#i'm not sure if this is exactly what you wanted but *I* really like it

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Besotted 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, virginity loss, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your new neighbour brings intrigue and a bit of danger.

Characters: ex-con!Bucky Barnes

Note: Saturday is fat tiddies day. I'm sorry.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

"Wow, uh, I'd say that's a lot but it's really not much," you snort at Angelique as she comes out of your bathroom in a tiny string bikini. The leopard print is loud on the tiny triangles barely concealing her tits and a few other parts. 

"Not all of us are nuns like you," she retorts and sticks out her tongue. 

"I'm not a nun," you roll your eyes. 

You're not exactly modest yourself. You like your booty shorts and your cropped tops. And when you're lazy enough, you can be caught walking around in your purple track pants that read sex bomb across the ass. Not exactly classy, but fun. 

"Right, right, sure," she scoffs. 

"That's a low blow," you hiss. 

"Well, it's the truth. What's that now? Twenty-two and you're as pure as the blessed Mother Mary." 

"You're a fucking bitch," you sneer. 

"I am," she grins and shakes her tits. "But the guys love it." 

"You are so dumb," you scowl. 

"Try a smile, babe, and maybe someone will want to get it in." 

"Wow, did you just come over here to be awful?" 

"No, I came over to have fun. Loosen up, have some vodka." She insists. 

"Oh, no, I get it, you came to drink my booze," you accuse. 

"Look, it's hot enough out that I don't need you breathing down my neck. You invited me over," she snips. 

"Regretfully," you tweak your brow. 

"Boo, get you're fucking swimsuit on. I'm dying." She crosses her arms and drags her feet across the floor. She grabs her drink; some strawberry kiwi juice and too much vodka. 

"Why don't you go start?" You ask. "Better than pouting over your drinking problem." 

"Cuntttttt," she growls the last consonant. "Oh, you are the worst." 

"Isn't that why you love me?" You blow her a kiss and skip into your bedroom. 

You better keep up with her so you can put up with her. Vodka and orange juice should do the trick. A little less sickly sweet. You pull out your bikini. The sides of the bottoms are silver hoops and there's another between the bra cups. It's not exactly a nun's habit, is it? Especially with your tits. 

As you come out, you tuck in your left boob, the bigger one. Angelique swirls around her glass before emptying it. It's barely noon. 

"You know, you'll probably be drunk before you even get a tan," you chirp. 

"Probably," she shrugs and spins. "Come on, I'm bored." 

You huff and stomp around her. You pour yourself some vodka then find the carton of orange juice in your fridge. Hm, only enough for one drink. Nice of her to bring mixer for both of you. You dump it in with the vodka and head for the door. 

You grab your sunglasses before you step out into the sunlight. It's blazing hot. You slurp back the orange juice laced with alcohol and look around. You don't have much but it's yours. Somewhat. The sunburnt grass and cracked walkway. That's really the dream home. 

You put down your drink on the folding table under the mailbox and grab the kiddy pool leaning against the siding. Angelique makes no effort to help. You don't expect her too.

You drag it over onto the lawn and go around to unwind the hose. You unwind it and haul it back with you, tugging out the kinks until it reaches the pool. You'd do this all in the backyard but there's too many ant hills. 

You hold the hose and spray it into the plastic pool. As you do, you notice the peculiar dark shape in the next lot; a motorcycle. There's boxes on the other side of the duplex porch. Huh, they must've found a new tenant. 

Angelique pops open a bottle of tanning lotion and generously applies it over her arms and chest. She's shining as she smears it over her sandy skin. You'll put on some actual SPF when you get a minute. 

You wiggle the hose as you grow bored of filling the pool. Your mind wanders. She always has to say something. Always has to embarrass you. Never lets you forget every time you struck out. Well, you're just a little awkward. Maybe you should stop giving a fuck. Like her. 

"Oh, summer feels so good," she struts over with her drink and steps into the pool.

She sits and shivers so her pert tits jiggle. A top like that would do nothing but go missing under your chest. As she reclines and basks in the sunlight, you sigh. 

"Gee, Ang, thanks for all your help." 

"No problem, girly." She smirks and bends her leg, swaying it as you notice the neighbours across the street gawking. The two pot-bellied men who meet up to gripe on their lawn chair. Ew. 

You drop the hose in and go back to the porch. You dip inside for your bottle of sunscreen and come back out. You work at rubbing it in. You'll wait a bit before you get in so it doesn't wash off. It's no Hawaiian coast but that small dented pool is your only relief from the summer heat. 

Angelique swishes her second drink in the glass. You don't think she'd help with your back. She's in her own little bubble. As usual. 

You hear the snap of the door behind the wooden crisscross that blocks the other half of the porch. You glance over at the shadow that passes by. The unit's been empty almost since you got there. No tenant stayed longer than a month. 

The man tramps down his stairs and to the motorcycle leaning on its kickstand. He digs around in the saddle bags then turns. As he does, you catch his eye and give a half-smile. You wave weakly as he keeps going. Oh. 

You blink and look at Angelique. She's completely unaware; of your new neighbour or her audience. Two teen boys pass by in a not so subtle detour from their side of the street. You grimace but they're not looking at you. 

You turn the bottle in your hands. That man. He's kinda handsome, if he is a bit older. His long hair is a mix of fading brown and grey. His beard is seasoned with silver and his blue eyes shine boldly. And his jawline. That's to die for.  

Why had you been so hung up on boys your own age? 

The thought make you cringe. Are you serious? Angelique is right. You're too desperate. 

“Anj,” you approach the pool. 

“If you’re not offering to refill my drink, I don’t want to hear it.” Her eyes are closed behind the dark lenses. 

“Why are we friends again?” You mutter. 

She just giggles and finishes her drink. Nope. If she wants more, she can get it. You spin away and catch sight of that man again. 

Your new neighbour grabs a box from the stack on the front porch. You step up to the property line and smile. He doesn’t notice you as he disappears inside. 

There’s not much. The boxes are dusty, marked with the logos of the local storage facility, and his motorcycle is the only other thing there. He must’ve had the stuff dropped off. 

He emerges again and you wave, “uh, excuse me? Hi. Neighbour?” 

He pauses and his shoulders tense. He faces you slowly. His left arm is covered in ink. The patterns are intricate. His other arm is marked with scars. 

You introduce yourself as you sidle up the property line. He stares. 

“It’s nice to meet you.” You say. He still doesn’t answer. “What’s your name?” 

He looks up then back at you. “Bucky,” he grits out. His voice is sexy. 

“Oh, Bucky? That’s cute,” you say. “Say, neighbour, can I ask a favour? I’ll bring you a casserole for your trouble.” 

He considers you, “don’t gotta do that.” He crosses his arms. His biceps bulge and so do your eyes. He is built. 

“Oh, but I wouldn’t mind, it’s just...” you peek over your shoulder at Angelique as she lazes in the water. The sun beats down on you hotly and sweat beads on your nape. You look at Bucky. “I can’t reach my back.” You show the bottle of sunscreen and smile sheepishly. “Could I get a hand?” 

He grumbles and tilts his head. He looks you up and down. 

“I really don’t wanna burn. It’s so hot out.” You plead. 

Reluctantly he unfolds his arms and comes down the porch steps. He approaches and his chest decompresses visibly as he exhales. He extends his palm to you. You press the bottle into it. 

“Thanks!” You let go and shimmy then turn your back to him. 

There’s a moment before the lid clicks. He still doesn’t speak. You hear the lotion squirt and brace yourself. He smears it, barely touching you. As the lotion only slides over your skin, he sighs. He shifts and rubs it in more firmly. You push back against his strength, arching your back just slightly. 

Your heart races. His hesitance is disappointing. You know you’re not ugly. The reasons you got for your many rejections were that you didn’t want a one-night stand or you insisted on protection. It’s not too much to ask for. You really don’t think it’s your looks. 

“All done,” he says. 

The lid snaps shut loudly. 

You face him, your bikini top stretching dangerous as your chest bounces. His eyes flick down briefly. You nearly laugh. It’s a nice reassurance. 

“Thanks, Bucky,” you smile. 

He grumbles again and hands you back the bottle. Your cheeks are on fire. He’s so hot. He’s got that definition that makes you all fuzzy. You bet he knows exactly what to do. 

“So if you need anything, I’m just next door,” you point to your side of the duplex. “Oh, and I don’t mind noise. At all.” 

He nods. You wring your hands around the bottle. 

“But you know, if you do, I can be quiet,” you say, realising the double meaning only as your words hang between you. 

His brows rise and he dips his chin again. He turns and stalks away. He’s busy. You’re bothering him. You’ll try again when he’s not unpacking. 

Your eyes linger on his bike. That might be good place to start. It’s all harmless. You’re being a good neighbour. 

You go to your own side of the porch and put the bottle on the top step. You go to the pool and poke Angelique with your toe. “Move over.” 

She snorts but gives you room. You get in, arms around the edge, feet up on the other. She giggles. 

“What?” 

“He’s a bit... ancient,” she flips her sunglasses up and gives you a pointed look. 

“Whatever,” you shrug. 

“Even so... he’s in good shape,” she sits up slight, flattening her hands against the bottom of the pool. “Hmmm... maybe you might have a chance with the old man.” 

“You’re such a bitch,” you growl. 

“No, really. Do you think you do?” She asks. 

You furrow your brow and search her face, “why?” 

“Oh, it could be fun. How about a bet?” 

“A bet?” 

“Sure, you know, we’re going down to the beach. Got that old house by the shore and there’s only so many spots. You could have one if you can reel him in. No virgins on vacation,” she taunts. 

“Fuck, I hate you,” you sneer. 

“You love me and I know for a fact, you don’t have a chance of seeing the beach if you don’t come so...” 

You take a breath and peer over as your neighbour swings the door open once more. He’s entirely undistracted as he lifts another box. Your stomach swims with nerves. You can flirt; it’s that next thing you never got the hang over. But so far, he’s not even flirting. 

“Guaranteed?” You arch a brow in her direction. 

“Promise. It’ll give you something to talk about.” She cranes to watch, “you better hope his dick still works.” 

[florestalio]

FATAL OBSESSION — l.hs

even if your best friend seemed to have found the love of her life, the one that keeps her the happiest, while also treating you, and everyone else with respect—you can't help but feel something was... off about him. you didn't dwell on it much—something which proved to be a fatal mistake on your part.

GENRE — pwp, kidnapping au, psychopath au, best friend's boyfriend trope

WARNINGS — DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, noncon, noncon-ish dumbcon, psychopath!hee, kidnapping, character death, gun play, unprotected sex (don't) + a LOT more

WORDCOUNT — est 10k+

NOTE — READER'S DISCRETION ADVISED!!! went a little too insane while writing this. thank you to my bestie sena who always encourages me to write my deranged wip ideas that I get during the most random times—this one in particular came to my mind while I was... studying. no I'm not lying.

RELEASE DATE — TBD.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

teaser under the cut: (teaser wc — 0.6k) (teaser warnings — none)

there was something severely off about heeseung.

your best friend, chaeyoung, had met heeseung—who is currently her boyfriend—at a bar. from what she had told you, apparently she was simply drinking there alone, celebrating her first ever paycheck—alone, since you were stuck at a family event. when it was time for her to pay, the bartender informed her that someone had already paid for her. surprised, she asked about this mystery person, getting directed towards a guy sitting a few seats away from her.

apparently for her, it was love at first sight.

he looked like everything she ever wanted in a guy—tall, dignified and confident posture, rich attire, a good taste in fashion—not to mention how attractive he looked while sipping his drink, a light smirk on the corner of his mouth, eyes locked with hers. he never broke eye contact—not even once, as she walked over to him—albeit quite bashfully.

from what she told you, they talked all night—about their reasons for being in the bar, their hobbies, their backgrounds, their families, and other things that you couldn't really bother to keep track of.

they exchanged numbers, texting each other every single day. eventually, he asked her out, taking her to the most exquisite restaurant in the city, treating her like royalty. according to her, he was the biggest gentleman—a complete green forest, if you will. he always took care of her interests, noticed every single detail about her, and never failed to bring a smile to her face. truly, she was the happiest version of herself while they were dating.

eventually, she introduced him to you, him being an absolute sweetheart with you as well. he made sure not to make you feel like a third wheel, including you in their conversations. it didn't feel awkward for you at all—almost as if you three were a trio of best friends who hadn't met in a while, catching up.

everything was perfect with him. until it wasn't.

you didn't understand why, but for some weird reason, you started to get a certain... vibe from him—even though his behaviour never really changed. he was still an absolute sweetheart, treating chaeyoung like his own personal goddess… yet there was something so—unsettling about him.

heeseung didn't really do anything, but you still found a chill running down your spine whenever chaeyoung mentioned his name. if you saw him in front of you? you bet either your leg or hand would shake uncontrollably, betraying your anxiety.

anxiety for exactly what reason, you didn't know.

you thought it was ridiculous. why would your best friend's more than perfect boyfriend’s mere presence have you shaking like a goddamn leaf? it made no sense at all.

until it did… sort of.

well… heeseung, despite being such an amazing boyfriend, ends up becoming an ex. how? the story behind that is… messy. extremely so.

you see, they had been dating for almost a year. everyone expects a good and memorable gift from their partner for their anniversary, right? so did chaeyoung. she was really looking forward to it too, given how much of a great boyfriend heeseung was.

and he didn't disappoint. he gave her a present, one that was definitely memorable. it wasn’t memorable just for her, either. it was memorable for you as well. was it good? not so much.

[mangioneupdates]

2/21/25 NY COURT TRANSCRIPT

MS. FRIEDMAN AGNIFILO: Good afternoon, your Honor. My name is Karen Friedman Agnifilo for Luigi Mangione. I'm joined by Jacob Kaplan. I would ask that your Honor please allow my client to be unshackled for this court appearance, please.

THE COURT: Go ahead, you can uncuff him.

(A pause in the proceeding.)

THE COURT: All right. Unless you need him to sign something, they'll allow him to do it after; otherwise, for security reasons, they want to keep him cuffed.

MS. FRIEDMAN AGNIFILO: I'd like to make a record regarding that.

THE COURT: Sure.

MS. FRIEDMAN AGNIFILO: You'd let me know is this an appropriate time to do that?

THE COURT: Sure, but there's no jury here, so.

MS. FRIEDMAN AGNIFILO: I understand, your Honor. But this is a highly publicized and covered and photographed court proceeding with strong public interest, and when my client comes to court, because he's in federal custody, they bring him, they walk him in leg shackles, arm shackles. They have him sitting here, and there is no presumption of innocence. I'd also like to let you know that I go visit him regularly at MDC where we sit in a room, he's completely unshackled. He is a model prisoner at MDC. There has not been an issue. He has not given the police one single problem. There is no reason for him to be this way in court with all these officers here standing here.

THE COURT: I understand that, but for security reasons and for the security people here, they would prefer him to remain cuffed. Okay. Good afternoon everyone. So, update on discovery.

[proceeding continues]

MS. FRIEDMAN AGNIFILO: We object to a motion schedule at this time, your Honor.

THE COURT: It appears you have enough. Listen, if you don't get the affidavits for the warrants, and I don't know exactly what they're going to be redacting from the grand jury minutes, but if we're just talking about identities, that would be enough for you to do your motions.

MS. FRIEDMAN AGNIFILO: Well, we're talking about there are three separate prosecutions that are happening about one event, and there's a Pennsylvania matter, there's a federal matter, there's a New York matter, all three of which will involve discovery. We just today have been handed sounds like a lot more discovery, but frankly, we haven't gotten the bulk of the discovery. We haven't gotten a single DD5. We haven't gotten any police paperwork. I understand and appreciate Mr. Kaplan's remarks that we are going to be getting that in two weeks, but we have yet to receive any of that. We have yet to receive copies of --

THE COURT: You got some of that today. You got that today.

MS. FRIEDMAN AGNIFILO: No, we do not have that today, your Honor. That's what he said. He anticipates that they will provide in two weeks. They're in the process of doing that.

[proceeding continues]

MS. FRIEDMAN AGNIFILO: Your Honor, we also object to setting a motion schedule while we are in the process of speaking to the federal authorities about they're still deciding whether or not to seek the death penalty against Mr. Mangione. Obviously, that's an extremely serious matter that we're in the process of providing mitigation for the Feds for that purpose, and that is where our focus is. That is one of the reasons why this discovery is so critical and why we need all of it before we can even begin to anticipate exactly what we are going to be putting in our motions.

