#if a women were to flirt with me and say shes a mechanic that would be way hotter to me than if a man said the same thing

[despazito]

somewhat not very fond of those descriptions of bisexuality that are like "we fall in love with a PERSON not a gender" or "we fall in love with personalities not bodies" because i'm like...no i do love people for their bodies and their genders.. just a wide variety of them. there is very much physical attraction at play

[dear-bunnyboo]

𝐈𝐃𝐆𝐀𝐅 || 𝐉𝐎𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖

i am suffering from the worst writers block ever! i only really had inspiration to write this fic in general so updates on my other requests and fics will take a little more time :)

IDGAF means “i don’t give a fuck” by the way for those who don’t know. I also had to research an appropriate job description this reader can brag about, enjoy! ;)

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Joe Burrow x Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You notice the Bengals’ new staff member flirting with your boyfriend, however, Joe thinks that you are acting childish for saying so— you decide to show Joe that you didn't give a fuck.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 18+ mature content, cursing, in denial!Joe, light angst, fluff, flirting, arguing, jealousy?, established relationship, party setting, mentions of alcohol consumption, slight sexual tension, some dirty talking, smut?, pda, allusion to sex, sexual tension, no cheating!, badass!reader, slight groveling, paparazzi

𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐜. 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 || 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The speakers were blaring all throughout the club— the colorful flashing lights danced across each and everyone’s skin as it circles the place.

Sitting with your legs crossed you giggled as you listened to one of your closest friend rant about a recent embarrassing moment that happened to her at her office— you are currently surrounded by the entire Cincinnati Bengals team at the VIP area of the club— the staff, crew, coaches, players, and their significant others celebrating their win at the AFC Championship not long ago.

You were sitting prettily next to a couple of WAGs wearing a copper halter neck jumpsuit that hugged your body in the right places, showcasing your curves while accentuating your height— alternating from taking a sip from your drink and nodding to what your friends were discussing, not long after, you felt a familiar warm heat land on your upper thigh.

Looking to your right, you were met with your boyfriend, Joe who was busy speaking with Sam and Tee— his eyes trained on them, however, his large hands was on your right thigh, running his hands up and down, occasionally squeezing it from time to time.

Joe was a very private person especially when it comes to his personal life. So he is not the type of guy who would do PDA and you were okay with that— it was never really your goal to flaunt your relationship with Joe out in the open— in fact, you enjoy the moments you have in private, the Joe you and only you can see.

“You should send me that video. It sounds way too good to be true.” you chucked, brushing the strands of your hair away from your face as you jokingly pointed at your friend— teasing her about the failed tiktok she attempted to do in her office that her boss caught her doing.

“If I do, you’ll have to do it with me.” She laughs.

Before you could reply back, Joe interrupted you from your conversation, “Babe, I’d like you to meet someone.” He said.

Turning to look at your boyfriend, you were met with an unfamiliar redhead.

“This is, Stacie— she is the new athletic trainer of the team.” Joe introduced her.

Getting a good look at the girl, she was pretty, Stacie was a little bit shorter than you, with red hair that was curled behind her, she was wearing a white dress, and she had a huge smile on her face that rubbed you the wrong way— you were all for women supporting women but you can smell bitches from a mile away.

It’s a talent.

It was a self defense mechanism.

You grew up in a well-off family— that only meant fake friends, fake love, fake sympathies, fake laughs— fake smiles. Growing up in such way you have learned to spot the difference from the people who genuinely enjoy your company and the people who wanted to be best friends because your dad drove a Rolls Royce.

“Hi, Stacie. I’m Y/N, nice to meet you.” you greeted her with a soft smile that funnily enough was as fake as hers.

“Do you also work for the Bengals? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around the facility.” Stacie asked, turning her head to look at you and then at Joe.

“No, I don’t work there— I’m Joe’s girlfriend.”

And just like that her plastered smile faltered by a second— a twitch that only you managed to catch.

“Stacie has been helping me with my knee a lot.” Your boyfriend chimes in making the redhead peer up at the quarterback in awe at the acknowledgment, you could practically hear her purring.

Shaking your head off those thoughts, you took a deep breath and managed to give Stacie a real smile, “Thank you, I’m glad he’s in good hands.” I nodded at her, cause at the end of the day, she was good at her job— she wouldn’t be qualified for hire if she wasn’t. That’s all you cared about— that Joe was being taken care of, especially when it comes to his injuries.

You trusted Joe with every ounce of your being and he trusted you— there was no reason for you to nitpick on every little detail you find off from that woman. You trusted your boyfriend’s judgement, and knowing Joe, you know how hard it is for him to trust people as well— so as long as he thinks she’s cool then you’re cool.

You were rising above.

“Oh, he’s in very good hands.” Stacie giggled before running her hand up and down your boyfriend’s bicep.

Looking towards Joe, he simply chucked in response.

You could feel your eye twitch.

You were rising above— You repeated in your head as if it was some sort of mantra.

Joe was being nice. That’s it. He is a nice man.

“So, Y/N, right? Let me tell you— I have been enjoying my time as an AT for the Bengals. Joe has been doing so well and has helped me feel right at home.” She giggles again before continuing, “I’m sorry, I’m talking too much about myself. How about you? What do you do?” She asks.

What do I do?— Joe fucking Burrow that’s what.

“I’m a creative director” you sipped on your drink side eyeing Joe as he laughs with Ja’marr— still refusing to acknowledge the fact that Stacie’s hand was still on him.

“Aw, that’s cute. For who?” she raised her eyebrow, taunting you as she feigned interest.

“Vogue.”

That seems to shut her up for the meantime.

You weren’t one to brag about the achievements and blessings in your life but she was pushing your last buttons— Joe included.

“I’ll go grab a drink.” Stacie told Joe as if he cared where she was headed.

You silently watched her walk towards the bartender before making your way closer to Joe who turned towards you in time. Your boyfriend eyed you up and down before placing a kiss on the temple of your forehead.

“You look like you were having fun with Stacie, If I wasn’t mistaken it seems like you found another best friend, huh?” Joe moved closer towards you as you stoically stared at him.

“It sounds like you are mistaken cause I wasn’t having fun at all.” You said to him in a lighthearted way, almost sarcastic as you watched his eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“You’re not having fun, baby?” Joe questions circling his arms around your waist.

“I was having fun— not with her though and I don’t think we’ll be friends anytime soon.” You shrugged not bothering to explain as you laid your head on his chest.

“What do you mean?”

Rolling your eyes, you lifted your head to look back up at the quarterback, “Joe, she clearly has a thing for you, she’s been flirting at you the entire time— right in front of my face too.” you sighed.

Joe simply shook him head, “She wasn’t, babe. She was just being nice.”

“Oh, I didn’t know being nice involved caressing someone’s bicep in front of that someone’s girlfriend.” You said sarcastically as you pushed yourself off of Joe’s embrace.

“Babe, she’s a touchy person that’s it. That doesn’t mean she was flirting.” Joe runs his hand across his hair frustratedly as he stared at you. You don’t know why Joe is deciding to act stupid— it was either he was playing stupid or he was just stupid and you hoped for it to be the latter— which concluded to Joe being stupid.

