#here and there when our shifts briefly cross over

[swan-orpheus]

What I said about The Incident or the Conversation: I'm fine. It's nothing.

Me days later listening to the same song on repeat:

[distantdarlings]

HAVE ME // t. nott

RATING: R / 4.8K WORDS

Theodore Nott x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* When you are paired with Cormac McClaggen for a mid-semester project, he takes it as an opportunity to shoot his shot. However, despite your numerous rejections, he doesn't seem to want to let up. That is until Theo gets involved.

+ WARNINGS - SMUT, depictions of violence (a small fight, specifically), blood described very briefly, Cormac is hitting on reader and won't leave them alone, language, oral sex (perf. on reader), kissing, dom!Theo, fem reader, not proof-read

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Hotel - Montell Fish

---

The chatter around the classroom slowly dwindled as Professor Snape silently slipped through the door of his office. Everyone was waiting patiently for the results of his decision from yesterday. He mentioned that the mid-semester project would be partnered rather than solo. To you, that was bad news, but to others in the class, it was good. You worked best when you didn’t have to sort out the ideas getting bounced around aloud. But if you had to work with a partner, please let it be someone halfway decent.

“So,” Snape starts, “I have here the list of partners for the mid-semester project. As a reminder, you will be handling very toxic materials, so for the sake of all of our time, be careful with them.” His expression hinted at boredom, despite the unfortunate things he was referencing. Last year, someone nearly lost a hand with this project, and—to be quite honest—that was one of the reasons you were so excited about it. You liked the challenge and, even better, overcoming it. But you couldn’t do that with a shitty partner. Your fingers crossed beneath your open notebook.

“Malfoy with Weasley, Berkshire with Granger,” he began listing the names. Your hips shifted uncomfortably. He was pairing everyone with the opposite house. Surely he’d grant you some mercy with how well you’d been doing in this class?

“—Nott with Finnigan—” Your thoughts were briefly interrupted as Theodore’s name was called. That was an interesting pairing; however, you knew that Potions was one of Theo’s strong suits, and, granted they worked well together, the both of them would successfully keep their eyebrows intact. 

Your eyes found the older boy, tracing over every line on his face. You were friends, pretty good friends. His whole group of Slytherins were friendly with you, really. But there was something about him that had shocked you to your core from the first night you’d met him and started chatting at the Sorting ceremony when the both of you were eleven. He was quite literally one of the most attractive people you’d ever seen, and it seemed like he knew it too. The way he held himself down to the way he communicated with people, he just knew he was alarmingly alluring. 

He had a way of staring right into your eyes when you spoke to him, almost to the point it felt as if he was reading your mind. No matter what, he’d give you his full attention, even more so than his other friends, it seemed. Maybe you had always imagined it, but if you called his name, he was there. He would be waiting with his ear next to your lips, eager to hear what you had to say, no matter how you were feeling. Perhaps it was cliche, but you felt as though you could tell him anything, and you did. 

His eyes found yours suddenly. His lips parted into a crooked smile, his dazzling white teeth peeking through slightly. You returned the action, raising your eyebrows in an amused fashion at his partner for the project. He shrugged, the smile never leaving his face. He pointed at you and mouthed, ‘You’re coming up.’ You rolled your eyes and laughed silently as you brushed him off. You were laughing, but, in all seriousness, this wasn’t a comedic matter. Your Potions grade was potentially on the chopping block here, and you were getting nervous. Snape didn’t grade depending on who did what; he simply graded on the project's legitimacy. You could do this by yourself, but if whomever your partner ended up being fucks it up, you both were screwed. And, on top of it all, you would have to work with a Gryffindor, someone you likely barely knew. Perfect. 

Your name perked your ears as Snape paused for a moment, trying to decipher his own handwriting. Merlin, was he trying to tease you? You glanced around, wondering who hadn’t been selected yet. You hadn’t been paying attention. “Ah! With McClaggen.”

Your heart sank. You turned to glance over your shoulder at the showy Gryffindor sitting in the back corner of the classroom. He sent a wink and a small smirk your way, to which you replied by quickly turning back around. Did the universe hate you? It must. That was the only answer. Shit.

“Get to work,” he instructed, returning to his office and firmly shutting the door behind him. You weighed out the options in your head on how angry Snape would be if you asked to switch partners. You were sure he picked them for a reason…or maybe he didn’t? Merlin, help. Should you even bother with this? Maybe you could convince McClaggen to let you do all the work. He could sit patiently by and be quiet.

The classroom bustled gently as students were standing and finding their partners. Small groans echoed as everyone paired up. Apparently, you weren’t the only one that disliked your partner. Usually, you wouldn’t have expected Professor Snape to have paired Gryffindors with Slytherins. Who knew? Maybe he was trying something new.

You hid a wince and got to your feet. You collected your notebook and school bag and made your way over to the smirking boy. His hands were placed cockily behind his head, and one leg rested, crossed over the other. He maximalized every bit of space he took up, like a peacock. You repressed a groan and sat down in the seat next to him, neatly spreading your things out. 

“Well, hello,” he cooed. “I don’t think I’ve spoken with you before.”

“I don’t think so either,” you chuckled nervously, eyes finding the back of Theo’s head. He sat towards the front of the classroom, partnered with the clumsy Gryffindor. You wondered if he was having the same doubts you were. As if on beat, his head turned and made eye contact with you. He hid a smile at your current predicament and gave you a small wave with his fingers. You rolled your eyes and, with the hand farthest from McClaggen, pretended to choke yourself with it. Theo laughed aloud before turning back around when his partner tapped his shoulder.

“What’s so funny?” your partner asked, quirking an eyebrow. 

“Nothing,” you smiled, “how about we get started?”

Most of the class period was spent discussing the potion the two of you wanted to brew. The assignment was to pick one of the most difficult potions to brew and to make and document the experience successfully. All of the potions you were to choose from were in the very last chapter of your textbook, and the two of you flipped through the pages, unsure. 

Every so often, Cormac (you’d learned his first name was) would point at something on one of the pages and scoot ever so closer to you. He was so close now you could smell the peppermint candy he swished around his mouth. His arm rested alongside the back of your chair, and you were…immensely uncomfortable. Your back straightened so as not to come into contact with his arm. 

Throughout this whole experience, you’d glance Theo looking back at the two of you every so often and wonder if you could signal him to distract the boy. It wasn’t that you felt threatened; you just wish he’d back the hell up. If you had a personal bubble, it had long since combusted. His face was so close to yours, and no matter how far you leaned away, he’d get closer. Finally, you’d had enough.

“Cormac,” you laughed nervously. You placed one hand on his chest and slowly pushed him back toward his own seat. 

“What is it?” he asked. No matter what you did, that stupid smirk never failed.

“You are very close to me,” you explained, trying to remain as polite as possible. He shrugged and chuckled a bit, gaining on some of the space you’d placed between the two of you. 

“Well, that’s because I want to get closer to you,” he said. 

“Uh, no,” you tittered, “that’s okay. Let’s just do the project.” You tapped the textbook and pretended to immerse yourself back in the information, hoping he’d let it lie. He didn’t. His arm wrapped back around your chair, and your eyes slipped close in exasperation. 

“Cormac, please—”

“What? Don’t you want to get to know each other before we do a project together?” he asked, scooting closer yet again.

“No, I really don’t. I just want to get this done.” His face resumed its previous proximity to yours. He smirked at the closeness and you sighed, turning your face away from his, begging Theo to glance back again.

“Oh, I see…is he your boyfriend?” Cormac asked. Your face shot back to his.

“What? No! He’s just a friend,” you said.

“That was a very quick, rushed answer,” he laughed, “but if you say so, that’s even better for me—”

“Please, let’s just do the assignment,” you pleaded, “I’m really not interested.”

“Not even for a trip to Hogsmeade?”

“No, not really, you’re not my type.” You glanced back at Theo. He was finally looking back. Only this time, his eyes were locked on the boy beside you, with his face so close to yours. His eyes gleamed blood red, and his jaw clenched tightly. Your eyebrows furrowed, begging him to intervene somehow. If Cormac wasn’t too embarrassed to shoot his shot in the middle of class, surrounded by his peers, you were almost positive he’d continue to harass you outside of the classroom. Maybe even when the two of you were alone, and he might not let up at that point.

“What is your type?” he asked. “Brooding assholes in Slytherin?” He said this part a bit louder, making direct eye contact with Theo. You could feel the tension building slightly, and did your best to diffuse the situation. You partially blocked their gaze of each other.

“Please don’t say that about him.”

“I thought you said he wasn’t your boyfriend. Why are you defending him?”

“He’s not my boyfriend, but he is my friend, and I’d like you not to call him names,” you spoke sternly, eyes hardening on the boy. He was plucking the last strings of your patience. 

“Fine, I will—” you nodded at his promise “—if you let me take you to dinner.”

The bell signalling the end of class interrupted the conversation. Thank Merlin. You quickly gathered your things together and shoved them into your bag, praying he’d just drop the subject and let you move on with your day. You’d figure out a way to deal with him later. For right now, you just wanted to get your free period started as soon as possible. He stood right when you did. You ignored him and made for the exit, walking as quickly as looked natural.

You were the first out of the classroom and down the hall, trying your best to get away from him without completely abandoning Theo. A hand grabbed your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks. It roughly spun you around, yanking a yelp from your throat. You stood before Cormac, who had a sinister look on his face. 

“You never answered me,” he said. “Let me take you to dinner…”

“No, Cormac, I don’t want to go,” you said, attempting to wrestle yourself out of his iron grip. What about your thousand answers was he not grasping? 

“Let go of me.” His hand did not release you, and it did not seem like he intended to, either. You slipped your hand between his and your shoulder, trying to edge it off. He made a sound of endearment before attempting to slide a hand around your hips. You squealed and squirmed away from him, trying to prevent him from wrapping his arms farther around you.

“Hey!” A voice shouted. The both of you began to turn, but before Cormac could get his head fully pivoted, a hand appeared on his shoulder and yanked him away from you. It was Theo, and he appeared to be fuming. His jaw was tightly clenched, and his eyes were wild.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing, McClaggen?” he demanded. “She said no, you dick!”

“I don’t see how it’s any of your business. She said you weren’t her boyfriend,” the younger laughed meanly, poking him roughly in the chest. You winced at the contact. 

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he hissed, pushing the boy back from him. Cormac stumbled a few steps before regaining his footing. It appeared he was as surprised as everyone else was at the sudden hostility. Cormac laughed cockily. 

He raised a hand and swung his fist at Theo as hard as he could, getting a good hit in. Theo’s head jerked to the side from the force of the punch, and you gasped sharply, hands shooting to cover your mouth in shock. Natural instincts told you to jump back, but you rushed toward Theo, who pushed you back gently behind him, squeezing your arm firmly. It didn’t hurt, but you knew it meant to stay put. 

“Come on, Slytherin!” Cormac shouted. “Show me what your reject house is made of!”

A crowd of other students had begun to gather around the two boys, curious to see what all of the commotion was. Adrenaline pumped through your veins like ice water as you watched Theo approach the other boy, cocking his arms and wringing any stiffness out of them. 

Before you could feel the exhalation of breath leave your body, Theo swung his arm at the boy, cracking him hard across the jaw. As if in slow motion, Cormac fell back and hit the ground with a hard thud. You imagined his tailbone would be quite bruised tomorrow morning. 

Theo fell down on top of the boy, legs resting on either side of his hips, and wailed on him. Fist after fist hit the boy’s face, pushing more and more blood out of him. You screamed in shock as you realized Theo had no intention of stopping. Around the same time you did, everyone else did too. They began throwing shouts of concern and pressing in on the two boys. Everybody loved a good fight now and then but nobody wanted to see someone get killed. 

Yet, nobody put their hands on Theo for fear of being in the same predicament as Cormac currently was. That was, until Enzo and Mattheo ran up behind the crowd. You heard them ask if that was Theo.

“Enzo!” you shouted his name, waving over the crowd. His eyes quickly found yours and in seeing the distress on your face, began weaving through the crowd. Mattheo quickly followed suit. 

When they breached the barrier of the crowd, their eyes widened, and they made for their friend. They grabbed his shoulders and pulled him away from the poor boy, his face a mangled mess. You looked away quickly, not wanting to see the damage that had been done in your favor.

Once pulled away, a gathering of students ran over to Cormac and covered him with a wall of their protection, trying to see if they could help him somehow. You turned to Theo, who was breathing heavily, a single dripping of blood pouring from his nose. You turned to the bottom of your uniform shirt, found the edge of the seam, and tore a small section of it. You could get a replacement sometime later.

You approached the boy with a murderous gaze and gently pressed the piece of shirt beneath his nose. He flinched slightly but never looked away from Cormac. Maybe that hadn’t been for you, and he’d just wanted to beat Cormac’s ass—which is understandable, but still. You weren’t totally sure why he did it.

“Theo?” you spoke gently. His glare didn’t waver. The fingers pressing the material against his bloodied nose tilted his face carefully to look at you. His eyes found yours, softening slightly. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, his chest heaving. “I couldn’t stand him touching you like that.”

“It’s okay,” you reassured. He didn’t seem convinced. How he looked at you with such concern and worry made you wonder if he thought you were mad at him. You shook your head at the question running through your mind. Obviously, he didn’t know what you had been thinking, but you hoped he’d understand somehow. 

You helped Enzo and Mattheo pull him to his feet and escort him away from the crowd before any of the professors showed up. Speaking of which, they likely should have been out here by now. 

As you helped the boys guide Theo toward the Slytherin common room, you were careful to avoid any obvious eyes that raced past them to see what the aftermath of the commotion was. Hopefully, nobody would notice them and they could deal with the whole situation later. The group turned the corner and stopped before the entrance to the dorm room. Enzo announced the password, and the lot of you headed inside, pulling Theo up the stairs and into the boys’ dorm room. He pulled away from them suddenly and sat on his bed.

“Alright, alright, I’m okay!” he declared. “I just got a sock to the jaw; my legs weren’t broken.”

“They’re just trying to help, Teddy,” you whispered, trying to place the cloth back on his nose that had started up its intermittent spurting again. He sighed and gently grabbed your wrist, holding it away from his face. He was never rough with you, despite how angry he was.

“I’m fine, I’m just wound up, I don’t need any of you to—”

“Nonsense,” you interrupted him. “Mattheo, Enzo, would the two of you mind running down to the hospital wing and asking Madam Pomfrey if she has anything to stop the bleeding. It’s not excessive, but it’s messy.”

“Is there not a spell or something like that?” Mattheo asked, clearly concerned for his friend.

“Not one that I know off the top of my head. Would you just go ask her, please?” you repeated yourself. The two boys seemed to hesitate but eventually worked their way out of the room with their destination in mind. Once they were gone, your eyes turned back to Theo’s. An amused glint lay suspended in his eyes.

“‘Nothing that comes to mind?’” he smirks. “If a spell comes to my mind and not yours, the world must be upside down.” You conceal a laugh. You knew a spell. You knew multiple healing spells, but you wanted Mattheo and Enzo out of the room for a second. You just wanted to speak with Theo about what had happened. 

“I’m sorry I lied to your friends,” you said. “But I really wanted to talk with you privately, and I didn’t want to wait.” His eyes keep a tight hold on yours. You swallow thickly. 

“Okay, what is it?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Anxiety pools in your stomach as you realize you hadn’t really planned anything to say. You wanted to know why Theo had done what he did and if it was for or because of you. Cormac had been bothering you, yes, but it could have just been that Theo really disliked him and wanted to intervene. 

“Why did you do that?” you ask. Probably the worst way you could have asked that, but it was what came out. You might as well own it at this point. 

“Do what?” he mused.

“Why did you stop Cormac?”

“That feels like a dumb question. He was laying his hands on you without your permission.”

“Would you have done that for anyone, though?” you stuttered through your interrogation.

“I suppose not….why do you ask?” he asked, the smirk never leaving his face. Your eyes fell down to his lips suddenly, noticing that there was a small amount of dried blood stained across them. A small gasp left your lips as you reached your hand out. You didn’t think through any of the following movements; you just allowed your body to do as it pleased. Your fingers gently cradled his jaw, and your thumb swiped slowly over his lips, collecting the bit of staining as it crossed. Your eyes found him again, and you realized he was intently watching you. His eyes were softened by hunger. The way they traveled down to your lips, his lips parting as he found yours, his hands clenching by his side. It sent a chill down your spine. 

“Theo,” you breathed. You could not pull your eyes away from his swollen lips. You wanted so badly to learn their taste and memorize it for eternity. Just one kiss and you could be satisfied for the rest of your days. 

“I kicked Cormac’s ass because he was laying his hands on you, and I have been desperate to do that for years…,” he whispered. “The difference between him and I, though? I ask permission.” A glimpse of a chuckle spreads over his lips, and you feel your stomach blush with heat. As if he could feel it happen to you, his nose bumped softly against yours, igniting the heat and transforming it into a flame. 

“I want you so bad,” he whispered, the air skimming your lips. “Please let me have you.”

“Have me, Teddy.” Your response was final. His hands gripped each side of your face firmly and pressed your lips together. Heat and light and everything in between exploded into your stomach, sending shocks of love into your heart. You could have melted on the spot, and you nearly did, if it weren’t for Theo wrapping one arm tightly around your waist and holding you up.

His tongue slid over your bottom lip, begging for entrance. You granted him access to every part of you with no push-back. All you wanted was to feel him everywhere and never to lose that feeling ever again. 

The both of his hands pushed around the back of your thighs and pulled them to either side of his bent knees. He settled you neatly onto his lap, you straddling his thighs against the bed. The action sent a lightning bolt of pleasure directly to your core as the space between his thighs urged gently against you. You sighed against his mouth, entangling your fingers into his hair. 

Everything about him was overwhelming. His smell, his taste, and his touch had you gasping for air. You had never realized how much you truly wanted him until this very moment. Without so much as a breath, he cradled your back with one hand and stood from his bed, lifting the two of you into the air. You squeaked from the sudden movement but relaxed instantly when he settled you against his bed. 

His lips detached from yours and quickly made alliance with your jaw and then your neck. His head worked down the frame of your body, pressing open-mouthed kisses to every sliver of skin he could find. When he reached the waistline of your uniform skirt, he tapped his finger twice against the spot where your shirt was tucked in. You nodded so quickly, it was almost pathetic. He smirked and slipped his hands between the materials. He tugged your shirt out and began laying the same types of kisses over your bare stomach. You groaned at the feeling, noticing the ardor he placed into each press of his lips. You felt worshipped and it was addicting.

His eyes flicked up to find yours as he slowly pushed himself farther down, placing himself just in front of your core. Without question, your legs began to spread for him, allowing him access to anything he wanted. You just needed to feel him; you didn’t care what he did. 

Your eyes found his face once more and scanned over the entirety of it. A deep, sinister glance rested in his eyes, holstering a lust so dark, it almost frightened you. His lips were slightly parted in a teasing, smirking way, just waiting to place themselves against you once more. And his nose had…oh, it had begun to bleed again. You reached down and swiped your thumb beneath it, pushing the excess discharge away. A small twinge of guilt hit you again at the thought of Theo getting himself hurt for you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, frowning at the sight before you.

“You never have to apologize to me,” he breathed, “you are perfect.” And with that, he’d flipped the edge of your skirt over your legs and sunk his face between them. His tongue found your core before you could even get a word out. A breathless moan spilled from your lips as your spine arched off the bed. Your hands immediately pushed down to wrap themselves in his curls, savoring every single swipe of his tongue. 

“So fucking good,” he moaned against you, the vibrations sending messages up to your very brain. You quaked beneath the feeling, your thighs shaking against the boy’s hold on them. It was nearly becoming too much. You weren’t going to last much longer. If he wanted to do something, he’d better get to it.

“Theo, I’m…c—”

“Not yet, baby,” he whispered, pressing two chaste kisses to the inside of your thighs. You could feel the wetness spread across his lips and chin smear against your flesh. You shuddered at the sensation. It definitely should not have turned you on as much as it just did. “I want it on my tongue.”

He separates himself from you and slides his hands beneath the crook of your knees. With a firm grip, he yanks you to the edge of the bed, where your hips are lying just over the curve. His hands find your hips and flip you over onto your stomach, careful to avoid hurting you in any way. Ever so gentle.

You could hear him kneel down again behind you. Your thighs shook in anticipation just before he pressed his lips back to you. His tongue swirled across you in the most delicate of motions, drawing every sound possible from your lips. Your fingers gripped the sheets as each of his movements drew you closer to the edge. You might finish any second. 

“Hey-o!” Mattheo’s voice came from just outside the door. You jumped up and glanced back at Theo as the both of you separated as fast as possible. Theo came up to sit beside you on the bed and made quick work of wiping his mouth off on his sleeve. You pulled your skirt back over your legs and stood at attention, waiting for the two boys to enter. Damn it. You had been so close. 

The two boys walked in, clutching a small vial of liquid. Mattheo raised it to show the two of them, both of whom quickly nodded, smiling innocently. Surely, they wouldn’t suspect anything of the two of you. You’d never really expressed any feelings toward the other before now. At least not publicly.

“Where do you want this?” Mattheo asked.

“If you would just take it to the bathroom, we’re headed in there so they can help me clean up the rest of the way.” Both of the other boys nodded and headed back out the way they came, moving toward the group bathroom. 

Just as they left, Theo slipped his hand beneath your skirt and traced his fingers along you, allowing one to insert itself to its hilt. You gasped sharply, trying your best to mute the sound. His hand began to pump against you, slowly rising in speed as he hit that perfect spot each time with ease. The sounds spilling from your lips became less and less controlled as he pushed you towards the edge, keeping you standing tall and refusing to let you lay back down on the bed.

“Come like this, baby,” he whispered. “Quickly, before they get back.” His finger pressed deeply up into you one last time, bruising the soft spot and forcing a rushing finish down on you. Your lips parted in a shocked moan as the proof of your end slipped down around Theo’s fingers. He worked you through the entirety of it, never tiring and never halting. He could do this all day. 

The sound of his friends heading back toward the dorm room pushed the two of you apart once again. Only this time, Theo had a telling, lustful expression imprinted on his face, and the remains of your ecstasy were still painted across his fingers. You swiped a hand between your thighs in an attempt to clean yourself off and brushed any concerns from Mattheo or Enzo off. The ‘Are you okay?’ and the ‘You guys look weird’ had nothing on the steel resolve the both of you kept planted on your faces. If Theo could fight someone for you, you could fight the urge to tell his friends he’d just let you fuck his face while they were out running an errand. Oh well, such is life. You laughed to yourself. 

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (31/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: The promised back massage - and friends help each other.

Warnings: 18+ (thigh riding, inexperienced!reader)

Word Count: 3.6k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: I'm so proud. Charlie won his home race! I'm still crying. feedback is appreciated!

"So?" asks Charles as you move further and further away from the beautiful house. "What do you think of them?"

You smile at him. "You have a really great family, Charles. Maybe a little wild, but it's obvious how much you love each other."

He looks at you briefly before returning his gaze to the road ahead. "I love them more than anything. Ever since my father died, we've taken every opportunity to spend time together." He swallows briefly. "We appreciate each other. And that's worth a lot."

You carefully reach for his hand, which is resting on the shift stick, and turn it so that you can interlace your fingers with his. You place it on your lap and stroke the back of his hand in gentle circles with your thumb. "Thank you for taking me here. It means a lot to me."

"Actually, I didn't have any other choice. I think my mother would have kicked down our front door if I kept you from her." Charles has to grin. "I definitely wouldn't have survived that."

"So that's how it is," you grin and let go of his hand with mock outrage. "So you only took me with you out of pure self-protection."

Before you can cross your arms in front of your chest, he grabs your hand again and brings it up to his mouth so that he can tentatively blow a kiss on your knuckles. "Do you believe me when I tell you that it's incredibly important to me that you know my family? And that you like them?"

You feel the heat rush to your face as he brushes his lips over the thin skin of your fingers. You take a quick breath and stare at him before nervously - and slightly turned on - looking away from him. "Maybe." You try to sound as nonchalant as possible and hope that Charles doesn't notice the tremble in your voice. "I'm definitely glad Arthur didn't do anything to you. I bet he was a kid back then who just bit other children."

Charles has to laugh at that. Loudly and fervently, and you don't know if he does it on purpose, but he presses your hand firmly against his muscular chest and holds it there. You feel the vibration under your fingertips and air rushing through his lungs, and his laughter is so infectious that you can't help but join in.

When he finally lets go of your hand, he wipes the tears from his face. He takes another deep breath before letting out one last laugh and then places his hand on your thigh like it's the most normal thing in the world. The warmth of his skin almost burns through the fabric of your clothes. You try not to let it show. "Believe me, mon amour. I should even have a scar from his teeth somewhere."

When you stop at a traffic light, Charles leans forward a little and pushes his back through. When you hear a few of his vertebrae crack, you grimace. "Does your back hurt?"

"A little." He leans back into the seat again, but stretches his neck to the side. "Not being able to lean back for hours is more uncomfortable than you think." When he glances at you out of the corner of his eye and smirks, you lightly punch his shoulder. 

"You idiot." Charles laughs in response. "You're just after a back massage!"

"You take what you can get." His hand squeezes your thigh. 

You roll your eyes. "You could have just asked for a massage, you know? I imagine the stool isn't the most comfortable piece of furniture."

Charles shrugs. "I didn't want it to be weird in any way."

Your gaze focuses on his slender fingers on your leg. "Do you mean because of this morning?" you ask meekly. 

"Actually -" Charles clears his throat. " Because of Arthur, actually. He was hinting at something and - I don't know." He steers the car onto the street where your apartment is. When he takes his hand off your thigh to change gear, you miss his touch. Without another word, he parks the Renault in the building's underground garage and without looking at you, you take the elevator to your apartment. 

The silence between you is a little awkward. The fact that you brought up the incident from this morning has somehow killed the mood and you'd like to slap yourself for it. You could have left it at that - after all, you had spoken to each other and agreed that everything was fine between you - but you had stupidly cast it in a different light.

You get ready for bed in separate rooms in silence. While Charles brushes his teeth in the bathroom, you change in the bedroom and slip into comfortable shorts and a shirt that you're not sure if it belongs to you or Charles. When you run into each other in the hallway, you don't look at each other, but pass each other with lowered eyes. 

In the bathroom, you splash cold water on your face and are about to bang your forehead against the porcelain of the sink. Until just now, the day had been wonderful. You met his wonderful family, had a fun evening and although you had a little slip-up this morning, Charles and you got on really well. Your friendship hasn't been tarnished and apparently you've been so good to each other that the Leclerc family think you're a couple. 

That's another thing you need to sort out. Between the two of you and definitely with his family. Even though you've only got to know the Leclercs properly since today, you've already grown fond of them and it doesn't feel right to fib to everyone. Above all, it doesn't feel right to Pascale, who has invited you into her home and insists that you spend Christmas with them. Pascale, who has such a big heart and didn't hesitate for a moment to take you into the family. 

It's not fair to her - even if a small part of you wants to keep things the way they are. Even if it doesn't reflect reality, the word girlfriend doesn't ring false in your ears. The thought of it makes you feel warm and somehow the blood tingles in your veins. 

You blame it on the long day you've had and the fact that you're too emotionally exhausted to put one and one together. How crazy would it be if you were actually Charles' girlfriend?

You immediately push the thought aside when you return to the bedroom and see Charles lying on the bed. He continues to scroll through his phone without looking at you and doesn't even glance at you as you slip under the covers on your side of the bed. 

You want to press your face into the pillow and scream, but you can't do that because it definitely wouldn't ease the tension in the air. You could also cry quietly to yourself, but Charles would notice even that. But you could also -

"Am I still getting the back massage?" Confused, you look over at your friend, who puts his cell phone aside and looks at you. He shrugs and then runs his hand through his hair. "You said I should just ask. And I thought I'd try my luck." His hand wanders over the comforter and when he finds yours, he intertwines your fingers. 

"Charles -" you begin, but you don't know how to finish the sentence. You're relieved that he doesn't take offense at your comment and wants to ease the situation by pretending nothing happened. You would love to kiss him for it. The thought sends a warm shiver down your spine.

"Sorry," Charles apologizes as he mistakes your awkwardness for hesitation. "It was a stupid idea. I just thought -"

"It's okay," you interrupt him and squeeze his hand, whereupon he squeezes back twice. "Apparently the stool was super uncomfortable. And friends help each other, don't they?" 

The Monegasque returns your gentle smile. "Friends help each other," he repeats, his gaze flickering briefly from your eyes to your lips and back again. " 'Um - should I take my shirt off? I think that would be smarter, don't you?"

Before you can say anything back, his hand disengages from yours and in one elegant movement he pulls the garment over his head and throws it to the other end of the bed. You watch the muscles in his back flex as he slides down the bed a little and lies on his stomach without hesitation, as if he can't wait another second. 

You have to strain to tear your gaze away from him. "I think I still have some body lotion somewhere." You quickly run back to the bathroom, where you spot the cream on the shelf next to the door, and sprint back to Charles, who has put his head in his hands and is smiling at you. You stand uncertainly in front of the bed, swaying from one foot to the other. "Where - I mean - how -?"

"Just sit on my legs," he says gently and pulls the blanket off him so that you can sit on top of him. "I think that's easier than from the side. Isn't it?"

"I - I don't know," you reply quietly and stop in your tracks. Of course, it would make more sense to sit astride his legs, but then you would also be sitting on him. And you definitely don't want things to get weird between you again. 

"Just sit down, please. I won't bite." Charles reaches out and grabs your hand to pull you towards him. He doesn't let go until you swing your leg over his and get comfortable on the back of his thigh. "See? It's not so bad, is it?"

