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[pirefyrelight]

Ive been riding my bike to work for the past week or so and I've noticed a few things. One, of the two major roads that have bike lanes, both of them are shit and I have simply found an alternative route that uses sidestreets with less traffic, and two, random children on parking garage rooftops wildly overestimate my abilities.

To go into more detail on that second point:

The last stretch going to my work is a just steep enough decline that I've never noticed before when walking or driving, but am able to sail down into a pleasant breeze for about 3 blocks (baring stoplights and pedestrians). The downside, or rather the going up side of this, is that after a long day of work I might as well be climing everest biking home those first few blocks.

And of course, another thing I've noticed, is that no matter which way you're going there's a headwind.

So picture me, last week. 9 hour shift. No sitting down since I got on my bike that morning. Hot as balls but in that way it *could* theoretically be worse? In black pants and t-shirt as is dress code and I haven't gotten into the habit of bring shorts to change into yet. At the start of the summer I haven't been on a bike in at least 5 years, probably closer to 10, I am so incredibly out of shape.

So this goddamn child, this hooligan hanging out on the top of a three story parking garage, sees me battling for my goddam life, going uphill into a headwind and sweating so bad he can probably smell it from up there, calls "do a wheelie" like sir the only wheelie that's imminent from me is being blown back down the hill in such a way the front tires get caught first. The only trick doable from me right now is getting to the top without falling over.

[ameliyalanne]

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[detailingbullnoida]

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[1d1195]

Buttercup

~7.8k words

From me: I love a knight in shining armor moment. Grumpy sunshine, black cat and golden retriever kind of vibe. There are definitely some details missing on purpose here. Best of luck. Hope you like it 💕 Sorry for the delay in posting. What a week.

Warnings: dick ex-bf - cheating, emotional trauma, threatening. Angry Harry, neighbor Harry, some mentions of sex, a good bit of angst, and some fluff.

Summary: Harry's new neighbor is fun to prank. She just wants to tend to her garden and enjoy her chocolate in peace.

But it's... comforting to know Harry is right next door.

The boys that lived next door weren’t too loud, weren’t super messy, and they were easy on the eyes.

But that was the furthest she could compliment them.

Well, Louis was really lovely overall. He had a girlfriend that came by frequently (almost daily) and appeared to keep him in check. But there was no one to keep Harry in check. He walked around his yard in his boxers, got the mail in them even, and both greeted his sexual partner(s) then sent her on her way off his property the following morning in nothing but boxers as well.

All with a smug smile in her direction while he wore nothing but underwear and the ink etched on his unbelievably smooth skin.

Stupid hot people.

Regardless of what he was doing, he was always sure to irritate her if she was outside. “Hi Buttercup,” he cooed like they were old friends while she worked in her garden. It was clearly her favorite part of the house. It desperately needed a new coat of paint, and she didn’t care in the slightest. The flowers were more important, and she did a good job. Clearing the flowerbeds happened before all her boxes were officially inside her house.

She thought about the day she arrived.

When she moved in, she took a deep breath, pulled her hair into a ponytail and tugged it through the back of a baseball cap. One by one, she pulled a box out of her car and brought it inside. A storage pod was dropped in the driveway as well and then she began the same process after taking a short break while she looked at what she needed to do first. She leaned against her car and felt anxiety and a serious case of being overwhelmed start to fill her chest. She took deep breaths hoping the sugar she ingested would help ease her worried mind.

“Hey, neighbor!” She turned to the voice where a guy with brown hair and blue eyes smiled brightly at her. “I’m Louis, welcome to our neighborhood. It’s nice to meet you. Need help?”

She shook her head quickly. Almost defensive as she aimed to protect herself. “No, I’m alright, thank you.”

Louis glanced at her storage pod and tilted his head at her curiously. It was a lot to unpack on her own.

Metaphorically and literally.

“You’re sure?” He asked. “My roommate saw you from the window. Thought you were... well, not struggling... But it’s a lot to move for anyone. He’s changing, he’ll be right out to help too,” he explained and rubbed the back of his head. “My girlfriend was on the phone and overheard Harry, and she insisted as well.”

She thought that he was nice. A friendly neighbor if there ever was one. But the wall of anxiety she put up and the nerve she was feigning to keep up was battling something fierce. “Right,” she cleared her throat. She would need an ally. There was no one in this new town for her and Louis seemed nice.

Levi seemed nice too... she thought.

Shaking her head she tried to rid herself of the negative outlook. Louis wasn’t Levi. “That... that’s really nice. Thank you. If you’re sure.”

Louis’ best friend and roommate Harry soon joined them. Introduced himself and she sincerely thought they were just two nice guys who would be decent neighbors.

The second they dropped the first load of her stuff safely inside Harry began his pranks. “Is this box labeled underwear up for grabs?”

There was no box labeled underwear. She knew that. But it still made her cheeks burn with embarrassment even though Louis rolled his eyes as if was used to it. Which she supposed he was. “Christ, Harry,” Louis sighed and pinched between his eyes. “I’m sorry, love. We don’t let him out of the house much.”

She looked at him with an eye roll. He was cute. She would give him that.

Well, hot.

Enticing green eyes, sinewy muscles, and a smile so bright it could put the sun to shame. He knew he was hot. There was no way he didn’t. But she wasn’t going to let him get to her.

“Where are y’moving from?” Harry asked.

“Uh...” she shook her head trying to remember what lie she was supposed to say. But then went with most of the truth. “Just upstate, a few hours away. I got a new job and whatnot.”

“New modeling job?”

“Boo...” Louis droned, grumbling as he moved boxes labeled kitchen into the correct room. “If you’re going to embarrass yourself, you could use better material.”

“This is m’best material, Lou,” he scowled at his friend. Her cheeks were still burning at his shameless flirting.

“I know he’s obnoxious, but he’s harmless,” Louis rolled his eyes.

“Excuse you, Louis. M’not obnoxious.”

“The shit you say,” he shook his head.

“I jus’ think you’re gorgeous,” his eyelashes did all the flirting for him when his words stopped.

But whether Harry was flirting or not, she didn’t want to flirt with her neighbor. Didn’t want to have a boyfriend. Certainly not one with all the charisma he had around her.

Even if he was flirty and charming.

And hot.

There was no denying how hot Harry was.

So she would have to be careful.

*

“Looking good, Buttercup.”

She glared at the tulip bulbs she was planting in front of her door for the spring. She adjusted the planters of mums placed on the porch steps. A variety of gold, orange, brown and red. Perfect for fall and the idyllic picture for a magazine cover. There were pumpkins on the side of the bottom step greeting anyone at her home with the pretty festive colors. A cute scarecrow was staked among fake corn stalks and hay beside the pumpkins.

It was unseasonably warm for November but for the last two months, and even though Harry drove her crazy, she wanted to be outside enjoying the sunshine and fresh air while she could. She had listened to Harry’s flirting with her since the moment she moved in. He was blatant about it. But in the same timeframe, she watched him with women coming and going. Of course, it didn’t bother her one bit who he spent his time with; that was his choice, and he had no obligation to her or the women he took home as long as he wasn’t a complete douchebag to them.

But Harry always seemed to be there. He was there when she got her mail. There when she got home from work. There when she was going to work. It didn’t matter. Didn’t he have to work? “Are businesses too intelligent to hire you?”

“No?” He chuckled phrasing it as a question.

“Just assumed, since you’re never at work.”

He snorted. “Funny.” She continued tending to her flowers. “I work from home.”

Perfect. So he would continue to always be there. Some people had all the luck.

He wasn’t in his boxers for a change. An interesting change of pace. He was in a pair of plain jogging pants and a plain T-shirt, yet he was the one that looked like a model for Nike.

Men had it so easy being attractive. A pair of workout pants and a T-shirt that outlined his pectorals way too tightly was all it took to get her flustered.

He sat beside her and watched her work. “Y’should do our garden, next Buttercup. Looks so nice the way y’put everything together.”

She paused and stared at him. His eyes roamed her little planters and across the weedless yard. He smiled at her as his gaze returned to hers. “You’re making fun of me,” she scowled.

“Kitten,” he pressed a hand over his heart, looking affronted. “I would never make fun of you.”

She looked back at the dirt that was under her nails. She focused on the feeling of it rather than the feeling of dread she felt around Harry. He was so confident in himself and in everything he did. It was annoying. His stupid green eyes and his dumb smile. She couldn’t fall for it again. No matter how sincere he sounded.

“Y’look really pretty in y’garden,” his voice was gentle. Like he was worried she was going to throw something at him. She had considered it. Her trowel seemed like it could do some damage. But she was trying not to be completely ridiculous just because Harry was a pain.

And sickening.

And irritating.

And cute.

Fortunately, she had a list of things to remind herself of that he was a nuisance. Not to mention there were his pranks that made her crazy.

He sprayed her with the hose when she wasn’t looking. Sent mail to her house for porn addiction making the mailman look at her with a smirk before she screamed at Harry (which didn’t help the look the mailman was giving her). At the beginning of October, he put a Halloween mask outside her window to scare her when she woke up so terrifyingly that Louis and Eleanor rushed over in their pajamas. While nothing was irreparable or worth putting her into therapy, the jokes made her mad because Harry always made her mad. He was too good looking and too there all the time.

Instead, she continued weeding and planting. Making the previously bare flower beds green and brown with freshly overturned dirt. It was calming. Being in the garden, the yard. Dirt on her hands and the sun on her back.

“Cat got your tongue, Buttercup?” He joked.

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“The more y’ignore me, kitten, jus’ makes me want y’more.”

“I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole.”

“Ugh, will you marry me?”

“You’re so ridiculous, Harry.”

“God, y’drive me wild.”

She continued digging in the dirt. “If you’re going to sit there and be annoying, can you at least be useful and hand me the watering can?”

Harry silently grabbed the can and poured the water into the hole, watching her carefully. “I used t’garden with m’Mum.”

“You didn’t just spawn from the ground climbing out of hell?”

Harry chuckled quietly. “No, m’mum’s a saint,” he said with a smile. The fondness in his voice and reverence for her made her heart skip a beat. He was so annoying but that was undoubtedly beyond sweet. Even if it was Harry saying it.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to insult your mother.”

“Y’didn’t. I know what y’meant,” he chuckled. “Mum would like you,” he told her. Which absolutely terrified her because mothers often did. It made things more complicated. Like it had in the past.

“She would like me? I’m an absolute bitch to you, Harry.”

“Hey,” he frowned. “Don’t say that,” the sincerity in his voice continued making her throat catch on any rebuttal she wanted to say in return. The pucker of skin between his eyebrows made her want to reach out and smooth his skin. His frown made her sad too. Before she could push the feeling away, he spoke again. “You’re funny. Stubborn. Adorable. Mum would like that y’keep me grounded,” he complimented.

“Keeping you grounded is the nice way of saying bitchy.”

He sighed, irritation practically rolling off him in waves. That was new. “Seriously, kitten. Knock it off,” he shook his head disappointedly.

She blinked, surprised by the genuine tone. “You’re serious?”

“Jus’ because y’say it ‘bout yourself doesn’t make it better.”

For a whole minute she seriously thought about how easy it would be to fall for Harry. He was handsome, intelligent, kind, and funny. Even if he was obnoxious. Louis and Eleanor kept him around for a reason, right? For God’s sake he wouldn’t let her call herself a bitch. Who did that?! “Um... sorry?”

“Apology not accepted. You’ll have t’go on a date with me. S’the only way t’make it up t’me.”

She rolled her eyes and turned back to the bulbs she was planting. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Alright fine; I’ll jus’ have t’think of something else,” he sighed, pausing, like he was really thinking about how she could make it up to him.

Then he smeared a clod of cold, wet dirt across her cheek.

She spluttered trying to avoid dirt in her mouth and reached out to smack him. However, he was nearly giggling, practically running back to his house before she could register what really happened and retaliate. “See y’later, Buttercup!” He called.

*

One of Harry’s ongoing pranks involved slipping his phone number into her contacts early on when he met her. It happened shortly after she moved in, and it allowed him to send her memes and inappropriate messages (not the kind of unsolicited messages that only complete dicks sent to women who did not want them) but the ones that he found on the internet. Inappropriate jokes. Innuendos.

But he also texted her when he was heading to the grocery store to see if she needed anything. But in the time that they exchanged messages, she never started the conversations. It was always a Leave me alone Harry. No thank you. Can you stop staring out the window like a creep? If she needed something she asked Louis, which honestly upset him to a degree, but he understood. Harry came on strong when he met her. Not that he would change that, but it wasn’t unreasonable of her to feel standoffish to him.

God, was she beautiful. Harry loved seeing her in the yard. Made it a point to drop everything he was doing and go get a closer look. He was drawn to her. Moth to a flame. The whole bit. She was so funny, even when she was grumpy. He wasn’t joking when he told her that her ignoring him made him want her more.

She was a hard worker and left early in the morning and returned well into dinner time. While the weather was nice, she would sit on her porch and read or work tirelessly on her perfect garden. She was lovely. Harry could see it from afar and he was bummed she didn’t catch on to his shameless flirting the way he had hoped when he first saw her.

One of these days I’d like you to text me instead of Louis when you need something. Louis already has a girlfriend.

From the looks of it you have PLENTY of options for a girlfriend.

Jealous?

Of getting a disease? No. I’m good.

Your green thumb is spreading, Buttercup. It’s not your color.

You can ignore me all you want. Just think about it. It doesn’t have to be a thing. I just want you to know I’m happy to help you if you need it. Not just Louis.

Also, I’m clean in case you ever want to explore that side of things too 😉

Surprisingly, she ignored that message too.

*

Harry felt like he was going through withdrawals from her. He hadn’t even seen her in the yard. Between the rain and their work schedules, it was like he couldn’t get a glimpse of her pretty being tending to the weeds, reading her book, or anything. His joke asking her what she plays with at night that also vibrates went unanswered.

Maybe he should have stopped sending her inappropriate jokes, but the fact she hadn’t blocked him gave him the shred of hope he desperately wanted. Maybe if she had blocked him it would get through his head that she was out of his league, and she wasn’t interested.

I’m heading home to shower, change, and then I’ll come grab you. It was Niall though, and not her reply to his joke.

Harry put cologne on and settled in the living room quietly scrolling through his social media looking at the time stamp from his message, almost a whole day ago. Frowning, he returned to scrolling and waiting for Niall. Not thinking much of anything of merit as he did.

But then that little notification slid from the top of his phone making his heart bounce with excitement.

Harry, are you home?

Is it finally happening?! 😍

There was no response and Harry thought he ruined their moment. Even if he believed her when she said they would never sleep together, he was glad she was talking to him. He was worried his latest prank had gone too far.

Harry’s car was in the garage, and he had almost every light off since he was leaving soon, so it was a fair question since she couldn’t see the back of his house where he was hiding in his room.

I was kidding, Buttercup. I’m home. You could have just come over to ask though.

There was still no response, but he kept his phone in hand waiting and holding his breath. Hoping something would come through from her again.

Pick some flowers from my yard.

Come knock on the door like we’re supposed to be going on a date.

Please.

And hurry.

Please.

What?

...?

Kitten...what’s wrong?

He tried calling her immediately, but it went right to voicemail, like she had turned her phone off after sending her last message.

What the hell. Why aren’t you answering your phone?

This isn’t funny, Buttercup...

You’re making me nervous.

If this was a retaliation prank it went way too far. Way further than putting the mini popping firecrackers under her tires before she left for work. The very one that got her so mad, he thought she was going to call the cops finally. The one that made her ignore him for days on end despite the messages he sent.

But this wasn’t funny. Not even a little. Her safety and security weren’t things Harry liked to joke about because despite everything, he was possessive about her. And frankly, he adored her. Even if she wasn’t his to obsess over nor adore.

But he wasn’t going to ignore her any longer than he had to. He nearly sprinted out the door, swiping randomly at her pretty flowers and feeling horrible that he was pulling her precious plants after all the hard work she put into them. It seemed silly to spend time doing this, but he didn’t want to fuck up what she asked him to do. Not when her messages seemed so worrisome. Not when she didn’t answer. With a fresh bouquet in hand, he hurried to the front door. Fortunately, he was dressed for a night out. Niall would be on his way to pick him up; so, he was, in theory, date ready. But the thought of being with Niall and not home when she needed him terrified him further. Thank God he was home.