As I alluded to in our court appearance that we had previous to this appearance, your Honor, one of the issues here is that the two theories of prosecution are opposite and inconsistent with one another, and by defending ourselves in state court, we are potentially providing fodder for the federal court appearance case and vice versa. And so it really is critical in this case that we receive literally everything, especially all of the information and the police work that was done here.

And one more thing I just want to say about Altoona, Pennsylvania, your Honor, if I may. From the limited information that we have, I have some police paperwork from Altoona already that I received from Mr. Mangione's Pennsylvania counsel as well as there was one body-worn camera despite there being about a dozen police officers in the McDonald's when Luigi was arrested. We have one body-worn camera that was provided by the Manhattan DA's office that shows an angle.

I think there's a very, very serious search issue in this matter, and there might be evidence that is suppressed in this case, which brings me to another related issue that I'd like to discuss, your Honor, if I may. And I really appreciate you allowing me to make a record, but because there is a serious search and seizure issue here, and because we think that our client's constitutional rights were violated in Pennsylvania, we want to be able to have the opportunity to litigate that. However, we have been afforded -- his right to a fair trial is continuously being impacted.

And I want to just bring to your Honor's attention my shock, frankly, that the chief of detectives of the NYPD along with the New York City mayor had time to sit down with HBO and put hair and makeup on and provide information about the arrest, the prosecution, their theory about the case, and evidence about Mr. Mangione that we have not even received. This journal that they're calling his manifesto, we have never have been provided copies. They had actors playing Luigi on television -- it didn't sound anything like him, by the way.

THE COURT: All right. I'm going to cut you off, because that has nothing to do with you moving to have the grand jury minutes inspected for sufficiency, that's definitely going to be an issue in this case, or moving to controvert any of the warrants. You could always supplement your motions, but it's got to start. So you should have your motions in by April 9th. People to respond by May 14th. June 26th. We'll see if I can have a decision by then, but I hope to. And again, the sooner we order the hearings, the sooner you'll have your suppression hearing.

MS. FRIEDMAN AGNIFILO: Yes, your Honor.

THE COURT: We'll see you on June 26th.

MS. FRIEDMAN AGNIFILO: Your Honor, just one logistical request. Because of the different custody and court matters, we are unable to meet with Luigi before or after alone, and we would just request if we could just have a minute or two of privacy with him, or at least to have a little space so we can talk to him.

THE COURT: One second.

(A pause in the proceeding.)

THE COURT: You'd have to do it now. Right here.

MS. FRIEDMAN AGNIFILO: Your Honor, if I may just make one more record. Because of this unusual circumstance of him being in federal custody but proceeding first on the state case, we do just want to make a record that I think Mr. Mangione is being treated differently than other defendants who would be prosecuted in this court who would be able to have access to his attorneys, who could sit here unshackled, who your Honor could make decisions --

THE COURT: You know, I don't have a problem remanding him right here so he's here in the city. I thought you guys, the People were working on trying to get him so we have custody in that the federal jurisdiction said we were going first, meaning New York.

MR. Z. KAPLAN: Your Honor, the agreement remains that we are to try this case first; however, there's no agreement up to this point to transfer custody from federal custody to state custody.

THE COURT: I mean, is there even an indictment?

MS. FRIEDMAN AGNIFILO: No, your Honor.

THE COURT: In federal court? So they're holding him on a complaint.

MR. Z. KAPLAN: On the consent of the defense.

MS. FRIEDMAN AGNIFILO: When they're hanging the death penalty over your head, you have no choice but to consent.

THE COURT: I get it. Okay. Can you come up for a second?

(Whereupon, an off-the-record discussion was held at the bench.)

MS. FRIEDMAN AGNIFILO: (Conferring with client.)

THE COURT: All right.

[evillama666]

“Keeping warm”

“Keeping warm”

Daryl Dixon x reader

I wanted to write a fanfic for someone else but did that happen?.... No

Summary: Reader is crashing with Daryl in the back of his truck for the winter, but it’s a particularly cold night that leads to cuddles

Tags: Cuddles obviously, reluctance at first, Wow I’m really bad at this, uuuuuuuh, Season two-ish?

Word count: 3227

I love his stupid poncho so much! I want it!!

꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…

It’s winter, and the group is barely scraping by. Everyone had a vehicle to sleep in except for you, and no one was offering, so Daryl reluctantly offered to let you sleep in his truck. It wasn’t ideal, but it wasn't like you had much choice. Daryl offered you the backseat so you're more comfortable as he sleeps on the passenger side. You thought the farm was perfect for the upcoming winter, but it just had to burn down, didn't it? Sure, the truck has a bit of heat, but it’s not exactly like Daryl can keep the heat on all the time. Tonight’s particularly cold, so you’re having a hard time falling asleep. You’re reading a book you picked up on a run to distract yourself, using the moonlight to read.

You shudder and hide from the cold with your blanket when Daryl opens the door, climbing in, wearing his adorable poncho. Usually you're already asleep by the time Daryl makes it back to the truck. He glances at the book you're reading. “Can’t sleep?” You shake your head, bundling up in your blanket. The truck was even colder after Daryl opened the door. He nods as he grunts in response. He looks back at your book. “Watcha reading?” You silently lift your book to show him. It’s some plant identification. You thought it could be useful. Daryl’s eyes skim over the cover. “Good choice.” Sleeping in his truck with him, there hasn't really been many words between you. Mostly because you’re asleep when he gets back and he’s gone by the time you wake up. “Did you get anything?” You ask quietly. He’s been hunting a lot more, trying to get whatever he could for the group. He settles in the passenger seat and grunts. “No. Ain’t a damn thang out there.”

You glance out the window. Great, the snow is getting worse. Just what you wanted. Like it wasn’t fucking cold enough. You glance back at Daryl. You're freezing here in the truck. You can only imagine how cold it was out there. “Were you ok out there?” Daryl doesn't like that you’re worried about him. “I can handle myself.” You were expecting an answer like that. You sigh as you go back to your book. It’s hard to concentrate because of how cold it is. Daryl’s head snaps up when he hears you slam the book closed. He looks over his shoulder when you settle down and bundle up in your blanket. You mumble into the soft fabric. “Night.”

Daryl notices that you're shivering but says nothing. He grumbles back lowly, grabbing his own blanket. “Night.” He always waits for you to fall asleep before going to sleep himself. He looks out the windshield, watching the snow get worse. If it’s like this in the morning, there’s no damn way he can go hunting. He’s listening to your breaths as he thinks. He’s been feeling a lot of damn responsibility lately. He looks back over his shoulder when he hears your teeth chattering. “Y’aight?” 

You open your eyes to meet his. You're covering your mouth with your blanket to keep warm. “Just a little cold. Nothing I can’t handle.” Lies. Three pairs of pants, two shirts, and a thick jacket and you're still shivering. Daryl looks back out the window, laying in the seat, trying to get comfortable. He listens to your teeth, and all the little sounds of discomfort for a while. Finally, he can’t take the sound of your teeth chattering any longer. “Are you sure you're alright!? He snaps, a bit harsher than he meant to. You shoot him a little glare. “I said I'm fine.” Daryl huffs out a breath of annoyance. “Ya sure as hell don't seem it!

You sit up a little, now getting pissed off. “The hell are you going to do about it? Climb back here and cuddle with me? There’s not much you can fucking do!” He just glares at you as you spit the truth out at him. His gaze turns away and you bundle back up in your blanket. The wind is getting stronger and you can feel it wafting through the windows. Daryl hates that he can’t do much for you. He sighs loudly as he sinks into the seat.

It feels too cold to sleep. Is that even a thing? Well, it’s all you can think about. Yea, you've gotten used to sleeping in the cold, but damn is tonight awful. You hide your head under the blanket. Hopefully, your breath can warm up the little pocket you made. Daryl is racking his brain, trying to think of something to keep you warm. All he can think of is what you said about cuddling. Nope, no, He’s not doing that. He won’t even let you comfort him whenever he has a nightmare. Which you learned very quickly when you first started sleeping in his truck. About twenty minutes pass and your breaths still haven't slowed to signal you’re asleep. All he can hear is you shivering. It’s pissing him the fuck off.

He looks back at you, hiding under your blanket, then snaps. “Move over!” You quickly pull your head out from under your blanket, wondering what the hell he’s on about this time. “What?” you ask, in an annoyed tone. It’s too cold and late to deal with his bullshit. He snaps louder this time. “Move over, damnit!” Your brows furrow. Yea, that really cleared things up. “Why?”

Does he need to go into a deep explanation for you? He throws his arm out in frustration. “I can’t stand listening to you shivering back there!” Wait… Is he really suggesting coming back here? “I wasn't serious about that!” Serious or not, Daryl literally can’t think of any other way to keep you warm. And what he’s learned from survival is that sharing body heat really does help keep warm. (True fact) He’s already climbing over the passenger seat, into the back. You put your hands on his chest as you try to shove him back. “Daryl, no!!!”

“Move or I’m gonna crush you dammit!” He yells back, ignoring your shoves. You quickly scramble up as he climbs back. He pushes you back down, pulling you against him as he lies on the cramped back seat. You barely fit there to begin with and now a man twice your size is laying with you on it? You shove his chest again. “Daryl! There’s no room!” He huffed in frustration. Why couldn't you just make this easy? He wraps his arm around you, pulling you close. “Fuckin’ deal with it.” He grumbles, leaving no room for argument.

You roll your eyes, reluctantly setting against him. He grabs your blanket and wraps you both in it. Then he grabs his blanket off the seat and layers it with your blanket. As much as you hate to admit it, this is already way warmer. You close your eyes and take a deep breath to calm your nerves. You mumble against his chest. “Thanks.”

Daryl’s body is tense as hell. He doesn't say anything in response. He doesn't know what to say in this situation. He wraps both his arms around you and pulls you tight to his chest. He closes his eyes as he focuses on your scent. His breathing gradually deepens as he relaxes. You open your eyes to take a peek at him. You always assumed he didn't care. Well, he cared in some sense about the group, but you didn't think he cared about you personally. You hesitate before pressing a kiss to his nose, just to see his reaction. His eyes snap open and meet yours. You can’t tell if his cheeks are red from the cold or you. He takes a moment to gather himself before speaking. “Hell was that for?” 

You stare at him. Honestly, you're not exactly sure. You nuzzle closer, feeling cozy and warm. “Just showing my appreciation.” His jaw tenses as he looks away. That’s the shit he didn't want. “Don’t be doing that cheesy shit. I’m doin’ this to keep ya warm.” Your heart sinks a little. Damn it, why the hell do you even feel disappointed? It’s not like you feel anything towards him… However, you're still snuggling closer, craving more. Daryl assumes you're just trying to stay warm. Why else would you be trying to get so close to him? So, he wraps the blankets closer, letting you have more. Finally feeling warm, you can feel the tiredness settling in. Closing your eyes, you allow your body to relax the rest of the way and lean into Daryl for warmth.

Daryl waits till you're asleep before allowing himself to relax. He brushes some of your hair back so he can see your pretty face. His shoulders untense and he shifts a little as he gets comfortable. He snuggles under the blankets with you. Daryl hates the cold with a passion. First, it fucking sucks. Second, it’s too much of a hassle to survive in. Of course, he’s never actually complained about it, but being bundled up with you, with each other's body heat keeping you warm, is so much better. He presses his cold nose into your hair, as he closes his eyes and lets himself finally sleep.

Did you think we were going to get through the night without a nightmare? Daryl is shaking, and not because of the cold. He could be dreaming of literally anything awful. The walkers, the fire, losing people, Sofia, surviving the winter, his brother, or even his father. He’s holding onto you tightly. His soft faint whimpers pull you out of your sleep. His brows are pinched tight in… fear. You’ve never seen him like that. Even other times he was having nightmares in the truck, you never got a good look at his face. He’s never let you actually comfort you but, maybe this time it’ll be different since he’s literally cuddled up with you. Slowly sitting up, you press a little kiss on his head, waiting for a reaction, before pressing more to his hair to gently coax him out of his nightmare. 

His eyes slowly open, feeling a weird touch to his head. His brows furrow more as he looks at you. His face scrunches up and flinches away when you bring your hand to his cheek. Your voice is soft and soothing, holding affection. “Hey, it’s ok. Just a nightmare.” He looks away, grumbling. “Don’t…” He doesn't need any pity. Instead of giving up with defeat like usual, you keep trying to comfort him. Ignoring his protest, you keep your voice the same, tracing your thumb along his cheekbone. “Are you ok? You were shaking pretty bad. It’s perfectly fine if you're not.” Ok, maybe it’s not pity, but he still doesn't like it. He keeps avoiding your gaze, still mumbling. “M’fine.” You keep your hand on his cheek, hoping he’ll look back at you. “I know you won't want to talk but, I want you to know you always can.” He hates it. Hates, that it feels so nice. He hesitantly looks back at you for a moment. Just a brief moment. He considers protesting, but something decides against it. “Kay…”

A small smile grazes your lips. It may not seem like much, but that was a lot for Daryl. You brush his hair out of his face. It’s been getting longer over the winter. Feeling like he needs all the comfort in the world, you press a kiss to his cheek. His face scrunches up again. “Stop it.” He says, sounding somewhat like a little kid. A soft breath of amusement falls from your lips. You smile as you trail small kisses down his jawline. He tries to dodge you, then ultimately gives up. He’s learned that you can be stubborn. Very stubborn if it’s something that you're set on. All of a sudden he hides his face in your neck when he feels weird tingles. What did you just do to him? You broke him! He keeps his face there as he sorts his thoughts. He’s also trying to hide a blush. When was the last time he fucking blushed?

You giggle softly when he hides his face in your neck. “Are you trying to avoid my kisses, Daryl?” Yes and no. He’s trying to hide from his emotions. He was very much starting to enjoy those soft kisses. Damn those things. Maybe he could play his blush off as just being cold. He fights with his mind before tightening his grip and mumbling in your skin. “Keep going.” You almost miss what he said but, you can tell he said something by the vibrations against your skin. “What?” Oh god, don’t make him repeat himself. He pushes his face into the crook of your neck. You sigh with a smile as you kiss the top of his head, running your fingers through his hair. Oh damn, that’s so much better. It’s decided. He is to never cut his hair ever again. He’s melting against you. Warmth melted all the lingering thoughts of his nightmare.

He sighs contently as he nuzzles his face against your neck, hugging you tightly so you never stop. It’s safe to say he likes this. Just to really get to him, you massage your nails against his scalp. An unexpected, long, muffled, satisfied moan escapes his mouth. ‘Damnit. She did that on purpose.” He thinks. It was already too late to hide how much he enjoyed that, but still. He can’t believe he let you pull a moan out of him. Oh god… What else could you do to him!?

The kisses fade as the sleepiness kicks back in. He lifts his head, just enough to look at you. “Why’d ya stop?” You’re already drifting off. “Sleepy.” His eyes wander over your face. Yeah, he can see that. He lowers his head onto your shoulder, then mumbles. “Good night, sweetheart.” He’s sure you’re too out of it to even catch that pet name. Your head drifts as you mumble back, barely coherently. “M’night.”

He gives you a final glance before closing his eyes as well. A needy whine leaves the back of his throat as he pulls you close. He didn’t even realize he made that. He sighs deeply as he thinks about what you just did to him. He can’t fully wrap his head around it, but he liked it. He then lifts his head to look at you. Like really look at you. Like that’s somehow going to make him understand you. He takes in all your minor features. The way your eyelashes look when your eyes are closed, the relaxed look on your face, any freckles, the way your skin shines in the moonlight, the curve and colour of your lips. All the details, down to the peach fuzz on your face. He’s observant, and he has all the time he needs to memorize your face. He tilts his head as he thinks, but lowers it as he pushes any thoughts behind. What are you doing to him?

He sighs as he drifts off into sleep. He feels so warm, not just temperature wise. He feels warmth in his chest. It’s not something he’s quite experienced, but it’s a nice feeling, so he’s not going to complain. He’s keeping you close. Actually, allowing himself to have someone close. As the storm passing by the truck gets worse, Daryl keeps readjusting the blankets, making sure you have more warmth than him.