You're glad he can't see how hard you're swallowing. The fine hairs tickle the soft skin on the inside of your thighs and heat shoots into your face as you slide your butt around to find the best possible position. When you finally find it, you remove the cap from the body lotion. "Careful, it might be a bit cold."

"It's okay, it can't be that bad - oh fuck!" Charles exclaims as you pour the contents of the bottle onto his back. Goosebumps immediately spread across his back and arms and you have to stifle your laughter. "Don't you dare laugh at me. My goodness, you could have warmed up the cream in your hand!"

"Sorry," you grin and close the bottle again before placing it on the bed next to your knee. "I thought it would be easier this way."

"It's definitely meaner," Charles replies, glancing over his shoulder at you. "You owe me a longer massage for that. At least half an hour." 

"No problem," you smile. You hope he doesn't notice your hesitation, because it takes a few seconds before your head commands your hands to rest on his broad back and spread the cream. With your fingers spread apart, you glide over his spine, his shoulder blades to his neck, where you feel the first lump under your fingertips. Slowly, but firmly, you press your thumb over the spot. 

And Charles moans shamelessly. "Fuck, that feels good." He closes his eyes as you continue to work on his neck. "I think you've missed your profession."

"You think so?" you ask softly. Your fingers glide to his hairline, his muscular neck and back over his shoulders. "Maybe I wouldn't be unemployed right now."

"I'd hire you in a heartbeat." As you press the side of his left shoulder blade with your thumbs, he exhales audibly. "Yeah, right there."

Smiling, you look at him before returning to your task. "I think you're too old for that stool. I'll sit on it next time."

"You're only saying that because you're hoping for a massage too." Charles' voice sounds rough and deep, completely relaxed. With his eyes closed, he enjoys your touch and misses you biting your lower lip. 

Your mouth goes dry at the thought of feeling his hands on your bare skin. You'd be only too happy to repeat this morning's incident if it meant that nothing would change between you. That you would remain friends. 

Nervously, you slide around on his legs. "Maybe."

You don't receive an answer. In comfortable silence, you run your hands over his back, pressing certain points in his muscles that make the Monegasque hum and moan softly. It's nice to know that he can let himself go with you and that you seem to be doing him good. 

Your hands wander down to the hem of his shorts and before you can really think about it, your thumbs slide just underneath so that you can massage the marks the shorts leave on his skin too. Charles takes a gasping breath and for a moment you think you've gone a step too far, but Charles doesn't even open his eyes as he speaks. 

"I miss this."

You tilt your head, even though he's not looking at you. "What do you mean?"

"Being touched," he answers your question quietly.

You pull your fingers out from under the hem and let them glide over his spine. "We touch each other."

Charles lets out a sigh. "I know. But - I don't know." His mouth twists into a thin line. "That's something else."

"Explain it to me." 

"It's been months since I've touched anyone, or vice versa. And I'm not talking about friendly touching. What we do," he explains. You don't know why your heart tightens as if it has heard bad news. 

Your fingers trail over his shoulders and then down his arm. Goosebumps spread under your fingertips. "Okay."

"Not that I don't think it's nice," he tries to get his act together. "I love it when I hold your hand or when we cuddle in bed. That's not even up for debate." When your fingers reach his wrist, he grabs them and squeezes them twice. "I don't know how to describe it." 

"What exactly do you mean by 'touch'?" you try to draw him out. "I mean, apparently there must be a difference between what you mean and what we do."

Charles shrugs and lets go of your hand so you can continue. "I miss having my hair played with. Or having my legs rubbed." Lying down, he runs his hand through his hair once, "I don't know."

You chew the inside of your cheek. "Do you mean - I don't know - like more intimate touching?" When you hear yourself say that, you try to turn it around again. "I mean - I'm not talking about sex. But rather that emotional connection? That you feel close to someone and touching them, like playing with your fingers or rubbing your arms, feels different?"

Charles turns his head in your direction so he can look at you. "I miss being touched more intimately. I really crave it." He turns under you so that he is now lying on his back. He leans on his elbows. You don't know where to put your hands, which is why you hold them strangely in the air. You try to fix your gaze on his face, but it flickers briefly to his abs. Something that doesn't escape Charles' notice. "What about you?"

"What about me?" 

"My relationship went down the drain months ago. It's obvious I'm touch starved." He sits up straight and reaches for your hands, placing them tentatively and hesitantly on his chest. "I can't stop thinking about this morning."

You can feel his heart beating under your palm and there's a sparkle in his beautiful green eyes. "We're friends," you state the obvious. The one you agreed on. 

Charles nods. "And I don't want that to change either. I really don't." He exhales and you feel his warm breath on your face. "But don't you miss it? Being touched? Being touched intimately?"

As he licks his lips, your brain shuts down for a moment. "I've never - I don't - I -" you stumble over your words and heat rushes to your cheeks. You don't know why you're confiding in him. You don't know why your hands are wandering from his chest up to his shoulders. The only thing you can feel is Charles' arm around you, pulling you closer to him. His one leg slides between yours so that you're sitting on his bare thigh. You just hope he can't feel your arousal pooling in your shorts.

"Mon amour," he whispers and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear with his other hand. From there, his fingers glide along the soft skin of your neck, over your collarbone, along your arm, until your fingers intertwine again. "Your shorts are pretty thin." He leans forward slightly and lays a feather-light kiss on your neck. You blow all the fuses. "I can feel you dripping for me. Let me help you." His hand settles on your hip and gently he pushes you back a little on his leg, but only to pull you forward again. Electricity shoots through your veins as you moan shamelessly into his face. "Friends help each other. All you have to do is say yes."

Something primal flares in his eyes as he brings your hand to his mouth and places his lips on your knuckles. A gentle gesture that is in complete contrast to how you feel inside. Fire blazes under your skin, heat coursing through your whole body as he places your hand against his cheek, then presses a kiss to your palm. "Nothing changes," you murmur, to which Charles nods. 

"Nothing changes," he confirms. "We stay friends." His hands slowly slide under your bottom, under the hem of your shorts. You feel his hot skin on yours as he rocks you back and forth on his thigh. "I promise."

Your crotch rubs against his leg with such relish and when the hem of your shorts catches on your clit, you burn out all your fuses. "Yes."

Charles' lips find your neck as his hands cup your ass and guide you over his leg. With your mouth open and your eyebrows furrowed, you dig your fingers into his shoulder blades. Pleasure pulses through your body as his mouth moves over your neck, sucking lightly on the thin skin but not lingering long enough to leave a mark. Each kiss is gentle, the complete opposite to his grip on your ass and the way he rubs you over him. 

"Charles." Your voice is little more than a sigh and you think you can feel his raging boner against your leg, but the thought quickly fades as one of his hands pulls away from you. Instantly you miss his touch, his skin on yours, but before you can do anything, his fingers reach into your hair to gently pull your head back. 

"I'm here, mon amour," he breathes against the newly won space on your neck. Gently, he sucks where your pulse is, and you think you feel his teeth against your skin for a moment. "I'm here."

You don't know where to put your hands, so you just use them to press his face closer to you. You feel his tongue at the point where your neck meets your shoulder and arch towards him. "Please."

You don't know what you're asking for, but Charles knows all the better for it. He rocks you over his leg, which is wet and slippery from your arousal, and as your knee gently bumps against his cock, he moans into your ear. 

Absently, your hands disengage from his hair and scrape down his chest to the hem of his shorts, but before you can go an inch further, his thumb and forefinger curl around your wrists. "Mon amour, today is about you," he murmurs, kissing your cheek as he notices your disappointed look. "Don't pout. Otherwise we'll stop here and now." 

You move over his thigh on your own and, without taking the chance, you nudge his boner again with your knee. "But you said -" you begin, but Charles lets go of your hands, only to hold them behind your back. 

"Nuh-uh." His lips find their place against your collarbone. Apparently he notices that you close your eyes, because his free hand rests gently against your throat. "Look at me, mon amour." His voice is no more than a gasp as you open your eyes and look up at him pleadingly. You want him closer, want to feel his lips on yours, his cock splitting you in half. You want him to ruin you for any other men.

You approach the cliff, willing yourself to plunge down it, but when you close your eyes again, Charles merely presses your lap against his leg, preventing you from moving any further. You look at him in shock. "Charles."

"Fuck, I love it when you say my name." He holds you tight, chest to chest, and you try to move somehow, to rub against him. And he lets you. His hand loosens from your wrists while the other continues to rest on the column of your throat, but doesn't squeeze. "Look at me, mon amour," he repeats to himself, shamelessly sliding his hand inside your shorts so he can cup your ass. With one final movement, he pulls you forward, the hem of your shorts rubbing perfectly over your swollen bundle of nerves and white lightning flashes through your veins. "Look at me when you come for me."

And you do.

[tikosblogg]

Night In

Summary: You and your best friend Noah have a criminal minds marathon night, but he seems to be having a hard time focusing.

Warning: smut. Pure filth. Dom!Noah, fingering. Swearing.

A/N: best friend Noah has me in a fucking choke hold. SOMEBODY SEDATE ME!!!🤪 it’s literally 2AM and this scenario popped into my head. I had to get it out before I went to sleep, because I definitely would have forgotten it by the time I woke up. Please enjoy. Let me know what you think 😉❤️

The sound of the water cascading down the tiled walls enveloped the bathroom like a warm hug, steam rising to blur the edges of the world outside the small sanctuary. I sighed contentedly, enjoying the solitude after a hectic day of work. The rhythm of the water was soothing, and I closed my eyes, allowing my mind to drift.

“Hey, Noah!” I called out, leaning my head back into the cascading water. “Can you come in here for a sec?” I heard his footsteps approach, the familiar creak of the bathroom door creaking open, punctuating the hush of the steam-filled room. “What’s up?” he asked, his voice smooth as it always was.

“Are you down for a Criminal Minds marathon tonight?” I asked, grinning to myself. It had quickly become a ritual of ours, binging on crime dramas and rolling our eyes at the absurdities of the plotlines while eating popcorn and drinking a few. “Yeah I’m down,” his voice had a slight edge to it, like he was only half-listening. I peeked through the steamed up glass, briefly catching a glimpse of him leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, looking especially relaxed in his faded gray t-shirt.

“Great! I can’t wait to see The way you squirm at the creepy parts. It’s priceless,” I teased, letting out a laugh. Noah chuckled, but there was something else behind that laugh—a lingering silence that felt heavy in the air. I glanced over, curiosity piqued, and noticed he was staring, his gaze fixed on the glass shower walls where steam mingled with droplets of water.

“Hey, you okay?” I asked, playfully splashing water in his direction. He blinked, suddenly like a deer caught in headlights, the blush creeping up to his cheeks evident even from where I stood. “ yeah, just… can we talk when you get out? I’m literally getting hard watching you shower right now.” he admitted, bluntly. Scratching his head, his eyes darting away, though they lingered a heartbeat longer than necessary.

The realization of what he’d said hung between us, thick and charged. My heart raced, a cocktail of embarrassment and exhilaration flooding through me. “Oh,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper, the steam turning us both a little breathless.

“Sorry, it’s kind of hard not to,” he laughed. “You know, the fog and you look a little too good.” He smirked.

“Thanks?” I said, unsure of how to respond, a nervous laugh escaping me. He turned away, but not before I caught the evidence of his arousal pressing against his jeans. The tension shifted, electrifying the air around us, and I couldn't help but feel a spark of excitement there too, blurring the lines we’d always kept between us.

“Okay, I’ll be quick,” I assured him, suddenly hyper-aware of my own body and the droplets that clung to my skin. It felt like we had crossed an invisible threshold, yet neither of us was ready to acknowledge it just yet.

“Take your time,” he said teasingly, as he turned to walk out, pausing at the door. “But unless you want to be the one who has to explain why I’m walking around with a boner, I’d suggest you hurry.”

As the door clicked shut, I couldn’t help but laugh, a blend of nerves and something else bubbling beneath the surface. After rinsing away the day's fatigue, I stepped out, the warmth of steam swirling around me as I wrapped a towel snugly around myself. I glanced around, ensuring I was alone, a smile creeping onto my face at the thought of having the house to myself with Noah.

I rummaged through the pile of clean clothes thrown haphazardly on the counter and pulled out one of Noah's oversized t-shirts. It fell delightfully to my mid-thigh, the fabric soft and comforting against my damp skin. As I slid on a pair of underwear, I took a moment to admire my reflection in the mirror, feeling a sense of warmth at how casually sexy the ensemble was.

When I emerged from the bathroom, a wave of confidence washed over me. I found Noah lounging on the couch, the glow of the television illuminating his features as he flipped through the streaming options, searching for our show. His eyes flickered to me, and for a brief second, he froze, his brows raised in surprise before a smirk broke across his face.

“Nice shirt,” he teased, his gaze lingering on me, undeniably captivated.

I smirked back, walking over to where he sat. I could feel the weight of his attention on me as I settled down beside him, nestling into the cushions of the couch. The familiar opening credits of Criminal Minds began to play, and I grabbed the remote, easing into the comfort of the moment.

Noah’s laugh was warm, drowning out the eerie music of the show, and my heart soared as he pulled me closer, wrapping an arm around me. As the episode unfolded, I couldn’t shake the sensation of being completely at ease, my worries melting away like snow under the spring sun.

An hour passed, and I felt a subtle shift in the atmosphere as I found myself feeling sleepy. I shifted slightly, laying my head on Noah’s lap. His fingers instinctively began to run through my hair, a gentle and rhythmic massage that made me sigh contentedly.

The show continued in the background, but my focus blurred with every gentle stroke of his hand. It was surreal how strangely intimate we were being. We’ve always been pretty affectionate with each other, but this felt different. His touch sent a tingle down my spine, every movement igniting a sense of want that hung between us, unspoken yet palpable.

Noah looked down at me, his expression softening. “You know, you look really cute in my shirt,” he murmured, a hint of mischief dancing in his voice.

I smiled, meeting his gaze. “Maybe I should wear it more then,” I teased, running my fingers along the hem of the fabric as if weighing the option.

His laughter rumbled through his chest, and I could see the way his eyes sparkled. “Good. It looks better on you anyways.”

I chuckled softly, shifting to get more comfortable, feeling the warmth radiating from him. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the television casting playful shadows across the walls. The warmth of Noah's body provided comfort as I lay on the couch, my head resting on his lap while we both immersed ourselves in the latest episode of our favorite show. The world outside felt miles away, and for this moment, everything else faded into the background.

As his fingers tangled gently in my hair, an intimate motion that sent pleasant shivers down my spine. I closed my eyes, relishing the way his fingers moved. His fingers suddenly began tracing a path from my hair down my side. The sensation was feather-light, almost teasing, until they reached my hip. I held my breath as his fingers played with the edge of my underwear, a trail of heat left in their wake.

My heart raced at his touch. I couldn't help but subtly squeeze my thighs together, a simple reaction, but one that betrayed the flutter in my stomach. I felt the tension between us crackle like static electricity in the air.

"Y/n" his voice a soft whisper, breaking the spell for a moment. My name rolled off his tongue like honey, sweet and addictive. I rolled onto my back, gazing up at him, my head nestled comfortably against his thighs, practically blinded by the sheer intensity of his gaze.

He stole a glance at my bare thighs, a fleeting moment that made me feel exposed yet thrillingly alive. "What's wrong?" he asked, his brow slightly furrowing as if he was clueless at what he was doing.

I looked away, heat pooling in my cheeks blushing, perhaps, in both embarrassment and excitement. How could he be so nonchalant about this? His hand found its way up my stomach, slowly inching beneath my shirt, and I stifled a gasp, the softness of his touch causing the world around us to blur.

"Nothing," I murmured, though my voice was barely a whisper, betraying the whirlwind of emotions brewing inside me.

"Come on," he coaxed, his fingertips dancing just below the hem of my shirt. "What is it?"

A soft whine slipped from my lips without my permission, the weight of his teasing hanging heavily in the air between us. "You’re teasing me," I whimpered, frustration mingled with desire.

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating in the quiet room, both comforting and maddening. "I’m not teasing...." The playful glint in his eye, combined with the authoritative way he pressed his finger over the front of my underwear, sent sparks through my core.

“What if I like it?” I blurted, the honesty spilling out before I could reel it back in.

His expression shifted, surprise giving way to something deeper as he leaned down closer, the air between us thick with unspoken words, and for the first time, I sensed that this moment was filled with endless possibilities .

With his finger still teasing me, he smirked, his warm breath ghosting over my face.“Then I won’t stop.”

Everything around us faded into silence, the television now just a distant hum.

His hand slid under my head, lifting it up slightly, as he leaned down capturing my lips into a heated kiss and it felt as if time slowed. The evening sunset filtered through the curtains, casting a soft orange glow over the living room. I was nestled comfortably on the couch, my head resting gently on Noah's lap. The hum of the world outside felt distant, as if time had slowed just for us. I could hear the steady beat of his heart, echoing the warmth that enveloped me.

His lips were warm and inviting, enveloping mine as if they were made for each other. I surrendered completely, allowing his tongue to glide against mine. It was an intoxicating rhythm that drew me deeper into the moment. I could barely catch my breath as his fingers swept under the hem of my panties, teasingly slow, until they found their way to my core.

I gasped against his mouth, breathless and desperate. My thighs instinctively fell open, making room for his hand, craving more. I whimpered his name, a plea wrapped in desire.

“What is it baby?” he murmured against my lips, his voice low and husky, igniting a spark of anticipation within me.

The teasing question sent my heart racing. I could sense the care behind his touch, but the intensity of the moment was almost overwhelming. In that instant, I wanted to drown in him, to abandon all reservations. I pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze. He looked at me, a mixture of curiosity and longing in his eyes.

“I just... I want you,” I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper. It felt liberating to admit it, to articulate the pounding desire that coursed through my veins.

He smiled, a teasing glint in his eyes, and his fingers continued their gentle exploration, igniting a fire that smoldered just beneath the surface. “You have me,” he assured me, his voice rich with promise.

With newfound confidence, I leaned into him, pressing my lips back to his, craving the connection that was building between us. His fingers continued their teasing, each touch sending ripples of pleasure spiraling through me, coaxing out soft gasps that mingled with our kisses.

His tongue licked into my mouth, tasting me. I knew we were stepping over an invisible threshold, reaching for something deeper, but I was ready for it. As his fingers stroked through my soaked folds, he finally sank two of them into me. He pumped his fingers slowly in and out, as I softly ground my hips against them.

His eyes left my face, focusing on his fingers now coated in my arousal, slowly disappearing over and over into me. His other hand left the back of my head, pulling my shirt up above my breasts letting them free. My nipples instantly hardened as the cool air hit them. Noah’s eyes raked up my body, until they landed on my heaving chest.

His big tattooed hand, groped my tits squeezing them , and rolling my nipples between his fingers. I groaned, slowly losing my mind. “You’re so fucking beautiful baby….your pussy is so fucking wet.” As soon as those words left his mouth, his fingers sped up. He crooked them up, hitting that spongy spot, as more pleasure bursts through me.

I gasped and whined, as his palm hit my sensitive clit over and over. “Noah please.” I begged, sounding breathless. “Please what baby? What do you need?” He asked, his voice soft but mocking. “I- I need to cum.” I stammered, as my end was nearing. His bottom lip disappeared behind his teeth, as his bit hard before speaking.

“Then cum y/n, cum on my fingers.” He groaned, trying so hard not to lose control. Without another word, I moaned out my hips stuttering against his fingers, as they fucked me through my orgasm. He removed his fingers, and pulled me upright, his eyes meeting mine with such an intensity that sent shivers down my spine.

“Come here,” he murmured, his voice a low growl that resonated deep within my throbbing core. I complied, eager yet shy, straddling his hips as I felt the heat radiating from his body. My face instinctively buried into the crook of his neck. The familiar scent of him—a mix of musk and something distinctly Noah—wrapped around me like a warm blanket, grounding and intoxicating at once.

His large hands gripped my hips firmly, guiding my movements as I instinctively began to grind against him. I could feel his hard dick pressing against me, igniting a deep fire within. He was huge. I whined softly, the sound muffled as I nuzzled deeper into his skin, desperate for more of this moment, more of him.

“Noah…” I breathed, feeling both exhilarated and vulnerable. He pulled my head back gently, his large hand wrapping around my throat in a possessive grip that both thrilled and terrified me. His eyes bore into mine, dark with desire and something deeper I couldn't quite place.

“Fucking look at me,” he said, his voice almost a growl, and full of command. His hips softly bucked up against mine, the material of his sweat shorts causing a delicious friction against my sensitive core. I met his gaze, my heart racing, captivated by the raw intensity of the moment.

And then, without warning, he closed the distance, capturing my lips in another heated kiss. It was a collision of want and urgency, igniting every nerve ending in my body.

His hips thrust upward again, drawing me closer, forcing my core against his in a way that sent waves of pleasure coursing through me. I moaned into his mouth, lost in the rhythmic grind of our bodies, the world outside completely forgotten. All that existed was him, me, and this intoxicating connection that burned brightly between us.

He pulled away, grabbing the hem of my shirt, and pulling it off swiftly. His eyes landed on my tits. His face dropped to my chest, teasing both of my nipples with his lips. My hands flew to the back of his head, gripping his short hair tightly.

He pulled back, wasting no time releasing his hard dick from his shorts with a soft sigh of relief. I almost drooled at the sight. He was definitely huge, and so so beautiful. The tip was bright red, already leaking. He must’ve seen the slight hesitation in my eyes, as his hand cupped my cheek, bringing my eyes up to his.

“You’re gonna take it right baby? And you’re gonna ride me, until I cum in that pretty little pussy right?” He groaned, his gazing burning into mine. The butterflies in my stomach were going wild with this new dominant side coming out of him. I nodded my head quickly, practically begging for it.

He shook his head at my lack of words. His hand now cupping my jaw, pulled me into him closer. “Say it.” He growled. Not moving until I spoke. I whined, my hips grinding harder against him. “Yes sir.” He smirked at my reply, pecking my lips softly. “Good fucking girl.”

He gripped my hips, pulling me up to hover over his dick. I gasped, as soon as the tip entered my core. It already felt amazing. He slowly pulled my hips down, further and further until he was completely bottomed out inside of me. “That’s it baby, just like that.” He moaned, pausing to let me adjust.

Before I knew it, his hips thrusted up, making me see stars. “Ohhh fuck Noah.” I whimpered, gripping his shoulders tight. He thrusted up again, his hips going at a steady fast pace as I bounced on his lap. “Fuck baby, you feel so good.” He moaned breathlessly.

He grabbed my hands, pulling them down, and forcing them back and crossing them behind me, as he held them together with one hand, he guided my hips with the other. My chest fell against his, as I gasped and moaned into his neck. His thrusts were hard, and fast. Almost knocking the breath from my lungs.

The hand holding my wrists tightened, as he bit down on my shoulder. “Noah fuck, please I’m gonna cum.” I groaned, as his hips sped up even faster. “Do it baby, please. Be a good girl and cum on my cock.” He panted, into my neck. That was all it took, my pussy instantly tightening around him, as I came for a second time.

I pulled my face from his neck, attacking his lips in a feral kiss. His thrusts became sloppy, as he finally came. His grip on my wrist tightened, the pain of it not even registering as I was too lost in the pleasure. He continued thrusting slowly as he fucked himself through it. His lips never leaving mine.

After a few short moments, he released me. Bringing my wrists to his lips kissing them gently. “I’m so sorry if I was too rough.” He whispered, against my skin before finally looking into my eyes. I smiled sweetly, cupping his cheeks. “I loved every fucking second of it.” He grinned, pressing his lips to mine, in a sweet kiss. “Me too.”

[seresinhangmanjake]

The One I Want: Part 6

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x plus size!reader

Summary: You’re new in town and some guy named Jake is about to be your roommate. Being skeptical of new people keeps you lonely and uninterested in any entanglements, but Jake is desperate to change that.

Notes/Warnings: mentions of physical abuse. probably cursing, but idk. insecurity and vulnerability. I'm sure there are typos.

Words: 2825

The One I Want Masterlist

Jake’s eyebrows pinch in confusion at the shifting expression on your face, then he follows your line of sight over his shoulder. Though he’s still yards away from you, you hear the soft ‘damn it’ that leaves his mouth. He’s out of his seat in the next half-second, Rooster quickly joining him. 

“How is she here?” Jake asks as you ease behind him. 

“I have no idea,” Bradley says.

Sifting his hand through his hair, Jake curses again as if the woman making her way toward the group is a ticking bomb they’re running out of time to dismantle. “Can you and Millie take her back to the apartment?”

“Your girl?”

“Yes. I don’t know what Brit will say, but I don’t want it directed at her. When Brit realizes she’s my roommate—”

Rooster nods. “Enough said.”

“Thank you.” Jake whips around and his head jerks back in surprise—his mouth parts. A new shade appears to travel up his neck to his cheeks, but the pinkish hue could easily be mistaken for the fiery glow of the bonfire reflecting off his skin. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Just a minute,” you say. “Who is she?”

Nat and Bob pull up on either side of you and you notice how all sets of eyes are glued to the woman who is still too far away to identify properly. Though, despite her distance and that you’d asked Jake for confirmation, she’s no mystery to you. She’s undoubtedly the woman from the gift shop. What you don’t understand is the intensity of everyone's reactions. 

Nat crosses her arms and with a frown, says, “Jake, how does she know you’re here?”

It’s a question that goes unanswered, but you suspect it’s not one that has an answer. They’re all shocked; no one pilot more or less confused than another. 

Ignoring both your question and Nat’s, Jake places his hands on your forearms to regain your attention. “Rooster and Millie are going to take you back to our place, alright?”

“Jake, why—”

“I just need to deal with this,” he interrupts, a barely detectable plea hidden within his tone. “I’ll get rid of her and then I’ll be home.”

Your breath catches at his wording. Get rid of her. You suddenly don’t care about the irritation swirling around the group or the stress on Jake’s face. Time slows. You’re shot back to a life you’ve been trying to forget. A life that had you so often discarded you'd learned to rid people of yourself before they could do it for you. 

“Does she deserve to be gotten rid of, Jake?” you ask, just above a whisper, for him and only him.

He flinches as if you slapped him, but he doesn't release you, and a bulge briefly forms in his throat before, bit by bit, the hurt infects the features of his face. He looks down to where his fingers are wrapped around your arms and squeezes, so light and gentle that were you not sensitive in the moment--hyperaware of every movement and sound--you wouldn't have felt it.

His hands slide down to your fingers, the pads of his fingertips resting under yours, his thumb grazing along the nail of your index finger. When his eyes flick up to yours, he says, “I’ll explain later."

The woman is close enough now that you can see the harsh scrutiny in her gaze as she looks you up and down. It morphs into a glare when she notices Jake’s hands on you, and she picks up in speed.

“If we’re going, it needs to be now,” Rooster says. “Baby,” he calls out for Millie, “We gotta go.”

She leaps up and rushes over to take his hand. The smile she directs at you is forced. “I was gettin’ tired anyway.”

—

Rooster and Millie drop you off with matching tense faces that look misplaced on both of them; appearing so odd you can’t help but stare hard at the crease in Rooster’s brow reflecting back at you in the rearview mirror. Despite only getting to know these people tonight, you suspect the mood filling this car is uncommon, especially when these two are within a foot and a half of one another while their hands are clasped and resting on the center armrest. 

“Jake will be back soon,” Rooster says as you exit the vehicle.

Then Millie adds a syrupy sweet, “I loved meetin’ you. If you ever wanna get together, let me know. I could use another friend in this town.”

Momentarily, you forget Jake in favor of the redhead smiling at you through the rolled-down passenger window. You could use another friend, too. Someone who isn’t so perfectly formed from the outside world's perspective. Someone who might be able to understand you. 

“I’d like that,” you reply. 

Rooster waits until you’re through the door of the building before peeling out of the lot and back down the street. 

When you make it into the apartment, you’re not entirely sure what to do. Everything you could do to distract yourself, whether it be cleaning or reading or watching TV, you won’t be able to put any heart into. They’d be useless distractions. You opt instead to take a seat on the couch and wait. But then the waiting grows boring, so you start to think. 

Get rid of her. Get rid of her. Get rid of her. 

There’s a layer of bitterness coating the roof of your mouth that you can’t swallow.

You just started settling into the idea that Jake could be different—good. His heart isn’t something he appeared to hide from you and the more time you spend around him, the more honest you’ve sensed him to be. Your resistance has yet to deter or turn him sour. Regardless of how you act, he still smiles at you every morning. He still makes you coffee and picks you up from work and wants you to spend time with his friends. He tries to integrate you into his life, but now you’re not sure for what purpose if this is how he views women. Disposable. 

You can feel it begin to crush you from all sides as you imagine the day Jake will look at you differently. The way he looked at her. 

Jake is worn down when he enters the apartment and finds you on the living room couch, your spine locked pin-straight. His eyes have lost their light, there is potentially a new fine wrinkle across his forehead, and his lips are pulled so tight they almost disappear. He’s so altered from the happy man of an hour ago. In fairness, you are as well. 

When he sees you, Jake smiles softly, weakly. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “You alright?” he asks.

You hadn’t considered a plan for addressing the event Jake didn’t allow you to witness, so it is your unprocessed emotions from the last hour that have you ignoring his question in favor of fueling what next comes out of your mouth. “She’s your girlfriend, isn’t she?”

Jake’s brow pinches as he crosses his arms. There’s no anger behind it; almost disappointment that you’ve reached such a conclusion. “What makes you say that?”

“I saw the mug in the trash. She got it at the gift shop where I work. A shirt, too, that matches.” 

