#and up until this i think i just opened the exe in the files to play with the patch and it was working splendidly ?

[thedeadthree]

hi hi moots a wee inquiry how do i stop or at least make the crashes less frequent for d*ao? for the 4gb patch it worked for the main game and up until the c*adash t*haig in witch hunt it was working fine but like……. i can’t get into combat w/o it crashing 🥀😵‍💫🥴 any aid of pearls of wisdom once again ill owe yall my life 🥀💌🫡<33

[theonewiththefanfics]

Peace in the Darkness (one-shot)

Synopsis: Bob knows Y/N isn't one to go back on her words. So when she doesn't show up to go through with their plans, he starts to worry. Luckily for him, Yelena knows how to break-and-enter. And doesn't mind invading her personal space.

Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x fem!Reader (ex-Black Widow)

Genre: fluff, lil bit of angst

Warnings: sickness because I've been sick this past weekend and life sucked, swearing, Bob being an anxious little bean, alluding to violence, but nothing else, really :)

Word count: 6623

All characters belong to Marvel. Also - Bob has my heart

If Bob paced any more behind Y/N’s door, he was sure to wear a track into the concrete floor.

            His hand had hovered over the panel separating him from whatever lay beyond, about twenty times in the past hour or so, yet just as his knuckles were about to meet it, he pulled back with a shake of his head and began his pacing once more.

            “I should just knock,” the man muttered to himself, blue eyes warily watching the door, hoping it would creak open without his interference, but alas, it remained as immovable as it had always been. “She’s not gonna mind. You’ve woken her up in the middle of the night before, and she wasn’t angry then. She won’t be angry with you.”

            And even still with those thoughts in his mind, Bob couldn’t get himself to do it, his anxiety overriding his motor skills.

            It wasn’t that he was incapable of action. He was. It was more so getting to the action where he faltered. His therapist, someone Bucky had helped him find, had told him even two steps forward and one step back was still a step forward.

            Like the first time he’d reached out for help after a nightmare, where he could feel the Void curling inside him, just waiting until his emotions reached a bubbling point so he could take over.

            “What did you do?” the therapist, a take-no-bullshit kind of woman, had asked. “To stop the Void from emerging?”

            Bob shrugged, knee bouncing up and down, not daring to make eye contact. “I uh – I went to Y/N. I just… I heard she was still awake and knew if the Void was gonna come out, someone had to… You know… be aware and take me – him – down.”

            “And who is Y/N?”

            Now that was a loaded question he wasn’t fully yet ready to answer, so he settled on the objective truth. “She’s my teammate. We live across the hall from one another.”

            “And how did she help?”

            “She…” Bob bit down on his lip. “She invited me inside her room and we just… talked. She had some music playing… I – I guess she helped me take my mind off it all and… stuff…”

            The woman hummed. “And why was she the first person you thought to go to when things got bad?”

            He wanted to say it was because she was the closest one to him, physically being right down the hall, that they were the only two people occupying the floor, but the truth spilt out before he could even contain it, “Because I knew she wouldn’t be mad at me. If – if I woke her up. She… she wouldn’t be upset I was there.” Because she was one of the few people who wasn’t afraid to touch him, despite his powers and the Void.

            But just because she hadn’t been upset with him those few times he’d sought her out, didn’t mean she wouldn’t be angry with him that specific day. Otherwise, why hadn’t she stuck to her promise?

            The previous week, right before Y/N had been shipped out to Malaga on a mission, she’d promised him that once she was back, the two would go to a bookstore together, Bob’s supply already dangerously low.

            Now, though, three hours had passed from the time they’d set last night, and Y/N was nowhere to be seen.

            He’d let the first hour pass by, thinking maybe she had to catch up on some paperwork the team had to file after a mission. When hour two had come and gone, Bob had started to become anxious, but still, he told himself she was probably just resting, no doubt exhausted by the mission, and he would never be one to take away time she could be using to heal. But as hour three had started to roll, Bob couldn’t help the nervousness entering his body, and that was how he ended up behind Y/N’s door.

            Gently, he placed an ear against it, hoping to hear the slightest sound, maybe a soft movement of her feet padding against the carpeted floor, but the only noise invading the silence was the echo of his heartbeat.

            Bob sighed, head hanging low and fingers plucking at the hem of one of his sleeves as he turned around, ready to go back and wallow in self-pity, when Yelena’s raspy voice made him look over his shoulder.

            “Bobik? Everything alright?” she asked, the nickname Alexei had bestowed upon him, making warmth bloom in his chest. Not ‘Bobby’, a name that made him flinch, but a soft ‘Bobik’, a name that made him feel cherished.

            The blonde was decked out in her combat gear, clearly just having arrived from a mission, so the fact that one of her first instincts was to check in on him made his body flush. He was still trying to get used to the fact that people actually cared about him, not as an experimental subject, not as a wannabe superhero, but just about him. About Bob.

            “Oh, yeah,” he stammered, giving Yelena a tight-lipped smile, but he couldn’t control the way his hands wrung together, betraying the anxiousness he was feeling. “Everything’s A-Okay.”

            For a second neither of them moved or said anything, and just as Bob was about to venture down to his room, Yelena crossed her arms, cocking her hip to the side and raising a single brow.

            All he could do was sigh. She was one of the few people it was hard to lie to, whom he didn’t even really want to lie to. “It’s just that… umm… Y/N and I were supposed to go to a bookstore a while ago, but she uh… well, I haven’t seen her all day… and when I asked around, nobody else has either. Ava even said she didn’t come up for breakfast, and she wasn’t in the kitchen for lunch, so…”

            “That does not sound like her.” Yelena’s nose scrunched as she went closer and knocked against Y/N’s door, a motion that came so easily to her, yet Bob had struggled for ages to even lift his hand. “Lubov moya,” she sing-songed in Russian. “Are you in there?”

             And once again, only silence responded. As the moment stretched, Bob slowly started to roll back and forth on his feet. God, why hadn’t he thought about how she could already have left the tower ages ago!

            But no, it wouldn’t be like Y/N to just leave him hanging or not let at least one person know where she was.

            Unless… unless she’d gone out to do something she didn’t want the others to know about… to tease her about… like maybe she’d gone on a date.

            “It’s – it’s alright,” Bob let out a strangled chuckle, as thoughts whirled inside his head. “She just probably forgot about it, or something more important came up.”

            But the ex-Widow just knocked again, ignoring Bob’s spiralling. “Legushka?” she called out, the nickname rolling off her tongue with a concerned yet teasing lilt.

            There’d been this one time John had called Y/N that, snorting as Alexei had translated the meaning of the word (froggy or little frog), and where usually she’d respond with an eye roll to Yelena or their sort-of-kind-of adoptive father figure, Walker received a bloody nose and grade-two concussion.

            Only Yelena had the privilege of calling her fellow ex-Red Room alumni such absurd names without any consequences. And, well, sometimes Bob could too, but he wrote it off on the fact that Y/N just tried to make him feel included, and no other reason…

            “Snookums? My little pookie-wookie?” Now, Yelena was just making things up as she went, no doubt hoping to get at least some sort of a response from Y/N, but when even that didn’t accomplish anything, with a grumbled, “alright, fine, be that way,” she crouched down, pulling out a picking set from her boot.

            Bob’s eyes widened in alarm, hissing at the woman, “What are you doing? Don’t do that!”

            “Well, we have to get in somehow,” Yelena just shrugged, the noise of metal softly scraping against metal invading his senses.

            “Not by breaking and entering Y/N’s room!”     

            The blonde let out a squeak of indignation. “I am not breaking and entering!” The lock clicked open. “For one – I didn’t break shit. And two – the door is open. Now it’s just entering.”

            “She is going to kill us, and I will not be coming to your rescue.”

            “Please,” Yelena replaced her picking tools back inside her boot. “We have too much history between us in the Red Room for her to decide this is the final drop. As for you…” Yelena smirked. “Let’s just say, I know things you don’t.”

            “Wait, what? What do you know? What things?”

            But she didn’t respond, only opened the door.

            Bob wanted to protest, wanted to say they shouldn’t be invading Y/N’s private space like that, wanted to shake Yelena down for whatever information she might possess. If it had anything to do with feelings he hoped Y/N might have for him. That most likely, there was a reason she wasn’t answering, even if she was there, and that most likely, she just felt bad about not wanting to hang out with him, but didn’t want to hurt his feelings by saying so, which he was totally fine and cool with and –

            Yelena poked her head inside, and where usually, Y/N’s place was brightly lit by the daylight, her curtains drawn back to allow it to be illuminated, pure darkness greeted them, as Bob, shame curling in his stomach at such invasion, peered over Yelena’s head to take a glance.

            He associated Y/N’s room with peace.

            Cream colored walls, dark brown curtains with a plush carpet, emerald settees resting atop it and a large bookshelf taking up a whole wall with softly glowing nightlights in the shape of sprouting mushrooms would be plugged in during the night, and plastic glow-in-the-dark stars creating real and made-up constellations on the ceiling – that was the space he considered his true home.

            Every free inch was covered in some knick-knack or a souvenir, as she had a tendency to collect small things, but she also had a tendency to gift them to others.

            She was kind. Caring. Thoughtful. She was Bob’s safe place.

            Yet now it was pitch black inside.

            Yelena was clearly just as worried as he was, because when she looked up from her still crouched position, confusion marred her face.

            “Malishka?” she called out as she stood, slowly entering the room, Bob following as their eyes adjusted to the lack of lighting.

            He shifted his gaze around only to settle on a large moving mound on the bed, so with Yelena as the lead, they moved towards it, when finally a voice rasped from somewhere beneath the ungodly amount of blankets. “Malishka is dead. Come back tomorrow with a warrant. Or a casket.”

            Every single doubt that’d permeated Bob’s mind vanished at the realisation of what was really going on.

            Y/N hadn’t forgotten about the plans they’d made. She hadn’t found something better to do with her time or decided he was simply not worth her while.

            Y/N was sick.

            And by the sound of it, badly.

            Bob’s heart clenched at the thought. They all seemed so indestructible, but it was moments like those, where he was reminded that some of them, especially Yelena and Y/N – the two people he’d grown to care most about in the weird little team he was a part of – were simply humans. And humans could get ill.

            Gently, Yelena sat down on the side of the bed, her fingers rooting around the coverings before an opening was made, a pair of Y/E/C eyes squinting at the intruders. “Can you please close the door? My eyeballs hurt.”

            “Oh, shit!” Bob cursed softly, padding to the door and closing it, once again plunging the room into complete darkness. “Sorry.”

            He wanted to rebel against the black that now surrounded them, he wanted to panic and spiral, to have at least one of those nightlights be turned on, but somehow, through a sheer sense of will, he steeled himself against the rising tide. Whether it was because he knew light would hurt Y/N, or whether it was because he felt safe with the two women, despite not really being able to see anything that wasn’t an inch away from his face, Bob couldn’t tell. Well… he could, but he wasn’t going to say it out loud, because that would make things real…

            “Can you please breathe quieter, Lena?” Y/N groaned from her cocoon. “My head’s pounding as is.”

            “Oh, sweetheart,” Yelena cooed, placing the back of her hand against the other woman’s forehead to feel for her temperature. “I think you might have the flu, huh?”

            Y/N sniffled. “I dunno what I have, but whatever it is, I blame Walker.”

            Bob looked at Yelena, the man still hovering by the bedside table, not wanting to invade the space between the two. “Has John been sick?”

            “Not that I’m aware.” Yelena ghosted her hand over Y/N’s cheek before standing up and going to what he knew to be the bathroom. After a quick second, she returned with a wet cloth, laying it over her friend’s forehead. “But we can always blame him.”

            A delirious smile appeared on Y/N’s face. “We can, can’t we?”

            “Of course.” Yelena nodded. “Would it make you feel better if I went and beat him up?”

            “I think it would, yeah… Can you stab him too?” Y/N asked as an afterthought.

            “Anything for you, legushka moya.” Yelena brushed a sweaty Y/H/C strand from where it’d plastered itself down against her cheek. Bob’s heart ached at the tender motion, fingers twitching at his side with the want to do the same, but he restrained himself. “But tell you what, before I go and seek revenge on Walker, how about I go and make you some soup, and Bob will keep you company. Sound okay?”

            Instantly, it was like someone had turned the light switch off, Y/N’s smile dropped, and she harrumphed. “Bob can stay, but no soup.”

            “Soup always makes everything better! Besides, Bob said you didn’t go to breakfast or lunch. You have to get something in you,” Yelena scolded the woman. Despite them being barely a month apart, she acted like an older sister to Y/N.

            The sick girl just whined. “I’m not hungry. I’m achy and icky and gross, and I just wanna rot away in my bed.”                             

            “Well, you need to get food in you,” the ex-Widow countered, hands on her hips. “Do not move. I will be right back. Bob, please keep an eye on her.”

            “As if I could go anywhere,” Y/N scoffed, but it fell only on Bob’s ears, as Yelena had already made her exit.

            On instinct, his fingers started fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, a nervousness taking over his body. After a moment of unsurety of what exactly he was supposed to do, a croaky voice whispered, “You should go, Bob. I know Lena said to stay, but I don’t want you to catch whatever wasting disease I have."

            An involuntary smile blossomed on his lips at her care about his well-being, despite being so sick herself. “I uh, I don’t think I can get sick anymore, so no worries there.”

            He noted the small frown on Y/N’s lips as she eyed him up and down. “Show off,” she muttered, but didn’t tell him to leave again, rather said, “ ‘M sorry about today, by the way. Should’ve at least gotten out of bed and told you I wasn’t fit to walk in civilised society. I’m sorry if I worried you.”     

            “No!” he said, trying to quell her guilt, sitting down onto the bed, and to his own surprise, brushing a finger down her cheek without even thinking. “No, no, no… you’re not feeling well, so don’t even worry about me. I’m just glad that, you know, you’re not bleeding out on the bathroom floor or something.”

            Bob’s whole being lit up when, despite Y/N being evidently unwell, she snorted, no doubt remembering how about a month prior when she’d returned to the Watchtower after a mission, she’d pretty much traumatized both Bob and John, as they’d found her half-dead on the kitchen floor, munching on a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, blood pooling around her at a rapid pace.

            “Seriously!?” John had scoffed as he helped Bob lift Y/N up from the floor, the two men supporting as much of her weight as possible as they dragged her to the elevator and then to the med-floor. “PB&J? That was gonna be your last meal?”

            “Hey!” Y/N protested. “It was the only thing I could manage to make before the wooziness set in. You know, from having been turned into a walking-talking shishkabob.” She chuckled deliriously, looking at the man who had the biggest crush on her in the world, yet she didn’t even know about it, and now she could potentially die. “Huh. Shish-ka-Bob.” Then she booped his nose and promptly passed out.

            Safe to say, he’d spent the next few days hovering in the med-bay, and when Y/N had been discharged, off-missions for a while, but allowed to rest in her room, he’d hovered in the hallway behind her door, just to make sure the things he saw during his nightmares, the images that the Void tried to tell him were real, actually weren’t.

            But Y/N didn’t know that.

            She didn’t know the true extent of what went on inside Bob’s mind or heart, didn’t know the real depth of the feelings he had for her.

            She didn’t know how much the nights she allowed him to spend in her room meant to him.

            She didn’t know how much the little trinkets she brought back for him as a souvenir from whichever corner of the world she’d been sent to, mattered.

            She didn’t know that if the tower suddenly caught on fire and he could only save three things, he’d rush inside the flames to take the three little cat figurines sitting on his shelf.

            It had been after she’d returned from a solo mission in Japan, Bob having pretty much worried himself sick, only to have her bound up to him, still dirt-covered and bloodied, but the smile on her face was as bright as the morning sun. “Look!” She presented the white, red and gold porcelain cats. “It’s the three of us! Me, you and Lena! They’re so cute!”

            That night, he’d fallen asleep with the three little waving felines looking over him, golden night-light illuminating the statuettes.

            So, in a moment like this, where Y/N was the one who needed support, he could only hope and pray, she felt it from him.

            Gently, Bob brushed a palm against her forehead, taking off the wet towel that’d now warmed up to her skin temperature. But he hadn’t anticipated that, despite being bogged down by most likely the flu, her reflexes were still Black-Widow-quick, as her hand shot out from underneath the blankets, grabbing onto his wrist and pressing his hand against the skin of her neck. “Oh, you are so warm,” she sighed, cuddling the appendage.

            “S-so are you!” Bob didn’t necessarily know what to do. “Alarmingly so, actually.”

            “Yeah,” Y/N puffed a breath, still not releasing the death-grip she had on his hand. “That’s probably the 103 fever I have going on.”

            Instantly, his anxiety skyrocketed.

            He knew he ran warm. He pretty much always had the AC on in his room, especially at night, as he was a complete contradiction of a human – he was abysmally hot all the time, mainly thanks to the Sentry serum, but he was most comfortable in a sweater and sweatpants while swaddled up like a burrito in a blanket.

            His heart thudded in his chest as Y/N snuggled closer to his touch, while he worried he was doing her harm. Yes, a fever was the body’s natural way of fighting off viruses or infections and whatnot, but a too high a fever was also dangerous, and he'd never forgive himself if he made it worse.

            “Y/N, you’re really burning up.” Bob chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Can you please let me go? Just for a second,” he added on, as she whined when he tried to slip his hand away. “I’m just gonna get you a new cold compress. Please…”

            “But I don’t want you to leave!”

            “I’m – I’m not gonna leave,” he whispered, terrified that if his voice was any louder, any clearer, she might pick up on the emotion he was trying to suppress. “I promise, it’ll be just a second. I won’t even go outside the room.”

            For a moment, Y/N’s grip tightened on Bob, holding him closer than ever, but then, with a sigh of defeat, she released him.

            He was quick, just like he said he would. Even in pure darkness, his eyes having adjusted to the lack of light now, probably thanks to the Sentry serum, he dampened the cloth with cold water and wrung out the excess, getting back to her, in the time it took for Y/N to shift from lying on her side to being on her back.

            She’d somewhat untangled herself from the cocoon of blankets, and Bob had to stop mid-step as he noted what she was wearing.

            It was his sweater. Well, one of the many he had, but it was something of his nonetheless.

            And he could physically feel how something broken and cracked inside him got stitched together. Some deep, still-hurting part of Bob, that always managed to whisper a negative thought, how he didn’t matter, how washing the dishes and doing the chores was nothing compared to what everyone else in the tower did, fused back together, the Void’s incessant noise quietening. With just a simple glance at Y/N, who had found comfort in something of his when she was feeling bad, Bob felt a part of him heal.

            He didn’t comment on it, though, half-terrified if he did, she might think he was mad about it, when in reality it was the complete opposite. And an insatiable need had now settled somewhere in his chest, a want to see her in all of his clothes. And maybe nothing as well…

            “H-here,” Bob stammered out, before taking a deep breath and sinking down next to Y/N on the bed. Gently, he placed the towel along her forehead, and he couldn’t help himself as his thumb brushed along her jawline, tracing a small scar, no doubt from some mission. She leaned into his touch like a sunflower leaned towards the sun. “Is there anything I can get you?”

            “No,” she shook her head, and this time, when her hand met his, she intertwined their fingers, as if afraid he might disappear. “Just stay, please.”

            “Always.”

            And there really wasn’t anywhere else Bob wanted to be.

            The thought of spending the day at a bookstore, some ungodly sweet concoction that resembled a coffee only in spirit, in his hand, was only appealing because he would be going with Y/N there.

            “We’ll go when I get better, I promise,” she muttered, as if having read his mind while snuggling closer to the palm he’d placed on her cheek.

            “Books can wait.” Bob hoped his voice was low and soothing as he spoke, blue eyes still trained on the sweater that covered her body, his own feeling all fuzzy at the image. “Just rest.”

            When he didn’t get a response or even a little hum of acknowledgement, he looked up only to find Y/N’s features slack with sleep, her chest rising in slow and steady breaths.

            Bob wanted to curl up next to her, to have his hands wrap around her waist, and have her head rest on his chest as he buried his nose into her hair, because this was the highest degree of trust anyone could have in him. For Y/N to find peace and safety with him while she was in such a vulnerable state, catapulted Bob onto Cloud Nine. He knew darkness would always try to press in, try to find the cracks and strike when he was unawares, but this time he wasn’t afraid of what might be lurking in the shadows. Not when he knew he would have to be the one to step up, if only to protect the one he loved most in the world.

             He sat there like that, entranced with the sleeping beauty on the bed, a thumb softly grazing her cheek, making sure Y/N was as comfortable as possible. He was so attuned to her and her sleeping form, that when the door cracked open, he was startled by Yelena coming in, a tray in her hands as she blew on a steaming bowl of soup.

            “Okay,” once more the blonde sing-songed as she walked inside the room. “I have chicken-noodle soup for our little sick-bug.”

            There was some grumbling from Y/N as she was brought out from her slumber, but despite all her protests, she rose into a sitting position, Bob’s hand on her back a steady help. She eyed the bowl with suspicion. “Who made it?”

            “Do not worry, Dad was nowhere near the pot. He might be lurking for the leftovers now, but this!” She lifted the bowl above her head like it was a diamond, “is all from yours truly.”

            Y/N sniffed the air. “Well, I guess it smells edible… not that I can smell much.”

            “Then this is exactly what you need.” Yelena slid the tray to rest on Y/N’s knees while Bob helped her adjust against the backboard of the bed and was rewarded with the most gorgeous smile ever. “Here you go, legushka. Now, I’ll go get some paracetamol and VapoRub, and by the time I get back, I expect that bowl to be empty. It will do wonders for your sinuses, trust me.”

            She didn’t argue, just let out a resigned sigh and nodded, taking the spoon in her hand. “You know, back in the Red Room, Mistress Vera said the best kind of medicine is a good beating. Will get you right back on your feet.”

            “Yes, well, that is why Mistress Vera is six feet under.” Yelena fluffed up a pillow behind Y/N before nudging her chin up with a finger. “As is the whole of Red Room.”

            “I mean right now, I think I’d rather get a good beat-“

            “Eat,” Yelena interrupted whatever she was about to say.

            “Fine, fine, Jesus…. You’re worse than Mistress Vera…”

            Slowly, without moving her gaze from Y/N, Yelena stood to hover over her. Even Bob could feel the menacing aura she exuded – an older sister ready to torment her younger one. “And if you don’t eat every single noodle, every single piece of carrot and celery and chicken, you will be wishing Mistress Vera were here. Understood? Legushka moya?”

            Though Y/N was bleary and tired, she was unwavering as the two Black Widows engaged in a stare-off. Unfortunately for her, though, she was the first one to break, as she rubbed at her teary eyes, probably because of the light that was filtering into the room from the open doorway.

            “Damn it, Lena, fine! I’ll eat the stupid soup!”

            “Good.” The blonde straightened out, a self-satisfied smile on her face. “Because Bob will tell me if you don’t. Won’t you, Bobik?”

            His eyes turned so wide he was afraid they might fall out of his head.

            God.

            Oh god no.

            He was stuck between a rock and a hard place as Y/N glowered from below her lashes, sniffling, while Yelena cocked her head to the side.

            Ultimately, though, his loyalty to the blonde and wanting nothing but the best for the well-being of the woman he was in love with, no matter what she might say to counter the effectiveness of the soup, won out. “Yeah. I – I will.”

            Y/N scoffed, turning her head away from him as Yelena pressed a triumphant kiss to the top of her hair before leaving.

            “Traitor,” she muttered.

            Bob looked down at his hands, which he had resting in his lap as he worried the inside of his cheek. “I just want you to get better, Y/N…”

            “And I just wanna lie down and die, but neither of you is letting me.”

            “But who’s gonna go to the bookstore with me if you die?” He gave her a small smile, hoping to elevate her sour mood.

            “I dunno, John?”

            Bob gave her a look, their gazes meeting. “You actually think John can read?”

            If Y/N had been eating the soup, no doubt she would’ve choked with how she threw her head back in a loud laugh, as Bob tried to steady the tray, the broth sloshing a bit out of the bowl.      

            “I’m sorry,” she chuckled, their fingers brushing as she held the platter and pulled it closer. “Didn’t mean to make a mess.”

            “Don’t be.” The smile on his face was probably ridiculous, wide enough to make his cheeks hurt. “Laughter’s the best medicine or uh… something along those lines.”

            “You should tell Mistress Vera that. Might have to use a OUIJA board though.” Y/N winced as the hot liquid slid down her sore throat, slowly chewing on a piece of noodle.

            Admittedly, Bob didn’t know much about her time in the Red Room. He’d seen her shame rooms, just like he’d been privy to Yelena’s and the rest of the Thunderbolts’, as she’d been there when the Void had attacked New York, but once he came out of it, once they told him what he’d done, the feeling of having violated their privacy… he never asked either of them to talk about their time there.

            All Bob knew was that Mistress Vera had been Y/N’s handler, as she’d been trained separately from Yelena and her sister Natasha. Only after the original Avenger had broken her out of the trance induced by the mind-control serum used to keep the Black Widows under the Red Room spell, did Y/N join the two in helping them take down the organisation.

            “Oh… oh shit, I’m sorry,” her words of apology brought him back to the present, away from the thoughts of what she’d had to go through as a child, where a sore throat wouldn’t have been healed by a gentle touch, but a brutal beating.

            His brows furrowed as he looked around, thinking she might’ve spilt the soup, but there wasn’t anything there. “Whatever for?”

            “The dark!” she said, like it was a crime she’d committed. “Bob, you can put in some of the nightlights. They’re by the plugs.”

            “Oh, that’s…” He shook his head, for once happy to be surrounded by mostly shadows because that meant Y/N couldn’t see the furious blush covering his face, while his longish hair obscured his smiling features as he glanced down at his hands. “It’s okay. I don’t mind actually.”

            “But you don’t like the dark…?” The sentence was more of a question than the solid statement it used to be.

            Bob shrugged, pulling down the sleeves of his sweater. “This isn’t that bad… and if it helps you feel better, your eyes to not hurt, I don’t mind.”

            “I don’t want you to ‘not mind’ things. Bob, if you’re uncomfortable, you should put in at least one nightlight. Seriously. They’re not gonna boil out of my skull or something.”

            “My comfort isn’t as important as your health right now.” He shifted on the bed.

            “Of course it is!” The offended squeak Y/N let out would have made him smile, had it not turned into a violent coughing fit.

            After she was done hacking her lungs up, Bob’s hand running up and down her spine, hoping to at least somewhat soothe the ache, he lifted the warm bowl of soup closer to her. “Eat. Or I will tell on you to Yelena.”

            “Stukach,” Y/N mumbled in Russian, glaring at him as best as she could. Alexei and Yelena had introduced him enough to the language (mostly swearwords, which they said were the most important words) for him to understand she’d called him a snitch, but if being a snitch would motivate her to eat and get better, so be it.

            With a fond gaze, he watched as she finally got some food into her, and once she was done, he took the tray away, placing it on the nightstand, a hand of his acting on its own accord as he brushed a finger along her cheek. “Better?”

            “Yes. But don’t tell Lena that. She’ll just be insufferably smug about it.”

            Shaking his head, Bob helped Y/N settle back into bed, tucking the blanket under her chin, but before he could even move a foot, her hand shot out, curling around his wrist once more.

            “Bob?”

            “Yeah?” He looked where the woman lay against the plush pillows, head slowly sinking deeper into the down.

            “Could you… umm… and that is only if you really can’t get sick… could you maybe stay with me? Just until I fall asleep…”

            He was sure his heart had skipped a beat. Or maybe it’d done a full-blown gymnastics routine, somersaults and all, because it definitely wasn’t beating in its normal rhythm in his chest.

            “Y-yeah, of course, if that’s what you want.” Bob swallowed hard, nodding. “Just, uh… let me bring the tray to the kitchen, and then I’ll be right back.”

            And with a small “okay” from Y/N as his dismissal, Bob scurried out of the room like lightning.

