#this is so stupid but it made me laugh so I couldn’t resist

[agirlwithdemonblood]

The Language of Us

Pairings: Dean x Reader

Summary: Your love language is touch, but past heartbreaks made you afraid of being too much. Dean Winchester proves you never have to hold back—because while you crave touch, he craves you.

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It had only been a week, and already, it was complicated.

One week of dating Dean Winchester, and you were losing your mind-not because the relationship was bad, but because it was too perfect.

From the moment you met, you fell hard. He told you he had too. And when you finally confessed your feelings, it had been effortless, like the universe had been waiting for it to happen.

But love, even when perfect, can be complicated.

Because your love language was touch.

Some people gave gifts, some used words, and others showed love through acts of service. But you? You needed the physical connection-the warmth of a hand on yours, a casual touch on the arm, a touch just to feel close.

And as sweet as that might sound, not everyone saw it that way.

Your past relationships had made that painfully clear.

They thought it was too much. Too needy. Too clingy.

They didn’t like that you always wanted to hold their hand on walks. That you wanted to cuddle even in the middle of a summer heatwave. That your fingers would drift to their arm at dinner. That, even in sleep, your hand always found them—like your heart wouldn’t settle until it knew they were still there.

So you learned to hold back. To resist the urge. To keep your hands to yourself unless touch was initiated.

But with Dean, it was different.

Because you had never loved anyone like you loved him. And you weren’t about to ruin it by being too much.

Still, resisting the urge was torture.

Every time he made you laugh, you wanted to rest your hand on his chest. Every time he came home from a hunt, you wanted to throw yourself into his arms, burying kisses into his skin. Every time he drove, you ached to reach for his hand.

But you didn’t.

And tonight, in the Deancave, as the two of you finally got some much-needed alone time, it was even worse.

Dean had set everything up—movies, snacks, cold beers. He was fully relaxed, one arm draped lazily across the back of the couch. You, on the other hand, were perched on the opposite end, your legs across his lap but your hands gripping your beer bottle like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

Because if you let go, you knew what would happen.

Maybe you’d reach up and run your fingers through his hair. Maybe you’d start absentmindedly tracing his knuckles, spinning the ring on his finger while the movie played. Maybe you’d do all the things you craved to do but couldn’t.

And Dean noticed.

Of course, he noticed.

His hand moved to your knee, fingers rubbing slow, soothing circles against your skin. It was an innocent enough gesture—casual, absentminded. But to you, it was everything.

You stiffened, forcing yourself not to react, but it was useless. The warmth of his touch spread through you like wildfire, making your grip on the beer bottle tighten.

Dean’s gaze flicked to you, brow furrowing. “Sweetheart? Everything okay?”

You plastered on a smile, nodding. “Yeah. Fine.”

But Dean Winchester wasn’t stupid.

He smirked, pausing the movie and turning toward you. “Okay, now I know something’s up.” He stretched an arm along the back of the couch, shifting slightly closer. “I’ve been waiting for you to spill, but you haven’t. So, tell me—what’s going on?”

You sighed, setting your beer aside and tucking your hands beneath your thighs like a child hiding something behind their back. “Do you know what love languages are?”

Dean’s brow quirked, but he nodded. “Yeah, Sam tried explaining ‘em once. Something about communication and blah, blah, blah.”

You let out a small laugh. “Well… mine is touch.”

He tilted his head, waiting for you to continue.

“That’s how I show love,” you explained, voice quieter now. “And it’s, uh… been a problem before.” You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. “People get annoyed with me really fast because my hands are always on them. I don’t even think about it, I just… reach out. But it’s too much for some people, and I don’t—” You swallowed thickly. “I don’t want you to get sick of me and leave.””

Dean frowned, sitting up straighter. “Wait. People actually told you that?”

You nodded, exhaling. “Yeah. And I just… I don’t want you to feel like that. I don’t want you to get sick of me, or feel like I’m too much.”

You nodded, exhaling. “Yeah. And I just… I don’t want you to feel like that. I don’t want you to get sick of me, or feel like I’m too much.”

Dean blinked at you. Then, in a single fluid motion, he leaned in and wrapped his arms around you—so tightly it nearly knocked the air from your lungs. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured against your hair, pressing a firm kiss to your temple. “I love you.”

You blinked. “What?”

Dean pulled back just enough to smirk at you. “Give me your hands.”

Hesitantly, you pulled them from under your thighs, and he took them in his own before lifting them to his face, pressing them against his cheeks.

And just like that, the dam broke.

A relieved, breathy sigh escaped you as your fingers instinctively curled against his skin. It was as if your body had been holding its breath, and now, finally, finally, it could breathe.

Dean grinned. “See? That right there? That’s adorable.”

Your cheeks burned. “Dean—”

“I love when you touch me,” he said, eyes locked on yours, voice steady. “I would never get annoyed with it. Those other people? Jerks. They should’ve been grateful to have someone love them that much.”

“But… it always starts fine, and then—”

“Not with me,” he interrupted gently. “I love when you sneak into the kitchen in the morning and wrap your arms around me. I love that you need a kiss or a hug before I leave. I love waking up in the middle of the night and feeling your hand still on me, like you’re afraid I’ll disappear.”

“Really?” you whispered, searching his face for any sign of hesitation.

Dean smirked, pulling you closer. “Hell yeah. It’s adorable. You let out this little sigh whenever you touch me—like it calms you. And you know what? It calms me too. Even when I’m pissed off, if I feel your hand on me, it just—” He exhaled. “It just makes everything better. So, please, for the love of God, never stop.”

Your heart flipped as you melted against him, finally letting yourself indulge in what you had been denying for days, letting your hands finally roam freely—over his shoulders, through his hair, down his arms. And he let you.

No—he leaned into it.

Your lips found his cheek in a feather-light kiss before capturing his lips in a slow, lingering one.

When you pulled away, he grinned. “See? Who the hell would complain about that?”

You giggled, resting your head against him. “But… what if you do?”

Dean hummed in thought. “Alright, let’s make a deal. If—and that’s a big if—I ever need space, I’ll just say so. But sweetheart, I swear, that’s never gonna happen.” He paused, smirking. “I mean, you could even touch me while I’m taking a leak if you wanted.”

You gasped, smacking his arm. “Dean!”

He laughed, catching your wrist and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “See? That’s the only time it might be a little weird.”

You giggled, curling back into him, your fingers drawing lazy patterns on his arm, threading through his hair, tracing the fabric of his shirt.

And not once did he flinch. Not once did he shift away.

Instead, he leaned in, sighing into your touch, letting you soothe him, ground him.

As the night stretched on, you stayed curled up against him, hands resting wherever they pleased—his arm, his chest, his fingers interlaced with yours. Dean made no move to pull away. If anything, he leaned further into your touch, letting out soft, contented sighs every time your fingers traced lazy circles on his skin.

At one point, he shifted, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head before murmuring, “You know, I think I figured out my love language.”

You glanced up, smiling softly. “Oh yeah? What is it?”

Dean smirked, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “You.”

Your heart swelled as he tilted your chin up, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips.

“My love language is the way you curl into me like you belong there,” he whispered. “The way your hands reach for me without thinking, like I’m the only thing that makes you feel safe. The way you touch me like you need to remind yourself I’m real.” He nudged his nose against yours. “My love language is knowing I get to be the one person in the world you trust enough to love like this.”

Tears burned at the back of your eyes, but before you could say anything, Dean grinned.

“Oh, and kissing. Definitely kissing.”

You let out a watery laugh as he pulled you closer, sealing his words with another slow, sweet kiss.

Maybe touch was how you showed love. But for Dean, you—your laughter, your presence, your hands on him—were all the love he’d ever need.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!

Like, comment, and reblog, feedback is my fuel 💕

[halfratsalready]

Leda: If I become the evil overlord, I will never harm my minions

[5 years later]

Highly throwable minion: hoohoohee

Night Swan: hmm

[dwaekkicidal]

Lessons

˚ʚfwb!Bang Chan x fem!Readerɞ˚

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ summary: Just a regular session of your best friend helping you learn Korean <3

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ word count: 1.6k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ warnings: fem!reader, nicknames; ‘honey and good girl,’ pvssy slaps, playful ass&thigh spanking, Chris calls himself Daddy once lol, rough sex, creampie (try to pee after sex pls <3)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ notes: max and I spoke about this a few weeks ago and it was soo hot so I wanted to write something for it,,, but then I lost motivation for it for a while😭 anyways hope u enjoy <3

OH and thank you for 700 followers!! (im late so now so ~25 away from 800) :''') I have something planned for if/when I hit 1k hehe, Love u guys :>

DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!

After you had moved to Korea, you made it your sole goal to be completely fluent in Korean as soon as possible. You knew the basics and some vocabulary that got you through day-to-day encounters, but holding an actual conversation past introductions was rather difficult. So, this is how you found yourself in your current situation. Your best friend and fuck buddy of 2 years giving you weekly Korean lessons.

And this? This was a normal thing between you both. Sitting in his lap practicing while he sits there explaining things and kneading your thighs mindlessly. It was a normal occurrence! The only difference is you usually wore sweats or some sort of bottom that would cover your legs more. Today was one of the hotter days of the week, so you disregarded the extras and opted to only wear one of his shirts, nothing else.

His hands rubbed eagerly up and down your thighs, squeezing the flesh like he does with soft pillows. Again, it was normal, but today he seemed to be restless with his movements. You couldn’t help but let out a shaky breath when he mindlessly squeezed the flesh of your inner thigh rather roughly while he translated a word you couldn’t figure out. “What is up with you today? You’re more touchy-feely than usual.”

“Sorry haha. Had a long day so I’m fidgety.. And you know I can’t resist you in nothing but my shirt.” You only hummed in response. You believed what he said, but you also knew that he wasn’t stupid and that the apology was not for his roughness as much as it was for how riled up he knew you were getting. He was never actually sorry about being physically affectionate with you, but you both knew how you tended to get very horny when his hands were on you so desperately.

“Mmmm.. Let me play with you a little while you read, okay?” You shake your head and push your study items away, pulling a laugh from him when you mumbled out ‘Fuck that, I need you.’

“None of that hahaha. Focus on the reading, honey.” He said, placing a kiss on your cheek before leaning down and biting into your neck. You groaned and leaned back into him, grinding against him in an attempt to make him fold in your favor. He let the first few grinds pass as he left hickeys along your neck, but the second your hands cupped him through his shorts he grabbed your hips to still your movements.

“Hey.“ The commanding tone in his voice caught you off guard and had your hands immediately stop in their tracks. “Stop that. You’re going to finish reading this text and then I’ll fuck you nice and good.”

“It’s not that serious, Chris. It's just a few paragraphs, we can do it after or just skip out this week.. Plus it’s your fault I’m this horny anyways.” The attitude in your voice makes him narrow his eyes, and then he grabs your chin and angles you to look back at him.

“Watch your tone. And I’m not gonna tell you again,” His hand grabbed both of yours and placed them on the table before moving to spread your legs open for him. Then, he finishes his sentence and enunciates each word with a harsh smack to your bare cunt. “Finish. Reading. The. Article.” The last one comes off harder than the others and it pulls a squeal from you, making your hands shoot down and wrap around his wrist while your legs slam shut against his hand. He grabs from your inner knee and hooks your legs over his, keeping you spread for him, and he pulls your book closer again.

You can feel the teasing smile on his face after he places a kiss on your cheek and then speaks against it. “You only have one article left, honey. The quicker you read it, the quicker I can bend you over and fuck you into the table~” You can’t help but whine and nod. Once you look down at the material again, Chris’ hands that were previously rubbing your inner thigh move back to rub along your wet folds. 

Then for what feels like the next hour, but was really just 20 long minutes, you slur out the words in front of you as best as you can. Chris’ left hand swapped between drawing circles into your clit and pinching your nipple, while his right hand shoved fingers against your walls. And every couple of minutes he would swap between kissing your neck to sucking hickeys into your collarbone. However, you weren’t allowed to cum and any time you mispronounced something or took too long to read a word, a stern slap was sent against your clit. As long as you continued to read well, he would pump 3 of his fingers in and out of you.

By the time you’re halfway through the material, your mind is foggy and you’re almost drooling on yourself from the constant edging. By the time you’re on the last sentence, your legs are shaking and you're slumped against him letting out quiet moans. Your neck and collarbone were so red from his incessant suckling, and you were desperate to get this over with. And then, when you finally finished, he stopped all movements to place a soft, congratulatory slap on your thigh and massaged your hips.

“Good girl… Now was that so hard?” With that, he hurriedly clears the desk before helping you stand and then standing himself. The chair you both rested on was kicked backwards and your whole world spun as he suddenly pinned you to the desk. You whined as his hand held a tight grip in your hair and pushed your face into the table. His free hand playfully squeezed and slapped at your ass a few times before you heard his shorts and boxers hit the floor.

You sighed out his name as he teased his tip through your folds, silently pleading with him to hurry it up. “Shhhhhh… ‘Atta girl. You did so well, baby. Now let me take care of you, yeah?”

He finally sunk in and nothing but low, whiny moans left your lips as you clenched around him. His free hand grabbed a handful of your ass, squeezing it in appreciation while he slowly sunk every inch he had to offer. Once he bottomed out he gave you only a little bit of time before his thrusts started, albeit slowly at first but quickly ramping up due to his own impatience. It doesn’t take long for him to change to an unforgiving and rougher pace, his hand still holding your head against the table.

“Fff-fuck.. Christopherrr-”

“Yeah yeah, baby. Daddy’s got you. ‘M nice and deep, just how you like it right?” You missed the way he smirked when you let out a desperate ‘Uh-huh’ in response, but you could feel the way it encouraged him when his hips slammed against yours with more eagerness. He keeps this pace up for a while until he feels you tighten around him, and then he changes to slow, deep thrusts that make your eyes roll into your skull. 

The hand in your hair slides on top of yours on the desk, intertwining your fingers, and he leans forward to place his forehead between your shoulder blades, “Mmmm keep squeezing me, Honey. Fffuck, juuust like that..”

When you’re tipping over the edge, he places a kiss on your sweaty skin and moans against it. “That’s it, baby. Cum for me and I’ll fill you up just how you like it, okay?” You want to nod, but everything hits you at once so you can only cry out against your desk.

As your orgasm starts to fade into overstimulation, he fixes his posture and focuses on his hip movements. A squeaky moan falls from your lips as he suddenly bottoms out and the hold on your hip tightens. He threw his head back and bit his bottom lip as he came, attempting to muffle his whiney moans. He rides out his orgasm by sometimes pulling out and snapping his hips harshly against yours.

“Fuck… If that’s how we end the studying session from now on, I might consider this payment.” He jokes.

You let out a breathy laugh and he starts to pull out slowly, pushing you into the table as he did so. You take the moment to catch your breath when you realize he’s gone quiet and there’s the light feeling of breath on your thighs. Your head snaps back and you realize he was kneeling in order to watch his cum slide down your folds.

“Hey!” you whine and place a hand on his forehead, pushing his face away only for him to resist, so you use your feet to push him harder. He laughs at your embarrassment and stands up, pulling you to sit up as well and lifting the shirt off of you. He uses it to wipe you down before throwing it into your hamper and grabbing one of his spare shirts from your dresser. He steals a kiss before covering you in the shirt, then drags you to the living room to watch a tv show together.

You two spend the rest of the night on the couch, watching tv and relaxing in each other’s warmth. It’s no surprise when soft snores are heard and you look down to see his sleeping face squished into your chest. You huff out a laugh before you snuggle him closer. Then, your eyes get heavy until they inevitably close, and you fall asleep too.

Taglist:

@jiminssluttyminx @changisworld @juskz @linohumina

[clarii]

Be My Baby

Summary: Eddie Munson never thought he’d fall for someone like you—the quiet one who always seemed to blend into the background. But as fate keeps pulling you together, he finds himself unable to resist your charm. When the school’s winter formal comes around, Eddie takes a leap of faith, hoping to finally win your heart.

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, a little awkwardness, shy moments, mutual pining, a touch of 80s high school angst, and a sweet, heartwarming ending.

Author’s Note: This is inspired by “Be My Baby” by The Ronettes, which is one of my all-time favorite love songs! Hope you enjoy!

The first time Eddie Munson saw you, he thought you were too good for Hawkins. You were sitting in the corner of the cafeteria with a book in your lap, your legs tucked underneath you as you half-listened to your friends’ chatter. There was something about the way you laughed softly, like you didn’t want to disturb anyone, that made Eddie’s heart skip a beat.

“Earth to Munson,” Gareth teased, snapping his fingers in Eddie’s face. “You’ve been staring at the same girl for five minutes. You good?”

Eddie blinked, shaking his head as if to clear it. “Yeah, yeah. Just… zoning out.”

“Right,” Gareth smirked. “Zoning out on her, huh?”

Eddie ignored him, but deep down, he couldn’t deny it. There was something about you that drew him in, even though you seemed worlds apart.

The second time he saw you, it was at the record store. You were thumbing through the vinyl, your fingers delicate as they flipped through the sleeves. Eddie couldn’t help but linger a few feet away, pretending to browse but really watching you.

When you pulled out a copy of The Ronettes’ Greatest Hits, his heart stuttered. He couldn’t stop himself from speaking up.

“Classic choice,” he said, leaning against the shelf with his signature grin.

