#like why do we need to know what he was called before?

[fixatedonwriting]

My dad had a drug store in Mississippi in the 70s and 80s, and I worked there off and on starting when I was about ten or eleven. It was an incredibly tiny town, so everyone knew my parents. They also knew me and my younger siblings as the small creatures who lurked behind the showcases. Which did not prepare them to have to deal with us actually working up at the counter.

So I'm ten or eleven. (Can't remember which. I'm old.) And this young Black guy comes in. He's acting pretty normal until he clocks the fact that none of the adult women who worked for my father were currently on shift, and that I was the only person standing there.

So he does this little dance where he starts to leave and then comes back. Leaves and comes back. Leaves and comes back.

Finally, I call out in my best "Daddy taught me this was called 'customer service'" voice: "Hey! Can I help you?"

This forces him to slowly walk up to the counter. Like it's the last place he wants to be, but he doesn't want to weird out this elementary school kid by rushing out the door.

So he gets right up in front of the counter and gestures for me to come a little closer. When I do, he whispers something I can't quite hear.

"What?" I ask in a very loud voice that causes him to cringe.

"I said," he whispers, "I need some mumble, mumble."

"What?!" I ask again, even more loudly and high-pitched than before.

This makes him shuffle around a bit while shaking his head. He is clearly having a very bad day.

"I said," he whispers, dragging out each and every word, "I need some con-dom-z."

"Oh," I say, more than a little confused because I'm pretty sure we don't sell any condoms. I know this because I've freaking grown up in that store, and if there was a product in it, I'd either seen it or shelved it. So I'm about to tell this guy he needs to go elsewhere.

But while I'm standing there, wracking my poor, little mind, this guy's face has gone into full "My lord, why must I suffer this way?" mode. I decide I can't send him away like that, so I do what any customer-service-child would do.

"Dad!" I yell. "This guy says he needs some condoms!"

Cue customer wrapping his hands around his head. Like if he wasn't in public, he'd be in full-on fetal position.

My dad emerges from behind the pharmacist's partition, takes one look at this poor fellow, and says, "Why don't you come on into the back? We'll get you taken care of."

Dude doesn't says anything, but quickly nods and follows. Later, he scoots right past me on his way out with a brown paper bag in his hand.

My dad comes up with him and stops to hand me a pad of the store stationery. He doesn't say anything, just looks at me sort of red-faced.

I look at it, back at him, then at it, and back at him again.

He sighs and finally says, "For when someone asks for something like that in the future. Just write it on the there and pass it around the partition."

"Okay," I say, not quite understanding why there's all of this emotion in the room, but willing to take this on as yet another part of my training.

The bell rings over the front door, and my dad starts to go back to where he stocks drugs, counts pills, and types up labels. But partway around the partition, he stops and looks back at me.

"Please don't tell your mother," he says before slipping away.

And that is how I learned we sold a bunch of stuff behind the partition that I never knew existed. From that day forward, I used that pad for condoms, sex toys, and all sorts of other products 1970s/80s Mississippi wouldn't allow us to display on the shelves.

I'd like to think it isn't that way anymore.

But I have a feeling that somewhere out there, there's another customer-service-child holding onto a pad.

[serensho]

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა

ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა

wings

in which mark meets someone with viltrumite-like powers — and has an angel’s wings?

invincible x fem!reader

warnings: world-building, smut fluff, not canon-compliant at all

inspired by kali uchis’s angel & igual que un angel

wc: 2800

“We don’t know exactly where she came from… but we do know she fell from an extreme height in the sky, or even space, down to Earth.”

Mark examines the hospital bed as he glances at Cecil with suspicion. He crosses his arms, puffing his chest out as he peers closer through the glass. It’s unlike Cecil to joke, much less about something as ridiculous as this.

“Do you realize what you’re telling me right now? Some girl with angel wings fell out of the sky suddenly? Is this some sort of prank?”

Cecil sighs, looking at his feet as he pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“No, Mark. She fell in Chicago, and left a huge mess for us to clean up. But after everything that’s happened, who knows maybe she was sent here for a reason. God knows that the city needs something to believe in after all the destruction.”

Mark turns away from the glass, fidgeting as he looks at the ground. 

“So why did you call me here? Is there some sort of problem with her?” Mark asks as he turns back to Cecil, sizing him up. 

Their relationship was never a good one, but when Mark received a message that he needed his help with some sort of situation, he felt compelled to come to the Pentagon, despite their bad blood. There was some sort of unexplainable pull – a siren’s call urging him to listen for once to see what was happening. But maybe that gut feeling was wrong, since all Cecil had done so far was present to him some poor girl in a hospital gown hooked up to countless machines, her wings held tightly together with some sort of harness or tape so that they couldn’t take up too much space. They looked to be pretty big, a mixture of ivory and white but he couldn’t get too good of a look as she shifted in the cot.

“Well, we’ve been running some tests and found out some interesting information about whatever she might be. She’s incredibly strong, and if she wakes up on the wrong side of the bed could do some major damage, even more than when she fell. And –”

Mark scoffs, rolling his eyes. Cecil gives him a look before continuing, “Mark, we believe the powers she possesses aren’t that far off from your own, or even Atom Eve’s. She can make beams of pure light, heal herself, and even though she’s unconscious has some ability to sense and manipulate the emotions of those around her. Don’t ask how we found that out.”

Mark raises his eyebrows in confusion looking back toward the girl behind the glass. 

“I see. What do you want me to do about it?” 

“Well, the reason you turned out so…you is because of your mother and the fact that you got to experience humanity. So, show her how to be human.”

Mark stutters out, “Huh!? Do you want me to play house with her and show her the ropes of being normal? I’m the last person who could do that!”

Cecil rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “What I really want is for you to let her stay at your home for a bit, let her experience some normalcy. For all we know she could be here to take over Earth. Or because it’s some sort of punishment. Just let Debbie talk to her at least. She’s doing a pretty good job with Oliver so far.”

“You want me to let her stay with my family? No way–”

“I already spoke to Debbie and she said she doesn’t mind. Even though the girl has powers, she could’ve used them in far worse ways and hasn’t yet. She just crashed here, passed out upon impact and has been sleeping since. But we think she’ll wake up soon.” 

As soon as Cecil finished speaking, Mark heard the sounds of the monitors behind the glass beeping rapidly. He watched as you woke up slowly, rubbing your eyes, stretching your arms, pushing against the restraints against your wings until you looked to your back in confusion. You examined your surroundings before landing on Mark and Cecil, walking towards the glass, tapping on it tentatively. 

Mark looks you up and down as you stare back at him with curiosity. There’s definitely something otherworldly in the way you move, not to mention your looks. Such beautiful eyes, a shine in them that gleams as he finally makes eye contact with you. There’s a strange swirling in his stomach – but that was probably just your powers. 

You tilt your head, eyeing Mark in his suit. The way his muscles ripple, material spread taut along the span of his shoulders and his sharp jawline visible – but you can’t see his eyes. You huff and turn away from the glass. 

“Where’s Donald? He always spoke to me. You just stare and this one I’ve never met before,” You say as you conjure up a beam of light that cuts through the bindings holding your wings together. 

“He’s busy. And you have someone new to talk to: Mark Grayson,” Cecil introduces, patting Mark on the back before opening up the door to your room, ushering Mark in. He bristled as the door slammed shut behind him, effectively trapping him and you together. 

The air felt different suddenly. Electric. He watched in awe as you stretched and unfurled your wings a few feathers falling and landing gracefully. They seemed to somehow shimmer despite the sterile lighting and looked impossibly soft. He met your eyes seeing a vulnerability in your gaze that hadn’t been there before. But as soon as it appeared it faded away as you spoke.

“So they want you to be my babysitter? The customs of my people are not that different from yours. But you’re not completely human, are you Mark Grayson?” You asked your eyes never leaving him as you walked around him, examining him. You went to grab his goggles off of his face before he swatted you away.

“No, no I’m not. But I’m not going to treat you like a child. Cecil just wants me to… help you adjust to life here on Earth.”

“Oh.” You looked away from his eyes standing in front of him with your arms crossed. “I may have just awoken, but I know many things. Your kind– your father’s kind are the reason I’m here. But I…I can’t remember what exactly happened to my….” You trailed off, a hand coming to your face as you turned your back to him, wings filling his vision completely. 

Mark wanted to reach out, to comfort you somehow but he didn’t know what to do. “I can guarantee you, that I am nothing like my father, or any Viltrumite,” he spat the word out in disgust. 

You turned back around, conjuring a small beam of light that reached out to him, and he froze. Were you going to attack him? Instead, the light shaped into a hand-like shape, its fingers taking off his mask and goggles and placing them gently onto your cot. You waved the beam away as you walked towards him again, finally completely face to face with him. In the silence there was an understanding and again, that pulled towards you to let you do whatever you wanted with him, to him, and he felt frozen in place.

“A heart like yours has gone extinct among the Viltrumites, if it ever even existed in the first place. And my own I think is what caused me to be sent here. I won’t harm you Mark.”

In your luminous eyes he saw his own and relief washed over him. A heart like his? He wasn’t sure if whatever you were sensing was a result of your powers or just sweet talk. But he was definitely looking forward to learning more about you. 

“You think you’re here because of Viltrumites?” he asked as he shifted under your gaze.

“I think so. Whatever my purpose is, it’s tied to you and this planet. But it’s as though a fog has been placed over my mind, I-I can’t completely remember. I do remember falling, sorry about that,” You played with the end of your hospital gown nervously. “But I feel it in my chest, in my soul that I’m in the right place.”

You smiled gingerly at him, something new in your eyes. Embarrassment, maybe from the fall and having been so close to him.

“Alright. If you’re going to live with me and my family there’s a few rules that need to be laid out.”

Mark wasn’t kidding when he said there were lots of rules for you to follow. Despite being under Cecil’s watchful eye regardless, Mark made sure to keep tabs on your whereabouts and what you were doing as much as he could. You spent a lot of time at his home, helping Debbie with dinner, watching and spending time with Oliver, becoming a role model and friend to him. You especially liked playing sports with him, and flying since he was so curious about your wings. They also fascinated Debbie, the only person you had let touch them, feeling a sense of comfortability only a mother could create. It was fleeting, but it was a sign that you were embracing this new life, something you explained to Mark after she had rubbed the space between them on a night when you were feeling homesick, not having left your bed all day.

In a way, you just fit into his home, his family so well, he couldn’t help as that pull towards you, grew into a sense of affection and fondness. And that feeling was tested one day when Mark went up against a particularly strong villain.

Mark really hadn’t expected the guy to be so strong. He was facing punch after punch, being beaten into the ground late at night when he looked towards the sky and saw… it had to be–

A blinding beam of light exploded, shattering nearby windows, the force pushing the attacker away. Somehow you had created a cell of light that he was now trapped in, hearing his shouts of pain and the sizzling of skin as he tried to get out.

“Mark! I saw what was happening and had to help–I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner,” You exclaimed as your hand hovered above the center of his forehead. His limbs and face tingled as he closed his eyes, succumbing to the feeling that began to roll over him in crashing waves of tenderness, softness. Your healing powers began to take effect as he felt himself finally able to sit up.

“T-Thank you, angel…” He coughed as he looked toward you, a vulnerability in your eyes that was reserved only for him. 

You wrapped your arms around him tightly, melting into him as you scratched at the hairs near the nape of his neck. That felt good…

“I was so scared, Mark. Please–Please you have to let me and Oliver help you. Don’t ever go off on your own like this again!” You let go of him as you looked into his eyes, scolding him. Your gleaming eyes seemed to glow in the moonlight, eyes shining with tears. One fell, Mark carefully brushing it away as he cupped your face delicately.

“I’m sorry. Let’s go home, angel.”

Instead of staying in your own bed that night, you ended up in Mark’s, tending to his lingering aches and pains wearing one of his shirts that you cut the back off to make room for your wings. You began rubbing his back, relaxing him further before he moved to face you.

After what had happened, he knew he had to do something, to finally act on whatever it was lingering between you. You looked at him, as curious as the first time you met and tilted your head so cutely.

“Is something wrong, Mark? Was I too rough?”

He waved his hand away, dismissing what you had said. 

“No, never angel. It’s just I was thinking and maybe I could…” He took a deep breath before taking your hand into his, “Maybe I could help you relax too? Could I touch your wings?”

You offered a coy smile, eyes downcast. You looked up into his eyes, watching as his face bloomed into a timid smile matching your own. You nodded, before saying, “I might need some help, you know,” You gestured to your–no, his shirt. You turned your back to him, crossing your arms as you moved to take it off, Mark rushing to help you. 

“O-Oh yeah, of course.” 

He helped you take it off carefully, the expanse of your back visible to him, wings unfurling and fluttering coquettishly. His hands hovered as he took in the sight before him. He could also see the soft curve of your breasts, but they became obscured as you crossed your arms. 

“You can touch me. I trust you, Mark.”

He swallowed, before rubbing the space in between your wings watching as you rolled your neck. The skin there was soft, and he moved to touch where your wings protruded from your back. You shifted, a small noise of pleasure escaping from your mouth.

He continued, stroking the feathers of your wings as he felt you relax, slumping slightly. They were so soft, so delicate and yet he could feel the strong hard muscle lying underneath. He began to massage the space beneath where your wings came out from your back and you whimpered, wings fluttering and stretching out further. You moved to clasp a hand over your mouth in shame before Mark leaned into your back whispering against your ear, his voice seeming to deepen.

“It’s okay, baby. Let me hear you, angel. Can I keep touching you? Somewhere else, maybe?” 

“Y-yes, please,” you whined quietly, music to his ears. 

Mark reached around from behind you to cup your breasts, feeling their weight between his hands. You turned your head to the side, the sensation engulfing you as he began to place soft kisses against your neck. He rolled a nipple between his fingers, pinching it as he began to nip and suck against your neck. His rough hands felt so good against your silky skin and he breathed in your sweet smell.

“You like that, angel?”

You nodded, crying out in pleasure, already sensitive from his hands on your wings.

“Use your words, sweet girl.”

“Mmmm, I love it. Please Mark, please,” you begged, unsure of what you were even chasing as his lips met yours in a searing kiss. Your tongues melded together as you brought your hand to run through his hair, your other becoming entwined with one of his hands still playing with your chest. The kiss continued, as Mark trailed his hands lower, pulling away to look into your eyes, asking for permission. The hand in his hair left, guiding it to the heaven between your legs as you began to grind against his hand. 

“Angel, you’re so wet.”

He lovingly caressed you, rubbing against your clit over your panties as he pulled you into another kiss, swallowing your moans. He rubbed faster, as your breathing became heavier, pleasure overwhelming your senses. 

“Mark–!” you cried out as a final warning before complete bliss filled your senses, wings spreading as far as they could, the downy feathers glowing. The room was illuminated as you came down from your high, slouching into his embrace as you rested your head against his shoulder. He kissed your temple as you felt something warm and hard…and wet against your backside.

“Mark, did you…?” You looked into his tired eyes as he looked to the ceiling in embarrassment.

“I-I couldn’t help it!” He stuttered out as you shifted, your bodies moving against the bed until you were on top of him, straddling him.

Your eyes shimmered as you splayed your hands across his chest, kissing him sweetly. Whatever this was– at first it felt inevitable, inescapable. But now you knew that you two were meant to be, a connection, a binding of hearts that were meant to connect in one way or another. It just happened to be like this. He looked at you as you used your powers to convey this feeling, eyes softening even further if possible, as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, placing his hands on your hips and squeezing.

You laid on top of him, your wings creating a sort of cocoon around you both as you whispered into his ear as he had before your voice sultry and yet sweet, “It’s okay, baby. Now I get to return the favor.”

You two were in for a very, very, long night.

a/n: if you made it this far, thank you for reading! this is my longest fic to date and i hope you all enjoy it!! i'd love to maybe make this a series of sorts w/ supernatural reader so lmk what you'd like to see; i'm also going to begin working on that hercules!au but please send in requests and inspo, i'd love to hear your thoughts!!

[fanged-fanfics]

ok so can i PLEASE request a sequel to the "baby cookie reader says shadow cookie" thing where pure vanilla finds it sweet that y/n is developing an imaginary friend... until y/n hands him a drawing of this "imaginary" friend and sees shadow milk cookie...

☆ A New Pal, Only in Jest — Pure Vanilla & Child!Reader Fic ☆

Genre: Light Angst, Familial || they/them pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

A/N: Part two to this fic!

──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────

"—And you're sure it's normal?" Pure Vanilla asks, tensely holding his cup while Dark Cacao sat across from him. "Yes, Pure Vanilla" Dark Cacao sighed "Children have large imaginations. It's normal for them to see things in the mundane. Dark Choco was once convinced a suit of armor that had never once moved was alive, it's a common occurrence". Pure Vanilla nodded, looking into his glass. His staff watched carefully as he gingerly sipped the liquid to try and calm his nerves. "It's more than that, Dark Cacao. This wasn't some... spirit. It was him. They act like they can see and talk to him"

Dark Cacao looked up, his expression gone from calm to serious "You don't mean-?". "I do" Pure Vanilla confirmed solemnly "They swore they could see him. I- I know he isn't back, but- what if...". Pure Vanilla let out a shuddering sigh, and Dark Cacao tapped his glass as he thought. "I'll contact Elder Faerie. In the meantime, try to keep your mind clear. Your Kingdom needs you". "Yes.. yes, you're right.." Pure Vanilla said softly. "If he does come back, I'll fight with you" Dark Cacao said, leaning forward a bit "Don't face this alone, not when you have those who want to help you"

Pure Vanilla nodded, putting on his usual placating gentle smile "Of course, thank you". Just then, you'd waddled into the room, padding over with a slightly crumbled paper pressed against your side. "Papa! Papa!! C'see!" You called, running up to his side. He glanced to you with a grin "Oh, of course!". He leaned down, tilting his staff as well as he looked over the paper. You held it out proudly, grinning as you looked to him with shiney and hopeful eyes.

Pure Vanilla tried to school his expression, but his smile fell without his control. That same cold chill was back, striking him right in the soul. It was a messily scribbled drawing of you and him, something he'd always treasured. But this time, to your other side, you'd drawn a dark figure. One with mismatched blue eyes, and a wide smile. "Who- who is that..?" Pure Vanilla asked in a shaky voice. "Shadow Cookie!" You proudly declared "My friend!". Dark Cacao leaned over, very gently taking the picture from your hands so he could inspect it.

You began to feel worried as the two shared worried looks. This wasn't anything like the praise and cheers you usually got for your art, and you couldn't understand what was wrong. Dark Cacao suddenly stood "I'll- contact the Faeries. Immediately". "My drawing.." You sadly said, seeing it crumpled in the stoic king's fist. Dark Cacao loosened his hold, beginning to smooth it out as best he could "Ah- forgive me, little one. Here," he said, handing it back to you.

You still had a slight pout, helping to smooth it out as well. Dark Cacao gave hurried goodbyes before he went to leave. Pure Vanilla stood, seeing him out as he placed a hand on your back. "Is... is it bad, papa?" You asked. Pure Vanilla looked down, quickly putting on a smile "Not at all, my darling blue bird. It's wonderful. We were talking about fussy old King business, don't you worry". You felt a little better as he kissed your forehead, moving to walk back to your room "Okay..."

Once inside, you put your drawing down. It still looked pretty good to you, you couldn't piece together why it got the reaction it did. Maybe your new friend would like it! You sat down, grabbing the black and blue crayons as you began working on yet another drawing of them. While you hummed, Pure Vanilla listened on the other side of the door, sighing gently. Worry was practically choking him, but he tried to steady his breathing. This- this was okay. He could- if he just-... he needed that visit as soon as possible.

[siolixz]

'*•.¸♡ FATHER FIGURE ♡¸.•*'

Being Lucy's sister came with a lot of perks: good food, nice places to stay at- a rich handsome multimillionaire falling madly in love with you. Did I mention the rich handsome multimillioanire?

pairing: harry castillo x reader (Lucy's sister)

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

context: just fluff and romcom scenarios, older man x younger woman, everyone is over 18 and fully consenting; words: 3k I hope you will enjoy and pls tell me if you like it or tell me if you don't- I will probably write a part 2 with smut if it is well received. ପ(๑•ᴗ•๑)ଓ ♡ I will probably write the smut anyways tho loll Yes i have put a George Michael song name as the title put me in jail or whatever. Also I have no idea if his name is Randy or Harry so oh well, who cares hes so sexy.

It was a beautiful day in New York that welcomed you right back here in this city, looking across the cafe for your Lucy. 

You slept in today, after a long plane ride and a longer ride to your sister's apartment you had to get your rest for the days ahead- and for the wedding. Because of spring break and because she received a plus one invitation to one of her glorious matchmaking results- her ninth to be more precise, you just had to join her in New York for the week ahead. You didn’t have anything else better to do, plus, you missed her. 

She smiled at your sleepy face as you sat down in front of her.

As the coffee arrived you finally had some time to catch up on life, on your school and on her job. More importantly, how could John ever break up with her? She’s successful, she's beautiful and she’s brilliant. You told her that you were hoping she could finally get a guy who actually deserves her.

“I hope your wedding will be the tenth-” you started.

“Maybe it will be yours princess, did you think of that?” She smirked at you, clearly enjoying the banter you two were so used to having. 

“So that’s why you called me here- to set me up with someone?” you leaned across the table “Because I’m taking the first plane back to college if that's the case.”  There’s nothing more embarrassing than your own sister setting you up, I mean you could get a date if you tried but the boys back at school are, lacking.. certain qualities you were hoping for in a man.

She laughed at your expression, knowing you were being sarcastic and joking but also not really.  You could hardly hear each other anymore as more people came into the cafe.

She grabbed the hand you had on the table as she said: “You’ve grown so much- I’m so happy you're here with me.”

All day long you walked across New York City, first it was dress shopping- you probably tried on like 10 dresses before picking a gorgeous green floor length dress and your sister a blue dress. She covered everything like the great older sister she is and on you went towards Sephora to get everything you might need or just plain wanted- perks of having an older sister with money- and then it was take out time back home; feet sore and exhausted. You loved and hated being in this city, but you could clearly see why Lucy wanted to live here. So many people, so many stories to tell. You two took a nap and then by late afternoon you were out again for dinner with some of her friends and then for a walk in central park. 

“You know, I think tomorrow is going to be really special.” she linked your arms together as you passed people. 

“Really?” you turned the upper part of your body towards your sister as you walked. “In what way may I ask?”