            The hallway light was blinding compared to the darkness of the room he’d just spent about an hour in, but for the first time in his life, he craved it. Because in that darkness was safety and peace. In that darkness lay a body, curled up on a bed, covered in his sweater, waiting for him, hoping he’d help her get better.

            He barely acknowledged Ava or Bucky, who called out to him, asking if he was alright, as he grabbed a couple of water bottles from the fridge and some of the pretzels Alexei had stashed behind pots and pans, hoping to hide his hoard. He wouldn’t mind, Bob reasoned. Y/N was like another daughter to him, and if she’d eaten the soup, despite all her protesting, maybe her appetite was gonna be coming back sooner rather than later, and he wanted to be stocked up on snacks. Besides, he could just blame Walker if needed.

            When he returned, he was instantly enveloped by Y/N’s scent as if it were its own form of blanket.

            “Hey,” Bob whispered, not wanting to break the settled peace. “I’m – I’m back.”

            He mostly heard rather than saw shuffling on the bed, but as his eyes adjusted, he noted Y/N had moved to the side furthest from the door, opening up some space on the bed.

            She’d done so before during the nights his mind had been restless, but somehow this felt much more intimate than when insomnia forbade him from sleeping.

            Slowly, as if afraid this moment would be ripped from him if he moved any quicker, Bob placed the waters and pretzels on the ground, sliding in next to her, turning to face Y/N with one hand under his cheek, the other on the mattress between them.

            “Thank you,” she muttered, the ghost of a smile on her face as her hand slid from below the blankets and rested atop his. “For taking care of me.”

            “I–I mean, I didn’t –“

            “You did,” she interrupted his stammering, tightening the grip she had on him. Gently, he flipped it palm up so that her fingers could slide between his. “And you still are. So thank you.”

            And once again, like he’d said before, he simply replied, “Always.”

            With that single word spoken, Bob watched as Y/N’s eyes drooped closed, her breathing evened out, and once again she was deeply asleep. Yet even when in dreamland, her hold on him never wavered. Not when she twisted out from the cocoon and scooted closer to him, not as chills overtook her body and Bob held her through them, not as the fever broke and a small sigh of relief escaped, her body slowly returning to a normal temperature.

            For the first time in his life, Bob had found peace in the darkness, all because of the woman lying in his arms. And when it came to claim him too, he gladly fell, knowing that when he awoke, she would be there, much like she’d be in his dreams.

***

BONUS

“Oh my god! Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, this is so cute!”

            It was a harsh whisper-yell that brought Bob out of his slumber.

            He peeked an eye open, noting the unmistakable shape of Y/N’s form in his arms. She was still sound asleep, her body curled around his like that of a koala’s, head tucked below his chin, while one of her arms had a death-grip on his waist, a leg thrown over his hip.

            One of his own arms was underneath her, completely numb. From the feeling of it, it’d probably been there for ages, but if this position meant she was comfortable and could have a good sleep, he’d deal with the pins-and-needles a hundred times over if necessary.

            Turning to look over his shoulder, Bob found the culprit or rather culprits of the noise as he was met with the faces of Yelena, Alexei, Bucky, Ava and John all looking at them through a gap in the door, the Red Guardian with a phone in his hand, no doubt taking pictures of the two cuddling.

            “You guys,” he mumbled, a blush of embarrassment crawling its way all over his body. “Can you pipe it down? Y/N’s asleep.”

            “How is Legushka?” Yelena whispered into the room. “Did the fever break?”

            “Yes!” Bob hissed, turning away from the team and curling tighter around the body he had in his hold. “Now, can you all please leave? You’ll wake her up.”

            “Sorry.” Bucky raised his hands in apology. “I told them not to disturb you. Come on! Out, everyone!”

            Obviously, he more than Y/N, would get mercilessly teased about it, but he could take it, if it meant a bit more time with her in his arms, but just when he thought he’d gotten away with it, Walker just had to shout a loud, “Yeah, fucking get it, Bobik!”, making Y/N spring up.

            She took a confused glance around at the room before her eyes settled onto Bob who was on her bed, red-faced and mortified.

            “The toad did it,” Y/N said, her tone serious as a heart attack.

            Bob blinked once. Twice. “What?”

            “I swear the toad did it,” she mumbled, evidently delirious from sleep and the flu, but slowly moving back to lay down next to him, curling into the man’s body like it was where she belonged. “The toad ate the last strawberry. Damn thieving amphibian…”

            Come morning, he would ask about the toad and the strawberry and if it had anything to do with Yelena’s nickname for her, but for now, Bob just pressed a light kiss against Y/N’s forehead, eyes slipping closed, listening to the melody of her breathing.

            One day, he would tell her how he really felt.

            One day, he would give his heart to her.

            One day, he hoped, she would trust him with her own.

             But for then and there, Bob was content with his present. With the peace he’d found in the darkness.

Tags: Marvel tags: @nerissa98 @asguardiansoftheavengers @crazybutconfidentaf @pizzarollpatrol @desir-ae A/N: we are so back baby, Tower fics incoming! Bob, my love, my life... you bet your ass I'm probably gonna write something where OG Avengers are still alive and living in the tower with Thunderbolts*!!! The chaos that would ensue is giving me life Tags are always open

[avatar-anna]

Never Really Over

a little bit of divorced!harry for your consideration

"I just wanna see him."

Y/n gave her ex a long look, not betraying the warring emotions swirling in her belly. Harry rarely showed up this late. He rarely showed up unannounced, for that matter. It made things easier—seeing him when she could prepare herself for the encounter. Now he was here on her doorstep, hair messy and eyes all pleading and sad.

"I just put him to bed, H," Y/n sighed. It wasn't that she didn't want to keep Harry from their son, but it was way too late, and it wasn't his week.

It had nothing to do with the fact that Y/n had been feeling particularly lonely lately and seeing her ex husband be all sweet with their son would make her think traitorous thoughts.

"I know, I know, I've just... I've had a long day, and I just want to see him. I won't even wake him up, I swear. I just want to sit with him."

Despite the divorce, Y/n still knew Harry struggled with the demise of their relationship, and she did too, even if she was the one who ultimately filed. They were five months in, but she felt like no time had passed at all. She floated between half expecting Harry to walk through the door like he used to and frustrated by the way their relationship turned so tumultuous by the end. It was all too complicated, which was why she preferred Harry's visits to be planned. It helped her to compartmentalize.

But she saw the look in his eyes and couldn't help but empathize with her ex-husband.

He looked tired and lost and maybe even at his wits end a little. She knew that look well, she recognized it every time she looked in the mirror on the days Harry had their son. She knew what it was like to have a bad day and want nothing more than to hold their little bub and let him wash away every bit of stress and frustration. Y/n did everything she could to not go completely out of her mind when it was Harry's week with their son, and she imagined that her ex felt similarly.

"Twenty minutes," she said, opening the door further and stepping to the side.

Harry's shoulders sagged with relief. He stepped toward Y/n as if he was going to hug her, then seemed to think better of it and went straight inside.

Y/n stayed downstairs while Harry went up, letting him have a private moment with their son. She cleaned up in the meantime, putting away stray toys and books and fluffing couch cushions and refolding blankets. Anything to not think of Harry with her son, or the soft look he always got when he gazed down at their little boy. It had always been her kryptonite, and she wasn't sure she'd gotten over it yet.

A little while later, Harry came back downstairs. Having organized and straightened up everything she possibly could, Y/n settled on the couch with the glass of wine she'd promised herself earlier that day. She'd wanted to have it in her bed with her book, but she settled for scrolling on her phone until her ex eventually left.

"Thank you," Harry said, his voice soft, careful not to wake the five year old upstairs. "You didn't have to do that, but I appreciate it."

"Don't worry about it," Y/n said, trying to appear like seeing him didn't have an effect on her the way it used to.

"Really, Y/n, I owe you."

"Let's not go and make promises you can't keep again," she muttered.

Y/n felt guilty as soon as she said it. They were having a civil moment, a rarity since the whirlwind of their divorce. She hadn't meant to pick at old wounds and make them bleed again. Her response was a reflex more than anything, one that she couldn't keep in check when she was tired.

"I'm not the one who filed for divorce, Y/n," Harry said, a dark cloud of emotion overtaking his face. "If anyone broke promises, it was you."

"Those vows were broken long before we got divorced, and you know it," Y/n said, that old fire that was more of a dull ember these days rising to the surface.

Harry and Y/n fell in love hard and fast, both loving each other fiercely and with everything cell in their body. Their relationship had been full of passion and intensity and so much love it was almost suffocating. But it also meant that they fought just as hard. Their arguments often blazed and burned bright, then fizzled out until they were in each other's arms again as if nothing had happened.

Until the arguments got bigger.

And longer.

And Y/n just couldn't take it anymore.

Y/n could tell that the anger simmering in Harry's eyes was more for show. She could see the sadness, perhaps even loneliness, in those lovely green eyes of his. And maybe her anger was a little more bravado than genuine hurt too. Maybe it was easier to slip into familiar habits and poke at old wounds than admit the truth.

She missed him.

"Don't make me the villain here. You—"

"I don't want to fight with you," she said before Harry could volley anything back. "I shouldn't have said what I said. I'm sorry. It's been a long day for me, and I'm assuming yours wasn't a walk in the park either."

Harry didn't say anything, or do anything, for a moment. Then, he let his head drop, his shoulders slumping a little. Feeling more than a little bad for kicking him while he was down, Y/n stood up from the couch and fetched another glass before pouring some wine in it for her ex. "Here," she said. "A peace offering. You look like you could use it."

With a laugh that held no humor in it, he took it and raised the glass to his mouth, and Y/n tried hard not to stare at his lips. Or the column of his throat as it bobbed when he took a sip. Or—

"Is this one of mine?"

Y/n willed her cheeks not to flush. "I might've snagged a few bottles from your collection before we sold the house. Most of them went untouched anyways."

"They were aging," Harry said, a little of that humor and charm she fell in love with sparking in his eyes, the lines of his face. "You're supposed to let the bottles rest for a few years until they're at their peak, and then you drink them."

Y/n shrugged. "If you wait too long it goes bad and you miss out on a perfectly good bottle altogether, and then you do all that waiting for nothing."

She didn't mean anything by it, but both of them recognized the subtle truth in regards to their own relationship. Y/n wondered if they would ever be over this part. The stumbling through conversations and trying to avoid dangerous subjects that were littered between them like a minefield.

"Are you saying that's what happened with us?" Harry asked after taking another sip. "That I waited too long to appreciate what was right in front of me? What was perfect in every way the whole time?"

"I was talking about wine, not us."

"You've always been perfect in my eyes, Y/n," Harry said. "You and that perfect angel upstairs. Both of you are my entire world."

"Don't," Y/n said, taking a step back when she realized how close together they were.

"I miss you," Harry said, his voice hitching in his throat. "I miss waking up to our baby snuggled between us. I miss holding your hand while we watch him play at the park. I miss building pillow forts and playing pretend. I miss you, Y/n. I miss being loved by you. I hate that we're divorced. I hate that I signed those stupid papers and let you walk away."

Her throat suddenly felt dry, her heart pumping in her chest so hard she worried he might hear it. Blinking, Y/n tried to maintain the thread of composure holding her together. "You've had a long day. I can tell you need rest—"

"Don't patronize me," he said, stepping closer and closing the small distance between them once more. When Y/n didn't try to widen it again, Harry continued. "If you don't miss me, if you don't still feel what I feel, then say that. But if you do..."

Harry took Y/n's glass and set it down on the coffee table along with his own. He straightened up, one free hand lightly caressing your face, his thumb grazing across her cheek with a touch so delicate she barely felt it. It was agonizing. To have him right there, just the way she used to, and only get a phantom touch. It was maddening.

So maddening, that when he leaned in, Y/n didn't stop him.

She might have whimpered, and her knees might have slightly buckled, and she might have clutched her shirt between her fingers in a desperate, iron grip as Harry slid his mouth against hers, but she would deny it if he said anything about it later.

His kiss was all-consuming, he'd been a ghost in her new life for months, and suddenly he was everywhere—on her tongue, in her hands, against her chest. And she nearly forgot how explosive kissing him was. How it was almost like a dance that they'd mastered but were always learning new and exciting steps to. The softness of her ex's lips were as familiar as ever, but the stubble on his cheeks was new. She didn't recognize the shirt he wore, but she knew the body beneath it almost as well as her own. And his hands—

"We can't—We're not—Harry—"

Over the years, Y/n had grown used to the feeling of Harry's wedding band against her skin. When he held her hand, when he cupped her cheek, when he was spreading her open or landing a firm slap to her ass. It was familiar, a part of him that just seemed intrinsic after they got married.

But now, as she placed her hand over the one that held the side of her face as he kissed along her throat, it wasn't there. The band was gone, they weren't married anymore, and they certainly shouldn't be kissing like they still were.

"Just this once," Harry murmured, pressing the words along the curve of her jaw. "It's been so long, baby. I just want to feel you again. We can still be divorced after. Like last time."

Flames licked Y/n's core as she remembered the night in question. It had been the night the divorce had been finalized. Harry and Y/n signed and initialed every dotted line, the lawyers shook hands and left, then Harry and Y/n went their separate ways

Harry still insisted that her late-night message about a few of his possessions that got mixed in with her things was meant to have some kind of subtext, and Y/n would swear until she was blue in the face that her text was innocent, even if the activities that followed Harry coming over to "pick up" said items were anything but. It was a final goodbye. It was closing a chapter on a book neither of them ever really believed would end.

"Last time was supposed to be the last time," Y/n said, her voice shallow and not at all convincing.

"Tell me you don't want me right now," Harry said, his hand creeping beneath the waistband of her pajama pants. Y/n's mouth opened in a strangled gasp, too aroused and too in love with him still to push him away. "Tell me not to set you down on the kitchen counter and let me love on that pussy the way I used to. Tell me not to haul you upstairs and fuck you hard for breaking us up when we could've had this every. Single. Day."

Harry's last words were punctuated by the thrust of his fingers inside Y/n, each one making her curl around him tight. He lifted her into his arms and set her on the couch, the closest surface in the vicinity that wasn't hardwood flooring. His fingers still moving inside her, pumping slowly, he pressed a bruising kiss to her lips.

"Tell me not to love you anymore," he said, his teeth nipping at her bottom lip. "Tell me how to fall out of love with you. Tell me how to not dream of you. Tell me how to not want you anymore."

Y/n, who had succumbed to this moment, this lapse in...whatever it was, could only grip her ex's hair as he worked her over with his fingers, each word he spoke a balm to the loneliness these last months brought. She wasn't ready to start seeing someone else after the divorce, but now she worried no one would ever measure up to Harry. He ruined her for any other man who might try to sweep her off her feet in the future.

"Tell me, Y/n, and I'll let you come."

Y/n was a mess. She could hear it as Harry's fingers slid in and out of her quickly and harshly, then slowing down before she could finish. He used to do it all the time, knowing how worked up it made her, and now he knew nothing had changed.

"I—" she gasped. She was so close she could barely think straight. Harry's desperate words and the way his fingers curled inside her had her seeing stars. But if she knew her ex, he would stay there and edge her until she gave him what he wanted. "I don't know. I don't know how to make it stop. Please let me come."

Having thought she'd given him what he wanted, Y/n prepared herself for an earth-shattering orgasm. She surrendered herself to tonight, to him, even if she regretted it in the morning. Even if secretly she didn't, which would make her feel even worse.

But instead of pushing her over the edge, Harry removed his fingers from her altogether. The whine Y/n let out at the loss was perhaps a little undignified, but she couldn't think straight with the thick cloud of lust looming over her.

"Wh—"

"We're going to do this properly," he said, scooping her up into his arms and heading back upstairs, taking a left toward her bedroom. Their little angel boy was down the hall on the right side, but Y/n knew they still had to be quiet.

Once behind the closed door of her bedroom, they were both quick to shed each other of their clothes. Stitching ripped, a button or two flew, socks tossed carelessly to corners of the room they'd probably forget about later until there wasn't an ounce of fabric between them.

There wasn't time to stand and appreciate. This wasn't a romantic moment. It was desperate, a little angry, and intense in the way it always has been between them. Y/n kissed her ex-husband hard, her teeth sinking into his bottom lip and soothing the ache with her tongue until he eventually flipped her over onto her stomach.

"You can't be here by the time he wakes up tomorrow," Y/n managed to say. "I don't want to confuse him."

"I know," Harry said, lining himself up with her entrance. "But wouldn't it be so nice if I did?"

"Harry—"

"Relax, baby, I'll abide by your rules," he said, his voice a soft caress. "Just let me have you tonight, and then I'll be gone."

Harry slid in with one smooth thrust, Y/n's mouth dropping open in response. She hadn't been stretched this way in months, and the feel of him inside her again as if nothing had changed...

"Fuck, Harry. I'm—I'm so close," she moaned, unable to say much more than that.

His movements were torturously slow, prolonging the climax he'd been teasing out of her on the couch. Then he leaned over her, his body pressing deliciously against hers.

"We may be separated, but you're still mine," he said, his words accented by his own pleasure. "These hips? Mine. Your tits? Mine. This little cunt? Well, she already knows. Absolutely drenching me. And tonight, I'm going to make sure you remember that."

Y/n could only whimper and wait to take whatever her ex-husband was willing to give her.

*.*

Y/n was having the best dream.

Sun streamed through the small crack in her bedroom curtains as she snuggled under the weight of the warmest, coziest blanket. She held onto it, wrapping it tighter around her, hoping to get a couple more minutes of sleep before her son eventually barged in and demanded they start their day.

She had a million things to do, but none of it seemed to matter while she slept. She felt relaxed in a way she hadn't in a long time.

Then the dream seemed to change. The cozy blanket became an arm draped over her, a leg tangled between her own, and a firm body pressed against her back. The unknown form wrapped around her began to kiss along her bare back, the arm tightening its grip around her waist. Her stomach flipped as a hand began to play with her breast.

She hadn't had one of those dreams in a long time, either.

Before the dream could go any further, Y/n regrettably began to feel the pinpricks of consciousness. But as she blinked her eyes open, she still felt that weight of another body next to hers, of someone other than herself occupying her bed.

It was then that last night made an appearance in her mind, recalling every dirty detail of how she'd given into her ex-husband.

"Good morning."

Harry's voice was low and gruff as if he'd only just woken up himself. The puffs of his breaths dusted over Y/n's skin and sent goosebumps all over. She didn't understand how her body, even while it was still waking up, was so responsive to him.

As casually as possible, she said, "You weren't supposed to stay over."

"Honestly, I don't even remember falling asleep," Harry admitted, though he made no move to leave her Y/n's bed.

"You have to go before he wakes up," she insisted, even if her body was completely against that idea. "He can't find you here. If he does, he'll have questions, and—"

Before Y/n could even finish, she heard the soft patter of feet against soft carpet. Then her door creaked open, and the light of her life appeared.

"Daddy!"

Y/n rested her hands over her face, but not before seeing Harry's broad grin out of the corner of her eye, one that was nearly identical to the little boy at the foot of the bed.

"Hey, buddy," Harry said, his voice less husky than it was just moments ago. "What are you doing up so early, huh?"

"Why are you in bed with Mommy?" the boy asked, climbing into bed with his parents and wriggling around until he was snuggled between them.

Wasn't that the question, Y/n thought, though she was in no rush to help Harry.

"Mummy and Daddy decided to have a sleepover," Harry explained.

"Oh. Well, why didn't you invite me?"

"Because..." Y/n felt Harry's gaze on her, but she was not inclined to dig him out of this hole. Their night was over. It was a new day, which meant everything was back to the way it was before Harry came over last night. "Because I wanted to surprise you this morning. We're all going to spend the day together. Just the three of us."

"Yay!"

"What?"

Y/n glared over the top of her son's head as he half-hugged half-tackled Harry from sheer excitement. This was definitely not reverting back to their normal routine of co-parenting and seeing each other only when it was necessary. Harry, who looked thoroughly pleased with himself, slid out of bed with their boy still latched into him.

Thankfully, he was wearing underwear, but that didn't help Y/n much. She couldn't help but stare at his muscles flexing as he stood and stretched while he held their son. At all the tattoos that littered his body and the mess of curls on his head. He had no right to look this good in the morning, especially when Y/n knew for a fact that she always looked haggard no matter what when she first woke up.

Not that her appearance in front of her ex mattered to her.

"Come on, let's start with making your mum some breakfast. I'm thinking...waffles?"

"Do not make a mess of my kitchen, Harry," Y/n warned, not even bothering to protest the idea in its entirety. She wouldn't have been able to tell her son no even if he tried. Not with how excited he looked at the prospect of spending the day with his dad.

"We'll clean up after ourselves, I promise," Harry said with a wink in your direction. "You stay there and rest. I know you had a...long night."

Y/n threw a pillow at Harry's retreating form before flopping back into her bed. She had half a mind to strut right over to him and prove him wrong, but, well, the dull ache between her legs was starting to make itself known, and the damage of her son seeing Harry in her bed was already done. She might as well stay in bed and take the morning off if Harry was offering.

Sighing, Y/n ran a tired hand over her face as one realization after another made themselves known.

Everything about last night and this morning was messy and would no doubt bring about consequences and difficult conversations she wasn't inclined to have. There were questions she didn't want to ask or know the answer to, but one thing was abundantly clear:

She was well and truly fucked.

[keirareidss]

fantasy - s.r

♡ summary: spencer can't stop thinking about you and he needs a way to control his urges, what happens when you catch him in the act? pairing: spencer reid x mean!reader warnings: 18+ SMUT, MDNI,sub!spencer, basically porn without plot wc: 2.1k request here

Spencer couldn't stop thinking about you and it was beginning to affect his work. It first started when you joined the team. Hotch had placed you at the desk across from Spencer's. The genius had welcomed you with a ramble about the statistics of new hires in law enforcement and how long they usually last especially in the FBI. What had made the tent in his trousers grow was when you told him to shut up. It wasn't in the way the rest of the team did though. No, they liked to give him a small shove on the shoulder or pair it with a little chuckle as if they were both in on a joke, but Spencer didn't get it. You had said,

"It's a good thing I like your voice because I am not interested in this spiel."

He had stopped his ramble, his mouth dropping open in surprise. He stared at you with wide eyes as you stood to get a coffee. You leaned over your desk, reaching out to push his chin up.

"Close your mouth, pretty. You'll catch flies."

He stared after you, watching the sway of your hips, the way your skirt clung to your hips and ass, and he knew he was absolutely fucked.

The first few weeks were torture. You'd be mean and tease him constantly and he loved it every time. Every little comment or look made him squirm in his seat, a blush rising on his cheeks. He had no clue what to do. If every time you sent a snarky comment his way he got a hard-on, how was he supposed to get any work done? Until he figured out a solution.

Before Spencer met you, he'd never really felt the need to jerk off. Pleasuring himself was never something that was on his mind and he's not even sure he felt horny that often. However, when you strutted into his life with your gorgeous shiny hair, and your smooth as silk voice, and your sassy teasings, he felt the need to rush away to the bathroom and get himself off constantly. He found himself rushing into a stall and shoving a hand down his pants while thinking about every single perfect aspect of you. And lucky for him, you hadn't caught him... yet.

The team had traveled to Kansas for another case in July. And it was hot. Hot enough for you to justify wearing a revealing red tank top. It was driving Spencer mad. You were teasing him without even realizing it.

"Spencer pay attention." You snapped your fingers in front of his face as you learn over the table next to him. "As I was saying, Penelope found a bunch of files on the unsub's ex wives and Hotch wants us to go through them. Are you going to be able to focus long enough to help?" You mocked, sitting down across from him.

"Uh, yeah- yeah I'm good." Spencer stammered. The two of you started working on the files but as you continued to lean on the table, pushing the cleavage together, Spencer couldn't take it. "I'm gonna, uh- bathroom... break." He muttered before rushing out of the room, his face flushed red. He sped into the single use men's restroom. You watched him go, a grin spreading on your face.

Spencer pressed himself against the wall in the bathroom, breathing heavily with lust. His hands shook as he undid his belt, pulling down his pants and underwear just enough for his cock to spring free. He spit into his hand before grasping his length in his hand. He let his head fall back against the door as he whimpered, jerking himself off as he replayed the image of you tossing your hair over your shoulder, exposing your collarbone. These were the times that he was incredibly grateful for his eidetic memory, shuffling through the memories of you throughout the day, adjusting your tank top by pulling it down, sweating in the heat, little droplets running down your neck and chest, bending down to grab a snack from the vending machine.

Spencer whined as he imagined that it was your hand tugging on his cock, teasing the head of it, murmuring snide words in his ear. He let out soft breathy moans as he continued to pleasure himself until suddenly there was a knock on the door he was pressed against.

"Spencer? Are you alright in there? You looked like you were sweating a bit, is the heat getting to you? Maybe if you took off your sweater vest for once." You teased through the wood between the two of you.

"I- I'm fine." He couldn't deny how much harder he was getting from the sound of your voice making fun of him.

"Are you sure?"

"Uh huh. I'm okay."

"Alright. Well you know where to find me." You said and he heard your heels click away down the hall. He didn't know whether or not to keep going due to the awkward air now surrounding him, but it only took a few more pumps of his fist before he was cumming on the floor of the bathroom with a whimper. He cleaned himself up and the floor, blushing the entire time, stuck with the memory of what he just did. He headed back to the conference room to find half of the team back from the crime scenes and he dove back into his files.

The team finished up the case, wrapping it up pretty cleanly before heading back to the hotel for one more night. Most of the team went out for drinks but you and Spencer stayed in your hotel room. Of course you were sharing a hotel room, Spencer thought. He had to endure the torture of your tiny pajamas and your hair wet from the shower. But thankfully for him, you had decided to head down to the hotel bar, giving him time to quickly pull out his laptop, clicking on the website he'd bookmarked when he was horny one night and thinking of you.

He laid on his bed in the room laptop open to a porn website (that he was admittedly very ashamed of), and slid his hand into his pajama pants. He slowly strokes his length, letting out a shaky breath as his head pressed back into his pillow. He had been tempted when he saw your perfume peeking out of your bag to take it and spray it on his pillow but then he realized how desperately needy that would be so he didn't. He quickened his strokes, worried that you would re-enter the room at any moment. His eyes were locked on the screen of his laptop, showing a video of a woman in black lingerie, riding a man tied to a bed. A man who looked somewhat like Spencer and the woman who looked somewhat like you.

Spencer whined as he teased the head of his cock, hips jerking slightly. As he felt his orgasm coming nearer, he whimpered, his hand moving faster. Suddenly, the door opened and someone came in. Shit. He hadn't even heard the lock clicking. He slammed his laptop shut, jerking his hand out of his pants but the damage was done. You stood in the entryway to the hotel room, a grin on your face as your stared at him.

"Whatcha up to?" You tilted your head.

"N- nothing." He said, his face beet red.

"Really? Because I heard a certain something..." You strode closer , standing at the edge of the bed. "It sounded like porn, Spencer. Were you watching porn?" You asked mockingly.

"No!" He defended immediately.

"No? So you weren't touching yourself?" Your voice gets quieter, more sultry as you went to the side of the bed, getting closer to him. He stared up at you, his puppy dog eyes wide and lust filled. He shakes his head and you smirk. "You weren't thinking about me while fucking your own fist?" If it's even possible, his blush gets deeper as he attempts to sink into the bed and disappear. He whimpers your name.

"Please." He said quietly. You grinned, shoving his laptop aside and climbing onto the bed onto his lap. You grabbed his tie from the nightstand, looking down as you tied his hands together. You have a brief moment of sincerity where you glance into his eyes to check for permission and all you see is brown eyes wanting. He knows what you're asking and he nods frantically. "Please, please, I want-" He's cut off when you shove his arms above his head, tying them to the headboard. He gasps and your hands trail down from his hands to the waistband of his pants, wasting no time. Spencer was sure he must have fallen asleep at some point and that he was now having a wet dream. But the second he felt your hand wrap around his hard leaking dick, he knew he was wide awake. And he knew that he would be thinking about this for a long time. Your hand moved up and down his length making him gasp and whine.

