#though the most I’m familiar with the word when it comes to starting a car [insert all the times ive heard family say they have to

[elegantauthor]

Saving Grace Chapter 19

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Aurora Stark

Summary: Aurora relives the moments she lost Tony and Bucky, and how she lost her powers.

Warnings: allusions to Endgame & Infinity War, grief, husband-wife banter

Series Masterlist

Hours before dawn, Aurora awoke with a start. Snow was still falling, though not as heavy as before. Moonlight reflected on the ice particles, creating fractals of iridescent light on the window panes. If she was anywhere but confined in Zemo’s manor, it would have been a beautiful sight, indeed.

Realizing the room was dark, save for that light, she frowned. Zemo must’ve turned it off, and… put a fleece blanket over her. Throwing it off was a mistake. No sooner than she had, she began to shiver. Perhaps he was right; she was spoilt, but who didn’t have central heating? Then again, the manor was probably centuries old.

And that’s what fireplaces were for—her eyes alighted on it with a huff. She was not about to wake him to help her. Picking up the blanket, she burrowed into the warmth it provided.

The only good thing to come of her captivity was the time she had to think. No longer distracted by her phone, television, or anything else, all she was left with was her grief. Like being reacquainted with an old stranger, it overwhelmed her.

~ * ~

Six months ago

Aurora waited on pins and needles. As the Avengers endeavored to undo Thanos’ Snap at the Compound, she was told by her father to stay put at the cabin. It was an order she would’ve easily disobeyed, if it wasn’t for the severity in Tony’s voice when he left, with Steve’s shield in the trunk of his car.

Then, the most miraculous thing happened. Birdsong filled the air. The forest was alive again with birds, insects, and other fauna. She stepped outside, tears welling up in her eyes, as she cupped her hands over her mouth.

They’d done it. They undid the Snap.

Hours later, the familiar footfalls on the front porch roused her attention. She leapt up from the couch, flinging the door wide open. She couldn’t believe it. He looked no different than on the day he joined the Wakandans to fight Thanos’ army—long, disheveled hair and blue eyes that had seen too much for one lifetime, sporting a black bomber jacket.

“Bucky!”

He caught her in his arms, shuddering a husky-soft breath in her ear, as he held her against him. “Doll…” His voice cracked with emotion as sobs wracked her body. Every sniffle sent a pang through his chest. “I’m here, you’re okay, I’m here,” he murmured soothingly.

“Bucky,” she repeated, a whisper on her lips, as if she was going to wake up any second, and it all be a cruel dream.

He nuzzled his face in her hair, inhaling her scent. After the final battle with Thanos, it grounded him. She was back in his arms, everything would be okay.

At the sound of more people approaching, Aurora lifted her head. She looked directly at Steve, whose grave expression told her everything she needed to know, and yet she asked anyway. “W-Where’s Dad?”

~ * ~

Five years ago

“T-There are a-liens out there!” Body flush against Bucky’s, Aurora clung to his biceps. He was a head taller and larger in frame, especially now, with his new vibranium arm.

He cupped her chin with his vibranium hand, using his flesh hand to wipe her tears. “That’s why you gotta stay here. If anything happened to you—” He choked up before he could finish. The distress he felt was palpable. Aurora reeled in it from the moment T’Chaka brought him the new appendage.

Sleek black with gold inlay, it was Shuri’s finest piece of technological ingenuity, apart from removing the code words from his mind. She’d watched him earlier toss a tree like it was a piece of paper, but he held her chin as if she was made of porcelain.

“Always my doll.” His husky-soft breath fanned her face, words meant to reassure, to keep her going in the event the worst should happen.

“I love you, Bucky.”

“I love you, too. Now, you gotta be strong for me, okay? No matter what happens. Can you promise me?”

“I promise.”

“Good.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, squeezing her once more.

Helplessly, Aurora watched from the tallest tower. A slew of alien lifeforms tore across the field with speed that she could barely quantify. Calming her own emotions did little to assuage her.

Bifrost struck down from the sky in a ray of spectral light and starfire, as Thor appeared, adding a twinge of envy to her growing agitation. He was a god, with powers of lightning and thunder. What good was she, a demigoddess, doing up here?

To obey a direct order from her husband? Folly, but it was an err in judgement she was willing to make.

She sprinted to the elevator; it couldn’t touch ground floor fast enough. She ran in the direction she last spotted Bucky going. Through the trees, which she’d mapped out by memory, she followed the sound of automatic gunfire.

The gold flecks in her eyes gleamed, slicing straight to the heart of any enemy who crossed her path. Felled at her feet, like Moses parting the sea. Now that she could sense Bucky, she felt less erratic. His emotional signature reached her from yards away, guiding her like a GPS.

Reacting to the sight of his prone form flailing on the ground, canting his head to avoid being attacked, her voice echoed like a warble. One alluring command. “Stop.”

And the creature did, giving Bucky the opportunity to stab it with his knife. He scrambled to his feet, eyes meeting hers in a fury of recognition. “I told you to stay put!” he shouted.

“I couldn’t, not while everyone else is risking their lives.”

Holding his rifle aloft in one hand, he pointed his vibranium finger in her face. “We’re going to talk about this when we get home.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” Grunting, Bucky shook his head, though the slight curl of his lips did not go amiss. “Do you at least know how to take orders on the battlefield?”

“Yes, Sergeant,” she sassed.

“Doll,” he growled.

Aurora smirked, grumbles of “I swear, when we get home” reaching her ears. They fought alongside each other in harmony, issuing one-word commands, as long as she could tether to their heartstrings, while he gunned them down.

Suddenly, all went quiet. Where there was chaos, now there was silence and an unsettling stillness in the air. Aurora dropped to her knees, as Bucky rushed over. “Aurora?”

“I don’t feel them,” she gasped, clutching the middle of her chest.

Bucky straightened, catching sight of Steve, and walked toward him. “Steve?”

A handful of moments collided and folded in on themselves, before Aurora understood what just happened. Seeing Bucky turn to dust and scatter in the wind didn’t register as real until she could no longer sense him. Fingers digging into the loose soil, she tried to claw into anything, to feel something, other than the numbness slowly coiling around her heart. She curled in on herself, as Steve rushed over and held her. He rocked her gently, more for his benefit than hers.

[undyinglantern]

when you’re so shit at Spanish that it literally doesn’t even occur to you how to pronounce this word until looking at the wiki 👍🏼

[wheres-mylove]

ice-cold revelations - modern!cregan stark x fem!velaryon!reader

Summary: You are in a risky secret relationship with your brother's best friend. What happens when Cregan's unexpected injury exposes your feelings? Well, isn't there somebody you forgot to ask?

Disclaimer: English isn't my first language!

Word count: 2.8k

The wind tore through the streets with a biting ferocity, tugging at (Y/N)’s skirt and making her instantly regret both her outfit choice and this entire trip to the bus stop.

“Stupid winter has to be coming,” she muttered, yanking a colorful scarf up to cover her nose. Her phone chimed in her pocket, vibrating with the familiar sound of a new message. She fumbled with one hand to pull it out, her fingers stiff from the cold.

🐺: jace wouldn’t stop bugging me about that earring under my bed

🐺: i convinced him sara must’ve left it when she crashed at our place lmao

(Y/N) raised her eyebrows, her breath fogging the air as she sighed. The last thing she needed was her brother playing the part of a suspicious rom-com wife, finding random jewelry in odd places and jumping to conclusions. At least he hadn’t figured out where he’d seen that earring before.

Jacaerys Velaryon, as much as she adored him, had a habit of being a little too protective. He was always there when she needed him. But he was also the kind of brother who, despite being only a few minutes older, seemed to think that fact gave him full control over her dating life. Any guy who so much as glanced her way was either a potential threat or one of his friends. And friends were off-limits. Too much drama, he’d say. Too awkward if things went south. Even more awkward if things somehow worked out. Conflict of interest. Absolutely not.

Which was precisely why, in the grand scheme of things, the most logical solution was for her to start dating his best friend and his hockey team captain, Cregan Stark.

Cregan was wonderful. The kind of guy who would do anything for her, no questions asked. That's what had brought them to where they were now. Hiding their relationship from her dramatic brother and quite literally gaslighting him.

Did she feel guilty? Absolutely. Did she know it would be a hundred times worse if Jace found out? Also yes.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a bus speeding past the stop, tires screeching as it flew by. Her bus. Of course.

With impressive force, she pressed the green phone icon.

“Hey, sweetheart. What’s up?” Cregan answered in three seconds. Her irritation melted a little at the sound of his deep voice. Down bad.

“Hey, did you guys finish practice?”

“Yeah, just now, I couldn’t cut the boys any slack before tomorrow.”

“Any chance the strict captain could give me a ride home? I missed the bus. Or more like the bus missed me.”

“You’re kidding,” Cregan said, sympathy already thick in his voice. “Of course I’ll come get you.” He paused for a beat, then cleared his throat. “Only thing is… Jace wanted a ride too.”

“The gods are punishing me today,” she groaned.

“Call him. It'll be the same ride. Just, you know, he'll think it was his idea,” Cregan suggested.

“Are we bad people, Cregan?” she asked, half-serious now.

“Nah. He’ll find out eventually, just better if I’m in full hockey gear when it happens.”

“Fair enough,” she said, the corner of her mouth lifting in a smile. “Thanks. Love you. Bye.”

She hung up and immediately dialed her brother, requesting the same exact thing.

“Sure, you owe me one though,” he said cheerfully. “I don’t have my car today, so we’ll have to go with Stark. Is that a problem?”

“Nope.” No, her boyfriend wouldn’t be a problem.

(Y/N) Velaryon paced back and forth under the shelter of the bus stop, her boots crunching against the thin layer of frost that had already formed on the pavement. She rubbed her arms, trying to keep the cold at bay, when the familiar growl of a black Jeep Wrangler cut through the quiet. It rolled to a stop near the curb.

She jogged toward the car, her breath puffing out in small clouds, as the driver’s window slid down.

“Your chariot awaits, princess,” Cregan announced with a mock flourish.

“More like a toad,” Jace quipped from the passenger seat, his grin unmistakable.

“One more word and you’ll get my bag to the head. I’ve got half my textbooks in there,” she threatened playfully as she slid into the backseat.

The backseat of this car had witnessed many events, and that was the first thought that crossed her mind. One look at Cregan in the side mirror, and she knew he was thinking the same.

She pretended to be very engrossed in buckling her seatbelt.

“How was practice?” she asked out of politeness.

“Not bad. Stark was all business today, but it was necessary. Big day tomorrow,” Jace replied, fiddling with the radio. Cregan slapped his hand away as he slowed down for a red light.

“Great,” the girl muttered, not trusting her tongue around the two of them together.

An awkward silence fell, broken only by some random song. How long can a red light last?

“So, (Y/N),” Cregan began, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. His voice wavered, but Jace was in his own world, watching pedestrians crossing the street. “How’s it going? How was your day?”

“Pretty good,” she replied, playing with the hem of her skirt. “Though the classes dragged on.”

The devil on her shoulder won an uneven fight with the weak angel. She smirked.

“‘M absolutely knackered.”

Cregan inhaled slowly through his nose.

“Dude, it’s green,” Jace informed him, just before the car behind them honked.

“I can see,” Cregan reassured him, finally moving forward. “I’ll need your sister’s address since I’ve never been there before.”

If Jace had one more brain cell, he wouldn’t be so easily fooled.

“Sure thing,” her brother agreed, typing the info into the GPS on his phone. “Hey, kid, are you coming to the game tomorrow?”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?” (Y/N) asked angrily, kicking his seat. “Baela’s taking me.”

“You know what I think?” Jace started, spreading his arms dramatically. “A girlfriend in the stands is such a power boost. Such a boost… I never play as well as when Baela supports me from the bleachers.”

“You never play well,” His sister muttered under her breath, but Jacaerys was currently listening only to himself.

“Cregan wouldn’t get it,” He patted Cregan on the shoulder in the meantime. “If you combined your skills with that support, if you brought a girl, trust me, your performance would be a hundred times better.”

“Talented people don’t need superstitions to play well, Jace,” (Y/N) chimed in, leaning forward. “Besides, Cregan is single.”

“Because he’s too serious and broody, girls don’t like that,” her brother declared in a know-it-all voice. She gave him a side-eye. “He is afraid of women.”

“Are you afraid of women, Stark?” she asked seriously, barely holding back laughter.

Cregan shot her a look in the mirror, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Terrified,” he deadpanned. “That’s why I’m thinking maybe your sister should be my good luck charm tomorrow. Just as a friend, of course.”

“Eh, it’s not the same,” Jace protested, scrunching his face.

“Don’t you believe in the power of friendship?” the driver asked with full seriousness.

“Can I get a jersey with your number?” (Y/N) batted her lashes playfully at her boyfriend.

A jersey with his number was already hanging in her closet.

“Alright, you’ll see, you need deeper feelings for it to work, otherwise it just won’t…”

Jacaerys continued his monologue all the way to her apartment. The girl sighed with relief once she was back in her room, the familiarity of it a welcome escape from the tension.

Two new messages.

🐺: you looked so pretty today

🐺: but next time wear a damn coat, or you’ll catch a cold!!!

The fluorescent light above (Y/N)’s head flickered ominously, casting creepy shadows across the cramped janitor’s closet. She swore that if the bulb died completely, she'd either pee her pants or spiral into a full-blown claustrophobic meltdown. Leaning back against the wall, she tried to focus on the neatly arranged rows of brooms and mops. Soon, the door creaked open, revealing Cregan in all his glory.

Full hockey gear? Check. Helmet? Tucked under his arm. That goofy, ridiculous smile? Definitely check.

“You look so good,” she admitted, grabby hands already in the air. “Come here.”

Cregan shut the door behind him with a soft click, casting a glance at the flickering light overhead. He sighed, took one of her hands, and kissed her wrist softly. 

“We have to tell your brother,” Stark said, his voice serious as he placed his helmet on the wooden shelf beside them. “It’s not right that my girl has to sneak me a good-luck kiss in a smelly closet. You should be able to strut right into the locker room.”

His girl grinned. “You’ve got your gear on,” she pointed out. “We can tell him after the game. Besides, Baela’s softening him up for us. I asked her to.”

Baela Targaryen was known for sniffing out secrets, and the second she spotted (Y/N) wearing Cregan’s jersey before the game, she didn’t even need to ask. Her knowing look said it all, and within minutes, Velaryon girl spilled the truth, enduring Baela’s delighted squeal that had probably echoed for miles.

“I knew you had high standards, girl. Going straight for the captain!” Baela teased, laughing. “Jace obviously doesn’t know? He hasn’t said anything... and Stark’s still breathing.”

Thankfully, Baela had been more than willing to help, distracting Jace so Cregan could sneak away after the pre-game pep talk. Now, Cregan was looking at (Y/N) with pride, his eyes lingering on the jersey she wore. 

“She’s a real one for that,” he mused. “But seriously, we have to tell him. I want a picture of us on my lock screen, and that asshole keeps looking over my shoulder.”

She laughed, pulling him closer and kissing him hard, savoring the way his rough stubble tickled her skin.

“For now,” she murmured against his lips, “just focus on the game. You’re incredible. An amazing captain. And it’s going to go great. I believe in you.”

Cregan grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Maybe one more kiss. Just to make sure we win.”

“The power of having a girl in the stands,” she teased, poking his chest playfully.

“Jace definitely exaggerated that theory,” Cregan confessed with a chuckle. “But honestly... I’m just glad you’re here.”

With butterflies in her stomach and a grin she couldn’t wipe off her face, (Y/N) found herself in the stands minutes later, sitting next to Baela. Her friend was watching the silent exchange of glances between her and Cregan with thinly veiled amusement.

“I always knew Jace was blind, but this is just tragic,” Baela remarked, elbowing her in the ribs. Jace, oblivious as ever, waved enthusiastically from the rink. Both girls waved back, cheering with the crowd.

“You’ll boo with me when the Dornish Spears come out, right?” (Y/N) asked.

Baela gave her a mock-serious look. “Technically, we shouldn’t. Obviously, I will,” she promised. 

The game was fast, brutal, and nearly deadlocked until the very end. (Y/N) had never yelled so much in her life, though her shouts were lost in the deafening roar of the crowd. Cregan played like a man possessed, commanding the ice with his usual grace. At least twenty times during the match, she found herself holding her breath, her heart leaping into her throat with every risky play. But she knew he had it under control. He always did.

Of course they won.

The victory rippled through the stands like a wave, and (Y/N) screamed herself hoarse as the crowd erupted around her. Cregan pulled off his helmet, his eyes scanning the stands until he found her. His smile—tired and breathtaking—was for her, and her alone. She didn’t regret the ringing in her ears or the scratch in her throat for a second. Moments later, he was swept up in a sea of celebrating teammates.

“Girl, are you crying?” Baela asked, pulling her into a hug.

“I don’t know,” She sniffled. “I’m just emotional. I just like that boy so fucking much, Bae.”

“I know, honey. Come on, they’re heading off the ice. Let’s congratulate them, and then have a crazy party or something. No time for tears.”

Cregan was one of the last players to leave the ice, trailing just behind Jace. But before he could step off, the captain of the opposing team, his face twisted with anger, skated up to him. For a moment, it looked like they might talk it out. But then, it all happened too fast.

The player from Dorne shoved Cregan hard against the wall. Stark, ever the calm one, simply raised his hands in a peaceful gesture.

And then he took a fist to the face. The sickening sound of bone cracking echoed across the rink.

“What the hell is going on? Jace!” Baela shouted, holding her friend back as she tried to rush forward.

Jace jumped back onto the ice, but by the time he got there, the other team had pulled their enraged captain away. Cregan stumbled off the ice just as (Y/N) reached him.

“Are you okay? Oh gods, let me see,” she fretted, her hands hovering near his face.

“What a fucking jerk!” Jace nearly screamed, skidding to a stop by the exit. “I called for help, they’ll be here in a second.”

(Y/N) carefully moved Cregan’s hand away, revealing the damage. His face was a swollen mess, his nose clearly broken.

“Do you think they’ll make me lie face-down on the ice?” Cregan joked weakly, leaning on her for support.

“Does it hurt a lot? Maybe you should sit down. Oh shit, I can’t believe—”

“Hey, sweetheart. Calm down,” Cregan murmured, his voice soothing despite the pain. “It hurts like hell, but I’ll live.”