Harry had no idea what was on the other side of her door, but it was embarrassingly late in the moment that he realized there was a car in the driveway he hadn’t seen before. At once he realized she never had company. Which only made him even more anxious.

Swallowing, he knocked firmly.

The door flew open within ten seconds of his knock. The relief in her eyes made Harry feel sick. What was she so nervous about? What could make her that nervous, that seeing him made her at ease? She was constantly irritated by his presence. The moment only made him feel worse. “Harry, right on time,” she smiled sweetly. She was a good actress. If she hadn’t texted Harry so urgently, he wouldn’t be looking for signs of trouble, wouldn’t see the relief in her eyes, and he would have no idea that something was wrong.

“Hi kitten, don’t y’look beautiful,” he cooed leaning down to press a kiss to her cheekbone as if he had done it a thousand times before. Gratefully, he had imagined it about a thousand times, so it probably looked as natural as it felt. Plus, she was beautiful. Always. The acting came naturally to him as well. His arm wrapped around her waist in the same movement instinctively. His eyes fell to the man standing a few feet back watching her like a hawk. His gaze was territorial and possessive; Harry didn’t care for that at all. Even if she wasn’t Harry’s, she definitely wasn’t his either.

But Harry was possessive, and he was there because she asked him to be there. Something he got the feeling the other man did not have permission for. He knew he shouldn’t have felt possessive of her, but he would pretend all the same if it meant the worry in her eyes would go away.

He handed her the bouquet he plucked only moments before and threaded their fingers together; another movement that felt like he had done before and not for the very first time that second. “Let’s get a vase,” he suggested and kept his eyes on him. It wasn’t lost on him how easily her fingers fit between his, the way their palms touched, or how her grip tightened ever so slightly when she settled her grip in his. “Hey,” he nodded his head in greeting.

The guy ignored Harry. His eyes glaring at the pretty girl beside him. “You’re seriously telling me you’ve been dating this guy since the moment you moved in?”

Her cheeks burned red, and Harry kissed the top of her head tucking her toward his chest protectively. Harry didn’t care for it at all. If the anxiety in her texts, expressions, and body language wasn’t enough evidence, then the way she leaned further into his chest despite everything and how annoyed she was by him, certainly was. “M’Harry,” his voice was firm. Pointed. “And you are?”

He grunted, shook his head. “The fuck, babe?” He snapped. She didn’t respond, simply glanced up to meet Harry’s gaze. She blinked unsurely at Harry, unable to find her next move. Harry nudged her gently toward the kitchen.

“Do y’have a name or what?” Harry grumbled over his shoulder as he made a show of caressing her while she found a vase. Her hands were shaking slightly as she placed the vase in the sink. Fortunately, Harry saw it immediately and tugged the glass from her grip, pulling her hand back in his. Even if it was impractical and stupid looking while he placed the vase with one hand in her sink to finish what she was doing.

“Levi,” he snapped. “We apparently used to date.”

Harry felt her body deflate. He wondered why. Was it the prospect of dating this asshole? Was it the phrase used to? What happened before he got here?

“Well, Levi, glad we’re on the same page and you’re using the past tense. M’here t’take my girlfriend on a date,” he pressed his body around hers, bracketing her body against the sink. She kept her eyes down, away from Levi’s gaze. Her body felt so warm against his it made him wish this wasn’t for show. Instead, he bent down to kiss the crook of her neck and shoulder hoping she wouldn’t hate him later over it.

He was really into pretending. She squeezed his hands that were wrapped around hers against the edge of counter. Was that a thanks? Was that a sigh he imagined when he kissed her skin? God, she smelled good.

“M’not sure exactly what’s going on here, but m’getting a good sense that she doesn’t want y’here. So maybe s’a good time t’go before I have t’escort y’out of the house.”

He snorted and shook his head. He glared at Harry as he spoke, but her eyes were still cast down toward the sink. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re playing at, babe. You can try and fool me all you want. But I’m not stupid. I’ll come back when your boyfriend isn’t around,” he left the kitchen and slammed her front door shut as he exited. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Begrudgingly, he left her by the sink and went to the front door, peering out the small window right next to the frame. He watched while Levi pulled out of her driveway and down the road. Harry stood and watched, waiting for the sound of his car to completely disappear before he felt he wasn’t coming back any time soon. Harry locked her deadbolt.

“Who was that—” He started as he turned back for the kitchen, but his heart practically broke at the sight of his stubborn, fearless, and utterly pretty neighbor teary eyed and shaken to the core. She left the kitchen near silently it seemed but stopped in the hall right before the entryway of the front door. He didn’t even hear her approach. “Hey,” he cooed coming closer. “Buttercup,” he frowned when she didn’t respond to her nickname. “Hey,” it was like he was approaching a wounded, wild animal. He didn’t want to scare her, but God did he want to protect her. God, did he want to hold her again. “Love, he’s gone. I—” He wanted to reach out for her and pull her into his embrace again, but something about her looked off. The anxiety written all over her face made him nervous and sad.

He zoned in on her hands; they were shaking by her sides worse than the way she held the vase. Her eyes were so fucking sad looking Harry wanted to scream. “Kitten,” he tried again. “Can I...?” He reached for her again. “M’not going to...” all his sentences were half finished as he tried to figure out why the fuck Levi scared her so badly. All he wanted was to comfort her. She was too sweet and pretty to look so terrified. When she never looked scared of anything. “Buttercup,” he murmured again.

She sniffled and swiped at her eyes. “I’m fine,” but her voice was barely audible over the sound of it getting caught around the emotion in her throat.

“Hey, s’okay t’not be okay. M’here,” he promised holding his hands out to her. “Can I touch you?” He asked. She shook her head quickly. It hurt like hell for her to say no. Harry thought he was seriously going to cry. “Okay, okay,” he stuffed his hands in his pockets because he didn’t trust himself not to try and comfort her and the last thing that he ever wanted to do was break her trust and consent. “Baby, you’re breaking my heart,” he pouted and watched as she was starting to shake like she was in the middle of a blizzard without a coat. “Come sit,” he begged. “Please.”

She obeyed and Harry went to her kitchen and found a glass in the cabinet as if this was his own house. He got water from the dispenser on her fridge, and he brought it to her. Her hands were still shaking violently, and her tears were flowing but not a sound other than a quiet sniffle left her. “Here, Buttercup,” he mumbled.

She sniveled and wiped her eyes as she took the cup from him. He avoided brushing her fingers with his and he paced in front of the coffee table. His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he caught sight of the time. “Fuck,” he muttered. Pressing the phone to his ear he glanced out the window. “Sorry Niall. Can’t come out,” he ran a hand on the back of his head. She perked up at his words.

“Harry,” she whispered.

“No... I don’t know.... I just need t’be here for her,” he mumbled.

“Harry, you don’t—”

He silenced her with a look while her words died in her throat with another little whimper. Being vulnerable was hard for her. Obviously. Harry wondered if she knew how difficult it was for him to watch her look so upset and scared and not comfort her. If he knew letting go of her in the kitchen meant he wouldn’t get to touch her again, he wouldn’t have let go to start.

He hung up without hearing Niall’s response and he put his phone in his back pocket.

“If you have plans—”

“I don’t,” he interrupted shaking his head quickly. “Jus’ a date with a pretty girl,” he sat across from her on the coffee table making sure that not even his knee bumped against her. His eyes were following her every breath. Every tiny movement and flinch. The nervousness he felt was painful. Waiting for something to make sense. The water in her glass rippled and practically splashed over the side from how hard she was shaking. Harry wanted nothing more than to take it from her grip. But instead, he patiently waited until she sipped it.

“I’m okay,” her voice was nothing more than air. Even if it wasn’t, Harry wouldn’t believe her.

“Baby,” he frowned. “No one sends a message like that if they’re not worried about their safety. I’m worried ‘bout your safety. So don’t pretend t’be okay if you’re not. I’ll stay all night, sitting right here, and stare at you.”

She snorted. “That sounds like watching paint dry.”

He shrugged. “You’re far more interesting and prettier than paint drying.”

She swiped at her eyes again looking at her lap. “He cheated on me.”

“What a fucking moron,” he mumbled and tilted his head at the ceiling. Harry would never understand how the luckiest men in the world treated lovely, beautiful girls like her as if they were nothing. “He wants y’back?”

She shrugged, shook her head, and nodded. “I don’t know.”

“Do you want him back?”

She whimpered and shook her head. Squeezing her eyes shut so tight, he worried she was going to split open her lids. “God, no,” she whispered.

Harry sighed, rubbed his palms on his thighs. “Can y’talk t’me, kitten? M’not leaving unless y’tell me to. Do y’want me t’leave?” It would kill him. Sincerely, truly kill him. But if she didn’t want him there, he would go.

“I can’t,” she was sobbing. It was killing him. It hurt so much not to hold her and comfort her.

“Okay, okay. I’ll... I’ll jus’... go back t’my house... Yeah? If y’need something, jus’...” he rubbed a hand over his face feeling like he was walking on a bed of glass saying the words. “Call, text, throw rocks at m’window,” he stood, mindful to not bump her knee. He smiled weakly at his own joke. It wasn’t returned. He didn’t know what to do or say. He didn’t know how to help the sweet, lovely girl. The smile fell from his lips when she didn’t respond. “Jus’... lock the door behind me, Buttercup, yeah?”

It felt like he was walking toward his death, but he left her living room and waited until he heard her deadbolt lock before he descended her porch steps.

*

She dropped the glass of water Harry gave her in the kitchen after she let Harry leave. It shattered into a million microscopic pieces and the flowers from her garden looked so unbelievably pretty she wished Harry really was taking her on a date.

She covered her mouth around another broken sob. Her eyes felt red and raw, and the pressure of her sinuses and the front of her forehead ached beyond words. She was safe. She was okay. But her chest hurt.

Levi was gone. Harry came to her rescue. After she was mean and grumpy toward him. Trying to protect her heart after it hurt six ways to Sunday because of the man that let himself into her home without permission. Harry didn’t even try to touch her without permission. She could tell he wanted to. Hell, she wanted him to... but everything hurt, and she was just so scared.

Maybe it was too late. But she needed him. Really needed Harry to hold her and comfort her. Her mind ran rampant with thoughts of how lovely it was to be held by him. The kiss on her skin. He was warm and solid. Safe. That’s what she wanted. To feel safe. Her heart ached with want.

Immediately after the thought of his warm solid body around hers, she raced out of the kitchen and unlocked her door. She was ready to fly down the steps of her porch, cross her yard and his hoping he would have the door open before she even arrived.

But Harry was already there; at the bottom of the third and final step of her porch.

He never even left.

Harry stood and turned as soon as he heard the deadbolt open, standing only seconds before she was ready to blow right past him. “Oh, thank God,” he whispered to himself.

Without any more pause, she was in his embrace. Her arms around his neck and she sobbed openly into his shoulder. His hands felt so big and safe on her body, just as she predicted.

He hummed something into her hair. Something like “M’here,” in his gravelly, pretty voice. “I have you,” he soothed. “Oh kitten, m’so sorry,” his voice sounded like he wanted to cry as much as she was. Poor Harry. He didn’t deserve to feel so sad. Not because of her and her messed up life. “C’mon, Buttercup,” he scooped behind her knees and cradled her as he carried her back inside to her sofa, locking the door behind them as he entered.

“Don’t leave me, please,” she begged, sniffling into his shirt.

“Never, baby. Never, ever, ever,” he promised rubbing her back. “Not unless y’ask.”

Her lower lip wobbled. “But I will ask,” she sniffed. “Because I’m too much. I’m sad, scared, broken, and damaged.”

“Y’not any of those things, kitten. Certainly not damaged, Buttercup.”

“But I am,” she whimpered. “You have no idea. He messed me up so bad... and I... I don’t,” she choked. “I pushed you away already.”

It wasn’t much, but the little bit she opened up her heart to him meant the world to him. It was almost as good as holding her. But nothing could replace that feeling now that he had it. He stroked her face with the back of his hand. “I wasn’t far,” he shrugged.

He didn’t even leave her porch. Was he going to stay out there all night? Her heart felt achy, and her eyes were already raw with tears but if they weren’t she would have cried at the thought of her obnoxious neighbor sleeping on the bottom step of her porch in the cold all because she was broken.

“You just wanted to help, and touch and hold me, and I wouldn’t let you—”

“Kitten,” he said sternly. He cupped below her jaw and stared right into her pupils like he was speaking directly to her soul. “Let’s get one thing very clear. I will never touch you without permission. No one has any right t’touch you unless y’ask.”

A sob escaped her throat and then she buried her face against his chest. His body was so broad and warm. She imagined if they were without heat or power, she would still be warm. “But I want you to touch me. All the time. Every second I’m around you,” there was no use denying it. Not when she couldn’t lift her face from his shirt.

Harry sighed with relief. “Well good,” he squeezed her affectionately. “Baby,” he stroked his thumb below her eye. “What happened?”

She shivered and Harry pulled the blanket that was on the back of her sofa over them. Her personality was huge and beautiful. She invaded Harry’s every thought. In the same room, she was in every air particle. Outside in her garden she was every little piece of dirt, petal, stem, root and all. She was larger than life.

It killed him she felt so small in his arms.

“I knew he was cheating, and he didn’t want me to leave,” she sniffed. Harry nodded, his teeth ground together. His jaw tensed. Waiting for her to continue. “He said I was overreacting. Our relationship was stale, and we just needed something to spice things up.”

She turned her face to his shirt and Harry cupped the back of her head, his fingers sliding and massaging his fingertips against the back of her skull. “He’s an idiot, Buttercup. A stupid, idiotic, horrible excuse for a man,” he grumbled.

She swallowed and didn’t say anything for a few moments. Harry holding her felt like medicine was sinking into her skin and directly into her bloodstream. Harry didn’t force her to speak. He didn’t ask questions. He just held her. She was sure he wanted to know more. Wanted to know all the gritty details that resulted in her moving in the middle of the night and finding this house next to his.

But there was only one thing she could think about.

“Why do you call me Buttercup?” She whispered.

Harry didn’t answer for several seconds. His free hand was on the small of her back, pressing gently to get her frame even closer to his. “Can I kiss right here?” He asked ignoring her question. He brushed his thumb along her temple. She nodded and Harry followed the brush of his thumb with his lips.

“That’s nice,” she murmured.

He chuckled. “Jus’ wait ‘til y’get a real kiss,” he promised. “Gonna make y’fall in love with me.”

She didn’t want to tell him she already had because that seemed ridiculous. So ridiculous it made her a little breathless. “That good hmm?” She hummed.

“Never had a complaint.”

“That’s obvious,” she smirked.

He rolled his eyes. “I didn’t sleep with all of them.”

“Not my business.”

“But it is... M’a gentleman first, kitten. Mum taught me well. I just like t’make m’date feel good,” he explained. “Doesn’t always include... y’know,” he shrugged one shoulder. “I know I drove y’crazy walking them out in m’boxers.”

“No, you didn’t,” she lied.

He chuckled. “S’okay t’admit it, kitten; don’t know what I would have done if y’had someone over and flaunted a date in jus’ your underwear.”

“You were trying to make me jealous?”

“I didn’t think y’were that stubborn.”

She wasn’t sure if Harry was avoiding her question or trying to distract her, but she still wanted an answer. “Why?” She asked quietly again.

“Why what?”

“Why do you call me buttercup?”

He sighed, kissed her temple again turning her insides warm and mushy. He didn’t speak for a few seconds like he didn’t really want to tell her. “Y’were eating a peanut buttercup,” he mumbled. “When y’moved in. Y’have wrappers all over the floor of y’car. On Halloween, y’didn’t pass out any of them, but I saw them in the grocery bags I carried in for you one time.”

She bit her lip wondering how she didn’t put it together. It was incredible he noticed that. “They’re my favorite,” her voice no more than air once more.

“And you’re mine,” he assured her, cupping the side of her face. “M’not going t’let him hurt you. I’ll break every bone in his body and mine if I have to.”

She blushed. “You don’t have to—”

“Buttercup, m’not joking,” he said cutting off her protest. “Y’don’t have t’be scared because m’never going t’let him get close t’you ever again,” he promised.

“He just said he was going to... wait until you leave, Harry. You can’t promise that.”

“Guess I won’t leave. Or you’ll have t’come home with me.”

