#blame the sound engineering!!!!!!! or whatever

[heaveniowa]

headfirst slide joecals you're EVERYTHING to me and more (x)

[hederasgarden]

Like Oil and Water

Summary: Your office power struggle with Scott comes to a head. Paring: Scott (Twisters) x F!Scientist!Reader Word Count: 2.1K Rating: Mature, 18+ only. Enemies to lovers trope, PIV sex, fingering, and dirty talk. Slight angst.  A/N: The story is based on this ask I received. I know there are like…five Scott fans out there besides me so I hope y’all like this. I have no explanation for this fic except I’m horny for Scott. I had an alternative ending to this story but whoops feelings crept in. Thank you to @ryebecca, @whatblogisthis216 and @a-reader-and-a-writer for looking this over. The snazzy summary is courtesy of @writercole.

Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day. 

David Corenswet Characters Masterlist

“I’m never picking up your coffee order again,” Javi swears, handing the Starbucks cup to you. “Whatever happened to coffee with a little bit of cream?”

“Capitalism,” you reply, taking a sip. It wasn’t exactly how you liked it, missing that deep caramel flavor, but you appreciate Javi’s effort. “Thanks again.”

He nods, drinking from his cup as you make your way down to the labs, discussing the results from the latest test. 

“We will need to adjust the relays, but other than that, I think we’re in good shape,” you tell him. “I’ll let the techs know we need those changes made this week.”

“Sounds good. I gotta make a quick call, but I’ll join you after,” Javi promises, disappearing into his office while you make your way down the hall.

You hear the low timber of Scott's voice before you spot him in conversation with one of the female techs. You loathe to admit it but he looks good, his tanned forearms on display with the sleeves of his white company shirt rolled up. The baseball cap tucked into his back pocket and dusty boots let you know he probably came straight from the field. 

"We need to fix the relays. They failed the test. Again. That's unacceptable," he begins, gearing up for another one of his infamous lectures. "Back when I was at MIT, this type of calibration was the first thing we were taught."

Scott may have been one of the smartest guys on Javi’s team but he was also a smug asshole. From the moment you met him, he irritated you, reminding you of every man who thought he was smarter and better than you just because of his gender. Everyone expected engineers to be difficult to work with, but Scott took it to another level. Who could blame you for taking him down a peg or two when you had the chance?

"So you went to MIT. Big whoop," you begin, delighted to see Scott tense up at the sound of your voice. When he turns to face you, the tech is quick to scurry away. "Call me when you have a PhD from a real school, like Caltech, Scotty."

He hates it when you call him that but today it's your jab about MIT that strikes a nerve. A muscle in his jaw jumps, and he exhales harshly. God, that angry look in his eye really did something for you. Too bad his looks couldn’t make up for how much of a dick he could be. 

Scott practically spits your first name out, stepping into your space to loom over you. His broad shoulders and muscular build block your view of the lab. You tilt your head to look at him, fighting the urge to smile. "You really should address me as ‘doctor,’" you calmly remind him, tapping your name badge. 

You arch a brow, waiting for his response but his mouth snaps shut, attention moving to something behind you. 

It’s Javi.

"Come on guys," he sighs. "Play nice."

You glance over your shoulder, smiling sweetly. "I'm always nice.”

"Why are you even in the labs today?" Scott questions, glancing down at your heels. 

You smooth a hand down your dress and smile. "I'm the Vice President of R&D for Storm Par. These are my labs. I belong here.”

"Dressed like that?" He scoffs. 

"What, you don't like it?" You ask, turning in a slow circle. 

"We had a meeting with some new investors," Javi supplies, trying to cut off the start of another fight between the two of you. 

Scott turns away and you can practically hear his teeth grinding together. He still hasn’t forgiven you for talking Javi out of letting his uncle invest in the company. It would have been easy money but you never liked the business plan. It was best to stick with government grants and investors without any personal connections. 

Javi touches your arm. “Come on, we gotta finish that grant.”

You hum in agreement, trailing behind him to the doorway. Pausing, you glance back and catch Scott watching you, his lips pressed into a thin line. With a grin, you wiggle your fingers at him, amused to see the furrow in his brow deepen even further.

The rest of your day is blessedly Scott-free and you spend your time buried in meetings and wading through needlessly complicated grant submissions. Javi employed some of the smartest people you’ve ever had the privilege of working with but they were terrible when it came to making the science digestible to investors. You sigh, rubbing your temples. It was going to be a long night.

You work uninterrupted, buried in the complexities of the grant, until Scott storms into your office, slamming the door behind him. “Did you tell the techs they could go home early?” he demands.

“Please, do come in,” you deadpan, setting aside the papers you’re holding.

“Did you send them home?” He repeats, rounding your desk and invading your personal space. At his side, his hands are clenched into fists, the veins in his neck standing out.

“I did.” You rise to your full height but even in heels, he dwarfs you. 

“That wasn’t your call.”

“You do remember my job title, right?”

“I’m VP of Operations,” he reminds you. “I say when they go home, especially when we’re on a deadline.”

“They report to me, and you’ve had them working long hours,” you fire back.

He shakes his head, crossing his arms tightly across his chest, as he gives you an unimpressed look. “You’re too soft on them. I told Javi you weren’t right for this job. This isn’t academia. We work hard here.” 

You bristle at his words, clenching your fist so tightly that your nails dig into the soft skin of your palm. He has no idea what it took for you to get here, the challenges you faced, or the men like him you had to prove yourself to.

“Go fuck yourself, Scott.” 

You glare up at him, chest rising and falling rapidly. You wait, ready for whatever asshole comment is sure to come but he just stares at you. Then, to your surprise, his gaze drops to your mouth. You freeze, electricity zipping up your spine when you realize you’re close enough for your chest to brush his as you exhale. Looking back, you won't remember the impulse that led you to tilt your head and press your lips to his, only that you did.

The kiss only lasts a second before you pull away, heart pounding in your chest. For a moment, neither of you moves, but then suddenly he surges forward, his large hand grasping the side of your face. His lips crash into yours roughly. A hand at your hip urges you back until you bump your desk but he doesn’t stop until he’s practically dragged you on top of it. He presses in close, eating up what little space remains. You groan, grasping at his shirt as you push your hips into his. 

“Fuck,” he pants, resting his forehead against yours as his warm breath fans across your face. For one terrible second, you think he might stop or say something stupid to ruin the moment but then he’s kissing you again. He forces a hand between your bodies and roughly pulls your underwear aside so his fingers can drag through your folds. You’d be shocked by how fast it’s all happening but any higher thought fizzles out once his thumb circles your clit and his tongue breaks the seam of your lips to taste you. 

You’re breathless when he pulls away, back arching in response to his talented fingers. Through your lashes you see him smirk down at you. “No smart comebacks now?” He questions.

Before you can retort he adds a second finger. You moan, rolling your hips to seek more of him. “Knew you’d be fucking greedy,” he whispers.

He watches you fuck yourself on his hand with a hungry glint in his eyes until your pace slows. He glanced at your face. You rise up on your elbows, brow raised. “Am I going to do all the work here?” 

“Shut up,” he growls, withdrawing his fingers.

A witty comeback is on the tip of your tongue but it dies when Scott brings his fingers to his mouth. He stares down at you while he sucks them clean, his Adam's apple bobbing. Your stomach clenches hard at the sight. 

“That’s better,” he comments, unbuckling his belt. “Nice and quiet.” 

He takes a condom from his wallet and rolls it on his thick length. If there was ever a time to stop, it’s now. You look at Scott, his dark gaze swimming with desire and push the thought away, rising up to kiss him. The blunt head of his cock nudges your entrance and you lift your hips. You relish the way he looks, dark hair curling over his sweaty forehead and his body straining for you. Knowing you’ve done this to him sends a rush of want through you. 

Scott pushes inside slowly, hissing as your wet heat envelopes him until he’s halfway in and then he snaps his hips forward unexpectedly. Your breath leaves your lungs in a rush. He falls forward and the weight of him is electrifying. You’d be embarrassed at the desperate little sounds his mouth swallows up if he didn’t feel so damn good. 

He fucks with an intense kind of precision you’ve seen him bring to his work, reaching deep inside you to hit all the right places. You bury your fingers in his dark hair and pull, eliciting a needy moan from the irritatingly talented man above you. 

“You gonna come for me?” He asks, breathless. 

A desperate little, please, slips past your lips without your permission, spurring him on. He hooks a hand under your knee and forces your leg into your chest as he keeps up his frantic pace. The new angle takes him even deeper and pleasure ripples through your stomach. He feels unbelievably good and you practically sob when he pulls back and rises to his full height, afraid he’s going to stop. But he doesn’t, grasping your hips with both hands and forcing you to meet his thrusts. 

You’re tantalizing close and, without thinking, you reach down to help yourself along but Scott is quick to slap your hand away, replacing it with his own. 

“That’s mine,” he growls, the rough pad of his thumb catching on the sensitive skin. He watches with rapt attention as his cock and fingers work in tandem to drive you over the edge. You come with his name on your lips. 

“Fuck, just like that,” he gasps. 

Before you can recover your breath, he leans down and kisses you, his weight pressing you into the desk as his hips move relentlessly. Then he shoves himself deep inside and stills, groaning. Your ears ring and your body buzzes with the aftershocks of your own orgasm. The two of you stay like that, intertwined and panting until, finally, Scott moves. 

Cool air rushes between your bodies and you stare up at him. You can see him thinking in real time, his clever gaze searching your face as he continues to process what happened. What could either of you possibly say after this? Nothing good you realize. 

“Don’t,” you whisper, finger pressed to his lips. “Don’t ruin it.” 

Scott closes his eyes and swallows hard. Then he's moving, slipping out of you with a grunt. He turns away from you, redressing. The clink of his belt buckle is loud in the quiet office. Pressing your fingers to your swollen lips, you take a moment to let yourself feel everything before pushing it aside and standing on unsteady legs.

You fix your appearance the best you can and busy yourself with shuffling the mess of papers strewn everywhere. It might be cowardly, but you keep your gaze fixed on your desk when you hear the door creak open. You wait, the minutes dragging by until you know it’s safe to look up, only to find Scott still there.

He lingers in the doorway, his gaze fixed on you. 

Then you blink and he’s gone. 

♡

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[redocity]

hi! i’m in love with your work. i hope this is not a strange request but i was speaking to one of my friends about how buck would subscribe to an OF account that turned out to be the new recruit at the 118.

bonus points if he recognizes them by their voice 🙏😝

GOIN’ BUCK WILD — E.BUCKLEY

you have a moment of introspection after realising that one of your new teammates already knows who you are. from your less… public form of income.

evan buckley x gn!OF!reader | 1.4k | nsfw | masterlist.

a/n — speed ran this request bc it’s actually hilarious. this is such a buck thing to do

18+ for nsfw mentions. MDNI.

You never expected this to happen. Not in a million years. You always knew there was a risk, a slim one, but still a possibility. The internet is vast, yet incredibly small at the worst of times.

You’ve been running your OnlyFans account for a little over a year now. It started off as a side hustle, a way to make some extra cash while working toward your career goals. You never showed your face, never revealed anything too personal—just enough to keep your subscribers coming back.

A few teases here and there, a sultry voice guiding them through whatever fantasy they needed. It paid well. Really well.

And then you got the call. The one you’d been waiting for.

The 118 had an opening, and they wanted you.

You worked your ass off to get here. The training, the certifications, the grueling hours. You deserved this. You earned it. And nothing—not even your little side gig—was going to get in the way.

Or so you thought.

Day one at the 118 is nerve-wracking, but you keep your cool. You walk in with confidence, shaking hands, introducing yourself to the team. They all seem great—kind, welcoming, like the family you hoped to find here. Bobby Nash, the Captain, offers you a warm smile. Eddie, all serious but friendly enough. Chimney, cracking a joke within seconds of meeting you.

And then there’s Evan Buckley.

Buck, as he introduces himself, is standing a few feet away, his eyes scanning you like he’s trying to place you. You extend a hand. “Hey, nice to meet you,”

The moment you speak, his entire body goes rigid. His blue eyes widen, his mouth opens, then closes, then opens again like he’s trying to find words but they’ve all escaped him. And then, like a switch has been flipped, his face goes bright red.

Like, rivalling the fire-engines red.

Buck is a man who likes to enjoy himself—who can blame him? He works a dangerous job, sees things most people would rather pretend don't exist. So when he gets home, when he's alone in his bed, he indulges.

And god, has he indulged in you.

Or at least, the version of you he's seen on a screen. The one who teases and whispers, who lets out soft, breathy moans that have gotten him through more nights than he’d like to admit.

But none of that prepared him for this. For you standing in front of him in broad daylight, in full gear, looking so much better than his imagination ever managed.

You pause, confused. His grip on your hand is firm, almost too tight, and when you glance down, you can see his knuckles turning white.

“Buck, you good?” Chimney nudges him with an elbow, snapping him out of it.

Buck blinks rapidly, clearing his throat as he drops your hand like it burned him. “Yeah! Yeah, I’m good. Great. Fine,” His voice cracks on the last word, and you swear you see Chimney smirk.

“You sure? You’re looking a little…” Eddie gestures vaguely to Buck’s entire existence right now.

“I’m fine,” Buck insists, before turning his attention back to you. “So, uh. You’re the new recruit?”

“That’s me,” you say, still smiling. “Looking forward to working with you, Buck,”

He makes a sound. It’s almost a word, but mostly just a strangled noise.

“Cool. Cool, yeah. Same,”

Bobby starts introductions, and Buck tries—really tries—to focus. But every time you speak, his eyes flick to your lips, then away just as fast.

He is so screwed.

You arch a brow but don’t press. Maybe he’s just awkward. Maybe he’s nervous about new recruits. You don’t know him well enough to tell, so you move on, shaking Eddie’s hand next, then the others.

But even as the introductions wrap up, you can feel Buck’s eyes on you, burning into your skin like he’s just had a revelation of biblical proportions.

It doesn’t hit you until later.

Not until you’re in the locker room, shoving your gear into your assigned space, when you remember something—a very specific string of comments on one of your recent videos.

God, you sound so good.

Your voice is insane.

Do you take requests?