"Is this what you wanted?"

"Please, please."

"What do you want, handsome?" Your hand moved at a steady pace, stimulating him well but not enough to get him off fully.

"I want you to-" He cut himself off with a little whine. "I want- ah!" You traced your thumb on the head of his cock, making his brain go blank.

"Come on baby, use your words." You mocked.

"I- I want you to ride me." He whimpered, making you smirk. You slid his pants and boxers down before stripping your own clothes off. You placed your knees on either side of his hips, lining yourself up with his length. You slowly sink onto him and he moans, thankful that the rest of the team was out at the bar. You start to slowly move you hips, grinning at how vocal he's being.

"Is this what you wanted, pretty boy? Is this what you couldn't work up the courage to ask me for?" He just whined in response, squirming under you. "You know, I know what you did in the bathroom." His face went redder.

"I- that wasn't-"

"It's okay, Spence. I'm flattered, really."

"I'm sorry." He whined.

"Don't be sorry. To be honest," You leaned down murmuring into his ear. "It kind of turned me on to know that you were in that bathroom, jerking off to the thought of me."

"Faster, please, go faster. I need-"

"Oh, no, you have to earn that, genius."

"How?" He stared up at you with his puppy dog eyes.

"You've got a 187 IQ, figure it out." He didn't feel like he had a 187 IQ right now. He felt like he couldn't think a single coherent thought.

"Please. Please, I can't- I need it. I need you."

"More." You demanded.

"Please, I'm- I'm begging you, I need to cum, I need it, please." He whimpers. You smile and speed up your movements, making him moan, pressing his head back into the pillow.

"Is this as good as your previous entertainment, Spencer?" You teased.

"No, it's better. It's so much better." He moans.

"Yeah?" You asked, bouncing on his cock.

"I'm close. I'm so close, please. I 'm gonna-" He cuts himself off, whimpering as he cums inside you. You weren't quite there yet so you sped up your movements, trying to get yourself off as Spencer squirmed underneath you, feeling overstimulated as he came down from his orgasm only to feel another one creeping up. His whines were getting louder as his hips bucked up into you.

"I'm almost there, I'm close." You warned. You placed a hand on Spencer's chest to steady yourself as your back arched. Your orgasms hit you at the same time, Spencer's second even more intense than the first. You were convinced he blacked out for a few seconds when it took three calls of his name for him to even acknowledge you. You had climbed off of his lap and were sitting next to him, petting his hair gently. His head turned to face you slowly, his eyes hazy.

"Are you with me?" You asked, smiling lazily.

"Mhm." He hummed, scooting closer to you, his eyes fluttering closed. You chuckled, laying down next to him and letting him tuck himself into you, his face in the crook of your neck as you both drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

a/n: hope this fit the request, it had kind of a sweet ending but I can't help myself when it comes to spencer.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Second Time's The Charm

Alexia Putellas x Reader

Summary: You and your kind of ex-wife

Lips smashed against yours before you could even compute what was going on.

They were still as soft as ever and you opened your own so Alexia could slip her tongue inside.

"Hi," She said, pulling away slowly.

"Hi."

You smiled at her.

She looked nearly the same as when you divorced her and left the country. The same cheeks. The same nose. The same eyes. The same awkward little smile on her face.

“I missed you,” She said,” I heard from Alba you were coming home and I couldn’t believe it. I missed you!”

“I missed you too, Ale.”

Her arms were open and you stepped into them. They were just as familiar as they were when you broke up and you melted into them now.

“Sorry,” Someone said,” What the fuck?! Alexia, you’re dating now?!”

Both you and Alexia looked at Mapi in confusion.

“No. Why would you think that?”

“Because you just started snogging her in front of all of us,” Lucy replied, hands shoved into her pockets casually,” I thought we were meant to be meeting the new medic but, no, I guess you were really getting acquainted.”

You laughed, shaking your head fondly as Alexia pouted, her arms tightening around you just like they did years ago when Alba teased you for being mushy.

“She’s my wife,” Alexia insisted, stamping her foot.

“Ex-wife,” You butted in quickly as the team’s mouths fell open in shock. Very few of them had been on the team the same time you and Alexia had been married, childhood sweethearts that eloped the day after you both turned eighteen.

Alexia laughed nervously and you narrowed your eyes.

You recognised that laugh. You’d heard that laugh for years when she pretended to a teacher that her homework was just in her locker and that’s why she hadn’t handed it in or when she promised Eli that she wasn’t the one that broke her favourite glass cabinet and it was really her who had kicked a football right through it.

You knew that laugh very well.

“Alexia,” You said, teeth gritted,” What did you do?”

“Now, amor,” She said,” Just remember that-“

“Alexia, confess!”

“I may have forgotten to file the papers.”

“Alexia!” You snapped before sighing. A bubble of laughter emerged from your throat until you were trapped in an almost hysterical laughing fit. “We signed them together. At the kitchen table. How did you forget?”

“I promise I was going to!” She insisted,” But I had other stuff to do and it just got buried and Mama did some cleaning and she must have shredded them on accident!”

“Alexia, that was years ago! Are you saying that we’re still married?”

“That depends.”

“On?”

“On which answer will get me in trouble.”

Fondly, you tugged on her ponytail. “You are so lucky I love you.”

She grinned. “Enough to stay married?”

You shrugged. “Well, it’s a hassle to file the papers and work out the separation of assets again.”

“Oh, thank god.” Alexia fished something out of her pocket and it was only when she slid it onto your finger again that you recognised it as your wedding ring. She was the one that had bought them and while you knew that hers had remained on a chain around her neck, you hadn’t ever wondered what had happened to yours after you returned it.

You just assumed it had been thrown to the bottom of her jewellery box.

“Have you been carrying that around since you found out I was coming home?”

Like a professional, she skirted around your question. “Home! You need to move in again! The clothes you left all got put into a storage locker so we should probably swing by there after work. Your office is practically the same but kind of dusty so I’ll clean it up while you unpack.”

You nodded, mulling over the plan in your head. “You know that if I have back in then so does Mr Stinky.”

Alexia wrinkled her nose in disgust. “You still have him?”

“Yes, Ale! Just because I moved to England doesn’t mean I abandoned my cat!”

She pursed her lips before admitting. “I think there’s still a few of his toys under the sofa. I can never manage to get them all.”

“And I want the left side of the bathroom sink.”

She nodded before freezing. “Hey! Wait, no! That’s my side! That’s always been my side! You can’t just take it!”

You flashed your ring. “You want this to work? I want the left side of the sink.”

“Well…I want…I want…I want the right side of the dresser!”

“Done!”

“Done!”

“Sorry, no,” Mapi butted in. You’d almost forgotten that you were meant to be introducing yourself to the team. “Not done. Let me get this straight. You two got married, divorced but not really and now you’ve decided to get back together?!”

You shrugged. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“But you divorced!” It was clear that she was struggling to wrap her head around this.

“It wasn’t really a breakup though,” Alexia said flippantly,” We still hooked up every time she came home. We only really tried to get a divorce because she was leaving for England. I was clingy when I was younger.”

The whole team pointedly stared at Alexia’s hands on your waist and how they hadn’t moved but to put your ring back on your finger.

“Clingier,” You amended,” And I needed to leave for more money. We decided it would just be easier to get divorced but I guess that didn’t work out.”

“Oh!” Alexia said suddenly,” I need to tell Mama! She’ll be so happy! She’s always talking about you to everyone.”

“Oh, I’m glad. I’ll have to call my Mama too. She’s always telling people that her daughter-in-law is Alexia Putellas. You’ll have to come to Sunday lunch this week. My aunts and uncles will be there.”

“Next week we’ll go to mine then,” Alexia agreed,” Mama will want you to try her paella again. She tweaked the recipe.”

“Oh, great! I love Eli’s paella. My-“

“No!” Mapi said, pointing at both of you in turn,” This is moving so quickly. I’m sorry but what the hell?!”

“Oh,” You said,” I didn’t introduce myself properly. I’m y/n. I’m the new doctor on the team. Alexia’s…well I was going to say ex but apparently we’re still married so I’m Ale’s wife! I look forward to getting to know you all.”

[furioussheepluminary]

𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐜𝐨𝐥

Pairing: ex!FBIagent!Chan x FBIagent!afab!reader, reluctant allies to friends, fake relationship

Synopsis: he died. Everyone believed he did. But you found out. And whether you like it or not, keeping you alive is now his job.

Chapter Synopsis: on escaping from the Russians, chan takes it upon himself to help you with the info you need. In exchange you learn more about him in the strangest ways.

Warnings: slow burn, violence, weapons, gore? a bit yeah, sarcastic Chan, ft. Jisung and Lix, mentions of Minho, time skips because why not?

A/n: Also, I think at one point I had a problem with the times of day...but I tried my best to make it sync. If you have extra eyes for errors, no you don't. So not proofread.

previously... next...

The motel lobby was dimly lit, the old fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead. Chan stepped up to the reception desk, his fingers drumming lightly against the wooden counter as the night clerk barely looked up from his phone.

"One room. Just for the night," Chan said, voice low and firm.

The clerk gave him a once-over, his gaze flicking to Y/N, who stood just behind him. She could feel the man sizing them up, probably making his own assumptions about the situation. Chan didn’t seem to care. He pulled out a few crumpled bills from his pocket, slid them across the counter, and within seconds, a key was pushed toward him in return.

"Room 207," the clerk mumbled before going back to his phone.

Chan didn’t wait. He grabbed the key, gave a subtle nod in Y/N’s direction, and started walking. She followed him down the hall, her mind racing as she took in her surroundings. The hallway smelled of stale air and cheap cleaning supplies, the faded carpet muffling their footsteps. When they reached the room, Chan unlocked the door and pushed it open, flicking on the light. The room was exactly what was expected—two twin beds, a small wooden table with a single chair, a flickering TV mounted on the wall, and an old, beige telephone sitting on the nightstand. It wasn’t the worst place she had ever stayed, but it definitely wasn’t home.

Chan tossed the key onto the nightstand and shrugged off his jacket, throwing it onto the nearest bed. "You hungry?" he asked, turning toward her.

She hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah."

Without another word, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through a local takeout menu. Within minutes, he placed an order for two burgers and fries from a fast-food joint a few blocks away. Once the order was placed, he tossed his phone onto the table and leaned against it, arms crossed. The silence stretched between them until she finally spoke.

"Why didn’t you come back?"

His jaw clenched slightly, but he didn’t look away. "Come back where?"

"The agency." She sat on the edge of one of the beds, watching him closely. "You found out what they were doing. You could’ve confronted them. Exposed them."

A humorless chuckle left his lips. "And then what? Be silenced before I could say a damn thing? You think I didn’t consider it? I saw what happened to the others who tried. People who were supposed to be on my side turned against me. The minute I started asking the wrong questions, I became a loose end."

She frowned, thinking back to the files she had uncovered. It was all there—the fabricated reports, the missing agents, the unexplained deaths. "But you were one of their best. Why would they—"

"Because loyalty only matters until you become a threat." His voice was sharp now, edged with something darker. "I stopped being useful to them the second I figured out the truth. So they made sure I wouldn’t be a problem anymore."

She let his words sink in, the weight of them pressing against her chest. But she still had questions—questions he wasn’t answering.

"Do you regret it? You know… disappearing?"

He exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head as he reached for the plastic bag of takeout that had just been delivered outside their door. "Eat." He tossed her a burger and fries before settling onto the other bed with his own meal.

She took a bite, but her mind was still turning.

"What about your family?" she asked carefully. "Did you ever—"

His whole body stiffened, his reaction instant, his grip tightening around the burger in his hand. His jaw flexed, his eyes darkening as he stared at the food like it had suddenly lost all appeal. He didn’t answer. Didn’t even look at her. Instead, he set his meal down, stood up, and walked toward the bathroom. "I’m taking a shower," he muttered before shutting the door behind him. The sound of rushing water filled the silence, but Y/N barely noticed.

You had hit a nerve. And you realized then just how much of Christopher Bang was still buried beneath the hardened shell of the man sitting across from you.

The bathroom door creaked open, and steam billowed into the room as Chan stepped out, his bare chest glistening slightly from the residual dampness. A white towel hung low on his hips, clinging to his sharp V-line as he ran a hand through his wet hair, pushing it back. His movements were unbothered, casual like walking around half-naked in a cheap motel room with a near-stranger was nothing new to him.

Y/N swallowed, forcing herself to keep her eyes on his face as he made his way toward his duffel bag. He crouched down, flipping it open, but after rummaging for a few seconds, he stilled.

Then he sighed.

"Shit." He ran a hand down his face. "Forgot to pack extra clothes."

She watched as he stood up and, with no hesitation, reached for the black trousers he had worn earlier, slipping them back on. The fabric clung to his still-damp skin, and for a second, she thought about how uncomfortable that must feel.

"Sorry… for earlier." Her voice was quieter now, hesitant. "I shouldn’t have asked about your family." Chan glanced at her, then let out a small breath through his nose—a sound that wasn’t quite a sigh, but close. "It’s fine."

She wasn’t sure if she believed him, but she didn’t push. Instead, he nodded toward the bathroom. "Go freshen up. Get some rest. We’ve got a lot to do tomorrow." She shifted slightly, still sitting cross-legged on the bed. "You’re not gonna finish your food?"

"Not hungry." He gestured lazily toward the leftover takeout on the table. "Help yourself if you want."

She considered it for a moment but ultimately shook her head. "I’m good."

With that, she stood and grabbed her own bag, heading into the bathroom. The hot water did little to ease the tension in her muscles, but she welcomed it anyway, letting it wash away the grime of the past few hours. It wasn’t until she stepped out and reached for her bag that she realized, she hadn’t packed extra clothes either.

Her stomach sank slightly. She hadn’t planned for any of this. Sighing, she pulled her trousers back on, then hesitated before deciding to just stay in her bra instead of her now slightly damp shirt. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than wearing something uncomfortable to bed.

When she stepped back into the room, the lights were dimmed, casting a softer glow over the space. Chan was already lying on one of the beds, one arm resting behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling, his other hand loosely draped over his stomach. His breaths were even, steady but she could tell he wasn’t asleep. She slipped under the covers of the other bed, turning onto her side so she was facing him.

Her eyes traced his features, the way his lips were slightly parted, the sharp angles of his jawline softened by the dim light. His hair was still damp, strands falling over his forehead.

She thought about everything that had happened that night.

About the gunfire. The way he had protected her. The way he carried the weight of his past like an unspoken burden. She wanted to ask him more. Wanted to understand him. But instead, she just watched. And before she even realized it, sleep started to pull her under.

You stirred at the sound of rustling, the soft shuffle of fabric and the faint clinking of metal. Your brows furrowed as you blinked your eyes open, adjusting to the dim morning light filtering through the dusty motel curtains. Chan was already up fully dressed in the same black trousers and shirt from yesterday, though now slightly less wrinkled. He stood near the rickety wooden table, stuffing a few things into his duffel bag with quick, practiced movements.

"You didn’t wake me up?" your voice was rough with sleep as you pushed herself up on your elbows. Chan barely spared her a glance. "Oh, my bad," he deadpanned, zipping up the bag. "Next time I’ll throw a bucket of ice water on you for the full wake-up experience."

You rolled her eyes. "Asshole."

He slung the duffel bag over his shoulder and turned to face her. "Get up. We’re going to Prague." You froze mid-stretch, staring at him in disbelief. "The fuck for?" Chan sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose like you were giving him a headache before the day had even properly started. "I have an informant there."

You groaned, flopping back onto the bed for a second before dragging a hand down your face. "Of course you do." He eyed you, crossing his arms. "You also need a new passport. I’ve got someone we’re meeting before we head to the airport."

"Great," you muttered, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. "At least let me shower first."

"No time."

"What do you mean, no time?" you asked incredulously.

"I mean we have to leave now, or I’m leaving you behind," he said flatly, walking towards the door. With an annoyed sigh, you quickly pulled on the same clothes from the night before, stuffing your things into your bag before following him out.

The lobby was empty as usual except for the bored-looking receptionist scrolling through his phone. Chan dropped the room key onto the desk without a word, and they stepped outside, the morning air crisp against their skin.

The car was parked where they left it, and as soon as they got in, Chan started the engine. He didn’t waste time with small talk, navigating through the quiet streets like he knew them by heart. After a while, you glanced out the window and frowned. "Where are we going now?"

"Getting new clothes," he replied, taking a sharp turn onto a side street.

A few minutes later, he pulled into a small clothing store, nothing fancy just practical. Inside, Chan moved quickly, grabbing things off racks with little hesitation hoodies, flannels, caps, t-shirts. He stuck mostly to dark colors, predominantly black. You watched as he barely even looked at anything outside that color scheme.

"You know," you noted, picking up a gray hoodie, "I think you might be allergic to color."

"Black is practical," he said, unfazed, handing a few items to the cashier.

"Black is suspicious," you corrected. "You look like an action movie cliché."

"Says the girl who almost got me killed last night," he shot back with a smirk, swiping his card.

You rolled your eyes and grabbed the bag of clothes, following him back to the car. As soon as you both were inside, she sighed. "I’m hungry." Chan gave her a look, deadpan. "Are you always hungry?" The answer to that was a straight yes but you just ignored him.

Luckily, he stopped at a gas station a few minutes later. While Chan focused on filling the tank, you made a beeline for the convenience store inside, grabbing whatever looked remotely edible; chips, bottled water, granola bars. When you got back to the car, Chan was already in the driver’s seat, drumming his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel.

"Took you long enough," he muttered as she climbed in. You tossed a snack at him, and he caught it with one hand, raising a brow. "What’s this?"

"Breakfast." Chan glanced at the granola bar, then at you. Then, with a small smirk, he shrugged and tore it open. "At least you’re useful for something." You shot him a glare as you unwrapped your own snack.

With that, he started the car again, merging back onto the road.

The bar was dimly lit, the scent of cheap alcohol and cigarette smoke lingering in the air. It wasn’t crowded just a few people scattered around, either drinking in silence or murmuring in low voices. A faint blues song played from the jukebox in the corner, barely noticeable over the quiet hum of conversation.

Chan led you to the back, past the bar counter where a middle-aged bartender barely spared them a glance. There, tucked into a booth, sat a man with light brown hair, sharp eyes, and a playful smirk that only deepened when he saw them approach.

"Well, well, well," the man drawled, leaning back in his seat. "Christopher fucking Bang. Thought you were a ghost." Chan slid into the seat across from him with ease, looking unimpressed. "Yes, that was the idea, Felix." You hesitated for a moment before sitting down beside Chan, watching as Felix’s gaze flickered to her. His smirk widened. "And who’s this? Don’t tell me you’ve finally made a friend."

"She’s the reason my ghost has lost its aura," Chan said dryly, tossing his duffel bag onto the seat beside him. Felix chuckled. "Poor you. And here I thought you liked your lone wolf act." Then he extended a hand towards you. "Felix. And you are?"

You shook his hand, still thrown off by how casual this felt. "Y/N."

"Nice to meet you, Y/N. If you’ve managed to survive Chris’s bad mood for this long, you must be decent."

"Still debating that," Chan muttered, and you elbowed him. Felix laughed and gestured to the table. "So, what brings you to my fine establishment of illegal transactions?" Chan got straight to the point. "We need two passports for Prague."

Felix raised a brow, tapping a finger against the rim of his glass. "Prague, huh? Interesting choice. Who are we running from?"

"Nosy as ever," Chan remarked. "Hey, I like to know if I’m making passports for people who’ll get me killed," Felix said, then nodded toward Y/N. "That include her too?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Chan sighed.

"Oh, come on," You scoffed. "I’m literally helping you."

"And you’re doing a fantastic job at getting me into more trouble," Chan shot back.

Felix chuckled. "Same old Chris. Alright, let’s get to work."

He pulled out a laptop and a small suitcase filled with equipment—scanners, blank passport books, laminating sheets. The moment he unzipped it, you realized just how skilled he must be. Everything was neatly arranged, every tool looking well-used but carefully maintained.

"What names do you want?" Felix asked as he booted up his laptop. "Ryan," Chan said immediately.

Felix scoffed. "Real original."

"It works."

"Sure, it does. And for you, Y/N?"

She thought for a moment. "Andi." Felix nodded, already typing. "Andi and Ryan. Got it. What nationalities?"

"Keep mine Australian," Chan said.

"Make mine British," You added.

Felix hummed as he worked, fingers flying across the keyboard. "And here I thought you two would at least try to be creative. Guess not."

"We don’t have time for creativity," Chan muttered.

"We never do," Felix sighed, pulling out two blank passport books. "Alright, give me a bit. This’ll take an hour, maybe less. You two want a drink while you wait?"

"No," Chan said immediately. "I could use one," you said at the same time.

Felix grinned. "See? I like her." Chan just shook his head, leaning back in his seat while Felix got to work, the hum of the printer soon filling the air as new identities took form.

As he stood he walked over to the bar, poured you a drink with practiced ease, sliding the glass over to her while he took a sip of his own. The liquor burned going down, but it wasn’t unpleasant. you glanced over at Chan, who was leaning back in his seat, arms crossed, eyes closed completely unbothered by the fact that they began talking about him right in front of him.

"You know, should be careful with the questions you ask," Felix said, swirling the liquid in his glass.

You exhaled. "I may have overstepped yesterday."

"Already? Sheesh. By the looks of it you did a really good job too," Felix said with a slight smirk, but then his expression softened. "Chris… He’s a good guy, you know? Just misread as a bad one. People like us, we don’t get the benefit of the doubt." You watched as Felix’s gaze flickered to Chan for a moment before he turned his attention back to you. "He’s done things, sure. But never without a reason. Just… don’t push too hard."

You nodded slowly, understanding the warning underneath his words. "He still should’ve come back instead of running."

"Maybe. Maybe not." Felix set his glass down. "You ever think that some fights aren’t worth it anymore?"

Before you could answer, the machine beeped, snapping both of their attention back to the task at hand. Felix grinned, standing up and stretching. "And that’s our cue. Looks like you two are officially new people."

Chan opened his eyes and sat up as Felix grabbed the newly made passports, flipping through them with a nod of approval before sliding them across the table. "Ryan and Andi. Welcome to your new lives."

Felix clapped Chan on the back as they stood near the entrance of the bar. "Be careful, mate," he muttered under his breath, just low enough for only Chan to hear.

Chan didn’t react immediately, just gave a slow nod before gripping Felix’s shoulder for a brief second an unspoken acknowledgment. "Appreciate it."

With that, he turned and led you out of the bar, the door swinging shut behind them as they stepped into the afternoon. The air was hotter now, the city’s hum buzzing into the background as they made their way back to the car. The drive to the airport was mostly silent, save for the occasional sound of Chan drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. His focus was set ahead, his jaw clenched slightly as you stole glances at him from the passenger seat.

"So, what’s the plan?" you finally asked, breaking the silence.

"We get to Prague, meet with my informant, and get the intel we need," Chan said flatly, eyes still on the road. "It’s a simple in-and-out. No unnecessary risks. We keep a low profile, and we don’t start anything we can’t finish." you tilted her head, studying his expression. "And what exactly are we looking for?"

"Proof." His fingers tightened on the wheel. "Proof that the agency isn’t what it claims to be. That I didn’t just vanish for no reason." You nodded slowly, absorbing his words. "I genuinely want to help with this." Chan exhaled sharply through his nose, a short, humorless laugh. "Then do as you’re told and don’t fuck things up." His words came out sharp, blunt.

Your brows furrowed. "You’re still pissed about yesterday, aren’t you?"

"No," he said quickly. Too quickly.

She rolled her eyes. "Sure. I totally believe that."

Chan didn’t respond. He just kept driving.

They arrived at the airport parking lot a little into the evening. They would have arrived earlier, save for the fact that you had become hungry again. The lot was half-full, the bright glow of overhead lights casting long shadows across the pavement. Chan pulled into a spot near the entrance, killing the engine before leaning back in his seat. "Grab what you need," he muttered as he reached for his duffel bag in the backseat. He shrugged on a black flannel over his t-shirt, pulling a cap down low over his face. A precaution.

You adjusted your own bag before stepping out of the car, slinging the strap over your shoulder. You glanced over at him. "You really think someone’s still tracking you after all this time?"

"It’s not about thinking," Chan muttered, adjusting the cap slightly. "It’s about knowing.” You didn’t argue.

They made their way into the airport, weaving through the late-night travelers and half-empty check-in lines. As they approached the counter, Chan handed over his fake passport with ease, his movements practiced, unbothered. You did the same, watching as both your boarding passes were printed and their bags weighed. Everything was going smoothly until you noticed Chan tense slightly beside you.

His posture didn’t change, but you could feel the shift in his demeanor. His eyes flickered toward the far side of the terminal. A man. Dressed casually in jeans and a hoodie. Dark sunglasses despite it being well into the night. Standing near one of the pillars, his posture too relaxed, his gaze locked onto Chan. He stared back, and for a moment, the air between them felt charged.

Then the man turned and walked away. Not rushed. Not panicked. Just slow, deliberate steps.

You followed Chan’s gaze but saw nothing out of the ordinary. "What is it?" you asked, shifting slightly. Chan’s expression didn’t change. "Nothing," he muttered, turning back as he grabbed his boarding pass. You obviously didn’t buy it, but before you could press further, the attendant gestured you forward. Both of you moved toward the security checkpoint, blending into the steady stream of travelers.

As you stepped into the lounge to wait for your boarding call, Chan’s eyes subtly scanned the area, his mind already running through possibilities. Someone had recognized him. And that meant trouble was closer than he thought.

---

The overhead lights in the plane flickered as passengers shuffled to their seats, the hum of quiet conversations filling the cabin. Chan and Y/N settled into their row, a middle and window seat on the right side of the aircraft. Chan sat by the aisle, his posture relaxed, but his eyes sharp as they scanned the boarding passengers.

The man entered.

He came in through the opposite aisle, stepping past rows of seated travelers with practiced ease. Y/N wouldn’t have noticed him if it weren’t for the way Chan suddenly tensed. His body didn’t move, but his gaze locked onto the stranger’s as he passed. The man didn’t break eye contact. Not until he reached his seat, a few rows ahead.

Chan let out a slow breath. "We’re being followed."

Y/N turned her head slightly, careful not to make it obvious. "Are you sure?" she whispered.

Chan didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he shifted in his seat, reaching into the back of his jeans and pulling out a compact, matte-black pistol. He kept it low, just below the armrest, so no one around them would notice. Y/N’s eyes widened. "How the hell did you get a gun on a flight?" she hissed under her breath, her voice barely audible over the boarding announcements.

Chan smirked slightly, his fingers resting lightly on the weapon. "Had help."

"Help?"

"People owe me favors," he said simply, tucking the gun beneath his jacket before anyone could see. "Now act normal." Y/N swallowed, shifting in her seat as the final boarding call rang through the speakers. The plane doors sealed shut, the hum of the engines growing louder as the aircraft prepared for takeoff. The man didn’t turn around again. He didn’t need to.

Chan knew better than to believe in coincidences. The cabin lights dimmed slightly as the flight settled into its long journey. Passengers were lost in their own worlds; some sleeping, some watching in-flight entertainment, some mindlessly scrolling through their phones.

With time, Y/N had made herself comfortable, pulling out the tray table in front of her. A half-eaten airline meal sat beside a small cup of juice, and she was fully engrossed in a movie playing on the tiny screen in front of her. Chan wasn’t watching anything. Not the movie, not the meal service. His attention kept flickering to her how relaxed she looked despite everything, how she absentmindedly chewed on a straw while focusing on the screen. He envied how easily she adapted.

