t keep up. 🙌💕 NOT a complaint. I feel bad I have fallen so far behind. Forgive me because I love how you got your two “rooks” going on and I love how you have both a Lucanis/Rook situation and a Emmrich/Rook situation going on.

@templarkicker Your story “Once When You Walked Beside Me” has me in a chokehold. They were together and then BROKE UP before DAV? And then they are getting back to get her from lovers to strangers to lovers again? 😩🙌🔥

@sunny374940 I have so enjoyed getting to read your stories. Please keep sharing and posting them with us. What a delight to get a new update to my inbox from you. I loved how you took your Rook/Emmrich on their honeymoon recently. And the babywearing? So freaking cute!!!🥰 and I love you have your own original work going on too, “Damn Sky Wales.”

@woundedsoul12 Rook’s letter to Emmrich after Tearstone Island? Broke my heart! 😭 Seriously, great job with the angst. I’ve loved all your other dragon age stories too!

And a special shout out to @redheadsramblings because you are such a supportive sweetie. Everytime I (virtually) turn around you are there. And I see you all over tumblr and ao3 too! Absolute sweetheart. 💚

#best fanfic ever #best fanfiction around #ao3 fanfic #emmrich x rook #emmrich volkarin #emmrich romance #dragon age emmrich #dragon age: the veilguard spoilers #da veilguard #dragon age #emmrook

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zeropro · 5 hours ago

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So I’ve seen you draw and tag a couple of different ships, just wondering which are your favorite???

Love your art btw :D

Thank you!

I don’t have a specific ship i'm particularly loyal to, so I guess I’ll rate them and also provide my own headcanons:

(disclaimer i dont know ship names so imma just try my best)

Trine-shipping: yes, put the three of them together, I don’t care. familial, sexual, romantic, platonic, its all good. I go crazy seeing them stand next to each other in the cartoon what do you want from me.

thunderwarp: I see this one a lot and I quite like it. these two being mates with starscream doing his own thing kinda makes sense considering starscream has a bunch of other ships. also makes it fun when something happens to one of them and starscream is left in the awkward position of having to deal with that.

thunderstar: been thinking about this one more lately. they’re like foils to each other. thundercracker’s a good boy to starscream’s bad boy, and he does such a concern about all the morally dubious stuff starscream gets up to. but at the same time, he admires starscream’s ambition and rizz and starscream the kinda bot that would pull you so high if you followed him. I think out of anyone, starscream is the closest to actually trusting thundercracker.

starwarp: i had this thought one time of what if skywarp is like the horniest asexual and starscream is the most traumatized aromantic, and how would that even work XD nothing solid in the works just an idea that I had. ive seen these two less often outside of trine shipping but it can be pretty hot. I like when they are being protective of each other. I always see skywarp as more emotionally open than his trinemates and starscream can use some of that open and honest emotional love and care. someone to forcfully make him accept being loved. someone who will actually push back when he’s being stupid. and with skywarp being loyal to megatron, so much angst potential for both of them.

starbee: im a sucker for the whole ghost bee starscream dynamic. I already made a post about these two, and after all this time I still really enjoy this ship. I think characters that don’t actually like each other at first but grow into a mutual respect is so tasty. I think some people don’t like the ship because they headcanon bee as too young? well, starscream is actually younger in my fic lmao, but also they’re like 6 million years old and are born with full adult processing capabilities, I don’t think age matters here :P its less about intimacy for me anyway. I like them together because of how much it takes to get there.

starwavewave: okay this one is 100% fueled by tfone but guyssss guysss theyre married and megatron is their son and im just aaaagh dont seperate them! such a kookie dynamic, the cool headed soundwave, the emotionally volatile shockwave, the arrogant yet cowardly starscream, all being fail dads to their little scamp leader. hahaha. high command polycule

megastar: gasp, rated above skystar. yes, I just find this dynamic more interesting. I like an abusive ship sometimes for the angst but I also enjoy seeing megatron when he isnt abusive? kinda catharsis maybe. I read a fic once where the war is over and starscream invites megatron to one of optimus’ high profile parties and is appalled at megatron showing up in robot equivalent of underdressed, meanwhile megatron the working class miner is like “I washed, what else was I supposed to do” XD and I just love that haha. theres just so many ways to take it. I wont be doing any megastar in my au, I just tag anything that has megatron and starscream interacting with megastar cuz thats the dynamic to me

skystar/jetstar: iddkkkkk i know this is the most popular ship but it’s just!! idk! its not as interesting to me haha. I love this as a past ship, they were roommates in college, starscream opened himself to someone, chose to become close and then was hurt by it. just another wound on starscream’s spark before he ever even meets megatron. I don’t think theyd get back together after the ice. idk how well I can write this so I’ll just explain how it happens in my au here: skyfire died and starscream created this version of skyfire in his mind that was perfect, he memorialised him because he was dead! you just cant live up to how someone remembers you. I think that was part of the reason why starscream reacts so badly when skyfire “betrayed” him. unlike thundercracker, skyfire knows how to set healthy boundaries. not to mention he’d been on ice for four million years, lost his entire life, everyone he knows, and his entire civilisation, planet, and culture to a war he had no part in. bot’s gonna be upset. pissed off even. skyfire shouldnt have to be some soft sparked punching bag for starscream, he’s kind and a pacifist but he’s also going to get upset and have feelings. I think starscream’s betrayal would hit pretty hard, he’d gonna be upset about how much starscream’s changed, how much damage starscream helped cause during the war, and also starscream shooting him in the back for wanting to protect the native wildlife! when they properly talk to each other again it’s going to be heated on both sides, and I think after some hard work from both sides they could end up in a place where they are willing to be friends again, but I don’t think they’d conjunx. skystar isnt end game to me, but it is canon and an important part of the story

starop: I think ive read one fic where I really liked this ship. it’s just such a random pairing. my initial reaction is just noooo optimus prime?? but that guy’s everyone’s dad! Ive been told a big part of it is they’re both megatron’s ex’s and that’s pretty funny. not for me sadly haha (opxmegatronoldmanyaoiotpfrfr)

starjack…wheelstar? whatever the starscream and wheeljack one is. I’m not into this one. I see where people are coming from with it, but wheeljack isnt an interesting character to me. they can be science bros tho

starscream and windblade: ive seen this like once or twice. not for me. windblade is like, starscream’s daughter or something idk XD

soundstar: uuuh i dont see it. sorry! i legit have no thoughts on soundstar. theyre coworkers XD. ive seen fics where the seekers are really young and soundwave moms them, and that’s really cute. okay, I like soundwave as a caretaker if the seekers are young, but yeah I don’t think I understand this one.

shockstar: nooooooo. tho ironically theres more canon content there to fuel this one than soundstar (is this emotion?) but still no XD I don’t even hate shockwave! let him be sunstorm’s dad, that’s cute. but no, shockewave too creepy. no ship. they are also coworkers

what other ship is there even? oh yeah

starprowl: this is apparently a really popular ship?! I guess in a way prowl is sort of like the autobot’s starscream, undermining his leader, arrogant, willing to do the dubious play. they’re both ruthless. I like this one better than starjacked, but its still an odd pairing to me.

oh! knockout and starscream, i can kinda see it? like, as a rebound after breakdown? I like knock out and breakdown, so I’d only see these two as like friends or if something happened to breakdown. they’re a LOT of fun when they interact tho heh heh, perfectly clashing personalities

on the topic of tfp, I guess starscream and arcee is a ship? I can see this similar to my enjoyment of starbee, they’d have to work reeaally hard for this one to work but they have had potentially positive interactions in the show (before starscream screws it up) so its possible in a better world where starscream doesnt suck they could become friends. him killing cliffjumper is gonna be a huge hurdle tho!

dont talk to me about airachnid

do people ship starscream and ratchet? I don’t ship it, but I do really like interactions between them. starscream is so terrible but he also gets hurt a lot. ratchet is grumpy and prejudice but he’s the best doctor and he’ll fix him up! I like when something terrible happens to starscream and ratchet cant help but feel bad for the guy. that’s the good stuff.

lastly i have been asked a few times on trinebee. im assuming this is bumblebee and the trine. i hadnt thought about it but it makes sense! if youre a starbee shipper, but you also support trine propaganda, then it only makes sense to bring bee into the trine. also bee and thundercracker are friends! the only ones who havent really had any interaction is bee and warp, and honestly idk if I see those two getting along but bumblebee is everybody’s friend so XD I’m sure it’ll work out!

and i think those are all the thoughts i have on the ships!

no hate on anyone who ships any of these!!! you all do what you do, these are just my opinions, and honestly I’m just not a huge shipper to begin with haha. I am…unsure if there will be any shipping content in my au, I write my scenarios very much “canon but to the left” and so it comes out very sex-less because romance and intimacy is just not the type of content I’m in the business of writing. but, idk, i think about it sometimes. sometimes I think about the end of chapter one of thundercracker’s origin, the night starscream took thundercracker out on a not-date. i think, who knows, in some version of the story maybe they shared a kiss? maybe they went back to the apartment and things went further? maybe. but of course, in every version of the story, starscream is gone the next morning.

happy valentrine’s day!

#transformers #starscream #skywarp #thundercracker #transformers shipping #opinions #megatron #skyfire

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ssentimentals · 1 day ago

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it was always you - fernando alonso/lance stroll, 6k, rated T, completed!

Lance takes a sip and lets warm liquid settle his anxiety and mentally prepare him for the beginning of this week. He decides to think of this cup as one-time thing, mismatched coffee that somehow ended up on his desk; he’s sure that there will be no more gifts.

He is wrong. So, so wrong.

or, secret admirer!AU. It gets worse before it gets better.

(Read on AO3) or read below the cut!

a/n: this work is a part of Lance Love Fest collection by @no00000000. thank you so much for creating this wonderful fest of the most wonderful boy ever :') 💜

One.

It starts with coffee on his desk on a random Monday morning. Cappuccino on oat milk with vanilla syrup in a fancy takeaway cup. It’s not from Starbucks on the first floor and nor is it from their cafeteria; Lance immediately recognizes small and pretty logo from his favorite little Italian place not far from the office. It’s horrifically overpriced, but what’s the point of making money if not to spend it on stuff that makes work a little more bearable? Coffee is amazing and their butter tarts are to die for – Lance is ready to close his eyes at the cash register for this goodness; sue him for being picky and particular with his food. Lance places his laptop on the desk and gingerly takes the cup in his hands, smiling a little – it’s still warm.

‘Thanks, Este.’ Lance turns to his friend, who is the only other person in their open space at the moment. Esteban looks up from his laptop, giving Lance a little wave for the greeting. ‘I thought you hated the place though.’

‘Which place?’ Esteban asks and when Lance points at his cup, he only shrugs. ‘Still hate it. I’m not posh enough to close my eyes on their ridiculous prices for the coffee.’

Lance’s heart warms up at the thought of his friend hating it and yet still going there to grab him a cup of coffee. ‘Thanks for the coffee, then.’

Esteban frowns. ‘I didn’t buy it.’ And then, because it’s Esteban and there’s no way he’s not interested in someone else’s business, he instantly is up on his feet, coming closer to Lance. ‘You just found it on the desk? Was there a note?’

Lance turns to look but his desk is spotless save for his laptop and whatever disaster he’s got going on with six different cables. There’s nothing on the cup as well, which makes Lance frown. ‘It’s just us here, no?’

Esteban and Lance always come the earliest, turning on their laptop at six thirty – both leave too far from the office to have the luxury of waking up at seven and not being late. Lance takes the cursory glance at their open space, but there’s no one here and it will stay like that for at least thirty minutes – then little by little this place will become lively and full of people.

‘Just you and me,’ Esteban confirms and then turns to the side, squinting. ‘And probably some higher ups from director’s board. You know, the usuals.’

The ‘usuals’ being Mark who is CFO and Fernando who is COO. Lance glances at the cup in his hands. Crazy thought comes to his mind, and he instantly squashes it down, not letting himself even think about it – there’s simply no way.

‘Oh my god,’ Esteban is whispering but he’s too excited to actually hold his voice down, ‘I think that you, my friend, got yourself a secret admirer!’

Lance blinks. He looks at the cup and then back at Este, arching his eyebrow. ‘Sounds unlikely.’

It’s not like Lance finds himself unworthy of such attention, it’s more that Lance is a very self-aware guy. He knows how he looks, knows what kind of impression he makes, knows his pluses and minuses. He’s not self-conscious, but he is also not the guy who is at the top of anyone’s rating and it’s- fine. It is absolutely fine.

‘Let’s wait,’ Esteban says, ever the wise one. ‘If there will be more gifts then it is a secret admirer!’

‘Uh-huh.’

He is wrong. So, so wrong.

Two.

It doesn’t stop with the coffee. There’s a special thing for his cables waiting on the desk and a box of chocolates. Third day starts from another cup of coffee but this time with butter tarts and a small note with ‘they finally had them today, enjoy!’ written in a neat handwriting. On a fourth day Lance finally admits to insistent Esteban that yes, he indeed has a secret admirer. On a fourth day Lance finally lets himself feel the giddiness that rushes through his veins at the sight of something waiting for him on his desk. On a fourth day Lance lets himself hope. He first thought it’d be silly to let this somehow affect him, but what makes life worth living if not those little moments of joy? So, Lance lets himself feel it. Lets smile curl corners of his lips upwards, lets excitement start a fire in the pit of his stomach, lets joy creep in every single corner of his heart. The box that greets him on the fourth day is rather big and Lance hesitates a little before opening it. Esteban, who finds the whole ordeal extremely amusing and now eagerly waits for Lance at his desk every morning, is right next to him, smiling widely with hands clasped in front of him. ‘Lancey, think. Mon couer, you really gotta think, cause if you have someone fancying you enough to gift you something from Hugo Boss then it’s gotta be someone who makes it obvious that they like you. Think. Also, whoever it is, what if they have single friends? I’d also like to receive some presents.’

Lance snorts unattractively. He doesn’t have many friends and none of them would ever pretend to be his secret admirer, and he also doesn’t know anyone who’d be interested in him romantically; Lance kind of forgot how dates look like, at this point. Which is tragic, according to his mother. ‘I have no idea who this might be,’ he replies honestly, opening the box. ‘I think if someone was hitting on me, I’d definitely noti-‘ Lance pauses right when Esteban gasps. ‘Oh.’

It's a scarf. Black one with no logos or any kind of patterns on it. Rather wide but not very long. Cashmere is so soft in his hands and Lance takes his time to appreciate the quality, while Esteban rambles on and on, channeling his inner detective: ‘If it’s not anyone from the outside then it’s someone from the company, one of our co-workers. You and I rarely have meetings with people from other departments, right? So it’s someone from finance. We have around twenty people here, give or take.’

‘Half of the people here are married.’

Esteban nods with a thoughtful look on his face: ‘True. Have you recently told anyone apart from me that you need a new scarf?’

Lance is not exactly a chatterbox; he is also not someone who prefers to stay silent, but he doesn’t often talk about non-work-related things with his co-workers. Unfortunately (or fortunately) working in finance department is very true to all stereotypes in most of the cases: people are not the friendliest bunch, no one is overly excited or loud, closeness between colleagues is a not a common thing here. So, no, Lance doesn’t just go around talking about his shopping needs to anyone who’s willing to listen.

‘Yesterday after the meeting!’ Esteban lights up like a lightbulb. ‘Remember? You and I stayed together with Mark and Fernando, Nico and Kev were there too to go over timings again. We all started talking about snowboarding and stuff. You started the whole conversation about Switzerland, Lancey.’

Lance remembers. He remembers sitting in front of Fernando, trying his hardest to stay concentrated on his laptop screen even when he could feel the older man’s gaze on him. He remembers accidentally bumping their feet together and looking up to find Fernando’s soft smile and ‘no worries, Lance’ thrown at him with a wink. He remembers biting his lower lip to prevent himself from smiling like an idiot but quickly putting his neutral mask on after hearing Mark’s loud sigh. He remembers feeling a slight commotion underneath the table and then Mark’s pained groan. Lance started talking about Switzerland only because Mark suddenly turned to him with a frown, clipping out: ‘Where do you like to snowboard, Lance?’ question at him like he’s being forced to ask this.

‘Yeah, I remember. Talked about Alps… Then I said that I bought gloves recently and that I needed to look for a scarf.’

Esteban looks like he’ll vibrate out of his skin. ‘Let’s see: Nico and Kevin are married. Mark is single, right? Fernando too. And me but I am obviously not gonna gift you a fucking Hugo Boss scarf-‘

‘Obviously,’ Lance mutters, smiling when Esteban slaps his shoulder.

‘Dick. You know I love you, I don’t have to spend that much money on you.’

Lance shrugs. ‘I don’t know, would’ve been nice to receive something expensive from you as well.’

Esteban ignores him completely, too lost in his thoughts. ‘Can it be Mark? Cause it definitely can’t be Fernando. Holy shit, Lance, did you manage to pull a freaking CFO-‘

‘Shh!’ Lance hisses, looking around frantically. There’s no one around but Esteban never fully grasped the concept of ‘whispering’, so Lance still worries. ‘Este, fuck, do you even hear yourself?’

Esteban shrugs like he didn’t just say the most ridiculous thing ever. ‘Mark always kinda favored you, no?’

And that’s – well, Lance has nothing to say about this. Mark did sort of favor him from the start, gave Lance much more trust than someone in his position deserved, but Lance never let him down, always delivered everything in the best way, so he guesses it’s all fair. But just the thought of Mark being his secret admirer makes his stomach churn. Lance tries to sound uninterested as he questions: ‘Why so sure that it’s not Fernando?’

Esteban raises his eyebrow and looks at Lance like he suddenly grew two heads. ‘Are you kidding?’

It shouldn’t sting. It shouldn’t, shouldn’t, shouldn’t – but it does. Lance puts the scarf away and almost wants to laugh at what an idiotic thought crossed his mind, what an idiotic hope flared in his chest. Of course it’s not Fernando. It can never be Fernando, never for Lance. Really, who is he kidding?

Three.

The thing is – Lance has a very silly crush on Fernando. Not the ‘he is hot and I want him’ kind, although Lance can readily admit that Fernando is hot and that he does want him in a sexual way. Actually, if his crush stayed solely on that territory it would’ve made everything easier, but Lance never wanted easy, so his heart chose to get involved as well and complicated everything.

On his very first day when he came to this company as an intern, he met Fernando in the cafeteria, bumping into his back on accident and spilling his coffee all over both of them. He still remembers freezing, remembers feeling like his heart is in his throat, remembers mumbling apologies and looking distraught. He also remembers warm hands on his forearms, amused but kind smile, chocolate eyes looking at him with curiosity. He remembers strong voice with a distinct accent and cheeky wink thrown with ‘you’re good at first impressions’ comment, which made his cheeks burn. For the three years Fernando worked mostly from Spain, so to Lance he stayed as a distant figure on the important meetings with whom he has no correlation. Everything changed when Fernando moved back here from Spain; he started coming to the office almost every day and given Lance’s promotions, number of meetings where both of them were present increased. And with that… Lance can’t exactly point the time when he developed this crush. Maybe it happened when Fernando asked in the middle of the meeting: ‘And you? What do you think, Lance?’ and stared at him like his opinion mattered. Or maybe it happened during their late-night talks, when Fernando would come over to Lance who was hunched on his chair, frantically finalizing his report, with a coffee in hand, asking softly if he needed any help. Fernando was never Lance’s mentor (that role went to Mark), but he somehow always made sure Lance knew for a fact that he’d support him and back him up in anything. From an unreachable big boss in two years Fernando turned into a constant presence by his side – never overwhelming, only supporting. And Lance is not strong enough to resist the pull of his heart, crush developed against his will, and he fell hard. There were times when Lance thought that his feelings might be reciprocated – he knew Fernando didn’t really engage with anyone other high-level seniors and yet he always made time for Lance, a simple mid-level employee. He felt Fernando’s intense gaze at him too many times, but nothing followed this, no action and… well. Lance is not stupid. If Fernando wanted him, he’d show, he’d do something; men like Fernando never hesitate. Realizing this crushed his hopes and he thought it hurt then, but the way it hurts now is incomparable. Wrapped in the scarf that is most likely gifted from Mark and not from Fernando, Lance feels sluggish and downright miserable, not wanting to see what waits for him on the fifth day. Now that he is pretty sure that it’s Mark, these presents have no meaning, zero excitement – it’s a pity and sad. He doesn’t even try to look happy in front of Esteban, who is leaning on the wall next to his desk, waiting for him.

‘Coffee and brand-new notebook,’ Esteban announces. He looks at his friend and frowns, stepping closer. ‘What is it? You look shitty.’

Lance scoffs at this. He regards the new notebook with disdain, and it pains him to admit how actually nice it looks. He finished his old one yesterday on the meeting, receiving many chuckles on how ‘hardworking’ he is; part of him expected this gift.

‘Mark has always been very attentive.’ Esteban comments, handing Lance his coffee. ‘But to be honest I am surprised; he doesn’t look like someone who has balls to start flirting with someone right at work. Especially with him being the big boss and all that jazz.’

Lance hates how Esteban is sure that Mark is his secret admirer and hates how much sense it makes. Mark is the one who spends most time with Lance at work, Mark is attentive, Mark is- not Fernando. Lance looks at the coffee and feels that he’s going to throw up. Mark is not Fernando, and these presents are not from Fernando and Lance now has a fucking CFO courting him. Oh, he is going to throw up. Barely swallowing, Lance puts coffee cup back on the desk and rushes towards the bathrooms still in his coat and all. He didn’t have breakfast, but he swears he is going to vomit-

‘Whoa, careful,’ strong hands catch him when he collides with someone at the turn. Lance blinks, looks up and freezes at the sight of one and only, Fernando Alonso. COO of their company first smiles at him and then frowns, catching wild look on Lance’s face. ‘Lance? Is everything okay?’

Lance forces his mind to restart. ‘Uh- yeah, yeah. Just um. Bathroom. Yeah.’

Fernando looks unconvinced but then his gaze drops to the scarf wrapped around Lance’s neck. Something passes on his face and his eyes stay locked on the scarf so intently that Lance momentarily forgets about his churning stomach and instead also looks down – did he manage to leave a stain there? He’s about to ask this, when Fernando’s hand moves from his forearm and gently touches the scarf, smiling softly. ‘You like it?’ He asks in that smooth voice of his that never fails to make Lance’s heart beat a bit faster.

‘I do,’ Lance replies sincerely. Even if it’s from Mark, he still likes it.

Fernando nods, looking pleased. His hand drops and he takes a step back, regarding Lance with a fond look that makes him warm all over. ‘Good. It suits you very well.’

Lance is lucky enough to be at the receiving end of many, many compliments throughout his life but this one makes his cheeks burn. It’s ridiculous. ‘Thank you.’