And the username attached to it?

BucksWild89.

Your stomach drops.

Oh. Oh no.

You spin around, catching a glimpse of Buck through the open doorway. He’s standing in the kitchen, gripping a bottle of water so tightly you think it might shatter in his hands. His eyes dart to you, and when he sees you looking, he immediately looks away, ears still red.

Shit.

He knows.

The realisation settles over you like a weighted blanket, suffocating and oddly exhilarating at the same time. You should be mortified. You are mortified. But there’s also a tiny, traitorous part of you that finds this hilarious.

Evan Buckley, firefighter, hero, and apparently one of your most devoted subscribers, is currently having an existential crisis in the middle of the firehouse because he just put two and two together.

And now you have to work with him.

—

For the next few weeks, Buck does his absolute best to avoid you.

It does not work.

Not when you’re both part of the same team, constantly thrown together in high-stress situations. Not when you’re running drills side by side, when you're jammed into the firetruck together, when you’re passing each other in the kitchen at the station.

And definitely not when you start leaning into it.

Nothing obvious—nothing anyone else would notice. Just little things. A brush of fingers when you hand him something. A knowing look when you catch him staring. Lowering your voice just a little when you talk to him, just enough to remind him exactly where he’s heard it before.

It’s driving him insane.

He tells himself to just act normal. To pretend he doesn’t know what you sound like when you’re gasping out his name (well, not his name, but a name). To not think about the way your body looked stretched out in those videos.

It does not go well.

Especially not tonight.

He’s in the locker room, leaning against the metal doors, taking slow, deep breaths. Trying to will away the flush on his face.

“Hey, Buck,”

He groans. “Oh, come on.”

You laugh, stepping inside and letting the door shut behind you. “What? Something wrong?”

He gives you a look. “You know what’s wrong,”

You raise an eyebrow. “Do I?”

“You—” He cuts himself off, rubbing a hand down his face. “You have to stop messing with me,”

You tilt your head. “Why?”

He drops his hand, looking at you like you’re the single most frustrating person he’s ever met. Which, fair.

“Because every time you talk, I hear it,” he mutters, voice strained.

You step closer. “Hear what?”

His jaw clenches. His eyes flick to your lips. “You know what.”

Your smile curves slow and wicked. “Oh Buck,” you murmur, voice dropping into that soft, breathy tone he knows too well, leaning in just enough that he can feel the heat of you. “Am I distracting you?”

He makes another one of those strangled noises. You love it.

“I hate you,” he mutters.

You grin. “No, you don’t,”

He swallows hard. “You can’t tell anyone,”

You place a hand on his chest, right over his racing heart. “I won’t,”

His hand catches yours before you can pull away.

There’s a beat of silence. A shift.

The teasing fades, just a little. Enough for something else to slip in.

Something that makes the air go thick between you.

“…What now?” Buck asks, voice rough.

You look at him. Really look at him.

“Depends,” you say softly.

“On?”

You let your fingers trail up, just a little. Over his collarbone. To the side of his neck. You feel the way he shivers.

“How committed you are,” you murmur.

His hand tightens around yours.

And oh.

You are so not done with him yet.

[seospicybin]

SEOSPICY PREVIEW.

BAD.

Han x reader. (s,a)

Synopsis: You’ve always known Han Jisung is trouble—the kind of guy who flirts like it’s breathing and disappears like smoke when things get real. But the more time you spend with him, the deeper you fall—despite knowing he’ll probably break your heart. Again and again.

Preview under cut!

...

Sunlight filtered softly through the curtains, warming your bare shoulders, gently waking you up from your slumber. You stirred, stretching out a hand to the other side of the bed—only to find it empty and cold.

Of course. You muttered in your head as you heart sank a little. You let out a quiet sigh and rolled onto your back, staring at the ceiling. You should’ve known better. One night, a little charm, and then gone by morning. Classic. Still, you couldn’t help the flicker of disappointment curling in your chest. Because, as much as you tried not to… you liked Han.

And then—there it was. The unmistakable clatter of something in the kitchen, followed by a low curse.

Pulling on whatever piece of clothing from the floor, you padded out of the bedroom and found him in the kitchen.

Han was shirtless and under the pale sunlight, his tattoos were contrast to his honey skin, his hair messily tousled, standing in front of your coffee machine with a deep frown on his face. His fingers were poking at buttons like they personally offended him. He looked up the moment he sensed you and broke into a sheepish grin.

“Morning. So, I may or may not be losing a fight to this highly complicated coffee machine.”

You squinted, walking closer to assess the issue. “Did you… plug it in?”

He paused and then he checked the back of the machine, finding the unplugged cord hanging limply beside the counter.

“Ah.” He scratched the back of his head while sheepishly chuckling. “That explains the lack of coffee. I was just about to blame capitalism.”

You chuckled despite yourself, shaking your head as you plugged it in. “Are you always this charming in the morning?”

“24/7 actually,” he said, watching you with that same lopsided grin.

As the coffee started brewing, the warm scent beginning to fill the kitchen, you turned toward the fridge. “I’ll make breakfast.”

Han leaned back against the counter, arms crossed over his bare chest as he watched you. “Are you sure? I mean, I was planning to impress you with my gourmet bowl of cereal.”

You rolled your eyes and reached for the eggs. “How about you handle coffee duty, Chef Cereal and I’ll take care of the rest?”

“Copy that, Kitchen Commando,” he said, reaching for two mugs with a mock salute.

The two of you moved around each other in quiet rhythm, filling the kitchen with soft clinks and sizzling sounds. No awkwardness. No morning-after weirdness. Just warmth, quiet laughter, and the smell of coffee and toast. It was… easy, strangely easy and you couldn’t remember the last time something felt like that.

The two of you sat across from each other at the small kitchen table, plates filled with scrambled eggs and toast between you, steaming mugs in hand. He took a bite, chewed, and gave you an impressed nod. You held the urge to chuckle at the way his cheeks puffed as he chewed on his food.

“Okay, chef,” he said with a grin. “This is actually good. I had low expectations after seeing your coffee machine situation.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You mean your coffee machine situation?”

He pointed at you with his fork. “Fair.”

Between bites and sips of coffee, the conversation drifted into something lighter. Easier.

“So, what do you do?” you asked, wiping a crumb off your lip.

Han leaned back a little, stretching his legs under the table. “I work at a music studio. Mostly sound engineering. Some producing. It depends on who’s asking.” He smirked. “But yeah, I help make people sound better than they actually are.”

You laughed. “Do you enjoy it?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding thoughtfully. “Long hours, weird clients, but music’s kind of the only thing I ever wanted to do. Even when I was a kid.”

There was a flicker of something sincere in his eyes, and for a moment, it made your chest warm.

He tilted his head. “What about you?”

“I co-own a vintage clothing store with a friend,” you said, reaching for your coffee. “We do a lot of curating, reselling, sometimes minor alterations. I’m there most days.”

Han perked up. “Wait, so you’re telling me I know someone with taste and access to cool jackets?”

You smirked. “Maybe.”

“Do I get a discount if I come shop there?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

“That depends. Do you plan on plugging in the coffee machine next time?”

He let out a laugh and dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “Harsh but fair.”

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of coffee refills, inside jokes already forming, and conversations that slipped from playful to surprisingly thoughtful with ease. It felt oddly natural—like the two of you had known each other long enough to tease and jab without hesitation.

And maybe that was what made it so dangerous.Han, with his charm and his grin and his casual warmth—he was the kind of trouble that came wrapped in comfort.

When it was time for him to go, you followed him to the front door, your sweater sleeves pulled down over your hands, fingers gripping the hem to keep yourself from reaching for him. He crouched slightly to put on his sneakers, and a strange heaviness pressed on your chest—the kind that came with goodbyes, especially the ones you didn’t want to say out loud.

This is it, you thought. A fun night. A morning after. And then he disappears like they always do.

But just as he finished lacing up his shoes, Han straightened and turned to face you again. His eyes flicked across your features, lingering in that way that made it feel like he was seeing more of you than he should.

“So,” he said slowly, almost cautiously, “can I see you again?”

Your breath hitched—just for a second. “Well... You know where to find me.”

A smirk crept onto his lips, cocky and triumphant, like he’d just won a game you didn’t realize you were playing. “That I do.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The space between you stretched taut with something unspoken. His gaze dropped briefly to your lips, and when he stepped forward, it was deliberate.

Han reached up, his fingers gentle as they found your chin and tipped your head slightly toward him. He leaned in slowly—so slowly—and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. It wasn’t lustful or teasing this time. It was tender, like a promise.

When he pulled away, his voice was lower than before. “I’ll see you soon.”

You opened your mouth to respond, to say it back, but you barely got the words out before he leaned in again and kissed you deeper this time, stealing the air from your lungs. It left your head swimming, your hands balled into the fabric of your sweater to keep yourself from holding onto him. And then he stepped back, letting go of your chin with frustrating gentleness. You almost frowned at the absence of his touch but caught yourself, painting a smile on instead.

Han turned toward the door, opened it, and paused—just for a beat. His eyes found yours again, like he was trying to burn the image of you into memory, then he stepped out.

You stood frozen for a moment after the door shut, the silence of your apartment suddenly deafening, and without meaning to, you were already counting the seconds until you saw him again.

...

Full fic is available exclusively on my Patreon:

[1l0v3y0ud0ntl3av3me]

「Yandere Tumblr User/Stalker × GN! Reader」

A/N: Saur, totally didn't disappear..Again. Anyways, here ya go.

【DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT 🕊】

TW: Kidnapping, implied long time stalking, victim blaming, non-con, delusional, loss of virginity, the usual stuff.

Sunny stands outside your window, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn't want it to come to this, but you left him with no choice. His hands shook as he stood there, his heart racing after tracking down your address.

"If only you hadn't met with that person," Sunny thought bitterly, the regret weighing heavily on his heart. The thought brought a pang of sadness, and for a moment, his eyes welled up. He wiped his face before quietly sliding open your window, slipping inside as silently as he could.

The room was dim, the faint sound of your breathing guiding him toward the bed. When he saw your sleeping figure, his breath hitched. With slow, deliberate steps, Sunny approached and sat at the edge, his eyes never leaving your face. There was something unsettling in his gaze, the way it lingered, heavy with emotion.

"[Name]...?" he whispered softly, his voice barely audible. His trembling hand reached out to brush a lock of hair from your face, but he froze when he noticed the blood. A single drop fell from his hand, splashing onto your cheek.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, quickly wiping it away with his sleeve. His hands were stained, his thoughts frantic, but the decision had already been made. He couldn't stop now.

Sunny's eyes darkened as he leaned closer, his hand reaching for the cloth he had prepared. You stirred slightly in your sleep, oblivious to the tension in the air. With one swift motion, he covered your mouth, muffling any chance of a scream as you jolted awake in panic.

"I'm sorry," Sunny whispered, though his voice lacked any warmth. His grip tightened as you struggled, the world around you blurring into confusion and fear.

Within minutes, it was over. The room was silent once more, and Sunny carefully lifted your unconscious form into his arms, his expression a mix of regret and determination.

He glanced around one last time before slipping back through the window, vanishing into the night with you in tow. The weight of what he had done settled heavily on his shoulders, and he knew there was no turning back now. Sunny had crossed a line, and now, he would have to face the consequences of his actions, whatever they may be.

─── ᯓᡣ𐭩 ───

The world blurs into a haze when you finally come to, your head heavy and disoriented. You realize your wrists and ankles are bound, and a gag muffles your attempts to speak. Panic surges through your veins as you comprehend your situation.

Sunny sits in the driver's seat, his eyes darting between the road and the rearview mirror, where his gaze lingers on you. His grip on the steering wheel is tight, his knuckles white. The hum of the engine fills the tense silence, but the atmosphere is suffocating.

When he notices you're awake, a strained sigh escapes his lips. He doesn't say anything at first, just keeps driving, though you can see the conflict warring within him. Minutes pass before he speaks, his voice low and barely above a whisper.

"If you hadn’t talked to that... bastard," he says, his tone bitter, "then I wouldn’t have to do this." His words hang heavy in the air, and he swallows hard, his voice rising in frustration as he continues. "This is your fault."

His words sting, but they're coated in a layer of anguish, not just anger. He glances at you again through the mirror, his eyes filled with a mixture of guilt and resentment. He looks like a man on the edge, torn between his feelings and the actions he's already committed to.

"I didn’t want it to be like this," Sunny says, his voice wavering. "I didn’t... I didn’t plan this. You made me do it." His hands shake as he grips the steering wheel harder, trying to keep control of himself.

You try to move, to make a sound, but the gag holds you silent. The reality of your situation starts to sink in deeper as the weight of his words presses down on you.

"If you’d just listened to me," Sunny says, his voice cracking, "we wouldn’t be here. But no—no, you had to go see him. You had to talk to him!" His voice rises, filled with an emotional intensity that makes the air in the car feel even tighter. "I thought you cared, [Name]. I thought you understood... us. But I guess I was wrong."

There’s a long pause, and the silence feels like it's swallowing the car whole. Then, softer this time, almost like a confession, he adds, "I didn’t want to hurt you. But now... I don’t know what else to do."

His words tremble as they leave his lips, and despite everything—the fear, the panic—you can hear the genuine pain in his voice. But it's twisted, entangled with his anger and desperation, making it impossible to know what he'll do next. The car keeps moving, and all you can do is pray that somewhere in him, there’s still a shred of the Sunny you once knew.

─── ᯓᡣ𐭩 ───

Sunny stands at the edge of the bed, his eyes fixed on you, the light from the moon outside casting half his face in shadow. He looks at you, really looks at you, and you can see the conflict in his eyes, the war between what he wants and what he thinks is right.

"You don't have to do this," you say, your voice trembling. "I don't want this."

But he doesn't listen, just continues to stare at you, his gaze boring into you, and you can feel your skin prickle with the sensation. He takes a step closer, his eyes never leaving yours, and you can see the determination in them, the resolve that he's made up his mind.

"I have to," he says, his voice low and gravelly, "because if I don't, I'll lose you. And I can't... I can't lose you."

He's on the bed now, his weight pressing down on you, and you can feel his breath on your face, hot and harsh. His hands are on your wrists, holding them above your head, and you can see the tension in his muscles, the way his jaw is clenched.