“Like in a good way; maybe you’ll meet someone.” she whispered the last part “Or maybe in a bad way.” She turned away from you like she was thinking.  “Last time we were at a wedding together, you were very little- remember you got that stomach bug-”

“Ugh don’t remind me Lucy” you grimaced at her macabre reminiscing while she laughed in your face “We just ate-” 

The wedding was truly beautiful, the bride and groom looked great together and the food was completely out of this world. The groom was a finance guy, so it made sense that the wedding would be held in a grandiose style, I mean they had a chocolate fountain for god sake. And free gifts for people- free gifts!

You and Lucy talked with some people, ate some food from the candy bar while gossiping and danced a little bit but you had to take a break as ‘Cupid’ herself was socializing with acquaintances. You texted some of your friends, one from childhood and two from college- all ecstatic about the amazing things there. You had to remember to get Maddy a necklace as her birthday was coming up and Mark asked if you could get him a lucky cat doll and also-

“Is this seat taken?” 

You looked up at the owner of the voice, “Um, no- no it’s not.”

Um, yes it was, your sister was seated there- who even is this?

The stranger sat on the chair, turned his whole body to look at you and placed his hand under his head- like he was engaged in the most passionate discussion. 

From this position you could finally see the man up close- this must be the groom's best friend. Your sister told you as you sat down during the ceremony, even if you were seated far away, you could remember him now. He was right next to the groom.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you-”

“No, it’s okay-” Now you’re interrupting him, please stop.

He smiled at you, endeared by your attempt at alienating his worries. His smile reached his eyes and the corners wrinkled, like a testament of this strange man’s seasoned life. He looked at you in an almost parental fashion like he already knew you- wait, do you know him? 

Your sister has a bunch of friends and acquaintances around New York, maybe you did know him. “Do we know each other?” 

“No, I don’t believe we have met.” 

He had this air about him, like he was so comfortable and sure of himself. He smiled again at you, like he knew something you did not, was there something on your teeth?

“My name is Harry, it’s nice to meet you, miss…” You told him your name and he repeated it. 

Why was your heart beating so fast? Maybe because he was very, very handsome. 

“Would you like a drink?” he said your name again and you forgot all about the phone buzzing in your hand.

“Um..”

You looked across the ornate ballroom for your sister for a second.

“Wait, you’re old enough to drink, right?” His smile faltered for a second but he quickly regained it as you reassured him that you were indeed, old enough to drink. 

He ordered a cosmopolitan for you and an old fashioned for him and while you chatted, he asked about what you were doing in New York and how you knew the bride and the groom.

“You’re the matchmaker’s sister.” he pointed at you and you teared your gaze away from his beautiful brown eyes to notice the green ring on his finger. 

“I am.”

He must’ve noticed you looking at it as he too, looked at it- then at you and remarked:

“Green is my favorite color.”

This handsome man was clearly hitting on you, but why? You haven’t chatted with anyone this evening besides your sister and some basic chit-chat with the bride. He must’ve singled you out of the crowd as only a man with experience could have probably. Well it wasn’t going to end how he hoped, with you in his bed and him never calling you again. You weren’t born yesterday nor were you that desperate, no matter how handsome he was nor how tall and big he was compared to you-

No, you’re not going anywhere with him, you’re here for and with your sister. Speaking of which-

“I see you’ve made some friends.” She smiled as she came closer and introduced herself to Harry. Harry. What a beautiful name. 

As he turned his head towards her you looked at the curls he had at the base of his neck and thought you could never look at someone more handsome- his face looked like it was sculpted!

She made some polite conversation and It wasn’t long before she had to excuse you two in order to introduce you to some people there.

So in about 2 minutes- you said your goodbye’s and you left him there, silently hoping that maybe he could call out your name as you walked away or run after you and tell you he is madly in love with you ‘please don’t go’ - you audibly giggled next to your sister as you walked away, amused entirely by your schoolgirl-like-dreams as she gave you an odd look.

It was the cosmopolitan’s fault, you were sure.

As the night wore on you tried to see him again but to no avail; he must’ve left with some pretty model or gorgeous woman- the thought left an emptiness in your stomach you couldn’t shake for the whole night.

You were woken up by the sunrays on your face and by an immense amount of thirst that left your throat feeling like you scratched it all night long. You grabbed your phone instinctively and after about 30 minutes of coming back to life you finally got up.

As you entered the living room you saw your older sister on the phone and gave her a small wave.

She nodded her head at you as you walked into the kitchen to grab some ice cold water. 

Why was everything so hot in this apartment? 

After she finished her phone call you could finally debrief with her about last night's events, the most important of those things was definitely her meeting up with John again.

“Life just finds a way I guess.” you told her as she grabbed a coke from the fridge.

“Yeah, I guess.” She opened the can, took a sip and said “By the way, I have a surprise for you.”

“Yeah, what?” You couldn’t deny the way your heart jumped a little bit- maybe a bit more.

“I have a date for you.”

“Lucy, no..” you groaned. Was it with him? God let it be him.

“Hear me out, ok? I have to be at a girlfriend's house this evening and I want you to go, I would hate for you to be inside while I go have fun- plus you don’t have to go on a second date or anything, this is just for fun- no expectations, ok?” She pleaded with her eyes at you.

“I can’t say anything about this guy, but you have a lot in common, he is also a student like you- maybe you can bond over that.”

The day dragged on until 5pm when you had to get ready, you were hoping this guy wasn’t some snob or insufferable, but you trusted your sister. A short red dress and heels would suffice, as you were going to quite a fancy restaurant on the upper east side. When you arrived you said your name to the waiter and sat down at one of the beautiful velvet booths and ordered a glass of water for yourself. Being alone in a place as fancy as this, you did feel quite out of place a little bit.

On to wait for that guy to show up, even though you arrived on time.

Traffic in New York is horrible, so maybe he is fashionably late. 

He was not fashionably late as 45 minutes had passed and you were still alone, you could see people glance at you between the sounds of silverware- pitying you.

Or maybe no one cared, it was hard to tell- especially because you were so embarrassed. 

Your fingers itched for your phone, to text Lucy a 'I told you so'. Netflix and pajamas sounded infinitely better than this empty booth and the pitying glances. God you wish you were home right now, not dressed so fancy and looking so good only to be stood up.

The waiter came back, probably to ask you if anyone is coming. 

No, no one is coming.

“Is this seat taken?”

You looked up in bewilderment and met the gorgeous brown eyes of last night's enamourment. Harry was looking down at you, an amused look in his eyes and a smile on his lips.

“Hey!” you exclaimed, almost too loud in this fancy setting. “No, no it’s not.” Your heart started beating fast as he sat down in front of you, he looked even more handsome in the dimmed yellow lights of this restaurant.

He took off his dress jacket and placed it on the chair, you couldn't help but stare at the way his big arms looked, he was a very big man, so handsome too-

“I was having a meeting with my business partner and I looked across the room and there you were. “ He smiled at you like he did last night.

You were happy to see him, very happy.

“What are you doing here, Cinderella?” 

“I was waiting for someone, some guy my sister set me up with- he didn’t show up.” You leaned across the table so only he could hear what you said, not the old couple next to you two as well. 

“What an idiot.” He leaned close to you as well and you could smell his cologne “Well it’s good I am here now, right? We can carry on last night's conversation.” 

As you two ordered food, he asked you what you were studying. 

“Psychology. I have a scholarship.” 

“So you’re beautiful and smart.” He placed the napkin he received across his lap and you felt your ears get warm- you hoped the lights in this restaurant would dim the blush on your face as well. “Do you like what you are studying?” 

“Yes I do. I truly want to start my own clinic back home and help people.” You must’ve talked for like some full minutes about your degree and dreams while he asked you questions. He seemed genuinely interested in what you were saying, like he wanted to learn as much as he could about you.

He told you he would like to be your first pacient when you do become a psychologist and you laughed.

Harry was a funny man, very charming as well, though he had a way of turning a phrase to escape any sort of mention towards his private life, you wondered why that is. 

“Can I ask you a question?” you played with the short hem of your dress under the table. 

“Of course, anything you want.” He took a sip of his drink as he looked at you. His hands looked so big around the glass.

“I don’t mean to sound rude, but may I ask how old you are?” you could find in his eyes a touch of mischief, like he was thinking of something funny to say so he could see you smile.

“24.” he said. With the most monotone voice he could muster and with a straight face.

“24?” you asked, knowing he was messing around with you but deciding to play into his game. 

“Yes, I lived a rough couple of years as you can see. What’s so funny?” he asked you, faking being angry at your smiling face.

“Nothing.” you tried to hide your smile.

“You better not be laughing at my life story.”

“I’m really not.” you put on your serious face.

A man came by your table as the waiter started bringing dessert, and Harry got up to greet him, the man shook Harry’s hand and thanked him, before he left he gave you a polite smile and a ‘good night’ to both of you as he exited the restaurant with his wife or girlfriend. 

“Old friend.” Harry said as he sat back down again “He just bought an apartment complex.”

“Wow, he must be rich.” 

“Very rich indeed.” he took the spoon from next to the plate and cut through the lava cake he was brought. “Like this chocolate.”

 “I wanted to ask you if you wanted to dance with me yesterday” He looked at you again and you wanted to die inside when you remembered that you left him.  "You missed out," he teased, a smirk playing on his lips. "I'm quite the dancer."

"Oh, really?" you challenged, raising an eyebrow. 

"Don’t worry. I'm a fast learner. I won’t let you get away twice"

"Is that a threat?" you asked.

"A promise," he corrected you as he took a bite of the dessert.

Harry asked for your number by the end of the night and you gave it to him, of course you did.

As he told the waiter that he should put the dinner on his tab you protested, but he would have none of it. He said that this was the most fun he had in a while as he got up and watched you exit the booth. 

“Let me take you home-” He started as he let you walk ahead of him; you tried to ignore the way he looked at you; like he was still hungry.

“You shouldn’t worry about me, I’ll call an uber.” He helped you put on your jacket before he opened the door for you.

A soft breeze danced around the streets of the city at this late hour- you hugged your jacket closer to you. You didn’t want your meeting to end, but it had to. 

“Nonsense, let me take you home, c’mon.” He climbed the steps before you and turned around so your eyes could meet at the same level. His dark hair, with its natural waves, framed his face and the silver streak in his hair reminded you of something- he was so handsome, how was he so handsome? He smelled great too.

You smiled at him, maybe the drink you had inside made you this courageous. 

“You never told me how old you are.” Everyone passing by you two must think you were drunk by the way you were smiling at each other. He grabbed your hands in his much bigger ones and pressed them close together, like one might do to a child to make them listen- butterflies danced across your stomach again because of the sudden intimacy.

Harry’s smile faltered slightly and he adopted a more serious expression before lowering his voice and telling you: “I’m 49 years old.”

His deep brown eyes searched your face, like wanting to remember it before you start showing any signs of discomfort. 

You wanted to say something, before he interrupted you “If you are uncomfortable, I promise, I’ll take you home and I’ll never say-”

“And If I am not?” you spoke over him. 

His eyebrows relaxed back on his face as relief washed over his expression and a smile slowly started spreading across his lips. His eyes twinkled under the light above you two from the entrance of the restaurant and he looked at you like he wanted to kiss you.

“I’ll take you home then.”

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

Authors note: I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing this for you and for me. I hope you have a great day and wish u de best.

If you are one of my long time followers, I just wanna say im sorry that I havent written anything in quite a while, but life got in the way and I just couldn't find any inspiration to give you something actually good. But I am back now! And to stay for good this time unless stated otherwise. ILY

[siri-ike]

It was almost a relief, you know? Knowing that they were never really his friends. At least if he's alone, no one can leave him. Or betray him. This was for the best, really. Now, he can't fool himself into trusting again. Danny floated above Gotham observatory overlooking the city. Curled up as tight as he could be. Intangible and invisible, like he didn't even exist. If only.

He looked up at the smog. This city couldn't even give him that much. All it did was take. All anyone did was take, take, take until there was nothing left of him.

It was time he stood up for himself. It was time for him to hit back.

Danny uncurled at the decision. And during this dark Gotham night, a light appeared beneath the smog.

Why should he be the one to hide? Why should he be the one to veer out of harms way?

High above Gotham observatory floated a green glowing boy. As bright as any star. And like the brightest stars, he would burn fast.

Slowly, it descended. The temperature dropped along with him. Soon, he was hovering shortly above the roof of the observatory, and all of Gotham reached zero degrees Celsius.

From his perch, he watched as summer turned to winter.

If all they want is a dangerous monster. He may as well give it to them.

He hugged his legs to him and let out a long frozen breath. The blue tinted white cloud became bigger and bigger as it moved further towards the city. At its exact border, snow began to fall. It was probably the cleanest snow Gotham had seen in decades. If anything, he'd be doing the world a favor by getting rid of it.

The cold stung his cheeks and nose. The tears trickling down his face froze solid. It stung even more, but he didn't wipe them away. It should hurt. He wants to hurt.

In the distance, he hears a crash and screams as the first snowflakes reach the ground, and giant icicles burst out of the ground where they land.

He peeked up from behind his knees at the cries for help.

He doesn't help.

That's not who he is anymore.

A slight creaking sound behind him cought the Ghost Kings attention.

"It was easier, before," Phantom said slowly closed off. "I could keep the cold in, then." He turned to the sorce of the sound. "When someone was worth the warmth."

From just below the horizon of the metal dome, Nightwing climbed into sight. "You can still stop. We can call it even."

"Even?" He spoke in a whisper, but he wasn't quiet. "I'm not the one who needs to earn forgiveness."

Nightwing cringed at the accusation. Did they really go too far? Staying low, he creped closer. "I'm, I'm sorry. We should have trusted you."

"That's not true." Phantom paused and gestured to the chaos unfolding on the city. "That's clearly not true." He floated into a standing position. "I don't need your trust. I don't want your trust."

A chill went down Nightwings spine when their eyes met.

"I was wrong to give you mine." He let his foot touch the roof, and in an instant, a thick sheet of ice spread out from all around him. He looked up at Nightwing, frozen through, with a look of shock on his face.

Phantom slipped through the metal sheeting and into the observatory. He couldn't even turn tangable in there. The whole thing was covered and filled with ice. At least then, no one can disturb him.

Phantom spent hours wallowing at the star maps and research that would now be lost. He mourned the astronomer who was on shift that night. Alone. Just like him. He looked through the framed photos around her station. Unlike him, she had a family to come home to.

He had fully taken stock of his dome when the whole thing started shaking around him. He, of course, stayed was still.

Outside the Batmobile, treked through the ice and slush. This version looked more like a tank than the usual sleek design.

Through a pair of heat sensing binoculars, Red Robin spotted a figure inside the frozen observatory. It was so much colder than the ice around.

What stepped out wasn't Danny, the joke cracking ghost boy who could talk about space for literal hours on end. The gentle soul desperate for a community was gone. In his place was something else. His skin was almost as white as his hair, except his lips, nose, fingers, and toes had all turned dark gray from what had to be 3rd degree frostbite. Two streams of tears stuck frozen to his cheeks. He had dark circles around his eyes, which were only half open.

Paranoia eats the Phantom

DP x DC Prompt

I've always read stories where Danny and the Bats end up together in many ways, but one story caught my eye, 'A Heart Worth Breaking', one chapter in that work on a03 has Danny snapping at the Bats for looking into him when he hasn't done the same, and it inspired me to make a prompt similar to that chapter

Danny escaped the horrors of both the GIW and his parents. They cut him open, seen what makes him tick. They run tests on the 'samples' they collect from him. They put him in a room and see what is best to work on him to hurt him. They put him in different Ghost Containment devices that are modified to inflict harm on him. They... they killed those he 'manipulated' (Jazz, Sam and Tucker) in front of him... just to see if he would reveal his 'true colors'.

He escaped to Gotham when the Justice League began a raid on the GIW base he was being held in. None of the heroes had shown interest in the calls coming from Amity, so why now? He wouldn't find that answer, as he just wants to live. He wants to be a person and not a 'thing' to be studied or a hero. Gotham has enough ambient ectoplasm for him to live in, so he had Technus Forge him some identification papers on the digital plane to be "Daniel Jasper Folson".

He did his best to avoid the radar of the Bats and Birds, but he couldn't ignore his obsession. He went out at night as Phantom to try and discreetly help those in need. He failed at being discreet and was discovered by the Bats and Birds.

He wasn't expecting to be requested to help them during some big hits on Trafficking Rings or gathering Intel on the big name rogues that are obviously hiding something behind the scenes. Sure, he only has Nightwing, Red Hood, and occasionally Signal to hang out with, but he's slowly coming to trust the Bats and Birds of Gotham.

He should've known that it was too good to be true. During a quiet night, where he was hanging out with Wing and Hood on a roof, eating Batburgers together, he overheard Oracle and Red Robin tell one of the two with Danny about their progress on finding more information on him or trying to get through the GIW logs kn him.

This causes him to snap on Wing and Hood, saying that they didn't care for him as another being, treating him as a thing to be studied and contained. He stops himself from revealing too much and runs away. He runs away to be with the lesbian couple that both remind him of his sister and best friend in some ways and who have helped him on occasion when he ran into them on the streets, trying to build up enough money to get a home for himself.

He is at their front door, waiting for one of them to open it after he knocked on it, tears still streaming down his face and looking heartbroken. They do let him in and do their best to comfort him. He is just staring blankly at nothing in front of him as the couple trues to get him to talk to them. He vaguely hears Harley tell Pamela something about flowers, someone called B-man, and about himself.

Before he registers Pamela coming into the room with the flowers, he sees one of the Bats or Birds land by the window. It's only after the Bat or Bird almost knocks on the window to be let in when he registered the flowers that Pamela has offered to Danny. Blood Blossoms. His body hurts, and with the bouquet of Blood Blossoms so close to him, his body begins to melt in a grotesque way into a puddle of Ectoplasm, and then thay puddle evaporated into nothing.

But that wasn't Danny. That was a duplicate he sent to Pamela and Harley. He couldn't fully trust them, as they were known to be, on occasion, working with the Bats and Birds, but he wanted to be with people he knew he could trust. And now he thinks that trust is broken, as he connected the dots, seeing one of the Vigilantes go to them, figuring out that B-Man is Batman, and the Blood Blossoms that Pamela had.

Maybe it's time for him to use his Ghost King title to the fullest. He can't trust the heroes of the world because of that trust had been betrayed by the Bats and Birds of Gotham, and he's going to make an announcement to the world.

[revelboo]

Can we please have an update on Drift's story? We're literally dying as we wait for an update! You're killing us Revel!

but like only if you want to no pressure I love how you already put out so much for us to read like I'm so excited when I see updates even if it's someone I knew nothing about before or had no interest in then I'm suddenly a fan i just love your writing oh wise giver of fanfiction please don't burn yourself out and feel pressured even though I'm sending an ask just ignore it if you need i understand completely

Sure! 🤣

The Samurai Code Pt 7

Drift x Reader

• No? Staring down at you as you frown up at him, his spark aches. You must not have heard him right. Or, whispers that cynical voice in the back of his processor, you can sense that darkness in him, how no matter how clean his hands are, they’re stained with spilled energon. “This could fix everything,” he says, voice dipping coaxingly. Bonding you will save your life. At the cost of you never trusting him again once you know the things he’s done. Can feel Ratchet staring at him, hear the medic’s annoyed rumble.

• He’s so sweet, your heart aches as you stare up at those optics. Seeing the desperation in them, that he wants to fight for you. That he is fighting. Trying so hard to take care of you even though he doesn’t even know you, even though you’re nothing more than a burden to him. And you love him so much for that. It’s tempting to take what he’s offering, to let him save you, heal you, because you don’t want to die out here so far from home. Want to survive to go back home one day, see your family and friends. “Why do you want to save me so bad?” You want to live.

• Because it’s a chance at redemption. A willing sacrifice of himself to save another. And it might be enough to finally kill that voice whispering in the back of his processor. Might finally be enough to make amends for everything he’d done as Deadlock. Aware of Ratchet also listening, he’s not sure how to explain that to either of you. He’s not proud of what he’s done. The choices he’d made. Not sure that he can ever truly make amends or be forgiven, but needs to try for everyone who tried for him. Who saw how awful, how broken he was and still reached out. For Wing. “I need to.”

• Because he feels obligated, like you’re his responsibility. Really, you’re strangers for the most part. “Need to,” you repeat, eyes drifting almost closed as exhaustion weighs you down. “I won’t be your burden.” See his jaw working as something that might be surprise flicks across Ratchet’s face. There and gone before you can be sure and his optics meet your eyes. What is that expression on the medic’s face? Looks like gratitude and guilt?

• “You’re not a burden.” But you’re not listening, head lowering to rest on his servos, eyes closing as you shudder and curl your legs up against yourself. He’s not explaining it right, but he has the sense that you’d still deny him regardless. Even if he opened up to you and Ratchet. Admitted to his past. To who he was. Optics shuttering, he can feel the warmth of you in his hand, so insubstantial. He’s been living up to his name for so long, drifting the fringes of the universe with no real home to call his own, waiting for a purpose. Crossing paths with Rodimus had been purely accidental, but hearing the younger mech’s excitement, his easy trust and smiles, he’d gotten pulled along in his gravity. Found a new home. A purpose. And now you, placed into his hands by the universe. By Primus. It can’t have been just to watch you die and do nothing.

Previous

[kireilien]

obsessed.

pair. bf!seungcheol x fem!reader; wc. 2,737

tw/cw. nsfw content, cursing, intentional lowercase, not proofread, alcohol use; plot heavy story, angst-ish?, dom!seungcheol, sub!reader, race neutral reader, reader is an overthinker, food play, alcohol consumption, wam (wet and messy), slight spit play, kissing, oral (f receiving), cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, nipple play, unprotected sex, doggy style over the counter, hair pulling, use of “cheol,” and “baby” 

note. please don’t fucking eat people out do anything w alcohol like this, this is fiction THIS IS FAKE 

synopsis. thinking of how shit your life was, you genuinely thought your boyfriend would break up with you. turns out he never would because he’s way too obsessed with you!

you felt like all of your feelings overwhelmed you. work has been terrible. your personal life is as shitty as it could be. you and your boyfriend have been distant more than ever. everything. literally everything in your life was actually horrible. 

day after day. 

afternoon after afternoon. 

night after night.

it just repeats. every single damn time. nothing is new to you anymore. you wake up. get ready for work. step into the office. get yelled off by your coworkers and boss. work over time because you’re the only one who doesn’t have any plans. get home. eat a shitty ass meal. get unready. sleep. then it repeats.

so what could you be doing out of all the days of rest? it's watching movies on your living room couch and just being a complete slob. you’ve never let it got this low. you turned your phone on silent, left your laptop away, and the only thing electronic with you was your tv. 

time passes. your low and hazy-like eyes shift to the clock onto the top left of your tv screen, barely even focusing.