Just then, the medic arrived, momentarily distracting Jace. But despite the chaos, he had clearly heard what Cregan just said. For a moment, Jace stood there, his face pale as the words and the image before him sank in.

“Sweetheart?” he echoed softly, but no one paid him any attention.

“Jace, maybe now’s not the time,” Baela said gently, stepping up beside him.

“I feel physically sick,” Jace muttered, staggering to the railing for support.

The medic handed Cregan an ice pack. “Hold this to your face for a bit. I’ll get you something for the pain right away, but a doctor’s gonna have to set that nose.”

Cregan winced but smiled through it. “You might wanna check on my friend first,” he said, gesturing toward Jace. “I can wait. He looks like he’s about to pass out.”

Jace did, in fact, end up passing out.

Cregan had to take a break from sports after that little adventure. He’d recovered, but now sported a slightly crooked nose—something his girlfriend found oddly hot.

(Y/N) saw his temporary recovery as the perfect chance to manipulate him into watching Teen Wolf with her every evening. After all, the title worked in her favor.

They were nestled on the couch, wrapped together in a soft gray blanket. It was their first time lounging in the living room of the apartment Cregan shared with her brother, rather than hiding behind the securely locked door of his bedroom. 

It would be perfect, really. If it weren’t for Jace’s constant, deliberate trips to the kitchen and bathroom, each one an obvious reminder that he was keeping an eye on them.

“Dear Jacaerys,” (Y/N) said, her patience wearing thin, “you do know we don’t need a chaperone, right?”

Jace barely paused, shooting her a sidelong glance before muttering, “You need someone to knock the stupid ideas out of your heads,” as he slammed the bathroom door.

Cregan chuckled softly, pulling her closer. “Give him some time,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple. “To be honest, I thought it would be worse. He’ll come around eventually.”

They’d already gone through several long, tension-filled conversations, with Baela stepping in as the voice of reason when things got too heated. They were careful now, avoiding anything that might provoke Jace further.

But Cregan was right—Jace was slowly coming around, even if he was still stubborn. The days of silent treatment had finally passed.

“This is on us for hiding things from him,” (Y/N) sighed, watching her brother embark on yet another purposeful long journey to the kitchen. “No more secrets now.”

“Your brother’s just looking out for you,” Cregan called out, raising his voice slightly so Jace could hear. “He doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you, and I respect that. I don’t know anyone else who cares like he does.”

Jace stopped, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, eyes narrowed. His lips curved into a sweet, mischievous grin.

“Yeah,” he began, drawing out the word. “So tell me sister, when are you introducing him to Mom?”

[bucky-barnes-diaries]

His Empire of Desire

Pairing || Mob!Bucky x Wife!Reader

Summary || After a gruelling day with maintaining his criminal empire, Bucky returns home to you, seeking comfort and passion in your touch and words.

World Count || 3016

Contents & Warnings || Fluff, Smut — NSFW, 18+ Only, Minors DNI, mob/mafia business, mention of violence/torture/murder, explicit content/language, pet names, unprotected vaginal sex, oral (male receiving), degradation & praise kink, use of the word whore, dom/sub dynamics, teasing, begging, face/throat fucking, gagging/choking, fingering, spanking, rough fucking, creampie, mention of bodily fluids.

Authors Note || It’s been a whiiiiile… Hopefully I’m back for good now. But anyways, this is a WIP that I started at the beginning of 2023 and I finally finished a few days ago. Enjoy, and I will be back with more fics soon. But I’ll be taking my time and not rushing/stressing myself with it. I want to have fun and write again, but I won’t force it when I don’t have energy so there won’t be weekly fics most likely.

Disclaimer || English is not my first language so I apologise for any mistakes or misunderstandings!

Mob!Bucky Masterlist

I don’t do taglists anymore so please follow @bucky-barnes-diaries-library and turn on notifications to never miss out on my writing!

Once the sun had dipped below the horizon, casting shadows over the city’s towering buildings, Bucky made his way home after another demanding day maintaining his criminal empire. The day, much like the others, had been a grueling mix of meetings, negotiations, and the unsettling business of violence that defined Bucky’s world of organized crime. Accustomed to the daily occurrences of bloodshed, torture, and death, even the strongest individuals, like Bucky, had their moments when frustration and weariness weighed heavily on his broad shoulders. All Bucky craved was solace and comfort in the embrace of his wife’s warmth and love, concluding the night with the pleasure of burying himself deep within her. That singular thought occupied his mind as he sat in the backseat of the Rolls, heading towards the penthouse that overlooked the city—his sanctuary, his kingdom, and you, his Queen.

“Have a good evening, Sir,” Bucky’s chauffeur nodded firmly in the rearview mirror, receiving an equal parting nod as Bucky stepped out of the car.

As Bucky ascended the private elevator, his fingers itched intensely for your presence, yearning to wash away the day’s cruelty with your loving touch and mend his wounds with your caring words. The ascent to his and your floor, typically swift, felt like an eternity. Leaning his forehead against the mirrored elevator walls, hands clenched on each side of his head, he muttered to himself, “Come on, come on. Hurry the fuck up. I fucking need her.”

Finally, on the top floor, the elevator pinged and opened, revealing the vast penthouse. Bucky swiftly departed, entering the one place where he truly felt safe and at home. The familiar scent of your shared home immediately calmed him, normality easing his frustrations. As he entered the spacious living room, soft music filled the space, accompanied by the sound of your bare footsteps drawing closer. It was everything he had longed for after his gruelling day.

The ache he felt for you gradually faded as you approached. Clad in a silk robe, your captivating form moved with confidence, the curves of your body dancing beneath the expensive material. Your face, bare and glowing, reflected the wear and tear of your own long day.

Though Bucky adored when you were all primed and dolled up, there was an ethereal quality about you when stripped down to your natural beauty that captivated him even more.

He released a deep, heavy breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding in, eyes closing briefly in bliss at the anticipation of you finally being beside him.

“Bucky,” you murmured as you stood before him, assessing him with a hint of worry. His shoulders sagged under the weight of the day, his eyes pleading. You understood immediately—he needed you now more than ever. Sensing his need for your presence and words, you prepared to offer the comfort he sought.

“Baby, you look exhausted,” you murmured, pressing yourself against him, cupping the back of his skull with your hands, thumbs softly grazing his earlobes. Your shimmery eyes met his weary gaze.

He groaned quietly as he leaned his forehead against yours. His fingers spread across the silky material on your hips, pulling you closer, needing the reassurance of your body. “Doll, I fucking need you,” he groaned, pushing his fingers harder into your covered flesh. “Now more than ever, baby.” His plea blended fiery lust with loving need.

“Come on,” you mumbled, laying a feather-light kiss on his lips, soft fingers laced with his calloused ones. “I know just what you need,” you purred, promising to provide whatever he needed—whether it be a loving cuddle and kisses or an intense physical connection, to bend you over and fuck your body and mind senseless. You were his.

You guided him through the dark hall to the luxurious en-suite, where the spacious marble shower awaited. Turning on the cascading stream of warm water, you beckoned him to come closer and let you take his stress away.

“Let me take your stress away, baby,” you purred, approaching him once again. Bucky watched your movements intently, the weariness in his eyes transforming into a look of pure lust and the longing for the gentle care only his wife could provide.

With your hands at the lapels of his suit jacket, you pulled it away from his firm body, letting it fall to the floor. Slowly, while never breaking your gaze from his fiery eyes, you unbuttoned each button with precise movements, pushing the fabric of his muscular torso. Your eyes roamed over his chiseled physique as your hands lay flat on his pecs, adorned with specs of hair. Your palms moved down the planes of his firm muscles, making him moan at your gentle touch. Unbuttoning his suit pants, you pulled them down along with his underwear, leaving him standing naked before you.

Unfastening the sash of your silk robe, you let it drop, standing completely naked before him. Taking his hand in yours, you led him into the steaming shower, the warm mist enveloping you both.

Bucky stood under the shower head, letting the water soak him from head to toe, washing away the burdens of the day. You joined him, placing your palms on his chest with a gentle touch as you stood flush against him—your bodies melded together by the water. His hardening cock pressed against your abdomen. He dropped his gaze to your burning eyes that mirrored his own, before trailing them over your naked and wet body, intensifying the heat.

With a groan, he knotted his fingers in your hair, the other wrapping around your waist. Your arms curled underneath his, placing your palms on his muscular back. Your pulse quickened with excitement, knowing where the evening was headed. All that was needed was your encouragement for Bucky to take it in the direction he desired.

“I’m yours, Bucky. Take what you need. Take me. Love me. Use me. Do whatever you need and desire right now. My body and mind are yours.”

He leaned down, capturing your lips with his, claiming and owning your mouth. His sweet and tender kisses quickly escalated into firm and needy ones. The tip of his tongue swept your bottom lip, pleading for your taste. As your tongues met, his fingers tightened in your hair, and his hand slapped the apple of your ass, followed by a firm squeeze. You whined into his mouth, pushing your body into his wet and slippery one, surrendering yourself.

Your hand wrapped around his firm cock in a tight squeeze, jerking his length in deep and slow motions while your tongue continued to dance with his. Bucky pulled away with your bottom lip between his teeth, groaning against your puffy lips as he slowly fucked himself into your grip.

“Tell me what you need, baby,” you purred against his lips, flicking the tip of your tongue across his bottom lip. “I’m all yours.”

“Get on your knees, baby,” he growled. “Suck my cock like the whore I know you are for it.” His hand came up to wrap around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make your pussy throb without suffocating you. “I’ll make you cry and choke on it while I fuck your mouth, use that tight throat.” A moan of need escaped at his filthy words. You loved being his adoring wife and his dirty whore. His lips curled in a satisfied smile at the duality you embodied—Whore and Queen.

He let you go, and without hesitation, you pressed sloppy kisses to his chest. Fingers traced the dips and planes of his chiseled physique as you continued kissing and licking down his body—his abs, his defined v-line—until you were lowered on your knees before him, mouth agape as you stared at him through your lashes. The water from the shower head above made his body gleam, intensifying the irresistible appeal of him towering over you. His cock stood fully erect, practically begging for attention, begging to be sucked. A shiver ran through your body, and a whimper escaped your lips as your pussy throbbed, eager for the same treatment your throat would soon receive—getting fucked and bruised.

Aroused with anticipation, your body practically shaking, you grasped him firmly in your hand as your tongue traced the protruding veins along his shaft, licking up to his bulbous head. Kissing and sucking the tip, you moaned at the taste of him. With no patience left, Bucky grabbed a fistful of your hair, forcing you to release him from your mouth. His hot gaze met yours as a stinging yet delicious tug prompted a sharp gasp from your lips as tears welled in your eyes—the first of many for the evening.

“Don’t tease me, doll. I’ve had enough of being undermined today,” he groaned, his voice laced with cruel warning. “Now suck it like the pretty little whore I know you are for it.”

“Yes, Sir. I’ll be your good little whore.”

Obediently complying, you engulfed his length as Bucky’s guttural groan vibrated off the shower walls. Your choice of words, and taking him all with no hesitation, only fueled his burning desire.

You took him deep, inch by thick inch until all of him nestled in your throat. Tears ran down your already wet cheeks, and the sensation of your lips wrapped around him and your throat suffocating his cock with your choked coughs made Bucky tip his head back in bliss. Moaning thickly, he pushed his hips forward into your compliant mouth.

Withdrawing to catch your breath, a thick string of saliva trailed from your lips to his tip. A testament to your eagerness to please the man above you.

“So gorgeous,” Bucky smirked, looking down at you with tears and saliva running down your chin. “Such an eager whore to please me,” he murmured, brushing his thumb across your lips.

With no further hesitations, you wrapped your hand tightly around the base to jerk him off, while your mouth engulfed his swollen and leaking tip. Your hand and mouth worked in perfect sync—jerking him with force and delicious pressure while your head bobbed on his cock, slurping and sucking. Bucky’s hips met your movements, making you choke and gag by his rough thrusts. Your other hand squeezed and kneaded his firm ass cheek, pulling him closer and anchoring yourself to him as you sucked him off.

Bucky’s vocalization became a hot and heavy symphony of moans, groans, and every guttural sound in between—a testament to you working him thoroughly with your hands and mouth.

His hips jerked, his muscles tensing, on the verge of climax, and spilling into your mouth, and you wanted nothing more than a taste of him. But he pulled you off before he could finish down your throat, making you wheeze and chest heave to catch your breath after he released you.

Reading the disappointment on your face, he brushed your tear and water-stained cheeks and swollen lips, a smirk playing on his own. “Don’t worry, doll. I’ll come down your throat next time.” His voice was low and sultry, laced with delicious promise. “I need to feel your tight cunt wrapped around me, now.”

Helping you up, he met your lips in a sloppy kiss, slapping your ass with a force that made you gasp before turning you around and directing you to bend over for him on the marble bench.

You bent over, placing your forearms on the cold stone, presenting your ass for him. The view of both your tight holes a tantalizing sight for him.

During the blowjob, your pussy had throbbed with need, eager for the same treatment as your throat, and you had never felt as frustrated as you had now, waiting for his cock. Looking over your shoulder at Bucky, his fist jerking his cock as his hot and burning gaze trailed over your dripping cunt, which he would fill and come deep inside.

“Please, Bucky,” you cried. “I need you cock so bad.” Your voice thick with desperate desire to be fucked and used by him. “Please, please, fuck me. Use me. Use my cunt.” You knew after the day he had that the fuck would be brutal, and you would love nothing more. You loved his gentle and caring nature that he reserved only for you, but you also loved to be used and fucked like a whore by him. The duality of his two sides only makes you love him deeper with each passing day.

He chuckled, relishing the power he held over you, the absolute desperation in your pleading voice and submissive body. “Patience, doll,” he replied with a low growl. “I’ve had a rough day, and I will take my time with you.”

He firmly kneads your ass in his palms, rough hands grabbing and squeezing the flesh before delivering a sharp slap that sends a jolt of pleasurable pain up your spine. Your toes curl, and a whimper escapes your parted lips as the cruel laughter from Bucky fills the space. Despite the sobs and cries during the next two spanks, your pussy grows wetter at his cruelty, soaking your inner thighs.

Bucky curses under his breath, running two fingers through your messy folds, circling your needy clit in teasing strokes. A breath of relief escapes you at finally being stimulated, even though it’s not at the satisfaction you crave. He groans as he pushes two fingers inside your wet cunt, fucking it in slow strokes, making your breath shake at the stretch.

“What made you this wet, doll? Sucking and choking on my cock, or me spanking and bruising your ass?”

“B-both,” you reply with a shaky voice.

“That’s my good whore,” he growls, softly patting your ass where his brutal hands landed.

With the head of his cock, he teases your bundle of nerves, before slowly and oh-so-deliciously pushing his length inside your welcoming cunt. You moan and whine through your swollen and parted lips as he stretches you out to accommodate his size. “Fuck, so tight, baby.”

He forces the rest of his length balls deep, making you gasp, while he moans, at stuffing you completely. “Ah, fuck… so big,” you whine, closing your eyes and fists tightly, adjusting to him.

With a low, throaty chuckle in response to your reaction, Bucky gives you a moment before setting his rhythm, hands firmly gripping your soft hips, fingers digging into your skin.

He holds nothing back as he unleashes himself, intensifying the brutal pace, thrusting deeply into your pussy like his existence depends on it. The tip of his swollen cock repeatedly brushes against your sweet spot, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your nerves, eliciting soft whimpers from your lips.

“So good for me, doll. Such a tight, pretty pussy,” he grunts, lost in the sensation of your cunt and the pleasure it brings him.

You tilt your head to meet his burning gaze, the fiery passion in his eyes searing your exposed and submitted body before him.

“Fuck, it’s all yours, baby. All of me. Only for you,” you whimper, the soft symphony of your gentle whispers and moans enticing Bucky closer to the edge, fucking you roughly and chasing his high. “Keep using it, baby. Claim me. Take what you want,” you urge, your words a breathless plea for him to keep unleashing his pent-up anger and frustrations on your eager and pleading cunt.

As you ascend to pleasurable heights, your impending orgasm closing in swiftly, the clenching of your walls around his pulsating cock signals his pending release as well. His hand slides around your throat, lifting you upright amidst his primal thrusts.

“Are you gonna come for me, baby? Come on my cock as I fill your greedy cunt?” His gruff voice sends a shiver down your spine.

The searing pleasure, coupled with the firm grip on your throat, leaves you with no choice but to nod, conveying that you are close to an eruption with an earth-shattering explosion.

“Open that pretty mouth for me and use your words, doll.” A sharp slap to your thigh jolts you out of the haze, prompting you to gather yourself and respond to his demand.

“Yes,” you managed to gasp. “I’m gonna come. I need you to come inside me, baby,” you cry, craving his warmth like a good whore.

With those pleading words, Bucky surges over the edge. His grunts and moans resonating against your skin as he fills you up with his cum. The sensation of him pulsing and filling within you and the rhythmic movement of his hips have you tumbling over the edge. Waves of your release ripple through your body, shaking and convulsing, your cries of pleasure echoing off the tiled walls.

“Good girl,” Bucky moaned against your skin. His fingers skillfully play with your engorged clit to heighten the downfall of your orgasm. “You take my cock and cum so well.” He continued to fuck and talk you through it, ensuring that your mind and body were consumed with nothing but pleasure and him.

The shared climax left you both suspended in the aftermath of your intense fucking. The air thick with echoes of your breathless satisfaction.

“Hmm, my good girl,” Bucky muttered, withdrawing from your used cunt and turning you around. The warm water of the shower continued to rain down on you both, washing away the shared evidence of your intense and passionate lovemaking.

Bucky cupped your cheeks, brushing his thumbs across the skin beneath your eyes. His hands, which held your body with force only moments ago, now cradled your face as if you were the most delicate of artworks, which to him, you were more than a masterpiece. He captured your lips, kissing you with a mix of passion and need. Your arms held his waist, bringing his slick body closer to yours.

“Let’s get out and dry off, doll. I need to bury my face in that pretty cunt of yours before I hold you in my arms and express how much you mean to me for the rest of the night.”

Thank you for reading 🖤 Feedback through a comment is highly appreciated! Or let me know through an anonymous ask if that feels more comfortable. As well as a reblog to share my work with other people!