“Harry,” she croaked.

“Kitten, m’not messing around with y’safety,” he reminded her. “I can stay here on the couch and y’can stay in your bed. It doesn’t have t’be a thing. M’staying t’keep y’safe. Don’t read into it if y’don’t want to.”

But she wanted to read into it. God, did she want to. Harry dropped everything the moment she texted him from the bathroom in a panic. He was only next door. Didn’t she want to believe all his pranks were his way of flirting? Didn’t she want to believe he liked her more than just annoying her?

She swallowed like there was something stuck in her throat. He didn’t deserve a mess. He deserved one of the effortlessly beautiful girls that he brought home. The kind that knew how to curl their own hair and where to draw the contour lines when they did their makeup. “You don’t have to stay,” she shook her head.

“Kitten,” he tutted.

“No seriously—”

“You’re deflecting, baby.”

“I’m just—”

“Buttercup,” Harry’s hands felt so warm and perfect against her skin. He brought his other hand to her bare cheek. It looked like he was trying not to cry himself when she met his gaze. “You just told me y’would try t’push me away. I don’t want t’go. But I will. I’ll sleep on your porch if y’want me too,” he offered. “Please,” he whispered quietly. Gently, like he was worried he was going to scare her. “Don’t ask me t’leave you.”

There was a long pause. “Stay,” she murmured into his hand. Because she was too exhausted and scared to tell him to leave. Pressing her lips against his palm, she met his gaze and watched the hope bloom in his eyes with just one little word. “Please... please stay.”

Harry sighed with relief, pulling her tightly toward him and nodding. “Course, Buttercup. Of course.”

*

It had become routine. She arrived home from work, and there was Harry. Sitting on the bottom step of her porch. He waited for her while she gathered her belongings from her car. His smile was so stunning. Like a streetlight on a dark road. Bright, beautiful, and all for her. “Hey Buttercup,” he hummed as she approached. He stood and pulled the bag off her shoulder and carried it for her. It wasn’t even heavy. In the same movement, he pecked her cheek and pressed a hand to her lower back like he had done for the last six weeks since he started seeing her exclusively. Not a single girl with perfectly curled hair had been his driveway. No one with expertly contoured makeup. Harry stopped walking around his yard in his boxers (but now she wished he did it more). As he guided her toward the front door, he continued grinning like an idiot. “Did your day get better after lunch, kitten?”

She nodded, his encouraging text sent at lunchtime was meant to ease the frustration he could sense through her messages. It wasn’t lost on him that as much as he used to enjoy her frustration, he wanted nothing more than to ease it now. “M-hmm,” she smiled at him. “You?”

“Better now that you’re home.”

She rolled her eyes at him because while he stopped pranking her so much, he replaced it with the cheesiest thoughts and lines known to man. But there was no denying how it made her heart flutter. “Did you want to go out to eat?” She asked.

He shrugged, then nodded. “We can if y’want.”

“I don’t really feel like cooking.”

“Me either.”

“Let me change and we’ll go.” Harry was looking at her strangely. The kind of face he made when he pulled pranks on her before he officially swept her off her feet. Maybe she was wrong, and the pranks were coming back.

Maybe there were those mini firecrackers under her toilet seat. “What?”

“Nothing, jus’... think y’look pretty,” his smile was too devilish (and handsome). He knew what he was doing. she shook her head and snorted. But Harry saw the way her cheeks turned pink at the compliment. He watched her head to her bedroom. When she stopped in the doorway, his smile bloomed. Her pause to look at her room as if it wasn’t hers made his heart skip a beat. “S’matter, Buttercup?”

“There are like a hundred peanut butter cups on my bed,” she told him. Like he didn’t already know. Orange wrappers lined up in the shape of a heart along her bed spread.

“107, actually,” She turned to look at him. He shrugged. “It would have 110, but I needed a snack.”

She wanted to smile. But her heart was beating fast, her emotions overwhelming her. She bit the inside of her lip. “Why?”

“Y’said y’were having a bad day.”

Her lip felt raw from biting it, behind her eyes prickled with tears. “Oh.”

“S’nice? Yeah?” He wondered and made his way to her, putting his hand on her lower back. He kissed her temple. “Kitten?” She nodded and turned her head toward him, hiding her face against his shoulder and trying to quell the emotion that was threatening to come out of her. “Hey, s’wrong, Buttercup?” He frowned. “Do y’want t’order take away instead?” He rubbed her arm soothingly.

She shook her head, then nodded, followed by a shrug. “I don’t know,” she sniffed.

“Aw, baby, don’t cry,” he hummed. “S’okay,” he reassured her. He didn’t even know why she needed reassurance. “S’jus’ some candy.” She sniffled again and Harry kissed the top of her hair. “M’gonna make sure y’feel good all the time, Buttercup,” he promised.

Her chest felt so overwhelmingly warm and achy in the best way. She nodded against him wishing she could tuck herself further into his strong body where she felt like nothing bad could happen. The change in relationship was a lot to absorb. But it was easy in a lot of ways. Harry was sweeter than she ever imagined he could be. Or maybe she was biased now that she got kisses, and he held her like she was the most precious thing he had ever touched. It killed her in hindsight how standoffish she had been to him. The thought of ignoring him made her feel sick to her stomach.

“I think you really will,” she mumbled into his shirt. He chuckled, kissed the top of her head. “Thank you, Harry,” she whispered.

“Y’never have to thank me, kitten,” he shrugged. “Sorry I was so annoying.”

“I suppose it worked,” she sniffed.

He chuckled. “I knew it would.”

“You did not.”

“I did so,” he said petulantly. “Or I hoped it would.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t know why you would want someone so mean.”

“Jus’ makes me want y’more,” he joked and rubbed his thumb over her lower lip. “M’gonna kiss y’now, kitten,” his way of warning her and asking for permission. It hurt that he felt he had to ask. But Harry was nothing if not thorough and sure in asking for her consent.

“Don’t ever stop,” she sighed dreamily.

He chuckled again and leaned in to follow his promise. “M’pleasure, Buttercup.”

--

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I'm sorry if I missed anyone in the taglist. Please let me know if you'd like to join, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :)

If you like this, check out my masterlist here

[sh1-n0bu]

♡︎ 𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙮 𝙮𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙝𝙪𝙨𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙙! ♡︎

characters: sub!yandere!AFAB!characters x dom!gn!reader

warnings: character uses he/him pronouns but has female genitalia/tcock (words such as pussy, vagina, cunt will be used), character is transmale, reader has you/your pronouns, cock/strap, yandere character, established relationship, protected sex, unprotected sex (don’t do that folks), breeding, creampie, belly bulge, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of death and light torture

notes: you can think of any character you want with this fic, i just had a wild thought during a car ride at my vacation. divider from @/cafekitsune

yandere! husband who has been in love with you since they first met you. what started out as a simple fascination developed into an unhealthy obsession until he finally got the courage to ask you out on an official date

yandere! husband who gets surprised when you accept his ask for a date, sheepishly smiling as you tell him that you found him pretty and had been building up the courage to do the same. who nearly fall into his knees right then and there with sheer nervousness yet also giddiness at your confession, finding the wobbly smile on your face endearing

yandere! husband who gradually built a stable relationship with you over time. there were moments where he thought of just drugging you up and stealing you away to keep you all to himself but he chastised himself for such thoughts when you have been nothing but loyal and honest. he thought of killing those annoying bitches and assholes who tried to hit on you or blatantly flirted with you in front of him, imagining cutting out their tongue and burning their eyes with scolding hot iron only to snap back to the present when your hand wound around his waist, introducing him as your lover excitedly

yandere! husband who got scared when you accidentally walked in while he was changing after a shower, terrified that you will leave him after having seen his top scars and cunt. who could hear his heartbeat in his own ears, rapidly beating like a frightened bird thrown into a cage while he waited your reaction. who try to apologize only to be cut off with your comforting words and accepting hug

yandere! husband who proposed to you first, getting on both of his knees as he presented you the ring in the box. who lets out a sweet laugh when you kneel down in return, showing your own ring that you bought for him

yandere! husband who definitely cried on your wedding, wiping away his tears silently as he turns his back to you, not wanting you to see him in such a weak and vulnerable state. turning back to you with the wet handkerchief still in his hand, who can feel the tears coming back once again as he sees your knowing look and comforting smile

yandere! husband who is happy with your married life. the new adventures of moving into a new house, decorating it to your liking and modifying your rooms being an exciting life for him. he loved the moments where you two put paint of each other’s faces instead of painting the walls, choosing the colors on complete random with an eeny, meeny, mini, mo game, dancing with you bare feet in the kitchen as you both wait for the water to boil for the cup ramen at midnight. he would want to hold your hand in his own, the wedding rings clicking against each other softly as he giggles

yandere! husband who wants to try for a baby after years into the marriage. it was a surprise to him how he managed to wait patiently for so long after your marriage. while he wanted desperately to get himself knocked up at the night of consummation of your marriage, he understood your wishes to wait until the perfect time. finally, he thinks it is the perfect timing, after years of protected sex and daydreams of feeling his cunt get filled, tells you of his plan

yandere! husband who purposefully poked a tiny hole into every condom there is at your home, who huffs a fake annoyed noise whenever the material tears as you try to put it around your strap. he may have a pout on his face and talk about trying it raw on the outside but on the inside he is fucking giddy. he wants to feel your cock constantly pushing into his wet pussy walls so bad and he couldn’t help but curse silently under his breath when you take out a lone condom that was thankfully reserved in the pockets of one of your pants

yandere! husband who suggests on riding you instead of taking it as usual. a sudden change in your usual sex life but you didn’t mind trying new things out. laying on your back, you watch and let out occasional groans and low moans as you see how his sweet pussy swallows you whole, the fat of his ass higgling every time he bounces himself on your strap, asking you to slap and squeeze it. which you do gladly, lightly slapping as the jiggling flesh, making your husband giggle

yandere! husband who gets annoyed as the feeling of the condom around your cock, skillfully bouncing himself until he ‘accidentally’ slips your strap out. he swears it was the amount of lube you used, grabbing your cock with his hand and tapping his dripping pussy with the tip. your husband who makes a show, wiggling his hips as he slides the tip inside and sinking down until he feels full again. not yet, he thinks to himself, knowing that you would get suspicious if he tries his plan too early on

yandere! husband who keeps ‘accidentally’ slipping your strap out of his gushing cunt, whining until his patience finally ends. the next time it slips out, his fingers pinch at the tip of the wet condom, pulling on the material with a pout and a mumbled “it’s in the way..” until it comes off with a lewd pop!

yandere! husband who disregards your frantic words of protection and taking a second for you to put on another one, turning around to face you now as he sinks down onto your strap with one move. the feeling of your own cock, without any annoying latex in the way making him cream around your fat cockhead instantly, a drawn out satisfied whine falling from his lips

yandere! husband who clenches around your strap on purpose every time he moves. his hands guiding yours to touch his chest, the top scars that healed beautifully and to squeeze and fondle his nipples “u-until i sta—anngh ah haagh mmgh♡︎! start to lactate, just like your sweet baby momma uungh♥︎!!” while his pretty pussy squeezes your strap like a vice, unwilling to let go or not even daring to think so. he wanted to feel your cum, hot seeds painting his walls white and making his legs shake

yandere! husband who silences your weak protests for a protection with a messy kiss. noses knocking together, tongue immediately pushing into your mouth and wanting to ‘connect’ with you on a deeper level. he wanted everything you have to offer and seeing the small trail of saliva left behind as you pulled back for a gasping breath made him giggle deliriously

yandere! husband who increases his pace when he hears you struggling to talk, words of cumming together coming out in a jumbled mess as he sits himself fully in your lap. pushing your pelvises together until no gap was between them, throwing his head back with a satisfied mewl when he finally feels it. that warmth he’s been craving so long, filling up his womb, mixing with his love juice as the excessive mixed cum drops down your strap

yandere! husband who gets pushed into his back, legs pushed up and over until his knees were beside his head. put into a mating press with your annoyed face staring down at him just made him clench around you, a drunk giggle of your name falling from his lips. he gladly spreads his weeping pussy open further, with you still inside him, letting you see the mess you two made

yandere! husband who drops his act entirely, wiggling his hips with heart shaped pupils as he asks you to breed him. cum inside him as many times as you want, he wants a baby with you, it’s about time you two take your relationship to the next level. “i’ll be a good baby momma… and you’re already a wonderful lover who would become a wonderful parent. come on [name], breed me full of your seeds♥︎”

yandere! husband who gets fucked thoroughly to his wish. crying out all sorts of filthy words every time your cock sinks back into his cunt. thin drools on his chin, old tear stains constantly being replaced by new ones as his pussy clenches around you for the nth time, forcing you to cum earlier than you usually does. overwhelming amount of your mixed cum wetting the bedsheets, your thighs and his own as well as his butt. not like he cared, he wanted to make sure he gets knocked up, that you get him knocked up as he creams around you again, creating an even thicker halo of white around your strap

yandere! husband who shows his filthier side, holding your head against his chest and asking you to suck on his nipples, who place your hand over his tcock, telling you to “s-stroke! my cock too ahh haagh♡︎ mgh n-not fair that mmuungh uunghk my cock is being left alone♡︎!”

yandere! husband who lets out one last hoarse wail, the wetness of his cunt making you groan as your strap cums inside him for the nth time that night before collapsing on top of him. he had passed out, tired from the continuous pounding he received as he lay there peacefully with flushed red cheeks, tearstains and drools on his chin and cheeks while pretty bruises and lovebites cover his skin. the most notable bruises being the ones on his hips and thighs, making you grimace at the painful wound you saw. but hey, the small bulge in his belly from your excessive cum inside his womb made you happy. it definitely made him happy too

yandere! husband who occasionally regains consciousness during your aftercare for him. who groans and refuses to let you pull out for bath, straddling your lap inside the warm water filled bathtub. he couldn’t help but slur out a “noo… don’t pull out” as you push his pelvic away from yours, feeling the cum inside his pussy to drip down his legs

yandere! husband who now eagerly wait for the signs of pregnancy with a full boxes of pregnancy test at his side of the nightstand, who still poke secret holes into your condoms because when did he said he wanted only one baby with you?

⇨ characters i think fits: jing yuan, dan feng, yingxing, sunday, aventurine, argenti, dan heng il, gepard, sampo, luocha, caelus, luka, jiaoqui, itto, baizhu, ayato, thoma, childe, pantalone, dottore, kaeya, kaveh, lyney, neuvillette, sethos, heizou, venti, rubedo, aalto, xiangli yao, scar, yoriichi, haganezuka, douma, kaigaku, jyugo, uno, kiji, honey, trois, kenshirou yozakura, musashi, houzuki sanzou, ruka gojou, seitarou, tsukumo, mitsuru, sinbad, sharkkan, spartos, koumei, titus, muu alexius, sphintus, rafayel, mammon, asmodeus, mephistopheles, diavolo, belphegor, simeon, solomon, satan + anyone you like

[reasonandempathy]

Walz has served as Minnesota’s governor since 2019 after 12 years in the House of Representatives and now chairs the Democratic Governors Association. He has built a reputation as a folksy politician who can get things done, as Minnesota has adopted a number of progressive laws during his tenure. According to a poll conducted earlier this year, Walz enjoys an approval rating of 55% among Minnesotans. Since Minnesota Democrats achieved a legislative trifecta in the 2022 elections, Walz and his allies have used their power to push a slate of progressive policies. The governor has signed bills protecting abortion access, expanding background checks for prospective gun owners and legalizing recreational marijuana. “Right now, Minnesota is showing the country you don’t win elections to bank political capital,” Walz said last year. “You win elections to burn political capital and improve lives.” That philosophy has endeared him to progressives, who threw their support behind him as the veepstakes kicked into high gear over the past two weeks. They reshared clips of Walz lovingly mocking his daughter’s vegetarianism and tinkering with his car to paint him as the dad that America needs right now.

This is fucking awesome! Honestly, sincerely good news and a very promising pick for the potential Harris Administration. An aggressive, unabashed, popular, populist left-winger with a track record of enacting real, substantive help for people is capital-G Great.

What has he done, specifically?

Abortion rights

In a 1995 ruling, the Minnesota Supreme Court upheld abortion rights in Minnesota. In January 2023, Walz signed the PRO Act (Protect Reproductive Options Act) into law, making abortion a "fundamental right," as well as access to contraception, fertility treatments, sterilization and other reproductive health care.