When morning hits, you still feel his warmth. You assumed he’d be gone now. You’ve always slept in later than him, and finally, feeling warm, you slept in a lot later. There’s not much for you to do to help the group, so you’ve been using that time to sleep in. You lift your head when you wake up and see the snow falling out the window. Oh, that’s why he didn't leave. Your gaze falls onto his face next. He’s been up for a while, silently watching you as you sleep. His face is unreadable, but his scowl is gone. He looks… almost relaxed? After a moment of staring, you rub your eyes and mumble groggily. “Mornin’.” That has to be the first time he was around for you to say that. His eyes roam over your face before responding just as quietly. “Mornin’. How’d ya sleep?” You glance down at your bodies, still pressed closely together. It’s still cold, but not as bad as last night. “Fine… Actually better than usual….”

Daryl lays back down, gazing up at you. “Good.” You glance back out the window. You’re glad Daryl didn't decide to go out there. The storm is still pretty bad. “How long do you think it’ll take for the storm to pass?” Daryl follows your gaze, calculating. “Few hours at least. So…” He pulls you down against him as the wind wafts through the windows. You thought after last night he’d be done with cuddles. “Are you going to cuddle with me every night?” 

“Are you cold every night?” You blink once before answering, not sure where this is heading. “Yea…?” He pulls you close to his chest. “Think ya know the answer.” You sink into his chest, looking up at him, trying to read his face. “But it’s just ta keep warm.” Pfft, yea right. He’s totally lying to himself. “It didn’t seem like that last night. ~” You tease. His jaw tenses as he grumbles. “I ain’t know what the hell ya talkin’ ‘bout.”

You lean your face close to his, a wide smirk on your lips. “Aw, are you in denial? You seemed to really like those kisses last night.” A low, deep growl emits from the back of Daryl’s throat. “I only pretended ta, so I ain’t hurt ya feelin’s.” You’re getting an absolute kick out of teasing Daryl. “Is that the lie you're telling yourself? I’m not cold right now, so why are you still cuddled with me?” No answer. The scowl is back on his face. “Ok, if you blush after I do this, you totally liked those kisses last night.” He glances at you, wondering what the hell you're going to pull before his face is assaulted with a kiss on the forehead. His cheeks are already bright red. “See! You liked it!” His face scrunches as you yell, then a small smile forms on his lips. He pulls you down on the car seat with him. “Don’t tell no one. Got a reputation to uphold.”

You happily snuggle against him. You’ve got him all to yourself for the next four hours as the storm goes by. And maybe every night, by the looks of it. “I won’t… yet.” He squeezes you tight in warning. “Ya do, I’ll fuckin’ kill ya.” Yea, he’d probably do that, no doubts about it. You roll your eyes. “Fine! I won’t say anything.” Now relaxing, he closes his eyes, burying his face in your hair. Snuggling back, you lay on his chest. Maybe you’ll hold off on the teasing for now. It’s not like he’s always this vulnerable, and who knows when he will again? You’re both soaking up this moment. It’s the most comfort either of you have had during the whole apocalypse.

꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…

I struggled with the ending but I think it came out fine

[secret-moonstruck]

What's your type? | ENHYPEN

— Pairing: enhypen x fem!reader | (Masterlist)

— Genre: smut mention

— Warnings: mention of sex

— Notes: I'm new to this writing thing, and English is not my first language. Sorry for not writing so well, I wish to improve and bring better and well-written stories.

Heeseung - Anyone who sees him acting confident thinks he's the type who will always go hard on you, the poor thing must suffer in his hands... No really, he's the sweetest type who just wants to please his girlfriend, he's not innocent, he's just dedicated to you. 

He can be a bit submissive because he loves being bossed around and humiliated by his beautiful girlfriend, he is too needy for you. 

But no one is 100% just one thing, so if he forgets his sweet side, poor thing. This other side can also emerge, perhaps there is too much fire within it, and you will certainly burn with it.

Jake - Sneaky, that's what defines Jake, when you least expect it, your sneaky hands will be inappropriate, are there people nearby? It doesn't matter, if he wants to touch you he will, for him it's not even a question of teasing you, it's just, him being him, because he loves feeling you, he loves your reactions, but of course later he would gladly accept being punished for torturing you so much.

He will also be the sly type wanting your attention, so pay a lot of attention to this little pup, as he will stick to you until he gets what he wants from you.

Jay - What a sweet and romantic man, so careful, so concerned.

Taking care of you, always treating you in the best way possible, all the care as if you were so fragile, he is so perfect...

Is it really? 

He will be exactly that at the beginning, until he studies you, do you need all this protection and care? 

If he realizes that no, poor thing, you will get to know a side of him that you couldn't even imagine, you will certainly have a hard time trying to cover the bruises on your body, and never, ever try to control or prove him, as he will make sure to show you who is in control.

Sunghoon - It seems so normal, not in the sense of boring, because obviously you will have a lot of good times with him...very good.

He will certainly be varying between his loving side and his side that likes to be in control, merciless.

But something may become different, he will give in quickly, once will be enough for him to melt under your control, and he will love and want more and more, being stepped on by you will become something as important as breathing, how can someone who liked to be in control become so submissive to the point of crying begging for you? 

Sunoo - You need to know how to deal with his various personalities. 

At one moment he can be calm and sweet, super loving, at another he can be a little shit. provocative. He may be all obedient and sly, wanting to please you, or he may want to ruin you.

He really likes to please, give you pleasure, but deep down he expects praise and rewards, so you should always praise him a lot, and please him as much as he pleases you. But there is little care, just as he is sweet he may want to torture her, acting innocent testing her limits, not that her limits matter to him, he just wants to see her beg, he is as dirty and perverted as he is sweet, it all depends on his mood. And if your mood isn't good...well then you're going to have problems.

Jungwon - The sweet kitten is the attached, clingy type, who always wants to cling to you, looking so sweet wanting your attention, but he's just a little pervert who's always taking advantage of the situation.

While he acts innocent, wanting attention, his light hands will always slide under your clothes, teasing you and he will always get what he wants, because you can't deny him anything.

But don't be fooled by this sneaky side of him, he's also very possessive and jealous, so he can also completely change your personality if it's to show you who you belong to, so in these moments you better prepare yourself because he won't be sweet at all.

Ni-Ki - Pleasure, pleasure, pleasure… how to describe it? Ah yes, a young man with hormones controlling him.

Whenever he gets the chance he will want you, anytime, anywhere, it doesn't matter to him, he will always have an excuse to have you. The little boy is dirty and desperate for you and he will want to see you like that too, desperate for him.

But sometimes he can change, so wow, he'll become so clingy, imagine him being that size but clinging to you wanting attention? That's exactly what you're going to get, a sly baby wanting to be spoiled by his girlfriend.

[starsinthesky5]

What was Joe’s reaction to hearing call it what you want for the first time?

call it what you want (yail’s version) || joe burrow x reader

description: the ask pretty much sums it up!!

a/n: this is so fun for me im screaming

word count: 2.2k

warnings: none. just my sickeningly adorable babies

taglist: (ask to be added): @joeyfranchise @joeyburrrow @joeyb1989 @softburrow @yelenasbraid @burrowbarbie @lovelyburrow @starkeyswomen @grittysbiggestfan @lilfreakjez @fourburrow @definitelynotdomanique

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────

joe was absolutely wrecked. like i'm talking tears pooling in his eyes by the end of it, a rosy blush on his cheeks, and his heart nearly beating out of his chest and onto the floor in front of him.

i mean, his heart was already racing by the time she strummed the first few chords. he didn’t know what to expect, but he was already completely captivated by the way she looked so normal sitting on the floor of his living room—her messy hair in a bun, wearing one of his oversized hoodies LSU hoodies, and a pair of sweatpants that had seen better days. they were sitting there together, legs tangled together, the low light of the room casting a warm glow over them. she had her guitar in hand, her eyes glancing at him with a mix of affection and a little bit of nervousness.

he could tell she was about to share something important with him, and his heart fluttered with anticipation. this was the very first song she had written & recorded for her newest album, and the very first song joe had heard from her since they had been together. sure he had heard her sing to him on plenty of occasions--late at night before bed, in the car, while cooking, in the shower--but he had never heard one of her newest songs.

everything about this moment was special, from how relaxed the setting was to how she was about to serenade joe with the most lovey love song she had ever written while a late november storm raged outside. her favorite weather, with her favorite person, just as she was about to sing her favorite song to date.

when she started singing, the first line, “my castle crumbled overnight,” hit him in straight in the gut. her voice was soft, melodic as always, and maybe even a little shaky. as if the mere mention of her past was enough to tug at the seams of wounds he had worked so tirelessly to stitch back together, threatening to crack what he had so gently mended.

"i brought a knife to a gunfight, they took the crown, but it's alright. all the liars are calling me one, nobody's heard from me for months, i'm doing better than I ever was,,"

he knew exactly what she meant with the opening verse; the lyrics were a metaphor for how her entire world had collapsed in the blink of an eye...how they broke her in her most vulnerable state. she disappeared once the walls started to cave in, leaving no trace of her being behind as she hid in those dark clouds that she was running from. she had been stripped bare, torn apart by the same people who once sang her praises, left to piece herself back together in silence. they had taken everything—her peace, her trust, her sense of self, her love—and twisted it into something unrecognizable.

but then came him.

the man who loved her even when she didn't even know what love was anymore. who loved everything she came with--the baggage, the scars--and never once made her feel like she was something broken, something discarded.

and so the next verse was the one that really got him.

"'cause my baby's fit like a daydream, walkin' with his head down, i'm the one he's walkin' to. so call it what you want, yeah, call it what you want to. my baby's fly like a jet stream, high above the whole scene, loves me like I'm brand new. so call it what you want, yeah, call it what you want to,".

those words hit him hard, and for a moment, he just sat there, letting them sink in, his blue eyes darkening, pupils blown wide as he stared at her, completely entranced.

this was so him. she was singing about him—about the way he was, the way he came into her life like a calm breeze, so nonchalant and steady. it was his whole vibe. walking with his head down, so easygoing, never one to stir up drama or chaos because he was above that. he wasn’t the loud, attention-grabbing type. he just…was. and somehow, in the midst of everything that had been going on in her life, he had quietly, steadily become her everything.

in the next verse, these lyrics stuck out to him.

"all the drama queens taking swings, all the jokers dressin' up as kings, they fade to nothin' when I look at him,".

to her, none of that noise mattered when she was with him. the world could be burning, people could be scheming, twisting her name into something ugly, but when she looked at him? it all faded to nothing. because joe wasn’t just someone she loved--he was the only thing in her world that ever felt real, steady, untouchable.

he exhaled a shaky breath, his eyes locked on her like she was the only thing in existence. because to him, she was.

then she sang,

"and i know i make the same mistakes every time bridges burn, i never learn, at least i did one thing right i did one thing right i’m laughin’ with my lover, makin’ forts under covers trust him like a brother, yeah, you know i did one thing right starry eyes sparkin’ up my darkest night,".

joe felt his chest tighten, his heart pounding even harder as he took in every word. his fingers curled slightly against his knee, overwhelmed by the weight of what she was saying--what she was telling him.

she had been through hell. had made mistakes, had trusted the wrong people, had watched everything she had built crumble in front of her. but somehow, in the middle of all that chaos, she had found him. chosen him.

he thought about every late night they had spent tangled in sheets, whispering secrets under the glow of a bedside lamp. about the stupid inside jokes, the way she could make him laugh until his stomach hurt, the way he held her through the nights when the past still clawed at her like an open wound.

"at least i did one thing right,".

god. if she only knew how much that meant to him.

his eyes were burning now, and he had to blink a few times to keep himself from completely falling apart. because he was the one thing she was sure of. he was the light in her darkest night.

and as she strummed the last few chords before continuing on to the bridge, he mouthed it to her, barely even realizing he was doing it--

"i love you."

her fingers faltered against the strings for just a second. her breath hitched as she stopped singing for a second. and then she smiled, so soft and so full of love that he swore he could feel it in his bones.

as she continued on to the bridge of the song, fingers strumming the guitar with practiced ease, the lyrics felt like they were speaking directly to him yet again.

"i want to wear his initial on a chain 'round my neck, chain 'round my neck, not because he owns me, but 'cause he really knows me. which is more than they can say, i recall late november, holdin' my breath, slowly I said, "you don't need to save me, but would you run away with me?". yes,".

as she sang those words, joe's eyes instinctively dropped to the delicate chain around her neck—the one that held his initial, resting right against her heart. he had seen her wear it every day, had traced his fingers over it absentmindedly when they lay in bed, but hearing her sing about it, about him, made his chest ache in the best way.

"not because he owns me, but 'cause he really knows me."

that stuck out to him the most.

his jaw clenched slightly, emotion swelling in his throat. god, she got him. she really got him. he had never been the loudest person in the room, never one to stake his claim or demand attention. and yet, she had made it clear--he didn’t have to. he wasn’t with her to prove something to the world. he was with her because he knew her, because he saw her for exactly who she was, and somehow, that was enough.

"which is more than they can say."

he knew what she meant--how so many people had claimed to know her, to love her, but none of them ever really had. not the way he did. not the way she let him in.

and then came the part that ruined him.

"i recall late november, holdin’ my breath, slowly i said, 'you don’t need to save me, but would you run away with me?'".

he could picture it so clearly—the early days, when she was still hesitant, still finding her way back to herself. how she had looked at him one night, the weight of everything pressing on her, and asked, "would you run away with me?"--half a joke, half a plea.

and he had said yes. without hesitation. every time.

because he hadn’t saved her. he never wanted to save her. he just wanted to be there, to hold her hand as she saved herself.

and sitting here now, listening to her sing those words back to him, for him--he realized she knew that. she had always known.

his throat tightened, his eyes stung, but he didn’t care. because as soon as the last note hung in the air, he reached for her, cupping her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing against her cheek as he whispered, voice thick with emotion--"i would run anywhere with you,".

she saw the blush rise on his cheeks, the way his eyes were slowly softening from realization and brimming with tears. she nearly started crying on her own. but not from sadness, but rather out of love. he loved her so much, loved her in a way she had never experienced.

as the last note faded into the quiet hum of their living room, she let out a slow breath, her fingers still resting on the strings of her guitar. she was almost afraid to look up at him, to see just how deeply the song had affected him. but she didn’t have to look—she could feel it.

joe was silent, completely still except for the steady rise and fall of his chest. when she finally lifted her eyes to meet his, what she saw made her heart stutter. his lips were slightly parted, his blue eyes glassy, swirling with emotions so intense she could feel them in the air between them.

“baby,” he finally whispered, shaking his head like he didn’t even know where to begin. he reached for her immediately, gently taking the guitar from her hands and setting it aside before pulling her into his lap. his arms wrapped around her so tightly it was like he was afraid she’d slip away if he let go.

she melted into him, pressing her face into the crook of his neck as he buried his fingers in her hair, holding her like she was the most precious thing in the world.

“you wrote that about me?” his voice was barely above a whisper, like he still couldn’t believe it.

she smiled against his skin, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder. “of course i did. every word,”.

he exhaled shakily, pulling back just enough to cup her face in his hands. his thumbs brushed over her cheeks, his touch impossibly gentle as he looked at her like she had just given him the entire universe.

“you don’t know what that does to me,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “hearing you sing about me like that. hearing how you see me, how much you—," he cut himself off, swallowing hard before pressing his forehead against hers. “god, i love you,".

her heart swelled, her hands finding his wrists as she leaned into his warmth. “i love you too,” she whispered, closing her eyes as he kissed her—soft and slow, like he had all the time in the world to show her just how much he meant it.

when he pulled away, he rested his nose against hers, his fingers trailing down to toy with the chain around her neck. he rubbed the small pendant between his fingers, his expression impossibly tender. “you really wear this for me?”

she nodded, her fingers curling in the fabric of his hoodie. “yeah. because you really know me. and well, it is your initial, goofball,”.

joe let out a soft, disbelieving laugh before shaking his head. “you’re gonna kill me, sweetheart. you know that?”.

she giggled, and he kissed her again, this time all over—her forehead, her cheeks, the tip of her nose. “my sweet girl,” he murmured between kisses, “my perfect, perfect girl. this song was amazing. you are fucking amazing. thank you for feeling comfortable enough to share this with me,”.

she blushed, burying herself further into his arms, and he just held her, rocking them slightly as if to remind her—she was safe. she was his. and he wasn’t going anywhere.

