#literally like. word for word of dreams had words

[fandom-geek17]

Little Peanut

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Fem!Wife!Pregnant!Reader

Summary: You and Bob are finally ready to start a family. Basically just a smutty and fluffy look into the two of you as you approach parenthood.

CW: 18+ MDNI! Smut. Unprotected P in V (duh). Bob's breeding kink (because we all know he has one). Dirty talk. Pregnancy sex. Pregnancy symptoms, birthing scene. Tooth rotting Fluff. Like a lot of it (brush your teeth after this). Some angst. Lots of found family.

Author's note: I know I said I was going to write a part 2 of All the dreams of you, and I am, promise! It's on its way. But hey, this happened. Because I just know Bob would be the best dad! Please like, reblog and comment❤️

Word count: 8243

“Oh, god!” you moaned loudly, the sound mixing with pants, the sound of skin slapping against skin and the wet, squelching sounds of Bob pushing his cock in and out of you.

“Fuck, baby” Bob grunted against your skin, face buried in the crook of your neck. “You feel so good around me!”

His breath was warm against you as he rutted into you like it was the only answer, like your body was the path to salvation. A layer of sweat coated both of you as he covered your entire body with his, your stomach and face pressed against the mattress, a pillow propping up your pelvis. His dog tags hung from his neck, landing on your back. He had his fingers tangled with yours, pressing into the mattress whilst the other hand braced for support.

Your bodies rubbed against each other with almost no friction as sweat pooled at your lower back. It was the hottest day of July so far. Bob had seen you lounging on the deck in that red, stringy bikini he loved so much, and the rest was history. The air conditioning in the room did little to cool down the fiery inferno that was your passion. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

His cock hit that perfect spot inside you, making you throw your head back in ecstasy. Damp baby hairs clung to your forehead, hair messy from how many times he’d run his fingers through it.

“That feel good, honey?” he panted, body tensing with the effort of maintaining that exact angle for you.

“Mhm!” you whined breathlessly. That desperate, burning feeling coiled at you, spreading like wildfire. What was this building to? Your third orgasm? You’d practically lost count, too lost in the feeling of him taking you to literal heaven. “So good!”

Bob let go of you to properly brace himself above you, letting his hips snap into you even faster. Every drag of his cock against your slick walls drew you closer and closer to that precipice.

“Shit!” he cursed behind you, hips almost faltering for a second before he continued. “I love the way your ass jiggles in this position! So fucking- so fucking sexy!”

God, this was not a side of Bob Floyd seen often. And not by anyone but you. He was so far removed from the sweet, dorky aerospace engineering major you’d met back in college. The one that brought you flowers on your first date and stumbled over his words. This version of Bob was primal, feral even. It made your insides clench just thinking about it.

“You can’t do that” he warned ruffly.

“Can’t help it” you moaned. “I’m close again!”

He groaned into your ear. “Fuck, I want you to cum again! But I don’t think I’ll last if you do. You just feel to fucking good!”

That pulled your mind to a screeching halt.

You’d had a dentist appointment this morning that you woke up late for. You’d barely had time to brush your teeth before running through the door to your car. Then you spent all day at the office or at client meetings. You had just gotten home for the day when you’d changed into that bikini to catch the last bit of afternoon sun when Bob came home to and…

“Bob!” you called, voice immediately more urgent. “Bob, wait, stop!”

He pulled out of you not even a second later, already sitting up, leaning back on his feet. You turned around, still half lying down, to face him. His eyes shone with worry as he scanned your face. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he asked, hand stroking your leg in a soothing manner. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

“No, of course not” you reassured him quickly, your hand covering his on your thigh. “It’s just… I forgot to take my pill this morning. I literally just realized.”

Bob’s eyebrows rose slightly as he processed this piece of information. “Oh…” he said slowly.

“Yeah” you cringed slightly, not knowing how to react either. “Oh…”

He looked lost in thought for a few seconds, staring at his glasses that were perched on your bedside table. “You want me to get a condom?”

You pulled your lip between your teeth, pondering his suggestion. Maybe that would be the safest course of action, or just stopping here and moving on to oral for the last part. But all the memories at the back of your mind kept pulling at you, of all the conversations you’d had over the past year since moving to San Diego after the Dagger Squad had formally been stationed here.

“No” you said slowly, looking up at his ocean blue eyes for support. “I don’t.”

His gaze met yours, hand squeezing your leg. There was something longing there, something hopeful, and it made your heart swell with the hope that maybe it was finally time. “You want me to pull out?” he asked, just for one final confirmation.

You shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips. “What if we just kept going?” you asked quietly.

Bob’s smile mirrored yours. There was that hint of the nervous young man you met over eight years ago. “What if we did?”

“I mean we talked a lot of finally starting a family when we bought this house. But then things were so busy and I didn’t want you to feel like I was pressuring you, so I didn’t bring it up again.”

Bob laughed, incredulous. He rubbed a hand over his face, that goofy smile growing stronger. “I’ve been wanting to bring it up, like everyday for six months. But then you were just getting settled into your new office and I didn’t want to add more to your plate before you were ready.”

The two of you just looked at each other before giggling like a pair of idiots. “I think I’m ready” you said when you finally calmed down. “If you are.”

“I am.”

Then, without warning, Bob flipped you over on your back, pulling your legs up to rest on his shoulders. Fuck, that navy strength never failed to make you horny. He pushed back inside you, both of you moaning at the feeling. God he was so big and warm still, and your pussy soaked him like there hadn’t been an interruption.

“You don’t want me on my stomach anymore?” you questioned teasingly.

“No” Bob grunted as he maneuvered the pillow so that it was now resting under your lower back. “I read that this position gives a higher likelihood of conception.”

Of course he did. “You know I’ve been on the pill for almost ten years, right babe?” you teased. “The odds aren’t that high of anything happening tonight.”

“Don’t care” he muttered. “Can’t take the risk.”

Holy shit he was sexy when he said things like that! Then he started to piston in and out of you again like a man possessed. That wildfire returned to engulf you in record time, making your entire body tremble.

Bob’s brows were furrowed in concentration, sweat dripping from his forehead from exertion, dog tags swinging wildly on his chest. He looked so strong and assured, like everything you ever wanted. The warmth in your belly swelled, your heart beating wildly in your chest, clit throbbing.

As if he was sensing it, Bob reached out to rub at the sensitive nub. Your entire body convulsed in response, electricity zapping through you. “That’s it!” Bob panted, increasing his pace even more. “You look so fucking good like this, so ready for my cum! You want it, baby?” You nodded helplessly, too lost in the pleasure to say anything. “You want me to fill you up? I’ll do it! I’ll do it again and again until you’re fucking leaking. Then I’ll push it back in and make you a fucking mama!”

That pulled a long moan from you, legs shaking as he kept rubbing at your clit. His words made you melt with everything from rambunctious horniness to unyielding devotion and love. “Yes!” you managed pathetically, hands grasping at the other pillows just to hold on to something.

“Yeah?” he asked cockily. “You want me to make you a mama?”

“Please!” you whined. “Do it! I want you to!”

“Then cum for me! I need to feel it!”

And you did. There was no stopping it even if you tried. The orgasm tore through you like lightning, electrifying every cell in your body as you convulsed, pussy clenching around his cock like a vice. A hoarse scream tore through your throat as Bob pushed into you one final time, staying as close as humanly possible as he emptied himself inside you. He cried out with his head thrown back, panting through his release.

After a while, he slowly pulled out, careful not to let anything leak. He landed on the bed next to you with a huff, pulling you into his arms. Soft kisses were planted on your temple, cheek and ear as he let his hand travel down to cup your pussy, making sure it all stayed inside.

You let yourself soak in the aftercare for a while before trying to sit up to go to the bathroom. But Bob pulled you back with a grunt of disapproval, burrowing into the crook of your neck to keep you still.

“I’m going to have to get up to pee soon” you giggled, indulging him by pressing a kiss to his head.

“I know, sweetheart, I know” he whined quietly. “Just let it be a little while longer, okay? Just a few minutes.”

“Okay” you conceded, smiling softly at him. “Just a few minutes…”

You both ended up falling asleep not even five minutes later.

XXX

Over the coming weeks, you lost count of the number of times you and Bob fucked without protection. Your birth control was a thing of the past, and Bob took every opportunity to put his dick inside you. Once, when you were absolutely spent from a grueling day of client meetings and bad office coffee, he offered to jerk off next to you and then push his cum inside as he fingered you. That one only made you laugh. You made a joke about stuffing a thanksgiving turkey and that seemed to knock him down a few pegs.

You knew he wanted to ask every day if you felt different, good or bad, but refrained for your sanity. That, you appreciated. Having a husband that was so eager to become a father was a blessing in so many ways. But having him constantly asking if you felt pregnant yet would create an air of pressure you didn’t want. After that first time, you’d agreed that you would stop taking your pills, and whatever happened, happened.

Almost two months passed without you feeling any different, and eventually you stopped seeing it as unprotected sex and baby-making, and just as you and your husband living life as normal. Bob would leave for Top Gun every day and you’d leave for the office. You went on morning runs together on the weekend, grocery shopped after work, watched movies cuddling on the couch. Life was just normal. The only difference was that you stopped drinking wine with dinner on weekends and took the folic acid supplements a pharmacist recommended when the two of you went to the drugstore for something completely unrelated, but Bob couldn’t stop himself from asking.

Then, what started as a stressful day where you blamed your workload for the upset stomach turned into an entire week of upset stomachs and barely tolerated meals. The tiredness and grumpiness had bled into you for a while, but again, work right?

When you came home that Friday, you were greeted with a smell that would usually cause you to run to the kitchen for a plate, but now only caused you to stop dead in your tracks in the hallway.

“Sweetie?” Bob called, appearing from the kitchen. “You’re home! Maverick let us go early for once, so I brought you your favorite Thai food.” He leaned in to give you a kiss, but stopped when he felt you stiffen. “You okay?”

“Yeah…” you gulped, feeling the nausea roll over you. You tried to force a smile, but it felt more like a grimace. “Actually, no. I need some air.” And you rushed back outside onto the driveway.

Your stomach rolled uncomfortably, and every step you took felt like it could be the final jostle before you emptied the meager contents of your stomach. Finally, you reached your car, leaning against it for support. The hot summer sun seared down on you, making everything so much worse.

Bob was at your side instantly, rubbing your back in soothing circles. You would not throw up on your beloved car, you just needed her for some assistance. He leaned in to kiss the back of your head. “What’s wrong, honey? You’re feeling sick?”

You nodded shortly. “There’s a plastic bag in the trunk. Please get it. Just in case.” The words came out short, clipped. But every uttered word came with a huge use of energy from your side, energy you’d rather use to not throw up on the car that was vaxed just last week.

He was back next to you with the bag when a chorus of barks and yipping filled the air. Of course she’d pick this time to show up, you thought irritably.

“Are you alright there, Mrs. Floyd?” your nosy neighbor asked as she wrangled her million tiny dogs. It wasn’t said in a genuinely caring tone. It spoke of curiosity and gossip, like she needed something new to tell all her girlfriends over tea.

“We’re fine, Mrs. Abner” Bob responded firmly, doing his best to shield you from her judging gaze. “Thank you for your concern.”

She shot the two of you a disbelieving look, but you didn’t see anything else since you turned away, not wanting to be the object of her snooping anymore. Finally, the sounds of her and her dogs disappeared down the street.

After a while, the nausea subsided to a point where it was at least bearable. Bob hadn’t said anything. He just stood there, bag ready in one hand and rubbing your back with the other. And you couldn’t love him more for it.

“Okay” you whispered quietly. “I think I’m okay for now…”

Bob nodded and started folding up the plastic bag. “Did you eat something bad at work?”

“I don’t think so” you frowned. “I’ve barely eaten lunch all week. My stomach’s been in a funk.”

Something flashed in his eyes for a second before it disappeared, being replaced with concern. “I’m sorry honey” he cooed, pulling you into a hug.

But as soon as you were pressed against his hard body, you hissed in pain. “Sorry” you mumbled. “My boobs have been really sore today.”

That thing flashed in Bob’s eyes again, an eager look erupting on his face. “Wait!” He gently maneuvered you in front of him, hands on your shoulders. “Think about it!” he urged. And it dawned on you, realization washing over you like a tidal wave of possibility.

“My boobs hurt” you said breathlessly, eyes wide.

“You’re nauseous” Bob continued, trying to remain calm, but clearly bubbling with excitement.

“I haven’t slept in two weeks…”

“You didn’t buy any tampons last month.” That was the last piece of the puzzle in your now eager mind. You hadn’t… You had been so used to not getting your period when on the pill that you didn’t give it a second thought. “Okay” Bob decided. “Wait here. I’m gonna put the food in the fridge and open a window. Then I’ll take you to bed for some rest.”

You waited in the driveway like he asked, thoughts full of happy possibilities and what ifs. Maybe it was bad to get this excited before anything was confirmed. But you couldn’t help it! If you were actually pregnant, that would mean you were one step closer to the family you had dreamed of with Bob since you met him at freshman orientation. A hand subconsciously stroked your lower belly as the possibilities swirled in your head.

Bob returned minutes later, gently guiding you back into the house, up the stairs to your bedroom. He helped you remove all the stiff office wear and tucked you into bed. “Hold on” he murmured and left the room, returning soon after with a bottle of water, a ginger ale and a packet of crackers you had no idea you even had at home. “Alright, here’s some stuff for you. I’m gonna run down to the pharmacy. You just rest.” You nodded and he smiled down at you, eyes shining bright. He pressed a smiling kiss to your forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you too” you smiled back.

As your husband was away, you slowly nibbled on some crackers and drank some of the ginger ale. It helped somewhat with the nausea, and you spent the time trying to calculate the timeline in your head. It had been…eight? No, nine weeks since that day. Give or take. Somewhere around there, you had missed a period without even realizing. And given how many times you’d had sex since then, you had no idea which time had been the time. If you were pregnant that is. Also given the fact that your cycle had probably been all over the place from the pills, you really couldn’t guess…

The exhaustion from the day slowly caught up with you as you waited for him. You were somewhere between awake and asleep when Bob came back, carrying a plastic bag filled to the brim.

“Hey, sweetie” you mumbled sleepily as he entered the bedroom.

“Hey” he answered. He clutched the plastic bag between his hands, body practically vibrating with nervous energy. “I couldn’t decide which brand to trust, so I got you one of each.” He gestured with the bag where the pregnancy tests rattled inside.

A small laugh escaped you, burrowing deeper into the blankets. “Thank you for getting them for me.” You yawned. “Is it okay if I use one tomorrow? I’m really tired, and I really want to sleep…” It was barely 7 pm, but whatever. The chance to finally get some shut-eye was too tempting.

Bob’s eyes softened. “Of course, honey.” He put the bag in the small ensuite and then came to sat on the edge of the bed next to you. “Go to sleep. We’ll work it out in the morning.” A warm hand came to rest on your shoulder as Bob leaned down to kiss your cheek. And you were out like a light.

XXX

“Bob, I can’t pee if you’re staring at me” you said with an exasperated smile. You were currently sitting on the toilet, only wearing one of your husband’s old navy t-shirts, pregnancy test in your hand jammed into place, waiting to be peed on.

“You’ve peed in front of me plenty of times” Bob countered, leaning against the doorframe. He was shirtless, only wearing a pair of sweatpants. His biceps bulged as he crossed his arms over his chest, and you had to force yourself not to be distracted.

You huffed a smile. “Yeah, but there’s pressure now.”

“You don’t want me to see the potential confirmation of our parenthood?” he teased, eyes glinting.

“Me peeing doesn’t confirm that. The test will.” You couldn’t help but giggle when you saw the hope in his eyes. “Tell you what, let me pee, and you can guard the test.”

“Deal” Bob smiled and left the bathroom.

As soon as you finished, Bob was back at your side, kissing every inch of your face and head he could reach before gently taking the test from your hand, holding it as if it was made of glass. He placed it on the counter as you washed your hands.

When you were done, he pulled you into him, your back to his chest. His arms wrapped around you as your head leaned back against his shoulder. You closed your eyes, breathing him in. The scent of him, clean and fresh, calmed the nerves inside you. You could feel your heartrate and breathing slowing down. Those three minutes passed slowly, Bob alternating between watching the test and murmuring sweet nothings into your ear.

His timer went off and you stiffened slightly. You so desperately wanted it to be positive, and the fear of disappointment clawed at you.

“Ready?” Bob whispered.

You nodded, even though that wasn’t 100% true. “Let’s have a look.”

With trembling hands, you slowly turned the test over.

There it was. Two small, blue dashes. Positive. Pregnant. A loud yelp escaped you as you dropped the test into the sink. Bob let out a loud hoot of excitement, hands pumping into the air. You turned to face him, the elation on his face mirroring yours.

You flung yourself into his arms, clinging to him with every ounce of your being. Tears of happiness formed in your eyes, threatening to spill over. Bob’s arms rubbed all over your back as he hugged you.

He pulled back to cup your face and leaned in to kiss you. It was eager, loving and excited all at once, glasses pressing between you. The tears were falling freely from his ocean eyes, and he laughed through them. “We’re going to have a baby!” he said, voice a mix of disbelief and excitement.

“Holy shit!” you cursed, laughing with him. “We are!”

XXX

You didn’t expect to snag a doctor’s appointment so soon the following Monday, but someone had cancelled at the last minute so here you were, bouncing with excitement with Bob by your side as you waited in the exam room. He had cited a medical emergency to be able to go with you. Technically, you weren’t sure he could do that, but you couldn’t care less. He was here, and that was all that mattered.

Bob held your hand as the doctor asked question after question, putting everything in your chart. They took your blood pressure, took a blood test, had you pee in a cup, performed a pelvic exam, and then it was finally time.

The ultrasound wand was cold as the midwife gently inserted it into you. Some friends had warned you how uncomfortable transvaginal ultrasounds were, and they weren’t lying.

“Are you alright, honey?” Bob asked, noting your frown.

You smiled at him and nodded. “Yeah, it’s just cold.”

“There” the midwife announced with a wide smile. “There’s your baby.”

A tiny dot appeared in the fuzzy image, fluttering in and out as the midwife moved the wand. Seeing the tiny life growing inside you so clearly brought fresh tears to your eyes. It was real, you were really going to be parents!

“Beautiful” Bob murmured, face mesmerized. “I’m so proud of you…”

The midwife watched your exchange with a small smile before continuing the scan. “It looks like you’re around nine weeks along. If you look here, you can see the head, and arms forming. Here’s the placenta, looking good and healthy.” She said it so matter of factly, but you were still wrapping your head around the fact that your baby has arms. “Now let’s see if we can hear the heart beating.”

She flipped a switch, and the characteristic sound of a fetal heart beating filled the room. You had heard it so many times in movies and on TV. Hearing it like this though? When it was your own baby? Completely different. The undoubtedly strong sign of life. It was glorious. Bob’s hand squeezed yours, kissing your temple.

“Baby’s heart rate is nice and strong around 160 beats per minute” the midwife confirmed. “Congratulations” she continued and pulled the wand out. “Your baby is the size of a peanut.”

“A peanut?” Bob questioned with wonder. “Our Little Peanut…”

XXX

Bob felt like he was walking on cloud nine. All day, every day. He was going to be a father! And you? You were going to be the best mother in the world. Little Peanut was so lucky to have you!

There was nothing he could do to contain his excitement. The living room now more resembled a library of baby books than a place people actually lived. He needed to buy an entirely new shelf just for all the books he’d accumulated.

During those first three weeks after the doctor’s appointment, the only people who knew were you, both sets of parents, your boss and Maverick. Maverick had been sworn to secrecy, Bob only felt he needed to know in case anything happened, and you needed him. His boss had smiled like a proud father when Bob told him, offering congratulations and promises to not tell anyone.

Interestingly, the entire neighborhood seemed to be under the impression that Y/N Floyd had caught food poisoning in her driveway and ended up puking all over it and her car. That hadn’t happened, obviously. Mrs. Abner had just run with the little information she had. But you had just laughed and said better people think that than the whole world knowing you were pregnant before you were ready.

As soon as those first twelve weeks were over and you felt safe telling people, Bob took one of the ultrasound pictures and taped it to the inside of his locker, right next to his favorite picture of the two of you. It had been taken on a hike, the two of you sitting on a rock at a look-out post. The two of you were in work-out clothes, smiling as the sun shone down. He loved it. You looked like sunshine personified. Of course, he loved all of the pictures of you, especially from your wedding. But there was just something special about this one.

“Uhm?” Hangman’s annoying voice tore Bob from his daydreaming. “What is this?” The blonde Texan was pointing to the ultrasound image, face glinting with…pride?

“What does it look like?” Bob asked neutrally.

The squad knew you, loved you even. But it had taken a while before anyone knew you existed. He had never hidden you away. The picture of you had always been in his locker, he always came to work wearing his wedding ring. He just took it off each morning to avoid losing it. He just didn’t talk about his private life to the extent the others did. Had they bothered to ask, he would have told them about you sooner.

They finally found out when Rooster offered to set him up with a friend of his and Bob had casually, albeit with a blush to his cheeks, explained that he was married, so Rooster’s services were unnecessary. The entire group had guffawed in disbelief, demanding to see picture after picture of you to make sure you were an actual real life person. Then you’d showed up on Visitation day and the rest was history.

“It looks like…” Hangman quieted for a moment before a sly grin spread across his face. Bob barely had time to worry about what was going to come out of his mouth next when… “Everyone!” Hangman yelled, grabbing the attention of the rest of the Dagger squad. “Baby on board is bringing a baby on board!” He looked so proud of his own word play, it was almost embarrassing.

The squad looked at each other in confusion for a few seconds before the realization sunk in. Then there was a ruckus of loud shouts, yells of congratulations and Bob being pulled into countless hugs. Pride beat in his chest as he accepted the well wishes from his team members. They were all family by now, yes even Bagman, and he just knew they’d make the best bunch of rowdy uncles and one aunt.

Phoenix pulled him into a long hug, squeezing him like an older sister would. “Congrats! So, I was right” she said triumphantly.

Bob guffawed. “You knew? How? We haven’t told anyone until now.”

Phoenix shrugged, but the pride at being right was still there. “You’ve been walking around like an excited puppy for weeks. And I noticed that Y/N wasn’t drinking the last time she was at the Hard Deck with us.”

“Holy shit, man!” Rooster exclaimed, pulling Bob into another side hug. “This is fantastic! How is Y/N doing?”

“She’s good” Bob answered with a dopey smile on his face. “I mean, the smell of my oatmeal makes her gag, and she always feels like a bloated corpse. Her words. But we’re so excited! She’s showing in fitted shirts now.” He added that last part, quietly, almost to himself.

The group exchanged a smirk before Fanboy opened his mouth. “You gotta bring her by! We have to celebrate! The legacy of the Dagger squad is continuing!”

XXX

The change in seasons also meant changes in your pregnancy. You were now twenty weeks along. Half way there. Christmas lights twinkled all over the city, the snow was still elusive, but excitement ran high. You were clearly showing by now, and Bob couldn’t keep his hands off you. He’d also been given the, in his mind, fantastic responsibility of rubbing cocoa butter all over your belly, boobs and thighs mornings and evenings to help with the stretch marks. He loved the ritual, because it more often than not led to some intense make out-sessions and if time permitted, love-making.

He also loved your stretch marks, no matter how much you complained about your body changing. They were a sign of your impending motherhood. And you had never looked more beautiful. Happiness radiated off you, even when your body ached, or when the nausea made its sporadic return, or when you couldn’t sleep due to the heartburn, or sat on the toilet for ages with constipation.

Bob did everything he could to help, did anything to alleviate some of your aches. He helped you in and out of cars, brought you your pre-natal vitamins and water in the morning, cooked for you, handled all the house chores, held your hair back when you puked, helped you shave when you couldn’t see over your belly anymore.

The first time the baby kicked was at the Hard Deck, because clearly, Little Peanut was going to be a social butterfly. You were sitting beside Bob on a stool, sipping a seltzer through a straw when it happened. There had been flutters before, like small bubbles, which the doctor had said was normal. But this was different. This was more distinct, like a movement.

“Oh” you said suddenly, hand coming to rest where the sensation had occurred. It didn’t hurt, nor was it uncomfortable. It was just…peculiar.

“What’s wrong?” Bob asked, hands coming to rest over yours. His eyes shone with worry and it made you melt a little. He’d done this often lately, freaking out over every little thing. He was so protective over you and the baby, already proving himself as a dad.

“I…” you tilted your head to the side, brows furrowing. “I think the baby kicked.”

“Really?” Bob turned his entire body to face yours. Eagerness and devotion shone in his eyes as he pressed his other hand to your belly. You exchanged an exhilarated smile before Bob leaned down to eye level with your belly. “Little Peanut?” he asked quietly. “Can you hear me? It’s your daddy. Mommy says you just kicked. Can you do it again? Please? Daddy really wants to feel it, too.”

Color flushed your cheeks, both with happiness and slight embarrassment. He often talked to your belly when it was just the two of you, but he’d never done it in public before. Yet, you played along. “Come on, Peanut” you coxed gently. “Kick for daddy.” You took his hand and placed it exactly where it had happened.

Nothing happened for a while, and you could tell Bob was just about to accept his fate when suddenly, that distinct jolt returned. Right at the same place. Bob’s face broke out in a huge smile, giddiness radiating off him. His hand flexed over the motion, taking in the sensation. “Oh my god” he breathed. “That was amazing!”

“What’s going on here?” Coyote questioned, smirking at the two of you.

Bob didn’t answer, he just kept stroking your belly. So, you piped up, giggling. “The baby just kicked.”

Fanboy craned his head so fast you were surprised he didn’t pull a muscle. “No way!” he shouted. “Let me feel!” He and Payback practically wrestled to be the first one to your side, pushing Bob aside to get to your stomach.

“Hey!” Bob protested, correcting the glasses that had gotten all crooked in the process.

“Out of the way, sperm donor!” Fanboy chided. “Let Uncle Mickey say hi!”

“I’m sorry, but Uncle Reuben clearly takes precedence. Move over, back-seater!”

“In your dreams, Payback!”

“Okay, guys!” Bob tried, clearly antsy over the amount of shenanigans going on in such close proximity to your belly. “Please be careful!”

You just laughed at their antics. Since you and Bob moved to San Diego, you’d moved so far away from your family back in Montana. It was nice to have a safety net of people who clearly cared so much for you, Bob and the baby. People you could call family here, as well.

“Woah!” Mickey exclaimed, when the baby kicked a third time, even stronger this time. “Baby Dagger is going to be a soccer player!”

That had been Fanboy’s idea. He had taken to calling your unborn child Baby Dagger, because you carried the next generation of the Dagger squad. Eventually, it just stuck and now everyone used it.

Trying to get a group of grown adults to take turns smushing their hands against your belly turned out to be surprisingly hard. But eventually, everyone got a feel. Rooster sulked that he didn’t even get to feel a kick, even though you assured him there’d be plenty of opportunities. Of course, Hangman bragged that he had felt the hardest kick, making Rooster’s sulking even worse.

He hadn’t felt the hardest one. That honor went to Nat, which she understood by the way you winced when it happened. But there seemed to be a silent agreement between the two of you to just let Hangman believe his own nonsense. Maybe you could use it against him later.

When you came home that night, you collapsed on the couch with a contented sigh. Bob leaned down to remove your shoes without you having to ask. Once they were off, he helped you maneuver into a lying down position, with him sitting on the other end of the couch with your feet in his lap. He reached out to squeeze that one pressure point that always bothered you and you moaned in relief. Your feet had been so swollen lately, making it uncomfortable to walk. Compression socks helped a bit, but you still felt bloated.

“Thank you, baby” you murmured contentedly.

“Of course” Bob smiled. “You’re carrying our Little Peanut. It’s my job to take care of you.” He paused for a moment to shift to the other foot. “Halfway there. You’re doing so well, my love. I’m so proud of you.” He smiled in that soft way, like he couldn’t believe you were his, that this life was his. “I know I say it all the time, but I am. You’re so strong, carrying this burden by yourself.”

His kind words caused tears to well in your eyes, the love simply overflowing. Sure, the tears were never far away these days, but these tears were special. They were love for everything you had been blessed with. “Thank you, Bobby… I love you so much.”

“I love you, and I love our baby. So much.”

Just then, your tuxedo cat Oreo jumped up on your knees, curled up and laid down, perfectly contorted around your belly, purring softly. “Hi, there, buddy” you cooed softly, scratching him behind the ear. He’d gotten this habit of guarding you since the beginning. He’d always been a cuddly cat, but now it was in a ‘I’m gonna lie here and refuse to move’ kind of way. Always curled around your stomach, sniffing it slowly, rubbing his face against it, staring at Bob like he’d done something wrong every time you were in discomfort. “Don’t worry, buddy” you whispered. “You’ll always be my first born.”

Bob’s hand ran up and down your shin. He couldn’t believe how beautiful you were. He knew it was a thing that pregnancy made people glow, but he didn’t really believe it until now. He loved all the changes in your body, even when you didn’t. They were evidence of your strength and amazing body’s capability.

Seeing your belly heavy with his baby did things to him. There were more times where he tucked a boner than when he didn’t these days. Even more so during your first trimester when you wanted absolutely nothing to do with his dick, understandably so. But he couldn’t help it. You were so beautiful and the thought of your baby growing inside you drove him insane.

“God, you’re beautiful” Bob murmured, hand travelling higher up your leg. There was a heaviness in his voice that you instantly picked up on.

You tilted your head to the side, lip snagging between your teeth. “Yeah?” There was that familiar glint in your eyes that told him you were already on the same wavelength. As your second trimester hit, your usual sex drive came back and then some. It was heaven.

“Mhm” he said, squeezing your thigh. He could already feel his dick stirring in his jeans.

Oreo, clearly sensing the change in atmosphere, jumped off your lap and scampered into the kitchen. Your eyes flicked down to his lap, and that was it. Bob sat up straighter, scooted over and pulled you into his lap as quickly as he could without making you uncomfortable. A whimper escaped you as you pressed down on the bulge in his pants. “Kiss me, Bobby” you whispered.

His lips were on you instantly. Hands came you rest on your hips, caressing you over the fabric of your dress. His lips slanted against yours, tongue caressing your lower lips, begging for entrance. Eagerly accepting, you wound your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. Tongues moved against each other, battling for dominance.

Bob’s hand travelled from your hip up to your breast, massaging the tender flesh before squeezing your nipple through the layer of fabric. His dick twitched in his pants at the moan you let out. Warmth spread in his body at the way you rutted against him. Blood rushed in his ears, glasses smushing up against his nose, fogging up.

“More” you begged. “Please, I need more.” You leaned in, yanking him closer by the collar of his shirt, planting open-mouthed kisses along the column of his throat.

“What do you need, honey?” Bob asked hoarsely, pulling down the straps of your dress. “Tell me.”

“You” you panted, reaching to yank the top of your dress down. “I need you inside me, right you.” He helped you unbutton his jeans, yanking them down.

His cock sprang free, heavy and already dripping with pre-cum. You wrapped your hand around it, stroking slowly. Bob’s head fell back onto the couch as he groaned, the sensation overwhelming him.

“Touch me” you whispered desperately.

Immediately, Bob reached under your dress to pull your panties to the side. “Fuck, you’re so wet already” he breathed, letting his finger slip through your soaked folds. Reaching your clit, he rubbed in slow circles, loving the way your hand sped up around his cock as your moans grew louder.

He helped you raise up and position him at your entrance. Slowly, you sunk down on him, enveloping his cock in your tight heat. “Shit!” he cursed, pulling you even closer to him.

Your belly rubbed against his as you moved, your pussy squeezing him impossibly tight. You were so wet and warm, practically drowning him.

You fucked slowly, reverently, his fingers tirelessly working your clit until you unraveled on top of him, him following shortly after. When he helped you up the stairs afterwards, the baby kicked again, and Bob was the happiest man alive.

XXX

The weeks lengthened into months. You were in your third trimester now, and Bob was freaking out. Just a bit. Everything had gone so smoothly, in a way that almost made him anxious that the bad stuff was just looming in the distance. That something was just about to snap. All the books said that anxiety was normal for parents to be. That it was a natural reaction to all the changes in your lives. And he believed it.

The therapist on base had been a great help, helping him find tools to navigate this change so that it wouldn’t affect his work.

He had just finished a huge stack of paperwork and gotten to the changing room, his civilian clothes waiting for him in the locker room when you called.

“Hi, honey” Bob answered after having plopped a wireless headphone in his ear. “I’m just getting changed. I’ll be there in maybe thirty minutes to pick you up?”

“Sounds good” you answered. “I just got done with the last client meeting for the day. And I’m starving, can we get Thai on the way home?”

Bob chuckled. What had started as an enormous aversion to your favorite take away place had now turned back into an obsession, with gusto. All you wanted was Thai food. And the spicier the better. “Sure thing, sweetie.”

“Good” you huffed. He assumed from the breathlessness in your voice that you had just climbed the flight of stairs to your office. “And I mean it when I’m telling you I’m starving. Thirty minutes or I’m leaving without you!”

“Don’t you dare!” Bob warned, though there wasn’t any real anger in his voice. “You are not picking out the colors of Peanut’s room without me. I’ll be there soon! Love you!”

“Love you, too.”

“Peanut?” Rooster questioned behind Bob.

“Shit!” Bob cursed, turning around. He hadn’t even realized he wasn’t alone anymore.

Rooster’s smirk was gleeful, all delight. His hands were at his hips as he stared his friend with that look on his face. “Peanut?” he repeated. Before Bob could respond, Rooster turned around and ran out of the changing room, screaming at the high heavens. “Everyone! Hey! Everyone, listen up!” Members of the Daggers squad gathered around them, including Bob who followed him out. “It’s Peanut!” Rooster announced proudly. “Baby Dagger’s callsign is Peanut! And I was the first to know! That beats a hard kick, Bagman!”

Hangman made a ‘pfft’ sound but definitely looked jealous.

“Aww!” Natasha said with a smile. “That’s so cute!”

“You didn’t find out first, Brad” Bob corrected gently, though he was smiling. “You eavesdropped.”

“I still beat Jake!” Rooster defended himself. “And I didn’t eavesdrop! You were on the phone when I came in.”

“If you actively listened, that still counts” Coyote chimed in.

But Bob didn’t have time to listen to the argument anymore. He had a date at the hardware store.

In the end, you ended up picking an adorable pale yellow and green wallpaper as an accent wall. It had small teddy bears and white bunnies in the pattern. The other walls were to be painted a pale yellow, bordering on a creamy off white. All the furniture were a light wooden color. The entire Dagger squad made an appearance at your house, including Maverick and Penny, to help you set it up.

Maverick, Coyote and Natasha were on wall duty, covering the floor, window and moldings in plastic, painting and getting the wallpaper up. Jake and Rooster argued over the correct way to assemble the bookshelves and dresser. Bob, Payback and Fanboy assembled the crib and changing station. Bob didn’t dare let anyone do it without him. No way were they risking his baby’s safety by not following the instructions.

You had been relegated to easy, non-exerting tasks. Penny helped you organize clothes, books, stuffed animals, toys, blankets and beddings in different piles in the other room.

“How are you feeling?” Penny asked you gently as you folded a large pile on onesies.

“Great, besides the fact that it feels like there’s a watermelon strapped to my chest, I can’t breathe when I lie on my back and I pee when I sneeze” you chuckled, placing a pale blue onesie with clouds on it on top of the folded pile.

Penny laughed, a nostalgic smile on her face. “When I was pregnant with Amelia, I was scared shitless. There were so many things I didn’t know and was afraid to ask.” She reached over and gave your arm a squeeze. “I know you have your family and a whole support system. But if you ever need anything, don’t be afraid to ask.”

“Thank you” you said gratefully. “We really appreciate that. We do have our families, but they still live back in Montana, so it’s not like we can call them in the middle of the night for emergencies. Any support system here is appreciated.”

“Well, I know Pete can’t wait to babysit” Penny laughed.

XXX

Another few weeks passed by. You were now at 38. The homestretch. And you were huge, could barely walk without assistance, always overheated, and usually grumpy. Bob had seen that thing on the internet where the partner stands behind and lifts the belly up. That had been a godsent. The relief it offered your tired back and shoulders was lifesaving.

It was mid-April by now. The spring sun, whilst comfortable for everyone else, turned your body into a furnace. You sat at the kitchen table, laptop open, yanking at the collar of your stretchy dress for some fanning. You’d be working from home these last weeks, which was also a lifesaver. You could pee as often as you needed, eat snacks perpetually, and nap after lunch.

“Honey?” Bob called as he entered the house that afternoon. “I’m home!” He found you there, sipping from your water bottle, fanning yourself as you read an email. “Hi, there” he greeted, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

“Hey” you greeted back. But then you stopped. “Come here” you instructed, yanking him back to you. There was a smell to him. A very distinctive one, one you’d never misplace. You sniffed at him like bloodhound. “Bob!” you said, aghast. “You didn’t!”

“What?” Bob questioned, stepping back. There was definitely a guilty tone to his voice. He avoided your accusing stare as you rose from your seat with much difficulty.

“Robert Floyd, tell me you did not eat sushi behind my back!”

A couple of days after you tested positive, Bob solemnly swore to not touch a plate of sushi until you could. After the realization hit you that sushi wasn’t recommended during pregnancy, you cried for half an hour. Blame the hormones. He’d promised to stay away from it too, out of solidarity. You had told him throughout your hiccups that he didn’t need to do that, but he had insisted. But now…?

“I’m sorry, baby” Bob tried, but you would have none of it.

“You promised you wouldn’t!” Tears of frustration welled in your eyes without you intending them too. There was no stopping them these days. The hormones flowed freely and clearly lived a life of their own.

“It was a team lunch! It was Mickey’s turn to choose, and I didn’t want to be the only one protesting.” He looked genuinely apologetic, rubbing the back of his neck, still not meeting your gaze completely.

Huffing out your frustration, you waddled out of the kitchen. Furiously, you wiped at the tears running down your cheeks. Deep down, you knew he’d done nothing wrong. Of course he could eat whatever he wanted. But it was hard to remember that through the hormone-induced rage.

Oreo meowed curiously as you entered the living room, head rising from where he had been napping on the couch. Immediately, he was up, jumping down to nestle against your legs.

“Honey?” Bob called as he followed you. “I’m sorry. Please?” Oreo turned his head and glared at your husband accusingly. “Oh, don’t you gang up on me, too!”