Then, without a word, he unbuckled his seatbelt and stood up.

Y/N immediately turned to him, raising a brow. "Where are you going?"

"Relax," he muttered, voice low so only she could hear. "I’ll be back."

She frowned slightly but didn’t press further as he slipped into the aisle, making his way towards the rear of the plane. As he passed by the galley, a flight attendant—a woman with sharp eyes and neatly pinned-back hair—brushed past him subtly, slipping something into his palm with practiced ease, just the way she had slipped the gun into his hands earlier.

A silencer. Chan didn’t react, didn’t even acknowledge the exchange. He simply continued walking until he reached the lavatory, pushing the door open and stepping inside without a second glance. The door remained unlocked. He moved quickly, screwing the silencer onto the barrel of his gun with steady hands. Then, he leaned against the wall, letting the steady hum of the engines drown out his thoughts. Now, he waited. Because he knew the man had been watching him too as he stood up.

But the wait didn’t take long, the moment the man stepped inside, Chan’s grip tightened around the gun. The tiny lavatory instantly felt smaller, the tension suffocating. The man turned, locking the door behind him with a click. His eyes, concealed behind dark shades, flickered to the gun in Chan’s hands.

Chan didn’t waste time. "Who sent you?" he demanded, keeping his voice low but firm. The man didn’t answer. Instead, his fingers twitched, his stance shifting just slightly. It was enough of a tell. Chan moved first, but the man was faster. With a sharp pivot, the attacker lunged forward, his palm striking the inside of Chan’s wrist. The sudden impact sent the silenced gun skidding across the cramped lavatory sink, landing with a dull clatter.

Chan’s jaw clenched. "You shouldn’t have done that."

The next second, the fight erupted.

The man threw a punch aimed at Chan’s ribs, but Chan twisted, dodging at the last second. He countered, driving his elbow into the man's throat. It wasn’t enough to collapse his windpipe, but it sent him staggering against the sink, gasping for air. Before Chan could press the attack, the man recovered quickly, yanking open the flimsy overhead compartment and smashing it into Chan’s face. He barely had time to shield himself before the man grabbed his head and slammed it into the mirror above the sink. The glass spiderwebbed upon impact, fragments cracking away and slicing into Chan’s forehead.

A warm trickle of blood dripped down his temple. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, then grinned through the sting. "That all you got?" The man sneered but didn’t waste breath on words. Instead, he lunged again.

Chan sidestepped, grabbing the man's wrist and twisting it violently. A muffled pop sounded as the joint dislocated. The man barely had time to register the pain before Chan drove his knee into his stomach, knocking the air out of his lungs.

The man’s sunglasses flew off, revealing dark, bloodshot eyes that burned with hatred. "Who sent you?" Chan demanded again, this time grabbing the man by the collar and slamming him against the wall. Still, no answer. Instead, the man snapped his head forward in a brutal headbutt. Pain exploded across Chan’s nose, stars dancing in his vision. He barely had time to react before the man reached for a concealed blade in his boot.

Shit.

Chan instinctively twisted his torso, the knife slicing through the air where his ribcage had been a second ago. No more playing nice. With swift precision, Chan caught the man's wrist and smashed it against the metal sink. Bone cracked, the blade clattering to the floor. The man hissed but didn’t get a chance to retaliate before Chan grabbed the back of his head and slammed it against the already-broken mirror. Glass shattered. Blood sprayed. The man groaned, slumping slightly, but Chan didn’t let up. He spun the guy around and pressed his arm against his windpipe, locking him in a tight chokehold.

"Last chance." Chan’s voice was dark, deadly, each word laced with unspoken violence. "Who sent you?" The man gagged, his fingers clawing at Chan’s arm. His face was turning purple, veins popping along his forehead.

Nothing.

No name. No last words.

Just a silent, defiant glare before his body went limp.

Chan held the choke for a few more seconds, ensuring the bastard was unconscious before finally letting go. The man crumpled to the ground, blood dripping from his forehead, nose, and shattered lips.

Chan exhaled, flexing his fingers. His hands were covered in blood—some his, some the guy’s. Mostly the guy’s. His reflection in the broken mirror was splattered with red, a fresh gash on his forehead still bleeding down the side of his face.

He wiped his nose, tasting copper, before bending down and retrieving his silenced gun. Then, as if nothing had happened, he straightened his flannel shirt, turned toward the unconscious body, and sighed.

"Should’ve just answered the damn question."

Chan crouched over the unconscious man, his breath steadying as he quickly searched the guy’s pockets. His fingers skimmed past a pack of cigarettes, a crumpled napkin, and finally, a folded photograph.

He pulled it out. His own face stared back at him.

Chan’s stomach tightened, but he shoved down the unease, slipping the photo into his own pocket. He continued searching until he found the man’s cellphone. He didn’t recognize the model, but that didn’t matter. Information was information. He pocketed it and stood up. Turning to the mirror, he sighed. Blood trickled from the gash on his forehead, staining the edge of his brow. His knuckles were raw, the bruises already beginning to form. He looked like hell.

He turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on his face, hissing at the sting when it hit the fresh cut. The metallic scent of blood mixed with cheap airplane soap as he washed away the evidence of the fight. Then, making it look believable, he flushed the toilet.

He unlocked the door, stepping out casually before pulling it shut behind him. As he made his way back to his seat, he rolled his shoulders, shaking off the remaining tension.

Y/N’s eyes widened the second she saw him.

"Chan, what the fuck happened?"

He slid into his seat, resting an arm on the armrest as if he hadn’t just nearly killed a man in the lavatory. "We were being followed," he muttered, his voice low enough that only she could hear. Her concern deepened. "Followed? By who?" He sighed, tilting his head back slightly. "No idea."

Y/N frowned, scanning his bruised knuckles and the drying cut on his face. "So, what—? You just fought him? On a fucking airplane?" Chan smirked, resting his cheek against his fist. "Kept it quiet."

"Yeah, real subtle, bleeding all over the place," she muttered. He chuckled, but there was no humor in it. "Trust me, the other guy looks worse." Y/N’s gaze flickered with unease. "Did you...?"

"He's alive. But I doubt he’ll be up anytime soon."

LIES.

She exhaled, shaking her head. "Shit... What did you find on him?"

Chan pulled the folded photograph from his pocket and handed it to her. She opened it, her expression shifting from curiosity to unease the moment she recognized his face staring back.

"That’s you."

"Yeah. Seems like someone really wants me dead."

Y/N swallowed, gripping the picture tightly. "And you have no idea who sent him?" Chan leaned back, his fingers tapping against the armrest. "Not yet." But he would find out. And when he did, they’d regret ever sending someone after him.

As the plane touched down in Prague, Chan kept his posture relaxed, but his eyes remained sharp, scanning every passenger as they disembarked. Y/N could tell he was still on high alert from the incident mid-flight. She, too, found herself glancing around, paranoia creeping in despite her best efforts to stay calm. The moment they stepped into the terminal, Chan’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out, checking the message. A smirk tugged at his lips.

"Our ride’s here."

Y/N barely had time to process his words before a familiar voice called out.

"Look who finally decided to show up." She turned to see a young man leaning casually against a pillar, arms crossed over his chest. He had messy brown hair, a confident smirk, and eyes that danced with amusement. Dressed in a dark hoodie and ripped jeans, he looked nothing like what she expected from an "informant."

Chan rolled his eyes. "Cut the dramatics, Jisung."

Jisung pushed off the pillar and walked up to them. "Come on, hyung, I was starting to think you got yourself killed before making it here." His eyes flickered to Y/N, and his smirk widened. "And who’s this?" Chan sighed. "Jisung, meet Andi. Andi, this is Jisung—one of the few people I actually trust."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "You trust people?" Jisung barked out a laugh. "Right? That’s what I said." Chan groaned. "Both of you, shut up and get in the car." Jisung led them through the bustling terminal and out to the parking lot, where a sleek black SUV was waiting. "I pulled some strings to get you a safe house. Should be secure for now."

As they climbed into the car, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling that things were only going to get more complicated from here.

---

The safe house was tucked away in a quiet neighborhood, an unassuming apartment building that looked like it hadn’t been lived in for years. Jisung led them inside, locking the multiple bolts behind them before gesturing toward the dimly lit living room. "Make yourselves at home," he said, flopping onto the couch and kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

Y/N and Chan exchanged a glance before setting their bags down. The space was minimalist barely any furniture except for a couch, a TV, and a cluttered desk stacked with papers and electronic equipment. The faint hum of a computer running in the background filled the silence. After giving them a few minutes to unwind, Jisung reappeared with a bag of snacks, tossing a granola bar at Y/N. She caught it, arching an eyebrow. "Not exactly a five-star meal, but it’s what I got," he shrugged before tossing a bag of chips toward Chan.

Chan caught it mid-air but didn’t open it. Instead, he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. His expression turned serious. "The data, Jisung."

Jisung sighed dramatically, rummaging through his hoodie pocket before pulling out a flash drive. "Yeah, yeah, Mr. No Fun. I got some of what you asked for, but—"

Chan’s jaw tightened. "But?"

Jisung plugged the drive into the TV. The screen flickered, and multiple files popped up—profiles, reports, security footage, transaction logs, and classified documents, some of which were heavily redacted. "Here’s what I managed to pull," Jisung began, clicking through the files. "I got dirt on Reynolds, his known aliases, offshore accounts, deals that he’s made with some pretty bad people. There’s a list of buyers who’ve worked with him, footage of his men moving shipments. But…"

Chan’s fingers drummed against his knee. "Spit it out, Ji."

Jisung turned to face them, his expression more serious than usual. "There’s a key piece of evidence I couldn’t get. It’s too heavily guarded, even for me. Whatever it is, they know it’s important, and they’ve locked it down tight." Y/N frowned. "What kind of information are we talking about?" Jisung exhaled. "A hard drive. It contains direct links between Reynolds and the black-market trades—evidence that could get him convicted. But it’s not something I can hack into remotely. It has to be taken physically."

Chan leaned back, rubbing his chin. "And where is it?"

Jisung smirked. "That’s where things get interesting. There’s a high-profile event happening this weekend in Prague. A charity gala except the only charity involved is rich assholes patting themselves on the back while laundering money."

Y/N crossed her arms. "And let me guess, someone attending has the hard drive?"

Jisung nodded. "Bingo. His name is Viktor Ivanov. On paper, he’s a respected businessman, philanthropist, all that bullshit. But in reality? He’s got his hands in everything from illegal arms, human trafficking,to black market trades. And he’s worked with Reynolds before. If anyone has the missing piece of evidence, it’s him."

Chan’s gaze darkened. "So, we go in, retrieve the hard drive, and get out."

Jisung chuckled. "Easier said than done. Security’s gonna be tight armed guards, facial recognition, the works. This isn’t some back-alley operation. We’ll have to blend in, go undercover."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Undercover? Like… black-tie event undercover?"

Jisung grinned. "Oh yeah. Time to break out the fancy clothes, sweetheart. You and Chan are gonna have to play the part of a wealthy couple."

Chan let out a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. "Great."

Y/N smirked at his reaction. "Not a fan of suits, Ryan?"

Chan shot her a look. "Just focus on the mission, Andi." Jisung clapped his hands together. "Alright, lovebirds. We’ve got a lot of work to do before the gala. Hope you’re ready, ‘cause once we’re in, there’s no turning back."

---

The safe house was quiet at night, save for the faint hum of computers and the distant sound of cars passing outside. The air was thick with an eerie calm, a stark contrast to the chaotic lives they were leading. Y/N padded down the stairs in her socks, her initial plan being to grab a drink and head back to bed. But as she entered the dimly lit living room, she paused, noticing Jisung sitting by the window, his back to her.

Multiple monitors flickered in front of him, casting an artificial glow over his face. The TV beside him slowly transitioned through lines of data, profiles, security footage, encrypted messages. He had his legs pulled up onto the chair, one hand lazily clicking through files while the other tapped absentmindedly on the desk. "You don’t sleep?" Yn asked, leaning against the kitchen counter as she opened a bottle of water.

Jisung turned slightly but didn’t seem surprised by her presence. "Not when there’s work to do," he replied, eyes still glued to the screens. "Hyung doesn’t say it, but I know he’s stressed. Figured I’d help him sort out some of the security details before the weekend."

Y/N took a sip of her drink, watching the data flash across the TV. "That’s… actually really nice of you." Jisung let out a small chuckle. "I know, I’m an angel." He stretched his arms, his fingers cracking from hours of typing. "Oh, and I ordered what you guys are gonna wear for the gala. Should be here by tomorrow."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "You already know my size?"

Jisung smirked. "Please, I’ve been in this line of work long enough to tell at a glance."

Yn rolled her eyes but smiled, walking over to where he sat. As she glanced at the multiple screens, curiosity gnawed at her. "Hey, Jisung… can I ask you something?"

He hummed, still typing away. "Sure. What’s up?"

"Were you also ex-FBI like Chan?"

Jisung snorted. "Me? Hell no. I wouldn’t last a day under all those strict-ass rules." He leaned back in his chair, finally turning to look at her. "I was just a hacker. A really, really good one. But that also meant I ended up working for some of the worst people."

Yn’s brows furrowed. "Then… how did you meet Chan?"

Jisung’s smirk faded slightly, and for a moment, he was quiet. The only sound in the room was the quiet whirring of the hard drive. Then, he sighed.

"Chan was supposed to kill me."

Y/N blinked. "What?"

Jisung nodded, his gaze distant now, as if remembering something far away. "Back then, I was working as an informant for a guy Chan had been hunting. I didn’t know what I was getting into. I was just good with tech, and they paid well. But when Chan found out I was feeding them intel, he was sent to put a bullet in my head."

Y/N swallowed, watching as Jisung tapped his fingers against the desk. "I was on my knees," Jisung continued, his voice quieter now. "Gun pressed to my skull, and I was sure I was gonna die. But then, just as he was about to pull the trigger… my phone rang."

Y/N felt her heart tighten. "Who was calling?"

Jisung smiled faintly. "Minho. H-He was my boyfriend."

A heavy silence settled between them. Jisung took a deep breath before continuing. "Chan hesitated. He’s got this thing… he hates killing people who have someone waiting for them. Innocent people. I guess in his mind, if you have a loved one, you can’t be all bad." He scoffed. "So, he lowered the gun. And that should’ve been the end of it."

Y/N’s throat felt dry. "But it wasn’t."

Jisung shook his head. "No. Because after that, he found out the agency had lied to him. They told him I had no loved ones, no attachments. That I was just another loose end to tie up. But when he realized they’d fed him false intel, he snapped."

"So, what did he do?" Yn asked.

Jisung let out a dry chuckle. "Oh, he kept me. Bound me, made me work for him until the mission ended. Made sure I couldn’t run, couldn’t betray him. But instead of torturing me, he made me dig. He forced me to look into the agency. And that’s how I found it—the betrayal."

Y/N felt her chest tighten. "You’re the one who helped him uncover it."

Jisung nodded. "Yeah. I was the one who pulled up the records. The fake mission reports. The buried files. The orders that didn’t make sense. And when we pieced it all together… that’s when Chan knew he had to get out." Y/N stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in. She had known Chan had gone through betrayal, but hearing it from Jisung, someone who had been tangled in the mess firsthand made it all the more real.

"So, after all that… he let you go?" she asked softly.

Jisung grinned, though there was something tired behind it. "Yeah. But instead of running, I stuck around. Guess I figured if someone like Chan, who was trained to be a weapon, could turn against the people who made him… then maybe I could, too."

Y/N exhaled, shaking her head slightly. "That’s… that’s insane." Jisung laughed, spinning his chair around. "Yeah. But life’s more fun that way, don’t you think?"

Y/N didn’t answer right away. Instead, she glanced toward the hallway where Chan had gone to sleep. Everything about him made a little more sense now.

She turned back to Jisung. "Thanks for telling me."

Jisung gave her a small salute. "Don’t mention it. And hey, try not to get killed at the gala, yeah? I worked really hard picking out that dress for you."

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head as she stood. "Goodnight, Jisung."

"Night, Andi."

As she walked back upstairs, her mind replayed everything Jisung had said, the pieces of Chan’s past coming together like a puzzle she wasn’t sure she was ready to see completed.

---

The smell of food lingered in the air, warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the tension of the past few days. The scent of eggs, toasted bread, and something slightly savory maybe sausage or bacon drifted through the quiet safe house. Sunlight filtered weakly through the dusty curtains, casting soft shadows across the living room. You groggily sat up in bed, stretching before slipping out into the open space that served as both a kitchen and living area. The sight that greeted her was unexpected. Jisung was sprawled out on the couch, one arm dangling over the side, his mouth slightly open as he slept. His laptop was still open on the coffee table, its screen dimmed but faintly glowing with lines of code and security details he had probably been working on until he passed out. A blanket was lazily draped over him probably Chan’s doing.

Speaking of Chan…

You turned your gaze to the kitchen, where the man himself stood, finishing up breakfast. He was dressed casually, black sweatpants and a loose t-shirt but there was a methodical precision in how he moved, from the way he flipped the eggs to how he plated the food with practiced ease. The muscles in his forearms flexed as he set a dish down, and you had to remind herself not to stare too long.

He must’ve sensed your presence because he glanced over his shoulder. "You're up." His voice was slightly rough, as if he hadn’t spoken much yet this morning. "You good?"

You nodded sleepily, rubbing at your eyes. "Yeah… What time is it?"

"Late enough for breakfast." He turned back to the counter, grabbing a plate, and you assumed it was for you. Your stomach grumbled softly at the sight of warm food, and you took a step forward—

Only to watch as Chan walked straight past you. She blinked, caught off guard, as he headed to the couch, crouching down beside Jisung. With careful ease, he nudged the younger man's shoulder. "Wake up, Ji. Eat."

Jisung groaned, shifting slightly but refusing to open his eyes. Chan huffed, setting the plate down on the coffee table before nudging him again, this time a little firmer. "Don’t make me force-feed you."

Jisung cracked an eye open, barely awake. "Mmm, five more minutes…"

Chan’s response was unimpressed. "You said that three hours ago." Jisung groaned dramatically, but the smell of food seemed to win him over. With sluggish movements, he pushed himself upright, rubbing his face as he blindly reached for the plate. "You're a saint, hyung… a scary saint, but still."

You scoffed quietly to herself, shaking your head as you moved to the counter. You grabbed a plate and served yourself, but as you sat down at the small dining table, your eyes flicked toward the couch.

Chan’s actions weren’t anything grand, nothing overly affectionate, but there was a certain care in the way he handled Jisung. The way he made sure he ate first. The way he woke him up with just enough force to be effective, but not enough to startle him. Even the way he placed the plate within easy reach like this was second nature. Jisung, despite his usual joking and laid-back nature, didn’t argue. He simply ate, barely keeping his eyes open as he muttered a soft "Thanks, hyung."

Chan grunted in response before returning to the kitchen.

You quickly focused on your food, trying to shake off the strange feeling settling in your chest.

After a few moments of quiet eating, Chan finally spoke again. "Hey, Andi. The drive—can you get it for me?"

You looked up, still chewing, before nodding. You wiped your hands on a napkin and pushed back your chair, heading toward your bag where you had stashed the device. Retrieving it, you walked back and held it out. Chan took it without a second glance and without even checking it first passed it straight to Jisung.

Jisung, now slightly more awake, caught it lazily and smirked. "Damn, no trust issues at all, huh?"

Chan shot him a look. "Just work."

You watched as Jisung plugged the drive into his laptop, the screen flickering to life. Whatever information was on there, it was important. But as Chan leaned against the counter, arms crossed, his gaze sharp and calculating, she couldn't help but wonder,

Just how much trust had been built between these two for things to flow this naturally?

Jisung sat slouched on the couch, still recovering from sleep as he shoveled food into his mouth with one hand while lazily scrolling through the files on his laptop with the other. His eyes flickered across the screen, scanning the reports and documents, occasionally squinting as if processing something particularly interesting.

Chan sat nearby, sipping his coffee in silence, while Yn leaned against the counter, observing the exchange. The safe house was quiet aside from the faint clacking of Jisung’s keyboard and the occasional rustle of cutlery against plates. Then, Jisung’s phone rang.

His head snapped up, eyes darting to the device on the coffee table. The second he saw the caller ID, a light pink hue dusted his cheeks.

You, ever the observer, caught the reaction immediately. Jisung coughed into his fist before scrambling to grab his phone, swiping to answer with a voice softer than either of them had ever heard from him.

"Yeobo?"

You’s eyebrows shot up. Chan blinked.

Jisung barely noticed their reactions, completely immersed in the voice on the other end. His entire demeanor softened, the playful smugness slipping away to reveal something more vulnerable more genuine. His fingers absentmindedly traced the edges of his laptop, his lips quirking up into a fond, almost dreamy smile.

"No, no, I’m fine. I just woke up, actually… Yeah, I know, but hyung made me eat, so don’t worry." He paused, listening intently. His expression wavered between shy and utterly smitten.

You smirked as you watched him, your curiosity piqued. Who could possibly turn Jisung the fast-talking, cocky informant into this lovesick mess? Chan, on the other hand, seemed unfazed, though a barely perceptible smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. Jisung hummed in response to something the caller said, his free hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. His ears were definitely turning red.

"Mhm… No, I’m safe, I promise. I would tell you if anything happened."

There was a pause. Then Jisung chuckled, low and warm, his entire body relaxing into the couch. His voice dropped into something softer, more intimate.

"You always worry too much, Min. But I like that about you."

You nearly choked on your coffee.

Chan raised an eyebrow but said nothing, merely tilting his head as if evaluating how long this little lovesick performance would last. Jisung, oblivious to their reactions, sighed contently before mumbling, "난 널 너무 사랑해, 여보." I love you so much, honey.

He paused, biting his lip before grinning like a fool. "Mm, yeah, me too. I’ll call you later, okay? Take care of yourself. Bye, baby." He hung up with a dopey smile still lingering on his face.

A beat of silence passed before you, unable to help yourself, leaned forward with a knowing smirk. "So, he drives you that lovesick, huh?" Jisung scoffed, but the blush on his face gave him away. "Tch. I don’t know what you’re talking about."

You gave him an unimpressed look. "Jisung, you just called him ‘yeobo’ in the first two seconds of answering the call. And if I’m correct that translates to sweetheart." Chan finally spoke, his voice laced with mild amusement. "How do you know about Minho?"

Jisung, still stuck in his post-call haze, simply shrugged before mumbling, "I told her." Chan's expression shifted slightly, something calculating flickering in his eyes. He leaned back, arms crossed, studying both of them before exhaling through his nose. "Huh."

You turned to him. "What?"

Chan shrugged, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Just didn't think Ji would spill his tragic backstory so easily."

Jisung rolled his eyes. "It’s not tragic, it’s romantic." You snorted. "Yeah, because getting nearly executed was so romantic." Jisung pointed at you. "Exactly. Life-or-death romance is the best kind." Chan sighed, rubbing his temples. "You two are going to give me a headache."

You grinned, nudging Jisung. "Well, at least now I know what kind of mess you turn into when Minho calls."

Jisung groaned, throwing himself back onto the couch. "I will never live this down, will I?"

You and Chan shared a look before replying in unison.

"Nope."

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[feinzleclerc]

She prefers roses | CL16

starring ; charles leclerc x ex-girlfriend !

summary ; Being in a relationship with Charles was one of the best things that ever happened to you, but he was always in different countries on the weekends, and his focus on a different sport made you.

warnings ; [main notice] English is not my first language.

word count ; 2k words.

notes ; When I reached a certain part of the story I ran out of things to write and so I left it like that, which in my head was good for an ending. But could there be a part 2? 🤔

MAIN MASTERLIST • CHARLES LECLERC MASTERLIST

AFTER A TIRING FRIDAY at the start of the Saudi Arabian GP, the only thing on your mind was getting to your hotel room and taking a hot shower. You walked down the hotel corridors until you reached your door, and there, lying on the mat, something caught your attention. A bouquet of daisies with a note.

"To the star of the paddock. — J"

James. The McLaren engineer. It was the third time that season. You smiled, picked up the bouquet, and—

— Daisies.

The deep, familiar voice made you spin around abruptly. Charles was in the hallway, arms crossed, his Ferrari blazer slung over his shoulder as if he hadn’t just invaded your personal space.

— What’s wrong with that? — you shot back, clutching the flowers like a shield.

He laughed, humorlessly. — Nothing. Just thought it was… curious.

— What’s so curious?

— That he doesn’t know. — Charles took a step forward, and you retreated, your back hitting the door. — Daisies mean friendship. Tulips, admiration. Lilies… — He rested his hand on the doorframe above your head. — Purity. None of that fits you.

Your heart felt like it was trying to escape your chest. — Then what does fit me?

He hesitated, his dark eyes scanning your face as if reading every secret you’d ever hidden.

— You know.

And then he was gone, leaving behind the scent of gasoline, mint, and everything you swore you’d forget. You stepped into your room like you’d crossed the finish line of a Grand Prix, but instead of celebration, what awaited you was internal chaos. You dropped the daisies on the dresser as if they’d burned your skin and stood there, staring at the arrangement with a rage you didn’t know was directed at the flowers, at James… or at Charles.

"You know."

His voice echoed in your head like engines roaring down the main straight.You knew. Of course you knew. From your first secret meeting in Monaco to your last argument in some random European airport. Charles had always been able to read you better than anyone—and that was what made everything so hard when it ended.

But had it really ended?

[ OCTOBER, 2023 📍 ]

Paris. Late afternoon. You were covering Roland Garros; he had managed a rare break from the season. It was just another casual stroll along the Seine—until it wasn’t.

— If you had to choose one flower to receive every day… what would it be? — he asked, a pain au chocolat in one hand and the other intertwined with yours.

You laughed, surprised by the question. — Is this an attempt at being romantic?

— Maybe. — He shrugged with that disarming smile of his. — Or maybe I’m just curious.

You pretended to think for a second. — Roses. But not just any roses. Red ones. The kind that look like they’re straight out of a movie.

— Classic. — He nodded, as if filing the information away in some precious corner of his memory. — Makes sense. You’re the type to turn even a boring press conference into something unforgettable.

The next morning, when you opened your hotel room door, there they were. A small, simple, yet flawless bouquet of red roses with a note:

"Now I know. — C"

[ PRESENT ]

The next day, the paddock was busier than usual. You moved between teams, microphone in hand, trying to ignore the inevitable glances. James greeted you with a shy smile, and for a second, you felt guilty. He was kind. Attentive. And even if he got the flower wrong, he tried.

But the presence that unsettled you was another.

Charles was leaning against Ferrari’s pit wall, headphones around his neck, his eyes fixed on you. He didn’t smile. Just watched. Like someone keeping secrets. Like someone who still had something to say.

After an intense qualifying session and back-to-back interviews, you almost made your escape. Almost. But fate—and a stubborn driver—had other plans.

— You got a minute?

The voice came from behind. You didn’t even need to turn to know who it was.

— Just one? — you said without looking at him.

— If I ask for two, will you give them to me?

You sighed and finally turned. He stood there, his expression the most sincere you’d seen since everything fell apart.

— Charles…

— I know. We’re over. It was my choice, it was yours too. But seeing you here every day, with another guy leaving flowers at your door…

You crossed your arms, trying to hold your ground. — You walked away. Remember? We chose different paths.

— I chose you every day. The world just wouldn’t let me.

The silence between you was almost as loud as the roar of the engines. Then, he pulled something from his jacket pocket.

A single red rose.

— You prefer roses.

Your chest tightened.

— You remember. — Your voice wavered.

— I never forgot.

His gaze wasn’t teasing anymore, nor was his expression serious. It felt like a punch to the gut, dragging you back into the past… Charles had never forgotten that your favorite flowers were roses, and he’d never forgotten how much you loved receiving them—even during the worst moments between you two.