[prettyangellllll]

Manspreading

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Female Reader

Summary: It's a typical night out with friends, but all you can focus on is Rafe. He’s lounging in the booth, not caring about the looks he's getting from others, but the truth is, you’re captivated by the way he holds himself—especially when he manspreads.

Warnings:

Explicit content

Mild public teasing

Possessiveness

Flirting

Steamy moments

Mentions of alcohol (no over-indulgence)

------

The night out with your friends had started off casual. Drinks, laughter, the familiar hum of music filling the background. But as you slid into the booth, your eyes immediately sought out Rafe. He was leaning back, elbows on the table, and you couldn’t help but notice how he casually took up more space than anyone else. His long legs were stretched out in front of him, wide and relaxed, and your gaze instinctively flickered downward. The way his thighs looked, the way his posture was so effortlessly confident, made your heart race.

You tried not to stare, but it was like your eyes betrayed you. Every time you looked up at Rafe’s face, his lips would curve into that signature, smug smile that made your stomach flip. He knew exactly what was happening.

"Something on your mind, babe?" he asked, voice low, teasing. You knew he was watching you out of the corner of his eye.

You fought back a blush, doing your best to focus on the conversation happening around you, but it was hard to concentrate. Rafe's legs were still wide, and you found yourself glancing down again. You couldn’t stop yourself from imagining how it would feel to be between them, how he always made you feel like he was the only one in the room who mattered.

You took a deep breath, trying to distract yourself by sipping from your drink, but even that didn’t help. Every time you looked over at him, he was still in that relaxed position, and your thoughts would drift back to him. What would it feel like to let him take control, to let him know how badly you were craving his attention? You shifted uncomfortably, hoping no one could see the growing tension in your body.

Finally, Rafe caught you staring again, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "You know," he said, his voice low enough for only you to hear, "you really should stop looking at me like that."

You forced a laugh, but your heart was pounding now. "What do you mean?"

He leaned in slightly, his hand brushing against your thigh under the table, and your body instantly tensed. "I can see the way your eyes keep drifting down," he murmured, his words sending heat rushing to your face. "You can’t stop looking at me, can you?"

Your mouth went dry, and you glanced around, hoping no one else could hear him. Your friends were too busy talking, oblivious to the way Rafe was teasing you.

"I'm not doing anything," you managed, trying to sound casual, but your voice came out breathier than you intended.

Rafe just chuckled, clearly enjoying your discomfort. His hand slid from your thigh to your knee, and you couldn’t help the small shiver that ran through you. "It’s okay, baby," he said, his voice filled with amusement and something darker beneath the surface. "I don’t mind if you can’t keep your eyes off me."

You swallowed hard, unable to look away now. His legs were still spread in that damn way, and all you could think about was the way your body was reacting to him. Every glance sent a surge of desire straight to your core. Rafe was a force, and you were powerless to resist.

He leaned back in his seat, clearly satisfied with the effect he was having on you. "I can feel your eyes on me," he said, his gaze intense. "You want me, don’t you?"

Your face burned, and you tried to fight the wave of heat spreading through your body. "Rafe..." you whispered, not sure if you were scolding him or begging him.

He just smirked again, clearly enjoying the way he was making you squirm. "You don't have to say anything," he replied, his voice thick with confidence. "I know exactly what you want."

[heliosunny]

Hii, I love your writing! Especially Lucky egg with Aventurine (⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠) I'm not sure if you are still open to take a request •́⁠ ⁠ ⁠‿⁠ ⁠,⁠•̀

If you do I would like to request childhood friends to lovers with Aventurine (yandere x yandere) expect that Aventurine is more obsessed with reader while reader just threat Aventurine admirer to stay away from him. Aventurine later on found out that readers like him, of course that is Aventurine will try to pray out from reader without reader realising it.

Take your time and make sure to stay hydrated!

Yandere!Aventurine x Yandere!Reader

Aventurine leaned against the wall, arms crossed, an amused smirk playing on his lips as he watched you chase off yet another admirer. The poor fool had barely gotten two sentences out before you stepped in.

“You’re wasting your time” you had told them. “Someone like you doesn’t even stand a chance.”

It was a ritual at this point. Someone dared to approach Aventurine, and you made sure they didn’t try again.

Now, he was watching you, his eyes glinting with mischief. “You know,” he drawled, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.”

You scoffed, flipping your hair—or at least making a show of ignoring him. “I’m just doing a public service. The sooner they realize they have no hope, the less embarrassing it is for everyone.” Then, with a sweet tilt of your head, you added, “You should be thanking me, really.”

Aventurine chuckled, stepping closer, invading your space just enough to make it clear he knew exactly what he was doing. “Oh? You want a reward now?”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “At the very least, some praise. Go on, tell me how amazing I am.”

“You’re amazing.”

You blinked. He was rarely this direct. Before you could react, he laughed, stepping back. “But, my dear, if you keep scaring them all away, people might start thinking I belong to you.”

You smirked, tilting your chin up. “Maybe you do.”

His laughter stilled for half a second. A flicker of something unreadable passed through his gaze. Then, just as quickly, his easy going mask slipped back into place.

“That would be interesting.”

Little did you know, he intended to make sure of it.

Graduation day was a spectacle. You and Aventurine stood among your peers, the center of admiration in your own right—him for his effortless charm, you for your sharp wit and unshakable confidence.

As the ceremony ended and students parted ways, he found you near the exit, hands tucked into his pockets, his ever-present smirk in place. “So....where’s someone like you planning to go after this?”

You hummed, pretending to consider before casually dropping the name of your chosen company. His eyes flickered with interest. “That’s my parents’ company”

You widened your eyes slightly, feigning mild surprise. “Oh? What a coincidence.”

“A very lucky one.”

Fast forward to your first day at work. You walked into the sleek office, greeted by murmurs from other employees—new hires always drew attention, but you? You already stood out. The air of confidence you carried made you someone to watch.

And then, the moment you had anticipated arrived.

Aventurine stood at the front of the department, looking effortlessly composed, dressed in a tailored suit that only accentuated the arrogance in his stance. His gaze locked onto yours, something smug and knowing flickering in his eyes.

“Didn’t expect to see you here.”

You blinked, tilting your head in well-practiced confusion. “You work here?”

He knew. But he played along.

“As your head of department, no less.” He took a step forward, lowering his voice just enough for only you to hear. “I look forward to working with you.”

Under Aventurine’s leadership, and your own subtle influence, your department quickly became one of the most efficient in the company. Projects were completed ahead of schedule, deals closed with impressive success rates, and while other departments struggled with internal issues, yours remained a well-oiled machine.

Of course, much of that was thanks to an unspoken system between you and Aventurine.

While your official role had nothing to do with it, you ensured that any overeager admirer who got too close to Aventurine was dealt with—politely discouraged or, if necessary, intimidated into staying away. He, in turn, did the same for you. If anyone showed too much interest, Aventurine had a way of making them disappear from your orbit, whether through well-placed rumors, strategic work assignments, or outright dismissal.

It was a silent game between you two, one that no one else noticed.

Months passed, and your department’s success led to a well-earned celebration. Drinks flowed freely, and you, usually composed, had more than your fair share.

At some point, as the night blurred into a haze, you found yourself leaning against Aventurine, your voice slurred but your words unusually sincere.

“You know” you murmured, “I like you.”

He stilled. You were drunk—too drunk to lie, too drunk to scheme. It was the truth, raw and unfiltered, slipping past your lips before you could stop it.

Aventurine’s smirk softened, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. He had always known, had seen the signs, but hearing it from you, in your own words, was something else entirely.

He let you ramble a bit more, basking in the moment.

But the next morning, when you groggily woke up with a pounding headache and no memory of your confession, he understood.

You had forgotten.

And so, he continued his act. He remained your close friend, the same as always, pretending not to know the truth you had once let slip.

After all, if you didn’t remember, then he’d simply wait for you to say it again—this time, when you were sober, when there was no excuse to take it back.

-----

Aventurine had always known you belonged to him.

So when he noticed your colleague, some pathetic, overeager fool—clinging to you more than they should, he saw it as a challenge. They laughed too easily at your jokes, found excuses to be near you, and worst of all, acted as if they had a right to your time.

Aventurine smiled through it all, of course. Played the role of the charming superior, never letting on how much their presence grated on him. But behind the scenes, he was already setting things in motion.

It was almost too easy. A misplaced document here, a poorly handled report there, all leading to a mistake so significant that termination was inevitable. When the announcement came, Aventurine watched you closely.

You barely reacted. You had always been sharp—if you had truly cared, you would have noticed the setup. Instead, you continued as if nothing had changed, your attention fixated on him alone.

You bought him lunch without hesitation, stayed in his office under the guise of "helping" him, indulged his whims with a familiarity that sent a thrill through his veins.

Yes, this was where you belonged.

And then, the perfect opportunity arrived. A chance to lure you into his trap.

This time, you would walk into his web willingly.

The bar was a familiar comfort—a place you frequented enough that the staff knew your usual orders. It was no surprise, then, when a friendly female worker greeted you with a warm smile.

"Hey, you're back! Here, have some on the house." she said, sliding a small plate of treats toward you.

You took it without much thought, but Aventurine’s gaze darkened ever so slightly. His fingers tapped lazily against his glass as he watched the exchange.

Jealousy coiled inside him.

She was just being nice, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t like seeing anyone treat you as if they had the right to your attention. That was his privilege.

Still, he smiled, as he always did, masking his displeasure beneath a charming facade.

"Seems like you’re quite the favorite here." he mused, pouring you another drink.

You shrugged. "I come here often."

"Clearly."

He didn’t need to do much after that. You were already comfortable, already drinking at a steady pace. Aventurine, ever the attentive friend, made sure your glass was never empty, nudging you to drink just a little more, his own intake carefully controlled.

By the time the night deepened, you were warm and pliant under his gaze, your sharp edges dulled by intoxication. Perfect.

“You’re staying at my place” he murmured, guiding you up with an arm around your waist.

You barely protested. Why would you? He was always by your side.

One of his many houses was nearby, a private sanctuary where no one would disturb you both. He led you inside, settled you onto a plush couch, and before you could drift into unconsciousness, he struck.

"Say," he leaned in, "why do you always chase off my admirers?"

Your head swayed slightly, your inhibitions stripped away. "Because I don’t like them."

He chuckled. "Oh? You don’t like them or… you don’t like them around me?"

You groaned, running a hand down your face. "I hate it. I hate watching you with other people. You always act like it’s nothing, like it’s a joke, but it’s not."

Aventurine remained still, letting you pour your heart out.

"You tease me so much, but you don’t take me seriously," you continued, voice slurring slightly. "You make me feel like I’m just one of the people you play with, and I hate it."

Slowly, he reached into his pocket, ensuring the recording was saved—proof, undeniable, that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you.

Carefully, he wove his fingers through your hair, tilting your face toward him. "I’m sorry" he murmured, his voice dripping with honeyed remorse. "I didn’t know I was making you feel that way."

For a moment, it seemed like everything was going exactly as he had planned.

And then—

You lurched forward, and before he could react, you puked.

Right on his expensive designer shoes.

Aventurine stared, utterly speechless for the first time in his life.

"...Well," he finally said, voice strained, "that was unexpected."

The next morning, you woke up with a pounding headache, the aftermath of last night's drinks weighing heavily on you. Blinking against the sunlight filtering through the curtains, you quickly realized something was off.

You weren’t in your own bed.

Instead, you were nestled against him, Aventurine’s warmth pressing against your side, his arm draped lazily over your waist.

Before you could process anything, a familiar voice—far too smug for your liking—broke through the silence.

"Good morning, darling" Aventurine purred.

You groaned, sitting up. "Why am I here?"

He stretched leisurely, then reached for his phone. "Well, you had quite the night," he mused. "And I have proof."

Then, with a single tap, he played the recording.

Your own voice filled the air—raw, unfiltered emotions spilling out. I hate watching you with other people. You always act like it’s nothing, like it’s a joke, but it’s not...

You were busted.

Aventurine watched your reaction, "You know," he murmured, "you could just admit it. Save yourself the trouble."

You clenched your jaw, glaring at him, but there was no way out of this. He had you cornered.

"...Fine, bastard." you muttered.

"Fine?" His grin widened, and before you could take it back, he pulled you closer. "Say it properly."

You huffed, cheeks burning. "I like you, okay? Are you happy now?"

"Ecstatic." he whispered before pressing a kiss to your temple.

And just like that, you were his. Officially.

[chuuqqi]

𝜗𝜚⠀ㅤ⏖ 𓊆ྀི DRESSED UP 𓊇ྀི

❛ trying on a dress in front of the second division commander of your crew made him flurry exactly the way you wanted. ❜

⠀ㅤ⠀ㅤ💭　𓂃 pairing : 𝓐ce x 𝓡eader ㅤ───ㅤㅤcw 𝄞 fluff. ace is pretty much taken by you. reader is kind of flirtatious & very feminine. mutual pining but are unaware of it.

𝓷𝓸𝓽𝓮𝓼 ૮ ྀི◞ ⸝⸝ ◟ ྀིა .ᐟ just something i whipped up last night! i am truly head over heels for this man, he is so scrumptious <3

you strolled around the town your crew had docked at the night before, ace following close behind. you had found out that this town was well known for the cute and pretty garments that they designed — specifically specialising in lacy and elegant dresses which was exactly your style! finding such apparel was hard to come by within the grand line but you've always adored dressing up ever since you were a little girl, and that remained true to this day. so you did your best to alter your clothes to your liking — adding ribbons and bows, adding lace wherever you could, adding florals and hearts. thankfully, whitebeard let you splurge and indulge in your fashion, as long as they remained practical for whenever combat arose.

the two of you had been wandering around for a few minutes, your eyes shimmering with mirth with every store you passed by. ace couldn't help the amity that effloresced within his chest as he saw the pure delight that was emanating from your face. he quite adored how much you loved shopping for clothes and the care and thought you put into every single outfit you adorned. there was never a day where you didn't look absolutely breathtaking. right from the way you styled your hair to the accessories you bore — you always looked so gorgeous.

you finally stopped by in front of a shop that had flowers and vines dangling from its sign and they were displaying the most feminine and dainty pieces ace had ever seen. he did admit that he did very much like what he was seeing but he felt rather out of place to be walking into a shop like this — he could only see women inside as they ambled across the aisles and picked out clothes off the racks. he worried that him being there would make them feel weary. but before he could even voice his concerns to you, you were already dragging him inside.

after a good few minutes of you rummaging around the shop, you had acquired a mountain full of clothes that you wanted to try on. you were in one of the changing rooms as ace stood outside, holding on to each of the garments you had selected. almost an hour had passed by and you were now trying on the last piece you had left. you had apologised earlier for taking so much time but truthfully, ace wasn't really complaining. it just meant he got to spend time with you, and he wouldn't ever pass up such an opportunity.

"ace?", you trilled from within the changing room.

"yeah?", he replied. "is something wrong?"

"nope, i just want your opinion on this dress. i'm not sure if this really complements my skin tone or not. so do you mind if i show it to you?"

he could feel his heart thumping madly against his chest at your request. for a moment, he simply stayed silent, his mind racing with thoughts of you modelling the dresses for him. a rosy pink dusted his cheeks as the images of you donning the previous pretty pieces flitted through his head. when he heard you call out his name though, he quickly shook his head in an attempt to clear away the images he had conjured of you which he felt rather guilty for now.

"are you sure i'm the right one to ask? maybe i could call—"

you cut him off by saying meekly, "no. i want your opinion."

ace's cheeks turned a darker shade of pink as he held his hands to his chest, trying to compose himself and slow down his beating heart. he took in a deep breath and said, "alright, go ahead and show me."

you pulled open the curtain and the second he laid his eyes on you, he could feel himself turn to mush. you were wearing a lavish, yellow dress that was embellished with pearls and white gems all around, and frills all along the bottom. you were fiddling with the sleeves as you looked down bashfully. "so, what do you think?", you asked softly. "how does it look?"

where was he even meant to begin? you looked truly stunning in it. he swore he hadn't ever seen a woman as beautiful as you. you looked heavenly, angelic, lovely—

"yeah it's very nice," was all he could bring himself to say. he wanted the ground to swallow him whole at how daffy he felt in this moment. there was so much more he wanted to say to you and all he could say was 'nice'? that word was not nearly enough to encompass how ethereal you looked.

"aw, just nice?", you asked dolefully. your lips had turned into a small pout, your doe eyes looking up at him — the ones that tugged at his heartstrings sweetly yet fiercely.

