#you caught him eating your lunch in the fridge once.

[soapcloth]

Corporate office worker!Ghost. The big guy huddled over the computer in the cubicle next to you muttering to himself, fingers too big to reasonably use the allotted keyboard, always in and out of HR because every time he opens his mouth at the water cooler he’s spouting a new morbid joke, but his work speed is unmatched and he’s incredibly competent so they can’t get rid of him— you’re almost sure he’s losing his mind and every lunch he’s staring at you across the break room through hollow, tired eyes like you’re the thing he really wants to eat.

[ollyissleepy]

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐟 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐫

pairings: platonic yandere!batfam x uninterested!male!reader summary: After being caught red handed stealing, (name) finds himself in the Wayne Manor, surrounded by his new family. (Name)'s disinterested in bonding is met with equally not caring siblings and father. As he spends his days alone, (name) realises his new family might care much more than he originally thought the did. cw: stealing, swearing, underage smoking, mentions of gambling and death a/n: idk why but Alfred makes me think of my grandad (which is ironic since I only know him from stories told by my family and I've never even met him) anyway let me know if you're interested in the first idea regarding the scene with (name) and Alfred that I scrapped worried it would be 'too graphic' based on this idea I had

part: one | two | three | and more…

When (name) wakes up, the sun hasn't even risen. He's not sure about the exact time, as there's no clock in the room he was made to stay in, his phone still at his house, hidden away in fear of situations like this. The boy turns onto his back, his eyes wide open, not daring to fall back asleep. He tries to think of his next course of action. (Name) was hoping to run off during his trip to grab his clothes, but with the butler accompanying him, that won't be possible. And not really due to the age of the man, but simply because the boy doesn't want Alfred to get in trouble. He decides to come up with a different idea another time, hopefully with one that wouldn't get, what seems to be, the only worker in the manor.

Once (name) notices the first rays of light coming into the room, he decides it's probably time to move out of bed. Only then does he notice the grumbling of his stomach. (Name) sighs, walking into the bathroom; he'll have to look for a kitchen later.

The teenager checks the corridor twice, making sure he won't bump into someone as he's trying to find the kitchen. (Name) steps out of the room, doing his best to not make any unnecessary noises. He walks down the same set of stairs that he did the previous day, walking from one room to another until he finds the one he was looking for. Once in the kitchen, he opens the fridge, grabbing a few things that could make a decent breakfast. The boy doesn't take anything that he deems as 'too fancy' for his tastes, opting for simple vegetables and other produce. Stuff he figures nobody will really notice the absence of. The teenager is so focused on filling his stomach that he doesn't notice another person entering the room.

"Mast—, (name), if you were hungry, you could've come to find me. I would be happy to make you something." Butler speaking up causes the boy to jump up. He turns around; the food he made for himself is in his hands.

"It's alright, Alfred," (name) reassures, looking away, like a child caught doing something they shouldn't. "I don't mind making my own food."

"I know you don't, but next time, please don't be afraid to ask me. That's what I'm here for." Alfred smiles, deciding against pressing on the matter.

Alfred begins to smoothly move around the kitchen, grabbing ingredients and other things he needs to cook a meal. (Name) watches the man working as he eats the food he prepared. He debated going into a dining room but decided against it, worried that since the butler starts making breakfast, the rest of the family will get down to eating there. The boy isn't interested in meeting any of them.

"I don't have any work until lunch," Alfred announces, making (name) tilt his head in confusion. "I was thinking we could grab your clothes. That way I could wash the ones you are wearing in the afternoon," he adds, pointing at the boy's outfit with a butter knife.

"Works for me, I guess." (Name) shrugs, finishing up his food. Alfred notices the boy hesitating on what to do with the dish, so he decides to speak up.

"Just leave them in the sink; I'll put them in the dishwasher later." He points toward the appliance.

(Name) carefully puts the dishes into the sink, looking back at the butler for approval. Once Alfred smiles at him, telling him he should go and get ready so they can leave after the rest of the family eats their breakfast. The teenager takes one last look at the butler before leaving the kitchen. He makes his way back, the journey much easier now that he had done that once. He finds the staircase, slowly making his way up. When (name) is almost at the top, he notices something on the wall, close to the ceiling. As he walks up higher, he recognises the object. It appeared to be a surveillance camera. (Name) doesn't stop to give it a closer look, not wanting anyone who watches through them to notice his interest in the object. The presence of the camera changes the boy's plans as he decides to spend the next few days checking where the rest of them are. He'll also need a plan on avoiding some of them to make himself harder to find. 

As he enters 'his' room, the first thing (name) does is grab his hoodie. The one he hid under the pillow the previous night, just in case. As he puts it on, he realises he should clean up a bit or at least fix the bed , not wanting anyone else to touch the place he's sleeping on. The boy makes sure to make it in a different way to make it easier for him to tell if somebody was messing with it. With some more time to spare, (name) looks out the window, looking at the garden. He also looks over the fence further into the property, wondering if it has any loose spots, making his escape easier.

(Name) doesn't move from his spot next to the window when somebody knocks on his door. He tells them to come in, his eyes moving to the door. Alfred comes inside the room, noticing that the boy seemed to have made the bed. He also notices that it was made differently from how the beds are usually done in the manor, but he decides not to dwell on it too much. The butler figures that it must be the only way the teenager was taught how to fix it.

Alfred let the boy know that he's ready to leave whenever the teenager is. (Name) puts his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, nodding that he's ready. Both of them returned downstairs, this time moving opposite to where the kitchen was. To the boy's disappointment, Alfred leads him outside and not to the garage, where he could judge 'his father's' taste in cars; the boy frowns at the missed opportunity.

There's a car parked in the driveway; it looks slightly different than the one he was brought in. Alfred opened the door, his hand gesturing for the boy to get inside. (Name) sits onto the backseat of the car, the butler closing the door behind him. The boy plays with the hem of his hoodie, waiting for Alfred to walk around the car to start driving.

The car ride is mostly silent, save for (name) giving out directions to the butler. The boy enjoys the lack of words leaving Alfred's mouth, making him think that the whole journey might not be such a pain after all. (Name) lets the man know that his apartment building is on the left, ending the ride. Alfred finds a spot to park the car, hoping nobody will damage or, worse, steal it. After he makes sure the car is securely locked, he turns towards the building the boy is already at the entrance of. He tries not to show it, but the state of the building fills him with worry. Is it really where the boy was living? The paint chipping off the outside walls, exposing the brick, and the cracks surrounding the windows. The building was most definitely not up to any code and probably shouldn't even be lived in.

Even though worries of the building collapsing filled Alfred's head, he still followed the boy inside. As they were making their way up the stairs, an older woman came out of the flat on the bottom floor, probably hearing their steps. 

"Ah, (name), good to finally see you. You're a few days late to rent," she informs, glancing at the boy, then looking at Alfred from head to toe, the man getting uncomfortable under her judgemental stare. "I tried knocking, hoping your mom would pay, but it seemed that nobody was home."

"Sorry, Mrs Smith. Mom is busy with work, you know how she gets," (name) explains, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. "I'll bring it to you in a bit," he promises with a shy smile.

The woman nods, taking another look at Alfred, before walking back inside her flat. He doesn't ask the boy about the lie he told Mrs Smith, knowing it's probably for the best that she wasn't aware that only the boy lives in the apartment. They resume their walk up the stairs until (name) stops at one of the floors, walking down the hallway. The butler watches him stop at one of the cracks in the wall and take out a key from it. The boy then stops in front of a door further down the hall, opening it with a key.

(Name) doesn't look back to see if Alfred is following behind him. He doesn't want to see the look of disgust the butler must have upon seeing the condition of the place the boy calls home. What the teenager isn't aware of is that Alfred doesn't look at it all with disgust but rather concern.

The flat is in much better shape than Alfred anticipated. It was mostly clean, other than the empty instant noodle packets and some other everyday litter. There was a blanket thrown over an old couch that looked like it had seen better days. As (name) disappears in what the butler believes to be a bedroom, Alfred is left to look around the main room of the apartment. He checks the kitchen, his worry deepening after noticing the state of it on top of the oven that looks like a fire hazard.

(Name) double-checks the stuff he throws inside the bag. He puts inside whatever he decides he might need, even if it would just be used as a fire starter. The boy doesn't own many clothes, so putting them all randomly inside the bag wasn't hard. It took him minutes to grab all of his belongings. There weren't many things that belonged to his mother that (name) kept. Most of them he was forced to sell a long time ago, so he won't go hungry or have to pay rent. A few things that the boy kept, he also stuffed inside the bag, even if that meant leaving behind a few shirts so he could close it. The boy takes an envelope from under the mattress, checking if there's enough inside to cover this month's rent. 

Walking back to the main area of the flat, (name) finds Alfred staring at something. As the boy walks closer to the man, he notices that Alfred is looking at the only picture the boy has of himself and his mother. (Name) doesn't know why the butler is staring at that picture so much, but he also doesn't care, snatching the picture away from Alfred's prying eyes. The man watches the boy put the photograph into a bag, carefully arranging it in between some shirts.

"I see that you packed your bag. Do you have everything?" Alfred asks, wanting to make sure neither of them would have to come back to this place.

"Not yet." (Name) puts his bag on the couch and walks towards the opposite side of the room, crouching next to a lamp.

Alfred sees the boy take out a flip phone, which doesn't surprise him after seeing the state of the flat. He figures it's the only phone he and his mother could afford. The butler uses the fact that (name) let go of his bag to grab it for the boy.

"Oh, it's fine. I can carry it myself," (name) says, putting the phone in his pocket. He steps closer to Alfred, trying to take the bag out of the butler's hands.

"Don't worry, (name), I'll make sure nothing happens to it." Alfred reassures the teenager, keeping a firm hold on the bag. "You just focus on locking up the place properly."

Both of them walk out of the flat. Alfred watches as the boy locks it and then puts the key into his pocket. (Name) wonders if he should give the key back to Mrs Smith, knowing that even if he could, it wouldn't be safe for him to return there. He walks down the stairs with Alfred following behind, stopping at Mrs Smith's apartment to give her the envelope. The boy returns the key as well, mentioning that he and his mother were moving out. The woman didn't ask any questions, figuring it's not her business. Both of them walk out of the apartment building, and Alfred lets out a sigh of relief. He didn't show it, but staying in a building that was in such a state was filling him with anxiety. The butler walks with (name) back to the car, putting the boy's bag into the trunk.

"Alfred, do you think we could visit her grave?" (Name) asos, his eyes focused on the ground before him. "I don't know when I'll be able to visit, and I'd hate to leave without saying goodbye."

"Of course, (name)." Alfred agrees with a soft smile. "I'd be happy to take you." The man closes the trunk, moving to open one of the back doors.

"Let's walk; it's not far," (name) suggests, not seeing a point in turning on a car to drive such a short distance.

"Lead the way." Alfred closes the door, still smiling.

(Name) was right about the cemetery not being far, as the journey takes less than ten minutes. From the moment they entered the cemetery, (name) was only looking at the ground as if afraid to look at any of the graves. Alfred, on the other hand, takes a moment to read some of the names written on the graves. He's so distracted that he almost misses (name) stopping in front of one of them. Alfred stands next to the boy, whose expression he couldn't read. The man then looks at the grave, reading the words on the gravestone. 

(Mother's name) (Last Name) beloved mother Born xx-xx-xxxx Died xx-xx-xxxx

"It's been…" Alfred begins to speak, but the words are caught in his throat.

"Seven years, yeah," (name) finishes, his eyes never leaving his mother's gravestone.

"You were only ten." Alfred's cracks, trying so hard not to imagine a little boy burying his mother all by himself. "How did nobody find out?"

"If you know where to go, they won't ask you questions." (Name) shrugs, finally looking up at Alfred. "Mrs Smith's late husband helped me bury her, only wanting some money so he could gamble behind his wife's back. Honestly, I'm kind of surprised he never mentioned my mother's death to her."

Neither of them moved for a while after that. Alfred is still trying to understand how this boy managed to survive on his own for so long. He pitied the boy, wishing Bruce had found out sooner about him. Maybe then, (name)'s life would be a little easier.

The drive back to the manor is quiet, with Alfred checking on the boy's wellbeing in the rearview mirror. The butler wants to say something, anything that could bring comfort to (name). No words seemed good enough; after all, what could you say to a teenager who lost his mother almost a decade ago?

Back in the manor, (name) uses the need to unpack his bag as an excuse to get away from the butler. The boy makes his way back to 'his' room, closing the door shut behind himself. He doesn't take out much from his bag, only a fresh set of clothes, some underwear and the picture of his mother. He changes into the clothes, wondering if he should throw the old ones to the humper or ask Alfred if he can wash them himself. The teenager ends up putting them in the hamper, knowing that the butler would find a reason for the boy to not wash them himself.

(Name) makes sure his bag is hidden under his bed before heading out of his room to look for more cameras. The boy roams the hallways of the manor, hoping that he looks like a clueless child exploring his new home. He tries to remember as many locations of the devices as possible. He hopes to ask Alfred for some paper and pens to write them down later, but in the meantime his memory has to be enough. (Name) turns around after hitting a dead end, deciding to look for the butler for his request, when he bumps into someone. The man had broad shoulders, partially hidden behind the grey hoodie, his hair messy, like he’d just run a hand through it — dark, tousled. Man's vibrant blue eyes, running over (name)'s younger frame.

"Hey, you're new here, right?" The man asks with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. He only earns a shrug from (name), making the man let out an awkward cough. "Anyway, have you seen Tim? He's not in his room."

(Name) shakes his head, his brows furrowed slightly. The man already established that he's new here; how could he know where Tim is? The man with blue eyes leaves, understanding that he won't get the answer from the boy. The teenager finds that the more he learns about 'his' father's family, the less interested he becomes in interacting with any of them.

(Name) decides that it's enough of being outside of his room for the day, returning to the only space in the manor he feels somewhat safe in. The boy spends the next hour or so recalling the locations of the cameras he saw like a mantra. 

The boy is so wrapped up in remembering the cameras that he doesn't notice the sun beginning to set on the horizon. The knock on the door made (name) jump slightly, not expecting anyone to bother him in 'his' room. He lets the person behind the door know that they're welcome to come inside. The door opens, Alfred coming inside with a smile.

"(Name), I was wondering if you'd like to join the rest of the family for dinner tonight?" Alfred asks, the smile not leaving his face. The boy is about to decline when Alfred speaks up: "It would not only mean a lot to your father to see you getting along with the rest of the kids but to me as well."

Alfred watches the boy hesitate, possibly laying out the options, before agreeing. (Name) decides that meeting the rest of the family wouldn't hurt. Knowing who to avoid could be useful for him in the long run.

"Alfred? Do you think I could get some paper and a pen?" (name) asos, following behind the butler.

"Of course," Alfred smiles, his voice soft. "I'll make sure to put a notebook and some pens in your room after dinner."

You thank the man, taking a deep breath as you enter the dining room. You take a look around the table, not failing to notice all of the seats being taken. Alfred wonders why you don't sit down, so he also checks the table, noticing as well the lack of space for the boy.

"I invited Connor over," said the one in the hoodie, barely looking up from his plate. "Figured it wouldn’t hurt."

"It’s not like he ate with us yesterday," the youngest muttered, arms crossed and tone sharp, not missing a beat.

"Still, I believe you—" the butler began to speak, hoping to resolve the issue and still have (name) join the table.

"It's alright, Alfred." The boy interrupts the man's sentence, not seeing a point in staying in the room. "I would rather eat in my room anyway," (name) assures, hoping to just leave.

The butler sighs, fixing up a plate for the boy. (Name) hangs around the man, trying to ignore the stares at everyone sitting at the table. He grabs the plate from Alfred, thanking him. He can't help but overhear a conversation that started the moment they noticed him leaving.

"He's so weird," a voice that sounded like it belonged to the youngest spoke. "His mother should've raised him better." After hearing that (name) was close to returning to the room, giving the child a piece of his mind, but another voice stopped him from doing so.

"You shouldn't say that he's still your sibling." (Name) wasn't quite sure whose voice belonged to, but he was glad somebody was telling the child off.

"You don't know shit, Conner," the youngest spoke again. (Name) suddenly wishes he took a better look at the people at the table so he could know how the boy looked. 

Back in his room, (name) eats his dinner in peace, trying not to dwell on what the youngest Wayne said. Around the time the boy finishes his meal, Alfred comes around, as promised, carrying a notebook and a few pens. He puts them down on the desk with an apologetic smile. The boy uses the moment to ask the butler if he needs any help around the manor, mentioning that helping the man clean up would make it a great way to explore the place. The butler assures him that he's more than capable of taking care of the manor and that the teenager doesn't have to worry about others looking at him weirdly, most of them being used to kids roaming the place. It's almost a weekly occurrence that somebody walks the halls of the manor trying to learn its layout for the first time.

The next day (name) decides to take Alfred's words to heart and continue roaming the manor. The boy eats his breakfast in the butler's company, who still insists that he could make something for (name). The teenager moves to a different wing of the manor, hoping that, by expanding the knowledge about the layout, he could leave the place without ever being noticed.

As (name) walks deeper into the new wing of the manor, he finds himself growing anxious, the true size of the place finally hitting him like a truck. The boy feels trapped in the maze of the hallways. He doesn't pay proper attention to his surroundings anymore, no longer looking around for cameras, his mind fixated on returning to more familiar parts of the manor. (Name) rounded a corner too fast and collided straight into someone.

"Sorry," he blurted out, stumbling a step back. "I got kind of lost."

The guy he bumped into barely flinched. Tall, athletic build, warm brown skin, tight curls cropped close. Dressed casually but sharp: sneakers, dark jeans, and a long-sleeved shirt rolled at the elbows like he was always ready for something. (Name) recognises the boy from the family dinner fiasco.

"Nah, you’re good; don’t worry about it," the guy said with a relaxed grin. "You’re new here, right?"

"Oh, yeah," (name) nodded, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.

"Wow, didn’t know Bruce adopted another one." He extended a hand. "I’m Duke. Nice to meet you."

"(Name)," the boy replied, accepting Duke's hand and shaking it.

"I could show you around if you want." Duke offers a wide smile on his face.

"I’d rather explore blind; it helps with feeling the vibes of the space." (name) shook his head. Duke laughed a little at that, and it wasn’t mocking, no, it sounded like he got it.

"Maybe I could join you?" Duke asks, eager to get to know the new addition to the family. It was his first time meeting 'new meat', after all.

"Sorry," (name) said, not unkindly, just honestly. "I’d rather do that by myself."

"That’s fine," Duke replied, a smile never leaving his face. "If you ever need company, my room’s around the corner, third door on the left. I’ll be happy to hang out with you."

And with that, the other boy is gone, leaving (name) alone with his thoughts. He's not sure what to think of the teenager that he just met. 

(Name) resumes his journey, this time much less anxious as his mind focuses on playing the meeting with Duke over and over again. With him being all in his head, it was only a matter of time before (name) bumped into somebody again. Luckily for the teenager, this time it was Alfred who offered to help him find his way back to his room.

The boy spends the rest of the day cooped up in his room, only leaving for lunch that's accompanied by the butler. The rest of the time, (name) focuses on writing down the plans of the manor. He excludes the part he explored today, labelling it as being too far and too complicated to navigate for him to use it as his escape route. After dinner, which is also eaten with the butler, (name) asks Alfred if he could check out the garden.

"Of course, (name)," the butler smiles, happy that the boy decides against spending the evening in his room. "Just put on a hoodie; it's getting colder."

(Name) nods as if he wasn't already planning on grabbing one. He retreats to his room, putting on a hoodie and hiding a pack of cigarettes and a lighter in his pocket. On his way out to the gardens, he doesn't meet anyone, the manor feeling colder than the outside.

The boy finds a secluded area in the back of the garden, next to an overgrown pond. He takes out a cigarette, lighting it. (Name) inhales the smoke, filling his lungs with it. His body relaxes in the places he wasn't aware he was tense in. As the teenager smokes down half of the cigarette, it's taken out of his hands.

"I don't think it's good for you, kid," a man said, voice low and rough, like gravel under boots, with just the slightest edge of concern buried beneath all that worn-out indifference.

He blinked, startled, watching as the man stepped back and crushed the cigarette under his boot without ceremony. Older—by a few years, maybe—leaning against the crooked base of a crumbling angel statue. Leather jacket, boots that had seen better fights, and eyes that looked like they didn’t sleep much unless knocked out cold. He didn’t smile. Didn’t really look at him, either. Just knew exactly what he was doing.

"Isn’t it, like, the whole point of them?" he said, irritation bleeding through.

"Don’t play smart with me," the guy shot back. "I don’t care if your mother died; you shouldn’t go around smoking. It’s bad for the image."

"You don’t look like someone who gives a fuck about the image of this family," (name) laughed, short and sharp.

"Because I don’t." A small, crooked smirk. "But I don't want to listen to everybody's whines." The guy kicked a stone into the pond.

"Who are you anyway?" The guy looked at (name) sideways, like deciding whether or not to answer.

"None of your business." And with that, the guy turns around, walking down the path to the manor, not looking back to see if (name) takes out another cigarette.

Later that night, after a shower, (name) takes out the notebook. He carefully crafts a plan, hoping to leave the manor forever by the end of the week. The boy makes sure to plan out every possible outcome in case somebody notices him as (name) leaves. The boy also plans out an idea if somebody from the family were to find him.

The next few days, (name) makes sure to act as unalarming as possible. He's hoping to not attract attention from any of the residents of Wayne Manor. The boy continued eating his meals with the butler, the man being the only person in the family he was interacting with. The nights were spent polishing up the plan.

The boy started to believe he was getting away with the plans until one of the lunches with Alfred, the one less than two days before leaving the manor. Both of them were eating their food in silence, as they usually did. The butler's brows were furrowed, him trying to think of a way to approach something that he worried might be a sensitive topic.

"(Name), I couldn't help but notice that you haven't unpacked your bag yet," the man begins, his voice calm in order not to scare the boy. "Any particular reason as to why?"

"It's just… hard." (name) only partially lies, knowing that even if he wasn't planning on escaping, he would probably be too scared to unpack. "Feels like I'm letting go of my life. Of my mother?" The butler nods, understanding where the boy is coming from.

Over the course of the next few days, (name) starts preparing to leave the manor. He collects snacks with long expiration dates in his room, forcing them between the clothes in his bag. Every night, before falling asleep, the boy goes over the plan, looking for any loopholes. 

The day of the escape comes faster than the boy expected. That night, (name) stays awake until late at night; the clock struck three in the morning. He stands up from the bed he was sitting on, pulling a hoodie over his head. The teenager grabs his bag before taking another look over his room to make sure he doesn't leave anything behind. The manor is quiet, almost as if he were the only one in there.

(Name) already knows where to go; the window he picked up was found with ease, no light needed. As he reaches it, he hopes he's not wrong about the wines next to the window being strong enough to hold his weight. (Name) swings his legs over the window, taking one last look down the corridor, making sure nobody is watching. He throws the bag onto the ground before grabbing the wines. The boy places his steps carefully, slowly making his way down. Once he feels like he's low enough, he lets go of the vines, landing on the ground. From there the journey is easy, a few metres to the fence. Getting over it wasn't a problem with (name) having experience in jumping fences from his nightly stealing escapades.

The second the boy is on the other side of the fence, he starts running down the street, not looking back at the manor. He felt like a little kid, worried to spot 'his' father, or worse, Alfred, right behind him. (Name) only slows down when he reaches further into the city.

The teenager finds an abandoned building as far away from the manor as possible. In there he spends a few days, living mostly off the snacks he sneaked out and some questioning-looking water he found. He doesn't leave the building, not wanting anyone to spot him and alarm 'his' father.

Even after the snacks run out, the boy waits a whole other day before leaving the safety of the building. A bag hanging from his shoulder as he finds the right shop to 'borrow' things from. (Name) hangs around, mostly hidden in the shadows, waiting for the shop to close for the night.

With the precision of a surgeon, the boy picked the lock on the backdoor, allowing him to enter. He places some food and a few water bottles inside his bag, getting ready to leave. He stops in front of the cash register, wondering if there's any money in there. The boy decides to take his chance, forcing the register open. Luckily for him, there were a few bills that he grabbed. Maybe thanks to them, his next trip to a shop would be without breaking in. On his way out, (name) makes sure to grab a few packs of cigarettes, figuring it wouldn't hurt.

After leaving, the boy makes sure to make the lock look like it wasn't picked. He felt a little bad stealing from the owner and didn't want someone else to use the opening in the shop's security to steal even more things. (Name) lets out a sigh of relief, knowing the hardest part of the night is over and the only thing left to do is find another spot to camp in.

"Pretty sure your father wouldn't be happy about this," a low voice spoke behind (name), making him jump, scared.

The boy turned around to see who spotted him. (Name) sees a man dressed in black, a cape moving with the wind. The teenager recognises the man, knowing there's only one person in Gotham that's dressed like that. It's Batman.

"I'm pretty sure he hasn't noticed my absence." (name) feels confident, knowing the worst Batman could do is put him in timeout or something. No kill rule and all. "He'll live."

(name) is ready to leave, then the man grabs him by the collar. Batman starts dragging the boy somewhere, ignoring the yells and thrashing around them from the teenager. (Name) is so focused on trying to get the man to let go that he doesn't notice the two of them entering a building.

"Don't worry, Batman, we'll take it from here." A voice that belonged to Commissioner Gordon snapped the teenager out of the daze he was in. His head shot towards the Commissioner.

Batman lets go of the boy, who's instantly grabbed by two police officers. Same ones who brought him in all those days ago. The officers lead him towards the back of the station, putting him in the same cell he was sitting in the first time they caught him. The workers leave, grabbing the boy's bag, ignoring his protests. (Name) isn't left alone in the cell for long, Commissioner Gordon joining him soon enough.

"Don't worry; you'll get your bag back when your father comes and picks you up in the morning," the man assures, a tired look on his face.

The commissioner was hoping to never see the boy in such a space, remembering how much trouble he went through with finding the (name)'s biological father. As neither of them are in the mood to talk, Gordon doesn't stay long in the cell. He sees that the boy was away from the manor for at least a few days, judging by the dirt on the boy's clothes.

Gordon tells the boy to get some sleep, reminding him that his father will be notified in the morning about what he's done. With that, the commissioner leaves. (Name) looks around, a sense of déjà vu hitting him. It wasn't a long time since he left the cell.

(Name) lies down, wondering what he'll tell the person that would pick him up. He's not sure who he should hope for. ' His' father? Maybe it's not like he cares what the man thinks. Alfred? The boy knows that he's more likely to be picked up by the man, which scares him. (Name) isn't sure he'll be able to look into the butler's eyes after a stunt like that.

taglist: @amber-content @bellethesleepypotato @leeiasure @sleepdeprivedcrappywriter

comment to be added!

part: one | two | three | and more…

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

♡ chronicle #4 : welcome back ♡

wc : 5338

somehow, you've gotten used to living without your dragon man.

it shouldn't have been that hard to began with, you reason. since you'd only been living with him for a couple of weeks. you'd spent your whole life without this rude, bratty, infuriatingly handsome dragon guy. it really shouldn't have been hard.

you wake up to get ready for work feeling more tired than usual. this had been the case for the last two weeks now. you're lost at work, you've been really close to coming late more than once. you're coworker sachi has also asked if you were sick at least 5 times in one week, so you assume you don't exactly look your best right now.

you grab some leftovers from the fridge, hastily throwing them in the microwave to check up on your coffee. when you're done eating with the only background noise being the tv playing some game show reruns, you put your plate in the sink and remember a little too late that no one's there to clean them up for you anymore. you feel stupid, staring at the dishes like they'll suddenly wash themselves.

you'll wash them when you get back.

work goes by in a blur. you hardly remember what you did, who you'd talked to or what you had for lunch. the trip back home feels unfamiliar, like someone else was controlling your body for you. you don't mind as long as you can go home and sleep.

when you walk through your door, you check your couch reflexively, even though you've reminded yourself multiple times no one would be waiting there for you. the tv's turned off like it was when you'd left, there's nothing cooking on the stove, and there's no one on your couch.

despite reminding yourself.

you really need some sleep.

you order take out and eat while watching your favorite show for the 5000th time. it feels boring instead of comforting like it usually is, so you end up skipping a bunch of episodes straight to your favorite.

sometimes, you feel like it was all one big dream. falling in love with a dragon only for him to leave you seemed like something you could really only see in your own fantasy. but you know it isn't, because if it were you'd be able to forget about it. about him. but you can't.

it isn't painful, it doesn't feel like your heart is about to burst. it just feels so lonely. you feel like a part of you is missing, like a piece of your heart was filled to the brim with warmth only for that part to be taken away from you and leaving you cold and hollow. you don't like feeling like this. you shouldn't feel like this over someone you'd technically just met.

but it wasn't like that with him, it didn't feel like you'd just met. despite only living with him for a few weeks, you felt like you'd known him all your life. it was like you were catching up with an old friend the more you spoke to him. everything in you felt good with him. everything felt so right with him.

before you know it there are tears clouding your vision, you will yourself not to let them overflow. you hadn't cried since the day he left, you'd been distracting yourself with work not to. your favorite part of the episode comes up yet all you can do is focus on not bursting into tears. you can't go to bed feeling like shit since you've got work tomorrow. you decide to head to bed early tonight.

you'd like to think you can fool yourself into believing you've gotten used to living without katsuki. but unfortunately, you have to admit you aren't that good at lying to yourself when the first teardrop hits your pillow.

katsuki feels incredibly wrong.

it's way past the time he's usually asleep, but despite tossing and turning he can't keep his eyes shut because every time he does he sees you.

you, with your stupid bright smile. you with your stupid puffed out cheeks and pout when you'd caught him nabbing your food too late. you with your bright eyes when you come back from work to see he's made your favorite.

and you, with your glossy wet eyes when he told you he was leaving.

he really needs some fuckin' sleep.

for the last two weeks, he's been telling himself that this was better for you—for you both. he knows he could never truly be good for you. no matter how well he'd learn to cook your favorite meal. no matter how many movies and tv shows you watch together. no matter how good it feels to be with you, you'll always be a human and he, a dragon.

you're different beings made for different lives. he wasn't raised for battle, but it is a primary part of the dragon code, especially in his faction. survival of the fittest and whatnot. you were made for office jobs and midnight take out and romance movies, not for anything he was.

his friends were more than happy to see he'd finally come back home. they had basically choke-slammed him to the ground to hug him, and he can't deny he felt really a little bit happy to see them again.

he'd expected his mom to nag his ear off like she usually does but he was more than shocked to feel her wrap her arms around him tightly. she had told him she was happy to see he hadn't caused any trouble for himself and he could hear the quiver in her voice and feel the slight shakiness in her tightly strung limbs. he hadn't said anything and simply quietly held her back. his father had joined the group hug soon after and katsuki closed his eyes, indulging in the warmth of his parents' love.

this is good. this feels nice. this is where he's supposed to be.

it felt nice at the time, he recalls. but it didn't feel right.

for the last two weeks, he's been trying to tell himself that despite how much he aches, how much he yearns for you, you aren't made for him.

unfortunately, besides admitedly being a horrible liar, katsuki will forever be a selfish dragon. he only focuses on what he wants, and he wants you more than anything. he needs you more than anything.