[pathologicalreid]

hello!! i've been reading your spencer works for a while and they're definitely one of my favorites from this app :) so I'd like to request something :)

I've always loved the idea of spencer coming back home from a case earlier than expected and surprising reader (gf or wife) at work to pick her up! and reader could be a chemist or a scientist so spencer is interested and involved in her work somehow and they're just talking, being cute and fluffy and just happy to he together again <3 thank you for your time, and no pressure!

pure and applied chemistry | S.R.

find more chemist!reader here!

who? spencer reid x chemist!reader category: fluff content warnings: fem!reader, chemical burns, lab incidents, yapper!reader, kisses word count: 1.06k a/n: i wasn't even going to post this today but i wrote it and fell in love with spencer and his biochemist gf!!!!! this might be a pairing that i start taking requests for - thank you so much for requesting!

The air was barely starting to chill in the district, making it still unseasonably warm as you tried to take off your jacket without removing your book bag. It would’ve been easy to be embarrassed, but you were the only person around this part of campus – most students had a Reading Day, but your lab was still open, and your graduate student still wanted to work.

You had been the last person in the lab that she approached with her idea, having been turned down by the rest of campus, but you weren’t one to turn down a challenge. In fact, you had been so bored in the lab that you considered applying for another PhD.

Tying the sleeves of your jacket around your waist, you pulled your phone out of the back pocket to check the campus transportation app. As you started typing in your passcode, your eyes caught on a notification from your boyfriend.

Spencer Reid, PhD: Not home until tomorrow.

Sending back a quick emoticon – because an emoji would just show up as a square on his phone – you switched to checking what time the bus was supposed to show up at your stop before a passing car caught your eye, the car slowed to a stop right in front of you. “Oh,” you said, shaking your head, “It’s illegal to idle at a bus stop!” You called out to the driver, “You can’t stop here!”

Startled, you took a step back when the driver opened their car door, gripping your phone tightly as you mentally prepared for a confrontation, but only ended up confused when a familiar mess of brown hair peeked over the roof of the vehicle, “You don’t recognize my car?”

“Of course, I recognize your car! I just didn’t think it could be your car because last you told me you were in Nebraska!” You said, outwardly complaining as he rounded the hood of the car to open the passenger door for you.

Spencer smiled at you over the car door, “I told a fib in order to reap the benefits of surprising my girlfriend at work. Do you think she’ll ever forgive me?”

Rolling your eyes as you sat in your seat, “Oh, I’m sure she could probably find the strength to forgive you.” You were beaming as Spencer took your book bag and placed it in the back seat.

As you buckled your seatbelt, Spencer got back behind the wheel, checking his mirrors before merging into the road, once you reached your first stop light, you noticed Spencer looking over at you, “What did you do to your arm?” He asked, making note of the gauze wrapped around your dominant forearm.

Frowning, you looked down at your arm, having previously forgotten the gauze was even there, “Chemical burn,” you answered indifferently, studying the first aid on your arm. “Not a bad one though, probably won’t even scar,” you added. “Oh, that reminds me, I need a new lab coat,” you blurted, fishing around the center console of Spencer’s car for a pen so you could scrawl a reminder on your uninjured forearm.

“How did you get a chemical burn on your arm?” Spencer asked, returning his eyes to the road when the light turned green. Keeping one hand on the wheel, he reached over and casually placed one hand on your denim-clad thigh.

You were no stranger to a small burn on your finger – you were fairly certain that your fingerprints were no longer a viable way of identification – but you usually got away with a thorough rinse and a unicorn band-aid. “My grad student, Leslie, mislabeled something in the lab. Another person tried to get me to report it, but Leslie cried so hard while she was helping me clean my arm that I didn’t want to get her in any sort of academic misconduct trouble. I mean, who knew that hydrochloric acid caused chemical burns anyway?”

Spencer deftly flicked the turn signal as he moved to get on the highway to his apartment, “Uh, you and I know,” he said, there was a critical tone in his voice, but it was directed toward your flippancy instead of the injury itself.

“It wasn’t super concentrated, so I’m really fine,” you insisted, telling him the same thing you had told Leslie when the incident occurred, “I’ve done worse.”

Smiling, your boyfriend shook his head, “It’s a wonder they still let you in chemistry labs.” He was referring to a burn you had given yourself a few months ago, leading to an embarrassing trip to the hospital where doctors had to debride a nasty burn to your thigh. That particular incident had led to the director of your lab gifting you an enamel pin, designed to look like a hazardous materials symbol.

You looked at him, watching intently as he exited off the highway and made it to his apartment. Not long ago, an impromptu trip to Spencer’s would’ve been an inconvenience, but now you had two drawers of his dresser as your own. He led the way up the stairs and you followed him through the door of apartment twenty-three.

Locking the door before turning all of his attention to you, he cupped your face in both of his hands before kissing both of your cheeks – right over the tender, red lines left by your lab goggles. “Promise me you’ll be more careful in the lab,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around your waist and herding you over to the couch.

As you sat down on the couch, Spencer joined you, grabbing at your hips until you gave in, seating yourself in his lap, one knee on either side of his hips. You intertwined your fingers at the back of his neck, tilting your head to the side, “We’re all done with tests anyway – there will be considerably fewer chemicals involved while I get on my knees and grovel to the federal government for funding to start a clinical trial,” you told him, considering the repercussions of pressing your lips to his.

“What kind of chemicals could you possibly need to apply for federal research grants?” Spencer asked, gently resting his hands on your waist.

Beaming, you waggled your eyebrows at him, “One, three, seven-Trimethylpurine-two, six-dione, baby.”

Realization dawned on his features as he understood, “Ah, caffeine.”

[icejjfishesz]

𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐈𝐓 ❞ 𓄼˚ ▍ P.B.

❛ 𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆             ━━  based off this post by @iminlovewithkatemartin ! ❜

❛ 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁                ━━  literally just sex...feeling like a whore rn, lmao. top!paige. punishment ig?? bratty reader. ❜

❛ 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁         ━━  1.4k! ❜

❛ 𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲      ━━  prompt was TOO GOOD so hopefully i did it some soft of justice! ❜

paige was never the first to leave a party. she was often the center of attention –– a magnet that attracted the focus of all those around her. naturally, you loved that about her…her essence and simply seeing her thriving in her element. but there were times where you wanted her all to yourself. times like now, where she chatted her ass off and all you could focus on was the sound of her voice. or when 1am comes and goes and all you think about is how good she smelled as she pulls your body closer to hers. paige is an anomaly. somehow always managing to give you all her attention yet making it feel like not enough. paige made you greedy and she knew it. it’s evident in the way she rubs your thigh a little too high as she’s sitting next to you but still never looks in your direction. it was like a mutual secret, one between only you and her, she knew how badly you wanted her right now but she was gonna make you wait for it.

by 2am you’ve grown antsy, barely replying to paige when she speaks to you. she knows you’re ready to go, she knows you’re almost too horny to function. she almost feels bad at you when she sees that slight frown plastered on your lips or when she notices the way your hips shift awkwardly every once in a while.

she says something to you, a cute little smile on her lips that you honestly hate right now. you want to leave. you don’t even hear what she said, not as if you planned on responding anyways. then you roll your eyes. paige blinks a few times, a little confused. 

“baby?” her voice is gentle, genuinely concerned but she’s been feeling on your thigh for over an hour and she knows how bad you want her. you understand that giving her even a slight attitude won’t work out in your favor…but you don't care. you’re upset and you want her to know it.

“what?” the sass is evident. unable to be underplayed or considered inscrutable. it takes paige aback and the few people within earshot all look at each other because they catch it too. you wanted her to know you were pissed? well, now she knows.

paige clenches her jaw, leaning in close to whisper in your ear. “is it time to go, baby?”

you shiver, the hairs on your neck staring when she lowers her voice like that. the words, if heard by an untrained ear, might be considered sweet. they could be mistaken as  paige understanding you (which she does) and being sweet about it (which is most definitely not how she planned on handling you). but you knew better. you knew the words were a warning. they translate roughly to ‘you wanna fix your fucking tone before we have a probelm?’ it’s her way of giving you a second chance. 

“it’s been time to go.” she extended an olive branch but you don’t take it. you’ll pay for that later.

paige simply grabs your hand and quickly says goodbye to a few people as she leads you to her car. she opens your door for you despite being annoyed with you before she shuts it and walks around the other side. you can’t take your eyes off of her as she starts the car. neither of you speak. you sealed your own fate and you know it.

the drive is tense and silent. it seems like every passing second heart beats just a little bit faster. you could only imagine the price you’d have to pay for your little stunt.

which is exactly how you ended up here, on paige’s lap as her hands roamed over your hips. “i’m sorry…” you groan but you both know you don’t mean it.

“yeah? for what?” paige hums casually. as though anything about this situation is casual. she’s shirtless and you’re naked on her lap begging for her to fuck you. the view seems familiar, she’s had you like this one way or another a million times over but she never tires of it. she wants nothing more than to lay you down and shove her face in between your thighs but she refrains. she ignores your wandering hands, ignores the whine in your voice, ignores the need in your eyes…she needs to teach you a lesson.

“i didn't even do anything!” you grumble.

“you rolled your eyes at me and gave me unnecessary attitude.” she gives you a look that says ‘be serious’. you go to respond but then you feel her thigh tense, it makes you moan which she chuckles about.

“i’m not even touching you yet…”

“shut up.” you grumble, unable to stop yourself from grinding into her clothed thigh. she can feel the warmth even through her pants as you rub against her. it takes absolutely everything in here not to say fuck teaching you a lesson to just do everything that she knew would make you moan her name. “please…i need you.”

“it’s not good enough, hm?” she mocks you. “shouldn’t have had all that fucking attitude then. next time just tell me you wanna leave.”

you desperately try and find some way to vindicate yourself but your mind is blank, you decide it’s probably best to just focus on the task at hand. you grind against her, feeling yourself get wetter the more she touches you in every place except where you need her. it feels good. the friction against your clit making you whine…it isn’t enough and she knows it. “please, baby…”

“please what?”

“please make me come…i can’t do it like this.” she adores the pout on face, it renders her unable to stop herself from locking her lips with her own.

she bites her lip, basking in the weight of it all. the weight of your body on top of hers isn't heavy, but the knowledge that she is completely in control of you is. her hands effortlessly move around your body, reminding you of just how well she knows your body –– how easily she could make you feel good. she’d spent over a year tracing every single part of your body with her hands and mouth, she’s memorized you completely. she knows exactly how to tease you. 

she kisses you with everything in her, swallowing every sound you make as you grind deeper into her thigh. you can smell her shampoo and you tangle your fingers in her hair. she trails her hand down from your hip to between your legs. she feels just how sucked you are from grinding on her thigh.

she laughs in your face, pulling her lips away from yours and licking away the spit that coats her lips. “you’re so wet…” she slides a finger through your fold and back up to caress your clit. she’s mocking your need, acting as if she wasn’t just as wet as you are. she knows you want it. but she wants you to need it.

“cause you’ve been teasing me all night…” you whisper, practically panting. your hands are braced on her shoulders and lift yourself off her thigh so she can touch you easier. she pushes her long finger in and out of you so slow that it’s cruel. but you cling onto her. after all that teasing, it’s enough to have you reeling.

you shut your eyes, grinding into her hand and then she stills her fingers, making you whine again. “no, please…keep going.”

she brings her face down to such a hickey just above your collarbone, you can’t help but buck into her hand in frustration.

“keep doing that.” she mumbles into your skin, letting her teeth graze against you and nearly making you topple over.

“what?” you’re looking at her expectantly, she can look in your eyes and tell you’re waiting for her to do it for you but she’s having none of it. you’re probably making a mess of her fingers, your soaked pussy dripping at how badly you crave her. what has she done to you?  

“nuh uh, you wanna come then go ahead” she laughs in your face, sitting back and politely pressing her thumb into your clit just to watch your hips jolt at the pressure. you feel your shoulders slump when she smiles up at you the way she does when she knows she has you exactly where she wants you. 

you whimper again, unable to process her words properly when all you hear is she’s not gonna make you cum. “paige…” you’re so pent up you’d do pretty much anything she asked you to do right now. you can’t even speak, only focused on the next words that leave her mouth. 

“…lemme see you ride that shit, baby…”

[steveharringtonat3am]

no thoughts just riding steve after a stressful day at work

smut 18+, mentions of alcohol, adorable boyfriend steve, reader on top, penetration

You’re still cursing as you swing the apartment door open, letting it close in a much harsher fashion than normal. You had spent the entire day irritated. Your boss, your coworkers, and even your clients had managed to piss you off. You kick your heel off, letting them fly into the corner by the door as you head to the kitchen.

You had spent the car ride practically dreaming about the wine you were about to have. The glass has barely touched your lips when a voice perks up.

“Tough day?” Steve calls from the couch, reading glasses perched on his nose and a book in hand. Something in you melts when you see him and your feet carry you over to him on instinct.

He sets the book down as you climb into his lap, putting your wine glass next to his kicked up feet on the table.

“It was horrible.” He rubs your back as you lay your head on his shoulder, taking a few breaths. You don’t wanna direct your anger to Steve so you have to calm down just a little.

“I’m sorry sweetheart.” His fingers tangle with yours as you sit up to face him. Steve has always been pretty, you knew that the day you met him, but he was especially gorgeous on nights like this. Maybe it was the pure domesticity of it. Your boyfriend, Steve Harrington, sitting on your couch in his pyjamas on a Friday night. You almost couldn’t believe it.

“I’m just glad you’re here.” You relax against him once more.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” His big hands rub up and down the exposed skin of your legs.

“Honestly it was so stressful just talking about it might piss me off again.” You mumble against his neck.

“Do you wanna talk about it while you ride me? That always works wonders for your stress.” You can hear the smile in his voice but the offer is sincere.

“Yeah?” You confirm, already excited at the idea.

“Go ahead sweetheart.” He winks as you shift his pants down just enough to reveal his cock. He’s already half hard so it only takes a few strokes to get him ready.

Ever the gentleman, Steve is already bunching your pencil skirt around your waist, eyes dark behind his glasses when he sees your red thong.

“What’s this?” He plays with the fabric over your hip, licking his lips.

“It doesn’t show panty lines.” You smile as you sit up and pull the fabric to the side to take the tip of his cock.

Steve is big. Bigger than most, so riding him is usually a challenge. Luckily, it’s one that you’re always up for.

“There you go baby…” He groans as you sink down on him, already soaked.

“God this is exactly what I needed.” You moan as you start to move up and down. You take it nice and slow, letting yourself adjust. There’s no urgency in your movements. You have all the time in the world.

“So, what pissed you off?” Steve kisses along your collarbone between words, making you giggle at the sensation.

“Just-just my coworkers being stupid. Can you believe Danielle didn’t overnight the contracts I gave her? Then Mr. Zelleman got mad at me for it! It was so-so stupid.” As Steve helps you move up and down on him, you start to care less and less about work and more about how incredible his cock feels.

“So stupid…” He mumbles in agreement, kissing at your neck in a way that’s sure to leave a mark. You can’t be bothered about it though, as you start to move faster. Your stomach tightens in a very familiar way. Steve’s hands tighten their grip on yours, hips jutting up to meet your own. You press your lips against his desperately as your orgasm hits you. Pleasure that you can hardly contain shoots through you as the warmth of Steve’s orgasm fills you. As the euphoria fades, so does your energy.

You slump against Steve’s chest, his arms coming around to hug you. There’s not a thought in your head as you attempt to catch your breath.

“Feel better?” He asks.

“…About what?”

[bbunisre]

02: MEGUMI IS LIGHTWEIGHT (1.3k words)

Panda’s parties are always the same—borderline annoying, misogynistic rap music pulsating in your ears and a lot of dancing. A lot. So when you enter the party, swinging your car keys with your fingers and shooting acknowledging nods at mutuals, you’re not surprised to see the same once again.

“They’re here!” a rogue Panda yells, coming through with a red cup.

He hands another one he's holding to you, an unspoken understanding of your frequent drinking habits. It wasn’t that you were an alcoholic (past you would say something else) but you were known for your high tolerance.

“Where’s that bastard Toge? I need to have a word with him.” I ask Panda.

“Oh, I think he’s upstairs. Probably making out with some chick, I don’t know.” Panda shrugs easily.

Even if Panda is the closest to Toge, you know in a heartbeat that Toge is not easily drawn to the temptations of lust as easily as Panda thinks he is. In fact, you guess that Toge's most likely playing on his Switch upstairs, avoiding the party that Panda’s forced him to come to.

You turn to Tsumiki, “I’ll go. Will you be alright?”

“Yeah, all good,” she smiles at me, “Come back soon though. Don’t kill Toge.”

Megumi’s listening to your conversation whilst Yuuji and Nobara argue about who’s the beer pong champion out of the two of them at the entrance of the house. You pull them by their sleeves so they’re not in the way of passing guests anymore.

Sometimes, it feels like you’re babysitting them.

“Can’t promise, babes,” you tell her with a half-shrug.

Tsumiki’s phone starts ringing, “One second.”

She steps out to take the call, leaving you and Megumi a foot apart from each other, “Megumi, how about you?”

“Sorry?” he asks.

Forgetting what Toge's said is a lot more challenging than you expected. You push down the uneasiness in your gut.

“It’s your first party, is it not? How are you feeling?” you ask.

Megumi's expressions are hard to read but after being around him for so long, you’ve become accustomed to his body language.

“I will be alright. Thank you.” he replies politely.

You smile, patting his shoulder, “I’ll come and check on you later.”

Megumi nods and you take your leave to the second floor, a breath of fresh air coddling you at the escape. When you see the familiar Toge in Panda’s bedroom, your estimate is correct. Toge is sprawled on Panda’s bed, playing some Otome game on his Switch. He says he plays it because it’s cringe and he wants to make fun of it...you're starting to think that he really does enjoy it.

“Y/N.” Toge notes.

“Toge.” you reply, sitting on the bed next to him.

He switches off the game and turns to you as you take a languid sip of the drink, “Has Megumi asked you out yet?”

You almost choke in the process, furrowing your eyebrows and swallowing properly. Setting the drink aside, you hit Toge, “You’re out of your mind. He doesn't like me.”

“I mean, it’s always been kind of obvious if you ask me.”

“What are you talking about?” you sigh, “There’s nothing. You’re being delusional.”

Toge rolls his eyes, “No, you are. And he does have a massive crush on you because he was so desperate to believe that you didn’t like girls.”