The law made Minnesota the first state to codify abortion rights in the aftermath of the U.S. Supreme Court's 2022 ruling in the case of Dobbs v. Jackson Women's Health Organization, which nullified Roe. v. Wade after nearly 50 years of precedent. In April 2023, Walz signed the Reproductive Freedom Defense Act into law, shielding women and providers from any legal action originating from the patient's state.

Pro-LGBTQIA+ legislation

In March 2023, Walz signed an executive order to protect the right of residents to have access to gender-affirming health care. Weeks later, he signed the "Trans Refuge" bill, banning the enforcement of arrest warrants, extradition requests and out-of-state subpoenas for those who traveled to Minnesota for care.

"When someone else is given basic rights, others don't lose theirs," Walz said. "We aren't cutting a pie here. We're giving basic rights to every single Minnesotan."

Paid family, medical and sick leave

In May 2023, Walz signed a law creating a state-run program to provide paid family and medical leave for Minnesota workers, funded by a 0.7% payroll tax on employers, by 2026.

Legalization of recreational marijuana

In May 2023, Minnesota became the 23rd state in the nation to legalize recreational cannabis use. Three months later, people 21 and older could start to possess certain amounts of marijuana at home and on their person, in addition to legally growing up to eight plants at a time.

Restoration of voting rights for former felons

In March 2023, Walz signed a bill that restored the right to vote to more than 50,000 convicted felons who had already served their time.

Universal school meals

Amid the increase in food insecurity for many Minnesotans during the pandemic, and the subsequent strain on the state's food shelves that remains to this day, Walz signed a bill in March 2023 that ensures all K-12 students in the state have access to free breakfast and lunch on school days.

Do you know what makes this even better?

Fuck 'Em. I know negative partisanship is important and can help motivate right-wingers to vote, but they're going to vote anyway. And him being afraid of Walz is just a sign that he's a good pick, in policy and politics.

[krilati]

Tim, who is not Robin, but still feral

Okay, let's say Tim's parents decide that even if their child doesn't need a nanny, they want someone to check on their son's well-being. So Tim is required to go to the doctor once a week. And after he tried to bribe his first one to just tell his parents everything was fine. Janette decided it would be someone else each time.

Tim gets a car once a week that picks him up to see a doctor he doesn't know.

That way he doesn't have time to search for dirt, and he can't bribe anyone, since everyone drinks his mother more than him.

So after Nightwing turned Tim down (Dick later claimed the boy was black-haired and blue-eyed, but since he was often hallucinating Jason at the time, even he wasn't sure). The guy realized he couldn't go to Batman and insist on being Robin. The first fracture (which is 100% likely to happen in the early days of jumping on roofs and kicking angry adults) and the doctor would hand him over to his parents.

So Tim came up with a Plan.

Batman was angry, for a month now someone, every patrol, has been standing up for criminals. If he's lucky, he manages to land 5 hits (dude, your 1 hit can put a person in the hospital, Tim just has short legs, he still needs to run to the edge of the necessary roof) when someone distracts him.

Last time, they poured a bucket of paint on his head, it became almost impossible to see through the mask. Another time, they shot paintballs at his head until he left.

There was another memorable incident when something small landed on his head, and the next moment he was attacked by bats.

But today he finally cornered the attacker, it was a child whose face was hidden behind a mask that completely covered his face, and his hair was hidden behind a hood. He slowly approached the boy, he needed to find out who he worked for. Who decided that they had the right to interfere with him punishing criminals.

Only when Batman grabbed the attacker by the shoulder he felt dizzy and then everything around him went dark. Tim quietly patted himself on the head for the backup plan of the backup plan.

After waking up, Batman did not feel calmer, on the contrary, this meeting ignited even more rage in him.

How dare this child run around Gotham so carefree when his son was killed, how dare he protect criminals when one of them killed his son, how dare he..

That day, a file on a new criminal with high priority appeared on the Batcomputer, Alfred only reproachfully pursed his lips.

By the time Red Hood escaped from Talia (Yes, he escaped here, I don't know for sure, but I think Talia was pitting Jason against Tim to ensure her son had direct access to Bruce's legacy). Batman and Tim's confrontations became legendary.

Tim even had his own name and merchandise! Several names, actually, he was called Gotham's Whisperer, the Soul of Shadow, or Little Shadow. And in various Gotham stores you could find little figurines of him with various weapons that he demonstrated during this time.

Nightwing adored the little guy, although he had never met him in person. In fact, no one except Bruce had ever encountered the kid. And although Oracle never officially supported the boy, she never warned Batman if she saw a small dark silhouette through the cameras. Although Dick really wanted to know where the kid got the sniper rifle with tranquilizers, or how he hacked the Batmobile to put a sleeping Bruce in it and send him to the Cave, or how he got so many incriminating photos of Batman that he scattered all over the city when Batman didn't take one of his threats seriously.

Simply put, Nightwing was a fan, and had wanted the kid's autograph ever since the kid evacuated an entire alley, including Bruce, by playing the sound of a pack of rabid dogs approaching.

Batman, though he had passed the peak of his rage, still made Gotham afraid if he was spotted trolling alone.

Red Hood was furious, not only did his father not have the courage to avenge him, but he also dared to splash out his aggression on anyone who was not breathing smoothly on HIS Alley of Crime.

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[shycoconutt]

Life changed a lot after Nanami Kento came into it.

Nights alone in your apartment feasting on cup ramen with microwaved broccoli (for your health obviously), turned into homemade dinners under candlelight. The long ride to work in the back of an Uber turned into riding in the passenger seat of Nanami’s luxury car, hands intertwined over the middle console. Quick showers turned into long, steaming baths with essential oils. Winding down from a long day turned from nights out at the bar to nights in under the covers while he softly reads to you.

“Darling, hey, wake up,�� you hear Nanami whisper in your ear as you feel your shoulders shake lightly. You groan in protest, not wanting to be broken away from the warmth and smell of him all around you.

“I know, I know,” he softly chuckles, “but we need to get ready for bed properly.”

You nuzzle into his side more and wrap your arms around him. Squeezing him slightly, you take one long, dramatic inhale of his scent in the crook of his neck, fluttering your eyelashes to give him butterfly kisses.

“What are you doing?,” he laughs, “It tickles!”

“Just taking some for the road,” you smile into his skin.

“You’re such a dork.”

With Nanami, everything always seems to be taken care of. There is no need to over-extend your brain power, because once a thought or worry passes through, you know it’s been meticulously mulled over by your other half.

Your appointments are scheduled and on the calendar. Your laundry is clean and neatly put away in the proper place. Your memories and photos are filed and categorized, with some of your favorites even framed and displayed in your home and offices. Your books, CDs and other media are sorted alphabetically in pristine condition.

“But wouldn’t it be cool if they were categorized by, I dunno, color? We could make a rainbow wall!” you suggest as you marvel at his work.

Nanami, who is currently kneeling on the floor putting the last of your books on the shelf, turns and gives you a disapproving glare, “Absolutely not. It would be a disservice to your collection.”

“A disservice to my collection?”

“What happens when a series contains books of all different colored covers? Am I supposed to just separate them?”

You blink.

“You’re right. I apologize for even suggesting something so foul.”

But, most importantly, over everything, your body, mind, and soul are finally at ease. Past anxieties rarely present themselves anymore, and, if they do, you never dwell. People say you’re glowing, and they aren’t wrong. Your skin is clear, your hair is shiny and smooth. Your favorite clothes fit a little better, and your shoes are always polished to look brand new.

“Nananmi Kento looks good on you, girl,” Shoko muses, watching you over her lunch in the breakroom.

You smirk, daring not to look across the table to conserve your blush, “Feels good too.”

“Gross!” 

You curl over in laughter as Shoko chucks a strawberry at your head.

All this and more, because Nanami cares, protects, cherishes, and respects you. He would never, ever in a million years try to hurt you in any way. He is honest and loyal, vowed by his duty to be a man. Ever since he was young, he put immense thought into its meaning, only to be confirmed by one look at you.

One look and he knew that you were the one he would spend the rest of his life with.

“I think I should take you out on a date, if you don’t mind of course,” Nanami stutters, gently pulling you aside after one of your meetings.

“You think we should date?” you question, head reeling.

“Yes,” he starts, “I think we’ve been friends for long enough and it’s time to move forward with our relationship.”

The disbelief you feel must be painted on your face because Nanami’s normally pale skin is flushed cherry red just looking at you.

“I mean, long term,” he’s babbling now, “I want to make you my wife. Well, I wanted you to be my wife from the beginning, you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, but they always say the best relationships start from friendships, so I thought it would be best to take our time. Naturally, now is as good a time as any. We’re at good places in our careers, we already spend a lot of time together, our personalities mesh, and, I don’t mean to be coarse, but I think we’d look pretty good tog-"

Before your mind has a chance to catch up, you’re already cutting him off with a passionate kiss, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him down close to you. After a beat, you feel Nanami’s broad, warm hands grab hold around your waist, pulling you to him. 

His lips feel so soft, and more plush than you anticipated. You part yours slightly in an invitation, and he’s quick to swipe his tongue against your bottom lip. You reciprocate and smile when you feel the vibrations of a small moan escape him.

You break the kiss first.

“I’d marry you yesterday if I could, Kento.”

Where he ebbs, you flow. With the few traits he lacks, you flourish. In social settings, you pick up when he doesn’t have the bandwidth to keep going. You can read his mind from his body language alone. You've shown him how to aim for the ideal, even when his pragmatic nature leads the way. You’ve taught him to slow down, even when life is relentlessly shoving him along.

“Kento, are you- are you crying?” you question in shock.

It’s difficult to process the information in front of you. You’re not seeing things, right? That’s definitely a tear falling down his cheek. Quickly, you bring your thumb to his face, swiping it away.

Catching your wrist, he brings your pulse point to his lips, giving you a small kiss there.

Here, feet in the white sand of the island of Redang, under the dark, starry sky, Kento goes down to kneel before you.

Recognizing the gesture, your heart swells and all the air leaves your lungs. Both your hands immediately cover your mouth, and the burn of tears forming ignites behind your eyes.

Through the blur, you see him smile. 

Regaining composure over your senses, you remind yourself to take everything in. The way his honey-brown eyes reflect the lights in the distance, the way his open collar ruffles in the breeze, the appearance of the new freckles from the Malaysian sun that decorate his exposed chest, how his unstyled, blonde hair moves freely, how one of his hands takes both of your own, while the other holds out a breathtakingly beautiful solitaire diamond ring.

Your eyes take him all in and land back on his face, one that displays the most loving, adoring expression you’ve ever received. 

“When you came into my life, everything changed. I knew, from that point forward, I would dedicate my existence to ensuring your happiness. Nothing matters to me more than seeing you smile. It gives me purpose—fills the air in my lungs. I have never, and will never need anything more.”

You watch the tears cascade down his cheeks, mirroring your own.

“Please do me the honor of marrying me and making you my wife.”

One second passes, and you squeal, “Yes!”

a/n: This was supposed to be smutty and turned into something fluffy. I can't help it! I just adore him so much. also, how do we feel about this format? I've never done something like this before!

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[sometimesanalice]

Bedside Manner

Summary: You were expecting the perfect summer afternoon with the Daggers, but when a game of dogfight football takes a turn for the worse, you’re left with a bleeding head and an aching heart. And it’s up to Bradley to show you his bedside manner.

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 8K

Warnings: A little angst, a little pining, and two idiots in love.

It’s a perfect summer afternoon. Well, almost.

The sun is high in the sky and the steady salt kissed ocean breeze keeps it from being too uncomfortably hot. The coolers are filled with beers and sodas and a few pink cans of rosé that Coyote had brought. And the beach blankets were littered with open half-eaten family sized bags of chips and cubes of bright pink watermelon and containers of various dips and ziplocs with sun warmed and mostly melted chocolate chip cookies.

“You guys, really, I’m fine,” you state as adamantly as you can given the circumstances.

Sure, you have Jake’s t-shirt pressed against your throbbing, bleeding head. Sure, you are a little afraid to put your full weight on your left ankle and already dreading the long walk back to your car.

But it’s fine, you’re fine. Everything is…peachy. Or it will be as soon as they all stop looking at you like you’re about to crumple to the ground like some 1920’s silent film starlet from on the silver screen.

Nat has that deep pinch between her sharp brown eyes. Jake’s lips are pressed together in a firm white line. The rest of the team stands hovering around you in a misshapen semicircle, all sandy and sweaty, and wearing the concern painted across their faces.

All except for Rooster, who can’t seem to look at you at all.

“Clearly, you’re not,” Phoenix says flatly, clearly unamused by your attempts to minimize the situation. And you wish that just this once she could have let this go and follow your lead. But then she wouldn’t be Natasha Trace.

Your best friend since middle school had always been the most capable and sharpest person in the room and you loved that about her.

Normally.

But not so much when her keen assessment of you keeps you from being able to slink away quietly without fuss. 

“No, seriously. It’s just a little scratch. It’s not a big deal.” It sounds feeble even to your own ears. Trying to hold back a wince when the way you shake your head makes starbursts bloom behind your eyes.

You could have dealt with the pounding in your head if it weren’t for the relentless burning of your ankle that was only making things worse. One or the other would have been easier to manage, but both vying for your attention as the pain pulses with every heartbeat was miserable.

The sun was too hot, the kids frolicking the ocean were too loud, the sunscreen on your skin felt too greasy. All you wanted was a shower and your bed and to forget this whole day even happened.

You look around the group trying to gauge how successful your efforts are, but it’s clear that no one seems to be buying your brand of poorly performed bullshit. You wanted to crawl into yourself like a hermit crab, protected by your own shell, as six pairs of eyes all looked on at you sympathetically, while the pretty brown ones you wanted to see the most were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses and trained down at the ground.

It was supposed to be a fun day.

You’d woken up that morning absolutely giddy about trading spreadsheets for sand and sunburns and sea salt tangled hair. Your cheery, new swimsuit already laid out and waiting for you from the night before.

There was something thrilling about hooky on a Friday with all of your favorite people that made you feel all kinds of young and free. Well, hooky for you. They’d been given the day off after a month of intensive training and testing of some new defensive software. They all deserved the break and you were more than happy to tag along.

You were always the good kid in school, never skipping, never missing a class. You’d felt like a rebellious teen as you crafted your ‘out of office’ email, a smug grin on your face like you were getting away with something. Even though you’d earned the right to use that PTO whichever way you wanted.

The anticipation of a snow day from your childhood school days had nothing on the intoxicating promise of a beach day on a golden summer Friday.

The team must have felt the same way too because the group chat the night before had been chaotically amusing. The excitement was palpable enough that you’d almost think you all lived in some landlocked state rather than San Diego, where it felt like all roads led to the beach whether you wanted them to or not.

Somewhere between the string of all capitalized sentences and exclamation points with a few well-chosen emojis scattered throughout, Natasha had managed to wrangle everyone in enough into sorting out who was responsible for bringing what. There wouldn’t be another veggie platter incident, not on her watch.

You’d felt bright and effervescent as you’d pulled into the parking lot, your eyes reflexively seeking out a blue Bronco that hadn’t arrived yet. With a beach chair over one shoulder and a beach bag over the other and a packed cooler bag in your hand, you’d made towards the multicolored sprawl of blankets and the striped peaks of the umbrellas, where you were met with the smiling faces of shiny happy people.

Some of the boys had rushed over to help you carry your things and added your offerings to the communal pile of snacks and sunscreen and bottles of water. It had been easy to fall into conversation with everyone as you set up your own little patch of paradise and shimmied out of your frayed cut-offs. Natasha had given you a wolf whistle and you’d laughed as you give her the finger.

And hour and a half later with an easy grin on his face, carrying a case of beer and two big Ziploc bags stuffed with what you learned later were homemade cookies balanced on top, was Rooster.

You’ve had plenty of beach days with them but every time you saw him in those damn denim shorts he always seemed determined to wear, regardless of how impractical they were, your mind still went a little fizzy as you took in just how well they clung to his thighs.

He’d taken the ribbing from his squad in stride as he unboxed the beers and added them to the collection already chilling in Bob’s bright yellow cooler. You were trying- and failing- to read your worn paperback book when he’d surprised you by plopping his things next to yours on your oversized towel and stole a chunk of juicy watermelon off of the plate balanced on your lap.