The strain of his shoulders releases and his head falls back a bit, like that knowledge was the very last thing he needed you to have. “Fuck,” he groans, straightening his neck. “Of all the goddamn shops in this town…” His head shakes, then his eyes lock onto yours. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Was your girlfriend.”

“Not that either. She’s just…She lived here. Before you.”

Your hands tighten into fists that lightly press into the couch cushions. “Did you kick her out?”

“Not exactly,” he says. “She was month-to-month, and the month was up.”

“That doesn’t explain the mug, or the shirt.”    

Your words are spewing so fast, every held in question breaking out, and you don’t dare stop yourself. You need to know if you’re correct. You need the explanation he promised you to confirm your suspicions. You need it. 

“You were sleeping with her, right?” You ask, though you’re already positive that’s what birthed the issues between him and that woman. “You slept with her and now she has feelings for you so you won’t let her stay here anymore…Right?”

The hurtful look that you’d caused at the beach reforms on his face, and it’s a deep stab into your chest, a mix of frustration and regret. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“Sounds simple to me,” you snap. “Is this what you do? You sleep with women until it’s no longer convenient for you?”

“No! God, no. It’s not like this is my thing. She lived here and we got involved for three months. That was it,” he explains in a rush. “It wasn’t ever going to be anything more than sex, not to me, and when she realized that, she lost her shit, Ok? Broke things. Threw things. Hit me. I couldn’t let her stay here forever. I’m not some heartless dick, it just got out of hand.”

When he’s done, his chest is rising and falling like a man just off a five-mile run. He swallows hard, dragging a hand down his face in the silence that follows. 

It’s not a silence you know how to break. It’s a silence that demands you feel the full force of that stab wound in your chest, now shoved deep enough into your body to slice you right down the middle. Frustration is gone, easily overpowered by regret.

In a matter of ten seconds, Jake flipped over everything you had prematurely decided about the story between him and the woman. When you saw how she looked at you tonight and heard what Jake said, you thought you identified with her, that you’ve felt what she feels, that only you could see a swirling well of pain under her layer of anger. But as Jake stands before you, exhausted and desperate for you to understand, you realize you never considered that it’s with him you identify. Maybe it’s why pushing him away is much harder than anyone from your past. Maybe it’s why you want to believe he is good and genuine and kind. And maybe it’s why you’re realizing with each passing day that if you leave this town, you might not get away without also leaving a bit of yourself behind. Over the past months, you have—by subconscious mind or soul—connected with Jake Seresin through the pain you didn’t even know he’d faced. 

Jake steps around one of the chairs opposite the couch and his body falls into it like a ragdoll. 

“Does–” you begin, testing your voice. It’s meeker than you would like. “Does your team know what she did? Is that why they were so bothered when she showed up tonight? Everyone went into hyper-defense mode.”

He sits up, more at ease now that you’ve let go of your accusations. “They know she gave me trouble. They don’t know she would smack me or break my shit whenever I refused to treat her like my girlfriend.”

“Why?”

“If I told them while it was going on, they would’ve been pissed that I was letting her stay for a couple more weeks. They would’ve shown up at my door with a net to toss over her and drag her out,” he says, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. His hands clasp and one thumb runs back and forth over the other. “And I don’t tell them now because, even though it's over, the lecture would last days.”

“With everything she was doing, didn’t you want her out as soon as possible?”

“Of course I did, but she didn’t have anywhere to go yet,” he says. “Eventually, I found her a place and paid for six months in advance. She’s got about three more months before she has to take over the lease.”

As he speaks, a dash of hypocrisy weasels its way into your system. A defensiveness that you’ve never used to protect yourself instantly latches on to Jake. 

You want him to tell his friends about what he’s been through, though you refuse to toss him the measliest crumbs from your own story. You want to explain to him that he shouldn’t have sacrificed himself in his effort to remove that woman from his life, while also ignoring the fact that self-sacrifice is the only option you’ve ever chosen. You want him to tell you everything he’s ever felt so he can remove the boulder from his back, as long as he doesn’t request the same of you. But you know Jake doesn’t work that way. With a given inch, he goes for a mile, and you can’t risk that. 

“Does she bother you often?” you ask. 

“There are days when she shows up out of nowhere, not unlike tonight, either pissed off all over again about everything that went down,” he nudges his head in the direction of the trash can, “or sickeningly sweet and asking to come back with gifts in hand.”

From that alone, you know Jake Seresin is stronger than you. He stands firm in one place despite the chaos that sporadically comes and goes from his life. He stakes his claim, choosing to remove the problem rather than consider that he is the problem and must be the one removed. But you can see, no matter how strong, it takes its toll on him.  

What comes over you next, you’re not quick enough to stop. You stand and find a new seat on the glass coffee table across from him, not fighting the closeness that gives your knees no choice but to be tucked between his. When your touch lands atop his clasped hands, they immediately untangle and, much like your legs, your hand becomes encased. Were you with anyone else, you’d feel trapped, one step away from prisoner. But here, now, with Jake, your body isn’t pulling away. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

Though his head is lowered, he nods and you catch a hint of his half-hearted smile. Then he flips his hand so your palm is face-down on his, and with his other hand traces the edges of your fingers, from thumb to pinky and back. You try to ignore the zips and tingles that shoot up your arm from his soft motions. You fail. 

“Jake, why do you even bother with a roommate? I know you can afford this place on your own.”

“I don’t like to be alone,” he says, still lazily running his touch up and down the curves of your fingers.

“How come?”

That finger ceases its gentle tracing and he looks up. He’s suddenly much closer. Less inches remain between your nose and his, your eyes and his, your lips and his. “How about this…” His breath holds a heat that brushes your cheeks. “I tell you something; you tell me something.”

When you instinctively lean back a few inches, you swear he moves forward, like a magnet chasing after its partner. Your hand starts to slip and his palm shifts so his fingers can curl up through the spaces between yours.

“Like what?” you ask.

“Something about you.”

His eyes hold yours, that increasingly intoxicating shade of mossy green unwavering. His touch seems to extend past the warmth of his grasp, now flowing through you from head to toe. 

“What do you want?” you let out an awkward chuckle to distract yourself, and hopefully Jake as well, from the heat flushing your cheeks. “My favorite color?”

“Your favorite color is green,” he says. “I want to know something more than that, if you’re willing to share it.”

You search for any meaning behind what he says other than the one you know he’s after. He doesn’t just want something more, he wants something that means more. Something deeper that will put a crack in your shell. Something that will bring you closer to him.

To your surprise, it’s not a thought you immediately banish. Giving him more would, in theory, aid the budding connection you're not sure you want to break. But what you have to give might very well break that connection anyway. It could bring him a clarity you’d rather he not have as to why you are the way you are. If your story is too much for him to accept without altering how he sees you, you will pack up and leave solely for the escape, to avoid witnessing the rapid change of his treatment of you. And whatever he has to share in exchange couldn’t possibly have you viewing him as negatively as he might view you. 

“It’s a fair trade, don’t you think?” he says, “So, what do you say?”

---

A/N: Sorry if your favorite color isn’t green. I just picked one.

tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @matisse556 @hardballoonlove @ssa-sadboi @lynnevanss @pono-pura-vida @tgmreader @amgluvsbooks @ravenhood2792 @djs8891 @shakespeareanwannabe @sailor-aviator @penguin876 @rogersbarnesxx @nani-kenobi @tgmavericklover @athenabarnes @emilyoflanternhill @wretchedmo @shanimallina87 @elite4cekalyma @buckysteveloki-me @shelbycillian @kissmethric3 @fox-bee926 @hangmandruigandmav @waltermis @fandom-life-12 @a-serene-place-to-be @bruher @cehenyne @tngrace @mamaskillerqueen @emma8895eb @benedictsvestcollection @blackwidownat2814 @himbos-on-ice @entertainmentgal8 @hookslove1592 @whoeverineedtobe @alwaysclassyeagle @chaytea06 @cherrycolas-things @turtle-in-a-tornado @have-a-nice-day-k @inkandarsenic @kidd3ath @townmoondaltwistle

[storiesofsvu]

Decadent Desires Ch 14

Emily Prentiss x reader warnings: language, smut eluded to briefly, mentions of typical BAU type stuff. If any of y’all are my ao3 ppl, bless you & thank you for all the extra comments & chatting about this story! I absolutely love hearing all your thoughts/opinions/what you think is gonna happen. Like, yes please, send me your full book reports! Everybody gets an A++

After last chapter; for anyone who might want to look into more Heather Dunbar, all her works can be found here

Your eyes twitched, daring to open long before you wanted them to and you stifled a yawn, shifting slightly in the bed. As your senses came to you could feel Heather’s arm very loosely thrown over your waist, though it wasn’t an act of intimacy and definitely wasn’t cuddling. You’d accidentally fallen asleep in her bed the night prior before she could even bring you a bottle of water, exhausted from the heat and sun and thoroughly fucked. She stayed up for another couple of hours before turning in herself and sometime during her sleep had rolled over closer to you, her hand flopping across your hip.

The chirping out the window became too much and you knew you weren’t going to get anymore sleep, no matter how hard you tried. Your eyes cracked open, looking at the clock on the nightstand, at least it was already past nine, you’d gotten a little bit of a sleep in. Tossing Heather’s arm off you, you groaned softly as you sat up, stretching out your body and rolling your neck, a couple of joints cracking as you did so.

“Why the hell are you up?” She grumbled, burying her face into the pillow.

“Our flight’s at noon.” You yawned, “I’ve got to start packing.”

“I own the fucking plane. We take off when I say we take off.”

“Check out is also at noon.” You chuckled, swatting at her hip as you stood from the bed, beginning to collect your clothes that were scattered across the floor.

“You really think I didn’t already pay them off for a three p.m. checkout?” She finally opened her eyes, rubbing at them as she looked up at you and you laughed softly again.

“Then sleep. I need to shower and pack and probably get a few things ready for the week, we were so focused on the retreat I know I must’ve been missing a few things back home.” You crossed through the open door back to your room.

“God.” She huffed, dropping onto her back into the pillows as she picked up her phone, “it better not be fucking snowing back home.”

“Heather please, it barely snows in D.C.” You laughed as you hastily folded the clothes in your hands, dropping them into your open suitcase as you glanced around the room. “Hey, is Rob still off on Sundays?”

“Yeah.” She called back, “he said something about wanting to make a late dinner tonight.”

“You think you can ask him to meet us at the jet?”

“Why?” She sat up, holding the bedsheet to her chest as concern took over her face, knowing just how much a week of travel and this amount of sun exposure could affect you, “are you feeling sick? I need you for that merger meeting.”

“I’m fine.” You cast a look over your shoulder as you wrapped a towel around you, “I’ve just got a date with Prentiss on Wednesday.”

“Sweetheart, you’re in the clear.” She assured and it was your turn to chuckle.

“Heat… how many people are you currently fucking?”

“In D.C?” She asked and you nodded, “three not including Rob. But you know I don’t let them fuck me and I don’t share toys.”

“Not the point. It was in the contract I signed and Rob is far faster and more convenient than me taking time off my precious and very important job to see my gyno.”

“I will call him and tell him what time to meet us.”

“Thank you.” You shot her a smile, digging through your suitcase for classy yet comfortable clothes for the plane ride home.

“If you’re going to all that effort you may as well come back in here for one last round.”

“Go back to sleep Heather!” You called back, disappearing from the doorway and Heather heard the shower starting a moment later, letting out a sigh as she dropped back into the bedsheets.

**

Emily could not wait a second longer to get out of this hell hole and back home, preferably without a stop at the BAU first. Every case was teetering the line on rough, things that no normal human would be okay with witnessing or being around and this one was no different. This time there was the added affect that no matter how hard the team tried, they were always a second too late, never finding a living victim, an hour behind the unsub every step of the way until they’d finally baited him into it. Not only was she exhausted and not looking forward to the amount of paperwork that was going to come across her desk because of this week, but she really didn’t want to get the lecture she knew was coming from Bailey.

She stashed her bag into one of the cupboards, retreating to the back of the jet to drop down into the corner seat, letting out a weary sigh as she ran a hand over her face, pinching at the bridge of her nose. She just needed to get home and she would be able to handle this. Thankfully no one else really wanted to socialize either, finding more private spots on the jet, curling up in seats and couches until the plane was at cruising altitude and most everyone was asleep. She dozed off a bit herself, thankful for the rest though she wished it was more when she stirred in her seat, eyes cracking open to find they were still another few hours from Washington.

A fresh mug of steaming and very welcomed coffee found itself on the table in front of her as Tara hovered in the aisle beside the quad of seats.

“You okay?” She asked gently.

“Yeah.” Emily replied with a huff, picking up the mug, “that just… fucking sucked.”

“Man it really did.” The other woman groaned, dropping into the seat across from her, “but remember…we got him.” Her hand reached out, squeezing at her knee, “he won’t hurt anyone else.”

“I just really wish we’d clued in earlier, could’ve saved a lot of people a hell of a lot of hurt.”

“I know.” Tara replied, “so do I.” With another squeeze of her knee she settled back into her chair, taking a sip of her coffee, “we’ll do better next time.”

“Mmm.” She nodded.

“Thanks, for the extra days off by the way.” Tara commented, noting that while they were heading home on a Sunday that Emily had made the call the BAU wouldn’t be functioning until Wednesday.

“You guys need it.” She sighed, “after a case like this, everyone needs time to disassociate and pretend like there’s nothing wrong in the world.” Her gaze drifted out the window, “JJ needs to see her family, spend time with them, hug them so tight it’s like she’ll never let them go. You better be going to see Rebecca; remember why we do what we do to keep the world safe….”

“And what about you?” She asked after a quiet moment, watching the way Emily’s face twitched as she stared out the window a moment longer before turning back to her and waving her off.

“I’ll be fine. I’ve been doing this a long time.”

“I know you have, and I’m not profiling, I’m doctor-ing, so you can’t lecture me.” Tara leant in on the table between them, “deny it all you want, but you have someone right now who means something in your life. It could be a new friend and that’s it, but it also could be something more and I don’t need to know any details right now, but I want to make sure you’re not just going home alone to a bottle of wine tonight.”

Emily huffed, taking another sip of coffee, “she was out of town this week, I’m not even sure when she’s back.”

“Hey…” Tara’s hand slid across the table, squeezing at her own, “whatever change you’ve made recently? It’s been a good one. You’ve been happier, more energetic, getting out of work on time and spending your weekends actually doing something. I haven’t seen you do anything other than work since we came back, so call her please… for me?”

“I’ll think about it, but I’m not making promises. I’ve got a mountain of paperwork and god knows Bailey’s gonna be blowing up my phone once he hears about the case.” She sighed,  though her lips curved up into a soft smile and Tara relaxed into the seat across from her, giving her a knowing look before Emily’s gaze drifted out the window again.

**

Once home you began the usual post travel routine, make sure to immediately unpack, dumping clothing directly into the laundry and setting aside those that needed to go to the dry cleaners. You sorted through your work bag, filing everything correctly, stashing half away in your home office and packing the rest back up to have on the go. A quick clean out of the fridge, tossing anything that had unfortunately gone bad over the course of the week before putting in a grocery order and deciding to rely on take out for dinner. Finally, it was time for a luxurious everything shower. It didn’t matter how expensive or fancy the resort was, you always preferred your own shower, the water pressure and temperature was perfect, you had all of your own skin and hair products and didn’t have to worry about taking too much time or how many other people’s feet had touched the tub.

You wandered back downstairs just in time for your dinner to arrive, making sure to leave a hefty tip for the driver as it was much later than you’d normally order and the weather was starting to turn. Not even waiting to fully unbox everything you dug a fork into the chow mein, your stomach growling heavily already, stuffing a few forkfuls into your mouth. When you turned to grab a bottle of wine your eyes landed on the practically overflowing recycle bin and glancing over to the calendar you let out a groan, it was getting picked up in the morning, but only if it was in the alley.

With an annoyed sigh, you grabbed a sweater, shoved on a pair of slip-ons and grabbed the bin to trek through the yard and dump in the appropriate place. Back inside you locked the door behind you, a shiver moving through you at the chilly air lingering in your kitchen as you washed your hands and finally poured out a glass of wine. A sip of that and another mouthful of noodles and there was a knocking coming from the front door. A quick glance to your phone confirmed you hadn’t missed anything so you padded over to the door, unlocking it and pulling it open to find Emily on the other side.

“Hey.”

Your voice broke her out of her trance of worry, fully registering that she actually had shown up at your door in practically the middle of the night. Her eyes flicked over your form, her shoulders relaxing at just how cozy and at peace you looked, leggings and loose sweater, your hair still damp and messily braided to keep it out of the way while your face was bare of any make up.

“Hey.” Emily replied, mimicking your soft smile. Her ears picked up the sound of laundry going in the distance and she spotted your work bag sitting right inside the entry, eyes flicking up to the kitchen to your barely touched take out and she suddenly put it together, wincing, “oh shit! I’m so sorry, you just got back.” She couldn’t help it, glancing over her shoulder as if it would be a better idea to retreat to her car, “this is outta line, I should’ve called. I just… man today really fucking sucked…”

You practically snorted at the out of line phrase, your hand reaching out to pinch at her elbow, waving her into your home, “it’s fine, come on in.”

You lead her into the kitchen, urging her to take a seat at the island as you stripped off the sweater, now back in the warmth of the house. “Wine?” You asked, opening the cupboard, “or something stronger?”

“Something stronger, please.” She grumbled, running a hand over her face. She glanced up at the sound of you sliding a tumbler of bourbon over to her and her eyes landed on the cotton ball stuck to the inside of your arm, “are you okay?”

“Hmm?” You asked, looking over your shoulder to her as you stashed the bottle back in the cupboard and she gestured to your arm. “Oh,” you let out a small huff of a laugh, ripping the band aid off and tossing both into the garbage, “yeah, just had some blood taken.” You slid back onto your stool, picking up the carton of noodles and gesturing to the others, “you hungry?”

“No, thank you.” She let out a weary sigh, taking a long drink of her booze.

“Emily… are you okay?”

She glanced up at you, her eyes flitting between your oh so cozy aura, the barely touched food, prime wine that you were trying to enjoy and she let out a huff, nearly pushing back from the island. “god, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have just shown up like this.”

You managed to catch her hand before she had managed to actually push her stool back, “Em… I said it was fine.” You squeezed gently, urging her to sit back down and she did.

“It’s just.. I’m not exactly.. uh.. up to my normal caliber and definitely not in the headspace for our normal activities…” She nearly avoided your gaze and you let out a soft laugh.

“And that’s perfectly fine.” You reassured her, nudging her glass closer toward her, “compensation doesn’t always have to be sexual. There’s an entire other dynamic to it, companionship means support too. Contrary to what you may think, I do actually enjoy spending time with you and that will always include outside the bedroom.”

She let out a deep breath, “my brain is still trying to sort out the whole sugar baby situation and I think I’m just overcomplicating things. I kind of figured it was a sex for money but make it…morally legal.” She nearly laughed at her own words, pulling a small grin from you.

“There are plenty of sugar baby relationships that don’t even involve sex. Some people are just lonely, or scared of doing things by themselves so they have someone go with them to lunch, movies, opera, the theatre. Hell I’ve heard of a few old married couples where the wife has a passion for arts and the husband would much rather sit at home with the game on, if he doesn’t have to suffer through it himself, he has absolutely no qualms with a much younger man escorting his wife.”

“So I really am overthinking things?” She asked, looking back up to you with a soft smile and you chuckled.

“Yeah.”

“I still feel bad about intruding on your evening.”

“It’s not like I had much planned.” You shrugged, “now c’mon, help yourself to food, I’m definitely not going to finish it all.”

“Oh, I couldn’t.”

“Em..” you warned, “when was the last time you ate? Truthfully.”

“Before we got on the jet.” She winced and you cast her a glare.

“We’ve got noodles, rice, beef and broccoli or ginger chicken.” You pushed the containers toward her, “help yourself.”

She picked up a fork and the container of rice, taking a couple of bites while a comfortable silence took over the room and she was finally able to relax a bit. It was then that she started to realize more of the meaning behind your words, and why she was so drawn to showing up at your house in the first place (and why Tara had been so insistent on it). If she had just gone home she would likely be pouring over case files and attempting to get as much paperwork done as possible to get ahead before Bailey got into things with her. Sleep wouldn’t have been an option until it was all done, she definitely wouldn’t have eaten and a bottle of wine would have been her best friend. Instead being inside your kitchen felt warm, welcoming, simply having another human in the same room made her remember that there was so much else to life than just work. Things didn’t have to be so dreary and boring all the time.

“How was Florida?” She asked after a few moments.

“It was decent.” You shrugged, “secured a good amount of supporters, got some up and comers onto our ideas, reminded myself I’m not actually terrible at tennis and managed to only have my ass grabbed four times while congressmen tried to teach me how to golf.”

“Ew.” Her nose crinkled and you laughed, “I hope this doesn’t sound bad, but do you… have to like, play dumb a lot around them?”

“Oh no, I actually am completely horrible at golf. And you only get one chance to truly play dumb around them before they realize how much potential you could or do have and only certain ones feed into the dumb, some see right through it.”

“So you’ve got to know how to read them even quicker?”

“Yup.” You took a sip of your wine, “Heather always said it’s best to slide in with a hint of sensuality, let that be the bait and you have a matter of minutes to figure out whether you’re going low or high status to get them wrapped around your finger. The guys, it was go low. Do I have a very successful career with one of the highest ranked Senators in the country? Of course, but that completely slips their minds on a retreat like that when I’m wearing a cute outfit serving them drinks filling the role of cart girl.”

“Huh.” She replied, digging through the container before taking another bite and silence took over the room again. Though this time there was something lingering in the air and after a few minutes you chose to speak up.

“I take it your week wasn’t as good?”

Emily let out a heavy breath, “just a really bad case. I don’t want to drag you down with details but it was one of the worst we’ve seen in a while and in the end we barely caught the guy.”

“You sure you don’t want to talk about it? I promise I can handle the gory details; Tony never holds back; I actually think he over exaggerates to make himself sound cooler…”

“Tony?” Her brow furrowed.

“Agent friend.” You replied with a shrug.

“Ah,” she poked around at the rice again, “and no, but thanks. I think I just really didn’t want to be alone tonight.”

“Alright.” You cast her a warm smile, closing the lid on your take out as you stood from the island. You were full and Emily had done nothing but play with her food for a while now, you were sure she wasn’t going to eat anything else. “How about we take the bottle of wine upstairs then?”

“Oh, but I—” she stumbled over her words and you laughed softly, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder.

“I’m not going to pounce on you, don’t worry. The tv in the bedroom’s nicer and it’s getting late, may as well fall asleep in the bed rather than have to drag ourselves from the couch later.”

She let out an awkward laugh, closing the rice container and sliding it over to you, “oh, right.”

You looked back at her, reaching your hand out as she slipped off her stool, “C’mere.” Tugging her to you she let out a little ‘oop’ as your arms wound around her, wrapping her into a tight hug. A wave of relief crashed over you as she let out a content sigh, relaxing into the embrace and the tension in her shoulders finally began to drip away. You pressed a soft kiss to the side of her head, squeezing at her once more before gently pulling away.

“Thank you.” She murmured softly, giving you a tired smile.

“Anytime.” Your hand trailed down her arm, curling around hers as you turned to the staircase, “now come on, you need some good cuddles and sleep, number one recommendation from doctors after a rough week.”

_______________

@mickey-gomez @momlifebehard @daddy-heather-dunbar @maybe-a-humanbean @rustyzebra @leftoverenvy @kades95 @dextur @supercriminalbean @emilyprentisssluvr @lex13cm @zizzlekwum @emobabeyy @riveramorylunar @scorpsik @onmykneesformarvel @inlovewithemilyprentiss @regalmilfs4me @ara-a-bird bird @inlovewithmiddleagewomen @kmc1989 @irishavengersassemble @hopedoesntknow @venromanova @waitaminuteashh @noahrex @imlike-so-gaydude @wittygutsy @cx-emerald-cx cx @momily @nilaues @borinxnovak @soverign @v3nusxsky @mccdreamys-writes @l4yne @obsessedwjill @supercorpstan97 @asolitaryrose3 @lisqueen @mrs-prentiss @whitewinewithice @d33pd3sire-blog @daffodil-heart @maximoffcarter @i-lovefandom @chimnlex @moonlightjxuregui @chestnutninny @gamma-rae-bursts @just-moondust @idkifimasub @gaydragonwitch @dowsedwithbleach @divergentalwaysandforever-blog

[baby-yongbok]

4:26 am

Best friend!Bang Chan × Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut

Summary: You love your boyfriend Minho, but lately your best friend has been on your mind.

Warnings: Cheating, Chan is a tiny bit manipulative, Car Sex? (That should be all, sorry if I missed anything!)

A/N: This might might, be the last of Chan's birthday posts. I have one more that I prepared awhile ago but I might save it. Who knows lol. I hope that you enjoy! I'm trying to start writing again and it's been hard so I'm sorry if this is a bit rough 😅

✨️Masterlist✨️

 “Tell me again why we're parked in an abandoned parking lot at 4:26 am.” Chan asks quizzically. I sighed, running my hands over my face. 

“I needed someone to vent to.” My gaze stays fixed on my lap, I don’t know if I can look at him, I don’t know what I’ll do when his eyes meet mine. He’s my best friend and I know I can tell him anything, hell, he picked up the phone in the middle of the night and came running to me. So I know that I can trust him but right now the thought of looking him in the eye with these thoughts running through my head is dizzying.

“Well I'm here, start when you want.” He leans forward, crossing his arms and resting them on top of the steering wheel. I run my hands through my hair as I try to gather my thoughts.

“Okay so, uh, Minho came home early tonight and he surprised me with this really cute home date and ya know… we had sex and it was good, really it was, but I just don’t feel… I haven’t been feeling…” My heart is beating a mile a minute, Chan and I are extremely close and we talk about our sex lives all the time but this time it’s different. 

“Unsatisfied?” Chan asks with an eyebrow raised. I nod my head, thankful that he finished the sentence for me. Talking about Minho behind his back feels so wrong but I suppose it’s not as wrong as what I plan to confess next.

“Yeah, unsatisfied and I've been… thinking of someone else.” I swallow hard as I play with the zipper of my hoodie, desperate to pay attention to anything but the look on Chan’s face. I know him, I know that he’s looking at me with semi wide interested eyes and he’s waiting for me to look back at him but I just can’t. 

“Who do you think about?” If I were in a hospital right now the nurses would go crazy because I am almost certain that my heart stopped, exploded even. I knew that he’d ask me that question but hearing it actually come out of his mouth sets off a whole new type of panic. Should I tell him the truth? I’m in a relationship, a beautiful and loving one at that, I shouldn’t go around confessing these things. But on the other hand, the thought of my fantasy coming true is too inviting to ignore. It’s now or never and I choose now.

“Well, it depends on the day. It could be Hyunjin, Seungmin, but… I mostly think of you. I guess it’s because of our connection or some shit like that, I don't know” My nerves got to me half way through my confession, shit, he must think I’m fucking with him. The silence around us lasted far too long for my liking, causing me to look over at the man in the driver's seat. His eyebrows were slightly raised and there was a red tint to the tips of his ears but other than that he seemed completely cool and collected. 

“Okay, uh, you think about me in what way? Like, do you daydream about me and kind of dissociate from Minho or do you pretend that he's me?” His brows knit together briefly before relaxing again. He shifts in his seat, leaning back completely and bringing his crossed arms to rest over his chest. He’s clearly trying not to show the effect that my confession has on him.

“I imagine that he's you, that his hands are yours and that you’re the one fucking me, it's better when I pretend.” I look back down at my lap as a deep blush creeps onto my cheeks. 

��Do you come faster? More intensely?” My head jolts up quickly and my eye’s find his immediately, the look of disbelief written all over my features makes Chan grin. He chuckles a bit and that's when I realize that he's messing with me. I sigh dramatically, relaxing into my seat before flashing my middle finger in his direction.

“Fuck you, don’t taunt me.” He smiles wider, looking down at his lap.

“I just want to know for my own personal records.” He licks his lips before looking back up at me  “It's fun hearing what I do to you.” 

At this point I’m sure that my brown skin is as red as a rose. Why did he have to look at me like that? Is he trying to ruin me? 

“I called you because I need to vent.” I remind him as I turn to look out of the passenger window, anything to avoid his gaze for a second. 

“Sorry sorry, continue.” I clear my throat and unzip my hoodie just a bit, is it getting hot in here? Why does his car suddenly feel so small?

“He falls asleep after sex all the time, I mean how could I blame him? Three rounds every night for four or five days a week is a lot on top of working and all of the other stuff that he does in a day. But no matter how many times we do it I’m still not satisfied afterwards, I watch porn and use my vibrator on the bathroom floor, every time.”

“Did you do that tonight?” His eyebrows knit together in curiosity, I open my mouth to try to answer him but when I look back in his direction I get distracted by the sight of his strong arms. He leaned back in his seat a bit more than he was a minute ago, his fingers intertwined and tucked behind his head giving me the perfect view of his biceps and everything that matches it. 

“No, I called you instead. I just needed to talk to someone. I feel like I'm going crazy, I keep wanting more and more sex. This can’t be normal.” Chan chuckles lightly and I can’t help but to roll my eyes. Is he even taking this seriously?

“Well either you're a sex addict or you aren't satisfied because you want someone else. In this case that person would be me.” He moves his hands from behind his head and rests them in his lap lazily.

“So, what? I fuck you and it goes away? If anything I'll keep wanting it.” I scoff, shaking my head in an attempt to erase the thoughts.