10:30/22:30.

huh. didn’t know being a slob was that much of a waste of time. in a blink of an eye, the day has already passed. 

without much of a thought, you knew that there weren’t going to be any important notifications besides the typical notifications you would get from random apps on your phone that you didn’t bother to turn off. 

but to your surprise, there was something important.

missed calls from your boyfriend, seungcheol.

you regretted seeing those missed calls. you haven’t been the greatest partner these past few months to him. your life came crashing down, what could you do?

reluctantly so, you picked up one of his calls. 

the last call out of all five he sent was approximately two hours ago. surely he’d be active, right? there weren’t any voicemails left by his number anyways. you were slightly scared though when the echoing ring filled your right ear from your phone being flat against it.

you grit your teeth. what if he wanted to break up? it wasn’t gonna be a surprise if he wanted to. like before, being a shitty partner and being absent in all ways isn’t the best partner. yet, a small, painful ping in your heart says you could’ve done better.

it picks up.

“y/n?” seungcheol exhales.

you’ve missed his voice like crazy. you temporarily forgot why he was your boyfriend in the first place. he’s the first man who really made you feel love in your heart rather than your other exes.

“cheol,” you smile behind the phone.

“can i come over?” he sighs.

you immediately felt your smile and heart fall after you hear those four words. he was definitely going to break up with you. you couldn’t believe it. you swore to yourself you could’ve prevented it. you were just too late.

“cheol. i’m so sorry,” your teeth were clenched but, you carried on, “i wish i could’ve been better for you. you don’t need to come over. i’m so, so sorry.”

before you knew it, your water line fills with salty tears; daringly about to fall and roll down your cheeks.

“y/n, what the fuck do you mean?” seungcheol laughs lightly against the phone. you could hear a bag rustle in the background of his call with a few glass bottles getting put into that said bag. “baby, i’m coming over. we’re talking but we are definitely not breaking up.”

you took a moment to recollect what just happened in the last few seconds. seungcheol isn’t mad at you. he isn’t breaking up with you either?

after a quick pause and a quick wiping of your eyes, you continued the conversation, “uhm, sure. what’re you doing?”

“let’s have a drink. we haven’t drank any soju in a while, have we?” he mumbles a bit after hearing him shuffling out the door while exiting his apartment complex.

“oh. yeah, we haven’t. when you coming?” you were glad he wasn’t angry, but you were still confused why he wasn’t.

“like uhh, gonna be there in 10?” seungcheol hums as you hear the dragging of his slippers against the concrete of his complex garage.

“cool, ‘kay see you then, cheol,” you sigh in relief. unconsciously, you were picking at the sides of your couch pillows in nervousness though. 

“yeah, see ‘ya, baby.” he ends the call as he turns on his engine of his car.

your phone drops beside you; lightly bouncing on the fabric of your couch. you were definitely gonna get a small earful of what seungcheol has to say about you worrying. he hates hearing you worry. 

but never mind that. you at least wanted to tidy yourself up before seungcheol arrives. so, you changed out to newer pajamas and headed over to the kitchen to pull out your cute matching shot glasses, remembering how it was still early on into your relationship when you got them.

you still remember your weekly drinking sessions with cheol. they were so giggly. sometimes glum, most times intimate and borderline sexual. nonetheless, you also missed drinking with him. you miss the nights where it was just the two of you alone. no one ever joined in. it was because it was a secret between you and him. just a night. for the two of you.

as you were lost in your romantic thoughts, seungcheol rings the doorbell. lightly skipping over, you swing the door open to your ever-so handsome boyfriend. everything from his tousled deep black hair, white tee, gray loose zip up, some black sweats, and his black slippers that you heard over the phone, was just perfect.

the little thumps in your heart came again. just like a few months back when you still visited him often.

“soju?” he gleefully lifts up the crinkled plastic bag while tilting his head down to place a small kiss against your lips. 

you return this kiss while nodding, “i have our shot glasses out.” 

taking off his slippers, you guide him to your kitchen counter where your glasses are. cheol snickers at them, still remembering those fond memories of the two of you drinking every week.

“shall we?” you grin.

“we shall,” he reciprocates.

opening up a brand new bottle of soju, specifically the blue bottle by jinro, seungcheol pours out some for the both of you. “no tricks this time?” you poke at your boyfriend.

he rolls his eyes. he always used to do those fancy tricks when he drank. cheol sighs and closes the bottle up again. he flips the bottle, making his arms crossed to open it up again and rearranged his hands again to flick some of the alcohol towards you. you flinch away from the splatter, giggling at his attempts to have some fun.

finally, the two of you brought your respective shot glasses up to have a small clink for a cheers and shot it down your mouths in a quick second. the gasp of the cool alcohol leaves your lips, already needing more of the addicting drink.

one shot, down.

half a bottle, down.

one bottle, down.

another half bottle, down.

before you knew it, the both of your brains started to cog a different way than before. you could already tell by the silence in between all the shots the two of you took.

after the moments of silence, cheol speaks up, “y’know. i’ve missed you,” he murmurs with his tired eyes. 

you snicker, “how can you miss me when i’ve been the shittiest girlfriend ever? i never pick up your calls or texts. i never—.” before you could even continue, seungcheol immediately shuts you up by pressing his lips against yours for a quick second.

“you really needa stop doing that. i miss you. that’s it. i’m obsessed with you at this point. not even just now, i’ve been obsessed with you. there’s no other way around it,” he sighs while softly tap-slapping your cheek.

“oh, really?” you twiddle with your shot glass, rolling it between your fingers.

“yes, really.” seungcheol is confused why you’re dragging this out for so long. why couldn’t you just realize it?

“hey,” he breaths out.

“what?” you retort back.

“how about i show you how obsessed i am with you,” cheol simpers.

“sure.” you liked how this was going.

seungcheol immediately attaches your lips with his again, however in a romantic-like gesture. his hands slide onto your body so fluidly he reaches down, all the way to your hips. while yours found their way up and about in his hair. you could both taste the soju dancing along your mouths, loving the way it mixed into your saliva. 

quickly enough, breaths began to get rapid. the two of you were almost animalistic with each other; hands were everywhere. seungcheol’s grunts and your whines were more than enough to understand that the both of you couldn’t get enough of each other. you still didn’t believe the man you thought you lost was making your mouth messy with his.

“fuck it,” cheol let’s your plumped lips go and downs the rest of the soju remained in the bottle. but, he leaves half of it still in his mouth, waiting for someone to drink the rest. that someone, is you.

he returns back the kiss, allowing the alcohol slip down your mouth, ingesting it along with the enhancing wetness of his spit from the soju beforehand. you were well dizzy from this point on. not from the drinking though. it was purely from seungcheol. he’s driving you crazy, nothing like ever before.

you couldn’t help yourself. you needed him so, so, bad. you zip off his zip up jacket, throwing it across the kitchen somewhere; as well as his shirt to reveal his bulky figure he’s been building up these past few months. 

cheol was ravenous. you didn’t know if it was from the buzzing from the alcohol or the making out, but he was sure enough it was just from you. 

he slips off your pants and underwear, leaving you bottom naked for him to prop you up on your cold kitchen counter. you lay back on your propped up elbows to give him a wide view of your dripping cunt, out and ready for him to use. 

taking another bottle from his bag, seungcheol twists open another bottle of soju to pour a few drops over cunt for him. “fuck— i need you, cheol. i need you so bad.” you whimper under his touch.

“i got you, baby, lemme make you feel so good,” he mutters a bit before outlining your sopping pussy, kissing a few times over. seungcheol hooks his bulky arms underneath your thighs to have you lie completely down the counter to make sure he has all of you, melting in his hands.

at this point the soju, his saliva, and your juices covered your inner thighs. you couldn’t bare to open your eyes. cheol made you crazy. he knew how to mess with your head. his hands even pulled down to slide his thumbs on the edges of your inner lips to extend his view of your pretty cunt. 

you were melting on the counter. your hands were tangling his hair, legs were hooked were propped on his back, and you didn’t give a single fuck of how loud you were being. moan after whine after whimper was continuously falling with seungcheol’s name. you couldn’t help it.

soon after, the knot in your stomach felt tighter and tighter in seconds. “fuck—! cheol ‘m gonna—!” you groaned out.

“come on my face, baby— lemme taste your sweet cum,” he sighs against your drenched cunt.

in a matter of seconds the knot in you snapped, causing you to release your cum all over seungcheol’s face. he laps your juices to make sure he tasted all of you and comes back up to your face, “god, baby— you see— literally obsessed enough to eat you out with alcohol dripping down your pretty pussy,” he mumbles as he stares into your eyes while taking his hand to dip down and rub small rings around your clit.

“more— i need more, cheol.”

“take off this top, baby, i’ll give you more.”

you discard your shirt to some other place in the kitchen as cheol shoots down the rest of alcohol in the bottle in his mouth. seungcheol then latches his mouth around your right nipple. your mouth shot open with strings of curses leaving your lips, relishing in the coldness from the soju, as well as the warmth of his mouth. 

his lips danced between both of your nipples and down to your stomach, back up to your lips. “slide down, baby. i wanna fuck you— wanna fuck you so bad,” cheol groans in your ear. you nod quickly before pressing your torso down against the semi-cold and semi-hot counter. 

seungcheol strips himself as quickly as he possibly could and lines himself against your cunt; nearly breathless. the vibrations from your whines buzzes against your cheek. you were on overdrive at this point. your brain was mush, and it was about to become every bit more mushed.

with one quick push, cheol bottoms himself out completely in you; gaining two hearty moans from the both of your mouths. 

after a few pauses, cheol whispers against your ear, “you good, baby?”

“mhm, please, fuck me, cheol.”

cheol slides his hands under your hips to slide yourself on and off your cock. the slickness of your cunt and the soju claps between cheol’s cock. although the pace was slow at first, the speed and intensity soon picked up. 

you couldn’t contain your moans of movement. your hands started to become sporadic. your hands gripped onto the edge of the counter to the flat middle of the counter. seungcheol noticed your hands but his eyes eventually trailed to the a few bottles still unopened in his plastic bag.

he stopped his movements and slipped his hands out from your hips to open up another bottle. as one hand holds the bottle cheol’s other hand slides up to your hair and pulls it back, making your back flesh against his chest. “you haven’t drank that much tonight, baby. care for a drink?” seungcheol seductively hums in your ear.

your mouth slacks open for cheol to pour a good amount of the soju for you to gulp down. a sigh of relief exits your mouth from the soju but that was soon interrupted by a sudden snap of cheol’s hips. his tip just grazes your cervix from that snap, causing you to gasp.

“you seem to like the drink more than my dick, baby.” cheol tsked from your reaction. 

“no— i don’t! fuck me, cheol. i love your cock. i’m obsessed with it,” you frantically try to buck your hips back to fuck your self back on his cock.

he chuckles at your weak attempts of fucking yourself back on his cock. “here, drink the rest, will you? lemme make you feel good.” seungcheol passes the bottle off as his hands finds your hips again to sharply snap his hips against yours.

meanwhile, you could barely hold the cold rim against your lips. with each thrust up, you caught a tremble in the glass. you needed to get this over with. you didn’t care that the strong liquid pours over your chin and onto the countertops. with quick gulps, the majority of the soju was gone.

finally, you could focus on cheol’s cock. the glass rings from the sudden hit of your hands to the countertop, literally nothing could phase you past your boyfriends cock. it was too heavenly to focus on anything else.

the thick veins on his dick are pulsing from the friction between him and the slickness of your cunt; just dripping from arousal. your moans and whines intertwined with cheol’s grunts and groans; it was almost too erotic.

eventually, cheol’s thrusts started to become stronger yet, slower. with a few more pumps, the both of you came; coating each other in your sticky fluids. after a few hearty breaths, seungcheol comes close to your face.

“can’t you see i’m obsessed with you?” seungcheol kisses your cheek gently. 

“yeah— can now,” you smile from his kiss.

even then, you were already obsessed with seungcheol from the start.

© KIREILIEN 2025 | please like, repost, and/or comment! ♡︎

[everlastingserenitys]

WERE DATING NOW?

summ. sylus knew this was wrong, which was why he couldn't stop. you were his best friend, nothing more. and he wanted—no, needed to change that tonight.

pairing. sylus x f!reader cw. accidental voyeurism, p in v, fwb!sylus, kinda perv!sylus, masturbation, reassurance ?, kinda fluffy icl a/n I hate this fuckass color theme im sorry

Friends. With. Benefits.

That’s all Sylus and you were.

The day you two agreed to become friends with benefits was the day everything changed. You didn't really set some ground rules. He would just text you before coming over, you do your things and then he’ll leave.

But, sometimes Sylus would come home unannounced, which wasn’t a horrible thing…

Yeah, totally.

-

The one night you were feeling horny was the only night Sylus wasn’t picking up for god knows what reason. So you went for your backup option, which was calling in another man to satisfy your needs for the night.

Now it wasn't often you’d do this, but Sylus never found out, so it wasn’t a big deal since he wasn’t picking up.

You grab your phone from your nightstand and dial a random man you had from your contacts and bring the phone to your ear. The man picks up instantly and you tell him your little plan. He agrees and you silently congratulate yourself as you lean on the headboard of your desk, patiently waiting.

Some time has passed and the doorbell rings, indicating that your little fuck buddy was already here, what a quick entrance.

In a swift movement you hop off your bed and strut to the door, flinging it open.

“Let’s have some fun, shall we?”

Oh yeah, you’re going to have a lot of fun.

-

It was nine in the night, Sylus had just woken up from a deep nap and hadn’t checked his phone at all, but the second his fingers rested on his lockscreen was the moment he knew he was fucked.

His fingers kept scrolling along the hundreds and hundreds of messages you sent him, practically begging for him to come over, but what was he doing? Sleeping. The only day where he actually had time to rest was the same day where you needed him

An exasperated sigh left his lips, his fingers hovered over the call button as he quickly put on a shirt. But wait, it's way past the stage for him to be calling you before heading to your place. So instead, Sylus just grabbed his keys and drove over to your place.

After a quick drive, he parked in your parking lot and walked to your door, which was surprisingly unlocked. Sylus’ fingertips rested on the doorknob before he pushed the door open and got a whiff of your scent suffocating your house.

“swee-uh” Sylus’ speech got interrupted when he noticed another pair of shoes relaxing next to yours on the ground. He raised an eyebrow and walked past the shoes, making his way to your room.

The sounds of something filling your room intrigued Sylus to step closer and clo–

Oh.

Oh.

Sylus peered through the crack of your bedroom door and was surprised by the sight he saw.

You, getting railed like a fucking slut by some random man Sylus didnt know, but something told Sylus to stay put where he was.

Now, usually, he would never, ever, do this, but his whole body could barely move. His stupid ruby eyes kept darting between your breasts, to your face, to practically your whole body.

A strong feeling was growing inside him, he didn’t know what it was.

Sylus’ heart, and cock felt like it was about to burst, the sounds of your moans grew louder and that just made Sylus even hornier. His fingers trailed down his belt that was barely on and quietly removed it, as his eyes were locked on you.

Sylus’ fingers dug in his boxers and he sprung his cock out as his fingers worked on the dripping mess beneath him. Sylus’ heart was pounding faster and faster as he watched the man suffocate your–his pussy like he just won an award.

He watched intently, seeing what was making you feel so good that night, that you needed to call somebody else, was it because he was asleep? You could’ve just waited? Yet again, you didn't set any rules, but why did he feel something indescribable inside him?

With a final stroke, a quiet groan left Sylus’ lips. A spur of white mixture sprawled on the door in front of him and a quiet scowl left his lips, he quickly put his pants back on and watched as you were nearing release.

With one excruciating thrust from the man that was fucking you like a wild rabbit, both you and him came in sync. A wave of embarrassment washed through Sylus’ body, why couldn't that happen with the two of you?

As the two of you were getting cleaned up, Sylus made his way out your front door, pretending like he didn't hear and watch the whole thing. But as he was walking down the stairs of your porch, something compelled him to stay a bit longer.

So, Sylus stood in front of the door as he waited for you to exit the man out of your house. The cold breeze rushed through him as he rocked himself back and forth against your cement floor.

The sound of your footsteps echoing behind the door, awoke him from his daze, he stood there, as he watched the door fling open. The second you opened the door, both you and Sylus made eye contact with each other.

“Oh, Sylus?” your voice echoed through the neighbourhood.

Sylus nodded, and stepped past the man who was just leaving. Without letting the man say goodbye, he shut the door behind him and brought you to a fierce kiss. His rough, yet soft lips made contact with yours. He shoved his tongue deeper in your mouth as he savored every bit of you.

“Sy–what’s–” you attempt to speak but your speech gets interrupted with every needy kiss Sylus gives you. With one hand, his fingers slide through your hair and the other one lifts you off the ground like you were a piece of paper.

He walked you to your room as he continued kissing you, he kicked open the door and placed you on the bed, his large figure loomed over you when he pulled away from the kiss to look directly into your eyes.

“What was that man doing here?” Sylus spoke in a soft tone, his fingers tracing your jaw as he continued to look into your eyes, seeking for the answer, which he already knew.

“You know what we did, why would I be dressed like this?” you tease, wrapping an arm around his neck, pulling him closer towards you. But Sylus just let out a mocking chuckle before he pushed you away and slid his fingers across your silky robe.

“Tell me how he did it, how’d he make you feel so good?” Sylus whispered, his large hands cup on your knees and he slowly spread your legs apart.

A whine escaped your lips and you bucked your hips towards him, the friction of his rough, disheveled pants made contact with your bare thighs, and your grip on Sylus’ arm tightened.

“You seriously want more after he fucked you like that?” Sylus asked, a hint of teasingness and mockery laced his voice. You glared at him and he chuckled in response, pressing himself against you.

He was already hard, again, and Sylus rocked his hips against your robe. A groveled groan escapes your lips as you synchronize the same pattern on Sylus. He moaned in response and pulled away, pulling his pants back down to reveal his cock on display for you.

He stroked quick movements, letting his pre, drip down him, and after a few seconds passed Sylus draped the robe on your sides and pressed his tip against your already stretched out cunt. Sylus thrusted slowly, letting you enjoy the few moments before he might go crazy like an animal in heat.

“Did he go this slow or–ngh” Sylus’ pace quickened and it took you by surprise, just now his pace was like a sloth, now it felt like you were going to rip apart as his length shoved deeper into you, his hard tip kissing your cervix.

“Or this fast?” Sylus asked again.

“I…mmph” you try to keep up with the pace but your hips and whole body was aching, Sylus had so much stamina left in him he continued to fuck you like a wild rabbit. His fingers dug deep into your hips and your moans started to grow louder.

“Sy!” you whine, tilting your head back as pleasure washes through you.

“Tell me, which was it? I want to make you feel as good as the other man did.”

That sentence sent shivers down your spine and you couldn't help yourself to give him an answer. You shook your head, trying to deny the words that were coming out of Sylus’ mouth but he shook his head, and continued asking you what would make you feel good.

“Please, just be yourself–you feel…ngh so, soo, good!” you moan, a hint of something flashed in Sylus’ eyes and he thrusted himself deeper than he could, he was practically almost balls deep inside you and a groggy moan escaped his lips as he sent the last thrust in you, and came.

Right. Inside. You.

He pulled away and plopped on top of you. His lips immediately making contact with your face.

“Is it bad I need you more than just this little friends with benefits thing?” Sylus asked, pecking small kisses along your face.

You chuckled and slid your fingers through his hair, planting your lips onto his.

part 7 of untamed desires | sylus -> next work

[lbjeff]

Bruce: And why I have not hear of it until now?

Tim: Cause he is my boyfriend and it’s none of your business

Bruce: But he’s living in Gotham. His “attract supernatural” is my business.

Tim: I can take care of it. I see, you are inviting Danny as an excuse to do the investigation on him, even though I said I have done that already and refused your help

Bruce: It is not what I mean

Tim: So what do you mean when you insist needing my boyfriend for a mission besides doing the investigation on him without my knowledge? Do you really want to bond with him and know him better?

Well, Bruce really using the “need Danny for a mission” as an excuse to spend time with him. Of course, Bruce also needs Danny’s help, it makes things effective and easier. But he also want to use this chance to knowing Danny more. Danny is a godson of Vlad Master (a guy has something unnatural about), son of two scientists that work on something he still can’t figure out. Danny himself show signs that he is meta or magical, without evidence to prove anything but clearly he is a mystery. So of course Bruce wants to do a little “chat” with him even if Tim already forbid it. Bruce also doesn’t believe Tim really dating Danny cause he has evidence about Danny’s real boyfriend, Phantom - a ghost and a local hero at Danny’s hometown but also move to Gotham with Danny. And yes, Danny seems like a nice guy with his own charms so Bruce doesn’t mind to know him better. So Bruce, doesn’t realize the “bonding” Tim mean is as romance, he thinks it as “know your son’s friend”

Bruce: Well, if you already know, yes, I want to spend time with him and know him better. And I hope you could accept that

Tim, just make an accusation about Bruce’s intention cause they are fighting (Bruce didn’t realize they are fighting) but doesn’t think Bruce actually mean to do that. He’s staring at Bruce blankly, then he storm out the dining room, leaving behind his anger.

Tim: You could try, Bruce, but you couldn’t win. And FVCK Batman!

The others have keep silent since Bruce and Tim began their fight. They look at each other, couldn’t believe Bruce really said his intentions with Danny. Bruce thinks Tim is just angry cause he still plan to investigate Danny even though he said he wouldn’t, but he still allowed Bruce to do that at the end.

Bruce: I guess Tim will calm down latter. Now, I should prepare soon. By the way, I should buy Danny something first before I asked him out for an event.

The he also stand up and leave the room, he is dialing Danny on his way out

Bruce: Hi Danny! Yeah, I need to see you to discuss something, we could have lunch while we talk about it. By the way, are there anything you like now? How about a universal figures made by jewelry? Yeah, I know you will love it. Is 11.AM okey? Ah, yes, Tim also know about it. Good, see you soon

The Batkids who have hear everything: ……

Jason: So, you guess Danny would be our new brother in law or stepdad?

Damian: Well, of course father will win, eventually

Dick: Ahhhh! What’s just happening? Why that thing keep happening?