"You don't want this," he says again, his voice a whisper, "but I do. I want you, [Name]. I want all of you."

And then his mouth is on yours, his lips hard and demanding, and you can taste the desperation in him, the need that's been building up inside him for so long. You try to push him away, to fight back, but he's too strong, too determined, and you can feel yourself being pulled deeper into the darkness, into the place where you don't want to be.

He moves down your body, his lips trailing kisses along your skin, and you can feel the shivers running down your spine, the way your body is responding to him, to his touch, despite yourself. He stops at your hips, his hands gripping them, holding you in place, and you can feel the hardness of him pressing against you, and you know what's coming next.

You try to close your eyes, to block out the darkness, but you can't, and you can see him, see the hunger in his eyes, the desire, and you know that you're lost, that there's no turning back now.

He enters you, hard and fast, and you can feel the pain, the sharp sting of it, and you can hear his groan, the sound of his pleasure, and it's almost too much to bear. He moves, his hips thrusting against you, and you can feel yourself being pulled deeper and deeper into the darkness, into the place where you don't want to be, and you can't stop it, can't stop him, and you can't help but cry out, your voice hoarse and raw.

You don't know how long it lasts, how long he lasts, but when it's over, he collapses on top of you, his weight pressing down on you, and you can feel the dampness of his tears on your neck, the saltiness of them on your skin, and you know that he's lost something, something precious, and you know that you've lost something too, and you can't help but wonder if you'll ever find it again.

In the aftermath, you're broken, your spirit and body shattered by the night's events. But Sunny is content with taking your virginity. As you cry, Sunny says, "I love you. I'll protect you."

You hate him for what he's done. Your hatred is palpable, a searing anger that consumes you. You don't feel anything towards Sunny, just anguish, despair, and rage. The love between you is non-existent, no glimmer of hope in the darkness. You wish for freedom, for escape, but you wonder if you'll ever find it, or if you'll be trapped forever in this nightmare, suffocated by the darkness that surrounds you.

[suzukiblu]

Day twenty-two of “Kon meets pink kryptonite and decides to fuck Tim and his boyfriend about it” behind the cut. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Definitely the purring,” Bernard confirms. “It is friggin’ adorable, holy hell. Is he still awake or do you think he’s actually doing that in his sleep? Because if he is I am gonna go into a diabetic coma and maybe die. Like, I’ll die happy, don’t get me wrong, just I’ll definitely die.” 

“Just dozing a little, I think,” Tim says, smoothing Kon’s hair back off his forehead. “He’ll probably fall asleep pretty soon if we don’t talk to him or anything.” 

Kon does, like–kinda like not having to talk, he reflects absently. Like–not having to be interesting or be keeping all of somebody’s attention or . . . like, it’s just nice, that somebody else is there to talk. 

Nicer than he actually would've expected it to be, actually. 

“Hmmm, well, maybe I’ll live, then, but there’s maybe still some hypoglycemia-related concerns,” Bernard says musingly, rubbing Tim’s hip lightly just above Kon’s head as he rests his own head on Tim’s shoulder. “Seriously, though, I was very sure I’d be into this but I am somehow still unexpectedly into this? Though like, in my defense, did not expect the particular line of kinks this long weekend has gone down, so yeah.” 

“I, uh, did not either,” Tim says, sounding slightly embarrassed as he twines his fingers through Kon’s curls. “I blame the collar thing. Or, uh . . . the part where someone technically did, you know, uh . . .” 

“Literally keep him as a pet?” Bernard supplies. 

“. . . possibly,” Tim mutters. 

“I don’t actually think I’ve seen you get that jealous since, like, high school, it’s actually very cute on you,” Bernard informs him with a grin and a quick little pat against his hip. “Do we have to see if we can find a nice reputable sexy version of a pet rescue, is that gonna be a thing from now on? Adopt a pet who’s cute and friendly and insatiable? Like, the fostering experience is working out for you, right?” 

“Please shut up, I really did not know this about myself,” Tim says as he lets out a helpless little snort of laughter, then shakes his head before taking another sip of his coffee. 

“Hmmm, well, we learn something new about ourselves every sexual encounter, I guess?” Bernard teases with a snicker of his own. “‘Dear Gay Penthouse, this long weekend I found out that both gay kryptonite and pet play exist, it was a very illuminating experience, also my wonderful boyfriend made me waffles and I was very appreciative’.” 

“I thought the waffles were you being appreciative of me letting you meet one of my friends as thoroughly as possible,” Tim says, sounding amused. His fingers curl and uncurl in Kon’s hair, and Kon kinda just . . . maybe-dozes, yeah, or maybe he’s just close enough to it there’s not really a difference. It’s fine; Bernard’s keeping Tim entertained and Tim’s keeping Bernard entertained and all he really needs to do is just, like . . . be here, really. Just, like–relax, and just be available for whatever they might maybe need him for, but not anything more complicated than that. 

He likes how that feels, honestly. Like . . . low-pressure, and like he doesn’t have to be constantly, like . . . “on”, or whatever, he doesn’t really know. It’s kinda complicated to untangle in his head, but . . . yeah, he doesn’t know, really. He’s here, but he doesn’t have to be here; he just like . . . is, kinda. 

Like–he wants to be, but he doesn’t have to be. 

It’s . . . yeah, Kon doesn’t really know how to explain it right. Untangle it right. But it doesn’t matter anyway, ‘cuz Tim would tell him if he needed to figure it out, and Tim hasn’t told him he needs to figure that out, so Kon doesn’t have to figure it out. 

“Yeah, never mind, diabetic shock at least,” Bernard mutters feelingly, lifting his hand back to Kon’s hair and scritching just underneath Tim’s stroking fingers. “Like the most adorable tractor engine on Poison Ivy’s green earth, holy frickin’ hell.” 

“Ivy wouldn’t let a tractor on her green earth,” Tim says with another quiet little laugh. 

“Then Ivy has terrible taste in tractors, clearly,” Bernard mock-huffs, briefly tangling his fingers with Tim’s in Kon’s hair to give them a little squeeze before going back to the scritching. “. . . but like, how weird would it be to rub his belly, is that too weird to be kinky or is it weirder that I kinda just wanna do it to see if it makes him purr?” 

“You once made me a PowerPoint about why you thought we should spend our three-month anniversary looking for the Jersey Devil,” Tim says. 

“Yeah, because I was matching your freak, Mr. ‘Here’s My Spreadsheet of Every Date We’ve Ever Been On and How Well It Went,” Bernard replies practically, then muffles a snicker against Tim’s shoulder. “Actually, does this count as a date or is this one going on the sexcapades spreadsheet?” 

“. . . I can cross-reference or link as needed,” Tim says, and Bernard laughs delightedly and lifts his head to press a quick kiss to the corner of his jaw. 

“Nerd.” 

“I’m just saying, the program supports it.” 

“Nerd.”

Jesus, they are so cute, Kon thinks, feeling that weird twisty-fluttery feeling in his stomach again. Like–he doesn’t have to be here, but he can be, and Tim just sounds so . . . he sounds really . . . just happy, really. Like . . . not even just content; but outright happy. And he and Bernard talk so easily and talk about, like–everything so easy, it feels like. Easy as they both rattled off their hard no’s and the safewords and like . . . all that stuff. Easy as Tim told him what to do and Bernard helped him with the stuff he didn’t know how to do and . . . 

Yeah. Just–it’s nice, again. 

Tim and Bernard keep talking on and off, and petting him on and off, and kiss each other a couple times, brief but warm and sweet and nice to feel even secondhand. Tim doesn’t actually take his hand out of Kon’s hair even when they do, which makes him feels that twisty-fluttery feeling in his gut again, and he doesn’t feel, like–floaty, really, but he does feel a little bit like he feels when he gets floaty. 

He kinda loses track of time a few times in there, maybe, but he already didn’t really know what time it was anyway. Like–aside from being kinda late in the day, he guesses. But like, the bedroom doesn’t have any natural light either way, and without it his sense of time is kinda shot, and the way the sex went and all that did not help, so . . . yeah, that’s just kinda a thing, he guesses. So like, he’s actually not even a hundred percent sure he knows what day it is, considering how weird he’s gotten and been sleeping and all. Like, it’s definitely not Thursday anymore, but he’s not actually sure if it’s still Friday or . . . like, it’s probably still Friday, or at least still technically Friday night, he thinks, but . . . 

Well, it doesn’t really matter, he guesses. Like–Tim’ll just tell him, once they get to Monday. Like–when it’s time to leave or whatever. It’s a little disorienting, makes him feel a little dreamier and less anchored, but . . . yeah, Tim’ll tell him. So it’s fine either way. He just has to listen to what he gets told, and be good for Tim, and either be here or not be here, and that’s all. 

So yeah, he can do that. He definitely can do that. He can do anything Tim wants him to, and if there’s anything he actually can’t do . . . Bernard’ll just fix it again, if there’s anything like that. 

And as nice as everything’s been feeling just now, the way that knowing that feels might be better than just about any of the rest of it. 

He sleeps really well, after he realizes that. 

[valentine-cafe]

A panna cotta please?

(Top male reader)

I know Pasquale just dropped but he is literally soso … Thinking about him losing a bet against reader, who is a rival racer, or whatever you want because I don’t mind, and this results in messy sex??

˖⁺. ﹙ inhuman racer rival x top male racer rival reader. ﹚ .𖹭 ݁

. . . you're a fucking coward !! 🍒 :  illegal racer ˖ kinetic energy manipulator ˖ inhuman ˖ punk﹙verse 781 pasquale. ﹚

you're one of his rivals in racing and you just won the race and gods, he resents you like the pest, seems his body have different reactions though,

cw: insults to pasquale's name/mom, usage of the word boytoy, these two definetely are not normal about one another, threatening here and there if you squint, cum, anal, rough fucking, degredation, handjob, messy sex

Cheers roar across the crowd.

But not for the usual winner of the races that attend each and every time one was arranged.

Pasquale stood a few feet away from you, arms crossed and jaw clenched. His teeth ground into one another like their life depended on it. While eyes bore into the back of your head.

He'd always pledged loyal to fair races, yet something about you winning made something inside of his gut rot like it never had before.

Oh he hated you. Hated the stupid smile on your face, the hooded eyes that moved to gaze at him from afar and the little shrug sent his way was almost enough to make him walk over and start a fight with you.

But what would it matter in the end? You won, and it was a fair race. He didn't appreciate it though. It was a close race between you, Satyan and him. He got in 2nd, while Satyan ended up being third. Having left the celebration already.

'doesn't blame him with all of your awful boasting.' the racer thinks to himself. Judging you from afar the same you had before the race. Spitting into his face you'd win with the insufferable amount of confidence you seemed to have in yourself

"Yeah, was a close race and all." Your loud laughter twists at the angry coil in his stomach, his eyes turning to look somewhere else, until he hears the next sentence you spout from the filthy tongue in your mouth.

"Turns out Moretti's engines just weren't suited good enough for this one against mine."

With no time spent, the man's attention turns straight back to you. Vision snapping over to glare into the pair of eyes that guide the rest of the crowd's gazes over at him.

"You're real smart-mouthed." He huffs, tilting his head. Some of his supporters and own crowds gathering behind him, glaring back at the traitors that left for you and continue to cheer. Ah of course, the supports of winners. Never the loyal ones are they?

Jump, shift, walking across the street. You make your way over ot him swiftly and with a smug smirk, stopping halfway and looking around at all of the car lights lighting up the place. Taking in the excitement of the crowd, the sound of loud music blasting.

"Yeah? What about it?" You snicker. Hands haphazardly thrown into the pockets of your leather jacket. "Mama's boy was always the quick fused one no? Town whore's son and all"

Perhaps it's the rivalry, or stupidtity. None are certain for sure. But you hit the soft spots on purpose, all for what? You're not slipping away or out of this one as smoothly as you did back on the lane.

Some surrounding expected a punch, the throw of an arm, a headlock or a sprint towards you. Yet the man remained where he had been standing this whole time. An eyebrow quirked. Old insults never hit as well as newer ones.

"If you want to talk shit about my mom." He starts and flicks a piece of dirt off of his shoulder. As the other hand adjusts the red tinted round glasses covering his eyes. "Then do it in front of my face, in private. Vigliacco del cazzo." ( Fucking coward )

Silence befalls the surrounding circle of crowds, as well as you. It seems the response wasn't as fun to throw pointless insults back at him.

"Yeah, thas' what I thought." He snorts, slow in his steps as he makes his way over to you, walking and talking.

"Loud when a crowd is around, but the second we'd be alone in a room. Would you say the same?"

You quirk your eyebrow at his words. The countless of talks that spread across the usually serene italian town, of Pasquale Agresta Morretti being strong and gladly taking a good punch if he had to, were never jokes.

What would you care, it'd feed into his adrenaline addiction. Spouting a few more boasts and insults would surely start something.

Start heated kisses when he pulled you into his car to speed the both of you home.

Start your hands gripping and trailing down his body, grunting against his lips while grinding your hard bulge down against his.

"You're fucking pathetic." He bites at you. Yanking at your hair while you jerk him off, only to earn a loud groan when you yank at his leaking dick and pump a good few shallow thrusts onto it with your hand.

How can you not laugh at the jab?

You're the pathetic one? Are you the one who's getting jerked off against your bed. Pinned and helpless below him?

"Degrading yourself? That's adorable." You grit through your teeth, collecting slick and pre from his drooling tip for an easier entrance. Not that he'd be hard to get into. His body was opening for you like you'd never seen. Pretty ass fluttering for you and dick spewing like you were the most welcome sight on this earth.

Swiftly yanking his hair backwards. His head tilts back, throat emitting a mix between a grunt and a groan.

"That's my job though. You fucking town pass-about boytoy." You grunt into his ear, when your dick slams inside of him and starts fucking away.

His eyes widen, body jolting at the gasp he let out followed by the sensations of your hard dick fucking him out.

"S- Fuck-" Whiny noises spill in quick succession like the pace of your hips, smacking you ballsdeep each time to make the symphony of your skin a little louder.

