#do things for her and ease the load from her shoulders

[canadianfangirl-95]

A Daisy through Concrete 

Modern AU no outbreak 36 y/o Joel Miller x f!reader 

Summary: You’re elated when you finally have a house to lease with your two children after a grueling year in your parents guest bedroom, post-divorce. Excited for a new chapter to your story, you’re even more excited when the Adlers introduce you to their neighbour, Joel.  

Series Warnings and Information: 18 + minors DNI, eventual smut, some rough sex, divorce, swearing, drinking, drug addiction, car-crash death, absentee mother/father, emergency c-section due to babies heart-rate falling discussed, if you can handle a show like How I met Your Mother or similar, you can handle this. You are responsible for the content you interact with.  

Masterlist

Chapter 1- WC 3900 

How Neighborly of you 

Sweat drips down his forehead as he continues to push the shovel into the pile of black mulch laid down on a tarp in his laneway. He grunts while moving back and forth with loads full to spread along his front yard garden. The hot Texas heat burning his neck. He stills for a moment to bring the bottom of his grey t-shirt up to wipe his face, his soft stomach glistening with sweat, causing his shirt to stick.  

“Joel!” He drops his shirt and looks across the laneway as Mrs. Adler begins walking towards him, her hand raised in a polite wave.  

He points the tip of the shovel down into the dirt and leans against it with his arm, “Good morning, Connie.”  

She stops in front of him, wringing her hands together with an excited look on her face. “I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve been meaning to talk to you. Now that Nana has passed, we don’t have a whole lot of reason to stay around here anymore.”  

Joel’s head rocks on his shoulders, “Oh no, don’t tell me you’re moving.” He says with disappointment in his voice.  

Shaking her head she smiles, “No, dear of course not. You know Danny won’t leave this house until he has to be taken out in a body bag.” She says with a chuckle and Joels face eases its worry. “No, now that we have some freedom, and now that a wonderful opportunity has arose. We are going to fulfill our lifelong dream of going on a year long cruise.” Her skin crinkles around her eyes as she beams.  

“Oh, that’s amazing. Well, geeze we’re really gonna miss ya around here.”  

“I know, we’ll miss you and Sarah too.” She says earnestly. 

“Well, when do you set sail?” He asks.  

“A couple of weeks. We’ve got lots of packing to do so if you see movers here, they’re moving things to a storage unit.”  

He looks at her confused, “Why are you moving stuff to a storage unit if you won’t even be here?” 

Her eyes light up, “Well, see dear that is why I came over to talk to you actually. The reason that we are finally able to do this is because we found someone to rent the house from us while we are gone. The daughter of a woman we golf with. So, we are moving our personal belongings out for the time being and leaving the furniture, so she has room.”  

Joel scratches his beard as he takes in the news. He’s not particularly fond of new neighbours as you never know what you’re gonna get. It’s only Spring and he’s already fed up with the new guy across the street that doesn’t clean the leaves out of the street drain in front of his house. Causing the road to flood every time there’s heavy rain. Joel’s been begrudgingly stomping across the pavement with his rake the last two times it stormed, soaked right down to his boots. Sopping wet hair clutching to his skin as the fast-paced droplets bead down his skin, all so Sarah doesn’t have to walk to school with ruined sneakers.  

Connie continues, “Sad story really. She was married for 5 years, has two small children, and then she comes to find out one day that he was a drug addict. Claims she had no idea. So, she and the kids moved in with her parents for the time being while she saves for a house. When her mom was telling me, I thought she’d be a perfect fit for a renter. She’s here right now with Danny in the backyard. He’s showing her the sprinkler system. Here, here I want to introduce you.” She says gesturing for him to follow her.  

He chews the inside of his cheek before offering a polite nod and dropping his shovel to the grass, following behind her towards the side gate to her backyard. The old latch creaks as she opens it, his hand rises to hold the top of the wooden door to keep it open as she continues her stride to the back yard. They round of the corner and see Danny kneeled to the ground by the side of the house, a woman stood with her back to them, nodding along to what he’s saying.  

You’re listening to Mr. Adler when footsteps on the concrete patio behind you draw his attention and he grunts as he stands from his kneeled position, looking beyond you. You turn your head, your arms crossed against your chest to see Mrs. Adler returning with a tall man with dark brown hair and beard. Your eyes casually roam over him as you take in his broad physique.  

They stop in front of you and Mrs. Adler gestures to the man. “Sweetheart this is Joel, the next-door neighbour I was telling you about.”  

He nods and offers his hand to shake; you and he eye each other intensely as you shake his hand and give him your name. “Nice to meet you.” You say.  

“Joel has a daughter, Sarah. Perfect babysitting age.” She says, gently nudging you with her elbow.  

Your eyebrows go up and you smile politely, “Oh, lovely.” 

“Mhm, and no wife.” Mrs. Adler comments and Joel coughs, clearing his throat as you look at her surprised. 

Mr. Adler gestures to his wife, “Did you get the list of emergency phone numbers written down?” 

She shakes her head with a frustrated gruff, “No, no I need your phone too because I don’t have your sister’s new number yet. Come on let’s go get that done now before we forget.” She motions for him to go in through the patio doors before smiling at you and Joel. “Please, please talk amongst yourselves. You’ll be getting to know each other very well over the next year. We’ll only be a moment.” She says before disappearing behind her husband into the house.  

You shift awkwardly on your feet and look around aimlessly. Joel seems as uncomfortable as you do, his stance with his hands on his hips. After few too many moments of silence, he speaks. “So, uh, I don’t know where you used to live but, in this neighbourhood we take care of each other, alright? Help each other out and keep the yards, the houses looking nice.” He says sternly and even though he’s only a few years your senior, you suddenly feel like you’re being scolded by a principal and your eyes narrow.  

Nodding, you chew your lip before offering a smile. “I understand. We, - um, my ex and I,” you place your hands in the back pockets of your denim shorts and look down for a moment. “used, to own a house. Nice neighborhood, all friendly with each other. I promise I’ll take care of it.” Gesturing to the patio doors. “The Adlers are doing me a huge favour letting me and the kids live here while they’re gone. Living with my parents, has, well, made us all a little crazy.” You say as your voice drifts off, becoming uncomfortable talking about your current situation. 

Joel suddenly becomes very aware of his tone and remembers that you’re just a single parent, same as him. Trying to do your best. “Hey.” He says, as your eyes have looked anywhere but his. They finally rise up to meet his nervously, you see the way his face has softened. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to come off like such a hard ass. I uh, I work in construction, so I guess I get used to talking to people a certain way. All business you know?” he says with a light smile, and you see the way his shoulders relax a bit.  

The side of your lips pull, and you shrug, “It’s okay. I never liked new neighbours either. Breaks the routine.” He nods at that and then cranes his neck to see if the Adlers are coming back soon. “So,” you begin, and his attention returns. “You have a daughter? How old is she?” 

Joel clears his throat, “She’s 13. And yours?” 

“I have a daughter, Melody. She’s 5 and my son Jayden is 3.” You say and he nods along.  

“Well, we’ll have to have you all over sometime. Once you’re settled.” He offers, but it only sounds half-sincere.  

You raise your hand in the air, as if to metaphorically wave away his offer. “Oh, no that’s not necessary. Really. I don’t expect Sarah to babysit just because she’s a girl and lives next door.”  

Shaking his head, his face eases even more. “Actually, I would bet she would love to babysit. She loves kids. Always wanted a sibling.” He says, his voice drifting off a bit, looking down for a moment before finding his thought again. “But really, we’d love to have you over. Like I said, we take care of each other here.” His smile finally reaches his eyes, and you ease. 

Nodding, you reply. “Thanks, I’d like that.” You and Joel stare at each other, something lingering in the air that neither of you can quite put a finger on. The sliding door opening again causes you both to stir and he shifts on his feet. The Adlers approach, Mrs. Adler waving a long piece of notebook paper in her hand.  

“Here you are, dear.” She says, placing the page in your hand and pointing down at the various numbers listed. “There’s my cell, Dannys, his sister, our daughter, our son-in-law, and Joels.” She smiles as she looks up at him and he nods.  

“Thank you, I appreciate it. My dad is pretty handy so if there’s any issues with the house, I’ll see what he can do before bothering any of you.”  

Her eyebrows crinkle, “Oh don’t worry your father.” She gestures to Joel. “Joel here is the handyman for the neighbourhood. Takes good care of anything we need. Just pop on over. Especially if the sink in the master bath gives you trouble. He’s had to fix it a couple times. Haven’t you Joel?”  

Joel chews his lip before regaining himself, “Of course, just let me know.” His attention turns to you, and he smiles. You feel a slight flutter at the thought of him working in your house. The way his muscles would pull at that already too tight t-shirt when he’s using them.  

“Great.” Is all you are able to squeak out before clearing your throat. “Well, thank you for everything. I should get going. Please call me if there’s anything I need to know before you leave and uh, have a great time on your trip.” You say with a bright smile.  

“Thank you so much, we’re so excited.” Mrs. Adler says, taking her husbands arm in hers as his face matches the buzzing smile on hers.  

Joel nods towards the gate, “I’ll walk you out.”  

You and Joel say your goodbyes to the Adlers, and you follow him through the gate, taking in the way his shoulders fill the space. You shake your head, hoping your current dry spell post-divorce is not going to get you into any trouble.  

He stills near the Adlers laneway, your mini van taking up the last spot by their car and truck. His hands go in his pockets, and he clears his throat. “I’m just right there, let me know if you need anything.”  

Nodding, you cross your arms across your chest. “Thanks. It was nice to meet you.” He nods and mirrors your stance, his biceps flattening across his chest. “I guess I’ll see you in a few weeks.”  

“Alright. See ya later.” Joel says, waving his hand before turning and heading back to his yard.  

You bite your lip slightly before turning on your heels and heading to your van. You, distracted by your list of errands you are navigating in your head and Joels return to his yard work, you both miss Mr. and Mrs. Adler, watching your interaction from the living room window, and giving each other a knowing smile.  

You pat the back of the moving van to alert your dad that he’s backed up enough in the Adlers driveway. The last few weeks have been nothing but packing and reorganizing the stuff you’re keeping in a storage unit. You and the kids have been sharing your parents guest bedroom for almost a year now and they have been buzzing with excitement since you showed them how big the house is. Sneaking a peak over at Joels house, you notice that the mulch he had been laying has filled the garden and his truck is parked near the end of the laneway, just as it was before. Your dad shakes your attention, and you begin helping him gather boxes from the truck to move them inside. 

Sarah sits on the front step of the house, tying her shoelaces, her fluffy hair tickling her shoulders as she leans over her knees. Joel steps out onto the porch with his phone in hand, typing a message to Tommy about the job on Monday they’re starting. Sarah finishes her laces and looks up at the clear Spring weather. The sound of voices catches her attention, and she looks out past the foliage of the trees. She’s met with the sight of you and your dad standing in the laneway of the Adlers. You’re leaned up against the side of the truck, wearing a loose fitted Fleetwood Mac t-shirt, mid-thigh length bike shorts and platform lavender coloured converse. Your arms are crossed as you chat nonchalantly with your dad.  

Her eyebrows pop up, “Is that the new neighbour living in the Adlers house?” she asks with curiosity.  

Joels fingers still on the screen and the memory of meeting you slips into his head once again. It’s not that he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about you. But he definitely hasn’t, not thought about you since that day in the Adlers backyard. He hasn’t, not thought about the way your eyes shined in the sun or the way your smile created a flutter in his chest that he couldn’t quite explain. He lets out a grunt before stuffing his phone in his pocket and leaning forward to peer past the trees as Sarah is. Joel sees you there, relaxed and talkative with a man, whose resemblance to you would lead him to believe he’s your dad. He suddenly becomes aware of the several moments that have passed since Sarah asked him the question and he shrugs. “Yeah, that’s her.”  He says gruffly before standing firm with his arms crossed, looking across the street at the pile of leaves beginning to build up on the street drain. 

Sarah smirks, “You didn’t tell me she was so pretty.” 

“Didn’t come up I guess.” He says quietly 

“Trying to hide a crush?” She says jokingly before feeling a rough tap of a boot on her back and hears her dads knowing tone  

“Hey, now. She’s a neighbour be respectful. And definitely don’t talk like that when they come over.”  

Her head whips around, “She’s coming over?” 

He stutters, “Um, yeah. Sometime, not tonight. Just, told her we’d have her and the kids over to properly introduce ourselves.” 

She eyes him suspiciously, “We’ve never done that with any of the other neighbours.” 

Joel clears his throat and looks down at her, “Of course we have.”  

“Really? Because our newest neighbour is Kyle, and you haven’t invited him over.” Sarah says matter-of-factly. 

“Yeah, well that’s ‘cause Kyle’s an idiot.” Joel says abruptly.  

The engine turns over in the moving van and she turns her head back to the laneway you’re standing in. She watches as you move aside from the truck to let it peel out, offering a wave to the driver. You turn and place your hands in your back pockets, facing your new home for the next year.  

“I’m gonna go say hi.” She says excitedly before pushing herself up off the step. 

“Sarah-,” but she’s already disappeared down the path and crossing the lawn towards you before he can clasp onto her arm. He groans and rubs his face with his hand.  

You’re contemplating some potted plants for the front porch when a spirited young girl comes bouncing towards you from Joels house. You smile and turn to her. “Hi.” 

She stills in front of you, her smile bright. “Hey, I’m Sarah. I guess you’ve already met my dad.” She says, gesturing to the house behind her.  

You nod, “Nice to meet you, and yes I did.” You say shyly before giving her your name.  

“You have kids, right?”  

“Mhmm, yeah. Melody is 5 and her younger brother Jayden is 3.” You say with a smile.  

Suddenly Joel slinks up behind Sarah and nods towards you with an awkward smile, “Hey there.”  

“Hi Joel.” A grin dances on your lips.  

Sarah looks over her shoulder at her dad with a devious grin before turning back towards you, “So, are you single?”  

“Jesus, Sarah.” Joel shakes his head and huffs, placing his hands on his hips.  

You can feel your face warm, and you look around shyly before shrugging, “Um, yes. I’m single. I’m divorced from my children’s father.”  

Joel raises his hand apologetically, “I’m sorry. Sarah that wasn’t polite-,” 

“Are you looking?” she says quickly, her body vibrating. 

Both of your eyes go wide and Joel steps forward, “Dammit Sarah, what did I just say?” he says with a strong dad voice, and you chuckle into your hand. He turns to you with worrisome eyes, “You don’t have to answer that, I’m sorry.”  

“My Dad said he invited you and your kids over for dinner. How’s tomorrow?”  

“Sarah! In the house, now.” He says, pointing towards the house and you and her share an amused smile before she turns and starts heading towards the front door.  

“Nice meeting you!” You call out and she yells back, “You too.” Before disappearing.  

You can’t help but giggle to yourself at the irate look on Joels face. “Again, I’m sorry. She’s uh, at a difficult age. I’ll speak with her.” 

“Hey, it’s okay. Don’t get her in too much trouble. I have kids, I know how little of a filter they have.” Crossing your arms over your chest, you shrug. “One time, my daughter told my manager that we ran into at the grocery store that I had her baby brother in my belly, and he was gonna come out of my bum.” You say with a laugh.  

Joels shoulders finally slouch from around his ears, and an honest smile breaks out on his face along with a chuckle. “Wow, um, okay yeah I guess that’s pretty bad.” You laugh together before falling into a comfortable silence. Your eyes ghosting over each other, finding every crease on his face from years of work in the sun. Taking a deep breath in through your nose, you break the gaze to scuff your sneakers against the ground. 

“Well, I don’t want to keep you on this beautiful Saturday. I’ve got lots of unpacking to do before I gotta go get the kids tomorrow.”  

You see the way his Adams apple bobs as he swallows and he nods, “Alright, well. Let me know if you need any help. I’ll be around most of the day.” A grin tugs at the side of his mouth.  

Nodding, you begin to turn towards the house, “Thank you.” You say kindly taking a couple steps before catching yourself. You look over your shoulder to find Joel still standing there, staring at you. You smirk before commenting quietly, “I am, by the why.” 

His eyes squint as he looks at you confused. “You are, what?” 

Tilting your head to side, your hands clasp together, and you smile. “Looking.” With that you turn fully and make your way up the path to the house, leaving him behind.  

Joel watches you the entire time, until he hears the clasp on the door closing behind you. Only then does he let the breath out that he had been holding and shakes his head. “Damn.” He whispers to himself, stuffing his hands in his jean pockets and starting the walk back to his front door, looking over his shoulder once in case by any miracle you came back outside. Just to get one more glimpse of you to tide him over for the rest of the day. 

Stepping inside the home of the Adlers, you see a calm and still house. No mess, no fuss, no kids toys or yogurt stains on the couch. Your fingertips trace over the fabric of the couch as you slowly step through the living room. Taking in the new smells, the way the sun hits the windows at this time of day. Boxes and boxes stacked on top of each other filling the space. You walk towards them and read the top of one of the boxes. Kitchen stuff. Kitchen stuff. All those years, all that love and all those memories. Are now collected into a pile of boxes with descriptions written in Sharpie. A box of your sons Monster Trucks. A box of your daughter’s arts and crafts. The beginning of their childhood. Stuffed into boxes, because you didn’t see the signs. 7 years together and it never caught you off-guard that his nose bled so much. He claimed it was just allergies and dry sinuses. It never confused you when piles of money would disappear from the bank account, and he would explain his truck was needing repairs. It was old, it made sense it needed extra care. 7 years of him hiding who he truly was. An addict. And when it all came to fruition, when every tiny detail of his lies came to the surface. You gave him the option. Take forgiveness and quit. Keep your life together, keep sewing your stories together.  

At the end of the day, your life and the kids weren’t enough for him. He needed more. He needed what you couldn’t give him. He chose the drugs over you, and it killed you. It killed that you got asked every night at bedtime with your kids where daddy was and why they couldn’t go home to their house. Why were they sharing a bed at Grandma and Grandpas while you slept on a futon in the corner of the room. Because you didn’t have an answer. You didn’t have any kind of way to explain it to them that their dad didn’t choose them. That he couldn’t. And the looks on their faces, every time you told them that daddy wouldn’t be home for bedtime, broke your heart as you watched the sadness etch itself into their faces.  

You’d cried. Screamed. Asked why you. Why now. For months and months. And now again, you find yourself fallen to your knees, tears spilling from your eyes. You feel cold here. There’s no warmth. No joy.  

Not yet at least. Soon, you hope, your children will be able to fill the space. You’ll be able to have your smile reach your eyes again. Kind of like they did today when you spoke with Joel.  

You weren’t joking either. You have stayed single for the last year as you mourned your past life. Grieved the experiences you thought you would have together. But now you feel like it’s your turn. Your turn to choose you and find someone who would choose you and the kids as well. Your heart may break again; it may burn, and it may ache. But to feel chosen again, will be worth it. 

Chapter 2

[comatosebunny09]

inebriated | sylus

— summary: you comment on how good he’s gotten at these domestic things, and his mouth twitches with a smile. for you, he would give up this menacing life he leads if it meant waking to your smile each day, dancing and kissing in the kitchen over pancakes and overdone eggs.  — cw: written with femme reader in mind, alcohol & drug use, mild language, tooth-rotting fluff, domestic bliss, sylus is down bad & probably ooc — notes: head empty, just vibes. i needed some domestic, self-indulgent fluff, and this is the result. thank you so much for reading. — now playing: waiting in vain - jordan ward

Sylus, but in the midst of a meeting. And it's all tense, everyone shifty-eyed and tight-lipped, trying to figure out the best way to expand Onychinus’ reach. But then, a particular ringtone breaks through the seemingly impenetrable silence that’s befallen the dimly-lit, smoke-laden room.

The gentleman beside Sylus stifles a laugh into his fist under the pretense of clearing his throat. Sylus gives him a look that bodes disaster as he fishes his phone from his pocket. Fearing for his life, the man glances away, straightening his tie.

With his cell poised in the air like a loaded gun, Sylus dares anyone else to comment on his choice of ringtone with a ticked brow and a swift survey around the room. Everyone pointedly looks elsewhere, hoping to leave with their lives intact.

Seeing as no one’s ballsy enough to contest him, the crime lord brings the phone to his ear, answering with a curt “Speak.”

“Mister Skye?”

The voice breaking through the static is most certainly not yours. And that notion has Sylus sitting up at breakneck speed, assuming the worst. That tense air from before returns, slung over everyone’s shoulders like sandbags.

An anxious chuckle erupts from the other side of the phone. “Sorry. It’s Tara. I probably should've led with that. Didn't mean to freak you out.”

The rigid set of his shoulders eases up the slightest bit. At least you’re with a friend. Still, why is she calling him from your phone?

“Sorry to bug you. But could you come get her? I think she’s had a little too much to drink. She keeps antagonizing the biggest guys here. Says she’ll sick her bad-ass mafia boyfriend on them or something.”

Sylus’ lips quirk. He pinches the bridge of his nose, the beginnings of a migraine creeping in whilst a sigh pushes through his nostrils. He doesn’t know whether to be proud or annoyed.

“They’re about to kick us out of the bar. Please come.”

He can taste the exasperation in Tara’s voice, the poor girl. On cue, you chime in from the background, wailing about needing your ‘Big Daddy Caw-Cawk.’

Someone in the briefing room snorts but quickly hides it when Sylus levels a glare at them.

Relieved, Sylus straightens, rolling the tension from his shoulders. “Where are you?”

It’s laughable how quickly Tara answers, ready to pass you off like a baton. “Husk. Downtown on Main Street. I can drop a pin—”

“No need,” he interjects, well-versed in your points of interest. What? He’s just being the model boyfriend. Definitely not stalking you. “I’ll be there in ten.”

She laughs, the sound of it relieved. “Thank you, Mr. Skye. Seriously, you don’t understand—what the hell are you doing?! Get off the table!” 

Before the line cuts, furniture crashes and glass shatters.

Sylus clears his throat, adjusting his collar. Straightens the cuffs of his sleeves before abruptly standing, the jarring screech of his chair across the tiled floor making everyone in the room wince. 

He doesn’t bother with formalities, shoving his hands in his pockets, that customary bored look descending onto his face. The twins materialize at his sides without a hitch as he makes his way to the door, the atmosphere charged with unanswered questions and anxious looks.

“Mister Sylus!” one of the men calls to his retreating back. But he’s silenced by his seatmate with a hand on his shoulder and a head shake. 

“No sense in getting between that man and his girl. Last guy who did…well, you can probably guess the rest.”

With this new information hovering in the air, the gentlemen around the table exchange grumbles and stiff looks, deciding to carry on as if their leader never left.

—

Sylus has impeccable timing.

He’s tugging his motorcycle helmet off when you emerge from the bar’s double doors, arm linked with Tara’s, the straps of your heels dangling off your finger. 

“Fuck you,” you spit back at the bouncer who so graciously escorted you out. He counters you with his middle finger, muttering something about you being a bitch. 

Sylus’ jaw tenses. His skin prickles with the threat of his Evol. But he tamps down his irritation when Tara spots him. And she’s damn near sprinting, dragging you alongside her. 

“Mister Skye!” Tara beams, a nervous chuckle in her throat. He acknowledges her with a nod and a rehearsed half-smile, his gaze sliding to you. 

You stand beside Tara with crossed arms, bottom lip jutting out with a pout as you pointedly look elsewhere. You’re adorable when you know you’re in trouble, the ambient string lights strung overhead highlighting the pretty contours of your face. Glancing between you and Sylus, Tara slips behind you, practically shoving you into his arms. You stumble with a slew of curses into the hard planes of his chest. 

“She’s all yours,” says Tara, a little too ecstatic for his liking.

Gently wrapping his fingers around your arm, Sylus guides you over the curb towards his bike. Nods at Tara over his broad shoulder, and she grins, frantically waving goodbye. He stifles a chuckle when her shoulders slump, relief washing over her features. You must’ve been quite the handful throughout the night.

Wordlessly, he pulls you to a stop before his motorcycle. Turns away to fetch your helmet, expectantly holding it out for you to take. You continue this huffy game of yours, instead glaring at something behind him. Before he can speak, your eyes alight with childlike glee, and you dash past him across the street in a blur of glitter and perfume. 

With his mouth slightly ajar, Sylus watches you cross the street to a brightly colored cart. The cart's awning features a telltale hotdog logo, and he sighs, shaking his head before following after you. You’re shoving a hotdog into your mouth when he reaches you, your eyes gleaming whilst an appreciative hum eases from your throat.

“Sweetie,” he tries, something akin to affection swelling in his chest. “You’re not wearing shoes.”

You ignore him in favor of savoring your meal. Clearly inebriated if the heavy flutter of your lashes is anything to go by. Try as he might to suppress it, a smile rounds his lips, and while you eat, he takes this time to appraise you. 

