#so keep an eye out for it! n thanks for reading :)

[xximperioxx]

Help Me Hold Onto You

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x fem!reader

Word Count: 3.1k (not proofread)

Warnings: parent death (mother) , mourning, panic attack/breakdown(reader throws up), patient death, robby walks in on reader having a panic attack, fluff, age gap, medical inaccuracies, very brief mention reader having tattoos

Notes: For some reason did not include a dad but oh well. Probably why the reader has a thing for Robby. this took me a while to write idk. Also I based the panic attack symptoms on mine so pls don’t come at me. Totally listened to The Archer by Taylor Swift while writing this. Thank you for all the love recently and hope you enjoy <3

——————————————————

You don’t hear Robby’s voice telling you to call the time of death until he puts his hand on your shoulder. You flinch.

You silently watch Donnie and Mateo cover the woman’s body.

“She was your family?” Mel asks

Your eyes pull away from the now sheet covered body to look at her confused, “No, she-she came in yesterday.”

She sees your confusion and nervously rocks on the heels of her feet. “Oh. You called her mom, I just assumed.”

Your head whips up and your eyes burn with anger. “No, I didn’t.”

Mel shrinks and is about to open her mouth before Robby pops his head back into the room instructing everyone to take a break.

An irritated scoff leaves your mouth as you slip away from the group. Donnie and Mateo share a silent look.

Your heart hurts. It’s not that you didn’t believe Mel- you absolutely did. You just didn't think you would slip like that. Someone else’s mom you couldn’t save. You let her slip away like your own mother. Same cause of death. A heart attack.

You come to a stop and your hand rests at your chest. Your heart thumping loudly. Your eyes begin to burn as you try to focus your breathing.

Your feet move you to the closest bathroom which happens to be the unisex bathroom.

You bust open the bathroom door, fully hyperventilating now.

You couldn’t save her. You didn’t even get to say goodbye to your own mother.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mel finds herself approaching Dr. Robby at the hub. “Dr. Robby,” She interrupts, “I’m um… concerned about Dr. (Y/N).”

Robby continues his work on the tablet, “Well, she did just lose a patient, Dr. King, and that doesn’t get easier no matter how many times.”

“She kept calling the patient ‘mom’. At some point during compressions I heard her say, ‘Please don’t do this mom’.” Robby’s eyes glance up with concern. She continues, “I tried to ask her about it and she got angry.”

He sets the tablet on the counter. “I’ll check in on her.” He gestures to the screen, “And you keep up the good work with your patients.”

As Dr. King walks away, Robby slides his glasses to the top of his head before running his hands down his face. He knew something was up. Normally the two of you worked in sync. Two peas in a pod. You were his top senior resident, not that he would admit it out loud.

You were always in his eyesight and even on your days off, Robby’s eyes would search for you. You had taken a few days off during the week and you had left suddenly. Not even letting him know, he had found out from Gloria you would be taking a few days off due to personal reasons. He knew something was wrong when he texted you and never got a response or when you had come back to work with dark circles under your eyes. You looked fragile and not your usual radiant, lighthearted self. There were no jokes, no smiles, no laughs, no glances directed at Robby or anyone in the Pitt.

Robby had watched Gloria approach you at the beginning on your shift. How she took your hands and gently told you something he couldn’t read on lips. How you gave her a weak smile as you said thank you. When you just silently stood with your arms around yourself for a few moments after Gloria walked away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You slide to the floor gripping at your chest and neck as if it would help you breathe.

You don’t hear the door open with the ringing in your ears nor do you see who swiftly comes into the small bathroom. Your eyes are closed with the intent of trying to focus on your heartbeat. Hopefully to also stop the tears from flowing.

Robby rushes into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He let out a sigh of relief, finally catching a moment to pee.

The sound of a zipper causes your eyes to peek open. A noise attempts to come out of your throat. You recognize the navy blue sweatshirt and cargo pants. Your head finds itself back in between your knees.

Robby jolts at the sudden noise, “Jesus – fuck.” He whips his head around. His eyes widen at the sight of you. “Fuck, (Y/N).”

He quickly zips his pants back up ignoring his belt as he kneels in front of you. His hands pull your face up, his eyes scanning your face. Your name continues to slip from his mouth.

Your eyes open and your vision is still fuzzy. His fingers graze over some stratch marks on your neck before checking your pulse. 160 bpm. Your shortness of breath suddenly turns into dry heaving. Without thinking, you shove Robby to the side and retch into the toilet. All that comes up is the iced coffee you had this morning.

Robby places a gentle hand on your back. You let out a deep sigh of relief. Finally feeling like you can breathe again as if you threw up the heavy feeling in your chest. You finally pull your face away from the toilet and let your body relax. Grabbing some toilet paper, you wipe the lingering tears on your face before looking at Robby.

“I’m sorry for interrupting your bathroom break,” your voice raspy. A tired smile attempts to form.

He leans against the bathroom wall with you. He doesn’t say anything. His eyes studying you. “You doing okay?”

You blink.

He takes in your bloodshot eyes and the dark circles before letting out a nervous chuckle at your reaction.

“Besides the fact that you walked in on me having a panic attack?” You press your lips into a fine line, “Just peachy.”

He nods and nudges your shoulder with his. “What’s going on? You’ve been distant.”

You scoff while standing up. Robby lets out a groan as he stands up, his joints yelling at him. You turn the faucet on and begin washing your hands. Your eyes meet his in the mirror.

“Talk to me,” he pleaded.

You wipe your hands,“That’s rich coming from you.”

Robby wants to flinch. There had been moments in the past where you had begged him to tell you how he was feeling whenever he would shut himself down. You had begged him to let you help him. You always saw right through him. He always pushed you away and you would always pull him back in.

He sighs. “I just want to help you. I’m worried about you.”

You huff, “Just stop. I’m fine. Everything is fine.”

Robby tries to reach for you. You jerk away as your voice wavers, “Please just leave me alone. I-I want to be alone.”

His heart breaks. You sound like him. His lips press together as he watches you unlock the door. He runs his hand through his hair. The roles are reversed now.

You pause before leaving, “Don’t forget to piss.”

All you hear is a snigger as you slip out of the bathroom.

You make your way to the hub. Your eyes up to see Langdon already staring at you. A small smirk resting on his face.

You sigh, “What?”

He leans against the counter, “Don’t think I didn’t notice you just walked out of the single bathroom Robby happens to be in.”

The two senior residents watch Dr. Robby walk out of the bathroom. You quickly clear your throat and reach over Langdon, grabbing a tablet, “You just love being an asshole, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do.”

Robby would never want to admit it to himself but you’re the one he would risk it all for. Yet he’s too scared to act on his feelings with you. When he looks at you, he’s reminded of his failed relationships and deep down he knows he’s better off alone. He wouldn’t make you happy in the long run. You’re young. You have your whole career left ahead of you and he doesn’t want to put that in jeopardy.

Dana snaps her fingers in front of Robby’s face. He gently shoves her hand out of his way. Her hands now on her waist.

“I’ve been calling your name for like two minutes.” She searches his face. “You okay?”

He aimlessly nods, his mind still on you. Dana gives him an update regarding some patients. Half listening, he glances past Dana and focuses on you. You meet his gaze.

Robby interrupts her, “Do you know what’s going on with (Y/N)? She’s not herself.”

Dana tries to joke, “Worried about her, lover boy?” He gives her a look. “Right. Well, the poor kid just lost her mother. She just lost a part of herself. So of course she’s going to be out of it.”

Robby's face falls. His heart drops. The pit in his stomach is now bigger. Why didn’t you tell him?

Dana notices the look and frowns, “Did she not tell you?”

He goes to look for you but you’re nowhere to be seen. He shakes his head out of frustration. “It’s like she’s shutting me out.”

The charge nurse puts her hand on his shoulder, “Sounds like someone I know.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Robby finds you making a coffee an hour later. Just as you’re about to take a sip, Robby takes the cup out of your hand and tosses it in the trash.

“Robby, are you fucking serious?” If looks could kill.

“You’re going home.”

“What?”

“Grab your bag. You’re going home.”

This time you laugh. You brush past him.

He backs up, blocking the doorway. “I’m serious.”

You look at him unimpressed, “Well, jokes on you I don’t have any more PTO or sick time so I can't leave.” You try to sneak under his arm through the doorway.

His arm curls around you, stopping you once again. He sighs, “As your attending, I am making the decision to send you home.”

You furiously blink away some tears, “You’re going to pull the attending card now, Robby?”

He silently nods.

“Y-You don’t understand I need,” you let out a shaky breath, “–I need to work. Please Michael.”

His lips press into a thin line as the sinking feeling in his chest returns. He was trying to do what’s best for you.

Robby’s arm drops. He looks down and gently takes a hold of your hand, “You need to mourn.”

You rip your hand away. Almost angry he knew about your mother. Your lips trembling while shaking your head, “No-No, I don’t.”

Robby lets out a deep breath. “Please.” Finally, you look up at the man in front of you. “You need to go home.”

You stand there, bitterly wiping away tears as you watch Robby walk away to grab your backpack from the hub. You sniffle.

How could he just send you home like this? How could you let yourself break down this much? He can’t just do this to you when you have tried to help him mourn Adamson for years. You angrily take your bag from his hand and brush past him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Jess, if I get any more sympathy flowers I’m going to start giving them back as a warning. Like an omen.”

Your roommate, Jessica, takes the vase of flowers from you. “I like them. They brighten up the apartment.”

You begin to walk to your room, “Yeah...nothing like being reminded your mom just died with flowers.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it!” She yells from the other room.

You lay on your bed, picking at your fingers. Your eyes close. You haven’t slept in days. You have a migraine from crying. Any time you were alone your thoughts were plagued with her. Childhood memories. Her passing. The future without her. She would never see you get married, meet her grandkids, see you succeed.

Your mind wanders to Robby. She would never meet him. You talked about him enough that she probably had him imaged out. You see him with you. Your future. Together.

Your eyes pop open. Did you just think about marrying him? Suddenly your heart aches, feeling guilty with how you treated him. You were shutting him out. You don’t want to push him away. God if anyone knew what you were going through it would be him.

You stare at the ceiling fan. Maybe you should text him.

“(Y/N)! You have a special delivery.” Your roommate sings out.

You sigh and curl into your bed. You hear her call your name again.

Slowly but surely you stand up from your bed. Your feet pad against the wood floor as you make your way to the living room. You can hear Jess making small talk with someone. “Jess I told you - give the flowers back. Let them be an omen.”

You pause when you see Robby in your apartment. Tired eyes, a warm smile on his face, a hand in his sweatshirt pocket, the other holding a coffee, and his backpack on the floor by his feet. He’s still in his scrub top and cargo pants meaning he had come right after work. To see you.

“What are you doing here?”

His eyes move away from Jess, taking you in. Your hair still damp from a shower, an oversized college shirt, and a pair of pajama shorts. Robby’s eyes can’t help but trail up your legs, noticing tattoos he didn’t know you had.

He snaps out of it, clearing his throat. “I brought you a coffee.”

“To make up for the one you threw out?”

He nods. You purse your lips to stop you from grinning. You take the coffee from his hand.

“I’m uh–going to go grocery shopping. Please make yourself at home.” Jess picks up her bag from the kitchen table. She hesitates, stopping by you. She whispers with excitement, “Is this doctor daddy?”

With a roll of your eyes, you give her a shove. You notice the tip of Robby’s ears turned bright red at the not so quiet comment. Your roommate waves goodbye before heading out.

You take a seat on your couch. “How’d you find my address anyways?”

Robby rubs the back of his neck, “Langdon.”

“That little fucker,” you mutter. He cracks a smile.

Robby follows you to the couch. He walks over to a shelf, admiring your life outside of work in pictures. You sip your coffee. It’s quiet.

He gently picks up a face-down picture frame. It’s you and your mom smiling at each other. You watch him as his eyes study the picture.

“I’m sorry,” you finally speak up. “I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want people knowing.” You sigh, “I guess it’s been a way for me to feel like the whole thing never happened.”

He takes a seat next to you. Your knees touching, “You don’t need to apologize. Especially to me.” He takes a deep breath. “I didn’t mean to send you home like that– I just don’t want you to end up like me.”

“I know you didn’t get to mourn Adamson like you should have. I know it still haunts you.”

He shakes his head almost wincing at his mentor’s name, “I could see myself in you today and that terrified me.”

He reaches for your hand and intertwines your fingers. Your eyes become watery, “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Robby mutters, “I hated that you shut me out.”

Looking down, you blink away your tears, “I just feel so broken. Alone.”

He looks at you and whispers quietly, “I’ll put you back together,” he lets go of your hand. His calloused fingers trace your jawline, gently turning your head to look at him. “Just like you’re doing with me.”

Your eyes search his, “You would stay?”

A grin spreads onto his face, “Can’t get rid of me. Even if you tried.” His face softens, “Help me hold onto you.”

Your face mirrors his, “I mean I’ve held onto you this long.”

Robby jokes, “I know how you feel now when you try to take care of me.”

You lean into him, “I can be pretty annoying.”

He smirks and leans in closer, “I’d say so.”

“Maybe that’s why we work so well together.”

He brushes your hair out of your face, “And why’s that?”

“We see right through each other.”

There was never a time where you didn’t see through Robby’s bullshit lies. Whenever Gloria would get on his nerves, when he was struggling with his depression or anxiety, or when he had a tough patient. Robby always seemed to know when you didn’t get enough sleep, having a rough mental health day, when you were hangry, or when you just needed a hug.

Robby’s dilated eyes dart down to your lips.

“Are you going to kiss me, Dr. Robinavitch?” You murmured. Your soft lips brush against his.

“If you’d let me.”

He takes your nod as a yes. Robby closes the gap between you and connects your lips together. You immediately reciprocate, gently kissing him back. His rough calloused hands cup your face, deepening the kiss.

After a few seconds you slowly pull away. His forehead rests against yours.

You let out a soft laugh. “I’ve thought about that for an embarrassingly long time.”

A groan rumbles at the back of Robby's throat. “You don’t want to know what I’ve thought about.”

You snicker before placing a soft kiss beneath his beard. “We can discuss that later.”

He pulls your legs over his lap and wraps his arm around you. Your head rests on his chest as his hand rests on your bare thigh.

You listen to his accelerated heart beat slowly calm. He lays his head on top of yours. The two of you sit in comfortable silence. You stifle a yawn.

“I wish you could have met her,” you whisper.

“I would tell her she has the most intelligent and beautiful daughter…” his thumb gently caressing your skin, “And that she won’t have to worry about you because I’m not going anywhere.”

Your heart swells, “Thank you.”

“Adamson is proud of you. I know it.” You mumble into his chest. Robby releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. A sense of reassurance floods him. Something he hasn’t felt in a while.

After a few moments, Robby hears your breathing become slow and rhythmic.

Robby sighs, “I would also tell your mom–I have loved her daughter for a long time and have just been too afraid to admit it.”

“I love you too, Michael.” You tiredly mumble as the curve of your mouth curled up slightly.

