#& now i watch other people make the same mistake and i do not know how to help them !!! cos shit dude i cant handle your feelings when

[prettycalla]

|| haven’t got the chance to say ||

Pairing: Ben Grimm/Reader

Summary: Ben meets a girl at his favourite shop, but he's convinced she’s only being nice to him because it's her job. He tries to figure out his feelings, while Johnny secretly plays messenger.

Word count: 5k

Tags and warnings: The fluffiest thing I’ve written in a long time, Ben is the biggest sweetheart, Johnny’s a menace (affectionate), reader is she/her, no use of Y/N. The teensiest spoilers for the movie, technically? It's literally the name of the place and the street name, that's about it.

(Is there an audience for Ben? Well, there damn well better be, because I’m in love with him. He cooks and gardens and dresses well and he's the sweetest guy on Earth? He’s the best.)

Fic Masterlist || Taglist

If you were to ask anyone who lives within a two block radius where Ben's favourite place to eat is, they'd all give you the same answer.

Maisie's Delicatessen, down on Yancy Street.

He's there so often that even the paparazzi who dedicate themselves to following the Fantastic Four around have given up staking it out.

'The Thing Spotted at Maisie's for the Twentieth Time This Month' isn't exactly a big scoop.

Ben doesn't care. He's a man of routine, always has been. People might think he's boring, but after everything that's happened to him, he needs some things to stay the same.

And then you came along.

You must be new, because Ben's sure he would recognise you otherwise. He's on first name basis with everyone here. They even have a framed photo of him with the staff on the wall. He was embarrassed when they first showed it to him, but now, he finds it endearing.

"Morning! What can I get for you?" you say, as he steps up to the counter.

Your voice is a little too loud, the cheerful expression on your face just a touch manic. He smiles to himself. First day nerves.

"Morning. Can I get three half-moon cookies?"

He points to the display's middle shelf.

"And uh, throw in one of those little lemon things."

He watches you rush around, trying to find everything. The glass door on the display jams when you try to open it, one of the cookies falls apart the second you try to lift it with the tongs, and the paper bags are all stuck together and end up scattered all over the floor when you try to pry them apart.

"God, I'm so sorry-" you start, but Ben just shakes his head.

He bends down to gather up the bags that have fallen at his feet, placing them back on the counter.

"Don't worry about it," he says gently. "First day?"

You let out a shaky breath.

"Yeah, and I'm so nervous," you admit in a whisper. "There's just so much to remember."

Ben nods knowingly. He gives you a smile, hoping that he looks reassuring.

"Don't beat yourself up, alright? You're doing a great job," he says. "We all make mistakes. You should see me before I've had my coffee in the morning. Trust me, it ain't pretty."

You laugh, wiping your hands on your apron.

"Okay, let's try this again," you say resolutely.

You lift another cookie from the tray, sliding it into the bag with the others. You take your time with the lemon slice, careful not to disturb the swirl of icing at the top as you box it up.

Ben can't help but think how sweet it is that you're trying so hard, even if it is your job.

"Can I tell you something?" you ask. "You're gonna think it's so silly."

You press the paper bag closed, running your thumb along the fold to flatten it.

"All the guys have been telling me about you. You're like a celebrity here," you tell him, gesturing to the picture on the wall.

"Nah, I'm just a guy with a sweet tooth who doesn't know when to call it quits," Ben replies with a chuckle.

He hands you a couple of bills, lifting the box and bag from the counter. He shakes his head when you try to give him his change.

"Don't worry about it," he says, gesturing towards the tip jar. "I just realised I never asked you your name."

You introduce yourself.

"It's nice to put a name to a face," he says. "I'm Ben."

He knows he doesn't have to say it - of course you already know who he is. But sometimes he likes to pretend that there are some people left in the world who don't know him. That you only know him from the picture.

"It's nice to meet you too," you say with a warm smile.

He stops for a moment, finding himself a little taken aback. He can't for the life of him figure out why.

"Okay. Well, uh, I should get going," he says, wincing at how awkward he sounds. "Thanks again. And good luck for the rest of your first day."

"Thank you, I think I'm gonna need it," you reply, fussing with the mess of paper bags in front of you. "Hopefully I'll see you again?"

"Yeah, 'course. You too," Ben says, with a stiff little wave as he heads for the door.

He could kick himself. Really, he could.

Get it together. What's the matter with you?

It bothers him all day. Granted, he's never exactly been a socialite. Thankfully, he has Sue and Johnny to help with fielding most of the talking.

But he can handle a bit of small talk. He might not like it - who does, really? - but he can get through it, at least.

He tries to push it to the back of his mind. Really, he does. But it keeps coming back.

Or rather, you keep coming back.

It's when he's getting ready for bed that night that it finally hits him. The toothbrush drops out of his hand, hitting the sink with a loud clatter.

He stares at himself in the mirror.

"Oh, no," he whispers, letting out a long groan.

It's been about a month since you started working at Maisie's, and almost every morning, Ben stops by.

At first, it was for his usual order - the cookies that put the shop on the map. Then he started asking for your recommendations.

And now, more often than not, the two of you get to chatting for so long that he ends up causing a line right out the door.

He can't really explain what it is, you're just so easy to talk to. Despite what you said the first day you met, you don't treat him like a celebrity, you don't ask him questions about what happened or "what it's like". You're just...you.

And the scary thing is, he could kid himself into thinking you actually like him. That you're not just being kind, or worried about keeping your job. That you actually care.

He knows how dangerous that thought could become if he's not careful, and so he keeps trying to squash it down as best he can. But it's persistent, and he's finding himself struggling with it more and more as time goes on.

It's not long before it starts to become obvious.

"Ben, you okay?" Sue asks him one evening, while they're preparing dinner.

He flinches, almost sending the chopping board flying off the kitchen counter.

"God, Suze, you scared the hell outta me," he says with a wheeze.

Sue gently pats his arm in apology.

"You've been chopping that same piece of potato for about five minutes now," she says softly. "I think it's about as small as it's going to get."

Ben looks down. The potato is practically mush now. He sets the knife down with a sigh.

"Sorry, just...had something on my mind," he admits quietly.

"You wanna talk about it?" Sue asks, taking the board from him and tipping the potatoes into a pot of water on the stove.

Ben turns around to face her, leaning his elbows against the counter. He knows better than to tell her that he doesn't want to bother her.

Because he's never a bother to Sue. And he knows by now that she's not just being kind. She means it.

"It's just..."

Where does he even start?

"You and Reed. You've known him for about as long as I have. How did you know that...?"

He falters, unsure as to how to word it.

"That he was the one?" Sue offers.

Ben nods. Even when he can't say it, she always knows. He's always admired that about her.

"Honestly? I didn't," she says. "Not right away. It took some time, and then it was like..."

She pauses for a second, giving the potatoes a stir.

"I had this moment. We were talking, I can't even remember the conversation now, but I looked at him and I thought..."yeah". That was it. But that's when I knew."

She smiles to herself, before turning her attention to Ben.

"I wish I had a better way of describing it. But sometimes it's not always as romantic-sounding as the movies make it out to be."

"I dunno, sounds pretty romantic to me," he says with a shrug.

"So, what's got you thinking about me and Reed, hm?" she asks.

Suddenly the floor has never seemed more interesting.

"Oh, y'know, I was just wondering..."

Sue tilts her head, levelling him with that look - the one that says "don't even bother". He sighs.

"There's no point in me lying to you, is there? Okay, look, I, um..."

He lowers his voice.

"I might have met someone. There's a new girl at Maisie's, and...well, she's really nice."

"Oh my God, is it my birthday?" comes a voice from behind him, and Ben's elbows slip right off the counter, almost sending him crashing to the ground.

He turns around, gripping the counter with a glare in his eyes that would send a man twice his size running in the opposite direction.

Johnny just gives him a big smile.

"We need to put a damn bell on you," Ben grumbles to himself as he straightens up.

"So, what's this I hear about you having met someone?" Johnny asks, undeterred.

"It's none of your business," Ben retorts. "Your sister and I were in the middle of a private conversation."

"In an open-plan kitchen. In the house I live in," Johnny says, pulling a face. "Yeah, real private."

Sue rolls her eyes with a sigh. "Johnny, do you think you could give us five minutes? Alone?"

Johnny slides his hand along the counter nonchalantly as he walks past.

"Oh, sure, sure, no problem," he says airily.

He looks directly at Ben.

"But you're gonna tell me everything afterwards, right?" he mutters to Sue.

"No, I am not."

Johnny shrugs, arms raised theatrically as he backs out of the kitchen.

"That's fine, I'm going," he says, too loudly. "I know where I'm not wanted."

"Do you?" Ben asks. "Coulda fooled me."

He doesn't move, watching until he's satisfied that Johnny's completely out of earshot.

"Ignore him," Sue says.

She takes the pot off the stove, setting it to one side.

"Tell me about this girl."

Ben lifts a tea towel, worrying one of the corners between his fingers.

"I don't meet many people who seem to see me for me, y'know? But it's like...I'm just a guy to her. I'm not a superhero. I'm not..."

He makes a vague gesture towards himself.

"It's been a while since I've felt like this. To be honest, I've missed it."

"And that's got you worried," Sue prompts gently.

Honestly, her ability to do that is a superpower in and of itself.

"Yeah. Yeah, it does," he admits quietly.

Sue crosses over to him, placing her hands on his arms.

"You, Ben Grimm, are one of the most amazing people I've ever met," she says earnestly. "And I've met a lot of people. So trust me when I tell you that anyone would be lucky to have you."

She looks at him with such kindness in her eyes, and Ben forces himself to nod.

He knows she means it. But it's not as easy as she makes it sound. They all came back from that mission different, but at least they can hide it, pretend that they're "normal" for a while.

Ben doesn't have that luxury. He tries not to dwell on it, he's been getting so much better at it, but now? He can't let it go.

He likes you, he's finally said it out loud. But to say it to you? And for you to reject him? It'd break his heart.

But he can't stop thinking about you. About what could happen.

What if it goes wrong?

But what if it goes right?

Despite everything, he can't stop himself from going to see you. He makes sure to go at a time when the shop's not as busy, so at least he knows he's not getting in the way of other customers. The last thing he wants is to get you in trouble.

Your always seem so happy when he stops by, and it's getting harder and harder to convince himself that you're not just being nice to him.

He's tormenting himself, he knows he is, but somehow it feels even worse when he's not with you. Either way, he can't win, can he?

"There he is, my favourite customer," you call, as he steps through the door. "How've you been?"

Is it any wonder Ben's heart feels like it does, when he hears you saying things like that?

"About the same as I was yesterday," he jokes, with a little wince the second he says it.

Way to ram it home that you're never out of here, huh.

You laugh, none the wiser.

"I like that you're here so much," you tell him.

The way you say it, it's so casual, and yet it makes Ben's chest feel tight.

"Oh, yeah? Why's that?" he dares to ask.

"Because you're a regular. And if you haven't been put off by me, then I can't be doing too bad a job, right?"

Ben stops for a moment. You're joking, he knows you are. About how nervous you were on your first day.

And yet-

"How could I be put off by someone as nice as you?" he says, before he can stop himself.

His eyes widen. It's too late, he's already said it. He can feel himself starting to panic, and you're just staring at him now. Your lips part, and Ben cuts you off before you even get the chance, desperate to change the subject.

"What, uh, what are you working on?" he asks quickly, gesturing towards the notepad sitting on the counter.

You frown slightly, as if thinking, a look of confusion on your face.

"'Working on?' Oh, right, this. Well, I've been listing some ideas for new specials," you say, tapping your finger against the page. "It's good timing that you came by, actually. I could do with some suggestions."

Ben nods. Anything to get as far away from what he just said.

"Of course. What have you got so far?" he asks.

You lift your pen, absentmindedly fidgeting with it, as you read down the list.

"We've got sandwiches covered, cakes, some new pastry ideas...But I'm wondering if there's something else we're missing. Any thoughts?"

Ben thinks to himself for a moment.

"Y'know, I've always had a bit of a soft spot for those chocolate slices, the ones with the biscuit and marshmallow inside them. Y'know the ones I'm talking about?"

"Rocky Road?" you offer.

Ben clasps his hands together.

"That's it! That's the ones."

He chuckles to himself.

"I know, I know. The big guy made of rocks likes Rocky Road. I heard it."

"No, no, it's good," you say, as you scribble it down. "It's a pretty easy one to make too."

Ben does his best to scan down the list, in spite of it being upside-down.

"What about you?" he asks. "You put down anything you like?"

"Yeah, I wanted to," you reply. "You know those little sponge cakes, with the jam and cream in the middle? The mini ones, about the size of cupcakes. But we already sell slices of the regular cake, so it seemed a bit pointless to write it down."

"What's wrong with the regular cake?"

"Nothing! It's so good, it's just..."

You trail off.

"It's a me thing, but sometimes a full slice is a bit much, you know? The cream gets a bit sickening after a while."

You glance at him then.

"I'm rambling on, aren't I?" you ask nervously.

"Hardly," Ben replies gently. "I asked, didn't I?"

You cast your gaze down, wiping your hands on the end of your apron. Ben could swear you looked a little flustered. Wishful thinking, maybe.

"Okay, well, I think I've kept you waiting long enough," you say, a bit too loudly. "What can I get for you?"

Ben frowns, then he realises.

"Oh...just my usual," he replies weakly.

He can't bring himself to tell you the truth, and he feels like a coward.

But as he's leaving, a little idea starts forming in his head.

The next few days, Ben puts himself to work, trying to figure out how to make mini sponge cakes. The regular-sized cake he can handle no problem, but the little ones are a bit tougher to figure out, in terms of adjusting the ingredients.

And a certain someone is not helping matters at all.

Ben made the mistake of stumbling over his answer when Johnny asked who the cakes were for. And true to form, he will not drop it. He's spent the better part of the day making a nuisance of himself.

"Haven't you got something better to do?" Ben grumbles, as he spoons jam out of the pot in his hand.

"Nope," Johnny immediately replies, dragging out the 'P' sound to make himself as irritating as possible.

Even when Ben does finally get rid of him, he just can't resist poking the bear cage one last time.

“I’m headin’ out,” Johnny says, swiping his finger through a bowl of cream as he passes.

Ben glares at him, but says nothing. He's better than that.

“Might stop by Maisie’s while I'm out,” he adds, turning to give Ben a big, shit-eating grin. “See how your friend’s doing.”

Ben just waves a hand at him, trying not to take the bait.

But Johnny being Johnny, he makes it so damn difficult.

“You think she’s free?” he asks, making an annoying show of sucking the cream off his finger. “‘Cause I got nothing on for Saturday night. And she’s cute. Don’t you think she’s cute, Ben?”

Johnny just manages to slip out the door as a whisk goes flying across the room.

Sue gives him a sympathetic look from where she sits at the dining table, nursing a cup of coffee.

“Try not to let him get to you,” she says. “Johnny’s harmless, you know he doesn’t mean anything by it.”

Ben sighs tiredly.

“I know, he’s just…He’s infuriating, Suze.”

Sue shakes her head with a smile.

“You're preaching to the choir there.”

Ben manages to get a full two hours of peace and quiet, completely Johnny-free. The latest batch of sponge cake experiments were a success, and he was able to add the finishing touches and box them up neatly.

Now all he has to do is gather the courage to go and actually give them to you.

Which he can definitely do. Absolutely. No problem at all.

He's leafing through a book, trying to keep his mind occupied, when he hears the door open. He glances up, before lifting the book closer to his face with a sigh.

Well, it was nice while it lasted.

"Stopped by Maisie's, like I said," Johnny says, as he shrugs off his jacket and sits down.

He just can't read a room, can he?

"That's nice," Ben says, with an air of total disinterest.

He hears what sounds like a paper bag rustling, as Johnny sets something on the table.

"And I got you a little something."

Ben hums noncommittally, turning the page. Being ignored never deters Johnny. He should know this by now. Doesn't stop him from wishing.

"Or rather, I, um, was given something. For you."

That gets Ben's attention. He peers over his book, spotting the paper bag.

He'd know that paper anywhere.

"Oh, yeah?" he asks airily. "What is it?"

Johnny pushes the bag across the table.

"Open it."

Ben tries to keep up the façade, but he's struggling. He forces himself to take his time, pretending to mark his page before setting the book aside.

When he opens the bag, he can't help the smile that spreads across his face.

Inside are four big squares of Rocky Road. You remembered.

Johnny leans in to take a look too. The colour immediately drains from his face.

"Okay, I know what you're probably thinking, and yes, this definitely looks like one of my jokes. But for once, I swear to you, it's not-"

Ben holds up a hand, to stop him before he winds himself up any further.

"I know," he says softly.

He's still smiling.

Johnny waves a hand in front of Ben's face.

"Hello?" he calls impatiently. "Earth to big guy. You okay in there? I don't think I've ever seen you look this happy before. It's weird, if I'm being honest."

Ben hasn't moved, hasn't said anything. Johnny sighs, letting his hand drop down onto the table.

"Listen, I know I've been giving you a lot of crap about this...whole thing. And I'm not gonna apologise for it, by the way, because it would be against everything I stand for. But..."

He stops for a moment, as if to figure out what to say next.

"You really like this girl, don't you?" he asks.

Ben gently drums his fingers across the table top, before he finally nods.

"I do," he murmurs. "God help me, I do."

Johnny slings an arm over the back of his chair.

"Have you considered the possibility that she might like you back?"

Ben grits his teeth. "No, actually, I haven't," he snaps.

"Why not?" Johnny asks, and Ben wonders if he's being stupid on purpose.

He gestures to himself in frustration.

"Because look at me, Johnny!" he says, exasperated. "I don't exactly have people lining up 'round the block to date me. I'm not her type. I'm..."

He sighs. God, he's tired.

"I'm not anyone's type."

Johnny bangs his fist down on the table suddenly, and Ben almost falls out of his chair.

"You cut that out right now," he says lowly.

His eyes are so intense, even more than usual. Ben doesn't think he's ever seen him so serious.

"Look, you know how much I love annoying you. If it was a paying job, I'd be CEO. But I can't listen to you talk about yourself like this. You're "not anyone's type"? Seriously? You're..."

Johnny blows out a long breath, as if he's gearing himself up for something difficult.

"I'm never gonna forgive myself for anything I'm about to say, just FYI, but you...You're like the perfect guy, Ben. Stop looking at me like that, I mean it. You cook, you don't leave your shit everywhere, your dress sense is...Well, you try."

Ben doesn't know whether to kiss him or kick him. He decides he'll let him finish first.

"That girl likes you, Ben. And I'm not messing with you on this. That's too far, even for me. You know the first thing she did when I went down there? She asked me how you were. She was so excited to give me those too."

He taps the paper lightly.

"I could have been anyone, it wouldn't have mattered to her. Because all she cared about was you."

Ben runs a hand over his face. He doesn't know what to say.

"The way I see it, you've got two choices here," Johnny says. "One, you can just sit there and be miserable for the rest of your life. Or two, you can take a chance. Go down there and talk to her. It might be the best thing you've ever done."

Ben sits quietly for a moment, letting it all sink in. Finally, he nods.

"Yeah. You're right," he murmurs. "Thanks for that. Seriously."

Believe it or not, sometimes Johnny's not so bad.

Johnny gives him a warm smile. "Anytime, big guy."

He stands up, swiping a Rocky Road slice before he leaves.

"Thanks for this, by the way," he says with a mock-salute.

Ben glares at him as he goes.

Sometimes.

It takes a little - okay, a lot - of coaxing to push Ben into going to see you the next day. He spends most of the day pacing about the house, grumbling to himself and getting on Johnny's nerves.

"Not so fun when the shoe's on the other foot, is it?" Ben gripes, after Johnny tells him to knock it off for the third time.

He finally decides on going down just before closing time. That way he won't be bothering you too much, he thinks.

He hopes.

It's been threatening to rain all day, and as luck would have it, not five minutes after Ben's set foot outside, the skies open up. He picks up the pace, tucking the box in his hand safely under his coat.

He sees you standing under in the doorway of Maisie's, holding a newspaper over your head. You look as though you're contemplating making a run for it in the rain. He's halfway across the street when you spot him, and he'd have to be completely oblivious not to see how your face lights up when you spot him.

"Forgot my umbrella this morning," you say with an awkward laugh. "The one day I leave it at home-"

You gesture to the rain that's still coming down in sheets.

"-and this happens. Just my luck."

You glance up at him.

"Glad I got to see you, though," you say.

Ben can’t help but smile at that. He holds his umbrella out over you.

“Where do you need to go?" he asks. "I can walk with you.”

You shake your head.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that-“

“You’re not asking. I’m offering,” he insists gently.

You adjust the strap of your shoulder bag, tapping the wilted newspaper against your leg before you make up your mind.

“My car’s just down the street, if you could walk me there.”

Ben gestures in front of him.

“Lead the way.”

It’s a little awkward, with the height difference between you, but he manages to get you to your car at least somewhat dry.

“Thanks so much, I really appreciate it," you say, rummaging in your bag for your keys. “I’d, um, I’d offer you a ride home, but…”

You trail off with an apologetic look. Ben waves a hand dismissively.

“Don’t worry about it. I wouldn’t fit in that tiny thing anyway.”

He saves you the trouble of saying it.

“Listen, before you go…I wanted to say thank you. For the Rocky Road."

Your face lights up at that.

“Oh, yeah? How were they?”

“I think I need to ask you for the recipe, because otherwise I'm gonna have you hounded for more," Ben replies with a chuckle. "Best I’ve ever had.”

The smile on your face right now is going to be the end of him.

"Actually, I, uh, I wanted to repay the favour," he says.

He manages to take the box out from underneath his jacket without dropping it. It's a bit dented, but otherwise fine. He holds it out to you.

"You were saying about those little sponge cakes, and I thought since I had some free time and all…"

He's trying to make it all sound so casual, like it's not that big a deal, but he can feel his heart hammering against his chest.

Because it is a big deal. At least, to him.

You carefully take the box from him, staring down at it. The rain's still pouring down around you.

"I...Oh my God, I don't know what to say."

Worry starts to creep in then. Was he too forward? Was this a weird thing to do? Realistically, he doesn't even know you all that well.

What if he's ruined everything? What if-

"Do you wanna go for coffee sometime?" you blurt out, peering up at him.

Rarely is Ben ever really taken aback, considering everything he's been through in his life, but this...

This leaves him struggling for words.

Eventually, he manages to make himself nod.

"Yeah, I'd...I'd love that," he replies.

He can't help himself from thinking it, but you're so cute when you smile like that, the way it reaches your eyes.

"Great! Stop by when I'm working, and we'll figure out a time and place, okay?"

"It's a date," Ben says, before he can stop himself.

His eyes widen. Probably about as wide as yours are right now.

"Sorry, I meant like- It was just-"

"It's a date," you echo.

You both stand there for a moment. Ben's about to tell you to go, so you can't catch your death of cold, but you beat him to it.

You lean in, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, before turning to unlock your car.

"See you later," you say, completely flustered. "And thanks again for these!"

Ben just waves, closing the car door for you as you get in. He stands there for a while, not caring that his shoes and the bottoms of his pants are soaked through now, before he heads home.

His hand is pressed to his cheek the entire time.

There's a flower shop on the route Ben takes to Maisie's. He can't remember how many times he's passed by it and barely taken notice of it, but this time, he finds himself slowing down.

He buys a bouquet of sunflowers before he can talk himself out of it, practically marching himself down the street out of sheer nerves.

But when he sees you through the window, it all just melts away. You're laughing, and it warms his heart like nothing else ever has. He's never seen anyone as pretty as you.

Your gaze meets his when you turn, and you look so happy, giving him a smile and a big wave.

Ben waves back, with a small smile of his own.

He'll never admit it. But Johnny was right.

Clutching the sunflowers a little tighter in his hand, he lets out a small, contented breath, and opens the door.

Taglist: @getaapologist @alexxavicry @keeryhours @punkrockmlchael @peachyproserpina

[its-in-the-woods]

Reach For Me - Alone

Masterlist

-Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9

Universe: AU- post Captain America The Winter Soldier, except we skip Civil War, Bucky comes to live in the tower to help the Avengers as much as he can. He has not gone to Wakanada.

Pairing: James Buchanan Barnes/Bucky x You/x reader (afab) no use of y/n

Word count: 6k

Synopsis: You really wanted to talk to someone, but right now you don't think anyone wants to talk to you. Instead, you were left with your own mind to run circles during the nights when you try to sleep.

MINORS and AI dickbags GET OUT. I am not in control of how you interact with my work. My work is not to be used for anything.

Rating/Warning: Missing limbs, prosthetic, hurt, angst, longing, pinning, ptsd, long silences, brooding, physical and mental trauma, swearing. (If I miss anything, let me know)

All mistakes, grammar, and plot holes are my own.

***

You nod and squeeze his hand once; his fingers are warm and engulf your entire hand. Despite the fall wind, his body keeps you warm. You adjust the bag of books as you make your normal way towards your apartment. Not sure what is going to happen. James is looking ahead, but you know he is listening as you turn corners, his head turns slightly, enough he can just see behind you. Heart racing, you decided to make a sharp right down an alley, it was a shortcut, but could also circle back onto a much busier road. 

His hand squeezes you twice, your stomach dropping. You are being followed, and you have no idea who it was or why. Well, you could guess why. But, who was still up in the air. 

“He is keeping a distance,” James says softly, leaning down so that he speaks to you directly. He keeps you tucked close to him, using his body to shield you away from the person following you.

“We take a left, just ahead, and there should be a row of taxis,” You reply, swallowing hard, trying to keep your voice from shaking. You’d face down people detoxing off drugs, dragged injured soldiers from war zones, and stared down super-soldiers, but this was rattling you. 

You both hang a left, keeping step with each other like it was second nature. Just as you expected, there was a line of taxis waiting to catch the evening night goers. James moves down, and you follow his lead, picking a taxi in the middle and opening the door. You get in and slide over; he gets in after you.

“Stark tower, don’t stop,” He barks at the Cabbie, who gives him a dirty look, but pulls out on the street. Tires screeching against the asphalt as he slides into the hectic New York traffic.

You look out the window and see the follower come out of the same alley. Heart sinking, you slump down into the chair, unconsciously shifting so that you’re closer to James.

“He wasn’t far behind us.” You say, watching as the Cabbie nearly clips a cyclist, they both flip each other off. The Cabbie murmurs under his breath as he weaves in and out of cars. 

“Do you recognize him?” James asks, his eyes scanning everywhere as he reaches to grab his phone and starts typing on it.“Anything.” His voice clip and sharp.

You feel yourself tremble, trying to think of anything. “No, no, I’ve never seen him before, I think. But I don’t exactly look for these things.”

“How many times do you walk to work?” He asks, his hand coming out across your chest to hold you when the cab suddenly jerks to a stop. Horn blaring as the  Cabbie screams swearwords in several languages. 

“Just Wednesdays. Well, sometimes Mondays or Fridays.” You reply, trying to scratch your brain. Usually, those early morning walks were a way to calm your mind before going to work. To reset and connect with the city you loved, to focus on what was going to be coming during your work day. 

He huffs as the Cabbie finally weaves his way towards the tower, James counting the blocks and streets. His phone rings and he picks it up. The cab behind us nearly ran a light before slamming on their brakes.

“Yeah, we are maybe six blocks away; his cab got stuck behind us at a light.” James speaks into the phone, looking behind him. “Didn’t appear to be armed, but was definitely following us. Saw him hold the door open for us at the library, and knew we were going to the cafe. Five foot eight, hundred sixty pounds, white, brown hair, young, twenties, but is good at what he does.” The info gets pumped out so fast it makes your head spin. “No glasses, had a black non-descript baseball cap, it was hard to get a lot of detail of his face.”

Your mind goes back to the library, when the guy had held the door open. The way his neck had turned, how it had crinkled just above his jacket. It didn’t move like skin; it was too stiff and thick. 

“He was wearing a mask.” You say out loud, your brain running over all the details. “Swipped in with a library card, like I did. His laptop was an apple, and he had what looked like chemistry books around him.”

James nods, relaying the info to whoever was on the phone. “You got all that? There should be cameras in the library, and there are two in the cafe, as well. We are a block away.” He clicks the phone closed, “Get ready to bail out, the doors will be open. Vance knows we are coming, along with several other agents. We need to get you up to the top floor.” 

With a jolt the cab comes to a stop, “Stark tower-”

You’re already peeling out of the car, pushing too much money at the Cabbie. James looks momentarily offended, but instead pushes you toward the front door. There are at least another dozen cabs behind you, but you’re already through the door. 

Vance is waiting, hitting a button that allows both of you through without needing to scan in. As soon as that is done, he rounds the corner and hits another button. You feel the thump of the locks click into place. 

James hit the elevator, you look around and see no one else in the lobby. The elevator comes incredibly fast and is also empty. 

“Where is everyone?” You ask as you step into the elevator. James slamming the close door button and hitting the button for floor ninety. It closes and begins to move up fast enough to make your stomach lurch.

“Lock down protocol,” James says, his shoulder slowly relaxing as the floor dings by, “Keeps everyone in place until we know what is going on.” 

You swallow, clutching onto your bags, “Right, of course. That’s one way to end the day.”

***

Bucky sits beside you, with most of the team sitting at the large dining table in the kitchen/rec area. You had been in a deep discussion about your background; Bucky would have called it an interrogation, but you had insisted on it. Steve and Bucky were used as human lie detectors. Natasha was the one doing the questions, as Fury and Tony were not accessible. It had been in depth and uncomfortable; he knew that the questions were invasive on purpose. You had stated you wanted their trust and to rule yourself out as being the mole. Bucky felt it wasn't necessary, but let you make the decision. 

Bruce and Natasha had gone over Wednesday's surveillance tape. They had seen the masked person run into you just outside the tower doors. They had also had FRIDAY recheck the body scans, and nothing had been planted on you. Nothing that was detectable anyway. Despite that, you'd decide to change out of all your clothes and have them hit by a mini EMP, to make sure you didn't have any bugs on you. Which left you sitting in a pair of loose black sweat pants and hoodie, with the signature A logo on them. 

Rhodey and Sam had done a flight of the area looking for the suspect. Which turned up nothing; the fact that the stalker had been wearing a mask meant that facial recognition was useless. Chances were, as soon as you made it into the tower, the person had probably shed their mask to avoid being found. 

Which left them at square one, and the decision for you to move into the tower for the foreseeable future was put into place. You were tense, but had agreed. Bucky had felt his body relax when you'd agreed. He'd been strung out like a wire since coming back, worried that you'd want to go back to your apartment once things had calmed down. He wasn’t sure if you would have been okay with having armed guards hanging out in your home. Now that he knew you were going to be here, close, he could relax. 

“You okay, James?” You asked quietly, the others having moved away from the table. Leaving just the two of you sitting there.

Bruce had sent Vance to pick-up a ridiculous amount of Chinese food. Which meant that most of the crew was now stuffing their faces with msg goodness. 

“Yeah, I am good. You should get some food.” He gestures at the counter top, now covered in boxes and containers.

Shaking your head, you stayed seated, “Not really hungry. Maybe once Nat comes back with some of my stuff. I can get settled. Never been-” He can see your brain trying to find words. “Safehoused? I guess.”

“Place is a lot nicer than most safehouses,” Bucky smirks, shifting a little, hoping some humor might help. “I could show you around the place.” 

You don’t move at first, he can feel the tension radiating off of you. He moves, getting up and stretching a little, before nodding towards the hallway. With a small sigh, you get up, not looking at the rest of the crew that is now draped over the entire place with food plates. Your arms going around your mid-section.

Bucky can feel Steve and Sam watching you both. He glances at them and shrugs before going out into the hallway. He knew that there would be a few dozen questions to come if they ever cornered him. Instead, he focuses on the task at hand. Getting you relaxed. He winced at that. No. He just wanted you comfortable; you had never experienced this, and would probably not be relaxed anytime soon. A hard reminder.

“Just down here is the gym,” He walks beside, not as close as when you were outside, but not as far away as before. Your eyes are moving around the place, like you’re looking for someone or something. “It’s been adapted, so if you see a double star on it, it’s gonna be modified. Do you use a gym?”

You both stop at the entrance, your eyes moving around the place. It’s a large space, covered in soft matting. There are several workout benches, rows of weights, and various pieces of equipment. 

“The most I do is go for walks around the park, or the occasional hike.” You say with a small shrug, your cheeks flushing. “Maybe, this is a good excuse to use one.”

He wants to reach for your hand, to hold it like he did when you were both walking away from the cafe. Drag you close to him, but there was no danger here now, no reason to think you’d want that. So, he swallows and tries to find words somewhere, while his fist clenches and unclenches.

“It won’t be forever. Stark and Fury, they’ll figure it out.” He says quickly, as you stand still. He can see how your body shakes; you have always been unshakable. Composed, put together. This was all so new, all out of your wheelhouse, and it was fracturing you.

You bit your bottom lip, chewing on it, “Yeah. Maybe I should have taken Stark up on the offer to move in.”

Bucky hesitates, wondering why you wouldn’t have decided to live here. “If we head down this way, there are steam rooms, showers, and a pool.” You follow him, peering into each room, your arms crossed over your stomach. “Why didn’t you want to live here?”

You stop pushing the doors into the pool room; it’s humid and smells faintly of chemicals. Taking your socks off and rolling up your pants, you sit on the edge of the pool and dip your legs in the water with a content sigh.  

“It’s stupid,” You sniff a little, rubbing at your nose. Bucky sits beside you, legs crossed. “My lease wasn’t up until November. Didn’t want to break it early; figured I could see how my first few months went here. Then make a decision.”

Bucky shifts so that you’re almost touching, “Not stupid. You didn’t know-”

“That I would be working with the Avengers? Who definitely have baggage. And people looking for them?” You interject, kicking your feet out in front of you, making the water move. “It was dumb. I should have known that this could happen, but I stuck my head in the sand. Acted like it was just any other job.”

“You know now, and you’re safe,” Bucky replies, watching as your eyes go glassy. “The way you treated us was nice, like we are people. Not-” He takes a breath, trying to form words. “Most people don’t look at us as anything but weapons. Assets.” 

You keep looking out at the water, “I am a doctor, my job is to treat you as human. Enhanced serums or not. I am still pissed that the others ignored you.”

He huffs, crosses his arms, “They weren’t you. Not sure anyone else would have worked.” You just nod; he can almost feel the doubt radiating off you. “If it means anything, I don’t think you stuck your head in the sand.” 

Turning to him, you look at him, really look at him, your eyes going over his face. A small smile crosses your lips before disappearing, “Yeah, not like I can go back and fix it. Just got to move forward.”

Bucky doesn’t respond, just waits for you to get up, he grabs your socks without thinking about it and tucks them into his pocket. Handing you a towel to dry off your feet with. 

“Just down the way, Natasha said your room would be on this floor,” Bucky says, guiding you back down a hall. The place is laid out intuitively, signage making it simple to know where to go. Could also just ask FRIDAY, and the AI would guide you. 

“Why don’t you live up here?” You ask, you voice small, like you’d been stripped out of your own body. 

He shifts as he turns you down an empty wing of apartments. “It’s quiet down there. Well, besides the climate control, the vents rattle.”

You wrinkle your nose, understanding the need for silence. “Superhearing must be a bitch.”

He huffs, “Yeah, it can be a lot. Especially if the whole team is here, they aren’t exactly quiet.”

“Does Steve have his own floor too?” You pry, pressing your back to the wall and slide down it to the floor. 

Bucky does the same, sitting across from you, “He’s one floor down, Bruce made him earplugs.”

One of your eyebrows goes up, “Why don’t you use something similar?” He swallows, jaw clenching, eyes going to where his two hands rest on his knees. “Oh.” You slide over so you’re sitting beside him, like you were able to read what he was thinking.“I am guessing nightmare?”