You eyed your boyfriend’s innocence, yeah, let’s call it that. Chuckling, you gave Joe a look, “Joe, baby, she’s flirting— hundred percent. She looks at you as if you cured cancer and I don’t blame her. Hell, millions of people look at you that way, Joe and I’m fine with that. My problem with her is the fact that not only was she disrespecting you with her touching but she was also disrespecting me by doing so.”

“Joe, I don’t mind her liking you— I trust you and I know for a fact that you won’t do anything to destroy that trust but what I cannot take is disrespect, Joey you know that.” you finished softly, hoping your boyfriend could take a hint.

“I know that, baby— but I’m just saying she’s a friend who is being friendly that’s it.”

Joe was being stubborn and you don’t think that screaming at him in public was technically “rising above”.

Before you could reply back, Stacie nudges her way between you and Joe— the redhead now had her arms wrapped around your boyfriend’s neck, making Joe lean down to her height so that she can whisper whatever to his ear.

You were pretty sure you had steam coming out of your ears as you watched Joe let her do whatever to him. It takes time for Joe to warm up to people, it took you a year of friendship for him to be even comfortable with you touching him— platonically even.

Now watching your boyfriend have absolutely no problem letting a woman he just met touch him is hurting you.

Zach Taylor calls Stacie over to introduce her to more people, ultimately leaving you and Joe in your seats as you listened to the pumping music in the background that accompanied the ringing in your ear.

“Wow, am I third-wheeling?” you joked, trying to mask the pain and anger lingering in your voice but to no avail it shows.

“What are you talking about, baby?” Joe turns back towards you with a confused yet frustrated look on his face which was pissing you off even more.

“Don’t fucking baby me, Joseph. What the fuck was that? You just let her touch you like that it front of me? I don’t know if you’ve been tackled way too hard today but you have seem to forget that I’m your girlfriend.” You argued, silently thanking the loud music for masking your voice and the dark lights for hiding your now pissed off look.

There were fans all around the bar— thankfully they were outside the VIP lounge but that didn’t stop them from taking pictures and videos of their favorite NFL players— you didn’t need videos of you and Joe fighting in public.

“Again with this? Y/N, seriously you’re being childish— stop being so fucking jealous and for the last time she’s being friendly.” Joe grunts as he finishes his entire drink in frustration.

Childish and jealous

Childish is what your so-called friends would call you back in high school when you confronted them for using you for money. Childish is what they called you when you refused to be their friend anymore. Childish is what your boyfriend of four years calls you for after defending a bitch that was flirting with him.

And jealous?

Bitch please. You were never jealous. Not once were you jealous of anyone in your life. You were the only child in a wealthy family— you had loving parents who spoiled you, you went to the best schools, had the best clothes, you have the best job that people will kill for, you have real friends that cared about you, as much as Joe was pissing you off— he was the best boyfriend.

You weren’t jealous of her, she was jealous of you.

You love Joe with all your being but if he even thinks about cheating on you with her or anyone in that matter— then they can have him.

Yes, he’s the Joe Burrow. The number one overall draft pick, the star player and quarterback of Cincinnati Bengals— but you were you, you were simply better.

And you’ve had it— having the Joe Burrow as your boyfriend has its ups and downs and you've learned to navigate through it together after years and years but this was something Joe needs to figure this out alone since he wants to act dumb.

Joe Burrow have officially crossed you in a way he hasn’t before and after this you know he’s gonna wish he hadn’t.

“Ok. I’m gonna go dance.” you said nonchalantly before leaving your boyfriend alone more confused now than ever as he watches you leave with the a few WAGs to the dance floor which was filled with people.

“Girl, are you ok? That Stacie was flirting with Joe so hard. Did you talk to him?”

“What did Joe say?”

“I swear to God if she makes a move on my man next — she’s gonna get fired.”

“Did you you two fight?”

All the questions being thrown you as you all danced in your own circle. You gave them a brief rundown of what happened they stared at you shocked.

“So? What are you gonna do?” One of them asked.

“Absolutely nothing.” You smiled as you moved your hips around to the beat.

“What?!” A collective response was met with a smirk on your face.

“He’s gonna figure it out all on his own— as of now, I don’t give a fuck.”

As you took on if the girls’ hands, dancing together to Reminder by The Weeknd which was ironically perfect for your situation— you felt heat from the side of your head, you didn’t need to turn around to know that Joe was staring at you— you wanted him to.

“Y/N, Joe is undressing you with his eyes.” one of your friends says nodding towards Joe.

You simply gave her a grin, “I’m hot. Who wouldn’t, honestly?”

“Miss Stacie looks like a kicked puppy and Joe is sat far away from her— seems like your plan is working.”

Of course it is.

You knew that without you next to Joe that Stacie would make her move— that gave your boyfriend all the time in the world to realize that you were right all along.

You feigned innocence, still dancing and singing to the song as one of your friends started to film you and the others.

“Ever time you try to forget who I am, I’ll be right there to remind you again— you know me~” you sang to the camera.

As you continued to dance, Joe couldn’t help but stare at you— a cloud of emotion lingering in him. He was very much in love with you and how good you are at moving your hips, he was guilty for calling childish and arguing with you, he was angry at himself for not believing you, he was also thoroughly furious at Stacie.

As soon as you left to dance, after replying to him unemotionally that scared that absolute shit out of him— Stacie immediately latched onto his side, giggling over something she found amusing that Joe seems to find himself not caring.

“Joe you look really good in this.” She says leaning towards him as she twirled her finger around his chest which ultimately rang red alarms all over Joe’s head— taunting him almost.

“Thanks” Joe says clearly uncomfortable as he politely moved her away from him but to his surprise she moved again towards him again, her mouth now on his ears as she whispered, “Do you wanna go somewhere more quiet, Joey?”

That was it for Joe.

He pushed her off him and quickly stood up— and glared at the redhead, the same redhead he defended to his girlfriend who was convinced she was disrespectful for flirting with him— and she was right.

Y/N is always right and Joe hated himself for not believing his girlfriend of four years.

“Stacie, I have a girlfriend who is not far from here and overall, you technically work for me, so this is unprofessional.” Joe said firmly to the redhead who just stared at him like she didn’t care.

Maybe because she didn’t.

“So? That’s why I asked you if we could go somewhere quiet. No one has to know.” She smirked.

And just like that he lost all the respect he has for her.

“I love my girlfriend and you both disrespected me and her. I’ll be talking with Zach in the morning about this— this is against a lot of the companies rules. I’ll also request for Zach to assign me a different AT— goodbye.” He turned his back towards her and sat himself in between Tee, Sam and Ja’marr who laughed at him.

“Took you long enough.” Ja’marr shook his head looking at him.

“What? How did you know?” The quarterback asks his friends who looked at him as if he was stupid.

He was.

“Everyone could see her flirting with you, man. It was painfully obvious— Zach already said he’s gonna talk to Stacie tomorrow. Don’t think she’ll have a job in the morning.” Ja’marr explained before chugging his drink down.