" fuck this.." he mutters, throwing and arm over his eyes. he starts absentmindedly rubbing at his hair, like you used to. but it doesn't feel as comforting, so he huffs again.

he'd been told he unfortunately couldn't do anything about the tournament, but on a better note the guy he faced off again would be disqualified from participating since he did end up getting something from a witch, like katsuki thought. kirishima had wrapped an arm around his shoulder and told him it was a good thing. but to be honest, katsuki had almost fully forgotten about that shitty tournament. his father told him there would always be a next one. the next one in ten years. the thought of not seeing you in that time crosses his mind at makes him feel like he swallowed something sour. there's a bitter taste in his mouth at the thought but he can do nothing but try to ignore it.

just as he's about to turn to the other side of his bed a knock his door startles him. his mom walks in shortly after, opening the door halfway before walking in when she sees him awake.

" i didn't say you could come in." he grumbles half heartedly, sleep riddled voice slightly groggy. mitsuki simply sits on his bed near him, patting at his leg over the covers.

"m'not allowed to check up on my runaway son ? don't want you to leave again." she jests. katsuki knows she's joking, but he still feels a pang of guilt in his chest. he grumbles something unintelligible in response.

no words are exchanged for a moment, then mitsuki pats her son's leg a little harder, he snarls at her but she simply smiles at him.

"what do you say we go get some air ?"

the night air feels good.

soaring through the sky feels comforting. feeling the way the wind rushes through his scales feels almost therapeutic to him. it can be thrilling to soar through the air the same way it can also be calming. it provides him serenity he can't quite put into words.

katsuki finds himself wishing he could fly like this with you like when he brought you back home from work. he remembers how you'd screamed your lungs out, clutched onto him so tightly and when you'd landed back home with wobbly legs and messy..everything, you'd proclaimed it was the first and last time you'd ever go for a dragon ride. he remembers how hard he laughed and he chuffs to himself unconsciously at the memory.

flying around when he was irritated or stressed wasn't uncommon for him but he only remembers a handful of times he'd went flying with his mother. other than the times he was younger and still learning how to get the hang of it. he has to admit that that feels good, too.

they decide to rest on a nearby mountain they saw in the horizon. as soon as they land katsuki changes back into his human form, stretching as he let's out a yawn. the only remaining traces of his dragon form being his red horns and scaley tail accompanied by large red wings. he hears his mom flap her wings behind him as she also let's out a little yawn of her own. she sits down onto the gravely bottom and katsuki raises a brow before taking a spot next to her.

it's quiet as they both silently stare at the moon. it's a little chilly out but katsuki doesn't mind much.

"so," mitsuki sighs, taking a large gulp of the fresh air " you gonna tell me what happened when you went on your little expedition?" she bumps her shoulder with his playfully, katsuki growls but doesn't snap back like he usually would.

he simply shrugs "it wasn't an expedition." he gulps, it feels like a knot grows in his throat. "it wasn't anything." he doesn't notice the way his hands are tightened into fists, but his mother does.

"that so ?" she utters. she speaks in a nurturing way. that soft tone that only a mother could use for her child. it upset him even more as the knot in his throat tightens.

"i.." katsuki starts "i was around a lot of humans.." he admits. his mother hums in response, urging him to continue. "saw a lot of things, tried a lot of human stuff."

"human stuff ?"

"human foods and desserts and stuff. and movies. they're people moving around acting inside a big box that they call a tv." he tries his best to explain it in the simplest way considering it took him a while to grasp the concept of electronics himself. he can tell his mother doesn't really understand, but he's thankful she simply nods and let's him continue.

"it wasn't too bad." he concedes. " i didn't wanna kill too many of them." he jokes, his mother chuckles in response.

"anything else happen ?" she asks with a smile. katsuki can already tell shes's onto him. screw this mother's intuition shit.

he opens and closes his mouth a few times, nothing he wants to say seems to come out right.

"ma.." he starts, she hums " when you--how did it feel for you when you fell in love with pops ?"

her eyes widen at his question. she sits and thinks about it for a minute, then a smile grows on her face. " it's not something i can really explain. i just knew it when i saw him, i knew he was meant to be mine."

"even though he's a human..?" he mumbles quietly. his mother doesn't seem fazed, her dazed smile remains.

"yeah." she answers simply.

"it didn't bother you ?"

"nope." she immediatly answers, popping the p.

"it wasn't weird ?"

" it took a little gettin' used to." she hums "we're completely different after all. his family wasn't exactly on board with it. but they didn't say anythin' when i showed 'em my dragon form, i think they were just really amazed." she laughs at her own joke and katsuki fights an eyeroll.

"how'd you do it then ? how'd you..get used to it ?" he asks almost urgently.

her smile hasn't faltered since the beginning of the conversation. it seems to have gotten even wider and even brighter. " i didn't do anything. i loved your father, i still do." she sighs dreamily " when i was around him i didn't worry about anything. i didn't worry about what others thought to begin with, but i didn't worry about that. i wasn't scared of the future or anything."

"there was nothing for me to be worried about when i was around him. it always just felt like things would work out. we made each other happy, and when i was around him it all felt so.." she can't seem to find the right word to use but katsuki finds one for her immediatly.

"right ?" he finishes.

"yeah" she smiles, eyes softening as she looks at her son "yeah, it felt really right."

for the last two weeks, katsuki's been trying to deceive himself. by now he knows it isn't working. at all. he'd been trying to keep his mind quiet. he's been spending time with his friends and it's been nice. but there's clearly something missing. something he knows that his parents or his friends can fill, despite them caring so much for him. and he feels bad because he cares, he really does. but there's something he needs.

you're the one he needs.

"i think.." katsuki jumps a little when his mom speaks up again "i think there's somewhere you need to be, isn't there ?" she asks, though that knowing look she gives him clearly says she already knows the answer.

katsuki bites his lip, looking down towards the ground below. he can't see the bottom.

"i'm scared, ma.." he admits, meekly. mitsuki's heart squeezes at her little boy's heart showing in his eyes, scared of the unknown despite trying his best to convince himself he isn't.

his mother places her hand ontop of his and squeezes " i know, i know you are.." she comforts.

"w-what if it's too late and i messed shit up ?" she shakes her head, shushing him.

"you didn't, i know you didn't." she speaks carefully "if that person is the right one for you, then there's absolutely no way you have." she pulls him into a hug and he hugs her back tightly. no more words are exchanged as katsuki and his mother sit there. she pulls away and presses her forehead to his.

"you get goin' now, okay ?" she feels him nod after a moment and her smiles grows wider. she ruffles her son's hair and he grumbles, pushing at her arm and he fights off a smile.

he's sure, he knows what he needs to do now.

he gets up with vigor and stretches out his limbs and his wings as they flex and expand on his back. before he takes off though, he hears his mom call for him. he turns to look at her proud smiling face.

"you'd better come and visit !" she grinned, sharp fangs on display. katsuki smiles back at that, sharp grin rivaling hers.

" obviously !" he affirms, before taking off.

you wake up like you'd had the best sleep in your life. probably because you cried yourself to sleep.

you're awake an hour earlier than you usually are and you can't seem to get back to sleep. so bitterly, you decide to just get up and start your day an hour early.

you're definitely not getting ready for work at this hour, so your hello- kitty jammies are staying on. you remember you have a half eaten tub of vanilla-caramel-brownie ice cream in the freezer and it makes you a little happier. you walk over to your fridge with a little skip in your step.

when you sit down on your couch and turn your tv on you can already see the sun rising from your balcony. and it makes you dread having to go to work in an hour and a few minutes, you do your best to ignore it and watch a rerun of some old drama tv show you found.

you take your first bite and hum to yourself happily. the ice cream melts on your tongue and the flavours burst onto your tastes buds. if you could you'd eat ice cream every single day.

but katsuki would scold you for it.

it feels a little harder to swallow down your next bite.

the female and male lead on the show are arguing about something. the man says he only has eyes for the lady. he says that it's always been her, that if he were reborn in another life, in another country, he would still always find his way back to her.

you quietly keep watching, taking smaller and smaller scoops of ice cream. the lady is doubtful, she asks the male how she knows he won't break her heart. he responds that she only needs to trust him, that she needs trust herself.

"what is your heart telling you right now ?" he asks.

"it's telling me.." there's a dramatic pause " that i love you..!" she declares.

the two share a hug and an old ending song plays, you can hear an audience clapping like you sometimes do in old sitcoms. you really wish you could go back to sleep when you check your phone and see that only twenty minutes have passed. you wonder if you can call in sick as you play around with your ice cream, but you draw the line at that. that'd be too childish and you're too grown to be faking sick just because you got your heart broken.

you switch through a couple of channels before you land on an animal documentary. it's about red panda's and red panda's are adorable, so you shuffle on your couch to get comfortable and scoop up another big bite of ice cream.

the moment you bring your spoon to your lips though, you suddenly feel a big gust of wind. accompanied by a loud crash. and a giant hole through your fucking wall.

your spoon stays frozen against your lips, it's cold but you can barely feel it. slowly, you turn to look at something coming out of the cloud of smoke caused by the debris.

or no, it's a someone. you can see them stand up straighter as huge wings stretch on their back along with huge pointy horns and—actually maybe it is a something after all.

except you squint and you realise that it isn't a something.

it's katsuki.

it's katsuki and he's looking at you, bright red eyes focused solely on yours. he's here, he's here with you.

and he's once again blasted a hole through your wall.

you almost want to laugh, but you're afraid if you do you'll start crying. so you simply stare at him. he takes a deep breath and opens his mouth

“hi..” he exhales.

he’s heaving, taking in the force at which your wall was blasted into pieces one could assume it was probably because he was flying really fast, and he was. but this wasn’t really going all out for him. frankly, katsuki bakugou is heaving because he’s so incredibly nervous.

“h-hi..” you utter back, wide eyed. katsuki zones in on something on your face and furrows his brows.

“you’re eating that cold shit that early in the morning ? you’ll get sick.” he chides. this time you do laugh, because he’s so insanely ridiculous, how could you not.

“yeah well, no one was here to stop me so..” he knows the other meaning to your joke very well and his heart hurts at the sadness in your eyes when you fully realize he’s actually here.

“why did you—i thought you had to go home ?” you stutter. he takes a hesitant step towards your couch, towards you. his hand twitches, wanting to reach out to you, to touch you, but he holds back for now.

“yeah i did.” he nods “so here i am.”

your heart feels like it’s beating while being held down under a huge weight. you want to do so many things. you want to cry, ask him so many questions and kiss his mouth off but you can only bring yourself to ask “why ?”

katsuki frowns at the way your bottom lip wobbles and he immediately decides he can’t have that. he walks up to you and grabs your hand to pull you towards him, you stand up with a squeal as he pulls you into him. you’re ice cream long forgotten as neither of you notice the tub hitting the floor.

right now you’re only focused on him and he on you.

“i-i tried to tell myself that i didn’t need you at first, that it was better if i didn’t. we both know we’re—more than completely different,” he chuckles humorlessly. “tried telling myself that i didn’t need you because i didn’t need you my entire life, so why should meeting you, a human, change anything ?”

"but then—i don’t know, i realized that i’d spent so much time with you and your normal human life. with your weird habits and routines and your cheesy animal love stories. and then suddenly i just—" he stops himself mid rambling, he’s still heaving and he can’t seem to calm down. until you reach up and place your hand in his hair.

in seconds it’s feels like he can breathe again. your hands in his hair feel like taking a flight in the dead of night. your entire being is like the way it feels when the wind rushes through his scales.

he needs you, he needs you, he needs you, he needs you and he needs you so bad.

he plops his head against your shoulder and you hear the purring sound from when you’d first pet him in your office building. when you didn’t really know why you did, and that it just felt right to.

“suddenly i realized that i couldn’t be without you. i couldn’t see myself without you and your stupid smug face whenever you’re being a smart ass. without you and your weird taste in movies and your hands in my hair and your smile and—" he cuts himself off again. seemingly realizing he’d said too much. you don’t want to embarrass him too much too soon so you hold back the giggle bubbling up in your throat.

“i thought you liked my taste in movies.” you joke, playing with the hair on his nape. you feel him huff a chuckle against your shoulder.

“never said i didn’t like it. said it’s weird.”

“is there really a difference?” you snort.

“hell yeah there is,” he retorts “ya go from watchin’ that weird demon cat on your phone to watching the conjuring in the same breath.”

“ that just means i'm open to a lot of genres, it’s a good thing !” he snorts then grumbles some kind of agreement under his breath “and don’t you insult hello kitty like that ! she’s done nothing to be classified as a ‘demon cat’.”

“ it’s fuckin’ weird. why doesn’t it have a mouth ? and why are it’s black beady eyes starin’ into my fuckin’ soul ?”

“ quit calling her 'it' ? and she’s adorable !”

“she’s freaky is what she is.” you groan.

"you're insufferable. so incredibly annoying." you grumble in defeat. he lifts his head up to look at you then, his award winning cheese on display with a tiny fang poking out.

"yeah, maybe..but you missed me." he counters. you huff, but you really can't lie "yeah, yeah i did" you say. it comes out sadder than you'd wanted it to, and he seems to notice it. his eyebrows furrow and the remorseful look on his face makes your heart burn. your expression mirrors his as you speak.

"i really did miss you, katsuki. i really did." you whisper sorrowfully. you feel him wipe the tears you didn't even know where about to spill from the corner of your eyes. he grabs your cheeks in both of his large hands and wipes at your eyes, then rubs at your cheeks softly. his eyes burn with unspoken words and feelings and you don't need to hear him say anything to understand. you understand him better than anyone. human or dragon.

and that's all you need.

"i know." he leans in until you're inches away and your eyes flutter closed when he nuzzles his nose against your tenderly. he places his forehead against yours in a way you can only describe as loving. "i know." he whispers again.

"but i won't leave again. i promise." he vows, rubbing his nose against your cheek. the gesture feels very animal like and you giggle a little. he huffs against your cheek in amusement. "you're mine, you've always been. i know that—i'm sure of it now." he corrects "so i'm not goin' anywhere." he's so close. just like that night.

you want to let go, want to give yourself to him and trust him but there's something holding you back. katsuki can tell you're doubtful. he nudges his head against your softly, "talk to me." he urges.

"i just..i'm scared.." you admit "what if things don't work out ? i really, really like you katsuki." your voice trembles and your bottom lip wobbles the slightest bit "i don't want you to go away again.." he shakes his head adamntly, his hair tickles against your forehead. he breathes a sigh and pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes properly.

"i don't know how the future will turn out, or what's gonna happen." he knocks his forehead against yours again "but that doesn't scare me. mostly cus i'm not scared of anything," you roll your eyes but you can't help the chuckle that rips out of you. he smiles, obviously proud of his joke.

"but also because i know you're it for me. no matter what happens, i trust that i'll always come back to you." he seems to realize he's been awfully out of character. a cute blush grows on his face but that doesn't deter him in the slightest, as his eyes stay fixed on you. it makes chills run down your spine.

"you..were made for me. that's all i need." he closes his eyes, embarrasment catching up to him. you smile at how adorable your cranky dragon man could be when he wanted to be.

that's all he needs. you're all he needs. the thought fills your body with so much warmth and love.

you bring your hands up to his cheeks. he opens his eyes. looking down at you with half lidded eyes and so much affection it makes you giddy.

"what is your heart telling you right now ?"

you smile up at him, a watery giggle slips past your lips.

" i love you."

you trust yourself. you trust katsuki. you trust your love for him.

his eyes widen. and suddenly he's leaning down and all he gives you as a warning is a breathy whisper of your name. you don't think twice when you nod your head fervently and then he's closing the distance and kissing you.

in a second it's like you feel whole. it's like he breathes life into you with the kiss he presses onto your lips. and the next one, and the one after that.

he pulls back to catch his breath for no less than three seconds before he's stealing yours away again. but you don't mind in the slightest. you'd give all of yourself up willingly to him. you wish you could stay close with him, holding onto him like this forever.

but then there's a sudden sharp pain in your lip.

"ouch !" you yelp. katsuki immediatly pulls back, eyes racking over your face until he notices red on your lip. you lick at your bottom lip and taste blood. you look up at him, a mix of amusement and suprise on your features. after a second, you let out a chuckle.

"guess you missed me lots, huh ?" you laugh some more when he growls at you. trying his best to seem somewhat intimidating despite the state he's in. he's breathing heavy and he's sweating a little bit, cheeks fully red.

"b-be quiet, human." he leans down and licks the blood off your lip. it flusters you despite him meaning it innocently, dragons are way more direct when it comes to physical affection, it seemed. "i'll roast you alive."

"no you won't, liar." you answer arrogantly. you bring your arms to rest around his neck, your hands play around with the hair on his nape. "you like me too much."

"you're gettin' real cocky, aren't ya ?"

"am i wrong ?" you counter. he narrows his eyes at your challenge but lowers his head in defeat soon after. he shakes his head with a chuckle. "no, guess you're not." he concedes.

"you guess ?" you tease.

"don't push your luck, loser." he nips at your nose, and you giggle. he snarls at you when you tug at his horn, but he can't hide the smile on his face.

"i—uh." he looks away, off to the side towards your tv "love. you. too..or whatever you humans say.." he confesses shyly. too much direct eye contact for one day, it seems. you giggle, then lean in and press a sweet kiss to his lips. it takes him a second before he eases into it. slowly, just as passionately as the first time, but you both know there's no rush to let each other know how you feel. you've got all the time in the world together.

"i'm glad.." you say once you pull away. "so, can i assume that means you're back now?" you joke.

"i told you i'm not goin' nowhere. you're mine." he asserts " i'm back." he states with a fanged grin.

you smile wider at his words. you're smiling so hard your cheeks start to hurt but you really don't mind "welcome back." you answer lovingly.

this feels right. this feels like where you both belong. he's back.

back where he belongs.

you pat his nape "to make yourself back at home, you can make me breakfast !" you chirp. "you owe me at least twenty five homemade dinners too, so you'd better get to work." you laugh out loud when he pokes at your side with one hand, with the one on your face squeezing your cheeks out.

"cheeky brat, already puttin' me to work, hah ?!" he grins "i guess i do owe you dinner though, but definitely not fuckin' twenty five of 'em !" you both laugh at each other some more and you wish all of your days with him here could feel like this. but even if they don't, you're not worried. as long as you're together, you know everything will be okay. you trust that with all your heart.

"katsuki ?" you start after a moment. he hums in response, urging you to continue while he nibbles and presses smooches on your shoulder. you smile, you're so incredibly happy.

"fix up my damn wall, would you ?"

and here it is yall, the final chapter ! thank you all sooooo much for the overwhelming amount of love for this silly lil series. i couldn't be happier that you guys liked this fic just as much as i did writing it ! and i hope this ending makes yall happy (cuz some of yall were losin it last chap LOLOLOL) take this super fluffy ending as an apology for that then !! much luvv <333

taglist ! : @sikuthealien @rosemarygalaxy @guccirosegold @queenpiranhadon @k0z3me @katsuisbaby @lovra974 @katsus-mistress @briokayama @sixxze @lupikekee @nymphsdomain @berryvioo @roboticsuccubus83 @yao-ai @haruesme @omayrac @raatass @touyasprettydoll

[hyuniemyunie]

Doubt

one punch man characters x reader

sfw

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(ФωФ): hurt/comfort, fluff, established relationship, reverse comfort.

all gn, except saitama, i didnt use any fem prns or nothing but theres mentions of reader wearing a bra and having breasts, soo..

saitama, genos, tatsumaki, metal bat, sonic, garou, fubuki

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･

In the Quiet, You Hold Me

It was a quiet day.

A still, unmoving day.

The kind that Saitama usually didn’t mind.

No monsters were terrorizing the city. The world wasn’t falling apart. Genos was out running errands, and the Hero Association hadn’t contacted him for any low-level jobs in over a week.

So in that little apartment that was still too small for how much love filled it, the air was calm. No explosions, no emergency alerts. Just the hum of the fridge, the occasional passing car, and the sound of you flipping a page in the book you were reading.

Saitama was lying across the couch, his head comfortably nestled between your breasts. You’d long since stopped wearing a bra around him at home—it was one of those silent love languages between you. He liked the softness. The warmth. The steady beat of your heart. And you… well, you liked spoiling him.

He never asked for it out loud, but every time he sat down and glanced at your chest with that soft, subtle flick of his eyes—just once, never twice—you knew exactly what he wanted.

And you always gave it to him.

His face was buried slightly against your skin now, warm cheek resting against your bare cleavage as he laid there like a lazy cat. One of your hands combed gently through his scalp, dragging your nails across it with soft, rhythmic scratches. The other held your book steady, reading lazily while his breath fanned against your chest.

“I could stay like this forever,” you murmured.

Saitama hummed, almost inaudibly. But it was lacking something. The usual weight in his hum—the relaxed, content sound he made when he was completely at peace—wasn’t there.

You paused.

Your fingers moved slowly down to the side of his face, cupping it gently. He didn’t resist, but he didn’t lean into it like he usually did either. That made your stomach twist.

“Babe?” you asked softly, lowering your book.

His eyes were open, staring at nothing across the room.

“Mm,” he grunted.

“Something wrong?” you tilted your head, peering down at him.

He hesitated for a second. Just a second too long.

“No,” he said.

You frowned.

“Try again. This time without lying.”

He shut his eyes, sighed out through his nose, and let the silence settle again. That was the problem with him sometimes—he didn’t know how to talk. He could say the most off-handed things without realizing how much they weighed. And other times, when it really mattered, he got stuck.

You set your book down, both hands cradling his face now.

“You’re thinking a lot,” you said. “Too much. And not in your usual ‘What should I eat for lunch’ kind of way.”

He grunted again.

“C’mon. What’s going on in that shiny little head of yours?”

“…It’s nothing,” he muttered.

You gave him the look. He cracked one eye open, met your gaze, and immediately shut it again like a turtle retreating into its shell.

“…It’s really not a big deal,” he tried.

“That’s not what your face is saying.”

He was silent again. But this time, you could feel something shifting in his expression, something subtle and vulnerable. You could feel the tension in his jaw under your thumb.

“I don’t get you,” he finally muttered. “You know that?”

You blinked. “Me?”

“Yeah.”

He shifted just enough to tilt his face up at you, resting his chin now between your breasts instead of his cheek, and for once, his eyes were serious. Really serious. It almost caught you off guard.

“I’m… boring.”

You blinked again. Your lips parted, confused, waiting for more. He sat up slowly—not too far, but enough to leave the comfort of your chest—and stared at the floor.

“I’m not romantic. I’m not interesting. I’m not even cute.”

You stared at him.

“Saitama…”

He laughed once. Not bitter, not mocking. Just… hollow.

“I think about it a lot. How you could be with anyone. Anyone more exciting. Someone who knows how to flirt, or take you on real dates, or has more than three facial expressions.”

He rubbed the back of his neck and kept going.

“You could’ve fallen for a guy with a personality. Or a hobby that isn’t grocery sales. Someone who doesn’t kill monsters in one punch and come home with blood on their shoes. Hell, someone with hair.”

You felt your heart twist, the weight of his words sinking into your chest. This wasn’t something fleeting. These were thoughts that had been building. Heavy and festering, tucked away under his nonchalant tone and lazy smiles.

“You really think I care about any of that?” you whispered.

He looked away.

“That’s just it. I don’t know what you care about,” he mumbled. “I never asked. I just assumed one day you’d get tired of… this. Of me. And I guess I started wondering why you haven’t yet.”

Your eyes stung.

God, he was so stupid sometimes. Stupid in the most lovable, heartbreaking way.

You leaned in slowly, cupping his jaw and turning his face back to you.

“Saitama. Look at me.”

He did. Reluctantly, hesitantly. His eyes were uncertain, something aching sitting just beneath the surface.

“I love you,” you said plainly. Firmly. “Not because you’re romantic. Or interesting. Or even for your looks. I love you. The man who lets me hold him like a teddy bear on the couch. Who gets excited about discounted leeks. Who lets me see him like this—quiet, vulnerable, soft.”

His breath caught slightly.

“I love how your voice sounds when you’re half-asleep. I love how you get genuinely confused when someone compliments you. I love how you try to act like nothing matters, but the moment someone insults a friend, your fists are already clenched.”

You reached forward and pressed your forehead to his.

“I don’t want dates. I want you. I want lazy days and dumb jokes and holding you like this until the world disappears. I want to be here when you wake up, when you’re moody, when your hoodie smells like garlic and soap and I still pull you into bed anyway.”

His hands slowly reached up, settling against your waist like he was afraid to touch you. Like he was afraid he might lose you if he held too tight.

“…Really?” he asked softly.

You smiled. A small, watery one.

“Really. I’d scream it from the rooftops if you wanted.”

He snorted—finally—a real laugh this time, and you felt his grip tighten just a little.

“…Can you do something better?” he said.

You raised a brow. “Better?”

He leaned in closer, his face burying itself back between your breasts, arms wrapping around your waist as he pulled you gently into him like you were the last pillow in the universe.

“Just stay like this,” he mumbled. “Forever.”

You melted.

“I can do that.”

Your fingers resumed their soft combing through his scalp, your other hand rubbing gentle circles along his back. He was warm. So warm. Not in the heat-of-a-fire way, but in the way a bed feels after you’ve been snuggled in it for hours. Familiar. Safe.

“…Do you know what I think?” you whispered.

He mumbled something into your chest. You took that as a yes.

“I think you don’t realize how much you’ve saved me.”

He looked up slightly.

“I’ve had other relationships,” you said. “Ones where I was constantly trying to be enough. To do enough. Say the right things. Wear the right clothes. But with you? I can just be. And you never make me feel like I have to be anything else.”

He blinked at you, his eyes wide. He didn’t speak, so you cupped his cheek and leaned down until your lips brushed his.

“You’re more than enough, Saitama. I wouldn’t trade your one-punch ass for the world.”

He chuckled into the kiss, lips pressing against yours with a quiet desperation. Not heated. Not lustful. Just… needing.

When you pulled away, he sighed against your skin, forehead still pressed to your sternum.

“…What if I forget this tomorrow?” he mumbled. “What if I start doubting it again?”

You kissed the top of his head.

“Then I’ll tell you again. And again. Every time you need to hear it.”

He was quiet for a long moment. Then he shifted, turning to the side and pulling you with him until the both of you were lying on the couch, tangled together. His head was still resting between your chest, arms wrapped tight around your middle like you were the only anchor in a sea of doubt.

“…You’re warm,” he murmured.

You smiled against his crown.

“So are you.”

And in that moment, you didn’t need anything else.

No grand gestures. No romantic getaways. Just the feel of his weight against you, the steady rhythm of your heartbeat, and the knowledge that no matter how many monsters he could punch away in one hit—this was the one thing he couldn’t destroy.

Your love for him. Constant. Steady.

And entirely his.

When Circuits Slow Down

The heater clicked softly in the background.

Your apartment smelled like clean laundry and warm tea, with a faint edge of metal and engine oil. It always did when Genos was around. That subtle, sharp scent of burnt circuitry and ozone—like he’d been pushing himself too hard again. Like he hadn’t powered down properly since his last mission. Like he couldn’t stop working, couldn’t stop trying.

He was seated on the edge of your bed now, legs spread slightly, posture perfect—always perfect, always stiff like he didn’t know how to relax in a space that was built to hold comfort. His hands rested on his thighs, metal fingers twitching once in a while. A nervous tic he didn’t even realize he had.

The TV played something faint in the living room. You’d left it on as background noise. Just voices, something human, something real to fill the silence he carried in with him.

You leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed lightly. Watching him.

He was looking down at the floor like it was going to give him answers.

“Genos.”

He didn’t lift his head. His voice was low, even. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.” You took a step forward, then another. “I was waiting for you.”

Silence.

The kind that made your chest feel heavy.

You crossed the room slowly, dropping to your knees in front of him. His eyes lifted, finally—those glowing irises catching the low bedroom light. Even now, even like this, they were steady. Controlled. Every movement he made was deliberate. Calculated. He didn’t move an inch unless it was serving a purpose.

You reached for his hand. He didn’t pull away.

“Bad fight?” you asked.

He shook his head once. “It was routine. No casualties.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

He hesitated.

You rubbed your thumb gently over the back of his hand, you’d learned a long time ago how to read his tells. He never really relaxed. But you could tell when he was close. When he let himself be vulnerable. When he needed you.

And right now, he needed you, he just didn’t know how to say it.

“…I saw a couple today,” he said quietly. “At the station. Before the mission.”

You waited, not interrupting.

“They were just… talking. She was laughing. Touching his arm. He was smiling at her like nothing else in the world existed.” His voice dropped, mechanical but somehow fragile. “And I realized I’ve never looked at you like that.”

That caught you off guard.

You blinked. “What?”

“I want to,” he said, a little too fast. “I want to give you those things. That kind of life. But I’m not—” His jaw clenched. “I’m not human.”

Your stomach sank.

