#it’s on the back on his head since his eyes are so big

[freak-accident419]

‘not your fault’

Bob Reynolds x reader

Summary: After a mission goes horribly wrong, you take a hot shower to unwind. With Bob being your worried boyfriend, he keeps you company.

Word Count: 1.9k

Content: 18+ SMUT, MDNI, gender neutral reader (of course), no pronouns used for reader, brief use of Y/n, reader is a Thunderbolt, shower sex, fluff, penetration (no specified genitals for reader), creampie, Bob may or may not be ooc, a certain stupid reference at the end, Yelena makes an appearance

SPOILERS FOR THUNDERBOLTS* MOVIE UNDER THE CUT!!!

Taglist: @g0ry0re0 @deceitfuldevil Happy reading! <3 Reblogs and likes are much appreciated!

-

You fucked up big time.

One of your missions as a New Avenger went terribly wrong, and it was all your fault. You led your team to the wrong place, made the wrong calculations, and overall was the epitome of a screw up. Most days, you were proficient and prepared, smart and level-headed, so it disheartened you when you let your teammates down. And while you all ended up succeeding by the end and completed the mission, sensing your colleagues' frustration towards you didn't feel so great.

When you all went back to the Watchtower, you went straight to your room without a word, ignoring Bob in the process. You knew that wasn't a good move on your part, but you felt way too ashamed to face your lover.

Your usual remedy was to take a hot shower. You were embarrassed and humiliated by your performance today, so enveloping yourself in flaming, steamy water seemed like the best distraction.

So there you were, standing in the large stall of your own bathroom as the hot water cascaded onto your sensitive skin. Your body had been covered in some debris as a result of the mission, now being washed off in the shower. You wouldn't have removed all of the grime, however, considering that you hadn't even picked up the soaps or even anything at all yet. All this time you just stood there, trying to distract your mortification with the heat surrounding you.

Your back was turned, looking at the ground that the water would land on, not turning your head as you hear the bathroom door creak open. You already knew who it was, so there was no use in questioning it.

The sound of shifting clothes was drowned out by the spraying of the shower. Then, it wasn't too long before the glass door slid open, closing immediately once the figure behind you stepped in.

"Ow—shit—that's hot," Bob flinched clumsily, turning the handle ever so slightly to turn down the heat. In other circumstances, in which you weren’t so depressed, you probably would’ve laughed at his silly response.

You felt your boyfriend's warm chest press against your back as his arms wrapped around your front, hands resting on your stomach. His head was relaxed against your shoulder, holding you close to comfort you. Your wet, naked bodies were practically merged together, in light of the very close proximity. Your thoughts had been drastically spiraling ever since the mission, but at least this felt nice.

For a while, it was quite silent aside from the rushing water, Bob offering his sole presence to ground you. Then, he finally spoke up afterwards, his tone in a compassionate manner.

"It wasn't your fault..."

Great. You assumed the team already informed him about what happened, probably telling him every stupid thing you did during the mission.

"Yelena, uh... She told me what happened," he continued hesitantly, your stiff body remaining against him. "Apparently, there was a whole mislead, uh... fraudulent information, something like that. But I mean, you just did what you had to do, and that's—"

"Don't." You sighed, briefly shutting your eyes in exhaustion. You didn't want his pity, you didn't want to be rewarded for your mistakes. "I screwed up. If it weren't for my judgement, then maybe—maybe all that wouldn't have happened, and there wouldn't be so much collateral damage, and—"

"Y/n." Bob grabs your shoulders, turning your body around to face him. Your expression was wrecked, eyes fearful and guilty. It hurt him to see you like this, especially since your vulnerability is a rare occurrence. "She said it was bound to happen. It didn't happen because of you. You didn't do anything wrong. It was an ambush."

"They're pissed at me," you frown miserably, disregarding his words, "the whole team, they hate me right now."

"That can't be true," he says with a gentle, sympathetic smile, "they're mad about the—the situation and the people involved, but not you. They know how skilled and smart and great you are, so no, they couldn't hate you, definitely not for this."

Usually, you were the one who would comfort and console Bob. Whenever he was going through something, you always talked him through it. Which was why this moment felt so foreign. This time, he was the one comforting you, using his own wisdoms to reassure you. And it worked like a charm.

"You okay?" He asks after a short pause with a questioning look.

"Yeah," you huff tiredly, embracing him closely, "I'll be fine..."

Pulling away from the hug, your hands reached up to cup his face. His eyes were so gentle, looking at you with enamored adoration. His hair was already soaked, some wet bangs falling over his face that accentuated the blue in his irises. Your thumbs stroked his cheeks affectionately, captivated by his effortless beauty. He was so goddamn pretty.

You grabbed his face and crashed your wet lips against his, pouring all your love and appreciation into the kiss. Instantly, Bob followed, kissing you back slowly, firm hands resting on your bare waist.

He whimpered needily in your mouth, parting it with his wavering tongue. He was addicted to your taste, grabbing you closer to his body as things began to grow tense between the two of you. The hot shower didn't seem to make it better, as it only added to the sensuality of this moment.

Bob wanted to please you. He wanted to make you feel worthy of pleasure, he wanted to remind you of how amazing you were. Essentially, he knew how it felt to fuck up and be looked down upon. He could only assume all the emotions you were feeling after the mission, so he made it his objective to distract you from them.

Bob carefully pressed your back against the shower wall, kissing you deeply and passionately. His hands came down to your thighs, lifting you up so your legs could wrap around his hips. He pecked your lips briefly while grasping his cock in one hand, stroking his already hardened length. The sensitive head of his dick throbbed as he guided it between your thighs.

“Ahh…” You let out a soft moan as he slowly entered through your tight entrance, walls fluttering at the stretch from his thick girth.

“Mmm—You feel so good,” he praises meekly, eyes half-lidded once he was fully inside you, “so good for me.”

Your hands were still cupping his face, holding him close to you as you pant under your breath. Bob began to thrust out gently, only to piston back in, making the two of you moan in pleasure. With his fingernails digging into your plushy thighs, he rocks his hips leisurely, taking his time to hit every deep, sensitive spot you had. And after a long time of being your boyfriend, he knew your body as if he studied a manual for it.

Bob was obsessed with making love to you. If not obsessed, then he simply loved it. And right now, he needed to make you feel the gentle love he had for you.

His lips were attached to yours once again as he fucked you softly against the wall, thrusting his cock deeply inside of you. Quiet whines left his throat, as he had always been the more sensitive out of the two of you.

Your hands reached the back of his head, fingers tangling in his soppy brown strands the more he stretched you with his length. Suddenly, Bob’s hand sneaked between your bodies, bringing attention to your sensitive flesh with his touch. Breaking the kiss, your mouth gaped in awe, panting heavily at the amazing sensation.

Noticing you were getting close, he tenderly pulled out in pursuit of a new position. As a whimper escaped your lips from the new-found emptiness, he kissed them briefly as a silent apology.

Bob positioned you with your stomach facing the glass door, standing right behind you as you felt his hard cock resting against your ass. His hands ran up and down your sides in a warm, worshipful caress. Then, his palms moved to your front, feeling sensually for your chest and stomach as your own hands were pressed against the glass, bracing yourself.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers against your neck, nipping the skin, “you did so good today... you deserve so much…”

Finally, his dick pushed back inside of you, making you feel the satisfying stretch of your inner walls. Bob moved at a steady pace, still fixated on making slow, sweet love to you. He moaned as he felt your fleshy insides grip his hard length, his hands desperately feeling for your skin.

“Faster,” you murmur, already eager to reach your climax. Bob moans at your words, aroused by your voice as he then obeys you, increasing his pace. Your body was overwhelmed with pleasure, feeling your walls tighten even more around him.

The brunette groans, one hand now gripping your hip, and the other reaching around your front to touch your sensitive anatomy once again. He was already close, just desperate to make you cum with him.

“Ahh!” You cry as his cock dives deeper and faster in your hole, massaging your insides. Your knees wobbled, already weak from the pleasure. The lewd, wet sounds of skin slapping against skin that echoed in the steamy bathroom aroused you terribly.

"I’m close,” Bob whines, his forehead pressed to your back as he pounded his hips against your ass. “Y/n, I’m so close…”

“Fuck!” You moan, feeling close to the edge as well. You felt a warm sensation pool in your lower stomach as he continued thrusting his cock inside of you.

Then, with a soft cry, Bob tenses up against you, cumming deep inside as his hot, white semen would paint your sensitive walls. You came directly after him, flesh tightening around his dick as you moaned in pleasure.

He held you close, peppering kisses all over your face and back. And you would stay in that position until he thought it was time to finally lather your body with soap; not only washing off the leftover dirt from your body, but also the guilt and stress you had once carried.

Later that night, as Bob was fast asleep in his quarters, you went to the kitchen for a midnight snack. Closing the pantry after obtaining said snack, you flinch as you see Yelena standing in the room.

“Hi,” she smiles softly.

“Shit!” You huff under your breath, heart rate slowly stabilizing. “Jesus, you scared me.”

She walked closer to you with a purposeful expression, raising her eyebrows. “I just wanted to let you know that… None of us blame you for what happened,” she explains in her familiar, thick Russian accent. “I know, we were all angry and pissy, but you barely screwed up. Hell, it was an ambush, there was nothing you could do.”

Her eyebrows softened as she looked at you warmly. “We’re all in this together, Y/n. And none of us are perfect, far from it, actually, so don’t think you’re less than any of us because of what happened today. Okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod appreciatively, mirroring her smile. “Thank you, Yelena.”

Satisfied, she turns around to walk away, until she suddenly stopped in her tracks, eyeing you once again. “By the way… You and Bob might want to be a little… quieter. The Watchtower is still in construction, and, well.. walls and ceilings are pretty thin.”

As she strides away, you curse under your breath, feeling your cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

“But I’m happy for you both!” She calls out, disappearing into the darkness.

You took a worn-out bite into your Pop-Tart. Goddammit.

[designerpvssy]

BAD= Big Anime D*ck.ᐟ

MDNI.

When you meet up with a campus local and see what's in his pants and oh, baby- it's bad for your cooch anyway

Separate parings: gojo, nanami, sukuna, choso.

Content Warnings; throatfucking (choso's), dirty talk, choking, light bondage (nanami's), piv sex, creampies, backshots (Nanami's), fwb (gojo's), car sex (gojo's), full nelson (sukuna's), degradation, reader's a squirter :P

❥CHOSO KAMO

Now, when you had decided to hook up with the lone quiet guy on campus, you really hadn't expected this.

just thought it'd be easy access, an easy fuck- which it was but, it'd definitely be no easy feat.

you thought to yourself, On your knees on the floor of your dorm room as you stare down at the girthy cock between his legs as he sits on the edge of your bed, his cock far too heavy to lift it's own weight; wayy bigger than you ever expected.

And you can really feel the full effect of just how thick it was as you feel the burn in your throat, trying to slurp up and take it as far down as you could, Nearly choking as his hand moves to push your head down juust a bit as he begins to thrust his hips up into your mouth

Letting out a shaky groan, "o-oh f-fuck- so good, fucking take it all", his thrusts becoming more erratic, his hand in your hair tightening while you just sit there and allow him to wreck your throat like a flesh light, his balls slapping against your chin as spit and drool falls from your mouth and down to your chest, your mascara in messy streaks down your cheeks along with your tears while your hand desperately rubs at your clit underneath your skirt, feeling your sticky slick through your panties that had gathered just from feeling his cock plow into your throat.

It's only a matter of time before he's filling your throat to the brim, eagerly swallowing down the thick loads before he suddenly pulls you up to your feet and within a split second your back is against the mattress and he's settling between your thighs, pulling your lacy panties aside

"hope you're ready, because this pretty pussy is next"

Condolences to your ability to walk straight because with the way his cock was still throbbing at full attention— he's definitely not done with you.

❥SATORU GOJO

Gojo, the hotshot of campus, the name that all the sorority girls whispered about and swooned over. The same name that just so happened to be your weekly fuckbuddy whenever you needed some vitamin d, And today you were ovulating and needed some bad-

And he was definitely delivering the d straight to your core, with you spread out in the backseat of his car, parked in a secluded area of the parking lot at campus late at night, with him pounding away at your soaking walls since you just couldn't wait,"shit, she's squeezing me tight, really missed me huh?"

He huffed out with that usual smug grin, holding your knees to your chest while continuing his mean thrusts into your drooling cunt while all you could do was moan and cry out shakily as he repeatedly stuffed you with his lengthy cock

The car rocking with each thrusts of his hips, the windows fogged up with you clawing his shoulders as the car filled with the lewd squelch of your cunt and slap of skin on skin

"t-toru, m'gonna cum", you sob out shakily, letting out a groan, your head falling back as the tip of his cock mashes against your cervix, sending exhilarating shocks of overwhelming pleasure through your body

Your back arching up off of the seat, hiccuping a shaky whimper while the rest of your body trembles with white flashing behind your eyes

A few moments pass, your mind foggy and body spent, still trembling slightly in the aftershocks of whatever just came over you, "shit sweets, didn't know you were a squirter"

He huffs out breathlessly, staring down at your glistening pussy in pure awe as he moves his hand down to spread your slick around your clit, his cock twitches within the heated heaven of your cunt, prompting you to let out a soft whine from the overstimulation

"shh, shh i know, just one more time? Wan see her gush again", and it's then you know as he lifts your legs onto his shoulders, His toned, lean form covering over you as he repositions himself- that it's going to be a long night.

❥KENTO NANAMI

Poor you, truly.

Yeah you weren't the brightest crayon in the box or the sharpest pencil, Simply the epitome of bimbo with the emphasized stupid part of the definition

And even your parents were shocked that you got accepted into such a prestigious college, a miracle honestly- or perhaps it was due to your status and the skimpy outfits you wore

Regardless, you had to keep your grades up somehow, Whether it was bribing your way through one way or another

But nanami was not going to let you pass nearly that easy, trying to seduce him, your tutor- to get him to do your homework??? What did you think he was? a slut?

And sure, he took your up on your offer but not without a hefty price.

Which is exactly what led to you being bent over his desk, his tie binding your wrists behind your back as he gave you the meanest backshots you've ever received in your life, "this- this here is what friction is"

He emphasized with a hard thrust that made a hiccup leave your throat, his cock repeatedly ramming into your sopping cunt like a mad man, "friction is the way my cock drags against your walls like this, feel that?", his breathing hot against your ear

Of course you could feel it, how could you not when he was fucking the last braincells out of your head with every thrust, the physics lesson feeling more like physical science-

Shaky whine and sobs leaving your lips with every mind numbing plow of his cock, your poor cunt stretched obscenely around his girthy length and just drooling alll over him

"ngh, s-sloww", you whimper, "no, you're already slow enough in the head, trying to knock some sense into this empty head of yours"

It felt like he was trying to knock a baby into you Instead, not that you'd mind it, Moving One of his hands around your front and to your throat, using it as leverage to pull you back into his thrusts

His thrusts becoming even more ruthless, his heavy breathing against your neck, hips hitting against your ass once last time before stilling and cumming in your silken walls with a shuddering groan, followed by your own orgasm that made every nerve in your body buzz.

You lay trembling, basking in your post-oragasm euphoria whimpering softly with your legs trembling underneath you, with him against your back, panting heavily as he tries to recover just when he breathes out;

"now tell me all the Newton laws of motion and what you've learned"

❥RYOMEN SUKUNA

You really couldn't stand him, he was as cocky as his dick was rumoured to be and the biggest asshole out of the bunch of the whole basketball team

And sadly you, the manager, Had to tolerate him all the time

And remember when I said you couldn't stand him? Yeah, you couldn't- so you were sitting, on his cock while he bounced your body up and down reverse cowgirl on him in the locker room like he did regularly with balls on the court

Mewling out softly with every plunge of your cunt, hand clutching at his arms and your head falling back against his shoulder, gasping out for air as if you were suffocating, Because the way his cock was splitting you open seriously felt like it'd be the end of you and send you to your maker far sooner than you expected,"you 'hate me' but yet she's squeezing me like she needs me feeding her this dick", a smug snicker leaving his lips

He then pauses for a moment, halting your movements before adjusting your body and hooking his arms around your thighs, locking his hands behind your head and standing from the bench, holding your body up mid air.

He doesn't even give you a moment to process the new position with you immobilized and bent, folded, twisted like every kind of pretzel there is, before he gives and gruesome thrust upwards into your poor stretched pussy

Your jaw falling slack at every upward plow of his cock, ramming repeatedly against your cervix and filling you overwhelmingly full, "now, now don't tap out on me, this slutty pussy isn't done and neither am I"

he punctuates with a snap of his hips, that almost instantly triggers your orgasm, Spraying all over like a sprinkler, shuddering with a shaking mewl, your eyes rolling back

Slapping weakly at his arms as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm, the overstimulation bordering on pain as he chases his own release

Making you cum once more before he finally meets his own release, a breathy groan leaving his lips as his cock throbs and pulses within your walls as he paints them white, and fills you like a basketball itself

"what's the thing they say about hate-love? 'enemies make the best lovers' or whatever the fuck?"

This idiot.

🩷Skyy's notes xoxo: helloo, this shit was hard. Just trying sumn new and experimenting, pretty happy with how it turned out and I hope you guys enjoy!! <33

[inseobts]

Hii! Hope you are doing good! :> can i please request the Reaction of Luffy and 2-3 characters of your choice when their partner just sometimes gives their booty a simple pat, a gently slap or even a tiny squeeze as their own kind of affection for them? They might also be bold enough to do it in front of other since it is just their own way to say they appreciate their partner.

Thank you for your time and i hope this isn't weird

Booty Pat

gn!reader

characters: luffy, zoro, sanji

words count: 0.9k each

a/n: sorry, I've had writer's block these past few days, but I hope they still turned out well T.T

tags: fluff, humor, established relationship, physical affection, playful

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

── .✦ Luffy:

When you first got together with Luffy, you weren’t sure how to handle him.

He’s loud. He’s warm. He’s always touching your shoulder, your hand, sometimes flopping across your lap like a big rubbery cat.

You liked it. You really liked it.

But back then, you kept your hands to yourself. Maybe it was nerves. Maybe you were just too shy to be that free. Touching Luffy felt like touching the sun, a little too much all at once.

But Luffy never pulled away. Not once. He grinned when you kissed his cheek. He pulled you into hugs like it was breathing. And after a few months, something in you just… relaxed.

The first time it happens, you don’t even think about it.

You’re walking through the hallway of the Sunny, a towel thrown over your shoulder. Luffy’s standing by the wall, one foot up, talking to Usopp about how he once fought a giant goldfish. Again.

You pass by him, barely listening.

Pat.

Your hand lands right on his butt. Light. Natural. Like you’ve done it a hundred times.

You keep walking.

Three steps later, your brain catches up.

Wait.

You freeze mid-step "Did I just—?"

You turn slowly. Luffy’s head is tilted at you, blinking. Then his mouth spreads into that huge grin he always gives you when you’re being weird.

He starts laughing “Oi, Y/N! Did you just hit my butt?!”

Your face burns “I—I don’t know?? Maybe?”

He’s still laughing “That was funny! Do it again!”

You stare “What?”

“Do it again!” he repeats, turning and sticking his butt out toward you “Come onnnn!”

Usopp’s choking from laughter in the background “WHAT is happening right now?!”

You blink once. Then twice. Then your hand goes out and smack.

Luffy throws his head back “BAHAHA! I love you!”

You grin, finally relaxing “I love you too, idiot.”

A few days later you’re by the railing, watching the sea. Luffy walks past behind you.

Then... Pat.

You freeze. You whip your head around “Luffy.”

He’s already giggling “I did what you did to me!”

You gasp “You little thief.”

“You started it!” he shouts, running away before you can chase him.

Now it’s a Thing.

You pat his butt when you pass by. He pats yours when he’s bored. Sanji drops a plate once when you do it during dinner. Robin covers her mouth politely. Zoro grumbles “I hate this crew” everytime.

Luffy just keeps laughing. Everytime.

And you feel freer. Happier.

You might’ve started as the shy one. But now you’re the Captain’s number one butt-patter. And he’s totally okay with that.

One day you’re lying on the deck, half-asleep, enjoying the sun. Luffy’s voice makes you peek one eye open “Oi, Y/N…”

He stands over you, hands on hips, tilting his head.

“You slapped my butt three times today.”

You squint at him “Only three?”

He gasps “ONLY?!”

You yawn “That’s nothing. I’m pacing myself.”

Luffy bursts out laughing and flops next to you, limbs spread wide like a starfish “You’re so weird.”

“You like it.”

“I do.” He stretches, his shirt riding up a bit “It’s funny. Makes me feel like meat.”

You snort “You are meat.”

๋࣭ ˖ 𐔌 ⸻ ࿐ . ۫

One day Sanji is plating lunch. Zoro is already asleep at the table. Nami’s balancing ledgers while Robin reads quietly. Peaceful. Calm.

Then you walk behind Luffy.

Your hand lifts, and—Pat.

Nice and casual. Right cheek.

Luffy doesn’t even flinch anymore “That one was soft” he says through a mouthful of rice.

“Appreciation pat” you explain.

Chopper looks up from his bowl “What’s that mean?”

“It means they’re in love” Robin answers, smiling gently.

Usopp sighs dramatically “It used to be peaceful around here…”

“Don’t be jealous” you tease, sitting next to Luffy.

Luffy, unbothered, reaches over and places a lettuce leaf on your head.

You blink “What is this?”

“Affection” he says proudly.

“…Lettuce?”

“Yeah!”

“Luffy, no.”

The next day… you’re walking across the deck when you see him. He’s leaning over the side, watching the fish below, all relaxed and dreamy.

Perfect.

You sneak up. Slowly. Carefully.

Then—Pat.

“BAHAHA!” Luffy’s shoulders shake with laughter “You really do it every day, huh?”

“Every hour, actually.”

He turns to face you, eyes twinkling “Is it a rule?”

You nod “Butt appreciation is a serious job.”

He throws his arms around you, pulling you into one of his tight, full-body Luffy hugs “You’re soooo weird” he mumbles into your shoulder “But I like it.”

You grin “Then you better keep that butt safe. It’s a national treasure now.”

He pulls back, suddenly serious. “Do I need to put it in a safe?”

You laugh. “It is the safe.”

Meanwhile, somewhere on the Sunny…

Zoro: “If I see one more slap, I’m jumping off the ship.”

Nami: “You won’t.”

Zoro: “Watch me.”

Usopp: “We’re all just living in Y/N’s world now, huh?”

Brook: “Yohoho! May I pat a booty too—?”

Everyone: “NO.”

Back on deck, Luffy’s grinning like a fool while you sneak another pat on your way past him.

You’re not counting anymore. He is.

You’re at twelve for the day. A new record.

He pumps his fists in the air like he just won a battle.

“TWELVE!!”

You blow him a kiss and call back, “Lucky number thirteen is coming soon!”

He spins around, arms up, ready for it.

“OKAY! I’M WAITING!”

The others groan.

But you just smile.

This is how you love. And Luffy totally gets it.

── .✦ Zoro:

You and Zoro start slow.

Which, considering he nearly sliced your head off the first time you met, is kind of impressive.

He doesn’t talk much. Doesn’t flirt. Doesn’t do big shows of emotion. But when you touch him, even just resting your hand on his arm? He doesn’t move away. He lets you stay close. Sometimes he leans into it.

Eventually, things change. You get together. And Zoro… tries.

He’s not romantic. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. But when you’re alone, he’s soft. Real soft.

You can kiss his jaw and pull at his shirt and he just closes his eyes and lets you. He grunts, sure, and mumbles, “Tch, you’re annoying” but his hand’s already on your back, holding you there.

He’d never say it, but he loves your attention.

Until one day, when you’re walking behind him on the deck one morning. He’s shirtless, of course. Sweaty from training. Muscles flexing.

Your brain turns off. Your hand acts on instinct.

Pat.

Right on the butt. Perfect aim. Not hard. Just… appreciative.

Zoro freezes.

You freeze.

He turns his head. Slowly. Eye twitching.

“What the hell was that?”

You blink “…Compliment.”

He grabs your wrist. Not rough, but firm “Don’t.”

Your brows raise “Why not? I like your butt.”

“I don’t care.”

“You do care...” you say, smirking.

His ears go red.

A few days later you’re in the kitchen grabbing water. Zoro walks past. You’re feeling bold.

You go for it again.

He catches your hand before you make contact.

“Are you serious?” he mutters, gripping your wrist.

You just grin “It’s my love language.”

“My love language is ‘don’t do that where other people can see’.”

You pout “You let me when we’re alone.”

“That’s the point.”

“How?”

“Because no one’s watching!” he snaps, glancing around the room.

Sanji is definitely watching.

And cackling.

Zoro’s eye twitches.

You lean in close, whispering, “I think your crew should know you’re loved.”

He groans “They don’t need to know that through my ass.”

Later that night you’re sitting in the crow’s nest together. Just the two of you. Zoro’s sharpening his swords, quiet as always.

You crawl over and lean against him. He doesn’t say anything, but his arm shifts so you can fit under it.

You smile “Can I touch your butt now?”

He exhales slowly “You’re so annoying.”

“But you like me.”

“Unfortunately.”

Your hand drifts down.

This time, he doesn’t stop you.

You grin into his shoulder “So soft.”

He grumbles something under his breath.

You pretend not to hear him whisper, “Only you get to do that.”

The next morning you walk past him on the main deck.

You raise your hand.

Zoro glares before you even make contact.

“Don’t.”

You laugh “Okay, okay.”

You wait until you’re alone again.

Then—Pat.

๋࣭ ˖ 𐔌 ⸻ ࿐ . ۫

You’ve been good.

Sort of.

You don’t touch Zoro’s butt in front of the crew. Not technically. Not unless you’re quick and sneaky. Or it’s dark. Or no one’s facing your direction. You’ve developed stealth.

But Zoro is a swordsman.

His instincts are terrifying.

So no matter how fast you move... Wrist. Grabbed. Every time.

“Stop trying it,” he grumbles, walking beside you one afternoon “You’re not slick.”

You smile sweetly “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You do.”

You absolutely do.

Later, in the galley the crew’s eating dinner. Luffy’s stacking plates with meat, Sanji’s yelling, and Zoro is sitting next to you, arms crossed, calm.

Too calm.

You glance at his profile.

Sharp jaw. Broad shoulders. That little frown he always wears like it’s stitched to his face.

You bump your knee against his under the table.

And when he's about to stand up he glances at you.

You grin.

Your hand slides behind him and he catches your wrist. Under the table.

Without looking.

You nearly burst out laughing.

He squeezes your hand under the table and mutters, “You’re gonna make me leave.”

You whisper, “I'd like the view anyway.”

He grunts. But he doesn’t let go of your hand.

Not yet.

Meanwhile… Nami is staring.

Robin’s hiding a smile behind her book.

Usopp squints “Are they fighting? Or flirting?”

Sanji: “Honestly, with those two? Who knows.”

Luffy looks over “Zoro’s mad again?”

Zoro looks up “I’m not mad!”

Everyone stares.

Zoro realizes what he just yelled “…Shut up.”

Later that night you’re in the hallway, just outside your room. Zoro’s stretching, half shirtless, towel around his neck.

You pass by.

You don’t even think this time.

Pat.

Zoro whips around “You promised!”

“That was hours ago. New day.”

“It’s still the same day!”

You lean against the wall, grinning “It’s our thing. You’re just in denial.”

“I’m not—!”

You tiptoe up, hands on his chest now “Admit it. You like it. Just not when people see.”

He looks away, ears turning red “…Yeah, well. Not everything has to be a damn show.”

You press a kiss to his cheek “That’s fair.”

Then your hand drops—Pat.

He groans “You are the worst.”

You grin “You love me.”

He doesn’t answer. But he doesn’t stop you either.

The next morning you reach out in the galley.

Zoro doesn’t block you.

You blink “Wait. Are you letting me—?”

SMACK.

Right on your own butt.

You freeze.

Zoro stares at you, completely straight-faced “Balance.”

You gape “You just—?!”

He shrugs and walks away like it never happened.

Sanji drops a plate.

Usopp is screaming.

Luffy’s clapping like a seal.

Robin: “…Interesting.”

You’re left in shock “He fought back.”

You smile.

“Oh, it’s on now.”

── .✦ Sanji:

You’ve always been the affectionate type.

Hugs? Yes. Kisses? Any time. Sitting in Sanji’s lap while he chops carrots? Standard.

So when you pat his butt one day as you pass him in the galley it’s not planned. Not even a big moment.

In facts, he’s leaning over the counter, stirring sauce, saying something about the perfect thickness.

And your hand just acts on its own.

Pat.

A quick, loving little thing. Like closing a cabinet.

And without even thinking, you’re already walking away when you hear a “Mon dieu.”

You turn back.

Sanji’s frozen in place. His cigarette has fallen out of his mouth. His entire body is trembling.

“Did you… was that… on purpose?” he whispers.

You raise an eyebrow “What? Did what? Oh... Wait, the butt thing?”

He grabs the counter. His knees wobble. He’s vibrating.

“You… you touched my—?!”

You nod “Yeah? I mean... I wasn't thinking but I like your butt.”

He spins in place. Hearts in his eyes. Actual pink hearts.

“I am in love.”

“You already were.”

“More.”

A few days later you’re walking into the kitchen. Sanji’s tossing vegetables with dramatic flair, humming a little tune. You pass behind him.

Pat.

Right cheek.

“OHHH!” He spins, almost flinging a carrot across the room “Mon amour! Again?!”

You just wink.

He’s already melting.

Luffy: “Oi, Sanji, I’m hungry.”