“You'll never know unless you try.” My eyes meet his quickly, I open my mouth to reply but no words make sense in my head. Is he serious? He’s messing with me… right? 

“I couldn't cheat on… I can't.” 

“Haven't you already though? Thinking of another man inside of you while he is? Imagining that you're with me.. your best friend. If he were thinking of someone else while he fucked you would you call that cheating?”  I turn away from him as if I'm physically trying to run away from his words. This is all too much to handle. The man that I can’t stop thinking about is basically offering himself to me. But I can’t do that to Minho, he’s been nothing but good to me for all of these years, he’s loving and attractive and he shares all of my values… but so does Chan and right now my best friend has one up on my boyfriend when it comes to intimacy. Is this really worth it? Is sex really worth potentially ruining my relationship to start a new one with Chan?

“I'm single, Y/n, if I screw you no one will care. But you, you're in a relationship. If we fuck you'll either feel guilty and confess everything to him or you'll feel so amazing that you'll call me at 4 am every night, The choice is yours.” Silence surrounds us and it almost feels heavy on my skin. What should I do next? I could tell him to take me home or I could get in the backseat and let him fuck me until I’m satisfied. I glance over at Chan to find that he’s already looking at me, his relaxed gaze is raking over my frame slowly but that’s not what did it. It was the way he licked his lips as his eyes met mine, like he could already taste me. Like he already had me. 

“Fuck it.” I blurt out, making up my mind all at once. It’s like every system in my brain shut off at once. I'm not really even thinking anymore, every move is now driven by desire. “Let me see your dick.”

 I maintain eye contact so that he knows that I’m serious. A smirk plays upon his lips and his eyebrows raise instantly.

“That escalated quickly.” He chuckles and I try my best to hide my giddy grin, Am I really doing this? Maybe I can take it back?

“Show me.” Chan takes a deep breath, hooking his thumbs into the waistline of his sweats before giving me a glance. I can tell what he’s trying to say with his eyes, he’s asking me if I’m sure about this and to be honest that answer is no, I’m anything but sure. All I know is that part of me is desperate to see if he really has this effect on me or if it’s all in my head. I nod to him and without another word he lowers the hem of his gray sweatpants and his cock springs up, resting against his clothed stomach.

Fuck what I said before, I don’t want to take it back. The mere sight of his dick, makes my mouth water. It takes every ounce of control that I have in my body not to lean forward and take him in my mouth. I want to taste him, to feel him, to use him.

“No underwear?” I tease with a smile and he shrugs.

“You said it was an emergency, I rushed over to you. Threw on the first thing I could find.”

“Mm maybe that's a sign.” He furrows his brows slightly as he watches me with curious eyes. I unzipped my hoodie completely, revealing the lingerie that I had put on for Minho tonight and never changed out of. 

“Fuck.” Chan says in a breathy sigh, bringing his hand up to his cock.

“Is it still cheating if I don't touch you?” I slip off my silk sleep shorts and turn my body towards Chan so that my back is against the passenger door. I open my legs to give him a full view of my cunt, reaching down to spread my arousal over my folds. 

“You’re so fucking pretty, babygirl” His tone is a bit deeper than before, the soft and playful tone replaced with a deep and husky one. He holds his hand out towards me and I nearly moan at the words that follow.

“Get it wet for me?” A low hum vibrates from my throat as I lean forward, pursing my lips and spitting into his palm. He coos at me, a quiet ‘good girl’ leaving his lips as he watches me. His eyes don’t leave mine as he takes his hand back and spreads my spit over his leaking tip mixing my saliva with his pre-cum. Slowly, his eyes trail down my body until they fix on my dripping pussy. He slowly starts to stroke himself, exhaling heavily when he rubs over his tip.

“Play with yourself for me, yeah?” At this point the only thing going through my head is Chan. He’s all I can remember, all that I want, all that I need. I feel drunk off of the sight of him sitting across from me, cheeks flushed and his long fingers wrapped around his hard cock. How could I possibly want to do anything but please this man?

I take a deep breath, exhaling slowly through parted lips, my eyes stay trained on him as I slowly trail my hand from my neck to my stomach. I watch his expression as he grows a bit impatient from my teasing, his dark gaze warning me to give him what he asked for. 

“Does it look like I want you to tease me, baby?” The tone of his voice sends chills down my spine, his words are breathy and challenging and it makes me hungry for more. What would he do to me if I kept teasing? How would he punish me? 

“Why would I give you what you want right away?” I run my fingers along my inner thighs, smiling at him as his gaze drops from my eyes to my core, watching my hand carefully. “That would be boring.”

“Touch yourself or I'll do it for you.” A shiver runs down my spine as I imagine him getting impatient with me and taking control, using his long fingers to fuck me. Why do I feel drunk off of that thought? It hasn’t even happened and yet I feel like I’m on cloud 9. 

“Fuck.” I hiss as I run my fingers between my folds brushing against my clit and circling it. Chan strokes himself a bit faster as he watches me, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. 

“Put a finger inside.” He looks up from my cunt and my eyes follow his meeting for a second. My pussy clenches around nothing, desperate for something, anything, him. “Pretend that it’s me” 

He nearly sounds like he’s pleading me to do it, like he’s desperate to see how I fuck myself. Desperate to see what the thought of him does to me. I nod, slowly obeying his command and slipping my middle finger deep into my cunt.

“Oh fuck.” My back arches up off of the passenger door once I start fucking myself, increasing the pace gradually as I start to become desperate for more. I pressed the palm of my hand against my clit, trying to add as much stimulation as possible. He watches in awe as my hips buck into my hand a bit. 

“Add another.” I quickly obey his command, adding my ring finger inside, eliciting a groan of pleasure to fall from my parted lips. I try my best to keep my eyes open, I want to watch him, I need to watch him. His strokes are much faster now, small grunts and sighs leaving his parted lips, his head thrown back in ecstasy. I take in the way that his jaw clenched as he builds himself closer to the edge, his right leg slightly bouncing, it's a masterpiece that I wish I could become a part of. 

“Chan.” His name passes my lips in a breathy moan and he looks over at me as he strokes the head of his dick, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip at the sensation. “I need you so badly.” 

“Your choice.” He groans out as he throws his head back again squeezing his eyes shut. “ Better make up your mind, I’m so close, babygirl.” 

I sigh heavily as I try my best to fight the urge to climb over and ride him until I pass out. I focus on my own pleasure again, Imagining that it’s Chan rubbing tight circles on my clit while his long fingers reach spots that I didn’t even know existed. I imagine that it’s him bringing me closer and closer to the edge, I wish it was him. The wet sounds of Chan stroking his cock mix with my moans as we both draw closer to the edge. I watch his hand as he pleasures himself, I wonder if he’s imagining that, that’s me. I wonder if he feels that same way. Does he touch himself to the thought of me at night? Thinking of all of the times that we were play fighting and his fingers grazed my bare skin, all of the tight hugs that we shared, my chest pressed up against him. Does he think about me?

“Shit, oh my god” I squeeze my eyes shut and arch my back at the thought of him wanting me just as much as I want him, maybe even more.

“Fucking cum for me, babygirl.”  Chan groans “I'm so fucking close for you.”

Those words alone throw me over the edge, one of my fantasies is coming true right in front of my eyes.

“Oh my- I'm gonna..” Before I could get another word out my orgasm rushed over me, breathtaking and mind fogging.  I clamped my legs shut and arched my back off of the car door. My moans filled the space around us but I couldn’t hear them, the pleasure was deafening. 

“Fuck, Y/n.” My name fell off of his tongue in a sweet moan and my pussy clenched at the sound of it, sending another wave of euphoria through me. “Oh shit, I'm cumming.” 

He squeezes his eyes shut, his strokes becoming shorter but still just as fast. A rush of adrenaline hit me and suddenly my vision changed. I felt like a rabid animal who was desperate for food. Suddenly, I forgot about everything that was looming over my head. All of my thoughts about Minho and saving our relationship were gone. All that I could think of was pleasure and I was absolutely driven by it, so much so that after the first stream of cum came leaking from Chan’s tip I leaned forward, getting on my knees in the passenger seat and running my tongue up his length. He moved his hand quickly, clearly surprised by my sudden confidence. I licked up to the head of his cock and then took the rest of his length down my throat. His seed spilled into my mouth in warm and delicious spurts, painting my throat with his sticky arousal. Every bit of him tasted like heaven and in this moment I swear that I would do anything that anybody asks as long as I get to stay here. As long as I get to feel him. 

“Y/n” His hand lightly lays on the back of my head, stroking my hair slightly. “Fuck, baby, you feel so good.” I bob my head a couple of times, milking his arousal from him until I’m sure that I’ve got every last drop. Once he’s come down from his high I sit up, releasing his cock from my mouth with a faint ‘pop’ and licking my lips. I sit back into my seat, settling in a bit while we watch each other. Chan’s chest is rising and falling heavily and there’s a ghost of a smile on his lips, once he seem to have composed himself a little the tiniest chuckle falls from his lips as he begins to tuck himself back into his sweatpants

“Do you think that fulfilled your lust for me?” 

“Not even close.”

[yesimwriting]

Promise

a/n yes im using the princess! reader who's about to be forced into a political marriage with anakin again,, and what about it the vibe is so fun to me, also i love jealous anakin

warnings: 18+!!! smut (he broke me down) written by someone whose only experience comes from fanfics, so pls be nice,, also written in 1st person bc that was the vibe when i started and i didn't realize this was going to get smutty (i'm sorry yall😭 it's still my best tense)

Summary: As a princess, your future is set in stone. You'll marry someone your father picks for you to aid your country. All of this you've accepted...until you befriend Anakin Skywalker, who was originally assigned to guard you during a time of political unrest on your home planet.

----

He's still near the door, arms crossed and expression as stoic as it was when he first interrupted my meeting to escort me to an urgent consultation with my father.

I understand that publicly we need to remain as indifferent as physically possible and that any sort of friendliness we display needs to seem completely surface level. But we're not in public anymore and usually the transition from appropriate indifference to something much warmer is instant.

"...How urgent is urgent?"

The question is more for our sake than anything else. I want to hear his voice outside of the stiff way he interrupted the meeting with that last suitor. He had barely looked at me as he mumbled something about my father. I want it to feel light the way it usually does between us. I want him to make one of those jokes that always has me rolling my eyes or to smile or--or to do anything that makes him feel like Anakin.

The urge to study him begins to make it hard to just stand there so I turn towards my vanity. What I'm wearing isn't exactly inappropriate for a closed door meeting, but it's more formal than I'd like and a little itchy. If I have time to change into something more standard, I'll take it. "If I call Raina in here I can be in something a lot more comfortable in five minutes."

No response. I smooth my hair back with my palms, eyes subtly shifting towards his reflection in the mirror. Anakin's taken the slightest step forward. "Anakin?"

His head tilts downwards, eyes briefly meeting mine in the mirror before darting away. There's something about the way he's holding himself that would feel bashful it was less stiff. "There is no meeting."

"What?" My head instinctually snaps in his direction. Anakin's already watching me. "You--you made up an emergency?"

This is--Anakin interrupted a meeting with the first suitor that didn't make my skin crawl. I wouldn't have been thrilled to walk down the aisle with him, but I could have likely learned to be content with him. At least he believes that women can do more than just be brides and raise children. He'd allow me to participate in some community work to bond with his people and I'd be able to visit home.

But that's besides the point. He could have been the most repulsive candidate my father had found for me and it still wouldn't have justified what Anakin did. I don't walk out of meetings. Ever. If my father finds out about this...

"Do you have any idea what my father will do if he finds out?" I sit the edge of my vanity's seat with a tired sigh. There has to be some excuse. I could blame it on sickness or a misunderstand or--

"Then I'll take the blame." Anakin's words pull me out of my thoughts. His voice is still stiff and lacking its usual warmth in a way that only adds to my unease. Why is he acting like this? "I'll tell him that it was my fault and that I misunderstood your schedule debriefing."

My fingers dig into the soft fabric of my dress that's pooling over the seat. "Don't." My voice sounds so small, so vulnerable I have to hate myself for it. "He might take that the wrong way and--" I exhale slowly, forcing myself to cling to rationality. "And he might arrange your removal."

Anakin scoffs. What is his issue? "Like that'd bother you."

My throat tightens. After everything we've been through, after telling him things that I've never been able to tell anyone...How can he just dismiss all of it? And why is he being so mean? "What?"

"You've found your ideal suitor and now you can get married and be sent away and never--" Anakin cuts himself off, eyes tearing away so quickly like there's painful about looking at me. "You don't need me anymore."

Oh. That's what this is about. "Anakin." He's staring at some distant point on my wall. "That's not true. You know it isn't."

Everything about him remains stiff. "You were smiling." He briefly glances at me, eyebrows drawn together so sharply it tugs at something in my chest. "A real smile, not your practiced one." Anakin lets out a sigh that feels as pointed as a sarcastic laugh. "And you laughed."

"What?" I'm not miserable in one meeting and now he's acting like I hate him. "I--I might have been making the best of it because he's the first suitor who didn't spend the entire time listing off the requirements for his bride, but that isn't the same as liking him." And even if I liked him, would that be such a terrible thing? Would it really undermine our entire friendship if I found a way to be married and not miserable? "I'm going to have to marry one of them at some point, and I d--"

"Don't marry him." Anakin blurts the sentence out in one wavering breath. The letters run together so closely it feels more like a single word.

For a moment, all the shaky request does is sit between us. I've been on several outings and meetings with potential suitors and Anakin's never reacted like this. What was so wrong about this last one? "Don't marry him? What do--"

Anakin's eyes finally meet mine. The way he's looking at me stings, all glossy eyes and a pouty frown that's trying its best to be harsh. He seems more pained than angry and that's somehow worse.

Don't marry him. The words too strained and small to be about just the man from earlier. Don't marry him means don't marry any of them.

Oh.

I scratch the back of my wrist as Anakin's eyes drop to the ground. He knows that I have no interest in marrying for my father, but even if I did, why would that bother him?

With a sigh, I push myself to stand. Why it upsets him doesn't matter. So much is already weighing on him.

Anakin doesn't look up as I start walking towards him. "I--I can't promise that." My nails dig into the skin of my palm. "I wish I could." The words leave a bitter taste in my mouth. "But it doesn't matter." Anakin's rigid as I carefully extend my hand and bend my fingers against his forearm. "You're always going to be important to me."

He pulls his arm forward instinctually. My hold on him loosens, but before I can take my hand back, Anakin adjusts his to squeeze mine. He's holding on just tight enough for it to feel uncomfortable, but I don't mind it. It's grounding.

"Until you're married." He's staring at where our hands sit between us. There's something I should say, something comforting and easing. Nothing's coming to mind. The reality of the situation is set in stone. I'll have to marry eventually and that--that will change things. But it'll never change the way I feel about Anakin.

Anakin, who always listens when I need to purge all of the resentment about the rules that control my life. Anakin, who sits with me when I can't sleep. Anakin, who has the worst sense of humor that can always pull a smile from me even when it feels impossible.

He moves our hands, releasing my hand at my side. The brief loss of contact makes my ribs feel cracked. "No." It's instinctual. "It's--" I reach forward, hand reaching for his arm. "You're the only person I can tell anything to, the only one that never expects anything from me and just--just likes me for who I am."

The realization that Anakin might be the only true friend I've ever had hits me hard and fast. All of that and a part of me has always been selfish enough to imagine what it'd be like to live in a different world that could allow for more. Though, that's barely been a thought that I've allowed myself to have. Neither of us are in a position to get attached to anyone in that way, and even if we were, Anakin wouldn't see me that way. Besides, his friendship is no small thing, so it definitely takes the sting out of the impossible.

"Who wouldn't?" The comment comes out so soft, so absentminded I nearly melt on the spot.

A lifetime of being a daughter instead of a son has a reflexive a lot of people attempting to crawl up my throat. I swallow the bitterness like bile before I can make this about me and settle on a much lighter, "You'd be surprised."

Any lift in his expression falls again. "You don't see it."

I do try to think about it, but nothing that makes sense comes to mind. "See what?" Anakin pauses, lips pressing together. I'm expecting some kind of response. Instead, Anakin shakes his head once dismissively. "Tell me." His lack of response has me gently shoving his shoulder. "I thought we didn't keep secrets."

He lets out a small breath, we're so close I can feel the warmth of it against my skin. "It's nothing." When my only reaction is to glare, he reaches for my hand. "I don't want to talk about them anymore."

Strange. What does whatever he's talking about have to do with what we were talking about? Yes, the suitors want to court me but they want me the same way they want an ornament or my father's leniency in a business deal. Before I can remind him of this, his hand finds my shoulder.

If Anakin notices the way I freeze, he gives no indication of it, he just trails his thumb up and down the start of my collarbone. It's not the first time he's done this, but until now the gesture has been reserved for late nights when I can't sleep. I'm so used to it being soothing that it immediately gets rid of any fight in my system.

"You've had more meetings recently."

I nod, still too focused on the feeling of his hand on my shoulder. "It's a busy time...celebration season is always elaborate, and things are...tense."

He nods. If there's one thing he knows about, it's the precariousness that seems to be reaching everyone these days. But my time with Anakin is limited. He's been assigned to be my personal guard during the celebration season since the year a political protestor took my mother's life. The season always feels like it will be long, but time always slips away quicker than it should when it comes to Anakin.

I know I shouldn't do this. He doesn't need any type of encouragement after what happened at today's meeting, but something's clearly been weighing on him and I do miss him. The additional events, the public outings, the suitors...all to save face as the threat of war continues to become a more pressing issue. "My father had most of my afternoon blocked off in case that last suitor wanted extra time."

Anakin frowns, his thumb stopping its outlined path across my shoulder. He is so dramatic. "I shouldn't be telling you this because it might sound like I approve of you making up an emergency, but if you don't have anything to do, we can catch up."

He tilts his head, a hint of a smile turning up the corner of his lips. "Catch up? We're together all day."

I extend an arm, gently pushing him. First, he basically throws a fit because he convinced himself it was possible for me to like a suitor more than him, and now that I want to do something with him, he's trying to make fun of me. "I mean about before you came here. We've barely had time to talk since you've gotten back."

"Okay," his thumb brushes back down where my collarbone meets my shoulder, "We can talk." He squeezes my shoulder before retracting his hand. "The garden or the library?"

Our two most frequented spots. I grin. "The garden, the weather's nice today." He smiles, taking a step back. "Give me a minute to change. I turn away from him, walking towards my closet. "I've been ready to take off this dress since Raina put me in it this morning."

Raina spent longer than a minute trapping me in between scratchy fabric and a stiffly structured top. All of those ties and buttons that I still can't reach. Ugh. I wonder if calling Raina in will lead to more attention being drawn to the fact that I left early. Technically, the official meeting would likely be over by now but my father wanted it to go well. He kept things open in hopes of it lasting a little longer.

It's probably better not to ask. Drawing any attention to me and Anakin isn't the best idea in general. We're good friends, which is okay in front of some people but wrong in front of others. Raina is a little skeptical. It's nothing personal against Anakin, she just knows me too well, which means she reads into things.

I stretch my arm back as far as it'll go and manage to undo the bottom of the lacing and a few buttons. Anything that's more than halfway up my back is impossible to get to. I twist and turn and push and I can't reach.

"Everything alright?"

Anakin's voice carries through the short hall. I sigh, giving the fabric one last desperate tug. "Everything's fine I just..." I squeeze my eyes shut before pinching the bridge of my nose. "Can you come here?"

A brief wave of silence that leaves my face burning lingers until the sound of footsteps ends it. Anakin appears in my closet's doorway. "You're okay?"

"Yeah," I mumble, "Yes, I just--I can't get the buttons." As if to make my point, I try again in vain, trying again to reach the tiny clasps.

"You need help?" Anakin's voice comes out lower than usual.

Maybe he feels just as awkward about this. "If it'd be easier, you could just call in Raina."

"No," I can hear his weight shifting off the doorframe, "I can do it."

He takes a few steps forward. Before I know it, he's directly behind me. Anakin smooths a hand over my hair before gently moving it over my shoulder. The way heat begins to crawl up my neck makes me glad that my back is to him. His hand settles against my back.

I pull my arms forward, crossing them in front of my chest. He takes over, fingertips grazing against my back. The longer he works, the looser the dress begins to feel. I should be feeling cooler now that I'm getting closer to just being in my thin layering dress, but all of my earlier warmth and discomfort is now rising up my face.

"Raina put you in this this morning?"

I nod, "Raina woke me up earlier than usual today to make me up." The final button is pulled apart. I have to keep an arm at my chest to keep the dress from pooling at my feet. "I think this might have taken longer than my hair."

The comment is meant to be lighthearted. Instead of taking it that way, Anakin lets out a breath as his hand settles against my hip. "Won't things be easier when you don't have to worry about finding a husband?"

Now it's my turn to sigh. I make a point of pulling his hand off my side. I wander further into my closet. "You know I want nothing to do with this." My grip on the dress tightens, my sudden movement making it harder to keep the heavy dress on. "And if you honestly think I find any joy in being packaged in suffocating fabric and bodices so structured that they stab into my ribs every time I breathe, then you don't know me."

I turn around and let go of the dress, allowing the gown to pool at my feet. I step out of the puddle of fabric before reaching for one of my hangers, a casual day dress that I've barely looked at.

"I didn't mean it that way." His voice comes out low, almost reluctant. It's not enough to ease me, so I make a point of scoffing. Something warm pulls on my forearm. Before I know it, I'm facing with him. Oh. Anakin's closer than I thought he'd be. "I'm sorry." He exhales, voice tight, "Don't be mad, princess."

I keep my expression neutral. Though I'm in no mood to be reminded of my title, Anakin has a way of making it feel like a term of endearment. "If you're bothered by my situation, I understand that." He's staring me with such intensity I have to make the conscious choice to not look away. "I really understand that, but do not treat me like this is my choice. Not all of us are meant for more and can do whatever we want."

"Not whatever I want," he whispers, voice strained.

Now it's my turn to wish I had bitten my tongue. Anakin's told me enough of the stories for me to know that while sometimes the fact that he gets to leave and be an active source of good makes me wish my life was different, his isn't exactly easy.

His eyes hold mine for a beat before drifting downwards. For whatever reason, that makes me aware of the fact that this is likely the least dressed I've ever been in front of anyone. Sure, Anakin's seen me in pajamas and casual wear, but the silk dress under my gown is thin and low cut.

"And don't say that this is what you're meant for." He pulls my arm down with his hand, letting his fingers interlock with mine. "I've seen you in meetings and the way that you care about your people. You don't need to do this."

Again, it's like he's trying to convince me to change my mind. Like this is something that I want. I don't understand what he's trying to convince me to do. "Try telling that to my father."

I'm not sure what it is, but something about Anakin's expression looks a little flatter. Maybe even disappointed. I get it, this isn't exactly a fun topic, and we have no reason to dwell on it now. It's not like I'm getting engaged tonight. And I rarely get time to just be around Anakin, my future marriage has already taken enough from me, it doesn't need to take this too.

"Why are we still talking about this?" I pull my hand back, ready to grab my dress. "It's not like anything's happening now, let's just go to the garden like we--"

Anakin reaches forward before I can turn around, his hand finding my shoulder.

"I--" He cuts himself off, "There's been a rise in meetings with potential suitors, it's not as easy to ignore as it used to be."

I know exactly what he's talking about. All of my energy has been focused on not thinking about that. But that's because it's my inevitable future. How could this possibly matter this much to Anakin? "Ignore what?"

"Do you have any idea how difficult it is to know what they're feeling? What they're thinking about you?" Anakin's breath catches itself in his throat, his thumb slipping beneath the strap of my dress. "What they're thinking about doing to you?"

Heat rushes to my face. I try to swallow to clear the lump in my throat but my mouth has gone dry. "Anakin?"

"I've spent so long trying to let you go."

What? Is he--is he saying that he-- "What?"

He tilts his head downwards, "You don't need to do this. I--"

"Don't say it." My hand is quick to grab the one he has on my shoulder. Push him away, I should push him away. My hand won't move. The one person I've always known I won't ever be able to have.

"Why not?" He asks the question so innocently, like he couldn't ever fathom a reason for me to shut this down. After a moment, his eyebrows pull together, a small frown playing at his lips. "You don't want me?"

If this was any less serious, that would have made me laugh. That is, most definitely, not the issue. "That's not true."

He relaxes slightly, his thumb trailing down my shoulder. Before I can explain issues that we both are definitely aware of, he leans impossibly closer. His weight on mine is nearly enough to make me forget the concept of logic entirely.

"Anakin," it's meant to be a warning. The breathiness of my voice takes away all of its severity. "We can't." I'm arguing for more my sake than his. He already knows all of the reasons that we need to agree to remain just friends before things get any more complicated. "What I want doesn't matter. Nothing I've wanted has ever mattered." He hasn't moved away, but at least he isn't trying to get any closer. "And even if it did, it's not like we'd suddenly be able to be together."

Anakin's hand adjusts on my shoulder, his grip tightening. He has the audacity to look like he's not sure what I'm talking about. "The Jedi code?" He blinks, still giving no indication of understanding why everything about us is impossible. "I'm sure I don't need to remind you why that matters, chosen one."

He scoffs. "I don't care."

I place my free hand on his chest, willing myself to create some distance between us before my judgement finally lapses. "You can't--you can't say that." My eyes squeeze shut, "I know that it's unfair, but time will pass and you'll feel rational again, and it'll be easier."

"Don't do that." The harsh quality of his voice nearly makes me step back. "Don't treat this like it's a political compromise."

Something about me trying to keep things together the only way I know how is hurting him. I don't know how to get through this without taking the emotion out of it. Still, I don't want to make this harder on him. My hand moves up his chest and rests on his shoulder. "I didn't mean it like that."

He nods slowly, visibly relaxing at my touch, "You're only pushing me away because you're afraid."

"What?"

Anakin's thumb drags across my skin. "You're afraid that if you let yourself even admit that you might want something that your father hasn't decided for you, and that if you're selfish for even a second, your entire world will fall apart."

If it came from anyone else, I'd be offended, but coming from Anakin, it just makes the real reason why I can't just say it and give in hurt more. "That's not it." Anakin doesn't respond. He wants me to say more and I'm not sure that I can. "It's--" What I'm afraid of is that I let myself admit that I want Anakin out loud, I'll have to decide whether or not I want him more than everything I've been working towards my entire life and that I won't like my own answer.

"It's that," I start over, staring at my hand on his shoulder in case looking at him directly will make the confidence I've gathered to wither away. "That if I let myself think about it, about you--like that--for longer than a moment, I might want you more than any of this."

He pauses, likely thinking through his words. Maybe he'll try to promise me that he wouldn't make me choose while not understanding that being with him at all makes that decision for me. Or maybe the amount of care I'm implying will scare him into second guessing this.

His hand slowly moves off of my shoulder. If my deep, dark secret has finally gotten him to understand why we're better off as we are, then maybe it's worth how hard it was to get out.

His fingers settle against my jaw. Slowly, he gets my head to turn. I look at him, expecting some kind of rejection to be written across his face. Instead, all I see in his eyes is a pool of emotion ready for me to drown in. "Would that have to be a bad thing?"

This time, the softness of his question doesn't feel like an attempt to dismiss our reality. It's so genuine it turns into a physical ache between us.

I'm reminded that despite all of his talent, confidence, and sense of humor that I've tried so hard to enjoy less, he's still a boy who's experienced so much heartbreak. The council constantly dismissing him and refusing to grant him the title he deserves, the loss of his mother, all of the expectations on his shoulders...

Would it be such a bad thing to want him more than anything else? To love him more that much?

I tilt my head back, just enough to press my lips against his. Anakin's quick to reciprocate, turning the barely there press of lips into something else with no warning. He shifts his weight so that he's fully against me. My back hits the wall of my closet before I realize what's happening.

It's heavy, my bottom lip being pulled between his teeth. The hand that's not still cupping my jaw settles on my hip, the silk of my slip dress crumpling between his fingers. I pull my head back, Anakin attempts to follow, teeth tugging on my lip one last time before letting us separate.

He doesn't let me get far, resting his forehead against mine as we both struggle to catch our breaths. "I'm sorry, I should have--"

"Don't be sorry," I manage between slow pants, "Not for that."

Anakin smiles, and for once, I don't mind feeding his ego. "I can feel how much you need me." The urge to squirm away and hide any potential embarrassment is strong, but I have no way to act on the impulse. I'm pinned between Anakin and the wall of my closet. He slowly pulls my dress, exposing another inch of skin. "Do you think any of your suitors could make you feel like this?"

I shake my head, "No." That's an easy thing to get out, "Only you."

Another tug that has more fabric pooling around my waist. "Promise you won't marry him." His head dips forward, his lips brushing against the end of my jaw. "Any of them."

My eyes instinctually shut. I need to hold it together. "You--you know I can't just--" He places an open mouthed kiss against my neck. "Anakin."

"Promise." An order.

I exhale, struggling to focus. "It's not--" Another kiss. "It's not f--air." My voice cracks on the last syllable as Anakin moves further down my neck. "You know I'd never break a promise I made to you."

"What's not fair is having to watch you meet with men who look at you and to know that this..." He pulls the strap of my dress off of my shoulder, exposing more skin that he immediately presses his lips against. "Is what they want to do to you."

What? I had never thought that my suitors fantasized about anything, everything about those meetings always feel so cold and political. I'd question it if I could bring myself to care about the revelation with Anakin's teeth pressing into the pulse point of my neck. "To have to watch them look at what's mine."

"Anakin..."

One last shift of fabric and the hem of my dress is now over my hips. His hand leaves my jaw and skims the waist of my underwear. "Promise."