So what if you wake some of the people in his house up. You won against him in the race, you get to fuck him however you like with his bratty attitude.

With your hand slapped across his mouth to prevent him from throwing his petty insults at you. The angle shifts and before he knows it he is getting fucked missionary, dick slapping against his abdomen and spilling cum, while yours works magic and thrusts into each nerve that sends him seeing stars.

"Fw-mnhgh nhgh!" Small noises of what'd remind you of distress become loud moans in your hand in one second after the other as he orgasms.

Already? Can't even hold it in for a little longer? Isn't that sweet. That gives you more things to bully him about next time you see each other. You know he gets the thrill out of it. And if you can get the satisfaction of riling him up all over again. You've your race yet again, haven't you?

Sure you like winning over him in a lot of stuff, but this?

Oh this is fucking heaven.

"Gonna fuck you until you've soaked your fucking bedsheets. You'd like that wouldn't you pretty boy."

His brows furrow at your comment, hips bucking upwards and back arching. He hates that you're turning him on like you're the switch to a light.

Poems have been written about it. His fantasies filling them up just as you are now, creaming his insides with hot ropes of cum when he squeezes down on you with purpose to see you falter just a little bit.

And you do, the unexpected pleasure hitting you like a truck. Mouth fallen wide open as joined by your eyes.

"F-Fuck fucking hell pasquale—"

Instinctively your hand reaches down for his dick. The one that had previously covered his mouth now fucking away at the throbbing cock.

"Y-You ah~! Look 'o f—fucking pathe-tic!" He manages and grins.

"Yeah, you take this as your little consolation price for not winning, huh?"

"S-Shut thefuck u-u-up- anghh!!!"

Without a doubt, if you weren't sure before you are now. This man is about to get ploughed so bad and you're feeding into his adrenaline addiction. The night is long ahead, but it doesn't seem like neither of you will be stopping.

[rootedinrevisions]

Too Late: Part 2

SUMMARY: After leaving, you've put some distance between you and Tyler. And Tyler has to come to terms with you being gone. But he can't let you go, and comes up with a plan to try and when you back - or at least figure out what to say to you. That is until an unexpected accident throws a wrench in both of your plans. Tyler is determined to show you that he can be there for you when you need him to, but the emotions of being around him again start to rise inside you. Memories of what you once had - and what you lost - keep pulling at you. Especially when Tyler doesn't let the space between you stop him from quietly being there when you need him most.

A/N: Thank you so much for all the love and support on Part 1 of this! I was definitely not expecting this story to take off and get the reactions it did! Thank you for the comments, reblogs, and likes! This story ended up being way longer than I planned on it being and there will be a PART 3 coming soon (probably sometime next week after the holidays so I can finish up the last few holiday fics I'm working on)

WARNINGS: None, just a lot of heart-shattering angst. This one made me cry while writing it, so be prepared!

WORD COUNT: 6k

TAG LIST: IN COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added!

TYLER’S P.O.V.

Tyler stood on the front porch of his old farmhouse, staring out at the horizon as the last rays of sunlight dipped below the tree line. The weight of the conversation he was preparing for sat heavy in his chest. His truck keys dangled from his fingers, his grip tightening and loosening as doubt gnawed at the edges of his determination. 

He wasn’t sure what he was going to say to you–only that he needed to say something. He couldn’t let things end the way they had, not without trying to make it right. He had so many things he still needed to say to you.

But the weight of your words, the hurt in your eyes the last time you’d spoken, kept playing on a loop in his head. Then the doubts crept in. What if he’d already blown it? What if showing up just made everything worse? 

But then he thought, what if it helped? What if it fixed everything? What if you gave him a chance?

With a final sigh, he pushed off the railing and headed for his truck. He figured you were probably at your mom’s house which wasn’t too far of a drive from his place. He pulled open the driver’s door and slid in behind the wheel. 

He had just turned the engine over when his phone buzzed in the cup holder. He glanced down and saw your best friend’s name flashing across the screen. His stomach dropped. Why would she be calling? Was it to chew him out for breaking your heart? He wouldn’t blame her if it was. Tyler hesitated, his hand hovering over the phone. He almost let it go to voicemail, but then a pang of guilt hit him. He deserved whatever lecture your friend was about to give, so he swiped to answer.

“Look,” he said, bracing himself. “I know what you’re going to say, and-”

“Tyler.” Your friend interrupted, her voice sharp but trembling slightly. His brow furrowed at the crack in her tone. “Something’s happened.”

The world seemed to tilt under his feet, Tyler clutched the steering wheel as your friend’s words came out in a rush. “It’s her mom. There was a car accident. Her mom’s in surgery right now. She…she’s at the hospital by herself, and-”

“Wait,” Tyler cut in, his voice hardening as he processed her words. “Surgery? Is…is her mom gonna be okay?”

“They don’t know yet,” your friend admitted, her voice quieter now. “Tyler, I don’t know. It…it sounds bad. And she’s…she’s trying to be strong, but you know how she gets. She’s telling us all that she’s fine, but I don’t think she is.”

Tyler stayed silent, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. His pulse pounded in his ears as the reality of the situation hit him. Your mom was in the hospital. You were alone. And here he was, debating whether or not he should show up.

“I think you should go.” Your friend said.

“I don’t think I’m the guy she wants to see right now,” he admitted, his voice low.

Your friend huffed, frustration creeping into her tone. “You’re exactly the guy she needs right now. Whether she realizes it or not.”

“She told me-”

“I know what she told you, Tyler.” Your friend snapped, cutting him off. “Trust me. I was there the night of her birthday when you weren’t. I know. But I also know she’s hurt and scared and stubborn as hell, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t need you. She won’t say it, but I will…get over yourself and get to the hospital. She shouldn’t be alone right now, and you know it.”

Tyler’s hand tightened on the steering wheel. He didn’t respond right away, his mind spinning with doubts and what ifs. What if showing up made things worse? What if you pushed him away again?

“Tyler.” Your friend said softly, her tone shifting. “You love her, don’t you?”

The question hit him square in the chest, knocking the air out of his lungs. “Of course I do,” he murmured.

“Then prove it,” she said simply. “Be there for her.”

Your friend hung up after that, but her words lingered in his mind. Tyler sat frozen for a moment, his thoughts a chaotic mess. He could still hear your voice from the last time you’d spoken, the way it had cracked with anger and pain. The fear of making things worse clawed at him, but your friend’s voice echoed louder: Be there for her.

Tyler put the truck in drive and started making his way towards the hospital. Screw his doubts. This wasn’t about him. It was about you. And if there was even a chance you needed him, he wasn’t going to let you down again.

YOUR P.O.V.

The waiting room was eerily quiet, save for the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional voice paging a doctor over the intercom. You sat in the corner, hunched over with your elbows on your knees, your hands clasped tightly together. The plastic chair was uncomfortable, but you hardly noticed. Your foot tapped a restless rhythm against the tiled floor, the nervous energy pulsing through you too much to contain.

You’d sent everyone away. Your best friend had tried to stay, but you insisted you didn’t need her hovering. You also told her some lie that the nurses said only immediate family could stay. Your dad had called multiple times, offering to send a neighbor or someone to sit with you until he could get there. But you told him the same thing. You didn’t need anyone there with you. You’d be fine until he could get there.

The silence was suddenly interrupted by the steady thud of boots against the linoleum floor, echoing down the hallway. You barely glanced up, expecting to see another loved one ignoring your instructions to stay away. 

Without lifting your head, you muttered, “Go home. I’m fine.”

The boots stopped. You waited for a response, but none came. Irritation flared, and you straightened slightly in your chair. 

“I said, go home,” you repeated, sharper this time.

Still nothing. Finally, you glanced up, ready to tell whoever it was to leave in no uncertain terms. 

The words caught in your throat when you saw him. Tyler stood in the doorway, his hat tucked in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other. His jaw was tight, his brow furrowed with concern, but his eyes softened when they met yours.

You swallowed hard and dropped your gaze back to your hands, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “What are you doing here?”

He hesitated for a moment before stepping into the room. “Your friend called me,” he said simply. “She told me what happened.”

You let out a shaky breath, your hands tightening in your lap. 

“I’m fine,” you said, your voice quieter now. “You don’t have to be here. You can leave.”

Tyler didn’t respond immediately. The silence stretched between you, heavy and unrelenting. Finally, you glanced up to see that he hadn’t moved an inch. His expression was unreadable, but there was a steadiness in his gaze that made your chest ache.

“Go home, Tyler,” you said again, this time with more force.

He didn’t budge. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, studying you. “When you can look me in the eye and tell me you’re okay without lying,” he said, his voice steady and calm, “I’ll leave. Until then, I’m staying right here.”

The breath hitched in your throat, and you quickly looked away, blinking back the sudden sting of tears. You couldn’t meet his gaze. Not when he saw right through the mask you’d been wearing all day.

Your eyes landed on the brown bag in his hand. The logo was instantly recognizable, and despite everything, a flicker of confusion crossed your face. 

“What’s that?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

Tyler glanced down at the bag as if just remembering it. He crossed the room, closing the distance between you, and held it out.

“Figured you hadn’t eaten today,” he said simply. “It’s well past supper, and you need food. Stopped by your favorite place and got you your usual.”

You blinked at him, the unexpected gesture catching you off guard. For a moment, you just stared at the bag in his hand, unsure whether to take it.

When you didn’t move, Tyler set it down gently on the chair beside you and crouched down so he was at eye level. “You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured, his voice low and soft. “Just eat something, okay?”

The tears you’d been holding back all day finally broke free, and you quickly turned your head, pressing the heel of your hand against your eyes. Tyler didn’t say anything, didn’t try to touch you or pry. He just stayed there, steady and calm, his quiet presence more comforting than you wanted to admit.

You didn’t have the energy to fight him anymore, so you reached for the bag, the smell of your favorite meal filling the room as you opened it. It was still warm, the familiar scent wrapping around you like a blanket.

You managed to eat about half of the food Tyler had brought before your stomach protested. Setting the container back into the bag, you folded it shut with deliberate care, focusing on the crinkle of the paper as a distraction. You still couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, but you muttered a quiet, “Thank you.”

He didn’t respond immediately, but you could feel his gaze on you, steady and unrelenting. The silence stretched again, broken only by the distant murmur of hospital staff and the faint beeping of monitors from somewhere down the hall.

After a few moments, Tyler cleared his throat, the sound startling in the stillness. “Do you have any updates?” he asked, his voice low but careful, as if afraid of pushing too hard. “Have you heard how she’s doing?”

Your throat tightened, and you shook your head without looking up. You couldn’t speak—not without your voice breaking. You clenched your hands in your lap, your nails digging into your palms as you tried to keep the tears at bay.

Tyler’s eyes softened as he watched you, the effort you were putting into holding yourself together painfully clear. He saw the slight tremble in your hands, the way your shoulders hunched as if carrying the weight of the world. 

He couldn’t stand it anymore. Without a word, he stood from the chair across the room and moved to the one beside you. You didn’t look at him, but you noticed the shift, and felt the heat of his presence closer now.

You glanced sideways as Tyler settled into the chair, his broad frame filling the space beside you. He didn’t say anything, but he opened his arm, leaving it resting on the back of the chair as he leaned slightly toward you. It wasn’t an overt gesture—just enough to let you know it was there, an unspoken invitation.

You hesitated, your breath hitching as you looked at the open space he was offering. A part of you wanted to retreat, to keep the wall between you firmly in place. But the ache in your chest—the one you’d been fighting all day—finally won out.

Slowly, you leaned over, your weight shifting until your head rested against his chest. His arm closed gently around you, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. He didn’t pull you in too tightly, giving you the space to move if you wanted, but the warmth and steadiness of him made you feel like the world might stop spinning just for a moment.

The steady beat of his heart was soothing against your ear, a rhythm that felt like home in a way you couldn’t bring yourself to think too much about right now. You closed your eyes, your shoulders sagging as the tension slowly began to leave your body.

Tyler didn’t speak. He didn’t ask any more questions or try to fill the silence. He just sat there, holding you as the tears you’d been holding back slipped quietly down your cheeks. And for the first time that day, you felt like maybe, just maybe, you weren’t completely alone.

The quiet warmth of Tyler’s presence, combined with the emotional toll of the day, eventually caught up to you. Your breathing slowed as you sank deeper against his chest, the exhaustion overtaking your attempts to stay awake. Tyler glanced down at you and realized you’d fallen asleep, your face relaxed for the first time since he’d arrived.

He didn’t move. He stayed as still as he could, not wanting to disturb you. His arm remained firmly around you, holding you steady as your head rose and fell gently with the rhythm of his breathing. 

Tyler rested his head back against the wall, his free hand rubbing tiredly at his face. He stared at the sterile ceiling tiles above, his mind racing with a mix of relief and guilt. He was here, and you were letting him be here, but he couldn’t help thinking about all the times before when he hadn’t been.

Nearly two hours passed in silence, broken only by the occasional murmur of passing staff. Tyler shifted slightly, careful not to wake you. Just as he was debating whether to adjust his arm that was starting to go numb, the sound of the waiting room door opening caught his attention.

He turned his head, his gaze landing on the doctor who stepped into the room. The man was middle-aged, with a kind but tired face, his scrubs wrinkled from what must have been a long shift. Tyler straightened slightly, his movements gentle enough that you didn’t stir.

“Are you the family of (your mom’s name)?” The doctor asked, his voice soft but clear.

Tyler hesitated for a second, glancing down at you. “She is,” he said, his voice low so as not to startle you. Then, with a reluctant sigh, he shook your shoulder gently. “Hey, wake up,” he murmured.

You stirred, your brow furrowing as your eyes blinked open. For a moment, you seemed disoriented, but then you sat up quickly, your hand brushing your hair from your face as you glanced between Tyler and the doctor.

“What’s going on?” you asked, your voice still thick with exhaustion.

“The doctor’s here with an update about your mom,” Tyler said gently, giving you a reassuring look.

You swallowed hard and turned your attention to the doctor, your hands twisting nervously in your lap.

“Surgery went well,” the doctor said, his tone calm and steady. “She’s in recovery now. We’ll keep her here for a few days to monitor her, but she’s expected to make a full recovery.