“And you didn’t bother telling me?” Joe asked exasperated, disbelief in his face as he stared at his friends.

“First of all, you’re a grown man— you should have figured out yourself a long time ago and secondly, your girlfriend told us not to do anything and according to her ‘to let you figure it out’” Tee explained doing air quotes with his fingers.

“She told you?”

“Yeah, we threatened to beat you up when we saw Stacie on you but your girl had other plans.”

Joe remained stunned thoughts circling his head as he watched you grind you hips against the other girls.

“Stop drooling and apologize to her, man.” Sam snapped Joe out of his viewing experience.

Without a second thought Joe’s long legs took him right behind you in just a few strides.

You didn’t need to see who was behind you to know that Joe was towering over you— a familiar heat draws you to him like magnetic, that and your friends gave you cheeky grins and winks before dispersing across the club.

However, you kept your back towards him, refusing acknowledge his presence. Knowing Joe, you knew that he was gonna take you somewhere private and quiet to talk— away from people seeing but to your surprise, Joe wraps his arms around you making you stiffen up before relaxing in his hold.

Joe was dancing behind you.

Good Lord— your handsomely hot boyfriend’s 6’4 stature was grinding onto you from behind.

What in the literal fuck.

“Joe wha– what are you doing?” You managed to choke out as you fought a moan coming out of your mouth as you felt his now hard length grind on your ass.

“Do you feel that? Huh, baby? That’s what you do to me, Y/N.” Joe breathes out into your hair.

“I know but why here? Let’s go somewhere els–” you rushed not wanting your boyfriend to feel obligated to do such things despite his discomfort in public display of affection.

“No. Baby I want to. You’re right, you’re right, you’re right. I’m so sorry, baby. You’re right about everything and I realize that now— you don’t have to worry about her anymore, I’ve dealt with it, my love.”

Turning around to face Joe, you see the sincerity, the vulnerability, the guilt, and anger in his eyes.

You knew he meant every word.

“I was never worried about her. I was worried about you.” You simply answered him, giving him a tight lipped smile, making him lean his forehead onto yours— determined more now than ever to see your real smile.

“I’m sorry for not believing you, I’m sorry for arguing with you and calling you such things, I’m sorry for making you think that I didn’t care— I do, baby. I love you so much.” Joe just kept on going, hoping to see your bright smile back up at him again.

“It hurt you know. It took me years to get you to be comfortable with me— and that’s only for our friendship but then watching you be so comfortable with her in such a short amount of time— it hurt.” you confessed, fiddling with your fingers as you watch the pain fill Joe’s face in the realization.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. I’m sorry— but did you know why I was so uncomfortable with you touching me when we first started hanging out? It was because I was crushing on you hard, Y/N. I new it was you the moment we became friends and every time you hugged me, touched me, kissed me, it felt like I would go insane— I still do.”

Joe caresses your arms as he explains, slowly placing them around his neck as he swayed the two of you slowly— the two of you in your little corner of the club, the dancing bodies of strangers now became nothing but the background.

It was just you and Joe.

“But you know what I realized? Fuck it. I’m sorry it took me four years but fuck it. Who cares if they see us dancing in public? Who cares if videos of us touching each other reaches the internet? Everyone knows we’re dating— who cares? They should be worried about what we do in private.” Joe rants to himself mostly before whispering the last part in your ear— his soft lips kissing your earlobe before making its way down to your neck.

Joe licks and sucks onto the most sensitive part of your neck— marking you for the world to see, knowing very well the amount of fans and paparazzi were waiting for them outside.

“Let me take you home, Y/N. So that everyone will know your mine if they don’t already— I want all of them to know, the fans, the media, that bitch Stacie.” Joe continues before placing a wet kiss on your mouth, your tongues both fighting for dominance, teeth clashing as your lips gets sucked between his— Joe’s hands caressing every part of your body.

“I love you, please let me show you how much.” Joe practically begs making your squeeze your legs together even more.

“Take me home then.” you challenged a devilish smile forming on your face.

And before you know it, Joe was dragging you out of the club not even bothering to say goodbye to everyone— once you and Joe reached the outside, you were greeted by cameras taking pictures of you and Joe— your boyfriend keeps you locked in between his arms as you two navigated towards his car, heading home for the next party to begin.

You were right about one thing today: That Stacie was a two-faced bitch.

However, Joe was right about two things today: One, is the paparazzi did in fact wrote articles about the fresh hickeys on your neck as you and Joe raced out of the club disheveled, ultimately causing a stir in the media— and two, he did in fact love you very very very much and he showed you in a lot of different ways.

;)

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[junikicker]

Faking - Georgia Miller x fem!reader (nsfw)

Faking - Georgia Miller x fem!reader

pairing: Georgia Miller x fem!reader

warings: smut, toys, overstim and probably some other stuff

summary: Georgia is famous for faking orgasms, so you teach her a lesson

Stumbling into the apartment, your hands were all over each other. You quickly fumbled with the keys, setting them into the designated bowl. This all seemed to be taking just too long for the, in heels slightly taller, Georgia. She quickly grabbed you by the hips and pushed you against the closest wall, kissing you harshly, her hands on your breasts.

You managed to maneuver the two of you to your bedroom, where it was now your turn to push her down onto the bed.

You had met Georgia at a bar about two months ago, immediately, you started flirting with her and the two of you had met up a few nights since then, however you hadn’t gone further than making out. You had encountered women like Georgia a few times, however, none of them were quite like her. She always had someone hooked around her finger wherever she went. It was as if she had the reputation to be quite the man-eater, femme-fatale if you wanted. Having a degree in Psychology came in handy for you most of the time as it gave you the opportunity to read your sexual partners' body language at any time.

You pushed her down on the bed and undid the last two buttons of your black dress shirt, before discarding it onto the floor. The gasp that left Georgia’s mouth when she saw your abs didn’t go unnoticed by you as you sank to your knees, removing the heels from the blonde’s feet. Her red dress had already been down by her hips at that point, leaving her torso covered by just a piece of black lace, you suspected you would find a matching thong when you would fully remove it. Your guess had been correct. Once she was completely bare in front of you, you climbed on top of her, now fully stripped of your clothes as well.

You looked into each other's eyes for a few seconds before she forced your head down with a hand on your neck, your lips crashing violently against each others'. You left marks all over her body, she sure wouldn’t be able to wear that dress again if she wanted the marks to be covered.

You had been teasing her for a few minutes now, toying with her breasts and occasionally pressing your knee to her center lightly. She whimpered when you entered a finger into her heat and her back arched, a moan leaving her throat. However, you saw right through her little act. You could see that she was enjoying it, yes, but those moans weren’t truthful. You decided to not give away you knew what she was doing, obviously trying to fake an orgasm. You suspected she had learned how to survive in the world, deeming it a self-defense mechanism.