He nods, surprised that you had guessed it so easily. Bucky had tried earplugs, and headphones with and without rain noise, all of them seemed to make the nightmares worse. He’d wake up and be confused why he couldn’t hear anything. After the second pair of destroyed headphones, he had given up on them. 

“I have them too.” Your voice is quiet again, but you're closer now, nearly pressed against him. “Flashbacks, some of them real. Some of them are things that my brain has made up.”

The thought of you having nightmares makes his heart hurt. He shifts a little, looking down at you. He can see small trails of tears down your cheeks as you stare across the hallway. The silence of the place presses around both of you. He doesn’t know what to do, his body stilling as he watches you. Wanting to reach out, pull you against him, tell you it’s going to be okay. That things would eventually go back to normal, but that wasn't the truth. Instead, he sat there, letting you cry, your arms wrapping around your knees, pulling them under your chin. You sniff and use the sleeve of your sweater to wipe your eyes. 

“It’s funny,” Your back straightens, sitting up against the wall. “Did years and years of therapy, and it still bugs me.” You chuckle, coughing a few times and sniffing. “I can deal with blood, broken bones, super-healing. But have someone following me, and I am losing my mind.”

Bucky sits and listens, letting his head rest against the wall. There are no words for him to speak; all he has done is run the last few years. Been followed, hunted, tracked across countries and continents. It had become second nature for him. He did not want that for you.

“I guess, it’s easier for me to take care of others. That’s always been my focus.” You breathe out, your heart slowing down. “Even when I worked at the lab, it was always how can I make these things affordable? More comfortable? You know.”

Bucky nods, letting you vent whatever frustrations you had on your mind. It felt like the only thing that he could do.

“Now the Veterans program is probably going to be put on hold. Give them hope and let them down.” Groaning you bury your face into your knees with a huff, your shoulders slumping. 

That wasn’t right, none of this was your fault. You were doing everything you could, had single handedly ran the veterans programs to the point it was expanding. He had overheard enough people talking about it to know that what you were doing mattered. It has helped dozens of people get fitted with new prosthetics for free. Helped him and the team take care of themselves.

“Isn’t your fault.” He finally says, not wanting you to think that of yourself. “You’ve done a lot of good.”

Turning you look at him, your eyes red-rimmed making them stand out. “They rely on me to help them. If I am not there-”

“It’s temporary.” His voice doesn’t raise, just a firm statement that he wants you to understand. “Banner, will fill in as much as possible.”

You nod, but he can see that you’re shutting down. Eyes going dim, body falling into a posture of faux relaxation that you had when shit hit the fan. Fuck. He really was good at fucking this up. Come on, Barnes, come up with something. 

“Oh, hey,” Natasha appears from down the hallway, she is a rolling a suitcase behind her. He was surprised he hadn’t heard it. “Cap said you both headed down this way.”

You are pushing yourself off the ground, face firmly locked into the hardened expression of calm. He stands up too, Natasha's head tipping, her eyes squinting a little. Bucky knew she could see past your facade as easily as he could; she was trained to do that.

“I updated your pass card, room 9037,” She tips her chin down towards the room before rolling the suitcase towards you. “I got you a good amount of clothes, all your skincare and hair stuff.” You take it with a small thank you, your knuckles going white on the handle. “Let me know about your plants, I’ll make sure they don’t die.”

A surprised look crosses your face. “Oh, umm, yeah I will make some notes. Thank you, really.”

Natasha pats your shoulder, your face crumples at the small touch and she pulls you into a hug. Nat’s eyes meet Bucky’s, and he shrinks a little. She gestures to the bag and hands him a pass card from her pocket. 

He walks away, letting Nat comfort you, feeling ashamed that he couldn’t do the same. Instead, he unlocks your room and rolls your bag inside. Digging out your socks from his pocket, he puts them on top of the bag. A weird part of him wishes he could keep them, socks of all things.

The room is a similar layout to all the rooms, closet, kitchen, small living space that was across from the doors for the bedroom and bathroom. He puts the bag by the door, the place feels so empty. Hesitating, he wonders if you’d let him stay on the couch or maybe outside the door. Just make sure you are safe. The thought passes through and is immediately dumped out. There was no way in hell you’d want that. No reason for you to want anything from him. His mind is storming in and crushing any light that has sparked.

The sound of footsteps has him moving, he goes back out in the hall seeing you and Nat coming down. He walks forward and hands the card back to her. 

“Bags inside,” He says, before moving past you. Heart pounding in his chest, he can feel Natasha staring at him as he leaves. But staying there wasn’t an option. Couldn’t look at you while he was unable to do anything, unable to let what he feels come between you both. The further he was away from you the better. 

***

You watch James take off down the hallway, feeling confused and a little hurt. The breakdown had been more intense than you meant it to be. You are exhausted and pissed that all this was happening. It must have been too much, too many emotions. Mentally berating yourself for cracking under such little pressure. It wasn't his job to manage your stress.

Natasha stands there, her brows slightly scrunched, like she was just as confused as you were. “I was-” She pauses, turning back to you. “We are watching a movie tonight. Something science fiction, Barton picked out.”

Fidgeting a bit, you move from one foot to the other, “Umm, yeah. I’ll see how I feel. Want to unpack a few things.”

“Yah, right,” Natasha nods, turning to look back down the hall. “Lots of food too.”

She goes to leave, and you suddenly feel very much alone. For a moment, you almost ask her to stay; instead, you watch her down the hall and retreat into your room. Knowing that you needed to get a hold of yourself before being around others.

***

You are still awake, despite feeling the crushing weight of exhaustion. Mind trying to analyze every day over the last several months; it was mostly fragmented pieces of coffee shops, summer days, and random people you didn’t recognize. Was there something you had missed? Your mind is bouncing over all the different Vets you had met with; had there been any hostility? Your morning coffee dates, nope, meetings with James. Definitely not dates. Rubbing at your tired eyes, you roll over to look at your phone. Two twenty-six am flashed back at you. 

“I just want to sleep,” You groan, letting your phone rest against your forehead. “Why? What did I do?” 

Tears burn at the edges of your eyes; you had not stopped crying for most of the evening. It was ridiculous. It wasn’t like you were going to jail or getting your medical licence taken away. You were just being kept safe in the tower for a little while; that was all. Well, that and someone was following you. Who was more than likely trying to use you to get to the Avengers.

“Fuck, all of this,” You curse, an exhausted giggle escaping your lips. Steve would have had a scowl on his face if he could have heard you. “Well, I am sorry. Captain, damn America, sometimes swear words are a healthy coping mechanism.” 

Kicking the blankets off, you dig around in your suitcase, that you had stubbornly refused to unpack. You find a pair of loose sweatpants and an overly large shirt, slipping it on over your tank top and bike shorts. No point scaring everyone with your half-naked form. Maybe later.

Later?

The thought bounces around the inside of your skull. Some part of you had already realized you weren’t going back to your apartment. The part that was sound and logical, and not ruled by exhaustion and too much contact with a certain super-soldier. You had definitely not thought about how warm he was, or the way his hand had engulfed yours. How quickly you both had locked into sync like it was second nature while running from the man. Nope. You were friends. If that, at this point.

Food. Water. That is the goal. Whatever your heart felt didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter. Why did it feel like it should matter?

Because it does. 

Gritting your teeth, you pause in the hallway, leg wobbling, you lean against the wall for a moment. It was stupid to keep avoiding it; you enjoyed being around James. His company, how he was protective of you, even if it was just instinct. That’s what it was, you tell yourself. Mind playing out the awkwardness that had happened not that long ago. The way he left had felt like a wound, still oozing out of you. Pushing at it just made it hurt more. 

You finally feel stable enough to stand, shifting your focus and walking to the kitchen. The place is completely foreign to you. So, you set about getting familiar with the space. Finding plates, forks, and a microwave that looks like it’s from the year three thousand. Clearly something Stark had bought, because he could. Next to it is the fridge. Not a normal fridge, of course, its a commercial sized fridge that was nearly three feet deep. 

Riffling through it, you realize that the shelves actually slide out. Making it much easier to dig through for food. You pull out a container of food, scooping some onto the plate. You look at it, wondering if you could stomach it cold. 

Instead, you make yourself go over to the microwave, popping the plate in, you find the thirty second button and hit it three times. It doesn’t explode, so you set about grabbing a glass and water, as well as a gatorade. Balancing the two, you grab the plate from the microwave, nearly dropping it because it’s so hot. 

“Damnit,” You hush, finding a towel, you grab the plate with that, shoving a fork in it and heading out. 

In your room, you sit on the bed and scroll through your new phone. All your passwords had to be changed, you had privated your socials, not that you had used them much anyway. The phone was encrypted, something high-tech that had taken a moment to get used to. Tomorrow you’d ask Banner or FRIDAY to walk you through it. 

Closing it, you picked at your food. Mind still drifting back to James, somewhere it shouldn’t be going. Not being this tired, this strung out. Hating how things had been left. The afternoon had been wonderful; it felt like something good, something real. Now it felt like a door had been slammed shut and there wasn’t a way to open it. 

***

During the week, Fury and Tony talked to you separately, asking you a few hundred questions that you’d already been asked before. You had gone through a very detailed background check before being hired, but they had decided to go back over everything. It was exhausting and frustrating. It felt like you had gone from being an asset to being a liability in less than twenty-four hours. 

They had paused the Veterans program, and you were limited to only a few floors. Individual labs, no assistance. Your office had a new lock installed. You were on lock down in every sense of the word. Despite the tower being full of people, you felt incredibly alone. 

To add salt to the wound, James hadn’t spoken to you all week. He was also on lock down, similar to you, but he could still leave the tower for missions. Low risk missions. The others could come and go as normal. Not even that was normal; you would usually see at least one or two of them coming by your office daily to bug you. This week, you’d only seen Clint once, when he had come in to get a new wrist brace. The radio silence was deafening. 

Tony had tried, unsuccessfully, to reassure you that they’d find whoever it was and you’d be back to normal in no time. You knew better. The creep was careful and willing to play the long game. Things like this didn’t get solved overnight. It would be weeks, if not months, before any conclusion came about.

Security feeds had revealed that you had been followed since day one. All masked, all without any background as to who they were. They changed their appearance regularly and without pattern. Fury had pointed out that James had increased pressure on him since you joined, which led them to believe that this group was hoping to use you to their advantage. Who it was still remains a mystery. There was a chance they had hoped you would give them access to the Winter Soldier, possibly by retriggering him. Which you won’t do even if they threaten your life. 

“You're the closest anyone, outside of Steve, maybe Sam, have gotten to that tin-man,” Was Tony’s words. 

It should have felt like a small victory, but knowing that your friendliness had put him in danger made it feel like a downfall. A failure. You knew you shouldn’t be mulling over every mistake you had made. Like the fact you hadn’t moved into the tower sooner, had kept a personal phone, and refused detailed backgrounds on who you let into the Vet Program. All mistakes. All risks. Now those risks were showing their faces. 

You really wanted to talk to someone, but right now you don't think anyone wants to talk to you. Instead, you were left with your own mind to run circles during the nights when you try to sleep.

***

Bucky sat at the small table in his room, looking over all the files, data, and videos. Fury had sent someone to help him set up a laptop, so he could look at some of the files that weren't hard copies. He was looking for something, anything that could link it all together. It felt scattered, hollow; the patterns weren’t lining up in the way they should be. Something was missing, and he didn’t know what it was. Any ties back to HYDRA led to dead ends. It was someone else, someone they didn't know about yet.

His mind kept drifting back to you. Fury and Stark had sat him down and integrated him, nothing new. Steve had come in to be a mediator, he was good at keeping the peace. Once they realized that Bucky had nothing to hide they backed off. All questions answered. Along with any memories that he hadn’t mentioned, nightmare, and the noticeable increase of pressure on missions. All of it. 

Then they'd asked him about how close he was to the doctor? Were things intimate? What details did he share? It all boiled down to squat. Nothing that anyone with two eyes and a set of ears won’t have noticed. 

The meeting left him feeling shaken, which was not normal. Bucky was used to questions, stares, snide remarks, and people not trusting him. But with you involved, it felt different. You shouldn’t have been dragged into this. Whoever was following you was looking for him. 

Neither Stark nor Fury had stated it, but Bucky wasn’t daft; he knew when he was being targeted. The HYDRA base that had played his code words, the irregular intel that had been popping up on only his missions. He’d seen it, but hadn’t linked it. Not yet. Had been holding it close to his chest, waiting to see if he could dig up anything else. Now it was all out in the open.

The urge to toss the table was overwhelming. His hand twitched, and he got up, moving away from his carefully organized table. Losing his temper wasn’t going to help anyone. A throb in his arm made him twitch, that cold, crawling feeling burrowing under his skin. Closing his eyes, teeth grinding, the feeling of helplessness made him want to scream. 

“No,” Bucky says, out loud. “We aren’t doing this, again. Not anymore. It’s not going to help anyone.”

He reaches over and twists his arm off, dropping it on one of the chairs and glaring at it. Without thinking, his fingers go up and trace the line of scarring, his mind wandering to your hands. How you easily stitched him up. The way you knew how to slot the panels off, to fix what was wrong. Even if it meant staying up all night. God, he missed you. More than he should.

Letting out a breath, he grabs his arms and slots it into place. He was going to take a page out of Steve’s book and go beat the shit out of a bag. 

***

He is sweating, his shirt sticking to his skin in the most uncomfortable way. The sleeve that had covered his metal arm had already been ripped off. The way it caught in the metal had been its downfall. Each strike rattles through his bones, jolting each muscle with the impact. It was a balm on the itch that pressed against the scars, a way for him to not feel it. Focusing on one blow after another, shifting his stance and posture so that it redistributed the weight. 

The bag shutters with the last blow and Bucky steps back, breath coming in slow pants. He reaches up and presses against the metal that has replaced the muscle tissue of his shoulder and collarbone. It aches as his fingers trace where new sets of stitches would have been. Now part of the twisted pink scaring underneath. So many pieces of you were now woven into him. 

Going over to the bench he grabs his water bottle and drinks some, letting the cool sensation of water calm him. For the first time, he wishes he could go for a run. To keep pace with Sam, and watch Steve sprint past like a damn ballerina. Just to feel the cold air on his skin, breathe in the scent of the autumn air. It was such a strange feeling to want something that he used to groan about. 

Flopping down on the bench he runs his hands through his hair. It’s longer now, nearly past his shoulders; he couldn’t remember who used to cut it. Bucky would wake-up out of the ice and it would be a different length. His fingers twist it for a moment, wondering who he’d even ask to cut it. 

Footsteps wake him from his thoughts, someone walking down the hallways. Closing his eyes, he listens closer, like turning up the dial on a radio. They had on a pair of oversized rubber soled shoes, padding softly, humming something undistinguishable, their heartbeat steady. Focusing more, he could hear the way it works, how it bounces like no one else’s. It’s you. 

Bucky froze. He didn’t even know the last time he had seen you. Shame crawls up the back of his head, making him want to shrink into the wall. He’d been avoiding you. Didn't want to see you, to face you when he felt like the reason you were stuck in this place. Heart twisting, he looks towards the doorway, knowing that you’re just on the other side. All he had to do was get up and walk towards the door, say hi, something. 

Instead, he kept listening until he couldn’t hear your footsteps anymore. Shoulders slumping, hands coming up to pull at his hair. Why was he such a coward? 

***

Author's note: These two are having a moment. I will admit I love writing angst <3

Maybe Fury is a secret Furry who knows 🤣

Tag list (comment to be added or removed )

@biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @riki-785 @overwintering-soldier

@alex-cheraya @hiddlebatchedloki @alex-cheraya @justyna4a

@ficmeiguess @vunblr @kimberly-stocks @rue963 @shameless-klutz

@feynightlight @humblechumbble @buckysgirl-12 @aureliaborea @nialhero-blog

[adelarsims]

Moonwood Mill Gossip 🌖

i haven't found a list of all moonwood townies replies to "Ask About Moonwood Mill" dialogue option aside from a few that people took screenshots of, so i dived into the game code and compiled all replies into one post. would be nice of someone to add them to wiki like someone did with Ravenwood townies.

there are so many that i have never got and read for the first time now, wow!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

GREG

(0-35 Relationship Points)

I put up those signs for a reason. You'd think Sims would learn to read them.

Some say I'm mean. They say I'm gruff. A menace. You know what's mean? Gruff? What's really menacing? Life. Get used to it.

I don't like going up to the howling point with how many other wolves frequent it, but that's where it all started. Where the magical explosion happened. Curious? Well, too bad.

I hated the noise from the old mill. After they shut down, I tore it apart and dragged it into the tunnels where it can be forgotten. Now it can't be rebuilt!

Kristopher looks just like his mother. Reminds me of the old days. I hate it.

(35-60 Relationship Points)

I'm always watching.

I hate a lot of things, but the thing I hate more than anything else is a Vampire.

Vlad is perhaps the cleverest Vampire I've ever met. Don't mistake my compliment for admiration, though. He's a monster.

How old am I? I grew up in Old San Myshuno, back when the streets were filled with horses and carriages. Yeah, that's how old.

Not sure what happened to my diary. And honestly, I don't care. It's not like I write anymore.

(60-100 Relationship Points)

My family used to be in the textiles industry. My... mother was... Don't have much use for textiles nowadays.

During the Century Conflict, we captured Vlad and took him down into the tunnels. We figured we'd use him as leverage, end the conflict. But even in his youth, he was already too powerful. We couldn't hold him and he escaped.

I was a spellcaster hundreds of years ago, a master of the Untamed school. I stood atop that mountain, back when this area was simply called Moonwood, and with a group of other powerful spellcasters, we channeled the most powerful Moon Infusion spell that has ever been cast. The results were explosive... but effective. The Moonlight infused both us and the land around us. Why do you think the Moonpetal only grows atop that mountain? Where do you think the Luna Fish comes from? We made them. I made them.

I had a dog familiar named Brutus. Back when I was a spellcaster. Don't look so surprised... when I transformed, we lost our bond, and he grew old and died just like any other pet. Everything we love dies.

I won't say her name... but I was married once. When she died, I had no use for my weaker form anymore, no reason to be anything other than a beast.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

RORY OAKLOW

(0-35 Relationship Points)

If I wasn't a Werewolf, I think I'd want to be a Mermaid. Surprised? Eh, don't be. They also have a connection to the moon, you know? With the tides and all that. Did you know mermaids can stay out of the water longer during a Full Moon?

The Moonwood Collective fears their own natural state. It's like they've built a fire that they only let smolder. Why not stoke that thing and have some fun? Just keep it contained to the fire pit, you know?

What are the Wildfangs about? All right, think of fury like the ocean. The Moonwood Collective wants to avoid it. Greg is drowning in it. The Wilfangs want to go for a swim. Sure, it's not 100% safe, but can you imagine living your whole life by the water and never taking a dip?

We may not be in the same pack anymore, but I love my little brother, Jacob. Always have, always will. And I think the Moonwood Collective suits him well. It just didn't work for me.

Just because I'm all about embracing the inner beast doesn't mean I'm opposed to someone seeking a cure. Be true to you. That's what's important. Just don't try to make me take it!

(35-60 Relationship Points)

I've never had a fated mate before. And even if fate decided to put me on the list, I don't really subscribe to that being the end-all-factor in who I end up with. I decide my fate.

Even as a kid, I had a strong sense of individuality. Yeah, Kristopher is my dad, but I've always been Rory Oaklow, you know? I'm not going to change my name for some elder Werewolf. Jacob wanted to. That's his decision, and I support that.

Other occults come here from time to time. Before coming here, I'd never met a Spellcaster! I was always around normie Sims, born and raised in a standard normie family. It's strange to think about now. I wouldn't want to go back to that.

Sure, normies are great, but they're not my pack, and they can never be. That's fine. You're close with the people you connect with, you run with the ones you trust, you know?

What would I do if I ever met Vlad Straud? I'd fight him, of course. He needs to know who the top dog around here is. And it's not going to be some ancient, evil Vampire.

(60-100 Relationship Points)

I don't talk much about my past. I was bit by a dog that'd somehow contracted lycanthropy. It doesn't usually happen, so it must have been a freak accident. I was with my family at the vet in Brindleton Bay—that's where I grew up. The day after my first transformation, my parents kicked me out. They didn't know how to handle the new me. Kristopher took me in. We don't agree on a lot of things these days, but I'll always remember his kindness.

When I became leader of a pack, I realized I was going to have to open myself to learning about what it means to be a leader each day. There's always a lot of pressure to care for the well-being of those who follow me, but I want to do right by the pack.

I learned the secrets to immortality early. Most werewolves don't, but I was able to by truly embracing who I am inside. I don't hide, and because of that, I'm more in tune with my inner wolf.

Kristopher thinks that if I keep heading down the path I'm on, I'll turn out like Greg. He can't be serious. I'm nothing like Greg. I'm in control. I just don't shy away from the fury inside me. I use it. Sure, it's a difficult balancing act, but I'm killing it.

The original Werewolves didn't deny their inner beasts. They embraced the moon and its magic, and they used it for good, keeping the Vampires from taking over. I don't think the Moonwood Collective would even be strong enough today to take on the Vampires if they started another conflict. The Wildfangs would be.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

LOU HOWELL

(0-35 Relationship Points)

I love me some PowerSip MIDNIGHT! I'm glad they're always fighting the legal battles to make their next big flavor. Who wouldn't want to taste "midnight"? Seriously, they must have some spellcaster brewers making the stuff. How else do you harness the essence of night?

Who doesn't want to be an immortal wolf? I hear you need to be pretty powerful to pull it off. Don't worry, I'll get there soon.

Kristopher's a pretty cool Werewolf to have taken in everyone he has. Of course, he didn't take me in... so he kind of missed taking in the coolest wolf, but hey, he does an adequate job.

How did I end up in Moonwood Mill? Well, I stole a few things I probably shouldn't have, and I was on the run. I figured nobody would find me way out here in the middle of the wilderness. Guess I was right.

So I've snatched a few things over the years. A future cube, a few paintings, some children's toys — which I donated, so don't look at me like that! The best thing I ever took was a piano. Don't ask me how I did it. That's a secret.

(35-60 Relationship Points)

The Moonwood Collective isn't really my scene. They're too into nature. Have you seen them leaning on that old tree? No fire anywhere? BORING.

I'm not sure I like the idea of Vampires. I guess most Werewolves don't... Spellcasters on the other hand? They sound pretty cool. I'd get together with one.

Not sure how I feel about the concept of fated mates. Like, ONE Werewolf? FOREVER?? That's a lot of commitment.

Greg is kind of a problem. We all know it. I don't know why he came here in the first place if he doesn't want to join a pack and live like the rest of us.

So I asked Celene out on a date, yeah. We were going for a walk over that bridge, when I heard a helpless kid or something crying for help. I'm a pretty nice guy, so I was like, "Hey Celene, we gotta go help the kid." We braved going past those signs and all that, and we ran into Greg. Well, I had to try and protect Celene. She was pretty scared! So I ran up to him and suggested Greg leave us alone. No taunting or anything, just a stern suggestion. He didn't take kindly to that, and well... here we are. That's the truth of it all!

(60-100 Relationship Points)

Yeah, okay, I'll admit that I feel kind of bad about what happened to Celene. I know she was pretty traumatized by it all. She, well... we were both pretty scared. I don't know, I don't think I want to talk about it, even with you.

I'm always getting asked why I didn't take the antidote after our encounter, like Celene did. Well, I figured I was strong enough to ride it out. It was just a small bite! I guess I was wrong...

When you're the new wolf on the block, you'll notice that you certainly have less control than the others. Give it time, it gets better.

Rory was a lone Alpha until I joined her pack. It just felt right to me. We're a good fit as a pack and I like how she encourages me to explore being a Werewolf.

Who knows if I'd take a cure or not. I mean, right now? No. My pack is pretty cool. I'm still figuring out everything I can do. Why would I want to give that up?

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

KRISTOPHER VOLKOV

(0-35 Relationship Points)

I want to live a lifestyle that's symbiotic with nature, a self-sustainable sort of livelihood. The plants we nourish in turn provide us nourishment and the moon ties our world to others through its energy. Some call it magic. All Sims feel it, though some may not understand it. In Moonwood Mill, we connect with the night sky. On the Isle of Volpe in the Bramblewood, they connect with the animals — at least they did centuries ago. These natural wells of power are easy to find if you know where to look.

I used to work at the Moonwood Mill before the town dried up. Please don't ask how old that makes me! After it was torn down, all of the old equipment disappeared. I know where it is... but I have no idea how it got there.

I actually met Wolfgang here in Moonwood Mill. I believe he first came here to get away from the bustle of the city, to unwind. He discovered a lot more than he expected, I imagine. Ha!

When you lose control, you lose yourself. Something else takes over and you don't know what might happen. Every Werewolf is different, but pay attention to the way that your specific temperaments feed the beast inside and try to keep yourself level.

Rory had a rough time of it before I adopted her. Even if we don't always get along these days, I'm lucky to have had the opportunity to be her father.

(35-60 Relationship Points)

I've had arguments with Rory around our differing philosophies. Part of me is happy if she's happy, but part of me is afraid the Wildfang way is dangerous. I don't want an entire pack to turn out like Greg and lead others down that path...

I think it's unfortunate we don't have more non-were Sims around. My parents dreamed of building a truly special, hybrid community here in Moonwood Mill. It...hasn't been that way since I was much younger.

I've never had a fated mate. My parents were fated to each other, which is lucky, because they were already married when they became Werewolves. I can't imagine how it would have felt if they'd been fated to be with others.

It's been a long time, but I once met the sages of the Magic Realm. My parents had some old connections there, friends from before they turned. It was interesting to see a glimpse of the life my parents led before the Century Conflict. I wonder if I might have enjoyed being a Spellcaster, but I know that leading the Moonwood Collective is my calling.

The secret passages beneath the town were built back during the Century Conflict to hide powerful relics from the Vampires and to get around unnoticed. Today, they're also an easy way to get from one end of town to the other.

(60-100 Relationship Points)

When I found Jacob, he was practically a pup. I'd heard there was a feral werewolf in those woods, and I wanted to help. Turns out, there was also a Vampire there. Thankfully, I got to Jacob before either of them could. When I found the other wolf, he wasn't interested in coming back to Moonwood Mill with me. A pack didn't interest him. Some Werewolves like being the lone wolf.

I've certainly had some run-ins with Vampires. The closest was when I met Jacob. Because my parents knew about Vlad, I've always been able to avoid him pretty easily.

My father and mother fought in the Century Conflict alongside Greg - or Greggorius, as he was known. He's one of the oldest Werewolves alive that I'm aware of. Maybe the oldest. He must be so lonely, but he nearly ruined what my parents tried to build here. They'd invited a lot of non-werewolves to the area and were building a special community when Greg returned and... well, you can see what it's become.

My parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents were all talented spellcasters who fought during the Century Conflict. Me? I was born a werewolf — my parents were some of the original Mooncasters. I've always been proud of that fact.

My parents rejected immortality, and it was a difficult decision for me. I don't plan to be immortal forever. I just need to ensure someone else is ready to lead the pack before I go. The Moonwood Collective has an important past, and I know it'll have an important role to play in the future as well.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

LILY ZHU

(0-35 Relationship Points)

Jacob has always made Kristopher so proud. He was in danger when Kristopher found him, you know?

It was very kind of Kristopher to take me in. I was lost for many, many years before coming to Moonwood Mill. He's been my family. As real a family as the one I lost...

When I was a child, I was very close with my cousins, Caleb and Lilith Vatore. Our mothers were sisters, and we spent most of our childhoods together. Lilith always had a dark side, but Caleb was a gentle soul.

I remember when my cousin, Lilith, first told me she'd met a fascinating man named Vlad. After that, she started spending a lot of time "training" with him. I thought she meant they were workout buddies. It wasn't until later that I found out she'd been lured to the dark arts.

The statue in the middle of Forgotten Hollow is supposed to depict a Straud ancestor. It's almost believable, because it looks so much friendlier than Vlad does... but I know the truth. It's been Vlad haunting that town all along.

They say Greg is as old as Vlad. I don't know as much about his past, but I believe that being around on his own for that long will taint anyone's senses.

(35-60 Relationship Points)

I wasn't in the Century Conflict between the Vampires and the Spellcasters. I'm not nearly that old. Not even Kristopher was around for that, but I believe his parents were.

Of all of the Werewolves here, I'm probably the one who's most familiar with Vampires, given my history. I'm sure Kristopher has heard plenty of stories from his parents, though.

After I was bitten by a Werewolf in the tunnels beneath Forgotten Hollow, I was lost for years. I spent so much of it as a beast, transformed and unable to remember much. Learning how to control my fury really turned my life around. For that, I'll always be grateful to Kristopher.

I was older by the time I met Kristopher and learned to control my powers. That's why I'm elderly and he isn't, despite him being my senior. I struggled to determine if I should pursue immortality or not. After thinking about it, the answer was clear. I have unfinished business with my cousins. Perhaps once that's settled, I can rest.

I heard about that fateful date Lou and Celene went on. What a silly man. Everyone knows Greg is dangerous. To provoke him was just fool-hardy. It must have been traumatizing for poor Celene. No wonder she took the remedy.

(60-100 Relationship Points)

We were young when my cousins Caleb and Lilith were turned into vampires. Lilith was turned by Vlad, and Caleb by Miss Hell. Vlad came for me as well, but I hid in the underground tunnels—which is how my own transformation, of a different nature, came about. I stayed there, half feral, and I tried to make it work with my cousins when they visited. After I discovered Moonwood Mill and my pack, I learned that they'd officially moved to Forgotten Hollow. It's upsetting.

When I ran into that rabid Werewolf in the tunnels beneath Forgotten Hollow, I remember saying to him, "My, what big ears you have!" and then, "My, what big teeth!" At first, it almost looked like my grandma, but I knew that couldn't be the case.

After I was turned into a Werewolf, things with my cousins, Lilith and Caleb, were never the same again. I'd already felt they were changing under Vlad's influence too quickly, but after my own transformation, there was something natural that pushed us apart. More than anything, I want to rekindle the relationship we had as children.

Not all Werewolves feel this way, but I don't enjoy the Full Moon. I spent too much of my life out of control. When the full moon rises, it reminds me of those times. Truthfully, I'd be cured if I could, but I'm not sure that I'd ever see Caleb or Lilith again if I did. I'm too old without my abilities to keep me alive.

I spent much of my youth feral in the tunnels beneath Forgotten Hollow where I was bitten by a Werewolf. After I arrived in Moonwood Mill, Kristopher told me that Forgotten Hollow was once under Werewolf control — back before Vlad moved in. He arrived with a mob and manipulated them into driving the Werewolves out. They, of course, didn't know he was a Vampire. They even put up a statue in his honor! Then, they all disappeared, one by one...

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

JACOB VOLKOV

(0-35 Relationship Points)

Lily's story is so sad. I can't imagine losing Rory or dad to someone like Vlad.

I really respect my dad. He's brought a lot of lost people together, and he's taught us how to live better, safer lives. I don't know who or what I'd be today if it wasn't for him. Hopefully I wouldn't be like Greg.

Yeah, I guess it is a little strange to be a vegetarian Werewolf. You don't find many of us. Oh well, it's who I am! Rory gets it. She'd always drool over the steaks when she was grilling, but then toss on a big mushroom for me.

Rory will always be special to me. Even if we're in different packs, she's my sister. We've always been close, ever since dad found me and took me in.

I don't think I ever want to leave Moonwood. I like the small town feel, the fact that everyone is really close-knit here, plus I've found my pack. If I did move anywhere though, I'd be interested in seeing Evergreen Harbor. That's where I'm from.

(35-60 Relationship Points)

A lot of people think I'll take over the Moonwood Collective as the Alpha some day. I hope that some day isn't too close. I could do it, but why would I when dad's still around? He's such a great leader.

Ever since I was little, dad has taught me to control my emotions. I'm grateful I haven't had to learn the hard way.

Dad has always taught me that non-were Sims are to be protected. I don't blame them for being afraid of us, given the history and the Vampire propaganda. I hope that some day they'll see us for who we really are as an occult though.

I know a lot of people are angry with Greg, or afraid of him, but I just feel sorry for the guy. I heard he had a fated mate that he lost. That has to be tough.

Dad says that when he found me, I was being hunted by a Vampire. Pretty scary stuff. I'm too young to remember a lot, but one thing I do remember is the smell. I can usually smell when one's nearby.

(60-100 Relationship Points)

I was born in Evergreen Harbor. I don't remember much because I was pretty young when I left. Dad says that maybe I forgot what happened for a reason. I remember that there was a fire... and that afterwards, I was lost in the woods for a long time.

I don't like to dwell on it, but I do have flashes of memories from when I was lost in the woods. I knew so little back then, so a loose Vampire and Werewolf was the stuff of nightmares. Sometimes, I wonder about the Werewolf that bit me. Did they just lose control? Were they scared? I'd like to meet them and let them know that I'm happy now.

I don't think I'd want to take a cure even if someone offered it to me. I'm part of a pack, and that means a lot to me. Don't take family for granted.

Throughout my childhood, dad was my pack leader. Sims always ask me if that was weird. He didn't treat me any differently than any other member. We all follow the pack values. I'm just like everybody else. At least, that's how I see myself.

I didn't grow up with someone my age around. Still, I've always thought the concept of fated mates was really romantic. Imagine, another Werewolf fated to be only with you.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

WOLFGANG WILDER

(0-35 Relationship Points)

Oh, I love books. Histories are my favorite, though I've never felt quite talented enough to write one. No, I stick to my fiction, though I always write with the intention to teach.

I made it to the ocean once. I always thought it would be romantic to throw a message in a bottle into the sea, so I wrote one. Something sappy about looking up at the moon and wondering if I could change for the better. I wonder if anyone ever read it.

I met Kristopher when I came here to unwind. I was tired of the - pardon the pun - dog-eat-dog hustle of the city, and we became fast friends. He started talking to me about certain harmful stereotypes, how so many others see Werewolves — enough that I was intrigued.

I'm not the only person around here who grew up in San Myshuno, but I am the only person who came over within the last few decades. The city life wasn't for me. I wanted something more close-knit. A pack, if you will.

Here in Moonwood Mill, we make do with what we have around. Turning an old factory into a library, for example. We've got a lot of ingenuity.

(35-60 Relationship Points)

Greg is a living fixture of history, a reminder of darker times, and a warning for those who forget the value of control. He long ago gave into his rage and lost himself in it. It's a sad tale.

Kristopher believes that when you are in control of your emotions, you are the truest version of yourself. It allows you to act in a way that best represents your personal ideals and motives. It was this philosophy that piqued my interest in the Werewolf lifestyle. I would never had made the change if it wasn't for him.

If I could go back to how things were before I arrived, would I? No. I have a family now. They're my pack.

My favorite moon phase is the Waning Crescent. For Werewolves, it bestows the gift of logic. I find I can read books far faster than during any other moon phase. I can't think of a better way of spending the night!

Now that we're closer, I'll let you in on a secret: I am Vulfgang Mulder, the author. Not many know. I want to live the quiet life, and I don't want to draw attention to Moonwood Mill, so I keep my real identity secret.

(60-100 Relationship Points)

The Wildfangs are young. The pack hasn't been around nearly as long as the Moonwood Collective, nor is it as rooted in history. The Moonwood Collective goes back to the very first Werewolves. The Wildfangs should learn from history's valuable lessons — lest they go down a dangerous path.

Did you know that the very first Werewolves were Spellcasters? It's true. There were many ways Spellcasters attempted to fight back against the Vampires, and Werewolves were the most successful attempt. It's fascinating stuff if you can find ways to read up on it!