[ BARCELONA, 2024 📍 ]

You had just finished interviewing a famous Real Madrid striker—after all, it was the Champions League, the biggest football competition, so of course you’d seize every opportunity. Besides, it was your job. But to Charles, it had been more than that.

— So you laughed at all his jokes, huh? — He tossed the car keys onto the hotel room counter harder than necessary.

— Are you serious? — you shot back, your press pass still hanging around your neck. — I was doing my job.

— Didn’t know flirting with you was part of the recording.

— And now you’re just being insecure. What a ridiculous scene, Charles.

It was one of those fights that shouldn’t have lasted more than ten minutes but dragged on for hours. You slept in silence, turned away from each other, both too wounded to admit you cared.

The next morning, as you tried to deal with the emotional hangover and your flooded inbox, there was a knock at your door. A bouquet of red roses. Impeccable.

No note. Just roses.

You didn’t need one to understand. Charles had never been good at apologizing with words. But with flowers… with flowers, he always spoke loud enough.

— Same as always. — you murmured under your breath.

[ PRESENT ]

Miami GP.

You hadn’t meant to display the rose. It was just… a detail. A gesture that deserved to be kept, yes, but away from prying eyes. So, you tucked it into your bag and forgot to take it out. Which meant James saw it when he entered your room and spotted it in your luggage. It was wilted and lifeless by then, but it was still there.

He was on the other side of the paddock, near the McLaren garage, chatting with some mechanics. But when your eyes met his, there was no confusion—just disappointment. For a second, his kind smile faltered. And you knew he’d figured it out.

You had just finished recording your last interview of the day when James appeared. Few words, as usual. But this time, he was holding something.

A bouquet of flawless red roses. You froze.

— I thought… maybe I was choosing wrong. — he said, his voice quiet but firm. — Daisies, tulips… I wanted to make you smile. But I realized someone already knew which flower did that.

Your stomach twisted.

— James…

— You don’t have to say anything. Just… — He held out the bouquet. — Take it as a thank you. For being here. For being you.

And there he was—kind, attentive, mature.

You took them and smiled. A small smile, but a real one.

What you didn’t notice was Charles, across the pit lane, arms crossed, gaze fixed. He saw it. Every flower. Every word. And your smile.

Later that night, as you headed to the hotel restaurant for dinner, one of Charles’ teammates appeared in front of you with a grin.

— Hey, (your name). — Carlos appeared, his Spanish accent thick, a smile on his lips. — How are you?

— Oh, I’m hanging in there…

— Just wanted to say I won’t take much of your time, but someone asked me to give you this. — He pulled a card from his pocket and handed it to you.

— Wow. — you said, surprised. — Thanks, Carlos.

The Spaniard quickly disappeared, and as soon as he did, you opened the card, immediately recognizing the handwriting and the words written in French:

"Nice try from your Dear J!

But he forgot you don’t just care about looks—you care about words.

If flowers could fix everything, I’d give you an entire garden. But since they can’t, I’ll give you my word: this time, I stay."

— So? — Charles pulled out the chair beside you without asking, his fingers drumming on the table. — Gonna ignore me again?

You held up the card, his handwriting still burning in your vision. — Is this fair? Using Sainz as your messenger?

He laughed, low and rough. — If it were me, you’d have torn it up without reading. With Carlos, I knew you’d open it.

You shook your head, biting back the smile threatening to break free. Before you could answer, James appeared.

— Thought Ferrari would be busy with race strategy. — he said, leaning against the back of your chair and leaving a kiss on your cheek that lingered a second too long.

Charles didn’t hesitate. — Thought McLaren would be busy… copying.

You closed your eyes. It was always like this. A competition. A race you’d never signed up for. You stood up abruptly, crumpling the napkin in your hand. — Enough. I’m not some trophy for your rivalry.

— (Your name)… — James started, his voice tense.

— Wait. — Charles said, gripping your wrist firmly but gently.

You turned, your gaze fiery. He placed something in your hand. A hotel key.

— Room 1702. Midnight. If you don’t come, I’ll leave. No chasing, no flowers, no more attempts.

James said your name again, like he was still waiting for an explanation. But you were already turning away, heading for the elevator, Charles’ key burning in your pocket and James’ bouquet still wilting on the table.

[ ROOM 1702 — 23:59 ]

You stopped in front of the door, your heart pounding louder than engines at the start line.

What if he was joking?

What if James was right?

What if you were giving up the last thing that still made sense?

The doorknob turned before you could knock. Charles opened the door, shirtless, his hair messy like he’d run his fingers through it a dozen times. His dark eyes locked onto yours with the same intensity as always.

— Late. — he whispered, pulling you in by the waist and kicking the door shut behind you. — Almost thought you wouldn’t come.

The room was dark, silent, the only sound the ragged rhythm of your breaths.

And then you saw it. On the side table, carefully folded, was your favorite article. The piece you’d written about him in 2022. Printed. Marked up in pen, as if he’d underlined every line that made him feel something.

— You kept this? — you murmured, disbelieving.

— I read it so many times I memorized it. — he said, his voice too rough to be a lie. — Because that’s when I knew you saw me… even when I couldn’t see myself.

Silence.

— That’s why I stayed. — he finished. — Because you’ve always been my finish line.

You didn’t say anything. But you didn’t need to.

Because when he pulled you close again, with a sweet urgency and a silent promise, all that existed was that room, that story, and the two of you trying—for the first time—not to run.

[starkeymeow]

lover of mine ₍₈₎

drew starkey x actress!reader au

— in which drew and y/n, secretly exes, must fake date in order to keep the peace at a mutual friend’s wedding, but the forced proximity makes them question whether they ever truly moved on.

warnings: a really long chapter part thing i fear . kisses .. maybe .. IM NOT SPOILING THIS

prev next

authors note: erm guys .. if im rushing this then do NOT pay attention !! I WANT THEM TO BE OKAY AGAIN JUST LIKE U GUYS I FEAR. I CANT HELP MYSELF. but do NOT think this is the end because this is NOT!! we still have to get through the rest of the second week + the wedding. and if u think about it, DAMN a lot happened in week 1 omg goodnight

anyway, if u still arent part of the tag list, feel free to let me know thru replies, anons, or dms !! notifications are always on <3333

you keep your distance from him the next two days. you know you have to face him, and sometimes you do, but you’re stiffer than before. he knows better than anyone to maintain that gap until you’re okay again.

it just feels like your breakup with him all over again, but this time, for a different reason other than having too much time apart. this time, you’re all he spends time with but there just happens to be something getting in the way of that. another girl. it isn’t fair.

drew’s been trying to show in little ways that he’s sorry, but it doesn’t cut it for you. not yet. and you don’t want to lead him by a string and take advantage of him caring about you. but him bringing you breakfast, then trying to avoid you throughout the day until you’re back in libby’s bed again—it’s just frustrating.

you don’t even want to be there anymore. you don’t want to have to deal with this. but it’s for leila and theo, their day is coming up soon. you just want them to have a good time and then you can all separate ways and live your own lives again. how it’s always been and how it should be.

the guys are getting ready to visit town while the girls stay back. this isn’t for you though, and you’re grateful. gia proposed a self-care day after a package was shipped to the home, a large box of cookies, and safe to say you all agreed to the plan.

“i’ve been trying to get back into reading but i feel like i have no time sometimes,” leila’s telling you and the girls as you set up shop at the kitchen island.

there’s an array of face masks, moisturizers, rollers, oils, creams, other things they’ve wanted to try. gia even brings her diffuser and places it nearby as the tv in the living room plays.

“i recommend ‘doomsday’!” libby perks up from across the table. “i read it last summer and let me tell you, i bawled crying for a month straight.”

“y/n, you read,” leila says as she files her nails, crossing a leg over another. “what are your recommendations?”

“hey,” theo greets leila as he and the boys join you four at the table, each with their respective girlfriend besides libby and oscar, and technically you and drew. he hovers behind you but just merely nods his head to say hello. “we’re gonna head out.”

“oh, okay,” leila says with a small frown, but kisses him goodbye. “drive safe, alright?” you’re winking at roman who points at you to say to behave, but he kisses gia’s cheek before he’s following theo out.

you answer leila from earlier with a shrug, “i’ve been wanting to find ‘the last love letter’ but i haven’t really been reading lately. been too busy.”

gia mouth gapes open as she slams her hand on the table, nearly knocking something over. “shut up, i’ve been wanting to read that too!” she shrieks as libby tells her to be more careful.

you can only giggle at her while she gets off her seat and comes up behind you to pull your hair and tie it back.

“that book is literally nowhere, i swear the author only made like five copies of it.”

“have you guys read ‘self sabotage’?” leila asks as she and libby, already prepared, begin to place their face masks on.

you’re on the couch with the girls as libby records you on her phone. the box of cookies are opened and after careful review, you’ve all decided what to try first and what comes after that, and so on.

“now?” you ask libby if she’s ready, and she nods. you, leila, and gia take a cautious bite out of the pieces you’ve broken off of the first cookie. it only takes you a few chews in to realize how heavenly it is. gia even pretends to faint beside you.

“holy shit,” leila says as she covers her mouth, taking a look at the cookie with wide eyes. “are you serious?”

libby lunges at you with her phone to take it from her, “well now i wanna try it!”

you’re in a fit of laughter as you try to turn the camera around before she can sink her teeth in, but she’s too fast. your eyes widen at the girl, “libby, slow down!”

and eventually, you’re full of cookies and half of them are still yet to be tried. you agree with the girls to continue this matter tomorrow if the boys don’t eat it all themselves, and you know they will. you’re just glad you’ve already tried all the ones you really wanted to before then.

when the guys get home, it’s exactly what you anticipated. they bee line directly to the cookies on the coffee table, but not without greeting you all first.

theo groans as he takes a bite, roman right beside him to stuff a whole chunk in his mouth. “this is better than sex,” he murmurs while roman snaps his fingers several times. leila can’t help but nod in agreement.

“i feel cookie-drunk,” you say with your hand on your stomach, and gia curls up into your side as she holds onto hers. “what’d you guys get?”

roman is quick to reach into his bag and pull out a couple of keychains, as if he just got reminded about something. he tosses one at gia’s head, and you look over to see what it is.

“the world’s okayest girlfriend,” she reads aloud, and she chucks it back at him, no longer accepting the gift that roman laughs about. she gets up to see what else is in his bag, leaving drew to plop down next to you and libby, who’s on the other side of you this whole time.

she’s cleaning the ice cream off her spoon when she speaks up for you and her, “what’d you get?”

“few things,” he says as he lets you look inside for yourself.

you pull out a long box and open it. it’s a chain bracelet, sterling silver. it’s nice, and you nod with raised brows. there’s other things inside that you only glance at, but when you look up at him you notice the new pair of sunglasses that’s resting on his head.

you pull it off of him silently and place it on yourself, unspokenly thanking him for the temporary gift you’ll give back later but you like them so now they’re yours for a few hours.

drew purses his lips and closes his bag, assuming you’re done, so he gets up and starts heading upstairs. you look over at libby. without hesitation, she asks, “you okay?”

you hesitate, and you know she’s only asking this because this is one of drew’s brief interactions with you since a few days ago. but you shrug it off, “yeah, i’m okay,” you say.

libby doesn’t miss a beat, she’s not convinced at all. she knows you well enough to understand what ‘im okay’ really means is ‘i’ll be okay’. that it’s not okay, but it will be eventually.

she’s seen this look on you before, during the hardest parts of your relationship with drew. she can feel the unspoken words between them, the ones you don’t even need to say out loud.

“right,” libby says with a soft sigh. she wraps her arms around you, pulling you into a comforting hug. “you’ll be alright,” she whispers. you know she won’t pry further, but knowing that whatever drew did, it was enough to hurt you again.

after a few moments, she pulls back and, with a small smile, asks, “wanna help me with dinner soon? leila thought it’d be nice to eat out in the backyard tonight, by the pool.”

you hum softly, nodding your head, “yeah, that sounds good.”

libby grins, “awesome. ‘cause it’s pizza night and i cannot do it alone.”

the next few hours blur together. you’ve successfully prepared the pizzas with libby and slid them into the oven. now you’re cutting into them and displaying them outside on the table.

it used to be bare, but someone since morning has gone out there to help decorate the backyard to make it just a little flashier. there’s a cloth on the table, which is scattered with candles, flowers, dishes, platters of cookies, fruits, a charcuterie board, and there’s a helpful variety of drinks.

fairy lights blink across the backyard, even over the pool, and it illuminates the whole place. you place the different pizzas in between each candle piece, which libby lights as you do. when you call everyone outside, you join together at the table.

and once theo leads you once again with the ‘i’m grateful for my future wife’ shit, you get to dig in. you’re pretty sure it was longer this time around and even roman started to just eat until he was kicked under the table by drew.

“fucking finally,” libby murmurs under her breath after theo concludes his speech, to which causes him to pick up an olive off the plate and toss it at her. “yeah, you’re so lucky i like olives,” she whispers to herself as she rearranges her napkin, “fucking loser.”

“libby,” you scold, though you can’t hide your laugh. she’s grinning when she looks up, silently laughing with you.

when you turn to drew on the other side of you, he’s taking large bites from his slice. he tilts his head back with a groan, then takes a longer look at the pizza as he chews.

“s’it good?” you ask, and he nods rapidly, and soon his body moves with it. you bring yourself to smile, grateful that people you care about like what you’ve cooked.

you reach over to take your own slice from each pizza and just stack it on your plate, planning on going through them one by one from the one on too being the one you least want to eat, and the last at the bottom being the one you’re most excited for—a ‘save the best for last’ type of thing. it’s silly but you do it anyway.

drew’s finishing up his bite when he leans into you gently. “i have to talk to you later, by the way,” he says, and it sort of startles you because at this point you’re just talking to libby.

you look at him with furrowed brows, but again, you’re not mad. you’re not upset with him. at least not in this moment, you can’t be.

and it looks like he’s grateful because he can see it too. “if that’s alright with you,” he says, then takes another bite. you just nod at him in silence, and watch as he turns back to oscar who’s on his other side before talking to him.

you look straight ahead where roman’s sitting, and he sends you a look. he heard drew talking to you, he knows it must be about something important, but it’s not what’s on your mind right now.

you shrug it off. “—tell you later,” you mouth to him, then turn to libby when you realize she’s talking to you again.

after dinner, gia and leila clean dishes while literally all of the guys clean up outside as a thank you to you and libby, who lay across the living room with bellies filled with food.

there’s a movie playing on tv that you can barely pay attention to, but you’ve been laying there for about an hour so if you really want to, you could. you just play into the laziness that you’re allowed.

you hold your phone above you as libby rolls around the carpet, or at least that’s what you last saw her doing before you looked away. you’re scrolling through texts with your manager as if a new message will come in.

“did elyse get back to you?” libby asks, a face-full of carpet and it sounds like she’s just a few feet away. “about the thing.”

“no,” you mumble, then turn your phone off and set it face-down on the carpet, just like libby. the side of your head is laying on your arm as you look at her. “i could go for another cookie.”

“you ate three!” libby’s muffled voice raises.

“and i’ll make it four,” you tell her, raising your volume back. you consider getting up but don’t feel like it. you can actually lay here forever—maybe.

“y/n,” you hear his voice. it’s drew.

and you get up immediately. he was so softspoken, so cautious with you. he’s entering the house with the other boys who must’ve finished outside, meaning it’s time to have his talk. you almost ask if you guys can just have it there if it’s not that important, but if that’s possible then he wouldn’t be trying to get you alone.

you look over to libby, who—at the sound of drew’s voice—peeked her eyes out to see what he wanted. she looks to you, and she understands why you have to go. she convinces herself to get up and find the remote so she can turn the volume up.

you know it’s for you and drew, and a part of you wants to nudge her or be offended, and you do. is this going to be normal behavior in the house? turning up the volume just for you and drew when you guys need to have these ‘talks’ that are just screaming practice in disguise?

you’re almost embarrassed but you know that you’d rather have this than let them hear you two upstairs.

you follow him to your room, or technically his room as of three nights ago, and he lets you inside first. there’s a chilling feeling when you realize what’s about to happen and you feel like he’s literally about to murder you.

the room is clean, for the most part. you didn’t doubt for a second that he wouldn’t take care of this room regardless if you’re in it or not. his bed isn’t made and his backpack’s on the edge of it, opened and rifled through.

you look to him when you’ve entered, and he nods toward the bed, as if to say he would rather you sit there while you listen to what he has to say, so slowly, you make your way over and settle down on the edge.

drew pulls out a chair from the desk across the bed and turns it around, pushing it closer to you. you’re surprised that he’s doing a whole setup just to talk to you. maybe he really is going to kill you.

“i haven’t been honest at all . . . since we started talking again,” he begins as he sits down in front of you. you stay there and close your mouth. you want to hear what he has to say, even if it ends terribly. you need to hear what he’s been thinking. “so i’d like to tell you everything about this past year if you’re okay with that.”

you shrug and gesture to let him have the floor. “please,” you insist with a nod.

he sighs as he fiddles with his fingers in his lap. “there’s . . . mila," he starts, and even though you knew this conversation was coming, it still stings when you hear her name.

“i guess you could call it a situationship or whatever,” he says before he catches himself, realizing how that sounds. “i mean, to me, it felt like that. but i think—” he pauses, chewing on his words. “no, she definitely saw it as more. she always viewed it as a relationship.” he glances at you, watching for your reaction, but you just sit there, waiting.

he rubs a hand over his face, frustrated with himself. “we just weren’t on the same page. i was . . . i was using it to distract myself, if i’m being honest. and i know that’s not fair. i knew it even then. but it felt easier than than facing what i was actually feeling at the time.”

he continues, “i told myself it was nothing, but i knew, deep down, it wasn’t fair to her. she didn’t deserve to be strung along like that.”

you feel your chest tighten, but not from jealousy. it’s you knowing that someone else had been hurt in this too, someone who had clearly thought there was more between them. “does she know? about this?” you ask him.

he flinches slightly, as if the concern you’re showing for mila makes this even harder to explain for him. he hesitates, “i officially ended things with her three nights ago. the night you confronted me about her. i told her it was over, that i couldn’t keep pretending things were fine when they weren’t. she didn’t take it well. and honestly, i don’t blame her.”

you’re quiet for a moment—so he’s decided to keep you and him a secret from mila? to spare both his and her feelings? you aren’t sure if you should bring light to it or just push it aside. you did say before that it was ultimately his decision.

“i’m glad you told her,” you say carefully, but there's a pause before you add, "but i can’t imagine how confusing this must be for her.” you shift in your seat, rubbing your palms on your knees. “i mean, from her perspective, this whole thing must feel like it came out of nowhere.”

he swallows hard, nodding. “yeah, it wasn’t fair to her. not at all.”

there’s a beat. he looks at you, his expression more vulnerable than you’ve seen in a long time. “i told her about you,” he says. he’s quiet, as if he’s afraid of the confession. “i told her that i’m . . . that i’m still not over you. that i don’t think i ever really was.”

what?

you blink, startled by his words, though in a way, you’re not entirely surprised. you’ve felt the tension between you two from the moment you started talking again, but hearing him admit it, finally saying it out loud . . .

his voice is rough, like he’s forcing himself to continue. “but that’s why things with mila were never real. not for me, at least. i kept telling myself i could move on, that i could just forget, but every day i’d realize i wasn’t. i couldn’t let go of you.”

“but you broke up with me, drew,” you remind him. “that doesn’t necessarily sound like you’re in love with me.”

“i didn’t break up with you because i didn’t love you,” he says, his brows furrowed. “i do, more than i’ve ever loved anyone else.” his eyes meet yours briefly before dropping to his hands, which he’s fiddling with in his lap. “like, it was the opposite. i felt like i wasn’t enough for you. like i was failing you.”

you feel your breath hitch in your throat, but you don’t interrupt. you sit up on the bed.

he leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he speaks. “our jobs, the schedules, the distance . . . it was tearing us apart, you know? and every day, i’d think about how i wasn’t giving you what you deserved. we were supposed to click, supposed to last, but i felt like i was just holding you back.” his voice is quiet, and he rubs his forehead slowly. “and i couldn’t stand the thought of you waiting for me when i could never give you the time you needed. it was eating me alive.”

you stay quiet, but tears prick at the corners of your eyes. his words hit hard, and you feel like everything that was left unsaid was finally coming to light now—there were arguments that could’ve been avoided, the misunderstandings that built up. he was overthinking, spiraling, and instead of talking to you, he made the decision for both of you.

“and i just kept thinking, like . . . ‘she deserves someone who can be there for her, really be there. someone who can come home to her every night’. i wasn’t that guy. i’d go days without seeing you, weeks even, and it broke me.” he swallows hard again, shaking his head. “i convinced myself that you’d be happier with someone else. someone who wasn’t always on some stupid set, always busy.”

your heart aches as you watch him, his guilt written all over his face. you lean forward and whisper, “but you don’t get to decide that for me, drew. we make decisions together. or at least, that’s how it’s supposed to work.”

“i know,” he mutters, his tone regretful. “i know that now. but back then, i thought i was doing the right thing. i thought i was . . . protecting you, i guess. from me.”

you shake your head, wiping at the tears that are now falling freely. “protecting me from you? drew, i never, ever wanted anyone else. i wanted you. i didn’t care about the schedules, or the distance. i would’ve waited, and we could’ve figured it out. together.”

his eyes finally meet yours again, and for the first time, you can see the depth of his regret. “when we broke up, i tried. god, i tried to move on. i tried to find something, you know? but i was always looking for you.” he takes a shaky breath. “every girl i met, i’d compare them to you. i’d look for pieces of you in them, trying to find something familiar, something that felt right. but it never worked.”

you knew he had tried to move on, but hearing that he was always searching for you in others, that no one ever compared. it leaves you speechless for a moment. if that’s what happened, then why invest so much time into mila?

you finally gather the courage to ask, “mila. did she . . . was she like me?” your voice is soft, almost hesitant, but you need to know.

“no,” he admits, shaking his head. “not really. mila was cool, and she’s . . . she’s great in her own way. but no. she wasn’t like you.” he pauses, as if trying to find the right words. "but i remember i wanted her to be."

he didn’t try to replace you with mila, but it was clear that he had been searching for something, anything, to fill the void you left behind. and it never worked.

“no one’s ever going to compare to you, y/n,” he continues, “i realize that now. it took me a while, but i’ll always search for you in everyone, and it’s never going to be the same. it’ll never feel the way it felt with you."

for the first time in a long time, you feel like you’re finally getting the truth. the real, unfiltered truth about why things ended the way they did. he wasn’t running because he didn’t care. he was running because he thought he wasn’t enough for you. and now, he’s sitting here, telling you everything he couldn’t say before.

“i’m sorry,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper now, on the verge of crying. “i’m sorry for walking away. for not talking to you about it when i should’ve. i was scared. scared that i wasn’t enough for you, and scared that i never would be.”

you can feel the tears still lingering in your eyes, but there’s also a strange sense of closure. you’ve needed to hear this for so long, to understand why things fell apart the way they did. and now, you finally do.

“i messed up,” he says, “i messed up everything, and i know it. but i never stopped loving you and i’m . . . i’m still in love with you.”

you stay silent, blinking away the burn in your eyes, trying to absorb what he’s saying. part of you feels relief, but another part of you is cautious. you’ve been hurt before like this. by another and by him.

he watches you closely, and it feels like the longer the silence is, the more anxious he gets. “i know this doesn’t fix anything, and i’m not asking you to forgive me or take me back. i just needed to tell you the truth. i needed you to know that mila . . . ? mila was never you. no one is.”

the room feels too small suddenly, too full of emotions that you don’t know what to do with. you take a deep breath, trying to collect your thoughts, but all you can manage to say is, “why now, drew? why are you telling me this now?”

his gaze softens, “because i didn’t want to lose you again. not without you knowing the truth.”

you can only look down at your lap. your vision blurs as you try to focus on your fingers, interlocked and tense in your lap, the pressure in your chest is tightening by the second.

you don’t trust yourself to speak just yet, so you hold everything in, to find the right words, but nothing comes out.

when you finally lift your head to look at him, the tears are already pooling in your eyes. you blink rapidly, trying to keep them from spilling over, but it’s useless. without saying anything, he stands up and pulls you into him, wrapping his arms tightly around your frame.

you let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding as your face presses into his chest, and it’s like the dam inside you finally breaks. the tears fall freely now, your body shaking as you cling to him, feeling the warmth of his arms around you—something you’ve missed so desperately.

and it’s not just about the last few days. it’s about the past year of missing him, of pretending you were okay when you weren’t. and you can tell drew needed this too. you can feel it in the way his grip tightens, like he’s afraid to let go, like he’s trying to hold together everything that’s broken between you both.

you stay like that for a long time, the sound of your quiet sobs muffled by his chest, his hand slowly rubbing up and down your back as if to soothe the ache inside you. it’s a comfort you haven’t felt in so long, and it is exactly what you’ve needed.

toward the end of it, your face still pressed against his chest, you mumble something, your words half muffled by the fabric of his shirt. he loosens his hold just a little, enough for you to pull back slightly, just enough to breathe. “i . . .” you take a shaky breath, your hands still gripping his arms, and when you finally meet his eyes again, you whisper, “i never stopped loving you either.”

the words hang between you, raw and honest, and as soon as you say them, you see the way his expression softens, like it’s the only thing he’s been waiting to hear.

his lips crash into yours, urgent and insistent. his fingers tighten against the back of your neck, pulling you closer, as if he can’t get enough. his lips coax yours open, deepening the kiss, and he swallows the whimper that escapes you.

his other arm wraps around your waist, pulling you into his lap as he sits back on the bed. he kisses you like he's been starved of you, his tongue swirling against yours, his hands exploring every inch of your face, your neck, your hair. this is what he’s been waiting to do.

his hands trail down to your hips, pulling you flush against him, and he breaks the kiss, only to trail his lips along your jaw, down your neck, his breath hot against your skin. “stay with me tonight?”

you can’t get enough of him, and although you know that everything can’t be completely fixed over just one conversation, sleeping and waking up in the same bed as him isn’t hurting anyone.

you nod, a soft smile on your face that causes him to grin. but he pulls away slowly hesitating for a moment, his smile growing a little wider as he reaches past you into his backpack, his fingers rummaging around as if he’s searching for something precious.

you watch him, curiosity bubbling inside you. what could he possibly have?

“hold on,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice low and filled with warmth, and you smile as you press another kiss to his.

finally, he pulls out a book, holding it out toward you with a look of pure joy on his face. you take a look at it but almost don’t even catch it the first time until a second later. your heart skips a beat as you recognize it—the last love letter.

“shut up,” you say, taking it into your own hands to see if it’s real. and of course it is.

he nods, a soft smile spreading across his lips. “i heard you talking about it with the girls before we left earlier,” he explains, but he knows you can tell already that much. there’s a goofy look on his face as he wipes underneath one of his eyes. “i knew how much you wanted it and i saw a copy in town, so . . .”

“no, shut up. i can’t take this,” you exclaim, feeling tears welling in your eyes. “star.” the words spill out, a mix of disbelief and overwhelming gratitude. it’s not just the gift; it’s the thought behind it that strikes a chord deep within you. you trace the cover with your fingertips as if it’s a treasured artifact.

he watches you intently. “i wanted to,” he assures you. “i heard it, i thought it would mean something to you.”

your gaze shifts from the book to him. “thank you, it does,” you whisper, your voice shaking as you blink out a few more tears.

you set the book aside momentarily, throwing your arms around him once again. the embrace feels like a lifeline. you hold him tightly, your heart racing as you bury your face against his shoulder, inhaling his familiar scent.

he wraps his arms around you, holding you just as tightly, as if he’s afraid to let go. the world outside fades away, and in this moment, it’s just the two of you, wrapped in each other’s arms, a bubble of intimacy where everything feels right again.

after a long pause, as you pull back slightly to meet his gaze, you can see the softness in his eyes. “you really didn’t have to do this,” you say again, looking down at the brand new book. “but it means the world to me that you did.”

he grins, “i know it’s just a book, but i wanted to show you that i’m here—like, really here this time.” and you are so glad he is.