He presses his lips to the top of your head with an embarrassed smile.

~~~~~~~~~~

Jessica comes back to the apartment to find the two of you on the couch. Robby quietly snoring and you in his arms, sleeping for the first time in days.

[thebestandworstdayofjune]

i only see daylight

summary: a few months before the Pittfest shooting, Dana calls you to the ED to calm down Dr. Robby, who's had a rough shift. This is a follow up to a fic I’ve already posted, linked below. This is a prequel, so it’s not strictly necessary to read that first! previous wc:  2 k+  a/n:  Please feel free to send any requests my way! Title taken from Daylight by Taylor Swift warnings: general fluff, canon typical stress

A single text from Dana had sent you running for the emergency department doors. ‘Any time to stop by today?’ You did your best not to panic, but she wasn’t one to ask you to come to the hospital without reason to. It was your day off from the bakery, but you’d spent it in the kitchen nonetheless. Batches of banana bread had already been packed in a bag that you planned to pawn off on the next emergency department worker that was sure to stop in the next morning, but there was no reason to wait, emergency or no, so you threw it over your shoulder on the way out the door. 

The walk was short, but stretched out in front of you dauntingly. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you did your best to take steadying breaths in the interest of not needing a bed once you arrived. You’d long ago been given permission to come through the ambulance bay, but it still felt like you were committing a bit of a crime. You smiled at the EMTs waiting in the ambulance bay and made your way to the nurse’s station, finding Donna on the phone with her glasses perched on her head. She spotted you and tucked the phone against her chest. “Hey, doll,” she called, before whoever was on the other end of the receiver demanded her attention. It seemed the emergency could wait a moment or two. 

You snuck into the staff room, depositing a few loaves of banana bread on the counter along with a little note inviting people to take a slice along with a few plates and napkins. It wasn’t uncommon for all of the dishes to be stuck in the sink, so you took it upon yourself to keep some paper plates and things stocked for them, bringing extra with any treats as well. You allowed yourself a small smile before heading back into the fray. 

“He’s on a tear today.” Heather had fallen into step beside you. You peaked at her, not breaking your stride. There was no need to ask who she was talking about, there’s only one doctor you seem to have a special sauce for calming down.

“What provoked him this time?” you ask, clasping your hands in front of you. 

“What makes you think someone provoked him?” she asked, laughing softly. “You are too nice, sometimes.” 

You shrug, unsure how to respond. 

“Thank god you’re here.” Frank falls into step on your other side. “I wasn’t sure Gloria would live to see the end of the day at this rate.” 

“You’re so dramatic,” you sigh, but take his sarcasm as a sign that things are maybe not as calm as you first suspected. “Banana bread in the breakroom.” 

“If I wasn’t already married…” 

“Go before I tell Abby about this.” you laugh, bumping your shoulder against his arm. The threat was empty, just like his flirting. It used to freak you out, but after meeting Abby and seeing the way they worked together, you knew that he was harmless. Some assurance from Michael on the matter hadn’t hurt either. 

He turned on his heel, marching straight for the room you’d just left. “How bad is it?” you asked Heather, searching the central rooms instead of meeting her eyes. 

“He’s been snippy, Gloria’s caught the most of it but he’s…” she hesitated, searching for the right words. “You know how he gets.” 

You nod, knowing that this likely wasn’t an easy day for anyone. You were searching for the right thing to say when a med student appeared at Heather’s side, pulling her away. She gave you a look that said ‘I’m sorry’, but you were quick to give her one that insisted you were okay in return. 

You flopped into a chair on Dana’s right, glad to see that she was off the phone. “What can I do for you, my love?” you ask, turning the chair side to side. 

“He’s finishing up with a patient in Central 7,” she said, not looking up from her tablet. 

“And?” 

“And we both know you’ll calm him right down.” 

“High expectations,” you huff, examining a hangnail you hadn’t noticed until now. 

You felt Dana’s gaze on you before you even looked up. “I tried it all. I fed him, I plied him with coffee and that special creamer you left last week.” you fought down the heat in your cheeks, knowing that you’d been caught. You always insisted the things you left were for no one in particular, and you were a terrible liar. “We ran interference on Gloria but she’s slippery today.” 

For someone who was not employed at this hospital, Gloria was a surprisingly large thorn in your side. She had a way of choosing the most inopportune time to bother your friends, and you were left to pick up the pieces. You heaved a deep breath, steadying yourself for what you needed to do. “I’ll give it my best shot.” 

Dana laid a hand on your shoulder, squeezing firmly. “I know, doll.” 

The curtain to Central 7 thwipped open, revealing your grumpy friend rubbing at the back of his neck. He took a deep breath before shaking his hand, shoving his hands in the pockets of his zip up. You gave him a once over, noting the lines between his brows and the way his shoulders were nearly touching his ears. Gloria really did a number on him. You waited for his gaze to drift your way, not wanting to overwhelm him if he wasn’t ready to talk. You knew how to help but you weren’t keen on making him feel like he had to accept it. 

He stopped to talk to Samira, who was your favorite of the residents, not that you’d ever admit to having one in front of anyone else. After a few moments, she caught your eye over Michael’s shoulder, and her eyes lit up. She offered you a little wave, but Micahel didn’t see, already checking over his shoulder. 

You gave him a sheepish smile, doing your best not to curl in on yourself. He said a few words to Samira, nodding once before making his way to the nurse’s station. He leaned on the opposite side of the counter, shoulders hunching as he leaned on the desk. He gave you a once over, checking you over for signs of sickness or injury, half a byproduct of his job and half because he had a tendency to worry about you more than most. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” you joke, breaking the silence. 

You can see a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, but all you get is a heavy sigh. “I’m fine.” he insisted, voice heavy. 

“Mmhmm. I brought banana bread.” you gestured behind you to the staff lounge. 

He gave you one more once over, another sigh heaving from his chest. You lean forward, resting your chin on your folded hands. You do your best to look innocent, but his eyes narrow and you have to admit you’re losing the battle. “I’m fine,” he insisted. 

“You promised you wouldn’t do that with me.” your voice is soft, a stark contrast to the sounds of the ED that echoed around you. 

His head dropped, forehead resting against his arms. Your fingers twitched at your side, wanting to comfort him in a way that you knew would be more effective, but you were unsure if it would be appropriate at the moment. Probably not a good look for the attending to have his hair smoothed mid shift. After a few moments, he peeked at you, shield slipping just a bit. 

“You don’t have to tell me now, or at all for that matter, but please don’t pretend.” you took a breath, centering yourself. “I’m not going to break.”

You could almost see the thoughts swirling in his head. He’d confessed before that he worries about overwhelming you, or dulling some of your shine if he talks about a particularly bad shift. You didn’t say anything for a moment, trying to find the right words that wouldn’t spook him. You’d settled on a simple thank you, and the laughter that fought its way out of him had only made your heart warm. 

He nodded, his own deep breathing mirroring your own. You glanced at the clock, glad to see that it was late enough his shift should be ending soon. “Plans later?” He shook his head. “You wanna walk me back?” A nod. You smiled, some of the tension in your chest loosening. “I’ll be here when you’re ready. Go finish saving lives.” He smiled, backing away a few steps and nodding again. “No pressure, though!” you called after him, and his laugh washed away the remaining worry. 

“You did good, kid.” Dana said, and you swiveled your chair towards her, unaware that she had been watching. “Thought I was gonna have to send Abbot up after him.” 

Jack had mentioned their trips to the roof so casually, you weren’t sure if he was being serious at first. But when you’d stopped by with a few treats and a coffee with his name on it and found him on the wrong side of the guard rail, your heart stopped. He’d climbed back over the instant he saw you, and you did your best to quell the guilt over him having to comfort you. 

You shook your head, shooing the memory away. “Glad it didn’t come to that.” you say, tucking your hair behind your ear. 

Dana caught it, smiling to herself. “Hasn’t in a while, dear.” Her tone implied she wanted to say more, but the charge phone broke the tension and you were saved for a bit. The time passed quickly, a few med students stopping by to complement the banana bread, fielding questions about the fall menu from Princess and Perlah. 

“That bad today, huh?” you looked up from your phone to find Dr. Jack Abbot, backpack slung over his shoulder and a mischievous smirk on his face. 

“It’s been relatively calm since I got here-” 

“He usually is after you show up, long as you’re not too banged up.” There was no humor in his voice.

This time, your face went hot within seconds. It wasn’t a secret that you had a soft spot for Michael, and that he was a bit protective over you. But it wasn’t something either of you talked about. “I, um-” 

“Dr. Abbot, can I get your eyes on this?” you were saved by a med student, iPad in hand. Jack gave you a final once over before lending his full attention to the student. 

You blinked a few times, willing your thoughts to clear. You were stuck for a moment in the middle of the aisle, the sounds of heart monitors and other various equipment making it a bit difficult to think. A rough hand rested softly against your elbow, grounding you. You turned to find Michael, familiar backpack slung over his shoulder. 

“You ready?” he asked, eyebrows scrunching together above his nose. 

“If you are!” you said, mustering up some false cheer. 

“And you promised not to do that with me.” You spared him a sheepish look, knowing that you’d been caught. All you can do is nod, and let him lead you out. You waved goodbye to Dana, who was leaving in the opposite direction and did your best to focus on Michael’s hand on the small of your back, warm and sure and grounding. 

“You gonna tell me what’s got you so freaked out?” he asked once you were a few blocks from the hospital. 

“Just something Jack said.”

“Do I wanna know?”

“Probably not.” you laughed, although the nerves were still hanging around. “I thought I’d make dinner, if you’re up for it.” 

He laughed, the smile finally reaching his eyes. The little crinkles that appeared when he smiled made your stomach flip, in the most platonic way possible. “You’re a terrible cook.” 

“Fine, you make dinner then.” you huffed. He wasn’t wrong, you could make incredibly complicated french pastries, but cooking was often too freeform for you to really wrap your head around.  

“I ordered a pizza about three minutes before we left, we should beat it home by a couple minutes.” 

You smiled, looping your arm through his and doing your best not to focus too hard on how he’d referred to your place as home. There was time to worry about it later.

[linoxpudding]

Intern (Pt 5)- Lee Know

summary: as the final month of your internship begins, keeping your emotions separate from your professional role becomes harder than ever, with the collaborative concert drawing near, tensions rise—not only on stage but between you and minho, who’s desperate to salvage what's slipping away

pairing: lee know x fem!reader

genre: angst, fluff, humor

word count: 5261 words

a/n: thank you so much for loving this series! I think this might be my most popular one and it honestly means the world, I really hope the wait was worth it! Love you always, my puddings ♡

Intern Series - Part Four

~°~

Your shoes echoed softly against the polished wood floor as you slipped into the staff room. Thankfully, it was empty. The moment the door shut behind you, you exhaled like you’d been holding your breath for hours. You stood there in the middle of the room, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself, as if you were trying to physically hold all your emotions in. You didn’t even know how your legs even carried you there. Your heart was still hammering in your chest, your pulse deafening in your ears. 

What just happened?

Your chest burned. Not with sadness but with fury. You were angry. No, scratch that, you were livid.

How dare he say those words—so easily, so suddenly—like he hadn’t spent weeks pushing you away. Like he hadn’t left you in that gray zone, hovering between hope and heartbreak, constantly questioning if you were the problem. You’d convinced yourself to move on. To detach. To protect your own heart. And now, after all of it, he wanted to say I love you? Just like that?

After everything. After making you feel like you were the fool for reading too much into the way his eyes lingered, the way he looked at you like you were everything—and then turned cold the moment you stepped a little too close, dismissed you like you were the problem, the one who “flirted too much.” You’d swallowed that hurt. You moved on. You forced yourself to. And now, suddenly, he loves you?

You let out a bitter laugh, pacing the room.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. Slowly, with trembling hands, you grabbed your bag from the shelf where you’d left it earlier that morning. You needed to leave. Now.

*******************

Minho didn’t even realize how long he’d been standing there, his fingers tangled in his hair, his heart hammering in his chest like it wanted to escape his ribs. His breath came in shallow, ragged gasps, and every moment since you’d walked away played on repeat in his head, like a broken record.

I lost her.

The thought echoed in his mind, louder with each passing second.

He didn’t hear the footsteps at first. It wasn’t until Hyunjin’s voice cut through the thick silence that Minho finally snapped back to reality.

“Hyung?”

Minho didn’t respond. His eyes were fixed on the ground, his body hunched in on itself, trying to hold himself together when everything inside him was falling apart.

“Hyung, what’s going on?” Hyunjin asked again, softer this time, stepping closer. He bent down beside Minho, concern furrowing his brow.

Minho shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. “I lost her, Hyunjin... I don’t know what to do.”

Hyunjin’s heart twisted at the sight of his hyung like this, a shell of the confident, playful Minho he’d always known. The way his hyung’s hands gripped his hair tighter as he let out a pained groan, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. It was raw—painful.

“You didn’t lose her yet,” Hyunjin said, his voice firm but gentle as he put a hand on Minho’s shoulder. “I know it feels like you did. But you can still fix this.”

Minho’s face twisted in anguish, his lips trembling as he let out a breathless laugh, but it was hollow, empty. “I don’t know if I can. I... I hurt her, Jinnie. I pushed her away when all I had to do was be honest. And now... now she’s gone. She walked away from me.”

Hyunjin stayed quiet for a moment, taking in Minho’s words. He could see it now—the weight of regret, the desperation in his eyes.

“I don’t think she’s gone,” Hyunjin said carefully. “You’re both stubborn, hyung. You’ve been dancing around each other for so long. You didn’t want to admit it, and neither did she. But I don’t think it’s over. Not yet.”

Minho looked up at Hyunjin then, his eyes searching, hoping, desperate for any kind of reassurance. “But what if it is? What if I ruined it beyond repair? What if she doesn’t want me anymore?”

Hyunjin paused for a moment, then spoke quietly, “You’re not the only one who’s scared, hyung. She’s scared, too. But you’re the one who has to be brave now. Not only for her— but for yourself too. Because if you don’t try, you’ll regret it forever. You know that.”

Minho let out a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging. Hyunjin’s words hit harder than he expected. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe there was still a chance, but only if he had the courage to act.

Hyunjin stood up, offering his hand to Minho. “You’re going to fix this, hyung. But you have to start with telling her the truth. About everything. And you’ve got to be ready for whatever comes after. Don’t let her slip away without fighting for her.”

Minho’s hand trembled as he took Hyunjin’s, pulling himself up to his feet. His heart still ached, but the words hit something deep inside of him. Maybe it wasn’t too late.

*******************

You barely remembered how you got home. The keys slipped from your fingers twice before you finally managed to unlock the door. The moment you stepped inside, your knees gave out and you slid down against the wall, feeling the weight of everything crash over you.

Your phone wouldn't stop buzzing. Hyunjin kept calling again and again. You pressed your forehead against your knees, willing yourself not to break down, willing yourself not to hope. And when your phone buzzed for the tenth time, you simply reached over, turned it off, and tossed it into a corner.

You couldn't do this. Not right now. Maybe not ever.

The next morning, your body moved on autopilot. You typed a message to your supervisor with trembling fingers, lying easily.

“I have a bad migraine. Won’t be able to work on fittings today. I’ll continue working on the designs remotely.”

A polite response came back almost immediately—“Take care. Focus on feeling better.”

You needed space—space from him, from the suffocating weight of everything. It was already the final month of your internship. Just a few more weeks, and you wouldn’t have to see him again.

You told yourself that over and over like a mantra as you buried yourself in sketches, swatches, sewing patterns. The living room became your sanctuary. You stayed hunched over your work for hours, sketching until your fingers cramped, trying to come up with excuses to tell your supervisor so that you do not have to step anywhere near their dressing rooms. Anywhere near him for the remaining internship period.

One step at a time—you just had to get through this.

The major stage collaboration was coming up, the biggest project of your internship, the one that could launch your career if you gave it your all.

Let the countdown begin.

*******************

48 Hours Before the Concert

You returned to work with your heart armored in ice. 

The company was in chaos. The stylists were rushing, the managers were running, the boys from both groups were rehearsing endlessly. No one had time to notice that you’d disappeared from their orbit—well except for Minho and Hyunjin.

You avoided their practice room like it was a battlefield. Instead, you locked yourself away in the design room, sketching out costumes, adjusting stitching details—anything to keep your hands busy, anything to keep your mind from wandering.

Minho tried to talk to you. At first, you heard his footsteps. You caught glimpses of him hovering by the door. Once, when you dared to glance up, you saw him standing just outside the window, his face tense, uncertain. But you dropped your head back down before he could gather the courage to step inside. You didn’t give him a chance.

Hyunjin also tried texting, looking for you after rehearsals, even poking his head into the design room but couldn’t find you since every time, you made yourself smaller, quieter, easier to miss.

You weren’t ready to face Minho. You weren’t sure if you ever would be. 

At some point, even Hyunjin gave up trying, swept away into the madness of final rehearsals, concept checks, and the insane pressure of the collaboration stage they were preparing.

You thought you were safe. You thought you could make it to the end.

24 Hours Before the Concert

Minho was unraveling. He didn’t even bother pretending anymore. He was searching for you like a man possessed. Between rehearsals, between fittings, between breaks—his eyes flicked around desperately, always hoping to catch a glimpse.

He sent messages—one after another.

Minho: "Can we please talk?" Minho: "Just for a minute. You don’t even have to say anything. Please." Minho: "I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Y/N."

You stared at the notifications, feeling your chest clench painfully.

You left them unanswered.

Because you were afraid. Because you didn’t know if you could survive hearing more empty words. Because some wounds weren’t meant to be picked open again.

That night, Minho sat in the darkened practice room, back against the mirror. The others had gone home. He stayed. The blue glow of his phone lit up his face, your unread messages staring back at him like ghosts.

He typed. Deleted. Typed again.

His thumb hovered over the send button for a long time before he finally pressed it.

Minho: "I miss you."

Short. Honest. Bare. You never replied.

12 Hours Before the Concert

The final rehearsal was a whirlwind of noise and energy.

Seventeen and Stray Kids crisscrossed the stage, voices overlapping, last-minute notes flying as everyone tried to perfect every second. Everyone was running around doing their assigned tasks– sound engineers hovered by the sides of the stage, tweaking mic volumes and running emergency checks, stage managers paced with clipboards, calling out timing cues and adjusting placements, stylists were doing last-minute fittings.

You stayed hidden behind the racks of costumes, keeping yourself busy threading last-minute repairs on stage outfits, sketching alterations for the collaboration stages. Minho saw you once—just a glimpse—and started towards you immediately.

You ducked behind a different aisle and disappeared before he could even call your name.

He slumped against the wall, dragging a hand through his hair. His heart ached. He was trying. God, he was trying. But you wouldn’t even look at him. And he knew he deserved it.

That night, he sat alone again. Hyunjin found him there, in the same spot, legs pulled up, forehead resting on his arms.

"Hyung…" Hyunjin said softly.

Minho didn't look up.

"I don’t think she hates you," Hyunjin added after a while, voice low. "She’s hurt. But she doesn’t hate you."

"I hate myself enough for the both of us," Minho murmured.

*******************

Day of the Concert 

You were up before sunrise and rushed to the company, it was going to be a long day. You began helping the senior stylists prepare everything. You kept your head down, blending into the background.

Minho tried to find you again, between makeup, between fittings.

Once, you walked right past him. You felt his eyes—burning, aching—trailing you, but you didn’t turn around.

He watched your retreating figure with a helpless kind of yearning, his heart feeling like it was being squeezed dry.

He typed one last message.

Minho: "If you don’t want to forgive me... I understand. But I love you. I love you, Y/N."

He didn’t expect a reply. He just wanted you to know.

You read his message, but your fingers stayed frozen above the screen. You couldn't trust yourself to reply. Not yet.

Soon after, it was time to leave for the concert venue.

Everyone from your company piled into multiple vans, buzzing with pre-show nerves and excitement. Seventeen would meet you all there, coming straight from their own company.

You slipped into one of the vans early, picking a seat at the very back. You tucked your bag close, phone clutched tightly in your hands. Minho hurried behind you, heart hammering in his chest.

There was a small opening beside you. He didn't even think—he moved to sit there.

He was about to slide into the seat beside you but at the very last second, you shifted, scooting away from the aisle, pressing yourself impossibly closer to the window. Pretending like you needed more space.

Minho froze mid-motion.

He stood there, awkward, shattered, the empty space where you had been just a second ago feeling colder than anything he'd ever known.

His hand tightened around the back of the seat for a second, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. Without a word, he dropped into a seat several rows in front instead, boxed in between Jisung and Seungmin.

The van door slammed shut, the engine rumbled to life—but Minho barely noticed. He barely heard the others laughing, hyping each other up. He barely felt the road vibrating under the tires. All he could feel was you—silent, turned away from him, just a few feet out of reach.

When they finally pulled up behind the venue, staff started piling out. You were the first one to slip off the van, blending into the chaos of bodies and equipment and flashing lights.

Minho lingered for a second in the seat, swallowing thickly as he watched you disappear into the crowd.

He had the urge to call out your name. He almost did. But he bit it back, lowering his head, heart cracking silently in his chest.

*******************

The air backstage crackled with adrenaline—stylists rushing, cords tangling, outfits getting last-minute steamed.

You were helping your supervisor adjust Felix’s jacket, smoothing the sleeves, checking the fit one last time. Your hands worked automatically, your mind floating somewhere far away.

Across the crowded room, Minho kept staring at you longingly. For a second—just a second—he thought maybe you’d let him. Maybe you’d glance at him. But when you shifted away, without even looking at him, it felt like a punch to the gut. Like watching a door slowly, painfully close in his face.

He sat down numbly at the makeup table, the bustling room fading into the background and all he could think was:

"I don’t blame you... but please, just once—look back at me."

Meanwhile, Hyunjin, sitting a few chairs away, was locked in the makeup artist’s grip, a brush sweeping across his cheekbones. But he still tried. He still tried to catch your eyes, frantic and desperate, needing you to see him. You lifted your head, sensing the weight of his stare and all you could offer him was a small, polite smile. Nothing more.

You could tell Hyunjin wanted to call out to you, to jump out of his chair, to explain everything he hadn’t been able to. But the makeup artist was sternly holding his chin still, murmuring warnings about smudging his foundation. He couldn’t move.

And so he watched you quietly, heartbreak pooling in his chest, as you finished adjusting Felix’s jacket...and turned away without another glance.

*******************

1 Hour Before the Concert

You had just grabbed a coffee from the catering area backstage, trying to escape the buzz of frantic preparations. The area was buzzing with energy, crew members darting from one spot to another, but you found a small moment of calm amidst it all. The food table was lined with snacks, coffee, and drinks, where you’d managed to find a brief respite. You were leaning against the counter, sipping your drink slowly, when the door to the room burst open with a loud bang.

Hyunjin stormed inside, his eyes wild and intense, looking like he had been running through the entire venue. His hair was slightly tousled, chest heaving with quick breaths as if he was on a mission.

Before you could even react, he reached for your wrist, gripping it firmly and pulling you out of the room.

“Come with me,” he commanded, urgency lacing his voice.

"Hyunjin—!" you gasped, stumbling after him. "What the hell are you doing?!"

"You’re done hiding!" he snapped, not even slowing down.

He pulled you into an empty band room backstage, and shoved the door shut behind you, trapping you inside. You barely caught your balance, turning to glare at him—but the look on Hyunjin’s face made your heart falter.