“It’s not fair!” you cried, crossing your arms over your now humungous tits. “I can’t eat sushi, I can’t drink wine, I can’t eat cheese. I’m huge, I feel like a beached whale. Everything hurts, I haven’t taken a shit in a week, I’m always grumpy. And I can’t even storm out on you because I move at the pace of a literal snail!”

Bob looked like he wanted to physically remove your pain and make it his own. “Sweatheart…” he whispered gently. He reached out for you, trying to place a soothing hand on your belly.

“No” you muttered, pulling back slightly. “No Peanut for you! We’re still mad.”

Bob couldn’t help but chuckle, just a bit. “I’m sorry. How about, after the baby is here, I’ll buy you a sushi boat at the hospital. And I won’t even sneak a piece.”

You pondered this for a few seconds, rage slowly ebbing away. “Fine…” He pulled you into his arms, pressing a kiss to your temple. You sighed into the embrace, feeling his warm, strong body surround you. “Am I a bad person for wanting to be done with this?”

“Of course not!” Bob insisted instantly. “You’ve been so strong, carrying all of this on your own. You’ve grown an entire person. You are the strongest person I know, and it does not make you a bad person for being eager to have our child born into this world. Okay?”

“Okay…” you conceded, burrowing into his chest.

“Want me to do the belly lift?”

“Yes, please…”

XXX

The two of you went to bed that night like any other night. You had trouble falling asleep as usual, your back sore, your body feeling…heavy. You’d had Braxton hicks on and off the past few weeks. They sort of felt like this. So, you just assumed that was it.

Bob noticed, of course. He noticed everything about you. “Everything okay?” he whispered into the dark night.

“Yeah” you whispered back. “Just uncomfortable. Go back to sleep, sweetie. You have a flight test tomorrow.”

Eventually, he did fall back asleep.

When he woke up hours later, you were no longer in bed. He felt around on the cold mattress for your sleeping form before slowly opening his eyes. At first, he thought you were in the bathroom, but the lights were turned off.

“Honey?” he asked groggily.

“Yeah?” came your strained response.

Worry immediately seized him at your tone. He blindly reached over to turn on the bedside lamp. A warm glow illuminated the bedroom. When he finally got his glasses on, Bob could see you, bouncing on your beloved yoga ball in only his oversized shirt, eyes shut in concentration, exhaling slowly. Within record time, his heart raced like a Formula 1 driver.

Oh, God! Was this it? Was it finally happening?

He leapt out of bed, running to kneel by your side. “Honey? Are you alright? Are you having contractions?”

“Yeah, I think so” you panted, followed by a long groan. Up close, he could see the flush on your cheeks, and the baby hairs stuck to your forehead. This had clearly been going on for a while.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” he asked, tone full of worry.

“You have a big day tomorrow. I didn’t want to disturb you unless I knew for sure. Grounding you also means grounding Phoenix. I didn’t want to do that to you two.” It all came out in one quick breath.

“Baby, you are the most important person in my life. And they’ll find a sub that can fly with Phoenix. You are my priority.”

Bob’s words helped you relax a little. “Okay” you whispered. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t worry about it” Bob kissed your forehead. “Tell me what you are feeling.”

Feeling the pain subside, you straightened up a little. “My stomach and back cramps up, and it radiates down my legs.” You rested your hands on your thighs for support. “Remember in birthing class when they said the baby drops lower and it can feel like walking with a ball between your legs?” Bob nodded, searching your face. “Yeah, it feels like that.”

“Okay” he nodded again, more decidedly this time. “Let me help you down, I’ll make you something to eat and then call the hospital.”

After getting himself in some sweats and a t-shirt, he helped you put on a pair of maternity shorts and guided you downstairs. With him by your side, you managed to time your contractions as he cooked.

“They’re not regular yet” you said, still bouncing on the ball Bob brought downstairs for you. The smell of food wafted from the plate and your stomach growled. “Thank god!” you exclaimed gratefully as you took the plate from his hands. Scrambled eggs, topped with chives and chili flakes. And a piece of sourdough toast with peanut butter. Just the way you liked it. “You’re the best!” You immediately started munching on the food.

Every time a contraction started, Bob made a note in your shared app and took the plate from you so you could ride it out. He placed the plate on the coffee table and reached over to apply counter pressure, the way the women in birthing class had showed him.

The pain seized your entire body, radiating in a way that felt inhumane. Letting out a long groan, you grasped at anything within reach for balance. A sheen of sweat covered your body, your hair falling loose from the bun you carelessly pulled it into.

“Remember to breathe” Bob reminded you gently, still massaging your back.

As the pain subsided again, you checked your phone to update the app. A small notification popped up. “I think it’s time to call” you said, voice slightly out of breath.

Time read 4:23 am when you were finally admitted to a room. Bob helped you pace back and forth, standing firmly as you leaned on him, screaming profanities into the air. He spoke to the nurses when you couldn’t, called your mother for you, refilled your plastic cup with ice chips, held the bowl when you threw up from the harshest contraction yet, didn’t say a word when your amniotic fluid splashed all over the floor when your water finally broke mid-contraction. You could see in his eyes that he was as nervous as you were, but when you cried that you were exhausted, that you didn’t know if you could do this, that you were so scared, he was the first to assure you, to kiss your forehead and tell you how strong you were.

This level of pain was something you had never experienced before. When you were finally fully dilated, Bob and the nurses helped you into the stirrups. Contraction after contraction, you pushed within an inch of your life to bring your baby into the world. Sweat poured down your body, pooling in every crevice imaginable. Bob held you close, dabbed your forehead with a wet cloth and fed you ice chips whenever you needed them.

Your heart beat harshly in your chest, working overtime to sustain your body. Exhaustion heavied you into the bed, but when the midwife announced that she could see the head, and Bob whispered in your ear that you could do this, you channeled what little strength you had left and pushed.

A shrill scream erupted in the room as your baby made its entrance into the world. Every imaginable emotion tore through you as tears of relief streamed down your cheeks. Your entire body shook as Bob both cried and laughed next to you.

“It’s a girl!” the midwife announced, toweling off the small bundle before placing her gently in your arms.

“Oh my god” Bob whispered, completely in awe. His cheeks were flushed, eyes red, and he was smiling like he had never seen anything more beautiful. “He have a daughter…” He leaned in to press a long kiss to your lips. “Well done, my love. I’m so proud of you.”

“Dad, would you like to do the honors?” he midwife asked. Bob cut the cord with the precision of someone who had waited his entire life to become a father.

XXX

Two days later, you entered the house, three people, for the first time. It was surreal, overwhelming, and so full of love.

You fed your daughter in the rocking chair placed by the window in the nursery, whilst Bob sat in the other, watching you, eyes brimming with love. The decision to put two rocking chairs in the nursery was definitely one of your favorites. There was nothing like the feeling of sitting there together, basking in the feeling of your new family. Sure, you were exhausted, and you wore a diaper matching the baby’s. But you wouldn’t change a thing.

Bob gently took her from your arms after she was finished. He paced back and forth slowly, coaxing a burp from the cooing little girl. You simply rocked in the chair, watching the scene with a tired smile.

After a while, your husband placed your daughter in the crib, kneeling beside it. “See this, Peanut?” he asked quietly, voice so soft and devoted. He pointed to the mobile gently spinning above the little girl. “That there is the sun, and there is a cloud, and a snowflake. That’s a rainbow.” You chuckled at the way your baby gurgled quietly in response. “Daddy bought this for you. You see, daddy has a job that requires him to sometimes be away for a while. But remember, I will always love you, and I will always be there for you. So, daddy bought this mobile so that when you’re falling asleep at night, you can see the same things he does when he’s flying with Auntie Nat.”

Oh god… There really was no one like him. And in this moment you knew, once and for all, that Madeline Floyd was going to grow up surrounded by so much love, with a family and friends that would do anything to provide her with security. And right now, life was absolutely perfect.

Author's note: Did I name the baby Madeline to give the Madeline of another universe the Lewis Pullman-character father she deserves? Maybe. I'm not crying, you're crying.

[ramp-it-up]

Slow Burn

Summary: First he saved your life. Then he refused to leave. And there is the problem of the history between you. Nothing between you is simple anymore.

Word count: less than 4.2 K

Pairing: Firefighter! Bucky Barnes x Principal! Reader

A/N: Y'all know I need another AU like a hole in my head. So of course here it is! 🙃 This was inspired by an abandoned AU from last year and then this ask from a few weeks ago. I can't get him out of my mind. So here goes. Bucky is a firefighter and a burn survivor. This first part is a little brutal y'all, but tell me how you feel by reblogging, commenting, sending asks, dm'ing and the like. Interaction is life.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. This fic/au deals with fires, burns, burn survivors and recovery. There are graphic descriptions of burns and pain. Bucky and Reader are burn survivors. Past greivances, slow burn romance, house fire, fire rescue, hospital recovery, a lil bit of language, mutual pining, Grumpy Bucky, Steve, Ari, and Syverson are also firefighters (warning!) Bucky is also a trained paramedic, protective Bucky, hurt/comfort, a teeny tiny bit of praise kink if you squint (it's me, guys). Bucky takes care of you.

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

--------------

Bucky held your gorgeous body in his arms, every luscious curve of you molding against him as if you’d been made to fit there.

His gloved hands gripped your thighs, your hips, and the bare skin where your lingerie had shifted and melted away under the heat. For one breathless instant, he knew he’d never seen anything more beautiful.

It was so goddamn hot.

Literally.

This house was old, and probably optimal fuel for the fire that had started within it. You were unconscious and dead weight, but Bucky could more than handle you and he had to get you out of there.

As he approached the door, Bucky heard a crash which he hoped was created by his crew going through the roof to get to the fire. When you heard it, you started coughing and moaning and struggling against him.

“Easy. Easy now. You have to stay calm. I got you. Gonna get you out of here.”

You opened your eyes, lifting your head from his shoulder but all you saw was haze, and a giant form that had you in his grip. The voice that came out of it was distorted, sort of like Darth Vader. You dropped your head back down and decided that you were dreaming. 

“Never gonna drink a whole bottle of wine by m’self again. ‘M a lightweight.”

Bucky’s heart clenched. He’d heard a lot of things in burning buildings, but that was a first.

You twisted in his hold, one hand fumbling for a pillow that wasn’t there. And then, realization dawned and your body went rigid. You started thrashing. Hard.

“Stop, hey!” 

He grunted, tightening his grip as you fought him. You weren’t too heavy, he could carry you all day if he had to, but you were panicked, limbs flailing, feet kicking against the door he’d been about to open.

A white-hot jolt of fear surged through him as your leg scraped the door’s edge and blistered instantly.

“Fuck! Hold still,” he ordered, voice dropping low. “You’re gonna have to trust me.”

You bit your lip with tears in your eyes. It was time to woman up.

Bucky felt something sharp lodge in his chest. You were terrified, but you were still fighting.

“We’re going through the window,” he said, already shifting you higher against his chest.

“My guys have the lifenet ready. We’re gonna be fine.”

Your wide wet eyes met his, and even through the mask, he felt the way it hit him, something hot and protective and completely unprofessional.

A groan of splintering wood cracked above you and you flinched, burying your face in his chest. He looked up, saw a fissure spidering across the ceiling, and knew there was no more time.

He ducked his head to look you in the eye. 

“We gotta go. Now. Both arms around my neck.”

Your arms obeyed on instinct, looping tight behind his helmet. His grip flexed on your thighs as he stepped to the window, shoulder braced against the glass, testing. 

He backed up and tightened his hold, telegraphing what was about to happen. Terror filled you.

“Open the window!”

You thought he’d forgotten that important detail as he responded.

“The air will just feed the fire.” He backed up a step, his stance widening, every muscle bracing.

“We’re going through.”

You gasped and then coughed with a lungful of smoke. 

“Just hold on. A few scratches are better than the alternative.”

You clung to him, nodding, trying not to sob. “‘Kay.”

“I’m gonna count to three.”

His gloved hand rose with his axe poised over his shoulder. You pressed your face to his chest.

“One,” he said, rocking forward.

“Two,” he shot forward, and you closed your eyes as he swung the axe. 

You two jettisoned through the window as the glass shattered. There was a leap out into cool air, but also the slight vacuum tug of heat following you. 

For a moment, flight, then a free fall. You screamed as your stomach dropped, and howled as you landed on the net, the canvas scraping your burned leg raw and glass raining down all over you.

“Three.”

It was the last thing you heard before you blacked out from the pain.

—-

When you woke, it was to the steady beep of monitors and the low murmur of voices you knew, your parents, your best friend, and one you didn’t.

You turned your head, blinking slowly, and found him sitting there in the visitor chair, still in his turnout pants and a navy t-shirt that clung to broad shoulders and the defined planes of his chest, his face streaked with soot. You noticed the metal hand on his thigh and your eyes traced the prosthetic up to his elbow, his bicep, and his shoulder.

His blue eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver through your bruised, exhausted body. 

They were a little too familiar, like you’d seen them somewhere before.

Your voice scraped out, hoarse and raw.

“Thank you,” you whispered. “For coming in after me.”

He exhaled, something easing in his shoulders.

“Anytime,” he said quietly.

For a moment, neither of you looked away. You knew him, but you were too exhausted to chase it down. There were more immediate things, like the ache in your throat, the exhaustion clawing at your bones, and the simple fact that you were alive.

Hours later, the room had emptied, your parents slipping into the hall to talk to the doctor as your best friend Amyra dozed in a chair. You were almost asleep again yourself when you heard it, your father’s low voice, warm but edged with fatigue, right outside the door.

“Yeah. Lieutenant Barnes just went in. He’ll be out in a sec.”

Lieutenant Barnes.

That old, unshakable teacher’s instinct, cataloguing every name and every face, flickered awake in the haze of your mind.

James Barnes.

You knew that name. Not from the firehouse. Not from any training.

From the district memos.

The reports you’d read a couple of years ago, when you were still at Jefferson High. The ones about a lieutenant who’d flagged repeated safety violations,  who’d stood in front of your principal, your mentor, Lloyd Hansen, with a spine of steel and told him he was risking lives.

Lloyd, who’d called that firefighter a nuisance. And who’d been demoted when it turned out the firefighter had been right.

Your heart gave a slow, stunned thump, and the monitor betrayed you, spiking with your recognition.

That was why he looked familiar. That was why you’d trusted him in that burning house. Even half-conscious, even terrified.

Before you could think better of it, you cleared your throat.

“Lieutenant Barnes?” you rasped.

He turned from where he’d been watching the monitor, his gaze catching yours. Even out of uniform, just dark work pants and a grey t-shirt stretched over muscle and scar and metal, and he looked every inch the man you now remembered. 

The man who didn’t back down, no matter who he was up against.

“Yeah?” he said, stepping to your bedside, voice low, handsome face soft. “You need something?”

Your voice shook.

“I… I think we’ve met before,” you said carefully. “Jefferson High. You were the one who…”

You trailed off, too tired to finish, but you knew he’d understand. And he did. Recognition sparked behind his eyes, something like surprise, and maybe even regret.

“Yeah,” he murmured after a minute. “I remember.”

Neither of you spoke, just looked at each other, the air between you heavy with everything that happened back then, and everything you’d barely survived tonight.

He sideyed the monitor, which told him that your heart was hammering. You didn’t have the energy to fully analyze the reason why.

Finally, you shifted.

“I guess you’ve been saving my life longer than I realized,” you whispered.

Something flickered in his expressions.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Guess so.”

And in that strange, quiet moment, you knew nothing between you was ever going to be simple.

—--

The next few days passed in a blur of pain and bright fluorescent lights. Every morning, someone came to change your bandages. It was excruciating, worse than the burn itself some days, and you clamped your jaw shut so you wouldn’t make a sound.

The burn specialist explained it over and over:

The burn needed to be thoroughly cleaned daily

The risk of infection was high.

Pain management wasn’t optional.

But you tried to prove you were stronger than this. You refused the stronger pain meds the first day, and the nurse just looked at you like she’d seen it a hundred times, like she’d watched other stubborn fools learn this lesson the hard way.

Bucky visited that night, unannounced and uninvited.

He stood just inside the door for a moment, watching you like he was taking inventory of everything you were trying so hard to hide. Then he crossed to the chair by your bed and sat, his hands braced on his knees, his broad shoulders tense.

“You don’t get points for suffering.”

“I’m fine,” you lied.

His gaze locked onto yours, blue and unflinching.

“Then why are you shaking?”

You hadn’t even realized you were until he said it.

The next morning, when the nurse offered you a dose before the dressing change, you didn’t argue. You swallowed the pills and stared at the ceiling until the pain blurred into something you could survive.

—---

The first time Bucky stepped into your hospital room, you were half-asleep, your face turned to the window. You looked so small in that bed, swallowed up by stiff white sheets, and an IV running slowly into your arm.

He’d seen hundreds of burn patients over the years. Kids, grandparents, families with nowhere else to go.

He’d told himself you weren’t different, that you were just another call. Another save.

But standing there, watching you pretend you weren’t in pain, he knew he was lying.

—---

Three days in, Bucky watched you grit your teeth through rehab.

Your parents hovered by the door, but you kept waving them away, insisting you were fine. Amyra cried once, quietly, and you looked mortified.

Eventually, they left.

They trusted him. God help him, he almost wished they didn’t.

He was the one who stayed when you shuffled to the parallel bars, every step a fresh agony you refused to admit.

He knew you were proud, knew you’d rather collapse than ask for help. But he also knew what it felt like to push so hard you tore yourself up inside.

When your knee buckled, he moved instinctively, one step forward, ready to catch you if you fell. But you didn’t. You caught yourself, your breath coming in fast, ragged pulls.

“Are you trying to prove something?” he asked, voice quiet and close.

You didn’t look at him. When you finally spoke, your voice cracked around the words.

“Maybe I am.”

He stayed behind you, silent and steady, even though his hands itched to touch you, to ease something he had no right to claim.

Then he watched you take another step.

And another.

And he knew. You were going to survive this.

But you’d rather bleed in private than let anyone see you weak.

—-

That night, when he stopped by after shift, Bucky saw the pill bottle on the tray. The edge had gone out of you, your face soft in sleep, one hand resting over your heart.

And even though it was selfish, and probably wrong, a small part of him felt relief. You’d finally started to heal.

He should have left; he’d already crossed too many lines.

Instead, he sat in the chair by your bed and let himself watch you.

When your eyes blinked open and drifted down to the glint of metal where his sleeve had ridden up, he didn’t move to cover it.

Your voice was soft, thick with exhaustion.

 “Does it…does it hurt?”

He hadn’t told anyone in a long time about the fire that took his arm. It had been easier to let people think he was born hard.

Easier to be the man who never flinched.

But looking at you now, he knew he wouldn’t lie.

He swallowed. Sometimes it did hurt; phantom pain was a bitch no one prepared you for.

“Not like it used to,” he said quietly.

Your gaze stayed there, on his metal skin.

 “Was it…fire?”

He nodded once, “Yeah.”

You didn’t ask more questions.But you didn’t look away, either.

After a moment, he cleared his throat.

“They tried a lot of shit to fix it,” he murmured.

“First graft failed. Infection. Then this…experimental tech.”

“Really?” you whispered.

“Yeah, in Wakanda.”

He let out a breath.

“Figured if anyone could build something that felt real, it’d be them. They are good people.”

You were quiet for a long time. Then your fingers moved, just a little, toward where his forearm rested on the side of your bed.

He didn’t pull back. But he couldn’t breathe.

When you finally drifted off again, he stayed there, your touch warm on metal that usually felt like nothing at all.

—--

It was over a week before they’d even consider letting you leave.

Eight days of doctors, dressing changes, antibiotics, and endless check-ins that woke you every time you drifted into something like real sleep.

Eight days of Bucky showing up at your door, sometimes in uniform, sometimes in jeans and a plain t-shirt, but always carrying something you hadn’t asked for.

Like food, or flowers.

Not from him, of course.

From the crew, he’d say, every time, like he thought you couldn’t tell he wasn’t telling the truth.

He never stayed long.

But he always came.

On the morning of your discharge you were sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, trying not to look as exhausted as you felt. You’d been upright for barely fifteen minutes, and it already felt like you’d run a marathon.

The nurse was flipping through your chart when Bucky came in, this time with backup.

Steve gave you a quiet nod, smiling kindly at you. He set a bag of takeout on the tray table without ceremony. Syverson followed, carrying a bouquet so large it looked ridiculous in his hands.  

Ari Levinson trailed behind, all, dark-haired, still in uniform, flashing you a crooked grin. His eyes swept over you in a slow, unhurried appraisal that made your face warm.

“Principal,” Ari drawled, smile flickering, “you’re looking better than last week.”

Your throat felt too tight to answer immediately.

“I’d hope so,” you managed.

Syverson smirked, glancing at Bucky. 

“She’s even prettier up close. You didn’t say she was pretty, Buck.”

Bucky didn’t look at him. He was staring at you, his jaw flexing.

“Not relevant,” he muttered.

You mind began to spin.

Bucky didn’t say you weren’t pretty. He said it wasn’t relevant. So did he think you were pretty, or just that prettiness wasn’t relevant to the situation? Holy shit, the drugs must be affecting your brain.

Ari’s gaze slid back to you, amused at his friend’s reaction.

“You sure you’re ready to leave? You could milk this for a little longer.”

You managed a tired laugh, “I just want to go home.”

Silence. Your face went hot.

“I mean a home,” you corrected quickly. “I’m going to Amyra’s.”

Your parents were nearly an hour away, and you couldn’t stay on your own.

Not yet.

“Then let’s get you there,” Steve said, his voice warm as he set the takeout on the tray table.

“Just waiting on the last form,” you said.

The nurse finally came in, flipping through your chart. 

“You have a ride home?”

Amyra’s voice came from the doorway, dry and affectionate all at once.

“Right here. I’ll go bring the car around.”

You pushed yourself upright, ignoring how your leg twinged. 

“I can walk.”

The nurse gave you a look.

“Hospital policy says wheelchair discharge.”

Bucky’s mouth quirked. “Told you.”

Ari smirked, leaning closer, voice pitched low. 

“He’s just trying to impress you. Thinks it’s charming when he plays stoic hero.”

Bucky’s jaw flexed so tight you thought it might crack.

“Knock it off,” he growled.

Syverson let out a low whistle, tipping his head toward the hall.

“C’mon, Ari. Let’s go warm up the truck before Barnes commits a homicide.”

Ari lingered half a beat longer, eyes sliding back to you.

“If you are half this stubborn at your school,” he mused, that grin widening, “I don’t know how any kid ever gets away with anything. You need someone who can keep up with that spirit at home.” he teased.

Bucky took a step toward him, his shoulders squaring like he’d forgotten you were watching.

Ari held up both palms in mock surrender and disappeared into the hallway, Syverson chuckling behind him. Steve shook his head and then spoke to you again.

“Please take care. We’ll… “ He caught his friend’s glare.  “...I mean Bucky will check in on you.”

He smiled as he left, following his men.

You looked away from Bucky, but it didn’t matter, he was still watching you like he already knew what you were thinking.

“Hospital insists on wheeling you out,” he said. “I can do it.”

You blinked, flustered by the testosterone in the room.

“Since when does a fire lieutenant do the hospital escort?”

His gaze didn’t waver. 

“Since I’m a certified paramedic.”

You were surprised. And pleased. But you didn’t let it show.

“You…you don’t have to.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, already moving to get the chair. “I do.”

When you reached the exit, Amyra was waiting in her car.

“You good?” she called, her eyes flicking between you and Bucky like she was trying to read something neither of you had said out loud.

You nodded, even as your throat went tight. Bucky bent, one large hand bracing your elbow as he helped you stand. 

His touch was professional. Almost.

“I’ll ride over behind you,” he said. “Make sure you get settled.”

Amyra lifted a brow. “I think I can handle it.”

He didn’t argue, just stated facts. 

“Yeah. But I’ll still be there.”

—--

Amyra’s little bungalow felt impossibly calm after the hospital with it’s natural light and lavender smell. She helped you to the couch, fussing with your pillow, and  making sure your leg was elevated.

“Can I get you anything?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” you said, though your voice sounded thin in your own ears.

Her gaze flicked to the door just as Bucky stepped in, carrying your overnight bag and the takeout. He looked too big for the room, broad shoulders, heavy boots, that quiet, unshakable presence that made something in your chest pull tight.

“I was going to make sure your room has everything you need,” Amyra said, her tone so carefully casual it made you suspicious.

“Can you stay, Lieutenant Barnes?”

You opened your mouth to protest. Bucky cut in first, his voice low but unyielding.

“Yes, I’ll make sure she rests.”

Amyra’s brows rose.

“Oh, I’m sure you will.”

He shot her a look that probably worked on everyone else. Amyra just grinned.

“Call me if you need anything,” she sing-songed, already drifting to the hallway. 

“Or if you need him removed.”

“Amyra,” you groaned.

“I heard that,” Bucky muttered under his breath.

She ignored you both as she slipped down the hall. Bucky stood there for a moment, just watching you. He looked tired.

“You really don’t have to stay,” you whispered.

“Yeah,” he said again, voice soft but final. “I do.”

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

He looked you in the eyes.

“I know,” he said quietly. “But you’ve got one anyway.”

He set the takeout on the coffee table and crouched to unzip the duffel.

“I’ll change your bandages after you eat,” he added, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Your throat went dry.

“You don’t…”

“You’re not an inconvenience,” he interrupted gently, glancing up.

His gaze held yours, unflinching. Heat crawled up your neck, your heart thudding so hard you were sure he could hear it.

“Okay,” you whispered.

His mouth curved, just a little.

And for one breathless second, you didn’t feel tired at all.

—--

Bucky unpacked the supplies efficiently, like this was something he’d done a hundred times and never thought twice about. He laid out gauze, antiseptic spray, ointment, and a fresh roll of the elastic bandage.

His hands were steady. Yours weren’t.

“I can call the nurse,” you said, though you didn’t mean it.

He gazed at you, blue eyes burning.

“I’m qualified.”

“I know.” Your voice came out too soft. “That’s not…”

You were lost in the ocean of his eyes.

“Do you trust me?”

It was such a simple question. And it shouldn’t have felt like the most intimate thing anyone had ever asked you.

“Yes,” you whispered.

He nodded once, the line of his jaw easing by a fraction. “Good.”

Carefully, he lowered himself to the edge of the couch, close enough that your knees brushed his thigh. The warmth of him bled through the thin cotton of your borrowed sweatpants, and you had to look away.

“I’m going to lift your leg,” he said quietly. “Tell me if it hurts.”

His hands were large, warm, and shockingly gentle as he braced your calf. You hissed when he shifted the limb onto a folded towel, and his gaze snapped up, searching your face.

“Breathe,” he murmured, his thumb brushing the unburned skin above your ankle in a reassuring stroke.

You tried. When he began unwrapping the bandage, you pressed your lips together keep from making a sound.

“It’s okay,” he said, his voice low. “I’ve got you.”

The last layer fell away, and cool air kissed the raw, angry skin. You swallowed, blinking fast.

“It looks good,” he said after a moment. “Healing clean.”

You hadn’t realized you were holding your breath until it shuddered out of you.

“Still hurts,” you admitted.

His metal hand hovered for a second, then lowered to rest lightly against your shin, careful not to touch the burn.

“I know,” he murmured. “I’ve been there.”

Your gaze flicked to his arm.

“Do you have sensation in it?”

“Yes.” His thumb traced a slow line along your uninjured skin. “Not the way you’d think.”

You didn’t know what possessed you to ask.

“Can you feel my skin under your fingers now?”

His jaw worked, like he was sorting through a thousand things he wouldn’t say.

“Yes,” he said finally, voice rough. “I can.”

Your heart knocked hard against your ribs.

He set the clean gauze in place, the touch gentle but so precise it almost felt clinical, if it weren’t for the way he looked at you. 

Like he was memorizing every small sound you made. 

Like he’d never let anything hurt you again if he could help it.

When he finished with your bandage, he sat back on his heels and looked up at you, searching your face like he could read every unspoken thing you were holding in. He held your gaze for a second, and then looked away, moving to  pack the supplies away. 

You watched him in a daze, your cheeks still hot.

“Is this where you offer me a sponge bath, too?” you mumbled, trying to sound like you were joking, even though your voice was too unsteady.

He looked up, and his gaze pinned you in place again.

“I told you,” he murmured, his voice like gravel. “I’m qualified.”

Heat crawled up your neck so fast you thought you’d pass out. 

Maybe he mistook the look on your face for pain, or maybe he didn’t, because he said, “You should take something.”

“I’m okay,” you sighed, because you were always okay. 

Because you didn’t know how to be anything else.

His brow furrowed, and something about the way he looked at you, like he’d already decided you were his responsibility, made your throat close. His eyebrow raised.

“You keep saying that.”

He reached for the bottle of pills the nurse had sent with you and shook one into his palm. He held it out.

“Take it,” he said, steady and unflinching.

You looked at his hand, at the calluses and the faint scars along his knuckles, and at the way his metal fingers flexed against his thigh. And you realized you were too tired to argue.

Your hand brushed his as you took the pill. His fingers curled reflexively around yours, warm and sure, and for one heartbeat you didn’t feel like someone broken or in need.

You just felt seen.

He handed you the glass of water, watched you swallow the pill, and waited until you set the glass back down.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. The way he said that phrase made you feel things, but your eyelids were already heavy, the pain blurring at the edges, replaced by something warm and thick that made it hard to think.

You drifted in and out as he moved around the room, packing away the supplies, murmuring something to Amyra when she peeked back in.

When you opened your eyes again, it was darker and there was a ceiling fan spinning above you.

Amyra’s guest room.

The quilt tucked around your shoulders smelled like lavender and clean cotton. Your overnight bag sat neatly on the chair in the corner.

For a second, you couldn’t remember how you’d gotten there. 

Then you realized.

He’d carried you.

And even though you told yourself it shouldn’t matter, it did. 

It mattered more than anything had in a long time. 

Because it was the second time Bucky Barnes had carried you to safety.

[pagesfromthevoid]

I Think He Knows | j.t.

Joaquin Torres x Avenger!reader

There’s always a lingering question between them in these moments. Will they cross that line finally? Who’s going to be the one who does it? But neither of them ever do. Sometimes it’s an interruption, sometimes it’s one of them backing down. 

Word Count: 8.6k

Warnings: kidnapping, angst, pwp, Joaquin has a pacemaker (his heart literally had to be restarted in BNW, you cannot tell me he doesn’t??), SMUUUUUUT (p in v, oral (f receiving), fingering, cockwarming if you squint).

Author's Note: This came to me in a dream. I don't have much else to say. Also, I'm so sorry if the Spanish in this is...bad. I tried my best. Let me know how to improve it!! Reader's codename is Glimpse.

Talk to Me! | Coffee?

2024

“So…,”

She looks up from adjusting her gear, the roar of the plane’s engines almost drowning him out. 

“What’s it like, y’know, being an OG Avenger?” He asks, leaning against the hull of the plane.

Bucky makes a disgruntled sound beside her while she gives Joaquín a slow, crooked grin and a raised brow –the kind of look that says she’s already figured him out and isn’t sure if she’s impressed or just amused.

“Oh, it’s great,” she says, and the look Bucky gives her is one of warning as he stands up. Then she’s leaning forward some, and clasping her hands together in a snarky little clap. “Everyone I love is either dead or in hiding. My closest friend fucked off to the forties with his ex-girlfriend’s aunt. And, oh, the general public doesn’t particularly like me because I’m the only one in the public eye still, so I’m easy to blame.”

Joaquín stares at her for a moment, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Oh.”

“It’s great,” she repeats, giving him a painfully fake smile. “Love it.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t –,”

“Give me a ‘chute,” Bucky orders, interrupting the stammering of the officer. 

Joaquín shakes his head. “Oh, no. We’re too low for that –,”

But the soldier doesn’t let Joaquín finish his sentence before he’s tearing off his sleeve and throwing himself out of the plane. Joaquín looks horrified for a moment before he turns to her, frowning deeply.

“Do you…can you jump out of a plane without dying?”

“You wanna find out?” 

“I really don’t,” he practically begs. 

“Too late, flyboy.” And she’s grinning as she falls backwards out of the plane with a salute. 

Joaquín stares down as she falls, bracing for her impact, but it never comes. Actually, she’s nowhere to be seen as he pulls back into the plane and looks up with a hard exhale.

“Dios mío,” he breathes out. “I might be in love.”

2027

For the last week, Sam has been complaining about two things: the New Avengers and her absolute refusal to get involved in the issue. She insists it's because she’s not going to choose a side; she’s known both him and Bucky long enough to be friends with them both. He insists she’s a liar and just likes watching the two of them argue.

She doesn’t deny this.

However, she’s not really sure why Sam is so concerned with whether or not she chooses a side. She literally lives in D.C. and works with him and Joaquín on a regular basis. Less than six months ago, she helped stop Ross and Stern and prior to that, she ran missions with both him and Joaquín overseas.

To be fair, there’s a two part explanation for why she’s stuck around D.C. as long as she has. One, because prior to this New Avengers nonsense, she fully intended to join the team. However, the second reason is much more selfish –though, she’d argue that she deserves to be a little selfish after the hell that has been her life.

And that selfish reason comes down to Sam’s very attractive, very confident partner.

When they met three years ago, she didn’t think much of Joaquín Torres. A little jumpy, way too hyper –but he meant well. Even then, she thought he was cute. And he helped tremendously with the Flag Smasher situation –proved he wasn’t just some fanboy with a hero complex (though he might still be a fanboy, deep down). But as she continued to work with them after Sam officially took up the mantle of Captain America, Joaquín just kept growing on her. 

When she settled into her life in D.C., it was Joaquín that became her closest friend in the capital. He helped find her an apartment that wasn’t the worst, and had given her a list of the best places to eat around the area. Then insisted he take her whenever they got down time. He calls it Team Bonding.

She calls it Not Dating.

“What’s the plan for dinner today, Glimpse?” He asks as she pops into their base of operations. He’s not looking at her when she appears, though he never does anymore. The signature whoosh sound that follows her appearance gives her away, now that he’s trained to hear it. 

“I was thinking that ramen place in Petworth?” She suggests, plopping down on the couch and looking at her phone. “It’s the next on the list, but your list seems to keep getting longer.”

It’s a passive observation; the list he gave her when she first settled in had maybe thirty restaurants and they’d hit about half of them. However, every time she opens the Google sheet he made, somehow there’s always two or three more that weren’t there before. 

He turns around in his chair, leaning back as he looks her over. Feeling his eyes on her, she glances up from her phone with a soft smirk. 

“Gotta find ways for you to keep me around, cariño,” he grins. 

Her eyes are glued to her phone, though she’s not actually looking at anything. Every single time he says something affectionate or flirty in Spanish, her brain sort of short circuits. She took Spanish in high school, but it never really stuck. There’s a handful of phrases she knows, and she’s learned some from working with Joaquín –anything she’s learned from him is either flirty or inappropriate, however. 

“Oh yes,” she chuckles in response, kicking her feet up on the couch. “Because I only keep you around for your food recs.”

“Food recs, good looks, witty banter…,”

“You’re just the whole package, aren’t you, Torres?” 

“Your words, not mine,” he points out, pushing himself out of his chair.

Sitting beside her, he lifts her legs to rest on his lap, one hand lingering just above her knee. They share a look –a knowing one, like they both are aware that they’re playing with fire. It’s always like this when they’re close; hyper aware of how it feels to touch one another in a way that’s nothing short of unprofessional. Sometimes it’s a hand on her knee when they’re seated together. Sometimes it’s her fingers brushing the nape of his neck when he’s at his computer. 

There’s always a lingering question between them in these moments. Will they cross that line finally? Who’s going to be the one who does it? But neither of them ever do. Sometimes it’s an interruption, sometimes it’s one of them backing down. 

But they never make it past the touching. 

“I feel like I’m interruptin’ something in here,” Sam announces as he walks into the room. 

Sam is aware of how she feels, and while he doesn’t necessarily tease her about it –he’s annoying about it. 

While she doesn’t jerk away from Joaquín, she does move her legs away from his touch. His fingers drag across the fabric of her jeans as she pulls away, like he refuses to give up that closeness. But she’s standing up and pocketing her phone. 

“We’re going to that ramen place,” she offers, and Joaquín is throwing his head back against the couch. “You in?”

“No go,” he responds, shaking his head. “We’ve got some intel we need to review –remember what happened last month?”

“Yeah, Bob,” she snickers, recalling the picture of the New Avengers in the papers. “Isn’t he just…a guy? I thought Bucky had that handled?”

“Not Bob,” Sam corrects, rolling his eyes. “Dude isn’t just a guy either. Not that point though –the other thing that happened last month.”

“Krane?” Joaquín asks, frowning deeply, standing now.

She groans, rubbing the hell of her palm into her eye. “Fucking Krane.” 

Dr. Lenora Krane –the reason she has powers and the reason Nick Fury brought her on board in 2015 after just barely being seventeen. While the New Avengers were off handling Bob, Valentina Allegra de Fontaine was bribing the Senate to pardon the doctor in order to put her to work for the U.S. government on a military base in California. However, that lasted as long as anyone could have predicted: last month, the reformed doctor went off the grid and no one has been able to find her since. 

Until today, apparently. 

Joaquín shifts into work mode with ease, sliding back into his chair and opening the files Sam has sent over. She sits on the arm of the chair, reading over the files as they pop up. Grainy photos and half-assed security feeds show her in Manhattan shortly after the Bob incident, but she seems to be making her way down to D.C. again. 

Even in bad photos, seeing the woman who made her life hell for most of her teen years makes the hero’s skin bristle. 

Taken from the children’s home she had grown up, under the guise of being a foster parent, Krane made it seem like her life was going to be great. But then the experiments started and only ended when Maria Hill infiltrated the lab she was kept in. Hill took her under her wing, kept her out of the system, then gave her a place amongst Earth’s mightiest heroes. 

The rest is history –though it seems like it might be repeating itself.

“What’s her deal?” Joaquín asks, looking up at her now as he leans back in his chair. “You think she’s here for you?”

His arm wraps around her from behind, linking his thumb through a belt loop since she’s using his arm rest as a seat. It’s comforting, though, whether he means for it to be or not.

If Sam notices, he doesn’t say anything. 

“I mean, I am the reason that she lost all her work and went to jail for nearly ten  years,” she points out, crossing her arms over her chest as she glances down at him. The look on Joaquín’s face is genuine concern, and it makes her heart ache. “She’s had a long time to plot her revenge against me.”