“That’s a huge sentence coming from your mouth,” you comment, laying down next to him.

The reverberations of the music downstairs make its way up Panda’s creepy staircase and into the bedroom walls.

“He does,” Toge affirms, “I’m sure of it. Besides those tweets, there’s definitely something there.”

“Why are you so insistent about it?” you ask, turning to the white-haired boy.

It’s odd; Toge is usually reserved and calm so when you see him ramble passionately about Megumi, you’re not too sure what it can mean.

“I don’t know,” he answers, turning to you also, “But remember when you broke up with…?”

He waits with bated breath for you to approve.

You sigh, “You can say Choso, Toge.”

“Yeah, Choso...” he nods along, “When you broke up with him last year, he always asked about you through me. You were a mess, a really bad mess, like a really, really, really—“

“A mess. Got it.” you state, remembering those tearful nights.

“Don’t know why he didn’t ask Tsumiki. Maybe he was scared of being found out. Maybe—“

“Maybe he didn’t want Tsumiki to keep thinking about me. Don’t you remember how worried she was about me then? He probably didn’t want to pressure her and he couldn’t ask me because I wasn’t talking to anyone.” you theorise.

“I mean, you could be right but those Tweets.”

“The kids were probably just making fun of him.” you say, getting up.

“Where you going?” he asks.

“Chill, princess. I'm not gonna leave you now.” you respond, walking towards the opened balcony. You can’t believe Panda gets this whole view to himself.

Toge follows you outside and the two of you sink onto the couch outside, watching the neighbourhood as Toge passes you a joint from Panda’s secret stash.

An hour later, you remembered that you’d go check on Megumi. Sure Tsumiki is there too but she’s super popular, everyone will be talking to her while Megumi explores the unfamiliar terrain by himself.

So you say goodbye to the high Toge and walk back downstairs. Everyone’s dancing and hands drag you to dance but you push them away, saying you need to use the bathroom.

“Where is he?” you ask yourself, wondering around Panda’s house.

You see Tsumiki and Panda talking on the couch, Yuuji and Nobara playing beer pong but where’s Megumi? He's gotta be here somewhere.

“Y/N…”

A heavy hand lands around your shoulders.

“Megumi! Are you okay?”

Megumi’s lids are heavy as he leans onto you.

“Did you drink?”

“I…I thought he said it was a mocktail. I think I had too many cocktails.”

Of course he did.

“Okay, relax. I can’t drive right now because I drank too, but we can go out for a breather, how does that sound? There isn’t much space here for you to sit down.”

Megumi nods, barely processing your words with his eyes closed.

You inhale and prepare for the journey through the pushy and overly welcoming crowd as you make your way to the front door. The excited partygoers ask about his conditions but you give them brief summaries as you battle through the crowd. Finally, when you’re through the front door with a heavy Megumi, you make him sit on the porch’s stairs, “Wait here. I’m gonna get Tsumiki to drive you home.”

As you’re about to leave, he grabs your bicep, “Don’t go.”

You’re staring.

Very obviously staring.

“Please…” he whispers weakly.

“Okay, I won’t.” you answer, sitting next to him. There aren’t many people coming in and out of the party now. Most of them are getting drunk.

Right now, you’re trapped in your own world with Megumi. The last thing you wanted to do tonight, especially after what Toge told you. You didn't know he cared for you that much.

But it can't be true. Megumi can't like you. You're his sister's best friend.

The silence is louder than the rap music playing inside.

“How are you feeling?”

“I regret coming.” he responds.

Slowly, his head tips to your shoulder. You’re not sure if he’s realised he’s done it or the alcohol has consumed every working thought in him.

All you can muster is a nod as you’re glued to his side—thighs pressed together, shoulders smashed and his unruly hair prickling your cold neck.

If what Toge says is true, which it’s not, what would you do in this situation? Would you confront Megumi or would you flee?

“I can go get Tsumiki—“

“Y/N.” he states.

“Yes, Megumi?”

You can’t stop that gut-wrenching sensation in your stomach. Megumi looks up at you, long eyelashes fluttering open. You know what’s coming before it even comes.

“I like you. I like you a lot.”

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

TAGLIST: @k4romis @moonmalice @ahseyy @loltartaglia @sircatchungus @rinowinne @sad-darksoul @br66klynbaby @nymphsdomain @pastatata @tobaccosunbxrst @zellwa @porcobrainr0t 

LENA'S NOTES - another chapter because ily guys <33

[bowlofsoob]

O5 thank you next — go ahead and log out for me

SOOBIN’S POV

notes; all of soobin’s accounts are yn and all of yns accounts are soobin until the end of their birthday

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In the early glow of the morning, Soobin, now inhabiting his soulmate’s body, sat nervously in the passenger seat of the car he’d just gotten picked up in. Taehyun and Hueningkai, as he’d come to recently learn, were exchanging awkward glances in the rearview mirror as Soobin’s own songs played through the car’s speakers.

“So, uh, hope you’re okay with your own music on the playlist,” Hueningkai said from the passenger seat, “It’s just what we usually play.”

Soobin couldn’t help but feel fond of them, they were his fans after all.

“It’s cool, I actually really love this one,” he answered, his own unfamiliar voice startling him.

“We thought it might help with adjusting,” Taehyun added, a faint hue of pink on his cheeks.

Soobin could only nod in response, picking at the fabric of his pants. Nothing in his soulmate’s closet adhered to his taste, and most of it just consisted of poorly designed graphic tees.

The car descended into an uneasy quietness, broken only by the familiar melodies spilling out of the speakers that seemed oddly intimate with Soobin now present.

“You guys seem a bit shy, anything on your mind?” Soobin tentatively asked in an attempt to break the tension with the two people he would be spending the rest of the day with.

“It’s just that having our idol in the car, even if it’s in our friend’s body, is kinda surreal,” Hueningkai smiled, stumbling over his words.

"We’re not used to this level of…fame?” Taehyun replied.

“I get it, I’m not used to being on this side of things either,” Soobin replied, trying to relate.

As they approached their apartment, Soobin couldn't help but feel a strange connection with his soulmate’s friends. As Taehyun parked the car they all hesitated before stepping out, still unsure of themselves in each other’s presence.

“This is so weird,” Hueningkai marvels.

Soobin can’t help but laugh, “Tell me about it.”

As they entered the apartment the trio settled into the living room rather awkwardly. Soobin couldn’t help but take notice of the memorabilia of himself surrounding them, he’d never expected to see how one of his fan’s lives up close.

Even though he was navigating an unfamiliar shyness he found comfort in the tentative smiles of his soulmate’s friends.

// // //

In one of their cramped bedrooms, Soobin, now uncomfortably squeezed into your body, stared blankly at the physics textbook.

“Okay, let's go through this again,” Taehyun sighed, “The laws of thermodynamics is the transfer of—"

“You lost me at thermo,” Soobin muttered, flipping through the flashcards laid out in front of him halfheartedly.

“This is hopeless, how is he supposed to pass the exams?” Taehyun mumbled to Hueningkai.

“Maybe if we play his songs backward, he'll absorb physics knowledge by osmosis,” Hueningkai sadly jokes, half serious.

“Backwards songs?” Soobin asks as he looks up, “That’s a thing?”

“We’re getting off track, let’s try this one more time,” Taehyun sighs, directing Soobin’s attention towards his notebook.

They spent the few hours they had before the exams attempting to explain concepts, drawing diagrams, and resorting to desperate analogies involving concert stages and sound waves. However, Soobin struggled to grasp the complexities of physics and mathematics. He was fucked.

“I’m sorry, this is all like a foreign language to me,” Soobin says, feeling bad with how hard they were trying.

Truth is he gave up hours ago when Hueningkai started singing formulas to him in an attempt to get him to memorize them. As the minutes dragged on, Soobin’s lack of concern became more apparent.

He just didn’t care enough.

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extra filler

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masterlist — prev | next

comment on this post if i can use ur username in future chapters as a fan account!

୨୧✧ — author notes; hi guys sorry for the wait 😔 i was off at war (finals week)

୨୧✧ — synopsis; in a universe where you and your soulmate swap bodies on your twenty-first birthday and every birthday after that. world renowned soloist soobin is set to have a concert on the day of your guys’ shared birthday, a firm believer he doesn’t have a soulmate and wants nothing to do with them. you, a college student who hasn’t listened to a single one of his songs, swap bodies with him on the day of your final exam and his big concert. you’re now under the public eye for ruining his career and soobin has to deal with your wrath since he failed your exams. he must also process the fact that he does in fact have a soulmate, one he couldn’t care less about.

ᝰ✧ — [1/3] taglist is open! @cartierfiles @lunavixia @jungwonderz @bubblytaetae @goldennika @zzzavid @astrozuya @odisdad @destairea @iwaplant @itssaturdaytoday @hoodiebangtan @starchasing-cryptid @outerspace02a @buttersmama @luvtyun @vianna99 @matcha-binz @doumachi @pinghyuka @soobsdior @binluvsu @tyussday @xavi-in-kpopland @bervaose @birdie-vhs @hearts4huening @reyarain @gyubatuu @tridentgumfreshy @rjsmochii @ckline35 @mochiixsstuff @bluuswanrina @beomnioa @bluxjun @yelsuki @gugggu6gvai @thesassy-mia @222brainrot @itswinteress @cindywasneverhere @kimgyuuu @fatoompie @haohyo @jongseongslvr @soobinsman @wolfytae-exe @huening-kawaii @malarign @tocupid @phtogravi

[wizkiddx]

bringing him home

complete fluff, sad lando, and not proofread so apologies x

Not to be dramatic but Lando was done. He’d had a crappy weekend of bad luck, damage, bad strategy and also (he would admit) a bad performance. It was the second last race before summer break, which couldn’t possibly come soon enough. 

He felt guilty. Felt guilty he couldn’t of performed more for the team; guilty he let his frustatration show on radio; guilty he’d been in a crap mood and not let the team even try to pick; guilty that he couldn’t let himself sleep on the plane.

It was a form of self torture. But he couldn’t stop.

He had been short with everyone, but especially Jon- who he knew was only ever trying to look out for him. All he really wanted to do was to get home and crash in bed for some more self loathing.

Mumbling a few quick goodbyes to the part of the team on the same flight as him, Lando swiftly turned his back on his friends to make his usual route.

Landing at Heathrow meant he had his usual, lone wolf routine to get back home. A guy he had known for years - Waleed- would pick him up.

Back when Lando lived in Woking, Waleed had been hired by mclaren to drive him to all the events his calendar was packed with. They had a mutual respect for each other but Waleed was a man of few words. Which right now Lando felt like he needed, a familiar face asking how he was might be enough to send the young man over the edge. 

Car park 2, floor 4, bay number 168. 

That’s where he was off to.

Waleed always came to pick him up from Heathrow. When it was good, Lando would invite a few team members of the preorganised coach to join him. And when it was like it was today, Lando would have only his own company to deal with. 

It wasn’t even home anymore, the young driver lived in Monaco and purely came back for mclaren and for social reasons. And right now he fancied neither. 

But duty called.

Cautiously, not to bring about any attention, Lando peeled off from the large group of mclaren workers who were on their way to the coach stop. With his hood up, shoulders hunched and staring at the ground as much as possible he thankfully didn’t garner any attention. He knew this route like clockwork- down the elevators and across the walkway to the multi-storey; get the lift up four floors and walk left to the back corner. 

Everything felt heavy as he dragged his notoriously over packed suitcase across the smooth tarmac. He just wanted bed.

But as he rounded the corner his mood only got stormier. Waleeds car was definetely not around. Instead parked in his space was a beat up black small car. Grumbling to no one in particular, Lando got out his phone to question Waleed - who was normally very prompt and reliable. 

Before he could though, the slam of a car door shutting directed his attention back to the space he was wishing Waleed was in.

“Car park 2, go to level four , park in bay 168. You don’t make this easy do you?” 

Yes it was sarcastic, but I’m the softest,caring and most gentle way. And Lando felt everything in his body and mind sag, with a familiar sigh.

“I got the afternoon off work, so I guess I turned up.” Lando still stood still, a confused look demonstrating to Y/n she needed to explain. “Max texted me and I think Jon told him you weren’t feeling great. Unfortunately, Max said you were now my problem so…” 

Of course, Jon had told on him. And of course, especially after their little ‘manly’ heart to heart a week or so ago, Max had decieded Y/n was actually the greatest comfort to him. 

“is…is it ok that I’m here? I didn’t want to presume but Max-“ she was inturrupted as Lando started taking great strides and threw his arms round her shoulders.

He didn’t verbally reply, instead nodding into her neck and then pulling her impossibly closer, which she assumed to be a sign he were getting a bit emotional. So she just stayed, hugging him tightly back in return.

Her insecurity was not without reason. Lando and y/n had known each other for years, but only got close and started dating 3 months ago. It had been an immediate perfect fit and felt like the most natural thing in the world. 

But this was the first time she was being exposed to his incredibly vulnerable side, and Y/n did not take this lightly. Especially given the fact he hadn’t really had a choice.

After what was probably not more than 30 seconds, Lando muttered a ‘thankyou’ and pulled away so they were face to face. Only then did y/n really see just how exhausted he looked. The normally glowing, tanned skin was abnormally pale and almost clammy. Unsurprisingly his eyes were sunken in- but worse was sort of dullness of his usually brilliant green eyes. He was more than just tired, he was mentally checked out too. 

“Get inside, left the heater on” she smiled warmly before pressing a quick peck to his lips. Following the instructions almost too well, Lando completely failed to remember his suitcase, which still stood aimlessly in the middle of the car park - from where he had first seen his girlfriend. With a sad sigh Y/n walked back to grab it - placing it in the boot before rounding the car to the drivers side. 

“So, we can go wherever you like. Max said Bristol, said your mums keen to see you.” Lando looked motionless at that, so Y/n attempted another option. “ Or you’re welcome at mine, or we could just got the hotel mclaren booked for you?” Impossibly, Y/n saw his face fall further at the last option, which she quickly crossed off her mental list. 

“‘m just really glad you’re here… wanna be with you.”  He kind of looked embarrassed, fiddling with his fingers as he muttered those words - not appreciating the way Y/n started glowing with warmth to it. 

“I’m by your side no matter what… you deciede where you want us to be for these few days.” 

Admittedly Y/n hadn’t planned such a sad way for her to meet Landos family, but they were serious enough that it was only a matter of time, so why not in hsi hour of need? She also firmly believed being around more people who knew him and could comfort him through it all. And, by the way he talked about them, Y/n wasn’t particularly scared to meet them - they all sounded lovely. She just wanted them to like her. 

“You’ll come to my parents?”

“If thats where you want to be then yes, of course I will. “ Lando nodded and tears started to water, just from how overwhelming the weekend had been compared to how impossibly calm he felt now just because Y/n was with him. 

She’d been prepared for this eventuality after Max described just how bad a state Lando appeared to be in, a little overnight bag and Max’s ‘shortcut’ way to get to the Norris family house avoiding the rush hour traffic. When Y/n held Landos eye contact long enough for him to know she was sincere, Lando leaned over the centre console to hug her tightly once again. 

“I’m really really glad its you here.” He wasn’t evn sure if she coulf hear it- but of course Y/n heard. 

“I’m telling Waleed you said that”

Even when he felt thihs exhausted, self-defeated and shitty, Y/n could make him laugh. He pulled back and just watched as Y/n turned the key in car, then started fiddling with her phone. 

“Right my playlist cos i’m driving and I want no complaints ok?” She shot him a fake serious scowl, before reversing out of the space. 

Lando just watched, watched the way she darted her eyes to the rear view mirror every two seconds  as thought she was taking her driving test again. And the way she bit the right side of her lip as she wound her way through the tighter exit ramps of the car park. And the way her fourth finger tapped to the beat of the Bruno Major song playing - such a small movement even Y/n probably hadn’t noticed she was doing it. Even to her crappy music. 

He was only caught out in his staring later, when her little 11 year old vw polo merged onto the motorway towards his childhood home. Predictably she blushed, rolling her eyes at him, whilst remaining lazar-like focus on the road in front. 

“Stop staring  creep.” He didn’t to that statement, choosing to start his own conversation.

“I really love you, you know that?”

“Of course I do, and I love you more.” Uncharacteristically for her normal driving to the rule book, Y/n took one hand off the wheel and rested it on the centre console - holding out for her boyfriends back. “Now, try get some rest hey? I promisse to try and not crash the car while you sleep.”

“I’ve never felt less relaxed.”

But, of course, he was joking and after an 18 hour journey of the equivalent of tossing and turning in an airplane seat, it took all of 5 mins in the safe and warm atmosphere of his girlfriends car to nod off. 

Because for the first time in a couple of weeks Lando was truly comfortable squeezed into the miniature car to the tune of an artist he normally hated. 

[planetpedri]

Silver lining — Florian Wirtz.

Pairing: Florian Wirtz x Fem!Reader

Summary: You’d locked yourself out of your apartment, your phone was dead, nobody was home, so your only option was to ask your new neighbor for help. Even though that small inconvenience sucked, you were about to be eternally grateful.

Word count: 1.2k

Disclaimer/s: FLUFF! FLUFF! also reader being a little paranoid cuz stranger danger but not really iykwim.

A/N: This plot literally came to my head right before i was about to take a nap so i put it in my notes so i could write later and i’m sooooo. guys. guys this may be my favorite plot.

There was no way this was happening to you. There was absolutely no fucking way this was happening right now! You gripped your purse a little tighter, kneeling to the floor so you could spread it out further. You checked every pocket, every crevice, and they were nowhere to be seen.

You had forgotten your keys at your sister’s house, or in her car, or— You mind was spinning, trying to place exactly where you’d had them last.

Then your brain lit up, you needed to call your sister. She’d bring them over! Grabbing your phone, you tap the screen, but it doesn’t turn on. Your face scrunches as you tappen it rapidly, clicking the side button too. That’s when you’re met with the red battery sign. Great. Your phone was dead, too.

Taking a deep breath, you gather your things and shove them into your purse. You only had one option right now and that was to ask one of your neighbors to borrow their phone.

Not your favorite idea, but the only one that you had at that moment.

Standing up from the ground, you glance around the hallway. Five options. The old married couple at the end who always gave you the creeps, a girl named Julia, who was probably too busy working… the options went on until you landed on the door right across from yours.

