#trying to get any of my friends to watch him

[tokoyamisstuff]

Second Chance At Love Pt. 3

Variant! Invincible x gn! Reader

Warnings: angst, blood, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, not proofread A/N: don't worry, this is not over yet! and sorry to all the og Mark fans lmao

[A few minutes earlier, Pentagon Medical Ward]

"So you left my friend alone with this freak the whole time?!"

Cecil's thumb was hesitating on the trigger for the high-frequency device, not wanting to stain his relationship with the original Mark any further - but after witnessing what his variants were capable of, he's certainly not taking any chances.

"Calm. Down." he urges the young Viltrumite while trying to remain amenable at the same time. "We needed to take care of the active threats beforehand, and also...he seemed quite fond of your friend." That last part he regretted immediately after saying it aloud.

"You can't be serious!" Mark now screamed, dramatically throwing his hands in the air, thus making all nearby agents cower in fear. "It was you who told me that one of those psychos tried to lure my mom out to kill her! What else do you think this is? He made my friend believe he's me, to play some sort of wicked game!"

All that had happened those past few days...the death and destruction...Mark blamed himself for all of it, because at the bottom line everything was inevitably caused by his own lack of resolve.

And there he was, hiding away at Eve's sickbed like a stubborn child, cowardly refusing to take responsibility as earth's last hope, while others were risking their lives to correct his errors, hell, while his brother and mom were still out there!

Once again he let everyone down.

But Mark won't let any more people he cares about suffer because of his own shortcomings. This time he won't hold back...

...he'll kill this variant and make him pay for what he's done.

Picking up his mask from the counter, he bids his still comatose girlfriend one last look, very well aware how disappointed she'd be at his latest decisions. She'd want him to go. So he mutters a silent apology before rushing into the hallway, with Cecil following closely behind.

"Teleport me to them. And you better send as many backup reanimen as you can."

[Current time]

"Careful Mark. If our observations are correct, this one is way stronger than the others." The hero huffs in annoyance upon hearing Cecil's voice from his earpiece, watching his other self come out of the debris with not a hair out of place.

Well, most of the variants probably never faced any real threat or even slight disadvantage in their lives. There was simply no reason for them to train properly, since the powergap between Viltrumites and any other species was just so ridiculously high.

This version of Mark however spent his entire life preparing his vengeance on Omni-man for taking the one and only thing he truly cared about...

...and his hard work seemed to bear fruit, since a single counterattack of his was painful enough to temporarily stun the original. He seized the opportunity to pin his opponent down, landing one severe blow after another until both of them were completely covered in the original Mark's blood.

"NO!" you screamed at the top of your lungs, having thrown yourself onto the variant's back as you - brave yet very foolishly - tried to to get those two behemoths away from each other. And in the end, your struggle and pleas actually made the variant stop in his tracks. "Please...don't kill him."

For a split second you see the look of heartbreak and betrayal in the man's face, since seeing you still care so much for the original erased all hope he had started to harbor.

Your world's Mark has everything he ever wanted, and he doesn't even understand how lucky he is.

This is so fucking unfair, it's driving him insane.

The Viltrumite raises his bloodied knuckles to his temples, his jealousy spiraling into a violent, irrational urge to tear the original apart and take his place.

And yet he tries to keep it together for your sake as he couldn't bear to cause you any more sorrow. He glares you down with so much malice "That was self-defense" he scoffed through strained breaths, desperately trying to prevent himself from having a mental breakdown. "I wasn't actually going to-"

Now it was the original Mark's chance to turn the battle around, grabbing the variant by the throat as he crushed him against a mountain not far from the hill you were on.

While your former friend was completely disregarding you, rationality overthrown by his wrath, the other Invincible's eyes were practically glued to you in concern for your safety. At first he was holding back, letting the attacker use him as a punching bag in hopes it'd calm him down...

...but when he recognized the capsules transporting reanimen falling from the sky, he pounced on you with no forethought, shielding you from the impact with his own body.

"Shit, are you oka-" Another time he was torn away from you, with Mark yelling at him to keep his filthy hands off of you. And yet with every move, no matter what, the other Mark did a way better job to prevent any harm than the one who came to 'save' you from that very same man.

"Dude, that's exactly why we cannot fight here!" the variant reprimanded his counterpart while severing the head and limbs from several cyborgs. "Think about your partner's safety! We both only want what's best for them, right?"

"Huh?" The original Mark gave a puzzled look at that statement, the word 'partner' obviously made him think of Eve, but his eyes briefly flickered towards you. "What's that supposed to mea- ah, whatever."

In any other context you would've probably been so embarassed that you wished for the earth to swallow you whole - but this is neither about you, nor was it the time for this kind of talk. And luckily, Mark didn't overthink the variant's words but focused on the truth in them instead, swiftly throwing you over his shoulder to bring you away, so that they could continue their battle without endangering you.

"Let. Me. Go!" You repeatedly punch against Mark's back, horrified to see your newfound friend down below trying to stand his ground against the reanimen. "Tell them to stop! None of this is necessary!"

"Hey, it's me!" Mark tries to soothe you, convinced that you're just overwhelmed by today's events. "The real me, okay? Stop being so irrational!"

"Yeah, I know that, you blockhead!" you blurt out in anger, "And you're one to talk! You let your emotions dictate your actions, as always! I thought Invincible spares the bad guys and tries to talk it out?"

"...not anymore. We all saw today how that way of dealing with villains turns out." Letting you down so far away that you can't even see how the variant is holding up anymore, Mark is about to leave and finish the job when you manage to get a hold of his wrist. "Wait. Listen to me, that Mark is not entirely evil!"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" So not only did you know it was a variant, but now you're also defending him?! "The trauma messed with your head or something. Let Cecil's people pick you up and check on you."

"Seriously, Mark." He finally turned around to take a proper look at you, grinding his teeth as he recognized that naive, caring attitude of yours that always had a positive influence on him in the past. It made his heart swell with both admiration and envy...

...because why the hell were you advocating for a malicious version of himself, especially after throwing away your friendship over something he had no control over?!

"You know this guy one fucking day and suddenly you're on his side?" the hurt in his voice was so tremendous, you felt as if the guilt of it swallowed you whole. "You were supposed to be my friend, and he's the one who participated in making mine and many other's lives a living hell! So why?!"

"...it would be a waste to kill off a potential ally of this strenght, would it not?" Your reasoning got accentuated by the sound of metal and flesh clashing in the background, and you secretly hoped the variant was doing okay. "Maybe he can be rehabilitated."

"God, you sound like Cecil...but even he draws a line at some point. This guy is irredeemable!" Mark ran a hand through his hair, pacing around in circles to clear his head - and yet it was like your role in all this was the one drop that made the pot boil over. "He needs to be stopped! You've seen it yourself, he leveled several cities to the ground and killed a great amount of heroes! Shit, he's caused millions of deaths, do you have any idea what that means?!"

There was nothing to add to this. He was right, about absolutely everything. And yet...

"He-he needed to fullfill his part of the bargain, or Angstrom would've-" A loud bang echoed through the air as Mark's fists met the ground in frustration, effectively cutting you off. "Fuck, do you even hear yourself?! He always had a choice to join the fight on the right side instead of wasting his time chasing after yo-" There was a gleam of epiphany in his eyes that made you a little anxious whether he had picked up on the hints.

"Look, I'm not trying to justify his actions." You pry one of Mark's fists open, intertwining your fingers with his. "But we need him..."

"...we, or you?" That question caught you off guard, but when you wanted to stumble away but Mark pulled you right back. "What he talked about earlier...are we a couple in that other dimension?"

Sometimes you tend to forget that he isn't as dull as he comes across. Damn it.

"I-I-I....it's more complicated than that. I...died in his world." You shouldn't even be arguing about something so pointless right now, and you also don't want to burden him any further, but he keeps prying.

"So what, you want to become the moral support of a mass murderer?" Worded like this it does sound pretty awful. "I know you cut me out of your life, but I still care about you. No way I'm gonna let that happen. It's too dangerous."

Those feelings you harbored over the past decade were like a chain weighting heavy around your heart - but instead of communicating like an adult, you dwelled in self-pity and pushed your friend away. And as crazy as it sounds, over time you convinced yourself there's no way out of this, nothing else awaiting you...

...that was until you met the other Mark, however.

No better timing to free yourself than now, you thought, but Mark connected the dots faster than you were able to confess. "...why did you never say anything?"

"Oh c'mon, you've been doting on Eve since highschool." Mark was not the person to back out of a friendship like this, even if though he didn't reciprocate. If you had told him he'd certainly would've found a way to make this work, since he didn't want to lose you. And yet you didn't want to give the two of you the chance to overcome this, rather choosing to hurt him before you get hurt.

What a stupid, selfish teenager you were back then...

"Now it all makes sense" he speaks to himself, shyly glancing over to you again as he covers his blushing cheeks with his hands. "Fuck, I'm such an idiot..."

"Nonsense, I'm the ass for ruining our friendship over a silly crush." That was the understatement of the year - you were head over heels for this man.

He seems almost melancholic thinking back to all the moments he should've noticed what's going on. All this time wasted going no-contact when you could've worked things out instead...but it takes two to do that, and he's certainly not the one to blame.

Turning his head towards the noise of the ongoing fight, he shakes his head in disbelief. "This is so fucked up..."

"Tell me about it" you chuckle, playfully poking his side in an attempt to lighten the mood, and both of you give each other an appreciative smile. "But we shouldn't make rushed decisions in our current state, right?"

Mark lets out a shuddered sigh, realizing just what kind of hole your absence has tore in his life. But you'll manage to get back to how things were between you. This was a ray of hope cutting through the storm he's been caught into, ever since becoming a superhero.

"God, you have no idea how much I've missed you..."

There's no more time to waste, everything else has to wait until much later. Mark brings you back with him, a safe distance away from where the variant was still battling reanimen that just kept coming. Upon seeing Invincible he raises his guard again, but much to his surprise he's not attacked again, quite the opposite.

"Cecil, stop them!" your Mark exclaims into the comm as he jumps in between the crowd of cyborgs, giving a quick nod of acknowledgement to his other self. "He won't resist if we take him prisoner, right?"

"Sure..." the variant murmured, raising a brow in confusion. But indeed, the mechanical soldiers stop and he gets immobilized by Mark without fighting back. He looks up to you as if seeking your approval, and you quickly rush to their side, scolding Mark for being so harsh with his precautions.

"Are you hurt?" you whisper as the GDA agents transport you back to the Pentagon by helicopter, only the real Mark having flown ahead. You however refused to leave the variant's side, even though you've been strongly advised to go home, at least until the situation was less intense.

"This is nothing..." The Viltrumite huffs in amusement that you were worried about him of all people. He looks down to the shackles around his arms and legs that could never actually hold him, daring to crack a smile which you gladly mirrored. "But thanks that you stood up for me...even though I still don't understand why."

"Because I believe in you, so you better not disappoint me!" you chant, whearing a quiet whimper escape his throat when you put a reassuring hand on his knee. "Everything is gonna be alright, I'm sure of it. We're gonna figure it out...together, okay?"

A few hours later and you were still waiting in a hallway of the GDA, the feeling of suspense only worsened by all the pitying and disgusted looks some of the agents were shooting you. It was understandable, of course, since they probably saw you throwing yourself at the enemy live and in HD.

"I couldn't care less about whatever you two got going on" Cecil explains with his usual stoic manner, "but he refuses to talk and we don't have time for this."

You knew the opportunistic geeze was at least partly bluffing - he's most likely already planning on how to utilize Invincible's affection for you to control him.

Upon entering the prison cell you gasped at the gigantic apparatus containing him, all of his limbs encoated by a metal you didn't recognize in order to keep him from making any move. Honestly, it felt like no matter what they tried, he was only here because he wanted to be. If you told him to break out right now he'd most likely wreck this place in one milisecond.

The variant's defeated features brighten as he recognizes who was paying him a visit, but the initial excitement was soon pushed back by his newfound guilty conscience. He didn't expect to ever see you again, let alone you voluntarily entering the lion's den.

"I'll accept whatever punishment you deem necessary" he rasps, greatly worried at the possibility of them using you against your will. "Just leave them out of this."

Cecil nudged the bridge of his nose, groaning exaggeratedly. It sure isn't easy making objective decisions when you're that emotionally involved with the Grayson family - although he'd never admit the soft spot he had for them.

Not to mention, this was a once in a lifetime opportunity to get his hands on one of the two literal strongest men on the planet.

"Well for starters you'll help with rescue and rebuidling" he ultimatively decides, talking to the young man like one would scold an unruly child. "Consider this your last chance. And don't you dare taking a break until this whole planet has recovered from the aftermath of your crimes. I don't want to see you eating, sleeping or even breathing without any supervision. Got it?!"

"Yes, Sir..."

A single gesture of his hand enough to make his underlings free the Viltrumite from his confinements. "Give him a new costume so he doesn't scare the survivors...and insert an ultrasonic implant, just to be sure."

Mark rubbed his sore wrists, baffled with this decision. He had expected nothing less than torture, that they'd experiment until they'd find a way to execute him...but this? Ridiculous. Hardly a punishment.

Not that he's complaining, though.

At long last, you were facing each other again, those brief hours of separation feeling like an eternity apart. Crazy to think you barely even know this man - well, the fact that he was so much like the original Mark may have messed with your perception of time...

...or you were simply going crazy as well, who knows. Anyways, it did not feel wrong. If anything you've never been this happy in years.

The Viltrumite seems conflicted, his muscles occasionally twitching out of the desire to be close to you, to touch and hold you and never let go again. But then he detects the tears of relief in your eyes, misinterpreting them negatively and backing off even further.

Right...he doesn't deserve to be anywhere near you.

"You didn't need to...you shouldn't be here." He faces the ground in shame, blinking back tears of his own as he speaks. "Not after what I did."

"Damn it, Mark..." you half-yell, half-whine as you run straight towards him, wrapping your arms around his torso as if to press all of his broken parts back together. "Just...shut up. I'm capable of making my own decisions, whether you like them or not."

What a strange one you were. He wasn't even sure if his dimension's version of you had been that amazing of a person.

"Can't argue with that..." His hands tentatively finding purchase on your sides, and you instantly feel him melt at the feel of your body against his. "But it seems like we won't be able to meet each other for a while..."

"I can wait..." you shrug, beaming up at him with an almost playful tone. "...as long as you promise to take me on another date, would you? Without robots and death-matching yourself next time, if possible."

Mark smiled.

He did so many times ever since you met of course, but it always seemed like he was mimicking genuine human interaction, as if he was forcing himself to put on a facade in order to make you comfortable.

But this one, right here, right now...it was real, and so, so beautiful.

Hopefully you see more of it in the future.

"Oh, I think after you've seen how far I'd go for you, it's safe to say I can't deny you any wish..."

[tsunodaradio]

cold coffee ⛐ 𝐎𝐏𝟖𝟏

“best thing about your hometown?” “apparently it’s the coffee. i don’t drink coffee so i don’t know. for me, it’s just that it’s home.”

ꔮ starring: oscar piastri x café owner!reader. ꔮ word count: 4.8k. ꔮ includes: romance, friendship, fluff. mentions of food. set in melbourne, spans a couple of years (alleged slowburn), oscar pines!!! so much!!!, cameos from oscar's sisters. ꔮ commentary box: lots of love all around i.e. contract renewal + home race. had to do it to 'em. inspired by this video, where two of my friends immediately demanded to see a barista!reader. did a bit of a spin on it, but the concept is intact! ☕ 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

♫ cold coffee, ed sheeran. something, somehow, someday, role model. i'd have to think about it, leith ross. time, angelo de augustine. keep the rain, searows. the view between villages, noah kahan.

It starts with Hattie.

Oscar’s younger sister had spent the morning badgering him, pleading in the way only a sibling with endless energy and zero regard for his sanity could. She’d tugged on his sleeve, whining about the new café down the street, her eyes wide with manufactured innocence.

“We’ve been home for two weeks, and you haven’t done anything fun,” she’d accused, arms crossed as she blocked his way to the fridge. “Come with me. Pleeease?”

Which is why, against his better judgment, Oscar is now standing in line at a café that smells overwhelmingly like roasted coffee beans and vanilla. He eyes the display of pastries, hands stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie, and tries to ignore the way his hair sticks to his forehead from the walk over.

“You should get something,” Hattie says, nudging his side.

“I don’t drink coffee.”

She rolls her eyes, as if this is a personal insult. “They have other stuff. You could try tea. Or a hot chocolate. Or—”

“Next!”

Oscar looks up, and that’s when he sees you.

You’re behind the counter, all smiles and easy confidence, a pencil tucked behind your ear. The apron you wear is a little big on you, the straps tied in a messy bow at the back. There’s a small streak of flour on your cheek and you lean onto the counter like you’re genuinely excited to take their order.

“What can I get for you guys?”

Hattie launches into her order with the determination of a girl on a mission, listing out her exact specifications for an iced mocha with extra whipped cream. You write everything down with a nod, your fingers deftly clicking buttons on the register.

“And for you?” you ask, turning to Oscar with the kind of warmth that makes his skin prickle.

“I, uh—” he clears his throat, resisting the urge to look away. “I don’t drink coffee.”

“That’s okay,” you say, like it actually is. “We’ve got some pretty good non-coffee options. Do you like chocolate? Or maybe something fruity?”

Your kindness is standard Melbourne hospitality, he tells himself. It’s not personal. 

But there’s a lightness to the way you speak to him, patient and unbothered, that makes something unfamiliar stir in his chest. “Fruit tea’s fine,” he says, trying not to sound as awkward as he feels.

You smile, really smile, like he’s made the best choice in the world. “One fruit tea, coming up.”

And just like that, it’s done.

Hattie drags him to a table by the window, her enthusiasm buzzing loud enough to fill the entire space. Oscar watches as you move behind the counter, steaming milk and melting chocolate, and thinks that maybe, just maybe, he’ll let Hattie convince him to come back tomorrow.

You carry their drinks to the table with practiced ease, setting them down carefully to avoid any spills. Hattie beams as you place her elaborate drink in front of her. Oscar watches quietly as you slide his drink toward him— a peach iced tea, condensation already gathering on the glass.

“Enjoy,” you say with that same warm smile.

Oscar mutters a thanks, wrapping his hands around the cold glass. He takes a sip, the sweetness clinging to his tongue, and casts a glance at the door. 

He could leave. They’ve got their drinks, Hattie’s satisfied, and his obligation is technically fulfilled.

But he doesn’t move.

Instead, he sits back in his chair, sipping at his tea like he’s got all the time in the world. Hattie chatters about her netball games and how she’s trying to convince their parents to get a puppy, but Oscar only half-listens, eyes flicking up every now and then to watch you.

Maybe he should buy something else. 

A snack, maybe. 

For Hattie, obviously.

Or he could offer to take Hattie’s cup back to the counter when she’s done. (Except the café has self-service return trays, and he’d already clocked that the second they sat down.) 

He hates how obvious he’s being. And he hates even more how he doesn’t seem to care.

Eventually, you circle back to their table, wiping your hands on a dish towel.

“Hey,” you say, leaning slightly against the chair next to Hattie’s. “Everything alright? Drinks okay?”

Oscar nods wordlessly, swallowing his drink. It tastes a bit too sugary now.

“It’s so good,” Hattie gushes, kicking her legs under the table. “I’m gonna make mum bring me back next weekend!”

Your eyes brighten. “That’s great. We’ve only been open a few weeks, so we’re still figuring stuff out. The owner’s a nice guy, but he’s old school. Doesn’t know how to use the cash register half the time.”

Oscar finally speaks, his voice scratchy as if he’s forgotten how to use it. “You work here by yourself?”

“Most days,” you admit, shrugging. “He’s got grandkids, so sometimes he dips out early to see them. But I don’t mind. It’s just part-time, and I live nearby.”

Oscar processes this slowly, like if he takes long enough, the conversation won’t end.

“How old are you?” Hattie asks, her bluntness making Oscar cringe.

You don’t seem to mind, though. You laugh, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Fifteen. I’m starting Year 10 next term.”

Oscar blinks. The fact that you’re the same age as him shouldn’t feel as significant as it does, but it lands like a surprise punch to the gut.

“I’m fourteen,” Hattie announces proudly.

"That’s a fun age," you tell her kindly; she looks at you like you’re the coolest person in the world, and Oscar is half-inclined to agree. 

Then you glance at Oscar, head tilting. “What about you? You go to school around here?”

He shifts in his seat, rubbing at the condensation ring his glass left on the table. “Boarding school,” he says curtly. “Just home for the summer.”

“Ah,” you say, like that explains something.

Hattie pipes up again, because of course she does. “He races cars,” she declares. “He’s, like, really good.”

Oscar feels his face heat. He glares at Hattie, who just grins, already licking melted whipped cream off her finger.

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Seriously? That’s awesome,” you say, and you don’t sound condescending or anything. You sound genuinely awed, and Oscar fears he’s going to replay it in his head the entire night. 

“We should go,” he says abruptly, pushing back from the table.

“What?” Hattie pouts. “But I want a pastry!”

“We can get one,” Oscar promises through gritted teeth, standing and grabbing her empty cup so fast the ceramic clinks loudly against the saucer. He forces himself to slow down, his fingers a little shaky. “Next time.”

Hattie hops out of her seat, already skipping toward the door. Oscar follows, grateful for the escape, but you call out before he makes it too far.

“I hope you do come back,” you say, smiling again. This time, it feels like it’s just for him. The words, the smile, the look. 

Oscar nods stiffly, tugging at the sleeves of his hoodie.

He doesn’t know if he will. But, as he lingers on the way out, he wonders how many summers he has left— and how many excuses he can make before you start to notice.

Inevitably, his appearances at the café become almost routine.

It starts small: once a week, maybe twice, a stop by for a drink he doesn’t actually want. But Hattie catches on fast, and soon she’s dragging Edie and Mae along too, the three of them whispering and snickering at a volume they absolutely think is subtle.

“I like the pastries,” he claims when Edie wiggles her eyebrows at him.

“Sure,” Mae chirps, swinging her feet as she dangles them off her chair. “Totally the pastries. Not the barista who always makes your drink herself even when there’s someone else on shift.”

Oscar gives her a withering look, but she remains undeterred, biting into her muffin with the smugness of someone who knows she’s right.

He denies it. Again and again. Because he doesn’t know what to do with the idea of having a crush, let alone on you. He’s already awkward enough on his own, and he refuses to fuel his sisters’ relentless teasing.

But then he comes in one day— alone, this time— and you’re not there.

Oscar knows he shouldn’t care. It’s not like you promised to be here. And yet, disappointment settles heavy in his chest.

The barista on shift is nice enough, but Oscar barely listens as he orders. He can’t even remember what he picked when he sits down, staring at the drink like it personally offended him.

The café feels quieter without you buzzing around, chatting with regulars and teasing old Mr. Callahan about his crossword puzzles. The emptiness gnaws at him, and he knows he looks so obvious, sulking into his untouched drink.

He tells himself he’ll leave after finishing it. He lingers for an hour.

Oscar doesn’t look back at the café as he leaves, but he feels its absence like a dull ache. His hands are shoved deep into his pockets, chin tucked to his chest as he stalks down the street. 

He tells himself it’t stupid to feel this way. He doesn’t even know you. He definitely shouldn’t care if you’re there or not. 

And yet.

Fine. 

It’s over. He’ll get over it. 

He’ll spend the school term back at boarding school, surrounded by motorsport and homework and people who don’t know how to steam milk into a heart shape. 

It’ll be better this way.

At least that’s the plan.

He’s halfway home when he nearly collides with you on the footpath.

“Oh! Oscar, right?” you say, blinking up at him like he’s an unexpected surprise.

He freezes. “Um.”

“You left in a hurry. Not a fan of the other barista?” You tilt your head, a teasing smile tugging at your mouth.

Oscar feels like he might short-circuit. “I— I just noticed you weren’t there,” he blurts out, horrified as the words tumble out without permission.

Your smile grows. “Noticed, huh?”

“I mean—” He’s desperate to backtrack, but it’s useless. The damage is done. You’re grinning, and he can already imagine the relentless teasing he’d get if his sisters caught wind of this.

“You’re heading home?” you ask, mercifully letting him off the hook.

“Yeah,” he mutters, already planning to walk faster. Maybe he’ll get away with half-jogging the entire way. 

“Big plans for your last day of summer?”

He squints at you. “How’d you know it’s my last day?”

You tap your temple. “I’m observant.”

“Or you got it out of Hattie.”

“Maybe,” you say, shameless. Then, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world: “Wanna grab a bite at Albert Park?”

Oscar blinks. “What?”