“Hey, book worm,” he grinned as he popped it into his mouth, “How’s my favorite girl doing?” That smile of his getting bigger when you rolled your eyes at him.

“Hi, Rooster,” you’d said looking at him from over the top of your sunglasses with an amused smirk.

And if your cheeks felt warm, it was from the sun and not the teasing tone of his raspy voice.

When he’d shrugged off his shirt to apply the sunscreen you’d brought with him in mind, the wink he’d shot you went straight to your head like champagne. The sun highlighting his impressive abs and sculpted shoulders didn’t help either as he took great efforts to cover his chest and stomach with the lotion. He had to be doing it on purpose, because he’d kept rubbing it in well past when the white hue faded. But who were you to complain? Melanoma was no joke.

“You wanna help me out?” he’d asked turning his back to you, looking over his shoulder. You’re pretty sure that he’d been flexing because he’d looked impossibly broad, every defined muscle standing out for eyes to map out and explore.

You’d been at war with yourself, because while your eager hands were desperate to touch him, you also knew that once you ran your hands along his solid frame that you’d never want to stop. That you wouldn’t be content until your fingertips had traced every inch of him.

You had been blessedly and devastatingly spared the choice.

“I got you, Rooster. My hands are already all sunscreen-y,” chimed in Bob, who had just finished rubbing his own freshly applied layer. “Wouldn’t want it to get on her book.”

You were only half relieved to be off the hook, while Bradley on the other hand was still looking at you expectantly, almost hopefully, still with the white and yellow bottle of sunscreen partly extended towards you.

“That’s so sweet of you, Bob-” you’d started.

“Yeah, so sweet-” Bradley grumbled under his breath.

“I appreciate you sparing my pages the sunscreen grease,” you’d said shooting Bob a smile, choosing to ignore Bradley’s comment completely. “Plus, your hands are bigger than mine. You’ll have him covered in no time.”  

Bradley looked between you and Bob before he passed the bottle to the other man, shaking his head a little in defeat. You’d giggled to yourself as you wiggled your book at an openly brooding Bradley, and then leaned back on your elbows to observe the way the attentive WSO made sure to carefully and thoroughly cover Bradley’s entire back.

Respectfully, of course.

Behind your sunglasses you’d admired all of Bradley’s bulk compared to Bob’s lithe grace. But in your defense, they were standing right in front of you and you’d already reread your book at least five times in the past, so it wasn’t nearly as interesting as the scene in front of you had been.

“You look awfully comfortable over there,” Rooster called out with a raised eyebrow.

“Just taking in the view,” you’d teased back.

“Yeah, I bet you are,” he huffed as Bob finished up, giving him a thanks, man before tossing you back the bottle of sunscreen. He’d nudged his sunglasses down his nose and pinned you with his gaze, “Let me know if you want me to get your back. My hands are just as capable as his.” Even in the high heat of summer, the way he’d looked at you sent chills running along your arms.

You felt the way his keen eyes traveled from your face, down the deep-v of your swimsuit and along the swells of your breasts, and down your legs to your freshly painted toes. His mouth had ticked up in the corner then left you reeling and your heart pounding away in your chest as he’d strut off to go join Fanboy and Coyote by the mountain of snacks.

And that was the thing about Bradley Bradshaw. You never knew if he was just flirt-y or flirt-ing.

You hadn’t had a crush in ages, but when Nat had introduced you to her team five months ago, the man with the sunkissed curls and surprisingly attractive mustache had immediately caught your eye.

And as you’d gotten to know him, it had only gotten worse.

Not only was he very nice to look at and could make you laugh until your sides ached, but he also he had depth about him in a way that most men your age didn’t. You liked talking to him and listening to his stories. You liked learning his perspective on things. You liked being around him.

He made you feel interesting and special and funny and seen. You’ve never felt as comfortable in your own skin as you did when you were around him.

Rooster would send you flirty winks, give you less than subtle once overs, and could flash you such devastating slow grins that they’d have you trying to catch the butterflies they released in your stomach for hours after you went home.

But he’s never made a move.

If only he wouldn’t play hide and seek with his true intentions.

You felt like you were still waiting on some small clue whether he was serious or not. You didn’t know if he was just having fun with you or if he was into you and it was more than just friendly banter. It would be so much easier if he’d straight up tell you one way or another.

Needless to say, you’d let Nat be the one to help you with your sunscreen a little bit later. The idea of Bradley’s big hands on you, gliding along your sun-warmed skin and under the crisscross straps of your swimsuit, was too much for your hummingbird heart.

The sun climbed higher into the sky as the butter yellow midmorning transformed into a Midas-touched golden afternoon.

The squad had been able to reserve a fire pit and the plan had been to stay until the sunset. An endless summer day stretching out before them like a cat. They had nothing but time.

Clusters of people came together and split apart like a kaleidoscope as some went to take a dip in the ocean or raid the cooler and snack spread or go for a walk along the shore. Changing and shifting with the direction of the wind, going where the mood took them.

And for a peaceful moment, it had been you with your book and a napping Bradley sprawled out next to you on your towel with his arm flung over his eyes. Close enough that you could feel his warmth, almost but not quite touching. The sound of his soft breaths and the waves their own kind of lullaby as you contentedly read your book, turning your pages quietly to not disturb the man next to you, as the droplets of the Pacific dried on your skin.  

You still don’t know how you got roped into playing a round of dogfight football with the Navy’s best and brightest. You were more of a corn hole or ladder toss kind of girl, but Coyote had all but thrown you over his shoulder and dragged you out before you’d agreed to participate, conceding your defeat.

You were on a team with Hangman, Coyote, Fanboy against Nat, Rooster, Payback, and Bob. A few plays in and you had been getting the hang of it. They’d all been making sure to take care to go easy on you even in the chaos of two teams playing offensively and defensively at the same time. You were more than a little out of breath, but you were having fun.

Before the next snap, Mickey gave the most impassioned pep talk you’d ever heard, “Fuck luck, we don’t need luck. We gotta fucking win.” You had been about to laugh, but then you’d seen the looks on Jake and Javy’s faces and decided against it. Curious about the other team, you’d glanced over only to see Rooster looking back at you.

The calls had been made, the blur of plays in motion as people whirled and dodged and sprinted.

You’d just lobbed the ball to Javy before darting around Nat when a big, solid body collided with you. Hard. You’d felt the twinge of your ankle twisting in the sand right before the force sent you flying in the opposite direction you’d been headed.

The impact had been jarring. The air knocked from your lungs.

Where you should have been met with a mouthful of gritty sand, instead your head had connected with the rough surface of a partially buried rock. The low, thick thud reverberating throughout your whole body.

You’d been so stunned that you didn’t even register you were even on the ground until you heard the chorus of oh fucks and holy shits and goddamns and jesus christs over the ringing in your ears.

The game coming to an immediate and conclusive end.

For how many empty bottles and cans were sitting collected in a trash bag off to the side of your beach set up, they had been surprisingly quick to act as you blinked blankly, trying to clear the spots from your vision.

It was a silent ballet of efficiency as they instinctively fell into their roles, much like you imagined they did the sky. Everyone stepping up and then stepping back as they did their part, like the ebb and flow of waves.

Nat had carefully poured some fresh water from a bottle on your face to remove the sand that clung to the sweat and sunscreen on your skin. Then Jake had wordlessly passed her his clean spare shirt he’d jogged of to get to help stop the bleeding after Javy checked on your pupils to make sure they were the same size. While Bob stood off to the side holding your warped sunglasses in his hands, as if he was hopeful they could still be salvaged. Mickey and Reuben had been waiting in the wings giving you space, ready to help if they were needed, but not wanting to not crowd in.

And from the corner of your eye, you’d caught Rooster standing a couple feet away with his hands in his hair looking absolutely wrecked.

“Bradley?” you’d tried, even though his name stuck to your teeth. But he’d just shook his head at you before turning away slightly, like he couldn’t look at you, which made your heart sting as well.

They only allowed you to move to sit up after they were content with the answer to their questions- What day is it? Friday. Where are you? San Diego. What else hurts? My ankle and my pride.

It wasn’t until someone hauled you up from underneath your armpits that the throbbing and stinging and aching settled over you. The pain seeping and spreading through muscle and bone like an inky oil spill.

It’s still an almost perfect summer afternoon except for the fact you hate everything about this.

You hate the way they’re gathered around you with too many pairs of assessing eyes pinned on you. You hate that you’re the reason the game of dogfight football came to a definitive and abrupt end. You hate that you’re the reason their carefree and fun afternoon off has turned into this.

There’s a pressure building behind your eyes, the hot tears of hurt and frustration and embarrassment are clamoring to be released. You have to bite your lower lip to keep it from trembling.

And it doesn’t help that you’re the type who’d rather lick your wounds in peace.

You just need to get back to your car and you can figure things out on your own from there. You just need a moment to yourself.

As you open your mouth to argue your case again, Jake puts his hand up and stops you before you’ve even had a chance to start, “I hate to break it to you, sugar, but you’re not fooling any of us.” He says it gently, but gives you a pointed look at the way you’re leaning heavily on your right leg to keep the pressure off of your left ankle.

“That head wound is not a little scratch. Just like your ankle isn’t just a little puffy, when it’s twice the size it should be. You need to go to the Emergency Room,” Nat says, final and resolute. A lifetime of friendship has taught you not to argue when she has that look in her eyes, the one that says try me, I dare you.

They all talk over you as they figure out who is the most sober of the group after your suggestion to call yourself an Uber is immediately shot down. Drinks are being counted on fingers, and memories are searched to make sure every sip and bottle and can is accounted for.

Your eyes drift over to the man who is still actively avoiding looking at you, even as he talks to everyone else on the team. You aren’t paying too close attention to what he is saying, but you can hear the short, clipped staccato of his words.

Bradley’s shoulders are tinged a little pink even though you know for a fact that you had purposely passed him the 65 SPF. His eyes are hidden behind his dark green tinted sunglasses, but you don’t need to see them when you can read his body language better than any book.

His arms are crossed firmly over his chest, the tendons in his forearms flexing and shifting, like he is squeezing and releasing his fists from where they’re tucked under his biceps. Everything in his body looks coiled tight and strained, so at odds with the easy going and loose-limbed man you know him to be.

You don’t realize just how much you’ve zoned out until Natasha has to say your name a couple time before you pull your gaze away from Bradley and back to her.

“Ok, it’s settled,” Nat informs you, “Rooster’s going to take you.” You barely nod your head in acknowledgement when she tells you, because it feels like you’ve been punched in the stomach now too.

“It’s the least he can do,” Jake drawls.

“That’s not fair-” you start, defensively.

“Fuck off, Bagman-” Rooster snaps.

The rage in his voice shocks you, you’ve never heard that much heat from him before. There’s none of the teasing tone that usually underscores their banter. Jake puts both of his hands up placatingly like my bad, folks and Javy just shakes his head and sighs.

And this time when you look at Bradley, he is finally looking back at you with a deep furrow in his brow. His jaw is clenched tight, that muscle ticking and jumping, as he takes in the way you have Jake’s t-shirt pressed against your forehead.

Not exactly the way you’d hoped he’d be looking at you when you put on your new blue and white striped swimsuit this morning.

The one you’d bought because you wanted to make him look.

Just not like this.

With everything sorted the rest of the team trickles away a smattering of take cares and get better soons and let us know if you need anythings. But not before Mickey hands Rooster his stuff and passes Nat your bag and sandals. He gives you the gentlest of squeezes on your shoulder before he leaves to join everyone else back on little part of the beach you all had claimed before things went to shit.

Your group of eight now downsized to a trio.

Bradley is quick to roughly pull on his tank and shirt, and Nat fishes out your car keys from your bag as she waits for him to slip his shoes on. When he’s ready she passes it to him and he silently slides it over his arm.

Nat bends down to help gingerly glide your feet into your sandals, “I’ll grab the rest your things and drop them off at your place and then one of the boys will drop off your car later. We’ve got it all covered, ok?”

“Thanks, Nat,” you say quietly, trying to hold back a wince as she slips the left one on, your ankle pulsing in tempo with your heartbeat.

“Best friends don’t say thank you, they just do,” she says matter-of-factly as she stands. It’s the same thing you’d told her after you’d dumped a carton of strawberry milk on Carly Radke for outing Natasha your freshman year in high school. It was only time you’d ever gotten detention, but it had been worth it.

“They just do,” you repeat with a small smile.

You’re so grateful that your friendship with her is one that has spanned years. That you’ve been able seen one another grow and change and come into their own, but that you haven’t outgrown each other. She’s the person you want by your side and having your back. There is no one quite like Natasha Trace.

She turns to Bradley and you watch him stand a little taller under her sharp eyes, your straw tote still dangling from his forearm.

“You good?” Nat asks him with a look in her eye that you can’t place. And you’re reminded that even though she’s your best friend, that he has also earned a spot as one of her closest friends. Their relationship built over years and experiences that you could never fully understand. Different, but just as deep.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got her. I’ll take care of her,” Rooster promises with a stiff nod, as he gives her his word. It might have made your heart beat a little faster if you didn’t feel like such a burden. That it’s simply a twist of fate and three less drinks than everyone else for the reason that he’s the one to look after you. That he’s the one stuck with you.

“I know you will,” she says softer now, patting his shoulder, “Keep me posted.” Nat presses a kiss to your cheek and gives you an encouraging smile then heads off to go rejoin everyone else.

You watch her go with longing. The cheerful beach set up with its colorful blankets and umbrellas looks more like a desert mirage now. The sweet coconut scented potential of what the day could have been now forever out of reach.

And then it’s just you and Bradley and the sound of the waves and cries of seagulls.

The two of you silent and motionless.

You feel one wrong move and the fragile attempt of the stiff upper lip you’ve cocooned yourself in will crack open and all the soft parts of you will seep out into the sand beneath your feet.

His expression is shuttered closed as he bends a bit like he is going to pick you up.

“Woah, buddy, what are you doing?” You’re squinting into the sun as you look at him. You’d step into his shadow to block it, since you’re now in need of a new pair of sunglasses, but that would mean moving to the left which isn’t an option with your ankle.

“Buddy,” he grunts under his breath, slipping off his sunglasses and carefully putting them on your face, being mindful of stinging scrapes and wad of soft cotton you’re holding to your head. “They’re definitely going to have to run concussion protocol on you,” he mutters more to himself than to you, “I’m taking you to the Bronco and then we’re going the ER, remember?”

“Yeah, I know, Rooster,” you grit out, even rolling your eyes hurts, “But I don’t need you to carry me.”

Everything about this was excruciating and embarrassing enough without him being the Clark Gable to your Vivian Leigh. Maybe you could lean on him and hop over to his car? Like a six-foot-one pair of crutches with good hair.

“Take a step without wincing and I’ll think about it,” he says firmly, pointedly calling your bluff. There’s an expectant look of go on then, whenever you’re ready on his face. Because he knows he’s right, and you do too.

You don’t even bother to make a move, but the way your lower lips wobbles speaks volumes.

“That’s what I thought,” he says quietly, almost like pains him to be right.

He bends a little to hook his arms around your knees and back to lift you up, and this time you let him. Your free arm automatically wrapping around the back of his neck. And he starts off towards the winking windshields of the parking lot.

You’ve thought about what it would be like to be wrapped up in Bradley’s arms, how good it would feel to be pressed closed against him. And now you are and it’s nothing like you’ve imagined, because there isn’t anything sweet or swoon-worthy about how you ended up in them. You’re his duty, you’re not his desire.

All your sandcastle hopes have been washed away by the tide.

You’re so frustrated. You’re frustrated by the day, by yourself, by him.

This time you can’t blink back the tears that well up in your eyes. They flood through your tear ducts carving hot trails down your sun-tinged cheeks.

You want the Bradley from earlier. 

The one who stole your watermelon with warmth in his eyes.

The one who dozed next to you in the sun like a cat, his features soft free of the tension he now holds in his shoulders.

You want your Bradley.

The one who’d whispered cheeky comments in your ear whenever the team got into lighthearted tequila fueled arguments about things like whether a hot dog was a sandwich.

The one who’d always go up to the bar with you on busy nights at the Hard Deck and make sure you didn’t get bumped into on the way back to your friends with your freshly refilled drinks.