You sat back on your heels, hand still holding his. “Genos…”

“I can’t give you warmth,” he said. “Or grow old with you. Or hold you with real arms. Or kiss you without you tasting metal. I can’t give you a family. Or safety. Or—” He shut his eyes. “I’m trying to be something better. I’m trying so hard. But I’ll never be enough for someone like you.”

Your heart squeezed.

It wasn’t the first time he’d said something like this. But it was the first time he’d meant it like this.

So raw. So still. Like if you moved the wrong way, he’d shut down entirely.

You stood slowly, easing yourself into his lap, straddling his thighs with your hands resting on his shoulders. He stiffened out of habit but didn’t stop you.

“Genos,” you said softly. “Look at me.”

He did.

You cupped his face gently, his expression was blank, but you could feel the tension in him, the confusion. The pain of not knowing how to feel something and the fear that if he did, he might break apart.

“I don’t need a normal life,” you said. “I don’t need someone with a heartbeat or a future carved in stone or a perfect smile. I don’t even need to be looked at the way strangers do on TV.”

Your fingers traced along the side of his face. “I need you. The person who sits up with me when I can’t sleep. Who remembers exactly how I like my tea. Who keeps spare clothes in his chest compartment just because he knows I’m forgetful. The man who lets me hold his hand when he’s short-circuiting and lets me kiss him even when he’s terrified I’ll think he’s cold.”

His breath hitched.

You leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his. “You’re not broken, Genos. You’re trying. That means more to me than anything else ever could.”

His hands came up slowly, hesitantly, resting on your hips like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch you right now. Like he was afraid he’d ruin the moment just by existing in it.

“You could have anyone,” he whispered.

“I chose you.”

That made something inside him shift.

You felt his grip tighten, the lines in his shoulders ease just a little. You kissed the corner of his mouth, then leaned into his chest, letting your weight fall into him until he finally—finally—wrapped his arms around you.

You didn’t say anything for a while. Just sat there, breathing with him. Letting the quiet settle between you like a blanket.

After a while, he spoke again. Softer.

“I’m scared I won’t be enough.”

“You already are,” you murmured.

“And if I lose you—”

“You won’t.”

He pressed his forehead to your shoulder.

You held him tighter.

That night, you let him power down beside you for the first time in days. He laid still while you traced every plate of metal, every scarred seam, every line he didn’t see as beautiful.

You made tea.

You left the window open a crack so the cold air would make it easier to snuggle under blankets.

He laid beside you, quiet, stiff, uncertain.

And you reached for him.

Draped your arm across his waist, rested your cheek against the smooth plate of his chest.

“You know what I see when I look at you?” you asked softly.

He looked down at you, hesitant.

You smiled against his chest. “I see someone who makes me feel safe. Someone who tries. Who never gives up. Someone who holds my world together even when he thinks he’s falling apart.”

“…That doesn’t sound like me,” he whispered.

“It is.”

You pulled the blanket tighter.

“You just haven’t learned how to see yourself the way I do yet.”

Eventually, you both fell asleep like that.

You, breathing slow and steady against the cold metal of his frame.

And Genos, curled slightly around you, engines quiet, arms secure, systems dimmed low in the warmth of someone who saw him—and loved him anyway.

Gravity Doesn’t Hold Me Down, You Do

Tatsumaki wasn’t known for being gentle.

Or soft.

Or warm.

She was chaos in a small, compact frame. All power and sharp words, hair as wild as her temper, eyes glowing with authority. The world knew her as the Tornado of Terror, the psychic prodigy, the fearsome S-Class heroine who could rip apart entire cities with a thought if she was pushed far enough.

But you knew her differently.

Because behind closed doors—when the world stopped demanding her strength, when she didn’t have to pretend to be invincible—Tatsumaki could melt.

And she melted only for you.

It was a slow, lazy afternoon. Rain tapping lightly against the windows of your shared apartment. The city below was muted, bathed in grays and mist, and even the usual sirens and chaos of hero life felt distant.

Tatsumaki hovered mid-air lazily, sprawled belly-down just a few feet above your couch. Her tiny frame was wrapped in one of your oversized sweaters—green, of course. Her bare legs kicked aimlessly in the air as she watched the television screen with half-lidded eyes, arms folded beneath her chin. She was pretending not to be sleepy, but you knew better. That sweater had always made her drowsy.

“You’re gonna fall asleep midair again,” you teased gently from where you sat beside her, pulling a fuzzy blanket over your legs.

She gave a little huff and squinted at you over her shoulder. “Am not. I’m just… recharging.” Her voice was clipped but not cold, and you caught the way the corner of her mouth twitched upward.

“Mmhm. Last time you ‘recharged’ you nearly dropped into the ramen bowl.”

“Shut up,” she muttered, but she didn’t sound angry. In fact, she floated down until her head settled on your thigh, face half-buried into your lap, arms flopping limply. Her hair tickled your stomach, and her aura calmed until it was nearly imperceptible.

You didn’t say anything for a while, just ran your fingers through her wild, mint-green curls, letting the silence fill with softness. Tatsumaki let out a small sigh—so soft you almost missed it—and nuzzled closer to your warmth.

These moments were rare. The world expected her to be a weapon. Unshakable. Alone. She was told she didn’t need anyone, that attachments were weaknesses. She had told herself the same, once.

And then… you.

You, with your steady hands, warm smiles, and refusal to fear her. You, who looked at her not like a ticking bomb but like a woman who got tired sometimes. You, who never tried to fix her or push her. Who let her float when she needed to float and held her when she needed anchoring.

Still, even in moments like this, when she was quiet and open and practically purring into your lap, you could feel it—that little coil of tension beneath her skin. Something twisting. Something uncertain.

You traced a slow path down her spine, feeling the rigid set of her back despite her soft exterior. “Talk to me,” you murmured.

“I’m fine,” she said immediately, voice muffled by your sweater.

Liar.

“Okay,” you said, letting the word sit there. You didn’t push her. She hated that. But you kept petting her, slow and rhythmic, grounding.

“…You’re being weird today,” she mumbled after a while.

You raised a brow. “Weird how?”

“I dunno. You’re just… looking at me all soft.”

You smiled. “I always look at you soft.”

“Tch. Gross.” But her cheeks were tinged pink.

“Maybe I’m allowed to be a little gross with the person I love.”

There it was. The flicker. Her body went still for a heartbeat too long. You didn’t stop running your fingers through her hair. You didn’t press. But you saw her eyes flick to the TV, then to the wall, then finally down to her own fingers as they toyed with the hem of your sweater.

“…Hey,” she said eventually, voice quiet. “Do you… think I’m hard to love?”

Your heart stuttered.

You turned off the TV with the remote and looked down at her, but her eyes wouldn’t meet yours. “Tatsu…”

She shifted on your lap, voice tight. “I don’t mean just now. I mean… in general. Always. I know I’m short and loud and annoying and kind of a bitch—”

“You’re not—”

“—And I know I don’t act like other people do in relationships. I don’t say nice things all the time, I don’t really like touching people—except you—and I’ve done terrible stuff. I lose control. People hate me. I can feel it when they look at me. Like I’m just this… dangerous thing they’re forced to tolerate. Even other heroes treat me like I’m some weapon they can’t point the wrong way.”

She laughed, and it was hollow.

“Sometimes I wonder if you’re just the only person dumb enough to think I’m worth it.”

The words hit like cold water, and your chest ached just hearing them. You moved gently, urging her to sit up, and to your surprise, she let you. You cradled her face in your hands, her cheeks warm and pink, eyes glassy but defiant.

“Tatsumaki,” you said, voice firm. “you are not hard to love. You are hard on yourself.”

Her eyes flickered, lips parting slightly. You pressed your forehead to hers, breathing her in.

“I love you when you’re loud. I love you when you’re quiet. I love you when you’re mad, when you’re smug, when you curl up in my sweaters like they’re your emotional support items. I love you when you’re throwing meteors at monsters and when you’re falling asleep on my lap. I love you.”

She blinked quickly, trying to disguise it as irritation, but you saw the wetness gathering at the corners of her eyes.

“You don’t have to act a certain way to deserve love, Tatsu. You are loveable. Exactly as you are.”

Her lower lip trembled, and for a terrifying second, you thought she was going to float away. But instead… she launched herself at you, burying her face into your chest and wrapping her arms around your waist like a vice.

“…I don’t want to lose this,” she whispered.

“You won’t.”

“I don’t know how to be… normal.”

“You don’t need to be.”

Silence. And then, muffled into your shoulder: “…You really love me?”

You smiled, wrapping your arms around her small frame, rocking gently. “More than anything, baby. You keep me grounded.”

Tatsumaki snorted, the tiniest of laughs bubbling up. “That was cheesy as hell.”

“And you loved it.”

“Shut up,” she whispered, clinging tighter. “…Don’t let me go.”

“Never,” you promised.

The rain kept falling, a soft lullaby for the two souls curled up together—one a storm of power barely contained, the other the eye of that storm.

And maybe Tatsumaki didn’t know how to say I love you in a thousand words. But she didn’t need to. Not when she said it in every act of trust, every moment she let herself be small, every time she let her guard down just for you.

Because some people love like sunshine.

Some love like spring rain.

But Tatsumaki?

She loved like a natural disaster—loud, wild, destructive—

And you loved her with the kind of quiet that could hold all that power and still never flinch.

And together, you made your own kind of calm.

Too Fast to Catch, Except By You

Speed-o’-Sound Sonic was a blur.

A name whispered like a warning.

A blur of purple, danger, and death.

The shinobi no one could touch, the assassin who turned battle into ballet, the rogue who could outpace anyone but his own thoughts.

He was known as a ghost in the wind. Elusive. Untouchable. Cold.

Except with you.

With you, Sonic wasn’t a storm. He was a still night. A silent snowfall. A breath between heartbeats. The fleeting softness he never let the world see.

Because you… you caught him.

And he let you.

It was the kind of night you could only get away from the city. Quiet. Crickets chirping lazily in the tall grass, moonlight bleeding silver across the forest floor. You sat outside the small cabin he’d whisked you away to for the week—hidden, safe, and far from the chaos of heroes, villains, and Saitama-related rage fits.

You wore one of his tops, perfect for sleeping in. Your legs were curled beneath you on the wooden porch, a cup of tea warming your hands as the breeze tugged gently at your hair.

Then—like always—he was suddenly there.

No sound. No footsteps. Just one moment empty air, and the next, Sonic crouched in front of you, sharp eyes scanning your face.

You didn’t flinch. You never did.

You simply smiled, soft and knowing. “Hey.”

He blinked once, twice. His expression didn’t change, but you saw it—the tiny, nearly imperceptible release of tension in his shoulders. The faintest shift from combat-mode to something… gentler.

“…Hi,” he said at last, his voice low, quiet.

You reached out, brushing a piece of windblown hair from his cheek. “Rough night?”

He didn’t answer at first. Just looked at you. That kind of long stare he only gave you when his head was full and his throat was heavy with unsaid things.

Then, without a word, he moved—and sat beside you, back against the porch railing, legs stretched out. His arm brushed yours. Close, but not clinging.

You waited. You always waited. And after a few minutes, he finally spoke.

“…Sometimes I think I’m a fool for this.”

Your heart gave a small jolt. “For what?”

“This,” he gestured vaguely toward you—your shared quiet, your closeness, the warmth of your hand near his. “You. Us.”

You turned to him fully, blinking. “Why?”

He didn’t look at you. His eyes were fixed somewhere deep in the trees. “Because it’s not what I’m built for. I’m a weapon. I was raised to kill. I sleep with a blade under my pillow. I’ve slit throats for less than the way you smile at me.”

You were silent. You knew better than to interrupt. Sonic didn’t open up easily. His heart was a trap-rigged room, and you were one of the few ever invited in.

“I’ve spent my life running. Fighting. Being feared. I don’t know how to be someone’s… person. Someone’s comfort. I don’t know how to stay.”

He swallowed. His voice lowered.

“And I think… one day, you’ll realize that. That I’m not normal. That I’m not good for you. That you deserve someone softer, safer.”

Now your hand reached for his. He flinched at first, always a little shocked by gentle contact, but let you lace your fingers through his.

“Do you want me to leave?” you asked softly.

His head snapped toward you, alarmed. “No—!”

“Then why are you trying to convince yourself I should?”

That shut him up.

You scooted closer, letting your head rest against his shoulder. “Sonic… loving you was never about finding someone normal. I don’t want soft and slow. I want you. All of you.”

His throat worked in a tight swallow, and his brows drew together like he couldn’t decide if this was comforting or dangerous.

“I know you’ve been through hell. I know you weren’t raised to be held. I know you see yourself as a weapon. But you are more than that. You are capable of love, of softness, of choosing something besides survival.”

You looked up at him, and he looked like he was about to crack wide open. Not with tears—he didn’t cry. But with ache. The kind that crept behind the ribs and sank its claws in.

“And I’m not scared of you,” you whispered. “Not your speed. Not your skills. Not your past. I’m not scared of the person you were, or the one you’re still becoming.”

You kissed his knuckles. He was stone-still.

“You don’t need to run anymore,” you whispered. “You’ve already made it home.”

And that—that was the breaking point.

Not a dramatic sob. Not a trembling gasp. Just Sonic slowly, cautiously, folding in on himself and letting his head rest against yours.

“…I don’t know how to be loved like this,” he murmured.

“You don’t have to know how,” you said, pulling him gently into your lap, your fingers carding through his dark hair. “You just have to let yourself be.”

He clung to you tighter than any blade.

Later that night, when the cabin was wrapped in darkness and your heartbeat was a lullaby in the silence, Sonic lay in bed with his head on your chest. Your fingers trailed lightly over his back, and he breathed—slow, even, like someone learning peace one inhale at a time.

You felt his lips brush your collarbone.

“…I’m still dangerous,” he whispered.

You smiled, kissed the top of his head. “Then be dangerous for me.”

And for once, Speed-o’-Sound Sonic—the untouchable, the lightning bolt, the living blade—didn’t run.

He stayed.

He chose to stay.

With you.

Even Monsters Need Love

Garou never really figured out how this happened.

Not the monster stuff—that part he knew. He had reasons, motives, a whole philosophy tattooed into the marrow of his bones. The world was rotten, heroes were glorified bullies, and he’d made it his personal mission to flip the damn system on its head. He was going to show the world what it really looked like when the "villain" won.

No, what he didn’t understand was you.

You, with your soft voice and stubborn patience. You, who somehow saw past the blood and the bounties and the entire list of Class S heroes who wanted to take his head off like a prize.

You, who fed him when he was starving, patched him up when he should’ve been dead, and told him—straight-faced and infuriatingly sincere—that he wasn’t a monster.

You’d stayed.

Even when he told you to leave.

That was months ago now.

Now you were living in some busted, half-forgotten hideout he’d fixed up with stolen supplies and calloused hands. The place looked like hell from the outside, and the inside wasn’t much better—except for the couch you insisted on cleaning, the half-functioning kitchen you somehow made magic in, and the pile of blankets on the mattress where you slept tangled up in each other every night.

It wasn’t romantic in the storybook sense.

Garou didn’t whisper poetry. He didn’t make grand gestures or write love letters or light candles for dinner. What he did do was pull you behind him when trouble showed up. What he did do was fight harder when he knew you were watching. What he did do was come home—bloodied, bruised, bone-tired—and collapse into your arms like you were the only safe place left in the world.

He never said “I love you.”

But he looked at you like the words were burning in his throat.

Tonight felt heavier than usual.

He hadn’t said much since he stumbled through the door, and that wasn’t too out of character—Garou didn’t talk much after fights—but this time was different. You could tell from the way he moved. Not just tired. Dragging.

His shoulders were hunched. His eyes weren’t focused. He dropped his jacket on the floor, didn’t bother with food or water, and slumped onto the couch without a word.

You approached slowly, carefully, like you would a wounded animal. Which, honestly, wasn’t far off.

“You’re back early,” you said, keeping your voice quiet.

He didn’t answer.

You sat down beside him, close but not touching, giving him space to come to you on his own. Sometimes he needed that. Sometimes he didn’t know how to ask for comfort.

Minutes passed like hours.

Finally, his voice cracked the silence.

“I got my ass handed to me.”

You blinked. “Garou…”

“Didn’t even stand a fuckin’ chance.” His voice was low, tight, almost hoarse. “Didn’t matter how fast I was, or how hard I hit. They wiped the floor with me.”

You reached out, brushing your fingers against his arm.

“Are you hurt?”

He shook his head. “Not really. Just… bruised. But it’s not about that.”

You waited.

He exhaled—harsh, frustrated—and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands raking through his silver hair. He looked like he wanted to rip it out by the roots.

“Tell me something,” he muttered. “Why the fuck are you still here?”

That made you freeze.

“…What?”

He looked at you then—really looked. His eyes were tired. Raw. No bravado. No smirk. No sarcastic quip. Just Garou, stripped down to nothing but skin and scars.

“I keep coming back half-dead, covered in blood, talking about tearing down the whole goddamn world. I scare people. I scare myself sometimes. And you… you just keep being here.”

His voice cracked on the last word, and he clenched his fists, like he was trying to hold himself together.

“I don’t get it. I don’t deserve it. I’m not a hero. I’m not even a good person. I don’t do flowers, or dates, or soft bullshit. I’m angry all the time. I’ve killed things. People. You know that.”

You moved before he could spiral further, climbing into his lap and cupping his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you.

“You don’t scare me, Garou.”

His jaw clenched. “You should.”

“I don’t.”

“Why not?” he barked, voice rising. “You should! I’m the fuckin’ Human Monster! I’m—”

“You’re Garou.”

You didn’t yell. You didn’t match his volume. You just said it like it was the simplest truth in the world.

“You’re Garou. You’re stubborn, and reckless, and too proud for your own good. You don’t know how to sit still, and you punch holes in walls when you’re mad, and you act like you don’t care even when you care so damn much it eats you alive.”

Your voice softened, but your hands didn’t leave his face.

“And I love you for all of it. Not because you’re perfect. Not because you’re soft. But because you fight so hard to be something different, even when the world tells you you can’t.”

He stared at you like you’d cracked open his ribcage and were holding his heart in your palms.

“I love you when you win. I love you when you lose. I love you when you come home limping and pissed and bleeding, because you came home. Because you chose me. Again and again.”

Tears weren’t something Garou did. Not really.

But his throat bobbed like he was swallowing back something big and painful, and his hands gripped your waist like if he let go, he might fall apart.

“I’m not good at this,” he mumbled.

“You don’t have to be.”

“I don’t know how to be… enough.”

You leaned in, resting your forehead against his.

“You’re already more than enough. Just like this.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just breathed. Let it wash over him. And then, slowly, his arms slid around you, pulling you close, burying his face in your neck like he was hiding.

“…Stay with me.”

“Always.”

You didn’t move for a long time. You stayed there with him on the couch, the night stretching around you both like a blanket. Eventually, he started to talk—not about the fight, but about the thoughts that kept him up at night. The way he never felt like anything he did mattered. The way people looked at him like he was broken. The way he wanted to believe you, but didn’t know how.

And you listened.

You didn’t try to fix it. You didn’t tell him to stop feeling it. You just stayed. Held him through the worst of it. Let him fall apart in pieces instead of shattering alone.

And in that moment, he realized something.

You weren’t a weakness.

You weren’t a distraction.

You were the only thing in this whole shitty, bloodstained world that made him want to be something more.

Not a monster.

Not a hero.

Just… a man.

Your man.

And that, maybe, was the scariest thing of all.

But for once, it didn’t make him want to run.

It made him want to stay.

More Than a Pretty Face

People called her The Blizzard of Hell.

Sharp. Commanding. Beautiful in that untouchable, ice-queen way. Her reputation stormed ahead of her—calculated, driven, deadly.

And when you first met her, she was all those things.

Fubuki didn’t let people in. She didn’t need to. Not when she had psychic prowess, designer heels, and a perfectly tailored reputation.

But then you… happened.

You, with your warmth. Your laughter. Your stupid nicknames. The way you called her “pretty lady” drove her insane. Until it didn’t.

Until she found herself missing the sound of your voice when she went a day without hearing it. Until she started saving you the best parts of her favorite pastries. Until her team started whispering about how she actually smiled now and then.

And now, she was yours.

Fubuki—The Blizzard of Hell—was yours. Lip gloss kisses and all.

It was supposed to be a lazy evening. Just the two of you tangled up on her couch, some trashy drama show playing in the background, your head in her lap and her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on your arm.

You were mid-sentence about something dumb—probably that actor you claimed was “definitely into older women and you could fix him”—when her touch faltered.

You blinked up at her. “What’s wrong?”

Fubuki hesitated, fingers frozen on your skin. Her eyes weren’t on you—they were distant, unfocused.

“…Do you ever feel like I’m just… a package?”

Your eyebrows drew together. “What?”

She swallowed. Her voice, when she spoke again, was quieter than you were used to. Like it was fighting past the steel-reinforced pride in her chest.

“I mean, like—just something nice to look at. Big boobs, pretty face, expensive clothes. Like that’s all people see when they look at me. When they talk to me. Even when they date me.”

Your heart twinged.

You sat up slowly, the show still playing forgotten behind you. “Fubuki…”

She turned her face away, eyes locked on some invisible thread of thought across the room. “Everyone treats me like I’m a prize. Like I’m just this image. If I’m not perfectly put together, I’m failing. If I’m not powerful enough, pretty enough, impressive enough, then I’m… disposable.”

Her lip trembled. Just barely.

“And sometimes I wonder if… even you will start to see me that way, too.”

And damn, didn’t that shatter you.

You reached for her hands—those perfectly manicured, strong hands—and held them between yours.

“Fubuki. Babe. My beautiful gorgeous little drama queen.”

That almost got a smile. Almost.

You leaned in, cupping her face gently. “You think I fell in love with you because of your looks? Your clothes? Your titties?”

She gave you a sharp look. “Don’t call them that when I’m being vulnerable.”

You laughed softly. “Okay, okay. I’m serious though.”

Your voice dropped, gentle but firm.

“I love you because you’re you. Because you fight like hell to protect people—even when they don’t say thank you. Because you pretend you’re fine when you’re not, and still find a way to win. Because you let your team believe you’re invincible so they can feel safe.”

You brushed your thumb along her cheek.

“And because when it’s just us, you let yourself rest. You let yourself be. You let me see the real you. The scared you. The messy you. The one who steals my hoodies and talks shit during movies and eats dessert first.”

Her lashes fluttered, tears trembling there but not falling.

“I don’t want the image of Fubuki. I want you. The woman who gets overwhelmed. Who doubts herself. Who cries sometimes, and still wakes up the next day in six-inch heels and runs a team of psychics like a goddess.”

You kissed her knuckles.

“I’m not going anywhere. Not for the glamour. Not for the boobs. Not even for the killer legs.”

She sniffed. “They are killer, though.”

You grinned. “Oh, absolutely. They’re criminal. But that’s just the icing. You? You’re the whole damn cake.”

That did it.

She finally smiled, watery and fierce and beautiful. And then, without warning, she leaned in and hugged you tight—arms wrapped around your waist, face buried in your shoulder.

“I hate when you say corny stuff like that,” she muttered.

“I know,” you whispered, pressing a kiss into her hair. “But it makes you feel better.”

“…Yeah. It does.”

You held her close, running your fingers down her back, feeling the tension bleed out of her bit by bit.

Later, you’d help her take off her makeup—something she never let anyone do—and she’d lean into your hands like it was the first time in her life someone had ever touched her like she was soft instead of strong.

And as you climbed into bed together, her curled against your chest with her eyeliner faint on your pillow, she whispered:

“Thank you.”

You kissed her forehead.

“Always, baby.”

And if your hand drifted a little to those famous..assests while you cuddled?

Well. You were only human.

All This Steel, Still Soft for You

You’d seen him take down monsters the size of buildings with nothing but a metal bat and a whole lot of bad attitude.

You’d watched him charge headfirst into fights with blood in his mouth and a wild grin like he dared death to try him.

You’d seen the bruises. The limps. The bloody knuckles. The stubborn tilt of his chin as he spat red and swore he was fine.

But this—this right here?

This was the softest you’d ever seen Metal Bat.

Flat on his stomach on the couch, cheek squished against your thigh, hair sticking up in all directions, mumbling complaints while you gingerly dabbed antiseptic on a cut across his back.

“This stings worse than the fight,” he grunted, flinching slightly.

“Maybe if you dodged once in a while, you wouldn’t need me to patch you up every other day,” you said, voice teasing but gentle.

He glanced back at you with one eye, the red of it still a little bloodshot from the last punch he took. “Can’t dodge. That’d be like… insultin’ the guy. I gotta take it head-on, y’know? Respect.”

You gave him a look. “Respect doesn’t mean letting yourself get turned into street pizza, Badd.”

“Eh,” he grunted again, but there was a little smile tugging at his lips now.

You’d been dating Metal Bat for over a year. What started as flirty banter in a ramen shop turned into real dates, and those turned into slow mornings, dumb arguments over laundry, falling asleep with his arms around you and his snoring rattling your skull.

He was a lot. Loud, brash, bold. The kind of guy who punched first and didn’t even bother with questions later. Protective to a fault. Loyal beyond reason. And when he loved—god, did he love hard.

But tonight… something was off.

You noticed it after you finished patching him up. He didn’t bounce back like usual, didn’t sit up and demand snacks or tug you into his lap like a human teddy bear.

No. He just stayed there, head down, cheek still pressed against your leg. Quiet.

“…Badd?” you asked softly, brushing your fingers through his wild black hair. “You okay?”

He let out a long sigh through his nose.

“Do you ever think I’m not… enough for you?”

Your heart nearly stopped.

“What?”

He finally turned, sitting up slowly. His battered body creaked in protest, but he didn’t seem to care. His eyes—always full of fire—were dimmer now. Heavy.

“I mean…” He scrubbed a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated with himself. “You’re this smart, sweet person. You’ve got your shit together. You don’t need someone who comes home covered in monster guts and smells like alleyway blood. You could have some doctor or a lawyer or—hell, a normal guy.”

You stared at him, stunned. “Badd, where is this coming from?”

He shrugged, eyes on the floor. “I dunno. Just… was watchin’ you clean up the apartment earlier. You’re always takin’ care of me. I don’t bring much to the table besides bein’ strong and, like, really good at swinging bats.”

You reached out and cupped his face before he could spiral deeper.

“Badd.”

He glanced at you.

“You bring everything to the table.”

He looked skeptical. You didn’t blame him. You knew how he saw himself—just muscle, temper, and instinct. A big brother first, a fighter second, and somewhere way down the list, a man worthy of love.

But you weren’t letting him believe that tonight.

“You think I care about some guy in a suit? I chose you. Loudmouth, reckless, headstrong, bat-swinging you. You know why?”

He blinked. “Why?”

“Because no one’s ever made me feel as safe as you do. No one’s ever fought for me the way you do. You show up. You listen—even if you suck at it sometimes. You protect what’s important. And you love with your whole damn chest, Badd.”

You brushed your thumb over the edge of a bruise on his cheekbone.

“You love me like I’m something worth protecting. And that means more to me than any calm, clean, normal guy ever could.”

He was quiet for a long time. His lips parted like he was gonna say something, but all that came out was a shaky breath.

Then he grabbed you.

Not roughly—not like his usual grab-you-and-toss-you-on-the-bed kind of hug. No, this was different. Slower. Almost hesitant. Like he was worried you might change your mind mid-squeeze.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and tugged him down into your lap.

“Stay here tonight,” you whispered, knowing damn well he’d already planned to.

His arms tightened around you like steel beams.

“…I love ya,” he mumbled into your shoulder, voice rough.

“I love you too,” you said. “Even when you smell like monster guts.”

He snorted. “Hey, that’s my cologne.”

“Ew.”

“Limited edition.”

You giggled, and he nuzzled deeper into your neck, the kind of sigh falling from his lips that only came when he truly let himself relax.

Later, you’d fall asleep with him wrapped around you like a human furnace, his bat leaning against the nightstand, your fingers tangled in his messy hair. You’d wake up to him cooking the world’s ugliest pancakes and trying not to burn the apartment down.

But tonight, all that mattered was the weight of his heart finally resting in your hands. And you’d hold it like the precious thing it was.

Because even steel could feel soft.

Especially when it was loved right.

[youdigokay]

I see your request for headcanon requests and raise you Darry having extreme parental instincts toward the entire gang. :D

I love parental Darry! Thanks for asking!

We know that Darry gets super mad if any of his brothers miss curfew. He will drag his recliner in front of the door and sit there until they come home.

His brain immediately thinks something happened to them, and won’t allow himself to relax until they come home. He physically can not sleep until they get home safe.

Soda tried to crawl through his bedroom window one time to avoid Darry, but of course Darry heard him and grounded him extra hard.

Darry caught Pony with a beer once, and grounded him for two weeks straight and made him do the dishes every night.

No matter how mad Darry gets, he would never hit his brothers again. He’ll just ground them from going out or seeing their friends, and make them do extra chores.

The gang is getting so annoyed of his constant lecturing on their excessive smoking and drinking beer for breakfast.

Darry’s considering not letting Two-Bit stash his beer in their fridge anymore because he feels like it’s a bad influence on Pony.

Darry hates when the gang smokes in the house. He’s the only one who can get away with putting out Dally’s cigarettes when he lights up in the house.

Darry will always cover Johnny with a blanket when he sees him sleeping on their couch, just in case he gets cold at night.

Darry started packing lunches for the gang, because he wants to make sure they eat at least one decent meal a day.

[motherismotheringggg]

scripted desire pt. 2

(the finale)

read part one here!!!

summary: based on this request linked here, essentially cooper gets to work his celebrity crush and has to navigate doing a sex scene together

type: cooper koch x fem! reader (i know cooper is gay, this is just fiction pooks)

tags/warnings: 18+, penetration (p in v), oral (f! receiving), creampie, angst; back and forth between reader and cooper’s POV, the reader will be in red and anything in the past (in the context of the story) is indented

author’s note: i’m quite literally so sorry it took me OVER A MONTH to get this done but i hope you all like it!!!!

word count: ~10172 (good lord)

tag list: @purple-1995 , @blackynsupremacy , @hoffmansgirl , @sharonusworld , @violetidk , @melaninjhs , @emluvsuxo

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

Cooper ran a hand through his already tousled curls, glancing around his apartment for what felt like the hundredth time. The coffee table was wiped down, the cushions on the couch had been fluffed and repositioned, and he’d vacuumed earlier—twice. He tugged the hem of his shirt, debating whether to swap it for something else. Casual but not too casual. Cool but effortless. God, why am I like this?