Errant curls cling to your comically full cheeks. Your makeup is flattering, your lashes wispy, and your lips painted a dangerous shade of rouge. One strap of your dress falls off your shoulder, and the tight cling of your attire leaves little to the imagination. Full thighs peer from beneath a devastating hemline, legs stretching for days. His study ends at your feet, bare and probably sore from wearing heels all night.

Sylus reaches out to pat your head, eyes slit with affection. Internally, he gushes when you turn innocent eyes on him, the brooding figure you once were tucked far beneath your skin. He surmises that Tara couldn't tame you because you were hangry. You always are after a night of drinking. He steps behind you to fix your straps, fingers softly gliding over your shoulders. 

He angles himself to ear level, murmuring, “Let’s get you home,” before ushering you towards his bike with a wide, reassuring palm at your back. 

You’re more agreeable this time around, nodding and toddling in front, scarfing down the remains of your hotdog. 

—  

You cut a sleek outline amid the bustling streets of Linkon, streetlights glazing over the dark lenses of your visors. 

Your arms loosely wound about his stomach, you’re a warm pressure at Sylus’ back. And you’re giggling something cute, uttering incoherencies that make his lips quirk beneath his helmet. Whatever you drank has you feeling good, your grasp on him slackening even more as you lose yourself to the music blaring in your helmet’s speakers. 

Sylus’ hand covers yours, wordlessly encouraging you to hold fast to him. Linkon’s streets might have the speed limits that the N109 Zone lacks, but he’s still driving fast enough to lose you if he isn’t attentive.

“Sylus!” you call amid the wind sweeping your bodies.

“Sweetie?”

The mischievous giggle that follows makes something cold drop into his belly. 

“I had an edible!” And you sound so proud, like a child showing their macaroni art to their parents. 

An indignant sound is pinched from Sylus’ throat. His eyes widen the slightest. He makes a note to give Tara an earful when he next sees her, squeezing your hands over his navel whilst he cuts a turn.

—       

Your laughter ricochets off the stilled halls of your apartment complex. 

He’s got you cradled in his arms, bridal style, not at all fazed by your jostling about. With a flicker of his Evol, your front door clicks open, and he dips inside, kicking the door shut once you’re nestled in your entryway's cold, dark embrace. He entertains your nonsensical talk with an occasional hum as he toes off his red bottoms, carrying you deeper into your home.

“Shh,” you suddenly hush, shifty-eyed and stiffening in his hold. 

Sylus quirks a brow, slowing to a stop.

Your lidded gaze slides to him, and with a pretty, drunken smile, you say, “My boyfriend’ll be here any minute, Mister. If you’re trying to get freaky, we better do it before he comes.”

Rolling his eyes, Sylus continues through your apartment, effortlessly hauling you to your bathroom.

The room floods with fluorescent light, and you wince against its brilliance, tucking your face into his chest with a hiss. He chuckles something low, depositing you onto your countertop. Your arms fall listlessly from around his neck at your sides, where you try vainly to prop yourself up. It seems gravity has other plans, a blissful, blurring wave of vertigo crashing into you. You reel forward with an intoxicated laugh, but Sylus is quick, steadying you with hands wrapped around your arms. 

He studies you beneath the light. Bites back a grin at your adorable swaying, soundlessly assuring you won’t go barrelling off the counter again if he steps away. He props you against the mirror before getting to work. Snatches a towel from your rack, dampening it beneath the warm spray of your sink’s faucet. 

Delicately, Sylus blots at your forehead, soaking up the sweat and grime you’ve accumulated throughout the night. He ducks down briefly to fetch some wipes from your cabinet and steps between your legs, cleaning off your makeup with rehearsed precision.

It’s not the first time he’s done this, and he finds solace in the monotony of it all. He feels honored, being this close to you. Tilting your head back with cautious fingers encasing your jaw. He strips you down to the marrow, literally and figuratively wiping off the facade you outwardly present to the world. 

You comment on how good he’s gotten at these domestic things, and his mouth twitches with a smile. For you, he would give up this menacing life he leads. Would arrange the stars in the sky if it meant waking to your smile each day, dancing and kissing in the kitchen over pancakes and overdone eggs. 

For now, he settles for this. And when he’s thoroughly swiped the remnants of your makeup from your face, he steps back to appraise his work. He prefers you like this, he thinks as he taps his temple. Bare-faced and unguarded, smiling without a care in the world. 

Taking up your hands, he tugs you to your feet. Moves like he’s working with porcelain, slipping the straps of your dress off your shoulders. He blisters your shoulders with kisses in his fingers’ wake as he slips your dress down until it pools into a serpentine pile at your feet. 

He divests you of your bra and panties, promising to behave despite how bewitchingly your skin glows and how easily it glides beneath his roving palms. He escorts you into the shower once he finishes, where its warm spray works as a soothing balm over your strained muscles. 

When you’re clean and lavender-scented, he swaths you in a towel he’d procured from the towel warmer he bought you and guides you into your bedroom, chuckling when you stop occasionally to tempt him into a kiss. 

Helping you into a comfortable set of pajamas, he eases you into your bed, the cozy linen drawing a pleased sigh from the dredges of your chest. Your eyes dance with sleep, and he’s about to leave you before your fingers weakly wrapped around his wrist stop him.

The look you give him makes his chest squeeze, and had he been anyone but Sylus, he’d be fawning and cooing over how adorable you are. 

“Stay,” you beseech, your voice husky with exhaustion. 

He hesitates for a moment. Murders you with anticipation, though he very well intends to stay. With a smile curving his lips, Sylus peels off his shirt, clad only in his trousers, as he slips beneath the comforter behind you. You settle against him, winding his arms around your middle. And you notch your hips up against him as if you’ve always fit there like a puzzle piece. 

You wiggle your bottom mischievously, but he stills you, reasoning that he’ll never take advantage of you while you’re inebriated. With a haughty pout, you give up on your efforts to seduce him.

You’re content with him holding you like this, stroking over the skin of your wrist with his thumb as you surrender your consciousness to the pretty girls of sleep, ushered to them by his even breaths at the shell of your ear.

[webslinger-holland]

The Color of Sin | Bob Reynolds from Thunderbolts*

Summary: This is Bob’s first field mission, tasked with going undercover alongside you at a high-profile party. The objective is simple: blend in, retrieve intel, and stay invisible. But when the mission forces you into close quarters—and even closer excuses—the lines between cover and craving blur fast.

Warning: NSFW 18+ minors DNI, loads of sexual tension, swearing, explicit sexual content (it's smut), dirty talk, suggestive content, intrusive thoughts, unprotected penetrative piv sex, yearning, mutual pining

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5.3k

Type: Oneshot

Standing in front of a long gilded mirror, Bob stood awkwardly, wearing an expensive tuxedo and with his hair slicked back. He reflected a man who didn’t quite fit the suit—too stiff in the shoulders, too self-conscious in the cut of the jacket, like someone dressed for a life that didn’t belong to him. The bow tie tugged at his throat, and no matter how many times he adjusted the cuffs, he couldn't get them just right.

Valentina circled behind him like a lioness, heels clicking with the sharp, deliberate rhythm of someone who had better things to do. She gave a quick once-over, unimpressed.

“Jesus, Bob,” Valentine muttered, fixing his bow tie. “You’re built like a Greek god and still manage to look like a nervous teenage boy on prom night."

He didn’t argue. Just glanced down at his shoes, which gleamed too much, like he was trying to disappear into the shine.

"You need to loosen up. I know you're nervous with it being your first mission—" Valentina encouraged him.

His head snapped up. “I’m not nervous."

Val raises an unimpressed brow. “You’re sweating through Armani.”

Before either is able to get another word in, the door behind them opens. His eyes lifted on instinct and his shoulders stiffen at the sight. You step in and the room stops. His eyes find you and stay there.

The red dress clung to you like it had been poured directly onto your skin, silk catching the light with every movement, the slit along your thigh threatening to give more away with each step. The lipstick—same shade—made your mouth look like a secret waiting to be confessed. And yet, it was the way you held yourself—elegant, poised, utterly unaware of the fire you were walking into—that unmade him.

Valentina smirked devilishly. “Ah. There she is.”

You stepped inside slowly, running a hand down your hip as if adjusting the fabric, but you didn’t need to. The dress wasn't made to wrinkle.

“Too much?” you asked, smoothing a hand along the curve of your waist.

Bob shook his head slowly, not trusting his voice. “No. Not enough.” He immediately caught himself. “I mean—it’s… perfect. It’s fine. You look…” His voice cracked slightly. “…you look incredible.”

“Red is the color of sin. The color that makes powerful men stupid." Val gave a smug little smile; her eyes still on her tablet. She finally glanced at Bob who stood beside her and took in his dumbfound look. “Case in point.”

"Remind me again why I can't take any of the others with me instead?" You wondered, not taking your eyes off him. He swallowed thickly. He fiddled with his cufflink for the fifth time in under a minute.

“Well, Walker and Bucky are too recognizable—neither of them can step foot into a room full of politicians without someone clenching their teeth. Yelena got burned on a recent operative and Ava nearly shorted out the last comm set just walking into a building. And let’s not even talk about Alexei," Valentina said cooly.

Your shoulders slouched visibly, not from disappointment but more so from the nerves. This was going to be Bob's first field mission: a simple intel retrieval with low steaks meant to ease him into the line of work.

“Mr. Reynolds is a blank slate,” Val said, tapping her temple. “Most of the world doesn’t know whether he’s dead, missing, or a myth. That makes him useful.”

Bob stood a little straighter at that, like the praise caught him off guard.

“And you,” Val continued, turning to you with a half-smirk, “are the only operative I trust to handle both intel and attention.”

You arched a brow. “That’s reassuring.”

Bob swallows but nods slowly in agreement. You catch a flicker of something like pride flash in his expression—just a flicker—before he glances back at you.

Valentina reached into the inner pocket of her tailored blazer and handed you each a slim, nearly invisible earpiece. Both of you stuff the piece into your ear so it sits just right.

Val’s tone softens, just barely. “The others are on standby. We’ll be watching from the safehouse—cams, audio, thermal, the works. So keep your flirting subtle unless you want Bucky and John to start placing bets.”

You arched a brow. “They’re watching?”

“They’re bored,” Val said with a shrug, already back to typing something on her tablet. "So do me a favor and don't give them too big of a show. Otherwise, I'll never hear the end of it."

The two of you shifted to stand in front of her; your shoulders just barely brushing the other. She gave both of you one final once over, nodding in approval.

"Alright. Your car's out front. Don't mess this up," Val sent you a pointed look of warning. "It's time to steal some expensive intel."

The city lights shimmered below the rooftop terrace, glass railings framing a ballroom bathed in warm golden light. Soft jazz floated through the air from hidden speakers, its sultry rhythms weaving between conversations and clinking glasses. Diamonds sparkled on elegant necks like tiny stars come to earth, and champagne glistened in slender flutes, catching the glow from ornate chandeliers.

The ballroom was a sea of smiles and whispered secrets, but your eyes scanned for the unspoken paths—the staff corridors, the service stairways, anything that would lead you to the hallway Val had mentioned.

The two of you moved carefully through the crowd, trying best to blend in with your surroundings. You effortlessly snatched a champagne glass of a waiter's tray and raised it to your lips.

"Earpiece working?” You muttered under your breath so only he could hear you.

"Loud and clear," Bob confirmed. His voice was velvet. He leaned closer, his hand warm at the small of your back, pulling you in as you slipped through the crowd.

Heading up a short staircase, you slipped past clusters of laughing socialites, nodding politely. With Bob trailing behind you, his gaze flickering nervously from one suited guard to another. You began heading towards a much quieter hallway.

“This has to be it,” you recognized the hallway image from the intel in the debrief. "Follow me."

Bob nodded, swallowing hard and nervously looking over his shoulder half expecting to see someone following. Together, the pair continued heading down the quiet corridor that led towards the private suites, leaving behind the golden glow and champaign glasses.

You tapped your earpiece once. "Yelena, walk me through this."

“The intel’s not just anywhere— it’s in the host’s private suite, third floor, fourth door on the left. You’ll need to bypass the hallway security to get there. There’s a guard rotation every fifteen minutes; timing will be tight.” Yelena repeated through your earpiece.

You glanced at Bob, who nodded stiffly beside you. “Got it. Thanks.”

“Oh, look—" Yelena eagerly pointed to one of the monitors after spotting you. "Hi! I see you.”

"How's the crew doing tonight?" You wonder with a growing smile on your face.

Back at the safe house, the entire team crowded around five monitors that broadcast the live camera feed of the mansion. With Yelena and Ava wearing headsets, their fingers were poised over keyboards. Their eyes sharp and alert.

Behind them, John and Bucky stood with arms crossed, still watching the feeds for any sign of trouble or an unexpected complication.

Alexei, ever the thoughtful one, had brought an elaborate arrangement of snacks and drinks. The faint rustle of wrappers occasionally echoed softly through the comms, prompting a few light teasing remarks.

With a quick glance down at his watch, Bob predicted they were right on time. The guards were expected to be switching positions soon, which meant there would be a small amount of time where the bypass would be left unguarded.

"Next patrol should be coming in two minutes," Yelena's voice echoed calmly through your earpiece. "Your window of opportunity is now."

"Hang on," Bucky leaned over the back of her chair, eyes narrowing at the screen. He pointed to one of the guards leaving his post and heading their way. "We've got an early bird. I predict less than a minute out."

"What?" You froze in your place, suddenly panic spiking.

Yelena’s fingers paused over her keyboard. “That’s not in the schedule.”

"You guys have to get out of there," Ava repeated urgently over the comms. "That guard’s coming straight toward you.”

Not only was there very little time to think of something, there was also nowhere to turn to. The narrow hallway offered no covering, no escape, and no options.

"Shit—" you looked around desperately. You looked to him. "What do we do?"

With eyes locked, and in one impulsive motion, Bob grabbed you and backed you into a nearby wall. Before you even had the chance to react, Bob closed the distance between you. His lips found yours in a sudden, heated kiss—bold, unexpected, and impossible to ignore.

You gasped against his mouth, and he took advantage of it, deepening the kiss, angling his head until he completely blocked your face from view. You grabbed the lapels of his jacket, desperately trying to pull him closer.

His body pressed you flush against the wall, slotting one of his thighs between your legs to keep you in place. The guards’ footsteps slowed, hesitation audible as they passed just behind you—too surprised, too caught off guard to react.

His hands didn’t wander, but held you firmly, anchoring you in place as the moment stretched. His lips moved against yours with a deliberate, demanding softness—first a gentle press, testing the reaction, then sliding with slow, confident strokes that melted hesitation away.

Caught in the moment, a soft involuntary moan slipped from your throat—just enough to remind him, to tether the heat to the reality of the mission. He reluctantly pulled away from you: his face flush, breath mingling, and eyes searching yours.

Back in the surveillance room, the rest of the team fell silent as they watched the entire thing unfold on the cameras. Everyone had leaned in a little too close to the screens, jaws slack, eyes wide, not one of them pretending to look away.

“Whoa—what the fuck—wow.” Yelena sat upright. She looked over her shoulder to see everyone else looking just as stunned as she was. Her lips curved into a slow grin before she let out a bright, disbelieving laugh. "Okay, that is fucking insane."

“Wow! In the middle of a mission?” Alexei said, taking a swig from his beer. “Pretty ballsy.”

Bucky’s jaw ticked. His arms crossed tight. “What the hell is he doing?”

John leaned in beside him, his expression a mix of confusion, disgust, and reluctant awe. “I didn’t know Bobby had it in him.”

“He doesn’t,” Ava cut in smoothly, her eyes sharp as she pointed to one of the camera angles. “Look how red he is.”

They all leaned forward again and squinted, narrowing their eyes toward the feed.

“Oh yeah,” Yelena confirmed, laughing again. “Look at that neck. Bright red.”

Back to the corridor, Bob was still trying to catch his breath. The heat of the kiss lingered on his lips and your perfume was still caught in his lungs. His pulse thundered in his ears.

You were still staring up at him with wide, bright eyes, your chest rising and falling in shallow bursts as you tried to reclaim the air the moment had stolen.

“I—I think we’re clear now,” you said softly, your voice not as steady as you probably meant it to be.

He gave a tight, wordless nod. "Right. Clear."

“Come on, Romeo. Snap out of it,” Yelena’s voice crackled in his ear, full of teasing bite. He blinked once, instantly snapping back to reality. He took a step away from you.

You adjusted your dress, squared your shoulders, and gave him a glance that was unreadable. You kept walking down the corridor, knowing he was quickly in tow.

"Wow," Yelena’s voice purred in your earpiece. You just knew she was smirking on the other end. "Bet you liked that. That was some kiss."

“Shut up,” you grumbled, heat rising to your face

Following the team's direction, the two of you navigated deeper through the corridor, moving swiftly now that the hallway was clear again. It wasn't long before you located the host’s private suite where the intel was being secretly stashed.

You knelt without hesitation, picking the lock with practiced hands. The mechanism gave with a satisfying click and the door creaked open slowly on well-oiled hinges.

Stepping inside, you were immediately struck by the shift in atmosphere. The suite was lavish but sterile, all expensive materials and little personality—dark wood floors, tall bookshelves, a marble minibar. There were signs someone had been here recently: a half-drunk glass of scotch, a coat tossed carelessly on the bed, a laptop glowing softly on the desk.

"I'm not seeing a safe," you observed. You cautiously stepped into the room, surveying your surroundings. Your eyes scanned the space with practiced precision—bookshelf, minibar, side table, bathroom door slightly ajar.

Behind you, Bob quietly shut the door with a soft click and remained near it. He stood rigid, back straight, as if expecting the handle to turn at any moment. His eyes tracked you—every step, every movement, every brush of your hand against the edge of the desk.

You rifled through every drawer, moved books aside to look for hidden panels in the walls, and felt the undercarriage of furniture for buttons. You knew you were running out of time; those guards were going to be coming back any moment now.

"Yelena," you pressed a finger to your earpiece. "It's not here."

"It has to be," Yelena insisted. She flipped through some papers to confirm. "This is the room."

The sound of footsteps could be heard coming down the hallway, along with sounds of people talking. Naturally, Bob's whole body stiffened. His eyes blown wide.

“They’re coming.” Bob whisper yelled in slight panic.

A brief flare of panic arose in your chest. Your eyes scanned the room and landed on the half open door that led to the bathroom. Both of you swiftly moved towards the bathroom, slipping inside the tiled room silently.

You heard the door of the suite twisting from the short distance. Without thinking, you roughly grabbed Bob by the front of his suit and pushed him into the bathtub. He landed with a muffled grunt, arms flailing slightly. One leg hooking clumsily over the edge before he managed to fold himself in.

You climbed in after him, nearly slipping in your heels, and fell into the space between his legs, your front pressing into his chest as you yanked the curtain closed behind you. The suite door creaked open and the voices grew louder upon approach.

Bob made a soft “oof” as your knee jabbed into his ribs, but you covered his mouth before he complained more. You held a finger up to your own lips in the dim light, your message clear: Don’t say a word. Don’t even breathe.

You were practically on top of him—your knees bent awkwardly on either side of him. He wrapped one arm around your lower back without thinking, more instinct than invitation, holding you still as you both sank lower, trying to disappear into the porcelain.

You didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare speak. Didn’t dare acknowledge the way your heart was slamming against your chest.

Both of you listened carefully; your hand instinctively slid away from his mouth. The voices grew louder, closer. The sound of a chair dragging. Some footsteps pacing the suite. Low chatter over their radio.

You leaned in lower without thinking, trying to make yourselves smaller. Bob’s breath ghosted across your cheek. His other hand had pressed lightly to your waist to steady you, but the contact was starting to burn through your dress. You flattened your hands to his chest.

"Secure room’s empty.”

“You sure? That motion detector lit up.” Your eyes grew wide in realization.

“Check the bathroom.”

You barely had time to breathe before he pulled you down flat against him, chest to chest, nose to nose, curled in the narrow porcelain basin. You braced for the moment you'd be caught by the guards.

You held your breath, face pressed to Bob’s throat, barely daring to move. His hand slipped between your shoulders, shielding you like a human shield, his body tense beneath you.

A shadow passed behind the curtain. A guard stood right there.

You felt Bob’s breath warm at your ear, the rhythm of it slowing as he deliberately calmed his pulse. He was like a wall beneath you, steady and solid, even as your entire body practically molded to his.

The guard stood for a moment longer, and then turned.

“Nothing here. Room’s clean.” The door clicked shut.

You stayed still for five long seconds before exhaling shakily. Your fingers were still twisted in Bob’s jacket.

“That was close” you whispered, finally lifting your head.

“You good?” Bob asked, face inches from yours.

You nodded then looked up. Above his shoulder, just behind his head, was a tile in the wall with a faint seam. It was a little odd looking; if you looked too long, it would appear out of place. You froze in realization.

“There it is.” You smiled to yourself.

"What?” Bob tried to crane his head to see what you were looking at.

“This tile in the wall. I bet the hard drive is hidden there. I need—” you braced a hand on his chest to steady yourself, “—I need to get on top of you.”

He swallowed. “Wait! You’re gonna…”

"Stop moving—" you cut him off. "I need to get higher."

Bob blinked once. “Okay. Yeah. Right. I’m listening.”

You rolled your eyes. “Not like that. Shut up.”

You carefully shifted, awkwardly climbing further up his torso, knees on either side of him as you leaned toward the hidden panel just behind the tub. Your dress rode up your thighs, and your balance shifted as you reached over his head, arm stretching to pry the tile free.

He swallowed hard as you leaned over him, the line of your back arched, the soft weight of your thighs braced on either side of his ribs. Bob stayed completely still, only his eyes moving—flicking once down, then forcibly away when he caught a glimpse of lace under your dress.

Bob made a sound deep in his throat—one you could feel more than hear.

“Not looking,” Bob muttered.

"Don't lie," you replied without looking at him. Your fingers scrabbled against the tile. “Almost got it…”

Bob squeezed his eyes shut and exhaled hard through his nose, as if physically blowing the thoughts out of his head. "I’m really not trying to—think about this.”

“I know,” you whispered, voice soft and maddeningly sweet. Your fingers brushed his chest again as you shifted higher. “You’re doing so good.”

“Please,” he whispered. “Don’t say it like that.”

His hands gripping the porcelain on either side of him so tightly his knuckles had gone white.

The tile finally gave way with a soft pop, and your hand darted in to grab the small flash drive. He peeked an eye open.

Without thinking, you strategically placed the flash drive down the front of your dress for safe keeping. It would be tucked securely into the inner band of your bra, flush against your skin.

All the while, Bob watched the movement with wide eyes. His throat went dry and he squeezed his eyes shut again to block his thoughts.

You glanced down at him—still beneath you, eyes dark, breathing uneven. His eyes were closed, brows drawn in painful concentration, like he was trying to slow his breathing through sheer force of will.

“Alright” you said softly. “We got it.”

"Great," Bob commented. Neither of you made any plans to move.

“I should move,” you announced.

“Probably,” Bob rasped, nodding.

Finally, somewhat reluctantly, you finally slipped off of him and climbed out of the bathtub. He exhaled like he hadn’t breathed since you climbed on top of him, then sat up slowly, trying to pretend he wasn’t completely wrecked inside. He climbed out after you.

“You good?” you asked again, smoothing your dress like nothing had happened.

"Yeah. I'm fine," Bob sent you the smallest smile of reassurance. When your back was turned to him, Bob dutifully adjusted himself in his pants and mumbled a complaint under his breath about his pants being too tight now.

The air in the hallway was cooler than the bathroom, but it did nothing to settle the heat beneath your skin.

He kept close behind you—still flushed, still rattled—but focused enough to watch your six as you navigated back through the hallway. The guard rotation had cycled clean, just like Yelena promised, and within two minutes you both reached the service elevator at the end of the corridor.

You hit the call button and exhaled only when the doors slid open.

Inside, the air was stale and dimly lit. The doors closed behind you with a mechanical hiss. Finally, there was a long stretch of silence between you as you stood on opposite sides.

“We can’t pass the checkpoint with it on you,” Bob said quietly, watching you from just a foot away. “They’ll scan.”

You nodded. Your fingers hovered over your chest for a moment, just under your collarbone, unsure how to do this delicately. But there was no time for delicacy.

You reached inside.

The silk of your dress shifted as you slid your hand down, fingertips grazing the edge of your bra. The drive was pressed between fabric and skin, nestled against your sternum, and you could feel Bob watching.

His eyes were locked to your hand, his jaw tight, chest rising slightly faster. He looked like he wanted to look away—but he didn’t.

His voice was low when he spoke. “I can turn around.”

You pulled the drive free with a small gasp of relief. “Don’t.”

He stilled. You looked up at him. His eyes were still right there. Not on the drive. Not on your hand. On the skin of your chest.

Your voice was light, teasing—but your heart was pounding. "Eyes up here, Reynolds."

His lips parted slightly. His gaze lifted, slow and guilty and just a little dazed. Like he wasn’t sure how long he’d been staring. His ears tinted red just slightly.