After losing the war, the Vampires launched "Operation High Fang" with the intent of using propaganda to turn general sentiment against Werewolves. My books do the opposite. They encourage readers to view Werewolves in a new, more favorable light - one that I feel is more authentic to who we are as an occult.

I find the entire, forgotten origins and the ongoing plight of the Werewolf fascinating. I wanted to be an advocate for them, to reorient their image in society, and so I asked Kristopher to change me. I couldn't write on something so intimate unless I truly experienced it myself.

Reading Werewolf-themed books is one of the best ways to learn the secrets of the Werewolves. You'll discover quite a lot, especially if you have the ability to read between the lines...

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

CELENE LÓPEZ

(0-35 Relationship Points)

I love WE'RE Living Magazine! I've been reading it since I was a teen. I figured out who its audience really was, and that kickstarted my journey to Moonwood Mill!

Why move to Moonwood Mill? I'm not sure if you can tell but I've been obsessed with Werewolves ever since I was a kid, and I figured out that there were Werewolves actually living here!

My favorite book genre is romance and my favorite books are always about Werewolves, so obviously, my two favorite books are "The Wolf Next Door" and "Packs and Prejudice." And between you and me... I've met the author!

When I was a kid I had ridiculously long hair. As a teen, I really went wild experimenting with it. I've had perms, highlights, lowlights...  I got really good at dying hair. Sometimes I try and talk the Werewolves in town into letting me dye their fur. It's a very different texture, but I've become an expert at the art. Honestly, the hard part is getting them to stay still...

The Grimtooth Bar stocks a lot of meat. You can imagine why...

(35-60 Relationship Points)

It's not that I've always wanted to run a bar, per se. But opening the Grimtooth Bar felt like a great way for me to be part of this town, get close with the locals, and still keep some distance from the hairier nature of it all. After my run-in with Greg, it seemed like a good compromise.

Going on that midnight walk in the woods with Lou started off romantic, but when we saw Greg's warning signs I wanted to turn back. Of course, he just had to show off instead. It didn't turn out great for either one of us. I still don't like thinking about that night.

Take my advice, stay away from Greg. He isn't like the other Werewolves around here. He's dangerous. They put those signs up for a reason. The other Werewolves don't even like him.

Sometimes I wonder if I turned into a Werewolf if I'd have a fated mate... I certainly think it'd be romantic!

I don't know how Jacob is a Vegetarian and a Werewolf. It's an odd mixture.

(60-100 Relationship Points)

After I got bit, I contracted Werebies and I knew I didn't have long before I turned. Kristopher knew I wasn't ready and directed me towards a remedy. It wasn't too hard to concoct, and I now have some on hand at the bar at all times. I want to help others who find themselves in a similar state.

I know the remedy for Werebies, but I don't know the cure for lycanthropy. There's a difference. Kristopher taught me that Werebies is much easier to undo. I've heard hints that a cure is out there and it uses the rare Moonpetal flower plus other secret ingredients. I bet someone wrote it down in a book somewhere.

I consider becoming a Werewolf all the time. Cursed by magic, a creature of the night, a fated mate. It's all incredibly romantic! But then I think about Greg and how terrifying his lack of control was...

I feel mostly safe in Moonwood Mill, but the full moon can be an intense time. Most Werewolves around here seek to control their abilities in one way or another, but Kristopher told me that the moon is even more powerful than he is.

I wouldn't want to go back to my life before Moonwood Mill. It was too... normal. I've spent my entire life dreaming about Werewolves and the occult. To go back would be turning my back on a dream.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

ANY WEREWOLF

(0-60 Relationship Points) or so it seems

There are two main ways to become a Werewolf... be born one or be turned into one through a bite. Some Sims receive the latter involuntarily, but you can always ask a Werewolf if you're close enough and they might agree. The first Werewolves came about through a magical explosion, but that ritual was lost generations ago—and I believe it required a lot of special circumstances.

The makeup of Werewolf blood in the child of two Werewolf parents can fluctuate. Sometimes a child's lunar connections are stronger than another werewolf child's. They'll be more naturally gifted as a Werewolf, but that doesn't mean others can't attain the same level of skill. Other times, a child's werewolf affinity might be seem to be missing entirely.

You think toddlers are difficult? Have you ever met a Werewolf toddler? Their poor toys! They always develop motor skills quickly, but it can be a challenge to potty train them.

Werewolves are physical creatures — even our young. A Werewolf toddler may not have a beast form, but they always excel when learning new motor skills.

Werewolves don't have their first transformation until their teenage years. It's an exciting but painful experience.

They say there might be a cure, but if there is... I imagine it will be difficult to create. You'd probably need to do some investigation to learn the right combination of ingredients.

If you get bitten by a Werewolf, you can always acquire the remedy and stop the infection before you turn. They sell it over at the bar. It happens more than you'd think.

A lot of recipes for helpful Werewolf concoctions use Moonpetal in them and the only place to harvest it is on top of the tall rock. Though it won't really help to clamber up there unless there's a full moon in the sky.

It's always funny to watch a non-Werewolf Sim eat raw meat. Delicious if you're a Werewolf. Otherwise...

It can be pretty scary for a non-were Sim to see a Werewolf transform. It can really affect our relationship with them.

Your personality as a Sim affects your temperament as a Werewolf. We're like anyone else... just a little more extreme. That's not always a bad thing!

Not every Werewolf is cut out to be an Alpha. You have to be a good representative of your pack's values. And you have to be able to challenge the current Alpha—which is never an easy feat. Rank won't matter at that point, just your ability to win the challenge.

Alphas who don't properly adhere to their pack's values are more likely to be challenged for the position. And if you're not the Alpha, if you don't follow the pack's values, you're more likely to be demoted!

A werewolf never forgets a first kiss under the full moon. It's a singularly magical and romantic moment.

Not all Werewolves have a fated mate, but having one can be a powerful thing. You'll discover the connection when you really get to know someone, or when there's a bit of romance between the two of you. That doesn't mean you have to end up together, however. Who doesn't want to defy fate from time to time?

Once you find your fated mate, you're fated forever, and you'll only have the one. To embrace or deny fate is a rather impactful decision.

I feel like I grow as a Werewolf during the Full Moon. Everything I do makes me a better Werewolf for some reason.

All Werewolves gain some special abilities that they normally wouldn't have during the Full Moon.

Every Werewolf knows that their fury builds faster during a Full Moon. Some Werewolves have learned to control that, but it isn't an easy ability to master.

Fury for a Werewolf feels different depending on how much it's built up... it's always there in the back of your mind, but sometimes it can become the only thing you can think about.

PowerSip MIDNIGHT is a great way to build your fury if you're wanting to transform.

Moonbathing during the Full Moon is a unique experience for us Werewolves.

Anyone can moonbathe, but the effects are particularly potent for those who have the magical moon curse in their veins.

The lunar phases affect Werewolves differently. Sometimes these effects are good and sometimes they're a little hard to deal with. Some werewolves have even managed to develop a resistance to lunar magic. Those lucky dogs!

During the First and Third Quarter Moon phases, I feel like my relationships always really improve or go downhill much more quickly. I've only noticed that happening for Werewolves, though. I wonder if there's something to it?

As a werewolf, I don't always want to sleep at night, but if I manage to get some sleep during a New Moon, I come out feeling so well rested. It's really nice.

I always feel the most handy during the Waning Gibbous moon. Come to think of it, most Werewolves are particularly handy during that phase. Huh.

I'm not sure why, but as a Werewolf, I always feel much more logical during the Waning Crescent Moon. Plus, I can get through books so much faster.

As a Werewolf, the Waxing Gibbous Moon phase is always interesting. You can inherently tell the full moon is coming, and that surge makes it so that you're a much better fighter. I love sparring during the Waxing Gibbous.

The best time to work out for a Werewolf is during the Waxing Crescent Moon. I'm not sure why, but that's always when I get my best workouts.

The tunnels under Moonwood are difficult to navigate in the dark. Then again, there are more than a few residents here that can see better in the dark than most...

The original Werewolves were Spellcasters, known as Mooncasters. After the first transformation, they lost their ability to cast anything. All of that magical affinity was directed internally, and that's how it remains to this day.

(35-60 Relationship Points)

Howling is the moon's song. Dogs know this. In fact, the first spellcasters learned this magic from their canine familiars.

A long time ago, before there were Werewolves, a group of Spellcasters frequented this area. They liked to use the howling point at night to call upon powerful untamed moon magic.

The moon doesn't just affect Werewolves. During a full moon, Mermaids can stay out of the water longer, Vampires gain power slower, and Spellcasters are more successful with their spells.

Between Spellcasters, Werewolves, and Vampires, Spellcasters are the eldest group. Vampires and Werewolves originated from them.

(only during full moon, any werewolf and Moonwood Mill townie)

I always love how the night sky seems brighter during the full moon. It's romantic, really.

If you moongaze before heading to bed, they say the moon will grant you a special dream.

Does anyone really know what the moon is made of? It could be cheese! Why are we discounting cheese?

You can't see as far into space with a small telescope. To really see the galaxy, you'll need a larger one. Some of the best Moon Prints come from the big, fancy telescopes.

I'm not sure how the lunar statue in Moonwood Mill stays in sync with the moon. Maybe it's magic, or maybe someone is much more mechanically savvy than I am!

They say that during a New, First Quarter, Full, or Third Quarter Moon you'll become better at fishing. Fishing is such a superstitious hobby!

Catching a Luna Fish is rare. If you do, however, there are some great benefits from grilling it up and eating it. You'll gain moon-infused natural energy, and you'll increase your athletic prowess tenfold.

Locals know the tunnels beneath Moonwood Mill as "the Underground." It's been called that for as long as anyone can remember.

Strange things happen in Moonwood Mill during a full moon. It's one of the best times to explore. It's also somewhat dangerous to be out and about.

It's always the darkest out during the New Moon. I can't count how many times in the past I've stubbed my toe on something in the dark.

(only during full moon, only Rory, Lou, Kristopher, Lily, Jacob, Wolfgang, and Celene)

The locals say Moonpetal is a magical flower that first bloomed from a surge of moon magic. Whether that's true or not, it does only bloom during the Full Moon. If you want to harvest it, you better find it now.

The rare Luna Fish is only found in Lake Lunvik. I hear it's even more active during a full moon. If you want to catch it, you'd better fish now!

Greg is dangerous, but he's particularly dangerous during a full moon. I'd stay away tonight if I were you.

[lord-shitbox]

Something about how being desperate-animal style mentally unwell makes you lash out at people who reach out to help you & then they’re too afraid to reach out again. So you doom yourself to drowning alone

[dollfacefantasy]

SNOW ON THE GLASS ♡

pairing: dilf!leon kennedy x fem!reader x milf!ada wong

summary: you love your job as the kennedys nanny. it's fairly easy and pays great. plus you may have a tiny crush on your bosses. but as it turns out, they may reciprocate that feeling more than you know.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, mild dubcon, p in v, oral sex (f receiving), daddy kink, mommy kink, intoxication/intox kink, breeding kink, praise kink, age gap (late 30s, early 20s)

a/n: birthday gift for my wonderful bestie @explorevenus!! i love you so so much <3 also also also, imagine them both at their re6 ages, i just couldn't find any pics of re6 ada i liked sue me 😔

Little white flakes of snow landed one after another on the clear pane of glass in front of your face. You chewed your bottom lip while watching the flurries compile on the window, and in-turn, your car parked in the driveway.

Behind you, a pair of sharp heels clacked against the tile floor as the owner of said driveway returned to the room. Ada stepped through the archway and down the half-step to approach you by the front door. Laying a gentle hand on your shoulder, she smiled when you turned to look at her.

“Here’s your check, sweetheart,” she said, bringing a small rectangular paper to brush against your fingertips.

“Thank you,” you replied as you took it from her. Your eyes immediately made their way back to the storm outside that grew worse by the second.

She followed your gaze, her palm staying in place on your shoulder. Unlike you, Ada’s face remained composed. She wasn’t worried in the slightest. She’d known this storm was coming. It was an integral part of her plan for tonight.

But despite her internal calmness, she furrowed her dark brows and injected some worry into her tone.

“It’s getting bad out there. That snow is just piling up,” she proclaimed, “There’s no way you should be driving in weather like that.”

Reluctantly, you nodded. Your thoughts had been reaching the same conclusion. You were just hesitant to voice them because after a long day of work, you yearned for the comfort of your apartment. It was finally the weekend, and your plush bed and soft sheets called to you. You’d been dreaming of the quiet between those walls all day. The privacy to do whatever you wanted that you didn’t have when you were here for most hours of the week. 

Make no mistake, you loved your job as the Kennedys full-time nanny, but regardless of your enjoyment, it was still work that required a lot of attention and labor. Their daughter was the sweetest child you’d ever met; however, carting her to and from dance class and kindergarten along with making her food, playing with her, and putting her down for naps piled up on you.

“Maybe if I leave now, I can make it…” you thought aloud.

“Oh please. Honey, you live across town. You’d have to take the highway, and people drive crazy as is. I should know, my husband is one of them,” she joked.

Your brows raised at the mention of Leon. You hadn’t even thought about how your other employer would get home tonight. You looked over your shoulder at her again. “Do you think he’ll be ok? It’s coming down really hard out there,” you said.

“Oh he’ll be fine,” she waved off, “His friend is giving him a ride home tonight. I’m sure they’ll make it in one piece.”

Releasing a small breath of relief, you nodded again.

“It’s really no problem if you stay,” she continued, “We have the guest room all set up. It has a bathroom attached, so you’d have total privacy. And I wouldn’t make you watch Christina or anything if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Oh no,” you reassured, “It’s not that, don’t worry. I just don’t want to be a burden on you and Mr. Kennedy.”

“You’re never a burden on us. With all you do for Christina, you’re practically part of the family. I wouldn’t want you driving off and getting into an accident just because you didn’t want to impose. I’m sure you know that we have more than enough space in this house,” she said and ran her hand over your bicep down to your wrist. Her manicured nails scraped over your skin, eliciting a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

You felt a simmer of heat in your chest upon hearing those kind words coming from her painted lips. That combined with the teasing touch had your heart pumping a little faster in your chest. It was something you rarely thought about, but maybe, just maybe, a tiny part of why you enjoyed this job so much was because both of your employers looked like reoccuring stars in people’s wet dreams all over the world.

“Thank you. I would really appreciate it,” you answered, your prior trepidation dissolving under the heat of her gaze. You slid your check into your purse and then placed the bag back down on the end table by the door.

She smirked, though she tried to make it appear as an earnest smile. Of course, Ada sensed the little crush you had on her and her husband. It wasn’t hard to tell given the way you preened in the face of the slightest of compliments or gave them the look a puppy would give its owner whenever they praised you for your hard work.

“Great,” she said, “Come with me. I’ll put on some dinner. We’ll get you fed and then I’ll show you to your room and be out of your hair for the night.”

Her slender fingers clasped around your hand, guiding you back through that archway and towards the kitchen. The two of you passed by a few family portraits and expensive paintings before reaching your destination - the luxurious kitchen that probably held a value higher than all the money you’d made in your life.

You could fit about six of your kitchens in this one. That would be another nice thing about staying here for the night, getting to use the high end items they had stocked rather than the odds and ends you owned.

She led you across the gray marble floors over to the spacious island, all but sitting you down on one of the stools.

“You just relax for a few minutes, and I’ll work on the food,” she said.

You took your seat, not willing to protest her hospitality further. Your eyes scanned around the kitchen you’d become so familiar with over the last year. She walked into the pantry for a couple seconds, returning with a box and some small containers before setting them on the counter.

“You like pasta?” she asked.

“Who doesn’t?” you responded.

She let out a small laugh at that. “No wonder Leon likes you so much. A girl after his own heart.”

Your heart fluttered at the idea that Mr. Kennedy liked you. Before hearing that, you didn’t suspect he had any problems with you. In fact, he let you know all the time that he was pleased with your performance and couldn’t ask for anyone better to take care of Christina. But appreciating you and liking you were two separate things, the latter of which gave you that warm feeling in your stomach.

In the corner of the counters, Ada bent down to grab a pot. Your eyes went with her, dragging along her figure to where her form-fitting black slacks covered the swell of her ass. As soon as you realized you were staring, you averted your gaze. You pushed out any further thoughts about how her red blouse was probably unbuttoned at the top, allowing a clear view of her breasts down the front of the shirt.

She stood back up with the pot in hand and filled it with some water. Tapping the electric stove to life, she put it on to boil. You watched as she poured some oil in the water and then grabbed a pan to put on for what you assumed would be the sauce.

With both pieces heating up, she moved to the cabinets up above. She reached for the one next to the section that held all of Christina’s dishes, her sippy cups and princess plates. The cupboard you took from most of the time you were here.

Instead of grabbing a Little Mermaid themed piece of tupperware, her hand retrieved two wine glasses. She spun around to face you and brought the fragile items over to the island. After placing them in front of you, she stepped into a nearby alcove, the place you knew they kept all the liquor.

She came back with a nice bottle, something more rich than you’d ever drink on your own. Popping it open, she went to pour, but you interrupted.

“I don’t really need any,” you said with a timid smile.

While you weren’t a prude about drinking under other circumstances, Ada was still your boss. Being under any kind of influence around her held a risk you didn’t find worth taking.

She just smirked at you though, not making any effort to conceal it this time.

“C’mon, loosen up a bit,” she coaxed, “You’re not on the clock. You’ve been working all week, even later today since I was late. Take it as my apology.”

“You don’t have to apologize. You paid me for the overtime,” you replied.

“Still. Keeping you longer than expected on short notice is inconsiderate,” she said. 

She rounded the counter with the bottle and your glass in hand. Upon reaching you, she set the glass down directly in front of you with the bottle beside it. The proximity left no room for hesitation. One of her hands came up, brushing across the back of your neck to rest on your shoulder like it had earlier.

“You’re not saying no because you think this is some sort of test, do you? Because I wouldn’t bother with something like that, sweetheart. I was young once too,” she told you. You swore she was leaning in closer as her voice became more of a purr next to your ear, but you didn’t dare look. “I know how good a drink can feel after a long week. You’re human. My husband and I don’t expect you to be a child-friendly saint even when you’re not working,” she continued.

Her fingers rubbed miniscule circles on the cloth of your top. You still didn’t think it was the best idea to drink around your boss, but Ada had never given you a reason not to trust her. It was quite the opposite. Most days, the Kennedys seemed too good to be true.

You knew they were human. Occasionally while speaking to you, they’d slip in a jab about the other or allude to some sort of marital problem that sprouted up after years of being together. They’d make mistakes like coming home late or forgetting to tell you that Christina’s dance lesson had been canceled until you were already on the way there.

But when it came to their relationships with you, they were absolute dreams. They gave you expensive gifts for your birthday and Christmas. Paid you above what was the standard for nannies in this area. Talked to you like someone they were interested in rather than a person they were forced to interact with. And hell, now they were offering up their home to you when you needed it.

“Alright. If it’s ok with you,” you agreed.

“That’s what I like to hear,” she said and tilted the bottle towards your glass.

Deep red liquid spilled into the curved dish. She wasn’t shy with how much she gave you, that was for sure. You could already smell that heady aroma swirling around the air.

“You can have as much as you’d like. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, we want you to feel at home here with us,” she said.

Before she walked away, her hand swept down your back, stroking it with a domineering, almost maternal sort of affection. It sent another round of chills through your body. You reached for the wine glass and gripped the stem hard. It was probably for the best that she and her husband weren’t actually around for most of your work here if this was how you reacted to a simple touch.

You brought the glass to your lips and sipped some of the liquid as she poured her own. After taking down some of the drink to numb your responsive nerves, you set it down again. You didn’t want to over-indulge.

“I really do feel at home here. I wasn’t saying no because I’m not comfortable with you. I just really care about what you and Mr. Kennedy think of me. I wouldn’t want you thinking you hired someone irresponsible to watch over your daughter,” you explained. What was left unspoken was that you didn’t want either of them thinking you were trashy in your own right either.

She nodded and stirred the bubbling sauce on the stove. She had to stop herself from saying I know. “That’s good. But you don’t need to worry so much. Both me and my husband think very highly of you,” she said instead.

A rush coursed through you upon hearing that. You smiled and raised your glass again, ingesting some more of the intoxicating liquid.

She watched out of the corner of her eye. It was a struggle to keep quiet and not fawn over how adorable you looked when you got all giddy. She kept her attention on dinner though, adding the noodles when the water reached a boil and spicing the sauce.

There was nothing she needed to say right now. She’d just be quiet and let you nurse that drink. It wasn’t that she needed the alcohol for what she wanted to do tonight. She could probably seduce you right now without much effort if she so desired. But tonight had been well-planned out, and for all the effort she put into it, she was gonna get everything she wanted out of it.

Ada had wanted you since the day they hired you. She could still remember the cute little outfit you wore on that Sunday you showed up for your interview. A nice plaid skirt with a dark sweater up top. Objectively modest but still attractive enough to garner attention. You’d been so polite, sitting with your ankles crossed and perfect posture. She could tell you were fighting off nerves with each answer you gave her and Leon. You were only the second candidate they’d met with, but Ada dismissed any other option before you’d even said your goodbyes.

That craving for you only became more intense over the last month or so. She’d had enough of coming home to you passed out on the couch, all sprawled out and vulnerable but not being able to take advantage. She was sick of only feeling grazes of the silken nature of your skin as she caught you before and after your shift.

That was why she calculated everything for tonight down to the minute. It would go off without a hitch. This wasn’t one of Leon’s missions that stumbled along and almost collapsed at multiple points before barely reaching the correct target. No, she’d thought this through.

By the end of the night, she would have you in the palms of her and Leon’s hands. She’d known this snow storm was coming, and she’d intentionally stayed a little later at work so that she’d be home by the time it was already raging outside and you’d put Christina to bed. She’d have the guest room for you, but you wouldn’t have any of your own belongings, which meant she’d have chances to lure you into her territory. She’d get you all peaceful and pliant by giving you a nice dinner and a fair amount of drinks. Everything would play out just like she intended it to.

She longed to see you at a baser state without any of your usual modesty impeding on your desires. She wanted you all giggling and cute, falling into her arms and spreading your legs without even being asked. You would love it. She just had to show you that.

She hummed to herself at a low volume while finishing up the food. Combining the curled pasta with the creamy sauce, she scooped two helpings onto each plate and made her way over to you with the dishes.

The two of you sat at the island, eating and drinking and talking. The conversation started on Christina but moved around to your personal life and her job among other subjects. She made sure to top off your wine whenever it got close to being empty.

“I know this job must keep you pretty busy, but do you do anything outside of it?” she eventually asked, “Maybe school or some other interests taking up your time?”

“Um… well,” you answered, “I tried out school for a while, and it wasn’t really the best fit for me… I messed around with some other things, and you know how that goes.”

A little laugh slipped from your lips. Your words were definitely more free-flowing than usual.

“Well there’s nothing wrong with taking things day by day,” she replied with a warm smile. She took a sip of her own drink before continuing her point. “You’re still young. You could stumble on something you don’t even know about right now.”

“Exactly!” you responded, all too excited to have someone agree with you, “That’s exactly how I feel. Like you know, this job. I feel like I won the lottery with you guys most days I’m here.”

“That makes me so happy to hear,” she said.

“It’s the truth. Ugh, the kids I babysat in high school were nightmares. And their parents barely paid me anything. I wasn’t even allowed to eat the food at the house. It was horrible. But you guys, you’re perfect I swear. Christina is so sweet and funny and smart. And this house is great. And you and Mr. Kennedy, you two… you’re like dreams,” you rambled.

“Really?” she asked with mild amusement. She set her drink down and leaned forward on her forearms.

The way your eyes widened and your lips parted, you looked like a little fish upon realizing how your last statement sounded. “I just mean you guys are like so great to work for. My favorite job I’ve ever had for sure,” you added.

She reached out, laying her smooth hand on your wrist. “That’s so sweet of you, honey. You’re great to have around too. Much better than our last nanny,” she said, “She always had some complaint about something, and her hours never ended up being consistent. Plus, she wasn’t as cute as you.”

The statement struck you like a bolt of lightning. You were sure your eyes widened to the size of gold medals. Heat oozed up from your chest into your face. This honestly felt like a dream. In reality, you were supposed to think your boss was hot. You were supposed to thirst after them, pine for moments of reciprocation that would never actually happen. But one just did.

“Oh, thank you,” you shrugged, an involuntary smile pulling at your mouth.

A low, knowing laugh echoed from her without her lips ever breaking that calculated smile. Ada’s rich eyes stayed on yours, not letting you get a reprieve from eye contact that lasted longer than a handful of seconds. Her fingertips massaged little circles onto your wrist as you spoke. The light touches felt like the tips of sparklers against your skin. Each one sent tingling warmth up your arm down to your belly.

“Oh come on, don’t look so nervous,” she said, “You must get compliments like that all the time. You’re a very pretty girl.”

Again, you shrugged. “I guess,” you answered. The weight of her attention pressed on you, causing your gaze to lower to your lap.

She didn’t let you get away though. One of her hands ventured up to cup your jaw and pull your face upright. Her fingers lingered there as she stared at you. The curled, the flat backs of her knuckles smoothing across your cheek.

“Do you have a boyfriend? Or a girlfriend?” she asked.

Your pulse thundered in your ears. You shook your head no.

She hummed in response. Her fingers continued exploring the expanse of your cheek before dropping to lie on your shoulder.

“That’s good. No need to tie yourself to one person at your age. Though you do deserve someone to take care of you,” she said.

That dull heat in your stomach had long outgrown something so mild. It festered into full arousal by this point, a need hot and pulsating between your thighs. You bit your lip. It was all you could do to keep yourself from squirming in an attempt to grind on the stool.

“I can take care of myself,” you said, though the tone of your voice alone called the truth of that claim into question.

She laughed softly, the sound light and condescending. Her hand glided back and forth along your shoulder in short strokes.

“I’m sure you can, sweet girl. But you shouldn’t have to. You spend all week caring for someone else. You deserve to relax in your free time and have someone take over,” she said.

A visible shiver ran through you. Your teeth dug into the inside of your lip harder as you looked at her now.

“That does sound kind of nice,” you agreed.

She nodded along and brought her hand back to your face. One set of her nails lightly scraped along the frame of it, trailing down after to stroke your jaw. The sensation was enough to make your eyes flutter and send another small burst of desire through you.

“Of course it does,” she said, “You work so hard. You shouldn’t have to go home and cook or do dishes or laundry. You’re probably so tired by the time you get there.”

A hazy sigh puffed out from your mouth. “Yeah sometimes,” you confirmed.

“Mhm. Poor baby,” she cooed, “Someone should be there, letting you rest, doting on you like the precious thing you are.”

Now you felt as though you were glowing. Your breaths came in deep, lifting your chest up and down with each breath. A lazy, blissful smile sat on your features as your dreamy gaze fixated on her. Everything really was starting to feel like a dream. If you weren’t so captivated, you might have tried pinching yourself.

She chuckled at the expression before standing up. Her palms swept down to your shoulders again.

“You look tired, honey. We should probably get you some clothes to sleep in and then send you off to bed,” she said.

“Sounds good to me,” you said and started to rise from the stool yourself.

“Perfect. Just finish this off for me, sweetheart,” she said and lifted your glass to your hand again. It was nearly empty, but it couldn’t hurt having you drink a few drops more.

Denying her didn’t even occur to you in this condition. You brought the drink to your lips and swallowed the remainder while she cleared the counter of other dishes. 

In the blink of an eye, she was back at your side. One of her arms slipped around your waist while the other held your shoulder.

“Good girl,” she praised, “Come with me.”

Again, you followed the order without a trace of resistance. You walked alongside her down the path you had come. This time around you leaned into her for support. Your head felt cloudy. A sense of dizziness pervaded every movement you made. She watched with pure satisfaction as she led you to the hall.

“There you go. We’re almost there,” she cooed as if you didn’t know the layout of the house.

You passed the front door and turned into the area that held the doors to one of the bathrooms and the office space. At the end of the small corridor, she opened up the double doors that led into her and Leon’s room. Despite being here five days a week, you rarely ever went in here. You could use one hand to count the number of occasions in which you ever needed to cross this threshold.

The decor was much darker than the rest of the house. Shades of gray morphed into dark black in here. Obsidian drapes framed the window, separated at the moment to let the moon shine through. All the furniture was crafted in deep tones of wood. The rug sprawled across the floor was nearly pitch black, spare the thin red designs sewn throughout.

You took it all in as if it was brand new to you. She paid your curiosity no mind and sat you down on the edge of her bed.

“Stay here for me. I’ll go find you something that fits you,” she said, running her hand over your head as if you were a prized pet.

You obeyed like one, not moving as she stepped away and into the walk in closet in the corner of the room. Your palms spread out on the bedding. The plush comforter tickled your fingers. It had to be one of the softest things you’d ever felt. Much different than the ratty old throw blankets you had on your bed back home.

A sigh seeped from your lips, and you found yourself laying back against the luxurious surface. You spread your arms out as though you were making angel wings in the snow outside. What would it be like to come home to this every night? To work hard all day and then be able to really relax in a place like this? To unwind with each one of your bosses at your side tending to you?

As these thoughts danced through your mind, you felt a hand grasp your thigh. You popped your head up to find Ada before you again, a couple pieces of clothing draped over her arm.

“Don’t fall asleep on me yet,” she teased.

“I wasn’t. Sorry. Your bed is just like really comfy,” you said with a small giggle as you sat up.

“Isn’t it? We just got this one last year. Leon loved our old one, but I just find this one so much easier to sink into,” she agreed.

“Mhm. For sure,” you said, nodding your head up and down with too much enthusiasm for the subject.

That didn’t matter though. Ada didn’t think she could find one thing wrong with you right now if she tried. Beside you, she laid out the few things she’d taken from the closet.

“I wasn’t really sure what type of clothes you liked to sleep in or what you would fit so I brought a few for you to choose from,” she said.

With a gentle hand, she directed your attention to the outfits on the mattress. There were two, and they looked like night and day. Two opposites with no neutral middle. 

The one on the left consisted of a small black camisole, one that had to belong to Ada. A pair of silky, navy blue shorts sat with them, another find from her side of the wardrobe. Next to those two was a large gray sweatshirt and some flannel pajama pants, probably her husband’s if you had to guess.

Your eyes lingered on each. It appeared as though you were taking your time to decide, but really you just couldn’t stop trying to picture the clothing on their owners’ bodies. You imagined Ada’s soft curves covered by the thin cloth, her smooth thighs emerging from the shiny fabric of the shorts. Images of Leon flickered in your head too, the sleeves of that shirt rolled up to his elbows and leaving his forearms exposed. The plaid pajama pants hanging low on his hips and giving you a nice view of his v-line.

While you stared at your options, she angled herself behind you, lifting one knee onto the bed. Her hands landed upon your shoulders to gently massage.

“Pick whatever you want. It’s totally up to you. You can take one or the other or combine the two. Maybe layer a bit since it’s so cold,” she whispered. She had leaned in right next to your ear. Her lips brushed your skin with every word.

It took everything you had not to whimper for more from her. Under normal circumstances, you would be squirming out of your skin, stuttering and awkwardly trying to justify her affection for you. But right now, you leaned back into it, letting the warmth flow through you.

She smiled and snaked her arms around your body, holding you tight against her. “I’ll have to buy you some clothes to keep here in case this ever happens again. We’ll keep a cute little wardrobe for you in the guest room, so you can stay whenever you like,” she added.

That pulled another giggle out of you along with growing the lazy smile on your face. “I’ll take both of these,” you finally decided and pulled the two tops toward yourself. You messily bundled both pieces into your lap.

“Great. But you still need some pants, sweetheart,” she teased.

“But I don’t like sleeping in pants,” you said and looked up at her with earnest eyes.

She reveled in your thoughtless confession but played it cool. “Are you sure? The bed upstairs has a lot of blankets and the heat should be on, but I wouldn’t want you getting cold,” she offered.

You shook your head. “I’ll be ok, but thank you,” you answered.

Standing up, you swayed on your feet a little. She rose from the bed herself and moved the rejected pairs of pants to the dresser nearby. When she turned to you and caught the wobbly nature of your stance, she moved in like a viper through tall grass and grabbed you by the elbow.

“Why don’t you just change in here? You know that way if you don’t like anything you won’t have to stumble up and down the stairs. Plus you can just leave your clothes here, and I’ll put them in the wash in the morning,” she said, making the offer as if it was based on a genuine desire to help you.

You blinked at her. “Like… change in here? In the bedroom?” you checked.

She nodded, her fingers gliding up your arm. “Mhm. We’re both girls, honey. No need to be shy. I’ll even turn around if you want me to,” she said in a way that somehow soothed you and set your whole body on fire.

You felt like a fireworks show was going off in your stomach. The adrenaline rushing through your veins made you light-headed, and the wine probably didn’t help. You couldn’t think of a reason to say no.

“Alright,” you agreed with a heavy breath.

“Good girl,” she praised with a squeeze to your shoulder.

You felt your clit throb between your legs. At this point, you knew you’d probably have to rub one out as soon as you reached the privacy of the guest room.

Turning around, you dropped the two shirts back on the bed. Without much hesitation, you started to undress. Your shirt was first to go. You tucked your fingers beneath the hem and peeled it off.

Ada’s gaze focused completely on you as she saw the soft skin of your back completely exposed. This was the most important part of the night. If she messed up here, all of it would have been for nothing. She hadn’t planned out every minute movement she would make, but she could think on her feet. This would work.

She headed over near the closet entrance again but didn’t venture inside. She stood right outside in front of the full length mirror, a seemingly reasonable position where she was sure you’d be able to see her if you turned around.

Bending down, she unbuckled her heels and then kicked them to the side. She undid her slacks next and shimmied them off to pool around her ankles.

You heard the rustling of the fabric and the clicks of unfastening. It didn’t register in your mind what they would be coming from until you glanced over your shoulder and spotted her. Your jaw fell open while your eyes bulged from their sockets. You were pretty sure you stopped breathing in the middle of removing your bra.

She stood there as if nothing about this was odd. Her fingers worked on undoing the buttons on her blouse, parting the two sides and revealing a sliver of her skin. Her legs were already out in the open, all for your eyes to see.

In the reflection of the mirror in front of her, she caught your wide-eyed stare. She spun around to face you head on. She unhooked the last button. Her shirt fell open, allowing you to see her flesh from her navel to her collar bone. Underneath the blouse, she still had on a lacy bra and matching panties.

Not missing a beat, she just chuckled and walked closer. “Did you get stuck, honey? Need some help?” she asked.

She approached your frozen form and brought her hands to your shoulders where your bra straps sat. Using her nimble fingers, she guided the thin pieces down your arms. The entire garment fell away and dropped to the floor in front of you.

“There you go. Let mommy help you,” she whispered.

This time you actually couldn’t tell if the words were real or imagined. They’d been so hushed, so faint, but you would swear on anything that you felt them fan over your neck.

She moved to your jeans next, flicking the button open and tugging the zipper loose. The denim crumpled under the force of her hands shoving them down. You stepped out of each pant leg before she kicked them aside along with your bra.

Her hands came to rest on your hips for a moment before gliding up your sides. They smoothed over your curves like streams of warm water. You felt the gentle pressure move from your sides around to your tummy. She was only teasing you right now. Her touches felt good, but they didn’t explore anywhere that would give you true pleasure.

“You have such soft skin,” she cooed.

“Thank you,” you hummed, preening under her touch.

“So tender and pretty. Perfectly smooth,” she whispered.