He manages not to combust in the bathroom and stays sane throughout the whole day until him and Este enter the meeting room for the short project timings check and Mark is there, looking grim as death itself. He smiles at both of them tiredly and only smiles when he notices Lance’s new notebook. Esteban, of course, notices this and nudges Lance briefly with a knowing gleam in his eyes before quickly starting to present his updates. He’s out once he’s done and Lance feels dread settling in him, once he realizes that he’s left alone with Mark. Under normal circumstances he’d absolutely fine with this, but now he’s uncomfortable and full of desire to get out of here. Mark smiles warmly at him, gesturing to start. Lance tries his best not to make any eye contact and gives his updates in a curt manner, squeezing his legs together to stop them from shaking.

‘Thank you, Lance. Very clear, as always.’ Mark praises and then his phone pings with incoming message. He looks at it and his eyes first grow wider and then he squints at the screen like it personally offended him. He quickly looks up at Lance and then back at the screen before sighing so deeply that Lance for a second fears for his own life. ‘Um. Lance. I have a question.’

Lance tenses up. God, please no. ‘About?’

Mark looks very uncomfortable, and it only unsettles Lance even more. ‘Do you…’ Mark starts and then coughs like any word out hurts him. ‘Fuck- I mean, sorry, sorry for the cursing.’ Mark shakes his head, glancing briefly at his phone before turning back to Lance. ‘Do you have plans for tomorrow?’

Lance hopes the ground will break and swallow him whole. ‘Why?’ He croaks out, hoping his voice doesn’t betray how he feels.

Mark grimaces like he’s eating a lemon. ‘Tomorrow is a big day, no?’ Seeing Lance’s confusion, he elaborates: ‘It’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow.’

Oh. Oh. Lance’s pretty sure all colors drown out from his face. Now it all makes sense – all these gifts and this question. Everything was leading up to this, to Valentine’s Day. His heart is at his throat with how nervous he is at this realization – Mark is about to ask him out. For Valentine’s Day. Lance fears that this time he actually might throw up for real. Before he can come up with something along the lines of ‘this is a rather personal question’, Mark saves him by groaning loudly and hiding his face in his hands. He groans something about being friends with an idiot and Lance has an inkling that he is watching his boss lose his mind right in front of him.

‘I’m sorry, Lance, god, I’m sorry.’ Mark sounds sincere as he looks at him. ‘I’m just cursed for being friends with an idiot. Forget I asked that. I- just- let me rephrase it, yeah? Don’t freak out, please.’

It’s kind of too late for that, but Lance nods. He trusts Mark – after five years working together, he likes to think that he knows his boss well; Mark will never do anything to hurt him. He nods, showing Mark that he can go on. CFO chews on his bottom lip for a few moments before finally settling on: ‘What would you like on Valentine’s Day? To do, to get as a present. I’m asking for a friend.’

A friend. Lance knows it’s a lie, but he pretends to be unaware of this and breathes out, calming himself. He can do this. He’s a mature adult, he can answer the question and then rush back home and forget this ever happened. ‘Flowers,’ he responses, hoping he sounds friendly enough. ‘I think flowers are very nice.’

Mark solemnly nods, listening to him attentively like Lance is telling him something related to work. ‘Flowers, got it. Anything else?’

Lance shrugs. He thinks of what he’d like to receive and doesn’t even stop himself from imagining Fernando giving it all to him. With a dreamy small smile on his face, Lance adds: ‘I would love to receive some jewelry piece. Something unique, maybe. With a special engraving, something very personal.’ He blinks out of his reverie, blushing a little. ‘Um, yeah.’

Mark watches him for a while and then smiles, leaning back. ‘Thank you, Lance. Sorry for keeping you – thanks for the updates. See you tomorrow.’

Lance nods and does what he wanted to do the same second he entered this room – he gets out of it with a relieved sigh.

Four.

It’s a bit sad how life gets so hectic that Valentine’s Day would’ve gone completely unnoticed by Lance if not for yesterday's talk with Mark. He dreads going to work today, but they do not have flexible working hours and Lance drags himself out of bed with reluctance that can rival Esteban’s hatred for Pierre. Despite everything Lance does his best in cleaning up for today, knowing that he has two separate sessions with senior management (and yes, one of them is with Fernando) and comes to the office a bit later than usual but with combed hair and a nice suit. Esteban whistles at the sight of him once he enters, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively: ‘Excited for the secret admirer reveal?’

Lance rolls his eyes, taking off his coat. ‘Excited for two sessions with leaders. It’s the first time I’ll talk to Oliver.’

Esteban steps closer, sliding his arm easily around Lance’s waist with a wide smile on his face. ‘You’re getting that promotion, mon ami. Don’t worry about it. You know that no one meets Ollie unless it’s about promotions.’

Lance tries not to let negative thoughts win; logically, he knows Esteban is right. When Mark first commented that Oliver wanted to speak with him, Lance almost spilled coffee on himself and Mark only smiled softly and told him that he had nothing to worry about. Lance is not sure that meeting CEO of the company for the first time in a 1-1 meeting is a casual affair, but he is not going to mess it up by being a jumble of nerves. ‘Fingers crossed.’

Esteban squeezes him in a tight hug before letting go. ‘You deserve it more than anyone else, Lance. Just like you deserve some rich man showering you with gifts.’

‘Oh fucking hell,’ Lance mutters, ignoring loud cackle of his friend. They both move towards their places, and he notes with a sigh of relief that there’s nothing on his desk. ‘See? Nothing.’

Esteban looks surprised and almost disappointed by the whole ordeal. He even checks under the desk, coming back up with a pout. ‘Weird. It’s Valentine’s! If you’re free tonight then lets go to the new Marvel movie?’ At Lance’s raised eyebrow, he elaborates: ‘I assumed you’d have a date tonight, so I didn’t ask, but..’

‘Lets go,’ Lance easily agrees.

Not having a gift from Mark on the desk instantly lightened up his mood. The first half of the day passes quickly, and his mood elevates even more when Henry lets him know that Mark won’t come today. His hope that maybe it’s not Mark behind all of his presents reignites, but it’s all forgotten when he finally meets Oliver face to face. It’s hard to describe the crushing disappointment he feels, when he realizes that this talk is not about promotion; Oliver kindly asks Lance to cover Marta’s role, who will be leaving soon on her maternity leave. While Oliver explains the full reimbursement package, Lance focuses on dealing with a tight knot in his chest that refuses to let him breathe properly. Even genuine compliments from CEO do not help with the overwhelming weight on his chest; Lance’s face doesn’t a single emotion by a sheer power of will. He manages a tight-lipped smile at the end, promising to give his answer by the end of next week. He exists on shaky legs, trying to calm himself down with breathing techniques. This is nothing, he knows. This is such a small thing to get upset about, he knows. But the hope he had had never been crushed this cruelly, Lance leans on the wall for support. The promotion served as the best motivation for the whole year and now that it’s taken away, he feels stripped bare of everything no matter how dramatic it sounds. Groaning in frustration at his own emotional turbulence Lance scrubs furiously at his face, moving away from the corridor to the lavatories side. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He should’ve known. He should’ve known that promotion is not in line for him despite all the efforts. He should’ve worked harder. He should’ve tried better, he should’ve-

‘Lance?’

Lance is not going to cry. He blinks and comes back to reality, facing Fernando. His warm hands as always are on his forearms, his chocolate orbs are gazing at him with unhidden worry. Lance opens his mouth to say something, anything, but what comes off is a choked whimper. Embarrassment coils hot in his stomach and he’s ready to apologize and move on but those words die on his tongue as Fernando grips the back of his neck strongly but lovingly, forcing Lance to lean closer.

‘Lancito,’ Fernando breathes out, frown etched deep on his forehead. ‘What’s wrong? Tell me.’

Lance is not going to cry. His throat constricts with unspoken words, but his pride is stronger, so he shakes his head, taking a deep breath. The affectionate Lancito colors his cheeks and without meaning to, his gaze drops to Fernando’s mouth before he looks away. ‘Nothing,’ Lance mutters, clearing his throat. He doesn’t want to be snappy with Fernando, but he can’t bear anyone seeing him in this state. ‘I’m fine, I-‘

The way Fernando’s grip tightens up on his neck shuts him up. Fernando’s eyes are looking into his soul and Lance lets Fernando see all the despair he’s feeling – his walls crumble in front of this man. ‘Come,’ Fernando says and it clearly is an order, not a request. ‘Come with me, Lance.’

Lance has a feeling that the world in which he stays strong and says ‘no’ to Fernando simply doesn’t exist. He follows him, trying to regulate his emotions but when they enter Fernando’s own room and the door closes behind him, Lance has to clench his hands into fists and bite his lower lip hard to prevent himself from crying. Fernando locks the door and gently guides Lance to the plush sofa, sitting him down like a child. Lance supposes he is a child with how he’s overreacting, and this thought sends him into the spiral of shame.

‘What is it, Lance?’ Fernando asks softly, gingerly reaching out and uncurling his hands. He carefully takes them into his and slow swipe of his thumb over Lance’s wrist makes him a bit crazy. ‘What happened? You were with Oliver, no? Did he upset you? Is this about your promotion?’

Lance freezes. God, of course Fernando knows. He is a member of director board, he is Mark’s closest friend, of course he knows about Lance and promotion. Hot shame rushes through his body and Lance swallows. Does Fernando find him stupid? Childish for being upset over this? Incompetent? Lance will fucking change companies, he swears. ‘Yes,’ he breathes out because there’s no point in lying. ‘It’s just- a lot.’

Fernando nods in understanding. He lets go of his hand and Lance supposes that this is it, he’s going to get thrown out, when the same hand gently brushes away teardrops from his cheek. The action stuns him into silence, renders him immobile – Lance blinks stupidly, looking up at Fernando. The expression older man wears is… Lance doesn’t dare to hope. That’s not how one looks at a co-worker. That’s not how one looks at a co-worker for who he doesn’t have any feelings for.

‘Everyone acknowledges your contribution to the team, Lance. We believe-‘

‘Don’t give me that,’ Lance hastily cuts him off. The last thing he wants to hear right now is a lame excuse. ‘I don’t- I don’t want to hear it.’

Fernando doesn’t seem to be shaken with how brazen Lance acted, he simply nods and drops his hand from Lance’s face, covering his knee with it instead. They sit in a silence for a while, which lets Lance finally get his emotions under control. He lets them simmer in the background, coming back down as a tidal wave. Fernando doesn’t rush him, just holds his hands and his caresses calm Lance down more than he cares to admit. It’s almost disturbingly comfortable to stay like this with Fernando, he realizes. To have this man sit close to him, to have him hold his hands, have his attention – it’s addicting. Lance doesn’t miss how Fernando stares at their joined hands lovingly, almost wistfully, with a small smile on his face. Could it be that he’s also picturing them holding hands outside of the office? Could it be that in his dreams he sees Lance next to him, walking side by side? Hope is such a scary thing; after one disappointment, bearing another one almost immediately is too harsh for Lance.

‘Okay,’ Fernando finally says, noting how Lance looks much more relaxed. ‘If you don’t want to hear anything about the promotion then perhaps, you’d like to hear about your final present, then?’

‘What?’ Lance asks, confused. ‘Final present?’

Fernando nods and moves to stand up. Lance, in an anxious spur, tightens his hold on their hands before realizing what he’s doing and letting Fernando’s hands go like he’s burned. With red cheeks, he glances at the COO of the company, who only chuckles softly and taps twice on Lance’s knee. ‘I’ll be right back.’

Lance nods, too afraid to speak up. God, what was that? Why did he just- his train of thoughts stops at the sight of the bouquet that Fernando pulls out somewhere from behind the desk. Red roses, at least thirty of them, glare at Lance mockingly, stunning him. Wrapped in a crafted paper, their smell wafts in the air, reminding him suddenly that it’s Valentine’s. It’s Valentine’s Day today and Fernando bought someone roses. Lance’s throat suddenly is drier than any desert. His heart falls somewhere down, down, down –

‘Do you like them?’ Fernando asks, coming closer.

Lance, in fact, hates them. Also irrationally hates whoever these flowers are meant for. ‘They are very beautiful,’ he answers dutifully in a shaky voice. The worst thing is that they are beautiful, goddammit. And because jealousy is an ugly green monster that apparently leaves in his heart, he can’t stop himself from asking: ‘For who?’

Flowers are moved out of his sight and instead he sees Fernando’s amused expression. ‘For who?’ He repeats, eyes twinkling with mirth. ‘For who do you think, Lance?’

This is pure torture. Lance doesn’t want to think of any other love interest Fernando might have, he can’t bear imagining someone else on the receiving end of this. God, why can’t it be him? When will luck be on his side? ‘For your partner, I presume.’

Fernando quirks an eyebrow. ‘Not yet. But hopefully, yes.’ He looks at the flowers and then back at Lance. ‘Do you think this would sway them in the right direction? Make them say ‘yes’ to me, maybe?’

How can anyone say ‘no’ to Fernando? Lance bites the inside of his cheek to keep his expression in check and not show how devastated he is. He looks at the flowers and just the image of Fernando giving them to someone precious, someone he regards highly, someone like him – ‘Mhm, yes. I think so, yes.’

Fernando’s face breaks into a breathtaking smile. He hands the bouquet to Lance, never breaking their eye contact. ‘Then is it a ‘yes’, Lance? From you?’

Hope is such a scary thing. Lance can feel it bloom full force in his chest, making his heart beat twice as fast. His fingers tremble as he carefully reaches out, afraid that Fernando might pull back and call this all a joke. But man of his dreams stands steady and only watches Lance with unhidden adoration. Fernando looks at Lance like he might grab him the moon if he asks for it – it kind of drives Lance wild.

‘Happy Valentine’s Day, Lance.’ Fernando says softly, not moving. He keeps a respectable distance, watching as Lance’s entire face brightens when he sniffs the flowers. ‘Hope you liked the flowers.’

‘They are beautiful,’ Lance whispers, holding them gently. The reality is not fully registered in his brain, so he doesn’t look up at Fernando. ‘Very pretty.’

‘Not as pretty as you,’ Fernando instantly says and it doesn’t sound cringy at all when his voice is filled with sincerity that echoes back in Lance’s heart. ‘Did you like all other presents?’

At this Lance looks up. With wide eyes, he gasps: ‘It was you?’

Fernando blinks. ‘Yes?’

‘I thought they were from Mark Webber.’ Lance admits and now it’s Fernando’s turn to go wide-eyed.

‘Wha- no! Mark was helping me with presents, that’s all. I wanted it all to be secret, so I asked Mark to learn what you like and etc.’ Fernando frowns: ‘Did you want them to be from Mark?’

‘No!’ Lance yells out probably louder than needed. Suddenly all Mark’s weird behavior makes sense in Lance’s head: all the looking at his phone, eyes rolling, general ‘I am tired of this bullshit’ face. ‘No, no, I wanted them to be from you!’

Ah. Lance knows he confessed too much, when Fernando’s frown melts into a cheshire grin. He looks too smug and Lance hates how all he wants to do is just kiss that smirk off his face. ‘You wanted them to be from me?’ Fernando steps closer, finally breaching the distance between them. ‘Good.’

Lance doesn’t dare to breathe. He clenches crafted paper between his fingers, licking his lips nervously. Fernando’s eyes follow the movement, and he leans just a tad bit closer, enough for Lance’s heart to break the ribcage and fall into his arms. ‘Why?’ Lance asks breathlessly.

Fernando meets his eyes and smile so fondly that Lance has a hard time standing still. His hand is back on Lance’s face, this time cupping it gently, eyes shining bright with affection. ‘Why? How can I not, Lance?’ Fernando’s hushed voice brushes over him like a soothing balm. ‘Have you seen yourself? You’re so good, Lance, too good. I wanted to do this for a long time.’

‘Give me presents?’

Fernando chuckles. ‘That as well. But mostly this, being able to touch you like this.’ His thumb strokes tender skin under Lance’s eye. ‘I was scared at first. But then I thought if not now then when? I don’t want to leave this place and I don’t want you to leave it. Corporate politics are important, of course, but…’ Fernando takes Lance’s hand and brings it to his mouth, kissing his knuckles. ‘But you and me, and what we might have – nothing is more important than that.’

If Fernando is not going to stop then Lance will do something extremely reckless. Like kiss him senseless and drop on his knees or ask him to marry him. Taking a deep breath, he wills himself to be normal about this man at least for one fucking second. ‘Fernando,’ he calls. ‘I- I don’t know what to say. Thank you so much for the gifts. I loved every single one of them.’

‘There’s one more.’ Fernando smiles at the way Lance instantly perks up at this. A beautiful silver bracelet with 'F' letter and en emerald pendant. It would look so pretty on Lance. ‘But you will get it only if you go out with me tonight. For dinner.’

Lance gulps. He doesn’t want to assume, but- ‘Dinner on the Valentine’s Day? Is this a date?’

Fernando looks at the bouquet in his hands and then back at him. ‘I’d hope so, yes. Or do you have just friends who send you bouquets on this day and ask you out?’

It’s meant as a joke, obviously, but there’s something underneath it. A tiny spark of possessiveness that has Lance shivering in delight. ‘A date, then.’

Fernando smiles at him with eyes full of love. ‘A date. We’ll go straight from work if you don’t mind.’

Lance shakes his head. ‘I don’t mind.’

Fernando looks at him with such a pleased smile that Lance can’t help but giggle a little, ducking his head down shyly. Fernando’s hands move to his waist, squeezing gently but firmly. He leans in slightly, brushing their noses together. Lance’s breath hitches. Could it be..?

‘Later,’ Fernando promises.

Lance gulps. With his eyes trained on Fernando’s lips, he clarifies: ‘Tonight?’

‘Tonight.’

Lance nods. He lets himself bask I the closeness for few more moments before slowly extracting himself from Fernando’s grip. Holding flowers close, he moves to the door, smiling at the feeling of a warm hand on his back. He turns – he can’t not turn, not glance one more time – Fernando meets his gaze with adoration mirrored back to him. Only it’s there tenfold, mixed with fondness and something hot – Lance can’t really be blamed for his self-control fraying. He turns fully and boldly brings their mouths together, moaning appreciatively when Fernando instantly kisses him back with so much fervor that it steals his breath away. This kiss is everything Lance ever wanted: it makes his knees weak, melts his heart, turns him into a maniac with how much he doesn’t want this to ever stop. Fernando kisses him like he’s making a point, proving something, claiming – Lance kisses back like he won’t ever let go, like he wants to blend them into one.

‘Precioso,’ Fernando mutters, when Lance pulls back with a gasp. He leans in, peppering his face with kisses. ‘Ah, Lance. The things you make me do.’

Lance giggles – a tiny, happy sound that makes Fernando smile affectionately. ‘I’ll see you at dinner,’ he whispers, licking his lips once more just to be a tease. ‘Bye, Fernando.’

‘See you,’ Fernando echoes, eyes blazing with heat that makes Lance want to forget about the work and just stay here forever.

Lance closes the door behind him and takes a deep breath. It’s Fernando. His secret admirer, the one responsible for all the gifts. It’s Fernando, Lance’s crush. Lance takes a steadying breath and clutches the flowers closer to his chest. Yes, he may have lost the promotion, but it feels like he won something much, much bigger in the end.

#strollonso #lance stroll imagine #lance stroll #fernando alonso #fernando alonso imagine #fernando alonso x lance stroll #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 #aston martin f1 #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 fluff #formula 1 fic #formula 1 fluff #HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY YAY

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my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 3 days ago

Note

You know the stereotype of “Stoner boyfriend and goth girlfriend”? Cecil is prime for that. Imagine Cecil with a goth partner. He’s so interested in your weird little interests and thinks that look is really cool.

I can just see him high as fuck looking at your collection of spooky things while he’s high.

Imagine taking him to a goth club too. He doesn’t know the songs or anything but he’s high as balls and just vibing.

Cecil would fuck so hard with an alternative partner I just know it

Oh my gossshh! I absolutely adore this! He would!!!!!!!

(Just a tiny drabble!)

Cecil Dennis x f!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals • Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? •

Warnings: fluff, Cecil's high, not beta read, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 331

“I love these.” Cecil hums as he speaks, unintentionally stretching out the words. “They’re so great.”

You bite back the little laugh that wants to escape your lips. Cecil is adorable, but when he’s high it’s like there’s an extra level that’s released.

“You like these?” You stand behind him, pressing your chest to his back and point at the crystals he’s admiring on the shelf.

He nods. “Love them.” He keeps his hands at his sides, his fingers flexing. You know he wants to touch them so badly, but he’s holding back. “Where do you get them all, do you find them?”

You chuckle, “Find them?”

“Yeah,” he nods, looking at you with a dopey grin. “Like in the ground?”

“I haven’t mined for any sadly.” You stroke his hair and he presses his head into your hand.

“No, I mean, like in the dirt. The ground. You know?”

You don’t know.

He swallows and continues, “Like dig them up, like under trees.”

“Are you thinking of truffles Cec?”

He pauses, thinking hard. “Maybe?”

“Okay, well, don’t eat these. You’d break your teeth.” You say soothingly.

He shakes his head rapidly. “I would never. Never. They’re yours. If anyone’s gonna eat them, it’s you. I’d never take that away from you.”

You press your mouth against his shoulder and chuckle. “I don’t want to eat them Cec.”

He nods like you’ve said something very wise.

“Here,” you take a polished piece of obsidian. “Why don’t you hold this one?”

His eyes light up like you’ve given him the keys to the universe. “Are you sure?”

“Of course.” You stroke the hair on the nape of his neck with your free hand as you give him the stone.

He takes it carefully, holding it reverently. Something about it reminds you of a small child holding a very tiny kitten.

“You like it?” You ask softly.

He nods. “It’s the best. But not as best as you.”

You snort and he beams.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist 1:

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @whatthefishh

@romanarose @strangerhands @steven-grants-world @blushingrn @to-be-a-sunshine

@angel-of-the-moons @minigirl87 @lunar-ghoulie @silvernight-m @autismsupermusicalassassin

@reallyrallyauthor @basicalyrandom @alwaysmicado @mangoslushcrush @marc-spectorr

@spxctorsslxt @novarosewood @pygmi-cygni @hammerhead96 @emma23

@sub-aro @killerdollz @maplemind @mwltwo @loonymagizoologist

@dameronshandholder @queerly-anxious @homuraak3mi @swiftiegirliepop

@oscarssimp @milkypompon @eternallyvenus @lounilu @avengersinitiative2012

@pigeonmama @marcsb1tch @iolaussharpe-24 @chaithetics @DowBaStan

@faretheeoscar @lonelyisamyw-0love @queerponcho @twwcs @ingoldthewizard

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

#cecil dennis #revenge for jolly #cecil dennis x reader #x reader #cecil dennis x you #x you #cecil dennis x afab reader #afab reader #cecil dennis x female reader #x female reader #cecil dennis x f!reader #x f!reader #cecil dennis x fem!reader #x fem!reader #my writing #fanfic #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters

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anyamaris · 3 days ago

Text

Summary: When one of your closest friends asks you to be his plus one to a big event, the last thing you expected was to end up in a hotel room with a handsome stranger.