The new guy. You’d never talked to him, never seen him, just heard of him from Julia, who was a gossiper through and through.

Red flags flew across your mind as you took timid steps closer. Stranger danger. But, at the end of the day, you weren’t that scared. You always took risks, so there was no reason to be nervous. All you needed was his phone, and that’s it!

Bringing your fist up to the door, you knock. One… Two… Three… “I’m coming! Hold on!” A man’s voice shouts from the other side, not rude or anything, just assuring you he was going to open it soon.

You take a small step away from the door when you hear the lock clicking open and the doorknob turning. It swings open to reveal a confused man, his bleached hair damp as if he’d just showered. Your theories are confirmed when you see water stains on his gray shirt.

Swallowing thickly, you raise a quick hand in greeting. “Hey.. i’m your neighbor! Uhm, I got locked out, my phone is dead, and I was wondering if I could borrow your phone to call my sister?” You speak quickly, suddenly all too nervous. Not because he was a stranger, but because he was.. well. He was hot.

Your new neighbor was hot and he was making you very nervous. This was new. And he looked familiar, though you couldn’t quite place why.

A soft chuckle escapes his lips as he nods his head, opening the door wider to give you a clear view of his apartment. “Of course. It’s on the charger, you can wait inside if you want?”

Stranger danger! Stranger danger! “Thank you! I appreciate that,” you smile, following him inside.

The door falls shut behind you, and you take a moment to recognize this was how a lot of true crime stories start. But, you don’t make a move to leave. Instead, you follow him into the living room area, appreciating how clean it was.

Another thing that surprised you. Most men who lived alone weren’t this neat. Then you feel slightly disappointed, he must have a girlfriend.

The blonde unplugs his phone, handing it to you. “Password’s ten-seventeen.” He nods, moving to sit down on a brown sofa.

Taking the device gratefully, you unlock the phone and move to the calling app. “Thank you, again.” You say before dialing your sister, pressing the phone to your ear.

She picks up on the fourth ring, and you explain your situation quickly. Unfortunately, she was already home, so it would take her twenty minutes at the very least, to get back to you.

Sighing a quick thanks, you hang up. “She’s like, twenty minutes away! Thank you, here’s your phone…” You trail off, realizing you never asked his name.

“Florian.” He nods, taking the phone back. “You’re welcome to wait here…” He does the same trailing off, and you laugh. You tell him your name and a smile graces his lips. He repeats it, lips curling into a grin. “That’s a pretty name, it’s nice to meet you.”

Your face flushes at the compliment. “Oh, uh, thank you! Wow, i’ve told you that like twelve times in the past ten minutes!” You’re in a flustered, rambling state, completely embarrassing yourself.

But Florian just smiles, finding it endearing. “So, how long have you lived here?” He asks, motioning for you to sit down.

You take a seat on the opposite end of the couch, turning your body towards him as you get comfortable. “About… two years now? I originally lived with my sister, but she got married and moved out.” You had no idea why you were telling him random facts you didn’t need to say, but he listened intently anyways. “How about you? I haven’t really seen you around.”

“Just a few months, but I travel a lot, so i’m rarely here.” That’s when it clicks. That’s why he looks so familiar.

Your eyes widen, “oh my God. You’re a footballer.” Now you were extremely embarrassed. Your sister is definitely going to freak when she realizes who you’re with.

Florian rubs the back of his neck, nodding sheepishly. “That I am.”

“That’s cool.” You play it off, not wanting to seem too geeked about it. You had to act normal.

Florian nods, his lip twitching slightly. “Uhm, so, what do you do for work?”

The rest of the twenty minutes goes by smoothly, conversations flowing between you two easily and comfortably. You’d grown to enjoy his company, and he clearly felt the same.

You’d charged your phone while you two spoke, so when you get the notification that your sister had arrived, you couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. Florian’s eyes flicker to your phone, his lips forming a thin line.

“Well… I suppose I should go.” You stand slowly, subconsciously trying to spend a little more time. Florian stands as well, taking his sweet time walking you to the door.

He hesitates, his hand on the door knob, “we should do this again sometime?” He suggests, eyes trailing up to your face.

You attempt to suppress a smile, nodding quickly. “Yes!” Too fast. “I mean… yeah, no for sure.” You shrug, lips darting out to wet your lips nervously.

He quietly chuckles, turning the doorknob and opening it to allow you to leave. “Are you busy tomorrow?” He asks, stepping aside to let you through.

Once you were back in the hallway, you turn back around to face him. “I have work till four, but I should be free after that!”

“Good,” he hums, “knock on my door whenever you want, i’ll be here.” After exchanging a quick goodbye, he shuts the door, leaving you with a wide smile on your face.

Forgetting your keys just became the best inconvenience you’ve ever had.

DTS , @halfwayhearted @ar4ujos @spidybaby !

[illiterateaffairs]

DISTRACTIONS I | LONDON CALLING

pairing: jamie tartt x f!reader (ted lasso)

rating: T (language) 

word count: 4,772

summary: you arrive in richmond anxious about starting your new life, but quickly feel at home among this new cast of characters. one of them is of particular interest to you for some reason. 

A/N: thank you to everyone who read the prologue, sent messages, and left nice comments in the reblogs and tags!! would love to continue to hear your thoughts. 💕

distractions masterlist | previous chapter

The next two weeks are somehow the slowest and quickest two weeks of your life. You put your notice in at work the second you can. The coworkers you mingled with the most are sad to see you go, especially Kara. On your last day, she surprises you with flowers and candy, and you wish you’d spent more time with her. You make a mental note to reach out to her from time to time. 

Your landlord lets you leave most of the furniture behind since you won’t be needing it all at your new place. Rebecca promised the flat she had for you was both homey and chic. Despite being eager to get out of there, you feel a sense of loss as you say goodbye to your apartment before heading to the airport. Even though your relationship was far from perfect and ended tumultuously, you and Mason made some good memories there. You watched your first Richmond game there, even though you had no idea what was going on. And now here you are on an eight hour flight to London, getting ready to work for Richmond. 

You thankfully sleep most of the trip, having opted for a late night flight, so by the time you land, it's the afternoon in local time. You have no idea how you’ll manage to sleep at a reasonable time tonight, but that’s later-you’s problem. 

The butterflies that have taken up home in your stomach since you left finally take a break from aggressively fluttering around when you see Ted and Beard waiting for you outside. You break into a huge grin before jogging over to the duo. You instantly feel at home when Ted is engulfing you into one of his signature hugs, and you come to the realization you haven’t seen him since he started coaching over here. Same with Beard, and while the two of you wouldn’t normally go for a hug, you find yourself wrapping your arms around him briefly anyway, and you can tell he doesn’t mind at all. 

“How was your flight, Kiddo?” Ted asks as they lead you to a fancy black car parked nearby with an even fancier-dressed man. 

“It was good,” you respond distractedly, “I’m sorry, do you have a driver?” 

Ted smiles as he pulls out the back door for the two of you, Beard rounding the other side, loading your bags into the trunk. “Courtesy of Rebecca. She wanted to make sure you arrived in style.” 

In the back of the car, you fit snugly between the two coaches and you couldn’t be happier. 

“And don’t worry,” Ted continues, “We came over here as soon as training ended, so most of the team should be out for the day. And as far as everyone else knows, we’re just two generous colleagues who offered to pick up the newly-minted foreigner from the airport. No one will know we’re secretly two of your favorite people in the world.”

You chuckle, but you appreciate his words. Turning to glance at Beard, he mimics zipping his lips shut and you mirror him with a giggle. 

The car ride back is filled with loud chatter as the three of you- mostly you and Ted- catch up, while you try not to be alarmed by the fact you’re driving on the left side of the road. When you pull into the parking lot of Nelson Road Stadium, you feel the butterflies start to return. Here we go. 

The driver follows you, promising to wait in the lobby until you’re ready to head home for the night. Beard heads to the coach’s quarters while Ted introduces you to everyone you pass on the way to Rebecca’s office. You try not to seem overeager to meet her in person - which you are. You cautiously follow Ted into the room, overhearing the familiar sound of Rebecca’s voice mixing with someone else’s. When their attention is drawn to where you and Ted are standing, Rebecca enthusiastically stands from her couch to greet you and you’re instantly taken with her presence- she’s even more beautiful and tall in person. 

You go to shake her hand but she opts for a warm hug as she tells you how excited she is for you to join the team. She and Ted introduce you to Leslie Higgins, Richmond’s Director of Communications. He shakes your hand with a kind smile, but you can tell he’s surprised when he hears your American accent for the first time. The three of you don’t give him a chance to question it as Ted drags you back on your welcome tour. But not before Rebecca demands you text her later that night to tell her what you think of the flat she readied for you.

Ted takes you back downstairs to where the locker rooms and coaches offices are. To Ted’s earlier point, not many players are around but you can’t help but be intimidated by the few you meet briefly. You’ve never been around famous athletes before. You try to remember their names - Colin and Isaac are the two that have stuck so far. You smile at Beard’s familiar face when Ted takes you to their office, knocking on the window to grab another man’s attention. Ted informs you that the man is Roy Kent, a name you recognize from the handful of games you’ve watched over the years. He’s another coach for the team now. Roy grunts out a ‘nice to meet you’ without bothering to turn around, but Ted lets you know that's a pretty nice gesture when it comes to Roy, so you take it. 

As you leave the locker room, you meet the team’s kitman, Will, who immediately seems like the sweetest person in the world and you hope to get to know him better during your time here. 

Finally you make it to what Ted describes at the main event - the pitch - and he was right, it was glorious. You’ve never been in an arena of this size, and despite not being too big of a sports person, you feel excitement engulfing you. You’re only pulled out of your trance as Ted calls out to one lone straggler who seems to be getting in some last minute practice on the field. 

“Hey Jamie!” Ted yells across the field, “Practice ended over an hour ago bud! Grab a shower and go home and get some rest.”

Jamie jogs over to you two with the soccer ball under his arm, “Aye aye, Coach.” Out of breath, the not-unattractive footballer looks you up and down. “Who’s this?”

You introduce yourself and Jamie shakes your hand once before dropping it.

“She’s Rebecca’s new PA we told y’all about earlier this week. She’s going to be helping out with some social media posts and what not.” Ted reminds him and Jamie seems to nod in recognition.

“Guess I’ll be seeing ya around then.” he smiles politely and then heads back inside. 

You and Ted spend a few more minutes admiring the stadium but your interest shifts to Jamie. He looked familiar, but not from the football matches you’ve watched, you don’t think. But where else would you have seen him?

Eventually Ted leads you back inside, finally showing you where you’ll be spending most of your time. He explains that your office used to belong to the team’s PR person, Keeley Jones, before she left to start her own firm. He says the club is still one of her top clients, so you’d be working closely with her from time to time, and that he couldn’t wait for you to meet her, claiming you’d absolutely adore her. You believed him. So far you were taken with everyone you’ve met. Rebecca was incredible, Higgins seemed great, Colin and Isaac a fun pair, Will a sweetheart, and Roy an interesting man you looked forward to learning more about. Even Jamie - who you couldn’t get a read on just yet - still intrigued you. 

You plop down in the desk chair now belonging to you and can’t help but spin around a few times. Ted chuckles and tells you he’ll leave you to get comfortable for a bit while he finishes up some things for the night, promising not to be long before he comes back to take you home. 

Finally having a moment to yourself after almost 12 hours, you let out a long breath you didn’t know you were holding in. Distracted by the excitement of being in a new city, catching up with Beard and Ted, and meeting your new coworkers, you hadn’t had a chance to process that you did it. You uprooted your life and successfully made it halfway across the world to start a new one.

Before you let complete panic sink in, you open the laptop sitting neatly on your desk. There’s not much on the computer, but there’s a folder with information about AFC Richmond and the players. You decide maybe you should start learning everyone’s names since you’re going to be responsible for curating their social media presence and such soon. Looking at the team roster, your eyes immediately find Isaac and Colin’s pictures, feeling proud that you at least know a couple players' names. Same with Jamie, but then you scan the rest of the roster and realize there are a lot more names and faces you don’t recognize. Your mind scrambles to come up with some mnemonic device to help you remember everyone, but before you can come up with a comically long sentence, there’s a knock on your office door. 

Looking up, you expect to see Ted, but instead find a younger man with a bright smile. You feel a burst of recognition and glance down at the roster on your computer, matching the face of your visitor with one on the screen.

“Oh, hi! Are you…Sam Obi…”

His smile doesn’t falter as he steps into your office. “Sam Obisanya,” he pronounces smoothly, and then says your name just as eloquently. “I just saw Ted, and he told me you’d just arrived and I wanted to take the chance to say hello and welcome to the team.”

Warmth spreads across your chest as you smile back at him, “That’s so kind, thank you.”

“Of course! I know you haven’t been here for long, but how are you liking things so far?”

“Oh it's been good,” you trail off, finding yourself unable to lie to his sweet face, “A bit intimidating.” 

He frowns, “Why’s that? If Jan Maas said something strange to you, he’s just blunt because he’s Dutch.”

You chuckle, briefly glancing back down at the roster to put a face to that name. “Noted. But no, I think I’m just realizing how much I don’t know about soccer, or football, I guess. And that there are a lot of you to remember.”

Sam laughs, “We are a large team. Anything I could do to help?”

Part of you wants to be nice and tell him he doesn’t have to stick around any longer, but the anxious part of you grabs onto the life line, “Actually, yes, could you help me get to know all the players’ names- like, tell me things about everyone so it's easier for me to remember?” You lean back and tilt your computer towards him so he knows he’s welcome to stay, and he immediately gets settled in one of the chairs on the other side of your desk. 

You spend the next thirty minutes getting to know Sam as well as the rest of the team, and you already feel more at ease. Sam proves to be even more wonderful than his first impression gave off. He shares hilarious anecdotes about every footballer on the team, and before you know it you’re able to recall who people like Dani and Zoreuaux and Bumbercatch all were. 

Sam and you also exchange some personal stories. You tell him about your life in Chicago and how you were looking for a fresh start, albeit leaving out a few details you don’t want to burden him with on the first meeting. Sam shares that he'd moved to England a few years ago from Nigeria, and that he was going to open a Nigerian restaurant here soon for a little taste of home. You told him you couldn’t wait to try it. By the end of your conversation, you feel like you have someone you can call a friend in Richmond, and Sam even offers to show you around the city during some off time later this week. 

As Sam gives you one last quiz about AFC Richmond’s player’s and your eyes linger on Jamie’s picture again, your brain finally remembers how you know him. You flashback to a memory of Kara practically giving a full PowerPoint presentation to your office back home on the drama going down on her favorite British reality show. 

“Oh, my God,” you yelp, scaring the hell out of your potential new friend who rests his hand over his chest, “Sorry, I just realized how I know Jamie.” 

“You’ve met him before?” Sam questions, surprised. 

“No, I’ve just seen him on that one show, Lust something…”

Before you have the words out, Sam is cackling, “Yes, Lust Conquers All! Not Jamie’s finest moment but definitely a memorable one.” 

“God, he was such an asshole,” you comment, recalling the way he acted in the few clips Kara showed you. 

“Oh, he was,” Sam nods, “He used to be a total prick. He still is sometimes, but more in a loveable way.” At your unsure expression, Sam elaborates, “Jamie’s been through a lot. And yes, he used to be very self centered. But since Ted’s been around, he’s become a better teammate, and a better friend.”

You can’t help but smile at the nod to Ted’s impact. It doesn’t surprise you in the least; he’s always bettered the lives of the people he’s met. Still, your heart swells with pride. 

“Well, either way, I look forward to seeing what he’s like off the screen.”

Sam heads out a little after that, with another promise of being your tour guide this weekend and another to have lunch tomorrow. Then Ted’s coming back to collect you to take you home for the night. You bid a farewell to Rebecca in the parking lot before you’re driving off. After making sure you can get into your apartment building, you say goodnight to Ted, who promises to walk with you back to the stadium for your first official day tomorrow. 

When you enter your new flat, you’re taken back by how much you love it already. The furniture is feminine but not overly posh. The décor and colors are bright without being over the top. It feels more like you than your old apartment, even though you picked out that place and the furniture yourself. You quickly remind yourself of Mason inserting his opinions over yours when it came to those choices, before you push all thoughts of him away for the night. 

You spend the rest of the night unpacking your clothes and other small belongings. You’re pleasantly surprised that you're eager to sleep as it gets close to an appropriate time for bed. You quickly change into the first set of comfy clothes you find and climb into your very large and very comfortable bed. You text Rebecca to express how much you adore the flat and how grateful you are for everything. She responds pretty quickly, telling you that you never have to thank her but she’s glad you’re settling in. 

You bury yourself under your covers, trying to coax your thoughts away for a good night’s sleep. But your mind runs rampant with thoughts of working with Rebecca tomorrow and hanging out with Sam. A new country, new job, and (hopefully) new friends. It’s only been one day but you were already feeling reassured about your decision to move here. Which is good because you only bought a one way ticket. 

Your first few weeks with AFC Richmond could not have been more of a dream. You didn’t expect to enjoy working for a football club as much as you do. Where your old job was drab and had you focused on making boring food and clothes sound appealing, with this job you got to spend time with the players who were actually interesting people you got to promote. On most days, you got to hang out with the team and film content while they practiced or played. Sometimes events occurred after training or games so that’s when you’d gotten to know a lot of them. You were closest with Sam, who you’d begun to spend more time with when neither of you were working. On other days, you’d work more closely with Rebecca, assisting her with more mundane tasks, but still more enjoyable than any of the grunt work you did back in America. And Rebecca had quickly become one of your favorite people to be around. You didn’t think you’d meet a more remarkable woman until a week in when she introduced you to Keeley, who you’d already heard so much about. No surprise she lived up to the hype. 

Keeley is the friendliest and most talkative person you ever met, and you hope her and Rebecca’s energy rubs off on you even just a little. The pair of them quickly included you in their girl talks and invited you to sit with them during games when you’re not busy capturing content. They also quickly caught you up on the gossip around the club, first and foremost that Keeley is still getting over a breakup with Roy, and apparently she doesn’t quite understand why they had parted ways. While she seems to be mostly handling it alright- meaning not taking a job an ocean away from home to run away from him- it gives the two of you something to bond over.