“i missed this,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

he closes his eyes for a moment, and you continue to explore the pages of the book, though your thoughts keep drifting back to him. aw you run your fingers through his hair, it dawns on you how much you've missed this—this connection, this easy banter, the comfort of being together.

“i missed us,” you finally admit, looking into his eyes, and in that moment, everything feels right again. it all floods back to you.

he shifts slightly, leaning in closer, and his arms slide to wrap around your waist as he lays his head on your shoulder to take a look at your book with you, his voice in relief as he mumbles, “me too.”

and you’re happy, it all just feels like your dream again.

@rubixgsworld @itgirlbrina @thepopcultureaddict @icaqttt @samsmelodrama @kissfinalgirl @itsamegazaddysworld @willowpains @toterry @wearemadeofstardust0 @cl4uus @maybankslover @itneverendshere @httpsdrewstarkey @ilyrafe @sunny1616 @pillowprincess4him @yootvi @matthewswifeeee @uwuemlwlrld @l4venderia @chenslucy @darkreymbow @congratsloserr @skyslowalking @behindviolettwrites @allthoughtsmindfull @lovelylupin04 @ecstqzy @dasguccier

[heartsongss]

four. apples rotten right to the core

masterlist.

a/n: help i made toxic clarissexreader shes like a frat bro ex

You take a bite of an apple, the juice running down your chin as you mindlessly watch some sitcom or another. Your free hand wipes at it, your brows furrowing as it sticks to your hands.There’s a few more minutes before the league arrives, and you’re wasting your time eating, or polishing your weapons. Out of the corner of your eyes, you feel Clarisse’s eyes on you.

She’s watching you carefully, eyes drawn nearly closed as she gazes at you. It brings back memories, of slow nights spent with her, where her hands would smooth over your scarred skin and pry uselessly at your locked-up heart and plead with desperate wanting, a promise that this time, she’d be better.

(“(Y/N), please, I’ll listen. You don’t have to leave, I’ll take care of it. Please,” She begs, her hands on your waist and her face on your stomach.)

You take another bite of the apple. You ignore her hungry eyes, sat primly next to Jamie. It got worse after you removed your earrings, letting your mottled cheek face the world. Your friend leans on your shoulder, eyes lidded as he stares blankly at the screen with a confused look on his face. He’s frowning when he says, “The timeline makes no sense.”

“Yeah?” You ask, eyes flicking to his frame.

He nods, sitting up, “Bro, it’s-”

A knock at the door. Your head whips over, clutching the apple tight. They’re here. Clarisse goes to the door, a leader in her heart. She opens the door, staring out of them. She holds that position for a long, awkward moment. A power play, probably. She’s always been a fan of keeping people on their toes, reminding them that she’s better.

She steps aside, letting the League, or what of the league’s been appointed to help. They file in, left to stand and stare at the demigods scattered, sitting on couches and chairs. Their eyes are drawn naturally to you, scanning your frame. Dick, Jason, and Bruce are all among the gathered heroes and the most awkward. Dick - Nightwing - is shifting skittishly, his hands clenching and unclenching rhythmically. Red Hood just stares, hand close to his gun and his body pointed ever so slightly to the exit. Batman just stands there, perfectly still. The cape cloaks any movement he could be making right now, leaving you to just stare.

Your father flinches back near imperceptively, eyes widening as he sees you. You meet his gaze, staring up at him through your eyelashes.

Look at me, you think. Look at me and see what you made, what I’ve become.

He looks at you, until a body steps in front and keeps you from his eyes. Clarisse. She stares out at them, a hand on her spear, Maimer, as she frowns, “In half an hour, we’re heading out to put seals up. I’ll have (Y/N)’s group on the borders. You’ll be traveling down the edge of Gotham. There are six sealing zones, each one randomized when you arrive at the prior zone. Understand?”

You nod, Will and Jamie doing the same. The heroes assigned to you, Nightwing, Superman, and Impulse, nod as well. She runs down the list of assignments, herself being sent to the heart of Gotham. They’ll activate a spell that replicates the soul and signals of an injured powerful demigod. It’ll lure the stronger - and thankfully dumber ones - out from the shadows. The ones that remain are left to the Sealers and Travis’ group, who are to travel throughout Gotham on patrol.

“At the end of her spiel, she turns to you. A tender look overtakes her eyes, a quiet devotion before she turns back to the league. With a sigh, she says, “Let’s get a move on. The hope is that we’ll be through at about five. If you start on the outside, you’ll work your way in. We know we won’t get all of them, but we at least need to get most of them.”

She turns to the demigods, making eye contact with each of them, “Do you understand?”

Travis laughs, a softly bitter thing, “Yes ma’am.”

“Watch it, Stoll,” Clarisse frowns at him.

He raises his hands in surrender, standing up, “What, only want that from (L/N)-” 

Her hand shoots out, clutching at his shirt collar. Jamie laughs, shocked, his eyes wide as he glances from the daughter of Ares to the son of Hermes. You frown, a scowl on your face as you watch their stand off. You don’t notice the way Bruce’s eyes narrow, trained on Clarisse as if studying her weaknesses, trying to learn her inadequacies. Or the way Dick stills, a body of shifting limbs and straining muscles suddenly slowly to a stop. Or the way Jason shifts, his body leaning forward and his legs shifted wider as if to attack.

You’ve never needed to notice it before, because you always knew it wouldn’t be there. You didn’t have any need to expect it now. You could survive without their protection. You can survive without their attention.

You throw your half-eaten apple at Travis and Clarisse, Jamie booing them, saying, “Uninspired! Basic! Giving Twilight ass love triangle!”

You turn to him, eyes wide, “That’s the worst thing you’ve ever said about me.”

“It’s true!” He insists, sitting up to stare at you, “You’re Bella, Clarisse is Edward - not good for you but tragically the hotter of the two-”

“Hey!”

“Shut up, Travis! And Travis is the poor second choice!”

“Travis is dating Katie.”

“Oh. Forgot about that, lowkey.”

You sigh, standing up and grabbing your now-dirty apple from the ground and tossing it in the trash. You turn to Clarisse and Travis, raising your wrist and pressing the bracelet, blankly watching as it turns into a sword.

You point it at them, saying, “We have better things to do than your stupid ass posturing. Besides, I’m not taking you back.”

Dick squawks, “Take her back? (Y/N), you’re too young to be dating!”

He grabs your shoulder, spinning you around to face him as he grips your shoulders desperately, “You can’t be dating! (Y/N)-”

You stare at him, a mild look of disgust on your face as you gently remove his hands from your shoulder, “Let’s… not.”

He stays still, watching as you turn around and face your friends, “Let’s just get started. I don’t want to spend hours doing this, I have a life.”

Clarisse sighs. She looks at you, a frown on her face. She steps closer to you, so close you have to crane your neck to see her face. She’s always been taller than you, with broad shoulders and lean muscles. She smiles mockingly at you, leaning down until you’re almost nose to nose.

“You’re not in charge, (Y/N). We’re waiting for Chiron’s word.”

You smile back at her, a scornful look in your eyes. For just a moment, pink flits across your eyes, (e/c) shifting, “If I say we go, then you’ll find yourself listening.”

She glares, opening her mouth to say something she’ll surely regret, that will lead to her drunkenly IMing you sobbing when Will stands up and gets between you.

“Chiron messaged! We’re going, we need to go and you two need to get away from eachother! This is their first impression of us!” He says quickly, latching onto your wrist with one hand, and his free one gesturing to the league.

You sigh, “Sorry about that.”

Diana interjects before anyone else can, “It’s alright, (Y/N). Lets go.”

You make eye contact with your father, awkwardly holding it as he stares at you blankly. |Everyone begins to file out, and just before you follow him, he clasps your shoulder. He says, “(Y/N). I’m sure your… situation has left you far more independent than you need to be, you’re still far too young to date.”

You look at him with wide eyes, mouth open incredulously. He must see the look on your face, and recognize it, as he clears his throat and says, “Nonetheless, I am… proud of you.”

He turns and leaves, leaving you to just stand there. How dare he? Nine damn years of relying on yourself, and now he dares to come in and say ‘how dare you date’? What the fuck! You scowl, scoffing as you turn and follow him down out of the apartment.

Piece of shit.

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

Superman’s driving the truck. Will’s next to him, fiddling with the GPS, as you, Jamie, Impulse, and Nightwing are piled in the trunk bed. You’re sat across from Jamie, Nighting close enough to brush shoulders as he tries to lure you into conversation with meaningless jokes and small, vague memories of your past. You know just as well as he does that these memories were the only ones you share.

“...You were so small!” He says, nudges you with a small smile.

You smile awkwardly at him, fiddling with your bracelet. His eyes keep being drawn to your scar, which he stares at for a few seconds before remembering himself and looking away, “Yep. That’s what happens when you spend nine years in near-poverty.”

He quiets down, staring at you for a second. You give him a tight-lipped smile, like the one you’ve seen Chiron give to some of the more uptight parents from camp. You hope to emulate him.

Jamie snickers, disguising it as a cough into his shoulder. Dick shoots him a glare, before turning back to you like a puppy.

Just as he opens his mouth, Will sticks his head out the window, “We’ve got the first one! Down by the Bay! Let’s get in, and get out.”

You nod, turning your bracelet into a sword. You stand up, using the roof of the truck to steady yourself as you look out. You park roughly, and you jump out quickly, running to the site. Will comes up beside you, passing you a small dagger. With a deep breath, you slice your palm.

Dick gasps, hand flying out before he stops, looking as though it was painful. You drip your blood in a circle around you, squeezing tightly to urge more blood out. Eventually, you form a simple design around you, and you carefully step out of it.

You shake your hand and turn to Jamie, “Light it up.”

He carefully hops between lines of blood, standing in the middle. He clasps his hands in prayer, mumbling ancient Greek beneath his breath. As he finishes the line, the blood begins to glow brightly before settling into a shimmery red.

You sigh, turning to Jamie, “You’re bleeding for the next one.” He laughs, nodding as you pile back into the car. Will checks the GPS, putting the new location in. You brace yourself, ready for whatever comes next.

[sims3fiend]

Sims 3 Settings Setter

DON"T USE OLD USE THIS INSTEAD: https://sims3fiend.tumblr.com/post/777075618948005888/s3settingssetter-new-new-version-new

SORRY ONE DAY I'LL LEARN HOW TO DO THIS PROPERLY LMAO I KEEP FORGETTING Proper release notes and beta edition

I've added support for setting any Config or Option setting, plus live editing of many many others, so it's now release time. Full feature explanation below, but essentially this lets you edit lots of settings ingame directly instead of having to make .package mods, and provides a "better" and more shareable way of editing GraphicsRules.sgr settings (IMO). Sorry if a new post is annoying idk what I'm doing

THIS IS A BETA, I haven't tested a lot of the settings, there are bugs, etc.

DOES NOT CURRENTLY WORK WITH THE EA VERSION

Downloads: Sims File Share Sims File Share - Less stutter config GitHub

More info about what it is (I yap a bunch) under :)

Installation and use

Please note, some settings wont appear until you load into a world.

Download the ASI file and wack it in to your Sims 3 base directory, where the ts3w.exe is located. If you're using one of the presets, make a folder called s3ss_presets and pop them in there (you'll need to activate them in the presets menu ingame).

Make sure you have an ASI loader, these are either from Smooth Patch's ASI portion or dxwrapper. I recommend dxwrapper, just make sure you set the LoadPlugins value to 1 (should be default)

Start the game, you might experience a little more of an initial "freeze" when starting the game than usual, this is from the script logging a bunch of config calls during initialization, there's like 800 or something nuts. It should not have any negative impact on regular loading or gameplay, and I plan to turn the logging off… eventually.

Press Insert to open up the menu. Go crazy and change everything, make the sun huge, crank bloom up, live.

Check the box next to a live setting to have it save for next time you launch, same thing for config but you also have to press save down the bottom because I forgot

Help I crashed/the game doesn't start with the mod!

Please send me your hooks_log.txt if you're experiencing any crashing issues. If the crash is because you set some value to like 7 billion, that's on you, you can just delete the line out of script_settings.ini or go to Settings -> Clear all settings

If you can't get the game to run with the mod, lmk also, please tell me if you're using a launcher, if you're using any other .asi mods, using dxvk, etc. as well as what operating system you're on.

Features

Live Edit

This is the new™ and now main part of the mod. I've mapped out several/most of the exes main "settings" (anything that interacts w/ 0x005a00a0 and some that don't) areas, which allows you to now, in game, change these values whereas before it was a whole arduous process of making .package mods. I mapped these all statically so some of the offsets/addresses might be wrong.

I was gunna list the settings but there's 260~ of them so maybe not?

I plan to add missing specific individual settings from Config eventually. If you think a setting is missing, or if you think I've mapped a value wrong (i.e. you know it has an effect but it's not working with my mod or is crashing you, or one value is changing multiple things), please let me know. Render/er is definitely missing some, that's because the function is scary and I don't like it.

Values (sometimes) have sliders with the min and max value I found in the exe set, if you want to go higher, you can double click to type in your own number.

Some interesting things you can do with the settings:

Set max lots higher than 8 AND increase the radius so it actually shows (will crash if set too high ~35+, need to investigate) by changing values in Streaming

Play in a game where the sun never sets or rises by editing Sky Common -> Sunset/Sunrise Time

Change shadow settings (includes the same thing as LD's shadow extender mod under), extending shadows (they will still look hideous, writing a post about why currently)

Change various light settings to get the perfect look for your game. Some popular mods edit these values for their looks (presets soon?)

Do whatever… this is…?

Game Config

The function we're hooking (0x0058c380) only seems to effect Config (GraphicsRules.sgr in the .exe directory) and Options (Options.ini in the documents/Sims3 directory), but logs a whole bunch of other thing. Feel free to toggle the option in the settings tab and try changing a bunch, it should in theory work because the function is reading and writing but somewhere it gets overridden or something idk 🤷

It lets you set any that fall under those two categories/headings, which means there's some like ForceHighLODObjects that aren't in the actual file and are settable. You might notice some show different values than what they're set as in your config, this could either be that I'm hooking it too early (I don't think I am), or the value is getting overwritten or changed somewhere in the exe. If there's a setting that's in the file but not in the list that you think does something, lmk, but it should capture everything.

I haven't mapped all of the Config/Option settings to Live Edit as they're all split up in the exe, if there's one you want in particular, lmk.

Presets

I've prepared a preset with just the essentials from my GraphicsRules file post with the idea that you can then use this with a stock GraphicsRules file instead of having to manage different versions, giving you the ability to toggle certain things back to default. I might make some visual "enhancement" presets or something later, either based off popular mods or my own insanity, we'll see.

Presets go into the s3ss_presets folder, and currently they stack rather than replace (not intentional but I might keep it)

Known issues:

Rendering toggles need to be re-toggled each load - Easy fix I'm just lazy

Options settings overwrite the actual Options.ini file (idk why??)

Occasionally D3D9 wont hook, I can't replicate this reliably to test so lmk if you can lmao

I mapped all the settings pretty hastily, so some are bound to be wrong

Was flagged as a virus briefly??? Praying this never happens again because I have no idea what to do to fix that dshjakfhhsdaj

Presets stack, if you apply a preset and you have existing values, they stack together… I kind of like that though as a concept so I just added a clear all option to settings, I might rework it later.

Some Live Edit value locations might change during gameplay, resulting in the menu displaying them incorrectly and crashing the game if edited in a broken state. I've checked most off them and they don't seem to, but Render ones did. Let me know if you experience it as I can probably find a static pointer like I did for Render.

Planned things:

Searching. God that'd be good…

Go over existing maps again, some I did early on before I supported static values, 4 float arrays, etc. so I've probably messed some up

Adding every single GraphicsRule.sgr setting to Live

Maybe adding some of my performance mods to it? Or should I keep them as their own individual thing? Mmmm I dunno

I still haven't looked at the way everyone else has been editing the "live" settings, so I should probably do that, there's probably a lot of info out there but at this point I'm too invested in my weird approach djsakfsksaffsa

Updates:

18.10.24 - Hopefully fixed an issue effect people using launchers, as well as a fix for the process hanging after quitting (would look closed but the process is still there in the bg). Also fixed presets applying. 17.10.24 - Hopefully fix a D3D issue that might've resulted in the game freezing/looking frozen. Handles D3D device resets. Will expand in the future to cover other areas maybe.

[clownery-and-fuckery]

The fact that Harry is canonically FEARED by people in Jamrock really surprises me. Like, I know he's the "human can-opener" and that has boosted his reputation and name among the people, but learning what he was like pre-amnesia is a whirlwind of an experience. Why don't more people talk about it?

This is coming from the wiki page so some things might be a lil inaccurate (I honestly don't know how well I can trust that source just yet) but it says he was on drugs/drunk for the majority of his service (even pre Dora), I imagine this got worse especially during those six years after Dora left him. By that time, he had already partnered with Jean, and had probably rejected his promotion number one.

After Dora left, the substance abuse got worse, but his work got better. It was hard to discourage their best detective, I guess. Even though he was actively funding the thing he was trying to shut down. It's a conflict of interest, he shouldnt have kept his job.

Also, during "THE UNSOLVABLE CASE" its said he left a man unable to walk, held a woman hostage, and shot wildly at a man.

That's just one case. You don't get a reputation like Harry's from one case. You don't make someone run at the mention of your name in the area. Ruby didn't run because of that one case.

Harry was a scary man. An ex gym teacher, off his rocker on an amount of drugs he couldn't count on two hands. He was talking to the tie before he lost his memory. The skills probably weren't a new thing. I like Harry, too, but his routinely "the women are the bourgeoisie" bit isn't just a post-amnesia thing, that's a cemented belief that's hung around his head long enough to become a foundation of every belief, even if you're an ultra-liberal. I don't think he was that popular with anyone he met.

The public were honestly right to be afraid of him.

But the RCM promoted him again. Or they tried. Because, what, Jean somehow managed to cover up everything Harry had done? What else has he done? How bad did things get, if beating a man with a ledger isn't anything more than a footnote in a case file?

Speaking of Jean, he confuses me a little. I mean, he respects Harry enough to cover up everything he did/does, but when it comes to talking about/to him, he puts him down, chews him out, makes it sound like he thinks Harry's actions are unacceptable (which I'm inclined to agree, at least pre-amnesia) but he also actively tries to make this narrative of Harry being crazy and wild and dangerous a thing, to everyone. Even Kim. Especially Kim, at the end. Look at this dialogue:

Those are the words of someone hurt over and over, watching a cycle repeat in another. But Jean still, when he doesn't really need to, decides to cover up Harry's missing gun and badge, and hears him and Kim out at the end of the game. He tears Harry down out of habit, but he also helps him out of that same habit.

He uses the word bewitched. That interested me, because it's infinitely more affectionate than manipulated, or tricked or just lied to. Jean uses it in a sympathetic manner, because he, like the RCM, like Dora, had been drawn in by Harry, and forced to stay until they left, like Dora, or became too bitter to go, like Jean.

It set up an interesting narrative for an aftermath. Would Kim, too, be driven away? Or would he get so sucked into the endless torment of being Harry's favourite, that like Jean, even if he wanted to, Kim wouldn't know anything else? Or had Harry actually changed? Does he get better, or does he get worse?

I would love to see more exploration on Harry after the events of Disco Elysium. I want to know how his reputation shapes how he acts after, I want to know how people interact with him. Its so interesting to me. It's all a bit of a jumbled ramble but yeah!!! :D

[forsaken-fates]

A SHORT(?) VISIT

"I'm so going to regret this..."

>[Elliot muttered to himself as he stepped through the portal presented in front of him, feeling the shift in temperature as he entered the new limbo. The grass crunched softly underneath his feet as he slowly walked towards the only prominent house, looking as familiar as ever. He hesitantly raised up his hand, curled up to a fist.]

>[...Knock knock knock.]

>[...]

>[The former employee let out a sigh of relief, quickly turning around and walking back towards the portal.]

"Well, looks like no one's home!-"

"Hello?"

>[Elliot froze in his spot as he heard the door opening, feeling the blood drain from his face as his smile dropped.]

"Oh, Hi Mr. Elliot!"

"Fuckkk..."

>[He turned around to see a short, red child standing in the doorway, his smile too wide for comfort.]

"Dad! Dad, Look! Mr. Elliot came by to visit!"

"Wh- huh?"

>[c00lkidd quickly ran back inside the house, before coming back and dragging 007n7 out of the kitchen, pointing at Elliot, who stood a bit confused in the doorway.]

"Mr. Elliot visited! Hi Mr. Elliot!!!"

>[The child waves at the pizza man who ignored him, staring at the ex-exploiter with a clear hesitance on his face. The other one seemed... Happy. Happy to see him. Elliot couldn't help but feel suspicious.]

"Uh... H-hi, Elliot! I didn't think you'd come by...!"

"Yeah well, I did. Didn't want to, but someone wouldn't leave me alone if I didn't come by."

>[Awkward silence filled the two before a clawed hand held onto Elliot's, dragging him inside the house.]

"Ow-! Hey!"

"Come in! Come in!"

"Careful, kidd. I still haven't filed your claws down."

>[c00lkidd lets his grip on Elliot go before running inside, heading to the kitchen.]

"I'm... sorry about him. We haven't had anyone visit, so he gets pretty excited whenever someone comes along..."

"...It's fine. I understand."

>[A long pause came between the two men, leaving them in an awkward silence, avoiding each other's gaze.]

"Anyway.... I made lunch. Would you like to um... come in? Maybe eat with us?

>[Elliot paused, looking up at 007n7 for a moment. He could see a faint glimmer of hope in the other's eyes, the sheepish smile on his face pairing with it.]

"Sure."

>[007n7's eyes lit up at Elliot's words, a spark of hope igniting within him.]

"R-really? U-uh, okay! Good, that's good. You can, uh, leave your shoes at the door."

>[007n7 sheepishly laughed, trying to ease his own racing heart. It's been a while since he's seen the other, after all.]

>[Elliot nodded at the ex-exploiter's words, slipping off his shoes and neatly setting them beside the ones that were already next to the door. Even as he took notice of the other's extremely awkward and hesitant stance, he still couldn't help but feel a bit wary and cautious.]

>[As 007n7 lead Elliot into the kitchen, a faint smell of spices and cooking floated in the air. It could easily be identifiable as curry for the former employee.]

"So... what made you decide to visit now, out of all times?"

>[The father asked, going to the cupboard and taking out a few plates. Elliot shrugged, sitting down at the dining table.]

"Some Anons kept bugging me about it. They wouldn't leave me alone until you'd... y'know. Open up your mailbox."

"Ah... I'm sorry about that. I'll have it open as soon as possible, I promise! I just... needed some time for a while."

"Uh huh."

>[Elliot watched as 007n7 scrambled around the kitchen, hastily grabbing things as adrenaline seemed to course through him. ]

"You, uh... need some help over there?"

>[He asked, standing up and slowly walking towards where 007n7 stood, looking as tense as ever.]

"Are you sure? I-I don't want to trouble you or anything-"

"It's fine, you're not troubling me. What troubles me more is you scrambling around and pretending you're fine."

>[Elliot seemed genuine. Like he actually did want to help out. Except, everyone knows he's just doing this to not get in 007n7's bad side.]

"...Alright. You can, uh... help by setting these plates on the table. c00lkidd's is the smallest one, and... you can pick whichever plate you want."

>[The former employee nodded as a small stack of plates was handed to him, taking the plates to the table, where c00lkidd sat.]

>[As the plates and utensils were finally gathered on the table, Elliot made his way back into the living room, leaving behind a small basket filled with the snacks the other Noob had given him. He went back into the dining room and took a seat, keeping his hands to himself.]

"Finish your food, okay kidd?"

"Okay!"

>[Elliot was lost in his head for a moment before he noticed his plate being taken away and given back to him filled with white rice and curry. There were vegetables, yes. Maybe a few carrots and potatoes, but the majority of it was meat.]

>[...Shit, it looked good, too.]

>[...He's gonna have to be here for a while, is he?]

[dreamwritesimagines]

The Eye of the Hurricane [34] - Cage

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, you made my day! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️

Summary: Lack of honesty can cause resentment.

Word Count: 2700

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Warnings: Violence, guns, crime, blood, explicit language, dysfunctional relationship, mentions of sex. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

If anything, your day started out pretty calm.

You were petting Alpine with one hand while scribbling on the paper with the other, and you stole a look at Bucky when he entered the kitchen. He ran a hand through his damp hair and you inhaled the scent of his aftershave as subtly as you could, pretending to be busy with the file in front of you while he made his way to the coffee machine to fill himself a cup of coffee.

You could feel his glances on you as he leaned back on the counter, sipping his coffee but you ignored him until he cleared his throat.

“So when is that asshole leaving?”

You stopped petting Alpine and lifted your head to look at him better.

“Who, Rhett?” you asked. “He just got here.”

“Doesn’t he have a city to rule?”

“He left his right hand in his place, apparently,” you told him. “Why?”

“Just curious.”

You hummed, spinning your pen between your fingers.

“You should be nicer to him, you know.”

He scoffed into his coffee mug. “Yeah sorry, I’m not capable of being nice to dickheads who gaze at my wife longingly.”

“What?”

“I’m already being civil by not shooting him, and that’s only because you told me not to.”

“You’re not going to shoot—he doesn’t gaze at me longingly, Bucky.”

“Oh he does,” he shot back. “In fact, I bet he has a plan.”

Your frown deepened. “What plan?”

“He wants to—he wants to take you to Chicago,” he said, motioning vaguely and you tilted your head, your mouth slightly open. “Yeah, he’ll feed you some bullshit about never being over you—”

“He is very much over me.”

“And he will ask you to go rule Chicago with him, and then I’ll shoot him and feed his fucking body to the dogs—”

“Can I just interrupt that very creative theory with some truth?” you asked him as Alpine jumped from the counter to the floor. “Number one, even if he weren’t over me, it wouldn’t fucking matter because I am over him.”

His eyes searched yours as if he was trying to see if you were telling the truth. “…Are you?”

“Absolutely,” you said. “Number two, whoever he is with -which is not going to be me, by the way- will not be ruling Chicago with him. Chicago’s rules are different, the crown moves through blood there. Spouses are irrelevant, they’re treated worse than heirs, or right arms. Don’t get me wrong, I hate the bitch who he’s going to marry because she’s a terrible person, but I kind of feel bad for her too because no one will ever take her seriously. King consort or queen consort, doesn’t matter because they have zero power, except for providing heirs and strengthening the loyalty of families.”

Bucky blinked a couple of times. “Jesus, and we say we have medieval rules.”   

“Exactly,” you said. “And number three, I know we both keep forgetting it but we are in fact married. Even if I weren’t over him, me going to Chicago would be grounds for war and only an idiot—”

“Trojan War started the same way, didn’t stop anyone.”

“I appreciate the compliment but I’m not the underworld edition of Helen of Troy,” you pointed out. “That’s not what’s going to happen here. Unless Eric Bana shows up, that is.”

“Which one was he in that movie, Paris?”

“Hector,” you said with a sigh. “The things I’d do to him…”

“I’m glad we had this conversation because now I will have to add him to my hitlist as well.”

You rolled your eyes at him.

“The point is,” you said. “I’m not starting a war between Chicago and New York for an ex. Because that’s what Rhett is. An ex.”

“He doesn’t see you as just an ex,” Bucky told you. “You said it yourself. He trusts you.”

The sight of Rhett’s car by the campus outside your building made you stop dead in your tracks only for a moment. You could feel the smile pulling your lips as you approached him, and he took off his sunglasses to grin at you.

“Hey stranger.”

“Hey,” you said. “Look at that, you survived.”