He swallowed hard. “Right. Yeah. Sorry.”

You handed the little piece of metal to him, fingers delicately brushing against his enough to make his breath catch once again. He stuffed it carefully into the pocket of his suit.

The feeling of the elevator halting and the prompt ding sound of arrival meant there was little time to linger. It didn't take much effort to slip back into the crowd and make a hasty escape.

The engine purred beneath the dark silence of the night. With Bob driving, he kept one hand steady on the wheel and the other was flexing uselessly against his thigh. The glittering skyline was shrinking behind you, reflected briefly in the mirrors before being swallowed by the hills.

You sat in the passenger seat, arms propped against the window ledge and eyes fixed out the window. Neither of you said a word since the elevator.

He stole a quick glance at you before redirecting his eyes to the road ahead of him. "You okay?" He asked.

“Fine,” you said quickly, too quickly.

“I meant… back there. With the kiss. With the whole…” Bob gestured vaguely with one hand. “Everything.”

You didn’t look at him. Just kept your eyes on the passing trees. “You did what you had to do.”

“I didn’t have to kiss you,” he muttered, barely above a whisper.

That made you turn slowly. You narrowed your eyes at him, searching for some hidden meaning behind those words.

His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. His jaw clenched, brow furrowed. The tip of his ear was turning red.

“Is that your way of saying you wanted to?” you asked.

He let out a breath through his nose, somewhere between frustrated and helpless. “I don’t know what I’m saying. I just know my heart hasn’t stopped racing since.”

You didn't know what to say either. He glanced at you—just once, then back to the road.

“I don’t… do this. I’m not good at it.” Bob ran a hand over his face in frustration. You weren't sure what he was specifically referring to: the mission or his relationships.

You let the silence hang there for a few seconds, watching the way his hands gripped the wheel like it was the only solid thing in the world.

"You could... get better at it." You suggested loosely. Bob’s hand twitched on the gearshift.

That was all the encouragement he needed to slow the car down and direct it off the main road. He turned down a quiet side road that dipped into the dark edge of the countryside. The gravel crunching under the tires until the car came to a full stop.

He put it in park and stared ahead, jaw tight. He reached over, fingers brushing yours as he finally turned toward you. His voice was low, rough with something like need.

"Are you sure you want this?" Bob asked, needing the honest truth form you before anything else.

"More than anything," you confessed.

Reaching down, Bob removed his seatbelt and leaned over the console between you. His hand cupped the side of your face, drawing you closer until your lips met in a heated kiss. You gasped against him and he deepened the kiss immediately, one hand tangling into your hair, the other gripping your waist like he’d been starving for it—starving for you.

Somehow, the two of you managed to climb into the backseat together in a tangle of limbs and gasped breaths. The doors stayed locked, the windows fogging over with each passing second. The world outside no longer mattered.

The air was thick with heat and barely-muffled desire. Bob pulled you into his lap like he needed you there to breathe, hands roaming over your dress, along your back, gripping your thighs as you straddled him. 

His mouth found your throat, open and warm, as you arched against him. You let your fingers tangle into his hair, tugging when his teeth grazed the sensitive spot beneath your jaw. He groaned low, the sound vibrating against your skin, making your whole body hum.

“You don’t know...” he rasped against your neck, “...how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

“Then shut up and do it.” You challenged.

His hands fumbled at your thighs, hiking your dress higher and roughly dragging your hips again his pants. Your nails scraped down his chest through his shirt, yanking his tie loose, popping buttons with little care for subtlety.

Clothes weren’t fully shed—just pushed aside where it mattered most. Your hands slid down to his belt, fumbling the clasp until the soft clink of metal echoed in the quiet car. He struggled briefly with his fly and zipper, hips lifting to help slide his pants down just enough to free himself.

Your lips were still pressed to Bob’s when a familiar voice crackled softly in your earpiece.

“Everything okay? The car is stopped—” Yelena’s tone was light but teasing, perfectly timed to snap you both out of your heated haze.

You pulled back, breath shaky, eyes wide in realization. His cheeks flamed a deep red, and he tried to pull his hand from under your dress, but you grabbed his wrist to stop him.

"Don't you dare," you sent him a look of warning. You yanked the earpiece out first, the tiny device nearly cracking in your grip.

Bob followed suit a beat later, ripping his out and tossing it somewhere on the floor of the car like it might burn him.

You kissed him again. His breath hitched as your fingers closed around him, thick and hard beneath your touch, every movement driving a fierce heat straight through both of you. His hips jerked slightly, the friction teasing, unbearable and addictive all at once.

Neither of you noticed the small green light blinking to life on the dashboard. And neither of you heard the faint pop of the car’s built-in comms reconnecting. The team tuning in again unbeknownst to you.

All that mattered to you right now was him.

So you didn’t hesitate. Guiding him, you carefully lined him up with your entrance. The slick heat pooling low between your thighs was a fierce invitation you could no longer resist. Slow at first, Bob slid inside you, filling you completely, every inch stretching and burning deliciously.

A sharp breathy gasp escaped your lips, your nails digging into his shoulders as he held you steady against him. He moved with a torturous slowness, drawing out the moment, letting the tension coil tighter and tighter.

His hands found your waist, fingers pressing hard enough to leave bruises but gentle enough to promise he wouldn’t let go. He guided your movements with precision, hips rising just enough to meet you, watching every flicker of pleasure flash across your face. His eyes never left you—not your mouth, not the way your brows knit together, not the way you gasped each time you sank down on him.

You moved in sync, finding a rhythm that was both tender and urgent, every thrust a raw confession of need.

Then Bob started thrusting up into you—controlled, relentless, deeper. His hands dragged you down onto him in time with each pulse of his hips, and the pace shifted from steady to greedy.

The car rocked gently beneath you, the windows fogged with your breath, the interior thick with heat, sweat, and slick friction. Your gasps mingled with his low groans, the wet sound of your bodies meeting again and again filling the space around you.

His mouth claimed yours again, teeth grazing your lower lip in a tantalizing tease as he deepened his thrusts, driving you closer to the edge.

“You feel so fucking good,” he rasped against your skin, voice cracked and hungry. “So perfect.”

You matched him—grinding, rolling your hips, desperately trying to reach your peak. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer until the world narrowed down to the heat between your bodies.

Your breath hitched, your muscles tensing as the waves of pleasure began to build, coiling tighter and tighter.

“Bob…” you whispered, voice trembling and body falling apart.

He groaned low, voice rough with need. “Come for me. I've got you.”

And you did—your body shuddering in release, breath ragged, fingers clawing at his back as you trembled against him. You cried out into his mouth as your muscles clenched around him, riding it through, pulsing and shaking in his lap.

He held you tight, grinding up into you once, twice—then with a guttural, broken growl, he came, hips snapping up hard as he spilled inside you, forehead pressed against your collarbone.

For long moments, you both stayed like that—entwined, hearts pounding, bodies spent but connected, the silence between you soft and full of promise. You held each other through the waves of aftershocks.

Neither of you moved for a long time. Just the sound of your breathing, the sweat cooling between you, your bodies still locked together. You leaned against his chest to catch your breath.

His arms stayed wrapped around your back, hands smoothing over your spine. You could feel the way his chest still rose and fell beneath yours, how tightly he held you even now. He tried to brush some of his loose curls out of his face.

Finally, softly—his voice barely more than breath:

"Fuck. I think I’m in trouble.”

You smiled weakly against his shoulder. “That was… practice?”

He laughed once—hoarse, warm. “Apparently, I’m a fast learner.”

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, flushed and shining in the dim light.

“Then I guess you better keep showing up for lessons.” You brushed your nose against his teasingly, releasing the softest gasp when you felt him twitch inside you again.

His lips curved slowly, fingers tightening around your waist.

“Deal.”

[2b4st4r]

hii, would you write an oblivious reader with a little dumb Zoro who shows affection doing the tiniest things (like saving them a chair at the table and napping together) but gets confused when reader thinks they're not dating?

Oblivious Compassion

Zoro x Reader

Words: 5,454

Warnings: uhh..nothing really?? Maybe emotional distress?

✸→→⛤←←✸

A gentle sway of the Thousand Sunny was usually what woke you, a comforting rhythm that had replaced the solid ground you’d once known. Sunlight, filtered through the porthole, painted warm stripes across your bunk. Another day on the Grand Line, another adventure waiting—or so you assumed. You stretched, a soft yawn escaping your lips, completely oblivious to the chaos that often unfolded around you before you even had your first cup of tea.

Life with the Straw Hats was… an experience. Your natural kindness often led you to offer a helping hand, a comforting word, or even just a genuine smile to anyone who seemed to need it. It didn't matter if they were a fearsome pirate captain or a shy reindeer doctor; everyone received the same gentle warmth from you. This genuine compassion was a core part of who you were, a quiet strength that sometimes surprised even the most hardened individuals you encountered. However, it was also inextricably linked to your charming, albeit occasional, unawareness of… well, a lot of things.

You hummed a little tune as you padded out to the galley, ready to see what Sanji had cooked up for breakfast. The aroma of sizzling bacon and fresh coffee filled the air, a familiar and delightful scent. You passed Zoro, who was already napping in his usual spot, and Franky, who was tinkering with something shiny. You waved cheerfully, completely missing the exasperated sigh Nami let out as she reviewed a stack of navigation charts, muttering about an impending storm you hadn't even registered. For you, every day was simply a bright, new canvas, waiting for whatever wonderful, bewildering, or completely over-your-head moments the Straw Hats would inevitably bring.

You grabbed a plate, loading it up with a generous serving of pancakes and crispy bacon. Your eyes scanned the bustling galley, a bright smile gracing your lips as you spotted an empty seat beside Zoro. He was already halfway through his meal, a faint scent of sake clinging to him even at this early hour. You slid into the chair, completely missing the subtle shift in his posture, the slight easing of his shoulders that no one else would have noticed.

“Morning, Zoro!” you chirped, taking a big bite of pancake.

He grunted in response, not bothering to look up from his plate. This was a typical exchange for you two. While most of the crew found Zoro intimidating, you had always seen past his gruff exterior. Maybe it was your nature, or maybe it was just that you were truly, wonderfully, utterly oblivious to the subtle cues that screamed "don't bother me" to everyone else. You’d once offered him a flower you found on an island, convinced it would brighten his day, and he’d simply… taken it, tucking it behind his ear without a word. The others had stared, jaws agape, but you hadn’t noticed a thing.

It wasn't that you were unintelligent. Far from it. You could read the shifting winds with an uncanny accuracy that rivaled Nami's, predicting squalls hours before she even saw them on her charts. You were a skilled hand with a rope, could patch a sail faster than Usopp, and your memory for island flora and fauna was encyclopedic. You were, by all accounts, incredibly smart. But when it came to social cues, to reading between the lines, or understanding the unsaid, you were in a league of your own—a league where the only other member was probably Luffy.

The rest of the crew often watched your interactions with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. They saw the way Zoro always seemed to gravitate towards your corner of the deck, the way he’d subtly deflect anyone else who tried to take your usual spot beside him. They saw the little things, the almost imperceptible gestures that spoke volumes about his quiet protectiveness over you. But you? You just saw your friend, Zoro, who always seemed to have a seat saved for you, and honestly, you were just grateful not to have to stand while you ate your breakfast.

"Did you sleep well?" you asked, genuinely curious.

Zoro grunted again, finally looking at you, his single visible eye meeting yours. "Hn."

You beamed, taking it as a resounding "yes." Some things, it seemed, were just meant to remain a mystery to you.

As you chatted happily, a stray blob of pancake syrup decided to make a break for it, landing squarely on your cheek. Before you could even register it, a calloused thumb, surprisingly gentle, brushed against your skin, wiping the sticky sweetness away. You blinked, a wide, easy smile blooming on your face.

"Thanks, Zoro!" you said, and then, without another thought, went back to devouring your breakfast.

It had always been like this. Small, almost imperceptible gestures from him, met with your genuine, innocent appreciation. Zoro would do things for you that he wouldn't dream of doing for anyone else, and you, in your beautiful oblivion, would simply accept them as the natural order of things. He always saved you a seat next to him at meals, on deck, or even during their rare moments of downtime. You never once wondered why that spot was always open, or why his gaze would subtly track you until you settled beside him.

The others saw it, of course. They saw how you could drape yourself over his broad shoulders during a particularly intense nap, your head tucked comfortably against his neck, while he remained perfectly still, a silent guardian. They’d seen him, after a grueling battle, his own body bruised and battered, seek you out first, his lone eye scanning for any sign of injury on you before allowing himself to collapse.

“Rough one, huh?” you’d said once, gently dabbing a cut on his arm with a damp cloth after a skirmish, completely oblivious to the protective glint in his eye as he watched your focused expression. He’d just grunted, letting you fuss over him, a privilege he granted no one else.

There were countless times, during long voyages or after too much celebratory sake, that you’d simply curled up in the nearest available space, which often happened to be Zoro’s bed. You’d wake up tangled in his limbs, or with your head on his chest, completely unperturbed. He’d just be there, a warm, solid presence, and you’d simply stretch, offer a sleepy "Morning, Zoro," and go about your day. No awkwardness, no questions, just a comfortable familiarity.

He even let you nap on him during those lazy afternoons at sea. You'd be reading, or simply enjoying the sun, and inevitably, your eyelids would grow heavy. Without a word, you’d just lean over, rest your head on his lap or shoulder, and drift off. He never moved, never complained, just stayed there, a silent anchor in your drifting world. He was the only one on the entire ship allowed such liberties. For everyone else, it was a mystery how you managed it. For you, it was just… Zoro. And you wouldn't have it any other way.

But god, how oblivious you were. You didn’t even notice the sheer gentleness in his large, scarred hands as he’d brush that syrup from your cheek, a touch he reserved solely for you. You didn't register the subtle tightening of his muscles, the way his lone eye would narrow just a fraction, whenever anyone got too close to you, a silent warning only the truly observant could decipher. He was fiercely protective, a silent sentinel, and you simply saw a friend.

The depth of his care, the quiet affection that bordered on something far more profound, was completely lost on you. He’d sit there, unwavering, as you slept soundly on his lap, his fingers occasionally, almost unconsciously, tangling in your hair. He’d carefully separate strands, twirl them around his fingers, or simply let them sift through his grasp, a quiet, tender gesture that spoke volumes. You were just so immune to it, so oblivious to the subtle currents of emotion that swirled around him whenever you were near. It was just Zoro, your friend, letting you get comfortable.

As the day continued, it unfolded as normally as any day on the Thousand Sunny could. Luffy dragged Usopp and Chopper into a game of "extreme hide-and-seek" that mostly involved loud shouting and crashing noises. Sanji, ever the gentleman, flitted around Nami and Robin, offering them fresh juice and compliments, while grumbling at Zoro for breathing in his general direction. Franky was still super-tinkering, sparks flying from his latest invention.

You spent some time helping Nami chart their course, your surprising meteorological instincts proving invaluable. You laughed easily at Usopp’s outlandish tales, completely believing every word. Later, you found yourself on the deck, sharing a quiet moment with Robin, discussing the various types of flowers you'd seen on their last island. All the while, Zoro was never far. He was either training, or simply lounging nearby, his gaze occasionally drifting your way, a silent guardian in your beautifully oblivious world.

And through it all, as was often the case, you found yourself with Zoro for most of the day. Whether you were helping Nami with her charts, listening to Usopp's latest tall tale, or just enjoying the salty air on deck, he was there. A silent presence, a steady shadow, always somehow within arm's reach. He was on your side, not in a way that screamed for attention, but in a quiet, unwavering devotion that you, in your typical fashion, barely registered.

As the afternoon wore on, however, Zoro's patience, never his strongest suit, began to wane. He’d been observing the usual chaos of the Straw Hats, his boredom slowly morphing into a familiar irritation. Luffy was now attempting to teach Chopper how to "fly" off the mast, much to the reindeer's terrified squeals. Sanji was still openly bickering with him across the deck, a constant, low hum of annoyance.

With a long, suffering sigh that went completely unnoticed by anyone but the keenest ears, Zoro finally reached out. Before you could even register his intent, his calloused fingers closed around your wrist, his grip firm but not painful.

"Come on," he grunted, pulling you away from whatever benign activity you were engaged in. You stumbled slightly, caught off guard.

"Huh? Where are we going, Zoro?" you asked, looking up at him with innocent curiosity.

He didn't bother to answer, simply tugging you steadily towards his usual napping spot on the deck, a patch of sun-drenched wood near the mast that was surprisingly comfortable. He dropped down with a thud, leaning back against the cool wood.

"Need a nap," he declared, his voice gruff. His single eye fixed on you. "You're joining me."

It wasn't a question. It was a statement, an order even, delivered with the absolute certainty that you would comply. And because it was Zoro, and because that's just how things were, you simply settled down beside him, completely unaware of the subtle possessiveness in his gesture, or the way the tension had visibly drained from his shoulders the moment you were by his side.

You blinked, sunlight dappling through the mast sails, and the gentle rocking of the Sunny was the first thing you registered. Your head was resting comfortably on something firm yet yielding, and a warmth enveloped you. You stretched, a soft sigh escaping your lips, and then realized you were draped across Zoro's lap, his arm slung loosely around your waist, holding you close. It was a familiar position, one you’d found yourself in countless times.

You started to stir, pushing yourself up slightly. "Morning, Zoro," you murmured, thinking he was still deep in slumber. You went to carefully extract yourself, not wanting to disturb him, but as you shifted, his arm tightened.

"Just a few more minutes," his voice rumbled, rough with sleep, pressing you gently back down. He didn't even open his eye, just tightened his hold, keeping you exactly where you were. You settled back, completely unperturbed. It was just Zoro, being Zoro. You weren't in a rush anyway.

You relaxed against him, the gentle rise and fall of his chest a soothing rhythm. You could hear the muffled sounds of the ship slowly coming to life—Luffy’s boisterous laugh somewhere in the distance, Sanji’s pots clattering in the galley. But in Zoro’s arms, the world felt still and peaceful. You just lay there, content, completely at ease in the quiet cocoon of his presence. You never once questioned why he held you so securely, or why his proximity always felt like the safest place on the entire Grand Line. It was just Zoro, and this was just another morning.

The tranquility of your morning cuddle was abruptly shattered by the familiar, brisk voice of Nami. "There you are, Y/N!" she declared, her footsteps echoing sharply on the deck as she approached. "I need your eyes on these charts. We're approaching a tricky current."

Before you could even fully process her words, Nami had skillfully pried Zoro's arm from around you. "Sorry, Zoro," she said, though her tone held no real apology, "but Y/N can't be with you every minute of the day. The ship actually needs her."

Zoro merely grunted, a low, guttural sound. His eye, still heavy with sleep, flickered open to glare at the navigator. "Shut up, witch," he mumbled, though he made no move to retrieve you.

You, meanwhile, were already standing, your mind shifting gears with remarkable ease. "Oh, charts! Of course, Nami!" You beamed, completely missing the loaded exchange between your two crewmates. "What kind of current are we looking at? Is it one of those swirly ones that makes the compass go crazy?"

Nami, already pulling you towards the navigation room, couldn't help but sigh. Sometimes, your obliviousness was a blessing; it certainly made getting you to work easier. "Something like that, Y/N. Come on, let's go over it."

As you disappeared into the cabin with Nami, completely engrossed in the prospect of analyzing currents, Zoro remained on the deck, a silent, brooding presence. The warmth where you had been on his lap had already begun to fade, and he let out another, softer grunt, a sound of quiet displeasure at the interruption. But he knew, of course, that Nami was right. You couldn't be with him every minute of the day. Even if he wished you could.

You and Nami spent the next few hours poring over charts, your keen eye for weather patterns proving invaluable. You pointed out subtle shifts in wind direction Nami had almost missed, and together, you plotted a course that would deftly navigate them around a series of unpredictable whirlpools. You were so engrossed, the time seemed to fly by.

Just as you were finalizing the last coordinates, a booming voice echoed across the deck, making you both jump. "DINNER'S READY, MY BELOVED LADIES! SANJI-SAMA HAS PREPARED A FEAST FIT FOR GODDESSES!"

Nami rolled her eyes, but a smile touched her lips. "Finally! I'm starving." She stretched, then gestured for you to follow. "Come on, Y/N, let's go get some food before Luffy eats it all."

You grinned, your stomach rumbling in agreement. "Oh, I hope it's Sanji's special meat stew! It's so good when he adds those tiny mushrooms."

As you and Nami made your way towards the delicious aromas wafting from the galley, the day's earlier events faded into the background. Your brief cuddle with Zoro, his possessive grip, Nami's pointed comment—all were just fleeting moments, already eclipsed by the simple, comforting promise of a warm meal with your friends. You were just happy to be there, another day on the Grand Line, surrounded by the crew you loved, completely oblivious to the silent warrior who, even now, was probably making his way to the galley, ensuring there was still a seat open right next to his.

As you and Nami stepped into the bustling galley, the comforting clamor of plates and cheerful chatter immediately embraced you. The rich scent of Sanji’s cooking, a symphony of herbs and sizzling meat, filled the air, making your stomach rumble happily. Your eyes, as always, scanned the crowded tables for a familiar face, and there it was: the empty spot beside Zoro.

Without a second thought, you headed straight for it. Zoro was already deep into his meal, his usual focused intensity applied to devouring his food. You slid onto the bench beside him, your presence acknowledged by a slight, almost imperceptible tilt of his head.

"Looks delicious, Sanji!" you chirped, reaching for a serving spoon.

Zoro didn't reply, just continued eating, but you could feel the subtle shift in the air around him, a quiet settling of his presence as you took your rightful place beside him. It was a familiar comfort, an unspoken understanding that had always existed between you two, a silent current that you, in your beautiful obliviousness, simply flowed with. For you, it was just another meal, another moment, with your friend. For him, it was exactly where you belonged.

Mid-dinner, the usual, familiar spat between Zoro and Sanji inevitably erupted. It started with a muttered insult from Zoro about Sanji's cooking being "too frilly," which, of course, sent the cook into a furious, pirouetting rage.

"What was that, Marimo?! My exquisite cuisine is a work of art, unlike your pathetic sense of direction!" Sanji shrieked, twirling a fork menacingly.

Zoro scoffed, leaning back in his seat. "At least I know where I'm going, unlike some love-struck perv."

"Love-struck?! You think you can talk about love, you muscle-brained oaf?! At least I know how to treat a lady, unlike you, who probably thinks your girlfriend here is just another one of your weights!" Sanji yelled, gesturing wildly towards you.

You, who had been happily munching on a piece of chicken, paused. Then, a bright, genuine laugh bubbled out of you. "Huh? Zoro's my boyfriend? No way!" You chuckled, shaking your head. "We're not dating, Sanji! That's silly!"

The entire galley went utterly silent. The clatter of plates, the general chatter, even Luffy's enthusiastic chewing, all ceased. Nami's jaw dropped, Usopp choked on his drink, and Chopper's eyes went wide. Even Robin had a small, surprised smile on her face.

Every single eye in the room, except for yours, snapped to Zoro. He had frozen mid-chew, his fork hovering inches from his mouth. His single eye, usually so stoic, was wide, almost panicked. A slow, dark flush began to creep up his neck, staining his ears.

Then, in a voice that was uncharacteristically high-pitched and strained, he blurted out, "Uhh... yes, we are?"

You stared at Zoro, your fork still halfway to your mouth, a perplexed frown creasing your brow. "No, we're not, Zoro," you stated, as if explaining something incredibly simple to a particularly slow child. "We're just friends. Like... like you and Luffy are friends! Or me and Chopper are friends!" You gestured around the silent galley, utterly bewildered by his claim. "We don't go on dates. We don't hold hands like that." You wiggled your fingers in the air. "We just hang out!"

The silence in the galley became deafening. Sanji looked like his brain had short-circuited, Nami slapped a hand to her forehead, and Usopp slid slowly under the table. Even Luffy, for once, was speechless, his eyes wide.

Zoro's face, now a deep shade of crimson, looked like he was wrestling with a particularly stubborn sea king in his head. He cleared his throat, a rough, grating sound. "We... we do too go on dates," he mumbled, avoiding everyone's gaze, including yours. "We went to that island with the cherry blossoms. And that one with the giant mushrooms."

You tilted your head. "But we went with everyone! And we were looking for food!"

"No, that was a date!" Zoro insisted, his voice gaining a desperate edge. He gestured vaguely between the two of you. "And we... we sleep in the same bed!"

Your eyes widened, a genuine, innocent shock coloring your features. "Yes, but not like that! You just let me nap there sometimes because the floor is cold, or I fall asleep reading!" You looked genuinely mortified, clearly thinking he was implying something scandalous. "Zoro, are you feeling okay? You're acting really weird!"

The rest of the Straw Hats couldn't take it anymore.

Usopp burst out from under the table, pointing dramatically. "He's in love, Y/N! He's been in love with you for ages!"