His fingers finally reach where I need him most. My eyes instinctually shut at the sensation, a wave of pleasure I've never felt before nearly making me jump. Noticing my tension, he presses a gentle kiss against my cheek.

I have to give him something, and maybe that'll be enough to at least put this conversation off until I'm in a position to negotiate. "I'm yours." My ability to form sentences is quickly fading as his finger presses into me. "Can't that be enough?" A small part of myself hates how easily I'm cracking. "For now?"

Anakin does the meanest thing imaginable, he stops. "Promise me."

A pathetically desperate whine escapes me. He can't be serious. He won't walk away now just because I can't immediately promise to never marry anyone.

He straightens enough to pull away from the crook of my neck. "Anakin." I meet his gaze, and behind the harshness of his eyes, I see that he means it. "You know I--I can't--"

"We can work it out." That genuine side of him returns, softness bleeding back into his expression. "All that matters is that you want to."

"Of course I want to."

He leans forward again, forehead pressing against mine, "Then promise me..." Anakin's eyes briefly shut, "Promise me you won't marry anyone else."

I let myself take him in, how it feels to let him consume me entirely. It's too late for me, anyway. I wouldn't be able to will myself to walk down the aisle the same way I couldn't force myself to push him away. "I promise."

His lips are on mine in an instant. When I don't part my lips fast enough, he hooks two fingers between the waistband of my underwear and tugs them down my legs in one, swift motion. I gasp, giving him all the access he needs to drag his tongue against mine.

He moves back, beginning to press his lips against my jaw. "Anakin."

"Say it again." His fingers find the spot that makes me see stars. "Promise me that you're mine."

A whiny breath slips past my lips, "I promise." His teeth drag against my throat and my nails instinctually dig into his shoulder, "Only you."

A rough sound escapes from the back of Anakin's throat. He removes a hand from my hip to adjust his own robes. I'm too distracted to realize what he's doing until it's obvious. "Again."

I reach my hand forward until my fingers are wrapping around his length. "Only you, Anakin." He groans. "I--I won't marry anyone else." Anakin places his hand over mine, guiding my hand up and down his length. "I'm yours."

He buries his face in the crook of my neck, "Maker, you're--" The rest of the sentence is murmured into my skin at a pitch that I can't make out.

His fingers press into me even harder. "Anakin," my whininess would be embarrassing if I wasn't so distracted by the coiling feeling in my stomach, "I--I--"

"Tell me," he lifts his head enough to speak the words into my ears, "Tell me that you want me."

My eyes screw shut, "I--It's more than want." It feels like a confession. "I need you."

Another strangled breath escapes him. Anakin pulls away enough to line himself against my entrance. He presses in slowly, the feeling in my stomach reaches a height I didn't think possible. "Anakin."

"You're so," he's getting the words out through gritted teeth, "Tight." Anakin pushes in even more. A gasp escapes me. "Say it again." I'm too lost in what I'm feeling to form the words. He pulls back before pushing his entire length in with no warning. Anakin shows no reaction to the pitchy whine he forced out of me. "Again."

"It's--it's only--you," I pant. "I won't marry any-one else--just--just please, Anakin."

His thumb presses against where my nerves are at their most on edge. I can't breathe or focus on anything. "Please what?"

"I need you."

He rubs tight circles against me and picks up the pace. My head falls against his shoulder, eyes squeezing tight. "Look at me." I--I can't keep my head up. Anakin's hand tugs at my hair, forcing me off of his shoulder. "Look at me."

I force my eyes open. "Anakin."

"Feel good, hm?" All I can do is nod. "Can't even talk anymore?" His lips find their way against my jaw. "What would all your suitors say if they could see how easy it was for me to get you like this?" His lips find a spot on my neck that leaves me dizzy. "First breaking all the rules and now you can't even talk." It's hard to focus on anything that isn't how he feels. "Who has you like this?"

I take a shaky breath, "You, Anakin." My voice is shaky, "Only you."

His lips press against mine. Hard. I give in entirely and it's all teeth and wanting a closer that doesn't exist. He pulls away just as quickly, "I've got you, princess," he exhales, "come for me."

My body knows what to do more than I do. I cling onto him. Anakin's thrusts become less even without losing speed. He continues until an all consuming pleasure has my body practically shaking. My orgasm hits so fast and hard I can barely hold myself upright.

"Oh, you're squee--" Anakin cuts himself off, pulling out before he can finish inside me. "Maker, you're perfect."

After it ends, I expect to be filled with some kind of regret or remorse. Instead, all I feel is a sense of peace as I recover with my forehead pressed into Anakin's chest. He keeps his arm around me loosely. "It's just you and me, princess."

I nod against him weakly, desperate to accept what he's saying. "Just you and me."

He smooths circles against my back. "We'll figure it out together."

It's not an easy thing to believe, but trusting Anakin is natural. I finally lift my head to look at him, "We have time." I don't know how much time, but it's definitely not happening today, and if I can push this until our political crisis becomes the ultimate concern, my father won't bring it up until this is resolved. Maybe if I prove myself as a leader, he'll see that I can be more. "I'm tired."

He smiles lazily, "You're saying I tired you out?" I roll my eyes. "Come on, we have some time before you have to meet with your advisors." Anakin squeezes my shoulder, thumb soothingly tracing a pattern against my collarbone. "Stay with me?"

I have to bite my tongue to keep a much too emotional always from coming out, so I just nod. He takes my hand and leads me into my bedroom. Anakin helps me into bed before laying next to me.

Drowsiness pulls at my eyelids. I fight against the exhaustion as best as I can, but Anakin's gentle touches and whispered terms of endearment aren't making it easier.

"You can sleep," he finally whispers, "I'll make sure you're awake with enough time to get ready for your next meeting."

It's tempting, but after all of this, all I want is to be near him and to--to talk to him and absorb his presence before I can't. "But--"

"I'm not going anywhere," he says, reading my hesitance easily, "We have time."

My eyes are already closed, "Promise?"

Anakin's head dips forward as he presses a chaste kiss against my temple. "I promise."

[kat-thepoet]

Veins of Violet

Logan Howlett X Fem!Reader

Part 6: Gem bracelet

A/N: Hi all! Hope you guys are enjoying the story! Make sure to comment to be added to my tag list if you want to get notified when I post. Enjoy! 💜🩵

Previous Chapters ☞ HERE ☜

5.6k words

Wade had talked to his boss about what the guy running one of the drug warehouses had said. They assured him they'd keep us in the loop with any updates, but days had passed, and we hadn't heard anything. It was frustrating, but we knew this kind of waiting game was part of the deal. So, we went on with our lives, trying not to let the uncertainty hang over us.

I was still working at the flower shop with Laura, who had been under the weather lately. Wade and Logan had been going on missions without me since I had to cover some of Laura's shifts this week. I didn't mind, though—I enjoyed the quiet of the shop and the routine of arranging flowers, even if it meant missing out on the action. Logan and I had settled into a routine of our own. We made it a habit to have dinner together every evening, a small but comforting ritual that kept us connected despite our different schedules. Logan was always gone early in the morning, and I usually didn't come home until late afternoon after my shift. But no matter how busy the day had been, we always made time for dinner.

As I chopped vegetables for tonight's meal, my mind wandered to my upcoming birthday. It felt strange to think about, like crossing some invisible line into a new chapter of my life. I wasn't sure how I felt about it—excited, nervous, maybe a bit of both. 

Logan had been acting a little different lately, too—more attentive, more present. It felt as if we were becoming friends. The thought of it made me smile as I continued preparing dinner, the scent of garlic and herbs filling the kitchen.

In a few days, I'll be thirty. It felt like a milestone, and despite everything that had happened, I was looking forward to it. Maybe it was because, for the first time in a long while, I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be—working a job I enjoyed, living with people I cared about, and sharing dinners with someone who had become more important to me than I ever expected.

Logan stepped out of the shower, steam trailing behind him as he walked into the hallway, a towel slung low around his waist. His hair was damp, the droplets catching the light as they clung to the ends, and his muscles rippled subtly with each movement.

 I glanced up from the stove as he entered the kitchen, offering him a small smile. "Dinner's almost ready," I said, my voice casual, but I couldn't help but let my eyes linger on him for a moment longer than usual.

Logan nodded, his expression softening as he approached the counter. "Smells good," he murmured, his deep voice carrying a note of appreciation.

I turned back to the stove, giving the pasta one last stir before switching off the burner. "I hope you're hungry," I said, reaching for a pair of plates.

"Always," Logan replied, and though his tone was light, there was something in his eyes that made my heart skip a beat. He walked back to his room and came out with a black shirt and pajama pants that I bought for him at the store when I went shopping with Vanessa. 

As I plated the food, the comfortable silence between us was almost tangible. We'd grown used to these quiet moments—the kind where no words were needed; just the simple act of being together was enough. But tonight, there was something else—a subtle undercurrent that made the air feel charged, like we were both waiting for something, though neither of us knew exactly what.

I handed Logan his plate, and our fingers brushed briefly, sending a small jolt of electricity through me. 

"Here you go," I said, trying to ignore the flutter in my chest. 

"Thanks bub," Logan said, taking the plate from me, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary. His gaze met mine, and for a second, it felt like the world around us had quieted, leaving just the two of us in this small, shared space. But then the moment passed, and Logan turned to take his seat at the table, leaving me to follow. As I sat down across from him, I couldn't help but wonder what exactly was brewing beneath the surface. 

After we finished eating, Logan got up to wash the dishes, which had become part of our routine—he'd clean up whenever I cooked. I appreciated it more than he probably knew; it was one of those small gestures that made our arrangement feel less like just two people sharing a space and more like... something else. As he stood at the sink, his broad shoulders flexing slightly under his t-shirt, I decided to set up a movie for us to watch. I'd been slowly introducing Logan to pop culture, with Wade chipping in occasionally, and tonight felt like the perfect time to share one of my favorites from childhood: It, the 1990s version. It was one of those films that had both terrified and fascinated me as a kid, and I was curious to see how Logan would react to it. I popped in the DVD, the familiar logo flickering on the screen, and adjusted the pillows on the couch, making it as cozy as possible. Logan finished up in the kitchen and joined me, drying his hands on a towel before tossing it aside.

"What's this one about?" he asked, eyeing the screen as he settled in next to me, the warmth of his presence immediately noticeable.

"It's a horror film," I replied, a small smile playing on my lips. "About a creepy clown named Pennywise. It scared the hell out of me when I was younger, but it's a classic. Thought it'd be a good one to show you since you missed out on all the pop culture stuff."

Logan raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "A clown, huh? Can't say I've ever found them particularly scary."

I chuckled, leaning back into the couch. "Yeah, well, let's see if this one changes your mind."

As the movie played, the familiar eerie music filling the room, I found myself occasionally glancing over at Logan to see his reaction. It was subtle, just a quick look here and there, but I was curious if he was enjoying it or if he found the whole thing ridiculous. Logan sat with his usual stoic expression, his eyes focused on the screen. He didn't flinch during the jump scares, and I couldn't quite tell if he was genuinely interested or just being polite. But every now and then, I noticed the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth or the way his fingers drummed lightly against his leg during tense moments. It was clear he was engaged, even if he wasn't showing it in the typical way. I smiled to myself, finding a quiet comfort in the fact that we could share this moment. It wasn't just about introducing him to a part of my childhood; it was about seeing how our worlds could blend together, even in something as simple as watching a movie.

As the long three-hour movie hit the two-hour mark, the room's atmosphere had settled into a cozy lull. The tension of the film's earlier scenes had passed, leaving behind a quieter, more introspective part of the story. My eyelids began to feel heavy, the day's exhaustion finally catching up with me. Without realizing it, I leaned against Logan, my head finding a comfortable spot on his shoulder. The warmth from his body, combined with the steady rise and fall of his breathing, was soothing. It was a stark contrast to the eerie ambiance of the movie playing on the screen. My consciousness drifted, the lines between the film and reality blurring as I succumbed to sleep. 

Logan, feeling the sudden weight against his shoulder, glanced down at Violet. His expression softened as he noticed she had fallen asleep. He stayed perfectly still, not wanting to disturb her, though the unexpected closeness caught him off guard. There was something protective in the way he sat there, allowing her to rest against him, his usual guarded demeanor giving way to a rare moment of tenderness. As the movie continued to play, Logan kept his eyes on the screen, but his attention was divided. He was acutely aware of the soft rhythm of her breathing, the way her hair brushed against his arm, and the undeniable warmth of the moment that had quietly formed between them.

⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿ 

A few days had passed since that movie night with Logan, and now, it was my birthday—the big thirty. I woke up late, the soft morning light filtering through the curtains, promising a beautiful day ahead. There was a quiet excitement in the air, a feeling that today would be special. As I stretched and reached for my phone, I saw that it was already noon. Two notifications caught my eye, both simple but sweet reminders that people were thinking of me today. The first was from Vanessa, a bright "Happy Birthday!" with a string of emojis. The second was from Wade, in typical Wade fashion, a slightly more chaotic but equally heartfelt birthday message. I smiled to myself, feeling a warmth in my chest. Wade and Logan were out on a mission, so I had the apartment all to myself. It was unusual for me to wake up so late, but today, it felt right to indulge in a slow morning. I had the whole day ahead of me, and the possibilities felt endless. As I got out of bed and made my way to the kitchen, I couldn't help but wonder what the day would bring. There was something about birthdays that made everything seem a little brighter, a little more magical.

I put on my music and blasted it in my room while I sipped on my homemade iced coffee. The familiar beats filled the space, setting a vibrant tone for the day. As I got ready, I couldn't help but reflect on how much had changed over the past year. Life had taken unexpected turns, some challenging and others surprisingly wonderful. 

Logan's presence in my life was one of those surprises. He had entered my world in a way I hadn't anticipated, and now, looking back, I realized how much I appreciated having him around. He wasn't the type to openly admit it, but I knew we had become close. There was a comfort in our routine, in the way we shared meals and moments of quiet together. 

I decided to take my time getting dressed, choosing something that made me feel good—comfortable yet pretty. I slipped into a soft blue pastel mini dress that hugged my curves in all the right places, making me feel confident and effortlessly chic. The color complemented my skin tone, and the fit was just right, accentuating my figure without being too over the top. I let my hair fall naturally, the soft waves framing my face in a way that felt relaxed and authentic. For makeup, I kept it light and fresh, just a touch of mascara to bring out my eyes and a hint of blush to give my cheeks a natural glow. I finished it off with a swipe of lip gloss, nothing too bold, just enough to make me feel put together. It was my day, and I wanted to feel at ease—comfortable in my skin, enjoying the simple pleasures of the moment.

Vanessa had planned a girls' day out since she had the day off today, and we agreed that 2 o'clock would be the perfect time to meet up. To start my birthday right, I made myself a special breakfast—two pancakes topped with whipped cream and sprinkles. It was a tradition my grandparents had started, making this exact breakfast for me every year on my birthday. It's a tradition I will never break, no matter what.

As I sat at the kitchen table, the sweet scent of pancakes filling the room, memories of my grandparents flooded my mind. They had always made my birthdays special, and even though they were gone, their love and warmth still lingered in these small, cherished moments. Tears welled up in my eyes, the ache of missing them sharper on days like this. But I quickly took a deep breath, reminding myself that today was supposed to be a fun day, not one filled with sorrow. Wiping away the tears, I focused on the joy they would have wanted me to feel, determined to make the most of this day and honor their memory by celebrating the way they always had—with love, laughter, and a little bit of sweetness.

⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿

It was finally 2 o'clock when I heard a knock on my door. I was in the middle of washing my dishes, so I used my powers to unlock the door, yelling, "Come in!"

Vanessa walked in with a big smile on her face, her energy contagious as she practically ran over to me, wrapping me in a tight hug.

"Happy birthday, Vi!" she exclaimed, squeezing me like she hadn't seen me in years, even though it had only been a few days.

I laughed, returning the hug just as tightly. "Thanks, Nessa. You're in a good mood!"

"Of course I am! It's your big day, and we're going to make it amazing!" she said, finally pulling back but keeping her hands on my shoulders, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "I've got the whole day planned, and trust me, you're going to love it."

Her enthusiasm was infectious, and I couldn't help but smile back at her. "Alright, alright. I'm ready for whatever you've got in store."

"Good," she said, giving me one last squeeze before letting go. "Now, let's get going. The day's not going to celebrate itself!"

I grabbed my purse, and with one last glance at my cozy apartment, we headed out the door, ready to take on whatever adventures Vanessa had planned for my special day.

As we walked in the hallway, Vanessa kept the conversation lively, talking about all the fun things we were going to do. We laughed and joked as we walked, the day already feeling special with just the two of us together.

But as we were heading down the street, Vanessa suddenly stopped and snapped her fingers. 

"Oh shoot, I forgot my bag at my place. We need to swing by and grab it real quick."

I smiled, shaking my head. "No problem. You and that bag, I swear."

She laughed, looping her arm through mine as we changed direction toward her apartment. "Hey, a girl's got to be prepared, right?"

It didn't take long to reach her place, and as we approached the door, Vanessa seemed a little more excited than usual. She fumbled with her keys, her hands practically shaking with anticipation, which I found a bit odd but didn't think much of Finally, she swung the door open, and I stepped inside, expecting the usual cozy vibe of her place. But instead, I was greeted by the sight of streamers, balloons, and a huge "Happy Birthday, Violet!" banner hanging across the living room.

"Surprise!" a chorus of voices shouted, startling me as a crowd of our friends, including Wade and even Logan, who I thought was on a mission, popped out from behind furniture and decorations.

I stood there, completely stunned, my mouth hanging open in shock. "Oh my God," I whispered, taking in the scene. "You guys..."

Vanessa beamed, her eyes shining with happiness as she grabbed my hand. "Happy Birthday, Vi! We couldn't let you celebrate this big day without throwing you a party!"

Wade was the first to rush over, pulling me into a dramatic bear hug. "You're growing up so fast, sugar plum," he said in a mockingly sentimental tone, his voice dripping with exaggerated emotion. He even pretended to wipe away a tear, adding to the theatrics.

I couldn't help but laugh, playfully shoving him away. "Oh, shut up, Wade," I said, rolling my eyes but smiling at his antics. "You're impossible."

Wade grinned, clearly pleased with himself. "But you love me anyway, don't you, birthday girl?" he teased, wrapping an arm around my shoulders as we both looked around at the party in full swing.

I laughed, still in disbelief. "I honestly had no idea... This is amazing!" Logan stepped forward, a small, almost shy smile on his face. "Happy Birthday, Violet," he said, his voice gruff but sincere.I felt a warmth spread through me at his words, a smile tugging at my lips as I met his gaze. "Thank you, Logan," I replied softly, appreciating the genuine sentiment behind his simple words.There was a brief moment of silence, and in that pause, I could feel the connection between us, something unspoken but understood. It was a small, quiet moment in the midst of the party, but it meant the world to me. Vanessa squeezed my hand, pulling me back into the moment. "Come on, let's get this party started! We've got food, drinks, and plenty of surprises left."

As the music kicked in and everyone started to mingle, I found myself smiling from ear to ear. This was more than I could have ever asked for—a day surrounded by the people I cared about, feeling loved and appreciated. It was the perfect start to a new chapter in my life.

After hours of drinking and laughter, I felt the fatigue creeping in, and I quietly slipped away from the crowd, finding solace on the couch. The noise from the back of the apartment seemed distant as I sank into the cushions, taking a moment to breathe.

Not long after, Logan appeared, walking over to me with his usual calm demeanor. He sat down next to me—not too close, but close enough that I could catch the faint scent of beer on his breath as he leaned in slightly.

"I didn't want to give you this in front of everyone else," he began, his voice low and a bit hesitant. "But I got this bracelet for you. I thought you might like it... I don't know, if you don't like it, it's okay."

He held out a small box, his expression a mix of uncertainty and hope. I could tell he wasn't used to giving gifts, especially something as personal as this, and it made the gesture all the more meaningful.

I took the box from him, feeling the weight of the moment as I opened it. Inside was a delicate bracelet, simple yet beautiful, with a small charm that caught the light just right. It was understated, something that could be worn every day, and I could tell he had put thought into choosing it.

"It's perfect," I said softly, my fingers brushing over the charm as I looked up at him. "Thank you, Logan. I love it."

Relief washed over his face, and he gave a small nod, his gaze softening. "I'm glad," he replied, his voice carrying that familiar gruffness, but with a warmth that made my heart flutter.

I smiled, feeling a surge of affection for this man who had become such an important part of my life. "It means a lot that you thought of me."

Logan didn't say anything, but the look in his eyes spoke volumes. We sat there in comfortable silence for a while, the party noise fading into the background, both of us content to share this quiet, intimate moment. 

⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿

It was around nine o'clock when the party started winding down, and people began to filter out. Vanessa, still full of energy, suggested we should all head to the club just a short walk from here to keep the celebration going. Everyone agreed enthusiastically, and the idea of dancing and letting loose sounded perfect after the night we'd had. But as I glanced down at the pastel blue dress I was wearing, I realized it wasn't exactly club material.

"I'm going to head back to my apartment to change first," I said, and Vanessa nodded with understanding.

"Good idea," she said with a grin. "You've got that black mini dress I got you for Christmas, right? It's perfect for tonight."

"Exactly what I was thinking," I replied with a smile.

We all decided to meet back at the club once I was ready. As I made my way to my apartment, I felt a wave of excitement wash over me. It had been a while since I'd had a night out like this, and I was looking forward to letting loose. Once I got home, I quickly changed into the black mini dress. It was sleek and fitted, hugging my curves in all the right places. The fabric shimmered slightly under the light, and as I looked at myself in the mirror, I couldn't help but feel a surge of confidence. This was definitely more fitting for a night out. With a final touch-up to my makeup and a spritz of perfume, I grabbed my purse and headed out the door, ready to rejoin the others and make this birthday one to remember.

As I made my way back to Vanessa's apartment, i could feel the excitement bubbling up again. The night was young, and the promise of dancing and fun with my friends had my spirits lifted. When I  walked into Vanessa's place, everyone was already gathered, ready to head out.

Wade immediately greeted me with his usual flair. "Well, well, if it isn't the belle of the ball! That dress—now that's what I call club material," he said with an exaggerated wink, making everyone laugh. I smiled, giving a playful twirl. "Thanks, Wade. Nessa picked it out." 

Wade grinned, clearly pleased. "Nessa's got good taste, no doubt about that. You're gonna be the center of attention tonight, Vi!"

As the group started to chat and gather their things, Logan's gaze never left Violet. He stood a little apart from the others, his eyes following her every move. The way the dress hugged her figure, the way her hair fell just right—it all captivated him in a way he couldn't quite explain. There was something about seeing her so confident and radiant that made it impossible for him to look away. But, as usual, Violet was blissfully unaware of the attention she was receiving from Logan. She was caught up in the excitement of the evening, laughing with Vanessa and Wade, and completely oblivious to the way Logan's gaze lingered on her, filled with an intensity that only he understood. Vanessa, on the other hand, wasn't oblivious at all. She noticed the way Logan's eyes stayed fixed on Violet, the way his expression softened when he looked at her. A knowing smile tugged at Vanessa's lips as she exchanged a quick glance with Wade, who raised an eyebrow in response. There was definitely something more between those two, even if Violet didn't see it yet. With everyone ready to go, they headed out into the night, Logan walking close to Violet, as if unconsciously drawn to her. She, still completely unaware of the effect she was having on him, continued to chat with Vanessa, her laughter echoing down the hallway as they made their way to the club, ready to dance the night away.

Vanessa led the way, confidently striding up to the bouncer at the front of the long line. With a quick exchange of smiles and a nod, he unhooked the velvet rope, letting us bypass the waiting crowd. We walked in, greeted by the thumping bass of the music and the flashing lights that turned the club into a vibrant blur of color and sound. The energy inside was electric. The dance floor was packed with people moving to the beat, their bodies swaying in sync with the rhythm. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, perfume, and the faint tang of alcohol. It was the perfect atmosphere for a night of celebration. Vanessa and Wade immediately headed for the bar, eager to get the night started with a round of drinks. I followed, feeling the infectious energy of the place start to seep into my veins. Logan stayed close by, his presence grounding me amidst the chaos of the club.

As we reached the bar, Vanessa turned to me with a grin. "What's your poison tonight, birthday girl?"

I laughed, feeling the excitement bubble up inside me. "Surprise me," I said, trusting her to pick something good.

Wade leaned in, his voice barely audible over the music. "Something strong for the lady—she deserves it."

Vanessa nodded at the bartender, who quickly mixed up a colorful concoction and slid it over to me. I took a sip, the sweet yet potent flavors dancing on my tongue. 

"Perfect," I said, raising my glass to them.

"To Violet's big night out!" Wade declared, lifting his drink high.

We all clinked glasses, the sound of the toast lost in the booming music but the sentiment clear. After a few more sips, Vanessa grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the dance floor, eager to get moving.

"Come on, Vi! Let's show them how it's done!" she shouted over the music, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

I couldn't help but laugh as Vanessa dragged me into the sea of dancers, the music pulsing through my body. "Rock Your Body" by Justin Timberlake blasted through the speakers, the infectious rhythm driving everyone on the dance floor into a frenzy. The lights flickered and flashed, casting everything in a surreal, almost dreamlike glow. It felt like we were in another world, one where nothing mattered except the beat of the music and the joy of the moment.

As we danced, I caught a glimpse of Logan watching from the edge of the dance floor, his eyes locked on me. Even in the dim light, I could see the intensity in his gaze, a mix of emotions swirling just beneath the surface. But I was too wrapped up in the moment, too caught up in the euphoria of the night to dwell on it.

Tonight was about fun, about letting go and enjoying myself, and I was determined to make the most of it.

After dancing to five songs straight, my energy began to wane, and I decided it was time for a break. The heat from the dance floor clung to my skin, and I could feel the light sheen of sweat forming on my forehead. I made my way through the dance floor leaving Wade and Vanessa in the crowd, dodging groups of dancers and squeezing past clusters of people. Finally, I spotted Logan sitting at the bar, his broad shoulders hunched slightly as he nursed a drink. I walked over to him, feeling the cool air by the bar providing a much-needed respite from the intensity of the dance floor. As I approached, Logan looked up, his eyes meeting mine. There was something in his gaze—something deeper, more intense than I was used to seeing.

"Taking a break?" he asked, his voice low, almost a rumble.

"Yeah," I replied, sliding onto the stool next to him. "Five songs in a row is my limit, I think. I needed to cool off."

He nodded, his eyes flicking over me for a moment, lingering just a bit longer than usual. "You looked like you were having fun out there."

"I was," I said with a smile. "It's been a while since I've let loose like that."

Logan took a sip of his drink, his gaze still fixed on me. There was a pause, a brief moment of silence between us that felt charged, like there was something unspoken lingering in the air.

"You want something to drink?" he finally asked, breaking the tension.

"Sure, I'll have a soda," I replied, still catching my breath.

Logan signaled the bartender, ordering my drink before turning back to me. As I waited, I couldn't help but notice how he seemed more relaxed here, away from the noise and chaos of the dance floor. But there was also that intensity in his eyes, the same one I'd seen earlier. It made me wonder what was going on behind that stoic exterior of his.

-

Logan and I had been talking for a while, the conversation flowing naturally between us despite the noise of the club. The energy in the room was electric, with the bass vibrating through the floor and the lights casting everyone in a kaleidoscope of colors. We shared a few laughs, occasionally letting the silence settle comfortably between us, a silence that felt more like understanding than anything else. But then, as if on cue, a guy appeared next to me. He slid in smoothly, cutting through the crowd with a kind of effortless confidence that immediately drew attention. He was tall, well-built, and his smile held that practiced charm that suggested he was no stranger to approaching women in places like this.

"Hey there," he said, leaning in close so I could hear him over the pounding music. His voice was smooth, almost too smooth, and it carried that easygoing assurance that made it clear he was used to getting what he wanted. "You look like you're having a good time. Mind if I join you?"

His eyes met mine, his gaze lingering just a bit too long as if to make sure he had my attention. I couldn't help but smile back, caught off guard but not entirely opposed to the idea. After all, it was my birthday, and a little harmless flirting wasn't going to hurt anyone.

"Sure," I replied, my voice light, matching his tone. "Why not?"

Logan's posture stiffened almost imperceptibly beside me, but I was too focused on the conversation with this new guy to notice. The stranger took it as a sign to move in closer, resting his arm casually on the back of my chair, his body angled toward me in a way that clearly marked his interest.

"What's your name?" he asked, his smile never wavering.

"Violet," I replied, still smiling. "And yours?"

"Mark," he said, offering his hand for a shake. His grip was firm, his touch lingering just a bit longer than necessary. "So, Violet, what brings you out here tonight? Celebrating something special?"

"Actually, yeah. It's my birthday," I said, feeling a bit of pride in the declaration.

"Birthday girl, huh?" Mark's smile widened, and he leaned in even closer. "Well, happy birthday, Violet. How about I buy you a drink to celebrate?"

I glanced at Logan, who was watching the exchange with an expression I couldn't quite read. His eyes were darker than usual, a storm brewing behind them, but he said nothing. It was as if he was trying to keep his composure, but the tension in his body was palpable.

"I'm good, thanks," I replied to Mark, still smiling but feeling a strange undercurrent of tension between Logan and me.

Mark, undeterred, simply shrugged. "Suit yourself. But let me know if you change your mind."He stayed close, continuing the small talk, his eyes never leaving mine. I could feel the weight of Logan's gaze on me, heavy and intense, but I brushed it off, assuming he was just being his usual stoic self.