You glanced up, startled, but then smiled shyly. “Thanks. I love their sound—it’s just so timeless.”

Eddie nodded, trying to keep his cool. “Yeah, it’s good stuff. You going to the winter formal? They usually play stuff like that.”

You tilted your head, surprised he’d asked. “I don’t think so. It’s not really my thing.”

“Not your thing?” Eddie echoed, pretending to be scandalized. “But slow dances, bad punch, and awkward small talk—it’s the highlight of high school.”

You laughed softly, the sound making his chest feel warm. “Maybe if I had a good reason to go, I’d consider it.”

Eddie bit his tongue, stopping himself from blurting out something stupid. Instead, he just nodded. “Well, if you change your mind… you never know.”

For days, Eddie couldn’t stop thinking about you. He’d never been one for dances or anything that screamed “traditional high school experience,” but for you, he’d make an exception.

“Dude, just ask her,” Dustin urged as they packed up after Hellfire one afternoon.

Eddie sighed, ruffling his hair in frustration. “It’s not that easy, Henderson. She’s… different. She’s not into guys like me.”

“You don’t know that,” Dustin argued. “She talked to you, didn’t she? That’s a good sign.”

Eddie hesitated, but Dustin’s words stuck with him.

The week before the dance, Eddie found you sitting alone outside the library, flipping through the pages of another book. His heart raced as he approached, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets to keep them from fidgeting.

“Hey,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

You looked up, your eyes lighting up when you saw him. “Oh, hey, Eddie.”

He shifted on his feet, suddenly nervous. “So, uh, about the formal… I was thinking, maybe you’d want to go. With me. As, like, my date.”

Your eyes widened, and for a moment, Eddie thought he’d made a huge mistake. But then you smiled, and it was like the sun breaking through the clouds.

“I’d love to,” you said simply.

The night of the formal, Eddie picked you up in his van, his heart pounding as he saw you step outside in a simple but beautiful dress.

“You look… wow,” he said, his usual bravado gone.

“Thanks,” you replied, blushing. “You look great too.”

Eddie, in his mismatched suit and messy hair, didn’t feel particularly great, but the way you smiled at him made him believe you meant it.

At the dance, the two of you stuck to the edges of the gym, laughing at the cheesy decorations and bad song choices. But then, the opening chords of “Be My Baby” started playing, and Eddie’s breath caught.

“Wanna dance?” he asked, holding out his hand.

You nodded, letting him lead you onto the floor. As the music swelled, he held you close, his heart racing as your head rested on his shoulder.

“You know,” he murmured, “I never thought I’d end up at a dance like this. But now that I’m here… it’s not so bad.”

You smiled against his shoulder. “Me neither. But I’m glad I came.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asked, his voice hopeful.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “With you, it’s perfect.”

And as the song played on, Eddie knew he’d never forget this moment—or you

[littleslaywrites]

i will be your preacher, teacher | aaron hotchner x reader

nsfw, mdni

summary: based on father figure by george michael. hotch can no longer resist his feelings toward his younger subordinate when you knock on his hotel room door.

word count: 2.8k

cw: smut, age gap, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, fingering, corruption, slight size kink, p in v, brief dom!hotch, song lyrics in bold italics

Aaron Hotchner was a smart man. His career showed the proof: law school, accomplished prosecutor, unit chief. But this was stupid. You made him stupid. 

He tried to resist, to keep you out of his mind. When the fantasies of you under him infiltrated his thoughts, he’d banish them in the same way he tried to forget the details of haunting cases.

Yet, here you were, standing in the doorway of his hotel room. The sight of you had been driving him crazy all day. You’d worn a tank top to the precinct that day, trying to fight the heat that had met you when you arrived for the investigation. It was more skin that you’d shown before, and Aaron greedily wanted to see even more. 

That's all I wanted, something special

He couldn’t though. He was not only your boss, but also 20 years older than you. So he ignored you all day, fighting the urge to even look at you. Even Dave had mentioned his attitude, pointing out the obvious frustration he displayed. He brushed it off with some excuse about being stressed about the case, which he was sure was an obvious lie.

The second he opened the door, he regretted it. He should’ve ignored your knocking, because now you were right in front of him, still in that tank top. Even in the hotel lighting, you looked good. Really good. The slight sliver of skin peeking from above your jeans, the bra strap that escaped the cover of your shirt, the hair that falls around your face. 

“I just wanted to talk to you,” you said. “Did I do something wrong?”

Your words catch him off guard. Of course you’d noticed his avoidance. His hand balled up into a fist by his side. 

“Come in.” 

Another mistake. He has no idea why he said that. The last thing he needs is to see you in his room. 

“Are you mad at me?” 

Something sacred in your eyes

The look you give him has his mind racing, and not one of the thoughts he has is appropriate. He can almost picture you on the bed. He tries to look away from your eyes, but with his height advantage, he can see straight down your low cut top. 

“I’m not mad at you.”

“It’s just…” you trail off, suddenly shy from the situation. “You’ve been snappy with me all day.”

You would never admit it, even to your closest friends, but Aaron had been on your mind, too. Ever since you first joined the BAU and introduced yourself, he’d been the last thing you thought of before bed every night. Today he looked especially good, jacket off due to the heat. His shirt was so tight that you thought the buttons could pop off with a single wrong move. When he had refused to look your way, even when you shared your theories with the team, you became paranoid. You feared he profiled the crush you had on him. You’d come to his door for some peace of mind, hoping for an explanation of his behavior. 

That's all you wanted, something special, someone sacred in your life

“It’s nothing.” His eyes are drilling into yours. You’re trying to read him, knowing he’s hiding something from you.

A sudden boldness comes over you. You’re annoyed that he’s treated you like this all day, and has nothing to say for himself. “It doesn’t seem like nothing.” 

There’s no going back now that you’ve backtalked your boss. You decide to commit, walking closer to him. 

Aaron is slightly taken aback by your attitude. He almost laughs at you, humored by your attempt to control the conversation. 

“That’s no way to speak to your superior,” he chastises.

It’s a good thing the room is dark, otherwise he’d be able to see the blush invading your face. You feel a wetness between your thighs. When you get back to your room, you’re going to have to take care of yourself. You curse internally, embarrassed that this is how you are affected when your boss yells at you. 

Just for one moment, to be warm and naked, at my side

You have no words, but it’s too late to back down. So you stand there, staring. He realizes you’re going to be stubborn, and closes the gap between you. Now that he’s right in front of you, he can see the way your eyes have darkened. A thought flashes in his mind briefly: you might want him, too. He feels blood rush to his cock, and he can only hope that you won’t see.

“Or what?” you finally muster up. 

You’ve been locked in a staring contest, but his eyes intensify in a way that automatically makes you look down, reminding you that your bravery was simply an act. Your eyes stop in their path to the floor when you catch a glimpse of Aaron’s crotch. The light is too low to tell for sure, but the question is still there. Is he…

Sometimes I think that you'll never understand me

“Insubordination is a punishable offense.” It’s the most professional thing he can think of, especially when he’s praying you don’t notice the hardness under his suit pants.

His words have another rush of wetness pooling in your underwear. Before you can even calculate the risk you’re taking, you speak up again.

“Punish me, then.”

A heaviness settles in the air in the wake of your words. 

“What did you say to me?”

Your eyes are glued to the floor.

“Look at me.” He takes your jaw in his hand and forces your eyes to meet his. “I don’t think you know what you’re saying, little girl.”

You look away again. It’s a nickname you’re not unfamiliar with, the team using it whenever they need to tease you about being the youngest member of the team. This is a different kind of teasing, Aaron’s grip tightening on your jaw. 

“I mean what I say,” you reply, looking back up. 

He knows he should tell you to leave. He should let go of your jaw and forget all of it. He’s a rule follower, and this goes directly against all the rules he swore to obey when he took his position. It is against everything he says he is, all the moral codes he follows. 

But something tells me together we'd be happy

Fuck it.

“Is that what you want?” He lean his forehead is against yours. “Am I what you want?”

“Yes,” you breathe out, overwhelmed by his closeness. You hardly believe this is really happening. You’re sure at any moment he’ll pull back or you’ll wake up from a dream.

“Then strip.” 

You obey, walking backwards as his eyes bore into you. You kick off the slippers you’re wearing, then take off your tank top. You can feel him studying you as you remove your jeans, leaving you in just your underwear.

“Keep going.”

You remove your bra slowly, putting on a show for him. When you shimmy out of your panties, you fight the urge to cover yourself up. He’s still fully clothed, emphasizing how exposed you are. 

Sensing your shyness, he walks up to you again, planting his hands on your waist. His touch is nothing short of explosive, finally feeling his skin against yours. Finally, he kisses you. His lips are softer than you imagined. Your doubt washes away, touch gently guiding you to trust him.

If you ever hunger, hunger for me

When he pulls back, his eyes are still closed, your noses touching. “I’m too old for you.”

“I know,” you say breathlessly. 

You unbutton his shirt, tie removed before you knocked on his door. He shrugs it off as you remove his belt, and he’s putty under your hands when you brush against his hard on.

“Is that part of the appeal?” he questions. “Did your own father not treat you right?”

You know his question is rhetorical, so you only answer by unbuttoning his pants. 

Whatever you ask for, that's what I'll be

“Get on the bed,” he whispers in your ear. You lay down, watching him take his undershirt off. He’s left only in his boxers when he crawls on top of you. 

He cages you under his body, kissing you again. You can feel his hard cock rubbing against your thigh as his tongue pushes between your lips. 

Because all I ever wanted, it's in your eyes

You’re wetter than you can ever remember being. Your hips mindlessly wriggle, searching for any possible friction. Sensing your desperation, Aaron slides a finger inside you. You cry out, a reaction that would seem exaggerated if he didn’t feel how soaked you are. 

“Aaron, I–” It almost feels forbidden to use his first name, but you can’t imagine calling him anything else, not with him touching you like he is.

“Yes?” he asks, finger stroking the inside of your walls.

“I’ve never…” You trail off, blushing at your admission. You lower your voice to a whisper. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Shh,” he hushes, planting a kiss on your forehead. “I’ll take care of you.”

And love can't lie, no

He adds another finger, flattening his palm so it’s up against your clit. You’re whimpering, overtaken by the feeling of being touched by another person in this way for the first time. His large fingers are finding places you can't reach yourself.

“Please, Aaron, I can’t take it anymore.” Your words come out slowly, you’re hardly able to form a thought, let alone string together a sentence. “Just fuck me.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, concern lacing his voice. He wanted to get you ready, have you open before he thought of stretching you out.

“Yes,” you whine, hips jerking up to rub your clit against his hand. 

He pulls his fingers out of you, removing his underwear. You catch a groan in your throat when he reveals his cock. It’s large enough so that you start to worry.

Seeing the hesitance in your eyes, he kisses you again. Any intimidation he used earlier is gone, replaced by gentleness. 

Greet me with the eyes of a child, heaven is a kiss and a smile

“Are you sure you want this?” he says against your lips. He withdraws slightly, mind racing with thoughts again. He can’t be the one to take your virginity. You’re half his age, vulnerable beneath him. “You should find someone your own age.”

“I need you. I need it to be you. Show me how.”

Your words reassure him, and he can no longer resist his urges. One of his hands reaches for your thigh, hooking it around your waist. Your pussy is pulsing around nothing, needing him inside you. 

“Tell me if you need to stop,” he says, running his cock through your wet folds. “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

Just hold on, and I won't let you go

He guides himself to you, starting by pushing just his tip inside. He exhales shakily, feeling the way you’re already gripping him. 

He gets about two-thirds in before you put a hand on his chest to slow him down. 

“Are you okay?”

“Just… give me a second.” 

He brings a hand down to your clit, softly circling it to chase the tension for your muscles. You grab his hair, and he takes that as the signal to press all the way inside you.

Both of you moan as he bottoms out. He doesn’t move yet, instead grabbing your hand in his large one, squeezing it slightly. The moment has transformed into something completely different than the way it started. It’s not a hate fuck, you’re not mad at each other, he’s not punishing you. It’s intimate, and a hopeful part of you even thinks it’s something akin to love.

I will be your father figure, put your tiny hand in mine

He slowly drags his cock away, and then thrusts back in. You let out a moan, feeling every ridge of his cock along your walls. It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before. So full, so complete. You wonder how you’ll ever feel whole again when he’s no longer inside you.

“You feel so good,” he groans in your ear as he slowly thrusts, letting you get used to the feeling. “So tight.”

Your mind is blank, thinking only of the way you can feel his tip moving inside you, dragging along the inside of you and hitting your g-spot with each thrust. It doesn’t feel wrong to be fucking your superior, not when you’re looking up at the way the sweat is beading on his forehead. 

He starts to speed up, desperate to bring you to your release. Your whimpers spur him on, driven by the pleasure he’s giving you. He wants his cock to be the first one you cum around.

I will be your preacher, teacher, anything you have in mind

The new speed makes you think he might actually split you open. You can’t control the sounds you make, shameless beneath him. You reach the hand that’s not holding his up to grab his back, clinging on to anything you can find.

He can tell you’re close by the way your pussy is fluttering around him. He doesn’t expect you to say anything, as you’re clearly overcome with pleasure by the look on your face. Looking at you under him, he feels his own release nearing. You’re a beautiful mess, a singular trail of mascara running under one of your eyes. Your mouth is open, moans getting louder as you get nearer to your orgasm. Watching the way your lips move, he leans down to kiss you, capturing your noise in his mouth. 

I will be your father figure, I have had enough of crime

His kiss is enough to send you over. Breath hitching, you go limp. You can’t help the way your hand curls, nails scratching down his back. Your back arches, hips trying to get as close as possible to his. 

No orgasm you’ve given yourself can compare to this feeling. Your legs start to shake, toes pointing. You clench around him so hard that he has to work to keep moving. 

You're still lost in the pleasure of your own release when he cums. He stills, holding you close as you feel the warmth shoot deep inside you. Letting his head fall to your neck, he lets out a loud groan, working not to collapse on top of you. 

When he rolls over to his back and his cock slips out, you miss the feeling of being full. He pulls you into his arms, the two of you laying on your sides, facing each other. You lay your head on his chest, comforted by the smell of his cologne mixing with sweat. 

“How are you feeling?” he says, breaking the silence.

“Good. That felt really good.”

He pulls you closer, running a hand through your hair.

“I’m glad it was you,” you say, realizing that you’re suddenly feeling sentimental toward him.

“I wasn’t mad at you today,” he admits, ashamed of his earlier behavior. “I’ve just wanted you for a long time. I was frustrated.”

You smile into his chest, flushing at the admission. “Me, too”

You fall into stillness again. 

Aaron is the one to break the silence again. “I don’t want you to think this is just physical.”

You meet his eyes. There’s a certain vulnerability in them, something you’ve never seen before. He always has his walls up around the team, so this is a new side of him. He doesn’t say he loves you, but his eyes scream it. You say it back with your own gaze.

“I don’t want you to think I’m pressuring you into more,” he explains, “I just want you to know it’s… I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t actually like you.”

“Me, neither,” you answer back.

There’s still more to say, more to work out, but these words are enough for tonight. It’d probably be too complicated to be real, but you have him behind closed doors. The team would never understand this, only seeing the age gap. They’d never grasp the way you let each other in. You understand, though. You understand the way he opens himself up to you, the way he lowers his defense in your arms. And he understands how you let him guide you, letting him feel you in the way nobody else has. 

I will be the one who loves you 'til the end of time

[blckbrrybasket]

Rafe with reader who stays away from hard drugs

People snorting cocaine at these parties always shocked you. It wasn’t so much that it was a hard drug, but more so the money that went into it. No drug was cheap that was for sure. Cocaine, though, was the drug for rich kids.

Being a pogue, you hadn’t tried it. You had no desire to. You saw what hard drugs did to your mom. Unlike coke, basically anyone with a spare room and a strong will could make meth out on the cut. At least your mom could. You didn’t mind seeing people do drugs, but you always held yourself back.

Rafe noticed it pretty easily. His first assumption was the price which is why he slyly told you one night that you could get a bump for free for being his. You still didn’t budge, politely declining and making an excuse. After some time Rafe dropped the subject becoming a bit more aware to your aversion to it.

Most people didn’t give a shit until Topper made a big deal about it.

“Yo..aren’t you gonna have any?” He sent you a inebriated smile and you resisted scrunching your nose up at him. “Nah, I’m good.” Rafe slid an arm around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Leave them alone Top, it’s good.” Topper rolled his eyes at Rafe’s automatically stern tone. “I was just asking, shit. If they want to be a pussy they can. Not my business.”

Topper shrugged with a smirk and turned back to the line in front of him. Your stomach dropped at the comment, Rafe’s eyes narrowing. “Yo, what the fuck?” “What, bro?” Topper shot back. The few seconds of their argument gave you enough time to leave Rafe’s lap and storm towards the door.

It was obvious that Rafe was following you. You acted like you couldn’t hear his voice calling after you in the crowd. His long legs made it easy for him to catch up to you though, hand sliding around your elbow to pull you towards him. “Babe.”

“It’s fine.” You started, already trying to cover up what happened. “No. No, it’s not. What’s going on? Talk to me.” Rafe was worried. His eyes were wide with unspoken fear that you’d be mad at him.

