#something about hating the thing staring right back at you

[1864reruns]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ౨ৎ monster trio & kissing

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ2024 ©1864RERUNS

includingㅤ━ㅤmonkey d. luffy, roronoa zoro, sanji vinsmoke

tag(s)&warning(s). drabbles, gn! reader, sfw, fluff?, what constitutes as fluff idk girl, established relationship w/ zoro and sanji, luffy is a secret third thing i guess?, stray 'kms' threat in sanji's part

from vyon. big up to alex turner and no. 1 party anthem; luffy's is marginally longer because he's my most specialiest boy and he deserves special treatment and i struggled way too hard with characterising sanji in a relationship aside from all the embarrassing simping stuff, he's just amazingly pathetic, i don't wna talk about it, the main star here is luffy

like a lot of other things, kissing comes easy to luffy. though he's never had any couples around him as he grew up, he's been on enough adventures to catch a number of couples share a few quick pecks here and there. sabo's once mentioned kissing as well— a sort of distant memory that comes back when your lips first land on his cheek on your supposed first date. it might be sabo's fault, or his parents, that luffy believes kissing to be bleugh before he's tried it. though in sabo's defence, there wasn't a child in the world that would want to see their parents kissing. still, it isn't as bad as sabo made it out to be, luffy thinks as his wide–eyed gaze follows you back onto the sunny. there's something in the shape of your lips sunburnt onto his cheek, crisp just underneath the scar he'd gotten as a child.

the old scar is a smudge between a burning hypersensitivity and a cold unfeeling stretch of skin; your lips brush against the scar and it tingles itself into simultaneous death and rebirth. burning, melting— luffy presses a hand against his cheek and feels full. then his lips pull into a grin and the burn of your lips spreads out, pushing through every fold of skin as his hand reaches out for the sunny and he flings himself into the air, allowing the feeling to crawl through sinew.

luffy is no stranger to touching— he does it in painstaking excess, but there's a childhood teaching in him that kissing is not the same as touching. he stares at nami for a while, wondering if the instinct to feel her is the same as it is for you; she gets annoyed by his unwavering stare and swats at his head. he decides it's a no.

kissing is meant to be con... consumption? conservative— constellation? no, it's one of those 'c' words that he doesn't really remember, but he knows that he's supposed to ask you if you want him to kiss you. he doesn't understand the idea of waiting for permission but he'd really hate it if you were grossed out, like ace once told him would happen if kissing happened unconventionally(?) (that's not right he thinks), so he asks you one day.

as simple as he gets, luffy comes up to you and asks. "do you want me to kiss you?"

you splutter in shock and you hear movements on the deck still. luffy thinks he'd maybe forgotten something that the people in foosa village taught him but he waits for you to answer anyways. it doesn't come because sanji is aiming a kick at his head and shouting at him about the delicate intricacies of romance and courting. through all the dizzying flips of colour as he jumped away from sanji's attack, a kaleidoscope of the things he loves the most (the sea, his ship, his crew) in his eyes, he sees the hesitant embarrassment that colours your cheeks in. the burn that you've placed in him sparking up a fuse between the two of you at the slip of his tongue against gums and he laughs, swinging away and crash landing on whatever usopp was building out of sticks.

you return to him at a more private time, slip up next to him wordlessly— he doesn't say anything so you fear that he'd forgotten.

"do you still mean it?" your shoulder knocks against his.

"mean what?"

you turn to look at him, your eyes flickering down. "when you asked if i wanted you to kiss me."

that gets his attention, his head turns to you with a flexibility only he has— his eyes blinking at you carefully. "i did, did you make up your mind?" his lips pulled up into a grin, "you want me to kiss you now?"

you wish he had a less abrasive way of asking, but the answer is the same regardless. you nod and luffy takes.

you're not sure what you're expecting at this point. you know how luffy is about psychical touch, he's no stranger to it— everything he's ever known, he's ran his hands over. the amount of times you've been knocked down to his reckless habit of flinging himself into your back, you expect the same thing here.

luffy inspects you for a moment, the corners of his lips pulling down before twitching into a pout, "it's not gonna hurt, silly, why'd you look like that?" he shifts his body to face yours, his knees knocking against yours as he pushes his face closer.

then, his lips stretch outwards— his damn devil fruit— and it's so comical how his puckered lips pulled towards you to press gently against your cheek that you're laughing when it snaps back into place. luffy laughs along with you for a moment. a gooey comfort strained inside of you, your hands pressed against his cheeks— you find a simple joy in pulling his face, and then you find a better joy in leaning yourself closer to press your lips against his.

you're giving so luffy takes. he shifts onto his knees for better leverage to lean into you— the movements are stiff and careless. he's less kissing you and more just pushing his face into yours but you can feel the strain of his smile against your lips so no matter. being luffy, he pushes and he pushes greedily until your hands move from his face to the deck to keep yourself from falling.

it's so stupid how, even though this sucks, you want to make an occupation of kissing him.

it becomes a habit for him to kiss you no matter how far away you are by taking advantage of his devil fruit. eventually, he does get better; you realise why after a pointed comment from robin that hints to the fact that he'd asked her for kissing tips.

zoro is all lingering touch, heated spaces, and fizzling affection. it's not often that he gives you the pleasure of being skin close with him— not that you mind. he's eye candy enough, grunting and sweating in a handstand with barbells methodically placed on his feet and boxes of miscellaneous supplies for added weight. he's never been the type to need the world in his life; everything he's done has always been to prove a sick something to himself, to his strength.

his devotion is similar. there's no place for prying eyes in your relationship when there's you, the fulfilling adoration, and zoro. sometimes, there is also his swords and other times, there is an overwhelming luffy (who knows no boundaries).

he's always more forgiving with you, but he draws the line at excessive pda and you respect that boundary. fleeting contact has never been zoro's strong suit, he's an all or nothing soldier so when it comes to kissing, he likes the ready privacy that allows him to indulge. so he ignores the pointed staring, how you've made yourself comfortable on the benches in the crow's nest; your body sprawled out following the curve of the seats as your face turns red from how you have your head hanging off the cushioned planks.

he grunted, turning his head back down to the floor before he loses his balance.

you start counting, "one, two, three." he's well past those measly numbers but he lets you do as you please. "four, five, one, three, sixty–five, twelve, two, negative five, twenty, fourteen, nine—"

he folds his legs down against his chest, letting the weights fall to the floor with a thud. "alright," he straightened up, "you've made your point." an unimpressed look crosses his face.

your lips curled up into a grin and then you pull yourself up, throwing his towel at him. he takes the hit to the face and presses his hand over the fabric to wipe away the sweat and falls next to you, sliding his body down for his head to lay on your thigh.

"ewwww," your face scrunched up, "you're sticking to me." his hair is clinging to his forehead, interrupted strokes of green paint against his temple.

"shut it."

a laugh is quiet on your lips as zoro falls into the comfort of the moment, his eye closing. you trace over his face and then you crane yourself down, ignoring the ache in your spine and neck, your lips fall onto his forehead, "one." you counted. then onto the space between his furrowed brows, "two," his nose, "three". over his eye, "four." you pull back just in time to feel his lashes scratch over your lips.

a heavy judgement in his eye, stern and serious— he curls an arm up to press against your nape and pulls you down. there's a weight that's tethering you to the moment in the curves of his arm and a light–headedness that makes the stillness burst at the seams as zoro ignites everything alive. it's a slow and careful thing, how his head rises to meets yours and then how it tilts so he can slide his lips onto yours.

his arm drags across your neck until you feel moisture in the contour of his calloused hand, fingers pushes into your hair as zoro leans back from your lips, humming. "five." he says, a whisper of a smirk on his lips. a flicker of tender violence in how he fists your hair at its base and pulls your head back to give himself access to your neck. all or nothing, you're reminded, he drags this kind of simple affection into long, several moments.

he continues counting, picking up where you left off until you both hear luffy calling for zoro to help him fish and your relationship mellows back down, protected in loud secrecy.

there's always a strange line to tread when it comes to sharing intimacy with sanji. he's the quickest to melt when it's passing pecks, a second touch of your chapped lips against his cheek.

it depends on the atmosphere of the moment. just as quick as you can puppeteer him to pliant stuttering, sanji is more than capable of wearing you down to your barest core with his appreciative methodical gestures.

what everyone else is most familiar with are the fast moments of sanji softening when you offhandedly touch him. a simple smile on your lips as he gracefully sets your plate down in front of you, ease in the way your head turns to face him and you give his cheek a grateful peck, a quick kiss against his lips when you're splitting ways upon docking on a new island. it's enough of a spectacle that luffy makes the same laughing racket when you kiss sanji casually to see him twirl with new founded energy and hearts in his eyes; that zoro has a trademarked insult ready on his lips whenever it happens; that nami owns a jar that sanji has to put money into whenever he starts his weird dance.

it's almost easy to forget how sanji reciprocates. love has always been a second language to him— it's burrowed in his every unhurried moment when cooking, it's a burn that drove an abscess in him when he was younger, it's straightened postures and the clean lines of his stature for every perverted thought that plagues him. his every move carries an echo, a drumming confession that rings i love you, i love you, i love you until the words are bleeding raw into each other and you feel undeserving in his passion that stinks of cigarette smoke.

the disturbance of the lit end against a clear canvas of blue skies, his arms folded over the handrails of the sunny, the strokes of grey smoke that taints the pristine clouds that rest languidly; a rigid lock on his features until you're brought to his attention with your shoes clicking against the deck. his face shifts into something more delicate— full of feeling that's different from his usual excitable manner.

"bad for you," you begin with a light–hearted scold, plucking the cigarette away from his lips. he turns to you, his back against the handrails.

his restless hands search for touch and find an answering comfort on your skin, turning up and down over the shape of your hips until his thumbs dig into the waistband of your bottoms. "don't," he pleads, "you know it kills me when you're disappointed."

your lips turn upwards, "should i cry?"

"please." his voice wavers between a weak warning and aching desperation as his head falls onto your shoulder, pulling you closer.

the smell of smoke is cauterised into his skin— you don't mind it and you don't mind him smoking, but you think it's funny to act like you do if it has sanji like this. his hair scratches against your skin, tickling an itch he'd placed in you long ago and you thread your straying hand into the strands as his fingers press demandingly into your hips. following your motion, sanji turns his head to look up at you.

a furrow in his brows and a plea in his eyes.

"you know i'm teasing," you lean down, pressing a kiss against his lips as an attempt to appease him, "but you know i'll have to kill myself if chopper comes and redirects his disappointment at me again." you sigh, weary at just the topic. "i mean seriously, he looks at me like i'm the one shoving cigarettes into your mouth and forcing you to inhale."

sanji tries to focus on your words but your lips have left him cold when you pull away; suddenly, being skin to skin isn't enough and he's trying to placate the greed that is curdling inside of him. it works for the better half of a second, his thumbs pull out of your waistband and his arms wrapped around you, one around your waist and the other dressed against your back.

he ducks his head down and settles his craving.

sanji is gentle all around, careful to make even his affections palatable. he starts slow, testing waters that he's skinny dipped in previously and when he finds no rejection, he moves in deeper. he's a lifelong hunger that can never hope to be satiated when close to you, unwavering in a promise that has wedding bells ringing deep in your bones.

there's a new memory of a life he wishes for you, brought to life and fed by the taste of you. for now, he has to pull away as the ship rocks into a tempestuous sea and panicked feet disrupt the echo of the bells. nami starts to shout orders. he pulls away. his heart stutters in time with the unpredictable storm. sanji trips over his feet on his way to pull up the sails and he starts twirling when it makes you laugh.

[zyafics]

everytime i read this series i feel like im entering the battlefield 🚬😮‍💨my annotations below hehe ⬇️

It was unthinkable to be contemplating about gravestones. How could you sum up your family in limited words or dates, let alone choose a font for it?

ur writing has such PERSONALITY in it, i swear to god when i read this in beta, i was so in awe

Your first thought had been telling Topper, your only real family left, but he was as much Rafe’s as he was yours, and when it came down to it, he was still his best friend. Loyal to him since they were five, and jesus knows how he’d react if he found out about this. He’d most likely freak the fuck out and tell Rafe everything, thinking he was doing the right thing, or worse, letting it slip to Ruthie.

this parallels perfectly to the first chapter where topper called rafe when reader was leaving, so not only is this paragraph giving us an at-point breakdown, but it's referring evidence that topper would slip and tell rafe

It’s then you recognized how small your world was. How few people were truly yours.

their lives are so intertwined that reader doesn't know who to turn to when she needs independence 😭 oh curse rafe and his big dick

Today, it was just you, a few kids and teens dotted along the beach with oversized trash bags. It wasn’t even noon, but the sun felt like it was scorching you alive. It was laughable, really, standing under this blistering sun with a cheap trash bag and an endless stretch of sand to clean. 

this specific paragraph i wanted to highlight because i thought it was so descriptive and imaginative, but simplistic in a way that didn't feel like it was purple prose.

The kids were watching you again, with that look of curiosity. You couldn’t look them in the eye. It wasn’t their fault. They just didn’t understand that sometimes the grown-ups didn’t know what they were doing either. 

the last line EATS BITCH IT EATS

 “You should sit down.”

oh suck a dick

It was hard to believe the two of you had once burned hotter than any bonfire, two people who got under each other’s skin, in love, and in hate.

in love to hate omg

Instead, he narrowed his eyes, “You think I don’t know what fine looks like? I was there.”

THIS IS SO COLD BUT IT SHOWED HOW THEIR RELATIONSHIP IS SO WELL, HOW INTERTWINED THEY ARE WITH ONE ANOTHER

And the worst part? You could see that frustration in his eyes, the same look he used to give you when he’d reached his limit with you. You wondered if he ever got to that point with Sofia.

i would crashout

Sofia—the one who looked like she'd been ripped off from some perfect postcard, all wide-eyed sweetness and gentle smiles. She probably never challenged him, snapped back, or made him want to pull his hair out.

hm.

This was a version of you only Rafe could bring out.

they're so toxic and dynamic and i love them

Your chest hurt like you’d been run over a hundred times—it felt suffocating. “I hate you.” For the first time, you thought he might actually leave you here. 

that stopped me cold i had to write something in my diary

His fingers stopped as if your words had made an impact, his lips pressed into a thin line. Your vision blurred as he leaned in, his touch hovering as if to wipe away the tear running down your cheek, but he didn’t, instead, he closed his hand into a fist and drew back, his face just inches from yours.  A faint, humorless smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he clicked the seatbelt into place. He made a low humming noise, that thing he did when he was getting ready to make someone feel two inches tall.   "Yeah? Get in line."

LISTEN LISTEN LISTEN I'M LISTENING TO BAD OMENS BY 5SOS AND IT'S AT THE BEATS AND WHILE I READ THIS, IT FITTED PERFECTLY OHMYGOD

Rafe drove fast, every rev of the engine matching the churning in your stomach perfectly. You sat there, trembling, the dread building with every mile that passed. You gripped the seatbelt so hard it felt like your entire body might go numb, and stared straight ahead, breathing shallow, trying to ignore the sting in your eyes.

i wanted to highlight this specific paragraph because i adore the writing, something about it made me feel every single atom of the scene

“Would you stop?” His voice softened for the first time, as if he was trying to reach some part of you that he thought still cared. “You look like you haven’t slept in days, like you haven’t eaten anything that wasn’t out of a vending machine. I know you don’t want my help, but can you just stop for a second and—” “And what?” you interrupted. “And think! If you don’t get in there, I’ll drag you in myself.” Your heart raced, “You wouldn’t dare.” Rafe stepped closer; his jaw set in determination. “Try me.” “You’re not coming in." He blinked like the idea hadn’t even occurred to him. “What?”

HE DIDN'T EXPECT THAT SHIT NO NO

“Yeah, I got someone.”

that's right baby tell em

💌 — ugh, something about this part has been so dynamic, in the way it's constructed, the way it flows so naturally, the way the dialogues are so emotionally-charged but bounces off one another seamlessly. it was like i was watching a perfectly-curated film, where the dialogues were performed by seasoned actors. i love love their arguments. i love how intense it always gets, how they have this push-pull against each other, this hate-love, this line they can't even comprehend nor define. and i love how you written it so beautifully, that you communicate the intensity and depth of this relationship but aggression, tension, and hurt.