“Oh my god!” She moaned, “So close, Y/n- so close.” Seconds later, she let out a pornographic moan, arching her back off the mattress beautifully. You went along with her act ‘helping’ her to ride out her high before you climbed back up her body to meet her eyes. “Oh, pretty baby. Think you can fool me huh? I’ve heard that you were famous for doing things like this. But I thought those were just rumors.” You tutted. “Maybe my baby needs some punishing, huh?” You questioned as you watched a blush appear on Georgia’s face.

“Don’t act all shy now, darling. I’m gonna fuck you so good, you won’t be able to walk in the morning. Maybe for the next few days. How does that sound?” You questioned, pinning her hands above her head. “Now, if you feel uncomfortable at any point, just say so and I will stop whatever I’m doing. Understood?” You asked her and she swallowed harshly before nodding. “Words, darling.” You encouraged her. “Yes, understood.” She breathed out and you smiled. “Good.” You said. “Now, I’m gonna tie your hands to the headboard.” You told her and she nodded as you got off her body, reaching into the drawer to your left, pulling out two silken ropes.

“Is that too tight?” You asked her, making sure she was comfortable. She shook her head in reply, you raised an eyebrow at her. “No, it’s perfect.” She replied and you hummed.“Ready for your punishment, darling?” You asked and she whimpered. “Yes.”

Teasingly, you started pressing kisses to her throat, traveling further down ad a painstaking pace. You left mark after mark between those you had already left. You smirked against her skin when you felt her actually relaxing into your touch, you could sense that she was willing to give herself to you now. Dropping the act from before, reacting differently to your actions than before.

By the time you had started pressing kisses to her thighs, you could see her arousal dripping onto the sheets. She was a whimpering and whining mess beneath you, murmuring out pleads for you to start doing something, anything to her.

And when you actually started giving something to her, the moans that left her mouth were sure to disturb the neighbors. She let out more and more pleads as she approached her high. Sensing when she was about to come, you pulled away from her body, a frustrated huff left the blonde’s lips. “Darling, I can read you like an open book. Don’t think you can come without my permission, do you?” You questioned rhetorically.

You continued to tease her further, feeling her growing more and more desperate for you to touch her where she needed you most. It was torture and you knew it. However, you deemed it fair. She whimpered in frustration when you drew back, only to reach into the drawer of your nightstand to your right, searching for a very specific item. When you found it, a smirk found its way back to your face. Your eyes devouring her as if she were your prey.

You expertly inserted the vibrator between her legs, you revealed in the gasp she let free as you turned it on. “Be a good girl, don’t hold back.” You warned her, kissing your way up her already twitching body. The vibrations were ruthless and continuous, bringing her closer and closer to the edge, you, having the ability to be reading her body like an open book, shut it off just then and edge her until she had lost count of how many times you did this. Desperate pleas and whines were falling from her mouth constantly now.

“Please.” She whined as you removed the toy from between her legs, knuckles white from holding on to the silk restraints. Your fingers entered her heat that was leaking with need. You couldn’t help but feel some sense of pride. Your fingers worked tirelessly, thrusting hard and fast, a simple curl of your fingers hitting that spot that drove her wild.

“Please, god, please. I’m gonna-” Georgia mumbled and cut herself off with a moan of her own. “Come for me, darling.” was all she needed to hear, followed by a deliciously painful bite to her collarbone. She tumbled over the edge, screaming your name as you continued your quest. You could sense she was unsure if she was calming down still or building to the next orgasm, but she didn’t seem to care. All she could do was to whimper and whine for you to keep going.

You started removing your fingers from her heat and traveled down her body with your head, exploring her heat with your tongue. Georgia was too sensitive for another but you didn’t stop, knowing she could take it as she didn’t stop you.

You brought her over the edge and back down, even gently cleaning her up before coming to untie her and gather her spent body in your arms. “You did so good for me, princess.” You murmured, pressing kisses to the crown of her head. “And don’t you ever dare to pull that stunt on me again.” You added and she chuckled, still out of breath.

[seijorhi]

Kuroo Tetsurou x female reader

tw: kinda infidelity, implied murder, yandere vibes

"I'm married."

Kuroo flashes the ring as he says it, a not-all-that-apologetic smile on his face. Happily, he doesn't add. He doesn't often need to – most of the women who approach him take the hint and move on, no harm no foul. He can't really blame them for their interest, leaning ever so casually against the bar, his suit expensive, hair an artful mess, Kuroo knows he cuts a handsome figure.

But he has no interest in a quick fuck, nor in anything else the woman before him can offer.

Yet far from being deterred, her red lips curl into a playful smirk. "What she doesn't know won't hurt her," she purrs, and lays a perfectly manicured hand over his arm. "Buy me a drink?"

Kuroo straightens then, lets his eyes roam over her body. Slowly, lazily, drinking down every inch of her. And she is a pretty thing, her form fitting dress leaving little to the imagination. She knows it, too, eyes sparkling as she bats long, dark eyelashes at him.

Another firmer dismissal forms on the tip of his tongue, and yet something holds him back. There's a bad taste in his mouth that's lingered since the morning, the sting of your bitter, acidic words having struck deeper than perhaps you intended.

Maybe he was too hasty with his earlier dismissal; she might just serve a purpose after all.

Kuroo chuckles, swallows the last mouthful of his drink and sets the empty glass down on the counter. Glances at the bartender, "Another, and one of whatever the lady would like."

There's a glint like victory in her face as she says, "Champagne, and make it a bottle."

She makes herself comfortable in his lap, flirting with practiced charm, confident and sultry. Her red tipped fingernails toying with his hair, lightly scratching down the back of his neck as she laughs at his jokes. She'd introduced herself earlier in the night, but Kuroo's already forgotten her name by the time he's hailing down a cab, the two of them bundling inside.

If he were being totally honest, he'd forgotten it the second she'd said it. Names, after all, weren't important here.

"Your wife?" she questions when Kuroo gives the driver his address. Cautious, rather than concerned. He imagines that running into the wife of the man you're trying to fuck probably sucks the fun out of the indiscretion.

He throws her an easy wink, pulling her back onto his lap. "Don't worry about it."

She shrugs, unbothered.

Her lips leave painted smudges over his throat, possessive in a way. Like she's staking her claim over her perceived conquest. "She won't hold a candle to me, baby," she promises, her hand teasingly trailing over the crotch of his pants.

His eyes darken, blood thrumming as he growls, "Don't make promises you can't keep."

She just giggles, tugging him into another heated kiss.

And she barely manages to extricate herself from his side as the two of them make their way into the building, up the elevator.

His apartment's quiet when they stumble inside. She kicks her heels off and attacks his tie, doesn't hear the mechanical clicks of the three locks automatically sliding into place.

Down the hallway, his jacket tossed aside, shirt unbuttoned. And with every step, the feeling of anticipation grows. She's too wrapped up in the zipper of her dress to notice the sounds of life stirring on the other side of his bedroom door, but they're etched into Kuroo. Everything about you is, inextricably.

He wouldn't have it any other way.

He's been waiting for this moment all day, itching and impatient, the sight of you sprawled out atop his bed, waiting for him in the pyjamas he bought you a balm to the day's stresses. You're such a good girl. Even when you're mad at him.