When you have time to yourself, you try to sit down and write. Sometimes you’re able to get a few sentences typed out in a Word document, before you’re furiously smashing the back-space button because you hate every word. One day, you share your writer’s block struggle with Trent Crimm, a former journalist who Ted is letting shadow the club for a novel he’s writing. Roy and the team had been pretty bothered at first, but everyone is on better terms these days. Despite your respective preferences for non-fiction and fiction, Trent gives you the advice to not force anything. You’ll write when you’re ready. And while you appreciate and try to take the advice, you wish you were ready now. With a job that doesn’t make you want to rip your hair out and a beautiful city you’ve been exploring, you should be more inspired than ever. But so far no such inspiration has struck. So you try to be patient. 

Instead you focus your energy on helping Keeley with the new Bantr campaign she has AFC Richmond collaborating on. Most of the team is staying past practice to get new promotional pictures shot and in a few weeks you’ll be helping Keeley shoot video footage for the ads. You couldn’t help but feel excited to be on this side of the advertising world, and actually be a part of the team that's being advertised.  

You're squatting on the ground, off to the side so you’re not blocking any shots. Your phone is unlocked and ready to capture some BTS of the photoshoot as Isaac is the first team member to get his picture taken. As you're about to press record when the photographer begins to shoot, you can’t help but giggle at how serious Isaac is taking this. He stands stick straight with his hands clasped behind his back and lips in a straight line. 

“Something funny, new girl?” he asks without breaking eye contact with the camera. He’s been calling you that since you arrived despite now having been around for a month. You think he means it affectionately, though he probably wouldn’t admit it. 

“No, it's just you look so…stern?” you chuckle as you start recording a clip, “If this is for a dating app, shouldn’t you try to look more appealing to any potential suitors?”

“I thought they were blurring our faces?” he asks with furrowed brows, referring to the fact that the app was anonymous and this ad campaign would be following suit.

“Yeah, but don’t you want to be a sexy blur?” 

This makes Isaac crack a smile as he lets out a surprised laugh. You snap your fingers at the photographer, “There, get that!” 

Satisfied with your first piece of content for the night, you stand up and join Keeley where she’s observing everything from behind the monitor displaying the photos as the photographer takes them. 

Keeley smiles at you, “That was pretty good! They could all stand to loosen up a bit - they’re not taking mugshots.”

“That’s literally what all of their football headshots look like,” you joke, “Is there no smiling in football?” You laugh together as another idea strikes, “Hey, what if we play some music? That might relax everyone and loosen them up?”

Keeley’s light up. “That’s a great idea,” she turns to face the other players waiting for their turn, “Oi, does anyone have a speaker?”

Colin raises his hand, “I’ve got one in my locker.”

Moments later, the locker room is filled with upbeat music from a playlist Keeley curated on the fly. The team’s energy instantly escalates, and so do the pictures of them. As Dani takes over Isaac’s spot in front of the camera, you hear someone whispering your name from outside the locker room. You find Sam waving to you from the doorway. You smile and jog over to meet him.

“Looks like a party in here,” he comments amusedly. 

“Yeah, why aren’t you participating by the way? Got a secret girlfriend you’re not telling me about?” 

Sam flushes, “Not quite. I just don’t want to appear too…available.” 

You quirk your eyebrow, “Suspicious but I’ll allow it. So what's up?”

“I wanted to know if you were free Friday night? We end practice early that day and I was wondering if I could take you to that museum I told you about if you still haven’t been?”

“No, that sounds perfect, I would love that!” 

You share excited smiles. “Great! I’ll see you tomorrow then?” 

“Bright and early.”

As you bid good night to Sam and return your focus back to the shoot, you note that Jamie is getting his photo taken now. You accidentally catch his gaze and successfully fight the urge to break eye contact. You offer a smile as you go to get more footage for Richmond’s Instagram, but Jamie returns the smile seemingly half heartedly. You try not to take it personally since you haven’t really had the chance to get to know the guy since you’ve been here. You wonder why that is. While you weren’t very close with many members of the team, aside from Sam, most of them have taken opportunities to get to know you a bit. Except for Jamie.

You try not to dwell, knowing enough about his reputation to know not being close might not be a bad thing. 

The rest of the photoshoot goes extremely well. The Instagram stories you post of the guys are already gaining a lot of attention, and the photos look incredible. You ask Keeley to see if you can get Bantr to let the club use the photos as some of their new imagery online, knowing it would be a shame to just blur them and not have the world see the player’s personalities. As the team files out for the night, you stick around to help Keeley and the photographer pack up, wishing them a good night as you need a few things from your office before you head home. You think you’re the last one there until you hear a voice coming from the parking lot as you exit. Once you’re outside, you recognize the voice as Jamie’s with his distinct Mancunian accent. He appears to be on the phone but you can't make out anything he’s saying on the other side of the parking lot. Even from afar, you get the sense that it's not a pleasant conversation, so you linger by the door to give him some space. Luckily, Jamie’s hanging up with whoever it is a few seconds later, giving you the chance to resume your journey home. You try not to startle him as you get closer but you do anyway. You immediately apologize, letting him know you’re just passing by and you didn’t mean to sneak up on him.

“It's alright,” he assures, though he still seems a bit off, “Didn’t know anyone else was still here.”

“Just me,” you shrug. You know you shouldn’t say anything and just continue walking home, but you have to ask. “Is everything okay? I swear I wasn’t eavesdropping, but that phone call sounded tense and you look…unwell?”

Jamie eyes you like he’s trying to figure out what your angle is. You hurry to reassure him.

“I know we hardly know each other, so in no way do you owe me an explanation, but just figured I’d check in.” 

Jamie nods slowly. For a second you think he might share something with you, but instead he just lets out a quiet sigh, his shoulders sinking, “Nothing you need to worry about.”

You accept his answer and nod. You’re unsure of what to say next, or if you should say anything. You’re about to turn around and wish him a good night when he’s the one that speaks up. 

“So you and Sam seem quite close.” 

You turn back to him and narrow your eyes at him, “Yeah? He’s been showing me around the city.”

Jamie nods thoughtfully, “Are you two…,” your eyes narrow in a full squint as you cross your arms to egg him on, “Seeing each other?”

You can’t help but laugh. In no way were you expecting him to ask that. “Why do you care? Do you have a crush on Sam or something?”

Jamie’s face scrunches up, “No!”

“What then? You gonna tell me Sam’s nice-boy persona is actually an act and he’s secretly been plotting to murder me?”

“No, Sam really is that nice.” 

“Then why are you asking if I’m dating him?” 

“I’m just curious,” he spits out defensively, “Wasn’t sure if it was alright for players to hook up with the club’s employees or whatever.”

“Oh,” you lower your defenses for a second, “...So you have a crush on Beard then?”

Jamie’s defensive resolve melts away as he actually lets out a laugh at your teasing. “No he aint my type. Beard’s too scratchy.” 

You laugh along with him and enjoy that he played along. 

“Well then to answer your question, no Sam and I are not dating, we’re just friends. And no, I don’t think there’s technically any rule against any consensual mingling between the staff and you footballers.

“Hmm,” Jamie nods, his lip pouting a bit, “Good to know.”

“I’m glad to be of help, but I should get going,” you start walking backwards towards the parking lot’s exit, “But I’ll see you tomorrow I guess?”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jamie steps towards you, “You’re just going to walk home alone? At night?” Jamie glances around and answers his own question when he doesn’t see another car in the lot besides his own. “Can I drive you?”

You shake your head assuredly, “Don’t worry about it. I walk home everyday. My place isn’t far.”

You can tell he wants to respect your answer, but asks one more time, “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” you smile, “Have a good night, Jamie.” 

He gives you a small smile back, “You too.” 

You wave before shoving your hands in your coat pockets and take off down the road. When Jamie’s sports car drives past you, he honks the horn twice and you chuckle. 

During your short commute to your flat, you replay your interaction with Jamie. You weren’t sure what you were expecting him to be like. While your conversation was brief, it seemed like he was a decent guy and that he had a sense of humor. The way his hair fell messily on either side of his face was nice, but that was neither here nor there. Maybe Sam was right. Jamie Tartt wasn’t so bad. 

A/N: mwahahahaha

[laiiaaa]

WHEN RAFE IS NERVOUS TO MEET YOUR PARENTS

“Baby, I’m scared.” Rafe looks down at his outfit for what must be the twentieth time tonight. He’s sure he’s more nervous than he’s ever been—what with the fact he’s literally going to meet your parents in T-minus five minutes—and if his lip could talk it’d scream at him for biting at it for an hour now. 

“You said that already.” 

“I know.”

“Quite a few times now, if I remember correctly—”

“I know, baby, I know—” He cuts himself off with the heels of his hands pressing to his brow bone, a subtle wash of comfort blanketing his nerves when he feels your touch brushing up his forearms to grab his wrists.

“Rafe, come on.” You tug at his arms to reveal his face: brows furrowed, eyes petrified. “They’re going to love you, okay?”

If he feels relief at your words (he doesn’t), his face doesn’t show it. “But what if they don’t?”

You let his arms go, and, as if there were some electromagnetic field drawing then there (he’d tell you there absolutely is), his hands smooth over your waist, one moving to rest at the small of your back. “That isn’t going to happen.”

“How do you know?” Even with you beneath his hands—perhaps the most familiar ticket item to him now, your soft curves and supple skin known to him like the back of his hand—he can’t stifle the rough and ragged beat of his heart. 

“I know,” you start, draping your arms around his neck and shoulders, “because I love you.” You step into your tip toes and gently pull him closer to press a kiss to his lips. He tastes like the swig of whiskey he took just before stepping out of the car, and smells like it too when you pull away and murmur against his lips, “And you know that already.”

“I do,” he agrees. Peering down at you now, he swears he could stand out here forever, feet away from ringing your parents’ doorbell while the sun sets behind you, doing nothing other than soaking in the smell of your perfume and the feel of your lipstick transferred onto his skin and the thrum in his heart left over by your praises. But of course, that anxiety looms strong: “You said they’re tough customers, though.”

You roll your eyes, yet a smirk pulls at the corner of your lips. Worrisome little boy. “That was last week. And honestly, love, I’m as tough as they come. You’ve already made it this far.”

This gets a laugh out of him, genuine this time, for it brings up old memories of you two in English composition freshman year: he made a lousy attempt at getting your number on the first day, to which you insisted he entertain you first. You hadn’t expected this to mean finding you in the library and whisking you away to a speakeasy, which, in time, became your ‘place’ so to speak. (You hadn’t expected the bartender to try setting you up with him either, but years later it makes for an awfully entertaining story—consider it a mission accomplished on his part.)

You cup his cheek in your hand before kissing him again, longer this time, for he keeps you there, pressed against his chest and smiling against his anxious mouth. “We can’t just keep kissing out here, you know.”

He pulls you in tighter, arms curling to fit snug against your waist. “I’m sure we can.”

“We’ve got to at least say hello and have dinner. They’re expecting us.”

A kiss to your lips, then your cheek, then your temple. One more to your lips—slower, calculated even—a nip at your bottom lip before he says, “Then they can stay expecting.”

And for a minute, he catches you in his web. You indulge in his idea, teasing your fingers at the nape of his neck, humming into his mouth when his hand slithers up your spine as he dips down, forming a pretty arch in your back he wishes he could see for himself. Your mind loses track of what you’re in front of, filled with little more than the feeling of his mouth, his hands, his love and affection flooding at your fingertips—that is, until you take a step backward and nearly trip over your bag at your feet.

Finally, you give him one last real kiss. “Nuh-uh,” you hum, pulling away to plant dismissive kisses to his jaw while leaning just far enough to land a fingertip on the doorbell before a muffled ding-dong rings through your parents’ foyer. You look at Rafe, who stares back at you with his eyes wide in disbelief.

“You did not—”

You cover his face (which now has lipstick stains of varying saturation, you now realize with a pesky giggle) with your hand. “It had to happen sooner or later, you avoidant brat.” Stooping down in half a second, you pick up your bag and give Rafe a pleading look. “Hold this, please?”

His eyes flit from your bag, to your pout, to your bag now inches closer, back to your stupidly beautiful face. His expression softens, and he sighs while wordlessly taking your belongings.

You reward him—and yourself, somewhat—with another kiss to his cheek. “They’re going to love you,” you whisper for the last time.

He tries to believe you with all his might—trust, he does—even with blood rushing to his face and a million thoughts brimming at his fingertips and a terrible case of jitters that hasn’t left since last night. So forgive him for thinking little else other than Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, or Fuck, fuck, fuck, when your mom greets you and him with a hug. Forgive him for nearly dropping your bag when he goes to shake your father’s hand (he’s trying, okay?). Forgive him most of all for forgetting to speak until you remind him (Rafe, you snip under your breath, pinching his wrist again).

Because truly, his nervous mishaps don’t matter—at least, not to your parents. They see the way he sticks by your side, whether with his full body hovering near yours or with his free hand mere millimeters from your back. They catch those hopeful and reassuring glances he exchanges with you, as if he’s looking at you to say, Wow, we’re really doing this. They don’t miss and won’t forget when he hangs up your coat for you and offers to set the table, a gesture they know he knows, knowing you, is unnecessary. And maybe the most noticeable of all the little quirks of this first meeting are your lipstick stains on his lips, his cheeks, his jaw—perhaps because they’re so loud, but more so because they speak to them this: there’s nothing on this boy’s mind other than a dumbfounded, lovestruck awe of everything you are, and he doesn’t care to look like a fool to show it.

[flowercrowngods]

The click of the Zippo opening and closing is almost hypnotic, lulling Steve into that familiar satisfaction of just the right noise at just the right frequency as he watches Robin’s wrist flicking the lighter open and closed, her arms stretched above her like she’s trying to touch the ceiling. Steve’s hands are gently swaying next to hers, in the nonexistent breeze of his bedroom.

It’s one of their weird private moments; where they get to have everything being just right that would get them questioning and judgemental glances from everyone else. The tingling sensation in their arms as the blood flows down and away from their hands, leaving them heavy and floaty in a way that never fails to ground them. But there’s also a safety to this moment, a security that they just get to have this without judgment.

Just the flick of the lighter and not a word spoken for over half an hour now.

Sometimes Robin laments, How am I supposed to ever find a girlfriend when this is my version of quality time? This is just weird. I’m weird.

Maybe, but it’s fun, Steve had said once, staring at the veins in his hands while a large water bottle was balancing on his forehead.

She had sighed and snatched the water bottle from his face to plant it on hers, admitting, It is fun.

“Do you ever wonder if there’s like…” Robin interrupts their silence, the Zippo never faltering, Steve’s eyes still fixed on it like all the answers to the questions of the universe lie somewhere in the peeling black foil.

“Hm?”

“Like, a point?”

“A point?” Steve asks, still following the lighter with his eyes, even as Robin stops flicking it open and closed and starts playing with the spark wheel and stone. There’s no flame yet, though, and it looks like she’s just stroking it almost reverently.

“Yeah, like a reason that we’re still, like, doing things.”

Steve frowns, lowering one of his arms to feel the blood flowing back into his hand, the sensation warm and familiar. Like a reminder. There’s blood in your body. You’re alive.

Is there a point, though?

“No,” he says eventually.

“No?”

“No. I don’t think there’s one. We just are. Not like we can stop.”

“Well, we could,” she says, and in one second there’s nothing, just words hanging in the air. The next, there’s a flame coming from the lighter as Robin presses hard and fast enough on the spark wheel. It stays there, the little flame.

We could.

Steve says nothing, just watches the flame as the blood gets drained from his right arm once more.

“Sometimes I wanna burn down your house. And your car, too. I watch you die in there sometimes.”

“Huh?”

“Your car. Sometimes it’s just; there’s these thoughts. Or, like, scenarios, and they’re super duper real in my head, and I have to remind myself they’re not. Just makes me wanna drench it all in gasoline and just… boom.”

“Boom,” Steve says, and it’s not the reaction that he should be giving, not the reaction of a sane person — but then, sane people don’t play with their lighters in bed or listen to their best friend’s arsonist tendencies. Sane people don’t see what Steve Harrington see, they don’t do what he does. What he had to do. When what he should have done was fail some tests, drink some beers and kiss some girls.

Is there a point?

“I promise when I get a new car, I’m gonna burn this one with you, yeah?”

“Deal,” Robin says, and the little flame dies. The steady click is back, and Steve smiles a little.

“And the house.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The clicking stops, and before he knows it, Robin’s body is wrapped around his, her head resting on his chest.

“I think that makes for a good point, though,” she says eventually, and Steve perks up.

“Cuddles?”

“You.”

“Me? Isn’t that a little stupid? And scary? Like, choosing a person to be the point in general.”

She shrugs against him, reaching up to hold his hand and link their fingers in the air above them.

“Maybe, but I think most points are either stupid or scary. It’s why people talk about it so often without ever, like, really saying something. I think you can be my stupid, scary point, Steve Harrington.”

Swaying their linked hands gently above them, Steve smiles. “Then I think that makes you my stupid, scary point, Robin Buckley.”

“Deal,” she says again, and there’s less of a threat about it this time.

[wardenparker]

Down the Rabbit Hole - ch 1

Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst​

When Jack accidentally shoots a civilian on a mission he takes on not only the guilt of the man’s death, but inherits his soulmate as well. To you, it’s a dream job with more perks than you can imagine - but for Jack it’s a nightmarish complication. Even more so when he starts to develop feelings.  

Rating: Mature Word Count: 6.6k Warnings: *Blanket warnings - mentions of deceased spouse, a lot of food and alcohol consumption, family recipes, age gap, cursing.* Canon typical violence, death, gun use, angst. Jack has a temper and Tequila has a dumb first name.  Summary: A mission gone wrong ends with disastrous consequences for Jack, but Champ has a plan. A plan to change your life forever. Notes: Welcome to soulmate story number six, everyone! I’m so, so excited to dive in here because I adore Jack. Keri and I are moving ahead with full steam on this story and we can’t wait to see what you all think of it!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14 ~ Ch 15 ~ Epilogue

Statesman, the independent intelligence agency, probably has some of the most up-to-date intel that anyone could ever want. Most times. Right now, that isn't the case. Ducking down behind a flipped over table, Jack – Agent Whiskey – rips off the broken frames of the glasses that not only fed him information but also scanned anyone for weapons and allowed his oversight team to see what he was seeing. A little bit of 'through the looking glass' magic.