Nami, pinching the bridge of her nose, sighed. "Y/N, Zoro constantly saves you seats, he only lets you nap on him, he carries you after battles... it's not exactly subtle."

Chopper whimpered. "He protects you like his own treasure, Y/N!"

Robin chuckled softly, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Indeed, Y/N. The signs have been rather… evident for quite some time."

Zoro, by this point, looked like he wanted the Thousand Sunny to swallow him whole. He slammed his fist on the table, making the plates jump. "Shut up, all of you!" he roared, then turned his blazing red face to you. "Look, I... I thought... you... we..." He trailed off, utterly defeated by your pure, unadulterated obliviousness. He just sat there, breathing heavily, as if he’d just fought a thousand men.

You, however, were still stuck on his earlier statement. "Wait," you said slowly, your brow furrowing in confusion. "So… when Sanji called us 'girlfriend and boyfriend'… he meant that seriously? And you… you think we are dating?"

The silence returned, thicker than ever. Zoro finally managed a small, miserable nod.

Your mind, usually a calm and clear lake, suddenly became a churning storm. The puzzle pieces, scattered and seemingly unrelated for so long, slammed together with dizzying speed. The saved seats, the gentle touches, the shared naps, the quiet protectiveness… it all made a horrifying, mortifying, obvious kind of sense now. Your face, usually so open and bright, paled, then flushed a furious scarlet that rivaled Zoro's own.

"W-what?!" you stammered, scrambling away from him on the bench, nearly knocking over your plate. "You... you think we're dating?! But... but that means... oh my god! All this time?!"

You shot to your feet, pacing wildly in the now completely silent galley, your hands flapping in disbelief. "But I thought we were just... best friends! Like, the bestest friends ever! I thought you were just being... well, you! You let me nap on you because you're comfy! You saved me seats because you're polite! I thought I was in the friend zone! I thought you just saw me as your buddy, your pal! I even told Chopper last week that you were 'the most reliable friend a girl could ask for'!"

Your rant continued, growing in speed and volume. "And the cherry blossoms! I thought you just liked flowers! And the mushrooms! We needed food! Oh my god! This is mortifying! You actually like me like that?! And I've just been... here! Completely oblivious! How could I be so dumb?!" You smacked yourself lightly on the forehead. "I like you too, Zoro! Of course, I like you! But I just thought you were my really, really good friend and I just accepted all your kindness like it was nothing! Oh, this is so awkward!"

The reactions were immediate and varied:

Zoro, who had been frozen in mortified silence, suddenly bolted upright. His crimson face contorted into a mix of utter shock and a flicker of… something else. Hope? Relief? His eye widened, staring at you as if seeing you for the first time. "You... you like me?" he blurted out, the question barely a whisper.

Sanji finally snapped out of his stupor, letting out a delighted, albeit bewildered, squawk. "She likes him?! The Marimo actually pulled it off?!" He immediately started spinning, offering you a handkerchief. "My dearest Y/N-chan, calm yourself! It seems love has blossomed in the most unexpected of places!"

Nami, who had been watching the entire spectacle with growing amusement, burst into laughter. "I told you, Y/N! You're ridiculously oblivious! But at least we finally got somewhere!" She patted your shoulder, still chuckling.

Usopp and Chopper, who had emerged from under the table, exchanged wide-eyed glances. "She likes him back!" Chopper whispered, tears welling in his eyes. Usopp clapped him on the back, grinning. "I knew it! My keen sniper's eye saw through it all!" (He had seen absolutely nothing).

Robin simply smiled, a serene, knowing expression on her face. "It appears," she mused softly, "that even the most tangled of threads can eventually find their way to each other."

And Luffy, ever the direct one, just stared at you and Zoro with a wide grin. "Shishishi! So you guys are dating! Awesome! Now can we have dessert?"

You, meanwhile, were still processing, your face buried in your hands, the weight of years of unspoken affection and your own charming unawareness crashing down on you in a wave of utter, embarrassing realization.

You slowly sank back onto the bench, your face still burning. The earlier joyous clamor of dinner had been replaced by the crew's hushed murmurs and occasional stifled giggles. You felt like every single eye on the Thousand Sunny was fixed on you, dissecting every oblivious moment of your existence. This wasn't just embarrassment; this was full-blown, existential mortification. Your entire past with Zoro, once so comfortably platonic, was now replaying in your mind like a horribly awkward highlight reel. Every shared nap, every saved seat, every gentle touch now screamed "romantic gesture" instead of "friendly gesture."

You risked a quick glance at Zoro. He was still sitting rigid beside you, his ears still a furious red, but his gaze was no longer on the floor. It was on you, a strange, intense mixture of disbelief, hope, and something akin to awe in his single visible eye. It was almost too much to bear.

You let out a groan, a sound of pure, unadulterated despair. "Oh my god," you mumbled, burying your face in your hands. "This is it. This is how I die. From sheer, utter mortification." The idea of facing Zoro, or any of the crew, ever again felt impossible. The Grand Line had thrown countless dangers at you, but none compared to the crushing weight of realizing you had been spectacularly, monumentally oblivious to the affections of one of your closest friends for what now felt like an eternity.

As soon as dinner was mercifully over, you made a beeline for the deck, practically fleeing the galley. The bewildered and amused faces of your crewmates, the lingering scent of cooked food mixed with the thick, palpable awkwardness, was too much to bear. You needed air, and you needed it now.

The cool night breeze was a welcome relief against your still-flushed cheeks. You stood at the railing, gazing out at the endless, star-dusted ocean, the vastness of it doing little to calm the chaotic storm in your mind. Ten minutes stretched into an eternity, your internal monologue a frantic loop of "How could I be so blind?!" and "He liked me?!"

Just as you were contemplating whether you could just… jump overboard and swim to the nearest uncharted island, you heard them: slow, deliberate footsteps approaching. You didn't need to turn around. You knew the familiar, heavy tread. It was Zoro.

Sure, here is the story:

You kept your back to him, gripping the railing so tightly your knuckles turned white. The silence stretched, thick and charged with unspoken words, heavier than any sword Zoro had ever wielded. You could feel his presence behind you, a silent, unmoving force.

Finally, his deep voice, softer than you’d ever heard it, broke the quiet. "Y/N."

You flinched, but didn't turn. "Don't, Zoro," you mumbled, your voice muffled. "I can't believe I was so... so stupid."

He sighed, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of years of unacknowledged affection. "You're not stupid." He took another step closer, and you could feel the warmth radiating from him. "Just... oblivious."

You finally turned, slowly, reluctantly, to face him. In the soft moonlight, his expression was unreadable, but his single eye held a raw vulnerability you'd never seen before. "Oblivious?! Zoro, you just told me you thought we were dating! And I thought we were just friends! How am I supposed to ever look anyone in the eye again?!"

He rubbed the back of his neck, a rare sign of discomfort from him. "It's… my fault too," he admitted, surprisingly. "I thought… you knew. Or that you just… accepted it. I'm not good with words." He shifted his weight. "Or with… feelings. I just… did things. I thought that was enough."

You stared at him. "You did things? Like saving me seats? And letting me sleep on you?"

He nodded, his gaze unwavering. "Yeah. And making sure you're okay after a fight. And… other stuff." He paused, then, with a surprising amount of courage, added, "I like having you around. More than just a friend. I thought… that was obvious."

A fresh wave of mortification washed over you, but beneath it, a tiny, hesitant warmth began to spread. He truly had been trying, in his own, Zoro way.

"I… I said I like you too," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper, your eyes fixed on the deck. "I really do. You're… you're important to me, Zoro. But I just… never thought of it like that. I just thought… that’s how we were. Best friends." You looked up at him, a tremor in your voice. "So… what does that make us now?"

Zoro took another step, closing the distance between you. He looked down at you, his gaze intense. "It makes us... whatever you want us to be," he said, his voice low and earnest. "But if you're asking if I want to keep being... more than friends... then yeah. I do." He hesitated, then, with a rare, almost shy gesture, reached out and gently took your hand, his calloused thumb stroking the back of your knuckles. "I'm tired of waiting, Y/N."

The simple, honest admission, combined with the gentle touch, finally pierced through your overwhelming embarrassment. You felt a blush creep up your neck again, but this time, it wasn't just from mortification. It was something else entirely. Something new, and exciting, and terrifyingly real. You looked at your intertwined hands, then up at his earnest, hopeful face.

You looked at your intertwined hands, then up at his earnest, hopeful face, a warmth blooming in your chest that chased away the last vestiges of embarrassment. The Grand Line had always been full of surprises, but this one… this was the most astonishing of all.

"Okay," you whispered, a soft smile finally gracing your lips. "Okay, Zoro. Let's… let's go on an official date."

A faint, almost imperceptible tremor went through him, and the corner of his mouth twitched upwards in what might have been the closest thing to a genuine smile you'd ever seen from him. His grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly, a silent affirmation.

The next morning, the Thousand Sunny sailed under a clear blue sky, the air filled with the usual cheerful chaos. Luffy was loudly declaring his intention to find an island made entirely of meat, Usopp was attempting to fish with a slingshot, and Sanji was already planning dinner.

You were on deck, helping Nami adjust a sail, when you felt a familiar presence beside you. Zoro was there, leaning against the mast, ostensibly napping, but his single eye was discreetly open, watching you.

Later that afternoon, you found yourself sitting beside him in his usual napping spot, not sleeping, but simply enjoying the quiet companionship. He had his swords resting beside him, and you were idly braiding a piece of rope. He didn't speak, but every now and then, his gaze would drift to you, lingering for a moment longer than it used to.

As the sun began to dip towards the horizon, painting the sky in fiery hues, Zoro shifted. "That island we're heading to," he rumbled, his voice low. "They said it has a good sake brewery."

You looked at him, a genuine smile spreading across your face. "Oh! And Nami said there's a big festival there too! With fireworks!"

He nodded, a flicker of something new, something almost tender, in his eye. "Sounds like a date."

You chuckled, leaning your head against his shoulder. This time, you knew exactly what he meant. The Grand Line was vast, full of unknown adventures, and you were ready for all of them, especially the ones that now included, in a surprisingly official capacity, your quiet, protective swordsman.

[starrvsn]

ꕮ ˚₊ ꒰ EVAN BUCKLEY ⁾⁾ CATS OUT OF THE BAG

﹙ SHOW/FANDOM ⠆911﹚

PAIRING ⠆evan 'buck' buckley x femreader.

CATEGORIES ⠆fluff, secret-family!au, i have a butt load of fics like this in my drafts (if you can’t tell already i love dad!buck and eddie)

buck is usually an open book, he talked about everything and anything- the 118 practically knew his whole life story but then you came along. when things got serious with you he didn’t want to jinx it. being a man of superstition, he just didn’t want to ruin something good. so he never really told anyone. then a year of dating became two, you got engaged and not soon after had maisie. he didn’t mean to keep you away from his family (except maddie, he cannot keep anything from her) it just never came up. they just knew about the vague ‘im seeing someone’ stick that never was pushed because, knowing bucks past dating history, they thought the relationship wouldn’t last long especially when he stopped mentioning anything about it.

you hadn’t planned on coming by, buck had been texting you all day– it’d been a slow morning for them. maisie had just woken up from her nap with the sleepiest gummy smile and an arm stretched toward the door, babbling for him and you couldn’t resist, a surprise visit wouldn’t hurt, right? plus you missed him and you knew maisie did too.

it’s around 3PM, the team was getting ready for family dinner at the 118 when chim catches someone walking into the station. stood at the loft he sees a women with a child on her hip, tucked into her shoulder. the women looks around like she’s searching for something.

“can we help you?” chim asks from above, leaning against the railing of the loft, brows raised in curiosity.

you look up, spotting him. nerves growing in your stomach, one of many colleagues buck has told you about. you clear your throat, nerves betraying you as your voice comes out small and meek. “uh hi… i’m looking for evan.”

evan? no one ever calls him evan.

chims head tilts, turning back to buck who’s lathering on way to much butter on his biscuit. he calls out to buck, mid bite giving chim an unsatisfied look for stealing his attention from the delicious food.

“evan buckley?” hen asks from besides chim, gathered in curiosity looking down at you with a daughter suspiciously looking a lot like buck. eddie coming out from the locker room nearly does a double take, his eyes falling to maisie. “and… who’s this little one?”

buck, who’s now abandoned lunch, joins chim and hen ever the noisiest. comes to see you and your daughter with eddie, behind your shoulder softly speaking to maisie. his heart nearly stops and grows at the same time. his expression went from furrowed brows to a wide gleaming smile, excited to see you both. he practically bolts down the stairs, hen and chim watching him “sweetheart?” his familiar voice calls out, taking long, fluid steps to you. you watch the way the room freezes. hen’s eyes widen. chims jaw already dropped, bobby who’s joined at the railing as well at the sudden commotion. eddie blinks like he’s not sure he heard right.

“what are you two doing here?” a soft grin already forming—one that stretches into a full-blown smile the moment he sees you.

maisie squeals and kicks her feet in your arms, reaching out for him. buck doesn’t hesitate—he scoops her up with practiced ease, pressing a kiss to her chubby cheek. “she missed you,” you say softly, watching the way she burrows into his neck.

“i missed you too, sweet pea,” buck murmurs into her hair, before bending down a bit of give you a chaste kiss on your lips, everyone else in the station forgotten in the moment. the team looks at each other bewildered, what is going on? hen clears her throat, hands on her hips like a mother catching her child doing something bad. buck turns, maisie babbling, pointing at hens glasses. “oh! uhm guys, this is my fiancée.” wrapping his arm around you pulling you close. “and our daughter, maisie.”

you wave albeit a bit awkwardly, telling them your name. you’ve heard about them so much and seen pictures but they all look different in person– more welcoming, like home.

“wait, wait,” chim gasps, holding his hands in front of you “you’re his wife.” he points to you, then maisie “and that’s your daughter who looks basically like a mini version of you!” grasping the concept that buck has his own little family without anyone knowing. then a look of realization hits his face. “does maddie know? you’ve been withholding a little niece and best friend from jee-yun!”

you and buck exchange a look, eyes narrowing– his mouth faltering to a nervous grin “yeah about that… maddie knows”

chimney practically freezes “she’s met jee-yun?” you nod, biting your lip anxiously, buck looks at you the same. you were surprised chim hasn’t caught on, they’ve meet quite a lot since maisie was six months old. maddie even telling you once jee-yun wouldn’t stop saying ‘mai-mai’ the day after they went to your house and chim chalked it up to jee-yun being in her ‘imaginary friends’ phase. the rest of the 118 look at him– unsure how’d he react, then wordlessly he pulls his phone out of his pocket before heading to the locker room, probably calling maddie.

“guess the cats out of the bag.” hen remarks, the rest of the group nodding along. the moment is quick to pass as they turn their attention to your and your daughter, their newest revelation.

“how old is she?” eddie asks, already drifting closer brushing a finger over her small, chubby knuckles. her hand soon enveloping his finger in a tiny fist, he gives the group ‘are you seeing this? someone take a picture!’ look

“just turned one,” you say, shifting into buck’s side. “she’s been crawling but has yet to take her first steps.”

“i—wow,” bobby says with a slow shake of his head. “buck, you’ve been holding out on us.” looking to wear hen and eddie are now clamoring around her trying to make her laugh, making silly faces and playing peek-a-boo.

“i wasn’t trying to hide them,” buck says quickly, eyes flicking to you. “i just… it felt nice, keeping something just for me for a little while, you know?”

you squeeze gently his bicep. you understood. he’d lived so much of his life in the open, under watchful eyes and immense expectations put on himself and his job. but this your little family was something he got to build quietly.

“so this is why you started turning down overtime,” hen says with a knowing smile.

“and showing up to shift early with coffee, black and this aura… should’ve known as a father myself, how did i not notice earlier?” eddie says with a smirk.

buck laughs, bouncing maisie gently as she clutches at his shirt. “yeah. turns out being a dad makes you… grow up a little.”

“a lot,” you tease under your breath.

the 118 gather around slowly, the initial shock fading into curiosity and warmth. chim back after giving maddie a earful and promising a play date with maisie soon. maisie charms them all within five minutes, everyone having a turn carrying her and taking quite a liking to bobby, which who wouldn’t? even sharing her star shaped puffs with the team after they invited you to stay for lunch

you lean into buck’s side as he watches his team interact with your daughter, around the table. maisie in eddies lap as they coo and giggle at her, gnawing on a piece of bread. this was it, this is what he’s wished for all his life, his daughter and you with the people he loves the most. you catch the way his eyes shine a little.

“you okay?” you ask quietly.

he nods, his arm tightening around your waist.

“yeah,” he murmurs. “i think… i think i finally get what home feels like.”

ownership of starrvsn. please do not repost, modify or translate.

[novascharms]

teach please me — tutor!reader x soccer player!rafe

reader's life is meticulously planned, from high school to becoming president of the country—she knows exactly where she's headed and every step to get there. but her airtight plan hits a snag when the principal ropes her into tutoring rafe cameron, the school’s star soccer player, who’s failing algebra and at risk of being benched next season. the team needs him on the field, and reader needs the principal’s glowing recommendation to secure her spot at her dream school. balancing her ambitious goals with rafe’s chaotic charm might just throw her perfectly crafted plan off track.

word count — 1.8 chapter index — next chap. masterlist

one

thursday, january 9th

go where the wind takes me. it’s a phrase you’d heard countless times over the years. it eased people, gave them perspective, helped them loosen up. but you? no, it did the opposite. it made you do what you did best—research. what kind of research? the top 100 most successful people and whether they’d ever "gone with the wind." the answer was no. not a single one. going with the wind doesn’t make anyone successful. it leads to dead ends, wrong turns, wasted time—and time was the one thing no one could afford to squander.

the importance of planning everything as meticulously as possible was something that you'd ingrained in your mind at a young age and it had led you exactly where you were. it was the foundation of everything you’d achieved: top of your class, surrounded by like-minded peers, ready for a prestigious summer program, and just a year away from the university of your dreams. everything you’d worked for was at your fingertips. nothing could get in your way now.

"hi, sandy," you greeted the office secretary who watched you struggling to balance a precarious stack of papers in your arms.

"good morning, sweetheart. need help with that?" sandy asked with a warm smile.

"nope, i’ve got it," you replied, setting the stack on the counter with a satisfying thud. carefully, you aligned the papers before placing your palms on top to steady them.

"these are the documents for the student body audit next week. i printed an extra copy for principal oakley, complete with annotations, just in case there’s any confusion."

"always so thorough," sandy remarked with a grin. the compliment made your entire week.

"ah, just who i needed to see." a familiar voice sounded behind you and you twirled around to see principal oakley walking into the office. "oh, good morning, principal oakley." you said, your tone as polished as ever. you barely glanced at the boy trailing behind him before falling into step with the principal.

and yes, following him into his office was a tad unconventional but someone with as much determination and drive as you rarely let things like "innaproriate behaviour" get in your way.

"you are just who i wanted to see too. i know the holidays just ended but i did want to just follow up on my recommendation letter which you'd think about writing, remember?" you fixed your bag on your shoulder as principal oakley sat at his desk and briefly glanced behind you.

"y/n—" the principal tried to interrupt.

you didn't stop talking. "and i know you don't write recommendation letters for your students to keep things fair and whatnot but i—" principal oakley tried to interrupt again but didn't have the chance before you continued rattling. "—hope you reconsidered because i just know that having your letter under my belt will make me stand out to the admissions board and who am i if not representation for our fine school?"

principal oakley cleared his throat and this time you noticed the brief glance behind you. you slowly followed his gaze to see rafe cameron leaning against the doorframe.

your mental file on him loaded instantly: soccer player, tall, messy, and in your opinion, a bit… ran through. still contemporary philosophy like utilitarianism says the morality of having multiple partners depends on whether it increases overall happiness and minimizes harm so you were in no position to shame anyone just trying to increase their own happiness. you suppose.

"oh, was this a bad time?" you asked sheepishly, stepping aside. "not at all," the principal replied. "in fact, this concerns you as well. please, have a seat—and refrain from going into rants until i'm finished speaking." principal oakley says.

frowning in confusion, you complied. sitting beside rafe, you tried to mask your unease. what could he have to discuss with both you and rafe cameron? you weren't very good with uncertainty so sitting still was becoming a challenge as principal oakley rummaged through his desk.

you had to focus on something to stop yourself from panicking so you focused on him. very discreetly. he was so very..unruly. like something hard to contain, just spilling over the edges with his messy hair, that sweater that was not ironed, the shirt under the sweater that was untucked in that untidy way, that smell—woody with a faint hint of vanilla. you liked that smell.

you looked down at your own clothes—a powder blue ruffle top from khaite that you saved for for months and gifted yourself over winter break, off-white pants that were perfectly ironed and fresh from the laundry, hair in a neat french twist. from first sight, you and him were polar opposites.

"alright, y/n," principal oakley finally sat back down, his gaze steady as you watched him attentively. "you know rafe, right?" he asked, gesturing slightly toward the boy seated across from you. your eyes flicked to rafe, who was already staring at you, his expression unreadable.

"uh-huh," you murmured, turning your focus back to the principal.

"well, rafe here has a little problem." principal oakley slid a paper across the desk, and your curiosity spiked as you glanced down. it was rafe's report card.

it was disastrous.

you gasped softly, and rafe let out a noise of protest. "shit, it's not that bad," he muttered, leaning in close to peer over your shoulder at his own grades. the sudden proximity sent a ripple of awareness through you. despite your best efforts to stay indifferent, the intoxicating mix of his scent and the startling lack of male attention in your life was doing a number on your self-control.

"language, mr. cameron. and yes, it really is that bad," principal oakley said firmly. "which is why we need your help, y/n."

you tried to focus, though every nerve in your body screamed for you to stay perfectly still, afraid rafe would pull back. your intrusive thoughts—chief among them being the absolutely insane urge to bury your head in his neck—were becoming harder to suppress. quickly, you straightened and fixed your attention on the principal.

"my help?" you asked, the words laced with genuine confusion.

"the athletic board won’t let rafe play next season if he doesn’t pass at least one of his failing classes. we’ve discussed it with his teachers, and they believe algebra is his best shot. mr. coleman specifically suggested you for the job. he said your grasp of the material is exceptional, sometimes even surpassing his. your work ethic, dedication, and knowledge are exactly what rafe needs to bring his grade up to a satisfactory six—or, with hope, even a seven or seven and a half."

principal oakley's words hung in the air as you processed them. finally, you blinked slowly. "you want me…" you began cautiously, "to take him from a two-point-five to a seven-point-five in five months?"

"that’s like 150 days," rafe interjected, his tone unexpectedly eager. "we can do this! i’ll be the best student, i swear."

we?

"and on which planet is that 150 days, rafe?" you turned to him, your voice tinged with disbelief. "five months is about 150 days, sure. but i don’t know about you, mr. cameron, but i have class every day from eight to three. we have over 15 assignments a month, tests, midterms in march. i’m student body president. i’m organizing spring fling, pajama day, color war, the bake sale, and the car wash fundraiser—where, by the way, i expect the soccer team’s full, enthusiastic participation in semi-nude form for maximum profit. there’s also valentine’s day card exchanges, college fairs, and, oh, right—i have a life. i need to eat, study, and spend enough time with my friends and family to avoid being accused of neglecting them." you folded your arms. "so tell me, rafe, where in that mess do you see time for this?"

rafe stared at you, slightly wide-eyed.

"exactly," you concluded, crossing your legs. "nowhere."

you turned back to principal oakley. "maybe someone could contact the board and ask for len—"

"y/n, this is their leniency. usually, a two-point-five is an automatic cutoff." principal oakley cut you off, his voice calm but insistent. "i wouldn’t be asking if i didn’t believe in you."

the praise softened you momentarily. "principal oakley," you began, reaching into your bag and pulling out your life planner with a flourish. its heft rattled the pens on his desk. "this is my schedule." flipping to the last pages, you tapped a line with a manicured nail. "rafe, read this."

he leaned in, eyebrows raised. "january 20th, 2056: be sworn in as the 59th president of the country."

you smiled, all proud like you'd already achieved it which you technically had since everything that belonged to you was already yours.

"now, as you can imagine, i have a very rigorous plan in place to achieving my final goal and unfortunately, my schedule is just..airtight until.." you grimaced, "atleast 2061, maybe 2065." you were still debating the second term.

rafe chuckled quietly, and you shot him a glare before principal oakley interrupted.

"i assume my recommendation letter holds a significant place in your 30-year plan."

you hesitated. "…it does."

"well, helping your fellow student would demonstrate the leadership and dedication your university looks for. i could write you a glowing recommendation and even personally contact the dean’s office if you agree to tutor mr. cameron."

you froze, your mind flashing with possibilities. the thought of the dean knowing your name—of shaving years off your plan—was too good to pass up.