Word Count: 10893

Pairing: Fashion Journalist/Model!Hoseok x F!Reader

Trope/AU: Non Idol AU/Angst-Smut

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Warnings: Adult language, vulgarity, dirty talk, protected sex, sex with a stranger, mentions of drinking alcohol, quite a bit of angst, MDNI

A/N: This is chapter one for a larger story. I couldn't help but make Wooyoung the BFF as he's my comfort muse 🤍 Thank you to @frenchkisstheabyss for beta reading this, as always your opinion is so highly valued to me I can't express it.

@pars-ley for the GORGEOUS FREAKING BANNER-also for all the back and forth, as well as beta reading for me...between you and Ty I doubt this would be coming out this quickly. Words just can't articulate what your input means.

@cafekitsune my forever divider queen, ily 💜💜💜

“So I was invited to this event…”

You glance over at your best friend, rubbing your eyes from lack of sleep.

“Oh yeah? Is it for photography?” you ask him, curious.

Wooyoung perks up, nodding as you give him your full attention.

“Yeah, one of the editors gave me two tickets so…” he looks at you sheepishly, barely able to hide his cheeky little grin.

But you know him too well at this point.

“Wooyoung…you know I don’t like things like that.” you respond, closing your laptop as you lean back in your chair.

“Come on, I need a plus one and you are my best option. It’s free food and drinks…besides…” he says, eyeing you, “You need to get out of the house.”

You give him a small frown, unconsciously reaching up to touch your messy hair that you’d thrown into a bun earlier before working.

“Well that’s just rude.” you grumble as he comes over to grab your shoulders and shake you playfully.

“Look, I’ll pick out your outfit and everything, all you need to do is show up. I’ll owe you!”

Sighing, you reluctantly agree after a bit more coaxing, already regretting inviting him over tonight.

Still, you can’t help but get swept away in his enthusiasm, and you know despite hating the social atmosphere, you want to be there to support your friend.

So that’s how you find yourself, hiding to the side in this massive ballroom, surrounded by people you don’t know, as you watch Wooyoung mingle with people from afar.

Good, I may be able to make an early exit if he’s busy…you think to yourself as you eye the doors off in the distance.

A low voice suddenly breaks you out of your fantasies of being at home, lounging in a bathrobe with no one else around.

“Are you planning your escape?” the husky voice asks, and you glance over at the man who’s taken up residence next to you.

“Is it that obvious?” you ask, assessing him as he glances between you and the door.

He was long and lean, impeccably dressed in some designer or another.

Wooyoung would be able to pick it out, you think, as you eye the newcomer.

“Only if you’re thinking the same thing,” he winks, leaning back against the wall as he tilts his head at you.

You turn slightly towards him, unexpectedly not all that annoyed by the company.

“While I don’t want to slight anyone here, as I believe it’s quite an extravagant party, if you like that kind of thing…I’d much rather be lounging around in my pajamas at home.” you respond, looking down at the gown Wooyoung had plucked out of your closet earlier.

The red cocktail dress was gorgeous, ending slightly above the knee; understatedly sexy yet sophisticated.

You’d held onto it from some event or another in the last year and Wooyoung had insisted.

Your new companion's eyes drift down your frame along with yours, then at his own attire.

“I couldn’t possibly want to wear anything else but this, of course.” He announces a bit loudly, before tossing you the cutest wink and rolling his eyes slightly.

Then he leans in, whispering, “Pajamas sound heavenly…”

You cover your mouth as a small giggle escapes your lips, surprising you.

This man has me giggling like a little girl, you chastise yourself, as if I haven’t spoken to a handsome man before…

His dark eyes dance with delight as he gives you a bright smile, causing your heart to flutter a bit.

Damn, you think, what a fucking smile.

“Hoseok. But you can call me Hobi,” he offers.

Blushing, you whisper your name, enjoying how he has to lean in to catch it.

“So what brings you out tonight?” he inquires after introductions are complete.

You glance back over at Wooyoung, unsurprisingly at the center of all the attention as he regales his friends with some story or another.

You pick out a few familiar faces and a soft smile teases at your lips.

Hoseok’s eyes dart back up to yours as you turn back, and you can’t help but wonder if he was looking at your mouth.

Not the place to be getting heated over a handsome man, you think, focusing back on the topic.

Clearing your throat, you finally respond, “I’m a plus one for the peacock over there,” you gesture to Wooyoung, who is currently hanging off a mutual friend.

Hoseok glances over briefly, noting the group, then turns back to you.

“Boyfriend?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

Snorting, you wave a hand at him, “No...no…I couldn’t handle half of what that man puts out. He’s a bit much for me personally.”

“Ah…” he replies, seeming to relax a bit.

You stare at him curiously, wondering what his reaction is all about before asking the same.

“And you? Are you here for the event or are you an extra too?”

He gives you a shrug, letting out a soft sigh, “Here alone, for the event. Brushing shoulders and all that, but I find myself more interested in one-on-one conversations tonight.”

Your cheeks heat at the obvious flirtatious tone, finding yourself leaning ever so slightly closer to him.

“Well I’m in luck then, aren’t I? Good thing I didn’t escape yet.” You say quickly, before you can stop yourself.

Oh my god, am I flirting?

His face lights up and you can’t help but take note of the way his cheeks lift to expose the cutest dimples.

Warmth flares in the pit of your stomach and you find yourself looking closer at him; the man is even more attractive than you first realized.

Especially with that gorgeous smile.

He appears to notice your close study of him, his smile warm as he returns the favor.

“Definitely a good thing…” he repeats back to you, and you resist the urge to fan yourself at his proximity.

Clearing your throat, you redirect the conversation before you start stuttering at this stranger.

“So what is your reason for being here? Work? Or are you some kind of ambassador?”

He studies you, and you swear there’s a bit of disappointment at your attempt to talk about mundane things.

“Work…I write for a fashion magazine. Luckily it’s a lot of sitting back and people watching, so this suits me fine…but I’d much rather hear about you.” He answers, tilting his head at you in curiosity.

Suddenly, you find your cheeks heating even more, and you hope that it’s not too noticeable.

Shit…you hadn’t thought about answering that when you’d asked….

“Uh…I…I also write. Novels…fiction…” you stammer out, your voice shaky as you pray he won’t pry.

Yet, those hopes are dashed as he responds.

“What kind of fiction do you write?” he inquires, brows drawing together at your sudden discomfort.

“Smut…” You mumble at him, and he frowns, leaning closer to you.

“What was that-?” he asks.

“R-romance…” you say, heart thumping in your chest from the save.

Oh my god, did I just say smut? Good lord, this man has me flustered!

“Oh…really?” he says, crossing his arms over his chest as he nods in contemplation, “So what kind of smut?”

“Well I-” but you stop mid thought, face burning as he holds your gaze.

“Fuck.…” you mumble, then curse yourself for blurting it out loud.

He laughs in delight, his soft chuckle winding you up both in embarrassment and something else a little more…primal.

“That’s quite the mouth you’ve got on you...now I’m curious what else that pretty mind can come up with.”

Something within you seems to awaken at his teasing; despite your mild uneasiness at this particular topic, you long for this to continue.

Tossing caution to the wind, you decide to answer with your true thoughts.

“You’d be surprised what this mind can conjure up when I’m all alone with a keyboard…” you whisper to him, leaning in just enough to brush your arm against his.

A thrill jolts through you as his eyes widen, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly as he tenses a bit at your words.

Before you can regret your comment or apologize and retreat, he’s pressing his arm firmly against yours before responding.

“Well now, you can’t say something so tempting and expect me not to ask for an example.” he whispers, his voice deepening with a sultry huskiness.

Inhaling a shaky breath, you glance around to see if anyone has noticed your interaction.

“Noone is paying us any attention. They’re all more interested in getting the attention of the elites in the room.” He whispers.

You glance back at him, his eyes locked on you as if you’re the only person in this massive room.

Oh fucking hell, you think, as he runs his knuckle over your bare upper arm.

You’ve written the word “clenching" so many times but right at this very moment, you swear you never grasped the gravity of what it was like to actually do so.

“Do you ask every woman you come across to talk dirty to you?” You tease, enjoying the way he continues to touch your skin despite the feigned shock on his face.

“Do you curse at every man who asks you to?” He retorts, biting his bottom lip as his eyes flick to your mouth.

Swallowing heavily, you take a deep breath and let it out slowly, attempting to collect your thoughts.

“I can’t say that I’ve ever had anyone actually ask me, let alone someone I’ve just met…” you tell him, wondering where the hell this conversation was going to lead.

His face softens slightly as he examines your features.

“I’ll be honest with you…I rarely attempt to even go beyond small talk with others, let alone…this…”

The finger caressing your arm stops suddenly as he seems to be contemplating something.

Your stomach twists at the thought of him drawing away, of losing this contact with him but your worries are alleviated as he continues speaking.

“Would you like to go somewhere more private?”

He rushes to add, “To talk, of course.”

Perhaps it’s the adrenaline coursing through your veins at the insane attraction to this man that causes you to laugh, but you don’t know how else to react right now.

His brows raise at the reaction, and before he can say anything else, you quickly nod at the suggestion.

“Yes…please.”

Another laugh bubbles up from your throat at his shocked reaction, as if he expected to be rejected.

Before you can regret your answer, he’s pushing off the wall, glancing around before turning to hold his hand out to you.

“I…have a room here for the night…” He offers.

“To talk, of course.” You respond.

“Of course, for…research.” he shoots back as you settle your hand in his.

A shiver courses through you as his long fingers entwine with yours, allowing him to lead you to the back of the room and down a corridor.

You spare only a glance at Wooyoung before you disappear from the event entirely, hoping he won’t mind your absence.

Your heart flutters in your ribcage as you ponder why in the hell you’re going somewhere alone with a man you just met, but all of your reason seems to have fled tonight.

Yet you can’t deny that this is much more interesting than sitting around in your bathrobe, writing about it.

Your stomach is tight with anticipation and anxiety as the trip from the hall to the elevators then to the corridor to his room is silent.

The motion of his thumb caressing your fingers is all that keeps you from bolting back into the safety of the party, but you know that you would regret that fully if you did.

He produces a keycard and leads you into his room, and as the door shuts behind you, your mind is already made up.

Whatever happens, happens.

It has been ages since you have even been on a date, let alone anything physical…

And maybe this is just to talk, as he said…

His room is a suite, with an open-plan sitting area, a small couch and coffee table, the large king size bed looming in the background.

The long ceiling to floor windows are wide open, curtains pulled back to display the city lit up brightly below.

He leads you to the couch, reluctantly releasing your hand as he looks up at you expectantly.

You hesitate a moment before seating yourself beside him, clasping your hands together to stop him from seeing your tremble.

Mistaking your gesture, he rushes to fill the silence.

“If you get uncomfortable, please don’t hesitate to say as much. The last thing I want to do is-”

“I’m not uncomfortable. I mean, at least not in a bad way.” you blurt out, cutting him off.

You swear if your cheeks heat any more than they already have tonight, your skin is going to melt off.

His face lights up as he places a hand over his chest, letting out an audible breath.

“Thank goodness, I...I really do want to get to know you better.”

You glance around once more before attempting to get more comfortable on the couch, turning towards him as you cross your legs.

You don’t fail to notice how his eyes dart to your legs as the skirt rides up slightly and the flush that’s visibly creeping up his neck.

Oh this is so dangerous, you think, yet it’s also the most exciting thing that’s happened to you in ages.

He angles himself towards you as you brush your skirt over your knee, trying to hide your smile as he quickly averts his eyes.

“So…do you enjoy writing?” he asks softly, as he leans back against the cushions, resting his elbow on the back of the couch and props his chin on his palm.

Taking the cue, you also try to relax back into the comfy sofa as you finally give him your full attention.

“I do…quite a lot. I failed to mention that I am also an editor for other writers, but I split my time between that and my own work.”

He just holds your gaze as you speak, seemingly fascinated with each word you utter.

It was quite the thrill to have someone so close, so interested…and so gorgeous.

“Do you enjoy your work?” You return, not wanting to only talk about yourself.

He takes a moment, glancing off as if to ponder the question.

“Hmm…at times. It can take over my life sometimes, honestly. The amount of research and travel involved sometimes can be overwhelming. But…” he lets his eyes drift back to you, lips curling softly as he pauses, “sometimes I get to meet interesting people.”

Your stomach flips as his tone drops, sensing that constant underlying tension drawing you closer to him before you can stop yourself.

It’s as if each moment requires an inch to be removed from between you.

“It’s quite the opposite of my work then,” you laugh breathily, “I spend most of my time imagining encounters…like this…”

Your words trail off as the back of your neck heats, already wincing at your comment.

His eyes widen slightly, brows raising as a smile dances across his lips.

“Oh? And…if you were to be writing … this specific encounter…what would happen next?”

Your breath hitches, mind racing at the question, at the implication, at where this could be leading…

“Well…I suppose I’d have to check my notes, answer some…questions first before proceeding.” You finally reply, enjoying the gleam of interest in his eyes.

“What kinds of questions?” His soft yet hoarse tone has you clenching your thighs together, “Perhaps I can help answer them.”

Good lord, this man is making me lose all of my sanity.

“Well…” you take a moment to think, biting your lower lip, “first, has he been drinking?”

“Not a drop.”

“Mmm..then…does he always bring unfamiliar women back to his hotel room?”

His brow twitches, his gaze drifting to your mouth, then back up.

“This is definitely his first time doing anything so bold.”

Your heart races at this admission, spiralling your senses further into losing all rationale.

“Well, for…her…she’s never done anything as daring either so…I’d have to ask why this man even spoke to her to begin with; what is it he is looking for?”

His tongue darts out, wetting his lips as his eyes hood over, letting his gaze drift openly over you before answering.

“At first, he was curious about why such a beautiful woman was all alone, hiding among the plants at such an event…but after speaking to her, he couldn’t help but long to know more. Away from all of the eyes lingering on her, so his were the only ones who could study her more closely.”

Your entire body tightens at the compliment, the quivers from being so tense threatening to give away how much he’s affecting you.

“And does he…regret the decision?” you can’t stop your voice from wavering at the question.

He brings his hand up to gently tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, then he traces his knuckle down your cheek.

“Quite the contrary, he’s as mesmerized by her mind as he is by her beauty.”

At his touch, your lips part, and it takes everything within you to not let out the most wanton moan at the simple contact.

“I’m curious to know why she allowed herself to be all alone with this man, despite having all these questions.” he follows up, curiosity gleaming in his eyes.

Feeling emboldened by his answers, you lean in closer until you swear you can feel his breath tickling your lips.

“Perhaps she’s curious as to why this handsome man chose her to speak to…and what it is that's so tempting about him.”

His hand slips up your jaw, opening to cup your cheek as his breathing noticeably hitches.

“She’s tempted?” He asks, barely audible.

Your heart trembles, stomach swirling with butterflies as he dips his head ever closer so that you can almost feel the brush of his lips.

As if he’s waiting for you to be the one to close the final gap.

You give an almost imperceptible nod, your own hand reaching up to flick back a lock of his hair before tracing your fingertips along his gorgeous cheekbones.

“She can’t stop thinking about what her particular shade of lipstick will look like covering his sexy-” you breathe out.

Before you can continue, he lets out an impatient little grunt as he grasps the back of your neck, pulling your mouth against his.

Your fingers slip down his throat and you can feel his pulse beating quickly against your thumb as it rests on his neck.

Your lips part eagerly for him as his tongue traces the seam of your mouth, and finally the whimper you’ve been holding back bubbles up out of you.

This only urges him on as he nips your bottom lip, sucking gently as he slowly guides you onto your back.

Yes, yes, yes, your mind screams as he deepens the kiss, using his legs to part your thighs.

Your fingers delve into his hair, clutching onto the strands as he breaks from your mouth to pepper kisses along your jaw.

“Please-” you say, not exactly knowing what you’re asking for but he complies anyhow, slipping his hand between you and tugging up the skirts of your dress.

He halts momentarily and concern suddenly twists up your insides as he rests his cheek against your collarbone.

“Is something-?” you manage through your throaty breaths.

“No-no-” he interjects, looking up at you as his palm grazes against your naked inner thigh, “-I just…want this to last…and you’ve already got me-”

He doesn't bother to finish the sentence, shuddering against you as his fingertips slip beneath your panties.

A wave of heat washes over you as he lets out a long, deep moan.

A confusing mix of bashfulness and exhilaration threatens to overwhelm you from just the pads of his fingers teasing over your drenched folds.

You can’t look away from his stunning face, his eyes fluttering closed as his lips part to let out the most delicious little noises as he explores you.

Doing your best to hold back your own whimpers, you clutch at the couch cushion above you as your fingers cling to the strands of his hair in your hand.

“Fuck-you’re killing me with how wet you already are…” he breathes against the skin of your chest, “Don’t hold back, I want to hear you-”

Your hips lift as his fingers part your lower lips, skimming upwards agonizingly slow until he finds what he’s looking for.

“Mmmm-yes…” he murmurs as you finally cry out as he rolls your clit gently between his thumb and forefinger. “That’s it…you like that?”

You nod frantically as he focuses intently on drawing out your pleasure, each tiny motion of his deft fingers causing your body to arch and shake.

“Yes, oh god-” You finally whimper, “Hoseok-”

He draws away from you slightly, angling himself so that he’s hovering above in order to look down at you.

“Talk to me, baby-” He coaxes, his eyes flicking down to take in the sight of you spread wide open with your panties pushed aside.

“So good, oh god…don’t stop-” you blurt out, scrambling to articulate the most basic words in the haze of desire you’re trapped in.

You release the cushion you're gripping, grasping at the back of his neck, then tugging at his suit jacket as he looks between your face and his fingers teasing at you.

“What is it, baby? Tell me what you want-” he encourages, his honeyed cheeks flushing with heat as his gaze locks on your cunt.

The rasp of his voice has you clenching tightly and he gasps softly at the sight, causing you to cover your face in embarrassment.

“No, no no…don’t you dare…” he hums, his dark eyes locking on yours as he pulls his hand from you to grip your wrists and tug them gently away from your face.

Your breathing is coming shallow and hard as he pins you down, searching your face before leaning in to press his lips to yours once more.

Your heart beats in your throat, grateful for the momentary change of pace as he kisses you tenderly.

You take the opportunity to grasp at his jacket and push it off his shoulders, and he helps you remove it, tossing it off to the side without parting from you.

He slides his hands behind your back, blindly seeking your zipper and finally he lets out a happy sigh into your mouth as he finds it and tugs it down.

It’s awkward for a moment as you lean up, doing your best to allow him access to unzip you fully, then tug at his tie and the buttons of his shirt.

“Fuck this.” he finally says, propping himself up to stand, then tug you up off the couch.

You stumble a little before he pulls you close, his mouth already on yours as he slides your dress off of you, allowing it to drop to the floor.

You return to plucking at the buttons of his shirt as he walks you both backwards, your dress left behind in a heap as his hands slip down to your ass to squeeze your cheeks greedily.

“Rip it off-” he demands between kisses, one hand sliding up your spine to pluck at the clasp of your bra.

You comply immediately, yanking at his shirt without a second thought, a satisfying tearing sound quickly drowned out by both of your gasping breaths.

You waste no time in running your fingers along his lean torso, his skin raising against your palms as you slip them down his stomach.

He inhales in a sharp hiss as you boldly drop your hand to grope his erection through his pants.

“Off-” he groans, doing his best to guide you back to the large bed behind him without bowling you both over.

You nod as you feel your bra finally loosen, shrugging out of it quickly before tearing at his belt, then the button and zipper of his pants.

The back of his knees hit the bed and you use the momentum to push him onto it, grabbing at the pants and yanking them off.

As you throw them onto the floor, you pause to admire the ridiculously gorgeous man before you, clad in only a pair of boxers that are tented by his quite obvious arousal.

Am I really doing this? Fuck yes I’m doing this, you think wildly as he reaches for you.

“Come here,” he pants, grabbing you behind your thighs to pull you onto the bed with him.

You can’t help but let out a strangled laugh as you tumble onto him, tits smacking him right in the face as you land on top of him.

Before you can even voice an apology, he’s latching onto your nipple as he scoots you both up the bed.

Your legs entwine with his as you grip his hair, his stiff cock grinding into your inner thigh as he rolls you onto your back.

A cry escapes you as he sucks harshly, drawing back to look at the raised bud before he uses the tip of his tongue to circle slowly as he looks up at you.

A rush of warmth floods your thighs as you feel his body press into you and you gasp as his dick slips from the opening of his boxers to connect with your naked flesh.

“Fuck, fuck-” he chokes out as you push them down, looking between you as he wiggles free off them.

He sits back on his heels, yanking your panties down your hips, and you raise your legs to help him remove them.

“These are mine now.” he says, bunching them up in his hand before bringing them to his nose to inhale deeply.

The reaction to this has your entire body flushing with heat and a strangled whimper rips from your throat before he’s pushing your legs open to settle between them.

He reaches over to place your panties on his bedside table before returning to hover over you.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he whispers as you clutch at his shoulders, looking down between you as he rocks his hips to rub the underside of his cock along your damp slit.

You arch your back at the contact, moaning desperately as the head rubs against your clit over and over.

“Hoseok-wait-protection-” you gasp out, placing your open palm on his chest before you can lose yourself completely.

“Fuck, right, yeah-” he blinks, eyes wide as his breathes heavily, then he’s yanking open the drawer in the sidetable to dig through until he finds a familiar foil packet.

You relax slightly at this, one less worry as he rips it open with his teeth and then pulls out the condom.

“Here-” you offer, taking it from him eagerly in order to put it on as he props himself above you.

You admire how pretty his curved cock is as you roll it down him, looking back up at him as you wrap your fingers around him to stroke him slowly.

His eyes close at the motion, thrusting into your hand before he’s dropping down onto you and his tongue is in your mouth once more.

“Tell me you want me,” he moans against your lips, his voice shaking with need as the tip dips between nudging your clit and teasing at your aching hole.

“Please, Hoseok,” you moan out, wiggling beneath him to urge him to finally give in to you, “Fuck, please, I want you so fucking badly, it hurts-”

“Yeah?” he whispers, using his thighs to push your legs further open, “Say it again, say my name, beg me-”

“Hoseok, please, oh god, please…fuck…I want-I need-!” you cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders as you writhe beneath him.