Sanji, still swirling with glitter and roses “Shut up, I’m being adored.”

One day during a fight, the Straw Hats are surrounded. Some minor pirate crew, nothing serious. Sanji’s kicking through them like they’re made of paper.

You dodge a sword and slide up behind him.

You’re both breathing hard, back to back.

Then, all your brin could think of? Smack.

Your palm lands right on his butt mid-fight.

He gasps “Darling!!”

He twirls mid-air and kicks three guys at once.

“YOU FUELED ME!!”

Usopp: “Did Y/N just slap his ass as a buff?!”

Zoro: “I hate this ship.”

Back on the Sunny…

“You really don’t mind it?” you ask, arms around his waist in the kitchen.

“Mind?” Sanji repeats, stunned.

He turns to you, taking your face in his hands like you’re made of sugar and light “You could grab me in front of the World Government and I’d kiss you on the spot.”

You grin “Is that a challenge?”

“Oh yes, please.”

๋࣭ ˖ 𐔌 ⸻ ࿐ . ۫

The crew has stopped asking questions.

Any time they hear a pat, a smack, or even a playful squeeze, they just brace for the sound of Sanji’s lovesick shout “MON AMOUR!”

Brook: “Yohoho! He’s swooning again.”

Robin: “How charming.”

Nami: “They’re cute but I swear if I hear one more dramatic gasp—”

Pat.

“AHHHHHH!!”

Nami: “I’m moving ships.”

It’s been some time now since the very first pat.

At first, Sanji gasped like you’d proposed marriage every time you touched his butt. Heart eyes. Roses. Knees shaking. Full twirls. Theatrical monologues about how you must truly love him.

But now he looks like he's… used to it.

You pat him when he’s cooking. When he’s slicing. When he’s carrying groceries back from town. When he’s talking to Nami or Robin or any human being, even when he's bickering with Zoro. You sneak it in with expert timing.

At this point, the crew has even stopped reacting. Mostly.

And now Sanji doesn’t even flinch.

This morning you step into the galley. He’s standing at the sink, sleeves rolled up, dish towel tucked in his waistband.

He’s washing plates, quiet and calm, little bits of steam curling up from the hot water.

And he looks really good like this. Focused. Strong arms, wet hands, hair falling over his brow, shirt clinging to his back.

You cross the room like it’s instinct.

He doesn’t turn around. He hears your footsteps and hums lightly “Good morning, darling.”

Smack.

Your hand lands with a clean, perfect sound.

No gasp. No twirl. No drama.

Sanji just keeps scrubbing the plate.

“Careful,” he says. Calm. Smooth. Voice like caramel “I might start to expect that.”

Your fingers curl slightly. Just a little squeeze. Testing him.

Still nothing. A slow exhale. A slight tilt of his head. The corner of his mouth lifts.

You lean on the counter next to him “You’re not even gonna blush? A small drop of blood from your nose for me??”

He doesn’t look at you “If I blushed or got nosebleeds every time you touched me” he murmurs, “I’d die too soon and can't spend the rest of my life with you.”

Oh.

Now you’re the one blushing.

Five minutes later he finishes drying the dishes.

You’re sitting on the counter, watching him, legs swinging “I miss the twirls.”

He chuckles, setting a clean plate down “I still do them. In my head.”

You squint at him “Liar.”

He turns to face you.

And finally he smirks.

“Maybe I’ve just grown stronger,” he says, moving closer “Adapted to your constant, delicious affection.”

You try to keep your cool, but his hands are already braced on either side of your legs “You’re really okay with it?”

He leans in, breath warm “Darling,” he says, lips brushing your cheek, “the fact that you want to touch me all the time is the most romantic thing in the world.”

Then he pats your butt.

You yelp “HEY!”

He laughs, finally showing some of that old sparkle “Just returning the favor.”

You narrow your eyes “You trying to start something, Chef?”

“Only if you’re gonna finish it.” he whispers.

Outside the galley…

Zoro: “They’re still in there.”

Nami: “Yeah, I heard slapping.”

Brook: “I heard love.”

Luffy: “I heard food. Am I wrong?”

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Chapter 3: Steps

Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Doctor Female Reader Chapter Rating: T. Chapter Summary: You've been preparing him for this moment for weeks. The exercises you help him through, strengthening his legs, rebuilding his muscles that had begun to weaken during his bedridden days. He’s been determined to regain what was taken from him, no matter how much it hurts. Chapter Warnings: HEAVY SPOILERS FOR S2E2, FIX IT FIC, pov switching, joel survives abby's encounter, injuries, healing, domesticity in the apocalypse, joel teaches you wood carving, first steps, maria seeing things before everyone else, beard trimming, so much pining and yearning (promise it pays off next chapter) Words: 4,030

A/N: It's been SO HARD staying away from smut, but the slow burn has been so fun. Though, I'm not giving too much away for next chapter.... the rating WILL turn to E. Thank you to @mothandpidgeon, @schnarfer, and @for-a-longlongtime for all of their help and plotting.

Healed Masterlist AO3 Link Masterlist

Previous Chapter

—-

He wonders how it happened. Why he survived. Why he was saved.

How, out of all the people in the apocalypse, you were the one fate chose to pull him back from the dead.

How you’ve become more than just his doctor.

How the lines between caretaker and something else have begun to blur beyond recognition.

The questions circle endlessly through his mind. Questions too large for him to hold.

He settles himself the only way he knows how to now. By looking at you.

You’re sleeping in the recliner, the same chair he used to rock alone in and wonder just how silent his life could stay, once Ellie moved to the garage. He tries to look away from you, but you look too peaceful to ignore. Your breaths come out in small puffs between your slightly parted lips, your features softened as you’re unburdened now by the weight of keeping him alive.

He thinks he’s only here because of you.

Because you never gave up.

Because you heal him every day, piece by piece.

—-

Everything feels more alive as Joel’s health improves. The days seem brighter, the sunlight shining in through the windows stretches farther across the floors, as if the beams are following his progress.

You’re learning more about him every day, as he gets better. He’s a contradiction. His gruff, sometimes intimidating exterior is a shell that holds in his gentle ways. 

There’s been a constant low thrum of tenseness since the bathing incident, neither of you have mentioned it—but there is a new kind of awareness between you.

There’s now a familiar sound of Joel’s wheelchair gliding across the hardwood as he masters navigating his home with it.

As expected, there are hiccups.

You’re in the kitchen, peeling potatoes for dinner, when a loud crash of ceramic shattering across the floor makes you jump.

“God damnit,” Joel growls from the living room.

He’s there, gritting his teeth and shaking his head as he surveys the broken lamp on the floor.

You immediately spring into action, doing what you’ve been doing for the last few months, fixing his problems. The broken lamp is quickly swept up as you reassure Joel it’s not a big deal, things like this are going to happen.

He gives you a look of understanding and acceptance, before telling you “thank you” in a low voice that sends goosebumps across your body.

Soon, Joel spends all evening in the dining room where Tommy has set up a small workshop for him to pass the time. Tiny animal figures line the tabletop, some as small as a few inches.

He sits in his wheelchair at the table, leaning forward and focused, holding a small knife, his large hands guiding the blade over a piece of pine. Wood shavings pile on the tabletop. His brows are furrowed in concentration, eyes narrowed and focused behind his reading glasses as he turns the small block of wood.

You've been watching him from your chair in the living room, too fascinated by this side of him to look away. You find yourself watching him a lot, not just to make sure he’s doing okay, but because you can’t help yourself. There’s something that mesmerizes you… The way his calloused hands move with such confidence and precision despite their size.

"What are you making?" you finally ask, getting up and moving closer to see the small sculpture taking shape in his hands.

Joel looks up his glasses perched on the end of his nose, as he turns the wood over in his palm, examining it.

"Bear," he rumbles.

“He’s so tiny. You’re really good at that.”

Joel shrugs, thumbing away a splinter. "Used to do it a lot. Before..." He doesn't finish the sentence. He doesn't need to. Before. Before the attack. Before you saved his life. Before everything changed.

"Can I watch?" you ask.

He nods, gesturing to the chair beside him. You pull it closer, sitting close enough to feel the heat radiating off of his body, to smell the scent of pine and cinnamon, and something distinctly Joel.

You lean even closer and watch as Joel's hands move, the knife peeling away thin layers of wood to reveal the features of the bear.

His eyes flick up to yours, then back to his work. His knife pauses mid-stroke. "Want to try?"

The offer catches you off guard. Joel Miller, who bristles at help, who growls at vulnerability, is offering to teach you something.

"Sure.”

He pulls out another piece of wood and a small knife from a storage box next to him. Tommy must have brought his entire collection down from upstairs. Joel places them on the table, sliding them toward you.

"Here. Start with something simple. Maybe a duck."

“Oookay,” you sigh, turning the wood in your hand, unsure where to begin.

"Think of the shape, and just start. Like this," Joel instructs, demonstrating on his bear. "Always cut with the grain and keep your fingers clear of the blade."

Your blade catches the wood on your first cut. You try again, cutting against the grain, your knife skidding across the wood.

Joel watches, letting you try and fail a few times before he sets his bear down. "Here," he says, leaning a bit closer. "Let me show you."

His hand covers yours. He’s so warm. You can feel the strength in his fingers as he positions your hands on the knife.

"Hold it like this," he says. He’s so close you can feel his breath against your ear. "Thumb here, against the handle for control."

You have to tell yourself to breathe as Joel adjusts your grip. His other hand covers yours on the wood, angling it for you.

“Be gentle," he guides your hand, helping you make a smooth cut along the block of wood. "See? Let the knife do the work."

You nod, finding it difficult to speak. His hand guides yours in a slow, smooth motion, and a curl of wood peels away.

"Good," he praises when you make a particularly nice cut. "You're getting it."

He doesn't pull away. He leans in closer, watching you work. Your whole body is heating under his attention and closeness, but you focus on carving, holding the wood tight with as steady of hands as you can muster.

“Now,” he rumbles next to you, removing his hands from yours. “Try on your own.”

Curled and thin wood shavings gather on the table. Joel leans back, watching you with the almost-smile of his you’ve been seeing more often.

Soon, a shape resembling a duck begins to take shape thanks to Joel's occasional instructions.

He hums an approving noise. "Took me months to get cuts that clean. You're good with your hands.”

“I’d hope so,” you reply, without looking up from your duck. “I have to be. I'm a surgeon, remember?"

The sound that comes from Joel startles you—a chuckle. It’s the first time you’ve actually heard him laugh.

"Keep going," he says softly, nodding toward your carving. "You're doing good."

A comfortable silence settles between you and Joel as you both work together. Occasionally, he glances over, giving you a nod of approval. When you’re all done, something resembling a duck sits on the table amongst his lineup of carved animals.

"Not bad for your first try,” he admires.

You snort, trying to keep your smile at bay. “You don’t have to be so nice.”

“No, really,” he says. “Pretty good for your first try.” 

“I guess I owe you, I’ll have to teach you knitting now.”

He turns and looks at you, his brown eyes staring into yours. “You’ve already done enough for me.”

Not nearly enough you think to yourself, as you feel the tension settle heavily between you.

—-

As the cherry blossom tree outside trades its petals for leaves, Joel’s ready to walk again.

You've been preparing him for this moment for weeks. The exercises you help him through, strengthening his legs, rebuilding his muscles that had begun to weaken during his bedridden days. He’s been determined to regain what was taken from him, no matter how much it hurts.

All for these first real steps.

"Remember," you say, handing him the cane. "We're not rushing this. If it’s too much, we stop and try again tomorrow."

To hell with that.

He’s tired of not being able to help, of not being able to shoulder some of the burden of his injuries.

He’s ready.

Now, he sits on the edge of his recliner, knuckles white around the handle of the cane.

Joel grips the cane tightly. Too tightly. He lifts himself from the chair, fighting a rough sound tearing from his throat, his body trembling as he balances on his good leg.

He hates this. Hates the struggle, hates the slow progress, hates the way you hover in case he falls. Most of all, he hates the weakness. But you, he looks at you, your eyes wide, a proud smile lifting your lips. He wants to make you proud. He wants all of your efforts to be worth it. He wants to be worthy of your pride.

He takes a deep breath, his chest rising with the effort of it, then forces his left foot to move. It barely moves, but it’s just enough to send a spike of pain through his leg. His whole body protests. His knees almost buckle under the stress, making him stumble.

You’re there instantly, reaching out and helping him stabilize himself before he falls. He’s grateful for your help, but the embarrassment and frustration escape before he can stop it.

“Don’t need help,” he grunts.

You ignore him, like you always do.

"Again," he says, shrugging off your hands as soon as he's stable.

"Maybe rest a minute—"

"Again," he repeats, more firmly this time. "I've had months of rest."

His second attempt goes better. He manages three steps before needing to rest. You stay beside him, hands hovering just inches from his back, ready to support but not interfere.

"Good," you encourage. "That's it."

He’s going to make you proud, he’s going to prove to you that all of your care and dedication have paid off. It’s what gets him halfway across the room before his strength dissipates. When his balance begins to falter again, he reaches for you on his own this time, his hand gripping your forearm as he steadies himself.

“I got you,” you comfort. He doesn’t know why his heart is racing, if it’s from moving so much for the first time in months, or the way your hand runs up and down his back soothing him.

And then, he pushes off and moves again, all the way across the living room, your voice cooing soft words of encouragement to him, giving him the strength he needs.

With only five steps, he can be at the kitchen table. He pauses, breathing heavily. He’s exhausted and sweaty, but his eyes remain fixed on his destination. With a final surge of determination, he covers the remaining distance.

His free hand grips the back of a kitchen chair. Made it.

He sways slightly, catching his breath before collapsing into the chair with a deep exhale.

“Joel,” you say, a huge grin lighting your face, "you did amazing.”

He knows now why his heart is shattering against his chest… it’s all because of you. He’s made you proud, he wants to make you prouder.

"Tomorrow,” he says. “We go further.”

—-

Joel keeps his word, and he goes further every day. He moves, then rests. Moves, then rests. And so it goes.

With each new day, he adds a few more steps to his count. Always, you’re there with him, ready to help if he stumbles, yet still allowing him the dignity of trying on his own.

He struggles some days, breathing hard, stopping and resting his weight against the wall or a chair. Sometimes you notice him glancing towards you, taking in your reaction, his breathing evening whenever he sees your encouraging smile.

You fall into a familiar routine.

In the morning, you stretch his tired limbs, helping him build his muscles.

During the day, he moves as much as he can before it’s too much for him to stand. You help him settle into his bed, rubbing salve all over his aching limbs, trying hard to ignore the sound of his soft grunts before he takes a nap, letting his body and mind recover.

Lonesome Dove sits unfinished on the table next to the recliner you sleep in. Now, your evenings are spent together differently, both of you in the dining room at the table across from each other as you knit and he whittles. 

You look forward to it. The companionship. Sometimes you talk, other times it’s silent, save for the sound of his knife against the wood and your needles clicking against one another.

It’s all so domestic, so comforting.

It’s all beginning to feel like Joel’s more than just your patient.

—-

“So,” Maria begins, combing through Joel’s hair with gentle fingers, “how are things going with you and your doctor?”

He shifts uncomfortably in the dining chair she’s placed in the center of the living room. A towel drapes his shoulders, snippets of his hair falling onto it with each clip of her scissors.

“Hm?” he grunts, trying to calm his racing heart at the thought of you being called his. 

“Tommy says you’re getting stronger every day. My guess is she can move out soon.”

He tries to hide the tenseness that overcomes him.

"Move out?" The words come out sharper than he intended.

Maria's hands pause in his hair. "I mean, she's been here for months. I figured once you're mobile enough..."

Joel swallows, his throat suddenly dry. "Right."

He hadn't considered it. Hadn't let himself think about what happens after he heals. About an empty house again. About waking up without the sound of your soft humming from the kitchen, or evenings without you sitting across the table from him.

Maria resumes cutting, her voice careful. "Unless you want her to stay?"

He doesn't answer; his silence says enough.

“Joel,” she sighs. “You’re allowed to want things. To have things.”

Before he can even respond, the front door swings open, you’re lit by the bright afternoon light shining in, holding a small tote with a wide smile across your face.

“I traded a scarf for a steak!” you exclaim proudly as you make your way to the kitchen. “Biscuits and steak for dinner tonight?”

A scarf. You created something, and here you are trading it for a steak—something he can’t remember having in ages. All just for him. He wants to tell you that you didn’t have to do that, but he knows the look you’d give him. He knows you’d insist, because that’s the type of person you are.

Joel nods. “That sounds great,” his voice cracks at the end, torn between gratitude and guilt.

“Good,” you pause. “I’ll go tell Ellie, and we’ll celebrate you getting all cleaned up. Leave the chair there, I’ll trim your beard once I get the biscuit dough made.”

The smile you send him makes his heart race even faster.

He can feel Maria’s shrewd, knowing eyes flicking between him and you before she goes back to cutting his hair.

“Or she can just stay here with you,” she murmurs just loud enough for him to hear.

—-

"Comfortable?" you ask, draping the towel around Joel’s shoulders.

He nods, his brown eyes following you as you pick up the scissors. Maria’s haircut has already done wonders for him, his dark, salt and peppered waves now sit just above the collar of his cream colored button up.

“Ready?”

Joel nods. His long, scraggly beard with wiry white hairs has become unruly. Despite your combing and applying oil, it's grown into too much of a tangled mess during his recovery.

"Going to trim it first. Then shave. How do you want it?"

"Used to keep it trimmed. Not this wild."

"Like in Ellie's drawing?” you ask, tilting your head towards the fireplace.

His face softens when he looks over at the paper propped up on the mantle. "Yeah. Like that."

You nod and step closer, positioning yourself between his spread knees. All of a sudden, the living room feels too small and intimate, as you quickly realize just how close you are to Joel. You've been this close to him countless times during his recovery—changing bandages, helping him bathe, supporting him as he gained his strength—but this time it feels different. More deliberate.

"Tilt your head back.” Your fingers gently tilt his chin, positioning his head before you make your first cut.

Dark brown and silver clippings fall onto the towel and floor as you work the scissors around his face, slowly revealing his handsome face beneath the tangled wilderness of his beard.

Soon, his beard is trimmed to just a few inches long. You step back, trying not to let Joel see the way your breath catches as you take in just how handsome he is beneath all that hair.

“How’s it look?” he asks.

"G-good,” you say so low it’s almost to yourself. “I mean, a lot better. I can actually see you now.”

His brown eyes darken as they stare into yours. You clear your throat and reach for the small bowl of shaving soap you made earlier.

“I made this soap to help your skin,” you say, trying to focus on anything else besides the intensity of his gaze. “It’s made from aloe and yarrow.”

“You didn’t have to do that, I don’t need anything fancy like that.” “Your skin does,” you counter, dipping your fingers into the soap. “It’s been through enough.”

You try to hide your trembling fingers as you begin to lather the soap over his face.

Alive and vital. His pulse beats steadily against your fingertips as they glide across his warm skin. It still amazes you after seeing him so close to death.

Joel's eyes flutter closed as your fingers move through what’s left of his beard, massaging the soap against his skin.

“Feel good?” you ask.

"Hmm," is his only response, a low rumble you feel more than hear.

You rub the soap into his skin slowly, stretching out your time to be able to touch him so freely while also letting Joel melt under your touch.

“I’m going to shave you now, okay?” you say quietly as you wipe your hands on the towel.

"Hmm," he hums again, fluttering his eyes open and sitting up straighter.

You reach for the straight razor Tommy sharpened for you on the side table.

“You’re going to need to hold very still for me,” you say, your voice soft. “I don’t want to nick you.”

“Right.”

You work carefully, gently pulling the skin taut with one hand while the other guides the blade in short strokes.

You’re so focused on the razor scraping through the soap and hair, that you don’t notice how close you’re leaning in. You don’t notice the way Joel’s openly watching you, studying you, and the way you’re biting your lip as you concentrate. 

The sharp line of his jaw is slowly revealed to you. God, he’s handsome.

As you work, Joel remains perfectly still, following every instruction you lowly tell him to do.

"Almost done," you tell him, wiping excess soap from his cheek with a damp cloth.

Just a couple more swipes of the razor against his skin, and the Joel Miller from before the attack is revealed to you. The neatly trimmed beard now frames his face perfectly, lining his strong jaw. You knew he was good-looking, but he truly is otherworldly. He might just be the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen.

You swipe away the last remnants of the soap with your thumb, wanting to feel his skin against your fingertips for just a little while more.

"There," you whisper, still closely hovering over him. "Much better."

For a moment, you both remain perfectly still. His eyes lock with yours, before they drop to your lips, then back up to meet your gaze. “Thank you,” he says. His mouth is so close to your skin, you can feel his words.

You nod. "You're welcome," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. The tension is too much for you to take, finally, you pull away, and hand Joel his cane. “Why don’t you go take a look in the mirror and rinse your face off while I clean up?”

—-

He swears you can do it all. You’re a marvel. He can’t stop feeling his smooth skin. Sure, there are now a couple ridges from the new scars that lay across his face, but he’s almost forgotten what his skin felt like underneath everything. He feels so much lighter.

Once again, you’ve helped unburden him.

You’re in the kitchen, humming while you prepare dinner. Sometimes you’ll peek your head out to check on him, as he rests in the recliner with a book in his hand. Honestly, he hasn’t read a word. He’s far too busy remembering the feel of your touch against his skin, the way you bit your lip as you concentrated, how low your voice would get as you’d tell him how to move.

Seems these days all he can think of is you.

He’s so deep in thought that he nearly jumps when the front door swings open, breaking him from his reverie. Ellie breezes in, throwing her jacket haphazardly against the coat rack before she even looks at Joel.

When she does, her eyes go wide, her mouth falls open as she takes in his freshly shaved face and haircut.

“Oh shit,” she breathes. “You almost look like you.”

“Thanks, I reckon,” he replies.

You step into the living room, wiping your hands with a towel. The whole house smells delicious, he can tell you’ve been hard at work in the kitchen.

“Oh good, Ellie, you’re here just in time,” you greet. “Dinner’s almost ready. Why don’t you set the table for us?”

Ellie follows you into the kitchen without a word. 

From his chair, he can hear the two of you laughing and talking. A warmth spreads through his heart at how you’re slowly making parts of his life a part of yours. It’s a feeling he never thought he’d allow himself to want, and yet, here he is, smiling to himself as he hears Ellie’s indisputable giggle floating through the house.

“Joel!” Ellie calls out from the kitchen, "Dinner’s ready!”

He stands, running a hand through his hair that he’s taken the time to slick back before he grabs his cane, pushing himself up before moving to the kitchen. He’s getting better and better every day with it.

When he walks into the kitchen, you glance over your shoulder at him, checking to see if he needs any help, but he doesn’t. It’s hard to focus on each step as he watches you do such a simple act as brushing butter on top of biscuits. He can’t imagine not having you share this home with him.

He takes a seat at the table, resting the cane against the wall. His mouth is watering, he’s not sure if it’s from the food or watching you move around the kitchen.

Ellie plops down in the chair next to him, her eyes surveying the steak, peas, and mashed potatoes on the table.

He can’t keep his eyes off of you as you bring over a basket filled with golden biscuits. You give him a shy smile as you sit across from him.

He looks at Ellie and then back at you, realizing just how much at home he feels right now, right here.

The thought hits him then, as he sits with the two people who make him feel the most at home.

He wants you to stay… especially when you pick up a biscuit, breaking it open with your delicate fingers that he just felt against his skin. He tries hard to look away, but he can’t. You bring it to your lips, eyes fluttering closed when you take the first bite.

“Mmm,” you sigh, humming with satisfaction.

His posture stiffens as you enjoy such a simple pleasure—a biscuit. He swallows hard at the thought of making you moan like that.

He needs you to stay. 

—-

A/N: My taglist has grown too large. Please follow @whocaresposted and turn on notifications to be alerted about new chapters!

My perma tags: @forspringcleaning, @schnarfer, @mothandpidgeon

[clockwayswrites]

Dead on MAYn '25 Day 2: Bonus Day: "When were you going to tell me that we were married?"

It was crowded. Which, as annoying as it was, made sense. The King of the Infinite Realms and a selection of his cabinet were arriving today. Apparently, the king was finally ready to talk about that whole fuck up with the GIW, the government, and the war that had nearly happened.

Apparently, the King also saw it as a good time for the two sides to mingle and get to know each other. The thought of a multidimensional party did pretty good at drawing a crowd. Hal couldn’t talk, he was there for the free booze.

Well, and because Barry made him come.

On the damn dot, a tear in the air appeared: a diagonal purple splash. It split and tore into a glowing green portal. King Phantom and his ranks stood just on the other side. It wasn’t everyone who stepped through.

King Phantom led the procession, of course. His crown of swirling galaxies barely cleared the edge of the portal. His cloak of stars just brushed the ground. He was flanked by another ghost, one who looked remarkably like him, though the hair was bluer and a red-headed woman who looked remarkable human, other than the green glow to her eyes. A multi-armed giantress, furry being Hal could only think to call a yeti, and a hooded figure followed.

Once the group was through the portal, it snapped closed. The tear remained. A quick out if it was needed, Hal figured.

“Greetings, King Phantom and friends,” Wounder Woman called boisterously, “to Mount Justice! The Justice League and its allies are honored to welcome you all here today.”

The king inclined his head. “And we are humbled to be welcomed. I am sure that you all have questions? Maybe we could get a few of the big ones out of the way instead of having to spend all night answering the same queries.”

“Yeah, I have a question.” The gruff, modulated voice spoke up from further back in the crowd.

People parted like the sea under Aquaman’s command. One of the Bat brood stepped forward. A black and red leather coat with the hood up, mostly shadowing the red mask and respirator.

“The Red Hood,” Barry leaned over and murmured.

“I knew that,” Hal hissed back.

The Red Hood stopped and crossed his arms, making his stupidly broad shoulders look all the wider. Something about the way that he just subtly leaned back seemed threatening.

It was a sharp contrast to the way that Phantom basically perked up like some ill mannered puppy. “Robin!”

“Yeah, not so much anymore, your highness,” the Red Hood grumbled.

Phantom deflated like a balloon with a leak. Really. Hall thought that Phantom might have actually gotten smaller somehow. “Oh, well, right. Um, what was your question?”

“My question,” The Red Hood’s voice through that respirator really was menacing. “is when the fuck were you going to tell me that we were married?”

Phantom blinked his luminescent green eyes. “Married?”

“Ghost married.”

“Holy fuck, you’re ghost married?!” Phantom’s look-alike companion asked gleefully and with a fanged grin.

“I—ghost married?” Phantom squeaked.

“Yep,” the Red Hood said. “'parently we’re soul bonded. Magically fuckery. Ghost fuckery. Both.”

Phantom rubbed at the back of his neck. “We’re, oh… shit, the Cascades?”

The Red Hood just shrugged. “Likely.”

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know,” Phantom pleaded.

The rest of the Batfamily were watching the exchange like it was a tennis match: heads swinging back and forth.

The Red Hood snorted. “No excuse.”

“No excuse?!” Phantom repeated. “All the excuse! I couldn’t tell you if I didn’t know! Look, I’ll talk to CW as soon as I’m back about getting the ghost equivalent of a divorce—”

“Who said I wanted a divorce?”

Phantom froze—like actually froze perfectly still, swirling cap and all, for a moment before he shook himself out of it. “I—you don’t?”

The Red Hood shrugged again. “Haven’t seen you since you were a tiny teenager twink. Figured I should get to know you again at least. You could be a good husband.”

A grin spread over Phantom’s face. “Did you alliterate that on purpose?”

Okay, now the shrugging was just getting repetitive.

Phantom moved forward but didn’t at the same time. It wasn’t as much that he was stretching as that the world seemed to compact around Phantom for a moment, almost like a wormhole. Then the world snapped back into place and Phantom was standing right in front of the Red Hood, leaning close to his face. He was still grinning toothily.

It was vicious looking smile.

Maybe Phantom and the Red Hood were meant for each other after all.

“Oh,” Phantom purred. “You might not be Robin any more, but I don’t think you’re that different. What do I call you now?”

“I’m the Red Hood, but I guess you can call me husband.”

[cerisereids]

𝐖𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐝 𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞, 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐌𝐲 𝐅𝐚𝐜𝐞, 𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐫 𝐀𝐰𝐚𝐲- 𝐀.𝐇.

Pairing- Aaron Hotchner x Girly!Assistant!Reader

WC- 7.5k (LORDDDD) (literally belle shut up challenge level impossible)

Summary- With your birthday around the corner, you decide to throw a blowout bash. The people you work with have no idea how to let go. Least of all your boss, Aaron Hotchner. Yet, he doesn't show.

Contains- 18+ MDNI, angst to fluffy smut(ish), girly!reader, reader has long hair she can run her fingers through, spicy but no explicit smut (still 18+ tho don't play), non-explicit sex scene, reader standing on business, discussions of Hotch and Haley's divorce

A/N- divider from @thecutestgrotto !!

The satisfying click of your white kitten heels fill the hallway as you bounce off the linoleum tiles. You’re in a delicate balancing act, juggling a tray of your famous cupcakes as well as glittery pink invitations. Gold lettering splays across the front ‘You’re Invited!’ They’re cheesy little things you had made at the local print shop, but you couldn’t help yourself. Your gloomy office needs some cheer. 

You push the door open with your hip, backing into the room with small little steps as you enter the BAU. Your instantly relieved by a pair of strong arms guiding your through the doorway. “Got it, sugar?” Derek’s voice asks, his hands hovering in precaution. 

“I am just fine! Here! Take one!” You set the cupcake tray down, plucking one out for him, handing it to him with an invitation. His brow quirks, a small smile rising on his lips.