“It’s stupid.” You crossed your arms over your chest. Rafe shook his head, “Nothing bothering you is stupid. Please, talk to me.” Sighing, you dropped your arms and grabbed his hand to pull him outside.

He understood the need for privacy, but was surprised nonetheless. Finally after a minute the two of you stopped by the side of the yard, far enough away from prying eyes. At your groan Rafe’s eyebrows rose, unsure what to do.

You covered your face, sighing into your hands. “When you…” Your words were quiet and unsure before you started again. “When you do drugs, it’s fine. I mean…it isn’t for your body, but it’s fun. Every kook our age does drugs, but when my mom does it, it makes her a methhead.”

“The assumption isn’t wrong, but it’s different for us on the cut. The drugs our parents did ruined us.” Rafe’s eyes revealed his realization. You had never mentioned it, but he had never asked. He should have asked. He felt like such an asshole.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped. Your eyes snapped up to him. Rafe rarely apologizes without being told the problem, but now it wasn’t his fault. “For what? You didn’t do anything wrong.” “No, I did. I put you in that situation. I put you around drugs…fuck.”

The way you looked at the coke he did made sense now, like you had a personal vendetta against the powder. How many times had you been uncomfortable while he dealed with you on his lap? “I’m sorry.” He reaffirmed, hands cupping your face. “I don’t care what bullshit you say, I put you in that..and I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” was all you could think to whisper back to him. “It’s okay.” This time it was firmer, Rafe’s earlier expression of ease slowly making its way back onto his face. “Now let’s get out of here.”

“What?” You laughed in disbelief. Rafe shrugged, arms scooping you up to swing you over his shoulder, “Parties’ boring anyways.” You laughed, clutching onto his shoulders. “By the way, don’t hurt Topper too much.”

Rafe chuckled knowing you knew him too well. “Don’t know what you mean,” he lied.

[drowning-in-paragraphs]

PLAYING DANGEROUS

jude bellingham x gf!reader

warnings: tension, tension, tension... Maybe (a bit) toxic.

summary: After weeks of fighting over a campaign Jude worked on that sparked jealousy in you, your frustration grows as he dismisses your feelings. Fed up with being ignored, you decide to give him a taste of his own medicine. As expected, your boyfriend sees red—his control slipping as the night unfolds, and the tension between you two reaches its boiling point. But, of course, you are having so much fun.

Part 2: The end of the game (!)

The car ride was thick with an uncomfortable silence. Jude gripped the wheel, his jaw set, eyes fixed ahead. You could feel his frustration radiating off him, each sigh and subtle shift a quiet reminder of the tension simmering between you two. After all the back-and-forth arguments you’d had this week, you were both tired of hashing it out—but the hurt and resentment lingered.

You looked out the window, trying to lose yourself in the nightscape rushing by. The bright lights of the city blurred, but your mind was fixed on one image: that campaign photo. The one that had sparked this entire mess. Jude and a stunning model in a luxury campaign, his arm casually slung over her waist, their smiles too bright, too intimate. When you’d seen the ad, it had stung, but what has stung more was the behind the cameras videos. They had chemistry, and she was just as extroverted as him.

It hadn’t helped that when you’d brought it up to Jude, he brushed it off, rolling his eyes and calling you “dramatic” for making a big deal out of nothing. He’d practically laughed it off, leaving you feeling unheard and dismissed. That was the worst part: not just the jealousy, but the way he’d treated it as if it was meaningless.

“Can you not just sit there like I don’t exist?” Jude’s voice broke the silence, low but tight with irritation. “We’re going to this dinner. Can we just act like adults?”

You turned to him, biting your tongue to stop yourself from saying the first sharp thing that came to mind. You’d been here before, and you were too tired of the fighting to start again.

“Jude, you know why we are in this situation,” you said quietly. “I just wanted you to take me seriously and acknowledge my feelings.”

“Acknowledge?” he said, a hint of disbelief in his voice. “All I’ve done this whole week is listen to you accuse me of something I didn’t do. It’s a campaign. That’s it. Nothing more.” He resisted the urge to say, "End of discussion," and focused on the road ahead instead.

“But you didn’t make me feel like it was nothing, Jude. You made me feel like… like I’m stupid for even bringing it up. You think I don’t know that it’s part of your job?” Your voice quivered, and you hated that you sounded so emotional.

Jude’s face softened for a moment, but then he hardened his expression again, as if not wanting to give in. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I thought you knew me better than that, honestly.”

There it was—another subtle jab. The conversation felt like a seesaw, tipping between blame and defense, never quite reaching a point of understanding. You crossed your arms, pressing yourself against the passenger door, feeling miles away from him, though he was just a few feet to your left.

“I just wanted to feel like you cared that I was upset. That’s all. Not for you to laugh it off like it was something stupid.”

He clenched his jaw, as if forcing himself not to retort. His hands tightened on the wheel again. “Look, I get it now. You don’t trust me, and that’s fine. I’ll do my job, you can stay mad at me, and we’ll just keep doing this every week.” His voice dripped with sarcasm, and it hurt. “This is getting ridiculous...”

You two were tired of fighting, but something in you, something sharp and bruised, couldn’t let go of the last few days’ arguments. It wasn’t enough for him to be hurt. You wanted him to understand.

“Fine,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady but feeling anger prickle under your skin. “If it’s so ridiculous, then maybe I’ll make sure you get a taste of what that feels like. You’ll feel as ‘ridiculous’ as you’ve made me feel this week. We’ll see if it’s still a joke then.”

Jude’s head whipped toward you, a mix of shock and anger flashing across his face. “What? Are you serious right now?” His voice was tense, a low warning.

You felt a pang of guilt, but you held his gaze. “I just don’t think you’d understand it any other way.”

He scoffed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, shaking his head. He stared back at the road, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. The quiet between you was no longer uncomfortable but electric, charged with a bitterness that hadn’t been there before.

The car finally pulled up to the restaurant where you were supposed to meet your friends. The weight of what you’d just said hanging heavily between you. Jude cut the engine and just sat there, staring straight ahead, as if he didn’t trust himself to speak. You didn´t move either, not knowing what was he going to do. After a beat, he climbed out, moving around to your door without a word. When he opened it, he didn’t look at you, just held the door and waited for you to step out.

You could see the tension in his posture, his usual warmth and confidence replaced by a coldness that made your heart ache. But you were both too proud, too angry, to say anything.

As you neared the entrance, Jude’s hand shot out, gripping your waist with a firm possessiveness. The touch wasn’t gentle or affectionate as usual; it was more of a declaration. Despite the anger simmering between you, he wasn’t about to let you carry out your threat to make him jealous. You tensed at his touch, your own anger rising as you felt him draw you in as if he could control you with a single motion.

Without thinking, you shrugged him off, shoving him away just enough to make your point. Jude halted, cursing under his breath, as he fought to keep his temper in check. The sharp click of the car lock sounded behind you as he pocketed the key, jaw clenched, but his eyes held yours for a moment. You both understood each other’s challenge, an unspoken line drawn that neither of you wanted to cross but couldn’t seem to avoid.

With your heads held high and expressions perfectly composed, you stepped into the restaurant, slipping on your masks of calm as you approached your friends. Your forced smiles and quiet greetings betrayed none of the tension between you, and you fell into the comfortable rhythm of small talk.

Back at the table, the spark of defiance inside you had turned into a full flame. Watching Jude as he laughed and charmed his way through conversations, acting as if your argument had never occurred, only fueled that fire. He didn´t get to act as if nothing happened. His face was relaxed, his posture easy—but you knew him well enough to sense the barely hidden tension in his movements, the occasional dart of his eyes toward you, checking, warning.

Fine, you thought. If he wanted to pretend everything was fine, you'd go along with it. In fact, you’d be the most composed person at the table. But where was the fun in that?

You turned your attention to the friend sitting beside you, leaning closer with an easy smile as you laughed at his stories. Your hand brushed against his as you reached for your drink, letting it linger just a second longer than usual. The warmth of his arm pressed lightly against yours as you angled your body toward him, giving him your full attention. Jude was watching, and you knew he was watching. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see his mouth tighten, his easygoing demeanor slipping just a bit. His brows furrowed, and whatever his friend beside him was saying no longer seemed that interesting.

Good.

As the evening wore on, you let your laughter come a little too easily, smiling at your friend’s jokes, resting your hand briefly on his shoulder as you leaned in, your face just inches from his. Jude’s gaze was practically drilling into you, a dark intensity that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, thrilling and defiant all at once.

You were loving it.

His hand came to rest on the table, fingers drumming an agitated beat, his knuckles white. At one point, he leaned forward to reach for his drink, and the subtle brush of his shoulder against yours sent a shiver down your spine. You caught his eyes, holding his gaze in challenge.

“You okay, baby?” you asked with a smile—the prettiest smile you could offer, eyes shining with a hint of mischief.

In response, his hand drifted under the table, finding your thigh and gripping it firmly. The heat of his palm burned through the silky fabric of your black dress, his fingers possessive, unapologetic. You swallowed, trying to focus on the conversation in front of you, but the pressure of his hand sent your pulse racing, a blend of anger and something far more dangerous surging through you.

Ignoring his grip, you shifted slightly and crossed your leg, pulling away just enough to let his hand slip, but not before his fingers tightened in a quick, heated squeeze. He didn’t let go; instead, he moved his hand further up, his fingers now grazing your upper thigh, daring you to push him away. You bit your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of reacting. Instead, you leaned even closer to your friend, laughing softly as you let your hair fall forward, just brushing Jude’s arm in the process.

You could feel the heat of Jude’s glare on your skin, the simmering anger in every tense line of his body. You risked a quick glance his way, only to find him staring back at you with a look so intense, so darkly possessive, it was almost predatory. You'd seen this look before, but only when you had pushed him too far, ignited something in him he couldn’t control. It was a fire you both knew too well, one you had stirred with every challenge, every teasing word. And now, that fire was about to consume everything.

“Come on, keep pushing me, love.” He muttered sarcastically, each word perfectly pronounced, making sure you heard him loud and clear.

He lifted his glass, fingers curling possessively around the stem, and took a slow, deliberate sip, never once breaking his intense eye contact. As he set it down, his gaze trailed down to your lips, full and inviting, a subtle smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Then, his eyes moved lower, lingering on the soft curve of your breasts, which you had purposefully exposed just enough to rile him up when he wasn’t looking. His stare lingered there, hungry, possessive, making your stomach tighten with a mix of anticipation and anger.

No. No. He didn't get to be in control. This time, you were the one leading. Why did he manage to make you so nervous with just a few touches and his confident smirk? It wasn't fair.

His hand drifted higher on your thigh, and you fought to keep your breath steady. The weight of his touch sent a rush of heat through you, but you refused to look his way, keeping your attention on the friend beside you. Due to all the bickering and pointless arguments, it had been far too long since you’d been close to each other. Now, his touch sent a butterflies to your stomach, its effect magnified—three times more intense than before. Jude’s fingers tensed, his grip growing firmer, sending a clear message, a silent warning. But you leaned in again, touching your friend as you laughed, your fingers trailing along his, knowing exactly how it looked.

Jude’s jaw clenched, his leg brushing firmly against yours under the table, his knee pressing against you with an undeniable possessiveness. His hand squeezed your thigh, almost painfully, and you knew he was at his limit.

So, you laughed again, but this time harder at your friend’s joke.

“Something funny?” Jude muttered in a low voice, his words quiet enough that only you could hear, laced with irritation and a hint of warning.

You turned to him, your expression innocent, even sweet. “He’s just hilarious,” you said with a slight, shy and cute smile, raising your glass and meeting his eyes in a silent challenge.

His gaze darkened further, his fingers moving in a slow, heated drag along the inside of your thigh, and for a brief second, you fought to keep your composure, refusing to let him see how much he was getting to you. His touch was a slow burn, each inch of contact sending a shiver through you that you tried to ignore.

Jude’s hand dropped back to the table, and for a moment, you thought he might finally let it go. But when you laughed again and casually complimented your friend with a teasing remark—something along the lines of, “You always look so good, I do not understand why are you still single,”— Jude’s expression darkened, his breath hitching slightly. He choked on his drink, fingers gripping the glass so tightly you half-expected it to shatter. You could practically feel the heat radiating from him, his control slipping just a little more with every word.

You pressed your lips together, trying to stifle a laugh. He set his glass down hard, his voice a rough whisper. “May I remind you that you are not the one who’s single?” he asked, his eyes flashing with a dangerous glint.

You raised a brow, unfazed, and turned back to your friend. “Am I pushing it?” you murmured, more to yourself than to him, a sly smile playing on your lips. But just as you were about to rest your hand on your friend’s arm for the fifteenth time that night, you felt Jude’s hand slip over yours—this time grasping your wrist, his fingers rough and insistent, stopping you before you could touch another man.

“Do not, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice like steel, laced with something electric that sent a thrill up your spine.

Without a word, you twisted your hand free and crossed your legs again, your knee brushing his leg as you did. His fingers found your wrist again, pulling you closer this time, his lips near your ear as he muttered, “You think this is a game?”

The heat of his breath against your skin made your heart race, and you felt your pulse quicken as he held your gaze, daring you to keep this up. His fingers lingered on your wrist, and for a second, you wondered if he might actually kiss you right there, just to make his point, in front of everyone, as if he didn’t care who was watching.

God you wanted that. Like, a lot.

At last, as the evening wound down and you both stood to say goodbye, Jude didn’t let you slip away. His hand slid possessively around your waist, holding you close as you say goodbye to the group, his grip firm, almost punishing. Once outside, he pulled you aside, finally away from the prying eyes of your friends.

Without a word, Jude pushed you gently against the side of the car, his eyes blazing with frustration, anger, and something else you couldn’t quite name. He stepped in close, his hands framing your waist, pressing you against the cool metal. His breath brushed against your neck, his voice a low, dangerous murmur.

“You think this was funny?” he asked, his fingers pressing into your hips, his gaze intense, unyielding.

You lifted your chin, holding his stare. “No,” you whispered, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “I thought it was fair.”

Jude’s eyes darkened, and his grip tightened, his hands possessive, nearly desperate, as he pulled you even closer. The air between you was charged, tense, and thick with unspoken words. You could feel the rapid beat of his heart against you, the warmth of his hands sending shivers through you.

“You’re being…,” you started, trying to keep a teasing smile in check, though your amusement slipped through. His anger was palpable; he glared at you with narrowed eyes, locking onto you with an intensity that was thrilling, even a little dangerous.

“Mmm, what was it?” you asked, pretending to struggle to remember the exact word that had lit the fuse in this absurd, yet undeniably thrilling standoff. You paused for effect, watching the way his jaw tightened. “Oh, right—dramatic.”

You knew that would push him right over the edge, and sure enough, he leaned in, his expression hardening as his gaze burned right into yours. You could almost feel the warmth of his breath, the faint scent of his cologne enveloping you, as if he were drawing you into his orbit. He hadn’t even said a word yet, but somehow, he had you on edge, just as he always did, effortlessly.

“But you know,” you added with a smirk, leaning up on tiptoe to press a playful kiss on his heated cheek, “I think it suits you.”

Then, with all the nonchalance you could muster, you turned on your heel, heading for the passenger seat as though nothing had happened. For a moment, he didn’t move; you could practically feel his stare following you. But then, before you could even open the door, he grabbed your arm, pulling you back to him, right back into that same charged position, his grip firm but unmistakably possessive. And despite yourself, you couldn’t help but let a thrill run down your spine.

“You have no idea what you just started,” he murmured, his voice thick with a dangerous promise, his lips hovering just inches from yours.

And as you looked up at him, feeling the heat, the thrill, and the tension swirl between you, you realized you didn’t regret a single thing.

Jude’s smirk deepened as he held you there, his grip possessive and firm, his gaze dark with intent. You could feel every inch of space crackling with tension, every breath laced with challenge and defiance. He wasn't letting you go, not after what you'd just put him through. And part of you didn't want him to.

“You think this is a joke,” he muttered smirking, his voice low and edged with a dangerous sort of amusement. His fingers traced along your arm, each touch purposeful, as if to prove just how much control he still held. You raised your chin, meeting his gaze with equal defiance, a small smile on your lips.

“I think it is a taste of your own medicine,” you replied, your voice soft but unyielding. He leaned in, his lips so close they brushed against yours as he spoke, sending a shiver straight through you. He couldn’t resist the urge to kiss you.

“You’re going to regret this,” he murmured, his words a promise as his thumb skimmed along your jaw, tipping your face up to meet his.

[ariahmichelle]

Runaway Love

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: After a messy fallout with your family, you feel you have nowhere to go. You turn to one of your only friends that has a place of their own, Rafe Cameron. You expected tension, but not late-night talks and stolen glances that make you question everything.

A/N: my requests are open, also check out my new series coming soon!

—

Rafe knew something was wrong the moment he opened his front door.

You stood there, drenched from the rain, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself, your eyes rimmed red. You weren’t crying anymore, but the remnants of it were there—the uneven rise and fall of your chest, the way your lips trembled ever so slightly, the way you wouldn’t meet his gaze.

Rafe had seen you in a lot of states—laughing at his stupid jokes, rolling your eyes when he said something cocky, swearing at him when he pushed your buttons just to get a reaction. But he had never seen you like this. Never this… small.

“What the hell happened?” His voice was softer than he meant for it to be.