He looked furious. And desperate.

"You need to stop running, Y/N," he said, voice sharp, shaking slightly with emotion. "You think you’re protecting yourself? You’re just hurting both of you."

You crossed your arms, biting the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from crying. "It’s not that simple, Hyunjin—"

"YES, it is!" he cut you off, voice cracking, "You’re mad. You’re hurt. I get it. But Minho hyung—"

His voice broke again and he punched the wall lightly with the side of his fist, breathing hard.

"He’s dying," Hyunjin said, lower now, almost broken. "He’s breaking in front of us. He can't sleep. He can't eat. Every time he sees you, it's like someone rips another piece out of him."

You squeezed your eyes shut, fighting the tears threatening to spill.

"You think you’re the only one hurting?" Hyunjin asked, stepping closer, so close you could feel the sadness vibrating off him. "He’s been tearing himself apart for days, trying to find a way to fix this, and you won’t even LOOK at him."

You shook your head helplessly, voice cracking, "He’s the one who—"

"He knows," Hyunjin cut you off desperately, "He knows he fucked up. He hates himself for it. You think it’s easy for him to stand there and watch you pretend like he doesn’t exist?"

You stared at him, heart pounding, breath shaking.

Hyunjin whispered, “He loves you, Y/N.”

“No, he doesn’t.” you shot back. “He saw Mingyu and got territorial. That’s not the same thing as love.”

Hyunjin’s voice softened a little, but the intensity stayed, "Listen to me. Minho hyung…he’s dying inside. He’s been trying to talk to you for days. He's not playing games. He’s not saying those things because he's jealous of Mingyu or whatever else you think."

You bit your lip, hard. "Then why, Hyunjin? Why now? After everything?"

"Because he’s an idiot who thought he didn’t deserve you," Hyunjin said, voice raw. "He pushed you away because he was scared he’d ruin you. Because he thought you’d be better off without him."

Your heart stuttered painfully.

"And seeing you laugh with Mingyu made him realize exactly what he was about to lose," Hyunjin continued. "Not because of jealousy. Because he saw you happy and he wasn’t the one making you happy anymore."

The lump in your throat grew unbearable.

"He really loves you, Y/N," Hyunjin said simply. "He’s loved you this whole time. He just didn’t know how to believe he was worthy of it."

Your vision blurred.

Then, Hyunjin went on to explain everything — how Minho had been in love with you all along, how he had been miserable every time you avoided him backstage, how he stayed up at night overthinking every glance you refused to give him. How he regretted what he said at that freaking party every single day, hated himself for it, how the weight of it had been crushing him more and more every time you turned away.

Hearing it laid out like that shattered something inside you. It wasn’t just regret in Minho’s lingering stares. It was love — raw, desperate, aching love. And it had always been there, even when you were too hurt to see it.

You felt suffocated. 

"Don’t do this," Hyunjin whispered, almost pleading now, "don’t walk away without hearing him out. If you ever loved him…even a little, give him the chance to explain."

You felt your walls crumbling under the weight of it all. Without another word, you tore past Hyunjin, sprinting down the hall.

You didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop. Not until you found him. You tore down the hall, nearly tripping over your own feet, chest heaving, heart racing so hard it hurt.

You didn’t know where you were going—you just knew you had to find him.

*******************

The greenroom was quiet—eerily so. Everyone else was getting hair and makeup in other room, doing last checks, hyping each other up. Minho sat there alone, away from everyone, for a moment. 

Meanwhile, you kept running— the backstage corridors blurred as you rushed past, heart hammering, breath coming in short gasps. Somewhere, you could hear the muffled sounds of last-minute chaos—stylists calling for touch-ups, managers barking out directions, the low hum of excitement—but it all felt far away, like you were underwater.

Finally, after checking room after room, your footsteps faltered in front of a greenroom tucked away from the rest. The door was slightly ajar, and you prayed he was inside. You pushed it open with trembling fingers, and your breath caught painfully in your throat.

There he was. Minho.

Sitting alone on the bench, fully dressed in his final concert outfit, the dark, sleek fabric molding perfectly to his figure. His mic was already clipped to his collar, earpieces in place, as if he were ready to go onstage any second. But he wasn’t moving.

He was hunched forward, elbows resting heavily on his knees, staring blankly at the floor like the world had already ended and he was the only one left to mourn it.

The second he heard the door creak wider, his head snapped up.

He whispered your name, "Y/N..."

So soft. So broken. Like he didn’t believe you were real. It shattered you.

Before you even knew what you were doing, you rushed across the room, and before he could even speak, your hands were cupping his jaw and your lips crashed into his.

Minho stiffened for half a second, completely shocked and then his arms were around you, pulling you flush against him, kissing you back with everything he had. Your fingers tangled in his hair, your lips trembling against his with everything you hadn’t said, hadn’t dared to feel until now. 

When you finally pulled back, panting, you pressed your forehead to his and whispered, “I hate you.”

He laughed, hoarse and teary-eyed. “I know.”

“I hate how long it took you.”

“I hate me too.”

“But I love you.”

Minho stilled.

And then his arms wrapped around you tighter than they ever had. “I love you more,” he murmured. “And I swear I’ll prove it every day from now on.”

You smiled, your eyes full of tears and joy and relief. “You better.”

Minho’s voice was rough, barely a whisper as he spoke. “I’m sorry... I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

You blinked, your chest tightening with all the emotions that had built up. "I know, Minho. Just... show me. Show me you're not going to run away again."

His hand gently cupped your face again, his thumb brushing over your lips softly. “I won’t run. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Slowly, he leaned in again, this time more carefully, his lips brushing against yours with a softer, more deliberate motion, like he was savoring the moment, as if this was the first time.

The door slammed open.

"AHHHHHH! MY EYES!" Jisung screamed, dramatically throwing himself against the door frame like he was shielding himself from radiation.

You jolted apart, both of you wide-eyed and breathless.

Felix appeared behind Jisung, peeking into the room with wide, curious eyes.

"Hyung," Felix said, "We need to be on stage in like twenty five minutes." Then he glanced between you two and grinned brightly. "Also, um, HOW did this happen?"

Jisung gasped, "Like LIKE… you were literally at war yesterday! HOW are you kissing now? I need DETAILS!"

"Was it a secret make-up plan?? Did someone blackmail someone? TELL ME EVERYTHING—"

"Channie hyung’s gonna kill us if we’re late!" Felix laughed, tugging on Jisung’s sleeve, but he was also bouncing on his toes, eager for gossip.

"And Y/N, you have to explain later, okay? Like every single detail. Every single one."

Somewhere down the hall, you heard Chan’s voice yelling, "WHERE THE HELL IS EVERYONE?"

Minho groaned under his breath, leaning down to quickly kiss your forehead—just one soft second—and then he grabbed his mic pack and jogged toward the door.

But as he passed you, he whispered under his breath, only for you to hear, "Don’t go anywhere. I’m not letting you slip away again."

You stood there, heart pounding, lips still tingling, while Jisung whined the whole way down the hallway, “Yah! I’m serious! I'm coming for answers after the show!”

And you just laughed, happier than you had been in days.

*******************

The final performance was just moments away. Ten minutes give or take. You stood backstage, heart racing—not from nerves, but from everything that had happened.

Minho adjusted his mic, glancing at you with a silent question in his eyes. You stepped closer, pulling him aside for a moment, fingers gently brushing against his as you whispered, “Earlier, when Mingyu and I were talking… he wasn’t flirting.”

Minho blinked, caught off guard.

“He said he could see something going on between you and me. That he’d back off. And… that maybe I hadn’t noticed it myself yet.”

Minho let out a breathy laugh, hand raking through his hair. “God. I really need to control my damn jealousy.”

You smiled softly, Minho flushed slightly before saying, “He wasn’t wrong, though. About the heart eyes.”

You blushed then gently nudged his arm. “Come on, make peace with him. You two are too handsome to be fighting in the middle of rehearsals.”

Minho rolled his eyes but smiled, nodding. He walked over to Mingyu, who was talking with Joshua by the corner while adjusting his blazer, and you watched from afar as Minho gave a sincere apology. Mingyu accepted it with a grin and a clap on Minho’s shoulder, flashing you a wink behind him. Everything just… settled.

And then, the concert. The adrenaline. The stage lights. The roars of the crowd.

Both the collaboration stages and the groups' individual performances were breathtaking— hours of relentless energy, passion, and magic spilling out onto that stage. The entire venue was electric, a sea of waving lightsticks and screaming fans, every second more exhilarating than the last.

You danced and moved like nothing else mattered. But every time your eyes found Minho’s on stage, there was a knowing smile—one only meant for you.

After the final bow, the cheers still ringing in your ears, you were barely backstage for a minute when Minho grabbed your wrist gently and whispered, “Come with me.”

"Minho," you giggled breathlessly, "where are we even going?!"

"Somewhere no one will find us," he muttered determinedly, glancing around until he spotted a half-open door.

Without warning, he pulled you inside.

“I’ve been waiting all night,” he said, breathless.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t shy. It wasn’t careful.

It was urgent, desperate, his hands cupping your face as if he’d been starving for your lips. Your back hit the wall lightly as you gasped against his mouth, hands sliding under his jacket and gripping his shirt.

His lips moved feverishly over yours, like he was trying to pour every emotion he’d buried into this moment. When he finally pulled back just enough to breathe, he whispered against your lips, “You have no idea how crazy I’ve been going… not being able to do this.”

You let out a breathless laugh, tugging him back in. “Then don’t stop.”

He didn’t.

That kiss was everything—the apology, the promise, the confession, and the beginning. All in one.

*******************

The concert had ended, the cheers still echoing faintly in the corridors as everyone bustled around, packing up, high-fiving, celebrating.

Mingyu leaned against the wall near the dressing room door, sipping water and scrolling through his phone when a voice interrupted him.

"You were amazing up there," she said, her tone warm and teasing.

He looked up to see one of the stage crew members—someone he’d briefly chatted with before—smiling at him, her hands tucked behind her back, eyes bright.

Mingyu blinked, a little surprised. “Oh thank you. You too, the transitions were super smooth today.”

She giggled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I did my best. But I was watching you the whole time.”

Mingyu raised a brow, a lopsided smile tugging at his lips. “Oh yeah?”

She stepped a little closer, playfully nudging his arm. “You always smile so much when you perform. It’s contagious.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess that’s a good thing.”

She tilted her head. “You doing anything after this?”

For a second, Mingyu glanced toward the dressing room, where laughter echoed—where his bandmates were chattering.

Then he looked back at her, his smile softening. “Not yet,” he said. “But I could be.”

Her grin widened.

And just like that, maybe Mingyu’s heart started to heal too.

*******************

Minho’s lips trailed kisses along your jaw, his hands framing your face as if he still couldn’t believe this was real. Your arms were wrapped around his neck, breath mingling as you leaned into him, every inch of space between you practically non-existent.

The air was hot, your heart pounding louder than any concert speaker. His forehead rested against yours, breathless as he whispered, “I’m not letting go of you again. Ever.”

You smiled, pulling him back into another kiss — slower this time, but no less intense. The kind that made your knees weak and your brain fuzzy, the kind that left no question about how badly he wanted you — and how badly you wanted him.

Your hands tangled in his hair, his arms locked tightly around your waist, pressing you against the wall.

It was messy and breathless, both of you still slightly shaking from the adrenaline of the concert.

"Missed you," he murmured against your mouth between kisses, voice hoarse.

You were just about to mumble "me too" when a loud knock rattled the door.

Minho froze mid-kiss, groaning against your lips. You stifled a laugh.

“Hyung?” Han’s voice called, too amused for your liking. “Minho hyung, will this continue all night or should we leave snacks outside the door?”

You buried your face in Minho’s chest as he exhaled sharply through his nose.

“Minho hyung is seriously down bad,” Hyunjin chimed in, voice loud and dramatic.

“Excuse you,” Han called out, raising an eyebrow. “Your bestie Y/N is equally down bad.”

You playfully smacked Minho's chest, laughing into his shirt. “Did your wife just out me like that?”

Minho groaned, forehead dropping against your shoulder in defeat, "Kill me," he muttered. "Right now. Just kill me."

You both heard Han and Hyunjin start bickering again — something about who was more down bad between you and Minho — and you couldn't help but giggle quietly against Minho, your heart feeling so full you thought it might burst.

“YAH!” Minho finally shouted, voice filled with exasperated affection. “You want to die? Leave us alone!”

A pause.

Then shuffling footsteps and exaggerated gagging noises as they walked off. You and Minho looked at each other and were shaking with laughter, tangled in each other and unwilling to part.

You sighed happily, still held close. “We really are that bad, huh?”

Minho leaned in, brushing his nose against yours. “Maybe. But I’m not sorry.”

Minho tightened his arms around you, swaying you both lazily, “I love you, you know,” he murmured, so gently it melted into your skin.

A big smile broke across your face.

“I love you too, Minho,” you whispered back, like it was the easiest thing in the world — because with him finally, it was.

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

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[chrissssssmut]

Hi can I please request a mommy haseul with a mommy kink smut and she’s a older sister friend smut to please

Who's A Good Boy?

Haseul x Male Reader

AN: Last story for this week! Definitely need to prioritize resting for now! Thank you all for your nonstop support!🫶💗

You were sprawled across the living room couch, mindlessly thumbing through your phone when you heard the familiar jingle of keys at the door.

“Y/N, can you get that?” your sister shouted from her bedroom.

You grunted but got up anyway, dragging your feet toward the door. As you opened it, the late afternoon sun outlined a figure you recognized immediately — Haseul.

“Oh. Hey, Y/N,” she said, flashing that warm, slightly mischievous smile she always wore when she was around you. She had on a black tank top and faded jeans that hugged her hips a little too perfectly.

“Hey,” you mumbled, trying (and failing) to keep your eyes from wandering.

God, she looked even better than you remembered.

Haseul had been your sister’s best friend for years, ever since they were teenagers. Now, in her late twenties, she had this air about her — mature, confident, almost teasingly out of reach. You, on the other hand, were barely twenty, still figuring yourself out... and very, very aware of the way she looked at you sometimes when she thought you weren’t paying attention.

“Your sister inside?” she asked, stepping past you into the house without waiting for an answer. Her perfume trailed behind her — something soft, floral, and devastating.

“Yeah,” you croaked, shutting the door.

Haseul dropped her bag on the counter and turned to face you fully, her hands on her hips, appraising you with a playful smirk.

“You’ve gotten taller,” she noted, almost impressed. “Look at you, all grown up.”

You swallowed hard. “Yeah... guess so.”

She laughed lightly, a sound that curled into your stomach and made it twist. “Still shy though, huh?” she teased, stepping closer, eyes twinkling.

You tried to play it cool. “I’m not shy.”

“Hmm. Sure you’re not,” she said, reaching out to ruffle your hair like you were still some kid.

You stiffened under her touch, and Haseul seemed to notice — her hand lingered, her fingers curling slightly into your hair before she pulled back.

There was a beat of silence. Heavy. Tense.

"You staying for dinner?" you asked, desperate to fill the space.

She shrugged. "Depends. Your sister invited me over to catch up. But she's probably gonna drag me into one of her endless K-drama marathons again," she said, rolling her eyes. "Maybe I’ll get bored and hang out with you instead."

You tried not to read too much into it.

Later that evening, after a greasy takeout dinner and exactly three episodes of a ridiculous drama, your sister was passed out on the couch, soft snores filling the room.

You were in the kitchen, sipping on a Coke, when Haseul walked in behind you. She leaned against the counter, arms folded under her chest, pushing her cleavage up in a way you definitely noticed.

“She’s knocked out cold,” Haseul said, smirking. “Typical.”

You chuckled awkwardly, setting your can down.

There was a long, weighted pause.

"You know..." she started, tilting her head slightly, her eyes glinting. "You've been looking at me all night."

Your heart dropped into your stomach.

"N-No I haven't," you stammered, cheeks burning.

She pushed off the counter, closing the space between you in two slow steps. Her voice dropped, velvety and dangerous.

"Don’t lie, Y/N. It's cute, but don't lie to me."

You were backed up against the counter, your hands gripping the edge so tightly your knuckles whitened.

Haseul leaned in, so close you could feel the warmth of her breath against your skin.

"You think about me sometimes, don't you?" she whispered. "When you’re alone."

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

And when you didn’t answer, she smiled — slow, satisfied.

"I knew it," she purred.

You squeezed your eyes shut. "Fuck..."

Haseul chuckled, low and throaty. "So fucking cute. Look at you."

She reached out, cupping your face in one hand, forcing you to look at her.

"You know what you need, baby boy?" she cooed, thumbing your lower lip. "You need someone to take care of you."

The words hit you like a punch to the gut — shame, desire, hunger all coiling together.

You whimpered, a sound you couldn't even stop.

Haseul’s smile widened.

"You want me to have my way with you, don't you?"

You nodded helplessly.

She leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "You can call me Mommy."

A shiver ripped through you.

"Say it," she demanded softly.

"...Mommy," you whispered.

Her eyes flashed with dark triumph. "Good boy."

Things escalated fast after that.

She pulled you by your shirt into your bedroom, shutting the door softly behind her.

Haseul sat down on the edge of your bed, legs spread just slightly, a silent invitation. She crooned at you like you were something small and helpless.

"C'mere, baby."

You stumbled forward, kneeling between her thighs.

"Take off my shoes," she commanded gently.

You obeyed, trembling hands unlacing her sneakers and slipping them off one by one. She watched you with half-lidded eyes, the corners of her lips curling.

"Good boy," she murmured, threading her fingers through your hair once again.

"You wanna make Mommy feel good, don't you?"

You nodded, dazed.

"Use your mouth," she ordered.

You looked up at her, eyes wide, pleading.

"Please..." you whispered.

"Please what?"

"Please let me, Mommy."

She laughed, a rich, sinful sound.

"God, you're precious."

Without another word, she spread her legs wider, dragging you in.

You started slow, pressing kisses up her thighs, worshipping her like she deserved.

She didn't wear any panties — that became obvious fast.

When you hesitated, overwhelmed by the reality of it, she grabbed a fistful of your hair and forced your face into her pussy.

"Don't be shy now, baby," she growled. "Mommy needs you."

You licked eagerly, messily, the obscene sounds filling the room.

Haseul moaned low in her throat, rocking her hips against your mouth.

"That's it... that's my good little boy," she gasped. "Eat Mommy’s pussy nice and deep."

You obeyed, tongue fucking into her, desperate to make her proud.

At some point, she started riding your face, grinding down against you mercilessly.

She came with a loud, raw cry, tugging your hair so hard your scalp ached.

When she finally let go, you collapsed back, panting, face soaked with her.

She looked down at you, smiling wickedly.

"You look so pretty like that," she purred.

But she wasn’t done.

Not even close.

She pushed you back onto the bed, stripping you down with quick, efficient hands.

"You wanna cum, baby?" she asked sweetly, climbing on top of you.

You nodded desperately.

"Not yet," she said, smirking.

She gripped your cock, stroking it slow, agonizingly light.

"You cum when I say."

You whined, bucking your hips up, but she pinned you down easily.

"Poor baby," she cooed. "You’re just a needy little thing, huh?"

"Yes, Mommy," you moaned.

"Beg for it," she ordered.

You were already half crying.

"Please, Mommy, please let me cum, I need it, I need you..."

She kissed you hard, teeth scraping your lip, swallowing your desperate whimpers.

And then — finally — she sank down on you, tight and hot and perfect.

You both moaned in unison.

She rode you hard, slapping your face lightly when you got too loud.

"Quiet, baby," she hissed. "You don’t wanna wake your sister, do you?"

You shook your head wildly, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes from how good it felt.

She clenched around you, rolling her hips just right, dragging you toward the edge over and over without letting you fall.

"Not yet," she warned whenever you got close. "Hold it for Mommy."

It was torture. Blissful, delicious torture.

Finally, when you were practically sobbing, she leaned down, lips brushing yours.

"Cum for Mommy, baby," she whispered.

You exploded with a choked cry, body arching up into hers helplessly.

She moaned against your mouth, milking every drop from you, riding you through it slow and cruel and perfect.

When it was over, you lay there boneless, trembling, barely breathing.

Haseul kissed your forehead, stroking your hair.

"Good boy," she murmured. "Mommy’s so proud of you."

You whimpered softly, clinging to her.

And in that moment, you knew — you’d do anything, anything to keep her.

The night ended with you curled up against her, body spent, mind spinning, your head resting on her soft chest while she lazily played with your hair.

You didn’t even remember falling asleep — just the warm feeling of her body wrapped around yours, her whispering sweet, sinful things against your ear until you drifted off.

The next morning, you woke to an empty bed.

For a moment, you panicked — was it a dream?

Had you just imagined everything?

You sat up quickly, looking around. Your sheets were a mess, your body sore in the best way possible. No... it was real.

You stumbled out of bed, pulling on a hoodie and some sweats, and shuffled out of your room.

Downstairs, you heard the soft sounds of laughter. Familiar voices.

You crept down the stairs, heart hammering.

There she was — Haseul — sitting at the kitchen table, a mug of coffee in her hands, her hair pulled back in a messy bun. She was wearing one of your sister’s oversized t-shirts and a pair of loose shorts. She looked… innocent. Sweet.

Like she hadn't ruined you last night.

Your sister was across from her, animatedly talking about some nonsense, oblivious to anything.

Haseul caught your eye as you hovered by the stairs.

She gave you a sweet little smile — casual, friendly — like she was just your sister's friend and not the woman who had made you cum so hard you saw stars.

You flushed and ducked your head, quickly moving past them toward the living room.

The whole day was hell.

You couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Every time you heard her laugh, every time she brushed past you, you remembered the feel of her body, the sound of her voice commanding you.

Your cock twitched helplessly in your pants more than once, and you had to hide in the bathroom just to calm yourself down.

Haseul acted like nothing had happened. Laughing, chatting, helping your sister bake cookies in the kitchen like she wasn’t the dirtiest, filthiest woman you’d ever met.

It drove you crazy.

Later that afternoon, you finally escaped to your room, slamming the door shut behind you. You flopped face-first onto the bed and groaned into your pillow.

You had no idea how you were going to survive this.

Then you heard the door click softly behind you.

You twisted around — heart leaping into your throat — just as Haseul slipped inside, closing it quietly.

She locked the door.

You barely had time to sit up before she was on you — pushing you back down with one hand against your chest.

"Missed me, baby?" she cooed, eyes glinting wickedly.

You opened your mouth to speak, but she just shushed you gently, fingers brushing your lips.

"Good boys don't talk unless Mommy says," she said sweetly.

You whimpered, nodding.

She smiled — slow and dangerous.

"Pull your pants down," she ordered.

You hesitated for half a second.

A mistake.

Her eyes darkened, and she grabbed a fistful of your hoodie, yanking you closer.

"I said," she whispered, her voice razor-sharp, "pull your pants down."

You scrambled to obey, shoving your sweats and boxers down to your thighs, your cock already hard and leaking.

"Poor thing," she purred, sitting on the edge of the bed beside you. "Been thinking about Mommy all day, huh?"

"Y-Yes, Mommy," you gasped.

She wrapped her fingers around your cock — firm, possessive — and you almost cried from the contact.

"Shh," she soothed, stroking you slow, agonizing. "Mommy’s got you."

You bucked your hips up instinctively, but she pinned you down with her other hand, keeping you completely at her mercy.

"You’re so needy," she murmured, pumping you with lazy, practiced strokes. "You can’t even think straight without me, can you?"

You shook your head frantically.

She smirked, leaning down to kiss the tip of your cock, just once, wickedly light.

Then —

Knock knock knock.

"Hey, Haseul!" your sister's voice called through the door. "Have you seen Y/N? I can't find him anywhere."

You froze, terror flashing through you.

Haseul didn’t even flinch.

Without missing a beat, she leaned down and whispered against your cock, lips brushing your skin.

"Stay quiet for Mommy," she breathed.

Then she raised her voice — calm, casual. "Nope! Haven't seen him!" she called sweetly.

She twisted her hand just right, making you jerk under her touch.

"Maybe he's outside," Haseul added cheerfully, still stroking you slow and cruel while your sister lingered.

"Okay, thanks!" your sister said, her footsteps retreating.

The second the hallway fell silent again, Haseul leaned back and smirked down at you.

"You like that, baby?" she teased. "Getting Mommy’s hand while your sister’s right outside?"

You whined, tears pricking the corners of your eyes from how badly you needed to cum.

"You wanna cum for Mommy?" she asked mockingly, speeding up her strokes slightly.