You’re aching, aching. Everywhere.

For a brief moment, as you swipe at your tears, you’re happy for the throbbing in your head and ankle, so that way you don’t have to think about the stinging in your heart.

“I know, I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I know you’re hurting,” Rooster says gentle and low as you sniffle, but you can hear the thickness of the words in his throat. The term of endearment is the sweetest of nothings, making your tears come faster. Where it should ease the heartache, all it does is make you angry at yourself for giving your emotions away. “We’re almost to the Bronco. It’s ok, we’re gonna get you taken care of, I promise.”

We.

You wanted that with him.

You want to press both of your hands to his cheeks to make him look you in the eyes to ask him is it going to be you and me together?  You’ve been a fool for love before, but you didn’t know if could take another hit-and-run with your heart.

The salt of your tears makes your cheeks feel tight and itchy as the summer breeze dries them on your skin.

Bradley carries you like you weigh nothing, but cradles you like you’re the most precious things he’s ever held. He’s mindful of any dips in the sand and gives wide berth around the college kids playing volleyball close to the entry back to the parking lot.

When he reaches the Bronco, he sets you down gently, making sure both of your feet are planted on the asphalt before letting go of you to unlock his car. He tells you to wait a moment when you move to open the passenger side door.

“I never know when I might get called up for an emergency deployment, so I like to have some extra clothes just in case,” he explains as he digs around in the backseat, pulling out a pair of gray athletic shorts.

“Oh.” And you realize you’re still just clad in your striped swimsuit. “Thank you for sparing me from the hospital germs,” you say lightly, an attempt at a joke to break the ice. One that doesn’t land, since instead of cracking a grin he just presses his lips together in a firm line and nods.

Bradley crouches low in front of you and you put a hand on his shoulder for balance as you lean against the Bronco, still trying to keep as much pressure off your left ankle as possible as you step into them. He’s looking up at you and even through his sunglasses perched on your nose, you swear his brown eyes get a shade darker as he eases the shorts up your legs. You’re touched by the effort as he ties the strings in a lopsided bow, even if things are feeling tense between the two of you.

“Think this’ll be easier,” he mumbles shrugging off his light blue button up. You’ve always liked this one, with its soft pastel pink and minty green watercolor prints of net fishermen and hula girls and palm trees.

He holds it open for you, helping you thread your arm through it, and then takes over holding Jake’s now ruined shirt to your head so that you can get your other arm past the sleeve. It smells like him, citrus and amber. Your fingers brush against each other when you reclaim the makeshift bandage, and he adjusts his shirt so that it hangs over your shoulders just right.

It’s an awkward kind silent as Rooster helps lift you into the Bronco with his strong hands around your hips. He is all smooth efficiency as he buckles you in with a click. You pass him back his sunglasses the same moment he hands you your tote bag, and it almost feels like a hostage exchange.

He says nothing as he hauls himself into the driver’s side. The car rumbles to life when he turns the key in the ignition and a cheery song from the 80’s station on the radio comes on. Bradley quick to turn the volume down low. His thumb brushing your shoulder as he sets his hand on the back of your seat to look behind him as he carefully backs out of the spot.

It’s never felt this strained with him before.

It’s so painfully obvious that the two of you are walking on eggshells around each other. You can almost feel the wall that’s gone up around him. The white noise of the radio drowned out by the hum of the road as he drives in near silence.

Your day has been most effectively ruined by a chunk of sedimentary rock, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still recoup what’s left of it.

He could still have the perfect summer afternoon.

He could still go back to your friends and their perfect beach set up and laugh with them as Coyote keeps accidentally setting marshmallows on fire. He could still catch the bold oranges and soft pinks of the sunset with all the satisfied contentment he deserved to experience.

“You can leave me and go back, you know. I’ll be ok if you just want drop me off and then head back to the beach,” you say looking down at your fingers as you trace the stitching of his leather seats.

When he doesn’t answer right away, you glance over at him. The vein in his neck is standing out boldly against the column of his throat.

“Do I seem like the kind of guy who would leave someone at the ER alone?” he asks, his voice rougher than sandpaper.

“No. No, of course not,” you say emphatically, “That’s why I’m giving you permission.”

“Permission?” he scoffs with a shake of his head.

“Yes, permission,” you say, clipped.

You’re giving him an out, why doesn’t he get that?

He heaves a big sigh and grunts. “Is it… Would you rather have Bob- with his big hands- here instead?” Bradley asks, frustration leaking out around the edges of his words.

“Bob with his big hands?” you repeat baffled, “What does Bob have to do with anything about this?”

“That’s what you said earlier, sweetheart. I’m just citing the source. Or I can call Phoenix? Or…” he pauses glancing at the t-shirt pressed to your head, “Or even Seresin. Once we get you checked in I can call any of them an Uber or something, and they can be there with you, if you don’t want me.”

“No, Rooster, I don’t want anyone else.” You wince at the implication and hope it doesn’t read into it further than the current situation to two of you are wading through like quick sand.

“Ok, good,” he grumbles.

“Great,” you lob back.

His hand tightens on the steering wheel, the knuckles turning white, “Then where is this even coming from?” The action makes his thick forearm flex in this most delicious of ways that you’d appreciate more if you didn’t feel the anger simmering low in your stomach.

“It’s pretty damn clear that you’d rather be back there, Rooster. Or literally anywhere else right now.” You flip down the sun visor with more force than it deserves, regretting that you gave him his sunglasses back when the bright California sun in your eyes turns your headache into a full-blown migraine.

“Of course, I’d rather be anywhere else!” he says hotly, tossing his sunglasses back in your lap, “Do you think I like that you’re hurt and that we’re on our way to the hospital?” You shove them on your face with an angry huff.

A car speeds by blaring their horn as they pass by.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Fuck off,” he grunts but speed of the Bronco doesn’t change, “Asshole.”

Bradley’s driving five miles under the posted limit, and you know for a fact he religiously drives at least ten miles over. And his turns have been smoother than butter, as if he is trying not to jostle you anymore than you’d already been today.

You are so tired of this hot and cold thing that he’s doing. His words and his deeds weren’t going hand in hand. He keeps giving you the cold shoulder, but is also so in tune with your every movement and need.

Gingerly, you angle yourself in your seat to look at him better, resting your tired left arm on the back of your seat and taking in his strong profile.

“Why are you being like this?” you demand, waving your free hand in a vaguely in his general direction.

“Like what? I’m not being like anything,” he retorts, making the same vague hand gesture as you did a moment earlier.

And oh, if that doesn’t fill your chest with hot indignation. That low simmering anger has turned into a full roiling boil as you shift in your seat trying to get your ankle in a position where it doesn’t hurt.

“Seriously, Rooster? I can feel tension rolling off of you in waves. You’ve been like this since everything turned to complete shit on the beach. I didn’t mean to ruin your day, I’m just trying to figure out how to make things better,” you bite out unable to keep things bottled up anymore.

He sucks in a sharp breath, “Are you kidding me right now? You think you ruined my day?” He glances from the road to you and back again, his brown eyes wide and searching.

“Yes?” Or so you’d thought until you’d seen the shock written all over his face, but now you weren’t so sure. It’s like you’ve dumped ice water on him instead of simply calling him out. “I feel like you’re taking it out on me and I don’t know why.”

“Jesus Christ,” Rooster swears under his breath, shaking his head. “I’m so damn sorry, sweetheart. I’m mad at myself, because I ruined your day.  I should have been more careful, I should have been looking out for you. It’s not like you’re hard to miss in that swimsuit.” Your cheeks heat up at the comment, but you choose to ignore it.

Misery drips from his words like spilled ink off a page. You knew he was upset, but you didn’t realize he was upset about that. That he’s shouldering this fluke of fate as if it is his burden to bear. Some of the anger you’ve been feeling leaves your body like the tide washing out back out to sea. You’re still upset at him for how he has been acting up until this point, but you’re not mad at him about that.

“Bradley, no. It was an accident.”

“Yeah, an accident I’m responsible for,” he says hoarsely, rubbing roughly at his forehead. “God, I can still hear the sound it made when you hit that rock and it makes me feel sick. I would give anything to undo that moment. I need you to know that.”

He is being so hard on himself and your heart squeezes, this time in sympathy rather than hurt. He didn’t place that rock in the sand, the both of you were victims of circumstance.

“It could have happened to anyone. It could have been anyone,” you press delicately, trying to get him to hear you, shifting in your seat again still uncomfortable.

The sunshine bounces off of his slumped shoulders as he sighs raggedly.

“But it happened to you and it’s my fault. You’re bleeding, you’re in pain, and you’ve been crying. And it’s because of me.” He reaches down with his right hand and lifts up your leg so that you can rest it on his thigh, some of the ache alleviating immediately. He asks quietly, “That better?”

“Yes, thank you,” you murmur. He looks so upset, and all you want to do is curl into his lap. You want to hold him and you want to be held by him. “You know I don’t blame you, right?”

You expect him to move his hand back to the steering wheel, but he keeps it on your leg. His thumb stroking your still slightly sandy shin. Your cheery toenail polish at odds with the color blooming around your ankle.

Bradley’s throat bobs as he swallows hard, “Yeah, I do. I know that. But I still blame myself.”

The Bronco rolls to a soft stop at the light. There’s enough traffic that you know you’ll be here for a bit, and so does he since he turns in his seat to look fully at you. You take his sunglasses off, tucking them into the pocket of his shirt that rests above your heart, so nothing stands between his brown eyes and yours.

“So, you’re going to keep beating yourself up over it and icing me out? Making me feel worse? For what, Bradley? Because you’re a glutton for punishment? That’s not fair to me or to you.”

“Shit,” he mutters, his left hand running through his curls. “You’re right and I’m so sorry. I’ve been in my head feeling so damn guilty that I’ve been such an asshole. Can you forgive me?”

You’re about to answer him that when a horn startles you, making you jump in the leather seat. You see the light is green, the car that had been in front of you is gliding through the intersection passing under a blue sign pointing the way to the hospital.

“Bradley, the light.”

The car behind the two of you honks their horn again.

“They can wait. This is important, you are important. Do you forgive me?” There’s an underscore of need that punctuates his question.

“Yes, of course,” you say easily and sincerely. There’s so much remorse in his eyes, you would have forgiven him with that look alone.

“Thank you,” he breathes out in relief. And then he smiles at you for the first time since the beach and that ache in your heart is completely soothed, bandaged by that soft way he is looking at you.

Atlas no longer, he can simply be Bradley.

He takes his foot off the brake and by some miracle he’s able to make it through the light before it turns red again. You can see the tall structure of the parking lot near the hospital poking out above the line of the treetops.

The destination is closer than ever, but there are still things on your mind.

“And you aren’t an asshole, Bradley. But your bedside manner could definitely use some work,” you tease with a smile of your own.

“Baby, I’ve been trying to show you my bedside manner, but you keep holding me at arm’s length,” he groans dramatically.

The idea of experiencing Bradley Bradshaw’s bedside manner makes you feel all kinds of weak in the knees, even as you’re seated in his Bronco with your leg propped up in his lap, his big hand skating up and down along your shin comfortingly.

“How can you even say that with a straight face? You’ve never made a move!” you exclaim incredulously, “I was even the one to ask for your phone number, if you remember.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I hit on you all the time,” he argues with your favorite brand of Bradshaw banter, “I’ve been waiting for you to give me the green light, sweetheart.”

“I thought you were supposed to be pretty and smart,” you smirk.

He barks a laugh and the last tendrils of all the tension and all the pressure that had been swirling around you like a marine layer evaporates.

“You saying I’ve had the green light this whole time?” He looks over at you with a boyish smile, you like the way you feel when he looks at you like this.

“What I’m saying, Bradley, is if you’d have actually asked me out I would have said yes.” You press your toes into the muscle of his thick thigh and immediately regret it, wincing as pain ripples around your ankle.

He makes a sympathetic sound deep in his chest, “Sounds like I’ve been an idiot.”

“A very pretty one,” you allow, leaning your aching head back against the back seat.

“At least there’s that,” he concedes good-naturedly as he pulls into the parking lot, turning on his blinker for a spot opening up near the entrance to the Emergency Room by some twist of fate, one that’s in your favor this time.

Bradley pulls into the empty spot and kills the engine turning to you. He gently eases your foot back down onto the sandy floormat of the Bronco and leans into unbuckle your seatbelt.

He’s so close now looking up at you from under his eyelashes, and your breath catches in your throat. He moves closer, you can see the bits of hazel that surround his pupils. Your eyes flutter close and you tilt your head up, lips parting at the anticipation of his kiss.

There’s no holding back the noise of dissatisfaction you make when his lips press a tender kiss to your cheek. You lean into him wanting to feel, wanting him to give you more. His warm breath coasts over your skin as he chuckles. You can feel the way his lips are pulled up into a smile.

“I’m a gentleman, sweetheart,” he says as he pulls away, his eyes lingering on your lips. “My mom raised me not to go for the kiss on the first date. Or ones with head wounds and potential concussions.”

“Some first date,” you lament jokingly, looking in at the fluorescent lights awaiting you inside the hospital. You’d rather skip over this part entirely, but you’re ready to be done with holding Jake’s shirt to your head. “Nothing like insurance cards and scrubs to really set the mood.”

“Mmm. How about this, after we’re done here, I’ll take you through whatever drive-thru you want-”

“In-N-Out,” you cut in without a second thought. The novelty of it still hasn’t worn off on you, even if the fries are terrible.

“Ok,” he grins, “I’ll take you through in In-N-Out and get you your number two combo with mustard and grilled onions with a vanilla shake.” He pauses waiting for your nod of approval, looking more than pleased with himself when you acknowledge he got your order right.

“I like the sound of this so far,” you hum.

“Well that’s good. Since it’ll be our first date, I want to set that bar high,” he says giving you a wink. And there are those butterflies again, this time you don’t try to catch them with a net. They’re free to flutter around as they wish.

“If you really want to impress me, you’ll also take me through the McDonald’s drive-thru for their fries,” you muse.

“Done.”

“I was kidding,” you laugh, shaking your head at him disbelievingly and thoroughly charmed.

“Well, I wasn’t. So after we get you fed, give or take some fries, I will bring you home. I’ll get you whatever you need, I want to make sure you’re comfortable. Think you might be on crutches for a bit, sweetheart,” he says softly, playing with the ends of your hair. “And then in the morning, if you’re up for it, I’ll take you out for breakfast. Or bring you breakfast. Whatever you want. We can call that date number two.”

“And then you’ll kiss me?”

“And then I’ll kiss you,” he promises, offering you a crooked pinky finger. You beam and you wrap your own around his.

He slips out of the driver’s seat leaving you to contemplate the terms of his offer as he rounds the front of the Bronco. The nurses are going to get an eyeful of him in only those snug jean shorts and thin white tank. You make a mental note to avoid looking at him if they have to connect you to a heart rate monitor, he doesn’t need to know the effect he has on you. Not yet anyways.

“I have counteroffer,” you announce turning your body towards him as he opens your door for you.

“Let’s hear it, baby,” he says with a grin that almost makes you forget how bad your head and ankle hurt, “Shoot.”

“We still go to In-N-Out, but then in the morning you make me breakfast in bed with some of those famous Bradshaw pancakes I’ve heard about,” you say, as he steps in between your legs, “Seems like a good way to work on that bedside manner of yours.”

“I think you’re going to like my bedside manner, sweetheart,” he murmurs, stroking his thumb over your cheek.

You tilt your head at him, taking in the sunkissed strands in his hair and the affection in his eyes, “I guess we’ll have to find out.”

“Guess we will,” he rasps.

Rooster drops another sweet kiss to your cheek, whispering for you to stay put, and then he struts off towards the automatic doors of the Emergency Room. Leaving you alone with the butterflies in your stomach and the hope in your heart.

You dig your phone out of your straw tote and check the time, doing the math in your head.

There are a few messages from Nat and other people on the team already checking in, but you know you’ll have time to reply to them later as you wait with Bradley sitting by your side.

You look up and see he’s got a wheelchair now and is making his way back to you, wearing a soft smile on his face just for you.

Only seventeen more hours until you get to kiss Bradley Bradshaw and you can’t wait.

You’ve got that forever feeling about him.

Oh, oh, oh.