"fine," you said at last, exhaling. "but i expect nothing short of perfection in that letter. and the dean better invite me for tea when you’re done."

turning to rafe, you leveled him with a sharp look. "every tuesday and sunday at four. take this seriously, or you’ll see how hostile i can get. and read the chapters beforehand. i’ll text you my address."

you strode toward the door.

"you don’t have my number!" rafe called after you, amusement clear in his voice.

"i practically live in this office, rafe!" you shot back over your shoulder. "i have everyone’s number!"

chapter index — next chap. masterlist

[gingerteafairy]

abductor hacker machine (dave lizewski x reader)

You’re Dave’s gym crush. He’s never skipping leg day again.

tags n warnings: college!dave, language, highly suggestive, mentions of handjob, flirting, gym terms. word count: 2.3k masterlist

Dave had arrived at the gym early, excitement buzzing through him because it was back and arms day. The gym wasn’t too crowded, and Todd was just coming in—it felt like the perfect day for an upper-body workout.

“Hey, man. Feeling good today,” Todd greeted him with a quick high five before heading over to stretch.

“Yeah…” Dave nodded, walking to the pull-up bar. He grabbed it, letting his body hang as he stretched his spine, easing into a light isometric hold.

“Dude, I don’t know how you even manage pull-ups. That’s the hardest thing I’ve ever tried,” Todd said, his voice tinged with genuine admiration as Dave began the exercise with surprising finesse. His muscles flexed and tightened with each smooth motion, displaying a control that came from dedication.

That’s the sight you walked into when you entered the gym. The hot nerd was effortlessly pulling himself up on the bar, his form flawless, his focus unshakable. You couldn’t look away, watching until he finally finished, wiping sweat off his brow with the hem of his shirt. When your eyes met, Dave froze for a moment, then followed you with his gaze as you walked toward the squat rack. It was leg day for you.

He didn’t have a choice—he had to say something to his gym crush.

“Dude, where are you going?” Todd asked, puzzled.

“Uhm…leg press,” Dave replied quickly, his tone distracted as his focus stayed locked on you.

“Someone's not skipping leg day for once,” he shook his head, handing a dumbbell.

He watched you doing your exercise, trying to figure out the best thing to do or say. The best option was to go over to you, so he walked toward you with determined steps—but by the time he got there, you had already finished. Awkwardly, he turned around and headed for the calf machine instead. That was the next best option. Pretending nothing happened, however, was a mistake.

“You're such a loser, Dave Lizewski,” he muttered under his breath, grabbing any random weight to load onto the machine.

“Hi, excuse me.”

Dave could barely believe it when he turned around and saw you standing there. He almost dropped the weight and had to lean on the machine to strike a casual pose. Oh my God, she came over. She’s talking to me. She’s actually here.

“I didn’t catch that. What did you say?” he lied, removing one earbud. Of course, he had heard you. He just wanted to make sure this was real.

“I said hi,” you repeated, pulling out one of your own earbuds.

“Uh… hi. I’m great, and you?” he stammered awkwardly, noticing the slight confusion flicker across your face at his strange response.

“I’m glad you’re good…” you laughed softly, resting your hands on your hips. “Um… how much longer are you going to be on this machine?”

Idiot, idiot, idiot. Of course, it’s about the machine.

“I just started, but… d’you wanna share?” he asked hopefully. However, when you glanced at the amount of weight loaded onto the machine, you immediately decided against it. How on earth is this guy pushing all that weight with his calves?

“No, it’s fine… I’ll wait,” you replied, heading to a corner to check your phone while you waited.

Dave closed his eyes, cursing himself for how poorly the entire interaction had gone. He wiped the sweat from his face, which had only increased after talking to you, and rushed through the exercise with poor form, desperate to finish quickly. Without looking back, he walked away, leaving the machine free for you.

“Fucking idiot, i wanna die” Dave muttered as he walked over to Todd, who was finishing his shoulder workout.

“Hey, dude. Did you talk to her?” Todd asked, grunting as he set his weights down.

“I did, but now I’m gonna have to do every single posterior chain exercise known to man so she doesn’t think i’m a total loser,” Dave blurted, running his hand through his hair. His eyes wandered to you across the gym, finishing your set. “Fuck. I’m never coming back to this gym ever again.”

“Relax, man. She’s probably not even thinking about it,” Todd tried to calm him down, noticing Dave rubbing his forehead and checking his pulse.

“She is. She is, Todd. She's so fucking perfect and I just said do you wanna share like a total moron.” He whimpered, scratching his head.

“So, what’s the plan now? Glutes?” Todd chuckled, but Dave’s eyes lit up.“No… don’t tell me—are you serious?”

“I’m doing everything. It’s important for testosterone production,” Dave mumbled, walking over to the hip abduction machine and staring at it like it was some alien contraption. “Shit… I have no idea how this thing works.”

He sat down, looking around desperately for help—any help—praying for someone to rescue him. “Hey, God. I know i haven't been the best dude on earth, but please. I really need help, i need to do it. Send someone. Anyone. Just don't send a scary dude, please.”

Unfortunately for him, it was you who got there first.

“Just starting?” you inquired, placing your water bottle on the holder.

“Uh… yeah, I… uh, wanna try?” he murmured, blinking in slight panic as he stood up from the machine to let you take over. You smiled, taking the opportunity and settling in to begin your exercise.

And God, Dave had to muster every ounce of self-control not to stare at your legs or the muscles working with precision, he didn't even want to mention the word glutes because it seemed so fucking wrong in this moment. He turned to face the wall instead.

“These atoms are… amazing. Science is really evolving these days!” he blurted to the man next to him, pointing at the wall. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Is it some kind of new cement?”

“It’s plaster,” the guy replied, frowning in confusion before returning to his workout. “Weirdo.”

Dave turned back toward you, forcing himself to focus on your face. But then he saw you finishing and standing to the side. He had no choice now but to actually use the machine. Swallowing hard, he sat down.

“This can’t be that hard,” he whispered to himself, loading the machine with the maximum weight. He tried to open his legs, but the machine didn’t budge an inch.

“Wow, this machine is different, I know it. Heavier than I expected,” he chuckled nervously. You bit your lip to suppress a laugh of your own—it was pretty clear to you that this guy had never touched this machine before.

“Here, lemme help,” you offered, moving closer to him. He froze but nodded, letting you adjust his position.

“Sit back a little and tilt your torso forward,” you instructed, placing your hand lightly on the machine. “Set it to 30. Then, open your legs as wide as you can. You’ll feel better if you keep your glutes really really up, okay?”

“Okay,” he muttered, adjusting the settings. He tried again but barely moved the machine, the faintest clinking sound coming from the weights. She’s going to think I’m so weak. I'm dead. Dead, buried and dusted.

“Want me to show you?” you asked, and before he could think, he nodded. He jumped up, letting you take his place, but instantly regretted it the moment you sat down.

“No… uh, no need to worry about it…” he stuttered, flushing red as you adjusted the weight and got into position.

“I don’t mind helping,” you replied with a small smile, demonstrating the movement with flawless form. “Like this—glutes up and open as wide as possible.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dave squeaked, covering his face to hide his embarrassment and to resist the urge to glance back at you.

“So, you’ll want to do this fifteen times. Watch carefully, so you don’t mess it up,” you explained, your voice teasing, aware of the effect you were having on him. It was clear he was trying his best not to lose his composure, and you couldn’t deny he was adorable.

“Got it. I understand. Amazing. Perfect,” he blurted quickly, stuffing his hand in his pocket as if to shield himself from… whatever was happening internally. And this whatever was his cock awakening every single time you opened your legs and he could see your thighs and especially, the thing between them.

“Great. Want to give it a try?” you asked, standing up and stepping closer to him—closer than strangers typically stood.

“Uh… I, uh…” He took a deep breath, catching the faint scent of your perfume and noticing the sheen of sweat on your forehead. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom. Thank you for everything, the instructions and everything, all. Good… good workout!” And with that, he bolted.

You watched him rush to the locker room, nearly bumping into everyone in his path. He was so adorable. If only you knew his name. As you tried to figure out a way to ask him without it seeming weird, Dave locked himself in a bathroom stall, sitting on the toilet and contemplating his situation. And, to be honest, it wasn’t looking great.

“Shit,” he muttered, glancing around, straining his ears to confirm no one else was in the bathroom, downing his shorts and boxers.

He took a deep breath, touching his erection, whimpering in the exact moment he thought about you and your hands with adorable little calluses from the workout routine, rubbing on his length. His cum spread on your gym top and sweaty face from bouncing on him like a fucking squat session.

“No, I can’t do this.” he murmured, dressing himself once again, sparing the thoughts away.

He left the stall, splashing water on his face and waiting for his body to calm down. Then, he looked at the paper glued to the bathroom mirror with a comic sans writing.

Hey, champ.

Please don't masturbate in the bathroom. It might clog the toilet. Thanks and good exercise!

- beast mode gym support

“you must be kidding me…” He cursed, splashing water to his face once again and looking at the mirror. One guy gave him a once-over, chuckling at his bulge. Embarrassed, Dave frowned and hurried out of the bathroom, only to come face-to-face with you.

“Oh, hi,” you greeted, breaking the silence first and meeting his eyes.

“Hey…” he replied, swallowing hard. “It’s super crowded in there—the men’s room.”

“Yeah…” you agreed, keeping your gaze on him. You wanted an opportunity, and here it was. “Hey… what’s your name? I mean, I taught you earlier, but I never asked.”

“Dave. Dave Lizewski,” he replied, grinning like an idiot, relieved to finally have a normal conversation. When you said your name, it was like a little piece of heaven to him. Beautiful, just like you. It fits you perfectly.

“It’s easier for me because of college. I think we always come around the same time,” you added, stepping away from the bathroom entrance and into the hallway.

“I’m in college too,” he blurted out quickly. “Uh… engineering. I used to draw a lot, and ended up liking it. Also because my friend Todd decided on it, and I’m terrible at making decisions.”

“That’s really cool. And tough,” you laughed, and for the first time all day, he didn’t feel like a total idiot. “If you ever need help, I’m here.”

“Of course… I mean, thanks for the help earlier with the… glutes,” he chuckled nervously, joining in when you laughed too. Please, smile more. Smile at me again.

“Sure,” you replied, taking note of how much more handsome he was up close. “So… see you tomorrow?”

“Yes, tomorrow. Definitely,” he said quickly, his eyes lighting up. “But tomorrow I’m not doing glutes… it’s back day.”

“Great. That way you can help me,” you said without thinking, surprised at your own boldness.

Dave nodded, his heart pounding harder than any cardio session could ever manage. “Yeah, of course. I won’t embarrass myself with that one.”

“You didn’t embarrass yourself,” you replied with a laugh, tilting your head slightly. God, this guy is so handsome.

“Oh, come on, now you’re just lying,” he joked, and you opened your mouth in mock disbelief.

“Careful, Lizewski. I might do heavy glute exercises on you,” you teased, though the playful threat only made Dave’s face turn as red as his gym shorts. “I mean… glute exercises with you. Uh, you know… something intense.”

“You can throw whatever you want at me,” he blurted out, biting his lip. “I mean weights. I can handle a lot of weight… like, a lot of weight…” he breathed, glancing at your thighs, imagining his hands lifting them up to his waist.

“That’s… good to know,” you replied, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. You blinked, realizing how bold you were being, flirting with a guy in the middle of the gym hallway, probably with half the room overhearing. “Uh, so… Dave…”

“Do you have a number?” he asked suddenly, his hand forming a fist as he mentally kicked himself for such a clumsy question. “I mean, of course, you have a number. Everyone does. I just… wanted to know if you’d share it, you know… so we could talk about, um, workouts?”

“Workouts, right,” you said, trying not to laugh as you swallowed the lump in your throat. You recited your number, and Dave immediately pulled out his phone to save it, as if it were the most valuable treasure in the world.

“Thank you,” he murmured, grinning as he slid his phone into his pocket, treating it like a priceless artifact.

“No problem. See you tomorrow,” you mentioned, finally retreating, your face flushed with both nerves and excitement.

“Yeah, tomorrow…” he murmured, lifting a hand in a small wave.

“Close your mouth, man. You look like an idiot,” Todd teased as he approached. Dave nudged him lightly, but Todd only laughed harder. “You got the girl. Congrats.”

“Not yet,” Dave replied, watching as you finally walked out the door. “But I will. Even if I have to do the hip abductor every fucking day.”

“Alright, Nicki Minaj. Let's eat some protein,” Todd quipped, earning an eye-roll from Dave, who grabbed his backpack and followed Todd out. As they left, Dave’s mind was entirely consumed with thoughts of you—and he mentally reviewed every back exercise to make sure he’d never mess up in front of you again.

[rottenbologna]

Love don't cost a thing

Pairings ♤ Alexia Putellas x reader

Genre ♤ fluff

Warnings ♤ none

Alexia was trying to be sneaky. Writing down notes on her phone if you stared at something in the window of a store for longer than a minute. The both of you walking along the sheets of barcelona killing time as you waited to pick up an engagement ring as a favor to Ingrid.

Eventually you both settled into a cafè the walking and the heat of the sun getting to you. Alexia ordered for you both as you stood behind her and sneakily grabbed your card from your purse. When she finished the order you quickly tapped your card paying for everything before she could remove her own card from her wallet.

You smirk smugly watching as Alexia's brown furrowed in offense. “Amor why did you do that?”

“You pay for everything Bebé, can I not treat you to coffee and a warm pastry ?”

“No.” Alexia deadpans not even a bit amused by your actions, almost feeling betrayed.

“Too late now bebita” you smirk at your victory while following her lead to an empty table that was near the window of the cafe. Your girlfriend sat across from you arms folded with a pout on her lips.

“Is two time ballon d’or winner, captain of FC barcelona Alexia Putellas pouting cause she couldn’t buy my coffee.”

Alexia turns her head from looking out the window pout still firm on her lips when her hazel eyes meet yours. “Yes”

“Amor what's this really about?” You asked, sensing there was more than just the coffee that was bothering her but alexia just avoiding your gaze grumbling under her breath lightly.

Your gaze softens, grabbing her hands over the table and linking your fingers between hers. “Bebé, look at me. Por favor” Alexia hesitated for a bit but her eyes landed on yours again. You see conflict in her eyes and decided this wasn't the place for her to unpack.

“My next coffee order is on you, si?” That seems to set her at ease and you smiled lightly when she relaxed enough to enjoy the treat the kind waiter placed on the table.

°•°○°•○°•○° ♤♡ ○•°○•°○°

“Put it down.” You scold Alexia without looking away from the jeweler that was crafting the ring you were supposed to be picking up.

Behind you Alexia looks like a deer in headlights as she slowly places a bracelet she was sneakily trying to buy for you thinking you were too distracted.

“But Amor.”

“No” your voice is completely stern and it was starting to work on Alexia's nerves because you denied her twice that day. “Why does it bother you so much when I give you something?”

“It doesn’t bother me,” you replied, carefully. “I just don’t think I need another bracelet amor. You bought me a Cartier bracelet just last week. I don't need nice things every other week my love”

“What if I want to get you nice things?” Alexia's shot back tone sharper than she intended.

You look at her in surprise not expecting her to get so defensive over it. “Alexia, please tell me what's really bothering you.”

Your girlfriend begins to pace lightly, getting frustrated with the situation. “I just.. I'm so use to everyone I've been with expecting something from me eventually and with you it's different, you don't ask for anything and I guess I thought you just wanted me to fill in the blanks.”

“I’m not them. I’m not here for your money or your name.” you said softly stepping in her path to stop her pacing

“I know that” Alexia's voice breaks a little. “But I love you so much I'm scared that you might leave if I don't do enough to win you over”

You take her cheeks in your palms and rest your forehead against hers. “Bebè my love doesn't cost a thing and you don't need to win me over. You already won”

Her shoulders slumped in relief and she kisses you slowly and softly before pulling back pouting a little.

“So I can't buy you that bracelet ?”

You laugh a little, wrapping your arms around her neck. “No but maybe I'll let you buy me a cupra” you teased lightly.

“Really? Alexia lights out her phone quickly the cupra site loaded already.

“No”

“Damn it”

[clairewritesfanfics]

Could you do Mark variants where their version of reader being replaced by a different version of reader, whose mark is dead, and she wanted her mark back, so she hurts and abandons their real s/o in their universe, and they find out she’s not their reader, but the real reader is still alive just stuck in the fakes universe!! Pretty please 💐

“When I was a girl, I dreamt of standing in a room looking at a girl who was and was not myself, who stood looking at another girl, who also was and was not myself. My mother took this for a nightmare. I saw it as the beginning of a career in physics.” ― Rosalind Lutece, Bioshock Infinite

He’s convinced that he has done something to upset you. You didn’t respond when he yelled “Welcome home” over the pot of sizzling fried chicken he was making for dinner. You didn’t kiss his cheek when you entered the kitchen. It was odd, but he brushed it off. Maybe you were having a bad day. Nothing a serving of extra crispy fried chicken can’t cure.

But you don’t talk. You don’t rant or even emote. You sit and watch him like you’re looking–waiting for something.

He sets down the chicken in the middle of the table. “Remember to chew the skin this time before you swallow, okay?”

It’s a joke, because you eat too fast for your own good. 

But you don’t laugh, you just stare.

He finds his seat and clears his throat. Forcing a smile, he asks you about your day.

You finally look at him, and you’re smiling at him like you’re admiring a photo from the past.

“I’m okay.” 

“Just that…”

“Yes?”

“You’ve been quiet for a while now.”

You continue cutting into the chicken. “I’m always quiet.”

He watches how you slice around the bone with practiced ease and finally asks the question pounding at his chest, “Who are you?” It comes out soft but loaded with unspoken fear.

His muscles are tense but he keeps his cool. He knows you, he knows that the woman in front of him is you, but you’re not here.

Unhurried, but looking disappointed, you stop cutting. 

He asks again, “I can tell that you aren’t a shapeshifter, but you’re not her, not really, who are you? What do you want? Where is–”

You inhale deeply.

Then you smile at him one last time, the despair in your eyes makes his heart ache. 

His chair topples behind him as he stands.

You hold up a hand. “She’s fine, just displaced. I’ll give her back so no need to get nervous.”

You put down your fork. “What a shame, I really wanted a taste.” But this doesn’t belong to me.

full mask, prisoner, viltrumite

He has always been a sharp guy. He also knows you well enough to know that the one standing in your office is not you. He also lacks the patience to deal with the imposter in a peaceful manner. He wastes no time in confronting you.

You give him the mildest look of surprise and ask, “What gave me away?”

“Your gait, your posture, your breathing pattern–there’s about a dozen other things, but I don’t like wasting time.”

“I can tell.”

He lifts you by the collar, black eyes manic. “The reason you’re still able to talk is because I need to know where she is, so tell me or–”

“Or you will kill me, yes?” You smile softly. “You’re welcome to try.”

mohawk, no goggles, sinister

He doesn’t notice at first, but that’s because he’s always been a bit dense. He knows that something is off, he just couldn’t put his finger on it. When he asks you, you give him a small smile and tell him everything is okay. He forces himself to believe you. Maybe today is just one of those days. He doesn’t want to start a fight for no reason.

But then you approach him on the sofa and straddle his lap. You start kissing him, it’s unlike your usual kisses, it’s strategic and foreign–and not yours.

“Hey.”

“Yes, baby?”

“Who the hell are you?”

You tilt your head. “Oh, are we roleplaying now? Okay, I guess I’ll be the naughty–”

He holds you back by the shoulder and sits up. “Quit screwing around. You think I can’t tell? Your acting sucks.”

“... I see.”

He flips you over, knees caging your thighs as he glares down at you. “Where is she?”

Instead of answering, you ask, “She and I look exactly the same, but I modified my behavior to match your preferences. Which part of me left you unsatisfied?”

“Answer my question!”

“Calm yourself, Mark. She’s alive and well–” also a little roughed up “–just not here.” Your once flirtatious gaze has lost all traces of emotion. “Now, it’s your turn to answer my question.”

“I don’t need to do jack shit.”

“You do want to see her again, don’t you?”

He grits his teeth, weighing his options. “Fine.” He thinks for a moment and then answers, “I don’t know. I just knew that you weren’t her.”

“But I am her, from a different timeline, but still her. And unlike her, I have plenty of data on you. I can be your sweetest, darkest dream come true.” Your fingers caress his jaw, a gesture betrayed by your dead eyes. “What do you say?”

His glare grows hotter as he snatches your wrist. “Don’t fuck with me, I don’t need a fantasy, bring me back my woman!”

You turn your head to the side and mutter, “Another failure.”

He blinks and you disappear from under him–now you’re standing across the room, fully clothed. 

“What the–”

“I kind of like this version of you, you’re cute, not as cute as my Mark though.” 

head cap, shiesty, target

He knows instantly that something is wrong. A hundred scenarios pop into his head as he watches you walk around the home you two shared. Your gaze is too curious, the faintest hint of surprise flickers when you look at certain mementos, followed by a look of longing, sometimes even mockery. He lets you do as you please. Lets you act like this wasn’t your house too, but a mere museum. 

When he confronts you, he is the picture of composure, like the surface of the sea on a good day; but you feel the depths of his ferocity from the way he speaks, “Where is she?”

You smile. “Gone.” 

In an instant, he has your throat in his hand. 

Your face is serene, like your feet are not dangling in the air right now.

“What are you? A clone? A shapeshifter?”

Your smile stretches mockingly and you point at the fist around your neck. He slowly puts you down, but keeps his fingers around your throat. 

You show no signs of distress as you explain, “I forget how fast you can be.”

He crosses his arms, glaring. 

You chuckle. “She’s safe, don’t worry. I just wanted some time with you.”

His expression hardens.

“This Mark is too serious.” 

The statement has his brow twitching and he finally talks again. “You

..you’re not a clone or a shapeshifter.”

“Nope.”

“Where is she?”

“You’re not even going to ask why I’m here? I came all the way here for you.”

He puts his hands on your shoulders, head bowing. “Please…I’ll get you what you want, just give her back to me.”

You click your tongue.

flaxan, maskless, omni-mark

You no longer live in a single universe, rather, you both exist and not exist in every probability, but not as yourself. Time feels weird now. Your memories are still your own, but they have the tendency to mix with the others–there are versions of you that hated academics and stopped after high school, some didn’t like physics and preferred the arts, others simply could not afford college. Some of them look like you with maybe hair that’s two centimeters shorter, others don’t even have hair. Some are healthier, others are barely surviving.

You thought that maybe your Mark could be found, somewhere in the ocean of time. You cannot resurrect him, but you had hoped for a reunion of sorts, even if you had to settle for a mirror image.

Alas, you’ve been to countless reflections of your timeline and yet… you only found pieces of him in every Mark you met. Mere pieces. 

You watch from your cat box of existence and nonexistence as Mark reunites with you. And you. And you and you and you–

A foul-mouthed Mark is laughing but you can see the tears he tries to hide as he hugs you. The one who took up his hated father’s mantle is quiet, unwilling to let you go. The Mark whose pink skin is covered with indelible reminders of his incarceration, cries on your lap as you pat his head. Another Mark floats involuntarily and covers you in kisses. 

So many worlds where Mark Grayson is alive, where he loves you, but not you. Devoted to the point of irrationality. 

You smile. How foolish.

Truly foolish.

a/n: anon, as a certified addict of the world-hopping trope, i loved this prompt so much! i know it's not exactly as you had requested but i kept drawing blanks and this is all i could come up with in short notice. i thought about writing a scenario for each variant but i couldn't afford the delay. hope you all enjoyed it anyway.

Disclaimer: The image used in this post does not belong to writerclaire. It was lifted from: https://gamerant.com/invincible-all-alternate-dimension-invincibles-fates/

MASTERLIST | request rules | ask box

[devil-in-hiding]

(Im not sure if tumblr ate my ask the first time so I figured I’d resend - pls just ignore this if the other one did send 😖) hello!! I really love your writing and have re-read the on the run series maybe 100 times 😅 I normally never submit stuff since I’m not really a writer but I really loved your series and wanted to contribute! 😊

So I loved the idea of the boys adjusting to the security of the farm and getting all beefy and stuff as they settle in, but I was also thinking about farmer reader also starting to relax a little now that she’s got these guys to keep her company, protect, help, etc…. So she also starts putting on a lil bit and it drives the guys nuts 🫠

Like she goes to put on her regular sun dresses and price can’t help but notice how tight it fits her and shows off her figure. Gaz comes across her old clothes (and bras and stuff 👀) being put out to donate as she looks for bigger sizes. Ghost is standing behind her when she bends down to pick up something and can see the fabric stretch across her ass. Finally, soap walks in as she has to jump to put her now slightly too tight jeans on 👀👀👀

Anyway that’s all I had to contribute!! Love ur work (and you!! 😗) 😊💞💗

anon i adore this!! i am sorry i remember seeing this but i believe it got lost in the flood 😭😭

but YES! you have to cook for 5 now, and they’re big boys!! so big portions, and they scold you if you try to give yourself tiny portions, Price also refuses to let you make their plates (it’s a war because you like doing this for them, it’s.. domestic…)

Please if Price couldn’t keep his hands to himself before he is 10x worse seeing how some of your favorite little dresses hardly reach your knees anymore

all the boys watching you load up the truck with donation bags for the little thrift store in town, enjoying the way you hop to shove the last bag in the cab “gee guys, thanks for the help.”

however the sack with all your too small panties? oh those were free game that Gaz snatched right out of the burn pile and the four of them laid them out, snatching up their favorites

Ghost is the worst about putting things in high places so he can watch the way your tits bounce whilst trying to grab it, whining at him to “please just grab it for me! Ghost!”