"Yes, Mommy," you gasped, barely able to hold on.

She laughed low, almost fondly.

"Then be a good boy and beg for it," she purred.

You sobbed, hips trembling.

"Please, Mommy, please let me cum, I'll be good, I'll do anything, I swear —"

She cut you off with a hard twist of her wrist, sending you spiraling.

"Cum, baby," she said sweetly. "Show Mommy how much you need her."

You exploded with a broken moan, shooting thick ropes across your stomach, your thighs, your hoodie.

Haseul kept stroking you through it, milking you dry, until you were shivering and whimpering.

Only then did she let go, wiping her slicked hand on your hoodie with a smirk.

"Messy boy," she teased, standing up and smoothing down her shorts.

You lay there, utterly wrecked.

Haseul bent down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

"Clean yourself up," she whispered. "And come downstairs when you're ready."

She unlocked the door and slipped out, leaving you there — used, humiliated, and absolutely desperate for more.

You lay there for a long time after she left — heart pounding, cum cooling sticky on your skin, your mind a total wreck.

Haseul.

Your sister’s best friend.

Your Mommy.

You wiped yourself off as best you could, threw on a fresh hoodie, and stumbled downstairs, still a little shaky. You didn’t even dare to meet anyone’s eyes as you slumped into a chair at the kitchen table, mumbling something about being tired.

Haseul was already there, sitting pretty as you pleased — sipping her coffee like she hadn’t just made you cum your brains out minutes ago.

She caught your eye once — just once — and gave you a small, secret smile that made your entire body light up.

God.

You were so fucked.

The next few days were torture in the most delicious, aching way.

Every time Haseul was over — which was often — she played it cool around your sister. Laughing, teasing, helping around the house.

But when no one was looking?

Her hand would brush low against your back.

She’d lean in too close to whisper a question.

She'd call you "baby" in this soft, syrupy voice that had you half-hard instantly.

Sometimes she'd just look at you — that knowing, wicked look that made your knees weak.

You were living in a constant state of panic and desperate horniness.

Worse, she didn’t let you do anything about it.

One night, you tried to sneak into the bathroom after dinner, needing to take care of yourself badly — only to find her waiting for you outside the door, arms crossed, smirking.

"Ah ah," she whispered, tapping your forehead with a single finger. "Good boys don't cum unless Mommy says."

You whimpered, helpless.

She just kissed your cheek and sauntered away, hips swinging tauntingly.

It all came to a head about a week later.

Your sister had gone out for the evening — some late-night shopping with friends. You were home alone. You thought you were safe.

You were wrong.

You were sitting on the couch in the dark, flipping mindlessly through TV channels, when the door clicked open.

You turned — heart leaping — and there she was.

Haseul.

Wearing nothing but an oversized hoodie — your hoodie, you realized belatedly — and thigh-high socks.

No pants.

No bra.

Nothing else.

She smiled, slow and hungry, closing the door behind her.

"Miss me, baby?" she purred, voice thick with promise.

You scrambled to your feet, throat dry.

"H-Haseul, I — my sister’s —"

"Out," she interrupted smoothly, already stalking toward you. "We’ve got time."

You backed up until the back of your knees hit the couch, and then you were falling onto it, Haseul crawling over you like a predator.

"Been teasing you all week," she murmured, straddling your lap. "Poor thing. Bet you’re about ready to break, huh?"

You whimpered, nodding frantically.

She smirked, grabbing your chin in her hand, forcing you to look up at her.

"You gonna be good for Mommy tonight?" she asked sweetly.

"Yes, Mommy," you gasped.

"Good boy."

She kissed you then — deep, messy, claiming — her hips grinding slow over your rapidly hardening cock.

You clutched at her hips, dizzy with need.

She pulled back just enough to smirk at you.

"Take it out," she ordered, voice dark and commanding.

Your hands fumbled at your sweats, shoving them down just enough to free yourself.

She licked her lips when she saw you — hard, throbbing, leaking for her.

"Fuck, you’re pretty," she whispered.

Without warning, she shifted her hips and sank down onto you — bare, wet, hot — bottoming out in one smooth motion.

You both moaned loudly.

"You feel that, baby?" she gasped, grinding down hard. "Mommy’s pussy’s all yours."

You nodded wildly, clutching her tighter, barely able to breathe.

She rode you slow at first — slow and deep, like she had all the time in the world to ruin you.

Her hands tangled in your hair, tugging, pulling, owning you.

"You’re mine," she whispered against your mouth.

"Say it."

"I-I'm yours, Mommy," you cried, body shaking.

She clenched around you hard, making you sob.

"You don’t cum until Mommy says," she warned.

"Yes, Mommy," you gasped.

The pace picked up — rougher, faster — her nails digging into your shoulders as she fucked you into the couch.

You were so close, so fucking close, but you held on for dear life, desperate to obey.

"God, look at you," she panted, riding you harder. "So fucking good for me. My perfect little boy."

You whimpered, tears leaking down your cheeks from the effort of holding back.

She leaned in, kissing them away — sweet, almost tender — before biting your lower lip sharply.

"You wanna cum, baby?" she crooned.

"Yes, Mommy," you sobbed.

"You need Mommy to let you?"

"Yes, yes, please, Mommy, please —"

She ground down hard, clenching tight.

"Cum for Mommy," she whispered.

You shattered — body jerking up into hers, cock throbbing helplessly as you filled her, your mind blanking out with pleasure.

She rode you through every spasm, milking every drop from you, holding you tight against her chest while you cried out brokenly.

When it was over, you were limp — utterly spent.

She stayed seated on you, stroking your hair, whispering praises into your ear.

"My good boy," she murmured.

"My sweet little baby."

You clung to her, trembling, completely undone.

And then, when you thought you couldn’t possibly take any more, she leaned down and whispered something that made your heart lurch.

"Next time," she purred, "Mommy’s gonna tie you up."

You whimpered weakly, already throbbing again at just the thought.

Haseul smiled, wicked and soft all at once, rocking her hips just slightly — still so full of you — and laughed when you whimpered again.

You were so fucked.

And you loved it.

[ollyissleepy]

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐟 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫

pairings: platonic yandere!batfam x uninterested!male!reader summary: After being caught red handed stealing, (name) finds himself in the Wayne Manor, surrounded by his new family. (Name)'s disinterested in bonding is met with equally not caring siblings and father. As he spends his days alone, (name) realises his new family might care much more than he originally thought the did. cw: stealing, swearing, underage smoking, reader commits a crime a/n: look at him!! he's finally talking to someone who isn't Alfred!!! I'm so proud!!! proofreading? what's that? based on this idea I had

part: one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight

"And so we meet again. "Commissioner Gordon sits down across from the boy, setting paper cups on the table. "And all thanks to Batman."

"What would we ever do without him?" (name) sneered, taking a sip of the tea from one of the cups. "I confess to whatever you want to charge me with, by the way."

"There's no need for you to do that. Your father already handled everything." Gordon places a stack of paper on the desk, encouraging the boy to take a look at them.

(Name) clicked his tongue as he was reading over the papers. Bruce Wayne really did handle everything. The boy wanted to laugh at 'his father's' attempt at keeping up the reputation and sweeping everything under the rug. There's a knock on the door, and, after receiving permission from the commissioner, police officers enter the room.

"Somebody's here to take him home," a man dressed in uniform announced, his back straight and ready for the next orders.

Gordon waved the police officer away, signalling for the teenager to stand up. The two of them walk down the hallway to the front of the station. At the front, he met with the butler, his eyes scanning over (name) from the moment he came into view. Alfred and the commissioner exchange polite greetings.

"I hope he didn't give you much trouble," Alfred said, looking over the boy one more time, making sure he hadn't gotten hurt on the days he was alone in the city.

"Don't worry about it." Gordon smiles, placing a hand on (name)'s shoulder. "He was worse before you guys took him in. This time we even got to chat a bit." His voice sounded almost proud of the progress he made with the boy.

Alfred takes (name) to the car that he parked right at the front door of the police station. The boy wonders if he should sit in the passenger seat, next to the butler. He decides to sit in the back again, at the chance that the man is mad at (name) for giving him more work. Alfred sits down at the driver's seat, putting the keys into the ignition, not starting the engine. He turns his body around towards the teenager, his eyes filled with something (name) didn't quite recognise anymore. 

"Please, don't run away like that. Ever." The butler's voice is low, but the sharpness of it doesn't reach the man's eyes. "We were all so worried."

"Worried? If it wasn't for that fool in latex, we wouldn't be talking right now." (Name)'s voice comes out sharper than the butler's. The boy's brows furrowed at the, what in his eyes is, a fake care.

The butler doesn't reply, just stares at the boy. He not only wasn't expecting (name) to speak like him that way, but he also wasn't informed that one of the vigilantes in the city was the one that brought him into the station. The older man felt his heart squeezing, knowing that the boy took his worry and care for (name)'s wellbeing as something that wasn't real. Wasn't true.

"Alfred—" (name) tried to speak, knowing that he took this too far.

Alfred didn't let him finish, turning around and starting the car. (Name) was left alone in the backseat, filled with regret over his own words.

The ride to the manor feels worse than the first one. Instead of a man at the driver's seat, who had one poor attempt at bonding, it was Alfred behind the steering wheel. The same man who had respected every boundary (name) had set. The man who made the boys short stay in the manor somewhat bearable. The teenager recognises that he should've voiced his frustrations in a different way. And most certainly, not by lashing out at an older man, who hasn't done anything to use him.

Alfred drives into the garage, parking the car between two others, each just as luxurious as the one he was driving. (Name) braces himself, taking a deep breath before leaving the car. The butler barely manages to make it to the side of the car the boy was sitting in when the teenager was already out of the vehicle. Alfred, after noticing that (name) doesn't need help getting out of the car, starts walking away. The boy doesn't let him go too far, grabbing his hand to stop him.

"I'm sorry." (Name) doesn't dare to look at the butler's face, too ashamed. "I shouldn't have said that. I know out of all of them, you would look for me."

Alfred smiles softly. Even though he still hasn't figured out the way (name)'s mind works, the butler is happy with the progress the boy seems to be making. The man puts his hand on (name)'s shoulder, squeezing it. The teenager's head shots up, surprised at Alfred's reaction to his apology. He was expecting many things: a cold shoulder, some shouting. Not this. Not the warm hand on his shoulder, not the smile on the butler's face. (Name) became even more confused when the man offered him some tea and cookies, acting almost as if he fully forgave the boy for his tantrum. 

During their tea, Alfred had promised to show (name) where the library is located in the manor, hoping that the boy would have something to do and also to check if he was taught how to read. And that could help with finding potential tutors for the teenager, allowing him to gain any sort of education. Bringing the boy to the library, Alfred was watching carefully from the entrance, hoping to see what book (name) would reach for.

It didn't take long for the teenager to form a new routine inside the manor. Every morning he would come down to the kitchen just before Alfred, still persistent on making his own breakfast. He would eat in silence as the butler works on the breakfast for the rest of the family. After his meal, (name) would usually hide away in the library with a book of his choosing. The boy would end his day with a small dinner, which Alfred always complained about not being enough for a growing boy, just to hide in his room.

"Do you think I could get, like, a calendar or something?" (Name) asked during one of the breakfasts, looking for a better way to track the time to his legal age. His plans on leaving the manor didn't change; the teenager still wants to leave. This time he wants to do it legally and hopefully with more resources.

"Sure. I'll bring you one." Alfred smiled, looking from the food he was preparing for just a moment.

The following day, after yet another long day spent in the library, (name) returned to find a calendar neatly placed on his desk, just as the butler had promised. He circled the day of his birthday with a thick marker and hung it up next to the door. That way, every day, as he's leaving his room, the boy can cross off another day, bringing himself closer to the day he can leave. 

(Name)'s routine didn't last long, as the boy found himself bored of reading. He decided to give it another go at exploring the manor, this time less anxious, aware that the worst thing he could encounter in the halls might be the residents.

The teenager feels much braver than the first time he was exploring the place, going as far as opening some of the doors. Most of them led to a few empty bedrooms or abandoned study rooms. That's when he stumbles upon a suspicious-looking grandfather clock. Not only did it appear to be much wider than the few (names) seen in his life, but the floor around him seemed to be pretty scratched up as if it had moved around a lot. The boy carefully inspects the clock, attempting to move it to the side. When that doesn't work, he stares at the face of it, the hands frozen. The time stopped at six fifteen. Looking at the clock hands, (name) wonders if some sort of mechanism moves the clock around the floor. The boy tries to play around with the hands when he notices that he could only move the minute hand; the hour cannot be adjusted. He brings both of the hands to the number six on the face of the clock. Then, he hears it. Some cogs are moving inside the grandfather clock.

(Name) stumbles back, surprised he actually managed to move the clock. As the object moved, it revealed a dark hallway behind it. The boy tilted his head to the side, staring down the corridor. He looked around to see if anyone could be lurking around. Once he was certain that he would only be seen by the cameras and whoever was watching them, he walked into the darkness.

It took a very long hallway and a few sets of stairs before the teenager managed to find out where the secret entrance led him to. He found himself in a vast cave that appeared to be located underneath the manor.

It wasn't just an ordinary cave. It was filled to the brim with all sorts of technology and weapons. All bat-themed, which (name) found rather odd. He didn't understand why his father not only had weapons inspired by Gotham's most annoying vigilante; the man also hid it all under the manor like some sort of sick fanboy. (Name)'s face is twisted with disgust the more he explores the cave. He stares at the main computer with multiple screens attached to it, labelling his father as a stalker in his mind.

He walks even further into the cave, already with a plan to mess with his father in mind. That's when he finds them. The costumes. One of Batman, Robin and the rest of the circus. All safely inside some glass boxes. (Name) grinned. His father is the one running the circus of vigilantes. It will make the rest of his stay in the manor even more fun. 

(Name) decided to leave before his visit to the Batcave could attract too much attention. He walked past the desk with the computer, stopping in his tracks. Messing with them a little wouldn't hurt much, right?

Without giving it a second thought, the boy grabs all the random pens scattered round the desk. Nobody should really miss these particular ones, but the sudden absence of them would be rather annoying to whoever is working at it. (Name) makes sure that the papers aren't moved, just in case.

With the pens stuffed in his pockets, the teenager leaves the cave. He puts the handles of the clock the same way they were before he left that wing of the manor. (Name) put some of the pens in the library and a few in some of the studies. Making it look like they always were there. He also brought one to his room. A keepsake.

He started the next day as normal, with breakfast in the kitchen hours before the rest of the family woke up. Alfred walked in, looking at the boy with amusement. He leaned against the kitchen island right before the boy.

"So, pens?" The butler asked, chuckling.

The teenager laughed as well, grateful that somebody else in the manor found his little escapade to the cave funny.

However, there were people in the manor who didn't appreciate the joke. One of them was the boy, who looked to be (name)'s age. He stopped in front of (name) as he was walking into the library. His sharp blue eyes looked over (name), annoyance slipping through them.

"Pens? Really?" the boy with blue eyes asked, blocking (name)'s way.

"What pens?" the boy asked, blinking innocently.

"Don't play dumb. You know what pens."

"Well, the only pens I saw were the ones in the library. They looked unused, so I borrowed one," (name) shrugged.

"That's not what I'm talking about," the teenager with dark, messy hair snapped, narrowing his eyes.

"Then I have no clue what you want from me."

"You stole the pens!" The teenager pointed an accusing finger at him.

"What pens? I'm telling you, I just grabbed one from the library!" (name) protested.

"The ones from the cave, idiot!"

"What are you even talking about?" (name) asked, continuing to play dumb, his head tilted to the side. He knew he probably couldn't fool any of the vigilantes, but at least he could annoy the one in front of him.

"The Batcave! I know you went down there and stole the pens!" The boy in front of (name) said, his voice rising in frustration.

"Batcave? Sounds like a sex dungeon," he said, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Does Bruce have one in the basement? Gross."

The vigilante grunts with frustration. He stares at the boy as if debating if continuing to talk to (name) was worth it. Then, he storms off, disappearing deep into the halls of the manor. (Name) counted it as a win in his book. 

During the next few days, (name) appeared to be on his best behaviour. Going as far as to not even look towards the corridor where the grandfather clock was located. He spends time with the butler, reads even more books at the library and avoids any and all contact with the rest of the residents. Luckily for the boy, nobody else came to complain about the 'stolen' pens.

(Name) keeps up with his behaviour for a couple of days. That is until Alfred mentions the manor being empty the following day. It seemed as if the butler was giving the boy a green light to mess with 'his' family some more.

As he walks into the Batcave for the second time, (name) isn't quite sure how he could inconvenience the vigilantes. He decides against messing with the computer, worried that they might send someone who wasn't just going to yell at him. The last thing the boy wanted was to get beaten up by a 'family member'.

He walks into the area with the costumes and finds gold. Not one, but two of the cases with Robin's costumes were open. He walked up to the one that looked like it belonged to a young teen. (Name) wonders if it belongs to the brat that had the audacity to mention his mother.

With a grin on his face, the boy grabs the mask of the robin's costume, hiding it in his pocket. He steps over towards the other robin's costume and does the same. (Name) doesn't touch anything else. Taking stuff from the entire family would attract too much attention. And picking on the robins seemed easy enough. Considering they were forgetful enough to not close the boxes their costumes were stored in.

As Alfred is distracted with cleaning on the other side of the manor, (name) sneaks off to smoke in the gardens. He finds a tree further towards the back of them and the pond. The one he had the pleasure of meeting that weird man the last time he went out for a smoke. Halfway through the cigarette, the teenager takes out the masks he took from the robins. He looks at them closely, even going as far as putting one of them closer to his face. He scoffs at the idea of being a pawn for a man dressed in latex. He finishes the cigarette, crushing it against one of the robin's masks. (Name) throws the masks under the tree, letting the boys look for it themselves. He takes the cigarette butt with him, preferring to throw it into a trashcan. 

The next day, (name) picked up another book, getting comfortable on a bench with a good view of the door to the library. He began to read the first page when the youngest child of Wayne Manor passed by the room.

"Dirty thief. Be glad Father didn't throw you out like the trash you are," the boy sneered.

(Name) barely glanced up. He knew this was one of the Robins, but he had no clue what his name was. Damian? Daniel? Dominic? He had no idea.

"But that's exactly what I'm aiming for," (name) called after him, his eyes not leaving the book in his hands.

No other interactions happened for the rest of the week in the manor. (Name) had only one more trip to the Batcave during that time. He just went inside and stared at one of the cameras for ten minutes before walking out. Didn't touch anything, just walked in, stared and left.

On Saturday, as the teenager was walking into the garden, somebody called his name. The boy turned around, spotting Duke walking in his direction. (Name) leaned casually near the doorway, waiting for the teenager to catch up.

"I heard what you did in the cave. You must be good at stealing," Duke said.

"If you came here to nag me about it, then fuck off," (name) replied without hesitation, ready to walk out.

"No, I need your help," Duke said, lowering his voice.

"Oh? The ever-so-obedient Wayne child wants me to steal something for him? You do know stealing is a crime, right?" (name) smirked.

"There’s something I need you to get for me. A necklace. It belonged to my mother. I thought it was lost forever, but... I saw it a few days ago, and the person that had it didn't want to sell it to me." Duke spoke, glancing around worried somebody would catch them together. (Name) nodded, thinking.

"You’ve got patrol tonight?" (name) asked.

"Yeah, I do," Duke confirmed.

"You’ll turn off the cameras right before leaving. That way I should have enough time for me to leave the Manor and get far enough away," (name) said, piecing the plan together.

"Okay, I guess," Duke agreed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Good. After you're done with your patrol, lie to them. Make up something urgent. I know you can handle it. We’ll meet in the alley between the laundromat and the old Batburger on the 9th. We'll talk about the necklace there. Just to be safe," (Name) said.

"Thank you," Duke said sincerely.

"Don’t thank me," (name) shot back. "I’m not doing this out of kindness. I trust you’ll come up with a fair price for the job, Duke."

"I will," Duke promised.

"Great. Now get lost before someone sees us together and starts asking questions," (Name) said with a flick of his hand. 

Hours later, (name) stands in the middle of his room. Dressed in black from head to toe, a hoodie in his hands. The boy isn't sure if he's making the right choice. Even if Duke had promised to make it worth it, he still had second thoughts. (Name) is used to working alone. By himself and for himself. The teenager had promised himself years ago that he wouldn't work for anyone, not wanting to repeat the mistakes his mother did.

The lights in his room flickered, the space going dark for a second before lighting up again. It was (name)'s clue to leave. It's no time to dwell on it. He should leave.

(Name) moves around the manor with confidence. Making it to the back door with his head held high. He knew that in case the butler would find him, he could lie about needing some fresh air.

The boy leaves the property in a similar way he did the first time, using an opening in the fence. He walks slowly, as rushing could bring attention. He was caught running away recently, and he wasn't interested in being caught again.

Waiting in the alleyway started to feel like an eternity. Perched up against the wall, hidden within the shadows, he managed to smoke the rest of the pack of cigarettes he had. (Name) starts to question if Duke will manage to get away from the rest of the circus. The boy sighs, throwing the empty pack into a dumpster nearby. Why did he agree to this?

Somebody jogged into the alley, boots splashing through a shallow puddle without slowing. The yellow accents on the person's suit caught the faint light from a flickering street lamp overhead, casting sharp shadows across their face. The mask was pulled low over their eyes, but that didn't stop (name) from figuring out who it was. Duke, finally. The tension in the teenager's shoulders said enough; Duke was nervous about the whole ordeal.

"(Name?)" Duke called out, glancing around.

"Took you long enough," (name) said, stepping out of the shadows. "Started to think you wouldn't show."

"Lots of work tonight, sorry," Duke said, rubbing the back of his neck. "We’ve got a few minutes before they start looking for me."

"Alright. What does the necklace look like, then?" (Name) asked, getting straight to the point.

Duke pulled a folded photo from his pocket, handing it over. It showed his mother, smiling warmly, wearing a delicate necklace.

"And where am I supposed to find it?" (Name) asked, eyes flicking from the picture back to Duke.

"At the pawn shop down the street," Duke said quietly. "The owner refuses to sell it to me. Something about it being too valuable to hand over to a kid like me."

"Alright then. Guess he won't be making any money off it," (name) said with a shrug. "His loss, really."

Duke didn’t say anything, just nodded, his eyes scanning the alley nervously, clearly worried the rest of the Bat-family might already be looking for him.

"Go," (name) told him. "I’ll grab it and bring it to the Manor. I’ll give it to you there." 

Both of the boys go their separate ways; Duke returns to the Batfamily, acting as if nothing happened. (Name) walks through the alleyways, looking for the backdoor to the pawnshop.

Finding the right door wasn't hard for the boy. It wasn't the first time (name) sneaked into a pawnshop, and he knows the way shop owners secure the backdoors to places like this. The teenager takes his time opening the locks one by one, trying to avoid triggering any alarms.

As the last lock falls onto the ground, the teenager can open the door with little to no worry. He steps inside to the employee area, looking around for the electrical box. Walking up to it, (name) begins to turn off switches one by one, turning off the electricity in the shop. In complete darkness, he moves towards the main area of the shop. In there the boy can see much better, thanks to the street lights coming through the security bars.

(Name) stands in the middle of the shop, scanning the shelves for the necklace Duke wants. He spots it on the jewellery bust behind the counter. The boy walks over, making sure it's the necklace he saw in the picture. Once he was sure, he slowly took it off, trying not to damage it. With the necklace in hand, he turns to the counter, looking under it to see if there are any jewellery boxes he could put it in.