“Which means you are in danger,” Sam concludes, looking down at her with deep concern. “I’ve already talked to Barnes, you’re going to stay with him and his team of assholes. Differences or not, that Tower is the safest place –,”

“I am not going into hiding,” she counters, shooting up from the chair. Joaquín’s fingers are still caught in her belt loop and she yanks him out of his seat as she jumps up. “Joaquín –,”

“Sorry, shit,” he complains, letting her go finally and shaking out his hand. “She’s right though, Sam. We can’t just send her away, she’s an Avenger.”

“More importantly, I don’t want to uproot my shit and go hang out with Bucky. His team is weird. And Walker is there.”

“I thought you didn’t have a preference?” Sam argues, brow raised as he looks between her and Joaquín.

“You know damn well I’d rather be here than there,” she snaps back, pointing at him. “I am more than capable of handling myself, Sam. You know that.”

For a moment, there’s a tense silence in the room. There’s no reason to pick a real fight over this, but she doesn’t like being made to feel small when she’s been doing this since 2015; it’s not her first fight and it most certainly won’t be her last.

But finally, Sam nods in agreement. “You’re right. I can’t bench you –but I can at least make sure you’re not alone. One of us will stay with you.”

She’s about to argue that she doesn’t need a babysitter, but Joaquín is throwing his hand in the air. 

“I volunteer as tribute!”

Sam and her both look at him like he’s lost his damn mind. Joaquín has enough self-awareness to look sheepish as he drops his hand and clears his throat. Then he tries to shrug nonchalantly. 

“I mean –I can stay with her. Not a big deal.” 

Covering her face with her hand, she shakes her head. There’s definitely a blush burning her cheeks, and his excitement doesn’t help the feelings that simmer just below the surface.

“Smooth, kid,” Sam sighs, and she can just hear the eye roll in his voice. “I’ll get a notice sent back to New York –S.A.B.E.R. is working on pinpointing her next location. Until then, you two go grab whatever you need from Torres’s place. Joaquín, when you get to her apartment, set up security protocols.”

“Heard,” he replies, sitting back down to transfer whatever data he may need to his laptop. Sam has disappeared back into his office, already on the phone. Then he grins up at her. “I got you, hermosa.”

Without thinking about it, she lays her hand on his shoulder gently. Their eyes meet, and she squeezes. “I don’t doubt that, flyboy.” 

And she doesn’t. Not for a second. 

It’s her that interrupts the moment this time, though, pulling away with a wave of her hand. “Okay –I used my powers to get here, so we can do that or you can drive.”

“Oh fuck no,” he immediately says, pushing his chair away from his desk to gather his cables. “Last time you quantum jumped us, I threw up.”

“It’s not quantum jumping,” she reminds him, rolling her eyes. “It’s teleporting. And you only threw up because you weren’t ready.”

“Nope. I’m driving.”

“But I’m faster.”

For a second, he stands up and she thinks he’s going to counter her again. Instead, he hands her a rolled up set of cables, and she takes them without question. With a sudden yank though, he’s pulling her closer and resting his free hand on her hip. Her hand immediately hits his chest as a way to keep herself upright, but the sudden closeness makes her heart pound in her fingertips –or maybe that’s his heartbeat. 

“Faster isn’t always better,” he murmurs, leaning down into her space. 

She’s about to respond –something wildly inappropriate, probably, but she’s not 100% sure because all thoughts have scattered the moment he pulled her in –when Sam walks back through the doors. With that distinctive whoosh, she’s on the other side of the room, cables in hand and for once, a blush burning her cheeks. 

Joaquín is trying to hold back a smug grin. 

Sam is unimpressed by them both. 

-><--><--><--><--><--><--><--><--><--><-

“I always forget how tiny your place is,” Joaquín comments as he drops his bag on her coffee table. 

If she rolls her eyes any harder, she’s certain they’ll get stuck that way. Setting their dinner on the counter –burgers, which she’s bitter about because she really wanted ramen –she takes out their respective meals. 

“I’m gonna go change, feel free to get comfortable.” 

Joaquín is looking around her apartment as if he hasn’t been there before, though she can feel his eyes as she walks into her bedroom. When she comes back out  –an old band t-shirt and sleep shorts replacing her jeans and top –he’s looking over the photos she’s hung up on the wall. She grins and taps his shoulder as she passes by, returning to the kitchen to take out plates for them. 

When he seems to have gotten over his surprise, he’s behind her with a hand on her lower back. The touch is warm, and secure, and she doesn’t flinch away from it. With no real threat of interruptions –no one to walk in on them or alarms to go off –the only thing standing between them is…well, them.

“The couch is a pull out, so you should be relatively comfortable,” she explains, glancing up at him over her shoulder. 

He’s reaching over and stealing a fry, hand still pressed against her back. The whole thing feels a little more domestic than she’s used to, but she’s not going to be the one that pulls away this time. Not as she turns around, and his hand is pulled around to rest on her hip again. 

Joaquín looks down at her, eyes searching, but not in a way that demands answers. It’s quieter than that –curious, cautious, like he’s waiting to see if she’ll bolt. 

She doesn’t.

“Didn’t think you’d hover this much when you volunteered to babysit,” she teases, glancing at him as she grabs another fry, tone light but not pushing him away.

“If it’s not welcome, I can leave you be,” he replies, his voice low, steady. His hand is still on her hip though, anchoring her.

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t joke it off.

“It’s welcome,” she says instead.

He studies her for a beat longer, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. But his face breaks out into that boyish grin she thrives on seeing. “Okay,” he says, quieter now. “Good.”

But still, neither of them moves to close the space. The silence hums in the air, in the stillness, in the way his fingers stay at her hip like he doesn’t want to let go. Like he’s waiting for her to make the move.

She doesn’t know why he never does –not when he’s always the one who flirts first, who pushes the edge of that line just enough to make her wonder. And now, with nothing stopping them, it’s somehow harder. Closer. Sharper.

It’s him who pulls away this time, moving through her kitchen with ease as he opens her fridge and pulls out a beer. For a moment, she looks to whatever divine powers might be out there and silently wonders why the hell they keep dancing around this –and why the hell she can’t just man up and do it herself.

Nothing answers, of course.

“So what do you usually do when you’re home, all alone?” He asks as he takes what’s left of his food into the living room and drops onto the couch; he’d eaten half his burger on the way over. “Besides think about me, of course,” he adds for good measure, winking at her.

One more eye roll, then she’s joining him on the couch, sitting with her legs crossed under her. Her knee is brushing his thigh and he makes no move to get away. “Honestly, between watching trashy T.V. or reading trashy romance novels, I’m not the most exciting of people.”

Joaquín scoffs, shaking his head. “I don’t believe that for a second. An OG Avenger and you don’t do anything exciting outside of work?”

“Being an Avenger isn’t half as exciting as you think it is,” she reminds him, giving him a pointed look. “You learned that the hard way, remember?”

Even if he pretends it didn’t happen, she can’t. Not when she sat in the hospital with Sam for days, worried that Joaquín wouldn’t wake up. She’s had a lot of close calls in her life, and she’s lost a lot of people in the last ten years. Watching him plummet into the ocean from the security feed of his mask scared the living hell out of her, and that’s most certainly contributed to their dialed up flirting recently. 

She’s not afraid to admit she thought she almost lost him. Truth be told, she told him that in the hospital when he woke up. But then he told them both how he just wants to be like them –to be a hero, to do right by the world. How he wanted to get out of Miami and prove himself worthy –and she couldn’t scold him for being reckless. Couldn’t argue with him that she almost lost him. Because he knew that. He knew the risks he took, and it wasn’t her place to remind him.

“Yeah, yeah.” He brushes it off. Always does. “When Krane is handled, I’m gonna take you out and show you how to use your down time.”

She raises a brow, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Is this you finally asking me out, Torres?”

For just a beat, maybe two, they stare at each other. She’s crossed the line, finally. Pushed them to confront each other; to act on whatever these feelings they both clearly have are. Their food is long forgotten on the coffee table, and his hand is resting on her bare knee. 

“What if I am?” He asks, leaning in closer. 

“If you are, I’d say it took you long enough.”

A grin breaks out over his face, and Joaquín doesn’t waste any time as he wraps a hand around the back of her neck and pulls her into a kiss. He’s pulling her into his lap, and she’s on her knees straddling him. Other hand sliding up her shirt, he groans as his fingers skim below her breasts, realizing she isn’t wearing a bra.

“No sabes cuánto he deseado esto…,” he whispers against her lips, and even though she’s not sure what he’s saying, it sends a shiver down her spine. Taking advantage of his mouth being open, she licks into it, deepening the kiss as her hands trail down to the hem of his shirt. 

Just as she manages to pull his shirt over his head, glass shatters. They yank back from one another, looking at the broken window. It’s a split second –panic, a flash bang rolling into her living room. Joaquín is covering her with his body, just as a whoosh surrounds them. She’s not positive where she’s sent them, but they land with a thud against gravel and roll off one another with a groan. 

From the rooftop of the neighboring apartment building, there’s what’s supposed to be a disorienting bang and a flash of light. Her apartment lights up, and she sits up on her knees as they both watch smoke pour out of the broken window. Joaquín kneels beside her, feeling on the brink of throwing up from the sudden teleportation. He reaches out to touch her shoulder though, making sure she’s okay. 

“Fucking Krane,” she hisses, standing up. He watches her from the corner of his eye before looking back at the apartment. The D.C. air is frigid, and police sirens are echoing in the night as they approach the apartment building. “We need to call Sam –,”

“Both our phones are in the apartment,” he interrupts, reaching out to take his shirt from her. There’s a heavy feeling in his chest; another screw up. Another mistake that could have been avoided, just like when he tried to take down that missile. Only this time, it’s not his life that’s in danger. It’s hers. “Mierda –this is my fault.”

“How is it your fault?” 

“I didn’t set up the security protocols.” He slips on his shirt, then reaches out to take her hand. There’s no hesitation when he does this; just takes her hand and pulls her close as he leads them across the roof of the building. “We need to get outta here. If Krane is nearby, then you’re in danger and I don’t have…anything.”

The realization sinks in that the wings are at base, but his computer –his government issued computer, with thousands of gigs of data and files on it –has been compromised. If Krane gets a hold of that, and he can’t wipe it before she gets into it, then it’s more than just her that’s in trouble.

“Fuck,” he groans, running a hand through his hair. “My laptop –,”

“I can get it,” she quickly reassures but he’s putting his hands up. “Joaquín, that’s my whole job –in and out –,”

“The apartment is compromised,” he counters, shaking his head. “I can’t let you go back in there.”

“In and out,” she argues and he’s caught between not wanting to screw something else up and keeping her safe. He knows she’s good; she’s an OG. She’s been doing this long before he came along. But if something happens to her…

Except, she’s not giving him a chance to argue. She never does, because he’s not usually the one arguing against her. But that sound –that whoosh that has trained his brain to listen for –echoes in the air. And then she’s gone. 

“Dammit,” he hisses, pounding his fist once against the wall. 

He waits, watching from the edge of the building. 

Seconds. That’s all it should take.

She’s done this a thousand times. Disappearing across rooftops, slipping into sealed rooms, snatching intel mid-conversation without a whisper. The police are surrounding her apartment complex, guns drawn. No one has come in or out of the building since she entered, which is…bad. 

So why isn’t she back?

He paces on the rooftop, trying to calm his breathing. One beat. Two. Five. He stares at the spot where she vanished, willing the air to whisper with that tell-tale signal again. His ears are still ringing from the flashbang thrown through the window barely five minutes ago, and it sets his teeth on edge. But…

Nothing.

“She should be back,” he mutters aloud, to no one. “Why aren’t you back?”

His pulse hammers in his ears. She always makes it back. She’s cocky about it. Makes jokes. Teases him that she’s always going to be faster, always going to be a step ahead. Because she is, and he knows she is. In the three years he’s known her, he’s not once thought he’d ever be better than her. Because he’s too amazed by her –how could he want to be better when everything she does is so graceful and damn near perfect? 

All he had to do was protect her, and somehow…he blew it.

Sam’s going to kill him.

-><--><--><--><--><--><--><--><--><--><-

The guilt has been a slow bleed. Every hour without a lead makes it worse. 

Joaquín hasn’t slept. Not really. A few hours here and there, usually when Sam physically pries him away from the screen or the chair or the growing pile of coffee cups that he’s surviving on. But even when he does sleep, he dreams of her –trapped, bleeding, calling for him. Every time, he wakes up choking on guilt.

She’s been missing for seventy-six hours. Seventy-six hours since she vanished inside that apartment. Since she dove into danger to retrieve his laptop –his responsibility –because he hadn’t done his damn job in the first place. He was too distracted. Too busy being in love with her to remember that she’s not invincible.

Joaquín drags a hand through his curls, fingers catching as he stares at the rows of code on his screen.

“Come on, come on…,” he mutters, cycling through yet another security node.

He’s torn apart every digital trail Krane has ever left –fake aliases, ghosted emails, the occasional off-the-grid bio signature from a black market medical clinic. None of it points to where she’s keeping her. But Joaquín isn’t just looking for Krane anymore.

He’s looking for her. For the woman who scared the hell out of him by jumping out of that plane three years ago. Who teases him about his stupid restaurant spreadsheet; who kisses him like she’s just as wrecked as he is. 

He almost had her. Finally. And now?

Now all he has is silence. And a red blinking cursor on a map overlay.

But then –,

Something pings.

It’s small. Barely a whisper in the code. But Joaquín freezes, eyes narrowing. He backtracks, isolates the data string, and enhances the feed. It’s a signal bounce –from his laptop. A handshake request that shouldn’t exist, buried beneath three layers of dummy networks. Krane must have booted it, just briefly. Just long enough to trigger the dormant emergency protocol he’d hardwired into the system during a long forgotten all-nighter.

He stares at the screen as coordinates materialize. They’re fuzzy. The GPS is spoofed, bouncing between old S.H.I.E.L.D. black sites, but there's a pattern to the chaos.

“She’s not hiding you,” he says under his breath, breath catching in his chest. “She’s parading you. Daring us to come.”

He should feel fear. Hesitation. He doesn’t.

He locks onto the most consistent coordinate. An abandoned logistics warehouse 40 miles outside Richmond. Nothing special. No heat signatures from satellites. But something about it hums wrong. Quiet in a way that feels intentional.

That’s where she is. He knows it. He feels it in his bones.

Sam’s voice breaks the moment. “Any progress?”

Joaquín turns slowly, eyes still lit by the screen. “Yeah. I think I found her.”

-><--><--><--><--><--><--><--><--><--><-

She’s strapped to a reinforced medical chair, wrists restrained in a way that numbs her fingers. Her powers are suppressed –some kind of electromagnetic field layered into the restraints, maybe nanotech. It doesn’t matter. The result is the same: she can’t phase. Can’t jump. Can’t fight.

It’s like trying to scream with no voice. Like being a kid again.

Krane stands over her, monologuing in that smug, academic cadence that always made her want to tear her own ears off. She’s pacing now, dragging her fingers along the edge of a steel tray holding tools that aren’t exactly designed for healing.

“…quantum stability, neural mapping, synaptic plasticity,” Krane is saying, like she’s checking off items on a list. “You’re a blueprint with legs, nothing more,” the scientist finally concludes, looking over the hero with the same sadistic smile she’s always had. “You think you’re going to save the world again. But you’re just a failed experiment clinging to a label.”

She doesn’t respond. Not because she’s too weak –though Krane’s been dosing her with something, and her limbs feel like sandbags –but because she’s saving her strength. Waiting. Waiting for the moment when the sedatives slip, when the field flickers, when Krane makes a mistake.

Because the doctor always does.

But if she’s being honest, that’s not the only reason she’s quiet. The real reason –the part that burns low in her chest, white-hot and ugly –is this: she let Krane take her.

She didn’t fight back. Not really.

She had a window. A second and a half, maybe two. Enough time to jump. Enough time to leave. But she didn’t. Because the second she started to move, Krane said Joaquín’s name. Said it so calmly, so casually, like she hadn’t been watching them through the drone in his laptop camera.

“You go for this computer and I send a kill switch to your flyboy’s pacemaker,” Krane said, having picked up the laptop. There’s a remote in her hand –small, round, blinking. “You know he has one now, right? After that nasty fall into the ocean? Poor thing –you know, we had to restart his heart.”

“We?” She asked, looking at the doctor in disbelief.

“You should have read the file carefully, Glimpse,” the doctor scolded. “I’m reformed, remember? And before you, I was a very decorated military doctor.”

It was bullshit. It had to be.  But she didn’t know for sure. 

And that split second of hesitation –of imagining Joaquín’s body hitting the floor because she called Krane’s bluff –was enough. Enough for Krane to sedate her. Enough for the world to blur. 

Enough to lose.

And now, here she is. Chained and doped up in some forgotten corner of Virginia, reliving the worst years of her life like it never ended. Except this time, she’s not a little girl. She’s not powerless. And she knows that there’s at least two people looking for her.

And she knows neither of them will stop until they find her.

Her eyes flick to the blinking red light on the wall. A low pulse, like a heartbeat. It wasn’t there five seconds ago. That light isn’t part of the baseline infrastructure. She knows this place. Knows how Krane likes her labs –clinical, sterile, and absolutely under her control. 

That flicker is out of place. 

That flicker means hope.

She doesn’t smile. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t give Krane the satisfaction of knowing something’s changed.

Across the room, Krane is talking again –some self-righteous, pseudo-academic garbage about neural mapping and genetic anomalies and “weaponized empathy.” Her voice cuts through the silence like a scalpel. Her eyes are wild now, hands moving faster, yanking wires from machines and double-checking restraints that don’t need checking. Because something’s wrong. She can feel it.

And Krane knows it, too.

She tracks the shift in Krane’s energy with careful, weary eyes. There’s a tremor in her hands now. That smug detachment has begun to crack.

Good. Let it crack.

The moment comes in a shudder of metal. A deep, violent boom rattles the concrete walls as the lab door explodes inward in a spray of steel and sparks. The force of it echoes through her chest, more felt than heard. For a second, the light above her sputters out –then returns, flickering.

The first figure through the smoke is Sam. Wings half-folded, shield in hand, eyes like fire. He moves with that signature precision: not so much charging as cleaving through the space, knocking aside a pair of armored guards with brutal efficiency. They hit the wall hard and don’t get back up.

Joaquín follows half a beat later, sliding through the debris like a storm wrapped in a man’s frame. He’s dropped the wings for speed and brute force, shoulder-checking the last guard so hard the man’s body crumples like foil. He doesn’t slow –his eyes are already locked on her.

For a moment, she’s not Glimpse, a former Avenger. She’s just the girl strapped to the chair, covered in bruises and half-drugged, barely upright –but seen. Found.

And Joaquín looks at her like she's the only thing in the damn world worth saving.

He’s at her side in seconds, hands already on the restraints, breath coming fast and shallow.

“Hey,” she says, voice dry, mouth cracking into the ghost of a smile. Like this is just an everyday thing for them.

“Hey,” he breathes, eyes scanning her face like he’s checking for fractures. She’s certain she looks worse for wear; if the bruises on her arms are any indication, she’s certain her face isn’t much better. 

“Jesus, I –,” but he doesn’t finish. Just rips the cuff open with a grunt, tosses it to the floor, and moves to the next.

Her fingers twitch back to life. Painful, sluggish –but working.

Behind them, Krane shrieks. She’s at the far end of the room now, fumbling for something –another syringe, or maybe that damned remote again. Sam crosses the space in two strides and kicks it out of her hand before grabbing her by the collar and slamming her into the wall with controlled force.

“You’re done,” he growls.

Krane gasps for air, blinking like she can’t process how quickly the tables have turned.

Joaquín finishes unfastening the last restraint, and her body sags forward –only for him to catch her, arms steady around her frame. She doesn’t collapse, though. She uses his grip to pull herself upright, standing on legs that shake but hold.

“I’ve got you,” he promises. 

“I know,” she answers, but she’s pulling back some. Steadying her stance. She doesn’t need a full recovery. She just needs a little bit of spite and one shot.

“I can walk,” she adds, looking up at him.

Joaquín looks like he wants to argue, but doesn’t. Just stays close, hand at her back as she half-limps, half-strides toward the scientist that Sam has pinned to the wall. Half crazed, clawing at Sam���s hands to release her –Krane looks certifiably unhinged. 

Finally, her outsides match her insides.

“You don’t understand! All my work –everything I’ve worked on –it’s her!” The scientist screams, bucking against Sam’s hold. “I can change the world with her!”

And then she hears it: the click of a syringe behind them. Krane kicks Sam away, more force behind the movement than he expected. Still sneering. Still trying. The doctor lunges, chemical cocktail in hand –some desperate move to keep control. The scientist is aiming for Joaquín, but she’s not half as fast as the Avenger. 

Even if the drugs are weighing her down, and every muscle in her body is screaming at her not to, she shifts her weight, ducks under Joaquin’s arm, and slams her fist into Krane’s jaw with everything she has.

It’s not graceful. Not elegant. It's not powered or calculated.

It’s just…personal.

Joaquín lets out a low whistle as she nearly drops to her knees, but he catches her immediately. With ease, he’s lifting her into his arms, and she’s pressing her forehead into the crook of his neck with a wrecked sigh. All the strength she had left was put into that punch, and with Krane down –she’s able to finally drop her guard and give into the exhaustion. 

Vaguely, she’s aware of Sam telling Joaquín to get her out of here. But her body is exhausted, and finally quits on her as Joaquín promises he’s going to get her out of there. 

-><--><--><--><--><--><--><--><--><--><-

Luckily, she’s only in the hospital two nights. One night to clear her system of whatever drugs Krane had given her, a hook up to an IV to get her body regulated again, and another night for observation. Outside of drawing a little more blood than she should have, Krane didn’t intend to kill the hero –she intended to use the hero as a blueprint for more. 

Her apartment is still out of commission –smoke damaged and a crime scene, naturally –so he takes her back to his place. Sam brings her some clothes, and Joaquín zips her into his hoodie, saying she’s going to stay with him until she’s 100% again. He waits for an argument from her, but it never comes; she just slips herself into the passenger seat of his car and tells him to drive slowly.

The first few days are easy enough; she spends most of them asleep in his room, tucked into his bed like she belongs there. He makes her get up to shower and eat, but otherwise he lets her chill and recover from everything. He tries to leave her be during the day, especially when she’s asleep, but sometimes he just lays in there with her. Letting her curl into his side as he watches whatever is on T.V., holding her through the recovery. Maybe they should have talked about what this is between them, but Joaquín thinks there’s no reason to anymore. 

By the end of the week, she’s up and moving. 

More than that, really. 

Joaquín stepped out to help Sam with the last few details with Krane. He’d been gone maybe an hour –two tops. Left her in bed, sitting up and scrolling through her phone with a kiss to her temple and a promise to get dinner when he got back.

So imagine his surprise when he walks into his apartment and she’s standing in his kitchen, wearing one of his T-shirts and nothing else, cooking dinner. There’s music playing, and she’s singing along as she scrolls through the instructions on her phone. Joaquín can’t help it as he stares, arms crossed over his chest. This is the most awake she’s been in days, and the thought that maybe he has even a little influence on that makes him smile.

Pushing off the doorframe, he slips in behind her and wraps his arms around her waist, chin resting on her shoulder. “Mírate...mi cielo,” he murmurs against her ear, grinning as he looks over the ingredients on the counter. “Need some help?”

She glances up at him, and the smile she gives him could knock him out if he really wanted it to. “I’m almost done –you can take the pan out of the oven though.”

He hums, debating. “If I do that, I gotta let you go. And I don’t think I wanna do that.”

“At least turn off the oven so it doesn’t burn,” she counters, but she’s reaching over to do it herself.

The motion is innocent enough –but combined with her bare legs and his shirt and her ass brushing against him as she does it…Joaquín’s grip on her waist tightens some, cock twitching in his jeans, before he turns her around and presses her against the nearest clean countertop. She raises a brow up at him, but there’s a smirk on her face as her arms wrap around his neck.

“I take it you’re not hungry,” she teases but she’s cut off as he lifts her onto the counter.

“Oh baby, I’m starving,” he reassures, hands sliding down her waist now to grip her thighs, parting them so he can stand between them; pressing the growing bulge in his jeans against her center. “But I’m gonna need to start with dessert.”

“What are the odds one of us gets kidnapped again?” She jokes, pulling him closer by the back of his neck.

“Let’em try to take you from me again,” he promises, fingers trailing up her bare thighs and over the front of her panties. 

He nearly groans at the wet spot he feels, toying with her carefully through the damp fabric. The sigh she lets out, coupled with how her head tilts back, encourages him to pull her closer to the edge of the counter and kneel down between her legs. Slipping them over his shoulders, he presses open mouth kisses on the inside of her thighs before finally kissing the fabric that’s slick.

Her hands find his hair almost instantly, and he grins against her as he pulls the ruined garment down her legs finally. With how much they’ve teased each other over the years, and how often he’s thought about this exact moment, he wants to take it slow. Wants to drown himself in between her legs. But now that he’s here, all thoughts escape him as he licks a stripe from top to bottom, groaning at the taste. Then it’s entirely useless to consider what he’s going to do next, because all he wants is to feel her cum on his face as he dives in entirely.

The fingers in his hair tug, and the gasps coming from her lips only push him further into her as he sucks on her clit. With two fingers, he spreads her wider, allowing both a better view and more room as his tongue laps up into her entirely, taking in every ounce of her that he can. 

“Fuck,” she breathes out, and her legs are shaking. “Joaquín, please –I need –,”

Mouth still on her, he looks up through his lashes at the mess she is. Then, he pulls away just enough for her hips to chase his mouth but his fingers are what she meets. She writhes under his touch, fingers tightening in his curls as he spreads his spit and her slick all over her.

“What d’you need?” He asks, teasing, barely touching her now as her hips buck off the counter. “Gotta use your words, cariño.”

“Touch me,” she begs, chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath. “Please, I need you to –,”

“Like this?” 

His finger slides inside with ease, and the feeling of her clenching around just the one is enough to spur him on and he pulls her into a messy kiss. Her frantic yes, yes, yes’s are swallowed as he licks into her mouth, letting her taste herself on his tongue. Then, he slips another finger inside and she bites at his bottom lip, causing him to groan in response. Her grip on his hair tightens, hips moving against his hand, a silent plea to keep going. 

“You gonna cum for me, baby?” He murmurs into the kiss, breaking it only to trail wet kisses down her jaw and over her neck. She’s nodding frantically against him, eyes screwed shut as he picks up his speed and brushes her clit with his thumb. 

That seems to be her undoing as she cries out, clenching around his fingers tight as he feels her drip down his hand. He doesn’t pull away, but slows down his movements, easing her through the orgasm as her body shudders and falls limp against his chest. When she’s finally come down is when he finally slides his fingers from her sensitive core, causing her to shudder at the feeling.

“You good?” He asks softly but she’s dramatically falling back onto the countertop with a sigh. 

“I’m…much more than good,” she manages to say, leaning on her elbows to look up at him. 

Her eyes are trailing over him now –taking in the slick that he’s certain is on his face, down to his hand that’s still wet from her orgasm then to his dick that’s too hard to hide at this point. The gears are turning in her head; he can practically see them as she sits up and reaches for his belt. He’s about to stop her, tell her that she doesn’t need to return the favor, but then he’s swept up in a whoosh and they’re falling back into his bed.

“Fuck, I hate when you do that,” he complains, but there’s no bite in his tone as she reaches out for him. 

“You’ll get used to it,” she promises, tugging his shirt off over his head. 

Joaquín doesn’t hesitate to toss it to the side, fumbling with his belt and jeans next to kick them off. Then she’s throwing the shirt she has on into the pile, and he leans back into the pillows, staring shamelessly up at her. Every curve, every scar, every freckle –he’s staring like he’s trying to memorize every inch of her skin just in case she suddenly changes her mind.

But she doesn’t.

Thank god, she doesn’t as she finds herself straddling his hips with her hands on his chest. Joaquín sits up, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her into him, trying to get as close to her as possible. Her hips roll against him as she pulls him in once again, kissing him like her life depends on it. His hands are guiding her hips, dragging her against his cock in order to coat him in the remnants of her first orgasm. 

The head of his cock catches her clit, and she gasps into his mouth. Joaquín grins into the kiss, unable to help himself, as he looks up at her again. His other hand gropes her chest, pinching and twisting at her nipples as he bites at her bottom lip.

“Joaquín, please,” she sighs, breaking the kiss just enough to breathe over his lips. She’s reaching between their bodies now to grasp his hard cock in her hands. “I need you –I need –,”

“What do you need, cariño?” He teases, trying to keep his hips from bucking up into her. “Take what you want, baby. C’mon…,”

She nods frantically, rising up onto her knees above him. Joaquín’s gaze drops to her hand around him, where she’s guiding his cock into her soaked core. As she slowly eases him into her, one of her hands shoots up to grip his arm, digging her nails into the skin to distract from the stretch. Joaquín’s head falls back again as she sinks down on him, his hands dropping to her ass just to hold something. Because if he doesn’t –shit, he’s going to lose any semblance of control he has.

Her grip on his arm tightens as their hips meet again, sinking him entirely inside her as she tries to adjust to his size. Joaquín groans as her walls clenched around him, and his hips involuntarily buck up –causing her to cry out in surprise and lurch forward, her hands gripping his shoulders tight. With her tits in his face, and his hands grasping her ass, Joaquín is done for –fuck control, he needed to ruin her.

Joaquín trails his fingers down her arms before wrapping them back around her hips, holding her tight against him as he pistons up into her. Not expecting that, a surprised cry leaves her lips as he catches her mouth with his again. He pulls her up, and she gets the hint as she rises to meet his thrusts, bouncing on his cock to bring herself closer and closer to the edge.

“Been thinking about you like this for so long,” he admits. He punctuates his last word with a hard thrust up that has the tip of his cock grazing a spot so deep inside her it makes her drop her face into his neck, crying out his name again.

“Fuck, Joaquín –you feel so good– please, god– please, please–,” Her words die in her throat when he yanks her down particularly hard, pressing her hips down to meet him and holding her there in slow, hard grind. She lets out a choked sob of his name, clenching hard around him and stealing a low moan from the back of his throat. 

She moans again, and Joaquín jolts up some as he feels her tongue trailing over the vein in his neck and over his jaw. Her mouth is on his again, and he can feel her tightening around him as her wetness starts to smear between their bodies. The sound of their skin slapping against skin only urges him forward, each thrust becoming messier and harder. It’s almost too much as his one hand dipped between their bodies, fingers fluently toying with her clit.

“Ven para mí,” he manages to breathe against her lips, nipping at her bottom one. “Cum for me again, baby, please –need you to cum on my cock –,”

Between the touch on her clit and the thrusts up into her, Joaquín can tell she’s close and he’d be damned if he came before her. Kissing her harder –all tongue, and teeth, and spit –he speeds up his thrusts in time with his fingers on her clit. She bites his lip for a moment before she gasps, closing her eyes tight as her body tenses up under him, only to spasm around him as she comes undone again. The only sound she makes are airy gasps of his name, begging him to keep going. Joaquín isn’t far behind as he thrusts up into her a few more times before his hips stutter against her. 

“Where –,”

“Inside –god, please,” she insists, holding tight to him as if afraid to lose his touch. “Pill -,”

Joaquín doesn’t think twice as he nods, taking hold of her jaw to kiss her again as he tenses up below her. He rolls his hips once, twice –then groans into her mouth as he fills her deep. She’s grinding against him still, riding out both of their orgasms now, as they both slowly come down. 

Then she drops against him, breathing heavily. Joaquín’s hand drops away from her jaw, pulling her back with him as he collapses on the bed. Her forehead presses against his neck, tucked just under his chin as she tries to catch her breath. He closes his eyes for a moment, taking a breath himself, as he savors the moment of her skin against his, holding her close to his chest.

They lay like this for a while –basking in each other’s touch, enjoying the warmth both are feeling. Joaquín is still buried inside her, still half-hard, but he makes no move to pull out. Not when she’s laying on him like this, melting into his touch. Just as he’s about to say something –ask her if she wants to take a bath or something –both their phones ring. The same ringtone, for the same person –texting them both at the same time.

“You think he knows he’s always interrupting?” She asks, but her voice is hoarse. 

“There’s no way he doesn’t,” Joaquín responds, but he doesn’t move from the bed. Instead, he pulls her closer and pulls the blankets up over them both. “He can figure it out without us.”

“You know he’s gonna show up at the door,” she points out, but she’s pressing herself somehow closer to him as his arms tighten around her. 

“I don’t even care –I got my girl in my arms. He’ll understand.”

-------

Taglist: @messrkarmaismygf13 @thecowboyfiles (you asked me to share with the class so here we are)

[arixella]

Hii! I love your fics so much it’s crazy 😭 Can I request maybe a OP character (anyone, strawhats if possible..👀 like Zoro for example WHO SAID THAT??) where reader is such a yapper, like they never stop talking and one day the character had like a bad day or sum and they got annoyed at reader speaking too much so they tell them to shut up or like something like that, but then reader gets hit by a devil fruit ability and gets mute for some times?? It would be very appreciated thank youu😙

The Silence Between Us

╰┈➤ pairing: Zoro x gn! reader

a/n: hey yall ive been on vacation sorry but im working on everyones request and the request box is closed rn 😭

summary: After Zoro snaps at your constant talking during a bad day, you're struck by a Devil Fruit power that renders you mute — forcing him to confront just how much your voice, and your presence, mean to him.

wc: 2.0k

contains: Hurt/comfort, angst with fluff, emotional vulnerability, soft romance, slow-burn tone,

You always had something to say.

From the moment the sun peeked over the horizon to the late hours of the night, you filled the air with words — stories, questions, dreams, wild thoughts, jokes (some good, some terrible). You talked to Chopper while he worked, to Robin while she read, to Nami while she navigated, and especially to Zoro while he trained.

He pretended not to listen most of the time, grunting or responding with “mm” or “tch,” but you kept talking anyway, never really needing a reply.

You didn’t notice the tension until it broke.

The crew had returned from a rough skirmish on a new island. Everyone was exhausted. Zoro had taken the brunt of it — again — after shielding a village from a collapsing cliff with nothing but his swords and his own body. He hadn’t said much the whole walk back. You followed him onto the Sunny, chattering all the way.

“And then Sanji totally panicked when the lady offered him ten kids in exchange for soup, did you see that? And oh my god, did you catch Usopp trying to bribe the snake guy with candy? Also—”

“Can you just shut up for five seconds?”

You froze mid-sentence.

The words landed like a slap, not loud, but sharp. Zoro didn’t yell. He didn’t even look at you. His brows were furrowed, jaw tight, eyes shadowed by frustration and fatigue.

“I’ve had a shit day,” he muttered, turning away. “I can’t deal with your constant talking right now.”

You stood there, mouth slightly open, hands half-raised in some unfinished gesture. The silence that followed was deafening. For the first time, you didn’t have a comeback. You didn’t even try to laugh it off.

“…Right,” you said quietly, backing away. “Sorry.”

You left him on the deck without another word.

The next day, you were on a scouting mission with Luffy and Brook when it happened.

You were talking — of course — something about the shape of clouds looking like mashed potatoes when a strange-looking woman stepped out from behind a tree, pointed a finger at you, and said:

“Silencio.”

A ripple of air hit your chest. You blinked.

Nothing felt wrong… until you tried to ask Luffy what just happened and—

Nothing.

Your mouth moved. No sound came out.

Panic set in quickly. You clutched your throat. Tried again. Nothing.

Brook gasped. Luffy shouted something incoherent and charged after the enemy Devil Fruit user. You were left there, speechless in the most literal way, voice stolen.

By the time the crew returned and explained what had happened, you had already started writing notes to communicate. Chopper confirmed it: a Silence-Silence Fruit. The mute effect would wear off — eventually — but no one knew exactly when.

Zoro found out later that evening.

He saw you at dinner, sitting quietly at the table. Not talking. Not laughing. Not making a single comment about Sanji’s overly decorative dessert or Franky’s attempt at sea-cucumber cola.

It was Nami who finally said it.

“They got cursed or something by a Devil Fruit user,” she muttered, stabbing her food. “They can’t speak for a while.”

Zoro nearly dropped his plate.

He stood slowly, heart pounding, and stepped out onto the deck.

You were there already, sitting on the edge, knees pulled to your chest, the waves reflecting in your eyes. You heard his footsteps and looked up, giving a small smile, polite and distant.

He hated it.

“I… didn’t know,” he said quietly. “They just told me.”

You nodded.

Zoro stepped closer. “Was it when you went with Luffy? That’s when—”

You nodded again, slower this time.

He stopped beside you and sat down, his jaw clenching.

“You’re not talking,” he muttered. “Feels weird.”

You gave him a small shrug. The silence stretched.

Zoro stared out at the water. “…I didn’t mean what I said yesterday.”

You didn’t look at him.

“I was tired. In pain. I snapped. That’s not an excuse, but…” He ran a hand through his hair. “You didn’t deserve that.”

You hugged your knees tighter.

“You talk a lot,” he said, a little helplessly. “But I like it. I got used to it. It’s just—sometimes my head’s too full. And I took it out on you. That was my screw-up.”

He glanced sideways at you. You were listening, really listening — but your expression was unreadable. He sighed.

“I miss your voice,” he muttered, barely above a whisper.

You blinked, surprised.

“I mean it,” he said, meeting your eyes. “This silence? It’s worse than the noise.”

You looked down, then slowly reached into your pocket, pulling out a folded scrap of paper and a pencil stub. You scribbled something and handed it to him.

“It’s okay. I know I talk too much sometimes.”

Zoro stared at the words, then looked back at you.

“No, it’s not okay,” he said firmly. “You talk because it’s part of who you are. It’s how you connect with people. It’s how you make the ship feel… alive. I was just too selfish to see that yesterday.”

You wrote something else.

“Did you mean it, though? When you told me to shut up?”

Zoro flinched. He didn’t answer right away. He looked down at the deck, fists clenched.

“I meant I needed quiet. I didn’t mean to hurt you. If I could take it back…” He exhaled hard. “You’re the last person I’d ever want to silence.”

You were quiet for a beat. Then, slowly, your hand reached over and took his — fingers warm and soft around his calloused ones. You gave it a small squeeze.

Zoro looked at your joined hands, then at you.