Duke: You kind of calm about it, Dami

Damian: Well, Danny is for a winner, so of course he will marry into our family. And father is suitable than Drake cause he is the leader

Jason: Danny went to his school instead of Tim after Damian caused troubles at class. Then with his sassy attitude, Danny made the headmaster, the parents of the kids Damian had beaten and everyone else cry for giving Damian’s troubles and since that, Damian hasn’t been call guidance to school again. And now, he is very fond of Danny.

Dick: Damian! I thought it is because you has behaved and blending better at school.

Duke: But in reality, his school just to scare to face Danny again.

Damian: TT.

Everyone loves a Villian-DCxDP prompt

Bruce has his ditzy Brucie Wayne shtick to fall back on to keep people from suspecting him of being Batman but what about Tim? Red Robin is known to be the smart one and Tim makes no secret of his brains. Sure people will forget that Bruce was smart enough to go to medical school but not the fact that Tim is a CEO.

So far Tim can cover his vigilante side with excuses of being too busy but he needed something more. Something that would distract people from seeing any comparisons between him and Red Robin.

Enter Danny. Danny hates rich snobs but he loves pissing off Vlad. Vlad loved to boast endlessly about how smart his godson is. Add to the fact that Vlad is allowed to spend more time with the family as whole since his redemption/Danny literally pulled the ghost side out of him. Vlad was still an annoying snobby asshole who Danny hates with a passion.

Danny wasn't going to suffer like Sam and her parents. Nope, he put on a show as a loud, bratty, and dramatic guy. Far from the polite, smart, and sincere boy Vlad painted. Especially since Vlad was just trying to get Jazz and Danny better odds of getting into good colleges and more connections. And hopes of getting them into good wealthy families for his own connections. He's not evil but he still was a bad person. He planned to use them as puppets for his business.

Danny catches a lot of attention with his act and goes as far as using a Valley girl accent. Everyone saw him as a spoiled brat who would be a pain in the ass to deal with and dismissed him as such.

Tim wasn't so easily fooled and realized that he could use it. They ended up striking up a conversation and Tim was able to get Danny to briefly give up the act when he talking about a recent space expedition.

Tim wanted them to make a scene and the they were discovered making out in some corner of the event hall.

The tabloid published that Tim Drake was having wild nights just like his father. Tim had actually asked Danny to have a fake relationship. All Danny needed to do.was be as unbearable as possible and make it look like he keeps Tim on a short leash.

And Danny agreed because Vlad HATES the Waynes and I practically begging Danny to stop this.

The tabloid never shut up about Danny, so much he overshadows the Waynes in any new report because the paparazzi love a villain.

Tim is too busy with a case to go to a gala? Danny starts an argument with Tim and blasts it all over Twitter about how Tim cares more about a stupid party full of boring people over him.

Tim can't come it to work because he is on a mission? Danny damanded a vacation on a private island to reward him for putting up with Tim and his family.

Rouges on the loose after a break out? Tim has to stay home and comfort his distressed partner or Danny will break up with him.

When Tim is asked about his relationship he says he loves his boyfriend very much and just does what he must appraise him. Tim made it no secret that their relationship was superficial and started because Danny was hot.

The news is bombarded with stories of Danny causing drama all across Gotham. He goes around buying expensive luxury items and destroying them in fits of rage. People are lined up to get his approval for their products and people unironically love him, hate him or hate to love him. They stalk his social media and read every article on him. Yeah, he's a bitch but he is THE bitch. Everyone is jealous of him as Tim's "hot wife" that he does everything for. Who wouldn't want to be him? There is even people who'd rather be in Tim's shoes and have a trophy like that.

[shaiyasstuff]

3:07 a.m. | xavier

synopsis : The call always came at 3:07, not 3:00, not 3:15.

content : bestfriends!au, angst(obviously), non-related to the game events, non-cannon, just purely xavier x reader but in our world :)

writer’s note : okay so this is inspired by a real life experience, so there isn’t much to say here :/ probably why i don’t main xavier in the game but we don’t need to dwell on that

It always started the same way.

You would be done with your day, come back shower and lay in bed. Waiting.

You didn’t need to expect it, didn’t even need to ask.

It would always come, at exactly 3:07 a.m.

Almost never early, never late.

Ring.

And there it is.

The low vibration of your phone against your nightstand, and the soft glow of your screen cutting through the darkness of your room was telling enough.

He had called.

You’d reach for it, mindlessly swiping right to answer. It had become routine at this point, an unspoken one, but a routine no less.

Your fingers know the weight of this moment better than your mind does. And when you answer, he doesn’t say hello.

He never does.

Instead. “I can’t sleep,” you would hear him murmur over the phone.

Neither can you, but you don’t tell him that.

You don’t tell him that you were always waiting, whether on purpose or subconsciously, even you weren’t sure anymore.

“What’s on your mind this time?” Was always your reply, soft, calming.

Sometimes he talks about nothing—half-baked thoughts, the dream he just woke up from, the sound of rain against his window.

Other times, he asks questions he’d never dare voice in daylight.

“Do you think people can just belong to each other?”

“What if I told you I almost kissed you that night?”

“Would you miss me, if I disappeared?”

You would laugh, but you never answered him. And he never asked, or expected you to.

You both just fall into the same routine, neither willing to push further in fear of something unravelling.

Then silence. But it wasn’t quiet, it was loud with millions of unspoken words.

This is your ritual.

Sacred in its smallness.

Just you, him, and the liminal quiet of 3:07 a.m.—a time that belongs to no one else.

You never ask why he calls at that hour.

You never ask why he calls you.

And you never ask what this is, even though you want to.

Because some fragile part of you knows, if you give it a name, you might lose it. Perhaps, he knew it too.

So you stay quiet.

And he keeps calling.

And the nights keep passing like this—gentle and aching and almost enough.

The call stretches on in soft sighs and rustling sheets.

You can hear him shifting, maybe lying on his side now. Maybe curled around a pillow the way he used to curl around the conversations—like they were the only real thing left in his world.

He doesn’t know this, but you’ve memorized the cadence of his breaths.

The soft hitch when he’s about to say something vulnerable.

The exhale when he chooses not to.

“You still there?” he asks, even though he knows you are.

“Always,” you say.

It’s not just an answer. It’s a promise.

One you’ve been making without words, over and over again.

Every time you pick up.

Every time you let him in.

He hums softly, like the sound of your voice is enough to anchor him.

Like you are.

You wonder if he can hear the way your heart tightens when he does that—if he can feel, through the thread of connection between your voices, how much of you he holds in those seconds.

“I saw a fox tonight,” he says out of nowhere. “It ran right across the road, like it didn’t care if it got hit.”

There’s a pause, a silence that tastes like something else.

“I thought about stopping. I didn’t.”

You smile, as if he could see you. “You never stop.”

“Maybe I should.”

You don’t say what you’re thinking.

That maybe he already has.

That maybe this is his version of stopping—these calls, these pieces of himself he gives you when the rest of the world is asleep.

He changes the subject before you can answer, asks you about your day like it matters, like he’s collecting the ordinary parts of your life to keep for himself.

You talk until your voice starts to blur.

Until your eyelids flutter and your words slow into half-dreams.

And then, as always, he says, “Go to sleep. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

He never says goodbye.

Just a quiet click. A vanishing voice.

You lie there, eyes tracing the shape of the ceiling in the dark, phone still warm in your hand.

The world outside is still asleep. You try to follow.

But sleep never comes easy after him.

—•

It begins like it always does.

3:07 a.m.

The vibration hums through your nightstand like a ghost tapping its fingers. You don’t even flinch anymore. Your hand finds the phone.

Your voice doesn’t need warming up.

But tonight, he sounds tired.

Not the sleepy kind. The somewhere else kind.

He says your name like he forgot he had permission to.

“Hey,” you breathe.

“Hey,” he echoes, but it lands wrong. Softer. Distant.

You sit up a little in bed, trying to shake off the weight in the air. “Rough night?”

A beat. Then—“No. Just… long.”

You wait for him to say more. He doesn’t.

You’re used to silences with him, but this one presses against your ribs. You shift the phone to your other ear.

“Wanna talk about it?”

He exhales. It’s not quite a sigh. “Not really.”

You nod, though he can’t see it. “Okay.”

There’s the faint sound of a faucet dripping on his end. A distant car. Maybe even a siren. But not him.

Not in the way you’re used to.

You wonder where he is.

Not physically. Emotionally.

He’s in that place he goes sometimes—behind his walls, just out of reach, and you don’t have the map to follow him there.

“Tell me something nice,” he says after a long silence. “Anything.”

You try.

You tell him about a dog you saw with its head out the window, tongue flapping like it didn’t care who was watching.

You tell him about a cloud shaped like a heart that broke apart before you could take a picture.

You tell him about a song you heard that reminded you of him, though you don’t say that part out loud.

He hums, and this time, it doesn’t anchor you.

It leaves you floating.

“Do you think,” he starts, then stops.

“What?”

Another breath. Another almost.

“Do you think we’ll still talk like this… in a year?”

You laugh. It’s the wrong reaction, but you don’t know what else to do. “You’re the one who calls. I just pick up.”

But he doesn’t laugh with you.

He just says, “Yeah. I guess you do.”

And then, quietly—“I hope you sleep well tonight.”

That’s new. He’s never said that before.

“Are you not calling tomorrow?”

He hesitates. Long enough for you to feel it.

“I don’t know.”

The call ends before you can ask anything else.

And that night, for the first time, you fall asleep with your phone pressed to your chest, instead of the pillow beside you.

Like you’re holding on to something you already know you would lose.

The following night you wake up before the call.

3:01 a.m.

You don’t know why.

Maybe your body knows something your mind hasn’t caught up to yet.

Maybe your chest already aches from the absence it hasn’t met.

You lie there, staring at the ceiling, the minutes ticking forward like a countdown you never asked for.

3:03.

You glance at your phone. It’s still.

Silent.

You tell yourself it’s fine. He’s probably just late.

He’s been late before.

Not often. But still.

You wait.

3:07 a.m.

Nothing.

No buzz.

No glow.

No voice murmuring your name like it’s a secret.

You blink at the time, as if it might change if you look at it long enough.

As if you’re dreaming, and you just haven’t pinched yourself awake yet.

You check your signal.

It’s fine.

You check your battery.

Full.

You check your messages.

Empty.

Still, you wait.

3:12.

3:18.

3:24.

By 3:30, your phone is still clenched in your hand, your knuckles aching, but you refuse to put it down.

Not yet.

Not like this.

You don’t call him.

Because that’s not the way this works.

He calls. You answer.

That’s the rule. That’s the rhythm.

That’s the sacred, fragile thing you’ve built.

You don’t chase.

You’ve never had to.

But tonight, the silence is louder than anything he’s ever said to you. It fills the room. It presses against your skin.

It winds around your throat and settles there.

By 4:01, you set the phone on your chest and lie back down.

You don’t cry. You don’t let yourself.

You just stare at the dark until your eyes burn, and you whisper his name once, like it might summon him.

It doesn’t.

You close your eyes, and wait.

But it would never come, you knew it.

—•

Day One

You check your phone every hour.

Even though you know better.

Even though it wasn’t a promise.

He never said forever.

He never said I’ll keep calling.

But he never had to.

Some things don’t need to be said to be true.

Until they aren’t.

You scroll through your old call logs. His name is there.

The pattern. A history of 3:07s that meant something.

Meant everything.

You find comfort in their symmetry, the little blue check marks that look like loyalty.

You tell yourself he must’ve been tired. Or busy. Or just fell asleep.

Maybe tonight.

You keep the volume on, just in case.

Day Two

You don’t sleep.

You lie in bed, eyes dry and wide, watching your phone like it’s a lifeline.

Like if you stare hard enough, you can will it into ringing.

3:07 a.m. comes and goes.

No vibration.

No voice.

No him.

You keep holding your breath.

All the way until 3:15.

Then 3:22.

Then 3:41.

Then it’s 4 a.m., and your chest hurts from how long you’ve been hoping.

You put the phone under your pillow.

Not because you’re done waiting.

Because the screen feels too cold against your fingers.

Day Five

You almost text him.

You type it out—hey—and then backspace it.

You try again—everything okay?—but it feels too raw, too real, too much like begging.

You stare at the blinking cursor for ten full minutes.

Then you close the app.

But you don’t delete the draft.

Not yet.

Day Eleven

You change your alarm. You stop looking at the clock at night.

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter anymore.

You lie to yourself a lot these days.

But your body still wakes up on its own.

3:07 a.m. sharp.

Your eyes open like clockwork, and your hand reaches for the phone before your mind can catch up.

It’s not there.

It never is.

Week Three

You laugh with a friend and feel it crack in your ribs.

You make a playlist and skip every song that reminds you of late night conversations.

You open his name in your contacts, stare at it, and close it again.

You tell yourself you’re fine.

You even say it out loud once.

But your voice doesn’t sound like yours anymore.

Month Two

You stop checking.

You stop waking up.

You stop listening for something that isn’t coming back.

But you still dream of him sometimes.

And in the dream, it’s always the same.

A phone ringing.

You answer.

And then you wake up before he says anything.

By month four, you start sleeping through the night. Not always.

But sometimes.

The first time it happens, you wake with a start and check the time in a panic. 6:41 a.m.

You missed it. And for a moment, your heart clenches—like you’ve broken something sacred by not waking at 3:07.

Then you remember. There’s nothing to miss.

You lie back down and it’s the first time in months you fall asleep again without the weight of waiting.

Soon, month six rolls around.

You rearrange your room.

Not for him. For you.

The bed moves by the window. You get new sheets. A softer lamp. You delete your old playlists. You keep one song, though—the one that always made you think of him. Not because you want to, but because you can’t make yourself let go of everything.

You start writing again.

Reading again.

Living again, in bits and pieces.

You don’t tell anyone about the way you used to whisper into the phone in the dark, or how you held your breath between his silences, hoping they’d mean something.

It becomes a memory you keep tucked behind your ribs, like a book you never finished.

Someone new asks for your number in month eight.

You gave it.

You smile when you do it. Not because you’re ready. But because it doesn’t feel like betrayal anymore. Just possibility.

He doesn’t call. You don’t think about it as much.

Except when the night feels too quiet. Or when your phone buzzes and you hope, just for a second, that it’s him.

But the ache isn’t sharp anymore.

It’s dull.

Manageable.

Almost gentle.

Soon, you’d lost count how long it’s been.

You forget his voice.

You realize this in the middle of brushing your teeth. It hits you like a quiet truth—you can remember the words he said, the things you felt, but not the exact shape of his voice.

Not the softness. Not the timbre.

Just the echo of him.

You stare at yourself in the mirror, toothbrush in hand, and try to summon it back.

You can’t.

And somehow, that hurts more than the silence ever did.

Now, almost a year later.

You stopped waking at 3:07.

You don’t remember the last time you did.

Your body has moved on.

Even if your heart is still learning how.

And on the rare night he crosses your mind, it doesn’t hollow you out anymore. It just lingers. Like a song you don’t skip, but don’t put on repeat either.

You survived it.

You’re still surviving it.

—•

It’s late.

But not that late.

You’re up reading something you won’t remember in the morning, bathed in the golden quiet of a lamp you’ve grown fond of. The air hums with a calm you’ve earned. You don’t look at the time anymore.

Not the way you used to.

Your phone is face down on the nightstand.

It doesn’t live in your hand anymore.

You’ve let go of that version of yourself—the one who used to hold it like it meant something.

So when it buzzes, your first instinct isn’t panic. It’s confusion.

You glance at it casually.

And freeze.

3:07 a.m.

Your stomach drops.

You blink once, twice, as if your eyes are playing tricks on you.

But no—it’s real.

His name is on the screen. Glowing like it never left.

Like time never passed.

Your heart stutters.

You don’t pick up.

You just stare.

It keeps ringing. Four times. Five.

You almost let it go to voicemail.

Almost.

But something in you—the part that still remembers the sound of his breath, the way he used to say your name when the world felt too heavy—that part reaches for the phone.

You answer.

Silence.

And then. “Hey.”

You close your eyes.

It’s him.

The voice you forgot.

The voice you mourned.

But now it’s real. Now it’s here.

You don’t say anything. Can’t.

He swallows on the other end, and the line crackles with something like regret.

“I didn’t think you’d answer.”

You still don’t speak. Your mouth is dry. Your chest too full of things you swore you buried.

“I just…” He pauses. “I’m getting married.”

You let out a breath, but it doesn’t sound like one. It sounds like grief cracking open all over again.

“I wanted to tell you myself,” he adds, like it matters. Like it changes anything.

You press your lips together. You taste a year’s worth of silence on your tongue.

“Why now?” you whisper.

“I don’t know.” His voice is soft. “I kept thinking about you. About how I never said goodbye.”

Your eyes burn.

“I would’ve answered,” you say, and it comes out too quiet, too late.

“I know.”

And then—“I’m sorry.”

There’s a pause. Long. Heavy.

You picture him in the dark, phone pressed to his cheek like always, saying things he should’ve said a year ago.

But it’s not a year ago anymore.

It’s now.

And you’ve changed.

“I’m happy for you,” you lie. Or maybe you’re not lying. Maybe you’re just trying to mean it.

He breathes in like he might say something else.

But he doesn’t.

Just a simple, “Goodnight.”

And then, the call ends.

No click. Just absence.

You stare at your phone.

3:13 a.m.

The silence feels different this time.

Not a wound. Not a ritual.

Just… an ending.

—•

You don’t remember saying yes.

Not really.

Somewhere between the call and the invitation, your mouth formed the word like muscle memory.

As if a part of you still wanted to be near him, even if every part of you knew it would hurt.

You almost backed out.

Twice.

Once while buying the dress.

Once in the car, parked just outside the venue, hands gripping the wheel like it could anchor you.

But you’re here now.

And it’s beautiful.

Of course it is.

The kind of beautiful that feels designed to make you ache. Everything is soft and warm and gold-lit, like a dream you’re not supposed to be in. Laughter spills across white tablecloths. Music drifts like smoke. Everyone is dressed in joy.

You keep your hands folded. Keep your face neutral. Keep your heart quiet.

You don’t look for him.

Not at first.

But your eyes find him anyway.

There he is.

In a black suit. Smiling in that effortless way, the way he used to sound at 3:07 when he’d call and say your name like it mattered.

He looks happy.

And it cuts, clean and deep.

He hasn’t seen you yet. You hope he won’t. You don’t want to be a shadow on this day.

But then—he turns.

And his eyes find yours.

Just for a second.

Just long enough for something to flicker there. Recognition. Regret. Or maybe just memory.

He doesn’t look away.

Neither do you.

And then the music swells.

Everyone stands.

She walks in.

She’s stunning. Glowing.

Effortless in a way that makes you feel like a child again, holding something breakable you were never meant to touch.

He turns to face her, and that’s when he looks away.

That’s when your breath catches.

That’s when you realize you’ve been holding something inside you for years, and now it’s slipping through your fingers.

You don’t cry.

You promised yourself you wouldn’t.

You just stand there, watching the man who used to call you in the middle of the night take someone else’s hand.

And you smile.

Not because you’re happy.

But because you’re still here.

Because you made it.

Because loving someone doesn’t always mean staying.

Sometimes it means showing up for their happiness, even when it costs you your own.

And when the vows are said, and the cheers erupt, and the kiss happens like a punctuation mark at the end of an old sentence.

You let it go.

Quietly. Completely.

You don’t stay for the reception.

You slip out before anyone can stop you. Before he can find you. Before you forget how to be okay again.

Outside, the sun is setting. The air smells like lavender and something new.

You don’t look back.

You don’t need to.

Because now, you wouldn’t wait for 3:07 a.m.

[moody-alcoholic]

This Is Going To Hurt

Part 8 - Nothing Is Okay

Summary: Poly141 x reader, established relationship, medic reader, kidnapped reader, mini fic.

CW: CPR, cardiac arrest, medical drama, medical inacurrices, PTSD, flashbacks.

AN: Writers block is still here which is why this part is a little shorter.

Previous parts - masterlist- next AO3

Enjoy <3

You’re not sure how long you’ve been laid out on the floor for. Enough time for your eyes to start stinging and your arm to go numb. 

“Remember that training we once did where Soap had to pretend to be injured?” Kyle asks. It makes you smile, you do remember that day. He was only supposed to roleplay his hand being blown off. Instead he threw everything at you and didn’t once break character. 

He pretended to have everything from internal bleeding to cardiac arrest and seizures. At first you were mad at him, you thought he was messing with you but your stubbornness got the better of you and you were both riding it out to the bitter end. Eventually John had to step in and tell you both to stop.

To this day you still joke about who did a better job. 

“I remember.” You say, Kyle’s hand comes up to stroke your cheek. 

“He’s a terrible patient.” Kyle says, chuckling. 

“I heard he’s been keeping Ghost on his toes.” You say, Kyle rolls his eyes. 

“You have no idea.” You both end up laughing as Kyle pulls you back into his arms. You lay there just breathing into his chest, he has a familiar scent, gunpowder and something woody, mellow and inviting. 

It’s not long before Kyle is encouraging you to slowly get up off the floor. “You should get some sleep, you’ll feel better tomorrow. You’ve been working everyday since you were discharged.” Kyle says. You don’t bother fighting him, you could use some sleep, when you’re sleeping at least you don’t need to worry about the guilt. 

When you leave the room you see John standing at the end of the hall. Your eyes linger on him as he smiles at you quickly before you let Kyle lead you away. You let them all down. Not only that you let the medical staff down, especally the doctor. He trusted you took your bullshit psych evaluation at face value, and you ran, instead of helping innocent people you ran.

You don't deserve their kindness.

...

“Captain Price?” He turns to see a doctor walk up behind him. “I’m sorry I had no idea there were civilians coming.”

“It’s okay. It’s no one’s fault.” Price sighs.

“Is she going to be okay? The nurses- we all like her. She’s a good person. We’re willing to vouch for her.” The doctor says, Price smiles. 

“It’s okay, she’s resting.” Price says.

“Captain.” He calls as John turns away. It stops him in his tracks and he raises an eyebrow looking back at the doctor. “I think I have a way to help her. With your permission of course.” 

Price presses his lips together looking back down the hall where you and Gaz turned down a few minutes ago. He looks back at the doctor. “What do you have in mind?” 

…

“I think it’s a bad idea.” Ghost says. 

“I’ll be there the whole time. The moment I think it’s too much I will step in.” The doctor says.

“That could kill her confidence even more.” Price says.

“It could but it could also be the biggest confidence boost in the world. I avoided giving her cat 1 patients. I thought she needed to be eased back into work, she’s an adrenaline junkie like all CMT’s, she needs something she can just close her mind off to.” 