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - FIVE

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mention of pregnancy; abortion; lack of self-care

You’ve had to make a lot of unfortunate decisions in your life.

Choosing a place for your entire family to rest for eternity, picking the caskets, the headstones—it felt like deciding which curtains to buy for the house, except you were burying your entire close family.

After the crash, your parents were gone instantly, just like that—no goodbyes, no warning, just there one moment and gone the next.

But your sister survived. Three days. You thought maybe that was a sign, she’d live despite everything, and you wouldn’t be left alone.

Two weeks later, the doctors told you it was time, but you couldn’t accept it. You held her hand, begging her to stay, telling her every promise you could think of if she opened her eyes.

When the monitors finally went flat, you couldn’t feel anything but desperation. Rafe had to pull you out of there, his arms locked around you while you kicked and screamed, sobbing and begging your sister not to go, not to leave you here.

You fought him with everything you had left, clawing, crying, pleading for just one more second. You were screaming so loud you didn’t even recognize your voice. Everything good had been ripped away from your hands, there was nothing left of the world you’d known.

After that, you remember sitting in some stuffy funeral home office, skimming through catalogs and hardly seeing the pages through your tears. The caskets all looked the same, the types of wood made no difference to you, fabric linings, all of it felt so wrong. 

None of it was a choice you should have to make. 

It was unthinkable to be contemplating about gravestones. How could you sum up your family in limited words or dates, let alone choose a font for it?

You just picked something neutral and blank, something that didn’t require thought or emotion because, by then, you had nothing left to give. 

Now you were trapped again, caught between a rock and a hard place.

Your first thought had been telling Topper, your only real family left, but he was as much Rafe’s as he was yours, and when it came down to it, he was still his best friend. Loyal to him since they were five, and jesus knows how he’d react if he found out about this. He’d most likely freak the fuck out and tell Rafe everything, thinking he was doing the right thing, or worse, letting it slip to Ruthie.

Ruthie—no chance you’d involve her. She’d just see this as another fucked up piece of gossip she could hold over your head, another way to judge or control you. She was “friend” only in the loosest sense of the word.

Kelce was the last person you’d consider turning to for something this serious. He has always been there, but you never got close. He was too much of an instigator, always pushing Rafe to do reckless things he’d regret later, peer pressuring him in ways that made you wonder if he even knew what loyalty meant. He had this weird loyalty to Ruthie, defending her comments as if she was some misunderstood angel when really, she was just… mean.

So that left Sarah. 

It felt weird, thinking of her as the person you’d call on for something so serious, she was the only one who felt… safe. She wouldn’t judge, wouldn’t pry, she’d seen what the worst kind of family conflict could do, and she’d keep this private, just for you.

It’s then you recognized how small your world was. How few people were truly yours.

You were pretty sure no one in this town would fully understand, they’d just offer their "advice," as if they knew you, seen what you’d been through. 

The truth was, they didn’t know shit. They hadn't seen you holding your sister’s hand, begging her to stay alive. They didn’t know what it was like to bury everything that made you feel like a person, like you belonged somewhere, and have to get up the next day like nothing happened.

Nine days, you would be halfway across the country, and you needed someone. You pictured saying it out loud: “I’m pregnant", just those two words, to someone’s face, you had no idea what to say next.

Maybe you’d tell them that it wasn’t about wanting it gone out of spite or shame, but because you couldn’t bring a child into a world where you felt this alone.

Earlier that morning, you’d stared down at your phone, thumb itching to click on Sarah’s name, like just pressing "call" could fix everything. You despised how needy it made you feel—reaching out, when you’d prided yourself on surviving alone. 

You didn’t have much time to ponder about it, because you were stuck at the beach cleanup.

Just like every other summer, another "social responsibility" event that your late father’s foundation insisted you smile through. Even back then, when they were alive, your summers were a carousel of charity galas, fundraisers, endless hours of small talk, and impeccably arranged seating charts.

The board members of the foundation probably thought it would “ground” you—remind you of your privilege, of your “responsibility” to give back. As if a couple of hours and a few bags of garbage would somehow balance the scales. They never seemed to understand how much of it was all for show, this shallow idea that if you looked the part, no one would care to learn more.

But, still, you’d show up. You always did. Smile, make just enough small talk to appease the right people. 

Today, it was just you, a few kids and teens dotted along the beach with oversized trash bags. It wasn’t even noon, but the sun felt like it was scorching you alive. It was laughable, really, standing under this blistering sun with a cheap trash bag and an endless stretch of sand to clean. 

Kie, who was so genuinely invested in this whole “save the planet” thing it was almost enviable was there too with JJ, who was running around her as usual, wearing his ‘I’m just here for the ride’ expression but enjoying himself. The love between them made you miss having someone who cared in ways that weren’t just calculated moves.

She waved at you from the shoreline, her eyes moving to the trash bag you were barely half-filling.

You weren’t friends, but if Sarah liked her, you did too.

You offered a faint smile back, tired, because between all the shit you’d been thinking about, you'd forgotten to eat, to drink anything, and every time you leaned down to grab another crumpled plastic bottle or a bit of seaweed-laden garbage, you felt like your legs were about to give out on you. 

Every now and then, she would throw a quick, appraising glance your way, like she was expecting you to miraculously become invested in the beach’s ecosystem.

You didn’t have it in you to pretend this was enjoyable today. The “effortless” philanthropy your family loved was a lifestyle you’d never bought into. It didn’t matter how many smiling photos of you had ended up on some charity’s social media—you knew you’d rather be anywhere else.

You had to take a break every few minutes, leaning against a pier post, trying to get yourself together as a few of the younger kids gave you wary glances. You could have left—probably should have.

You managed a tight-lipped smile, giving a thumbs-up that said, Just doing great over here, guys!

You were in a long t-shirt, which hung over your bikini and shorts, the fabric slightly oversized, to help hide what was still a small change in your body. Paranoia was your new best friend, always worrying that someone would notice something different, even if you didn’t have a noticeable bump yet.

Bending down to grab another plastic bottle, you felt a stab of nausea hit you hard, rolling up from your stomach, thick and sour, but you ignored it. Not here. Not now.

You straightened up too fast, and your vision blurred slightly, that familiar sense of vertigo hitting you. You took a shallow breath, ignoring the burn at the back of your throat, your hands shaking slightly as you adjusted the bag slung over your shoulder.

One girl looked up at you with these wide eyes kids like to pull, “Are you okay?” 

You smiled, brushing it off as if you weren’t about two seconds away from collapsing. “Of course. Just... need a second.” 

The kids were watching you again, with that look of curiosity. You couldn’t look them in the eye. It wasn’t their fault. They just didn’t understand that sometimes the grown-ups didn’t know what they were doing either. 

Just a few more bags of trash and you’d be able to get back to your car, maybe grab some water from the cooler in the trunk, sit down, and think about it.

This used to be easy, you got a weird kind of enjoyment from these cleanups, running around with your sister, making it a competition to see who could pick up the most trash, laughing until your stomachs hurt over stupid jokes about jellyfish and sunscreen. Back then, this was just one of a thousand little family traditions, one of those things that felt effortless.

Now, sweat dripped down the back of your neck, making your skin prickle uncomfortably.

You’d long given up wiping it away, knowing that it would only come back thicker and hotter the next second. Every instinct told you to run off to the parking lot, and sit in the car with the AC blasting until your body remembered it didn’t hate you.

Leaning down for one last bottle wedged in the sand, your legs wobbled and gave way beneath you. Just like that, your vision was spotty, as if someone had turned down the brightness on the entire beach, and you pitched forward.

Just as you felt yourself going down, a hand caught your arm, pulling you back up.

"Whoa, whoa, you okay?" A teenage boy, maybe sixteen, gripped your arm firmly, keeping you upright.

How much longer could they realistically expect you to go on, plastering on that sweet, dutiful smile? How much “grounding” could one person take?

You blinked, trying to clear the haze in your eyes, "I’m fine. Just a little lightheaded, really, it’s fine,” you insisted, but then a shadow loomed beside you. 

Your vision was so foggy that it took seconds for you to register it.

You looked up slowly, feeling a familiar drop in your stomach as you realized who it was.

The last time you’d been this close to him, the two of you had been screaming insults across the room, Lily having to physically step in. She’d forced him to leave before you two killed each other. It was a miracle you hadn’t punched him then and there.

 “You should sit down.”

It felt like a sidekick to your chest.

The sound of his voice was grinding on your nerves, and just like that you were stuck back in your dream, a real memory, leaning against him, his hand playing with a strand of your hair as he laughed at something you’d said, the two of you carefree under a golden sunset. 

Except this was real.

Rafe was shirtless, with his board tucked under one arm, surf wax staining his fingers, and the sun glinting off his damp skin, like he was God’s gift to the Outer Banks. His buzzed hair was dark and wet, droplets trailing down his temples and catching along his jawline. His cheeks were flushed, a little red from the heat.

You looked away, somewhere over his shoulder, anywhere but at him, refusing to let him see you in this fragile state.

“Go away. I’m fine.”

But he didn’t move.

He’d been summoned from your absolute worst memories, catching you at your lowest when you least wanted his help. Typical. 

“No,” he refused firmly, with that stupid, stubborn look that made you want to throw something at his head. “I’ve seen you almost fall three times now.”

“Maybe if you stopped looking at me like a creep, you wouldn’t have to see me ‘almost fall.”

“I wasn’t—"

You grounded your teeth, “Just go back to surfing.”

Rafe let out a dry laugh, shaking his head as if you were the one acting crazy. “Yeah, 'cause you look perfectly stable right now.”

He'd always been a master of the passive-aggressive half-sneer, the art of making you feel like everyone else was imposing on his day, no matter the situation.

“Don’t act like you care.” you snapped, voice carrying over the sand, earning a few glances from nearby kids.

He ran a hand over his face, looking around as if he didn’t want to be there any more than you did, mouth pressed into a tight line. You wanted to scream that this was his fault too, that every choice he’d made led to you standing here alone, exhausted, and terrified.

“Water would help, y’know”, his tone just shy of patronizing “You can’t go around dehydrating yourself just to make a point.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Your fingers twitched with the urge to send him stumbling to the other side of the beach, you knew that any sudden movement would make you light-headed again, and the last thing you wanted was to give him more proof of your weakness.

The kid—still standing there, eyes wide and darting between you both—looked like he was watching a reality TV show when Kiara appeared at your side.

“Let’s not do this here,” she begged under her breath, handing you a bottle of water she’d brought over, a kindness you didn’t want but couldn’t reject. “Just sit down for a second, please?”

JJ followed, always with that air of easygoing nonchalance, but his eyes were serious as he glanced from you to Rafe.

“She’s right. Just take a second, yeah?” He looked over at Rafe, “Maybe you should leave,” he said pointedly.

“Maybe you should mind your fuckin’ business Maybank.”

“Look, uh,” the kid stammered, knowing he could get caught in the crossfire. “I’ll… I’ll go see if anyone needs help further down the beach…”

You waved him off, your focus still locked on Rafe as the kid all but bolted away, you didn’t want anyone to think they had to “rescue” you.

You tried to take a step back, but the little strength you had in you disappeared as you felt your knees wobble.

"Jesus," you heard him groan, and then his hands were on your arms, board on the sand, holding you as you stumbled. "I told you to sit down."

You shook his hands off, "Don’t tell me what to do.”

It was hard to believe the two of you had once burned hotter than any bonfire, two people who got under each other’s skin, in love, and in hate.

He let out an exasperated sigh while you took a sip from the water Kiara handed you, ignoring how your hands were still shaking around the bottle. 

She spoke again, trying to be the voice of reason, "We’re here to help the community, remember?"

JJ smirked, "Yeah, think the sea turtles are rooting for y’all to work out your issues somewhere else.”

You ignored his joke, keeping your eyes on Rafe, your pride and stubbornness refusing to let him win, “I’m fine.”

“Yeah?”

He looked you over, his gaze fixed to your warm cheeks and the dewy sheen across your temple, “You look real fine, don’t you?” He didn’t even try to cloak his sarcasm.

God, he could be so exasperating.

He couldn’t understand. How could he even think he could look at you now and know anything about who you were? Standing there, with that stupid board and that look, like he couldn’t imagine anything bothering him as much as this seemed to be bothering you.

As if he hadn’t already ruined you in so many ways that felt impossible to get over. 

“Don’t you have something better to do?” 

“Oh, believe me, I do,” he drawled, his eyes trailing from the waves back to you. 

You were tired of this game, of fighting him every time he showed up only to leave you feeling even emptier than before.

Your fists clenched, and you opened your mouth to hurl something back, but the dizziness hit you again. Before you could compose yourself, Rafe’s arm wrapped around your waist, strong and frustratingly secure, holding you upright with an ease that made your skin crawl.

He had seen you at your weakest, had been there at the hospital after the accident, keeping you together when you were certain you’d break. 

Yet, here you were, in a sick way, back in his arms, all broken apart.

“That’s it. I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“I hate to say it, but he’s right,” JJ chimed in, hand shielding his eyes from the sun.

The world alone had all kinds of alarms going off in your brain. You fought back instinctively, your hands pushing at his chest, freeing your arm. 

“I told you, I’m fine.”

He let go, but he didn’t back away.

Instead, he narrowed his eyes, “You think I don’t know what fine looks like? I was there.”

He was there. And you didn’t want to be reminded of it, not in front of other people. 

He meant the exhaustion and hunger pains you’d welcomed after your family was gone, embraced even, because it meant you wouldn’t have to feel anything else.

You’d wanted to disappear, and he’d been there—dragging you back, forcing you to drink water and swallow bites of food, even when you pushed him away. He’d seen you at your absolute lowest, where you didn’t care if you made it through the day. 

The thought of the hospital, tests, questions, you fought it, but your vision was already blurring.

You couldn’t let him find out about the baby. 

Your breathing felt tighter, each shallow breath only making the spinning worse, you could sense your body giving in to the exhaustion

“Shit,” you heard him curse, sounding distant now like he was farther away. 

You felt yourself sway as if the ground was opening beneath you, there was a ringing in your ears that made his voice sound muffled but you still felt his arms catching you again, holding you upright before you fell.

Waking up in a moving vehicle was like emerging from a nightmare, except somehow, this was worse, because you were no longer at the beach. 

You blinked hard, desperate to wipe the fogginess in your eyes and when it did go away, you realized who was behind the wheel. 

Rafe. 

Your heart pounded—your desperation to keep the baby a secret, how you almost passed out at the beach, and the fact that now he was most likely driving you to the hospital.

“What the hell are you doing?” you practically screamed, your voice hoarse from the lack of water.

He didn’t spare you a glance, “You passed out, genius. I’m taking you to the hospital.”

Your whole body went rigid. “Are you insane?”

“Me?” He scoffed, as he kept his focus on the road. “You practically ate sand back there. You’re not fine.”

“Turn the car around. I’ll call my driver and be fine.” You huffed like he was too dumb to understand. “I don’t need your help.”

He let out a dry laugh, still not looking at you. 

“Yeah. You’re out of your mind if you think I’m letting you out of this car right now.”

“Rafe, I’m not kidding,” you warned, louder this time. “Stop. The. Car.”

He gave you a sideways glance, his grip on the wheel tightening.

“Not happening.”

Your heart hammered as you realized he wasn’t going to back down, you were driven by sheer desperation.

“Fine, then I’ll do it myself." you muttered, reaching for the door handle. 

Anything to get out of this suffocating car before he dragged you all the way to the ER and they found out you were pregnant—with his baby, no less.

His eyes widened, finally snapping from the road to your hand on the handle.

“Are you crazy? Get your hand off that, I’m fuckin' serious.”

You yanked at it anyway, twisting the handle and pulling with spiteful defiance, and Rafe’s expression went from annoyed to full-on rage. He swerved the car to the side of the road, tires skidding as he slammed the brakes and practically threw the car into park.

Before he could even stop fully, you flung the door open and stumbled out, sandals sinking into the gravel as you stalked away.

You didn’t get more than a few feet, he was already bolting after you.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you muttered, digging your nails into your palms. 

How the hell had it come to this? You were stuck here, pregnant with his child, and he played the reluctant hero like you needed him swooping in to save you.