As the conversation with Mark carried on, I noticed Logan's hand clench around his glass, his knuckles turning white. He was holding back, clearly, but from what? The realization that something deeper was going on hit me, but before I could say anything, Mark reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers grazing my skin.

Logan  set his drink down with a thud, the sound barely audible over the music but enough to catch my attention. "We need to talk," he said, his voice tight, almost a growl, as he stared at me with an intensity that made my breath catch.

Startled by the sudden change in his tone, I blinked at him, momentarily confused. "Now?"

"Yeah," Logan said, his eyes flicking to Mark for a brief moment before settling back on me. "Now."I hesitated, unsure of what had caused this sudden shift in his mood. But something in Logan's gaze told me this wasn't something to brush off. I turned back to Mark, giving him an apologetic smile. "Sorry, I have to go."

Mark looked between us, clearly sensing the tension but not entirely understanding it. "No worries. Maybe I'll catch you later?"

I nodded, though I knew there wouldn't be a later. I turned to Logan, whose eyes hadn't left me, and allowed him to lead me away from the bar, leaving the flashing lights and pounding music behind as we found a quieter corner of the club. The entire time, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to change, something that had been building for a long time.

Logan finally stopped, turning to face me, his expression a mix of frustration and something else I couldn't quite place. "What's going on?" I asked, still confused by the sudden shift in his mood.

He took a deep breath, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my heart race. For a moment, he seemed like he was about to say something, but then, as if he couldn't find the right words, he just shook his head.

"Forget it," Logan muttered, his voice rough, like he was fighting to keep something buried deep inside. Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving me standing there, stunned and alone.

I watched him disappear into the crowd, my heart pounding in my chest, my mind racing with confusion and frustration. What had just happened? Why had he pulled me aside if he wasn't going to say anything?

The music continued to throb around me, but I felt disconnected from it, from the entire scene. Logan had left me standing there with a million questions and no answers, and all I could do was watch as he vanished into the throng of people, leaving me wondering what the Fuck had just happened.

Part 7: I feel like i'm drowning

[coyotes-rules-of-change]

Have we as a society lost our sense of acceptable public behavior?

Picture it: me, a swanky bistro, and an elegant patio adorned by the warm glow of string lights. I'm having a nice dinner—just me and my current favorite menu—until a couple is seated near me. It didn't take me long to hear that they were celebrating a six month anniversary and—given their gradually escalating volume—it was a night out at my favorite restaurant that was not going to fix their obvious relationship problems. In the short time it took the fresh rosemary rolls and whipped butter to arrive at their table, their loud talking had become peaks of yelling quelled only briefly by an unsatisfactorily hushed "quit talking so loud" or an ironic "you're embarrassing me."

Do you hate them yet? Because I definitely did. Except unlike you, I can take care of this; after all, knowledge of my methods is becoming more widespread. All I have to do is wait the thirty seconds it will inevitably take for the volume to boil over yet again.

"I can't take you anywhere!"

There she is again. Time to work my magic—

"Same shit again! I can't fucking take you anywhere! Everywhere we go: "miss, could you quiet down", and "sir, could you tell your date to stop yelling.""

"I'm not the one screaming f-bombs in public places! You need to learn some manners!"

*Whoosh.*

"Babe, I just can't have a conversation with you if you always yell." Already he's speaking at a much quieter volume.

"I just never feel like you're listening to me."—and she's also followed suit. Maybe that was all I needed to do, now I got my peace and quiet... but I'm not one to stop once I've started, and I suppose I'd rather not disappoint you either—after all, this isn't very interesting yet, is it. She continues: "I told you to dress nice and all you can manage is a t-shirt and shorts."

"I love you babe, but you can't tell me that you showing that much skin in a place like this is appropriate either."

No one sees it, but a slight grin crosses my face. I wave my hand and...

*Whoosh.* A light breeze passes through and their outfits shift.

"I'm dressed showing skin?! You're not even wearing a shirt."

"Babe, you're basically just wearing a sports bra and shorts."

"I look good. You don't work out enough to pull off not wearing a shirt in public."

*Whoosh.* A light breeze again. He's sporting some nice light muscle: square pecs, a nice six-pack, and some toned arms.

"Babe, I know I'm nowhere near my bulking goals but I know I look good enough to pull off being shirtless. Look, if you're gonna be like this, maybe we reschedule and have this dinner when you're not on your period."

...

...

...Look. What I did here may have been inappropriate... but would you expect anything less from me. I don't claim to be ethical, and I'm pretty sure you are well-aware of my biases by now... I'm not proud of what I did... I'm not... Okay maybe I am.

The ebb and flow of the conversation took a radical tone when one masculine voice was met for the first time by another. "Well then it's a good thing I'm not a girl."

"I guess that's true. Why would I even say that?"

"Because you're trying to avoid the subject again. Between you're time at the gym and your time at work, I never see you."

"I can't help it. At least I have a job."

*Whoosh.*

"Being an influencer is a job. I just wanna know how you can spend so much time working out when your job is being a personal trainer."

"My body is my sales pitch. I've build so much muscle now my co-workers are telling me I could enter a physique competition. Maybe if you worked out more, you'd actually get followers, and make money."

*Whoosh.*

"That's why I wanted to come here with you. Ever since I started working out with you, I have been gaining followers just as fast as I've been gaining muscle. I guess now is as good a time as any to tell you: I have 1 million followers."

"Babe, that's great news. I can't believe it!"

"Yeah, and there's more. The videos that gained the most traction online were the ones I shot with you. So I wanna go in a different direction with my page from now on."

"Wait, you've built it up by yourself. Why would you change it?"

"I wanna make it a couples page. Health, fitness, and gay pride."

"Most people dating for three years usually get proposals involving a ring."

"Do you wanna do this with me?"

"Yes, of course!"

A couple in my favorite bistro rise and embrace beside their patio table and share a passionate kiss. They seem happy, although I sit there and wonder if they'd be interested in a third for the night.

Have we as a society lost our sense of acceptable public behavior?

No. Not in this case. It could absolutely be much worse.

[bellarkeselection]

Hi

My requets is date night at a Blackhawks game with Jay Halstead where he proposes and they have the wedding at molly's where kelly severide is jay best man en Sylvie brett is yn maid of honor and they have a lovely wedding with a cake that is half coverd in a Police badge and a fire figther badge

With alot of fluff thank you

Molly's Wedding Celebration

FireFighters and Police Officers don’t have it easy. With the difficult situations, long hours and difficulty making relationships last. It all just comes with the job we've signed up for. The one thing that currently came with the job is that we all got a second family.

“So how's the future soon to be Mrs. Halstead?” Brett came over to me while we were getting ready at Will's apartment near Molly's.

Tucking hair behind my ear I chuckled with a bright smile. “I still can't believe he proposed to me at a Blackhawks game of all places.”

“You know you loved it. You've watched the video like ten times in the past two weeks.”

Whipping our heads around we both saw my soon to be husband Jay Halstead leaning in the doorway of the apartment with his arms crossed over his chest. “Jay!” I shrieked overjoyed to see him about to run up to him until Brett jumped in between us.

“What are you doing here? You can't be here. It's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding!”

Jay shakes his head dangling a key in his fingers. “I have my brother’s spare key. Severide only took my car keys. So he doesn't know about this.”

“Well you don't get to keep them. Now get out of here.” Brett stomped forward, snatching the key from his fingers.

I gently grabbed her arm trying to stop her. “Brett, don't. He's okay.”

“But he's not supposed to see you-”

Jay raised his hands up slightly in surrender, shifting his gaze briefly over in my direction. “Technically we aren't doing an official formal wedding. So it shouldn’t be a big deal, Sylvie.”

“He’s right, Syl.” I touched her arm glancing towards the clock on the wall seeing it was almost time when we would be heading over to the bar everyone loved. I was wearing a knee length white dress, my light brown cowgirl boots and my hair was curled on the ends. “We're not doing an official ceremony. Speaking of, I think it’s time we make this happen, don't you say Jay?”

My fiancé smirked, holding his hand out for me to take. “Let's do this, Y/n.”

Jay and I headed over with Brett who held open the door letting us inside the local bar first before she ran over to her spit at the end of the bar that we had our own little ulter built at. Jay dropped his hand from mine going to stand up beside Kelly Severide who had been named his best man since we had allowed his brother Will to officiate the ceremony.

My father moved through the crowd of people offering me his arm once he had reached my side. “Your mother and I wouldn’t have minded to pay for a wedding venue but I must say this feels much closer than that probably would have felt.”

“Molly’s is home for me and Jay. It’s the first place we actually met. So it wouldn’t feel truly us if it was done anywhere else in Chicago.”

My father kissed the crown of my head before we paused at the edge of the stage. “Treat her well, Halstead or I’ll come after you.”

“I’ll treat her right, sir.” Jay held out his hand with my father placing my hand in his.

Stepping up onto the wooden stage with our hands intertwined together we kept our eyes focused on one another. Will came up to us smirking his dorky grin while shifting his gaze from me to his brother before he started performing the ceremony. “Growing up I always thought that I would be the one to get married first, but now I couldn’t be happier to see my little brother to be tying the knot. Y.n, you clearly love my brother enough to become his wife. You have the passion as we all do in this room and you both bring out the best in one another. So can I get the rings to marry these two?’

“We’ve got them.” Brett and Severide each held up one wedding ring, one for me and one for Jay handing them to the older Halstaed brother.

Will each handed us a ring shifting his focus onto me first. “Y/n, do you take this man to be your husband?”

“I do.”

He eyed his brother. “Jay, do you take this woman to be your wife?”

“I do.”

Will put a hand on each of our shoulders letting us slip the rings on the other hand. “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.” Jay takes a step towards me cupping my face in his hands, deeply kissing me.

Wrapping my arms around his neck I deepened the already passionate kiss that he had started. Shortly afterwards we heard loud cheers and clapping from everyone in the crowd telling us that we needed to break the long kiss. Shifting my gaze over to the bar we saw Hermin and Gabby coming out of the back room carrying the wedding cake we had ordered. The cake had been designed to be half police badges and the other half was fireman badges.

“Wow. It turned out awesome.” I gasped in shock walking up to once they had sat it down on the main bar table letting everyone gather around.

Casey came through the crowd holding up my fireman jacket for me to see. “I figured you’d want your new last name on your uniform now.” The jacket was somewhat cleaned and Jay’s last name was now stitched on the back in big yellow letters in the spot where my last name had previously been.

“Thank you, Matt.” I slipped it on over my dress, sending Gabby a smirk since she was holding my bouquet of flowers. “Gabby, let’s do the toss now.”

She handed me my bouquet and dragged Brett over into the crowd with her and all the other single ladies. For a while most of us in both departments have been seeing the connection forming between Brett and Casey so now was the perfect time for them to finally tie the knot after so many years of working together. Turning around I gently tossed it up in the air and the bouquet appeared to be going into Gabby’s hands until she ducked down. “You’re the next Firehouse girl to get married, Sylivie Brett!” I squealed before the flowers got dropped into my maid of honor's hands.

“How long have you been planning for me and Casey to get married, Y.n?” She chuckled with Casey wrapping his arm around her waist.

Jay comes to stand beside me, sending the couple a smirk. “Basically since I asked this one to marry me.”

“Alright everyone, the first round of drinks are on me!” Severide announced to everyone and we all cheered overjoyed to know that everything we had planned had turned out as we wanted it to. Molly’s represented the same thing as our wedding cake did. That all first responders and medical professionals of Chicago have all become a large and loving family.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[hold-him-down]

Hold Him Down (pt. 1)

TW: Med Whump, Gratuitous Med Whump, Medical Restraints, Chemical Restraints, Noncon Touch, Referenced Noncon, Parker Destin, Institutionalized Slavery, Noncon Drugging, Conditioning, Referenced Food/Water Restriction, Referenced/Described STI testing, Referenced/Described Shock Collar, Whumper POV, literally over 4k words wtf, get leo a pet fish and warm hug when.

Notes: This is one of those things that I'm, as usual, not sure needs to or should exist, but I spent so much time writing it that I couldn't just NOT post it, sooo here it is. Parts 4-6 coming eventually. Takes place in the 12-ish hour span after Leo is prematurely returned from our best guy, Parker Destin. This may be one that I revisit and try to refine down the line.

✥ ✥ ✥

From behind a two-way mirror, Handler Otto Gray and an unfamiliar intake handler stand, arms crossed over their chests. They watch Leo quietly, relieved that, at least for now, the dust has settled. 

His eyes finally closed, a few hours earlier, following a massive fight that ended in a sizable dose of Lorazepam. Even drugged, it took what felt like ages for him to settle down, and even longer for his body to finally go limp. Hours later, the salty tear-streaks are still visible on his cheeks.

The doctor asked them to wait on cleaning him up; in spite of the second handler’s objections, in spite of the apparently innate desire to put this unconscious boy in his place, the handler turned on his heels and left in a huff. Otto hesitated, sparing a quick glance at Leo. He wondered, briefly, how he had managed to fail so spectacularly, before dismissing the thought all together. Against his better judgment, he squeezed Leo’s hand briefly, then he checked to make sure the restraints were appropriately secured and exited. Today was sure to be a long day, sure to be even longer if they could not get a handle on whatever panic-induced psychosis Leo was clearly grappling with.

Somewhere in the middle of it all, shift change happened. The handler who had spent the evening scowling at Leo’s lifeless form clocked out, muttering a, “Good luck,” to his replacement. Otto stayed, though, with a quick glance at handler Nick Ford, according to his name tag, and a muttered greeting. Hopefully, he thinks, this one is better suited for this type of work than the last. The doctor comes up behind them, and the three stand in silence for a moment.

“He’s asleep?” the doctor asks, which is a question that could ordinarily be answered with a quick glance through a chart, but Leo has a notoriously unpredictable response to sedatives and that, if nothing else, has been noted numerously in his file.

Otto nods, his jaw locked. “I think so.”

Leo’s wrists are red, raw where each strap hugs them, but for the last few hours, they have been still. Mostly.

“For how long?” the doctor asks, thumbing through the notes from the night before. A colorful account of the events that led to this moment, which, although maybe not immediately helpful, might lend insight into the inner workings of Leo Evans.

“A couple hours,” Handler Ford supplies, and Otto is struck suddenly with a potent distaste for how this night has played out. 

It’s not out of the ordinary, exactly, for a worker to require this level of support after a contract.  He hoped, though, maybe naively, that Leo was more resilient than this.

He’s been drugged out of his mind, and as hard as he fought it, the drugs eventually dragged him under. To Otto’s understanding, it was only after several hours of trying to calm him down using other methods that he was eventually medicated, and, to Otto’s understanding, the doctor intends now to keep him drugged until he’s under control. He idly wonders if there’s a chance at modifying those plans. Leo is tough, sometimes damn near impossible to work with, but they had found a kind of balance when Otto was his handler. And he thinks, now, he can perhaps spare everyone some heartache if he can have a go at his former trainee.

Otto peers in closer to the window as Leo gasps, his wrists pulling once, lightly, at the straps.

“Alright,” the doctor says, at the same time that Leo’s eyes crack open. As Handler Ford reviews the notes with the Doctor, Otto studies Leo. He hadn’t been an easy trainee. He had been downright defiant at times, resistant to every standard training tool the DLS employed. Otto had been called in in his second month, after his primary handler was fired for, more or less, losing his patience with Leo one time too many, with Leo landing in the ICU. Even after that, success came in short, nearly unpredictable bursts.

When Leo had finally been cleared to take his first contract, that would usually have been the end of Otto’s time with him. But, at least in some of his most challenging successes, he liked to keep an eye on them, if not just to see how they did. He would tell you he did this to improve his own methods, and to help him understand the longer term implications of his work. That wouldn't be the whole truth, though. 

Leo was one of the select few that Otto found himself keeping an eye on. He had gotten through his first contract easily, and Otto recalled the feeling of immense relief as he read through Ms. Smith’s post-contract interview. Leo had been put in a short term holding site and almost immediately secured his second contract. That one wasn’t set to terminate for three months still, so when Otto got the notification that Leo’s file was being updated last night, he called in some favors with the intake department.

He stands here now, mostly frustrated, a little bit confused, and perhaps, maybe slightly sympathetic. Simmering beneath all that is anger, misplaced but a constant undertone that, he worries, may drive some of his decisions today. He buries it as deeply as he can. It serves neither him nor Leo.

Leo blinks hard toward the ceiling, but seems to clock his circumstances quickly. His head turns toward the mirror and for a moment, Otto thinks Leo can see him, right through him, right into the place Leo used to occasionally access and attempt to exploit.

Otto stares at his eyes, red, heavy, and unfocused, and wills Leo to remain calm. Leo swallows, and pulls again against the restraints.

Stop, Otto silently commands. But he doesn’t. Of course, he wouldn’t.

“What are the odds he’ll take it on his own?” Otto hears from next to him.

“What?” Otto responds, shifting his focus.

“The meds?” Handler Ford says as he holds up a small cup of pills in one hand, a syringe filled with an off-white liquid in the other.

“Oh,” Otto responds. The odds, he thinks, are nonexistent. The good news is this isn’t explicitly his problem anymore. 

“Any pointers?” Handler Ford asks then. At Otto’s look, he says, “You worked with him, right?” 

Otto nods, but doesn’t offer any pointer. Handler Ford stares at him intently, so, out of some misplaced desire to prove that he is not, in fact, completely incompetent with his trainees, he says, “A long time ago. I did his initial training after his first handler got canned.”

“What for?” Ford asks. He’s stalling, Otto thinks. 

“Assault,” Otto supplies. He inclines his head toward the room, and turns away from Handler Ford, re-orienting himself toward the window.

“Wish me luck?”

“Good Luck,” Otto says, not unkindly, as the handler disappears behind the door. Moments later, he is in Leo’s room.

Leo’s demeanor immediately shifts, from alarmed and fighting to gain function to panicked, but he stills, he swallows, he forces his eyes on the handler, and takes a breath. Good boy, Otto thinks.

He’s whispering something, but Otto can’t make out the words. He thinks he’s heard Parker’s name, and Handler Ford shakes his head.

Leo nods, then, and takes one of those deep, shuddering breaths that usually mean he’s on the edge of some big feelings. Otto, once more, leans closer to the window.

Handler Ford begins listing out the things he needs Leo to do this morning, and Leo’s brow creases as he takes it in, nodding after each item, but seemingly oblivious to the actual requests.

Inside the observation room, the doctor joins Otto.

“Do you know what happened?” Otto asks the doctor. Otto, immediately realizing he could be asking any number of things, clarifies, “That led to this. He didn’t have an issue after his first contract.”

“Sometimes they get freaked out after spending some time with a particularly cozy buyer,” he replies. 

Otto nods. 

In the room, Handler Ford’s hand is on Leo’s neck, pressing under the collar. Leo stays still, but Otto can see the fear in his eyes, behind layers and layers of grief. It’s odd, seeing him like this.

“You didn’t last too long, did you?” Handler Ford is saying, dripping condescension, as Leo swallows, holding in a fresh wave of tears.

✥ ✥ ✥

“It’s nothing personal, Leo.” Parker’s driver waits for Leo just beyond the threshold. In his hand, Parker holds out a DLS-issued bag.

Leo nods.

Parker grabs his face between his hands and presses his lips to Leo’s forehead. “You have to understand I didn’t plan for this,” he’s saying, but Leo’s ears are ringing. “I would have waited to take on a worker if I had any inclination I would be called away.” His words are kind, Leo thinks, but there’s almost a note of condescension under them. 

Leo feels a sort of emptiness spreading throughout him, a cold void that precedes what he could only describe as terror. For what’s next. For losing this thing, that he isn’t sure he should want, but he wants, so desperately. He clings to it. 

“Parker, I– I can,” Leo starts, taking a step back. He can, what? fix this? do better? be better? “Please don’t do this…”

Parker’s thumbs glide across Leo’s cheeks.

“I thought they beat that out of you,” Parker says, his lips pulled into a half-smile. Leo falters, the words he has prepared are completely knocked out of him.

“I– I’m sorry,” is all he can now formulate. He can feel his circumstances changing as every second passes. He’s going to be sick. The feeling of bile rising wars against the knowledge that if he is sick at this moment, it will be unforgivable. 

Parker’s hands drift down to Leo’s shoulders and he pulls him into a half-hug, pressing his forehead against Leo’s.

“Don’t worry about it,” Parker says. He wants to say more, Leo thinks.

Instead, Parker uses the grip he has on Leo’s shoulder to push him away and rakes his eyes slowly over Leo, from his head to his toes. He smiles and grabs the collar of Leo’s shirt, poking out from under a deep blue sweater. It’s Parker’s favorite.

He inclines his head briefly toward the door and Leo counts every breath he takes.

“They said not to send your books and clothes and things,” Parker explains as he pulls open the front door. “It’ll just go to waste. I can donate it, if you’d like?”

And Leo, in that moment, hesitates. Can he ask Parker to keep it, for when he gets back from his trip? Maybe, he thinks. Maybe Parker hasn’t considered that Leo could stay in the house and look after it, and he doesn’t need to send him away. 

And then it occurs to Leo that maybe Parker is using this time to help figure out the gaps in his training, because they’ve been butting heads lately, and if that’s the case, he wants to tell Parker that he will take this time seriously, and will be better suited to be what Parker needs him to be when he returns.

Leo opens his mouth to say this, to say any of it, even just to tell Parker that he will try harder when he gets back from his trip.

But the panic wraps itself around Leo’s throat, and Leo says nothing.

✥ ✥ ✥

“Are you ready to behave?” The words distort around the edges and Leo blinks hard, willing himself to focus.

This handler, Leo thinks, is unfamiliar to him. There is a fuzziness to both his vision and his thoughts, compounded by blurry memories of the night before. The handler is standing just outside of his line of sight, offering terse reprimands each time he fails to respond. He is trying, though. He wants to tell them he’s trying, but his tongue feels too thick and his voice won’t work.

There’s an added danger that Leo tries not to acknowledge, even silently. They’ve put a training collar on him, but they haven’t gone so far as to shock the world into focus. Even if his limbs didn’t weigh a thousand pounds, he would not be able to lift them. Thick canvas straps wound tightly around each wrist and ankle keep him in place, and Leo blinks at the unexpected wave of terror: these people can and will hurt him with no regard for the fact that he is wholly unable to protect himself. 

The drugs help him accept these facts, but do not help him to forget them.

Memories of the night before claw their way to the surface. Of the sound of his own screaming, of gloved hands pinning him down, of his clothing being pulled off of his body. Of Parker's favorite sweater, which he held tightly to his chest, as it was ripped from his arms. He flinches at the memory of himself, just [some?] hours earlier, as he begged them to let him keep it, as a needle digs its way deep into his thigh. The darkness was quick to swallow him up after that.

And then there are other memories, too, from later in the night. Distorted flashes of the handlers coming to visit him, of cold hands pulling off the thin blanket that had been draped over him. He wondered if the drugs might ease the pain. When they didn’t, he allowed himself a moment of relief in the hope that this might all just be written off as a drug-induced nightmare in the light of day.

And now, the drugs fading, and the light of day doing nothing to erase ache deep inside of him, he swallows, blinking slowly, and longs only for the reprieve that unconsciousness may bring. That maybe they will drug him again, before they touch him again. His stomach turns over, and he draws his focus to the lights on the ceiling.

“He’s lost some weight,” he hears the doctor say, but they aren’t speaking to him, so he closes his eyes and taps each finger on the pad beneath him, just to see if he can feel them all. 

“His buyer kept him hungry,” the handler replies. He can, he thinks, feel them all. “My understanding is he kept him on a pretty strict eating plan.”

Leo recoils, hearing Parker’s voice in his head. The DLS has asked that you start out on a kind of strict meal plan for a little bit. He blinks back tears at the unwelcome memories. Of Parker, event after event, selecting everything he ate, everything he touched. Of the imperceptible nod Parker would give him when he reached for something at the dinner table. Or the terse shake of his head when he moved to something unacceptable. 

Leo wants to tell these men that Parker didn’t keep him hungry. That he was just enacting the plan he had been given.

“I’ll need a copy of it,” the doctor responds, and Leo squeezes his eyes shut, forcing his mind blank.

“It’s in his file,” the handler says. Leo’s ears ring. 

“Good.” The doctor presses his hands fingers into the back of Leo’s neck, the collar momentarily tightening as the fingers explore under it. “He’s dehydrated,” he says, and Leo can picture the handler typing his notes. “Are you going to tell me the buyer restricted his water intake too?”

From somewhere far away, the handler laughs, and Leo’s expression tightens, momentarily stunned by the mockery.

“It’s alright,” he thinks he hears, but the voices are so far away now. He doesn’t know that he’s crying until he feels a thumb wiping at his cheek, and Leo sucks in a breath. “You’re alright.”

The world stands still for what could be seconds or minutes or longer. When the doctor’s hand finally migrates upward, and a light is shined into each of Leo’s eyes, he is momentarily blinded, but immediately aware that he has lost time.

The doctor’s fingers, inches from his face, snap once. “Hi, Leo,” he says simply. And then, “I’m Dr. Grant. Are you with me?”

Leo swallows, which hurts, and other memories slide to the surface of the night before. He tries to nod. The movement makes his head pound. “Yes,” he whispers, but based on the doctor’s– what was his name?– grimace, he doesn’t think it came out right.

The doctor sighs and seemingly gives up on Leo’s active participation, instead pulling the blanket down to Leo’s waist and putting a stethoscope to Leo’s chest. It’s nothing, Leo thinks, but it’s never just this. He closes his eyes again and begins counting in his head. Every so often, he forgets where he left off, and he starts over.

The doctor explains what he’s doing as he works, and Leo wonders idly if it’s for his benefit or for some other reason. To pass the time, and maybe to distract himself, Leo imagines a new doctor in the adjacent observation room, learning this trade. He wonders if it’s a good doctor or a bad doctor, and opens his eyes just enough to glance toward the mirror, to see if he can spot him back there. There are no good doctors here, he decides, and starts counting again.

The doctor looks at Leo’s wrists and describes them to the handler, who writes it all down. He examines Leo’s arms and his shoulders and his chest and his stomach as he searches for signs that Parker hurt him beyond what would be considered reasonable, which he didn’t, Leo wants to say, and that Parker will come back for him after his trip, and that he needs to be ready to go home. Then he starts counting again, because the idea of telling this man that Parker will come back for him will be met with laughter, and Leo doesn’t know if he can handle it. He’s pretty sure he can’t.

Fingers prod at Leo’s stomach and he can’t suppress the accompanying flinch, and as the drugs start to wear thin, he feels himself less and less able to accept what is being done to him.

“Alright, Leo,” the doctor says, and Leo opens his eyes and is met with mostly, he thinks, concern.

“I’ll be back.” The doctor shoots the handler a look, and Leo wants to close his eyes again, but as the handler approaches, Leo knows, acutely, that it’s a bad idea.

“Are you going to cause a scene?” the handler asks, before lifting the blanket from Leo’s lap. Leo shrinks back, an instant passing in which his entire body goes rigid, but shakes his head ‘no.’ He hopes it’s enough.

He holds his breath, waiting for it to be over, or, waiting for it to start, and feels the handler’s eyes sliding down his body.

He thinks he might be shaking, but he isn’t sure. 

The doctor returns a moment later, and after a quick assessment of how things have evolved, issues a quick but gentle, “It’s alright.” It’s not, though, and Leo locks his jaw to keep from crying. He wants to ask if he can close his eyes again. Sometimes they would let him, when things were about to get really bad, in initial training. Sometimes, if he asked clearly, and if he caught them on a good day, they would let him.

“No wonder he was returned,” the handler says, leaning back against the wall. 

“Can I close my eyes?” he whispers then, before he can catch the humor in the handler’s expression. The doctor looks at him once, and nods. Leo doesn’t hesitate to clamp his eyes shut, unwilling to chance opening them at all, maybe ever, and instead continues counting in his head. 

“Continue working on your empathy,” the doctor says evenly, but Leo is pretty sure he isn’t speaking to him so he works on breathing and counting and nothing else.

He tries to block out the words. This is another moment in training, and it too will end eventually. 

“They put him through hell in training. He has a right to be mistrustful.” And then, to Leo, he says, “I’m going to give you something to help balance you out,” and his touch disappears. “Just hang tight, Leo.” 

Without warning, a hand clamps around his neck, pinning him in place. His eyes fly open, his arms pull instinctively against the restraints, as the tip of a syringe is pushed past his teeth and to the back of his throat.

He gags, his head knocking back against the thin pillow, but the handler’s grip is merciless, and in the next instant, a thick, bitter liquid is sliding down his throat. Tears well in his eyes, and he would swear the culprit was simply the bitterness of the medicine.

It’s mistaken for something else, though, and the handler releases him as the doctor runs a hand through his hair and says, “You’re alright.”

Leo’s shaking harder now, and his fingers grip into the pad he lays on and he urges himself to still. His chest aches as he tries to catch his breath, the taste of the medicine still heavy on his tongue. But still, almost immediately, he can feel his body lightening, the tension pulling back until the shaking eases, and the doctor nods, and approaches. Leo can’t feel the fear he knows he should feel. 

He can feel nothing.

Even with the memories of the night before, even with the doctor and the handler so close to him, he can breathe again.

Still, Leo can’t contain the subconscious jerk of his body as a flash of sharp pain shoots through him. The doctor issues an apology, along with a soft, “almost done,” and turns the swab, over and over, as Leo’s legs fight against the hands that hold them in place. He tries to find a place in his mind to retreat into, but he hasn’t been there in months, if not longer, and in that moment, it offers no reprieve. He thinks he cries out, locking his teeth and pressing his head back into the pillow as hard as he can to distract himself from what goes on lower. When the doctor is finished, he wipes Leo down and drapes the blanket over his lap.