“There’s a food truck that sells the best fish and chips,” you explain. “It’s not too far. C’mon, it’s your last day home.”

“I—” He should say no. He was just lecturing himself on the walk back. 

But you’re looking at him like it’s not a big deal, like you’re not aware of the internal war waging in his head, and Oscar’s resolve crumples like paper.

“Okay,” he hears himself say, voice tight.

You beam. “Cool.”

Oscar follows you to Albert Park, his heart thudding with every step. He wonders if he’ll ever forgive himself for agreeing to this. Or if, maybe, it’ll turn out to be the best mistake he’s ever made.

The fish and chips are at least good. Better than good, actually, and Oscar begrudgingly tells you so between bites, like the admission costs him something. 

He tries to be subtle about how much he likes it, chewing carefully, but you notice anyway, your grin bright and uncontainable.

“Told you,” you say smugly, elbow propped on the table as you pick at your fries. “You doubted me, didn’t you?”

“I don’t usually trust people who enjoy serving coffee for a living,” he deadpans.

You laugh, and the sound rattles through him like a loose bolt. “Fair,” you concede. “But I’m right about most things, so you should get used to it.”

Oscar snorts but doesn’t argue. He’s happy enough to let you fill the gaps in conversation, listening as you ramble about everything from the café’s horrible playlist to how the Albert Park sunset is always a little better in the summer. 

He only nods and hums, content to let your words fill the space between bites.

But then you flip the script.

“So,” you start, resting your chin on your hand. “When do you start boarding school again?”

“Monday.”

You make a face. “Brutal.”

Oscar shrugs. “It’s not that bad.”

“Sure,” you say, dubious. “And racing? How’s that going?”

His fingers pause around a chip. “You remember I race?”

“I’m not some ditzy barista, you know.” You tilt your head, like you’re studying him. “I know you kart. Or, karted?”

“Yeah,” he says slowly. “I moved up to junior formulae this year.”

Your eyes widen. “That’s huge, right?”

“I guess.”

You nudge his foot under the table. “Don’t be modest. It’s cool.”

He looks away, that telltale heat prickling at his collar again. “It’s not, like, F1 or anything.”

“Yet,” you point out.

Oscar smiles, small and self-conscious. “That’s the goal, I guess.”

“You guess?” You feign offense, sitting up straighter. “You guess? Come on. Say it with your chest.”

He laughs, shaking his head. Then, a little louder, a little firmer, “I want to drive in F1.”

“See?” you say, satisfied. “Not so hard, was it?”

Oscar’s throat tightens around the next bite. It is hard— saying it out loud. It makes the dream sound ridiculous, even when he knows exactly how much he’s giving up to chase it.

It makes it sound real. 

But you don’t tease him. You only smile, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“That’s awesome,” you say. “Can I have your number?”

Oscar nearly chokes. “What?”

“Your number,” you repeat, leaning back with an easy grin. “Would be cool to have a future F1 driver on speed dial.”

He huffs out a laugh, assuming you’re joking. You must be joking. People don’t ask for his number.

Oscar doesn’t give it to you, brushing it off like it’s nothing, and you don’t press. The two of you linger at Albert Park until the sky blushes purple, talking until Oscar’s curfew has him bidding you goodbye. 

It’s only when he’s halfway home, kicking at loose gravel on the footpath, that it hits him like a freight train.

You might’ve actually been serious.

Oscar groans, dragging a hand down his face.

He never does figure out if you’d meant it. 

He reconciles with the fact that he’ll only see you in the summers and during off-seasons. It becomes a rhythm he slips into with practiced ease, like shifting gears without thinking.

His sisters’ teasing remains relentless, but he endures it because they’re right— he can’t seem to stay away from the café. 

It’s a quiet sort of comfort, walking in and hearing your voice floating through the space, catching snippets of your conversations with regulars before you inevitably drift his way.

He contemplates asking for your number or your socials more times than he can count, always catching himself at the last second. The thought lingers like an engine idling, never quite stalling out but never revving forward either. 

He tells himself it’s fine. The café is your domain, a fixed point in the chaos of his ever-moving life. 

It’s fine. It’s enough. It has to be. 

In the break before he transitions into Formula Two, you place his usual non-coffee drink on the counter with a different sort of grin.

“You’re looking at the new owner of this place,” you announce, voice light with amusement. “The old man decided to go on a lifelong cruise. Said he wants to see the world while he still can.”

Oscar blinks. “He gave you the café?”

“Left it in my name. He figured I’d been running it anyway, might as well make it official.” You tilt your head. “What about you? I saw the news — Formula Two, huh? That’s huge.”

“Yeah,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s... a step closer.”

You lean against the counter, eyes warm. “Congrats, Piastri. Guess we both got what we wanted.”

He smiles and mumbles a quiet “Congrats to you too,” but as he takes his drink and watches you serve other customers, he’s not sure how true that statement is. 

Because he thinks about how your name is tied to this café now, how you belong to this little pocket of Melbourne while he chases circuits around the world. 

And he wonders— for the first time, with startling clarity— if what he wants might not be as far from this place as he thought.

Oscar doesn’t have time to dwell on it. 

That’s what he tells himself, anyway. He’s too busy. Too preoccupied with the whirlwind of signing with McLaren, of finally reaching the dream he’s been chasing since he first wrapped his fingers around a steering wheel. 

He celebrates with his family, his sisters loudly teasing him, his parents beaming with pride. It should be enough.

But then he finds himself at the café, hovering by the entrance, fingers curled around the door handle.

The bell jingles when he steps inside, sharp against the hum of the espresso machine. You glance up from wiping down the counter, eyebrows raising in surprise.

“We’re closed in ten,” you call out, drying your hands on a dish towel.

Oscar nods, shutting the door behind him. The sleeves of his hoodie are shoved up to his elbows, hair mussed like he’s been running his fingers through it. His heart is pounding, and he tells himself it’s just leftover adrenaline from the day’s excitement.

“I know. I just—” He falters, mouth opening and closing before he finally blurts out, “I got signed. With McLaren.”

You blink, then toss the dish towel onto the counter.

“Wait, what?”

He barely gets a nod in before you’re circling out from behind the counter, barreling into him with enough force to make him stumble back a step. Oscar stiffens at first, arms hovering awkwardly around you— then he exhales, tension seeping from his shoulders as he wraps his arms around you in return.

“Holy crap,” you say, squeezing him tight. “You did it. Oscar Piastri, you’re a Formula One driver.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, like he’s still trying to believe it himself. His voice is quieter when he adds, “I wanted to tell you in person.”

You pull back, beaming up at him. “I’m so proud of you. Seriously. I can’t wait to see you race.”

His heart thuds against his ribs, too loud, too fast. He drops his arms when you do, shoving his hands into the pocket of his hoodie.

His face feels hot, but you don’t seem to notice, already launching into a ramble about how you’re going to make the café play the races on the TV in the corner.

Oscar watches you talk, nodding along, though he can’t really process your words. All he can think about is the way your smile had split your face, how easily you’d hugged him, how your arms had fit around him like you belonged there.

He leaves that night more certain than ever.

This crush isn’t going anywhere.

Oscar privately decides he’ll use the feelings to his advantage. A secret, unspoken fuel source. It becomes most obvious at his first-ever home race.

The roar of the crowd fades into static beneath the hum of his engine, but he knows they’re there. Knows the grandstands are packed with fans waving papaya flags, knows somewhere among them are his parents and sisters— and maybe you.

He pretends you are. Imagines you leaning forward in your seat, hands cupped around your mouth as you cheer. He thinks about how you’d probably tease him later if he botched his first home race, how you might promise him a pity pastry from the café if he placed last.

That thought alone keeps his foot steady on the throttle.

He crosses the finish line in eighth, his first points in Formula One. The team is ecstatic, patting his back and ruffling his hair until he can barely breathe through the congratulations. 

Later, at the house, the celebration is in full swing. His family is buzzing with excitement, and the living room is littered with leftover food and streamers. Still, Oscar keeps glancing at the door, brow furrowed. 

He tells himself the weight in his chest is only exhaustion, not the ridiculous, misplaced disappointment that you aren’t at the post-race party.

“What’s your problem?” Edie asks, plopping onto the couch next to him.

He shrugs, pretending to focus on the race replay flashing on the TV. “Nothing. Just tired.”

Edie snorts. “Yeah, sure. You’ve been looking at the door like a lost puppy. Thought you’d finally get your act together and invite your favorite barista?”

Oscar flushes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Uh-huh.” Edie smirks, then gestures toward the kitchen. “They sent stuff, by the way. Practically wiped out their stock.”

He blinks, heart thudding as he follows hsi sister into the kitchen. The counter is packed with pastries and drinks, each one carefully labeled. A small, folded note sits on top of the pile, your handwriting unmistakable.

For future world champion OP81. I’ll save a spot on the TV for your podium finish.

Oscar stares at the note for a beat too long, then flips it shut, like that’ll stop the embarrassing warmth spreading through him.

He’s suddenly, overwhelmingly glad you’re not there, because he might’ve done something incredibly stupid. Like kissed you.

Or worse— asked you to keep a spot open forever.

Oscar’s schedule is relentless, though. An endless cycle of races, travel, media obligations. He still makes it back home when he can, even if it’s just for a few days. The café becomes a pit stop as routine as visiting his parents.

He never stays long, though. He catches glimpses of you between customers, exchanges pleasantries, hears about you secondhand through his sisters’ chatter.

Edie mentions you started taking a business course. Hattie swears you went on a date (Oscar pretends he doesn't care). Mae tells him you got a new coffee machine.

But it’s never from you.

Until one evening, when he swings by the café, and you ask him to stay until closing.

His heart lodges itself in his throat.

The café empties out, and Oscar helps you stack chairs and wipe tables. His fingers jitter against the rag, adrenaline buzzing under his skin like he’s on the starting grid. He wonders how he’ll respond when you confess, how to let you down gently when he inevitably leaves for another race weekend. 

(He also can’t stop imagining what it would be like to kiss you.)

When you finally sit him down, your words knock the air out of his lungs.

“The café might close,” you say, tone steadier than your hands wringing your apron in your lap. “Rent’s gone up, and I just... I don’t know if I can keep up."

Oscar stares, words dissolving before they can form. He thinks about the old man who first owned the place, about you proudly taking over. He thinks about all the hours he’s spent lingering here, all the drinks you’ve made him, all the moments he’s stolen just to see you.

The idea of it all disappearing feels like a punch to the chest.

“I just thought you should know,” you continue, voice quieter now. “You've been coming here for years, and— I don’t know, I guess I wanted to thank you for that. For being a loyal customer.” 

Oscar frowns. “I’m not just— I mean, yeah, I like the café, but…”

You smile, but it’s small, tired. “I know. But still. It means a lot. And hey, we had a good run, right?”

He hates the way you talk like it's already over.

Without thinking, he reaches across the table and covers your hand with his own. You flinch, just barely, before curling your fingers around his.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, like it’s something you should apologize for.

“Don’t be,” he says back. 

He doesn’t know what else to offer. And so he holds your hand, and the two of you sit in relative silence.

Oscar tries not to think of this being the last time he’ll get to do this. He resists the urge to study the weight of your hand, because then that would be admitting to a certain kind of preemptive loss. 

You close up shop, the two of you lingering outside the café under the glow of the streetlights, hands still linked. The night air is cool, the streets quiet, and it feels like you’re waiting for something.

Oscar doesn’t know what.

He racks his brain for words, for solutions, for something that might make you stay, but all he comes up with is static. The same helplessness he feels when a car failure knocks him out of a race.

You give his hand a gentle squeeze. “Good night, Oscar.”

“Good night,” he says, his fingers tightening around yours for a fraction of a second before he’s letting you go. 

He watches you walk away, the distance stretching between you like a rubber band about to snap. And— as usual— he doesn’t realize what to do or say until much, much later.

But he knows you’ll forgive him for this one.

It takes some convincing, some pulling of strings. In the end, he doesn’t know if he even manages it. Not until he’s back in Melbourne for the prix, and Lando is bringing him closer to the spot he’s tried to avoid all morning. 

“New caterer this year,” Lando says, peering at his phone. “Some local place. Looks sick.”

Oscar feigns interest, even as dread pools in his stomach.

He lasts all of twenty minutes before Lando physically drags him to the hospitality area. Oscar immediately clocks the familiar pastries, the neat line of carefully curated drinks— but it’s the sight of you, grinning behind the counter, that sends his pulse into overdrive.

“Oh, this is dangerous,” Lando jokes. “I might never leave.”

Oscar, meanwhile, contemplates leaving immediately.

You spot him mid-pour, your smile faltering. And Oscar knows he’s screwed.

The confrontation comes after Lando flits away, croissant in hand, leaving Oscar cornered by the espresso machine.

“You.” You jab a finger at his chest. “You did this.”

Oscar glances around him. The Netflix boom microphone is gracefully not around. No one from his team is, either.

He allows himself this small joy of bickering with you. “Technically, McLaren did this,” he says dryly. 

“Bullshit.” Your eyes narrow, but there’s no real venom. “You got me this gig so I could afford to keep the café, didn’t you?”

A corner of his lip twitches upward. “You’ve got no proof.”

You stare at him for a beat, then you let out an exasperated sigh. That smile of yours— the one that has ruined Oscar for everyone else— threatens to break on your face. “I could kiss you, you know,” you say, and he privately wishes you’d run him over with a car instead. 

You’re kidding. You sound like you’re kidding. But Oscar isn’t fifteen and stupid anymore. The only thing that hasn’t changed from back then is the way he feels for you, and it’s what has him finally giving in.

“How about I give you my number first?” he says. 

It takes you a moment. A full thirty seconds to realize what he’s getting at.

When it does hit you, though, you laugh. “A couple years late, Piastri,” you jab. 

Oscar dares to meet your eyes. He hopes it doesn’t show on his face— the way his heart is clenching in his chest. 

His voice is quieter when he says, “Please tell me you still want it.”

Your smile softens. 

He braces himself for a gentle denial, a spiel about friendship. Instead, he holds his breath as you fish for your phone. 

“Put it in before I change my mind,” you say, sliding it across the counter. Your coolness is betrayed by just the hint of giddiness in your tone, because you’ve wanted this for as long as he has, haven’t you? You hadn’t been kidding back then, and you still want this. 

Still want him. 

Oscar fumbles to type his number, adrenaline roaring louder than any engine. When he hands the phone back, your fingers brush his, lingering just a second too long.

“Good luck out there,” you tell him.

Oscar doesn’t feel like he needs any luck. 

Not when he finally, finally got the win that mattered most. ⛐

[glittering-darmallon]

My Rooks Part 1.: Valrys Ingellvar and Canelo de Riva

Questionnaires behind the break

Valrys Ingellvar

1: Where in the Thedas is your Rook from? Nevarra City. However, they were likely born somewhere in the Deep Roads from Orzammar to Nevarra, but they have no way of knowing.

2: What is your character's alignment? Neutral Good

3: Race and class? Dwarf Warrior

4: If your Rook was a companion, where would they be found? Does this mean where in the Lighthouse? They'd have picked up and relocated that mirror of transformation first off. They'd also likely set up shop on the second floor of the laboratory. It looked like there was enough space up there for a dwarf sized bed.

5: What emotion did they usually pick? Affable.

6: What companion are they platonically close with? Their best friends in the Veilguard were Emmrich and Taash

7: Romantically close with? Lace Harding (somewhere in the background proud cries of "That's my wife!" can be heard)

8: Who are they suspicious of? In the Veilguard? None of them. They consider them all like family. They are the kind of person to give benefit of the doubt at first. But once you lose their trust, it is gone forever. They were and are still a little suspicious of Morrigan

9: Does your Rook get along with their chosen Faction? Yes, very much. They love each and every Mourn Watch member, especially their chosen parental figure VORGOTH and loves Myrna like a little sister

10: Are they proficient in playing any instruments? Nope. Not only that, they can't carry a tune to save their life

11: Weapon of choice? A maul. They really liked the one named Lawrence.

12: What is their orientation? I don't know if I have the right word for it. They're genderfluid but only interested in women (they love women so much). So I'm choosing to use sapphic.

13: What are their thoughts on killing? Is it a necessary evil or do they enjoy it? They like fighting but not necessarily killing. However, they understand they live in a dangerous world and it's necessary sometimes. They will try to come to a non-violent solution whenever possible.

14: What hobbies does your Rook have? They like fashion and history. And the lack of finding the clothes they want that fit them right (this is me being mad that even the robes in the game had pants) had them teaching themself how to sew and make clothes. It's my headcannon that in the future when they and Lace get married, they're making their own gown.

15: What NPCs do they like? Which one's do they dislike? I've already mentioned Myrna and VORGOTH but they also like Viper and Antoine and Evka. It's not that they have anything against the other faction leaders, they just wouldn't want to hang out with them much. They really liked talking weather with Karash.

They did NOT like Shathan. Yes, they understand she was struggling to understand Taash's identity struggles and did the best she could, coming around in the end. But they did not appreciate her telling them that "Taash was rarely interested in men" while looking right at them (and this is when they were dressed in the most femme outfit I had access to at the time, and a full face of makeup. They were serving looks) and never apologized for that. That whole conversation made them want to break things.

And they really hated Mythal (only time I've fought her so far).

16: Do they have a favorite creature in the Thedas? They love nuggalopes. It is a life dream to own one for a mount and or pet

17: Do they enjoy life as an adventurer? Yes. They love to learn. My plan for Valrys and Lace post-game is to go on journeys to find and compile Dwarven history into a compendium

18: What would your Rook be doing if they weren't recruited by Varric? Killing every Venatori that dared entering the Necropolis and helping VORGOTH with the hauntings they discover

19: How do you think they'll meet their end? By trying to reason with the wrong person instead of just fighting them

20: Would they side with Solas or fight him? They reluctantly sided with him. But they weren't happy about it.

21: What is your Rook's favorite ability? Deadly ground and Reaper. That Spirit Storm ultimate was amazing

22: What languages is your character fluent in? Other than Trade? Nevarran and somewhat fluent in Orzammar Dwarven but that's self-taught and hard to practice back home (they found a book)

23: What do they do after an absolute crisis? Smash so many things.

24: Does your character believe in the afterlife? Yes. They grew up around spirits. They know there is more.

25: What specialization best represents your Rook? Reaper no question...However, if berserker had been an option....

26: What animal best represents your Rook? An elephant: Strong, smart, protective of their own, great memory and generally pleasant unless you wrong them them they're gonna remember forever and make sure future generations know about it.

27: What was their life like before the events of Veilguard? As much as they liked it and working with the watchers, the Necropolis was starting to feel claustrophobic

28: Is your character the de facto leader of the party? Or do they consider someone else to be the leader? Yes. They were trusted with the job and they take it seriously. They have enjoyed bringing everyone together and helping people

29: If you could choose a different faction for your Rook, which one would they have joined and why? They'd probably enjoy being a Veil Jumper even though they're not magical. The history they'd get to learn about would fascinate them. They would absolutely refuse to wear those outfits. "No. They do nothing for my figure. I look like a lump of mud. Absolutely not"

30: What's your favorite thing about your Rook?

Aside from the fact they're just so good looking? I love how they just let themself feel whatever emotion it is they're feeling. They repress nothing. They're highly emotionally intelligent.

---------------- Canelo de Riva

Where in the Thedas is your Rook from? Born in Seleny, moved to Treviso at approx.16

2. What is your character's alignment? Hard to say. Likely a true neutral of the "heroic neutral" variety.

3. Race and class? Elf rogue, veil ranger

4. If your Rook was a companion, where would they be found? In the Wolf's Den

5. What emotion did they usually pick? Stoic

6. What companion are you platonically close with? He was bff's with Davrin and Harding (yeah I know. Why did I choose to hurt him like that?)

7. Romantically close with? Lucanis

8. Who are they suspicious of? He didn't trust Solas, Illario, and Invenci right from the get go

9. Does your Rook get along with their chosen Faction? For the most part. He is close with Viago and the real reason he was sent away from Treviso was for his safety. Canelo suffered a psychotic break thinking he'd found Antaam member responsible for killing his siblings and just went ham on them. Wasn't even aware of what he'd done until Viago told him. He likes Teia a lot as well. They do each other's hair.

10. Are they proficient in playing any instruments? Nope.

11. Weapon of choice? Longbow specifically the dauntless greatbow he named Jugular (his preferred place to shoot a target)

 12. What is their orientation? Bisexual greyromantic

13. What are their thoughts on killing? Is it a necessary evil or do they enjoy it? A job is a job, and being an assassin pays better than being a prostitute did.

14. What hobbies does your Rook have? He enjoys making his own arrows, including the knapping of arrowheads when he can find appropriate stone. He likes dancing and making beads for hair or jewelry too

15. What NPCs do they like? Which one's do they dislike? As stated above, Viago is very important to him, like an older brother, Teia too. But he likes Tarquin quite a lot, and they both grew up in a lower socioeconomic class. He is to no surprise no big fan of Illario. "I don't care if he's like your brother, mio cuore. He tried to kill you, had you imprisoned in a place where they tortured you. I am never going to like him." He is also no fan of the First Warden

16. Do they have a favorite creature in the Thedas? Dracolisks. He thinks they're awesome. "Lucanis, if you were ever thinking about getting me an extravagant gift...get one of these."

17. Do they enjoy life as an adventurer? He is the kind of guy who would have been happy earning an honest living as a hunter and continuing to raise his little brother and sister and being left alone, but life had other ideas. Adventuring really isn't for him.

18. What would your Rook be doing if they weren't recruited by Varric? He'd love to say still working for the Crows, but he is fairly sure Viago would have made him find other work outside Treviso. It was clearly not doing his mental health any favors, and the city was slowly killing him

19. How do you think they'll meet their end? Likely the way most Crows seem to. In a power grab

 20. Would they side with Solas or fight him? Oh he fought him. Every tragedy in Canelo's life could be traced back to Solas giving Corypheus that orb.

The orb explodes and opens the breach

Demons pour out of fade rifts

His parents are killed by demons on their way to Treviso to collect a shipment of spices to sell at their store.

Canelo is too young and doesn't have the brain for running the store, and it goes under. He and his two year old twin siblings lose the house and end up living in a hunter shack in the Tellari Swamps near Seleny. They do okay for about 2 years

Zenzera gets sick, and Canelo has to sell everything but the clothes on their backs and steal the rest of the gold to get them to a special healer in Treviso.

He cannot find a safe job that will let him bring a pair of four year olds along with.

Ends up becoming a sex worker to feed them, but never makes enough to get them off the street

A noble who had been tossed from the brothels for being too violent with the workers their decides to just quit paying for it and assaults Canelo.

This noble that Canelo kills in self-defense was Viago's contract. This results in Canelo joining the Crows.

The three of them are doing okay for a while.

Then the Antaam, who broke away from the Qun after the events of Tresspasser (Thanks again, Solas) invade Treviso.

Antam raid the market where Zenzera and Zafferano are shopping with some fledglings and are killed.

Canelo falls into a spiral of depression, PTSD, and heavy drinking until the above mentioned psychotic break happens and he snaps, killing those two dozen Antaam and wrecking the big plan that had been in the works.

ERGO- SOLAS AND HIS PERPETUAL FAILURES RUINED CANELO'S LIFE. THEREFORE, THERE WAS NO PEACEFUL RESOLUTION TO SOLAS' STORY.

 21. What is your Rook's favorite ability? Hurricane of Blades and Storm's Path

22.  What languages is your character fluent in? Trade obviously, but Antivan and Rivaini with conversational knowledge of Qunlat and Tevene. He's fairly good at picking up languages. Davrin and Bellara teach him Elvhen when they can.

23. What do they do after an absolute crisis? Go hide on the island with the laser that is floating above the Lighthouse Courtyard and have a good breakdown where no one can see it.

24.  Does your character believe in the afterlife? He wants to, but he's afraid that if it's real, he'll go somewhere other than where his family is. Or if he finds them, they will hate him for the choices he made in life

25. What specialization best represents your Rook? He took Veil Ranger, because it was bow focused, and that suits him just fine

26. What animal best represents your Rook? Jaguar- Quiet until they're not, death from above, solitary, master of tactical retreat (Canelo's tactical retreats come when his emotions are too big for him and he needs a safe place to hide and process them)

 27. What was their life like before the events of Veilguard? See the answer to number 20. It wasn't all bad. The first few years with the Crows were great. For the first time in over 5 years they all had enough to eat. When Canelo became a full Crow, he quickly earned a name for himself for being quick and efficient from far away, his contracts never even knowing he was there. Once the Antaam invaded though, it all fell apart

28. Is your character the de facto leader of the party? Or do they consider someone else to be the leader? Yes, but he'd really rather not be the leader. Someone has to do it though

29. If you could choose a different faction for your Rook, which one would they have joined and why? He'd make a good Shadow Dragon.