Your text saying “on my way” had come through almost twenty minutes ago, and ever since, he’d been pacing like a madman, obsessively checking that everything was perfect. The faint aroma of the takeout he’d ordered lingered in the air—Thai food, your favorite. The wine was chilling in the fridge, and he’d even lit a candle on the windowsill, though he worried it might feel too much like he was trying.

Filming had been going on for three months now, and during that time, what had started as a friendly dynamic on set had grown into something more. Every scene you shared seemed to deepen the connection—whether it was the playful banter your characters exchanged or the raw, emotional moments that required complete vulnerability. You pushed each other, fed off each other’s energy, and every time the director called “cut,” you found yourselves laughing or dissecting the scene together, eager to make the next take even better.

Off-set, the bond had only strengthened. Cooper showed up at your trailer every morning with coffee and breakfast, even on days when it meant dragging himself out of bed before sunrise. You repaid the favor by ordering lunch for him on his long shooting days, sneaking into his trailer to lay it all out neatly so he could eat between takes. It was little things, small routines that felt easy and natural.

But the connection was truly solidified after the first time you invited yourself to Cooper’s place after filming one day.

The two of you sat in your trailer, killing time while waiting to see if Ryan was going to call you back for reshoots. You were stretched out on the couch, your head resting on the armrest, legs casually draped across Cooper’s lap as he sat in the corner of the couch scrolling on his phone.

“The weather is so perfect today,” Cooper said, glancing out the window at the blue skies. “I’m excited to actually get home and use the rooftop deck for once. My new furniture came this week, and I haven’t had a chance to sit out there yet.”

You shot up, your feet sliding off his lap as you turned to face him. “Wait, is it the set I showed you from Amazon?”

He grinned, pulling up his phone to show you a picture. “Yep, this one. It’s even better in person.”

You grabbed the phone from his hand, studying the photo with a grin. “Oh my God, this looks so good, Coop! It’s giving, like, coastal rooftop vibes. I’m love it!.”

“Well, technically, you did good,” he said, leaning back into the couch. “You’re the one who recommended it.”

You handed his phone back and smirked. “Exactly. And since I recommended it, I think I should get to break it in with you.”

Cooper’s breath caught for a moment, his mind immediately registering the double entendre. He tried to play it cool, but the faint flush creeping up his neck gave him away. “Uh, yeah, that sounds... fair.” He chuckled, hoping it sounded casual.

You didn’t seem to notice his internal spiral, already moving on with an idea. “Perfect, because there’s this new Thai place that just opened near you. I’ve been dying to try it, and it can be my treat. Plus,” you added with a grin, “I have a new wine I’ve been saving for someone to try with me. Consider it a housewarming gift for the furniture I picked out.”

Cooper’s brain short-circuited. She’s coming over. Oh my God, she’s coming over. Is my place even clean? Did I take out the trash? What if I didn’t flush the toilet before I left this morning? He felt heat creeping up his neck at the mere thought, his mind running wild with every possible thing that could go wrong. Did I put the laundry away? Or is it still sitting on the bed?

Before he could spiral further, your voice broke through his thoughts. “So, what time should I come over?”

---

The rooftop was everything you’d imagined and more. Cooper’s new furniture fit perfectly into the space—a sleek outdoor sectional, a chaise lounge, and a low coffee table, all framed by a wrought iron railing that overlooked the city skyline. The warm glow of the string lights you’d helped him hang crisscrossed above, casting soft golden hues across the space. Potted plants and small lanterns added to the cozy atmosphere, and as the sun set, the soft pinks and oranges of the horizon melted into the deep blues of twilight, transforming the rooftop into something out of a dream.

The outdoor table was sprawled with takeout containers, half-empty wine glasses, and the bottle you’d brought, its label peeling slightly from the condensation. Music played faintly from a speaker in the corner, a mix of mellow indie tracks and 90s R&B that matched the chill vibe of the evening.

You and Cooper had been talking nonstop—sharing stories, cracking jokes, and diving into details about each other’s lives that made you feel closer with every passing minute. He told you about his brother’s embarrassing best man speech at a wedding last year, and you countered with the story of the time you accidentally texted a very private complaint about an ex to your boss instead of your friend. You’d laughed until your sides ached, and at some point, the distance between you had naturally closed.

You weren’t the type to get touchy when you were drunk, but thw wine played it’s part tonight. You started the night in one of the armchairs, but at some point, you’d migrated to the chaise lounge where Cooper was stretched out. Now, you were lying between his legs, your back resting against his chest as his arms draped loosely over the sides of the chair. It was innocent enough—two friends relaxing after a long week—but the warmth of his body against yours and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest made you feel... something.

The city below was quieting down, the hum of traffic fading into the night as you both stared up at the string lights above. The silence between you had gone on for a little while, but it wasn’t awkward. It was comfortable, even soothing.

“It’s getting pretty late,” you murmured, your voice soft as you broke the quiet. “I should probably get going. I’ll just Uber home and come back for my car tomorrow.”

You felt Cooper shift behind you, his voice a little firmer now. “You’re not taking an Uber home alone at this hour. No way.”

You tilted your head back slightly to look up at him, catching the serious set of his jaw. “Coop, I’ll be fine. It’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” he countered, crossing his arms in mock seriousness. “You’ve had wine, it’s late, and I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you. Just stay. You can sleep here.”

You tilted your head, giving him a teasing grin. “Are you sure this isn’t just an elaborate ploy to get me to stay longer so you don’t have to clean up by yourself?”

He smirked, shrugging one shoulder. “I mean, I wouldn’t say no to the offer. But mostly, it’s because I’m a gentleman.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly. “Alright, alright. If you insist, Mr. Gentleman.”

The two of you gathered the leftovers and headed back down to his apartment. The narrow stairwell was dimly lit, and the old wooden door that led into the hallway stuck as Cooper tried to push it open.

“Stupid thing,” he muttered, jiggling the handle.

You stood close behind him, the space so tight you could feel the warmth radiating from his back. The scent of his cologne—fresh and woodsy—lingered in the air, making your head spin slightly.

“I’ve got it,” you said, stepping closer to help, your hand brushing his.

“It’s fine, I—” Cooper glanced back at you, his eyes meeting yours for just a second too long.

You hadn’t really thought about Cooper like that before—or at least, you’d tried not to. He was sweet, sure, and definitely attractive, but he was also the guy who never crossed a line, no matter how much you jokingly flirted with him on set. He’d always been so respectful, and you wanted to follow his lead. But now, with the wine flowing through you and the way his lips parted slightly as he turned back to the door, you couldn’t help but feel... intrigued.

Finally, the door gave way, and you both spilled into the hallway with a laugh. Cooper handed you a T-shirt to change into once inside, heading off to his bedroom while you ducked into the bathroom. The shirt was huge on you, brushing just above the bottom of your thighs as you adjusted it in the mirror.

Alright, nothing wrong with setting the bait just a little, you thought with a smirk as you ran your hands over the fabric.

When you came back into the living room, Cooper was already on the couch, scrolling on his phone. He glanced up as you walked in, his eyes flickering to your legs for the briefest of moments before he cleared his throat.

“Shirt fits okay?” he asked, his voice casual.

“Yeah, thanks,” you replied, settling onto the couch beside him.

The two of you talked for a little while longer, the conversation slowing as Cooper let out a yawn. You stretched, glancing at the couch. “You wouldn’t happen to have a weighted blanket, would you? I’d love that for the night.”

Cooper chuckled, leaning back. “You’re not sleeping on the couch.”

“Oh, come on. I can’t kick you out of your bed,” you protested.

He smirked. “After the fight scenes today? You need all the cushion you can get for your back. Trust me.”

You grinned, trying to play it cool but unable to resist joking. “You know, we’ll have to get comfortable sleeping with each anyway, might as well start tonight.”

His laugh came out nervous and uneven, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, you have a point.”

You immediately regretted saying it, heat rushing to your cheeks. Why did I lay it on so thick? you thought as you stood to head upstairs. It’s clear he’s not into that. Or maybe... he’s just not into me.

“I’m joking Coop,” you stood front the couch, feigning nonchalance, “thanks for letting me kick you out of your room for the night.”

He called out “goodnight as you headed up the stairs and you responded back with those thoughts swirling in your mind, you trudged up the stairs, the oversized T-shirt swaying softly against your legs.

---

The second you climbed into the chaise with him, Cooper’s body went stiff, every nerve on high alert. It wasn’t the first time he’d been close to you—on set, the two of you had plenty of moments that required touching, leaning into each other, and sharing intimate glances. But this? This was different. It was quiet, real, and the wine wasn’t helping.

Over the past few months, Cooper had essentially mastered the art of acting normal while being completely overwhelmed by how much he was in love with you. He’d trained himself to steady his breathing, to regulate his heart rate when you got too close. He’d learned to make sure his palms weren’t clammy whenever you grabbed his hand to drag him to another part of set or shared a private joke. He’d perfected the casual laugh, the easy nod, the reassuring smile—all the things that kept you blissfully unaware of the storm raging inside him.

But tonight, with you nestled between his legs, your back pressed to his chest, and his fingertips lightly grazing your arm as if they belonged there, it was almost too much. The way your head rested against him, the way your laughter had softened into something quieter—it felt romantic. And for a moment, he let himself enjoy it. He let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, you felt it too.

And then you came downstairs in that shirt.

When he first heard your footsteps on the stairs, he’d braced himself, but nothing could’ve prepared him for the sight of you. The oversized T-shirt barely skimmed the tops of your thighs, the curve of your perfect ass peeking out just enough to drive him crazy. Something primal surged through him, catching him off guard.

He wanted you. Right then and there, he wanted you in a way that was overwhelming and consuming. He wanted to cross the space between you, scoop you up into his arms, and carry you back upstairs. He wanted to throw you down on his bed, pin you there, and make you his.

The longer he stared, the worse it got. His eyes trailed from your long, sexy legs to the way the shirt swayed with each step. He imagined those legs over his shoulders, your thighs trembling as he buried his face between them. He imagined bending them back, spreading you wide as you took him fully, your voice gasping his name. He imagined you straddling him, your hands on his chest as you moved, slow and deliberate, driving him out of his mind.

He clenched his fists on his lap, forcing himself to look away before you could catch him staring. His jaw tightened as he tried to rein in the heat spreading through him. He hated this. Hated that he couldn’t stop thinking about you this way. Hated that you were right there—so close, so effortlessly beautiful, and so completely off-limits.

You were his friend. His coworker. And he knew you appreciated him as just that.

Even when you made jokes about sharing a bed for practice, he knew it didn’t mean anything. It was just you being playful, the way you always were. But God, did it kill him every time you said something like that. It was like dangling a dream in front of him that he couldn’t have.

When you’d gone upstairs earlier, he’d felt relief. But now, sitting here with the sound of your soft footsteps shuffling around above him, he hated himself for passing up the invitation you’d all but handed him. You’d practically given him the green light to share the bed—to be closer to you—and he’d chickened out.

Cooper leaned back on the couch, staring at the ceiling as he listened to the faint sounds of you settling upstairs. The weight of his unspoken feelings pressed down on him like a brick. He hated this. He hated wanting you so much it hurt.

----

The small office was cozy but cluttered, filled with mismatched furniture and a lingering smell of lavender. You and Cooper sat on a worn couch, waiting for the intimacy coordinator to arrive. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioning, but the anticipation was palpable. This was the day you’d finally start mapping out your scene—a pivotal moment in the story, and one that had loomed in the back of your minds since you first read the script.

When the coordinator finally walked in, she was everything you might have expected and more. Her look was delightfully granola: baggy, billowy clothes in earthy tones, tattoos covering her arms and neck, and, of course, a pair of well-worn Birkenstocks. She kicked them off almost immediately, wiggling her toes against the hardwood floor. “I like to feel more connected to the space,” she explained with a serene smile as she settled into an armchair.

You exchanged a quick glance with Cooper, suppressing a laugh as she pulled out her notebook.

“Alright,” the coordinator began, flipping to a fresh page. “Before we get into choreography or specifics, I like to start with comfort levels. Let’s talk about how you feel about your own bodies—not just on camera, but in real life.”

Cooper leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’d say I’m pretty confident with my body,” he said, his voice calm but thoughtful. “Growing up, I was lanky and awkward, so it took a while to feel comfortable in my skin. But once I started working out, it helped a lot. It’s not just about how I look—it’s about feeling stronger, more capable.”

You nodded, smiling at him before adding your own response. “For me, it’s been more of a journey. I’m a bigger girl, and that wasn’t always easy to embrace. But being around people who actually valued me—not just for my body, but for who I am—made all the difference. I’ve worked through a lot, and I’m the most confident I’ve ever been now.”

Cooper turned to you, his warm brown eyes softening. “I didn’t know that,” he said, his voice quiet but full of genuine care. Without thinking, you reached over and took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

The coordinator smiled knowingly, her gaze flicking between the two of you. “There’s a strong connection between you two,” she said, jotting something in her notebook.

You felt Cooper’s hand squeeze yours briefly before he pulled it away, and though you noticed, you didn’t react. The moment lingered for just a second before the coordinator continued.

For the next hour, you and Cooper talked about your on-screen experiences. He’d done more nudity, you’d done more sex scenes. Your experiences balanced each other out in a way that felt natural, and you both laughed over anecdotes from past projects—like the time Cooper had to lie naked on a freezing cold floor for hours, or when you had to make out with an actor who’d eaten garlic knots right before a scene.

Then came the choreography.

Sex scenes look so intimate and natural on screen,” but in person? They’re anything but. It’s a dance—a mix of choreography, lighting, camera angles, and making sure everything looks right for film. Some things we can improvise for realism, but a lot of it is planned down to the smallest detail.

You practiced straddling Cooper’s lap at least twenty times, adjusting your positioning for the best angles. You rehearsed how he’d remove your shirt over thirty times, making sure the motion was fluid and natural. But it wasn’t until the kiss—the kiss—that the scene took on a life of its own.

It was the climax of the story, a moment where your characters bared their souls to each other. The coordinator told you to let it flow, to stop if you needed to, and to trust her to course correct.

You were in Cooper’s lap again, your shirt off and your lacy bra barely covering your chest. His hands rested lightly on your waist, and his gaze flickered nervously to the coordinator.

“Loosen up,” she said gently. “You’re doing great, Cooper, but you need to relax.”

Cooper hesitated. He was afraid to relax. Afraid to let go of the control he’d clung to since the moment you entered his life. Because if he did, every single feeling he’d buried—the longing, the need, the desire—would come rushing out, and he wasn’t sure he could hide it anymore.

You leaned forward slightly, your hands on his shoulders, grounding him. “We’ve got this,” you murmured, your voice low and steady.

And then you kissed him.

It wasn’t like the other kisses your characters had shared. This one was hungry, desperate, your tongues tangling as you pressed closer. Your hips rocked steadily against his lap, and his large hands gripped your torso, sliding up your sides and down your back.

The kiss was everything it needed to be for the scene—and more. For a brief moment, Cooper forgot where he was. Forgot the lights, the cameras, the crew. It was just you.

And that was the problem.

He felt it before he could stop it—the telltale heat, the rush of blood as his body betrayed him. He was getting hard, and there was no stopping it. He knew that in seconds, you’d feel it, and there was no way he could let that happen.

Cooper pulled back abruptly, his breathing uneven as he gently moved you off his lap. “Maybe, uh, maybe we should try this standing,” he said quickly, his voice tight.

The coordinator raised an eyebrow, amused. “Standing? For a car sex scene? That would be... interesting.”

“You’re both doing great,” she added, smiling. “Let’s take a quick break and regroup in a few.”

Cooper was gone before you could say anything, practically storming out of the office. You stayed behind, talking about the scene with the coordinator and not focusing on the sudden change in energy.

----

By Thursday, you’d all but convinced yourself that Cooper was avoiding you.

It started subtly enough—small things that, at first, you chalked up to coincidence. Instead of bringing you breakfast himself, he started handing it off to an intern to deliver. Between takes, he wasn’t lingering on set, sharing jokes or teasing you about forgetting your lines. Instead, he’d retreat to his trailer, barely glancing your way as he passed. And after work? Nothing. No texts, no memes, no TikTok links. Radio silence.

At first, you tried not to take it personally. Cooper was allowed to have bad days—or even bad weeks. You reasoned that maybe he was tired or overwhelmed. But as the days stretched on, the oddness of it all settled into something heavier.

What the hell is his problem? you thought as you stared at his latest text—a curt “No thanks!” after you’d offered to buy lunch for both of you.

By the end of Thursday’s shoot, you were tired, frustrated, and more than a little upset. You’d been close to Cooper for months now, relying on the easy rhythm of your friendship both on and off set. And now, just as you were gearing up to shoot the most intimate scene of the entire project, he was acting like... this? It didn’t make any sense.

Ryan called everyone into a huddle to wrap up the day, his energy as commanding as ever. You found a spot near the back of the group, scanning the crowd until you spotted Cooper. He was standing far from you, arms crossed and gaze fixed on the ground.

“Alright, listen up!” Ryan said. “The studio’s doing some maintenance tomorrow, so we’re all getting the day off. Enjoy your Friday. Recharge. But—” he added, his tone firm—“I need everyone here bright and early Saturday. We’re filming the big one. You know the scene I mean.”

You nodded along with the rest of the group, your stomach tightening at the mention of the scene. You glanced at Cooper, but he didn’t look up.

After the huddle broke, you headed back to your trailer to pack up your things. You were trying to shake off the lingering frustration when you caught sight of Cooper outside, moving quickly and quietly toward the studio lot. He glanced around, clearly trying not to be noticed, before ducking into the passenger seat of a car you didn’t recognize.

It clicked all at once. Maybe he has a girlfriend.*

The thought made your chest tighten, not completely with jealousy but with a strange, sinking feeling. It all made sense now—his awkwardness during the sex scene practice, the way he’d been pulling away from you, the tension in his body every time you got close. If he was seeing someone and your friendship had blossomed too fast, too intensely, it would explain everything.

He’s probably just trying to define boundaries with this other relationship, you thought, your earlier anger morphing into understanding. The sex jokes you’d made, the rooftop hangouts that stretched late into the night—those things probably felt like lines being crossed to him, even if you hadn’t meant them that way.

The weight of it followed you home. As you got ready for bed, you debated whether to text him. You didn’t want to make things worse or seem like you’d uncovered some big secret. But you also didn’t want to leave things unresolved, especially with the big scene looming over you both.

You grabbed your phone just before climbing into bed, deciding to send a message. Keeping it light felt like the best approach.

“Hey, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, but I’m happy for you. And I’m sorry for crossing any boundaries. Hopefully, me, you, and lucky gal can all do a rooftop hangout soon!!”

You hit send and stared at the screen for a moment before setting the phone down.

*There,* you thought. *Ball’s in his court now.*

---

Cooper saw your text the instant it came through, the screen lighting up his darkened room like a beacon. The soft ding shattered the quiet, cutting through the heavy silence he’d been drowning in all week. He stared at the words, rereading them until they blurred at the edges. His thumb hovered over the keyboard, wanting to reply immediately, to say something—anything—that would keep this fragile thread of connection intact. But the weight of everything unsaid kept his fingers still.

He’d turned off his read receipts weeks ago, claiming it was for privacy, but tonight, he was grateful for the buffer. You wouldn’t know how long he sat there, staring at your message like it was a lifeline. You wouldn’t know how much it meant that, after the way he’d been acting, you still wanted to reach out.

The guilt clawed at his chest, sharp and unrelenting.

Payton had driven him home from set that day, and the entire ride had been a disaster in his head. He hadn’t stopped replaying the moment in the intimacy coordinator’s office—or more accurately, the moment he’d ruined everything.

He’d wanted to kiss you. God, he’d wanted to kiss you. Not just because the scene called for it, but because every fiber of his being had been screaming to close the gap between you and finally show you how he felt. To let his hands roam your body, to pour every ounce of his frustration and longing into a kiss that would leave no doubt in your mind.

But he hadn’t. He couldn’t.

Instead, he’d pulled away, stumbling over a half-baked excuse about standing choreography and all but sprinting out of the room. It wasn’t the kiss that had scared him—it was the thought of what you’d think if you’d realized how much he’d wanted it. He’d been terrified that you’d felt his erection during the scene, that you’d think he was gross or unprofessional or just another actor who couldn’t separate work from reality.

So he did the only thing he could think of to protect himself and, in his mind, to protect you too—he distanced himself.

That night, sitting in Payton’s passenger seat, Cooper had finally cracked. He spilled everything to his brother—the scene, the kiss, the way he couldn’t stop thinking about you, and the guilt that gnawed at him for how he’d acted. He admitted that he had no idea how to fix it, no idea what to say to you now.

Payton listened patiently, letting him get it all out before shaking his head. “Man, icing her out was the top 10 stupidest things you could’ve done,” he said bluntly but not unkindly. “You’re acting like you’re the first guy in history to fall for someone they work with. Just text her. Clear it up. She deserves that.”

Cooper groaned, throwing his head back against the headrest. “Yeah, okay. And what am I supposed to say? ‘Hey, I know we’re friends, but I’m gonna do that guy thing where, after you’ve built trust with me, I’ll tell you I’m in love with you and want you sexually’? That won’t send her running at all.”

Payton laughed, shaking his head. “You could maybe *not* phrase it like a serial killer. Just tell her you’re sorry for being distant and you’ve had stuff on your mind. It’s not that hard, Coop.”

But it was hard.

By the time Cooper got home, he was too wound up to do anything but collapse on the couch. He spent the evening aimlessly flipping through channels, snacking on crackers and sipping wine, trying—and failing—to gather the courage to text you. Every time he opened your thread, the words he wanted to say felt wrong or inadequate.

When he finally dragged himself upstairs to bed, it was nearly midnight. He lay on his back, phone in hand, scrolling to your name again. Your last message glowed softly on the screen, and he stared at it until his eyes burned. He thought about calling you, about telling you everything, but the fear of saying the wrong thing paralyzed him. Once again, he did nothing.

Friday morning came and went, and still, the words eluded him. He told himself he was giving you space, that it was better this way, but deep down, he knew he was fumbling the friendship. He hated himself for it, hated the way he was letting his fear keep him frozen.

By midday, he was lying on the couch again, scrolling aimlessly when his phone vibrated in his hand. Your name popped up on the screen, and his heart stopped.

“If you’re not busy, are we doing our Friday night sesh lol?”

The text was simple, nonchalant, and so perfectly you. Relief washed over him, warm and heavy, but it was quickly followed by a pang of guilt. Even after the way he’d acted, you were still reaching out. You were still trying to keep the connection alive, and here he was, barely holding it together.

For a long moment, Cooper sat there, staring at your message. A part of him wanted to ignore it—not because he didn’t want to see you, but because he was terrified of messing up even more. But then Payton’s voice echoed in his mind: “Just text her. She deserves that.”

Taking a deep breath, he finally typed a response.

“Yeah. Come over whenever you can!”

His thumb hovered over the send button, his chest tightening as the weight of his feelings threatened to crush him. Finally, he hit send, watching the message disappear into the ether.

He set the phone down on the coffee table, leaning back against the couch as he tried to steady his breathing. And now, all he could do was wait.

---

Even before your eyes opened Friday morning, you were already expecting a reply from Cooper. Some part of you just knew he would’ve texted you back by now—confirming that he was seeing someone, apologizing for being weird, and putting all of this to rest.

But when you rolled over and grabbed your phone, the screen told a different story.

There were a few Instagram notifications—likes on a recent post—and a couple of mentions on Twitter from fans speculating about the show. But nothing from Cooper.

Your heart sank, a dull ache settling in your chest. You felt silly for being so hopeful, for thinking he’d reply as quickly as he always used to. If he does have a girlfriend, you reasoned, then technically, I can’t be mad at him. But that logic didn’t stop the sting. It still hurt.

You tossed your phone onto the bed, burying your face in your hands with a groan. “Get a grip,” you muttered to yourself, but the pep talk didn’t do much to lift your mood.

You spent the morning moping around the apartment, picking up clutter here and there before sitting back down, aimlessly scrolling through your phone. The knot in your chest tightened every time you thought about Cooper, about how things had shifted so suddenly between you.

By midday, you decided you couldn’t take it anymore. Sitting around wasn’t helping, and you needed to clear your head. You grabbed your bag and keys, determined to shake off the heaviness.

The sun was warm on your skin as you walked through downtown LA, the familiar buzz of the city wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. You stopped at a nearby coffee shop, ordering your favorite drink and savoring the slight bitterness of the first sip. You sat outside for a bit, watching people go by, their lives unfolding in a way that made your own worries feel small.

You didn’t even notice the paparazzi at first. It wasn’t until someone called your name, camera in hand, that you realized you’d been spotted. You forced a smile, raising your coffee cup in a mock toast as they snapped a few pictures. It was part of the job, and while it wasn’t your favorite part, you knew how to play the game.

From there, you wandered into a few stores, picking up a couple of things that caught your eye. Retail therapy wasn’t a cure, but it was a distraction—and today, a distraction was exactly what you needed.

Being outside, away from the quiet of your apartment and the constant swirl of thoughts about Cooper, helped you breathe a little easier. By the time you were heading home, the sting of the morning had dulled.

And as you climbed the stairs to your place, a thought struck you: At the end of the day, you and Cooper are friends.

Friends have awkward moments. Friends sometimes need space. And whatever was going on between the two of you, it didn’t have to be the end of your friendship. Neither of you had done anything wrong, so there was no reason for things to stay weird forever.

The realization didn’t erase all the hurt, but it gave you clarity. You could move past this.

Feigning bravery, you grabbed your phone as you kicked off your shoes. It was Friday night, after all, and Friday night meant one thing: your weekly hangout with Cooper. You’d made it a tradition, and you weren’t about to let a few days of awkwardness ruin it.

Opening your messages, you typed out the text and hit send before you could overthink it:

“If you’re not busy, are we doing our Friday night sesh lol?”

You set your phone down, exhaling deeply. Whatever happened next, at least you were trying. At least you were giving him the chance to meet you halfway.

And now, all you could do was wait.

----

It was a little after 8 when you got there, and Cooper had already turned his bedroom into a war zone. Clothes were scattered across the floor, his bed buried beneath rejected options that didn’t pass the “effortlessly casual” test. He didn’t want to look like he’d tried too hard—because trying too hard would suggest something—but he also didn’t want to look like a slob. He did all that just to finally settle on a simple gray muscle tank and sweat pants, but as he stood in front of the mirror, tugging at the hem, he started second-guessing everything again.

What was he even going to do when you got here? Should he act normal and pretend nothing was wrong? Should he apologize for being distant? Try to patch things up and keep being friends?

Or should he just tell you how he feels?

No. Absolutely not. That was a disaster waiting to happen.

But then there was the issue of the text you’d sent last night. The one that suggested you thought he had a girlfriend. How could he clear that up without spilling everything? He didn’t want you thinking he was lying or sneaking around, but explaining it meant opening a door he wasn’t sure he could close.

Before he could spiral any further, the doorbell rang, and his stomach dropped.

You were here.

Walking down the stairs to open the door, Cooper felt like he was heading into a first date instead of hanging out with someone he’d spent almost every day with for the last four months. The feeling annoyed him, made him hate how much power his own emotions seemed to have over him. You weren’t a stranger. You were you. And yet, seeing you standing there on his doorstep still sent a pit straight to his stomach.

When he opened the door, it hit him again. You looked amazing, even in something as simple as jeans and a t-shirt. The faint scent of your perfume reached him as you stepped inside, and he fought the instinct to pull you into a hug. Normally, you’d hug him or give him some casual pat on the stomach, but this time? Nothing.

The lack of touch stung more than he cared to admit.

You started making small talk as you slipped off your coat, your voice light as you talked about your Uber driver and how they’d missed the turn to his street. Cooper nodded along, but his nerves were all over his face, and he could feel it. The tension in the air was suffocating, even though you were trying to fill it with conversation.

“I’m making dinner,” he blurted, his voice louder than he’d meant. He cleared his throat. “Uh, if you want to sit here on the couch, I just have to grab something from upstairs.”

You nodded, smiling faintly as you settled onto the couch. Cooper didn’t wait to see if you’d say anything else—he turned and bolted up the stairs, his heart pounding in his chest.

Once in his bedroom, he started pacing. He rubbed his hands over his face, muttering under his breath as he tried to calm the frantic thoughts running through his head.

Why did I tell her to come over? he thought, dragging a hand through his hair. I don’t even have a good explanation for her.

He glanced at the clothes still scattered across the floor, stepping over a pile of T-shirts as he paced back and forth.

She’s going to ask why I’ve been distant, and I’m going to make it worse. I’ll ruin the show, I’ll ruin this—

He stopped mid-step, shaking his head as if he could physically dispel the anxiety gripping him. He wanted to fix things. He wanted to make everything normal again. But how? What could he possibly say that wouldn’t dig him deeper into the mess he’d made?

Cooper stood in the middle of the room, staring at the wall like it might offer him some magical solution. The silence upstairs was broken only by the faint sound of you shuffling around downstairs, probably settling into the couch.

----

Getting out of the Uber made your stomach churn, and you weren’t even sure why. This was Cooper—your friend, your Friday night hangout buddy. Nothing was different, right? But as you walked toward his door, the trembling in your hand when you reached for the doorbell told a different story.

When Cooper opened the door, you instinctively inhaled, a witty line ready to spill out as you leaned forward to give him a hug, but his body language made you pause. He didn’t lean in or even shift toward you. He just stood there, stiff and awkward, his usual warmth replaced by something that felt… off. You swallowed the hug and stepped inside, brushing off the sting.