“Last time there was a mass trauma she panicked.” Ghost says.

“This isn’t a mass trauma, it’s running a code.” The doctor replies. 

“Last time there was a civilian airstrike she was almost executed over it. It makes sense she panicked.” John says. He picks up the radio from the center of the table. He looks at the red tape wrapped around it. 

“Okay. We want to be there too.” Price says. The doctor smiles and nods. 

“I would expect nothing less.” 

…

You wake to an ear piercing screech. You know that sound, you reach over feeling for the emergency radio. You must have forgotten you’re on call. You feel Kyle move next to you.

“I can get it.” He says trying to reach over you. 

“I got it.” You say opening your eyes and seeing the red taped radio. 

“Send traffic.” You say half asleep. 

“Code blue-” You're already jumping out the bed reaching round for your jacket. “-Med bay, resus code blue.” 

“Wait!” Kyle calls. 

“I can’t wait. I have to go.” You say. Your heart is pounding in your chest.

“Copy, on route.” You say into the radio as you pull your boots on quickly tying the laces. 

“Are you sure you can do this?” Kyle asks as you open the door. You can, you have to, you’re not going to let anyone else die. 

“I can do this.” You say clipping the radio on your belt and running out the room. You feel the adrenaline pulse through you as you rush over to the resus bay. You can hear the beeping of machines as you squirt sanitizer on your hands, rubbing them together as you walk in. 

There are multiple nurses running around, another medic at the person's head. One of the nurses is doing CPR while the medic is manually pumping the bag by his head.

“Abdominal GSW, intubated en-route, GCS 5, BP 180 over 100.” The nurse next to you says. You look back up at the person on the bed, your eyes flick to the monitor. He’s in VF, you can have a defib, you can save him.

“Get him connected to the auto pump, is there blood on the way?” You ask. 

“Yes,” the nurse next to you says. 

“Has he had any adrenaline yet?” You ask going over to the crash cart.

“Negative.” The medic at his head says. You pull gloves on watching him, he looks nervous, there is blood all over his uniform. He’s going to panic, you can already see the shaking in his hands. He’s missing beats while pumping the bag.

Your head feels so clear as you pull the crash cart over watching the monitor and counting the beeps in your head. You can do this, you can save him.

“Let's push adrenaline and charge to 200.” You say holding your hands out for the defib pads to be handed to you. You hear the nurse squirt gell on the pads, you rub them together waiting until the other nurse has moved. 

“Clear.” You call pressing the pads on his chest. His body jolts, you look over at the monitor. 

“Restart CPR.” You call as a nurse pumps on his chest again. Still VF. You can save him, you look down at another nurse pushing more gauze into his stomach.

You can save him, you’re not going to let anyone else die. You can see the patches on his shirt, American, lieutenant. This could easily be Simon laid on the table. You look up at the worried medic by his head, short brown hair, a worried look on his face. 

That could be Johnny. “Let's push epi again, charge 200.” You shout, you see nods, you hear beeping of the machine behind you. 

“Charged.” You press the paddles on the chest. 

You’re not dying today. “Clear!” You shout. His body jolts under your hands. You look over at the monitor. You see the gentle beats of sinus, you can count it on the monitor. He’s safe, he’s safe.

You stand up turning to put the pads back on the crash cart. You see the doctor walk into the room

“Let’s prep him to move to CT. Central line and blood.” You say. The doctor picks his folder up, looking at it.

“Good job, I can take it from here.” He says as the nurses push the bed out the room. You start pulling your gloves off looking round the room. The only person left is the medic. He’s looking down wide eyed at his open palms. 

One thing is for sure Johnny would never leave Simon's side. You would never leave any of their sides, you feel guilt build up in you as you look down at the blood soaked gauze on the floor. You left Johnny's side though, he never deserved that.

You can hear the medic's breathless pants, you step over to him placing your hand on his shoulder. His head shoots up looking at you. 

“First trauma?” You ask, he nods, you can see his hands shaking. 

“It gets easier. He was your mate right?” He nods again. 

“Go.” You nod at the door. “He’s going to need you. He needs you, your work is not done yet.” He still looks like a rabbit in headlights, you reach over gripping his other shoulder and shake him. 

“Hey! Move, you’re a medic, people rely on you, your squad mate? He’s going to need you. You got that sergeant? Move your fucking ass.” You snap. He stands up straight and nods pushing past you out the room.  

You let out a breath, your hand coming up to press on your chest. The adrenaline is waning, you can feel your heart thumping rapidly. You squeeze your eyes closed. You can smell the blood in the room.

The vision of Johnny being tied up, bloody and beaten flashes in your head. You should have worked harder. You should have saved him. You open your eyes, turning in the room you walk over to the exit. You need to see Johnny, you need to be by his side. 

You’ve been selfish, ignoring him, you let him down. You walk up to a computer and type his name in. As soon as you see what room he’s in you leave. The corridors are empty, it’s way past midnight. There are only limited staff around. 

You come to his room, you can see him through the thin window, the lights are on low and he looks like he’s sleeping. You open the door slowly trying not to disturb him. You go to stand at the end of the bed looking down over him. He is asleep, rolled on his side with a hand under his pillow. You pick up his chart and flick it open. 

GSW to the stomach, he had a bullet lodged in his liver. Blood transfusion, he coded in surgery. You look over at him, he looks fine, he looks peaceful. You put the folder down walking round the bed over to his head. His hair looks longer, there’s stubble on his face. You reach over to stroke his cheek feeling tears form in your eyes. 

You lower the bed guard bending down by his head. “I’m sorry I let you down.” You say reaching out to cup his face. The moment your hand lands on his skin his eyes open. You freeze your hand resting on his face, your thumb brushes his cheek. He smiles blinking at you, he turns his head kissing your palm. 

“Hey.” He smiles. 

“Hey.” You sniffle, you can’t stop the tears now. He props himself up in bed as you throw your arms around him. 

“I’m sorry I left you. I’m sorry you got hurt.” You sob. He presses his nose into your neck holding you tight.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” He says, you pull back pressing your lips to his, you don’t want to break from the kiss but you're straining over to hug him.

“Get up here.” He says pushing you off him, his hands gripping your shoulders. You look over at him as he scoots back in the bed pulling the blanket up leaving you room to slide in next to him. 

You kick your boots off and throw your jacket and trousers over the chair before climbing into bed with him. He pulls you against his chest, you wrap your arms around him as he pulls you against him and you rest your head against his chest. You can hear his heartbeat, he's alive, he's safe and he's alive. 

“Johnny.” You whisper.

“Yeah?” 

“If you ever pull that shit again it’s not Ghost you need to be worried about.” You say, he chuckles and you look up at him seeing the glint in his eyes. You sigh, you know he would do it again, he would do it again in a heartbeat. 

You reach up to kiss him, he kisses you back, squeezing you against him, running his hands around your body like it's the first time he’s touched you in months. You don’t mind though, you’re glad he’s alive you thought he was going to die, instead here he is holding you. 

“I love you Johnny.” You breath relaxing into his arms as he pulls the sheets over your shoulders. 

“Yeah, well I love you more.”

You relax against him letting the guilt eat you away. You have to make peace with your choices especally the ones that will hurt them the most. You think back to the medic in the resus room, you will never let yourself be like him. You will never let them down again, even if that means them being without you.  

Banners by plum98

[reidmoony-toast]

We Hug Now. ౨ৎ

"The world ended when it happened to me"

Spencer Reid x gn!reader

Spencer finally returns from prison, but he isn't the man he used to be

content: no use of y/n, angst (some) comfort cw: sad themes, metaphors of violence an: This is out way later than I thought it would be so I'm very sorry 😭 Anyways this is for the gorgeous @thegloryofliterature ilysm and I hope you enjoy lovely <3

· · ───────────── ·𖥸· ───────────── · ·

You paced the room anxiously, jittery hands pressed to your racing heart. The apartment hadn't changed one bit since Spencer had last been inside—you had the irrational fear that if you did, you would lose those little parts of him forever. The pile of books on his night stand stayed precarious as ever, a layer of dust covering his copy of War and Peace in its original Russian—one of his favourites.

His favourite mug sat ready on the counter, as if he would walk in at any moment and pour himself a cup. It would have too much sugar, and you’d tease him for it, before he’d lean across the cool stone and kiss you softly, sickly sweetness coating his lips.

A purple scarf hung on the coat rack by the door, faded with use. It was his favourite. Is his favourite. It was a gift from his mother almost half a decade ago, and he’d cherished it ever since. The stitching on one end had come apart, and you’d sewn it back together. The new thread wasn't the perfect colour match, but Spencer hadn’t minded one bit. He said it added character, and always reminded him of you each time he wore it. You couldn't help but notice the purple scarf adorning his outfits more after that.

You glanced at your phone again for the hundredth time, and found the same text from Penelope, sitting, opened and unresponded, on your screen.

He’s coming home. Today.

Not much else needed to be said. Those few words gave everything you needed to know—except when he would arrive. Thus, you had been wearing a patch into the rug beneath the coffee table with your excessive pacing ever since you received Pen’s text.

When would he be here? You were almost sick with worry. You peered at the text again, then abruptly threw your phone onto the plush couch. It was no use reading it once again. It wouldn't help.

These last few months had been absolute torture. Knowing Spencer was in such a horrible place, getting hurt, and there was nothing you could do about it? It had to be one of the worst feelings in the world. Like you were being stabbed repeatedly with a serrated knife, and every time it was pulled out so slowly, you could feel each and every agonising groove.

Worst of all, Spencer had left you off his visitor’s list. That little fact cut the deepest. Spencer Reid, the man you loved most in the world, the one you had bared your soul to for the past three years, actively didn't want to see you. It was like one big inside joke you had been left out of.

No matter how beyond relieved you were that he was finally out of that hell hole, the pit in your stomach that got increasingly worse each time you thought about that little fact didn't abate, even now.

What were you going to say to him? After all these months without so much as a phone call shared between the two of you. All the information you received came second-hand from his team, and you didn't even get to correspond by letter.

Why had he done it, why? You had lain awake at night contemplating that question for weeks on end.

You understood Spencer, more than you understood yourself, even, but what you couldn't understand was why Spencer felt like he couldn't show all of himself to you, even the most horrible parts. Especially those parts.

With almost divine timing, the door handle turned slowly, and your head whipped to the door. You froze in place, staring with wide eyes as the door clicks, opening cautiously. There was no need for a key, you had unlocked it hours ago, anticipating this very moment.

The door opened fully, and Spencer eased himself into the entryway. You couldn’t breathe. His form was hunched, hair falling limply into his eyes, and you could spy facial hair covering his jaw in a dark shadow.

His gaze shot up, and the door slipped from his grasp, banging loudly into its frame. You both jumped slightly at the noise, but your eyes never left each other. You sucked in a sharp breath. He looked empty. Like every joy and light that once filled him so profoundly was completely extinguished. Snuffed out.

His eyes were gaunt, dark circles of unrest swept under his lower lash. Those eyes—once doe-eyed and hopeful—were haunted. Exhausted. Utterly wrecked and full of anguish.

You both stood there, unblinking and unmoving for what felt like an eternity. The harsh silence is broken with harsher words. “Why, Spencer.”

It wasn’t a question, nor a statement. It resembled more that of a plea. For what, you didn’t know.

He said nothing.

“Why didn’t you let me see you? Why did you shut me out? Do you really think I’m that shallow?” A silent tear tracked it way down your cheek, pooling on your jaw before dropping onto the rug beneath your feet. You weren't even aware of crying in the first place. “Why.”

He just stared.

“Spencer.” Your voice cracked, and your limbs unlocked enough to take a small step forward. He just shook his head slowly, swallowing harshly as he regarded you with his broken eyes, and a lone tear traced its way down the contours of his face, perfectly mirroring your own. It caught in his five o'clock shadow and disappeared, leaving only a shining track of sorrow down his cheek.

Your lip trembled and your eyes softened at the scene before you, and you forgot any prior grievances—you forgot everything, even your name, as you focused your whole being on the broken and bruised man before you.

“Oh, my love, what did they do to you?” The words come out as an almost imperceptible whisper, cracked and crazed, like a window pane just before it shatters into a million lethal shards that bite into your hands and feet—stinging and deep.

It all happened so quickly after that. Spencer's face crumpled completely, a wracking sob crawling out through his throat. He stumbled forward at breakneck speed, straight towards you, like a compass pointing to its true north.

You didn’t remember how, but you were moving too—less fast, but no less determined, and you both ate up the distance, until there was no other option than to fall right into each other.

That was exactly what happened, and he barrelled into you so hard that all the air in your lungs was forced out against your will. Momentum sent you both crashing towards the kitchen, and Spencer cushioned your fall with one arm wrapped tightly around your middle, the other flying out to catch himself on the countertop before he crushed you with his large frame.

A shattering sound punctured through your bubble of consciousness, but you paid it no mind. Everything else in the world was inconsequential compared to the man sobbing violently into your neck, arms holding onto you for dear life.

Your own limbs came up to rest—one around his shoulders, the other threading through the dull curls at the base of his neck. You rubbed soothing circles on his back, whispering incoherent comforts into his ear. He continued to shudder, choking on his tears and tightening his grip to an almost crushing embrace.

Your heart ached for him, deep and painful. You hurt for everything he has suffered. You hurt for what he had to do to survive, for what was done to him. You hurt for the utter loneliness he must have felt with no comforts and no freedom, and all for a crime he didn't commit. You hurt for the relapse that was forced upon him, and for the reason he went to Mexico in the first place.

Spencer poured out every feeling of guilt and inadequacy, of shame and disgust. Every moment he felt scared, and every moment he felt anger so powerful, it made him afraid of his own mind.

But mostly, it was the feeling of helplessness that held him captive. You knew that feeling well, had become close acquaintances with it in the past months—though nothing to the extent of his, you were sure.

He clung to you like you were a lighthouse in a storm, and you let him. Told him to let it all out—every haunting and twisted minute of the past three months.

The longer you stood there, the more you understood why he pushed you away, even as it ripped the stitches open on that wound once again. He never let others see his pain, and to be so vulnerable and so raw, stripped of your self-identity like that, was a scary thing for him to allow others to see.

While it hurt, you knew Spencer, knew his vice. Knew that he thought he was doing the best by the both of you, not stopping to consider that maybe you wanted to be there for the bad. Wanted, because you wanted inside his soul, because you wanted—needed—to be his shining light home; for your souls were intertwined, and he would have to try a lot harder to push you away.

You stayed steady now, for if you broke, you wouldn't be the rock he needed. No, you had to stand strong. For Spencer.

Your neck was sticky with hot tears, and you sent a look at the floor to your left—by pure chance—and a flash of porcelain shine caught your eyes. Then, in stillness, you realised what it was.

Spencer’s mug. The one you laid out every morning. It rested there on the kitchen tile, broken. Smashed. In Spencer's flail to catch the both of you, he must have knocked it to the ground.

You stared. And stared.

And finally, after trying so hard to be the strong one, the calm one, the understanding and soothing one, the damn burst, and a tidal wave washed away the foundations of your resolve.

You cried. Loudly. Painfully. The sobs wracked your whole body, down to your cold feet on the freezing tile. You could feel those shards of glass now.

The pain you felt, so visceral and puncturing, was no longer a metaphor—the glass cut into your feet, legs, arms, stomach and chest, as your eviscerated body sluggishly poured hot and sticky blood onto the kitchen floor in perfect tandem with your cracking heart.

You registered Spencer whispering something over and over again into the smooth skin of your neck, now wet with tears. Your next sob was choked as you realised the words. “I’m sorry.” Over and over, again and again.

You listened to those two soul-crushing words as you stared, unblinking, at the mug on the floor. It was broken beyond repair, and it could never be fixed, not fully. No matter how intricately you glued it back into one piece, it would never be the same ever again.

The cracks would still be there, even if they weren't visible. It would never gain back its strength again, and it would easily chip, easily shatter once more.

As you held the man you love in your arms, letting him sag against you, use you as a lifeline, you realised the unfathomable truth. No matter what, nothing would ever be the same again.

· · ───────────── ·𖥸· ───────────── · ·

Thank you for reading, feedback is appreciated x

Tags: @reidology13 @navs-bhat <3 - Comment to be added!

Masterlist ౨ৎ

[zepskies]

Yay!!! Omg your comments here couldn't have come at a better time (after a long ass day of unfruitful apartment search lol). But how I know you raged at Part 2 AND parts of Part 1 🤣🤣. That Dean gif is TOO accurate for this chapter lmfaoo.

Plus Sam's interjections 😆:

First of all, I loooove Fools Rush In and haven't watched it in ages! You've been reminding me of all the good 2000s rom-coms lately 😎💕

Aww it's one of my favorite movies ever and I had just rewatched it recently before I got this request, so that's why it was probably subconsciously just embedded in my brain for If I Stay. 😂 YES the 90s and 2000s were the best for rom-coms I think. 💗💗

And "I Can't Help Falling in Love" was my wedding song (but the twenty one pilots ukulele cover). Since we got married in Vegas, I didn't want to go too Elvis, but still give a nod to it 😆

Omg really??? I like that version too, that's so fun! lol I get not wanting to be too "on the nose" with it. 😂😂 I was actually listening to the whole soundtrack for Fools Rush In and thought "I Can't Help Falling in Love" was the perfect song theme, along with "It's Now or Never" for Part 2. 😆❤️❤️

This was such a vivid image, btw. Instantly tells you everything you need to know about the bride and groom, and I'm fully agreeing with Dean's toast skills 😂

Ahh thank you hahaa! This was one of those little setup moments I had fun with, imagining Sam/Eileen as the power couple (Dean as his usual self), while the reader is more Dean's wavelength -- good burgers and delicious cake. 😜

He's the devil lol. Sam should've locked him up 😂

*snorts* Right? He has no business being allowed out with civilized people. 🤣🤣

And all her rambling made me realy fall in love with her! She's so sweet and a genuinely good human through and through ❤️

Awww I love that so much, thank you!! She's a softie for sure. 🥹❤️ I feel like when you work with elementary kids, you tend to have that kind of heart that's just big for everyone, and I felt like Dean would find that endearing (if fun to tease lol). 💓

This is such amazing foreshadowing btw 😂😂

LMFAO - exactlyyyyy. 😏

This was my first heart drop lol. I knew after that, they'd never get back to it 🙈

Ugh fuckin' Dean, amirite?! You just want him to get his head out of his ass. 😆

Sam went full bitch mode. It's my favorite Sam 😆

Girl saaaame. 👏🏽 Bitch Face activated. lol~

I fucking SCREAMED during this! You don't know how much. I wanted to shake that stupid boy till the earth trembled 🤣🤣

Ikr?? lmao what a dummy.

But omg you're so valid for this -- thank you for calling the reader out too!:

And I hated her for lying here instead of downright saying "Hey, I don't do casual. This was a one time exception for me" because then Dean could've said "Oh no, I meant a real date." This story is an amazing accumulation of what ifs. My mind was spinning 😅

She's certainly not perfect in this either. It's that way of kind of protecting herself from embarrassment, maybe trying to let him down easy too. 😅 And Dean not trying hard enough to make it sound like a date! This story really is full of what ifs and missed opportunities. I'm sorry for making your head spin on this one, friend! 😆😆

Aww, Benny, we truly don't deserve you 😭😭

Benny is literally the best and I can't bring myself to write him any other way. 😭

But he reacted in full Dean fashion. I never doubted he wouldn't be there for her ❤️ (Although not breaking up with Lisa was so incredibly idiotic. The frustrations that came from this gaaaah 😂)

LOL first of all, that Ross gif just about killed me. 🤣🤣 Inside Dean was like:

But he really pulled through for the reader, at least in this moment! He might be a hot mess, but he's still a good man with a big heart. 💗💗

He was so sweet here 😭❤️ My heart burst. And again, I just wanted him to dump Lisa and fucking be with reader grrrr

Ugh Goddd we talked about Lisa over on Patreon so I fully understand your hatred of her in Part 1. 😆 But that moment at the end with Dean and reader on the side of the road was honestly my favorite to write. There's a lot left unspoken, and if he'd just realize how much he already likes her (and was honest about it), maybe all the drama in Part 2 wouldn't have had to happen. 🤣🤣

Dude, fully triggered a Swiftie here at the end 🤣 But honestly fitting since this entire story pretty much has the drama and angst of a ten minute break up song 😆❤️ With that, I leave you till the next part where there will be just a row of gifs with people screaming and sobbing 🤪

Oooh forgive me I'm not a Swiftie (though I do like a couple of her songs!), so I'm sorry for unintentionally triggering you on that one! LOL but you're so right -- this whole fic is like an angsty breakup song (with a surprise happy ending 😝).

I can't wait to catch up with you after Part 2 drops!!

IF I STAY - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized!Reader

Summary: Your dream is to work with kids as an elementary school teacher. Dean is well on his way to becoming a firefighter, keeping things light and “strings unattached” as he goes. After a one-night stand you never saw coming, you and Dean are forced to deal with the consequences…and figure out if the connection between you is worth fighting for.

AN: Yes, here’s another firefighter AU! Based on a request from one of my lovely Patreon members: @redhoodieone. She requested pretty much all the major beats of this story, so hopefully I did her request justice! This is also partially inspired by Fools Rush In, a beautiful movie with Salma Hayek and Matthew Perry (Rest in Peace, King).

Song Inspo: “I Can’t Help Falling in Love” by Elvis

Word Count: 8.7K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, thick thirty, hints of body insecurity, but also body appreciation, angst, and hurt/comfort.

❤️‍🔥 If I Stay Masterlist

Part 1: Fools Rush In

Slowly, your eyes slide open into the waking world. Your head is resting on something warm, firm…and a little sweaty. You pick your head up, despite the disorienting, muddy feeling of a slight hangover.

A groan bubbles in your throat. Your gaze travels downward, and you realize that what you’re looking at is more of a who.

Your eyes widen. Oh…my…God…

Not only are you very naked, but your firm pillow is too. It happens to be your best friend’s brother.

Yes, holy fucking shit! You slept with your best friend’s brother.

Biting the inside of your lip, you can’t help but take him in, here in the raw light of day as he lays peacefully on his back. His head lolls to the side on your usual pillow. Your eyes roam over the bow of his lips, the dark eyebrows, lightish brown hair that's softer than it should be between your fingers.