30. What's your favorite thing about your Rook? He's resilient. He's been served a tragedy buffet and yet, still going. Plus, underneath the stony and or sad exterior he's a lovable person who will lavish his loved ones with affection. Even ones who would REALLY rather he didn't (Viago).

Rook Questionnaire

inspired by @cassieuncaged's BG3 Character Development Questions but for Rook instead!

1: Where in the Thedas is your Rook from?

2: What is your character's alignment?

3: Race and subclass?

4: If your Rook was a companion, where would they be found?

5: What emotion did they usually pick?

6: What companion are you platonically close with?

7: Romantically close with?

8: Who are they suspicious of?

9: Does your Rook get along with their chosen Faction?

10: Are they proficient in playing any instruments?

11: Weapon of choice?

12: What is their orientation?

13: What are their thoughts on killing? Is it a necessary evil or do they enjoy it?

14: What hobbies does your Rook have?

15: What NPCs do they like? Which one's do they dislike?

16: Do they have a favorite creature in the Thedas?

17: Do they enjoy life as an adventurer?

18: What would your Rook be doing if they weren't recruited by Varric?

19: How do you think they'll meet their end?

20: Would they side with Solas or fight him?

21: What is your Rook's favorite ability?

22: What languages is your character fluent in?

23: What do they do after an absolute crisis?

24: Does your character believe in the afterlife?

25: What specialization best represents your Rook?

26: What animal best represents your Rook?

27: What was their life like before the events of Veilguard?

28: Is your character the de facto leader of the party? Or do they consider someone else to be the leader?

29: If you could choose a different faction for your Rook, which one would they have joined and why?

30: What's your favorite thing about your Rook?

[dix0nspretty]

Skittish

Summary: Since you came back from Woodbury, you've been skittish and avoiding men- especially Daryl- like the plague.

Daryl Dixon x F!Reader, 1.1k words

Era: Prison (post-Glenn and Maggie in Woodbury)

⚠️TW FOR SA. ⚠️TW FOR SA. ⚠️TW FOR SA. ⚠️

It's discussion of the aftermath and not active SA, but it is discussion of the reader being raped/SAed. Feelings of guilt and shame from the assault, mentions of isolation, fear of men, and suicidal ideation. This is not a light read. Author is.... working through some things, to say the least. I'm, against my best judgement, engaging in this bastardized version of Russian Roulette Febuwhump/Kinktober for March that I'm affectionately calling Trinket's Cause of Death. It's basically 50/50 whump/kink where I generate a number corresponding to a prompt.

Day 11: Sexual Assault with Daryl (whump)

When you, Maggie, and Glenn came back from Woodbury after Merle forced you there, something was different. Glenn was beat to hell, Maggie was angry, and you… you were skittish. Quiet.

Glenn has barely spoken to Daryl, Merle having driven a wedge between them right when it was starting to feel like Daryl was finally fitting in. You were a close friend. Rick trusted him with Little Asskicker and important situations around the prison. He was actually listened to and his opinion valued… until he brought Merle back with him.

Most if not all of the progress made between the youngest Dixon and everyone else was out the window, but nothing bothered him more than the way you suddenly avoided him like the plague. Skittering away any time he got even close or called your name. All of the men, actually.

If one of the men enters a room you’re in, you find the quickest reason to leave. You won’t eat meals with the whole group, either eating in your cell or secluding yourself away in a corner, back to a wall and eyes on an exit strategy.

Contrary to recently renewed belief, Daryl Dixon is anything but stupid. He recognizes these patterns and between you and Maggie… he doesn’t like the picture being painted.

So he takes the Daryl way of handling things and comes to your cell when the fewest people are in the prison, sleeping in their cells or on guard or doing god-knows-what elsewhere. He convinces himself that his heart doesn’t ache when he watches you startle, scared by the male silhouette in your doorway. You don’t relax when you meet his eyes and that is nearly as devastating as the change to your cell.

Gone are your belongings spread across the cell in a cheery attempt to make it look more as a bedroom. Your mattress has been dragged from your bed, shoved into the small nook between the wall and the head of the bunks. Your backpack, your boots, and your other belongings form a wall around the foot of the mattress, effectively blocking you in.

It’s not a bedroom anymore, it’s the equivalent of an animal trying to protect themselves in their den and he tries to ignore the faint crack of his heart breaking.

“What are y’doin’ in there?” His voice comes out gruff but attempting to be… what, conversational? He knows what he’s here to ask and it’s not about the weather outside. “Mattress goes on the bed.”

Normally that would’ve earned him a huff and a sarcastic comment dripping with easy wit, but all he gets is those scared eyes looking at him like he’s the big bad wolf. Like he’ll eat you whole.

“Just me,” Daryl softens his voice as much as he can and steps into the cell, slowly and making minimal noise. He ignores the way you flinch, stopping outside of arm’s reach,  a trick he learned as a kid, and eases to sit in a mimic of your own posture. “Ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

The way you look at him screams that no, you don’t know that, so Daryl does something very rare and completely disarms himself. Not a knife, not a bolt, nothing on him other than his clothes, and he passes the weapons over to you. “Body’s tellin’ you I’m a threat. I ain’t a threat to you an’ you know it.”

A small sniffle as you grab his weapons and pull them into your makeshift nest. “Feels like a threat,” You mumble softly and wipe at your eyes. “Everyone does.”

He takes a moment to think about that before shaking his head. “Nah. Not everyone.” You know what he’s getting at and he knows you know, but you seem determined to be stubborn. That’s okay- he’s even more stubborn and a bastard to boot. “Y’get raped?”

The freezing of each and every atom in your body and the shift in the air tells him all he needs to know. You make some strangled attempt to protest, to deny the claim out of shame or fear or guilt, but he simply nods and holds eye contact. “Was it Merle?” His brother is a misogynistic, racist, homophobic piece of shit, but he’s never gone so far as to sexually assault someone- not to Daryl’s knowledge, at least.

If he finds out Merle laid even a finger on you, he’ll skin him alive himself and let you feed the walkers with the pieces. He’ll kill him if he hurt you, if he violated you in the worst possible way someone could be hurt.

“No,” you whisper softly with a shake of your head. He can’t deny the relief he feels that his brother had nothing to do with it, but that doesn’t ease the anger and concern for you.

“Governor?” Daryl lists the second name and there you go, freezing again and avoiding eye contact. Nail on the head. “Look…”

Daryl scoots closer on the floor until his boots are close enough to brush the blanket in your lap if you shift. Close but not too close. He’s an observant person. Everybody in the prison knows how much you thrive on touch, on physical closeness. It’d practically your lifeblood and as far as he knows, you’ve gone over a week without it. He’s extending an olive branch.

“Ain’t gonna make you talk,” He promises once you relax some, body realizing that if he was going to hurt you, he would’ve done it already. “Ain’t gonna make you pretend t’be alright. That’s bullshit, you’re the furthest thing from alright.”

It’s over 10 minutes of silence before the words slowly start to spill from your lips, a slow trickle at first before pouring out in a waterfall. How Merle got the drop on you. Being dragged into a room by myself. Having to listen to Maggie and Glenn scream while not knowing what’s happening, if they’re okay.

How the Governor tried to play good cop before forcing you to undress, making you bend over the cold table.

You’re sobbing in Daryl’s lap, face buried into his neck by the time you admit aloud just what the Governor did to you. The extent he forced you to take, the pain and the shame and the need to get away from everybody your brain deems a threat, which is everyone.

He lets you sob and wail, lets you grieve and work through your emotions silently. He knows you need someone to listen to you, not to pacify you. You need the physical comfort you’ve been lacking and the sensation of being safe. Daryl would kill a hundred men to keep you safe. To take this experience away from you, to take it for you.

And god help the Governor if Daryl ever, ever sees him again.

[be4chywritez]

never grow up | hughes bro.

hughes bros. x sister!reader

your brothers don't want to let you grow up.

recs are open + prompt list

beachy’s masterlist🐚

warning: completely fucked up timeline

The living room is a mess of wrapping paper and half-eaten cupcakes, remnants of what your mom swore would be a “small graduation party” but somehow turned into a full-blown celebration. You’re still holding onto a stuffed bear in a tiny cap and gown, a joke gift from Ellen, but Quinn keeps side-eyeing it like he’s considering stealing it just to make a point.

Luke is lounging on the couch, flipping through your high school yearbook with a growing look of horror. “Dude,” he mutters, nudging Jack. “She has, like, a whole section in here. How do we not know about half of these people?”

Jack takes the book and immediately flips to the senior superlatives. “Oh my god,” he groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Please tell me you didn’t get ‘Most Likely to Break Hearts’—I don’t think I can handle that.”

You snatch the yearbook out of his hands and smack him lightly with it. “Relax. It’s ‘Most Likely to Brighten Your Day.’”

Quinn, who’s been suspiciously quiet, speaks up from the kitchen. “Yeah, well. That’s worse.”

You roll your eyes. “How is that worse?”

“Because it means people are gonna miss you,” Quinn says simply, but there’s something about the way he says it that makes you pause. Like the realization is just sinking in for him, too.

And that’s when it hits you—this is your last summer before everything changes.

It starts when you casually mention that you’re making a packing list.

“I mean, I don’t need to bring everything,” you say, folding a t-shirt as Quinn watches from the doorway. “I’ll be home for breaks anyway.”

Quinn’s arms are crossed, his face unreadable. “Right,” he says flatly. “Because you’ll totally want to come back to Michigan instead of spending breaks with your college friends.”

You glance up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” He shrugs, but the tension in his shoulders is obvious. “Just that once you’re gone, you’re gone.”

Before you can argue, Jack yells from down the hall, “Why do you even need a list? Just bring what you have now. Do they not have Target where you’re going?”

You groan. “Jack—”

“I mean, really,” he continues, appearing in the doorway. “What could you possibly need that isn’t already in this house?”

Luke suddenly pops his head in too, pointing at you. “And if you think you’re taking the good blanket from the living room, you’re out of your mind.”

You throw a sock at him. “I bought that blanket!”

Jim, who’s been passing by, doubles back and frowns. “Wait, wait—who said you were taking anything from the house?”

You stare at him. “Uh… me?”

He scoffs. “Yeah, well, maybe I decide what leaves this house, and maybe my decision is that you stay.”

Jack smirks. “Yeah, Dad. Ground her.”

Jim actually pauses, rubbing his chin like he’s considering it. “You know what? If she can’t leave, then problem solved.”

“Oh my god.”

It happens at the dinner table.

Tension has been simmering all summer, but tonight, it boils over.

Jack is picking at his food, Luke is sulking, and Quinn has barely said a word. Jim, trying to keep the mood light, asks a simple question:

“So, kid, excited for move-in day?”

The room freezes.

You swallow, already bracing yourself for the inevitable.

Quinn drops his fork. “Oh, great. Let’s talk about it.”

“Quinn—”

“No, really,” he cuts you off. “Let’s talk about how you’re leaving and we all just have to deal with it.”

Jack scoffs. “We’re allowed to be upset.”

“Yeah,” Luke mumbles. “It sucks.”

Something inside you snaps.

“Oh, it sucks?” you echo, voice sharp. “That’s funny—because I don’t remember any of you feeling bad when you left me.”

Silence.

Quinn’s brows knit together. “What?”

You shove yourself back, your back now flat on the chair. “Oh, don’t look so shocked. Did you all forget how this works? You left first, Quinn. You packed up and went to Vancouver. Jack, you left right after, and then Luke followed.”

Jack opens his mouth, but you steamroll right over him.

“And guess what? Nobody asked me if I was okay with it,” you continue. “Nobody sat me down and said, ‘Hey, we’re all leaving, but we know it’s going to be hard on you.’ No. You guys left, and I was just supposed to be fine.”

Luke shifts uncomfortably. “That’s… different.”

“Oh, is it?” you snap. “Because it sure feels the same.”

They all look guilty now.

Jim exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. “She’s got a point, boys.”

The weight of your words settles over the room, thick and suffocating.

You cross your arms. “So don’t sit here acting like I’m the bad guy for growing up. I learned it from you.”

And just like that, dinner is over.

Ellen has been quiet throughout dinner, letting the boys sulk and stew in their feelings. But when you throw down the ultimate truth bomb, she puts her fork down with a soft clink and just leans back in her chair, watching.

Jack shifts uncomfortably under her gaze. “Mom—”

“Don’t ‘Mom’ me,” Ellen says, taking a sip of wine. “She’s right.”

The boys look at her like she’s just committed some deep betrayal.

“But—” Luke tries.

Ellen raises a hand. “No. You don’t get to ‘but’ this. You all left her. And now that it’s her turn, you’re acting like she’s the one abandoning you.”

Quinn frowns at his plate. Jack rubs the back of his neck. Luke suddenly finds his drink very interesting.

Ellen sighs, a little softer now. “I get it. You love your sister, and you’re gonna miss her. But she’s not a little kid anymore.” She glances at you, giving you a small, knowing smile. “And you’re allowed to grow up, sweetheart.”

That’s when you feel the lump in your throat.

Jim, sensing the emotion rising again, claps his hands together. “Alright,” he says, standing up. “Dinner’s over. Boys, you will apologize when you’re ready. And if anyone else gets dramatic at the dinner table, I’m making you all sit at the kids' table for the rest of the summer.”

Jack huffs. “We don’t have a kids' table.”

Jim raises an eyebrow. “I will build one.”

Ellen just shakes her head, standing to start clearing plates. As she passes by you, she squeezes your shoulder gently—just enough to let you know she’s on your side.

Quinn was six, Jack was four, and Luke was two when Ellen and Jim walked through the front door with you bundled up in a tiny blanket.

Luke was still clumsy on his feet, gripping Quinn’s hand for balance as he stared at you with big, round eyes. Jack, ever the loud one, scrunched his nose. “She’s small.”

Quinn, the oldest, tilted his head. “How old is she?”

Ellen smiled, adjusting the beanie on your head. “Just a little younger than Luke.”

Jack frowned. “So she’s the baby?”

Jim nodded. “Yep. You’ve got a baby sister now.”

Quinn blinked at you, something protective already settling in his chest. “She looks squishy.”

Luke let out a little giggle, wobbling closer. His chubby hands reached out, poking at your cheek. Your tiny hand curled instinctively around his finger, and his face lit up like Christmas morning.

Jack, still suspicious, leaned in. “Where’d she come from?”

Ellen smoothed a hand over your head. “From a different family. But now she’s ours.”

Jack looked at Quinn, then back at you. “Do we have to keep her?”

Quinn smacked his arm. “Mom said she’s our sister, dummy.”

Jack huffed. “I’m just asking! What if she’s annoying?”

Jim chuckled. “Then you’ll just have to deal with it.”

Jack pouted. But then you made a tiny noise—something soft, a little curious—and Quinn’s hand was suddenly there, gentle against your back, like he already understood what Jack didn’t:

You belonged with them.

You avoid them. It’s not subtle, and you don’t care if they notice.

Jack walks into the kitchen for breakfast? You walk out. Quinn parks himself in the living room? You suddenly remember you have something to do upstairs. Luke tries to catch your eye across the dinner table? You focus really, really hard on your food.

At first, they pretend not to care. Jack scoffs and mutters, “She’ll crack first.” Quinn just sighs like he’s too old for this. Luke pouts but doesn’t say anything.

But as the days pass, it becomes clear: you’re serious.

Jim and Ellen, bless them, intervene before things get too ridiculous.

It’s a setup. You know it the second Jim corners you in the kitchen and says, “Need your help fixing up the boat.”

You’re about to refuse when he casually adds, “Jack’s already out there.”

You were twelve when Jack left for the NTDP.

He was throwing things haphazardly into his duffel bag, way less meticulous than Quinn had been. You sat on the floor by his bed, fidgeting with the strings on your hoodie.

“You’re really going, huh?”

Jack huffed a laugh, shoving more clothes into his bag. “Yeah, I mean… it’s not like I’m going to war.”

You frowned. “Feels like it.”

That made him pause. He turned to look at you, his usual cocky smirk softening. “Hey, don’t make that face.”

You tried to glare at him, but the lump in your throat made it hard.

Jack sighed, dropping onto the floor next to you. “C’mon, don’t be sad.”

You stayed quiet, picking at your hoodie. Jack nudged your arm.

“You know I’m gonna miss you, right?”

You scoffed. “Then don’t go.”

Jack groaned, flopping onto his back dramatically. “Ugh, you sound like Mom.”

You rolled your eyes. “Maybe because she’s right.”

Jack sat up, resting his chin on his knee. He studied you for a second before reaching out to ruffle your hair. “Listen, baby Hughes, you’re my best little buddy. And you know what?”

You looked at him warily. “…What?”

Jack grinned. “I’m gonna be a big deal one day, and when that happens, I’m taking you with me.”

You wrinkled your nose. “To hockey?”

“To wherever I go.” He bumped his shoulder against yours. “Deal?”

You bit your lip, then nodded. “Deal.”

Jack grinned and held out his pinky. You linked yours with his, sealing the promise.

Of course, you didn’t know then that Jack’s world would get bigger, that he’d go from the NTDP to the draft to New Jersey. But you remembered his words.

Damn it.

When you step onto the dock, Jack is hunched over the open engine, frowning like he actually knows what he’s doing. He doesn’t. He’s wearing sunglasses and a backwards cap, and his shirt is already discarded on the deck like fixing the boat is some grueling manual labor.

You cross your arms. “I don’t see Mom or Dad supervising, so I’m assuming this is an ambush.”

Jack grins, but when you don’t smile back, his expression falters. He clears his throat. “Okay, fine. I may have—” he waves a wrench vaguely in the air “—suggested that Dad needed you out here.”

You raise an eyebrow. “So you’re admitting you need my help?”

Jack scoffs. “No, I—” he stops, narrows his eyes, and exhales. “Okay, maybe.”

A beat of silence stretches between you.

Then, quieter, he says, “You’re really mad, huh?”

You shrug, crouching down next to him. “Not mad. Just… tired of feeling like you guys only get sentimental when it’s convenient for you.”

Jack nods, tapping the wrench against his knee.

“Fair,” he says eventually. “But, like—cut us some slack. We’re not good at this whole… feelings thing.”

You give him a look. “I noticed.”

He huffs a laugh. “But we do love you.” He hesitates, like he wants to say something else, then just nudges your shoulder. “Even when you’re being dramatic.”

You roll your eyes, but your lips twitch. Jack sees it and grins.

Small steps.

You were nine when Quinn left for Michigan.

He packed his bags carefully, making sure his jerseys were folded just right. You sat on the edge of his bed, hugging your knees.

“You’ll come back, right?” you asked, voice small.

Quinn stopped, turned to you. “Of course I will.”

“But not for long.”

He sighed, crouching down so you were eye-level. “It’s not like that, baby sis. I’m not leaving you—I’m just… doing something for me.”

Tears welled in your eyes, and Quinn immediately pulled you into a hug. “Hey, hey. You’ll be okay.”

You sniffed. “What if I’m not?”

Quinn held you tighter. “Then I’ll come home.”

He did. But never for long.

Then Jack left. Then Luke.

And now, it was your turn.

Ellen hands you the list. “Take Quinn. And please, real vegetables this time.”

You grumble, but before you can argue, Quinn’s already waiting by the door.

The car ride is quiet.

Then, out of nowhere, Quinn sighs. “I’m sorry.”

You blink, caught off guard. “For what?”

He grips the steering wheel. “For making you feel bad about leaving. That wasn’t fair.”

You swallow. “Yeah, well… it does suck.”

He nods. “It does.” Then, softer, “You’ll always be our sister. No matter where you go.”

Something in your throat tightens.

“Yeah, well,” you mutter, trying to sound unaffected, “maybe I don’t want to be the baby forever.”

Quinn smirks. “Tough luck.”

You huff, but for the first time in days, the silence between you isn’t so heavy.

Ellen and Jim had taken Jack to some tournament, Quinn was away with the Canucks, and for the first time, it was just you and Luke.

You were thirteen, and he was sixteen, but it felt like an even bigger gap back then.

You weren’t feeling great that day—some stomach bug or something—but you had stubbornly refused to call Mom about it.

Luke had been playing Xbox in the other room when he finally noticed you hadn’t bugged him in a while. He found you curled up on the couch, looking miserable.

"Why didn’t you say anything?" he asked, frowning.

You shrugged weakly.

Luke hesitated, then sighed. "Okay. Come on."

You blinked. "What?"

He grabbed a blanket off the chair and threw it over you before lifting you up.

"Luke—put me down!"

"Nope," he said, hauling you up the stairs. "You have two choices: you can walk to bed like a normal person, or I can keep carrying you."

You groaned but didn’t argue. You were exhausted.

Luke tucked you in (with way too much effort, like he thought you’d try to escape), then disappeared for a few minutes before coming back with ginger ale and crackers.

You stared at him.

"What?" he asked defensively.

"You’re being… nice."

Luke rolled his eyes. "Shut up and eat the crackers."

You smirked. "Are you gonna feed me, too?"

Luke groaned, dropping the pillow he was holding onto your face. "I take it back. I hope you feel worse."

But later that night, when you woke up feeling even worse, Luke was still awake, sitting on the floor by your bed with his phone.

"You need anything?" he asked groggily.

You swallowed past the lump in your throat. "No."

Luke nodded and yawned. "Alright. Go back to sleep."

Luke drives. He doesn’t play music, which is weird for him. Usually, he’s blasting something obnoxious, forcing you to suffer through his terrible playlists.

He doesn’t say anything until you pull into the parking lot.

“I never thought about it like that,” he blurts.

You turn to him, confused. “What?”

Luke shifts in his seat. “That… you were alone when we left.”

His voice is small, guilty.

You sigh, staring out the windshield. “I didn’t want you guys to feel bad about it. You were chasing your dreams. It wasn’t like I wanted you to stay back for me.”

Luke frowns. “But you still missed us.”

“Yeah, dumbass.”

He huffs a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.

After a beat, he hesitates. “You know you can always come back, right?”

You roll your eyes. “I know.”

Luke nudges your shoulder. “We’ll visit. All the time.”

You smirk. “Promise?”

He nods, grinning. “Obviously.”

For the first time all week, your chest feels lighter.

You’re sprawled on the dock, staring at the stars. It’s just the four of you—Jack, Quinn, Luke, and you. The air is warm, the lake is calm, and for once, nobody’s arguing.

Jack exhales. “So. This is it, huh?”

You nod. “Yep.”

Silence.

Then, quietly, Quinn says, “We’re really proud of you, you know.”

You blink, caught off guard.

Luke nods. “Yeah. Like, so proud.”

Jack scoffs. “Even though you’re leaving us.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no bite in it.

Quinn nudges your arm. “We meant what we said. You’ll always have us.”

You swallow, feeling that familiar lump in your throat.

Then, because you’re still their little sister, you smirk. “Yeah, yeah. You guys are obsessed with me.”

Jack groans. “God, I take it back—go to college already.”

Luke laughs. Quinn shakes his head. And for the first time all summer, everything feels right.

Because no matter how much things change, one thing never will:

You’ll always be their sister. And they’ll always be your brothers.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

I've Got You Under My Skin 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, marital troubles, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Steve Rogers

Summary: your husband is a very demanding man.

Note: I can't help myself with the super soldiers.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The doorbell rings and you flinch. You pop your head up as Steve keeps his heavy arm across you. You wriggle and check the time on the small clock on his side of the bed. 

"Shoot!" You struggle to break free of him. "I forgot!"

"Forgot," he turns onto his side, keeping his hand on your hip. "What's going on?"

"I invited the girls over for movie night!"

"Movie night?" He echoes.

"Yes," you move his hand off of you, your chest bouncing as you hop out of bed. "We rented Nosferatu! I'm too afraid to watch it alone so..."

"You coulda waited for me," he sits up and shakes out his matted hair.

"I know but... oh, Bucky's wife can't make it. She's working on her comic," you explain as you search for your bra. The doorbell goes again.

"You didn't tell me you were having them over."

"I forgot."

"But you planned it... you could've said something when I called the other day." He scolds.

You know how he is about the house. He's so overly cautious, he would've seen them on the security app anyhow. Plus, they're his friends as much as yours.

"It's just Wanda and Nat," you say. He stares at you unflinching. "I'm sorry, Stevie--"

"Don't Stevie me with those kitten eyes," he warns as he sits up and wags his finger. "I just... like to know."

"I know," you look at your toes. "I won't do it again."