And yet the moment the door swings open, the two of them bursting inside, you startle and flinch– the chain around your ankle clinking noisily at the sudden, jerking movement.

"Tetsu? What– what's going on?" you breathe, eyes warily darting between him and the half dressed woman at his side.

"What the hell?!"

Kuroo smiles – that soft, indulgent expression he saves just for you – seizing her by the arm the second she tries to step back, tightening his grip until she's whimpering, begging.

"Hey, sweetheart. Did you miss me?"

This morning you'd gotten all worked up over some nonsense, silly notions about him 'growing bored' and 'tossing you aside', as if you weren't his soulmate. His one true north.

And he'd laughed and told you how ridiculous you were being – right up to the point where you implied he'd find somebody to replace you.

You're his wife, he won't abide you thinking like that. Not for a fucking second.

You said things you didn't mean, lashing out because you were scared, he knows that. Tried not to take it to heart. You're not afraid that he'll go out seeking someone else, you're afraid that greedy fucking whores are going to sink their claws into him and try to pull him away from you.

They'd sooner have luck drawing blood from stone, but Kuroo's always been one to go above and beyond, especially where you're concerned.

And if it helps put your mind at ease, he's more than happy to prove just how deep his loyalty to you – his absolute devotion – runs. As many times as it takes.

That's love.

With a harsh shove, Kuroo sends the woman sprawling to the floor.

He laughs, "Relax, it's not what you think."

[lovelytsunoda]

misc. masterlist

instagram au masterlist

f1

violent delights have violent ends (mick schumacher, daniel ricciardo, pierre gasly, nico hulkenberg) 🌹

mick, danny and pierre knew they would need to fight for seats in 2023. they just didn't know that otmar szafnauer was going to take it literally.

the motorsports fiction recommendation list (part two)

the cedric diggory f1 driver au that nobody asked for but i wrote anyways

f1 drivers as characters from the magic mike franchise

tokyo drift

the day you kissed a writer in the dark ,, han lue 🌹🍑🌩

she's stood by his side for years. his loyal mechanic, the brains behind his brawn. but she'd be lying if she said that it didn't hurt to watch him flirt with those other women in his club, when he came home to her every night in secret.

see also: proud mary ( han lue ) from tina!: the series

the night agent

take one down ,, francisco jenkins 🌩

the fix-it fic we all deserve, and the ending that cisco should have had.

top gun (1986)

tell me something girl (are you happy in this modern world) ,, tom kazansky 🌹🌩

after thirty years of marriage, heather kazansky reflects on the time she spent and the love she shared with tom as she prepares to write her eulogy and say goodbye to her husband.

take my breath away ,, tom kazansky 🌹

temporarily stationed in nevada, tom and heather decide to take a weekend in las vegas to see their favourite new wave band. all the while, all tom can think about when to ask heather to be his wife.

top gun (2022)

sunday in heaven ,, jake seresin 🌹

jake’s favourite afternoons were spent with his fiancée and his dog, with hot drinks and a good book. nice and calm, different from his every day. but tell anybody that and he’d have to kill you.

uptown girl ,, mickey garcia🌹

she would do anything for her nerd boy. except maybe meet his friends in a crowded bar with a pool table where she can make a fool of herself in front of all of her boyfriend's friends. it's a good thing that mickey is a good teacher.

[tllgrrl]

Winter Shortbread Parts 1 & 2 by @tllgrrl aka Nefertiri Jones

Fleurdelouve SarahBucky Month 2023 | Week 3, Day 3 - College Professors AU/Coffeeshop AU | Sarah Wilson x James “Bucky” Barnes and a few OCs | Rating: SFW

* * * * * * * * * *

Sarah Wilson and James “Bucky” Barnes both are college professors.

He teaches Political Science and Labor Law on one side of the sprawling campus. On the other side, she teaches Mechanical Engineering and she’s also a Faculty Advisor for a study group in African-American Literature with an emphasis on Black Women authors.

People never guess the two of them are Professors because the misconception is that “Professor” means Old White Man.

Without fail, at the beginning of the school year, some undergrad who didn’t know, would try to flirt, thinking maybe she was one of them until they found out that she was actually one of their teachers.

“Well,” her friends would laugh, “you know what they say!”

“Yeah girl. Even we can’t tell how old we really are!”

Once she wore a head wrap, which sparked a rumor that she was West African royalty studying in America. Even when she was wearing an LSU t-shirt and jeans, many people agreed.

And him? Fellow members of the Law Faculty call him “Professor GQ”.

“How can someone who looks like that be serious?” one of them grumbles, watching him walk across the campus mall.

“Yeah! He’s just wearing jeans, a t-shirt, motorcycle boots and a sport jacket. A sport jacket! Who looks hot in a sport jacket?!”

“Professor Barnes,” Professor Daniels drawled, then proceeded to drain her water bottle after he walked by.

(Gulping down his water, Dr. Trudeau agreed.)

***

Part 1–Going Up

Sarah hurried up the steps to the relatively new building, impressed by its modern nod to the original architecture, and the original stained glass that was installed in a window at the top of the entrance, but she didn’t have time to admire the design.

She’d taught at the school for 4 years but this was the first time she’d been in this building. She never really had a reason to be there. Her stomping grounds were on the other side of the campus.

The signage indicated that the elevators were to the left, and as she headed down the hallway her phone started to ring.

It was her BFF, Eartha.

“Hey, girl! What’s up? Waitaminute—

Hi! Hold the elevator!! Just a—no! No!! Just a second! Please wait! Please?? Oh, shhhhoot!”

Eartha heard what sounded like papers rustling, and her friend using her Professional Indoor Voice.

“Damn. What an asshole—I mean—jerk. He wouldn’t even hold the elevator.”

[“What?? For real?!”]

“I was right there! I had to pick up a couple of pages that slid out of my folder.”

[“Another one with no home training. Child, men these days. Hold on. What are you wearing?”]

“What am I—? Jeans, Docs, blazer. Fake Pearls. The latest rags from the Underpaid Professor Autumn 2025 Lookbook. Nothing special. Why?”

[“Girl, shut up. You even look runway and red carpet in jeans and work boots, but…are you wearing one of those t-shirts?”]

“What? What t-shirts?”

[“You know what I'm talking about.”]

“I’m wearing my List of Black Women Authors tee.”

[“Hm. Okay, but you know why I asked, don’t you.”]

“I Ain’t Thinkin ‘Bout You is a song lyric! Not a sign saying don’t hold the elevator for me, I’m good, sir.”

[“Yeah, you and the Beehive know that.”]

“That’s right. Blame a sister’s clothes!” she giggled. “ I’m not trying to send Hey! I’m available messages with my t-shirts…like you.”

[“What?! Stop lyin’! I’m juicy is a song lyric, too!”]

They both laugh as Sarah noticed the elevator approaching her floor.

“Let me go. The elevator’s coming and I need to put my student brain on for this class I’m auditing.”

[“Okay. I just called to let you know that I had a cancellation and I can fit you in for Saturday morning if you’re still interested?”]

“Yes! Put me in! I need to get these braids taken out. The end of the year’s coming and I’m ready for a New Year, New Me cut.”