 “What’s all this for?” He asks, bemused. 

“Well, my birthday is coming up, so I thought I’d have a big, blowout, bash! It’s been too long since you guys loosened up, really got to let go and have fun!” You squeal, stepping back slightly as the rest of the team quickly finds the dessert. Like bees to honey, you like to say. 

“So, you decided that instead of celebrating yourself, to insist on us celebrating you?” Emily inquires around a mouthful of cupcake. 

“Pretty much!” You pinch her cheek affectionately, and she giggles. Your gaze turns ever so slightly, catching the window of your boss’ office. Bile rises in your throat. He won’t be so easy to coax out. Both now, and to the party itself. The mere thought of it makes you nauseous. 

Emily saddles up beside you, lightly nudging her elbow with yours. She nods to Aaron’s office, and blood rushes to your cheeks. Your gaze drops to the ground, which you scuff with the bottom of your shoe. You lift your head up, your hair falling down your shoulders like a waterfall. 

“He in?” You ask, resuming your naturally bubbly state, a wide smile plastered over your anxiety. 

“Yup, when is he not?” Emily responds, curious, like a cat. You snap out of your anxious state, giving a playful shrug. You bat your lashes and turn, grabbing the tray and remaining invitations. 

“Hey, I wanted seconds!” Spencer calls after you. You roll your eyes, your clicking heels once again the only noise as you walk away. It’s no secret who you’re going to see. 

Aaron’s office door is slightly ajar, so you enter the same way you did earlier, by hip. His brow quirks upon your arrival, but you don’t forget to clock the way his eyes catch you, scanning up and down your frame. You wore one of your favorite dresses today, a pink, ruffly number that resembles a sunset. It cascades down your body like it was made for you. By the way Aaron’s looking at you, he thinks so, too. The way he looks at you is electric, like a bolt of lightning cracking your spine as you take each other in. Your breath shortens, catching in your throat at the sight of his tired, brown eyes. 

“Hey, big guy,” you lilt, your voice in its usual effervescent tease. You don’t miss the way he flushes down to his neck at the nickname. 

“What is this all about, hm?” he raises a brow, his voice smooth like silk. His eyes widen as you set down the tin of cupcakes, revealing their chocolatey goodness to him. His favorite. You hand him an invitation, nerves bubbling in your stomach as he reads it over. Your cheeks heat, like you’re 17 again waiting for an invite to the prom.

Then, he glances up at you. There’s a sparkle in his eye when he looks at you. You’re not sure if he knows it’s there, but you cherish it. You cherish the way he looks at you like you’re the only person in the room, the world. You cherish the way not a single other colleague receives the exact gaze you do, soft, patient, kind. It’s your best kept secret. 

You breathe out a sigh at that look, relief washing over you like fresh sunlight. 

“Did you make these? They’re beautiful,” he inspects the card in his hands, and your heart thuds against your ribcage, nerves buzzing once again. His nonchalance is like a tightrope, inching you closer either to safety or certain death. 

“Thank you,” you reply. It’s quiet. You’re afraid that if you raise your voice, your heart will come out of your throat. “I make them all myself.”

You settle on his desk, resting a light hip on it while you watch him intently. He studies you, eyes flitting over your face as he takes in the glitter of your eyeshadow, the soft swipes of gloss on your lips. His own are parted, tongue peeking out in a tantalizing way that sets your heart aflame. 

You raise a brow, asserting an effective upper hand. You watch his brow go soft, and you know you have him. It doesn’t take much for you to convince him. Of anything, really. Since you started working for him, he’s taken actual time off (rarely, but he has), eats dinner at a regular time each night, and manages to get a little more sleep. The team calls it witchcraft, sorcery. You’d call it the sheer force of the desire to keep the man you’re deeply in love with alive and healthy. That’d be too complicated, though, so you bat your lashes and accept their praises. 

“That’s really incredible,” it’s soft, his tone. Gentle and low in a way that’s reserved only for you, for these quiet moments in his office. Whether you’re talking about a case, your weekend plans, or the next set of nails you’re getting, he saves this special cadence just for you. Smooth and velvety, liquid chocolate spilling from his tongue. 

“Thank you,” your eyes glimmer as you shift on his desk ever so slightly. Your hip pops toward him in a way that has him licking his lips. Confidence surges through, you sit up taller. “Will you be there?” You bat your lashes, your prettiest doe eyes on full display. “It would mean everything to have you there.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Hook, line, and sinker. 

“Yay!” You squeal, hopping off his desk. You fix him a cupcake, taking the last one on the tray and placing it delicately on a pink napkin. 

“You’re only allowed to eat this if you’ve had lunch. Have you?” You’re all business again, in the blink of an eye. You poise a sassy hand on your hip, your brow arching. 

“I had a piece of toast and a pickle,” he admits. It’s sheepish, and you roll your eyes. 

“That’s a disgusting combo. Have another piece of toast before you eat that,” you roll your eyes playfully before stalking off. A barely audible ‘yes, ma’am’, follows you out. You pause, smiling to yourself before heading to your desk. 

“You really think he’s gonna show?” Penelope asks, her tongue swirling around her third daiquiri of the evening. You sigh, popping your hands on your hips as you take a step back from your large window, inspecting your decorative work. 

It’s the night before your big party, an event you normally thrive on hosting. Now, though, it’s the cause of the anxiety sparkling inside you, like your heart’s swimming in carbonated water. You adjust the rollers in your hair, the fluffy sleeves of your pink silk robe falling to your elbows as you do so. 

You center yourself for a moment, focusing on the comforting way the delicate fabric frames your body, falling over your tank top and sleep shorts. You wiggle your feet, currently stuffed into pink bunny slippers. Your gaze finds the moon, full and round, you absorb it. You welcome anything that helps you not crush under the debilitating weight of your affections for Aaron Hotchner. 

“I don’t know! He told me he’d be there!” Your voice is antsy, you wring your hands together with a small smile on your face that doesn’t reach your eyes. While Penelope’s brilliant, she’s not a profiler. She’s also drunk. You pray these two things add up in your favor.

“I can’t remember the last time I saw him go out. Not since the divorce, but if he were for anybody, it’d be for you. That much I know,” she pats a supportive hand on your shoulder, though it does nothing to quell the nausea that comes from the d-word. 

You’d been a strong reliant for your boss while he’d finalized his divorce, almost a year ago now. Getting him late night coffees, sitting on the couch in his office while he completed paperwork, bringing in little treats just to make him smile. They always did, everything you did garnered a smile out of him. 

That’s why you were teased in your first week on the job, after you’d questioned the team’s comments about their stoic leader. “He smiles all the time, what are you guys talking about?” Their sarcastic grins and chuckling was the first time you were fully aware that the relationship you had with your boss was…different than the others. The amount of time that’s passed since then, the bond you’ve made with your boss, makes your head spin.

Still, you aimed to be respectful everyday. No matter how many details you knew about his issues with Haley, the stress of taking care of Jack while he was away, you kept a professional distance. You would not cross that line. In the year since he’d taken the ring off, though, it’s been…different. A wall has come down, a layer unshed. You don’t know what to do with it, with him. 

“Hey, does this look good over here?” Emily calls, snapping you out of your Aaron-induced haze. You plaster another smile on your face, though this time it’s not too difficult. You were thankful to merely witness J.J. propping Emily up on a stool so she can pin a pink disco ball in the center of your expansive living room. Relief washes over you, the love for your friends momentarily distracting you from the ache in your chest. 

“Looks great, thanks Em!” you pat her ass playfully, laughing when she squeals. 

“Anything for you, my darling!” She calls after you as you make your way through the living room to the kitchen, grabbing your own glass of the elixir that now has Penelope fully slumped forward on your kitchen island. 

“Pen? You good?” You nudge her slightly, and she jumps at the contact. 

“Oh! Yeah! Yeah, I’m great! Cool as a cucumber!” She adjusts her own pajamas, a buttery yellow silk set that comes with a matching eye mask. 

You laugh, shaking your head as you pour your own drink. “You really think Aaron will come tomorrow?” You ask her, your voice is meek. You hate it, that this is what he does to you. 

“I would be truly shocked if he didn’t, my sweet,” she answers, and though her words are slightly slurred, her tone is serious. You smile. 

“I agree!” Emily calls, walking into the kitchen to refill her own cup. J.J. trails behind her, nodding emphatically. 

“I mean, have you heard anyone else here call him Aaron? Like…ever?” J.J. says. You jokinglya move your head side to side, rattling the thought around your head. They all giggle at your response, and your cheeks heat up. You rest your chin on your shoulder, avoiding eye contact with the giddy group. 

“He’ll show. Don’t even worry about it,” J.J. states, the others nodding in agreement. 

You blow out a sigh, downing the rest of your drink in one swig. 

The bass from the speaker reverberates through your house, the walls nearly shaking from the vibrations. You’re only slightly tipsy, a bit dizzy as you slide open the glass door leading to the patio. Nearly every square inch of the pool is full of people, bodies bobbing around, elbows above water to preserve red solo cups. 

The wind blows through your hair, your eyes falling shut. You try to bask in it, absorb the setting sun as you had with the moon the night before. It’s not working. Aaron still hasn’t shown. Your attempts to not get upset about it are weak, feeble, an embarrassment. You thought fresh air would do you some good, but now, in your tipsy, clouded haze, you scan the crowd of faces. Some of them you know, most of them don’t. Above all else, you still don’t see the one you want. You feel stupid for thinking you would. Your heart splinters, cracks in the foundation breaking the whole. 

You sit on the porch step, your face falling to your hands. What’s wrong with you? Throwing parties is like a love language to you- Gatsby himself would be jealous. It’s not atypical for friends of friends of friends to find themselves in your yard. Tonight, though, you’re upset. Upset that none of them are there for you. Upset that you don’t even matter. Upset that the one person who could fix this feeling hasn’t shown. He isn’t here for you. After everything, everything you have done for him. After he promised. Tears prick the insides of your eyes, and you release a shuddering breath.

“Hey, Party Princess!” You look up to find Penelope, arm in arm with Derek. Both of them look a bit too drunk for their own good. Penelope’s face falls immediately upon seeing your teary gaze, your pouty lips. 

“Oh angel! What’s going on?!” She squeaks, sitting down beside you immediately. She wraps her arms around your shoulders, and you lean into them instinctively. 

“Someone special not here, pretty girl?” Derek asks, crouching down to meet your eye level. The acknowledgement of your situation only makes the tears fall. 

Penelope forces your head parallel to the ground. “Look down! Don’t let the tears streak your makeup!” You release a wet laugh at that, inspiring laughter from Derek and Penelope as well. You can hear the relief in theirs, that Aaron Hotchner hasn’t rendered you incapable of laughter. 

You feel Derek’s hand over the expanse of your shoulder, a warm, comforting grip that soothes you only slightly. Your gaze is still on the concrete, shame creeping up your spine at your emotions. “I’m sorry, guys,” you splutter, tears falling faster now. 

“No! No, don’t apologize,” Penelope squeals, finding a tissue in her bag and handing it to you. “Blot those pretty eyes, hon, and let’s go dance! Don’t spend your birthday crying over some guy!” 

You do as she says, closing your wet eye so your lash meets the tissue, small bits of mascara left as residue. You finally lift your head up, meeting Derek’s gaze. “There she is!” He smiles, “the most beautiful girl in Quantico.”

“Hey!” Penelope smacks his bicep. He laughs, holding a hand there in a show of faux pain. 

“Sorry, one of the two most beautiful women in Quantico,” he responds, walking backwards to the bar. He grabs you a shot of tequila, your favorite, and propositions you. 

“That’s much better,” Penelope smirks, satisfied. She moves from beside you, ready to assemble a lime and some salt. You stop her, a hand to her forearm. “No need.” You throw back the shot, your head tilting all the way back as you down the burning liquid. It singes your throat, and you wiggle your head from side to side as it goes down. 

That same counterfeit smile curls your lips, your eyes just as sad as they were before. “Let’s party!”

Aaron Hotchner  is a piece of shit. He knows this. His ex-wife knows this. Hell, Jack probably knows it, too. But now she knows it, and for some reason, that’s his final straw. He stands at her front porch, suit jacket long abandoned, tie forcefully loosened from hours of hunching over his desk. His hair is messy, thanks to his fingers running through it every 5 minutes. The bags under his eyes have darkened throughout the night, and he can tell from his reflection in the window that he looks like hell. The last place he should be is at a party, let alone this party.

He takes in her expansive house, a gift she inherited from her parents once they moved to Calabassass, she told him once. The front is made of classic white stone, a baby blue trim framing the door and windows. It looks as if it hasn’t been touched in years, only to fine tune and keep it looking pristine. Though, the perfection on the outside provides a direct contrast to what little he can see going on inside. He has a view of the kitchen from where he stands, empty beer cans line the kitchen island, pink streamers and popped balloons litter the floor. 

He sees the outline of someone familiar enter the kitchen. Penelope, if the bouncing blonde hair streaked with hot pink was any indicator. He watches as she stumbles about, a large figure, Derek, holding her up by the elbows as she attempts to make a mixed drink. He hopes it’s not for herself. He then realizes what a creep he must look like, a dark figure standing alone in front of a house that’s not his, staring in the window at a party he failed to attend. He turns, ready to leave, firm in his decision that this was all a big mistake to begin with. 

He stops, though from the opening of the door. He whips his head around, relief and disappointment washing over him to see Emily. He’s not sure what he would’ve done if it had been her opening the door. Fall to his knees, grovel, probably. His cheeks tint a bright red at her knowing, disappointed stare. “You fucked up tonight, Hotchner,” her affirming tone washes over him like he’s been dipped in acid, singeing his skin and finding its way to his guts. He’s nothing but a puddle. 

“Where is she?” He asks. It’s meek, feeble. A tone nobody he’s ever worked with heard him use. Emily raises her brow at that, both in shock and suspicion. 

“The backyard, near the pool. She’s had a lot to drink, though. So be careful. You may not be someone she wants to see right now.” Emily’s pitiful smile only makes him feel worse. He can’t leave now that he’s been spotted, though. It would catapult him from normal amounts of jackass to the jackass Olympics, something he’d never be able to recover from. Not when it comes to her. 

He follows Emily in, the remnants of what seemed like a blowout bash now diluted to a handful of bodies in each room. Most of them are the team, who are shooting him looks of shock and pity as he makes his way through the house. His heart beats through his ears as he slides the glass door open, stepping under the pink balloon arch to find her. 

She’s sitting alone on the edge of the pool, her feet dipping in slightly. He takes her in, giving him a brief moment of selfish reprieve before she sees him, before he has to confront the ways in which he’s broken her heart tonight. A floral pink dress flows around her, the sleeves billowing in the wind. The ruffles of the tiered dress are bunched around her hips as she sits, the hemline raised to prevent wetting the fabric. She’s a vision, the pale moonlight ghosting over her frame like a spotlight made just for her. His heart breaks. All of this, and he’s left her so lonely. He is a piece of shit. 

The creak of the porch step calls her attention, her head swinging around her shoulder to see who’s come to join her. The look on her face as she sees him…it’s too much to put into words, even for a profiler as experienced as Aaron. He watches each emotion cross her face. Her instinctual reaction was relief, her eyes brightening like a lightning flash through his heart. Her brows furrow soon after, discontent clouding her features. Anger is soon to follow, the pink gloss on her lips shining as they curve downward. 

She lands on anger. Stays there as she moves to stand, not caring where the water splashes as she swings her feet out of the pool. She stomps over to him, feet smacking against the pool deck as she barrels into him. The force is light, her drunken state impacting the collision. He still stumbles a bit, catching both her and himself as they tumble. 

“Where were you?!” she spits, the fire in her eyes paralyzing. He’s speechless. “I waited for you! I waited for you all night! You said- you said you’d be there! You promised!” Her voice gets louder with each syllable, her fists colliding into his chest with each breath. She turns, walking toward the water once more. 

He follows slowly, tentative. His hand reaches to her elbow, fingers lightly touching the skin. She turns, smacking his hand away. He flinches at the sudden contact, not expecting such force from her. “No!” She exclaims. Tears prick her eyes now, her hand is shaking as she holds up a finger in his face. Aaron’s heart splinters at the sight, guilt searing his veins like a deadly disease. 

“You don’t get to touch me, you don’t get to act like you’re the victim here. You. Didn’t. Show.” She spits, venom punching every word. He can see the group forming at the door out of his peripheral vision. It’s just the team, thankfully. Though he knows he’s lost this right, he’s relieved random strangers aren’t privy to his colossal fuck up. 

“God, I feel so fucking stupid!” She exclaims, running ten fingers through perfectly tousled hair. “Sitting here in this dress, that I picked out for you, at this party, that I only threw for you!” Her voice cracks on that last word, tears finally spilling over her lash line. 

“Me?” He mumbles. It’s the first word he’s said to her all night. It makes him feel like an idiot. There’s heat in her gaze, a deadly forest fire. But she’s silent. He keeps going. “You threw this party for me?” He sounds dumb. He knows it even before she rolls her eyes. A fantastic idiot, that’s what he is. 

“God, Aaron!” She’s yelling, now. The use of his first name knocks the wind out of him every time. This time, though, with the pain lacing her tone, it hits like a tornado. “For the best fucking profiler in fucking America, you have no clue how to read people!” 

He raises a brow at this, and she yanks at the root of her hair, a loud, desperate, ‘ugh!’ tearing from her lips. “I’m so hurt, Aaron, You hurt me. I’m so angry, and I’m so, so in love with you, that I’ll probably fucking forgive you in the morning.”

The words hit him like a bullet train, slicing him clean in half. His mouth falls open, a small ‘o’ that only serves to make him stupider. She stalks over to the bar on the deep end of the pool, leaning over and grabbing a bottle of vodka from the interior. She takes a long swig, eyes falling closed. Tears fall down her cheeks, streaking her perfectly applied makeup. She stumbles a bit, nearing the edge of the water, and his heart rate picks up. He makes the mistake of reaching for the bottle. It only results in a forceful shove, the bottle falling between the two and shattering on the ground. 

Her fury only intensifies now. Her vindictive gaze could turn him to stone. He looks down at the mess, catching her shoeless feet. He grips her wrist before she can move. Her bare feet, drunken state, and the shards of broken glass are a recipe for disaster. He doesn’t care how big of an asshole he is, how much she might hate him right now, but he can’t risk letting her get hurt even more. He’s expecting her reaction, an immediate instinct to shove him off of her. He can’t even register the impact it has on his already fragile heart, because in her alcohol induced frenzy, her shove knocks them both in the water. 

The splash envelops Aaron like a slap to the face. He opens his eyes immediately, and he doesn’t even register the sting of the chlorine in his eyes. His only mission is to find her, to make sure she’s safe. He sloppily wraps himself around her, bringing them up to the surface. They both gasp upon arrival, breathing as if they’d never get the privilege again. He splays a hand across her back, pushing her toward him until they’re chest-to-chest, until she can’t wriggle out of his grasp. He won’t let her go until she’s safely out of the water.

The frantic rise and fall of her chest against his steadies him. It’s enough to ground him, to help him find his bearings as he spots the ladder leading out of the pool. He feels her relax slightly in his arms as he begins to move, her own wrapping around his neck. He lets out the smallest sigh of relief. She doesn’t completely hate him. With how he acted tonight, he’s surprised he’s even been afforded that much. 

He lets her go first, hands finding her waist and lifting her to the first step. His hands hover around her as she stumbles up the ladder, ready for any possible disaster to strike. He follows quickly, his white dress shirt sticking to his skin in a way that would make him feel exposed around anyone else. He rolls his sleeves up to his shoulders, shaking his hair out like a dog. She flinches when he sprays her, giggling quietly. The sweet, fluttering noise is contagious, Aaron laughs himself before muttering a quiet, “sorry.” 

He watches her face change as she remembers again. Remember why they ended up in the pool,  why she’s mad at him in the first place. Light, joyful eyes darken into a cloudy, stormy gaze. Her eyes are like a bow and arrow aimed right at his heart, ready for the kill. He’s ready to admit defeat, to just lay there and let her skin and eat him alive. He avoids her gaze. Cowardly, he knows. 

“So. Fucking. Unfair.” They’re punctuated by a look of desperation and disdain, desire and destruction. His head shoots up again at that, shame creeping up his spine once more. It settles in his neck, constricts his airflow. 

“I know. I’m sorry. I’ve treated you terribly tonight and-”

He’s cut off by a groan that could spark an earthquake. She pulls at the roots of her wet hair in frustration. “Not that. Well- partially that. It’s fucking unfair that you get to skip my party, break my heart, show up, and then emerge from my pool looking like some sort of Adonis. Un-fucking fair, Aaron Hotchner.”

She moves closer to him with each passing word, to the point where his name is merely a whisper, uttered to him only inches from his own face. He studies her, the water droplets falling down her tear-stained face, the look in her eye, now softened to one of desperate devotion, despite all he’s put her through tonight. She’s breathtaking. Just as she was the day they first met, and everyday since then. An otherworldly beauty that has seemed to captivate him, mind, body, and soul. 

She inches even closer, her fingernails raking up his bare forearms. A shiver unzips his spine, invoking a light chuckle from her. As her lips inch ever so closer to his own, he nearly lets himself get lost in it. When she releases a shaky sigh against his mouth, the potent stench of vodka strongly reminds him that she is in no place for such an activity tonight. He scoops her up, folding her over his shoulder as he turns to get her indoors. 

He ignores her squeals of protest, the splattering of her palms on his back, though he can’t help but imagine this exact scenario in a different light- one where she’s sober, and he’s carrying her through his bedroom door. He opens the glass door with one hand, sliding it the rest of the way with his hip. He thanks his lucky stars that the only people left are Penelope and Derek, who likely stayed in case of any possible drownings. He nods at them, a succinct, ‘we’re good, get out.’

The message is heard clearly, the two of them shuffling out the door, but not before taking multiple glances at their boss, who’s carrying his hammered employee like a sack of potatoes. He’s in for an absolute earful come Monday, he’s sure of it. 

Her room is easy to spot, a bright pink door with her name plastered at the top. He smiles to himself, his heart swelling at the way she revels in her inner child. Sparkly room decor, birthday party invitations, a birthday party in general. He’s almost envious of the way she effortlessly mixes her childish woe with her adult sophistication. Even around the office, she clacks around in whatever heel came out of her rotating closet that morning, all while spouting off fine tuned details of any current or prospective cases. 

These are things he’s lost touch with as he’s aged, that whimsy, the wild eyed gaze she gives to new challenges. He hopes she never lets it go. He hopes she’ll be 80 with bedazzled glasses and  the best hair in the room. Knowing her, he has nothing to worry about in that regard. 

He plops her down on the large couch on the far end of her room, not wanting to douse her bed with chlorine. She needs a good night’s sleep. She whines as she attempts to wiggle out of her party dress, the straps proving to be very stubborn as she maneuvers around the couch. He turns instinctively as she figures it out, her dress bunching around her thighs before she lifts it up over her head. The small sliver of thigh he did see is burned into his brain forever, though. There’s no escaping that. 

“Aaron, I need my pajamas,” her voice is soft, tired. 

Aaron clears his throat awkwardly. “Where are they, honey?”

He practically hears her gleam at his words. He knows she’s basking in his pet name the way she always does, like a cat who got the cream. “Top drawer. I want the silk pink set,” her voice has a certain lilt to it now that nearly has his eyes rolling in the back of his head. Pink silk. He’ll die. He could just die. It would probably be less painful than handling her delicate sleepwear, throwing it behind him without turning around. 

She giggles as she puts it on. “You can look now. I’m all covered.”

He turns, eyes trained on the floor, just in case. He’s truly not prepared for what he sees when he turns around. Her smooth legs are crossed at the ankle, her plush thighs filling out the fabric of her soft pajamas. The top is barely enough fabric to be called such, a thin tank top leaving so little to the imagination, he nearly combusts on the spot. The peaks of her nipples are enough to do him in permanently, to put him in the ground for all eternity. He’d deserve it, too. 

“I can’t move. Need you to get me to bed,” she mumbles, her body falling limp against the couch. He rolls his eyes, moving to scoop her in his arms, bridal style this time. The implication makes him choke on his own spit. 

“Wait!” She exclaims, just as he’s reached the foot of her bed. He stops in his tracks. “Need to get the rest of my makeup off, Aaron. Need the bathroom.” Her head falls against his chest, and he can’t say no. Sighing, he adjusts her in his arms and carries her to the ensuite bathroom. 

He sits her down on the closed toilet, covered in a pink, fuzzy fabric. She wiggles, getting comfortable as her eyes fall shut. 

“The soft, fuzzy washcloth on the counter automatically takes off makeup with water. If you could just wet it, I can get the rest.” She’s truly sleepy now, the alcohol taking her over almost entirely now. 

He won’t make her do all of that work, not after everything he’s put her through tonight. He heeds only part of her request, wetting the washcloth and ringing out the excess water. He crouches in front of her, putting a gentle hand to her jaw as he begins to lightly scrub the remaining bits of makeup off. She sighs, one of content and exhaustion. His heart soars. He thinks he may have to start going back to church just to make up for the grace he’s been granted tonight. 

After he moves through the next two steps- cleanser, then moisturizer, per her instruction- they’re back where they started, at the edge of her bed, her nestled in his arms. He lays her down gently, turning to sleep on her couch downstairs. He’s stopped in his tracks with a single tug to the wrist. His heart stops. 

“Stay,” she mumbles. He’s powerless. He peels off his wet clothes, making peace with sleeping in damp underwear, before she mumbles something more. “There’s extra sweatpants in the room to the right. Take them.” He has no choice but to listen. 

You wake with a pounding head, the morning light filtering in like a knife designed to split you in two. You groan, rubbing your eyes to adjust to the sober reality you’ve been thrust back into. You’re caught off guard when you roll into an absolute brick wall of a man, panic rising in your throat before you realise who it is. The only positive is that he’s familiar, that you know it’s not some random guy you hooked up with and let stay the night. On the other side of that coin, you’re waking up next to your boss, the day after you confessed your love for him. 

The arrival of that memory triggers the rest, and they flood in like a broken dam. Your tears, the vodka, the broken glass, the pool, the way his pecs looked in his white shirt, soaked to the bone and clinging to his chest. 

You shake off the thought, though the motion only wakes Aaron. You curse lightly under your breath. It takes everything in you not to crumble at the raspy groan Aaron lets out, seemingly just as surprised to be waking up in a foreign environment. His eyes widen when they find you, pure shock lacing his features before he slowly pieces together the events of the night before. A small smile curves your lips. “Good morning, party pooper.”

Aaron at least has enough gentlemanly instinct to make breakfast. He’s quick to tie your pink apron around his waist, cracking eggs and frying bacon with ease. You perch on one of the stools at your kitchen island, still littered with beer cans and empty solo cups. You sip your coffee as you watch him. You hate how gorgeous he is, how he has the right to look like that even when you’re mad at him. 

Sweatpants hang low on his hips, the lack of a shirt tantalizing. Your eyes zone in on the slivers of skin afforded beyond the apron. You squeeze your thighs together at the hair on his tummy, the hair that trails lower, and lower…

You jump as he puts a plate in front of you, not expecting for him to be done so soon. “Oh!” You squeal, the sound muffled slightly by your coffee mug. You’re using the glass dish as a crutch now, holding it in front of your face like a shield. You know he can tell exactly what you’re doing, and why you’re doing it, but it doesn’t stop you. He should know how you’re feeling right now, with him in front of you, looking even more delectable than the fresh, sizzling bacon. But he’s still the same man that broke your heart merely hours ago. 

He plates himself before nodding his head towards the semi-clean kitchen table. “Let’s eat there, so that way we’re not talking over pyramids of Sam Adams.”

You smile softly at this, swinging your legs around to hop off the stool. He takes your plate before you can, sitting it at the head of the table. You sit, and take a bite. It takes everything in you not to moan. If it weren’t for last night, maybe you would’ve. You sit in silence for a moment, soft chewing and forks clinking against plates the only noise. The only noise, at least, until Aaron looks directly at you. 

“I’m so sorry. I know that there’s not enough apologies in the world to make up for how I’ve treated you. I just- I couldn’t…” his voice trails off. The hairs on the back of your neck stand. 

“Couldn’t what?” It’s quiet as it leaves your lips, hanging between you two like a ticking time bomb. His eyes flit to the table, his hands clasped together in what looks like silent, desperate, prayer. 

“I couldn’t face rejection again,” he states, plainly. The wheels start turning in your head. Moving, but still unsure of the destination. “You saw so many details of my divorce, the ugly ins and outs. I couldn’t even fathom the thought that you’d be- that you would have any sort of feeling towards me. That you would love me in the way that I love you. Now that I know what I know…”

You’re there. You’ve reached your destination, and you can’t help but collapse your head into your hands and laugh at the stupidity of it all. His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline at the noise you emit, but it’s all worth it at the smile that appears on his own face, cheeks bunching up around his eyes. It makes your heart swell. 

“So, you’re telling me…you didn’t come to my party because you were afraid I’d reject your feelings, and I spent the entire night drinking and crying on rotation because I thought you were rejecting me…” You spell it out, wild hand motions matching the absurdity of the situation. 

“We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?” He smiles, and heat rises to your cheeks. A silence settles over you then, the gravity of what this means hitting the both of you like a truck. “I’m so, so sorry I hurt you. I never meant to, though I know that sounds redundant because of my actions.”