His breath catches at your pleas and he pushes forward slowly at first, but as you let out a long, drawn out moan he drives himself deep within you.

You clench around him and he brushes his lips against the shell of your ear, his heavy breathing just heightening the pleasure as he pulls back just to thrust back into you.

“Baby, you feel so fucking incredible,” he hums in your ear as you wrap your legs around his waist, tilting your hips as he sets a steady rhythm.

Your breath keeps catching with each thrust, and every single nerve ending in your body is on fire as he coaxes the most obscene noises from you.

“Hoseok-” you whine, a soft keening noise underlying every word you speak, “Harder-feels so good…please…fuck-!”

A pleased groan rumbles in his chest as he fists his hand in your hair, gently tipping your head back to press his lips against your throat.

The wet, slapping sounds of your bodies meeting makes your cheeks flare with heat, but you could care less right now as he continues to ply you with breathy questions.

“Right there, baby? Yeah?” he asks as you gasp, rolling his hips so his pelvis grinds against your clit, “You sound so fucking good with my cock deep inside of you-”

A string of unintelligible curses leave your lips and you can feel him smile against your neck as he continues to repeat the motion over and over.

“That’s it, let me hear every filthy word while I fuck your pretty little pussy,” he croons in a raspy tone, pulling away to look at you.

Strands of damp hair cling to his forehead as he gazes down upon you, his pupils entirely blown out as he drips sweat onto your tits.

You’ve never seen anyone or anything so absolutely sinful, and your body arches off the bed as an orgasm rips through you unexpectedly.

“Oh my god, fuck, yes, yes, fuck, come for me-” Hoseok gasps as you clamp around him, gritting his teeth as he struggles to keep up the tempo.

The walls echo your coarse wails, voice breaking as you attempt to reclaim your airways.

He’s unrelenting, however, as he takes this cue to slip one of his hands under your ass to roll onto his back and settle you onto top of him.

His hands grip your ass as you steady yourself, grasping onto his shoulders as he guides your hips against him.

You let out a shaky laugh as a range of emotions wash over you; surprise, self-consciousness, euphoria all twisted up together.

One of Hoseok’s hands leaves your ass to slip up your side and settle under the weight of your breast, his eyes shuttering as you begin to move on top of him.

“Look at you…so fucking beautiful,” he groans as he palms your breast, grazing his thumb over your nipple as it tightens in response.

His reaction spurs you on, discarding any lingering insecurity as you begin to ride him properly.

He throws his head back with a long moan as you bounce on his cock, and the overwhelming need to feel his tongue has you slipping two fingers into his mouth.

He doesn’t disappoint as he immediately sucks on them, his gaze locked onto you as he swirls his tongue around the pads of your fingers.

You’ve only ever written something so bold in your fics, yet here you are, living out the most erotic moment of your life.

His fingers dig into your flesh, guiding your body against his as the tension in your core throbs and coils.

“Talk to me, baby,” he insists as your fingers trace along his lower lip, nipping gently as he stares up at you.

“So hard…to think…” you manage, your body ablaze as he tweaks one nipple, then the other.

His dark eyes are gleaming with delight as each touch, each movement elicits the most pornographic noises you’ve ever made.

“Is my cock making you lose your mind, baby?”

Your body jerks as his hand slips down from your tits to where you’re joined, the tips of his fingers teasing over your overly sensitive clit.

You nod furiously, gasping as he starts circling slowly, drawing out a prolonged wail as you clench in pulses around him.

“You’re making me-a complete mess-” you gasp out as he continues to add pressure with his fingers.

“Make a fucking mess, baby, I can feel you soaking my thighs, that’s it-” he encourages, watching you so intently that he leans up, his eyes glinting feverishly.

“Hoseok-god, I want to see you lose control…want to feel you come-hear you moan for me, cover me, all over me-” you babble, just letting whatever thought comes into your mind escape out of your mouth.

“All over you, baby? Is that what you want?” he breathes out, his voice shaking enough to let you know he’s getting close.

You’re right there with him, nodding as he sits up fully, grabbing your hips to urge you towards your building climax.

“Come for me, baby, and I’ll give you everything you want, come on, that’s it-” he hums, brushing your lips with his as he bounces you in his lap.

Your entire body shudders as he bites your bottom lip, groaning loudly as you cling to him and everything within you crumbles.

His name falls from your lips over and over, breaking off in hoarse cries as you tremble in his arms.

His groans build in volume, breathing coming quicker as he holds back enough to let you completely finish before he’s tipping you backwards, pulling out and yanking off the condom as he positions himself on his knees between your legs.

“Come, come, come-!” you demand, aftershocks still causing your body to shake as he wraps his hand around his cock and jerks himself into completion all over your stomach and breasts.

You grip the bed above you, trying to catch your breath as sticky ropes of cum spurt from him, reveling in the obscene sight this must make.

His body shudders and twitches as he slows his movements, his fingers slowly milking every last drop onto your naked skin before he collapses on top of you.

Your fingers immediately tangle into his hair, your chest heaving along with his as you both attempt to recover.

Your combined panting finally slows enough to let silence fill the room, your eyes fluttering closed as he nuzzles his face into your neck.

Peace washes over you, and you barely register the passage of time until you feel Hoseok pull away gently, not even opening your eyes as you pout at the loss.

“I’ll be right back,” he whispers softly before he slips away, and you hear the rush of water from the other room.

Must be cleaning himself up…you think idly, but you’re shaken from the thought as a warm cloth drifts over your skin a few moments later.

You open your eyes slightly to peek at him and your heart leaps into your throat at the sight; he’s seated on the edge of the bed, gently cleaning you up and giving you a warm smile.

“Shh, relax,” he murmurs, shaking his head as you attempt to cover yourself with your arms.

You shiver at how sweet he’s being, at how his eyes linger on each part of your naked body as he takes his time with the cloth.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to be shy now…” he teases as you cover your face with your hands to hide your blush.

You feel him get off the bed, following his movements around the room through your fingers as he wanders back into the bathroom, then sets about picking up your discarded clothing.

Sighing inwardly as he slips his boxers back on, you feel your heart flutter as he picks up your dress delicately and drapes it over the back of one of the chairs.

This is my cue, I suppose…you think, sitting up to toss your legs over the side of the bed.

As you stand and look around for your bra, his voice draws your attention.

“What are you doing?” he asks, tilting his head at you as he smooths his hand over the fabric of your dress.

“Um…finding my…clothing?” The statement comes out as a question, confused as to why he is asking.

You turn to spot the panties on the nightstand, but as you reach for him, he closes the distance between you and grabs your wrist lightly before you can retrieve them.

“I told you..” he hums, bringing your knuckles to his lips, “Those are mine now.”

Your breath hitches as his lips brush over your skin, and his lashes flutter as he slips an arm around you.

Swallowing heavily, you try to refocus your mind on reason but this man has already got your emotions scattering as he pulls you close.

“I..I figured that was my hint to leave…” you whisper, glancing at the dress, then back to him.

His face is unreadable as he studies you quietly for a moment, his eyes darting back and forth as he looks into yours.

“I won’t stop you if you do, if that's what you want, but…” he trails off, the arm around you tightening slightly, almost…posessively.

“But?” you echo quietly, longing for him to say the words you wish to hear.

He hesitates briefly, then leans in to nudge your nose with his.

“But…I’d really like it if you stayed with me.” he finally admits, and your stomach does a complete somersault in joy.

“Alright.”

“Alright?” he repeats, as if he needs to double check.

“Yes, I’d…really like that too.”

His face lights up with that gorgeous smile for only a moment, then his lips are capturing yours in a searing kiss as he urges you back onto the bed.

“Perhaps I’ll keep you up all night…” he whispers seductively, removing his boxers once more before burying his face in your-

“Hey, are you even listening to me?” Wooyoung complains, snapping his fingers in front of your face.

“Eh? What?” you ask, shaking yourself from the memories of that night, focusing on your friend.

It has been two days since your encounter and you still find yourself wandering around in a daze, idly staring off in remembrance.

What kind of school girl hell crush is this? you think for the nth time, shaking yourself from your fantasies.

“Did you even hear what I said? What’s got you so lost in thought, hmmm?” He prods, bumping your shoulder with his, “Or should I say…who?”

“Stop, you’re going to make me spill.” You chastise him, grabbing a napkin to wipe at the drip from your full coffee cup.

“You need to be spilling, cause something is definitely up with you.” Wooyoung’s eyes narrow at you, always the prying little pest.

But I adore him, you think with an exaggerated sigh.

“I'll tell you…. eventually…maybe…” you try to deflect, but he’s not having it.

“Who is he? Where did you meet? What’s his name? Do I know him?”

The questions are fired at you like bullets and you wave at him as he leans in closer to interrogate you.

“None of your business, nosy.”

You push his face away, chuckling at the ridiculous pout he gives you.

Your phone chimes, signalling an incoming text message, and Woo immediately goes to grab for it.

“Hey!” You exclaim, snatching it up and holding it close to your chest before giving him a little smack on his arm.

“When do you even go out to-?” he starts up again after a long sip of his coffee.

Before he can continue, you glance at the clock.

“Don’t you have an appointment?”

“Oh shit, yeah, sorry-gotta run. See ya, doll!” he says, taking a last sip, then planting a harsh kiss on your cheek before dashing to the entryway to toss on his shoes.

“This conversation isn’t over!” he calls out as the door closes behind him.

You wait a moment longer, making sure he’s actually gone before letting out a weary sigh.

“Nosy ass.” you grumble, then you finally look at your phone in anticipation.

Hope turns to disappointment as you read the text from one of your novelists, talking about an appointment later this week.

“Ah well…” you hum, responding quickly before switching to the text exchange you really want to be having.

You’d intended to leave the next morning in order to not overstay your welcome; but when Hoseok had come sauntering out of the bathroom, freshly showered with damp hair hanging in his face and a simple white hotel towel slung around his lean waist ... .well….

You stand and walk to your apartment window, staring off as you replay the multiple ways his tongue invaded you, all the delicious ways he-

Shaking your head, you snap back to reality, fanning yourself from the recollection.

You’d finally managed to leave around midday, after tiring yourselves out and a nice, comforting nap in his arms.

He’d stayed true to his word and kept your panties, hiding them behind his back when you attempted to reclaim them.

A goofy smile plays over your lips, unconsciously tapping them with your fingers as you think about his stolen kisses even as he teased you.

For some reason, you felt no shame walking out of there and hailing a cab home sans underwear.

You’d exchanged numbers, and honestly you hadn’t expected much from him, given the circumstances of your tryst.

Yet you’d received a text from him not even two hours after leaving him.

You can’t help but reread the little bits of conversation you’ve had since then, chewing your thumbnail as you scroll through.

“Did you get in safely?”

“I can still smell you on my fingers…”

You let out a small giggle, turning only to stumble over a chair that you swear wasn’t there a moment ago.

You wander to your desk, sitting and rubbing your knee as you read the last exchange from yesterday.

“So, when can I see you again?” He’d texted that morning.

“When would you like to?” You’d answered.

“Right now, if I could…but unfortunately I have obligations that I can’t get out of.”

“Then why don’t you message me when you have time, I’m not going anywhere.” You’d responded, heart soaring that he was even considering seeing you again.

“The moment I have free time, I’d like to take you on a proper date…if that’s something

you’d be interested in?”

You stare at the question as a smile plays over your lips, resisting the urge to kick your feet like a teenager, but it’s tough not to.

“Rushing into things, aren’t you?” you’d teased and he hadn’t disappointed with his response.

“That’s not what you were saying the other night when I had that sexy mouth screaming my name.”

You toss your phone, ears burning as you clear your throat, looking around as if you’re not the only person sitting around in your pajamas in your own apartment.

“Work! I have to work….” you scold yourself, unable to chase away the silly grin as you try to concentrate on getting your tasks sorted.

A week passes before you are able to solidify a time to meet up with him.

It’s the way he asks that has you tearing apart your wardrobe frantically.

“I need to see you, or I’m going lose my mind.”

Unfortunately, he only has an hour to spare for lunch, but you’re grateful for the opportunity to see him once more.

It had taken an ungodly amount of time to find the right thing to wear, and you lament the cleaning you’re going to have to do once you return home.

It looks like your closet has a bomb go off inside of it as you rush out to meet him.

The way he smiles at you as you spot him in the small cafe chases away any negative thoughts as you rush over to join him.

It’s a simple lunch, and before you can do so much as move beyond simple small talk, his phone alarm is going off.

“I promise I’ll make more time for you, gorgeous.” He whispers as he places a kiss on your cheek, his fingers skimming along yours as he parts from you.

The door chimes as he makes his exit and you’re left with your heart pitter pattering at seeing him in the flesh again.

I’ve got it so bad.

You take the time to grab some things, taking the opportunity while you’re already out so you don’t have to go out again unnecessarily.

As you’re unlocking your door, your phone chimes.

“It took everything to not just say fuck it and spend the day with you. Soon, baby.”

You spend the rest of the day with a stupid grin on your face and once more you’re delighted that you live alone so no one can see how foolish you look.

Your friends have definitely started to notice.

Wooyoung makes sense, yet apparently even some of the others have picked up on the change in you.

Hoseok has kept up a constant stream of contact, with some of the late night calls taking a racy turn.

You’re not quite sure what it is this relationship is, but you have zero concern that you’re attracted to one another.

He wasn’t lying when he’d mentioned how busy his job kept him the first night you’d met.

He is constantly on his way to or from somewhere or other, sometimes even out of town or even the country.

Yet, he always makes it a point to send you sweet messages, asking about your day, telling you how much he longs to see you again.

Despite the slow, staggered way this was developing, the constant reminders that he was out there, thinking of you has become the highlight of every day.

No longer can you refuse to admit how much you look forward to his daily texts or calls.

How you stare at your screen, pining for his messages.

That you’ve even made a special tone just for him in your phone.

Far, far too gone on a man you’ve barely spent any time with outside of the bedroom.

You’ve managed to get little pockets of time together, brief coffee meet ups or small windows of time where he’s passing nearby and you can pop out to see him for a moment.

He’s even come by just to plant a kiss on your lips, only to run off moments later.

Even after two months, you’ve only been able to see one another a handful of times.

The one time you’d gotten longer than an hour or two, he’d insisted that he wanted to take you out and the intention was there.

Yet, when he showed up at your place, you’d both been stripping each other within minutes of his arrival.

You still can’t look at your table without being reminded of how he’d had you bent over it, plowing into you as his fingers worked magic over your entire body.

He’d stayed over, but unfortunately, he’d been out the door before the sun had even peeked past the horizon, with promises to message you later and a steamy goodbye kiss.

Only a few visits here and there, yet all over your place were memories of him.

His lips, his raspy voice whispering your name, his agile fingers…

It had taken a half a week for you to finally clean the window where he’d had your body pressed, tits squished firmly and handprints marking yet another place he’d ravaged you.

Unfortunately, you’d had to wash the small blanket you keep on the couch…between his tongue driving you to the point of overstimulation and his own contributions from your efforts…

The man really did love making a complete mess of you…and all over you.

He was insatiable, and you spare a thought for your poor neighbors after the noises that he’d had coming out of your mouth.

Two months and you still aren’t sure what the hell your relationship is.

Each time you’ve thought to ask, you’ve chickened out; the last thing you wanted was to come across as needy and selfish.

At least he’d mentioned that he should be getting a lot more time soon; apparently they were having some issues at his magazine and he’d been putting in extra time to help them out.

Though, you haven’t pried into what kind of work it is, and if it’s related to writing or something else.

That he took the small bits of time he has to seek you out speaks worlds about where this seems to be heading.

“Missing you…I think I left my necklace at your place last time…will you check for me?”

You’d rushed immediately into your room, and sure enough, the gleam of a thin silver chain was looking right back at you from your nightstand.

You’d admired it plenty of times when he was wearing it, especially the sweet little silver music note dangling from it.

“It’s here, did you need me to bring it to you? Or did you want to stop by for it?”

“Hold onto it for me? I’ll get it next time I see you…”

As you were typing out a response, he’d sent another that had you all but falling from your chair.

“On second thought, why don’t you put it on…then when I see you again, I’ll rip everything from your delicious body except that. Fuck, baby…just the thought of you wearing only a piece of me has me rock hard.”

You wish you could have been a fly on the wall when he’d received the pic of you lying in bed, sheets draped covertly over just enough to not be straight up porn, clad in only his necklace.

“You mean this necklace?”

His response was almost instant.

“You’re killing me…yes, just like that. Fuck, I miss you. Everything about you.”

The playfulness was immediately replaced by a soft, warm feeling at his words, and you found yourself longing to just breathe in his scent again, sooner than later.

You had gently skimmed the charm on the necklace as it lay on your skin, missing him just as much, if not more.

Unfortunately, you hadn’t seen him since that heated little conversation.

The time between texts had become longer, the messages shorter; mostly just updates about being busy and checking in to see how you were.

That’s why when he hadn’t responded after your last exchange via text, informing you about going out of town yet again, you hadn’t thought much of it.

It was only one morning, feeling more agitated than normal that you realized it had been four days with your last “good morning” message left on unread.

He’s just busy, you admonish yourself, don’t be greedy.

Yet, when another three days pass with nothing but silence, you can feel the creeping doubts bleeding into everything you’re doing.

You’ve only sent one more text asking if everything is alright, but there was no response to that either.

Did something happen to him?

How would I even know?

Before you can even think about it you’re pulling up google, only stopping yourself as you realize that you’re about to start stalking the man.

Stop it, don’t be that kind of woman.

It’s only in an exchange while you’re out at a club that you finally build up the courage to ask after him in a roundabout way.

“You guys know alot of people in the fashion world right?” You drop into a random conversation, “You’d hear about things if something happened to someone, right? Like, some kind of …incident?”

Murmurs of agreement meet you in reply, and you nod, drawing a look from Wooyoung.

“Absolutely, nothing is quiet for long in this industry,” Jimin says offhandedly, and you have to accept that it was highly unlikely that he was in any kind of trouble.

Relief washes over you at that thought, but another, darker feeling was starting to grow in the pit of your stomach.

It’s fine.

“What’s up?” Jungkook asks from beside you, setting down his drink, “Worried about something?”

You wave your hand at your friends, especially the suspicious glances from Wooyoung.

“No, just curious how chatty that world is.” You fake a laugh, raising your drink to your lips to cover your horrible acting.

“Don’t worry, Wooyoung is quite the gossip, if something is going on, we’d all know.” Tae offers, drawing out a round of laughter.

He’s right, while you’ve not uttered a word about any connection to Hoseok, you’ve heard his name from these guys a few times in passing regarding their work.

Each time, you’ve gotten that little thrill of knowing that you have this secret between just the two of you, yet now there’s this smoldering ember of doubt to go along with that excitement.

Why hasn’t he responded then?

You slap on a neutral face and do your best to enjoy the outing, clinking glasses with Jungkook and Jimin before joining in the fun.

Yet the gnawing feeling that if nothing is wrong…

Then why haven’t you heard from him?

“Stop lying to me.”

You groan, not wanting to look at the man pestering you right at this moment.

“The others have noticed as well, you know. You’re not a very good liar.”

“Wooyoung, nothing is-”

His sudden stomping has you glancing away from your computer screen, jumping as the man in question slams his hands on the desk beside you as he leans over to glare at you.

It’s a rare sight to see Wooyoung actually upset, yet here he was, those dark eyes blazing with worry and exasperation.

“Stop. Lying. To. Me.” He bites off each word, jaw clenched tightly.

You’ve been fighting off the nagging feeling that Hoseok has just lost interest in the days following your outing.

Wooyoung’s sudden outburst has you finally acknowledging that maybe…just maybe…that horrible fear could be a reality.

Opening your mouth with the intent to allay his concern, a sob escapes your throat instead of words.

You clamp your hand over your mouth, cursing your emotions as your eyes begin to sting.

“Oh, doll…” Wooyoung immediately sinks to his knees, turning your chair towards him as you fight against the floodgates.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell at you, I’m just worried.” He soothes, cupping your face as he uses his thumbs to wipe away the villainous tears that start to leak from your eyes.

He gathers you up in his arms, rubbing your back as you finally break down, clenching a handful of his shirt as you finally let go.

“Something is going on, isn’t it?” he whispers softly, and you can only nod against his shoulder.

He lets out a sigh, humming gently as he continues to comfort you.

“I know getting details is like prying teeth from you, but…I need to know….are you pregnant?”

You hiccup, shaking your head immediately, bleating out a sad little, “no.”

“Good, good…that’s good…you’re not…sick or anything?”

You manage another shake of your head.

He breathes out a sigh of relief, letting the sounds of you weeping fill the void for a moment before he continues.

“What’s this asshole's name?” He finally inquires.

“He’s-not-an-asshole-” you choke out.

“There it is. I knew it.” he hums, sighing wearily.

You slap at him weakly, trying to pull away but he just holds you close, shushing you as he pets your hair.

“Well, that’s subjective, doll. He’s making you cry, so he’s an asshole in my book.”

You babble something incoherent to try to disagree, but he merely tuts at you.

“For someone who writes novels, you’re not convincing me with your words, doll. Look, you’re ruining my shirt with your snot, and you sound like a drunk turkey.”

You hit him again, this time a little harder but you can’t help but snort at the ridiculous insult between your pitiful blubbering.

“Idiot. Jerk.” you grumble, calming down a bit and he finally loosens his hold, drawing back slightly to look closely at you.

“Don’t, I’m all icky.” You complain, turning your head and grabbing for your box of tissues.

“Yeah you are; nasty.” he teases and you just toss him a steely glance as you wipe at your nose.

“Hate you,” you grump, trying to clean yourself up.

“You love me, don’t lie. I told you, you’re bad at it.” He said, rising to his feet to cross his arms at you.

“Whatever.” You huff, then look up at him in apprehension, “I’m not talking about it.”

He purses his lips at you, chewing the inside of his cheek as he studies you.

“Fine…I’ll drop it for now, but if you need to, talk to one of us, alright? That’s all I’m asking. I don’t like seeing you tearing yourself apart for some guy. I don’t know your reasons for keeping him a secret from us, but -” he stops, eyes narrowing.

“He’s not married, is he?”

“Wooyoung!” You grab the box of tissues and throw them at him, but he just dodges it easily, “You really think that I could-that I would-?!”

You can’t help but sputter unintelligibly, offended.

“No, not you but…whatever, fine, I just can’t help but care, alright?”

You let out a long sigh, rubbing a hand over your eyes.

“It’s not even something bad, I just haven’t been sleeping and I’m trying to meet deadlines..” you gesture to the computer, “I’m sure that’s just making me overly emotional. I’m alright.”

He stays silent, considering your argument as his phone dings with a message.

“Get lost, I have work to do,” you wave him off, turning back to your computer.