You were already melting under her hands, but she knew she could go further. She ducked in and kissed your neck. You moaned at the feeling, at her hot mouth latching onto your skin. She laid a few more there after to follow.

“Mmm, so sweet too,” she hummed.

You whimpered and let your head fall back onto her shoulder, leaving more of your neck accessible to her lips. She took advantage. Leaning in, she licked a stripe over your pulse and followed the trail of saliva with a series of kisses. Her teeth scraped across the sensitive flesh.

“A-ada…” you sighed.

“I’m right here, sweet baby,” she purred, “Does that feel good?”

“Mhm,” you whimpered.

“I bet it does. You’re so sensitive, aren’t you? Jumping under every touch. I was like that at your age too,” she teased.

Her hands broke the little patterns they’d been tracing into your stomach to float upward. One by one they each landed on your breasts. Her palms cupped the mounds and gave them a gentle squeeze.

“You have such a gorgeous body,” she said as she nuzzled the space behind your ear, “You’re so shy. So precious. Running around my house like a skittish little puppy.”

No words of protest or denial made their way out of you. It felt good to bask in her attention, to know that she saw you as something so delicate.

“I think I’m starting to understand why though,” she teased.

Her fingers went to your pebbled nipples, pulling and tweaking the sensitive nubs. You mewled and squirmed in her grasp.

“Mommy,” you whined, not caring if she had actually been the one to say it first.

“Mhm. Look at you, already calling me mommy. You were thinking about this, weren’t you baby? You’ve been wanting mommy to take care of you?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, not being coy about it.

She grinned against your neck before turning you around. Once you could see her, she displayed a much more seductive expression. “Let mommy take care of you then,” she said.

With caring hands, she guided you onto the bed and laid you against a mountain of the pillows near the headboard. She crawled above you, looking down at you like a panther that had just caught its next meal.

“Let me have a taste of those lips. See if they're as soft as the rest of you,” she murmured before lowering herself.

She connected her mouth to yours. Her lips engulfed your own in a kiss, her tongue teasing you. You reciprocated. Your lips parted as you moaned, granting her access. She didn’t waste any time. Her breaths came out heavier as she focused herself entirely on you.

As her mouth worked on you above, her hands continued roaming your body below. She groped your hips and explored your thighs. You gasped softly at the mix of sensations, rolling your hips up against nothing.

“So impatient, baby,” she breathed as she pulled back, “You act like such a good girl all the time, but I bet that leaves you so desperate, huh?”

“Mhm,” you whimpered.

She nodded and moved down to your neck again. Her mouth trailed over the skin with little pecks and soft sucks. The idea of leaving marks tempted her, but that could come later. She didn’t intend on this being her only time with you.

You felt her kisses migrate across your throat to your collarbone and down to the valley between your breasts. Her tongue played there for a moment, drawing out the moments before she would give you your first real taste of relief.

“Mommy, please,” you tried, eyes fluttering.

“So demanding,” she cooed. She moved her mouth to the right though and wrapped her lips around your nipple.

You arched your back off the bed and breathed out a whiny sigh. The tip of her tongue swirled around the bud. She laved at it, applying the perfect amount of pressure to get you squirming. Her hands massaged your waist in the meantime. She would make sure you felt good all over.

Your legs shifted around at the tingling building between your thighs. You craved some friction so badly, but she was still fixated on your chest. Her mouth released your nipple and planted one more kiss on it before she moved to the other and gave it the same treatment.

It got the same pleasured reaction out of you that only increased when one of her hands came up to toy with the sensitive peak that already experienced her mouth. You mewled without shame, digging her heels into the mattress.

She finally let it go as she had the other one, with a wet pop. Her eyes flitted up to you, taking in your breathless expression. After a couple seconds, she started kissing down your belly. She scooted herself down between your legs.

“You’re so needy,” she cooed, “No one’s taken care of you in so long. It’s left you aching.”

Her fingers ghosted over your thin panties, the ribbed fabric nowhere near as luxurious as hers. You watched her eyes follow her hands. The dark irises locked on your center. Her thumb traced the length of your cunt, grazing over your clit down to your leaking entrance. A nice wet patch began forming on the seat of your panties.

“That’s ok though. No one else could take care of you like mommy can. You’d be wasting your time.”

Your eyelids felt heavy as you watched her tug your panties off, drooping with the weight of your lust. You felt the cool air hit the glistening folds between your legs as soon as your lower half was free of the thin covering.

“So wet for me already,” she said, “That’s my good girl. Always so eager to please.”

She didn’t waste time teasing. Why would she? After months of coveting, she finally had you within her grasp, ready for the taking. She gripped your thighs and dove in, flattening her tongue against your soaked core. With a broad stroke, her tongue dragged over the slick flesh.

You mewled in response. A soft gasp accompanied the sound. She spotted your fingers gripping the bedding. So responsive from the simplest of touches. You were going to be fun.

She attacked your clit next. First, she treated it with little flicks of her tongue. Quick and repetitive, it stroked the tiny bud until you let out a pretty whine. She then latched her lips on, sucking on your pulsing bundle of nerves.

All the thoughts in your head melted away. The only thing you could do at this point was babble out a small collection of words including “mommy” and “please more.”

She got into it. All her focus trained on you. This was what she had been dreaming of for a year after all. Ever since she saw you in that little plaid skirt. She’d have to have you wear it again one of these days so she could eat you out under it.

Your thighs squeezed around her head as she lapped at your entrance. It felt good, a more dull kind of bliss than what she’d brought you before, but still good. She didn’t mind the pressure from your legs. Her nails dug into your tender flesh and kept you right in place to continue on with her task.

You trembled and twitched with the ecstasy coursing through you. Your eyes rolled back, your vision going out for a second. It felt as though your head was engulfed by drowsy clouds straight from the heavens. The few people you had been with before never made you feel like this.

Your head had lolled back for a moment in the throes of carnal pleasure. When your vision started to return, you brought it back up to look at her again. Only she didn’t catch your attention this time.

Instead your pupils landed on the shadowy figure at the double doors you had entered through.

You practically jumped out of your skin before you realized who it was. She felt you startle and briefly looked over her shoulder before returning her attention to your pussy. The person stepped forward, allowing moonlight to cast over their figure and show their face.

Leon.

“It sounds like you broke her already,” he said as he approached the bed. Making his way to your pair, he ended up standing beside you. His eyes scanned over your nude body, drinking in every inch of your figure.

“I told you I’d have her nice and warmed up by the time you came home,” she replied, shooting him a smile from the crux of your thighs.

Their words flew over your head. You couldn’t really hear them with how fast your heart was beating. God, how could you have been so stupid? You totally forgot about Leon until this very moment. Apparently, a few drinks was all it took to let your pussy take control. All you had been thinking about for the last half hour was how badly you wanted Ada, how beautiful she looked laying in front of you, devouring you whole. The fact that she was married with a husband completely slipped your mind.

“Mr. Kennedy, I’m so sorry. I- um- We just-” you stammered, incapable of coming up with any sort of defense for your actions.

But he didn’t look mad. He sat down beside your shoulder, gazing down at you with some sort of affection in his eyes.

“I think I’ve told you before that I prefer when you call me Leon, sweetheart,” he told you, petting your head.

Biting your lip, you leaned into the touch. Your eyes looked so sweet gazing up at him as you did. He felt his blood beginning to flow South in response. His hand continued stroking over your scalp before moving to your shoulder, feeling your soft skin beneath his fingers.

“She’s been such a good girl for mommy,” Ada praised from below before rubbing your clit rapidly with her middle and index finger. The quick motion drew a whiny moan from you, only adding to Leon’s arousal.

His eyes flicked between you and his wife. “You didn’t give her too much to drink, did you?” he asked.

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “She only had a few. What do you take me for?”

“Well she looks a little out of it. I just thought I’d check. My mistake,” he said, rubbing your cheek with his thumb absentmindedly.

She laughed softly at that. “You know I’m good with my mouth, darling. I don’t need any help getting her to look like that.”

You whimpered as she reattached her mouth to your cunt. Turning your head, you squished your face against his thigh. Your hips bucked. You could feel your release building up, the urge to let go flourishing inside you. Your noises became more high pitched, more needy. He looked down at you with something resembling curiosity with a trace of adoration.

“That feel good, baby? Not too much for you?” he asked.

“N- no, feels- mmph! Feels good,” you choked out between labored breaths. The hand closer to him flew up to grab at his thigh. Your digits dug into the material of his pants as another whine erupted from you.

He swapped his leg for his hand, letting you squeeze his palm as hard as you wanted.

“That’s it. Good girl. Hold daddy’s hand. I’ve got you,” he hummed.

Ada let her hand take over again and brought her head up to watch the two of you.

“Are you close, honey?” she asked.

“Mhm,” you responded instantly.

“Good. I want you to cum for me, ok? Cum for mommy and daddy. We’re gonna get you all nice and wet before you take daddy’s cock,” she said with the sweetest smile on her face in contrast to her dirty words.

You jolted at the prospect. A sharp breath tore through you right before your orgasm did. Your body shook and convulsed, arching and rolling as if you were possessed. Vaguely, you could hear both of their voices. You couldn’t make out the exact words, but the tones were that of praise.

The world around you faded away as you came on her fingers. Your chest puffed up and down with heavy breaths, and your head went limp against Leon’s leg.

Moments later as you began to come down, you felt him shift your weight onto the pillows. His presence receded and more hushed words filled the room. You heard fabric crinkling and a belt hitting the floor.

The mattress dipped as he climbed back on. Your eyes cracked open in time to see him kneeling between your legs. His hands rested on your bent knees, fingers caressing your skin. 

Your eyes swept over one of the bodies you’d been imagining in recent months. You could see the few veins that marked his forearms and biceps. He was still muscular despite getting older, but he had begun to fill out a little with some softer flesh. Brown hair dusted the skin from his navel down to a thicker patch of it at the base of his cock.

Meanwhile, Ada landed by your side. You took a breath, and her scent overwhelmed you in place of Leon’s. Her curves pressed up against you. Your head rested against the cushion of her breasts while you could feel the smoothness of her belly against your arm.

She kissed the crown of your head, nestling her nose against your hair. “You ready for daddy, baby? I know he’s ready for you,” she whispered.

You nodded, watching Leon as he gave his cock a few tugs. His eyes remained soft even in the midst of his desire.

While Leon wasn’t the one who’d hatched this plan to get you here, that didn’t mean he was oblivious to your beauty. There was a reason he’d agreed to this in the first place. He’d become just as enamored with you in the same time his wife did. He couldn’t help it. Even though he knew it was such a cliche at his age, he couldn’t stop himself from lusting after the babysitter.

He was only human. It was only natural for his eyes to linger on your waist when you squatted down to say goodbye to his daughter. The flutter in his stomach when you hugged him from the side a few times was just a matter of instinct. It wasn’t his fault the sound of your laughter nearly had him drooling or that the sight of you carrying his child to the car made him weak in the knees.

At least that’s what he told himself. That it was just a harmless crush. Something he’d never act on or get to experience anywhere other than the little scenarios that played in his head while he jerked off in the shower.

But then he found out his wife had an interest in you too. Your name came up during an intimate moment of their own. Between kisses, Ada asked him what he thought of you. He had pulled back, confused by the sudden question (and slightly nervous that he’d have to discuss you while already half-hard).

“Uh… she’s good. Christina likes her. She’s sweet, responsible, hardworking. Little shy, but I’m sure that’s just when we’re around,” he’d shrugged.

“Not like that,” she’d rolled her eyes and leaned back in to kiss his neck, “What do you think of her? She’s young, pretty, looks at you like you hung the stars. Don’t tell me you’ve never had a little babysitter fantasy before, darling.”

At first he’d thought it was a test. He denied it, proclaiming that was wrong. He only had interest in his wife, and you were just trying to do your job. The fact that you were easy on the eyes meant nothing to him. He didn’t care about your sparkling eyes or soft lips or nice curves. He didn’t notice the sweet sound of your voice or any of your cute little mannerisms. Pffft. No way.

“That’s a shame. Because I think she’s beautiful. She’s just so sweet and cute, and she doesn’t even know. The only place she could look any better is lying between us. And you know she’d be so sensitive to every little touch. She’d whimper like a little puppy,” she whispered against his skin.

In that moment, all his guilt had zapped away. He groaned at her words, accepting them without hesitation. There was no jealousy on his end, absolutely no discomfort at the idea of his wife lusting for someone else. Not when that someone else was you.

Because it meant that he got to have you like he did right now, spread out before him all blissed out and pretty. He guided his length to your entrance and dragged the tip over your folds. It glided through your wetness, nudging your clit before falling back down.

“You sure you’re ready, princess?” he asked.

“Mhm. Pretty please,” you affirmed, natural puppy dog eyes on display.

“Look at you. So polite,” he mumbled.

He prodded the head at your entrance, popping it inside. For a few moments, that was all that entered you. He let you adjust to the intrusion and let himself get used to the vise-like clamp of your velvety walls. The few seconds were necessary if he didn’t want to humiliate himself by blowing his load in less than a minute.

After that time though, he began easing it inside of you inch by inch. You whined at the light stretch. Ada stroked your arm with one hand and caressed the swell of your breasts with the other.

“That’s right, honey. You’re taking him so well,” she crooned.

“Fuck, she’s tight,” Leon grunted.

Ada grinned at that before looking at you again. “Are you squeezing daddy nice and tight? Showing him where to go?” she teased.

You moaned and nodded while Leon groaned and shut his eyes. Ada kissed your cheek as her husband bottomed out. Her hand fell to your stomach, rubbing over it. He leaned forward. His palm pressed down next to you on the mattress to keep his balance. He hovered above you, blue eyes looking down with lidded awe.

Pulling his hips back, he rocked them forward again right after. He dragged his pelvis away and then brought it right back, flush against your core. You whimpered with each movement. The satisfying slide sent warmth through you each time.

“Atta girl. Taking it so well, just like mommy said,” he mumbled.

Now he pumped his hips with more dedication. He increased his speed. Exploratory moves became deliberate strokes. Leon settled into a rhythm. He swiveled his hips and angled the way he pistoned them based on the little noises you’d make and the expressions that took over your face. He paid close attention to it all, wanting to learn what you liked, what made you feel good.

Ada continued moving her hands along your form. One moment she played with your nipples, the next she held your hips, after that she pulled your knees up further. It was dizzying trying to keep up.

“Our sweet girl,” she cooed in your ear, “Precious baby. Maybe this should be your new job. You’re good at your other one, but I think we’d like having you all to ourselves.”

Leon groaned again, his head hanging forward. Although the words had been directed at you, they had just as much of an effect on him.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you, baby?” he asked, “Sitting around and looking pretty. Letting us spoil you like you deserve”

“You know she would. Do you even have to ask?” Ada said, “She’d love it. Spending the day kneeling between your legs while you work, using that mouth of hers whenever you want.”

“She could spend some with you too. Sit on your lap and let you play with her with one hand while typing with the other,”  he offered in return.

“And then one day, if she’s really good, maybe daddy will breed that cute little pussy and fuck a baby into her,” she whispered.

Leon’s hips snapped against you hard as you turned to eye her. The words broke you out of the spell his cock had you under before.

“What?” you asked.

She chuckled and cupped your jaw, giving you a patronizing kiss.

“What, sweetheart? You’d like that wouldn’t you? It’d make mommy and daddy so happy, you giving us another baby,” she said.

Your head spun at the idea. You blinked and sputtered. In your right, rational mind, you’d put a pause to this. But with a few drinks in you and one orgasm already under your belt, the idea didn’t sound all too bad. It’s not like you were gonna sign a contract or something. They weren’t even asking you to agree to anything right now. But just imagining it…

“You’d look so pretty, babydoll. Your hips all rounded out, all those curves nice and full, that cute stomach swollen with our baby,” Leon sighed.

Imagining it was in fact fun you decided. Your pussy clenched around him again before relaxing. You heard Ada moan softly beside you. Glancing over, you could see her fingers moving beneath her panties, working herself to the edge alongside you.

“You’d love it, honey. You’re made for it. And we’d take such good care of you, make sure you had everything you could want,” he added.

“Mmmm… daddy,” you babbled, unable to voice the full extent of your enthusiasm.

“Uh huh. Daddy’s right here. I’m gonna fill you up. You’re first little taste, yeah? I’ll get you nice and full so you know how it feels,” he moaned.

His bicep flexed as he continued to pound into you. Over and over, he slammed into your cunt. Ada continued moaning beside your ear. Her own noises were growing more desperate. You could feel her hips rocking up to meet her own touch.

“Daddy gonna- gonna- ah- gonna cum,” you whimpered.

“Go ahead, pumpkin,” he grunted, “Cum for daddy. Let me see my pretty girl let go.”

You didn’t need to be told twice.

You let release wash over you in a smooth wave. Your body writhed and twitched below his. You squirmed atop the blankets, letting your muscles melt into the plush comfort of them.

Next to you, Ada reached the high too. Watching you fall apart was the final straw in her own resolve. She bucked her hips and nuzzled into your throat while crumbling under the bliss of release.

Leon was the last one to join the club. He fucked you through your euphoria while approaching his own. When he finally hit it, a strangled moan burst from him. He fell forward against you, burying his face in the side of your neck not occupied by his wife. His hands gripped your hips and held them in place as he rolled his pelvis against your ass like a dog in heat. He fucked rope after rope of hot cum into you.

By the time he pulled out, you were nice and full just like he said you would be.

You were also undeniably sleepy. Your eyes were all but shut, and your body was curling up as though you were ready for a nap.

He stretched his arm out and pulled you against his side to rest. His other hand rubbed down your body, tenderly coasting over your soft skin.

“Such a good girl for us. You were so good,” he murmured, “Our sweet baby.”

Ada scooted near your back, her hand joining Leon’s in soothing you.

“Don’t keep her all to yourself,” she teased.

He rolled his eyes. “You had her to yourself hours before I got here,” he dismissed.

She smirked and pecked his lips before looking down at you. Leaning in, she nuzzled your ear. “Sleep now, baby. You need the rest. Daddy will carry you to bed in a little bit,” she whispered.

Like before, you didn’t need any convincing. Your muscles relaxed as they got comfortable and pulled the blankets into place. You let yourself drift off between their two bodies while the storm raged on outside. Your mind slipped into dreamland, letting reality melt away for a little while.

[no-144444]

new meetings- o.piastri

summary: oscar is terrified for you to meet his family, funnily enough, you already know a few of them...

pairing: oscar piastri x fem! famous! reader

a/n: PRAYING FOR AN OP81 WIN TOMORROW

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Mae was a very convincing person when she wanted to be, and being her big brother, Oscar genuinely wanted to give her whatever she wanted. But meeting you? That was something he was dreading. 

He’d made the mistake of leaving his phone on the counter unlocked when he was making dinner, and she saw your messages in his phone. What followed was a very awkward explanation that you two had been seeing each other for the past few months, but he wasn’t going to introduce you to his family yet, he just… wasn’t ready. Which was fair. But Nicole protested, and so did all of his sisters, so he had no choice but to offer you a paddock pass for Australia, and hope you were busy. 

You weren’t. And you were much too supportive of him to not attend. So he was, in simple terms, fucked. 

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“You can’t be weird,” he sighed as he walked his sisters through the paddock. “Just be… normal.” 

“We are being normal, you’re the one sweating right now,” Hattie chuckled. 

Oscar pulled at the collar of his team kit, and genuinely prayed hiss otters wouldn’t be so awkward with you. He didn’t want to scare you off. 

“Come on Osc, we’re cool!” Tim chuckled, clapping a hand on his back. “Jesus, you are sweaty,” he mumbled as he wiped his hand on his shorts. 

“Fuck,” he whispered under his breath. 

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You sat with Alex Dunne, one of the development drivers who was in F2, just chatting casually. 

“Osc, hey,” you smiled easily, wrapping your arms around his neck, then grimacing. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, but his voice was much too high, and his grip on your waist was much too tight. You raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry about what’s going to happen now,” he whispered and kissed your cheek. 

You turned your head and saw his family, but also your great Pilates buddy, Nicole. Your jaw dropped as hers did at the same time. “Nicole? Shut up!” You clapped a hand over your mouth, a soft laugh coming out. She walked up to you and wrapped her arms around you in a gentle hug. “How are you?” You asked, hugging her back. 

Oscar looked between the two of you, shocked. 

“I’m great! How are you sweetheart?” She asked, looking you over. “You look beautiful.” 

“Thank you,” you smiled brightly. “You look gorgeous, by the way,” you smiled. 

She pulled you in again. “When are you coming back to Pilates?” She begged and you giggled. 

“Soon, I promise. I just finished filming in Toronto so I’m back in Australia for the foreseeable, lest Oscar needs my support at races,” you beamed, looking at him with all the pride in the world. His face was contorted into one of confusion and mild disgust? You stared at him and cupped his cheek, curious. “What’s wrong?”

“You know my mum?” He questioned. 

“Of course I do,” you shrugged. “We do Pilates together.”

Again, he was perplexed about the fact neither of you had mentioned it. “I know I’m bad at telling people things, but this is next level.”

Nicole scoffed. “Who didn’t tell me they were extending their contract?” 

He was pretty quiet after that. 

“I’m Mae!” She interjected, walking up beside you and Nicole. “I’m a huge fan.”

Oscar face-planted. So cool. 

“Nice to meet you Mae, I’m Y/n,” you smiled, pulling her in for a hug. 

“I’m Hattie,” she smiled, greeting you. “I got you this,” she handed you a sticker of Oscar as a sonny angel. You gasped, taking it from her hand. 

“I love it!” You beamed. “It’s so cute, thank you so much!”

Never did Oscar ever think he’d see himself as a sonny angel, but he did know it was right up your alley, and some of the anxiety in his chest eased as he watched you effortlessly mix with his family. 

“I’m Tim,” he stepped forward. 

“Fuck off Tim,” you chuckled, pulling him into a hug. “How are you?”

Oscar was once again confused. 

“I'm great, Bug, thank you,” he smiled. “How are you?”

“Bug?” Oscar commented, but it was drowned out by the conversation flowing freely, Eddie joining in. 

He watched for about 30 minutes with a bright smile on his face as you mixed in perfectly with his family. 

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His hands trailing up your shirt, exposing skin as the sun set outside the window. The way his lips were moving against yours, the way his hands felt on your body, the way he reacted to the things you were doing. He was addictive. 

“How do you know my stepdad?” Oscar questioned as he pulled back from kissing you. You looked up at him, unimpressed. You propped yourself up on your elbows. 

“You think about Tim when we’re making out?” You questioned and the look on his face was enough to tell you he didn’t. You chuckled. “I’ve worked with him before.”

“Where?”

“On a film,” you explained. “When I was really young.”

He nodded, and lay beside you. “How didn’t I know this?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know, Ithink I would’ve mentioned it if I thought it was important.”

“And you know my mum?” 

“Yeah,” you nodded and kissed his cheek, trying to get him back into the mood. “Pilates.”

He wrapped his arms around your waist as you lay on top of him, pressing kisses to his neck. “And I didn’t know this?”

“Evidently not,” you smirked. “Did you feel the need to?”

“I don’t know,” he huffed. “I was just so…-”

“Nervous? For today?” You stifled a laugh. He shot you a dirty look and you chuckled. “I didn’t notice, actually.” 

He huffed and nodded. “It was pretty obvious,” he sighed, burying his head in your neck. “I don’t know, maybe I would’ve just… been a little less stressed if I knew you knew them already,” he shrugged. “I just… maybe wouldn’t have been so-”

“Anal?” You offered. “Militarial?”

“Worried,” he finished for himself as he shot you yet another dirty look, making you laugh, yet again. 

“Why would you be worried?” You questioned, cupping his cheeks. “I love you.”

He rolled his eyes, trying to stop his heart beat from racing and attempting to ignore the butterflies in his stomach. “I love you too,” he admitted. “But I’m afraid I’m going to scare you away.” 

You stared at him with a raised eyebrow, and sat up (aka you straddled him which meant this conversation was going to be a lot harder to keep his mind on. Also, harder- did you see what I did there 😝). “Why would you scare me away?” You gently pulled a hand through his hair. 

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I don’t have a regular job, I’m weirdly famous, I drive very dangerous cars, I’m extremely awkward at all of your events, I’m-“ 

“I love you, Osc. Anything you say won’t change that,” you shook your head. “I love you.”

It hit him deep in the chest, so much he was sure it would’ve made him double over, had he been standing. A soft smile crept its way onto his face and he pulled you down to kiss him again. Your hands traveled under his shirt, and the kiss was back. 

“I love you too,” he mumbled against your lips. You pulled back and tried not to notice how beautiful you looked with swollen lips and smushed lipstick, but it was pretty hard not to. “So fucking much.”

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mclaren masterlist

navigation for my blog :)

[rhaenyraeri]

Co-Star Tensions - Jack O’Connell

based off this behind the scenes picture hehe

minors dni!! 18+ only!!

Part 1, Part 2, Interlude, Part 3

Summary: You and your costars were called back for some reshoots, and one night after a long day of filming, something unexpected happens.

Pairing: Jack O’Connell x fem!Reader (and technically Remmick x fem!Reader?)

Warnings: it is filth y’all, oral (m receiving), thigh riding, there be’est role play involved, some swearing, i’m not great at writing smut unfortunately

Note: this is an rpf (real person fic) so i encourage that if you don’t like that, please keep scrolling. i’ve never wrote one of these before but i felt compelled to lol. also if there are any mistakes pls let me know 🫶

The tension could, almost literally, be cut with a knife on the set. Everyone could tell, but no one would say it. They wouldn’t speak about how you and Jack had scenes just barely near each other, but you both gravitated closer. No one would dare mention how hard you locked in on him when filming the scene with vampire Bert, how he sat in the rocking chair covered in fake blood.. there was something about it. Something, dare you say, carnal, was awakening in you.

The nights you yearned to touch him, yearned to just have your hands on him, sexually or not. The nights just hoping he felt the same way. Just watching him in his element, such a talented actor and great man, having the honor to work alongside him. He just had that charm about him, and that charm resonated into Remmick. You wanted him, and you wanted Remmick. Two birds, one stone.

There were just a few nights of filming left, and the two of you had spoken earlier in the day about how sad it was to say goodbye to a wonderful cast and to people you’d grown to call friends. Some scenes needed some touch ups, and others need reshoots due to new ideas flourishing from the director.

—————

Walking past the set to your makeup artist’s camper, you noticed a figure in the dark. Leaned back in the rocking chair, in the corner of the darkened room used for a reshoot earlier that day. The light in the corner cast a slight shadow onto the figure and you stopped to get a better look. It was Jack, still dressed in the bloody Remmick costume from the scene filmed earlier with Joan and Bert. The way he looked at you after ran chills up your spine. He caught you staring from the sidelines of the crew. Tensions were already high due to your character and Jack’s being romantic partners, and having to say filthy shit to each other had you reeling, yearning for it to have meaning behind it.

“Hey baby,” he spoke, that thick southern drawl that Remmick had came out. Your mouth dropped slightly, your hands holding your belongings slowly lowering. He was staring right at you, that was meant for you. He slowly began rocking, eyes never leaving you. “You gonna come on over here, darlin’? I’ve been waitin’ for you.”

Oh, what the southern drawl did to you. You didn’t think it’d corral you into him like this but it did. That thick accent made you swoon, in and out of character. Seeing him calling out to you, and you alone, warmed you up.

“Come on now, lass. You just gonna leave ol’ Rem hangin’?”

Ah. So this is how he’s gonna be. Jack wants you, and he’s going to do it in true vampiric Remmick nature. He’s luring you in.

Realizing you’d better play the part, you close your eyes and get into character. You dropped your items and starting making your way to him.

“There she is… there’s my girl. I’ve missed you,” shaking his head slightly, still rocking in the chair. Your feet clicked against the concrete floor almost antagonizingly slow, your eyes never left his, and you felt your body heat up. Crossing onto the wood, the change of energy set the mood. There he was, still covered in that fake blood from earlier, dripping right over his face and down his neck. The lights of the set were all either off or dim, save for this one hanging overhead. Just enough to hit him like a spotlight.

“I’m sorry, Remmy. I didn’t mean to make you wait on me. Are you upset at me, baby?,” you spoke to him. You could watch as those words made every hair on him stand up, the gulp traveled down his throat, and his hand gripped the armrest. His foot started to shake a little. You put on those big puppy dog eyes your character has when she looks at her lover. Slowly, you stepped closer and closer to him, walking behind the chair and putting your hands on his shoulders. You leaned down to his neck, right beside his ear and said, “I’m here now, baby. Did you need somethin’?”

“I just missed you, darlin’. Missed your touch, your voice… your face. Lord, that face of yours,” he admired as a hand reach beside him and held your cheek. The tension you two had all lead up to this moment. You took your hand and ran it up his arm and over his that was placed on your face, locking your fingers into his. Taking your other hand off of his shoulder, you walked in front of him, and used your free hand to touch his face in return.

“You’ve made a mess, Rem. But you look just as handsome as always.”

“Nah, darlin’, this ain’t no mess. A mess is what you’ve made me into, and I think you know just how to clean it up.”

Did you? Did he want you to touch him? Fuck him? Be with him? This is all new to you, this role playing thing. Not to mention it being with a man you’ve admired for so long, and just hoped that one day you’d be able to have him this way. This was your chance to finally have what you wished for.

Your eyes left his, scanning down his body in that outfit that made you an unstable wreck, and stopped at his pants. Smirking, you nodded, and stood between his now open legs. He took his free hand and grabbed your waist, bringing you closer to him. His body was practically calling out to you, you could feel how badly he wanted you, and he could feel you the same way. You bit your lip, and got on your knees.

“Oh, Rem. You got this worked up over me? I can’t just let you suffer, can I, my love?”

He gulped hard, biting his lip and hardening his lock on you.

“Nah, I don’t think that’d be very kind of you.”

“I didn’t think it would.”

Your hand left his face, running down his neck, chest, then stomach, and finally ending at his suspenders and pants. Your fingers got to work fast on his buckles and buttons, as you wanted him more than you could imagine. You wanted to taste him. You were going to. That was certain between the two of you.

Pulling off his pants and underwear in one movement, they fell to his ankles. He was hard for you. Thinking about how you walked on the set each day, head held so high and you were so passionate about your work. So passionate about the project.. about your characters. About him, he wished.

You kissed his tip, making sure to keep that eye contact. A guttural moan left him and you felt your heart flutter with pride, excitement, and admiration for the man in front of you. Your right hand came down to wrap around him, moving it up slowly, taking in what you’re about to do to him. Stroking him for a few more moments, you grew impatient. You wanted the taste of him, and you wanted the feeling of having the man you’ve pined over for months in you finally. Leaning back down, you opened your mouth and ran your tongue down the length of his dick. Stopping at the top after a few times of going up and down, you sucked, letting your tongue roam around him. You hummed against him, the sensation making him let another low, sexy moan out. Your head began to bob up and down, and your cheeks hollowed out as you went as far as you could. Your eyes closed, humming as you sucked on him. You felt his hand trace your jaw and entangle itself into your hair, grabbing a loose fist full of it and guiding you.

Deciding it was enough, he used his grip on your hair to pull you off him, and got a good look at your face. Your eyes filled with lust met his eyes, matching the same level of desire that you had.

“Stand up, I want you to try somethin’ out for me,” he said, breath shaky, as he ran his hands up your costume dress, and pulled your underwear down, “good, now we’re even.”

He put a hand on your waist, guiding you down to his thigh, using his grip to rock you back and forth over it. You grabbed his shoulder with one hand, and the top of the chair with other, now guiding yourself across with his assistance still being used.

“Oh, yeah. You like that, huh? Grindin’ on my thigh all desperate like. ‘Cause that’s what you are, desperate, right?” That drawl invoked a loud and, like he said, desperate moan from you, right into his ear. The hand on his shoulder now gripped his hair, holding him closer to you.

“I saw you watching me from the sidelines. You wanted me so bad, now you’ve got me. This is what you wanted, right? You’ve made me a damn mess, girl.”

His façade as Remmick was now gone, and it was his pure intentions coming out of him. That accent change damn near made you release then and there, but you were too lost in the feeling of his warm thigh against your pussy as you took out your sexual yearning on it. His other hand ran between your body and his, rubbing your clit, and he took his fingers to his mouth. He made sure to get your eyes to look into his as he savored your arousal. The fake blood mixed into his mouth a little as he finally got a taste of the beauty before him.

“You couldn’t be the only one that got a little taste, huh, darling?”

That was enough to get you off, and you came hard onto him. His moans from seeing you getting yourself off to a part of him that wasn’t even sexual filled your ears as you moaned into his ear, wrapping your arms around his neck as you came down from your high. You stayed like this for a few minutes until you both calmed down. You raised up, running a hand over his chest before placing it around his heart.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted you. Not even just like this, you know? You’re special, you’re beautiful. Absolutely perfect. D’you want to go out sometime? Properly get to hang out?”

You smiled, nodding along with the idea.

“I’d love to. I hoped for so damn long that you felt that way, too, you handsome devil.”

“Handsome vampire, get it right.”

You giggled, leaning in to give him a kiss.

“Oh, and for future reference, just know that was hot as fuck.”

“Duly noted, love.”

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Rafe was so hot this season. Need more of him plsss Can you do Topper sister reader getting caught touching herself and then they start sexting and she ask him to fuck her? reader is 18, of course!

I have a few more Rafe requests in the work. Please keep them coming, I miss this man (and JJ!!)

Warnings: 18+, smut, brother’s best friend, sexting, daddy kink, protected p + v, 

—

Rafe never bought your sweet and innocent bullshit you put up in front of people. He knew that under your appearance, under the preppy clothes, the big doe eyes and the angelic laugh, you were anything but innocent. 

Him and Topper have been friends for over ten years, and have been hanging out almost everyday. He watched you grow two feet taller, and when your little girl body turned into a woman’s. He saw you. He studied you. 

It wasn’t until that afternoon the boys came back from the golf course that Rafe had his confirmation. Topper told him to use your bathroom since the main one was being reconstructed, thinking you weren’t home, but when Rafe walked into your room, he saw you naked on your bed, humping your pillow. It wasn’t just any pillow. It was the one with the face on it — a pillow pet, you had called it. The nose of the turtle was rubbing perfectly on your clit, drawing out the softest whimpers and mewls. 

He watched for a few seconds in silence as you rocked down on the pillow back and forth, a smirk curling on his lips. 

‘’Having fun here?’’ he said in a teasing tone, snapping you out of your bubble.

‘’What the fu—’’ You turned around, startled, and saw Rafe standing in your doorway. ‘’Rafe! What are you doing in my room?’’ 

‘’Just needed the bathroom,’’ he explained. His eyes trailed down your body, seeing it for the first time. ‘’Didn’t know you were busy.’’

You threw a plushie at him, hitting him square in the chest. ‘’Get out!’’ 

Rafe laughed and obeyed, closing the door behind him. ‘’If you want to do some naughty things and not get caught, you should lock the door.’’ 

୨୧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖୨୧

Since that afternoon, Rafe couldn't help but shift his eyes to you whenever you were around. Now that he knew what was underneath the skirts and girls tops, his imagination had free rein. He was careful, though, making sure your brother never caught on —Topper would kill him if he knew the things he was thinking about you. He made it crystal clear to Rafe and Kelce: you were off-limits.

You didn’t care about your brother’s rule though. Rafe was your brother’s hot best friend. Every girl in Kildare was begging to get in his pants — and now you got it too. But it didn’t cross your mind until the other day when he walked in your room. Maybe it was because you’d always known him, seen him as a kind of second big brother. But now? That image had changed, and there was no going back.