You let out an incredulous chuckle at that, a huff of air conveying multiple emotions at once. “Aaron…I need to know that you won’t just run when things get hard. I know that you and Haley had something…else. I don’t want to be a repeat of that in your healing journey, or get in the way of your duties with Jack, or-”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he soothes, a warm hand grazing your forearm over the table. “You’re not just a part of my healing journey. I learned a lot when Haley left me. You saw it. You held a heavy hand in that change. You gave me something to strive for, a glimmer after I’d thought I messed everything up. And instead of treating you the way I know you deserve, I ran right back to my old patterns. I can’t explain how sorry I am. How can I make it up to you?”

You raise a tentative brow. “The self awareness is a good sign, Aaron, but I need you to know that I’m a one and done kind of girl. Typically a none and done kind of girl. I’m making a very special exception here, sir.” He nods at this, eyes boring into yours. “You’re not going to keep me if you keep your old patterns. It’s one or the other, and you can make it up to me by making that decision. Do you think you’re ready for that?”

He nods emphatically, fingers lacing between yours across the table. You sigh, a true, genuine smile on your face for the first time since before last night. You finish your breakfast in a content silence before dragging him back up to your room. 

“It’s one of the only spots in the house not littered with alcohol!” You’d told him, your reasoning quite sound in your eyes. Aaron rolls his, though a smile persists anyway. 

You fall onto your mattress, lifting your arms up for Aaron to join you. He lays beside you, your finger grazing along the waistline of his sweatpants. You revel in the way he shivers at the contact. He makes himself comfortable and you sling a leg across his hips, neck craning up to look in his eyes. A tense silence falls over you two then, thick and wanting. He tests the waters, slowly inching his face closer to yours. You bridge the gap, greedily smashing his lips to yours. 

He kisses you like a man starved, his arms curling around your back as he tries to consume as much of you as possible. You break from the kiss, only for him to pepper multiple tiny ones on your lips, his own drifting to your chin, your jaw, your neck. You turn on your side so your chest to chest with him, the feeling of your tits pressed up against his was enough to make your head spin. His rigid body relaxes in your arms as his lips find yours again. 

You clutch at his shoulders, a small whimper fleeing your lips in between greedy kisses. “You’re so beautiful, y’know that? Drive me fucking crazy,” he mutters, hands finding the soft skin under your sleep tank. “Yeah?” you coo, and he groans. 

“Yeah,” he nearly moans, and you clench your thighs together. His ravenous hands frantically search for every spare part of your body they can find. “Walking around the office in those skirts, those cute fucking heels,” he punctuates his statement with more kisses. Your head is spinning. 

“I’m glad you like them, I pick them out just to drive you crazy,” you joke, and revel in the way his eyes roll back in his head. You rock against his hard length, and he shudders. 

“I need you. Now.”

Aaron lays still under the covers, fingertips raking up and down her back as if she’s made of porcelain. He releases a shaky breath, lips pressing to the top of her head. She’s drifting in and out of sleep, and the selfish part of him wants her awake, to be there with him, to kiss him some more. The nurturing part of him knows that she needs the sleep, that her hangover likely isn’t helping in her fight to stay conscious. 

“I can hear you thinking, y’know?” she murmurs, her words smushed in his chest. He laughs, a small, breathy sound escaping his lips. 

“Yeah?” He inquires, voice coated thick with love. “Just thinking about you. About what you need to feel better,” he exaggerates this point by rubbing thick fingers along her scalp. She shudders in response. 

“Think I need to sleep,” she mumbles, her lids half shut. 

“I think you do, too,” he answers, his never ending smile still on his face. “But I want to be with youuuu,” she drags out the last word, her lips pouty. He kisses them eagerly. She responds with the same fervor, her arms slinking around his neck. 

He can feel himself stir again, his now naked frame hiding nothing from the woman in his arms. 

“I think you want the same thing,” she says, suggestively. Her eyebrows wiggle as her fingers slide dangerously low. Against his body’s wishes, he grips her wrist gently. She pouts again. He kisses her again. He’ll never get tired of it. 

“Boo!” She pouts, and it’s so adorable he almost pulls her on his lap to finish what they started. 

“You need sleep, honey. I’m going to clean up downstairs, you let me know if you need anything, okay?” She nods as he slides out of bed. He jumps when she swats his ass. 

“Hey!” He exclaims, but she just smiles, resting her head on her propped hand. 

“What? Like it’s my fault you have a cute butt!” She shrugs. He shakes his head, cheeks flushing as he moves to put on his now-dry clothes from last night. 

“Sleep,” He orders. She wiggles her brows in challenge. 

It takes all his will power to leave her there, naked and wanting. It’s for the best right now, for both of them. Her lids have returned to their half closed state, and he ghosts another kiss over her lips before he goes. 

“I love you,” she whispers against his mouth.

“I love you, too. Get some rest.”

“As long as you’re here when I wake up,” she mutters, nestling into her pillow. 

After last night, he couldn’t dream of being anywhere else.

[jeonginsleftcheek]

Dolly VIII

~ part 8 of the Dolly series

pairing: chan x afab!reader

genre: smut, angst, fluff, sci-fi

synopsis: running from the past brought you right back to the beginning.

wc: 10.2k

warnings: paranoia, nightmares, struggles with being infertile, mentions of blood, violence and death, unprotected sex

a/n: this is what y/n's dog looks like

~ divider by @bunnysrph

You were tossing and turning in your bed as the scenes unfolded in your tortured mind. It was the same thing over and over again. The white walls, the tall ceilings, the lab coats, the whirring sounds, the dead emotionless eyes, the clacking of nails against keyboards, the big water tanks with silhouettes of something floating inside them.

Sweat covered your entire body as you struggled to remember just what the hell this place from your dreams was. You were standing there in the long corridor that seemed to shrink and elongate the longer you stared at the heavy door at the end of it. You were wearing a lab coat and gloves and your shoes squeaked against the perfectly clean and scrubbed floor. Your footsteps were slow and heavy, like you were struggling against some force as you walked, appearing to be in slow motion.

Then you heard it.

A scream, rippling through your body and making the hairs at the back of your neck stand as it echoed in the empty corridor. You realized then that it was you screaming, right before your hand touched the door handle.

Your eyes snapped open and you sat up abruptly, your breathing ragged as little beads of sweat rolled down your face. Your hands clutched at the cover around you, holding it in a death grip as you tried to anchor yourself and take note of your surroundings. As if on cue, your dog Asher appeared by your side, his big paws pressed on the mattress as he let out a few inquisitive whines, his head tilting left and right. You let out a little chuckle as your breath evened out and you started petting Asher.

"It's okay, it was just a nightmare." you said and cuddled your dog as he nudged his head against you.

You've had Asher since he was just a small baby and being a bullmastiff he grew into a very big and heavy dog, perfect for someone like you, someone who was living alone and surrounded by the forest. You felt uneasy being alone there but you didn't trust any humans so a protective dog was something you needed by your side.

A sweet and loyal friend like Asher whose entire world is you.

You gave him a few more loving pets before you stood up and went to your bathroom to splash some cold water on your face. The nightmares plagued you for years and the worst thing was that you had no idea if they were real or not. There was an entire chunk of your memory missing, a good three years of your life gone like they never existed. You could only remember bits and pieces but not the entire story. It was as if someone wiped your memory off, like they didn't want you to know something. All you knew was the fear and the anxiety that grew inside you after losing your memory.

You couldn't stand being around people, it made you feel crazy. It was as if they were out to get you, someone, someone was following every move you made, listening in on what you said, what you did. You couldn't trust anyone, not even your loved ones so you left it all and disappeared from their lives without any trace.

You only had a few people who knew your phone number, and that was your mother, your sister and one friend you still somewhat trusted. You rarely talked to them anyways, focusing instead on your dog and your house. It was an old little cabin in the woods and in the last three years you've been here, you worked on it every day, repairing it and tending to your garden, growing your own vegetables and fruit. Even though you couldn't remember those three years missing from your life, you remembered the time before. You knew you were tech-savvy and that you worked for some pretty big companies.

But none of that could ever explain the huge amount of cash in your bank account. You had no idea where the money came from but it was enough for you to live a comfortable life and not have to work ever again. Still, you weren't a big spender, you enjoyed the simple life.

Taking walks with Asher, swimming in the lake, working around the house. Those were your simple pleasures. Yes, sometimes you'd mourn the life you had before. The relationship you had, the man by your side who promised to love you until he found out that you were 'broken' as he said during a heated argument, the venomous words leaving his lips and shooting you straight into the wound that hurt the most, the fact that you couldn't have children, something you yearned for your entire life. The moment your doctor gave you those news, you felt like your entire world came crashing down. And when the man you wanted to spend your entire life with pushed you even further down with his words and the pity in his eyes, like you were less of a woman, it was the last straw.

The last straw after struggling to remember where your nightmares were coming from, why you had this growing paranoia inside you that made you alert of every little sound and every stranger who looked at you for too long, why were you punished with something you wanted so badly being taken away from you.

You left without looking back.

Years later and here you were. Enjoying your peaceful life, the nightmares were plaguing you less and less as time went by. You wrote them all down in a little diary, hoping that maybe one day you'd be able to remember what was ripped away from you. Some days you thought it was better that you didn't remember anything, maybe it was something so horrible that you were better off not knowing what it was. Of course, being a technology lover you had to have a computer, but you were careful about any public accounts you had, changing your name and hiding your location. You didn't want anyone to find out where you lived but you still wanted to be aware of what was happening around you.

"You wanna go for a walk?" you asked Asher as soon as you got dressed, putting on a tracksuit for comfort and easy movement. Your dog perked up immediately, barking happily as he jogged towards you and started pushing you lightly with his head. A series of chuckles left your lips and you grabbed your little bag with a water bottle and snacks for Asher along with a banana that would serve as your breakfast for now.

It was a nice chilly morning, the sun rays were peeking through the trees as you locked up your house and started walking on the familiar path you always took with Asher. He was happily walking along, sniffing around and enjoying the fresh air with you. The sounds of the forest filled up your soul, the birds singing in the trees, the breeze rustling through the leaves, the distant waterfall. It was all so peaceful and you wouldn't trade it for anything.

But, the uneasy feeling you had during your nightmare hasn't left you ever since you woke up. What was behind the door? What was the significance of the number eight? It was written on the door with black ink bleeding down the metal and seeping onto the floor.

There was eight of them.

~

Again. The nightmare was happening again. It was the same long white corridor, the same heavy door at the end of it, the same number eight painted in black ink. Your footsteps were heavy as you struggled to reach the door, to turn the doorknob. A metallic smell filled up your nostrils the closer you got to it and you realized it wasn't black ink sliding down the door, it was dark red blood. With a gasp you gripped the doorknob and swung open the door.

Loud barks brought you back to reality. It took you a moment to realize you were on the ground in the forest, your nails digging into the earth beneath you as you stared up at the trees, seeing Asher hovering over you and barking, nudging you with his head.

"Did I faint?" you questioned out loud, immediately clutching onto your dog who seemed happy and relieved to see you awake even though he was still barking confusedly. "I'm okay, Asher."

As soon as you returned home, you dialed your mother's number.

"Hello?" her familiar voice rang from the other side of the receiver.

"Mom?" your voice came out shaky.

"Y/n?! Oh my god, Y/n!" your mom almost cried out in happiness. "Where are you? Are you coming back home?"

"N-no, I-I can't come back. I can never come back. I just... I just called because the nightmares are getting worse. I thought it was getting better but-"

"That's why you have to come back home and get the help you need. Please, let me be there for you. We'll find someone you can talk to." your mom begged and you could hear the sniffles. She was crying.

"I'm sorry, but I can't. They'll find me." you whispered, looking over at Asher who was finishing his meal. "I have Asher here, I'm not alone."

"I know you love your dog but-"

"I have to hang up now. The call can't be longer than a minute and we are going over that frame of time now. I'm sorry, I love you mom." you said quickly before hanging up. You clutched the phone in your hand and stared at it as your breathing got faster. You needed to write everything down in your diary.

You remembered your friend who you haven't heard from in a long time. She always mentioned some company called BIMT to you but the name meant nothing, you tried and tried but you couldn't remember. Not that and especially not someone named Helena who was apparently the person who opened up the institute. Your heart sped up as you started turning the pages of your diary.

You were always afraid of finding out the truth but something was telling you that it was time for you to make some effort to remember more.

You sat in front of your computer a few days later, hands clutching at the end of the table to stop them from shaking. The nightmares were becoming too much again and on top of the fear they kept feeding inside you, Asher was barking at a particular tree in the forest every time you took the same path for a walk.

It was making your paranoia rise so you started taking a different route. Asher didn't bark at any empty spaces there but you still couldn't shake off the dark feeling following you everywhere. Your hands hovered over the keyboard, it was time to see what this so called Helena looked like.

You typed her name into the search bar and immediately upon seeing her picture come up something twisted in your stomach, gnawed at your insides and made you want to vomit. Disgust filled you up and you quickly exited the page. Did you know her? You must've, judging by the strong reaction your body had upon seeing her. You wished you could remember more, know what happened to you.

You had asked your loved ones and all they knew was that you were working on some secret project at BIMT and that one day you came home completely disoriented, not even remembering your own name, as if you were in some sort of trance. You spent ten days in the hospital stuttering and speaking nonsense about some dolls and about a dead body you apparently saw. They had no idea what the hell you were talking about or what you were doing at the institute, no one knew what went on in there since it wasn't made public.

It left you feeling so frustrated.

You went about your day, trying to shake off the weird feeling of being watched. You managed to get rid of it once you moved out of the city but lately it started coming back. As if half asleep you went through the motions of your usual day; walk with Asher, cooking, cleaning, working around the house, the garden, taking a relaxing bath. And before you knew it night had fallen over the forest, the darkness enveloping the trees and whatever lurked behind them.

You cuddled up in your bed, feeling content under the blankets and with Asher sleeping on the floor next to your bed on his blanket. You knew you were not safe in your dreams though and you dreaded falling asleep. You tried relaxing as much as you could, starting with that bath you took, to now having a little night light and some soothing incense burning in your room. You hoped you'd have calm dreams or rather that you won't dream about anything tonight.

But you were wrong.

Once again, you were in your lab coat walking slowly through the white corridor towards the big metal door. The number eight was still bleeding slowly towards the floor and suddenly you were standing in front of the door with your hand on the doorknob. Something inside you screamed to turn around and leave but you turned the knob and swung open the door. The scream that left your lips echoed all around you. Helena was laying on the floor in an unnatural position, her skin looked bluish and her eyes have almost completely lost their spark.

"Helena!" you screamed and ran towards her, your hands hovering over her body as you had no idea if you should touch her or not.

"Please, keep them safe. Don't let anything happen to them." she grabbed your hand weakly, giving you the key you always saw her wear around her neck. "Give this to Chan when you can. He'll know what it's for." she spoke between breaths and then her hand dropped as you clutched onto the key.

"Hey, grab her!" you heard voices yelling and footsteps running down the corridor and you snapped your head towards them to see a few androids coming towards you with their hands reached out to grab you. You stood up and tried your best to fight them or dodge but they grabbed you and one of them held a huge injection in his hand, lifting it up. You felt a sting in your neck and then there was nothing around you but a black void.

In the darkness, you saw him, your ex looking at you with pity in his eyes. Mocking you, pointing at you, the loud sound of cackling coming out of his mouth, echoing around you and making it seem like there were more and more people surrounding you and laughing at you.

"Stop it! Please, stop it!" you screamed, covering your ears with your palms and shutting your eyes tightly as you begged for the laughter to stop.

You woke up abruptly to the sound of the phone ringing and Asher barking at the device as you breathed hard, your body heated with a thin sheen of sweat over your skin. You stood up quickly and ran to the phone, your hand trembling as you picked it up.

"H-hello?" you shivered at the sudden coldness enveloping your body after you left your heated bed.

"Y/n!" a chirpy voice sounded from the other side and you sighed in relief, it was just your friend.

"Oh, hey." you cleared your throat and opened up your fridge to find a cold water bottle.

"Are you sitting down? Cause you won't believe what I have to tell you." she started and you rolled your eyes, thinking it was some drama she found out by hacking someone's account. You took a big swig of water and sat down as Asher came towards you, letting out a few barks.

"I'm sitting down, what is it?" you inhaled slowly and looked up at the clock, it was a little later than you usually wake up and Asher was probably ready for his walk.

"I know you worked at BIMT and I know you don't remember it but they just recently launched a line of eight sex dolls and well I got one. Long story short, he is sort of alive. And I suspect all the others are too, I hacked into his code and Y/n, it's something that I've never seen before. This code, it's alive. It changes with activity when the doll talks and thinks. It's like the code has a mind of its own and the dolls have conscience, they're not just robots, they feel, dream, think and wish. I don't know who else to ask for help except you, maybe you'd even remember something or know how they were made and why. And what happened to Helena, who is in charge now... Please. The first doll made was Chan, I think you should get him."

As she talked, you felt your body trembling and your ears ringing with the anxiety rising inside you. It was like your dreams, there were eight of them, Helena was there and she spoke about someone named 'Chan'.

It was all too much.

"So, can you take Chan? I think we might have a chance of helping the dolls if you do. Since Jisung was 'sleeping' and supposed to just be used as a sex doll, then the other dolls might be struggling too. I don't think it's right. Maybe they're not completely human... but their heart is beating. They hurt, they feel. They think. They don't deserve to be mistreated."

You thought for a moment and despite all the nervousness shaking you up, something nagged at you to say yes. You felt like you needed to help them, like you held the key to discovering just what was happening in the mysterious institute.

"Fine. I'll help them. I will take Chan." you paused. "What do you hope to achieve once I get him?"

"I'm working on a plan. I'll let you know." your friend said and you exhaled.

It was a lot to process and you knew you'd have to face your past and your fears if you wanted to help these dolls. Asher barked loudly, jumping up and almost knocking you from the bar chair you were sitting on. You let out a chuckle, giving him a few pats.

"We're going for a walk now, don't worry."

As soon as you stepped out of the cabin, taking in the greenery around you and inhaling the fresh air, your mind started to calm down. You took the new route you've been walking on recently, leading to a nice clearing where you could play with Asher. For a moment there you forgot about Helena, BIMT and the dolls and your soul was at peace.

But as soon as you got home and gave Asher some food, you sat down at your computer and opened up the site with the dolls. Upon seeing them, something fluttered in your chest. Especially looking at the Chan and Minho doll. They seemed to stand out to you, their faces seemed the most familiar. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you could see what the Chan doll looked like while smiling. A shiver ran down your spine as you hovered your mouse over his picture. You were really doing this.

A week later, you climbed in your truck with Asher on the passenger seat as you went to pick up the package. You had it delivered at the nearest post office which was a twenty minute drive. You didn't want to order the doll directly to your house, it was too risky. Driving there was soothing, the nature around you and the empty road made you feel like you were the only person there, as if it all belonged just to you. Asher was also happy to be on the passenger seat, his head stuck out the window as he enjoyed the wind.

The package was very large as you expected and the worker helped you get it in the back of your truck. The drive back home was fast.

Somehow, you managed to get the big box in your living room with Asher's 'help' aka him running around your legs, barking at the box and sniffing it and almost making you drop it on your feet twice.

"Asher!" you chuckled in frustration, playfully petting his head before you looked down at the box. Your chest felt tight suddenly and you tried to calm down your breathing as you placed your hand on your heart and started taking deep breaths in.

"Let's do this." you nodded, determined to start facing your past.

After opening up the box and removing the bubble wrap, you came face to face with the doll called Chan. His face, it was familiar and it brought up fuzzy memories and feelings that you couldn't quite put your finger on. You stared at him for a moment before picking up the paper in the box.

Hello,

My name is Chan and I am your protective doll.

I love creating music, working out, spending time in the nature or at the beach. I mostly wear black clothes, making me look like some sort of bodyguard. But don't be intimidated, I'm gentle on the inside.

I am used to taking care of others, so every now and then I need someone to lean on and take care of me as I tend to forget myself.

I hope you'll be the one for me and that you'll come to love me as much as I love you!

It was freaky, the way the doll 'spoke' inside the letter like it was alive. You swallowed as you stared at it, Asher scaring you with his sudden barking. He seemed to be excited, his tail wagging as he jumped around the box and barked at Chan.

"You like him, don't you?" you asked Asher and he kept on barking as if to answer your question. "Alright, I trust your canine wisdom." you laughed and kneeled down to keep unwrapping the bubble wrap. You noticed another paper sticking from the pocket of Chan's jacket so you picked it up.

Hey there, my peach!

I dressed a little nicer for our first date.

I'm looking forward to spending time with you, I hope you are excited too.

"Peach?" you chuckled and shook your head with a slight smile.

You had no idea what to make of all this, you wished you could remember more and know just how you were a part of this and why did Chan dolly seem so familiar to you?

You knew your friend would call you with the plan she had come up with and in the meantime you didn't want to mess with the doll too much, your paranoia made you overly cautious. Thoughts swirled in your mind; what if this was some kind of set up? What if the doll comes to life during the night and hurts you? What if they put a tracking device inside the doll and now they'll find you? The androids from your dream, they were working for someone very powerful, that's what you knew. And someone with so much power could do all sorts of things... But then again, your memory was wiped somehow and the huge amount of cash in your bank account almost seemed like an apology.

You shook your head and decided to put Chan in the guest room. You were too afraid and confused, filled with so many emotions that were swirling inside your gut, rising up and almost making you throw up. You needed to get your mind off of things so you laid Chan dolly in bed with Asher following behind you and sniffing the doll curiously.

"Let's go." you said to Asher and shooed him out of the room before glancing at Chan one more time. With a sigh you closed and locked the door, too afraid to be too close to the suspicious doll. If only you could remember your relationship with it, maybe you'd be more at ease. Right now, you only had more questions in your mind.

You decided to go about your day, working in your garden and around the house, keeping your mind occupied and away from all the anxieties that were swarming in your brain. Hours passed and you were finally in bed, too exhausted to even keep your eyes open. You remembered that Chan dolly was in the next room suddenly and for some reason a feeling of comfort washed over you. You knew him. You were becoming more and more sure about that.

~

Chan sat across from you in a chair with some kind of machine hooked up to the back of his neck, the cables leading to your computer as you typed. He watched you quietly with a hint of curiosity in his eyes while you worked. There was a steady beeping sound filling up the room together with the sound of your fingers hitting the keys on the keyboard. You looked up at him and he gave you a small smile.

"Has the buzzing subsided?" you asked.

"Yes, it's almost gone." he answered.

"Helena will be glad to hear that." you nodded and typed in a few more parameters before Chan spoke up again.

"Is it true that our mother is sick?" the question made you stop in your tracks. You slowly lifted your head from the screen and looked at the confused expression on the doll's face.

"Yes, sadly it is true." you answered, watching as he tilted his head left and right while processing what you said.

"Will she be okay?" he asked, his eyes big and innocent. You sighed, there was still so much to do, so much to add to the code, to feed to the algorithm. He needed to expand, the artificial cell growth needed to be accelerated for everything to work as it was supposed to and mostly for the vision Helena had. It was one hell of a task and you were a part of it, the brilliant team she put together.

"We don't know yet." you answered truthfully.

"Who is doctor Park?" Chan asked suddenly, making you jolt a little.

"How did you hear about all this?" you asked him, leaning back in your chair.

"O-on accident." the doll seemed to become nervous. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, I was walking by Mother's office and I heard her talking on the phone, saying how she is sick and that there is a doctor Park trying to take away her project, make it into something different."

"Shit." you cursed quietly.

"Did I do something wrong?" Chan asked, the doll showing fear and anxiety on his face. You looked back at the screen of your computer, noticing how beautifully the code was developing and changing on its own. It truly seemed like some kind of magic.

"No, no, you didn't do anything wrong. Everything is okay, Channie." you reassured him with a kind smile which he returned, his brows smoothing immediately.

"I like that nickname." he said thoughtfully.

"Yeah?" you let out a chuckle, the doll expressing something like that was new which meant that everything was developing just as it was supposed to. Now, if only you could help Helena somehow, know that she'll be okay and keep away doctor Park, then everything would be perfect. And the dolls would be ready to be introduced to the world soon, make a life for themselves along with humans.

~

Your eyes snapped open and you blinked a few times, realizing that the sun was rising, the first rays peeking through your window. You sat up in confusion. That wasn't a dream, it was a memory.

You were indeed working at BIMT alongside Helena, helping her out with the dolls. You knew Chan and he knew you. But you still had no idea about the rest of the details like how they were made, what was their purpose and what was your specialty. You couldn't remember what role you played exactly but it must've been something important. You stood up quickly, Asher joining you, already excited for his walk. But before that, you had to check on Chan.

Your hand shook above the handle of the door, the images of the bloody door in the lab from your nightmares flashing in your mind. You shook it off and opened the door. Chan was in the same position you left him and you stood on the doorway for a moment before tentatively approaching the bed.

"Hello. I don't know if you can hear me and I feel more crazy talking to you than I already did before. But I'm gonna help you. I'm not exactly sure how but I know that everything will be okay." you tried to talk to the doll and calm yourself at the same time. Chan didn't move or say anything so you sighed and left the room.

You were still waiting for your friend to tell you what her plan was.

It's been exactly 22 days since you got Chan and there was no changes in his state, he seemed to be completely frozen in space and time. You put him in your living room for a while which proved to be a mistake since Asher wanted to jump on top of the doll and play with him constantly. He couldn't understand why something human-looking ignored him and didn't pet him or play with him. You laughed at your dog's cuteness even though you were nervous that he'd accidentally break Chan. So you put him back in the guest room where he spent those days since you got him.

Your memories were coming back in snippets and you were sure that this doctor Park that kept being talked about in your dreams was an evil person and that the androids who worked for him, the ones that injected you with something when you found Helena's body may be following you or listening in on your phone conversations.

But there was no other way to communicate with your friend. And she had finally called you with her plan. Most of the dolls were already sold out, it was a craze. She wanted you to wake Chan up first like she woke her Jisung dolly up on the computer for her plan to work.

And for some reason you were too afraid to do that.

She called you again two weeks later, when you were losing your mind with torturous nightmares and jumbled memories that you couldn't place in order or even understand what half of them meant. You were losing grip on reality, you had no idea which dream was just that and which one was a memory that actually happened to you.

Your paranoia grew and you needed help.

"Hey there, friend! How's everything going with your dolly? Did you wake him up yet?" your friend asked after calling you.

"Not yet. I'm scared to." you answered, looking out the window.

"Just do as I did. He'll wake up just like Jisung did. And speaking of Jisung, he really wants to see Chan."

Your breath got caught in your throat. People coming here, finding out your address, knowing where you lived...

"I- I don't know about that. What if you get followed here?" you panicked as all sorts of thoughts started swirling in your mind. "I don't want them to find me."

"Who is 'them'?" she asked but you couldn't even explain it all to yourself.

"I can't say. They may be listening, may know Channie is here. I can't risk it anymore, I can't!"

"Please, just calm down! We need to help the dolls, and no one can do it but us, do you understand that? I know that you're scared but trust me, okay?" you heard the desperation in her voice and you knew there was no one else who could help her and the dolls but you.

You sighed and turned around, nervously picking at your clothes.

"Alright. But if something happens-"

"Nothing will happen. Well, nothing bad. I promise."

You weren't very reassured but you knew there was no other choice.

It was time to wake Chan up.

~

You were sitting in front of your computer, one end of the cable already hooked into it as your shaky hand held the other end. You hesitated as you stared at the usb opening on the back of Chan's neck. There was no more time to waste, you had to do this now.

You hooked him up finally, opening up your terminal and typing. Your friend told you exactly what to do to open the code and when you finally had it in front of you, it seemed familiar. You gasped as you looked at the lines of code, it was as if you knew them in your heart. The code was beautiful, so intricate and different than any other program you worked on. You found the factory reset loop and looked at Chan one more time before clicking it.

You waited for a few moments as nothing was happening and the only sounds you could hear was your heart beating in your ears and Asher's little sigh as he dozed off on the carpet. Suddenly, the doll's cheeks reddened and his eyes watered as he gasped for air. You jolted and Asher lifted his head immediately, barking at the doll.

Your eyes widened while you watched it all unfold as he started breathing, coughing, his skin becoming flushed. Chan looked confused and scared for a moment before his eyes landed on you and they mirrored your expression, widening as he stared at you.

"Y/n?" his voice was hoarse.

"C-Channie?" you gasped, you couldn't believe that he remembered you.

Asher was already all over Chan, sniffing him and barking at him, his tail wagging happily. Chan smiled at your dog despite the craziness of the situation and his total confusion. You grabbed a water bottle and gave it to Chan.

He was really alive and you were in complete and utter shock.

"You remember me?" you asked as you fidgeted with your fingers. You had no idea what your relationship with him was other than the little snippets where you saw yourself working on his code, still never being able to see clearly just what you were typing.

"I remember everything." he said and you gasped again.

"E-everything?" you stuttered as you kept staring at him. Chan started petting Asher who was now sitting by his side, trusting him completely, it made you feel at ease.

"Don't you? You don't remember me?" he asked.

"Only bits and pieces. I think my memory was wiped. Helena-"

"I know, they killed her. Well he ordered it, doctor Park. And his little androids did all the dirty work."

"Please, help me remember. I have no idea what I was doing exactly at BIMT." you pleaded, feeling like you were on the precipice of something big.

"You were working on the development of the code, specifically you were specializing in our mental state and sometimes about physical problems we'd feel like buzzing in our ears or itching. We used to come to your office to talk to you and you'd give us tests and then check at the development of the code. You spent a lot of time with me and Minho, we were your main patients so to speak."