His answering grunt lets you know that he’s checking his phone and you try to refocus as he grumbles about always having something to deal with.

“I’ll be checking on you, or I’ll send someone-” he threatens as he makes his way out.

“Yeah yeah….and hey…Wooyoung?” you call out before he can close the door behind him.

“Hm?” he turns to look at you, pausing in the doorway.

“Thank you.” You give him a grateful smile, and then he’s grinning, bouncing out down the hall as the door closes.

Now if you could convince yourself that you are completely fine, you can hopefully get some of your projects ticked off your list.

You barely notice how often your eyes drift to look at your phone, clinging to that last vestige of hope that it’ll light up with a much anticipated text.

Perhaps it’s because you’re so used to creating imaginary worlds, shaping fiction out of nothing but your fantasies.

Regardless of what keeps you holding on, there’s that small, almost invisible thread you cling to.

He’s come to some kind of harm, he’s in a coma and any day he will wake up; his first call will be you, and-

No, no, he’s stranded on some desert island, having gone out to sea for some unknown reason but he’s been cut off from-

What if he’s hit his head in some foreign land, and he has amnesia-

Aliens abducted-

If you can think of it, your irrational thoughts grasp onto it eagerly, and by the time you’ve spun up some insane story, you’ve kept that little glimmer of hope alive.

Ridiculous, but it's getting you past it.

Right?

You’ve gone so long without hearing from him, you find yourself not rushing to your phone each time it has a message or call; your life has returned to the routine you had prior to that fateful night.

Yet….

Yet.

There will be those moments, those tiny little glimpses of memories that spiral you right back into that headspace.

Your fingers graze the silver chain hiding beneath your hoodie, the one keepsake you have to remind you it was all real.

At least while it lasted.

Maybe he will come back for it, at the very least?

Your phone dings and you push away from your desk, glancing at the clock to see that it’s well past midday.

Your stomach rumbles and you pat it as you check your messages.

“Hey, our friend is singing tonight at a show, you should come with us and check it out. If you’re done being a grump ass!”

You just cluck your tongue at Wooyoung’s text, sighing as you open the fridge and are greeted with empty shelves.

Shit, shopping…yeah I should do that.

You glance at your outfit and momentarily think about changing, but you just shrug.

Who cares if you’re wearing baggy jogging pants and a hoodie?

It’s not like you’re trying to impress anyone.

Not anymore, your mind tosses at you but you tamp down the errant thought.

You reply to Wooyoung, asking for a rain check as you slip on your shoes and make your way to the local grocery.

A little bit of back and forth with him, then getting prodded in your group chat has you laughing at the guys as you grab a few items to get you through the next few days.

Your eyes are locked on the phone, only glancing up to make sure you’re not going to run into anything as you follow the conversation.

“Next time, he’s got a few shows coming up. He’s good looking too!” Taehyung adds to the discussion.

“Don’t say that in front of him, we’ll never hear the end of it.” Jungkook retorts.

“As bad as Wooyoung?” You are typing out as you hear the sound of a car horn, drawing your attention away from your phone for a moment.

The amused smile freezes on your face as you look up, unable to miss the familiar face staring back at you.

You just stand in shock, people crossing the street all around you as you cling to the bag in your arms.

There he is, those gorgeous cheekbones, that honey skin, that brilliant smile.

You can only gawk in misery at the truth laid out before you.

Your heart trembles in anguish as the last thread that was clinging on for dear life finally loses its hold.

Of all the places you thought you’d see him again, of all the scenarios…

Seeing his picture plastered on an advertisement for a designer brand wasn’t in your rolodex of possibilities.

The massive ad seems to grow larger, as if it’s going to suffocate you.

You’re jostled back to your senses as people grumble at you, questioning randomly why you’re in their way and you grip your bag tightly as you duck your head and rush back home.

By the time you’re slamming your apartment door, as if you can flee from the internal distress twisting your guts.

You mindlessly shuffle into the kitchen, staring off blankly as you think about how amazing he looked, how absolutely fucking breathtaking.

Your hand drifts up to tug at the neck of your hoodie.

Your stomach lurches, and you rush into the bathroom, leaning over the sink as you fight back the urge to get sick.

I should be happy that he’s fine.

Good for him, right?

It’s just a fucking picture.

It’s not like we were ever anything.

Right?

We never actually dated.

I was just a fling.

Then why-?

You glance up at the mirror, wincing at your reflection staring back at you.

The unkempt mess you present contrasts so drastically to that polished, stunning man that you can’t help but let out a bitter laugh.

“You’re a fool.”

It’s absurd.

Of course, you knew from the beginning that you’d slept with a stranger.

What did you expect?

It’s not like he told me anything untrue.

He didn’t lie, right?

He said he missed me.

So?

Maybe he missed the sex.

Did I really think he was going to date me?

But he made time for me…

Did he?

Was he really that busy?

I’m so naive.

You let out an exhausted sigh, collecting your thoughts before finally running the water and splashing your face with the cold liquid.

Your brain just keeps going in circles as you dry your face and hands, arguing against that stupid little voice that keeps trying to make excuses.

You don’t even bother putting away the groceries, finding yourself burrowing into your bed as if you can hide from your shame.

As you close your eyes to the world, you tug once more on the neck of your hoodie.

You freeze as you realize that it’s not the hoodie you’re touching.

It was his fucking necklace encircling your throat.

Clawing at it furiously, you sit up and finally manage to unclasp it, flinging it away from you as if it’s on fire.

With a pathetic whimper, you retreat back under your covers as if that’s some kind of remedy.

Don’t care right now.

You’d somehow twisted up a simple physical affair into some kind of romantic fantasy in your mind.

Did you really think this was some love story?

Guilt at your misunderstanding wars with resentment towards him, but you know that’s not fair.

Still….

How stupid I am.

He’s just fine.

He’s just perfectly fucking fine.

And I’m a complete mess.

#bangtanwhq #lapydiariesnet #ksmutsociety #btswritersclub #Hoseok Smut #Jung Hoseok Smut #BTS Hoseok smut #Hobi Smut #BTS Hobi smut #Jhope Smut #BTS fanfic #Hoseok Angst

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bcdrawsandwrites · 1 day ago

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[ID: A Psychonauts 2 fic cover featuring Oleander and Loboto. Loboto is lying on the examination table in Sasha's lab, pushing himself slightly upright with his prosthetic arm so he can glare at Oleander. Oleander, meanwhile, is sitting on top of Loboto, arms crossed as he glares back down at Loboto (though his false eye is out of focus). The title of the fic, Dentist-Sitting, is above them. /end ID]

Fandom: Psychonauts Rating: K Genre: Humor (but some serious moments too) Characters: Morceau Oleander & Caligosto Loboto (with Sasha and a few others appearing briefly) Warnings: None. Fic Description: While everyone else heads off on the much-more-exciting casino mission, Oleander is left at the Motherlobe with a mission of his own: keep an eye on Loboto while Sasha is gone. Beta Readers: @jaywings and @pinkygrocket (also thanks to @eggityeggs for rendering my fic cover!) Notes: I tweaked the layout of the Motherlobe slightly here. (You cannot convince me they have only one bathroom.) Also, this contains references to some of my other Psychonauts fics, but you don't need to have read those to understand this.

---~~~---

Oleander charged through the atrium as he made a beeline for the lobby. It wasn't time to leave just yet, but he didn’t care. When was the last time he'd gotten to go on a mission—er, aside from earlier today, when he'd helped infiltrate Loboto's mind, and before that, when he'd gone with everyone to the Rhombus? Those had felt like exceptions—Sasha and Milla still wanted to keep a close eye on him while they finalized things at headquarters, so he had to come along. Not that he complained. Heck, if this probation thing meant he'd have to get dragged along on missions, then it couldn't be too bad, right?

Of course, Sasha and Millla hadn't exactly gotten everything cleared with Truman and Forsythe yet, given the more pressing mole situation. Bad as that was, could anyone blame him for jumping at the bit to see some real action again? And this would be the real deal if they let him come along, not just dragging him along because they had to. If Forsythe didn't show up—which she wouldn't—he'd get to step in and take her place!

Hurrying out the front door, he turned toward where the jet was parked, only to skid to a halt.

Forsythe was there, along with all the interns.

"...and I thought, you know what, Agent Vodello was right!" Agent Forsythe exclaimed. She was far more peppy than usual, and he couldn't blame her. "This would be an excellent earning—uh, learning opportunity for our interns!"

"I agree. So long as they stay out of trouble, there should be little issue here," Sasha said with a nod. "I'm glad you're joining us."

As Forsythe turned to guide the interns onto the jet, Sasha prepared to enter as well. Oleander bit his lip and rushed up to Sasha before the jet could pull him in.

"Room for one more?" he asked, punctuating his words with a smile.

"Ah, Morry." Sasha turned to face him. "Agent Forsythe changed her mind and will be accompanying us on the mission, so your presence won't be necessary."

Oleander's heart sank, and he swallowed back the old bitterness that worked its way up his throat. "...Right. Well uh... good luck, Nein." With that, he began to turn back toward headquarters.

"...Actually."

And Oleander spun on his heels, eyes wide and heart leaping.

Sasha was looking to the side with one hand to his temple, probably in conversation with Milla. After a moment, he nodded, then looked back at Oleander. "There is something we could use your help with."

"You name it!" Oleander cried, a wide grin stretching past his mustache. "What do you need me for—need an extra agent to spy on someone? Need me to stick around for backup? I'm there!"

"As I said before, your presence won't be required here."

Oleander's smile dropped.

"However—"

And he perked up again, leaning toward Sasha eagerly.

"There's something I would like your assistance with here at the Motherlobe."

"Oh." Once again Oleander deflated, but pointed toward Otto's lab with a grin. "I mean, if you need help with the Motherlobe's defense system, I'm sure Otto and I could—"

"I need someone to keep an eye on Loboto while I'm gone."

"Wait—that's it?!" Oleander cried. "You're putting me on babysitting duty?!"

"I am putting you in charge of a dangerous criminal who happens to be one of the few people to possess knowledge of the mole's identity." Sasha massaged his forehead. "I sedated him for the time being, but there's no guarantee it will last for the entirety of my absence, and I have found no one willing to watch him while I'm gone."

"Ugh. Still not a particularly glamorous—"

"Morry, this is not about glamour." Sasha took a step closer, and Oleander took a step back in surprise. "People's lives are at stake. We still have yet to determine what's happened to Truman, and we may not know until we discover the identity of this criminal."

"R-right, yeah." Oleander tugged at one of his gloves. "Sorry, just got caught up in the—" He shook himself, straightening his stance. "Very well! I accept this mission, Agent Nein. I'll keep an eye on him."

"Good." Sasha put a hand to his temple again, and a telekinetic hand reached out from the ship. "Be sure to report to me if you learn anything from him, should he awaken or say anything of interest in his sleep." The hand grabbed him, carrying him up and into the jet. "Good luck, Morry."

"Same to you, Nein."

Oleander offered a salute before turning back toward the Motherlobe. As the jet lifted off behind him, he heaved a sigh, glancing over his shoulder to watch it go.

So much for that mission… and that reasonably-priced buffet.

His stomach growled.

"Well, Noodle Bowl it is, then."

Stepping into headquarters with much less energy than when he'd left, he made his way back to the atrium and then to the Motherlobe's cafeteria. His mind bounced back and forth over what kind of salad he wanted today as his eyes scanned the menu. Briefly, he tried to recall which one Milla had recommended to him a while back, only for his mind to drift back to Sasha, wondering if he'd bothered to eat before the mission. Probably not, knowing him.

...Which probably meant Loboto hadn't eaten either.

"You gonna order or what?"

Oleander blinked, realizing he was at the front of the line. "Er, yes! One cucumber salad, and uh..." He glanced over the menu again—his eyes lingered on the salads before hesitantly drifting over to the other items on the menu. He winced. "And one hamburger. Two waters."

As the chef watched him slide his card through the reader, she raised her brow at him. "Change your diet, now, Oleander?"

"No, no," he replied, waving his hands in protest. "Just picking up lunch for um... someone else."

"Right, got it..."

Not long after, he found himself carrying a plastic salad box with a greasy cardboard hamburger box placed on top, and holding them at an arm's length while he carried the waterbottles under one of his arms. "Eeeughh," he said, tongue sticking out and nose wrinkling at the scent of greasy ground beef. He'd never actually seen Loboto eat, even when the two of them worked together, but he hoped this would be good enough for him. If not, he'd have to deal with it—he wasn't paying for some other crummy meal.

He nearly stepped into his office before remembering where he was supposed to go, and turned to Sasha's lab instead. The various fancy blinking consoles—half of which he was pretty sure Sasha didn't even use—greeted him, as did the loud snores coming from the lanky figure on the examining table.

"Huh," Oleander murmured, stepping up to Loboto to look him over. He was curled up on his side, out like a light for all Oleander could tell—his creepy robot eyes were definitely unlit, anyway—and his snores were occasionally broken up by incoherent mumbling.

After standing by the doctor for a few moments to be sure he wasn't suddenly going to spring awake, Oleander made his way into Sasha's office area, tossing the hamburger box and one of the water bottles onto the coffee table. The box left a splat of grease beneath it, and he winced, nudging it further away with his own water bottle. He took a seat on the couch, eyeing the greasy box as though expecting it to sprout legs, and scooted slightly further away. From there he began to dig into his salad—cucumber was definitely the right choice—as he kept an ear out for whatever Loboto was doing. Which was still sawing logs. Was he really just going to be out for the entire time? What on earth did Sasha use on him, anyway? Man, he should have brought a book or something...

As Oleander finished the last few bites of his meal, he heard a few quick snorts from the lab, followed by some more frantic mumbling. Setting his empty box aside, he stepped back into the lab, eyeing Loboto.

"No, no no. I won't," the oversized dentist mumbled, one of his legs jerking in his sleep. "I won't, I won't..."

Sasha had said something about Loboto talking in his sleep, hadn't he? "You won't what?" Oleander prodded, raising an eyebrow.

"Won't tell..."

"Ugh, of course you won't." Rolling his eyes, Oleander turned back toward the office.

"W-won't tell them... what the doctors said..."

"What?" Oleander spun back around, brow furrowed in confusion.

But Loboto only shuddered before settling back into snores.

Doctors, huh? That was new. He made a mental note to let Sasha know later, if he didn't already... not yet, though. Oleander stepped closer. "What did the doctors say?"

Loboto snorted. "No, no... Dad said I couldn't tell..."

All right, so it wasn't anything about the mole or the kidnapping—this was just some dream about a childhood memory. Nothing useful for him.

I'll show you what little bunnies are used for—

Oleander jerked in surprise, smacking himself in the head a few times. Nope, no, none of that. He was definitely done with those nightmares and he didn't need his mind reminding him of them. It didn't stop his heart from hammering against his ribs, and he shook his head, hurrying back to the office to grab his bottle of water. He guzzled it down, hopefully swallowing his anxiety with it.

"No, no, no, get away—AH!"

CRASH.

Hacking up water that had just gone down the wrong pipe, Oleander stumbled back into the lab, finding Loboto lying face-first on the floor next to the examining table and groaning. "Geez," Oleander wheezed, and cleared his throat. "You gotta make my job harder for me, don't you?" With that, he gently TK'd Loboto back onto the table, letting him sit upright.

Loboto swayed where he sat, optics flickering and moving sluggishly, zooming in and out, but ultimately remaining unlit. Without warning, he reached up and smacked his own robotic eyes a few times, and they finally flickered on, like Christmas lights attached to a Halloween decoration. They adjusted a few more times before locking onto Oleander. "You?" Loboto cried. His voice was slightly slurred. "What're you comin' back to me for? I'm not buildin' you anoth'r tank..."

"Take it easy, Cal, I'm just here to watch you."

"Watch me what...?" His eyes darted in one direction, then another, his head lagging behind with the movement. "I don't have a patient for the... operating theater..." He swayed again where he sat, looking in danger of toppling back over the side of the table again.

Boy, he had not signed up to deal with a half-drugged dentist. Was this a side-effect of whatever Sasha had used on him, or...?

Something occurred to Oleander, and he rushed back into the office, returning with the greasy box and water bottle, which he set on the examining table.

Loboto's eyes locked onto the items. "What's this?"

"Some rations," Oleander replied. "When's the last time you ate?"

For a moment the dentist's eyes began moving around again, crossing a few times as he tried to process the question. "Orange," he finally said with a definitive nod.

Oleander was about to protest that that wasn't what he'd meant, but stopped himself; there wasn't much of a point in arguing with someone who could barely hold a conversation at the moment. "Well, this is lunch. Have at it."

Hesitantly, Loboto reached out with his claws, poking the box a few times before the lid popped open. His optics zoomed in on the hamburger. "...not fish, is it?"

"Uh, no. It's a hamburger, not a fishburg—"

Loboto shoved the entire thing into his mouth before Oleander could finish. He looked away, holding his hands in front of his face as he listened to Loboto ravenously chomp the thing down. "You're welcome," he grumbled. "You'd better not make yourself sick from eating that so fast, or Sasha will have my head."

Once Loboto had guzzled his water down, Oleander finally looked back at him. He seemed somewhat more alert now, whether from receiving nourishment, or said nourishment helping him wake up from his goodness-knows-what-induced daze. Or maybe both. "Feeling any better there, Cal?"

"No. This place has terrible room service! I never got breakfast. Terrible room in general, too." He whacked his prosthetic limb against the padded table with a thunk. "No wonder I fell off this thing."

Maybe it would've been better if he'd stayed unconscious. "Well, you're not exactly here for your own comfort."

"Oh, are you here to interrogate me, too?" His claw gripped the thin padding of the table, digging into it. "I never said a word to that nicotine-addicted ninny. What makes you think I'll talk to you, little army man?"

"I'm not here to interrogate you, just to keep an eye on you." Oleander paused, rubbing his chin. "Though that's not a bad idea. I could ask you a few questions—"

"Or I could just make a run for it." And Loboto swung around to leap off the other side of the table, only to faceplant yet again. He smacked his hand against the floor. "Stop makin' the room spin."

Rolling his eyes, Oleander TK'd Loboto back onto the table, laying him down this time. "That wasn't me. Looks like you've been Sasha's guinea pig of the day."

Loboto's optics spun in slow circles for a few moments before coming back into focus. "Yes. I think we've got the positions wrong," he said, pushing himself into a seated position. "I'm not the subject. I'm the one who runs the experiments!"

"Not now you ain't," Oleander said, gently nudging Loboto back down onto the table with a telekinetic poke. "Lie down."

"Nnnghh!" Loboto flailed his arms, trying uselessly to grab at the transparent hand holding him down. "No! I won't! You're due for a wisdom tooth pulling!"

A vision flashed through his mind of those red-and-green lights gleaming down at him from the darkness while a claw brandished at him. Are you actually going to help me with this project or am I going to have to test it on you instead?

Oleander’s TK hand grabbed Loboto around the chest, yanking him off the table with a choked squawk. Oleander kept one hand held out in a fist, the other on his temple as he eyed the dentist. "You gonna cooperate here, or are we gonna do things the hard way?"

Loboto glared down at him, eyes flashing.

"We're not partners anymore, Cal," he growled. "I don't gotta put up with you."

Loboto flinched, but remained quiet. Oleander eased him back onto the table, where he lay calmly, even when Oleander removed the hand. After nodding in approval, he turned around, TKing a desk chair from Sasha's office over to the table—like heck he was going to stand here the entire time.

As he pulled the chair over, it struck him suddenly that, while no, he and Loboto weren't working together now, they had in the past. As in three days ago. Technically, Oleander hadn't even heard an official decision for what the Psychonauts would do with him, after all that he'd done—which was, namely, working with a criminal, abducting both campers and his fellow agents, hypnotizing a civilian (and a fish), and stealing brains in an attempt to take over the world. Now, he'd been left to watch over the very criminal he'd been working with only a few days ago.

Had this been a mistake? Or was Sasha...

"Were you satisfied with the tanks, at least?"

Flashes of a monstrous tank of plant and stone roared into his memory, and he spun around to glare at Loboto. That wasn't the tank the dentist was referring to, but after Nein, Vodello, Cruller, and Raz had all dragged him through his mental worlds, well...

"I'm not talkin' about that right now."

Lifting his head, Loboto's permanent grin widened. "You should've gone with my original plan. That would've been much more effective."

"Yeah, I said I'm not talkin' about it." He hopped up onto the desk chair, his gaze fixed on one of the flickering consoles on the other side of the room.

"You could at least talk about payment. You never paid me my last paycheck. Or the one before that. Or any of them." Loboto's claw dug into the padding of the table again. "You think we just grow food at the asylum?"

"What asylum?" Oleander muttered bitterly, glancing back at him.

Loboto's grin suddenly twisted. "Oh. I'd forgotten it had gone down in flames." His optics began to flick around the room nervously.

Oleander opened his mouth, nearly asking how Loboto knew about that when it had happened after he'd been blasted out the window, but cut himself off—he didn't want the guy to think that had been anything to do with him (though the plan had been to... be rid of Loboto in some fashion). "Yeah, was a heck of a battle there," he said instead. "What happened to you, anyway? Why'd you run off?"

"What do you take me for, one of those tumorous rats that scurry away from bright light?" His eyes snapped over to Oleander. "I was blasted out the window by the test tank!"

Leaning back, Oleander raised his brows and placed a hand on his chest in hopes of looking as though this was his first time hearing that information. "Blasted out the window?" he repeated in the best shocked voice he could muster. "How'd you survive that?"

The corners of Loboto's mouth twitched. "Oh, I have plenty of talents other than dentistry and brain surgery, you know... some that can surprise even me."

"Was it your talents? Or that other client you didn't tell me about?"

"Oh no you don't!" Loboto crossed his arms, turning his head away. "I'm not talking about that!"

"Yeah, and I don't want to talk about our work either." Oleander grunted, leaning back in the chair. "Guess we're even."

The two were silent for a moment, aside from the twitching of Loboto's mechanical eyes. Slowly they turned to look back at Oleander. "...Where's that tall man gone, anyway?"

"Sasha?" Oleander shrugged. "He's out on a mission."

"Oh?" Loboto eased himself up on his arms, grinning again. "You mean like the kind of missions you told me they liked to leave you behind on?"

Oleander's hands clenched around the edges of the chair.

"Isn't that the reason for your whole take-over-the-world scheme? Getting left out?"

He wasn't wrong. It hadn't been the entire reason, but it was... part of it. "We're getting it worked out," he said through grit teeth.

"Yes, by continuing to do the same thing to you as before!" Loboto cried, sitting up on the table. The action made his optics spin for a moment, but he shook himself. "Sounds like you've been tossed back to square one."

"I haven't been tossed anywhere."

"Anywhere other than aside!" Loboto swung out his arm. "Tossed aside like a used plastic cup!"