“Next time I need space,” he said quietly, “I’ll say it without being a bastard. And when you get your voice back… I hope you’ll talk even more, just to punish me.”

That made you huff — soundless, but clearly a laugh — and you leaned against his side, resting your head on his shoulder. He let you, turning slightly so he could rest his cheek against your hair.

The sea rocked beneath the Sunny. The stars blinked quietly above. And even without words, everything you needed to say was there — in the silence, in the shared warmth, in the way Zoro held your hand just a little tighter.

And when your voice finally came back days later, the first thing you did was say his name.

Zoro turned immediately, eyes wide, and you smiled and whispered, “Still love you, even when you’re a jerk.”

He didn’t answer.

He just pulled you in and kissed you like your words were the only ones that mattered.

♡♡♡

© 2025 arixella | please do not plagiarize or translate any of my work without my consent.

[neerathebrightstar]

An Unhealthy Obsession

Yandere Tim Drake inspired by the song “An Unhealthy Obsession”

SYNOPSIS -> Tim Drake will always remember the day he saw you for the first time as the best coincidence of his life. And you will always remember your second meeting as the thing that doomed you.

Warnings -> This is a work of fiction but beware the themes like stalking, obsession, manipulation, smut, the fic is written mostly in Tim’s pov so an unreliable narrator, sub!Tim Drake, there is a brief mention of things like branding and kidnapping, exhibitionism

MINORS DNI

You will never forget the first time you met Tim Drake - freshly 18, still with hope for a better life in your eyes and incredibly broke. You worked hard in high school and got the opportunity to study in Gotham University on Bruce Wayne’s founded scholarship. You were ecstatic back then, you always thought you would immediately need to go to work after you hit adulthood, and offered with a chance to make something of yourself you didn’t think twice about moving to Gotham despite its title as the most dangerous city in America.

Your parents were skeptical with the whole ordeal, who wouldn’t be terrified with their child moving to Gotham where people were more scared of clowns than guns, but they ultimately let you go when you begged for it enough.

You wished they didn’t, you wished they locked you in a room and binded you to your bed so you wouldn’t go anywhere.

In the end you moved to Gotham all wide eyed, ripe for the taking in the city known for swallowing innocent souls like you. You were hopeful, ready to learn and work even harder for your future.

You thought yourself to be fearless back then. On top of the world and untouchable, with wings made of dreams ready to carry you even higher. You spend your nights before the courses start fantasizing about life when all the riches in the world are at your hand - living in a mansion with a significant other that truly adores you, never wanting for anything. And all that you would achieve through your hard work.

But reality hits you hard and brutally when the assignments start piling up, your professors are cruel and you can barely keep up, not with additional work you have to do after hours to support yourself. The scholarship doesn’t cover your basic necessities and food doesn’t magically appear on one’s plate when they wish it so.

You are constantly tired, overworked and underslept so no one can really blame you when you miss literal Red Robin walking into the 24h diner you work at.

(You didn’t know he was a vigilante back then, you were new in Gotham - you didn’t have the time to learn the names of the entire flock of bats and birds)

You were alone that night, your coworkers already went home and you craved to do the same. You still had to clean up and wait for the next shift to come in and you really hoped that they would hurry - you wanted to take a quick nap before running to campus.

Instead you are met with a bizarre sight of a man dressed entirely in a funny red costume. High black combat boots with black skintight pants and a red top that looked like a girl’s one piece swimsuit. For some reason he was wearing the ugliest yellow belt you ever seen, with pouches fulled to the brim. Was he practicing for a role or something? You highly doubted that, not with the bondage type of straps that were holding a very dramatic cape on his shoulders. Gotham was weird but you never seen people wear costumes from fetish magazines out in the streets like that before. And for fuck’s sakes was he wearing a fucking mask with a beak? You wondered how to politely throw him out without involving very strong words and calling him out on being a prostitute for villains with a vigilante complex but in the end you never had to do so.

The encounter doesn’t linger in your mind past the next morning - sure the guy was weird but polite, you served him his order and he went on his way. You blissfully came back home to your bed after swapping with your coworker to catch a few hours of sleep unaware that you just doomed yourself.

I want to be able to tell you that you came here to read a story of a maniac, an obsessive freak of nature like you all think me to be. But really I am that bad for wanting to protect them? That I saw how they live and decided to give them everything? You all can judge me all you want but the truth is you would have done the same - except you are cowards and I am not afraid of getting my hands dirty for the ones I love.

I would never kill anyone, I know better than that - Bruce taught me better than that. However there are so many ways one’s life can be ruined without depriving them of it. Sometimes one letter is all it takes to fire a man supporting his whole family, to get him banned from working ever again. What does the life of that family look like after that? No one ever thinks of it later, when you have that one annoying employee out of your sight, what use is there in wondering how he fares right? After all you didn’t kill him, you can absolve yourself of all guilt, he deserved it and you showed restraint in letting him see another day.

But his family will fall apart, his children will lose countless opportunities because there is no longer enough funds to support them in pursuing a better, brighter future. You won’t see his wife struggling to make ends meet while her husband uselessly walks around with his resume. And when she leaves him behind to find a better man for her and her children? Will you be there to look at what you have done ?

You see? I don’t need to kill anyone to destroy their life. And if I can do it so easily, who says others cannot do it to them ? It was already happening when I met them - my love was underpaid, overworked and with no real way of making a better living. They could have crumbled like a house of cards with just one gust of wind. A university student, non-Gothamite living on tips and praying their scholarship won’t be taken from them? Poor little thing would have been swallowed by this city if not for me. Don’t judge me yet, I know I sound pretentious. Let me tell you the whole truth and then you are welcome to make your judgment. But know it’s already too late for my love to leave me - I got my claws into them and they are never leaving again.

I met Y/N purely by chance. They were working at a 24h diner located near Crime Alley and I was in my Red Robin armour, freshly after a fight with local gang members who distributed narcotics to children. It was a big case, big enough that Jason asked for help. I was tired, basically a dead weight on my feet. I needed to eat something and drink enough energy drinks so that I would be caffeinated enough to fight god and then make my way back into the Nest. I didn’t want to look for an open corner store - most of them were money laundering spots at this hour anyway and I didn’t feel like throwing punches with spooked clerks. This side of the city was Jason’s problem, he could deal with that later himself.

Usually a superhero vigilante walking into any place at this hour either invoked fear or awe. I was used to calming down civilians that I was not in the local area for villain related business or smiling for pictures. What I was not used to was being unseen, simply ignored. Y/N was the only person in the diner that night and they didn’t spare me a single glance, no lingering looks like people who wanted to play cool often acted. They were just just meticulously cleaning tables and even from where I was standing I could see their eyes were half closed. An underpaid and tired employee is technically not a thing out of ordinary in Gotham - even with the money Bruce pours into this city the hole of poverty seems just never ending. I should have walked out and left that poor person alone. Bruce would have left a pile of money on one of the still messy tables and left it at that. I for some reason couldn’t do that.

I walked over to them and cleared my throat which in consequence immediately made me feel like an asshole. I was not only interrupting their work in one of the most rude ways possible and in the back of my mind I kept thinking what an idiot I am and that I will scare this poor thing shitless. Maybe it was a good thing I was not as tall and grotesquely muscular as Jason who looked like a thug most of his good days.

Imagine my surprise that when they turned around they only took one good look at my armour and scrunched their nose at me. Like I was the one being an idiot here. Didn’t anyone tell them that being so unaware of their surroundings in Gotham could cost them their life?

“Halloween is in October. And I am pretty sure that ComicCon was like a week ago”

Their smile was weak, without any teeth but I could feel them mocking me. What person living in Gotham didn’t recognise it’s vigilanties?

“Very funny sweetheart. I am not exactly in the mood for games.”

I didn’t restrain my urge to roll my eyes at them. Gothamites could be weird and disrespectful but they were good people at heart (well most of them anyway, there were exceptions where people did crimes because they wanted to do crimes not because they needed to. And this city had a way of turning people a certain kind of mad), who were often better to be left alone rather than entertain their craziness.

But they did something that got me hooked and interested constantly. They laughed. They laughed and it felt like thousands of little bells ringing the melody of worship, making that little beast in me raise its head. I wouldn’t say I fell in love with them then. I would lie and I promised to be honest with you didn’t I? But I got that feeling, the one I usually get when I know my interests have been peaked and my claws are ready to come out. I know when I want something and I can distinguish the difference between interest and devotion. This was not devotion, not yet. It was merely a single seed of curiosity that could grow to become an enormous problem later on.

The last time I felt something similar had me running around Gotham at night, chasing after a boy in scally shorts and pixie boots, following after him and his mentor who to a little brat appeared to be dressed in darkness itself. Now I could laugh at that ridiculous comparison, knowing that a man hidden behind the kevlar disappointed me more times than both of us bothered to count.

I can tell you now that I will fall hopelessly in love with them, ready at their single beck and call. I was more of a dog than a man but I could be a very loyal one, a faithful companion. I desired to be collared, to have the certainty that another person won’t leave me again. I always tried to sink my claws into everything that didn’t belong to me and every single time, without a doubt I would hold it close even when it was thrashing against my hands. Not once have I managed to keep anything that way, not even a piece of my love given back. No scratch marks to show that I was there, that I loved that I hoped. My claws always ended up torn out, stuck in the flesh of those dear to me, bleeding and rotting like unwanted trash.

”Well pretty boy don’t blame me for assuming when you look like you just walked out of someone’s bondage fantasy”

Their eyes trailed me up and down before a look of disbelief crossed their face. They pointed one finger at the symbol on my chest and pushed it delicately.

(For some reason I longed for them to hit me, to strike me deep, hard and fast. Bruise me and show the world they designed to touch me. That I was not disgusting and unlovable.)

“Was the theme supposed to be Robin and you just botched it into looking like a duck? Anyway honey I need to ask you to get out. This place is family friendly and fetish workers don’t fit into that category”

“Excuse me?!”

“No need to ask for permission, the door is that way”

I glared at them with one of my BatmanTM glares but it only seemed to make them more annoyed.

“I am not a prostitute, I just really need some caffeine.”

They snorted with laughter and I could feel myself getting red. What was even wrong with them?

Hit me hit me hit me hit me hit me Bite me bite me bite me bite me

“I am pretty sure they can also sell it to you at the nearest BDSM club. You need some kind of order to leave or will you see yourself out?”

“Aren’t you supposed to serve all customers?”

I was angry and tired and they were rude but I really just wanted to go home so I swallowed any comebacks I might have had and smiled politely.

“Listen this is Gotham and it’s like 3 am. No one cares about that family friendly shit anyway. And I will pay double.”

Whatever angry complaints they were about to throw at me died quicker in their mouth than hope in B’s eyes when Jason kills another criminal. They raised one brow at me but I knew I won.

“I don’t know if I just got that amazing offer because I bullied you a little and you really are a bondage slut or being a bondage slut pays very well.”

“I’m not paying throuple”

They grumbled a little but in the end took out a small notebook and a pen and gave me the nicest smile I probably saw all week.

(My heart got tighter and for a second I couldn’t breathe. I imagined myself taking that smile into my mouth and tearing it off, bloody and wonderful. If I consumed it would the warmth stay with me forever? Or would it leave me like all things seemed to do?)

“Well, my most wonderful totally not a bottom customer, what will you desire today?”

You you you you you you you you you

Tim was never a man capable of self restraint.

And you left him very intrigued.

It really wasn’t his fault that for the next week he could only think about your hands tightening ropes, intricately woven across his body. Or the same hands leaving welts across his body, your nails scratching him to blood. Marking him up for all to see.

It wasn’t really about you or who you were as a person, not at first anyway. You just happened to hit every box Tim had in mind when he was looking for something more, someone to help him get through the stress of his life. Because the truth was that Tim enjoyed the act of giving away his control - treated it like an act of worship, a highest honour and most precious gift he could give to anyone.

But he had no one to give it away to, not without fearing that someone might take advantage of him, hurt him too deeply. Leave him so shattered that this time he might not be able to pick up the pieces and construct something resembling a human shape around his true self again. The sharp and ugly parts of him were already uncovered too much, sticking out of his shell - ready to burst and spill blood.

You on the other hand would never be able to hurt him. You could bark all you wanted but your teeth would never be strong enough to bite through his skin. But Tim could trick himself into thinking otherwise and it would still satisfy him so what was the hurt in trying? When you were already so eager to mock him, to order him around?

So he began following you, making sure you were safe on your way back home from work. Gotham was scary after all, why would you mind a little hidden company in exchange for safety ?

Tim somehow convinced himself that he would get his urges satisfied that way. A little surveillance here and there never hurt anybody, not in this city. And learning your name was crucial if you ever ended up becoming a villain right? Tim was The Red Robin after all, he needed to keep an eye on everyone in Jason’s his neighbourhood.

A month observing your balcony would be all he needed to make sure you weren’t up to anything bad. He had to watch you fall asleep so he knew you would not go out anywhere else during the night. Who knew what kind of henchmen meetings you could’ve been sneaking out to. Maybe you were Clayface, ready to fool him for some masterplan.

And then it escalated.

Really, Tim was very proud of himself for not installing cameras in your dorm earlier. His skin was getting uncomfortable for the past few weeks but he prevailed, gave you a chance to run away. You didn’t and that’s why you were both in this situation - Tim sitting in front of his computer, mouth wide open, unable to understand what was even happening while you danced naked around your bedroom.

He didn’t even have to think before his fingers automatically moved to save the live feed to his folder, designed especially with you in mind. Hundreds of your pictures already rested there, saved and tucked for later.

(It was an impulsive behaviour that Tim couldn’t explain before himself, an illness he tried to treat on his own. He deleted a few of his least favourite pictures and waited for the hand of god to strike him, punish him for his insolence. He should have fallen to death as punishment but instead he could feel himself start shaking. Tim’s heart clenched painfully and vomit gathered behind his lips. He barely made it to the nearest trash can before he needed to breathe again, eyes already turning bloodshot. He sat there screaming his pure throat raw and ugly sobbing. With hands flying to his neck and choking just to shut himself up, nails leaving angry marks that filled with blood fast, Tim crawled to his computer. He needed the pictures back, now!)

And yet you tested his resolve once again, carefully picking at the sound parts of his mind and replacing them with madness. Tim felt small next to your greatness, unworthy of looking upon your image - with body soft and plush, cream freshly applied after the shower, your hair wet and curling against your cheeks. A perfect portrait of divine being, with a body that looked fragile upon first glance and sharp, cunning nature.

Tim should’ve stopped watching when he first discovered you naked as the day you were born, should’ve gone over to your house and got rid of cameras. There were many things he should’ve done instead of tugging his cock out of his pants, already hard and leaking.

He shouldn’t have started stroking himself to the quiet sound of your humming when you got yourself ready for some party. And he definitely shouldn’t have been imagining kneeling between your legs and humping your foot like a dog in heat.

Tim was a weak man, he could’ve admitted that but have you ever heard of a man who stumbles upon a naked goddess and walks away?

On the monitor, unaware of his heated stare you spread glitter all across your body, still humming a melody that would haunt Tim forever. You were so precious and so innocent and he couldn’t wait to get his hands on you - to corrupt you with his filth, fill you to the brim with his essence. He could see it all now, both of you stitched together, skin to skin, side to side.

You and him chained to bed, unable to say where the other begins and where the other ends. There would be no such nonsense as him and you by then. You will be a joined entity, a two faced god of devotion and codependence.

You reach for a pair of red underwear and Tim’s breath hitches - his colour, you are wearing his colour

His strokes quicken to the point of painful stinging. His hands are covered in calluses, so unlike yours. Your hands are soft and delicate with sharp nails and long fingers made to put him in his place. Like a good dog he is, he would’ve laid down to rest at your feet and lap at any leftovers you give away.

Tim loses himself in the pleasure, bottom lip stuck between his teeth, eyes glued to your form on the screen. He thumbs his tip, precome gathering there like little beads of white tears, all falling for you. He would have made you taste it, your pouty lips embracing his thumb and sucking. You would have asked him to open his mouth and spitten your saliva and his come come into his waiting throat, bared all just for you.

He fumbles his speed and moans sound out all across his room, a private symphony just for him and you.

Tim’s orgasm comes hard and fast, shocking his entire body, limps spasming uselessly. He makes a mess and ashamed of himself ducks quickly into the bathroom to clean up. His black shirt is unsavable, his come drying off leaving nasty marks.

Tim catches a glance of himself in the mirror and for the first time in a while, he smiles. It’s not one of those gala smiles he throws to journalists and other pests bothering him during work hours. It’s also not the smile he shows around his family, that one when he scrunches his nose and barely shows any teeth.

This time it’s his real smile. All predatory, teeth barred and ready to tear flesh apart. The beast officially released itself of its prison and its coming for you

You didn’t recognise him the second time you saw him. How could you when he was wearing a mask and you were so tired you forgot all about the dude the next day?

But since that day you were resting even worse. You had that feeling of eyes on you, following your every move, like a monster was watching you. Waiting for a moment to grab you, snatch you and never give you back to the world. You were getting paranoid, dreaming of hands tearing you apart and rebuilding you anew like a fucked up Frankenstein’s creation. Someone was choosing parts of you that pleased them and throwing the rest out - like it was trash, like it didn’t make you who you are.

Maybe you should’ve listened to your consciousness, an animal part of your brain telling you to run and never look back. But you were so lonely, isolated from the entire world. That’s why when your friends asked if you wanted to go out this Friday you didn’t hesitate to say yes. You got yourself all dolled up, covered your body in little specks of glitter and wore nice underwear, hoping to get laid.

It was supposed to destress you, make your muscles finally relax and release the pressure. You would have taken a nice boy or a pretty girl into the back alley and let them do sinful things to you. You would have relished in the embarrassment that definitely would’ve come the following morning and moved on with your life.

Instead the moment you arrived you felt like you were about to be stabbed at any moment. Like you walked into a trap, or a mouth of a horrendous beast, it’s jaw ready to shut down. Your first thought was that those were only nerves, after all it’s been a while since you were in a place like this. So you drowned yourself in cheap booze, taking shot after shot to your friends delight.

Now you couldn’t even say where you were and what was happening to you. You could hear music all around you so you must be still at the club, dancing bodies all around you. It was getting hard to breathe, and you felt yourself panicking until hands embraced you from behind, locking onto your hips and pulling your back into the chest of a stranger.

“Hey, are you alright?”

Whispering right against your ear brought you back to earth enough for you to realise your entire body was moving with the stranger, dancing suggestively. Lips moving the stranger, began sucking on your earlobe gently, taking it into his mouth, tongue coming out to play.

Your breath hitched but you didn’t move away, your vision getting cloudy with pleasure. You could feel something hard and warm against your ass when the stranger made your hips swing more aggressively. Your hands immediately flew behind you to wrap them in his hair. It was short and soft, a little wet from the sweat thanks to the atmosphere in the club. You pulled hard to get him away from your ears. His head went obediently, following your hand and you could feel his chest shaking with uneven breaths, a whimper catching on his lips.

Your mouth quirked into a satisfied smirk. You went out today, expecting to find yourself at someone’s mercy in bed - men often tended to prefer domming instead of bottoming and it was hard to find a girl brave enough to follow you home these days, you supposed it was because Gotham was less safe for women than your hometown. It was just your luck that somehow you danced right into a man’s arms you could probably break enough to have some fun.

Pleased, you kept one of your hands in the stranger’s head, twisting strands of his hair. Your other hand travelled down his chest, pulling on one of his covered nipples, while he rutted against you. Turning your head enough to lick his bobbing adam's apple, your fingers finally reached their intended destination and you quickly opened his belt, ready to feel your prize up. His hands gripped your waist tighter, to the point of pain. A weak sob catched your attention and your back stiffened. Fuck was he crying? Did you do something wrong?

You brought his ear close to your lips so he could hear you speak despite the loud music and other people moaning.

“Do you want me to stop, baby?”

The sobs got louder and you tried to move away from him. Horny or not that was not something you wanted to deal with, no matter how ecstatic his cries made you feel. But his hands didn’t let you move far away, their hold on you unrelenting. He nuzzled his face into your neck before nipping you with teeth and you trembled in your core. It seemed to finally calm him down enough to speak.

“Sorry, it’s been awhile since someone took care of me”

He guided your hand into his pants and his boxers so you could feel how hard he was. You squeezed him and tugged your hand up and down a couple of times before stopping at his tip to gather precome. He twitched so wonderfully against you, whole body trembling with desire and in the corner of your eye you could see his mouth parted around his fist that previously gave you permission to touch his warmth. Poor boy, you were just getting started and he already was so overwhelmed. You purposely didn’t stop dancing to the music, your ass making circles to ground down hard on him.

Your hand was cramping from the uncomfortable position and you knew your neck would hurt tomorrow from nuzzling it against the man’s neck where you licked, bitten and sucked marks into it. You caught a hint of blue in his teary eyes when your gaze locked with his and gave him your best smile, with your teeth gleaming in the club’s lights. He was close, you knew it from the way he humped your fist more aggressively, movements lacking precision. You laughed at his clear desperation, already deciding what you were gonna do with him. How could you refuse this boy, when he was serving himself on a silver platter for you?

You stopped touching him, taking your hands off his body and he whimpered like a kicked dog, scratching you in protest. You decided to punish him for it later, when you got him naked under you, at your mercy with no way to run away. But that was a thought better saved for later - he seemed pretty lost in his head, likely to hit subspace soon and you needed actual consent before taking him anywhere. So you arched your back to make it easier for him to hear you.

“Your place or mine baby? Ohh and I will need to put a name to this pretty face”

That seemed to wake him up a little, clarity returning to his eyes.

(They scared you for a minute, they were so dark and calculating, like he was getting ready to strike you and was only waiting for the perfect moment)

“Mine, I can drive us there. And my name is Tim”

You raised a brow at him - he was definitely drunk, a pink blush covering him from his ears to down his collarbone before disappearing behind his shirt with its two buttons opened. But you were so boozed yourself that it didn’t occur to you to say no, you only nodded your head and focused on refixing his belt.

You completely missed his dark smile, much more dangerous than yours. That night you went home with Tim Drake, thinking you were the one holding power in your little dynamic. You didn’t tell your friends where you were going and with whom, too horny to remember their existence, your brain and memory foggy. They will spend the rest of the night looking for you before giving up, sure you will call them in the morning and they will scream at you for being too reckless.

But you call them in the morning, nor will you call them a day after. You will never call them again and no matter how many times they will call GCPD you will never be found, your missing person case buried under countless others. They will inform your parents that Gotham swallowed you and they can only count on it spitting you out in pieces or your body showing up in Gotham’s Harbour.

Tim walks you into the night, to your new home giddy with excitement. He can’t believe his luck, that you willingly walked right into his life. He thought he would need to force you, drag you kicking and screaming into his bed but turns out you were just as eager as him to start your new life together. His eyes stray from your face illuminated by the street lights to your back and the curve of your waist, he can’t decide which place would be better for your mark - yours and his. You see Tim really can’t afford to wear a wedding ring, it’s too recognisable, too easy to lose. But a scar burned or cut into his skin? That’s something he will never lose, that will stay with him forever. He will let you plan the design with him - couples chose the wedding rings together, don’t they?

A/N -> Wow this was a ride, a whole 5k of words of Tim being a crazy freak and reader matching him too much for their own good. I tried to make them as gender neutral as possible but if I failed I am sorry 🫤 Special thanks to the discord server Yael created, @mishkradetsa and @this0user0is0a0atar who helped me brainstorm how reader can insult Tim’s Red Robin costume. I don’t know when or if I will make a part two of this but I definitely plan on writing that Tim Drake fic with branding in the future

+ I am only human and this fic was not beta read so there are definitely mistakes here, please don’t point them out 🙏

[st0ryf1lms]

we’re married? ➳ sylus qin

pairing: sylus x reader

word count: 399

genre/warnings: fluff, sort of crack fic (?), but generally just sweet tooth-rotting fluff, established relationship (newlyweds), based off of the meme that the banner above produced LMAO and loosely based from this tiktok i saw

synopsis: you can’t believe you’re married, and looks like he can’t too.

a/n: i am back from my annual single fic drop before i dip and disappear again 😎 no, but, seriously, i will TRY to get back into writing again i missed it sm anw do enjoy my drabble of this lovely dragon of ours as i will myself into writing more stuff

The wedding ceremony and the reception were a dream, quite literally.

Sylus, for the most part, remained as nonchalant as he usually was but the usual edge to it had been replaced by a significant softness to his demeanor. His eyes remained distant throughout the reception, as if he was stuck in a hazy, blurry dream. However, if you were to ask him what he remembers during his wedding day, all he’d say was you.

You, who walked down the aisle in your white dress and sheer white veil covering your face, enamoring everyone in the room, including him, of your heavenly presence.

You, who he swore knocked the breath out of his lungs and rendered him speechless no enemy of his ever could, and yet you didn’t even lay a single finger on him.

You, who was now his lawfully wedded wife. His wife.

So, to say he was stuck in a daze for the remainder of the ceremony and reception was an understatement. The same-day-edit video definitely had it on record, as the cameras caught him with his gaze fixed on you and only you.

You were waving off the last remaining guests of the wedding reception as your husband sat alone by the stairs to the stage, with a distant look on his face, paying no mind to the venue caterers cleaning up behind him.

You walked towards him with a skip in your step, looking at your now-husband with a fond expression on your face. You sat beside him silently, nudging him a little to make your presence known.

Sylus, much to your surprise, only budged a little but no snarky comment or teasing remark made his way out of his lips. You tilt your head at his behavior, turning your body slightly towards him and placing your hands atop his on his lap.

“Sy?” You croak out, afraid to break the silence.

“Yeah, sweetie?” He responds, still not looking at you, however.

“Are we married?” You ask in a small voice, looking up at him, waiting for his response.

This seems to break Sylus out of his trance, as he finally looks at you with tear-filled eyes and a loving smile plastered across his face.

“Yes,” he breathes out and brings your knuckles to his lips, placing a chaste kiss to it.

“I finally get to spend a lifetime with you, as your husband.”

[bitterreid]

🍒 Cherry Red 🍒

Summary: The cars need work, but Eddie is… distracted. By you. And ice cream. --- (This is part two of my mechanic!Eddie series My Clementine, but can be read as a stand-alone!)

Word count: 4.6k (fluff/smut)

Contains: fem!reader x mechanic!Eddie, fingering, oral (f receiving), praise, Eddie is down bad (as he should be), even more incorrect car facts probably, woops, porn w plot

A/N: you guys requested a part two and I am a girl of the people!!! So here it is!!! PLEASE let me know what you think, because I was SO happy reading all the positive feedback on part one :)) and lmk if anyone would want a part 3!!!!! <3

⋆⭒˚.⋆​​🍒 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

Eddie had been going mental.

It had been two days since he last saw you, and Eddie was sure no weekend in his entire life had ever lasted this long. He had laid about, tried not to melt during this ongoing heat wave Hawkins kept trying to drown him in, and mostly just thought of you. Non-stop. Whatever he tried, the image of your pretty face between his thighs kept popping up behind his eyelids every time he so much as blinked.

He was very much aware of how pathetic he was, truly, as he stared at his reflection in his tiny bathroom mirror. His big brown eyes peered back at themselves in the swipe he had cleared off the fogged up glass with his fingers. He touched his hair. Again. And Again, and again and a few hundred times over until he groaned in frustration and dragged his hands down his face. He had probably spent more time grooming himself this morning than he had in the rest of his life.

Unsatisfied with the end result (the heat and humidity made his curls extra puffy), Eddie dragged himself out of the bathroom and to his uncle's van.

"You ready, kid?" Wayne asked as Eddie finally hoisted himself into the passenger's seat.

"Ready as I'll ever be," Eddie mumbled, winding down the window to feel the soft summer breeze on his face. It was only 7:30 in the morning, which meant that the excruciating temperatures that were to come had not yet fully woken up. Instead, Eddie welcomed the mellow warmth on his face, closing his eyes to mentally prepare himself to face you again. 

He had no idea how today would go. Friday had been his literal dream come true, the most beautiful girl he had ever seen had just - somehow - liked his awkward charm enough to give him the best present of his life, but how did he act now? Was it a one time thing? Would you suddenly ignore him now? Eddie felt a sinking feeling at the thought of it. He really liked you, he realised somewhat hesitantly. Because he knew very well that there was a huge difference between a heat-of-the-moment kind of fling and the soft, colourful-winged nerves he felt fluttering around inside his body. He just hoped you felt the same.

⋆⭒˚.⋆⭒˚.⋆

Eddie spent the day on high alert. With every move he made, he was painstakingly aware you could be watching. You weren't, of course, so Eddie looked like a fool every time he turned around in his (definitely not practiced in front of a mirror or anything) movie-like manner, to an empty door frame, or worse, Wayne, who gave him increasingly weirded out looks. 

He was starting to lose hope. Maybe it had meant nothing to you, maybe you had meant nothing by it, maybe you hadn't thought of him at all since that night, maybe you didn't like him, maybe he had done something wrong, maybe he- 

"JESUS! Oh my god- oh you have to stop doing that!" Eddie blurted out, steadying himself on one of the cars. 

You stood beside him, close enough so he could smell the sweet vanilla-like scent of your perfume. You were even more beautiful that he remembered, the ache in his chest told him without uncertainty. And you had a love for scaring the living shit out of him, apparently, as he gathered from the satisfied smile on your lips.

"Hi Eddie, good morning," you said, voice betraying no ill intentions.

"Good morning," was all Eddie managed, paired with a smile he hoped was not as awkward as it was in his mind. This was just typical. He had daydreamed about what to say to you all weekend, played out entire conversations in his head, and now he was reduced to a nervous mess in front of you.

"How are the cars behaving today?" you asked, stalking around the one he was working on, "This one is notorious, if I remember correctly."

"Yeah, yeah, this one's feisty," Eddie said while lightly smacking the side of the car like it was a horse, "she's a real piece of work."

"Hmm," you mused, sitting down on one of the stools in the garage, "she's pretty though."

"Yeah," Eddie wrung the oil and grease stained rag he wiped his hands on between his fingers, "real pretty." It was unclear to himself whether he was still talking about the car. 

Wayne had gone out to fetch a part for one of the Mustangs in the town over, so it was just you and Eddie in the sweltering heat trapped inside the garage. Had you waited until Wayne left to be alone with him? The thought alone made his heart skip a beat. 

"So, uh, how've you been?" was the only sentence his scrambled brain could produce on the spot, somehow. 

You smiled at him as if you saw right through him, "Melting, mostly, what about you?" 

"Yeah, same…" Eddie internally cursed himself for his total lack of social skills, "real uh, real warm." He could about die right now, yeah.

You snickered at him, luckily more in a (dare he say it?) affectionate way than a mean one, to Eddie's surprise and delight. "Right on, Munson," you said, "Hey, would it be okay if I just hung around here for a while? Just reading all alone in an empty house is just a tad sad, you know?" you asked while producing a book, seemingly out of thin air.

Eddie couldn't agree to your request fast enough, "Y-yeah! Sure, sure."

"Alright, don't mind me, don't want to distract you," your smile was sweet, comforting in a warm way that had nothing to do with the temperature.

But distract him, you surely did. Eddie was a mess in your presence, no one needed to spell that out for him, but just the mere fact that you were now sitting a mere few steps away from him messed up his brain to a fatal degree. He spilled oil, screwed bolts on the wrong way, tried to open a hood that was already open, and that was all in the first ten minutes. Meanwhile, you seemed completely unbothered.

But for Eddie, the unspoken events from a couple of days ago hung in between you, making the air he was trying to breathe thick and syrupy. He didn't know what to do with himself, somehow completely enamoured with the simple sight of you reading a book, but nervous to his core when he thought about starting a mere conversation.

He was pulled out of his spiraling thoughts by the sound of you snapping your book shut. You stretched your limbs, your top riding up to expose a sliver of your waist that Eddie was sure would come back to haunt him in his daydreams and nightmares alike. You looked up at him, and Eddie suddenly realised he had been frozen in place, bending over one of the motors, screwdriver in hand, frozen mid-air. He quickly straightened up, going for unbothered and casual. (he was neither)

"Hey so, would you like to go get ice cream later?"

Eddie felt like he had been hit over the head with a lottery ticket. You had just… asked him out. Why didn't that cross his mind? Why didn't he do that? "Yeah!" he blurted, quickly reigning himself back in, "Yeah, sounds nice."

"Great," you smiled at him while you got up from the chair, "I'll come back here around five, yeah?"

"Yeah, great, great," Eddie could hardly school the broad smile on his lips into something less euphoric, "See you then!" 

"See ya."

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆

The hours crawled by achingly slow, making Eddie wonder multiple times whether the big grandfather clock was even still working. But then, finally, a quarter to five arrived. He wished he could take you out -was this a date? He still wasn't sure - in an outfit different from his dirty tank top and ripped jeans, but it would have to do. Besides, if he wasn't mistaken, you seemed to have a thing for it?

Anyway, at exactly 4:58, you appeared. You had changed into a flowy sundress, and wow. Eddie marvelled at how the colour brought out the depth in your eyes and complimented the glow of your skin tone perfectly. Simultaneously, he wondered when exactly he had become Shakespeare? He had never noticed these kinds of things before. But then again, it had never been you standing before him.

"Hey Mr. Munson," you greeted Wayne.

"Hey Sweetheart, what are you doing here, shouldn't you be out enjoying your summer?"

"Oh I am, Mr. Munson, promise," you smiled your infectious smile at him, "mind if I borrow your nephew for that tonight?" 

Wayne's eyebrows shot up as he gave Eddie a surprised look over your shoulder. All Eddie could do was smile back sheepishly. It's not like he had wanted to keep it a secret per se, he just didn't want to put up with all the teasing. 

"All yours," he motioned to Eddie, "And I've told you a million times, sweetheart, just call me Wayne."

He packed the last of his things into the truck while you made your way over to Eddie. Before he left, Wayne gave him a pointed look, the same one as when Eddie looked at the expensive cars a little too long. The same one that applied to everything else in this garage, now including you, be careful, boy. 

But Eddie didn't have much time to heed his warning, as you were now standing right before him, and his nervous system once again crashed and burned inside his chest. 

"So, which one?" you quipped.

"Hmm? Which what?" Eddie felt like you always had his brain working overtime.

"Which," you swung the door of the cabinet containing all of the car keys open, "one, Eddie?" 

"No way."

"Yes way," your smile grew even wider, "I'm driving, of course, but it's you pick tonight."

Eddie thought he might spontaneously propose to you right then. Instead, he went on a rant about all the dream cars that were gathered in this room. "Maybe the Camaro! Or the Miata, the Aston Martin, the Carrera 6…" he was almost bouncing from excitement.

You laughed along with him, the affectionate tone seeping back into your voice, "Your pick!"

"Sweetheart, you're making it real hard on me," he half-whined, somewhat finding back his charm, "Any requests from your side?"

"Nope, all yours."

"You're too kind to me," he drawled, "but I bet you already know which one I'm going to pick, right?"

You grinned, taking a key from the cabinet and tossing it in the air, "Thunderbird, of course." 

"Of course," he echoed, now it was his turn to sound fond.

"M'lady," he said as he opened the car door for you.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆

Eddie shouldn't be surprised by your driving skills, logically, you had grown up with all sorts of classic cars around, obviously. But he still was. The genuine smile that took over your face as you shredded through the bends in the country roads made his heart do flips inside his chest. He was, once again, quite aware of how pathetic he was being, sitting there in one of the most beautiful cars he had ever seen, and only looking at your side profile.

When you got to the ice cream shop, it was extremely busy. Heatwave, and all. So you stood in line, and Eddie's nerves seemed to have sufficiently calmed down for him to behave like a semi-normal person again, so he ventured into starting a conversation.

"What flavour are you gonna get?"

You thought it over for a second, "Cherry."

"Cherry?" Eddie craned his neck to see past the cue, "they have that?"

"Yeah," you nodded, "they have all kinds of crazy flavours, way crazier than cherries, I once had strawberry cilantro sorbet here - that was a mistake," you giggle, thinking back. 

"Cilantro??" Eddie exclaimed, "Sorry but anything green does not belong in ice cream." 

"I agree, definitely, but I have this terrible habit of always picking the strangest flavour and then regretting it." you mused, getting closer to the end of the line. "Hey, they have clementine!"

"Clementine?" Eddie barely even knew what a clementine was, but before he could ask you whether that would even taste remotely good, you had already ordered a scoop of it. When it was Eddie's turn, he ordered cherry. 

You walked away from the stall to an area with some benches under the shade of a large tree. Eddie watched as you took the first lick of your bright orange ice cream, and saw in real time as your face went sour.

"I think I did it again," you said after you had swallowed, "this is… this is a crime." The crinkle in your nose made Eddie's lopsided grin even wider.

"Trade?" he offered.

"Would you?" you said, eyes lighting up.

"Hmh," he nodded, "let me taste," you held out the cone and Eddie took a broad lick, trying not to think of any underlying implications and/or flashbacks, and indeed, it was terrible. The ice cream tasted like straight up chemicals, pure food colouring, paint, something like that, and Eddie had to try so hard to school his face into an agreeable expression. "I like it."

"You don't!" you exclaimed, "you can't!" 

"I do, though" he sing-songed, plucking your cone out of your hands and replacing it with his. 

"Did you order cherry just because you knew I'd like it?" you wondered, eyes slightly wide, slightly thrown.

"Maybe," Eddie mumbled before he took a big bite from his ice cream, "just enjoy the cherry for me, alright?" 

"Alright," you said quietly, smiling into your ice cream, "thanks, Eddie." 

Even the chlorine-like taste was worth getting to see you enjoy your bright red treat. 

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆

After you had both finished your ice cream (Eddie was so glad it was over), you talked for hours. Afterwards, Eddie couldn't even begin to name the topics, but what remained was a warm, fuzzy feeling, and the fact that you were not only the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen, but also the funniest. Oh and you were so smart, and kind! And Eddie could keep going, but you were currently throwing the keys to the Ford in his direction.

"Fancy a test drive, Munson?" 

"No way! Can I?" Eddie's eyes went comically wide, excitement bubbling up in his chest.

"If you can sit through that ice cream, I think you deserve a ride," you smiled, broad and careless, and Eddie couldn't tell what he was more excited for, driving the car, or more time with you.

When he carefully let himself drop into the driver's seat, he marvelled at the beauty before him, "You're sure?" he had to check.

You just nodded, "Just, never, ever tell my dad. Ever." 