A wave of relief hit you so hard it almost felt like you couldn’t breathe. Your lips parted as though to speak, but no words came out. Tyler’s hand moved to rest lightly on your shoulder, grounding you as the doctor continued.

“She’ll be groggy for a little while when she wakes up, but she’s stable.” The doctor reassured.

“Can I see her now?” you asked quickly, your voice trembling.

The doctor nodded but held up a hand. “Only one person can go in at a time. She needs to stay as calm as possible while she comes out of the anesthesia.”

You hesitated, glancing at Tyler for just a moment. His blue eyes softened, and he gave you a small, encouraging nod. “Go ahead,” he said quietly. “I’ll be right here when you’re done.”

Your heart clenched at the steadiness in his voice. Without another word, you stood, your legs shaky beneath you as you followed the doctor out of the waiting room. Before you passed through the door, you glanced back at Tyler. He was still sitting, watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite decipher—concern, affection, and maybe something deeper.

He gave you a faint smile, his eyes never leaving you as you disappeared into the hallway.

A few hours later, the hum of the hospital had settled into a quiet rhythm as the nurses moved efficiently between rooms. You had been sitting at your mom’s bedside for as long as they allowed, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she slept peacefully. Relief had begun to seep into your bones, replacing the earlier tension, but exhaustion lingered, weighing heavily on you.

Eventually, a nurse came in, her smile kind but firm. “She’s stable now and will need her rest through the night. We’ll call if there are any changes, but it’s best if you go home and get some sleep too.”

You nodded, reluctant but understanding, and stood slowly, brushing your hand against your mom’s. You whispered a quiet goodbye and promised you’d be back first thing in the morning.

As you made your way back to the waiting room, you pulled your phone from your pocket. You’d been dropped off earlier and hadn’t even thought about how you’d get home. You scrolled through your contacts, landing on the name of a neighbor who’d always been quick to lend a hand. Just as you pressed the call button, Tyler’s voice interrupted you.

“I can drive you home,” he said softly, standing up from the chair where he’d been waiting.

You froze, lowering the phone from your ear. “Tyler, it’s late. You don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to,” he interrupted, his voice calm but steady. “But I’d like to. If you’d let me.”

You hesitated, biting your lip. The idea of being alone in the car with him made your chest tighten. Not because you didn’t trust him—but because you weren’t sure you could handle the quiet, the possibility of him pressing you about everything that had happened between you.

Almost as if he could read your mind, Tyler raised his hands slightly in a gesture of surrender. “It’s just a ride home,” he assured you. “That’s it. No talking, no pushing. I know this isn’t the time for… everything else. I just don’t think you should be alone right now.”

His words settled over you, soft and sincere. You studied him for a moment, searching for any sign of an ulterior motive, but there was none. Just a quiet steadiness in the way he looked at you, the same steadiness that had kept you grounded all night.

Finally, you nodded, slipping your phone back into your pocket. “Okay,” you murmured. “Thank you.”

Tyler gave a small nod, grabbing his jacket from the chair and slipping it on. He didn’t say anything else, just gestured for you to follow him. 

The night air was crisp, the faint hum of insects filling the quiet as you and Tyler stepped into the dimly lit hospital parking lot. He stayed a step ahead, his boots scuffing softly against the pavement as he led the way to his truck. When you reached it, Tyler opened the passenger door, pausing to glance at you.

You climbed into the seat, the familiar scent of his truck—faintly leathery, with a trace of pine—wrapping around you like a memory. He waited until you were settled, buckling your seatbelt, before carefully shutting the door.

You watched him through the windshield as he walked around the front of the truck, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. He slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine, the rumble filling the silence.

As he eased out of the parking lot, Tyler glanced over at you. “Do you want me to take you to your mom’s house or home?”

The word hung in the air between you for a beat too long. Tyler’s jaw tightened slightly, and he quickly corrected himself, his voice quieter. “I mean… my place. Do you want me to take you to my place instead?”

You turned your head to look out the window, the streetlights casting fleeting shadows across your face as the truck rolled forward. Your mom’s house would feel empty, too quiet for you to face tonight. Every room would carry the weight of her absence, the echoes of your worry. The thought of sitting there, alone with your thoughts, was unbearable.

“Can I… stay with you tonight?” you asked, your voice soft but steady.

Tyler’s hands tightened briefly on the steering wheel, but he didn’t look at you. Instead, he just nodded and turned the truck onto a familiar road, the one that led to his old farmhouse.

“Yeah,” he said simply. “Of course.”

The drive was quiet after that, neither of you saying much. The occasional hum of the truck’s tires against the road filled the silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt more like an unspoken agreement to let the quiet speak for itself, to let the exhaustion and the events of the day settle.

As the farmhouse came into view, its porch light glowing faintly in the distance, you felt your shoulders relax ever so slightly. Tyler parked the truck in the gravel drive and killed the engine, the sudden stillness almost startling.

He glanced at you, his voice low. “Come on. Let’s get you inside.”

Tyler unlocked the door and pushed it open, stepping inside and flipping on the lights. The warm glow illuminated the familiar space, but as you stepped through the doorway, you hesitated. The house felt the same, smelled the same—like cedarwood and faint traces of whatever cologne Tyler always wore—but you didn’t.

You paused just inside, unsure if you had the right to walk through it as freely as you used to. Your feet felt rooted to the spot, and your arms wrapped around yourself almost instinctively, like a shield.

Tyler paused near the bottom of the stairs and glanced back at you, his brow furrowing slightly when he noticed your hesitation. He rubbed the back of his neck before offering a small smile.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he said, his voice soft. Then, after a beat, he added, “You know where everything is.”

You nodded faintly, still unsure, but before you could say anything, he gestured to the stairs. “I’m gonna run up and see if I can find you something comfortable to wear for tonight. Be right back.”

Without waiting for a response, Tyler jogged up the stairs, his boots thudding softly against the wooden steps. You stood there for a moment, listening as the sound of his footsteps faded, before finally stepping further into the house.

You found yourself drifting toward the kitchen, your fingers brushing lightly against the edges of the counters as you passed. The farmhouse kitchen had always been one of your favorite spots—it was warm, lived-in, and full of charm. But now, as you glanced around, you noticed how disheveled it was.

Dishes were piled high in the sink, crumbs scattered across the counters. A forgotten coffee mug sat near the edge of the table, and you spotted a pair of work gloves tossed haphazardly onto one of the chairs. It was clear Tyler hadn’t been keeping up with housework.

Your chest tightened slightly. He was probably just as exhausted as you were after the week you’d both had. Without really thinking, you filled the sink with warm water, adding soap until suds began to rise. You rolled up your sleeves and got to work, grabbing the first plate from the pile.

The rhythm of cleaning was soothing, your hands moving on autopilot as you scrubbed and rinsed. One dish turned into two, then three, until the pile began to shrink. You didn’t hear Tyler come back down the stairs until his voice broke through the quiet.

“You don’t have to do that, you know.”

Startled, you glanced over your shoulder. He was leaning against the doorframe, holding a neatly folded T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants in his hands. His expression was unreadable, but there was a softness in his eyes that hadn’t been there earlier.

“I know,” you said softly, turning back to the sink. “I just… wanted to help.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything. Tyler set the clothes down on the table and walked over, his boots clicking lightly against the tile. He reached past you and grabbed a clean dish towel, drying one of the plates you’d just washed.

The two of you worked in quiet tandem, the only sounds coming from the water and the soft clink of dishes. When the last plate was dried and put away, Tyler finally spoke again.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he repeated, his voice lower this time.

You dried your hands on the towel and glanced at him. “I know,” you said again, meeting his gaze. “But I wanted to.”

Tyler held your gaze for a long moment before nodding. He motioned toward the clothes he’d brought down. “Those should be comfortable.

You nodded, taking the clothes from the table and brushing past him, your fingers grazing his for just a moment.

Tyler held your gaze for a long moment before nodding, but instead of leaving it at that, he started to speak, his words coming out in a ramble—something you knew he only did when he was nervous.

“I, uh, was looking to see if maybe you’d left something here. You know, clothes or—just… something. But it looks like you cleared everything out when you left—”

He cut himself off abruptly, the weight of the words hanging in the air like a stone dropped into still water. You saw the flicker of regret cross his face as if he wished he could take them back.

Your chest tightened the reality of the distance between the two of you crashing back in. You forced a nod, your throat too tight to speak, and clutched the clothes tighter to your chest.

Without another word, you turned and headed toward the bathroom down the hall, your steps quick and purposeful, driven by the sudden need to put space between you and him.

You changed into the clothes Tyler had given you, silently hating how comfortable they felt. The fabric was soft and worn in all the right ways, and the faint scent of him lingering on them—woodsy, clean, and unmistakably Tyler—settled you in a way you didn’t want to admit. It felt too easy, too familiar, and you tried to shake the thought as you ran a hand over your face and took a steadying breath.

When you stepped out of the bathroom, the farmhouse was quiet, save for the faint creak of the old wood floors beneath your feet. You padded into the living room and spotted a throw pillow and blanket folded neatly on the back of the couch. Without giving it much thought, you reached for them and began to lay them out, preparing to make a bed for the night.

The sound of footsteps behind you made you pause, and you turned to find Tyler standing in the doorway, his arms crossed as he leaned against the frame. His brows furrowed slightly as he tilted his head. “What are you doing?”

You glanced at the blanket in your hands and then back at him. “I’m making a place to sleep,” you said simply, motioning toward the couch.

He shook his head almost immediately, his expression firm. “No, you’re not.”

Your brow knit in confusion. “What do you mean, no? I’m not kicking you out of your own bed, Tyler.”

Tyler’s jaw tightened briefly, but his voice was calm and steady when he spoke. “And I’m not letting you sleep on the couch.”

“Tyler—”

He cut you off, his tone a little more resolute this time, though still gentle. “You’re sleeping upstairs. In the bed. End of discussion.”

You frowned at him, not sure whether to feel annoyed at his stubbornness or oddly comforted by it. “And where exactly are you planning to sleep, then?”

“The couch,” he said plainly, as if it were the most obvious solution in the world.

“Tyler, that’s ridiculous—”

“It’s not,” he interrupted again, his voice softening just slightly. “You’ve had a hell of a day, and you’re not about to spend the night crammed on this couch. You need to rest, and you’re sleeping in the bed.”

You opened your mouth to argue again, but the way he was looking at you—his gaze steady and full of quiet insistence—made the words catch in your throat. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence stretching between you. Finally, you exhaled, realizing there was no point in fighting him on this.

“Fine,” you muttered, reluctantly grabbing the pillow and blanket and handing them to him. “But if you wake up sore in the morning, that’s on you.”

Tyler chuckled softly, taking them from your hands. “I’ll take my chances.”

As you turned to head upstairs, you could feel his gaze on you, but you didn’t look back. It wasn’t until you were settled beneath the covers, the familiar scent of the farmhouse wrapping around you, that you realized how much you’d missed the quiet comfort of this place—and, if you were being honest, him.

Downstairs, you heard the faint sound of the couch creaking as Tyler settled in, followed by the soft exhale of his breath. And for the first time in days, you felt the edges of exhaustion pulling you into sleep, knowing you weren’t alone.

The soft sounds from downstairs pulled you from your sleep, and for a moment, you lay there disoriented, the unfamiliar surroundings grounding you in a way that was both comforting and unsettling. The room was too quiet, too still, and it wasn’t until you spotted the framed photos on the wall—the ones you’d seen countless times before—that you remembered where you were. Tyler’s house. His bed.

You sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, and the faint smell of coffee and something cooking reached you, accompanied by the faint clang of a pan. Pushing the covers off, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and stood, padding toward the stairs.

The kitchen came into view as you reached the bottom step, and you stopped in the doorway, momentarily caught off guard. Tyler was standing at the stove, barefoot, wearing jeans and a white t-shirt that clung to his back just enough to remind you how unfairly attractive he was. He looked so casual, so domestic, like he belonged here in this space that had always felt like home to you too. And that realization was almost too much to take, given the current mess of emotions between the two of you.

He must have heard your footsteps because he turned, a faint smile tugging at his lips when he saw you. “Morning,” he said, his voice warm and easy, like this was just another day in the life you used to share. “How’d you sleep?”

You hesitated for half a second before answering. “Fine,” you said, your voice softer than you intended. “Thanks for…everything last night.”

He just nodded, as though it were a given. “Feel free to make yourself some coffee,” he said, motioning toward the Keurig sitting on the counter.

You blinked, your gaze landing on the sleek machine that had replaced the old, battered coffee pot he’d had for years. The sight of it caught you off guard, like it was proof that time had moved on in this house even when you hadn’t been here to see it.

“I didn’t remember how you like your coffee these days,” Tyler admitted, running a hand through his hair. “With all the stuff you used to add to it, I figured I’d mess it up. But there’s still some pods and syrups in the cupboard. And I, uh—” He cleared his throat and motioned toward the fridge. “I went to the store and picked up some creamer. It’s the kind you used to like. Figured it couldn’t hurt to have it, just in case.”

Your chest tightened at his words, at the small gesture that felt far too thoughtful for what you thought you deserved right now. You opened the fridge to find the familiar bottle sitting there, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at it, trying to process the sudden wave of emotions.

“Eggs’ll be ready in a few minutes,” Tyler said, his voice pulling you back. He glanced over his shoulder at you as he stirred something in the pan. “Hope you’re hungry.”

You shut the fridge door and turned, your gaze settling on him again. He looked so at ease, so natural standing there, that it made your heart ache in a way you hadn’t expected. You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to keep your voice steady as you replied, “Yeah. I think I could eat.”

He nodded, turning his attention back to the stove, and you lingered in the doorway for a moment longer before making your way to the counter to fix your coffee. You couldn’t help but feel like you’d stepped back into a memory, even though you knew things weren’t the same anymore.

Not even close.

 You sat across from Tyler at the small wooden table, the one that had been in this kitchen for as long as you could remember. The plates between you held scrambled eggs and toast, simple but enough to ease the ache of an empty stomach. The air between you was thick with an awkwardness that neither of you seemed willing to address, and the only sounds filling the room were the soft scrape of forks against plates and the occasional clink of a glass being set back on the table.