"Pipe down, Cal!" Oleander snapped, but the dentist only turned to swing his legs over the edge of the table, leaning forward.

"You know, if we were to, perhaps, sneak out of here and work together again, I could help you—"

Loboto was held in a telekinetic hand again before Oleander realized he'd even summoned it. He found himself in a psychic stance atop the desk chair, glaring at the dentist as he held him firmly in his telekinetic grip. Apparently it was a bit tighter than he'd intended, as Loboto was struggling now, eyes darting around frantically and mouth twisting, but Oleander didn't loosen his grip just yet.

He wanted to tell him no. He wanted to tell him he'd never consider an offer like that again, never even think of betraying everyone again.

But he'd be dowsed if the thought didn't cross his mind after Forsythe took his place on the mission.

It was that same feeling as before, when he'd put in requests for a mission assignment and be told no, that he'd be assigned camp duty again. When he'd be assured just how important camp duty was, how he was better suited for it. When he brought up other ideas, like the projects he'd brainstorm with Otto, or even the blueprints for the battle bot he'd drawn up to fight Maligula, and Forsythe turned him down.

In the back of his throat he could still taste the bitterness bubbling up, threatening to spill out all over again.

But it hadn't been that long ago that he'd been dragged back through his own mind, and they'd talked through all of this, talked through everything, and this wasn't really the answer, and he knew it wasn't, but he just wanted to help, he just wanted to be able to help again—

Slowly he became aware of a choking noise, and snapped back to reality to find Loboto still in his telekinetic grip, his face turning pale. "GEEZ!" Oleander cried, reeling back, remembering too late he was stupidly standing on a chair.

Oleander crashed backward the same moment he released Loboto, who dropped back down onto the table, gasping for air. "OKAY!" Loboto choked out. "Okay, you don't want to be partners! I get it!"

Groaning, Oleander pushed himself back up to his feet. "Yeah, uh, thanks for the offer, Cal, but no." When he looked back at Loboto, he was surprised to see the dentist wrapping his arms around himself and trembling. Embarrassed, he scratched the back of his head. "Sorry, didn't mean to grab you that hard."

"I'm sure!" Loboto glared down at him. "Well, it's no loss for me. I wouldn't want to work with a sneaky psychic short stack like you again, anyway!"

Oleander glared back. "Now hang on, just 'cuz you're so freakishly tall doesn't mean—"

"Silly small simpletons ceaselessly see to stupid schemes!" he went on in a sing-song voice.

Oleander dragged his hands down his face. Why had he let this guy wake up? "Knock it off," he muttered.

In response, Loboto flicked the greasy hamburger box across the room to smack into his face.

With a cry of revulsion, Oleander wiped at his face and shot another look at Loboto. "You know that's not what I meant!"

"Oops, sorry." Loboto chucked the empty water bottle instead, which bounced harmlessly off Oleander's helmet.

He gave the dentist a deadpan look. "...I can see why Sasha had such a hard time finding anyone else to watch you." Sighing, he climbed back onto the chair.

"It's no surprise! I'm quite the intimidating person." Which wasn't a lie, but Loboto looked less intimidating as he kicked his feet, the heels of his freakishly long legs scraping the ground. It was a far cry from how he'd appeared at Thorney Towers, or how he must have looked to Raz when he—

Oleander paused. "...Hey, didn't that kid poke around your head?"

Immediately Loboto whipped his arms over his head, pressing his shower cap down. "No more of that," he growled. "You should be next, though, since you apparently forgot you were one of the ones who charged into my mind too!"

"No, I mean back at the Rhombus. I gave him the Psycho-Portal to use." He narrowed his eyes at Loboto, looking him over. "He dove into your mind, and we lost contact. What-all happened in there?"

"No!" Loboto snapped, drawing his legs back up onto the table as he tugged on his shower cap. "It's none of your business!"

"Hate to tell you, Cal,"—he didn't—"but it's official Psychonauts business."

"Ah!" Loboto slammed his hand and prosthetic down onto the table again, giving him a sly grin. "But you're not one of those at the moment, are you?"

"Wh—I never said that!" Oleander clenched his fists. "Where do you get that from?"

"Mmmmaybe the fact that you were left out of an official Psychonauts mission!" He casually dug between his teeth with one of his claws. "Just a hunch."

Oleander ground his teeth, finding himself wondering if it was too late to find someone else he could switch with. Yes, he was technically supposed to be evaluated before getting put on probation for a while, but that wasn't anything this bozo needed to hear about.

Dislodging a sesame seed from between two teeth, Loboto flicked it away and then gently tugged at his lip in thought. "Funny how they'd let a traitor like you back into their fold. But I suppose you can't fault psychics for acting erratically." His mouth twitched.

The word traitor hit him in the gut harder than the dismissal of psychics, and he found himself looking away. "Look, what happened with me ain't none of your business, Cal."

"What happened with me is none of your business, either, but you psychics have this funny misconception that everything is!"

"Maybe not." Oleander rubbed a knuckle against his chin in thought. "But I can't help but notice... you did let us go."

Loboto gave a jolt, his smile strained. "Of course! I can do whatever I want!"

Oleander raised an eyebrow at him. "So you let us go and blow up your own base? Sounds a bit counter to your plans."

"No! It's not!" He wrapped his arms around his chest, his mechanical eyes twitching every which way. "It followed my exact plan very specifically!"

"Really? Your plan for your employer who's working against the Psychonauts?" Oleander asked.

Loboto made a strangled sound, sitting up rigid, his mouth a tight line.

Sitting up, Oleander found himself grinning. Maybe this won't be such a waste of time after all... "Pretty nice of you to let us in on the details of your employer's scheme."

"No! No! I didn't!" Loboto cried, voice suddenly hoarse.

"Sure you didn't," Oleander went on, tapping his helmet. "Just like I don't have a memory vault of what you just said right in my noggin."

"NO! That wasn't it!" Loboto cried desperately. "I didn't say anything about their plan!"

"Sorry, Cal, but that was your own slip-up, there." He placed a hand to his temple to send a message to Sasha. "I'm sure Sasha'll be happy to know—"

"NO! DON'T!" Loboto jumped to his feet, preparing to step toward Oleander, only for his legs to give out on him again. He crashed to his knees, holding his head in his hands and trembling. "It was my idea! Not my client's! It had nothing to do with it! Don't let my client think I said anything, they'll have me drowned...!"

Wincing, Oleander leaned away from the dentist. Part of him almost felt bad for the guy—it would've taken something truly terrifying to scare Loboto like this. "Okay, okay, geez." Gently he TK'd him back onto the table. "Fine, so it wasn't your client's plan. But that just means you let us go on your own."

"Yes! Yes, I did!" he said, nodding vigorously as he began to calm down. "All my idea. Part of a plan beyond your feeble-minded comprehension!" He let out a laugh, sounding slightly unhinged.

"Did your plan also involve you getting captured?"

Loboto grunted. "No. That was part of you psychics ruining everything for me!"

Oleander sighed. "Yeah, sure." Drumming his fingers against the side of the chair, he looked away. "...You don't feel any different, though?"

"I feel a lot worse after what that oversized German celery stalk did to me."

"No." He looked back at Loboto, staring him in his weird robotic eyes. "I mean... after that kid entered your mind."

Whipping his arms around his chest again, Loboto turned his optics away. "I told you, that's not any of your business."

"...All right, fine."

An uncomfortable silence hung between them, only broken by the chirping of computers and the scratching of Loboto's claws against the table's padding.

"I take it he dove into your brains too?"

Startled, Oleander gave a jolt. "Wait, how do you know...?"

"You just told me." Loboto's grin grew a fraction wider, and Oleander groaned internally. "You also seem a bit less keen on the whole taking-over-the-world thing."

"...Yeah." He scratched the back of his head. "I am."

"That's a shame. You were more fun that way."

"I don't care what's fun for you!" Oleander snapped, wishing very much that he would stop remembering how fun it had been to make those tanks, and how fun building stuff was in general, and how Hollis wouldn't fund any of it—

"Ah, so the Psychonauts don't allow any sort of fun." Loboto's optics swirled to take in the room. "What a surprise!"

"I never said that," Oleander grumbled. "Going on missions is fun."

"Which you're not allowed to do!"

"Not right now I'm not. But later."

Loboto tapped his claws against the padding on the table again. "Hmm... I've got a mission for you."

Oleander resisted the urge to run a hand down his face. "I don't think you got the authority to issue those." He leaned his head on his hand, realizing he was bored enough to wonder what on earth Loboto was planning to offer him. "What is it?" he asked, and before Loboto could answer, he added, "No taking-over-the-world business!"

Loboto's face scrunched up in an approximation of a frown. "I wasn't gonna say that! Have a little more faith in me, General!"

"Yep. Sure have reason to do that."

With a grunt, Loboto glanced away. "Take me to the facilities, would you?"

"Which facility?" Oleander raised an eyebrow. "I mean, you're stuck here, but now I'm wonderin' what kinda base you think you could get transf—"

"The facilities, you numbskull!" Loboto snapped.

"Wuh—oh." Oleander rubbed his hand over his face. "You didn't have to word it so dramatically. Some mission..." Shaking his head, he stepped closer to the table. "If you're not good to walk, I'm carrying you."

"No thank you." Slowly Loboto eased himself off the table and onto his feet. "Keep your silly psychic mitts away from me." He was a little unsteady, but not in danger of falling flat on his face like he had earlier.

Well, he'd have to keep an eye on him to make sure he didn't collapse on the way there, but he'd deal with it. "Lucky for you the closest one isn't far off. C'mon, forward march." Waving a hand, he headed toward the doors, and glanced back to make sure Loboto was following. While he was struggling to walk in a straight line, he was walking, so that was good enough for him.

They made it out of the lab and into the hallway, which was clear for the time being. Between some of the other employee offices and the aquarium were the nearest restrooms. "There's an aquarium a bit further down—sure you've seen it when Sasha was hauling you out here," Oleander remarked. He stopped in front of the doorway marked "Restrooms," where three doors (men, women, and family) stood beyond. "Maybe I'll let you take a look at it if you decide to behave and don't—"

Oleander glanced over his shoulder, only to do a double-take and spin completely around. Loboto was nowhere in sight.

"...run off on me."

Okay, he should've seen that one coming. With a growl, he charged further down the hallway, though inwardly his heart pounded at the thought that Loboto really could get away. That would be the end of being in the Psychonauts for him. Fortunately, it didn't take long to find the nine-foot-tall dentist prancing toward the atrium like a lame antelope. One swipe of a TK hand was all it took to snag him, and he let out an enraged squawk.

"Let me go!" Loboto howled, squirming and kicking against the restraints.

"Not on your life," Oleander growled, and hauled him back toward Sasha's lab. "You wouldn't have made it far anyway."

"You don't understand—!" Loboto wailed. "I can't stay here!"

"Wanna bet?" They were back in the lab, now, and Oleander made his way toward the center of the room.

"But when the green man comes back, he's going to keep prodding at my brain until—!"

"Yeah." Oleander plopped him back down onto the table. "That's his job." But looking at Loboto, he found him hunched up again and shivering. Annoying as it was to watch him, he couldn't help feeling a little bad for the guy. "...Look."

Loboto looked up, his arms wrapped around himself, and he looked... almost pitifully scared.

"I get it—you're scared of what's gonna happen." He scratched the back of his head. "I'm... a little scared too, I gotta admit. We both messed up in different ways. But... eh." He rubbed his chin, looking off to the side. "The Psychonauts, as much as I had my issues with them in the past—" (he ignored Loboto's comment of "that was a week ago") "—they're good people. And they really do want to help folks, including people who mess up. Especially people who mess up." Looking back, he found Loboto had calmed somewhat, and was tilting his head at him. "They won't let anything bad happen to ya. So the sooner you're able to tell us what you know, the better."

Loboto's optics turned down to look at the floor, his brow furrowed in contemplation. "...Well," he began, and slowly his eyes turned up to meet Oleander's gaze again. "I suppose I... could tell you something."

Oleander perked up. "Yeah! I mean—of course, you can trust me."

"...Right." He glanced away again. He'd grown incredibly calm, and Oleander was pleased to see he'd finally won his trust. "Of course, this is strictly off the record."

"Of course!"

Loboto looked one way, then another, then leaned in toward Oleander, who struggled to hide his giddiness at the thought that he had learned something before—

"That green fellow is suspicious."

Oleander reeled back. "What? Sasha?!" He frowned, crossing his arms. "You're pullin' my leg!"

"Never!" Loboto exclaimed, placing a hand on his chest. "Are you saying you don't believe me? A-after I've risked so much to tell you this...?"

"Well no, it's just... Sasha?"

"Think about it! I mean, when have you ever heard an accent like that?"

Oleander held up a finger, only to pause. "Well, I uh..."

"Exactly." Loboto gave a smug grin.

"Well... when you put it that way..." Oleander rubbed his chin. "Y'know it is pretty funny how he denied the whole 'necromancy' thing..."

Immediately the dentist went back to fidgeting anxiously. "D-don't tell him I told you anything!"

"It's fine! Your intel's safe with me. Though this makes things a heck of a lot more complicated."

"Well, that's how it is." Loboto frowned, kicking his feet.

It certainly hurt to think about, too, given how Sasha had helped him just a few days ago. How could he betray the Psychonauts like that?

Hearing the door slide open behind him, he jumped and spun around to find Sasha striding into the room.

"Thank you for your help, Morry, but I must be alone in my lab immediately." Nein said hurriedly, striding over to the brain tumbler.

Strange. What was he in such a hurry for...?

"Well," Loboto began, preparing to slide off the table, "I suppose I'll get out of your hair—"

"You stay here." He TK-nudged Loboto back onto the table, then paused, seeming to consider that Loboto was now awake, and turned to Oleander. I was not expecting him to be awake, he said over telepathy. Have you learned anything... noteworthy from him?

Oleander looked from Sasha, to Loboto (who stared at him worriedly), and back, before shaking his head. No, haven't gotten a word from him about anything relevant.

As I suspected. Sighing, Sasha turned back toward the brain tumbler. "Well, thank you again for your help, but I must get back to work."

"Right. Uh. Good luck with that guy. You're gonna need it." Frowning, Oleander turned away, finally heading out of the lab. Mission accomplished, he supposed.

...Though after what he'd just learned, he had another mission he'd have to give himself. After stepping into his supply-closet-turned-office, he pulled out some blue paper, and began drafting his machine.

#morceau oleander #caligosto loboto #psychonauts #psychonauts 2 #fanfic #my writing #my art #FINALLY POSTING THIS #I've had this thing sitting around for like... years #so it's nice to finally get it out there #sloooowly working toward posting my massive backlog of fics

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copperboom82 · 2 days ago

Text

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC (Katrina)

Word Count: 11,367

Rating: M

Title Credit: Jealousy by Queen

Summary: In the aftermath of the Leviathan’s attack on Bobby’s house, Dean finds himself laid up and with few things to be happy about. Katrina’s renewed presence in his life seems to be the only upside. But when a moment of jealousy pushes him towards an ill-advised act of sabotage, even that threatens to unravel.

Set early season 7 in the Long Winding Roads collection (masterlist here), but can absolutely be read on its own.

A/N: Hello! This is my fourth submission for @jacklesversebingo, using the prompt Television-Towel-Box of Chocolates. It is also my submission for @spnfanficpond's Valentine's Day Challenge, and my first submission for @alphabetquest, using the jealousy prompt!

Special thanks to @justwhisperingfantasies for not only being my beta on this, but doing the banner for me too. You are absolutely amazing and I can't thank you enough ❤️

Warnings: Some fluff, angst. Cursing. References to drugs, sex, and alcohol. Jealousy. If I missed anything, let me know.

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

“Hey, Sam, you wanna pass me a beer?”

…

“Sam?”

….

“Sam!”

It was on the third attempt that Dean found himself balling up the receipt that had fallen off the takeout bag and tossing it in the direction of his younger brother. Sam jumped when it made contact, his head quickly swiveling around, eyes wide in surprise before Sam’s poker face slid back into place. Dean tried not to frown.

“Sorry. What’s up?”

“Dude.”

Somewhere, Dean knew it wasn’t Sam’s fault… that some patience was warranted. But patience was something that had been in short supply as of late, and Dean wasn’t in the mood for yet another reminder of everything that had managed to become even more fucked up in their lives since Cas had decided to go nuclear. His baby brother’s broken brain, unfortunately, was a strong reminder.

“Yeah, I know, sorry, man. What’d you need? I’m getting up anyway.”

Dean sighed and nodded towards the six pack on the coffee table.

“Just another beer.”

Sam passed it over but stood anyway, stretching as he did. Dean popped the top and watched him carefully. He wasn’t totally sure what he was even looking for, but the incident in the warehouse was still weighing on him heavily, and keeping a close eye on Sam was the only thing he could think to do.

Especially in his state. Fucking compound fracture. Until the damn cast came off, there wasn’t much more he could do.

“I think I’m gonna go check in on Bobby. You good here?”

Dean grunted. He knew Sam was more than likely just looking for a reason to get away, that he realized Dean had noticed him zoning off and didn’t want to deal with it, but calling him out wasn’t worth it. And as Sam wandered off, Dean sighed and settled back into the couch, sipping at the beer and going back to flipping through his daytime TV options.

It had been weeks since Cas had basically imploded, unleashing what was seeming like the next Apocalyse-level threat on all of them in the process, and Dean wasn’t sure how many more hits he could take.

They’d lost Cas - and fuck did he have a crap load of conflicting emotions about that.

Sam’s melon was completely busted - in ways Dean was pretty sure they weren’t gonna be able to fix.

Bobby’s house - the damn near closest thing he’d ever had to a home base - had been torched and burnt to the ground.

They didn’t have a fucking clue how to hurt, let alone kill, earth’s newest monsters, and these freaks had the advantage of knowing everything Cas did to boot.

That Dean was completely laid up with a broken leg was just the cherry on top of the nightmare sundae, and he felt like he was about to snap any moment.

The rest of the day passed much the same as the previous ones had: Bobby blustered in at one point, checking on him and still with no news about the world’s least wanted. Sam drifted around the house, seeming more lost than anything but managing to mostly pass for normal. Dean found himself flipping through Spanish soaps and Dr. Sexy. Every time he tried to do something that should have been simple, like going to take a leak or grabbing something from the other room, he found his frustration mounting and his ever-present bad mood worsening. He’d been laid up before, but rarely for this long, and he sorely missed his regular mobility.

It was long after dinner, after everyone had gone their separate ways for the night, that Dean finally felt something ease in his chest.

After Bobby’s house had been torched, they’d needed a place to lie low, and despite the fact that she’d become mysteriously distant since the springtime, Katrina hadn’t hesitated to offer up her house.

Dean had been wary - he didn’t know why she’d taken such a step back, but he knew there was something there, and he knew she was a brand of temptation he couldn’t fucking afford. Bobby, however, had just looked at him and asked if he had a better suggestion when Dean started to push back on the idea. The conversation had ended there.

Despite his reluctance, staying with Katrina, being around her again, had easily become the only good thing Dean had going for him these days. It had been a little weird at first, like getting a peak behind the curtain, because Dean had quickly realized that for as close as they’d become in the last year, there were still parts of his life that were totally foreign to him.

He’d gotten to meet her little sister, Jenna, who he’d known about but had never so much as spoken to. She had the same fire as her older sister, but also an innocence he only wished he could have protected for Sam.

He’d learned that she was, in fact, just as disorganized and messy as her Jeep often suggested. Her backseat was always littered with shoes and various articles of clothing, discarded papers, and whatever other junk she didn’t feel like dealing with, and she left the same trail of debris behind her in the house.

He also learned that when she wasn’t hunting she worked either 12 or 24 hour shifts and often came home from her job as a paramedic somehow looking even more beat to hell than she did after a hunt. With work it wasn’t so much about bodily injury - she’d come home looking a little rumpled, maybe with a scrape here, or smudges of dirt there, but definitely not bloodied and bruised like from chasing down supernatural threats. It was a different kind of weariness - one he could see in her eyes, in the way she held herself and in how she just seemed to be missing that indescribable spark. It reminded him of how his dad would come home when he was a kid, so defeated and broken, and seeing her like that tore him up more than he wanted to admit.

At least when she came home from work covered in blood, it was never her own. But there were still nights that she did. And those were usually some of the lowest points Dean seemed to see her at.

It was later that night, probably close to one in the morning, when Dean heard Katrina coming in through the front door. After weeks of crashing in the ground floor office she’d rearranged into a temporary bedroom for him, Dean had gotten used to the sounds of her comings and goings, and he could recognize just from the fall of her footsteps that it had been one of her rougher shifts.

He heard her kicking off her shoes… drop her crap on the living room couch a few beats later… keys tossed on the counter a minute later when she reached the kitchen. Across from him, the TV played dimly in the background - some rerun he’d hardly been paying attention to. Dean had been slumped into the pullout bed but pushed himself into a seated position just in time for Katrina’s footsteps to pause by the double doors that separated them.

It had started by accident. One night he hadn’t realized he hadn’t shut the door all the way behind him on his way to bed, and after a brutal day of struggling with the crutches, Dean had refused to care about the one door that hung open as he settled into bed. When Kat had come home close to three in the morning, he’d been tossing and turning, struggling with some nightmare or other, and she’d noticed on her way to her own room. She woke him up, and that was the first time he noticed that weight she seemed to carry.

She’d offered tea. He’d suggested whiskey. It ended with them watching Bewitched reruns on the bed together and passing the bottle back and forth until she’d eventually passed out, curled into his side like she still thought he could protect her. Like everything hadn’t fallen to shit on his watch because he hadn’t been enough to stop it.

The next time Katrina had a late shift, Dean wouldn’t admit it, but he’d left the door open on purpose. He couldn’t even totally explain it to himself, but he justified it by saying he was just worried about her. That he wanted to make sure it wasn’t a regular thing, her coming home like that, and if it were, that at least she weren’t coming home to be on her own with it.

They were friends. Best friends. It was a normal thing for a friend to worry about.

He hadn’t had many friends in his life, but he was pretty sure he was right about that.

That he stayed awake for the same reason was normal too. It’s not like he needed more than four hours anyway. He probably would’ve been up regardless. At least that was the reasoning he came up with.

This was how Dean learned that it wasn’t an every night thing, but it wasn’t uncommon either, and a pattern started to form. Seemingly any time Kat worked one of those shifts that didn’t have her getting home until the middle of the night, she found her way into his room to check on him, and they’d eventually fall asleep, watching whichever rerun he’d been able to find for her (Bewitched, more often than not, but sometimes Gilligan’s Island). Until one night, Dean forgot to leave the door open and dozed off.