You hesitated, shifting on your feet like you weren’t sure if you should even be here. But then the sky rumbled with another crack of thunder, and you sucked in a shaky breath.

“Can I come in?”

Rafe didn’t hesitate. He stepped aside, letting you into the warmth of the house.

—

It wasn’t until you were wrapped in one of his hoodies, sitting on the edge of his bed with a steaming mug of tea between your hands, that he finally asked the question burning in his mind.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s going on?”

You stared into the cup, like maybe the answer was hidden in the swirling liquid. “I left.”

Rafe frowned, shifting to sit beside you. “Left where?”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Home.” You shook your head, voice quieter this time. “If you can even call it that.”

Something in his chest twisted.

Rafe had known you for years. You were one of the few people who had stuck around, who could handle his bullshit, who called him out when he needed it. You’d spent more time at his house than your own, but he never questioned it. He never thought to ask why.

Now, he wished he had.

“Talk to me.” His voice was steady, but his hands curled into fists at his sides. “What happened?”

You exhaled sharply, setting the mug down on the nightstand. “It’s not like it was just one thing, Rafe. It’s been bad for a long time.” Your fingers twisted in the hem of his hoodie. “My dad—he drinks. A lot. And when he drinks, he gets angry. My mom just pretends like it’s not happening. Like I don’t hear the shit he says, like I don’t—” You cut yourself off, shaking your head. “I just couldn’t do it anymore.”

Rafe’s jaw clenched. He wasn’t used to this kind of anger—the kind that made his vision blur, the kind that settled in his chest like something heavy, something that made him want to destroy.

Because you had been dealing with this alone. And he had never noticed.

“You should’ve told me,” he said, his voice tight.

You scoffed. “What were you gonna do, Rafe? Fix it?” You shook your head. “It’s not that simple.”

His fingers twitched, resisting the urge to reach for you. “You could’ve stayed here.”

You looked at him then, really looked at him. “I didn’t want to be your problem.”

Rafe let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair. “You’re not a problem. Jesus, Y/N.” His voice softened. “You’re my best friend.”

Something in your expression shifted. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “And you’re staying here. As long as you need to.”

You blinked, like you hadn’t expected that. “Rafe, I—”

“No arguments.” His tone left no room for debate. “I mean it.”

A beat of silence stretched between you, filled only by the sound of the rain tapping against the window. Then, finally, you nodded.

And for the first time that night, your shoulders relaxed.

—

The days blurred together after that.

At first, you tiptoed around the house like a guest, like you weren’t sure if you were overstaying your welcome. But Rafe made it clear—this wasn’t temporary.

“You keep leaving your shit in my room,” he teased one morning, holding up a pair of socks you’d apparently abandoned on his floor.

You rolled your eyes, snatching them from his hands. “I’ll clean up, Cameron. Relax.”

He smirked, leaning against the doorway. “Didn’t say I minded.”

He didn’t. If anything, he liked it. He liked walking into the kitchen and finding you sitting on the counter, stealing bites of whatever he was making. He liked the way his clothes looked on you, the way you curled up on the couch at night like you actually belonged here.

Because you did.

And maybe that scared him more than anything.

—

The night it finally happened, you were sitting on his bed, scrolling through your phone, when you let out a tired sigh.

“I should probably start looking for a place.”

Rafe looked up from where he was sitting on the floor, tying his shoe. “Why?”

You gave him a look. “Because I can’t live here forever?”

He frowned. “Why not?”

You blinked. “What do you mean, ‘why not’? I’m not your responsibility, Rafe.”

His jaw ticked. “I never said you were.”

You sighed, setting your phone down. “Then what are you saying?”

Rafe hesitated. Then he stood, moving closer until he was right in front of you. His fingers brushed against your knee, a touch so light you barely felt it.

“I’m saying… I don’t want you to go.” His voice was quiet.

Your breath hitched.

He exhaled, shaking his head. “I should’ve known. I should’ve seen what was going on with you. And now that I do—” His fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie on your thigh. “I don’t want you anywhere near them. Ever.”

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears. “Rafe…”

“Stay,” he murmured, his eyes searching yours. “Stay with me.”

You should’ve said no. You should’ve told him this wasn’t a good idea, that staying with him would only make things more complicated.

But you didn’t.

Because the truth was, you didn’t want to leave either.

So instead, you whispered, “Okay.”

And when Rafe’s lips brushed against yours a moment later, soft and hesitant, like he was giving you the chance to pull away—you didn’t.

[crutchie-morris]

i did this on my phone so please excuse the truly horrific drawings but I couldn’t get the idea of this out of my head

@taznovembercelebration - Laughing / Crying

Lucretia has done a lot of things she regretted in her life. She regretted that the last thing she said to her parents was a half-hearted goodbye, even if they were kind of shitty. She regretted ever learning she was allergic to bananas because the itchy mouth feeling was bad, but the taste was so good. You couldn't exactly get your hands on a banana when the six only other people that are a constant in your life through all of existence now know you're allergic to them. She regretted many things from cycle sixty-four- being too trusting, too naive, not knowing how to repair the ship engines in the way that Barry or Davenport did, making the same mistakes over and over again. She regretted wishing Lup good night the evening before she went missing, she regretted that Magnus walked in on The Redaction.

And there it was. Her biggest and most obvious regret, perhaps, was The Redaction itself. She doesn't regret it in the way she expected to regret it. She had expected to wish she had never done it in the first place, to wish that she could take it all back, that this was the worst mistake of her life. But time marched on in spite of her decision and nowadays, Lucretia mostly regretted that it was taking so long.

In complete and utter honesty, though? Lucretia's absolute worst regret was whatever choices had led her to this moment. At this point, she doesn't know how she got here, and she was too afraid to ask.

"So," Magnus said, using his presentation pointer- one of the big pink sticks with a cartoonish gloved hand at the end, pointing one finger- to gesture to the giant pad of paper he had dragged in here sometime earlier. On the paper, he had drawn an anime-esque dog, with eyes much too detailed to be natural. Above the nightmare dog were large letters, which spelled out, "-This is why dogs should be allowed on the moon."

"Magnus," Lucretia said, exhaustedly. "I really don't have time-"

"Point number one," Magnus said. He flipped the cover paper up to reveal a second drawing of a dog looking down over the edge of the moon base, but politely staying where it wouldn't, in the paper's words, launch itself directly into the ground. "Dogs can learn. A big problem I've noticed with your rule, Madam Director, is that you think dogs will just run off the edge of the moon. And I see where you're coming from! If you have only been around untrained dogs, then that is a very valid concern. Fortunately for us, I'm proficient in animal handling and can train any dog, no problem. Magnus "The Dog Whisperer" Burnsides is what they called me in high school."

"I'm sure they didn't," Lucretia said. She was slowly sinking into her desk chair. She was going to have to be late for her meeting with HR today. Again. Actually, maybe she should be grateful for this, because at least she would have an excuse this time.

"But Magnus! I hear you say-"

"I did not even come close to saying that."

"What if you can't train the dog? What if it's just too wild and untamable, like your gorgeous and luscious hair?" Magnus ran a hand through said gorgeous and luscious hair, which was sticking straight up in the back. She wasn't actually sure if Magnus had slept at all last night. "Well, if that impossible scenario arrives, then I have a second solution for you."

He flipped the page again. This one just had the word "FENCE" written on it and underlined three times.

"Fence," Magnus said.

"A fence," Lucretia said dryly. "Wow, Magnus, why didn't I think of that?"

"It took me a while to come up with, don't worry," Magnus said. "But a fence will solve all the problems I can't. Make it high enough to be sure that the dogs won't jump over it and bam! Everything is fine! But Magnus, where can I get a fence that long without revealing that I run a secret organization on the moon?"

"I literally didn't even open my mouth this time."

"Good question," Magnus said. "And the answer you're looking for is right in front of you." He flipped the paper up again. This time, it was just a drawing of his own face, with the same, insanely detailed anime eyes. Lucretia wanted to cry. She wanted to laugh. Instead, she just buried her face in her hands and tried not to feel anything, at all.

"For this cause, I will lower my commission rate to fifty percent-" and that's what broke Lucretia. She sunk further into her chair, wheezing. Even she didn't know if she was laughing or crying. It was just kind of… all of her emotions, all at once, which resulted in her sounding like a dying horse. "-and I'll even throw in the sweet, sweet deal of the large project bundle. In total, this will only cost you about six thousand gold."

"Mag- Magnus," Lucretia said, reduced to tears by whatever the hell she was feeling. Amusement? Stress? Regret was definitely, definitely in that mix somewhere. "I- I have a meeting to go to-"

"I'll be quick, then!" Magnus said, flipping to the next paper. Lucretia didn't even bother to look up. "You may be asking yourself now, but what if we get a really big dog and it can't be trained and it can jump over fences? Well, may I introduce to you: The Dog Parachute."

Gods, Lucretia knew she took more than half his memories, but she doesn't know why she was hoping that would make him any less stupid.

[cherryxbooo]

Okaaaay I can't resist on sending in another idea ❤️😊 I just loved the previous imagine too much!

Maybe some more Tim angst, where he's dating another officer for a while now and they're really happy. Then someday they get into an argument about something stupid, so she keeps ignoring him for nearly the whole shift. Later he hears over the radio that one officer got shot during a call and he already has a bad feeling. Just then his phone rings and Grey confirms his fears that it was you.

At the hospital it's not sure if you'll survive and Tim fears losing you without apologizing. In the end you survive of course and it's all just cute and fluffy in the end 🙊

We’re in this together

Summary: A police shift goes wrong, nothing out of the ordinary for an officer, but it hits differently when you’re losing the love of your life, and your last interaction was a fight.

Reader x Tim Bradford

Genre: fluff/angst

The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the small kitchen as I leaned against the counter, cradling my favorite mug in both hands.

The first sip sent a warmth through me that was only rivaled by the sight in front of me.

Tim sat at the table, hunched over, tying his boots with the same care and focus he brought to everything he did.

Sunlight poured through the window, framing him in a soft glow, and I couldn’t help the way my lips tugged into a smile.

“Another day, another shift,” I teased, my voice gentle as I took another sip of coffee.

He glanced up at me with a crooked smile that never failed to make my heart flutter.

“Another day of you trying to boss me around.”

I raised an eyebrow, setting my mug down as I sauntered toward him.

“You love it when I boss you around.”

Tim chuckled, his hands pausing on his laces as he gave me a look that was all warmth and affection.

“You might have a point, sweetheart.”

He tugged the laces one last time and stood, towering over me in that way that always made me feel both small and completely safe.

“But I think I deserve a little credit for putting up with you.”

“Putting up with me?” I repeated, crossing my arms but unable to stop the grin spreading across my face.

“Who’s the one who burned breakfast again last week? Pretty sure I’m the patient one here.”

Tim stepped closer, his hands finding their way to my hips as he leaned down just enough to press a kiss to my temple.

“I burned breakfast because you distracted me,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, sending a little shiver through me.

I rolled my eyes, laughing softly as I rested my hands on his chest.

“You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And you’re perfect,” he replied without missing a beat, his lips brushing mine in a kiss that was sweet and unhurried.

He pulled back, just enough to look at me, his thumb brushing lightly over my cheek.

“Ready to head out, or should we take another five minutes to ‘discuss’ who’s the patient one in this relationship?”

I laughed again, giving his chest a gentle shove.

“Grab your jacket, Bradford. We’re not showing up late just because you can’t stop flirting.”

Tim grabbed his jacket and slid it on, but not before stealing one last kiss, quick but lingering enough to leave my heart racing.

“Can’t help it,” he murmured as he opened the door for me.

“You make it too easy.”

The drive to the station was filled with the kind of soft, easy conversation that came with knowing someone inside and out.

Tim reached over at one point, his hand brushing against mine where it rested on the console.

Without a word, he intertwined our fingers, his thumb tracing gentle circles over my skin as we drove.

“Think Cap will still be in that mood again today?” Tim asked, a hint of teasing in his tone.

“Probably,” I replied with a grin.

“You know how he gets when things don’t go perfectly. Angela said he spent half the night poring over those reports. Sounds almost like you.”

Tim shook his head with a soft laugh, his eyes briefly meeting mine.

“He needs to take a page out of your book and learn how to relax. Just like how you thought me.”

I smirked, squeezing his hand. “I’ll let him know you said that.”

“You would,”

he replied with mock exasperation, but his grin softened as he lifted my hand to press a kiss to my knuckles, his lips warm and gentle.

“That’s why I keep you around, you keep everyone on their toes.”

My cheeks warmed at the affection in his voice, and I leaned back into the seat, savoring the quiet comfort of the moment.

With Tim, even the drive to work felt like something special, like a little pocket of peace in the chaos of our lives.

As we pulled into the station’s parking lot, Tim shifted the car into park but didn’t move to get out just yet.

Instead, he turned to me, his gaze soft and adoring.

“What do you want to do on our next day off? Our day off is sacred, you know.”

I tilted my head, pretending to think, even as a smile tugged at my lips.

“How about a picnic? Somewhere quiet, just us. You bring the sandwiches, and I’ll bring dessert.”

His smile widened, and he leaned in to steal one last kiss before we stepped out into the world of uniforms and chaos.

“You always know how to make a day perfect,” he murmured against my lips.

“So do you,”

I whispered back still not believing I've got the grumpy Tim Bradford wrapped around my finger.

The precinct was already alive with its usual controlled chaos when we arrived.

The familiar hum of ringing phones, clacking keyboards, and the occasional burst of laughter filled the air.

Officers walked around, exchanging case files, refilling coffee mugs, and prepping for the day ahead.

Tim and I stepped through the front doors together, the click of his boots against the tiled floor perfectly in sync with mine.

Ever the gentleman, Tim held the door open for me, his hand brushing lightly against the small of my back as I walked in.

The gesture was small but grounding, one of those quiet moments of affection that felt uniquely ours.

We didn’t make it three steps inside before Lucy’s voice rang out, full of teasing energy.

“Oh, look, it’s the power couple gracing us with their presence!”

she called, grinning from ear to ear as she leaned against her desk.

I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at my lips.

“Good morning to you too, Chen.”

Angela was quick to join in, an amused smirk playing on her face.

“Wait a second... is that a smile on Tim’s face? What did you do, bribe him with something?”

I turned to Tim, arching a playful eyebrow.

“See? They think you’re less grumpy. Guess I’m rubbing off on you after all.”

Tim let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he slid his hands into his pockets.

“I’m not that grumpy,” he muttered, though the corner of his mouth betrayed him by twitching upward.

“Oh, sure,” Angela replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

“And I’m the King of England.”

I laughed, giving Tim a quick wink as we moved toward our desks.

“Don’t worry, Bradford. I like you grumpy. Keeps things interesting.”

He shot me a mock glare, but there was no hiding the warmth in his eyes as he pulled his chair out and settled in across from me.

The morning briefing was the usual mix of updates and assignments, with Grey running through the day’s agenda in his signature no-nonsense tone.

Tim sat beside me, his leg brushing mine under the table, a quiet reminder of his presence that made my heart skip despite the mundane nature of the meeting.

When the captain finally dismissed us, Tim leaned over, his voice low enough for only me to hear.

“You zoning out on me, sweetheart?”

I smirked, tapping my pen lightly against my notepad.

“Nope. Just wondering how you manage to look so serious all the time.”

He tilted his head, a playful gleam in his eye. “It’s a gift.”

“Must be exhausting,” I teased, standing and grabbing my notes as we joined the others heading toward the bullpen.

The rest of the morning passed in a comfortable rhythm as Tim and I fell into our usual routine.

Working together had become second nature after months of finding our rhythm.

We didn’t need words to communicate half the time, a shared glance or the slightest tilt of his head was enough to tell me what he was thinking.

But as the hours ticked by, the warmth of the morning started to shift.

Calls came in one after another, each one more demanding than the last.

The weight of the job pressed down on us, and the lighthearted banter that carried us through most days began to fade.

During a brief moment of reprieve, Tim appeared beside me, holding out a steaming cup of coffee.

His expression was softer now, more serious, but the affection in his eyes was unmistakable.

“Thought you could use this,” he said simply, his voice quieter than usual.

I took the cup, my fingers brushing his for just a second longer than necessary.

“You’re a lifesaver,” I said softly, meeting his gaze.

He gave a small smile, one of those rare, genuine ones that he saved just for me.

“Don’t mention it. You’ve got my back, and I’ve got yours. Always.”

It was moments like these, tucked between the chaos and the noise, that reminded me how lucky I was.

With Tim, the hard days felt a little less heavy, and the good ones felt extraordinary.

Tim and I rarely fight, but if we did, we were quick to make up. But this time I wasn't so sure about that.

It began in the shop during a lull between calls, one of those rare, quiet moments when the hum of the engine was the only sound filling the air.

The city seemed unusually still, as though even it were taking a breath.

I glanced out the window, watching the sunlight play off passing buildings, when the thought struck me.

“Hey,” I said casually,

“we’re out of supplies in the first aid kit.”

Tim, who’d been focused on the road, flicked his eyes toward me briefly.

“You forgot to restock it, didn’t you?”

His tone wasn’t harsh, but it carried an edge that immediately put me on the defensive.

I turned to him, raising an eyebrow.

“Me? You’re the one who used it last.”

He let out a short breath, his grip tightening ever so slightly on the steering wheel.

“Yeah, and I told you to refill it afterward.”