Rafe reached you in two strides, his fingers were digging into his forehead, pointing at it with exasperation imprinted into every corner of his face. 

“Are you out of your fuckin' mind?” He sounded like he was talking to some unruly child.

And the worst part? You could see that frustration in his eyes, the same look he used to give you when he’d reached his limit with you.

You wondered if he ever got to that point with Sofia.

What would he do if she was the one almost fainting? Would he still look like she was some colossal burden, or would he soften, maybe even smile as he fussed over her, acting like he wanted to help?

You hated yourself for caring at all.

Sofia—the one who looked like she'd been ripped off from some perfect postcard, all wide-eyed sweetness and gentle smiles. She probably never challenged him, snapped back, or made him want to pull his hair out.

There was no way he’d look at her like she was a mess, someone he just had to “deal with.” He likely saw her as easy, perfect, all soft and sweet words, everything you weren’t.

This wasn’t who you wanted to be, and yet here you were, stumbling around half-dead and pregnant with his child.

“I’m sorry, am I bothering you?” You spat the words, watching his jaw clench tighter. 

He exhaled sharply, rolling his eyes. 

“Unbelievable. Only you could take me trying to help and turn it into this.”

You were done. You were done with the memories, with the torment of seeing him be something better for someone else. 

“Help?” You laughed bitterly, the anger engulfing you so hard it felt as if it choking you. “You think this is help? That I need you, of all people?”

He took a step back, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I'm trying to help."

You hated how calm he was, how rational he sounded.

It was maddening when all you wanted was for him to get angry, to let that icy surface crack, to give you even a glimpse of something real, something that wasn’t just irritation or sarcasm.

You wanted proof that he still was affected by you, that this was the same guy who used to be everything, who’d promised you everything.

But you swallowed it down, straightening up, because there was no way in hell, you’d let him see even a hint of weakness.

“Trust me,” you shot back, “I’ll be just fine without you.”

He raised an eyebrow, a bitter smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “Get in the car.”

“No,” you said, firm and unyielding, every inch of you screaming that you wouldn’t let him decide anything for you ever again.

“Fine. Have it your way.”

In one swift move, he reached out, his hands gripping your arms with enough pressure to pull you forward, lifting you clean off your feet. Your breath caught in a furious gasp as he practically dragged you back to the car, his fingers warm against your skin, like you were just a mild convenience. 

“Put me down!” 

You struggled against his hold, jabbing at his chest with what little strength you could muster, but he didn’t even flinch, didn’t so much as hesitate. 

“Rafe, I swear—”

He opened the passenger door with one hand, keeping a firm grip on you with the other, before finally setting you down—not gently—onto the seat. Without meaning to, tears began falling as you struggled against his hands. You could feel them wetting your cheeks, your voice was breaking, jumping to distress as you tried to twist out of his hold, feeling so small under his unrelenting strength.

He almost knelt in front of you, reaching for the seat belt with one hand, while his other remained firmly on your shoulder, holding you still. You felt trapped, impresioned as you tried to turn in every direction, hands weakly pushing him back, but he caught them effortlessly.

“Stop!” you meekly choked out, failing to shove him, the words coming out shameful.

You could feel your heart breaking all over again.

You hated that he was seeing you like this, how he dared to act like you needed him—it made your skin crawl. You hated that he could do this, like he had any right like you’d ever wanted him involved in this part of your life, let alone now.

This was a version of you only Rafe could bring out.

You glared up at him, practically shaking with rage as Rafe ignored your protests like you were nothing more than a child throwing a fit. 

“Get your hands off me.”

His jaw tightened, ignoring the flailing punches and slaps grazing him, and you couldn’t stop the sob that escaped, loud and ugly.

“I’m not letting you kill yourself out of spite.”

Your chest hurt like you’d been run over a hundred times—it felt suffocating. “I hate you.”

For the first time, you thought he might actually leave you here. 

His fingers stopped as if your words had made an impact, his lips pressed into a thin line. Your vision blurred as he leaned in, his touch hovering as if to wipe away the tear running down your cheek, but he didn’t, instead, he closed his hand into a fist and drew back, his face just inches from yours. 

A faint, humorless smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he clicked the seatbelt into place. He made a low humming noise, that thing he did when he was getting ready to make someone feel two inches tall. 

 "Yeah? Get in line."

Without another word, he pulled back, slamming the door shut, and walking around to the driver’s side.

You wiped at your cheeks, furious that he’d seen you like this, that he had the power to break you down. It was humiliating, sitting here in his car, every part of your body screaming to escape. 

He got in, started the engine, neither of you spoke.

Rafe drove fast, every rev of the engine matching the churning in your stomach perfectly. You sat there, trembling, the dread building with every mile that passed. You gripped the seatbelt so hard it felt like your entire body might go numb, and stared straight ahead, breathing shallow, trying to ignore the sting in your eyes.

You bit back another wave of nausea. Weakness.

You’d already shown him too much. 

You didn’t need a lecture from some doctor on how you “should’ve taken better care of yourself", let alone with Rafe there, watching, scrutinizing, acting like this was his business when he’d made it clear long ago that it wasn’t. He was in your space in the worst way, reopening all the wounds.

You were seething. He had no right to do this.

The thought made you want to drop dead—doctor would walk in, casually drop the news about the baby, and you'd be left watching his reaction in real time.

You looked at the entrance to the ER. The vision of anyone running tests, of some well-meaning nurse, coming in and spilling everything about the baby in front of him—no way. You wouldn’t let that happen.

He wasted no time getting out, moving around to your side, while you sat rigidly, staring straight ahead. His hand was already on the door, yanking it open, looking down at you like he was ready to drag you inside if he had to.

You weren’t moving. You knew the second you stepped inside, it would be over. 

“C’mon,” Rafe pressed, his hand outstretched, hovering there like he thought he could compel you to listen. “Stop being so stubborn.”

You crossed your arms over your stomach, refusing to meet his eyes.

“I’m not going in.”

Rafe let out a sigh, nearing his limit, and knelt down to your level.

“Look, you passed out. I’m not leaving until you get checked out.”

“You’re gonna be here for a while then.”

“Would you stop?” His voice softened for the first time, as if he was trying to reach some part of you that he thought still cared. “You look like you haven’t slept in days, like you haven’t eaten anything that wasn’t out of a vending machine. I know you don’t want my help, but can you just stop for a second and—”

“And what?” you interrupted.

“And think! If you don’t get in there, I’ll drag you in myself.”

Your heart raced, “You wouldn’t dare.”

Rafe stepped closer; his jaw set in determination. “Try me.”

“You’re not coming in."

He blinked like the idea hadn’t even occurred to him. “What?”

Maybe he was seeing the protection you’d built up around yourself since he left, how there was no longer any crack left open for him to slip through.

“I don’t need you. I don’t want you in there.”

“Fine.” His tone was clipped, restrained. “But I’ll be right here.”

You slammed the door shut behind you, not letting him your legs still shaking. You’d rather collapse face-first into the concrete than give him the satisfaction of listening to him. 

“Yeah, you do that,” you replied, turning and walking toward the entrance, refusing to look back.

Stepping inside, you felt a slight tremor run through you—part relief, part panic. The lights were too bright, almost white. Your heart wobbled, replaying how he’d been such a fucking asshole to you.

You’d forgotten how mean he could be, how easily he could go from angry to something so frigid it made you want to cry yourself to sleep.

“Hi there,” The receptionist greeted, her eyes moving over you with a professional once-over, “What brings you in today?”

You forced a small smile, knowing she wouldn’t buy it.

“Just…got a little dehydrated, that’s all.”

“Okay…let’s just get some basic information.” She clicked into her computer, her fingers poised over the keyboard. “Name?”

You cleared your throat, rattling off your full name, she nodded, typing it in.

“Have you experienced any other symptoms besides dizziness?”

“Nothing serious,” you replied, dismissively. “It’s just the heat, like I said. I just need some water and I’ll be good as new.”

This had to be a fucking nightmare you got sucked in, you could sense your blood pressure spike.

She tapped her screen and glanced back at you.

“Alright, Miss Thornton, it looks like we’ll just need a few quick details here to get you all checked in. Can I start with your insurance provider?”

A chuckle almost slipped out of you. Insurance—God, you were fine with insurance. What you weren’t okay with was everything else. You answered, “Blue Cross.”

She asked for your birthdate, which you gave on autopilot, hoping she’d skip any weird or invasive questions. “Any allergies?”

You shook your head. Please, just let this be over. 

“It’s really not a big deal,” You blurted out, giving her a thin smile and forcing calm into your voice. “I just need the IV. You know, standard stuff.”

“Of course, dear. We’ll get things started, it will include routine tests, like bloodwork, just to be safe.”

Bloodwork. Perfect. You were doing everything you could to keep from falling into that spiraling panic mode. 

Please, just get me in, get me out, and don’t find anything.

“Just head down to Room 12.”

All you could think was that you wanted this to be over—before the whole town, or worse, he, found out. It made you want to scream. He was the last person who should be outside.

This was his fault. You’d never be here if he hadn’t shown up.

The next hour passed in seconds—questions, forms, an IV drip.

They’d done blood work, too, but you’d sighed in relief when they’d told you the results wouldn’t be ready immediately. As far as they knew, you’d just overdone it, and now, as you lay on a cot in a room that reeked of sick people, all they’d prescribed was rest, hydration, and food.

When the nurse asked if anyone could pick you up, the thought of calling someone, asking them to see you like this, made you delirious. You didn’t need anyone; you were perfectly fine on your own.

But you also didn’t want Rafe and his delusional ass to barge through the doors.

The nurse moved around you awkwardly, eyes still expectant, as if you were just a button away from a reliable “someone” to come running.

You looked at her, controlling the compulsion to yell. Little people ever bothered to check on you, to show up for more than just the drama or gossip.

Out of them, only one face bounced around in your head.

“Yeah, I got someone.”

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@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2

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[coco-loco-nut]

High Flyer

pairing: charles x reader

summary: what happens when Ferrari wants you to go up in the air with a hot pilot

masterlist requests open

——————————————

You didn’t know why you agreed to let the Ferrari PR team send you to an air force base, yet here you are, sitting in a briefing. Lucky Carlos got out of it, and you’ve never hated that Spaniard more than now. He got to go have fun at Ferrari World.

“Ready to meet the pilot taking you up tomorrow?” your guide says, trying not to scare you more. It isn’t that you don’t like flying, you love regular planes, and you love driving fast, you don’t like the idea of combining both of those things.

“Y/n, this is Perceval,” the guide says, motioning to a man who looks criminally good in a green jumpsuit. Meanwhile, you are roasting in the Abu Dhabi heat.

“Nice to meet you, Ma’am,” the man, Perceval, says, extending his hand for you to shake it.

“Y/n, please. Ma’am is to matronly,” you flush.

“Of course,” he is so put together and it’s hot, you don’t know why. It’s probably the uniform.

“I’ll leave you two to it,” and just like that you are left to your fate.

“So, um, is Perceval your actual name?” you awkwardly ask, looking at him with wide, curious eyes. He catches you by surprise by holding back a laugh - a crack in his initial stoic demeanor.

“No, well yes. It’s my call sign, but it’s my middle name,” he says as you nod along. “You have no idea what a call sign is, do you?” he smiles, amused that he will have to take you in a plane in less than 24 hours.

“No, but I am here to learn and fly apparently,” you try to focus on everything but him.

“Yes. It will be fun,”

“So if your name isn’t Perceval, what is it?” you let the curiosity win, asking the piece of information he hasn’t given you yet.

“Lieutenant Charles “Perceval” Leclerc,” he leads you to the tarmac, where his plane is parked. Charles, what a nice name.

“Charles,” you test his name out, and it sends his head reeling. “Nice to officially meet you,” you smile.

“Want to take a ride? We’ve been approved to take a short flight today,” Charles asks, locking down any romantic thoughts, regaining his poise. He’s on duty right now, he can’t act like a civilian.

“No,” you answer quickly. Charles looks confused, shouldn’t you be excited to do this. “Sorry, it’s just that I’m a little scared,” your voice grows quiet as you look away, trying to hide the last part.

“Don’t you drive fast for a living?” Charles asks.

“What about it?”

“Look, I promise it’s better to go up now, without any cameras, than tomorrow. You have to get fitted for a flight suit regardless,” Charles says, a little confused why you would even sign up to do this if you were scared. Plus, you are a top driver, you are used to fast cars.

“I’m not going to get out of this, am I?” you ask, he just shakes his head. “Fine,” you bite your lip, staring at the plane that has come into view.

“She doesn’t bite,” Charles says, patting the fuselage. You are promptly escorted to get changed as Charles does his checks on the plane.

You return fifteen minutes later with your own helmet in hand, Charles has to keep himself from staring. He saw pictures of you in your race suit when researching his guest, but you look stunning in the pilot gear.

“Destiny?” he asks, looking at your helmet. Your number, 16, and a call sign given to you adorning it.

“It’s kinda embarrassing, my nickname in Italian is La Predestina, or the predestined.” you blush.

“That’s a lofty expectation,” he hums, watching you put the helmet on.

“Well, the Tifosi are something else. Ferrari is a religion,” you shrug, following previous instructions on how to get in. Your stomach is doing flips.

Charles climbs up behind you, helping you strap in before climbing into his own seat. You listen as he gets clearance and brings the engine to life.

“Is it too late to back out?” you ask nervously.

“Yep,” you feel the plane jolt as it moves forward. You focus on your breathing, muting your radio.

The pause at the runway kills you, because the next thing you know, the plane is jolting and speeding fast down the runway, going as fast as your race car. You do everything you can not to scream, but you do squeak. You are deep breathing when Charles decides to speak again.

“See, this isn’t too bad,” you can almost hear his grin, meanwhile you are trying not to throw up.

“Says you. I drive fast on the ground for a reason,”

“So you want me to slow down?”

“Please.” Charles only goes faster. When he presses in the throttle, you actually do scream a little. You hear his laugh through the radio as the plane speeds up in air. “Ready?” He doesn’t give you the chance to reply before starting to do aerial tricks.

“PERCEVAL!” Your panic is clear in your voice, and that’s when he does slow.

“Relax, cherie, ten more minutes. Plus, I have to save some tricks for tomorrow,” Charles easily turns the plane back. When you finally reach the ground, you get out of the plane as quickly as possible, legs shaking like a newborn deer.

“Fucking hell, he’s a madman,” you murmur, focusing on your footing. Charles reaches to help you, but you brush him off.

“Come on, it wasn’t that bad,” he grins, you just stare at him. “You are a championship contender driver, you are used to this,” Charles continues, a small part of himself feeling bad.

“I don’t roll my car for fun, quite the opposite actually,” you say finally, legs still shaky as you walk.

“I’ll be better tomorrow then,” Charles lies, knowing what he’s been told to do in air tomorrow.

“I know you are lying,” you huff, heading to change out of the flight suit. You cannot get back to your Ferrari quick enough, needing to get off base. Charles watches in amusement as you drive slowly, the opposite of most people when driving a sports car. You are something else, and Charles is a little sad he only has one day left in your company.

You roll up to the base in your sleek Ferrari early in the morning. You had been awake for hours, needing to fit in your training. Sure, you will face strong Gs while flying, but you had to weight train and do cardio in the morning before.

“Good morning, Lieutenant. I believe that it is my turn first,” you smile, excited to get onto the track before it is too warm. Charles is dressed in a French military uniform, appropriate for a couple hot laps. He accompanies you to the Yas Marina circuit where the PR team is waiting. You help him scan into the paddock, it’s quiet before the race weekend starts.

“You must feel like a superstar,” he comments, spurring you to talk about racing in Italy as you easily find your way to the pit lane where a Ferrari is waiting with a camera crew. You slide your race helmet on as you get into the car.

“Ready Perceval?” you ask, flexing your gloved fingers. You look a little silly, wearing a Ferrari polo and jeans with a race helmet and gloves, but you choose safety.

“This will be easy,” he smiles from under his helmet. He rarely gets to play the passenger role, and he quite enjoys it as you come to as stop at the end of the pit lane, waiting for a green light. Your practice start is perfect, launching you onto the circuit. Charles has to admit that his heart was in his throat a little.