Soap is the groper, can not control himself whenever you decide to slip onto the couch with him, pulling you to his chest as he adjust y’all’s positions until you were leaning back into him, his hands squeezing your belly appreciatively

ugh i love this and i do not have the brain cells to tell you how MUCH but they love watching their sweet little farmer plump up, tension easing from your shoulders ass the months start to blur together, no longer having to carry the whole farm by yourself

[chilling-seavey]

For the first TWIG argument, George jokingly said that the reader can go part time because he would not mind supporting her and she actually takes offense to that. It results in a huge argument between the two of you and you keep him out of your apartment. You guys go a few days without speaking to each other.

Oooh anon I knew I wanted to write a little something about their first fight but you iced the cake with this one. Ended up inspiring me to sit down and write this out for 3-hours straight. I also pulled some inspo from this anon too <3

Warnings: Angst, phone-call arguments, mentions of ex-girlfriends and social class differences etc.

For the first little while after you and George had started dating, your life didn’t feel much different. With him often traveling for races or having to be at his place in Monaco or at the factory in England, there wasn’t too much time where you and he could spend time face-to-face. But you had your apartment and your job at the luxury hotel at which you had met him a few months prior, the familiarity and stability of it offering comfort with your very private relationship being quite out of the ordinary. And, if nothing else, you and he shared phone calls and FaceTimes and a million texts to make up for the time apart. 

One night in particular, you had just returned to your apartment after a long shift at the hotel, barely managing to answer George’s incoming call as you stumbled through your front door with your jacket and bag in hand. You tucked your phone between your ear and your shoulder as you locked the door behind you with an exasperated, “Hey.”

“Hey, love,” George’s voice spoke warmly through the phone, “How was your day?”

You kicked off your heels, your feet donning fresh blisters, and you walked farther into your apartment to set your bag and jacket on the kitchen counter, “Exhausting. Yours?”

“The same. Aleix worked me to the bone today in the gym and then I have to get up early for my flight in the morning.”

You hummed in acknowledgement as you hung up your jacket in the front closet, phone still tucked between your ear and shoulder as you listened to him, still trying to switch your brain out of work mode. There was a bit of a pause as you arranged yourself in your apartment, George hearing the dull clunks of you putting your empty lunch containers away and loading the dishwasher.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?” he asked. 

“No, sorry,” you sighed, his tentative words having you realize that you had barely said a thing to him since you picked up the phone, “Sorry, I’m here. I literally just stepped in the door when you called so I’m still…”

“A little frazzled?” he finished your sentence for you with a playful understanding. 

“Yeah,” you exhaled and leaned back against the kitchen counter, “That’s a word for it.”

“That hotel would crumble without you.”

“After the insanity of today, I might stop modestly arguing with you on that point.”

There was a soft pause and then he spoke again, his voice warm and sweet, “I miss you.”

You closed your eyes and tilted your head back as if to let his words roll over you and ease your stresses from the day. You took a breath, “I miss you too.”

“I can’t wait until you can travel more with me.”

It was an innocent enough statement from him, something meant to be gentle and genuine, showing how much he loved spending time with you, but perhaps it was the implication behind it and the fact that you had an exhausting day that had you frowning slightly. You replied, “What do you mean?”

“Well, I know we haven’t talked about it yet but I was thinking that maybe by next season you could go down to part time so you can come to some more races with me.”

The offense that welled in your chest took you by surprise. 

“You want that?” you asked testingly. 

“Yeah, you know,” you heard him shifting through the line, “I think it would be nice. You don’t have to exhaust yourself so much at work and we can be with each other more…”

“I have bills, George,” you reminded him. You weren’t quite able to keep the curtness out of your voice. 

There was a pause as if he had been completely taken aback by your slight edge before he finally replied, cautious, slow, “Yes, well, I wouldn’t mind supporting you. I know it’s early but eventually I was thinking you’d move in with me in Monaco and—”

“Jesus,” you huffed in disbelief. 

“What?” 

“George, I’m not going to quit my job that I worked my ass off for and let you pay my bills just to parade around the world after you like a trophy wife…like…like some gold digger like your ex’s.”

“Hey,” George’s voice was firm now, “That’s not fair. Nor is it true.”

“Well, what do you want me to say?”

“They weren’t gold diggers, alright? That’s harsh of you to even say that.”

“That’s what you’re getting out of this? Seriously?” 

“Yes, because I know you’re just exhausted from work and we can talk about the money situation later and—”

“No, we won’t!” you cut him off, “Seriously, no, we won’t. I’m not quitting my job. End of discussion.” 

“But—”

“Why don’t you quit your job for me, huh?”

There was a pause and then the faintest disbelieving chuckle came through the line.

“Sounds insane to you, right? So why do you get to ask that of me?”

“Because my job can actually support us! You seriously think we could get by on a hotelier's salary? No, sorry, not even a hotelier: a front desk clerk.”

The belittling in his words was obvious to you, dripping like venom through the phone. Whether he intended to be cruel or not was irrelevant as you stood in the middle of your small apartment kitchen, phone tight in your hand, your heart already taking every syllable of his words as they came. 

“Wow, you really are an entitled asshole, huh?”

George’s disbelief was apparent in his slow, enunciated reply, “Pardon me?”

“I know very well that I am not part of your world—I don’t understand the protocols or the requirements or anything else that makes your job so damn important—but you don’t have the right to undermine all my hard work just because you make more money than me.”

“I’m not undermining your hard work.” George’s voice was flat, tired. 

“But you are,” you insisted. 

“Jesus Christ, love,” George groaned out a breath, rubbing his fingers over his forehead, “Okay, I’m not meaning to. You’re just always complaining about being so tired and unappreciated at work so I thought that you deserve to—”

“To be your lap dog?” you pushed back. 

“To have a fucking break!” George corrected firmly, his voice having raised a little in volume. 

There was a pause as his frustrated tone lingered through the line. 

You scoffed, “Sorry that I’m not the type of girlfriend you’re used to; who will roll over when you slide her a blank cheque. Sorry that I like to work hard and be self-sufficient, even if my job is grueling. Sorry that offends you.”

“You gotta stop with the ex-girlfriend slander, seriously, it’s so unattractive.”

It was your turn for your volume to raise, “Are you serious?!” 

“Yeah! You’re sounding petty and immature and jealous.”

“I’m not jealous. I’m trying to tell you that I’m not like—”

“Not like what? Not like other girls? ” he jumped in, taunting, angry, “Ooh, blimey, love, give it a rest. You work at a five-star luxury hotel and suddenly you think you’re entitled to the woe-is-me card. Having a job doesn’t make you special.”

“I’m not like the kind of girls that you are surrounded by all the time,” you corrected loudly, already pacing your apartment with the anger that squeezed at your heart, “And I am fine with that and I like who I am and I don’t mind that we have to keep our relationship this big fucking secret to the world but you don’t get it. You don’t get what it’s like to have a normal life.”

“I do! My dad is a—”

“Farmer. I know. But you’re telling me that as you’re sitting in your million-dollar apartment in the billionaire capital of the world with five custom luxury Mercedes in your parking garage and a bank account that has more digits than my phone number. You are so far out from reality now, you wouldn’t recognize it if it hit you in the face!”

“I’m sorry my career is such a fucking burden for you. I was just trying to do something nice.”

“No, you weren’t. You were being selfish.”

“Is that what you want to call generosity now? Selfish? Most women would love to be financially set for life. You want to struggle in the working class until you retire? Fine by me!”

“Yeah, thanks for taking part in my charity case. Good to know where your priorities were laying these last few months…deep in some fucking saviour complex.”

There was another momentary silence—one of those awful, sharp-edged ones that cut deeper than shouting. You could hear his breathing, heavy and uneven through the phone, like he was biting back a retort, and your chest burned tight with bitterness.

“You’re unbelievable,” he finally muttered, voice low and tight, “I’m trying, and nothing I do is ever fucking good enough for you.”

You let out a short, humorless laugh, rubbing a hand over your flushed face. “Because you don’t get it! You don’t get what it’s like to work your ass off for something all by yourself only to have someone look at you like you should just be grateful they’ve thrown you a bone that you didn't ask for.”

“That’s not fair.”

“You know, I never asked you for anything,” you went on, quieter now but no less angry. “Never asked for money, never asked for handouts, never wanted you or anyone around you to think I was using you. I never even asked for this relationship to be public, standing by and understanding the importance of privacy to you and your job. And all I wanted was for you to understand that our worlds are different. That I am different. But instead, you make me feel like that’s a bad thing.”

“Because you make it a bad thing,” he shot back. “You keep acting like I’ve done something wrong by wanting to take care of you or do something nice for you. You always decline anything I want to do for you if it involves money. You haven’t even let me take you to one of my races! It’s like this wall is constantly up around you, like you’re scared of money. It’s exhausting.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head even though he couldn’t see you, “Right. It’s so exhausting for you. Meanwhile, I’m trying not to be upset by the million fan edits of you and your ex that I constantly see everywhere…not to mention you still have photos together on your Instagram…Mercedes has pictures of her on their Instagram for some fucking reason.”

It slipped out before you could stop it, your voice cracking slightly on the last part, not because you cared about his ex. It was what she represented—what all of them represented. The polished, effortless, women who floated through his world and hung on his arm and accepted his money and his privilege like it was their right. The kind of women who never had to argue about whether accepting a blank cheque made them weak or practical. Maybe that was the real problem. Maybe it wasn’t just about money or privilege or the weight of keeping everything a secret. Maybe it was the fact that you had spent all this time trying to fit into his world while pieces of his past still lingered everywhere you looked.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” George muttered as if to himself, before letting out a humourless laugh, “I don’t even know what to say to that. Honestly, I have nothing to fucking say to that. I just can’t do anything right, can I? I can be as nice as I want to you and you’d still throw a tantrum about something or another. If you hate having to see my entire life plastered all over the internet, if you hate how out of touch I am, then maybe you should’ve thought about that before getting involved with me.”

Your stomach twisted, unable to hold back the stark words that slipped from your lips without thought, “Believe me, I think about that all the time.”

More silence. This time, it felt worse.

Finally, George spoke, his voice tight, “Right, well, I’m going to hang up now.”

“Fine,” you muttered sharply, “This was a waste of my night anyway.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

The dial tone droned in your ear. 

You didn’t hear from George for the rest of the night. Or the next day. Or the day after. That Friday, you sat on your couch and watched the F1 Free Practice sessions like you often would when you could but just the sight of George’s car and his stupid little “RUS” on the timing tower almost had you throwing your bowl of blueberries at the television. You turned it off. 

Work felt twice as hellish that week as George’s words stirred in your mind and your anxieties over the silence that followed your fight lingered. Had you broken up? There was no formal agreement about that but it sure fucking felt like a breakup. After your shift on Saturday, you trudged your way back to your apartment with a rain cloud over your head. 

Once you stepped out of the elevator into your hallway, you were surprised by the humongous bouquet of roses wrapped and waiting for you at your doorstep. You sighed and unlocked your door and awkwardly lugged the package inside and across the floor of your foyer, the fifty-someodd stems weighing a ridiculous amount. Lifting it up onto your kitchen counter, you didn’t have to even check the card to know who it was from but, you did anyway,

‘I’m sorry for being an entitled prick. I am always so proud of you and everything you do. Your biggest fan, GR x’

You sucked your teeth for a moment and set the small card down to look back at the cellophane wrapped roses. You took your time unwrapping them until the scent of the fresh cut stems filled your apartment and you leaned in to smell one, inhaling its refreshing perfume as if hoping it would calm you down. The anger still lingered in your chest but you knew this was a peace offering of sorts, an olive branch, so you took out your phone and called him. As the line rang, you stared flatly at the bouquet. 

George’s voice came through the line, tentative, “Hey.”

You took a small breath before answering, your voice flat but tinged with just a hint of lightheartedness, “Don’t know if you remember but our whole fight was about how I don’t want your money and then you go and order me the biggest bouquet of flowers known to man.”

George chuckled faintly through the phone, “Yeah, now that you say that, it might have been in bad taste.”

There was a pause, both of you not quite knowing what to say to make it all better, neither wanting to speak first. 

“They’re beautiful though,” you said softly after a beat. 

“I’m really am sorry. I felt like right shit after we hung up.” George said, “I shouldn’t have assumed what you would want for your own life. I know how much you love your job…even when it gets on your nerves.”

“Thank you,” you sighed, reaching out with your free hand to touch one of the silky rose petals, “And I’m sorry for getting so upset about it. I know you didn’t mean it maliciously.” 

His voice was as soft as the rose petal beneath your fingertips, “Of course not, my love.”

“Just like you worked so hard to get to F1, I worked so hard to get this job too. A prestigious hotel in another country? Like, that’s what my dreams were made of.”

“I know. I’m so sorry. I know how important your job is to you. I shouldn’t have brushed it aside like that without talking to you first.” George acknowledged, “And, if it’s any consolation, I think it’s incredibly sexy that you’re so passionate about your job.”

An amused smile pricked at your lips, “Oh really?”

“Yes,” he chuckled. 

You let out a calm breath as the tension eased from your shoulders, finding comfort in the conversation with him. 

“And I deleted the pictures from my Instagram feed.”

Your eyes widened slightly in surprise, not having expected him to say that, “Oh, you didn’t have to. You were right, I was just being petty and dramatic—”

George cut you off gently, “No, it’s okay. I know how it would feel to me if it were the other way around…and that wouldn’t have even had them spread all over the internet. I know we can’t avoid a lot of the reminders, but I want to do my part in lessening them where I can. You’re my girl, okay? My one and only.”

“Thank you,” your voice was hardly recognizable with how soft it was, how full of emotion. Your heart did a funny little flip in your chest.

“But, listen to me, darling, at least take some of your vacation days.” George spoke, softly yet sternly, “You never use any of them and you’re going to burn yourself out. Book off the weekend for whatever race you want to go to and I’ll get you a pass. Any of them. Please?”

He was right, unfortunately. You never liked to use your vacation days, always thinking it made you look like a lackluster employee, always wanting to give 110% at any and all times. The genuine care in his request didn’t go unnoticed, and after such a hellish week, having a little vacation and time to reconnect with him sounded quite appealing.

You exhaled deeply, “Okay, fine. But I’m buying you dinner next time I see you. A really nice place too.”

Knowing he wasn’t going to sway you and your desperate attempts to even the playing field, he chucked and gave in, “Whatever you want, my love. I just want you to be happy.”

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[urween]

Bloody Lamb | Bucky Barnes x ftm!reader | english version

summary: Bucky would never have imagined that his neighbor was carrying a heavy load on his shoulders. However, he discovers scars on the latter, and thus his vision changes radically.

notes: the temporality is located in a mix of beginning and end of FATWS series; reader operated on the torso

⚠︎ warnings: strong mention/description of mutilation and scars, mention of dysphoria, traumas linked to Hydra

special thanks and credits to @sparrow-the-tired-lesbian who nicely helped me with this story's translation because it was originally written in french, my native language.

french version here

- 1 804 words - 2nd person description

You were just next-door neighbors. He knew you by sight, knew how to define your silhouette and your height, as he could do with his other neighbors. Maybe he also recognized your voice when it echoed in the common corridor, like when Mrs. Jones shouted at her cats running away on the landing. He knew you without knowing you, that fine line that separated so many things and that was not held by anything. Maybe an insistent look from you would turn the weather vane, maybe not. But he knew all his neighbors because whether he wanted to or not he retained the information that emerged from individuals. A soldier had to be able to identify his victims in a crowd. He kept marks, more or less deep cracks that interfered with his daily life. If he hadn’t been the Winter Soldier, surely his mind would never have noticed Mrs. Jones’ slight limp, the smell that came out of Larry’s every Tuesday night, or the particular timbre of your voice. But he did it with everyone, you weren’t special. It would have been special if he could recognize the shoes you wore based on the wet marks left on your soles, the habit you had of always putting your cell phone in your left pocket, or the song you’d been listening to on repeat for the past few days. Then, you would have been special. More than a neighbor on the landing, you could have been his little obsession, the main object of a tease from his friend Sam for example. But that wasn’t the case until now.

“I’m lucky to have you,” the old man murmured.

Yori Nakajima was the neighbor you got along with best. Funny, sweet, and welcoming, you immediately felt at ease with him. Brooklyn was a big city and you had only been here for a short time, so Yori had helped you get familiar with the surroundings. In exchange, you would go see him once or twice a week. You talked most of the time, he would tell you about his youth and the kindness of his late son, and sometimes he would even teach you how to play Go.

"You have more and more fans," you smiled, pointing to a bouquet in the corner of the living room.

As he had done with you, Nakajima often helped young people who were a little lost. He gave them the support they needed so that they could then explore the city on their own. Over the years, he ended up having a small reputation in the neighborhood, and many of his old friends still came to visit him.

"These are irises, my favorite," he explained to you, "a neighbor brought me some this morning."

You leaned over to the coffee table to pour yourself some more tea. The wafting scent of the flowers reached you as you let your back rest against the back of the chair again.

"I thought you had a girlfriend."

Yori chuckled as much as his great age allowed him, nodding to thank you for the tea.

"I'm quite alone, and you and the others keep me company," he confided to you before changing the subject, "but I had an idea about that."

You saw the question coming before the old man could even open his mouth again.

"No, no lovers for me Yori, I already told you," you sighed with a smile.

"You're going off on a tangent right away, who told you I was going to talk about love?” He explained to get your attention again, “I simply think it would be good for you to make friends, and the young man I'm talking about would be a great match for you."

He had been trying for two or three weeks to get you to meet new people because according to him you were too lonely. However, you had explained to him the reasons for this social distancing, he had understood, while suffering too. But he said that time always healed wounds and smoothed out the deep cracks, that you had to open yourself up to life to enjoy it. You understood that, really, but the stability you had finally managed to find couldn't be destroyed, you didn't want to have to rebuild everything.

“You two look a lot alike,” Yori’s wise voice echoed one last time, “hiding in your burrows.”

They weren't fluorescent, or noisy. They didn't attract attention, going unnoticed. Yet one glance at them and the decibels in the room exploded for you. In the past, you would never have imagined that scars could be so talkative. But they were, they proudly recounted their heavy sorrows to remind you that nothing was ever acquired. Everything could disappear overnight, everything could collapse in a fraction of a second. One wrong step, and you would fall back. The wrong person and all your efforts would be reduced to nothing. Living alone wasn't easy every day, but this way you avoided mistakes. No one could predict the reaction of a stranger, while yours was controllable. You knew what not to do, not to mention, the others didn't know it and by the time they understood it could already be too late.

Yori knew about your operation, he knew that you had two beautiful scars on your chest, but it had taken time. It had taken you time. The old man didn't know more, he guessed the darkness that you kept to yourself but he knew someone else in your case, and talking about it didn't always help. Other people knew about your trans identity, you couldn't hide it and you didn't want to anyway. But it remained there, no one went beyond that barrier.

It had also taken you time to let your other scars out in the open. But you quickly realized that no one noticed them. They weren't fluorescent or noisy to them. Hidden on your thighs, dull enough that a curious eye would simply think they were stretch marks. Who would have paid attention? For this reason, you could once again appreciate any clothing revealing these marks. You could wear a simple t-shirt or sweatshirt as pajamas with boxers, and take out the trash in this outfit. You rarely ran into anyone, and even if you did, they didn't pay attention.

However, you didn't expect to come face-to-face with your neighbor on the landing. A man – quite attractive, it had to be admitted – about your age who had a mysterious aura around him since you arrived, as well as gloves. You suspected Yori of wanting to set you up with him, that it was the famous "young man with irises". He came to see your friend very often, you had even crossed paths with them at the bar downstairs from your place the other day. Barnes, that was his name, you had read it on the mailbox next to yours. You didn't know anything more about him and it had never bothered you.

"Good evening,” your neighbor's grainy voice echoed.

You smiled at him, murmuring a polite formula in return, as the rules of society required. With your trash bag in hand, you opened the brown storage lid before throwing your waste in. You didn't expect anything else, there was nothing more to expect, you didn't know each other. So you turned around, smiling at him kindly before closing the exterior door of the building.

But he didn't move, his eyes fixed on the void that a few seconds before had been filled by your thighs. You had scars.

Overnight, you became special. He recognized your footprints, your habits, and your songs. His ears picked up without his consent the slightest noises that passed through the barrier of the walls separating you.

Bucky had seen many scars, first as an American soldier, then as the Winter Soldier. The memories had taken time to come back but those linked to Hydra had never left. Eyelids closed, he still saw those distorted smiles, those pulsing veins. He still saw all those innocents repatriated to these basements as he had been, he saw them gradually lose hope. He still saw the last traces of life leave their lively eyes, he still heard their screams. Closing his eyes, he imagined himself again lying on the camp bed that had been assigned to him. He could imagine again the thoughts that crossed his mind, the last ones seeming to belong to him. I hope they die, he said to himself at the time, regarding his future peers, I hope they never see what I see. Death was a beautiful escape from the prisons of Hydra. If he could have, he would have succumbed to it, but he had been too precious.

He had seen many scars, but never like yours. A torn face, a leg in pieces, or a dog bite were endured, not chosen.

The metal weapon that served as his arm had not been chosen by him at the start. The red star that had adorned it had been imposed on him. The arm he wore today had been chosen by him, but the wound that caused it was nothing but torture. Whether it was an accident or a voluntary act, scars had never been anything but torture in his eyes. Why inflict them on ourselves? Why cut our flesh with our own hands?

They were dull, almost completely blending into your skin, but he had seen them. They had jumped out at him.

He wasn't a nurse, much less a doctor, but he knew how to recognize these kinds of things. It wasn't a cat or some accident that had caused these marks, it was you alone. The place, the depth, the angle. It was mutilation, and he had strangely never seen that.

By dint of seeing only horrors, deaths, attacks, and more, Bucky ended up forgetting the others. Those who suffered without showing it, who cried in silence. Not everyone had an arm missing or purple skin to show their misfortunes. He had the example of Yori, but he had never noticed that in you. Unconsciously, he liked imagining a happy being living next to him, maybe you could have contaminated him? But he forgot that even the gentlest of lambs had suffered.

He wanted to get to know you, he needed to know you

images : Pinterest

dividers : @/thecutestgrotto, @/strangergraphics and @/pommecita

[mim16s]

Dangerous woman

Bruce Wayne x Singer!Reader

Bruce Wayne hated being there. An upscale bar, dull conversation, and sycophantic partners — all part of the PR package he loathed. But then she stepped onto the stage. Hypnotic, confident, with a voice that felt more like a spell. He didn’t know her, but the moment their eyes met, he knew he couldn’t leave without truly getting to know her.

I was thinking about making this story a trilogy, since I have some cool ideas for it. Let’s see how it performs, if you guys like it, I will continue!

English isn't my first language, so there might be some spelling mistakes.

He hated being there. Damn it, he had practically been forced to join that thing under the excuse that it was "good for business." They said the closer he was to the partners, the better it would be for Wayne Enterprises. So, they arranged to meet at an expensive Gotham bar — the kind of place only the elite frequented. But everything was so unbearably boring that he genuinely considered leaving and to hell with business.

–Have you guys seen who’s performing tonight? – one of them asked, twirling a ridiculously expensive drink in his hand with a crooked smile.

–Y/N– He added, his grin widening in a lewd way.

–Dude, she’s hot. They say her voice is like a siren’s.

— I’ve seen her sing, I can confirm. She’s hypnotizing- said another.– I got hard just watching her — the voice, the body, the face... she’s a goddess. I’d pay a fortune for one night with her.

Bruce paid more attention now, despite hating the way they spoke about her like she was an object. Still, he was curious

–And you, Mr. Wayne, have you ever seen her? – one of the partners asked.

–No – he answered dryly.

– Well, tonight you’re about to find out what paradise is like.

Bruce shrugged, detached from the disgusting conversation still going on around him. He simply sipped his drink, silently wishing time would speed up and bring the socially acceptable moment for him to get up and disappear through the door.

That was when the sound of a microphone being turned on caught his attention. Some people stood and excitedly moved closer to the stage.

–Good evening, everyone, our star of the night is ready for another show- someone announced enthusiastically.