One evening, Rafe was hanging in his bedroom, ready to go out with nowhere to go since Kelce had bailed on him for a Tinder hook up. The asshole. Rafe was annoyed, but there was nothing he could say to make Kelce choose beers over sex. To be fair, He would choose sex too.  

He had texted Topper, but he was at Ruthie’s, which meant Rafe was completely on his own tonight. He’ll probably smoke a bit of weed and watch some porn later, a cozy evening. But Wheezie was still home and Rafe promised her he had quit smoking. 

As he waited, his phone buzzed on his bed where he left it. Rafe picked it up, confused when he had received a picture from an unknown number. It was a faceless girl in a delicate sheer pink cami, and her tits looked fantastic. He frowned as he typed ‘who’s that?’. Must be a mistake.

A reply came five seconds later.

You: You don’t recognize my tits Rafey?

Instantly, he knew it was you. It was a nickname you gave him when you were younger. No one but you called him that — Rafey. 

Rafe: How did you get my number?

You: Stole it from Top’s phone 🤭

Rafe: Naughty girl 

You: Did you like it?

Rafe: Like what?

You: My pic! 📸

You: [picture attached]

It wasn’t the same picture. Not exactly. This time, your sheer cami was pulled up and your tits were completely out. 

Rafe cursed and ran a hand through his hair. How did that happen? It was clear that you sent this picture with the intention of initiating something with him. But why was this happening now? What made you go and send him a picture of your tits tonight? You never flirted with him before, or showed signals that you were interested. 

He reached down to rub himself over his pants as he typed a reply. 

Rafe: Fuck those are nice 🥵 

You: They’re cold…🧊❄️ Can you come warm them up? 

Rafe had to do a double take when he read your message to make sure he hadn’t misread it. Can you come warm them up? It was right there on his phone screen. He looked down at his pants, tented and tight, and groaned. He wasn't sure if he should go through with this or not. Did he want to go to you? Absolutely. Should he break his best friend’s trust for a good fuck? 

Rafe: As long as you warm me up too. 

He sent a picture of his tented pants, which he was incredibly hard under.

You: Waiting for you 💕 

 ୨୧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖୨୧

When he arrived, Rafe turned off the truck’s headlights and made sure the neighbors didn't see him. The lady that lived in front of the Thornton house was a country club member and loved to spread gossip around. It wasn’t unusual for him to be at the Thornton’s, but Topper’s truck was not in the driveway. 

The last thing he needed was her spying through her curtains. 

You were sitting on your bed in a pair of panties your mom didn’t know you owned and your pink cami, waiting for Rafe to show up. Tannyhill was seven minutes away, he shouldn’t be long.

‘’Hi, Rafey,’’ you greeted with the most innocent smile and doe eyes.

Rafe shook his head, tsking. ‘’Uh, uh. Don’t play that game with me.’’ 

Your lips curled into a smile. ''Took you long.''

He rolled his eyes. ‘’What’s the hurry? Are your parents coming home soon?’’ 

You shook your head. ‘’I’m just so fucking horny.’’ 

Rafe laughed out loud. He never heard you speak like that, so raunchy and bold. 

You stood on your knees and lifted your cami off, leaving you topless. Your nipples were peaked and pretty, as if greeting Rafe. ''Are you gonna come and warm them up?''  

No need to ask twice. Rafe pulled you onto his lap and put his large hands on you, groping and playing with your tits. His calloused fingers kneaded into the soft flesh expertly. He found your hardened nipples, pinching and rolling them between his thumbs and forefingers, causing you to whimper at the sensation. 

‘’You like when I give your tits attention, uh?’’ he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.

You nodded, shifting so your needy cunt would come in contact with Rafe’s rock hard erection. He noticed what you were trying to do, and a smirk played on his lips before he attached them to your neck. 

‘’Can't get enough?’’ Rafe asked between kisses. ‘’Didn’t know you were such a needy little thing.’’ His hips rocked up into yours, grinding his thick cock against your clothed cunt. 

The friction sent sparks of pleasure shooting through your body, making you whimper and cling to his shoulders. ‘’Rafe.’’ 

‘’I'm going to fuck this sweet cunt until you can't walk straight,’’ he promised darkly, nipping over the sensitive spot where your pulse raced, making you gasp and arch into him. 

You’ve thought a lot about Rafe touching you these past days. You knew from overheard conversations with the boys — and talks around the island — and that he was experienced, that he knew how to please a girl. He had a reputation. And goddamn he didn’t disappoint. 

One of his hands left your breasts to slide down your stomach, slipping beneath the waistband of your panties to rub over your folds...which were slick with arousal. Rafe groaned. ''Fuck, you're already soaked.'' He rubbed slow circles over your clit, feeling how swollen it had gotten. ''Did you grind on that turtle of yours before I arrived? Turtles are an endangered species or some shit, can’t torture them like that.’’ 

A laugh bubbled out. ‘’Rafe…’’ 

‘’What?’’ 

‘’Don’t want you to make me laugh. Want you to fuck me,’’ you said, looking right into his blue eyes. 

Rafe raised an eyebrow, holding your gaze. ‘’You want my cock, babygirl? Want me to fill this pussy up real good?’’ His fingers dipped lower, teasing your entrance before pushing inside. 

Your walls clenched around him. 

‘’Rafe…’’ you whined again. 

‘’Okay, okay.’’ He kissed your jawline sweetly, then removed his hand from your panties and swiftly stripped them down your legs. ‘’Might keep these as a keepsake,’’ he joked, holding your lacy thong.  

If you hadn’t been so horny, you would have argued with him to get it back — you didn’t have many and you really liked this pair  —, but all you could think about was the beast in Rafe’s pants pounding into you and making you scream. He could get you on your fours like a dog or fold you like a little pretzel if he wished. 

You just needed him.

You reached for his belt and worked to unbuckle it, but Rafe pushed you back and told you to bend over your vanity. His request surprised you, but you complied. The cool air on your wet cunt made you shiver. You never tried that position before. 

You could hear the sound of Rafe undressing — the rustling of fabric, the undoing of a zipper and the clinking of his belt buckle on the floor. You wanted to look at him — at his cock, more precisely —, but he was already behind you, a hand on your back, making you lean down lower, and nudged your legs further apart. 

The air leaked out of your lungs in a squeaky rush when he pressed the tip, gently tearing through your tight walls. The sensation had you gripping the edge of your vanity. 

‘’You okay, baby?’’ he asked with genuine concern in his voice. 

You nodded. ‘’Y-yeah.’’ 

Once the first uncomfortable thrusts passed, you forgot about the initial pain and felt the pleasure flow through your body. Rafe gripped your hips tighter, fingers digging into your soft skin as he picked up pace. The vanity creaked, a rhythmic beat that matched your increasingly frantic movements.

Your tightness enveloped him like a vice as he pounded into you mercilessly. Christ, you felt incredible. Each deep stroke dragged a gasp from your lips, and he reveled in the sounds of pleasure you made.

''You feel so fucking good, baby,'' he grunted, gripping your hips and digging his fingers into your soft flesh. ''Is this what you wanted when you stole my number through Topper's phone? For me to fuck your tight cunt?'' 

Tears were pricking your eyes, your mouth hanging open while wanton sounds kept spilling out. ''Yes, Daddy!'' you uttered out.

The word slipped without noticing, sending a jolt straight to Rafe’s cock, making him throb inside you. ‘’That's it, baby,’’ he growled, even more turned on. ‘’Let Daddy know how much you love being fucked.’’

He pistoned into you harder, the force causing your breasts to bounce with each thrust. The obscene slapping of skin against skin echoed through the room, adding to the soundtrack of your other sounds. It looked like a scene straight from a spicy booktok romance.

Rafe brought a hand around your neck, forcing you to look up. “Look at yourself.”

You lifted your eyes to the reflection in the mirror. It was a view that was erotic. Seeing yourself nude and flushed along with him, and feeling it at the same time was nearly mesmerizing. The look on your face was hazy, strained, and blissful, eyes half-lidded and lips parted. You locked eyes with Rafe through the mirror, and he kissed below your ear.

Behind you, sweat was sticking to Rafe’s smooth chest, but he didn't slow down. He must have really good stamina. You locked eyes with him through the mirror, and he kissed below your ear. 

‘’Are we putting on a good show?’’ he asked, his voice hoarse and low. His words made your cunt clench around Rafe like a vice. He threw his head back with a groan, his whole body tightening. ''Fuck, you're gonna cut my blood flow if you keep squeezing me like that.''

You wanted to stop, but you couldn’t. You had lost all control of your body, gasping and clenching and rutting hard against Rafe until you came with a drawn-out moan. You shivered through your orgasm and Rafe's steady thrusts. 

When he started to shake, you swallowed hard and found your voice. ‘’Come on, Rafey. Fill me up. Cum deep in my pussy, Daddy!’’ 

That pushed him over the edge, his whole body spasming, cock forced all the way in and filling up the condom. Your chest heaving, trying to catch a breath as he rode out the high, grunts and groans leaving his lips. 

You've never heard anything sexier. 

When he was finished, Rafe pulled out and stepped back, leaving alone on your wobbly legs. You started to lose balance, and quickly grabbed the vanity's edge.

‘’Shit, you good?’’ Rafe asked, his tone hovering between concern and smug satisfaction.

You gave a small nod. You just needed to sit. 

His eyes scanned slowly down your body. ''Fucked you that good, uh?'' he said with a smirk, teasing. 

You shot him a playful glare, going to sit on your bed. ‘’Fuck you, Cameron.’’ 

Rafe laughed as he removed and tossed the condom in your trash. ‘’Just did, Princess.’’ 

God. Could he be more exasperating?

He checked on the way back, reading something that made him frown. ‘’Eh, I gotta go.’’

‘’Now?! We just fucked.’’ 

Although this was a casual fuck and that it’s usually how it ends, you didn’t want him to leave right after. You didn’t expect him to cuddle, but you had hoped he would stay a little. To talk or watch something on Netflix. 

Rafe dressed quickly, explaining that Wheezie needed to drive her to her friend’s house because Rose’s car was not starting. 

Before exiting your room, he called your name. ‘’You sound so pretty when you cum.''

Your cheeks flushed and you hid your face with a pillow. ''Rafe...'' 

The corners of his lips curved into a smug smile. He wasn’t done. ‘’Oh, and I liked when you called me Daddy. It's hot.''

—

OBX taglist: @moralina@eudximoniakr @toylewestinnyc @rottenstyx@sweeterheartxamerica  @jordierama @viridwityy @izzy-laufeyson @kenzi-woycehoski @lilaconner @Katsukis1Wife   @hawkegfs @mommyruuetrue   @acornacreacure @snownjune @nmedina8611 @slvtherinseeker   @slvtherinseeker @poppet05 @1stevelacyfan @illf4iry @withbeautyandrage   @maybankslover @sunflowerziva @laylasbunbunny @Honey-marvel15 @leoluvsur-pappy @slytherhoes @kcskye123 @outerbanksacc   @pedrosprincess   @mikaelsonsstuff  @skyesthebomb   @a1mzcruml3y @iluurmom   @popeheywardssecretgf  @madelynie  @loverofdrewstarkey   @radiant-whore  @outsider-at-hogwarts @luci1fer @bbycowboi @rafecameronsbadussy @urbfsbitchlol @nomorespahgetti @bloodyhw @Veescorneroftheworld   @papayaboyluvr @slytherinambitious @darylscvmdumpster @tommysaxes @johannelis2302nely @lynbubble   @straberryshortcake143 @beth-gallagher22 @doestalker @rubyliquor @theflcwer @angelxxrose @sierraluvzz @cruzgrecia @evelestrange @sunnysunny133696  @under-seasoned-pasta @hoeforsirius   @buckyswhxre @emerald-09   @simonessolarsystem @rehead1180 @stvrkey  @ynmunson @riddle18  @love4ldr @withfireandbl00d @wonderland2425 @blublock404 @eddieslut69

[grimmsbride]

▗▬̸̎͞/̄͆̅ ̎ ̎̿͞͞͞͞͞͞͞͞ι̚━─ ⠀ NYCTOPHILLIAC ⠀ ⠀ 𑄼ల۫ thanos / reader

getting caught up in thanos’s web was a mistake, especially when it interfered with your sleep.

𓂂 ͜ᩘ ̵̼͓̥͒̾͘𑣿 ⁣⁣⠀ TAGS unconsensual voyuerism (thanos & reader have sexual relations in her bed while everyone is asleep. even though they are asleep, i still put this warning because i know some people can get uncomfortable). ooc thanos (first time writing for him). oral sex (fem. receiving). porn no plot. mentions of past sexual relations. fingering. dirty talk. unrealistic expectations of quiet sex(?). overuse of pet names (senorita, mama, etc.) etc.

𓂂 ͜ᩘ ̵̼͓̥͒̾͘𑣿 ⁣⁣⠀ NOTES please heed the warning above as i would hate to make anyone uncomfortable while reading this fic. with that said please enjoy and i apologize for any grammar mistakes or typos.

Despite different games being assigned each day, it all felt the same — as if you had just stepped inside this odd room, surrounded by strangers that held far too many similarities with you. You couldn’t count the amount of times you flinched or teared up as you watched and heard bullets tear people apart, how their strangled cries escaped in a last ditch effort to somehow convince the ruthless guards to spare them. You nearly screamed yourself when blood hit your cheek, tainting the already sweaty area — which you gingerly cleaned up the moment you got time to.

You somehow survived, in just the nick of time too. You wondered if you had any right to be happy for your victory, or you should be remorseful for all the lives lost today. You pondered it for a complete moment before deciding doing so was useless, and not impertinent to your current situation.

Getting out with enough money was of the upmost importance, nothing more and nothing less.

Which is why you were quick to settle into bed the moment the opportunity arose, slipping out of your socks and jacket, pulling the blanket up over yourself, and shutting your eyes. The world around you seemed to cease — aside from the old man’s snoring beside you — your body melting into the mattress. Sleep was the only comfort you could afford to cling to in this situation, anything else was an unnecessary distraction.

Including the one that stood infront of you, taking form as a purple-haired devil.

You never intended to get entangled with any of the other contestants. You could smile and cheer together, but it wasn’t a secret how quickly that relationship could turn sour. Mixing any type of deeper attachments just seemed like a bad idea.

But you fucked up horribly, one thing leading to another, with you in the arms of a man named Thanos, who said just the right words at the time.

You promised yourself that one time was it, you wouldn’t slip up again. You couldn’t afford to slip up anyway.

“Thanos.. go away.” You murmured, courteous of the other contestants around you. You wondered if the two of you were the only ones awake.

Through the dimmed room you could spot Thanos tilting his head, elbow pressing against your bed as he leaned closer.

“C’mon don’t be like that.. just checking on you.”

You rolled your eyes, growing more frustrated by the minute. You desperately wanted sleep- actually, you needed it. You refused to suffer the next morning, especially since your life was literally on the line. You adjusted your pillow, basically staring daggers into the man.

“I’m fine, now, go to your own bed—“

“And.. I’m also cold.”

You blinked rapidly, nearly slapping that stupid smile right off his face. You decided to turn your back to him, ignoring that soft sound of disapproval he released.

“Wear your jacket or something.. hell— steal your friend’s blanket. Just let me sleep.”

You chose to ignore the second sound he released, which seemed to be an unusually pitiful whine, mixed with an obnoxious groan. You wanted to tell him off for his volume, but decided not to— trying to seem as stern as possible so he could finally leave you alone.

But Thanos wasn’t the type to let up, something you quickly learned the moment you met him. Seeing as his fingers began to graze your blanket, rising closer just so his lips were hovering over your ear.

“But you’re right here.. can’t we share some warmth until morning? You wouldn’t want me to freeze, right?”

Thanos’s words were tempting, as usual. Whether you liked to admit it or not, he knew just what to say. Which is why you called him a devil, a sickening demon with that silver tongue.

You bit the inside of your cheek, desperately trying to fight mind over matter. Not only was this bad for your sleep, you were also at risk for breaking some unknown rule. And if you got shot over cuddling, you would definitely haunt this place like a vengeful spirit.

But in the end you gave in, the reason fleeting at the moment. You could only focus on the fact he would hopefully shut up when he got what he wanted. So, wordlessly, you brought up the blanket behind you; hearing his small giddy voice as he climbed in with you.

At least the man was nice enough to allow most of the blanket to cover you, the rest of your exposed self covered by his larger frame. Thanos made quick work of wrapping his arm around your waist, tugging you closer to him as his face found your neck.

“You have to leave before morning.”

Whether acknowledging you or not, the man just let out a hum, lips treading across your warm skin in the process. With a shiver you attempted to focus on sleep, admitting to yourself that the extra warmth was comforting. It also allowed you to truly relax, knowing your back was covered— literally.

Your hand found the back of his, fingers spreading along it as your eyes settled shut. You felt your self slipping in slowly, body growing heavier as that relaxation began to reach its peak.

Only to tumble down the moment you felt a thumb play at the waistband of your pants.

“Thanos..”

“Hm?”

You slowly turned your head, tight-lipped and squinting at him through the darkness. “Don’t fucking hm, me— what are you doing?”

The shit-eating grin that developed was telling, his thumb now slithering under your shirt and rubbing small circles into your skin.

“Not a thing.. yet.”

“We’re supposed to be sleeping!”

The man was quick to raise his free hand, placing a taunting finger to his lips. “Don’t wake the others Señorita, that’ll be just plain rude.” The circles on your skin continued, Thanos closer as his lips brushed against your own yet didn’t fully touch.

“This will help you sleep better. Erasing alll your worries in the blink of an eye.” He breathed, eyes flicking low as if attempting to see beneath the blanket. Instead his hand did the seeing for him, fingers breaching your pants and underwear; tips stroking your soft cunt. He couldn’t help the little twitch of a smile the moment he felt you release a strangled breath, using two long fingers to spread you open to his hand.

And when your lips parted to speak, his own covered them; a gentle kiss that caused your mind to grow dizzy. You couldn’t help your legs spreading, hand wrapping around Thanos’s wrist the moment you felt him at your clit. He rolled his thumb so perfectly, applying delicious pressure to the little bud that caused you to see stars.

The moment you needed to breathe you regretted leaving his lips, seeing as you struggled to keep your voice down. He wasn’t even touching you much yet here you were, panting and releasing the softest moan. With a quick raise of your hand, you covered your mouth— teeth biting into the flesh the moment you felt a finger slowly sink into your wetness.

“Wish I could see..” The soft comment made you groan softly, hips rising the moment he began to piston his finger. Within moments a second was joining, scissoring you open and plunging deeper then your own fingers could. Your eyebrows knitted close, the pain of your bite washing away with each thrust of his digits.

“Thanos.. please..”

“Oh no.. keep your voice to yourself— I wouldn’t want anyone else to hear how pretty you sound.”

As usual his words held such a teasing tone, face moving back to your neck to kiss and bite gently. Even with his small request the man wasn’t making the situation any easier, especially when his thumb moved right back to your sensitive clit; rubbing those same dizzy inducing circles.

You felt way too good right now, your body practically shaking with how much you struggled to keep in. The thought of anyone waking up right now with you in this state — under the mercy of a certain purple-haired, tattooed rapper — was a thought you couldn’t even imagine without your heart pounding with anxiety.

The best thing to do would be to push him off before things progressed. You hadn’t a clue how far he wanted to take this, nor did you think it would end in time for the lights to cut on. And Thanos wasn’t a creep, he would listen to you the moment you expressed actual discomfort from the situation. But you weren’t, that pain you felt all day, that anguish; did truly wash away in seconds just from the flick of his fingers.

The thrusts against your velvety, soaked walls were perfect— your eyes rolling to find your skull the moment the ferocity increased. A metallic taste invaded your mouth from how bad you were biting yourself, but you didn’t care; it was a concern for morning [Name], not horny [Name] who was currently being cared for by the hottest contestant in this god forsaken place.

“Oh, all this clenching— you’re close aren’t you? Can barely get my fingers out.”

The smile in his speech was obvious, breath fanning against your skin as he urged you more and more; curling his fingers just right to hear your muffled sounds peak into a small squeal.

Your nails dragged across his tattooed hand, feeling it flex with each movement of his fingers. Your mind was growing cloudy, barely being able to register the words that were being pressed right against your ear.

“How about I get a taste, huh? Wanna come all in my mouth, mama.. it’ll be such an easy clean up.”

Before you could even think to speak Thanos was pulling his hand out from within you. You had little time to protest when you felt him grabbing your blanket, pulling it over his body as he crawled down your own. Your eyes slowly widened, realizing his words and actions; a new sheen of sweat finding your skin. Your nerves were on fine at this point, inner mind screaming to tell him to do anything else but that.

However, the moment you felt him pulling down your pants and his lips finding your pretty cunt, all hope was lost. The back of your head quickly found your pillow, hand going right back to your mouth to bite down even harsher than before. His tongue exited his mouth in a long stride, gliding across your wet center, and parting you easily.

Thanos created similar ministrations with the tip of his tongue like his thumb, circling your bud and slowly pulling it between his lips. There, he began to suck, the sound noisy but muffled by your blankets and other’s snoring.

Muffled gasps pushed against your skin, hips rising and legs closing around his head; bringing him even closer to you. The peak that was steadily approached seemed to pick up speed far too quickly, your mind turning to mush.

No more were you number so-so, victim to madmen and their sick games. No, you were simply [Name], moaning wantonly with little care for the environment around you.

Your other hand slithered under the blanket, finding his hair and tugging the soft tresses; feeling them stick between the gaps of your fingers. Shamelessly you rubbed against his face, desperate for that sweet release. Your pussy convulsed with each struggled breath you took, stars impeding your vision as you got closer and closer.

You felt it before you heard it, Thanos’s sweet urges right into your pussy. His wet words of make me a mess, pretty girl— don’t hold back on me now, causing you to tip over the line.

His mouth latched to you, drinking up your release as if you tasted better than any drug within his cross. It didn’t help he was practically praising your taste, a sloppy groan being delivered right into your pussy. Gingerly, Thanos licked you clean, assuring not a single drop was left.

Only when the man was fully satisfied did he let up, climbing up from the blanket and popping his head out to look down at you.

“See, it helped— you can barely keep your eyes open right now.”

You released a soft breath, a mix of a chuckle and a sigh as you stared up at the man. “You gonna let me sleep now?” You spoke softly, watching his wet lips curl into a gentle smile.

“Of course. Good night, [Name].”

[to-the-beginning--the-end-waits]

Unnoticed

Summary: When the campus heartthrob fails to catch your attention despite his best efforts, he decides to ditch his perfect image for something real. It’s only after his transformation from it boy to the quiet guy with glasses in your library corner that you finally start to notice him and discover that the most genuine connections happen when someone stops trying so hard to be perfect.

Pairing: Choi San x Reader

Genre: College AU, fluff, slice of life

Word count: 2.6k~

Warnings: None, just pure fluff and soft feelings

When you took notice of The Choi San, he was standing in the middle of the campus quad with his perfectly styled black hair catching the afternoon sunlight. A small crowd had gathered around him. Mostly girls giggling and whispering, but a few guys too, all drawn to whatever magnetic pull he seemed to have.

You paused on your way to the library, textbooks clutched against your chest, and watched as he flashed that famous smile of his. Even from a distance, you could see how his eyes crinkled at the corners, how effortlessly charming his dimples looked as he was chatting with his admirers.

San was the guy on campus. Star of the dance club, decent grades, and blessed with the kind of voice and looks that made people do double takes in the hallway. You’d been in a few classes together over the past two years, but you were pretty sure he didn’t even know your name.

“Earth to Y/N,” your friend Mina said, appearing beside you with an amused grin. “Staring at San again?”

“I wasn’t staring,” you protested, though your cheeks warmed. “I was just observing... campus social dynamics.”

Mina laughed. “Right. Come on, let’s go study. Some of us actually have to work for our grades instead of coasting on natural charm.”

As you walked away, you missed the way San’s gaze had found your back in the crowd, the way his confident smile faltered slightly when he saw you leaving.

What you didn’t know was that San had been trying to get your attention for months.

It started small; him choosing the seat closest to you in Modern Literature, enough that you could smell his cologne -something expensive and woodsy that probably cost more than your textbooks-. He’d lean forward sometimes, seemingly to pick up a dropped pen or retrieve something from his bag, and you’d catch a glimpse of his concentrated expression as he took notes.

“Hey,” he said one day after class, catching up to you in the hallway. Your heart did an involuntary skip as you turned to face him, taking in his casual but perfectly put together outfit. Designer jeans that fit just right and a simple white shirt that somehow looked incredible on him.

“Oh, hi San.” You shifted your bag higher on your shoulder, suddenly aware of your worn-out sneakers and the coffee stain on your sweater sleeve.

“I was wondering if you wanted to grab coffee sometime? There’s this new place very close to campus that’s supposed to be really good.” His smile was charming and hopeful, and for a moment you forgot how to breathe.

But then reality crashed back in. San asking you out? It had to be some kind of mistake, or maybe a dare from his friends.

“That’s really nice of you,” you said slowly, “but I’m pretty swamped with assignments right now. Maybe some other time?”

His face fell slightly, but he recovered quickly. “Of course, no problem. Another time.”

You hurried away, missing the way he stood there for a long moment, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair with a frustrated sigh.

The attempts continued throughout the semester. San would appear next to you in the campus bookstore, making casual conversation about your shared classes. He’d save you a seat in the lecture hall, waving you over with that brilliant smile. Once, he even showed up at the same study group you’d joined, claiming he needed help with the material. Even though you noticed he seemed to understand everything perfectly well.

Each time, you’d convince yourself it was coincidence. Guys like San didn’t go for girls like you. You were too ordinary, too focused on your studies, too invisible among the sea of perfectly put together college students who orbited around him.

Summer break came and went in a blur of part-time jobs and catching up on sleep. You’d almost forgotten about San’s strange burst of attention toward you, chalking it up to end of semester delirium or boredom.

When you returned to campus for the new academic year, you fell back into your usual routine: early morning classes, afternoons in the library, evenings studying in your dorm room. The first few weeks passed in a comfortable haze of new classes and fresh notebooks.

It was during your third week back that you noticed him. You were in your usual spot in the library. A table tucked away in the corner of the second floor, surrounded by towering bookshelves that provided the perfect amount of privacy for serious studying. Perfect for your introverted self. You’d just settled in with your laptop and a stack of research materials when someone slid into the chair across from you.

“Sorry, is it okay if I sit here? Everywhere else is full.”

You looked up, ready to politely agree, and froze. The guy across from you was… so pretty. Not in the flashy, attention-grabbing way you were used to seeing around campus, but in a quiet, underappreciated way that made you want to keep looking.

His dark hair was unstyled, falling softly across his forehead in a way that looked natural and effortless with his bare face. He wore a simple gray hoodie and black rimmed glasses that framed his kind, intelligent eyes. There was something familiar about the shape of his face, the curve of his smile, but you couldn’t quite place it.

“Of course,” you managed, moving your books to make more room. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“San,” he said quietly, and your brain short-circuited.

San... This was San? Gone was the perfectly styled hair, the designer clothes, the confident posture of his that commanded attention. This version of San looked… normal. Approachable. Real.

“San?” you repeated, probably sounding stupid. “Like… Choi San?”

He winced slightly, glancing around as if worried someone might overhear. “Yeah. I know I look different. I was hoping people wouldn’t recognize me right away.”

“Why?” The question slipped out before you could stop it, and you immediately felt heat rise to your cheeks. “Sorry, that’s none of my business.”

“No, it’s okay.” He pushed his glasses up his nose, a gesture that was somehow incredibly endearing. “I just… needed a break from all the attention, you know? It was getting overwhelming.”

You studied his face, noting the way his shoulders seemed more relaxed without the weight of everyone’s expectations. “I can imagine.”

For the first time in two years of sharing classes, you found yourself actually talking to San. Not the campus heartthrob version of him, but this quieter, more genuine person who asked thoughtful questions about your research project and shared his own struggles with balancing academics and personal life.

The library became your regular meeting spot. At first, it was just convenient. You both needed a quiet place to study, and the corner table had room for two. But gradually, those study sessions turned into something more.

San, you discovered, was nothing like the image you’d built up in your head. Yes, he was still unfairly handsome, even hidden behind glasses and oversized hoodies, but he was also incredibly thoughtful. He remembered details about conversations from weeks ago, brought you your favorite drink from the campus café when you mentioned feeling stressed about midterms, and had a dry sense of humor that caught you off guard and made you laugh until your sides hurt.

“I never thanked you properly,” he said one afternoon, looking up from his anthropology textbook.

“For what?”

“For not making a big deal about… this.” He gestured vaguely at himself. “Most people have been doing double takes all semester. Some girl in my sociology class spent twenty minutes trying to figure out if I was really me.”

You smiled, closing your laptop to give him your full attention. “I know It's not really my place to say this but... I like this version of you better, honestly.”

Something shifted in his expressions. Surprise, maybe, or hope. “Really?”

“Really. You seem more… I don’t know. Yourself?”

He was quiet for a moment, fingers playing with the corner of his notebook. “I never felt like myself before. It was all just… a performance to me, you know? Being what everyone expected me to be.”

The vulnerability in his voice made your chest tight. “What made you decide to stop acting?”

San looked up at you through his lashes, and even behind the glasses, his gaze was intense. “A lot of things. But mostly… there was this girl I really wanted to notice me. The real me, the show I was putting on apparently didn't work.”

Your heart stuttered. “Oh.”

“She was always so focused on her studies, so genuine about everything she did. I realized that trying to impress her with the whole cool guy thing was probably the worst possible approach.”

“Probably,” you agreed softly, though your voice sounded distant to your own ears.

He smiled, that same crinkly eyed smile showing his dimples, you remembered from the quad, but softer now, more intimate. “I’m hoping she’ll give me a chance now that I’ve figured out how to be myself.”

The implication hung in the air between you, and you felt your cheeks warm under his steady gaze. “San…”

“I know I messed up before,” he continued, leaning forward slightly. “I know you probably thought I was just playing around, or that you were some kind of conquest. But I’ve been interested in you since our first year philosophy class. You were the only person brave enough to argue with Professor Kim about his interpretation of female philosophers .”

You laughed, startled. “You remember that?”

“I remember everything about you, Y/N. The way you chew on your pen when you’re deep in thought, how you always sit in the third row because you think it’s the perfect distance from the board, the fact that you only drink coffee before 2 PM because it keeps you up otherwise.”

Your breath caught. All those little interactions you’d dismissed as coincidence suddenly took on new meaning. “You were paying attention.”

“I was always paying attention. I was just very bad at showing it.”

“So,” you said carefully, trying to ignore the way your heart was racing, “what exactly are you asking me?”

San’s confidence seemed to waver slightly, and he ran a hand through his unstyled hair a gesture you were beginning to recognize as a nervous habit. “I’m asking if you’d like to go on a date with me. A real one, where we can just be ourselves and see if this thing between us is what I think it is.”

You looked at him, really looked at him. At the way his glasses had slipped down his nose again, at the tiny hole in the sleeve of his hoodie, at the genuine nervousness in his expression that the old San would never have let show.

“Okay,” you said simply.

His face lit up. “Okay?”

“Yeah. But I have conditions.”

“Name them.”

“No fancy restaurants or expensive gestures. And definitely no bringing me flowers in front of half the student body.”

San laughed, and the sound was warm and unguarded. “Deal. How do you feel about terrible coffee and old bookstores?”

“Perfect.”

Your first official date was exactly that-terrible coffee from a hole-in-the-wall café near campus and two hours wandering through a cramped bookstore where San revealed an unexpected passion for mystery novels and you bonded over your shared love of marginalia in old textbooks.

It was awkward at moments, both of you trying to navigate this new dynamic, but it was also easy in a way you hadn’t expected. San was funny and self-deprecating, admitting to the ridiculous lengths he’d gone to try to impress you during sophomore year.

“You showed up to my study group,” you accused, nudging his shoulder as you browsed the philosophy section.

“I may have asked around about your schedule,” he admitted sheepishly. “And then panic-studied for three hours before each session because I was terrified you’d realize I didn’t actually need help.”

“You were so obvious! I thought you were just really bad at statistics.”

“I am really bad at statistics. But I’m also really good at pretending to be even worse when it means spending time with you.”

The confession was delivered with such earnest charm that you couldn’t help but laugh, and something warm and hopeful unfurled in your chest.

Dating San was nothing like you’d imagined it would be. There were no grand gestures or public displays that would have made you uncomfortable. Instead, it was built on small, quiet moments that felt perfectly suited to both of you.

He’d save your favorite spot in the library and have your preferred tea waiting when you arrived for study sessions. You’d find little notes tucked into your textbooks, terrible jokes or doodles that made you smile during particularly boring lectures.

The physical affection developed slowly too. It started with accidentally bumping hands when you both reached for the same book, then progressed to San shyly taking your hand as you walked across campus. The first time he kissed you, it was after you’d been dating for three weeks, and it happened in the stacks of the library when you’d made a particularly clever observation about your shared literature assignment.

“Sorry,” he whispered against your lips, glasses slightly askew. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a really long time.”

“Don’t apologize,” you whispered back, reaching up to straighten his frames. “But maybe warn me next time so I can be prepared.”

“Prepared for what?”

“For how much I like kissing you.”

The smile that spread across his face was radiant, and when he kissed you again, soft and sweet and perfect, you thought that maybe sometimes the best things were worth waiting for.

THE END

BONUS PART:

“I still can’t believe you didn’t recognize him,” Mina said, shaking her head as she watched San approach your usual table at the college café with two cups of tea and what looked like homemade cookies.

“I recognized him,” you protested.

“After he told you his name. That doesn't count”

“I was distracted by how cute he looked in glasses.”

San slid into his seat across from you, pushing one of the tea cups in your direction and the other towards Mina. “My mom sent cookies,” he announced. “Fair warning: she may have put too much love in them. They’re aggressively sweet.”

You bit into one and made an exaggerated face of delight that made him laugh. Over the past year, you’d learned that San’s quiet confidence was far more attractive than his previous persona had ever been. He still turned heads when he walked across campus -his good bone structure was hard to hide, even behind wire rimmed glasses- but he seemed genuinely oblivious to the attention.

“How’s the paper coming?” he asked, settling in with his own books.

“Better now that my research partner is here,” you said, and was rewarded with that soft, crinkly eyed smile that still made your heart skip.

San reached across the table to brush a cookie crumb from the corner of your mouth, the gesture casual and intimate and perfectly them. “Good,” he said simply. “I like being helpful.”

As you settled into your afternoon routine-books spread across the table, feet tangled together underneath it, the comfortable silence of two people who’d found their perfect study partner-you couldn’t help but think that the best things really did come to those who waited.

Even if sometimes you needed a complete makeover to see what had been right in front of you all along.

A/N: Hii, hello again. There are so many drafts of mine that I can barely decide which ones to release first- or even release at all. The poll i posted seems to be going in favor of Jongho. And since I've already written it with him in mind I just need to read and edit it to finally post it. That doesn't mean that I didn't start writing ff with office worker manbun yeosang -I'm just too inspired to not to- ㅇㅅㅇ

🫟 Reblogs&comments&tags&likes are appreciated they really give me motivation to post more♡

[whisperedmeg]

THE LAW OF TRULY LARGE NUMBERS ⋆˚꩜｡ spencer reid x analyst!reader

summary: the law of truly large numbers says coincidences are inevitable. but somehow, running into spencer reid never stops feeling like fate.

genre: fluff! | w/c: 3.4k

tags/warnings: none really. reader has some self-image issues and insecurities related to a sucky ex but nothing too crazy. glasses!reid, reader works for the fbi but not the bau, written with fem!reader in mind but could pass for gn!reader too if you ignore one use of the world “girl,” story takes place over the course of a few weeks but I wasn’t wildly specific about it

a/n: based on this request from @oh-yourloveis-sunlight! this ended up getting longer than I intended originally but oh well, I was having way too much fun coming up with ideas for how they’d run into each other next lol. hope you enjoy, tysm for requesting! ❣️

You first meet Spencer Reid at 8:21am on a Tuesday morning.