“Aren’t you taking the turns a bit fast?” he asks, not worried about being filmed.

“I’m not taking them fast enough, see?” you grin as you go into a high speed corner. Sector two gets him, the low speed corner into a long straight and speed trap.

“Break!” he yells far ahead of your breaking point, you grin as you continue going full throttle to the breaking point. Payback is a bitch.

“See, that wasn’t so bad,” you repeat his words as you get out of the car a few laps later. Most of the footage from the hot laps won’t be used to protect his dignity, but you were promised a full copy for your private amusement.

You show Charles the garage where the team is assembling the car on your way out, offhandedly promising to show him more next time.

“Next time?” Charles asks, curious as to what you meant.

“Oh, I assumed that you had been invited to the race this weekend. Sorry,” you feel heat rise in your cheeks with embarrassment.

“No, I was. I just wasn’t sure I’d see you again after this,” Charles looks at you, feeling a little bold. Your blush is cute, and he notices.

“Oh,” you whisper, unsure how to reply.

“Mind if I drive this time?” Charles takes half a step closer to you, slightly towering over you.

“Haha, yes, I do mind. Company car and all. Not to mention that I won’t be driving back,” you laugh. Your driver is awaiting you.

“Then how are we getting back?”

“My driver. The team hired me one after the time I almost crashed after a race,” you admit without a second thought.

“Aren’t you a professional driver?” Charles laughs leaning towards you, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“I was tired!” you shove him slightly, unable to keep yourself from laughing too.

“Mhmm, sure,” he grins.

“It’s true! Driving takes a lot out of you, I’m honestly surprised I wasn’t sent to medical after that one,” your smile falls back to a neutral state as you reach the outside of the paddock and the car. Charles notices the sleek, black Ferrari Purosangue waiting the both of you and opens the door for you to get in. You whisper thanks as you sit in the cool leather, a stark contrast from the warm Abu Dhabi air.

The ride back to the base is relatively quiet, music filling the void when the PR staff member isn’t explaining what you will do next. Charles sneaks glances at you, and you seem tired. Not just from being awake early, but tired of the season and doing media. A part of him wishes he could take you on a relaxing flight, let you rest, rather than terrorize you through his flying. Then again, your hot laps were terrorizing for him too.

“I think that driving in Formula One is much harder than flying,” Charles comments, you tiredly turn to look at him, humming.

“Harder? I wouldn’t even know where to start with flying, not to mention fighting in one. We balance each other out,” you smile softly before getting out of the car at the base. Before you know it, you are back in the plane with Charles at the controls.

“Ready?” you can hear the smile on Charles’ face. You take a deep breath as he prepares to take off. The go pro in front of you taunting you, and you just know that you will not receive the same courtesy that Charles will get in the video.

“I swear to god Perceval, if you roll again,” you think you may actually be green as you reach the right altitude.

“Like this?” you flip upside down, a scream escaping you lips as he dives down while inverted. Charles’ delightful laugh is like music, and you hate that you like it even though you are terrified. You spend the next thirty minutes trying not to cry, a little like Ruth Buscombe on a hot lap.

“Next time I take you on a hot lap I’m hitting more curbs,” you say when the plane stops.

“Deal,” Charles smiles as he gets out, assisting you in unbuckling and climbing out. You are shaking like a leaf. “You okay?” he asks quietly, genuinely worried.

“I’m alive,” your legs wobble on the ground.

“Here,” Charles effortlessly picks you up, carrying you back to the locker room so you can change. “Sometime I’ll take you in my private plane, a relaxing flight rather than a PR stunt like this,” he promises, holding you close. Anyone watching would swear you are dating, the way your head rests on his shoulder, the protective aura he is giving.

Charles eases you down and you stand close to him, neither of you moving. His scent is intoxicating, and with his messy hair you can’t help but to want to kiss him. You are 65% sure he likes you too. As he moves slightly closer, a voice rings through the hall.

“Perceval, meeting room, now,” a commanding tone says as Charles draws back.

“Yes, sir,” he replies, taking a step away from you. “I’m sorry, I have to go or I will be late for a training brief,” Charles apologizes, all you can do is nod before he leaves you alone. You don’t see him as you leave the base, a pang in your heart.

The paddock is swarmed with people, everyone on a different mission to complete before Qualifying starts. You pay them no mind, your Beats blasting music with noise cancellation on.

Charles watches you walk towards him, not really paying anyone any mind. Your race suit hangs low on your hips, a contrast to the tight red fireproofs underneath. You seem focused on getting to where you are going, in the zone. Charles’ eyes follow you as you walk past him, and he is smitten. He feels a tightness in his chest, a desire and longing, similar to how you felt when you saw him in his flight uniform.

You continue your stretches in the garage, the team knowing to leave you alone. The only person who bothers you when you have your headphones on is Carlos, but he’s basically your brother at this point. It isn’t that you are standoffish, you adore your team and they cannot get you to shut up half the time, you just get into your driving mode and need to stay focused.

You feel a tap on your shoulder as your eyes are closed, visualizing the circuit and things you noticed on the hot laps.

“Go away, Carlos,” you murmur, opening one eye.

“No can do, Hermosa, you are needed,” Carlos shakes his head. You narrow your eyes, turning off the headphones and slinging them around your neck.

“Lead the way,” your frown soon turns into a smile as you get to the front of your garage. “Perceval!” you hug the pilot, happy to see him again.

“Sorry to interrupt your flow, the photographers just wanted some pictures,” Charles blushes a little. You barely recognize him dressed casually, a white button up and jeans paired with a Ferrari cap that sports your number.

“Of course, I’m happy that you are here. Do you want to see the car?” you offer, practically dragging him to your car with you.

“They are together, no?” Carlos asks the media staff that followed your flight adventures, who inform him that the two of you are not dating. “Hmm, well they should be,”

Charles geeks out with you about some of the science behind the car, especially as you explain different set ups. He compares it to different aspects of the planes he flies. What intrigued him the most was your steering wheel and all the different controls. You explained some of the strategy and meanings, trying to relate it to his fighter jet.

“Y/n, time to get ready,” one of your engineers interrupts you and you nod, turning back to Charles.

“Well, enjoy qualifying,” you smile, about to head off to get your helmet and gloves on. You start pulling on your suit.

“Wait. If you take pole, will you let me take you out for dinner?” Charles asks in a moment of boldness. He’s been thinking about it since he left you standing there in the hallway.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” you smile as you put in your earpieces. You are pulled away before Charles can say anything else. An intern takes him to hospitality to watch qualifying, and he feels like his heart is pounding out of his chest as you pass through Q1 and Q2 easily. You sit in your car, waiting to go out for Q3, chatting with your mechanics.

“Go out and ruin Max and Lando’s day,” the one pats your car as you get ready to be released.

“This doesn’t feel right,” you say over the radio, feeling too much oversteer as you drive.

“Copy,” you focus on the drive, crossing the line quickly. “Yellow flag, bring the car in,” you hear soon after you finish your flying lap. As you approach the pit entrance, you see a Williams in the barrier.

“What happened?” you ask as you get rolled back into the garage.

“Albon lost his rear and spun out. You are P3 as it stands. We should have time for one more lap,” your engineer says. You and the team adjust settings and you back out, your last qualifying lap of the season.

You give the lap everything, and if you make a mistake, you made it with every effort to be the best driver on the grid. There is less than a minute left as your start your final flying lap, meaning each second is crucial.

“P1! You have pole position!” your engineer cheers as you park the car. You climb out and raise your hands above you, encouraging the crowd to cheer. The interview passes quickly and you find your way back to the garage.

“Seems like you owe me a date,” Charles smiles, unbothered by your disheveled appearance.

“I’ll meet you at hospitality in twenty then,” you grin, ready to shower and get out of the paddock for the day.

Charles watches you walk down from your room, hair slightly damp, as you look around for him.

“Sorry, I don’t have anything more dressy than this,” you apologize, looking at your Ferrari polo and khaki pants. If someone didn’t who you were, they would easily assume that you were a fan or engineer.

“That’s fine, you look beautiful regardless,” Charles smiles, happy that you are accompanying him out. He spent the twenty minutes looking for a restaurant that was more secluded but wouldn’t give you food poisoning. It ended up being a small family run restaurant, and it was an amazing dinner. Charles drops you off at your hotel after, the epitome of a perfect gentleman.

“Thanks for tonight, I haven’t had that great of a night in a long time,” you smile, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

“Anytime. Will I see you tomorrow?” he asks, trying to build up the courage to kiss you. You are so close to him, all he would have to do is lean in. The air feels electric, something intrinsic pulls you two closer.

“Yes,” you whisper against his lips, eyes fluttering closed as his soft lips meet yours. It’s over all too soon, both of you pulling away with flushed cheeks. Charles watches you leave, glancing back to look at him once more with a smile.

He is disappointed when he doesn’t see you much before the race, besides a quick hug and chat. You are pulled away by your team, media, and other celebrity guests before you seclude yourself to get into your zone. He does get the benefit of stolen glances and blushes when your eyes meet. Small giggles when your engineers and mechanics tease you.

Charles watches from the garage, watching you get undercut and fight your way back from an unfortunate P3. He fits in with the team, sporting your team hat and a Ferrari tee. When you cross the line first, he finds himself swept up with the team and pulled along to watch you at the parc ferme after you get weighed. You lock eyes with him and share a large smile. You secured P2 in the drivers championship with this win, and it means a lot to you.

You make your way over to him, letting him pull you in a big hug. You nearly kiss Charles in front of everyone.

“What do I get for winning,” you say in his ear, just loud enough for him to hear.

“A second date and a kiss away from the crowds?”

“Deal.”

[chrisslvtxx]

biggest fan.

summary: y/n goes to the versus tour and when chris lays his eyes on her, he cant take them off.

cw: cursing, FLUFF, suggestive, touching, pet names (baby, princess.)

authors note!: this is my first time writing something so please dont hate 😭😭😭

————————————————————————————————————————

“oh my god, they are literally right there!” y/n squeals, looking over at her best friend.

“bro, matt looks so hott.” y/f/n exclaims, staring at him in awe.

“so does chris, he look so scrumptious in that hat..” they both get stuck in a trance, staring at the two brothers.

they both get interrupted by security, telling them to move forward because they are next.

“okay, how do i look?” y/n giggles, shes wearing an orange lacy tank top with a short denim skirt.

“sexy as always, motherfucker!” y/f/n laughs, “what about me?” shes wearing the same thine but in blue.

“okay, girls your turn.” the female security guard smiles, letting them go through the barriers.

y/n runs up to chris, hugging him.

“oh my lord, your real! im your biggest fan!”

“hey, love. whats your name?” chris smirks, looking down past her face and his eyes trail down her body.

“im y/n!” she smiles, noticing his eyes wandering, a weird feeling exploding in her lower abdomen.

“y/n.. cute” he said, his voice low. he wraps his arm around her waist as they take the photo.

they both lean in for another hug before y/n and y/f/n walk off.

“i cannot believe what just happened!” y/f/n squealed, “i just fucking hugged matthew sturniolo!”

“hahah.. yeah..” y/n’s mind filled with thoughts of chris’ eyes wandering down her body.

her friend notices, and places a hand on her shoulder “whats up, y/n? you dont seem yourself..”

“chris.. h-he was checking me out?” she stifles a laugh, biting her lips fighting the urge to smile.

“your lying.” y/f/n mouth agape as you speak, not believing a single word.

————————————————————

after the show ends, one of their team members walks up to the two girls, telling them to go backstage.

“hello?” y/f/n speaks into an empty room, her voice echoing.

“y/n?” chris’ voice echoes back, as he walks through the back door.

“uh, chris.. hi!” y/n smiles, her dimples appearing on her soft skin.

“hey.. wassup” he smirks, walking up to her and her friend, “you must be y/f/n, matts out back if you wanna go see him.”

“i- uh yeah?” she quickly walks outside, leading her own way towards matt.

“fuck.. your so pretty..” chris mumbles under his breath, his hands trailing down to your waist.

“chris? wha-what are you doing?..” she breathes out, curious of what’s happening.

“you want me to stop? huh?” he smirks, knowing that hes driving her crazy.

“i- no..no..” y/n bites her bottom lip, stifling a giggle.

“you dont know how crazy you were driving me while i was up on stage.. this top, fuck, its doing things to me baby..” he chuckles lowly, his voice raspy.

“yeah? you like?” she becomes more confident with her words, her tone more stern.

“yeah princess, yeah i do..” he smirks, dropping his head to her neck, as one of his hands trail up towards her throat gripping it gently.

she whimpers softly at the feeling, he presses soft, gentle kisses along her collarbone.

“let me hear your pretty noises, baby..” he keeps pressing kisses to her body. “tell me what you want, baby, what do you want me to do?”

“i-i dont know..” she hums, stuck in a daze as his lips are against her.

he chuckles softly, “you dont know? you dont want me to touch you? you dont want me to kiss you? no?”

“i-chris, we cant.. you know we cant..” she replied, knowing she cant give in to him.

“you’re right, princess.. we can’t..” he agrees, his hands trailing down from her waist and throat and gripping her ass.

“im sorry..” she puts her head down, he grabs her chin, making her look up at him as he towers over her.

“don’t apologise, baby.. its fine” he presses a kiss to her forehead, before letting go of her body.

she smiles, but it falters a tiny bit as he retreats from her presence.

“i better get going, baby..” he smiles, before passing her his phone, a sign to give him her number.

she gladly takes it and types her name and number into his contacts, before handing it back to him.

“thank you baby.” he smirks, before leaving her alone in the basement of the venue.

shes left there, puzzled, for about 5 minutes before y/f/n walks in again.

“tell me everything.”

————————————————————

[revelboo]

I love your writing, do you think youll ever want to write for ratchet or bee again?

They’re both on my list to update along with TFP Soundwave!

The Weakends Pt 7

TFP Ratchet x Reader

• Sterilizing tools and putting them away, it’s the silence that snares him. Glancing over, he vents as he realizes you’re slumped over in an exhausted sleep against a container, arms and cheek still wet with energon. And he wonders if he’s asking too much of you, more than you can give. Not Cybertronian, but still willing to help without being asked. You hadn’t uttered a single complaint during the chaos, moving almost like you could read his mind, scrambling where he needs your little hands before he can give the order. Now in the lull after, his servos are trembling again and he hates it. He’s only one mech and there’s so many lives counting on him. If it hadn’t just been Bumblebee critically injured, he wouldn’t have been enough. He’s lost companions before, but there’s so few of them now and he can’t fail any of them. Dropping a tool when the shaking gets worse and swearing in Cybertronian, he hates this weakness. “When’s the last time you took a break, doc?” Glancing over at the husky question and that stupid nickname Wheeljack had bestowed upon him, he realizes the noise woke you and you’re staring at him. “And I mean longer than an hour or so.”

• Fully expecting him to get angry or indignant again at your question, you lay your cheek on an outstretched arm and just wait for the outburst. For him to go right back to the gruff medic act and insist he’s fine. Instead he runs a big hand over his helm, head tipping back. When he finally looks back over at you, that expression on his face isn’t one you’ve seen before. It’s real and vulnerable, locking the breath in your lungs as he reaches for you almost hesitantly. And you push to your tired feet to let him curl his servos around you, lift you to his frame. “You’re one to talk,” he grumbles, running a servo against your cheek that comes away smudged with energon. He’s just staring at the smudge like he’s frozen. Like it scares him.

• “Bedtime, doc,” you say, patting your hand on his servos curled around you. That little touch breaking him from the worry by giving him something else to focus on. You. Grabbing a cleaning cloth, he carefully wipes your arms down, aware of the almost smile on your lips as you let him. Because you know him well enough to know he needs to take care of everyone else. “Alright, hands are clean,” you finally protest with a yawn, laying your cheek on his servos as his spark thrums. He just means to carry you to the makeshift bed on a corner of his desk, but you curl an arm about one servo, sleepy eyes watching him. Like you know he’ll keep working as exhausted as he is. “Stay.” It’s a quiet request, an olive branch extended to him. And venting tiredly, he climbs on his berth with you. There’s still so much to do, but as he settles you on top of his chassis, a hand draped over you, those things can wait. Because he does need this. So much it hurts.