He’s painfully handsome. There’s a slight hesitation in your touch, but you softly trace the cut of his jaw and the stubble spread across it. That roughness feels familiar, and not just under the pads of your fingers, though the thought makes you blush. You begin to remember the night before, almost like a movie reel through your mind… 

Ooooh, right. That’s what happened.

It starts at Sam Winchester’s joint bachelor-bachelorette party at a nice hotel downtown. He and Eileen aren't the "strippers and coke" kind of party couple. They're more the "wine and brie en croute with pickled olives" on the expensive crackers you can't afford—kind of couple.

They look perfectly in love, if a bit long-suffering while Dean gives a hilarious, somewhat inappropriate, but still ultimately heartwarming toast to their happiness. After lowering the glass of champagne from his lips, his gaze catches on yours in the crowd. You suck in a subtle breath. 

Technically you’ve met him already, being one of Eileen’s bridesmaids, but there’s something about his green eyes that pin you to the floor. When he hands over the mic to Lisa Braeden, Eileen’s Maid of Honor, his head turning away from you to offer her a smile breaks the spell. It allows you to breathe.

Dean later finds you by the bar. You’re drinking a rum and coke with your slice of cake, trying not to get a single crumb on your dress. You've put a lot of work into affording it, let alone fitting in it. He leans his elbows casually on the counter and looks over at you.

“Hey, how’s it going?” he nods at you with a smile, subtly taking you in first. Then, his eyes go to your plate. “Ooh, red velvet. Gotta get me some of that.”

You smile back at him. “It’s pretty good.”

“Yeah, looks good in your hand,” he says, adding a teasing wink for good measure.

You don't know why that does it for you, but a half-flattered, half-nervous laugh tumbles out of your mouth. Sam has warned you before about Dean. Apparently his older brother is a bit of a flirt; a ladies’ man.

A man whore, are the words Eileen used.

You’re honestly surprised he’s talking to you when Eileen’s other bridesmaids, Lisa and Jo, are sipping martinis together down at the other end of the bar. Guess they didn’t want cake.

They look beautiful in their lithe, strapless little cocktail dresses. You’ve had to give up chocolate, bread, and cheese for three months straight to fit into this dress, something slinky and red that drapes over your thicker, curvy figure. But you’re proud of the fact that you’re letting yourself eat cake tonight, even though you’ve often felt like Mrs. Doubtfire while standing for pictures next to Lisa and Jo.

They’re Eileen’s friends, not so much your crowd. No matter how much you’ve tried to get to know them while helping the wedding planning in whatever way you can, you still get a high school clique vibe from the women, if with more “polite smiles.” Then they’ll typically go back to talking about crystal centerpieces—or whatever in-depth conversation they were having before you were there. 

But right now, Dean’s focus is on you. When he asks you more about yourself, you tell him about recently earning an elementary education degree.

“Ah, but you already knew that, because Sam told you we graduated college together,” you realize, with warmth tingeing your cheeks. That subject came up pretty quickly when he introduced you to his brother.

Dean’s smile confirms your suspicions, so you just keep filling the silence on reflex.

“Well, I actually just started teaching my first ever semester of second graders. They’re a bit of a handful, but overall, they’re really sweet.” Your smile falters. “Except for this one kid who likes to put little tacks on my chair. He’s kind of a menace, but I think if I bribe him with enough lollipops, he’ll give it a rest. I mean, it’s a behavioral issue and I should probably call his parents. But it's kind of hard to tell them their son is trying to make my ass into a pincushion."

Dean's laugh comes out in a sharp burst, like he wasn't expecting what just came out of your mouth. You didn't either, honestly. You giggle more out of embarrassment, ducking your head.

"He’s in second grade, you know?" you say, in between laughter. "I don't think that little footnote needs to end up on his permanent record. But then there's Micah. He's so friggin' smart. He can read at the fifth grade level already. Can you believe that? And I know I'm not supposed to have favorites, but his grades on his spelling tests get him a spot in the comfy bean bag chair pretty much every Friday. Honestly, I think that's what I like about working with kids. I get to see that spark on their face when something just finally clicks for them. Their little faces get all bright and happy and…ugh. God, I'm sorry. I'm rambling, right?”

You stop yourself with a hand sliding over your mouth, not quite covering your smile of embarrassment.

Dean’s grin just widens, making the corners of his eyes crinkle. 

"It's okay. I kinda like it," he teases.

You duck your head, biting your lip against a groan. He chuckles and reaches out for your hand, earning your nervous glance. He quirks his head.

“Hey, you're passionate about what you do, helping kids. That's nothin' to be ashamed of,” he says, brushing his thumb over your hand. “But sweetheart, I gotta ask. Am I making you nervous or something?”

God, yes, you think, especially at that sweetheart thing. It’s making your heartbeat tick up a syncopated rhythm, but you shake your head, biting the straw of your rum and coke.

“No, not at all,” you say, in a hopefully “breezy” kind of way. You touch your fingers to his wrist. “Tell me about you though. Sam mentioned that you’re a firefighter?”

“Ah, yeah. Firefighter in training,” he says, with a more genuine smile.

He just started at the Fire Academy, and he tells you about all the drills he’s had to learn and all the training he’s had to do to be able to keep up with his classes. You subtly eye him while you sip at your drink, and you notice the crisp cut of his buttoned-down shirt and leather jacket, the definition of muscle across his thighs under the slacks, even while he casually sits.

Your gaze subtly travels down his long bowed legs, smart dress shoes. His cologne is woody and masculine, but not overpowering; maybe bergemot and sandalwood. It pleasantly wafts under your nose every time he gestures with his hands while he talks.

“Aw man, I can’t hold out anymore. I think I need to get me some of that cake before it’s gone,” he says, getting up from his chair.

You’re a bit disappointed that he’s leaving, until he stops short.

“You want another piece?” he offers, gesturing at your empty plate that’s been resting on the counter.

You blink in surprise, but you shake your head. “Oh, no. I probably shouldn’t.”

“Why not? It’s a party,” Dean reasons. His grin is too damn infectious. It has you smiling, and begrudgingly agreeing.

Not only does he bring you more cake, but you watch him eat three whole slices before he asks you to dance.

The rest of it flashes through your mind like strobe lights—the way he’d started small and respectful with his larger hand closed over yours and the other along the curve of your waist. He guided you closer and closer, until you were turned around into his arms, and you could feel his warm breath on your neck.

You felt his lips teasing your skin. Then those hands tantalizingly drifted down your every soft curve, as if showing you a preview of everything he could do to you, and every way he’d make you come apart. You believed him.

And when he whispered in your ear, asking if he could take you home, you let him.

You let him drive you in that big black piece of history he drives. Used to be my dad’s car, he said. A Chevy something. You couldn’t really remember much when his hand was drifting up and down your thigh like that.

His presence burned hot at your back when you two eventually got to the front door of your apartment, your hands just barely shaking as you got the key in. Twist and click—

He waited until you flipped the lights on. Then he turned you around slowly in his arms and pulled you in close, all the while asking you with his eyes and raised brows. This okay? You want this?

“Do I still make you nervous?” he asked, his lips twitching at a smile when yours do.

You nodded, uttering a small giggle. “In a good way.”

That was when he finally kissed you, hot and slow, like he meant to devour you whole. He moaned at the taste of you, at the feel of your ass squeezed in his hands. You clung onto him strong, breathing into his kiss and trying to meet every single demand of his lips.

It soon became a fiery tear to your bedroom, one lamp flicked on, hot breaths and nice clothes crumpled to the floor. You didn’t feel self-conscious even once when he guided you under him on the bed, because he wasted no time in taking you apart, inch by inch.

His lips kissed and licked and sucked a burning trail down your neck, over your collarbone and between your breasts. You felt his hardened length trapped between your bodies while his hands explored you, teasing your breasts and sensitive nipples, and he mapped his way down with his lips.

You explored every part of him you could—every dip of muscle, firm shoulders and the slopes of his back, and then back up to tangle in his hair. Your heated gasps and whimpers filled the room when his sinful mouth found what it was looking for between your legs.

It wasn’t often that you had a strong pair of shoulders to rest your thighs on, but Dean’s grip was hard enough to leave deep fingerprints of pressure on each thigh while he slipped his tongue through your folds and feasted on you.

“D-Dean, oh God,” you gasped. Every sound you made was a sensuous symphony in his ears, washing over his skin and making the well of his desire churn hot in his lower belly. He had to roll his hips into the mattress for some relief for his aching cock, even while he moved his mouth up to your clit, circling the swollen bud with his tongue. He had enough room to slip two fingers deep inside your sopping wet channel, exploring you deeply, stroking and twisting to find what you needed.

Your thighs trembled and squeezed tight on either side of his head. When he sucked your clit tight between his lips, you uttered as gasping moan as that coil snapped its release. Your inner walls fluttered around his fingers. Yours clenched tightly in his hair, threatening to rip out a few strands.

Dean stroked you all through your first orgasm, giving slower licks to your clit. He seemed to sense when you couldn’t handle anymore though. You tugged more sharply on his hair, and he finally pulled away, moving back up your body to gauge your reaction.

You’d collapsed boneless against the bed, but you still managed to smile up at him as you caught your breath.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked. But his self-satisfied grin almost made you laugh. You took his glistening face between your hands and pulled him down for a grateful kiss.

After a moment to savor your lips, he broke away for a second to catch his breath himself. You stroked his back all the while.

“You know, for a minute down there, I thought you might not let me come back up,” he teased.

You choked on a laugh, covering your face in embarrassment.

“Honestly wouldn’t have minded if you did suffocate me,” he chuckled, accompanied by a slap to your left ass cheek. You squealed, and blushed hotly at the way he was grinning down at you.

“Ready for more, baby? Or you want to call it a night?” he asked. His tone was playful, but it was actually a serious question. You blinked in surprise. You’d never had a guy be this, well…generous, and not expect anything in return, especially not for just a hookup.

But you shook your head and sat up, slipping a hand behind Dean’s neck. After a beat of hesitation, you guided him down to you for a slow, sensuous kiss.

“No, I don’t want to call it a night,” you whispered. Your hand drifted down his bare chest, and lower still. You showed him just how well you could return the favor.

And now, come the morning, you’re blushing down to your neck as each scene flashes through your mind. You feel the ghost of his hands all over your body, and how you’d never quite felt quite as bold and sexy and beautiful with a near stranger as you had with Dean effing Winchester. Your best friend’s brother.

You begin to worry your bottom lip with your teeth. How the hell are you going to tell Sam? Especially after he warned you about exactly this. Plus, there’s a reason you don’t typically do the one-night stand thing, and this has the potential to become something very complicated.

You know what, it’s fine! you think. We’re two consenting adults. We’re both single. And maybe…maybe it could be more than a hookup. Maybe we can see each other again, see where it goes.

“What’re you thinking so hard about?” Dean says, his voice croaking with sleep.

You look down at him in surprise. His eyes have cracked open and he has your hand captive, stopping you from continuing to idly trace patterns on his bare chest. You smile in embarrassment.

“Sorry,” you say. Again, you bite your lower lip. “Um, good morning.”

“Morning, sweetheart,” he grins lazily. “You sure wore me out last night.”

Your smile becomes more genuine, even if you turn your face away somewhat shyly.

“Aw, don’t do that,” Dean says. He slides his hand up your arm and behind your neck, tangling into your already tangled hair when he guides you down to his lips for a kiss. “You were awesome.”

You giggle against his lips. “Really?”

“Hell, yeah,” he says, kissing you again.

You shake your head a little. “You were…”

Amazing. Unbelievable. Probably the best night I’ve ever had.

“Perfect,” you decide. Because it’s the truth. The word comes out of your mouth before you can filter yourself though, making you pause. Dean does too, but after a beat, he slowly smiles.

“Oh yeah?” he asks.

You lick your lips, and you nod. “Definitely.”

“Well, then,” he says. His hand moves down to squeeze your hip. “You down for a repeat performance?”

You smile. “Only if I get a turn.”

Bracing your hands on his chest, you slide your thigh across his lap so you can straddle his hips. Dean grins and goes along with your idea. He gets a nice healthy handful of your thighs and helps settle you on top of him. But first, he reaches over into your nightstand drawer and finds another condom, ripping it open with his teeth.

Just like you did for him last night, you take the packet, as well as his generous length in your hands. You gently stroke him to full mast, smiling pleased at his groan of pleasure. Then you carefully fit the condom over him.

“You’re so gentle with me,” he teases. 

“Just returning the favor,” you quip, just before you position him at your wet entrance. Slowly, you sink down over his cock.

You both moan at the feeling of him stretching you again, warm and thick and fitting perfectly nestled deep inside. There had been moments last night where he wasn’t all that gentle, actually, but his passion had only spurred yours on more. You know you’ll probably find fingerprint marks on your thighs and ass, but it’s fucking worth it, you think, as you begin to bob a rocking rhythm that serves you both.

Dean arches his back underneath you, his knees coming up to press against your ass.

“Goddamn, baby. Givin’ me quite a show,” he says, in a panting voice that’s deep as sin.

You utter a breathy laugh.

Dean means it though. He’s enjoying the way you brush your hair out of your face, your beautiful tits in his face while you truly let loose for him. He guides you by the stronghold he has on your hips, his fingers pressing into your soft flesh as he ruts up into you, meeting your thrusts.

Your breath quickens, your nails digging into his chest on reflex, and your heart races as that delicious pleasure builds. But when Dean snakes a hand between you and further parts your folds to massage tight circles over your clit, your vision flashes white. You utter a scream of pleasure on his name, your inner walls choking him tight as you throb around his cock. His release hits him like a goddamn freight train.

“Aw, fuck,” he grunts.

He slams your hips down hard, making your thighs slap against his. A ragged groan escapes him in a rush. His hands move to your thighs just under your ass, where his fingers press into flesh hard enough to leave forensic ID, giving him leverage to bury himself deep into your pussy as he spills a hot release into the condom.

Goddamn…

He can almost imagine that he’s coming free inside you, that you’re milking his cock for every drop, until there’s nothing left for him to give.

The thought surprises him. It almost takes him out of the moment, honestly. That’s not a thought he’s ever had before—not with a woman he barely knows (which is most of his hookups, if he’s honest).

In that delicious, fractious moment just after it hits, it’s like those few seconds are suspended in zero gravity. Your arms are shaking, and your forced to collapse against his chest. Dean welcomes you there for a little while, letting you come down while he smooths a hand over your hair.

Though he can't help the urge to let his big hand drift down over your dewy skin, down the gentle slope of your back and over the curve of your generous ass. He gives one cheek a teasing slap. The sound echoes in the room.

"Goddamn perfect ass," he says roughly, smirking at your squeal. You end up grinning hard against his neck.

"'S that my new nickname?" you quip.

He chuckles deeply, moving you along with his chest. "Hell, sweetheart, if you want it to be."

Eventually, you lean back to give him a smile and one last kiss before you pull away from him. You slip off his lap to find your robe, at least. You definitely need a shower.

“So I’m thinking, after we get cleaned up, I could make us some breakfast,” you offer. “Or if you want, maybe we could go somewhere. I know a little diner down the block.”

“I like the sound of food,” Dean agrees with a smile. Ge reaches over for his phone on the nightstand, to check the time. His eyes widen. “Oh, shit.”

He has to get his ass over to the Fire Academy. He has class in barely twenty minutes.

He tears out of bed and nearly trips on the coiled sheets.

“Sorry. Gonna need to take a raincheck,” he says. He hurries to find his clothes strewn all over your bedside floor.

“What’s the matter?” you ask with wide eyes. You cross your arms under your breasts, but it’s more like you’re hugging yourself over your robe. You watch him tear through your bedroom in a tempest of movement.

Dean spares you a glance, but not much else as he yanks up his slacks and belt and dress shirt.

“Gotta get to class,” he confesses. Thank God he has his uniform in the trunk of his car for exactly these kinds of emergencies. He grabs his phone, wallet, and keys, and quickly kisses you on the cheek. He gazes down at you apologetically. “Sorry I gotta cut and run, sweetheart, but it’s been fun.”

Your smile barely reaches your eyes. He’s pressed for time, but he still notices.

He slows himself down and cups your cheek. “Hey.”

He gets your pretty eyes looking up at him, and he gives you a real kiss, nice and slow. He cradles your cheek and brushes his thumb across your skin.

“Thanks,” he says. His now familiar grin manages to make you smile. “And I mean that.”

You shake your head at him. “Okay go, Mr. Future Fireman. Be safe out there, okay?”

He gives you a playful salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

You can’t help but laugh. This guy’s too much. But you don't think you've had this much fun having sex in...

All right, let's not put a timeframe on it.

You watch him leave your apartment, even though you have a sinking feeling in your chest. You knew this was just a hookup for him, for both of you. Part of you just couldn’t help hoping that it could’ve led to something more. 

Dean means to call you.

He really does.

After that truly awesome, you shook me all night long, kind of a night, he thinks about you more than he’d like to admit over the next few weeks. However, he finds himself locked into his training. He’s so close to finishing strong and earning his badge, he just can’t afford any more distractions.

Still, he should’ve known that Sam would find out—either through Eileen, or through you directly. He also should’ve expected the way his brother let him have it.

“And you didn’t even fucking call her. See? This is why I don’t set you up with any of my friends anymore,” Sam bitches at him from his side of the small two-seater dinner table. They still share an apartment, though in just a month and a half, Sam’s going to be moving out. He and Eileen already found a house that they’re moving into after the wedding.

“Look, I was going to call her, man. They’ve just been bustin’ my ass at the Academy!” Dean argues.

“Bullshit.” Sam levels him with the same finger that holds his beer.

Dean’s brows raise, high and annoyed. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah, I’m calling bullshit. Because if you really liked her, respected her, and respected me, you would’ve made the time,” Sam says.

That falls heavy between the brothers for a moment while they eat their pizza.

“Look, I know her. She doesn’t do hookups that often, which means…she probably liked you,” Sam adds. “And honestly, when are you going to give it a real try with someone? You can only visit that free clinic so many times.”

Dean shoots him a glare. He’s had a clean bill of health from said clinic for six months straight.

“Jesus Christ. Enough, all right?” he grouses. “What’re you, Mom?”

“I’m just saying,” Sam says, lowering his crust to the plate. He levels his brother with a more earnest look, lightening up from his anger. “Look, if it’s about what happened to Dad—”

“What, you mean the way he drank himself to death after Mom died?” Dean says. His voice cuts through whatever softball glove Sam is trying to handle him with. “You think that’s the kind of thing I should be looking for in my life?”

“Oh, and what, do you think I’m making a mistake marrying Eileen?” Sam counters.

Dean sighs, shaking his head. “Damn it, don’t put words in my mouth. That’s not what I’m saying, it’s just…I don’t know. Maybe that kind of life—the house, the wife, the 2.5 kids and the dog. Maybe that’s just not my life, okay?”

Sam gives him a long look. He lets go of a deep breath, and he shrugs.

“Okay,” he says. “If you think hooking up night after night for the rest of your life is going to make you happy, then fine.”

Dean nods, glad that they can put an end to this little After School Special.

“Okay.”

Still, he can’t finish his third slice of pizza. He keeps picturing your face when he left you that morning. No matter how you tried to hide it, he still saw the tinge of disappointment in your eyes. It brews something uncomfortable in his stomach, and a sting in his chest.

You’re eating lunch alone in your classroom, finally on your break, when an unfamiliar number flashes across your phone screen. You look down at it in confusion, but with all the caterers and florists and things you’ve helped Eileen with on the wedding, you figure it could be important. You pick up the call and greet whoever’s on the line.

“Hey, sweetheart. How are you?”

You drop your ham and cheese on your keyboard, gaping in surprise.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” he chuckles slightly. “Sorry, I know it’s been a minute.”

You frown, because you’re confused more than anything.

“Yeah, like almost a month,” you reply. You put the call on speaker so you can grab up your sandwich and quickly brush off the crumbs from your keyboard. You struggle to say something cool, clever, sexy even. “I’m okay. Just, um…what’s up?”

Smooth, real smooth. You cover your eyes with your hand.

“Nothin’, I was just thinking of that night,” he says. “I had a good time.”

Your frown deepens, despite the beginning of a blush warming your cheeks. If he’s calling you just for another hookup…

“So I just thought maybe you and I could do something again. Maybe you wanna come over my place this time.”

And there it is. You deflate at his words, shoulders sagging. The "convenient booty call" proposition.

“I could make us some burgers, toss in a couple of beers and a movie night,” he adds.

That part throws you though, you’re not going to lie. What, is this a Netflix and chill situation—with a side of fries?

You consider it. You weigh pros and cons at a frightening speed in your mind, almost like Sherlock Holmes contemplating the layout of a dead body and deducing within moments that his wife committed the murder, despite the man no longer wearing a ring.

You want to let yourself be bold and spontaneous and carefree...but it's just not who you are at your core. You're a planner, a cautious person who looks three ways before crossing the street. Letting Dean take you home that night was certainly one of the most spontaneous, wild things you've done since your friends took you out to a strip club after you aced your final round of exams back in college.

(Sam hadn't been there that night, but he did get an embarrassing drunken text from you at 3:00 a.m., along with a few shame-ridden pictures fueled by questionable substances. Yes, he still had the evidence.)

You just don't know if it's smart to let yourself hookup with Dean again. Mostly because you know your heart has the tendency to get attached, no matter how much you warn it not to.

“You know, Dean, I’m pretty busy with my job right now. I just started here a couple of months ago, and I think I just need to focus on that right now,” you say. Part of it isn’t a lie, even though your soft heart is stinging.

“Ah, okay. Yeah. I get that,” he says. You hear his disappointment too. “But I just need to say, I really am sorry for not calling you sooner.”

Your lips tug at a smile. “It’s okay, Dean. Look, you’re Sam’s brother. I just feel like, maybe it’s better if you and I stay friends.”

“Friends, huh?” Dean says wryly. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I don’t have three rounds of steamy hot sex with any of my friends.”

Your blush comes swiftly again, burning in your cheeks.

“Be that as it may,” you say, “I just don’t want to do anything that will distract from Sam and Eileen’s wedding.”

“Oh, I’m a distraction, huh?” Dean says flirtatiously. 

You begin to smile in earnest. “I think you know damn well what you are, Dean Winchester.”

His deep chuckle practically resonates through the phone and into your chest, going straight down to your pussy. You clench on nothing just at the sound of his voice, making you cross your legs under your skirt. Dear God…

How are you supposed to be even remotely normal around this man now? 

But for Sam’s sake (and your own), you’ll have to try. 