"well no!", he rebutted instantly. "it's not just nice. i mean, the colour is pretty. it suits you. and the frills are a cute touch."

he continued to ramble on, complimenting every aspect of the dress. his flushed face and flustered demeanour amused you — one of the most dangerous and most powerful pirates the world had seen and yet here he was, struggling to even form coherent sentences in front of you. you found it so adorable that you could rile him up so easily and that this was a sight only you had the luxury of witnessing. you didn't want anybody else to see him like this nor ever wanted anybody else to make him feel this way aside from you.

an impish smile tugged at your lips as you thought of another way to flurry the man even more. you took a step closer towards him and you gestured for him to lean forward towards you. he did as you said, his gaze flickering over your entire body, the blush now tinging his neck and ears. you cupped a hand over his ear as you whispered in a honeyed tone, "did you want to see me in something sexier?"

his entire body froze at your words, his hands balling into tight fists underneath the clothes he held. his breathing quickened and he feared his knees would buckle any second, sending him toppling over you. he did his best to keep himself upright and to stop the indecent thoughts that dared to infiltrate his mind. that proved to be a much more difficult challenge than he had anticipated.

"w-what? no, i-," he sputtered, feeling more abashed than ever. he scrambled to find words but he failed to do so.

you giggled at his behaviour, finding him more charming than ever before. "i'm just playing with you. i think i'm going to get this. i think you like it too, right?". all he could do was nod in agreement before shutting the curtain hastily.

messing around with him like this filled you with a gaiety that you couldn't find elsewhere. you knew that the handsome and charismatic dark-haired man had feelings for you, and it would be a lie to say that you didn't feel the same. you were just waiting for the day for him to profess his feelings to come around. until then, this form of coquetry towards him would have to suffice, hoping soon enough that he would catch on to your antics.

[captain-bubble-wrap]

Can you do smth w Quinn and like reader in Med school

I really hope I didn't butcher this! I spent some time pouring over some anatomy test keys and student fears, so I hope it tracks well! 🩷

"Baby, can you help me with something?"

You were laying on the floor of Quinn's living room when you yelled for him. You needed to study for an upcoming exam, but the lack of willpower was keeping you from doing anything. You weren't sure he had heard you, but eventually he appeared overhead, smiling at you being so over-dramatic.

"Have you fallen and you can't get up?" He teased, obviously proud of his stupid joke.

"That's not funny! And no, I'm perfectly content where I am, thank you!" You'd stick your tongue out at him before telling him why exactly you had hollered, "Can you quiz me? I've that big anatomy test Friday and I'm stressing about it."

Quinn quickly fell back into his professional way of being, "Oh, of course, sorry. Yeah, I'll help you."

Your arm shot upwards into the air, with a fistful of papers full of potential questions for him to throw at you. It wasn't that you weren't confident that you knew the information, but it never hurt to see just how much -or how little- you knew. For your sake, you hoped you knew as much as you thought you did or waiting till the last minute to crunch was going to be a problem.

"Alright, where do you want me to start?" He asked, shocked by the amount of pages he had to flip through. You had highlighted the correct answers already, so all he had to do was read.

"Doesn't matter, they're all out of order anyway."

Flopping down on the sofa, Quinn shuffled them a few more times for good measure, before getting started. "Am I going to be able to pronounce half of this stuff?"

His question made you laugh, "Hopefully, but I should be able to discern what you mean if I know the answer...that is -- if I know the answer."

"You'll be fine. Okay, what describes the role of a tendon?"

"They attach muscles to bones," you answered confidently. You were thankful he had started off easy enough, though it did little for your confidence, but it was a start nonetheless.

"Correct. Um, name the three subdivisions of human anatomy."

This one was easy, too, but you knew good as any, that the easy ones could still trip you up; over-confidence was a killer. "Gross, microscopic, and developmental."

"Good job, babe. Okay, let me see if I can find something harder."

You let your eyes fall closed as he rummaged through the two dozen or so pages until he found something he thought might give you some trouble.

"Red blood cell production is know as what?"

"Erythropoiesis?"

He chuckled, "I'm glad you had to say that instead of me! But yeah, good job. I'm guessing that wasn't hard, was it?"

"Not really, no, but it's okay. It just feels good to go over them."

For the next fifteen minutes, Quinn rambled off questions and you had been able to answer them all correctly. He hadn't understood why you seemed so unconfident in yourself, but when asked if you wanted him to read more off, you said yes, so as long as he had the time.

"Oh, this is gonna be fun," he joked. "Specific damage to the arcuate fas-cic-ulus would cause this kind of aphasia?"

"Hey, you got it just fine! I thought 'arcuate' would have tripped you up more than 'fasciculus', but um, I think it's conduction aphasia?"

Quinn giggled, "Ding, ding, ding! I think I've found the pages with the stuff I can't pronounce. Well, maybe not this one: this protein of the thin filament blocks myosin binding sites when the muscle is at rest?"

"Um...hm," you pondered. There were two options that came to mind, and you were leading slightly more to one than the other. "Is it tropomyosin?"

He smiled, "It is, good job! I thought I had you there for a second. Alright, name the disorder in which antibodies cause a decrease in the number of active --ah dammit-- ace-tyl-choline receptors at the neuromuscular junction?"

"I think it's myasthenia gravis," you laughed. He was trying his best, and you couldn't blame him for stumbling over those words. He read a lot, but it wasn't medical journals. "One more good one and you can quit."

"Hmmm, alright, what is 'humoral stimulus'?"

"Humoral stimulus is the secretion of hormones in response to changing blood levels of ions."

"That's wild, but yes, you're right. You did great, babe."

There was a sigh from your place on the floor. You back was starting to hurt, but you didn't have the strength to get up. "That wasn't even the tip of the iceberg of the stuff that's going to be on the test, though."

Quinn, sensing your disappointment, even though you didn't get a single question wrong, left his place on the sofa to lay beside you on the floor. "Is there something else that's bothering you? I've never seen you so worried about a test before."

His fingers danced through your hair slowly, propped up on his elbow beside you. Quinn was always so attentive and gentle, something you admired about him in this fast-paced and harsh world.

"I'm just...scared," you finally confessed.

He frowned, "About what?"

"About failing out, not being able to keep up. I don't know if I can keep up with all of the hours. My clinicals have been killing me. And above all else, I'm-- I'm scared of losing you." You'd turn to look at him, tears welling in your eyes having confessed a deep fear that had been gnawing at you since getting your acceptance letter.

"Aw, baby, don't worry about me. I'm not going anywhere."

"You say that, but it feels like I've seen you twice in a month. I lose a lot of time wondering if you're going to meet someone else; someone who's always around when you're free."

Quinn didn't reply immediately. He could tell what you had told him meant a great deal, and that it hadn't been easy to say. He wanted to make sure his reply didn't make light of a very real fear of yours. "You mean the absolute world to me, baby. What you're studying to do is incredible, and more than I could ever imagine of accomplishing. I just play hockey; you're studying to be a doctor! That means so much more! I know your schedule and mine haven't been linking up, but I look forward to the times that we get to spend together, even if that's me stumbling over some crazy medical terms to make sure you're ready for a test. I'll do everything I possibly can --make as much time available for you-- to see that you succeed. And I mean that: all of it, okay?"

"Yeah," you mumbled. "I'm sorry, Quinn. I'm just not-- feeling worth the time."

Quinn's lips found you temple. "I love you, so, so much, Y|N. Even if I can only talk to you for ten minutes, I promise it's the best ten minutes of my day."

"You're just being nice," you confessed.

"I'm telling the truth. I'm not going to let you go because you're working on your career. That would be like you leaving me because we missed the playoffs."

You managed a smile at his silly analogy. He did have a point and you were thankful he was so mature for his age. "Thank you, Quinn, really. And, I love you. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Well, I know one thing: you wouldn't be laughing at my inability to pronounce 'fasciculus'!"

[nathanbatemanfucker]

Vuelve a Mí Pt. I

summary: you and joaquin confront the cause of the end of your relationship.

pairing: joaquin torres x f!reader

wc: 1,002

contents: 18+/minors dni, canon typical violence, angst, break up vibes, pining, longing, intense guilt, illusions to depression

AN: taking a stab at writing joaquin bc i've quickly grown enamored with him. i'm still learning his characterization and how i'd perceive him so be kind with this first try. this is just the first part & there will be another tying things up! i hope yall enjoy and i'm so excited to be back here writing again.

It’s hard to see him like this. Truthfully,  it’s hard to see him at all. Not because of anything he’s done, not even because of how he’s changed while you were gone, but from how you changed. 

It doesn’t make much sense; you had been turned to dust. Crumbled away into literal nothingness. And yet, when you returned everything felt different. Nothing, not your passions, your job, your family— Joaquin— felt like it was yours anymore. 

When you’d come back, you felt so disconnected from everything. You questioned who you were and what your purpose was, especially since so many people in your life had carried on. 

Joaquin included. 

He wasn’t Falcon when you left. He had never touched the suit. Sure he had wanted to, he had his aspirations but you had always imagined that you’d be right there to support him. 

But here you sat. Sam called you immediately, not knowing the hospital had too. You were still Joaquin’s emergency contact— after all these years he hadn’t changed it. 

So here you sit, a book in your hands as you patiently waiting for him to wake up. The doctors assured that he would wake up, he was in critical condition but young and healthy. ‘A fighter’ they’d said.

“You came.”

His voice startles you, and you flinch slightly, losing your place in the pages.

He grins apologetically, “Sorry, querida, didn’t mean to scare you.”

It takes effort to not get lost in his smile, especially after thinking that you might have lost him for good. 

You fortify yourself, crossing your arms against your chest, “More than you already have?”

“You’re one to talk, honey.”

You know exactly what he means. All the abandonment of relationships, taking risks to better understand yourself. He and others have made it clear that they’re worried about you, that you aren’t the same. Confirmation of what you’re most afraid of. 

“I don’t want to argue, not when you’re like this.”

He raises a brow at you playfully, “But some other time maybe? Over dinner?”

“Joaquin…”

You watch him physically deflate and it breaks your heart. He shakes his head, giving you a weak smile, “It was worth a shot, wasn’t it?”

“I’m sorry. I, um, I shouldn’t have come.”

“I’d be offended if you hadn’t,” He murmurs lowly.

Something inside you flutters at the soft huskiness of his voice and you’re rendered speechless for a handful of moments. Forced to acknowledge just how much you’ve missed him. Finally, you’re able to say, “I don’t know what you want me to say, Quino.”

“I don’t know, maybe something that explains why we aren’t together anymore.”

“I’ve explained that.”

“And it still doesn’t make sense.”

“That’s not fair, you don’t understand. You weren’t gone. You got to live your life with no interruptions, with no hiccups. And I got— I got nothing. I was nothing.”

He sits up, flinching as he does. You try to calm things— you had really meant it when you said you didn’t want to fight. But when Joaquin is worked up, when he believes in something his passion can’t be quelled. Isn’t that what got him here in the first place? 

He barrels past your attempts to shush him, his gaze piercing into yours as he does. “You’re right, I don’t understand. But what you don’t understand is how heartbreaking it was having to go on without you. My life was interrupted, the love of my life was taken from me and more than ever I had to serve my country. The one person that has ever truly understood me was gone. That’s a fucking hiccup if I’ve ever seen one. So no, it's not the same. No, I don’t understand, but it wasn’t easy for me. It’s never been easy without you— not before and definitely not after.”

As you listen to Joaquin’s words, you must face not only what the two of you lost together, but what he lost on his own. His struggle, his pain, forces you to turn away from your own and see his in a new light. And for the first time since you opened your eyes after being blipped, you feel like you’ve made a huge mistake. You’ve done nothing but hurt yourself and the ones you love by being swallowed by how the unknown may have changed you. 

You gave up. On yourself, on your friends and family. On Joaquin.

Your chest goes tight and you freeze as your body is flooded with emotion. It took this— him injured and angry for you to come to your senses? 

What have you done? 

“Hey, vuelve a mí,” He murmurs so gently that the tears in your eyes start to fall. “Lo siento, querida, I didn’t mean to make you cry.” 

With sharp, quick movements you wipe away your tears and stand. “I shouldn’t have come,” You repeat, stepping closer to him, resting your hand over his gently. “I’m really glad you’re okay Joaquin but I— I have to go.”

“Wait, we can talk about this, figure it out like we did before? Don’t go,” He flips his hand over in yours, lacing your fingers together.

“I’m not ready. I’m sorry. For everything, I’m so sorry,” You whisper brokenly. He squeezes your hand, running his thumb over yours in an attempt to soothe you. It only makes the guilt inside you plant itself deeper.

You swallow, shaking your head. Your mind is made up.  “Me being here…it’s just going to fuck up everything further. I’m sorry.

“Baby, that’s not—“

“Be well, Quino. Please,” you implore, untangling your hands and darting for the door.

He calls after you. Calls and calls, exerting effort you know his healing body shouldn’t. And yet, you can hear him trying until the elevator doors close. Something inside you continues to feel him. As you walk to your car, as you eat dinner later that night, as you crawl into your bed made for two. That yearning, that ache…it doesn’t change your mind. 

> pt. II

let me know if you'd like to be on my joaquin taglist!

[zepskies]

hahaa just enough to spice things up! 😜❤️‍🔥

Oooh sounds like a wise man all right! How the guy treats his mom is a BIG sign of who he is, and in Dean's case, his mom, his car -- very precious to him of course. Loll your mom sounds like a wise lady too! 😂😂 Oh yeah, Dean still treating her to whatever she wants on a soldier's salary is a VERY big sign of who he is. 💓💓💓

No! Thankfully he convinced her! Who wants chicken when you can have a sirloin with all the trimmings fixings - there’s those little details again. I love it so much! (Or maybe it’s a cultural difference for me)

Oh yeah, I def could've said trimmings too, but it felt more of how she would think, given she's originally from the Midwest too (you'll find out exactly where soon). I'm so glad you notice these little details because it's been very intentional to me to hopefully get the feel of the language in the '40s. 💕

Sam was so smooth bringing up the ring, but what a scumbag! Surely he can lie a little better. He’s had the practice! I wonder what he told all those people in the room including Dolores?

Right?! Like, try harder dude. 🙄 In my mind, these are the kinds of people who don't ask too many questions because they're just as scummy tbh. You'll find out more about Michael (and Dolores) in the last two chapters to come...

Honestly I don’t want to waste time on all that lol, I’m sure he’ll get what’s coming to him. Meanwhile - the scenes in the park and the apartment really were a surprise. I was wondering if Michael was going to show up and contradict all they were working towards. Lucky he didn’t. Luckier for us 😉

Oh yeah, Michael's fate is already sealed. 😉 Meanwhile, I'm glad you felt that suspense from the potential interruption! I hoped there would be that sense, even though he ultimately didn't break into their night. 😂 Just goes to show how truly clueless and selfish Michael is at this point.

I know I’ve already said it a few times, but even with the spice it feels different and I’m floored - truely.

Aw thank you so much!! 🥹 I wanted it to be clear that her and Dean being together wasn't vindictive on her part. She just really needs someone like Dean in her life right now to remind her that she's beautiful, strong, and smart, but it's okay "not" to be okay too -- to need some support and understanding from someone. 💖

And awwww love is in the air 🎶 I have no idea if you’ll know this movie below or this reference but Love Is In The Air by John Paul Young is in my head now - even though it’s a totally different era

OH yeah that's a great song!! lol I'm an oldies girl when it comes to music. 💜

Thank you so much for your lovely comments on Part 3!! Totally made my day. 😘💕💕

BETWEEN THE CITY & THE STARS - Part 3

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: In the fall of 1945, Dean is having a difficult time assimilating back into civilian life after the War. He’s visiting his brother Sam in New York City, where he’s beginning to build up his law firm. At two minutes to closing time, you interrupt their evening to solicit a solicitor. Your request? You need help in order to divorce your husband.

AN: All right, diving into some muddy waters here...

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Historical Epic

Song Inspo: “You Go to My Head” by Tony Bennett

Word Count: 6.5K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Angst, (technically cheating—it’s complicated), hurt/comfort, and smut.

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Part 3: A Moment

Dean sat with you in silence on the bus. While you were still beautiful in your black dress, hat, and veil, you didn’t have the vivacious spark in your eyes like you did back at the club. There, when he held you in his arms, he earned your breathless, giddy laugh by turning you too many times under his hand.