Applause and whistles echoed through the room, and then she appeared. Bruce saw her step out from behind the curtain with a captivating smile and elegant waves. For a moment, time seemed to stop.

He had never seen someone so mesmerizing. Her curls fell over her shoulders, framing her face like something hand-drawn. Her makeup highlighted each feature perfectly, and the red lipstick made her lips look like a forbidden invitation. The dress hugged her curves precisely, and the heels added a touch of sensuality to each step. It was impossible to look at you and not think: how could a woman be this divine?

–Hello, everyone. I hope you're excited for the show.– Your voice filled the room, sweet and firm, prompting more applause and cheers.

Bruce’s heart picked up speed.

–What do you say we sing together?– you asked, smiling as you held the mic tighter.

The instrumental began, and the moment your voice filled the air, Bruce was certain: he could spend the rest of his life listening to you sing and never get tired.

Don’t need permission

Made my decision to test my limits

Cause it’s my business

God as my witness, start what I finished

Don’t need no hold up

You sang, and everyone’s attention was on you, but it didn’t seem to faze you. Your voice flowed sweet and powerful. The stage felt like your home — you moved and interacted with the crowd and the band with such ease. He couldn’t help but admire it — your confidence, his eyes locked on you.

Taking control of this kind of moment

I’m locked and loaded

Completely focused, my mind is open

Bruce felt his heart race. Your voice... it was a spell he didn’t want to resist. He practically wished to fall under your enchantment.

All that you got, skin to skin

Oh, my God, don’t you stop, boy

Without realizing, his feet moved, ignoring the men calling after him asking where he was going. He headed for the bar closest to the stage. The music flowed like it was part of you, and every note sent into the air seemed to pull him closer.

Something ‘bout you

Makes me feel like a dangerous woman

Your eyes scanned the crowd, recognizing the familiar faces of regulars, and the strangers who looked just as entranced. But one in particular caught your attention — eyes staring at you with intensity. It was different from the hungry, filthy looks you’d gotten used to ignoring. That man wasn’t devouring you. He was watching you with admiration — curious, enchanted.

You smiled back at him, returning his gaze, feeling butterflies in your stomach from the intensity before you turned toward the other side of the stage.

Something ‘bout you

Makes me wanna do things that I shouldn’t

You kept singing, but your eyes drifted back to that handsome man from time to time. He looked at you with such admiration that you couldn’t help yourself — it was like you were singing just for him.

Bruce felt the impact of your gaze straight in his chest. That wasn’t fleeting attraction; it was unlike anything he’d ever felt. It wasn’t about the dress, or your body, or the lipstick. It was the way you owned the space effortlessly, how your voice carried emotion in every syllable, how your eyes seemed to read his across the crowd.

You sang a few more songs before the final chord rang out. Applause filled the venue as you thanked the audience with a smile and left the stage to head backstage. Bruce followed you with his eyes until the last possible second, and then, the silence that came after your absence was deafening.

He ran a hand over his face, trying to collect himself. He, Bruce Wayne, shaken like that by someone he barely knew? That was far from normal.

But then again, you weren’t.

He couldn’t resist.

He needed to understand what was happening. He stood and walked toward the backstage area. Of course, being Bruce Wayne made things easier — just one word and the security guard let him through as if he owned the place.

You were seated in front of the vanity, a glass of water in your hand, shoulders slightly damp from the effort. Still smiling, wrapped in the good energy from another show. This was what you loved.

But the soft footsteps behind you made you turn... and there he was.

Taller than you expected. And even more handsome up close than in any photo.

–You sing like an angel – he said, his voice deep and husky, hitting you hard.

You smiled, and he faltered for a second. He looked like a teenager completely smitten.

–Thank you, Mr. Wayne–you replied, standing and walking over to him. The height difference was staggering, and you had to tilt your head up to meet his eyes. God, he must be close to two meters tall.

–You know who I am?– he asked, half-teasing.

–Hard not to. You’re on every channel in Gotham- you said with a sharp smile.–What brings the famous Bruce Wayne here tonight?

–A business meeting Informal.- he replied with a light grimace. – I hated every second. But now... I’m glad I didn’t leave earlier. I would’ve missed the chance to hear you sing.

–I’m flattered to hear that.

–Now even to your dressing room, the desire to know you more deeply

You blushed slightly but quickly composed yourself.

–Would you join me for a drink?- he asked, no pretense. Almost desperate for a few more minutes with you.

–And your partners? Won’t they mind you disappearing?

–They’ll deal with it. I only care about the fact that you’re still here –he said, eyes locked on yours.

You let out a soft laugh, a bit shy, but charmed.

–Sure... why would I turn down an invitation like that?

He smiled, and in a natural gesture, held out his hand. You took it — and let him lead you toward the bar, where the night, apparently, was just beginning.

The bar wasn’t as full as before; it had thinned out after your performance, the buzz quieter now, but the soft lighting and background music created an almost intimate atmosphere.

Bruce chose a corner table, away from curious eyes.

He pulled out a chair for you, which you thanked him for and sat down.

–So...– he began, as the waiter brought the drinks. – How long have you been singing?

–Since i was a kid, I think. Before I even understood what a musical note was, I was turning my house into a stage and making my mom watch, –  you replied with a nostalgic smile. – But it’s only in the last few years that I’ve made a living from it. Gotham is tough on many people, including artists. It wasn’t easy getting to sing in a bar like this.

— They recognized your talent. Your voice is far too enchanting to stay hidden — he said, without taking his eyes off you.

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, but kept your composure. You weren’t easily intimidated, but that gaze... it was as if he could see beyond what you showed.

— And you? — you asked, playfully. — Have you always been the mysterious, charming billionaire in the tabloids?

— Charming? — he raised an eyebrow, slightly amused. — That’s a new one.

— Hard to believe no one’s told you that before.

— Maybe... but it’s never sounded as good as it does now. — he replied, his deep voice making the words feel more intimate than they should.

— Can I ask you something? — he said, more serious now.

— Sure.

— When you were singing... it felt like you were looking right at me. Was that just my imagination?

You hesitated for a second. But decided not to lie.

— It wasn’t. You had this... intense look. It caught my attention.

Bruce gave a slight, satisfied smile.

— Good to know the feeling was mutual. Now I just want to find out everything I can about you... if you’ll let me.

His gaze was intense, and you wanted to savor every second. The conversation between you flowed like you’d known each other forever, so effortless and captivating that you barely noticed time passing. The bar, once crowded and noisy, was now nearly empty — it was practically just the two of you and the distant sound of ambient music.

— I should go... — you murmured, glancing around. — This late, getting a cab is going to be nearly impossible.

— I can take you home. — he offered, without hesitation.

— I don’t want to be a bother...

— What kind of man would let you walk out alone at this hour in a city like Gotham? — he raised an eyebrow, a faint smile on his lips. — And honestly, I’d love a few more minutes with you.

The way he said it made your heart race. You smiled, finally giving in.

With your bag in hand, you followed him to the car — and almost sighed at the sight of the luxurious model parked there. Not even in your wildest dreams did you imagine stepping into a car like that. Bruce opened the door for you, his hand warm and firm as it lightly touched your back to help you in. It was a simple gesture, but so intimate it made you hold your breath for a second.

The ride was peaceful. The city passed by outside, but inside the car, the world felt quiet and calm. The conversation remained light, full of smiles and lingering looks that lasted a beat longer than necessary. It was like there was a bubble around the two of you — and for some reason, it felt like the only place you were meant to be.

When you arrived, Bruce was quick to get out and open the door for you like a gentleman. Your home was simple, but cozy. He looked around for a moment, curious, before turning his gaze back to you.

— Thank you for bringing me home. — you said, a genuine smile on your lips.

— Thank you for letting me. — he replied, eyes locked on yours.

For a moment, silence fell between you again. But this time, it was full of possibilities.

His eyes were fixed on you, and there was something in them… like he was memorizing you from the inside out.

— Are you always this much of a gentleman, or are you just trying to impress me? — you asked, tilting your head slightly, arms crossed in a casual gesture, but with a teasing smile on your lips.

He smirked before replying provocatively:

— Only when it's worth impressing.

— Oh... so I’m special? — you raised an eyebrow. — And here I thought Bruce Wayne didn’t get shaken.

— I don’t. Usually. — he said. — But you... you’re not exactly easy to ignore.

You took a step closer, locking eyes with him. Your gaze danced between his eyes and mouth, teasing.

— You sure you don’t say that to everyone you meet?

— Only to one in particular. — He moved in closer, now so near you could feel the warmth of his body. — And even then, I still feel like I’m not saying enough.

— Hmm... — you lightly bit your lip, then smiled mischievously. — Maybe you’ll need to do more to convince me.

— Oh, yeah? — he smiled, now even closer — close enough that one more step and you’d be pressed against him. — And what should I do about that?

You looked at him with a sweet, wicked glint in your eyes, rising up on your toes to whisper in his ear:

— Surprise me.

He felt the hairs on his body stand on end, and didn’t hesitate before closing the gap, pulling you by the waist. You instinctively rose on your toes again as he leaned in and met your soft lips. When it happened, it felt like everything fell into place — it felt right, the two of you, as if the universe had held its breath waiting for this exact moment.

The kiss was intense. His hands gripped you firmly, and yours found their place on his neck and face, almost trying to pull him even closer, even though you were practically already fused together. It was insane how much you wanted him, and he felt the same, just as intensely.

Every second of that kiss screamed that you were made for each other, like the rest of the world simply faded away for a moment. Time stopped, and all that remained was the heat, the touch, and the desire.

It was something he had never felt before. The kiss lasted until you both had to break away for air — but you didn’t pull apart. His arms were still wrapped tightly and possessively around you.

— So, did I manage to convince you?

You laughed, touching his chest with a single finger, light and teasing.

— You’re doing pretty well… but I have a feeling you can do better.

He chuckled low, shaking his head.

— This is a dangerous game.

— I like to think I’m a dangerous woman... remember? — you winked.

And that’s when Bruce Wayne knew he was completely lost and that he needed you.

Part 2???

[takes1]

p.2 bratty tsukishima x manager!reader enemies to lovers

warnings. nsfw. m!masturbation at the end. midterms mentioned. minors DNI content. misinterpretation of emotions. tsukki not knowing how to handle a crush. enemies to lovers. or maybe enemies with benefits, i haven't decided yet. manager!reader. tsukki being so incredibly horny. tsukki not understanding facial expressions. sexual frustration. male masturbation + implied previous. kiyoko being a friend. yachi being a friend. 1.7k words notes. 3 more parts planned! ask to be added to the taglist if you don't want to miss one! links. PART ONE HERE. PART THREE . PART FOUR. FINAL PART. masterlist for mha. my ao3. masterlist for haikyuu

Despite your iced latte being mostly just water by now, you still sucked it down in desperation to get every ounce of caffeine you could. Midterms were just around the corner and one of your most difficult classes involved writing a 10-page scientific paper.

You had the whole semester to do it, so the dread you felt now was the amalgamation of months' worth of opportunity that you could've and should've used to work on it.

Thankfully, you didn't have to churn the majority of this thing out alone.

"What the hell does ameliorate mean." Kiyoko asked, though her soft frustration was starting to sound more like a statement now.

Yachi took every opportunity she could to stop doing her work, including this one. For her, there was less pressure to do perfectly on her finals since she had another two years to get those top marks.

She scanned her laptop screen for a moment, lips perched on the lid of her strawberry refresher: "Ameliorate means... To... make something bad or unsatisfactory better."

Kiyoko muttered something about how it still didn't make sense. Of course it wouldn't- she was taking an organic chemistry course.

The plan as it stood now was to rot in this spot all day until hunger moved you, so you all made an event out of it by putting on something cute, grabbing some coffees and pastries from a cafe nearby, and settling into this local library.

It wasn't planned, but you all simultaneously chose to wear skirts and cute summer tops. The mutual reaction of humor helped ease the pain of having to study all day. Suffering together was preferable to suffering alone.

The chance finally came again to stretch your legs and find another vaguely relevant reference to add to your bibliography.

With a rewarding, careful stretch, you rose out of your chair and took your time walking up and down the aisles to find something to support the fifth theory you'd written about so far.

Midterms were one stressor, but you weren't afforded the privilege of having tunnel vision over it.

Qualifiers were just around the corner, and you had the Tokyo training camp to prepare a load of equipment and personnel logs for.

As you selected a thick novel from a shelf above your head, you let out a small sigh.

The front matter described a concept you could start to look into and fluff up to your liking for the paper. Your mind fell back to the team, and how you wanted to do well on these exams so you'd have less to worry about going to Tokyo.

The side of your face was growing warm, probably from the East-facing window to your left, so you raised the back of a cold hand to cool yourself down.

You were just deciding to take this book back when, in the process of dropping your hand, you caught a blur of blond hair and glasses in the corner of your eye.

Your stomach jolted, heart starting to race, and an uncontrollable surprise took over your features.

Tsukishima was sitting, leaned over a table on his elbows, his head twisted all the way to the side to look at you over his shoulder.

You quickly looked back to the shelf and sucked in a breath. God, that must've looked so lame- you regretted every millisecond of that reaction and prayed he wouldn't ever bring it up.

He hated you. You didn't want anything to do with him. There was no pleasant exchange to get out of saying hello, or even acknowledging each other. It's not like you were friends.

Why was he even here? You started to get worried, but realized that he did ride the same train back with you after practice in the evenings.

Now you were really remembering. He got off one stop before yours and always moved to create the most space possible between you. You usually didn't see him again until he got off. Even then, you didn't care enough to look for him anymore.

You glanced back to him, expecting to now have to speak to him after you'd exchanged a mutual acknowledgment of each other's presence.

He was staring. But... that wasn't exactly the right word for it.

He was distracted. You wondered if he knew who you were, because you'd never seen him stare at you for more than a few seconds.

His brow wasn't pinched like usual. It was relaxed- in fact, everything about him was relaxed. The way his head was held in his hand, the loose grasp on his pencil, the subtle part of his lips. The lazy, yet measured scan of his eyes.

There was a reddish tint at the tips of his ears and highest points of his cheeks. It was astoundingly easy to notice, since he was so fair-skinned.

A strong chill ran up your spine when he finally made eye contact with you. Even then, it took a glance down to the book clasped against your chest, then back up for him to really notice your gaze and stiffen right up.

That new side of him vanished in an instant. It was replaced with a brief, stone-cold glower before he turned back to his own midterm work.

On the stiff walk back to your table, you smoothed your skirt out and pulled on the edge a bit before sitting back down.

It took a minute of silent sitting to even begin to unpack what you felt.

"Do I look stupid?"

Yachi instantly piped up, "Of course not! You're very pretty!"

"You really shouldn't waste your breath asking," Kiyoko glanced up at you.

It was brief but it rested your immediate insecurities.

"Why?" Yachi, once again, wanted nothing more than to just hang out and talk.

Another surge of chills. It was sickening.

You put your head in your hands, elbows on the table. "Mm-mm, it's just-..." You thought to tell them, but held back at the last second, "I dunno."

Another big sigh and you were back to typing to take your mind off of it. You'd have plenty of time to see what this spun into once you were free from this academic prison. It was too confusing right now.

Kiyoko didn't read into it, but Yachi lingered until 1) it was obvious you simply didn't want to disclose and 2) an abnormally tall boy from school walked past your table. She watched him watch you on his way towards the exit.

Her eyes narrowed with keen intuition.

the keen intuition in question:

Kei felt himself practically melt against the closed door of his bedroom. Breathless from a difficult and quick walk home, he fumbled with the tie of his sweatpants and the lock on the door concurrently.

"Finally," He sighed with a desperate laugh, "Fuck..."

His bag hit the floor with a sharp and careless thump. He stepped over it and fell onto his back on his mattress, a long arm stretched toward his side table for some lotion.

It was useless trying to study after that. Library or home, it didn't matter unless he could fuck this one out.

This time he didn't have to stalk your Instagram to spark his imagination; it was already running rampant with filthy ideas of what he'd do to you in that short skirt.

An ignored, aching erection sprang out of his waistband as he pushed it down and out of the way.

Light grey sweatpants had (for the first time in his life) ended up being a shit idea. All he could worry about on the 20 minute walk back was if anyone could see the tip of his cock tucked up just under his shirt.

Every shirt was too short. Every pair of pants was too big in the middle.

His slippery hand was beautiful relief. He was quick to get himself lubricated, and quicker to pump in slow, twisting motions to the image of you reaching, reaching, reaching up to that book on your tippy toes.

All the worry in his tight brow washed away in crashing waves of steady-growing pleasure.

Soon he didn't care about the harrowing journey home, the threat of midterms, nor the growing dread of that training camp.

It was just you.

It felt like fate that he got the only chance anyone might ever have to see the curve of your ass just under the hem of your skirt. You were able to get that book all too quickly.

If everything were different, he would've gotten it for you. You would've thanked him, kissed him on the cheek- he would've pulled you in for a heated, raunchy kiss with a hand palming you closer. He would've savored the view of you spread on the table for him -homework long forgotten- and his massive hand over your mouth to keep you quiet. It was a library, after all.

He seethed and stalled for a moment--, "a-ahh- Mm..."

His cock twitched hard with the need to cum, but he stopped just soon enough.

An oversized hand was holding the base; he looked at his other dry one, then closed his eyes in an eager but fruitless attempt to visualize just how they'd look on your thighs. Fuck, anywhere at this point.

Just one touch, that's all he wanted. He never let himself get close enough to even consider it, but my god, the internal struggle he made to stay away was commendable.

His tight, lightly sweaty stomach flexed with effort as he slowed down again.

You were so quick to switch up when it came to him. He could tell he had a special place in your heart, the way your lips pursed into a small frown and your eyes narrowed when he tested you.

It was out-of-this-world cute from his vantage point. A smile might just kill him.

"Mmm, fu-ck," He croaked, mind circling back to today.

His chest swelled with a shaky inhale- he smirked at the thought of you finding out about his terrible secret, how you would punish him for his unprofessional behavior. You were so pretty when you got mad.

The breath caught in his throat. He wasn't even thinking about the skirt when he finally came all over his stomach. Just that pretty face of yours did it for him.

taglist:

@hotvinimon @cyzvx @aloveablechaos @kozumesphone

thanks for the support!!

reply to be added!

[sunsetchicane]

I love your post card series! Could I request Oscar with rodeo reader where they’re penpals and Oscar subscribes to the cowboy channel (that’s actually what it’s called) to watch his penpal and rodeo reader starts to watch f1 and then she gets invited to Austin?

love letters [OP81]

oscar piastri x fem!barrel racer!reader [from southern US]

word count: 4.2k

summary: The one where you meet a certain racing driver as you're both starting your careers and you decide to keep in touch.

warnings: fluff, fluff, oh and a little more fluff! angst maybe if you squint and tilt your head

author's note: To my dearest anon, this is MY love letter to YOU. Thank you for requesting this and letting me write about the rodeo; it brought me back to when I was just a little girl and was oddly healing?? Sorry for being a sap lol! I hope this is to your liking :) Feedback, comments, reposts, and likes are always appreciated!!! Peace and love babes. [xoxo elle]

“Speed. Agility. Determination. This barrel racing pair is one for the ages and the crowd here today knows it,” Janie Johnson says, a bright smile on her face while she stares down the barrel of the camera.

She turns her attention over shoulder when the crowd’s cheers hit a crescendo. You’ve just rode out into the arena, the American flag streaming by your side while you gallop around. Chants and cheers of your name fly from the mouths of onlookers, swallowing everything into a thunderous roar. For this moment, the entire world is yours. The other top riders follow you out into the dirt of the arena, hands waving and smiles flashing. There’s nothing quite like being at the rodeo. 

“And there she is, our winner today and her beautiful horse, Sweet Tea,” Janie says, unable to look away from the way you and your horse run the perimeter. You take your time, soaking up the glory of another win. 

You fly through your post-race duties, one thought constant in your mind: you have to write your letter to Oscar. It’s sort of a silly tradition, but you’ve been doing it for ages. After a rodeo weekend or a race weekend for him, you both would write each other a letter explaining everything in careful detail. You loved it. Even though the information about the rodeo and the race would be released ages before the letters arrived in your respective mailboxes, it was still amazing to hear about things from his perspective and explain your’s to him.

So, once everything is loaded up and you’re back on the road, you lean yourself back in your seat with a pen and pad of paper in your lap trying to put everything you’re feeling into words. Though your sports were different in a lot of ways, there were similarities that pulled the two of you together. The pressure, the adrenaline, the rush of a win. It’s what made you two so close even though there were vast oceans separating you. 

As you write, you can’t help but reminisce on the first time you ever wrote one of these letters. It was years ago, just as you started pro barrel racing. It was a rodeo early in the season. You were dressed and ready for your pool. Sweet Tea was edgy and nervous and so were you. You were the rookie pair that year, just a five year old horse and an 18 year old jockey. You remember that you felt way in over your head that day as you watched the vets take on the arena. 

To ease both of your nerves, you led Sweet Tea on a walk. Whispering to her with your head low, you didn’t even notice the group walk up in front of you. The voice of your manager made you tip your head up, looking at him under the brim of your hat. He smiled at you and introduced you to a group of young, thin, pale looking boys. He explained that they were from a Formula 3 team called Prema. You’d never heard of Formula anything before.

Your manager led the group of boys away after some small talk. They were nice enough, but you didn’t need any distractions. Just as the last of the boys followed your manager to your stalls, you thought you were free to go about walking Sweet Tea again.

“What’s your horse's name?” An unfamiliar voice with an unfamiliar accent said. You don’t get much for foreign accents at the rodeo, so it took you by surprise. Your eyes met his brown ones. His brown hair was cut short on the sides and the top drooped down over his forehead. He donned a white t-shirt that displayed the word “PREMA” in red, coupled with a pair of blue jeans and sneakers. It was the first of the few times that you’d seen Oscar Piastri in person. The memory lives clear and bright in your mind.

“Sweet Tea,” you answered him in a clipped voice. You were still uppity about your impending race and Oscar was quickly becoming a distraction. 

“Sweet Tea,” he echoed while taking a few steps closer. Tightening your grip on her reins, you waited for her to spook. 

“Wait-” you began to warn Oscar as he crept in closer. But you were swiftly cut off when all Sweet Tea did was bray and huff at him. You were nothing short of shocked. She rarely took to anyone, but she seemed to immediately like him. It made you curious.

“You can pet her, if you want,” you encouraged him while continuing to gauge Sweet’s reaction. Together, the two of you stroked the soft brown of her coat. You could tell that her mood was suddenly a lot sunnier, the moodiness exiting her body as you and Oscar brushed your hands over her.

“What’s your name?” you asked after a while. 

“Oscar,” he replied, his eyes darting up to meet yours over Sweet Tea’s head. For a moment, you studied his face. He looked perfectly calm, peaceful even, in the intense atmosphere that surrounded you. It didn’t surprise you that Oscar’s tranquil nature helped to set Sweet’s nerves at ease. His demeanor was even helping you. 

“She likes you,” you said, giving him a small smile while you dragged your hand over your horse’s nose.

“I hope so,” he said, his eyes flicking from you to Sweet and then back up. 

Everything after that was history.

You and Sweet Tea ran better than you ever had, placing in the top three. It was your best result yet and set you up for success for the rest of the weekend. You saw Oscar every day of the rodeo. He would stop by to say hello to you and Sweet Tea while you were prepping for a race or catch you after your pool. Awkward teenage conversation fell away quickly, giving way to long, easy conversations. 

On Sunday, you and Sweet Tea took it all. It was a huge payday which would boost the rest of your season. You were on cloud nine. Oscar walked with you while you led your horse back to the trailer. Back and forth you talked about the race and how it felt. You were so glad to have someone to talk to about all this. You used to talk to your grandpa about everything, dissecting the race and your rides with him. He’s the one who taught you how to race. But, he died shortly before the season started. He never got to watch you race at this level and you didn’t have him to talk to anymore.

“Sorry, I’m rambling,” you said while turning away and adjusting your hat, suddenly embarrassed at yourself. Oscar wasn’t a rodeo kid. He probably didn’t care how tight your turns around the barrels were or how responsive Sweet was today. 

“No,” he said, quickly cutting you off. “It’s alright. I like to listen.”

Not convinced, you stayed silent.

“It sounds a lot like how I feel when I race, you know. So, I get it,” he admitted then, his shoulders coming up into a shrug. You eyed him from under your hat, glad for the way the wide brim covered most of your face.

“I used to talk to my grandpa about this stuff,” the words tumbled from your mouth before you could stop them. If it would have been anyone else, you would have died from embarrassment. But, Oscar just blinked at you and waited patiently for you to elaborate.

“You remind me of him,” as you said it, you want to punch yourself in the face. You really went two embarrassing moments for two that day.

“Thank you?” he said, a small chuckle coating his words. He smiled at you so warmly that it thawed the icy shame in your chest slightly. 

“I just mean that,” you tried to salvage what you thought was meant to be a compliment but just came out really weird. “You’re a good listener, like him.”