Thank you for reading! Rock on. Oh that joke was schist, I'll see myself out.

This was written as part of @roosterforme's Rocktober Playlist! You can check out all the other great submissions here!

The song that inspired this story was Paula Abdul's "Straight Up"

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

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[highvern]

Work Me Out

Pairing: Kim Mingyu x fem!reader

Genre: Smut, 18+

Warnings: working out, flirting, touching, almost car sex, making out, breast play, fingering, oral, face sitting, multiple sex positions, big dick mingyu, protected sex (gasp!), strength kink, dirty talk, choking, spanking :) lover boy gyu as always. let me know if i missed anything!

Length: ~5k

Note: y'all thought cheol rot was bad but the OG bias wrecker is back. dont come at me for gym terminology i go by vibes. replaced my gym crush with mingyu and this is what happened <3 i have a bonus/pt 2 in the drafts too but I'll wait to post it bc too much muscle pig mingyu is bad for the soul... and the [redacted]

to the anon that sent me a seok ask forever ago about his arms, im sorry i used it in this fic. but know i have a seok fic with exactly what you asked for in the works rn. everyone say thank you anon.

@bbychocolat do not hit my line about mingyu for at least 24 business hours i need to recover

Remember: Tumblr runs on reblogs and I run on validation in the tags and comments :)

read part II

read more here

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked!

Figuring out the ins and outs of a new gym isn’t easy but it isn’t impossible. Go too early and you’re surrounded by creepy men old enough to be your grandfather. Right after work is a sure way to experience hoards of gym bros crowding around machines like they own them. 

So you go as late as possible. 

Only a handful of people are dispersed through the large space. A few run on the treadmills lined on the catwalk of the second floor, several switch through different weights in front of the mirrors. You make your way through the maze of equipment towards the leg press; your final sets before you can go home and wash away the grime of the day.

Or you would if someone wasn’t occupying the one machine you need.

Peeping your head around, you notice a black backpack and matching water bottle on the ground. You glance around, unable to find a clear owner since the next closest person is halfway across the gym doing a different exercise.

Would it be that rude to take the machine out from under someone if they’re not even using it? You could probably get in all your sets before the person even came back if you moved quickly.

You wait a few minutes. How embarrassing would it be to have the mystery person walk back up the second you sat down? But after five minutes pass and no one emerges to claim the spot, you set about changing the weights out.

And just when you slip into the seat, you look up and find someone approaching.

He’s tall, he’s handsome, and he’s barely ten feet away. Your saving grace is that he hasn’t spotted you yet thanks to his phone. 

But that doesn’t last long.

“Oh! Sorry! Were you using this machine?” You ask, trying to sound cordial. 

“It’s okay!” He smiles at you. “Do you need it?”

Yes.

“No, I can find something else to do.” 

You rise to do just that when he stops you with a shrug.

“I don’t mind sharing.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I take long breaks between my sets anyway so it’s no big deal.”

So that’s where he went.

“Okay, thanks.”

“No problem.”

He moves to lean against the wall, face buried in his phone once again as you work through your set. Honestly you think he forgot you were even there until you start standing up and he pushes off his perch. 

Exchanging polite smiles, you skirt around him and snag your water bottle before occupying the same spot against the painted bricks. You try not to be a creep but watching the way the muscles in his legs bulge and coil with each rep is impossible to look away from. Especially when there’s just so much to look at.

He racks up twelve reps with ease and switches back off with you before wandering out of sight.

You work through two of your sets before he comes teetering back. 

“I tried putting it back to your weight.” You laugh, sipping from your water bottle.

“Three forty? Ouch.”

“What? Should I have made it lighter?”

“Try heavier. Like four hundred.”

“My sincerest apologies.” You mock, placing your hand over your heart. “I’ll remember that next time.”

He laughs again before slipping back into the seat and working through the motions.

This time you don’t bother hiding the way you watch him over your phone. He looks good, it’d be a waste not to watch the swell of his chest or the stretch of his thighs. The gym shorts and snug black t-shirt only exacerbate how cut his physique is. 

And if he makes a comment you can always twist your not so subtle gawking into a compliment about his form.

When he finishes his set again, he snags his bag and water bottle off the ground before turning to you. “All yours. Have a good night.”

“Yeah, you too.”

And he’s gone.

Over the next few weeks, you learn mystery man works out at the same time you. He’s there when you arrive and remains when you leave after an hour and a half of sweating and gasping like a dying fish, only absent on Wednesdays when you manage the most last luster workouts of your life. The disappointment the first time you realized you were looking for the backwards cap sticking out amongst the free weights would have been embarrassing but what's wrong with a little eye candy while breaking a sweat? 

And what a great view he makes. Your brief peeks into the mirrored walls are full of nothing straining muscles and glowing skin. The first day he did arms in a cutoff tee will go down in history as the worst day of your life. Only rivaled by all the other days he works his legs in shorts accentuating just how nice his ass is with every squat.

Your friends all ask when you’re going to talk to him again. As if you’ll just walk right up and interrupt the best part of your day. No, you’d rather watch him move across the gym floor from the corner of your eye, throw him a friendly nod, and go about your business than run the risk of making things awkward.

Unfortunately, doesn’t possess the same desire to remain a friendly nameless face like you do.

His name is Mingyu. Or that’s what the employee with glasses calls him while they joke around one night. You don’t mean to eavesdrop but they’re loud and the only exit takes you right past the U-shaped desk. Mingyu throws a grin as you pass by on your way out and the flash of teeth spikes your heart rate higher than any exercise you’ve done that night.

When he officially introduces himself at the water fountain the next night, you have to bite the urge to tell him ‘I know.’ Instead you snort at his extended hand, providing your own name over the firm shake like you won’t be haunted by the feeling of the calluses on his fingers or the heat of his palm for the next week. 

What’s worse is how he says your name back, rolling the sound across his tongue and past his quirked lips. 

And the final nail in the coffin is when you leave and you see the way he turns in the glass doors to watch, bidding you a goodnight with your name signed at the end.

Mingyu might be the worst gym crush in the world. Mostly because your thoughts of him extend beyond the brick walls he should only exist in. And partially because he’s caught you staring more times than you care to admit. 

Not as many times as you’ve caught him, but the point stands.

No, the worst part, you find out, is Mingyu is an incorrigible flirt. And he knows it.

Tonight you’re off schedule, runny nearly half an hour later than usual.; work clothes sticking to your skin as you make your way towards the off shooting hall housing the entrance to the locker rooms. In a rush, you step around another body only to end up in front of one much more familiar.

“There's my girl.” Mingyu smiles. “Thought you were skipping out on me.”

My girl. My girl. My girl, my girl, my girl….

There isn’t a thought in your head beyond the bold casualness he drops that bomb on you with so you nod awkwardly and force yourself not to sprint the next twenty feet to hide.

Half an hour later, when you catch him watching you in the mirror over his own weights, the bastard smiles like the cat who caught the canary. 

But you end up on top when Mingyu offers to spot you while doing weighted squats. He’s at your back, an appropriate amount of space between your bodies you wish he’d close. You don’t need his help. Your form is better than his (you would know, his ass and thighs give you tunnel vision when its his leg day). And the weight on the bar isn’t even enough to make you strain but why pass up on the offer? Especially with how Mingyu meets your eyes over your shoulder in the mirror with each dip.

And then he cheers ‘that’s my girl’ again when you re-rack the equipment with ease and it's over.

“Shit,” you grunt. 

Mingyu pops up from his perch between your breasts under your shirt, hair a mess and eyes glazed. “Good?”

“No, your steering wheel is in my back.” You wince, attempting to wiggle away and ending up further up his lap.

“Sorry, let me just…”

The seat flies back under your combined weight, throwing your forehead right into Mingyu’s chin.

“Fuck!” 

“Oh my god!” You gasp. “Are you okay?”

Mingyu’s head falls back as he releases a massive sigh. Each second that ticks by has you both coming to the same conclusion.

“Yeah,” you breath, sitting up. “I think this was a bad idea.”

“Oh…”

“I just mean like your car is small and you’re too big and I—“

The guffaw Mingyu tries to hide slips free too easily. “That’s what she said.”

“God, you’re gross.” 

Your nose crinkles as you rise up, using his chest for leverage. It feels as nice as it looks and its the worst knowledge you’ve gained in you life.

“Sticks and stones,” he hums.

“Well this was fun. I’ll ugh… see you around?”

When you try to shift back into the passenger seat to exit, Mingyu’s hands flex over your thighs to keep you in his lap. His sweats do nothing to hide his semi. Something he doesn’t even seem to consider as a concern given the way he unconsciously curls into you.

“Or we can go back to mine.”

He’s trying and failing to sound nonchalant. Like he won’t go home and fuck his fist in the shower with the echoes of your sighs filling his ears if you turn him down. You can see it in his eyes. What hinges on his offer and how much you’ll both regret it if the tension fizzles and dies in his SUV.

From where you’re sitting, it’s incredibly difficult to think with your head and not your hormones. Mingyu is hot, he’s nice, he seems decent enough. His behavior doesn’t hint at him being a creep. If he’s normal enough to fuck in his car, is he not normal enough to fuck in the comfort of a bed?

The thumb stroking your thighs and the hopeful eyes staring you down make the decision for you.

“Yeah, okay.” 

With his address in your phone’s GPS, you trail after his SUV in your own car. The roads are familiar because they’re the same roads you drive when you return to your apartment that turns out to be only three blocks closer to the gym than Mingyu’s. 

All this time he’d been so close and you never even realized. Did he think about you the same way you thought about him when he drove home? If he did, you’re in for a night.

Rolling into a space only a few down from where he parks, you pause to hype yourself up. 

People have sex all the time. It’s no big deal. I can do this. 

A knock at the window interrupts your spiral, finding Mingyu smiling sheepishly through the glass. The muscles in your chest squeeze when he opens the door and holds it for you to exit; and threaten to explode when his hand finds the small of your back and guides you towards the stairwell.

Footsteps echo down to the hall, Mingyu only a fraction ahead to lead the way to a non-descript door with a seasonal doormat that's seen better days.

“Ugh, this is it.” 

His apartment is shockingly clean for a guy your age. Not clean in the ‘I don’t own enough shit to even be dirty’ way. No, Mingyu’s apartment is cozy. There’s throw pillows and blankets on the couch. He has a lamp and bookshelf in the corner and the walls are adorned with a collage of artwork thoughtfully pieced together. Several personal photos are littered throughout, some with an obviously younger Mingyu propped next to what must be a sister or a cousin, a few of him with friends. One of him and a familiar man with glasses, their faces blurry but the glee clear as they’re frozen in time. Your lips lift with a soft smile at the personal touches bleeding into every corner of his space.

Turning over your shoulder you ask, “You and the guy at the gym are friends?” 

Mingyu’s watching you with something unidentifiable in his eyes, stepping forward to figure out which frame you're looking at until he’s only a foot behind you.

“Yeah, we went to the same middle school.”

“And this one?” You say, fingers tracing the edge of the wooden frame.

“My little sister.” Mingyu follows, still only a step behind.

“And I’m assuming these are your parents?”

“Actually those are Wonwoo’s parents.” He chuckles. “These are my parents.”

Mingyu’s arm reaches around to point at the correct photo, his chest brushing against your back.

“Wanna give me the tour?”

Mingyu manages to show you everything in five minutes. The living room and connected kitchen you’re already standing in, the door of the hall bathroom, and finally his bedroom. You take a seat on the edge of the bed, discovering the new smattering of details that uncover more about the man waiting with baited breath in the threshold. 

“Why are you over there?” You ask.

With arms crossed and shoulders up to his ears, Mingyu resembles a kid waiting to be scolded rather than a man who tried to hook up with you in his car less than thirty minutes ago.

“I’m nervous.”

You can’t stop the satisfaction from spreading to your face. “I make you nervous?”

Mingyu pushes off the door jam, shuffling forward until he’s standing a foot in front of you. ���Yeah. I don’t really do stuff like this.”

“Stuff like what? Try and fuck girls in your car?”

“Haha.” Mingyu mocks, face descending until he rubs his nose with yours.

Your eyes slip closed when his do, breathing each other's air. “Stuff like what, Gyu?”

Your hands find the material of his shirt stretched across his shoulder. Each brush of his lips across your cheek, down your jaw, until he finds your ear.

“I don’t sleep around with girls I’m not dating.”

Oh.

“We don’t hav—”

“Which is not the best way to ask you out.”

You press him out of your space, far enough that you can look him in the eyes and see if he’s serious. The tips of Mingyu’s ears burn red but he’s looking right at you despite how embarrassed he clearly feels.

“You’re asking me on a date?”

“Ugh, yeah. I think it’d be fun. But you don’t have to! If you just wanna do this that's fine t—”

Whatever words Mingyu was trying to say fizzle on the tip of his tongue as you pull him into a kiss. He curls over you, pressing you further into his bed with every fervent pass. Wedging one hand under the small of your back, Mingyu lifts you up and carries you while he crawls to the center.

Your mind wanders to all the other ways he can manhandle you into the mattress.

He settles flat against you, hips cradled between your own while delving into your mouth. You fill your hands with his ass, dragging Mingyu’s covered cock against your core. A groan backs apart your lips as Mingyu falls into the curve of your neck. 

“This is a yes to the date by the way.” You pant now that he’s taken over, hands scratching up his back in an effort to get rid of his shirt. “In case that wasn’t clear.”

Mingyu’s clothes disappear over his head and across the room, yours following shortly after. The heat of bare skin on bare skin is better than anything until he takes one of your breasts in his palm and the other in his mouth. 

Every curse you know flies through your lips as he sucks and pinches until you're sore between the legs.

He takes the squeeze of your thighs and the rock of your hips as a greenlight, hands leading where his lips follow until it’s nothing but your panty clad core an inch from his face.

“This okay?” Mingyu asks in the fat of your thigh, tongue trailing fire across the skin.

You nod with a sigh, “Mingyu, please.”

He doesn’t need much more than that, the fabric barrier gone in a blink and his nose traces your folds until he’s dying for a taste.

Mingyu eats pussy like he doesn’t need oxygen. The path of his pointed tongue around your clit is nothing short of precise, meticulously tracing every ridge and curve until the sheets stretch under your fingers. When he flattens it to pay broader attention, your legs squeeze and Mingyu’s hands force them wide around his shoulders.

Your feet flatten on the bed and thrust up his mouth, wet and crude with fingers in his hair and your whines in his ears. Every suck of Mingyu’s mouth forces the muscles in your neck to lerch until they hurt and your head falls back. He takes pride in the way you drip for him, making the best mess he’s ever had the privilege to clean up.

You reward him with an lavishing praise at the next twitch of your insides, “Fuck, just like that.” 

Taking advantage of the slight arch in your spine, Mingyu’s hand sneaks under your back, fingers unforgiving as they dig into your ass. He curls your hips up and buries a finger in your core with mortifying ease.

Between your legs, Mingyu catches your eyes. Pupils blown wide, mouths bruised around stuttered breath. A matching set of debauched expressions. He’s more familiar like this; skin glowing with sweat, and hair matted to his forehead. Next time you see him at the gym you know it's all you’ll think about. Next time you're alone in your room, or the shower, or the grocery store. Or anywhere you’ve day dreamed about him before.

He leans back to watch the digit disappear, only to reappear soaking. “Feels good?”

“Give me another and it will.”

You savor the rhythm he sets, thick fingers working to prep you for what you felt under his shorts. His tongue is hard and wet at your clit, fingers stretching and spreading until your stomach dips and you nearly buck him off as your clit swells from abuse.  

Your fingers pluck at your nipples and Mingyu apparently likes to watch because he manages more enthusiasm, forces his finger to crook just the right way, and continues to suck even after you start screaming.

“Oh fuck, oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!” You chant, voice cracked.

Something sounding suspiciously like a ‘thank you’ drops into the mix but Mingyu’s the only one to hear it. In his opinion, he should be the one doing the thanking; you just gave him enough spank bank material for the next six months.

You don’t dislike the taste of yourself on his tongue, his lips, his chin, his cheeks, and even his chest when you flip Mingyu over and aim to return the favor. He blushes when you lap against the hollow of his throat; embarrassed from the way he goes boneless with such simple affection.

He sinks into the plush of the mattress, propped up by the mountain of pillows at the headboard. Mingyu’s stomach stiffens under your tongue and the twitch blooms a smile on your face. Predictable.