Eddie swallowed, alright, no pressure.

But it was so worth it. Eddie was careful enough in handling the car, luckily, but still managed to rack up speeds that would make Hopper frown, even though he reserved them for the deserted backroads you had directed him to. 

When he had finally had enough of driving (speeding) around with you giggling beside him and your hair swooshing around your face in the wind, it had already gotten dark. He parked the car at the side of the dirt road in the middle of nowhere you were currently on, somewhere between the corn fields.

"Look at the stars!" he exclaimed, as he marvelled at the sight above him. You tipped your head back as well and smiled.

"If you want to stargaze, we should sit in the back, there's more room there" you suggested. And it was an innocent enough suggestion, sure, but Eddie's voice surely thought otherwise when it almost broke at the word "Sure."

So, you climbed into the backseat together, Eddie's long legs still a bit cramped, but there really was more room, he had to admit. You settled into the backseat next to him, and Eddie was almost surprised by how easy it was to put his arm around you. The way you fit into his side made him question why he was so nervous at all, because it just felt right. 

You sat there silently, cuddling up to each other in the faint moon light. It was quiet, serene, almost. Until you shrieked. And jumped. Or, well, as much as you can jump in a car, at least.

"What! What's wrong?!" Eddie exclaimed.

You were frantically swatting around you, "Grasshopper!!!" was the only thing you shrieked, and Eddie would have burst out laughing if you hadn't yelled it so loudly. Still he huffed a little laugh, but wasted no time in helping you catch the thing. Eddie eventually succeeded in capturing it in his hands and throwing it into the fields, bringing peace back to the car. 

"It was, it was just really big," you managed, out of breath from the swatting. But once your wide eyes met Eddie's, you both burst out laughing. 

"He was pretty big, I'll admit," Eddie eventually managed, "But you were really brave, sweetheart." 

You shoved his shoulder, wanting to wipe the teasing grin clean off his face, but you accidentally lost your balance, falling into Eddie's chest. He caught you, and suddenly all giggly, lighthearted giddiness evaporated. Your face was so close to his that he could practically feel the burning of your cheeks reflected on his. 

He was almost lying down already, but with one smooth movement from you, he was now flat on his back, with you on top of him. Your hair softly swayed in the wind as you looked down on him, your smile hovering somewhere between playful and sincere, and Eddie thought that he should take a moment to imprint this sight into his brain forever. Your beautiful face, the stars above you, the soft sounds of crickets in the grass around you, and the bone-deep silence beyond that. 

He smiled up at you, embarrassingly aware of how sappy he was being inside his head, and cupped your cheek with his large, warm hand. You instinctively leaned into his touch, which made his heart flutter, as he slowly caressed your cheek with his thumb. 

After what felt like hours of staring into your eyes, the wind whistling softly through the fields, you draped yourself on top of him and buried your face in his neck, where you - ever so lightly - started planting kisses. Eddie's eyes immediately fluttered closed, not used to the soft, intimate touch, but reveling in it. 

Your kisses slowly grew more heated, your teeth scraping over his pulse point had Eddie writhing beneath you, not being able hold back a whiny moan when you followed the soft sting with careful laps of your tongue. His hands found your waist, softly caressing your curves through the fabric. Just the shape of you, the dip in the small of your back made him go crazy. His hands roamed your body, not quite daring to dip below your waist just yet, but his inhibitions were slowly melting away with the way your mouth attacked his skin.

By now, you were planting open-mouthed kisses on his collarbones, and Eddie had never wanted to bottle a feeling as much as the feeling of your body pressed to his and your mouth on his neck.

When your hand slowly slid between your bodies and you reached for his belt buckle, he stopped you, though. Eddie was a gentleman, of course, and he had been daydreaming about this moment all weekend.

You halted your gentle attack when you felt his fingers curl around your wrist, insecurity flashing in your eyes for just a second before Eddie smiled and said "Not this time, sweetheart, it's time to let me take care of you tonight."

Your eyes went a little wider at his words, and then a lot wider as he grabbed your waist and flipped you over, him now hovering above your frame. The gasp you let out was followed by your giggles, which only encouraged Eddie's antics. He smiled wolfishly down at you, at your delicate features framed by the moonlight, the smooth expanse of your neck and collarbones until his view was obstructed by your dress. He had been dreaming of kissing the soft skin behind your ear since he met you, he could finally admit now, and when he did, the feeling was unmatched.

The soft mewls he pulled out of you with each peck and precise lick fueled him on even more, kissing a stripe down your chest to where the swell of your breast disappeared into your dress. He didn't particularly think it would be a good idea to strip you completely naked somewhere in a random field, but god, how he wanted to. Instead, he would have to settle for his next plan. 

After making sure he left no part of your neck untouched, unkissed, his large hands curled around your waist again to slide you further up on the seats. He positioned himself in between your legs, smoothing his large hands up and down the expanse of what was already revealed of your thighs. He could hardly think straight anymore already, he vaguely thought, so lost in the sight of you, even while still fully clothed. 

He looked up at your face, your eyes were heavy with need, tracking his every move, while your bottom lip was tucked between your teeth. You were a vision. 

"'This alright?" Eddie asked, an almost breathless quality to his voice.

"Yeah," you said, softly, a smile playing on your lips.

At your confirmation, Eddie wasted no time in bunching your dress up at your hips, revealing your light blue panties, complete with a little bow. He groaned as soon as he saw the little wet patch that had formed on the soft cotton, growing hungry in a way that was new to him. But he wanted to draw this moment out for as long as you would let him. 

He started by kissing each of your knees, working his way down your thighs kiss by kiss. The skin there was just so soft, Eddie thought he could drown in it. The plush flesh felt divine underneath his fingertips as he softly squeezed your hips, getting closer and closer to your centre. 

You were growing impatient under him, your body writhing and wiggling in his grip. He smiled against your soft skin, "Needy, are we?" he remarked, as if he had any resolve left in him. 

At the simple "Please, Eddie, need you," that left your lips, he was a goner. He capitulated instantly, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties and pulling them down your legs. His eyes were fixed on your pussy, the way your slick glistened in the pale moonlight seemed to him the single most alluring thing he had ever seen. 

He carefully leaned down, as in trance, and swiped his calloused fingertips through your folds, gathering your wetness. You moaned instantly at the relief it brought, making Eddie even more crazed to taste you.

"All this for me, sweetheart?" his voice was thick with anticipation.

"All for you, Eddie," you cooed, arching your back for him.

That was what did him in, what made the very last of his resolve crumble. He dove in, licking a broad stripe from your entrance to your clit. The way you arched into him and moaned his name upon the contact made him dizzy. So he kept going, licking deliberate strokes up your soaked pussy, while you mewled above him. He had a steady grip on your waist, holding you to his mouth as he experimentally wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked. 

The pornographic moan you let out went straight to Eddie's rock hard dick, making him moan against your core. He didn't have a lot of experience, but he sure made up for it in enthusiasm, plus, he liked to think of himself as a quick learner. That's why, when your hands found their way into his hair, he let you softly pull his hair to guide him to all the right spots. He followed your directions carefully, devoting extra attention to your most sensitive spots, all while you ground your hips onto his face.

Eddie had never been this happy in his entire life, he thought. The way you tasted, the way you sounded, the fact that it was his name tumbling from your lips amidst your moans and curse words, he must have gone to heaven. 

When he broke away for just a second, your eyes were heavy lidded, your chest rising and falling rapidly, and your lips were bitten raw. Eddie had never seen anything more beautiful. 

"Sweetheart, do you want my fingers?" 

You smiled coyly, almost bashfully, as you nodded, "Yeah, please?"

And who was he to deny you anything? He gathered some of your wetness first, circling your clit just a couple of times, reveling in the soft "oh" sounds you made with every pass of his fingers, before he carefully pushed his middle finger into you. He studied your face intently, but he only found pleasure there, in the way your eyes screwed shut, your lips slowly parted, and the way you clawed at the expensive leather of the seats. 

Eddie couldn't care any less about the seats right now, though, being entirely mesmerized by the way you were taking him. 

"More?" he offered.

All you could do in your blissed out state was nod.

So Eddie added a second finger, steadily pumping in and out of you, watching your body react as if it was pure magic. The whiny sounds you started to make tipped Eddie off about how close you were getting. He quickly added his mouth back into the mix, going back to licking and sucking on your clit as his fingers still worked your entrance. 

The sounds you were making were divine, and also the backdrop to all of Eddie's future fantasies, he was sure. So he kept going, spurred on by every breathy "Edddie, Eddie, Eddie," that left your lips.

Your hands found his hair again, raking through his curls and softly pulling on them. "Eddie, baby, I'm so close, ah-" your thighs were trembling by now, a sight that made pride bloom in Eddie's chest.

"Yeah? Are you gonna come for me, sweetheart? Gonna come all over my fingers for me?" 

And that was all you needed. With a last high-pitched moan and a dozen more chants of his name, your back arched into him as your orgasm crashed over you. Eddie felt your pussy squeeze his fingers even tighter as he worked you through your orgasm, completely in awe with the stunning sight playing out before him. 

When you came down from your high, cheeks glowing and smile cherry red and satisfied, Eddie felt a surge of affection blooming in his chest that had been just as strong as his lust. 

"Was that good, sweetheart?" he asked, partly to mirror your earlier question, partly because he still needed some validation.

You leaned forward, raking your fingers through his wild hair once more as you planted a careful kiss on his forehead, "Eddie, that was the best orgasm of my life," you giggled, dropping your head on his shoulder. Soon, you were joined by Eddie's matching giggles, which he just couldn't hold back at your compliment. He was glad your face was buried in his neck again, because his cheeks were burning so hard, he was sure not even the night air would be able to hide his deep cherry blush. 

⋆⭒˚.⋆​​🍒 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

let me know if you guys still want a part 3! :)) thanks for reading and feedback is very very welcome! <3

Tag list? @pretendthisnameisclever @g3n3zshack @s1mp-4-ga11y (never thought I'd be cool enough to have a tag list so thank you guys <333)

[55sturn]

chapter 0.01: feels like we’re meeting for the first time | series masterlist

summary: in which you receive some not so good news about your roommate situation upon preparing for your last year of university. however your mom thinks there’s a silver lining hidden beneath it when you see who you’re living with for the year.

pairings: ex boyfriend!chris sturniolo x ex girlfriend!reader [ eventually ] and oc boyfriend x female!reader

warnings: swearing, angst. that’s about it.

word count: 2.8k

dedications: thank you to @strnilolover, @endereies, @bernardsbendystraws, and @luvs4matt for proofing this.

dividers: @strnilolover as always.

finishing your university degree in journalism has been your dream since you were sixteen and you just successfully published a thorough review blog of every movie that released that year.

completing your degree was the first time that you truly believed you were capable of doing something right. of potentially making a name for yourself. you felt like you had actually succeeded in life. realizing this was like feeling something close to utter bliss for the first time.

you’ve always felt a very strong passion for studying movies and writing about them, including your opinions and thoughts while also remaining unbiased, allowing your followers and readers to form their own thoughts. during your senior year, you had been received early acceptance into your first choice school and you couldn’t be happier.

when you first walked into the university, you were at a loss for words. you had finally started the path you had always dreamed of taking, but you were alone, and it scared you. your mom had been so willing to walk you to your first class, and you about two seconds from letting her. but you knew this was a step you had to take on your own. for the first time in eighteen years, you were truly doing things by yourself.

your mom had been by your side from the moment she had you at seventeen and your dad walked out of the delivery room. she would’ve moved into your dorm if you had let her, and if it wasn’t technically a crime, both literally and socially.

and as you maneuvered your way through the seemingly endless and winding halls of university, you bumped into someone. as you were about to start spewing nervously apologetic ramblings, you looked up to see who you had collided with, only to meet the prettiest eyes you had ever seen. he was quick to take the blame, saying he was too focused on trying to remember where he was supposed to go while your words died in your throat.

he asked you where you meant to go, teasing you about how looked like a lost puppy, and after showing him your schedule, he walked you to the room you had passed by twice already, he smiled and told you his name before realizing how late he was, before turning around and walking away without getting your name.

there was something about him that drew you in, despite him looking like a walking advertisement for the school’s fraternity. however after a few more run-ins, he finally asked for your name and number, and promised to make good use of it.

you and chris had gotten together shortly before spring break after spending months of tiptoeing the line of friends and something more. while getting to know each other, you found out you were both from boston, only about an hour drive from one another, and you were pleasantly surprised to find out that he was actually quite a kind and gentle person, nothing like his frat brothers for the most part. sure there were times that he was a bit of an asshole during the talking stage of your relationship, but after a serious conversation, you had learned that he wasn’t good with letting people in at first. you learned how deeply it scared him.

out of everyone in your family that met chris, your mom was the most skeptical of him at first. partly due to her annoyingly unwavering habit of judging people based off their appearance and the way they present themselves, and partly because she wasn’t ready to let go of you completely. but with the way chris looked like the poster child for every stereotype you could think of when looking at a frat boy, your mom was scared you were going to get hurt. but within a week of meeting him, she trusted him to take care of you, her baby, her pride and joy, and she knew how deeply he loved you. and so, she gave him her blessing.

and over time, you were able to help chris unlearn every negative or toxic belief he had about relationships. when he was with you, he learned that love didn’t need to be a game, and you learned that love was so much more than an obligation. you taught each other something so precious and gentle, something that many couples took years to find and learn. you were stable and healthy and utterly in love with one another. that’s why it shocked everyone around when the two of you broke up after four years together.

there was no big dramatic moment where it all came crumbling down, no fight that was blown out of proportion. it was a soft conversation hidden in the back of a cafe on a sunny mid-winter day, the two of you had gotten so busy, his hockey practices and games had started to really pick up, and he so was focused on being scouted, and your journalism course had landed you an internship with a media company and you were out running interviews and exposes day and night. the two of you felt like you didn’t have time for one another anymore, and it crushed both of you, but you decided that taking a break, breaking up, splitting, however you wanna spin it, was for the best.

when you returned home at the end of the year, you were ninety percent sure your mom was more heartbroken over the break up than you were. of course you were devastated, but you knew it had to happen for the time being. you loved chris with everything in you, and you were quite certain that you always would, but the two of you were growing in separate directions, which meant you had to love him from afar.

as you get ready to leave for your last year of university, you’re now twenty four, you just completed your bachelor’s degree in media journalism, and now you were finishing your last year of your film and media degree. as you start packing up for the last time, it hits you that you’re going on your sixth year of schooling, and it’s an exciting realization that’s been tainted by something melancholic and nostalgically heartbreaking. you’ve spent so much your time away at school, it’s become your second home.

you were counting on getting either a single dorm-room or a shared one with one roommate, or even at the very least shared dorm housing with a group of girls. but as you read the email about your housing situation, it dawns on you that that you completely let the deadline for securing a single dorm slip your mind.

sure, when applying for dorming, you clicked co-ed at the very last second because there was no way you afford to rent an apartment while also paying tuition. but even as you clicked send after choosing co-ed as your last option, you had been a little too confident in thinking that you’d never get placed in one.

you tried to barter with the lady who was head of dorm admissions, hoping to someway, somehow land a non-co-ed dorm, but as she reprimanded you, you could tell she was exhausted after having dealt with enough entitled brats throwing money around to get the dorm they want, and with that, she sent you your dorm number and ended the conversation. you let out a loud grunt of annoyance, making your mom chuckle as she steps into your room.

“what’s got you all pissed off?” she hums, not so sneakily sifting through your clothes, hoping to find something she can claim as your own.

“i got stuck in a lame ass co-ed dorm this year, which is whatever in itself, but i don’t wanna be cooped up with some weirdo gamer nerd that doesn’t know how to speak to people. and maybe that’s pretentious of me, but i want my last roommate to be a good one.” you grumble, venting away your frustrations while snatching the red halted top you had just bought yourself out of your mom’s hands, side-eying her as she pouts.

“well i don’t know but i think you should try to find the positive in it all. there are a lot of people who go to your university, you could make a new friend or maybe your roommate will be an old face that you haven’t seen in a while, maybe a certain ex-boyfriend of yours?” she laughs and teases, making the hair on the back of your neck stand tall at the idea of rooming with chris.

“yeah no, if that happens i’m moving in with aidan, you know, my boyfriend of six months.” you sneer, tired of your mom constantly pushing for you and chris to somehow reconnect, despite the fact that you haven’t talked in almost two years. with a heavy sigh, you turn to completely face your mother, a frown tugging at your lips,

“i know you loved and adored chris, i still love him and i always will but we broke up for a reason, mom. things weren’t working and we were way too busy to focus on our relationship. and we haven’t seen each other since the break up, i think that’s a pretty good sign that we’re not meant to reconnect. i’m with aidan, and he makes me happy. sure he’s nothing like chris and he’s a lot like dad and the life you didn’t want to be apart of, but he’s good to me. he’s kind and caring and insanely smart, give him a chance? please.” you speak, your voice trembling but certain with every mention of chris and what you felt for him.

“are you trying to convince me to give aidan a chance, or yourself? because you don’t seem so sure about him, but you seem quite sure of your feelings for chris.” your mom fires back, her response only further upsetting you as you push by her, needing some room to breathe.

for a while you wander around your neighbourhood, taking every back alley and hidden path, hoping to clear the bad mood and anxious thoughts from your mind, but your walk is interrupted by your phone going off, you begrudgingly assume it’s a text from your mom or aidan, but a part, a tiny part of you that’s locked away in the depths of your mind silently, secretly, and oh so desperately hopes it’s chris, but the rational part of you knows it’s not. and every time you find yourself wishing he’d reach out, the guilt is immediate. it’s raw and violent and it tears you apart from the inside out.

you really do like aidan and you enjoy being with him, but chris was the first guy that you ever genuinely loved, he was your first true relationship. he wasn’t just some confusing situationship that left you awake in bed and wondering why every night. he made you feel safe, secure, and loved every second he could. aidan was good to you, he was kind and funny, but it was all still so new. and you felt like things were rushed with him at times.

he came from a wealthy family that was all about settling down as young as they could and with aidan being the youngest of his four siblings he felt as though he was behind compared to them. so in an attempt to meet their standards, he was pushing for something serious and long lasting with you, despite only having started dating you less than a year ago. you wanted to stay with him, but at times you weren’t sure if the relationship was really meant for you.

with a dejected sigh, you pulled out your phone to see that your friends from university had texted their dorm room numbers in the groupchat, and you found that you were all in the same building, mainly different floors but close to one another nonetheless.

you replied with your dorm number “245 B” and you were met with various replies, a few of them mentioning chris and how they heard from matt that he was in the same building, which made you nervous, sad, and sort of excited. but you brushed it off, deciding to text aidan, knowing he was coming back from his weekly golfing trip with his family within the hour, asking if he wanted to go for dinner tonight.

you were to brush off your mom as you returned home, not wanting to face another conversation about whether it should be chris or aidan. climbing the steps to your room, you rummaged through your boxes, wanting to find the exact dress you knew aidan liked, groaning when you realize that you left it with tessa after you met up with her in somerville. you may have worn in hopes that you’d run into chris, but thanks to whatever bullshit karmic injustice was planted on you, you didn’t see him.

but as you start searching through more boxes, trying to find a specific outfit that would be suitable for the date, you decided that you were going to focus on aidan and that you were going to move on from chris completely.

as the last few weeks of your summer break went by, despite your decision to focus on your current relationship, you found yourself more and more wrapped up in your head, wondering if you and aidan truly had what it takes to make it together. you wanted to make it work, partly to prove that you were capable of loving someone other than chris, which made you feel guilty that you were using your new relationship as some sort of selfish method to prove something to your ex, but also partly because there truly was something about aidan that had you hooked, and you didn’t want to give up before the honeymoon phase was over.

you knew you had some things to sort out within yourself, you had a lot issues with overthinking and the lack of closure when it came to your relationship with chris didn’t make the constant onslaught of overwhelming thoughts any easier. you considered reaching out to chris to figure out how to get that closure that you both deserved so, so many times but you didn’t know how to do that without putting yourself in a compromising situation.

aidan, as sweet and patient as he could be, also felt a bit wary about chris in general. aidan understood there was some lingering feelings and issues, and it worried him, however he genuinely trusted you. which made you terrified to let him down, to betray the faith he holds so highly in you.

the drive back to school was nothing short of easy. mind numbingly easy. you had done it a thousand times over at point, and you could probably make it with your eyes closed, safety and danger hazards aside. pulling up to the university for the last time felt bittersweet, you were excited to finish this chapter and start the next one at the end of the school year, but you found yourself in this building, you learned so much about yourself and the world around you, you met so many people that you weren’t ready to say goodbye to.

and you know you’re getting ahead of yourself as you think about the end of your time here, but you can’t help it. when a person spends so much of their time in one place, there’s a certain fondness and nostalgia that makes it hard to think about leaving.

with a nervous huff of breath, you grab a duffel bag and head to the admissions office to grab your dorm key and name plate to stick on the door. while you’re there, you make a point to apologize to the lady for coming off as a pretentious asshole earlier in the summer when you received your email, letting her know that you didn’t mean to act that way, you were just nervous about getting a roommate you don’t know. she smiled warmly and accepted the apology and sent you on your way.

you walk to your dorm was full of numerous busy hallways crowded emotional moms sending their children off for the first time, exasperated dads carrying heavy boxes and rolling their eyes at their wives, and embarrassed young adults, but you couldn’t help yourself as you laugh under your breath at the sight of it all.

before you knew it, you were standing in front of your dorm. the door was slightly ajar, which could really only mean that your roommate was already here. with a few quick deep breaths, you push it open and call out into the relatively empty space, a slightly familiar scent and smoke, expensive cologne, and something sugary catching you off guard when you start to look around.

but as you turn to face the sound of footsteps, you’re stuck looking into the prettiest blue eyes you’ve ever seen, the same ones you fell in love with at eighteen, and your breath catches in your throat as he looks at you, really looks at you.

“holy shit, y/n-“ he rasps, his voice trembling with shock and something indiscernible underneath, “why are you here?”

“i think i’m your roommate, chris.”

STARS CORNER not the mom predicting the future what???

thank you to @strnilolover for helping out the time i was writing this + thank u for making my dividers as always, i love u :(

[hxney-lemcn]

Trophy Boys, Trophy Wives — Stepford x gn! reader

summary: An offhand comment leads to a lovely revelation

tw: none

a/n: this just randomly popped into my head and I had to write it down, I haven't written in a while so it might be a bit rusty but eh.

wc: 0.5k

Master List

It was a random post, not something you’d normally stumble upon your social media feed. A brunette was cutting some vegetables in the kitchen, a bright cheery smile as she wore an apron. The words at the top caused you to lift an eyebrow. ‘I don’t care if I’m called a trophy wife, as long as my husband loves me that’s all that matters’. 

“All I see are trophy wives, what about trophy husbands, huh?” You question no one in particular, but a certain bronze skinned trophy glances your way. His head tilts at your seemingly random comment, honey brown eyes flitting over your figure for a second. 

A thousand thoughts suddenly occupied his mind. Were you hinting at something? Does he make a move? Does he want to make a move? Yes. Should he? Or were you just being your silly random self? He decided to test the waters.

“What about them?” Stepford asks, honeyed voice clearly a bit too interested in this topic.

“I mean, trophy wives, so overdone. Patriarchy at its finest, but a trophy husband? Now that’s more my speed,” You rambled, phone forgotten as you turned your attention towards your (literally) glowing companion. “I mean who doesn’t wanna come home to a pretty face and a nice home made meal, then spend some quality time for the rest of the night.”

“Sounds like a dream,” Stepford replied, biting his lip to try and hide his growing grin. 

“Yeah,” You let out a dejected sigh. “Too bad it’ll probably stay just that.”

“Y’know,” Stepford muttered, rocking back and forth on his heels nervously. “I think you’ve won a trophy.”

“Huh?” You furrowed your eyebrows. You hadn’t competed in anything in forever, nor have you put anything into any lotteries.

“Yup,” Stepford says, popping the p, a blush coating his cheeks as he continues. “You have won the trophy of my heart, after all. So what better prize than a trophy?” 

You tilted your head, feeling your cheeks heat at the confession. Seeing your confusion, he clarifies, “If it’s a trophy husband you want, who better for the role than me?”

You felt your heart beat out of your chest at the thought, coming home from a long day of work, only to have Stepford greet you at the door with a bright smile and a mediocre (at best) meal (but you wouldn’t mind because he tried his best). 

“It makes sense,” You nod, inching closer and toying with the medal that rests against his chest. It’s almost impossible to ignore the way his breath hitches at your proximity, or how he seems to lean into your touch. “I’d be an idiot to turn away such a prize.”

“Good thing you’re so smart,” Stepford winked, and you couldn’t hold yourself back, leaning in and capturing his perfect lips in a delectable kiss. It wasn’t a rare occurrence to catch Stepford on your arm after that, looking all poised and pretty, completely smug that he was the one you chose to show off.

[ssareiids]

HIIII OMGGMG i love ur theme its sauurr cutesie i love it!1!1 i wasnt sure if you take requests or not so feel free to ignore this erm.💔💔

i was wonderign if u could write for spencer reid (PLEASEPLEASPLESE) like definitelt domestic fluff and like it's the two of them baking and uh it goes wrong but reader and spence just giggle like idiots at the mess they made

SWEET ON U!

pairing: s2! spencer x reader

summary: spencer and you both excel in many things in life– just... not baking.

tw/cw: if you're scared of fluff then back off /j LITERALLY NOTHING TO ADD AS A TRIGGER, if smth does count as a trigger here though please tell me.. probably innacuracies in the baking, sorry bakers i had google and a dream

shayli's ted talk: guys i swear i've been writing since my casey oneshot it's just that i'm... i'm employed now🙁.. also I LOVE YEW ANON, guys request things plz... im going through a writer's slump . we dont mention the dilauded here he's happy okay

Today was one of the days that God– or whatever being that resided in the clouds, gave Spencer a day off.

Well, it was more like the day off was forced on him. If you knew Spencer Reid, you knew he didn't take vacations, didn't use up sick days, and would probably win an award for perfect attendance if it existed for the FBI. He had denied himself of a freedom office workers would love to have, up until this very moment.

Hotch has made his words clear, and easy to understand.

"Take a day off, Reid."

Said in that same poker face Hotch always wore, the one that was burned into his eyes with how often he saw it. It was rare for the Unit chief to ever smile, and when he did, no one would be there to see it.

Getting back on track though...

You had a much more positive reaction to his day off, it may only be one day of freedom from case files and coffee mugs that were filled with a caffeine that bordered nowhere near luxury. But you would take it, you just didn't know what to do with it.

When he had first informed you of his day off, you had been overjoyed at the fact you'd finally have your boyfriend to yourself instead of playing a never ending tug of war between the job and you.

The excitement quickly faded when you realized.

You had no idea what to do with him.

I mean, you could just cuddle up all day and sleep the entire day away. But, that wasted alot of time, time that you and Spencer rarely had together.

You then wondered if you should ask him what he wanted to do, but unfortunately, ever since the two of you had begun this relationship– Spencer follows behind you everytime.

Literally and figuratively.

His half awake mind had once followed you to the kitchen when you woke up to go get a glass of water, and let me tell you. Seeing a 6' foot man behind you at 2:00 AM does things to you, and not the good type. You screamed and he screamed back, both in fear.

You knew that he'd go along with whatever shenanigans you had in mind for your couple bonding time, so you brainstorm, maybe not as fast as your boyfriend but you think.

You sit on the couch, criss cross applesauce, while looking down onto the floor. Eyebrows furrowed in deep thought as you scour the files of your mind for an idea on how to spend this rare Saturday.

"You look like me" Spencer tries to joke, it falls flat and slams face first into the floor when you don't respond. Too lost in the rabbit hole you've created to try and say something witty back.

Spencer furrows his eyebrows too, and approaches you warily– slowly, like you were some sort of threat he had to neutralize before sitting down next to you on the couch. "... Are you okay..?" He probes, trying to see if his profiling mind can do him any good in guessing what's up with you.

Then, as if the electrons– or atoms, whatever. Lined up in your brain to form the first idea that would suffice, you sat back up straight. A peaceful glint in your now not squinted eyes as you turn your head to face Spencer.

He looks confused, like... really really confused.

".. Love...?" He tries the pet name as if it would snap you back into reality, and you simply grab his hand before smiling at him.

"We are going to bake."

"... 'Kay."

As you had planned he had agreed to the idea without much second thought. Which was funny since he's so meticulous with the things in his life, maybe he's just gotten used to you bringing chaos into it.

You two had spent maybe about 30 minutes or so wondering what you should bake, you thankfully didn't need a search engine for ideas this time because Spencer was on board with being the recipe holder.

"How about chocolate chip cookies?"

"We don't have chocolate chips."

He responds curtly and you snort before rolling your eyes at him.

"I wonder who's fault is that.." You reply back, and he opens his mouth in protest, but he never actually says anything back knowing that you're right. Giving him a smug grin that said "Exactly."

"How about a Pie?"

"Well... I suppose we do have the ingredients for a normal pie, but we'll also need a variety of fruits, maybe more chocolate, and–"

"SPENCER."

"Okay, let's make a pie."

The two of you retire to your kitchen, getting all the baking necessities and tools out. You didn't even know he had all this stuff in his apartment, and when you asked he said they came with the place when he moved in.

You two learn alot of things about each other through small talk while trying not to get shells in the mixture when cracking the eggs.

You learn that Spencer has a sweet tooth, but you figured that out when you caught him putting 4 packets of sugar into his morning coffee.

Spencer learns that you almost broke your jaw on a jawbreaker once when you were 16, he furrowed his eyebrows and asked why you did it knowing it was called a jawbreaker.

You learn that Spencer has read your favourite book approximately 143 times and counting. You nearly teared up and almost got your salty tears in the melted chocolate.

And Spencer learns that you had a pet chameleon who ran away. He suggested it could still be in the house but just camoflauged, and you threw the cupful of flour at him.

You both stand there in silence, unmoving, like a showdown between 2 cowboys with only flour and sugar at their hands.

Spencer stands there, ruffled in the white powder that now adorns his pyjamas like snow, his face covered in so much of it he nearly looked like a ghost. He only reacts when you start laughing.

You don't laugh gently, or chuckle at the sight. No you laugh like you've just seen the most funniest thing in your life, and in a way... it kind of was. You hold onto the counter and hunch over, laughing like you were hysterical.

He looks over to his back, trying to find a weapon to launch back at you until he lands on the melted chocolate sauce, he glances back at you. Completely unaware of his plans before reaching his finger towards it, ew.. but it'll be worth it.

Once his finger is coated in the gooey sweet treat, he smudges it on your cheek, not carefully nor affectionately, he rubs it on your cheek– shamelessly.

You look up at him and pause your laughter, a look of faux offense swirling in your eyes as you try and find something to retaliate against him.

The innocent unbaked pie crust on the pan lay there, unaware of it's fate to come as you peel it off ready to lunge it at him. Spencer reacts just as fast though and gets his own piece of the pie crust

"Uh uh, don't you dare." Spencer says, raising his piece of pie crust like it was a shield against yours. You squint your eyes as if in focus before flicking your share of the pie crust at him.

He dodges, barely, before trying to swat you with his own. You jump back and almost bump into the kitchen island before grinning and reaching for an egg.

"I have a weapon and I am not afraid to use it!" You reply, holding the egg at him as if it was a knife, Spencer plays along and drops his pie crust onto the floor and raises his hands into the air "Ok! Ok! I surrender!" He says, his voice squeaky in defeat.

You two eventually agree to a ceasefire before getting to work on recreating the pie crust that you two had used in your food fight.

This time you work in silence, a comfortable one that came easy after the little playful banter you just had, you worked better this time since you both had gotten used on how to start and how to use all the baking tools.

After the pie crust had been filled with the melted chocolate and had been sent away to the oven, you two both fall back onto the couch.

Or it's more like you land on the couch and Spencer lands on you.

"Ah– hey!"

You shout when you feel his body weight practically jump on you, he grins toothily in his little victory when you let him stay ontop of you, knowing that you really didn't mind.

The two of you sit there in silence, waiting for the timer above the stove to ding so you both can try out your creation, there isn't much conversation.

But you didn't need to talk, your touches on his carefully done hair, and his head buried into your neck spoke enough of the love that blossomed nicely between you two. It got you thinking.

It had you imagining what you would be doing if you never met Spencer, if you never had a sudden surge of confidence to ask the pretty boy at the library out, or if he had rejected you. It had you wondering what fate held for you, the idea of fate itself.

DING! DING! DING!

You nearly push Spencer off of you when you hear the alarm's call, apologizing hurriedly before rushing along to the oven, with Spencer following right behind you, even if he was in the middle of having a very good nap.

He grabs you the oven mittens and urges you to be the one to get the pie, you don't question it, he was clumsy with his hands– half awake or not.

The oven door opens like the gates to heaven, in it's wake an aroma of chocolate and sweetness follows, sending you and Spencer into a momentary trance before you finally get it out of the heated space.

You both try to reach for it until you remember the thing is still... extremely hot.

Neither of you have the patience to wait for the sweet treat, so you leave it out on the fire exit, hoping that the windy breeze of the night cools it down enough, and that there aren't any pie swipers nearby.

The two of you giggle like little kids waiting for the smoke of the pie to dissipate and the heat to finally turn cool. When Spencer announces it's been 15 minutes, you finally grab it back into the safety of your home.

The sound of plates being taken from the dish rack and a knife being taken fills the kitchen alongside your giddiness, you bring it onto the counter with an eagerly waiting Spencer with a knife.

"You sure you can cut it?"

"I'm not 6."

He replies stubbornly before squinting his eyes and focusing on the slice he's about to cut, you look away to pass time as he cuts his own slice, but then look back when you see that he's taking... forever.

"Spence?" You ask when you see he hasn't even made an indent on the pie, raising an eyebrow when you see the focused glint in his eyes usually reserved for crime scenes and cases– not for cutting a pie.

"Shh..." He hushes you with a raised finger before finally making the cut, clean and simple, before handing it to you.

"I cut the pie for you in pi." He says proudly, as the joke flies over your head, which is usually supposed to happen to Spencer, not to you.

"... What?"

"You just don't get it." He shoos you away from the thought with a gesture of his hands.

extra:

"Hey, Spence.. about your joke earlier." You bring it up as the two of you lay in bed, social battery well drained after the events of today.

He only hums in acknowledgement of your conversation starter before allowing you to continue.

"Did you try cutting it for me.. in the size of pi or something? Like... pi as in the number..?"

"ты никогда не узнаешь."

"STOP DOING THAT."

shayli's ted talk: i used google translate for the russian so don't judge me... heh.. ok bye i'm gonna disappear and not write for another month.. maybe..

written by @ssareiids

[ssivinee]

「 Timeline 」

b. manon x f reader ! ✎𓂃 Ever since you were young, you have begun to plan your life for success. somewhat even obsessed with the idea that led you to being unintentionally self-centered at times. You believed your plans were coming to fruition... when Manon decides to throw your entire timeline off.

word count ! 18.5 k

tags ! manon being a cheater, reader is a virgin, mirror sex, a bit of degradation, dom reader, tiny praising kink, reader being confused so much.

author's note ! you guys are literally insane. THANK YOU FOR THE 1K FOLLOWERS. it literally almost makes me wanna cry. but in celebration, im giving yall another long katseye smut.

ehem i will be doing my reqs after this so everyone BARE WITH ME PLS AND TY!

Working in the corporate scene had always been your life goal. It was eye-opening to realize that some of the jobs you once dreamed of wouldn’t have provided a stable income. Especially since you were the kind of person who planned out your entire life before it even truly began.

From a young age, you carried this almost narcissistic belief that you were destined for more—an idea born from growing up in a middle-class family surrounded by people you considered painfully average. You were seven when ambition first took place, and you never let it go ever since.

You remembered living in an old modern house, playing soccer as an after-school activity, and watching how often your mom and dad worked. At first, you believed that anyone who worked hard was destined for success. But over time, you learned it wasn’t that simple. When your parents returned home at ungodly hours, their arguments about money and time were heard through the walls of the house.

One particular fight ended with your father slamming the front door and heading out for a late-night drive to clear his head. That night, you started thinking about what success really meant and how to attain it. There were so many variables like education, finances, and even luck. But what if you didn’t have luck… how could you build a future without relying on something not everyone had?

While your parents worked their night shifts, you began journaling every idea, every goal, every backup plan, all within your childhood bedroom.

You had always been gifted with numbers, so you figured that a career in accounting would be a good career to look into. By the time you reached high school, you spent every summer interning at various companies. It was taxing for a teenager, but you figured if you couldn’t handle it now, you wouldn’t survive whatever you planned for college, so you pushed through.

During your first two years of university, you focused entirely on finishing as many classes as possible. At the same time, you took a job as a remote financial analyst, balancing work and school to keep progressing at a good pace.

You even poured everything into finishing four years of education in just two. Once you graduated, you worked multiple jobs until, at twenty-four, you finally had the proper resume to apply for an opening at a telecommunications company called Zuno.

Using the smartass brain of yours, you assessed the company’s future potential and determined the odds were in your favor. You applied for an internal auditor position and figured that climbing the corporate ladder would be easy enough.

Turns out, you were right since, by twenty-five, you’d been promoted to Head of Financial Planning and Analysis. The new position allowed you to pay off your parents’ bills and mortgage, purchase your own loft in the city, and be financially stable for a very long time.

You were perfectly on track with your ‘perfect’ timeline, but that was until you weren’t. The next step would’ve been becoming CFO, but with your age and experience, it was now all about the waiting game. You’d need a few more years before you could realistically take over your boss’s position.

The problem was, this well-thought-out plan hadn’t accounted for the momentum to pause. And now that you were facing it, the thought made you sick. Life had been too smooth for you to accept this kind of dilemma.

But that wasn’t something you could dwell on now, especially not while sitting in the conference room, furiously typing away on your laptop.

“What’s the budget, forecast, analysis, and planning for the upcoming project?” asked Gary Dinapoli, your CFO. He addressed his entire team, but you knew the question was mostly for you, like usual.

“For Project Sierra,” you began confidently, “the current working budget is estimated at $27.3 million, with a ten percent buffer. Of that, roughly 42% is for the infrastructure and network expansion in Tier 2 markets, 31% to product innovation and internal R&D, and the rest split between marketing, onboarding, and operational overhead.”