Now, you looked like you were in mourning. Maybe you were.

“You hungry?” he asked. 

You didn’t even raise your gaze as you picked at a stray seam on your dress.

“I don’t think I could eat anything,” you replied. 

As if on cue, the thought of food made your stomach percolate, uttering a rumble. You froze. Your eyes widened as you bit your lip in mortification, but you were unable to stop yourself from glancing at Dean.

He cocked a brow at the sound. Then, his lips twitched at a smile.

“I think I know a place,” he said.

You were blushing too hard to argue.

And so, you and Dean got off the bus early. You ended up sitting across from him at a steakhouse. It was nice and quiet. Softer piano music played, and you were perusing the menu, trying not to feel guilty about it.

You had to remind yourself that your husband was betraying your marriage in far worse ways than you right now, and in the grand scheme of things, this was nothing. Dean was just paying you a kindness by taking you out for dinner.  

“Get whatever you want,” he said, gesturing towards the menu in your hands. 

You gave him a measured look across the table. Sure, he could say that, but you still felt bad. He was a soldier no longer on a soldier’s salary.

So you tried to be discreet while you were eyeing the steak side of the menu. Seeing the state of these prices—more than a little outrageous, in your opinion—you turned to the other side. The server returned to your table shortly after.

“Are we ready to order?” he asked.

Dean gestured for you to go first. You once again glanced down at the tiny printed words next to the fancily scrawled prices, biting at your lower lip.

“I’ll have the roast chicken please,” you said.

Dean rose his brows at you. “You sure that’s what you want?”

“Sure. I’m happy with anything,” you said.

A smile played on his lips. “So you really want to have chicken at a steakhouse?”

His amusement was infectious. You couldn’t help but begin to smile too. He leaned in closer across the table, as if conspiringly.

“I’ll get you whatever you want, and I mean that,” he said. Then, adopting a more joking tone, “I may not have a job lined up yet, but I’m not penniless.”

Your smile fell. “Oh, Dean, I know that—” 

“Then order something good,” he said, raising his brows. “I dare ya.”

Your lips began to purse, trying not to succumb to the annoyingly charming gleam in his eyes.

“How about the Salisbury steak?” the server suggested. “It’s very popular right now.”

Dean looked to you for confirmation, again popping his brows in teasing askance. You offered a weary smile of defeat. 

He ordered two steaks with all the fixings.   

Dean was the more natural improvisor, but Sam had become just as good at finding the right role to play in situations like these. With Michael Milligan and his friends, that role was mostly himself: a bachelor, a businessman, but also being “the new guy in town,” looking for friends and a good time.

So Sam was wearing his newest suit and his best watch—a graduation present from his father—and had made sure he looked sharp before leaving the apartment tonight. Though he undid a couple of buttons on his dress shirt and ran a hand through his hair to tousle it up a little, making himself look casual enough to match these guys.

Seeing the shine on his wrist, Michael was generous enough to invite Sam along when they traveled behind the velvet curtain with Dolores Daye and the Cotton Club’s esteemed host, Brady Johnson.

Johnson. Sam recognized the name with an internal jolt. He’d seen it scrawled in Michael Milligan’s handwriting across several checks, dated between 1944 to 1945.

Brady Johnson had a crooked smile that was supposed to be charming as he led the group into a darker, cozier room. It smelled like the smoke of cigarettes and cigars, coupled with the faint must of perfume and cologne. There were a couple of pool tables, a fully stocked bar, and a big round table where he gestured for them all to sit.

Dolores took a seat right on Michael’s lap. There she gave the man a kiss that likely tickled his tonsils.

Sam pretended to be discreet when he looked away, but really, he was trying to sneak his little Canon camera out of his jacket. He stiffened to attention when Brady slapped a hand on his shoulder.

“What’re you drinkin’, Winchester?” he asked. “Scotch? Whiskey?”

“Aren’t those the same thing?” Sam said, injecting some good humor into his smile.

Brady thought about it, popped a brow, then levied a finger his way. “Damn it, when you’re right. You’re right. I’ll get ya both then.”

He reached out and touched Dolores’s side meaningfully, getting her to stop “greeting” Michael and detach from his face.

“Sweetheart, why don’t you get our guests something to drink, huh? Then you can go back to making Michael here feel comfortable,” Brady said, slapping a congenial hand on Michael’s back.

Dolores gave Brady an easy smile and practically hopped out of Michael’s lap with a graceful two-step. She caressed his face as she made her way around his back and away, heading towards the bar. Michael followed the careening path of her hand as she half-turned his head, and he shot her a wink. She giggled indulgently, making him smile.

Then he turned his attention to the game of poker at hand. One of the other men was dealing the cards. Sam glanced at his hand before he looked over at Michael. Specifically, Sam noticed the gold band on the man’s left ring finger.

Michael seemed to feel Sam’s eyes on him, and he followed the path of Sam’s gaze. Michael flexed his hand and tucked it into his pocket.

“So Sam, what’s your poison?” he asked.

“I’m a whiskey guy, I guess,” Sam said, glancing around the room. There was probably an exit out back, but otherwise, the place was secluded and well-contained. So far he didn’t notice any other back rooms, besides a door to what was probably a dressing room. Michael had probably gotten that tour a time or two.

“This is a nice place,” Sam remarked, offering Dolores a polite smile when she set down a fifth of scotch in front of him. She gave him a charming wink before she served Michael his whiskey on the rocks next.

“I don’t come here all that often,” Michael said, adding a quirking grin. “Just on payday.”

The men shared a chuckle. Sam’s gaze was a hint sharper.

“Well, the drinks are good. I imagine the company’s better,” he said, his brows raising slightly when Dolores passed by to serve one of the other men a drink. Michael cocked a finger at him, congenial, but still warning.

“Yep, she’s a sweet one, all right. Sweet for me,” he said, grinning.

Sam nodded in understanding.

“I get it. She’s happily occupied,” he said, though he casually gestured to Michael’s left hand when he used it to bring his drink up to his lips. “Sorry for your loss.”

Michael gave him a look of confusion while he sipped, but when he noticed Sam pointing at his wedding ring, he had to pause and clear his throat.

“Excuse me?” he said.

“Ah, I’m sorry. I assumed you were a widower,” Sam said. He quirked a smile and sipped at his own drink.

Michael hesitated. He rubbed at his left ring finger, over the shining band.

“Yeah, well, sometimes I forget that myself,” he said. His blue eyes dimmed. “It, uh…hasn’t been all that long since she passed.”

Sam almost shook his head. If the man was going to lie, he could at least put some effort into it. He was beginning to understand your pain even better than ever.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry,” Sam offered.

Michael smiled tightly. “Don’t worry about it.” 

“All right, we good?” Brady said, now that the cards were dealt. Dolores came back over to sit on Michael’s lap. Sam didn’t get out his camera just yet; the position was incriminating, but not hard proof of an affair. He’d have to wait for a better opportunity.

“Who’s betting first?” he asked.

After the meal, you realized you weren’t quite ready to go home, despite the late hour of the night. Picking up on your reluctance, Dean suggested taking a walk. You held onto his offered arm and led him a couple blocks away to Central Park. You guided him through the walkways you almost knew by heart, even in the shrouded dark of the night.

You were beginning to feel an odd prickle zip across your skin. Deep down, you knew you walked on a thin edge teetering between right and wrong.

He’s just being kind, you rationalized. You were battered enough inside to crave his kindness, more than you would’ve ever liked to admit.

“Thank you again for dinner,” you said, “and for staying out with me. I just…didn’t feel like going home to an empty apartment.”

Dean’s lips twitched up at one side, ruefully. “I kinda know what you mean. We could, uh…catch a picture show or something.”

“Oh no, Dean. It’s all right. Far too late for that,” you said, releasing his arm to wave a dismissive hand. Really, you just wanted to dispel the idea of him treating you to anything more tonight. By the way he was as dinner, you just knew that he wouldn’t allow you to pay for your own ticket to see a show. Nor did you want to eat into his pockets anymore. 

Your hands were gathered in front of you now as you walked, holding your purse. A cold rush of wind pushed at you both from behind. It popped up the collar of your winter coat. Dean fixed it for you, laying it back down above your shoulders. You murmured your thanks again as you felt the brush of his fingers across your back and shoulders.

Afterwards, he slid his hands back into his coat pockets. He looked up at the tall trees and nicely trimmed bushes, their little red flowers having opened up.

“This is the only part of the city worth seeing,” he remarked, knocking a small rock ahead of him with his foot.

You turned to him with a frown. “Come on, now. There are a lot of interesting things in the city. There’s the Statue of Liberty and Rockefeller Center, not to mention museums, restaurants, Radio City, plays, and movies too, remember?”

“Okay, aside from Radio City and a couple of old buildings, we’ve got all that back home too,” he said, with a cutting motion of his hand.

“Has Sam shown you everything? Or have you been exploring on your own?” you asked. The question was a bit deceptive though. In your mind, you were thinking of what Sam had told you…

He’s not usually wanting for company.

“On my own, for the most part,” Dean replied. “Sam’s been hard at work. A bit too busy for his hanger-on older brother.”

You looked over at him with furrowed brows. “Dean, I doubt he sees it that way.”

The man shook his head. “Look, I’m…I’m proud of him, don’t get me wrong. He’s trying to build something for himself, and that takes time and a lotta work. He’s created a life here. I’m just trying to catch up, I guess.”

You considered Dean for a moment. Like you, he seemed to be at a crossroads.

“What was it like for you two, growing up? You’re from Kansas, aren’t you?” you asked.

He nodded. He hesitated, but he surprised you by opening up a little, telling you more about his life before the war. It was always before and after. You knew it always would be.

You learned that his mother passed away when he was young, rather tragically due to an illness that came on suddenly and swiftly. He still remembered the deep blue of her eyes, her blonde hair. But most of all, he remembered her voice, kind and pretty when she sang to him until he fell asleep.

John, his father, had become a harder man after her death. Quieter, and stoic. Dean hardly remembered him without a glass of liquor in his hand after that. John had been a factory worker before he enlisted in the Navy. He died a decade later at Pearl Harbor, during the war.

That news came through with a military officer knocking at the front door of their family home. Dean answered it, and so that news hit him first. Afterwards, he had to sit his younger brother down and tell him.

That afternoon, both of them enlisted.

Dean told the story matter-of-factly, but you felt and saw the emotions hidden behind his eyes. You saw the weight of responsibility on his shoulders, both as an older brother, and as the eldest son. You had to quickly swipe away a tear before he turned your way. He offered a small smile.

“Ah…enough about all that. What about you?” he asked. “How’d you grow up?”

You took a steadying breath, and you told him.

“Well, I’m from a small town in South Dakota. Sioux Falls,” you said. “Mom’s a schoolteacher. Dad works in a steel mill, and my Uncle Bobby owns an automotive towing company there.”

“Well, that’s a decent job,” Dean said.

“Have you thought about what you want to do?” you asked. He nodded, and the two of you stopped to sit together on a bench in the park. You had a view of tall skyscrapers like Empire State in the distance, and the night sky above the arching trees.

“Yeah, a lot actually,” he said, carding a hand through his hair absently. “Like, uh, talking about cars, I’ve always liked them. The hum of a good engine. My dad could hear a car running from a block away, and he could tell you what was wrong with it, just by the sound of it.”

He punctuated his words with a sweeping gesture of his hand. You could imagine a road laid across the path of it, along with a rumbling car and his father’s perceptive, judging eye.

“Heh, matter of fact, we used to take his old Chevy apart, put it back together again,” said Dean, smiling a little. “I like working with my hands, I guess.”

You admired his hands as they rested casually in his lap. They were larger than yours, with long fingers. His hands look strong and capable like the rest of him, even though they were always considerate when they touched you.

“Then you should do something you like doing,” you said. “Fixing cars! That’s good, honest work you can make a living out of.”

Dean looked over at you. “You think so?”

You nodded your encouragement, smiling bright. “I know so. You might be a bit of a flirt, but you also look like someone who can accomplish whatever you set your mind to.”

When those words slipped free from your mouth, you realized how he might take that little accusation, let alone how overeager you sounded. Your gaze fell away from him as you felt your face getting warm in a blush.

Dean’s smile widened, showing teeth. “I’m a flirt, huh?”

“Well…” You bit the inside of your lip and tried your hardest not to look at him for a while. “At least you’re an honest one.”

Dean laughed freely at that. He wasn’t offended, just amused at the way you got embarrassed, even though you didn’t take it back just to save face.

He appreciated your support and the way you talked, straightforward and earnest. There was nothing frivolous about you. You meant every word you said, and you said it with conviction.

“Do you enjoy your work then?” he asked. You dimmed a little.

“Well, I’m a secretary. I work in an office,” you said, chuckling slightly. “Nothing exciting there.”

“You mean, compared to being an army nurse,” Dean pointed out.

You nodded begrudgingly. He saw through you too well.

“It was never boring,” you joked, even if it was a weak one.

A sigh escaped you. The truth was, you saw things on the battlefield that revived behind your eyelids every time you went to sleep. It kept you up some nights, and it made it incredibly difficult to sleep alone. Sometimes you’d craved Michael’s arms around you, even if he was too deep in sleep from being drunk the night before. Sometimes it was too hard to be alone all night in your bed, even if you wanted to be.

“That’s how Michael and I met,” you confessed. “I was trying to stitch him up after his plane was shot down. He was lucky to be alive, frankly. Had a nasty head wound. I also helped the doctor set his shoulder, horribly dislocated…”

You two fell in love in that one month you were stationed in the same town together, where France was falling apart. The combined forces of French, British, and American units were able to finally liberate Paris from being occupied. Michael was honorably discharged due to the wounds he’d sustained there.

The next time you and Michael had shore leave at the same time, you got married here in New York City: October 10, 1944.

“I wouldn’t have minded if you were my nurse,” Dean said, breaking you out of your thoughts. You sent him a wry, sidelong smile.

“You can’t help yourself from flirting, can you?” you quipped.

The way he waggled his brows made you laugh, and then duck your blushing face. He was too much.

“I’m serious though,” he claimed. One of his hands went to his right shoulder. “I’ve still got a twinge over here. Think I tore some kind of muscle from hauling ammunition, but it never really healed right.”

Your head tilted in concern. The nurse in you couldn’t help it. You turned to him more fully on the bench.

“That shoulder?” You pointed at his right one. Dean nodded. You got up and moved to his other side, and he made room for you on the bench.

“Can you peel back your jacket for me?” you asked.

“Not a problem,” he said, with a note of sensuous teasing in his voice that you chose to ignore. He revealed his white dress shirt, black waistcoat and brown leather suspenders. That was a familiar sight, but you tried to ignore the feeling of defined male muscle underneath your hands, instead focusing on finding the problem. You knew you struck it when Dean flinched, uttering a reflexive grunt of pain.

You murmured an apology, massaging the spot of muscle deep in the joint of his shoulder through his clothing. A fellow nurse with more experience in the medical field had taught you about each muscle in the body, and how to relieve tension around scar tissue. After a while, the stiffness in Dean’s frame began to relax. His neck lolled to one side as he groaned in relief.

Then he chuckled. “You some kind of miracle woman?”

“I might be,” you said. The corners of your mouth inched upwards. 

When he was fully relaxed, you stopped your ministrations and let your hands fall away from his shoulder. Dean stood up from the bench along with you, yanking his jacket back on. Soon it was the two of you standing together in near darkness.

“Thanks, sweetheart. Feels much better already,” he said. There was something warm, and a hint gentler in his voice. Even he realized it afterwards, not knowing quite how to feel about it…until you looked up at him with that smile. His heart thudded a bit harder in his chest.

“What should I charge for a miracle?” you asked.

Dean pretended to think, humming in consideration. He knew what he wanted to give you in exchange, but he settled for something more gentlemanly.

“How about you let me take you home?” he offered.

You nodded. “That works for me.”

You continued walking with Dean through the park back to the entrance, with only a few scattered lampposts and the stars above to light your path.

Once again, you and Dean made it to the front porch of your apartment building. Despite your better judgment, you invited him in for a night cap and a snack. To be fair, he would have a long way home. You just wanted to repay him at least a little bit for his kindness.

He followed you up the stairs to the second floor, Unit 21B. Inside was a modest, cozy living room, a hall leading to the kitchen, and further down, the bedroom. You poured two glasses of whiskey and sat beside him on the couch.