His apartment was eerily quiet, save for the soft hum of the stove fan in the kitchen. The silence pressed down between you, like you both wanted to say something but didn’t know how to start. Trying to break the tension, you launched into a lighthearted rant about your Uber driver getting lost, your tone playful and exaggerated.

But Cooper wasn’t biting.

He gave you half-smiles and short answers, avoiding eye contact as if looking at you might crack him open. His usual charm felt buried under a thick layer of nerves, and just when you were about to ask if everything was okay, he blurted out, “I’m making dinner if you wanted to sit here on the couch, I just have to grab something from upstairs.”

It was so abrupt that it almost made you laugh. “Uh, okay,” you said, setting your coat on the armrest as you perched on the couch.

You watched him practically bolt up the stairs, his footsteps echoing overhead. For a few moments, you sat there, trying to piece together the puzzle of his behavior. Was it still about the intimacy coordinator practice? Or maybe… was it something else?

The sound of muffled shuffling pulled your focus, followed by Cooper’s hushed voice. At first, you thought he might be on the phone. But as you tilted your head and angled yourself to hear better, it became clear he was talking to himself.

And not just about anything—about you.

Your heart raced, a mix of curiosity and anxiety bubbling to the surface. You didn’t want to startle him, but it was clear that the two of you couldn’t keep dodging whatever this was. Quietly, you made your way up the steps, the wood creaking slightly under your weight.

His bedroom door was ajar, the soft light spilling into the hallway. You knocked lightly, pushing the door open just enough to peek inside.

“Hey, Coop,” you said softly. “Are you okay?”

He turned sharply, his wide eyes meeting yours like you’d just caught him robbing a bank. “Yeah, I’m great,” he stammered, his voice unconvincing.

You stepped inside, leaning your back against the door and crossing your arms. “Cooper,” you said with a teasing smirk, “for such an incredible actor, you’re a terrible liar.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, the tension in his shoulders melting as he let out a soft, nervous chuckle.

“It’s been unfairly long since we laughed. I can’t stand it,” you said, trying to ease the tension.

Cooper nodded, letting out a long sigh. “You’re right. I—I’m sorry,” he said, his voice quieter now.

“For what, exactly?” you pressed, your tone gentle but firm.

He hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. When you mentioned the idea of him having a girlfriend, he froze, his mouth opening and closing as if he was trying to find the right words. Finally, he walked over to the bed, sitting near the top so he could rest his back against the headboard.

You stayed by the door, watching as he ran a hand through his hair, clearly trying to gather his thoughts. Finally, he exhaled and said, “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

The relief that washed over you was immediate and overwhelming. Internally, you were beaming. Thank God.

“Can you come sit next to me?” he asked, his voice soft.

You crossed the room and climbed onto the other side of the bed, sitting with your legs tucked under you. Trying to lighten the mood, you teased, “So, you just make all your friends think you’re mad at them to keep things interesting?”

He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “No, I—” He closed his eyes tightly, like he was bracing himself for impact. “Y/N, I’m just gonna say everything I need to, like word vomit, because if I don’t, I might actually throw up.”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “Go ahead,” you said gently.

He took a deep breath, his eyes still closed as the words spilled out of him. “Ever since I saw you in Kindred Spirits, I’ve had the biggest crush on you. And every day since then has felt like a dream because not only are you captivating, but you’re so kind, and sweet, and funny. And I knew I was in love, but then you started coming over, and it made it impossible to ignore.”

Your breath caught, your heart pounding in your chest as his words tumbled out.

“I’ve been having dreams,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “And I know it’s probably gross, and I’m so sorry if that’s weird, but that’s why the sex scene marking was so overwhelming for me. Because I didn’t want to be that guy—the movie set creep who can’t keep it together. But it’s not just about control. It’s about you. I want you. And I get it if you don’t feel the same way, but I—”

“Cooper,” you interrupted, your voice soft but steady.

His eyes shot open, panic flashing across his face as he looked at you.

You paused, unsure of how to respond, but the way Cooper's eyes searched your face so desperately for reassurance made your heart ache. He looked so vulnerable, so raw, and you wanted to find the right words to ease the weight on his shoulders.

"So, this has all been because of the scene?" you asked gently, keeping your tone light to relieve some of the pressure. "I mean... I already imagined you liked me-because I liked you."

His eyes widened at your admission, his lips parting in shock, but you pressed on. "But I thought it'd be tacky to date your co-star, you know? And you're nervous about getting hard during the scene?"

The redness that spread across his cheeks was answer enough. He couldn't speak, but he shook his head furiously, as if trying to deny it, even though it was clear you'd hit the mark.

"Honey, that's natural," you said softly, letting a playful smile tug at your lips. "We're going to be so padded up, we won't even have to worry about that."

You reached out and cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing against the faint stubble along his jaw. He leaned into your touch instinctively, his tension melting under the warmth of your palm.

Relief flickered in his eyes as if the weight of his confession had finally been lifted.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The silence hung in the air, charged with an energy that neither of you dared to break-until you did.

"…Do you wanna practice the scene?" you asked quietly, but with intention.

Cooper's eyes snapped to yours, wide and full of surprise. "Practice," he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. "But... do it for real?" His voice cracked slightly, his neck craning forward as if trying to confirm he hadn't misheard.

You nodded, your gaze steady. "This way, we can get all your nerves out of the way. And," you added with a sly wink, "we both get what we clearly want."

His face flushed deeper, and for a moment, he just blinked at you, his lips forming a silent are you sure?

But you were already standing, sliding your jeans down your legs in one smooth motion.

Cooper sat frozen, his breath catching in his throat as his eyes traveled up your body. You crossed the room to the bed, climbing on and straddling him just as you had during the rehearsal. His hands instinctively rested on your thighs, and you could feel the heat radiating from his palms.

"Okay, so remember," you said, your voice calm but slightly breathy, "pull the shirt over both arms, not one at a time."

"Slow and with eye contact," Cooper murmured, his voice steady but soft.

"Exactly," you said, smiling at how well he remembered.

He nodded, his fingers brushing the hem of your shirt as he carefully lifted it up. The cool air hit your skin as he pulled the shirt over your head, leaving you in a lacy pink bra. Cooper froze for a moment, his eyes sweeping over you.

"Okay," you said, your voice a little shakier than before. "Now for the kiss."

Cooper nodded, his hands still resting lightly on your hips. "I think we should start slow," you directed. "And then pick up the pace."

"Okay," he breathed, unable to say anything more.

You leaned in first, your lips brushing his gently.

The kiss started soft, hesitant even, as though you were both testing the waters despite having kissed countless times on set before. But this wasn't a scene. There were no cameras, no lights, no crew. Just the two of you alone in his bedroom.

The kiss deepened naturally, growing more intense with every passing second. Cooper's hands tightened on your waist, his fingertips pressing into your skin as though anchoring himself to the moment. Your arms looped around his neck, pulling him closer, and you felt his breath hitch when your chest pressed against his.

His lips were warm and urgent against yours, and the way he kissed you sent a rush of heat straight through you. He tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss as his hands slid up your back, his thumbs grazing the band of your bra.

Your hips rocked against him, the motion slow and instinctive. Cooper let out a deep, throaty groan against your lips, and you couldn’t ignore the hardness pressing against you. The sensation made you bolder, and you rode him harder, your movements drawing an almost guttural sound from his chest.

His moans turned into low, needy grunts, his hands sliding back down to grip your hips. He didn’t just steady you—he guided you, his grip firm and deliberate as if he wanted to make sure you felt every inch of him beneath you.

“Take my bra off,” you whispered against his lips, your voice soft but commanding.

His eyes darted to yours, wide and hungry, before his fingers moved to the clasp at your back. He fumbled for only a moment before freeing you, and the lacy fabric fell away, leaving you bare before him.

Cooper’s chest heaved as his gaze swept over your exposed skin. His pupils dilated, his breathing quickening as though he couldn’t fully process the sight of you.

He leaned back in, capturing your lips with his as his hands moved to your breasts. His fingers worked expertly, rolling your nipples between them with just the right amount of pressure. The sensations sent a wave of pleasure coursing through you, and you let out soft moans into his mouth, your eyes fluttering shut as you lost yourself in the moment.

His kisses grew more urgent, his lips trailing down your neck in a path that left your skin tingling. He paused to suck gently at the sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you gasp.

“Cooper,” you breathed, your voice shaky as his lips continued their descent.

When he reached your breasts, his tongue flicked over one nipple before his teeth scraped it lightly, sending a chill down your spine that left you feeling numb in the best way. Your back arched instinctively, pressing yourself closer to him as your hands tangled in his hair.

He switched to the other breast, giving it the same attention, and you couldn’t help the way your hips continued to grind against him. The friction between you was electric, building a heat that threatened to consume you both.

“Just like that, Cooper,” you moaned, your voice dripping with need.

Cooper’s lips found yours again, his hunger for you palpable in every kiss, every soft graze of his tongue. “Y/N,” he murmured against your mouth, his voice low and dripping with need. He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his forehead almost touching yours. “I need you,” he confessed, his gaze dark and unwavering.

“Take off your pants,” you replied, your voice steady but heavy with anticipation. You held his gaze, matching the intensity radiating off him in waves.

Cooper stood from the bed, his movements quick but deliberate. He pushed his sweatpants and briefs down in one motion, and his hardness sprang free, standing proudly before you. For a moment, you simply took him in, your eyes roaming over his body, every inch of him completely enthralled by you.

Without breaking eye contact, you slipped off your panties and tossed them aside. He stood frozen, watching you, his chest rising and falling as his breaths grew heavier.

You knelt on the bed in front of him, pulling him back into a kiss that left both of you gasping for air. Your hand trailed down his torso, wrapping around his length as you stroked him with deliberate, measured motions.

Cooper groaned into your ear, his head tilting back slightly as he breathed heavily, your name tumbling from his lips like a prayer. “Y/N,” he murmured, his voice shaky with need. “I want you so bad.”

You kissed him deeply, cutting off his words as you guided him back onto the bed. He laid down beneath you, his head resting against the pillows, his eyes glued to yours with a mix of awe and anticipation.

You climbed on top, straddling him as you positioned yourself over him. The room was thick with tension, every movement deliberate and charged. You could see the anticipation in his eyes, the way his jaw clenched slightly as he waited for you to close the distance.

Slowly, you lowered yourself onto him, your wet heat enveloping his tip. Cooper let out a loud, guttural groan as his head fell back against the pillows, his hands gripping your thighs as if to ground himself. The sensation sent a shudder through you, and your back arched instinctively, your body adjusting to the feeling of him stretching and filling you completely.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his voice ragged.

You let out a soft moan as you took him fully, your hands bracing against his chest. His skin was firm and warm beneath your palms, his body sturdy enough to support you completely. You rocked your hips slowly, savoring the way he fit perfectly inside you.

Cooper’s hands found your waist, his grip firm as he guided your movements to match his. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” he said, his voice hoarse. “You feel so good, Y/N.”

His eyes flicked down to your breasts, which moved with every motion of your body. He reached up, cupping them in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your nipples as he watched you ride him with unrestrained admiration.

Your head tilted back, a moan slipping past your lips as the sensations built. “Cooper,” you gasped, your voice thick with pleasure.

He groaned in response, his hips bucking slightly beneath you as he moved with you, completely lost in the rhythm of your bodies.

You reached for his hands, intertwining your fingers with his as you shifted your position. Leaning forward slightly, you began to bounce on him, the new angle sending shockwaves of pleasure through both of you.

The sound of your skin meeting filled the room, accompanied by the symphony of your combined moans and the breathless gasps of each other’s names. The intensity between you was overwhelming, your bodies completely in sync as the tension continued to build.

“Y/N,” Cooper groaned again, his voice deeper now, tinged with desperation. His grip on your hands tightened as his hips drove upward to meet your movements, his need for you consuming him entirely.

Your pace quickened, your breath coming in short, ragged bursts as you chased the high that seemed just out of reach. Cooper’s eyes locked onto yours, his gaze full of adoration and unspoken promises as you both climbed higher and higher.

You continued bouncing on Cooper, feeling the waves of pleasure build inside you with every motion. The tension coiling in your body was undeniable, and you knew you were close—so did he. His hands gripped your waist, guiding your movements as your pace quickened, your breath hitching with every bounce.

The intensity grew until your legs trembled with the effort, and you slowed, needing a small break. Cooper, sensing your need, reached up and pulled you down for a kiss, his lips capturing yours in a way that left you breathless.

“Lay down,” he murmured, his voice husky with need.

You obeyed, your body melting into the mattress as he trailed kisses down your neck, over your collarbone, and along the curves of your body. Each press of his lips left a trail of heat in its wake, making you shiver in anticipation.

When he reached your center, he paused, his eyes flicking up to meet yours with a smoldering intensity. His lips brushed against your most sensitive spot, sending a jolt through your body that made your back arch off the bed.

“Cooper,” you gasped, your hands instinctively tangling in his hair.

He didn’t hesitate, diving in fully as his tongue worked you with precision, licking and sucking at your sensitive bundle of nerves. Your moans filled the room, your thighs trembling as he devoured you like a man starved.

“You taste so good,” he murmured against you, his voice vibrating through your body.

You barely had time to respond before you felt him slip a finger inside you, his movements slow but deliberate. Your hips bucked against him, your hands tugging at his hair as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable height.

“Fuck, Cooper, I want you so bad,” you moaned, your voice breaking.

He stopped licking you for a moment, focusing entirely on the slow, intentional pace of his fingers inside you. He looked up at you, his lips glistening, his eyes dark with desire. “I’ve wanted to hear you say that for so long,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “Say it again.”

“Cooper,” you whimpered, your voice trembling, “I want you so bad.”

“Again,” he growled, his tone sending shivers down your spine.

You repeated it, again and again, each confession carrying more intensity than the last. Your voice became more desperate, and with each word, you felt yourself teetering closer to the edge.

“Cooper, please,” you finally begged, your voice cracking. “Fuck me, baby.”

In an instant, he was over you, his body moving with an urgency you hadn’t seen before. He angled himself at your entrance, his tip slipping in easily, the sensation making you gasp. He exhaled sharply, his forehead pressing against yours as he pushed in deeper.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his voice strained as he fully seated himself inside you.

Your back arched, your body adjusting to the fullness of him as he began to move. His thrusts were steady but firm, his body pressing against yours with every motion. His biceps rested on either side of your head, framing you, and your hands reached up to caress his face.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured between kisses, his voice thick with emotion.

Cooper adjusted his position slightly, spreading your legs wider to deepen the angle. The new depth sent a shockwave through you, and you cried out his name, gripping his shoulders tightly.

“Cooper,” you moaned, your voice trembling. “I’m so close.”

“Me too,” he grunted, his hips rocking into you with renewed determination. “I want us to finish together.”

He lowered himself, hovering just above you as he maintained his rhythm. His breath was hot against your neck, and you felt his body tense as he worked to keep his pace steady.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Cum inside me, Cooper.”

Your words sent him over the edge. His thrusts grew erratic, each one more desperate than the last, until finally, the both of you came undone. Pleasure crashed over you like a tidal wave, your moans mixing with his deep groans as he spilled into you, filling you completely.

His body collapsed against yours, his chest heaving as you both caught your breath. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the soft hum of your breathing, the intensity of the moment settling into something quieter, more intimate.

Cooper rolled onto his side, pulling you close as he lay next to you. You turned to him, leaning in to kiss him softly, your lips brushing against his in a way that felt unhurried and full of meaning.

He rested his head on his hand, his other hand lazily tracing small circles on your shoulder. For a while, neither of you spoke, just basking in the afterglow.

When you finally broke the silence, it was with a teasing smile. “What?” he asked, his cheeks flushing as he caught the look on your face.

“If this doesn’t help you with the scene,” you joked, “I don’t know what will.”

Cooper laughed, his wide smile lighting up his face as he leaned in to kiss you again. “You’re impossible,” he said, shaking his head fondly.

“You love it,” you shot back, grinning.

And he did. He loved everything about you.

For the rest of the night, you stayed wrapped up in each other, the weight of unspoken feelings finally lifted, replaced by something new.

[turcott3]

love language

jamie drysdale x fem! reader

warnings?: cursing, smut!😝 (loss of v card, fingering, unprotected sex) fluff!!!!

positions fics masterlist

~teach me how to love you, i’m not learning what ain’t right~

-

another morning waking up in jamie’s spacious anaheim apartment was a strange feeling to you. you’d grown incredibly fond of him over the past few weeks of staying with him. you were just trying to get on your feet and were looking for a place of your own. trevor, a childhood friend of yours, introduced you to jamie some months ago and jamie was willing to help you while you sorted everything out with your move, trevor’s house being full and your urge to stay with that many guys was at a minimum, but jamie has a place to call his own which was something he always wanted and was willing to share his space with you.

“good morning.” jamie greets you from the couch with a mug of hot coffee.

“morning.” you reply rubbing your eyes and walking into the kitchen to make your morning coffee.

“i bought you a new bottle of creamer because i saw you were almost out.” he says once you open the fridge door.

“oh thank you.” you smile appreciating the small gesture.

“yeah you’re welcome, oh by the way, z, mase and leo are coming over tonight. we have like two days off so i figured you’d want to see them.” he says getting up off the couch and leaning on the tall counter.

“yeah that sounds awesome,” you smile taking a sip of your coffee, locking eyes with jamie. it was always hard for you not to stare for too long at his big, beautiful, blue doe eyes.

“great, i’m gonna get to cleaning the place.” he says drinking the last of his coffee and setting his mug in the sink.

“i’ll help?”

“no it’s okay, didn’t you say you had homework or something?” he says towering over you, standing a little too close.

“oh yeah, i do. we’ll just let me know if you need any help.” you say smiling awkwardly, exiting the kitchen with your coffee, quickly shutting the door behind you. you open your macbook trying to shake the funny feeling he left in your stomach during your short lived conversation in the kitchen. his proximity, his eye contact, his demeanor. it made you overthink, or so you thought.

“what the fuck?” you swear, blinking a few times after seeing how much time had past. it was already reaching 3 pm and you had spent the last 5 hours working on homework and an essay for your english class.

“i think i just got stuck in an alternate dimension, no way i was at my desk for five hours.” you say swinging your door open to jamie sitting on the couch watching tv.

“i didn’t want to interrupt you, when i opened your door you were locked in. i got you lunch tho, i put it in the microwave so it wouldn’t get too cold.”

“oh thank you, you didn’t have to.”

“well i felt like i should because you were drowning yourself in work and you needed to eat something.”

“i appreciate the gesture.” you say pulling the chipotle out of the microwave.

“they’ll be here at 5.” he says.

“okay, let me eat and shower and ill be out here.” you smile walking over to the couch to hug him, “ you’re the best.”

“yeah of course.” he says hugging you back gently. you took your meal into your room and ate it while you picked an outfit and let the shower warm up. right before you step in, your phone buzzes on the counter.

“hey z.” you say picking up.

“hey y/n, can’t wait to see you tonight. it’s been a while since we caught up.”

“yeah me too, i’ve missed you.”

“still a virgin y/n/n? i feel like it’s been long enough since i last checked in.” he asks.

“yes trevor, i told you that you’d be the first to know once i lost my virginity.”

“yep i’m waiting for that text that says ‘harmonica’.”

“oh yes, the code word.” i laugh.

“alright well i’ll let you go, ill see you at 5.”

“bye trev.”

“bye y/n.” he says, ending the line, finally allowing you to step into the shower. you longed for it to finally happen, you’re 20 how has it not yet? once you wrap up your shower you step out, flipping on your hairdryer, humming while you dried it almost completely. you slip on your leggings, throw on your crewneck and spray yourself generously with perfume. you walked back out into the bedroom and heard trevor’s familiar laugh. you slipped on your slippers and walked out into the living room, seeing all the boys sat at the table.

“y/n!” trevor says standing up and walking over to you, hugging you tightly.

“it’s good to see you too trevor.”you laugh as he lets you go. he brings you to the table where you sat directly across from jamie.

“wine anyone? mom got me a wine fridge and i just stocked it.” jamie says and presents a bottle of red wine proudly.

“sure.” you reply smiling, happy to see how proud he is of his wine fridge. he grabs you all glasses and pours one for each of you.

“cheers to being reunited.” mason says raising his glass and everyone following suit, jamie and i locking eyes for a brief moment before looking away, feeling occasional glances in my direction.

“how about some truth or dare?” trevor offers, setting his glass down.

“sure.” mason says with a smug smirk on his face.

“i’m in.” leo replies looking in your direction.

“yeah, yeah let’s play.” you say taking your last sip and setting your glass down.

“i’ll go first.” mason offers, “jamie, truth or dare?”

“truth?” he replies hesitantly.

“how many bottles of wine did you buy for that fridge yesterday?”

“seven.” he quickly replies.

“oh damn ok.” mason laughs, taking another sip.

“trevor, truth or dare?” jamie says turning to look at the clueless boy.

“dare.”

“call terry and tell him you still wanna walk his dog.”

“god, fine.” he says pulling his phone out and calling him.

“hey troy, what’s up?” he says followed by silence.

“yeah i was just calling to ask if i could walk your dog tomorrow? no? oh, okay. great, well thanks for the trust terry.” he laughs hanging up.

“tell you no?” leo asks.

“hahaha yeah.” he replies.

“it’s your turn.” you say cutting him off.

“jeez okay, y/n.” he says smirking looking at you.

“truth.” you say hoping it’s the safe route. trevor looks at you then looks at jamie, then to mason and leo before coming back to you.

“is it true that you’re still a virgin?” he asks with a smug look on his face, causing you to choke on your second sip of your new glass of wine.

“really dude?”

“it requires an answer.”

“yes trevor. i am still a fucking virgin.” i say, face flushing red now that jamie knows.

“alright your turn.” he smiles.

“last round. leo?”

“truth.”

“did you wanna get drafted by the ducks?”

“honestly…… no but i’m glad i am here now.”

“wow didn’t expect that one.” you say expecting a much more underwhelming reply. you finish your wine and rinse your glass out in the sink, finding your way to the couch leaving the boys at the table. they continue their conversation and you sit scrolling through your phone, thinking it would be rude to go to your room with guests over.

j: you good?

y/n: yeah i’m fine

j: okay, talk later?

y/n: sure

you reply one final time, turning on the tv and putting on a movie, distracting yourself from the elephant in the room. not to long after the boys join you on the couch watching the movie as well. jamie sat close to you, arm draped around the back of the couch where you sat. no one said a word to each other for at last 30 minutes. you scoot closer to jamie, leaning your head on his shoulder, eyes drooping with sleepiness. he rested his arm around your shoulder snuggly, his thumb gently caressing your arm.

“boys i think it’s time we head out.” mason declares standing up. it had been a few hours and it was starting to get late.

“i’ll see you guys tomorrow.” jamie says fist bumping them all as they filed out of the apartment. he olaced his arm back around me, this time more snuggly and boldly.

“you okay?” he asks, brushing his thumb in your bicep.

“yeah i’m just embarrassed. he always finds a way.” you admit to the brunette.

“he has a way of rubbing people the wrong way, i’m so sorry y/n.” he replies honestly.

“yeah he does.” you sigh

“so is it true?”

“is what true?” you ask fearing his question.

“are you actually a virgin?”

“yes, i am.” you sigh, embarrassed all over again.

“i mean is there like a reason why?”

“jamie i’m 20, there’s obviously not a good reason. i mean no one’s ever wanted me like that or been attracted to me in that way.” you say picking at your cuticles.

“that’s crazy.”

“what?”

“how has no one been attracted to you in that way?” he repeats and i turn to look at him.

“i mean they just haven’t.”

“they’re crazy.”

“what do you mean?”

“have you looked at you?”

“well yeah but-“

“no buts, come here.” jamie says moving you onto his lap, your hands locking behind his neck.

“what are you doing?”

“giving you the attention you deserve.” he smiles, pulling your chin to his, pressing a short kiss to your lips, sending butterflies through your stomach, leaving an anxious look on your face.

“jamie-“ you start.

“if you don’t want to do anything with me, tell me now and i’ll stop.” he says interrupting you.

“no it’s not that i don’t want to do anything with you, i’m just scared.”

“why are you scared y/n? tell me.” he replies, pushing strands of hair behind your ears.

“i’ve never felt beautiful like other girls so maybe ive just been afraid to ever put myself out there. that’s why im scared. that im not good enough.” you admit to him, never even wanting to admit that to yourself.

“well you should put yourself out there. sure there’s “beauty standards” but who gives a fuck? look at you. you’re so beautiful.” he says with his hands placed delicately on your waist.

“it’s just hard.”

“i’ll make sure you know how beautiful you are love, i promise.” he says running his hand lightly up and down your thigh.

“okay.” you say caving into his words. you grab onto his cheeks and pull him in for a kiss again. this time trying to assert yourself, showing him the direction you want the kiss to go. he puts his arms beneath you, picking you up bridal style, carrying you to his bedroom. a place you’d only entered a handful of times. delicately, he places you on the bed, removing his shirt and climbing over you, reconnecting your lips once again. you began to feel more comfortable, even thought him being shirtless was intimidating to you, you never realized just how toned he actually was.

“you’re so fucking fit jamie.” you say as he backs away to look at you.

“don’t make this about me honey, this night is all about you.” he says running his hands up your legs to the waistband of you leggings in which he assists you in removing. he tosses them in his hamper, clearly having no intentions of giving them back tonight.

“if i need to slow down or stop please tell me.” he says staring down at you, our faces mere inches apart.

“okay.” you reply, face turning rose. he connects your lips once more before assisting you shimmy out of your crewneck which you wore no bra under.

“no bra around the boys? bold move.” he giggles taking your breasts into his hands and kissing you as your hand found their way around his neck. he pulls away standing up again, removing his sweatpants leaving him only in his boxers. delicately, he runs his middle finger over your soaked core on top of the fabric of your lace thong.

“wow so wet huh?” he smirks.

“can’t help it, just want you.” you say boldly, encouraging him more. carefully, he removes your underwear tossing it aside as he runs two fingers through your folds. you were unsure what you were feeling, but knowing it was good was enough. suddenly he finds a sweet spot, kicking your feelings into high gear, unleashing a moan you’d never heard from yourself.

“oh my god jamie.” you say and he giggles.

“you like that?”

“yes fuck yes.” you huff out, never wanting the feeling to end.

“what about,” he pauses, inserting one finger into you, “now?”

you jump at the sensation, it doesn’t hurt too bad but definitely doesn’t feel great.

“a little uncomfortable but not bad, you can keep going.”

“okay.” he says beginning to slide his second finger in, causing a sting.

“okay that hurts a little bit.”

“well good thing i decided to do this first.” he smiles leaning up to kiss you, moving his fingers in and out of you carefully. it still felt weird but you didn’t want to get off on his fingers so you decided to let him go until you felt good enough.

“jamie?” you say opening your eyes and he lifts his head off your shoulder.

“mhm?”

“i’m ready.” you say and he removes his fingers, sucking them clean.

“are you sure baby, like 100% sure?”

“i’m 100% sure.” you reply.

“okay,” he says kissing you once again. he pulls down his boxers allowing his dick to spring free, your eyes directing right to its leaking tip. anxiety trying its best to hold off as he pulls you closer to him as he kneels on the bed, running his tip through you folds just the way his fingers had.

“tell me when it’s too much.” he says pushing in the tip warning a hiss from you.

“you okay?” he asks and you simply nod. he pushes in a little further, feeling your walls stretch out.

“okay wait stop for a sec please.” you say pressing your hands to his chest.

“whatever you need.” he says stopping abruptly. you nod signaling for him to continue and you even hold on and let him bottom out.

“god you’re so big, i feel so full.”

“you’re doing amazing baby.” he says kissing you sweetly on the lips trying to distract you from the sensation you felt between your legs. he retracts his hips slowly and carefully not wanting to hurt you before pushing back in at the same speed, gritting your teeth, trying to find pleasure in this sensation.

“you okay?” he asks.

“yeah i’m okay.” you reply and he continues, the discomfort finally beginning to subside.

“you feel so good around me y/n, so fucking good.” he smiles kissing you passionately. this thrust into you changed everything, pleasure washed over your body quickly, pushing a moan out of your throat.

“there it is, that’s my girl.” he smiles, thrusting a little faster and deeper.

“fuck jamie, that feels so good.” you say wrapping your arms around the back of his neck as his chain hung in your face, hair covering his. he continues his paces, brushing your sweet spot with every thrust, tightening around him.

“you gonna come for me baby?” he asks and you nod quickly, releasing the built up pressure that had built in your abdomen.

“fuck.” you say, the sensation making your legs shake.

“fuck i’m getting close.” he says, his thrusts getting sloppier and pulling out spurting his warm seed onto your stomach. quickly, he runs into the bathroom so wet a rag and wipe your stomach clean before throwing the rag in the hamper and going back into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

“jamie?” you ask. no answer. the feeling of regret beginning to rise in your chest. you grab your crewneck and underwear off the floor and, prepare to leave the room and lock yourself away.

“jamie?” you say again, tears threatening to form in your eyes.

“sorry i had to pee and then i had to answer an email i forgot abo- why do you have those?” he stops mid explanation.

“oh i uh, i figured you weren’t gonna come back out so i was just gonna go back to my room. i’ll hopefully have a place soon so i can get out of your hair.” you reply, scratching your head wondering why you even did this, “i’ll just go ahead and leave now.” you say starting to stand up and he stops you.

“woah woah no stop, did you really think i was gonna just dip after that?” he asks stepping in front of you, grabbing onto your arms.

“well….. kind of.”

“no baby, you’ve got it all wrong, come here.” he says climbing back into bed pulling you to his chest instantly.

“what do i have wrong?” you ask, placing your chin on his chest.

“do you honestly think i just had sex with you so you’d lose your virginity and stop being embarrassed by it?” he asks rubbing your back softly.

“that’s kinda what i assumed once you shut the bathroom.”

“well that’s not what happened and i’m so sorry i did that, i couldn’t have picked a worse time to remember i had an email to answer, anyways, the truth is that i like you, and i have for a long time. you’re beautiful, funny and smart. you’re you and i literally cannot get enough of it.” he says smiling locking eyes with you.

“wow, you like me?”