You stared down at your plate, taking another small bite, trying to focus on the food and not the tension that was quietly suffocating the space. Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. Setting your fork down, you cleared your throat softly, your voice tentative as you broke the silence.

“Thank you,” you said, your gaze lifting to meet his, though he didn’t look up right away. “For everything. For… being there for me.”

Tyler’s fork hovered over his plate for a moment before he set it down. He looked down at his plate, his shoulders stiffening slightly. “It was about time,” he murmured, his voice quiet but weighted. “About time I was there when you needed me to be.”

The words hit you harder than you expected, cutting through the delicate balance you’d been trying to maintain. You blinked, your throat tightening as you realized what he meant. He wasn’t just talking about yesterday or last night. He was thinking about all the times he hadn’t been there—your last birthday, the other moments and milestones you’d quietly endured alone. The guilt in his tone was unmistakable, and it settled heavily in your chest.

“Tyler…” you started, your voice soft, but he quickly shook his head, stopping you before you could go any further.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said firmly, finally glancing up at you. His eyes were steady, but there was a flicker of something raw in them that made your breath hitch. “It is what it is.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, cutting off any argument you might have made. You opened your mouth, then closed it again, unsure of what you could even say to that.

Tyler leaned back in his chair, his expression softening slightly as he tried to steer the conversation away from the growing tension. “Once you’re done eating,” he said, his voice lighter now, though it still carried a trace of that earlier guilt, “I can take you over to your mom’s to get your car.”

You nodded, grateful for the change in subject, even if it felt like a half-hearted attempt to escape the unspoken weight between you. “Yeah, okay,” you murmured, reaching for your glass and taking a sip of water.

The silence returned, but this time it felt less oppressive. You both focused on finishing your meals, the unspoken understanding settling between you like a fragile truce. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough for now.

[wandering-winchesters]

A Quiet Drive Home

Summary: On a Rain-soaked drive back to the bunker, Dean finds solace in the moment.

The rain drummed steadily against the roof of the Impala, the steady rhythm a soothing backdrop to the otherwise quiet drive. Dean tightened his grip on the steering wheel, his eyes focused on the road ahead. The windshield wipers struggled to keep up with the downpour, swiping back and forth with a monotonous persistence. It had been a long, grueling hunt, and the exhaustion hung heavily in the car like a thick fog.

Beside him, Sam sat quietly in the passenger seat, his head leaned back against the headrest, eyes closed. He wasn’t asleep—Dean knew his brother well enough to tell when he was faking it—but he was trying to catch some rest, or at least a few moments of peace before they reached the bunker. Dean didn’t blame him. It had been a rough few days, and they were all running on fumes.

Dean’s gaze shifted to the rearview mirror, where he could just make out your sleeping form in the backseat. You were slumped against the window, your jacket pulled tightly around you, your breath steady and even. He couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips as he watched you. You looked so peaceful, so vulnerable, a stark contrast to the fierce hunter you’d been earlier. It always amazed him how you could switch from being a badass in the field to this—someone who could let their guard down, if only for a little while.

He’d been worried about you. You’d taken a few hits during the hunt, and while you’d brushed them off like you always did, Dean had seen the weariness in your eyes. He knew you well enough to see when you were hurting, even if you never said anything. It was part of what he admired about you, but it was also what scared him. You were strong, but everyone had their breaking point, and Dean feared what might happen if you pushed yourself too far.

As the rain continued to pour, the road stretching out endlessly in front of them, Dean’s mind began to wander. It wasn’t like he could help it; long drives had a way of making his thoughts drift. He thought about the hunt they’d just finished, the close calls, the moments where things could’ve gone horribly wrong. But then, he thought about you—how you’d been right there with him, every step of the way, never hesitating, never backing down.

Dean glanced back at you through the mirror again, his heart clenching slightly. You meant more to him than he could ever put into words, more than he’d ever let on. He wasn’t good at talking about his feelings—hell, he wasn’t even good at acknowledging them half the time—but when it came to you, those feelings were impossible to ignore.

He didn’t know when it had happened, when you’d gone from being just another hunter to being someone he couldn’t imagine his life without. Maybe it was the way you always had his back, no matter how bad things got. Or maybe it was the way you looked at him, like you could see past all the walls he’d built up, past the tough exterior, and saw him for who he really was. Whatever it was, it had snuck up on him, and now he was in too deep to ever turn back.

The rain showed no signs of letting up, but Dean found that he didn’t mind. The steady beat against the car, the soft hum of the engine, the knowledge that you and Sam were safe and sound—it all brought a sense of calm that was rare in his life. For a moment, he let himself just be there, in that car, with the two people who mattered most to him.

He glanced over at Sam, who was still pretending to sleep, and felt a pang of gratitude. They’d been through hell together, and somehow, they always managed to come out the other side. But it was different now. With you in the picture, things had changed. It wasn’t just about the two of them anymore. They had you to think about, too, and Dean found that he didn’t mind that one bit. If anything, it made him even more determined to keep you safe, to protect you from the world that had taken so much from him and his brother.

As they neared the bunker, Dean’s thoughts shifted to what lay ahead. He knew you were exhausted, knew that you’d push yourself too hard if given the chance. He’d seen it before. But tonight, he wasn’t going to let that happen. Tonight, he’d make sure you got the rest you needed, even if it meant carrying you to your room himself.

The Impala pulled up to the bunker, the gravel crunching under the tires as Dean brought the car to a stop. The rain had lessened, but it was still coming down steadily, a constant, gentle patter. Dean cut the engine, the sudden silence almost deafening in contrast to the noise of the road.

Sam stirred beside him, opening his eyes and glancing over at Dean. “We home?”

“Yeah,” Dean replied, his voice low. He nodded toward the backseat. “She’s out cold.”

Sam followed his gaze, a soft smile crossing his face as he saw you still sleeping. “She needs it,” he said simply, echoing Dean’s earlier thoughts.

Dean nodded, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer before he turned back to his brother. “I’ll get her,” he said quietly, not wanting to wake you. Sam just nodded, already reaching for his door handle.

Dean stepped out into the rain, pulling his jacket up over his head as he moved to the backseat. He opened the door as gently as he could, leaning in to see if you were still asleep. You were, your breathing deep and even, completely oblivious to the world around you. Dean couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips as he watched you for a moment, just taking in the sight of you so peaceful, so at ease.

He carefully slid one arm under your legs, the other around your back, lifting you out of the car with ease. You stirred slightly, murmuring something under your breath, but you didn’t wake. Dean held you close as he made his way to the bunker entrance, the rain a soft, steady beat against his back.

Inside, the bunker was warm and welcoming, the familiar scents and sounds instantly putting Dean at ease. He carried you down the hallway to your room, trying to be as quiet as possible. Sam had already disappeared into his own room, giving Dean the space he needed.

When he reached your room, Dean nudged the door open with his foot, stepping inside and crossing the room to your bed. He gently laid you down on the mattress, careful not to wake you. You sighed softly, rolling onto your side as he pulled the covers up over you, tucking them in around your shoulders.

Dean stood there for a moment, just watching you sleep, his heart swelling with a tenderness he didn’t quite know how to handle. You looked so peaceful, so completely at ease, and he found himself wishing he could keep you that way forever. But he knew better. This life didn’t come with guarantees. All he could do was protect you as best he could, keep you safe for as long as he could.

He reached down, brushing a stray strand of hair out of your face. “Sleep tight, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice barely audible in the stillness of the room.

With one last glance at you, Dean turned and quietly left the room, closing the door behind him. The rain had finally stopped, leaving the night calm and quiet. As he made his way to his own room, Dean felt a sense of peace settle over him. You were safe, you were home, and for tonight, that was enough.

Tag List: @roseblue373 @hobby27 @jc-winchester @whump-loverz @mishreem

[cameronluvr]

JAILED PART 2 — toxic!rafe x fem reader

summary: part one here — rafe gets out of jail the next morning after his dad bailed him out, and he is forced to apologize to you.

warnings: none in this one! rafe is much less toxic than in part 1.

after spending a few hours in jail, rafe’s dad bails him out after signing tons of paper work and hours of talking to the officers.

: ̗̀➛ 𝓶𝔂 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽 ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

“come on, cameron. you’re free to go” an officer begins opening the cell, watching as rafe grabbed his stuff and walked out. he greeted his dad at the end of the hallway, who looked less than amused.

“hey dad” rafe says, but ward didn’t have a response. the disappointment look on his face said it all. “really? nothing?” rafe asks as the pair begin heading out of the building and into ward’s car.

“rafe, it’s 6am. do you really think i wanna be here right now?” ward replies, swinging open his car door and angrily shutting it after he got in. rafe got in the passenger side. “i’m sorry” rafe says in a non-meaningful way, but at least he said it. “don’t say sorry to me, say it to y/n.” ward tells him, turning the engine on and driving away.

“y/n? is she at the house?” rafe asks, looking at his dad who isn’t looking back at him. “yeah, she’s at the house. she came in last night crying her eyes out because of you” ward says, taking a quick glance at his son. rafe doesn’t respond, he just looks down in his lap to rethink about what he did, and how he made you feel.

“huh, you gonna say sorry to her?” ward asks, almost in a demanding way in which rafe doesn’t have a choice. “yes, dad” he nods. “good. she’s staying in your room, so don’t go in there until she’s awake.” ward tells him, making him frown.

“but it’s my room..?”

“don’t go in there until she’s awake. you hear me?” ward repeats, not owing his son an explanation. “fine” rafe rolls his eyes, finally agreeing.

“she’s a good girl, rafe, what the fuck are you doing?” ward asks, needing to know the reason as to why his son is abusive towards the girl he loves, the girl who cherishes him.

“i don’t know, dad, alright? we just had too much to drink.” rafe blames it on the alcohol, but he’s just as much the same when he’s sober. “so you got in your car and proceeded to drive with her shit scared in your passenger seat? begging you to stop?” ward argues.

rafe sighs loudly and rolls his eyes, not knowing what to say now. “you could’ve killed her, and yourself!” ward continues to argue, wanting to know why his son is the way he is. “yeah, i know!” rafe argues back. it’s done now, it’s in the past you could’ve died, but you didn’t.

the rest of the drive home was silent. neither of them wanted to speak to each other, nor about the situation to avoid more arguments. when they finally got back to tannyhill, it was around 6:30 am, rafe got out and slammed the car door moodily.

“hey, watch it.” ward scolds him, pointing a finger at him as they both walk into the house. rafe avoids his bedroom with you in it, walking past it to get to the guest room. he didn’t get any sleep all night, so he decided to have a nap.

when he woke up, it was almost 10 am. he got out of bed and left the guest room, checking if his bedroom door was open yet. and to his surprise, it was. he peeked into the room, only seeing you nowhere. moments later, he hears the sound of your voice coming from downstairs.

he makes his way down the stairs, where your voice gets closer and closer. finally, he spots you in the living room, sitting on the couch with his sister, sarah. you were really close to sarah, so obviously you’d already told her what happened last night. when you both saw rafe come into the room, your mouths fell silent. sarah’s eyes darted at rafe, giving him a look of disgust.

“hey y/n” he says, “can i talk to you?” he asks, eyeing his sister to get her to leave. “whatever you have to say to her, i wanna listen” sarah says, not moving from her seat. “no, get out” rafe bickers with her.

“no, i wanna listen too.” ward’s voice suddenly says as he walks in from the kitchen. rafe rolls his eyes at the fact his dad and sister wanted to hear his apology for themselves. he accepts that they aren’t going to leave, and he sits down next to you.

“y/n, i’m sorry” he says, more sympathetic than he was with his dad in the car. you didn’t know what to say, because it certainly wasn’t ok, but you still loved him regardless. “i didn’t mean to scare you like that, or hurt you…” he went on. after a little, sarah and ward could see he meant his words, and they didn’t need to be there anymore. they both got up and walked out, leaving you to be alone with rafe so you could talk it out.

“i know…” you respond quietly, looking down at your lap and fidgeting with your hands. “no, hey, i really mean it. i love you, i didn’t mean to act like that…” rafe grabs your hands, holding them which made you look up into his eyes. “i love you.” he says again.

“i love you too, rafe. i just wish you would’ve said sorry before you got arrested and spent the night in jail. i stayed up for most of the night feeling guilty.” you huff, knowing you shouldn’t feel guilty but you were unsure if you made the situation worse or not.

“don’t feel guilty, baby. none of it was your fault” he tells you, which calms your mind a little. “i didn’t mean to make you mad at the beach, it’s just, i—” you begin to explain, but he cuts you off. “no, no, shh. i shouldn’t have gotten angry at you, it was my fault.” he says, his hands still holding yours and rubbing them softly.

“i’m sorry baby, do you forgive me?” he asks, watching as you struggle to find the right words to say. “…yes, i forgive you. just, don’t do that shit again. you really scared me” you sigh, tearing up just thinking about the whole situation.

“hey, i know. shh, come here” he comforts you, pulling you into a hug. you rest your head on his shoulder, side hugging him back. after a few moments of silence and just hugging each other, ward walks back into the room to see how it went.

“everything ok in here?” he asks, seeing rafe nod in response. though he isn’t looking for rafe’s answer, he wanted yours. you look up at him, sniffling and wiping your tears away. “yeah” you tell him, he watches as rafe rubs your back to comfort you.

ward nods, seeing as you put your head down to look into your lap, he looks at his son with daggers to remind him to behave. you dread to think what he would do if rafe did something mean to you again.