“Mm hm.”

“I take it the same can’t be said for Lucas?”

“For him or any of his men,” he stated, leaning back to his car. “He was waiting exactly where you said he was.”

You nodded your head. “How pissed off was your father?”

“Very pissed off,” he said. “But I think it worked out pretty well, you know? Now we have sent a message.”

“The ultimate golden heir is not to be crossed or challenged,” you teased him with a small smirk. “That’s a good message.”

He heaved a sigh, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Hm?”

“Why did you warn me?” he asked. “I mean, aside from the orgasms I gave you—”

“That was a mutual transaction,” you pointed out, making him let out a chuckle and hold up his hands.

“It really was,” he said. “But seriously, we were broken up. And I know what promise he dangled in front of you. What, you didn’t even consider it?”

You made a face, shaking your head. “No.”

“Why not?”

“New York values loyalty over power,” you said. “That’s what I grew up with. I don’t do business with greedy backstabbers, neither would my father or anyone else in New York. Once a traitor, always a traitor.”

Rhett’s gaze was fixed on you, a light crossing his eyes as he let out a breath.

“Jesus…” he muttered. “One last transaction, cupcake?”

“Nope,” you said with a laugh. “Then we will get attached and we can’t have that. You have a city to take over, and I’m too smart to be put in the background in someone else’s empire.”

Rhett smiled softly.

“My father won’t do business with anyone in New York,” he said, and you shrugged your shoulders.

“I know. Everyone knows.”

“Neither will I,” Rhett said. “Until you need my help.”

Your eyes shot up to his, your stomach doing a happy flip.

“You’d do that for me?” you asked and he nodded.

“You saved my life, and proved that I can in fact trust you,” he said. “Chicago values loyalty above everything else. The least I can do is pay back the favor.”

A smile warmed your face. “I’ll come to collect, Rhett.”

“Looking forward to it,” he said and extended his hand. “Pleasure doing business with you, cupcake.”

You let out a giggle, and shook his hand.

“Yeah,” you said. “Likewise.”  

“Because I earned his trust,” you told him as his phone vibrated and he checked the screen, then typed something. Even if you wanted to ask who it was, you managed to control yourself, biting inside your cheek.

“Dr. Raynor rescheduled the therapy session for the evening,” you told him. “Your assistant told you?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I have a meeting with Anna before that so I might be a bit late but I’ll be there.”

Your brows shot up, that familiar bitterness burning your mouth. “With Anna?”

“Mm hm,” he said. “Gotta go, I’ll see you there,”

With that, he walked out of the apartment and closed the door behind him, and Alpine jumped back on the counter, meowing at you in a very demanding manner. You heaved a sigh, stroking over her soft fur.

“We’re not going to threaten Anna,” you told her, “Because that’s a fucking insane thing to do, and we’re very logical, rational individuals, right Alpine?”

Alpine meowed again and you nodded your head.

“Mm hm,” you muttered. “Exactly.”

                                               *

“I mean it’s not that I’m jealous,” you assured Becca who only watched you with her brows raised. “Obviously that’s not what’s happening here.”

She hummed, sipping her coffee.

“It’s just that she’s a bit too friendly with him I feel like.”

“Like Rhett is a bit too friendly with you?”

“That’s very different!” you protested. “Rhett and I are going to make a deal!”

“Anna already has a deal with Bucky.”

“Whose side are you on?” you asked, sulking and she let out a laugh.

“Yours, obviously,” she said. “But I’m just saying, maybe before pointing fingers, acknowledge the fact that Rhett liked you. A lot.”

“Liked,” you repeated. “Back then. Besides, I have no feelings for him and as I told Bucky, he will get married.”

“And he will have mistresses.”

“Probably,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders. “Alice will kill them I’m guessing. She was quite obsessed with him even while we were dating and now that Rhett says he will marry her, I do not want to think about the lengths she’d go to.”

 Your phone buzzed on the table and you checked the screen, then tilted your head. “Huh.”

“Who is it?”

“Ethan,” you said. “We haven’t talked in forever, apparently he was too busy and so was I. He wants to grab coffee sometime.”

“What is it with all your exes wanting to fuck you?” Becca asked, making your jaw drop.

“That’s not true!”

“No seriously, what are you doing to those guys?”

“I don’t do anything to them—you know what, we’re changing the subject,” you said as you put your phone back on the table. “Do you think I’ll be able to pull it off?”

“The deal?” Becca asked, “I’d say you already have.”

“Nothing is on paper yet.”

“It doesn’t matter, he flew here for that deal. He will make it.”

You drummed your fingernails on the table. “My father will have so many things to say about it I’m sure.”

“He can say whatever he wants—oh!” she sat up straighter. “Guess what I heard.”

“What?”

“Apparently, Ian is learning how to fight.”

You pulled your brows together. “I’m sorry?”

“Mm hm. His right hand is teaching him, the hot Hercules guy—”

“Ryan.”

“Yeah, him.”

You scoffed a laugh. “How did you hear about that?”

“Your father told my father and my father told my mom at breakfast,” she said. “Never too late to start I guess?”

“I mean he’s the heir,” you said with a sigh. “If the cage fight is happening…”

“You know how I feel about the cage fight tradition but for Ian’s case only, I will enjoy it,” she said. “I hate the son of a bitch.”

You squeezed her hand. “How Leila?”

“That’s actually why I wanted to meet up with you,” she said, huffing out a breath. “My mom kind of forced my hand.”

“How?”

“She and me and Leila are having brunch tomorrow.”

Your eyes widened. “What?”

“So I need you to tell me Leila won’t decide to dump me tomorrow.”

A small laugh escaped from your lips and you shook your head.

“She won’t,” you assured her. “Do you want me to be there? I will invite myself to that brunch, I don’t care what Winnifred thinks.”

 She looked like she was genuinely considering the idea before she made a face, then shook her head.

“Nah, I need to deal with this myself,” she muttered and you pressed a hand over your chest.

“Aw,” you said with a grin. “They grow up so fast.”

“Shut it,” she said, kicking at your shoe with hers, making you gasp. “But I’m going to need all the moral support I can get, so you will be by the phone the whole time, alright?”

You let out a laugh. “Deal.”

                                                    *

Bucky was late to the therapy session as he said he would be by fifteen minutes, and when he got there, he was rather tense. Even if you wanted to ask what had happened, you knew you couldn’t in front of the therapist so you raised your brows at him but he shook his head.

“So,” Dr. Raynor said, “Let’s pick up from where we left off the last time. How have things progressed in terms of your communication with your ex-boyfriend in the picture?”

“Him being my ex-boyfriend doesn’t play a part in our communication or lack thereof,” you said quickly and Bucky clicked his tongue.

“It definitely does.”

“I think what plays an important part in our communication is the fact that Bucky doesn’t exactly trust me.”

Bucky blinked a couple of times and turned to look at you better.

“I don’t think you should be pointing fingers here, Charm.”

“I do trust you!” you protested, making him scoff.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“You know what, if you’re being like this because I didn’t give you one tiny little detail about my plan—”

“One tiny little detail?” Bucky repeated with a laugh. “Try the whole plan.”

“You wouldn’t even spare me a glance if I pulled the shit you did back in that back alley,” you finished your sentence as if he didn’t cut you off and that seemed to take him by surprise. He gawked at you, then licked his lips, shaking his head.

“Are you serious right now?”

“What happened in the back alley?” Dr. Raynor asked, her voice almost too calm and Bucky gritted his teeth, leaning back in the couch as if he was uncomfortable all of a sudden.

“It was ages ago,” he said curtly and you hummed.

“And you never apologized.”

“I did apologize—”

“Asking me if I’m still mad via text does not count as an apology, Bucky.”

“What happened?” Dr. Raynor asked and you took a deep breath, then crossed your arms.

“I had a silly little crush on Bucky years and years ago,” you said. “Before I left for college, I made the mistake of telling him about it.”

“Charm.”

“And it’d be fine if he only turned me down but nope,” you spat, that bitter taste burning your throat again. “He had to humiliate me.”

“I didn’t humiliate—”

“Yes you did,” you cut him off and he ran a hand over his face, then motioned at Dr. Raynor.

“Are we seriously going to do this in front of her?”

“Why not?” you said. “That’s what the therapy is for.”

“And you resent him for it, Y/N?” Dr. Raynor asked and Bucky scoffed a laugh.

“Oh she hates me for it,” he corrected her and you shrugged your shoulders.

“I’m not saying I don’t trust you, I’m just saying that if I didn’t trust you, it would be with a reason.”

“Right.”

“Was there a reason behind it, Bucky?”

“No there wasn’t, other than the fact that he wanted to humiliate me.”

“Charm.”

“Y/N, open communication is very important and a huge part of it is listening,” Dr. Raynor said, making you shake your head.

“No, he really didn’t have a reason other than the fact that he was the city’s golden prince who thought—”

“My father wanted us to end up together,” Bucky cut you off, making you pull your brows together in confusion and you turned your head to gawk at him.

“What?” you asked after a beat and Bucky clicked his tongue.

“Yeah,” he said. “He kept talking about how it would be good for the business, how I should visit you in Chicago when you’d leave for college and…all that bullshit.”

You blinked a couple of times in complete silence and Bucky bit inside his cheek.

“I mean obviously I didn’t see you that way back then, but I wouldn’t have been that much of an asshole to you if that was the only reason,” he told you, his voice almost inaudible. “I thought…I thought you were yet another cage he would drag me into, that’s it.”

You could barely hear anything from the way your heart was pounding in your ears and Bucky swallowed thickly, then stole a look at Dr. Raynor and took a deep breath.

“Yeah no, I’m not doing this shit in front of a stranger,” he muttered and got up from the couch as if he was too restless, then walked out of the office and slammed the door behind him. The sound snapped you out of your haze and you jumped on your feet, grabbing your purse.

“Thanks Dr. Raynor,” you said in a haste and walked out of the office as well but by the time you stepped outside, Bucky’s car had already driven off. You let out a breath, then leaned back to the wall on the building and rubbed at your eyes.

“Oh…” you murmured more to yourself. “Fuck.”

Chapter 35

[siriuslysmutty]

Crying in damsel in distress

We love a strong MC/YN...but your ABO posts got me thinking about 141 knowing you're an omega, but also knowing you're with someone. They keep a watchful eye every time your heat comes around but otherwise your alpha demands they don't get too personal with you.

How do you think the guys would react/respond to discovering you being mistreated by your alpha?

(can be any definition of 'mistreated' that you wanna work with)

Depending on how bad it is your getting in trouble... (I'm devouring our horny ABO train, thank you for indulging me.)

Kyle is your friend. He just wants whats best for you and this poor little Omega doesn't even know how unfortunate her current Alpha is. He'll coo and give you that big eyed gaze like a disappointed puppy as he talks his shit.

"Love, what kind of alpha doesn't know when your next heat is project to hit! Even I know that. June tenth!"

"You don't want to take your collar off for an Alpha who doesn't open your doors for you."

He undermines the entire relationship. Plants little charges to go off at structural issues. Hires another Omega to rub all over him on his way home. Then sweeps up the peices when you've broken up too close to your heat cycle to get into a heat clinic.

This look.

Johnny is always ready to fight your boyfriend. Openly. Brawling is a sport among his alpha family. He broke his nose 3 times before he enlisted from those brawls.

He's a little childish and the second you leave he's staring the guy down like he's gonna tear off all his limbs. Eventually chases the poor Alpha off but absolutely isn't subtle.

Shamelessly pulls off his shirt as he talks about what a tool that idiot is and uses the fabric to casually wipe his scent from everywhere: Pits, gland, even shoves it down his jeans right in front of you before draping dragging it over your head.

"S'the matter? Ahm patient, no? It's my turn."

Ghost bides his time. He waits, patiently and his foundation has never cracked. Boyfriend? Doesn't care if he is good or bad. Your his. He decided. Won't force you. He's going to openly court you despite the boyfriend.

Brushing his scent across you like it's cologne. Doing a rare air out when you're around so you can smell how potent his pheromones are. When he finds out about the weaker Alpha being cruel to you though, it's on there. He's getting dragged outside and beaten until he can't stand.

Ghost is gonna brush a gentle knuckle down to catch a distressed tear rolling down your poor cheek and it' gonna smear your (ex)boyfriends blood over it in the process. The flood of testosterone triggering another kind of excitement.

"Where's the key to your collar? I feel a rutt comin' on."

Price... you don't even know what happened. You think your boyfriend left after he hit you the first time. Not even knowing John was back from deployment and watching from dark windows as you fought with the alpha.

But you wake up and your boyfriend is gone. Never responds to calls or texts. Your terrified when police show up to ask about the missing persons report that his company filed. Don't worry. Your alpha neighbor is cloaking you in a blanket that smells like tabacco smoke and bringing your shaken little self inside for a cup of tea.

"Don't worry, pup," he'll purr in your ear when your under him on the couch he lures you to. "You just bend over real pretty for me, I'll handle the rest."

[boldlyvoid]

Snowed In

18+ Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader

Summary: what happens when you're the last two in the office on Christmas Eve and the roads are closed due to an unexpected blizzard?

Warnings: divorced touch starved hotch, Agent reader, blizzards, alone at Quantico, cuddling, flirting, making out, face sitting, munch hotch, teasing, p in v smut, soft dom hotch, spit, biting, fluffy aftercare

word count: 5.3k

The weather forecast for Christmas Eve didn’t look nice… but you can’t really call out of work at the FBI for ugly weather when there are terrible people out there to catch. And, unlike everyone else who thought it would be smart to head home before the storm, she had paperwork to do.

So by the time her last file was closed, the roads were too. 

The power was still on, and it would stay on thanks to the generator at Quantico and the best part was that the kitchen was newly stocked with snacks. 

She wandered down to the floor 6 break room, which just so happened to be in the BAU bullpen. Everyone had gone home, the desks were empty and the only lights on were in the kitchen area. She took out a mug, flicked on the kettle and started to make herself some toast with one of the many Jams in the fridge. She’s so caught up in her snack that she doesn’t hear a door open, or someone walking down the steps towards her until he's taking a deep breath and scaring the daylights out of her. 

“Oh god,” she jumps, hand on her chest as she turns to him. “Agent Hotchner…” 

“Agent Y/L/N,” he smiles. “Sorry, I thought you knew I was still here.” 

“I figured you went home to your wife—

“Ex-wife,” he sighs, showing his ringless hand. “She has our son this year, I thought I’d catch up on some work and then the snowstorm got… well, you see,” he points to the big glass windows covered in snow. 

“It hasn’t snowed like this here in years,” she shakes her head in disbelief. “I can’t believe we're stuck here…” 

“Well, it’s not like there’s nothing to do,” he teases. “We have a TV, lots of snacks, the power won’t go out on us so it’ll stay warm in here and Daves got a cot in his office if you need a place to sleep…” 

“Oh, thank you,” she’s shocked he’s thinking about her like that. “I didn’t even think about that part.” 

“you’re just hungry?” He teases. “What are you making?” 

“Tea and toast… you want some?” She asks, hopeful he’ll say yes. 

He nods, “I’d love some.” 

They work around the kitchen like a team. She makes the toast, he makes their tea and they share exactly how they like theirs done… and there's a hope in her heart that maybe this is just the first time she makes him a breakfast meal. She’s always found him handsome, everyone in the bureau had, honestly. Not only is he good-looking, he’s strong and smart and kind until he can’t be anymore. And when he’s mean, even that’s a little sexy.

He invites her up to his office where she finds he’s been sitting on his couch, his laptop on his desk, watching old episodes of Fraser… “seriously?” She can’t believe it. 

He blushes a bit, “it’s a good show. I have every season on DVD and this laptop has a disk drive, so…” 

“Honestly, I’ve never really watched it,” she shrugs. “What season are you on?” 

“The first one, I can start it from the beginning again?” 

“No, it’s okay,” she waves it off. “I think I can catch up, you’ll just have to explain some things to me.” 

And so he does, he gives a rundown of the first few episodes. Who Fraser is, his weird brother, his dad and their dad's helper— who his brother eventually falls in love with. It’s a good show. It’s funny, she gets to see Hotch smirk and sometimes, actually, giggle… it’s something she’s not used to. 

In the handful of times she’s worked with the BAU on things, Agent Hotchner has never cracked a smile. Episode after episode, he gets happier and friendlier and she takes that as an invitation to move in closer and closer until their shoulders are touching. And then he lifts his arm to rest it on the back of the couch and she’s even closer to him. His tie is off, his first two buttons are undone… he’s comfortable and handsome as ever and it takes everything in her to watch the show and not stare at him. 

“Do you want to watch another?” He asks in a hushed tone, just for her to hear— as if they weren’t completely alone here. 

She nods, “I can do another.” 

“Cool,” he smiles ever so softly and goes to get up so he can switch the disk to access another 4 episodes.

She watches him take out the old disk, put it back in the case and take out the new one. He places it in the tray, closes the disk drive and watches as it loads up to the title screen again. He hits play, and makes his way back to the couch with a sigh, placing his arm on the back again, just as close to her as last time. 

“This is really nice,” she compliments. “Thanks for making this night fun for me.” 

“I’m actually really glad someone else got snowed in here too,” he teases. 

“I really thought I was alone in here,” she sighs. “I’m so happy I’m not…” 

“Are you happy it’s me?” 

She can’t help but smirk, “Yeah… alone time with Agent Hotchner wasn’t something I ever expected to get.”

“Would you want more?” He asks, staring at her lips. “I mean—

“Yes,” she cuts him off. “If I knew you were single I would’ve asked before…” 

“It’s only been 6 months, we haven’t worked together since then,” he reminds her. “I haven’t— I haven’t even tried to spend time with someone else, yet.”

“But you think you’re ready?” 

He shrugs, “I— I think you’re pretty and you’re nice and we’re here and we’re having a good time…” 

“So are you asking me on a date hotchner, or do you want to bone in your office?” 

He laughs, “Bone? Seriously?” 

“Canoodle, bang, bump uglies, fuck,” she lets out all the slang and he laughs again, good and hard and it’s beautiful. 

She cups his face and he pauses for a moment, “I think I’d like to start with just kissing you.” 

“Okay,” she breathes out as she leans in to kiss him. 

He’s so gentile. His lips are soft, and he’s tentative and reserved. He keeps his hands to himself and lets her set the pace. She never would’ve guessed that making tea and close proximity would lead to kissing the most handsome man she’d ever known in her entire life. When their tongues meet, he finally reaches out for her. Holding her side, he grips her just enough to make her crave more. She moves in closer, desperate to throw her leg over him and sit in his lap… but it’s him who initiates it. 

He tugs her in, helps her settle in his lap and wraps both his hands around her to cradle her body against his. She sighs against him, making him smile into the kiss. She smiles too, coping his face she pulls back to look at him, “I didn’t expect Frasier to be the show that rials you up like this…”

“Well… tossed salads and scrambled eggs are both euphemisms,” he teases.

“How so?” 

He lets out a deep breath through his nose like he doesn’t want to explain it. “The phrase ‘toss my salad’ is slag referring to rim jobs— or really any kind of oral pleasure, I guess…” 

“Oh,” she wasn’t expecting that in the slightest. “And I guess scrambled eggs is how he likes his eggs done in the morning?” 

He nods, “who knows, really? The theme song has never actually been explained but… how do you like your eggs in the morning?” 

“Why? It’s not like you can make me some in the morning,” she teases. 

“Maybe, when the roads are better we can go get breakfast?” He offers. 

“I thought the whole point of the saying was that you’re supposed to make them for me?” She stares him down, hoping to make him laugh… she gets a smirk and a shake of his head as he tries to hold it in. 

“I will make you breakfast, at one of our places, the first chance I get,” he assures. “If… if that’s something you’d like?” 

She nods, “Yes, Aaron, I would love to get to know you more, and spend time with you and see where this goes… I’m literally in your lap right now dying to see what we get up to.” 

“Dying to?” He couldn’t believe those were her words. “Why?” 

She runs her fingers through his hair and then traces down the side of his neck and watches her hands as they trail over his shirt to rest on his chest. “When you look in the mirror in the mornings, do you plan on being the sexiest agent in the building or is this all just a happy accident?” 

He blushes, “I mean, I don’t really plan it— I just put something on and come to work.” 

She just shakes her head and sucks her tongue, “Well I guess now I have to show you just how handsome you are every single day.” 

“And how would you do that?” He asks, gripping her hips a little tighter. 

She leans in and kisses him softly, “You’re so handsome.” She kisses his cheek, “And pretty…” She kisses his jaw, “And cute…” he starts to smile and blush uncontrollably. 

As she goes lower with her kisses, she works on his third shirt button, exposing a bit more of his chest so she can drag her tongue over his collarbone— which makes him toss his head back and whine. “Oh god, you’re so sexy,” she praises. “I want to hear more of your pretty noises.” 

“So we’re doing this?” He asks, looking nervous.

She smiles softly and looks him in the eyes. “Only if you want to, baby,” she whispers. “We can do whatever you’re most comfortable doing, I’m sure this is going to be weird venturing into a new experience for the first time in so long, but we can go as far as you want and stop the moment you don’t want to do it anymore, okay?” 

He nods, “Thank you.” 

“And if you want to stop we can go right back to cuddling and watching the show and we can still go on that breakfast date,” she assures him. “I’m going to want to do that no matter what happens, okay? I like you, not what I can get from you.” 

“You’re so nice,” he swoons a bit. “Seriously, why are you so nice to me?” 

“you’re a good man, I’ve enjoyed working with you… and looking at you,” she teases. “But in all seriousness, you deserve someone to be gentile with you, you’re only so stone-faced at work to protect yourself, I get that, but you deserve some softness too.” 

“I had a feeling you’d be sweet to me,” he whispers, breaking his walls down for her. “I’ve wanted to do this… I’ve wanted to break out of my shell and be with someone new and forget about how much my wife—my ex-wife broke my heart, but I’ve been scared.” 

“It’s a scary thing,” she sympathizes. “But if you want me to be the first one you're with, I’ll be so good to you. I’m going to take care of you and make it fun and easy and soft and-and even if you get emotional or it’s too much, I’m not going to hold it against you.” 

“I want to do this,” he nods, staring at her lips. “I want it to be you who I start over with.” 

“I want to be that for you,” she cups his cheek again and smiles. “Thank you for picking me, Aaron.” 

“Um… I don’t have any condoms,” he warns. “There might be some in Dave's room… maybe Derek's desk?” 

She laughs, “I have some in my purse upstairs, I can go get them?” 

He nods, “Yeah, that would be good and then I can turn this sofa into a bed while you’re gone.” 

“Okay,” she goes to get off him but then stops herself, she leans in and steals on last kiss and he smiles into it. “Sorry, I needed another.” 

“You can have a million more when you get back,” he keeps smiling, overjoyed with his choice. 

—

He has about 6 minutes of freakout time while she goes to get her purse. He turns the couch into a bed, having a sleeper sofa in here was a blessing for nights like these… and when his wife kicked him out. He untucks his shirt and then re-tucks it and pulls it out again, he thinks about unbuttoning it and laying on the couch or maybe waiting for her at the elevator doors— he’s so nervous he has no idea what to do with his hands or his body. 

He wanders around the room and talks himself into meeting her at the bullpen doors just as she’s walking up the couple stairs to his office. “Oh, hi.” 

“Hi,” she smiles so beautifully. “You know you can still back out?” 

He shakes his head, “I don’t want to… I’m just nervous. I haven’t done this in a while.” 

“How long?” She asks.

“Since the last time with my ex-wife or with someone new?” 

“Either?” She’s simply curious. 

“My ex-wife was my first and only… and I haven’t been with her in almost 8 months now.” 

“You know you could have anyone in this office in a heartbeat if you wanted to,” she reminds him. “You’re the most handsome agent in the whole FBI— just don’t tell Morgan I said that.” 

He laughs, “Thank you.” 

“This is cute,” she motions over to his sleeper sofa. “You want to cuddle and make out a bit, again?” She asks while kicking off her shoes and she does the same thing, making it easier for when they shed all their clothes later. 

He nods and pulls her in close, “Kissing you has been the best part of my day.” 

“Well, let me make it even better,” she teases, leaning in and connecting their lips once more. 

It’s just as heated as before, only now his hands are on her lower back and he’s so tempted to grab her ass… so he does, he hauls her up so she can wrap her legs around him and he knees on the end of the bed. He lays her down, still kissing her while he attempts to hover over her— but she wants more. 

She grips his hips and pulls him down flush against her, so she can wrap her legs around him once more. And by wrapping herself completely around him, he suddenly feels at home. His nervousness dies off, his apprehension to experience something new and different and unlike himself diminishes to nothing and he’s able to enjoy this. 

He wraps his right arm around her, trapped between her and the mattress, while his left-hand cradles her head. He kisses her with passion and care and she gives the same energy right back… if not more so as she moans into his mouth. He pulls back with a smile, “you like kissing me that much?” He teases with his newfound confidence. 

“I mean yeah but do you not realize how hard you are against me? It feels amazing,” she explains, her legs wrapped around him still, she pushes him down against her core and has him grind against her once more. “You feel so good, baby.”

He was so in his head he didn’t even realize his other one was so active… he blushed a bit, “You like it?” 

She nods, “If grinding with you all night is all I get, I’m going to leave a very happy camper.” 

He leans in and kisses her cheek and then her jaw right up to her ear, “Oh, you’re getting more, believe me… so much more.”

She moans again and he takes that as enough incentive to keep kissing her there. He bites her earlobe gently and sucks on her neck just enough to stimulate her and yet not enough to leave a mark. Her hands search his back, feeling him up as he tenses from hovering over her and then releases when he drops his body weight against hers once more, and she sighs when he does that. She loves the feeling of him on top of her. It’s like he was meant to always be there. 

He withdraws his hands from under her and grips her hips as he sits up, “can I unbutton your shirt?” 

“You may,” she says, a look of excitement plastered over her face. 

“I want to just rip it open but I know you don’t have another shirt to wear home tomorrow,” he teases. “and it’s just too pretty to ruin.” 

“Hopefully you don’t feel the same way about me…” 

“Oh no, that’s precisely why I need to ruin you,” he assures, making haste on her buttons, he leans back in and starts to kiss the newly exposed skin of her chest. Right between her boobs and down her tummy until her shirt is completely unbuttoned and all he has left to pop is the button on her pants. 

Her tummy is so soft, that he gets inside her shirt and wraps his arm underneath her back to feel how warm she is and uses it as an excuse to undo her bra in the process. He pulls her forward and gets her out of her shirt and her bra and can’t help but stare down at her chest and then back up to her eyes, “mesmerizing.” 

“My turn,” she whispers, “let's flip.” 

He listens, laying on his back, she straddles his hips and leans down to kiss his neck while she undoes his shirt. Button by button, she gets him exposed just to press their naked chests together and kiss him right on the mouth once more. She hauls him forward so they’re both sitting up and she pushes the shirt off his shoulders so they can feel each other up. 

He grips her hips and tugs her in, grinding her against his bulge once more. She breaks the kiss to kiss his jaw and down his neck, “mm, Aaron,” she pulls his attention from the kiss. “Lay back.” 

“Okay,” he listens, leaning back and she reaches for his belt. 

“Can I?” 

He nods and so she starts to unbuckle him, she pops his button and pulls the zipper down so she can reach into his pants. She feels over his bulge, watching as he tosses his head back and bites his lip to hold back a moan. “Let it out baby,” she whispers. “A touch-starved man like you… come on, let me hear you.” 

“It’s not the only thing I’m starved for,” he jokes, blushing again. 

Her eyes widen as she pulls back, “oh yeah?” 

He nods, he wants to go down on her so bad that his stomach flips with anticipation. “Please?” 

She sits more on her knees and reaches for the button on her pants, “how do you want me?” 

“Would you— if you want, I mean, you can pick but I’d like to—

“I can sit on your face,” she knows exactly what he was trying to ask. 