What he doesn’t say is ‘Good, Leo,’ because they would both know it to be untrue. 

Still, in the next breath, the restraints are being unbuckled, and Leo is lifted at his shoulders until he is sitting, and his wrists are being examined, and there is a hand rubbing his back. He blinks slowly, willing the room back into focus, and he can hear voices but he isn’t able to follow their conversation.

“It doesn’t need to be this hard,” he thinks the handler is saying, and even though his head is hung low and his shoulders are scrunched to make him as small as possible, in his peripherals he can see the doctor shooting the handler a sharp look. “What?” he bites back. “It’s true.”

“Alright, Leo,” the doctor says then, ignoring the handler entirely. Leo keeps his eyes locked on the ground and he takes the blanket in a white-knuckled grip.

The doctor lets him catch his breath, rubbing his back every few seconds. Leo thinks he’s using it to get a read on his heart rate, but he doesn’t care just then. The doctor explains what’s next, and moves to ease Leo onto his side. Leo, for his part, cooperates, lowering himself slowly, watching as his fingers shake. He wraps his arms so tightly around his stomach he think he might leave bruises, but when the doctor touches him, he doesn’t flinch.

“There’s some bruising,” the doctor says neutrally, but Leo can’t look at the handler to see if he types it. It could be from the handlers, or it could be from Parker’s friends the night before. Leo chokes on his next breath, and in spite of the drugs, he can feel the panic rising.

“Leo?” the doctor says. “Are you doing alright?” 

The handler takes a step forward.

“I don’t consent to this,” Leo whispers, so softly he isn’t sure anyone hears him. The look the handler levels on him is scathing. “I–I kn…know it doesn’t… I know it doesn’t matter.” His voice is soft, slurred around the edges, but clear enough. “But I… I j-just– I want to make sure you know.”

The doctor says nothing, and the handler frowns. Leo wants to ask him to type it into his chart, but the doctor moves behind him, and Leo’s vision is suddenly and immediately blurred by his tears. 

By the time they finish, by the time the doctor drapes the blanket over his hips, letting his hand rest on Leo’s head briefly before retreating, Leo’s body is wracked with sobs. They leave him to calm himself down, and he finds himself, for a moment, grateful for the simple mercy.

But he cannot stop crying, as he stares into the mirror and thinks of all he’s lost. Of what, in spite of what he tried to convince himself he could have, he will never have. Of Parker, laughing with his friends as he picks out a new worker. Of the handler, and all those that came before him, smiling as they hurt him. The door opens with no warning and a familiar voice, a voice warm enough to burn Leo’s entire world down, issues a commanding, clear, “Stop this, Leo.” 

And almost instantly, Leo stops.

FIGHTER TAG LIST:

@whump-cravings

@afabulousmrtake

@crystalquartzwhump

@maracujatangerine

@pumpkin-spice-whump

@distinctlywhumpthing

@thecyrulik

@highwaywhump

@batfacedliar-yetagain

@finder-of-rings

@dont-touch-my-soup

@skyhawkwolf

@suspicious-whumping-egg

@also-finder-of-rings

@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump

@peachy-panic

@melancholy-in-the-morning

@urban-dark

@nicolepascaline

@quietly-by-myself

@pigeonwhumps

@whump-blog 

@seasaltandcopper

@angstyaches

@i-msonotcreative

@mylifeisonthebookshelf

@anonintrovert

@whump-world

@squishablesunbeam

@considerablecolors

@whumpcereal

@whumperfully

@pirefyrelight

@whumpsday

@whumplr-reader

@lonesome--hunter 

@darkthingshappen 

@alexmundaythrufriday

@whumps-and-bumps

[scary-grace]

Enough to Go By (Chapter 13) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Your best friend vanished on the same night his family was murdered, and even though the world forgot about him, you never did. When a chance encounter brings you back into contact with Shimura Tenko, you'll do anything to make sure you don't lose him again. Keep his secrets? Sure. Aid the League of Villains? Of course. Sacrifice everything? You would - but as the battle between the League of Villains and hero society unfolds, it becomes clear that everything is far more than you or anyone else imagined it would be. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

Chapter 13

“I can’t believe this.” Tomura’s not happy, and he’s not shy about sharing it. “We’re not hostages. Take the fucking hoods off.”

“Don’t complain. It makes you sound like a child.” The voice of the Hassaikai member walking behind you sounds familiar, but you can’t quite grasp where you’ve heard it before. “Trust is earned. And you haven’t earned it.”

“It’s hard to earn trust without an opportunity to be trustworthy,” you say, as diplomatically as you can manage. You’re not thrilled about the hood over your head, either, mainly because you’re worried that it’ll take your veil with it when they try to take it off. “As for childishness – I’m not sure if you were the one who picked up the phone when Tomura changed the meeting date, but whoever it was threw a pretty impressive fit.”

Whoever’s walking behind Tomura decides to wade into things. “That was a subordinate, not the head of our organization.”

“Were they over twenty?”

Silence falls, other than the sound of your footsteps through what you’re fairly sure is a tunnel of some kind. You’ve been walking for a while, and the silence stretches, then stretches again. “We’re getting off the subject,” the Hassaikai member says, and Tomura snorts. “Careful. The door.”

You shift to one side to avoid the doorframe and bump into Tomura. Your hands brush, and Tomura’s little finger links briefly with yours, squeezing tight before letting go. It reassures you. You don’t know what you’re doing here. You shouldn’t be here – you’re quirkless, you’re not a villain, you’ve done nothing to earn a place in the negotiation between the League of Villains and the Shie Hassaikai. But Tomura wants you here. That would be all that matters, except Overhaul wants you here, too.

The hoods come off once you’re through the door, and you barely manage to grasp the hem of your veil in time to keep it over your face. With the hoods gone, you can see that you’re in a small, windowless room, standing behind a couch. Facing you, seated on another couch, is Overhaul. You were too panicked to really take the measure of him when you met in the warehouse. Now you have a close look, and what you see is – weird.

His eyebrows are thin and arched, almost plucked. The clothes he’s wearing are distinctive. The green combat jacket with purple faux fur around the collar was an intentional choice, which means his fashion sense is bizarre. He’s wearing thin white gloves on both hands, and like you are with any quirked person, you’re wary. You might have some idea what he’s capable of, but you don’t know for sure. All you know is that you’ve got no way to protect yourself from him. If he decides he wants you dead, you’re dead. You have to be careful.

But you’re not alone here. Tomura’s with you – and because Tomura’s himself, he doesn’t have to worry about careful. “Do you give this kind of welcome to all your allies? Or are you just pissed that we didn’t come running the first time you snapped your fingers?”

“This isn’t a social call, it’s a business meeting. I’m always careful when I conduct business.” Overhaul is talking to Tomura, but he’s looking at you. “Saintess, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Have a seat, both of you.” Overhaul stays silent as the two of you situate yourself, only speaking once you’re both settled. “I’m glad to see that you’re prepared to move past the – unpleasantness of our first meeting.”

“Move past it, sure. Forget it, no.” Tomura props his feet up on the coffee table between the couches. “One of your minions died. You destroyed Compress’s arm, and we lost Magne because of you. Those aren’t equal losses. If we’re going to move past it, we need something from you.”

“The Hassaikai will pay the cost of a prosthetic for Compress,” Overhaul says. “Unfortunately, nothing more can be done for Magne. I understand that Tartarus will be his final destination.”

“Hers,” you correct without thinking.

“Unless he talks,” Overhaul continues, like you didn’t speak. “I imagine that if he shares what he knows about your so-called organization, he could get himself moved to medium security instead.”

“She,” Tomura snaps. His fists are clenched on his thighs, his knuckles white. “She won’t talk, and even if she did, it would be because of you.”

“She attacked first.” Overhaul’s mocking Tomura, mocking you – mocking Magne, who’s not here to defend herself. “If you had better control over your gang of lunatics, then –”

“We’re getting off the subject,” you say, and Tomura and Overhaul both look at you. “What’s done is done. We’re here to discuss the future of your organization and Tomura’s, aren’t we? What did you have in mind?”

Overhaul tilts his head, studying you. It’s quiet for a moment – quiet, until Tomura snaps. “What are you looking at her for? Stop looking at her. I didn’t bring her for you to stare at.”

“Why do you think I asked you to bring her?” Overhaul doesn’t wait for Tomura to answer, and he doesn’t answer his own question, either. “Saintess was correct at our first meeting to look for an alignment of our goals. Your diagnosis of the problem as heroes, however, is incomplete. The root of the problem is the existence of quirks themselves.”

“Quirks,” Tomura repeats after a second. “That’s a new one.”

“It sounds radical to you as a person with a quirk. This is why I asked you to bring Saintess with you,” Overhaul says. “As a quirkless individual, I’m sure she can explain exactly what quirks have done to warp society from its natural order.”

Your stomach lurches. “What makes you think I’m quirkless?”

“If you were any use, Shigaraki would have used you already.” Overhaul shrugs. “If you had a quirk that could have influenced the outcome of the League’s previous engagements, you would have featured prominently in them, and if you had any value, you would already have been captured. Shigaraki has a nasty habit of giving his most valuable pieces away.”

You knew you didn’t like Overhaul, and it’s not like you haven’t heard anyone say things like that about you before, but hearing them said in front of Tomura is something else. It’s a good thing you’re behind a veil. Your face is heating up in shame. “But it’s your presence at Shigaraki’s right hand that convinced me we could work together,” Overhaul says. “A leader who can see value beyond quirks is a leader with whom I can find common ground. So let’s discuss my plans, and where you might fit into them.”

“Let’s start with this.” Tomura extracts the quirk-erasing bullet – the copy of the quirk-erasing bullet that Twice made – from his pocket and holds it up. “After Compress was shot with this, he couldn’t use his quirk for a while. What is this thing, and where did you get it?”

Tomura knows both answers, courtesy of you and Kazuo, which gives him the chance to test Overhaul’s honesty. “We manufacture those in-house,” Overhaul says. “Right now we lack the facilities to mass-produce them, so we’re in short supply. I’ll take that back –”

“Nope.” Tomura grasps the bullet with all five fingers and Decays it. Twice’s creations Decay like anything else, if Tomura does it fast enough. “If you throw away your toys, you don’t get them back. How are you producing them?”

Kazuo texted you some extra information after he ran his query, sharing that there’s human DNA inside each bullet. Overhaul’s silent for a moment, and Tomura pushes the point. “Earlier you said it was a manufacturing issue, but this thing was – what? A bullet casing and a needle? I’m guessing your real problem is not having enough of what’s inside it.”

“And?”

“And that seems like a flaw,” Tomura says. “It’s nice to have a plan. Not so nice if you can’t execute it.”

“Currently our production of the deleter rounds is restricted to one facility. Our production of Trigger, however, is widespread,” Overhaul says. “My plan requires both components. Once it’s executed, control of quirks will pass from the hands of individuals into the hands of those who control the supply of both compounds.”

Tomura nods. “I get the picture.”

It sounds like he doesn’t. He sounds like he used to in school, when he was writing his letters upside down or trying to put a puzzle piece somewhere it didn’t fit. Overhaul doesn’t buy it. “Why don’t you have Saintess explain what a world where quirks can be permanently erased would look like?”

He’s getting off on this. He must be. That’s the only reason you can think of why he’d force you to rub Tomura’s face in just how useless you are. “It wouldn’t be a return to the pre-quirk status quo,” you start, “because without mass distribution of the deleter substance, quirks themselves would still exist. But the category of quirkless would cease to be a static one.”

“And why would that be a good thing?”

You wish he wouldn’t prompt you. You were getting to it. “Quirklessness is stigmatized heavily. The downfall in privilege from quirked to quirkless would be colossal, for nobody more so than for heroes. The constant threat of quirklessness would change how heroes approach their work. It would make them more cautious, more self-protective.”

“Less heroic,” Tomura says. “I get it.”

“The threat of ending up like her will handicap them, and they’ll never be able to avoid the risk,” Overhaul says. “That’s the kind of reset I’m talking about. Now, in order to accomplish my goals, I’ll need some members of your organization to join mine.”

“Why?” Tomura asks suspiciously. “What do you want with them?”

“My organization is short on infiltrators. We’re tilted towards combat or interrogative types,” Overhaul says. “Twice, Toga, and Kurogiri. That’s who I need. You can keep the rest.”

“We don’t have freedom of movement right now. I’m not handing over Kurogiri,” Tomura says shortly. “Twice and Toga you can have, on a temporary basis.”

“I’ll have them until I’m done with them.”

“If you take them temporarily, what do I get in exchange?”

“I imagine you’re short on funds,” Overhaul says. “We’ll provide a place for you to stay as well as money for food and support items – and the prosthetic for Compress, as discussed. Hmm, and –”

He looks at you. “That injury to your hand hasn’t healed yet. I’ll fix it.”

“No.” Tomura was sitting with his feet on the table until a second ago, but he rockets to standing at once. “Touch her and I’ll kill you.”

“You don’t trust me? We’re supposed to be allies.”

“After what happened the last time you touched one of my friends? Damn right I don’t trust you.” Tomura has one arm thrown out, blocking you even though Overhaul hasn’t made a move. “You aren’t touching her. Back off.”

“I’m just trying to help.” Overhaul spreads his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Call it a peace offering.”

You don’t want Overhaul touching you. You don’t want Overhaul coming anywhere near you. But Tomura’s outsize reaction looks bad. It looks like he doesn’t trust Overhaul, which he doesn’t, and it looks like he’s about to fly off the handle at any second, which he isn’t – and it makes you look important, which you aren’t. There’s only one solution you can see. You get to your feet. “It’s a peace offering,” you say, adopting Overhaul’s term. “I’m not against help when it’s offered.”

You step around Tomura’s outstretched arm, closing the distance between yourself and Overhaul. When you unwrap your bandaged hand, he regards it with clear distaste – but at the same time, he’s peeling off one of his gloves. “These are shallow. They should be healed already, given that you had the same bandage five days ago.”

“It’s on my hand. It’s hard to keep a scab on something I use all the time.” You hold out your hand when Overhaul beckons, wondering if you’re about to die. He could bring you back if he kills you, but he probably wouldn’t if Tomura lost control badly enough. And you can’t count on Tomura’s self-control in a situation like this, when he’s already pissed, already on edge. “Are you sure you want to do this? I won’t be mad if you changed your mind.”

“How forgiving. As expected of a Saintess.” Overhaul’s voice is sardonic. You really wish the League had picked a name for you that was a little less of a joke. “Here.”

His fingers brush the back of your hand, and your skin crawls – but that’s it. When you look down at your hand, you can see that the marks left by Tomura’s nails have smoothed over into a faint scar. A scar that vanishes completely a moment later. Overhaul yanks his glove back over his hand. “Why don’t you go show your boss that his suspicions were unfounded?”

You step back around the coffee table until you’re next to Tomura, and you hold up your hand for him to inspect. You can tell by what little of his expression is visible around the hand that he’s seething. He looks past you, to Overhaul. “Are we done here?”

“Not quite. Why don’t you stay for a game?” Overhaul gestures, and one of his masked minions sets a board and game pieces down on the coffee table. “Do you play shogi?”

“No,” Tomura says, in the same tone as he’d say “fuck you”. “You might have time for board games, but we have important things to do.”

“I wasn’t asking you.” Overhaul is looking at you – again. “Have a seat, Shigaraki. Saintess and I will show you how it’s done.”

You do know how to play, but you don’t play very well – a lifetime of letting your younger siblings win so they won’t hammer you with their quirks has left you uniquely unprepared to play someone who knows what they’re doing. But in some ways, this is exactly the kind of situation you always wound up in at home. Somebody more powerful than you is using the threat of their quirk to push you around. The only difference is that Overhaul is about fifty times as powerful as your siblings. And that when you were playing with them, you never had to worry about keeping your supervillain boyfriend calm at the same time.

Overhaul is lecturing Tomura about how shogi works. You focus on your opening moves. You really don’t want to get your ass kicked in front of your best friend, particularly not after he’s just spent the last half an hour listening to Overhaul remind him how useless you are. At the same time, though, you think you should probably let Overhaul win. You need to leave him thinking he’s got the upper hand over Tomura. It’s a delicate balance, and with your self-esteem basically in tatters, you’re not sure how good you’ll be at keeping it.

Even if Tomura doesn’t know how to play, he’s still on your team, as evidenced by the fac that he interrupts Overhaul every time Overhaul’s about to move a piece. He starts by needling Overhaul about exactly what’s inside the bullets, then moves on to asking about the quirk makeup of Overhaul’s inner circle, arguing that since Overhaul’s helping himself to members of the League, Tomura should have information about Overhaul’s underlings in case he wants to borrow one. Tomura’s interruptions give Overhaul time to rethink his moves, and because you’re playing what you’ve come to think of as the please-don’t-hurt-me strategy rather than trying to win outright, he doesn’t seem to know how to respond. You manage to promote one of your pieces and capture two of his before he finally quits responding to Tomura’s hassling.

Overhaul’s using the game as a personality test. He’s said as much, which makes the fact that he chose to play against you instead of Tomura especially weird. Does he like you or something? You’re pretty sure that’s not it – he’s never seen your face, and even if he could, you’re not anything special. Trying to figure out why Tomura keeps you around would make more sense, but you feel like he’d have to be socially unaware to the max to fail to guess that you and Tomura are involved. So what is it? For the first time in conjunction with dealing with the League, you wish one of your friends was here – Mitsuko, whose quirk lets her read people’s intentions towards one another. She’d be able to tell you what’s going on in Overhaul’s head. She’d also be able to tell you what’s going on in Tomura’s.

Overhaul never quite catches onto your strategy, such as it is, which means you win your first game of shogi ever against a yakuza boss who clearly thinks pretty highly of his own skills. You’re hoping he’ll let you leave now, but before he can put the board away, Tomura nudges you aside and takes your place across the board from Overhaul. “I want to play, too.”

Tomura versus Overhaul is a mess of a game, with pieces flying every which way at high speed. Tomura pressures Overhaul by playing fast, barely considering his moves before he makes them, and while Overhaul grasps Tomura’s strategy eventually, it takes just a little too long to give him the decisive victory he was probably hoping for. Tomura doesn’t seem particularly upset at losing. “Thanks for the lesson,” he says to Overhaul, getting to his feet and stretching widely. One of Overhaul’s minions narrowly avoids getting smacked in the face by his hand and scurries out of range in a hurry. “Are we going to have to do this again?”

“Not unless our strategy changes drastically.”

“Great.” Tomura turns to you. “Let’s go.”

They don’t blindfold you this time. You try to keep track of the various twists and turns, just to have something to do, but you can’t focus. Your veil may be in place, but with every step you take away from Overhaul, your mask slips a little further.

You grew up being picked on for being quirkless. Mercilessly picked on at home, less so at school, because you didn’t do anything so stupid as wanting to be a hero. You would have been targeted if you’d made waves, so you didn’t, staying under the radar and out of the way, even once you had friends like Kazuo and Hirono and Ryuhei who were willing and able to stand up for you. And maybe you forgot a bit, because it doesn’t matter at your job and the League doesn’t care. But what Overhaul said isn’t some aberration – it’s how the world really sees you. Useless. Worthless. If you were of any value as Tomura’s game piece, you’d already have been taken off the board.

“Hey,” Tomura says, and you look up just in time to realize that you’re stepping through the door of Overhaul’s stronghold. It’s dark out, and it’s cold, and Kurogiri’s waiting for you. But instead of stepping through the warp gate, Tomura addresses Kurogiri. “Take us to the place. Wait fifteen minutes and come back to get us.”

“Yes, Shigaraki Tomura.”

A different warp gate opens. Tomura takes your hand, three fingers wrapped loosely around your wrist, and pulls you through it. You don’t have a clue where you’re headed, and you’re still confused when you emerge from the other side of the warp gate and get your bearings. It’s still dark, and it’s also cold – a lot colder than it was outside of Overhaul’s stronghold. Tenko draws his coat tighter around himself. “Fuck, it’s freezing.”

You can make out shapes in the darkness, but nothing that tells you what you’re actually looking at. “Where are we?”

“I used to come here sometimes. When I was a kid.” Tenko looks up at the sky. It was clear at Overhaul’s, but here it’s cloudy, a heavy bank blotting out the stars. “Sensei didn’t like when I went places. Kurogiri convinced him somehow. Probably told him I’d scratch all the skin off my face if I couldn’t go outside sometimes. I don’t know.”

Tenko sets off over the uneven ground, his hand still around your wrist. At one point he crouches, then comes back up with a camping lantern, which he switches on and holds up, revealing that you’re in the ruins of a big building. No, not a building. “Is this a plane?”

“It crashed a few years before All Might debuted,” Tenko says. “Officially an accident, but most of the internet thinks it was sabotaged. The pilots kept this thing in the air for thirty-eight minutes after the hydraulics failed.”

“What about –” you struggle to phrase it in a way that won’t get you in trouble. “What about heroes? If it was in the air for thirty-eight minutes, then somebody –”

“You think anybody would square up to a crashing jumbo jet? They let it fall.” Tenko scoffs. “Didn’t come looking to help until it was too late. Five hundred people on this flight, and four made it. That’s it.”

You’re in a graveyard. Your skin crawls. “And they just left it here?”

“I guess. And I guess if Sensei thought he had to let me outside, it might as well be somewhere I wouldn’t forget what I was supposed to be.”

“That’s messed up,” you say before you can stop yourself. Tenko lets go of your wrist, but only so he can take the hand down off his face and tuck it into his pocket. “It is, Tenko. It’s messed up that he –”

“Back there. With Overhaul.” Tenko cuts you off, and your stomach lurches. “Is that what they’re all like?”

You were hoping he wouldn’t bring that up. Praying, maybe. “No,” you say. Your voice isn’t wavering. It’s just the wind. “He wasn’t that bad. It’s fine.”

“If that doesn’t count as bad, what does?”

Things your siblings said, things your classmates said once you got old enough for it to matter – things patients said, back when you were dumb enough to think that letting them know you were quirkless would make the other quirkless ones feel better. “Nothing. It’s not that bad. He was picking on your judgment more than he was picking on me.”

“He was going after you. I had to sit there and watch you tie yourself in a knot trying not to piss him off –” Tenko breaks off in a snarl. “He backed us so far into a corner that you had to let him touch you to get out! You want to talk about fucked up? That’s fucked up! Don’t –”

“It’s fine –”

“Don’t tell me it’s fine!” Tenko’s voice is loud enough to echo, loud enough to startle you. “I know you. Even when you’re hiding behind that thing. You think I don’t know when somebody hurts you?”

“I’m not hurt,” you say. Your voice isn’t wavering. You’re just laughing at how absurd of a thing that is to say. “You think somebody like him can hurt me?”

“Yes.” Tenko catches the hem of your veil and flips it back, baring your face.

It takes all your self-control not to cover your face with both hands. You’re crying. It’s stupid. You’re twenty years old and you’re crying like somebody’s pulled your hair on the playground. You’ve been crying on and off since you turned your back on Overhaul, trusting the veil and years of practice keeping quiet to hide you, only you’re with the one person who’s never fallen for that. Tenko stares at you in the light of the camping lantern, and you stare back, your eyes blurring as you fight to keep your mouth from turning down at the corners. You wish he’d look away. It makes it so much harder that he can see you.

“Don’t look,” you say, hating how your voice shakes, and Tenko grabs you one-handed and pulls you in against his chest.

There’s a clang as he sets the camping lantern down, and then his other arm comes up around you, hands clenched into fists on your shoulder blade and your hip. He’s holding onto you tightly, tight enough that you’d have a hard time escaping if you wanted to. But you don’t want to. You’ll take what you can get, even knowing you don’t belong, even knowing that you’re always going to be –

“You aren’t useless.” Tenko’s voice is quiet, gentle. You remember it from when he was a kid. You didn’t know it was still there. “You can do all kinds of things. I need those things. The rest of the League needs those things, too. And they like you. Or else they wouldn’t have given you a name.”

Your stupid, shitty name. You want to laugh, but it doesn’t sound like laughter when it comes out. “And even if you couldn’t do any of the medic stuff,” Tenko says, “even if you couldn’t do anything at all to help, I’d still want you with me.”

“No, you wouldn’t have. You only sent Kurogiri to get me the first time because I’m a nurse –”

“I told him to get you before. A lot of times.” Tenko takes a deep breath, lets it go. “I should send that fucking hero a thank-you card. Kurogiri only listened that time because I was injured.”

He wanted to see you. That can’t be right. Can it? You grasp onto the least ridiculous part of what Tenko just said. “A thank-you card?”

“That’s faster to say than “a pipe bomb with a bow on it”.”

That might be the worst thing Tenko’s ever said in front of you. It’s also pretty funny at a time when you need something to laugh at. You try to smother your laughter in Tenko’s shoulder, and he hugs you closer. “I want you with me. You’re supposed to be with me. No matter what. Do you understand?”

“I don’t know,” you say. You think you might, though. Maybe. “I –”

“Come on.” Tenko sits down in one of the empty seats, pulls you into his lap, holding on when you try to squirm away. “Don’t worry. I only sit in the ones the survivors were in.”

That strikes you as unexpectedly sweet. It’s the kind of thing Tenko would have done even as a kid. At the same time – “You know we’re not done with the messed-up-ness of your Sensei sending you to play in a crashed plane, right?”

“It’s not that weird,” Tenko says. You raise your eyebrows. “Kids play in that park they built at Kamino, right?”

You hadn’t thought of it like that. Both places are places where a lot of people died. Both places have been swept under the rug, Kamino by putting up a shiny park over the ruins within two weeks of the disaster, this place by leaving it to rot out of sight and memory. Both places are the site of massive heroic failures. It’s not as different as you want it to be. “That’s messed up, too.”

Tenko snorts, rolls his eyes, but his arms are wrapping tighter around you. He presses his face into your shoulder, his voice muffled and indistinct. “I don’t need you to understand everything. I just need you here. Do you get it?”

“I get it,” you say. “I need to be here, too.”

Tenko’s nose is cold where it presses against your throat, but his chapped lips and his breath are warm. You’re shivering, and so is he. “If I’d known it was this cold, I’d have made Kurogiri bring us somewhere else.”

“Why did you have him bring us somewhere instead of back to my place?”

“I wanted to talk to you. Without them hearing.” Even in the faint light of the camping lantern, you see his face flush. “They hear enough already.”

You knew Dabi was going to say something. It sounds like he said more than one something. “He just needs to get laid.”

Tenko looks shocked for a moment. Then he bursts out laughing, the sound echoing through the ruins of the plane. You like his laughter, but it sounds wrong here. Kissing him feels wrong to do here, too, but it’s the only way you can think of to keep him quiet, and it’s easy to fall into, easy to forget. Easy to forget where you are, but what happened to put you here isn’t so easy to leave behind.

Tenko’s hands have been curled into fists the entire time. Now they loosen slightly, splaying across your shoulder, grasping your hip. His index fingers are lifted. “He fixed your hand,” he says after a while. “I know why he did it.”

“Don’t think about him,” you say. You know you don’t want to – but at the same time, you weren’t paying much attention past your own discomfort. Tenko might have seen something you didn’t. “Why?”

“Because he knows I couldn’t.” Tenko’s grip tightens. “He wants you.”

That’s not right. “I don’t think he wants me. I don’t know why anyone –”

You trail off. There are some things that are too pathetic to say out loud, even for you. Some things you shouldn’t say even in front of your best friend, your boyfriend. Not after he’s tried pretty hard to reassure you about your place in the League, your place with him. Tenko looks expectantly at you, waiting for you to finish your sentence. You shake your head. Tenko smiles halfway, crookedly, and says the last thing you’d expect him to say. “Of course he wants you,” he says. “Who wouldn’t?”

[deepspacedukat]

Good Catch

This is just a little plot bunny that hopped into my brain. Literally no idea why, it just happened. So...enjoy! 😇

If anyone wants to be added to or removed from my taglist, let me know!

Cross-posted to AO3 here.

~*~

Vorik (ST:VOY) x Reader

[A/N: This is fluff with mild suggestiveness and a brief mention of a previous instance of Pon Farr.]

Warnings: Interspecies romance, Human/Vulcan romance, mild fear, idiots in love, both think their feelings are unrequited, mutual pining, angst, brief mention of past Pon Farr, spoilers for ST:VOY S3E16 "Blood Fever", mild spoilers for ST:VOY S4E1 "Scorpion Pt. 2", the beginning would make more sense if you watch S4E1 first but it's not entirely necessary, and I assume that you've seen "Blood Fever" if you're reading Vorik fanfics, so...🤷‍♀️, kissing, Vulcan hand-holding, touch telepathy, idk what else to put here because it's really just fluff.

~*~

The tension on the ship was already palpable when the chaos started. Everyone was on edge because of our uneasy alliance with a Borg cube, wondering how long it would be before they turned on us and tried to assimilate Voyager. The fact that Species 8472 had turned out to be hostile as well did nothing to alleviate the crew's stress.

With enemies in front of and behind us, all we could do was try to prepare to the best of our ability. I just hoped it would be enough. Vorik had been silent on our way to Engineering for the start of our shift. The silence itself wasn't troubling - Vorik was often contemplative early in the day - but the small frown just barely pinching his brows together...that was worrying.

Inquiring about his well-being had earned me no more than a noncommittal, murmured deflection. All I could think to do was give him a gentle smile and rest one hand briefly on his shoulder. Shockingly, that seemed to help. His forehead relaxed, smoothing out into his usual, calm, neutral expression.