"So I was like a counselor or psychologist? But I don't remember ever taking any courses in that... I just know I am good with technology, I know I went to college as a developer. I can't remember much else about my education. And then I remember being with my ex and working for a few different companies. Lately, I remembered working at BIMT and talking to you mostly, but I have no idea what happened overall since I started working there until I stopped. It's frustrating."

Chan nodded as he listened to you speak.

"I would be frustrated if my memory was wiped too. But it wasn't, not like the other dolls' memory was. Because Helena gave me something that would help me remember, she knew what doctor Park's intentions were. She couldn't stop him because she was too weak and sick and we didn't know who to ask for help. Doctor Park scared most of the team somehow, I have no idea what he threatened them with but you were one of the ones that stayed the longest. Though I guess that Park did a lousy job of wiping memory if you are starting to remember things." Chan explained.

"That he did." you let out a chuckle of disbelief, your head was swimming with so many questions. "What did Helena give you to remember?"

"She gave me a usb stick with some code and I used it to protect my memory."

"Were we close? You and me, I mean." you asked after a pause.

"Yes, you were always like a friend to me. You treated us like... Like we were human. You took into consideration our thoughts and feelings. You and Helena were the only people we really felt safe with. I mean, the rest of the team was okay too but they treated us as if we were products." Chan leaned back in the chair as Asher settled down next to him, continuing his nap that was interrupted earlier.

"Wait, so how did this happen? All of you 'sleeping', becoming sex dolls?" Chan blushed slightly at that.

"It was doctor Park. I don't know which modifications he did to our code but we were all unable to move after some time, after Helena died and all the old team was gone, only the androids were left and they worked on us. I just hope my brothers don't remember that part." Chan trailed off, looking at the ground. "Do you know where they are?" he looked up at you.

"I know only where Jisung is. My friend has him, actually she is the one who asked me to get you and help you out. She has a plan on how to help all the dolls break free. We just need a way to contact the other doll owners."

You explained to Chan what the plan was and he listened intently, sitting silent for a few moments before he spoke up.

"I have an idea."

"What is it?" you tilted your head at him.

"We gather everyone in one place. That would be the easiest, wouldn't it?" Chan asked and you nodded.

"Yes, but how would we do that?"

"Simple, we add something alarming into my code, like a mistake and it'll get the attention of BIMT and they'll come get all the dolls. Let them know I'm awake, that we all are even if some of them aren't awake yet."

"Can it hurt you?" you asked and Chan smiled a little.

"No, it will just be like a warning to the institute, I think it's safe to do this."

"Let me call my friend and discuss with her." you said and he agreed.

It was one hell of a long phone call, you forgot about the fact that someone might be listening in as you put her on speaker so Jisung could hear Chan's voice, the poor guy broke down and started crying after talking to Chan, making you feel even more determined to help the dolls break free.

The plan was set and you were ready to make BIMT and doctor Park pay.

The fresh breeze drifted through the leaves and grass, bringing the sweet smell of flowers towards you and enveloping you in a kind of calm state of being. You watched as Chan ran around the field with Asher, throwing him a stick they'd found and Asher running back to bring it to him.

It's been a week since you woke him up and despite all the fears and doubts that tormented you, having him near you and sharing your private sanctuary with him felt natural, as if he's been there forever. You felt safe and protected, Asher loved him and you had someone else to talk to except yourself and your dog. Chan turned to look at you as if he knew that you were thinking about him and gave you that blinding smile that made your heart flutter.

Come evening, Chan and you were sitting down on the couch with Asher by your feet and once again you grabbed your journal and opened it up. For the last few days, Chan has been helping you remember, at least the things he participated in or knew were true. You could then eliminate dreams and expand on the memories, especially if he was there to witness them first hand.

"Hey, what about the key that Helena gave me? In my dream, she gave me that key she always wore on a necklace around her neck and said to give it to you, that you'd know what it was for." you asked Chan.

"She gave you the key?" Chan smiled, looking excited suddenly.

"She did. It's in my nightstand."

"Y/n, that's amazing! The key is for the safe in her mansion. There's money in there, her will, all the documents and papers containing information about us, how we were built from the very beginning to the last code. The instructions on how to build dolls that look and act human is inside that safe and you are holding the key." Chan said as he grabbed your hands excitedly.

Your body warmed up, both from the news and from the contact.

"Everything we need to know is in there? Which means, whoever gets the papers can make more dolls like the eight of you?"

"Yes and just imagine what could happen if it fell into wrong hands." Chan said and looked down at your hands in his, thumbs gently caressing your skin and soothing you even though your heart was fluttering. "We need to find Helena's mansion."

"You don't know where it is?"

"No, some information was scattered among us so they can't find everything out or it would be harder for them to do so. I believe that Jeongin is the one who knows locations." Chan said, still holding onto your hands and you were getting incredibly hot. It's been a long time since you had physical contact with another human being, someone who could hold you and soothe you like he could.

"Making him sound like GPS." you chuckled and Chan let out a laugh before his eyes landed on yours and he tilted his head.

"I'm so glad we found each other again." he said and you swallowed, feeling a little shiver running up your spine.

"Channie... Just how close were we?" you asked cautiously. The fluttering in your chest and stomach increased as your heart sped up and you watched his cheeks heating up.

"Honestly? Very close, I- I kissed you once. Which was very wrong because you were taken but you were so upset that day. You just found out the heartbreaking news that you couldn't, you know." he trailed off as you stared at him confusedly so he continued. "That you couldn't have kids and you got into this huge argument with your ex and started crying while explaining everything to me. And I just couldn't stand to see you so upset so I confessed my feelings and kissed you." Chan said, biting on his lip nervously as he tried to read your expression.

"Back up just a second. I told you about not being able to have kids while I was working at BIMT?"

"Yeah, you found it out not too long before all the shit went down."

"But I thought I found that out after BIMT. Because I remember when I woke up in the hospital and had no idea what happened to me since I worked my last job before that to the moment I opened my eyes. And my ex was there, and we were together for another year or so. And during that time I found out I couldn't have kids." you talked confusedly, trying to connect the dots.

"Wait, what if he had something to do with it?" Chan gasped.

"With what? Me not being able to have children?"

"No, your loss of memory."

You sat there thinking for a moment. If only the two of you knew about your problem while you were still at BIMT and then your memory was wiped before you found out again that you can't have kids...

"That bastard made me go through this horrible shit twice!" you stood up abruptly, anger rising up inside you. "He knew and he was somehow involved and the fucking asshole made me hear the most terrible news twice, take the same hit twice. Fuck!" you kicked the coffee table angrily and Asher barked, confused at your sudden outburst.

"Hey, hey." Chan stood up and wrapped his arms around you. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"It's not your fault. I should've known, I should've been more careful."

"You can't really blame yourself either, this is obviously something bigger than us. Someone orchestrated all of this and that someone is probably doctor Park. He was after us since the beginning, after Helena's money and legacy. We need to bring him down, find some dirt on him and expose him." Chan talked as he caressed your back in soothing circles.

"Let's work on that code then."

~

In the evening after you bid good night to Chan, you were left alone with your thoughts. Asher slept by your bed as always, watchful of you, giving you the physical sense of security you needed. But your mind was a bad place, everything was starting to connect. All your memories were coming back more detailed and intense, your work with the dolls, how you took care of them, how it felt as if they were your friends, how much effort you put into it all alongside Helena and the rest of the team. How your ex was very secretive and had weird phone calls and would disappear during the weirdest hours, always coming up with some sort of work excuse. Your blood boiled with anger as you felt that you were used like a puppet for whatever grand scheme was happening behind the scenes.

It was infuriating, feeling like your hands were tied back then and how you couldn't stop or change what happened. But, there was still time, the last hope hasn't died yet. You sighed as you tossed and turned in your bed, you needed comfort. You needed Chan.

You remembered spending time with him too, how sweet he was and how fond he seemed of you. Not only did you help him out, but he helped you out too, he was someone you could talk to about anything. You knew it was probably crossing the work relationship between the two of you but you couldn't care less. Chan made you feel good, he made you feel seen and heard.

So you remembered that day you cried to him and the way he kissed you like you were everything to him. A wave of warmness travelled through your entire body and you stood up, leaving Asher in your room as you went to the guest room and knocked gently on the door.

Chan wasn't sleeping either, his mind was also reeling with everything that was happening and his worry for the rest of the dolls grew. He just hopped they were all protected and in the hands of good people who would come to love them and take care of them. He hoped to see them once again, all together like they were once before in Helena's mansion.

"Come in." he said quietly and you walked in, closing the door behind you. "Can't sleep?" Chan added and you shook your head.

"I just keep thinking about everything. All my memories are coming back to me and now I can see more clearly than ever that I was just used for Park's plan." you sighed, sitting down on the bed.

Chan didn't hesitate pulling you into his embrace. You froze for a moment, all the years of isolation and swearing to yourself that you'll never let anyone close were making you want to run away but the warmth of his body and the need for someone to comfort you overtook the anxiety and you let yourself melt into him.

"I keep thinking about everything too. Especially my friends, I'm worried that someone who bought them might be treating them badly. I just hope they're okay." Chan said, a worried expression on his face.

"At least we know that Jisung is okay. And I'm sure whoever bought the other dolls is treating them well. I don't think someone would spend so much money just to throw it away."

"I guess but you never know with people. I just want us to be reunited again."

"Then we will do everything to make that happen." you said and wrapped your arms around Chan's waist. You pressed your head against his chest and listened to his heartbeat.

"Stay here tonight." Chan whispered into your hair and you squeezed him tighter.

The feelings you had for him before were coming back to you, even if it was forbidden or wrong back then, you couldn't help what you felt in your heart. You wanted him.

You looked up at him and desire grew inside you as his eyes roamed all over your face like he was trying to take in every single detail that makes you up. You sat up and grabbed his face, crashing your lips into his without any hesitation. Chan's eyes widened for a moment before he recovered and gripped your waist, kissing you equally as passionately.

Everything disappeared except the two of you, your hands roamed on each other's skin, tugging at the clothes, tongues explored each other's mouths and your hearts started racing fast in unison.

Your hands roamed under his shirt, touching the taut muscles as his hands gripped at your bare thighs, pulling you closer and making you grind against him. You groaned into his mouth, feeling his hot bulge pressed against your own heat and you couldn't help grinding harder against him, jolts of electricity running through your body. It's been so long since you felt wanted and you already couldn't get enough of him.

Chan's hands slid under your shirt, caressing the soft skin on your back and sides as he slowly made his way to your breasts. Your breath hitched when he grabbed them and started massaging them, his thumbs running over your sensitive nipples as his tongue explored your mouth.

You gripped the hem of his shirt and Chan broke off the kiss so you could take his shirt off. Your eyes roamed all over his figure, the wave of warmth inside you growing even hotter. He smirked a little and you gripped at your shirt, taking it off too. He grabbed at your body and swiftly turned you over so you were under him. A gasp escaped your lips as he manhandled you easily, hovering over you.

"I've wanted you for so long, Y/n. You're the only person who made me feel this way ever since I first saw you." he spoke and you shivered, gripping at his shoulders and pulling him down closer to you.

"Please Chan, I need you."

Hearing you say that made his entire being flutter, all he wanted in that moment was to feel you completely, to make you his. His lips travelled down your neck to your chest, paying special attention to your sensitive nipples as he slowly slid your shorts and underwear down, leaving you completely bare and vulnerable.

You spread your legs almost automatically, you needed him more than anything, you needed that connection you've been missing for a while. Chan took off his sweatpants and boxers and you whimpered as you looked at his cock, hanging hard between his legs, dripping and throbbing for you.

"It's been a while..." you trailed off and Chan nodded understandingly, his fingers pressing against your clit and moving in circles. You moaned, feeling yourself getting more wet and shivering as he played with the most sensitive part of you, his fingers sliding down to gather your wetness ocassionally before going back to your clit. His lips were everywhere, worshipping your skin and making you melt into the bed. He slowly pushed two of his fingers inside you as you gripped at his arms, feeling him opening you up and preparing you to take him.

You lost yourself completely in that moment as he brought you to your high quickly after finding that special spot inside you. You were already overwhelmed but you needed more and Chan was getting impatient, he wanted you more than anything.

When he finally started pushing his length inside of you, your entire body felt as if it was on fire and you held onto him as he groaned into your ear and gripped your hips tightly.

"So tight." Chan groaned as he filled you up and you clenched around him, your insides fluttering at the feeling. He paused for a moment, letting you adjust as his hands slid up and down your waist. You wrapped your arms around him and arched into him, needing him even closer. He slowly started to move and your legs wrapped around him, pushing him in deeper.

"I dreamt about you for so long." Chan groaned.

"Yeah?" your brain wasn't even registering completely what he was saying, your senses were focusing on the way his length dragged against your velvety walls.

"The thought of you kept me going in that place. Wishing I'd see you again one day." Chan confessed as he gripped your hips, moving languidly inside you, making you feel every inch of him filling you up.

"I'm sorry I forgot you." your nails dug into his upper back and you let out a moan as the tip of his cock pressed into your sweet spot.

"I'll make sure you never forget again." Chan whispered into your ear before thrusting harder into you and your legs trembled as you held onto him, your eyes rolling back. You completely melted into the feeling of him while he rocked your entire body as you clawed at him. You desperately needed something to hold on to and your nails were dragging up and down his back, leaving red angry marks but Chan loved it. He gripped your hips, getting completely lost in you as you clenched around him and let go while he fucked you through your high and chased his own.

All the pent up feelings got released when Chan exploded inside of you, filling you up and you whimpered at the feeling and the bliss that settled inside you. Both of you were taking a moment to come down to Earth when loud barking from the other side of the door scared you.

"Oh, Asher." you chuckled and Chan let out a snort.

"He'll need to wait for a moment." he added, getting up and making his way to the adjacent bathroom. After both of you cleaned up and got dressed you let Asher in. Your dog barked as if you had abandoned him and betrayed him and only calmed down after both of you gave him pats and called him a silly little pup, even though he was far from little.

He slept next to the bed like always and you slept in Chan's arms, blissful and loved.

The next few days were tough, you and Chan worked on the error code that would draw the attention of BIMT, consulting with your friend and Jisung at the same time.

The day you wrote and perfected the code, you knew that in the moment you activate it, everything will go into motion.

"Let's have a day just for us, forget about all of this." you told Chan, the fear and uncertainty gnawing at your stomach. You had no idea how everything would turn out even after you had planned out everything carefully. You didn't want to be separated from Chan ever again and he felt the same.

"Let's go see the waterfall." he nodded with a smile. You had promised him ever since he woke up that you'll take him there, together with Asher. So, the two of you got ready for the hike as it was a little far and Asher was excited as soon as he heard the word 'walk' come out of your mouth.

The nature around you was exactly what you needed, the fresh air and the song of the birds as you walked alongside Chan, Asher running in front of you and sniffing around. It was a perfectly spent morning, making you forget for a moment about all the shit that went down and was still bound to happen.

As you got to the waterfall, you took a few photographs with your camera, focusing on how beautiful Chan looked when he was happy and simply existing, noticing how soft his eyes would become as soon as they landed on yours.

"Do you think everything will go over well?" you asked as you stared at the mighty waterfall, the water splashing down loudly. Chan wrapped his arms around you and held you tightly.

"It has to. My brothers will be saved, BIMT will go down and nothing will ever separate us again." he spoke into your ear gently before kissing your cheek.

You hoped he was right even if it sounded too good to be true.

So you savored the moment, his embrace, Asher running around with his stick and the beautiful waterfall in front of you, just in case it would be the last memory you'd have to hold on to.

~

It was happening. BIMT had been warned about an error and the site closed after leaving notifications about the dolls being discontinued indefinitely. You were waiting for your friend's call, expecting your phone to ring any moment, but what you didn't expect was a knock on the door.

Your mind swam with possibilities, going to the darkest places immediately, thinking they had found you and were here to grab Chan and take him away from you forever. Asher barked at the door threateningly as Chan stood beside you.

"Does anyone else have your address?" he asked.

You thought back to the time you were leaving the city. The only person you trusted the most was your niece. You weren't that much older than her, only a decade since your half-sister was much older than you and had her daughter young. You weren't really on speaking terms with her and were much closer to your niece who was more of a sister to you than your own. You remembered giving her the address to the cabin in case of any emergencies. You looked at Chan and swallowed.

"My niece, it could be my niece but it means that something bad happened." you shivered and the knock came again.

"Let's just open the door." Chan tried to reassure you.

Your hand gripped the handle as Chan stood beside you protectively, Asher on your other side. But when you opened the door, you weren't expecting three figures standing there, all three of them familiar to you.

"Hi, auntie!" your niece chuckled and you stared at her and the two men beside her completely flabbergasted.

"Hyunjin? Seungmin?" Chan gasped in disbelief to which they reacted in shock too.

"Chan? What are you doing here, bro?" Hyunjin laughed, tears of happiness and disbelief brimming in his eyes as Seungmin muttered a silent 'what the fuck?'

"Wait, you're a dolly too!" your niece gasped and you were pinching yourself just to see if this was a dream or not.

"You're just in time. This is insane. Come on in." Chan said with his eyes still wide, rubbing your arm to bring you back into the present.

The phone rang and you jolted, quickly grabbing it and answering it, it was your friend as you expected.

"Did they come get him?" you asked quickly, motioning for everyone to settle down as Asher jumped around them and sniffed them.

"Yes. I did as we planned. Is Chan ready?" she asnwered.

"Oh, he is ready. You should get here as soon as possible."

"Fuck yes!" your friend laughed and you shook your head.

"Uhm, but..." you trailed off and stopped pacing, looking at everyone in the living room, chattering and hugging each other.

"Yes?"

"We have company." you said.

"What company?"

"Someone who can help us a lot." you smiled and she chuckled and gasped the entire time while you explained what just happened.

You just hopped that your plan would work and that doctor Park would pay for all the shit he has caused. But most of all you wanted Chan and the rest of the dolls to be reunited.

It was time for action.

@moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @porangporangmeong @laylasbunbunny @laughatdanger @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @painterhyunjin @moon-ttokki-x @saintcosette @ooshyana @frehyun @scarlet789 @skzdust @schniti-is-in-the-house @hwangjoanna @sona1800 @channiesrightasscheek @justwonder113 @yvettemint @inaribu00 @httpdwaekki @possum-playground @ria-april @yn-x-them @mariahxrrera @0omillo0 @halfwinterhalfuniverse @cooldeermagazine @delulkpopstan143 @todorokiskitten @compersian @azxulskz @stayp1eceposts @minniesverse @skzdreamer13 @0325ale @j-ji-jia @shannthewriter @mhluvie @my-neurodivergent-world @hyyunjinnn @spookybuttsstuff-blog @pancake-freckle @felixsbrowniesarmystayengene @minhooofr

@thelostprincessofasgard @linocvp1d @stayjinnie @portgasdbru @lilgothhishhh @selinia86 @felixsbabe @staytinyluva @sadroses98 @katexstay @gnabnahcsworld @hazelbazil @iwannahugchangbin @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @skzfelixlove @skzjen @syedazarintasnim @geektacularmommom-blog @cookiesnmilfx @kayleefriedchicken @stxt-bby @strykdsstanot8 @hyunjinhwang2018 @binniesbabygirl @hyunjiniretti @linavc @julciaqwerty @salemluvsmusic

[nadvs]

ok so yk how in power play they’re gonna be apart for a while or atleast not see eachother everyday… phone sex blurb??🫠🫠🫠

like he initiates it and she doesn’t understand at first and then he guides her thru urgghhh i love them sm😭

ohhh you ATE with this idea 😌 blurb set in the power play series. FILTHY smut and lots of dirty talk. 18+!

Rafe’s deep voice buzzes through your phone as your head rests on your pillow, your bedroom plunged in darkness.

He’s telling you about his day as you play with a loose string on your pillowcase. You talk to your boyfriend every night, but no amount of calls can fill the emptiness sitting in your chest from how much you miss him.

It’s been a couple of weeks since the school year ended, and it’s been surprisingly hard to schedule time to see each other in person. You’re glad that at least you can talk like this.

“So, you had fun today, huh?” he murmurs. “I liked those pictures.”

You think back to all the photos you’d sent him from your day at the beach with your friends, mostly scenery, some shots of you in the car and on the sand.

“Wasn’t that sunset so pretty?” you say.

You hear Rafe breathe a chuckle on the other end.

“What?” you laugh. “It was.”

“Yeah, sure,” he replies. “I wasn’t really looking at that.”

“What do you mean?”

He chuckles again, staring up at the ceiling from his bedroom two hundred miles away, able to clearly picture the curious look he knows is on your face.

“I was looking at you.”

You smile to yourself in the dark.

“Really?”

“I don’t get you,” he says with a resigned sigh. “You still don’t see how fucking hot you are.”

His words make your muscles loosen, warmth filling you.

“You think I looked hot?” you say.

“Baby,” he breathes. “That one of you by the water? I got so hard just lookin’ at it.”

The warmth grows hotter and you bite your lip as you imagine how big and strong and good he looks naked, how much it spurs you on to feel his growing cock pressed against you when all you’ve done is share a couple of innocent kisses.

Thinking about it, about him being turned on from so far away with no chance of doing something about it makes the sexual frustration you’ve been feeling even worse.

“I really, really wish you were here,” you tell him, your voice dripping with longing.

Rafe smirks. After your first time together, you two were at it nonstop, the knowledge that soon you’d both be moving off of campus hanging over you.

As expected, it wasn’t enough. He craves you every hour, minute, second.

Heat pools deep in his stomach as he thinks yet again about how you looked in your photos, how much skin you were showing, how if he was there with you, he would last seconds before rushing to find a place to get you alone.

“Pretend I am,” he rasps.

“What?”

Rafe veins tighten with anticipation.

“What would happen if I was in your bed right now?”

Your core coils, breath hitching as you feel the tone of the conversation sink into something deeper, more intense.

“You know what would happen,” you say with a soft, shy chuckle, enticement and arousal tangling together deep within you.

“You nervous, baby?” Rafe teases, the smile in his voice apparent.

“I don’t know how to do this.”

“You want me to tell you how?”

“Yeah,” you breathe.

“Put your hand under your shirt,” he instructs. “You wearing a bra?”

“No.”

The simple, monosyllabic answer makes his cock press against his boxers, already so hard it hurts.

“Damn,” he exhales, strained. “Alright. Tell me how it feels.”

You palm at your chest, squeezing and pinching, shutting your eyes as you imagine him with you, doing it instead.

“Soft. Warm,” you say quietly. You swallow before you speak again. “My nipples are hard.”

Rafe can’t control himself. He lowers his hand, palming himself over his shorts, thinking about how much he loves to get your chest wet with his kisses.

“I miss sucking them so much,” he rasps.

Every inch of you tenses up with arousal, but your mind loosens, sinking into comfort as you slowly buck your hips.

“You’d be doing that if you were here,” you say, then let out a groan of frustration. “Your hands are so much bigger than mine. I can’t even pretend it’s you. I can’t touch myself the way you can.”

“That’s so fucking hot,” he breathes. “You like it when I play with your tits?”

“Yeah,” you whisper.

“You like when I get rough?” he provokes you. “Squeeze hard. The way I do.”

He can tell by the way your breath hitches that you obey.

“Good girl,” slips out of his mouth, and it makes your head spin with euphoria. “That feel nice?”

“Yes.” You swallow, your throat dry, picturing him in his bed, touching himself. “Is your hand…”

“Is my hand where?” Rafe teases, wanting to hear you say it. “Don’t be shy.”

“On your cock,” you finish your sentence, nerves radiating through you.

“Fuck, I love hearing you talk like that.”

It spurs confidence in you, a reminder of how much you get to him, of how much power you have over him.

“Answer me,” you whisper. “Is it?”

“Over my shorts,” he replies. “I’d do anything to be inside you right now. Tell me how wet you are.”

Your hand drags down your body, into your panties, your fingers pressing over your heat.

“I want you here so bad,” you shudder. “I feel like I’m dripping.”

He groans and scrambles to finally push his hand into his boxers, gripping the head of his cock, precome already dribbled out.

“I’d look at you while I do it,” he murmurs. “Like I always do.”

You picture it, his habit of locking eyes with you right as he’s pushing into you. Your heart is pounding in your ears as you trace circles over your clit, letting out soft moans that start to slowly get breathier.

“You getting close?”

“Yes,” you say, your grip growing harder. “I’m so wet my hand is slipping.”

Rafe rolls his eyes back in need, in anguish, in such painful desire. He strokes himself faster, imagining how hard he’d be pounding into you if he could.

“Fuck, baby, you’re good at this,” he whispers.

The praise makes you feel like you’re floating as the knot in your stomach tightens.

“Say my name when you come,” he tells you, drunk on the idea of being responsible for the orgasm that’s about to rush through you.

You listen to Rafe’s instructions, your voice shuddering and breathy as you whisper his name, pleasure zipping through every nerve.

He comes seconds later, the groan on the other end of the phone making goosebumps prick your skin.

His hot come covers his hand, rubbing until he’s too stimulated, eyes squeezed shut as he listens to the sound of your heavy, relieved breaths.

It takes a moment to tumble down from the high, both of you gasping, elated.

“I miss you so damn much,” he tells you, sweat glistening over his skin, his hair sticking to his forehead.

“Me, too,” you whisper through your shallow breaths. “What am I supposed to do? Cuddle myself now?”

Rafe chuckles tiredly, the lack of you cutting through him.

“Fall asleep on the phone with me,” he tells you. “It’s the closest we can get.”

And you do, satisfied, telling yourself every sleep is one day closer to seeing him again.

[dannyriccsystem]

heyy, can i request 35 and 44 with jack doohan please?

YOUR LOVE HAS GOT ME GOING LIKE YOU COULDN’T IMAGINE!

1K SPECIAL - JD7

Size difference + Breeding kink

SUMMARY: You’re ovulating. Your boyfriend has to deal with it.

WORD COUNT: 766

WARNINGS: Breeding kink and size difference ofc, hair pulling, creampie, smut, P in V, talks of pregnancy

FEATURING: Jack Doohan x Reader

NOTE: The hair pulling was for you 🩷 anon. Also hi!! Trying to slowly post more. My doctors have given me the okay since my swelling has gone down a lot! ☺️ I am pretty sick though

“I’M OFF THE PILL TONIGHT,” YOU WHISPERED. Jack gave you an incredulous look with his brows raised.

“I don’t understand.”

The two of you had been enjoying a nice night in your shared apartment. What you said was somewhat uncalled for— Totally out of pocket. You just smiled at his confusion as you leaned over the couch cushions, your body inching closer to his. His neck hairs were standing on end. Every part of his body was hyper aware of your closeness.

“I quit my birth control, and I’m ovulating.” You slowly climbed onto his lap to straddle him, your hands raising to tangle loosely in his longer hair. He shuddered, staring into your gaze anxiously. “I want you to breed me.”

“I-" He barely got a syllable in before your lips were on his. Jack reciprocated instantly. His hands flew to your waist as he kissed you, and your hips ground against his with slight desperation. You suddenly yanked on his hair, and a delicious groan left his lips as his whole body tensed, hips jerking. “Fuck, Y/N…”

“You like that?” You whispered as you twirled a strand around your finger and tugged. Jack bit his tongue to silence his sounds. He hoisted you up with ease, and your legs wrapped around his waist hastily.

A giggle flew from your lips when he tossed you onto the mattress, dimming the lights and shutting the door with a loud click. Jack climbed over top of you, wasting absolutely no time. Your pajama shorts and panties were off in an instant, and he pushed your legs back. “Hold these,” he instructed gruffly. You wrapped your hands around your calves and pulled them back, shivering as the cold air brushed over your folds.

He fumbled with his sweatpants, kicking them off. His boxers followed not long after, and you could feel the fat tip of his cock push against your folds teasingly. You whined, legs trembling. Jack’s strong hands gripped the back of your thighs, pushing them down further. “You want me to fill you up, right?”

“Yes,” You slurred, humming with eagerness. He rubbed his dick along your wet folds, his eyes full of concentration as he stuck his tongue out softly.

“Hold still then,” He growled out, slowly sliding his length in. You whimpered— You always did. He was always just a bit too big for you, stretching you to the fullest. Jack waited, like he always did. He was halfway in, waiting for your tight pussy to adjust to his length. “You’re doing good,” His eyes drifted down to the bulge in your stomach, his hands tracing the outline of it. “So good.”

You nodded, and Jack pressed your legs back further, your knees nearly touching your ears. You were being stretched to the brink in both ways, your muscles tight at your hamstrings. You shut your eyes tight, barely able to focus on anything but his cock inside of you.

He leaned over you, his hips pistoning against yours harshly. You threw your head back, your own nails clawing at your thighs. You could feel welts beginning to form from the pressure applied.

“Yeah?” He whispered as he kissed your jaw, and the column of your neck. “Want me to put a fucking baby in you?”

“Yes, fuck-” You squealed. You let your legs go, but with his quick reflexes Jack was there to push them back into place. Your hands found his hair, tugging again. You watched him shudder, his cock twitching within you. Deep within you.

“I’m coming,” He panted out, pulling back to stare down at you, his chest heaving and sweat beading at his forehead. Your mouth was permanently agape, eyebrows tilted up. “Gonna fill you up,”

And he did. He fucked his cum deep into you, the hot white ropes shoved further and further within. You shivered, biting your lip as your own orgasm washed over you. Jack pulled out, pressing down on your stomach to watch some of his cum spill out. He then used his index and middle finger to push it back in, his lips twisting up into a soft smile.

He let your legs relax against the mattress, his hands massaging the sore muscles along your thighs. He kissed along your breasts and neck, whispering sweet nothings against your skin as you came down from your high.