“You told me?” I shot back, incredulous.

“No, you mentioned it in passing, and I assumed you’d take care of it since, you know, you used it.”

Tim’s jaw tightened as his gaze stayed fixed on the road ahead.

“It’s not about who used it. It’s about being prepared. What if we get a call and need it? Are we supposed to improvise because you didn’t think to check?”

His words, laced with frustration, hit a nerve.

My temper flared, and I turned in my seat to face him fully.

“Oh, so now it’s my job to clean up after you? Got it. I’ll just add that to the list, right after making sure you remember to pack your lunch and not leave your coffee mug in the car.”

He scoffed, shaking his head.

“This isn’t about me leaving my mug. This is about you taking responsibility for something important instead of deflecting every damn time.”

The way he said it like I was careless or didn’t pull my weight, sent a sharp pang of hurt through me.

“Wow, Tim,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Thanks for the lecture. I’ll be sure to put it in the suggestion box right after I file all the other things you think I should be doing better.”

“Forget it,”

he muttered, his tone curt as he turned his attention back to the road, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

I crossed my arms, glaring out the window as silence fell over the car.

The warmth and ease of the morning were gone, replaced by an icy tension that made the air feel heavier.

By the time we pulled up to the next call, the tension had settled in so thickly it felt like another passenger in the car.

Neither of us spoke as we stepped out and approached the scene, our usual rhythm replaced by clipped movements and short, professional exchanges.

For the rest of the shift, I kept my responses to Tim short and curt.

If he asked for status updates, I gave him the bare minimum.

If he cracked a joke to try and lighten the mood, I didn’t even spare him a glance.

It was petty, but I wasn’t ready to let it go.

I could feel his frustration growing with every brush-off.

The way his jaw clenched or the flicker of annoyance in his eyes when I avoided meeting his gaze only confirmed it.

By mid-afternoon, he stopped trying altogether, the usual back-and-forth banter between us replaced by strained silence.

Finally, during a rare quiet moment back in the car, Tim broke the silence.

His voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable edge to it.

“You going to keep this up all day?”

I didn’t look at him, instead staring out the windshield at the street ahead.

“I don’t know,” I said flatly.

“Are you going to stop being an ass?”

He sighed, long and heavy, the sound of someone grappling with his own frustration.

“Fine,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Have it your way.”

But even as he said it, there was something in his tone that softened the edges of my anger.

I stole a glance at him out of the corner of my eye, catching the faintest flicker of hurt in his expression.

It wasn’t like Tim to let things fester, and for a moment, I wondered if I’d pushed too hard.

Still, my own stubbornness held firm, and I looked away before he could catch me staring.

The silence between us stretched on, heavier now than it had been before.

The next day arrived, and the tension between Tim and me hadn’t eased.

With us both being too stubborn to give in.

We were back at the station for our next shift, with the two of us still clearly not on speaking terms.

The air was thick with unspoken words as we went through the motions of starting our day.

Tim was focused, doing his job with the usual precision, but the distance between us was palpable.

Angela and Lucy exchanged looks as they watched the two of us, sensing that something was off.

“So,” Angela started, leaning against the counter with her coffee cup,

“what’s going on with you two? You guys usually can’t keep your hands off each other, and today—”

She gestured between us, her eyes wide in disbelief. “Nothing?”

Lucy raised an eyebrow, glancing between Tim and me.

“You two seriously not talking?”

I glanced at Tim briefly, but his attention was fixed on the paperwork in front of him.

I sighed inwardly, turning to face my friends.

“It’s just... a disagreement,” I said, keeping my tone as neutral as possible.

Angela looked unconvinced.

“A disagreement? You’ve barely looked at each other all morning. Come on, you can tell us. What happened?”

I didn’t know how to explain it.

The argument from yesterday still felt fresh, and I wasn’t ready to talk about it. Not yet.

“It’s fine,” I said, shrugging it off. “We’ll work through it.”

Lucy wasn’t convinced either, her eyes narrowing slightly.

“Right, because it’s so obvious you two are just fine.”

I forced a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach my eyes.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. Now, we’ve got work to do, right?”

Tim didn’t seem to notice our conversation, too absorbed in whatever report he was reading.

I glanced at him again, feeling the weight of the silence between us.

Part of me wanted to reach out, to say something, but the other part was still too angry to make the first move.

The next few hours felt like a blur of cases and calls, my mind distracted by the unspoken words lingering between us.

At least I was scheduled to go on patrol with a rookie today, which meant I’d be away from Tim for a while.

The rookie, Aaron, seemed eager enough, though I could tell he was still finding his footing.

I was relieved, in a way, I didn’t have to deal with the awkwardness of being in the same shop as Tim while we were still this... distant.

Late in the shift, the radio crackled to life, breaking the silence.

“Units 23 and 45, we have a report of a suspected robbery crew holed up in an abandoned warehouse. Multiple units responding. Proceed with caution.”

I immediately grabbed my gear, my heart rate spiking slightly.

This was serious.

Aaron, looked at me, his face a mix of excitement and nervousness.

“You ready, Officer?”

I gave him a reassuring smile, though it didn’t reach my eyes.

“Just follow my lead.”

The ride over was quick, the weight of the situation settling in as we pulled up to the scene.

The warehouse loomed in front of us, abandoned and desolate, like something out of a movie.

Officers were already moving into tactical formations, their expressions tense as they communicated through earpieces.

My stomach tightened as we got out of the car, the sound of officers shouting commands echoing through the air.

We were assigned to clear the second floor of the building.

I glanced up at the stairs, the darkened interior of the warehouse giving off an eerie vibe.

My instincts kicked in, but I pushed the thoughts aside, there was work to do.

Aaron and I moved cautiously up the stairs, checking our corners as we went.

The silence was deafening, the only sound our footsteps on the dusty floor.

It was too quiet.

As we reached the top of the stairs, I motioned for Aaron to take the left side while I covered the right.

We moved slowly, staying low to the ground.

My hand hovered near the grip of my weapon, but something felt... off.

And then, a single gunshot shattered the silence.

The sound was deafening, ringing in my ears, and before I could react, pain exploded in my side.

I gasped, the force of the impact knocking me to the ground.

My breath hitched as I tried to focus, feeling the warmth of blood soaking through my uniform.

I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to stay conscious. “Aaron…”

My voice was shaky, but I could still hear the panic in his voice as he called for backup.

But all I could focus on was the searing pain in my side and the growing sense of fear that gripped me.

At that moment my mind went blank and the last thing I could think about was... Tim

Meanwhile,

Tim was still at the precinct, sitting at his desk, his mind occupied with the usual paperwork and the hum of the station around him.

It was a rare quiet moment, one of those in-between times when the calls had slowed down, and officers were catching their breath.

He barely noticed the radio crackle to life at first.

But then, a voice came through, sharp and urgent:

"Officer down. Requesting medical assistance."

His stomach dropped.

A cold wave of dread swept over him, his breath catching in his throat.

The world around him seemed to slow as he stared at the radio.

He was trained for these moments, for the harsh reality that could hit at any moment.

But this? This felt different.

He stood up abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor as he looked around the bullpen. His heart was racing.

The words replayed in his head. Officer down.

The feeling of helplessness, of not knowing who hit him like a freight train.

But he had a feeling who it was, otherwise he wouldn't be reacting like this right?

"Who is it?" Tim's voice was low but desperate, laced with an emotion he wasn’t willing to admit.

The other officers in the room exchanged glances, but no one had an answer.

The station seemed to be holding its breath as everyone waited for more information.

Tim didn’t wait.

His eyes locked on his phone as it began to ring, the screen lighting up with a name he’d never wanted to see in this context: Grey.

His heart pounded harder, a sickening sense of dread seizing him.

He grabbed the phone with shaking hands, swiping it to answer.

"Grey," he said, his voice tight, barely holding it together.

There was a pause on the other end. A heavy silence.

Then, Captain Grey’s voice came through, thick with an emotion Tim couldn’t place.

“It’s Y/L/N, Tim,” Grey said, his tone grim.

“She’s been shot. They’re taking her to St. Joseph’s.”

Tim froze, the words hitting him like a physical blow.

Y/n has been hit. He couldn’t breathe.

His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, each one a blur of terror and disbelief.

His hand tightened around the phone, his knuckles white as he struggled to keep it together.

“Tim…” Grey’s voice softened, as if he could sense the storm raging inside him.

“Get to the hospital. They’ll need you there.”

Tim didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say.

He just slammed the phone down, his body already in motion, his heart racing like it might beat out of his chest.

The sound of his boots pounding against the floor was deafening in the silence of the station.

He didn’t think. He didn’t ask questions.

His mind was consumed by one thought, one single, unrelenting impulse: Get to you.

He grabbed his keys off the counter, his fingers fumbling as he rushed to the door.

He didn’t stop to grab his jacket, didn’t hesitate for a second.

His eyes were wild with panic, his breath shallow as he sprinted out of the station.

The drive to the hospital felt like an eternity. Every second that ticked by felt like a hundred years.

His knuckles were white on the steering wheel, his grip so tight it was painful.

The sirens of other emergency vehicles echoed in the distance, but they only made the dread in his chest grow deeper.

What had happened? Were you okay?

His mind raced with questions, but every time he tried to focus on the answers, the fear crept back in.

He couldn’t let himself go there, not yet.

He didn't even get to apologize, to hold you, to tell you how much he loved you.

The hospital loomed ahead, its lights flashing in the early evening dusk.

Tim didn’t slow down as he pulled into the parking lot, his car screeching to a halt.

He was out of the car before it had even come to a complete stop, barely registering the cold night air as he rushed inside.

His heart was pounding in his ears, the noise around him a blur as he darted through the hospital’s hallways.

He had no idea where he was going, but he didn’t care. He just needed to get to her.

Finally, he reached the ER. The doors swung open, and he froze for a moment, his breath caught in his throat as he scanned the room.

Nurses and doctors moved quickly, their expressions grim as they passed by.

"Sir," a voice called from behind him, and he turned to find one of the paramedics who had been at the scene and knew about Tim's arrival.

“She’s in surgery.”

Tim’s breath hitched, and he felt his knees go weak. Surgery.

The word felt like a punch to the gut.

“Is she…” His voice cracked, but he couldn’t finish the sentence.

He didn’t want to hear the answer.

The paramedic’s eyes softened, but there was no comfort in them.

“We don't know yet, the bullet went deep making it a dangerous operation. They’re doing everything they can.”

He was out of breath, his chest tight, his mind spinning.

He couldn’t shake the image of you he created in his brain, lying on the floor of that warehouse, the pain in your eyes, he wasn’t there.

He wasn’t there to protect you.

He walked over to the waiting area, collapsing into a chair, his head in his hands.

His body felt like it was made of stone, but his mind was all fire, anger, guilt, fear, tearing him apart.

All he could do was wait. And pray.

Tim sat in the sterile, quiet hospital room, his fingers gently tracing the back of your hand, his eyes fixed on your face.

The soft beeping of the machines monitoring your vitals was the only sound that filled the space, but even that felt too loud, a reminder of the fragile thread that you were hanging on.

Tim had barely been able to breathe since he’d received the call about you.

The news had come like a punch to the gut,

'Officer down.'

It was all a blur after that, the frantic rush to St. Joseph’s, the sterile scent of the emergency room, the doctors giving him no guarantees.

They weren't sure you’d make it through.

Those words had haunted him, repeating in his mind over and over, and no matter how many times he told himself you were a fighter, the fear never quite went away.

He never told you that he loved you properly that morning, never had a chance to make it right.

The argument from the day before still felt raw, and the thought of not getting the chance to apologize tore at his heart like nothing else could.

“I’m sorry, babe,” Tim whispered softly, his voice barely audible.

“I should’ve told you I loved you before. I should’ve… I should’ve been better. I’m so sorry.”

His thumb brushed over your knuckles, as if his touch could bring you back to him.

Your hand felt warm in his, but the stillness of your body only made him feel more hopeless.

What if he’d never get the chance to make it right?

What if this was the last time he’d hold your hand, the last time he’d be able to tell you how much you meant to him?

Angela and Lucy arrived not long after, their faces a mix of concern and support as they entered the room.

Tim hadn’t moved, hadn’t even looked away from you.

Lucy tried to lighten the mood, cracking jokes to get him to smile, but it felt impossible.

How could he laugh when you were lying there, so close to slipping away?

She offered him a drink, trying to give him space to breathe, and as soon as she left to go down the hall, Angela stayed behind, sitting beside him in the chair.

“You know, you don’t have to do this alone,”

Angela said, her voice soft but firm, as if trying to remind him he didn’t have to carry the weight of everything by himself.

“You’ve got people who care about you.”

Tim swallowed hard, running a shaky hand through his hair.

The guilt was suffocating, and the uncertainty of what would happen to you next made his chest ache.

“I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve her, not after everything. The last words we said to each other… they weren’t even good ones. We fought. I fought with her, and now… now I don’t know if I’ll ever get the chance to make it right. What if she… what if she doesn’t wake up?”

Angela reached over, gently placing a hand on his arm, her eyes full of empathy.

“Tim, she knows. She knows you love her. She knows you’d never want to hurt her.”

“I should’ve told her that,” Tim muttered, looking down at his hands, his voice thick with regret.

“I should’ve told her before. She deserves to hear that from me, not after everything's already gone wrong. What if... What if she doesn’t know how much she means to me?”

Angela squeezed his arm in reassurance.

“She does, Tim. You just have to believe that. And when she wakes up, you can tell her then. You’ve still got time to make it right.”

“I just wish I’d made more time… before all this happened,”

Tim whispered, his voice barely above a breath, the weight of his words hanging in the air like a dark cloud.

As the hours dragged on, Lucy came back with a drink, and the two women left, sensing that Tim needed some space.

They both exchanged a concerned glance before making their exit, but their presence, their words of support, had offered Tim a little comfort.

Still, as the door closed behind them, he was left alone in the room again with you.

His heart beat painfully in his chest, and the room felt colder now that the comforting voices of his friends were gone.

He sat back down in the chair beside your bed, his hand still holding yours as if he could keep you anchored in this world with his touch.

Then, something unexpected happened.

Your fingers twitched, and Tim's heart skipped a beat. His gaze snapped to you, not daring to blink, as he saw your eyelids flutter.

For a moment, he thought he might be imagining it, but then you blinked again, and this time, your eyes fluttered open, groggy but focused.

Tim didn’t know what to do first. He could barely breathe as he leaned closer, his hands shaking.

“Y/n?” His voice cracked, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

His hand moved to your cheek, gently caressing it as if to make sure you were real, that this wasn’t some dream he was having.

“Baby, you’re awake?”

Your eyes met his, blurry at first, but then clearer as you seemed to recognize him.

A small, weak smile spread across your face, and Tim felt the tight knot in his chest slowly start to loosen.

“Tim?” you whispered, your voice soft, hoarse from the intubation, but still full of recognition.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he breathed out, his voice thick with emotion.

He couldn’t stop himself from leaning down to kiss your forehead, his lips lingering against your skin.

“I’m right here, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.”

Tim called for the doctor immediately, unable to tear himself away from your side.

His heart raced as he watched you, feeling a mixture of relief and fear.

What if you didn’t make it through this?

What if you slipped away again before they could get to you?

But then the doctor arrived, checking your vitals, and gave them the good news.

You were stable. You had pulled through.

“You’re going to be okay,” the doctor said.

“You’ll need to stay here for a few days, but you’re out of the woods.”

Tim let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

He felt a sense of relief that he hadn’t felt since the moment you were shot.

You were here.

You were with him.

I let out a small chuckle, despite the pain, trying to lighten the mood.

“Thought I was in heaven when I opened my eyes and saw all these lights.”

Tim couldn’t help but laugh, his hand tightening around yours.

“Please never scare me like that ever again." He said now much more seriously, before speaking up again.

"I’m so, so sorry, babe. For the argument, for the way I talked to you, for everything.”

My smile faltered, my eyes full of vulnerability.

I reached out with my free hand, gently cupping his face.

“No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I never should’ve let us get so angry. I love you, Tim. I just… I just want you to know that.”

“I love you too,” Tim replied, his voice shaky.

“I love you more than anything. And I promise, I’ll never let something like that happen again. I won’t take you for granted. I’ll fight for us, always.”

My voice cracked as I spoke again, tears spilling from my eyes.

“I don’t want to fight anymore, Tim. I don’t ever want us to be apart again.”

Tim kissed my hand, his lips brushing over my knuckles, the tears still flowing freely from both of us.

“I swear, babe, I’ll make it right. I’ll spend every moment from here on out showing you how much I love you.”

“No more fights. No more leaving things unsaid. Let’s never do that again.”

Tim smiled, pressing his forehead against yours as he whispered the words that had been stuck in his heart all along.

“No more fights. I promise. We’re in this together."

"Always.”

In that moment, everything felt right again.

I was alive. I was here, with Tim.

And nothing, no matter what, would ever break us apart again.

The end

[froggybells]

So what’s the deal?

Sanemi x fem!reader

a/n: HI I AM BACK AGAIN this time my wonderful boy sanemi needs some love. he might b a little ooc but i like to think he wouldn’t resist a beautiful woman (wink wink) reader is totally a tease bc i feel like he would totes get flustered LOL

synop: amidst hashira practice, you get the bright idea to tease sanemi.