In the same way, she liked feeling his weight on top of herself, he wanted to feel completely smothered by her pussy and thighs. 

She pushes him back so he’s lying flat and climbs off the bed so she can take her pants and underwear off, shoes long gone, she’s in nothing but her socks as she climbs back onto the bed and straddles his chest. 

He’s a little impatient, pulling her forward and wrapping his arms around her thighs, he gets her right where he wants her and kisses her right where her thigh meets her cunt. He eases into it, kissing her gently, whispering praise about how beautiful she is and how lucky he feels. 

But then he looks up at her, “don’t be afraid to really sit, I can take it.” 

“Tap me twice if you can’t,” she agrees and within seconds he’s going at her. 

“Fuck,” she gasped as she leans forward to rest her arm against the wall behind the couch, grinding against his face, exactly the way he wanted it. 

His tongue deep inside her, his nose nudging at her clit, he savours the way she tastes as if she hasn’t said she would be willing to do this again… and from her noises, he knows this experience just makes her want it again soon.  He wants her to enjoy it, he’s always been more into making his partner enjoy it. This time it feels a bit more selfish, as the more she enjoys it the more she’d be willing to come back and the more he can do it. And he wants to eat her out for the rest of his life. 

Her sounds are a price, her weight on top of him is magnificent and she’s absolutely delicious. And he hasn’t even gotten to the best part yet. Making her cum on his face is going to change his life. 

When he inserts a finger, her legs start to tremble around him. She’s so close, he can tell. Sucking on her clit while he massages that wonderful spot inside of her with his middle finger, she moans so deeply it vibrates her whole being. She starts to chant his name, right on the edge of her orgasm, so he adds a second finger and the damn bursts. 

She trembles harder than before, and a beautiful elongated moan leaves her mouth as she cums on his face. He’s quick to withdraw his fingers and replace them with his tongue, gathering it all with the most disgusting sounds he could ever make— but fuck, if she wasn’t the most delicious woman in the whole world. 

He was so into her, so transfixed on getting her off that he didn’t realize he was grinding up against nothing and the largest precum stain had marked his boxers and surely was on the inside of his work pants. 

“Aaron, Aaron, oh my god, stop, stop, holy fuck,” she makes him stop by pulls off him and sits down on the pillow beside his head. Hand to her chest to catch her breath, she melts against the mattress, “sweet Jesus?” 

“I need to do that every chance I get,” he muses, so in love with how it went down. “You’re delicious.” 

She laughs, placing her hand on his big bicep as she looks down at his glistening face, “I’m going to take you up on that all the time.” 

“Merry fucking Christmas to me,” he teases as he sits up, noticing just how close he was that whole time. 

His cock is strained against his boxers, soaking them around the elastic band, darkening the gray fabric so much that he feels a little embarrassed. She notices it too, but she smiles, “Oh, you really liked that, didn’t you?” 

He nods, unable to say much. 

“Come on, get your pants off, I think I’ve calmed down enough to take care of you now,” she assures. 

He doesn’t have to be told twice. He gets off the bed and starts to take off his pants while she looks around for her own, “can you get the condom from my pocket?” 

“Yeah,” he goes right for her pants right after his are off. 

She just looks around the room, avoiding eye contact with his cock even though he knows she wants to look, “I didn’t even ask if you have cameras in here…” 

He laughs, kneeling on the edge of the bed with the condom between his fingers, “No, I don’t. With all the confidential material I see in here and the conversations had in here, they didn’t put a camera in here. But there is one directly outside my office so they know you’re in here but they won’t know what you’re doing.” 

“And who is this they you speak of?” She teases. 

“Whoever watches the tapes but probably also Penelope… if she learns I was here all Christmas she will go back and look to see what I did,” he shakes his head with a loving smile. “She just cares a lot.” 

“She’s the sweetest,” she agrees. “But thank fucking god no one can see what we’re doing… I’m glad this is just for us.” 

“Mhm,” he hums, he gets between her legs and tugs her down the bed a bit so she’s lying with her head on the pillow, “they don’t need to see what’s about to happen.” 

“although someone should teach more guys how to eat like that…” 

He laughs again, leaning down to kiss her, “Then you’d have any guy you want and I'd rather be the only one for you.” 

“Very true,” she says against his lips before pressing her lips against his. 

They just kiss a couple times before he pulls back and sits on his knees once more, opening the condom and rolling it on. She finally takes a look at what he’s got going on between his legs and he sees her lick her lips while taking in a deep breath. “Fuck sake, you really are going to ruin me…” 

He smirks, “Do you want me to? We could just have a sweet and slow—

“No, I need a good fucking, like the fuck my brains out kind,” she assures. 

“It’s your lucky day,” he teases, running his hand over her inner thigh as he helps her spread them. “I can do that for you.” 

“Do your worst—

“Oh no, it’ll be my best,” he says, gripping his cock and tapping it against her pussy. “You ready?” 

“Please?” She begs, pleading with her beautiful eyes. 

He slips in ever so slowly, letting her adjust to his girth as he leans over her. He caresses her face with one hand, holding himself up with his lover, watching her take it all in. Head tossed back, she bites her lip and then lets out a blissful sigh. She grips his sides, wanting to desperately pull him down on top of herself once more, but she waits until he’s fully inside. 

“Oh my god?” She whines, “please move, I need more, please?” 

He smirks, leaning in to kiss the side of her mouth as he starts to rock his hips. He wraps his arm under her as she pulls him in closer and moves her mouth so they can kiss for real. She moans against him as his rhythm changes, his hips speed up and she wraps her legs around him to get him even deeper inside her. 

She feels so amazing, he almost forgot what it was like to fuck something other than his own hand. The way she flutters around him and grips him so tight, the feeling of her nails in his back and her tongue on his own. He’s in absolute heaven. So good in fact, he’s afraid he might not last as long as she deserves. 

He reaches between them and rubs her clit with his thumb, moving his kisses to her neck and just below her ear, “doing so good, baby.” 

“Holy fuck, Aaron,” she moans, tossing her head back and pushing her chest up. 

He looks between them and can’t help himself, he kisses her chest and she looks down to see what he’s doing, he looks up to her for permission only to hear, “suck on them, please? Please, oh my god?” 

He takes her nipple in his mouth and swirls his tongue around it before gently running his bottom teeth over the nib. She gasps, tightening around him which makes him moan with her nipple in his mouth. He brings up his other hand, using it to pinch her other nipple and she absolutely flutters around him, it’s everything. 

When he lets go of her nipples, he reaches his hand under her knee and pushes her right leg up. The angle changes, he’s so much deeper now, hitting her right where she wants him again and again, he kisses the inside of her calf gently as she tosses her head back. She moans, tightening around him to the point he’s so sure he’s about to lose control. 

He may be out of practice, but he’s not out of manners. He needs her to finish first. 

Using all the power he has left, he keeps her leg up like that but adjusts himself so his pubic bone can rub against her swollen clit with each and every thrust. “More,” she spits out. “Please? ‘M so close.” 

His hand slips down her leg, “I know baby,” he coos, keeping her stretched open, he just needs to get his thumb on her clit. 

He stills for just a moment, gathers some spit in his mouth and drops it between them so it lands right on her clit to release the friction but then he picks right back up. She whines, sweating and her head tossed back, getting ruined just like she asked to be. 

She somehow tightens around him again, and he’s so fucking close he feels like he could go insane. “you’re right there, sweet girl, let go when you’re ready,” he says through bated breath. So fucking close. 

And that does it, she starts to tremble again, her core tightens and so does her grip on his arm. “Oh, Aaron!” She moans out a string of incoherent words follow as she lets go and gets lost in her pleasure. 

He keeps going, helping her ride through it before his rhythm changes. He’s right there, dropping down onto her and kissing her shoulder as he pile-drives into her for the home stretch. Her hands roam his back, caressing him, “Fill me up, Aaron, you deserve it,” she whispers in his ear. “Cum for me, come on, baby.” 

He whines, right there, scared of what noise is going to come out of him when he does cum but he also doesn’t really care at this point. He whimpers and groans, biting her shoulder slightly as he fills the condom and stills against her, “Oh my god? Oh, my god… holy fuck?” 

She wraps her arms around him once more, tighter like a hug this time, still panting, she agrees. “I know, Jesus.” 

He laughs against her, high on endorphins and feeling completely invincible, “You’re amazing.” 

She grips his hair at the nape of his neck and pulls him up off of her shoulder, “You are incredible, that was the best sex I think I’ve ever had.” 

He can’t help but smile as he leans in to kiss her. She brushes his hair off his forehead, it’s sweaty and slicks right back. Their kissing is softer this time, lazy and less lust-filled— more loving. Thankful. 

He kisses her one last time before going to sit up on his knees and pull his soft cock out of her but she pulls him back in, “No, can we just cuddle like this for a bit?” 

“Yeah,” he nods, not expecting her to want this but so glad she does. 

He settles back against her shoulder, hand on her boob while she traces shapes over his back, “this is my favourite part,” she whispers. 

“Me too… but I’m never usually on top,” he admits. “Or still inside…” 

She lightly laughs and he can feel it all over, “What, your wife wasn’t a big fan?” 

“Not really, she was quick to go get cleaned up and then she would cuddle into me and go to sleep… but I don’t want to talk about her anymore,” he admits. 

“That’s okay,” she coos, soothing her hand down his back. She rests her cheek against the top of his head. “This has been the best night. Who thought getting snowed in at Quantico would end like this?” 

“Not me, but I’m so glad it did.” 

General Taglist 

@ncsls0515 @stevesmunsons @reidsbookclub @sweetyyhippyy @manuosorioh @mrs-dr-reid @k-k0129 @squishyturtle @katsukis1wife @buckleyhans @mrs-ssa-hotch @ssavanessa22

[gmasttin]

Really Good, Actually | Kylian Mbappé

| Summary: A Madrid-based creative unexpectedly finds herself leading the rebranding of Kylian Mbappé. Between cold coffees, impossible deadlines, and tense creative sessions, something more than just a campaign begins to take shape. An ironic, intimate, and emotionally sharp story about the chaos of feeling alive just when you thought you were only surviving.

| Chapter 2 is already out!!

| 3.6k words

| A/n: I read the book “Really Good, Actually” by Monica Heisey and after binging a bunch of romcoms, I decided to finally start and post one. A lighthearted story, with some romcom vibes, that I’d actually been thinking about writing for quite a while. I hope you enjoy it, and sorry for any mistakes, it's the first one I've ever written and as it's obvious, English is not my first language. Enjoy <3.

Chapter 1

Back when life was simpler, and all you had to worry about were Tupperware containers, briefs, and whether you’d make it to the 7 p.m. Pilates class.

Some mornings, you wake up with this strange sense of clarity, like everything’s aligned. The coffee’s just right, the subway arrives on time, no one crushes your toes with a pair of impossible stilettos in their rushed way to their fancy offices.

This is not one of those mornings. You’re not sure if it’s because of the weird dream (the one where you’re marrying Louis, your ex, except he’s the one wearing that wedding dress you kept eyeing, and of course, his mother steals your spot at the altar), or because you ended up arguing with your own mother again, over text, at 12:47 a.m.

But something’s off.

You feel it in the way your toothbrush slips out of your hand, at least three times. Or how your coat gets caught on the door handle right when you’re running late. Also in the fact that, for some reason, you’re wearing two completely different shoes and don’t notice until you’re already in the elevator.

You don’t go back to change them. After all, no one looks at your feet in a marketing agency. Unless you work in fashion. And you don’t work in fashion.

You work in “emotionally driven brand storytelling strategy.” Which is just a fancy way of saying you come up with excuses for people to buy things they don’t need.

At 9:08, you get to the office. You know this because the biometric check-in clock reminds you, like a threat. You throw on your jacket with the defeated air of someone who already knows there’s no hot coffee left for her.

There are two people in the office's kitchen: Lucía, who always looks like she’s either about to cry or fall in love, and Guillermo, who speaks with an exaggeratedly British accent that no one really understands.

“Morning,” he says without looking up from his phone.

“How are you?” you reply, not because you care, but because silence feels even more aggressive.

“Busy. So busy. We have that pitch with the Swiss skincare brand at eleven. And then there’s the meeting.”

Ah. The meeting.

Your boss had announced it yesterday on Teams with the gravity of someone introducing the new Messiah:

“Tomorrow, we have an important meeting. Very important. Like, potential long-term strategic client important. I need your best brains, team. Bring attitude.”

You head back to your desk, a white table that’s far too small, which you share with three other people and a dying plant everyone pretends not to be turning their backs on.

On your screen, thirty-seven tabs are open. Nine are unfinished briefs, three are online clothing stores, and one is a search for: “how to tell if you’re having an emotional breakdown or just sleep-deprived.”

You take a deep breath. Open your calendar. The event is there:

10:30 – Confidential meeting.Subject: Project Star.Attendees: Management, PR, you.

You. Lowercase. Like a typo someone forgot to fix.

You try to focus. Take a sip of your coffee (cold). Open the Excel file with your corporate smile, the one you once practiced in the kitchen mirror. But it doesn’t last.

Because at 10:28, you get a direct message from HR:

Marta (HR): | Head up to Room 5. They’re all here. Including him 👀

Including him.

Who is him? And why that emoji?

Room 5 is the good room. The one with the Scandinavian sofas and the fancy capsule coffee machine. It’s almost always empty, as if reserved for things that matter. Or for people who earn more in a year than you will in your entire career.

When you walk in, the first thing you see is your boss, wearing that smug “I closed this deal even though I didn’t do anything” smile. Then three people you don’t recognize. Suits. Serious. A woman holding a folder full of documents, and two men who look like they haven’t laughed since 2017.

And then you see him.

He’s sitting in the corner of the sofa, staring at his phone like it’s blowing up. White shirt, sleeves rolled up, expensive watch. The kind of person who doesn’t need an introduction because you’ve already seen his face twenty times—on bus stop billboards, Nike campaigns, and a live-through nightmare involving penalty kicks and your grandmother’s best friend, who is Argentine.

Kylian. The footballer. That one.

Your first thought was: He’s even better looking in real life. Your second was: Don’t look impressed.

Your boss catches your eye and motions for you to sit down.

“This is Y/N, our trusted creative director,” your boss says in that tone he uses when he’s trying to sound cool and young, despite he is entering his middle 50’s. 

You smile as best you can. Your heart’s pounding like it’s doing cardio on your behalf.

Kylian looks up. And for a fraction of a second, he looks at you.

Not in a “who are you?” kind of way, but more like “right, so you’re the one who’s supposed to fix this.”

You sit down on the opposite end of the sofa. Far enough not to seem intimidating. Close enough to pretend you’re not trying to seem anything at all.

Your boss clears his throat. That thing he always does right before saying something that sounds like a headline but means absolutely nothing.

“Well, as I was saying, this is a special project. A unique opportunity to… rewrite the narrative.”

“Rewrite the narrative” is his new favorite phrase. He’s been using it ever since someone said it at a networking event and he jotted it down on his iPhone, right next to gems like “pivot from authenticity” and “emotional capital.”

“Kylian is entering a new chapter,” he adds, as if talking about a divorce or a spiritual awakening. “His team wants to work on his personal brand from a more honest place. More connected. Something… human.”

Kylian says nothing. Still staring at his phone. Like none of this matters. Like he’d honestly rather be out training in the rain or under 600-watt studio lights.

One of the women across the table finally speaks. She looks like she handles PR. Her voice sounds like one of those self-help podcasts that tell you everything happens for a reason while selling you a course on productivity.

“We want people to meet the real Kylian. Not just the athlete. The boy who grew up in the suburbs, who loves art, who’s investing in cultural initiatives for young people.”

The boy who loves art. Right. Like every bored millionaire who collects neon sculptures and Warhol prints they don’t even understand.

“We’re thinking of a series of documentary-style content—something intimate but visually strong. Also, a small social media campaign where he speaks directly to the audience. No filter.”

Your boss nods, enthusiastically, as he adds.

“And that’s why we have Y/N. Our top creative. Brilliant. With a unique sensitivity. She knows how to connect with difficult audiences. She’s worked with NGOs, tech start-ups, an inclusive pottery workshop…”

Your name, your career, your work, it all sounds like it’s being read out loud at your professional funeral. You smile. Because that’s what’s expected.

You turn toward Kylian. He looks at you. Finally. As if he’s only just now mentally arrived in the room.

“You write the scripts?” he asks. His voice is deeper than you expected. Like someone who doesn’t rush his sentences.

“I write the ideas,” you reply. “The scripts too. But if everything goes well, no one will remember the words. Just how it made them feel.”

You’re not sure why you said that. Maybe because it sounds like something a brilliant creative would say. Maybe because you’re just a little tired of being treated like a walking PowerPoint.

He nods. Says nothing else.

Your boss clears his throat again. There are more details, of course: deadlines, photo shoots, potential trips, a budget no one dares to say out loud. Words like “engagement,” “authenticity,” and “rebranding” hover in the air like LinkedIn mosquitoes.

And you, meanwhile, are sitting there wondering how this even happened. How you went from creating ad campaigns for titanium frying pans to looking into the eyes of someone who’s probably going to be the next football legend.

At the end of the meeting, he stands and everyone follows.

You stay behind a little longer, unsure if you should head back to your desk or pretend you need to go over your notes.

He turns at the door. Gives you a quick glance. Like he’s not sure whether to say goodbye.

“So, I guess I’ll see you soon,” he says.

And without thinking too much, you reply: “Looks like it.”

Later, in the office kitchen and dining area, Lucía looks at you like you just had dinner with Brad Pitt, her eternal crush.

“So? What was he like? Was he nice? Did he talk to you?”

“He asked me one question.”

“And? How was it? Can you tell he’s French?”

“Not really. You can tell he didn’t want to be here.”

She laughs. “So basically, just like you. Soulmates.”

You pour yourself more coffee. Even though it’s already noon and you know you shouldn’t. But you need something to remind you you’re still awake. That this wasn’t just a celebrity reality show fever dream.

Your boss messages you on Teams:

“Great impression. He liked you. Work your magic.”

Work your magic. As if it were that easy. As if magic weren’t, almost always, just logistics and anxiety.

You spend the afternoon going through the briefing. They’ve sent you a 17-page document titled: “A New Era: Humanizing the Legend.”

The title alone makes you want to jump out the window.

The phrases are full of vague objectives: — Position an emotional identity. — Connect with non-sports audiences. — Turn notoriety into relatability.

There are black-and-white photos of him. One with a vintage bike. Another reading a book with no title. A third holding a little girl (his niece, according to the caption). You wonder which parts of all this are real. And which ones you’ll have to invent.

You start jotting down notes. On a post-it, you write:

What if instead of pretending he’s “the guy next door,” we show him as someone who also had to fight for what he truly wanted? Distance as truth. Fame as fracture.

You like that sentence. Fame as fracture.

You stick it to the edge of your monitor. Right next to another post-it that says: – Call the dentist. – Stop stalking Louis. – Buy tampons.

The next morning unfolds like the mornings of the past six months: fast, half-hearted, with a light drizzle of anxiety—which today, for obvious reasons, feels slightly more intense.

You’ve been summoned to a more intimate meeting. Proposed by his PR manager. Just you, the PR manager, and him.

It’s in a coworking space in Chamberí that looks like a Pinterest café with people-pleasing issues.

When you arrive, they’re already seated. He’s wearing a cap. And sunglasses. Indoors. As if he didn’t want anyone to recognize him.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hi,” he replies. Dry. Tired. Then silence.

The PR manager talks for eleven straight minutes. You know it because you count it mentally. He nods occasionally, as if he’s listening. But you watch him and know he’s not really there. So you go for it.

“Sorry. Can I ask something?”

They both turn to you. The PR manager, with a thin smile, the kind that expects you to compliment her long monologue where she’s said everything and absolutely nothing. The kind of monologue that’s made you consider requesting medical leave and handing this project off to someone else, if all future meetings are going to be like this.

“Do you actually want to do this?” you continue.

He blinks. “This?”

“Yeah. The campaign. The rebrand. Are you actually interested in it, or are you here because someone told you to be?”

The PR manager shoots you a look that could be categorized as brand sabotage.

Kylian, however, laughs. A short laugh. But a real one.

“Does it matter?”

“A lot. If you’re not into it, it’s going to show. And if it shows, everyone’s going to see it. And if they see it, they’ll call you fake. And, then we’ll have to redo the whole campaign, but this time using the drama as the hook.”

He looks at you. “All right. I’ll try.”

“Try what?”

“To care.”

You nod and make a mental note: Functional sarcasm. Potential sense of humor. Possibly shy (or just reserved, does he not like me? If so, bad start). Possibly just fed up.

They send you clips of him “for inspiration.” Interviews. Matches. Viral moments.

There’s one in particular. A phone-recorded video on a plane. He’s on his phone. Someone off-camera asks if he’s nervous about the final. He answers:

“No. I’m tired.”

Tired. Not in a physical sense. Existentially tired.

That’s the crack. That’s where you can slip in.

The next day, he shows up at the office. Unannounced. Wearing a watch that probably costs more than a year’s rent on your flat, and the look of someone who Googled “how to dress normal” this morning and gave up halfway.

It’s four in the afternoon. You’re working the late shift today, you swapped with Mireia so you could work in a quieter environment, with fewer people to distract you while you try to figure out how the hell you’re supposed to frame this project.

“I’m here to work with you,” he says, walking toward your desk. The desk you’ve been saying for over a month now that you’ll tidy up, because honestly, it’s starting to get embarrassing. And now the embarrassment is fully devouring you from the inside out.

“Did you bring ideas? Proposals? Do you want to change something in the project?” you ask, because you’re not entirely sure why he’s here.

He doesn’t trust me, does he?

To be fair, your boss didn’t exactly sell you very well. And you wouldn’t trust someone either if they looked like they hadn’t been laid properly in five months and seventeen days (which, if asked, wouldn’t be too far from the truth), to run the documentary that’s supposed to reinvent your public image.

“No.”

You raise an eyebrow. Definitely doesn’t trust me. You think. Or maybe his PR manager sent him to spy on you, because she also doesn’t trust how you do your job, especially after you, let’s be honest, gently shredded hers the other day.

He grabs a spare chair and sits next to you, stealing Pablo’s seat, who’s now watching the interaction from the water machine like it’s a live episode of something he didn’t know he needed.

“These ‘meetings’ usually happen with PR,” you tell him. “You don’t have to be here. They can send you the details.”

“I don’t care,” he shrugs. “It’s a project about my life, right? I should know what’s being said. And what’s not.”

Then, with just the right amount of cheek: “Got any coffee? Pour me one.”

You stare at him. Did he just tell me to make him coffee? Like I’m his assistant?

And you stare a little longer. He holds your gaze, half-smirking, half-testing. That kind of expression that doesn’t fully commit to being rude or polite. As if he hasn’t decided which version of himself is most useful in a Madrid office on a Tuesday afternoon.

You inhale. Slowly.

“We don’t have personal assistants here.”

You get up. Walk toward the coffee machine without looking back. Spine straight. Jaw set. Your version of saying don’t mess with me without saying it.

“Then make us both one,” he adds from your chair, like that somehow makes it better.

The laugh escapes before you can stop it. Dry. More of a stylish snort than a laugh, really.

“Sugar? Or do you want me to draw your logo in the foam?”

“No sugar. I'm in season, gotta watch the sweets.” He says it softer this time. Almost like an apology.

When you come back with the two mugs, he’s already leaned into your monitor. Arms crossed. Eyes fixed on the project timeline you’d left open.

“All this... you do it alone?” he asks, not looking at you.

“Did you think I had a team?”

Now he turns. Looks at you fully. Something’s shifted in his face, like irony was the password to get into his world.

“No. It’s just... a lot.”

You shrug.

“It is. But hey, at least no one makes me chase a ball for a living.”

He laughs. An unexpected one. Brief. Almost sweet. And that’s when it hits you: He’s not just looking at you. He’s watching you. Like he’s trying to figure something out about you that’s not in your resumé.

The next forty minutes, you work in silence. Or at least, what passes for “working” when two people are hyper-aware of each other and there's a quiet tension in the air that neither of you knows how to name yet.

Every now and then, he asks something. About the script tone. The order of the clips. Whether his accent is “too French” for a voiceover.

“Do you think I should speak Spanish in the videos?” he asks.

You consider it.

“If you want people to see you’re making an effort, yes. If you want to sound perfect, no.”

“I want to sound real.”

“Then leave it as it is. With mistakes. With pauses. With ‘ehh’ and ‘I don’t know.’”

He nods. And something opens there. Just a crack. A window slit. But it’s real.

He’s smarter than he looks. You realize that somewhere between the conversation on narratives, social media, and how to show vulnerability without sounding like a performance. He has opinions. He asks. He listens.

And you... You’re confused. Because you don’t know if this is still work. Or if you’re slowly being pulled into the gravity of it all. Of him. Of this moment.

At some point, he laughs at something you say and looks at you like you’re brilliant. Not beautiful. Brilliant. And for some reason, that disarms you more than any physical compliment.

The next day, at 10:36 a.m., the unofficial break time for Lucía, as if the universe had conspired for this conversation to happen, Lucía shows up at your desk with a cookie in hand.

“Was it real? He was here? Pablo told me.”

You raise your gaze to meet Lucía’s eyes, like she’s reached the juiciest part of a novel she can’t stop reading. You simply nod and turn your attention back to the monitor of your computer.

“So, how was it?”

You glance at your empty coffee cup resting next to the mountain of discarded post-its, all with ideas that still don’t quite fit this project. Ideas that seem to wander like echoes, failing to capture the essence.

“Strange.”

“Strange good or strange bad?” Lucía insists, now sitting on the edge of your desk, making it feel like an interrogation. 

You sigh, gathering your thoughts.

“Strange ‘I want him back.’” You admit, letting yourself be pulled into that mix of confusion and realization you’ve been keeping to yourself.

You told her about that strange back-and-forth, that feeling you couldn’t quite describe, but Lucía, after hearing it, defined it as “professional flirting in disguise.”

“We’re not flirting.”

“Of course you are. It’s just that instead of telling him you love his smile, you told him his current storytelling is weak and redundant.”

“Because it is.”

“And he looked at you like he wanted you to write his biography and emotional resume.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Girl, I’m telling you, as a friend and as someone who’s seen all the seasons of The Bold Type, that guy cares more about your feedback than winning the Ballon d'Or.”

Exaggerations aside, something was there. A subtle thread of mutual curiosity, something that was growing without you realizing. And now, here you were: immersed in a project that would last several weeks, working alongside him. Defining the tone of his communication, developing digital pieces, planning interviews… All while trying to maintain your composure and stay focused on your workday.

You’ve come to the conclusion that it all boils down to the fact that you were bored.

You could say it was the algorithm. You could blame a well-executed digital strategy. You could use any excuse, really, and not be lying. But deep down, you know it was that. Boredom. The deadliest of mental states.

And there you were, last night, a Wednesday, with your emergency bun and a lopsided dinner in front of you, watching a video of Kylian Mbappé talking about motivation in a square format with black-and-white subtitles. He wore a white shirt, the collar a little stretched, and several buttons undone. And you wore what was left of your self-esteem and a glass of supermarket red wine.

The worst part is, the video wasn’t bad. The worst part is, it actually seemed sincere. It was in English, with a strong accent and a hesitant intonation, like he was afraid of offending the language. He said things like, "you can’t be your best version if you don’t know who you are," and you nodded. YOU NODDED. After that, you turned off your phone as if it had slapped you and went to bed without washing your face. Because boredom doesn’t just make you vulnerable; it also makes you lazy.

You told Lucía the story as if it were some ridiculous anecdote. Something to laugh about during her unofficial coffee break. But Lucía, who is not just your coworker but your version with steroids, looked at you as if you’d said something important.

“Girl, what if this is a sign?”

“A sign of what?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

“That you need a change. Or a quickie. Or both.”