Previous

[sebstanaddict]

Between Deadlines

CEO!Bucky Barnes x Reader Story

A/n: And he did it again. A simple photoshoot inspired me to write another one shot 🤭 I've been wanting to write CEO!Bucky for a while now, and his LA Magazine shoot finally did it for me. There's something about that sleek black suit and unbuttoned shirt that is so inspiring 😁 Anyway, hope you guys enjoy this enemies to lovers story. Please vote and comment. It would mean the world to me. Thank you.

Summary: James Buchanan Barnes is the CEO of Barnes Tech Solutions and reader is his CTO. When an ultimatum from a client forces them to work together overnight, what started off as competition and hate starts to turn into something else..

Pairings : CEO!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warning: none, just a little fluff, let me know if you find anything

Word count : 2k words

Read more Bucky one shots here

---

Chrysler Building, New York

The client’s voice cut through the room like a blade. “I hired your company because I believed you were professionals. You promised to deliver a solution by now, but all I see is a half-baked product with a mile-long list of issues. How can I possibly take your team seriously?”

James Buchanan Barnes, CEO of Barnes Tech Solutions, kept his jaw tight as he leaned forward, attempting to salvage what he could. “We understand your frustration,” he said, casting a quick glance at Y/n, the company’s CTO, sitting beside him. “We’ve hit a few roadblocks, but we’re confident we can resolve this quickly with the right—”

The client held up a hand. “No more excuses, Barnes.” They fixed a hard look on both of them, voice icy. “Three days. That’s all you get. Either you deliver exactly what we need, or we’re done here. No payment, no future business.”

The client didn’t wait for a response, gathering their papers with a look of finality before sweeping out of the conference room, leaving James and Y/n in silence. They sat there for a moment, both stewing in the frustration and tension of the encounter.

“Well,” Y/n muttered, finally breaking the silence, “that went well.”

James shot her a look, a scowl tugging at his features. “Don’t start, Y/n. This is exactly why I said we should’ve focused more on the testing phase.”

She crossed her arms, glaring right back at him. “Focused on testing? You barely gave me enough time to build the initial code, let alone test it properly.”

He huffed, standing up with a tense shrug. “If I didn’t push you, we’d still be stuck in development. But maybe you prefer taking things slow, dragging your feet?”

She pushed back her chair and stood up, her face flushed with irritation. “Dragging my feet? Barnes, if you had any idea how hard I’ve been working on this project…”

“Hard enough to almost lose us a client?” he shot back.

They stared each other down, both brimming with frustration. She was about to retort, but he started to walk away, loosening his tie as he did. She noticed his hand move to the top button of his shirt, undoing it with a casual flick that made her breath catch. The first button opened, a sliver of skin peeking out, and her eyes were drawn to it, lingering a little too long before she snapped herself out of it.

“You coming?” He asked, turning slightly towards her with a slight smirk on his face.

Did he just catch her looking? His smirk was faint, but she could feel his gaze on her, the hint of amusement there that made her blush despite herself. She shook her head and tried to brush the thought away as she followed him out of the room.

In her office, they set up their laptops at her desk, side by side, both working in tense silence as they began reviewing the project’s remaining issues. The air was thick with unresolved friction, each of them trying to avoid any eye contact, but occasionally, James' gaze would drift to her, taking in the focused, determined look on her face.

As they settled into the work, their bickering continued, every small detail an excuse to challenge each other’s opinions.

“If we’d just skipped that last feature in the initial build, we’d be a lot closer to what the client actually wanted,” she huffed, tapping at her laptop with more force than necessary.

James scoffed. “That feature was the whole reason they were excited in the first place.”

Y/n rolled her eyes. “Well, then maybe you should’ve double-checked what they actually wanted instead of chasing every shiny idea they suggested.”

“Oh, so now it’s my fault?” he asked, pulling off his suit jacket in frustration. He tossed it onto the back of a chair, loosening his tie and rolling up his sleeves as he glared down at her. “It’s not like you ever told me we didn’t have the resources to support it.”

But her words stalled, eyes betraying her as they strayed to the way he’d rolled his sleeves past his elbows, exposing the firm, lean muscle of his forearms. She swallowed, her thoughts briefly scattering as her cheeks warmed.

James caught the way she suddenly went quiet, raising a brow at her. “Something wrong?” he asked, his tone a touch smug when he noticed the way her gaze flickered down and back up.

She quickly looked away, feigning indifference as she typed out a few lines of code. “Nothing at all,” she said, voice tight. “Let’s just… finish this thing.”

He smirked but didn’t push, though he was starting to feel a strange shift himself. Watching her in her element, every subtle movement and frustrated sigh, he felt his own irritation beginning to fade.

An hour later, they found themselves slowly starting to agree on things, the edge in their voices softening as they adjusted parts of the project together.

“Actually,” he muttered, leaning over her shoulder, “you might be right about that last module. It would probably run smoother without it.”

She glanced up, her expression a little surprised. “Did James Barnes just agree with me?”

He rolled his eyes, though there was a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Don’t get used to it.”

They shared a small, reluctant smile before diving back into the work, slowly aligning on solutions without the need to argue each point. As the hours went on, the initial hostility between them started to feel like a distant memory.

Later, they hit a breakthrough on a particularly tricky piece of code, and she couldn’t help the triumphant smile that spread across her face. “See? I told you it’d work.”

He chuckled, genuinely impressed as he met her gaze. “Alright, fine. You win this round, CTO.”

She felt her pulse quicken at the warmth in his voice, her defenses slipping further as she returned his gaze. “You’re not too bad yourself, CEO,” she murmured, allowing the rare compliment to pass between them.

With every line of code, every small decision they made together, the tension shifted. What had started as frustration and competitive energy had softened into something unspoken, something that simmered between them with each quiet moment they shared.

Around midnight, James leaned closer, scanning a line of code on her screen. “There’s an extra bracket here,” he murmured, his voice softer than usual. He didn’t move back, his presence just inches away, warm and solid. She could feel his breath against her cheek, and her pulse quickened.

Her voice came out softer than she intended. “I, uh… I see it. Thanks.”

The silence lingered, neither of them pulling back. She glanced up and met his gaze, her heart pounding as she realized just how close they were. For a split second, she thought he might kiss her, and her breath caught, but then he cleared his throat, straightening up as if the moment hadn’t happened.

“Right,” he said, though his voice was slightly rough. “Let’s keep going.”

They worked through the night, every so often stealing glances when the other wasn’t looking. And each time she glanced his way, she’d catch little details she hadn’t noticed before—the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the way his hand absently rubbed the back of his neck when he was frustrated. There was something almost endearing about it.

At one point, James got up to grab them coffee, and when he returned, he held out a mug with a slight, almost shy smile. “Thought you could use this.”

She took it, their fingers brushing for a moment, sending an unexpected warmth up her arm. “Thanks, Barnes. Didn’t think you’d be the coffee-fetching type.”

“Only for you,” he replied, his voice playful, but his eyes held something softer, something that made her heart skip a beat.

She’d always thought of him as brash, a bit arrogant, but there was a quiet intensity to him now, a focus that made her feel a strange pull in her chest. He wasn’t just the CEO who threw orders around; he was actually invested in making things work, pushing just as hard as she was.

She cleared her throat, trying to distract herself. “You know,” she said carefully, glancing at him, “for all the arguing, you’re… you’re actually a pretty good CEO.”

He looked up at her, a hint of surprise in his eyes. “You mean that?”

“Yeah,” she said, feeling a little heat rise to her cheeks. “You know how to get things done. You push people, but… it’s because you actually care about the company.”

A small smile tugged at his lips, softening his usually sharp expression. “Thanks. But honestly, Y/n, if anyone’s pulling this project together, it’s you. You’re the best CTO I’ve ever seen—our tech wouldn’t even be half of what it is without you.”

She felt her heart skip a beat at his words, warmth creeping up her neck. “I… didn’t know you thought that,” she murmured, her gaze dropping for a moment.

He leaned in slightly, his eyes holding hers with a strange intensity. “I mean it,” he said, his voice low. “You’re brilliant, Y/n. Sometimes I wonder what we’d do without you.”

Her breath caught at the way he looked at her, a deep, lingering gaze that was almost… tender. She could feel her pulse quickening, her heart pounding in a way she hadn’t expected. She swallowed, feeling the tension between them shift, morphing into something that felt a lot less like animosity and a lot more like anticipation.

As the hours ticked on and the city lights outside dimmed into early morning, Y/n leaned back in her chair, stretching her tired arms above her head. “Almost there,” she murmured, exhaustion heavy in her voice. “Just a few more adjustments.”

James had loosened another button by now, and her gaze flickered to the open collar of his shirt. It exposed just enough to be distracting—the slight glimpse of toned muscle, his collarbone, the warm skin beneath, the reflection of a gold chain she just noticed that he was wearing. She tried to tear her eyes away, but the sight had her more breathless than she’d care to admit.

He noticed her lingering stare, and a slight smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Something on your mind, Y/n?” he asked, his voice lower, more teasing.

She cleared her throat, brushing it off. “Just… making sure you’re still awake,” she mumbled, hoping he couldn’t hear the sudden breathlessness in her voice.

He tilted his head, eyes fixed on her in that intense way that always made her heart skip a beat. “Awake—and noticing a few things myself,” he said quietly, his gaze drifting over her face, then her lips.

The air between them shifted, thickening with an unspoken tension. She could feel his closeness, the warmth radiating from him as he leaned in, just a little. She held her breath, waiting, unsure if he’d actually go through with it.

Then, as if making a decision, he reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. His fingers lingered by her cheek, his gaze dropping to her mouth as he edged closer. Her pulse raced, her heart pounding louder than any words.

Before she could second-guess the moment, his lips met hers, warm and unexpectedly soft, his hand cupping her cheek as he drew her in. It was gentle at first, tentative, as though he was testing the waters—but the moment she leaned into him, his kiss deepened, sending a shiver down her spine.

She felt her heart catch in her chest, and she knew that whatever this was between them, it was something she couldn’t ignore any longer.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, his eyes searching hers with a soft, almost shy smile. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he murmured, a hint of vulnerability in his voice.

She laughed softly, a little breathless, her hands still resting on his shoulders. “Guess we’ve both been hiding things, then.”

He smiled, his fingers tracing along her jaw. “Maybe we’re better off working together than fighting, after all.”

She smirked, playfully nudging him. “Don’t think this means I’m going easy on you in the next project, Barnes.”

He chuckled, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Wouldn’t expect anything less, Y/n.” And with that, he leaned in and kissed her again, as the night slowly turned to dawn, the rivalry between them finally fading into something infinitely sweeter.

[warlocksoup]

── .✦ FULL: IWAIZUMI HAJIME ── .✦

CHAPTER ONE: walls

Iwaizumi doesn’t get what she sees in him.

Akaashi’s leaning up against the doorframe of her bedroom, like he’s supervising, trying to make sure Iwaizumi’s not doing anything unsavory as he stuffs a duffel bag full of whatever clothes he can find in her drawers and random selections of toiletries.

As if it’s not entirely Akaashi’s fault he has to be here in the first place.

“You should grab her blanket too,” Akaashi says, arms crossed over his chest and expression neutral. “The small blue one. She sleeps with it every night.”

Iwaizumi halts in front of her dresser, turning briefly to glare. God, he really wants to fucking hit him. “Yeah, thanks man.”

She didn’t ask him to be here. Iwaizumi is here entirely on his own. He was watching her pull another one of his shirts over her head when he suggested stopping by her place to grab a few of her things for her. Even though, selfishly, he wanted her walking around campus with his t-shirt under her jacket, covered in the smell of his soap, practically advertising to anyone around her that is his place she’s crashing at. That it’s him who’s taking care of it her.

He figured it’d be better for her, though, to walk around in something of her own. And that's what's most important, anyways.

He’s just shoving whatever he can grab haphazardly into his bag, with little regard as to what it is or the state that it’s in. He feels bad, sort of, for the way he crinkles up her shirt in his fist and balls it up, making it as small as he can to make it fit. But he just wants to get the fuck out of there, away from the flat, dry stare of Akaashi.

He drops the bag on the edge of her bed. From the corner of his eye, folded up by her pillows, he sees it, the little blue blanket. He bites down on the inside of his cheek as he grabs it and places it neatly on the pile of clothes he’s amassed.

“Is she really this mad at me?” Akaashi questions, taking a step inside of her bedroom as Iwaizumi tugs at the zipper.

Iwaizumi stops, and turns to look at Akaashi, trying his best not to grind his teeth together. “Why do you care?” Iwaizumi says, unable to contain the slowly boiling anger that’s been brewing since the second she showed back up at his doorstep. “Thought she disgusted you.”

Akaashi doesn’t give anything away with his expression. It’s as flat and disinterested as it usually is, and Iwaizumi thinks that maybe his enthusiasm is what really turned her off of him. That if he were as disapproving and indifferent as Akaashi, maybe she’d be in love with him too.

It’s silent. Apparently Akaashi has nothing to say to him.

Iwaizumi grabs the strap of his shoulder and slings it over his shoulder. “She’s not mad at you. She’s humiliated.”

He goes to move past him, and finally get the fuck out of there, but Akaashi grabs at his arm on the way out. Iwaizumi stops, and jerks away from him in a way that makes Akaashi take one large step back. “I’m sorry, just,” he starts, and then sighs, “do you think maybe you could ask her to talk to me? Maybe return a call or something?”

Iwaizumi glares. “No,” he says firmly, and turns his back on him, heading straight for the same front door she stormed out of.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ 

“I don’t like her.”

Iwaizumi is refolding her clothes, taking them out piece by piece, and meticulously smoothing them out. He’s made some space in his dresser, and he wants it full before she gets back. On his bed, he’s got a pile for jeans, one for sweaters, one for shirts, and a pile of her socks.

He’s using one loose sock to hit Oikawa in the arm when he flops across the neatly spaced-out piles. “Get up,” Iwaizumi instructs, and Oikawa does so at once, but not without an eyeroll. “And everyone hates her right now. She doesn’t need it from you.”

She cried about it last night in his bed, and tried to act like she didn’t. But Iwaizumi’s pretty in-tuned with her, at this point. He knows what it means when she looks down at a notification on her phone and her smile becomes forced and unnatural. He knows what it means when her breathing quickens up, and then slows down forcefully, like she’s doing her best to control it.

She doesn’t like telling him about it, anymore. Now she’s got this fear of inconveniencing him. She started referring to herself as a burden, and makes herself small, trying to take up the least amount of space in his apartment as possible. Most of her time is spent in the campus library, and she won’t listen to Iwaizumi when he tells her that his space is hers, and she doesn’t have to feel bad for being there.

But she does, anyways. Probably because of his fucking roommate.

Oikawa flops back into Iwaizumi’s desk chair. “Everyone hates her for some stupid reason. Mine is valid.”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi grumbles, “I’m sure it is.”

“All she does is use you,” Oikawa tells him, and it’s not for the first time. “She just leads you on, over and over, and you just let her.”

Iwaizumi teeth grind together, and he smooths out the legs on a pair of her jeans. The truth bothers him. He doesn’t mind admitting it quietly to himself. It’s something else entirely to have it pointed out to him, like it’s something so obvious, like it’s not a secret he keeps. “I don’t have any expectations from her. She just needs one person who’s still on her side.”

“And it has to be you?” Oikawa questions with a raised brow.

“Who else is it gonna be? You?” Iwaizumi snaps back. Oikawa scoffs. “I’m just saying. Don’t have to kick her while she’s down.”

“Whatever,” Oikawa replies, and stands on his feet. “I’ll leave you to being pussy-whipped, I guess.”

Iwaizumi watches with narrowed eyes as Oikawa leaves his bedroom, and he wishes he had something to throw at him.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ 

At night, she stays in his bed. She tried to stay on the couch, at first, but Iwaizumi wouldn’t let her. He said he’d stay out there, to make her more comfortable, but she wouldn’t let him. So she takes the left side, and he takes the right.

They start off with a gap between them, both of them lying flat on their backs, staring up at the ceiling. And then, as the night goes on, as sleep starts to overtake them, inch by inch, they get closer. Her rolling on her side. Iwaizumi shuffling closer. Their fingers brushing together. Their legs tangling. Closer and closer, all through the night, until they wake up the next morning, and Iwaizumi is cradling her to his chest.