The room grew quieter as a few heads turned in your direction. You continued in a steady tone, “Forecasts for Quarter three show a projected 14.6% increase in user acquisition if launch dates hold and marketing sticks to the current schedule. Momentum from Project Romeo exceeded ROI expectations by 23% last quarter, bringing in $11.2 million above initial statistics.”

Gary raised an eyebrow, but you continued, “Analysis of customer behavior over the last six months shows a 19% uptick in cross-platform engagement. Based on trajectory, we can expect net revenue impact to peak by mid-fourth quarter with breakeven happening around month five, possibly sooner with the right moves.”

You finally glanced up from your laptop, locking eyes with Gary. “As for planning,” you added, “we’re currently finalizing phase timelines with cross-functional leads. Finance-wise, I’ve already mapped out cash flow pacing to avoid strain, and risk assessments are clean unless the market peaks unexpectedly.”

It was silent for a second, until Gary let out an impressed, loud exhale through his nose. “Right,” he said, nodding slowly. “Guess I don’t need to ask if you’re ahead of schedule.”

You just offered a faint smile, fingers already typing again.

Before he could end the meeting, you heard another voice speak up from the opposite end of the room.

“Well, some of that’s just projection,” Chase said, casually adjusting his cufflinks. “Market response isn’t guaranteed, especially when user behavior fluctuates from time to time. We saw the same thing with Romeo before you adjusted your forecast.”

Chase always had a habit of inserting himself when he didn’t feel seen, which, to his disdain, was often. He’s five years older than you, has been in the company longer, and was your competition for your current position. 

The keyword is ‘was’ because getting the position before him wasn’t something he got over, even after a year since the announcement.

Gary didn’t even bother turning his head to the man, just keeping his eyes on the papers instead, “Yes, Chase. And I read your report this morning. Everything she just said? Already in it—just with fewer run-on sentences.”

A few coworkers stifled a laugh, but you stayed quiet. Glancing at the older man, who looked embarrassed at the boss's words, you could only shake your head at the sight. Gary turned his attention back to you, “Finish up your work by four,” he said. “Then head upstairs to his office at five and give him a report, please.”

You give Gary a tight-lipped smile at his kind tone as he dismisses everyone. Going to the thirty-eighth floor, you waited with coffee in hand to go to your own office. Having your own space also kept you ahead of schedule, so the promotion was a blessing, not only for your path in life but for the sake of your mental health as well.

Gary spoke of him as if he were the biggest secret of the business, but that was only because he didn’t always get along with the CEO. Marcos Gosse, the founder and CEO of the company.

You could sit in your office every single day, thinking why the two didn’t get along, but you didn’t understand it, as both are kind men. Marcos was one of the youngest CEO’s you were even aware of, standing at the same age as you. He’s an intelligent man who treated his employees well.

Maybe Gary was jealous? 

You shook your head, not liking to assume anything unless they were backed up with any kind of evidence. Now heading into your office, the cool air hit the sleeves of your black portefino shirt once you opened the door.

Settling into your chair, you take another sip of the coffee as you set the silver laptop on the surface of the glass desk. Then, staring at the standing whiteboard which had multiple check marks on it, all the work needing to be done today was seemingly finished even before the meeting you just had. All you had to do was sit and wait until five.

Which meant an annoying hour and twenty minutes of nothing to do. So instead of lounging around, you took out the thick notebook from your leather briefcase-shaped bag. Taking a red pen from the black pencil holder on your desk, you open the book and begin writing the plans for this month.

While writing down a bunch of meetings, deadlines, and events, another woman exited the elevator. She took in the large buildings, giving herself an unofficial tour of the place as she took it into her own hands. 

Every employee heard her expensive heels clacking down the hallway, most of the rooms sectioned off by large walls of oak wood that seemed to be painted in a dark stain. She hums, impressed with the modern look of the space, while others stare at her as she struts to the opposite end of the building.

She begins reading the plaque of each room, seeing that she has found people in higher positions in the department. Through a big enough window, she finds Gary, who seems to be taking a phone call.

He catches a glimpse of the woman, giving a kind smile and a wave. They had met the week prior during a meeting Marco had prepared. She knew the older man didn’t have the best relationship with her husband, but Gary looked like a cuddly bear in her eyes, which made her love him.

Next, she walked over to the room beside Gary’s to find the plaque engraved with ‘Head of Financial Planning and Analysis’ and ‘Y/n L/n,’ right below it. She looks into the room through the glass, not showing her complete face, where she finds you deep in your notebook. 

She watched as your gaze moved to a phone, then you wrote swiftly with your red pen. Your glasses hung from the bridge of your nose, sliding down due to looking down at the paper. So engrossed, you didn’t even notice her staring at you.

Instead of seeming like a creep to the rest of the workers on the floor, she decides to take her leave to the top floor, where she would hang around until the night ends. Luckily, the hour went by quickly, and you had time to grab a snack from the breakroom. After storing your laptop and notebook back in your bag, you bring them with you and enter the room that smells like food.

You stand in front of the vending machine, thinking a small Rice Krispies treat would help your stomach since you would be home right after giving your report. As you pay with your phone, the snack drops, and you unwrap it to eat.

“I must have to worst luck to see you everywhere,” You hear Chase’s annoying voice say, and you take a bite out of the snack, giving him a smile along with it. “Still salty, old man?”

“It’s been a year, and yours still hanging onto that grudge of yours,” You tease while still munching on the treat as he quickly looks angry. “That position should be MINE!”

You shake your head, tapping your finger on your hip as you throw away your garbage and swallow the last piece. “You mean ‘that should have been my position.’ C’mon now, Chase. Proper grammar, please,” you told him while taking your leave to the upper floor, and heard him growl.

It may not be apart of your life plan, but pissing off the older man always made your day go by smoother.

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime as you stepped in from the 38th floor, pressing the button that led to the 40th. As the doors slid shut, the sound of the elevator filled the silence, giving you a moment to roll your shoulders back without the bustling office ringing in your ears. The upper levels of the building were always quieter, and you already wished your office was up there.

When the doors opened again, all you could still hear was the silence that took over the entire floor. Due to the floor having higher representatives and a large empty meeting room, everyone stayed quiet in their own offices.

You walked all the way to the end, the room being blocked off by towering, dark wooden doors. Then, knocking twice as you waited for the okay to enter, and it didn’t take long for a voice to come through.

“Come in.” Pushing the door open, you were met with the scent of leather and lemon, likely due to the candle that was evidently lit up on the desk. Marcos stood from behind the table, smoothing down his suit jacket that had gotten wrinkled from the whole day of sitting, and he had an easygoing smile that he always greeted you with.

“There’s my genius numbers machine,” he said jokingly, then motioned for you to sit. “How’ve you been?” You sat down, crossing one leg over the other as you offered him a polite smile. “Same as always, just trying to make sure Chase doesn’t bark up a storm.”

Marcos chuckled, “I told you, he was going to throw a fit after today's meeting. But hey, you always handle him best.” He leaned on the desk now after taking a seat, his back resting on his large office chair. “Tell me—did you ever get that Chrysler you kept going on about?”

You let out a small laugh through your nose, “I did, it’s all black.” He grinned widely, nodding in approval. “Nice. You’ve got good taste.” He always talked to you all friendly, like he wasn’t your boss. You took it up with being the same age as him, and he probably needed a friend who wouldn't judge him for how young he is.

From your bag, you pulled out the prepared papers and slid them across the desk. Marcos took it, his fingers flipping through the first few pages scanning through them as he trusted your work. You gave him a quick rundown, saving him the time.

“Budget for Project Sierra is good to go, no unexpected adjustments since Monday. Analysis is clean, and planning is already syncing with the other companies for a greenlight deployment. Phase one’s basically ready.”

He nodded along, halfway through a skim of a page. “I’ll dig into the rest later tonight—” A knock interrupted him. His gaze shifted to the door, a bit confused about who it might be. “Come in.”

The door opened smoothly, and in stepped a woman who literally looked as confident as she walked. Her hair was styled into a straight, sleek ponytail cascading down her back with not a single hair out of place. She wore pointed, glossy red heels with a black sleeveless midi sheath dress that had a square neckline and cut off right below her knees.

You didn’t know who she was, but you glanced over your shoulder, and for a second, your eyes locked with hers.

She looked quite expensive, all you could even tell yourself that. But other than that, you didn’t pay much attention to her, as she dressed like many of the higher representative women in Zuno.

Marcos stood from his chair again, gesturing between the two of you with that usual soft-spoken tone of his. “Ah—perfect timing,” he said. “This is Manon. My fiancée.”

You only blinked as you stood up slowly, brushing your pants down before reaching out your hand. “Nice to meet you,” you said coolly, offering a firm shake. Her fingers curled around yours in return, and you noticed how soft and small her hand felt as they wrapped around yours.

“Likewise,” she answered with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. ‘It’s only a marriage contract,’ she told herself over and over again. But she wasn’t about to say that out loud, because why would she?

Manon had met Marcos about six months ago. A lunch gathering between industry executives and family shareholders introduced them, and things moved fast once her parents got to know him for a bit. Two months after the first meeting, both of them signed the paperwork. It was only a marriage and company transaction that would favor the two.

Manon did try to fight it, lord knows she didn’t want to deal with anything of this sort since she had only turned 23. Yet there seemed to be no way out once her parents set their minds on it.

Her father was the CEO of Bannerman Studios, one of the biggest production companies in the industry, and the engagement would be a headline-worthy topic in the business circuit.

But despite the perks and polished smiles, Marcos didn’t excite her. He was genuinely sweet,  the kind of man who always held doors open and asked if she’d eaten. He even sent fresh flowers to her place every week, left handwritten notes when he traveled for work, and never raised his voice, like ever.

It should have been perfect, and granted, it was. But Manon wasn’t the type of woman who liked to be perfect. She liked chaos, stupid decisions, and risks. She liked the feeling of freedom, the excitement of anything that left any person breathless. Basically, anything that involved trouble, Manon loved and gravitated towards.

And right now?

She was staring at you. You were taller than her, looked composed, clean, and smart, which wasn’t something that would usually excite her. Your long hair was twisted back into a claw clip, some strands framing your face. You wore navy blue wide-leg tailored pants, stood in black heels, and a white button-up tucked in perfectly, looking like everything fit to a tee and showed off your figure.

Manon didn’t say anything else, and it wasn’t like she could. Everything she thought about you could’ve been considered infidelity even if she wasn’t, yet, married to Marcos.

She could just swoon for you, and in that little wild corner of her mind, you looked like the kind of woman who might surprise her with entertainment. And since her contract signing four months ago, this seems to be the moment she has been waiting for.

“I should take my leave, need to cook up some dinner,” you told your boss, and he gave you a kurt nod. “It was nice to meet you, Manon,” you say out of common courtesy. Her gaze couldn’t even leave your face when she told you, “It was so nice meeting you as well.” 

There was something in the tone of her voice that made you raise an eyebrow before you head out of the office. You shake your head while walking down the hall, believing Manon to be a person who just liked meeting new people.

Yeah… that was it… surely?

It was finally Friday, one of the days that sped up before the weekend. You were finishing up the last of your reports for the day, already mentally clocking out for a normal, uneventful weekend. The next two days would usually just be you, in your loft, chilling while watching some random documentaries throughout the day. You even had a few queued up already—one about a serial killer, another on Amy Winehouse. 

Even if you graduated early, you still loved learning, especially if they were things that were on your own terms. Some could say nerdy, you say… nerdy and educational. More knowledge won’t kill anyone.

You were thinking about it as you typed away on your keyboard, until a knock echoed off your office door. You paused mid-type, brows furrowed since you weren’t expecting anyone.

Not even saying anything, the door cracked open, and in walked Manon.

She stepped inside without much of a word, giving the office space a look around, which made you look puzzled. You could tell she was checking to see if anyone was paying attention to her sudden appearance, but everyone was too caught up in doing their work to even care. You heard multiple office phones ringing, people silently replying to emails and research, while others responded to the calls. No one even spared her a glance, which seemed to relieve her.

She then shut the door softly behind her. You leaned back in your chair, eyes narrowing slightly, your confusion not even being hidden at all.

“…Ms. Bannerman?” you asked slowly, the name coming from memory when Marcos had mentioned more about her two days ago, when the topic came up again somehow. But she waved a hand, cutting you off gently. “Just call me Manon.”

You blinked, still not fully understanding the situation, but replied the same way. “Ms. Bannerman.”

She tilted her head slightly, caught off guard at the way you repeated her name instead. She was used to people folding for her and following whatever she told them to do. Who wouldn’t? She was Manon Bannerman, after all.

But you didn’t budge, not one bit, as you sat in your chair just observing her next move. And that earned you a smirk from her.

From behind her back, she revealed a coffee cup and stepped forward. “A peace offering,” she said playfully, leaning slightly across your desk as she handed it over.

Your eyes instinctively flicked down, then back up—very quickly. The velvet maroon dress she had on dipped low in the front, showing off her cleavage, sleeves hugging her arms, and the fabric clung extremely tightly to her frame. She looked expensive yet seductive, which was surely the wrong setting for an outfit like such, while standing in your office and leaning over your desk like it wasn’t a big deal. You noticed the subtle glint of a thin chain bracelet wrapped twice around her wrist, paired with the faintest whiff of jasmine and wood. Her perfume legit just smelled as expensive as she looks.

You took the cup, still unsure. “…Uhm. Okay?” With a hesitant sip, you feel the heat of the coffee first, the sensation being something you were fond of, then some sweetness hits your tongue. It wasn’t bad, sometimes liking sweet things every now and then, but you definitely didn’t prefer your everyday coffee this way.

“It’s a bit sweet, but thanks for the coffee,” you said anyway, in a polite manner. When you looked back up, her mouth had dropped slightly open. “You think that’s sweet? I only asked for two sugars.”

You shrugged. “I usually drink it black.” That made her pause; she should’ve seen it coming. Your demeanor was like the kind of person who liked straight answers… and your coffee plain.

She leaned her weight onto one hip, brow raised, and mumbled under her breath, “How do you prefer your women then…” It was barely audible, and you blinked with a perplexed look on your face. “Sorry—what?”

She straightened up quickly, brushing it off with a light laugh. “Nothing,” she said smoothly, already backing toward the door.

Hand on the knob, she turned over her shoulder one last time. “Have a good day.” You nodded once, still processing what the fuck just happened. “…You too.”

As the door shut behind her, Manon walked past the cubicles of employees and down the hall, heels clicking rapidly as she sped walk.

She needed to think of some way for you to be interested in her, or even just catch your attention, because if someone like you wasn’t easily impressed, she was going to have to figure out a way to do so.

So when entering the elevator and pressing her destination, she just kept thinking and thinking about a plan. When walking into Marcos’ office, Manon didn’t even knock. It would’ve been a waste of time for her.

Ironically, she never did when it came to Marcos' office—he had even grown accustomed to it after she started doing it a month into their contract. However, it still caught him off guard, his head lifting from a thick pile of papers when she entered unannounced.

“Manon,” he greeted, smile kind and voice still that signature softness he gave to everyone. 

She didn’t understand why her brain had to operate the way it did. Her parents set her up for greatness with this man, and regardless of what she thought, he was overall a perfect person. Wealthy, sweet, treated people with kindness, funny, and just a friendly guy overall. Yet why were those qualities just not enough for her?

She remembered a few nights ago, when Marcos had taken her to an expensive rooftop restaurant. It was one of those places with a skyline view that everyone posted on Instagram. He talked about stocks and a bit about work before talking about things that could possibly happen for their wedding over steak, and smiled every time she laughed at a joke she didn’t find funny. When he dropped her home, he kissed her forehead goodnight. 

…That was it.

A faint trace of embarrassment crept onto her cheeks as she stepped further into the room. She hated how uncollected she felt in that moment—it wasn’t like she was in trouble or anything. Still, she didn’t respond to him, choosing to make her way to the opposite end of his office, in front of his desk, but far away enough, where the couch was placed.

It was in front of the black colored concrete accent wall in his room. The seating arrangement made it comfortable enough that she didn’t feel suffocated despite the corporate space that seemed hectic all the time. Granted, it was still Marcos’ space, so she couldn’t feel super free, but it sufficed for the space that it was. The couch is modern, low, yet wide, with clean ivory leather surrounding it and dark wood framing. A beige concrete drum coffee table was in front of it, fitting into the ‘plain’ modern aesthetic Manon actually despised.

Manon took a seat, crossing a leg over the other as she took a sip of the iced coffee she had bought herself in the process of buying yours.

That look you gave her earlier pretty much stuck in that pretty head of hers. It hadn’t been anything crazy either, just a pause with the piercing gaze of yours, as your brows narrowed ever so slightly while watching her every movement. You were clearly studying her and didn’t even hide it.

You could think that it wouldn’t get any worse, but it did to Manon. When you didn’t look impressed, like at all.

Marcos glanced up again, focused only on her, “Where’d you disappear to? I figured I’d see you before I met with the commercial company.”

Her expression didn’t change as she gave him a nonchalant shrug, “Just went out to get coffee.” It’s all she intended to say, especially since Marcos didn’t ask anything further. He hummed under his breath, giving a nod before glancing back down at the documents he’d been reviewing.

But then, out of nowhere, Manon’s brain seemed unable to help itself. “I bumped into Y/n in the elevator.” So she lied, yet admitted to seeing you… she wanted to smack herself in the head as soon as the word left her mouth. He stopped mid-read, brow raising slightly in curiosity. “Y/n?”

“You mean… my head of FP&A?” he asked, eyes lifting again, this time a bit confused. “She rarely leaves the building unless it’s her lunch break. Maybe she took it late today? She’s clocking out soon anyway, so I guess it’s possible.” He didn’t sound suspicious, just a bit curious about his friend whom he believed he knew well, but that didn’t stop the flicker of panic that jolted through her for a brief moment.

“I’ll ask her about it—”

“No,” she cut in, voice just a little too quick than intended. Marcos paused, pen still in hand, eyes flickering with mild confusion at her tone. She caught the way she sounded and Marcos’ face, faking an airy laugh.

“It was just… a little awkward,” she said, brushing a curl from her perfectly styled hair behind her ear as she leaned back into the sofa. “I don’t think it’s worth bringing up.” He could’ve questioned her, but it seemed like Manon put her acting skills up to the test in the moment. One of the many things being born a Bannerman taught her.

He nodded, the information new to him, “That’s surprising. She’s usually really composed and professional.”

“Exactly,” Manon replied without any hesitation. “Which is probably why it was awkward. I’m kind of the opposite, you know?” Marcos chuckled softly and leaned back in his chair. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

Before he could say anything else, there was a knock on the door, then it eased open. Manon recognized him as Morcos’ assistant, a small-framed man, wearing a collared shirt that wrinkled from how big it was, eyes insanely visible behind his large-rimmed glasses.

“Sir,” he said, voice a little too soft. “The—uh—boardroom’s ready. They’re waiting.”

Marcos sighed quietly, standing from his seat and collecting his papers into a folder. “Right. I’ll be back in an hour.” He rounded his desk, walking over to Manon and giving her a brief peck on the cheek. “Just relax here for a bit, okay? We’ll head out after.”

She nodded and smiled in return, though the moment he left, the smile dropped. Manon Bannerman was a lot of things. Patient was not one of them.

She stood up, pacing a bit before settling back into the couch. Her gaze wandered, drifting over the art, the floating shelves with framed awards on them, the books she doubted anyone ever actually opened, with the dust collecting on them. She sat for another two minutes, legs crossing and uncrossing, fingers tapping against her thigh.

Then her eyes landed on his desktop monitor. With no one else in the room, her intrusive thoughts began running. It was one of the only offices without windows, and she knew that Marcos didn’t turn off his computer unless he was heading out for the night.

Curiosity took over as she waited five more minutes. Just long enough to make sure the coast was really clear. Once she felt enough time had passed, she made her move.

She did her best to be a bit quiet, heels barely clicking against the floor as she made her way behind the desk. The chair was adjusted higher than she preferred, but since she was snooping around, complaining couldn’t so much as she pressed the mouse.

The screen woke instantly, and to her luck, the internal system was open. She assumed there had to be a private company network, and since Marcos was the CEO, it made sense that he’d have access to everything. His employees, projects, and departmental files.

She typed your name in the search bar, and her research didn’t take long. Because as soon as she pressed enter, a file opened in full screen, and your face was the first thing that greeted her. 

That same damn face that has her acting a fool. Manon leaned forward, dragging a finger under her chin as she looked closer. ‘Fine as hell’ was the first thought that entered her head.

But as her eyes scanned the contents of your file, she only expected to see a phone number, birthday, emergency contacts, and address, just in case. But she realized this wasn’t just some basic profile—this thing had everything on it.

Your official ID photo and your full resume underneath. Manon didn’t expect anything less from you, seeing the long list of experience and education. She thought it would be creepy of her to see all of this, but she had already committed to all of it at this point. She saw emergency contact information, an address listed, your income details, years of employment, and even certifications.

Not much of the information was useful unless she wanted to be a creep and basically stalk you. It made her a bit hopeless until she scrolled all the way back up, finding notes with dates beside them.

It seemed, Marcos would check these often, noting things down that he had to bring up with his employees. A bulleted line stood out to her, ‘Event planning: discuss finance tracking with Y/n for Q3 Celebration Budget. Have her oversee spend limits during setup and execution.’

It was for a company-wide party. One of those things wealthy people loved to throw to boost morale, PR, and just to ‘celebrate’ the success of their company. Manon liked calling it ‘ego parties’ because these people gathered around to boast about their own success rather than about the company party they were invited to.

You wouldn’t be there as a guest, but as a working and paid employee. Still, a room full of people, music, lights, her in something other than her ‘normal’ clothes… and you somewhere in all of this. Manon believed she wouldn’t get another chance to do something in a long time unless she was willing to wait.

She smirked to herself, slowly spinning the chair just slightly to the left. Catching your attention was officially on her to-do list with this upcoming event.

And she was going to make sure that it was going to go her way. She closed the file, doing her best to leave everything the way Marcos left it, and went back to her seat.

Manon leaned back, arms stretching above the backrests, where she sighed in a relaxing manner. Brewing up a plan in her head, she had to not only seduce you (because she was aware that wasn’t going to work) but find something that interests you to really reel you in.

The next few days were ‘normal’ enough. Manon brought you coffee every other day, not in a pattern, so it didn’t seem super odd to you. If anything, you were grateful at times, since you couldn’t get a second cup of coffee on some days. She even began getting your order done.

One black coffee with one packet of sugar. You rarely ever minded her, and it wasn’t meant to be in a disrespectful way. You had only made one friend in the company, and that’s Marcos. There was no other person, and you’d like to keep it that way.

After minding your business for about two weeks, Manon even began thinking that she was beginning to look like your assistant.

Although doing all of this would surely work in her favor. Because by visiting you every other day, she got to know more about you despite the minimal chatter.

While waiting for the next couple of days, the invitation didn’t need to be extended. She did want to make sure she wasn’t obvious about it. From what she can recall, Manon had been same spot in his office like usual, flipping lazily through a magazine, waiting for him to wrap up his email. 

Which meant a lot of reading for him and more waiting for her, but it had become the norm, everything Manon visited. They would get food together throughout the day, and she’d grown used to Marcos’ routine, and she doesn’t have a choice.

After an hour, they exited the elevator toward the private parking area where his car was parked. She adjusted her sunglasses and sighed out a sound, sounding somewhat tired from something.

“I feel like I haven’t gone out in forever,” she said, dramatic enough but also passes off as a casual comment that came to mind. “No party or even wine. I’m getting a little bored with life.”

Marcos, ever sweet and receptive, gave her a glance. “That’s funny,” he replied, already unlocking the car and opening the passenger door for her. “I was actually going to ask if you wanted to go with me to a Celebration. Just a little progression success for the project.”

“Like a rich party kinda thing?” she asked with a tiny tilt of her head, feigning vague interest. “My parents told me you guys throw those like... once a quarter or something.”

He chuckled. “Yeah. I know it sounds corporate and stiff, but it’s going to be at the Astrelle building, the one that’s a few minutes away from here. I asked them to go all out with planning—live music, open bar, the whole thing. I figured we could go together.”

“Well, since you insist,” she replied with a lazy grin, sliding into the passenger seat like she hadn’t been planning this for weeks. “I’ll clear my schedule.”

So that's how she finds herself standing under the luxurious chandeliers of the ballroom. She held a flute of champagne effortlessly between her two fingers. Her posture and face, somewhat relaxed, but deep down, she was on alert.

The venue was breathtaking with its cream colored marble floors beneath everyone's feet, veins looking like they had been dusted with gold. Crystal chandeliers shine with bright lights overhead. 

Manon stood near the edge of the room, looking like trouble… in a good way. Her gown was a deep midnight blue, almost tricking the eye to see black until the light hit it just right. A floor-length sheath cut that followed every curve, hugging her body. A slit ran high up her left leg, stopping just below the hip with a perfectly angled hem, it was sexy without exposing too much. 

The neckline dipped into a clean, plunge, held together by a delicate gold chain that wrapped across her chest, looking like jewelry built into the gown itself. Her hair was slicked back into a sleek ponytail again, and the glimmer of her diamond drop earrings would shine as she swayed her head.

She wasn’t acting like it, but she was looking for you. Walking gracefully through the crowd, exchanging polite smiles with people she didn’t know, giving half-hearted nods to board members who likely didn’t recognize her. 

The live jazz mixed with hints of lounge house was just loud enough for everyone to hear each other's conversation. A waiter passed by with another tray of champagne, and she switched her empty glass with a full one, taking a sip of the sparkling liquid that seemed to pop on the surface of her tongue.

Her eyes scanned the sea of rich people, tailored suits, cocktail dresses, and gowns with disinterest until she noticed a figure in the far back, off to the side of the ballroom, near the door that led to the terrace, where she saw you.

You were facing slightly away from her, speaking with someone who looked professional, clearly someone you worked with. You held a clipboard, nodding, and your posture looked rigid as your shoulders looked spread out with tension, looking like you were in a ‘serious’ mode.

Manon leaned onto a column, slightly tucked behind one of the open archways, watching you from a short distance.

You looked way better than she expected, especially since she expected you to match your coworkers. It was clear that you had a higher position compared to your peers. She eyed the matte black heels you wore, coordinating with the other women who seemed to be working as well. 

Still, Manon seemed to forget something. That, despite your position in the company, Marcos valued his friendship with you. She did notice that every time you gave him a report, the two of you seemed to be very ‘buddy-buddy.’ Also, not knowing what to make of it, she makes her mind believe that you two are genuinely just friends.

Her meeting you had to look as natural as possible. So she waited until you turned slightly to your right, appearing to give final notes to whoever you’d been speaking to. Once you took a step toward the outer terrace doors, she moved quickly with her flute of champagne still in hand, intercepting your path with perfect timing.

You felt a gentle bump, shoving you a bit to the left due to your focus being on the clipboard.

“Oh—shit, sorry,” she said, turning with a look of surprise, brows up, pretending like she hadn’t already clocked your exact location twenty minutes ago. You instinctively reached out, one hand lightly touching her arm to steady her. 

Your eyes finally met hers… again. “...Ms. Bannerman,” you said, a bit skeptical due to the past few days, but act as normally as possible due to the setting.

She smiled innocently,  a look you didn’t really believe. “Manon,” she reminded, in that same voice from your office two weeks ago. You didn’t respond to that, not wanting some kind of casual relationship. Your hand dropped from her arm, and you gave a polite nod. “Didn’t expect to see you back here.”

She gave a little shrug, lifting her champagne flute. “I like parties, but these rich ones aren’t exactly my cup of tea.”

You scanned her dress quickly. Not trying to be rude or anything—just something you usually did, especially when events like these had everyone dressing up in elegant clothes. It also isn’t hard not to notice the way the fabric moved when she did.

“You look different,” you commented casually. “Good different?” she asked, lips smirking in mild amusement. You didn’t answer, and she let the silence take its course; she needs you to talk to her anyway. You glanced past her, checking to see if the event coordinator had moved on, then looked back.

“Is there something you needed?” you asked, the tone still professional, but more curious than intended. “Not really,” she replied, sipping her drink again. “I just… didn’t want to spend the whole night smiling at old men who flash their Rolexes and stories about tax breaks.” You almost smirked at that. Wanting to achieve greatness yourself, but maybe since you weren’t there yet, it was easy to agree with her statement.

“I figured I’d find someone a little more... to my taste,” she added, tilting her head slightly.

“I’m working,” you reminded her. She made a soft hum of acknowledgment, stepping back slightly, but it was clear that she was making a slow exit. “Well,” she said with a wink. “Try not to work too hard.”

As she turned, Manon did a spin for a turn for you to catch the way the slit of her dress shifted with her movement as she began to walk away toward the bar.

She could somewhat feel your lingering gaze, but she knew you weren’t one to likely stare unless it felt necessary.

The celebration went on, and Manon did her best to act like a background character in a movie. She stayed beside Marcos for most of the night, doing her best to keep up with conversations with senior executives and investment partners, smiling and nodding at the right times while sipping slowly at her third flute of champagne. 

She felt like she was going to need a couple of those to survive the night.

The live jazz music became softer, setting a more ambient mood as the chandeliers became warmer in color, and the moon began to appear. The warm glow of candles at each table glowed a bit brighter, which helped warm up the space.

But in between every comment about someone else, her eyes would subtly flick across the room, looking for you. Luckily, you weren’t hard to keep track of as you hadn’t changed out of your ‘uniform,’ because even in matte black heels and tailored slacks, you still stood out. 

Manon found it odd in the way you seemed to keep her in a trance without even trying. You didn’t exactly have this special look to you, almost looking as normal as everyone else. Yet you are attractive, she assumed it was likely in the way you carried yourself. You rarely ever smile, well, unless talking to Marcos. When speaking, you always got to the point and made sure your words came across properly. Manon also found the way you spoke so formal to be… enticing to her, to keep it a bit PG in her head.

Every few minutes, Manon found herself drifting toward you—on accident, for the first few times. The next few were definitely on purpose.

The first time, it was by the stage area where the staff was adjusting the equipment for the bands, keeping everything in check. You were reading something on your phone, keeping expenses in check while you weren’t physically busy. Manon stepped beside you, humming quietly.

“Is it bad that I’m more scared of expense reports than I am of horror movies?” she murmured casually. You didn’t even glance up, just shrugging, “Depends on the horror movie.” That got a soft, pleased laugh from her.

She tapped her acrylic nails against her glass, then added with an innocent tilt of her head, “I heard you liked those. Horror films.” Now you glanced up, a bit curious as to how she knew.

“I bring you coffee like every other day, I was bound to notice, you know?” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. Your boss's fiancé had practically become your unofficial coffee runner for some odd reason. Only Manon would know what’s going on in Manon’s head, and you weren't sure if you wanted to find out. “Heard some of those blood-curdling kinds of screams from your computer.”

You nodded once. “I like to keep background noise while I work.”

“That explains why you were watching The Silence of the Lambs while working on a large email.” You didn’t say anything, but a small smirk ghosted the edge of your lips before you walked off to finish what you were doing. Slightly yelling over the music while leaving her alone, “It’s an iconic movie.”

Later, by the dessert table—which had been almost picked clean by rich snobs—she spotted you again, talking to someone from the company, and she didn’t even care to remember their name. She only waited until they left before speaking to you again.

“They have Greek options on the menu tonight,” she said, her voice just above a whisper so as not to startle you.

You blinked. “You’re surprisingly observant.” Manon smiled, a bit proud of herself since she usually wasn’t. Then looked over the table, “You get the same order almost every Thursday—chicken souvlaki bowl, lemon rice, no eggplant.”

You raised a brow, even more skeptical of what her game is now. “Sounds like you’re building a case file on me.” She grinned, “Maybe I am.”

“Should I be concerned?”

“No,” she said. “But if I ever have to get you on my side, I know to order a Swedish dessert to go with your coffee.” You didn’t respond right away, almost buffering at what she said. Had she really visited your office with coffee THAT MANY TIMES to know all of that about you?

She saw the breath of a laugh that passed through your nose, not being able to hold it back.

Marcos joined the two of you a minute later, a hand on Manon’s back as he gave you one of his good ole smiles. “It’s good to see you two getting along,” he said, voice cheery. “Told you she’s not as over the top as she seems.”

“She’s been… surprising,” you admitted. That made Manon turn her head just a tiny bit. Those were the only words she needed to hear to keep this momentum going. 

Then, after a few hours pass, you finally got the signal to break. A little red mark on your work app letting you know it was your scheduled break for the day. One that you needed after the five-hour mark, really, but this was your first break in seven hours. The band picked up the pacing with their music, which had the guests become looser with their drinking, giving you a minute to breathe.

Everyone was acting like bafoons, but luckily, these were all wealthy people who had reputations to uphold, so anything breaking shouldn’t be a major concern.

Instead of watching over everyone again, you disappeared toward the employee catering area at the back of the venue, where the food was kept for you guys—nothing on tiny porcelain trays, just stainless steel trays with generous servings, sodas, waters, and coffees that tasted like they cost one dollar. In this economy, that price was good, but not for your taste buds. You sat for a bit with a bottle of water and a simple plate of spiced rice, grilled veggies, and grilled lamb. No one really talked to each other unless it was about work, everyone to focused on getting energy back and going back to work.

Once you were finished, you felt the urge to pee from the water you had been drinking throughout the day, and knew you needed to use the restroom. You made your way to the employee wing, only to be met with a queue of people waiting. You checked your phone, still on break, but it wasn’t going to last for much longer.

With a quiet sigh, you left the hallway and turned down the corridor toward the guest bathrooms. 

When entering, you peek your head in before completely entering, trying to make sure some big corporate boss wouldn’t yell at you. Not even taking the time to look over the grand decor of this bathroom, you headed into a stall and did what you had to. It was quick, which was great since you needed to be in and out. 

You dried your hands slowly after stepping out of the stall, tugging down at the sleeves of your outfit and fixing your hair. There was a quiet to the room, only the soft hum of a nearby speaker playing instrumentals.

Until you heard the door open, making you stiffen up a bit. Yet you relaxed as soon as you saw the midnight blue that had been near you way too much this entire day.

Manon. She entered, and you hear her heels click louder against the clean tiles. She walked straight to the mirror, beside you once again, applying soft pressure to the edges of her eye makeup like it actually needed touching up.

You didn’t give yourself a chance to glance at her, not even saying anything as you focused on washing all the soap off your hands. She let the silence be, thinking of what to say before she actually thought of something.

“Thought you were supposed to use the employee restroom,” she teased, not looking at you but watching your reaction in the mirror. She also wasn’t going to reveal that she didn’t need to come here, but saw you rushing over into this bathroom.

“They were full,” you replied evenly, drying your hands with a paper towel and tossing it out. “Didn’t realize I had a bathroom tracker now,” she hears how nonchalant you are, but takes into account the little look you gave her. The way your brow raised, how the corners of your mouth twitched upward a bit.

“I don’t track you,” she said confidently, still dabbing at her lipstick with her finger. “I just notice things.” You nodded once, almost laughing even, then leaned slightly to the side of the mirror to adjust your earring. “Mm. I’ve noticed.”

She didn’t back off; in fact, she felt like she could make something happen here. Manon reached into the silver sparkling clutch tucked beneath her arm and pulled out a bullet-tubed lipstick. She uncapped it, swiping it once across her lower lip.

“You’ve got a good face,” she murmured, not even looking at you. “Strong jaw, defined cheekbones. I was just thinking…” You looked over, mildly confused. She turned toward you slightly, capping her gloss with a soft snap.

“...you’d probably look really good with some smudged lipstick on you.”

What the hell did that mean? Who were you kidding? You totally understood what she meant… but this wasn’t something you wanted to touch. One, she was your boss’s fiancée. Two, you weren’t exactly planning on being in a relationship, nor have you been in one. Lastly, SHE’S YOUR BOSS’S FIANCÉE.

The comment was said in such a featherlight tone that it could’ve been a comment about makeup advice for you. Yet she seemed troublesome enough for you to know that wasn’t the case. Your brows lifted just a little, just registering the implication.

Manon turned back to the mirror, fixing a stray strand of hair behind her ear.“Just... an observation,” she added lazily.

You didn’t respond, but your gaze lingered on her a second longer than it should have.

She finally looked at you through the mirror again. “See you out there,” she said, the corner of her lip curling into a knowing half-smile. Then, just like that, she walked out.

Was… was she just flirting with you?

For the first time, you didn’t have anything to say. “What in the world do you have me involved with right now?” You questioned while looking up at the dark marble ceiling, lighting beaming a bit as you groaned. 

Your timeline is about success, not whatever this was. There was a feeling that this would set you back a bit—or maybe a bunch. You aren’t really sure.

The weekend flew by quickly, and it was already Monday morning, which came faster than usual. Usually, you’d like time to go by quickly, and being able to hit your timeline quotas was always on your mind. Yet, you almost hoped time would go by slowly after the event.

By Sunday, you had time to breathe, organize your files, and even binge two documentaries while folding laundry and meal prepping for the week. Doing all the chores on that day, the schedule made everything feel normal, even for just a bit.

Though even with being busy, you couldn’t get Manon’s words out of your head. Smudged lipstick?

You didn’t realize how much those two words could live rent-free in your mind, and you didn’t exactly like it either. Shaking your head, you pulled into the parking lot—your black Chrysler shining underneath the sun as you pulled into the lot and parked in your usual space.

Grabbing your leather briefcase-style purse from the passenger seat and your go-to hot black coffee in the other hand, you made your way into the building. The elevator greeted you quietly as you stepped inside alone, and it was only as the soft elevator music played above that your mind began to wander again.

‘You’d probably look really good with some smudged lipstick on you.’

It didn’t sound friendly, but you knew better than to assume it was. Because it absolutely wasn’t professional.

It made you fall deeper into this cycle of thoughts you were beginning to have. Manon seemed like an anomaly in your mind. Sure, she was beautiful, but also… chaotic, unpredictable, and most importantly, Marcos’ fiancée. Let’s not forget that part of the information… There was pure sarcasm there.

Marcos was someone you respected, especially since he’s constantly kind to you. Offering you a promotion that could’ve taken others years to be considered. He always asked about your life, never raised his voice at anyone, and even went out of his way to pronounce everyone’s name right on the first day of hiring.

So, whatever it was Manon had tried at that party—whatever she meant—you told yourself to forget it.