Two months later, Dean has taken Sam’s dating advice to heart. A week or so after you turned him down, he ran into Lisa Braeden, Eileen’s Maid of Honor, while he was at the grocery store buying beer and Twizzlers. She was a smart, sharp, sexy brunette. A yoga instructor, he soon found out. So he took a chance on asking her out. They’ve been going slow and steady ever since. 

Dean hasn’t heard from you since the rehearsal dinner, but he sees you again at his brother’s wedding. All the bridesmaids are wearing long, royal blue dresses that drape off the shoulders and hug the bust and waist, flaring gently at the skirt. Lisa and Jo wear it beautifully, their hair perfectly smooth and coiled. 

But when you step out into the hall outside the church ballroom to join them, Dean actually pauses in what he’s saying to his brother. He nearly double takes when you enter his line of vision—mostly because he hasn’t seen you in a dress since that night. You were sexy as hell then, a lady in red. 

Today, you’re absolutely stunning. 

After greeting Sam with a warm hug, you turn to him with a nervous kind of smile. “H-Hey, Dean.”

With that, he snaps out of it. Dean smiles, eyes crinkling, and goes over to give you a hug as well.

“Good to see you,” he says, trying not to inhale too much of your nice perfume. It’s even in your hair.

“You too,” you reply. Your smile is a little brighter, more genuine. Though there’s something behind your eyes that he can’t quite place.

What he doesn’t notice is the way Lisa is watching you and her boyfriend, a hint of suspicion on her face.

You do though. You pull away from Dean and assemble into a line with Lisa at the helm. As the Best Man, Dean stands with her, followed by Jo and Brady, another one of Sam’s buddies. You and Benny bring up the rear. Benny’s dad used to work with John, Sam and Dean’s father, on the police force.

According to Sam, John Winchester worked a beat for twenty-six years before his liver finally gave out on him. Dean almost went to the Police Academy to follow in his dad’s footsteps, but Benny, already working his way up to Lieutenant, suggested Dean become a smoke eater instead. The suggestion stuck.

Benny Lafitte is slightly shorter than Dean, but just as broad-shouldered, his auburn beard neatly trimmed. Even though you might’ve thought he was rough around the edges at first, his kind blue eyes spoke the contrary. He offers you his arm like a gentleman.

“Well aren't I lucky, getting the prettiest girl on my arm,” he says, with a charming smile.

You smile, and even begin to blush at the way he subtly takes note of you from head to toe.

“Well, thank you. You’re very handsome yourself. Although, hold on.” You slip your arm out of his for a moment so that you can fix his tie. It’s slightly crooked. You make sure that it lays flat under his collar, smoothing down all the edges and picking off any small dust particles that landed on his collar. Benny watches you with an indulgent smile.

“Am I good?” he asks.

“Very,” you reply.

“I appreciate it, thank you,” he says. You don’t know if he means to sound flirtatious, but his voice is a deep drawl that washes over you pleasantly. You find yourself blushing down to your neck as you slip your arm back around his.

You also don’t notice how Dean glances at you and Benny over his shoulder.

As much as you love Sam and Eileen, it’s difficult for you to keep your mind from spinning into fractals as the ceremony goes on. You can’t help but glance at Dean. He stands there behind Sam dutifully, but you see brotherly pride in Dean’s eyes, in his smile. It makes you smile too. You too love Sam like a brother, and it brings a well of happy tears to your eyes to watch him have his moment with his new wife.

It just also reminds you of what you need to do.

After the ceremony ends and the bridal party files out behind the bride and groom, you excuse yourself from Benny apologetically. You wait until Lisa and Jo go off to take pictures with Sam and Eileen, and you grab Dean’s wrist, pulling him aside.

“I need to talk to you,” you whisper.

Dean gives you a confused look. “They’re gonna need us for the pictures.”

“I know, but this is important,” you say. Your voice trembles with nerves, and so do your hands. Dean notices, frowning in concern. He grasps your arm to try and steady you.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Just come with me,” you implore him. You take his hand and lead him into the women’s dressing room attached to the church sanctuary you all just came out of.

Dean raises his brows at the mess you and the rest of the bridesmaids have made of the room—pantyhose and makeup and clothing litter the floor and most available surfaces, while leftover breakfast sandwiches, grapes, salami, and cheddar cheese cubes are splayed out across one of the vanity counters. Dean is tempted to steal a morsel, but he focuses on you first.

You close and lock the door, which makes his brows raise high again. You know he has a girlfriend now, right?

“Uhh, look, I’m not sure what’s going on here, but—”

You heave a sigh. Again, you take his hand and guide him to sit with you at the vanity. The old stools squeak, the overhead lights a bit too bright. This is not where you want to do this, but you can’t hold it in anymore.

“Dean, I’m pregnant,” you confess.

He freezes. His breath stills in his lungs. His eyes slowly widen as the words click in his brain.

“What?” His head tilts, as if he didn’t hear you right.

You squeeze his hand; to ground him or yourself, you’re not sure.

“I’m about two months pregnant. I found out last week.”

Dean swipes his free hand over his mouth while he tries to compute. He squeezes your hand, tighter and tighter. He points to himself.

“It’s…it’s me? It’s mine?”

You give him a weary smile. “You’re the only one I’ve been with in the last few months. It could only be you.”

Oh fuck. The man’s face begins to pale as he descends into shock.

“But we…I used a condom,” he reasons. “All the—all the times!”

You bite your lip. If you weren’t freaking the fuck out yourself, you’d probably be laughing right now. Granted, you’ve had a bit more time to process this than Dean.

“I know, I was there,” you reply, releasing yet another sigh. “One of them probably broke. That’s all I can think of… Honestly, Dean, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I just didn’t want to disrupt the ceremony or cause a scene before the wedding. But now you know.”

Dean falls silent then. He hasn’t let go of your hand, which you think is a decent sign. He’s likely forgotten that you’re still holding it as he stares off into the middle distance for several seconds.

Eventually, he shakes his head and returns his gaze to yours. He looks uncertain, his handsome face the true epitome of holy fucking shit.

You know the feeling.

But he asks the most important question.

“What do you want to do?”

Briefly you close your eyes as you take a breath. You squeeze his hand before you let go of him.

“I’ve thought about this a lot, and…I’m keeping the baby,” you tell him, though you raise placating hands. “I don’t want money, or anything like that. I just wanted you to know that it’s yours. How much you want to be in his or—or her life, that’s up to you.”

Dean takes a beat before he answers, but you don’t have to wait so long holding your breath.

“Okay. Okay, yeah. I’ll help you. Don’t worry,” he says.

And just like that, all the time you spent giving yourself pep talks for this, telling yourself that you’ll need to be strong no matter what he says, all of it crumbles into relief. Your lower lip trembles, and your body shudders as you break into tears. You try covering your face to hide your shame, but Dean grasps your shoulders.

“Hey, hey. It’s all right,” he says. He tentatively pulls you into a hug. “It’s gonna be okay.”

You nod into his dress shirt, probably staining him with your running makeup.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “Thank you so much.”

He holds you a bit tighter in response.

You and Dean agree to keep this to yourselves for now, at least until Sam and Eileen get back from their honeymoon. It’s difficult to explain why your eyes are all red and your makeup is smudged, but you promise Sam that you’ll tell him later. You know it’s pointless to lie to him though. As a lawyer, his bullshit meter is far too high.

However, you also know that he’s half guessed it by the time you all make it to the reception. When you and Dean came out of that dressing room to join the bridal party for pictures, you're sure that you looked emotionally wrecked. Dean had looked pale as a sheet, his body coiled and tense, as willing himself to seem normal. Sam had clocked both of you with a raise of his brow, but he didn't say anything then, especially after you gave him a pleading look.

While Eileen greets her family without him for a moment, Sam pulls you aside. He notes your glass of diet coke, in a moderate sea of guests drinking champagne and cocktails.

“Are you okay?” he asks knowingly.

Tears well up in your eyes again. You don’t know if it’s your damn hormones going haywire, or just the way Sam asks you, with the love of a friend in his eyes. He squeezes your shoulder gently, prompting you with your name.

“Yeah, I think I will be,” you say.

"Is it the same reason you're not drinking?" he asks. "You and Dean earlier..."

You hesitantly confirm with a nod. Sam blows out a harsh sigh, raising folded hands to his mouth as he processes. You begin to look around on reflex, trying to see if anyone's watching you and Sam have this conversation in the middle of the reception. To your relief, everyone around you seems occupied with drinks, hours d'oeuvres and conversation.

“What did he say when you told him?” Sam asks. His gaze is firmer. You get the idea that if he doesn’t like what you tell him, then he’s about to go grab his brother by the ear himself.

You grab his wrist and give a placating squeeze. “He said he's going to help me, be there for me.”

“Damn right. So will I,” Sam nods, and glances back at Eileen, his new bride, with a smile. “We both will.”

“I know,” you nod as well. “I’ll be okay, Sam. You don’t have to worry so much. Just enjoy your wedding day. It’s the only one you’re gonna get. Well, you know…hopefully.”

You tease him with a wink.

Sam laughs, cupping your cheek. He kisses your other cheek.

“I love you, you know that right?” he says.

You give him a trembling smile through your tears.

Meanwhile, Dean has a beautiful woman in his arms. He turns Lisa on the dancefloor, trying not to trip on his own dress shoes, all the while knowing that his brain isn’t here in his body. It’s across the ballroom, watching you talk to Sam. Dean can tell that he knows, just in his Big Bird body language. He’d also recognize that accompanying Bitch Face anywhere.

“Dean, what’s wrong,” Lisa asks him, and not for the first time. She’s getting annoyed, he can tell. She finally looks over to where he keeps glancing, and she notices you with a frown. It’s also not the first time she’s caught him staring at you tonight.

“What was that earlier in the dressing room? She didn’t really get food poisoning, did she?” she asks pointedly. “What, did you two used to date or something?”

He gives a wan smile. “Yeah, kinda. We…had a thing once.”

“What kind of thing?”

Dean closes his eyes and tries to keep himself calm. He’s pretty sure if he tells her the truth right now, she’s going to find the nearest cocktail and dump it over his head.

But shit, here it goes.

“Well…”

After a long day at school, you drive over to Dean’s apartment. You’d agreed to meet there and wait for him to get off his shift at Firehouse 83, where he just started as a full-fledged firefighter on probation. When he gets home, he’s supposed to go with you to an important appointment with your OB-GYN. 

You were hoping he’d already be done with work by the time you got to his place, but Lisa's there to open the door for you. Apparently, he’d already given her a key.

Moving kind of fast, but okay, you think. A second later, you could’ve rolled your eyes at yourself. Pot, kettle, me. Got it.

Lisa greets you with a “polite” smile at best, but she does offer you water at least. You really can’t blame her for not liking you though. She found out her boyfriend got another woman pregnant right before he started dating her. Really, she has more balls than you for staying with him. You wouldn't put it past Dean to somehow have smooth-talked her into giving him a chance.

Or she really loves him. The thought sobers you as you lower yourself down to the couch beside her. Both of you sit there in silence for a moment, trying to figure out something to talk about.

“So, you’re what, six months pregnant?” she asks.

You correct her in thinly veiled annoyance. “Three months, actually.”

“Oh, wow. I’m sorry,” she says. “I don’t know why I thought it was six.”

You have a feeling her awkward chuckle is fake, however. She knew good and damn well that you’re not six months pregnant. In her eyes, you must be the size of a parade float. 

“If you want, I can recommend a holistic diet to help you get your body back after the baby’s born,” Lisa offers. “No pills, no chemicals. Just good clean weight loss.”

You feign interest. Honestly, you’d like her to cram that offer right up her hooch.

“I can even give you a discount if you want to try out yoga,” she says. “It’s low impact, but you burn plenty of calories. I have a beginner’s class, not too strenuous. Even my least flexible clients manage to do the poses.”

Is that why Dean likes you? Because you’re bendy? Bet if I sat on you, you’d pop like a fucking balloon.

You hide all of these thoughts behind a “polite” smile of your own.

“That’s really nice of you, thanks,” you reply. It’s non-committal enough, but hopefully it’ll get her off your back.

No such luck.

“You know, maintaining a healthy diet is really important for the baby’s health too,” Lisa adds. “It’s not just about avoided raw fish and dairy products. Oh, and processed food is obviously a no-go. Like, I’m sure you haven’t been hitting Taco Bell and all that stuff, right?”

As a matter of fact, you’ve been eating clean since long before you got pregnant. Not that it’s any business of hers whether you enjoy the occasional quesadilla or not.

Your temper snaps at its leash. You open your mouth to reply, when the front door unlocks and opens to Dean, stepping in through the threshold.

Thank God, you and Lisa both think. She gets up quicker from the couch than you, greeting her boyfriend with a kiss. You avert your gaze while you begin to get up yourself.

Dean reaches out to help you, grasping your arm in support. You shoot him a smile.

“I can still get up by myself,” you snip.

“Yeah, all right. Just in case,” he says with a smile. “Ready to go?”

“Oh, yeah. Let’s rock and roll,” you say, trying to hide your worsening mood. You’re exhausted, and irritated, and probably more than a little hangry. Except now, the idea of food just has you feeling guilty for even being hungry.

“Bye, hun. Hope you have a good appointment,” Lisa says, giving your shoulder a pat. You give her the most genuine smile you can muster as you thank her. It's possibly that she's one of those women who don't realize when they're being cunty, but you find it highly unlikely. She's too smart for that.

You follow Dean out the door and over to his car, big and black and sleek as you remember. You settle into the passenger seat with your arms crossed in silence. Dean switches the cassette to one of his favorite Led Zeppelin albums, though he notices your grumpy face.

“Something wrong?” he asks.

You give him some side-eye, but you’re reluctant to say anything. You just shake your head. As irritated as you are, you don’t want to be the friend who badmouths his girlfriend.

God, are we even friends? You wonder. Or am I just his knocked-up baby momma?

And again, you realize that this whole situation is probably hard for Lisa. You just don’t know if she’s jealous, or if she just…doesn’t like you.

“I’m okay,” you tell Dean.

He raises a skeptical brow. Looks like Sam isn’t the only one with a finely tuned bullshit meter.

“All right, how about this,” Dean says. “Let’s grab some burgers after this, huh? From your favorite spot. Shake Shack, right? Side of fries, frozen yogurt. I think I’ll get chocolate this time… Hmm, I doubt Lisa will want anything. She’s gone on an all-vegan kick or something.”

For one shining moment, you were happy and touched at his consideration. But now your body stills in your seat when you remember Lisa’s words. Tears well up in your eyes with a hot sting, and a sob escapes your throat.

Dean is cut off from thinking about getting extra bacon on his burger. He looks over at you in alarm. “H-Hey, what’s the matter?”

You scoff at him through your tears. “Are you kidding me? I can’t eat burgers anymore, Dean. I was already fucking fat. Now it’s just gonna get ridiculous.”

“What?” Dean’s brows knit together in confusion, along with his deepening frown. It gets worse as he tries to watch the road ahead, while at the same time, watching you continue to crumble.

“And after the birth, I’m just going to be an even fatter slob who can’t take care of her baby,” you sniffle and weep, trying in vain to wipe your eyes and get ahold of yourself.

Dean grits his teeth, his jaw twitching. Fuck it.

He turns the steering wheel sharp enough to startle a gasp out of you.

“Dean!”

He pulls the car over onto the side of the road, ignoring the honking SUV behind him. He shifts into Park and shuts off the radio—a big red flag, in your opinion. He’s upset too, and fucking serious, more so than you’ve ever seen him. You stare back at him with wide eyes.

“I’ve never once heard you say that you’re fat,” he says.

You blink at that, but eventually, you’re able to get your tongue to unstick from the roof of your mouth. You wipe the remnants of tears from your cheeks. Your face is already hot from your upset, now tinged with embarrassment.

“You haven’t known me very long,” you say quietly.

It doesn’t help. Dean’s jaw ticks again.

“Well, I’ve never thought it. Not even once,” he says. His jade green eyes are firmly set on yours, and he gestures between you and him with a pointed finger. “The reason you and I are here right now, is because the minute I saw you, I wanted you.”

One corner of his lips kicks upwards. “And that night, you didn’t disappoint.”

Your mouth falls open slightly. You don’t know how to respond, but you do know that a full blush is warming your face and neck. His words have power, and unbidden, they bloom a similar warmth between your legs. You swallow a bit nervously as you bite your bottom lip.

Dean glances down at your mouth when you do. He can remember what your pretty mouth did for him that night. Oh, he remembers all too well. He even had the shade of your lipstick streaked across his skin until he showered up at the firehouse.

He locks that all away when shifts the car back into Drive. If you’re going to make it to this appointment on time, he needs to get going.

And you both have to leave whatever that was right here by the side of the road.

AN: Woo! 😮‍💨 Yep, this is only Part 1, friends. Lisa is a bit different in this. My take was that without Ben in her life, she might be less mature and a bit more catty. As we get into Part 2 I'll leave it up to you to decide why she decides to stay with Dean, and perhaps more importantly, where the reader and Dean can go from here as co-parents. 🤔

If you enjoyed Part 1, please let me know!~

Next Time in Part 2:

“Hey, you okay?” you say, resting a gentle hand on his arm.

Dean shakes his head. “Look, I…I’m sorry for tossing a giant friggin’ monkey wrench into your life. I know this hasn’t been easy for you.”

If possible, your heart softens even more. You slide your hand down to grasp his.

“Dean, this baby wasn’t planned, but he’s not a mistake,” you say. “I don’t regret anything.”

Dean stares back at you incredulously. He can’t believe you could really say that to him. He doesn’t know what to say. He only knows what’s in his mind, and what he feels compelled to do in that moment.

He leans over and kisses you. It’s a firm meeting of his lips to yours, and achingly familiar.

⋆˙⟡ Read Part 2 on Patreon now!

⋆˙⟡ Coming to Tumblr/Ao3 on 3/23

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[robinminustherichard]

Clearly the solution is to get Tommy and Buck somewhere where Tommy can't run...

BuckTommy fix it with the help of dispatch & Lucy Donato.

"This is Donato."

"Firefighter Donato, this is 9-1-1 Dispatcher Josh Russo with Maddie Han. You are on shift at Harbor Station currently, correct?"

"Uh....yes? Do you--why are you calling my cellphone? What's happening?"

"Firefighter Donato there is an incoming party to Harbor Station that needs to be taken to a specific location with a member of your station."

"What?"

"Lucy...Buck is on his way to Harbor to win Tommy back, and you and I both know it's not going to go well unless Tommy can't run this time. I need you to get Buck and Tommy into a room with a lock and use said lock." A woman's voice, Maddie, cuts in.

Lucy blinks before looking at Tommy where he's staring blankly at a mug of coffee and has sighed no less than ten times in the last hour. She slowly swings a leg around and walks away from Tommy.

"Yeah okay, dispatch. I can do that. In fact, I am honored to help with this...special task."

"Great. You've got an estimated five-to-seven minutes until arrival."

Lucy eyes the supply closet that has a faulty lock on it, the one where you have to be careful not to let the door close behind you.

"On it. I'll uh. Update you accordingly."

"Thank you, Donato. God speed."

Lucy hangs up and slips into the closet, eying the wooden shelves on the wall. Taking a moment to realize how insane this is, she grabs a shelf and yanks it--allowing it and all of the cleaning supplies to come tumbling down.

"Ah, fuck!" She yells, to really sell it. She hears footsteps approaching.

"Donato? You alright?" Tommy calls, appearing around the door and looking at her and then the mess on the floor.

"Damn shelf came down." Lucy says, throwing her hands up. "Help me get it back on the wall?"

"Yeah," Tommy says, assessing the brackets and nodding. I'll go grab the drill and some screws, probably just some issues with the old mounting hardware."

Tommy disappears momentarily and Lucy pops her head out to look out through the hanger doors and sees Buckley pull up. Luckily, he seems to stay in the truck long enough for Tommy to come back and start fiddling with the drill.

"That's so weird that it just came down. What were you do--" Tommy starts, but cuts off when Lucy darts out of the door and closes it firmly behind her. "What-Donato? What are you doing?!"

"Everything will make sense soon!" She calls, and then jogs to where she sees Buckley making his way inside. "Buckley!"

Buck seems surprised to see her, distracted and looking around. "Uh, Lucy, hey! H-how are you?"

"Oh, you don't care about that," Lucy says, grabbing his arm and dragging him behind her towards the closet, "You're here to see Kinard right? Right. This way."

"Uh, well, yes but--" he tries to say, but Lucy is determined. They make it to the closet and Luck holds Buckely's wrist in one hand and the door knob in the other.

"Great! He's in here." She says, ripping open the door to a furious and then surprised Tommy, who let's out a strangled "Evan!-" when he sees him. "You two should chat. And not leave this closet until you do. I have instructions from the city to ensure it happens."

Lucy turns and shoves Buckley into the closet, his momentum sending him straight into Tommy with an oof.

"Donato, wait--" Tommy says, trying to steady Buckley and make it to the door at the same time.

"Sorry Kinard! Orders from dispatch."

"That's doesn't make any sense!"

"Uh, h-hi Tommy." Buckley's voice cuts through, and it gives Tommy pause.

"Hi, Evan."

"Can we, can we talk? Please?"

"Well," Tommy says, classic bitchy tone in full force, "I don't think I have a choice."

Buckley laughs, and Lucy's eyebrows raise. If anyone can handle Kinard when he's like that, they definitely belong together.

Lucy wiggles the door knob to make sure it's locked before calling back to dispatch.

"Hello, this is firefighter Lucy Donato, I need to speak with Dispatcher Josh Russo..."

[himbosandhardwear]

Steddie I pre-S4 I secret relationship AU I rated M I 3.9 k I angst I S4 fix-it I time skips

This was going to be a fully fleshed out story but I lost the umpf to finish, it just felt unnecessary to commit to an entire fic, so here's the rough draft for anyone interested.

July 10th, 1985

Eddie answered the door to find Steve Harrington standing off the porch, one foot on the bottom step, looking a bit like mangled raccoon roadkill, with somehow still an immaculate head of hair.

“Whoa, man, who'd you piss off this time?”

Steve slow blinked up at him. “I don't wanna talk about it. You open for business?”

He didn't normally take house calls but they weren't in school right now - Steve never would be again, the lucky bastard - and Eddie was saving up for a new amp, so yeah, he was open for business today.

“For you, Moneybags, always.” He held the door open wide.

Steve walked in, mumbling, “Not sure Moneybags is accurate now that I'm unemployed.”

“Well, then your money is even more precious. You could've spent it all on Budweiser but you chose me.” He fluttered his eyelashes at Steve.

“Don't know any other drug dealers,” he pointed out.