After some rummaging through the shelf under the cash register, (name) managed to find a box to put the necklace in. With the jewellery secure and hidden away in one of his pockets, the boy got ready to leave the pawnshop. He looked back at the cash register, remembering that he no longer had any cigarettes on him. With a sigh, the teenager returned to the register, taking out a few bills.

(Name) took his time returning to the manor. He had what he came out here for, so he didn't see the reason to rush. On his way back he stopped by a gas station, where he knew nobody would question him buying cigarettes.

The teenager walked back into the manor through the same door he'd slipped out of earlier. What (Name) didn’t expect was to find Alfred standing right behind it, waiting for him. The butler looked at the boy with disappointment as the smell of cigarettes was filling the man's nostrils.

"I went out for some fresh air?" (name) said, trying to sound innocent.

Alfred didn’t buy it. He waited for the boy to confess where exactly he was.

"Fine. I needed some time away from the Manor," (name) admitted, shifting uncomfortably. "But I returned, didn’t I?"

"Give me them," Alfred said, extending his hand. "The cigarettes. I know you have them. You reek…"

(Name) reluctantly handed over the pack, hoping that that was the only thing the butler caught up on. The jewellery box suddenly felt heavy in his pocket.

"Go back to your room," Alfred ordered. "And I better not catch you with a new pack." 

(Name) runs off, taking multiple stairs at a time, just to get away before the butler starts asking more questions.

He moves towards his room, wondering how he could return the necklace to Duke. The boy needed to think of a way he could do that without being spotted. (Name) settled on sneaking into Duke's room before breakfast and leaving it there.

When (name) opened the door to his room, he learned that he didn't have to sneak in anywhere. There he was, Duke, sitting on his bed, waiting. The teenager appeared lost in thoughts, as he didn't look up when (name) opened the door. The boy stepped inside, a soft clack of the door heard behind him. The quiet noise was apparently enough to snap Duke out of his thoughts.

"Do you have it?" Duke asked, standing up from (name)'s bed.

"Yeah, who do you take me for?" (Name) tossed the small box with the necklace in Duke's direction, making sure he caught it.

Duke opened the box, his eyes widening when he saw the necklace, his mother's necklace, glinting under the light.

"Thank you," Duke said, his voice filled with gratitude as he suddenly rushed toward (Name), pulling him into a tight hug. "It means so much to me. I promise, this trip will be worth it."

(Name) froze, not used to physical affection. He stood there, awkwardly stiff, as Duke pulled away almost immediately.

Without another word, Duke dashed out of the room, leaving (Name) standing in the middle of his own, the silence settling around him.

The next morning, (name) walked into the kitchen, unsure of what the butler would do. Was he going to be punished? Has Alfred somehow found out about the necklace? With trembling hands, the boy worked on his own breakfast. He was ready for it to be the last meal he had with the man.

Alfred entered the kitchen, greeting the boy. He doesn't say anything else. He starts to move around the kitchen, just as he always does. Nothing about the way he acted had changed, and (name) didn't know if the butler decided to let it go or if it's just quiet before the storm. But then, the teenager finishes his breakfast, leaving the dishes in the sink. Not once he was stopped by Alfred, not even as he was leaving the room to spend time in the library.

(Name) settles on a bench, getting comfortable with the book he started the other day. The manor is quiet, as always, the rest of the residents are busy in their rooms. The boy gets absorbed in the book in his hands, not noticing somebody entering the library. 

"Alfred was right about finding you here," Duke said as he approached. (Name) looked up from his book.

"Not much else for me to do," he said, lifting the book slightly to show it.

Duke sat down on the bench next to him, and for a moment, the library fell into a comfortable silence.

"I brought you your payment," Duke said eventually. "Told them my phone broke and asked for a new one. It's all yours now."

"Thanks, but..." (Name) hesitated. "My phone works just fine."

"Barely," Duke teased. "It looks ancient."

(Name) chuckled under his breath.

"Just keep it," Duke said with a grin. "Besides, Alfred was already planning on giving you one. Had a whole SIM card and a new number ready for you."

"Guess I won't be escaping the upgrade, huh?" (Name) joked.

"Nah, dude," Duke said, grinning wider.

He noticed the way (name) still looked a little unsure about the new phone.

"I could teach you how to use it," Duke offered. "They're pretty cool once you get the hang of it."

"...Alright," (name) said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

That day marked the first time that (name) not only didn't spend time alone in the manor but also was willingly spending his time with someone his age.

Duke told him everything he knew about his brother's new phone, making sure to put his phone number in it. He talked about getting a phone case, wondering which one would suit (name)'s overall look.

The two boys were enjoying each other's presence so much that neither of them noticed the butler watching them from afar. Alfred heard laughing when he was cleaning in the same wing as the library was located on and went in to check. That's when he noticed (name) and Duke, both hunched over the phone. He watched them for a moment, glad that the new boy finally was interacting with someone his age. The butler left before any of the boys noticed him, not wanting to disturb either of them.

Duke didn't stop at explaining how his brother's new phone works. He went out of his way to spend even a second of his time with (name). Interacting with him was easy since Duke also was rather new to the family and not always had an easy time fitting in. (Name) seemed to understand that.

Duke even managed to convince Alfred to take them to the city so they could spend time somewhere that isn't the manor. The butler wasn't sure at first. It took a lot of promises to be on his best behaviour from (name) that he agreed to drop them off at the mall.

"Have fun, young Master Duke (name)," Alfred said before driving away.

Both boys walked into the mall. Duke couldn’t help but think about the way the butler had addressed (name).

"Why doesn’t Alfred call you 'master'?" Duke asked.

"I asked him not to," (name) replied, looking around at the different shops.

"Why? Most of us just accept it as one of his weird quirks," Duke said, curious.

"Usually when people use titles instead of my name, they mean it in a derogatory way," (Name) explained. "It’s usually 'brat' or 'thieving bastard child', just different ways to make me feel small. 'Young master'... isn’t that much different. It strips me of my identity, in a way." 

Duke nods, not picking up the subject again. He knew that if his brother wanted to talk about this more, (name) wouldn't hesitate to. Instead, he drags the boy over to one of his favourite comic shops.

The teenagers spent hours at the mall, walking from shop to shop. Duke fills in (name) on all the things he missed out on, as he was focusing on surviving and not being a child. By the end of their outing, (name) not only had new pieces in his wardrobe, but he also learnt so much about the world of normal teenagers that it made his head hurt.

(Name) ate in the dining room that day, Duke and Alfred his only companions. The boy didn't speak much, tired from the day of being in public. Duke, on the other hand, was talking the butler's ears off, telling him about everything they did and all the things they saw.

Alfred kept smiling, listening to Duke's story. He couldn't help but feel proud at the way these two seemed to have gotten close. He only left the room after both of them were finished with their meals. With empty plates in hand, he excuses himself from the dining room. Duked turned over to his newfound friend, a new idea for a hangout in mind.

"Next time I'm taking you to an arcade," Duke said with a grin. "I have a feeling you'd be good at the games there."

"Yeah, whatever you say," (name) laughed. "Though I might need a few days to recover from this trip."

"Aww, did the mall tire you out?" Duke teased. "Does the little baby need a nap?"

(Name) shoved Duke, laughing. As they joked, Duke spotted someone standing in the cracked doorway.

"Hey, Damian, what's up?" Duke called out.

(Name) turned to look, just in time to see the boy run off without answering. (Name) scoffs. 

"And he called me weird," (name) muttered.

"He's like that sometimes," Duke said, shrugging. "Don't mind him." 

The next day, as (name) was finishing making his breakfast, somebody entered the kitchen. The boy looked up, ready to greet what he expected to be the butler. Only for these words to be caught in his throat, noticing it's not Alfred but Damian, his youngest brother.

Neither of them said anything to each other, (name) barely looking at the younger boy. He hoped that if he ignored Damian hard enough, the boy would go away and not bother him.

"Good morning, (Name)," Alfred said as he entered the kitchen. "Ah, young master, you're up early."

"I was hungry, so I came downstairs," Damian replied.

"I could fix you something small if you'd like," Alfred offered. "I'm sure a snack before breakfast wouldn't hurt."

"Thank you," Damian said politely.

(Name) fully expected the boy to leave after that, not wanting to disturb the quiet routine he shared with Alfred. But instead, Damian moved closer, stepping right up beside (Name) and standing there, silently, as the butler began preparing his snack.

Brother bonding time didn't last long, with (name) finishing his breakfast in record time. All to avoid spending more time with the younger boy than was deemed necessary.

As he walks out, he doesn't notice the determination in Damian's eyes.

Something was telling Alfred that it wouldn't be the first time the youngest Wayne would be joining the two of them in the kitchen.

part: one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight

taglist: @amber-content @bellethesleepypotato @leeiasure @sleepdeprivedcrappywriter @tenthmilo @eyeless-kun @holyfishbailiffpeanut @cuntiesweet @jsprien213

comment to be added!

[formulaonecrumbs]

Hiiiiii xoxo

I love reading your sibling au’s with the drivers they’re so good !!

Would you be open to making one about max Verstappen but as the little brother ? :)

i’m always gonna come find you

Max Verstappen x older sister!reader

summary: after their dad (jos verstappen WHEN I FUCKING CATCH U) left max at the gas station for a ‘bad’ race, reader takes care of him.

warnings: bad dad. hurt little max.

A/N: this situation was perfect for this cuz every time i’m reminded of it, i feel the primal urge to (1) KILL JOS (2) protect little maxie. also i didnt remember when this happened to him so i just made him 13, reader is 18. ENJOY MY LOVVVEEE. i love u, thank u anon, VERY MUCH 🫶

p.s. i won’t do the home film thing for any other sibling au’s when it comes to other drivers cuz i have that reserved for lando IM SORRY!! it’s just special to that series, hope u can understand :)

༻ ❤︎︎ ༺

it was getting dark by the time she found him.

the gas station lights buzzed faintly overhead, a flickering, sickly kind of glow. max was sitting on the curb with his knees pulled up to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around them, helmet still in his lap like he couldn’t bear to let it go. he looked so small like that. so young. like the little brother she sometimes forgot he still was.

she pulled into the parking lot too fast, tires crunching over gravel, throwing the car into park and practically flying out of it.

“max!” she called, voice already cracking with worry.

his head snapped up immediately, eyes wide — and the second he saw it was her, his whole body sagged, like he could finally breathe again.

she ran to him and dropped to her knees without thinking, gathering him into her arms. he didn’t even hesitate — just pressed his face against her shoulder, fingers curling tightly into the fabric of her hoodie.

“i’m sorry,” he mumbled, so quietly she almost didn’t hear it. “i tried. i really tried—”

“shh, hey, no,” she soothed, pulling back enough to cup his face in her hands. his cheeks were pink from the cold, and his eyes were glassy with tears he was trying so hard not to let fall. “none of that, okay? you don’t ever have to be sorry with me.”

he sniffed hard, ducking his head a little like he didn’t quite believe her.

she brushed his messy hair back from his forehead, feeling her heart splinter at the sight of him. thirteen years old and already carrying the weight of expectations he didn’t deserve. already blaming himself for things that weren’t his fault.

“dad was mad,” he whispered. it wasn’t really a surprise, but hearing it still made her chest ache. “he said i embarrassed him.”

her hands tightened on him instinctively.

“dad’s wrong,” she said firmly, voice leaving no room for argument. “you hear me, max? he’s wrong. you didn’t embarrass anyone. you raced your heart out. that’s what matters. and leaving you here—” she broke off, shaking her head. “there’s no excuse for that. none.”

max looked up at her then, cautious, like he was waiting for her to get mad too.

but all he found was her, steady and sure and warm.

“you’re not alone,” she promised, her voice gentler now. “i’m always gonna come for you. always.”

his lip wobbled. just a little.

then he threw his arms around her neck again, this time holding on even tighter.

she hugged him back just as fiercely, rocking him slightly like she used to when he was little and scared of thunderstorms.

for a long time, they just stayed there on the curb, wrapped up in each other while the rest of the world spun on.

finally, she pulled back enough to smile at him — a real smile, soft and proud.

“c’mon,” she said, standing and offering him her hand. “let’s get you home.”

max nodded, still silent, but he took her hand without hesitation, gripping it tightly like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

and maybe it was.

maybe it always would be.

THE END :>

[axetivev]

— Summary: Ratio was the type of man who was too busy with work, you, his husband texted him without an answer, your solution? Go to the campus where he works! After a light batter, Ratio said something that he shouldn't say, insults making you mad at him. What should be his best way to apologize?

— Warnings/Tags: Professor!Ratio, Fashion Designer!Reader, Married!Ratio & Reader, Domestic AU, Fluff & Smut, Slight Angst, Face sitting, Anal Sex, Ridding.

— Words: 1.7k

— A/N: i think this had more smut then fluff,, and rushed, im currently gonna be extra busy,, and it was annoying for me to see that I haven't done a request. but regardless. Thank you for 🍁 anon who requested this fic ! I hope you and many others enjoyed this as much I enjoy writing this !

— Pairing: Dr Ratio x Male!Reader

Veritas ♥️

M/N > Still on work?

Delivered 4:51 P.M

M/N > Ratio?

Delivered 4:54 P.M

There it goes, you knew your husband, Ratio had his phone in silence.

It isn’t a bad thing really, working with many high school graduates who’s answer when asked about why they go to university was always a false copy paste or just a long pause. Every night after work, he often find himself laying his head on your lap, inside of your studio filled by mannequins as he rumbling about how some students were idiots.

You’d just chuckled to his angry mumbles, the way your eyes met with his as he paused his rambles. He’d just stop. Admiring you like a piece of art, his reddish-pink eyes looking at you so lovingly—making him ended up just rolled his body to face the floor and sleep.

You were sitting inside of your studio, 10 minutes passed, soon. The clock shows 5:32 P.M. Spend by you spamming Ratio in worry; what if something bad happened to him? But you shook it off—an idea popped inside your head. Eyes lit up as you stood up from your chair, as some design of your latest commissions, but for now it doesn’t matter. Taking the keys to your car. You jumped to your destination; Campus where Ratio teaches!

The ride was nothing but normal. You even had to time to stop by a bakery to buy some treats, however. When you took one step to the campus, not even in—a lot of students were looking at you like you were a modal. You thought your popularity was rather average, but you swore 89% of the people knew you. Who wouldn’t with those eye catching beautiful designs? Their eyes were widen open, jaw dropped, even some scrambled over their bag, trying to look for something. But you simply shrugged while you gave them a smile.

You swore some kids were dropping from see you as you entered the last class Ratio was in after reading his schedule. There he was, him and two other students in their chair. Sweating as they write something on their paper like their life dependent on it, Ratio? He was sitting comfortably in his desk as his eyes were scanning those students, before his gaze met with yours.

“You haven’t read my messages, Mr. Veritas,” you smiled sweetly to your husband, your hand slowly pushed a box filled by treats you bought. “Curious, are you going home after this?”

Ratio paused for a second. He stayed silent just to stare at you, his eyes fell to your finger. That ring was perfectly places on your digit like a match made in heaven, similar to his, Ratio grunts quietly before he fixed his glasses and continue to look at his two fellow students who jumped as his gaze darkened at them. You just continue to smile, but you felt that twitch inside your guts. How dare he didn’t answer his own husband?

“Ratio… I believe after this you’ll get home soon, yes?” You repeat trying to keep your calm demeanor, Ratio himself just grunted once more. Leaving you on edge, a sigh of frustration escaped your lips. Before you pulled out an ultimatum. “How about this; work or me?”

A smug look was practically plastered on your face, both students looked at each other. They seriously thought something wholesome would happened—but really, Ratio slowly pulled his glasses, putting them to his desk next to some books, the audacity for him to not even looked up to you—“M/N, you know I’m busy currently. These two students are failing so miserably in my class,” Ratio said, his reddish-pink eye looked at your face a while small smirk formed on his lips. He added, his voice low. “work it is.”

Silence.

…This happened more then once really. But the fact two students were looking with a concern expression, you still plastered a smile. That one smile Ratio knew he was fucked, he even paused for a moment. Did he actually…? Ratio actually looked at you with somewhat concern, but you didn’t say anything but storm off from the class. Leaving Ratio who was standing up and tried to call for you, but too late.

“Did Professor…?”

“That’s… wow.”

At home, you were in your studio, yet again. Letting out frustration in the form of designs, your eyes landed on the same commission that had fell earlier. You picked it up as you examinate something people might call masterpiece, but really. It was stressful in your mind when that same client declined the idea and asked for another design. You were about to stood up, but you felt a arm around your waist. Of course, non-other then Ratio.

“M/N…” Ratio spoke quietly, his warm breath reached your ears making you shivered as he rested his forehead against your shoulder, his grip tightened. “…Sorry, please.”

You froze for a second, confused—should you be annoyed or accepted his apology? But before you could form a sentence, your hand was slowly intertwine with his, while Ratio slowly pushed you to your desk, his second hand, originally on your waist moved to your chin. Gently, he pulled you to a kiss which went heated fast.

His tongue dancing with yours, sucking your breath as your intertwined fingers tightened. Only the kiss was broken by you forcing to pulled the he kiss away, but Ratio still wanted more. He let you catch some breath before he pulled you to another heated kiss. Almost desperate. Ratio muttered against your lips. “M/N, please… I’m sorry.”

Your lips parted yet again, a thin shine thread of saliva connecting your lips against his. Your lips was swollen, a tent clearly visible on your trousers. Your face was flushed. Embarrassed by a kiss making you hard.

“Alright alright…” You spoke, voice somewhat raspy, a smile formed on Ratio. He slowly pulled you to a kiss—more tender, even hesitated. “Apology accepted.”

You can’t believe you actually still fall for Ratio’s tricks to apologize. You remembered once his way of apologizing was to sit you down and handle it like a man that he was, now. His way was fucking you dumb to forget what even happened.

You and Ratio were on your shared bed, your clothes were discharged to the floor, you now found yourself sitting on Ratio’s face, how… never mind. His idea anyway, your hands were on the sheets below Ratio who eagerly licking your hole shameless as his hands were on your hip. Preventing them to be closed, you felt his tongue then slowly entered your at first, tight rim.

His tongue—Ratio’s slimy tongue inside of you, at first, he was kind enough to be gentle. But he didn’t hesitate to immediately plunged his tongue inside of you, making you jolted—throwing your head back as Ratio’s grip on your hip tightened, you swore they would marked by his tight his grip was. His tongue opened you up for a solid two minutes as your cock already sprouting precums, he slowly pulled his tongue, making you flinched over nothing but leaving your hole mixed with his saliva. Disappointment was clear in your face.

“Are you sure you could handle it?” Ratio raised and eye bro, you nod. “Its been a while since we have intimacy, don’t you think?”

A small—hesitated smile formed on your lips. “It is…”

Ratio studied your lips, your eyes, he still remembered that day where you had Ratio had sex did the first time, clearly, he remembered who took his virginity. He slowly adjusted himself, sitting up as his head rested on the headrest as for his hands moved you to his lap, your cock and his touching. A light rub, Ratio’s hand slowly lifted you up, as your asshole kissed with his tip. A low groan runs from your lips.

“Tight…” Ratio muttered to himself before he slams you to his cock, you felt him balls deep inside of you, you twitched. “You’re still as tight as I remembered.”

Embarrassed, you cleared your throat. “Veritas.”

“Yes, Mr. Veritas?” Ratio smugly replied, but before you could continue. Ratio thrust his hips upwards. You yelped—soon, moans filled the room.

Even after what felt months passed (actually, only two months) without intimacy, you still felt in so much pleasure by how good Ratio’s cook fills like, the way it filled you up, the way you’d just suck it like a candy, and the most important thing… His cock hitting your prostate repeatedly, making your eyes rolled go the back to your head. You nearly lost control over your body by how fast Ratio’s pace was—pistoling his cock into you as loud moans kept spilling from your lips, you didn’t even realized you already cum, reaching your climax.

Ratio, soon felt his limit is getting closer, he tried to pulled you away, but you stopped him by placing your hand on his chest, panting with watery eyes. “No, inside…” He groaned by your words, Ratio just go faster. Before then, you felt warmth.

Maybe for those two months, his balls develop so much sperm that some of them leaked out, you felt your body tired even barely doing much, just the first round. You knew Ratio could go all night, but, maybe. Your stamina is getting rather lower, you flopped to his chest as his hand brushed over your hair, damped by sweat. “Tired?”

“Yeah…” You replied with a raspy voice. Ratio nodded, your eyes were hazy, you closed your eyes for a moment. Just—a—moment. Then, you felt something warm surrounded by you, water.

Even in your tired state, you still able to collect some power to shifted, making yourself feel comfortable. You felt a squeezed on your hand, you slowly raised your right hand, to find Ratio’s intertwined with yours. You slowly rubbed your eyes, in front of you, of course. A faucet intact to the bathtub, roses, rubber ducks, and foam surrounding you, you look up, founding Ratio reading his book… You smiled, kissing his jaw. He looked down, a smile formed.

“Romantic…” You smugly tease, Ratio rolled his eyes. “It’s nothing.” He muttered.

You fake a pout, your hands moved to his cheek to gently pinched the skin. “Ratio…”

“What now…” “I love you.”

Ratio stared at you for a moment, that smug look on your face, for him, it was both annoying and lovely. His day wouldn’t be complete without seeing that smug expression, a sigh escaped his lips, he shook his head amusingly. Ratio puts down his book, his hand moved to your chin as he slowly pressed his lips against yours, tender and filled by love.

“I love you too, Veritas M/N.”

[saiyanprincessswanie]

Ties That Bind Us

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 1015

Summary: Bucky has been sleeping with you every night for the last week. What is driving your husband to have such a high sexual drive?

Warnings: Bondage, Smut, Oral Fem, fingering and talk of anal at end.

A/N: For @avengers-assemble-bingo AA-Kinky Bingo with square Bondage. Card (KB010)

A/N 2: Thank Beta readers @late-to-the-party-81 & @lfnr-blog-blog-blog & header by @late-to-the-party-81

Please Read, Reblog, & Comment. It lets me know you like my work. 😊💜

I do NOT consent to translating or reposting my work on any social media platform, app, or third-party site or run through AI. If you see my work anywhere besides my personal Tumblr & AO3 accounts, it has been stolen.

Be careful what you wish for because sometimes those wishes come true and with a vengeance. Currently, your hands are tied to your bed, you’re blindfolded. And your legs are up on your husband's shoulders.

You couldn’t help but be aware of the feeling of Bucky’s beard between your thighs as he’s eating you out like a starved man. Every flick of his tongue, every suckle to your clit is making you fall off the edge again and again. You’re on your way to orgasm number three when Bucky eventually pulls away from your pussy. 

“I can’t believe you thought it was smart to wear that black, see-through dress to my club tonight.”

Bucky’s two thick fingers push into your wet pussy as he starts to finger you. He moves hard and fast at first, then slows down to curl his fingers against your sweet spot. However, just as you start to build back towards that third orgasm, he pulls his fingers out, and even though you can’t see, you know he’s licking them clean. You wail in frustration from the loss of contact.

“What do you have to say, sweetheart?” he growls out and you try to think of a good answer while you attempt to catch your breath, your body still shaking.

“I-I thought you’d like it as it’s your favorite dress. It wasn’t completely see-through, and I had a black bra and panties underneath it.”

“You thought that was better? Showing your body off to my friends. Do you know how many men I had to reprimand for looking at what’s mine!”

“I’m sorry,” you plead with him. “It won’t ever happen again.”

“You’re right,” he agrees firmly. “It won’t happen again. For now though, you’ll take what I give you. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Bucky,” you murmur back to him, chastened.

His fingers enter you once again but this time, when he curls them against your sweet spot, he doesn’t let up until you cum for him. You scream his name to the heavens as your body quakes beneath him and then goes limp.

“Oh, don’t think you’re safe now,” he snarls  “I’m going to fuck you into this bed for good measure as well. Make you think twice before dressing like a whore.”