“yes i do, a fucking lot. i had sex with you because i wanted to and it felt so special being your first. guess i couldn’t pass up the chance.” he chuckles.

“it was amazing jamie, i don’t think i could’ve asked for a better first.” you reply, smiling from ear to ear.

“of course my love, you were so amazing, it seemed so natural to you.” he pauses, “also i want you to stay.”

“stay? what do you mean?”

“like i don’t want you to find an apartment for yourself, please just stay, i love having you here.”

“jamie you don’t have to-“

“i’m offering, it will save you a lot of money and i love your company. please stay.”

“okay i will if you want me to. i just don’t want to inhibit your space.” you say picking at your nails

“you won’t be don’t worry. and besides, we may sleep together eventually if we really truly to give us a chance, but you still have your own room when you need space.” he says.

“i- did you mean like share a bed with you?”

“i mean eventually if you want to share we could, no pressure at all.”

“well i guess we could give this a go couldn’t we.” you nod, sitting up on his lap looking down at him.

“if you’d like to give it a go, i would also like that… quite a lot actually.” he laughs and you lean down to kiss him.

“is that you asking me out?”

“more so asking you to be my girlfriend.”

“wow popped the question so soon.” you teased.

“i know we’ve only had like this night but having you around has made me so crazy about you.” he says scooting back to sit up a bit, keeping you on his lap, placing his hands on your waist.

“hey i’m joking babe, i would love to be your spontaneous girlfriend jamie.” you laugh, smiling widely.

“thank god.” he says, his arms wrapping around you and kissing you passionately. the rest of your night was filled with the pleasures of exploring your romantic connection. you talked, you cuddled, you started a new tv show, you fucked, you made out. you used one night to make up for all the time you spent living together, unknowingly pining for each others affection. eventually, the two of you fell asleep entangled in each other, completely obsessed with one another. you woke up the next morning to jamie pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“good morning my love.” he says talking into your cheek before kissing your it a few more times.

“good morning jamie.” you laugh opening your eyes to face him, allowing yourself to get lost in his gorgeous eyes.

“i slept so good.” he giggles.

“oh yeah, best sleep ever.” you giggle wrapping your arms around him and kissing him on the lips.

-

[babyhatesreality]

hello hello! i hope you’re well!💕 imagine the following:

baby being a hot chip fiend.

the thought has not left me. i’m plagued with thoughts of it on the daily.😭

since katie cat is a modern little, the thought of her enjoying and munching away on takis or hot cheetos while steve and/or bucky just recoil at the spiciness of it just makes me laugh.

especially since steve and bucky were just raised in a completely different time, a stomachache waiting to happen for them, is literally just a casual little snack for her.😭💀

however, there’s also the possibility that at least one of them…bucky would like the spice.

OMG @spoopynortherndownwhore!! So this is hilarious for a multitude of reasons. The first being- I adore this idea and it makes me laugh so hard- you are a genius. Also I'm so sorry for the delay. The second- I am the absolute opposite of a hot chip fiend. Like some of the Taco Bell mild stuff is too much for me. So I have absolutely no idea how to write it because I am literally that person that get a whiff of a spicy scent and starts making faces like a two year old confronted with broccoli.

So all that being said....Imma make some stuff up because it makes me laugh and because you are amazing and I hope it makes you laugh!

This one time you were grocery shopping with Bucky, and a package of Flaming Cheetos caught your eye. You thought the cheetah with the fire behind him was pretty, so you asked if you could get it.

Bucky wasn't sure about this. "Baby, these are hot and spicy. I don't think you're gonna like 'em." But when your face crumpled with disappointment, of course he couldn't handle that. He tossed them right into the basket. "What the heck. Let's live a little."

Your cheering and giggles was all he needed to know it was the right move.

Once you got home, you were desperate to try them, but Bucky insisted on you eating a normal lunch first. Once you finished your pb&j and carrot sticks, you both decided to try them together.

At the first taste, your eyes widened from the burn, your nose wrinkled as it ran, and your tongue felt like it was on fire. And you liked it a lot. You didn't care for the burn, but once you got past that the taste was really good! You reached for another one, but your hand was intercepted.

Because Bucky, who had popped one in at the same time as you, was nearly gagging. He felt like his face was exploding, his guts were on fire, and he didn't even want to think about what was happening in his colon.

"Absolutely not," he wheezed at you, keeping a hold of your hand while snatching the bag. He put the offending fire chips from hell in the top cabinet above the fridge where you couldn't reach even with your step stool before grabbing the gallon of milk. He sloshed some into your glass quickly, before drinking straight from the jug himself.

Once he tamed the burn, he became aware that you were just watching him curiously, having not touched your milk at all.

"Didn't that burn?" Bucky asked, his voice still hoarse from the spice. You nodded.

"Yeah but it was fun!"

"FUN?!"

"Yup! Can I have another?"

"No, baby, I don't want it to hurt your tummy."

"Doesn't hurt!"

"It might not hurt now, but it'll hurt later. No more flaming hot cheetos."

"Dat's no fun."

"You'll thank me later."

"You didn't like dem, Daddy?"

"They're not gonna like ME, munchkin. Drink your milk please."

After you had obeyed and had a milk mustache, you tried again. "Dey didn't taste good to you?"

"They tasted fine, but that burn....yikes," Bucky mumbled as he wiped your face.

"I like da taste too!"

"The taste WAS good, but it's not worth it."

"Please, Daddy? Just one more?"

"Sorry Trouble, it's not happening again."

"But what if Papa like da taste? Can he has them?"

"Okay, now THAT'S a fun idea."

Later that night, Bucky had convinced Steve to try one, and relented on letting you have another- mostly so he could watch Steve's reaction to you having no reaction.

It went exactly how you think it would go.

Steve banned them from the house after watching you down three cheetos in a row in absolute horror.

When you asked what was going to happen to the rest of the cheetos since they weren't allowed in the house anymore, Bucky brushed it off, saying they'd take care of it.

What you didn't know, was after Steve had tucked you into your bed that night, he caught Bucky sneaking a handful of them in the kitchen pantry with a tub of ice cream next to him.

Bucky just blinked at him innocent. "Don't you judge me, Rogers."

"Fine, Barnes. But you either point your ass the other way in bed tonight, or you're sleeping on the couch."

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

It was only supposed to be a one night stand (part 4, Option YES)

Tw: sexual mentions

damn was hoping u guys would choose no so i could like show off his more yandere aspects but i have enough braincells to only choose one path, anwyasyys ejoyy

Part 3, part 5

You can't believe you're considering it, but you definitely gave him hope. He grinned from ear to ear when you said that you're going to see what you could do. As someone living in a big city, commitment is like the boogeyman to you. Or maybe it's something you also yearn for, but the hookup culture around you makes it near impossible.

Montgomery seems... okay. You don't know how you're going to fare from being a workaholic single and freely fucking strangers from dating apps, to becoming a committed partner to a country bumpkin.

You thought about it and you definitely felt bad. You used him for his money even though he didn't have a lot in the first place, you used him for his body and his time. Yet he's not your boyfriend, he was still under the "friend with benefits" umbrella. Maybe he deserved the promotion, he was nothing but loving and kind to you.

He thanked you profusely and promised ad nauseum that you're going to be loved and have a good time.

You didn't want to eat any more of the soup. It's cold and congealed, you stood up and walked away. He frantically asked where you were going.

You said that you're tired and you didn't want any more of the soup. He offered to reheat it for you, but you didn't respond and retired to your bedroom.

It felt surreal to him and you. Over the following days, Montgomery stayed over at your place. He felt like he was in bliss because after years of hurting his back by sleeping in his cramped car, he gets to sleep in a comfortable bed for a longer period of time. He could stretch and not hit his hand against the roof.

You couldn't believe that you're practically letting him move in. You could be minding your own business and doing chores, and he would come from behind to hug and kiss you. He probably knew that you secretly liked it because your shoves and shouts no longer deter him. He would pick you up and twirl you around at the most random times.

It makes sense his cooking skills are close to none, he's been living in his car for a while now and his mother does the cooking at home. So his tastebuds are accustomed to the chock-full takeout of sodium, oil, and sugar. You tried being nice and cooked him a meal, which he appreciated a lot and finished. But when you're not looking, he would use up to a bottle of hot sauce a meal. You also wondered why your salt and sugar stores were depleting rapidly.

The one thing that confused you is that his presence is rarely felt in the bathroom. At least in the living room, kitchen, and bedroom, he has his own personal belongings strewn around. But not the bathroom aside from his toothbrush and toothpaste. You thought he used your soaps, but it wasn't running out as fast as you expected.

Until one day, you caught him entering the shower with a bottle of dishwashing detergent in his hand. You said nothing and waited to see what he would do.

Once he was done, he returned the liquid soap to the kitchen. Is that why his hair felt like broom bristles? It... does make sense, though. Dish soap can remove the toughest stains and it's cost efficient too especially with his occupation as a construction worker. But it's still bizarre to witness.

Though he can't cook to save his life, he makes the best sweet tea you ever tasted, even though you felt like it would give you diabetes induced gangrene for every sip you take. There is always a pitcher full of it in your fridge.

He drives you to work every single day, pecking you on the forehead goodbye and telling you that he's going to come by for lunch. You're not necessarily spending all your breaks with him though, but now you're considerate enough to tell him if you're going to be with your coworkers.

He would be sulkier and clingier than usual if you went out without him.

You wondered what he did for fun. Observing him wasn't giving you the information you wanted, because as soon as he comes back from a long day of work, he would collapse onto the sofa and doze off- that is if you're both not fucking each other.

He rarely takes days off because he needed the money to keep sustaining his takeout-fuelled lifestyle. Montgomery needs cash more than ever now because he has another mouth to feed, even though you rather cook your groceries instead.

Perhaps he doesn't understand. He said that you must be exhausted from working, cooking will only make your fatigue worse. You think he's forgetting you're working a desk job, not something that requires the calories in a bucket of double deep fried chicken.

"You work so hard everyday." He had a concerned look on his face when you shook your head at the pizza box. "You should rest instead of cooking. I have dinner covered."

He also covers lunch. And breakfast.

Breakfast is usually hotdogs or whatever food stalls are open nearby. Since he has access to your fridge and freezer, you note that he would eat the leftovers or stuff that you rejected. It seems like he reheated it before bringing it to work.

You're slowly accepting him into your life. Sometimes you would pack lunch for him and it never fails to make him kneel in front of you and kiss your knuckles. At least you know that he's grateful no matter how over the top his displays of appreciation were.

He may be messy at times, but he's a good man. He takes out the trash, he wash the dishes and he sweeps the floor. So you could forgive the occasional pair of paint-soiled pants lying on the floor. Unfortunately, your water and electric bills went up because he had to use your washing machine quite frequently. You complained to him about it, and he apologized and insisted on paying your utility bills from now on.

It was weird... to say the least when he spent a week beating himself up for being 'ungentlemanly'. When pressed what he meant by that, he said he felt embarrassed that you're providing for him, while it should be the other way round. So to give his manly pride back, he's also paying for your, student loans, mortgage, and groceries. And other miscellaneous subscriptions that weren't there before meeting him.

The weight of the expenses is visibly wearing him thin. But he keeps going, earning as much as he can to spoil you. More times than you can count, you had to console him because he was comparing himself to rich men in sports cars who could afford to pamper their partners with luxury. He kept thinking that he was this lowly cretin that couldn't even muster the funds to buy you a chic car. Completely dismissing the fact that his paycheck each week solely goes to your personal expenses and none to his savings. Sometimes borrowing fifty bucks from his coworkers just to get you a bouquet of roses that you may or may not have thrown into your compost bin.

You never asked for these costly, but romantic gestures. But he insisted, claiming it was a boyfriend's duty; even seemingly suffering from mental breakdowns if he didn't do them.

It confused you, did this all start because you told him off for using the washer too much? It's not like you blew up at him, you just told him to be mindful of his habits.

Then one day, when both of you had days off, he brought you to the mall to shop. He told you to get whatever you wanted, no price was too high for him. Except, you know at least two-thirds of the goods you eyed at was going to bring him to bankruptcy.

While looking at something from a window, you saw in your reflection, Montgomery watching something.

Shifting your eyes, you spotted him staring at a man carrying shopping bags upon shopping bags for his girlfriend. Then he brought his attention to a couple buying an expensive jewel-crusted necklace in a nearby store. There was a man who gave his husband a credit card, which he then happily pranced into the nearest smartphone store. A woman came out of a salon with fresh acrylic nails, they had intricate designs on it. Must have been pricy, but a man was the one who paid for her appointment, the woman then hooked her arm around an older gentleman's; pecking him on the cheek as they walked away.

He locked his eyes on a man with the most beautiful, long jet-black hair. Dressed head to toe in classy clothes, clacks from his heels reached Montgomery's ears as he walked past him. Not once sparing a glance at your boyfriend, deeming him too insignificant. The stranger adjusted the straps of his very obviously luxury bag on his shoulder. The man clearly extrudes wealth and elegance.

You saw Montgomery's shoulder sag, realizing that his shirt and chore jacket were old and relatively tattered, ruined by old stains. He brought his hands to his rough stubble and sun-spotted skin, he is nothing like the normal inhabitants here. He crossed hugged his arms and hunched his back, attempting to shrink himself.

At first, you didn't get what was he looking and reacting at, because you're used to the scene. Then you realized, he had probably never seen such things occur in his small hometown, he must have noticed it even more since you and he officially became a pair. Making him horribly insecure about his financial standing, he must have felt incredibly left out by the community in the city. Hence the crippling loneliness.

You wonder if you should say anything.

[wingedjellyfishflight]

Hogtied: Part 4

You're surprised the next day to see all of the men sitting at breakfast as though nothing is wrong. You sit with them, trying not to make it obvious that you are checking their injuries, only to look directly in Ghost's eyes when you try to casually glance over.

"We're fine, Luv. Be off for a while for recovery, but we are fine." You huff at him. "You know I worry about all of you. Especially with not being able to do the work myself. Bit of a control freak, I suppose."

Soap grins, "never woulda guessed you liked being in charge, hen. Coulda fooled me." You roll your eyes and turn back to your plate, happy they are in good spirits.

You ask them their plans for the day, but they don't have any beyond relaxing in front of the telly. With a nod, you agree with that. "Lunch is on me, then. Already owe the Captain butter chicken, anyway. I will set up an order, just call in what you want and they'll deliver it." Every set of eyes near you is suddenly laser focused. "Umm... I ate his butter chicken, and he caught me with it."

"Lordy, ye dinnae?!" At your nod, the men around you all start talking at once.

"I told him I would replace it, and he let me eat. But good god, you lot need to clean out that fridge more often. I went through so many gross leftovers trying to find something edible." Ghost smirks.

"Who's leftovers were you going to try first?" Your eye twitches as you contemplate if you should lie or start running, and you see his eye zero in on it.

"Nae, ye dinnae! Ye dinnae!"

"Shut up, Soap! It was yours, Ghost. I figured you ordered the best food, so I checked yours first!" With that, you stand up and run from the hall, Ghost leaping up to chase after you. You duck into a closing door just to the right of the dining hall and sprint to the other end, barely making it around the corner before he is onto you. He wraps his arms around your waist and throws you over his shoulder. "The food was bad! I binned it! I didn't even eat your food!"

"You tried to take it, that's guilty enough for me." He carries you to the rec room with the rest of the men are waiting and tosses you gently on a couch. "As punishment for raiding our fridge, you have to sit and watch movies with us."

"Can I at least go get my book?" You knew the answer, and he knew you knew, so he ignored you. "Fine, but I deserve the option to nap if you pick something shite."

"What do you mean by that? We don't pick shite."

"Time Traveler's Wife. We all cried over it, and if I find out who picked it... never getting numbing before stitches again!" Laughter spread around the room at your rant.

"Then what is your favorite one," asked Soap.

"Something with explosions, maybe some angst, oh a holiday movie! Die Hard. Die Hard is good." The whole room groaned. That was always your go-to answer.

"Doc, I know that ain't your favorite. C'mon, I know you hate personal questions, but ya gotta at least tell us your favorite movie on movie day." You shift uncomfortably on the couch and shrink into your, no König's hoodie a bit.

"I... umm... I like Gladiator. It's one of the only ones that I re-watch." The men are quiet at your answer, and Ghost squeezes your shoulder gently.

"Gladiator up first then." You rest your hand on his briefly with a small smile. Ghost and Soap flop down on either side of you, squeezing you between them. The movie starts, and you sit forward on the couch, nervous. Ghost leans forward and tugs you back, pulling you to lean against his side. "You can nap if you want to, but relax. You've been anxious since before we left."

"I could tell this mission was going to be a doozy. I hate being right." You watch the entire movie, relaxing against him with his hand rubbing your back gently.

When it ends, you sit up and stretch, glancing over and seeing Soap sleeping with his head tipped oddly. You stand carefully and readjust him, so he is sitting more comfortably. When you get back from peeing and grabbing a drink, you see that he has taken over most of the couch, leaving no room next to Ghost, who also looks like he is about to nod off.

When you edge back toward the door, Ghost wags his finger at you, so you look for an open seat. Your eyes alight on König, sprawled across a smaller couch by himself.

"Budge up a bit. Soap kicked me out of the cuddle pile." He chuckles and moves his leg to let you sit down.

"We make our own cuddle pile then." He lifts his arm so you can lay against his chest. The next movie is one you haven't seen yet. You only make it about halfway through before falling asleep. The smell of Indian food wakes you up. When you go to sit up, König's arm tightens around you, holding you against him as he sleeps. You debate pushing free, but opt to relax against him, falling back asleep. When you wake next, your body is sore from the shit couch, but you feel cocooned in warmth. Rubbing your face deeper into the warm has it moving away as König gently sits you up. As soon as he lets go, you press against him again.

"So warm... safe..." You feel his body melt against yours.

"Sorry, König. Should've warned ya that she is a level ten clingy cuddler when she falls asleep. Can't pry her off until she's actually awake."

"My back hurts," he says in response. That's all you need to wake up. You sit up, concerned.

"Has it been hurting all day or just since I came over? Can you wiggle your toes? Is there any numbness?" He just stares at your full 180 attitude while Ghost groans.

"The only thing that can get her to stop cuddling: Doctor Mode. Never mention a health issue if you want cuddles, bruv. She can't switch it off hardly at all."

"Do you have-?" König rearranges himself to lay on his back and tug you into his chest.

"Relax, Schatz. I am fine. We will watch more movies together." You relax against him again.

It only lasts a few minutes before you hear thrashing and yelling. You scramble up and see Soap fighting in his sleep. Everyone is standing well back, but Ghost looks torn. You push through the crowd and dodge Ghost's arms to carefully climb in Soap's lap, wrapping your arms around his torso to act as a stabilizer. You try to dodge his wild thrashing, feeling his fist clip your face as you move close to him. You tuck your face into the crook of his neck to keep him from hitting you again and begin singing quietly to him.

"Can ye no hush your weepin'

All the wee lambs are sleepin'

Birdies are nestlin' nestlin' together

Dream Angus is hirplin' oer the heather

Dreams to sell, fine dreams to sell

Angus is here wi' dreams to sell

Hush ye my baby and sleep without fear

Dream Angus has brought you a dream my dear.

List' to the curlew cryin'

Faintly the echos dyin'

Even the birdies and the beasties are sleepin'

But my bonny bairn is weepin' weepin'"

Slowly, Soap calms, and you are able to relax your hold. He cries silently into your shoulder as you sing the lullaby through a second time. You pull back and rest a hand on his cheek. "Are ye alright noo, laddie?" He nods, laying his hand over yours. "Good, because I need to make sure you didn't tear anything up."

He growls and doesn't let loose your hand, staring at your face. "First ye'll tell me where ye git yon blue keeker."

"Ghost skelped me. Said I was too mouthy during the film." You pull your hand back with a grin and scoot back in his lap to tug up his shirt, checking that he hasn't popped any stitches.

"Dinnae be telling me havers."

"Ah wud never tell ye havers. Ahm a saint of a Catholic." Laughter bursts around the room, many knowing you were not Catholic at all and having heard many lies come from you to protect them or convince them to do something they hate.

"Ye dinnae have it when scran was here. Ye were sleepin on yon big yin." You shrug and glance over at the food.

"Well, ye look bonnie." You stand with Ghost's help, the grumble of your tummy making him chuckle.

"Go eat, luv. We got him from here."

"Ghost, did you hit the wee doctor? I ken ye dinnae, but-"

"English, Bubbles. And if she said I did, then I must have. The doctor is a saint of a Catholic, after all." Soap sputters, unable to form any words.

Walking over to the table, you spot your food, König's and... the Captain's. He didn't come get it. You huff and carry it to his office, knocking firmly.

"Enter," Captain Price's voice floats through the door. Opening it, you see he is in a meeting with another man.

"Sir, you didn't grab your lunch, so I figured I would deliver it." He nods his thanks and gestures for you to bring it to him.

"Since when are delivery drivers allowed to bring food directly to you? And when did they start dressing so terribly?" You glance down at the hoodie draped over you and open your mouth to respond. Captain's voice cuts you off.

"Sir, this is the doctor I was speaking about. It is merely her day off." He somehow balances censure of the other man with respect in a way that has you in awe of his skill.

"Hmph. In my day, women were expected to dress up for the men around them, on duty or off." You bristle, and Captain tries to intervene again.

"We do not police what the men wear on their days off. We certainly won't with the women we work alongside. Now-"

"I'm just saying female doctors need to have a little self-respect and demand enough respect to be obeyed by the men." Price could not be fast enough to silence your barked laughter.

"Sir, with all due respect, the men don't care at all what I am wearing as long as I am fixing their injuries. This hoodie you are so dismissive of is but a sign of the respect of the men. I wonder, how would you convince a heavily muscled, 16 stone man to submit to having the mask removed that he considers part and parcel to who he is? One that less than a dozen living men have seen under since he first donned it."

He snorts and says, "Enough orderlies will force any man to submit to anything."

"And thusly you have destroyed any and all trust that man has in you or the medical profession. I have convinced that man, peacefully, to remove his mask. Built up trust over time to convince him and many others to give a full and unabridged medical history by allowing them the right to privacy. Hell, I have convinced a prisoner that came here hogtied due to how dangerous he was to not only allow me to treat him without needing restraints but to allow the removal of his mask. That man has become one of our greatest assets, in part, due to the respect afforded to him, which started in the medical bay. So, to hear you say that brute force and dressing pretty are the only two ways to gain respect around here is not just inappropriate but sets a dangerous precedent for the men we serve. Such a precedent, I will not allow to take root in my clinic." Silence fills the room after you finish speaking. The man turns to Price.

"I'm convinced. Promotion approved." He signs a piece of paper on the desk. Captain grins at your stunned and confused face.

"Agreed. That was quite a moving statement, Major. Soon to be Lieutenant Colonel, I suppose." Your eyes narrow in suspicion as you look back and forth between them.

"Sir, am I to be expected to leave and work in a different facility, then? If so, I do not want this promotion."

"You'll have to go where assigned, doc. That's above my paygrade to influence."

"Yes, and your opinion on a promotion doesn't matter. If you are promoted, you will work where assigned until the end of your contract."

"I won't leave my men. It would take many steps back. It was jokingly mentioned not long ago, and they nearly mutinied."

"They will get over it." The man seems smug, and it is ticking you off something fierce.

"That's fine then, Captain. I am sure my parents will be thrilled to hear that I no longer wish to work for the military."

He winces, "Now, doll. There's no reason to go involving your parents. I'm sure we can work something out."

"Parents? The military does not care bout the opinions of parents." He scoffs at your threat.

"They do when they have money and political favors. Captain, I will do everything in my power to stay, including sabotaging a promotion. If you force my hand, I will find a way out rather than have to start over somewhere else. Please, do not push me on this, I love working here."

You are begging at this point. Leaving your men would be devastating. You've tried to stay under the radar ever since finding out that promotions mean leaving, even to the point of refusing to record the advanced training and techniques you have taken and the ones you have pioneered.

"I understand, Major. We will discuss this further later." You know a dismissal when you hear it.

"Yes, sir."

The next thing you know, you are back in the rec room, sitting in front of your food. Ghost appears at your side and nudges you gently.

"What happened, Luv?"

"I got promoted, I think. Maybe."

"Woo-"

"Shut up. It isn't a good thing."

"Why not? You are moving from Major to Lieutenant Corporal! That is great! They've been ignoring you for too long." He starts to stand, and you drag him back down.

"If I get promoted, I have to leave. I-i won't be here anymore. That's why I've been hiding from it."

"Oh," he says as he settles back in. "You've been avoiding more money and shit to stay with us? But why?" You nod and shove a piece of food in your mouth, trying to get a bit of time to think.

"I just... I really love working with you guys. It's exactly the job I wanted since I had to be a doctor. Working with adrenaline junkies who save the world, ya know?" You sigh and lean against his shoulder. "I really like the relationships I've built here. You guys are respectful and kind. Female officers don't usually much respect."

He rubs your arm gently. "Heard and understood, luv. We will figure this out together, then. Eat up, and we can watch another movie before dinner."

You wake up later sandwiched between Ghost and Soap on the couch, each wrapped around you somehow. Your last thought before falling asleep again is the way this feels like home.

The next week, Captain Price sets a meeting with you. When you tell Ghost, he immediately wants to go with you. Despite turning him down every time and refusing to tell him when, he catches the closing door and silently stands behind your chair. The Captain stares at him for a long moment before opting to ignore him completely.

"I've arranged this meeting to discuss your upcoming promotion and what it means for you and the men."

"I understand, sir. I can have the files updated and ready for transfer in about two weeks. I will need to meet one on one with each man to ensure the transferred files meet with his approval based on the policy in effect." Captain Price looks surprised.

"You don't intend to pass on the full histories to a replacement?"

"No, I am afraid they will be accidentally dropped into a paper shredder, and there will be an incident with a small bin fire just off base. Quite unfortunate, but not preventable." You keep your gaze passive and meet the Captain's own look evenly. "I will ensure that the approved files do not meet with such an end. I will also endeavor to provide a full list of the procedures and techniques that we have pioneered under my command so that there is consistency for the men. They do so hate change."

"I hope the former will not be necessary, and I implore you to implement the latter. As an aside, in speaking further with the RAMC, we have come to an agreement for you to stay here at this post indefinitely. It was deemed necessary to current and future missions to maintain consistency in medical care. I was asked to pass on a message: All doctors are required to record their advanced training and education, and thus, it is expected that you will update your records accordingly. I believe that covers everything." His grave face suddenly breaks into a smirk, just as you begin crying with joy.

"Thank you, Captain! Thank you!" He stands and moves around his desk to wrap you in a hug.

"You did good, doll. I am so proud of the work you have done, and now it will be recognized by everyone else." He smiles down at you and presses a kiss to your forehead. "Now, please do those updates. I called in some big favors and made some promises to work this out." All you can do is nod before you are pulled from the Captain and crushed against Ghost's chest.

"Woohoo! You're staying with us, luv!" He drags you to the door with a bare minimum of respect for Captain Price, refusing to let you stop and say goodbye. "Time to go tell everyone. We will have a party!"

"I've never seen you so excited for anything, Ghost. Slow down, I'm gonna trip!" He huffs playfully but slows down.

"I wanted to get you out of there before the Captain decided he needed to address what you so casually stated, but it is exciting to keep you on. I have been trying to decide how to break into your office for those files for the last week." You stop and frown.

"Don't do that. It would be dangerous to try to steal them." He cocks an eyebrow. "Yes, dangerous. You seriously don't think all I have protecting them are a few flimsy filing cabinet locks after how long it took to get that information. There is life and death information in them. I called in a few favors to build a security system of sorts for it."

"That's... that's sexy as hell, luv. You are one loyal woman." He stares down at you for several long moments, starting when someone clears a throat a little ways away.

"Sorry to break up the party. I heard you had your meeting today. How did it go?" König asks innocently, making you glare at Ghost.

"You weren't supposed to tell anyone!" He holds his hands up in surrender, backing away.

"I was pretty sure you weren't leaving, promotion or not. We just want to celebrate with you."

"Ghost! Lech mich am Arsch! Bastardo! Schluckspecht!"

"Come, mein Schatz. It is good that we celebrate now. You are staying, and we do not have to stage a rebellion." König picks you up as though you are just a child, carrying you away from a laughing Ghost even as you yell more insults. You want to fight away from him, but you can't stop from pressing closer. You can barely stop yourself from nuzzling against his shoulder. It takes a minute then for you to realize that he has turned away from the rec room, which is where you're sure the party is supposed to be.

"König, where are you taking me?" You catch your traitorous fingers rubbing at the back of his neck under the mask. "Sorry."

"I like your hands on me, meine Prinzessin. I wanted to talk to you without prying eyes and ears..." You rub your fingers against his collarbone through his shirt. "Yes, I like that." You blush and lean forward, stopping just in front of his lips. He cups the back of your head, closing the distance and kissing you through his mask.

You feel your back pressed against a wall and hear the jingle of keys. König has brought you to his quarters. He carries you in, kicking the door shut and locking it. Laying you on the bed, he says, "Tell me what you want, Schatz. I need to know."

"I want this, König. I want you. Bitte." He quickly strips off his clothes and mask, giving you space to do the same.

"Gut. I will fuck you, then I will take you to the party as meine Prinzessin... if you can walk." He chuckles as he climbs on the bed, pushing your legs up and laying his cock against your stomach. "It will be a tight fit. Might take all night to loosen up you up." He is excited, talking fast and teasing you with his fingers already.

"Promise?" Your question is loaded, but he nods happily.

"Yes, Prinzessin. You will take the whole thing before the night is over. I will make sure of it." He leans down close to your ear, "I will make you mine forever."

[perplexedflower]

Something Familiar

Fandom: Resident Evil.

Category: F/M.

Relationship: Chris Redfield x Female Reader.

Type: One shot.

Words: 5,126.

Summary: Blurry memories, a somewhat familiar environment… As [Y/N] finds herself waking up one morning in a bedroom that is not hers, all her questions are soon answered as she reunites with Chris after what has seemed like an eternity.