You’re holding a paper bag of still-warm pastries because your unit chief is on a “morale boost” kick this week and nothing says team bonding like volunteering to bring in baked goods. You’re thinking about the long day ahead and how stale the break room coffee is going to be and not watching where you’re going when the elevator doors open and—

You almost walk straight into him.

He’s tall. Tall-tall. And thin in a slightly unwell academic way, tousled brown hair parted on the side, honey brown eyes wide and blinking at you through browline glasses.

“Sorry,” you both say at once. You take a step back. So does he. Then he does that thing people do where he gestures for you to go ahead, and you hesitate before stepping forward at the same time as him, and now you’re doing an awkward, uncoordinated dance in front of a steel box.

Eventually, you both make it in.

You press the button for floor 5. He presses 6. Someone else gets in and hits the button for 4.

You stand silently. He glances at you. Then down at the floor. Then at your badge, clipped to the waistband of your dress pants. Then at the bag of pastries.

“The cinnamon ones are the best. If those are from Van’s, I mean,” he says tentatively.

You blink. “They are, actually.”

He nods. “They use Saigon cinnamon. It’s from Vietnam. It’s stronger, a little spicier than regular cinnamon. I—sorry, I’ve, uh, read a lot about spices recently.”

You don’t have time to answer before the doors open and he’s stepping out into the hallway, manila file folder tucked under his arm.

It takes you a second to realize he got off on the fourth floor with the other passenger by mistake. You catch him making an embarrassed, awkward turn back toward the elevators once he’s halfway down the hall before the metal doors slide shut.

You think about Saigon cinnamon and those glasses for the rest of the day.

—

Friday morning, 9:12am. You’re running horribly late.

You’ve got a USB stick in your hand and a mission in your head — get it encrypted, get it cleaned up, get it into the system by 10am. You’re halfway through the lobby when someone says your name.

You freeze. Turn. He’s already waving.

It takes you a second to place him without the glasses.

He’s wearing contacts today. His hair’s a little neater. Another soft sweater — burgundy this time — and a leather messenger bag slung across his chest like he just walked out of a grad seminar.

“Hey,” he says, catching up with you near the badge check. “Van’s cinnamon pastries, right?”

You smile despite yourself. “You’re still thinking about those?”

“Hard not to,” he says with a chuckle. “I’m Spencer,” he adds, like you don’t already know that from his badge, same way you assume he knew your name.

You both hesitate. You’re painfully aware of the USB drive in your hand and the growing line of people waiting for the elevators and the clock ticking steadily toward 10am. Your eyes dart to the stairs — they seem to be the fastest option.

He shifts his weight, pushes his hair back behind one ear.

“Can I walk you up?”

You blink. “What?”

“To wherever you’re going. I’m headed to the sixth floor, but I’m not in a rush. We’re between cases right now.”

You laugh. “You really don’t have to do that.”

“Too late,” he says, and he falls into step beside you.

—

It’s raining when you see him again.

Not dramatic rain, just a halfhearted Virginia drizzle that dampens your sleeves while you fumble with your umbrella and mutter curses under your breath. You duck into the small coffee shop across from the office — the one with the black bistro tables and an overfilled bulletin board — and shake the water from your coat as you slide into line.

You don’t see him at first. You’re too busy debating between hot chocolate and your usual latte.

But then someone behind you says your name.

You turn, and there he is.

Spencer.

Hair damp and curling slightly at the edges. Glasses fogged. Sweater vest layered under a coat too thin for this kind of weather. He smiles at you — tentative, like he’s not sure if you’ll smile back.

“Hi,” you say, a little breathless. “You following me?”

He blushes. “No, I’m—I mean, we both work across the street, so it’s not, um, statistically improbable we’d run into each other here.”

“I’ll chalk it up to fate.”

He huffs a quiet laugh and steps up beside you.

“Can I guess your order?” he asks.

You arch a brow. “You’re going to profile my coffee?”

He shrugs. “I can try.”

“Be my guest.”

He tilts his head. “You work long hours. You probably don’t get enough sleep. You must drink something with espresso in it, but not just that — it has to be dressed up enough to feel like a treat. Maybe a seasonal flavor.”

Your jaw drops a little. “Okay, that’s… freakishly accurate.”

“Caramel latte?” he guesses.

“Close. Pumpkin,” you admit. “But that was impressive.”

He shrugs again, cheeks a little pink. “Lots of practice.”

A few minutes later, you’re both perched at one of the tiny round tables by the fogged-up window, drinks in hand, steam curling up between you. You’re technically on your break. So is he. Neither of you seems eager to get back.

You ask what he’s working on. He tells you about his last case, a triple homicide in Texas. Then he asks about your job, and you explain — badly — what exactly a tech analyst does for a department that isn’t the BAU. You’re pretty sure you’re boring him to death, but he’s watching you like you’ve just quoted Wordsworth.

“You talk with your hands a lot,” he says, after a pause.

You blink. “What?”

“When you’re excited,” he adds, quickly. “Not all the time. Just when you’re explaining something that matters to you. You kind of —” he makes a vague fluttering motion with his fingers, “— move them like you’re sculpting the air or something.”

Your face burns. You wrap your hands around your coffee cup.

“Oh. Yeah. That,” you murmur. “My ex used to say it was distracting.”

Spencer’s expression shifts. It’s subtle, but you see it — a flicker of something protective in his eyes.

“I don’t think it’s distracting,” he says. “I think it’s cute.”

You freeze.

He freezes.

The moment folds in on itself. His face goes pink again, and he ducks his head as he mutters something about meaning it in a completely observational way, not, you know—

You interrupt before he can spiral further. “Spencer.”

He looks up.

You smile. “It’s okay.”

There’s a beat of silence between you. Rain patters softly against the glass. In your chest, something flutters.

Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s just a friendly coffee. A weird coincidence of schedules and elevators and cinnamon pastries. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything at all.

But when he offers to walk you back — and when you say yes — your heart betrays you a little.

—

The FBI library isn’t exactly cozy. It smells like aging carpet and copier toner, but there’s still something about it that you’ve always found comforting. Especially on days like today, when your code has glitched five separate times and someone on your team said “let’s pivot” like that actually means anything and you just need a break away from a screen.

You’re curled up at one of the long wooden tables near the back with a spiral notebook, a pencil, and a pile of casefiles your unit chief asked you to cross-reference to give you an excuse to work on something that didn’t involve a keyboard. It’s not thrilling, but it’s quiet. Which counts for something.

You don’t notice Spencer at first.

He’s sitting at a smaller table a few feet from yours when you glance up — half-hidden behind a teetering stack of psychology journals, long fingers curled around a fountain pen, hair falling into his face.

He looks up a second after you do.

“You again,” he says softly, like it’s a private joke.

You arch an eyebrow. “Starting to think you’re stalking me.”

“You’re the one in my library,” he says, mock offended.

“Your library?”

He nods. “I basically live here.”

You glance at the empty paper cup beside him, the five or six books spread out across the table, the absurdly detailed notes he’s scrawling in messy handwriting.

“Yeah, I can see that. You’ve really made yourself at home.”

Silently, he gathers his belongings and moves to take the empty seat across from you at your table.

You go back to your work. So does he.

But every few minutes, you catch yourself glancing up.

Not on purpose, not exactly. It’s just… he’s got this way of reading like he’s somewhere else entirely. Lips moving a little. Eyes flicking fast across pages. You wonder if he knows how intense he looks when he’s thinking. How pretty his hands are when they move — when he writes, when he fidgets with his pen, when he adjusts his glasses like he’s trying to hide behind them.

You wonder what it would feel like if he looked at you the way he looks at those pages or if he touched you with those hands.

He wouldn’t, of course.

You’ve long accepted that you’re not the kind of girl guys like that go for — not crisp and stylish, not someone who walks into a room and makes the temperature change. You’ve never quite known how to wear your hair right, or what to do with your hands, or how to stop fixating on the way your nose looks in photos. You haven’t even dated since the last guy — the one who told you that you were being “a little much” anytime you got excited about something.

You shake your head. Focus.

You’re halfway through reviewing the next file when you realize Spencer’s watching you.

“Sorry,” he says, when you meet his eyes. “I was just—I was going to ask if that’s a 0.7mm Pentel mechanical pencil.”

You blink. Look down. “Uh… yeah?”

“I thought so,” he says. “You write really small. And neat.”

You stare at him, then down at your paper, then back up.

“Are you profiling my handwriting now?”

He shrugs, looking sheepish. “Only a little.”

You smile despite yourself.

After a pause, he adds, “I like it — your handwriting. It’s meticulous.”

You laugh. “I’ve never heard that word used as a compliment before.”

“Well, I mean it as one.”

There’s something in his voice — not flirtatious, exactly, but sincere. Earnest. He doesn’t even realize it’s making your heart hiccup a little.

You don’t talk much more after that, but when you both stand up at the same time twenty minutes later and realize you’re heading out in the same direction, you fall easily into step beside him.

And this time, you both walk a little slower.

—

It’s just after 1 p.m. when you walk into the Quantico cafeteria.

The lunch rush is tapering off — fewer suits in line, more empty trays abandoned on beige tables. You slide your badge into your pocket and step toward the soup station, only half paying attention. You haven’t eaten much today, and your stomach’s been in knots ever since Spencer spotted you in the stairwell earlier and asked what time you were heading to lunch.

You try to act casual when you spot him.

He’s at a table near the window, brown paper bag open in front of him and a spiral notebook beside it. He’s writing something down, but he looks up the moment you approach as if he’d been eagerly waiting.

“Hey,” he says, and the smile he gives you is small and a little shy. “I was hoping you’d come.”

You sit across from him, tray in hand. “Yeah, well, you did say in the library last week that the soup selection is better on Thursdays.”

His eyes widen slightly. “You remembered that?”

You nod, breaking off a piece of bread. “You said it’s the only day they serve lentil soup, which also happens to be the only soup they make that you claim is any good.”

“I stand by that.”

You laugh, and the warmth of it catches you off guard. It’s easy with him. You like the way he doesn’t fill silences just to fill them and how he listens like every word you say is a thread he wants to follow all the way to its center.

You talk for a while. About work, a little. About books and poetry and music. About your mutual disbelief that anyone could function on decaf. He doesn’t flirt, not exactly, but he compliments you — in that slightly awkward, matter-of-fact, Spencer Reid way that’s somehow more disarming than a rehearsed line.

You’re telling him about your failed attempt to install a new monitor alone while you had a broken arm last year when he goes still for a moment, causing you to trail off into silence. He clears his throat.

“Would you maybe want to, uh, go out with me sometime?”

Your mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again.

“What?”

He fidgets. Pushes his glasses up. “I mean, like, to a real lunch or coffee or something. Not in the office. I just—I’ve really enjoyed spending time with you, and I was thinking, if you wanted, we could—”

You shake your head.

It’s not harsh. You don’t mean it to be. It’s just… instinct.

He stops talking. His face falters. “Oh,” he says softly. “Okay. Yeah. No worries.”

You rush to explain. “It’s not you. Really—I mean, I just… don’t get it. Why would you want to go out with me?”

Spencer blinks.

You look down at your tray. “You’re a genius,” you murmur, voice low. “You’ve probably read more books this week alone than I have in the last two years. You talk like a textbook and still somehow make everything sound incredibly poetic. And you—God, you’re so—”

Cute. Attractive. Hot. That’s what you want to say, but you stop yourself before you can finish the statement. You swallow hard.

“And I’m… not,” you finish quietly.

It’s not that you don’t want to say yes. God, you do. But there’s a familiar ache in your chest, a voice you haven’t shaken, the echo of someone who once made you feel like being too much meant you’d also always be not enough.

Across from you, Spencer is silent. For a second, you wonder if he’s angry. Or worse, embarrassed.

But when you finally look up, he’s just watching you — gently, curiously, like he’s figuring something out.

He opens his mouth. Then closes it again. His brow furrows slightly.

You stand. The words come out too quickly: “I should get back to my office. I’ve got a code freeze coming up and I told my boss I’d review the rollout plan before—yeah.”

He nods. “Right. Of course. I’ll, uh, see you around.”

You hate the way his voice sounds now — too polite. Too guarded.

You force a smile as you gather your tray. “Thanks again for the soup rec.”

You make it out of the cafeteria before the lump in your throat rises.

You tell yourself it was the right call. It’s better this way. You’re not built for someone like him. You’d only mess it up.

But when you glance back, just once, through the glass of the cafeteria doors, Spencer’s still sitting there, scribbling in his notebook like maybe if he writes enough, he can make sense of whatever just happened.

You don’t know it yet, but he’s writing a list.

—

It’s raining again the next afternoon.

Not much — just a misty drizzle that turns the parking lot into a soft gray blur. You’re already halfway to your car when you hear footsteps behind you. Then a voice, calling your name.

“Wait—wait, just—can you stop for a second?”

You turn.

Spencer is jogging toward you, messenger bag bouncing against his hip, one hand holding a flimsy-looking umbrella, the other gripping something — a piece of paper, maybe. His coat is half-buttoned. His glasses are a little fogged.

He’s completely out of breath by the time he reaches you.

“Hi,” he pants. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to chase you down, I just—I tried to find you on your floor, and they said you left early, and I—”

You blink. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” he says quickly. “No. I mean—I’ve been thinking. Since yesterday.”

You look away. “Spencer, we don’t have to talk about—”

“I made a list,” he blurts out.

You freeze. “What?”

He thrusts it at you — a folded piece of notebook paper, lined, slightly smudged. You unfold it slowly, holding it under the umbrella he’s angled over you, and he watches you like he’s just handed over something radioactive.

It reads:

Reasons I like you and want to go out with you: A non-exhaustive list by Dr. Spencer Reid

you talk with your hands

you remember weird things I say about soup

you were nice to me in the elevator even though I rambled about cinnamon

you snort when you laugh (you try to hide it but I’ve heard it twice)

you don’t pretend to know things you don’t, and you always ask good questions

you hum under your breath when you’re concentrating

you don’t hold my technophobe tendencies against me even though your job is literally all tech all the time

your whole face lights up when you’re excited about something

we have the same taste in pastries and poetry and classical music

you talk about the people you care about with more kindness and affection than I thought possible

your nose scrunches a little when you’re confused and I think it’s adorable

speaking of which, I think everything about you is adorable. “beautiful” would be a more apt word to use, actually

you said us meeting in the coffee shop that one day was “fate” and I haven’t stopped thinking about it (or believing in it) since

You stare at the list for a long moment. Then you press your lips together, eyes stinging.

“It’s not exhaustive,” Spencer says quietly. “And it’s in no particular order. I wrote it fast. I could probably think of twenty more things. I… I like lists.”

Your fingers tremble slightly on the page.

“I don’t understand,” you murmur. “You’re… you. And I’m…” You trail off.

He tilts his head, studying you. “You really don’t see it, do you?”

You look away.

He steps forward, voice softer now.

“I don’t like you despite who you are — I like you because of it. Because you say what you mean, and you get excited about the little things, and you care more than most people do, and you never look at me like I’m too nerdy or too awkward or too much.”

Your chest tightens.

“I thought I messed everything up yesterday,” you say, barely above a whisper.

“No,” he says. “You were just scared. I get that.”

“I’m still scared,” you admit.

“That’s okay,” he says, and there’s a faint smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. “Me too. We can be scared together.”

You smile and fold the list carefully like it’s something delicate.

And before you can overthink it, before the doubt creeps in again, you lean forward to press a kiss to his cheek.

But in the same moment, he coincidentally turns his head just slightly. Just enough that your lips land on his mouth instead.

It’s only for a second. A little awkward. Completely accidental, but also completely real.

He blinks. You blink.

You start to pull away.

But then he wraps his free arm around you and kisses you again, on purpose this time, the umbrella overhead shielding you both from the rain. It doesn’t last too long, but it’s soft and smiley and achingly wonderful.

When you break apart, you’re still in disbelief that it even happened at all. You look up at him, studying him, searching his face for signs of regret. You can’t find any.

“I keep thinking about all the times we ran into each other,” you say softly. “So many coincidences, it almost feels improbable.”

He smiles again, brighter this time. “There’s a theory called the law of truly large numbers,” he says. “It basically says that with a large enough sample size, coincidences are inevitable.”

You tilt your head with a quiet chuckle. “So this was all just math, basically? That’s kind of depressing.”

“Or,” he says, stepping closer, “it means the universe just kept trying. Over and over, until it got it right. Like fate.”

You smile fondly and kiss him again before he can say anything else.

Not just a coincidence. Not anymore.

ᝰ.ᐟ

masterlist

PSA: likes do very little for promoting posts on tumblr! if you'd like to support a fic, please reblog!

[rhaenyratargcryen]

you're my shotgun lover and i want it all | tyler owens (twisters)

masterlist ❈

summary: Every once in a while, the two of you will get a little too drunk, stay until last call, sneak back to your motel room, and fuck. Nobody knows – at least you don’t think they do – and you never talk about it when you’re sober. Tyler will generally stay until you fall asleep, but he’s always gone when you get up the next day. Only once has he woken up in bed with you the next morning, and you’ve never made that mistake again. There isn’t a name for what you feel for him, you don’t think, and you can’t tell what he thinks of the arrangement. Clearly he likes it, or he wouldn’t be making eyes at you from across three people’s laps as you pull these peanuts from their shells. author's note: i...wrote this...in one.......single......afternoon. my fingers hurt anyway he's so hot i have had a crush on glen powell since 2018 (set it up supremacy) but this movie reawakened something in me. i should probably watch top gun now

pairing: tyler owens x f!reader word count: 9,123 (...oopsie) warnings/tags: pWp (with, y'all!), alternate universe: canon divergence, friends to lovers, friends with benefits

also cross-posted to ao3 okay love you bye xoxo your comments and reblogs are appreciated but not required i will love you all the same i hope u like !!!! <3

all characters are 18+ these are 18+ activities minors pls do not interact my eye is twitching as i write this 

It has been one hell of a week.

The tornadic activity has been off the charts – more storms built up under ideal conditions for weather hell-bent on destruction in a multiple-day stretch than you can remember ever tracking before. Your team had obviously been up for the chase, but now that the storms have passed, and the sun shines on the cleanup efforts, you can’t help but wish you’d chosen a different life path. You love what you do, but God, were you tired. Blisters have formed on the palms of your hands despite the gloves you’d donned. You could practically feel the knots forming in your neck. You shovel one more load of leaf litter before heaving the blade into the ground and leaning against it. Across from you, a backhoe is demolishing and excavating the remains of a house.

You close your eyes and try to just let the sun warm your face, thinking about how fast it can all just be gone. Mother Nature’s a beautiful force, but she can be cruel.

“Hey, don’t be slowin’ down on me,” Tyler jokes, clapping a hand between your shoulder blades. You hadn’t heard him approach, and his voice has startled you, pulling you from your thoughts. “We’re ‘bout halfway done with our part, I think.”

“No,” you reply, swiping the back of your arm across your forehead, trying in vain to clear your bangs from your eyes, but they won’t budge. Tyler reaches up and, almost as if he isn’t even thinking about it, takes the unruly pieces of hair between his thumb and forefinger and tucks it behind your ear, underneath the temple of your sunglasses, to make sure it stays this time. The action is so intimate it sends a flush crawling up your neck. You chance a look around to make sure no one else has seen. “Not slowin’ down, I promise. Just thinking about how lucky we are to be alive. How sad it is that all these people just lost everything.”

You’ve known Tyler since the two of you were in college together, fast friends who’d stuck together through a lot that could've put a strain on any other relationship, although you hadn’t studied meteorology – you’d been in school to be a librarian. 

One night, he’d asked you to stay up and help him with a lab he’d missed for one of his classes, and he loves to say he knew it then – that you were hooked – but you were too far along in your degree to do anything about it now. Switching from an arts degree to one in STEM? You’d have had to start over from scratch. 

Tyler had formed his team while you were in grad school and he was working as a cowboy for the rodeo back home, and you’d dropped out without a second thought when he asked you to be a founding member, to travel the country with him every tornado season. Said he wouldn’t – couldn’t – think about doing it without you. You’ve been riding with him ever since.

The two of you share everything, always have, and sometimes you wonder if it might be too much for the professional relationship you’re supposed to have.

“That’s what we’re here for,” Tyler grins, the hand still glued to your back rubbing gently, sending goosebumps across your skin under your shirt. “To help ‘em feel like their luck is turnin’.”

Always the optimist, Tyler Owens. He clears his throat, the hand on your back pulling away, and steps slightly closer to you.

“One of the folks over there gave these to me,” he says, gesturing to a group of people gathering in front of a house that looks like something had tried to suck it into the ground from dead center. “I saved their cat from their screened-in porch, poor thing had been yowling all night apparently. Know these’re your favorite, so, here you go. I think you earned it.”

You take the tin from him and open it, your mouth instantly watering at the sight of the small, round butter cookies inside. “God,” you groan, picking one up and taking a bite, savoring it over your tongue. You can feel Tyler watching you carefully. “Thank you. You get me.”

“Do we get cookies, Tyler?”

Lily’s voice sounds from your left, and you glance over at her. The shit-eating look on her face tells you she did see Tyler fix your hair for you. Your stomach somersaults.

“If you’re good,” Tyler says, smirking, “after the sun sets, we can head back to the motel, find some shitty bar, and drinks’ll be on me, okay? How’s that sound?”

Lily whoops, turning to Dani, who’d since appeared beside her, and the two snicker and fist bump. 

“You need any help over here?”

You look back at Tyler, cupping one hand above your eyes to shield them from the sunlight. Despite your glasses, it shines bright from directly behind him, and you can hardly stand to look at him. 

“Yeah, I’m good,” you murmur in reply, bending down to toss some siding that had been blown off one of the houses on this street into the wheelbarrow you’ve been using. “You should go see what Boone’s up to – I don’t think anyone has seen him in a minute.”

No doubt Boone was hiding somewhere with one of the breakfast burritos Lily and Dani have been rolling since early that morning, seeing how long he can get away with not doing his part. He’s a good guy, but the manual labor side of the job isn’t really his thing.

“Eh, he’s better off wherever he is,” Tyler laughs, and a small smile takes over your face, too. “Hey, you sure you’re okay? You don’t need a break? You can take a minute to yourself, no one’ll judge. I know how this can all get to you a little more than it gets to everyone else.”

You know him well enough to know he’s not calling you weak-stomached, that he’s genuinely concerned for how you feel, but he’s right. It does all get to you. Settling in to help survivors of these natural disasters is just something that comes with the chasing – there isn’t one without the other for you and the rest of the crew. You nod, glancing back up at him. 

“I’m okay, Tyler. Go off and be the face of the operation – you don’t have to worry about me.”

Tyler’s eyes narrow, his gaze shifting between your eyes, trying to find evidence you’re withholding the truth from him, but he seems to find nothing. With a minute tip of his head, he turns to resume working through a long-term plan for rebuilding the town with the mayor and some other members of the local government. 

This is something else you know he loves to do – shmooze with higher-ups, show off his people skills. Not only are they higher-ups, they’re small-town folk. His kind of people. He knows how to get through to them, how to get them to trust him. You love that about Tyler. He’s never condescending – he always has a genuine desire to help. He’s been through this hundreds of times, and these people may only have been through it this one time. You look around at them, at the people of all ages picking up the pieces that remain of their community, then cross your fingers and send a thought out to anyone listening:

Please let it be the only time.

After a few more hours of genuinely back-breaking work, you hear Tyler’s sharp whistle and know it’s time, meandering over to his truck where it’s been parked for almost eighteen hours. Using your teeth, you pull your gloves from your hands and hiss. They’ve been rubbed raw, the skin blistering where each finger meets the palm. You try to ignore the throbbing sensation, leaning against the passenger side door and closing your eyes. The rest of the crew sidle up to you, taking long drags from water bottles and cigarettes and trying to make peace with how you’re leaving this place tonight.

“Does anyone else want to break off to shower first?”

It seems Dani’s the only one, and they shrug, putting their hand out, palm up, to Dexter, who hands them the keys to the RV.

“Meet y’all there,” they say, stifling a yawn, and you know it’ll be a bit before you see them. The rest of you will have to pile into Tyler’s truck, and before you can object, the other three crawl into the back seat and leave you on the front bench with Tyler. You let yourself in and close the door behind you, buckling and watching as Tyler shakes someone’s hand and hustles to meet the rest of you. His Texans cap hits the bench before he does, between the two of you, and he turns his keys in the ignition, buckling his own seatbelt.

“Where we headin’?”

“There’s a place with a mechanical bull nearby. I vote there.”

“How nearby is ‘nearby,’ Boone?”

“Uh,” he pulls his phone from his pocket, does a quick Google to double-check. “Forty-five minutes?”

Dexter leans over and grips Boone’s phone, reading the screen. “In the opposite direction of the motel, Boone.”

Everyone groans, objecting, and you press your hand against your temple to alleviate the pressure there. The noise, God, the noise.

“Could we go somewhere closer to the motel, maybe?”

“It’s got a mechanical bull,” Boone stresses, and everyone rolls their eyes.

“Boone, you know damn well we’re not making it back to the motel if we go that far away.”

He groans, and you pull your own phone out, checking Maps to see what’s around the motel.

“This one’s three minutes from where we’re stayin’,” you say, showing Tyler your screen, and he nods, shifting into reverse, backing out, and starting down the one lane of the street that’s been cleared of debris. 

“Hey Boone,” you toss over your shoulder as Tyler shifts into second gear. “By the way. Long time no see.”

Lily snorts, smacking you on the shoulder to let you know she thought that was a good one. Boone shakes his head. 

“Hey, just because you didn’t see me all day doesn’t mean I wasn’t out there, too. How do I know you were workin’, weren’t sitting on your ass in the shade somewhere, hm?”

You hold your raw, red palms out for him to inspect and that shuts Boone up quick. Tyler whistles as he gets an eyeful of your skin.

“God damn, girl,” Lily murmurs. “That looks like it hurts. I think I might have Aquaphor in my bag back at the motel if you want some.”

“I’ll be alright,” you reply, knocking your elbow against her knee behind you in thanks. “Appreciate you.”

The rest of the drive is taken mostly in silence, everyone in the backseat trying to rest their eyes, but you stay up, your eyes on the road, so Tyler isn’t the only one making the thirty-ish minute drive back to where you’re staying, where you checked in only after it’d been decided which towns had been hit the worst, so you could reach all of them easily by truck.

“What’s goin’ on in your head? Hm?”

You turn to look at Tyler and he glances at you from out of the corner of his eye, then at your lap, at the fingernails you’ve picked down to the quick. “Real quiet over there.”

“Nothing,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Don’t let Boone get to you,” Tyler says, tapping his right fist on your thigh once, twice, then letting it rest there. You brush your knuckles against his and he opens the fist immediately, taking your hand in his but not squeezing, careful not to put pressure on the blisters on your palms.

“It’s not that,” you start, then realize your mistake, your admission. “I really – I think I’m just tired. It’s been a long week.”

You’re acutely aware of your hand in Tyler’s. It’s not like you’ve ever been shy around him – your cheeks flush at the thought – but this is…different. Sweet. More.

“Yeah, that it has,” he sighs, adjusting his left hand on the steering wheel so he can drive a little more comfortably, but his right hand stays in yours. 

You settle back into silence, Tyler seemingly having dropped the subject, and your eyes return to the road, but you feel him looking over at you, checking on you, every once in a while. You try your hardest not to meet his gaze. 

Soon enough, Tyler is putting the truck in park, then shutting the thing off. The noise – or lack thereof, you guess – wakes Dexter in the back, then Lily, who snorts when she sees your hand in Tyler’s. You pull away and unbuckle your seatbelt, watching as Tyler, with a hurt look on his face, wipes his hand on his jeans and swings himself down and out of the truck.

“C’mon, Boone,” he shouts, slapping a hand on the door that Boone has his head resting against, and the man sits up straight, wiping sleep from his eyes. “The sun hasn’t even gone down yet. Drinks on me, pal!”

The motel really is that close to the bar, so you all decide you’ll leave the truck parked there and walk home at the end of the night. The unspoken verdict is that you will all be getting shitfaced tonight.

The lingering smell of cigarettes in the air seems to rejuvenate everyone and Lily pumps a fist when she spots the old-fashioned jukebox across the room, then claps a hand over her mouth when she realizes there’s a TouchTunes sitting right next to it.

“Oh, I am so forcing you fuckers to listen to Chappell Roan all night,” she says gleefully, and you laugh along with her, looping your arm in hers and letting her pull you across the room while the boys settle in at the bar.

“So what was that all about?”

“What was what all about?” You play dumb, shrugging when Lily gives you a hard look and unhooks her arm from yours.

“Girl, seriously,” Lily scoffs, bumping your hip with hers and slipping a twenty dollar bill into the TouchTunes. Evidently she wasn’t joking when she meant you’d be listening to Chappell Roan all night. “I saw that thing earlier, the hair thing, don’t think I didn’t. And y’all holding hands in the truck. What’s going on there?”

You shake your head but she grabs your wrist. “I’m serious, Lil. Nothing’s going on. We’re friends – good friends. He noticed I was having a hard time today, and wanted to make sure I was alright. That’s all.”

You can tell she doesn’t fully believe you, and when she opens her mouth to object, you cut her off.

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom, okay?”

Lily watches you, trying to read the small line between your eyebrows, but eventually she nods and lets go of you, letting you turn away from her. You push through the door to the women’s restroom, your nose wrinkling at the smell, but you ignore it. Standing in front of the sink, you watch yourself, hands shaking. This isn’t you. You’re better than this at shoving these feelings for Tyler down, way down – or, rather, you had been, up until this week broke you, apparently. Turning the knob for the cold water to the left, you let it run over your sore hands, hissing at the feeling. Carefully, you cup your palms and watch them fill, then splash the water onto your face, soothing the flush. There. That should help.

There’s a cold bottle of Coors in front of the seat next to Dexter when you arrive back to the group, “Red Wine Supernova” playing from the speakers. You almost snort at all the old men – regulars, no doubt – groaning out their distaste for whoever chose the music all across the room.

“Thanks,” you toss over your shoulder at Tyler, sitting on the other side of Dexter and Boone. He nods and nurses his own. You frown and settle onto the stool, leaning an elbow on the bartop so you can turn and face your friends. The cold beer against the palms of your hands feels so nice.

What’s wrong with him? He won’t make eye contact with you, and you notice his jaw clicking as he grits his teeth. What’s got his panties in a twist?

As the night unfolds, you find yourself laughing more and more, loosening up, letting the stress of the last week fade into memory. Someone has produced a deck of cards from God knows where and Dani – who did join the group eventually – is showing off card tricks you didn’t even know they knew. You feel a warmth spreading through your body, and you can’t stop thinking about how much you love all of these people. Your friends. Your family. Empty bottles are swiftly replaced with full, cold ones without notice, and everyone is languid, relaxed, unburdened by the work that you’re all doing.

You take a pull from your drink, using the cover of the bottle to risk a glance to Tyler three seats down from you to find that he’s already watching you, and the look in his eye tells you exactly what he’s thinking. That somersault-y feeling is lower than your stomach now. You’re only three beers deep, but the air in your head reminds you that you’ve barely eaten all day, so you’re a little more affected by the alcohol than you’d usually be. Impolitely, you reach across Dexter next to you to grab a handful of peanuts from the basket to his left.

Glancing back up at Tyler, you meet his heady gaze again, and he smirks around the lip of the bottle against his mouth. He knows he’s got you right where he wants you. You swallow nervously around another sip of beer.

Every once in a while, the two of you will get a little too drunk, stay until last call, sneak back to your motel room, and fuck. Nobody knows – at least you don’t think they do – and you never talk about it when you’re sober. Tyler will generally stay until you fall asleep, but he’s always gone when you get up the next day. Only once has he woken up in bed with you the next morning, and you’ve never made that mistake again. There isn’t a name for what you feel for him, you don’t think, and you can’t tell what he thinks of the arrangement. Clearly he likes it, or he wouldn’t be making eyes at you from across three people’s laps as you pull these peanuts from their shells.

“Alright, y’all,” Lily says, slapping a hand on the bar, startling you out of your thoughts. You watch her, popping a nut into your mouth. “Think I’m gonna head out. I suggest you all do, too, fuckers, it’s late.”

Everyone starts to protest, but one glance at the clock tells you you’ve all stayed much longer than you thought – it’s a quarter past midnight, and you’ve got to be up with the daylight. You balk, but if you want to talk to Tyler tonight, you know you’ve got to shoulder your exhaustion and stick it out a little longer.

“I think I might stay for a bit,” you murmur, watching everyone stand and gather their things. You glance over at Tyler, who you can see clearly now that everyone’s out of their seats, and he’s watching you, too. The look on his face reads plain, now – he wants you.

“I’ll stay with her,” he says, eyes on yours. The green in them has disappeared almost completely, you notice, his pupils blown wide. “Walk her back. Y’all head back if you want.”

“I might stay, too –” Boone’s voice cuts off, coughing as Lily elbows him in the stomach, maybe a little too hard. “What the fuck was that for?”

“You’re going to bed, too, Boone,” Dani interrupts, a hand on his shoulder, guiding him towards the door. They poke him once when he starts to protest. “C’mon, now.”

Everyone shuffles out the front, Dexter calling good night, and all of the sudden, it’s just you and Tyler. You don’t know why, but your palms begin to sweat at the thought of being alone with him again. He stands, palming his drink, and slides onto the seat next to you, his body angled towards yours.

He’s never made you nervous like this. You don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you.

“So,” Tyler starts, grinning at you. “You come here often?”

You snort, emboldened by the booze, and he chuckles in response. “Idiot.”

“God, but I do love making you laugh.”

You blush under his scrutinous gaze, and take a quick swig of the dregs of your drink, unsure what to say to that. He mirrors you, taking a sip of his own while his eyes bore into yours. Accusatory.

“You don’t do it much anymore, you know that?”

“Do what?”

“Laugh.”

You press your fingertips to your mouth and Tyler’s eyes follow your hand. “I guess I just haven’t had much to laugh about lately,” you start, sighing deeply. “Tornado season’s been hard this year, and you know how much that – it gets to me. As much as I love what we do. You know. Remember that family a couple weeks back whose daughter was stuck under her bunk bed when it pressed on her too long, lost her leg below the knee? That got to me, Tyler. It did.”

“It gets to me, too,” he murmurs, knocking his knee against yours. “I guess I’m just better at hiding how bad it affects me. You can talk to me about it, though. You can talk to any of us.”

“I know I can,” you breathe, trying to keep your hands from shaking. “I know. Sometimes I don’t know what to say, though, you know, what is there to say? It’s not fair to complain about how sad it makes me to watch these people lose everything.”

“You’re allowed to feel sad. And to feel frustrated. It’s not fair, you’re right, but we’re doing good work, yeah? Fighting the good fight. Figuring out what makes these things tick, how to warn people when they’re in the path, get them outta the way and safe. Maybe they lose their house, their car, but they won’t lose themselves, or each other. That’s what matters most. Just remember that.”

You look up at him, set your elbow on the bartop, and prop your chin on your open palm. Your hands don’t hurt so bad anymore, you notice. “Thanks, Tyler.”

“Anytime,” he smiles, but you shake your head. 

“Seriously. You always know what to say.”

A look crosses his face then, too quick for you to read, and he sets his drink down, flagging the bartender over to close out the team’s tab. You frown, wondering if you’d, ironically, said the wrong thing.