“Didn’t take you for a whiskey girl,” Dean remarked.

“Yes, well, it’s one of those nights, I guess,” you said. You didn’t quite smile as you took a small sip.

By now it was past midnight. You wondered if your husband didn’t intend to come home until the morning. It had happened before, but it still made you so very angry now that you’d seen it with your own eyes. You drowned out that sick feeling with more whiskey and conversation.

Within the hour, you and Dean had nearly polished off the bottle. You were more than a little tipsy.

You laughed a bit harder than you should’ve at Dean’s stories, but he liked the sound of your laughter and the way you were letting loose around him. It was the first time he’d seen you smile so much, and it was a good look on you. He was glad to be able to get that out of you.

“I almost missed my own birthday party when I was ten,” he said, laughing a little. He was spurred on by your infectious grin. “Sam and I, we got it into our heads to jump off the roof of the shed out back. See, I had a towel tied around my neck.”

“A cape,” you giggled.

Dean pointed a finger at you. “Exactly. So I can fly.”

You shook your head. “Naturally.” You could imagine him as a precocious child, with ruddy cheeks and small freckles spread across them.

“My brother had a ‘cape’ too, but he was a skinny kid at six years old. Small for his age for a long time, if you can believe it.”

“A-huh…” 

“Well, I jump off first, and I manage stick the landing, just shaking a little when my boots hit the ground,” Dean said, making a show of wobbling his legs a little. It looked odd while sitting on the couch, but you could imagine it so clearly, it made you smile harder.

“Sammy, not so much. Poor kid broke his arm,” he said.

Your smile dropped.

“No,” you gasped, a hand flying to your mouth. 

Dean nodded. “I had to take him to the clinic on my bike. He rode on my handlebars all the way there. We agreed not to say a word to our dad, you know, but of course, it’s kinda hard to hide sling.”

“What did he do?”

“He took one look at us, at me. Mom was fretting over Sam, and Dad just shook his head.”

“Was he mad?”

“Of course he was, but at least he never took it out on us. Not with his hands, at least. He cussed up a storm about us damn kids and had to walk it off.” Dean chuckled and swiped a hand through his hair. “That was some birthday.”

You erupted into more giggles. He smirked at you, but it slowly faded. 

“You know where I was on my last birthday?” he asked.

You sobered along with him, sensing his tone.

It took him a moment to continue. He didn’t know why he started to open his mouth about this. After he set foot in his house again after the war, he resolved to leave all that behind him, try not to think about it or talk about it, if he could help it. But after what you’d told him, he thought you might understand.

“I was in Eastern Europe. Knees deep in snow and blood in the Ardennes, caught somewhere between Belgium and uh…Luxemburg, they told us. The weather was sh…it was terrible,” he corrected himself before he caught himself saying something too vulgar. It had been a while since he’d had to watch his mouth around a lady, even though he had a feeling you’d heard it all in the crumbled depths of France.

“But it finally let up enough that we could start fighting back for real,” he continued. “It was grueling. A knockout, drag out dog fight in the worst cold I’d ever been through in my life…”

You listened to the rest of his story with rapt attention, your chin held in hand as you leaned against the back of the sofa. Not only did you like the sound of his deep voice washing over you, but you realized that he was trusting you with something; with a part of himself.

When his story was done, he seemed to be reliving it all in his mind. His gaze was far away. You rested a hand on his arm to let him know that you had listened, that you had heard him, and that he wasn’t alone. He’d taken his coat off long ago, so you felt the warmth of him under the fabric of his rolled up dress shirt.

Dean came back to himself. He looked at you and grasped your arm back in thanks. But that small connection slowly began to change into something else. His hand slid up your bare arm, over the black sleeve, and across the neckline of your dress. He leaned in closer.

He smelled good, of a woodsy cologne and of spicy whiskey. He was sporting a couple days’ worth of stubble, but as you took in his face, you realized that it looked good on him. You’d only ever been taken with clean-shaven men before. This man, however, was continuing to be a pleasant surprise.  

Dean cradled your cheek in his hand. You allowed him to draw even closer. You subconsciously leaned forward yourself, until his plush lips were one warm breath away from yours.

Dean held himself back though. He knew there were more things muddling your mind than the whiskey. But you held his hand to your cheek so he wouldn’t let you go just yet. You tried your best to blink back the sting of tears. 

“Please,” you whispered. You weren’t exactly sure what you were asking for. At the very least, you knew you couldn’t stomach another rejection. “At the risk of sounding entirely brazen…please, don’t kick me while I’m down.”

Dean sighed. His stomach twisted in both conflict and desire. He soothed his thumb across your soft cheek.  

“Sweetheart, I’d love nothing more than to kiss you. Believe me,” he said. His voice was low with grit and tinged with longing. “But I gotta wonder if this is really what you want.”

Your mouth trembled. Your heart was battered and frayed, your mind spinning with this isn't right. And yet, you had a fire in your belly, familiar, though you hadn't felt it in so very long. It churned a heady blaze when you stared into his eyes. Something compelled you to reach out and touch his lips with gentle fingertips. 

“He doesn’t…touch me anymore,” you confessed, swallowing. “It used to be, whenever we passed each other in the house, it was a touch. A moment.” 

Your hand ghosted over Dean’s chin, down his neck, and shoulder, and down his chest over wrinkled fabric and buttons. He had to try and calm down his own breathing, the heavy patter of his own heart in response to your touch.

“Like I had an anchor, reminding me that I was loved, and that mine was appreciated,” you said. Your voice barely rose above a whisper. “But now it’s…it’s rushed. Everything is rushed, and distant, and forgetful. That’s if it happens at all. No matter how much I work at my job, and cook, and clean, and take care of him, it isn’t enough. He’s not the man I thought I knew. That’s what hurts the most.”

Dean’s heart clenched under your palm. He was angry for you. He was sad for you. But most of all, he was starting to hate the thought of you sharing the same bed with that man, being touched by him, and worst of all, him taking from you without satisfying you. 

“Rushed, huh?” Dean asked, his fingers curling to brush against your jawline. You nodded. He took your chin between his thumb and forefinger, and he raised his brows. “Everything?” 

Your watery eyes met his as you bit your lip. You released it with a trembling breath. 

“Everything,” you said.

Dean couldn’t help but treat you gently, drying your tears and kissing your cheek. He hadn’t known you long, but he knew you didn’t deserve what you were going through. He saw that you weren’t just pretty. You weren’t just tenacious and headstrong. You had a soft heart behind that iron wall.

So he took your chin and guided you to his lips, and into his kiss. You inhaled in a sharp breath, but you soon melted into him with a faint moan. He cupped your cheek and kissed you again, this time a firmer touch.

You matched his intensity and gripped the front of his shirt for balance, especially as his hand began to slide down your arm and around your waist. He pressed at the small of your back, bringing you flush against his chest. You had no choice but to take his face in your hands and meet his seeking tongue with your own.

A groan sounded in the back of his throat at your eagerness. He pushed you down to the end of the couch, where you laid on a few throw pillows. There he found his way between your legs and took your heels off, one by one.

Then his touch was heavy and warm across your hip, running down your thigh. After a while, he veered away from your lips to kiss his way down your neck. It earned your shallowing breath. Your hands roamed his shoulders, slipping down his back as far as you could reach. You wanted to feel more of him.

And the feeling was mutual. His kisses blazed a path along your collarbone and between your breasts, dipping below the neckline of your dress. His hand came up to gently palm one of your breasts, thumbing at your nipple hardening under the fabric. You whimpered, clinging to him tighter.

“Can I touch you?” he asked, his own breathing labored as well.

“You are touching me,” you whispered.

“You know what I mean, baby,” he said. For a moment his usual grin took over his features, but he leaned up to steal a kiss, nice and slow. “Want to make you feel good. Give you something to remember me by.”

You found yourself nodding and uttering a broken moan. It almost didn’t matter to you what he meant. His hands and the weight of his body on top of you felt so very good, you would take whatever he wanted to give you.

Your breath hitched when you felt his hand slipping upwards along your inner thigh. His thumb brushed between your legs, across the dampened fabric of your underwear. You whimpered, nodding again.

Dean reassured you with a kiss. Then he hooked his fingers on the waistband of your pantyhose, along with the silk and lace covering you underneath. He slid them down carefully, as not to rip anything (even though he’d like nothing more).

When it all bunched around your ankles, you kicked the rest of it off. The wad of sheer fabric and satin panties fell across the coffee table, over the forgotten drinking glasses. You giggled against his lips. Dean smiled too, though he gently nipped your lower lip to keep your attention. Your fingers curled up into his hair, nails grazing his scalp. The sensation made a shudder run down his spine.

He decided to return the favor, now that he was able to feel your bare thigh under his hand. He stroked your skin while he waylaid you with deeper, sloppier kisses. But all the while, his hand slid higher, closer to your throbbing core.

Finally, his fingers brushed between your legs against the bare seam of your sex. You inhaled sharply against his mouth. “Dean…”

“I gotcha, sweetheart. Promise,” he said, just a whisper of his lips with yours.

Two of his fingers slipped inside you first. You were already wet and pulsing around them when they sunk into your heat. You whimpered in his ear, especially as his fingers began to explore you, working you open, and curling upward against the most sensitive of places within your inner walls. You cried out gratefully, clenching a hand in his hair. Your core was already beginning to flutter around his fingers.

“Hmm, right there, huh?” Dean said. His voice was a bit rough; his own desire was straining in his pants, begging to be touched, but he was focusing all his efforts on you. He wanted to see you come apart, hear you gasping his name like it was the only thing you were able to remember.

His thumb began to massage tight circles over that small, sensitive bud above your entrance. You moaned and writhed against his hand. Your voice in his ear was heaven, especially when he got what he wanted. A few more deliberate strokes deep inside, and you were gripping him tight, throbbing from the inside, and coming all over his hand. He felt the rush of wetness, but he still kept pulsing his fingers inside your quivering walls, drawing out your release.

You cried out his name and fairly trembled against him. Your lower belly clenched as another wave hit you, making your inner walls flutter tightly around his fingers again.

His heart was beating as fast as yours when it all finally subsided. You fell back against the pillows, gasping for breath. Dean raised his glistening fingers up to your mouth. You were shocked to see the evidence of your own release there.

He pressed the pads of his fingers to your lips. It was downright obscene, but you gave into the urge to slide your lips over his fingers, tasting yourself when you sucked around his digits.

Dean’s green eyes were dark with arousal and satisfaction as he watched you. Feeling your tongue around his fingers made him imagine another use for your pretty mouth, making his cock throb in the confines of his slacks. But for now, it was enough to see the remnants of your lipstick come off on his mostly clean fingers.

He licked off the rest from his fingers himself, then bowed his head to kiss you thoroughly. Your hands began to explore him, the expanse of his chest over his shirt, and traveling down, below the belt. Dean slowed the pace of things, grabbing one of your hands.

You frowned in confusion. “You don’t want me to return the favor?”

Dean groaned, and he chuckled. He pressed a kiss to your hand.

“I’d go for that in a heartbeat, I really would. But tonight’s about you, sweetheart,” he said.

What was more, he didn’t want to take advantage of you. You’d had quite a lot to drink. You both had.

But I want to do this right.

That thought stopped him for sure. It surprised him, even if it was the truth. He just didn’t want to examine it too closely just yet.

He swore you looked disappointed though. It was even more difficult to make his arousal subside. He took in a deep breath, clearing his throat as he shifted off of you. He helped you tug your dress back down your thighs and tried thinking of anything that might help him calm down.

Picturing that time he accidentally walked in on his father in the bath ultimately did the trick, accompanied by a small body shudder.

“Are you cold?” you asked, rubbing his arm.

“No, I’m just fine,” Dean replied. He gave you a smile and tucked a wily strand of hair behind your ear. “You feel okay?”

Your smile was more demure, almost shy. If he were a betting man, he’d say you were blushing.

“More than okay,” you murmured.

He chuckled and swiped his thumb across the apple of your warm cheek. 

With a more genuine smile, you leaned up and checked your watch resting on the coffee table. Your eyes widened.

“Michael could be coming home any moment,” you said.

The thought rekindled the wellspring Dean’s anger. His brows furrowed with a frown. He’d like to be here when Michael came home. Maybe Dean would get the chance to sort the man out, get one or two good hits in.

Instead, he let out a heavy breath. He got up and allowed you to walk him to the door, where he grabbed his coat and straightened up his clothes. He paused at the door when he glanced back at you.

You looked too damn much. Your lips kiss-swollen, your dress sleeves hanging further off your shoulders, your hair a tousled mess. He slipped an arm around your waist and pulled you back in for a kiss goodbye. You breathed in, then you melted into him, your fingers slipping through his hair. That kiss was everything.

However, like this night, it had to come to an end. You pulled away first, slowly. You touched his chin with gentle fingers.

“Go,” you whispered, “before I lose myself.”

Dean chuckled. “You took the words right outta my mouth, sweetheart.” 

He forced himself to break away from you and step out of the apartment. Releasing a sigh, you shut the door behind him.

AN: Okay, you're probably having mixed feelings lol. I don't blame you! Honestly, I'm not advocating cheating here (even if we think Michael deserves it). It's just an added layer of complexity to the story in this case. 😬 Get ready for more of that in Part 4, where we catch Sam's side of things...

Next Time:

“Well, you could say I’ve inherited a business of my own,” he said. “I run a meat packing plant down in the district.”

Sam’s attention piqued. There had been a meat rationing throughout the war, even some rumors and propaganda about “meatleggers,” black market operators.

“How’s it been with the rations?” Sam asked. “Been hard to even find a good carton of eggs lately.”

Michael gave him a slight smile. “Been on the turnaround, actually. I’ve been able to make some connections with vendors outside the city. A little grease on the palms makes a little go a long way, if you catch my drift.”

Sam slowly nodded. A little grease on the palms, huh?

“Do what you gotta do in the times, ‘s what I say,” Sam agreed.

Michael snorted. “Now you’re talkin’. That’s all we can do, you know. Try to make a thing work, with whatever scraps we get. Try to stay afloat.”

“Try to stay alive,” Sam rejoined.

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[rubylace]

PROLOGUE 3. TRUTH OR DARE

m.list

pairing: musician!jay x reader (f)

genre: coming-of-age, new adult, personal growth, sexual tension, fams dynamic

wordcount: 4,257

a/n: here's another idol's name, I don't have idea whose names I'm using anymore🫢

💙 taglist: @rikizm @sumzysworld @xylatox @morganaawriterr 💙

Jay whispered in your ear, “I don’t like it when they start playing these games. We don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to, Patch.” His hot breath caused a shiver to run down your spine.

“It’s okay,” you said.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

A group of kids from school were hanging out in Sunghoon's basement. From time to time, he suggests that they all start playing Truth or Spin. It was a combination of Truth or Dare and Spin the Bottle. Sunghoon select the ‘victims’ as he called them.

He would ask a question, and if the person pleaded the fifth, refusing to answer, he would spin the green Heineken bottle. The victim would then have to kiss whomever the bottle pointed toward. The kiss needed to last a full minute that was the rule. It was fun to watch as long as neither of you got called upon.

Part of the deal in getting invited back to Sunghoon was to play along with his games. Somehow, neither Jay nor you had ever gotten picked upon to participate the last couple of times you came here.

“Jay.” Your heart dropped when you heard his name.

“Yeah?”

“You’re up.”

“Sh*t,” Jay muttered under his breath. He flashed you a worried look before Heeseung posed the question.

“Question. Do you, or do you not secretly want to bone Y/n?”

His face turned red. You don’t think you had ever seen it that color before. Your heart was pounding. You couldn’t believe Sunghoon asked him that, and you was truly scared of the answer whichever way it went. He shook his head. “Pass.”

Sunghoon sounded surprised at Jay’s refusal. “Pass? Are you sure?”

“Pass.”

“Alright, then.”

Sunghoon wasted no time bending down to spin the bottle. The glass spun around, scraping across the laminate basement floor before coming to a stop.

“Oh! You’re not-so-lucky victim is Karina!” Jay looked at you. The worry in his eyes was tangible, but he knew he had to go through with it.

“One minute,” Sunghoon reminded. Karina, who’d been sitting on the ground, slithered toward him. You watched, devastated, as Jay pressed his lips into hers. She opened her mouth wide and wrapped her hands around the back of his head, pulling him harder into her and practically eating his face.