“Sensitive?”

Your nails raking up the shape of his thighs turn the denial falling from his lips into a whine, and it makes you wonder what other sounds Mingyu will make with his cock in your mouth.

The vein bulging along the underside of his length gives your tongue something to trace along as you lap from base to flared tip, sucking down until it shines from spit and pre-cum. You take all you can until the curve of your throat protests.

Mingyu’s big and he’s loud.

“Oh God, shit.” He babbles with abandon, hands fisted at his sides until his knuckles turn pale.

You focus on the cock in your mouth rather than how pretty Mingyu’s chest would look covered in bite marks. How a bruise on his hip would be just visible when he reaches over his head to do pull ups, and red streaks from your nails on his bicep would make a great accessory.

A hand lands on the base of your skull, gentle until it's not. His thumb dips to stroke the bulge of his dick through your throat as you take him deeper. And like some ridiculous porno theres still an inch you’ll never be able to take even if you do nothing but let him fucking your mouth until the only thing you taste is cum.

“Fuuuuck,” Mingyu groans from a harsh suck on the upstroke.

He distracts you with his tongue on yours, keeping you from diving back down and destroying his ego from how quick you almost made him cum. Your one solace is the lazy grip you have on the base of Mingyu’s length, fingers tightening around the head while he cants into the squeeze.

You think Mingyu is going to plant you on his cock and make you ride it until one of you is crying. But he keeps pushing and pulling until you’re kneeling over his face, knees cushioned in the pillows and hands against the wall to steady you while he dives in again.

His head shakes back and forth, tongue out to swipe messily at your clit as you grind into his face. The last grip of sanity you have gives you the mind to reach back, jerking Mingyu off while he eats it, a cycle of moans moving through you; him into your folds when you squeeze from a grating pass off his tongue that has you whining to the ceiling fan.

“Shit, need you to fuck me.” You whine but don’t stop curling against the latch of his lips, legs stiff with ache.

It’s Mingyu who brings things to a halt, raising you away from his mouth until you're left on your knees while he stands to rummage in the drawer for a condom. You listen while the paint of the wall cools your forehead.

The hand at the dip of your spine makes you melt when he checks in, “Still okay?”

Nodding, you find him over your shoulder with a thick swallow. Mingyu’s nose follows the slope of your muscles, lips untying all the knots he’s worked into them over the past few weeks.

“Want it like this?”

“Yeah.”

You drop until your chest meets the bed and arch until it hurts just to put on a good show. Mingyu shuffles behind you, knocking your knees wider with his own, palms molding to your ass and spreading it apart to take a good look like he wasn’t tongue deep inside your pussy already. The room is nothing more than the sounds of grounding breaths; Mingyu watching the way your torso moves around the air, releasing a long exhale before moving closer.

The feel of his chest against yours was great, but the hard muscle of it along your back, his chain caught between and leaving a definitive mark, is life ruining. It shreds the last bit of humanity you’ve been clinging to since you dragged Mingyu to the parking lot and tried to stick your hands down his pants while leant against the passenger door.

No matter how well Mingyu stretched you for his cock it was never going to be enough. Taking the first inch nearly splits you in half. But you're soaked and needy; nothing short of the end of the world is going to keep you from getting the satisfaction of feeling him in your guts. You take it with measured breaths and affirmations to relax. Slow arches of his hips work him in until he’s flat with your ass and whispering absolute depravity into your ears.

“Fuck, you’re tight.”

Arching your ass higher, you whimper, “You’re huge.”

Your ass stings under his punishing hand, thrown forward by an involuntary buck of his hips.

“Don’t say that.”

You turn until you can look over your shoulder again, meeting wild eyes. “You feels so good.” You moan, eyelids low and wrecked.

“Didn’t—shit, think you’d have such a dirty mouth.” He bites into the side of your neck, sucking a bruise like a depraved teenager. 

“I knew you’d have a fat cock.”

You get what you want so easily it's almost insulting; Mingyu’s hand forcing your face into the sheets and his hips rushing into you with pure need. Every prod into your cunt has you wailing. It’d destroy your self respect if you could think of anything beyond how he’s ruining you for anyone else.

Pillows topple off the edge of the bed as you scramble for a hold. Anything to ground you against the burn in your veins with every tight squeeze around Mingyu’s cock. His balls slap against your clit teasingly, more degrading than the way he has you bent in half. 

“Harder,” you beg.

Mingyu falls back on his haunches, pulling you with him until you're sitting up right. His arm comes into view, curling around neck until your throat sits in the crux of his elbow and his hand latches on your shoulder; a crude headlock he uses as leverage to keep fucking into you. You’ve been choked but this is infinitely better. Whatever Mingyu wants to take from you, he’s in a position to do so.

“Gonna cum?” He nips into your earlobe.

His hand shoves its way between your legs, swipe roughly against your clit before you can even hope to answer.

A pathetic nod is all you manage thanks to the muscles gathered under your chin limiting your mobility.

Mingyu let's go then and your hands prevent a crash into the headboard, putting you back in the same position as before but you have to work for it now; ass bouncing in his laps as you ride him. Finding your balance, you drop one hand to your clit as Mingyu’s pinch your nipples.

“Let me have it, let me make you come." Mingyu pants into your spine. "Fuck you look so good like this, shit.”

He keeps rambling, flying with you towards the edge hand in hand; both breathless from the slap of your thighs against his.

“Mingyu, feel so good. Oh my god, oh my g—”

The softness of the pillows greets you once again while everything flashes white. Mingyu scrambles behind, fucking you into the mattress while you soak his cock. Muscles twitching, teeth ground till they crack, you come and come and come while begging him to do the same.

Mingyu gives in without hesitation, all his weight behind his hips as he fills the condom; dragging you back with an arm around your waist. Every jerk of his cock against your walls from the force makes you vibrate until he’s slipping out, soiled and used against the back of your thigh.

The last thing you register is his lips finding your shoulder again, rubbing back and forth as he comes down.

You fall asleep under the heat of his body for who knows how long, content in the mind shattering numbness of what just happened. Mingyu seems to feel the same, dead weight hanging half off you so you can at least manage to breath.

When you wake, whether it's twenty minutes or two hours later, Mingyu is snoring into the pillow, still naked. His lips pout in his sleep and you swallow the urge to shower them with kisses thanks to the drool at the corner of his mouth.

Even without the covers, you're warm. The kind of heat that slips over your skin, sinks into your bones and keens for you to fall asleep and stay. But Mingyu asked you on a date, not to spend the night. And you’d hate to assume and ruin whatever this is before it as a chance to start.

“Where are you going?” He pouts.

You don't make it two inches out of his arms before he’s pulling you back, tangling them around you so there's no chance of unnoticed escape. Mingyu digs his nose into your cheek and waits for an answer like he has all the time in the world.

Something tells you if he knew you were attempting to head home, Mingyu would throw a fit. And what use is that when you want to see what a night sleep with a giant human furnace is like?

“Bathroom.”

Adding to the list of information you’ve learned, Mingyu is a stage five clinger. He latches on to your back, guiding you into the shower stall for a quick spray down that leaves half your face, part of your thigh, and almost none of him clean.

He falls asleep against the base of your skull while brushing your teeth, because of course he has a stash of extra toothbrushes under the sink just in case. 

And when you crawl under the fresh sheets, he pulls you into his chest, leaves a kiss against your forehead, and tells you he can’t wait for your breakfast date tomorrow.

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie @gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire @missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu

© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited.

[pucksandpower]

Man’s World

Charles Leclerc x Ferrari engineer!Reader

Summary: Charles refuses to just stand by and watch as you get disrespected

Warnings: misogyny and lewd comments

You’re admiring the sleek lines of the red Ferrari F8 Tributo in front of you, running your fingers lightly over the glossy paint. The showroom is quiet this early in the morning, just a few employees milling about getting ready for the day.

Charles had to stop by to sign some merchandise for a charity event and asked if you wanted to tag along. You opted to wait out front and enjoy the eye candy while he took care of business.

You circle around to the back of the car, appreciating the aggressive styling and massive rear diffuser. As an engineer for Scuderia Ferrari who often extends your expertise to working on their road cars, you know every detail of this machine intimately. Your hands itch to pop the hood and inspect that glorious twin-turbo V8, but you resist.

This isn’t your workshop back in Maranello.

Lost in thought, you don’t notice the group of guys entering the showroom until one whistles loudly. “Hey baby, those legs look good enough to wrap around me real tight,” one calls out.

You freeze, feeling your heart rate pick up.

“Don’t be shy, we just want to get to know you better,” another says as they swagger over.

You press back against the car, sizing up the situation. Four of them, all clearly well-off based on the expensive watches and designer clothes. But their eyes are cruel as they look you up and down.

“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?” The apparent ringleader asks. “Hoping to sink your claws into some rich guy and take him for all he’s worth?” The others laugh nastily.

You lift your chin. “Actually, I happen to work for Ferrari.”

The man snorts in disbelief. “Yeah right, and I’m Michael Schumacher. There’s no way a woman knows anything about these cars other than where the passenger seat is.”

You clench your fists, biting back a scathing retort. The thought of educating these misogynistic jerks gives you immense satisfaction, but you know it won’t do any good. They’ll never change their prejudiced attitudes.

“Don’t listen to him, darling,” one says, giving you a lecherous look. “I’d be happy to take you for a ride, show you how a real man handles power between his legs.”

You’re about to tell him exactly where he can shove his stereotypes when a familiar voice interrupts sharply.

“That’s enough.”

You look over to see Charles striding angrily toward you, green eyes blazing. The men surrounding you look irritated at having their fun spoiled.

“Can we help you with something, pal?” The ringleader asks sarcastically.

Charles ignores him, coming to stand protectively beside you. “Are you okay, mon amour?” He asks under his breath.

You nod, relief washing over you now that he’s here. “I’m fine.”

Charles turns an icy stare on the men who’d been harassing you. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t speak to my girlfriend that way,” he says coldly.

The leader looks Charles up and down dismissively. But then a spark of recognition crosses his face. “Wait a minute … you’re Charles Leclerc!” He elbows his friends. “The Formula 1 driver!”

The others’ eyes widen as they take in Charles with new understanding. “Whoa, seriously?” One exclaims.

The leader chuckles, clearly trying to recover his bravado. “Well, what do you know? The famous racer has a pretty girl on his arm.” His lips curl in a smirk. “Hate to break it to you, but it’s obvious she’s just using you for your money. No way she knows anything about these cars other than how much they cost.”

Charles crosses his arms. “As it so happens, my girlfriend is an engineer for Scuderia Ferrari, so I’d bet my entire net worth — and my car collection — that she knows more about the cars in this dealership than all four of you combined and then some.”

You have to bite your lip to hide a smile at the dumbfounded looks on the men’s faces.

“An engineer?” One sputters. “You can’t be serious.”

You level a challenging stare at them. “Deadly serious. I’ve personally worked on over a dozen projects for Ferrari, including the SF90 Stradale hypercar we just launched.” You point across the showroom. “There’s one right over there, in fact. Mid-front mounted 4.0L twin-turbo V8, delivering 769 brake horsepower combined with three electric motors. First plug-in hybrid Ferrari ever put into full production.” You smirk at the slack-jawed stares your technical rundown elicits. “So yes, I’d say I know a thing or two about these cars.”

Charles grins proudly and squeezes your hand. But the leader is not ready to back down just yet.

“Anyone can memorize a monologue,” he scoffs. “I don’t buy it. You’re clearly just clinging to this guy for his money.”

Fury rises in your chest. You open your mouth to retaliate, but Charles beats you to it.

“That’s my girlfriend you’re talking about,” he snaps, green eyes blazing. “I’d be very careful with what you say next.”

The man smirks, crossing his bulky arms over his chest. “Or what, tough guy?”

Charles takes a step forward, jaw clenched. The man towers over him but Charles doesn’t flinch.

Right as it looks like things might get physical, you quickly take Charles’s arm. “He’s not worth it,” you murmur.

Charles hesitates, nostrils flaring. After a tense moment, he relaxes his stance and turns his back on the leering man.

But it seems the group isn’t done provoking you yet. “That’s right, listen to your sugar baby,” one of them calls out. “Wouldn’t want you messing up that pretty face for the cameras.”

Charles whips back around, shaking with anger now. Heart pounding, you cling to his arm in an effort to hold him back. “Charles, please-”

“No, Y/N.” He shakes off your hand, stalking toward the men. “I won’t stand here and let them insult you.”

You watch helplessly as Charles gets right in the leader’s face, nearly nose to nose. “You need to apologize. Now,” he grits out.

The man narrows his eyes. “Apologize? For what? Stating the obvious?” He smirks coldly. “Face it, your little girlfriend is nothing but a gold diggin-”

He doesn’t get to finish the sentence. With lightning speed, Charles’ fist connects squarely with his jaw. The man stumbles back with a pained shout, hand flying to his face.

“Charles!” You hurry to his side, alarmed. Charles is breathing hard, staring down at the man doubled over and groaning. The man’s friends back away nervously.

Chest heaving, Charles turns to you. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t listen to him insult you for another second.”

You meet his fiery gaze steadily. “It’s okay, I understand. Thank you for defending me.” After a beat, you add wryly, “And remind me not to get on your bad side.”

That startles a small laugh from Charles. The tension in his shoulders eases. He takes your hand, bringing it to his lips for a gentle kiss. “No chance of that, mon ange,” he murmurs. “You bring out the best in me.”

***

“Ow, ow, ow!” Charles hisses as he gingerly holds his right hand. His knuckles are bruised and bleeding.

You sigh, grabbing the first aid kit to tend to your dramatic boyfriend. “I told you not to punch him, Charles. You don’t know the first thing about throwing a proper punch.”

Charles pouts, wincing as you take his hand in yours to examine it. “I was just trying to defend your honor, mon amour. That man was saying such crude things about you.”

You shake your head, amused by his protectiveness. “My hero,” you tease. “Next time just walk away. I don’t need you breaking your hand over some entitled idiot’s comments.”

Charles hangs his head. “I know, I know. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I just saw red when he kept insulting you.”

You smile softly, touched by how much he cares. You start cleaning the wounds on his knuckles with a disinfectant wipe.

“Ow!” Charles cries out dramatically. “That stings!”

“Don’t be such a baby,” you chide. “It’s just a little antiseptic. I have to clean it so it doesn’t get infected.”

Charles pouts some more but stays still as you finish cleaning the abrasions. You apply an antibiotic ointment carefully before beginning to wrap his hand with a bandage.

“I really messed up my hand, didn’t I?” Charles mumbles dejectedly.

You nod. “You definitely did some damage. Nothing serious, but you’ll be sore for a while.”

Once you’ve wrapped his hand securely, you bring it to your lips and place a gentle kiss on the bandage. “There. All better.”

Charles gives you a lopsided smile. “My own personal nurse. How did I get so lucky?”

You grab an ice pack from the freezer and hand it to him. “Here, put this on your hand to help with the swelling and pain.”

Charles sighs dramatically but does as instructed, holding the ice pack gingerly against his injured hand.

You glance at his wrapped hand, the knuckles already starting to bruise beneath the bandage. “Does it hurt terribly?”

Charles considers the question. “Honestly? Yes, it really does. Punching someone is not as easy as it looks in the movies.”

You laugh. “No kidding. That’s why you leave the punching to trained fighters, not Formula 1 drivers.”

“Ugh, this is so embarrassing,” Charles mutters. “What will the team say when they find out I injured myself in a fight? And I’ll never hear the end of it from Pierre.”

You pat his leg reassuringly. “Just say you hurt it working out. No one has to know about your misguided attempt at honorable combat,” you tease.

Charles chuckles ruefully. “Good idea. The last thing I need is for this to become paddock gossip.”

You both sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, Charles icing his hand while you snuggle contentedly against him.

"Thank you for patching me up and taking such good care of me,” Charles gently brushes the hair from your face with his uninjured hand. “Even when I do stupid things."

You grin. “It’s a tough job but someone’s gotta do it. Especially since you did almost break your hand for me.”

You settle back against Charles comfortably. He may be reckless and impulsive at times, but you know he always has the best intentions at heart. And you'll always be there to care for him if those good intentions backfire.

For better or worse, this protective man is the love of your life.

[werkstailoreddetail]

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