"Mm," he hums, obviously not happy. You hurry to pull on a fresh dress, not creased or stained by his suddenness. You pull you a pair of panties and he sighs, "really?"

"Steve, the girls are here."

"So what?" He tilts his head and smirks, "kinda hot thinking of you hanging out with nothing underneath. Just waiting til they're gone so you can get back on me."

You give a bashful smile, "Stevie."

The doorbell rings several times in quick succession.

"Hurry up," he rolls his eyes. "Nat can never..."

He trails off and you hurry out, trying desperately to tame your mussed appearance. You flit down the stairs, your skirt letting the air flow over your pelvis. You shiver and hurry to the door, opening it up with a smile.

"There you are. We brought wine and you leave us out in the cold," Natasha snips and shoves the bottle at you.

"Sorry, Steve got back early."

"Ew, please, we don't need details," she snickers.

"Vis got back too," Wanda says. "But Tony kept him late. I swear sometimes I think I'm the other woman."

You shake your head and accept the wine.

"As usual, Bucky's not here and ruining it all," Nat sneers. "She'd come if he wasn't such a hard ass."

"I thought she was working," you frown.

"Oh, sweet child," she purrs. "Sometimes I think that's why he chose you, you are too trusting."

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing," Wanda pinches your chin. "You're just precious."

You back up to let them in. You don't argue. You don't like conflict. Not at all. You don't know how Steve does it.

Yet, you're irked. Everyone treats you like a child. You know you're a bit younger than all of them, a bit less experienced, but you're not stupid.

"So, pizza?" Nat asks.

Usually, you'd say no. The grease makes your chest burn and Steve doesn't like all that processed cheese. Unfortunately you didn't have enough time to make the food you were planning on.

"You two go ahead and order. I'll get some snacks ready," you wave them into the living room.

Before Steve got back, you had a plan. You were supposed to add some ambiance; dark scarfs over the lamps, pillows on the floor.... Oh, but you did do one thing.

You take out the medieval looking goblets filled with goodies; black nail polish, edible vampire teeth, red gummies of every flavour. You set them aside and start on the snacks.

Hummus and spinach dip, whole wheat crackers, veggies, and some fruits. You bring it out as Nat and Wanda set up a nest on the floor. Natasha grimaces at the tray.

"Really?"

"Well, you know..."

"We know. Mighty Captain America doesn't allow real American food in his house." Natasha sniffs.

"I got a surprise, wait," you put it down and wave off her chagrin. "One sec."

You go back out to the kitchen and grab the goblets. You bring them out with a proud smile. Wanda oohs and ahs as she nears.

"Adorable," she praises. "Oh, Natty, there's candy."

"Is it vegan? Sugar-free? All organic?"

"It's real," you assure her. "Just for tonight."

"For tonight or just for us?"

"Well, they're... presents."

"Hmm," Nat plucks out a gummy. "You should join in on the fun."

"It's okay, really. I'm not very hungry right now."

"It's one candy," she nears and holds it between her talon-like nails.

"You girls and your vampires," Steve startles you as he appears in the archway. You glance over. 

"Whatever, scaredy pants," Nat shoves the candy towards you. "It's girls' night and you're jealous."

"You're stealing my wife. Damn right I'm jealous." He scoffs.

"Mhmm," Nat hums and pushes the candy through your lips. You widen your eyes as she pulls her thumb free. You bite into it and look at Steve. He doesn't look impressed.

"Just try not to get her in any trouble," he says.

"In your living room?" Wanda giggles.

"You two have a way," Steve chides.

"Says Steve Rogers," Nat shakes her head.

"Says her husband," he tisks.

"Fucking Christ," Nat mutters. "Think a vampire would be a better husband."

"I can hear you," he retorts. "Language."

He marches off and you give a guilty look as you chew. You wish they didn't argue so much. You just want to have a nice movie night.

[silkenwinger]

part two of secret admirer on the loose... prev. ghost is being so normal here

Your life has taken a bizarre turn as of late. Because fighting terrorists and gangsters isn’t enough, the few days you get to spend on base get to be painfully awkward for everyone involved. Even if Ghost tore up the message, news of it spread anyway, and you can feel a thousand different eyes every time you’re in public. It’s been two days of extra scrutiny you could have gone without, and if you ever catch the soldier that put that paper up, you’ll tear him a new one. Secret admirer or not.

You’re having breakfast with the other 141 sergeants when Soap clears his throat, his hand brushing against his mouth as his blue eyes focus elsewhere in the distance. 

“Been thinking about going on a spiritual retreat.” You keep eating, unmoved by the statement. Gaz, instead, puts down the spoon he’s eating his pudding with.

“Mate, what?”

“Fo’ my sins and all.” This one does make you pause. You take your eyes off your plate to look at Soap.

“Might as well become a friar,” you joke, finding some humour on the fantasy of Soap of all people becoming a religious figure. At the sound of your voice though, some soldiers in the other table turn to look at you, whispers and giggles included. Your eyes slide back down, your teammates ignoring them.

“I ken me ma would be heartbroken. Couldn’t do it to her,” continues Soap, but the mood is spoiled. Whatever great jokes must be said in the other table, they come to a cease all of the sudden.

“They wouldn’t take you in, Johnny. You’d try to get on with the nuns,” Ghost's voice booms, the whole room almost silent on account of him speaking. Your spine fixes its posture when the lieutenant moves the chair next to you, laying his whole body weight on it, legs spread and right knee almost touching yours.  

“Ach! Grave accusations,” says Soap, but you almost can’t hear him over the flush of blood raising to your face. You retreat your leg a bit so it doesn’t make contact with Ghost’s, and go back to your meal just to have something to do. 

This could have been a singular instance, but it isn’t so. Everytime you find yourself outnumbered in a common room and some guys come up to you or even just send you a look, Ghost materializes right next to your place, scaring any negative interaction off (and maybe some positive ones too). You’re thankful he’s watching out for you, but…

“Lieutenant,” you grab your bag with both hands, holding it to your chest, “you don’t need to keep watch on me. I can tell them off if they bother me.” You’re about to enter the gym and Ghost is on your tail, silent and deadly as ever. From the look in his dark eyes, you can tell he’s not enthusiastic about your request. You’ve underestimated his capacity to flip things on their heads, though.

“Sergeant, you’re out of your mind if you think you can tell me what to do or not.” After reestablishing rank, he pauses for a moment. “I’m supervising your training.” He adds, refusing to elaborate. You’re not training in the TV room or at mess, that’s for sure, but whatever helps him sleep those two hours a night. And right now, you could use the pointers. So you enter the gym alongside him. You don’t actually train together, you go through your own routines, sometimes sending a glance over the other when you’re done with the set. You doubt he needs you as a spotter anyway. Due to your tinnitus, you’ve been advised against wearing earphones, so it’s just you, your struggles and the over the top noises coming off the others in the gym.

“Hey, are you the Sergeant from Task Force 141?” It’s a young voice that speaks, the face matching. Acne scars on his cheeks, boyish red skin tone. He has a friend next to him, taller, meaner, the glint of his eyes creepy in the aseptic gym light. 

“Yes,” you answer as you rise from your position, trying to keep your tone as neutral as possible. 

“We think we know-”

“Corporals, on the mat.” Ghost’s arms shine with the layer of sweat for his workout, uncharacteristically sleeveless showy t-shirt responsible for it. His tattooed arm flexes, veins bulging, as he opens and closes his fist. He’s double the size of the poor kids, and it shows when he wipes the floor with them. The redhead goes first and you try to keep a normal expression, but your face ends up in your hands every time he does something wrong and Ghost punishes him for it. You can feel the anxiety in the other corporal boiling, his teeth gritted. You kinda wish he'd just turn and tell you what he knows, but you aren’t completely sure Ghost wouldn’t drag you down too at that point. Everyone is at his mercy, even if he’s done and become your guard dog. 

“You didn’t have to punish them so hard. I wanted information,” you sigh to him now that you’re out of the gym and he can’t beat you. You hope. He’s still next to you walking back: from under the balaclava, Ghost cocks an eyebrow. His tone is accusatory.

“Information for what, huh? That desperate for attention?” It’s like he tasted a bitter fruit. 

“N-No! I need to set things straight. I don’t enjoy it, at all. I wish he’d never wrote that.” You say seriously, stopping to look him in the eye. He stops too, holding eye contact for a second, but then he looks down. Your boots are so close they’re almost touching, legs twitching from the exhausting of the stretches. His hand moves, fixes the band of your bag on your shoulder so that it bites less into your muscle.

“That’s what I’m here for. No one can bother you now,” he says, dropping his hand very slowly. He speaks as matter of factly as he can, but you hear it. You hear the unspoken claim of possession, the dark anger. Ghost starts walking again and you swallow, your ear ringing as he shows you his back.

taglist: @night-girl-301 @sai-int

[whatdoeseverybodywant]

Just You and Me - Part 2

gif by @punksrhea

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS

Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤ 

All OC Characters belong to me

Author's Note: Soo.. i did a poll in my community and the majority voted on this being a series so... ENJOY💖 If you wanna get added to my community, comment on this post .

Warnings: TOXIC THEMES ,

Masterlist

HazelRenee_

liked by trinity_fatu, jonathanfatu and 100,000 others

HazelRenee_ : Tell me you don't never wanna lose me

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trinity_fatu: you look cute friend!

trellx2: damn girl 😬😍😮‍💨

↪ uceyjucey : @trellx2 find you sum safe 2 do uce...

uceyjucey: quit playin’ wit me…

“Uce ain’t that yo girl?”

Josh paused, half drunken glass of Hennessy in his hand, and he turned to look at where Jacob was pointing. Josh’s eyebrows furrowed as he took in his girl all up in another guy’s face. She had a wide smile on her face, as if something he said was fucking funny. 

“Nah, my eyes must be playing tricks on me man,” Josh muttered, throwing back the rest of his Hennessy. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and called Hazel. He watched as she picked up the phone from the bar, rolled her eyes and declined the call. 

“Ight” Josh shook his head and chuckled. She wanted to play games tonight, and he was in a childish ass mood. 

Jon and Jacob watched as Josh stood to his feet, his eyes deadset on Hazel. 

“Uce. Chill.” Josh ignored his cousin, shrugging his hand off of him. Josh stood up from the VIP section and pushed his way through the crowd towards Hazel. 

He slithered up behind her, leaning against the bar. He tucked his bottom lip into his teeth as he let his eyes graze over her body. 

It was like Hazel was hyperaware when Josh was around. She tried not to let his presence bother her as she continued her conversation with Trell. He was a newly hired wrestler on the NXT brand.  Talking to him was different. Trell was new, easy to talk to, he had no expectations, no past. She could laugh freely, her words light and unguarded. When they talked, it didn’t feel like there was any weight on her shoulders, any pull that threatened to drag her back into something she knew was bad for her. With Trell, everything was simple, easy.

But with Josh,  nothing felt simple anymore.

“You got a problem?” Hazel’s eyes widened as she focused back on Trell. He was looking past her at Josh. She felt a shiver run down her spine as Josh chuckled. She turned her head to the side and watched as Josh slowly lifted his gaze from her ass. Hazel’s heart skipped a beat as their eyes made contact. 

There was something in them, something raw and possessive that made her pulse quicken despite herself. It was the look he always gave her, the one that made her feel like she was the only thing in the room. 

“Look, you may be a top guy in the company, but you not gon disrespect a female in my face. Looking at her like she some meat.” 

Hazel's eyes widened as Trell kept trying to check Josh. Josh let out a stifled laugh, his eyes twinkling with amusement. Josh said nothing as he tilted his head, his gaze still locked on Hazel. 

Josh chuckled again, before flagging down the bartender and ordering another drink. “That’s how you wanna play it huh?” Josh muttered to where only Hazel could hear him and she felt her heart start to pound in her chest. “Be careful, pretty girl.” Josh gave her one last look before walking away from them. 

Hazel felt like she could breathe again. The tension in her muscles loosened just a little as she turned her attention back to Trell, who was still watching her with concern etched on his face.

"Are you okay?" Trell asked, his voice soft but laced with uncertainty.

Hazel didn’t immediately answer. Instead, she reached for her own drink, taking a long sip to steady herself.

"I'm fine," she finally replied, her voice more clipped than she intended. She forced a smile, hoping it didn't look as fake as it felt.

“You sure?” He asked and Hazel nodded. She looked over her shoulder in the direction that Josh had walked off to and was not surprised to see him already looking at her.  He was leaning against the plush-looking white sofa, legs spread open and a small smile on his face. Once he noticed she was looking in his direction, he winked and blew her a kiss. 

It was gonna be a long night. 

All throughout the night, Hazel could feel Josh’s gaze on her. It was like his gaze followed her around the whole club. The only place she felt like she could breathe was the bathroom and she knew Josh wouldn’t dare go in there. 

She let out a sigh as she leaned against the sink and looked at herself in the mirror. 

Hazel stared at her reflection, her hands gripping the sides of the sink as though it were the only thing keeping her grounded. Josh was making it hard. She hated how he made her feel. She hated how he could go out and do him, be boo’ed up with another bitch, posted up on social media like it was nothing. The video she had seen last night was the final straw. 

She didn’t want to believe it when Jade sent it to her. Josh had said he was going home, back to Atlanta to spend time with his kids, so imagine her surprise when one of her best friends sent her a screen recording of some woman she’s never met before private Instagram story. 

The woman was smiling at the camera, lip singing to SZA’s Snooze. Hazel could see that the woman was wearing a red lace nightie, Josh’s favorite color. But what broke her heart was Josh coming and standing behind the woman; he was toweling off his hair as if he had just gotten out of the shower. The woman moved the camera so that it showed how Josh had wrapped his arms around her waist, and when she moved the camera back up, Josh had leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her cheek. 

Hazel remembered just sitting on her hotel bed feeling devastated. She and Josh weren’t technically together. But they had told each other they loved each other. Well, she told him that she loved him. But he had asked! So that had to mean something, right? 

Clearing her throat, she pushed that video and Josh to the back of her mind. She was done with him. Done with the possessiveness, done with the toxicness and the fake love. 

“You a bad bitch.” She muttered as she looked at herself in the mirror. “Fuck that nigga.” 

Josh clenched his jaw tight as Hazel came back into his view, her lapdog hot on her trail. He narrowed his eyes as he watched her lead Trell to the dance floor. He noticed Jon and Jacob both glance over at him, but he paid them no mind. 

Yeah, he fucked up by going back to Porsha. Porsha didn’t expect anything. She knew where they stood—no strings, no complications. But with Hazel? It wasn’t the same. It had never been. Hazel was different. Being with Hazel felt different. 

The problem was, Josh wasn’t sure what he wanted. He liked Hazel. Hell, he loved her in his own complicated way. But the thought of being tied down, being responsible for someone else’s heart, terrified him. And that fear had pushed him back into Porsha’s arms. 

He wasn’t ready for commitment, but he also wasn’t ready to watch her move on

He knew Hazel had seen the video. Jade, Trinity, and Bianca had given him a good tongue lashing about said video. 

Last week in her hotel room had been intense. She had attempted to end things with him but he just couldn’t let that happen. He had slipped up big time. 

“You love me?” 

 What the fuck had he been thinking? Love? He didn’t do love. But Hazel had nodded. She had told him she loved him and what did he do? Leave as soon as she fell asleep. 

That was the last time they talked. They had seen each other at work. Lingering glances in the arena hallways but nothing more.

“I see it’s a lot of couples on the dance floor. This one is for y’all.” The DJ's voice came over the speakers just as Attention by Bryson Tiller started playing. 

Josh quickly tore his eyes away from the couple as Trell wrapped his arms around Hazel’s waist as they swayed back and forth to the music, their bodies moving together in sync with the smooth rhythm of the song. 

He abruptly stood from his seat as Trell leaned his head down into Hazel’s neck and placed an open mouth kiss there. Hazel tilted her head to the side, giving Trell more access and Josh felt his heart drop into his stomach. 

“What is that they say about karma?” Trinity said from her place, perched on her husband's lap. 

Josh sucked his teeth and kept his comment of “shut yo ass up” to himself. He didn’t feel like getting into a fight with his brother tonight. The last thing he needed was to deal with Trinity’s blunt commentary while he was already battling with his own thoughts.

“You kept playing with her feelings and now she’s finally moving on.”  

Josh shook his head, his fists clenching involuntarily. The words hit harder than he expected, but he knew they were true. He had played with her feelings. And now, watching Hazel with Trell, it was clear she was done waiting for him.

Without another word, he turned and walked away from his family, pushing past the crowd toward the exit. The cool night air hit him as soon as he stepped outside, but it did little to clear his mind.

She was moving on, and it hurt more than it should. She was letting someone else in, and he couldn’t stand the thought of it. 

Authors Note: Welp... he fucked around and found out lmao.. 😬

Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤ 

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[dntaed]

﹅ CHERRIES KISS ◞ j. todd | 1k

SYNOPSIS: Your sweet boyfriend comes to take you home.

A/N: Atp I'm just recycling my old fics. I'm not sure if I made Jason a bit to possessive in this one. It really depends on which version I'm envisioning. I think i found the middle ground.

✹ ꕀ MASTERLIST; AO3

“I’m tough.” you remark as Jason’s rough fingertips dance over your knuckles ever so delicately.

He regards you as if he'd break you if he grabbed on too hard, shimmering glass as he praises every light reflected off of it. His soft touches light a candle in your heart. Your skin feels hot as his touch grazes over it.

He nods, “I know you are.”

His voice is laced with the all too familiar worry you've grown to hear from him. It thins his voice and the strength that follows it normally is gone and replaced with fragile vulnerability.

You always simmer in the soft way he bares himself strip of all masks.

You wish you could take all of it away and protect him. Unfortunately, you can't do that. You settle with trying to carry the burden together and prove to him he doesn't have to face any of this alone.

“C’mon Jay,” you pout, his eyes dart between your charming eyes and lips - dewy from the cherry lipstick you wear.

Cherries, an angel's kiss in spring.

“It’s just a simple bar, a small get-together with some of my UNI friends. Nothing bad will happen,” you put the emphasis on the last bit of your words as an effort to soothe Jason's fears and reassure him, “I can take care of myself.”

“You have,” he sighs, hands run , “you still do and will do so, I’ve just joined in too. I want to take care of you too.”

His words strike a chord inside your heart, the saccharine taste of them fills every corner of your body. Those endearing eyes he sneaks glances at you, not aware that you notice them and do the same, break into the surface of your skin and steal your breath away.

He has a way of consuming every bit and part of you. That never fails to mesmerize you.

“We take care of each other.” You reply as your lips graze over his scarred knuckles. “I don't want you to worry so much, baby.”

He sighs as he leans into your touch. “I know, I just—” he stammers, the words getting stuck on his tongue.

“It's normal to worry, but you can’t let it consume you.” You bring your hands to cradle his face. Jason doesn't shy away from the touch and sinks into your embrace – the sight makes your heart ache in the best way.

You grab onto his hand and place it on the inside of your wrist, letting him feel your pulse.

You give him a cheeky grin as you whisper, “feel that?”

He chuckles quietly, “Mhm, yes.”

“As long as you see, hear and feel me – I will never leave.”

♥︎ ♥︎

♥︎

In Jason's mind there is not a single person in this world who compares to you. No one is as dreamlike and otherworldly like you. Especially now, as he watches you sway and move in the kaleidoscopic hues of the bar. The prismatic lights kiss your delicate and inviting skin.

Oh, how he wishes to do the same.

Jason wonders if you know that he’s keeping an eye on you right now, if you can feel his watchful gaze on your form. Do his glances light a fire in your heart just as yours does in his.

He should be patrolling right now, making sure everything is okay. But he find his eyes following your every step as you glide through the dance floor.

He knew when you left the shared apartment that belongs to the two of you – 6:31 pm, knew when you arrived at the bar – 7:05 pm, knew when you finally met up with your friends – 7:18 pm.

Jason engraves every detail in his mind, because he has to. He's making sure that you're okay, that you're safe.

He catches a glimpse of you drinking some vibrant drink. You scrunch your nose at the taste of it and the sight sends butterflies in his stomach.

You laugh at something your friend says. The infectious and melodic sound of it reaches Jason. He can’t help the moonstruck grin that spreads on his face.

Jason's thrown for a loop when he spots your gaze pin him in place. Your eyes fixate on him as if you're entranced, as if he's the only one in the room.

He feels his heartbeat speed up.

Without tearing your gaze off of him you mumble something to your friends, something that he can only guess was a short goodbye. The surprised looks on your friends faces quickly disappear from his mind as you stride to him with confident, but light steps.

“Come to take me home?” You question with a curious voice with a taste of something he can't yet place.

He sheepishly runs his hand down his neck. “What gave it away?”

“Well.” You click your tongue. A smirk dances on your lips. “You've been pretty attentive all night long, watching my every move. I hope the show was up to your standards.”

“Show–?” He chokes on his words. You tease.

You laugh. The sound is akin to honeyed nectar on his tongue.

Jason tries to collect his thoughts. “I still haven't had my fill and I don't plan on leaving you unsatisfied either.”

“Really? I wonder who's the greedy one in this relationship.” You hum playfully.

“Dance with me,” he suggests unexpectedly.

Your eyes dart across his face, taking in his nervous demeanor. “You don't dance.”

“For you I will.”

♥︎ ♥︎

♥︎

He spares a single glance at the time. 10:46pm. Time for you to head back to the apartment.

He counts himself a lucky man as the one who takes you home, as the one who waits for you outside the bar, as the one your wobbly steps guide you towards, as the one you wrap your arms around while he caresses your face and tells you to let me help you with the helmet, honey.

He brings your hand to his lips and kisses the back of it. The skin is velvety to the touch.

Jason's eyes don't leave your own dazed and enchanted eyes. To him you are a vision so captivating, so sickeningly sweet, all he wants is to get a taste of you.

He is taking you home, isn't he? He is truly a lucky man.

© anshellim | all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are not allowed to be reposted, translated, or modified.

[xh3llfir3x]

𝘌𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘦 𝘔𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘹 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

“𝘛𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘳 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘛𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘩”

𝘕𝘴𝘧𝘸 18+

Living in a trailer park was not what you pictured life would be like after high school. It was the same exact trailer park your old friends would mock. Calling everyone who lived in mobile homes

“Trailer park trash.”

Being a stupid teenager you would laugh at their stupidity but now you were happy those friendships faded.

People who mocked others living situations left a bad taste in your mouth. Especially when you found yourself buying a mobile home yourself. It was cheap,cozy, and quiet and that made you happy.

Besides you also got to live next door to the hottest man you had ever seen.

Eddie Munson.

Eddie was older by a few years but you still had heard about him. In high school he was known as the older guy to get weed or any other illegal substance from. Now you knew him as the guy who lived next door who would blast Iron Maiden as he cursed out his van that he religiously worked on.

You were sat outside on your lawn chair having a smoke and enjoying the now 70 degree weather,something that hadn’t happened in a few months thanks to Indiana’s bipolar weather. You wanted to enjoy the feeling of the sun warming your skin but you couldn’t help but enjoy the sight in front of you instead.

Eddie was working on his van of course but today it was different. His dark curls were tied back in a messy pony and his clearly dirty white ribbed beater clung to his skin from sweat, showing off muscles you didn’t expect your neighbor to have.

You took one last drag of your cigarette before tossing it down next to you and standing up from the lawn chair.

“Having any luck with it today?” You called out to Eddie as you watched him clearly struggling

“Mm no this van is a piece of shit,” he huffed “what do I expect I’ve had it since high school that’s been 10 years and it was already old before that.”

Eddie went on to ramble about how much he hated the van and you couldn’t help but giggle at how worked up it was making him.

“Would you like a beer? I have some cold ones in the fridge maybe you need to take a break or it’ll drive you insane.”

Eddie looked up at you and now it was his turn to eye you down.

The way your denim shorts clung to your hips and how your cropped shirt showed just enough to keep him guessing almost had him weak at the knees.

This was the first time he ever got the chance to look and admire you and now he regretted not doing it sooner.

“Are you just trying to invite me in your place?” He teased and you couldn’t help but laugh “I wouldn’t mind the company.” You winked turning on your heels and towards your trailer.

Eddie bit down on his lower lip and followed behind you. The worries of fixing up his van quickly evaporated.

Once inside he was greeted by the sight of a clean trailer and the smell of cherry pie. He was taken back from how nice it looked inside compared to the condition of it from the outside.

“You got a nice little place here,” he complimented “a whole lot cleaner than mine. That’s for sure.”

You opened up your icebox and chuckled. You grabbed a cold beer and tossed it at Eddie who caught it swiftly.

“You’re not drinking one?” He asked popping his open. You shook your head and grabbed your glass coke that was on the kitchen table “I rather drink my soda right now. If that’s okay with you,love?”