Word count: 1k

Part 2 —> here

Part 3 —> here

The first time Sanemi Shinzugawa laid eyes on you, we saw you as nothing more than a pest- always getting into things that you shouldn’t, and seemingly oblivious to the obvious irritation you caused him. He couldn’t help but wonder why no one else shared his frustrations. 

Soon something changed. His feelings of irritation soon changed into some sort of possessiveness- needing to make sure you weren’t hurt because it’s obvious your dont know how to take care of yourself. 

“Shinazugawa! I don’t understand why I can’t go practice with Tomioka? I was walking by yesterday and saw you trying to kill him! I’m a Harshira too, damnit!” You yelled at him. 

“He’s too weak for you to practice with! Plus, you’re too idiotic to do things on your own.” Sanemi stated firmly, giving you a glare. He doesn’t care if you’re a Hashira, he’ll still treat you like an idiot. 

“I’m literally the first sun breather in generations!” You said, pointing your wooden sword at him. “Does that not make me powerful enough for you?!” You sighed, rubbing your temples. Suddenly, you looked at him with a sly smirk on your face. That couldn’t be good, you thought. 

“Sanemi,” He flinches at the use of his first name, “Let’s make a deal.” He pauses, a deal? He’s definitely curious at your offer. What kind of deal could you make? “And why would I agree to that?”

You scoffed. “No matter how you act, you still respect me and my strength.” He turned his head away. “Tch- fine. I’ll agree to your stupid deal, but it better not be a waste of my time.”

”Let’s do a real practice battle. Not training. If I win, you’ll let me battle with Giyuu,” God, you using his first name made his blood boil, “If you win, well, you can decide the punishment.”

A hint of a smirk appeared on his face. A practice battle? This was going to be easy. “Alright dumbass, you’re on. You won’t win. Not against me.” You drew your wooden sword, getting into proper position. “Let’s get this over with.”

He laughed at you, “Don’t cry about getting your ass kicked when I’m done! Got it?” You charged quickly, ignoring his words, landing a blow to his knee and chest, quickly zipping away. He hisses in both pain and annoyance, but quickly regains his composure, a smirk on his face as he watched you zip away. “You have some speed, I’ll give you that much. Let’s see if you can do it again!” He barked.

He took off after you, aiming for your leg, but you jump quickly. “Too slow ‘Nemi!” You got a hit on the back of his head, knocking him over. 

He lands on the ground with a thump, groaning in pain before quickly scrambling to his feet. ‘Damnnit,’ he thought, ‘She’s a lot faster than she lets on.”

“Don’t give up yet Sanemi! Come at me!” In a flash, he’s over to you within a second, hitting you in the stomach. The force knocks you over, hailing a cloud of dust. 

His vision now clouded, he couldn’t see where you ran off to. “I”m ending this here!” You yell, kicking his back, forcefully knocking him over. “I win!” You gleam, now sitting on his back. 

“Get off me dumbass!” He screams as you kick his sword away. “Nope.” You say, popping the P. “I said get off me, damnit!” You smirk at his words. “Oh yeah? What’ll you give me in return?” He struggles some more, groaning in annoyance as he can barely move. He let’s out a scoff, narrowing his eyes at you. “What do you want, you brat? I’ll give you anything, just get the hell off me!”

You look down on him. “You have to go on a date with me.”

His face turned red. “What?!” He sputters. You have to be joking, there’s no way you’d seriously as him that. “You want me to go on a date with you? Seriously?”

“As serious as I’ll ever be! Can’t our just imagine it! Us strolling around under the cherry blossoms? It’ll be beautiful!” A slight blush dances around your face. He feels a slight fluttering sensation in his stomach- seeing you blush like that was weirdly cute to him. But nonetheless, he was still surprised. why would you want to go on a date with him?

”You really want to go out on a date with me?” He questions, looking up at you, a slight flush on his cheeks from embarrassment. “Of course ‘Nemi! You’re attractive, I’m attractive. You’re strong, I’m stronger. We would make the perfect pair! So what do you say,” You finally step off of his back, helping him to stand up. “Will you go on a date with me?”

The red tinge on his face darkens as you help him up, standing at his full height. He looks down at you, his expression slightly vulnerable. He lets out a huff, not being able to look you in the eye. “Fine, I’ll go on a date with you. Dammit, you’re so stubborn! But just this once, got it?”

”Just this once!” You lean in to whisper in his ear. “Unless you beg for more~” You tease at him. You begin to walk away, a dark crimson staining his face. “Well then, I’m off to my estate! I’ll be back in the morning to discuss our arrangement!” You wave goodbye, not looking back. The truth is, your face was just as red as his, and you couldn’t bear the thought of him seeing you this way.

”Damn Woman.” He mutters in frustration.

[kkentobox]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀SAY MEOW! W/ JSCHLATT.

description: when schlatt misses his two cats back home, he finds comfort in the little japanese pet shelter! what melts his heart even more? seeing all the animals take a special liking towards his partner.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀tags: gender neutral reader! establish relationship, pure fluff, jack & trevor mentions, reader being a cat whisperer, mentions of future children.

author’s note: did you guys miss me? ;p say yes or i’m LEAVING. i also noticed i finally have enough posts to make a masterlist, so i promise that’ll be up soon! if you guys have any ideas on what i should upload next, let me know, feedback is always welcome! reblogs & likes are always appreciated <3! do not steal or plagiarize any work belonging to kkentobox !

the group had taken a pause in filming, the calm atmosphere of the shelter almost feeling too intimate to push cameras into the faces of the animals. but within five minutes of being in there, jay had managed to attach himself to a tiny orange kitten; “he’s just like jambo when he was a baby” he said with a sparkling look in his eyes.

stuck to his hip, you watched with endearing eyes as he pet the small creature cradled in his arms, “do you think we can smuggle him back home?” he whispered into your ear, immediately smiling at how you cringed from how ticklish the air felt so close to your ear. “i can stuff him under my shirt and gaslight the worker i was already pregnant coming in.”

the kitten had been peacefully dozing off with the gentle strokes schlatt had placed on his head, with sleepy eyes it looked up at you upon hearing your voice, only to grow restless in jay’s arms.

frowning at the sudden change, schlatt safely released him onto the ground before watching the cat jump into your lap. furrowing his eyebrows in curiosity and sadness, “what the fuck man?” he groaned quietly.

jack, with a small dog in his arms, began laughing upon realizing schlatt was genuinely upset that the cat no longer liked him. with laughter coming out of your mouth as well, you couldn’t resist holding the kitten close to your chest. it wasted no time in feeling comfortable, purring against the fabric of your shirt and snuggling in deeper.

“poor baby, he didn’t deserve you..” you cooed down at the kitten, “damn right he didn’t.” “i wasn’t talking to you, jay.” “fuck you.”

though he didn’t understand why the cat suddenly didn’t like him, he wrapped an arm around your waist to bring the two of you in closer. “aw, look, he’s sleeping!” you excitedly whispered, looking up at jay with a wide smile. he couldn’t help but match your energy, “i see that, probably found his new home there, baby.”

trevor and jack normally like to give the two of you privacy by keeping to themselves, this time they couldn’t help but truly watch over how enamored their tough friend looked watching you admire the kitten in your arms. “i can’t tell if he looks stupid or sweet..” “he’s like.. both? i can’t decide if i like it or not.” trying to distract themselves with their own pets, every couple seconds they’d spare a glance at the two of you and snicker.

“jay.. look at the other cats real quick..” you had looked up and were taken off guard at the other cats in front of you guys, seemingly trying to scratch their way out of their cages while looking directly at you guys. “you’re a pussy whisperer, doll.” a deadpan look was thrown in his direction, one that didn’t wipe the smug smirk off his face.

the worker noticed the behavior of the other animals, coming over to see if they’d continue if she placed the sleeping kitten in your arms back into it’s cage. “they’re taking my baby away.” you jokingly sulked against schlatt, “you’re starting a revolt, you deserve it.” pressing a kiss to your hair after you gently slapped his chest.

only the cats hadn’t stopped. they continued. they all wanted to be held by you, which only made schlatt more jealous at the fact they didn’t want him too. taking this as a sign to leave so they can settle down, the group made their way back onto the quiet streets of japan.

“can cats imprint on people? what if i’m destined to take all of those cats?” looking at schlatt, his arm being held by your two arms as you walked behind jack and trevor.

shaking his head, “that’s not fair, doll. they’d have a favorite parent, at least jambo and soup love the two of us equally.” enjoying his response, you added “i honestly don’t see anything wrong with that, jay.” scoffing, he jokingly pushed you away, “you’re so greedy.”

quickly getting back into his embrace, “you’ll just have to accept that in every situation, i will be the favorite!” he peered down at you, a small smile growing on his lips the more he looked at you, “i suppose i can get used to it, just teach our actual kids to remember me once in a while, yeah?”

though the two of you had talked about your future together before, it always managed to make you swoon knowing how dedicated he was to make sure it happened. every mention he made of your future wedding, children, home left you wanting to kiss him stupid. he’s grown to make comments often the more you guys grew more serious and the longer you guys were together.

bringing your intertwined hands to your lips, leaving multiple kisses on the back of his hand, “our children are different.. i could never allow them to forget you.” humming in content at your response, feeling his chest warm up, “i’ll be marrying the right person then.” “that much was obvious, jay.”

[vunblr]

Chains of Fate

Pairing: Destroyer!Chris x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Fluff. Smut. Unprotected sex.

Summary: A florist keeps having trouble with her bicycle, and Chris, her rugged mechanic neighbor, is always available to help. Or isn’t he?

Word Count: About 6.8k.

notes: Yup, this story isn’t about Bucky. After reading this story by @sashaisready featuring Destroyer!Chris the other day, I had an overwhelming urge to write something with him. It was an itch I just had to scratch and well, here we are.

When she closed the shop's door behind her, the late afternoon sun cast long shadows over the street. The aroma of the last plants she touched still clung to her hands as she fumbled to lock up. The bicycle leaned against the wall, her reliable companion in her daily routine.

Except today, it wasn’t so reliable. As soon as she set her hand on the handlebar, she noticed the chain dangling uselessly, smudged with grease, and utterly dislodged.

"Seriously?" she muttered, brushing a strand of hair from her face and crouching to inspect the damage. Her attempt to wrestle the chain back into place was met with resistance and a smear of black grease across her palm. With a resigned sigh, she glanced toward the mechanic shop next door.

The large garage doors were half-open, spilling the faint sound of a radio murmuring some old rock ballad. She hesitated. The other workers had surely gone home already, leaving the place unusually quiet.

The thought of asking him made her nervous and self-conscious. They’d spoken a dozen times, exchanging brief pleasantries when their paths crossed. He always looked like he belonged in an old motorcycle catalog: broad-shouldered with a padlock beard, hair shaved on the sides of his head, and effortlessly self-assured. Also, attractive. Very attractive.

As she predicted, he was still there, leaning against a workbench, the sleeves of his denim jacket cut clean to reveal his tattooed arms. His sharp features and unreadable expression gave him an edge that was as intimidating as magnetic.

Don’t overthink it. Just ask for help, she told herself. Still, her fingers fidgeted nervously as she wheeled the bike toward the shop.

"Hey, Chris?" she called softly.

He looked up, and his piercing blue eyes locked onto hers. For a moment, he simply studied her, then he tossed the rag he’d been holding onto the bench. "What’s up?"

"My bike... The chain came off," she explained, gesturing toward it. "I was hoping you might be able to fix it, if it’s not too much trouble."

His lips curved slightly, a smirk that wasn’t unfriendly but held a flicker of something she couldn’t place. "Bring it here."

She rolled the bike closer, and he took it from her hands, brushing her fingers briefly. He turned it toward the stand, crouching low as he inspected the damage.

"You know," he said without looking up, "you could fix this yourself if you had the right tools."

"I guess I’m not very handy," she admitted softly.

He glanced up, smirking faintly. "Good thing you’ve got me, huh?" before she could answer, he returned his attention to the bike, all muscles flexing as he worked the chain back into place. She found herself mesmerized, gazing at the strength in his forearms and the grease-streaked curve of his jawline.

"Something on your mind?" his voice broke the silence, and her heart jumped.

"No! I mean-" She winced inwardly, caught staring. "Just...thank you. For helping." She glanced around the workshop, her eyes catching on the faint outline of a lipstick kiss smudged on an old coffee cup by a wooden table. Her stomach twisted. She wasn’t stupid, she’d seen the kind of women who came and went from here. Long legged, sun-kissed beauties, wearing barely there shorts, with loud laugh and bold hands.

Not exactly like her.

He stood, rolling his shoulders, the chain now secure in its place. He moved closer, his sharp blue eyes studying her in a way that made her self-conscious again. His smirk softened. "Next time it happens, come straight to me. Don’t try to fix it yourself."

She nodded. "So… how much do I owe you?" she asked after a beat, softer than she intended.

He wiped his hands on his jeans. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" she repeated, a little startled. "I don’t want to take advantage of you,” she stated. “You took the time-"

“Y/n,” he interrupted, his smirk fading into something more serious. “It’s just a bike chain. I’m not charging you for that.”

She bit her lip, unsure how to respond. The way he said her name made something flutter in her chest, and she cursed herself for letting it. She glanced down at her bike, hoping to steady her nerves. "Well, thank you. I really appreciate it."

As he handed her the bike back, his fingers lingered for a moment longer than necessary. "You’re welcome," he murmured, and she could swear his gaze flicked toward her lips.

She tightened her grip on the handlebars, offering him a small, grateful smile before wheeling her bike toward the door. As she turned the corner, she couldn’t help but glance back. He was leaning against the doorway, watching at her.

----------

The following day, she couldn’t focus. Not on the meticulous task of pruning succulents, nor the subtle rearranging of potted lavender displays. Her mind kept drifting back to the workshop next door. Specifically, to Chris.

She bit her lip, hands hovering over a basket of moss she’d been fluffing for far too long. It wasn’t just the gratitude she felt for him fixing her bike, it was the way his voice sounded when he said her name, the fleeting brush of his fingers as he handed her the handlebars, and damn, that stare.

By mid-morning, her resolve solidified. A thank-you was in order, a proper one. And if she were being honest, maybe she wanted an excuse to see him again. As the thought settled in her mind, she absently plucked at a stray leaf from one of her displays, and a memory came to her mind.

It was late summer, she’d been in a corner near the counter of the bakery, debating whether to get a cinnamon scone or stick to her usual croissant, when the doorbell chimed, and Chris strolled inside.

He was hard to miss, even in a crowd. Tall, broad-shouldered, denim jacket slung lazily over one arm. He’d made his way to the counter, nodding a greeting to the baker before ordering a box of assorted treats.

At the time, she’d assumed they weren’t for him. He didn’t seem the type to indulge in baked goods. Maybe the box was for his employees, or one of the women who frequented his workshop. But then, weeks later, she’d seen him again.

It was mid-afternoon, and she’d been sweeping the sidewalk in front of her shop when she noticed him sitting at the curb just down the street. He had the bakery box open on his lap, a brownie in hand, and his expression was uncharacteristically soft.

She had to do a double take, blinking in disbelief. Chris -the intimidating, sharp featured mechanic- was biting into the brownie like a kid savoring his favorite candy. A trace of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, his usual hard edges momentarily softened in the golden light.

She’d stared longer than she should have, her broom forgotten in her hand. The sight had been… endearing, unexpected, and strangely magnetic. It lingered in her mind long after he wiped his fingers on his jeans and walked back to the workshop.

Now, standing in her shop, the memory made her smile. It also gave her an idea. If he had a soft spot for baked goods, why not lean into it?

Decided to give it a try, she flipped the sign on her door to Closed in the afternoon and hurried home. Baking wasn’t exactly her forte, but she could manage something simple. Something thoughtful. She sifted through her cupboards, pulling out cocoa powder, sugar, and butter. Chocolate cupcakes seemed perfect: rich, sweet, and easy enough to make without risking disaster.

The process wasn’t without its hiccups. Flour dusted all over her counter -and somehow her shirt-, and she almost forgot to preheat the oven. But as the cupcakes rose, the warm aroma of chocolate filled her small kitchen, and a satisfied smile spread across her face.

By the time the ganache was swirled on top and the sea salt sprinkled for flair, it was late. She packed the best of the batch carefully into a small box, tying it with twine.

Tomorrow, she thought, wiping her hands on a dish towel. Tomorrow, she’d thank Chris properly. And if she was lucky, maybe she’d get to see him smile like that again.

----------

The next morning, she arrived at her shop earlier than usual, the cupcake box nestled securely in the basket of her bike. Her heart raced as she pedaled through the quiet streets, rehearsing what she might say when she saw him.

As she rounded the corner near the workshop, her eyes immediately landed on Chris. He was standing at the garage doors, fumbling with the heavy lock, a slight scowl on his face. The sight made her smile, seeing someone so self-assured look momentarily frustrated was oddly endearing.

She braked to a gentle stop in front of her flower shop, propping her bike against the wall. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed the box and walked toward him.

“Morning, Chris,” she called softly, trying to steady her voice.

He looked up, and is scowl disappeared, replaced by a flicker of surprise. “Morning,” he replied, his voice gruff from the early hour. “You’re up early.”

“So are you,” she countered, her lips curving into a small smile. She stepped closer, holding the box in front of her. “I, uh… I wanted to thank you for helping me with my bike the other day. Properly, this time.”