The elevator dinged on the 38th floor. You stepped out, still sipping your coffee, pulling out your keycard for your office. The floor was empty, the lights dim because of the time, which wasn’t unusual. You were usually the first in, and it gave you thirty minutes of pure silence to mentally prepare yourself for the hectic day.

But when you opened your office door, your brain paused. Because lo and behold, there’s Manon sitting in your chair.

Her legs crossed casually, her fingers spinning slowly against the edge of your desk, looking comfortable in a room that should’ve been your safe space. You hadn’t even noticed the blinds were shut from any view of the outside, too focused on what’s in front of you. 

“...What the hell?” you muttered under your breath. She looked at you, a brow raised while looking, clearly, unbothered. “Good morning to you, too.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I was bored,” she replied with an airy tone, voice sounding sluggish like she had no better reason. “Wanted a change of scenery.” You checked the time on your phone instinctively. “It’s barely past seven.”

“And?” she smiled.

No words could even explain how you felt, an exhale just escaping through your nose, using your foot to close the door. She wore a deep blood-red cropped top, sleeveless with some geometrical cut-outs, a small metal clasp at the collarbone keeping it secured. The matching skirt was high-waisted and fit her curves.

It was neither appropriate nor inappropriate for the space you were in. She just looked a little confused about what to wear in the office, if you were being honest with yourself. This also doesn’t negate how good she looks, either.

You walked across the room and dropped your bag onto the olive green velvet couch pressed up against the far wall. The black wood coffee table sat in front of it, where you placed your cup of coffee and laptop. You sat down on the carpet with a soft sigh, letting Manon stay in her spot instead of troubling yourself.

Finding yourself typing in your login, you begin to check the schedule for the day. “Meeting in thirty minutes,” you mumbled, scrolling. “Finance team again… which means Chase.”

You said out loud, but you regret it almost instantly.

“Oh~,” Manon hummed, dragging the word. “The infamous Chase. You really don’t like him, huh?” You gave her a pointed look but didn’t answer, hands tapping across the keyboard.

She wasn’t pleased with the reaction, so she made a move instead.

You didn’t see didn’t pay mind to her, but the couch shifted behind you, and then she was somehow beside you already. Sitting on the floor like it was normal, like she hadn’t snuck into your office before you even got in.

Focus only on the screen in front of you. You kept working, inputting reminders, clearing notifications, and answering three long emails. But you could feel her. Her shoulder was close to yours, and the scent of whatever perfume she wore.

“You’re really not going to say anything about how close I am?” she asked, almost teasing.

“I figured you’d do what you want regardless,” you replied, still not looking.

That made her chuckle, then she leaned her weight onto one hand, the other resting against your couch as she adjusted her posture. You could feel her eyes were on you this time.

Then she spoke again, voice softer this time, but laced with intent. “You’re warm.” You turned your head. “What?”

“You’re blushing,” she said, playful but still watching closely. “Your ears always get red first, don’t they?”

You looked at her for the first time in minutes, lips parting slightly as nothing came out. She didn’t look back, just kept scrolling absently on her phone, as if she didn’t just say something that made your brain go a hundred miles per hour.

Then she said it, like a harmless observation. “Maybe you should take off that blazer. Roll up your sleeves or something.” You weren’t sure what came over you, because you normally wouldn’t do a suggestion like that. But this time you listened.

You pulled off the navy blazer slowly, revealing the white silk button-up underneath, and began to roll your sleeves up to your elbows.

Minutes passed, and neither of you said anything. While you were doing your best to focus, Manon’s eyes trailed all over your arms. The way your forearms would flex every time your typing picked up the pace, or how the veins in your hands would pop while gripping your cup of coffee. 

Yeahhh, you definitely had her in a chokehold.

Then, out of nowhere, she leaned closer. “Hey, what’s that?” You looked at your screen where she pointed and told her, “That’s the tracker for Q3 expenses—”

But before you could finish the sentence, her hand wrapped lightly around your forearm as she leaned in to point at something. Your breath caught, and she clearly noticed with a victorious look in her eyes. Then letting go like it meant nothing as you finished your explanation.

You cleared your throat and kept working. Time was moving fast enough that the clock ticked down to five minutes before your meeting. You stood, slipping on your watch and grabbing your laptop.

“I’ve gotta go,” you said, your voice sounding nervous, and you wanted to slap your head because of it. She leaned back against the seating of the couch like your office is her house.

“I’ll stay here,” she said with a shrug. “Make myself comfortable.” You blinked. “It’s not your office.”

“But it’s not not, either.”

‘What the hell did she just say?’ You questioned yourself, staring at her, but decided not to argue at the small time you had.

As you walked toward the meeting room, sleeves still rolled up, laptop in hand, you noticed Gary glancing at you as soon as you stepped in. His eyes dipped to your arms briefly, but you noticed. You didn’t say anything. Just sat down, opened your device, and rolled your sleeves down quietly beneath the table.

Only then did he begin the meeting. It dragged on longer than scheduled, not that it surprised you. These things always started out with simple overviews, but by the end, they had turned into a full-on strategy session. You’d already finished reviewing the numbers last week, so most of the hour was spent with your elbow on the table and your cheek resting in your palm, half-listening while Chase ran through a checklist that felt more like he was trying to prove something, as always.

Still, you took your delegated tasks, nodding, and typing them into your calendar. There were three things you’d have to follow up on throughout the week, but nothing too major. Just enough to keep your head intact.

By the time you pushed open the door to your office, your sleeves still faintly creased from earlier, you felt ready to crash. What you weren’t ready for… was Manon still in your office. 

She’d relocated to the couch, one leg tucked under the other, scrolling through her phone in silence. You didn’t say anything at first, walking past her toward your desk. You flicked the monitor on with a finger and sat down, adjusting the screen’s tilt before glancing once in her direction.

“Does Marcos know you’re still down here?”

“He doesn’t mind,” she said casually, not even looking up. “I texted him earlier that I was in your office.”

You quirked a brow. “Before or after I came in?” She gave a sly shrug, finally meeting your gaze. “Does it matter?”

You didn’t answer and instead, logged into your system, pulling up the software you used to organize reports, opened your calendar on the side, and—without thinking too much—clicked on the search bar for a movie.

You always liked something playing in the background. It helped you focus. The moment the opening credits of a classic black-and-white thriller started rolling across the screen, Manon perked up from the soundtrack.

“Ooooh—what are we watching?”

You leaned back in your chair slightly. “Just something to keep me entertained.” She didn’t need another excuse, wheeling herself from the couch on one of the extra desk chairs—thankfully, your office had more than one—and placing herself right beside you. A little too close, but not that you’d expect anything different by now.

As the movie played quietly between your clicks and page flips, you focused hard on the spreadsheet in front of you, trying to ignore the light taps of her finger against the armrest. Or the way she kept leaning in every now and then, just to read the captions. Manon clearly had good enough vision to have made that comment during the event.

You told yourself, just work. That’s the only thing that should be happening in the first place.

But somewhere between the first movie ending and the next one starting, you found your eyes drifting toward the movie side of your screen more than your numbers. By the third film—one of your favorites, Misery from like 1990—you had half-forgotten that you needed to work.

Manon was still beside you, cross-legged now in the chair, fully invested in Kathy Bates' spiral into madness. You didn’t even register when she pulled her phone out and started texting someone.

Then, not even ten minutes later, there was a knock on your door. Pausing the movie, brows furrowed together. You weren’t expecting anyone or anything. “I got it,” she said, hopping up without a glance.

You watched as she opened the door just a sliver, exchanging a short greeting with someone out in the hall before closing it again with two brown paper bags in hand. She set one in front of you, the warm scent wafting up and instantly hitting your nose. You didn’t even have to look inside, knowing that exact smell.

“You got my order.”

“I figured you’d be hungry,” she said in a hum, settling back into her chair with her own bag. “And it’s almost your usual lunch time.” You didn’t say it aloud, but you were surprised.

Not because she knew what you liked. Because she’d made it clear during the event that she had all this information about you, throwing out small facts she’d clearly gathered. The Greek food, documentaries, coffee, and desserts.

She basically studied you during every coffee visit. You both ate in silence, fork against the aluminium take-out containers. It was surprisingly still comforting, even with her beside you.

You were reaching for a napkin when her fingers brushed your cheek quickly. “You had something.” You froze, her thumb brushing the corner of your mouth, catching a tiny crumb.

Then she popped it into her own mouth. Sucked her finger clean with a smirk and kept chewing like nothing happened.

You paused, focus no longer on the food and movie. Clearing your throat, you reach for a sip of water, pretending to check your inbox like that would somehow make you act normal again. But it didn’t help.

Then, just as you were finishing up, she subtly leaned closer, until her head was tilted onto your shoulder. “Just watching a little closer,” she said. You didn’t answer. Just tilting the screen slightly toward her direction, more, in hopes that she’ll move away. 

Your heart was stupidly loud in your chest. Quite frankly, it was freaking you out at the possibility of her hearing it. Eventually, she pulled back and leaned into her chair again, stretching out a bit. She reached for her phone once more, probably checking the time, and you hoped she was checking for any texts from Marcos.

“I should head up before he starts looking for me,” she said after a minute, standing and brushing off her skirt. “But expect this again.” You turned toward her, blinking like you didn’t hear her right.

“Huh?” She winked, already walking to the door. “You heard what I said, Miss L/n.”

You didn’t even get a word out before the door clicked behind her. Now sitting in silence, you drag your hands through your hair, fingers tugging lightly at the strands you’d styled that morning. It felt like your mind was too scrambled to even function the entire day.

Lightly slapping your face multiple times, needing to wake up from whatever messed-up reality this was. You were Y/n L/n. You didn’t get distracted. You didn’t let random people come into your office when they wanted to, and let them stay. You didn’t do… whatever the hell that was.

You groaned quietly, rubbing your temples and leaning back in your chair. Because you had no clue how you were supposed to survive the rest of this week. Let alone the next time she would decided to stroll into your office like she owned the damn building.

And unfortunately… You knew she was bound to keep her word. That’s just the vibe Manon gave off.

Now, every other day, you’d walk into your office and there she’d be. Always sitting somewhere different. Luckily, it wasn’t every single day, but her schedule didn’t make it any better.

One day, it’s your chair, legs crossed, her tablet in hand like she was actually doing something. The next, she’d be curled up on your couch, flicking through her phone or reading something in magazines the company provided for every private office.

And every time, you had the same reaction—eyebrows raised, confused stare, followed by that half-sigh, half-resigned chuckle as you walked in and set your things down.

It became a routine at some point, and you just let it happen.

Meeting, working on the computer, some movies, then lunch. She would leave after that, usually. You also weren’t exactly the type to let people into your space like this. But for whatever reason, you didn’t push her out. 

It was hard to pinpoint why as well, but you didn’t want to think about it. But it was now feeling natural for you to have ‘a friend’ around every other morning.

Strangely, Marcos never said a word. Not asking what she was doing on your floor so often, or why she spent hours in your office some days. If anything, he just smiled at the thought of it all. To him, his two favorite people becoming friends was… a win.

And maybe that’s what made you feel like you shouldn’t ask questions either. Because if he wasn’t worried, then why would you risk being the one to begin those thoughts for him?

Even when it started feeling more natural, when your conversations drifted from surface-level things to more personal topics. The sarcasm turned into inside jokes, and the playful banter stopped catching you off guard.

You never even noticed when you stopped calling her Ms. Bannerman. One day, it just… became Manon. And the moment you said it, she smirked like she had been waiting for it the whole time.

You didn’t notice that either. One dense mofo.

Then it was another quiet afternoon, where you're seated at the desk, typing out a brief report, one ear tuned to the old horror film playing on your screen. Today it was ‘The Others,’ which Manon actually chose this time. You figured you’d let her, since she was starting to take an interest in your movie preferences. It was now a bonding time for you.

Your blazer was already tossed over the back of your couch, sleeves rolled up as the breeze of the AC hit your skin, becoming a new thing you did ever since Manon stuck around. An iced coffee rested beside your mousepad, and a fork sat in your finished lunch bowl—Greek salad, of course.

The coffee was Manon’s, by the way, you liked your coffee piping hot.

Manon sat just to your left in the spare office chair, slouched down with her ankles crossed, wearing a sleek black blazer with matching wide-leg trousers. Looking like ‘money,’ and you had become used to it.

Today, you felt yourself being much more observant than usual, to your own detriment. The way she puckers her glossy lips to take a sip out of the straw. The way she twisted the ring on her middle finger while watching the movie. The short, hum she let out when she commented on a shot she liked.

You tried to distract yourself from it all. Because, despite this new routine you had going on with her, you knew who she was and who she was with.

But she wasn’t acting like someone taken.

Not with the way she would lean in close sometimes to fix your collar, that didn’t need fixing. Or the way she always sat with her leg touching yours just slightly, the way she had commented that you “never flinched during scary movies, but somehow managed to jump every time she touched you.”

You couldn’t respond to anything flirty she threw at you, not knowing how to. Just giving tight smiles and turning back to your monitor.

But now, as another movie neared its halfway mark, she stretched. Arms overhead, body arching, the fabric of her top shifting up a bit. She then turns to you, gazing up and down. “You always sit like that when you’re trying not to fall asleep,” she said suddenly.

You blinked. “What?”

She nodded at your posture. “All stiff. Straight spine. Classic sleep-fighting position. Should relax a bit before you get a stiff neck.”

You cracked a smirk, shaking your head. “I’m not tired.”

“Uh-huh.”

You leaned back a little, cracking your neck. “I’m just focused.” She hummed, biting into a small biscuit she had picked up from the lunch tray earlier. “Sure.”

You looked back at your screen. But her gaze lingered on you longer than it should’ve.

She didn’t speak again until a few minutes later, eyes still on the screen, voice quieter.

“Are you seeing anyone?”

It feels like a cold breeze went down your back when hearing her hushed tone, a tiny shiver overcoming your body. She almost got you there, but you didn’t look away from the screen. 

“No.”

“Have you ever?”

“What kind of question is that?” You asked back, not understanding where the questions were coming from.

She shrugged, unbothered. “Just curious.” You leaned back, arms crossed loosely. “Not really. I’ve been… busy.”

“That’s not an answer I’m accepting.”

You sighed, exhaling as you rubbed your temple. “I haven’t really dated. I never thought about it much. I wanted to get here.”

A brow raises, and she leans closer, “Here, meaning?”

“My position in this company… in life,” you told her while tapping a pen on the notebook you had written almost everything. Manon only assumed that it was for work, noticing after her third visit. It was always in the same spot, a regular five-star notebook in green. Even if she wanted to know more about you, she didn’t have the guts to snoop in that book unless she wanted you angry.

She smiled faintly, her gaze softer. “And now that you’re here?”

You paused from typing. The question felt like a light slap to the face, strange to even hear. “I don’t know,” you said honestly. “Still feels like there’s more to do.”

She leaned in slightly. “You ever wonder what it’d be like to just… let yourself enjoy something?” You turned, eyes meeting hers.

The silence could be cut with a knife, the tension rising as you felt the heat building on your chest. She wasn’t looking away, and you could hear it in your head—how your breath began to waver.

You thought maybe she’d laugh it off, right about now. Maybe say something else to tease you. But instead, she leaned in more, and you could feel yourself instinctively pushing on your feet to roll back.

Her hands reach forward on the armrests, using as much strength as she could to stop you in your tracks. You didn’t feel an incredible force being used, but it seemed like your legs weakened, the use of heels every day—almost like a workout— failing you in these moments.

Manon pulls you in slowly, tilting her head a bit in the process, and you could just feel your eyes stuck open wide while hers begin to flutter shut. Before you could even begin to process a single thing, you feel her lips on yours.

The gloss transferred on your own plain lips, and all you could do was sit there, frozen, like a stone statue. Everything caught you off guard, and you weren’t sure what to do from here. As much as you didn’t want to ‘ruin the moment,’ the first thought that came into mind was Marcos.

You were currently kissing his fiancée… no—she was currently kissing you. The switch in thoughts seemed like a pathetic way to excuse the actions, but it was bad no matter what way it was worded.

You wanted to push back, maybe even hard enough to hopefully get her out of your office, but her hand grazed the edge of your jaw, thumb sliding beneath your chin, a slow lifting motion as she helped tilt your head to the right. Completely and utterly still, you were like a system short-circuiting in real time.

Her lips were warm, and you inhaled, smelling a wave of her minty fresh breath. You didn’t kiss her back, not right away at least. Yet she didn’t seem fazed. When she pulled back, she lingered just an inch away from you, still within reach.

“That’s what it feels like,” she whispered. You swallowed, voice quiet. “Manon…” She tilted her head, a bit of amusement in her voice, “You didn’t stop me.”

“I didn’t know it was happening.”

“Still didn’t stop me.”

She’s right, you could’ve pushed her away, but you didn’t. That reaction pleased her. Manon wanted to test the waters with how her plan was going. Although in her book, testing the waters basically equated to jumping off a bridge into deep water in anyone else's eyes.

And that was exhilarating to her, just like that kiss.

The alarm on your phone buzzed, and you almost jolted from your seat. It just meant the meeting you had with accounting in ten minutes. She smiled, tapping your thigh lightly as she stood. “You should get ready.”

You watched her walk toward the door, walking out like usual. “Same time tomorrow?” she asked, hand already on the knob. You only nodded once because words were no longer going to work in your favor, apparently.

She left, and the door clicked shut behind her, and there you were. Still in your seat, head slightly tilted back. Your heart was beating a bit too loudly while your mind raced a bit too fast.

You could almost feel reality punching you in the gut as you let the thoughts settle down, and how were you supposed to sit through a whole meeting now? Better yet, how were you ever supposed to face Marcos after that?

The only solution that came to mind… let Chase do the reports for a while. Even for a week, just to clear your head.

It didn’t seem like anything was actually gonna save you from her, because she was in your office the next day, sitting with a glass of wine standing tall on your desk. Your eyes land on the red wine, then drift toward her with a tired gaze.

“Couldn’t give me a break?” Your hand reached back, combing your voluminous hair that you didn’t have the energy to fix for today.

“Nope,” she told you enthusiastically, popping the ‘p’ as she strutted towards you. Her fingers raked through the ends of your loose hair, and you didn’t move an inch. Manon could see the physical lasting effect she had on you.

The tamed Y/n everyone knew in the office was nowhere to be found. She saw a woman with smoldering eyes, hair kept down, while a few wrinkles were visible all over your black collared shirt. You wore matching slacks and heels, no accessories, and just some square glasses she had never seen that covered up your bleary eyes.

“You’ll get a break from me today,” she said and you could feel your shoulder relax until she butt in again, “until later tonight.” The confused face that had been recurring since you met Manon is once again on your face.

“You better not leave tonight, Y/n,” you listened as she began to place two wine glasses—not sure where she even got them from.

And for some reason, you listened. You didn’t even know what time it was when you finally looked up again. The schedule seemed to be pretty clean of meetings, just a bunch of paperwork and emails needing to be done. It was a blessing and a curse because time flew by, and before you could even consider the amount of hours that had past, the familiar sound of your office door clicking open snapped you out of your tired daze.

As she promised, she walked in as her eyes checked the digital Apple Watch on her wrist.

Manon dressed differently than usual that which made your head tilt slightly on instinct. A black cropped hoodie hung loose on her frame, roughly cut sleeves for a tank top look, and matching sweatpants pooled around her ankles. She had swapped her usual pointed heels for a pair of black socks and open sandals, something so normal that it almost made you chuckle.

She didn’t even look like the same woman. This was a normal, functioning human being in front of you. No makeup, hair tied back loosely with a few flyaways, and something about the look made your stomach flip.

“Hey,” she said casually, half-smirk painted on her lips. “Hope you didn’t eat yet.” Your eyes trailed down to the bottle that was kept cool in the room, then to the plastic bag of food in her hands. “I didn’t,” you admitted quietly, sitting back in your chair and clasping your hands together on the desk. “But I wasn’t planning on… wine.”

“Well, we can’t live off saltine crackers forever,” she said, nodding toward the small plastic sleeve of crackers you had left beside your keyboard. “Don’t think those count as a meal.”

You were too tired to argue or give her a smart remark, but you let her do her thing.

To Manon, it was evident that you looked like the version of yourself people weren’t meant to see. And she’s currently seeing all of it.

You didn’t know what you were doing—what you were thinking, even—but you watched her hand tilt the bottle and let the red liquid fill the glasses anyway. She slid one over to you carefully. Taking it slowly, fingers brushing hers just briefly in the exchange. There was a part of your brain that wanted to say no, that this was a terrible idea, that you’d regret it by the morning. But then again, that same part of your brain hadn’t slept much last night since she kissed you.

So, you took a sip. Despite not being much of a party person or adventurer, you could handle your alcohol well, and you sure did love wine. The bottles you kept in your apartment were very telling of that, at least you're a responsible drinker, though.

“Not bad,” you murmured. Manon took out some pasta—an easy food to share between the two of you and used a plastic fork. “Better than those crackers,” she quipped, lounging on your couch with one leg tucked under her.

It was quiet for a little while. The soft hum of your air conditioning filled the room, and the city lights outside your picture windows cast a dim blue hue across the office. You sat at your desk, swirling the wine slightly in the glass without realizing it, while Manon sat with her head leaning back against the couch cushion.

“You look tired,” she said softly.

“I am.”

“I figured.”

You glanced over at her again. Her face was still angled toward the ceiling, but her eyes were on you. “I told Marcos I was coming here tonight, by the way.”

You blinked. “Oh.”

“He didn’t mind,” she added quickly, shrugging. She wasn’t about to tell you that she spoke of it as ‘wanting girl time with you.’

Your expression flattened. “Is that so?”

“Yeah~,” she said, eyes gleaming a little. “He thinks we’re besties now.” That made you snort quietly. Sipping a bit on your wine again. “Right.”

“He thinks you’re good for me,” she added, tone a little more serious now. “Keeps me company while he’s working, he says.” You didn’t respond, sipping again. Once again, you couldn’t trust a peep out of your mouth.

“I think you’re good for me,” she admitted. That time, you looked at her. You expected a flirty look in her eyes, maybe even a smirk. Yet she met you with sincerity in her eyes.

“I don’t know what this is,” you muttered. “Neither do I.” That was more honest than she expected from herself, because there wasn’t much to gain from this. If anything, it’s more trouble than it was worth.

Still, there was something in her that she couldn’t ignore either. A growing infatuation with you. That’s not what she thought when she first met you, but after every coffee she brought, every conversation, it started to feel like she opened a new book. Every new chapter she saw was something new. And she was now hooked.

You exhaled slowly, letting the weight of your body sink deeper into your chair. Setting your glass down on the desk, your fingers still curled around the base of the glass.

“You kissed me.”

“I remember… clearly remember that,” she said, voice soft. Your gaze met hers again, studying the way she sat across the room, not saying much. And maybe that’s what threw you off the most. 

She was being patient.

“You’ve been acting like that didn’t happen,” it sounded like a sigh coming out of you. “No,” she said, a small smile curling at her lips. “You’ve been acting like that didn’t happen. I just figured I’d give you time to process.”

Those words made you hate how right she was. There was another lengthy silence, so quiet that you could hear the faint tapping of her fingers against her wine glass—and the steady pound of your heartbeat in your ears. You stood slowly, Manon catching the hesitation in your movement. But you walked over anyway.

She didn’t move when you sat beside her, just watched you settle next to her on the couch, glass still in hand. You both faced the city view from your floor-to-ceiling windows. Just the soft, ambient lighting and the tension that felt like it had been building for weeks.

Her arm brushed against yours, the contact like a trigger for a conversation. “I don’t usually do this,” you mumbled.

“I know, I can tell.”

“You barely know me.”

“Maybe,” she murmured, glancing over. “But I’ve been paying attention.”

You turned, brows lifted just slightly. “To what exactly?” She tilted her head, resting it on her arm that leaned on the back cushions. “How do you loosen your hair later in the day. How you always pause movies at exactly the one-hour mark—like it’s your reminder to refocus. How you use hand sanitizer right before touching your keyboard after meetings. You’ve got three types of pens on your desk, but you only ever write with the same black one. And you smell like something woody every morning.”

Your lips parted slightly, caught off guard by the specifics. “That’s what I pay attention to,” she said simply.

You felt your throat go dry. Her gaze was on your mouth now, and something about that made your fingers twitch against your glass. She leaned in—just a little—but it was enough to make your breath catch.

“You gonna kiss me this time?” she asked, her voice curious, a way to tempt you, and it worked. You didn’t answer, just tilted your head forward a fraction of an inch.

Manon set her wine glass down on the coffee table, and you followed without thinking.

Her hand then cups your cheek again, like before, thumb tracing slowly along your jaw as her lips find yours.

The flavor and scent of wine are clear as you take a small breath, inhaling. You leaned into her, your body responding on instinct. When her hand slid behind your neck, you didn’t stop it, letting yourself be pulled closer with your knees brushing against hers. Lips parted just enough for her to sigh into you, her fingers touching your upper back, lightly grazing with her acrylic nails.

“You want me to stop?” she asked gently, lips still against yours.

You shook your head, too hypnotized by her to speak. The scent of her perfume clung to the air around you, and everything, like the wine, the heat, her touch, was starting to overwhelm your senses.

Neither of you is drunk, but something about the build-up, the way your thoughts had been spiraling since that first kiss—it all clicked too fast, and now it was crashing into you.

You leaned forward more, no thoughts going on, and Manon let herself fall back onto the armrest slowly. Her arms wrapped around your waist, fingers sliding down your back, tugging at your shirt where it was tucked in, the belt you wore stopping any movement. Your forearm pressed beside her head, holding you up, the other hand resting on her waist. Her skin was warm, exposed under the cropped hem of her hoodie.

Rain started to tap against the windows, light at first, then gaining more momentum. The soft sound gave the room a strange calmness, contrasting with the sudden burn that had settled low in your stomach.

She wrestled with your belt, reaching for it with a smirk, clearly growing impatient. You could sense the struggle to unbuckle them, so you took over and did it yourself, tossing it to the floor without breaking from her. She let out a soft, almost inaudible sigh as her hands slid beneath your shirt, nails grazing lightly against your back.

“This is what I’ve wanted since I met you,” she whispered against your lips, her voice husky. You felt the heat from her words, the wetness pooling against your underwear. “And why is that, Ms. Bannerman?” you asked, half-teasing.

Her mouth curved against yours as she kissed you again. “Someone who needed some loosening up. The way you carry yourself with so much authority—it’s sexy, Y/n.”

That made something in you stir, made your fingers curl into the fabric at her waist as her nails toyed at the top of your slacks. You managed to untie the drawstrings of her sweats, hands pressing against her hips.

“I need you,” she whispered again, lips trailing down your jaw, the gloss from her mouth leaving faint marks with every press of her kiss. You could feel the waistband of her sweats shift beneath your fingers, how her body tensed as you got lower. Her skin was soft, and you felt the edge of her underwear just barely beneath your fingertips.

But then, just as your hand pressed forward, it hit you like sirens in your head. Just a bunch of loud and blaring horns. You froze, then pushed your body off hers, breath shaky.

“What?” Manon asked, breathless. Her lips were slightly swollen, and her hair was out of place on your couch.

“W-we can’t be doing this,” you stammered, scrambling up and smoothing down your shirt, eyes wide, panic creeping up your spine. You grabbed your bag and started tossing your belongings inside.

“Y/n, you can’t just get up and act like—”

You cut her off, heading straight for the door without looking back. With great timing, the hallway was empty. Pressing the elevator button while your heart couldn’t settle down as the thing took too long. Too many thoughts and feelings were spiraling. 

Feelings. Everything was beginning to scare you. Glancing back multiple times, heart pounding as if she might come running to you. You wouldn’t even know what to say, scared of the option of being cornered in the small space.

When the elevator finally came, you rushed for the lobby button. The rush had you fumbling with your bag, almost dropping multiple items while trying to calm yourself down.

By the time you stepped out into the parking lot, the rain had picked up. It poured down heavily, and with the wind picking up, your collared shirt, now soaking up the drops of rain, is cold. You walked through it anyway to get to your car, barely noticing how soaked your clothes actually became.

Meanwhile, Manon remained on your couch, still leaning against the armrest, her lips parted, chest rising and falling unevenly. She didn’t chase you, wanting to give you time.

But the way you kissed her back? She knew you wanted her, but she also knew—just like everything with you—it had to come with your permission.

And that only made her want you more.

Your eyes flickered open, warmth from the sun going through the windows of your apartment and landing right on your face. You sat up sluggishly, rubbing at your eyes before reaching for your phone resting on the side of your bed.

Marcos had finally texted back, long after you’d passed out from your late-night shower.

Marcos Sure Y/n! U don’t even have to come in until Thursday if u want. Just lmk when u want to come back in.

You Just needed one rest day, Marcos. I’ll be back tmmr, thanks.

Your replies were short, the feeling of guilt still bubbling low in your stomach. Crawling out from your loft, you made your way down to the open living space, stretching slightly before opening the fridge. There was a small comfort in the domesticity of it—making your own coffee, moving slowly. You didn’t get to do this often, mostly because you preferred being at the office. So, it was kind of nice to get to do this again after so long.

You turned on the TV and put on a random documentary from your Netflix list, the kind you always meant to watch but never had time for. Coffee in hand, you moved around your kitchen to make something simple—eggs, bacon, and toast. As the food cooked, the smell filled your apartment, adding to the alleviating feeling you were currently having.

You sat on the couch, plate balanced in your lap, and ate while half-watching the screen, already considering what to do with the rest of the day. A jog sounded good—get your body moving, then rest.

After your quick breakfast, you changed into a basic gym set, throwing a large shirt over it and lacing your sneakers before heading out for a jog through the neighborhood. The breeze was nice, just brisk enough to cool your skin as you ran past familiar houses and quiet sidewalks. After about an hour, you stopped by a small smoothie shop for a pick-me-up and walked home with a green blend of mango, kale, apple, and juice in hand.

Back inside, you hopped into the shower, letting hot water rinse away the sweat. You scrubbed thoroughly, trying to reset your body and your brain, and when you stepped out, you slipped into oversized sweats and a sports bra.

You returned to the couch, curling up with your smoothie and remote, letting the documentary play while your body melted into the cushions. That’s honestly how the entire day went: some cooking, snacking, and lounging. It was peaceful.

The sun had started to set again by the time you noticed how golden rays were spilling through the tall windows of your apartment. You reached for the remote, closing the blinds with a quiet mechanical hum just before there was a knock at your door.

Your brows furrowed, not expecting anyone. Padded toward the door barefoot, fingers slightly wrinkled from all the dishes and cooking you’d done that day. No one ever really came to your apartment—unless you were ordering food, and you hadn’t.

You opened the door without thinking much. That was your mistake, because there, Manon stood in front of you. In her usual high-end clothes, curls bouncing softly around her shoulders. Her presence didn’t match the atmosphere of your home, and your eyes practically bulged from your head as your mouth parted in shock.

You instinctively looked past her, left and right down the hallway like someone might follow behind. “What do you think you're doing here?” you whispered, voice hushed like you were trying to avoid being caught.

Manon blinked, confused, then looked around dramatically. “Marcos told me you wouldn’t be in, so I decided to take the day off too.” She breezed past you like she’s been here multiple times, dropping her purse onto your couch.

“How do you even know my address?” you asked, still stuck in place.

“Nice place,” she commented instead, eyes roaming the space with interest.

‘YOUR BOSS’S FIANCÉ IS LITERALLY IN YOUR HOME? DOES THAT NOT CLICK IN HER HEAD? IS THIS NOT WEIRD??’ Was all you could think.

You shook your head and sighed. “Uhm… welcome in, I guess?” you muttered, still confused.

“Thanks,” she said casually, toeing off her shoes before walking further inside. “So what brings you here?” you asked, arms crossed now.

“Was a little worried after yesterday,” she said, and your heart skipped a beat—until she added, “Thought you might’ve gotten sick from the rain, so I brought some stuff.” From the oversized purse she carried, she pulled out a collection of items—cough drops, cold medicine, compresses, and even herbal candies.

You blinked. “You didn’t have to do all th—”

She stopped you, placing the back of her hand to your forehead and then your neck. “I think you feel a little warm. Lay down. I’ll take care of everything.”

You sat down slowly, still watching her like she was some dream. Manon, in your kitchen, pouring hot water for instant noodles she’d apparently bought on the way here. You tried to go back to watching TV, but it was hard. You're extremely hyper-aware, too focused on the fact that she’s in your home and all the commotion behind you.

After about ten minutes, she came back behind you, handing over a steaming bowl of noodles, then rushing off again to grab a glass of water, two pills, and a warm compress fresh from the microwave.

You stared at her like she was insane. “Manon, what happened last night was a m—”

“Eat, Y/n,” she cut you off sharply, voice dipped in something that made you instantly look down at the noodles, then back at her, then back at the noodles to do as you were told.

“Good,” she said once you finished. “Now that that’s out of the way, let’s keep watching.”

And of course, she plopped down next to you again, this time sitting cross-legged like a mermaid, skirt a bit tight around her thighs for her to move them properly on your couch. 

You finished your meal while pretending she wasn’t sitting inches away. She handed you the medicine once you set the bowl down, and you hesitated, looking bewildered. She didn’t acknowledge you, so you just took the medicine.

You shifted on the couch, inching further to the right, trying to make some distance. But Manon, like her usual self, reached for the blanket over your lap, lifted it slightly, and slipped underneath—cozying up right next to you, head resting lightly against your chest.

You stiffened immediately, not moving a single bit. Your heartbeat was out of control, and she noticed.

Manon looked up at you, gaze soft, and you slowly looked down to meet her eyes. Her face was inches away from you. “Are you feeling okay?” she asked.

You nodded once, swallowing. “Do you not feel bad for Marcos?” you whispered.

She caught the hint of sadness in your voice, the guilt you weren’t even hiding. Shaking her head gently, she whispered, “Marcos is sweet—and I know you see him as a friend too. But this contract, the wedding, all of it… It was sudden. And he just isn’t the person for me.”

She paused, gaze heavy with something unreadable. “He clearly deserves better than me.”

You raised a brow, a bit offended as that implies ‘you deserved her worse.’

“What does that entail for me, then?” Her answer came quickly, “I want you. And I’m willing to put in more effort with you than I ever did with him. I’ve admitted that to myself, Y/n.”

The confession made you smile a bit, and you told her, “I think I want you too, Manon. But I don’t know how I feel about doing these things behind his back.”

“Let me worry about that,” she tells you, flipping herself onto your lap without hesitation, straddling you, making your breath hitch. Her skirt rides up her thighs, warm skin meeting your palms as your hands instinctively move to hold her steady.

The moment her eyes lock with yours, butterflies stir in her stomach—something about the way you look up at her, the feel of your grip, confirms it. She really, truly does like you.

Her fingers cradle the back of your neck as she pulls you in, crashing her lips onto yours. 

Manon was never the type to dominate, and that wasn’t about to change now. She needed you to take control, even if you had no experience. She was sure it was there—you just needed a little push.

Her hips roll slowly, grinding against your lap, only slightly cushioned by the blanket. Still, you feel her heat through the friction. Her legs wrap around your waist as you shift, pulling the blanket away and lifting her with ease.

You gently lay her back onto the couch, kissing her through the motion. Your hands slide up her thighs, fingers grazing her warm skin, and she lets out a muffled groan, her lips still tangled with yours. Her fingers tangle in your loose hair, tugging slightly—every little sound she makes only pushes you deeper into want.

“Y/n, please, I need you now,” she pants, voice quiet but full of desperation as she pulls away from the kiss. You pause, just for a second, hesitant. “I don’t exactly know what I’m doing, Manon,” you admit, and the look on your face is endearing, soft, wide-eyed, like a lost puppy.

She giggles, catching her breath. “Just be your usual, confident self, and I’ll help you. Okay?”

You nod, leaning in for another kiss, trying to find your footing again—okay then. You could do this.

Your lips trail down to her jaw, then lower, planting kisses across her neck, pausing as you feel the subtle hitch of her breath. You take note of how her chest rises, how her skin tastes faintly sweet and a little salty from the heat building between you. You kiss just above the line of her top—a neckline she always wore, part of her style.

Her outfit tonight isn’t complicated, something you’re thankful for. You fumble slightly with the tiny clip and zipper, but manage to undo them while still kissing her slowly, deeply. She hums into your mouth as her top gets taken off, and with her arms wrapped around your neck, she lets you pull it off completely.

Her chest is now bare before you, perky and flushed. The sight alone has your mouth going dry. ‘Be your confident self.’

“You're so sexy,” you whisper, brushing soft kisses along the curve of her chest until your lips reach one of her nipples. You swirl your tongue around it, hearing her gasp and then sigh, gripping your hair as her back arches slightly.

“That feels nice,” she breathes, and you glance up at her with a lazy smirk, lips still connected to her skin. “Doesn’t it?” you tease, bringing a hand up to pinch and play with the other. She groans, her breath shaky.

“Don’t tease me~” she mutters in a warning tone, but her body betrays her, hips subtly rolling up. “Don’t tell me what to do. Didn’t you want this?”

It comes out low, with a tone she wasn’t expecting—and she’s visibly shaken by it, in a good way, you could almost hope. The smirk on your lips turns a little wicked, a change of heart in a way. She watches you like you’ve just become a different person.

Her thighs rub together, the friction audible as she moves under you, and you notice how restricted her legs are from the skirt.

“Oh, this can’t do,” you murmur, sitting up and gazing down at her. She tilts her head to ask what you mean, but you're already pushing her skirt higher. She lets out a soft yelp when it bunches at her hips.

Her eyes narrow, but your grin only widens. “It was in the way.”

Your finger presses against her clothed center, dragging upward slowly, and you feel her hips buck slightly when you reach her clit. “Fuck~” she mutters, jaw going slack. You raise your brow, encouraged.

Then her voice dips in a more commanding way, “I need your fingers now.” The urgency in her tone surprises you a bit. You shift again, reaching under her to tug down her underwear. Her wetness is immediately visible, clinging as the fabric is pulled away, and the sight makes your own thighs clench involuntarily.

She watches you react, stunned, and giggles. “Are you just gonna sit there or—”

You don’t let her finish. You lean down, swiping your tongue up her slit. It felt right doing it despite being your first time, and the moan that spills from her lips is the confirmation you needed.

You lick again, slower, and smirk when you hear the tiny gasp she lets out. “If I knew pussy tasted this good, I would’ve added it to my timeline,” you admit, causing her to laugh breathily before gasping again when your tongue flicks her clit.