The little nickname you called everyone made his heart skip a beat. He could get use to the sound of that for sure.

“Yeah yeah,” he finally answered “it’s totally cool.” You gave him a smile and sat down on your couch. Looking up at him as he stood there awkwardly sipping on his beer “care to join me?” You asked rubbing the empty spot next to you.

Eddie obliged and sat down. He looked massive sitting on your small pink sectional. It was definitely goofy to see but you enjoyed having someone other than just yourself sitting on it for once.

“You’re welcome to come by anytime you like,” you finally spoke up “I know ever since your uncle left you’ve been seeming a little lonely. But trust me I get it.”

“It’s that noticeable I’m lonely? Geez that’s depressing.” Eddie laughed and you couldn’t help but laugh too

“No I just think when you’re lonely yourself you can sense it from other people.” You explained in between laughs. Eddie nodded not saying it out loud but agreeing with you. He knew exactly what you meant.

He let out a relaxed sigh and sat his beer can down on your glass living room table.

“Can I tell you something y/n?” He asked smiling at you as you nodded “I think you might just be the prettiest neighbor anyone could have.”

You felt your cheeks get warm as the boy next door flirted with you. Eddie could see how flustered you were and took that as a sign to keep going.

“I’m serious,” he said resting his massive hand on your knee “I’ve never really took the time to notice and now that I have I can tell any man would be lucky to be sitting next to you.”

Eddie gave you his signature “shit eating grin” as he would call it and moved his hand to your thigh now. He hadn’t noticed he did so from it being out of habit or maybe he did because he could tell by the way you looked at him that you didn’t mind. Besides you didn’t move his hand away but instead spread your legs just a bit more so his hand could fit completely on your thigh.

“If I’m not mistaken it sounds like you’re flirting with me Eddie?”

“I’m sure you’re use to all the men flirting with you,doll. Just dying to get to know you.”

Your breathing hitched as he gave your thigh a squeeze. You cleared your throat trying to find your confidence that you somehow lost in that moment.

With a small laugh,you placed your hand on top of Eddie’s. He looked down and smiled,admiring how small your hand was on his. He also enjoyed the way the red nail polish complemented your skin tone. He found himself biting his bottom lip again as the thought of your hands wrapped around him filled his mind.

“You’re the first guy I’ve talked to in a while,” you admitted “I hope my nervousness isn’t showing too much.”

Eddie smirked and without replying he leaned in. His lips were soft and seemed to fit on yours like a missing puzzle piece. You kissed back enjoying the feeling you hadn’t felt in a long while.

It wasn’t like you to just kiss on the first hangout but you couldn’t help yourself. You would be lying if you said dirty thoughts about Eddie Munson had never crossed your mind. In fact just the other night before you got in the tub you peaked out your blinds and seen Eddie walking into his place. You imagined yourself going in with him and riding his dick like no other girl had before.

The memory of that thought made you kiss him harder. Eddie took this as a sign to keep going and now he moved his hand from your thigh to go under your cropped shirt.

Your soft skin on his calloused hands made him moan between kisses and he almost yanked his hand back when he felt you weren’t wearing a bra. But you again didn’t stop him so he cupped your breast in his hand. Massaging it before working his fingers towards your nipple and pinching it causing you to jump from the pain and pleasure combination. You then couldn’t help but moan from how good it suddenly felt. You pulled back from his kiss just to take your shirt off,tossing it in a random direction.

“God,” Eddie moaned out “your body is so gorgeous.”

He was in awe from the sight,almost in a daze. Eddie was so caught up in the moment of admiring your body that he almost completely forgot what was going on.

It took a second but he was back to giving you the attention you had been craving. He kissed on your neck,definitely leaving marks as he sucked and nibbled on the tender flesh.

You moaned out as his kisses went lower until his lips were wrapped around your nipple. Sucking on each like his life had depended on it in that moment.

The feeling was euphoric and you whimpered when his lips trailed down. As he got just above your denim shorts, you intertwined your fingers in his dark curls that had fallen from his messy pony.

With one hand and a quick raise of your hips,Eddie had your shorts off in no time.

He smiled proudly as he seen the slick wet spot on your white underwear.

“I barely touched you and look how wet you are.” He cooed,rubbing his fingers over the wet spot making you moan out.

“I could get use to this for sure,” he spoke as he slid them off for you “how much I can get you going.”

He slid his index finger over your folds and up to your sensitive clit. He teased you for a second by slowly moving his finger along it,enjoying how your body trembled and your hips bucked up wanting more of him.

He replaced his finger with his mouth. His tounge ran figure 8s on your swollen clit before going along your slit. He took his time eating you out. the whimpers and the moans that escaped your mouth because of him made him grow increasingly more excited. He also enjoyed the taste of you. In that moment he could have sworn he could sit there forever,lapping up your juices and tasting just how sweet and wet you were.

And you could have let him eat you out forever too. No one has ever made you feel this good from head. You felt your eyes begin to roll in the back of your head but you didn’t want to finish just yet. You wanted him to fuck your brains out and make the trailer rock. So you cupped his face between your hands and pulled him upwards,latching your lips onto his.

Eddie thought it was the hottest thing in the world that you didn’t care about kissing him after he had just had his mouth all over your pussy. He kissed back hungrily and smirked between the kisses as he felt your hands begin to unzip his jeans and attempt to slid them down. He helped you,leaving his pants around his ankles and pulling himself from the hole of his boxers.

Your eyes widened at the sight of his hard cock. Eddie was definitely above average and you bit your lip from the nervousness. He wasn’t too girthy but the length of him is what made you nervous. You could have sworn by the sight of him that you would be able to feel him in your stomach but that nervousness was soon replaced by excitement when your felt the tip of his dick rub against your entrance.

You gasped out loud as he pushed himself into you gently. He was barely in but yet felt so deep. Eddie had his head back from the feeling

“You’re so tight baby girl.”

That was all he could manage to get out as he began to rock his hips. He had never fucked someone that made him want to cum just by the way you were wrapped around him.

His breathing had began to hitch and he wanted to go slow but the tightness of you and the cries of pleasure that left your lips made it so hard for him. He knew he would cum fast and he wanted nothing more but for you to release over his dick instead.

He nestled his face in the crook of your neck as he fucked you. Your red finger nails dug into his back as you moaned

“Fuck Eddie you’re gonna make me cum.” You cried out.

The way you moaned his name had him shaking from pleasure. He loved the way your moans sounded and it was even better when it was his name. His thoughts were cut short when you tightened around him even more, crying out as your orgasm shook your body like an earthquake.

The feeling of you cumming on his dick was enough to send Eddie to the edge as well. With one quick deep thrust, he filled you up until he could feel his seed spilling out. His hands gripped the armrest on your couch so hard his knuckles were white.

Eddie didn’t move until the shaking had stopped and he could finally catch his breath. You buried your face against his chest,fingers trailing along his back as you both laid there coming down from the highs.

“I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been thinking about this since I first seen you working on your van.” You admitted with a giggle. Eddie smiled down at you and brushed his sweaty hair out of his face so he could get a better look at you under him.

“I should have worked on my van more often if it meant I could have been doing this the whole time.”

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

6: SNAPSHOTS AND STICKY NOTES

Previous chapter < MASTERLIST > Next chapter (pending)

Summary: Bucky and the reader take their fake dating arrangement to the next level, planning a social media-worthy “relationship” to convince Sam and their friends. What starts as awkward cooperation turns into something deeper as small moments— shared secrets, teasing messages, and unexpected vulnerability— blur the lines between real and pretend.

Warnings: fake dating, mutual pining, Bucky being emotionally constipated, references to past trauma (HYDRA, brainwashing), soft Bucky moments, a very important whiteboard, reader roasting Bucky’s texting habits, a trip to the zoo that gets surprisingly emotional

Word Count: 2506

The knock on your door came earlier than expected. You weren’t ready— not emotionally, and certainly not physically.

“Hold on!” you called, scrambling to tug a sweater over your head. The hem caught on your necklace, and you winced as it yanked it down against your torso. Naturally, Bucky would show up early on the one morning you were running late.

When you finally opened the door, Bucky was standing in front of you in his usual attire— dark jeans, a Henley, a fitted jacket and his usual guarded expression. His posture was tense, almost like he was regretting coming over.

“You good?” he asked, gruffly.

“Yeah, sorry. Hectic morning,” you muttered, stepping aside so he could enter your home.

Bucky glanced around as he walked into the living room, his eyes landing on the clutter on your desk in the corner. His eyes lingered over the piles of paper which were haphazardly scattered on the desk and on the floor, unfinished designs scrawled across the pages.

“Didn’t peg you for a messy one,” he said quietly, but there wasn’t any malice in his words.

You huffed. “I call it my creative chaos.”

“Right.”

He sat down on the couch, leaning back as though he was trying to get comfortable, but definitely looked like he was failing miserably. You grabbed your notebook and joined him, perching on the opposite end. The distance between you felt like a chasm.

“You know you don’t need to wear a jacket, you literally walked across the hallway.”

You watched Bucky shrug off his jacket, laying it across the arm of your couch. He tugged down on the sleeve of his Henley to cover up his vibranium arm.

“So,” you began, flipping through the crisp pages, “maybe we can work on how to make this more… convincing.”

“How do you propose that?”

“I guess…” you hesitated, chewing on the end of your pen, leaving a small black ink stain on your lip. “We need to get to know each other a bit better.”

“That’s fine, but knowing Sam, I’m not sure an interrogation’s going to be enough for him. He will want… proof.”

“Proof?” you asked, but a realization had dawned on you on what Bucky meant.

“He keeps talking about finding your Instagram.”

“Ahh shit,” you groaned and slumped back against the cushions. “Of course he is. Fucking social media. We’re going to need hard evidence. ”

Bucky watched you, a hint of amusement at your dramatics. “So, what you wanna do? Some kinda of photoshoot?”

“Sort of…” You looked over at Bucky and you could see the sarcastic expression on his face. “Not like those professional things with photographers and stuff… more like a couple of selfies, maybe a few posed ones out and about. That’s the stuff Sam’s expecting to see, and… my friends will too.”

Bucky sighed, running his hand over his face. “Fine. But count me out of anything cheesy. None of those hearts with our hands or matching outfits.”

“What kind of algorithm invaded your feed that made this your first suggestion?” you demanded, your face filled with disgust.

Bucky looked at you blankly, clearly not understanding a word of what you had just said.

“Don’t worry, I wasn’t planning on matching outfits. Maybe we can plan some dates that work for us and then go to those places and take some photos.”

“How did I get myself into this?” Bucky mumbled quietly to himself.

Unfortunately you caught his meaning. “If you don’t want to do this, why’re you here?”

“I’m sorry, I… I just don’t know what I’m doing.”

Bucky’s admission hung in the air, more vulnerable than you expected. He was looking down at his hands, he tugged down at his left sleeve, trying to pull it down over the vibranium. And for the briefest of moments you saw beneath his stoic mask he always wore.

“Look Bucky,” you moved closer to him. “I… I’m not really the biggest fan of this either, I mean… it’s not like I grew up with the fantasy of a fake boyfriend.”

He looked over at you, a hint of a smirk crossed his face. “I guess I’m just having a hard time letting someone in.”

“It’s just for show. You don’t need to share your whole life story with me. We just need to know enough about each other to make this believable.”

Bucky nodded slowly. “James,” he said quietly.

You frowned, confusion etched across your face. “Excuse me?”

“My name… is James.” He looked you in the eyes and introduced himself again, holding out his hand. “James Buchanan Barnes.”

“Hi, James.” 

You took his hand and introduced yourself back to him, enjoying the warmth of his hand for a beat too long. But for some reason, he didn’t pull his hand away.

“I’m trying,” he whispered.

There was a sincerity in his tone that made you pause, your fingers still wrapped in his calloused grip. His hand felt surprisingly steady and grounding amidst all the uncertainty that surrounded you.

“Me too, Bucky… James?”

“Everyone calls me Bucky, but I thought, if  we’re dating, you ought to know my real name.”

“Well, Bucky, we’ll figure this out… together.”

He gave your hand a small squeeze before finally letting go.

“So,” you said, clearing your throat. “Since we’re walking this road together, what kind of first date does James Buchanan Barnes take a girl on?”

Bucky leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, one hand absently tugging at the sleeve.

“You want to know what I’d have done for a first date back then?” he asked finally, his voice low and measured.

You blinked, surprised by his question, and nodded slowly, trying not to look too eager at finding out more about this mysterious man. “Sure. If you’re okay talking about it.”

Bucky leaned back against the couch again, staring at your blank television as though he could see his previous life play out on the screen. “It was different back then… simpler, I guess. A guy could take a girl dancing or to the movies. Maybe walk her home, if she wanted.” His lips twitched, a ghost of a smile played across them. “I used to go out a lot, actually. Always had a date for the weekend. Guess you could say I was popular.”

You couldn’t resist a little teasing. “A charmer, huh?”

His faint smirk faded, replaced by something more guarded. “Yeah. It was… easier back then.”

“Before you were the Winter Soldier?” you asked, your voice was laced with curiosity but no judgment.

Bucky’s head snapped toward you, his jaw tightening. “That wasn’t my choice,” he said sharply, the anger in his voice cutting through the room like a blade.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. “Oh, Bucky, I didn’t mean—”

He held up his hand, stopping you mid-apology. You could see the tension in his shoulders despite the fact that his face was turned away from you.

“I shouldn’t have snapped,” he mumbled after a moment of silence. Slowly he sighed, running his hand through his hair. “This is exactly why I don’t…”

“I didn’t mean to pry,” you said, your heart sinking. “I just… I’m sorry. Really. I wasn’t trying to hurt you.” You bit your lip and stared down at your hands, twisting your fingers together nervously, glancing over now and again to see how he would react.

Bucky didn’t respond immediately but the silence between you felt heavy.

Finally, he let out a long slow breath, as if he was trying to expel the pressure that had built up inside him. “I know,” he said quietly. “I know you didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just… this whole thing? Letting someone in, even just pretending? It’s harder than I thought it’d be.”

You nodded. “I get it. Or, well, I’m trying to. And for what it’s worth… I’m glad you’re here. Even if it is hard.”

Bucky turned to look at you, scrutinizing your face. His lips parted slightly, like he was about to say something, but then he thought better of it and pressed his mouth into a thin line. After that, the two of you sat in silence, neither one of you knowing how to bridge the gap but there was something different between you. It felt less like a chasm and more like a better understanding of the burden he carried. He hadn’t shown his hand, but he had tipped one of his cards.

Eventually Bucky broke the silence, his voice softer. “So coffee shop for the first date?”

“What, no dancing?” you asked with mock incredulity.

Bucky let out a quiet laugh. “I think my dancing days are behind me.”

“Come on,” you pressed, leaning toward him a little. “You mean to tell me the legendary Bucky Barnes can’t bust a move anymore?”

An involuntary but genuine laugh escaped Bucky’s lips and he shook his head. “I literally don’t understand half the things you say.”

“You’ll learn to love it,” you said in a sing-song voice.

“I haven’t danced since 1943.”

“They say it’s like riding a bike. You just gotta get back on the horse.” You grinned at you as you threw random idioms at him.

“You’re doing this on purpose.”

“Guilty.”

He shook his head but there was no sign of irritation— if anything he was struggling to hide his amusement. “If it means we can get off this topic, I’ll consider it.”

“Perfect!” You picked up your notebook and started writing. “First date: coffee shop.” You looked up out of the corner of your eye and lifted your pen off the page and pretended to keep writing. “Second date: dancing.”

“Let’s survive the first one first,” he said gruffly.

The next time you came home, you found a sticky note attached to your door at your eye level. You peeled it off with a sigh, glancing down at Bucky’s neat, capitalized handwriting:

“MEETING AT 7. DON’T BE LATE.”

You rolled your eyes, unlocking your doors and stepping into the warmth of your apartment. It was 6:30pm and you’d just gotten home from work. You grumbled to yourself as you closed the door.

Is texting too much of a chore for him? Man can wear sophisticated tech for an arm but can’t work something as simple as a cell phone.

By the time the fifth sticky note had made its appearance, you’d had enough. You marched down to the local arts and crafts store and bought a small whiteboard and marker. It was the perfect size to hang on your door and you couldn’t help but smirk at the mental image of Bucky and his Grumpy Cat face standing in the hallway, writing on it.

You hung it up and scribbled your own message to christen the board.

“FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS MODERN, JUST TEXT ME.”

As you were leaving the next day, there was a new message:

“TEXTING IS OVERRATED.”

As time went on, neither of you mentioned the board, occasionally leaving random messages, mostly involving you teasing him about his inability to send a text message.

“CAN WE DISCUSS YOUR FEAR OF TEXTING?”

“NOT A FEAR, IT’S CALLED FREEDOM OF EXPRESSION.”

His handwriting was slightly different in this response, a messy scrawl rather than his neat bold lettering, almost like he had been laughing while he wrote it.

"ZOO TOMORROW? DON’T MAKE ME REGRET THIS."

“FINE! BUT IF YOU POUT, I’M POSTING IT!”

“YOU ANIMAL!”

You let out a small huff, glancing over at Bucky as he stared at the pair of arctic wolves lounging lazily in their enclosure. He had been trudging around the zoo behind you all day looking distinctly unimpressed. For some reason, his usual grumpy scowl was starting to get under your skin. 

“What’s on your mind, Oscar?” you asked, leaning towards him.

Bucky turned, furrowing his brow. “Oscar? Who’s Oscar?”

“You,” you said with a teasing smile. “You know, Oscar the Grouch? From Sesame Street?”

His expression didn’t change. “I don’t know where Sesame Street is.” He rolled his eyes and turned back to the wolves, a distant look on his face.

You shook your head, not knowing whether to be amused or exasperated. “If you’re not into this, we could just leave. No need to suffer through it.”

Bucky sighed and his tone softened. “Sorry. I just… this is… different.”

You were caught off guard at his change in tone. It wasn’t like him to sound so reflective and a wave of guilt washed over you for being so insistent on coming to the zoo.

“I didn’t mean to drag you here if it’s not your thing,” you offered quietly.

He shook his head, dismissing your words. His eyes were still fixed on the wolves. “Have you heard of a place called Wakanda?” he asked, but his voice was so quiet, you wondered if he was talking to you.

You nodded, unsure where this was going but sensing it was important.

“I lived there for a while. They helped me with deprogramming the HYDRA brainwashing. Gave me peace for the first time in… a long time. I’ll always be grateful for what they did for me.”

You swallowed hard, not sure how to respond.

“The kids there… they used to call me White Wolf.”

There it was again, that look— like he was off somewhere else— and there was something almost wistful in his voice that tugged at your heart, making it ache. For a while you just stood silently beside him, unsure if he was looking for a response or was just in need of company.

You took a step back, giving him some space, wondering if he would notice your movement. But he seemed to be lost in his past and you hoped that it was one that would offer him some comfort. He looked…distant, yet somehow at peace, as if the memories he was lost in weren’t all bad. His usually guarded expression softened, and for the first time that day, his shoulders weren’t so tense. 

Instead, you took another small step back, watching as his focus stayed on the wolves. Without thinking, you pulled out your phone and snapped a quick photo of him. Bucky didn’t even flinch, his focus still fixed on the wolves. The light filtering through the enclosure cast a soft glow over him, catching the slight furrow of his brow and the way his blue eyes seemed to soften as he watched the animals move.

The sound of the shutter must have finally caught his attention because he turned his head slightly, raising an eyebrow at you. “Did you just take a picture of me?”

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Maybe. You looked less grumpy for once. Had to document it.”

“If that ends up on the Instacart, I'll expect royalties,” he smirked.

You smiled, uploading the photo to your photo to your feed. You flashed the image at Bucky for his approval, before secretly adding your caption. “Found his pack.” #mywhitewolf

Previous chapter < MASTERLIST > Next chapter (pending)

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Posting schedule will be Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays around 7.30am ACT / 4.30pm EST / 1.30pm PST / 9.30pm BST

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

@waynes-multiverse

Reading through your comments had me cackling the whole time 🤣

Yup!! Promises made, promises kept!! I was in fucking stitches throughout this whole fic and it was goddamn worth it 😂🩵

Yay! I literally laughed while I was writing this like the Wicked Witch of the West and I was worried that it wouldn't have the same effect on other people, but so I'm very happy that you enjoyed this one Wayne!!

No, stawp!! I have to watch Tarzan and Finding Nemo with my kid. I can't think about this 🤣 And I'm a Flynn Ryder apologist as well lmao

Oh my goodness 🤣 I have to watch those movies with my nephew so I'm in the same boat as you lol! But I'm not going to lie, all the hear me outs are literally conversations that my friend group has had 😅 And oh yeah, Flynn Ryder is in no way shape or form a hear me out, he had no business looking that good. He has only green flags and he's a simp for his cutie pie! No one can tell me different.

Oh, she better not tell him that. He'll never let this down 😂 And I'm so excited to see how the night progresses. That summary already had me hooked. I described Russell in a fic as the "green-eyed chaos theory" and judging by this, you have that very same HC and it makes me super giddy 🤣👏💚

"Green-eyed chaos theory" EXACTLY 👏🏻 Wow that's such a great way to describe it!! I agree one billion percent! He invites chaos in 😭 I feel like he's also a little bit of "everything bad that can happen will happen" as well. Not that he'd do it, but just that his luck is not the best 🤣

Oh, I'm sure he'll make her forget about gravity, at least 😝 And I'd like to note I got very invested in this friend group and their conversations and personalities. That's definitely not easy to do (especially in fanfics lol), so kudos to you here!! 👏 (I loved Matt's character btw)

Russell would have any woman singing Defying Gravity like Elphaba in the bedroom 👀🤣

Aww that's such a huge compliment! Thank you so much sweetie 🥰 I'm trying to get more comfortable writing OCs again and building her friend group was so fun! I wrote way too much lore about each of the characters 😅 I like Matt too! He's kinda the dad of the group and he's really just a sweet down to earth guy who loves his girl. If I do decide to make this more than one part, it will be fun to develop those characters more 😊

Uhm... Oh, girl, I don't think stable and structured is what you're getting here 😂

I know! Thank you for pointing this out, I was literally trying to have someone come into her life that would just mess it all up. Kinda like in Lilo and Stitch when Lilo prays for an angel and gets stuck with an alien 🤣

I can't with this game 🤣🤣 This will forever haunt me...

Also glad you liked the head-butt lol! I really just wanted to make the reader as awkward as possible (she's really me in every way tbh lol)

I was waiting for that lol. And I did not see it coming at all that it would actually reference her witnessing him murder someone! Yeah, that will be fun to explain away haha. Loved how she didn't believe him at all that he was attacked first 😂

Yeah... their meet cute really wasn't that romantic 😬 Russell is going to need to work hard to explain this one to her. And oh yeah, she's not gonna trust some random guy she just met, she knows that's how you get got 🤣! I love the gif by the way- it really does encompass the craziness of the situation. I was also thinking about Pepper Potts and Tony Stark yelling at each other in Iron Man 2 when Tony first gets attacked by Whiplash and Pepper doesn't believe him lol

Laughing so hard throughout this! This is glorious comedy 🤣🤣 I wish this was an actual movie lol

Oh my goodness! Thank you so much 😭🥹💗

I loved that reasoning. As an introvert, I truly felt that 😂🫶

As a fellow introvert, I too wouldn't want to have to meet someone new 😅 Just let the hot guy have me, at least I won't have to introduce myself! 🤣

Awww 🥹 Why did that get to me? What the fuck is wrong with us for liking these train wrecks? 🫠🫠

I know 😭 Russell really was just trying to protect her! And I like to think of us having taste 💅🏻 LMAO

Aaaah omg I loved this so much! I honestly could read more of them!! 😍 Where are they going? What about her friends? Will she ever return? Who are these fucking people that are after Russell? 👀 This was so hilarious, Lee!! I'm currently battling a cold, so this was the perfect medicine 🩵🩵🩵

Thank you so much Wayne! I'm so happy that you enjoyed it 🥰 I know... I really wrote myself into a corner with this one, because I also want to read more about them and their ridiculous adventure that comes after this. I'm hoping that when I get rid of some of the WIPs I have, I'll get to come back to this story. ❤️ Also I’m so sorry that you’re not feeling well! ❤️‍🩹 I hope you feel better soon!

And I kept this for last: 👉 Hear me out – Scratch from Ice Age. I wish he'd hold me like that nut...

"I wish he'd hold me like that nut" ☠️☠️☠️

I am going to tell you that you are not the first person to suggest Scratch to me as a hear me out. He's resilient, he's caring (about that nut), and he just wants to spend quality time with the thing he loves most (it could be you LOL).