Eddie scowled. “C'mon, man, give me the illusion of being special.”

Steve's lips quirked, playful, even though it must've been stretching that cut painfully. “Oh, Munson, only your steller ditch weed can save me!”

Eddie would never admit it but the fact that he played along, albeit sarcastically, made him give Steve an extra pre-roll for free.

***

Aug 16th 1985

“And I said to her, ‘You can't expect me to tell you that. It's against the bro code or something,’ not that we were ever actually bros, it's the principle, right? But then she gives me the fuckin’ wet eyes, like I'm killing her-”

Eddie wasn't really listening, he was more focused on the task at hand, but Steve was a talker and Eddie had made peace with that weeks ago, so he politely hummed and nodded as needed to keep him going.

“Shit.”

“What?” Steve stopped monologuing to ask.

“Nothin’, just didn't have as much in this bag as I thought.” He put the tray aside and got up to grab another sack. There should be enough to round out Steve's usual six joints in his dresser stash.

“Anyway,” Steve continued on, unperturbed by the interruption, “I said to her-” He continued to wax about Nancy fucking Wheeler while Eddie dug through his top drawer. Ridiculous man couldn't wait thirty seconds, no, had to follow Eddie into his room. “Like Byers has the balls to cheat on her, ya know? And what the fuck am I supposed to do about it if he did? Fly to California and… Huh.”

“What?”

He was so wrapped up in looking for the right strain, he didn't turn to look until Steve's continued silence became weird.

He should've just given Steve five joints and charged him less.

“Uhhh. I can explain?”

Steve looked up from the skinmag on Eddie's side table and laughed. Actually laughed. “Oh yeah? I'd love to hear it.”

Why did he look so happy about it? Christ, he was literally bouncing on his toes.

“You're being weirdly chill about this,” he pointed out when Steve continued to grin.

“It's just funny, I guess. I have that same one.”

Time stopped. It started back up of course but not in any way that made sense. Because Steve was giving him that look, that open faced ‘See anything you like?’ look, with the steely eyed determination of a man who knew what he was doing. He'd seen that look before, in clubs, on the street. The problem Eddie was trying to work out wasn't so much ‘Could Steve Harrington really be queer?’, it was ‘Could Steve Harrington really want to fuck around with me?’

“What the fuck does that mean?” He asked, sure he was reading this wrong.

Steve cocked his head. “It means exactly what it sounds like.”

He turned to give Steve his full attention. “You, Steve Harrington, own the August edition of Drummer magazine.”

“Yes.”

“The gay porn mag.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He watched as Steve's face turned a lovely shade of pink. “To look at pictures of naked men and jerk off,” he said calmly, despite the blush. “Also the articles are well written and informative.”

That shocked a laugh out of Eddie. He crossed his arms and leaned up against the dresser. “Uh huh. What was your favorite one?”

“That story about the military rites of passage. Something about being told what to do gets me going.”

It could've just been a good guess, Eddie supposed, but he didn't think so.

“Oh yeah, private?” He said, all bravado. “Drop and give me twenty.”

The bravado died a soldier's death as he watched Steve hit the floor, on his knees, and then begin doing actual pushups. He watched up until twelve or so - the play of muscle under that blue and white polo was really something - before stopping him with a laugh.

“Get up, you fuckin' jock. We get it, you're in great shape.”

Steve did stop but only so he could sit back on his heels, hands placed firmly on his thighs, to look up at Eddie as though awaiting further instructions.

He gulped.

***

Sept 28th 1985

Eddie had his hand down Steve's pants, sucking a sizable hickey on his neck, when Steve blurted out, “Teen Wolf is playing at the Drive-In in Shelbyville.”

He backed away slowly, swimming through a haze of horny confusion to mumble, “The fuck?”

“Um. Just sayin'.”

“‘Just sayin'?’ Why are you ‘just sayin'’ right now?” He articulated this with a heavy squeeze to Steve's dick.

“Ha!” Steve arched toward him while also wincing in embarrassment. “I just wanted to ask before I forgot.”

A drop of cold lead sank Eddie's stomach. “Ask…what?”

He blinked at Eddie in the dark. “Do you wanna go? To the movies? With me?”

Heat washed out the cold feeling and replaced it with mounting anger; Eddie slowly pulled his hand from Steve's pants. He watched Eddie back away with wide-eyed confusion, going to ask what was wrong probably, but Eddie beat him to it, unwilling to hear the concern in his voice.

“I thought you understood what this was, Harrington. We don't do dates,” he spit the word like a curse. “That's something you do with the nice girls from your daddy's country club. We get each other off in the back of my van, where no one can see it rocking. Right? That's what this is.”

Steve's whole face shut down, giving nothing away. He gave Eddie a small nod, doing his pants back up. That was probably for the best, he was too rattled to get off now anyway.

“Yeah, I think we're done for today. Come see me when you remember what it is I'm good for.”

Steve didn't respond, just kicked open Eddie's back doors and hopped out. The beemer started a second later, not peeling out angrily, not kicking up gravel and dust in its wake, just drifted off into the night.

Eddie's hand shook as he tried to light a cigarette, flame winking in and out as his fingers slipped, another thing Steve had ruined. What an asshole, he thought, still furious. What the fuck was he thinking, asking Eddie out? That they'd just go to the movies together? Like a couple of regular people? Didn't he know that's not how things worked? If you're lucky, which Eddie was, you find a mentor to teach you the rules of staying safe. If you're not lucky, you learn the hard way.

Going steady with rich, popular boys was not on the list of approved activities.

Eddie snapped his cigarette in half and chucked it out the back door. The black of the lake beyond the trees, near invisible under a waxing moon, left him feeling sick to his stomach and lonely. The nights were getting too chilly to sit with the doors open anyway. He swung them shut and shrugged his flannel back on. The memory of Steve running his warm hands over Eddie's shoulders, slipping it off as he ran them down his back, struck Eddie like a slap to the face.

He shouldn't have freaked out. He could've handled it better. It wasn't Steve's fault he didn't know the rules. He didn't have someone like Gil to warn him about how dangerous it was out there. Oh well, it was too late to take it back now. He'd apologize when Steve came around again.

***

Oct 10th 1985

“I just don't get why he won't talk to me. I tried to see him at Family Video and he ran into the back office and locked the door. Buckley just stared at me until I was sure my hair would catch fire. Like I ever did anything to her,” he grumbled.

“Ed,” Gil sighed over the phone like Eddie was being particularly stupid, “he wanted to take you out and you yelled at him.”

When he said it like that it sounded reasonable. “Yeah, except we don't do that! You taught me that! That's not safe!”

“Oh, no. Oh, Eddie,” he sighed again. It was really starting to piss him off. “I didn't mean for you to take that to heart. You can't shut out everyone who might love you-”

“Love me?!” He screeched. “Are you insane? He didn't love me!”

“I'm not saying he did, I just mean you can't expect everyone you sleep with is going to agree no strings attached forever. Eventually you're going to fall for someone, and then all the bullshit running around in secret, that shit becomes worth it. I wasn't trying to stop you from falling in love, I was just trying to teach you how to get around safely.”

Eddie sputtered. He was so confused. Where was the burly, son of a bitch, leather vest wearing, biker bear who once told Eddie where to find the best glory holes in a new town? What the fuck was the shit about falling in love? That wasn't supposed to be in the cards for him. And certainly not with Steve Harrington. That was never going to be a thing. Not in the cards, not in the casino, not in Las Vegas itself! But all of a sudden he was allowed to date if he was sure the other person was worthy? Since when?!

Gil, instead of taking pity on him, doubled down. “I think it's probably too late with this Steve fella, but Eddie, don't push away the next one who takes an interest in you. Okay? It's still rough out there, it's still dangerous, but, god, what is any of this for if we aren't allowed to be in love?”

“You asshole,” he sniffed, “where was all this lovely advice two years ago?”

“You were a kid, dumb ass. If I'd told you to run off with the first guy who gave you butterflies, you'd be dead already. I was trying to keep you safe first, cut me some slack!”

“Fine! But I still blame you for fucking me on the Harrington thing. You have no idea what you cost me. Literally and figuratively. The wallet and the ass on that man.” He wasn't going to admit to missing the man attached to the wallet and the ass. It was too fresh of a realization.

“I'm sorry, kid. Seems like you really liked him.”

“What? No I didn't.”

“That why you called me and ranted about him for a half hour straight? Because you don't like him?”

Eddie scowled at the sink. “Shut up.”

Gil sighed at him again.

***

March 29th, 1986

A car had pulled up.

His blood was rushing in his ears, nothing but the sound of the ocean in a giant seashell, like the one his mom had kept on her dresser, so he didn't hear the voice at first. It wormed its way into his understanding slowly, a male voice, low, calling his name.

He grasped the bottle tighter, waited until the voice got closer, and then sprang out from under the tarp. His senses grew sharp, focusing on the dark shape in front of him. They came together hard, fell into the wall with a jarring crash. All thoughts went into stopping the body against him from hurting him first.

Hands grasped his wrist to keep the bottle from finding its mark. Strong hands, with wide knuckles, ones that Eddie hadn't seen in six months but still, unbidden, saw in his dreams.

He finally looked up and found Steve Harrington at the end of his makeshift knife.

“It's me, Eds, it's me” he was panting. “You're safe. I promise. It's okay.” He kept repeating it until Eddie finally let go of the bottle. Let go and then buried his face into Steve's neck and wept. He couldn't stop it, it just came out of him, everything, all the terror and confusion and guilt.

“I didn't do it, I didn't hurt her, it wasn't me,” he kept repeating.

“I know. I know, Eds, I know you didn't,” Steve answered, hand still running over the back of his head. Like the last six months were just a terrible dream.

He didn't even notice Steve wasn't alone, not until Henderson clasped him around the shoulder and told him there were things living under Hawkins, things that would make a horde of Beholders turn tail and run.

And they'd been dealing with it all since ‘83?

Which meant Steve was already a hardened veteran when he was goofing off in Eddie's trailer, making tusks out of pretzel rods and calling Ewoks by the wrong name.

“Jesus Christ.” He put his head between his knees and did his best to ignore Steve's hand rubbing up and down his back. He didn't want the comfort but he took it anyway.

***

March 31st 1986

“Hey, Eddie,” Steve pulled up next to him, skipping over the slimy Devil Roots with ease, “I just wanted to say thanks for savin’ my ass back there.”

Eddie chuckled lowly, not ready to say, ‘You know what you did, you macho asshole.’ “Pretty sure Wheeler saved your ass but you're welcome.”

“You definitely helped. I mean, you didn't have to swim through a portal to hell after me but you did.”

The shame of Steve giving him even an ounce of credit crept up his throat and started to choke him. Steve had been getting drug to hell by some unknown force and still Eddie had hesitated. He was a coward.

“Man, I just didn't want to be the asshole who stayed behind.”

The silence felt damning, like he should've just kept his mouth shut.

Steve jammed his hands into his ratty sweatpants. “Right.”

Now he thought Eddie didn't care at all.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he whispered, “You know that's not the whole truth, right? I know things are weird between us but I don't want you dead.”

He had to keep his eyes on the ground as they walked but out of his periphery he could see Steve nod.

“Yeah. I get it.”

He didn't but Eddie didn't know what else to say. He hadn't let himself think about what they were to each other now. Not friends, not ex’s, not strangers. He’d tried not to think about Steve at all - except what he couldn't avoid, like Henderson’s obsession with him and things his brain forced him to remember at night - since whatever they were doing ended. Since Steve left and never came back.

He opened his mouth to soften the moment, tell Steve how Henderson would've killed him in a more creative way than Vecna if he'd let Steve die, but Steve cut him off.

“I should thank you for that too.”

Eddie chanced looking over.

“For what?”

“For ending things when you did.”

The squirm in his gut worsened. They hadn't talked about it. He didn't want to talk about it. “Oh?” He choked out.

“Yeah, I was, uh, making a bigger thing out of what we, what we were doing, than I should've. I blame Robin for enabling me, she's the one who said to just ask you out like a normal person. Sorry for making it weird and ruining it. Always trying to give my heart to people who don't want it.” He chuckled morosely. “Anyway, thanks, I guess. You probably saved me from a lot more heartache later down the line.” He slapped Eddie on the back, like they were old chums, and then he skipped up to the girls without a backwards glance.

Eddie stood there, alone, gaping at his retreating back.

***

April 1st, 1986

Eddie had always been good at compartmentalizing. When his mom got sick, he got really into Tolkien, let that be his focal point in a storm of hospital visits and missed days at school. When his dad got picked up and sent to prison, he let Wayne teach him how to play guitar, which he spent most of his waking hours on. When Steve made it clear he was done with Eddie, he packed up the little pocket of time they had, the enjoyment he'd found in Steve's company, and folded it under the recesses of his mind, told himself it was all for the best, to not think of it again, and then he threw himself into Hellfire.

So, now that he’d found himself in another untenable situation, clarity struck Eddie like lightning as he thrashed on the ground - Hey, dumbass, Steve Harrington actually liked you, wanted to date you, would've fallen for you, and you fucking blew it. Not only did you blow it, you broke his fucking heart.

It was an asinine thought to have while he was actively dying but considering the alternative was acknowledging that he was being eaten alive by demon bats, he welcomed thoughts of Steve.

Steve, who Eddie had convinced himself was just scratching an itch with someone who wouldn't tell, but who had actually been telling his best friend the whole time.

Steve, who came over for weed but stayed to hang out, sometimes for hours, well before they were fooling around.

Steve, who wasn't anything like Eddie had assumed he would be, was exactly the kinda guy Eddie would've fallen for. If he was allowed.

But he had been allowed, the whole time apparently, and was too stupid to notice.

Henderson showed up a minute later, just as the bats collapsed around him, thank god. If he'd gotten the asshole killed he was fairly certain Steve would've brought him back somehow just to kill him again.

He wasted a lot of breath apologizing to Dustin, agreeing that he was totally gonna make it. Wasted some more trying to bequeath Hellfire to him. Wasted his last breath to say, “Tell Steve I'm sorry.”

Dustin wouldn't understand what for but maybe Steve would.

Just before he lost consciousness he caught Dustin saying, “Tell him yourself,” and then something that sounded suspiciously like, “Eddie! No.”

But by then he was gone.

***

Date unknown, 1986

He was never sure if what he was experiencing was real or not. Since the pain had stopped everything had a surreal quality, mostly flashes of light, some sound trickled in, shouting and crying and tires squealing; all of it was fleeting and seemed unimportant.

The first thing that felt real was Wayne's voice. Gruff and short and so, so familiar. It brought tears to his eyes. He was pretty sure anyway, hard to tell when he couldn't open them yet.

“Get your boy, Fletch, or I'm gonna break his arm.”

“Now, Wayne, we're just doin’ our job,” Chief Powell said in a softer tone than Wayne's snarl or Callahan's offense.

“Either one of you touch a hair on his head, I'll-”

“Have Steve call his famous lawyer dad,” Robin piped up from somewhere in the room, thankfully stopping Wayne from further incriminating himself.

“He's a divorce attorney,” Steve mumbled. “But he knows people!” He rallied after what Eddie imagined was a look from Robin.

A beat went by, Eddie almost slipped away in the quiet, before Chief Powell spoke up again. “You're all gonna go to bat for this kid?”

Steve responded first. “He's a hero.”

Eddie didn't get to enjoy that for long, a nurse came in to shuffle them all out of the room so they could re-up his pain meds and then it was nighty-night again.

***

Date Unknown, 1986

The next time Eddie woke, it was dark in the room, only a bit of light coming in from under the door and from the parking lot lights outside. His eyes felt gritty, heavy with sleep, but he could make out the shape of Steve in the chair beside his bed.

He was awake, staring down at the side of Eddie's mattress.

No.

Eddie followed his gaze and found Steve staring at his hand where it laid across his own forearm, careful of the tubes they were both hooked to. As soon as he saw it, he became aware of the warmth of it, Steve's huge hand draped over his cold skin.

“Feels nice,” he tried to say but it came out more garbled mess than actual words.

It was enough to get Steve's attention though.

“Eddie!” He said with excitement, relief. “What do you need? I should get the nurse.”

Eddie forced his arm to respond, to turn over and clasp Steve where he was about to remove himself. His grasp wasn't near enough to keep Steve in place but the fact that he tried kept Steve where he was.

His voice refused to cooperate, felt like coughing up glass, but he tried to communicate that Steve should stay.

“Okay, okay, I'm here. Not going anywhere. Do you need anything? Water? Pain meds?”

Eddie could definitely use both of those things but the most pressing thing, the only thing he could really think of was…

Lifting his hand to point as steadily as he could at Steve's chest.

He chuckled. “Why do you keep trying to take my shirt?”

The question made little sense. For one thing, this was the first he remembered being coherent enough to demand anything, and second, Steve wasn't wearing a shirt, he was in a hospital gown, same as Eddie.

He shook his head as best he could, a frustrated frown and a grunt to indicate that wasn't what he meant at all.

Steve leaned closer. “What is it? I don't know what you need, Eddie.”

Now that he was closer, Eddie reached out as best he could and pressed his palm to the left side of Steve's chest.

They stared at each other. Eddie could feel the tears slipping down his face but he didn't dare move his hand to wipe them away.

Slowly, like he was scared, Steve's hand came up to press Eddie's hand closer. Big and warm and missed to the point of aching, though Eddie had been loath to admit it to himself.

“You’re serious?” Steve whispered. “You want...this?”

Eddie nodded frantically.

“If you mean my tit I'm going to be so pissed at you.”

Eddie choked on a laugh. He did his very best to mouth, “That too.”

That got him a laugh, a soft one. "Some things don't change." He looked away, shy. Or not shy exactly, cautious. "I hope you remember you said all this when you wake up again. You're pretty doped up."

That was an easy fix. The drugs probably made it easier to admit but he was tired of pretending it wasn't true.

He pulled Steve's hand until it settled over his own chest, stitches and all, and forced himself to croak, "I already tried to forget, sweetheart. It didn't work."

Steve's answering smile rivaled the dawn.

[wlwsoccerfics]

Lifeguard Duty (CaitlinFoordXFoordReader)

A/N: did some tweaking there but hope you enjoy the request.

Summary: you are Caitlins sister and you are a lifeguard. Saving a child and getting hurt in the process.

You reacted fast when you heard a screaming Kid. He was around 9 years old. You saw him and ran into the water, noticing he was holding onto His friend. A Boy you assumed was the same age as him. He was passed out. You swam over to them.

"what happened?" You asked when you noticed the passed Out Boy.

"He panicked cause of a little Wave and passed out." He sobbed out. So the Panic was what took him out .You grabbed a hold of both of them with one arm . The two were Paddelboarding.

There was a Sharp pain in the back of your head.

Last Thing you remember from the rescue was getting them both to safety before you passed out.

Only to wake up in the hosptial. The bright lights hurt your eyes. You felt someone hold your hand, so you turned your head slighlty. Letting out a small groan.

"careful sis." Caitlin told you. She let out a relieved breath she didn't know she was holding, cause you woke up.

"what happened Caitlin?" You looked around. "What am i doing in the hospital?" You asked.

"you don't remember? You have a concussion. You tried to save a kid that got Hurt and his friend. Appearently the Kid woke up while you saved him and somehow Hit the Back of your head with a Paddle or the Board. Cause he was panicking again. That is unclear. You got them both to safety and then passed out yourself" Caitlin explained what she had heard from the doctors.

"so the Kids are both okay?" You wanted to know. Your sister nodded her head.

"yes they are." She confirmed. Offering you a little smile. You gently touched your head.

"good. my head is killing me." You groaned softly.

" I am Not surprised. You needed 12 stitches." Caitlin let you know.

"damn. That sucks alot!" You answered, sighing softly.

"i am lucky you are okay, could have been way worse then Just a concussion." Your sister told you.

"yeah we were all quite worried when Caitlin got the call!" You Heard someone say. Turning towards the voice you know all so well.

"Kyra, sorry for scaring you!" You replied to your best friend.

"yes true little pest was so worried. We all were!" Caitlin agreed with Kyras Statement.

"i didn't mean to do that! Just tried doing my Job. And not get knocked out." You told them.

Caitlin decided to stay over night. So when you would get discharged the next day she would take you back to the Hotel were the Tillies were staying for camp. Mainly so she could keep an eye on you. And cause they didn't tell your girlfriend about it just yet. Your girlfriend happened to be a footballer as well. In fact you were dating Caitlins Arsenal teammate Alessia. You were surrounded by them in your Life. You were a lifeguard . Tearing your ACL three times, once in high school & then twice in College . Which ruined your Professional Football career before it even started. It still hurt sometimes that you had to go through a different path to find Happiness again but you knew you couldn't change it. Being a lifeguard wasn't your only Job. No your Main Job was being an author and you usually lived in england. Just a few months every year you spend back in Australia to be a lifeguard.

You have just arrived to Matildas Camp an hour ago when Kyra walked into the room you shared with your sister and Steph at the Moment. Cause the two let you room with them. You didn't knew why but Kyra looked quite guilty.

"Ky, what did you do?" You asked her but before you could wait for her response your Phone went off. Alessia was calling.

"i might have accidentally told Lessi about you getting hurt!" She admitted. Instead of replying you just frowned and sighed before answering the Phone.

"less, my Love. How are you?" You asked.

"are you joking?! How am i? How are you? You were in the Hospital! And No one told me!" She replied. She clearly sounded Stress and like she was in tears.

"Babe are you crying? I am okay really. I got some stitches and a headache. Nothing too bad. It will all be better in a few days. I will come pick you up from Camp even." You suggested. "Gonna fly back earlier this time around!" You rambled on.

"i would like that. but only when you really feel well enough. why didn't you tell me? Why did No one called me? I could have lost you!" Alessia sobbed out which honestly broke your Heart.

"we didn't want to worry you! You have Camp to worry about!" You told her gently.

"babe, you are more important then anything else. Football comes way after you and other people i care about and love!" She answered and honestly you felt that in your Soul.

You also would be quite upset If Alessia gets hurt and no one would tell you. Cause you always gonna worry. No matter what.

"i promise from now on i will always make sure you get informed when i am hurt. When we get married i am gonna Change you to my emergency contact anyways." You replied with earned you a few "aww's" from the other Girls.

"that's so sweet Babe. And Same...wait did i just hear your sister, Steph and Kyra? I need to have a Chat with them! Cause they should know better then to keep this from me!" Alessia answered. You and her said a quick goodbye before Caitlins Phone Started ringing.

"you might be in trouble, sis!" You told her.