His gaze shifted to the box in her hands, one brow quirking slightly. “What’s this?”

She bit her lip, feeling uncharacteristically shy. “Just a little something. I… made you cupcakes.”

Chris blinked, as though trying to process her words. “You baked me cupcakes?” he repeated, his tone hovering between surprise and amusement.

“Yes.” She hesitated, glancing down at the box. “I know it’s not much, but… I really appreciated your help, and I thought… well, you seemed to like sweets, so…”

His lips twitched, the corner pulling into a faint smirk. “You noticed that, huh?”

Her cheeks warmed. “I might’ve seen you at the bakery once or twice.”

Chris chuckled, low and warmly. He reached out, his rough fingers brushing hers as he took the box. “This wasn’t necessary, you know.”

“I wanted to,” she said quickly, meeting his gaze. “It’s just a thank-you.”

For a moment, he studied her with a soft expression that made her stomach flutter. “Well, thank you,” he murmured. He peeped inside the box, then back at her. “I’ll have to try them later. If they’re as good as it looks, I might have to hire you as my personal baker.���

She laughed nervously. “Don’t get your hopes up. Baking isn’t exactly my forte.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he said, with a growing smirk.

She shifted on her feet, unsure of what else to say. “Well, I should get back to my shop. Have a good morning.”

“You too.” He murmured. As she turned to leave, she felt his gaze linger, and it took everything in her not to glance back.

----------

It was later than usual when she finally locked up the flower shop. The delivery truck earlier in the afternoon brought far more than she’d expected, and sorting through the dozens of plants had turned into an all-day affair. She was tired, her hands aching a little from hauling pots and unpacking boxes, but it was a good kind of tired, that came with satisfaction.

She grabbed her bike from where it was propped against the wall outside and prepared to head home, already looking forward to a quiet dinner and a hot bath. But when she tried to pedal, the resistance was immediate. The familiar, dreaded clink of the chain greeted her ears.

Her brows furrowed. Again?

Her first instinct was to crouch down and take a look, but she paused, remembering Chris’s words: “Next time it happens, come straight to me. Don’t try to fix it yourself.” It had been a direct instruction, accompanied by a pointed look, and though she didn’t like feeling helpless, she also didn’t want to make things worse.

With a reluctant sigh, she wheeled the bike over to the garage next door. The overhead door was still partially open, spilling soft light onto the pavement, though the space beyond looked quiet. She hesitated at the threshold before stepping inside, her voice tentative.

“Chris?”

There was no immediate response, but a moment later, a door creaked open.

Her breath caught at the sight before her eyes.

Chris stepped out of the small bathroom at the back of the garage, barefoot, wearing only a pair of well-worn jeans that clung low on his hips and a towel that hung loosely around his neck. His chest and abs were still damp, droplets of water catching the light as they slid down his skin, evidence of a quick rinse before heading home. He stopped mid-step when he saw her, his brows lifting in surprise for the briefest moment. Then, slowly, a wicked smile spread across his face, and he pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, the gesture both lazy and deliberate.

“Well, Poppy,” he drawled, his voice low and amused. “Couldn’t stay away, huh?”

Her cheeks heated instantly at the nickname, and she gripped the handlebars of her bike tighter, suddenly hyper-aware of how small the space felt with him standing there. “My chain,” she said quickly, gesturing to the offending bike. “It came off again.”

He tilted his head, still grinning as he sauntered toward her. “Did it now?” His tone was almost teasing, and she couldn’t help but feel like there was something unspoken in his words.

“Yeah,” she agreed, clearing her throat. “So… here I am. Like you said.”

Chris stopped just a foot away, his gaze dropping to the bike and then back to her face, his smirk never faltering. “You’re a good listener,” he remarked, crouching down to inspect the chain. “Most people think they know better and end up making a bigger mess.”

She crossed her arms, trying to ignore the way her pulse quickened as his shoulders flexed with the movement. “Well, you made it pretty clear not to touch it.”

“Smart girl,” he murmured, more to himself than to her.

As he worked, his fingers deftly maneuvering the chain back into place, she studied him, trying to distract herself from the warmth creeping up her neck. There was something about his expression, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

“You seem… amused by this,” she observed, narrowing her eyes slightly.

Chris glanced up at her, his grin softening into something more boyish, though no less mischievous. “Do I?”

“Yes,” she shot back, though her voice lacked the bite she intended.

He straightened, brushing his hands on his jeans as he inspected his work. “There. Good as new,” He leaned casually against the bike, and the smirk returned, slow and deliberate.

“Guess you’ll just have to keep coming back,” he added, replacing the boyish smile with the smirk again.

Something about the way he said it… no, she was imagining things. She shook the thought away, offering a polite smile instead. “Thanks,” she murmured. “Let’s hope I don’t have to. I’ve bothered you enough already.”

He didn’t reply immediately, just chuckled low. A rich, warm sound that made her stomach flutter despite herself. Reaching for the towel draped around his neck, he tossed it over his shoulder, his smirk never fading.

“Guess we’ll see,” he replied, his tone dripping with mirth.

She gave him a quick nod, gripping the handlebars of her bike as she turned toward the door. As she wheeled it out of the workshop, she could feel his gaze on her the entire time, heavy and lingering.

----------

It couldn’t be just a coincidence, and she didn’t believe in hexes. As she stepped outside the shop the next day and tried to ride her bike, only to find the chain dislodged again, she was sure Chris had something to do with it.

But why? Was he bored and was using her as a form of distraction? Did he catch on to her little crush and find joy in teasing her? The thoughts simmered in her chest, leaving a heat that burned more from frustration than embarrassment.

Biting her lip, she squared her shoulders and left the bike leaning against the wall. Her resolve hardened as she stormed toward the garage, striding straight through the open door. The bang of it slamming shut behind her echoed in the quiet space.

There he was, perched casually on the edge of a workbench, a giant biscuit in hand. His broad shoulders hunched slightly as he chewed, and he looked up at her with a genuine flicker of surprise in his icy blue eyes. Good. Let him be surprised.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she hissed, her tone sharp enough to cut through the air.

He didn’t answer immediately, his poker face slipping into place as he leisurely took another bite of his biscuit. She marched closer, the click of her boots on the concrete floor punctuating her frustration.

“You think it’s funny, huh?” she snapped, her voice rising. “Messing with my bike to entertain yourself like some immature teenager?”

This... was not how he pictured this would go.

Chris blinked at her, caught off guard by the fiery edge in her tone and the determination blazing in her eyes. He hadn’t accounted for this, hadn’t considered that the sweet, flustered woman next door might come stomping into his workshop like a storm ready to unleash hell.

And damn if it wasn’t kind of hot.

The corner of his mouth twitched, but he suppressed the smirk threatening to form, masking his features into neutrality. Okay, Poppy’s got thorns, he thought, his nickname for her taking on a new meaning. His smooth plan -one that felt straight out of a cheesy romcom, the kind his friends always mocked him for enjoying - was spiraling quickly out of control.

“Are you just going to sit there and stare or are you going to explain yourself?” she pressed, crossing her arms. Her cheeks were flushed, and her frustration was palpable.

He swallowed the last of the biscuit, brushing the crumbs from his hands. “Explain what, exactly?” he drawled, calm but with a hint of amusement.

“My bike,” she snapped, pointing toward the door. “The chain’s off again, and I know you have something to do with it.”

Chris finally let the smirk slip, pressing his tongue to the inside of his cheek as he stood, the movement slow and deliberate. “Maybe you should take better care of it,” he advised, in a low and teasing tone

Her eyes narrowed, and he could almost see the steam rising off her.

“Don’t play dumb,” she shot back. “You told me not to touch it, to bring it to you, and now, magically, it keeps breaking?”

He stepped closer, his hands sliding casually into his pockets. “And yet, here you are,” he murmured, deepening his infuriating smirk.

Her glare faltered for the briefest moment as she registered his words. Indeed, he was doing it on purpose.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she breathed, her voice dripping with disbelief.

“Guess you figured me out,” he admitted, his voice dipping lower as he stepped closer, vanishing the space between them. Their bodies almost touched, and his heat radiated against her skin. “What are you gonna do about it, Poppy?”

That sultry tone, paired with the teasing lilt in his words, sent a wave of electricity coursing through her body, nearly making her knees give out. But she forced herself to stand firm, her chin tilting upward to meet his gaze.

Before she could stop herself -before her rational side could intervene- her hand shot out, slapping him across the face.

The sharp sound echoed in the quiet garage.

Chris’s head snapped slightly to the side, the sting blooming on his cheek. His free hand instinctively flexed at his side as he turned back to her with a stunned expression, as though he truly hadn’t seen that coming.

“Okay,” he muttered, almost to himself.

She didn’t give him time to recover. “I didn’t think you were such an asshole, Chris,” she spat, her voice trembling with anger, her chest heaving. “You have all those women fawning over you nonstop, and this-” she gestured between them, her voice breaking with frustration” was completely unnecessary. I hope your little game entertained you enough. Your stupid neigh-”

He cut her off the only way he could think of.

By kissing her.

The motion was swift. His hand slid around her waist, keeping her in place as his lips crashed against hers. It wasn’t a soft, tentative kiss. It was firm, heated, and unapologetically bold, the kind that stole the breath right out of her lungs.

For a split second, her mind went blank, her anger eclipsed by the unexpected intensity of his actions. She froze, unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer.

His lips softened slightly, coaxing rather than demanding, as if asking her to meet him halfway.

And damn it, she did.

Her hands found their way to his chest, whether to shove him or steady herself, she couldn’t tell.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against hers, and his breath was hot against her lips. “Now,” he murmured “are you gonna call me an asshole again, or should I keep going?”

Her eyes snapped open and her cheeks flamed as she registered his mischievous and utterly unrepentant smirk. Her chest rose and fell, words stuck in her throat as he leaned closer, his lips curling into a knowing grin. "That's what I thought," he murmured, his voice low and taunting, before capturing her lips again.

This time, the kiss was deeper, hungrier. His hand slid from her waist to her hip, pulling her flush against him, while the other cradled the back of her neck. Her protest melted into a soft moan as his tongue parted her lips, exploring her with confidence.

Her hands found their way to his shoulders, clutching at the firm muscles beneath his shirt as he walked her backward, guiding her toward the little office at the side of the workshop without breaking the kiss. When her thighs hit the edge of the desk, he took the opportunity to press his body even closer.

His name on her lips only seemed to spur him on, his kisses growing fiercer and insistent. The room was filled with the sounds of their ragged breaths and the scrape of papers and stationery being pushed aside as he lifted her onto the desk, stepping between her knees with a possessive grip on her thighs.

He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze. "You can still walk out of here," he rasped, though the way his thumb traced lazy circles on her inner thigh suggested he knew the answer already.

Her lips parted, but instead of answering, she grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked him back to her. That was all the permission he needed.

Chris’s hands gripped her thighs firmly, pulling her hips closer to the edge of the desk as he kissed her like he was starved. His teeth grazed her bottom lip, drawing a gasp from her mouth, which he swallowed with a low, satisfied growl. One hand slipped under the waistband of her cotton shorts, rough fingers skimming over the soft fabric of her underwear, teasing but not quite daring enough to push further… yet.

“Fuck,” he murmured against her lips, his breath hot and ragged. “You’re driving me crazy, you know that?”

Her nails dug into his shoulders, as he trailed his mouth down her jaw to the sensitive spot just below her ear. She shivered, her head tilting instinctively to give him better access.

“You think this is fair?” she managed to gasp, with a trembling voice as his fingers edged lower, brushing over her clothed pussy. “Messing with me like that?”

He smirked against her skin, his lips trailing down to the hollow of her throat. “Fair’s overrated,” he muttered, nipping at her collarbone. “Besides, you didn’t seem to mind earlier.”

Her retort died in her throat as his hand slipped beneath the elastic of her panties, and, without preamble, he slid two fingers inside her, groaning low in his throat at the feel of her warm pussy clenching around them. “You’re so goddamn wet,” he rasped, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Was all that attitude just for show, Poppy? You have been wanting this as bad as I have?”

She couldn’t answer, not with the way his fingers curled, hitting a spot that made her gasp and clutch at his shoulders. Her nails dug into his skin through his shirt, and she felt his smirk against her neck before he nipped at her pulse.

“Exactly what I thought,” he stated, his voice laced with smug satisfaction as his thumb found her clit, circling it in a way that had her thighs trembling. “You’ve been waiting for me to take you apart, haven’t you?”

Her only response was a desperate moan, as her hips ground against his hand, chasing the pleasure he was so expertly coaxing out of her. He didn’t relent, adding more pressure to his movements, his breath hot against her skin as he kissed and bit along her collarbone.

“Say it,” he demanded, as his fingers plunged deeper. “Tell me how bad you want it, Poppy.”

“I… please” she whined trying to press herself harder against his hand.

Chris chuckled darkly against the sensitive skin of her neck. “Please, what?” he teased, his fingers slowing just enough to make her whimper in frustration. “Use your words, sweetheart. I want to hear you say it.”

Her pride warred with her need, but the desperate ache building inside her won out. Her nails dug into his shoulders as she tilted her head back, exposing her throat in a silent plea. “I need to cum,” she whispered, with a trembling voice. “Please, Chris.”

“That’s my girl,” he growled, his lips crashing back onto hers as he pumped his fingers harder, the slick sounds of her arousal filling the small office. His thumb pressed firmly against her clit, drawing a broken cry from her as her hips bucked wildly against his hand.

Her legs felt weak, her body trembling under the relentless assault of his touch. He pulled back just enough to watch her face, his eyes dark with hunger. “You gonna come for me, Poppy?” he asked, his voice low and rough. “Right here, with my fingers buried in this pretty little pussy?”

That was all it took. Her body tensed, her walls clenching around his fingers as the wave of pleasure crashed over her. She cried out, her nails dragging down his back as her orgasm left her trembling in his arms.

Chris didn’t stop until her shudders subsided, pulling his fingers out slowly and bringing them to his mouth. His eyes never left hers as he licked them clean, with a satisfied smirk on his face. “Sweetest fucking thing I’ve ever tasted,” he murmured.

Before she could recover, he was reaching for the hem of her shirt, his intentions clear as his eyes roamed her flushed, trembling body. “We’re not done yet, Poppy,” he said, his grin wicked. “Not even close.”

Her body was still trembling from the aftershocks, but her mind was beginning to clear, and with clarity came a surge of boldness. As Chris pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it somewhere across the room, she caught his wrist, halting his next move.

“Do you always pull stunts like this?” she asked, breathless but with a hint of sharpness in her tone.

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk still firmly in place. “What, you mean fixing your bike?”

Her eyes narrowed, and she gave his chest a push, not hard enough to create distance, but enough to make her point. “Sabotaging it, you mean,” she shot back, her lips curving into a small smile despite herself.

Chris didn’t deny it. Instead, he leaned in, his mouth brushing against hers as he murmured, “Worked, didn’t it?”

Her retort was interrupted by his hand sliding up her thigh, fingers tracing a slow, teasing path over her bare skin. She bit her lip, trying to hold onto her composure. “You could’ve just asked me out, you know,” she managed, her voice wavering as his hand crept higher.

His grin widened. “Where’s the fun in that?”

She rolled her eyes, but her breath hitched as his hand slipped beneath the waistband of her shorts, cupping her possessively. “You’re insufferable,” she muttered, though her hands betrayed her words as they gripped his forearms, nails digging in as he teased her.

“And you’re gorgeous when you’re pissed off,” he countered, his voice dropping an octave.

Her laugh was soft but shaky, cut short when he slid her shorts and panties down in one swift motion, leaving her bare before him. He stepped back slightly to take her in, his gaze burning as it swept over her flushed skin. “Fucking perfect,” he muttered, almost to himself.

She felt heat flood her face, but instead of retreating into shyness, she stepped forward, placing her hands on his belt and tugging him closer. Her fingers worked at the buckle with purpose, though she glanced up at him with a smirk of her own. “You’re not the only one who gets to have fun, you know,”

Chris groaned, his hands gripping her hips as he watched her undo his belt, anticipation clear in his darkened eyes. “Careful, Poppy,” he warned, though there was no real threat in his tone, just raw, unfiltered need.

“Or what?” she challenged, her fingers sliding beneath the waistband of his jeans to push them down.

He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he grabbed her wrists and guided her back toward the desk, his lips crashing against hers in a kiss that left no room for argument. He lifted her effortlessly, settling her on the edge as his mouth moved down her neck, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses.

Her head fell back with a gasp, her hands rummaged against his shaved head as his beard scraped against her skin. “Chris,” she breathed, the sound of his name a plea that made him growl against her collarbone.

“Tell me what you want,” he demanded, his voice rough as his hands roamed her body, mapping every curve.

Her nails raked down his back, as her hips shifted to meet his. “I want you to fuck me."

Her words snapped whatever fragile thread of restraint he’d been clinging to. He surged forward, capturing her lips in a searing kiss. It was all teeth and tongue, rough and consuming, as his hands gripped her hips like he was staking a claim.

“Say it again,” he rasped against her lips, his voice low and gravelly.

She trembled, her nails kept digging into his back as her legs wrapped around his waist. “I want you to fuck me,” she repeated, her voice tinted with a mix of desperation and challenge.