"Now, damnit Ginger, I'm not trying to be difficult, but I need to know how the fuck to get out of here." Jack growls into the minuscule microphone that is imbedded into the earpiece that allowed her to talk directly into his ear. He glances at a body that is laying nearby, limbs sprawled with his eyes open and lifeless. The target that he had been after but someone else had started shooting up the place before he could reach him.

“You’ve been made, Whiskey, you need to get out of there.” It might be a little bit of stating the obvious, but Ginger’s even tone comes through his ear piece loud and clear. “What’s your clearest exit?”

"Does it look like I know?" Jack huffs, rolling his eyes even though the Statesman tech couldn't see him as he takes a chance and sticks his head up to scan the area for the nearest exit. The rapid burst of gunfire makes him duck back down, wood from the table splintering above his Stetson. "Southeast corner."

“Get out through the kitchen.” Ginger orders, clicking through floor plans and security cameras at her desk at lightning speed. “Through the kitchen, out the delivery bay doors, and left when you hit the alley. That will put you in the parking lot. Grab a car and get to the hell back to the Silver Pony.” The end of this mission has gotten messier than Champ will like, and extraction is their best option until a new strategy can be decided on. It’s ugly, but it happens sometimes. That’s one of the hazards of their line of work.

"Copy." Jack hunches down a little more when another barge of gunfire erupts, this time he feels the tug of a bullet as it tears through the wood and punches a hole through his hat. "Didn't think y'all'd give me a second." He grumbles, reaching for the pair of pearl handled .44 revolvers that are tucked into his holsters. Flipping them easily by the trigger guards as more of a habit than anything else, the weight of them is familiar and steady in his hands.

"Gonna hit the sprinklers and fire alarms in five seconds, Jack." The warning is the best Ginger can do for him, knowing that the ensuing chaos will confuse and disorient the enemies shooting at Jack and give him just a few seconds to get across the room while they adjust to something new happening around them. "Five...four...three...two...one!"

The distraction is just the window that he needs. Springing out from behind the compromised cover to start shooting. Jack's aim is true, taking down two of the people shooting at him with quick pulls of the triggers under his fingers. Three pounds of pressure to pull the hammer back and fire, custom designed for him for better rate of fire in a pinch. Those targets down, Jack starts to dash through the spraying water, the alarms starting to blare out to warn of a fire that isn't there but the system thinks it is.

The double doors into the hotel kitchen slam open, expelling Jack into the crowded, overheated room full of clamoring cooks getting ready for dinner service. A radio blaring in one corner and more than a dozen people shouting to each other had covered most of the noise of gunshots, but there's no mistaking their surprise when the mustachioed cowboy falls through the doors into their domain.

Jack’s eyes are darting around the room, seeking out a potential threat and when he doesn’t find one, he starts running for the door on the opposite side of the long galley.

Most people jump out of the way, some brandishing the knives in their hands as defensive weapons and others hide behind prep tables. The blaring alarm has now made its way to the kitchen, and everyone not cowering or weakly defending themselves is now trying to cover the food they have been cooking from being destroyed by the water splashing down from the ceiling. There is shouting and chaos, but no one dares to stop the cowboy running at full speed down the length of the kitchen.

“Ginger!” Jack shouts, even though he doesn’t have to as he pushes out of the doors that lead to the dock and loading bay. “Where to—” His words break off as he sees the glint of a gun out of the corner of his eye, reacting without even hesitating. Twirling around and his weapons fire on instinct.

"Jack?" Ginger's voice echoes in his ear as the man whirls around to see two bodies drop to the pavement behind him. One had a gun outstretched, the crisp lines of his suit wrinkled under the force of the shot that sent him falling backward. The other pitched into the wall before he fell – chef's jacket stained crimson with his own blood. "Jack! Are you hit?" She asks, voice more determined and edging on nervous.

Jack’s blood rushes to his ears, making Ginger sound like she is underwater. Or maybe it’s him that is drowning. It’s suddenly hard to breath, the seeming sucked from his lungs as he sways on his feet for a heart stopping moment. The impact of what he has just done crashing over him.

“Jack? Jack!” Ginger’s voice in his ear makes his vision sharpen from where it had gone fuzzy, bringing him back to the moment.

“Ginger Ale.” Jack chokes out. “I—shit, I just shot a civilian.”

"Shit." For a woman who rarely ever curses, the impact of it doubles coming from Ginger. "Get out of there, Jack. I'll send in Gamma Team to clean up. But I don't want you being part of the cleanup. You hear me?"

A civilian. Shit. Champ is going to be furious.

******

“Jason Howe, 36, born in Northwood, New Hampshire on April 4th.”

Jack winces and curls his hand into a fist as he stands in front of the conference room table. Not having been invited to sit, nor to have the glass of ‘67 Statesman Reserve that Champ has sitting in a glass at his elbow. A drink that Jack desperately needs. “Champ, there was a gun.” Jack defends, although he knows it’s a weak excuse. Statesmen take out the bad guys, not hurt the innocent. And Jack’s killed a bystander who had nothing to do with anything.

"You've been off since Cambodia, Jack." And although Champ knows exactly why, it can't be considered an excuse. He looks back down at the file on the conference table and frowns, then keeps reading. "Two siblings. Parents both living. Soulmate so far unknown." The older man looks up, locking his eyes on Jack. "We're tracking her down."

“Why?” Jack demands, frowning at the mere idea. Statesman had never tracked down a soulmate of anyone before, why start now? “We don’t know who it is, or if they care.” He scoffs. “Better to let sleepin’ dogs lie.”

“I don’t blame you for not noticing.” Champ sighs and shakes his head before finally motioning for Jack to sit. The man is his best senior agent, his quickest set of reflexes, and his closest friend. Frankly, Champ is worried about the upheaval in Jack’s life lately. It’s affecting his perception on a base level, not to mention his work. “You didn’t come out of that fire fight unscathed, and your adrenaline was too damn high for the pain to get through to you.” Running one hand down his face, Champ huffs slightly as he sips from his own whiskey glass but still doesn’t offer Jack any. “The back of your right arm. Just above your elbow. You have a new mark, Jack.”

“Bullshit.” Jack spits, furious at the implication of what Champ is saying. “My soulmate is dead.” He reminds the older man, as if he wasn’t well aware. Hell, Champ was the one who had recruited Jack to Statesman, so he was well aquatinted with his backstory. Until this moment, he would have called the man a friend. Maybe his best friend, even though Tequila likes to claim that’s his title. “Been dead and gone for years. So there ain’t no marks on my body.”

“I don’t mean to say anything against her memory.” Champ holds up one hand in a defensive posture. With the other, he gestures to the large mirror on the conference room wall. “Roll up your sleeve and take a look for yourself. Ginger noted the appearance of scars from minor cuts and bruises and a small tattoo on your arm. None of these marks were found on the civilian that was killed or any of the other dead men that Gamma Team cleaned from the scene. Following protocols, we’re now tracking down any and all soulmates and searching databases for your exact set of new marks.” He knows it isn’t good news. It isn’t good for the agency, and it isn’t good for Jack. But, despite it being a long shot, it is now more likely than not that someone out there shares these marks with him. And that makes her both a liability and a potential target. Whoever she is.

Fuck.” Jack hisses bitterly, his shoulders jerking as he shuffles out of his sports coat and tosses it down so he can start rolling up his sleeve. “Can’t Ginger remove it?” He demands, not wanting marks on his body. He hasn’t had any since the day Abigail died and he doesn’t want some other woman’s scars or tattoos on his skin either. He doesn’t have a soulmate and he doesn’t want one.

“Soulmate scars don’t work like that.” He knows Jack knows it, but he also understands the younger man’s distress as he tears his sleeve back to inspect his skin. “As far as Ginger’s nanites are concerned, that’s just your skin. No imperfections about it.”

“Who gets a goddamn tattoo on the back of their elbow?” Jack growls, twisting his arm around before he catches sight of the ink. “I don’t want another soulmate. This needs to be broken.” Tattoos and scars were things that could get an agent killed. Identifying marks, things that nanites fixed to conceal their real identities. Even agent’s soulmates had their scars removed if they were together.

“How exactly do you propose to do that?” Champ asks, raising one incredulous eyebrow at his friend. “Soulmate bonds are only broken by death, Jack. You know that as well as anyone. So unless you’re intendin’ on killing this girl just for existing, I’m afraid you’re shit out of luck.”

For one horrifying split second, Jack considers it. In his grief and rage at having his original soulmate, his wife, he thinks about killing another innocent person. “Jesus Christ.” He manages, body sagging and slumping in disgust at himself and overwhelming sadness. “I— I can’t—” Looking helplessly up at Champ, his eyes are filled with pain. “I can’t be someone else’s soulmate.”

“No one’s askin’ you to drop everything and bring whoever this woman is back to the ranch and start your life over.” At this, and Jack’s defeated shoulders, Champ finally pours two fingers of ‘67 Reserve into a clean glass and slides it across the table to Jack. “We’re gonna find her, and she’s gonna be under Statesman protection. That’s how we’re gonna handle this to start out with. Until we know more about her, the best thing we can do for your safety and hers is keep her close.”

“Why the fuck was this Jason Howe outside?” Jack snatched up the glass, pissed that because of one cook’s inability to be in the damn kitchen where he belonged, he’s burdened with a soulmate he doesn’t want. Is he victim blaming and deflecting? Yes, he is. But he doesn’t care right now. The whiskey burns on the way down and Jack sighs in appreciation of that fact.

“Smoke break.” Champ shrugs, knowing that why doesn’t really matter. “Gamma found his DNA on two cigarette butts nearby.”

There’s a sarcastic comment about how smoking kills somewhere rattling around in his brain, but Jack can’t bring himself to voice it. Not when he knows he is to blame, he had reacted and didn’t take a split second to make sure it wasn’t someone innocent nearby. He had done this and it weighs heavily. Nearly as heavy as his wife’s death and he hadn’t been directly responsible for that - though he felt guilty.

Shifting back in his chair, Champ surveys the agent in front of him as an agent rather than his friend, and he drains the rest of his glass in one go. “You have to come out of the field for a while,” he tells Jack firmly. There’s no room for debate here. “Psych eval, incident investigation, and that mark on your arm all have to be addressed before we can get you back out.”

Jack’s jaw rocks, immediately wanting to argue but he knows Champ. There’s no getting around this. He’ll be out of the field until the man gives his stamp of approval and not a moment before. “Had no problem throwing out the Golden Circle but now this is a problem?” He growls, stomping around the table to snatch a bottle of Statesman ‘72 off the bar cart. “Let me know when I gotta talk to the head doctors. Until then, I’m drinkin’.”

“I can’t get you out of this one because I threw my weight around on the Golden Circle case.” Champ huffs, not wanting to cause a fight but ready to have this conversation if need be. “I’m not worried ‘bout you passing, Jack. It’s just gotta get done.” The real concern is the black ink on the back of his arm – a hearts playing card with a teacup where the ace would be and the words ‘Curioser and curioser’ encircling it. While he carries that mark, he’s a danger in the field.

Snorting, Jack turns on his heel, grabbing his jacket off the chair and flicking a mocking two finger salute at Champ. “Sure thing, Champagne,” he huffs, knowing how much the full code name chosen for him irritates him. “I’m on desk duty.”

Champ huffs again, annoyed at Jack for being seemingly even less mature than Tequila in realizing that this isn’t a punishment, it’s caution. “And you’ll stay that way,” he grumbles as the door slams shut behind Whiskey’s retreating figure. “Goddamn stubborn donkey’s ass.”

Jack’s boots slap against the floors as he stomps down the hall. Several agents sidestep and move on the other side, warily eyeing the fierce scowl on his face.

The sound is unmistakable, and Tequila has been waiting to hear it since Jack had reported to Champ a half hour ago. He situated himself in Jack’s office almost immediately after, not really knowing what would happen but figuring that his friend might want to rant about something or go for a drink after. Civilians don’t exactly get caught in the crossfire every day – and Jack takes that kind of thing personally.

The door swings open and Jack pins Tequila with a hard stare. “Get out.” He huffs, striding over to the desk and slamming the bottle down on the hundred year old oak before he turns around to his own wet bar to get a glass.

“Guessin’ Champ ain’t too happy?” Tequila stands from the chair he had been occupying but makes no movement to leave. He’s known Whiskey too long and thinks too well of him to just up and abandon the man.

Jack doesn’t answer, grabbing the cut crystal glass and setting it down a little too forcefully before he picks up the bottle to pull the cork out and pours himself a double.

“Takin’ that as a ‘no, he ain’t’.” Stretching awkwardly, Tequila crosses his arms and watches Jack for a few seconds before he tries again. “There’s a couple of new girls leading tours who’ve been hinting at wanting dates,” he offers, knowing that that usually perks the older agent up a little. “We could blow off some steam tonight?” Mostly he’s just not sure that leaving Jack alone is going to be good in any way.

“Not interested.” Jack grunts, stomach rolling with guilt and anger. “God damnit!” He slams the glass down on the desk and his hand shoots out to sweep the neatly stacked files off the desk to scatter across the floor. Not like he wouldn’t have time to reorganize them anyway.

“Shit, Jack. What the fuck did Champ say?” Whiskey might have a temper, sure, but he usually just blows off his steam at the firing range or with a one-night stand. He’s not the type to go destroying things for fun or catharsis. Tequila steps forward warily, like he’s dealing with a spooked horse instead of his upset friend. “You know you can tell me. We can figure shit out.”

“There’s no ‘figuring it out’, Tex.” Jack snarls, well aware of the fact that Tequila hates his given name and prefers to go by his code name. “Apparently I inherited the civilian’s soulmate.”

“Fuuuck…” Tequila’s jaw drops so hard that his ass ends up back in the chair he has been sitting in only a minute ago. “How the hell does that happen?”

“Fuck if I know.” Jack blows out, reaching up to start unbuttoning his shirt. He needs to examine himself to see what other fucking marks this mystery woman has ‘gifted’ him with.

“Second soulmates are supposed to be a myth…” Anybody who knows a single thing about Jack Daniels knows about Abigail, and the fact that he lost her more than twenty years ago. A bit like anyone who knows him knows he was a rodeo man.

“Second soulmates are lies you tell the poor son of a bitch who’s burying his sweetheart.” Jack spits bitterly, remembering the bullshit people had spouted at him in the name of making him ‘feel better’. It hadn’t worked. “Not needed or wanted.”

“Looks like they ain’t lies at all.” Tequila hunches forward in his seat when Jack peels away his shirt and makes a noncommittal sound at the black-inked image on the back of his arm. “Weird place for it,” he comments, inching closer to get a better look.

“Fucking stupid is what it is.” Had Jack been admiring the tattoo on a woman, one he had in bed or aiming to get into bed, his opinion would have been different. But this was ink on his body. Even the tattoo he had gotten after Abigail and Tim died had to be removed when he joined Statesman.

Tequila squints a second before letting out a half-hearted chuckle. “It’s Alice in Wonderland,” he informs the other man once he remembered what the damn quote was all about. “Guess she likes to read.”

“Champ wants to find this woman.” Jack huffs, rolling his eyes and looking towards the mirror that is attached to the bathroom door. Looking for anything else.

“You don’t?” He probably sounds more surprised than he is, but if it were him - Tequila would sure as hell want to find the woman the universe says he’s supposed to love and cherish for the rest of his life. Even if all he had was a platonic soulmate, he would still want to know them. To have that connection and closeness. A friend that means so much they become his family. “Not sayin’ you hafta marry her, Jack, but damn. I mean…she’s got a target painted on her now if anyone ever finds out. Shouldn’t Statesman keep her safe?”

If it was anyone else, Jack would say that the protection of Statesman was necessary, but he can’t bring himself to say it. He knows that Champ and Tequila are right, this person – whoever she is – deserves to be safe because of who he is. Instead of answering, Jack pours himself another drink.

“Right.” Nodding at Jack’s silence, Tequila adjusts his Stetson and raps his knuckles once on the large oak desk. “I’ll see you in the morning, then?” It’s the end of the day and he’s presuming that Jack will be drinking his supper tonight. Which is a fair bet, all things considered.

There’s defeat in Jack’s stance, unable to gather his thoughts properly. Work was easy, it didn’t involve his heart and this was everything to do with it. When Jack still says nothing, Tequila stands and turns to move towards the door. “What does it say?” Jack asks quietly, staring down at the empty glass and wishing he was already wasted. “That I’ve got marks on my body again? What does it say about my love for my wife?”

“I don’t know what it says about her,” Tequila admits, turning again to face his friend. “But I think it says that you deserve a chance to be happy again. And from everything you’ve ever told me about Abigail?” He shrugs slightly, glancing down at the framed photograph of the two of them that he knows Jack keeps in pristine condition on his desk at all times. “Seems to me she’d be more upset at you closin’ yourself off than at the universe givin’ you an ass kicking.”

Shame fills Jack, knowing that Tequila had hit the nail on the head. Abby woulda torn into his hide for the thoughts he had about this new soulmate without ever meetin her. Or setting his beautiful, fiery wife up on a pedestal.

“You don’t have to do anything about it.” Tequila says again, knowing that most people in the world see their soulmate as their mandatory partner. Their person as ordained by the universe. Jack had already had that, and it’s not hard to see that he doesn’t find a repeat experience to be necessary. “But at least let Champ protect her. She didn’t ask for this anymore than you did.”

“It’s my fault.” Jack murmurs already pouring another three fingers of whiskey and staring at it for a moment before he takes another swallow. “I killed her soulmate, so the universe is punishing me. Punishing us both.”

“It ain’t a punishment necessarily.” Sensing the tide turning in the conversation, Tequila drops his hat on the side of Jack’s desk and grabs himself a glass before sitting down again. “Not all soulmates are romantic, and not all soulmates are perfect. Maybe you inherited her marks so you can protect her? Who knows.”

There it is. The crux of the problem. “Can’t protect her. Don’t even know her.” Jack huffs. “Couldn’t protect the woman I loved. The woman I would die for. Shoulda died for.” He would have traded places with her in an instant if it meant Abby and Sam were safe and still roaming the earth. It would have been the easiest decision he’s ever made.

“Then stay away.” The younger man suggests instead. Pouring himself a short drink and sitting back, he offers Jack a shrug. “Let Champ protect her once he finds her, and don’t tell her who you are. What you are to her. Let her live her life. I don’t pretend to have the answers, man. But I can help you piece this whole thing out.”