“What’s up?”

Tyler looks back to you, and this time, the look in his eyes is unmistakable. It burns. “Taking you home, sweetheart.”

The walk back to your motel is done in silence. Tyler’s hand swings next to yours, and you feel it searching for yours more than once, but you don’t take it. You climb the stairs together, slowly, and he walks you to your door. His room is one more floor up.

You can tell he thinks you won’t invite him in, that you’ve changed your mind – or maybe that you never made it up. He hadn’t, after all, told you plainly that that was why he’d stayed with you at the bar. You unlock the room with your key card and step inside, opening the door only far enough for you to fit through it. You turn back to look at him, his face awash in the street lights shining into the hallway. You flip the lightswitch on next to you, illuminating the room behind you, too.

“Well,” he murmurs, making to head back down the stairs. “Good night.”

“Tyler?”

His head turns back to look at you, watching as you hold out one hand and he takes it, letting you pull him closer to you. You press yourself into him, push your whole face against his chest, your hip keeping the door from closing on the two of you. You inhale deeply, the smell of him overtaking your senses. His cologne, yes, but underneath that, the smell of dirt, earth. Home.

You feel his arms wrap around your back and you turn your head to the side, press your ear to his heartbeat. Your hands come up to scratch down his back and you feel it when he shudders.

“Stay?”

You hear his breath hitch in his chest, then the deep rumble of his voice as he says, “Alright, baby.”

With a short inhale, your eyes flutter, nearly closing at the term of endearment. You step back, pulling him with you, and as you close the door behind you, he pushes one hand up into your hair and pulls your head toward his.

“I, uh,” you whisper against his lips when they get close enough to yours, “I think I might shower first, if that’s okay with you?”

“Alright,” he murmurs, unlacing his hand from the strands of your hair before toeing his boots off and carefully setting them under the chair next to the front door. “You want company?”

You swallow. You’ve never done anything like that before. It’s always been quick. When you do this with him, you hardly ever have time for a chat before he’s got your shirt over your head and his mouth on your skin.

“Sure,” you reply. You feel him watch as you turn around and pull your shirt off, reaching back to unclasp your bra. The modesty feels redundant, but you can’t help it.

“Not gettin’ shy on me now, are you? S’not like I haven’t seen you naked before,” he chuckles, and you throw a look at him over your shoulder just as he’s pulling his own shirt over his head. He left his hat at the bar, you think. You’ll have to go back in for it when you pick up the truck.

“Tyler,” you scold, and he laughs at you, steps across the room to wrap an arm around your torso and press a kiss to where your neck meets your shoulder. The place he knows makes you melt. You sigh and push back against him, the feeling of his hard chest against your bare back a welcome one. This feels more like what you know, what you’re used to.

“Shower,” you remind him, and he nods, his forehead pressed into that spot now, and he pushes his fingers underneath the waistband of your jeans, running them along the bit of skin there around to the front, where the fabric splits at the button. He pops it undone, then uses his thumb and forefinger to grip the zipper and slowly – so slowly – pulls that down. He can’t help himself, you know that, and so you hold your breath and wait for him to push his hand into your panties. Ever a predictable man, he does just that, and you gasp at the feeling of his warm hand against you.

“Are you sure?” Tyler’s breath against your neck makes you shiver, and you press your ear to the side of his chin. He runs his fingers along the seam of you, finding first your clit, your legs twitching at the sudden rush of pleasure when he brushes his hand against it, then pushing down to find you wet and wanting. You cry out softly. “You don’t sound sure. You don’t feel sure.”

You hum, your neck stretching back until your head is pressed to his chest, and he pulls his hand back up to start working small circles on your clit, your wetness on his fingers allowing for smooth movement, with just enough friction to have you panting for more. 

“Sounds more to me like you kinda want me to fuck you with my fingers.”

“Tyler,” you whimper, telling him with just his name that you are getting close. He smiles against the side of your neck, pulling his hand away and shoving your jeans and underwear down just enough that his hand has room to smack your clit lightly. You squeal, right leg kicking out at the feeling, and he continues moving his hand in circles to soothe the hurt.

Your breath is coming out of you in short huffs, and before you can come, Tyler takes his hand off of you and wraps it around your stomach to join the other. You pant and whine, rubbing your thighs together to chase the feeling he’d had you practically pressed up against, now ebbing with the loss of his fingers.

“You said you wanted to shower,” he whispers in your ear, pulling your panties back up, and you scowl, pushing away from him. He laughs and holds his hands up in defense as you pick your t-shirt up off your bed and crack it at him like a whip. “Let’s shower, baby.”

“I might kick you out right now, Owens,” you snark, but the small smile on your face gives you away, and Tyler unbuttons his own jeans, leaving them in a pile on the floor at the end of the bed. Your jeans join his, and you’re both left in your underwear.

“You wouldn’t,” he replies, pulling his briefs off slowly, biting his bottom lip as you watch him. “You like this cock too much.”

You can’t help laughing at him, but the sight of him bare in front of you does have you biting your lip. You step forward to cup his growing length in your hand. Before you can move it, Tyler puts a hand on your wrist.

“How’s your hand?” He makes to pull it away, presumably to turn it over and appraise your blisters, but you shake your head.

“S’fine,” you whisper, tightening your grip. You tug once, twice, and press a kiss to his bare chest, then tip your head back to search out his lips. He leans down to oblige you, his lips parting against your mouth as you twist your fist. You love these moments you share with him, when you’re both bare, physically, emotionally, away from the real world, and you can pretend this is an everyday thing. When you’re not trying to tell yourself you feel nothing for him. Like this is just how it is between you.

Tyler groans when you pull your hand away from him and you click your tongue, press that same hand against his bicep.

“Doesn’t feel so good, now does it?”

Before you even know what’s happening, Tyler is picking you up, one arm underneath your back and the other around the backs of your knees. You look up at his face and laugh. “Put me down, Owens!”

He grins and carries you the few paces into the bathroom, placing you on your feet in front of the tub. Tyler leans down and pushes his thumbs underneath the waistband of your panties, waiting for you to put your hands on his shoulders and step out of them.

He lets you pull away from him to turn the hot water on, adjusting the cold side until the temperature is perfect, before pulling you against his chest once again. This time, you can feel his hard cock pressed against your backside, and you hum appraisingly. You reach behind you to fist him again, but he shakes his head – you feel his chin brush against the top of your head – and he groans out, “Mm-mm.”

“What?”

“We’re gonna shower, baby, c’mon.”

You glance back towards him and watch as he flicks the overhead light on. “So we don’t slip and die,” he says, and you laugh, pushing the shower curtain to the side. Holding Tyler’s hand, you step over the lip of the tub and under the steady stream of warm water, inhaling deeply when it hits the sore muscles in your shoulders and back. Tyler groans at the feeling, too, when he steps in behind you.

“Here, switch with me,” he murmurs, guiding you by your waist until you’re the one underneath the water. You let it fall onto the top of your head, over your face and down the back of your hair, for a moment, eyes closed, relishing the feeling. Tyler reaches both hands up and brushes the water out of your eyes, runs his hand over the top of your head. 

“Shampoo?”

You open one eye, the other shut against the water, and nod. You gaze up at him, heart squeezing at the way he’s watching you. His smile widens and he takes the tiny bottle in his hand – it looks even more comically small now – and dumps the product into his other palm, setting the bottle down onto the edge of the tub and rubbing his hands together.

“Turn around.”

You do as he asks, inhaling sharply through your nose when you feel his hands run through the hair at the crown of your head. Your stomach aches with longing as you register how unnaturally intimate this is. His fingers feel so good against your scalp, which is slightly sunburnt, you’re now realizing. He massages the shampoo further into your hair, running his fingers down the back of your neck and across the tops of your shoulders. When he’s satisfied with his shampoo job, he steers you by your arms to face him again, then carefully helps you tilt your head back and rinses it all from your hair.

You watch him pick up the other small bottle from the shelf, warm water still running down the back of your head. 

“I’ll do my conditioner,” you murmur, taking the bottle gently from his hands. “It’s a – it’s a science.”

“I am very good at science, if you can recall.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “It’s something I’ve gotten perfectly right. It’ll take just a sec.”

So you work the conditioner through the ends of your hair, avoiding his gaze as he watches your hands first coat your hair in the product, then rinse it out. He reaches forward to run his own fingers across it, as gently as he can.

“Hm,” he makes the noise in the back of his throat, pulling his hand away. “Soft.”

You can hardly look at him, the twisting feeling in your stomach shifting to something warmer, something further from apprehension, something that feels a lot like want. “You?”

Tyler shakes his head. “I’m good. Here,” he says, rubbing his hands across the plane of your upper back. “You’re tense. You worked hard today. Let me help.”

You weren’t going to protest, but before you can, Tyler guides you forward and out of the direct spray of the shower, then presses his thumbs into your muscle. You groan, your head falling forward onto his chest at the feeling, and he chuckles at you, continuing with his hands. “Feel good?”

“So good,” you whimper, and you feel his cock twitch against your stomach.

“You fucking dog,” you joke, and Tyler laughs against you, pushing your hair off the back of your neck and pressing his thumbs in there, too.

“Hey, what can I say? I like making my girl feel good.”

You freeze. His girl? His girl. He hasn’t noticed your reaction, and he keeps pressing his fingers into your sore muscles, pulling one hand away briefly to push the showerhead down and away from the two of you. You glance up, already missing its warmth, but you find that the steam rising around you is doing a good enough job at that.

“Here, baby,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead and guiding you to press your hands against the tiled wall to your left, running his hands down your back.

“What are you –”

Before you can finish the thought, you feel Tyler’s fingers parting the seam of your cunt from – from behind, and you groan at the feeling of his middle finger slipping inside of you.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he groans, his knees hitting the floor behind you. You toss a glance at him over your shoulder and your own knees nearly buckle at the way he’s looking up at you – with hunger, and with reverence, and with something else entirely unrecognizable. He looks wild. He looks in love.

One of Tyler’s hands clamps down around your hips and he leans forward, pressing a kiss to the back of your thigh as his finger starts to shift in and out of you. You shiver and push your face into the cool tile, groaning softly when he finds that rough bit of flesh inside of you, the one that makes you come undone if he works it long enough.

“Yeah?” Tyler sounds fucked out already, his voice breathy against your skin, and you can picture the look on his face, the concentrated expression he gets when he’s trying to make you come. You try to focus on the feeling of the shower’s spray where it hits the edge of your foot rather than how good his finger feels inside you because if you think too closely about how good it feels, you’ll get lightheaded. And nobody wants that.

“Yeah,” you reply weakly, and for a few minutes it’s just like that, the only sound in the bathroom the shower, your panting moans, and the noise your pussy makes as he pulls his finger in and out.

“Sound so good for me, baby,” he says, pressing a kiss to the back of your thigh again, and you whine, trying to protest when he slips his finger from you. He laughs deep in his chest and lightly smacks the swell of your ass.

“Don’t complain when I’m doin’ somethin’ nice for you,” he jok, and you can feel then that he’s shifting himself around. You want to look over your shoulder, want to see for yourself what he’s doing, but freeze when you feel his palms cupping your ass, his nose pressing against the inside of your thighs.

Your mouth forms the word oh, but no sound comes out until you feel his mouth press against your cunt, tongue pushing inside of you, and then you cry out, chest heaving, when he presses a sloppy, wet kiss to your clit. You pull your face from where it’s still resting against the tile and look down at Tyler to find he’s already looking right up at you. His grip on your ass tightens when you make eye contact with him, and he spreads you open wider for him, eyes narrowing as his tongue flicks again, and again, and again.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he moans against you, the vibrations causing your legs to twitch. You already thought you were going to burst, the steam from the shower, the way he’d washed your hair, the fact that he was in your room at all – it all made you feel slightly insane. To add insult to injury, he’s just pushed two fingers inside of you and immediately found the spot that takes you out, and you start to shake a little.

“Tyler,” you whine, pushing one hand down to grip his hair. He groans when you tighten your hold on it, fucking into you a little faster. “Tyler, fuck, gonna come.”

“So come, baby,” comes his reply, and you do, you come so hard that the toes on your right foot curl until you’re on tiptoe and Tyler has to reach up and grip your waist to steady you. You feel it crest, and peak, then subside, but he keeps working you through it, his mouth moving against you still, and a second, smaller – though still good – orgasm wracks your body right after the first.

You breathe through it, push your foot down so you’re standing flat on the surface of the tub again, and wait for Tyler to pull his fingers out of you. 

“Baby,” Tyler groans, squeezing your hips, his fingernails biting slightly into your skin. “You gotta let go’a me, if you want me to get up.”

His voice, fuck, his voice, you think, releasing your grip on his hair and turning to watch him rise from his knees, the tile cold against your back. You surge forward to kiss him square on the mouth and he catches you, smiles against you when you part your lips to taste yourself on his tongue.

“Was that good?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, pressing one, two, three more quick kisses to his mouth, before he reaches behind you to turn off the water. “So fucking good.”

Neither of you bother with a towel, instead opting to stumble toward the queen bed in the middle of the room and climb right underneath the covers.

“Hi,” you whisper when you’re settled in, the duvet pulled up under your chin. Your eyes rove over his face, then glance over to the alarm clock behind him. 1:56 in the morning. “You still wanna fuck?”

Tyler snorts, reaching over to poke you in the side, gripping the skin there until you start to laugh. “You still wanna fuck?”

“Yeah,” you reply, grinning, when you catch your breath. “Wanna?”

He’s quiet for a second, watching the duvet rise and fall with each breath you take, before he peels it off of you, using his elbow to push himself up until he’s leaning over you. There’s a rosy flush on your chest, your breasts heaving and it’s all he can do not to lean down and take one of your nipples in his mouth, the one closest to him. Instead, he runs the back of his other hand across your chest, catching against the hard peak, and watches your breath stick to the inside of your throat. You feel yourself subconsciously leaning toward him as his face comes toward you. You want him to kiss you, but instead, he angles his mouth to kiss the skin below your chin.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes against your neck, pressing his open mouth to you there, and you gasp at the feeling – of his mouth against you, and of his praise. It all feels so nice. He just made you come in the shower, and now he’s going to make you come in this bed, hopefully more than once. 

You wrap your hands around his back and pull him toward you, watch as he settles in between your thighs. You can feel his thick cock, heavy, insistent, where it presses against you, and you want to take him into your hands, but he has other plans. 

With one hand pressed into the pillow on either side of your head, Tyler uses his knees to knock your legs out further, sitting back against his heels when he’s satisfied. He wraps his big hands around your thighs and pulls you closer, smiling down at you. “You’re so beautiful.”

You blush when he repeats himself, suddenly feeling very bare. He’s just as naked as you are, but you can’t help but feel like he’s seen your whole hand, meanwhile you hardly have any idea what cards he might hold. In the dim light from the lamp beside your head, you notice that you can see the green of his irises again. It seems like the shower sobered the two of you up very quickly.

His gaze locked on yours, Tyler takes himself into his hand, groaning at the pressure of his grip after neglecting his own want for so long, but he suddenly curses, pausing just as he’s about to press inside of you.

“What?”

“I don’t have a condom,” he breathes, sitting back again. He runs one hand through his hair, visibly weighing the options.

“It’s okay, Tyler,” you murmur, leaning up onto your elbows. “It’s okay. I have an IUD, and I got screened after the last time I was with someone. I’m good. I’m good if you’re good.”

Tyler heaves a heavy sigh, running his hands up your thighs. “You’re sure? I’m clean, too, cross my heart. But only if you’re sure.”

You nod. “My head is clear. I think I shook off my drunk an orgasm or two ago.”

A grin crosses his face, and you roll your eyes at him before he even opens his mouth. Two? he mouths, then whistles lowly. You smack his stomach, and he grabs your wrist in his hand, lightning quick, pressing a kiss to the pulse point there. Your jaw falls slack, and you go all soft and pliant, letting him pin your hands above your head. His body comes down over yours, and his mouth presses to your cheek, then your forehead, and when your eyes flutter shut, the ghost of a kiss crosses them, too.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good,” he murmurs, and normally if a man were to say that to you, you would immediately regret letting him into your bed. But for some reason, when Tyler says it, it sends that familiar warmth spiraling down into your gut. You know he means it.

Slowly – too slowly – he guides himself back to your entrance, shifting his hips so they’re resting comfortably against yours, and he presses himself inside of you. You hiss; the girth of him, although a welcome stretch, is also a bit of an uncomfortable one. He leans down to kiss you, working you through it with a thumb pressing circles into your clit, sliding himself in bit by bit until he’s fully seated. 

A groan pushes out of him when you clench around him, testing the waters.

“Careful,” he murmurs, easing his hips back. “I’d like it if this lasted longer than ten seconds, please.”

You laugh against the side of his head, pull your hands down from where he’d left them above you and wrap yourself around his shoulders, pulling him flush against you. Tyler grips your thighs and starts to work himself in and out of you, carefully, gently, but you squeeze his waist with your knees. Encouraging him. Asking him to pick it up. You can handle it.

His hips start to pull back and snap against yours quicker and quicker, Tyler panting in your ear, lifting up onto his palms and pushing himself off of you. He sits up onto his knees and tilts your hips up for a different angle, one that sets sparks dancing in front of your eyes. You groan, head tossed back, and dig your nails into his thighs as his pace picks up.

“Fuck, yeah, that it, baby? I can feel you – fuck, feel you squeezin’ me.”

You hardly have a voice with the rate he’s slipping in and out of you, barely enough to squeak out, “Fuck,” before your cunt has him in a vice grip, working through another orgasm.

“Ohhh, that’s it, huh, that’s it.” His mouth is going a mile a minute, neither of you really paying much attention to anything he’s actually saying. You’re both focused on his own mounting orgasm – you don’t feel like your body is capable of much more than that – and you weakly clamp down around him once more. His eyes squeeze shut, his hips stutter, and he grits out, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck fuck,” before he slots against you and you feel him filling you. You run a hand down his back, soothing him as he comes, biting your lip at the feeling, foreign but enjoyable.

Tyler groans and glances down to where his cock is softening inside of you. He eases his hips back, cupping your face and pressing a kiss to your forehead as he does. “Shit, I’m sorry, are you okay?”

You nod meagerly, pressing the back of your hand against your warm cheek. He watches you and, assured that you’re not going to pass out on him or anything, stands and hobbles into the bathroom. The sink turns on out of sight, and you close your eyes, listening to the water run. Tyler returns with a warm, wet towel and wipes the inside of your thighs, swiping gently across your cunt, before folding the towel and letting it fall to the floor at your bedside.

You feel loose, calm. Safe. You hardly notice him turn the light off, but you do feel the bed dip beside you as he rejoins you under the covers and pulls you into his arms. You melt against his sturdy chest, his heartbeat under your face a comfort, the rhythmic tick tick tick of it lulling you to sleep. But there’s still one thing you have to know before you can relax completely.

His breathing has started to even out, but he hasn’t snored yet, so you know he’ll still hear you when you ask, “Are you gonna leave?”

He grunts an acknowledgement of your question, nuzzling down into the top of your head.

“Do you want me to stay?”

You know your answer, but you still bite your lip, considering the question. You hadn’t thought before that maybe he left after every night you spent together because he thought you didn’t want to wake up with him. “Yes.”

“Okay,” he murmurs against your hair, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Then I’ll stay.”

If he’s at all worried about what will happen when you wake up tomorrow, he doesn’t show it, but anxiety courses through you at the thought of anyone finding out. Does he want the others to know? Because that’s what it feels like.

“Stop thinking about it,” he whispers, like he can hear your thoughts racing. “It’ll be fine. Just go to sleep.”

Easy for him to say. He’s out like a light. And you’re left alone with your thoughts until you fall into fitful, dissatisfying sleep sometime around when the world outside starts to turn blue.

A pounding on your door wakes you from deep sleep – the deepest you’d gotten all night, at least – and you try to sit up but find there’s a heavy weight on your chest blocking you. You rub the sleep from your eyes, glancing down at the sleeping body next to you. It takes a second for it to register: Tyler’s here. 

Tyler’s here. Sidled up against you, arm thrown over your stomach like this is where he belongs. He didn’t leave. He stayed, like he said he would. His face looks so peaceful – so beautiful – you almost hate to wake him.

“Come on, sleepyhead! Time to get a move on!”

Almost. You scramble to push Tyler off of you, ignoring his noises of protest, jumping out from under the covers and grabbing various articles of clothing off the floor to pull over your naked form. You plop back down on the bed, this time on his side, right next to where he’s starting to wake.

“Dude, get up, they’re gonna know you’re not in your room. They’re gonna know you’re in here.”

“So what,” he grumbles, rolling over as you push him and settling deeper into the bed. “Let ‘em.”

You sit up straight, one hand on his arm. “You mean that?”

He hums and turns his neck to glance at you over his shoulder. “Yeah, ‘course I do. You’re my girl.”

Your face flushes a deep pink and Tyler grins, reaching over to wrap an arm around you and drag you back down into the bed, pinning you under him and peppering an assault of open-mouthed kisses all over your face. You grin, thinking that you could get used to this – just not right now.

“Seriously, Tyler,” you laugh, pushing a hand against the side of his face. He squeezes your hip. “We have to get up. We gotta get back out there.”

Tyler sighs, loosening his grip on your body and kneeling over you. “Yeah, you’re right. Alright, alright.”

He stands and takes the top sheet with him, wrapped around his waist, and heads to the bathroom. To brush his teeth, you hope. God.

“You know,” he says, head popping back out into the room, mouth full of toothpaste. “Yesterday. I wanted them to see us holding hands.”

You watch as he smiles at you and disappears back into the bathroom, then fall back onto the bed, hands pressed over your eyes. 

Fifteen minutes later, the two of you are dressed, teeth brushed, hair taken care of, day packs slung over your shoulder, and you’re pulling the door closed behind you when you hear a whistle that pulls your attention to the parking lot.

“Damn, Owens!”

The voice makes you jump, and you groan. You thought you were going to get away with the sneaking around, but the rest of your team is watching from next to the RV as the two of you descend the stairs together.

Lily and Dani turn to Boone with smug looks on both their faces, and he rolls his eyes and pulls his wallet from his back pocket. They hold their hands out for him to slap two twenty dollar bills down into.

“What’s that?” You ask when you get close enough to them.

“We had a bet that you and Owens would come out of that room together. Well, that one or his. Didn’t matter which.”

“A bet I just lost,” Boone groans, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I thought for sure…”

The rest of the crew snickers, including Tyler, who won’t look at you. You poke a finger into his chest.

“Did you know about this?”

“No, I swear,” he says, hands up, and you don’t know why, but you believe him. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t drunkenly confess to Lily weeks ago that sometimes we, you know…”

You scoff, almost mad, but then Boone shouts and the scoff turns into a snicker because, hey, you love him, but you can’t help but relish in his defeat.

“So they knew?! That’s cheating!”

He storms off while the rest of you laugh, Dani clutching their side and following him around the side of the building to try to make amends, trailing off, “If it makes you feel any better…”

Lily looks over at you, then at Tyler, a grin swallowing her face. “So, are you guys, like, together now? Or something?”

You look up at Tyler, who’s smiling softly at you, clearly deferring to you to answer that question. You feel a surge of affection for him swell in your chest. Clearing your throat, you turn to Lily.

“Or something.”

[corevibeself]

𝓦𝓱𝓸 𝓲𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓕𝓾𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓮 𝓢𝓹𝓸𝓾𝓼𝓮?

The energy of love that I have been feeling around me for the past month has been as intense as swallowing sugar by the buckets. I feel like my insides are turning pink. I'm now realizing my insides are already pink as I'm writing this. Anywho loved doing this reading xxxx

ℙ𝕚𝕝𝕖 1 ℙ𝕚𝕝𝕖 2 ℙ𝕚𝕝𝕖 3

ℙ𝕚𝕝𝕖 1

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙜: 𝙈𝙮 𝙇𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙈𝙞𝙣𝙚 𝘼𝙡𝙡 𝙈𝙞𝙣𝙚 - 𝙈𝙞𝙩𝙨𝙠𝙞

Your future spouse is going to be such a best friend! The energy I’m getting from this reading is that you two might be mirroring each other. I like to say same vibe tribe because you’re vibrating at the same frequency—so if this sounds like you, that may be why.

Your future spouse is the kind of person who gets along with anyone as long as they’re kind and respectful. They steer way clear of drama-seekers and can’t stand judgmental people. They’re deeply empathetic, and I feel like they’ve had experiences that made them someone who stands up for others.

One specific scenario I saw (which may not apply to everyone, but still serves as an example) is that they might have a sibling with a disability who was made fun of, and that experience shaped them into this sensitive, socially aware person who cannot tolerate hate. They know judgment brings nothing but misery, and they refuse to contribute to it.

They’re incredibly compassionate and understanding. You never have to be afraid of making mistakes with this person because they don’t see mistakes as something to hold over you. To them, as long as you’re honest and open about where you’re coming from, that’s all they need. They believe real relationships are built on mutual understanding and vulnerability—and trust me, they walk the talk.

Emotionally mature? Check. Emotionally intelligent? Double check.

They’re also very opinionated, but not in a bad way. I’m seeing a situation where someone says something rude, and this person immediately shuts it down, defending you without hesitation. Or, let’s say you’re watching a reality show together, like Love Island—if they see something unfair, they will speak up about it. They’re passionate about fairness, kindness, and doing what’s right.

I also get the sense that they can be selfless to the point of giving more than they should. They know they have a tendency to take on too much, but at the same time, they don’t mind if it drains them—especially if it means helping someone they care about. Noble souls, they are.

This might also be why they spend a lot of time indoors. Not because they’re antisocial—more like their energy gets scattered easily. Honestly? Big neurodivergent vibes, possibly ADHD. They’ve got this huge heart, a million interests, and a natural tendency to care for others.

They’re what I’d call an introverted extrovert. They’re not shy, but people can drain them quickly. I wouldn’t be surprised if they work in the mental health field, something related to justice, or are super passionate about social justice in general.

And let me tell you—this person has your back in every sense of the word. If you’ve ever craved a connection where you’re fully understood, where you can be 100% yourself without fear of judgment—this is it. They’re exactly what you’ve been needing.

They just have this gift for making people open up. They see the beauty in others, in the world, and they bring so much balance. I wouldn’t be shocked if they have Libra in their chart—Libra rising, maybe?

Their energy is so sweet. I can see them genuinely asking how your day was, really listening because they truly care.

And honestly? If I could tell this person one thing, it would be to see how beautiful of a soul they truly are.

They feel like a modern-day knight. Hehehe.

ℙ𝕚𝕝𝕖 2

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙜: 𝙇𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙢𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 -𝙇𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙈𝙞𝙭

This person’s been through some tough shit, but I see them bippity-bopping their way out of it like the fairy godmother. They might’ve been through foster homes—I also had a vision of couch-hopping—so it could be that they’ve got lots of connections and friends who support them because their family may not. I just get the feeling they dealt with a lot of challenges in their childhood or teen years, and it sparked this change in them. Instead of turning to darkness and letting it define their whole life, they became a doer.

They just know how to grind, how to better themselves, and how to be a good person—which they are. They’re willing to do what it takes to heal. I don’t want to get graphic, but this person may have developed coping mechanisms in the past but has grown out of them.

They’re the type to drop anything they’re doing to help you if you needed it. And they have this way of surprising you. I literally just saw a vision of a guy in a store, minding his business, buying groceries or whatever, and then he just randomly sees something that reminds him of you. It’s a funny energy—like, he’s impulsive like that. He’ll just grab it and bring it back to you, and it’s something completely stupid. You’ll be like, “Why did you buy this stuffed penguin?” and he’ll just shrug and say, “It reminded me of you.” It’s cute, but like... what?! Hahahaha.

This person tends to suppress their emotions, unsure whether to communicate them or not, because they might have some fears around vulnerability. But trust that when they feel safe, they’ll open up to you.

I also kind of saw that this person might be loud (relatable AF). Not in a bad way—just very expressive. I feel like they were the class clown, secretly depressed because shit was bad at home, and teachers were like, “Why are you so loud?” No, but seriously—they’re hilarious. I felt very giggly during this reading.

This person has charm—like, their humour is their superpower. You really wouldn’t guess what they’ve been through because they’re such a ray of sunshine.

And kids? This person is hilarious with them. It’s like they can fully be themselves around children, or they just have this youthful energy no matter their age. If you’re into someone who brings the fun, is goofy but surprisingly deep—this is your person. Genuine. Authentic. I love ittttt.

ℙ𝕚𝕝𝕖 3

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙜: 𝙎𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪 - 𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚

Daddy Vibes, HA! This person has a great drive—like, a very determined person. I see them getting up constantly, even if they keep falling. This has made them into someone that gives off major "They can do anything" vibes.

Need to kill a spider? Done. Craving something from the store late at night? They’ll do it so nonchalantly, like, I see them just going, "So what do you need?"—face blank AF.

Okay, if anyone is a K-pop fan, Yoongi from BTS totally gives these vibes. He’ll do things for you even if he doesn’t look happy doing it, but it’s not that he’s unhappy. It’s just that taking care of people comes so naturally to him that he doesn’t even see it as a big deal. That’s this person. It’s their role—to take care of you.

They have lots of goals. Like I said, they’ve got this drive. I see backup plan after backup plan after backup plan. Like, "This job isn’t for me? That’s fine. I also really like this. And if that doesn’t work, I have connections. I can travel. I know how to charm and talk to people. I have ways." That’s the energy they give.

Scattered AF, though, but they’re working on it. This person just always has money. You don’t gotta worry about them ever being a lazy bum. It’s not that they’re a millionaire—they’ve just healed their wound around security. They don’t see work as a passion; they see it as "I get this done so I can do my passions." And that’s awesome. Some people need to work in a field they’re passionate about, but this person? They just trust that the universe has their back so they can enjoy their passions, because their passions have nothing to do with work—and they’re fine with that.

If you’re the type of person that doesn’t wanna work your whole life, this person doesn’t mind working for you, honestly. Like, they love you.

They might come off a bit intimidating at first when y’all meet. They just have a good head on their shoulders because of past experiences. Don’t be afraid. I’m getting very mature vibes—like I said earlier... DAAAADDDYYYY.

Some of y’all may have daddy issues, like... that’s okay. So does 90% of the population—we’re on a healing journey here, HAHAHA.

This person looks ahead. They don’t get stuck in the past, so they won’t ever hold shit over your head. The past is the past. We grow as human beings. They’re open-minded and see things from other perspectives, which is so refreshing. Don’t be afraid to express your opinions or feelings—this person wants to help.

If you want a family, they’ll be an amazing father. Also, they might look like a working person. I’m seeing that if their job is physical, you can see it on them—like, maybe they smell like oil because they’re a mechanic. A job where you can literally see the results on them physically.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

<3<3<3

AHHHH my first reading on here. To whoever reads this, I enjoyed doing this. I love everything about this. I'm so passionate, and I'm so grateful to whoever this reaches. XXXX

[friskalicousbiscuits]

Neglected The Mask!reader x platonic Yan!Batfam

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6 Ch.7 Ch.8 Ch.9 Epi

I’d also like to say this Reader is Gender Neutral or at least you can pick your gender. Most of the pronouns are “you” and when they are referred to by other people, its “they” so… Yeah! Have fun reading and tell me if there are any spelling mistakes or things that don’t make sense.

Chapter Five

6:12am

It was way too early to be awake, you mused. As of now you were sipping coffee at the kitchen island with two people on either side of you. You were too tired to even bother glancing at who, instead deciding to stare ahead and blink bleary eyes. You could hear some murmurs about the Shadow Thief who’s been striking Gotham. Skillit. You wondered what the kid was doing right now.

Was he stealing some murderer’s shadow?

You hoped so. The kid didn’t seem restrained by the night so that probably meant he was off somewhere in the Bowery or something and being a little thief.

You sipped your coffee again. Mmm… Hazelnut flavor. You were pretty sure Tim liked this one. You sent a prayer of thanks to the other boy, though in the middle of your prayer you heard someone stomping over to you and the other two people sitting with you.

“Father!” The voice sounded a mixture of young and old. All three of the people sitting at the kitchen island turned.

It was… Damian?

It was Damian if he stayed the same height and everything but became a shriveled little old man.

What interesting makeup!

“Wow… You’re such an old young person.” You said as a hand reached over to try and poke Damian in the cheek. The boy, with an obviously grumpy expression that you were too sleepy to pick up, slapped your hand away. You must’ve been really tired to actually do that. During any normal circumstance, you wouldn’t have on account of being afraid of him trying to chop it off.

Thankfully, the younger boy only snarled before practically growling, “Shut it, Wayne.”

The person next to you turned their body slightly to put their mug of coffee down. “[Name], don’t antagonize your brother. Damian, what happened?”

Was that Bruce?

His voice alone startled you awake. Bruce Wayne was sitting next to you. Your father was sitting next to you.

This is a moment in history!

Is it a little crazy that in this morning alone, you’ve spent more time with him than the near decade you’ve spent in this house? Seriously. The literal one conversation you’ve had with this man was when you were eight and it involved him kneeling down and handing you a black card before shooing you away because he needed to do some paperwork(it was a case on some rogue actually). And sure… he ruffled your hair before you left, but, dang…

…Oh right, there was a conversation going on.

“I don’t know! I woke up like this.” You almost thought he was about to stomp his foot, y’know, actually act his age. Wait no, he’s twelve, not two.

“Is it what Constantine said? The rapid aging from having your shadow stolen?” So it was Tim on the other side of you. Unlike Bruce, he kept his coffee in hand and drank while watching Damian.

As for Tim’s words, they made you pause. Didn’t Skillit say something like that? It had been when you were still possessed by the mask that he’d mentioned the effect that stealing shadows had on the victims.

Though you don’t remember everything after putting on the mask, there are still bits and pieces, albeit extremely hazy ones. When you’re possessed, it’s like you’re on a sugar high while you run around taking whatever, doing whatever, feeling whatever. When you blink, you’re in a bank shoveling money into a bag with a dollar sign on it. When you blink again, you’re shooting a guy on a jet pack out of the air with a slingshot. There’s no telling what you’ll remember.

Like you said, bits and pieces.

“I’m sure you’ll get your shadow back, Damian.” You said, sipping your own coffee. The kid, or old man depending on how you looked at it, glared at you. You looked between him and your mug. “Coffee?” You offered the mug.

Wow. You must still be really tired if you’re still not afraid of him cutting off your hands.

He tried to smack the ceramic out of your hands this time, but you pulled the mug away just in time. You heard Bruce scold Damian for that as both you and Tim turned back to the kitchen isle just as Alfred set some pancakes out for the both of you.

You’d have to make sure to ask Skillit if he could let Damian’s shadow go. As much as you dislike Damian, you don’t hate him. Not as much as he-who-shall-not-be-named anyways… if only he’d taken his shadow.

In the meantime though… Your phone lit up with a message as you put down your fork and twisted to the side as Damian reached out to grab the utensil as soon as it landed on the ceramic. Every person, besides you, stared incredulously as he balanced on one of the bars of your chair and ate the rest of the pancakes off your plate. You were too busy typing back to a message from Sammy to notice.

You stood up and he immediately got in your chair afterwards. The message was basically inviting you to a party. You were a bit wary about going to one and ended up asking a bunch of probably stupid questions until you finally… finally! Agreed to go. Sammy sent a bunch of happy emoji’s in response.

Although you were a little nervous, it was a little exciting if you thought about it.

Maybe you can be a little free as yourself too.

(Immediately after you left the kitchen…

“Damian, what the hell is wrong with you?” Tim asked, looking at the younger boy as if he were crazy.

“What are you talking about?” Damian’s gaze slid to him as he carefully cut up the pancake and ate it.