It was around 4am when he woke up, alone and confused as to what had disturbed him before realizing that Katrina had never showed up. Half-asleep, he didn’t notice the shut door, and falling back to sleep had been a chore. An uncomfortable weight had formed in his stomach that he was determined to ignore. It was a good thing, he’d told himself, that she hadn’t showed up. It wasn’t like he wanted her to have a bad night. Looking forward to the quiet moments where it was just the two of them was selfish, and wasn’t helping the promise he’d made himself to not cross the damn line with her.

The next morning when she came to the table for breakfast looking like death warmed over and didn’t manage much more than a grunt with anyone, Dean finally realized what had happened. He waited until Bobby had gone out in search of news, Sam had retreated to the garage to clean their guns, and Jenna had retreated upstairs for a shower to say anything. He was back on the couch, and, with a fresh mug of coffee in hand, she wandered into the room, all but collapsing into the armchair nearby.

“You look like hell,” he told her bluntly. Predictably, Katrina rolled her eyes and took a long drink from her coffee.

“Gee, Winchester, you sure know how to make a girl feel special. What’re you, itching to get your other leg broken too?”

Dean snorted but didn’t look away.

“I’m serious, Kat.”

“Yeah, well, I’m serious. Fuck off.”

A second later she leaned forward, reaching for the remote that was sitting on the end table next to Dean. Without thinking, he caught her hand, and when she met his eye - already giving him that what the hell look she was so good at - he squeezed.

“I didn’t realize the door was shut. You coulda come in… you don’t need an invitation. Or an excuse.”

There was a flash of vulnerability, her features softening for just about a heartbeat, before her normal walls slammed back into place. A defense mechanism he recognized all too well.

“You think I’m tired just because -“

“I slept like crap too,” he cut her off, “and I like when you come in and watch TV with me. That’s all I’m sayin’.”

Katrina faltered, her features softening, though there was no mistaking the anxious gleam in her eyes - the one that showed up when she was doubting herself.

“Yeah?”

Dean gave her a warm smile and nodded, finally releasing her hand, comfortable, now, that he had her attention.

“Yeah, Kat. I like spending time with you. It’s probably the only good thing to come out of all the bullshit that’s been goin’ on lately.”

Katrina bit her lip, looking conflicted for a moment. Color bloomed across her cheeks, but she didn’t seem upset.

“I guess you’re not that bad either.”

After that, there wasn’t a night that Kat came home from work she didn’t at least check in on him. It didn’t matter what kind of shift it had been either, she just showed up. On the good nights they laughed and drank, Katrina often quoting whatever rerun they were watching and both of them making up their own ridiculous commentary to go along with it. When she’d had a rough go of it they were quieter, with Dean letting her curl into him while he held her close. No mater the kind of night, it always ended the same way - with the pair of them falling asleep in front of the TV, wrapped in each other’s arms, with neither one willing to talk about it or acknowledge that anything had shifted.

So that night, it was no surprise to Dean when Kat pushed the one door open as gently as she could - though the curtained glass still rattled in its frame - and stuck her head in. Dean was waiting, TV already turned to The Munsters - a rare find he knew she’d be excited for. Their eyes met and he couldn’t help but sweep over her, instinctively looking for damage.

Katrina exuded every bit of the weariness Dean had expected, but he was relieved that tonight, at least, she seemed relatively intact. She’d already peeled off the top of her uniform, leaving her in a worn undershirt and the faded tactical pants he knew she hated. There were bags under her eyes, makeup smudged slightly around them, and a few loose strands of hair framing her face while most of it was still caught in a low ponytail. He couldn’t spot any physical damage, at least not in the dim light, and he found himself breathing slightly easier.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted, giving her a small, soft smile. Katrina rubbed tiredly at her eyes but tried to return the gesture.

“You still up?” she asked despite the obvious. Dean nodded.

“Yeah. C’mon in. I found a good one tonight.”

The smile that tugged at her lips then was a little more genuine, even if it still didn’t reach her eyes.

“Yeah okay. Lemme just grab something to drink. You want anything?”

Ten minutes later, Katrina was on the pullout bed with him, clutching a spiked mug of tea with both her hands while she settled in on his left. “How’s the leg?”

Dean shrugged and gave a half-hearted sort of grunt. The truth was his leg still hurt like a bitch, but he’d had worse, and his leg was the least of his concerns in that moment.

“About what you’d expect. How was your shift?”

Katrina made a noncommittal noise and pointedly avoided meeting his eye. “Busy,” was all she said.

Dean would never admit it - not to himself or to anyone else - but those quiet hours in the middle of the night he got to spend with Katrina, the ones where it was just him and her and the rest of the world lay asleep quickly became the high point of his days. Some days, it felt like they were what he was living for.

They weren’t sitting there for long when Dean noticed that Katrina seemed to be having a hard time staying still. Normally on the quiet nights, she settled in and, short of slowly gravitating into his orbit, she stayed put. Tonight, though, she couldn’t seem to stop fidgeting, shifting near constantly, unable to get comfortable. Dean watched from the corner of his eye, trying to observe without catching her attention, and eventually he had an idea of what was going on.

“You fuck up your back again?”

The question seemed to catch her off guard and Katrina froze, her hands still clutched around the mug.

“What?” she asked after a beat, her voice just a bit higher than normal. “No, I’m fine. I just -”

But they both knew the answer, regardless of whatever bullshit she was about to try and peddle him. Dean shifted and reached out for her.

“C’mere.”

The soft command had her falling silent again. It wasn’t the first time she’d come home like this, either, but he wasn’t sure if it had been enough times that she’d finally gotten past her need for the usual song and dance in which he’d have to convince her it really wasn’t a problem, or if she’d still need the push. Katrina seemed to mull the same thing for a moment, her teeth digging into the flesh of her bottom lip, tempting in ways Dean refused to acknowledge, before she finally sighed.

“Thanks,” she muttered.

Speaking to the level of familiarity they’d developed, Katrina shifted back and handed him over her mug of tea without even looking. Dean accepted it wordlessly, reaching to put it on the end table on his right before turning back to Kat. She settled between his legs, taking care not to jostle the one in the cast, and Dean dropped the remote into her lap before moving his hands to each of her shoulders and starting to work.

He lost himself in the feel of her warm skin beneath his palms, and the heat of her body against his. Slowly, he felt the tension start to ease in Katrina’s muscles, especially as he worked lower. The small noises that started to escape her lips were sinful, and Dean knew he hit the mark when his hands reached her lower back and she let out a louder noise that threatened to stir something entirely inappropriate in him.

“What happened?” he asked carefully, knowing he had a better chance of getting an answer now that she was more relaxed. Katrina hummed and leaned into his touch.

“Stupid,” she muttered, almost sleepily, though Dean knew it was thanks to the massage and not an indicator she’d be actually falling asleep any time soon. “I tweaked it early in the night on a call, and it was too busy to do anything ‘bout it.”

When she did eventually fall asleep that night, she was practically curled up in his lap, her head nestled against his chest and her arms around his waist while Dean leaned back against the part of the couch that was serving as a headboard. He knew his own back would protest in the morning, but in the moment he couldn’t be bothered to care. Katrina was a notoriously horrific sleeper, and he’d be lying if it didn’t fill him with at least a little pride that she seemed to be able to nod off so soundly with him.

These days, it was the only time he really felt like he could do anything remotely right, anyway. He wasn’t sure it was deserved, but he appreciated that at least some part of Katrina still felt safe enough to let her guard down this way with him.

Of course, everything was different in the light of day. He and Kat didn’t talk about whatever was going on between them in the middle of the night - almost as if they had an unspoken agreement not to. And if anyone noticed Katrina slipping out of his room in the mornings, they were wise enough to pretend they didn’t.

What happened in those sacred hours were theirs alone, and Dean was content to leave it that way.

Part of him knew it was playing with fire, but he didn’t want to stop. So the way he saw it, the longer he could pretend it wasn’t happening, the better… the longer they could both pretend it was normal.

“Y’know, you really should try and get up, move around,” Katrina called over to him the next day. It was midafternoon and she had a day off. Dean was back on the couch with the TV on and Sam was in the loveseat nearby, reading a book. Bobby had left earlier that morning on another reconnaissance mission and Jenna was out doing something with her friends, enjoying the remainder of her summer break.

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that, sweetheart,” he shot back sarcastically. From behind him, he heard Katrina huff.

“I’m only looking out for you, you jackass,” she muttered, smacking the back of his head lightly as she came around the couch and dropped into the armchair. She was dressed in sweats and a Queen t-shirt, her hair pulled into a messy bun and a bowl of popcorn in her lap. Dean arched an eyebrow.

“Because you’re one to lecture about healthy habits?” he asked. Katrina narrowed her eyes and tossed a pillow at his head. Dean only managed to block his face at the last second, and when it bounced off his arm and knocked into the coffee table, Sam looked up from what he was doing, startled by the commotion. “Oh, hey now! You see that, Sammy? That’s abuse of the infirmed.”

Katrina scoffed and tossed a handful of popcorn into her mouth. “Please. It’s a broken leg, you big baby. You’re not infirmed. Just-“

“So help me Kat, if you call me lazy again -“

“You’ve got at least four months you’re gonna be-“

“Not this again,” Sam complained, cutting both of them off and drawing their attention to him. “I swear, you two bicker like an old married couple.”

Dean felt heat threaten to rise into his cheeks, even as Katrina rolled her eyes and began munching on more popcorn.

“Please. I think your brother would sooner strangle me than marry me.”

“Aw, don’t sell yourself short, Kat. At least I’d wanna strangle you before I’d wanna strangle plenty of other chicks,” he teased. Sam sighed, Katrina glared, and that time he was catching a coaster that came flying at his face instead of a pillow.

They’d finally settled down when a few minutes later Jenna blew through the front door, a whirlwind of energy as she bustled into the house, pushing her sunglasses up atop her head and humming something. Katrina, Dean noticed, automatically moved to sit up straighter, but Jenna paused when she reached the doorway anyway, surveying all three of them a disapproving look she had to have learned from her older sister, the corners of her mouth tugging into a frown.

“All three of you are absolutely pathetic,” she stated, disappointment clear in her voice. Sam spared her half a glance but was undeterred from his book. Dean had a soft spot for the kid and tossed back a smile with the shake he gave of his head. Katrina, he noticed, set the bowl of popcorn aside and reached for the beer she’d brought over with it.

“Come talk to me in ten years when you’re working twelve hour shifts back to back and we’ll talk,” she bitched. “I’ve earned the right to lounge on my days off, thank you very much.”

Jenna rolled her eyes and ruffled Katrina’s hair affectionately as she passed behind the armchair to drop her stuff on the counter.

“You call it lounging, I call it hiding. C’mon, Trina. All you do is work, you need to have a little fun!” she called over her shoulder. Katrina took a swig of beer and flipped her off.

“I have plenty of fun, kid. I just do it differently than you.”

The irony wasn’t lost on Dean that Katrina had just been ragging on him not five minutes before for his own inactivity, but he’d seen this argument play out enough times to know better than to give Jenna any fodder. Still, that didn’t stop the younger Black sister from turning, hands on her hips, to him for support.

“Oh, please. C’mon, Dean, back me up here. Doesn’t she need to get out more? I bet if you didn’t have that cast you’d be out enjoying your summer instead of wasting away in here like the world’s ending or something.”

The world was kind of ending, but Katrina had been very clear that Jenna wasn’t to know about any of that. It was on the list of many things Jenna wasn’t allowed to know about. A list that Dean knew full well included just how much Katrina had sacrificed for the kid, and exactly how rough things got behind the scenes.

It killed him to watch, but he wasn’t in a place to judge. He’d have done the same for Sam if he could. He couldn’t begrudge Katrina wanting to do the same.

That didn’t change the fact that, privately, he agreed with Jenna that Kat could use a little more light in her life. Even if it was easier said than done.

“Y’know, Jenna, it’s funny you should mention that. What rash of shit were you just giving me, Kat?”

Katrina shot him a withering glare, letting out a suffering sigh as she did.

“I get out plenty,” she protested, and even Sam eyed her skeptically. “I just went to that concert,” she insisted, her head swiveling to her younger sister. “Remember? Fran won those tickets off the radio, and we even stayed overnight at the hotel.”

By that point, Dean had been there with Sam and Bobby for at least a month, and he had zero recollection of whatever concert she was talking about. So when Jenna scoffed, he wasn’t surprised.

“That was two months ago. I’ll say it again, you’re absolutely pathetic. Which is why I took matters into my own hands.”

Dean had to work not to laugh at the horrified look on Katrina’s face, her eyes immediately going wide with fear and her whole body tensing as if preparing for impact.

Then Jenna started to actually talk, and Dean had to work even harder to keep his face from matching Katrina’s.

He’d been expecting Jenna to have set something up for dinner maybe - a night out with Katrina’s few remaining friends from high school Dean knew she saw on occasion, or maybe a forced shopping trip… movie tickets, possibly… they were all things that seemed in character for Katrina’s energetic mini-me to have done. What Dean didn’t expect was for Jenna to proudly announce she’d set her older sister up on a date.

“You did what?” Katrina sputtered, nearly upending the bowl of popcorn as she sat bolt upright. Jenna beamed, clearly pleased with herself.

“I set you up on a date! With Ryan Hutner! You remember him, don’t you? He was on the football team when you were in high school, his little sister’s my age - you used to gush over him when you’d run into him picking me up from school?”

Katrina’s face turned a shade of crimson Dean had never seen on her before.

“Jenna, I’ll kill you! That was years ago, I don’t -”

“Oh save it,” Jenna cut her off, steamrolling over her sister’s protests. “A few of us dropped by Alyssa’s house and I found out he’s back in the area! We got to talking and all I did was mention you were still single. He seemed really interested in catching up - was real sorry he missed mom’s services too. Anyway, I gave him your number and he’s going to take you to dinner on Friday night!”

Dean's knuckles turned white as he gripped the arm of the couch. He forced his expression to remain neutral, even as jealousy clawed at his insides. Who the hell was this Ryan guy? And why did the thought of Katrina going out with him make Dean want to punch something?

"Jenna!" Katrina hissed, mortification clear on her face. "You can't just do shit like that. I'm a grown woman, I can handle my own love life.”

"What love life?" Jenna scoffed. "All you do is work and mope around the house. Trust me, this will be good for you. Ryan’s a great guy. He’s got some fancy job, like, two towns over in marketing. Last year he bought a townhouse, he’s got a dog, and he’s still so good looking."

Dean watched as Katrina opened and closed her mouth, clearly at a loss for words. Part of him wanted to jump to her defense, to tell Jenna to back off. But he couldn’t decide if that was his normal protective instincts kicking in or the part of him currently drowning in irrational jealousy, so he kept silent.

Sam, of course, snorted from his spot on the loveseat, clearly amused by the whole situation. In other circumstances, Dean probably would have been happy to see Sam smiling, but he couldn’t find it in him just then.

“You know, Trina, it probably wouldn’t be the worst thing for you to get out of the house for a change, instead of being stuck with me and Dean all the time. And Bobby. What’s the harm in one date?”

Dean wasn’t sure he’d ever wanted to hit Sam more. It was at least up there with the whole demon blood, Ruby debacle. Katrina, also, shot him a glare.

“Really, Sam?” she complained. “You’re getting in on this bullshit too?”

Dean forced himself to speak up, knowing if he was quiet it would end up seeming too suspicious. But the words tasted like fucking ash in his mouth.

“C’mon, Kat. They’re just looking out for you. Besides, I’ve never known you to turn down a good time.”

“He was so excited, Treen,” Jenna pleaded, but Katrina’s eyes went to Dean, not her sister. Something unreadable flickered there before she sighed heavily.

“Fine. One date. But that’s it, okay? And I don’t wanna hear about it from any of you. And I swear, Jenna - no more meddling. You pull something like this again and -”

“Deal!” Jenna squealed, clapping her hands together excitedly and effectively cutting Katrina’s threats off. “Oh, this is going to be so great! We need to figure out what you’re going to wear… that is not going to cut it, and I’ve seen the rest of your wardrobe…”

As Jenna dragged a reluctant Katrina upstairs to raid her closet, Dean slumped back against the couch cushions, a sour taste in his mouth. Sam chuckled, shaking his head.

"Man, the look on Trina’s face. Priceless."

"Yeah. Hilarious," Dean muttered, not sharing in his brother's amusement. Sam's laughter tapered off as he studied Dean more closely.

"You okay? You seem kind of... off."

Dean schooled his features into a neutral expression. Damn Sam. Even nine kinds of crazy, the kid was too perceptive.

"I'm fine. Just tired of being cooped up in this damn cast,” he deflected. Sam raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah? Because, dude, you look like you wanna murder someone with your bare hands right now. You sure it’s got nothing to do with this Ryan guy?” he pressed.

"Don’t be ridiculous," Dean scoffed, though it sounded weak even to his own ears. "Kat can date whoever the hell she wants. Doesn’t make a difference to me. We're just friends."

"Uh huh," Sam said, clearly unconvinced and holding his hands up in mock surrender. "Whatever you say, man."

Dean grabbed the remote and turned up the volume on the TV, effectively ending the conversation. But as he stared unseeing at the screen, his mind raced.

It was fine. Totally fine. So what if Katrina was going on a date? It's not like they were... anything. Sure, they'd grown closer over the past few weeks. And yeah, maybe he looked forward to those quiet moments late at night when it was just the two of them. But that didn't mean anything.

His chest definitely didn’t ache at the thought of her smiling at someone else the way she smiled at him. The thought of another man’s hands on her didn’t want to make him break things either.

That would be crazy.

They were just friends. Good friends. Best friends, even.

Which made it normal for him to feel protective. That’s all this was. One friend, looking out for another friend.

But friends didn't feel like their stomach was filled with lead at the thought of the other going out on a date.

Friends didn't want to deck some guy they'd never even met just for asking their friend out… or being set up with said friend in this case.

Friends definitely didn't lie awake at night, replaying every touch, every smile, wondering what it would be like to cross that line they'd silently agreed not to cross.

Dean groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. He was so screwed.

The next couple of days passed in a blur of tension for Dean, but Friday night still arrived far too quickly for his liking. He’d planted himself on the couch hours ago, pretending to watch TV while really keeping an ear out for any sound from upstairs where Katrina was getting ready. He was suddenly glad for the excuse to be stationary, since he knew it would keep his presence in the living room from being questioned.

He told himself he was being ridiculous. It was just dinner, a dinner Katrina didn’t even seem all that into if the bitching she’d done that week was any indication. It wasn’t like she was getting married or something, and even if she were, what should it have really mattered to him? He wasn’t going down that road. He couldn’t go down that road. But why shouldn’t she be happy?

But no matter how many times he repeated these things in his head, the knot in his stomach refused to ease.

When he finally heard her descending the stairs, Dean’s heart stuttered. He turned, trying to appear casual, but felt his breath catch as Katrina came into view.

Her hair was damp and tousled, like she’d just gotten out of the shower. In typical Katrina fashion, she’d kept her outfit simple - a black tank top and jeans, her feet still bare, and there was a fluffy towel in her hands she was using to roughly dry her hair. No makeup yet, cheeks still flushed from the hot water.

Fuck, she looked beautiful. And Dean felt his mouth go dry. Thankfully, Katrina didn’t seem to notice.

“Hey there, gimpy,” she greeted with her usual brand of sass. “You planning on staying glued to the couch all night?”

Dean rolled his eyes, grateful for their normal banter. It was easy, familiar… second nature, at that point.

“Gee, Kat, I don’t know. I’m thinking since my leg’s still broken, yeah, that’s kinda the plan. Why, you offering for me to tag along?”

Katrina snorted.

“Please. I’ve seen you eat. No way am I picking up that bill, or asking Ryan to.”

“Oh, hey now,” Dean protested, pretending to take offense. “I can pick up my own bill… or Lemmy Kilmister can, anyway.”

Katrina smirked but it faded quickly, and then she was biting her lip, looking uncharacteristically hesitant.

“This is stupid, isn’t it?” she asked. “Letting Jenna talk me into this crap. I mean, what the hell am I doing? Going on a fucking date? With a guy in marketing… like that’s not a recipe for disaster. It’s not like I can let anyone actually get close, anyway.”

The vulnerability on her face and in her voice overrode the selfish part of him that was screaming to convince her to stay home with him instead. He understood how she felt, but she wasn’t in quite as deep as he and Sam were. She still had a chance at some semblance of a life, and he’d be damned if he was about to stand in the way of her happiness. God knew he wished it could have been different with him and Lisa. Hell, he wished it could be different now.

“It’s not stupid, Kat,” he told her genuinely. “Your sister’s right, you deserve to have some fun. It’s a date, not a lifelong commitment. Go out, enjoy yourself for once.”

She studied him for a long moment, almost like she was looking for something in his expression. Whatever it was, though, she didn’t seem to find it and with a small sigh she nodded and stood.

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s just a date. No big deal.”

Before Dean could respond, a sharp knock sounded from the front door. Katrina jumped, startled, and tossed the damp towel she’d still been holding at Dean’s head. He caught it and tossed it aside in time to note the absolutely panicked expression flit across Katrina’s face.

“Shit, is that him? He’s early! I’m not ready! Damn it, who doesn’t know pick me up at 8 actually means pick me up at 8:10?”

Despite his own churning stomach, Dean couldn’t help but snort.

“I dunno, Kat. Maybe someone that’s not as used to you and doesn’t already know you’re crazy.”

Katrina was already moving towards the door but flipped him off.

“Didn’t ask for the commentary!” she called over her shoulder. Dean watched as she hurried up, smoothing down her jeans as she went.

From his spot on the couch, Dean had a clear view as Katrina opened the door to reveal her date. Ryan was tall and lean but broad-shouldered, with dark hair and a mega-watt smile. Dressed in slacks and a button-down shirt, he looked every inch the preppy, young, successful professional Jenna had painted him to be, and Dean worked not to grind his teeth.

“Hey Trina,” he said, his eyes roving over her figure appreciatively. “Been a while. You look incredible.”

Even from this distance, Dean was able to spot the flush that spread across Katrina’s face.

“Thanks,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You look great too. It’s really good to see you again.”

“Yeah,” Ryan agreed warmly. “Been way too long. I’m glad we’re doing this.”

They chatted for a few moments, catching up and exchanging pleasantries. Dean felt his jaw clench as he watched their easy rapport. Katrina was clearly a little flustered, but she was smiling and laughing at Ryan’s jokes. It was obvious there was a spark between them. It was also startlingly obvious to Dean that he’d never seen her quite like this before.

“So, um, I’m not quite ready. You mind hanging out down here for a minute? I won’t be long, promise.”

“No problem at all,” Ryan assured her. And why wouldn’t he? Dean wouldn’t put up a fuss if he were about to be going out with a girl like Katrina on his arm either.