Manon’s hand threads through your hair, guiding your head, and you feel her push you deeper. You grin against her, tongue curling into her entrance, flicking, sucking, tasting.

“Shit,” she moans. Her body jolts slightly with each movement of your tongue

Her fingers slip up her own stomach to her chest, playing with her nipples while your tongue works harder. You’re in awe of her—how her praise seems to have control over you.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” she breathes, and that’s all it takes for you to kick it up a notch. Your tongue flicks faster, and you tease her entrance with one finger. Her hips jerk, trembling slightly.

You slide it in, slowly at first. “Holy shit,” she whines, voice cracking as her pussy clenches around you. You close your eyes, tasting her, feeling her. Deciding it was a good time to put another finger in, she gasps.

You look up—she’s staring at you now, eyes looking drunk yet focused. Your fingers curl, and she spreads her legs wider. You pump faster, now fully comfortable, and she can tell she did what needed to be done. The pace gets sloppy but only because of her wet pussy, and when her thighs start to shake, you pull away, smirking as her juices shine on your chin.

“Be a good girl and keep these open wide, yeah?” The tone in your voice makes her shiver. Her eyes flutter, and you prop yourself up between her legs, holding her thighs apart with your knees as your fingers dive back in.

“Too good,” she mumbles, barely holding herself up. Her head falls back, biting her lip to stay quiet. That wasn’t about to work in your book; you wanted to hear her.

“I want to hear you, Ms. Bannerman. I wanna hear how you sound for me~.” She opens her mouth to argue, but a third finger slips in, and she screams.

“Fuck!” her voice echoes in your apartment. You feel her thighs adding pressure to your knees as she instinctively wants to close them.

“Y-your nei-neighbors—” she tries to protest, panting. You lean in, lips near hers, fingers still buried deep. “I couldn’t give two fucks about my neighbors. I want to hear you.”

You kiss her slowly, then pull away to whisper, “If only you could see yourself right now. The sweat, the way your eyes roll back.” You glance at the mirror on the opposite wall, then realize a great idea you could do.

You pulled your fingers out and dragged her toward it. She stumbles, surprised, and her legs nearly buckle. You stand behind her, and she stares into the reflection in the mirror above the drawer, her face flushed and fucked-out with her pussy glistening from you lights.

“What are you—?” You silence her with a hand on her neck, guiding her chin. “Now you can see how pretty you look for me.”

Your other hand sneaks between her legs again, rubbing her pussy slowly. “Can you hear how wet you are?”

You slip a finger in. The sound is undeniably loud as you both hear it in the silence of your apartment. “This cunt all wet for me, hm?”

She whimpers. You cup one breast, teasing her nipple again. “All wet for you,” she admits.

“Is that so?” You slip three fingers in and she gasps again, knees almost buckling.

She reaches for support on your drawers, but you keep her in place. “Eyes forward, brat.” She stares, half stunned, half delirious, at the new nickname. You hold her upright, pumping steadily.

“You’re a brat, right? That’s why you kissed me first.” She nods. You chuckle, kissing her neck. “Why’d you do it, hm?”

“I-I found y-you hot and I f-felt like you could r-ruin me.” You raise your brow, smirking. “Am I fitting the standard?”

“More t-than you know.” That had you pump faster, and her thighs began to tremble. “Holy fuck, Y/n,” she moans, voice breaking. You lean against her, murmuring in her ear. “Wanna cum?”

She nods desperately. “Hold it,” you tell her, and she’s left-mouthed open in shock at your words. You drop to your knees behind her, tongue replacing your fingers. You want her to break for you.

“Y-Y/n I can’t—” she cries. You hum in response, dragging your tongue over her clit again and again. “I-I can’t hold it—”

You pull back, your fingers going in again. “Go ahead, baby.”

She cums with a cry, legs giving out as she collapses onto her knees, forehead pressed to the storage.

You back away, licking your lips, breath ragged. “That good enough for you?” you ask, amused. “More than enough,” she mumbles.

You grin, lifting her with ease and carrying her to the couch, laying her down as she’s surprisingly really light.

“What do we do about Marcos?” You ask, still worried despite the crazy moment that just happened between the two of you, and you settle down to take a break. “I’ll handle him, don’t worry about it. I told you,” she voiced, very assuring in her words, but then you look down a bit.

“Then how about us?”

She smiles while looking at you, taking her hand in hers, which makes you look over. “I told you I wanted you, and I meant that, Y/n.” You smiled, seeing how serious she was.

“Well, as long as you actually handle Marcos, I’m up for it… just don’t get me fired,” you joked at the hand, elbows up as she nudges you while laughing.

She was going to make this happen. Breaking the contract, running away with you, doesn’t really matter. Manon is just determined to make it happen for you.

[airybcby]

♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ﾟ. Drown You

( michael kaiser x fem! reader )

♫ a/n — part 1 in my series Stay for Soundcheck! ( masterlist )

♫ word count — 1.3k

♫ content — michael kaiser x fem! reader, lead singer! kaiser, angst(but not awful), established relationship, yes i made their band name blue lock...what abt it, betrayal, kaiser referred to as "micha" like twice, small timeskip, not proofread

♫ synopsis — Michael Kaiser had the kind of raw talent that didn't just ask to be seen — it demanded it. And he'd do anything to make sure he'd be heard on stage. Anything. 

↻ ◁ | but nothing can capture the sting | ▷ ↺

You met Kaiser in a garage.

Not metaphorically — a literal garage, the kind that smelled like dust and old wood, where the walls were lined with empty coffee cups and duct-taped setlists, and the mics cut out at least twice per night.

He was cocky. Bright-eyed. 

That kind of raw talent that didn't just ask to be seen — it demanded it. 

Even with his half-tuned guitar and smart mouth, he meant it when he said, “we’re going to make it big.”

And for a while, you believed him.

You were the lyricist, mostly. 

Your notebooks were always open, pages folded, ink bleeding through paper from 3 a.m. writing sessions when inspiration came in fragments. 

He loved that about you. Used to lie next to you and whisper through your lyrics like prayers. 

You'd run your hands through his hair while reading them out loud, watching his eyes close like the words gave him peace.

One night, thunder cracked over the city like a drumbeat, and your head was on his chest.

You didn’t sleep much back then — neither of you did. 

You were always chasing songs. Chasing moments.

You sat up, reached for your notebook, and scribbled a line.

I dream loud enough to drown you.

Kaiser read over your shoulder, arms wrapping around your waist, and murmured, “that’s the one.”

You gave him the notebook.

“Keep it,” you told him. “We’ll make it big with this one.”

He kissed your shoulder. “With you, I’ll make the whole world scream it.”

At first, the changes were small.

Kaiser started missing rehearsals. 

The rest of the band complained, rolled their eyes, chalked it up to him chasing some other gig, but you — you defended him. 

He was just exploring. He was passionate. He’d come back.

He always did.

Then one night, he texted, 

Micha: Can’t make it. Jamming w/ new guys. Later?

New guys?

You asked him who, and he replied:

Micha: Just some friends. Rin. Shidou. Yukimiya. It’s chill. Nothing serious.

But he kept disappearing. Coming back later, humming songs you'd never heard. Lyrics that weren’t yours. 

His guitar — the one he used to cradle like a second spine — started collecting dust in your shared space, in that garage you fought to keep warm with space heaters and heart.

One night, he showed up with glitter in his eyes and said, “They’re calling themselves Blue Lock. Rin came up with it. Kinda sharp, right?”

You stared at him.

“Wait,” you said. “They’re… a band?”

He laughed. Shrugged. “It’s just a name. We’re testing the sound. You know — not really a thing.”

“But you're… in it?”

He leaned against the wall, pulled his hair back with one hand, and said it like he didn’t even realize how much it would hurt:

“I like it with them. It’s clean. I don’t have to play. I just sing. It’s… freeing. I don’t have to carry everything. I can just be the frontman.”

Frontman.

That word gutted you more than you expected.

Because the dream you shared — the one built on cracked amps and late nights and lyrics scrawled in the margins of diner receipts — it didn’t have a frontman. 

It had you. All of you. Together.

You smiled tightly and nodded.

You didn’t cry. Not yet.

But something in your chest went very, very still.

The song dropped three months later.

You hadn’t spoken much since then. You tried. You really did. 

But every time you brought up the band — your band — he got quiet, distracted, like he was already somewhere else.

The morning it released, your friend sent it to you with a “???” and a screenshot of the credits.

Song: Drown You

Lyrics: Michael Kaiser

Performed by: BLUE LOCK

It was your song.

The one you wrote on his chest. The one you gave him, with ink still wet and trust in your throat.

You listened once. Only once.

The production was polished. The rhythm sharper.

Reo’s bassline hit hard, Shidou’s drums too clean to be real — but it was your lyrics, your soul, and Kaiser’s voice carrying them like he was singing them for the first time.

He changed the final line.

I dream loud enough to drown you.

Now it was: I dreamed loud enough to leave you.

You didn’t even notice the tears until they slid down your cheeks.

You waited at his apartment.

The key still worked. That felt like a joke.

He came in late, hoodie over his head, phone in hand — smiling.

“Guess you heard the track,” he said. “Charting already. Can you believe it?”

You stood.

“That was my song.”

He froze.

“Excuse me?”

“My. Song. You didn’t even ask.”

He dropped his keys on the table, like your heartbreak was background noise.

“I wrote that too.”

“You rewrote my life.”

“Jesus,” he muttered, pacing. “You’re not seriously going to start claiming lines you wrote while you were in my bed.”

You were shaking.

“You said we’d make it big together.”

“And we did.” He stopped. Looked at you. “Only difference is you stayed in the garage.”

Your heart cracked in your ribs.

You whispered, “Is this really who you are now?”

He ran his hands through his hair, jaw clenching.

“You don’t get it. You never did. This—this thing with Blue Lock? It’s bigger than all of us. They don’t need me to write, or play, or fix everything. I just get to sing. I get to be the one in front. I was meant for this.”

“And me?” you asked. “Where did I fit in that dream?”

There was a pause.

A long, cold, aching pause.

Then, with the cruelty only someone you love can master, he said:

“You would’ve held me back. There’s a reason real musicians sleep with groupies — not girlfriends. At least groupies don’t ask for credit.”

The silence was louder than the argument.

You stood there, eyes wet, fists clenched, staring at the boy who once sang your lyrics like they were gospel — and now looked at you like a footnote.

He didn’t apologize.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t reach for you.

So you left.

You didn’t slam the door. That would’ve given him drama. 

You just… walked out. Took your dreams with you. 

What was left of them.

You deleted every account that mentioned Blue Lock.

Muted their trending hashtags.

Blocked their faces.

Ripped their posters off venue walls like they personally wronged you.

When the radio played their biggest hit — Drown You — you quickly switched the station.

When your friends gushed about Kaiser’s “unbelievable voice,” you changed the subject.

When someone asked you at a party, “didn’t you used to know him?” you smiled and said, “not really.”

But late at night, when your chest hurt and the air was too still, you still heard it.

That line.

Your line.

And his voice — cold and beautiful — singing it to the world like he never knew you.

Kaiser sings it every night on tour.

It’s their opener. The song that made them famous.

Fans scream it at the top of their lungs. Some get it tattooed. Some cry when he hits the final note.

And Kaiser — the frontman, the god of his own making — always closes his eyes on that verse.

Always sings it slower than the rest.

He says it’s a habit.

But he knows.

He knows what he gave up to stand where he is.

He knows whose words he immortalized without permission.

He knows the only person who ever saw the real him walked out without looking back.

And maybe, just maybe, when the stadium lights hit him hardest — he wonders if you still listen.

If you hear your song and still taste betrayal.

If you ever forgave him.

You didn’t.

But you do still hear it.

And you never let it play to the end.

i did think abt making this happy but eh

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

⋆.˚✮ 2025 ©airybcby ✮˚.⋆

[namguys]

Hello! I just started reading your Nam-Gyu fics, and I love them! I was just wonder, would you be able to write a fluff fic where Nam-Gyu and the reader were dating before the games, where he used to be a better person, but they broke up because he started using drugs.

Then, in the games they didn’t really speak to each other much, until the hide and seek game. Maybe Nam-Gyu finds the reader having a breakdown and she thinks that he means to kill her. Maybe he starts to remember their time together before the drugs, and comforts her or something? Feel free to change anything, and no pressure to write it. Thank you :)

I’m sorry, i won’t kill you.

i love that idea!! I tried to keep it to fit your description as close as possible :D

———————————————————————

synopsis: Breaking up with Nam-Gyu before the games and then reuniting in the games, you avoid him like the pest until Hide and Seek/Hunter vs. Prey.

ft. f!reader x ex!nam-gyu

Trigger Warnings: Violence (NOT GRAPHIC), Drug use, Substance abuse, Toxic relationships, arguing, mention of murder (NOT GRAPHIC)

—————————————————————

You and Nam-Gyu were like a dream-couple. Never fought, loved each-other to the moon and back. literally. As you laid in bed, waiting for him to finish showering, you rolled over to his side of your shared bed. Not long after, he emerges from the steaming hot bathroom, a towel wrapped around his body. His eyes immediately turn to you, grinning ever-so-softly. "Just a second, pretty girl. I’ll change and then i’ll be there, okay?" His voice, ever so gentle, was like a melody to your ears. He sounded love-struck whenever you talked, and you could swear you saw little hearts in his eyes whenever you looked at him. You nod, scooted over and waited. Not long after he had changed, he laid down next to you, invitingly opening his arms. "C’mere, love." He muttered, waiting. Without hesitation, you scooted closer, right into his arms and feeling them wrap around you. "I missed you, y’know? Next time we should shower together." He pouted, burying his face in your hair. He loved the scent of your shampoo, after all. You nod, kissing his chin gently. "Yeah, we can do that next time. I missed you too, Sweetheart."

Well — That was *before* what had happened. Before he started taking drugs, to be precise.

*"All you care about are those fucking drugs! Do you even love me anymore, Nam-Gyu!?" You yelled at him, tears welled up in your eyes as you looked up at the man you once fell in love with, long before his drug problem started. Nam-Gyu’s cold gaze hurt as he stared down at you, pupils dilated and eyes bloodshot. Of course, he was high. Again. "Honestly?" he slurred, sounding annoyed. "No. I don’t. You piss me off, always clinging to me like some drugs are gonna kill me." He spat out those cold words like you suddenly meant nothing to him anymore. That’s what broke you. You snapped, the tears that you were so desperately trying to hold back spilling out of your eyes like a waterfall. "Then go! I don’t wanna see you anymore, we’re over!" You scream, desperate. You secretly hoped that he wouldn’t leave, but that’s exactly what he did. In one swift motion, he turned around, grabbed his jacket, his keys off of the table and left, slamming the door shut behind him. That was the last time you saw him.*

But now? now your situation was even worse. Your life couldn’t get any better, at least you thought so. You just joined a game where you could win a lot of money — just to find out it’s a life and death game, and your ex boyfriend is there, too. It made you feel sick to your stomach, really. You felt like throwing up when you remembered your last interaction before this.

You strongly decided against interacting with him. You didn’t need him, he was gonna betray you, anyway, you think.

Fast forward a few games, you were mentally done. This was all so fucked up. "'Hunter vs. Prey' what kind of shit is that?!" You thought to yourself, trying to open a door after running away from one of the red vests. You heard footsteps, that’s when you realized; Fuck. That’s the wrong Keyhole. You quickly look around, trying to find a way to escape before running off down a random hallway. You close your eyes, not wanting to look ahead or behind you — Until you collide with someone. A desperate and frustrated "Fuck!" followed by a groan was heard from the other person you bumped into. You open your eyes to look up at them, your suspicions correct — it was Nam-Gyu. He was a red vest. When you notice his vest, you scramble to your feet, slowly backing up. "Leave me alone, you sick, drug-addicted bastard!" You blurt out, scared. Was he gonna kill you? You feel yourself collide with a wall behind you. Just as you were about to take a run for it, a soft "Wait." was heard from him, as if he was predicting your moves. He stepped closer, putting a surprisingly comforting hand on your shoulder. "Darling, i-…I’m sorry, okay? I know, i fucked up, but…Fuck- i miss you, okay?!" Nam-Gyu’s voice sounded pleading, desperate, almost. He was never good with expressing how he felt, especially not while on drugs. He enveloped you in a warm, tight hug, burying his face in your hair, just like he used to. "I’m sorry, i won’t kill you, i promise."

———————————————————————

I just woke up and it’s already so hot here, this summer is gonna kill me 💔 anyway here’s your Fluff mixed with a little bit of Angst, i really hope you enjoyed it!!

[dailydelulu]

"Unspoken"

Pairing - Bucky x fem! reader - reader is a former HYDRA experiment/ assassin as well- traumatized but still badass fem!

Context: You haven't left your new room in days or spoken to anyone after being saved from a lab in HYDRA and taken to the Avengers Tower. So, your new companion, Bucky, thinks it's time to break the silence on this unspoken connection you have

( Bucky does not like pineapple on pizza)

CW: Themes of PTSD, trauma, healing

Fluff/ Hurt and Comfort/ Lots of Angst

Part of a larger work, but can work as a oneshot

link to full fic: In Your Eyes - Chapter 1 - daily_delulu - Marvel Cinematic Universe [Archive of Our Own]

A few days had passed since you had been brought to the tower, leaving unspoken scars behind. Bucky wasn’t exactly sure what to say or do about any of it. Ever since you had been released from the med wing, you had settled into the quarters Tony had prepared for you, conveniently placed a few doors down from his own. A precaution in case you tried to attack again, or a small mercy granted to keep you within reach if needed. Either way, it made him a bit more at ease knowing you were close by if anything went wrong. He hadn’t seen you leave your room only a few times to grab some snacks or look around the lounge area for the team. You hadn’t left the tower to go outside even once, so cooped up that even Tony had expressed a few concerns to the others despite his distrust towards you. A heavy silence hung in the air, as you barely spoke unless anyone asked you a direct question. Quiet, too quiet for Bucky’s liking. Usually, he preferred the silence. The less noise, the better for him, unless it was some of the music he listened to while on rides. Now he craved even a whisper more than anything, if it meant you were okay. 

Healing took time; old wounds close slowly. Bucky knew that, so he wasn’t expecting a sudden recovery or anything. Only when he looked at you did he see a shell of a person sitting on the same spot on the bed you always occupied. 

Afternoon Sunlight shimmered off the sea of buildings outside the window, reflecting off the windows holding so many souls inside. Vast and endless, it all seemed, as if the city would never end. At night, lights would flicker to life, making the city look like stars twinkling on the ground. Each light would eventually turn off as people went to sleep, returning to normal dreams with normal lives waiting for them in the morning. 

Sometimes, you were jealous of how people walked around blissfully unaware of how lucky they were to have such lives. Other times, you wondered if the lives HYDRA forced you to take had families, friends, or jobs waiting for them back at home. 

Over the past few days, you had fallen into a dismal routine. Eat, shower, stay quietly in your room for hours, and repeat. Sleep didn’t come easily these days, unless it was from pure exhaustion of your injuries. Nightmares had wrecked your mind every night. At least the room was nice, much nicer than anything you had ever had before. Piles of shopping bags lay in the corner, left untouched. Pepper Potts, or Miss Potts as Stark’s AI Jarvis always called her, had insisted on helping you out once she heard about your whole ordeal. She was motherly in a way that made you uncomfortable. People like you, people who had killed other people, didn’t deserve the kind words or tea she had brought you while telling you trivial details of running the company. Most of the names on the tags were designer as far as you could tell, only making you feel more out of place. Not that you weren’t appreciative, just another reminder of the reality you were now literally surrounded by billionaires, soldiers, and some of the best fighters on Earth—a reality you didn’t deserve. 

Bucky found you sitting by the window on your bed, staring wistfully outside as if you were lost in another time or place, like always. Usually, he would leave you alone, but right now, he needed to make sure you were okay. 

How did you even start a conversation like this? If Steve had been here, he would have known what to say. Moments like these were when he wished he could bring back the old Bucky, the Brooklyn man who could charm anyone in a few words, flirty even. That man was dead and had been for a long time. Maybe he could muster a little bit of what was left of him, buried deep beneath the layers of pain and bloodshed.

The clicking of his tactical gear being removed snapped you out of your focus on the window, as you turned to see Bucky standing there, leaning against the doorframe. Gunpowder and a hint of dust filled the air. 

“How was the mission?” you asked, scanning him for any other details. Bucky had noticed how your eyes always looked around, analyzing, always on guard as if needing to be constantly aware of your surroundings. Old habits died hard, especially with HYDRA. 

“How did you know?”

“The gear was enough of a tip,” you continued, “I can also smell the residue of the powder, and there’s a fresh cut on your upper right eyebrow.”

“Observant,” he looked around the room, “How are you doing?” 

“How do you think?!” you snapped. 

Great, this conversation is already off to a good start. So much for first impressions, Buck.

“Fair enough,” Bucky scratched the back of his neck nervously, “I should have guessed as much.”

Looking away, you mumbled some sort of apology for snapping.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” he said before trying to change the conversation, “Are you comfortable?”

“Yes,” you admitted, bringing your knees closer to your chest. A defensive gesture, he recognized, signaling you were scared. At least you were talking, which was a small step. “The room is nice. Mr. Stark was kind enough to take me in.”

“One way of putt’n it,” Bucky scoffed, “Tony does most things as a way of bragging about himself one way or another. Once this goes public, he’ll be seen as a philanthropist. He’ll use any chance to show off his money.” 

Disappointment almost crossed your face, even if you had already considered there could be ulterior motives for keeping you here outside of the pureness of his heart, “I guessed as much. Keeping an assassin from HYDRA could raise suspicion.” 

Bucky sighed, “You’re not going back there, okay? Nobody will make you. Even if Stark has his personal reasons for concern, he won’t send you back.”

“I can see the way they look at me,” you said, staring ahead at nothing in particular. All of them are scared of me. They try to hide it, but I can still see it.”

He slowly took a few steps closer before stopping when you flinched. Trust didn’t come easily after surviving HYDRA. He would have to do this slowly. 

“Easy,” he held his hands up, “I’m not here to hurt you. I only wanted to talk.”

“About what? Is this a test?”

“No, not tests,” he clenched his hands at his side, holding his breath as he remembered his own.”There are no tests here, no experiments, no orders. I promised.” 

Sheets bunched in your fist as you took deep breaths; you’re safe, you’re safe. 

“Take deep breaths,” a shadow passed over you as he finally stood before you, “That’s it.”

Bucky was sure his presence wasn’t the most comforting thing. An imposing former assassin with a metal arm stood there as still as a statue. 

“I was there for years,” the words hardly a whisper, unsure why they tumbled out, “I had to go through all these tests, and I-”

“You don't have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he assured you, taking a small step closer. Getting a closer look, he could see the remaining scars in a ring around the neck of the collar he’d torn off days before. Dark shadows grew under your eyes; nightmares, like his own.  Those wouldn’t go away anytime soon. Every night, he still had them even after all this time. A small, twisted patch of skin snaked with lines left from a burn peeked out from your hoodie’s sleeve. Whether the burn was from HYDRA or another part of your life, he wasn’t sure. The only thing he knew was that the strange hint of white tucked in your hair was too unnatural not to be from those monsters. 

“No, you don’t understand,” you choked out, “I killed people, they forced me.”

Ironic, here you were confessing to murder in front of one of HYDRA’s most infamous killers. Anger rose within him, threatening to spill out right now. For you, for his past, for HYDRA’s very existence. Bucky had seen the monsters, been at their hands, and nearly became one himself. Yet, looking at the near-broken person in front of him, it was as if he could truly see what monsters were for the very first time. 

“I did too, we both did,” Bucky saw the way your eyes turned to disbelief, “For years, decades. It’s a long story.”

“You did?” The puzzle pieces fell into place. The strange, unspoken connection you shared now had meaning. “I don’t understand, you’re so… nice.”

Bucky nearly gave an inappropriate laugh for the serious moment, “Nice? I think that’s the first time anyone’s called me that. Murderer, scary, terrorist. Never nice.”

“But you got me out of there, and when I nearly tried to,” you hesitated, “Kill you, you didn’t take your opening.”

What had they done to you to make you think not taking an open shot the moment he had it was nice? He had forgotten how much damage HYDRA could do to your sense of basic humanity. 

“None of that was your fault,” he lowered himself to your eye level, making sure to keep distance as he repeated, “None of it was your fault.” 

Finally able to look him in the eyes, his gaze was evidence enough he was telling the truth- the story written in the ache in the tormented stare. 

“I should have remembered you, I should have,” you let out a shuddering breath. “You weren’t the enemy. HYDRA told me.”

“Lies,” he interrupted, “Everything they tell you is lies. Whatever they said to you, forget it. Now.” 

Weak. Useless. Stupid. So it was all lies? 

Bucky went on, “We both survived stuff nobody should. Lived through torture, manipulation…it’s all manipulation. Some twisted game of theirs. None of it was our fault.”

Maybe he was reminding himself of that, too. 

“How long do the nightmares keep you up?” he asked. 

“How did you know?” 

“Observant,” his mouth quirked up to a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “I’m an assassin, remember?”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. “Only for a few hours, I’ll survive.”

Bucky got up and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms as he stole a glance at a slice of pizza far past being cold, sitting on a plate at your bedside table.

“Are you eating enough?” he raised an eyebrow, as if challenging you to argue on this. Good thing one of your best skills was winning an argument. 

“I’m suited to go days without food,” you replied, “Eating it would be a waste of supplies.”

Wow, he really had forgotten how bad the conditioning was. 

“It won’t be a waste, and you’re not some machine anymore,” he said, “You have to eat.” 

“No, I don’t. I still have at least 42 hours before I need to eat again,” you insisted. 

Nope, Bucky couldn’t sit back and watch you suffer any longer. The shallowness of your cheeks was enough to indicate the lab had been starving you for a while. Probably some test of endurance. 

He picked up the plate and shoved it into your hands. “Eat. Now.” 

“Orders? I thought I didn’t take any orders here?”

“I’m not ordering you,” he ran a hand through his brown hair in frustration, “Nobody will order you here, but I can’t sit back and watch you starve.” 

A small, perfectly timed growl came from your stomach. Great, thanks for betraying me. 

Typically, in the lab, Handler would have slapped you across the face by now for a show of weakness. Anything human seemed to be a weakness there. Instead, Bucky sat down on the edge of the bed, causing the mattress to sink a bit with his weight, keeping a distance between the two of you. 

“I’m not ordering you, and I’m not asking either,” Bucky assured, “I’m just concerned, doll.” The nickname rolled off his tongue before he could even think. An old-timey one, Sam had warned him a few times in the past, may not be as well received in the 21st century. Back in the day, he probably would have used it with a girl he had gone on a few good dates with, so why would he use it now? At least you didn’t seem to mind as far as he could tell, or you hadn’t noticed it. 

Concern wasn’t something you had received in a long time, considering such a thing didn’t exist in HYDRA’s vocabulary. After living so long without kindness, would you know how to take it? 

“Do you not like pizza?” Bucky asked tentatively. “I don’t know,” you admitted. He had forgotten those days, days full of not knowing your name, how to pick your clothes, or something as basic as picking what food you liked. 

‘Maybe you can find out,” he suggested, looking over at you. Taking one step away from the programming, away from orders to make your own choice for once, felt exciting. Nights alone in your cell had been filled with dreams of such things. Visions of freedom, running far away from the lab where nobody could tell you what to do, and nothing could stop you from touching the stars if you wanted. Those nights had kept you alive while pain from unknown injections had filled your veins with fire, as you tossed and turned, trying to keep the orders out of your head, scratching at the fresh cuts from "training" all day. A small light in a world made of darkness. Now, you weren’t sure if you could make a choice. 

“I guess so.” Unsure, you took a small nibble of the slice, testing the waters. Then another, and another, and another. How hungry had you been? “Good,” Bucky wanted to give you a small pat on the back before thinking better of it, unless he wanted a quick elbow to the rib. 

“Do they still put pineapple on pizza?” you asked suddenly. A lot may have changed while you were at HYDRA. 

“Yes,” Bucky nearly grimaced, “Worst invention I’ve seen yet in this century.”

“Seriously? Pineapple isn’t that bad on pizza,” you protested, “It’s creative.”

“It’s an abomination,” Bucky smirked, unable to drop the subject suddenly, glad to have a normal conversation with you for a change. 

“You’re impossible,” you mumbled, already reaching for another slice from the box Happy had left at your door hours before. The action warmed his heart a bit, even if it were small, it was a sign of improvement. How could a random stranger like you have managed to make him feel so many things he hadn’t in years in only a few days?

 Feel things he thought froze in the ice along with him. Now, the cold was melting away, bit by bit. 

[legendary-69420]

Caught in 4K

Chapter 19

(Racing Hearts : VOLUME 3 )

racing hearts

______________________________________________________________

Click. Click.

Somewhere in the distance, far enough that neither Mark nor Charles noticed in the heat of that long-awaited confession, a camera lens caught it all. The raw, rain-drenched kiss. The forehead touches. The soft, breathless smiles exchanged under the stormy Monaco sky. The photographer — whoever they were — knew they’d just caught something intimate, something that wasn’t meant for the world to see. But for now, Mark and Charles were too lost in each other to notice.

The Morning After

Charles woke to the faint glow of early sunlight filtering through his bedroom curtains. His head ached faintly — not from alcohol, but from the sheer intensity of the night before. The club. The fight. The rain. The kiss.

He shifted, feeling the weight on his chest.

His heart nearly stopped.

There, half-buried against him, was Mark Spencer. His face relaxed in sleep, hair a beautiful mess, lips parted slightly, mumbling soft, incoherent things into Charles’ chest like he belonged there.

Is this a dream? Charles thought, his breath catching in his throat.

And then it hit him — this wasn’t some figment of his sleep-deprived mind. It was real. The fight. The argument in the rain. The confession. The kiss. The way they’d driven home together in silence, barely exchanging words because their hands said enough.

The moment they stepped into Charles’ apartment, Mark had practically tackled him to the couch, kissing him with a desperation that could only come from years of denial breaking loose. Charles kissed him back like his life depended on it. Somewhere in the haze of it all, they’d both ended up lying tangled together, damp clothes discarded, limbs intertwined, exhausted and happy for the first time in what felt like forever.

Mark had been so clingy, refusing to even let Charles get up for water. Every time Charles shifted, Mark would mumble a sleepy, possessive, “Stay,” and press another lazy kiss against his jaw. They’d eventually fallen asleep like that, Mark half sprawled on top of Charles, warm and solid and perfect.

Charles was still processing all this when Mark stirred against him, letting out a soft, adorable little hum.

“Mmm… morning, sunshine,” Mark mumbled, a sleepy grin spreading across his lips without even opening his eyes.

Charles’ lips curled up instantly, warmth blooming in his chest. “Morning, mon amour.”

Mark blinked up at him with those hazel eyes, the sunlight making them glow gold for a second.

Charles spoke quietly, brushing Mark’s hair out of his face. “I can’t believe this is real. I’ve waited so long for this.”

“Me too,” Mark whispered, leaning up to kiss him softly. “Leclerc… me too.”

Breakfast

To anyone else, breakfast would’ve looked normal. Coffee brewing. Eggs sizzling in a pan. Toast popping up. But for Charles, everything about this felt extraordinary.

Mark sat at the table in one of Charles’ hoodies — far too big on him, the sleeves covering half his hands — hair still messy from sleep, leaning back in his chair like he owned the place. He talked animatedly about something idiotic Carlos texted him last night, and Charles just… stared.

“What?” Mark asked, catching him.

Charles flushed, grinning like an idiot as he looked down at his plate. “Nothing.”

Mark gave him a knowing, amused smile and went back to eating.

The Shower Incident

After breakfast, Mark stretched. “Alright, I’m gonna shower.”

Charles blinked. “Here?”

Mark squinted at him. “Uh… yeah? Why are you acting like it’s my first time in your house?”

Charles flustered, remembering Mark’s shower habits from past sleepovers, drunken nights after parties, and random days after training. But this time it felt… different. More loaded.

Mark peeled off his hoodie and t-shirt as he headed toward the bathroom, and Charles’ brain short-circuited. The man was a literal sculpture. Perfect lines, abs, broad shoulders. He was pretty sure angels wept somewhere in the distance.

“You’re staring,” Mark teased.

Charles grinned, unabashed. “Can you blame me?”

Mark rolled his eyes, but the smirk on his face betrayed how much he loved the attention.

“Keep looking at me like that, and I might think you wanna join me in there.”

Charles opened his mouth to answer — but the doorbell rang.

Mark snickered. “Saved by the bell.”

Lorenzo’s Arrival

Charles cursed under his breath and headed downstairs, his heart still pounding.

Opening the door, he was met by none other than his smug, too-wise-for-his-own-good older brother.

“Lorenzo,” Charles greeted warily.

“Hey, maman said you’d be home,” Lorenzo stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. “So… did you bring someone home?”

Charles froze. His face flushed immediately. Of course Lorenzo would bring this up.

“Yeah… just Mark,” Charles tried to sound casual.

“Ohh, just Mark, huh?” Lorenzo grinned, all smugness.

“Drop it, bro. He’s just a friend.”

“Oh? Just a friend?” Lorenzo pulled out his phone with a dramatic flourish and opened a photo. There it was — the photo. Mark and Charles in the rain, kissing like the world was ending, forehead to forehead, hearts practically on their sleeves.

Charles’ jaw dropped. “HOW THE FUCK DID YOU GET THAT?!”

Lorenzo burst out laughing. “Bro… it’s Monaco. People talk. And also, I may have… been there.”

“DELETE IT.”

“Nope. Prime blackmail material.”

Charles lunged for the phone. They wrestled like children in the middle of the living room, pillows flying.

“Shut your mouth about this.”

Lorenzo paused, raised a brow. “Say ‘please.’”

Charles groaned. “Please.”

Lorenzo smirked. “Attaboy.”

He tucked his phone away. “He’s different, huh? Than your previous… situations.”

Charles dropped onto the couch, still catching his breath from their ridiculous scuffle. He looked down at his hands, then at the photo still burned in his memory.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “He’s… special to me.”

And for once, Lorenzo didn’t tease. He just smiled.

Mark’s Exit

A little while later, Mark came downstairs, freshly showered, hair damp, wearing one of Charles’ shirts. He greeted Lorenzo like usual, the two exchanging playful jabs.

Lorenzo, sensing the shift in the air, made his excuses. “I’m gonna go crash for a bit. You two… do whatever you’re doing.”

Once Lorenzo left, Mark turned to Charles. “Hey, I should head out. Gotta handle some stuff.”

Charles’ face fell just a fraction. “Yeah… see you later?”

Mark snorted. “Don’t act sad, idiot. I’m coming back in like three hours.”

Charles smiled. “Alright.”

He expected Mark to just leave like he usually did, tossing a wave over his shoulder and vanishing. But this time — Mark kissed him. A quick, soft thing that still made Charles’ stomach flip.

And then he left.

Charles stood there, dazed and grinning like an idiot, turning around only to find Lorenzo leaning against the wall, phone in hand, grinning.

“Caught in 4K… literally.”

“DELETE THAT!” Charles yelled, chasing after him again.

______________________________________________________________

[freedelusionshere]

Just had a new perspective of a line during the alley fight.

On first watch, i the line “because your the bear” made me roll my eyes as the first time i heard it in s2. It was dogshit dialogue then, and even worse in s4.

At first i took the line as Carmy literally just stealing a nonsense line from Claire, because he liked how it sounded when Claire said it to him, and its the only “romance” he’s experienced.

BUT NOW

After rewtching the entire fight I now think that was (for carmy)explicit love confession. Straight up. The pause before he says it, the INTENSITY and PANIC in his eyes after, as if it was the most vulnerable thing he has ever said in his life. the way he lets it hang in the air, (which he perceives as “yeah, i said it” and Syd perceives as “???”).

Then the going back AGAIN, to how Carmy kept using the deliberate and specific term “The restaurant” throughout the entire scene as a deference from saying her name. “We have to put the restaurant first.”

So when he says “you’re the bear” after her painfully pleading “why” He hopes she understands he’s saying its because he loves her. Hence the pleading, intense looking into her eyes for confirmation she hears him.

BUT SYD, thinks it just ANOTHER instance of her setting him up to say the real words OUT-LOUD, and him letting her down yet again, by cowardly deflecting the vulnerable question with another bullshit, hiding behind the excuse of work double speak answer.

Classic syd/carmy genuinely meaning well, but failing to understand each others true message because of their personal fears.

Thoughts?

Yeah the show loves to do stuff like this. They have reversed positions in the narrative in many ways in S4.

Carmy believes that Syd loves the restaurant and not him. She did several things this season to reinforce that belief because she was pissed at him. He could’ve just asked but he’s not doing that yet.

But as I predicted, Syd is just as messy as Carmy.

Claire is not what’s on his mind it’s Syd. Syd and Mikey. Mikey is the one who told Claire about naming the restaurant The Bear.

What Carmy is trying to tell Syd by saying she’s The Bear is that she literally made his dream come true (the restaurant he wanted to build with Mikey) but he’s not good in the restaurant and so he can’t have both, and so he gives up the restaurant and gives it to her because he loves her and thinks it’s what she loves and wants.

Syd fell for him and told him he was the best CDC in the best restaurant, etc., and she refers back to that several times this season and to other people in the most admiring way, but she also resents him and still wants his approval as who he was when she ate that dish at Empire.

That’s not who he is anymore because Syd changed everything including him, and made him want more and that’s what he’s confessing. He also not the Carmy who fell for Claire anymore. He’s becoming.

Syd and Carmy don’t really know who they are outside of the career they’ve chosen. They’ve made everything about the restaurant and it got in the way of them. It’s an obstacle as Carmy says. It pulls them in two directions.

But it’s very clear she tried to choose him and not the restaurant and now she feels rejected because he’s leaving, because it triggers her abandonment issues. And her stuff with her mom and now her dad’s health scare.

He never says he’s leaving her, he says he wants to be her friend (implying relationship outside of work) and that he will give her what she wants, just not with him working in a restaurant; he’s tapped out.

I’m sure that scares her because she has always seen herself in him, and if that can happen to him, it can happen to her too (and it has already started with the throwing up in S2, the panic attacks in S3, the smoking).

A lot of heavy references to the film The Red Shoes here and the lovers in that movie.

Not sure if I answered or rabbit trailed but thanks for the ask! I’m still forming my opinion of the whole thing but I don’t find Claire to be compelling or important.