You feel the bed sink a little as he settles beside you and begins to move your body into the position of his liking. His hands push your knees to your chest and he quickly pinches your nipples before he pulls the blindfold from your eyes and discards it on the bed. It takes you a moment to adjust to the light, but when you do you look down to see Bucky resting on his haunches slowly stroking his thick cock. He grins at you as he rubs the tip of his cock through your wet pussy a few times and then pushes into you inch by inch, making you whimper and then groan as his girth stretches you. 

Once Bucky finally bottoms out, he pulls back out so he can thrust into you hard and set up a punishing pace that shakes the bed with every snap of his hips. All the while, his hands are on the back of your thighs, keeping you steady as he ruins you. His grunts fill the room, joining with the sweet sounds you’re making for him. Over and over again, he pounds into you, making you squeal on a particularly hard thrust. You’re so close to another orgasm but your body is fighting whether it should or not.

“Bucky, please. I can’t,” you whine.

“Oh, you can and you will,” he demanded.

Bucky’s left thumb starts rubbing your clit in tight small circles as he continues pummeling into you. Within seconds, you moan his name while your whole body shakes and you squirt all over his lower half. Your walls tighten around his cock and you feel him cum while he’s growling out your name. 

Panting hard, Bucky pulls out of you and goes to grab a towel to clean you both off. Once cleaned, Bucky unties your hands from the bed and gently looks over your wrists to make sure they’re okay. Kissing each wrist in turn first, he then leans down to capture your lips.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?”

You nod your head. “Yeah, just exhausted.”

“Good, then I hope you learned your lesson.” Bucky chuckles as you stare at him and give him a dirty look.

“First of all, there was nothing wrong with that dress. I’ve worn it plenty of times before with no comments from you. Secondly, over the last week you’ve fucked me every way I can think of. What gives?”

Bucky smirks. “What, does a husband need a reason to have sex with his wife?

“No, but…”

“No butts yet,” he gives you a sly smile. “Maybe next time.” 

“Ha, ha, funny guy. You didn’t answer my question.” You sit up on the bed and cross your arms.

“Look, sweetheart, I’ve been seeing you in your dresses and have noticed some of the guys flirting with you. You tend to be so kind that it gives these men hope that they’ll get to be with you. So I guess I’ve been getting a little jealous and wanted to remind you of what you have with me.” 

Your arms drop, and you crawl to sit in his lap. “There’s nothing to be jealous of, Bucky. You’re my one and only. My husband. I wouldn’t trade you in for anything in the world. Those men mean nothing to me. It’s you I come home to every night and wake up next to every morning.”

“I love you, sweetheart.” Bucky holds you close to his chest and kisses your forehead.

“I love you, too, Bucky. Now can you please give my pussy a break?”

Bucky laughed at your plea. “Yes, sweetheart. I will. For now. But anymore flirting and we’ll be back to this all over again. And next time, I agree it will be your ass.”

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[imnez-daydreams]

the art of noticing

pairing : benjamin poindexter x reader

warnings : extremely suggestive below read more, not outright explicit in detail (cause im not talented enough for full on smut lol) but just to be safe, don't read if below 18 !! quite a few religious themes/imagery too.

a/n : hii ! i've never written fanfiction before let alone anything spicy but the dex brainrot was too strong so please bear with me. special thank you to @kyamiia for inspiring me and letting me expand on the idea based on this, and to @babyangeldex for being THE sweetest ever with her encouragement, especially on me wanting to write for the first time !! credits for the header images goes to @bullseyelover, THE no1 bullseye fan hi i love you !! hope you enjoy fellow dex lovers <3

dex notices things.

it started even before you guys got together.

dex's eye for details only intensifies when he crawls his way into your heart. your home. your shared home. it was one thing being able to look through the glass of your apartment window, studying your routine. timing his sips perfectly to yours, anticipating that look of bliss when the coffee hit just right. pretending that faraway look and smile out the window was directed to him, reserved for him.

now though, dex doesn't have to be delusional anymore. there's no need to time his drinking with yours because he is making your coffee and spending the mornings with you. he knows just how you like it. he's memorised all your morning routine steps, catalogued every small tick in your face when you eat your breakfast, has your glossy eyes from watching your favourite romcom seared into his brain. he knows how to see that satisfied and "on cloud 9" face. how to be the reason for that pleasure.

when you laugh at dex's poor attempt of a joke, really laugh with your eyes crinkling in the corner, he thinks his heart stops. he thinks this is it. the sound of an angel come to gently lead him towards the afterlife, with the way your laughter wraps around his body like the soft embrace of an angel's wings.

so it makes perfect sense for dex's penchant for noticing to seep into your shared bedroom too. he needs to remember everything, he needs to file away every little sound, every facial expression. keeps it in the folders of his mind, locked away for nobody else to see. only unlocking these memories when he's hard at work, away from his angel. clings to the image of you, the sound of you like a lifeline. counts the seconds down to when he can finally lock up his place of worship again because you're back in his arms. but its not just for himself, to keep his hunger satiated. its for you too. so he can replay your reactions to everything he does and says. analyse what made you feel good. what can make you feel even better. let you float up to the same high he gets from watching you, being with you. don't worry, he'll be there to catch you in his protective embrace when you land back down.

the first time he sunk to his knees for you, he never took his eyes away from you. couldn't bear to, not when your face was so beautifully contorted in pleasure, pleasure he was giving to you. the rising pitch of your voice, the up and down movement of your chest, the low tilt of your eyes to keep that eye contact with him going. when you absentmindedly reach for dex's hair, tugging the short hairs at the back while begging with that sweet saccharine voice of yours,

"pl- please dex, i can't anymore. i need, ohmygod, i need it please, i need you dex"

it takes every. single. cell. in dex's body to not roll his eyes to the back of his skull and finish in his pants then and there. his years of military training, experience as FBI-SWAT all lead up to this moment. to practice that honed skill of restraint. he can't let go until you have, until you've reached that peak. when you do, you collapse backwards with a heaving chest. dex unclenches his bruising (posessive) grip on you, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. not to waste a single drop, he licks his hand clean while slowly standing back up from his place of worship.

the sight that greets dex has him believing in God.

your hair is tousled just above your head like a halo.

your eyes that look up at him are completely glossed over, a single tear slowly cascading down the right side of your face.

your smile, oh, your sweet loving smile. directed at him, only him as if he was the answers to your prayers.

those aren't what drives dex over the edge though, oh no.

its you.

you looking like the epitome of an angel.

slowly hiking up your legs, opening them up shyly.

"more? please, dex?"

if this is how dex dies, he believes its worth it.

a/n : thank you so much if you've read to the end <3 !! this is very very beginner so pretty please be nice if you reblog with comments/ramblings, though i'd still appreciate any kind of support with likes/reblogs/comments hehe. (also yes i wrote this on my phone on drafts, and nearly got a heart attack when the draft vanished and accidentally uploaded before i was done so if you saw ... no you didnt)

[hotchnerwrites]

Heyy!!! Oh my god i love your writings SO MUCH i am obsessed!! And i have a request 💘💘 can you do Hotch and girlfriend just moving in together after some times of dating and Hotch noticing issues with her eating habits, her putting on home workout videos at night after dinner out of nowhere etc etc? You can do however you like smut, fluff, angst whatever feels right. YOU'RE GREAT! LOVE YOU💋💋💋💋💘💘💘 CANT WAIT!

Not So Fancy

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: SFW, allusions to smut, mentions of disordered eating, hurt/comfort

A/N: hello hello!!! thank you so much for your kind words and your patience <333 really appreciate it. i hope you don't mind, i changed your request just a little bit to make it more of a oneshot rather than many events building up. if you'd still like me to write it as separate events, please feel free to shoot me another req! more than happy to do so. anyway, i really hope you like this and it's what you wanted. enjoy the read! mwah mwah mwah <3

My requests are open. Send me stuff! Please read the rules before asking, and be advised there is a slight wait time right now. But I will post for sure. :)

The air was still thick with the warmth of what you’d just shared. 

You lay with your head on Aaron’s chest, his arms wrapped around you. You could hear his heartbeat beating rhythmically. Steady. Reliable. 

His fingers traced gentle patterns against your skin, and you inhaled deeply, trying to match your breathing to his pulse. But even as you lay there, content for a moment, the familiar unease still tugged at your bones, hidden beneath the surface.

Aaron stirred then, breaking you out of your reverie. He stretched his arms above his head with a satisfied sigh, ensuring not to jostle you. “You hungry?” He asked, kissing the top of your head, “Wanna eat in bed? I’ll grab some snacks.”

A simple question. So why did the malaise keep spreading?

You’d been trying to avoid this. It’s not that you weren’t hungry, but the idea of food right now felt like too much. So you forced a smile and said, “No, I’m fine,” hoping he wouldn’t notice. You weren’t trying to be difficult, but you couldn’t help it. “Thank you, though,” you added, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. 

But Aaron noticed. He always did. The way your shoulders tensed and how you instinctively tried to curl inwards. He didn’t even need to profile you; he had always been able to read you like an open book.

“Are you sure?” he asked, a teasing lilt to his voice, though it was clear he was picking up on something more. “What about some chips, or maybe some chocolate? I’ve got those After-8 Mints you love…”

“No,” you cut him off a little too quickly, trying to make your voice sound as casual as possible. “I really just don’t wanna eat right now.”

His eyes were on you now, playfulness gone. You could feel him searching your gaze, trying to make sense of every micro-expression. You were already naked under the sheets, but this— this exposed you. Like a bloodied shard of glass laid bare for him to inspect. And you hated it.

"Hey," Aaron said softly, his tone muted, "Talk to me. What’s going on? You’ve barely eaten today."

You hesitated, trying to push away the knot in your stomach, but it only seemed to tighten with every word he spoke. You sat up slightly, arms wrapped tightly around your knees, trying to maintain some semblance of control.

“I’m fine, Aaron,” you said, this time with more firmness, though your voice still trembled ever so slightly. “Really. I’m just not hungry.”

Aaron's gaze softened for a moment, but there was something behind his eyes—a concern, a quiet worry. He knew you too well by now to let this slide. “What about something light, then? Maybe some fruit? Or just a little snack?” His voice stayed gentle, but there was no mistaking the way he was probing now, trying to find a way in.

“No, Aaron. I don’t want anything.” You sighed, growing more agitated, your patience beginning to wear thin. “I really just don’t wanna eat right now, okay?”

Aaron’s jaw tightened slightly as he leaned back on the bed, still watching you closely. “You’ve been saying that for the past few days. And every time, you get more and more distant. What's going on, really?"

You tried to brush it off, but it was starting to feel like a pressure cooker, the conversation simmering beneath the surface. The fact that Aaron wasn’t backing down only made you more defensive. You couldn’t shake the feeling that this conversation was about to go in a direction you didn’t want it to.

“I told you, I’m fine,” you snapped a little too harshly, your shoulders stiffening. You tried to turn away from him, hoping he’d drop it. "I just don’t feel like eating right now."

But Aaron wasn’t about to let it go. His voice dropped a few degrees, and you could hear the frustration underneath the calm. “Okay, stop. I’ve seen what’s going on. You’re acting like this isn’t a big deal, but it is. You’ve barely touched any food, and I’ve noticed you sneaking in workouts late at night. You’re pushing yourself too hard, and I can’t just stand by and pretend like I don’t see it.”

Your breath hitched, and you instinctively pulled the blanket tighter around yourself as if it would shield you from the tension growing between you two. You wanted to hide, to bury the feelings, but he was too sharp, too attentive. 

“I’m just trying to get healthy,” you said quickly, hoping it would be enough of an excuse to end the conversation. “I’m just making some changes, Aaron. That’s all.”

His eyes searched yours, a mixture of confusion and concern in his gaze. “Get healthy? You’re already healthy. You don’t need to starve yourself or overexert yourself to be that. What’s really going on?”

You hesitated for a moment, trying to formulate something that wouldn’t make you sound ridiculous. But the truth was, you didn’t know how to explain it without feeling vulnerable—without feeling exposed.

“I just... I don’t know,” you began, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “You’re a big, important man, Aaron. You’re a fancy guy, and I just feel like... I don’t know. I want to match up with you. To look the way you deserve. To be perfect, especially around your coworkers. You always have everything together, and I don’t want to be the one who looks out of place. I don’t want them to look at me like I’m... less than.”

He didn’t say anything after your little speech. He wasn’t even making eye contact. The silence stretched on. This was exactly why you hadn’t said a word. 

You stared down at your hands, your nails digging into your palms from how tightly you were clenching them. Humiliation prickled under your skin. You wished you could claw the words back into your mouth, pretend none of it had ever been said.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, trying to withdraw the moment. “Forget it. I don’t know why I—”

“Stop.”

His voice wasn’t sharp. It was soft—firm in the way only Aaron Hotchner could be when he actually cared about something. It rooted you to the spot.

Finally, finally, he looked up at you. His brow was furrowed like he was thinking so hard it hurt. And then he said, very quietly, almost like he was forcing it out:

“You don’t need to look a certain way for me. Or for anyone. I love you just as you are—just you.”

You blinked at him.

“I don’t care what anyone else thinks,” he continued, the words sounding clumsy in his mouth, like he wasn’t used to letting them out. “I care about you. You could show up to a Bureau gala in pyjamas and I wouldn’t—”

He broke off, dragging a hand through his hair. His ears were slightly pink.

The ache in your chest tightened, loosened, tightened again.

“I’m… I’m just trying to get healthy,” you repeated— weakly, stupidly. Trying to hold on to the walls you’d built.

Aaron didn’t argue anymore. He simply reached over, gently touching your hand. “I don’t need you to be anything but who you are. Healthy doesn’t mean forcing yourself to be something you’re not, and it doesn’t mean changing to meet some idea of perfection. And honestly, I think you already look pretty perfect to me.”

There was a long silence between you, the tension beginning to dissolve. No grand gestures or big speeches—just him showing you he understood, and that you didn’t have to prove anything.

“You... you don’t think I’m embarrassing?” you asked, his words acting like a balm on your heart.

Hotch let out a breath that was almost — almost — a laugh. 

“No," he said. "I think you’re the only thing that feels easy anymore.”

The world tilted a little sideways. 

He pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

“You’re not so fancy either, Agent Hotchner,” you mumbled, leaning into the warmth of his embrace.

Thanks for reading! I appreciate any likes/comments/reblogs/follows. Constructive criticism is welcome. Do not plagiarise my content and/or post it anywhere without crediting me.

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

[ijustwannabecool]

Left On Read

Carlos Sainz x Reader

Summary… A barista leaves little motivational quotes on coffee cups. A quiet regular starts replying on the back of the cups.

A/N: As always I hope you guys enjoy this little story. Feedback is always welcomed. Happy reading and have a beautiful day today!!

Request are open (:

Like, reblog, comment, enjoy!

——

You don’t know his name. Just that he always orders the same thing: café con leche, no sugar, extra hot. And that he tips with coins—heavy, clinking, deliberate. And that he always, always, looks a little tired. A little too quietly handsome for your peace of mind.

You start leaving motivational quotes on the coffee cups in early October, mostly out of boredom. Your boss thinks it's cute and tells you to keep it up. Customers start noticing, smiling, even snapping photos.

But he—the guy with the jawline carved by the gods and the hoodie pulled over his face like he’s hiding from the world—he doesn’t say a word. Just picks up his cup, nods once, and disappears into the Madrid morning like fog.

Until one day, you see something new.

The back of the cup.

“You always write them for everyone else. Thought you deserved one too.”

‘The world is better because you’re in it.’ – C.S.

Your heart does a weird little flip.

You glance up, but he’s already gone.

——

After that, it becomes a silent ritual.

You write something soft, hopeful, maybe a little poetic. He responds.

Sometimes seriously:

‘Hope is the thing with feathers.’ I like that one. Reminds me of my mom.

Sometimes playfully:

“If the coffee doesn’t wake you up, your handwriting will.” – C.S.

And once:

‘I needed this today. Thank you.’

That one sticks with you.

——

You don’t know that Carlos Sainz is a famous athlete. That he’s a driver.

You just know he’s always got a cap pulled low, a hoodie even lower, and those dark eyes that feel like thunderclouds and honey all at once.

He’s never brought up racing. Never rushed. Never dropped a single hint.

Just a man who likes his coffee and, apparently, your quotes.

——

One particularly rainy Thursday, you take a risk. You write:

“Sometimes I think we leave pieces of ourselves behind in places we love.”

And on the back, his reply:

Maybe that’s why I keep coming here. – C.S.

You stare at the cup longer than you should, wondering what kind of person says things like that with so much quiet weight.

——

Two weeks later, he doesn’t show up.

Or the next day. Or the next.

You don’t want to admit you notice, but your hand hovers longer over the cups now. The quotes feel a little more hollow without a reply. You try to brush it off. People have lives. Coffee isn't a commitment.

But the silence is deafening.

——

He shows up again on a Monday. Hair damp from the rain. Hoodie soaked. Eyes tired but warm.

You don’t even think. You just say, “Rough day?” as you hand him the cup.

His eyes lift to yours—sharp, searching, like you just caught him in a lie he didn’t mean to tell.

Then he smiles, slow and sheepish. “You could say that.”

On the cup, you’ve written:

“You’re not behind. You’re right on time.”

And this time, when he turns the cup around, he doesn’t write anything. He just says it. Out loud.

“Gracias. I needed that.”

Your heart trips. You smile, a little breathless. “Anytime.”

——

That weekend, your friend drags you to watch Formula 1 for the first time. You're halfway through the broadcast when the camera zooms in on one of the drivers.

Brown eyes. Familiar jawline. That same curve of a smile that lives rent-free in your mind.

You nearly spill your drink.

“Wait. WAIT. IS THAT—” You scramble for your phone, googling him so fast your fingers fumble the letters.

Carlos. Freaking. Sainz.

Your quiet regular is literally a world-famous F1 driver.

——

The next day, he comes in late. Hoodie, cap, sunglasses—a whole disguise. You try not to smile as you write on his cup.

“Thought I’d seen you somewhere before. Nice helmet.”

When he sees it, his mouth twitches. He lifts his eyes to yours, mock-serious. “You found out?”

You nod, biting back a grin. “Let’s just say you left me on read long enough to google you.”

And finally—finally—he laughs. A warm, chest-deep sound. “Guess I’ll have to start leaving you real notes then.”

You hand him a pen. “Back of the cup’s yours.”

He doesn’t write anything this time either. Just sips his coffee.

And then—softly, without looking— “Dinner sometime?”

[oaksgrove]

Hello! I’ve only recently gotten into call of duty and your blog has quickly become one of my favourites! I wanted to request if possible please a comfort imagine with John Price? (also my new fav lol) It can be whatever you want, whether reader’s hurt or just had a crap day or anything really

Please ignore this though if you don’t want to :) thank you and have a great weekend!

The Kind of Home

Pairing: John Price x Wife!Reader

Synopsis: After a quiet, crushing day, you retreat into the silence of your shared home, hoping not to burden the man who already carries so much. But John Price is not the kind of man who lets the one he loves face the darkness alone. With steady hands and a warm embrace, he reminds you that being yours means being there—on the good days, and especially on the hard ones.

Warnings: Emotional comfort, reader experiencing burnout/stress, gentle caretaking, hurt/comfort, soft domestic fluff, heavy emotional vulnerability

a/n: Thank you so much for your support, dear! John’s also my favourite, so I hope you enjoy this!

John knew something was off before he’d even stepped inside.

The porch light was on, flickering faintly in the evening drizzle, but the warm glow from the kitchen window wasn’t there. No soft silhouette moving behind the curtains, no scent of simmering soup or lavender and lemon candles—just silence, cool and unfamiliar.

He unlocked the door, eased it open, and stepped into stillness.

Boots off. Bag down. Keys in the bowl.

“Love?” he called gently, not too loud—just enough for you to hear if you were around.

The only answer was the hum of the fridge and the soft patter of rain against the windows.

His brows knit, a slow ache curling into his chest. He made his way to the living room—your phone on the armrest of the couch, abandoned. The blanket was tossed over the side. A half-cupped mug of tea sat on the coffee table, long gone cold.

That wasn’t like you.

His throat tightened as he turned toward the bedroom, every footstep more cautious than the last.

The door was barely open. He pushed it gently, revealing the quiet dark of the room and the shape of you in the bed—burrowed under the blanket, curled toward the wall, small in a way that made his heart hurt.

No music. No TV. No half-read book on your chest like usual. No lamp turned on with warm golden light waiting for him.

He moved to your side of the bed and crouched beside you. Close enough to see the tension in your face even with your eyes closed.

“Sweetheart,” he said, voice low, fingertips brushing along the edge of the blanket. “You alright?”

You didn’t move. Not really. Just a slight press of your cheek deeper into the pillow, like you were trying to disappear into it.

John hesitated only a second more before he sat on the bed beside you and gently peeled the blanket back, just enough to see your face.

Eyes shut. Jaw tight. The kind of exhaustion that sleep didn’t fix.

Your voice was barely a whisper. “I’m fine.”

He reached out, brushing your hair back with quiet reverence. “You’re not. And that’s alright.”

You opened your eyes then, tears unshed but stubbornly there. “It was just… a bad day. That’s all. Nothing new.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing. Everything. It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me,” he said instantly, so softly it made your throat ache. “You matter.”

You looked away, shame burning in your chest. “I didn’t want to dump it all on you. You’ve got enough to carry.”

His hand moved to your shoulder, grounding, warm. “You think I’d ever want you to go through something alone? Not a chance, love. You don’t have to pretend for me. Not here. Not ever.”

That was the breaking point.

The first tear slipped free, and you hated it, hated that you couldn’t keep it together. But John was already there—already gathering you in, easing you into his lap like you weighed nothing.

“Shh, hey. I’ve got you. Just let go.”

You clung to him, burying your face in his neck, and he wrapped you in his arms, a fortress of quiet strength and steady warmth.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice cracking.

“For what?” He kissed the side of your head, fingers stroking your back.

“For being… like this. For not having it together.”

“You don’t have to have it together all the time. You don’t have to be perfect for me.” He pulled back slightly to look at you, thumbs brushing your cheeks. “You just have to be mine.”

You blinked at him, tears falling silently. “But I didn’t even make dinner—”

“Darling,” he interrupted, utterly serious. “If you think I came home tonight hoping for dinner, you’re mad. I came home hoping to see your smile. And if I can’t have that today, I’ll hold you through the night until it comes back.”

You sniffled, pressing your forehead against his. “I missed you.”

“I missed you more,” he said, voice raspier now. “Now come on. Let me take care of you tonight.”

He stood up with you in his arms and laid you gently back on the bed. Then he disappeared for a moment, returning with warm pyjamas, a cool glass of water, a washcloth to wipe your face.

He helped you change with soft hands, not saying much, just humming under his breath like he was soothing something wild and wounded inside you.

Afterward, he climbed into bed beside you, tugged the blanket over both of you, and pulled you tight against his chest.

“I’ll make your favourite breakfast tomorrow,” he murmured into your hair. “And we’ll go get those pastries from the bakery you like. Maybe take a walk. Or stay in bed all day, if that’s what you want.”

“You don’t have to do all that.”

“I want to. ‘Cause I love you. And I don’t just love the parts of you that are smiling and laughing. I love you when you’re quiet, when you’re tired, when you’re hurting. All of you, every day.”

That’s when you finally smiled—small and trembling, but real.

He kissed your forehead, then your cheek, then your knuckles, one at a time. “Sleep now, yeah? I’ll be here.”

You let out a long, slow breath and tucked yourself under his chin, surrounded by the smell of him—smoke and spice and safety.

The kind of home you’d never known you needed until he gave it to you.

taglist: @honestlymassivetrash @pythonmoth @kittygonap @rainyjellybear @anonymouse1807 @twoandahalfdimes

[81pastrys]

Quadrant Racers

Part 2 of the 19k word count series!

Summary— Max Fewtrells sister was Lando’s teammate at McLaren before her move to RedBull, but she’s still close to Lando and a part of quadrant, so what happens when Max wins a bet that they set on Lando?

Warnings— First Person POV (I, me, us, we) ; confident reader ; angst ; mention of Max’s racing career ; awkward Lando ; Oscar!Ex ; mentions of abusive ex ; mention of being taken advantage while drunk ; panic attacks ; anxiety

A/N— enjoy reading this long jumble of words 🤩

Series List Part 1

Dividers @bernardsbendystraws @dollywons