He knew what was coming before it happened. Katrina turned and led the guy into the living room, looking to Dean hopefully.

“Dean, this is Ryan. Ryan, this is Dean.”

“Nice to meet you, man,” Ryan said, stepping around her to shake Dean’s hand. He resisted the temptation to break the guy’s hand. “Trina mentioned she had some friends staying with her.”

“Yeah,” Dean nodded. “She’s been letting me crash while my leg heals up.”

“Dean, you mind keeping Ryan company a few minutes while I finish getting ready?” Katrina interjected. Dean plastered on his most charming smile, swallowing what he wanted to say. There wasn’t exactly a choice.

“Sure thing, sweetheart. Take your time.” The term of endearment had slipped out without him meaning for it to, and she flashed him a warning look.

“Great, thanks. I’ll be right back.”

And then Dean was alone with Ryan Hutner.

They shared a somewhat awkward smile and Dean found himself reluctantly nodding towards the armchair.

“Might wanna pull up a chair, man. Knowing Katrina that minute ‘ll turn into ten.”

Ryan chuckled but settled into the seat. “Some things never change, I guess. She was always late to class too.” An uncomfortable silence settled over them. Dean wracked his brain for something to say, but all he could think about was how much he wanted this guy gone. Ryan, at least, spared him the trouble of coming up with anything. “So, how do you and Trina know each other?”

It was an innocent enough question, one Dean should have been perfectly capable of answering. But something snapped, and words just started vomiting from his mouth before he could stop them - all, at best, half-truths and exaggerations. Mostly, they were just complete fabrication.

“Oh man, where to start?” Dean laughed, settling back into the couch. “Kat and I go way back. We met on this crazy road trip a few years ago through a mutual friend - she’d just gotten out of rehab. Was looking for a fresh start, you know?”

That they’d met through a “mutual friend” was the only shred of truth to be found. Maybe that she was looking for a fresh start if he stretched it - her mom had just passed… but it was pretty much bullshit. He didn’t even know where the rehab lie came from. Ryan’s eyebrows, however, shot up.

“Rehab?”

Dean waved a hand dismissively, nodding.

“Oh yeah. Ancient history, though. We’ve been thick and thieves ever since. And man, let me tell you, never a dull moment with that chick - it’s been a hell of a ride. She ever tell you about the time she got arrested for indecent exposure? Got caught skinny dipping middle of the night with her last boyfriend. Or the time she snuck backstage at the Black Keys concert? Had to bail her out for that one myself. At least she’d been smart enough to ditch the coke before they got her that time.”

With each outrageous lie, Ryan’s eyes grew wider. Dean knew he should stop, that he’d already crossed a huge line, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.

“Seriously? That doesn’t sound like Trina.”

Dean shrugged.

“Hey, people change. She’s still great, though! Life of the party. Fucking fearless, too. I mean, do I sometimes worry she’s a little too wild? Sure. But it’s part of her charm, you know?”

Ryan was looking increasingly alarmed but was making an admirable attempt to hide it. He nodded slowly, unable to completely ditch the shell-shocked expression on his face, and Dean felt a twinge of guilt. A twinge he quickly pushed aside.

“Uh, right,” Ryan agreed. “Wow… I had no idea she was so… adventurous.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s Kat for you. I’m sure you two’ll have a great time tonight. Just, uh, maybe keep an eye on how much she drinks? She can get a little handsy after a few glasses of wine, if you know what I mean. Oh, and fair warning - she's into some really kinky stuff in the bedroom. Like, we're talking whips and chains level kinky. Hope you're not the squeamish type.”

He was going to hell. Again. And this time it felt earned.

Before Ryan could respond, or Dean could dig himself a bigger, deeper hole, the sound of Katrina’s footsteps on the stairs had both men turning toward the hallway. She appeared a moment later, hair now styled in soft waves around her shoulders, makeup subtle but enhancing her natural beauty. She looked stunning and Dean’s mind went temporarily blank.

“Sorry about that,” she said breathlessly, grabbing her bag from the side table. “You boys play nice while I was gone?”

“Of course,” Dean said innocently before Ryan could tip her off. “Just getting to know each other a bit.”

Ryan’s smile was slightly strained, but Katrina didn’t seem to notice.

“Yeah, Dean was just telling me some… interesting stories.”

Katrina’s eyes narrowed suspiciously in Dean’s direction, and he thanked god he had a good poker face. Even if his heart was racing.

“What kind of stories?” she demanded. Dean rolled his eyes.

“Would you relax and just get out of here already? I promise I left all the good stuff out.”

Katrina seemed mollified, but Dean noticed that, if possible, the color drained further from Ryan’s face. As they headed for the door, Dean called out, “You two crazy kids have fun tonight. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

Katrina flipped him off and tossed back a “That doesn’t narrow it down much, Winchester!”, but Ryan practically hustled her out the door. As it closed behind them, Dean felt the fake smile slide off his face. He slumped back onto the couch again, the reality of what he’d done came crashing down. Guilt churned in his stomach, warring with the lingering jealousy.

What the fuck had he been thinking?

Katrina was his friend - his best friend. She’d stood by him through all the crap with Lisa, let him lean on her and supported him when Sam had been without his soul, had his back in enough hunts he’d lost count, hadn’t hesitated to take him and Sam in when they’d needed somewhere to go, had been taking care of him while he’d been laid up in her own prickly kind of way… And he’d just deliberately tried to sabotage her date out of petty jealousy. What kind of asshole did that make him?

But it was too late to take back now. All he could do was wait and see how the evening played out… how badly he’d fucked up. He grabbed his beer off the coffee table and took a pull, settling in for a long night of stewing in his own remorse.

The hours crawled by at an agonizing pace, during which Dean alternated between channel surfing listlessly and berating himself for his actions. Stumbling across Bewitched reruns nearly made him sick, and he quickly navigated past the channel. Sam wandered through at one point, raising an eyebrow at Dean’s sullen mood, but wisely chose not to comment.

Eventually, Sam retreated to his room to research. Jenna, who had blown in around 11 from her own date, had turned in for the night. Bobby was still out following up on a lead - they weren’t expecting him back until the next day - and Dean found himself alone with his thoughts. The TV got impossibly harder to focus on, and despite his efforts, he found himself replaying every word of his conversation with Ryan and hating himself more for it by the minute.

It was nearing midnight when he finally heard a car pull up outside. He sat up straighter, straining his ears. The car idled for a moment before driving away, and Dean’s entire body tensed as he waited for the sound of the front door. He briefly wondered if he’d been stupid not to have made himself scarce… but if Katrina knew what he did, he doubted being tucked away in his room would stop her from laying into him.

The sound, when it came, was anything but subtle. The door slammed open with enough force to rattle the windows, and Dean winced.

Her footsteps as she made her way through the foyer were slow and heavy, and when she appeared in the doorway, Dean’s heart sank. Her shoulders were slumped, makeup slightly smudged. She looked utterly dejected in a way he hadn’t seen before.

“Hey,” he said softly. “How’d it go?”

For a fraction of a second, he was filled with the desire to get up and pull her into his arms in some foolish attempt to comfort her. It didn’t matter that he knew he was probably the reason she looked so beaten down, he couldn’t stand to see her in pain. And if he’d been any more mobile, he’d have probably acted on the urge.

But then Katrina’s eyes snapped to his, blazing with fury, and his own survival instincts kicked in instead. She stormed across the room without a word and smacked him hard upside the head.

“Ow! What the hell?” Dean yelped, more startled than hurt. Katrina was unmoved.

“You absolute jackass!” Katrina hissed. “What the fuck did you say to Ryan?”

Dean’s stomach dropped. He’d known it was coming, but that didn’t help.

“I don’t know what you’re-” Katrina smacked him again, this time grabbing a nearby pillow to swing at him.

“Don’t you even think about playing dumb with me!” she snapped. “Ryan spent the entire night acting weird and jumpy around me. He kept giving me these strange looks, like he was waiting for me to sprout horns or something, and getting nervous every time I ordered a fucking drink. And then halfway through dinner, he started asking me about my ‘wild lifestyle’ and if I was still clean and whether I was really into whips and chains!”

Dean winced. “Kat, I can explain -”

"Oh, this ought to be good," she snarled, crossing her arms over her chest. “Please, enlighten me. What possible explanation could you have for sabotaging my date? What part of your pea-sized brain thought it would be a good idea?”

"I didn't - it wasn't -" Dean floundered, searching for the right words. He was coming up blank though. There was no explanation. At least not one he was willing to fess up to. He knew it. She knew it. There was no point. "It was just a joke, okay? I didn't think he'd take it seriously.”

Katrina’s eyes flashed, and Dean suddenly felt an uncharacteristic wave of sympathy for the monsters they hunted down.

“A joke?” she asked, her voice rising dangerously. You told him I was some kind of sex-crazed junkie as a joke?”

Put like that, it sounded even worse, and Dean cringed. “Okay, yeah, that one might have been a bit much… but in my defense, I didn’t actually say -”

“In your defense?” Katrina shrieked, throwing her hands up in exasperation.

“I’m sorry, okay?” he interjected, his face burning with shame. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

"That's bullshit and we both know it," Katrina spat. "You knew exactly what you were doing. What I want to know is why. What, you didn't want me to have a good time? You just had to make sure I was as miserable as you?"

The accusation stung, mostly because there was a kernel of truth to it. Dean's temper flared anyway, his natural inclination towards deflecting and masking with anger kicking in.

"Oh come on, it's not like you were even that into the guy," he shot back. "You were bitching about it all week. Hell, you were asking me if you should even go right before the guy got here, Kat!"

It was the wrong thing to say. Katrina's face turned an alarming shade of red.

"Oh, fuck you, Dean! That is not the point!" she screamed. "Whether I wanted to go or not, it was my choice. Mine. Not yours. Mine. What gives you the right to interfere in my life like that? What the hell is wrong with you? I thought we were friends!”

“We are friends!” Dean protested, but Katrina didn’t look convinced.

“Really? Because friends don’t do this kind of thing to other friends!”

Dean flinched at her words, guilt and shame washing over him.

“I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean for things to go this far. I just… I don’t know what came over me.”

“Oh, I think you do,” Katrina growled. “You just don’t want to admit it.”

There was a challenge in her gaze that made Dean's heart race. She couldn’t possibly be implying what he thought she was. He hadn’t told a soul, alive or dead, how he felt about her. Those feelings were something he kept locked up tight, in a box he kept buried deep down, with all the other things he couldn’t afford to deal with. They kept good company at least. It was the same box Lisa and Ben were in.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, averting his eyes.

Katrina scoffed. "Of course you don't. God forbid Dean Winchester actually confront his emotions for once in his life."

"Hey, that's not fair-" Dean started to protest, but Katrina cut him off.

"You know what's not fair? The fact that I just had what might have been the most mortifying date of my life because you couldn't handle the idea of me going out with someone else!" she snapped. "Do you have any idea how humiliating that was? Ryan probably thinks I'm some kind of lunatic now! God, Dean, did you even think about what he might say about me to other people? I work in this town, you jackass. I live here! His sister hangs out with mine, I shop at the same grocery store as his parents!”

Even with how bad he’d been feeling, Dean hadn’t thought about any of that, and in that moment he almost wished the world would open up and swallow him whole.

“I’m sorry, Kat. Really, I am. I never meant for things to go this far. I just... I guess I got a little carried away.”

"A little?" Katrina's voice dripped with sarcasm. "That's the understatement of the century."

She paced back and forth, practically vibrating with anger. Dean watched her warily, not daring to speak. Finally, Katrina whirled to face him again.

"Why, Dean?" she demanded. "Why would you do this? And don't give me that crap about it being a joke. I want the real reason."

Dean swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. This was it - the moment of truth. He could come clean, lay all his cards on the table. Tell her how he really felt.

But the words stuck in his throat. Because admitting his feelings meant risking everything. Their friendship, the easy companionship they'd built. Not that he hadn’t already. But if Katrina didn't feel the same way, it would change everything between them. And Dean wasn't sure he could handle that.

And even if he could, even if she did feel the same way… he couldn’t risk something happening to her. He’d lived that horror show already. He couldn’t do it again.

So instead, he took the coward's way out.

"I don't know, okay?" he said, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I guess I just... I got jealous or something. Which is stupid, I know. You're my friend and I should want you to be happy. I don't know what came over me."

Katrina stared at him for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. When she spoke, her voice was quiet and laced with disappointment.

"You're right. It is stupid," she said flatly. "And it's not good enough, Dean. Not by a long shot."

Without another word, she turned and stormed out of the room. Dean heard her footsteps on the stairs, followed by the slam of her bedroom door.

He slumped back against the couch cushions, burying his face in his hands and feeling like the world's biggest asshole. He'd royally fucked things up, and he had no one to blame but himself.

"Fuck," he muttered. What the hell had he done?

Sleep was a lost cause that night, and really, for the next few nights. Dean tossed and turned on the pullout bed, replaying the fight with Katrina over and over in his mind. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the hurt and betrayal on her face.

The next few days were tense, to say the least. Katrina was giving Dean the cold shoulder, ignoring him completely when she wasn't shooting him icy glares. She stopped coming to his room at night, leaving Dean to toss and turn alone.

Sam and Bobby had quickly picked up on the tension, but neither seemed particularly sympathetic to Dean's plight.

"You brought this on yourself, man," Sam said when Dean complained about Katrina's silent treatment. "What you did was a real dick move."

"I know, okay?" Dean snapped. "You don't have to rub it in."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Hey, I'm just calling it like I see it. You're lucky Trina didn't kick your ass out of the house entirely."

Dean grunted, unable to argue with that assessment. Bobby was equally unsympathetic when Dean tried to commiserate with him.

"You really stepped in it this time, ya idjit,” he’d said, with a disappointed shake of his head. “The hell were you thinkin’? You were taught better ‘n that, Dean.”

Jenna was disappointed in him too, though Dean couldn’t help but notice there seemed to be an undercurrent in her scolding.

“You’re such an idiot,” she announced one morning with a shake of her head. “I can’t believe you blew it like that.”

“Blew what?” Dean frowned. Jenna rolled her eyes.

“Please. I thought you might be into Trina before - I actually hoped setting her up with Ryan might light a fire under your ass and get you to finally make a move - but now it’s beyond obvious. Didn’t think you’d go full fucking sabotage mode, though.”

Dean spluttered, caught off guard by the blunt assessment. Damn teenagers. He’d forgotten how aggravating they were.

“I’m not - we’re just friends!”

“Uh huh, sure,” Jenna said skeptically. “Whatever you, Dean-o. Just know that if you don’t find a way to fix this, she’s not gonna sit around forever. She might not be Miss. Congeniality all the time, but she’s still a catch. Pull your head outta your ass and do something about it.”

As she flounced away, Dean was left reeling. Was he really that transparent? And if Jenna had picked up on his feelings, did that mean Katrina knew too?

The thought made his stomach churn with anxiety. He had to fix this, and soon. But how?

Dean knew they were all right - well, maybe not Jenna, at least not totally, but they were mostly right. He'd royally screwed up, and he had no one to blame but himself. But that didn't make Katrina's cold shoulder any easier to bear.

He missed her. Missed their late-night TV marathons and easy banter. Missed the way she always seemed to know exactly what he needed, whether it was a cold beer or a distraction from his own thoughts.

More than that, he missed his friend. She was his confidante, his partner-in-crime, the person he looked forward to seeing at the end of a long day.

And he'd thrown it all away because he couldn't handle his own jealousy.

It was nearly a week after the disastrous date and resulting argument when Dean finally worked up the courage to try and make amends. He'd spent days agonizing over what to say, how to apologize. In the end, he decided he just needed to suck it up and get it over with. She’d probably hit him again, but he figured he deserved it… and if it meant she’d talk to him again, at this point, he was willing to take it.

So that night, instead of retreating to his makeshift bedroom, Dean planted himself on the living room couch once more. His leg ached, a dull throb that seemed to echo the ache in his chest, but it didn’t matter. Fixing things was more important. He'd timed it carefully, knowing Katrina was due home from a late shift soon. It was the second night in the row, and it had killed him to listen to her walk past his door the night before.

His palms were sweating as he heard her Jeep pull into the driveway, and then her key jingling in the lock a few minutes later. This was it – it was now or never.

Katrina stepped into the house, kicking off her shoes with a tired sigh. When she rounded the corner into the living room and spotted Dean on the couch, she froze, her expression shuttering immediately. For a long moment, they just stared at each other.

"What are you doing up?" she finally asked warily.

Dean took a deep breath, bracing himself. "Waiting for you. Can we talk? Please? I wanted to apologize… properly."

Katrina's eyes narrowed, but she didn't immediately storm off, which Dean took as a good sign. He reached down in front of the couch and produced a box of chocolates he’d begged Sam to pick up for him earlier in the day - Katrina's favorite brand, specifically dark and milk chocolate, with all the crème fillings and none of the, as she called them, bullshit nuts.

"Peace offering?" he offered, holding out the box with what he hoped was a contrite smile.

Katrina’s eyes narrowed, but after a moment she sighed heavily and moved further into the room. “You’re such an asshole,” she muttered, crossing the room and accepting the box of chocolates on her way. “And you’re lucky I’m too tired to yell at you right now.”

She dropped onto the opposite end of the couch, leaving a good three feet of space between them. Dean tried not to let that sting.

“I know,” Dean said quietly, not arguing either of her points. “I’m sorry, Kat. And I know that doesn’t begin to cover it, but I am. I know I screwed up. Really screwed up. What I did, making up all that crap? It was a dick move. I was a complete jackass, and you didn't deserve any of it. What I did was petty and childish and just... wrong. On every level.”

Katrina was quiet for a moment while she studied him, her expression guarded, and Dean wished he could hear what she was thinking.

“Why’d you do it, Dean?” she finally asked. It was the same question she’d asked that night, but her tone was softer now. “And I want the real answer this time.”

Dean swallowed hard. It was another chance to come clean, to lay it all out there. But looking into Katrina's eyes, seeing the wariness there, he found himself hesitating once again.

"I guess I just... I got scared," he admitted softly. "Things between us have been so good lately, you know? I didn't want anything to change. And then suddenly there was this guy from your past, swooping in, and I just... I panicked."

It wasn't the whole truth, but it wasn't a lie either. Katrina's expression softened slightly.

"Dean, you're my best friend," she said. "No guy was ever going to change that. You have to know that."

Dean nodded, guilt churning in his gut. "I know. I do know that. I was being an idiot. And selfish."

Katrina's eyes snapped to his face, searching. "That's it? You were just being selfish?"

There was something in her tone - a hint of disappointment, maybe? - that made Dean's heart race. But he couldn't bring himself to take that final leap.

"Yeah," he said, hating himself for the lie. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

Katrina held his gaze for a long moment before nodding slowly. "Okay. But Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"If you ever pull something like that again, I will kick your ass. Broken leg or not."

Despite everything, Dean felt a grin tugging at his lips. "Yes ma'am."

Katrina rolled her eyes, but he could see the hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She reached for the box of chocolates, tearing into the packaging.

After a moment, she held the box out to Dean in offering. He took one gratefully, recognizing the gesture for the olive branch it was.

"So," Katrina said after they'd both had a few pieces. "Where do we go from here?"

Dean sighed, leaning back against the couch cushions. "I don't know. But I don't want to lose you, Kat. You're important to me."

Katrina's expression softened. "You're important to me too, Dean. But... maybe we need to set some boundaries? I think we've both gotten a little too comfortable lately."

A lump formed in Dean's throat. There it was - the dissolution of that silent agreement they had not to talk about what’d been going on.

He knew she was right, but the thought of pulling back from the easy intimacy they'd developed made his chest ache. Still, he nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah, you're probably right. We're friends. Good friends. That's... that's enough."

If he didn't know better, Dean could have sworn he saw a flicker of disappointment in Katrina's eyes. But it was gone so quickly he was sure he must have imagined it.

"Right," she agreed. "Friends."

They fell into silence again, but this time it was more comfortable. After a few minutes, Katrina spoke up again.

"So," she said around a mouthful of caramel. "You gonna hog the remote or what?"

Just like that, the tension between them eased. Dean grabbed the remote, flipping through channels until he landed on a rerun of Bewitched.

As Samantha twitched her nose on screen, Dean glanced at Katrina out of the corner of his eye. She'd curled up on her end of the couch, still maintaining that careful distance between them. But she was here, and she was talking to him again. It was more than he deserved.

He'd take it.

"Hey Kat?" he said softly.

She hummed in acknowledgment, not taking her eyes off the TV.

"I really am sorry," he said again. "I never meant to hurt you or embarrass you like that. You didn't deserve it."

“Yeah, I know,” she whispered. “We’re good.”

Dean grinned, feeling some of the weight lift from his chest. They'd be okay.

As the night wore on, Dean found himself hyper-aware of every move Katrina made. The way she'd snort at particularly cheesy lines in the show. How she'd absently twist a strand of hair around her finger while she watched. The quiet sounds of contentment she made as she savored each piece of chocolate.

More than once, he caught himself wanting to reach out. To close that gap between them and pull her close like he had so many nights before.

But things were different now. That easy intimacy they'd cultivated felt fragile, tainted by his moment of jealous stupidity. So Dean kept his hands to himself, even as everything in him screamed to do otherwise.

For her part, Katrina seemed equally hesitant to bridge the gap. She'd lean forward to grab another chocolate, careful not to brush against him. Her laughter, when it came, was quieter than usual.

It was progress, Dean told himself. They were talking again, spending time together. The rest would come with time.

As the credits rolled on their third episode, Katrina yawned and stretched. "I should probably head to bed. Another long shift tomorrow."

Dean nodded, trying to ignore the pang of disappointment. "Yeah, of course. Thanks for... you know. Giving me another chance."

Katrina's expression softened. "That's what friends do, right?"

"Right," Dean agreed, even as the word 'friends' left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Katrina stood, gathering up the mostly-empty chocolate box. She hesitated for a moment, then leaned down to press a quick kiss to Dean's cheek.

"Goodnight, Dean," she murmured.

Before he could respond, she was gone, padding up the stairs to her room. Dean touched his cheek where her lips had been, wondering why such an innocent gesture left him feeling so conflicted.

A few minutes later he hauled himself off the couch with a sigh and hobbled back to his temporary bedroom on the crutches. As he settled into bed, Dean found himself staring at the ceiling, mind racing.

He and Katrina were friends. Good friends. Best friends, even. And that was enough. It had to be enough.

Because the alternative - admitting that somewhere along the line, he'd fallen head over heels for her - was too terrifying to contemplate.

So Dean pushed those thoughts aside, buried them deep where they couldn't cause any more trouble. And if a small part of him ached at the thought of going back to the way things were before, well... that was a price he was willing to pay to keep Katrina in his life.

It had to be.

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