Iwaizumi’s never really been able to stay away from her. He always finds his way back to her: sneaking out of a party early to knock on her front door, double texting her when he’s met with silence, rearranging plans, just so he could see her one more time.

And Iwaizumi always figured it was his availability that drew her to him. That his desperation for her was his most appealing quality, and that if, even for a second, that desperation started to slip, and that availability closed up, she wouldn’t have a problem crawling over to the next person. She could always just find another warm body to want her.

But she moves closer to. Iwaizumi lays awake, and watches as she pushes herself closer to him, until her forehead is nuzzled against his collarbone. She always moves closer.

He can’t tell if she’s asleep or not. He raises a hand and rests it on the crown of her head. She was gone all day. She brought takeout home with her, and they ate it in the kitchen together, their knees brushing together under the table. Iwaizumi listened to her talk about her essay on Kyivan Rus, and then she asked about his physiology course. They stood next to each other in the bathroom as they brushed their teeth, stealing glances at each other through the mirror. Iwaizumi packed up her leftovers and put them in the fridge while she showered.

She hums a little in her sleep. It all feels unfamiliar.

Iwaizumi told her not to worry about him, that he knows what he is to her. Her eyelashes tickle his skin. Maybe, he figures, he can talk to her about it in the morning,

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[blueberryredbullwithlime]

having so much remain unsaid drives you fucking crazy.

but dabi seems fine with it.

he sits and passes a cigarette between you as if your lip gloss isn't smearing onto his rough lips. he sits with one knee bent up to rest his chin against, and stare up at a vast, misty, blank night sky. the only thing you can see in the dense city is the vague yellowing stain of the moon. yet he looks up as if its the most capturing image of all.

as if you aren't right next to him. boring holes in the side of his charred head.

"so, you're really going with them again tomorrow?"

you blow smoke into his ear with the question. he bats at the cloud and reaches between your pursed lips for the stick. his knuckles brush your soft, dewy skin and you hate how your chest sputters at the contact.

a mere nod is all you get. he inhales slowly, the ashing end illuminating cherry against what remains of his pale face. when he exhales, his head swivels to face you. blowing right in your eyes and nose.

"ass!" you swat his arm through the crackling leather jacket.

he grins, smothering it before it can pop his staples, and shrugs.

"will you come back soon?"

all good humor drops. he tosses the stumped cig and stomps it out with his boot.

"probably," he answers flippantly.

perfect response to keep you just at the edge. a 'no' would confirm he couldn't care less about you. a 'yes' would confirm just how much he cares about you. but something so mashed and hidden by layers of indifference keeps you curious. wanting.

"dabi..."

"what?" he knows what you want.

i love you too. yes i'll be home. yes this is my home. you're everything to me. i love you too. i love you too. i love you too.

he knows you just want him to say it back. that can't be too much to ask, can it?

"i dunno what you want if you don't tell me," he sighs and stands and wipes both hands on his pants. effectively ridding himself of the dust from inside your house, and the skin cells he skeeved off you all night. he turns his back right when your eyes start watering, but you know he saw it. he sniffles a little and clears his throat, "take care of yourself, i'll be back."

eventually

he walks down the stairs and turns and leaves as he always does. not even waiting out to dawn like he said.

maybe it is too much to ask.

[raven-cincaide]

Boyfriend! Megumi’s worst enemy wasn’t cute boys trying to whisk you away or party girls who urged a naive little you into (fun) trouble - even if there was plenty of that for him to worry about as well. No, his worst enemy was gifting you a gift.

Boyfriend! Megumi has pried himself on being a smart gift giver. Bragged how easy giving gifts came to him: he always gave his friends what they needed to make their lives easier, better, and more practical. A gimmicky pair of slippers to Yuji after Goto stole his favourite ones; a handheld portable sewing machine for Nobera after she (again!) threw a fit over the tiniest of holes in her newly bought trademark sweater, a posh grinding stone for Maki and a half-joking visit to a fancy Sushi restaurant for Inumaki-senpai after which he expanded his vocabulary with half a dozen new sushi-related words! Yet when it came to you, he was stooped.

Boyfriend! Megumi hated that he was so uncertain about what to get You. Something practical felt too cheap, like he reduced your place in his life to ‘just friends’; jewellery felt thoughtless and impersonal. All those pretty skincare and make-up sets bore the same thoughtless touch while also posing the risk of you taking his gift as a critique. On the other hand, clothes felt too personal and posed the risk of making the entire interaction awkward if he guessed your size, style, and design wrong. Damnit. 

Boyfriend! Megumi pushed aside several neatly wrapped boxes, making them tumble off his bed to be forgotten on his for-once-messy floor. His attention turned to the remaining similar boxes of different shapes and sizes, all individually wrapped in various papers, with only bows and rosettes to tell them apart. What about a spa weekend? Everyone liked those things, right? Or a date night? Or maybe... 

Boyfriend! Megumi barely noticed his dorm room door creek open and your soft padding of plush socks against his wooden floors. He barely hid a smile as you snuck up in front of him and waved your hand in his face. As if he wouldn’t notice you. Then, in the middle of your wave, you noticed all the gifts that littered his bed, 

"Ohh! Are we wrapping gifts? Is that why you called me? But it looks like you’re already done-" 

"-Pick a number", Megumi cut you off, not looking at you. 

Boyfriend! Megumi tried not to jump out of his skin from the nerves or too obviously chew the inside of his cheek as you stared at him with those huge owl-like eyes, as you processed his words. 

“ehhhh? Okay.. 3, I guess?” you sounded uncertain, almost afraid, as if trying to guess what kind of psychological game or scare tactic he was playing. Or what were you supposed to do with the neatly wrapped flat box he placed in your hands? Your tense shoulders and half-bent knees conveyed that you expected the box to turn into a jump scare at any second. 

Boyfriend! Megumi made a mental note to kick Yuji’s ass for showing you Human EarthWorm three. He better not think about showing you the fifth one, lest you become too scared of your own damned shadow. 

Boyfriend! Megumi makes a motion for you to open the gift.

“Is it.. for me?” you asked, and he has to bite back a sarcastic reply. Instead, he merely nodded. He waited with batted breath as you slowly unravelled a signed copy of the newly released book in your favourite series, silently praying that you haven’t bought it yet. When you squealed in delight and jumped on his neck, Megumi knew you hadn't and breathed a sigh of relief. He quickly wrapped his arms around your waist and held you close. He felt like he had aged five years trying to pick a gift for you. 

Boyfriend! Megumi felt proud of himself as you thanked him for the millionth time. “You’re welcome,” he said, kissing your forehead. “You can have another one later,” he added before he could stop himself. 

You pause mid-cheer as the penny drops: “ Wait? If this is gift 3, then are there more gifts? How many more?” 

“Later” Boyfriend! Megumi responded with a hint of a playful smile on his lips. The kind that said that you might just have to work a little bit for those other gifts… 

[brainddeadd]

Between Rivalries and Romance: A Shovel Talk Initiation

Dating the enemy might have been a little reckless, but Matt Rempe was worth it. He’d quickly become the guy you couldn’t stop thinking about, his texts lighting up your phone and his grin sneaking into your daydreams. The only downside? Telling the guys. Jack, Luke, and Dawson were like your brothers, and if you didn’t break it to them yourself, there was no telling what would happen if they found out some other way. But after a long day at practice, you finally work up the courage to gather them in the locker room.

"Hey, can we talk?" you ask, your voice slightly shaky but steady enough to catch their attention.

The three of them look up with interest, Jack giving you a curious look as he leans back in his seat. “What’s up, Y/N? You look serious.”

You take a deep breath, fingers fidgeting as you look between them. "Okay, um… I need to tell you something important. But promise me you won’t freak out."

Luke smirks, already catching on to the nerves in your voice. “No promises. Especially if this is something juicy.”

Dawson laughs, but there’s a hint of seriousness in his gaze as he leans forward. “Just tell us. We can handle it, right, boys?”

You take another steadying breath, finally just blurting it out. “I’m dating Matt Rempe.”

There’s a beat of silence, where they just stare at you like they’re processing, and then—

“Rempe?” Jack’s voice pitches up, and he looks both amused and mildly horrified at the same time. “From the Rangers?”

Luke clutches his chest in mock horror. “Y/N, why would you betray us like this?”

Dawson bursts out laughing, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “I mean, we’ll support you, but you’re dating the enemy, Y/N. You’re lucky we like you.”

You roll your eyes, trying to keep your expression serious. “So, you’re not… mad?”

The three exchange glances, their expressions melting from fake horror into a mix of laughter and genuine smiles.

Jack wraps an arm around you, ruffling your hair affectionately. “Mad? Nah. But we are gonna give you a hard time for the rest of your life for this.”

Luke joins in, pulling you into a playful headlock. “Every time we face the Rangers, you better believe we’re bringing this up. Loudly.”

Dawson crosses his arms, giving you a teasing grin. “So, what’s he got that we don’t, huh? Because obviously you could’ve had any of us.”

You burst out laughing, trying to wriggle free from Luke’s grip. “You guys are impossible. I was actually nervous you’d hate me!”

Jack’s smile softens as he looks at you, shaking his head. “C’mon, Y/N. We’d never hate you for something like this. You’re our family. If Rempe’s the guy who makes you happy, then we’re happy for you.”

Dawson nods in agreement, his playful demeanor shifting as he pulls you in for a proper hug. “Yeah, and just so you know, we’ve got your back. Always.”

You can feel a huge weight lifting off your shoulders as Luke releases you from the headlock, replacing it with a gentle pat on your shoulder.

“Just one thing, though,” he says with a smirk. “If he does anything—anything—to make you cry, he’s got the whole Devils roster to deal with. We’re basically required to beat him up at that point.”

Jack nods, grinning wickedly. “And don’t think we’re letting you off the hook for keeping this from us.”

You laugh, shaking your head in disbelief at the chaos of it all. “I’ll never hear the end of this, will I?”

“Nope,” Dawson says, nudging you with a grin. “That’s what family’s for.”

The teasing continues as they each pull you in for a hug, their support sinking in and reminding you that no matter what, they’ve got your back—even if you did happen to fall for a guy in a rival jersey.

~~

Matt Rempe had faced down some of the most intimidating defensemen in the league, but nothing compared to the feeling of having the New Jersey Devils’ core trio—Jack, Luke, and Dawson—staring him down like he’d just confessed to committing a federal crime.

He knew the second he walked into the empty locker room that this was no chance encounter. The trio sat spread out, each with a look that fell somewhere between a smirk and a scowl. It was a classic set-up, with Jack lounging back on one bench, Luke leaning against a locker with his arms crossed, and Dawson waiting, face serious and unyielding.

“Rempe,” Jack greeted him, his voice entirely too casual for the look in his eyes.

Matt tried to keep his voice steady. “Jack. Luke. Dawson.” He offered a quick nod, holding back the slight wave of unease at their collective expressions. “Didn’t know I was getting a welcoming committee.”

Luke snorted, giving Matt a look of pure skepticism. “Oh, this isn’t a welcome. This is… well, you’re here because you’re dating our teammate. And, like… why?”

Matt blinked, taken aback but trying not to show it. “I like her. A lot, actually.”

Dawson, arms crossed and brows slightly raised, leaned forward. “She means a lot to us. So, here’s the thing: if you do anything to hurt her? You’re gonna have a whole team to answer to. We’re not her brothers, but we might as well be.”

Jack nodded, his tone serious but his eyes faintly amused. “We’re just saying, Rempe… hockey rivalries are nothing compared to us if she ends up hurt. That includes—” he counted off on his fingers, “breaking her heart, ditching her, messing her around, or doing anything that might make her cry.”

Matt held up his hands, expression earnest. “Look, I get it. And honestly, I appreciate you guys looking out for her. But I’d never do anything to hurt her. She’s… she’s important to me.”

Jack and Luke exchanged a look, the latter giving a small nod. Jack smirked, clearly enjoying the theatrics. “Alright. But we’ll be watching. And just know we take shovel talks pretty seriously around here.”

Dawson clapped Matt on the shoulder, a bit harder than necessary. “Good luck, Rempe. You’ve got our blessing. But mess it up? You’ll have all of Jersey after you.”

Matt chuckled nervously, but deep down, he couldn’t help but feel a little more at ease, knowing he’d just passed the ultimate test of loyalty.

~~

Matt was grinning like a Cheshire cat when he finally met up with you after his unexpected "meeting" with Jack, Luke, and Dawson. He didn’t say a word as he slid into the booth beside you at the little cafe, just shook his head, laughing under his breath.

“What?” you asked, giving him a curious look, sipping your coffee. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Matt leaned back, folding his arms with a smirk. “Oh, I don’t know. Just wondering if you happen to know anything about the shovel talk your teammates just gave me.”

Your eyes went wide, nearly choking on your sip. “No. You’re kidding!” you gasped, already feeling a deep blush creeping up your neck. “They… they actually gave you the shovel talk?”

“Oh yeah,” he said, nodding with an amused glint in his eye. “Jack led the charge, and Luke and Dawson backed him up. It was intense, too—like they were rehearsing for some sort of mafia initiation speech.”

You buried your face in your hands, groaning in embarrassment. “Oh my god, that’s mortifying. I’m so sorry, Matt. I swear I didn’t put them up to it. They just… they’re overprotective.”

He laughed, reaching out to pull your hands away from your face. “Honestly? It’s kinda cute. I think it’s awesome how much they care about you.” He shrugged, a soft, genuine smile spreading across his face. “I’d be the same way with my sisters if they brought someone around.”

You peeked at him, your blush lingering but softened by his gentle look. “Really?”

“Of course,” he said, squeezing your hand. “Means you’ve got people in your corner. And it makes me want to be that much better for you, you know?”

You rolled your eyes with a smile, feeling the embarrassment slowly melt into warmth as you squeezed his hand back. “You’re seriously okay with it?”

“Absolutely,” he chuckled, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “If anything, I feel like I earned my place here now. And hey—if they’re watching us closely, I guess I’ll just have to keep proving I’m worth it.”

“Well, I think you are,” you whispered, nudging him with a smile.

He chuckled, leaning over to kiss your cheek. “Then I guess that’s all I need.”

[with-my-calamitous-love]

I’LL SPEND FOREVER WONDERIN’ IF YOU KNEW…

touya todoroki x reader

you first met touya in winter. similarly, you fell in love and said goodbye in winter. now when the snow falls, he thinks of you.

part 1/2

inspired by enchanted

there he was again, early morning. sekoto peak on a brisk, winter evening. just shy of 8 years old, with fire blazing valiantly.

around others, he’s used to forcing laughter and faking his smiles. he hides that inter turmoil well, determined to carry the mantel of endeavour’s firstborn son. but just because he carries it well, doesn’t mean it isn’t heavy.

he’s in this same old tired, lonely place. the trees act as walls on insincerity, isolating him on this hill. his flames are controlled, ignoring that slight pain he feels in his palms when the red and oranges shoot out from his hands. the winter chill helps to keep him cool. he doesn’t need a jacket, anyway.

the snow drowns out most noises, as do most winter days. but he still catches the sound of soft, padding footsteps crunching in the snow.

all of what he’s feeling vanishes when he sees your face.

its rare, seeing someone his age. two kids, shy and precocious in the middle of winter. he’s the first to speak.

“…what are you doing out here?”

“i could ask you the same thing.”

kids are brats.

he huffs, his breath visible in the contrast to the cool air. “well, i asked you first.”

“going for a walk.” you hum, moving closer to him. you take not of the several burns on the trees, black and withered.

you can’t help but notice his lack of a jacket, though he seems unbothered by it. you’re here, mittens, jacket and scarf keeping you warm, while he’s in nothing but a thin sweater. “aren’t you… y’know, cold?”

he smiles, proud. “no. i have my fire.”

and he’s proud to have it, even if it will inevitably kill him.

but you two are kids, and neither of you know that. in your childhood brains, the only thing that matters is whats in front or you. so you spend the rest of the day chatting, walking around the seemingly enchanted forest. snowball fights turn into snowmen, and eventually graduates into laying in the snow, making snow angels.