Staying away sounds like a solid plan. “I’ll be back out in the field anyway.” He rationalizes, imagining that it will be just a week or two before Champ needs him. Who’s to say that this woman even wants a soulmate? She hadn’t found the Jason Howe fella. “Sometimes that bean between your ears actually works.” Jack grunts with a whisper of a grin.

“Don’t worry.” That gets a hearty laugh from the younger man, and Tequila raises his glass in salute before he takes a sip. “I won’t let it go to my head.”

Jack snorts and drowns the rest of his drink and pours himself another before he slides the bottle towards Tequila. “Good.” He jokes. “Otherwise your hat won’t fit.”

******

By every Monday morning you’re always dragging. The restaurant was packed with reservations all weekend long and you probably burned off another fingerprint trying to do the sugar work for the dark chocolate salted caramel tarts that chef insisting on adding to the menu ahead of the new year. They’re beautiful, and delicious, but sugar work is tricky with an overblown wind bag shouting over your shoulder all night. The house is bustling this morning, though, and you have your niece on your hip while you sip your morning coffee and your mother in the other room is singing songs with your nephew. The dog is somewhere, the cat is on the windowsill, and your sister is finally getting her morning shower in after getting up early with the kids because they wanted to see Daddy off to work. There’s enough going on that you almost didn’t even hear your cell phone ring in your pocket. Almost.

Champ taps the file that Ginger had given to him, listening to the ringing in his ear. The soulmate had been found, surprisingly quickly to his delight. While it was assumed that no one knew about the soulmate connection between this woman in the packet and his senior field agent, but never guaranteed. Now he just needs to pitch the winning game to get her to Kentucky.

You almost don't pick up - who would be calling you from Louisville, Kentucky? - but eventually decide that you're curious enough to answer. At the worst you'll have a two-minute conversation with a telemarketer. There are worse things in the world. "Hello?" You press your phone to your ear and shift your niece a little higher on your hip with your other hand.

Clearing his throat, Champ says your name jovially. “Champ Rogers here, happy to get you on the phone, how are you doing this fine morning, darlin’?” Some might take offense to the antiquated word of endearment, but he has a feeling you won’t.

"I'm doing well, thanks." The funny face you make at the one-year-old hugging your side makes it almost sound like you're laughing, the smile coming through in your voice. "I'm not sure I know who you are, though, Mr. Rogers. What can I do for you?"

“Apologies, miss.” Champ shakes his head at himself chuckles. He knows a lot more about you than you do him, although that’ll change if he can help it. “I’m lookin’ for a pastry chef and the head hunter I’ve paid more money than God handed me your resume and said you’d be a good fit.”

"Oh!" Well, that's unexpected. Your head nearly snaps up from sticking your tongue out at your favourite little girl and a frown wrinkles your forehead a second later. "And...where did you say you were calling from?" He didn't, but you don't want to be rude. If he's looking for a personal pastry chef or a one-time catering gig, then Kentucky is a little far for you to travel.

“Kentucky, ma’am.” Champ spins around in his chair and looks out from the top of the infamous bottle that houses his office down at the distillery below. “I run a little outfit called Statesman.” Technically Jack’s CEO on paper, but Champ has final say.

"Statesman like the distillery?" Like your father's favourite whiskey that he's been drinking your entire life and there's always a bottle in the house at all times? Statesman is head hunting you? "Without meaning to seem rude, why exactly would a distillery need a pastry chef?"

Smart as a whistle. Champ grins, delighted that Jack’s new soulmate seems to have a firm head on her shoulders. “Well, we have a little tour operation here. We have around one point three million folks file through our distillery, and I’ve been wantin’ to jazz it up a bit. Offer more than just peanuts with the whiskey tasters.”

"I see." Leaning back against the counter, you lean over and press a kiss to your niece's thin hair while you chew on your bottom lip. It is a hell of an offer, but it seems like it's coming out of left field. Not that you're going to complain about being sought after - that would be the epitome of looking a gift horse in the mouth - and honestly you're pretty damn curious. "What exactly did you have in mind, Mr. Rogers?"

Champ winces at the formality and the way the use of his legal title sits wrong on him, like an ill-fitting hat. “Pastries. Cakes and creams that use our whiskey. Fruit tarts and those little sandwiches. Somethin’ that’ll make the womenfolk happy and I’ve got a space that I want to have set up to make it an experience they can’t get anywhere but Statesman.”

"You want to have...boozy tea party food?" It's so hard not to sound excited when that's right up your alley with the exact kind of baking you already love to do. "Well, I certainly appreciate the call." And since you've never been head hunted before in your entire fucking life, you really don't know what could possibly come next. "And the position you're looking to fill is...an assistant? Sous chef?" There's no way one of the biggest distilleries in the entire country is calling to offer you a brand new executive chef position making your dream food. That would be insane.

“I don’t know what a Sous chef is.” Champ huffs, his accent butchering the word. “I want someone to run the damn thing. Make up the menus to make mouths water.” He feels like your interest might not be enough to get you here. “Tell you what?” Champ grins. “How ‘bout I send the jet to pick you up and you come on over to the distillery and see what you’d be workin’ with?” He offers. “Take the tour, see the space I want to turn into a restaurant and we can see if you think it’s a good fit?”

"The j-jet?" You stutter out the word in disbelief, eyes flying up to catch your mother's as she walks into the kitchen with your nephew in tow – only to immediately give him the quiet signal a second later when she sees you on your phone. "I, uh—" Breathe, you remind yourself aggressively. "I assume you'll want to see what I can do, as well? A headhunter is all well and good, Mr. Rogers, but if you're going to show me your space, I should at least be making you a few sample recipes while I'm there." It's all so much to take in and you're nearly overwhelmed at the enormity of it. This sounds like a dream. Way, way too good to be true.

“Please, call me Champ.” He insists, almost pained at hearing the name his father had been called for years. “Tell me what you need and I’ll make it happen. I’ll send you an email, how’s that sound? When do you think you could be here? Jet can be where you are in three hours.” The mention of a private jet always impresses, and he notices it had an effect on you.

"Well...I do have some flexible time at the moment." Two days off from the restaurant in a row is what you've got, and your mind is buzzing with possibilities. "Three hours should be enough to prep a list and book a hotel in Louisville for a night." It will be the most expensive job interview you've ever taken, but really? You can't see passing this up. If nothing else, you'll get to take the distillery tour and bring a bottle back to your dad for his bar. An unexpected trip could be fun.

“Pishaw.” Champ scoffs. “No need for you to book a hotel, there’s a residence on the grounds where we can put you up. It would be yours if you accept the job.” He smirks at the idea.

"You're kidding." It escapes your lips before you can stop yourself, and you would facepalm if you had a free hand. "Out of curiosity, Champ," the informality would never fly in your restaurant kitchen, but you actually prefer it. "What exactly would this position pay?"

“Well darlin’,” Champ admires a woman who gets down to brass tacks. “Considerin’ you’d be responsible for the menu and the runnin’ of the kitchens, I was thinking that we would start you out at 90 with a guaranteed half a percent of all profits per quarter.” Champ offers off the top of his head. He’d only glanced at the baseline salary for an executive chef when he had thought of this – though it was a good idea. “How’s that sound?”

With your phone jammed between your cheek and your shoulder and reach for your mother, gripping her hand so tightly she actually flinches as your eyes nearly bug out of your head. The base line salary you were just quoted is more than twice what you're making now, and it would have profits on top of it, and it even comes with guaranteed housing. "That sounds...like a salary that comes with a lot of responsibility," you admit, when you can finally form a damn word on your own lips again. "You go ahead and send an email with the full job description and offer, and I will send you back a list of supplies to give you a fair view of what I can do. We'll see if my abilities fall in line with your vision for the next step forward at Statesman."

“That sounds like a fine plan.” Champ leans back in his chair, sure that he’s reeled you in. “I’ll be seeing you soon, ya hear?” He hangs up the phone and starts to chuckle to himself as he looks down at your picture in the file. Poor Jack is in for a rude awakening.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god." The second your phone beeps and disconnects, you stare at it like a ghost has just popped out of it before looking back up at your mother in wonder. "I just...got a job offer. For the most insane job of all time." Shoving the electronic back into your pocket, you shift your niece in your arms and place a kiss on her little head before setting her down in her highchair at the kitchen table and slumping down beside her to grab your now-cold coffee. "Oh my god."

“What in the world is going on?” Moving over to the coffee maker, your mother reaches for her own cup. It’s a routine that you two have coffee while she watches the babies for your sister.

"Apparently a head hunter got a hold of my resume and passed it on to the head of the Statesman Distillery in Kentucky." It's the most unbelievable sentence you've ever said in your life, and you fall back in your chair with a dazed look on your face. "They want to expand their food offerings for tours and events, apparently? They want me to go down there and look at the facility. Mom...that phone call was offering me an executive position."

“An executive position? To do what? Run the bakery?” Your mom turns and leans against the counter so she can sip on her black coffee. “To develop recipes?”

"Develop the entire menu, run the bakery, help roll out this whole new entertaining program for the distillery." Cold coffee is still coffee, and you drink yours slowly just so you don't choke on the drink your excitement. "The job comes with on premises housing and pays more than twice what I make now." The number he quoted is enough to boggle your mind all over again. "They're sending a private jet to pick me up and bring me down there for this interview and lord I hope this is not just some weird scam."

Your mom’s eyes widen and she frowns. “I – you should call the distillery. Ask some questions to make sure. Who sends a jet for a chef?” She doesn’t mean to sound harsh, but it strikes her as extremely odd.

"It sounds too good to be true." Your shoulders drop, and your eyes track down to stare into your coffee. "He's supposed to be sending me an e-mail with flight info and the job offer. It either won't come through or it'll be fake. But at least then I'll have two days off to wallow in the amazing job I almost had."

As if to argue, your phone dings with an email notification. Your mom sighs. “Sweetie— I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so negative. I don’t know how this works in big corporations.” She feels guilty, like she’s stolen your happiness away and you deserve all the joy you can find.

"No, you're just being realistic." Neither of your parents are particularly negative people. You'd call them realistic optimists, if you had to give it a title. They always try to look at the best parts of very practical situations. You pull your phone from your pocket and tap on the e-mail, studying it carefully for any signs of fraud or imitation. "What do you think?" You ask your mother, turning your cell around to let her read what just came through. Decades in journalism have given her a pretty good eye for detective work.

She studies the email carefully and looks up at you. “This looks legitimate.” She admits after a moment, a smile cracking her face. “Keep your phone on you, check in with us, but I think you should go for it.”

"He wants me to make four samples for the interview." Taking your phone back, you can feel the excitement rising all over again. There's nerves there, and a little bit of fear of the unknown, but mostly a giddy amount of glee rising from the tips of your toes all the way up to the top of your head. Moving a thousand miles away from your family for a job wasn't exactly a possibility on your radar, but if this job is for real? You'd be foolish not to do it. "I guess...I guess I need to figure out what I'm going to make and send off a supply list and then pack."

“You go do that.” Your mom takes your coffee cup and grins at you. Would she miss you if you took the job? Absolutely. But this is too good of a chance for you to get out of your current restaurant. “Just think— your own kitchen where no one can yell at you.”

"And if that isn't the dream, I don't know what is." With hugs and kisses for your niece and nephew, you start to hustle out of the room but stop in the living room doorway and turn back around. "What do you think about doing Grandma Jane's coconut cake as cupcakes and adding bourbon to the cream cheese frosting?" If Statesman wanted booze in their desserts, you sure as hell weren't going to pass up the chance to present it with the family's coveted cake recipe.

“If they don’t give you the job based on that alone, they are fools.” Your mother huffs, giving you an encouraging smile. “You’ll knock them dead.”

______ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3

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[linnitheo]

Racing hearts

Max Verstappen x Y/N Fanfiction

Y/N POV

The roar of the engines was deafening as the cars flew past, the vibration of the circuit reaching the soles of my shoes, even though I was standing far from the track itself. The stands were packed, fans cheering as their favorite drivers raced by, but my eyes were fixed on just one car—Number 1, Max Verstappen.

It still felt surreal. I wasn’t just another fan admiring him from a distance anymore. A few months ago, I could have never imagined my life would change so much, and in such a whirlwind fashion. Now here I was, standing in the paddock as his girlfriend.

How did this even happen?

Flashback, six months earlier:

It had all started when I went to a Formula 1 race in Monaco. I was attending with my best friend, a journalist covering the event. Being around the paddock wasn’t new to her, but it was a whole new world for me. The exclusive vibe, the glamour, the loud roar of engines—it was intoxicating. Then, during the practice session, Max Verstappen had come over to where we were standing, exchanged a few polite words with my friend, and offered a smile that had taken my breath away.

Later that evening, at a post-race event, I found myself standing near the bar, awkwardly nursing a drink. Max had approached, and for a moment, I thought he was mistaking me for someone else.

“You were at the paddock earlier,” he said, his blue eyes piercing and confident. “You’re friends with that journalist?”

“Yeah, she covers the races,” I had replied, trying not to sound too starstruck.

We exchanged small talk, which quickly turned into longer conversations. Before I knew it, we were talking about everything from travel to racing, to how strange it was for someone like me, who didn’t know much about motorsport, to be so enthralled by it all.

By the end of that evening, he’d asked for my number.

Present Day, Y/N POV

The last few months had been a whirlwind of jet-setting between races, trying to balance my life with his. It wasn’t easy dating one of the most famous drivers on the grid. There were media obligations, travel schedules, and the constant fear of him getting hurt on track. But when Max was with me, none of that mattered.

"Y/N!" A familiar voice pulled me from my thoughts.

I turned to see Max walking toward me, wearing his Red Bull Racing uniform. His hair was tousled from his helmet, but his face lit up with a wide smile. Despite the race weekend intensity, Max always made time for me, something I loved about him.

“You nervous for today?” I teased, knowing full well that Max didn’t get nervous anymore.

He laughed, “Me? Nah. But you? Maybe.”

“I’m fine,” I smirked. “But you better win.”

He gave me a quick, playful kiss on the lips, before stepping back, looking down at me with that intense gaze of his. "I always do better when you’re watching."

Max POV

The lights went out, and I immediately jumped into the action, the sound of engines screaming around me. There’s always that moment, right after the start, where you can feel the tension between every driver. It’s electric, like we’re all holding our breath, waiting for someone to make the first move.

I didn’t hesitate. From third on the grid, I launched the car forward, squeezing between the Ferrari and the Mercedes. I knew Charles and Lewis would be tough to overtake, but I had something to prove today.

And not just to the fans or the team, but to Y/N. Ever since she entered my life, she gave me this strange sense of calm, like no matter what happened on track, I’d be okay once I was with her. But today, I wanted to show her what I could really do.

Lap after lap, I kept pushing harder, chasing down the front-runners. The radio chatter was constant, my engineer reminding me of tire wear, strategy, and the gaps behind me. But all I could think about was Y/N’s face when I crossed the finish line first.

Coming out of the final corner, I saw the checkered flag waving, and with a final burst of speed, I crossed the line.

P1.

The roar from the crowd was deafening, but all I could think about was getting out of the car and finding her.

Y/N POV

Watching Max cross the finish line first sent a wave of excitement through me. The crowd around me erupted in cheers, but I couldn’t hear anything except the sound of my own heartbeat. I ran toward the paddock, past security, and into the arms of Max as soon as he stepped out of the car.

He pulled me in tight, sweat and all, and kissed me with a passion that made the rest of the world disappear. I didn’t care about the cameras flashing around us, or the team celebrating behind us.

“You did it!” I exclaimed breathlessly.

“We did it,” he replied, pulling back just enough to look into my eyes. “You keep me grounded. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

For a moment, everything was perfect.

Max POV

But things rarely stay perfect for long in my world.

Later that night, we were driving back to the hotel when I noticed a car following us. It had been trailing us since we left the circuit, weaving through the streets of the city like it was trying to keep pace.

“Max… is that car—”

“I see it,” I cut her off, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

I could feel the tension rising. My life had always come with a certain level of risk. Racing at over 300 kilometers per hour on a track is one thing, but this… this was different.

Y/N’s eyes were wide with concern, but she trusted me. "Stay calm," I said, my voice low, trying to reassure her.

Suddenly, the car behind us sped up, getting uncomfortably close. I knew it wasn’t a fan or paparazzi; something felt off. I swerved into a side street, but they followed, their intentions becoming clearer.

“Max…” Y/N’s voice cracked with fear.

Without hesitating, I floored the gas, weaving through the narrow streets, the city lights flashing by in a blur. My heart pounded, but my instincts kicked in, just like they did on the track. I had to get us out of this.

The car behind us tried to keep up, but I knew these streets better. I took a sharp turn, pulling us into an alleyway and killed the engine. I motioned for Y/N to stay quiet as we watched the car speed past, missing us entirely.

My chest was heaving, the adrenaline coursing through my veins. Slowly, I turned to Y/N, who was still gripping the seat.

“You okay?”

She nodded, but I could see the fear in her eyes. “What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice barely a whisper. But I knew one thing for sure—I would do anything to keep her safe.

Y/N POV

The next few days were tense. Max and his team tightened security around us, but it was hard to shake the feeling that we were being watched. Something had changed. Max had enemies on the track, sure, but this was personal.

Despite the fear, we stayed together, closer than ever. We had dinner in a quiet restaurant one night, hidden from the public eye. Max kept his hand on mine the entire time, his touch a reminder that no matter what was happening outside, we were stronger together.

“I’m not letting anything happen to you,” he said quietly over the candlelight.

“I’m not scared,” I lied. I was terrified, but I couldn’t let him see it.

“I love you, Y/N,” he said, his voice soft but steady.

I blinked, taken aback. He’d never said that before. The weight of his words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. But I knew, deep down, I felt the same way.

“I love you too, Max.”

In that moment, I realized something. Life with Max Verstappen would never be easy. There would always be danger, always be risks. But I was ready for it—because I loved him.

Max POV

As I held her hand, the world outside the restaurant felt far away. I knew this wouldn’t be the last time we’d face danger. My life was fast, chaotic, and unpredictable, but Y/N was the one constant that made it all worth it.

“I’m going to win the championship for you,” I said, squeezing her hand.

She smiled, but it wasn’t just her smile that gave me strength. It was the look in her eyes that told me she believed in me, in us.

Racing had always been my life, but now… she was my reason to race.

And nothing, no danger, no enemy, was going to take that away from me.

End