THIS WAS SHORT. but as requested, here’s part 2! rafe is much less toxic in this one, obviously:) hope you guys enjoy! <3

@cameronluvr

[agendabymooner]

SOMETHING SPOILED !!! FERNANDO A. X FEM!READER (18+)

summary: she could easily get away with things and when she couldn’t, he always made sure to put her back in her place

content warning: smut (minors dni!), pwp(ish?), what is context, explicit language, themes of jealousy and sugar daddy/baby relationship, degradation, dumbification, spitting, dacryphilia, impact play, brief mention of oral sex (m receiving), brat taming (dom!fernando), brief lance stroll x reader interaction, shitty smut, what’s beta reading we just rawdog our writing in here

note: i will be making a separate masterlist for this i think… lmk what you think and enjoy xx

a - n masterlist

o - z masterlist

send your 💌re:moony’s planner requests here!

she can get away from a lot of things. she knew that. fernando knew that. 

in fact, fernando would even reward her for it. after all, she never demanded too much and all he wanted was to give her the world.

she wanted a new pair of shoes? he’d buy her the sneakers AND a pair of red bottoms. she wanted something from macy’s? fuck that; he’d have his assistant book the whole floor of harrods just so she can pick out new clothes for her closet. 

he would give her everything. even if she tends to be very playful and hilarious, he’d give her everything just to see it.

her cheekiness was a welcome distraction from his busy life as a professional racer. she’d often tease him in different ways but not once did she ever cross the lines and tested his patience and limits. she wasn’t really a brat, to say the least— she’d often give up by the time fernando would wrap his arms around her and press kisses all over her face.

and if she didn’t give up her act, he’d put her back to her place. it rarely happened, and when it did— they were rough. she would continue to act up just so he could punish her. she welcomed the pain with no hesitation and allowed him to control her like she was nothing but a body to be tossed around. 

she could get away from a lot. whenever she couldn’t, her excitement would soak through her knickers while thinking about his next move.

but right now, she wasn’t really at fault for being so bratty. her petulant attitude toward him wasn’t something that she expected from herself, but when her partner continued to ignore her throughout the party after arriving separately— the least she could do was throw his attitude right back at him. more petulantly, if you were to compare her actions to his.

she sat by the bar counter and quietly sipped on her drink, her ears ringing at the sound of his laughter from the distance alongside other men while they spoke about the happenings during the race earlier today.

she looked so pathetic like this; dressed up in the prettiest slip dress that turned to be a fabric of despair. she was the prettiest woman to have ever existed, and even the rest of the grid thought so, yet she looked so alone. she blamed fernando for this. 

all she wanted was him. she only wanted him right now. nothing more, nothing less. 

yet, in a world where he’d give her everything, he wouldn’t hand himself over to her. instead, he was laughing with lewis and carlos as they chatted about whatever the fuck it was. 

“you’d make a good renaissance painting,” her head shot up at the sound as she found lance stroll sitting next to her. the canadian beamed at her teasingly before sipping on his whiskey on the rocks. 

she scoffed, “if you want to see me naked, just say that.” 

lance laughed over the club music that continued to bust everyone’s eardrums. he then continued, “i would say that but do i really want to get my engines busted by a certain teammate before the next race?” 

her thoughts drifted back to fernando, who, from afar, had gone quiet (not that she knew that), before she rolled her eyes. “don’t be stupid,” she said, “i don’t think he’d care enough to ruin your car.” 

“you’re underestimating the man,” lance chuckled, “way too much, if anything. he could kill with just a look if anyone’s made a passing comment about you.” 

“i really should stop showing up at these stupid races,” she muttered quietly, “it’ll get worse as soon as people find out i hang out in the garages or paddock.”

“why?” lance asked, his frown an evident of concern as he said, “are you two not a…” 

“no, we’re not,” she interrupted with a huff, downing the rest of her drink as she continued, “it’s still the same arrangement. i could just stay at home and still get an allowance— i dunno why i said i’d come with him. look where i am now. he’s doing the same shit he does whenever he’s arriving at the paddock— i have to go after him so nobody knows who i am.” 

it was so obvious that she and fernando should be more than a mutually beneficial arrangement. he showed her something more than financial support and casual intimacy— yet he kept it on the down low as if she’s just a pastime. 

“damn,” lance muttered, offering her a sympathetic smile as he said, “is the money that good?”

“i don’t even care about the money anymore,” she laughed quietly, her eyes pausing from their track as she saw the obvious glare from her partner. he certainly wasn’t happy with what he was seeing.

yet she ignored his heavy scowl as she beamed, “i’m sure you’d be able to provide more if it was about it.” 

lance smirked lazily, now realizing what she was implying as he replied, “i’m sure i would’ve given it to you already if you weren’t as attached to fernando as you are now.” 

looking away from fernando, she covered her excitement and petulance with a giggle before she shoved lance lightly. “shut up.” 

sure, she could get away from a lot of things. but the way fernando stared at her coldly while she was acting all playful towards lance told her enough about the kind of treatment a spoiled brat like her would get from him. 

all she could do was squirm at the thought. 

her mouth let out a shrill cry as fernando pulled her mouth away from his cock, saliva dribbling down her chin to her chest as she felt a sharp pain on the roots of her head. he continued to grab a handful of her hair as he looked down at her. 

his eyes showed nothing of affection. his face offered nothing but mockery and anger. not towards her— but her bratty attitude that she showed tonight. 

he never felt so jealous until he saw lance talking to her up close. and he’s never been angrier than what he felt when she let his teammate get close like that. like she could just move on after talking to the man with a flirtatious smile and get away from her crimes that easily. 

her petulance and constant refusal on the way back to the hotel led to where she was now. her thighs rubbed against each other while tears trickled down her reddening cheeks.

she was desperate for his cock and his touch. both of which she didn’t even deserve despite being his spoiled girlfriend.

she tried to be prideful and strong as she refused to listen to his orders. 

it was too bad for her because while she thought that her pride was big, fernando alonso’s pride was bigger. his ego and his desire to control were what she enjoyed most about this— and these were his tools to tame her. 

“did you think that you can get away from that, hermosa?” he spewed out, watching her as she shut her eyes tightly and shook her head. “not listening to me and letting those men get near you— you’re not very smart, are you?”

“m- fer—“ she babbled, only to be interrupted by the clicking of his tongue as his other hand gripped her chin tightly. finally letting go of her hair, he tilted her chin up to his direction without a word. 

he growled quietly, “you’re such a disobedient girl. a very ungrateful and disobedient girl. you don’t deserve my cock after all of this, hermosa.”

“n- no! please-“ she exclaimed, squirming against the hold on her chin as she pleaded with him, “‘ll be good! i’ll be a good girl, i pr- promise. jus’ wan’ your cock- please nando!” 

his breath fanned on her face as he chuckled quietly, “you don’t listen to me unless you want it, hm?”

his hand let go of the grip for a moment, only for his palm to strike her cheek as he gripped her face once more. “open.” 

her brain, feeling hazy from the impact of his slapping and being deprived of his touch and his cock, short circuited. fernando tsked, tapping her reddening cheek once more as he crooned, “look at you, amor. you’re so dumb for my cock, eh? such a stupid bratty girl— wanting my cock when she doesn’t deserve it— open your mouth, hermosa.” 

she obliged, not wanting to disobey him anymore as he grinned. his grin eventually turned into a frown before spitting in her mouth as he demanded, “you know what to do.”

closing her mouth, she swallowed without a hesitation while her glistening eyes looked up at him.

“so you listen then,” he laughed mockingly, “i thought i’ve already fucked your mouth until you turned stupid.” 

she rubbed her thighs against each other, hoping for some sort of relief as a whine escaped her throat. “what’s wrong, hermosa?” tears escaped her eyes as she continued to plead with him wordlessly. “that’s not going to get you anywhere right now— not after you pulled that shit earlier just so you can piss me off.”

she couldn’t find a way to speak, humiliation and pleasure mixed with her adrenaline as she babbled, “i- i wan’- ‘m…” 

“speak up,” he laughed once more. “you’re way too mouthy earlier— what is stopping you now?” 

she whimpered, feeling too frustrated and already feeling too fucked out. she really wasn’t going to get away with all of those things that she did just to catch his attention earlier.

she just wanted him, but she couldn’t seem to get it all out because of the immense pleasure that she received from being disciplined. 

he chuckled quietly, “you want my cock?” 

she nodded frantically, a series of murmurs escaped her mouth as she meekly cried out, “want you to fuck me, please, please, please nando~ ‘m a good girl.”

“no, you’re really not, hermosa,” he grinned wickedly, “if you were you would’ve known not to flirt with those people. but i guess it was my fault that i’ve left you hanging and horny before we went, no? otherwise you wouldn’t have been that stupid to tease them like you would with me.”

she squirmed again, whimpering at his words as fernando continued, “but i’ve given you so much that you always find a way to get some more. i think that my little slut should be thankful for what she’s getting instead of acting like a spoiled brat.”

she couldn’t even find herself to protest. she was so drunk in lust and his dominance that she couldn’t find herself to fight back against his words. 

her love for him would have to wait. she was in too deep right now and if it meant that she’ll get an orgasm and maybe more then she’d do whatever it takes to please him. 

after all, she was spoiled already. working hard didn’t sound too bad. 

[prickleestull]

I love one piece because they refuse to let any character be genuinely dumb

Nami? Full on meteorologist and cartographer. Could probably be an electrician if she cared about that sort of thing, but she’s too busy knowing way too much about security and by extension the weaknesses of everyone around her,, yk just in case she has to rob them lol.

Robin? Archeologist. Anthropologist. Is A Freak About Literature. See this random shit in my hands ? How does she know about this ? Who knows! Anyway, she’s got its full history, use, importance, and power already diagramed in six different ways. She could boil down all of warhammer 40k in a sentence or two because she’s just Like That.

Franky? Engineer as fuck, which means math, which means inventor, plus I guarantee he’s got some sort of baseline knowledge about a shitload of everything else which doesn’t sound huge but his Water 7 Baseline Knowledge™ is still several leaps and bounds above everyone else’s Baseline Knowledge™.

Sanji? Low key a chemist. Culinary king. Understands the this and that of pretty much whatever is put in front of him and could make a dish out of it. Survivalist. Horny.

Chopper is Chopper. we don’t see him do much and its only because of hippa. Even the camera respects hippa. But he’s working his ass off and is single-handedly the only reason sanji hasn’t given up on the whole damn crew. They’ve bonded over medicinal recipes before. Luffy still managed to achieve scurvy twice.

Usopp? Botany. Or something. those two years away from everyone threw him back into the fray with a better fit and an arsenal full of plants. He’s more chaotic than he lets on — pre timeskip Usopp was an artist. A pyro. A shameless abuser of Home Alone style bullshit, complete with the kitchen cabinet tucked into his bag.

Zoro was reading the art of war morning noon and night growing up. This boy had zero hobbies outside of Getting Better, and it followed him all the way into adulthood. He can’t count higher than twelve, but he can strategically dismantle half of the world government in an evening if he had enough booze and reason to do it. Likes strategizing with Nami cause she’s deranged in a subtle way.

Brook is Brook. Philosopher. Musician. Died once fifty years ago and made it everyone else’s problem. If his brain hadn’t decomposed alongside his body, then his bones would explain to you the universe before cutting you open and making you one with it.

Luffy is.. an interesting case. I’m not sure how to quantify his intelligence, because while I know for a fact it’s there, but he’s also really good at playing dumb. Thing is, we can’t blame all his success on mere instincts. He can befriend everyone he meets, but a friend to all is a friend to none. He never loses (except that one time which shall not be mentioned). If he can fix the bad guy, he will — and if he can’t, he will put them down like a sick dog. he subscribes to no particular set of morals. how is it that the easiest one to see is the hardest to read? No one has noticed? What even is Luffy at this point? Hungry, I guess.

[aclikeairconditioning]

Since I wrote one for reverse verse Edwin, here’s one for Charles. Takes place in Hell, though nothing’s too graphic (still, be warned.)

I had to go through the torture of rereading/viewing this comic to write this (it wasn’t torture at all, this is one of my favorite @technically-human comics. Charles is so precious, and I almost cried while writing this and looking into his face at the same time.)

I will also add @i-am-as-normal-as-you-are because I forgot you last time. I’m very sorry, that was rude of me, I know this is your au too.

When I got to the end I realized that I was ending similarly to the way I ended Edwin’s, so I leaned into that and used the same wording.

(Ps. @technically-human, you have no idea how much of a euphoric adrenaline high your response gave me last time. Thank you so much, and happy belated birthday!)

-

Charles tripped.

Apparently, 70 years of practice became null and void when interrupted by three decades of peace. Safety. Home.

Charles tripped, and was immediately caught up in the storm of people running by, most of whom didn’t pay any attention to the sixteen-year-old struggling to get back up, to keep going, to not get caught.

Charles couldn’t even blame them. He would have, had in the past, done the same.

That didn’t make him less scared.

That wouldn’t make it hurt less when The Conductor eventually caught up to him.

He did manage to get up, though (a minor miracle on its own.) As he prepared himself to run again, get out as fast as he could, try to make up for lost time, a flash of blue in the corner of his eye gave him barely a moment's notice before he was being grabbed from behind.

His first instinct was to fight. To shove off whoever, or whatever, had grabbed him. Punch and claw and fight to leave the other behind in the dust as he got as far away as possible.

He would have, too. He would have, had it not been for the slightly panicked call of, “Found you!” in his ear, spoken in a voice he knew better than his own.

“Edwin!” The name came out more of a gasp, than Charles would have liked. “What are you doing here?”

Because he was here. God, Edwin Payne (just, devout, brilliant, Edwin Payne,) was here. In Hell. The one place that Charles thought he could protect him from, despite the others’ insistence to protect him (and the others newly added to the ranks of the Dead Boy Detectives.)

Edwin, who he had always thought believed, if only a little bit, that Charles deserved the torment he had been sent to.

Edwin, who was here-

“Protecting you, as always.”

Oh.

Oh.

He was here, because he really believed that Charles needed protecting. Who wanted to protect him, despite the Hell forged demeanor, the unspeakable things he had done before they met.

He was here, in Hell, actively going against his God, mustering up a fragile smile for Charles’ benefit.

He was perfect.

He was everything.

He needed to know.

So Charles grasped Edwin by his shoulders, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he made the declaration that could change everything (just please don’t take him away from me.)

“I love you,” He all but sobbed, a smile pulling up the corners of his mouth against all odds.

“What?” Edwin asked, taken aback. He blinked, eyes wide with shock. “Well, I- You know that- Me too, of course.”

Charles gave a short chuckle, shaking his head, because he didn’t get it. “That’s not what I meant, mate.”

He sniffed heavily before looking back up into Edwin’s eyes. “I love you. Like courting, sweethearts, holding hands in the park, love you.”