[“Well, okay, now!! I’ll see you Saturday morning. And I’m going to want to hear if the professor is hot.”]

“Girl, Bye!!” she laughs, ending the call and tossing her phone into her purse.

*ding* “Ground floor,” a soft voice says as the next elevator door opens.

She stepped inside and the door was almost completely closed before she hears—

“HOLD ON! Ow! Please? Ow!”

She throws her hand between the doors, breaks the beam just in time, and a man slides in.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

She’s seen him before, at the coffee shop not far from campus. He’s usually near the front of the line as she’s arriving.

Tall. Taller than her. Once, he turned to leave the counter with his order, and she saw his eyes. Grey. Like overcast skies. He’d seen her too and it looked like he wanted to stop, then his phone rang, and hers did too.

She wasn’t trying to stare, but as he walked past she noticed his build, and his smooth sort of loping gait.

And like her, he seemed to have a penchant for interesting t-shirts.

It became a sort of habit for both of them to look for each other when they stopped by the coffee shop on the way to campus during the week. Just to see what t-shirt the other one was wearing, of course.

(At least that’s what they told themselves.)

And now, he was standing there in the elevator, juggling his backpack and gingerly holding a to-go cup from Congo Square Coffeehouse and Bakery, where she usually stops on the way to work.

He’s got the cup in his right hand, and is trying to negotiate the left bag strap so he can slip the hot drink into his gloved left hand as quickly as possible because there’s no protective sleeve on the cup.

“Here…” she offers, reaching over, taking the cup, placing it on her palm, and holding it around the rim of the cap. “Let me take that while you get your…bag…”

“Oh! Hey, thanks! Be careful. It’s hot.”

“No, I got it. I do this a lot.”

He slipped the backpack securely onto his shoulder.

“Thanks, again,” he grinned an apology . “Just a second…I know I have a…”

He patted his jacket, quickly reached into a pocket, and with a small flourish pulled out a coffee cup sleeve.

“I prob’ly have a couple down in the bottom of my backpack, too, but I was kinda in a hurry tryna make it ta class on time.”

(Sounds like a local, but a little too fast for a yat. What’s this Yankee doing down here? I wonder if he’s in the class I’m taking…)

He takes the cup and slips the sleeve onto it. “Got it. My hand an’ I both thank you.”

He’d seen her before at Congo Square Coffeehouse, the unofficial campus coffeeshop that’s a few blocks from the university.

He was intrigued from the first time he saw her: tall, almost his height. Something regal about her high cheekbones, the beautiful eyes.

And, like him, she liked to wear interesting t-shirts.

He’s usually almost next in line by the time she’s walking into the shop, and he’d thought of keeping an eye out for her next time. Maybe offer to let her cut in front of him. Maybe start a conversation.

{Who’m I kidding? She probably wouldn’t want to—}

Now, here she is in the same elevator, keeping him from receiving what surely would be a serious coffee injury.

{She really is beautiful. Don’t stare.}

“You’re welcome. If you don’t mind, I have a question. I…don’t mean to pry, and you really don’t have to answer…”

“Okay…” he chuckled, mentally steeling himself. He also slipped the now shielded cup into his right hand and habitually lowered his gloved hand while at the same time was keenly listening to and enjoying her soft Southern Louisiana accent.

“I just wanted to know… are you from around here or from New York?”

“Am I…oh! Yeah! New York. Brooklyn, actually. I thought you were going to…was it the t-shirt that gave me away?”

“No. The accent. Your t-shirt, however…”

Well, now she had an excuse to actually look at his chest, which she was trying so hard not to stare at ever since he got onto the elevator.

“Dodgers,” he smiled, pulling a side of his jacket open with his freehand, giving her a better view.

“Oh…my…” she whispered, as she noticed how the t-shirt was fitted just enough to where she could tell that there was a sculpted chest and abs under the fabric. She also saw the outline of what looked like military dog tags.

Then she snapped out of it.

“I mean, right! Of course! L.A. Dodgers!”

(Sarah! Act like you have some decorum up in here. Damn!)

“Brooklyn Dodgers. They were from Brooklyn, first. Moved out West in 1957, before the ‘58 season.”

“Won the World Series again the next year, 1959.”

“Well…yeah. How did you—?“

“Larry Sherry pitched them into that win," she said. “Got the MVP.”

“You…do you like baseball?”

“Kind of a fan. My grandfather and my Daddy were big fans, so I grew up watching with them.”

“Really? Who’s your team?”

“The Giants. San Francisco.”

“Rats.”

“What?”

“I guess I can’t ask you if you’d like to grab a coffee sometime. Well…grab another coffee that is,” his mouth quirking into a sideways grin that made her spend too much time looking at his lips. “Or maybe…I don’t know…dinner.”

“Yeah, no,” she sighed, shaking her head. “I can’t be seen out and about with a—“

“Oh, I completely understand—“

“Dodger fan.”

She smiled, and his heart did a flip that hadnothing to do with caffeine.

“Yeah…” his mile-wide smile answering hers, “���the scandal.”

{Marry me.}

*ding* “Ground floor.”

“What?” they both said in unison, staring at the elevator operating panel.

“I forgot to push the button,” he said sheepishly.

“Looks like I did too.”

“And now I’m officially late for my class.”

“You still have time. I’m sure the professor won’t mind—“

“I’m the professor,” he shrugged.

“Oh! Well…good thing you’re fine. I mean, you’re good then! I, on the other hand, am officially late for a class I’m auditing.

“Don’t worry. You’re fine, too. I mean, I’ll vouch for you. I’m Professor Barnes. James Barnes.

If I might ask, what’s the class?”

“Labor Law. Taught by—um—“

She looks at the piece of paper on top of her folder, then looks back at him.

It doesn’t seem possible that his smile got wider, but it did.

“I’ll be glad to write you a note…with…my phone number.”

“Well. Pleased to meet you, Professor Barnes. I’m Professor Wilson. Sarah Wilson.”

When they shake hands, neither is in a hurry to let go.

“Professor Wilson? You teach…here?”

“I’m usually on the other side of campus.”

“I’m always over here. What’s your field?”

“Engineering. Right now I’m teaching classes on Ethics as it relates to Mechanical Engineering. Yes, that’s a class.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Professor Wilson. You can call me James.

I hope you don’t mind if I sit in on one of your classes.”

“Any time, James. And you can call me Sarah.”

“Sarah…”

*ding* “Fifth floor. Please watch your step.”

* * * * *

Part 2 - Order Up!

***2 weeks later, Saturday morning***

It’s Big Game Day at the university, and driving past the shop, she could tell by the crowd out front waiting to get in that it was already slammed.

“They just opened an hour ago. It’s gonna be a long weekend,” she said to herself.

She pulled into the parking space behind the shop, grabbed her purse and hastily walked in through the employees entrance of Congo Square Coffee.

“Hey-hey!”

“Good morning!”

“There she is! How’re you doin’, Babygirl?”

“I’m good, Titi Bernie! You?”

The older woman gives her a hug and kiss on the cheek.