You eventually wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him as close as you could. His hands traced down your waist as he rested his head against your chest.

“Satisfied?” He mused quietly—you could barely hear.

“Very.”

[rottingpink]

little house in the woods | jason todd

masterlist | taglist

cw: shy! reader, threats, angry jason, fingering, cum eating, smut, unprotected sex, corruption kink, pussy eating, feral jason, not beta'd MDNI

synopsis: You're a sweet recluse who allows her home to be Jason's safe house. What happens when he starts to get too close to her?

The screen door creaks open late one evening. Jason Todd steps inside your little kitchen like it's a habit, almost as though he's lived here all his life. In truth, you'd only known Jason for about two months now since he came stumbling to your doorstep one stormy evening. Things seemed to pass in a blur since then.

Jason's shoulders are tense beneath the fabric of his jacket, bruised from the constant fights he participates in. His jaw is sore and his knuckles are split from punching again. He's already in one of his moods.

He kicks off his boots by the door without looking, the way he always does, listening to the familiar sound of dirty soles thunking against the wood floor. Then, he heads straight to the sink like he's on autopilot, having memorized the layout of your house like it's his own. He doesn't even need to look down to where the fluffy hand towels are as he dries his hands.

There's a plate of dinner waiting on the table that's still hot and steaming, and you're standing near the counter, looking at him like he didn't just come home covered in bruises and blood. You're smiling in the cutesy, innocent way you always do. The way that boils Jason's blood in both a bad, and really good way.

"Hi, Jay," you say, your voice smooth like honey as you look up at him with big, sparkly eyes, like he's just your husband coming home late from work.

Jason swears under his breath and marches through the kitchen, hovering around you for a moment, before muttering a gruff "Hello." in return, slumping down into his usual seat at the dinner table, looking down at tonight's dinner.

The plate's got roast chicken, buttery mashed potatoes, and a pile of vegetables on the side. It's very balanced. It looks like food you'd see in a magazine with a recipe underneath. You cooked. Again. Like you do every night.

"Thought you might be hungry," you say, cheeks all pink from the stove's heat, or maybe just from looking at him. You get so bashful when he stares. "You want me to get you a knife or anything else?"

"No. S' fine." he grumbles, picking up a fork to start stabbing at his vegetables. You nod, still smiling all cute as you take out a jug of lemonade for him and pour him a class without asking, setting it down beside his plate, right before leaning down to press the softest, most innocent kiss to his cheek. Right near the cut on his jaw, his sweet spot. "Glad you're home safe."

Jason goes still at the feeling, a little grunt leaving him involuntarily. The second your lips brush over him, it's as though every muscle in his body tenses. His eyes flick to you, but you're already walking away, humming to yourself like you didn't screw him over with that little gesture.

What the hell are you doing, letting a guy like him into your house? Letting him sleep in the extra bedroom you cleaned just for him and eat off your table without asking for compensation? What kind of sweet, naive girl lets a man with knives and guns in his duffel bag and scars up his back and shoulders stay in her house like he's not dangerous?

"You shouldn't do that," he grumbles as you have your back turned to him, a deep scowl on his face. You blink, turning back toward him, confusion soft in your eyes. "Do what?"

"You know what I mean. The kissin'. The..." his voice gets tight, jaw ticking, "...the 'Jay' with your little giggle. Don't."

"Don't act like we're friends?' you ask, so innocently, head tilted in a way that makes him want to pounce on you. "We are friends."

Jason clenches his jaw. His fingers curl around the fork, knuckles white. "You should be more wary, is all" he mutters, frowning as you respond with a little huff and a playful eye roll, going over to check on the pies you made for dessert that are cooling on a rack.

He stares at the curves of your body, gaze panning from your hips, down to your thighs, and back up to your ass, plump in the cute little nightgown you're wearing, with the hem riding up your thighs enough to show your panties if you bent over. He can't take his eyes off of you, not for a second. He's looking at you to figure out how someone like you could possibly be real, let alone a part of his life. You feed him. You made him a safe house with gingham curtains and a soft bed and dinner waiting on the table every night without fail.

He's coiled so tight it feels like his skin doesn't fit right, seeing you flutter around the kitchen like everything's fine, apron tied snugly around your waist. You turn and meet his gaze again as he continues.

"Why aren't you scared of me?" Jason mutters all gruff, pushing back his chair and standing. His eyes are all dark and stormy. "You let a guy like me in your house. You give me food, a bed, clothes. You let me walk around your kitchen like I belong here." He steps forward slowly. "You don't even lock your fucking door."

Your throat bobs as you swallow, but your expression doesn't change. That soft, quiet sweetness still on your face like you've never even heard a threat before.

"I don't have to lock it because the only person who comes around here is you, and I know you."

Jason's frown deepens, and he crowds your space, hissing at you coldly. "You don't know shit about me." He stares down at you, jaw clenched, breathing through his nose. He keeps coming closer and closer to you, all while you don't even realize what you're doing to him, standing there in your cozy little kitchen, smelling like a dessert.

His body pushes you back into the counter, his jaw is clenched and lips twisted in a snarl. You open your mouth, but he cuts you off, his voice rising. "You let me in here. You open your house up to someone like me and think I'm not gonna hurt you? You think I'm just gonna be your lil' prince charming?"

He shoves his hand against the counter beside you, trapping you in place. His face is inches from yours, but this time, you don't see the same tired, frustrated guy you've been taking care of. This time, all you see is the threat, the dangerous man who doesn't think you should have trusted him at all.

"I could strangle you, you know," he says all soft. His hand shoots out, quick and brutal, grabbing your neck just below your chin. "You think I wouldn't do it? You think I wouldn't snap your neck like a twig if I wanted to?"

Your pulse spikes. His grip isn't tight enough to suffocate you, enough to make your heart pound harder. "Or what if I wanted to cut you?" His thumb presses into the soft skin of your neck, a reminder of how fragile you really are in his hands. "What if I wanted to steal everything in your house and leave you with nothing?"

You look up at him, whimpering softly at the feeling of his huge hand wrapping around your throat. Your smaller one grabs at his wrist, staring up at him with big, glassy brown eyes. "J-jason..."

"What if I wanted to tear off one of those flimsy lil' dresses you wear around me and fuck you?" He lets out a low mumble, tipping your head up and rubbing his thumb over your lower lip. "You think they're cute, huh? You think I don't notice the way you dress like 'm not gonna want to tear you apart?"

Your breath hitches, and for a second, you can't find your words. He's crowding you now, pinning you to the counter so you have no way out. His thumb pushes harder on your lower lip.

You stare at him, your face flushed. Your chest is rising fast now, like you're trying to keep calm, like your body's betraying you even if your voice hasn't cracked yet. You're not saying anything, but your fear's loud enough without words.

Jason's still holding onto your throat, the heel of his hand digging into your pressure point while his thumb smushes against your soft lips. His chest heaves with each breath, his face twisted up even though deep down, he's thoroughly enjoying himself. He relishes in the slight tremble your body gives and the way you look up at him like you're starting to realize he's not savable.

He leans down to your level. "You scared now, sweetheart?" he mutters. You try to speak, but it catches in your throat. He can feel it under his hand, that flutter in your pulse. "Yeah," he breathes. "That's what I thought."

He tilts his head, leaning down to slot his mouth over your cheek, mocking the little kisses you always give him when he's home. He moans against your skin, starting to press sloppy kisses down to your jaw. He's done holding back, finally indulging in the terrible, heinous thoughts he's had about you since you let him into your home.

His hands roam under your dress, hiking it up to squeeze the plush globes of your ass, all while you moan softly, eyes fluttering shut.

He kisses up the side of your throat and up to your ear, huffing low inside so you hear every bit of how hot he is for you. "Lemme show you what bad men do to pretty girls who play house with 'em."

His grip on your throat stays steady, firm but not cruel. His other hand drags up the back of your thigh, slow like he's savoring it, slipping beneath the hem of your nightgown until his rough fingers find bare skin. His breathing is ragged now, lips pressed to the curve of your neck like he's trying to inhale you.

"You smell s'sweet," he growls, nose brushing the soft skin beneath your jaw. "Always smell so fuckin' sweet."

He's spreading you apart before your brain can comprehend it, lifting you up with his free hand to guide you up onto the counter, manhandling you like you weigh nothing. Slotting his body between your legs, he looks down at your pretty cotton panties. Just as adorable as you, all lacy and pastel like you didn't have a clue what they'd do to him.

Jason huffs a breath through his nose, low and unsteady, staring at the soaked little patch in the middle. "Fuck," he mutters, dragging his thumb over the wet spot slowly and teasingly. "Look at this. You want me like this." His hand grips your thigh to keep you open, his gaze locked on your panties as he takes two fingers and pushes them up against your panties so he can trace your plump little pussy through the fabric, firm enough to make you twitch.

You jolt, grabbing onto his shoulder while your tummy flips. "Mmh... i-its good... b-but 'm sensitive..." you warn softly, trying to fight against his grip ever so slightly, but he keeps you spread for him with his firm hand. Your breath catches when he starts tugging your panties to the side, baring the warm air of the kitchen onto your even warmer hole.

His hand grips your hip, anchoring you in place while he teases your entrance with the pads of his fingers, just barely pressing in. You let out a strangled little sound, back arching as he slowly presses a finger inside you with a low groan. Your body clenches around him and it makes him twitch, a guttural sound leaving his chest. "Fuck, you're tight," he mutters, nose nuzzling yours. "So fuckin' warm. This pussy's been waiting for me, hasn't she?" You nod helplessly, eyes wide, lips parted as he pumps his finger inside you slow and filthy. He watches you fall apart for him, cheeks flushed and pretty little moans leaving your mouth with every curl of his finger.

His thick digit curls just right inside you, slow and deep, while his thumb rubs circles around your clit, not too quick, just firm and steady like he's testing how fast he can get you to fall apart. You whimper again, your hips rolling into his hand without thinking.

He watches the little faces you make while you're in heat like this, as well as the way your body reacts to his touch. His eyes are locked on the place where his finger disappears inside you with that delicious squelch, and once you're relaxed, he slides in a second to fill you up even more. You jerk, nightgown bunching up more at your waist as he shoves his fingers deep inside you, wanting to see how tight you can squeeze around them.

"Damn," he mumbles, "You're squeezin' the fuck outta me." His free hand grabs your thigh harder when you flinch back, nails digging just a little into your flesh to keep you still and wide open for him. He leans in, breathing heavy against your cheek as he grinds the heel of his palm against your clit while his fingers keep stroking inside you, that slow, steady rhythm that's driving you crazy because it's just enough to have you trembling, but not enough to tip you over.

You whine out a soft "Jay," all desperate and teary eyed, your grip on his shoulders tightening as your legs start to shake. You don't even realize you're grinding down onto his hand until he growls, "Yeah… that's it. Use your words. You need it that bad, don't you?"

He keeps his face close to yours, eyes flicking between your mouth and your eyes, watching how dazed you look already, lips all swollen and wet from how much you've been panting. "Feels 's good! M-more..." You whine, your body starting to move on its own, hips rolling into his hand, trying to chase the pressure that's curling in your gut.

Jason doesn't let up. He just keeps fucking you with his fingers, deep and slow, his thumb pressed firm to your clit, working you in tight little circles until your legs are twitching and your mouth is open like you're gasping for air.

"You're already gonna cum, huh?" he murmurs, voice low and thick. "Already cryin' on my fingers like a needy little thing." You nod, head falling back against the cabinet behind you, your breath coming in short, desperate little bursts. " 'M gonna...Jay, I...I'm gonna..."

"Come, then," he orders, eyes locked on yours. "Cum on my fingers like a good girl. Show me how sweet this fuckin' pussy is."

You shatter around him body locking up tight before it all melts down at once, your orgasm crashing over you so hard you can't even stay upright without holding onto him. Your whole body trembles and he watches it all, jaw clenched, eyes dark and blown wide with how fucked he is for you.

He keeps his fingers inside you even after, not pulling out until you're twitching too much to take it, and even then, he pulls back slow, glancing down at the mess he made of you. He brings his fingers to his mouth without even thinking, licking them clean while he keeps his eyes on your face.

Then he leans in, mumbling in your ear. "You made a mess on my hand,"

Jason's gaze drops down to the tent in his jeans, thick and straining against the zipper, and he lets out a breath that sounds more like a growl.

"Take my cock out," he says roughly, eyes never leaving yours. Your fingers tremble a little as they reach for his belt, heart hammering in your chest while you work it loose, the clink of the buckle loud in the quiet kitchen. Jason's eyes are burning into your face the whole time, watching the way you fumble a little, the way your lips part and your breathing gets uneven while you tug his belt free, then pop open the button on his jeans.

You slide the zipper down slow, hands shaking just the tiniest bit, but you don't stop.

He helps you just enough to shove his jeans down his hips, groaning softly when you reach into his briefs and wrap your fingers around him. He's thick and hot and already leaking against your palm, and the second you touch him, his whole body stiffens.

"Jesus," he mumbles, chest rising and falling hard. You glance up at him through your lashes, a little dazed and shy, but your hand stays wrapped around him as you stroke him once, then twice, making his head fall forward, forehead bumping into yours while he groans.

He looks into your eyes, his voice all rough and shaking with how close he is to snapping. "You're gonna do it, alright? Not me." he says, jaw clenched. "You're gonna show me how dirty you are, and take me in your hand, and you're gonna line me up with that sweet little pussy like this was your fuckin' idea."

You nod even though you're buzzing and feel your body burning, and he watches you slowly wrap your hand snugly around his cock, his face close to yours as you guide him between your legs.

"Yeah," he mumbles, watching your face. "Just like that." You whimper when the head of his cock bumps against your entrance, slick and warm, and Jason moans low in his throat at the feel of you, the head of him just barely pushing inside.

Your fingers tremble as you line the head of him up with your entrance, glancing up at him as you press him against your folds. "It's so hard," you whisper, all breathless. "Your cock..."

"I know," He responds, watching you continue to guide him, soaked folds parting around the flushed head, barely nudging it in just enough for both of you to feel that first slide. " 's... fuck... c-cause I want you s'bad." He hunches over you a little, mouth hanging open as you finally line him up just right. His tip catches on your soaked entrance and he groans deeply, forehead pressing to yours again like he's trying to stay tethered to something.

He pants, grinding the head against you, not pushing in all the way yet, smearing your wetness all over the flared head of his cock while your thighs twitch around his hips. You make a tiny noise, all high and breathy, and he grins against your cheek. His nose brushes your temple while he shifts his hips just enough for his tip to nudge inside, slow and heavy. "Fuck... there we go, sweetness. 'S suckin me in now."

He grabs your thigh with his free hand, pushing it up until your knee's hooked over his forearm, giving him more room, more access, more of you. He doesn't push all the way in yet, just slides in a few inches, slow and aching, just enough to make your mouth drop open and your nails bite into his shoulders.

"Keep lookin' at me," he hisses. "Don't you dare look away. You let me in, shit... now you're gonna watch what I do to you."

Your eyes flutter open again, all teary and glassy and overwhelmed, and he groans and thrusts in deeper, hips jerking forward like he can't help it anymore, burying himself with a low, breathless curse. Both hands grab your thighs to hold you wide open while his cock sinks alllll the way inside, thick and throbbing inside you.

He sinks in all the way, slow but deliberate, forcing your body to stretch and take every thick inch, and the second he bottoms out, he stays there, buried deep inside you, breathing hard through his nose like he's trying to stay composed, but he's not even close. His hands grip your thighs so tight it makes your skin dimple, holding you still like he's afraid you'll run, like he knows you're not ready for how far he's about to take this.

"Fuck, it's good," he mutters, voice wrecked as he stares down at where you're joined. "Look at that. Fuckin' swallowed me whole, didn't you?" He gives a rough roll of his hips, just enough to make you jerk and gasp under him. "Tight little pussy- already squeezin' like she wants to keep me."

Your head tips back as a choked little moan slips out, your hands clinging to his shoulders now, nails dragging across his back without thinking. He groans, fucking into you harder now, faster. Your body jerks with the impact of his rough thrust, and he moans, loud and low against your neck, his teeth grazing your skin before he bites down like an animal.

He keeps fucking into you with rapid, punishing thrusts, his body bracketed over yours, your legs forced wide apart so he can get deeper. You moan loudly, not bothering to hold back on being responsive. You're slicing into his back with your nails, mewling and panting his name harshly.

He growls at the pleasure pain you give him, rutting into you harder, like the sound of his name like that flipped some switch in him. "Say it again," he pants. "Say my fuckin' name."

You do, a little louder this time, all breathless and shaking. "Jason, mmh! please!"

"Fuck," he bites, his whole body shuddering as he pounds into you now, hips snapping forward again and again. "You're gonna let me ruin you, huh? That what you want, sweet girl? Gonna let me fuck the good right outta you?" You nod, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes, not even sure if it's from how good it feels or how deep he's inside you, but it makes him groan, deep and ragged, like he's never seen anything more perfect.

His voice is nothing but a harsh whisper now. "I ever catch you lettin' another man in this house, I swear to god-"

You cut him off with a soft little moan, too blissed out to process the threat, and Jason grunts, cock pulsing inside of you as he scrapes against your gummy inner walls. You let out a loud, high whine, clenching tight around him, and he curses under his breath, leaning forward to kiss you rough and messy, dragging his tongue across your bottom lip.

The taste of you is too much for him, and he groans loudly, grabbing onto the back of your head so he can fully suck your tongue into his mouth and buck into you faster, like a dog in a rut. "Gonna cum f'you, sweetness." He grunts, tearing out of you suddenly.

You whine at the loss of the full feeling inside your belly. and he grabs onto your plush thighs again, squeezing his throbbing, flushed cock and pumping it a few times before splurting all over your pussy. You pant, heart pounding in your chest.

He cums load after load on you, before dropping onto his knees and stuffing his face into your cunt, needing you to cum for him too. He doesn't want to wait for your sensitivity or that coil to fade away, and so he thrusts his tongue deep inside your sopping hole, eating out your cunt like it's the only dessert he needs.

You scream, ecstasy washing over you so suddenly that you can't even warn him when you cum into his hot mouth, watching him eagerly drink it all up and tongue fucking you through your orgasm.

He groans at your taste once again, unable to get over how sweet you taste. He stands and scoops some of the cum off his thighs and pushes his fingers lightly to your mouth. "Open f'me, sweetness." He mutters, watching you oblige with a dazed look in your eyes. He feels his cock twitch to life once more at the sight of you tasting him and looking into his eyes like he's just ruined you, which he has. Your hair is a mess and your lips are swollen, and your lower half is soaked with his cum.

"That's my sweet girl."

[gremlin-girly]

The Cacti Confidant

Bob Reynolds x gn!reader

Not beta'd. I do not give permission for my work to be reposted, copied, translated or put through an AI machine.

Tags: Fluff, mutual pining, descriptions/thoughts/feelings of depression and anxiety, confession (of sorts)

Summary: Bob takes an interest in your hobby and you gift him a cactus; which quickly becomes his confidant of all things pertaining to you.

Word count: 1.9k (this was supposed to be a drabble!!)

Dividers by: @/sweetmelodygraphics

Pots and Petals Masterlist | Bob Reynolds Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Exploring the roof in the light of day could sometimes be a bit... much. However, for one Bob Reynolds, the skyline that one of the tallest buildings that NYC had to offer was a spectacular sight and high up enough that the humdrum of cars and people was muted so that he could think clearly or read without being disturbed.

What he hadn't expected though, was seeing traipsing past some of the fire escapes to a bright corner one day. Discarding his book he'd followed you, curious to see what you were doing, and was surprised to find you nestled in front of a six by ten planter filled with white pebbles.

"What are you doing?" He asked, feeling guilty when you jumped with a start.

"Hey Bob," You look up at him with a smile that screams you'd been caught red handed. "I didn't know you came up here."

"To read." He nods, looking at the planter. There's a variety of small green plants sticking out of the pebbles; some are small and spiky, others big with softly rounded, thick petals. Or what he thought were petals. They looked more like sponges. "What are they?"

"My babies." You sigh. "I brought them up here so they'd have more sun. I come out to check on them a few times a week."

Bob smiles and takes a seat next to you on his knees, elbows resting against the planter. "Could you... tell me more about them?"

"Really?"

"Please?" Bob fixes you with a sweet look you can't say no to and, with a smile and a roll of your eyes, you concede.

"Oh, alright. Twist my arm why don't ya?"

It quickly becomes routine. Bob and you arrange times to meet at the rooftop planter and chat about the plants; plants you'd like, plants you've had - Bob even pitches in with watering and feeding when you're on missions. If he was entirely honest with himself, he hadn't truly been interested in your plants at first. Just you.

You'd been so sweet to him ever since joining the team and so thoughtful. Although you never tip toed around subject matters, you were conscientious enough to give him a reassuring look, hand squeeze, or even offer him his favourite snack on a particularly hard day. You never pressed - never made fun. You were just... there.

And Bob felt like he was out of his depth every time he looked at you.

Before heading out on a mission one day, you and Bob met on the rooftop as per usual, but this time you said you had a surprise for him.

"Ta-da!" You beam, producing a tiny cactus in a small ceramic pot from behind your back and holding it out to him. "Tiny Cactus!"

Bob takes the pot in his hands and a nervous grin erupts across his face. "Is this for me?"

"Of course!" You say. "I know we were talking about them the other day and when I saw it I just thought..."

You trail and shake your head, but Bob catches the way your eyes dart and your cheeks grow warm like his and his heart does some gymnastics.

"Anyway. I know I'm going away tomorrow but you can send me updates or something..." you shrug and Bob nods furiously.

"Yeah, I can do that."

So alone.

Always alone.

Not good enough.

Bob frowns. Not again.

They don't really like you. They're not your friends.

He sighs and turns onto his side in the darkness of his room. He should really put a light on. Open a window. Do something other than-

Y/N pities you. You know that, right? You're pathetic. Why would they even want to be with you?

Bob opens his eyes. They take a moment to adjust to the dark shapes of the room but eventually the mess comes into view, and he sighs into his pillow. His body feels heavy and lethargic, the all consuming voice of the Void clouding his brain. It would be one of those days.

His eyes flicker again, drawn to a greyish oval shape he doesn't quite recognise for a moment, before realising it's the cactus you gave him. Surprising himself (and the Void), he smiles, chest warming at the memory.

Hadn't you said something before you left about what it needed? Sun? Bob looks to his blinds. How long had he kept them closed? If he killed a cactus - a cactus you got for him no less - he didn't think he could forgive himself.

He slowly climbs out of bed and pulls the blinds up slightly. The light hurts his eyes and he squints but he follows the stream of light to the small pot where the cactus sits in all it's green, spiky glory.

Wasn't he supposed to send you updates or something? Maybe. But his cactus hasn't changed a shade. Yeah. You didn't need an update over nothing.

He nods to himself before wrapping himself back up in his blankets and attempts to go back to sleep.

The day after you return, Bob is waiting for you on the roof, picking through the white pebbles.

"Hey you." You greet, smiling as always. "You were supposed to give me updates on your cactus."

It's not accusatory, only playful, but Bob feels guilty nonetheless. He doesn't want to admit he was in a spiral while you were gone, just in case you were worried he didn't take care of his spiky friend.

"It's not..." He looks at his hands, rolling one of the tiny pebble between his fingers anxiously. "It's not growing. So, there wasn't much to update. I... I think I'm doing something wrong."

You sit next to him on the stones, thoughtful. Bob peeks up at you between his dark locks and suppresses a smile of secret joy; you looked so angelic like that, kindness radiating from you being through one thoughful look.

"Have you tried talking to it? Or playing music?" You suggest, smiling at him. "I know it sounds silly but it's been proven to help plants grow."

"I'll give it a try..." Bob says skeptically, giving you a signature nervous smile.

The first thing Bob does when he gets back to his room is test out your advice.

"I saw them again today." Bob tells the cactus, lying on his bed sprawled out. "They looked....nice."

He can't quite bring himself to say how he really feels but his stomach churns out butterflies regardless and, while it feels stupid to think, he believes the plant knows how he really feels.

"They're so... they're so..." he swallows thickly, feeling a blush creep up his neck. He was so flustered from just talking about you.

To a cactus.

"You know what they're like." He settles on finally, releasing a long sigh and staring at his white cieling.

After a few more weeks, Bob's worry that he could kill the cactus has almost completely diminished and now he has a small routine. No matter his day, he makes an effort to speak to his cactus. But no matter the starting subject, whether it begins with how awful he feels that day or not, it always ends with you.

"They... they're so helpful. And kind. An- and cute." Bob covers his face with his hands and groans. "Urgh. What am I going to do?"

The cactus remains silent, sitting as it always had in it's small pot. However in the next few days spent talking to the plant; talking through his anxities, his fears, his self loathing and most importantly, his feelings towards you, Bob missed the small bud that had began to protutrude from the top of the cactus until one morning when he saw it had bloomed into a tiny pink flower.

He had never ran so fast in all of his life to find you, cradling his cactus securely in his arms, even if it meant being jabbed with hundreds of tiny pinpricks.

Bob called out your name through the compound skidding around a corner to find you speaking with Ava. The two of you stopped to look over at him and he held the cactus high, beaming with delight.

"It has a flower hat!" He exclaims and you squeal with excitement.

"Congrats Bob!" You wave your hand to signal him closer and he toddles over to show you and Ava the prettiest pink flower that sits on top of the cactus.

"Aw, that's sweet." Ava comments sipping her coffee.

You look up and meet Bob's dark eyes with a knowing smile. "You've been talking to it?"

"Y-yeah." He smiles back. "Just like you said."

"What about?" You press curiously. "I haven't even managed to get flowers on mine yet!"

A red flush starts to creep along Bob's neck as he swallows thickly, eyes darting back to the cactus in his hands. "Oh, well, um, everything and anything."

You hum, with that wonderfully thoughtful expression again and Bob feels his heart slam against his ribs. "I'll have to try that then."

Ava slurps her coffee loudly, drawing the attention of you both.

"Soooo...." She says eyes flickering between you both over her coffee mug. "When did this become a thing?"

You and Bob both turn red and babble at the same time.

"We aren't-"

"We're not-"

You both look at eachother and your faces become more heated and you have to immediately avert your gazes; yourself opting to glare at Ava, who's smirking.

"Oh you are." She fixes her smirk to Bob. "Do you know they talk to the plants about you?"

"Hey!" You protest before your face melts into confusion. "How do you know that?"

"I'm in the vents," Ava says in spooky tone, wiggling the fingers on her free hand before sighing. "I practice ohasing around the tower - and it's not like you're whispering to those succulents."

"Ah." You nod, shifting on your feet. "That's... yeah, fair enough."

Bob's head is still reeling from the realisation that your speak to your plants about him. What do you say to them? Do you say the same things he does? Or do you complain? Or-

"Hey," your gentle voice cuts through the darkness and Bob looks to you anxiously. "I only tell them all the things I like about you."

"Really?" Bob's voice isn't quite disbelieving, moreso in shock.

"Really." You confirm with a nod and another smile. "Plants like to hear positive things. Clearly, you've been saying some nice things about me too if you've managed to get a flower."

Bob chuckles shyly. "I... yeah. I guess I have been."

"I suppose I should try a little harder then." You tease gently, giving his arm a nudge.

"Ugh, spare me." Ava huffs, waving at hand. "If you two weren't adorable together I'd gag. I'm gonna go find Walker and annoy him."

She leaves without a goodbye, phasing out with her coffee cup in hand. A distant scream from Walker across the tower means Ava probably apparated in front of him to terrify him.

"So." Bob clears his throat.

"So." You repeat back to him and then raise an eyebrow.

Bob's lips twitch into a smile, pushing away any intrusive thoughts courtesy of the Void. "Picnic on the roof?"

"Sounds like a date." You say brightly, laughing with with nervous excitement as Bob's face lights up entirely, with no darkness to be found on his features.

End

Taglist - add yourself here

@looking1016 @jeremyrennermakesmesmile @almostglitterybear @blackhawkfanatic @peaches1958 @purplefluffycows

[realcube]

CONNECTED!

desc ;; how can two best friends be connected forever?

tws & tags ;; best friend ! atsumu, nsfw, food sharing, vaginal, degredation, praise, impact play, slight daddy kink, breeding kink & begging

it started with an innocent question..

you're sprawled out upon his bed, laying on your stomach and scrolling on your phone, while best friend! atsumu does the same, except he is sat with his back against the headboard, and one of his arms stretched out behind his head, drawing attention to his flexing bicep in his black MSBY t-shirt.

you've spent the majority of the day hanging out, which you rarely get to do because he's so busy with practise and his contract with the jackals. but today was like a blast from the past, as you went on a run through the neighbourhood, talked shit and played videos games for hours like you used to. now you were both tired out and waiting for your delivery from onigiri miya to arrive.

but you were feeling peckish so you had a small bag of chips with you on the bed. plucking another one from the bag, you idly took a bite, and you were about to pop the rest into your mouth until atsumu leaned forward and snatched it right out of your hand and gobbled it up himself.

you gasp in horror, " 'tsumu! gross, you realise i already bit that one?"

atsumu quirked an eyebrow, but didn't avert his gaze from his phone screen. "so?" he grumbled through a mouthful of chip.

you saw his point. the two of you have been friends for so long, since before you could even properly remember. and he's been stealing and eating your food since the very beginning — and vice versa. without a care in the world as to whether the other's saliva was on it or not. usually you're quite weary about other people's germs, but with atsumu it was different since you're so familiar with each other and you know that neither of you have any oral illnesses. so what's the big deal if you eat something that's his mouth has already been on? you've already done so hundreds of times before.

but considering the sheer length of time you've known each other, the situation sparked a query in your mind. "we must share a lot of dna, huh?" you thought aloud.

atsumu halted chewing, and hesitantly looked up at you. "... what?"