For the next few hours, I noted that whenever I glanced over at his station, the Ensign seemed to have retained whatever sense of ease he'd regained in the corridor that morning.

Soon, however, all thoughts outside of my duties were wiped away. Red alerts began blaring, and it was all hands on deck as we struggled to regain control of Voyager from the Borg.

I'd just begun to cross the second level to access a different terminal when the ship gave an almighty jolt. Before I could brace myself, I was thrown toward the warp core. The low railing struck my back, and I let out a yelp of pain and fear as I began to tumble over the side.

Instead of finding myself flattened or shattered by the fall, however, a vice-like grip on my arm stopped my momentum and tugged me against a sturdy, warm chest. I grabbed at the shoulders of my savior, trembling with residual shock. Only after the ship steadied itself did I manage to catch my breath and glance upward.

Looking down at me with a protectiveness that I had never before witnessed from him, Vorik's shining brown eyes met mine.

"Thank you," I managed to squeak out, but speaking seemed as difficult for him as I'd found it to be. Instead, he nodded his head once and pressed our foreheads carefully together. Vorik knew I was terrified of heights.

After a moment, though, we were forced to pull away from each other and go tend to our duties. Short-lived comfort was all we could manage at times like that. Being stuck in fluidic space after we'd been forced there by the last surviving Borg onboard Voyager was definitely not the right moment to become distracted by our personal tension, even if it had been growing for years.

I knew nothing would ever truly happen between us, though. If he'd seen me as a viable partner, Vorik would've approached me when his pon farr happened the year before. Instead he'd gone for B'Elanna Torres, and I'd forced myself to stay away from him.

I'd requested a transfer to the night shift so that I wouldn't be on duty at the same time as him, and the few moments where our schedules overlapped, I tried to find reasons to be busy in other places.

Yes, his interest in someone else had stung, so I decided that until my own stupid feelings cooled down a bit, I'd keep my distance. Mostly, I just didn't want to embarrass myself in front of him. After all, that Vulcan could read me like a book, and at that particular point, I didn't want him to ponder my emotional state too closely. If he hadn't caught on to the fact that I loved him prior to his pon farr, I certainly wasn't going to change that after he'd made his non-interest known.

I hadn't been rude to him in the aftermath, especially since he was being viewed so poorly by so many of the crew for attacking B'Elanna in engineering, but I hadn't gone out of my way to talk to him, either. The whole situation was a mess, and although I didn't want him to feel alone, I definitely wanted to limit the number of opportunities that I had to make an ass of myself.

Eventually, though, it all came to a head one morning when I'd just finished my shift. As I approached the hall where my quarters were, I saw a familiar head of fluffy back hair standing at attention outside my door.

"Vorik?" I called, and he looked quickly in my direction. Standing even straighter - a feat that I hadn't believed possible - the Ensign acted formally, as if he was addressing a superior officer.

"Ensign, forgive me for disturbing you at this hour, but I...had hoped to speak with you in private," he said in that low, gentle voice that I...oh, I'd missed him more than I anticipated! I blinked in surprise, and opened the door to my quarters, answering his question.

"Would you like some tea or water or something? I know you need to go on duty soon, and I have some extra replicator rations...?"

"Thank you, but no," he murmured as we made our way over to my sofa. We'd held many debates and conversations here over the years, but it had been something like two months since we'd been together like this. I took a seat, but when he remained standing, I looked up at him curiously. "May I?"

"Vorik, we've been friends since before we came aboard Voyager. You know you never need to ask permission to sit down." He seemed surprised by my response, which, in turn, surprised me.

"I did not know if..." he stumbled over his words for a moment as he perched awkwardly on the cushion beside me. "After the incident in Engineering, I was uncertain whether you would be...comfortable with my being in close proximity to you."

I was silent for a moment as I processed what he'd said.

"You thought I'd be afraid of you?" My voice came out as barely a whisper, and when he nodded his head, my heart shattered in my chest. He looked so vulnerable, so afraid that I was going to scream at him or throw him out of my quarters.

"It is the logical conclusion. You did request a transfer to a different shift, did you not?"

Of course he'd found out about that. I don't know why I expected that to remain a secret.

"Yes, but it wasn't because I was afraid of you, Vorik." That may not have been the whole truth, but it wasn't a lie. He seemed relieved, but I didn't want him to dig too deeply, so I changed the subject with a smile. "Now, what brings you here before your shift? How can I help you?"

"My main goal was to ascertain whether I'd frightened you. My subsequent objective..." he trailed off with his brow furrowed. "Upon reflection, I do not know whether this is logical, but I wished to determine what would be required to restore our prior level of interaction. I find myself...troubled by your absence, both in Engineering and in our leisure hours."

"You missed me?" The question slipped out before I could stop it, and just like that, it was Vorik's turn to look surprised.

"Of course. Did you believe that I would be indifferent or pleased to be without you?" Nodding my head, I watched as my friend cautiously moved closer to me on the sofa and placed his hands on my shoulders. "You lend me much metaphorical strength. I value your counsel...and your friendship."

My self-imposed isolation had ended that night. I spoke with B'Elanna and got transferred back to my original shift, which is why Vorik was there to save me when I nearly fell over the railing. If it hadn't been for him, I'd likely be lying in a crumpled heap on the lower deck by now. We'd rekindled our friendship after that lapse, but I knew it would never become anything more.

Regardless, Vorik had saved my life, and I resolved that once we were out of danger, I'd show him how grateful I was.

--

One minor war later, Vorik and I exited Engineering with the rest of our shift, and without a single moment's discussion, I found myself being led by a firm hand grasping my elbow.

"Vorik? Where are we going?"

"Patience." Was it my imagination, or was his voice rougher than usual? He sent the turbolift up before anyone else could board it, and the ride was filled with an undefinable sort of silence.

His grip slipped down from my elbow to my hand, and tingles erupted across my palm. He'd never touched my bare skin before. Vulcans were averse to such contact, and I'd always done my best to respect that boundary.

But he'd been the one to initiate this, not me. As the lift hummed along, Vorik's gaze slipped upward until our eyes met. A mere blink later, his eyes were hooded and hunger flooded his demeanor. Stepping closer to me with our hands still joined, the Ensign backed me up against the wall of the turbolift releasing a whisper of my name in that beautiful, low, silky voice of his.

The tingling in my spine intensified the longer he looked at me - and oh, did he look at me! His eyes seemed to bore right into my soul, stealing my breath and my thoughts with unerring skill. He'd looked at me before, but never the way I wanted him to...never like this.

That frightened me. Oh, the look itself wasn't disquieting, but the possibility that this could lead to something more – something that might damage my heart more than his preference of B'Elanna over me had a year before? That terrified me.

"I did not," he rasped, and I blinked in confusion. "I believed that you did not harbor the same regard for me that I did for you, and it was out of a desire to avoid needlessly damaging the relationship between us that I selected Lieutenant Torres. I did not wish to lose you. To equate yourself with her is the height of illogic, because none could ever compare with you."

Before I could respond beyond a stunned look, however, we arrived at the deck we'd been hurtling toward. The door hissed open, and he began tugging me through the corridors again. We passed through the door to Vorik's quarters, and everything clicked into place. He'd always preferred privacy, only allowing into his space those who needed to be there - like the Doctor and Lieutenant Tuvok.

And then there was me.

I'd never understood why he allowed me in when almost nobody else was permitted the same luxury, but suddenly it all made sense. I was allowed to be there when nobody else was because he trusted me enough to be vulnerable with me. He told me more about himself than he did anyone else. He spent more of his free time with me than anyone else. He knew more about me than anyone else did.

And I'd all but abandoned him after the incident with Torres! Guilt coiled hot and bitter in my gut, and I bit my lower lip. How did he not hate me? How could he have simply been content with our renewed friendship? He should've chewed me out or berated me–

My racing thoughts ground to a halt as the softness of his lips met mine.

Oh.

The kiss was gentle and brief, but it was easily the most tender gesture I'd ever received. When he pulled away just far enough to watch me open my eyes, his hands caught both of mine and lifted them to his chest.

"I...Vorik, that...isn't something friends do," I breathed, feeling like an idiot as soon as the words were out of my mouth.

"You are correct. It is not," he said with a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, "but I had hoped that my attempts to demonstrate my interest were successful enough to convey that I desire you in more ways than a simple friendship will allow."

"Your interest?" I parroted, and he moved close enough that when I spoke, my lips brushed against his. The contact felt as warm as fire, as sweet as honey, and I was a starving. Ravenous for his touch, his affection, I craved him more than I had anything else in my entire life.

"You cannot have missed it. By Vulcan standards, I have been metaphorically throwing myself at you. Lieutenant Tuvok even suggested that I was being too overt." He grasped my waist, tugging me gently against him as his lips met mine again. A fleeting, barely-there peck later, my patience had stretched to the breaking point as I chased his retreating mouth with my own. "Is there something you need, ashayam?"

Blinking up at him, it occurred to me that he was doing this deliberately.

Vorik was teasing me.

And he looked almost proud of the reaction he'd drawn from me. Beautiful bastard.

"You," I whispered before I could talk myself into being more cautious. "All I need is you."

"Then you shall have me," Vorik promised as he lifted me into his arms and carried me toward his bed.

~*~

Taglist:

@akamitrani @android-boyfriends @attention-bajoranworkers @bigblissandlove1 @darkmattervibes

@emilie786 @groovyqueer @horta-in-charge @live-logs-and-proper @rookietrek

@slutty-slutty-vulcans @starrynightgardens @toebeans-mcgee

[https-milo]

the baker's daughter - lunch!

synopsis Y/n L/n works at a small bakery owned by her parents. One day, a pro hero in training shows up asking for 400 cupcakes

Chapter 3 - lunch!

prev. / m. list / next

TAG LIST..!

@aejabba @fantasynerd05 @oneiratxxia10

"Well what're we waiting for? I ask with a giggle. Todoroki nods and the two of us walk into the restaurant. We stand by the hostess podium for a couple minutes before someone comes to us.

"Hello, table for two?" She asks. She had her eyes locked on Todoroki, not even bothering to look at me. I shift uneasily where I stand.

"Yes," he simply answers. The hostess nods and grabs two menus before leading us to a table with two chairs. I take a seat and Todoroki does the same.

"Someone will be here soon to take your order," the worker says. Todoroki nods and opens his menu. Though I can tell he already knew what he wanted.

"Do you know what you want?" Todoroki asked.

I nodded, "Mak-guksu." The thought of the meal alone was enough to make my mouth water.

His eyes lit up, "I was planning on that too. Is it your favorite?"

"Oh definitely! It's so good," I replied.

"It's my favorite too," Todoroki smiled softly.

"Look at us twinning!" I laughed. We sit in silence for a minute. "What's it like training to be a hero?"

"it can be stressful, but I think it'll be worth it. What's it like being quirkless?" Todoroki asked.

"It's weird. You know you grow up in a world where everyone around you has some sort of quirk and you're just a nobody. You start to feel bad," I shrug. "I got over my FOMO though, I don't care anymore. I was born this way, there was nothing I could've done to get a quirk."

Todoroki hummed in acknowledgement, lacking the words to reply. I was used to that, any quirk user I talked to got awkward when it came to talking about quirks. They thought I was fragile and emotional when I came to the subject, but really that was more of a struggle for my dad. The waitress came back with a small notepad in her hand.

"Good afternoon! I'm Hana and I'll be your waitress today," she greeted. Much like the hostess, her eyes were locked on Todoroki. She didn't even glance in my direction. I cross my arms subconsciously from insecurity. "Can I get you started with any drinks?"

"Yes, I'll have the green tea and she'll have the..." Todoroki answered he trailed off for me to answer.

"[Favorite Drink], please," I added. The Hana's eyes look briefly in my direction. Her lips tugged into a smirk as she tried holding back her laugh.

"Anything else?" She asks.

"Yes, we're ready to order," Todoroki said. I nodded in agreement, but the waitress wasn't looking at me.

"Great, what will you be having?"

"Two orders of mak-guksu," Todoroki answered.

Hana nodded and wrote our order on her notepad. "I'll be back out with your drinks."

Todoroki nods and turns his attention over to me. His look alone was enough to make me self-conscious, but I don't know why. "Are you ok?" He asked.

"Did you see the way she looked at me?" I ask as I play with my hair.

"I wasn't really paying attention," Todoroki honestly said. I nod and we start a simple conversation.

"We took a trip to the USJ a little bit ago. When we got there, we were swarmed with villains," Todoroki said.

"That's horrible, I'm sorry that happened to you," I replied with a frown. I reached over and placed a comforting hand on his own which was stationary on the table.

"It wasn't too bad, most of the students were alright. Our teacher and fellow staff members were the true victims. Aizawa-sensei was in a full-body cast for days," Todoroki added.

"Either way, you are still just a kid. Villains shouldn't be attacking your school trips," I say. He nods.

Hana returns with our drinks in her hands. She gently placed Todoroki's green tea on the table before she turned to face me. As she placed my [Favorite Drink] on the table, her hand swiped it and knocked it over, spilling it all over my outfit. "Dude!" I say loudly, but not loud enough to be a shout.

"oh my, I'm so sorry," Hana said without a trace of remorse in her tone. Todoroki picks up on her lack of concern and glances at her with annoyance.

"Where's your bathroom?" I ask.

"Over there," Hana said as she pointed. I borderline stomp my way over to the bathroom, annoyance evident on my face. I slam open the bathroom door and let myself in, heading to the sinks and grabbing paper towels.

"Stupid freaking waitress..." I grumbled angrily. "Can't even pretend to be sorry." I wipe and pat down my clothes and skin, getting the excess liquid off my body. I walk out of the bathroom and see Todoroki waiting for me just outside the door.

"We're leaving," Todoroki simply said. His voice was even and neutral, but I could tell something irked him.

"Ok, why?" I ask. The two of us made our way out of the restaurant.

"I didn't like how she disrespected you. When you left to the bathroom, she asked for my number and started insulting you," Todoroki explained.

"Oh. I figured," I said. "It was kinda obvious she didn't like me, her attention was on you the whole time."

"I didn't think she'd insult you to my face though. I'm sorry for the way you were treated, you didn't deserve that," Todoroki said.

"it's not your fault, Todo. I'm a big girl, I can handle myself. Trust me, she's lucky I didn't start fighting her," I laughed.

"I'll take you home now and we can go out for lunch some other time, if you'd like," Todoroki said.

I nodded, though I was slightly disappointed our day would end. He looked at me for a second before looking away. Both of us wanted to continue hanging out, but neither of us wanted to say something. We walked in silence to the bakery. "Bye, Todoroki."

"Goodbye, L/N," Todoroki replied. My heart ached as I closed the door behind me. He walked away, unknowingly having that same aching feeling in his chest.

"You're home early," Mom said. She had just walked out of the kitchen and stood behind the counter, the bell above the entry door probably gave away my presence.

"The waitress didn't like me and spilled my drink all over my outfit," I say dully. Mom just hummed.

"Well, go change. Maybe take a nap too," Mom replied. She walked over to me and gave me a quick side hug.

"Right. Goodnight, mom," I said.

"Goodnight, Y/N. I'll see you tomorrow," she placed. Kiss on the side of my head and let me walk off. I trudged my way to my room. I changed out of my soiled clothes and put on pajamas instead. My phone dinged and I looked at the notification. It was a message from Todoroki.

My heavy heart became lighter as I thought about what Saturday would bring. I hoped it would be better than today. But either way, I was excited to be spending time with Todoroki.

© https-milo. please do not repost, steal, copy, or modify my works!

Thank you so much for reading <3

[yuanf3]

VIXEN — HAN SEOUL-OH

2. chapter two — "heart-to-heart"

series masterlist

A/N sorry everyone for the delay, got caught up with school - anyway, here's chapter two, hope you like it <3

◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤ ◢◤ ◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤ ◢◤ ◢◤

The sun bore down relentlessly, casting waves of heat that seemed to dance off the cracked pavement. Beads of sweat formed on my brow and I let out a breath but remained focused, my hands steady on the wheel of the 86’ Honda Civic. I sat patiently, my eyes fixed on the men across the street, their movements deliberate as they loaded duffel bags into the sleek black SUV. 

Come on, let's go already.

As they finally finished — thank fucking God — and climbed into the vehicle, I fired up the engine of my own car and reached for the burner phone, fingers dancing over the screen to dial Dom's number. 

"Four's on the move," I murmured into the receiver before hanging up, my attention shifting back to the road as I subtly tailed the SUV.

Minutes ticked by, the world blurring past as I kept a safe distance and weaved through the bustling streets, the black SUV never far from my sight. Then, like clockwork, I spotted a familiar 70s Dodge and beat-up Nissan idling at the intersection ahead, and I briefly glanced to my left, catching my brother staring at me. A sudden sense of realization crept into the back of my mind. I shook my head, scoffing. Our plan was working.

Another heartbeat later, and we split off in different directions, each of us playing our part. My heart raced, fueled by adrenaline cursing through my veins when Tej's voice crackled through the radio on the passenger seat, his words slicing through the tension. 

"I know y'all said they were consolidating the money somewhere, but, y'all ain't going to believe this."

◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤ ◢◤ ◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤ ◢◤ ◢◤

I stood under the scorching midday sun, squinting against its relentless glare as it beat down on the streets of Rio. The heat was oppressive, mirroring the tension that hung thick in the air around us. My eyes narrowed as I caught sight of the imposing building ahead, its stone facade gleaming in the sunlight — a freaking Police Station.

The irony wasn't lost on me, and I felt a wry smirk tug at the corners of my lips. Police officers bustled in and out, seeming oblivious to the criminal activity unfolding right under their noses. I wanted to scoff at the whole situation. Hernan Reyes, the notorious drug lord, hiding his ill-gotten gains right under the nose of the law. It was audacious, I had to give him that. But it also made our job that much more difficult.

"Well," Brian muttered under his breath, his hands in the pockets of his jeans, "this job just got a lot harder."

“No kidding,” I chimed in, standing beside him and crossing my arms over my chest, my expression a mix of amusement and disbelief, “We’ll have to get even more creative.”

Rome's voice cut through the tension, his disbelief palpable. "If he's moving it into a police station, he's got some serious brass in his pocket."

"Looks like this is going to be a shorter trip than I thought," Santos said in Spanish, his tone heavy with defeat and resignation. Leo's agreement was swift and vehement, "Hell, yeah, we can't do this."

“'Can't'? You mean, 'shouldn't,'" Han’s words sliced through the conversation, drawing my attention. I turned to him, a flicker of surprise at his perspective dancing in my eyes. A small smile passed between us before I quickly turned away, squashing any flicker of conflicted emotion this man’s smile stirred within me. 

Before I could dwell on it further though, Dom's voice broke through the internal turmoil. "I say we stick to the plan."

"You say what?" Roman's incredulous voice broke the silence, injecting his trademark skepticism. His words drew my attention, and I turned to him, intrigued by his reaction. He looked at Toretto as if the man lost his mind. Couldn’t blame him.

"This just went from Mission: Impossible to Mission: In-freaking-sanity," he continued to exclaim, his frustration evident in his tone.

I exchanged a knowing glance with Brian, a small smirk playing at the corner of my lips. Roman's dramatic outburst never failed to entertain.

"Whatever, man. I ain't scared, I'm just letting you all know, going in that building is crazy," he finally declared. With a shake of his head, he turned and walked away.

My brother followed his suit as he muttered, "I got this.”

Aware of the moment of silence and a whispered conversation between Leo and Santos, I stepped closer to Dom, the midday sun beating down on us, casting harsh shadows across the pavement. 

"Don't worry about him," I said, my voice carrying a hint of amusement. "Pearce is a full-time drama queen, but he'll come around. Besides, we’ve faced crazier situations than this before."

Dom nodded, his expression still serious. "Yeah, but this time we're walking into the lion's den. Reyes isn't going to make it easy for us."

I couldn't deny the truth in his words, but I had to maintain some semblance of optimism.

"True, but that's never stopped you before. You've always found a way to come out on top,” I replied, my tone firm, injecting a note of reassurance into my voice that I hoped would bolster his resolve. 

"We gotta make sure everyone's on board before we move forward,” he said, his gaze scanning the scenery ahead of us. He seemed lost in his thoughts as if this job put more pressure on him than anything ever before but he’s been like that since I’ve met him. I guessed losing the love of your life had that effect on you. 

I’ve never gotten a chance to meet Letty. It was ironic actually because my brother met up with her quite often in our apartment during her undercover work to take down Braga but I was either out with friends or working. Brian sometimes shared a few stories about her from the time when he wanted to make a detective, how he always thought that Letty had seen right through him but she never said a word. Things would’ve been different if she did. That’s why in some kind of a twisted way, I owed her. 

"Agreed," I affirmed, crossing my arms on my chest and then shrugged, following Dom’s gaze. "No biggie. Just remind them of the 11 million they're getting."

My attempt at levity didn't go unnoticed. I grinned and watched as a brief crack in his serious demeanor appeared and a hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Bullseye. 

It was good to loosen up a bit, especially during moments like this, so I liked to think that sometimes optimism was the best thing one could ask for in times of struggle. And I was here to provide it. 

Because God only knew how much I needed it.

◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤ ◢◤ ◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤ ◢◤ ◢◤

The dimly section of the warehouse cast shadows across our faces as we gathered around the table. Out of pure coincidence, I stood beside Han, my senses on high alert while the place seemed to shrink with every second that went by. I felt like I was sixteen again, having a crush on a boy who helped out in Brian’s garage part-time, only to find out he was gay and worked there to ogle my brother. Tough times. Learned my lesson, never again. 

That’s why irritation grew inside me like a parasite and the uncomfortable feeling of awkwardness washed over me as the scent of his perfume lingered in my senses and my attention was divided between the man to my right and the task at hand. His presence was like a magnetic force I couldn't ignore, even as I desperately tried to focus on Mia’s briefing.

"The beauty of public offices?” She leaned over the table, a roll-up in hand, exposing the blueprints of the Police Station we wanted to break into. I was aware of the fact of how ridiculous it sounded. “Public records."

Brian's finger jabbed at a point in the labyrinth of walls and measurements. "This is where he's keeping the money. The vault in the evidence room."

“Um. Uh, yeah. Can I get everyone's attention, right here, for a second?” Tej interjected, raising his finger. “We're talking about breaking into a police station.”

Silence fell upon us as everyone waited for him to elaborate. “Is anyone listening to those words? Anybody? Popo? Five-O. One-time. Pigs. People we don't like.”

He’s got a point.

"You know, police stations are designed to keep people in, not out,” Han spoke calmly, glancing toward Dom, who observed with a cautious and sharp gaze. I could almost see gears turning in his head like the man was coming up with a detailed plan on the spot. 

My brother nodded in agreement. "That's why it's a stealth mission. We'll be in and out before they even know we were there."

"Well, we'll need to get eyes in there,” I chimed in, already getting an idea of what we could use. Or rather who. “At least to find out the make and model of that vault."

"So the vault and then, so…” Roman muttered probably to no one specifically, seemingly lost in thought, making a sudden, weird gesture towards the papers. “It's crazy. Who's supposed to do all this?"

Without missing a beat, I exchanged a knowing glance with Brian before turning to Pearce. Another wave of silence settled between our group as the man in question looked around, bewildered by our sudden focus on him. I raised my eyebrow, waiting for him to realize what was going on. His eureka moment occurred a second later.

"What do you mean? Why me?"

"Because you got the biggest mouth,” I stated matter-of-factly as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. My smile was sweet as honey when I earned a scoff from Tej, a couple of snickers from the others, and a very offended stare-down from Rome.

◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤ ◢◤ ◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤ ◢◤ ◢◤

The sun cast hues of orange and pink across the sky as I stood alone on the rooftop of the warehouse, the wind whispering against my bare skin. I closed my eyes, allowing myself to relax, even if just for a second. It was moments like these that made me forget the troubles that constantly haunted me. 

Brian, Tej, and Rome had gone to the station to get an idea of what exactly we were about to encounter and it was nothing that we hadn’t expected already, so Santos and Leo had taken over to blow up a few pipes in the main bathroom. It wasn’t much of a surprise to see these two smiling like Cheshire cats when they heard what their job was. It was safe to say that I had my doubts but hey, gotta be positive, right?

Just as I began to lose myself in the beauty of the scene unfolding in front of me, my phone interrupted the moment with a sharp ding.

“There goes my peace,” I muttered to myself. Sighing, I pulled the phone out of my pocket and glanced down to see a text from an unknown number flashing on the screen. My brows furrowed and I quickly unlocked the screen, my eyes going back and forth as I read the message that immediately sent an unpleasant shiver down my spine.

Have fun in Brazil, love. I’ll see you soon.

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, igniting a surge of anger and panic within me. It was like the wind got knocked out of me and my heart sank as painful memories flood back, memories I've tried so hard to bury from a time when I had been naive and desperate. I never told Brian how badly I’ve struggled after I’ve moved to London. I didn’t want him to know about that part of my life where I made mistakes that almost cost me my life.

Those first few months after my move, when I was vulnerable and alone, struggling to make ends meet and juggling between studies and two jobs, were terrifying. My brother was gone, disappeared without a trace, I was hit with the enormous amount of assignments and I was about to be evicted from my apartment.

Then I met Owen. He appeared like a savior, dazzling me with his charm, his sophistication, his extravagant gestures that seemed straight out of a fairy tale. Back then, I had been naive, craving affection and stability in a city that felt alien and hostile. 

I thought I loved him. He had swept me off my feet with his lavish dates, his expensive gifts, his promises of a life I had only ever dreamed of. And as simple as that, I had fallen. Oh, how I had fallen, head over heels, straight into his trap. I hadn't even stopped to question the sincerity of his words or the intentions behind his actions. I was too enraptured by the illusion he had crafted around me, too desperate to believe that someone like him could truly care for someone like me. Someone so insecure and scared.

I didn’t realize who he was until it was already too late. The facade had slowly begun to crack, revealing the darkness lurking beneath the surface. And then, when I finally dared to confront him, to demand the truth I had been too afraid to seek, he’d shown his true colors. The subtle manipulation, the way he always seemed to know just what to say or do to keep me ensnared in his web. I was so blinded by the illusion of love that I never stopped to question the price I was paying.

And I’ve paid a fortune. I’ve paid in tears shed in the dead of night when I thought no one was watching. In missed calls from my friends, whose concerns were silenced by Shaw, and in the gradual erosion of my self-worth, chipped away bit by bit until there was almost nothing left. It was a miracle I’ve managed to leave him, but I wouldn’t be able to if it wasn’t for Hilly and Jessie. 

Now, a fury surged through my veins. I wanted to throw my phone against the concrete floor, to scream out in frustration and defiance. But instead, I took a deep breath and forced myself to ignore the message, to push it aside like I've pushed aside so many other reminders of my past. If he was going to try and get me, I’d welcome him with open arms and a gun pointed at his head. 

With a sharp exhale, I dismissed the text, refusing to let fear consume me. The hatred I’ve felt towards Shaw had reached a level that could no longer be described with words but with actions. 

As I stared at the vanishing sun, lost in my thoughts, I was abruptly startled by the sound of footsteps approaching behind me. Instinctively, my body tensed, ready to defend myself against any potential threat. But before I could react further, a familiar voice broke through the tension.

"Quite the view, isn't it?"

Han's voice was calm and reassuring, instantly soothing the frayed edges of my nerves. Slowly, I turned to face him, my heartbeat gradually returning to its normal rhythm. He had a small smile engraved within his stoic expression.

I nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of my lips. "Yeah, it is."

"Brian sent me up here to find you,” he said and stepped closer, his presence comforting yet electrifying all at once as he stood next to me. “They're looking for you,"

Sorry. My crazy ex just texted me and almost scared the shit out of me. I felt like that would’ve been a conversation breaker, so instead, I sighed, tearing my gaze away from the horizon with a pang of guilt for disappearing without a word. Should’ve told someone I was coming here. "Well, you found me."

My gaze caught with his as his gaze lingered on me with an intensity that sent an unexpected shiver down my spine. There was a brief silence between us, but it was not uncomfortable. Instead, it was filled with an unspoken understanding, a sense that Han saw right through the walls I've built around myself, and at that moment, I couldn't help but wonder what he saw when he looked at me. 

I felt exposed under his scrutiny. It was as if he saw through the facade I'd carefully crafted, glimpsing the turmoil that lay beneath. Panic threatened to claw its way back into my chest, but I pushed it down, refusing to let it surface.

Swallowing the bitter taste that formed in my mouth, I decided to break the silence, my voice steady. "I just needed a moment alone.”

"I get it," he replied simply, his tone gentle yet reassuring. His dark eyes met mine, and a shiver ran down my spine. But beneath the surface, there was a tension, a hesitation that I couldn’t quite shake. This was dangerous. This… This whole situation was a disaster waiting to unfold and I couldn’t afford to let myself get too close. I burned myself once and I got a reminder of the consequences not that long ago. Fear gripped me tightly, twisting my insides into knots as I tried to suppress the memories of my past but I wasn’t brave enough to do so.

Instinctively, I step back, creating a safe distance between us. It's not that I didn’t trust Han, despite meeting him only a few days ago. I didn’t trust myself and there was something about our connection that both enticed and terrified me. 

God, I was a mess, wasn’t I?

"Come on," Han's voice interrupted my tumultuous thoughts, breaking the spell that bound us in this moment of uncertainty. "Let's head back down."

I nodded silently, torn between the urge to flee and the longing to stay. But as I took a step forward to walk past him into the warehouse, heading towards the stairwell, I fought to ignore the ache that spread in my chest.

◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤ ◢◤ ◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤ ◢◤ ◢◤

series masterlist