The next race weekend comes up and Max is in Landos paddock more than mine. I whine to him later on about it.

“I’m your sister!” I whine.

“I have McLarens paddock pass though, I can’t chill around Red Bull for long.” He said. “Next time I will get Red Bull paddock pass.”

“Okay.” I sigh.

I go out for the practice and then return the car. Max and I performed well. Lando in the midst of us and Oscar as well. I walk to the main part of the paddock and see Lando and Oscar. I hug Lando and congratulate him in 2nd.

“Good job on P3!” Oscar said.

“Yeah, congrats on P4!” I say sarcastically.

“Love don’t be like that.” Lando said, his smile fading quickly towards my comment. “If you can’t be nice, then don’t say anything.”

“No, it’s okay Lando.” Oscar said. “Clearly she has better priorities.”

“P3 amazing job sis!” Max said hugging me. “You did so good out there.”

“Thank you Max.” I say.

“We’ve got sponsors to do, I’ll see you two later.” Lando said, hugging us both this time.

They walk off and it’s just me and Max. “Fucking dick.” I whisper.

“Oh come on, you can’t still be hung up on that.” Max said. “If you keep on like this Lando won’t want to date you.”

“I know, but it’s so hard being civil with him.” I whine. “Especially when he’s by Lando.”

“You’re gonna have to learn.” He shrugged.

“Whatever.” I say.

The race was wild. 4 of were fighting for 1st. Ultimately I won with the McLarens behind me. All the interviewers were crowding me. After I head to the cool down room.

“Good job out there.” Lando said, giving me a hug and a kiss on my head.

“Thank you.” I smile. “You guys did good as well.”

“The adrenaline must be high.” Oscar said, laughing after.

“It is, savor it.” I snark. I was trying to be civil, but then he pulls that out.

Lando rubs my arm and sits down. “Get a water love.”

“Yeah.” I sigh. I feel the high coming down and the headache kick in. I grab the water and lean on the stand. I crouch down putting my face in my hands.

“What’s wrong?” Lando asked, quickly walking to me. He crouched next to me.

“The adrenaline is wearing off.” I say, I sit down.

“You’ll be okay, unzip your suit, let your hair down, and drink the water.” He said. I do just that. “You can’t wait to unzip your suit everytime.” He laughed.

“I look better in pictures though.” I say.

“Oh god.” Oscar laughed in the back. I roll my eyes and we’re called to the podium. “That’s our cue.”

Oscar goes first and I zip my suit back up. “I can’t be civil with him acting like that.”

“I know, you’re trying though and that’s what counts.” He said, leaving for his podium.

“Our race winner, Fewtrell!!” I walk to the podium with a straight face and small smile on.

They play the anthems and do the champagne. Lando sprays me down, Oscar sprays Lando but not me. I don’t even open mine. We walk to the paddock.

“Why didn’t you open your champagne sis?” Max asked. “That’s the whole point of the podium celebration.”

“I didn’t feel like it.” I say. “I don’t know, bad mood I guess.”

“I’m sorry.” He said hugging me. “You won a race little sis, fulfilling your dreams!”

“My dream was to race with you..” I say getting teary eyed.

“Aww don’t do that.” He said. “You did race with me!”

“Yeah, but this is different.” I say. “It doesn’t feel right.”

We go back to the paddock and I cool down. I take my race suit off. My trainer has an ice bath ready. I put on spandex shorts and a sports bra. I get in and sigh of relief.

“That feels amazing.” I say, closing my eyes and leaning my head back. My manager walks up with my phone.

“Max.” She said.

“Which one?” I ask taking it, it’s Verstappen.

“Hey.” He said.

“Hey?” I say confused. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothings wrong!” He said quick. “I didn’t congratulate you yet!”

“Oh, you scared me!” I say.

“Well congrats on your win!” He said.

“Thank you Max.” I smile. “Where are you?”

“No where important.” He said. “Just the hotel.”

“Okay, I’m almost done at the paddock so I’ll

Be there in what like an hour?”

“Yeah, I’ll text you later!” He said. We hang up and I hand my phone back.

I get out the ice bath and go to my driver room to change. Max is waiting outside my door. “Hey sis.”

“Hey!” I say. “Ready?” I ask.

“Yeah, let’s head out.”

I say my byes to the team and we head back to the hotel.

Norris POV

We set up a surprise party, for her first win, at the hotel. Max texted me saying they were on the way.

“They’re on the way.” I tell Max.

“You think she knows?” He asked.

“Pfft no.” I say laughing. “She’s clueless.”

“Hope she likes the party.” Carlos said.

“I planned it to perfection.”

“I’m excited and I’m part of it.” Charles said.

Max texted me again saying they’re getting out the cab and about to walk in. I look up and we all yell surprise when they walk in. She covers her mouth and starts crying.

“You won your first race!” I say walking up.

“You did this?” She asked through tears.

“Well, I wasn’t going to let it pass by!” I say.

“Thank you.” She said hugging me tight.

She lets go and everyone else congratulates her as she walks through. She reaches the table with the decorations and poorly decorated cake I made.

“Awwww.” She said. “You made me a cake.” She smiled.

“Don’t act like you like it.” I laugh.

“Its the thought that counts?” She said laughing after. “It’s perfect, thank you.”

“Anything for you.” I say smiling.

We start dancing with everyone and drinking as well. Max, his sister and I sit down and just talk.

“I’m proud of you sis.” Max said.

“Thank you Maxie.” She giggled.

“How many drinks in are you love?” I ask.

“Like 1 and a half.” She said. “I’m not really feeling like drinking.”

“Good because your present is upstairs waiting.” I whispered in her ear. I smile and she looks at me, seeing the lust filling my eyes. She giggled. “One more drink and call it quits?” I ask the group.

They all agree and we dance a little more, after we head to my hotel room. I had set it up with pink rose petals and a sign asking her to be my girlfriend.

She was a bit tipsy from the drinks as we head up to the hotel room. She giggles through the halls as I lead her to my room. I unlock it and open it dramatically letting her in. Rose petals litter the floor and bed. Pink ones used as confetti and red ones spelling out ‘will you be my girlfriend?’

“Lando!” She gasped. The drinks taking a toll on her. Not completely, but enough. “I know I’m drunk, but yes!” She slurs at me. She kisses me and wraps her arms around me. I decide I’m going to leave my room how it is and bring her to her room and freshen her up.

“Let’s get to your room, yeah?” I ask from the hug. She pulls away and nods at me. “Freshen up and get some sleep?” We head to her room and she can’t find her key, of course. I call Max as she sits against the wall.

“She lost her key?” He answered. I laugh and he says he’s on his way up with a new one. She rolls her head and picks it up at the sight of him. “Heard you lost a key.” He teased.

“Uh huh.” She responded, tired and exhausted from the night. “He asked me Max!” She enlightened her mood.

“Did he?” Max asked. “I think he’s going to help you shower and get you to bed, is that alright?” He said unlocking her door. She stumbled in and laid on the bed.

“I’ve got it from here.” I sigh. “I’m going to ask her again tomorrow, I’m sure she won’t remember.” I laugh. Max heads out and leaves me with the key. I get her to the bathroom and start the shower. “Do you need help undressing love?” I ask.

She shys away and I back up, giving her space. “No..” She whispered. I’m sure my confused face gave her the clue to what I was going to say. “I don’t.. you’re not Oscar.” She reminded herself more than me. “He would’ve already.. no, no.” She laughed nervously. Tears filling her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” I ask concerned, not touching her in case it triggers something else. “Take a minute to breathe for me, okay?” She looks at me and her face softens. “Can I hug you? Is that okay?”

She nods at me and I take her in my arms. I feel her instantly relax and sigh. “Can you unzip my dress?” She asked, muffled by my shirt. I nod and do as she asked. “I don’t want to.” She whined and sniffled stiffly. She takes a shaky breath and I hold her face in my hands.

“Love, I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to.” I reassure her. “I want to help you freshen up and get to bed safely.” I say. She sniffled and looked at me.

“I’m scared.” She whined again. I loosen my grip on her face and she holds her dress up. The shower in the background growing cold.

“Scared of what, my love?” I ask, waiting for a response for a longer time than expected. My patience stretching farther than it ever has.

“He’d use me if I got drunk.” She confessed. “No shower, no cuddles.” She goes on. “He’d fuck me and leave me alone for the night.”

My face contorts into disgust as she explains how Oscar treated her if she was drunk. “Do you trust me?” I ask. She looks down and then back up, nodding. “Let me show you how a real man takes care of you.” I whisper, pulling her head to my chest.

I check the water temperature, then look back to her. She slipped her dress off, and I work on taking her jewelry off. She steps in the shower holding my hand and smiles lazily at me. “Can you shower with me?” She hesitated.

“Is that what you want?” I ask to clarify. She nods and I undress my body, stepping in next to her. I spot her shampoo and conditioner on a ledge. I make sure her hair is soaked before massaging the product in. “Is this okay?” I ask.

“Better than okay.” She hummed. I chuckle and finish washing her hair. She washed her own body as I do my own hair, swapping halfway. I get out the shower first holding her hand as she follows. I hand her a towel and she dries off with me.

I grab clothes I had brought from my room and put them on, searching her suitcase for clothes she can sleep in. “What do you sleep in love?” I ask. No response. I turn to look at her and she’s asleep on the bed. I smile to myself and put her in an oversized tee and panties. I cover her with the blanket. I get comfortable on the couch and fall asleep.

First Person POV

I wake up with a blaring headache. Last thing I remember is the cake Lando made, after that it’s a blur. I sit up in an oversized tee and underwear. My head dashes to the couch and Lando is fast asleep on the couch. The bathroom floor is ridden with our clothes. I cover my mouth in disbelief and cry, covering myself with the blanket.

Lando wakes up and sees me rocking on the bed and he jumps up. “What’s wrong?” He asked frantic. “Did something happen?” His voice was panicked.

“I don’t- did we? No, no.” I mutter. Usually when I black out, it’d be with Oscar and he’d use me. Although I’ve never woken to him laying on the couch. “You aren’t like that.. you’re not Oscar.” I reassured myself more than anything. He keeps his distance. I must’ve done this last night.

“Love, baby, nothing happened last night, I promise.” He whispered softly. “I got you showered and in bed, no sex, nothing inappropriate.” He reassured me.

My breathing calms and I reassess the situation. I’m in my hotel room, dressed in my clothes, only my head hurts and Lando doesn’t lie to me. Max knows him better than anyone and wouldn’t leave me with an untrustworthy man overnight, especially if I was drunk. “Okay.” I breathe.

“I’ll answer any questions.” He responded softly, comforting. I ask away and he has an answer for everything. “Can I bring you to my room and show you something?” He asked when I was done.

“Let me put on real clothes first and yes.” I respond, still in shock. I grab clothes and change in the bathroom. When I go back out he let me go first. We walk down the hall to his room and he opens the door, allowing me in first. The room is set up beautifully with rose petals.

“I brought you here last night, but you were too drunk to remember, so I left it.” He said nervously. Scratching his neck. I hug him and he hugs me back.

“Yes, Lando, I will be your girlfriend.” I say smiling hard. I feel him relax in my arms. I pull back from the hug and look at all the rose petals.

I know it said somewhere there was a sad ending, but like it’s kinda not to be fair

@il0vereadingstuff @angelluv16 @pandabiiissh @itznotsophia @kallanfiona @justaf1girl

[bingbongsupremacy]

The Lakeside Cabin Pt. 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Warning: Y/N Use, swearing, bullying from both Bucky and Y/N

Series Summary: The hate you and Bucky have for each other has gradually increased throughout your time knowing each other. This time, things went too far. Thanks to your arguments, you get sent on a unique consequential mission: You will both live together in a secluded cabin until you're able to come together and settle your differences. You're screwed.

Pt. Summary: You and Bucky spend your first 2 days in the cabin...of course, it's messy.

This doesn't really follow the movies or shows.

*Not Proof Read*

No mentions of body type, skin color, or details of reader's appearance.

□□□□□□□

As soon as Fury left the room, Steve was sent in to inform us we need to pack our stuff.

"First thing tomorrow I'm driving you two to the cabin." His eyes shift between the two of us.

"Steve, you have to do something about this." I urge the tall blonde. I gesture between myself and Bucky. "We will literally kill each other. 10 minutes tops. I swear."

Bucky scoffs. "With your mouth? Make it five." He shakes his head in annoyance. A strand of his brown hair falling loose in front of his eyes in the process. He is leaned back against his chair, thick arms tightly folded against his chest.

"You couldn't kill me if you tried. Brains over brawn." I snap back at the older man.

He ignores my glare, instead rolling his eyes. "Doll, let’s not fantasize. You talk like you’re a genius, but I’ve met houseplants with better critical thinking skills. At least they know which direction the sun’s coming from. Meanwhile, you still have to be told which hand is your left hand."

My blood boils. I tightly clench my fists, ready to attack Bucky. I narrow my eyes at the man, praying a lightning bolt strikes him down. Some nerve. "First of all, it was one time! I was shitfaced drunk and seeing like 50 versions of my own hand. That gets confusing. Second of all, that’s rich coming from the guy who types with one finger and calls it ‘tactical efficiency.' I know animals who type better than y-"

Steve cuts me. "Enough. Enough! This is exactly why you're being sent to this safehouse. You two are unbelievable, you know that? This is literally the reason you are going to the safehouse." He glares at us. "You're adults! It's time you start acting like it." Steve's voice is stern, like a pissed off father.

Deep down, I know he's right. Bucky and I should be able to work together without feeling the need to piss the other off. Our stupid fights got us into this situation, but unfortunately, they can't get us out.

We need to come out of this civil.

How though?

What are we supposed to do to calm the anger between us? Make friendship bracelets and have heart-to-hearts? Where do we even begin?

"I don't understand this...rivalry between the two of you." Steve folds his arms.

I avoid his gaze. A feeling of guilt begins to gnaw at the inside of my stomach. Something about Steve's disappointed dad demeanor makes me question my behaviors.

Steve continues. "You're both great at what you do. Why can't you just build each other up instead of trying to tear each other down? This is a team. We need to have each other's backs. It's not fair to the rest of us when stuff like today happens. Someone could've gotten hurt, and you wouldn't be able to help because you're so caught up in each other. Think about us. If someone had been injured while you two were bickering, I guarantee you would've come back feeling horrible. Don't let that happen."

Bucky and I are silent while the words settle in our minds.

I hate that he's right.

-------

The car ride to the safehouse is long. None of us speak as Steve continues down the highway surrounded by forest. I keep my head pressed against he passenger side window, watching as the trees speed by.

The radio crackles as we begin to get further and further from civilization before eventually turning into steady static. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Steve turn off the radio before turning his attention back to the road.

After another ten minutes of silence, Steve turns off the highway onto a smaller road. The gravel-covered road crackles as the tires of our car push against it. The car pulls into a large clearing.

Ahead sits a large cabin, a lake visible behind it. The exterior cabin is covered in brown wood that gives off the feeling of Lincoln Logs. Large windows sit on either side of the front door, both covered by curtains. The wooden door is beautifully crafted, with gentle carvings surrounding the small window at the top. The porch is nearly bare, the only things on it being two wooden rocking chairs. The second story of the cabin contains one window, also covered by a curtain on the inside. The roof is a light green color, obviously faded from the sun.

The lawn is overgrown and filled with wildflowers, which stop at the road. Rocks separate the lawn from the road, leaving a small opening for a path to the cabin door. To the far side of the cabin is a small covered car. In the distance, I can see what I think is a fire pit with chairs surrounding it.

Immediately, I spot some of the cameras Fury was talking about. A familiar red dot sits in the corner of the one facing the road we just pulled up through.

They're already watching us.

Steve parks the car, and I immediately get out, ready to stretch my legs. Little rocks from the gravel road push against the bottom of my shoes, adding pressure in weird places. I ignore it, deciding to walk around to the back of the car where my bags are.

Steve pops the trunk open, and I scan over the items. Two boxes of food and necessities are stacked on each other and tucked in the corner, under a few extra blankets. Next to the boxes are our bags and things we brought to do.

I reach into the trunk and pull out my two suitcases and travel backpack. When I turn around, I spot Bucky looking over my luggage with a raised brow.

This morning I woke up late and ended up being twenty minutes late for the car. Both guys were already inside talking when I stuffed my bags inside the trunk.

"We stayin' two weeks or are you planning on making it a year?" Bucky asks while watching me pull on my backpack.

I roll my eyes. "Some of us actually like to change our outfits, Bucky. We don't all wear the same 2 pairs of Henleys and jeans." I snap back without thinking. "It's called style. You might want to try it."

Bucky scoffs, folding his arms over his broad chest. "Style? Doll, if carrying half a department store on your back counts as style, I’ll stick with functional. At least my clothes don’t require a damn instruction manual."

"Fuck yo-"

Steve cuts me off, stepping in the middle of the two of us. "Enough." His voice is stern. He looks back and forth at us. "Remember why you're here. Behave."

Bucky is silent while he grabs his singular bag out of the trunk. He also somehow manages to grab both of the boxes and blankets.

Fucking supersoldiers.

Steve leads us up the path to the cabin entrance. He pulls out a small housekey from his pocket as soon as we get to the door. He unlocks the door and takes a step inside, us following behind.

Sunlight streams into the house from the door. Dust swarms around in the air around the light, sending a tickle up my nose.

This place definitely hasn't been used in a while.

Steve turns on the hallway light, which takes a minute to flicker on.

A deep green rug stretches across the wooden floors. The floorboards underneath groan with age.

To the left, the cabin opens up into a large living room that feels like stepping into another time. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves line the walls, overflowing with mismatched spines -some worn and cracked, others newer but wedged in haphazardly, like the collection grew too fast to be properly arranged. One of the large windows I saw outside is against the wall. A large, faded floral curtain blocks most of the light from coming in.

On the far wall is a massive stone fireplace, blackened at the mouth from decades of crackling fires. A small stack of wood sits in a woven basket nearby, and a set of iron tools leans beside the hearth, rust-spotted and clearly well-used.

Two large, weathered leather couches face one another in the center of the room, the cushions sunken from use, but still inviting. Between them rests a handmade wooden coffee table -its surface rough and nicked with character, the legs thick and carved with simple swirls. Small side tables, mismatched but cute, flank the couches. On each one sits a tiny lamp with linen shades.

In the corner, nearest the old box TV, a relic from the early 2000s, if not before, sits a lone recliner. The faded fabric is worn along the armrests, and one side sags just slightly more than the other, like it's been very well used. A thick, knitted grey blanket is folded over the back of it, clearly hand-made.

On the opposite side of the entryway is a compact office space, its doorway framed by dark wood molding. Inside, a large, worn mahogany desk sits front and center. Behind it is a battered office chair, the upholstery torn along the edges and stuffing peeking through. The desk itself is surprisingly bare -just a dusty brass lamp with a cracked green glass shade, and a chipped ceramic mug crammed full of pens and pencils.

Another fireplace nestles against the far wall, smaller than the one in the living room but just as old, framed by a simple brick mantel. Above it are several decorative items clearly arranged with a purpose.

Steve leads us past the wide wooden staircase in front of us to the kitchen where Bucky sets down the boxes and blankets on the counter.

The kitchen looks like it was last renovated sometime before color TV was invented. The floor creaks with every step, the faded linoleum peeling at the corners like it’s trying to escape. The counters are scratched-up laminate in a nauseating shade of beige, stained permanently by years of coffee spills and what you can only guess was tomato sauce… hopefully.

The cabinets are all uneven, a mismatched mix of pale wood and dull, chipped paint. One hangs slightly open. The stove is an ancient, avocado-green relic. A dented kettle sits on the back burner like it’s been there for decades, and probably has.

There’s one tiny window above the sink, foggy with age and framed by dusty curtains that might’ve once been floral. Barely any natural light gets in, casting everything in a dim, golden haze. The hum of the fridge fills my ears as soon as I get into the room —loud enough to be annoying but not loud enough to drown out the silence.

A single flickering lightbulb hangs overhead, its yellow glow casting long shadows that make the place feel smaller than it already is. There’s no dishwasher, obviously, and the sink’s faucet drips every few seconds with a metallic plink that quickly becomes infuriating.

It’s cozy in a way. Or at least, it would be -if I didn't have to share it with Bucky.

"There's more food in the pantry and down in the storage cellar." Steve gestures to a closed door. "You guys should be set for the next two weeks. There should be cable and internet, according to Tony, I don't know how well it works up here. If something happens and you need help, there's an emergency button hidden behind the painting above the fireplace in the office. There's more wood outside and an axe in the shed -Not for killing." His eyes narrow at us. "The building should have heat, AC, running water, and electricity. You are not allowed to use the boat or to leave the property unless the trip is approved by Fury. Cameras will be watching. Expect check-in calls every few days. You will also be given tasks to do together as a team. You have to do them. " Steve informs us.

"Can we swim?" I ask curiously.

"Sure. Do whatever you want as long as it leads to you two getting along and not hurting each other." Steve sighs. "Really try to get along, guys, alright? This is for your own benefit."

Doesn't feel like it.

"I've got to get back." Steve says when neither of us replies. He sets the key down on the counter top before beginning to walk towards the door but he stops a few inches shy to look at us once again. "No killing, I'm serious. Goodbye."

Bucky and I say goodbye to the blonde man. We listen to the fading creaking sounds the wood makes under his weight as he walks back to the entrance. The front door shuts with a small click and I immediately turn to Bucky.

"I call the master's suite." I say before he can open his mouth.

"Of course you do." He mutters.

"You snooze, you lose," I say unsympathetically.

"Do you always have to be such a pain in the ass?" Bucky grumbles while sending me an annoyed look.

I grin. "Only for you, Bucky. You're the one special person who brings out the worst in me."

"Aw, I’m flattered. Didn’t realize ruining your mood was my superpower. Should I add it to my resume?" Bucky mocks me.

I narrow my eyes. "A resume? Wow, look at you keeping up with the modern world. What’s next, learning how to use emojis? I mean, it only took you a year to figure out how to answer a phone without hanging up first -color me impressed."

"First of all, we had resumes in the 40s. They aren't that new of an invention. Secondly, yeah, I’m ancient. But at least I didn’t grow up thinking TikTok was a valid news source." He raises an eyebrow. "Pretty sure I’ve fought dictators with more self-awareness than you."

"Do you even know what TikTok is, grandpa? Or did you just hear Sam say it once and decide to be mad about it?" I feel my heart pounding in my chest as my anger builds up. He just won't quit.

To be fair, neither will I.

Whatever.

"I don’t need to know what it is, Y/N. You think I’m wasting my time watching people dance around on the internet?" He crosses his arms, clearly annoyed. "I’ve got better things to do than-" He cuts himself off. His drawn brows slowly pull apart. "We need to stop." He takes a deep breath, obviously trying to calm himself down.

His words cut through my anger-filled mind, hitting me with a moment of clarity. He's right. We're doing exactly what we were sent here to stop doing.

"You're..." I hesitate to say the word. It physically pains me. "right." I sigh, agreeing with the man. I glance down at my bags, my fingers fidgeting at the strap of my backpack. Part of me wants to keep fighting. Part of me wants to keep digging in my heels and hating everything about this. But another part... the part that’s more exhausted than anything... doesn’t want to fight anymore. I just want to go to sleep. The stress from the past few days and the long trip really took a toll on me.

Instead of getting cocky like I expected, his brows shoot up in surprise. He wasn't expecting me to give in so easily.

"Alright...well, I'm going to go upstairs and find a room -not the master suite." He picks up his suitcase again. He glances down at the two suitcases resting at my feet. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and I notice something in his eyes—hesitation, like he’s not sure if he should keep pushing or just... back off. "Do you...do you need help bringing up your stuff?" He asks, his voice low, like he’s not sure if I’ll snap at him for it.

It's my turn to stare at him in shock.

Bucky Barnes...helping me?

That's a first.

I blink, thrown off by the sudden offer. For a second, I just stare at him, my mind working to process what he’s saying.

I open my mouth to refuse, to shoot him down like I always do, but something holds me back. Maybe it’s the fact that carrying these damn bags up two flights of stairs doesn’t exactly sound like a fun time. Or maybe it’s the fact that, for the first time, I’m starting to think that maybe, just maybe, there's a possibility we don’t always have to be at each other’s throats.

I let out a breath, trying to steady myself. "Fine. But don’t think this means I’m suddenly your best friend."

He nods, his expression unreadable as he walks over to grab my bags without a word. He begins to carry them along with his out of the kitchen and up the stairs. I watch him for a moment, unsure of what to make of the situation.