My Ice Age hear me out is Diego- because I'm addicted to grumpy characters who may or may not be old men 😅

I Can Explain!

Pairing: Russell Shaw x f!reader, Reader POV

Prompt: "How Do You Know Where I Live?"

Requested by: @vixaaa

Summary:  When you meet a gorgeous green-eyed stranger at a bar and agree to go home with him, everything goes off the rails and you're strapped in for the ride.

Tropes: Awkward Rom-Com? Forced Proximity? Protective Russell.

Word Count: 10.6 K (But You'll Laugh The Whole Time)

Warnings: An Unhinged Game of "Hear Me Out," References to Sex, Sexual innuendo, Little bit of self-deprecating thought (reader), Reader is kinda awkward and clumsy, Gunfire, Weapons, Talk of Murder, Shooting?, Brief Description of Torture, Brief Description of Murder, Terror, Fear, Cursing, Kissing, I think that's everything? I promise this one is a rom-com despite all the warnings. 😅

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is no use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Main Masterlist

Prompt Celebration Masterlist

A/N: Hey guys! This is another wonderful prompt request that I got for my prompt celebration from the enchanting @vixaaa! This one is based a little bit on the movies "Knight and Day" and "RED." If you've never seen either of those, go and watch them right now. They are some of my favorites!

P.S: Yes, this is the one I've been writing that has just been making me wheeze/cackle laugh the whole time I wrote it...

“Alright, hear me out… Gil, the angelfish from Finding Nemo. There is no way in hell he was made for kids.” Your friend Liza says wobbling slightly on the plush leather bench seat of the booth before taking a shot of vodka. Her peacock blue No. 2 hair shimmers like a beacon in the dimly lit bar. 

“That’s low hanging fruit.” Kay snorts from your left while leaning heavily into your shoulder, the smell of her vanilla perfume wafting up with the movement. “That scar? The tragic backstory? And voiced by Wilem Defoe? Sign me up.”

You giggle into the shot glass clasped in your hand before you knock it back, face scrunching at the taste and pleasant burn.

The “Hear Me Out” drinking game your two best friends proposed to clear your head from the nuclear level bombing of an exam you just took in your Physics One class, had been successful so far. You couldn’t remember any of the questions from the test that made you scream obscenities into the strawberry shaped pillows on the couch in your living room earlier. Exactly where the two of them had found you when they got back to your shared apartment at the end of the day.

The live music in the crowded bar thrummed through your veins and the shots were giving you just the right amount of buzz to feel more carefree than you had in the past week. The week that you’d spent approximately one million hours studying for the test and trying to memorize all the formulas that looked exactly the same. 

Four times you’d fallen asleep on your computer and had the imprint of the keyboard on your cheek, three times you’d had a mental breakdown and decided to change your major promising yourself that you were sure you could make it doing freelance whatever the fuck sounded good at that moment, and you couldn’t count the number of times that you’d gone to the library to study only to get distracted by whatever else was better than studying for a physics test.

Spoiler alert, there are a lot of things that are.

But you knew you were screwed the second you saw the first question and the rest of them had only been the final nails in the coffin that was the dream of getting an “A” in the class before the semester was over. 

The glimmering sheen of hope at the end of the semester you once had, was ebbing to a dim lantern being swung by a lighthouse keeper in a hurricane, hence the large tray of vodka sitting prettily on the water ringed table in front of you.

You were sure to regret every single shot, but your next exam was two days away and you didn’t want to think about it yet, not when the shadow of the last was poking you in the back with a pencil like someone looking for your final piece of gum.

For a Tuesday night, Duke’s, the bar the three of you frequented so often that the rotating circle of bartenders knew you all by name, was crowded.

There was the familiar glow of the neon signs posted on every wall, a new band performing a set on the small stage in the corner, a collection of screaming girls in the front row of the crowd snapping photos and drooling over the base player, a group of frat guys shouting obscenities at a tv blasting a football game, and a few patrons trying to unwind from a long day while nursing multi colored drinks and sitting sporadically around the crowded bar while the bartender of the hour leaned against the counter and tried to hear orders people shouted over the din. 

You would have been more than happy to spend the evening on the couch eating a greasy pizza and drinking margaritas back at the apartment, but Kay and Liza refused to let you rot on the couch. 

The three of you had been inseparable since freshman year when you’d been assigned as roommates together. Liza was an art major hoping to illustrate book covers one day, Kay was a hardworking pre-med student, and you were… undecided. Physics 1 had been the idea of your advisor, who after a year of trying to get you to declare a major was close to throwing in the towel, you believed that he was using Physics 1 as a form of payback for driving him almost to the point of early retirement. 

“Okay, okay I see you.” Kay giggles, before grabbing a fresh shot. Her long black hair is pulled back from her face with a claw clip, but a few pieces bob around her head with the movement of her head to the music. “And I raise you Kerchak from Tarzan!”

“The daddy gorilla?” Liza asks, leaning into her fiance, Matt, where he lounges back against the faded maroon leather beside her. 

There was a half full glass of beer sitting in front of him, one he’d ordered when he found out what everyone else at your table was drinking. But he’d been a good sport so far despite all of his suggestions to the game being so obvious there was no reason for him to defend his choice and the rest of you mocking him endlessly for it. 

“Sweetie, he could be my daddy any day of the week.” Kay winks and throws back her shot. 

“You’re disgusting.” Liza rolls her eyes, refusing to take a shot to agree with Kay. 

“Hey! What happened to ‘we listen and we don’t judge?’” You interrupt, putting your arm around Kay who holds up a middle finger in answer to Liza’s taunt.

“Where was that when I said Jessica Rabbit two turns ago?” Matt grouses from his side of the table, crossing his large arms over his chest. His blond hair had tumbled out of the bun at the back of his neck to cover the grass stain on the collar of his jersey. He’d come straight from practice when Liza called. 

And then Kay and you had to suffer through the long make out session the two of them had when they reunited as if they’d been separated by war for fifty years and not two hours. They were recently engaged and you loved Matt, which is why you’d let them make out for exactly thirty seconds before Kay and you started making exaggerated gagging noises while they kissed. 

Kay’s boyfriend hadn’t been able to get out of work, but Kay was going to walk to the coffee shop inside the library to pick him up when the tray of shots in the center of the table sat empty. Usually you’d worry about that sort of thing, your friend walking alone on campus at night, but because Kay had the highest tolerance out of all of you, Matt included, and a total badass who welcomed the challenge of anyone who tried to test her, you were willing to let it slide. 

That and the three of you tracked each other’s location with your phones.

“Because Jessica Rabbit isn’t a hear me out! Everyone knows that she’s super sexy!” You argue. “She doesn’t fit the criteria of this game!”

“She’s right babe.” Liza says, squeezing his arm with a sympathetic smile. “But it’s okay. I love that you’re a basic bitch.”

“But she’s animated!” Matt exclaims, obviously confused.

“So? Flynn Ryder is animated and he’s every woman’s dream.” You shrug, picking up a glass to take your turn.

You begin to shuffle through the mental file folder you have on characters who possessed “the energy” that made them so attractive. Truthfully, Kay and Liza had already said most of the ones you were thinking.

“You want to talk about every woman’s dream?” Kay smirks, her eyes flick over to the bar. “Check out green eyes over there. Holy shit, I’d let him rock me like a hurricane all day and all night!” 

“I’ll be sure to tell Sean, your boyfriend of three years-” You begin to say, but Kay pinches your cheeks between her fingers and turns your head so you can see who she’s talking about. 

Oh.

The stranger sitting at the bar is everything she suggested and more. He’s the kind of handsome that didn’t exist outside of the stack of communal romance novels that sat on the bookshelf in your living room and served as the perfect reminder of how single you were. 

The man is taller and broader than any of the so-called boys you went to class with each day, his tight fitting dark t-shirt pulling up over muscular arms that rippled with taunt muscles and were decorated with smoky tattoos curling beneath the ink colored sleeves. His chocolate colored hair is long and pushed back over his head, but a few strands hang forward to frame a well defined jaw covered in a thick dusting of facial hair.

Your throat suddenly gets very tight. 

The man’s gaze is focused on you, the green of his eyes brilliant, crinkled just around the edges with his smile. He winks and your entire face takes on the identity of a strawberry with your flush.

“Holy shit!” Kay nudges you. “You have to go over there.”

“What?” You squeak. “Are you insane? That guy is-”

“The kind of man who would make you forget all about that physics test?” Liza raises an eyebrow.

“The kind of man who would break the laws of physics with you all night long?” Kay adds. “Babe, come on, it's been months for you. Why don’t you go over there and say hi?”

“No way.” You shake your head vehemently, hyperventilating a little bit at the thought of going up to a complete stranger. 

You were not the confident girl in the group that did that. Kay was. It was exactly how she had met her boyfriend Sean three years ago, by using a cheesy pick up line that made him snort so hard he had beer coming out of his nose. Liza wasn’t much better. She’d met Matt in this very bar when her heel broke and she stumbled into where he was sitting with his friends at the bar. 

And the truth was it had been a few months since the last relationship (if you could call it that) fizzled out… and with both of your friends in relationships you often were the awkward fifth wheel. It wasn’t that you didn’t like your friends' boyfriends, Matt and Sean were great and they always did their best to make you feel comfortable whenever you were out with everyone, but you were kinda tired of being the spare tire.

“I don’t think we should be encouraging her to go off somewhere with a random man from a bar that she just met.” Matt says with a frown. 

Matt often held the braincell in your friend group and was the one who was more focused on making sure that everyone was safe. He was the one who followed up with a text whenever someone left to go home, the one who made sure that everyone stayed together when you were out late, and was usually the designated driver. 

“You’re such a hypocrite.” Liza boops Matt on the nose. “You were a random man that I’d never met before. And if I’m not mistaken we met in this very bar.”

“That’s different.” Matt sighs, but he leans towards Liza, the tension dissipating from his shoulders as he looks at her and his frown slips into a smile. 

They were one of those couples that no one ever thought would work. Liza was the carefree art major with no plan in the world and Matt was the All American, blue-eyed, blond haired football player that everyone said was “going to do great things” when in reality all Matt wanted to be was Liza’s husband. He didn’t care about anything else, but making her happy. Hence the giant engagement ring on her finger, the same one that he’d let her design because he knew that was important to her. 

They were everything you wanted in your own relationship. A beautiful merging of crazy (from you) with someone stable and structured, preferably someone with a strong jaw, brilliant green eyes and-

Great, he’s already invaded my subconscious. 

You glance up again to see if the stranger is still looking. He is, but this time his smile is just a little wider, and you watch his eyes drag down the length of your body for a moment appreciatively before flicking back up to yours and catches you doing the same thing. 

You weren’t wearing anything revealing, in fact, you hadn’t bothered dressing up to go out because you didn’t feel like it. You were still wearing the blank sweatpants and oversized sweatshirt combo that you’d worn to your exam. 

When you caught him looking at you, it made you regret you hadn’t worn something more eye-catching.

“Come on, that guy is checking you out! Go over there.” Kay nudges you, jostling the forgotten tequila shot in your hand. 

“He looks like trouble.” Matt says half-heartedly, but he’s too busy staring into Liza’s eyes to really care. Her hands are entwined at the back of his head pulling his forehead down to hers.

When it got to that point of the night, it usually meant that the two of them were about fifteen seconds from calling it an early night and going back to Matt’s apartment. Technically Kay would probably end up there as well because Sean was now Matt’s roommate and that meant you’d have the apartment to yourself…

“How can you tell? Are you looking at his reflection in Liza’s eyes?” Kay takes a shot from the collection of the remaining few in front of her.

“We all know that if Sean was here, you’d already be practicing your scuba breathing.” Liza gently brushes back the few strands of blond hair that hang forward into Matt’s face which only makes him sigh softly and look at her like she’s the last woman on earth. 

You try not to be jealous. 

Kay only rolls her eyes. “Alright, I’m taking initiative.”

“What does that mean?” You begin to ask, but Kay shoves you out of the booth and towards the handsome stranger who hasn’t taken his eyes off of you since your eyes met moments ago. 

“Kay. What the hell?” You turn back to look at her, but she’s already holding up your forgotten shot. 

“Take this and go over there.”

“But-”

“The only butt you should be thinking about is his, in those deliciously tight jeans. You will thank me in the morning.” She refuses to budge. “And then come home and tell me everything the two of you did, because Sean’s about to go visit his family for a week and I will need something to fantasize about.”

You wrinkle your nose in disgust, but then look to Liza hoping for help. Unfortunately she’s too busy counting Matt’s eyelashes to defend you. You look back at Kay who is still holding up the shot, gaze unwavering. 

I can’t believe I’m about to do this. 

You think to yourself with a sigh, before taking the shot, hoping that it will give you some of the confidence you need to talk to the most attractive man you’d ever seen in your life. 

I can do this, I can do this-

The internal monologue repeats itself over and over again with each step as you weave your way through the crowd to make it where the man is sitting, dropping your gaze to the people around you as if you’re more focused on them.

You weren’t, but staring at him while you were walking towards him seemed too predatory, and you could already feel how warm your cheeks were from your flush.

You grip the firm edge of the bar when you make it to him, using it to ground yourself there in the moment before you find the strength to meet his gaze.

There’s a faded green jacket hung over the high backed barstool behind him that you hadn’t noticed before.

Your eyes trace over his body, just a quick glance, but snags on his arms for just a second too long to be casual. They were even more glorious in person, tan and flecked with cinnamon colored freckles hidden beneath twisting tattoos that disappeared into his dark shirt sleeves.

“Hi.” You smile shyly at the man when you meet his gaze.

“Hi.” He rumbles with an easy smile while the green of his eyes flashes in the neon sign hanging behind the bar.

His voice catches you off guard. You weren't expecting it to be so smooth, silk over your skin, but also like the rough drag of the ocean against sand as it pulls it out to sea.

“Hi.” You say again as all other thoughts evaporate from you mind and you fight the urge to facepalm. 

What the hell am I doing over here? I might as well do the walk of shame back to my own table. 

Russell raises an eyebrow, his smile widening. “Hi.” He echoes.

You open your mouth-

“Before you say hi back sweetheart, why don’t you tell me what you’re drinking instead?” He winks making your cheeks warm with their flush.

Honestly, you were expecting him to be turned off by your somewhat awkward introduction, but if you bothered him, he doesn’t show it. He leans towards you curiously, eyes drinking you in. 

You clear your throat while your mind scrambles to come up with something appropriate or sexy to say other than ‘wow you’re pretty.’ You settle on. “Whatever you’re drinking.” 

Smooth real smooth. 

You glance back in the direction of where your friends are sitting as the man’s gaze turns to the bartender so he can order you a drink. Kay makes an obscene gesture with her hand that makes Matt kick her under the table, and Liza gives you an encouraging thumbs up.

Kill me now. 

You turn back to the man lounging against the bar, unaware that he’s watching you again. 

“You seemed like you were having some fun over there. What were you talking about?” He nods his head in the direction of your friends, the motion causing more of his dark hair to fall into his eyes and you fight the urge to push it back from his face and find out if it was as soft as it looked.

“Oh um.” Your mouth goes dry. The last thing you wanted to say to the gorgeous man was that your friends and you were discussing what animated movie characters turned you on. So you blurt out. “The First Law of Thermodynamics.”

It had clawed its way from the dark recesses of your mind where the rest of the test answers had been hiding from you when you tried to summon them earlier. 

“What?” The man laughs while you feel your face begin to blaze. 

“The First Law of Thermodynamics?” You clear your throat. “The theory that energy cannot be created or destroyed."

Where was that when I needed it for the test?

“Huh.” He smirks and takes a long sip from the beer in his hand. “Didn’t think Tarzan had anything to do with that.”

Oh sweet baby potatoes he heard the daddy conversation. Why couldn’t he have heard the Jessica Rabbit conversation instead?

“Ah.” You laugh awkwardly, realizing exactly what he overheard. 

The bartender puts down a bottle of beer in front of you and whirls away to another patron sitting on the opposite side of the bar. The band begins to play a new song, this one louder with more drums than the last one, causing the man to lean closer to you so you can hear him. 

“So.” The smell of the man’s cologne wafts over you. He smells like pine, mint, whiskey, and there’s an odd smell you can’t place, something that smells almost a little bit like smoke.

You ascribe it to cigarettes, but you don’t realize how wrong you are. 

There’s something about him, more than just how attractive he is or how good he smells that draws you in. Maybe you’d just been burned by far too many boys and were blinded by the man sitting in front of you, but he had a roughness and self-sufficient air that you found refreshing. 

He was assertive, sexy, with smoldering green eyes that somehow seemed soft and hard at the same time and filled you with an unholy amount of desire. 

“So?” You parrot, bringing the beer up to your lips, hoping that a sip will take the edge off. 

“Don’t you want to hear mine?” His voice is low and sultry, breath warming the air between the two of your faces. 

You sputter out a cough, choking on the sip you took in surprise, and his eyes widen in concern.The man brings his hand down against your back with a hearty smack to clear out your lungs.

“Are you okay?” 

“Never better.” You choke out, voice a little wheezy. “Wrong pipe.”

This is quickly becoming the most embarrassing moment of my life. 

“Are you sure?” The stranger’s eyes trace over you as if he fears you’ll start asphyxiating at any moment.

“Mhmm.” You clear your throat again. “What were you saying?”

“I asked if you wanted to hear mine.”

You suddenly forget how to breathe, the only thing grounding you to this moment is the hand you placed on the cherry wood of the bar. “Sure.”

“Rain.”

Despite the last few seconds of you feeling so awkward it made you want to sink into the floor like quicksand and the fact that your throat is still burning from when the beer went down the wrong pipe, your mouth quirks up in a smile. “The horse from Spirit?”

“Mhmm.” He smiles a little wider. “My little sister used to watch that movie non-stop, and there was always something about that horse.”

“Huh.” You muse taking another sip of the beer, this time successfully not choking on it. “I didn’t peg you for a horse guy. You seem more like a Nala person.”

“Oh that lion did it for me too.” The man leans closer to you and you can feel your knees getting weak. “She definitely had bedroom eyes.”

“She did!” You laugh at him. “The animators knew what they were doing.”

It was getting easier to talk to him now and you could feel your nerves slowly going out to sea. There’s a comfortable silence that fills the air between the two of you.

“Why did you say the First Law of Thermodynamics earlier?” He asks before taking a sip from his beer. The condensation trickles down the side of the glass to pool against the wood of the bar.

“Because I didn’t want to admit what we were talking about.” You answer honestly. “And I guess it’s still a little fresh in my mind-”

“Why?”

“I had a physics test today. Completely bombed it. That’s why my friends brought me out tonight, they were trying to make me forget it.” You wave a hand dismissively, but it was the first time you’d thought about the test in the past hour and it still stung a little bit. 

You were hoping that by this point of the night it wouldn’t have mattered anymore, but it did. Not to mention you didn’t exactly want to be talking about your most recent failure with a man who looked anything like he did. 

But something about him made you feel comfortable talking to him about things that were not on the pre-approved list of subjects you created when you spoke to people you were attracted to. He didn’t seem to just be some hot stranger in a bar, he seemed like he actually cared, and that he was invested in what you were going to say. 

It made him even more attractive. You weren't used to boys wanting to actually listen to anything you had to say.

“I’m sorry.” His face pulls down into a sympathetic frown. 

“Me too.” You sigh. 

“Maybe you didn’t do as bad as you think you did.”

“Oh I did. When I turned in the test, the professor made a face.” Your thumb rubs against the glass of the cold bottle clutched in your hand. “I studied all week for it and it kinda feels like I wasted all that time.”

The man studies you for a moment. “I think that if you learn something from it, then it’s not a waste. There are no accidents.“

“Are you purposely quoting Master Oogway to make me feel better or is that just a coincidence?” 

“He’s a smart turtle.” He laughs pleased with himself that he made you smile. “But you remembered the First Law of Thermodynamics. And I thought it was a nice pick up line. Might use that sometime.” 

“Shut up.” You laugh and raise your hand to hit him on the shoulder, but he catches it with his.

The contact of the rough palm of his hand in yours makes electricity zing through your body, bringing a wave of heat coursing behind it. 

“That’s not very nice. Keep trying to hit me like that and I might have to take you to court, Sweetheart.” He winks.

“Oh please-” 

“How else am I going to run into you again?”

“Well-” You swallow trying to find the next words, but they’re stuck in the back of your throat. 

I am so out of practice. 

“Well?” He raises an eyebrow in a silent challenge, the end of his perfect mouth teased upwards in a smile. 

“This doesn’t have to be goodbye.”

“What did you have in mind?” The heat of his gaze sends goosebumps dancing over your skin and you swear you can feel your heartbeat in the base of your throat. 

People do this all the time. I can say it. I can-

“Maybe-” You scoot closer to him, summoning some courage from the tequila. “Something like this.” 

Your free hand curls into the front of his shirt to pull the stranger closer for a kiss.

Unfortunately, you pull him just a little too hard, with a little too much enthusiasm, and he falls off the stool with a startled cry in surprise and knocks his head into yours. 

“Ow.” You groan rubbing at the red mark forming on your forehead. “I am so sorry.” 

By now your cheeks are so warm that you could fry an egg on them and you were sure you looked like a giant raspberry. You had never been so clumsy or so embarrassed in your entire life. 

“It’s okay, you just surprised me a bit.” The man says, but he’s peering at the mark on your forehead. “Are you okay?” 

How many times is he going to ask me that tonight? 

“Yeah the only thing that’s hurt is my pride.” You let out an awkward laugh. “I’m just gonna-“ You gesture with your thumb over your shoulder to signify that you’re going to leave. 

The anecdotes that your friends were going to tell from tonight had already begun to manifest in your head:

“Hey, remember that time you tried to flirt with a gorgeous man at the bar and you headbutted him?”

“Hey, remember that handsome stranger? The one you told all about your failed physics test instead of sleeping with him?”

“Wait.” He gently puts his hand on your waist, sending your heart into a gallop. “Can we try that again?”

“Huh?” You blink in surprise.

So far all you’d done was head butt him and tell him your sob story about failing your physics test. 

Worst seduction technique ever. 

“Don’t move.” He smiles. “Don’t want to have to take you to the hospital for a CT if you bump my head again.” 

It would have made you laugh if he wasn’t already kissing you.

It might just be the alcohol talking, or the fact that the last thing you kissed was the strawberry pillows on the couch in the living room last week when Liza, Kay, and you were watching your favorite paranormal tv show and you were imagining the male lead, but this kiss is nothing like any of the others you’d had in the past. 

His mouth devours yours, beard scratching against your cheeks in a way that makes your entire body buzz. The man’s hands tighten your waist to draw you closer, closing the space between your bodies, and all you can feel is the wonderful drag of his fingertips against the end of your sweatshirt, the burn of his beard, the press of his chest onto yours, and the tangle of his tongue as you sink further into him. 

A moan vibrates up through his chest and into your mouth that you echo with a soft sigh, your hands slipping over the taunt muscles before finding purchase against his back, your fingertips curling into the soft fabric of his t-shirt. 

The rest of the bar is rendered to a dull throb of life at the back of your mind, the man in front of you absorbing the rest of your attention as he should. He is nothing like anyone you’d ever met and you wanted to know more. You wanted to see the end of the odd shaped scar just at the base of his throat, trail your fingers over the dark tattoos that decorated his skin while searching for more in places you couldn’t yet see, and sink into the deep green sea of his eyes. 

“Better?” He breathes.

“Much, but if you’re not into that, I also know the Second Law of Thermodynamics. Just to give you something to remember me by.” You mumble against his lips, still slightly embarrassed. Your hands were still curled behind his strong shoulders, fingertips digging into the firm muscles.

“Beside the bruises?” He smirks before he kisses you again, the languid roll of his tongue against yours makes you forget your own name. “I’d very much like to hear it.” The rumble of his words vibrates through where your bodies are pressed against one another. “But first let me get the car and then I’ll let you tell me all about it.” 

He brushes his lips to yours one more time, before he puts cash on the bar, and leaves you breathless as he saunters away towards the front door. 

Holy fucking shit. How did that work?

“Girl Yes!” You hear Kay, before you feel her hands come down on your shoulders to shake you excitedly. “I was a little worried in the middle there for you with that head butt, but yes! That’s how you do it!” Her excited squeal brings you back down to earth from the cloud you were floating on with Russell. 

“Where’d he go?” Liza asks. Matt was holding her from behind, his chin on her shoulder as he slowly rocked her to the music.

“To get the car.” Your cheeks flush at the insinuation. 