"not in a genetic way! i just mean that we've been sharing food for so long. surely some of my dna must have incorporated itself into your system by now. maybe that's why you're so good at volleyball.." you suggested.

atsumu just stared back at you, dumbfounded. while you prattle on.

"i probably don't have as much of your dna in me, since i'm not a greedy food-stealer like you are." you tried to make a comment about his thieving habits, but atsumu seemed to be focussed on the wrong parts.

"that's not fair, is it?" he purrs with a smirk.

"what's not fair?"

"that you've not got any of me in you. like you said. even when we aren't together—"

"like when you are on the other side of the country competing in volleyball tournaments!" you add.

"yeah," he replies softly, "we're not really apart; i've still got a lot of you inside me. 'cos of that chip i just ate." you nod hesitantly in agreement, since he's got a good point but you can tell by the sinister glint in his eye that he's plotting something strange.

"but," he continues, "you've not got any of me in you. so how can we be connected?"

you blink. slowly, you take a chip from the bag and hand it to him. he takes a bite then gives it back to you and allows you to finish it with a smile. as you gulp, you declare profoundly, "there! now you're a part of me too."

atsumu tilts his head in amusement, and leans forward until his lips are mere inches from yours. "i think you can do better then that."

before you can even respond, his lips come crashing down against yours, and he captures you in a heated kiss. you're stiff at first due to this unexpected behaviour from who you thought was your friend, but there's something so addicting about the way his skin feels against yours. you let him guide you and soon you're melting into his touch, allowing your lips to weave together rhythmically, a small moan even slips past your defenses and rumbles against his mouth.

your basically sucking at each other's faces like deprived animals until he yanks himself away and rasps, "want something else inside you? something you can keep, angel?"

the moments after the faintest mewl of 'yes' escapes your mouth was a blur of atsumu lunging off the bed, readying himself at the other end and flipping your skirt up to rip your panties clean off in a matter of seconds. conveniently you were already in the perfect position, laid on your stomach with your ass hanging off the bed. all he really needed to do was spread those pretty legs and fix himself between them.

he rubbed at your folds with his fingers, and relished in your growing wetness. you could hear him groaning and thankfully for him, you couldn't see his obscene expression as his pupiled were stuck to your pussy. "fuck, such a pretty girl. where've you been hiding this?" he bit his lip, the mere sight of your delicious cunt alone was enough to get his cock throbbing his pants.

with no time to waste, he unzips his fly and smears his leaking tip across your hole, lubricating it further with his own precum. then, without warning, he thrusts himself inside your tight hole and gasps at the constricting sensation of your cunt suffocating his length. "damn, knew you'd be tight but— this is— fff.. fuck." he can barely get his words out. his thoughts were scrambled by your sweet walls clamping down on him like there were trying to keep him there.

his hands held onto your waist and his fingers dug into your soft skin. looks like he was giving you scars to keep too. due to his inability to move while your pussy was gripping onto him, your were allowed some time to adjust to his absurd length.

his girth shoved at your sensitive walls and it felt like he was pushing against your stomach too. he was just too much for your insides to handle, but it's not like there was anything he could do about it. plus, it didn't help that the stretch of your cunt to accomodate him was so euphoric and overwhleming, leaving you unable to form any more than a couple of slurred sentences, " 'tsumu, you're so big.. it's too much.."

"just need to take it, baby. i know you can." he reassured you in a low voice. you've never heard him quite so hoarse before; it was only feeding the growing pool of arousal between your thighs. his dick twitched eagerly within you and as soon as he bottomed out, he began to vigoursly thrust into you. piercing into your sopping hole at a rapid speed, despite how your walls desperately clung to him.

"atsumu!" you gasp, arching your back against the mattress as your fingers dug into the sheets beneath you, trying cope with the ecstasy coarsing through you from his thick girth. you weren't certain as to what was going on; a part of you still thought this was all one big overwhelming dream because of how surreal it felt.

you didn't understand what had overcome him. the two of you have been best friends since forever, and yeah, there was maybe a little bit of chemistry and flirtation before he left to join the black jackals, but any lingering feelings were shut down by the distance seperating you. never did you think he'd randomly get up and start frantically rearranging your guts on his bed. but fuck, it was a long time coming, you could feel the pent-up emotions behind each and every brutal thrust into your cunt. amplified by the lewd slapping of his balls against your sticky folds.

still, it confused you as to why he chose now to act on these feelings, and that manifesting through your feeble cries of, "why.. nghh— what're y'doing?" so weak and delicate, if it wasn't for your moans of delight and your hips instinctually rocking against his, atsumu might've thought you wanted him to stop (but that couldn't be any further from the truth.)

"sorry, (y/n).. couldn't— shit, hah, couldn't hold back anymore." he huffed out with his teeth grinding together, lips pulling into a wide smirk as he watches your tits bounce from the force of his cock. "gettin' too old for these games. and you're gettin' too hot for me to— mmph, to not do something 'bout it."

if it wasn't for the fact you were choking on your own moans from the way his length was splitting your poor pussy in half, you would've chuckled at his previous comment. you were both only in your twenties but he was claiming to be 'too old' for games.

but you kinda understood what he meant. being coy and play-flirting was cute in high school, but now it was time for you to come to terms with your feelings and act on them. you couldn't be more relieved that he took action; atsumu's dick working your needy insides was akin to receiving a long awaited massage, and finally undoing an strenuous knot that's been irrating you for ages. years, even.

"please keep going. i need you so fucking bad." you whined.

"drivin' me fucking crazy with this perfect pussy.." his jaw is clenched yet he spits onto his fingers and draws sloppy circles over your clit while he continues to ram into you. however, his pace grows sporadic and begins to faltered with each staggered breath he inhales. his eyes squeeze shut, "shit, angel, what've you done t'me? 'm close already.." his voice trails off, almost like he's losing steam until a final surge of lust-fuelled adrenaline shoots through him.

his eyes shoot open as his hips pick up the pace, piercing into your aching cunt even faster than they were previously, slamming all the way into your cervix repeatedly. "almost there. gonna fill up this little hole with all of me. that's what you want, huh?" deranged ramblings fall from his lips, while his brows are knitted together and his energy is focussed solely on ploughing into you, "you want me to leave a big mess in ya? so you keep apart of me forever. that what you want, slut? my cum dripping out of ya?"

your eyes screw shut at the intense sensation, and you bite down on the blankets in attempt to cope with it all. that is, until he delivers a harsh slap to your ass, which causes you gasp and squeal, "yes, 'tsumu! leave it inside me, please. all of it."

"you sound like such a whore." he chuckles, but only to conceal how badly that turns him on. he knows it's perverted, but there is just something so sexy about hearing his sweet friend beg for it like a desperate slut. it was humorously uncharacteristic. "ask again, baby. let me hear you, scream for daddy."

"i need you to— nghh, fuck! oh my god, i need you to cum in me. pleasee~." you pant, head spinning as he relentlessly pounds into your cunt, not faltering for even a split second. "i want you so bad.."

and that'll do it. your final breathless comment was enough to send him flying over the edge of his climax. one hand gripped your ass while the other held your thigh, and he heaved out a deep sigh as his thick load released from his tip and spurted into the safe confines of your pussy.

the warm sensation spread throughout your insides, like a sticky blanket coating your walls. it was beauitful, and there was no way he was going to let go just yet. not when your cunt was still gripping onto him; he wanted to savour it for as long as possible.

he leaned forward, and pressed gentle kisses across your spine and the nape of your neck, "you did so good.." you could feel him smile against your skin, as he whispered, "can you promise me something, doll?"

"mhm.."

"gonna keep that inside you?"

"of course." you hum, amused that he was still attached to what you were discussing earlier, "now we're connected."

"yeah." he nods, resting his head against your upper back and relaxing his frame against yours, "for a week, at least. then you'll have to visit me in osaka, and we can do this all again."

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

"I DON'T WANNA FALL IN LOVE"

RED X!READER X KOLE ANDER

Bio: This is @invincibledc DC's OC, lol, and I love their work. Since I have a Red X reader, it would be a shame for them not to have a relationship with Kole. So, yeah, I also need to write something, or else the rest of you will think I'm dead and gone, lol.

You were never one for romance or the romantics, but here you are, letting this fiery-headed prince press his burning lips to yours. You were only flirting with him the first time the two of you met, just teasing him in front of his Robin, hoping to get a rise out of his Robin and him. But he's kissing you, his red hair sparking in the air at full blaze.

Your mask, discarded on the ground. By God's name, how did this happen? Now you remember stealing from Wayne Enterprises, just to mess with your dear old dad. Expecting his Robin, you get the fiery blaze that is Kole Ander. "Hey, little star, flew too far from home," you teased, twirling the chip around your fingers. "You must return the valuables," his glowing green eyes shined; you could feel the energy radiating off him like a bright light. He's a shining star in this city of lights.

You trapped him to the wall with one of X's, one taped to his lips so he couldn't talk. "You know you're prettier when you don't talk," you said, walking closer to him. "It's such a shame; I didn't want to ruin that pretty face." You got closer, pulling the X mark off his lips gently. He growled at you like a lion with his pretty red mane. You almost wanted to laugh at him; well, you did laugh at him, but he was able to melt your X away, burning it at the seams. It shocked you; last time he wasn't able to get out. "Jeez, little star's been training!"

"Silence!" he shouts, hitting you with everything he's got. Green flames erupt in every direction; your back is up against a wall, and your weapons are getting melted away, turning into red mush. His fist connects with the wall next to you, and God, your knees buckle. "Such a meanie." "I'll show you mean." That's how you feel now, but goddammit, that boy could kiss! His hands ran through your curls, fingers twisting and twirling in the coils. You're turning into a puddle. Wait, you have a mission. You push him back, but he doesn't budge.

You finally pushed him back, covering your mouth. He saw your face, kissed you, and—God—your face is no longer a secret. He knows your face; he kisses your lips. He stared at you with those big green eyes. This was supposed to be a fun little steal; you never expected this. Dropping the chip, you threw a smoke bomb and dashed away. Mission: managerially unsuccessful, but Kole got a sweet kiss from a failed bird, and he got the chip, yet his hair was still ablaze, even fifteen minutes after the kiss.

[bucketgetter535]

No Margin for Error: Chapter Ten

CW: Mild-ish sexual content?

WC: 6.1k

Notes: if only Ferrari was really this good…

Baku had come and gone.

The street circuit under lights had delivered all the chaos it was known for, and still somehow, it had settled into something nearly predictable. McLaren had been fast. Too fast, if Azzi was honest with herself. Their top-end pace on the straights made overtaking miserable, and their tire degradation had somehow improved overnight. Still, she’d salvaged third. Paige fourth, less than a second behind. Neither of them thrilled, but no damage done. Ferrari still led the constructors’ standings comfortably, and Paige still had a grip on the Drivers’ Championship.

It wasn’t a bad weekend. Just a loud one.

Now they were thirty thousand feet above the ground, somewhere over Central Asia, heading toward the relentless humidity of Singapore. And Azzi, feet tucked under her on the cream leather couch of her jet, was deeply regretting letting Luka and Mateo talk her into this.

Well, not really. She’d offered.

“You’ve never flown private?” she’d asked them after the race, eyes wide with genuine disbelief.

Luka had shrugged like it wasn’t that big of a deal. “Never needed to.”

Mateo had grinned. “We’re team players. We suffer with the staff.”

Azzi had rolled her eyes, already texting her flight manager.

Now they were here. Luka was sitting backward in his chair, ankles crossed on the armrest like he owned the place. Mateo was three snacks in and holding a banana like it was a mic.

And Paige was seated across from Azzi, legs stretched out, hoodie sleeves pushed up to her elbows, looking more relaxed than she had since Baku qualifying. At least until Luka started squinting at her.

“So,” Luka said, his voice filled with the kind of faux-innocence that immediately made Azzi want to groan. “How was New York?”

Azzi looked up from her phone slowly. “Fine.”

“Fine,” Mateo echoed, like a parrot with a PhD in sarcasm. “Totally random dinner in the same restaurant, same table, same neighborhood, at the same time.”

“Wild coincidence,” Luka added, flipping his phone around to show a photo. “This viral shot disagrees.”

It was the picture from dinner. Dimly lit but sharp enough to see how close Azzi had leaned in. How Paige’s hand had been on the back of her chair. It had hit TikTok mid-week and was still racking up edits with soft piano music and increasingly romantic captions.

“Okay,” Paige said, trying not to smile. “People eat.”

“In the same city?” Mateo asked. “On the same night?”

“We’re coworkers,” Azzi said, deadpan.

“Who fly private together,” Luka offered. “And also disappear at parties together, according to this thread.”

He flipped to another screen. Azzi caught a flash of Dirk’s smug face in one of the photos and looked away before her mood could turn.

“It’s not that deep,” Paige muttered, but the back of her neck was pink.

“No, no,” Mateo said, holding up his banana-mic. “We’re just engineers asking questions.”

Azzi cracked then, covering her face with one hand and laughing despite herself. Paige leaned back with a groan, pulling her hood over her eyes like it might protect her from the onslaught.

They weren’t mad about it. Not really. Just caught. Sort of. Not that there was anything to catch.

Sort of.

“So,” Mateo said after a beat, tossing the banana peel into the trash bin behind him. “Big weekend coming up, huh?”

Azzi nodded. “Singapore’s a good track for us. Hot. Technical. Tight corners.”

Luka tilted his head. “And after that?”

Azzi smiled, folding her hands behind her head. “Austin.”

Her mood shifted warmer at the thought. “My family’s flying in. Parents, Jon, José… even the baby cousins might show if my uncle can figure out how a plane works.”

“Serious crew,” Luka said.

Azzi nodded. “Haven’t seen them since Miami. They’re loud and sweet and will eat like twelve thousand funnel cakes.”

“You hyped?” Mateo asked.

Azzi looked at Paige, who peeked out from under her hood.

“Yeah,” Azzi said. “We both are.”

Paige nodded. “I love the U.S. GP. And I think my dad and Drew are coming to Vegas in November.”

Azzi smiled. “Tell your dad he owes me a rematch in cornhole.”

“I won’t,” Paige said. “He’s still pretending it never happened.”

Luka leaned over and stage-whispered, “So we’re going to pretend this whole flight isn’t basically a Ferrari honeymoon?”

Azzi picked up a pillow and chucked it at him.

–

Singapore was a furnace.

Not the dry, blistering heat of southern Spain or the sunbaked stretches of Silverstone. This was suffocating. Dense. Sticky. Every step outdoors felt like walking through a pot of simmering soup. Even indoors, with air conditioners on full blast, it seeped into the walls, the floorboards, the threads of your clothes.

Azzi hated it.

Or…she didn’t. The city was beautiful. Flashy. Clean in the way ultra-rich cities were. She and Paige had landed a few days early, with Ferrari’s blessing. The travel time back to Italy or the States just didn’t make sense. Too many flights, too many layovers. Too much stress on their bodies, their heads, their sleep cycles.

Better to just land and wait.

So they waited. Spent mornings at the pool and afternoons slipping between meetings and film review. Nights were quiet. Or they were supposed to be.

It was just after 2 a.m. when Azzi gave up on sleep.

The ceiling fan wasn’t helping. The hotel AC unit might as well have been wheezing its last breath. Her sheets clung to her legs like plastic wrap. Her hair stuck to the back of her neck. She turned, then turned again, then flipped her pillow over like that would make a difference.

It didn’t.

And her thoughts—well, they weren’t helping either.

They never did when Paige was two floors below her.

Eventually she sat up, kicked off the sheets, and pressed her bare feet to the cool tile. She pulled on a pair of loose shorts and a tank top. Nothing crazy. Just… Singapore clothes. Weather-appropriate.

It was only when she stood in front of Paige’s hotel door, barefoot and sweaty and half sure she was about to get laughed back to bed, that she hesitated. But her knuckles knocked before her brain could stop her.

She heard movement. Then a click. The door cracked open, revealing Paige, eyes shadowed, hair messy, and very much not asleep.

She blinked at Azzi once. “What are you doing here?”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Why are you awake?”

Paige leaned against the doorframe, one hand braced overhead. She was in a black racerback tank and boxers, the fabric darkening slightly with sweat along her collarbone and under her ribs. Her skin glowed, dewy from heat and maybe something else.

Azzi’s mouth went dry.

“I was watching race film,” Paige said, casual, like she wasn’t standing there looking exactly like a Nike photoshoot for trouble.

“At two in the morning?”

Paige gave a small shrug. “It’s hot. Couldn’t sleep.”

Azzi crossed her arms and shifted her weight. “Same.”

A moment passed. Not tense, exactly. But… loaded. Paige was still in the doorway, still sweaty and barefoot, and looking at Azzi like she could read every reason she’d come down here that had nothing to do with heat.

“Wanna come in?” Paige asked, stepping back.

Azzi followed, brushing past her, skin sparking at the near contact. The room was dim. Cool, by comparison. Paige had one of those portable fans humming near the bed, and the curtains were drawn to trap the dark.

Azzi flopped onto the edge of the bed like she belonged there. Paige sat back down in the chair she’d pulled up near the window. Her laptop was open, paused on a corner-speed breakdown from Baku.

“I wasn’t lying,” Paige said, tapping the spacebar and letting the screen go black. “I really was watching film.”

Azzi let her head fall back against the pillow. “I didn’t say you were lying.”

Paige stretched her arms over her head, slow and long. Her tank shifted with the movement, revealing a flash of toned stomach, the low swoop of her hip. Azzi looked away. Tried to, anyway.

“You want water or something?” Paige asked.

“Water would make it worse,” Azzi said. “I’d just sweat it out.”

Paige smirked. “True.”

Another pause. The fan whirred.

Azzi rolled to her side and studied her. “You really couldn’t sleep either?”

Paige glanced over. “I’ve been thinking a lot.”

Azzi’s stomach flipped.

“About?”

Paige tilted her head. “Life.”

Azzi snorted. “You’re gonna get all vague now?”

A small smile tugged at the corner of Paige’s mouth, but it didn’t fully land. “You ever feel like the heat makes you think too hard?”

Azzi nodded. “Too much sweat, not enough oxygen.”

“Exactly.”

She stood again, walked over, and grabbed the second pillow off the other side of the bed. Tossed it to Azzi without asking.

Azzi caught it. “I’m staying?”

Paige met her eyes. “Do you want to?”

Azzi didn’t look away. “Yes.”

Silence again.

The tension, sticky like the air, settled in again between them. Thicker now. Not new, but no longer brushed off as nothing. Not in this room. Not after New York. Not after the jet rides and the teasing and the way Paige had said her name during comms last race like it meant something more than just race craft.

Paige sat on the other side of the bed. Not touching. But close.

Too close.

Azzi exhaled. “I didn’t come down here to start anything.”

“I didn’t say you did.”

She turned her head. Paige was already looking at her. Hair sticking to her temple. A faint glow across her chest where sweat caught the moonlight.

Azzi wanted to look away.

She didn’t.

“Still hot,” Paige murmured.

Azzi nodded. “Yeah.”

Paige reached for the remote and clicked the fan up a notch. The air shifted slightly, not enough to matter.

Azzi laid back again, one arm thrown over her eyes.

“If I sleepwalk into your lap it’s because you’re cold,” she muttered.

“I’m not cold.”

Azzi peeked out from under her arm.

Paige’s eyes were still on her. Unmoving. Unapologetic.

Azzi swallowed, pulse loud in her ears.

“Well,” she said softly, “you’re cooler than me.”

Paige didn’t respond.

But she didn’t move away either.

Paige knew what Azzi was here for at 2 in the morning. Though, Azzi had been feeling it for a while at this point.

It had started hours ago, maybe even before she knocked on Paige’s door, when she sat restless in her bed, pretending it was the heat that had her peeling off layers and twisting in the sheets. Now, in the dim quiet of Paige’s hotel room, with the fan kicking up warm air and the curtains drawn tight against the city glow, Azzi could feel that low, pulsing certainty settle in her chest:

She hadn’t come here to cool off.

Paige knew it too.

She lay next to Azzi now, close but still not touching. The kind of distance that a deep breath could erase. Azzi turned her head, slowly, and found Paige already watching her. No hesitation. No teasing smile. Just that steady, quiet focus that always made Azzi feel like she was under a microscope. As if Paige was learning her in real time, one heartbeat at a time.

Paige reached out first. Just a hand, brushing soft along the edge of Azzi’s wrist. Barely a touch.

Azzi let out a slow exhale. “So much for staying cool.”

A hint of a smile tugged at Paige’s mouth. “I said I wasn’t cold.”

Her voice was lower now, sleep rough in it. Or maybe not sleep.

Azzi shifted closer, until her thigh brushed Paige’s. Her skin buzzed at the contact. Paige’s breath caught, and Azzi felt it, that tiny shift in air between them, like gravity had tilted in their direction.

They’d done this before.

But not like this.

Not with something real and fragile humming underneath. Not with a promise quietly blooming between touches.

Azzi rolled onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow. “You gonna let me kiss you, or are we still pretending this is about sleep?”

Paige’s eyes flicked to her mouth. “I’m not pretending anything.”

Azzi kissed her.

It wasn’t rushed. It didn’t need to be. There was no urgency, no scramble. Just warmth, and closeness, and the soft hum of a fan cutting through the heat. Paige’s hand found Azzi’s hip, steady and sure, and pulled her closer.

She fit there like she always had.

Azzi felt Paige’s fingers trace along her spine, slow and deliberate. Her skin prickled in response. She deepened the kiss, let herself settle into it, let herself feel everything. The softness of Paige’s lips, the low sound she made in the back of her throat when Azzi kissed her jaw, the way her hands didn’t rush but held like she meant it.

This wasn’t a secret, not here.

Azzi felt safe in this room. Hidden. Honest. She didn’t need to perform, didn’t need to hold back.

Paige rolled them gently, shifting to hover above her. Her hair fell around her face, catching bits of light. She looked down at Azzi like she was studying a map, trying to remember all the familiar landmarks.

Azzi’s chest rose and fell, slow and even.

“You good?” Paige asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Azzi nodded. “You?”

“Of course.”

–

Azzi was not a morning person.

She could pretend, sometimes, when cameras were waiting or sponsors needed her bright-eyed and branded. But this morning (body humming and thighs still comfortably aching) she was no actress. She rolled out of Paige’s bed with a wince and a grin, the sheets warm and tangled, the air still heavy with Singapore heat and something softer. Something that lingered in the pit of her stomach like a secret.

Paige was already up, sitting at the edge of the bed with her long legs stretched out and a bottle of water tilted lazily toward her lips. She glanced over when Azzi groaned softly, twisting her torso with the ease of someone who knew exactly what she’d done last night and wasn’t sorry about any of it.

“Meeting in thirty,” Paige said, her voice dry but amused. “Fred.”

Azzi sighed. “God. Do you think he knows?”

Paige’s brow arched. “He’s French. He definitely knows.”

They arrived ten minutes late, hair still slightly damp from rushed showers, Azzi in a loose ribbed tank and oversized linen pants, Paige in a plain black tee and joggers, fresh-faced but unmistakably guilty of something. The meeting was already in motion when they slipped into the cool, air-conditioned conference room tucked into the back of the paddock hospitality suite. Fred sat at the head of the table, glasses pushed high on his nose, flanked by two PR officers and an assistant who looked entirely too caffeinated for the hour.

Fred didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at them. A long, pointed look.

Then: “Do I want to know why you’re late?”

Azzi blinked. Paige said, “Probably not.”

The younger PR rep cleared her throat. “So. As you both know, a photo surfaced earlier this week. From New York.”

Azzi fought the urge to smirk. The photo in question had gone viral within hours. Her leaning back in her chair at the candlelit restaurant, mid-laugh, Paige in a black button-down across from her, arm resting casually close, eyes on Azzi like she was the only person in the room. Which, for Paige, she probably had been.

It was a good photo. Too good.

The rumors had been relentless.

“Obviously, the speculation is getting traction,” the older PR manager added, flipping through a folder of printed tweets, headlines, and one particularly bold Instagram comment that read simply: “Hard launch when??”

Fred tapped the table. “We need a plan.”

“Plan for what, exactly?” Azzi asked, even though she already knew.

The younger rep tried to be gentle. “The public is making assumptions. And if you don’t control the narrative, they will.”

Paige leaned back in her chair. “What narrative are we supposed to offer?”

“A distraction,” the older one said. “Or a clarification. Or ideally both.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “So, what—lie?”

They both looked briefly uncomfortable before the younger one said, “Well… more like shape.”

Fred finally chimed in again, steepling his fingers. “We don’t need a scandal. We need focus. You’re one and two in the championship. Ferrari is winning. We cannot afford the headlines to be about dinner dates and who is or isn’t sleeping with whom.”

Azzi didn’t flinch. She’d known this was coming. She just hated that it was happening in a cold room with fluorescent lights and lukewarm espresso cups.

“So, what’s the best option?” Paige asked. Her voice was calm, but Azzi knew her well enough to catch the flicker in her tone. She was annoyed. Bracing.

The rep didn’t miss a beat. “Option one—one of you is seen with a guy. Someone safe. Familiar. Maybe even someone we’ve used before. Dirk van der Meer’s name came up—”

“No,” Paige said, sharply.

Fred raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not doing that again.”

Azzi stayed quiet, but her lips pressed into a thin line. Dirk had been a necessary evil once. A blurry summer and a PR contract and a few half-hearted smiles for the camera. Paige hadn’t spoken to him since. Didn’t want to.

“Option two,” the older rep continued, “we release a statement. Neutral, minimal. Just something to dispel the noise without denying or confirming anything.”

“So basically saying nothing,” Azzi said.

“It lets the moment pass,” Fred said. “Without adding gasoline.”

“And if we don’t do anything?” Paige asked, even though she knew the answer.

The rep’s silence was enough.

Azzi ran a hand through her hair. The AC was too cold. Her body still ached pleasantly from the night before, but now her stomach was twisting. Not with regret. Just frustration. She hadn’t done anything wrong. Neither had Paige. But the world they lived in, the one with contracts and sponsors and publicists who printed Instagram comments, wanted neatness. Stories they could sell.

“I’m not fake-dating Dirk again,” Paige repeated, quieter now. Firmer. “I’d rather the rumors keep flying.”

Fred nodded slowly. “Okay.”

That surprised both of them.

“But no stunts,” he added. “No more dinners in candlelight restaurants that look like Vogue covers.”

Azzi couldn’t help the smile. “So rooftop burgers it is.”

The older rep pinched the bridge of her nose.

Fred stood. “We’ll manage it. Just keep your heads down until Singapore’s over. We’ll reassess before Austin.”

Paige was already half out the door.

Azzi lingered for a beat, then glanced back at the table.

“Just for the record,” she said, tone light but words clipped, “I’d rather be caught kissing someone I actually like than pretending to be straight for a sponsor.”

Then she left, leaving the PR team in stiff silence and Fred wearing something almost like a grin.

–

Azzi found Paige later that night where she always went when things didn’t sit right—perched on the edge of the hotel’s rooftop terrace, eyes scanning the city below like she could read the skyline for answers.

Singapore at night was golden and electric. Air thick as syrup. Every surface radiated heat even long after sunset. But Paige was still in the same black tee from the meeting, legs folded up on the lounge chair, jaw tight and unreadable.

Azzi didn’t say anything at first. She sat down beside her, letting the silence settle between them like steam.

“It’s not like I didn’t expect it,” Paige said finally, without looking over. “The photo, the reaction, the PR scramble… it’s all part of the game.”

“But it still sucks,” Azzi offered.

Paige glanced at her then. Her expression wasn’t hurt exactly. Just tired. “It’s just not fair, you know?”

Azzi nodded. She did know.

They both sat with it for a moment—what it meant to be watched, packaged, speculated on. What it meant to choose someone in a world that kept asking you to pretend.

Then Azzi shifted, tucking one leg underneath her. “Can I ask you something?”

Paige shrugged. “Sure.”

Azzi hesitated. She hadn’t meant to bring this up tonight, but something about Paige’s quiet stillness made the moment feel right. Like this was a story that had been waiting for a quieter hour.

“Why’d you do another year of F3?” she asked. “You had F2 offers. Everyone knew that. Hell, I got pulled up halfway through my F3 season and dumped into F2 for six months, then almost straight into F1. But you did two full seasons.”

Paige’s brows lifted, caught off guard. “That’s what you’ve been wondering?”

Azzi smiled faintly. “Well, I thought maybe you were being strategic or something. But it always felt a little off.”

Paige was quiet for a long moment. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, fingers picking idly at the edge of the chair cushion.

“You probably already know this,” she said at last, not looking up. “But I didn’t finish the F3 season.”

Azzi blinked. “After I got moved up?”

Paige nodded. “Yeah. That was… sort of the beginning of the end.”

She let out a breath, more weight than air.

“I mean, on paper, I was still on the team. Still under contract. But I didn’t race again. I had this whole… thing. A moment, I guess. Or a breakdown, depending on who you ask.”

Azzi’s heart tightened. She hadn’t known the details. Not really.

“I was seventeen,” Paige said, voice low. “And I was so burnt out. I’d been pretending like I was fine, like I could handle all of it. But then you got pulled up to F2, and it was like… suddenly the bar changed. And I was still there, still grinding in the middle of the pack while they were talking about the next season like it was already decided.”

She swallowed.