“Busy and happy to be here! Let me look at you! Haven’t seen you in months. You look good, Sarah. I just hope you’re not running yourself ragged, teaching and running a business.”

“I’m making it work, Titi. Don’t worry. I’m doing fine. And thanks for coming in before the game. I know you want to get together with your sorors.”

“Don’t worry about that. They’ll be there when I get there. I worked here enough years to know how it is on Game Day. I’d’ve been mad if you didn’t call me!” They hug again, and for a second Sarah thinks about her Mama, Titi Bernice’s sister.

“Now, let me get out there. These children are ‘bout to be overwhelmed.” Her face beams as she heads out to the front counter. “Charles?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

“Check the tables, would you, baby? I see some people leaving.”

“Sure will!”!

Sarah looks out into the shop and sees that all the tables are occupied, some people are waiting for tables to free up, the line is almost out the door, and the mood is a party with almost everybody wearing some combination of purple, gold and black.

The aromas of brewing coffee and fresh-baked goods, and the sound of the espresso machine, coffee grinder, the bustling crew, customers chatting (some even singing along with the playlist) make for a festive atmosphere. And the music mix of NOLA Jazz, Neo-Soul, and uptempo Blues is invigorating and soothing. Familiar.

Sounds and smells she grew up on, from infancy to teens to now adulthood.

She puts her bag in the desk drawer, grabs her apron off of the chair, ties it on and looks up at the photo over the door.

It’s Mama and Daddy, taken on the opening day of the shop.

Under that photo is a framed $5 bill, and under that bill is an old Polaroid picture of a fishing boat with the names “Paul and Darlene” on the side.

“Hey, Mama. Hey, Daddy. Ansamn toujou.”

She takes a breath. In for 3 seconds, out for 4. Opens the door, and it's on:

“I need some shortbread cookies, please,” a voice calls from the front counter.

“On the way!” she answers, and pulls a tray of fresh cookies off the rack. She carefully arranges them on a clean plate and carries them out to the display case.

“Hey, y’all! Dee, fresh shortbread on deck!”

She hears applause from some of the customers and it makes her happy.

“One Americano and a decaf latte, please! Thanks, Sar!”

“Americano and decaf latte, coming up! Ayyyy, Sarah! Sak pase?”

“Ale byen, Bobby! Hi Char, here’s the shortbread. How’s it going? Oh! Hi, ma’am. May I help you? 3 of these? Good choice! I love these! I’ll bag them and get them to Dee, she’ll take your coffee order and ring you up. Thanks!”

“You see this?” Charlotta nods at the crowd. She’s petite, light brown-skin with green eyes and a shock of purple hair, dyed especially for Game Day.

“It’s been like this since we opened the doors this morning! By the way, the new cookies are running out the door. You have another hit. Maybe we should make them year ‘round.”

“Really. Huh. I’ll think about it. Depends on how reliable the source is for the ginger. It’s from a small farm in South Af—“

“Coffee to-go, order up! Hey, Prof! Can you—?”

“Got it!” She takes the cup to the pick-up window, reads the name and calls out, “Bucky? Bucky, your order’s ready!”

She turns back to Char for the next order and catches her cutting her eyes over at Roberto, who’s making another coffee order.

The both of them are snickering.

“Yo, Bobby. You see this one?” Char tilts her head to Sarah.

“You know I do, Char.”

“What? Did y’all just prank me with that name? Oh, come on! Bucky? Is this what we’re doing today?”

“You know him? That blue-eyed, tall drink o’water over there.”

“Because he’s lookin’ at you like knows you. Or maybe wants to.”

They both laughed. Out loud now.

“What? Who are you two talking about?”

Char and Bobby, eyebrows raised, are looking at her, then over her shoulder past her, so she turns back to the pick-up counter, and there’s Professor Barnes. He gives her a little 3 finger wave like he’s happy to see her and hopes she feels the same way about seeing him. He can see by her smile that she is.

She takes a napkin, places a couple of shortbread cookies on it, glares at her two friends, and softly says “He teaches a law class I’m taking. I’ll only be a minute. Konpòte ‘w, okay? Behave yourselves.”

Then she fixes her face, and walks back to the pick-up counter.

“This is a nice surprise. Welcome back to Congo Square Coffeehouse, Professor Barnes. You’re not usually here on Saturdays.”

“Good morning, Professor Wilson. Yeah, this really is a pleasant surprise. I’m meeting some friends over at the stadium for the game. I’m early so I…let’s just say I’m now adding a cuppa the best coffee I’ve ever had to my post-Saturday morning run routine.

By the way,” he holds up the cup, “I’m Bucky. Kind of a nickname people know me by. But like I said, you can call me by my given name. James.”

She realizes that she missed seeing his name on the cup when they were in the elevator, because of the little cardboard shield.

“Really. Well…I’m glad you like what we have to offer enough to keep coming back.

We roast and grind our own coffee beans, and our baked goods come from my Mama’s and Grandmama’s recipes that I put my own spin on.”

{Brains, beauty, baseball, and baking? Am I dreaming?}

She placed the napkin holding the cookies on the lid of his coffee cup.

“A lagniappe. Our newest treat. I call it Winter Shortbread. I hope you like it. By the way, why do you want me to call you James?”

“I like the way you say it.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Glossary - Haitian Creole

Sak pase? What’s up?

Ale byen. Going well.

Ansamn, toujou Together, always

Konpòte ‘w Behave yourselves.

Louisiana French

lagniappe a little something extra or for free.

* * * * * * * * * *

1) Working Title

2) There’s possibly a moodboard/graphic/thing for this later.

3) Last, but never least: A thousand Thanks for reading my nonsense!

* * * * * * * * * *

Posted over on The AO3 as Winter Shortbread.

[j-a-nuary]

Carrier

Integration

<< first | previous | masterlist | next >>

Stray Kids Urban fantasy AU (feat. Ateez from time to time) | A “carrier service” exists, seemingly only to get people (usually women) home safe after the trains stop running.

Heavy on bad boys with hearts of… some kind of shiny metal, probably.

Warnings: more supernaturally enhanced toxic masculinity, teen peeping on a teen (in a flashback), discussion of a dog attack and the resultant scars

=====

Pain shot through Hyunjin’s eyes as Minho’s pen light shone into them. Minho tsked and rolled his chair to the counter that held his laptop.

Hands between his knees, Hyunjin leaned forward, bracing himself on his palms. He kicked his legs slightly, swinging them in an entirely casual and not at all nervous way.

"So you're their butcher?" He smiled and fluttered his eyelashes as he spoke, trying to flirt as a defense mechanism.

"If I didn't know better," Minho’s eyes didn't stray from his work, "I'd say you were drunk."

"What makes you say that?" Hyunjin leaned further forward, trying to see if he could make out anything that Minho was typing.

"Tell me about your victim."

"LT? Is that short for lieutenant or...?"

Minho finally looked up to meet Hyunjin’s gaze.

Hyunjin felt his lips curl into his best smile. The one that could get him anything he wanted. Coupled with the deep green swirl in his eye that is.