“Fuck I am so jealous. The only thing I’m going to get to do tonight is Sean’s back.” Kay gives an exaggerated sigh. “It’s acting up and that means I’m going to have to give him a massage for an hour and not the good kind. It always knocks him out.” 

“Aww babe.” Liza says. 

“It’s okay.” Kay shrugs, but then sends her a saucy wink. “I can do some laundry. His washing machine has this spin cycle that makes me see stars.” 

“I didn’t need to know that you’ve been molesting our washing machine.” Matt closes his eyes as if trying to scrub the image from his mind. 

“It’s money well spent, Mattie.” Kay batts her eyes at him. 

He huffs, but then turns his gaze on you, his blue eyes are filled with concern. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

“Yeah.” You shrug, nerves popping and sizzling inside so much that they might as well be giving off enough electricity to power New York City. “I don’t get a creepy vibe from him. I think he’s actually kind of nice.” 

It was true. Your radar was usually on point with things like this, and there was something about Russell that didn’t scream axe murderer. He seemed surprisingly laid back and honest, and you found yourself curious to know more about him. 

Matt doesn’t look convinced.

“It’s okay babe.” Liza says, swaying her and his body to the music. “We have the app on our phones and we all know the safe word.” She continues, referencing the word the three of you designated when everything was okay as well as the other word that meant everything was going terribly wrong. 

You didn’t think that you would need it. 

He sighs. “Fine, but if he tries anything weird-”

“What qualifies as weird for you?” Kay asks, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve always been curious about your kinks.” 

Kay always took pride in getting under Matt’s skin. You never knew why that was, only that it seemed to be her mission to make him crack. He never did. 

“Be safe.” He nods at you before he drags Liza towards the door. 

“Seriously babe.” Kay begins to back away. “Be safe. Because the last thing you want to pass right now is a pregnancy test.” 

“Why are we friends again?” You groan as you follow behind her, weaving through the mass of bodies writhing to the newest song. 

The air outside the bar is cooler, but there’s just a hint of something on the wind. Spring was coming, but it was still far enough away to leave just a light chill in the air. The street in front of Duke’s was populated sporadically with cars of varying shapes and colors, but you couldn’t help but wonder what kind of car the mysterious stranger drove. 

Why didn’t I ask him for his name? 

“Because you’d be lost without me.” Kay laughs at you, but then pulls you into a hug. “Have fun and please try not to think about that stupid test. You’re so smart and I promise that one test is not going to define your entire future. If that were true my first organic chemistry test would have come with a refrigerator box to live in, because that test was literally the stuff of nightmares.” 

She frowns at the memory. It was the first test that she had ever failed in her entire life, and although you were the one who usually obsessed over grades, it was the first time you’d ever seen Kay so disappointed. That was also because her professor had asked her to stop by for office hours and told her that there was no way she’d ever be able to get the grades she needed in his class. 

But a weekend marathon of Sex and the City listening to her mentor Samantha Jones, had brought her back to life and she’d sauntered confidently into the classroom armed with a flat white latte and sat in the front row at every lecture the rest of the semester. 

She’d gotten the highest grade in the class. 

Basically, Kay was your hero, that was the real reason why you were her friend. 

“I’ll try my best. Tell Sean hi for me.” You squeeze her just as tight, before she walks away down the darkened path back to campus where Sean would be waiting for her. 

There was an odd glow over the sidewalks tonight, a yellowed light that crawled along the cracked brick building that housed Duke’s and halted just shy of the opening of the alley that ran between Duke’s and the bank next door. No other people were visible. Even the small crowd that usually leaned against the rustic brick wall outside of the bar smoking was nowhere to be seen. 

It was odd.

You rub your hands down your arms with nervous anticipation. You’d slept with someone from a bar one time before, but one night stands were not your forte at all. The last time it’d happened, you’d gone back with a guy to his apartment only to find out an hour later when his girlfriend got home that he wasn’t single. She hadn’t seemed surprised that you were in bed with him, but you had been when she pulled out a switchblade the size of your hand and began to slash through the neatly arranged collection of plush squish-mallows on the floor while screaming obscenities at the guy.

In hindsight, maybe the squish-mallows were a clue that he was in a relationship. 

But you didn’t have any bad feelings about the man you’d met. He was attractive, witty, nice, funny, and he genuinely seemed concerned about you when you almost choked to death on a sip of beer. 

I will make him forget the entire awkward encounter. 

You promised yourself, but you also began to be a little bit nervous. You didn’t know why it was taking him so long to find the car. 

A bird caws overhead, sweeping low across the buildings, feathers an inky black in the night air, its shadow flickering across the moon. 

Another two minutes pass and you start to get antsy. 

Maybe he just left?

The thought brings a wave of disappointment over you. The stranger was the first person in a long time that you’d felt genuinely attracted to and now you couldn’t help but think that maybe he lied and when he said he was going to get the car, he really was trying to get away from you as fast as possible. 

You take a few steps in the direction that Kay left thinking that you might as well cut your losses and see if you can catch up, but hesitate. 

What if I leave and he comes back? What if-

An odd noise that sounds like a cat hacking up a hairball comes from the alley directly to your right, followed by the sound of something heavy hitting the pavement. 

You turn. Most of the alley is obscured in shadows, several large dumpsters jut out from grimy brick walls stained with God knows what, but you don’t see anything out of the ordinary. 

There are some lights fastened to the wall that runs the length of the bar, sending a dingy orange light over the bags of trash, empty flattened cardboard boxes, and plastic cups strewn over the wet ground. 

The door of Duke’s swings open for a moment, bringing the sounds and smells of the bar through the doorway as a woman enters tugging a sullen looking man behind her.

You turn your attention back to the empty alleyway, and catch the low rumble of a voice that sounds oddly familiar. It echoes through the darkness bouncing off the stone, metal, and bags of trash to where you stand at the dimly lit mouth of the alley.

That’s weird. 

Another sound follows the voice, a wet sounding thud that piques your interest. You take a tentative step forward into the darkness.

Wait. Isn’t this how every horror movie starts?

It was a valid question. But then you hear the voice again, it’s louder, vibrating against the brick and mortar, and it pulls your forward. 

Anxiety hums through your body as you inch down the alley, sticking to the well lit side that runs the length of Duke’s.

“Who sent you?” The familiar voice asks.

There’s no answer, and the sound of the cat choking up a hairball comes back. 

Someone needs to get Grizabella a glass of water.

You take another shaky step passing by the first dumpster before you reach the part of the alley that wraps around the back of the bar. 

At first you’re not sure what you see. The part of the alley behind the bar is more of a cramped street with a tire marked dirt path, bathed in awkward light from the moon and from a lazy streetlight that’s only half lit. There’s another dumpster back here, this one a little larger than the others you’d seen along the side of the building, but that isn’t what’s interesting. 

The image comes into focus. 

The stranger from the bar is standing there, his back to you, but he isn’t alone. The stranger has a man pinned to the dumpster, a large knife stabbed into the space between the man’s collarbone and his right shoulder while his other hand is clasped tightly around the man’s neck.

“Who sent you?!” The stranger roars, the knife digging into the man’s shoulder. 

Your entire body freezes in fear.

My radar was so wrong. How could it be this wrong? He was so caring and kind- That’s what they said about Ted Bundy. 

Your gaze drops to what you thought was a garbage bag at the green-eyed stranger's feet, but realize that it’s not a bag, it’s a body.

Holy shit he’s a murderer! Maybe if I just back away slowly-

You take a slow step backwards hoping to edge back into the alley that runs the length of the bar and forget this night ever happened, but instead of your foot finding solid ground, it finds a forgotten potato chip bag. 

The crinkled plastic crunches underfoot, breaking the still silence of the night. You inhale sharply and look up. Your gaze locks with the green-eyed man.

“I didn’t see anything.” You hold up your hands, backing away slowly. “Have a nice night.”

“Wait-”

“Nope.” You turn and flee down the alley hoping that someone is coming out of the bar at the exact moment who can witness the broad stranger chasing after you. His boots thud against the concrete, splashing through water in hot pursuit, contrasting against the plods of your own feet sloshing through puddles and through trash to get back to the light.

Before you make it halfway through the darkness, he grabs your arm and turns you to look at him. 

“Let me go!” You shriek, tugging at his grip, preparing to kick him between his legs, the only place that matters.

“Please wait. I can explain!” 

“You don’t have to explain!” You keep pulling at his arm. “I didn’t see anything! I don’t know who you are. And you know what? I wasn’t even in the bar tonight! I was back in my apartment watching Crime Scene Kitchen!” 

It was the first thing that popped into your head, but if it meant that you got to live, it would be your alibi.

He hesitates confused. “What’s Crime Scene Kitchen?”

“What? You just fucking murdered someone in an alley, you’re about to murder me, and that’s what you’re asking me?” You scream.

“I’m not going to murder you. And I was the one who was attacked!”

“Oh sure!” Fear clamps down hard on your throat squeezing the air coming in through your lungs. Tears begin to burn against your eyes as you try to release his grip. “Somebody help me!” You scream loudly trying to twist away from him and wishing that you’d brought your bottle of pepper spray or that you’d taken the self-defense class last summer with Kay or at least paid more attention to that scene in Miss Congeniality.

How could I have been so stupid? He’s going to kill me here and I’ll never know what that physics test did to my GPA. 

You frown slightly at that thought. It really is weird what goes through your head when you think you’re going to die. 

“Please, let me explain.” He says again, eyes wide and filled with an emotion that looks surprisingly like regret.

His dark hair has fallen forward over his cheeks that are flecked with blood, but the lights that line the wall of the dark alley perfectly frame his face. He looked like a model for a beer commercial or one that they’d roughed up a little for those weird perfume commercials you saw that never made any sense, but were always intriguing. 

Why are all the hot ones crazy? Why couldn’t he have just been a bad kisser? Or maybe a little too loud? Why is his flaw that he freaking MURDERS people? 

As you think that, there is a little voice inside your head that asks: Could I be okay with that? 

NO! OF COURSE NOT!

“There’s nothing to explain! You’re a murderer! You just killed those people!” You aim a kick at his crotch, but the man only catches your ankle with his large hand. You could feel the warmth of his skin through your sweatpants, the sensation that brought warm tingles through your body when you were in the bar, only sends a wave of fear crashing over you.

“Yes I did, but for a good reason!”

“Really? What reason was that!?”

“They were trying to kill me!”

“I don’t believe you!”

“I-”

Before he can finish his sentence, gunfire explodes over your head. Sparks fly as bullets crash into the dumpsters and rip through the night air around where you and the man are standing.

There’s a large black suburban parked in the street that runs behind Duke’s where you’re found the stranger with the body. Three men stand in front of it all in dark clothing and each one is  holding a pistol pointed directly at where you’re standing. 

“Holy shit!” You scream, but the stranger tackles you back behind the large rusting green dumpster that juts out and gives you cover from the blaze of bullets.

His body lays over yours, curving protectively around you, and his arm is behind you head so when you hit the ground, your head doesn’t. The impact of the cold, wet, concrete beneath your body jostles through your system, but you can’t focus on it too much, not when the man’s entire body is laying on top of yours and it feels as if he was made especially for you. 

He lays in the cradle of your thighs, wonderfully broad and hard, the muscles of his body contrasting to the soft curves of your body underneath your clothes. It left very little to the imagination, well… not little. 

It’s enough to make a girl forget that he’s a murderer… No, what am I saying!!

You shove him off of you and cower back behind the dumpster, the sound of gunfire filling your ears and making you realize exactly what you smelled on the man earlier that you thought was smoke. 

“Baby-” He says reaching out to comfort you.

“Don’t touch me! I’m not your baby!” You swat his hands away from you pressing yourself back into the wet wall of the alley. 

The smell of mold and trash was rising all around you in an unholy mist. The wet ground soaked into the soft fabric of your pants and left stains that you didn’t want to think about what they were. 

“Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit-” It comes out like a sickening mantra as you rock back and forth, hands on your ears to make the sound of the gunfire stop.

I’m going to die here. In this dismal back alley. In front of this gorgeous murder. If I had know that I wouldn’t have spent so much of this week studying for a mother-fucking physics test!

“Sweetheart!” The man shouts to catch your attention, but you don’t look at him. 

“What in the devil’s ass is happening?!” You shriek.

“Listen to me!” He shouts louder over the sound of gunfire and takes your cheeks in his rough palms to make him look at him. His green eyes are brilliant in the light, but filled with a determined fire that makes you suddenly feel very safe despite watching him kill someone and the active gunfire bouncing all around you. 

You wanted to trust him, but you also didn’t want to be on the news or used as a cautionary tale for mothers to guilt their daughters with. 

“I promise that nothing is going to happen to you.”

“How can you guarantee that?!”

“Because I don’t break my promises.” The determined grit in his eyes hardens as they sweep over your face. “I will explain what’s going on. But first I have to go talk to them.” He releases your face, but hesitates. 

The man wasn’t bothering to duck and cover, in fact each time a bullet ricocheted off the side of the dumpster he didn’t even flinch, meanwhile the sour taste of bile was rising into your mouth and you were sure that you were going to throw up. Panic was setting in, and your heart rate was getting dangerously high as anxiety and fear flickered along your nerve endings. 

Oh my sweet goodness he’s mentally unstable.

“Actually.” He sighs and flashes an awkward smile. “I don't want to lie to you. I’m going to go kill them. Don’t move.” He reaches into the waistband at the back of his worn jeans and pulls out a gun. 

Has he had that this whole time? HOW did I not feel it? 

“Wait what? Don’t go out there!” Your fingers fist in the front of his jacket, the fear of him leaving you more than the fear of him murdering you. At this point it was either be killed by the beautiful stranger or killed by the other guys, and being killed by the other guys meant that you’d have to meet someone new and look where that had gotten you tonight. 

“They’re not exactly going to leave on their own.” He cracks a smile despite the situation. “But promise me you’re not going to move.” His smile turns into a concerned frown, eyebrows furrowing together as his eyes settle on you once more, steely and unyielding. 

“I promise.” Your voice comes out shaky and not at all what you sound like. Truthfully you were surprised that you got anything to come out of your mouth that wasn't vomit.

He nods once. 

When he leaves, you wait exactly three seconds, counting each of them out in your head before you take off in a dead run for the front door of Duke’s bar and into the safety of the street beyond without looking back while hoping that all of this has just been a bad dream. 

Coming back to the apartment feels surreal, crossing through the living room like a Salvador Dali painting, and finally closing your bedroom door and locking it is like a mirage. 

You weren’t sure how you made it back here, only that you did, and that was all that mattered.

Kay and Liza weren’t home, predictably, but you would have tried to call both of them if you hadn’t dropped your phone in the cluster fuck that was everything that happened an hour ago. Because on top of everything now you didn’t have any way to contact your friends and let them know that you’re alive and okay.  

Your body was still buzzing with the anxiety of everything that happened, mind going a mile a minute the longer you allowed it to bathe in the memories of being shot at and watching the stranger kill those men. 

The stranger that somehow was able to trick your radar.

I just need to breathe, relax, and- 

You turn around towards your bed expecting to go to sleep and forget all of it, but the thought stutters to a halt as you realize you’re not alone. The green-eyed stranger is standing there in the center of your bedroom. He is holding a bundle of your clothes in one hand and your empty school backpack in the other. 

“What the fuck?!” You scream and reach for the Strawberry Shortcake bat your dad bought you when you moved out, hefting it high on your shoulder preparing to swing. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He raises an eyebrow at your awkward stance. “Why are you holding a bright pink baseball bat?”

“All the better beat the shit out of rapists who break into my apartment in the middle of the night!”

“What happened to murderer?” The end of his lips lift up in a smile too perfect to be real. He almost seems to be enjoying this, like he thinks you’re being cute and not accusing him of something terrible. 

“That too!”

He laughs at you, but then his smile slips into a frown.“Why did you break your promise?” You don't understand why he looks like a kicked puppy at the thought that you broke your promise. 

Of course I didn’t keep it! I was running for my life to get out of the way of the millions of bullets pointed at my head!

“What?”

“You promised that you would stay there and you didn’t. You could have been killed.” Worry flashes in his gaze, and your eyes drop to the flecks of blood on the outside of his jacket that remind you of everything this man had done tonight.

“Oh, well excuse me for breaking a promise I made to a murderer!” 

“I’m not a murderer.” 

“If the boot fits!” You snap back. “You showing up in my bedroom certainly seems plenty murdery. That and you going through my underwear drawer for a little souvenir.” Your eyes narrow in suspicion. 

“A souvenir?” The man laughs at you again, his shoulders shaking. He’s still wearing the same clothes he was in the alley, and again you’re momentarily stunned by how attractive he is.

“Why else would you be going through my drawers? And how do you know where I live!?”

“That’s not important right now.” The man shoves the bundle of your clothes into your backpack before moving back to the chest of drawers in the corner of your bedroom for another handful.

“What the fuck do you mean that’s not important right now? And what the hell are you doing?”

“I’m packing you a bag.”

“What? Why? So it’ll look like I ran away?!”

Oh holy fuck he’s still going to kill me!

You swing the bat as hard as you can, but the man raises the backpack to block your attack. 

“Calm down Derek Jeter! I’m not going to murder you, please stop saying that.”

“Why?”

He frowns and shrugs his shoulders. “Because it’s hurting my feelings a little bit.” 

“Hurting your-” You shake your head in disbelief. “Look, I have no idea who the fuck you are or why you broke into my apartment but-”

“Hi. I’m Russell.” The man now identified as ‘Russell’ holds out his hand to try and shake yours. 

That’s obviously a fake name. 

You stare at him blankly. “Are you insane?”

“No, I just told you, I’m  Russell. And we have to go.” He retracts his hand and begins to shove clothes into your backpack again.

“I’m not going anywhere with you, crazy! I have class in the morning and an exam in two days!” You heft the baseball bat higher on your shoulder as a silent threat.

Judging by the way he blocked your attack so easily a few moments ago, you didn’t have high hopes. But you did think that if you screamed loud enough your elderly neighbor, aptly named Willy due to the many, many times he’d flashed Kay, Liza, and you “accidentally,” would come over at least to see if you had any extra magazines to take back to his hoarder apartment that was stacked floor to ceiling with yellowed newspapers long out of print. 

Russell sighs, and looks from the bat to you, shoulders relaxing a millimeter, but there’s still something determined in his gaze. “I understand that you’re scared, but those guys, they saw you with me.”

“So?”

“So if I leave you here with no protection, they’re going to come here and take you.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Yes I do!” He replies, the edge of his voice is tinged with anger and frustration. 

“How?”

“Look!” Russell holds up a battered phone. Displayed on the cracked screen is a message thread of texts to an unknown number. Russell clicks on one of the pictures that was sent an hour ago, about the time the two of you met.

As it grows larger on the screen you recognize the two people in it. It’s a picture of Russell and you kissing at the bar. Your eyes are closed, hands curved over his shoulders possessively, while you smile into his mouth.

The memory of the kiss sends a warm tingle down your spine as you remember how good the kiss was. It was definitely in the top ten, hell, it was number one. 

Don’t be seduced by his charm and good looks! You saw him kill someone tonight! Not to mention he probably killed those other guys that were shooting at you.

Russell swipes his finger over the screen again, this time the picture is of him and you talking, your face on full display. You’re laughing at something Russell said with your right hand resting on the cool bottle of beer you never finished. Honestly, if anyone was seeing those photos for the first time it would look like Russell and you were together. 

“You took pictures of me!?” You shout. “You’re a fucking freak!” 

“Sweetheart, listen to me-”

“I’m not your Sweetheart. You’re just some random murder that I met at a bar!”

The things that I’ve said tonight for the first time could be an SNL skit. Why me?

“For the last time, I am not a murder! And I didn’t take those photos. The men who were after me did.”

“So? Why would they care about some random girl?”

“Because they don’t know you’re some random girl I met! They think that you’re important to me and until I figure out who they sent these pictures to, you’re not safe.”

“Can’t you text them and say that you just met me tonight? That it’s a pure coincidence?! That I’m not important to you.” You point at the cracked phone, waving your free hand frantically at it.

Russell laughs at your question. “Are you kidding? Do you think they’re going to believe me?”

“I don’t know! And how would they know where I live?”

“The same way I knew how.”

That is a good point. How did he know where I lived?

You hesitate, gaze flicking over where Russell stands with your backpack in his hand, but another idea begins to wiggle from the depths of your mind. “Wait. Is this some kind of kinky thing you do? Some fetish? Pretending to be a spy or that people are after you just to get yourself all hot and bothered?”

“What?” Now it’s Russell’s turn to look at you like you’re crazy. 

You take that as confirmation. “It is! Holy fuck, that is so messed up.”

Wow forget murderer, he’s an actual psychopath. Why the hell did I drop my phone?

Kay and Liza weren’t going to be back tonight. Especially not if they think that you took “Russell,” if that really is his name, back to the apartment. You had no other way of contacting them, except with your laptop that was sitting closed on your bed behind where Russell was standing. 

“Wait a minute. I’m not a spy.”

“Exactly, that’s the point! You’re pretending to make me-”

“No, I’m not. I promise all of this is real!” Russell sighs frustrated. “I know that you don’t want to believe me, but it isn’t safe here. And I can protect you!”

“That’s exactly what you would say to kidnap me!”

“Sweetheart. I am not going to kidnap you, I’m trying to keep you safe. I mean, if I have to kidnap you I will-”

Your eyes widen and you heft the bat high on your shoulder prepared to swing.

“Sorry, that was a bad joke.” He holds up his hands in surrender, flashing an apologetic smile. “What would it take to make you believe me?”

It was the question that you had been contemplating since he’d protected you in the alley. You knew nothing about him, didn’t know what he did for a living, and you’d only just learned his name. But despite everything that happened there was a little part of yourself that wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe everything he was telling you, well, not the part about you being in danger and the idea that people now wanted to kill you, but the part about being able to trust him. 

You think about the way he made you feel at the bar, when he listened to you complain about your physics test and made you laugh. You’d trusted him then, enough to go home with him or at least, try to go home with him. 

“I don’t know.” The bat slips a little bit from your shoulder with your honesty. “Do you have any character references?”

Russell cracks a smile. “Isn’t it a little early for you to ask me about my old girlfriends? Don’t think any of them would be willing to say anything good about me either.”

This time you can feel a little smile begin to tug at the end of your lips, one that Russell notices. 

“I know that you’re scared.” He takes a tentative step forward. “But I promise that I will explain everything to you, answer all your questions, but all I know is that you’re not safe here. And I can’t in good conscience leave, if I know you’re in danger.”

The look in his eyes had the determined fire you’d seen many times tonight, but there was something honest about it. They saw through you, and even though you had spent most of the night terrified and believed him to be a murderer, you didn’t think that someone like that would be so determined for you to go with him. 

It felt like two parts of your head were at war. You wanted to trust Russell, you didn’t think he was lying to you, but you had seen him kill those men. And there was an unfortunate part of you that worried he made all of this up to kidnap you. 

But I think if he meant to do that… he would have jumped me the minute I walked into my bedroom, he wouldn’t have said “hi.”

“I know this whole thing sounds crazy. But the last thing I want is for you to die because of something stupid I did. Please.”

You bite the inside of your cheek thinking about Kay and Liza. “If I leave, what about my roommates? They live here too.” 

He rubs the back of his neck. “I’m not going to sugar coat it Sweetheart, there’s always a chance that they’ll be hurt, but with you gone, there’s also a chance that these guys will focus more on finding me.”

“So basically you can’t guarantee their safety?”

“No.” He drops his gaze for a moment, but then he looks at you again. “But I can guarantee yours and I don’t want to take the chance with your life. And my brother is smart, maybe he can figure out a way to keep them safe too.”

You stand there for a moment contemplating what he’s saying, the memories of everything that happened tonight rising up in an unrelenting wave, not just cowering behind the dumpster, but the kiss the two of you shared, and the way he made you laugh.

I want to trust him. I don’t think he’s lying, I don’t think he’s going to hurt me. You think to yourself, and then the inevitable thought comes. I feel safe with him. 

“Do you promise that your name is Russell and that you’re telling me the truth?” You ask one more time to make sure.

“Yes.”

So you take a chance and hope to God that you’re not wrong. 

“Okay.” You nod, lowering the bat entirely. “I’ll go with you.”

He sighs in relief. “Good.” Russell holds out the backpack towards you. “You should probably pack this. If I had my way, there won’t be much in here besides underwear.”

“You’re such a guy.” You roll your eyes and take the backpack from him, but you can't help the smile that curls on the end of your mouth.

Russell returns it, pleased with himself that he'd gotten you to smile again. “That's better than you accusing me of being a murderer.”

“Jury’s still out on that one.” 