Edwin’s eyes had gotten larger, if that were even possible, panic taking over any kind of control he’d still had. Charles’ heart only sank a bit at that. He could have predicted how Edwin’s deeply moral sensibilities would take this sentiment.

“Charles, I can’t-”

But Charles wasn’t able to figure out what Edwin couldn’t as a burning hand closed over the back of his neck, ripping him away and towards the engine room.

He was taken away to his next death with the sound of Edwin calling his name behind him.

[navybrat817]

For the valentine ficlet friday: Jame Mace and "I would like my good morning kiss now." Because in my head, the crew listened to his good sense and he didn't die.

He deserved better, nonnie!

Another Sunrise

Pairing: James Mace x Female Reader

Summary: Each sunrise is a new promise with James.

Word Count: Over 600

Warnings: Established relationship, fluff, sweetness, kisses, cuddling, reference to smut, James Mace (he's a warning, okay?)

A/N: Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You gazed out the bedroom window to watch the sky gently awaken. The deep indigo of the night always felt tranquil, but watching it turn to shades of orange and gold made you feel alive. The first sunrays cast a warm glow across the nearby water, making it shimmer in the light. Waves made James feel peaceful. Watching the sun continue to rise higher, the colors bright and intense as they spread behind the clouds, you felt a sense of peace, too. Because thanks to James and his crew, the sun hadn’t died.

Each sunrise was a new hope, the day ahead full of promise.

The sound of a familiar groan behind you made you smile. “Mmm. Why are you all the way over there?” James asked, his voice low and raspy.

“Was just watching the sunrise,” you answered. You would’ve woken him up to join, but he looked like he was sleeping well and you didn’t want to disturb him.

“Oh, yeah? Well. I would like my good morning kiss now.”

“James Mace wants a good morning kiss?

“Damn right. Now get over here,” he ordered with fondness reserved only for you.

The smile stayed on your face when you went back to bed. The second you were within reach he wrapped an arm around you and pulled you closer. You wouldn't have pegged James Mace as a cuddler when you met him, but he proved you wrong, especially when he came back from the mission.

You didn't hesitate to press your lips against his, your heart beating faster when he immediately deepened it. He could be blunt at times and couldn't always express himself with gentle words, but you never once doubted his love for you. In his kiss, you felt the same sense of hope and promise you did when you watched the sun come up.

Just as heat spread through the kiss, you pulled away to ask, “Do you ever miss it?”

“Miss what?” he asked, trying to recapture your lips with his.

“Being up there,” you said.

He was a brilliant engineer. A hero. Some days you wondered if being back on the ground with you was enough. You couldn’t blame him if he said he missed it or wanted to go up there again. Some people belonged in the sky. Who were you to clip his wings?

Running a hand across his buzzed head, he sighed. “Some days I miss the mission itself, having a goal and setting out to accomplish it. The view wasn't bad either,” he answered, a faraway look in his eyes. “But the crew didn’t listen to me half the time and it drove me nuts. And you know I’m always right.”

“Oh, yes. Always,” you teased. Blunt or not, he often spoke the truth and voiced unpopular opinions even if people didn’t want to hear it.

“Glad you agree,” he said, chuckling when you nudged him. “But that’s not where I want to be. I did my job and now I’m back here with you where I belong.”

When he pulled you back in for a kiss, you didn’t stop him this time. He didn’t always say he loved you with words, but you felt it in every kiss. He wordlessly promised that he would always be by your side. So you let him make love to you as the sun shone through the window. You cried out his name like a prayer and thanked whatever power there was for bringing him home safely.

And maybe tomorrow when you woke up to watch the sunrise, you’d ask him to join you.

Love and thanks for participating! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[dinerdweller]

I want you, I need you, I love you

Elvis Presley x reader

Wc:828 Cw: proofread (blame grammarly for any mistakes), just basic flirting ig

Graceland was practically your second home. Hanging outside the gates with your girlfriends, just hoping, praying, for a glimpse of the man himself. Often, you were there far too late, knowing you were going to be greeted with angry parents and a headache in the morning. You were getting sick of being told that you had to be home early on a school night, but that was over now.

Your final year is over, summer break being your excuse to not get a job just yet. Now the whole day can be dedicated to whatever you please. Tanning on the beach and soda pops, drive-in dates and dancing with whatever date you managed to pick up but most importantly, sitting outside Graceland. It probably wasn't the best use of your time, being embarrassed when people bring up that you always seem to be there, but you're not the only one! Some girls stayed there for days at a time, smelling and greasy with clearly no standards. You were never that bad.

It's not like you even expected anything to come from it. You just enjoyed seeing one of his flashy cars zoom out of the gates, or him and his gang of friends mess around like children on a playground. Every once in a while, he would even come to the gates, showing gratitude to the pesky girls that hung around his gates. You cherished the scraps of paper from your notebook that he had signed, framing and hanging them proudly in your room. 

He had even learned your name, just as he did with the other girls in your group. Every time he said your name, it sounded better than it ever had, infact every word that he spoke was just so easy to soak up, how could you not be obsessed with Elvis when he just dripped with charm? Maybe that’s how you ended up here, the last girl outside finally accepting you were not gonna see him tonight. Your friends were long gone, leaving you to find your own way home on this dark summer night. That was until the headlights began approaching, the gate opening wide, and his lilac Lincoln slowly coming out. The window rolled down, his car lights hitting his face at just the right angle to immediately show who it was.

"Need a ride, baby?" His voice rang out, so angelic when he wasn't trying to project it over screaming crowds. You just stood still, expression like a deer in headlights. Then he let out a soft laugh, "Hello? You alright there, honey?" His tone was very obviously poking fun at you, not in a mean way but in a way that said he was used to leaving girls shocked like this. 

"Uh yeah, I'd like a ride." Your voice was shaking, only making your cheeks turn pinker. He reached over and opened the passenger door, signalling for you to climb in. 

"Where's it you goin'?" He asked, already starting up the engine again. You told him your address, wishing it were further away just so this moment wouldn't end. You had to be the luckiest girl in Memphis, no. The luckiest girl in the world right now.

"So, what's a pretty girl like you doin' hangin' 'round my house all day and night? You surely have somethin' better to do than wait with those girls for hours." His eyes would continue to glance over, a small grin remaining on his face.

"Those girls ain't so bad when you are nowhere to be seen, they act like normal humans most of the time. I suppose they are just drawn to your magnetism." I tease, "Well, I guess it's cause you're so close, my friends love you just about as much as I do, maybe on a crazier level, so they suggested we started going along to see what we could, well, see. Andeveryone there is so nice, it really is just like a load of friends meeting up with the added bonus of seeing you every once in a while."

"I'm glad somethin' goods come of those girls, they are all well intentioned. Most of 'em just take it too far. You're 'boutthe most tolerable one darlin'. Not to mention the best looker." He grinned, not holding back on his flirtatious nature at all."Why're you sitting all the way over there for baby? C'mere." So you did, his arm was laid across the top of the seat, naturally resting on your shoulder. A couple more minutes of charming, easy conversation were all you managed before he pulled up outside your house.

A soft sigh left his lips, a gentle hand guiding your face to look at his."I hope you'll be there tomorrow, honey. I'd like you to really get a closer look at this Elvis Presley guy." He grinned, bringing your face even closer to his, placing a soft kiss on your cheek.

"I definitely will be Elvis."

[fishhateme]

So... LinkedIn au part two, anyone?

this morning @adimouze got an actual linkedin notification while reading part one and a sign is a sign, so here goes part two of the linkedin au (btw if you think there's suspiciously not enough linkedin in here it's because i genuinely hate that capitalist hellhole with all my heart <3)

“Don’t worry, mate. People on LindkedIn are a bunch of cunts, anyway”

Max would have gasped, if he’d had less dignity, as he watched the man - Daniel, Daniel, Danyul in the flesh, the little icon from his LinkedIn feed, now sitting in the shitty bar, in front of him - swirl his $12 glass of rosé and sip it, scrunching up his nose the same way Sassy did when Max didn’t get her those little overpriced packets of turkey flavored wet food.

“Uh- I would say of course not everyone on LinkedIn is a cunt, maybe” Max said, completely and utterly dumbfounded, half because he was more than a little buzzed and half because he’d spent so much time thinking about finding Daniel that he hadn’t actually thought out what he’d do then (didn’t think he’d get this far, really). He could almost picture Lando laughing maniacally at the blush that was spreading all the way from his chest (thankfully hidden by his plain, black tee) to the very top of his ears, and he thanked whatever God was out there (Sir Isaac Newton, can you hear me?) that the younger engineer was too busy trying to pick up some Spanish car designer on the other side of the convention.

Max could blame the blush on the g&t’s, and not on the fact that his little virtual networking crush (what had his life come to) had the most dazzling smile he’d ever seen, staring him straight in the eyes.

“I would say that they are, then, if you don’t have the balls to” Daniel, who still hadn’t introduced himself, responded with a cheeky smirk, “They’re all stuck up pricks. They act like they only care about furthering physics and science and the greater good when all they want is their name on a plaque somewhere and a couple of sports cars so they can wank off to the airflow of the diffusers or some shit”

Max thought that was such a ridiculous notion, that respected aerodynamics engineers would spend their entire careers longing for a luxury car (and- okay, yeah, his desktop was an Aston Martin Valkyrie, but that was different, he knew that was just as out of his league as the guy standing in front of him right now). Furthermore, a pesky voice in the back of his head that sounded an awful lot like Jos was telling him that this guy was an ingrate, a disrespectful, unprofessional man who’d get nowhere, but Max bit his tongue and then washed it away with a gulp of his g&t, letting Daniel speak because he clearly wanted to rant.

“I’m serious, mate, all these people ever come to do to conventions like this is flaunt their achievements. Like-” he adjusted his stance, wiggling his body so he could move the shitty bar stool without actually getting up, suddenly getting very, very much in Max’s personal space, his thick, meaty thigh (who wore shorts to a networking event? This guy was crazy) almost brushing against Max’s knee as he leaned over to whisper and point, “See him? That’s Zak Brown, he owns McLaren Aerodynamics.”

Shit, wasn’t that Lando’s boss? Now Max felt ever so slightly guilty for nodding along to the Brit’s rants about his work, without actually ever hearing anything. “If you talk to him, he’ll invite you to a game of golf, and if you say yes he’ll take you there in a Lambo and offer you a round of Chandon or some shit, his treat. You know how he gets all that money? Because people love to spend it, shit, I love it too, but don’t you ever stop to think about where it comes from?”

Daniel leaned in even closer, his hot breath against the scorching heat of Max’s helplessly flushed ear, his words ever so slightly slurred like maybe it hadn’t been his first rosé. Maybe he’d started off with something stronger in his car (was pregaming work conventions... a thing?), and now he was trying to look semi-dignified and failing.

“He gets it from defense contracts”

Max blinked owlishly at that, like maybe he’d heard it wrong. Surely he didn't mean to say what it sounded like he was, at the very least, implying. “Uh- what? I thought they made, like…” he tried to concentrate, genuinely wrack his brain to remember what Lando had mentioned “Uh, trains? High speed trains, don’t they- isn’t that what they make?”

Daniel laughed at that, a honky, unabashed laugh, throwing his head back and showing off those pearly whites as his curl bounced. “That’s what they’ll tell you on their website, mate. That they care about the environment and are working with the UK government to make-” hic, “Make uhh, a- a greener future or some shit. And- yes, they’ve got contracts with the UK government, plenty of ‘em, but most of them are defense”

At Max’s shocked expression, at his gaping mouth, Daniel sighed and rubbed his face with his hands, and yeah, he was definitely more drunk than Max, somehow.

“Missiles! They make missiles, Maxy”

Max didn’t think Lando was capable of even designing a missile for a fruit fly, much less for… actual humans. Fish, maybe. But humans seemed odd. “How are you so sure?”

Daniel seemed to deflate at that, like everyone had said the same thing. He pulled back, elbows on the bar and head hung low between his sagged shoulders, and Max found himself missing the warmth of his tattooed thigh against his knee, even though he still felt feverish from the alcohol and the flusteredness of it all.

The Aussie hiccuped again, blinking a couple of times. “Worked there” he said, and he sounded almost beaten down as he added, “Then I quit. Eeeh, not true, actually, got fired. Publicly it was a mutual agreement. Doesn’t matter” he stopped to down what was left of his rosé, grimacing although it must have been quite a pleasant, sweet taste, not at all a man’s drink, like Jos would say. “Now I make about a tenth of what I did and I teach the next generation of missile designers how to maximize… missileness”

Max hummed, quietly. He didn’t quite know what to say at that - he made a mental note to ask Lando about some things on the drive back, sure, but other than that. He got a sense that maybe the funny LinkedIn man had turned into a sad, hot, somehow still funny LinkedIn man.

Maybe he just needed a friend. Someone to listen.

Max grimaced at that last thought, scrunching up his face and staring down at his g&t with hatred, like his favorite drink had been tainted with feelings, and they were rapidly making his way into his bloodstream.

What was he even thinking?! Sure, the guy was funny and clearly had had some success at some point of his career and he was kind of possibly the hottest man Max had ever seen but he was also clearly a loser. Besides, they were strangers! They hadn’t even introduced themselves to each other! Daniel didn’t even know Max’s-

Wait.

“How do you know my name?”

Daniel’s eyes, previously fixed on a poster of a cowboy that advertised some sort of insurance Max couldn't care less about, widened almost comically. He stared at him for a beat too long before chuckling awkwardly. “Uuuuh, what?”

“You called me Maxy. You said, they make missiles, Maxy” Max said, finally feeling the expected effect of his g&t’s, that was, some fucking courage. “How do you know my name is Max”

A second passed.

Then another.

Then a third, and by the fourth Max had just now noticed the convention was blasting some shitty, outdated jazz music, which worked more as a sleep inducer than a mood setter.

By the fifth, Max was thinking maybe Daniel wouldn’t answer, so he doubled down and looked eyes with him, but Daniel immediately looked away, flustered and biting down on his plush, pink lip, frowning as if deep in thought. “Uuuuh” he stammered, rubbing his face with the heels of his palms again, chuckling awkwardly, “Would it be too lame to say I follow you on LinkedIn?”

part 3