You always knew she liked him.It felt like your heart was slowly breaking with every second that passed. That was the longest minute of your life. It was the first time the jealousy monster had reared it's ugly head to that extent. It was also the first realization of how strong your feelings for him really were.

When the minute was up, Jay wiped his lips with the back of his hand and came back over to me. You wouldn’t even look at him. You knew you shouldn’t have been mad, but your feelings were out of your control. “Are you okay?” he asked.

You continued to look down at your shoes. “Let’s just go.”

He followed you. “Patch…it’s just a game.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” You started the quiet and awkward walk home.

You stopped suddenly in the middle of the sidewalk and turned to him.

“Why didn’t you just answer the question?” He just looked at you for the longest time before admitting, “I didn’t know what to say.”

“What do you mean?”

“If I said no, your feelings would have been hurt. If I said yes then things would be weird between us. And I don’t want that. Ever.”

“Was she your first kiss?” He hesitated, looking up at the dark sky, then whispered, “No.”

You shook your head and started to walk ahead of him. It felt like you didn’t know him anymore.

“Patch, come on. Don’t do this.”

Tears started falling. You was crying, and the you couldn’t even pinpoint exactly why. That was the first time you realized that you’d fallen in love with him. You loved Jay. More than a friend, more than anything. You was so mad at yourself. Your biggest fear was losing him. It hit you that it was going to happen someday. Maybe it was already happening.

Nine Years Later. It was definitely another storm, you just didn’t know it yet. The property was in good shape because the neighbor, Mella, who was also Ameryn's good friend, had been looking after it. Two weeks into you stay at Ameryn's summer house, your summer house, you was knocking on wood that the peace and quiet would continue.

No word from Jay. No word from anyone. Just yourself and your books as you enjoyed a tranquil start to summer amidst the salty ocean air that surrounded you on the island. Never in your life had you been more appreciative of this kind of peace. It was just over a month ago that it felt like your world had ended. Not only had Ameryn just died.

You’d also just discovered that Alex, your boyfriend of 2 years, had been cheating on you, you just had s*x when he went to the bathroom to dispose of the con*** and take a shower he’d left his phone by the bedside and that was when you saw all of the messages from this b*tch named Yemi.

He normally always took his phone everywhere with him even to the bathroom but that night he slipped, you looked her up on private insta couple acc and saw that half of the pictures posted were of the two of them. Over the six months prior, you’d been feeling that something was off with him.

That was your final confirmation. Just before you left for the summer house, you found out that Alex moved to Boston to live with her.

⟩ SERIES START SOON🙌🏻❤️

[scoobydoodean]

sorry for dropping this into your askbox but someone compared dean going off with sam to hunt (and promising lisa to come back iirc???) was treating ben the same way that john abandoned him a lot as a child. head in hands. one time ben called him and said that lisa was doing badly and dean rushed back to make sure she was okay. john never did that for dean even when he was Literally dying.

We sometimes forget there was more to John than extended absences. His neglect is undoubtably a large part of what harmed Sam and Dean growing up, but when John was around, he wasn't necessarily aloof and distant—he could actually be overbearing and paranoid. Case in point: He didn't want Sam to go to school because he was worried he wouldn't be able to protect him (we are told this as early as 1.08, and John himself admits it to Sam in a vulnerable moment in 1.20). Dean also mentions this about John in 6.02 (quoted below).

Dean is explicitly worried about turning into John in 6.02, but it's in a way where whatever he chooses (whether to stay or go), he feels like he'll reflect parts of John's negative behavior, and it leaves him feeling terrible and stuck. If he leaves, he's afraid he'll be abandoning Ben and Lisa (reflecting his father's harmful absences). If he stays, he's scared someone looking to hurt him will find Lisa and Ben, or that his own trauma and stress over the possibility of that happening will turn him into someone so paranoid about their safety that they can't have normal experiences (which is again, reflective of John).

Dean quickly realizes that he can't figure out how to relax after the djinn showing up in 6.01. He and the Bradens move, but something has shifted for Dean psychologically in the aftermath. This is kind of skirted around, but the simple fact of the matter is that Dean has PTSD, and the djinn showing up was extremely triggering for him. We know from his dialogue in 6.01 that Dean really did not feel well mentally for the first several months he was with Lisa and Ben. We also know Dean is ashamed of this (though Lisa does not resent him for it). I think Dean was scared of returning to that place and the shame and guilt he felt about his own mental health around that period, but those concerns are coupled with—again very explicitly—the fear of reflecting his own father's paranoia. In 6.02, Dean doesn't want Ben to ride his bike around the new neighborhood and doesn't want them to all go out for dinner. Dean realizes that his paranoia is a problem very quickly and has a discussion with Lisa about it and how he doesn't want to be a negative presence in their lives because of his own trauma and stress.

DEAN: I don't know what to do here, Lis. I mean, if I knew for sure what the safest thing was, then I'd do it. Stay here and look after you guys or get as far away as I possibly can, but I don't know. And I get what I've been doing lately, you know, what with the yelling and the acting like a prison guard. It's just, that's not me. You tell yourself you're not gonna be something, you know? But my dad was exactly like this. All the time. It's scaring the hell out of me.

I've talked before about how Dean is being dishonest with himself and Lisa as far as yelling at Ben, but that aside... it's here that Lisa tells Dean he should start hunting again, and come and see them when he can. It's really tragic, because Dean's options are so limited. Dean can't see a psychologist. He does not have access to the kind of healthcare he needs. He is scared that he is at least emotionally—a net negative influence on Ben's development. He can't handle staying because of that and he also doesn't want to abandon them because then what if that's worse or they get hurt because he wasn't there? So Lisa tells him to go.

LISA: Okay. Okay, but you also want to be there. I get it. You're white-knuckling it living like this. Like what you are is some bad, awful thing. But you're not. But I'm not going to have this discussion every time you leave. And this is just going to keep happening, so I need you to go. DEAN: I can't just lose you and Ben. LISA: That's not what I'm saying. DEAN: You're saying hit the road. LISA: Dean, if there's some rule that says this all has to be either/or, how about we break it? Me and Ben will be here, and you come when you can. Just come in one piece, okay? DEAN: You really think we can pull something like that off? LISA: It's worth a shot, right?

Dean's already skeptical at this point that they can make a long-distance relationship work, but they give it a shot. They break up three episodes later.

Btw Soulless Sam, in an effort to convince Dean to leave Lisa and Ben and come with him, had also suggested earlier in 6.02 that Dean staying with Lisa and Ben would turn him into John.

SAM: But moving them around? Keeping them on lockdown? I mean, you do have them on lockdown, right? How is any of that different from how we were raised? DEAN: So you're saying... I'm not shoving anybody into this life, okay? This is temporary. SAM: Dad always said it was temporary, Dean. He said it for 22 years. Look, I get it. You want to watch out for them. That's great. I'm just asking, how do you do that and not turn into Dad?

TL;DR Dean was mentally unwell and as far as "reflecting your dad's negative behaviors" was in a "damned if you do, damned if you don't" type situation with no good options, and two different people told him to leave, and his own brother (who at the time he thought he could trust) told him staying is what would turn him into his father. It's sad to see Dean wrestling with all of that reduced down to cold criticism of him for being "like John" or being a "headcase". This kind of criticism of Dean is in our faces in the show of course, but I think we're supposed to get as viewers that this criticism in the mouths of different characters (including Dean) is not always fair or remotely compassionate enough. Dean is not kind to himself. He sometimes overstates/blows things he's done out of proportion to make them sound worse because he has a very bad self-image. Lisa's own insecurities are in play when she suggests Dean wants to go back to hunting with Sam. Soulless Sam also overstates Dean's negative influence on the Braendens (who we explicitly know from 6.08 he does not care about) so that he can get Dean to come with him. It ultimately feels very cruel to frame someone overtly suffering from PTSD as if they're some kind of evil poisonous monster/the harm-doer/exactly like the eeevil dad because they left and because they stayed too long often simultaneously. It will never not rub me the wrong way how the majority of the fandom behaves about this plot line.

[cappuccinoandglitter]

Whatever This Is - Stefan Morina/Miguel Alfaro

"Hey kid, you doin' okay?"

Alfaro looks up and sees Rocker, who must've come in very quietly because out of nowhere he's in the fridge pulling out a bottled smoothie drink. Alfaro has been sitting on the couch in the kitchen for a while, thinking too much. "Yeah, yeah, I'm okay."

Rocker twists off the cap, takes a swig. Alfaro watches him drink, the way his Adam's apple bobs with each swallow. Little details that he's not supposed to be noticing, like how the man's temples are going grey a little prematurely but somehow it really works for him. How his chest always strains the buttons on his shirt to their absolute limit.

There's something about Rocker that reminds him of Stefan, the shape of the jaw, a little bit in the eyes. Maybe it's all connected in his mind somehow, maybe it isn't. Maybe Alfaro's just confused.

"I didn't let you switch to 20-Squad for them to lose you," Rocker says, hand on his hip. "I had words."

Alfaro smiles. "You did?"

"Of course. You know you can switch back any time you want."

Alfaro chuckles. "Nah, at least, not at the moment."

"Let me know when you change your mind," Rocker says. It's not like he really means it, it's just part of the natural competitiveness between the two teams. "Did your friend get his deal? WitSec, everything?"

Alfaro nods, hands linked together, elbows on knees. "Yeah." Probably not Miami, but somewhere. Somewhere out of reach? Again? Alfaro's chest tightens, but he looks steadily up at Rocker. Tamp that down along with everything else. But Rocker's still there, eyes narrowed, looking down at Alfaro.

"You've done UC work, right?" Alfaro asks.

Rocker nods. "Few times."

"You ever…" He's not sure how to ask this without opening up floodgates he's kept tightly shut. "You ever manage to—" He clicks his tongue and looks away. There's no subtle, hypothetical way to phrase any of this. "Do the relationships ever survive?"

Rocker gets this thoughtful look on his face, and he moves to sit on the coffee table. "I'm not gonna lie to you, kid. In many ways it's worse than starting from scratch. But you already did with this guy once already, didn't you?"

Alfaro must look surprised because Rocker adds, "I saw the file. I saw how you tried to save him five years ago."

Does Rocker know? Does he understand? "I just didn't think he belonged in that life, just because he was born into it."

Rocker gives him a look that almost screams 'don't bullshit me, kid'. "If he doesn't hate your guts right now, I think you have a good chance."

"I don't think he hates my guts right now, or at least, not permanently." Alfaro thinks of the last time he saw Stefan, the way Stefan reached out and Alfaro for a split second thought he was going in for a kiss. No, he didn't think that, he knew exactly what Stefan was doing, but for a second Alfaro hoped. He wanted. And that want was the scary part. Under other circumstances, if Stefan had tried to kiss him, Alfaro would've gently let him down. Flattered, but straight. And they'd chuckle nervously, live with the awkwardness for a while, then be over it.

Alfaro isn't over it.

Rocker smiles. "Then go get your guy," he says, scrunching his nose up momentarily, as if sharing a secret. They are sharing a secret, and Alfaro's heart stops when he realizes it's not just him that knows anymore.

What secrets is Rocker holding that he can suss out Alfaro's so easily? Maybe Alfaro made it easy for him.

He just nods, rubs his palms along his knees, wiping moisture on his pants, and stands up. "Thanks, Rocker."

"Anytime, kid," Rocker says.

Alfaro tries not to run back to holding, not wanting anyone to ask him why he's in a rush. Running at SWAT HQ without workout clothes is almost never seen as a good sign. His heart in his throat, he asks the guard to let him in.

Stefan is sitting where Alfaro left him, against the wall, head tilted back, waiting for the hand of fate to decide his future. Resigned. Seeing Alfaro, Stefan lifts his head and looks at him, an unspoken question in his eyes.

Alfaro steps around to the corner. He knows there are cameras, but at least in the corner the guard outside won't see. "I meant it, when I said this was real," he says quietly. "Whatever this is."

Stefan sits up a little straighter, following Alfaro with his eyes. There's bemusement there, maybe a little fear of the unknown. He takes Stefan's hand, shoves the piece of paper he grabbed on the way into it. "Memorize my number in case they take this from you," he says. "And you call if you need anything. If you need me." Alfaro doesn't blink, staring into Stefan's eyes, willing him to understand what he's saying. "It's not going to be another five years before we see each other again."

Stefan finally smiles. "I'm going to hold you to that."

[4pologygir1]

through the lens | s.r.

pairing: spencer reid x photographer!reader

genre: fluff!

warnings: none! sickeningly sweet <3 no y/n! reader is able-bodied but the description is vague. no gender is specified, but note that i usually have fem!reader in mind unless an ask specifies otherwise >_<

a/n: hi! okay so this was originally going to be twee!reader but reader ended up staying a bit nondescriptive, so i just went with photographer!reader!

w/c: 798 (short & sweet!)

the living room smells like incense and coffee, the kind you drink out of old ceramic mugs from thrift stores. spencer’s sitting cross-legged on your couch, looking like he’s lost in the pages of a book that he's most likely read six times before. you’re on the floor, surrounded by cameras—some vintage, some new, digital, and film–most decorated with small indications of you. scratched lenses lay scattered around your feet, too sentimental to be tossed away. a love for the imperfect, maybe. the tiny things that no one else notices.

you've spent your afternoon together, helping him organize your shelf full of worn books you've loved since middle school, and dancing around your kitchen to belle & sebastian records you bought as a young adult. the little pieces of your world that you choose to share with him open up a whole new kind of intimacy between the two of you– the gentle understanding that comes from knowing.

you’ve been staring up at him for a while now, not in a creepy way, just... you can’t help it. his unruly curls, the way his lips press together when he’s concentrating, the soft hum of his voice when he speaks, like the world is too loud for him and he’s trying to turn it down. you want to preserve the way the orange glow from the window catches on his face, illuminating his sharp features in a way that can only be described as homely.

the click of the shutter is so soft you almost wonder if he heard it. he does. spencer blinks, suddenly sort of self-conscious, his hand combing through his hair like he's not quite sure what to do with himself.

you lower the camera, grinning. “you're so photogenic, it's almost unreal.” you say, soft and full of affection. “like a perfect little snapshot of a sunday afternoon. cozy." you continue, the mumble of your voice softly contrasting the crackle of a vhs playing on the tv behind you.

spencer shifts a little, looking down at the picture in your hands. his cheeks flush, a gentle pink creeping up his neck. “i, uh... really? i think i look a bit odd.” his voice has that nervous, endearing edge to it, like he's unsure whether he should laugh or be embarrassed.

you scoot closer to him, crossing the floor in a few slow, careful movements, until you rest your cheek against his knee, the fabric of his pants soft against your skin. you can feel the warmth from his body radiating toward you, grounding you in the quiet of the room.

you glance up at him through your lashes, your voice almost a whisper. “i think you look lovely. a proper muse, i'd say."

spencer’s breath hitches, and his hand hesitates for a second before it comes down to your hair. his touch is gentle, like he’s testing the waters, his fingers running through your hair slowly, each touch even softer than the last. it's tender and almost shy, and you can’t help but smile against his knee.

“i don’t know,” he murmurs, his voice a little unsure. “i don't think i'm a work of art, exactly.” he admits, his lips pressed together in a way that's vaguely vulnerable but awfully endearing.

you giggle, a small, quiet sound, and you feel his fingers pause for just a moment as if he's waiting for something. “oh, but that's exactly what you are,” you say, your words light and teasing. “you don’t have to be perfect to be perfect. the photograph isn't beautiful because of the way it was taken– the only reason it's beautiful is because of who it was taken of."

there was a beat of silence, and spencer didn't respond right away. you could feel his gaze on you, warm and curious, as if he was processing your words in a way only he could.

you shifted slightly, looking up at him, your heart fluttering a little as you took in the way his expression softened. he didn’t say anything, but the way his eyes lingered on you—full of something unspoken—made your chest tighten with affection.

he reached down, his fingers brushing through your hair, and gently pushed back some loose strands. the movement was tender, careful, like he was afraid to break the fragile moment between you.

and then, without a word, he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, lingering for just a second before pulling back with a smile that was barely there, but full of warmth.

it wasn’t a response he needed to say out loud. his actions were more than enough.

you closed your eyes, cheek returning to its place gently pressed against his knee. spencer reid, your muse, the boy who never quite realized just how special he really was.