“But you have to admit… this did make you forget your physics test right?”

He's not wrong... but you don’t think that this is better.

A/N: I had so much fun with this one. I hope y'all laughed as much as I did 😂

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, Reblogs, and Comments are not required, but are always appreciated! I love hearing what y'all think! 😊 If you'd liked to be added to my taglist please let me know!

Taglist:

@roseblue373 @livya99 @mrsjenniferwinchester @zepskies @louisanalady

@yvonneeeee @kr804573 @waynes-multiverse

[hedwig221b]

Hi! May I ask for stereo fic recs? I am looking for same, where derek doesn't know stiles knows about werewolfs and supernatural world (can be magical or not) and starts dateing him anyway. Thanks a lot!

Hello! Okay, full transparency: I read the ask wrong and found you the reverse trope, where Stiles doesn't know about werewolves, but Derek dates him anyway... Only after the fact did I realize my mistake, then went to search for the fics, and didn't find any... So, if anyone knows any of them, please, rec them in the replies or reblogs!

I'll post these ones anyway, maybe you'll forgive me 😭

This I Can Handle by stileskolpath

"Stiles had to admit, there was something off about his boyfriend. Derek was quiet, brooding, and built like a greek god. Seriously, Stiles questioned every dating choice he had ever made just by simply watching his shirt ride up his back, revealing a tract of flawless skin, pulled taut over ridges of muscle. It made Stiles want." aka that time when Stiles didn't know that Derek was a werewolf and was angsty about it.

I Was Enchanted (To Meet You) by linksofmemories_archive

Stiles turned around, grabbing a tiny pretzel sandwich before looking back to the floor, and locking eyes with someone across the room. This was fine. Things like this happened. You locked eyes and then you quickly looked away and pretended that the other person didn’t exist. Except Stubble McDreamy with the gorgeous green eyes wasn’t looking away and Stiles couldn’t bring himself to look away either.

Did I mention (that I'm in love with you) by dearericbittle (dutchmoxie)

Stiles is pretty sure that Derek Hale hates him, judging by the way he disappears from the room the second Stiles enters. Derek is pretty sure that the entire world knows about his crush on Stiles Stilinski, and that’s why he has to avoid him. For once the werewolf thing isn’t even his biggest secret.

Returning the Favor by aurevell

When Derek peers down into the dark, he finds the worst thing imaginable: his boyfriend, scaling the side of the house like some deranged cat burglar. "What are you doing here?" Derek hisses. Stiles pays a nighttime visit to his boyfriend in secret, or so he thinks. Unfortunately, the Hale family has keener ears than he realizes.

(Mates Are) Magical Bullshit by TheRealDanniX

Derek hasn’t felt his wolf in years. Stiles doesn’t know werewolves are real. Mates are a thing and the Hales are super protective of their Stiles.

Hide by dr_girlfriend

Stiles has been rejected so many times that it doesn't really surprise him when it happens again. Hurts, yeah, because dammit — he'd thought Derek was the one. Heartbreak sucks, and he's not so sure he's going to get over it this time.

Dress code violation by Marishna

Derek wanted to let his head fall back, close his eyes, and drift off into an easy, brain-meltingly amazing orgasm. But Stiles was knelt between his spread legs and was slurping on his cock, making the most indecent noises with his mouth as he sucked and rolled the head of Derek's dick like a lollipop. Derek couldn't look away even if he wanted to.

Bait by CelestialVoid

Stiles is kidnapped as bait for Derek, but when Derek comes to save his boyfriend, he reveals something—something big.

A Treatise on the Importance of Not Ignoring Your Date by LadySlytherin

A tumblr-post-based fic, wherein Stiles and Derek have a meet-cute at a baseball game. Involves a kiss-cam, Stiles' date being an ass, and a hot stranger. Basically, Peter doesn't survive the fire so Laura and Derek never go back to Beacon Hills, Scott's never bitten, Stiles doesn't know about the supernatural, and he goes to NY for college. Go, Mets!

and one of mine,

Wait For Me

"Stiles, we know about your Spark,” Scott looked at Stiles with desperate eyes, trying to convey something. “He is the Werewolf who's been chasing you. You must run. We’ll help you…” Stiles stared at his friend, genuinely concerned for his sanity, because the nonsense he was sputtering was really fucking confusing.

Other fic recs: angsty fics | possessive Derek | historical AU | baby/mpreg | outsider POV | smut | mafia | hurt/comfort | magical!Stiles | Stiles gets kicked out of the pack | BAMF!Stiles + pt2 | omegaverse | witch!Stiles | creature!Stiles | bad friend Scott | pack mom!Stiles | unrequited love | werewolf!Stiles | dark sterek | single parent!Stiles | feral Derek | arranged marriage | Stiles is underestimated | mpreg w/o abo | accidental knotting | jock!Derek | alive Hales | jock!Stiles

[revelboo]

I'm asking for more Jazz or Ironhide crumbs... I will consume any content you throw at me at this point.

I'm a huge Jazz and Ironhide fan, ngl....

Hides the rest of my favorites in the closet

I just live those two

How about scenarios with both? 18+ Mass displaced mechs 🌶️

I may be a bit scarce today- one of my friends has lovingly hounded the unholy crap out of me to suck it up and actually publish a manuscript instead of just saving them to my computer and starting the next book- she even mocked up a cover for me, but I think she’s mostly invested in me continuing the series since she has a thing for the twins in the next book…

All I ever really do with finished manuscripts is enter them into Romance Writers of America national chapter contests to try and win certificates to hang on my wall 😅 So I’ll be editing a sci-fi romance manuscript today at work between, well, actual work.

Jazz and Ironhide Scenarios

Jazz x Reader

• Groaning, you hang onto the pillow when Jazz tries to tug it away, the mattress dipping slightly as he cages you. Sprawled on your belly, you hear him chuckle before his mouth brushes the back of your shoulder. “Come on, kitten. Share a meal with me,” he whispers, venting to stir your hair. Feel his chassis bump your back as he shifts against you and a big hand braces near your head. And there’s not much point in pretending to be asleep. Not when he bites your earlobe just hard enough to sting.

• Primus, you’re so sweet. Head turning to shoot him a sleepy, disgruntled look. Laughing he presses another soft bite against the back of your shoulder and you reach back to swat at him, whining his name and it goes straight to his spike. Head lifting, he grins at the faint mark his denta left on your skin. And the urge to leave more lifts through him. Mark you as his. Leave those little mementos all over you. Feels you suck in a deep breath, but you don’t bother to get up. So he scoots back and bites the curve of your hip, laughing when you nearly roll off the mattress, kicking out a leg, little foot landing on his shoulder. “Don’t,” you growl.

• Shifting against you, he catches your leg and keeps it up. Hears your breath hitch when he leans over you, carefully pinning you. Distracted from refueling by the sight of you naked, sprawled inelegantly under him. “Don’t what?” He teases, servos flexing against your calf as he reaches with his other hand to touch you. And those eyes he loves flare with heat and need, lips parting. Freeing his spike, he grips himself and slides the head against you. Teasing himself as much as you. “Don’t do this?” He asks, voice roughening.

• Body heating at the laughter and need in his voice, he’s grinning crookedly down at you, hips rocking slightly so the head of his spike presses against you before he’s sliding against you again. Visor brightening when you lift your hips as much as you can with one of your legs up. “I thought you were hungry?” You manage, arching on a breathless sound at the next lazy slide. Head tipping as his attention slides from your face down, watching as he rocks himself again, slowly stretching you as his lips part.

Ironhide x Reader

• Letting himself into his habsuite, he swears softly seeing you and hurriedly shuts the door cutting off Red Alert mid sentence before the other bot can see you sprawled on his berth amid your blankets. “Couldn’t even wait for me to get off rotation, darlin’?” He growls, trying to keep the irritation from his tone. Little brat, laying there legs spread on full display from the door. What if someone else had gone into his habsuite? Seen you like that, little fingers playing with yourself? He’d have to offline someone. Of course, as much as you love drama, you’d probably find it entertaining.

• Head lifting to stare at him, you keep pumping your fingers inside yourself. “Took too long,” you manage, flashing him a grin to make him rumble as he secures the door and strides closer. “I have needs, you know. And I was bored.” It’s not like there’s much else to do and baiting the bot? Trying to rile him up? Too much fun when you know what the repercussions are. And he’s grabbing the edge of the berth, expression thunderous as you make a show of it, arching your back on a moan. Taunting him. Not even surprised when he vaults up with you, mass shifting.

• “Bored,” he retorts, optics lazily sliding from your fingers moving urgently up your body to your face and the challenge in those eyes. “You missing me, darlin’?” That sinful mouth of yours twitching into a cocky smile as he kneels between your spread thighs and catches your wrist. Venting when you tug against his grip with a little huff. “Always in a hurry,” he mutters, using his hold on you to move your hand against yourself. Slow and deep.

• Squirming as he watches you, controlling how fast you can go, you’re aware of those optics sliding over you. Seeing everything. Seeing too much. No matter how many times he’s seen your old scars, you hate when he looks at them. When he calls them proof of your strength instead of just ugly reminders of all the bad decisions you’ve made. Eyes closing, you shiver and lose yourself to the feel of him touching you, taking control. Not understanding why he wants you even now knowing how broken you are.

[eraserbread]

I would die for curse user! Nanami

pining for curse user!nanami after he's shunned from sorcery... gimmethat :((((

➽────────────────────────❥

you wonder if your friends can see the unease in your face. they're all laughing around you, smoking, drinking and being... friends. it's hard to pull yourself together enough to be here, but you try. they deserve the best, most social part of you.

but its so fucked because he's supposed to be here. nanami wasn't supposed to have run away like he did. and... it's all he did. he ran away in the middle of the night -- took his blade, left his clothes, and disappeared. in the wake, rumors spread like wildfire, your peers saying things like he finally snapped or he just moved to a different country. suguru suggested malaysia -- everyone called him an idiot.

since the night he left, he's been messaging you on an unknown number. little things like;

good morning. miss you.

or

still thinking about you. hello?

tonight it was:

in the city just for a night. i can't meet you on campus.

that's the message you glance down at as shoko hands her smoke over to you. you're left staring at the dimmed screen for a second, and all the attention falls off of satoru's stupid mission story and onto your awkward figure.

"you're good, right?"

no, you're not good -- you want to tell satoru. you want to see their face as you tell them nanami's been in constant contact. you wonder how they'd react. you wonder if they'd react.

as you open your mouth to respond, shoko taps into your side. "hey, you want my wrist to go limp, here?"

the five of you do this every other friday - get drinks and insane plates piled high with sushi at your favorite restaurant, and catch up. it's been easier to do it this way since graduating - most of you stayed on campus, but the few who didn't, you and suguru, didn't show up much at all.

"sorry." you pull a tight-lipped smile, taking it from her hands. she steps out of conversation for a moment, mentioning to haibara how 'if he doesn't take any missions, he won't make any money' or something of the sort. you weren't really listening.

nanami... all you can think about is nanami

nanami. nanaminanaminanaminanami....

"hey- you'll get ash in the food, come on,"

"this is like... the eighth time you disassociated tonight -- what is wrong?"

you don't tell them the truth. instead, you run away.

away from your loving, prying friends and into the arms of your empty apartment and the promise of your nanami. it was so cruel - this hold he has on you. everyone tells you he's a coward, or too unfit to handle his emotions. even the ones he loved just shrug him off, now.

but, not you. never you.

not even when he shows up at the apartment door you guided him to with a grey hoodie over his head.

"i don't expect you to understand." is the first thing he says to you in over a year. "but I would like to explain..."

"ke-kento..."

"let me in, please." then, he looks up at you and through the darkness you can see the small, smoldering fires in his eyes. they were always there, but brighter with age and angst. it's so hard not to cry.

"c'mon."

you're turned around, closing the door when his hands ball into fists at his side. you two's whirlwind high-school romance was long gone, now. all that's left standing in this tiny apartment is a shell of who once loved another.

"then, explain."

so, he wastes no time. if nanami was one thing, it was straight to the point. "I despise watching this society treat my friends as curse bait. none of us chose this."

"but, it's our duty-

"no. it's not." he finally pulls off his hood, still unable to look at you, but all you can look at is him. "our duty is to be human. to work until the day we die, yeah, but not die from our work." he's monotone and familiar, finally meeting your gaze so you can see all of him. shamelessly, you reach to flick the light switch on.

he cut his hair.

"I don't want to be a villain."

you don't even care that he's watching you comb over his body with your eyes. it seems as if this time out of sorcery aged him, but never in a bad way. short hair, mean eyes, strong jawline, and broad shoulders - all of it was new for you, but all of it is nanami.

all you can think to do is shake your head. it's something - some kind of answer.

"and i hope you don't see me as changed... i'm still yours." he gets shy just like he always did, drifting off in volume as he licks your romantic ego.

every cell in your body is screaming to let him in. the want is clawing at your morals, peddling over all of the grief and sorrow and confusion nanami's leaving caused you all. it was so sudden, and he was one of the strongest.

it feels wrong to admit just how healthier he feels when you finally hug him again. there are muscles under your fingertips -- hardened skin and bone you have to dig into to feel the familiarity. you're breathing in his city-tinged, warm colongned musk, breath shuddering and breaking all over his shoulder. he touches you, too. just above your hips, lightly, like he's wary of scaring you off.

a year isn't too long, but it's just long enough for kento to feel unsure about himself.

it didn't matter if he was a dead-man walking, sentenced to execution by a society he once treasured. there's something about you that makes him want to risk it all.

so, he does - elbow-deep in your sweet spirit.

[fizzyapplecandy]

The one with the shy bunny and the rowdy cat Part 4 Final

Ateez Seonghwa X Wooyoung X Reader

Find previous parts on my Masterlist

Genres and warnings: hybrid imagine, poly relationships (no mxm), mature language, fluff, angst, happy ending

Word count: 2.2k

The day is finally here. Seognhwa goes to your previous owner in hopes of finally making your theirs, but will it be easy?

Seonghwa couldn't remember the last time he slept so peacefully. It was nice being alone, having the bed for himself, but something about a tiny, warm body beside him made it even better.

Y/N was still fast asleep, her nose twitching as she dreamt. He's been watching her for the past fifteen minutes, enjoying the moment he had with her. She might not have been awake, but she was just the thing he needed.

Today was a big day. He had plans to go open his bakery, leaving it afterwards to Yeosang, his trusted worker. Hongjoong would be waiting for him, because they needed to go and find your previous owner to serve him the papers. For some reason, he couldn't imagine going on in his life without the little bunny by his side. Wooyoung loved her, that much was obvious, but he bonded with her on another level. It takes immense trust to be somebody's owner, and she was willingly giving herself to him. The past couple of days showed how comfortable she could get with them, and he hoped her confidence would grow bigger. Although, it was nice having someone calm and collected with them, Wooyoung was already a handful. Not that he didn't adore his hybrid, he just needed someone to enjoy the silence with. Y/N was just that person.

Seognhwa glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table, confirming he would be late if he stayed even another minute. They would have all the time in the world after he settled the deal with Jisung, and that was enough to motivate him to get up.

The rustling of the bed didn't disturb his bunny, and he tucked her back in after taking everything necessary from his room.

He didn't expect to run into Wooyoung in the hallway.

"Hey Woo, what are you doing up so early?"

Wooyoung yawned, stretching lazily.

"I can't sleep without her. Move, I'm going to your room."

He didn't wait for Seonghwa's reply, pushing him to the side and entering his bedroom. He watched as his hybrid tucked himself behind Y/N, nuzzling his face in her hair.

"Okay, get some more sleep. Please, for the love of God, don't do anything in my bed."

Wooyoung turned his head, smirking lightly.

"Can't make any promises." He went back to his previous position, and Seonghwa kind of knew he was joking. Well, he hoped he was. He shut the door, leaving the two to their own devices.

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"I'm telling you Hongjoong, this isn't going to work."

"Will you just shut up and trust me for once? I know what I'm doing."

Seonghwa and his friend Hongjoong were outside Jisung's workplace. It was a classic office building, consisting of numerous cubicles. Jisung was in one of them, and the nerves were starting to eat Seonghwa alive.

It's not like he didn't trust Hongjoong, but the situation was delicate. One wrong word, and he could lose Y/N forever.

"Joong, I appreciate you doing all of this. I'm really sorry about the way I'm behaving. It's just..." Seonghwa couldn't even finish his sentence. He didn't know what to say anymore, but his friend knew him quite well.

Hongjoong gave him a pat on the back.

"It's okay buddy. We'll make this work, and you'll be home before you know it."

For some reason, that only made him more nervous. He knew Y/N was home, waiting to hear her fate. Wooyoung was probably trying to keep her mind occupied, but that could also lead to two things - them having a nice movie day, or him having to go to the vet to get Wooyoung sprayed.

Seonghwa shook his head, focusing on the task ahead of him. The two men entered the building and gave their names to the receptionist. Hongjoong had previously made an appointment to see Jisung, stating he had some problems with his fake account that he needed fixed. The lady told them the number of the cubicle, and off they went.

As they approached that devil of a man, Seonghwa could barely keep his anger at bay. This was someone who brought harm to his bunny. Someone who made her scared of basic human interaction. She didn't know pets were a reward, she barely ate unless given specific permission, and she protected her ears like she was afraid he'd pull them clean off.

After a short walk, there he was. Jisung, sitting there in all his glory, smiling at a coworker as if the hybrid he's supposed to take care of hasn't run off to god knows where.

"Hello there." Hongjoong said casually. The man's head turned, eyes widening slightly. Maybe he felt intimidated? That was a good thing.

"Hello gentlemen. How can I help you?"

Hongjoong extended his hand and Jisung shook it before moving onto Seonghwa. He had to get it together in order not to break all of his fingers off.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Seognhwa."

Jisung smiled, motioning for them to sit in front of his desk. They were separated from other employees by a wall, and it was almost perfect. Hongjoong dropped the act as soon as Jisung sat down.

"So, Jisung, how's Y/N doing?"

The man in front of them froze, hands clutching his pencil.

"I'm sorry, who are you talking about?" His voice was calm, but his hands were starting to twitch.

"Oh, cut the shit. You know exactly who you little pie-"

"Calm down Hwa." It was a miracle Seognhwa caught himself. He knew Hongjoong's warning was serious.

"Okay, who the hell are you? What do you want from me?" Jisung asked, his tone showing how upset he was getting.

"We want you to sign over your rights to be Y/N's owner. Seonghwa here has provided your former hybrid with a suitable home, we just have to get the formalities out of the way." Hongjoong explained.

"You have her?" Tone as cold as ice, Jisung turned towards Seognhwa, glaring as he spoke.

"Yes, I have her, and I'm not planning on letting her come back to you. Who knows what you did to that poor bunny." Seognhwa spat out, gripping the handles of his chair to stay put.

Silence followed his words, Jisung appearing lost in thought for a minute. It wasn't until Hongjoong took out the forms from his bag that he focused back on them.

"There is no way I'm signing anything. Y/N's mine, and I want her back!"

"You are so firm on getting her back, but were you even trying to search for the poor thing? There is no trace of you ever reporting her missing. How will you explain that to a judge? Your hybrid runs away, and don't move an inch to find her. Interesting, isn't it?"

Hongjoong's tone had a slight edge to it, but he kept it professional.

"She is mine. I knew she'd come crawling back to me, that's why I didn't do anything. That bitch can't look after herself."

Now Seonghwa was getting furious. How dare he call her such a degrading name?

"Who do you think you are, huh? The hybrid police?" Jisung questioned.

"Yes, that's exactly what I am." Hongjoong answered.

He placed a paper in front of Jisung.

"This right here is a report on Y/N's injuries. There are multiple lesions on her arms and legs, as well as sensitivity to her hybrid ears. According to her, they were inflicted by you in fits of rage. A doctor can and will confirm it if I ask for an examination."

Another paper followed.

"Next, we have the fact that you hadn't uploaded the shelter about Y/N in over three months. In any hybrid contract, there is the rule of keeping the shelter informed about your hybrid's condition up until one year has passed. They have confirmed you haven't done what you were obligated to."

Jisung was starting to get red in the face, just as one other paper was placed on the table.

"And here we have a recollection of events from when Y/N was in your home. Multiple statements show the abuse she's suffered by your side. One look at this paper and you'll be in handcuffs. Y/N is prepared to testify against you, and your fate will be sealed."

Hongjoong leaned back in his chair, almost too casually for the occasion. Seonghwa could only watch in awe as his best friend did his job.

"So, what do you say? Do you still refuse to sign over your rights? I hope you are prepared for some jail time, I hear abusive owners have it rough in there."

That seemed to give Jisung a wake up call. He rubbed his eyes, huffing and puffing as he did. After taking a deep breath, he took a pen from his drawer.

"Where do you want me to sign?"

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"Bunny, stop packing your things! You're not going anywhere!"

Wooyoung was slowly starting to panic. For the past hour, you've been locked up in his room, packing the few belongings you had into a bag. You'd probably have to return it to Seonghwa, but he won't mind you borrowing it.

There were more bangs coming from the other side.

"Y/N, do you hear me? Stop ignoring me! I'm not letting you go!"

You knew there was no chance you'd be able to stay. Your luck wasn't the best, and it was better to accept it before spiraling into an even deeper depression.

"Please bunny, I'm bugging you! Oh, Seonghwa! Thank god you're here!"

Wooyoung's footsteps could be heard, rushing away from the door. You froze, realising you'd have to face the two of them now and say your goodbyes.

"Y/N? Can you come out now?" Seonghwa said, knocking lightly.

You braced yourself for a tough conversation. Straightening your new white skirt and pink sweatshirt, you walked towards the door, unlocking it and stepping out.

"I-I'm all packed." You whispered, not able to look into Seonghwa's eyes. A pair of arms wrapped themselves around your shoulders, squeezing you in a hug.

"You're not going anywhere! Tell her Hwa, please! She's not going, is she?" Wooyoung shouted, pushing your head into the crook of his neck. There was no chance he was letting you go, ever.

Seonghwa sighed, motioning towards the living room.

"How about we all take a seat over there?"

You couldn't make out the tone of his voice, but it felt bad for some reason. Maybe you were just too focused on the worst outcome.

The three of you made your way to the couch, Wooyoung placing you onto his lap. He had to keep you close, that way, nobody would take you from him.

"So, we went to see Jisung today, as you already know."

You nodded, listening carefully as Seonghwa spoke. He took out a stack of papers from his bag, placing them in front of you.

"These are official adoption forms. In order for you to stay here permanently, you have to sign them. You'll be officially ours tomorrow morning once they put everything into the system."

There was silence after he said that. Wooyoung was speechless for the first time in his life, and you were certain you weren't hearing right. Seonghwa noticed how you two reacted, so he tried to lighten the mood with a chuckle.

"Hey, I thought this was supposed to be a great thing. Do you not want to stay?"

You immediately jumped into action, throwing your arms around Seonghwa.

"Thank you! Oh, thank you so much! I want to stay, please! I really want to!"

Your new owner laughed, tightening his grip around your waist.

"You're ours now, bunny. Just ours." He whispered into your ear.

"This is the best day of my life!" Wooyoung shouted, finally getting himself together. He wrapped his arms around you, hugging your back.

"I knew our Seonghwa would make it work."

"That would be all Hongjoong's doing, but I helped. Jisung won't ever be a problem in our lives again, we made sure of it."

He continued explaining how it all went down, and you couldn't believe they managed to convince him to let you go. Jisung will never be on your mind again, as long as these two stay by your side.

After talking about the official adoption, you signed the papers and jumped into Seonghwa's embrace again. You knew Wooyoung would be jealous, so you opened your arms to invite him in. He gladly joined, the three of you now giggling away.

Maybe it was the perfect time to show them how much you trusted them. It was only fair after everything they did to keep you.

Without a word, you turned around in Seonghwa's lap, straddling his legs. He stayed quiet, curious about your next move.

You took Wooyoung's hand along with Seonghwa's and carefully placed them on top of your bunny ears.

Their eyes widened, and they glanced at each other to make sure it was really happening.

"C-Can I get some pets, please?"

Wooyoung was the first to act, his touch so as light as a feather. The cat stayed quiet again, enjoying the intimacy of the moment.

Seonghwa seemed to snap out of it too, copying Wooyoung's movements. He smiled at you, his other hand caressing your cheek.

"You can get all the pets in the world now, our little bunny."

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Here we have it! The finale chapter is done. I'm really proud of this work of mine, and I'm thankful for each and every person's support. I know this chapter might be shorter than previous ones, but I wanted to get their happy ending out.

If you're interested in reading a bonus chapter, comment down below.

Lots of love, and happy reading X

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