“i like winter.” you hum, staring up at the snow tricking onto your face. “most people hate it. they think its cold, and wet, and dark.”

touya stopped moving for a second. he hummed and considered your words. he had heard people he knew in the past speak like that, namely his younger siblings that craved warmth.

"maybe they just don’t like snow." he says quietly, shrugging while drawing random lines in the snow. "you like it, though?"

you nod.

“for all its coldness, theres tenderness in winter to. the sky is light and pink when it snows at night. its quiet, and still.”

theres a certain secrecy to this moment that he feels when he hears your words. childhood friendship is a precious thing, something you never get back. the heroes and the villains of the world don’t matter, and anything important is reserved for a later time. right now, blanketed by snow, touya made one true friend. how enchanted he was to meet you.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚

years pass, and you and touya are thrust into adolescence. his hair has changed, now a frosted white that matches the current season. you’re walking home from school together, though he’s got his hands shoved in his pocket like a little kid. not because he’s cold, but because he’s frustrated.

he’s taking his time, pacing back and forth. he almost doesn’t want to return home. thinking about it makes him clench his fists, the annoyance he felt quickly morphing into anger. when he’d come home, he’d be met with all that pain, all over again. the thought of his father focusing all his energy and attention on his little brother, all because touya wasn’t "good enough" to be his successor, was haunting. its what kept him up at night.

“it’s just not fair.” he mutters, and you instantly know what he’s referring to. “all that work… for what? he doesn’t even know i exist.”

words fail at times like this. you could tell him that its not true, but it is. you could tell him not to care, but he still will. you could tell him that you love him… but would he listen?

so instead, you opt to hold his hand. your fingers are cold against his naturally warm ones. you pretend not to notice the rough texture of his palms, evidence of his training.

the snow begins to trickle down again, falling like a crown on your head. tonight, you’re sparkling, and he doesn’t want to let you go. turquoise eyes look at you, wonderstruck as your nose begins to turn that winterish shade of pink. he almost blushes when he sees you tightening your scarf, forgetting he’s supposed to take you home.

“i just,” you sigh, taking both his hands in yours so you can both see the damage beginning to fester on his skin. “i don’t know. i don’t want you training too hard. it’s hurting you, i can tell.”

“i-its not.” he lies, breath visible in the winter air. he tries his best to hide the wince in his eye when you rub your thumbs up and down the burns on his hands.

“i just… i don’t wanna lose you.” you say.

he doesn’t wanna lose this either. you, and him, standing in the winter. he prays that this is the first page, that this is only the first of many winters he hopes to have with you.

“you won’t.” he smiles. “i promise.”

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚

you learn about the accident not through the news, or through his family, but rather through seeing the eruption of blue flames on the hill where you two met.

at first, you cried every day. you prayed that he’d wake up, that this isn’t where the story line ends. seeing him laying there, as the years go on, and as the snow falls inevitably, felt unreal.

its been a lonely 3 years without his sassy remarks and his warm hands. you can still feel that warmth, even in his coma. you hold his hands as his body lays there, the only indicator of his survival the beeps of the heart monitor.

his burns are so much more apparent now almost purple against his pale, snowy skin. he doesn’t know it, but you’ve visited him everyday since he first arrived. through every summer, spring, autumn through every god damn winter, you’ve been here.

you’d whisper things he’d never hear, eyes occasionally wandering to the snow falling outside the winter. its a reminder of how much time has passed, how much you’ve lost without him.

and though you don’t know it, he’s mourning it as well. he’s forced to hold back his words, like he’s leaving too soon.

selfishly, he hopes that in these three years, you haven’t fallen in love with someone else. that you don’t have someone else waiting on you when you leave.

its the opposite, actually. you don’t have anyone waiting on you, when you’re waiting on touya to come back.

normally, you’re alone in his room. so you almost don’t catch when the door opens and closes behind you. at first, you think its just a nurse checking in. but the silence makes you turn your head.

shes got the same hair as touya, snowy white. but her eyes are this grey color that you can tell once sparkled. shes just as confused as you are, even when you stand up from your chair but still continue to hold touya’s hand.

“i-i.. sorry. i’m just visiting.” you say, like you’ve committed a crime. you haven’t done anything wrong.

she shakes her head, taking a few steps closer and assuring you its okay. the fact that you’re so close to her son, holding his hand isn’t lost on her.

theres words she wants to say as well, words that fall on deaf ears. you wonder why its only her visiting.

“i’m sorry, dear.. who are you?” she brakes the silence, realizing she isn’t actually sure who you are. how would she know anyway?

“i’m his friend.” you say, quietly. “[y/n].”

she nods, though she wonders how she didn’t know that. her first son, the first love of her life, had a friend close enough to visit and hold his hand even through this period of winter.

if anything, she’s grateful for it.

theres a few more beats of silence, before she speaks again. her voice is quiet, but her pain speaks volumes.

“i tried to stop him.” she says, staring at her son. “i… i didn’t want this.”

its enough to bring tears to your eyes, nodding understandably. “me too.”

and theres that moment of understanding between the two of you. like snowflakes falling onto the same patch of ground, you both knew that this was inevitable. eventually, touya’s fire would consume him. eventually, he’d burn too.

theres nothing you two can say to make this better. so you sit there in comfort, winter silence before eventually saying goodnight.

you leave, quietly accepting that you’ll be all alone.

and the next day, he wakes up.

[queenjunothegreat]

JASON Realizes He's Got a Problem

Heeeello everyone! I've got a little tiny thing for you all of Jason realizing he's got a massive crush on Leo post Heroes of Juno. Technically, you don't have to have read HoJ for this to make sense, you just have to live in a world where Piper and Jason never dated. Also! I haven't posted this to Ao3 yet, so you all are getting special privileges. >;3c Have fun!

Jason liked Bunker Nine. It was noisy and crowded and just so lived in in a way that Jason couldn’t quite describe. Part of him thought he would hate it, seeing as it was loud and claustrophobic and messy, but he found himself admiring those very traits. He liked being in the Bunker because he felt like he could do anything, be anyone. The Bunker didn’t hold him to any expectation, it just welcomed him with wide open arms and tucked him in close to its chest so that he could feel the very heartbeat of the place thrumming warm and fast under his cheek. He sighed deeply and burrowed his face down into his arms with a contented smile.

“You know, I’m beginning to think you aren’t listening to me.”

Jason half lifted his head and blinked until the blurriness of his vision faded a little bit. His eyes crossed and the image of Leo came into focus, his chin resting on his palm and his bushy eyebrows furrowed up in a pout like a pair of affectionate caterpillars. Jason blinked again. “Huh?”

Leo sighed dramatically. “I have said, like, three jokes, and you haven’t laughed at any of them.”

Jason felt his lips curl up a little bit and he squished his cheek back into his folded arms. “Were they funny jokes?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Leo informed him. “Your only job is to laugh at them anyway and make me feel good about myself.”

“I thought my job was to ‘stand there and pick up heavy stuff when I tell you to.’”

“Do you see any heavy stuff for you to pick up?”

Jason didn’t bother to lift his head, but he pointedly looked around at all of the machinery and equipment that surrounded them. “Do you want me to answer that?”

Leo’s pout from before deepened until his face caterpillars almost kissed. “That is not what I meant and you know it. I’m still in the planning stages for this boat, so there’s nothing for you to carry.”

Jason snorted and hid his face again. “Okay, sorry I was slacking, in that case. Ha ha, Leo, you’re so funny.”

Jason felt something bounce off his head, and he got the feeling Leo was throwing eraser bits at him. “You are such a dick. You need to quit hanging out with Piper.” Jason just hummed in affirmation and Leo went silent. They stayed like that for a moment before Leo called out softly, “Jace?”

Jason hummed again to show he was listening but didn’t look up until he felt Leo poking him. He heaved a heavy sigh and turned his head. Leo was right in front of him, their faces so close that their noses nearly brushed. Leo’s features were all puckered up and his lips were turned down in a tight frown, which made Jason frown right back at him. “Yeah, Leo?”

“What’s wrong?” Leo asked. When Jason just blinked at him, he cut his eyes to the side and shrank back a little self-consciously. “Sorry, it’s probably none of my business, I just thought you–”

“I don’t mind you asking,” Jason interrupted. “I’m just… confused about why you would, I guess? There’s really, really nothing wrong. Honest. What made you think there was?”

“It’s nothing; just a feeling. Forget about it,” Leo hedged, still refusing to look Jason in the eye. They were silent just long enough for Leo to realize Jason was definitely not going to forget about it, and he huffed. “You just– You’ve been, I dunno, distracted. Like, the past week every other time I’ve talked to you, you’ve just been zoned out staring at me. Last time someone was acting all weird, it turned out Piper was having prophetic dreams about her dad being kidnapped by a giant, so I figured I should ask.”

Jason’s frown deepened. He kinda knew what Leo was talking about, but he hadn’t been zoning out. He was distracted, though. Every time Leo spoke, Jason gave him his undivided attention, but that attention wasn’t always on what Leo was saying. Instead, Jason found himself fixated on the little things like the way Leo’s nose scrunched up when he smiled just right, or how his curls bounced around his head like soft puffy clouds and captured the sunlight like a halo, or the way his crooked teeth flashed with every word he spoke, or the shape of the grease stain smeared over his chin, or–

He shook his head and sat up, realizing he’d been doing it again. “Sorry, man. I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

Leo looked startled. “Wait, that’s it? Why didn’t you say so? I would have let you nap, if you wanted. You don’t have to hang out with me, you know.”

Jason shrugged noncommittally. “I wanted to, though. I’d way rather hang out with you than nap.”

Leo ducked his head, his cheeks a little darker than before. “Oh. Okay, then.” 

Neither of them said anything else, so Jason hunched back over the table and let his eyes slide shut, content to just bask in Leo’s warm presence while he rested. Leo fiddled with whatever it was he was working on for a while before he suddenly slammed his hands on the table and stood, making Jason snap to attention. “Alright! That’s it!”

 “What’s it?” Jason asked. 

“We’re leaving,” Leo said decisively. 

“What? Why? I thought you were in the middle of something.”

Leo shrugged casually. “I’ll still be in the middle of it when I get back. It’ll be fine.” Jason’s frown just hardened, so Leo grinned. “C’mon, big guy. We can go to the strawberry fields.”

Jason felt his entire being perk up at the idea, but then he narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You don’t even like the strawberry fields. Why do you wanna go there?”

“I like the strawberry fields just fine when I don’t have to work in them,” Leo argued. Jason continued to stare until Leo deflated a bit. “Okay, fine. Look, it’s obvious that you need a nap, and I’m not gonna just sit here and watch you fuck up your back when there’s a perfectly nice sunbeam for you to curl up in somewhere out there. That’s just messed up, dude. C’mon. Come to the strawberry fields with me. It’ll be nice.”

Jason gaped at Leo for a moment. “But-But your boat.”

“Not to be embarrassing, but I do actually care about you more than a boat. You know that, right?”

Jason felt his cheeks go scarlet and he stared down at his fists clenched on the table and bit back a smile. “I– Yeah. Okay, then. Strawberry fields. If you want.”

Leo twisted around and ducked his head until Jason could see the wide, deliberately goofy grin he wore. “I very much do want. Let’s go, Jace.”

Jason’s face went even warmer and his heart thumped high in the back of his throat. He was suddenly very, very glad that he’d been given a second chance after his run-in with Juno and her true form. If he hadn’t, he’d never have gotten to see the way Leo’s eyes shone bright with warm affection and amusement when he looked at him. He’d never have gotten the opportunity to see that smile so close up. He’d never have realized just how much he wanted to cup those smudgy cheeks up in his palms and press a barrage of kisses on every inch of that wonderful face.

Oh, Jason thought to himself as his brain finally caught up to his feelings. He blinked at Leo in shock for a moment, but his desires didn’t even begin to fade. The more he thought about it, the more familiar those desires felt. They weren’t new, which meant that somewhere along the line, he’d managed to trip and fall in love with his best friend, and now he was stuck laying face down in the dirt with this realization. 

Well, fuck.

[kailoraurelius]

Starlight

"Starlight" is defined as the light that stars produce. As a name, "Starlight" can represent dreams, aspirations, and a connection to the universe's infinite possibilities.

"You know, you can just say you hate me, dude."

Beca's sudden voice should break the still of the night, but it doesn't. It fits right in with the frost on the edges of the rooftop and the mist Chloe breathes out. She's lying in one of their sunbathing chairs, her favorite one with the yellow polka dots. Twisting her head a bit, she can see Beca is shutting the roof door, cutting off the faint sound of music and laughter from downstairs. The girls are really living up their final week in the Bella House. They've even invited the Trebles over and are, currently, having a rousing card tournament. Chloe's been judging who's winning by whether or not she can hear Amy doing a war cry.

"I don't hate you," Chloe says. "Why do you think that?"

"Because you know I hate heights and you're hiding up here." Beca pulls up the flaps of her oversized, black jacket so she can squint at the zipper as she slots it together. It's pretty dark up here, with only the light stringers from the backyard sending up a gentle glow. She misses once, curses quietly under her breath, then adds, "Don't make a short joke."

Chloe snorts. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Beca manages to make the zipper catch and yanks it all the way up to her chin in one quick move, then shoves her hands deep into the pockets. "Mhmm. And the hiding up here part?"

Shrugging, Chloe watches as Beca saunters over to her side. "I'm not hiding. Just wanted to get away for a few minutes." She motions above them. "The night sky is so pretty in winter."

Beca tilts her head back, taking in the view too. Then she sighs, a large puff of fog floating slowly away from them. "The stuff I do for pretty things. Shove over."

Chloe scooches to the side as Beca turns and lowers herself to lay down without removing her hands from her pockets. Chloe giggles, bracing her hands against Beca's back to keep her from falling. "Why were you looking for me?"

"'Ain't no party without a ginger', someone told me once."

"Oh my god, I was drunk! Let it go."

"Mm. I don't think I will, no. Thank you."

Chloe curls into Beca's side, wrapping her arms around Beca's elbow. "Really though." The warmth from Beca's body makes her realize just how cold it actually is out on the roof. She nuzzles even closer. "Why?"

Beca doesn't answer right away. She just stares up at the billions of lights above them. And Chloe stares at her. At the sharp line of her jaw, the curve of her cheekbone. The quirk at the corner of her lips when she finally speaks. "Jesse's had a few too many drinks. He made a joke about getting back together."

Chloe's stomach twists. An ugly, burning feeling. It isn't as strong as it used to be, when Beca and Jesse first became a thing. As they grew apart over the years, the feeling faded. "What did you do?"

"I thought of you." She says it quietly, in one breath, like a confession, and Chloe silently hopes.

"Oh." She's not sure what else to say. She knows what she wants to say. I love you and I have for forever. I love you and I don't want you to be with him again. I love you and I think you love me. Please love me. But she bites her lip and just continues to watch Beca watch the stars.

"Yeah. Oh." Beca huffs a laugh and Chloe feels the sound in the small jerk of her chest. "What's that Van Gogh quote about the stars? The one Jessica wrote on the fridge white board last week?"

Chloe blinks, thinking. "'I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream'. She got it from Emily's Quote of the Day calendar."

Beca nods thoughtfully. "He might have been onto something."

"You're dreaming right now?"

"Yeah."

"Care to share with the class?"

Beca shifts a bit and Chloe tries not to notice that they're now tilted a bit toward each other. Beca's eyes are still on the sky. But her shoulder is lightly brushing Chloe's chin now.

"I'm...dreaming of a vacation. Somewhere warm and chill."

"What else?" Chloe says, urging her to continue.

"I'm dreaming that we will never again go to Aubrey's resort."

Chloe snorts and knocks her knee against Beca's. "It was a great time."

"I'm still finding leaves in my clothes."

"What else are you dreaming of, nerd?"

"Mean. Uh, I'm dreaming of a damn good waffle in the morning. If my totally cool bestie feels up to making one?"

Chloe hums as if she's mulling it over. "Maybe some dreams can come true."

Beca looks at her then and Chloe stops breathing. They're so close. Closer than she thought they were. Beca's eyes are bright even in the dark.

"I hope so." There's something in the words. Something deeper than her joking before, something more real. Something that tastes like possibility.

Carefully, gently, Chloe says, "You say that like you have more dreams to tell me." The words fill the space between them. Hanging in the tension.