Bruce put his head in his hands at the audacity. “Damian, you just— you—” The father was at a loss for words, praying that Damian has not done that in public to random people.

“What? Is it me and Wayne’s sharing of food? Or that the pancakes aren’t vegan, because I can assure you they are, aren’t they Pennyworth?” Damian put another piece of pancake in his mouth as his brows furrowed.

“Yes, young master.”

“How can you even call that sharing?” Tim gave Damian the most judgmental look ever, arm moving to shield his own plate from the younger boy.

“Because it is. We both do it all the time, Drake.”

You both in fact, do not do it all the time. Damian instead simply waddles over while you’re eating a sandwich for example, asks if it’s vegan, and then steals the entire thing from you if you say yes. He’d started doing that since a little bit after he came to the manor. Even when your arm was still bandaged from the stab wound from his katana. Eventually, after a while you would just give it to him before he would even ask because you were, in his words, a pushover. He’s done this at home, galas, the awkward dinners with Damian’s mother and creepy grandfather who has a little too much interest in Tim. The kid does not care.)

Jason Peter Todd - The Red Hood POV

Jason was chasing after the Shadow Thief. The little bastard had crossed into his territory and stolen the shadow of some little girl, and he was going to get it back.

No matter what.

He’d heard what happened to Damian. He wasn’t gonna allow that to happen to some civilian. A civilian child at that.

Right now, he was chasing it over roof tops. It was laughing and mocking him. The little freak literally blew a raspberry at him as it jumped down into an alleyway. He obviously jumped down after it, but instead of hitting gravel, the kid was waiting for him.

It literally kicked him into the building next to him. Instead of hitting a concrete wall though, thankfully, he was shoved through and burst through a window straight into a room with flashing lights and loud music. Colors changed as drinks were passed around. Alcohol and smoke stunk up most of the room. Screaming was also loud, but then cheering could be heard.

Shit. Did he literally crash a party?

“Go, red guy!” A girl yelled alcohol sloshing in her drink and some spilling on the floor.

Jason, after laying on the floor for a little bit, eventually forced himself up. Glass shards clinked and clacked to the floor as they fell off him. He checked his arms and legs for any punctures and thankfully, there weren’t any.

Alright, now to get out of this du…

…Wait a damn minute. Is that…?

[Name]?!

Jason stared in utter flabbergastery. Was that even a damn word? He doesn’t know! He also doesn’t care! What the hell was his quiet, favorite little sibling doing in a cesspool like this?!

You weren’t even partying!

You were sat on a couch next to some couple of degenerates making out, shirt pulled over your nose as you tapped on your phone.

(You were his favorite for a reason. You always shut the fuck up. He loves that. He didn’t know it was because you were still afraid of him.)

He stomped over to you until he was looking over you. God, you were playing Block Blast and— were you at like 100000 points?! Christ. He knew that all his siblings were freaky little weirdos. He supposed he finally found what made you weird.

You paused, about to place another block when you slowly looked up.

You’d finally noticed his shadow looming over you.

You looked at him like a kicked puppy. (You were extremely confused about who this random grown ass man was standing above you.) Okay, that’s it. He’s getting you out of here. His little sibling shall not and will not be here any longer with these cretins.

He grabbed your arm and dragged you out the door, ignoring your struggling and attempts to get him to let go. He doesn’t even know why you’re struggling. You obviously didn’t wanna be there. He’ll take you home, but not before…

By the time he’d dragged you to his bike, you were still struggling. He let you go as he rummaged around his utility belt, but he had to grab you again when you tried to make a break for it.

Why were you being so difficult?

He finally shoved it in your mouth. A breathalyzer. Jason wished that it was zero. He did not want his favorite little sibling going to the dark side. Not yet anyway. You were eighteen! Way too young to be drinking!

When the zero showed up, Jason gave you a rough pat on the back and put the batbreathalyzer away. Oh. Good on you then.

He’s still taking you home.

“Alright kid, time to go home.” He steered you down the street. He’d left his bike around here somewhere.

“What?! My home or your home?!” You asked.

Why’d you sound scared?

“…our home…?” Jason answered, though it was definitely more your home than his.

“WHAT?!”

“The manor.”

“Oh.” You went quiet for a bit. “Wait oh! No, I don’t wanna go there!” You went back to struggling.

He kept pushing you along anyways. “Why? You obviously didn’t like the party?”

“Well, yeah, but my brother might be there. And if he’s there I’m gonna hate that more than the party.” You sounded full of straight up despair. Damn.

“…Which brother?”

Who in the world is making you sound like that?

You were quiet for a long time. So long that he eventually saw his bike in the distance. “…Jason.”

What?

“Pardon?”

“Jason. He’s my second older brother and… he beat me up really badly when I was about fifteen.” You paused, swallowing, digging your heels into the ground the closer they got to the bike. “He’s the reason I don’t like being in that house. That amongst other things anyways.”

Jason stopped walking at that point. His hands were still on your shoulders, but he wasn’t steering anymore.

What?

Suddenly, a lot of things made sense to Jason and that one moment. One, you’re his quiet little sibling because you’re probably afraid of him. Two, you definitely do not know he’s Red Hood by the way you’re phrasing this. Three, you never forgave him for that night, did you?

You were both sort of standing in the sidewalk now. “I…” Your voice cracked. “I don’t know how Tim did it. I don’t know how he just forgave him like that.” You swallowed again. “I just gotta hope a bullet can stop the guy.” You whispered. “I have one of his guns, you know.”

Jason did, in fact, know. He’d left it to you.

“I… see.” He said as he started walking you forward again. He sat you down in his bike. “Well, if this Jason guy ever decides to hurt you again, give me a call.” The words were leaving his mouth as he handed you one of the stupid business cards Dick shoved into his utility belt. At least it had his actual number.

You seemed extremely confused by that.

You definitely did not know he was Red Hood.

“Uh… Well, that’s nice stranger.” You gave him a small smile. “A big bad guy like you should hopefully be able to take care of him.” You paused. “Hopefully.”

It was at that Jason made a promise to himself.

He’d never hurt you again.

He’d also never let anyone hurt you again.

“Okay… so if you don’t wanna go to the manor. How about we go for pizza instead? There’s a joint literally right across the stree—” Jason was caught off by that little. fucking. freaky kid.

It literally swooped down, grabbed you and flew off. You screamed like a chicken with his head cut off and everything.

Did he actually just break his promise and less than 30 seconds?

Skillit - The Shadow Thief

He couldn’t believe this! Masky hadn’t come out to play tonight! Instead, his host was chatting it up with the freaking guy that tried to arrest him!

So what did Skillit do in response to seeing you talk to him? He snatched you up like the vulture he practically was. Only, he stole shadows, not dead people parts. Anyways, he talked to the host for a little bit and they told him that they didn’t have the mask.

…why in the world wouldn’t you carry Masky with you?

Just before Skillit could get mad, the host had thankfully told him it was in their room. He flew them over there so they could grab it and turn into Masky, his best friend in the whole world. As for now? They were running around Gotham, stealing shadows from crooks and doing a little bit of light torture on the side. It was awesome!

Then the damn bats had to show up.

They fought all over Gotham. Masky hit them more times than Skillit could count! It was like wack-a-mole with these guys!

But then… oh then! One of them, the big one with the horns, decided to say something that almost sealed Skillit’s fate!

“Hand over the shadows. Those are innocent people suffering for your greed.”

And guess what? Because of that, Masky’s host’s morals just had to strike.

“Time-out.” Masky said, making a T with their hands. Most of those vigilantes have been frozen in midair trying to lunge and punch at Masky. They turned to Skillit. “Skillit, young man, you know the rules. I told you this body had morals.” They wagged their finger in his face.

“Yeah, well I know that, but—”

“But nothing.” Masky crossed their arms. “Open the bag, young man.”

“But—”

“Open the bag. We’ll get you plenty of corrupted and non-innocent shadows, but as for now, let them all go.”

“But Masky! I worked so hard to collect these!”

“You know this body doesn’t care, young man.” They shook their head. “Open it. After we’ll take you to a buffet. I know two places with plenty of sitting ducks.”

“You—” Skillit cut himself off as he groaned. He slammed his gigantic bag of shadows down on the ground. “You’re such a jerk!”

“I know I know. You say that now, but you’re gonna be extremely happy at either of the places I’ll take you.” Masky tapped their foot impatiently.

Yeah yeah, and that was true, Skillit did enjoy himself at Gotham City Jail, but still! It’s the principle of it! He spent days collecting all those shadows. Man. He kinda hated this new host.

Whatever. At least you had the decency to reimburse him in shadows as Masky and in candy as your— ugh, normal self.

Damian Wayne - Robin POV

4:36am

Damian was walking to his room when he heard the peculiar conversation between you and another boy. A boy around Damian’s age to be noted. The crinkling of wrappers could be heard.

“You can have all the candy you want. I used to to save them for Damian, but then he stabbed me in the arm and well…” It was your voice speaking.

He’d assumed you’d forgiven him for that by now, with how much of a pushover you are and all.

Withholding candy for something like that? Seriously? How childish.

“Really?! Also wait, who’s Damian?” It was the other boy again.

“My littlest brother.”

“Oh.” The other boy, whoever this other. boy. was, paused. “I don’t know who that is, but if it makes you feel ever so slightly better, because I don’t want Masky feeling bad either, you’re my sibling as well.”

That made Damian still. He was then stomping away.

Getting upset over something like this? Damian’s disappointed in himself.

(“I guess… but aren’t you mostly their’s though?” You asked.

“Well, yes but you influence Masky and they’ve also never ever taken me to get ice cream before.”)

Finally! I get to flesh out some relationships and yandere-ify the rest! Also, I know somebody said that they wanted to see more fights. Like I did in an earlier chapter, the bats will go over the fight vs the mask and Skillit in the Batcave before the next patrol aka next chapter.

Extra Info:

1.) the guy you shot out of the air with the slingshot was Firefly. 2.) you are a block blast legend.

Taglist: @yourtypicalhuman09 @cupid73 @yhin-gg @galaxypurplerose @xxgrimripp3rxx @hai-there-how-are-you @suckmyballzfr @yarn-mony @patatasolitaria @deathbynarcisstick @depressed--therapist @eyeless-kun @mary-jinx @natllo @d4rkf10w3er @mintynilla @whognuthis @bat1212 @blapbloep @vanessa-boo @randomlyappearingartist @otakusimp1 @iansimpsforeveryone @like-thechocolate @cruzerforce4256 @sirenetheblogger @mrmacwaffles @p1nkh3artz @23xfgg @venomsvi @ceramic-raven @conqcakes @flightless-magpie

[sydwritess]

Insanely Hot

Max Verstappen x fem!reader

Summary: You were always known to have high anger issues, especially when it came to you or your loved ones. But nobody expected you to show them in public.

Second Person POV

Warning: swearing

Notes: requests are open!

Some people call you and Max the power couple. Max was always known as fierce, competitive, sometimes even mad.

You were somewhat the same, but you mostly kept your anger inside if you. Sometimes bottled up so much that you lash out at the wrong people.

You didn't want to, but when it came to your loved ones... there was no turning back honestly.

You were sitting in the Red Bull garage, watching the race from the computer screen. It had just started, and the drivers were a couple of laps in.

Max and Kimi were already fighting for the higher position. They went around one specific turn, and before you know it, they collide.

You hold your breath in, not even meaning to. Max immediately jumps out of the car, going over to Kimi. You thought he was going to lash out, but you were completely wrong.

From the zoomed in camera angle, you see Kimi repetitively apologize to Max. But Max told him it was okay. The nervous look on Kimi's face made the team snark at the computer screen's.

Poor Kimi was already tearing up by now. You walk out towards the edge of the garage. You see one of the safety cars drive around the track.

Max and Kimi walk along the pit lane, talking to each other as a medic follows behind them. They both see you standing there, leaning against the garage wall.

They finally reach you and stop before you.

"Are you okay?" You ask Max.

"I'm fine, don't worry." He says.

"I'm sorry again." Kimi said, looking between Max and the ground.

Max puts a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay, Kimi. I'm serious. Shit like that happens all the time. That's what we have mechanics for."

Kimi nods and then gets taken away by the medic.

"Ah Jesus." Max breaths out, sitting down in a chair in the garage.

"Are you sure your okay?" You ask, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm okay. The only person I'm not sure about it Kimi."

"I know. He seemed really upset."

"Upset? Try apologizing a thousand times in a minute." Max laughs out.

"Because he's scared. You know you are pretty scary sometimes." You say, smirking.

"Me, scary? No schatje, that's you." He smiles, wrapping a hand around your waist, pulling you to him more.

"Yes, you." You say, pointing a finger to his chest. "He's probably scared you would yell at him."

"I would never yell at Kimi." He said.

"What about Lando?"

"Nope."

"Yuki?"

"Nope."

"Lewis?"

"Nope."

"George?"

"Yes." He said. He answered that quicker than the others.

"Bottom of the totem pole." You tease.

"Exactly." He says, grabbing his water bottle.

"And.. where would I be on this pole?" You ask.

"At the very top." He smirks. "What about me?"

"You'd share a spot with George." You tease.

"Wow. That stung." He said, putting a fist to his chest.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding." You say, leaning into him more. You look up from Max to see Christian standing there with his arms crossed. Max sighs and stands up.

"This might take a minute." Max says.

"It's okay, I'll be here." You smile. He let's go of your hand and walks away with Christian.

You turn around, ready to walk out of the garage when you see Yuki standing behind you. "Hey Y/n, are you okay?". He asks, shifting his stance awkwardly.

"Oh yea, I'm fine. What's up?"

"I was going to see how Max was, but he walked away."

"Yeah I think he's about to get yelled at." You joke. "What are you doing here?"

"I spun out." He said.

"Oh I'm sorry. I assume your next in line with Christian?" You ask.

"Yeah..." He says, trailing off slowly.

"I know he can be harsh and all, but you can't forget that you are also new to. And... everyone makes mistakes." You say, pausing. "If he yells at you just come get me. I'll take care of it." You smirk.

"I will. I will see you around." He says, chuckling.

"Bye." You say.

You walk out of the garage, walking out through the paddock. There were select people walking around, most of the fans were sitting watching the race.

There were multiple photographers lined up against the paddock wall, capturing pictures of the race. You pass by a couple of small stands, most of them were apparel for different teams. You stop by one shop in particular.

"How can I help you today?" The women asks.

"Can I just get a water please?" You ask.

"Yep, that will be 1.50 please." She says, smiling. You hand her the money and in return she hands you the water.

You walk away further down the paddock and stop, sitting on a bench. You had a perfect view of the race. Sure it was lower than the fence but you could still see the cars going by.

"I know, I can't believe him. He's probably throwing a fit." Someone said, you look to the left of you, seeing three guys standing together, talking to each other.

"He always cry's when he doesn't win. I swear. If he's not in first place, that's it, everyone has to have a bad day." Another guys says.

"That should be a headline, 'Max Verstappen, not in first? The world is over." The third guys says. Max's name catches you.

"I don't even know what his girlfriend see's in him. He probably goes home and hits her at the end of a bad day." The first guy says.

"I know. I feel bad for her. He's angry, self centered, only cares about racing. She probably get's left behind like some side piece." The second guy says. That made you pissed.

You get up from the bench you were sitting on, and walk over to the three guys.

"Oh hey, aren't you Verstappen's girl?" The blond one asks.

"Yeah, I heard that shit you were talking over here." You say, looking at all of them.

"Relax honey. We were just talking." One of them says.

"Besides, if you were with one of us. We'd actually pay attention to you." The third one says.

"What?"

"What. Your boyfriend is a fucking robot. Always thinking about himself." The blonde on says.

You step closer to him, he just laughs. You swing your fist at him hard, making him fall to the ground. The guy to your right tries to attack you, but you swing your elbow into his face, making his nose bleed.

"What the fuck!" He yells. The guy to your left throws a punch at you, but you block it, twisting his arm around and kicking him in the back. There was a crowd of people surrounding you.

Security rushes over, putting your arms behind your back, detaining you. "That's enough!" He yells. The other security men pick all three guys up, detaining them to.

"Go." The guard says, releasing your arms. You look at him confused. "Now." He says firmly.

You rush off, going down to the end of the paddock where the Red Bull garage is.

"Are you okay?" Yuki asks, seeing you walk in.

"You have ice around here?" You ask, looking at your semi-bleeding knuckles.

"Uhh..." He pauses, looking around. He hen spots a freezer, walking over to it quickly and filling a small bag with ice. "Here." he quickly hands it to you.

You slightly smile at him. "Thanks." You go through the garage and inside to the paddock. There were few people in there. You sit down on a bench by the main entrance, having a small view of the track through the window.

You could still hear the loud cheers and talking of the crowd around the track, but no one was around you. You place the ice gently on your hand, wincing at the coolness.

You sat there for what felt like hours, slouched in the bench, head leaned back against it. You hear the soft padding of shoes to the left of you. You slowly turn your head to see max standing there.

"What happened?" He asked, rushing down to you.

"Got in a fight." You say tiredly.

"A fight? Why?"

"Some guys were talking shit about you." You turn your gaze towards him.

"You punched someone because they were talking about me?" He asked, looking up at you, grabbing your hand lightly.

"They said you fucking abuse me at home, Max! What did you want me to do!"

"Hey, It's okay. Don't get to worked up." He said calmly. "Both you and I know that is not true."

"But they think it is."

"Who cares what they think. I-" He pauses, looking away form you and then back in your eyes. "Have you ever shown up to a race with a bruise on your face?"

"No."

"Have you ever shown up, trying to hide your body because of a bruise or cut?"

"No."

"Have you ever shown up with makeup on your face?"

"I hate makeup."

"That's my point." He smiles. "I love that you were sticking up for me... but I also don't want to see you get banned from races for the rest of your life." He jokes.

You smile at him slightly. "They really pissed me off." You say through a smile.

"I can tell." He says, looking at your hands. "But you still took it into careful consideration." He says, jabbing a finger at the bag of ice.

"Made sure of it."

"You could have hurt yourself." He said quietly.

"I can fight."

"You used to do karate when you were a kid."

"I guess it stuck with me." You shrug.

"You stopped when you were twelve."

"And?"

"They could have hurt you."

"They hurt me long before they I punched them."

You both sit there for a moment. The muffled crowd cheering outside of the paddock. The drivers going around the track loudly.

"Come on." He pulls you up from the bench you were sitting on, and leads you inside the nearby bathroom.

"Your not supposed to me in here." You say as he follows you in the women's bathroom.

"I'm Max Verstappen. It's okay." He easily lifts you on to the counter, sitting you down on it.

"Is that your excuse?"

"No excuse."

You slightly laugh. He gently takes your hand, bringing it into the sink and washing the blood off. "Ow!"

"Sorry, sorry I was just trying to clean it." He removes his hand from yours.

"I guess the abusive traits are finally showing through." You joke, holding a hand to your chest. He looks up at you, sighing as he moves his head. His seriousness doesn't last long as a small smile cracks through.

"I'm just glad to know you would hit someone for me. It's... cute." He admits.

You hook your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you. "Your cute."

"Even when I'm mad?"

"Even when your mad."

"Even when I work constantly?"

"Even when you work constantly."

"Even when I-"

"Your cute. Oher people don't think so. But that's because they're not you." You interrupt. You see a small blush creep across his face.

He wraps his arms around you waist. You rest your head on his shoulder.

"Your especially cute when... at the end of a race, you take your race shirt off. That's cute." You whisper. He let's out a small laugh, hugging you tighter.

"Maybe you could teach me karate these next few weeks so I could defend you."

You put away from him, putting a hand on his chest. "But I only did it when I was a kid." You say dramatically.

"But-"

"I can't do that now! I was only twelve!"

He laughs, not a fake laugh. A laugh that he's held in for a while. For what felt like his whole life.

©sydwritess

Hey loves! Hope you like this! Comment to be added to the Max Verstappen tag list! Requests are open!

[linoxpudding]

Written In The Stars (Pt 2)- Lee Know

summary: after you distance yourself, his heart longs for you, but he's too stubborn to admit it

pairing: lee know x fem!reader

genre: heavy angst, soulmate au, hurt/comfort

word count: 3323 words

a/n: thank you for all your love for the first part, hope this one heals your heart <3

BONUS PART

Masterlist

~°~

You have always been good at making excuses. So when the weight of unspoken words between you and Minho became unbearable, you did what you had to do—you pulled away.

The group hangouts became rare for you. Work, family, sickness—any excuse that let you stay away from him.

It wasn’t easy. The ache in your chest never fully went away. Every time you saw Chan’s messages about another get-together, every time you imagined the others laughing, Minho sitting there like you never even existed, it hurt.

But it was better than being in the same room and pretending he wasn’t everything you wanted but could never have.

Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

************

Minho noticed your absence. At first, he didn’t think much of it.

People got busy. People had their own lives.

But the first time you canceled, he felt an odd, quiet disappointment, like something was missing from the night. He caught himself glancing at the door, waiting for you to walk in, only to be reminded— you weren’t coming.

Then it happened again.

And again.

And suddenly, he was noticing things he shouldn’t.

How the group felt different without you. How no one teased him the way you did, matched his sarcasm with your own. How his jokes felt like they were missing their other half.

He didn’t understand it. It wasn’t like you were his best friend. You weren’t even supposed to be important. But somehow, your absence lingered.

************

One night, he finally voiced it out loud.

“She hasn’t been coming lately.”

Chan looked up from his phone, “Huh?”

“Y/N,” he clarified.

“Oh, yeah. Said she’s been busy,” Chan replied.

Minho frowned. “Busy with what?”

“Life?” Chan snorted. “I dunno, man, why do you care?”

He didn’t. He shouldn’t.

But that was a lie, wasn’t it? Because the truth was, he missed you.

He missed the way you always had a comeback for his teasing. The way you noticed when he wasn’t in the mood for company but still sat beside him anyway. The way your laughter filled the space between them like something warm, something comforting.

He hadn’t realized just how important you were to him.

************

It took another month before he saw you again.

You hadn’t completely cut yourself off—you still messaged the group, still checked in from time to time. But you had kept your distance, avoiding any situation that would force you to be near him.

Until now.

You had made the mistake of running into him alone.

It was at a small café, the kind you loved. The kind you used to tell him about when you thought he was just your friend.

He saw you before you saw him. And for the first time in weeks, something in his chest eased.

You looked different. Not physically, but something in your expression—guarded, hesitant, like you were ready to turn and run if you saw him.

That hurt more than it should have.

So he did the only thing he could do before you ran away.

“Hey.”

You froze at the familiar voice, shoulders tensing before you turned. The moment your eyes met his, he felt it again—that pull, that strange, unspoken connection that neither of you dared to acknowledge.

“…Hey.” Your voice was careful, distant.

Minho hated it.

“Long time no see,” he tried, forcing a smirk. “What, did I scare you away or something?”

You let out a small, humorless laugh. “Something like that.”

He should’ve let it go. Should’ve let you walk away.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he leaned against the counter, watching you closely. “You’ve been avoiding us.”

“Just busy,” you said quickly. Too quickly.

“Bullshit.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line. “What do you want me to say, Minho?”

He didn’t know. All he knew was that he didn’t want you to keep running. So he did something stupid. He reached for your wrist. The same wrist that held his mark.

Your breath caught, and he could feel the way you tensed beneath his touch. But you didn’t pull away.

“Do you regret it?” he asked suddenly.

Your brows furrowed. “What?”

“This.” His thumb brushed over the star on your wrist. The same one on his own. The undeniable proof that you were supposed to be his. That he was supposed to be yours.

You swallowed hard, voice barely above a whisper. “What do you think, Minho?”

He stared at you. At the quiet pain in your eyes. At the way you looked at him like he was both your greatest dream and your worst heartbreak.

He knew what you felt. Because somehow, against all odds and reason, he felt it too.

But the reality was still the same.

“I have a girlfriend.”

The words felt heavier than before. This time, they didn’t sound like a statement. They sounded like a reminder. Like he wasn’t just telling you but he was telling himself.

You finally pulled away, stepping back as if his touch burned.

“I know,” you whispered.

A flicker of something—pain, regret—flashed across his face. “I—���

“No, Minho,” you whispered, “you don’t owe me an explanation.”

You didn’t owe me anything at all.

And then, before he could stop you, you walked away. Minho just stood there, staring at his empty hands, wondering why it felt like he had just made the biggest mistake of his life.

************

You had planned on avoiding another group hangout, but Chan had been persistent, and for once, you missed your friends too much to say no.

So you had gone. The second you walked in, you saw him. Minho was there. You knew he would be there, but still seeing him made your heart sink.

You should have left.

But then Chan hugged you, Seungmin had pulled you into a conversation, and you forced yourself to pretend that everything was okay.

It was only when you sat down that you felt his gaze. You hadn’t looked at him once, but you could feel it—the weight of his stare. When you finally glanced his way, he wasn’t looking at you anymore. But you had caught it. The way his fingers tapped against the table, restless. The way his eyes flickered to you whenever he thought you wouldn’t notice.

And then his girlfriend arrived.

She greeted him with a kiss on his cheek, her fingers easily tangling with his. Your stomach twisted. You forced yourself to look away. But not before you saw it. The way his jaw clenched. The way he swallowed hard, eyes flickering to you for a split second like something in him was struggling to keep up this lie.

Like he knew.

And that was when you realized this wasn’t just hurting you. It was hurting him too.

Minho sat at the usual table, the one the group always claimed at the bar, surrounded by the familiar noise of laughter and conversation. Yet, he couldn’t help but keep glancing at you.

You had finally come. After weeks of avoiding them, after weeks of his eyes searching for you in every room, you had shown up.

But something was different.

You greeted everyone with a polite smile, an effortless grace that should have put him at ease. Yet, Minho knew better. Your laughter didn’t reach your eyes, and the way you held yourself—careful, reserved— felt foreign.

And he despised it.

He wanted to hear you tease him again, wanted you to call him out when he rolled his eyes at a lame joke, wanted to see the real you, not this version of you that was only here out of obligation.

But the worst part? He couldn’t do anything about it.

So he sat in silence, he traced the rim of his glass before giving it a slow swirl as he kept watching you laugh at something Seungmin said. Watching as you avoided his gaze, even when his lingered on you longer than it should have.

Then, as if fate enjoyed twisting the knife, his girlfriend leaned over and intertwined her hand with his before kissing his knuckles. He should have been used to it— the soft affection, the warmth of someone who adored him. But his eyes flickered back to you, searching, waiting for something he wasn’t even sure he wanted to find.

But you weren’t looking at him at all this time. Throughout the night he felt the stolen glances, but now you were too busy laughing like genuinely laughing at something Seungmin said, your eyes shining with amusement, your hand resting lightly on Seungmin’s arm as you steadied yourself from laughter.

Minho’s stomach twisted, an unfamiliar heat crawling up his spine. It made no sense. Seungmin had always been playful, always quick with his wit, and you had always found him funny. But Minho had never felt this before, this tightness in his chest, this irrational urge to tear Seungmin away from you, to be the one who made you laugh like that instead.

He took a sip of his drink, trying to drown the feeling, but it only burned more.

He shouldn’t feel this way.

Not when he was sitting next to his girlfriend. Not when he had spent so long convincing himself that he had made the right choice.

************

Minho sat on the couch the next night, his girlfriend curled up beside him, head resting against his shoulder. The TV played some K-drama he wasn’t paying attention to, the voices blending into a meaningless hum. He had told himself over and over that this was where he belonged. That this was right.

She was the one he loved. But when he blinked, all he could see was the way your eyes had looked at him in that café. The quiet acceptance. The resignation. He also thought about the recent hangout and how you avoided him. Will you ever go back to being friends with him again?

His chest ached.

He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to focus on the warmth of the girl beside him. This was the life he had built. The life he wanted.

So why did it feel like something inside him was breaking?

Before he even realized it, a single tear slipped down his cheek.

“Babe?” His girlfriend shifted beside him, concern lacing her voice. “Are you okay?”

Minho blinked, startled, reaching up to touch his cheek. He hadn’t even noticed he was crying.

He forced a smile. “Yeah. Just tired.”

She hummed in understanding, nuzzling into him, and he let her. He wanted to forget you. He needed to forget you.

But when he closed his eyes, all he could see was the mark on your wrist. All he could hear was the sound of his own voice, breaking as he mentally started chanting—I love her. This girl right here. This is my choice.

Trying so desperately to make it true.

************

Few days later, he sat across from his girlfriend at dinner, poking at his food with no real appetite. She was quiet too. Not her usual chatty self.

Then, she sighed, setting her fork down. “Minho.”

Something about the way she said his name made his stomach twist.

“…Yeah?”

She hesitated, then, with a quiet sigh, she said, “I saw it.”

Minho froze.

His heart pounded in his chest. “Saw what?”

She looked down at his wrist. Then back at him.

“Your mark.”

Minho’s stomach twisted.

She swallowed, voice softer now. “I saw the same one on Y/N.”

He felt anxious, but he didn’t respond.

She sighed, looking down at her hands. “I’ve known for a while. I was just hoping… maybe we could fight it.”

Minho swallowed hard. “I love you.” The words came out strained, as if saying them would make them true again.

His girlfriend smiled sadly, “I know you do. And I love you, too. But Minho…” she exhaled shakily, “you don’t look at me the way you used to.”

Minho opened his mouth, ready to deny it, but the truth was sitting between them, impossible to ignore.

She reached out, placing a hand over his. “Don’t feel bad. You can't control fate.”

He looked up, eyes filled with guilt, “I feel like shit.”

“Don’t,” she whispered, “this isn’t your fault. Or mine. Or hers. This is just… how it is.” She hesitated before continuing. “I have a mark too, you know.”

His throat felt tight. He managed a slow nod.

“I always wished it matched yours.” She admitted, “Desperately. But it doesn’t.” She smiled, but it was a broken thing, “Since the beginning, we knew our soulmates were different. But we still tried to fight it.”

His chest ached. “I—” he swallowed, forcing himself to find the words, “I never wanted to hurt you.”

Her lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile, “I know,” she exhaled softly. “And I know how hard you were trying. But in reality, three people are hurting.”

Minho clenched his jaw, guilt coiling deep in his stomach. She had seen it all—his struggle, his hesitation, the way his gaze lingered on you even when he didn’t want it to.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

But she only shook her head, reaching across the table to place a hand over his. “It’s not your fault.”

He let out a slow breath, something in his chest unraveling.

“This… This isn’t easy for me either,” she admitted, fingers brushing over her mark absentmindedly. “But I think we both know this was inevitable.”

The words sank in, heavy with truth.

A part of him wanted to argue, to say that what they had mattered, that it wasn’t all for nothing. But another part—the one that kept remembering the look in your eyes that night in the kitchen, the one that replayed the way his heart twisted when you started avoiding him— knew.

It had never been about choosing. The choice had already been made for him, written on his skin before he even knew what love was.

Silence settled between them, heavy but accepting.

Minho let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “So… this is it?”

She nodded. “This is it.”

And just like that, it was over. No anger. No resentment. Just two people who had loved each other once but couldn’t fight destiny any longer.

But even after she walked away, Minho stayed sitting there, staring at the empty space where she had been.

And for the first time in months, he let himself fully feel it– the longing, the ache, the pull toward you. It had always been you.

************

Minho didn’t rush to you right away.

Even though he wanted to. Even though every fiber of his being was screaming at him to run to you.

He owed it to himself and to his ex to sit with his emotions first.

The first few days felt strange, like he was floating between two versions of himself. He wasn’t grieving the breakup the way he thought he would. Instead, he was realizing how much he had been holding back, how much of himself he had forced into a shape that no longer fit.

He went through his daily routines, but everything felt different. His apartment felt too quiet. Group hangouts felt incomplete. And every night, as he lay awake staring at the ceiling, he thought of you.

************

Minho didn’t mean to end up here.

He had told himself he would give you time. That he would wait. But when he saw the storm clouds rolling in, when he heard the rain pounding against the pavement, something inside him snapped.

He didn’t think. He just ran.

Now, he stood in front of your door, drenched from head to toe, chest heaving.

He knocked once. Twice. Then he heard footsteps from inside.

When the door swung open, he finally saw you, your eyes wide with shock.

“Minho?” Your voice was hesitant, uncertain.

He had so much to say. So much to explain. But words failed him. He stepped forward, cupped your face between his freezing hands, and kissed you. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t careful. It was months of longing, of restraint, of heartbreak, all poured into one desperate, soul-shattering kiss.

You gasped against his lips, momentarily frozen before reality snapped back into place. You pushed him away, breathless. “Minho, what the hell?”

His chest was rising and falling rapidly, rain dripping from his hair, but his eyes never wavered from yours.

“You have a girlfriend.” You said angrily, this was wrong.

He shook his head. “No, I broke up.”

Your lips parted slightly in surprise. “What?”

“I broke up with her last week.” His voice was rough, raw, as if the words had been sitting heavy on his tongue for days. “I needed time. I needed to be sure that this wasn’t just—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “That this wasn’t just because of the mark. That it was you.”

He stepped closer, his forehead resting against yours, “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I hated how much I missed you, it felt like a hole in my heart. Because I realized that no matter how hard I tried, it was always you.”

You stared at him, struggling to process his words, struggling to let yourself believe it.

Minho swallowed, taking a shaky breath. “I don’t know what happens next. I don’t know how to make up for everything. But I know I don’t want to fight this anymore.”

His thumb brushed over your cheek, and his voice dropped to a whisper.

“I just want you.”

Your fingers brushed over his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. He wasn’t sure if it was his own heart racing or the sound of yours in his ears. You gently pulled away, putting a distance between you both. Tears pricked at your eyes.

You should have been angry. Should have questioned why it took him so long, why he had waited until now to choose you. But you couldn’t bring yourself to.

Because everything you had ever wanted was right here. You waited your whole life for your soulmate.

You swallowed, trying to gather your thoughts. “So… what now?”

Minho exhaled, running a hand through his wet hair before looking at you with that intense gaze that always made you feel like the only person in the world. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I do know that I want to be with you. If you’ll have me.”

His vulnerability, his honesty— it broke you in the best way possible.

Your fingers twitched at your sides. Hesitation and longing battled in your chest.

“I don’t want to be a rebound, Minho,” you whispered. “I don’t want to be a second choice.”

His brows furrowed immediately. “You were never a second choice.”

You looked away. “Then why did you—”

“Because I was stupid,” he cut in, stepping closer, voice laced with regret. “I was so scared. I thought ignoring it would make it go away.” He let out a humorless laugh. “But it didn’t. It never did. And when I lost you… it felt like I lost a part of myself.”

Your breath caught.

“I should’ve known better. I should’ve fought for you from the start,” he continued, his voice cracking slightly. “But I’m here now, Y/N. And I swear, I’ll never let you feel like a second choice again.”

You could see it in his eyes, hear it in the tremble of his voice, feel it in the way he was standing in front of you like he would do anything to prove it. He meant every word.

Your resolve crumbled.

Slowly, cautiously, you took his hand and his fingers curled around yours immediately, like he had been waiting for this moment all his life.

“Okay,” you murmured. “But Minho… don’t break my heart.”

His grip tightened. “Never.”

And when he kissed you again, this time, it felt like home. Universe didn't let you down–

Minho was always meant to be yours.

-----------------

a/n: there will be an extra part featuring a sweet and fluffy moment between our couple because, after all that emotional turmoil, they deserve some happiness!

Taglist:

@kaiyaba @lov3rachan @pixie-felix @ellemir2404 @willowhanji @skzimagines @wavetohannie @jamroses @vietjeb @kayleefriedchicken @kokinu09 @nightmarenyxx @my-neurodivergent-world

Part 2 Taglist: @annovaz @lailac13 @thepoeticpurplepotato