Chronology: Post-Resident Evil 8.

~~~~~~~~~~

Feeling as though I was waking up from a deep slumber, I opened my eyes slowly, and immediately found myself surrounded by a familiar smell; not too soft, but not too strong at the same time. It did not take me long to realize I was lying on a bed, although, not in my bedroom, therefore deducing I was not at home. I looked around and down at my body, only to find it buried underneath the sheets of a large double bed, reigning in a large bedroom, entirely illuminated by sunlight shining through a window to my left which forced my eyes to open wider as I felt the rays warm the skin of my face.

After having truly awakened, I made an effort to move to the other side of the bed, next to which the nightstand was; however, the slightest movement of my body made me quickly realize how physically weak I was, as pain instantly flowed through my muscles. Once I had rolled over to my right, I turned my head to the clock resting on the nightstand and saw it was midday, around noon. Next to it, on one corner of the bedside table, I also noticed some pills and what seemed to be medication, though I had no idea what they were for, or who they were for; in fact, I had no idea what I was doing in this bedroom whatsoever.

I closed my eyes firmly as I took a deep breath in to try and remember my latest memories, but no matter how deep I dug, I had no clear recollection of what the past few days had been like for me.

Brushing my worries away, my attention was once more drawn toward the scent, the tender and affectionate smell that was emanating from the bedsheets and enveloping me whole. Rising into a sitting position ever so slowly, I pushed the sheets aside and got out of bed: but as I set foot on the cold floor, my legs immediately bent under my weight, as if having not carried me for a long time. I managed to steady myself by holding onto the side of the nightstand, stopping my body from falling back on the bed, and as I took more and more steps, started to regain balance.

By the time I had stabilized myself, I was out of the bedroom and into a short hallway; walking through it quietly, I was then faced with a flight of stairs that took me almost directly into a kitchen, neatly cleaned and ordered. Once there, a rather small piece of paper set on the counter caught my attention before I could really take in anything else in the room. Picking it up curiously, I first read my name on it and understood it was a memo addressed to me.

"Thursday, March 10.

If today is the day you wake up, you'll find some cereals and loaves of bread in the left-side cupboard in case you want to make yourself breakfast. If you're rather looking for a dish for lunch, you'll find some chicken and leftovers of stir-fried vegetables in the fridge. I cooked them yesterday so don't worry, they're still good to eat. I can only imagine how hungry you'll be after waking up, so don't hesitate to grab whatever food you want. However, please wait for my return if you want to cook something intricate, you won't be fully recovered and I don't want you to harm yourself or push yourself too hard until I come back.

Lastly, if you're looking to change into other clothes, you'll find a good portion of your wardrobe in the closet of my bedroom, on the right-side shelves."

No signature had been left at the end of the memo, but I did not need one to recognize it was written in Chris' handwriting.

Chris...

I held my breath, along with the piece of paper in my hands as I started thinking of him; a part of me felt taken aback, as if I had forgotten about him before and was only now remembering him. However, it felt to me like something was not quite right. I tried my best to remember what led me to end up in what evidently seemed to be his house, in addition to why it was empty, but no clear answer came to my mind. Instead, I focused on scanning the kitchen briefly, until spotting a bin, somewhat transparent and open, revealing its content to me.

Right away, I noticed from afar what appeared to be crumbled pieces of paper, and my suspicions were verified when I approached it: I grabbed the first one on top of the pile, unfolded it, and read it out loud. It bared the date from the day before, the 9th of March, and followed the same pattern as the up-to-date memo I had read barely a few minutes before. And still, it was in Chris' handwriting. I set it aside to pick up a few others, only to see they repeated themselves, with only the types of food available changing from one to another. Reading these notes, I felt something shake deep within my core, moving me, triggering something in me, without knowing what it was exactly.

Determined to find answers to my never-ending questions, I threw all the crumbled notes back in the bin, before deciding to wander around the house in hopes of finding even the slightest of things that would help my memory tick. Letting my hand drift on the walls gently, I progressed through each room, and soon felt some pieces of the puzzle starting to connect in my mind: this was indeed Chris' house, and I could recall that I had been there before, countless times. And although I was still unable to justify my presence there, or even why Chris himself was not home, I kept on venturing from room to room.

I eventually found the bathroom and stepped inside, walking towards the sink: looking at myself in the mirror, I found my face to be pale and frail, expressing fatigue. Only then did I notice I was only wearing a tank top and a pair of shorts, both from my personal wardrobe.

I deserve a proper change of clothes... and a shower. Feels like I haven't taken one in over a century.

Giving my face one last look in the mirror, I took my clothes off, set them aside, and stepped into the shower. Turning the water on, its contact with my skin instantly soothed me, easing me into a warm and cozy sensation. I allowed myself to spend as much time as I needed inside the shower, letting the hot water cleanse me, feeling it slowly trickle along my body. After having enjoyed the water's heat for long enough, I grabbed what I assumed could only have been a bottle of Chris' shampoo I had spotted nearby earlier, as well as a bottle of shower gel, confident that he would not mind me using them. Opening the cap of the shampoo bottle, I was instantly surrounded by yet another familiar smell, once again, like one of the bedsheets. The scent wrapped me completely, in a feeling of warmth and comfort; holding the bottle tight with my fingers, I let my mind roam deep into thoughts as I washed my hair and body.

After having spent quite some time washing, I stepped out of the shower and stared at myself once more: this time, I found that I looked considerably better, and, surely, less tired-looking. Wrapping myself in a towel, I threw my clothes in the dirty laundry basket and waited to have dried a bit before heading back to the bedroom, in search of the clothes Chris' memo had told me about. While waiting and as I made my way upstairs slowly, I could not help but think deeper about him, my mind still swirling with questions and interrogations.

Once in the bedroom, though, my concerns vanished, replaced with my longing to open the closet in which I would find new, clean clothes to change into; and, indeed, I opened the doors to find some, if not a considerate amount of my clothes, as rightfully indicated by Chris' note. A smile formed on my face and I felt a touch of blush appear on my cheeks as I wondered if he had personally chosen the clothes stored here himself, noticing they were mainly the ones I wore most often, as well as some of my personal favorites. I started taking some of my clothes off the shelves, wondering what to wear, depending on what would be most comfortable, as it was my top priority.

I feel like wearing these pants, but with this sweater, I might be too ho—

All of a sudden, I heard the sound of a door opening and closing downstairs, abruptly interrupting my thoughts; it was quickly followed by a couple of slow and heavy footsteps. A moment of silence ensued, then the sound of paper bags dropping on the floor tiles was immediately followed by the loud echo of yet another set of footsteps, this time, rapidly climbing up the staircase leading to the bedroom.

In the blink of an eye, the footsteps stopped and I was faced with Chris, barging out the bedroom door I had left unclosed, eyes wide open and exhaling from his mouth. We looked at one another in silence, staring into each other's eyes, and an indescribable feeling started filling me up.

"[Y/N]..." He whispered in a voice expressing shock and surprise, but a deep sense of relief as well.

I felt as though time had stopped, my breath held sharp, my eyes lost in Chris', until he took a step in my direction; I instinctively backed away, holding my towel close to my body, with visible hints of red spread all over my face. He suddenly stopped himself in his tracks and a thin layer of blush appeared on his cheeks as he cleared his throat and turned around to exit the room, both executed with embarrassment, before closing the door behind him.

Another silence reigned, this time heavy and tense. But barely a few seconds after the door had closed, I heard the sound of something hitting it lightly on the other side.

"Of course you'd wake up when I'm not home..."

Judging by how close his voice sounded, I guessed the sound I had heard was of his head resting against the door; feeling myself blush harder by what had just happened, I released the pressure of my hands on my towel, reassured Chris was not in the room anymore to see me in such a way.

"When did you wake up?"

"About half an hour ago."

I heard him exhale in relief from the other side of the door as I took in the composition of the bedroom; only then did I actually take a look around it, making my way slowly through the room.

"And how are you feeling?" Chris asked.

I walked to the other side of the bed and observed the ashtray set on the other nightstand.

"I've seen better days, but I'm fine."

Another sigh of relief.

"I see you've already taken a shower..." He started, his voice expressing light awkwardness. "That's good, I'm sure it must have felt refreshing."

I smiled a little as I gave him a nod he could not see. He cleared his throat again, the slightly lower volume of his voice making me understand he was backing away from the door.

"Well, I'll let you finish dressing up, in the meantime I'll go into the kitchen to clean the groceries I left on the floor. Join me downstairs once you're done."

"All right."

I looked down at my hands and played around with my fingers, listening to the sound of his footsteps as his words echoed through my mind; it had been way too long since I had last heard the sound of his voice, and it made a part of me feel warm and fuzzy. Quickly, I went back to the closet to slip into a pair of stretchy jeans and a t-shirt, trying my best to set my thoughts aside. But as I was about to close it back, my eyes fell on some of Chris' clothes, and, almost instinctively, I followed the voice inside of me telling me to pick one of his shirts up; slowly, I brought one of his turtlenecks up to my face, holding the fabric delicately, and taking in the scent emanating from it. Sudden sounds of rustling in the kitchen brought me back to my senses and I promptly put the shirt back on the shelf, my cheeks covered with red.

I briskly made my way down the stairs and entered the kitchen to find Chris putting food inside his shelves and fridge; he turned around to look at me and sighed once more, as if he was looking at the ghost of someone he had long lost hope of seeing again. I smiled at him and the second I did so, I saw his eyes shine brightly with a radiant spark. He gave me a slightly awkward smile back, before going back to store his groceries away.

I watched him go back and forth between his bags and his shelves, neither of us saying a word; it was as if everything was normal, the way it was supposed to be. But something was still off for me.

"Chris... can you fill me in as to what the hell's happening?" I started, placing an elbow on the counter. "You don't seem as confused as me, but I'd like to know why I woke up in your bed this morning, and why I feel so... strange."

His arm stopped midway into motion, hanging in the air for a few seconds, and he turned around with furrowed eyebrows.

"You don't remember what happened?"

"What happened when? My memory is really blurry, I've got no idea why, but it seems like I've been missing a part of my life recently."

Looking at me with concerned eyes, Chris slowly put a hand on the counter.

"[Y/N], you were practically sleeping for a week straight."

Like a kick to the guts, I was left stunned, keeping my mouth open for a few seconds, but falling speechless.

"... What?"

He gulped, visibly troubled, before finally setting down the pack of drinks he was holding, turning all his attention to me.

"About a week ago, you, me, and the rest of the squad were on a mission over on the other side of the country. Long story short, it was exhausting and required us to stay alert for a long while. You above all the others invested too much of yourself into it... and we later found out you'd deprived yourself of sleep for multiple nights in a row, just to keep your guard up. Not only that, but you weren't taking proper care of your diet either. We eventually decided to launch an attack plan, and you went into it with a weakened physical condition."

Chris marked a break in his story, looking down with what felt to me was remorse.

"You ended up getting hit. It wasn't anything serious, but it was enough to knock you unconscious. The second I saw you fall, I came to pick you up and gave you to Canine to watch over you until we'd be outta there. After we were done, we took off and brought you to a medic, who told us you had nothing severe, not enough to put you in a hospital, at least, but that you needed rest. He'd actually said we should expect to see you sleep for days on straight..."

He scoffed under his breath while slowly shaking his head, which was still lowered.

"Hell, even I didn't know it was possible to sleep for that long."

I looked into his eyes as I registered one by one each piece of information he had given me.

"And you brought me to your house."

Chris raised his head and looked back into my eyes with a sincere expression.

"I brought you here, so that I could keep an eye on you and treat you. I told the squad we'd set aside every mission we had planned until you'd wake up and fully recover, so I've been spending all my days at home since, set aside the occasional grocery shopping."

I felt the very core of my soul heat up as I smiled shyly.

"Thank you, Chris. For everything." I said warmly.

He looked down, seeming pensive, before turning back to unpack his last remaining groceries.

"Don't thank me yet. I haven't had the chance to lecture you properly about your behavior during the mission, and don't think you'll escape from it."

He's still the same old Chris. I thought while failing to suppress a gentle scoff. Nothing has really changed in the span of a week.

"You've got yourself injured and that's nothing to take lightly, [Y/N]." He continued with the same serious tone. "And speaking of which..."

Leaving his sentence unfinished, he closed the cupboards as he stored away his last supplies; he walked to me and put a gentle hand on my back, escorting me out of the kitchen to take me into the living room instead.

"Sit down." He ordered me, though not too roughly as he pointed to the couch in front of us.

"What for?"

"I have to inspect you to see if you're fine." He answered, already on his way to the couch.

I let a chuckle escape from my lips as I complied, too amused by the situation to disobey. He sat down beside me and I suddenly felt my smile disappear, replaced by shyness, feeling him so close to me on this couch, occupied mostly by blankets and pillows, leaving the both of us little room to sit, and forcing us to squeeze next to each other. He started grabbing my arms and inspecting me, holding my chin to make my head turn left and right.

"How have you been feeling since you've been awake? Any vertigo, any pain?"

"Chris, I'm fine." I said with a smile.

I tried making him understand it was pointless, that nothing was wrong with me, but he kept on inspecting me nonetheless, searching for any issue.

"Chris..."

"You were hit on the head, [Y/N], I can't overlook that."

Bringing his face close to mine, he grabbed the back of my head to examine it, feeling the surface of my skin with his palm to try and spot any abnormalities.

"Chris!"

He stopped moving, his face inches from me, his eyes locked on mine.

"I'm fine, really." I told him with sincerity.

I smiled from one corner of my mouth as I looked down at him quickly, before bringing my eyes back on his face.

"I'm just hungry."

He stared at me for a few seconds with a soft expression before backing away with a sigh.

"All right. It's time for lunch anyway."

Chris finally got off me and stood up from the couch, heading back to the kitchen, leaving me to smile at myself as I felt butterflies dancing in my stomach. This feeling reminded me of how much I had missed him during these seven days I had spent sleeping, how I was happy to fill this gap now that he was with me again; or, more so, that I was with him.

Getting up from the couch as well, I joined him in the kitchen, lured in by the sound of pots and pans. Seeing me beside him, Chris turned his head to me and looked into my eyes, his cheeks sprinkled with blush.

"Wanna cook with me?"

"Sure." I answered enthusiastically. "I'm not gonna let you prepare lunch all by yourself, after all."

"All right, but there are certain things I'm not gonna let you do, I don't want you to exhaust yourself too much." He replied, ever so seriously.

His concern once again made me laugh, given it was clearly unnecessary. I proved him wrong and showed him I was in good shape by helping him make lunch, fetching him ingredients and carefully making the dishes, though he made it clear he wanted me to stay away from any knife or sharp utensils, fearing I would hurt myself. Throughout our cooking session, I felt his attitude and behavior soften, seeing him let his guard down as he allowed his inner self to relax and enjoy this time with me.

I knew better than anyone that Chris needed to be eased into a sense of comfort and intimacy to make him drop his cold exteriors and reveal his true face; my light temporary amnesia had taken away parts of my memories, including some I had shared with him, but it did not take me long to recover them, little by little, as I laughed and joked with him in his kitchen. Once we had finished making lunch, we sat down in front of the counter to eat, facing each other.

Just as I was about to take my first bite, my mouth let a deep yawn out; as soon as I opened my eyes back, I laughed seeing Chris look at me with an unbelievable expression.

"I know what you're gonna say..."

He shook his head as he started digging his fork and knife into his meat.

"Seven days wasn't enough for you?"

"Apparently not." I said with a chuckle.

He brought his food to his mouth and I mirrored his movements; the second my palate tasted the dish I had cooked with him, I felt my body react as if it was only now waking up truly, suddenly regaining strength. Only then, as I filled up my stomach more and more with each bite did I realize how much I had craved food, and how my body had missed it during these seven days of slumber.

"I don't know if it's just me because I haven't eaten anything in a week, but this tastes delicious." I told Chris with my mouth full in-between two bites.

"No, it's not just you." He said with a chuckle. "It really is good, I'll admit we did a great job."

But his smile soon faded away to be replaced with a pensive expression instead.

"Seven days, though..." He started, shaking his head slowly while bringing his fork up to his lips. "There's no way you actually spent every one of your days here sleeping... Do you remember anything? Maybe you opened your eyes every now and then before dozing off again?"

I swallowed the bite I had in my mouth before shrugging quickly.

"I don't know... I think I do remember some vague moments when I woke up in your bed, but they never lasted long, and nothing much happened."

I took another bite as I looked up at Chris with curious eyes.

"By the way, where have... you been sleeping all this time?"

A part of me had already theorized a potential answer to that question, but instantly dismissed it away, thinking it was too crazy to even take into consideration.

"On the couch in the living room." He replied casually.

"Chris!" I let out with an exaggerated yet light gasp as I put my fork down. "The couch? You wanna lecture me about my sleeping habits when you're spending your nights on the couch?"

I saw his expression shift into a more serious one as he slowly stopped eating too.

"Don't start."

I was obviously joking around, purposefully making a big deal out of something which was not important, toying with him just a little.

"I know you've got sleeping problems, Chris, and spending seven nights on a couch is not gonna make things better. Why didn't you take the bed?"

"Because you matter more!" Chris suddenly exclaimed as he slammed his fist on the counter, making me jump in surprise. "You were the one who needed a proper bed, it didn't matter where I'd sleep, as long as you were safe... Goddammit, [Y/N], I was worried sick about you."

He did not shout, but his voice was loud enough to make me hold my breath. I looked down, not knowing what to reply, before grabbing my plate by the edge and standing up from my chair.

"I'll go warm up my plate in the microwave, it's gone cold." I spoke in a very low tone.

But as soon as my feet touched the ground, I limped and lost balance, barely managing to put my plate back down on the counter before almost letting it fall and break.

"Shit—"

Chris immediately stood up from his chair and hurried toward me to grab me, holding me tight by the arms and waist, making sure I was stable and would not fall.

"It's ok— I got you—"

The tone in his voice had softened dramatically as his first instinct was to reassure me. And it worked just as intended: the second I heard his words of comfort, I felt warm and secure, draped in a blanket of tenderness. He led me to the couch and helped me stabilize myself with each step I took, all while holding me close. His hands against my skin, strong but delicate sent shivers down my spine, and somehow made my limbs even weaker.

"Are you all right?"

"Y-Yeah, don't worry." I managed to articulate. "I think it's just my body reacting to receiving food after such a long time without it... I may have eaten more than my stomach can hold."

Chris held his gaze on me with a concerned expression.

"... Are you sure it's not because you were too active when making lunch?"

Before leaving me time to consider this factor, he bit his lower lip lightly and diverted his eyes from mine.

"God, I knew it was a bad idea..."

I placed a shy hand on his torso, which made him turn back to me; I smiled at him warmly, making him understand without a single word that he needed not to feel guilty, and he replied with saddened eyes and a small nod. Having reached the couch, he set me down gently, and we sat similarly to before, only this time I did not push him away: as he held me, I let myself lean against him, until being entirely wrapped in his arms. I heard him take a deep breath in as I rested my head on his chest, calming down to the sound of his speeding heartbeat.

"I've missed you." I spoke up in a warm and emotional voice.

I felt Chris tighten his hold on me just a little as I talked.

"I'm sorry I exploded at you." He said, almost in a whisper.

"No, it's fine. It's my fault for joking around at such an inappropriate time. I can't imagine how much stress you've been under because of me over the past week."

Another silence reigned, during which the two of us cherished that special moment.

"I've missed you too."

He gently stroked the top of my head while I heard him inhale deeply once again.

"And I want you to know that I worry about you, [Y/N], because I love you."

I could not help but hold tighter onto his shirt, feeling my breath sharpen.

"It... may not be anything new to you... I've been told by a few of the guys I'm kinda obvious..." He spoke shyly, clearly embarrassed.

Nevertheless, despite his awkwardness, he kept on keeping me close to him with a love that expressed confidence.

"But, frankly, I never cared much whether you noticed or not, all I ever wanted you to know was that I'd be here for you, by your side and keeping you safe no matter what."

As much as my heart was melting, as much as I wanted to bury myself deeper into his chest, I gathered the strength to pull away and look up at him. His eyes met mine in a moment of weakness, before I felt a blush forming on my cheeks and promptly looked away.

"You know, I never noticed..." I confessed. "Not once did I consider you could feel attraction for me, it felt... surreal, to me."

I looked up into his eyes again to find a loving warmth in them.

"Because... I love you too, and my mind was unable to convince itself that you'd ever reciprocate my feelings..."

As I lowered my eyes back down, Chris raised my chin up with two of his fingers, an ounce of a smile on his face.

"Well, your mind was wrong."

I smiled shyly, feeling his contagious grin spreading to me. My chin still held by his thumb and index, it however progressively vanished, an intense expression of passion taking shape on his face instead. In silence, he moved his hand to my cheek, caressing the surface of my skin delicately with his thumb. He leaned his face closer to mine and grasped the side of my waist as our lips touched, embracing each other lovingly.

I was instantly filled with warmth and tenderness, although the kiss itself was quite rough, Chris' beard scratching my skin; his lips, slightly rugged, hugged mine perfectly as if they had only been made for each other. We barely had time to pull away from our first kiss that we both asked for more, his hand bringing my face close to his again. With each kiss, I felt my soul lift up, and my body liquefy further with each touch Chris gave me.

Once we both pulled away, I snuggled against his chest once more, burying my face in the crook of his neck.

"I can't believe this is real..." I said, my voice muffled.

He chuckled in an incredibly endearing way as he lay more comfortably on the couch, allowing me to stretch myself further against him.

"You sure I'm not sleeping anymore?"

Chris lifted my head with both of his hands, holding the sides of my face tenderly.

"You're not." He said with a smile.

His eyes sparkled with a burning love I could not help but feel too, in the very core of my being.

"But even if you were, I'd make sure to give it all to you again once you'd wake up."

[anarchicvampire]

III. Harboring a Fugitive

We start walking towards my flat. The cops seem to have left. When we get there, I give him a glass of water. Then I look for a clean towel and a change of clothes and give it to him.

"Thanks," he says. 

"You're welcome. You can use the shampoo and body wash that are in the shower, if you need them." 

"All right, thanks." He smiles at me, blindingly. I sigh once he's shut the door. I'm really deep in shit, aren't I?

When he gets out of the shower, his hair is wet; his (my) clothes are clinging to his damp body; and his shirt is riding up (it's too small on him), revealing a pale sliver of bare skin. If I ran my fingers across it, it would probably be soft and delicate. I avert my gaze, my cheeks warm. 

"Do you want something to eat?"

"Yeah, I could use some food."

"What do you want? Some eggs?"

"Whatever is most convenient," he says sweetly. Oh, what a cutie.

I make him some eggs with bacon. He eats it hurriedly. "Do you want some yogurt?"

"Yes, please." What an educated man. "So what should I call you?" He asks as I walk towards the fridge.

"Tiago." I don't think giving him my real name is a good idea for now. "You?" I reply as I grab some yogurt and blueberries to put on top.

"You can call me Giovanni."

"Hm. Italian, huh?"

"Yeah. What about you?"

"I'm latino," I respond. 

I've got the day off because I'm a waiter at a sushi restaurant, and on Mondays it closes. I tell him, "I'm going to keep reading this book I've started," as I sit down on the couch. 

He says, "Ok, I'll work on my laptop, if you don't mind."

After a few hours of this, it's time to cook lunch. I make some for both of us. After eating, I work on a painting I want to finish. A couple hours later, the sun has come down.

Giovanni stands up, "Well, it's dark now. It should be safer, I'll head out. Thanks for your help."

"Will you go back to your car?"

"Yeah. Don't worry about it, I can take care of myself."

"Don't you have anyone you can stay with?"

"It's too risky... I haven't talked to anyone for months, in preparation for this, so that they couldn't see what I would do. Now, if I go back... they'll know for sure it was me," he explains as he picks his stuff up.

"Don't you think you'll get caught?"

"I never thought I'd make it this far, anyway. I was ready to lose it all. I'm ready for whatever the future holds for me."

"But you haven't lost it all yet. Don't you value your freedom?"

He shrugs, "A statement has value as well."

"You can send a statement by remaining at large. Getting away with murdering CEO's, that's a powerful message to send to citizens. You can be the spark of a revolution. It's bigger than you now." 

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying you can crash at my place, tonight. At least until you've got somewhere to go."

"You're sure? You're going to house a wanted criminal you've just met?"

I think for a beat. "I'll take my chance." His eyes glint.

"You've got a big heart, Tiago." Hm, though it isn't my real name, it sounds good when he says it. 

"All right, I'll make dinner."

"Nah, uh. After you cooking lunch? Dinner's on me." I'm impressed.

"All right, Italian boy. Show me what you got."

Turns out, his cooking is delicious. He's made veggie lasagna, which I devour in minutes, before going for seconds. This man can cook. I am a lost cause.

When it's time for bed, I tell him, "You can stay on the couch, it's a pull out." I wince at my choice of words. "I'll bring you some bedclothes and a pillow."

"Thanks."

When I get back and give them to him, he says "Thank you. I mean it. Not just by helping me hide. Thanks for encouraging me. I haven't been in the best headspace recently."

"Don't worry about it. Thank you for your service," I wink at him.

"Good night."

"Thanks. Good night," he smiles sweetly. 

The next day, my alarm goes off and wakes me up from a curious dream in which I'm having sex with a man. It's weird, because I'm usually into women. But I'm unbothered, since I've always known I liked men, too. I think about the most probable reason why I dreamt that... I shake my head. He's a fugitive and a murderer, not the most convenient person to fall in love with. Sure, he may have had his reasons, which is why I'm helping him, but going farther than that would be self-sabotage. 

After showering and changing, I head to the kitchen. He's still asleep. Lucky him, I think. I start making breakfast, baleadas, and he wakes up. While we eat, he says, "I'd never tried this before, it's so good."

"I know right? I lit get hard every time I eat baleadas." 

I worry my joke went too far, but then he says, "The fact you can cook this well is what has me hard." We both laugh. 

"Latin Americans and Italians united over great food," I extend my hand to him. He takes it (his skin is soft) and my brain short-circuits.

As I'm about to leave for work, I tell him, "There's food in the fridge. You can cook and eat lunch. I'll be back at around five pm."

I'm a bit worried about leaving a stranger alone at my house, but I have a security camera, so I can check in every now and then, as long as I'm subtle. I get to the restaurant at which I'm a waiter. They don't know I'm hiding America's most wanted, I think while I'm mopping the floor. I then remember a meme of his I'd seen over the weekend saying, "America's most wanted (carnally)," and laugh to myself. He is pretty handsome.

[nevloveslemons]

Falling For the Saint (Clive Babineaux x Reader Insert)

Tags?: AFAB Reader, Clutzy reader, Season 1-2 ish, reader type to try and quietly eat at 4 am and end up accidentally walking up everyone, Fluff, strangers to friends to lovers, I’m giving you a name a personality, Pink haired insert (dyed,) ummmmmm I dunno let’s feel the vibe. probably many police precinct inaccuracies.

Today was going abnormally slow today, like usual. From the moment Clive hit his snooze button at 5, he decided today was going to be low key. Today somehow drained him, thinking about what whacky personality trait ‘Liv’s going to have today from trying to bring up the missing kids to his Lieutenant, from deciding what stale donut he’ll snack on for ‘lunch’ because he forgot his homemade packed lunch in the fridge somehow. (He even sat on the couch for 5 minutes just sitting.)

after getting ready and getting his holy grail; black coffee (he hate’s the stereotype of cops; donuts, plain coffee because they can’t afford the time, stiff posture, proper, despite showing many of them.) He walked into the precinct, unconsciously checking to see if everything’s under control and calm, which it was not.

In the bullpen he noticed an abundance of his fellow detectives here ON time with is unusual as his superiors aren’t as strict as they should be when it comes to being on time. He passed through the gate and saw his co-workers surrounding someone. You. He pauses, he’s never seen someone so… colourful?

You’re clad in a cat-red, maxi skirt with matching coloured beret and pumps. You had a black and white pocadot blouse with small-medium, poofy sleeves. Even your makeup was bold, bold but colourful, his mind actually went to Marilyn Monroe. Your lips were glossy and red, blush a cool rouge, your cat eyeliner and eye makeup drew him in, kin to the characters he had a crush on as a child in animation movies.

He realized after analyzing your outfit he was being creepy. He quickly snapped his head away from your being and started towards his desk. “Clive! Clive!” One of his co-workers grabbed his jacket with their fingers. He was surprised but held his strong expression, instead letting an exasperated looking face whilst raising his eyebrows, waiting for an answer. “Have you met Beth?” They asked with excitement clear in their tone.

“Uh, no considering I just walked through the gates.” He answered. His tone coming out bored and annoyed, he was a tad annoyed; yes, but it was mainly just his tone/being. He wasn’t trying to sound like this. “We’ll turn your frown upside down” he couldn’t resist, he rolled his eyes. “She’s so bright honestly! A bit of a clutz; I moved in everyones mugs away from the edge of their desks, but she just got transferred from the 99th precinct!” They then pull him to the box of muffins that caught his attention. (other than you lol, if i got to- man now I want a Timmies blueberry muffin :()

“Beth brought these in as a like ‘token of appreciation?’ If we cops were doing that pretty sure we’re supposed to but, eh?”

Pumpkin-Walnut. Acquired.