"And if I said I did?"

Chloe tightens her grip on Beca's elbow. "I'd say tell me."

Beca doesn't blink and there are stars in her eyes. "And if I said I dreamed of kissing you right now?"

And, in an instant, Chloe doesn't have to hope. She knows. "I'd say kiss me."

So Beca does. Right there on the roof of the Bella House. With frost in the air and laughter on the breeze. Chloe kisses her back with all the longing she's held onto for years. All the moments she's wanted to do exactly this colliding at once, hitting her so hard that she sees stars.

Even with her eyes closed, the night sky is so pretty.

[professonalarttheclownfan]

I love you

Daryl x fem!reader - tw, swearing!

you’d been split from the group, a supply run gone wrong. Daryl, yourself & a few others had been tasked to pick up food, after scouting out a local grocery store devising a plan you started your mission, what you hadn’t bet on was the swarm of walkers that seemed to have decided to also give the store a visit too.

You were allocated with checking the aisles located near the back of the store, Daryl insisted you stay close to him but Rick wanted it to be as quick as possible. Stick your aisle, pick up whatever’s useful and get out.

The swarm had come out of no where, thinking it was clear before hand it was like they appeared out of thin air, being at the back of the store you’d ended up being cornered in, the office out back being your refuge whislt the others managed to get out. The place was full, there’d be no way you’d survive if you tried fighting your way out of there. Your weapons were lack lustre against a hoard that size, but, you were also going to die if you didn’t leave the office soon. The group hadn’t given up on you, Daryl mostly. They didn’t know if you were alive but it was Daryl that fought your corner convincing Rick to some how go back and get you. He knew you were still alive, it’s like he could feel it in his bones. You were his firecracker, you’d gotten through a lot worse then a heard before.

The wooden door rattled with each rotten body that slammed against it, it was only a matter of time untill the lock gave way. Your head rattled with any sort of idea but it came up blank, the office had no windows, it was more like a broom cupboard with chairs and a old coffee maker, it’d be pitch black in there if it weren’t for the torch in your bag.

Slowly realising your fate was most likely doomed, your mind wonders to Daryl, if you were going to die you’d want the man you loved to be the last thing you thought about. You craved his presence more then ever, to be able to kiss him, find that familiar comfort in him being beside you. You’d not lose hope the way you had right now if he was.

You sat back propped against the wall, the door continued to bang, but there you were with a small smile on your face. You allowed yourself to get lost in the memories of him, the love you’d found in a world that was dying.

~ He was blunt and timid with you at the start, more distant with you then others. It was a clichè, you thought he hated you, when in fact he was infatuated with you. It was another supply run when you’d realised that he kept his distance in attempt to not fall in love with you. You and him, asked to pick up supplies for baby Judith. You’d gone further afield meaning it’d be an over night excursion. You’d given up on trying to befriend the extremely attractive man, maybe it was for the better since he made you weak at the knees.

You’d both bunkered down for the night, finding a temporary safe house. Supplies collected, you’d both managed to have a fairly smooth ride so far. Daryl wasn’t much of a small talk kind of guy, so you chatted away regardless coming to not really care what he thought about you talking to yourself, you spoke about anything from the mundane stuff about your life before to the home you’d all made at the prison. You’d expected Daryl to grunt or tell you to shut up, but he never did, not once. You hadn’t noticed the small smiles and glances, he listened to every word that came out of your mouth. Your voice soothed him like honey, the warm glow of safety he felt around you was something he’d not felt before and he was slowly becoming addicted to having you near him. But that’s why he was so fearful of loving you, the world was cruel and he didn’t want to have to lose you. But he also didn’t want to not have you.

You’d gotten comfy on the sofa, Daryl sat on the armchair opposite. He did it so he could look at you, with out it looking like he was purposely staring. You still talked away, quieter now, your voice sleepy.

“you should rest” his voice came out gruff and low. You looked at him, smiling softly and nodded agreeing.

“You too, I like doing runs with you Mr Dixon.” Resting your head against the pillow you’d found earlier.

“Why’s that?” He stretched his legs out, crossing his ankle over the other in the process.

“because, your nice to look at. And you’ve not told me to shut up” your sleepy eyes rested upon his face, as his eyes matched up to yours. Your whole body tingled under his gaze.

“You could talk a glass eye to sleep. But your voice, it’s nice” this was the most he’d spoke to you in the past day. You smiled at him,

“your lucky I like you, other wise I’d take offence to that” you shifted, “why do you avoid me? don’t think I don’t notice. I feel like a silly school girl getting excited when I get tasked to do anything with you” Daryl’s expression softened, his gaze never letting up. This man was intense and it drew you in.

“I don’t want to lose someone else, it’d already kill me enough if I lost you now. I can’t risk getting close to you”

You were surprised at his words, your heart hammered against your chest. Pushing yourself to sit up,

“Why not take the chance, im a fighter you know” The tension between you two had always been evident, everyone else could tell that Daryl already cared far more deeply about you then anyone else, whislt you were oblivious to Daryl asking the others if you could come with him on runs, asking where you were anytime you weren’t around, they noticed the long glances at you he took. They put two and two together. The rugged man was head over heels.

Daryl stood up slowly, you copied his movements pushing yourself to your feet. You both stood, like the world slowed down just staring at each other. Before you knew it, the world sped up again you both stepped toward each other and finally your lips met in the middle. Hungry and yearning, like a years worth of kisses were being packed into the very first.~

Tears formed and rolled, this was it, you hoped and prayed Daryl knew how much you loved him. You knew he did, and you knew how much he loved you.

Faint shouts of your name could be heard over the groaning of the dead outside the the door,

“Y/n where are you?” Daryl voice shone out over everything. Commotion rattled outside the door, grunts and thuds died down and thick dark blood seeped between the crack at the bottom of the door. You sat bewildered, feeling dissociated you’d been so sure that this was it. This was going to be the end.

“Daryl” you whimpered, your voice sounded borderline pathetic as it croaked out of your throat. The door you had been hidden behind had been booted open, Daryl hadn’t wasted a second to get to you. Light flooded the once pitch black room. And no later were you scooped up into the your man’s arms.

You clung onto him, stuffing your face into the crook of his neck. Breathing in his all familiar scent.

“I love you” he whispered loud enough just for you too hear. “My god I fucking love you and I ain’t ever losing you specially not to no walkers”

[fire-hose]

Do you ever think about what life would be like if things were different?

warning: mentions of religious guilt

Buck knew Eddie loved him, there was no doubt about it. But sometimes Buck just had this itch, something that told him Eddie didn’t love him. They had been dating in secret for the past few months and Buck desperately wanted to come out to the 118, but Eddie was still persistent on hiding. It bothered Buck, more than he thought it should’ve.

They were at a nice breakfast spot, one Eddie wanted to visit since it had opened. The two were having a decent conversation about the previous days shift, Eddies hand under the table carefully stroking Bucks knee. Buck loved when Eddie touched him, it made him forget about any issues he ever had. But somehow not this one.

The breakfast was going amazing, until the topic of coming out came up again. “Eds, do you ever think about what life would be like for us if things were different?” Eddie looked up from his eggs, fork still in his mouth. “What do you mean?” Buck fidgeted with his thumbs under the table “You know, just if the team knew.”

Eddie sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose “Buck, I can’t keep saying this, we can’t tell them. What we have now is good, I like it, don’t you?”

Buck felt like he was pushed into a corner with that question. He liked being with Eddie, he liked practically living with Eddie, he liked hanging out with Chris. He hated keeping those things secret. “I guess” He spoke coldly, turning his attention back to his food.

Eddie just stared at Buck “You hate it don’t you” The blonde looked up from his food and shrugged “Not like it’s preferable to keep your boyfriend a secret from your best friends, or even your sister because she’s married to one of your best friends”

Eddie was going to speak up, but Buck went first, his mouth moving before his mind could. “And sometimes, it feels like you don’t love me. Am I like Ana? Because I know your son loves me, but do you?”

“I don’t love you any less just because no one else can see it Buck.” The other man snapped back “Are you serious? I don’t even think I can see it anymore Eddie” That hurt him. More than he expected.

He knew Buck, he would snap often when he was upset, but he didn’t think he would ever be on the receiving end. All he could do was stare.

Buck stood up, pushing his chair in “Thank you for the meal Eddie. I’ll see you at work tomorrow” Eddie grabbed his lovers hand “Buck wait..”

“No Eddie! I’m done waiting, I’ve waited so damn long. I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this” Buck had tears in his eyes, desperately wanting to escape the conversation before Eddie saw him crying.

The two were standing and just staring, Eddie wanted to scream, tell Buck he was all his and nobody else could have him. But he felt that he couldn’t even breathe, let alone speak.

So Buck left.

Eddie didn’t stop thinking of Buck at all that day, he tried to call him but anytime he even picked up the phone he froze. He could barely breathe in his own home, so used to Buck laying beside him in bed, or his head in his lap as they complained to each other. But now it was just him and his thoughts.

He loved Buck, more than most things, but he wasn’t raised to love Buck. He had a wife who died, and a son who was still there, but he longed for Buck, God he craved him. The only problem was how he viewed himself, in the eyes of God.

Eddie found himself praying once again for the first time since Buck's death. He was sitting in a church for the first time in…he didn’t even remember how long.

His eyes closed and hands clasped into a prayer, he begged, begged to be forgiven for loving Buck, begged to be forgiven for acting on the love. Even after he finished praying he sat there, eyes closed, like he was waiting for an answer.

Ding

Eddie wearily opened his eyes and checked his phone, a message from Bobby. He didn’t believe in signs, but this was no coincidence. Right? He didn’t know what was right and wrong anymore.

‘Eddie, do you want to come to dinner with Athena and I, along with Hen and Karen?’

‘Of course Cap. What day and time’

Eddie slid his phone back into his pocket and got up, stepping out of the church. He sat in his truck, hands gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles were turning white. He knew he fucked up with Buck.

After picking up Christopher from school they headed to a nearby flower shop. “Dad, what flowers does Buck like?” Eddie had to think, he knew they had talked about it before, multiple times at that.

“Daisies, and anything light pink” He pointed at the basket of white daisies beside Christopher. The two spent at least a half hour picking out the best flowers for Buck. In the end they settled on a bouquet of daisies, pink roses, gypsophila, carnations, and white roses.

“What color paper kiddo? They have newspapers and some colored paper” Eddie picked Chris up to look at the paper selections. After a minute of thinking the boy pointed to newspaper “Buck would like that one”

The bouquet was tied with blue ribbon, the color reminded Eddie of Bucks eyes. That had been his favorite color since they met.

The father and son were now in Eddies room, Chris sat on the bed helping him pick out a suit, even if they both knew he would end up in the black one. “Dad the blue one. Buck has one like it” Eddie shook his head, Buck grew out of that suit. Somehow.

Eddie had to figure out how to get Buck looking nice for the dinner. He groaned, deciding to text him

‘Dinner with Cap, look good’

He hated that, it sounded like he was ordering Buck around, but he wanted the second bit to be a surprise. Eddie stood in front of his bathroom mirror fixing his hair, anxiety high. Chim and Maddie already volunteered to watch Chris, he owed them big time.

“Chris! Get your stuff ready to see Maddie and Chim!” Eddie shouted across the house as he slid his shoes on, fingers so sweaty the laces wouldn’t cooperate with him.

After he finally got his hands dry enough to tie his shoes he got up, grabbing his wallet and keys. Waiting at the front door for Chris “Cmon kiddo, time to go!”

Eddie helped his son into the truck and then got into the passenger side, his nerves racing as he drove to Maddie and Chimney’s house. When they arrived Eddie was 4 minutes past his self-set time to pick Buck up, groaning he got Chris out the truck and knocked on the front door.

Chris went inside and Maddie offered Eddie something to drink, but he couldn’t be late any more. He wanted..no he needed to see Buck, to kiss him, to hold him. He climbed back into his truck and raced off to Bucks apartment.

So now here Eddie was, the bouquet of flowers in his hands, standing at Bucks front door waiting for an answer. Buck opened the door, he was in a white button down and dark suit pants “Couldn’t find the jacket”

Eddies hands made their way to Bucks cheeks, not caring about the flowers anymore, he pulled Buck down and kissed him. The taller man’s eyes widened, but he closed his eyes and kissed back.

After what felt like only two seconds Buck pulled away, picking up the flowers “You said this was dinner with Cap” Eddie nodded, fixing the last button on Bucks shirt “It is. You’re my date”

A smile creeped into Bucks lips, pecking Eddie before he took his hand, flowers in the other. “We better hurry then”

Eddie drove the two to the restaurant Bobby told him they’d be, and he walked in, Bucks hand in his own. He kissed his hand as they walked to the table. Bobby smiled and looked up at them “You brought Buck? You weren’t going to bring the girl we all know you’ve been seeing?” The four already seated laughed together

Eddie nodded as he sat down with Buck beside him “I did, you were just off with thinking it was a girl”

[the-kr8tor]

More Minotaur Hobie! X reader because I'm feeling funny. Btw Reader here is mostly undisclosed whether they're a demigod, mortal or etc. so you do you with your imagination honestly;

And as you stand in front of him, he already waits for the words he knows will come out of your mouth just as everyone who's seen him previously said: monster.

“...you're…”

And before he knows it he replies at the same time as you;

“Hideous”

“Gorgeous”

…And he stands there baffled. You would've had the time to try and attack him with how long it takes him to actually do or say anything. And yet you stand there admiring him with a softened gaze and a warm smile, excited to meet the man of the myths and legends you've dearly loved ever since you were younger.

Every night your father would tell you the same story. Yet he never made Hobie out to be cruel for his actions, he wasn't a monster in your father’s tale. Instead he was but a creature, but a man as any other. You look him over in all his glory, noticing the bruises, the scars, his eyes and how they dance over your form with untold anger and sadness.

He doesn't raise his voice at you any more. Seeing no point in fighting someone who clearly has no wish to. Not with the way you're looking at him, it makes him feel bare, vulnerable, if anything it only further upsets him about how he looks. Instead, he backs away, finding himself wanting to flee your emotions and kindness. His heart and soul aren't used to kindness.

“Wait- please. I just want to know you.” And your voice is just as tender as your expression and gestures. He hates it, oh gods how he hates it. He stays still, wearily letting you approach him as he stares at you, his form tense as he wonders when you'll hit him. When will you raise your weapons at him? When will you tell and scream and run away?

And yet you don't, in a small and innocent tone slowly asking him a few questions about himself. Making sure he knows he truly doesn't have to answer them if he doesn't wish to as you sit down in front of him. A sign of blind trust. A sign you truly want his time more than you want his end.

And so he stays standing up as he stares at your form, he stays standing, he has to be or else you'll think he isn't strong and might try something against him. And Hobie slowly starts answering your questions, being careful to not reveal any weak spots. And to your pleasure you listen to his words and voice.

There's always something soothing about someone who's stronger than you yet speaks to you like you're nothing but a fragile glass statue. He knows his strength, how easy it is to actually get rid of you if he so needs to. But eventually after a few hours of conversation he sits down with you. Having needed time to convince himself and you that you won't attack him in any way possible.

You who wears no fine clothes, no dreadfully heavy armor, you barely have any on, only a dagger at your side which you haven't bothered to even try reaching for. There is no need for it, not with a friend. And Hobie is your friend, at least he has been in his own way while you were but a child. His stories made you feel less lonely as you had been estranged with society all your life.

He feels it too, the slight similarities. How two hurt doves are now in the same nest trying to make home in a small budding friendship. And he waits for it anxiously. Wondering if you might turn out to be a praying vulture. But you never bare your claws to him, gentle with everything you do and say. Your jokes, your laugh, your smile…as time passes by he starts to feel better. He has someone finally. Is it foolish thinking perhaps? Maybe he's not seeing right. But then you hold his hand, no one's ever done that before. No one else would dare to. And yet you do. And you take his monstrous hand in yours and hold it as if it has meaning.

-🪦 wow actually mildly proof reading what a thing (I barely did)

In that darkened room, he finds his light 😭😭

Ngl i was trying very hard not to shed a tear while reading this 😭 you wrote this so well and in just a few words you made me feel both of their emotions 😭 ly this was so good