Oscar nodded, his small smile still on his lips. His perpetually tired-looking eyes were soft and kind while he watched you walk your horse. You believe that it was in that moment that you became friends, good friends.

Coming up on your trailer, you slowed your pace, wanting to prolong your last moments with your new friend. Feelings that had been growing steadily over the weekend were at their peak, downing you in an intense feeling of longing. If you could do anything to never let him leave your side ever again, you would do it. In a heartbeat. In the span of just a few days, you’d grown so close that it felt like there’d never been a time where you didn’t know him. Friendly affection wasn’t an apt description of what passed between the two of you. A four letter word danced around in your teenage mind. But you couldn’t say that to him. You’d only known him for 72 hours. 

“We leave tonight,” Oscar said then, shoving the toe of his shoe into the grass. You leaned into Sweet Tea, stroking her neck and avoiding looking at your brand new best friend–your brand new obsession. Emotion roared like a tide inside of you, threatening to spill out from your eyes in tears and from your mouth in a confession. 

“Don’t be a stranger, alright?” your voice was thick with your southern accent. It always got heavier when you were emotional.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said. Your eyes flicked to his then, taking in the soft look that graced his features. He seemed so sure of his words. It placed a little peace in you to know that he was just as intent on not letting go of the relationship you’d built as you were.

“Can I write to you?” you asked suddenly, not sure why this is the way you wanted to keep in contact with him. There was something inside of you that longed to write to him. Handwritten letters seemed deeply personal, intentional, everything that you wanted to convey to him. 

“Write…like letters?” he asked, his small smile turning into an amused grin. Instead of becoming embarrassed at your suggestion, you held firm. Nodding at his question, you sent him a small smile. He shook his head a little and asked for your phone. You handed it to him and he typed in his contact, only filling out the address line and his name. 

Once your phone was back in your possession, he said a goodbye to Sweet Tea while stroking her nose lovingly. She whinnied at his touch, tossing her head affectionately. Then he turned his attention to you, he stepped closer than he ever had. Invading your air, you thought he might kiss you. Your heart stopped for a moment, teenage love sending sparks across your eyes. Instead, he wrapped his arms around you, giving you a tight squeeze. Your arms slung easily over his shoulders, holding him close. You relished the feeling of his chest against yours, his breath against the back of your neck. 

That’s the feeling that you’ve held onto over the last four years. It’s the feeling you hold close on lonely nights on the road. It’s the feeling you remember every time you pen a letter to your closest friend, wishing that you could’ve had the chance to be something more.

Over the years you’ve kept up with Formula racing, just for the sake of watching Oscar. Though, you’ve started to become quite the fan. Especially now, as Oscar is tearing it up for McLaren. He’s had an exceptional season. In his faithful letters, he writes in his subdued way about how thrilled he is about this season. His humility never fails to make you smile. It’s one of the things that makes him Oscar. 

He also writes about watching you on the Cowboy Channel whenever he can. You’re always surprised and warmed when he includes details of your race or compliments your skills. His words, though concise, are eloquent in their own way. Whenever you read his letters, you can hear his voice in your head.

So, as you wrap up your letter, you’re already anticipating his response. Your eyes drift to the window once you’ve tucked everything away. The familiar rolling fields of perfectly parallel rows of crops lull you into a sleepy trance. Dreams of seeing Oscar again flood your mind when your eyes slide closed and fall comfortably asleep.

The final turn into your gravel driveway pulls you from your nap. You’d slept for nearly the entire drive. You’re warm from sleep, your eyes still heavy but your body feeling refreshed after a long weekend. 

You and your small team unload the horses and the equipment quickly, desperate to return to your respective homes for a meal and your own bed. There’s nothing quite like returning to the ranch after a rodeo weekend. As you sling up your last saddle, you wonder if Oscar feels that way about home after a race weekend. You make a mental note to ask him about it in your next letter.

Before heading into your home, you run out to the mailbox and place your letter in it. Flipping the red flag of your mailbox up and walking away, you’re already anxiously awaiting his response. 

Instead of dwelling on your letter and Oscar, which will definitely send you into an anxious tizzy, you decide to catch up on a couple of work related things to keep yourself distracted. Snuggled cozily into your bed after a long shower, you pull out your laptop and open your email. There are a dozen different unread emails from rodeo crews, journalists, and ranch staff. However, one unfamiliar sender catches your eye.

It’s from McLaren.

Ignoring everything else for the moment being, you rush to open the email. Rarely have you received emails from the McLaren F1 team. Every once in a while, they send you PR gifts or things of the like because of your connection with Oscar. But this one looks different. It’s more personal than that.

When your eyes read the contents of the document attached to the email, you nearly fall off your bed. It’s an official invitation from the McLaren team to join them as a guest for the Grand Prix in Austin the following week. Slack jawed, you mindlessly follow the directions on how to accept the offer. Nothing matters right now except for this.

After four years, you’re finally going to see Oscar again.

—

Walking onto the Paddock, you feel oddly at home. The hustle and bustle of a race weekend reminds you of your weekends at the rodeo. Team members and journalists and officials stream around you, everyone hellbent and on a mission. You’re swallowed into the excitement of it all, fading into just another body in the masses. It brings you peace that you weren’t sure you were going to find here. 

“Miss?” a voice says from just behind you. Narrowing your attention to them, you turn around quickly. A small girl with bright blonde hair sends you a quick smile. She’s adorned with the bright papaya of McLaren. Her eyes drag from your hat-covered head to your boot-clad feet. Your light colored Wranglers hug your curves and flair out over your boots. A matching blazer covers your shoulders and the white button-up with the first few buttons undone. The look is complete by a dark orange, silk bandana tied loosely to one of your belt loops. You know you look like the epitome of country, but it was all intentional. 

The McLaren employee confirms who you are before offering to lead you to the garage. Swallowing hard, you trail behind her, cutting your way through the sea of people. Nerves dance around in your stomach. You feel like you’re back on top of Sweet Tea the day you met Oscar, wide-eyed and anxious as all get out. But there’s something deeper that keeps you moving, a desire–a need–to see Oscar again. This is the moment you’ve been dreaming of for years. 

Every letter has been in preparation for this moment. Every word you’ve ever written to him saying the things you couldn’t bring yourself to say all those years ago. For the past week you’ve been rehearsing exactly how you’re going to tell the love of your life that you’ve fallen for him, that you’ve loved him since you were just 18. There’s nothing that could stop you, not even the fear of rejection. Four years of longing have put you in indescribable agony. There has to be some sort of resolve, good, bad, or otherwise. Today is the day that you’re going to share the one secret that you’ve ever kept from him. 

The blonde employee, Julia, leads you into the garage and begins introducing you to the team. Smiling and snapping photos with some people, you lose count of how many names you’re told and hands you shake. Not that you’re really trying to keep track, your mind being pulled in a different direction. Desperately, your eyes scan the small garage for the only face that really matters. 

You’re in the middle of discussing your latest race with one of the engineers when some movement from the back of the garage steals away your attention. A mop of brown hair and a dashing smile that you’d never forget comes into view. He’s rounding the car, chatting with his engineers and crew while laughing. He’s dressed in his race suit, the arms tied around his waist and showing off his skin tight fireproofs. Your breath catches in your throat as you watch him. The rest of the world fades into a blur while your living, breathing dream shimmers like a mirage in front of you. 

Finally, finally, he turns around with the soft smile that you’ve missed so much on his face. From across the garage, over the massive car between you, you lock eyes. Tears spring to your eyes as his jaw goes slack. You barely have time to blink or breathe before he jerks into action. He’s rounding the car in a hurry, whispering rushed apologies as he gently shoves people out of his way. You break away from your conversation with an ‘excuse me,’ meeting Oscar halfway.

The force of his hug knocks your hat clear off your head, but you hardly notice as he sweeps you up off the floor and into his arms. His arms, which are much larger than you remember, strangle you into the tightest hug you’ve ever experienced. His face presses roughly into the crook of your neck. Smiling like a fool, you keep your arms wrapped around his neck, never wanting to let go. 

When he finally sets you back down, you pull only one hand away to wipe furiously at the tears that have slipped out of your eyes. Sniffing, you laugh at what a mess you’ve become. But when you look up to find Oscar’s tear rimmed eyes and bright smile, you can’t help but choke on another sob.

His hands are still on your waist while you try to sort yourself out. Eyes shining, you take him in fully. He’s so grown. He’s tall and broad and all man. Except for his eyes, his gorgeous brown eyes, and his boyish smile. Those two things have stayed the same. Looking at them now, it’s like your past and your future have collided and coalesced into one man. Sighing, you shove him playfully in the chest.

“When did you go and get all grown up?” you say, your voice thick with emotion. He captures your hand on his chest, taking it into his own. With his fingers wrapped around yours, you feel perfectly at home. A slight blush has crept into his cheeks, painting a soft rose across his ivory skin. Your chest squeezes at the sight.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he says quietly while reaching down to pick up your hat. Playfully, he shoves it back onto your head with a small smile. 

For a couple of comfortable seconds, you just stand there in each other’s presence. Soaking in everything he is, you bask in the moment. He’s here with you. Finally. And the way he’s looking at you with those brilliant brown eyes makes you feel like not a day has passed since he left. The feeling that was born inside of you when you were 18, is reborn with double the intensity. Your love for the man in front of you is overflowing; it’s drowning you.

“Do you have a minute?” you ask after a while, your eyes darting around to the crowd around you. Oscar snaps back into reality with you, following your gaze to the stray looks you’ve been getting. Nodding, he leads you by the hand back to his driver’s room. 

It’s a tiny space, just big enough for a couch and a small closet. But it’s private enough to have the conversation you’ve been equally needing and dreading. Oscar sits next to you on the tiny couch, his side pressed into yours. You can’t tell if the contact makes you more nervous or sets you at ease. For as many times as you’ve thought about and planned for this moment, nothing could have prepared you for the real thing.

Fiddling nervously with the hem of your bandana, you avoid looking your friend in the eyes. But, you can feel him staring at you. Suddenly, a large hand closes around both of yours, causing you to cease your fidgeting. Turning your eyes to his, you take in the crease between his brows and the small frown that pulls at the corners of his lips.

“Is everything alri-” he begins but you’re quick to cut him off. 

“Ah, hell,” you mumble quickly, making a knee jerk decision.

With both hands you grab him by the neck and yank his face to yours. His head knocks your hat back on your head, giving you enough space to kiss him. Pressing your unmoving lips to his, you hold him there in desperation. 

So much for the carefully crafted speech that you’ve spent four years on. 

For a couple heart wrenching seconds, he doesn’t move. He’s gone completely still under your hands, his lips slightly parted in shock. Shame pools low in your stomach as you begin to pull away. But your heartbreak lasts only a split second before his hand is on the back of your neck, keeping you in place while he bursts into action.

His kiss is just as desperate as you feel. Pressing into each other with all the passion you’ve been harboring for four years, you’re both consumed by the heat of the moment. Your head swims as his lips glide against yours, his tongue skimming over your bottom lip before pressing deeper. 

His free hand reaches out, grabbing your knee to haul you onto his lap. Sliding home over his muscular thighs, you sigh into his mouth. Nothing has ever felt more right. Perfection doesn’t do Oscar justice. He’s everything. 

He holds your waist tight between his large hands while your kiss slows down. Lazily, you suck at his bottom lip while he chases you backward. Once again his chest is on yours, your memory flicking back to the last time you saw him. You knew then that you were his, and he was yours. Nothing could keep you apart, especially not now. 

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips, your breath hot and voice soft. You’d never been one to beat around the bush; so why even try when it matters most?

The payoff is better than you could have ever hoped. Oscar doesn’t waste a second before both of his hands cup either side of your face, holding a searing kiss to your lips. He’s firm but kind. He’s Oscar.

“I love you,” he replies breathlessly after a couple seconds.

Your heart soars, leaving your soul in outer space. Seeing stars, you lean your forehead against his, a small laugh bubbling from your chest. Oscar chuckles with you, his chest rumbling under your hands. Pulling back slightly, you take your time to just look at him. Soft brown eyes meet yours and there’s a look there that you know you mirror with your own gaze. Affection, longing, love.

“I had this whole speech ready, you know,” you accuse while adjusting your hat on your head. Oscar’s mouth falls open slightly, faux offense coming over his features.

“You’re the one who kissed me!” he accuses right back. “I was all prepared, too. But someone was just over eager to jump my bones.”

Pinching his side playfully, you watch gleefully as he yelps. Shushing him quietly, you place a chaste kiss on his lips. Silently, an agreement that this was far better than any words you could have said passes between you.

Shaking his head, he settles his arms around your waist and smiles despite himself. With callused fingers, you trace constellations between his freckles. Your heart sings and you wonder how you were ever able to stand being away from him. With Oscar next to you, with his breath on your face, and with his smile for just you, you know that this is it for you.

Four years have been spent dreaming of him. Now, the rest of your life will be spent dreaming with him.

[jude-duarte-wannabe]

okay woah WOAHH THE LASTEST LEWIS ORDER!?????? SCRUMPTIOUS!!!!! 

can i please have lewis hamilton serving bagel, croissant and oaty slice with sides of herbal tea, cortado and rice milk with EXTRAAA SWEETENER PLEASE?? maybe one where lewis is sick and not well, he's being very needy and clingy with wife reader? oh gosh i just know you're gonna do wondersss

a big old teddy bear

order up!

hi lovely thanks for the request, i have been dying to write this and get back to writing in general, order is extra sweet as requested and i'm so sorry for the long as wait time my lovely <3 your requested prompts will be bolded

pairing; lewis hamilton x female wife reader

blurb; your husband truly is just a big old teddy bear when he's sick

warnings; lovesick husband lewis, also vomit if you hate it [let me know if i missed anything]

bagel; "where you going, this ain't over" croissant; "don't you dare" oaty slice; "you smell like me" herbal tea; soft but only for you cortado; belly kisses rice milk; baby fever

currently playing; nightingale by demi lovato "can you be my nightingale, sing to me, i know you're there, you could be my sanity, bring me peace, sing me to sleep, say you'll be my nightingale"

"this is the last thing i need right now" you groaned as you looked down at the small patch of bile of your top before gazing back your daughter; sage who was almost six months old.

your day was going downhill rather quickly it seemed, first your production company demanded the album be finished by the end of the month and you had a sick baby to deal with and it seemed like your day couldn't get any worse until was made worse beyond measure by your husband.

ignoring the fact you loved him dearly, your husband was an idiot...

truly, i mean who in their right mind did a drivers parade in the rain without a coat, he'd claimed it was all for the sake of fashion but he'd quickly regretted that claim when he woke up this morning with a burning fever, it'd taken you twenty minutes of convincing to unattach his sweaty form from your own.

you placed sage down in her highchair for a brief moment and began to wipe the bile from your shirt with a damp cloth when a knock sounded on your apartment door and the relief that washed over you took over the need you felt to burst into tears, you'd convinced your mother to watch sage for the day so that you could tend to an over clingy sick lewis, not that you'd not her he was sick and work on the album in between.

the knock sounded again, a sharp contrast to the chaos swirling around you. “please let it be my mum,” you muttered under your breath, grateful for the brief moment of hope.

you opened the door to find your mother standing there, arms loaded with a container of what looked like chicken and sweetcorn soup. “i thought i’d bring you some comfort food,” she said with a smile that instantly soothed some of your tension. “and i see lewis is still in his pajamas.”

you sighed, glancing back at your husband, who was sprawled on the couch, wrapped in a blanket that he’d claimed was ‘just for decoration’ before he’d been been forced to admit he had in fact caught a miserable old cold. “he’s having a rough morning,” you admitted. “but you’re a lifesaver. i really need to get this album finished.”

your mom nodded, stepping inside and putting the soup down on the kitchen counter. “well then you go take care of that and i’ll take sage to her mummy and me class.”

you felt a wave of gratitude wash over you, a reprieve from the relentless demands of the day. you leaned down to give sage a gentle kiss on the forehead before hugging your mother tight. "i can't thank you enough for this"

your mother smiled warmly, her presence a comforting anchor amidst the storm of your day. “you’re doing so much, honey. just focus on your music and let me handle sage for a bit. she’ll have a blast with me today.”

you took a deep breath, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly as you watched your mom gather sage’s diaper bag and blanket. “i’ll try to make it up to you later. maybe an early listen for you and dad once the album is done?”

“deal!” she said, her eyes twinkling as she scooped sage into her arms. “now, don’t worry i’ll make sure she gets some fresh air and maybe a little sunshine.”

as your mom headed out, you glanced around the kitchen before deciding to help yourself to some of your mother soup, you poured yourself a bowl and placed it in the microwave to warm while you darted to your room to change your top, the smell of sage's vomit from earlier not the most pleasant.

you grabbed the nearest thing; which happened to be lewis's hoodie and slipped it on before shuffling back to the kitchen right as the beep of the microwave sounded.

leaning against the kitchen counter, you took a few spoonfuls while mentally organizing your thoughts about the album. the chaos of the morning began to fade as you savored the warmth of the soup and the knowledge that you finally had a moment to yourself.

after finishing your bowl, you settled at the kitchen island perched on a stool, surrounded by sheets of lyrics and your laptop. you opened a blank document and stared at the screen, letting the silence wash over you. just as you were about to type, the shuffling of feet caught your attention as lewis appeared, still wrapped in his blanket.

“did you just eat soup without me?” he grumbled, his voice hoarse but playful.

you couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of your husband. "you look like a raccoon that lost a fight with a rain cloud,” you teased lightly, but concern laced your words.

he padded over, his movements slow and deliberate, like a sloth navigating a jungle. you observed him, half-amused and half-concerned and before you knew it he'd wrapped himself around you from behind. "you smell like me" he mumbled.

"no kidding, i'm wearing your hoodie" you giggled and leaned against him, you'd already come to terms that you'd end up sick eventually considering you had a sick daughter and husband.

"i love it" lewis chuckled, tone exhausted against your skin, you relished the warmth of lewis’s embrace, the blanket still cocooning him like a protective layer against the world outside. it was a familiar comfort, and in that moment, the chaos of the morning felt like a distant memory.

“i figured it was only fair to wear something that smells like you,” you teased, looking up at him. “you know, to keep the raccoon vibe going strong.”

he chuckled softly, resting his chin on the top of your head. “well, if we’re both going to be sick, at least we’ll do it in style.”

you pulled away slightly to face him, finding a small smile beneath his disheveled braided hair. “so, what’s up, what's got you up from the couch, you need a warm drink?”

“i’d love a hot tea, actually,” he replied, his voice still raspy.

"coming up, you look like you could use a solid nap bub.” you replied removing yourself from his grip "in bed where it's comfortable, i'll bring the tea to you"

“sounds perfect.” he shuffled towards your bedroom, where you could hear him dramatically collapsing onto the mattress with an exaggerated sigh. you couldn’t help but smile at the sound—he may have looked and sounded like a raccoon, but he was still your raccoon.

after brewing a cup of tea, you wandered to the bedroom where you pretended to trip and like you were going to spill it "don't you dare" he mumbled which just brought on a giggle from you.

“here you go, my darling husband, a cup of tea for your recovery.”

lewis took a grateful sip and closed his eyes momentarily, savoring the warmth. “you know, i’ve always believed in the healing powers of tea” he said, setting the mug down and looking at you with an earnest expression. “and i believe in you.”

you felt a rush of warmth at his words, a reminder of the bond that held you both together even amidst the chaos of parenthood and illness. “i’m trying to find a way to balance it all,” you admitted, running your fingers through your hair. “but some days feel like an uphill battle.”

“just take it one step at a time,” he encouraged, his voice gentle. “and remember, you’re not alone in this. we’re a team, right? just like we promised in our vows”

you nodded, the weight of his words grounding you. “yeah, a team, when your not a sick little bear. i just want to finish this album and maybe put something out there that captures everything we’re going through.”

"well maybe you could write a song about all of this,” he suggested, gesturing between the two of you. “the craziness, the love, the messiness of it all, it could be something really meaningful to both us and other parents"

his suggestion sparked a light within you, and you could almost feel the lyrics forming in your mind. “that’s actually a lovely idea,” you said, excitement bubbling up. “i want to capture everything—the sleepless nights, the laughter, the moments when everything feels like it’s falling apart, but somehow it all makes sense.”

lewis smiled, propping himself up on one elbow. “exactly, you could show the beauty in the chaos. i mean, look at us right now,” he gestured at his disheveled self and your slightly rumpled hoodie. “this is our life, and it’s messy, but it’s ours.”

you felt a swell of affection. “i love that about us. even when it’s tough, we manage to find the joy in the little things.”

“like this tea,” he said, taking another sip and savoring it with a blissful expression before sitting up and placing it on the bedside table “and this very comfy bed.”

you rolled your eyes playfully as he took a hold of you and pulled you closer, he was always so clingy when sick. “yes, yes. the tea and the bed are great, but don’t forget our amazing baby girl, she’s the best part of all this.”

lewis nodded, his gaze softening. “indeed, sage is our little miracle. she gives everything a new perspective.”

“she does” you tried to leave his hold, the creative spark igniting within you once more.

"where you going, this ain't over" lewis mumbled as he collapsed onto the bed and pulled you down with him, rolling around until you laid on your back and he was snuggled against your tummy, lifting the fabric of his hoodie to kiss at your skin,

"i want another one" he wished, he knew it was unrealistic to wish for another baby right now especially when sage was only half a year old but it's something that he desired so desperately.

you looked down at lewis, feeling a mix of warmth and surprise at his unexpected confession. “another one?” you echoed, brushing your fingers through his messy braids. “you know sage is still a tiny tornado of chaos, right?” you giggled.

he chuckled softly, his breath warm against your skin. “i know, but just think about it. the laughter, the cuddles… it’s all so worth it. plus, roscoe will have another friend.”

you smiled, the image of sage with a little sibling and your dog roscoe as it danced around in your mind. it was a sweet thought, but also one that felt heavy with the realities of sleepless nights and diaper changes. “you’re dreaming, my love. we’ve got our hands full as it is.”

“i know, i know,” he said, lifting his head to meet your gaze. “but i can’t help it. i love being a dad, and i can’t imagine our family stopping here. it just feels… incomplete.”

his earnestness tugged at your heartstrings, and you felt a flutter of hope mingled with apprehension. “what if we wait a little while? just until we get the hang of this whole parenting thing?”

lewis sighed dramatically, flopping back down against your tummy. “You know i'm not patient when it comes to things i want love but i guess i can understand the need for a breather. i just love our little family so much.”

you stroked his hair, letting the moment linger. “me too. i love sage more than i ever thought possible and you. i mean, look at you being all sweet and cuddly while your sick.”

he grinned, his playful side shining through. “i’m not just sweet and cuddly. i’m also super attractive and charming.”

“true, true,” you laughed, shaking your head. “but don’t forget to add ‘sick raccoon’ to that list.”

“hey!” he protested, feigning offense. “i’ll have you know this raccoon is incredibly charismatic, i mean i pulled you.”

as you both chuckled, the laughter faded into a comfortable silence, the weight of your earlier discussion hanging in the air. you felt your heart soften, realizing how much you cherished these moments of connection, even amidst the chaos.

“i guess i just want to make sure we’re ready,” you said after a beat, your tone more serious now. “sage is so little, and we still have so much to learn.”

lewis nodded, his expression thoughtful. “i get it. i don’t want to rush into anything either. i just want you to know how much i love this—us, our family and i’m excited about what the future holds.”

the sincerity in his voice warmed you, and you leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead. “we’ll figure it out together my love, like we always do.”

“exactly. together,” he replied, grinning up at you. “and besides, when you start writing songs about our family, i’ll have all the inspiration i need for my own solo album.”

you rolled your eyes playfully. “right, because that’s what the world needs—a collection of raccoon-inspired ballads by the worlds best formula one driver.” you giggled.

“i could make it happen,” he said, pretending to be deep in thought. “track one: ‘cuddles and chaos.’ track two: ‘diapers and driving.”

you burst into laughter, the tension from earlier dissipating completely. “okay, okay, maybe i’ll consider a collaboration, just don’t expect to go solo anytime soon.”

“fair enough,” he said, lifting his head again and looking serious for a moment. “but when the time comes for baby number two, just know that i’ll be ready.”

you looked into his eyes, the sincerity of his desire making your heart swell. “and i’ll be ready too, whenever that time comes but right now, i just want to enjoy sage and you—this moment.”

lewis smiled, that familiar warmth returning to his gaze. “that’s the best thing you've said all day" he replied.

as you both settled into the cozy embrace, the world outside faded away and in that space, this moment, it was just you, him, and the love you shared—a beautiful mess of laughter, dreams, and all the moments yet to come.

"i love you, you big teddy bear" you mumbled as he began to doze off while still clinging to your body, you truly couldn't have wished for a better life than the one you had, it was the best thing that had ever happened to you and you were determined to never lose it.