“I called my mom. Thought I was calling her to vent. But I just lost it on the phone. I was crying or whatever about contracts and performance clauses and how I didn’t even know if I wanted any of it anymore. And she… did what moms do. She took the wheel. Called my manager. Froze the talks. Told them I was out for the rest of the year.”

Azzi stayed quiet. Her chest ached.

“I was so mad,” Paige continued. “Like, really mad. Felt like I was being punished for cracking under pressure. But now?” She finally looked over. “I’m glad. That break let let me breathe. Let me figure out if I really wanted this. Not just the career. But the life.”

Azzi exhaled, slow. “I had a bit of that too,” she said. “After F2.”

Paige blinked. “You?”

Azzi nodded. “After I signed with Ferrari, I was supposed to finish the rest of the F2 season. Just keep racing until F1 pre-season started. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t keep driving when my brain was already somewhere else, and my body was exhausted. So I told them I needed out. Needed a breather.”

She gave a wry smile. “Everyone thought it was strategic. That I was preserving myself. But honestly? I was just spent.”

Paige tilted her head, eyes soft. “And you never told anyone that.”

Azzi shook her head. “Didn’t feel like I could.”

The heat settled around them again, humid and heavy, but this time it wasn’t so uncomfortable. It was grounding. Real.

“I think that’s why I kept watching you,” Azzi said quietly. “Back then. Even after I got moved up. You weren’t trying to force it. You were just… doing it your way.”

Paige looked over, surprised. “I thought you were always too focused to notice me.”

Azzi laughed, low. “I noticed everything, P.”

Paige’s expression shifted then—somewhere between disbelief and something softer. Azzi reached over, took her hand. Their fingers curled together without resistance.

They stayed like that, side by side under the stars, traffic humming far below, the world too far away to interrupt.

“I like doing this with you,” Azzi said, barely above a whisper.

Paige squeezed her hand. “Me too.”

–

Azzi couldn’t sleep.

It wasn’t the heat, not this time. The AC in her room had finally won its battle against the Singapore humidity. Her sheets were cool, her body relaxed, but her brain was wide awake, lit up like the track on race night.

She lay on her back, one hand resting across her stomach, the other loosely curled near her head. Paige’s voice echoed softly in her ears, not in any exact sentence, but in that quiet, open way she had spoken earlier. Honest. Unfiltered. Trusting.

Azzi rolled over and checked the time—nearly midnight. Singapore time anyway. That made it late morning in D.C.

She reached for her phone and tapped on the contact saved as Mom before she could talk herself out of it.

Katie picked up on the second ring.

“Hi, baby,” came her warm voice, and just like that, Azzi’s chest loosened.

“Hi,” she said, sinking into the sound like it was home. “You busy?”

“Never too busy for you. What’s up?”

Azzi didn’t answer right away. She let the silence hold for a moment, then pressed the side of her face into her pillow.

“I just wanted to talk,” she murmured.

Katie waited, sensing something underneath.

Azzi let the words come slowly. “Paige is like… sort of my girlfriend now.”

There was no dramatic pause on the other end. No gasp. Just a quiet hum, like Katie had already guessed and was smiling softly to herself.

“Sort of?” Katie asked gently.

Azzi huffed out a small laugh. “We didn’t do the whole label thing. I think we’re both too stubborn for that. But… yeah. She’s mine. I’m hers. That kind of thing.”

Katie didn’t need more than that.

“Well, I’m happy if you’re happy,” she said simply.

Azzi’s throat tightened. “I am.”

She meant it. Even with the media storm building outside their hotel rooms, even with PR teams drafting fake-boyfriend talking points, even with everything still uncertain—she was happy.

“But it’s complicated,” she added. “With the photo, and the fans, and the… speculation. Fred called us in this morning. They’re all trying to figure out what to do. And it’s exhausting. Like, just pretending everything’s fine.”

There was a pause.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” Katie said softly.

“I know,” Azzi whispered. “That’s why I called.”

Katie didn’t fill the silence with advice. She waited, patient as ever.

Azzi sat up in bed, legs crossed under her, phone pressed to her ear. “I miss you guys,” she said quietly. “You and Dad. And the boys. I’ve been thinking about Austin every day.”

“We can’t wait to see you.”

Azzi smiled. “I promised I’d win for you.”

“We’re already proud of you, Az.”

Azzi let her eyes close for a moment, imagining the way her mom might be sitting right now—curled up on the family room couch, tea in hand, wearing one of her oversized sweaters. Her voice always sounded like calm.

“And I was thinking,” Azzi went on, her voice picking up a little, “maybe… maybe Paige and I should post about mental health. Like, in a real way. Not some sponsored one-liner. We’ve both been through stuff. We could make it honest. Not for damage control. Just… because it’s important.”

There was a smile in Katie’s voice now. “That sounds like a really good idea.”

Azzi’s heart swelled a little.

“I think it would help people,” she added. “And maybe it would help us too. To not feel like we’re hiding everything. Plus it’s great for PR…”

Another pause.

Then, lighter, Azzi said, “Also… I’m running a pink helmet this weekend.”

“Your bright pink?”

“The brightest,” Azzi said proudly. “Almost neon. I wanted something that felt like me again.”

Katie laughed gently. “I love that.”

Azzi leaned back against her headboard, smiling into the phone. “Paige’s helmet is lilac this weekend. Or lavender. Whatever you call it. It’s so pretty. I think it’s her favorite color.”

“Is it your favorite color too now?” Katie teased.

Azzi giggled, cheeks warming. “No. But it’s… her. It looks like her. All soft and shiny and—” She stopped. “She’s really pretty.”

Katie didn’t say anything for a second.

“You really like her,” she said.

Azzi’s smile faded into something quieter. “I do.”

They sat in that for a while—just breathing together across the distance.

Eventually, Katie said, “You should get some sleep, baby. You’ve got a race to win.”

Azzi nodded, even though her mom couldn’t see it. “I will. Thanks for picking up.”

“Always. Love you.”

“Love you more.”

Azzi ended the call and set the phone down on her nightstand. The room felt softer somehow. Less heavy.

She slid down under the covers, one hand resting on her stomach again, the other still tingling from holding the phone.

Sleep came easier after that.

–

The lights above the Marina Bay Street Circuit burned like white fire against the inky Singapore night, and even at 9 p.m., the air hung heavy and wet around them like a wool blanket soaked in steam. Race day in the tropics was never pleasant, but this—this was a different beast entirely.

Azzi was drenched in sweat before the formation lap.

The second she pulled down her visor, the air inside her helmet turned into a sauna. Her race suit clung to her like a second skin, heat radiating from every panel. Even her gloves were damp. She hadn’t even put the car into gear yet.

“Let’s keep it clean. Smart start. No drama into Turn One,” came Mateo's voice over the radio.

Azzi didn’t bother answering. She was saving her energy for what promised to be a long, miserable hour and forty-five minutes.

Next to her on the front row, Paige sat stone-still in P1, her lilac helmet glinting softly under the floodlights. She was good here—really good. Fast, smooth, patient in the technical sections, aggressive in the perfect places. Singapore was where Paige had made a name for herself in F3, and now, one year into F1, she looked every bit the future world champion.

Azzi had no plans to make that easy for her.

The lights went out, and chaos reigned.

Paige got away clean. Azzi tucked in behind her. For the first twenty laps, it looked like they might cruise to a textbook 1-2 finish, as planned. No mistakes. No drama. Just the Ferrari girls slicing through the city heat like blades.

Then came Lap 22.

A midfield collision brought out a full Safety Car, and that’s when things started to unravel. McLaren pitted both drivers at once and somehow still managed to gain track position. Red Bull gambled on hard tires, and Mercedes threw soft tires on one car just to see if the world would end. Paige’s restart was flawless—but a lunge from a McLaren into Turn Eight forced Azzi wide, and she had to fight tooth and nail just to avoid contact. She dropped to fourth.

Then it started.

Yellow flags. Debris. Another Safety Car. Virtual Safety Car. One car parked sideways in the tunnel section like it forgot how to exist. Someone lost power steering. Someone else lost a wing. Azzi lost count of how many times she nearly got rear-ended by a Haas.

It was hot. So hot. Her water bottle gave up somewhere around Lap 35. Her back felt like it was melting into the seat. Her hands ached from gripping the wheel so tight.

By Lap 47, she was back in second, chasing Paige down like it was the last lap of their lives. She caught glimpses of the lilac helmet under the streetlamps—Paige was driving like a woman possessed. Clean, relentless, perfect. And sweaty as hell, probably. They both were. Azzi could feel her sports bra plastered to her ribs, and she was almost certain the pink dye from her helmet had leaked onto her neck.

But god, it looked so good.

The hot pink shimmered under the lights, bold and defiant. She might’ve been half-dead from heatstroke, but at least she looked like a flaming dream barreling through Sector 3.

The final laps were survival. Paige held the lead. Azzi kept her distance, defending against Hamilton like her life depended on it. No risks. No unnecessary moves. Just bring it home.

And when the checkered flag finally waved, and Paige crossed the line first with Azzi right behind her, both girls screamed.

Azzi barely made it out of the car before collapsing onto a pit wall stool, yanking off her helmet with trembling fingers. Her ponytail was soaked, her suit stuck to her thighs like glue, her forearms aching from every snap of countersteer she’d needed in that ridiculous, ridiculous race.

She blinked sweat out of her eyes and laughed into the open air.

“What the actual hell was that?” she croaked to nobody in particular.

No one answered. Everyone was still trying to piece together how they survived.

Paige was hoisted onto shoulders by the team before Azzi even got her gloves off. She looked delirious with heat and joy and disbelief. Azzi couldn’t stop laughing. Or sweating.

They’d wanted a calm 1-2.

What they got was a three-act opera of disaster, heat, and brilliance—with a Ferrari double podium at the end.

Azzi leaned back against the garage wall, head tilted to the sky, lungs still burning.

She was going to need three light-years of vacation.

But at least the special helmets looked good.

–

The air was thick and loud and glittering—champagne mist floating in the heat, blinding camera flashes against dark sky, the scent of burned rubber mixing with sweat and something sweeter. Maybe adrenaline. Maybe awe.

Azzi stood on the second step of the Singapore Grand Prix podium, and she was staring. Unapologetically.

Paige was on the top step. Again.

The first time this happened, Jeddah, back in April, Azzi remembered looking at her like this too. Like the whole world had tilted slightly and Paige had ended up at the center of it, smiling, golden, the trophy in her hands an afterthought to the way she carried herself.

And now, here in Singapore, that feeling hadn’t dulled.

Paige stood in front of the massive LED screen, violet-and-orange lights bouncing off her damp skin, hair plastered to her forehead, her suit half unzipped to the waist. The way her chest rose and fell, the way the curve of her jaw caught the glint from the Rolex billboard behind her. It made Azzi dizzy, in the way you get dizzy from looking too long at something you’re not supposed to want in public.

And Azzi was staring. She knew it. So did every camera. She was going to be a slo-mo edit on TikTok in fifteen minutes.

She didn’t care.

Paige held the trophy in one hand, the neck of the champagne bottle in the other, grinning like she couldn’t believe she’d done it again. She looked down toward Azzi just once, eyes catching hers for the briefest second, soft and wild and shining.

Azzi exhaled through her nose and tried not to melt.

This girl had taken a win off her in the hardest, hottest race of the year. Sweated out a pole lap in a car that had no business being that fast through sector three. Danced through two Safety Cars, ten near-misses, and a pit stop that should’ve ruined the whole strategy. And she was standing there now like it had all been inevitable. Like it was just another Sunday.

Azzi wanted to say something. Something about how stupidly pretty she looked under the lights, or how she’d made this godforsaken night race feel like it was worth every aching muscle and ruined manicure. But her mouth stayed shut. There were microphones nearby. She remembered that much.

She was in public.

Damn.

Azzi blinked and looked away for a second too long, just to reset her thoughts. The crowd roared, drunk on chaos and confetti. The Ferrari anthem started to play. She closed her eyes, let the sweat slide down her neck, let the heat settle into her bones.

Her gaze drifted back. Just for one more second.

Paige Bueckers, victorious under a sky of light and noise, was grinning at something the third-place driver said. Probably nothing important. She turned her head slightly, and the shine on her cheekbone caught the edge of the camera flash.

Azzi felt her heart beat once, loud and low.

She was in love with a girl who looked like that under stadium lights. Who drove like that in a furnace. Who laughed like that even after forty-nine laps of hell. And the whole world could watch her look. She didn’t care.

There were worse things to be known for.

She was in love with Paige Bueckers.

[kissandtellus]

Warning, Bite Risk: Ch. 3

ೃ⁀➷ Synopsis: MC goes back to work, leaving Hybrid!Caleb alone for the longest time yet. Caleb shows not only who he truly was in the past, but now, he shows how far he’s willing to go for her.

ೃ⁀➷ Warnings: Caleb is PATHETIC in the best way possible, mentions of PTSD, Slight Yandere behavior, stalking to some extent, possesive/obsessive behavior.

Tags: @mcdepressed290 , @seventeen-x , @rorel1a , @skylarkse

A few weeks pass, Caleb slowly starts to come around to the idea of living in a home where he is loved and cherished. But there is one enemy that he absolutely hates.

And that’s MC leaving for work.

Caleb follows her around the house like a puppy as she gets ready, and his tail is wagging like crazy. It's hard to believe that just a few weeks ago he had been hesitant and nervous to even move. He's excited, but there is a hint of unease.

"What time are you going to be home today?" He asks, a hint of worry in his voice. The question makes her pause, and she realizes what's bugging him.

Before, when she would try to leave the house, Caleb has always had to follow. He's usually very well-behaved, but today she can see some of his old habits coming through. He follows her like a shadow, and he seems like he's ready to make a dash to follow her.

She takes his hand gently, stopping him as he paces back and forth. She keeps her fingers interlocked with his as she speaks. "I'll be home around six. I'm going to pick up dinner, okay?"

Caleb looks down at their conjoined hands and pulls away, clearing his throat. This would be the first time she’d be gone for so long since she rescued him from the shelter.

He's quiet for a moment, and then softly speaks, "Is it... is it a big mission?" She can hear the small hint of fear in his voice, and it's hard to tell if it's for his safety, or hers.

He seems unwilling to leave her side, and his body tenses when she lets go of his hand. His ears lower, as if he doesn't want to leave her, and his tail slows to a gentle wag.

He looks up at her, and she can see his eyes are wide and pleading. "Can I... help in any way?" His voice is soft, and his expression is so soft.

He is starting to look like a lost little puppy again. It's hard to tell if he's acting or if this is sincere. Whatever the reason, she has to be strong. He can't follow her right now, and she can't miss this event.

"I'm sorry, Caleb." She speaks quietly, her eyes pleading for him to understand.

MC grabs her keys and wallet. “Alright Caleb, be good okay? There’s some food in the fridge. I’ll be back!” And then she’s gone, leaving the Malinois Hybrid in the apartment alone.

Caleb looks out the door with a look of longing, almost like he’s waiting for her to return. But finally, he slumps and goes into the living room. He settles in on the couch, and closes his eyes.

MC’s apartment suddenly seems so very… quiet. No one is moving around, or making a sound, and it’s odd. It’s been so long since he’s experienced true silence.

He’s a bit restless, and he can feel the anxiety building in his stomach.

Fighting Wanderers was exhausting, but when MC had a partner as skilled and talented as Xavier, it made a world of difference. They rode the subway home, both Hunters still trying to catch their breaths.

The mission had taken way longer than either of them had expected. MC felt a weird feeling bubble in her gut. She hadn’t really left the Hybrid with any way to communicate with her.

But back at the apartment, Caleb was twitching and pacing with anxiety.

Caleb paces around the small, crowded apartment, his slippers are making a faint click-clacking noise against the tile. His head is spinning, and all he can think about is how worried he is. It doesn't help when he looks out the window and sees that the sun is setting. She should've been back at six. She should've been back hours ago.

He makes a quick decision, and opens the window. He can wait, but he won't wait here. Not when he has no way of knowing what's going on.

Caleb drops out the window and onto the ground below. Luckily the apartment is on the ground floor.

He looks around, and then begins to stalk down the street, keeping to the shadows. His gaze darts from side to side, scanning his surroundings. His mind is focused on the task at hand, his heart pounding and his hands trembling slightly. He seems slightly on-edge, ready for *anything. *

His ears twitch as he runs through the city. He takes long, graceful strides, keeping to the shadows. He's focused, and clearly has somewhere specific in mind.

When he gets closer to the main city center, he leaps up to a fire escape, barely making a noise as he lands. He is careful and quick, trying to keep a low profile.

He has to hurry. He can't lose more time, and she might need him.

When he gets to his destination, he crouches down. He's in a spot where he has a pretty good view of the street, and he can see anyone coming and going.

He scans the crowd, looking for any sight of her or her group of companions. He has to be patient, but his heart is racing.

What if she's hurt?

What if she's in danger?

He bites his lip, feeling helpless with not knowing anything.

A couple of minutes later, MC turns onto the street with Tara and Xavier. The group is chatting casually, and MC feels much more relaxed than earlier. She notices a familiar shape perched atop of a roof, but it soon disappears out of view before she can see who it is.

She sighs, shaking her head with a bit of a smile, not bothering to tell either Xavier or Tara about it. Caleb has been on her mind the entire night, and she wonders how he’s been.

Caleb notices MC, and his heart soars at the sight of her. But when he jumps down, and gets closer, he can see her companions and immediately feels jealous.

Not about Tara so much but a male.

A male that isn’t Caleb.

His hands shake as he forces himself to take a deep breath. He is clearly unhappy, and his voice is almost a growl, though he's trying to sound calm.

"You told me you were going alone." He says, and his voice is low and rough. He looks like he's in a dangerous state of mind right now. "You lied to me."

He steps closer, getting in her personal space. He’s clearly frustrated, and his voice is low and dark. "You don't get to just lie to me. You don't get to just leave me."* He’s glaring at her companions, his eyes narrowing.

"You should've let me come with him," he mumbles. "I-I could've protected you, from them.”

"Caleb, calm down." Tara says firmly, stepping forward. She's clearly trying to diffuse the situation. She was there when MC adopted Caleb, and in the Hybrid’s eyes, she was an enemy, trying to keep HIS MC away.

He snaps his head towards her, his eyes flaring with anger.

He’s not going to listen to her.

"Stay out of this," he snarls, and his gaze flicks back to MC. "Are you trying to prove a point?" He snaps, "Trying to prove that you don't need me?"

MC swallows the lump in her throat. His eyes are not soft and pleading like they are when he’s begging for a piece of steak. They are predatory almost. “Caleb, let’s go home-“

He grabs her wrist a little too roughly, and steps even closer into her space. His face is mere inches from hers. "I would do *anything* for you. And this is how you treat me?" He asks, trying to keep his voice from breaking. "I thought you were in danger, and the entire time you were out having fun?”

“I just got back from a mission with Xavier. Tara met us so we could go pick up lunch.” Her voice is even toned. She knew Hybrids could get very territorial. But she hadn’t expected Caleb to escape her apartment and track her down. “We’re going home Caleb. Now.”

Caleb’s chest heaves, and his eyes are wild and frightened. He pulls her closer, pressing his body against hers. He breathes heavily, and his grip tightens around her wrist.

His voice is low now, and almost pleading. "I need to keep you safe. If-if I can’t do that I… I don’t know what I’d do without you. Please, don’t send me-" He swallows, and glances between her and her friends. His eyes plead with her to listen, to understand.

MC sighs and rubs his back in slow, comforting circles. She can physically feel him shaking under her touch like a leaf. “I’m not sending you back to the Farspace Fleet. I promise…”

Caleb seems to relax under her touch, and his breathing slows down a little. He closes his eyes, and presses his face into the crook of her neck, his body relaxing. His voice is quiet, and full of gratitude.

“I… I’m sorry.” He says, feeling foolish now. He had come all this way, and had made a fool of himself in front of her friends.

He hesitates for a moment before adding, "I just... thought I lost you."

MC excuses herself from her friends and coworkers. While Tara brushes the whole thing off, Xavier watches the two disappear into the crowd, his gaze calculating.

The walk back to the apartment is quiet, save for the hustling and bustling of the city around them.

Caleb clings to her arm like a lifeline, even with his height, he buries his face in her shoulder like a scolded dog, tail tucked between his legs.

He walks along beside her wordlessly, still looking nervous. The fact that he looks so upset and guilty is hard to ignore.

He hesitates, but eventually speaks, his voice soft and unsure. “Are you... are you mad at me?” He sounds almost scared to hear to her answer, like he’s afraid that she will be.

He seems to realize how he’s being too much by being so clingy. His ears immediately flatten, his eyes lower, and he leans away from her slightly before stopping.

He slowly looks up at her, his expression unreadable. He hesitates, and then he takes her hand, curling his fingers around hers.

He speaks very softly, his voice tentative. “Please... don't be mad.”

He sounds like a little kid asking for permission to stay up late. His eyes are full of uncertainty.

MC takes in a deep breath before speaking. “Caleb, I care for you. I won’t let anything bad happen to you. But….” She chews on her bottom lip.

Was she in too far?

Was this a bad idea from the beginning?

"But... what? I just-"

Caleb pauses, and his hand tightens around hers. His voice is suddenly filled with sadness.

"I can't live without you," He whispers. "Everything has changed so much... I don't want you to leave me."

He doesn't look like a K-9 military Hybrid right now. He looks so incredibly fearful, and vulnerable. It's like he's afraid to let her see him like this, and he can barely meet her eyes.

He drops to his knees in the middle of the street and wraps his arms around her waist, burying his face into her stomach as he lets out an onslaught of pleads

He seems desperate, his voice choked with emotion.

"MC, please," He practically begs. "I'll do anything for you, just... don't leave me. Don't leave me alone again."

He's so focused on her that he doesn't seem to care that they're out in the open, or that people are staring at them.

He tightens his arms around her waist, and he speaks again, his voice hoarse with desperation. "I love you."

MC’s eyes open wide. In the few weeks they had been living together, they had grown close. Caleb was incredibly doting and attached to her, but she had to wonder… was this because of some sort of animal instinct that Hybrids had?

That’s what her friends told her every single time she went out without him, and was met with his worried antics when she returned

“Are you just saying that because you think you have to?” MC asks, slowly pulling away from him.

His eyes widen in shock, like he can’t believe what she’s saying. His eyes search her face, almost desperately.

“N-no!” He exclaims, shaking his head wildly. “I would n-never lie to you.” He seems desperate to convince her, and he sounds a bit upset that she would even ask such a thing

He hesitates, and looks down. “Why… why do you think that? Have I done something to upset you?” He asks in a small voice.

MC swallows the lump in her throat before grabbing his elbow to help him stand. “Caleb you can’t…love me. You barely know me. You don’t have to…to say that because you think I’ll leave you or mistreat you.”

Caleb hesitates, and he looks at her with wide eyes. "But I do know you. I know you like sweet coffee in the mornings, and you like wearing comfortable clothes, with your hair in a ponytail. I know you hate it when people call you ‘Pipsqueak.’ Besides me….” His gaze drops as he says it.

"I know you're kind, and sweet. And strong, and brave. A-and I like that... about you. So, I have to... I have to tell the truth when I say I love you."

MC stiffens her jaw, her eyes dart around to all of the people staring at them. “Caleb please. Let’s…let’s go home…”

He hesitates, but his face falls when he hears the tone of her voice.

"Yes ma'am." He mutters in response, and moves away from her, his ears lowering. He looks like a scolded puppy, and he doesn't seem to know what to do.

He keeps his head low as they walk, and it's clear that he wants to say something. His gaze keeps flickering to her, and his eyes are pleading with her to listen to him, but he stays silent.

The night is quiet when they return.

MC closes herself up in her bedroom as soon as they get home. Caleb is so anxious, whining, clawing at her door desperately.

Caleb whines and scratches at the door, his voice anxious and pleading. "Please, let me in? Please."

He doesn't seem to care that he's literally whimpering at her door like an abused little puppy. He needs to be in there with her.

His voice lowers to almost a whisper as he scratches once again. "Please... I don't want to be alone." He sounds so broken right now.

MC presses her back to the opposite side of the door, sliding down with her face in her hands.

She feels so bad for Caleb, she can’t bear to hear him whine and cry.

She has no idea what horrors he’s seen. She knows that’s why he’s clinging to her so desperately. But it’s not healthy for either of them.

Caleb's voice is strained, like he's about to start crying again. He keeps repeating himself, his voice getting more and more upset.

"MC, please... I won't say it again. I just... I don't want to be alone," and then there's silence, like he can't manage to voice it anymore.

Eventually, after a minute of complete silence, she can hear the sound of a dull thump against the door. He is lying on the floor, curled up into a small ball. His ears press against his head, and his tail is tucked between his legs.

"P...please." He begs softly, his voice now a small, broken whisper.

He sounds like a scared little kid, curled up into a tiny, shivering ball against the door. There's no sign of the tough, confident military K-9 Hybrid left in him. No sign of the cold, emotionless Hybrid soldier that he once was on the battlefield. That persona seems to have disappeared completely.

"I'm... I'm scared." He murmurs, his voice barely audible.

MC can’t take it anymore. She throws open the door and Caleb is on her in a second.

Caleb is quick to grab her, his limbs wrapping protectively around her. He's shaking, and he buries his face in her neck, desperately trying to calm himself.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry." He says, his voice quiet and trembling. He doesn't seem to care that he is probably scaring her. Right now, he just wants to be reassured that she won't leave him again.

He trembles against her, and he takes hold of her like she's his only lifeline.

MC finally lifts her arms to wrap around him, scratching at the base of his neck. “Shhh…I told you I wasn’t going anywhere….”

He nuzzles her neck, breathing in her scent and pressing his body against hers as if he's trying to soak up all of her warmth.

"I'm sorry," he says again, and his voice is still trembling. His hands are still gripping her like a lifeline, and his tail is curled around her waist.

"I'm just... I'm scared," he says again, and his voice is so small and fragile.

"I don't want to lose you."

<-Previous Chapter Next Chapter->

[revelboo]

Been stalking your blog for the last few weeks... I cannot get enough of your fics they're so good and scratch the Transformers brainrot. I come requesting more IDW Starscream with maybe a reader who is on their period 🤲

-🦇 Anon

Sure! CW- blood/period 🔞 mass displaced mech 🌶️

Period

Starscream x Reader

• Waking up to your big mate curled around you, venting against your neck and rumbling softly, you roll to face him. Or try to. Blinking sleepily as you’re flipped onto your back, Starscream shifting to straddle you, wings flared aggressively. What is he doing? Can hear him loudly venting against you, nosing against you before scooting down your body. “You’re hurt?” He snarls and you blink in confusion.

• Wings flicking in distress, as he palms your thighs open and his spark hurts at the smear of red on your skin. Was he that rough with you? Why didn’t you tell him to stop? And you’re sitting up, frowning at him before noticing and your nose wrinkles. “Oh,” you mutter, grabbing for a blanket and trying to cover yourself. Frowning up at him when he catches your wrist to stop you. “I’m fine. This happens.”

• And he’s just staring at you, wings flaring out like he wants to lash out at something. Making it apparent he doesn’t understand human reproduction and you blow out a breath. Because you really don’t want to explain to him why you’re bleeding from his absolute favorite place. Especially when he already looks really freaked out. “It happens? You just bleed for no reason?” He snarls and you groan.

• “It’s part of my reproductive cycle. It happens. If you want to help though, I’m going to need some stuff,” you say, little face upturned and serious as you grab his hand and he allows you to press his palm against your lower belly. “You’re a decent heat pad, though.” And you relax somewhat under his touch to make him suspect you are hurting. Your biofield a prickly, uncomfortable mess against him to make him certain. ‘What do you need?’ He growls.

Knockout x Reader x Breakdown

• Plating ruffling up slightly like an affronted cat, you swallow a laugh at Knockout’s expression. Because while you’re sure he does love you in his obnoxious way, that love apparently has limits. “Breakdown!” He yells and you narrow your eyes at him to make him scowl. “You think I’m getting that sticky mess all over me? Under my plating and in crevices?” And you both look up as Breakdown pokes his head in to Medbay, frowning. “Human’s horny. Frag them for me, I’m busy.” Seriously? You’d wanted him to help you deal with the cramps, but at this point, you’re miserable enough to take what you can get.

• Venting as he reaches to curl his servos around you and lift you, Breakdown frowns slightly. Why are you warmer than normal? And you’re flushed, avoiding his optics. Making it apparent you’d wanted Knockout not him. Little brat. “Strip,” he growls, carrying you into his shared habsuite adjoining the Medbay and setting you on his berth, annoyed that he was your second choice. Because while he didn’t want you, he’s the one taking care of you most of the time. Making sure you have food, clothes, and water. And you still prefer Knockout. Venting, he frowns at the coppery scent in the air. What is that? Nudging you onto your hands and knees as he mass shifts to join you and frees his spike, he tries not to take it personally. What had you called Knockout that one time? Pure, unadulterated sex? It’s not like he can argue with that. Shifting behind you, he sheaths himself inside you with a growl, moving against you. Listening to you moan as you push back to meet his thrusts.

• Sterilizing tools, Knockout nearly drops a scalpel when he hears Breakdown yell his name. “Why are you fragging bleeding?!” Breakdown roars. Huh. He’d assumed you’d tell his partner what’s going on since you’d told him. Maybe you’d figured he’d say no, too. Venting tiredly as you say something too low for him to catch right before you and Breakdown start yelling at each other, he’s not about to get involved. It’s probably fine. You two can angry hate frag and then go hit the washracks. Not his problem, drifting over to his console, he begins researching human reproduction and hears Breakdown snarling. Apparently you two are angry fragging.