“Good girl,” he growled, reaching between them to line himself up. With one hard thrust, he buried himself inside her, drawing a sharp cry from her lips as her body arched against his.

The desk creaked beneath them, the sound mingling with their ragged breaths and the low, guttural groan Chris let out as he began to move. His rhythm was relentless, each thrust pushing her closer to the edge as he held her firmly in place, one hand gripping her behind her knee and the other gripping the nape of her neck.

“Fuck, Poppy,” he muttered, his lips brushing against her ear as he spoke. “You feel so damn good.”

Her hands clawed at his back, her head falling backward as his pace quickened. “Chris,” she gasped, her voice breaking on his name as her body tightened around him. The way he filled her, the intensity of his movements, it was overwhelming, intoxicating, everything she hadn’t known she needed.

He tilted back her head by the hair, his lips finding hers again in a kiss that was more raw than refined, his teeth catching her lower lip before he pulled back to look at her. “You’re mine,” he said, his voice a guttural growl that didn’t leave place for argument.

“Yes,” she whimpered, her nails scraping against his scalp as her thighs clenched around his waist.

The admission seemed to snap something in him. He shifted his angle, his thrusts hitting deeper, harder, each one drawing a broken moan from her lips. Her hands flew to the edge of the desk, gripping it for stability as her body shook with the force of his movements.

Her climax hit her hard, her vision went white as her body clenched around him. She cried out his name, raw and breathless as the pleasure overtook her. Chris followed moments later, as his hips jerked against hers one final time as he came with a soft groan, his release flooding her as he sank deep, unable to hold back any longer.

They stayed like that for a moment, bodies connected, and breaths mingling as they came down from the high. Chris pressed his forehead to hers, his lips curving into a lazy, satisfied smirk.

“Still think I’m an asshole?” he teased, his voice rough but filled with amusement.

She let out a breathless laugh, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. “Oh, you’re definitely an asshole,” she replied, despite the sated look in her eyes.

He chuckled softly, but then silence settled between them. His gaze shifted to the floor, his hand running through his hair as if to busy himself. She tilted her head, sensing his sudden unease.

After a beat, he let out a sigh, furrowing his brows. “I didn’t think you would say yes,” he confessed, almost hesitant.

She blinked at him, her fingers pausing their lazy strokes on his chest. “Say yes to what?”

He bit his lip, clearly debating whether to answer. Finally, he sighed again, his eyes lifting to meet hers, though they held a vulnerable edge now. “When you told me I could just have asked you out,” he admitted, his words a little rushed, like getting them out quickly would make them easier to say.

Her gaze softened at the sight of his cheeks turning pink, the blush spreading up to his ears. He looked so different like this, shy and unsure. It was a stark contrast to the cocky, self-assured man she’d come to know. It reminded her of the way he looked when she’d caught him eating her baked goods on the sidewalk, his face lighting up like a kid at Christmas.

“Chris,” she said softly, pulling his gaze back to hers. “Why wouldn’t I?”

His hand rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I don’t know. You’re… you. And I’m me. I guess I just figured… hell, I don’t know.” He laughed awkwardly, shaking his head as if to dismiss the thought. “That’s why I thought maybe…”

“Maybe what?” she pressed gently.

He flushed deeper, his hand falling to his side as he let out a resigned breath. “If I kept fixing your bike, it’d give me a reason to see you. Even if you weren’t interested. And maybe… eventually…”

Her lips parted in surprise, and for a moment, she just stared at him. Then, a slow, amused smile crept across her face. “So, you’ve been sabotaging my bike this whole time just to spend time with me?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper as he ducked his head. “Pretty stupid, huh?”

Her laugh was warm and bright, and when he glanced up at her, she was grinning. “Chris,” she said, reaching up to brush her fingers along his jaw, “you really are an asshole. But you’re a cute one.”

That earned her a boyish grin, the confidence starting to creep back into his expression. “Cute, huh?” he teased, leaning in until their noses nearly touched.

She rolled her eyes playfully but didn’t pull away. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

His grin softened, but before he could respond, she added, “Also… I never thought you’d be interested in me. I’m not your usual… cup of tea.”

The playful spark in his eyes faded into something warmer, more serious. He leaned back just enough to study her face, his brows furrowing. “What makes you think that?”

She shrugged, her fingers fidgeting against his chest. “I’ve seen the women who hang around you, Chris. They’re all so… well, let’s say I don’t exactly fit that mold. I guess I just figured someone like you wouldn’t look twice at someone like me.”

Chris’s jaw clenched, his hands slid to rest firmly on her waist. “First off, that’s bullshit. You’re gorgeous, smart, and you’ve got this thing about you…” He paused, his lips quirking into a small, lopsided smile. “You’re real, Poppy. And if you haven’t noticed, I’ve been looking a hell of a lot more than twice.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she bit her lip, unable to suppress a small, bashful smile. “You’re just saying that because I slept with you,” she teased lightly, though her voice wavered just a little.

His expression turned serious again, his thumb brushing over her cheek. “I’m saying it because it’s true. I’ve wanted you since the first time you walked out of your shop six months ago, all wide-eyed and nervous to exhibit some plants in the sidewalk. You had a yellow apron full of poppies.”

She blinked in surprise. “You… remember that?”

His expression softened, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips. “Of course, I remember. How could I not?” His thumb continued its gentle caress over her cheek. “You were fussing over every little detail, making sure each pot was lined up just right. I was watching you from the garage and thinking how someone could be so damn... adorable.”

She blinked again, stunned. “Adorable?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice dipping lower. “You had smudges of dirt on your face, a little furrow in your brow like the whole world would fall apart if one of those plants was crooked. And that apron…” He grinned, his eyes glinting with affection. “It had those poppies on it, and I thought, Poppy. It just… fit you.”

Her cheeks burned, the memory suddenly vivid in her own mind. She’d been so self-conscious that day, trying to make a good impression in the neighborhood. “I had no idea you noticed me,” she murmured.

“Are you kidding?” he asked, a soft laugh escaping him. “I couldn’t not notice you. I kept trying to come up with excuses to walk by, hoping you’d look up and say hi. But you didn’t even glance my way.”

She bit her lip, feeling a pang of guilt. “I was so focused on not messing up… I didn’t even think to look around.”

“Well,” he said, his grin returning as he leaned in closer, “I guess I just had to get creative after that.”

Her lips quirked in a wry smile. “Creative like messing with my bike?”

He winced, his blush deepening. “Yeah, maybe not my best plan. But it worked, didn’t it?”

She rolled her eyes, but there was no mistaking the warmth in her smile. “You’re lucky it did.”

Chris chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Okay, but watching you storm in here like a little spitfire? Worth every second.”

She swatted at his chest, though her laugh undermined the gesture. “You’re the worst.”

“Yeah, but I’m your worst now,” he replied pulling her closer by the waist.

She arched a brow, giving him a deadpan look. “You just called yourself my worst. That’s not exactly a glowing endorsement, you know that, don’t you?”

“Fine, let me try again.” He caressed her cheek and pressed his forehead against hers “What about… I’m your guy now?”

She felt a flutter in her stomach at his words. Biting her lip, she hesitated for just a second before leaning in, brushing her lips softly against his.

“Much better,” she smiled, her gaze locked on his.

Chris’s grin widened, his cockiness tempered by something gentler. His hand slid up to cradle the back of her head, pulling her closer for another kiss.

Outside, the faint chirp of crickets signaled the end of the day, but inside the garage, time felt suspended, wrapped in the warmth of shared smiles and the lingering taste of the kiss.

“Guess I should fix your bike now,” Chris finally murmured, his voice low and teasing, though his thumb still brushed lightly against her cheek as if he couldn’t bear to stop touching her.

She laughed softly, the sound carrying over the music. “Maybe I’ll let you if you promise not to sabotage it again.”

His smirk was immediate, wickedness returning in full force. “Can’t do, Poppy. You looked way too damn hot storming in here.”

She swatted his chest, as the song faded into another, its upbeat tempo matching the rhythm of her fluttering heart.

Dividers by @/strangergraphics

[demonic0angel]

some different beast for the Pup au.

A gunshot fired in Hood's office, closely followed by a scream.

Jason loomed over a wolf silhouette.

‘Wolf’ clutched at the hole in her leg, not understanding why she got shot.

“My real Wolf wouldn't poison my water,” Jason said. He knocked over the glass on his desk. The contents spilled over into the nearby wastebasket before the glass rolled and joined them. “My real Wolf knows I don't have a daughter. And while you were so focus on poisoning my snack. You didn't notice that she got back.”

“What!?”

(I lowkey couldn’t make the lyrics match, but I’ll try my best)

The real Wolf stepped out of the shadows, Pup by her side. Both of them stared at ‘Wolf’ with unreadable expressions, but something about how the shadows writhed told Red Hood that they were pissed.

His own mood was also low, his body jittery with fury at the fact that some person dared to impersonate his favorite person and then pretend (badly!) to be her.

He couldn’t even kill this stupid person because Pup was there and neither he nor Wolf wanted to kill in front of her.

Wolf turned to Red Hood and gave her report. “We’ve been away from here for… about 6 hours or so. First, we slayed the new gang, and now we’re here with more foes.” She stared at the false Wolf, who was whimpering and clutching her leg. Hood shot her in the other leg for good measure, making her scream and cry out again. “While on the run from Batman, we found a building with no crew. I realized nearby, there were perhaps spies, hoping to lure Hood to his doom. We filled him in with more info, that’s how he knew to resist your calls.”

Hood continued blandly, “You pretended to be my Wolf, so I just played along. I read your notes and papers, scanning for information. Your gang didn’t hide your secrets and lying, now I know how to get you back into hiding.”

He laughed and then shrugged. “Or prison or whatever.”

Pup snarled. “You are a threat no longer, we won’t take more lying from you.”

The false Wolf sobbed. “Spare me! Oh, spare me, please!”

Hood laughed mockingly. He walked over to pat Pup’s helmet, who growled lightly at him, batting away his hands. He then reached for Wolf, sighing in relief as he held her hand and assessed the damage to her. She looked relatively unharmed, but she also had a habit of hiding injuries in front of other people, so he could probably find out once he solved this doppelgänger problem and let Pup go.

“Why? So you can kill the next crime lord in this part of Gotham city? Nah, you wouldn’t have spared me,” Hood snarled, eying ‘Wolf’ on the floor.

He squeezed the real Wolf’s hand and then called for one of his most trusted men, who came in immediately with reinforcements, especially since they had all been waiting for either his or Wolf’s signal.

Hood whispered to one of his top men, “Cut off their tails, we’re ending this now. Throw their bodies in the water, let them drown.” He wanted to make sure all of the traitors he had discovered gave no more traces and would now longer have any route to escape.

His men gave a nod and ruthlessly captured the false Wolf, who screamed and sobbed. “No!!” She sobbed. “Hood, please believe me! I’m the real Wolf! I’m the real one! I swear! Our daughter— she will tell you!”

Red Hood rolled his eyes. His own family didn’t realize that Pup was neither Wolf’s or his child, since she was 18 and not 6 like she often joked about.

How on earth did this fake not realize that there was no way he would’ve believed her the moment she started pretending that Pup was actually their daughter?

Pup huffed when the screaming woman was finally hauled out. “Finally. I can’t believe you let a fake Wolf crawl all over you like that, Hood!”

Hood gaped at her. “I didn’t! I made sure to throw her hands off,” he looked at Wolf nervously, who laughed slightly.

She leaned forward to tap their helmets together with a sweet, little clinking noise and he could see Pup roll her whole head like they all did when they wanted everyone to know they were rolling their eyes.

These sort of shared habits made his family’s beliefs that he had an illegitimate child even more damning and comically obsessive.

“I believe you, Hood. I know you’ve been waiting.”

He huffed. “It’s fine. I’m glad you’re back. Welcome home, you two.”

They both tilted their heads the same way, but he could see the way they relaxed and seemed brighter, even through their helmets.

Yep. His two favorite girls were back and nothing could ruin his mood now.

[ghcstao3]

“Hair’s gettin’ a bit long, yeah, Simon?”

Simon waves Tommy off as he feels him pinch at a tuft of hair, unwilling to entertain the teasing remark when he knows it’d only lead to a brotherly jab—as it often does nowadays. He gives a gentle shove when Tommy only insists, currently more concerned with the sudoku game on his phone, but really Simon should know better by now, especially now, that Tommy will eventually, inevitably get his point across.

“Think they’ll let you back on base with that rat’s nest on your head?”

“Bugger off,” Simon grumbles. Tommy only doubles his efforts by draping all his weight over his brother. Simon rolls his eyes. “Think Beth’ll let you back in the house if I tell her about that time you—“

“Hey,” Tommy hisses, pushing away before gently smacking Simon upside the head, “shut your cake hole, it was one time.”

“How you’ve only managed to do it only once is beyond me,” says Simon flatly. He gets another row filled of his puzzle. “A miracle, really. Knowing you.”

“Dickhead,” Tommy retorts.

“Twat.”

Tommy snorts. “Really should cut it, though. Looks a mess. ‘M sure Beth could help.”

Simon shakes his head. “I’ll just buzz it. Save her the hassle,” he grunts.

Though he can’t see it, he can sense the way Tommy throws his arms up in surrender. It’s obvious his insults have been made, if not by the sudden willful silence, but his footsteps as he wanders out of the kitchen. He’d been right, unfortunately, about Simon’s hair, but they’re well past the days of allowing each other the small victories.

Which is a good thing, Simon supposes. Knows.

He’s thankful Tommy’s left the space so he couldn’t see the stupid smile that appears on Simon’s face, before he runs a hand through his overgrown hair and lets it fall just in case Tommy were to come wandering back with something new to pick on.

//

“Your hair’s gettin’ a bit long, Simon.”

Simon resists the urge to roll his eyes when he feels Johnny’s fingers card through his admittedly too-long hair, suppressing the sigh that rises from his lungs when the sergeant continues to linger.

“I’m aware,” Simon says instead. “Is that all you needed to say, MacTavish?”

He feels Johnny’s shrug. “Looks nice. Might need a brush after being under the mask, but.”

Simon tilts his head back, inadvertently leaning into Johnny’s touch. Perhaps the vulnerability of his bare face had him on edge, guarded for insult like he used to be with Tommy, but the soft look on Johnny’s face has the sigh finally escaping him, the tension in his shoulders gradually releasing.

“Yeah?”

Johnny nods. “Mhm. But if you want it cut, I’ll help you buzz it. Know bothers you.”

Simon hums. “Maybe. Might wait a bit longer.”

“That right?”

“Sure, Johnny.”

Johnny laughs softly, gently scratching at Simon’s scalp before he retracts his hand. His touch lasts well after he’s left, a warmth that spreads through Simon’s body like every other time they’ve made contact—even if he’d never tell Johnny that.

He may just take him up on his offer of help, however.

This time, he doesn’t bother trying to mask his smile.

[zevrra]

could u write a jayce x female or gn reader fic or blurb where the reader has major baby fever or just wants a child in general? I feel like Jayce would make such a good girl dad. idk..this request is pretty stupid but i’ve just been craving Jayce as a dad.

I LUV UR WRITING BTW!! PLS NEVER STOP POSTING! 🤍

a/n: AAAAH this was such a cute idea i couldn’t resist KSHDKH. jayce 100% is a girl dad, you can’t change my mind and i also like to think he’d want a HUGE family too. 😭 thank you so much for the request and im sorry it’s a lil shorter but i hope it makes you giggle and kick your feet at the thought of dad!jayce bc i did KSHSKH i love jayce so much omg

jayce is definitely someone who wants to have a giant family one day. wants to have as many kids, in anyway possible, as his partner will let him. he’d be so sweet talking about how one day he hopes he can show off his kids and give them everything they could ever dream about. his heart is so big and it’s just so cute.

the two of you had been together for a very long time and seeing every child recently made you yearn for your own. so when you mention over dinner one day, wanting to start a family; he’s ecstatic. he’s so happy, staring at you with wide eyes as his face lights up with that stupidly charming smile of his.

“are you serious?” he asks; as if this might be a dream and that you’re lying to him.

“no jayce, i said it just to tease you.” you respond sarcastically. laughing with a shake of your head. you manage a shy glance in his direction as your fingers play with the utensils on the table. “i’ve just been thinking about it recently. seeing all the cute babies around the city during the holidays is just making me…want to start a family.” you add with a smile towards your lover.

who still sits and stares at you with wide eyes. his mouth slightly agape, fangs flashing as his lips curl up in a warm smile. he reaches across the table to grab your hand, his pretty hazel eyes full of love as he brings your hand up to his lips; placing a gentle kiss against your knuckles.

“it’s your call, my love but i would be honored to start a family with you.” jayce hums sweetly. he plants another kiss against your knuckles before his thumb rubs across the top of your hand, soothingly touching you as he practically looks like he’s on the verge of tears. as if he’s waited for this moment for forever.

always so dramatic and you loved him for it.

“i think you’d make a great dad.” you state in a matter of fact tone, giving his hand a gentle squeeze back.

and truly, jayce would in fact make the best dad. you didn’t have to say it out loud to know it was true either; since he was already the perfect partner. you could easily imagine him with a little girl, protecting her from any harm, playing dress up, pretending to drink tea when he’s offered a plastic cup. he’s so sweet and deserves everything good in the world and you wanted nothing more than to start that next chapter in his and your own life.