After his brunch muffin he did a bit of paper work, some back and forth between his desk, the board, and the morgue and by time you know it. It’s lunch. Like stated, brunch muffin, Clive thinks it’s okay to make breakfast count as lunch (8-10 bfast 11-1 lunch, he had his muffin at 7 and hasn’t eaten since.) He was sitting at his desk, leaning his chin on his right hand whilst closing his eyes and not thinking… just, sitting? Then he could feel someone approach him so he eyed his eyes to see you. The Newbie.

“Hello, Detective Babineaux, I’m Elizabeth Johnson. I transferred here from the Nine-Nine and according to our Lieutenant, you’ve been put on my ‘babysitting?’” He looks at you whilst you explain your being there when he hears a rather loud, gurgle. His eyes go from yours to your stomach and back to yours, once he sees your face he notices how quickly you flushed.

“Ah, I apologize. I forgot my lunch at home and planned to have a muffin for lunch only to find them gone.” You let a small chuckle out and let your eyes wonder to anywhere but Clive’s eyes.

“I guess you and I are in the same boat, huh?” He says in hopes of settling some of your embarrassment.

“Oh! You forgot your lunch too?” Your eyes light up, seemingly forgetting about your former emotion. “Uh, yeah-“ He begins going on about what he had packed for lunch. You two talked the duration just about food. You’re not sure how, it went from your lunches and how you wish you had them to the containers their in to the spices and seasonings used. Clive doesn’t realize it but he started to smile when talking to you.

(First time writing on here…..)

[hiccanna-tidbits]

@jackunzel-time

Jackunzel Month Week 2 - Coming of Age

***

"Okay, can I look now?"

"Not yet!"

The kitchen is once again filled with the sounds of Rapunzel banging around, plates and dishware clattering as she searches the fridge. Jack's got a sneaking suspicion this all has something to do with the huge, tinfoil-covered mound on the top shelf.

For an entire week, Rapunzel insisted they put every ounce of leftovers in the bottom half of the fridge, ignoring the Mysterious Object™️like a leaky faucet you handn't gotten around to fixing. Not that Rapunzel doesn't occasionally need her home fridge for work-related things, but she isn't normally cagey about it.

Jack once again resists the urge to peek out of the blindfold.

"Come ooooon, Zellie! This anticipation is going to kill me before our starving artist lifestyle does."

Rapunzel laughs. "Starving? I'll have you know, sir, that I've had no less than 5 whole french fries today!"

Considering it was 9 pm, this was not an ideal french fry quota. Rapunzel definitely had time to eat more fries today.

Jack wonders idly if Rapunzel's just getting too caught up in her work to take lunch breaks, or if her manager is crunching her deadlines again.

Before he can get too far into plotting how he would swap her boss's salt and sugar without getting Rapunzel in trouble, he hears the distinctive sound of a lighter.

"Are you torching our apartment?" he asks. "Because if so, I'm very offended I wasn't invited to participate."

Rapunzel scoffs. "Don't be silly! Like I'd set the place on fire without getting home insurance first. And it isn't as though either of us can afford that."

"You're still making me nervous. Usually I'm the one who plays the pranks."

"Hmmm, well...that would have been a good idea, actually." Rapunzel sounds a little regretful. "But no tricks today, I promise. Now open your eyes!"

And at last, Jack gets to see what all the fuss is about.

A stunning, snow-white cake sits in the middle of their dining room table, covered in sparkly silver candy orbs and carefully sculpted fondant snowflakes. All around the side are little hand-painted winter scenes, meticulously crafted by an icing brush in a process that must've taken hours. On top, a "2" and a "6" candle sit ablaze.

Rapunzel, of course, spends all day at work decorating cakes. It's her career. (Or, at least, it has been for the past 6 months--the longest she's gone without leaving a job to date.)

It still seems like she went the extra mile with this one.

"What--" For a long moment, all Jack can do is stare with his mouth hanging open.

"What the hell," he says finally. "How did I forget today was my birthday???"

Rapunzel's surprise quickly turns to laughter.

"Oh my god, how did you forget?"

Easy for her to say. Back when Rapunzel lived with her crazy mom, who practically kept her a prisoner in her own house, birthdays were easily the most interesting thing that happened all year. Birthdays with the Overlands were always much more...lowkey, so to speak.

"In my defense!" He holds up his hands. "Nothing interesting happens when you turn 26. Pretty much all the milestones are finished, so it's just another orbit around the sun."

"Nonsense!" Rapunzel sticks her lip out in disapproval. "That's no way to talk about your coming-of-age ceremony!"

"Coming-of-age?" He raises his eyebrows. "I think we missed the cutoff for that a while ago."

"Well, 26 is your age now." She crosses her arms, chin up defiantly. "And you have come to it. So therefore you have come of age."

He chuckles. "Is that how that works?"

"Why not? Teenagers and college kids shouldn't get to have all the fun!"

"My point still stands, though," he argues. "You don't really...unlock the same kind of stuff in your 20s that you do when you're younger. It's not like there are new magical adventures that you suddenly have access to when the clock strikes 12 on your 26th birthday."

"Says who?"

His girlfriend's conniving smirk sends a wave of excitement through him. What is she plotting?

"Did you find an elite 26-and-over club to join?"

"Not exactly." She leans over the table, smirk widening. "But someone did have a chat with your boss about how many great snowscape photo opportunities there are in the mountains, and how you're going to need to not come into the office for while to get all the best shots."

Jack's eyes widen as her meaning dawns on him. "And Mr. North was cool with that? Me taking a vacation right before the holidays?"

"I mean. He could hardly resist the offer of having his best photographer out getting festive snapshots for the December issue of the magazine. You'd do more good on the field than stuck behind an editing desk, right?"

"No kidding."

Jack sits down, getting ready to blow out the unexpected birthday candles. He pauses, something occurring to him.

"Wait, what about you? I'm not about to go off and leave you to handle the bakery's holiday rush on your own!"

Rapunzel hums thoughtfully.

"Well, funny thing. I told our head baker that I just hadn't been feeling very inspired lately. And if I went somewhere, say, fresh and exciting, then the muse was sure to strike again and I'd pump out a collection of the most beautiful winter cakes the bakery's ever known. Ones to really send that holiday profit flooding in."

"So...you snuck around and got us both a week off for my birthday by spinning it as a work trip? And on top of that, you just casually whipped out the most gorgeous birthday cake I've ever seen in my life?"

She nods, beaming.

"You're my goddamn hero."

He stands up and sweeps her into his arms, pulling her into a kiss worthy of being the Big Dramatic Finale to any coming-of-age film. All these years later, and it still feels like cameras should be spinning around them with rock music building into a triumphant crescendo.

Maybe that's cheesy, but to hell with it.

"Have I ever mentioned I'm in love with you?" he murmurs against her lips.

"I would hope so, Overland. We've been dating for 9 years now."

***

Half a hazelnut chocolate cake and two celebratory hot cocoas later, Jack finds himself being dragged toward the car in the encroaching darkness of 5:30 pm.

"Zel, what--"

"Come on! I booked us a night in a cabin, and we need to take off before the roads get icy. It's supposed to snow in a couple hours!"

"But what about--"

"I packed the car while you were at work." Rapunzel doesn't miss a beat. "Don't worry, I grabbed all your favorite sweaters! Your snowboarding stuff too. And the sleeping bags. And the cozy socks. And the snow chains. And the binoculars. And the sled. And the scarves."

He doesn't have time to form a reply before he's being bundled into the front seat and covered in one of his favorite fluffy blankets. The sheer amount of alpine field guides and brochures on the car floor make him do a double take.

"You have an itinerary?" he asks, surprised.

She hums uncertainly as she pulls out of the driveway.

"Well...nothing too rigid. No coming-of-age road trip of self-discovery can be that structured, or else it might get in the way of spontaneous epiphanies about who you truly are, right?"

"Right."

Rapunzel looks like she's about to burst open with what she isn't saying.

"I sense a 'but' there."

"I did find a really cute place for us to sled." The dam breaks as Rapunzel pulls out of the driveway. "And there's this secluded little mountain animal rescue we have to see. And this four-star cafe we can stop at for hot cider and soup, and this really pretty snowy hike that I don't think is too tiring. Also this ski and snowboard slope we can check out if we have time, with this really cozy lodge, and--"

She cuts herself off mid-sentence as soon as she picks up that all this might be a little overwhelming.

"Buuuuut," she amends slowly. "It's not like I've put down a deposit for anything. We could just drive through the mountains and stop whenever we feel the urge. Find the best secret spots and have them to ourselves, you know? Have deep conversations and be alone with nature and reconnect with our humanity and our sense of purpose. Or something like that."

He can't help but laugh at the way her brow scrunches as she goes deep into thought.

"That sounds great."

"Do you...have a preference?" She gives him a searching look as they pull onto the freeway, already glowing with streetlamps and taillights. "Agenda or no agenda?"

"Whatever you're down for, I'm down for. Hell, I'm just happy to have an unexpected week of vacation."

"I guess that's the thing about these types of 'finding yourself' stories. You kind of have to figure them out as you go along."

"Then let's do some figuring!"

Rapunzel hits the gas, and off they go into the winter sunset, bound for their next coming-of-age adventure. One to perhaps be followed by many more, depending on how many future ages they deem it significant to "come to."

***

Tfw you keep aging but The Blorbos™️do not, so the only logical solution is to force them to age with you XD God dammit, if I have to be in my mid-20s, then so do my comfort characters!!!

Fr tho, I often find myself wishing there were more aged-up AUs in the RotBTD fandom. Most fandom olds returning to (or who stayed in) the fandom aren't the teenagers we were when we first got into the big four anymore, so...why not let them grow up with us??? It's not like their canon ages are some sacred, set-in-stone thing that can't be changed since people do in fact get older as time passes ajdnlshbf

And like!!! Don't get me wrong, I love a well-done high school or college AU, and they can be a lot of fun!!! But I think as I've gotten older I wonder more about how the RotBTD kids would navigate adulthood, and how they would change/adapt and how they would stay the same throughout their lives.

Jackunzel I feel like would be one of those couples who would just be it for each other. Like they get together in late high school--probably junior or senior year--and everyone keeps waiting for the spark to die in college and for them to get stir-crazy (as people who get into committed relationships young often do) or bored of each other, and they just. Don't. MFs hit 30 and are still in the honeymoon phase with no sign of getting out XD

Rapunzel is so right here btw. Twenty-somethings DO deserve to have indie coming-of-age dramas made about them!!! Kids and teens and college students shouldn't get to have all the fun!!! Besides, there's plenty of growing/maturing still to do in young adulthood, so why stop writing stories about that just because the people in question are out of school??? Tbh I'm so tired of movies with adult protagonists being either fluffy (hetero) romcoms or a drama about Some Guy with a wife and kids like??? There are other types of adults besides straights in the dating pool and middle-aged people with tidy little nuclear families!!! I promise!!!

Guess I'll just have to write all those funky little RotBTD twenty-something AUs myself ajshdkuys

Shout-out to the RotBTD discord for giving me the idea of having Rapunzel be a cake decorator and Jack be a photographer! I sometimes struggle a bit with future career ideas for the RotBTD kids, but these fit really well :D Jack definitely seems like the kind of person who would like something freelance and loose-scheduled where he basically gets paid to capture the beauty in the world around him :O And we know Rapunzel can bake, and she likes art, so...

CAKE ART CAKE ART CAKE ART CAKE ART

VERY happy I found that snowflake-and-orb cake, because that definitely seems like something Jack would enjoy 🤍❄️ And now I kind of want to try it 👀👀👀I DO have to wonder how they did that little picture with the tree and the car :O

As always, moodboard pic credits available upon request!

[akewanchan]

[Break My Case] Prequel: Soft sunlight on the deep snow - Part 3

Translation by akewanchan. Source is mobile game Break My Case.

Haruhi: ‘Morning.

Taiga: ….You say so, but aren’t you about to go to sleep, Ichikawa-kun?

Haruhi: Aaah— Yea.

Taiga: (No joke that day and night is reversed for him…)

Ichikawa-kun, whose face was white as a sheet as always, listlessly came down the stairs, made his way to the kitchen to open the fridge, and once he saw there was nothing, he closed it again. 

Taiga: …Want to eat something?

Haruhi: Eh?

Taiga: Though simple stuff is the most I can do, want me to whip up something?

Haruhi: Nah. I’m good.

He refused without hesitation despite the slightly confused look on his face, afterwards he went to grab a handful of cod roe rice crackers from the box, which was the only kind of food he always had around for himself, and left the kitchen.

Taiga: (Only two rice crackers…?)

It’s not my place to say anything. I knew that, and yet.

Ichikawa-kun’s beloved cat was rubbing against his legs, and once again, I had caught a glimpse of his legs that were almost no different than toothpicks, peeking out from under the hem of his pants—

Taiga: …!

Before I even realized what I was doing, I called out to him again.

Taiga: Cod roe!?

Haruhi: Huh?

Taiga: Ah… Ichikawa-kun, do you happen to like it. Um, cod roe.

Haruhi: ……..?

Haruhi: I guess……..

Taiga: …Right… Cod roe’s, delicious, yeah…….

Haruhi: …If you wanna eat a rice cracker, it’s no prob. Got more than enough.

Taiga: Ah, I’m sorry. That’s what I was getting at! I’m good… my bad.

Haruhi: Not like you gotta apologize. Well, whatever, cya.

Taiga: Goodnight. Sleep well.

Haruhi: Sure.

Taiga: …..

Taiga: (What did I just do… I’m so… But it’s not like I can leave it be, if that’s all he eats there’s no way it’s good for his body no matter what you think of it.)

Taiga: (I shrugged it off as something along the lines of how kids these days are just extremely thin, but when compared to Kanno-kun who’s roughly the same height and plenty thin himself, his physique still differs by a large margin— Seriously, what's up with these legs?)

Taiga: (EAT!!! Your FOOD!!! Or you’ll DIE!!!)

Taiga: ……Haaaah…

Taiga: …Cod roe, huh.

---

Haruhi: …Yaaawn... Huh.

Haruhi: (....? What’s up with this huge onigiri?)

“To Okiya-san, Ichikawa-kun: I’ve accidentally made too much for lunch, so please feel free to take your share. There’s cod roe on the inside. (All of them were made while using gloves). There’s also cod roe tarama salad and a pot of pork miso soup in the fridge, feel free to take some.” -Tsukimoto

Haruhi: ….. Aaah… 

---

Taiga: —Oh…! It works, neither does it get stuck when I open it.

Shizuka: Are the contents fine?

Taiga: Uh… um, yes! It’s okay, yeah! All the numbers I had put in until yesterday are all there. Phew, what a relief… 

Taiga: Thank you very much, you truly were a big help. 

After I “overdid it a little” while making lunch, I started working as I usually do. 

Then in the early evening the accounting system had suddenly crashed, and I couldn’t get it to work properly again no matter how many times I tried. I flipped through the entire manual I had received, but despite all my attempts, it was an error that wouldn’t go away. 

Fushimi-san accepted my message and went out of his way to adjust his plans to come over, which had taken a little less than under an hour to put everything back on track again.

Taiga: My apologies for suddenly calling you to come over while you were busy.

Shizuka: I said it when I arrived, but it’s nothing. Was just doing some work, that’s all.

Shizuka: Everything seems to be okay, but if some kind of error pops up again, just call me. I made it so I can control it remotely, and will be able to deal with it without making you wait next time. 

Taiga: Got it. I would prefer if I could avoid troubling you as much as possible, though… 

Shizuka: I do have a hunch that it also looks like a problem with the machine itself, so if anything else happens, consult Okiya-san to take a look inside.

Taiga: Okiya-san, you say?

Shizuka: That man can pick his own parts and build a whole PC from scratch all on his own.

Taiga: ! You mean that…!?

Taiga: Sorry, I had no idea

Shizuka: ? What you’re using right now seems to be a commercially available laptop. Doesn’t really matter if you didn’t… Ah.

Shizuka: Sorry if it came over as a snide remark about how you didn’t know. Wasn’t my intention.

Taiga: Ah, I meant it in the way that I should’ve talked to Okiya-san first before calling you over, Fushimi-san. My apologies for my lack of understanding.

Taiga: It seems like he’s quite busy with his translator job at the moment. When things have calmed down for him and this lil’ guy here keeps malfunctioning, I’ll ask him to look over it.

Shizuka: …I see.

Taiga:  —Are you going back by bus?

Shizuka: No, just until the station. Mika will pick me up while he’s on the way to work.

Shizuka: Alright, I’ll take my… Ah, that reminds me.

Taiga: Yes?

Shizuka: About the verdure at the entrance, who’s taking care of them?

Taiga: Verdure…? Ah, the planters at the entrance, you mean. It looks like the season for them has ended but I’m watering them, more or less.

Shizuka: Except for the flowers, these aren’t the type to wilt when the season changes. They ought to recover if you take care of them.

Taiga: ! I’m sorry, thank you so much for telling me. It’s embarrassing to admit, but I can’t say I have experience in looking after plants… 

Shizuka: Okiya-san should roughly know what has been planted there, so don’t hold back with asking.

Taiga: Ah, true. Gotcha. I’ll also try to look into it and check the parts I don’t fully grasp yet.

Shizuka: …Right.

Taiga: ….?

For some reason, Fushimi-san let out a small sigh with an indescribable expression on his face, however since he had nothing else left to say, he took his leave by excusing himself for intruding. 

Taiga: (...Still, he knew just from looking. Does that mean Fushimi-san is also knowledgeable in plants?)

Taiga: (Just the SE stuff alone must be a lot on his plate to study…)

Taiga: …Ah.

I went to the kitchen to pour some coffee and take a breather. The two plates I had put on the counter were both gone, and in return there were some notes left.

“I will happily accept these. All of the dishes were absolutely delicious. The cod roe tarama salad was especially superb, I ate a little bit too much without realizing. Thank you very much for the delightful meal.” -Okiya

Taiga: (I’m glad it seemed to be to his liking. So if this Okiya-san’s, then this one is—)

Taiga: !

There was one more note. The moment I read the first line, I felt my entire body break out in a cold sweat. 

“Sorry, can’t eat onions.”

Taiga: ….!

Taiga: (...I put them in. I put them in without thinking. In the salad, in the pork miso soup too.)

Taiga: (Agh, I should’ve asked beforehand, is it some allergy…? Would be a relief if it wasn’t anything though.)

There was no point in looking at it now, yet I opened the fridge for no real reason. Half of the salad was left in the bowl, and then the pot of miso soup was covered with a glass lid. Aside from that, a plate with two onigiri was taking up space on Ichikawa-kun’s shelf. 

Taiga: (....He went out of his way to put what he didn’t eat on his shelf, huh.)

Taiga: (Actually. If Ichikawa-kun couldn’t stomach this, Okiya-san sure ate a lot, didn’t he?) 

I re-examined Ichikawa-kun’s note.

“Sorry, can’t eat onions. The cod roe was good. I’ll eat the rest later.”

Taiga: ……

I had relentlessly put in stuff that he couldn’t eat, not to mention how it was a stupid amount, too. All of this must have been a nuisance to deal with. Yet while thinking how regretful I felt for making this much of a fuss about Ichikawa-kun, I kept reading those two notes over and over.

“Thank you very much for the delicious meal.”

“‘Was good.”

A warm sensation spreaded throughout my chest at the words I hadn’t heard in quite some time now.

I couldn’t find myself to throw these away so I took them back to my room, but as you’d expect, hanging them up where you could see them wasn’t all that manly. Instead I tucked them in a book I wouldn’t be reading for a while, and then quickly hid it away in a drawer. In order to make sure they don’t tear while opening and closing it.

—Then, on a day in the middle of December, after quite some time had passed since.

Taiga: ….

―(Knock knock)

???: Can I?

Taiga: …Yeah?

My hands stopped when I heard a voice calling out. I had a feeling it would be Kanno-kun opening the door and stepping inside.

Taiga: (This is unusual…)

Apparently, he heard about how there’s a cat being kept in this house from someone, and has been coming to visit with that in mind every now and then. Although he basically never leaves Ichikawa-kun’s room while he’s here. At the very least, there hasn’t been a single time where he went out of his way to come to me while I’m working. 

Yuragi: Sorry to bother during work.

Taiga: It’s okay, but what’s up? If it’s about today’s share of sweets, they’re in their usual spot in the kitchen.

Yuragi: I ate them. Was yummy.

Taiga: Aah….

Taiga: (Sweets aside, is there something he wants from me specifically then…?)

Yuragi: Haruhi won’t come back from the toilet.

Taiga: Eh?

Yuragi: He looked unwell since the moment I saw today. But, it’s already been 30 mins.

Yuragi: Barely responds when I call out to him, and I don’t know how to help.

Yuragi: Taiga, I want you to come.

Taiga: …!

Navigation Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 (x) / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 -> Next chapter <- Previous chapter Masterpost

[oddlyded]

The thin line between jealousy and insecurity | Kylian Mbappe x reader

y/n didn’t know what had gotten her boyfriend so worked up. it took her some time to realise that getting with some (male) friends on his day off wasn’t something he was particularly happy about

You briefly watched as your boyfriend went about the room, not looking at you in the eye. Now while you’d normally be all up in his face asking him what has swiped off the relaxed smile he’d normally wear when he’s got a day off, you were busy furiously typing the details of the friendly get together you were late to. You were meeting your boys in 30 minutes and the restaurant you all agreed to have lunch at was going to be a 40 minutes ride judging by the awful traffic you were caught in while coming from university.

“I’ll be home by 10. Grand max, c’est promis. We might decide to watch a movie afterward, but I’ll keep you updated and I’ll let you know if there’s a change of plans.”

“Mmm,” was all he said. He was sat down on the bed, fixing an invisible point with a stare that sent chills to your bones.

You paused in the middle of putting on your shoes. “Are you alright?”

“Sure,” he mumbled, in a voice that clearly showed he wasn’t.

“Did something happen with training yesterday?”

“No.”

“— Well, did you have a fight with a teammate or something?”

He shook his head, still zoned out. You were starting to get annoyed at his vague responses, and you had no time to get answers out of him. Still, you wanted to make sure that everything was alright with him before taking off.

“Darling, are you sure you’re alright?’

He was still not meeting your eyes. With a slight smile your way, he nodded. Though very feebly. You narrowed your eyes at him, but another message popping up in the group chat distracted you from interrogating him further. After some back and forth between you and Omar that had you giggle, you raised your head to find Kylian finally looking at you with an odd expression plastered on his face, his teeth gritted in frustration.

“Shouldn’t you be on your way?”

You blinked at him. He’d already turned to his phone, clearly not interested in seeing you off. You wondered if it was the upcoming match that had him strained like that, since he usually got all worked up when he was particularly stressed. But thing is, you’ve never seen him like that — he was acting as if you had personally wounded him or something. Still, you opted to leave the house in a good mood, and with a slight huff you went to him and kissed the top of his head, gently stroking his cheek.

Surprise surprise! He actually leaned into your touch and closed his eyes. You casually asked him if he wanted something to eat now that you were going out, and his relaxed posture became tense once more.

“No, I’m good.”

You raised your eyebrows at him, snatching your hand away. “Right, there’s still leftovers from last night’s lasagna in the fridge if you change your mind.”

“Mmm.”

Again with the monosyllabic words. Right, off you went. But not before rolling your eyes and making your exasperation loudly known by raising your hands in the air.

The afternoon with your boy friends went well, though your mind frequently wandered to your boyfriend, thoughts of what had transpired to make him so moody becoming more confusing and dramatic as time progressed. It was making you on edge, and you worried for him. When it was finally time to get home, you stopped to buy his favourite pastries, hoping that now he’d be more open to talk about what’s going on if you showed up with a clear white flag.

You came home to find him sat when you last left him, eyes glued to the tv. The only greeting you received was a small hi, but as opposed to before you left he was now staring at you hotly, something dark glinting in his eyes.

“How was the evening?”

“Fine.”

“Mmmm.”

You glared at him. “Are you finally going to tell me what’s clouding your mind?”

“Nothing in particular.”

“Right. Mind then explaining why you’ve been in a shit mood since breakfast?”

“I’m not!”

“Are too! You’re barely talking — barely even looking at me. You haven’t answered any of my messages, and don’t you dare make some dumb excuses about not having seen them, Kylian. You’ve been on your phone for the past five hours, I could see you online!”

“The past five hours where you’ve been god knows where!”

You frowned at him. “Is that it? Is that the reason behind the silent treatment?”

He opened and closed his mouth, opting to snuggle deeper into the bed and cross his arms. You sighed, running a hand on your face. You decided not to give into anger and went to move towards him, sitting down so close that he couldn’t ignore you no longer.

The silence stretched on and on, and you could tell that he was getting restless, but all you did was silently motion for him to speak up first. For a moment, it seemed as if he wouldn’t, as if he were content with having a staring battle where no one would discuss the issue glaring obviously at the both of you — with having no one give a voice to his worries. So unlike his usual self — he was always one to resolve things quickly. Frankly, you didn’t know why he was dragging this.

“It’s like you didn’t even care that we had a whole day to ourselves.”

That was certainly not where you thought the conversation was going, and you started feeling the first signs of indignation seeping in. “Of course I cared!”

“Well that wasn’t the impression I got,” he bit back, sourly. “I had a whole evening planned for us. I — I just —”

“Mon cœur,” you started softly, when he stopped dead in his tracks and opted to once more glower at the tv. The only reason why you didn’t start berating him was because he looked genuinely hurt, “it’s not like that, really. I didn’t know —”

“Clearly it mattered shit to you —”

“That’s not fair —”

“And you met with those boys and posted all those stories while I was waiting for you at home —”

“I am allowed to go out with friends!”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Well then explain it to me —” You raised a hand when he opened his mouth to interrupt “— instead of attacking me. Kylian, my love, I didn’t know you had something in mind for us today. You know I’d have canceled otherwise. I wouldn’t even have entertained the whole thing to begin with! And I never get to see the boys — my friends — and so when they offered to take the train to Paris to see me I was delighted.”

“Yes, you showed how delighted you were alright.”

You scoffed at him. “Unbelievable.”

He tensed up when you got up. “Where are you going?”

“Away from you!”

He grabbed your wrist and had you pinned to his chest in the second it took you to turn from him. “You’re not leaving me again.”

“I am if you continue to act like an arse.”

He thinned his lips, staring up at you from where you were positioned on his chest. His eyes were very, very dark and there was something like desire brimming up on the surface. You decided to ignore how handsome he looked and stared back at him, unfazed.

“The blonde dude seemed awfully touchy.”

You blinked down at him. “You mean Zak?”

“The one with the blue sweater.”

You paused, incredulous. Yep, that’s Zak alright. “Darling, he’s gay.”

You saw him frown in confusion before relaxing. Somehow, this made you angrier. “He is?”

“Yes. And Omar is my eleven years old best friend. I sincerely doubt he’s interested in me like that — frankly, he seemed more into Zak.”

He was fighting off a smile, you could tell. You hit him, hard. “That’s not funny.”

But his relief was apparent, even when he scowled at you as he massaged his chest in mock hurt.

“Do you know the number of time I told you that?” You snapped at him. “And it doesn’t even matter. You’re supposed to trust me.”

“I trust you! Really, I do — it’s just —” he sighed, then sat upward. You were sitting on his lap now, and he angled your body so that your faces were mere itches away from each other. “I wanted to spend time with you.”

“Then you should’ve told me that, instead of ignoring me all morning.”

“I am sorry,” he admitted in a small voice, suddenly looking sheepish and, dare you say, timid. Whatever dark mood he’s been in seemed to break off when he realised just how angry you were at him. “But you were gushing about how happy you were to see them and — don’t look at me like that — I dunno, it got me in a mood. I know it’s stupid and I’m overreacting. I shouldn’t want the whole integrity of your attention. Sometimes I do though and I feel like I haven’t had some quality time with you since forever. It’s just felt like you didn’t really consider that.”

“So what was your plan exactly? Because ignoring me and being snappy all day is not the way to get the quality time you so ‘wanted’.”

He flinched. There was a sudden dawning realisation on his face of just how snappish he’d been. He cleared his throat before croaking out an apologetic “I’m sorry.”

He paused for a moment, studying you. Hesitantly, as if he were afraid that you’d get more annoyed with him if he touched you, he slowly raised a hand to cup your face. When you didn’t move away he patted his way through your face, his hands finally settling on your waist.

“I should’ve said something, I know. I just saw them cozying up to you and I lost it, and it felt too childish to bring it up so I decided to just get on with it. Will you forgive me?”

“If you promise to always tell me what’s going on in your mind — no matter how childish it may seem to you. It’s not to me, I promise. I would’ve brought you along had I known.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I wanted you to rest and I thought that was your plan as well. You’ve been training restlessly for the past three weeks with no days off, Ky. You are allowed to laze around all day in your pyjamas without having a care in the world.”

He nodded, snuggling up to your chest, lightly kissing your collarbone. His hands on your waist were getting suggestive, protective, harsh against your revealed skin. You cleared your throat, trying to ignore the way he slid his fingers under your top, and he looked up at you sheepishly. You almost laughed at the expression on his face — he was suddenly so lost in your eyes, he who couldn’t meet them a few hours ago — but you managed to remain serious in order to get your point across.

“And I value our time together the most, darling. I do. You know I do. I love you. So much. I always think of you. Always.”

His reaction was immediate. You two weren’t in the habit of saying those magical three words, opting instead to let your actions speak volumes of the feelings and care you had for each other, and so it always made the moments they were uttered in so intimate.

Red colored his cheeks – whatever he thought you were going to say, he was definitely not expecting that. His hands froze in their quests of sliding down your tights and he brought one back to gently caress your hair, the other one making its way to your waist and bringing you even closer to him. You had to wrap your arms around his neck to make room for yourself.

“I know. Of course I know. I’m sorry, I am. I should’ve communicated better. It’s just that I love you so much that sometimes it scares me just how worked up I get over little things like this. How much I miss you and how much you haunt my every thoughts. I like to seem self-assured so that you can come to me for anything —”

“I can. I do. You being jealous doesn’t make you any less the man I would go to to talk about my problems. But I want the same treatment in return. I want you to come to me if you feel insecure, if there’s something affecting you — especially when it comes to me. I’d never make you feel like it’s dumb.”

“I know. But it was dumb. I was dumb.” In a blink of the eye he had you against your back, trailing kisses along your jaw, with you stifling a surprised gasp. “I’ve been thinking of all the things I’d do to you, it was driving me mad. And I was getting so angry, knowing I let you slip earlier without showing you just how much I’ve missed you. I can be such an idiot. I know I’ve said it a couple of times already but I’m sorry, my love.”

“I forgive you, but I’m definitely eating the pastries I got you,” you said, and he chuckled against your neck. You let yourself smile. There was still so much you two had to talk about, but right now, snuggled against him, there was only one thing on your mind. “You still got time to show me just how much you’ve been missing me, though.”

He smiled — that carefree, wide smile you loved so much, tinged with a cockiness you secretly found absolutely attractive — and kissed you, hard.

-

also, open to requests y’all :))