And just like that, the argument is over. For now.

--------

The morning light is harsh through the small windows, slicing through the cabin with no regard for the awkward silence hanging in the air. I can feel the weight of two weeks settling over me as I sit up in bed. Bucky’s already awake, of course. He’s always awake early.

If we were at the compound, he'd almost be done training by now. Bucky loves his routines.

I shuffle into the kitchen, still groggy, and see Bucky standing at the counter with a coffee cup in hand. He doesn’t acknowledge me, and I’m not in the mood to acknowledge him either. The moment I reach for the coffee machine, my eyes catch a post-it note stuck to the side of it.

Do not touch the coffee until I’ve had my first cup. – Bucky.

I can feel the annoyance creeping up my neck, but I don’t say anything. Instead, I turn on the stove, making myself a quick breakfast and deciding to leave him to his rituals. His mornings are the same: precise, silent, and filled with the deep frown that seems to permanently mark his face. I don’t get him. I never will.

Spontaneity makes life fun. I like waking up and not knowing what I'm going to eat for breakfast. It's like a little surprise. I also like going throughout my day, not knowing what I'm going to do or who I'm going to see. It keeps things fun.

I’m finishing my toast when Bucky finally speaks, still not looking at me. “You’re gonna need to take your stuff out of the fridge,” he says, his voice stiff.

I glance over at the fridge, where my eggs and yogurt are squeezed in beside his protein shakes and old cans of tuna. There’s a post-it note on the door now.

Keep your food on your side. – Bucky.

My teeth grind together, and I fight the urge to snap something back.

Civil. I need to be civil.

Instead, I nod curtly. “Noted,” I mutter, picking up my food and bringing it along with me.

I retreat into the living room, eager to get some space. I can hear the sound of Bucky pouring his coffee as I settle down on the couch. There’s something comforting about the chaos of reality TV, the drama, the mindless bickering. I turn on the TV, the familiar blaring voices filling the room.

Bucky appears in the doorway, already scowling.

“Really?” he asks, crossing his arms, his eyes narrow as he watches the screen. “You’re watching this crap?”

Of course, he doesn't like reality TV. I bet the only thing he watches is nature documentaries. And he definitely needs to plan that into his day ahead of time.

I barely glance up, but I can feel his gaze burning into me. “Yeah. What’s the problem?” I reply, trying to act casual while I scroll through the options.

Every once in a while, the TV screen will distort, a sign of the horrible signal out here in the middle of nowhere.

“It’s just... ridiculous. It’s all fake. Why would you waste your time on this?”

I can’t help but smirk. “Well, I find it entertaining,” I say, popping a piece of toast into my mouth. “It’s better than, I don’t know, making everything a drill sergeant routine.”

Bucky huffs and shakes his head, obviously irritated. “You could be doing something productive.”

“Like what?” I shoot back, but I don’t care enough to engage in the same conversation again. It’s easier to just keep watching the show. At least reality TV drama doesn't involve me.

He mutters something under his breath, something I can’t quite catch. After a moment, he makes his way over to the partially sunken recliner and turns to look at the show. His entire body is stiff, like he’s holding in some rage.

I can tell he’s not going to leave until I acknowledge his discomfort, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction. I lean back on the couch, my legs stretched out in front of me on the coffee table as I continue watching.

After what feels like an eternity of him seething in silence, Bucky stands up abruptly. “I don’t know how you can watch this trash,” he grumbles, walking toward the kitchen.

We love a passive-aggressive drama queen.

I don’t even look at him, too busy enjoying the ridiculousness of the show. “You’re free to go do whatever you want, Bucky,” I call after him, my voice thick with sarcasm. “If you don’t like it, you can always head out into the woods and have a silent staring contest with the trees. They'll match your vibe perfectly: Silent and broody.”

He doesn’t answer, but I catch the faintest mutter, “Asshole,” as he storms off.

I let out a small, vindictive laugh to myself. That felt good.

Not even five minutes later, there’s a Post-it note stuck to the coffee table.

If you’re going to keep watching that crap, keep the volume down. - Bucky.

I roll my eyes but don’t respond. Instead, I grab the remote and turn up the volume just a little bit louder, letting the voices echo around the cabin.

Later in the afternoon, I’m sprawled out on the couch, now fully invested in the chaos of the show. I’m halfway through the latest episode when I see another post-it note. It’s stuck to the arm of the couch, right by my shoulder.

The noise isn’t the only thing that’s annoying. Can you clean up after yourself once in a while? - Bucky.

I glance around the living room, taking in the few crumbs from my snack and the empty cup I left on the counter. I guess this is his way of saying he doesn’t like the mess. Not that I care. He doesn’t like anything about me. And I’m pretty sure the feeling’s mutual.

I scribble a quick note on a post-it, sticking it right by his coffee mug on the counter where he’ll see it.

This is my cabin too, right? It’s not like you’re the only one who’s allowed to be here. – Y.

I sit back, satisfied, as I continue watching the reality TV show, ignoring the underlying tension that seems to be building between us.

I wake up to the smell of coffee and something… burnt. Not fire-alarm burnt. Just slightly scorched ego burnt.

Bucky’s already in the kitchen, standing like he’s guarding national secrets in front of the stove. He doesn’t look at me when I shuffle in, blanket still wrapped around my shoulders like a personal shield. But there’s a note waiting on the counter—of course there is.

It’s stuck to a plate holding two very crispy slices of toast and a sad little smear of jam.

Figured I’d make enough for two. Next time, don’t leave your crumb trail in my peanut butter. – B.

I blink at it. Then at him.

He still doesn’t glance over. Just sips his coffee and stares out the window like it personally offended him.

I grab the plate without a word and pour myself some coffee. The toast crunches like gravel when I bite into it. It’s awful. I eat it anyway.

On my way to grab a napkin, I slap a new post-it down beside the coffee pot.

Your 1943 war ration bread is a health hazard. In other words, if your toast were a contestant on Survivor, it would be voted off the island. 1/10. Jam is communal. Like manners. – Y/N

I can feel him read it, even though he doesn’t say anything. His jaw tightens like he’s either trying not to laugh… or not to strangle me.

We eat in silence. The tension is weirdly quieter than usual -not the usual storm, more like fog.

Eventually, we somehow both end up in the living room. Once again, I grab the remote and flip on my reality show, volume low but not that low. The familiar theme music plays, overly dramatic and stupid in the best way.

I don’t look at him, but I hear the faintest groan -like his soul is physically trying to leave his body.

“This again?” he mutters.

I shrug. “I don’t complain about your 5 a.m. brooding walks.”

“That’s because I don’t do them with a dramatic soundtrack and drunk contestants.”

I sip my coffee. “You’d be more fun if you picked a favorite.” A grin spreads across my face. "Ooh, we could watch The Bachelorette. See which bachelor you root for."

“I’d rather eat drywall.” He grumbles.

“You’re not as funny as you think you are.”

He doesn’t answer.

I bump the volume up by one notch.

He doesn’t leave the room.

And neither do I.

I’m halfway through an episode of my show when Bucky’s phone starts ringing -some weirdly intense ringtone that sounds like someone smashing a piano.

He looks at the screen and groans. “Of course.”

“What?” I ask, glancing at the man. He flips the phone around so I can see: Nick Fury, Incoming Call.

I sit up straighter. “Don’t answer it in here.” Panic begins to build in my chest. I look like shit. I haven't been productive. I still hate Bucky. Fury's going to kick my ass.

Or send someone to do it for him.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m in pajamas and if Fury sees this show playing, he’ll put me on a no-screen list.” My eyes are wide while I stare at Bucky pleadingly.

Too late. Bucky accepts the call. And of course it’s FaceTime.

Fury’s one good eye immediately narrows. “Barnes. Y/N.”

I wave, trying to tuck my blanket higher like it’s a disguise. “Hey, Director. What's up? What do we owe this pleasure?”

“Are you two still breathing?” he asks, deadpan, not answering my question.

I glance at Bucky. “Unfortunately.”

“Funny.” Fury’s sarcasm level is dialed to lethal. “I’d ask if there’s been progress, but judging by the tension I can literally feel through the screen, I’ll skip to the point.”

Bucky folds his arms. “Let me guess—another punishment?”

“It’s a team-building activity,” Fury says, which might be worse. “Since neither of you seems capable of existing in the same room without someone developing a migraine, you’re going to create something together.”

“Like… art?” I ask warily.

Yay. Just what I wanted to spend my afternoon doing.

Fury smirks, and I hate that look. “A birdhouse.”

I blink. “A what?” He can't be serious.

“You heard me. I just sent coordinates to the nearest supply drop location. Go pick it up. Build the damn birdhouse. Together. You’ve got six hours.”

Bucky’s jaw is tight enough to crack concrete. “And if we don’t?”

“You’re here for two weeks,” Fury says. “Every task you fail means another two days added to your stay.”

He ends the call.

Bucky turns slowly toward me. “A birdhouse?”

I raise an eyebrow. “You punch robots for a living. I think you can handle wood glue.”

“Can you handle not talking for five minutes while I read the instructions?” He shoots back.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, did I interrupt your sulking schedule? Edward Cullen, is that you?” I gasp.

He mutters something under his breath and grabs his coat that I barely catch. "Who the fuck is Edward Cullen?"

------

The supply drop is an actual metal case hidden under a tarp by a rock outcropping. Like we’re building a tactical avian bunker. We haul it back to the cabin in silence.

Inside: wood planks, nails, a tiny hammer (which Bucky immediately scoffs at), and one bottle of glue.

Plus a packet labeled: "TEAM MISSION – Document With Photo Proof."

Bucky holds up the hammer. “You use this. I’ll break it in half.”

“You’re not allowed to break anything,” I remind him sweetly. “Or it’s another two days in hell.”

We start sorting pieces. Five minutes in, we’re already fighting over who gets to hold the blueprint.

“No, that’s upside down,” I argue while trying to snatch the blueprint from his hands.

“I know which way is up,” he snaps back, moving the paper out of my reach.

“You’ve been frozen for half your life! You barely know what the internet is!”

His glare could melt steel.

An hour later, the birdhouse is somehow standing, though it leans like it’s avoiding us on purpose. There’s glue all over my fingers and sawdust in Bucky’s hair.

“Picture time,” I say, reaching for my phone.

“We’re not taking a picture next to this thing,” Bucky says. “It looks like a war crime.”

“Then smile like you just committed one.”

He doesn’t smile.

I snap the photo anyway. Us standing stiffly on either side of the crooked birdhouse, not touching, not smiling, and practically vibrating with mutual irritation.

I text it to the number Fury gave us.

“Done,” I say, sitting back with a sigh.

Bucky grunts. “We’ve got twelve more days of this.”

I stare at the birdhouse, tilting even more now. “It’s gonna be a long two weeks.”

------

TAGLIST: @buckysdoll85 @starfly-nicole @vxllys @succulent-momma @amandato300

Pt. 3 soon

[abigailovesz]

hi hi!! hope you're doing well and here for a lil jj smutty ideas ✨️.

something like bookreader! x jj where he makes her read her book ( smutty or not ) while he goes down on her?

have a lovely day!

as a bookworm, thank you.

also he'd be so aggressive too and you'd just be trying to focus on the damn words while he grunts n stuff behind you- GUYS. also such a season 2 jj move.

cw: suggestive language, smut, p in v and anal, spanking.

"just focus on the book okay?" he muttered softly, his eyes trained on your bare ass of which he lifted up into the air, bringing a pillow under you for stability. his pants were already discarded someplace in his room- well john b's guest room.

"mhm," you hummed, eyes focused on the book in front of you- completely aware that he was naked and stroking with his cock like it was a completely normal thing.

jj inhaled, his hand finding home on your hip while the other held the base of his cock, the tip catching on your hole. "fuck.." he shuddered. You flipped the page, clenching around his tip instinctively while squinting at the words.

in one swift movement, his cock slipped inside your tight walls- the sudden, fast feeling of his cock filling you made your fingers twitch around the rim of the book, a moan and slight hiss leaving your lips but the book didn't go anywhere, stayed right in your hands.

"you okay mama? didn't- fuck - hurt too bad hm?" he grunted, eyes fluttering shut. His pelvis pushed against your ass, staying still. you shook your head, breathing out and looking back at the page. "no, im good- ngh.. keep going."

he nodded, both of his hands on both your hips as he pulled out until just the tip remained, his hands pulling you back with a hard thrust. "oh god- so fucking tight, hm.." he whispered, almost to himself.

you yelped when his cock entered you once again, the book almost falling out of your hands as he started moving slower, then faster- then- a lewid moan fell from his lips, the sound of skin slapping against skin bouncing off the walls.

"hm- tell me what's going on in ya book ma," he grunted, sweat glistening on his chest as he panted, thrusting his hips faster and faster- trying to get ya to put the book away but at the same time he really didn't care.

you whimpered, body shaking with each movement he made. "i- i dont know j," he chuckled, his hand coming up to fly against your ass - not to hard but hard enough to leave a small mark, plus a little clench round his cock.

"oh ya dont know?"

you moaned, hands squeezing around the book as you attempted to read the words. jj listened to each word and small moan coming from you, his cock still thrusting in n out of your tight hole. "good girl," he drawled, panting as his orgasm approached but he wouldn't. not yet. not until you did.

you groaned, head falling onto the mattress, the book finally falling out of your hands onto the floor. jj chuckled, well, chuckle- moaned if that's even a word. "uh oh, mama lost her book- how sad."

[mothmandalorian]

It's Just Dinner

Hello and welcome to my very first fic! This was inspired by a “Joel Miller x doesn’t know you’re dating” writing prompt. I’d hit the writer’s block wall pretty hard on another project but was encouraged to get some practice in by doing this. I’m so glad I did. This was really fun for me to write and I hope you have just as much fun reading it. And let’s face it, now that season 2 is out I think we all need to see this man happy. 

Huge HUGE thank you to the incomparable @djarins-cyare for lovingly forcing me to write this, being my beta reader, AND making the gorgeous header!

A quick note: This is mostly canon-compliant with TLOU with one very glaring exception: Joel doesn’t go golfing. This takes place after Joel’s talk with Ellie on the porch. My man can be traumatized but he will be breathing. 

No use of Y/N. Reader is female but there are no physical descriptions other than words like “pretty” (and yes, that does describe you if you’re reading this, I don’t make the rules). 

Tags: The Last of Us, Joel Miller, Joel Miller x f!reader, fluff, angst, fluff and angst, my precious traumatized Joel is just kind of an idiot sometimes, give the old man time he’’l figure it out, gratuitous mention of flannel shirts Word count: 2148

- - - - - - - - -

It’s not that you aren’t grateful to have a house in Jackson. 

When you’d first arrived here—after a horde of infected had attacked your group and you’d become its only survivor—you’d been under the impression it wasn’t even possible to have a house anymore. Maria handing you those keys had felt like a fever dream. 

You’re insanely grateful to have a house in Jackson.

But after the third consecutive leak in your bathroom sink, you’ve just about had it with houses.

“My brother Joel and his kiddo will be livin’ right across the street from ya. If ya need anything fixed, go bug him. He needs the socialization,” Tommy had said when he and Maria had helped you move in. You think they knew you’d be needing the socialization, too. A week of wandering the forest and convincing yourself that starving to death might actually be the least awful way to die out of all of your options will do that to you. 

You’ve seen Joel coming in and out of his house, taking note that he doesn’t do it nearly as often as your other neighbors do. He largely keeps to himself, aside from the young woman who appears to live in a makeshift apartment behind the property, who you assume is the kid Tommy had referred to. You’ve been too intimidated to walk over there yet. He isn’t nearly as approachable as the other people here, but then again, neither are you. You’re still a bit jumpy after a few too many dreams about gnawing teeth and endless forest. But when your bathroom floods for the third time, you get over it.

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

To say that Joel isn’t used to visitors is an understatement.

He’d had another night of fitful sleep. Even though they’ve slightly improved since moving to Jackson, he’s convinced he’ll never be rid of the nightmares. He has even more reasons for them now, after all.

His relationship with Ellie is barely getting off the ground again, but he’ll take what he can get. After their talk on the porch, at least she isn’t completely ignoring him anymore.

He still dreams of sheep being stolen in the night, hearing their cries from afar as he tries and fails to find them. The endless pit of regret grows and grows in his stomach until his eyes open and his heart is racing. Usually, he has to look around the room, count the number of panes in the windows, squeeze and release his fingers and toes–anything to help him remember where he is. 

Today, the knock at his door serves as a much quicker method. Grumbling but unable to not check it, he rolls out of bed and tosses the nearest shirt on. Eyes still bleary, he opens his front door. He blinks a few times, making sure he’s seeing it right. There you are, the pretty new neighbor, standing on his porch first thing on a Thursday.

“Can I help ya?” 

It comes out almost mumbled, his Texas drawl heavier in the morning. 

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

Oh, shit. 

You must have woken him up.

“I’m uh–god, I’m so sorry. Hi. I live, uh, over there…”

“Across the street, yeah?” Joel saves you, seemingly choosing to have mercy on you while your mouth stutters open and closed like a fish. 

“Yeah! That gray one. I’m um, I’m new here.”

“Only a couple’a weeks, right?” Joel asks, eyebrow quirking. He leans against the doorway with his arm above his head, and for a split second, you completely forget why you came over here. 

“Yup. Fresh off the…forest.” Oh, god. Really?

Joel chuckles, and you nearly want to thank him for it.

“I take it my brother told you to come bug me if somethin’ was off in your house, yeah?” 

You nod, trying not to make it any worse.

“I’ll come by later this afternoon.”

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

He keeps his word, and you make him dinner as payment.

He tries to refuse, but you insist, handing him a plate of the best-smelling food he’s had in years. 

“You can’t refuse. My house, my rules. Eat.”

He nods and obliges. It’s clear he isn’t used to this. What you’d originally thought was a coldness in his eyes looks a lot more like sadness this close, and you wonder if that’s why he doesn’t let people get close often. You don’t bring it up.

“I haven’t had someone else to cook for in years. And I’ve never had a proper kitchen to do it in. This is very exciting for me.”

Joel chuckles, a little bit of life briefly lighting up his face. 

“Don’t mind bein’ your test subject,” he says. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Oh god, ew. Please do not call me that, it makes me feel eighty years old.” Joel breaks into a full-body laugh. You catch a hint of surprise in his eyes before he settles into it, and you wonder how long it’s been since he’s gotten to laugh like that.

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

He keeps coming back for dinner long after the sink is repaired. He always finds something in your house to fix, but you still always end the evening eating dinner together. Joel is surprisingly funny, his laugh lines well-earned. You learn that he worked as a contractor with his brother for over a decade before the outbreak, and he tells you stories about some of the strangest things he found in people’s drains. He tells you a lot of stories. None of them go beyond a certain depth. You don’t push it.

Because you want him to keep coming back. Because you desperately like him.

You frequently get distracted by the way his shoulders shake when he laughs, how he rubs his chin when he’s thinking, the gray hair growing in at his temples. 

They’re so distracting that you start to tell him things about you. He catches you off guard, and suddenly, you’re being vulnerable. 

He listens. He doesn’t share a whole lot about himself, but boy, does he listen. He doesn’t try to placate you with the same sappy bullshit everyone else tries to give you. He doesn’t do a lot of comforting at all. It’s downright refreshing.

You think that, at some level, he knows how it feels to be pitied, and it probably makes his skin crawl, too. 

You think that’s why your relationship works so well.

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

This time, you’ve come over to his house bearing a pot full of something that smells heavenly. 

Joel watches closely as you take the cover off of it. 

“Chili,” you say proudly. “You said you grew up in Texas and ate stuff like this, right?”

His crooked, boyish smile makes all that effort crushing tomatoes and chopping onions worth it.

Ellie, who up until this point has simply been a person you know exists because you see her going in and out of her little apartment in the backyard, walks down the stairs, her hair wet from an apparent shower.

“I knew someone else made that. Nothing he’s ever cooked has smelled that good,” she says as she walks into the kitchen. 

“You wanna have some?” you ask. “I made plenty.”

Ellie looks at Joel.

“You haven’t even introduced us, and she’s offering me homemade food. This is finally the treatment I deserve,” she declares.

You chuckle.

“I like her, Joel,” Ellie’s sing-songy voice echoes as she walks out the door. 

Joel runs his hand through his hair.

“Your kid is funny,” you comment casually. “She must get that from you.”

He doesn’t correct you.

- - - - - - - - - - -

He knows he’s fucked up by the look in your eyes.

He doesn’t mean to hurt your feelings, he just wasn’t expecting…this. 

After dinner, as he stands up to start doing the dishes, you walk over to him and put your hands on each of his cheeks before tilting up your head and trying to bring your mouth to his. 

When he physically recoils, it really has nothing to do with you and everything to do with the fact that no one has tried to kiss him in years.

But you don’t know that. 

You curl in on yourself as you walk–more like scurry–out of his house. He hates every second of it, most of that hate directed at himself.

- - - - - - - - - - -

When Tommy opens his front door, seeing a shell-shocked Joel on his doorstep, he assumes the worst. 

“That’s it?” Tommy asks Joel when he explains the situation, trying to hold back a chuckle. 

“What do you mean, ‘that’s it’?” Joel snaps his eyes back up from the floor. 

“Your girlfriend tried to kiss you. It ain’t exactly news,” Tommy shrugs.

Joel feels like he’s been stabbed in the gut.

“My–my what?”

“Your girlfriend, Joel.”

There it is again, that feeling in his chest. The rising panic. The bile coming up from his stomach and scratching the back of his throat. The sweat in his palms. He stops talking for a solid minute.

“Please tell me you’re kidding.” Tommy chuckles incredulously.

If Joel thinks about it hard enough, maybe the floor will open up and swallow him whole.

“What happened?” Maria’s voice floats in from the hallway before she walks into the kitchen.

“Joel’s lil girlfriend tried to kiss him, and he freaked out and scared the poor thing off.”

Maria laughs. “No kidding? I told you she’d be the one to try first,” she says unceremoniously, giving Tommy a pointed look.

“Yeah, yeah, I owe you two loads’a laundry.” 

Joel wonders if he can vanish into thin air if he just concentrates on it really hard.

“But it’s just…dinner.” 

Tommy groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do not say that to the poor girl.”

Maria pretends to look at a nonexistent watch on her wrist. “By my math, you’ve got about twenty minutes to apologize before she rightfully never talks to you again,” she advises. 

Joel thinks back to all the times you’ve spent together. The way you pay attention to which foods he likes. Your insistence on standing closer and closer to him. The way you light up when you look at him. How has he been this stupid? 

Even the way Ellie had talked about you earlier should’ve clued him in: I like her, Joel. 

“Did everyone know but me?” Joel asks, sounding pained. 

Maria and Tommy nod, a slight cringe on each of their faces.

“Shit, I gotta go.”

“Go get ‘em, tiger!” Tommy yells out the door behind him. Joel rolls his eyes and wonders if they’re already placing bets on how it will go.

- - - - - - - - - - -

It’s your turn to be surprised by a knock at the door.

You desperately try to wipe the tears from your face, but it’s no use. Joel gets to see you in your full, heartbroken glory. 

He’s fidgeting as he follows you into the living room, his hands clenching and unclenching. He takes a deep breath. “You may have picked up that I’m a little stupid when it comes to…this kinda thing.”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. What kinda ‘thing’? 

“I ain’t had anyone…interested in a long time. I think I forgot it was possible.”

He looks down at his hands, then back up at you. Wait, is he serious? There’s no way he’s just now realizing that you’re interested.

“I’m sorry, darlin’.”

Joel approaches you slowly, his hands out as if in surrender, until he’s just a foot away. You can tell that his mouth is moving and that he’s probably saying words, but hell if you know what they are. What is he talking about? Why is he acting like this? You’ve been dating for weeks. Right?

“Honey, you hearin’ me?” You snap back when his thumb brushes your chin. His hand is gently resting on the back of your head, the other around at the small of your back. 

“Y-yeah–sorry–what?”

“I asked ya if we can try that again.”

You’ve barely finished nodding when his lips touch yours. His flannel shirt smells like the laundry you imagine hanging from a line across the backyard of your shared home. You picture coffee in the mornings on the porch, getting a dog together, what kind of wedding dress you can find in an apocalypse, how it feels when he wraps his arm around you in bed on cold mornings…

You don’t even realize you’ve moved your hands to grab at the front of his shirt until he pulls away, an infuriatingly smug chuckle coming out of him.

“I ain’t gonna float away, sweetheart.” 

You relax your grip a little but don’t move your hands entirely. 

“So…does this mean we can keep havin’ dinner?” He asks, the usual sadness in his eyes replaced by something softer. 

“Yeah, Joel. We can keep having dinner.”

You tug him in by his shirt to kiss him again. He’s not about to complain.