"Sure," Minho rolled his eyes, "now, did she approach you or…?"

If pressed, Hyunjin would admit that he tried to get under Minho’s skin as he described his time with Tempawan. It was obvious, to him at least, that the girl was somewhat important to this group of men. She had even been claimed by the wolf, he was almost certain of that.

"Wait."

Minho had been getting a little annoyed with Hyunjin’s story. He didn't particularly give a flying fuck about what Hyunjin thought Tempawan tasted like, but he had to hear everything if he didn't want to miss anything. There was next to no way of knowing what detail might be the key.

"You said roses and vanilla?"

Hyunjin nodded, purposely letting himself looking a little dreamy.

"Like French vanilla ice cream, and rose flavored icing."

"And she smelled like…?"

"Same thing."

Minho narrowed his eyes, turning his attention back to his laptop.

To the best of his knowledge, people - regardless of whether or not they were human - only had one scent - regardless of the person smelling them. Minho clicked through a series of folders until he had Changbin’s files laid out before him. Scrolling through, he selected one from a discussion they had following one of Little Turtle’s earlier calls.

Hyunjin watched as the spectacled man scanned through his computer. He had to admit that he was getting a little annoyed with how immovable the doctor seemed to be.

Minho was speaking under his breath as he read through his own notes.

"Old forest growth."

"What's that?"

Minho didn't bother answering the question.

Closing the laptop and tucking it under his arm, he stood and exited the room.

Hyunjin waited for approximately six minutes before trying to open the door.

Of course it was locked.

=====

"Felix?" Minho called down the hallway.

There was a bit of shuffling, then a blonde head poked through a doorway.

"Yeah?"

Minho only crooked his fingers, summoning Felix to follow him as he turned and marched off.

Felix turned his head to look at Tempawan. He felt like he should tell her he'd be right back, but she still wasn't awake.

Sighing, he pulled the door shut behind him and hoofed it to catch up with Minho.

=====

"I need your nose," Minho said by way of greeting when he entered Seungmin’s office.

Seungmin startled at the intrusion. He coughed, choking slightly on the egg roll in his mouth.

"Sorry," he stood up, "what?"

"Felix, you take over here," Minho nodded towards Seungmin’s now empty chair, "Seungmin, you come with me."

=====

Seungmin knew better than to try to pry an explanation out of Minho. He'd say as much as he liked, and not a word more.

"What does she smell like to you?"

Seungmin blinked a few times before closing his eyes and breathing in deeply.

"Mm… kind of like… gillyflower?" He nodded, opening his eyes, "gillyflower and fall leaves."

"Alright," Minho nodded, "if you see Jisung, tell him I need him."

"Right."

Minho held the door to the examination room open, pointedly waiting for Seungmin to leave first.

=====

"Just to confirm," Minho started speaking as soon as he opened the door, "roses and vanilla, and that's it?"

Hyunjin didn't bother sitting up. He had gotten bored of reading the instructions printed on the sharps container pretty quickly and was now laying on the exam table, getting annoyed with a mis-alligned ceiling tile.

"Yeah, for her smell. The only thing was that taint, you know?"

Minho sat down, reopening his laptop.

"Enlighten me."

Hyunjin sighed.

"From the wolf. He claimed her, right? I could smell it on him, same as she tasted."

"Which wolf?"

"What do you mean which wolf?" Hyunjin finally sat up, "the wolf. You've only got the one that I know of."

"Technically we have three, but I think you've only met two so far."

Hyunjin gave Minho a look that was somewhere between annoyance and confusion.

"There's the plant boy, the wolf, the absolutely feral vamp, and whatever Chan is."

"I'm assuming you mean Felix, Jisung, and Changbin for those first three."

Hyunjin nodded.

Minho smirked.

"So you've met two wolves."

"Look," Hyunjin huffed. He was so sick of this doctor talking to him like he was an idiot. "I'm no expert, but even I know that Chan isn't a wolf. I don't know what he is, but he's not that."

"Correct. Now,” Minho's fingers fell onto his keyboard, "this taint: what does it taste like?"

"No,” Hyunjin cocked his head to the side, “wait, who's the second wolf?"

"Changbin," Minho glanced up for a second. Just long enough to see fearful confusion cross Hyunjin’s features before letting his eyes fall back to the screen. "Technically anyway. The taint?"

"Uh… yeah…" Hyunjin couldn’t wrap his head around Changbin being a wolf. He had presented as a vampire. Green iris and everything.

"Sorry," Hyunjin shook his head, "uh, it's like… grassy. Like a freshly cut lawn."

"Right," Minho typed away, making the appropriate notes in the appropriate files, "and you say that's the same as Jisung?"

"Yes."

"Well at least that matches."

=====

"This isn't how I pictured doing this but here we are. This is our new driver."

Changbin was on his feet immediately, followed by Jisung.

"I'll quit right now!"

"How stupid can you be?"

"I'll kill him and then quit!"

"I'll fucking help!"

This was approximately the reaction Chan had expected.

"If you don't sit, I'll have Minho sedate you both again."

Hyunjin glanced around the table. His eyes met with the only person there who didn’t seem either immensely stressed, nor to hate him.

“Again?” he mouthed at the man. He received nothing but half of a smile and a shrug.

Jisung threw himself into his chair.

"Thank you," Chan turned to the man still standing. "Changbin?"

"This is a joke, right?"

Chan sighed, but stepped aside. He indicated his spot at the head of the table.

"Might as well state your case now rather than later."

Changbin found himself wishing, not for the first time, that he could take Chan in a fight.

"Where should I even start? The fact that he almost killed Little Turtle?"

"She's fine," Minho interjected. "She could have lost a lot more blood and still been fine."

"I understand that you're taking this a bit personally…" Chan started.

"So we're okay with hiring people who attack in public then? People with a history of attacking in public?"

"I'm sorry if that was your friend's girlfriend or whatever," Hyunjin finally decided to defend himself, "but what the fuck did I ever do to you?"

There was a moment of silence.

Felix was nervously fidgeting, wondering if it would be more important to get between Changbin and Hyunjin, or Changbin and Jisung at this point.

Jeongin was watching Minho.

Minho was staring at Jisung, trying to read his face.

Jisung was an open book. He looked ill. Leaning forward, he at least remained in his seat when he spoke up.

"She's… that's not even the point! Jesus christ man!"

"Sure," Hyunjin rolled his eyes, "I know how you dogs get. You make a claim and suddenly your partner isn't allowed to even think of leaving you. I'm not saying I did nothing, but you can ask her when she wakes up. She came onto me!"

Hyunjin was standing now as well. He was practically ignoring Changbin, staring down Jisung as he spoke.

"Claim?" Jisung stood up now, "I've never claimed anyone! What the fuck are you even talking about?"

"Sure you haven't. She must taste like some other wolf then."

"This is pointless," Jeongin muttered.

"I think we've gone a little off the rails," Chan tried to regain control of the room, "if we could all just calm down for a mome-"

"Tempawan is not the problem here anyway! The real issue is that you're the reason I had to do what I did to Changbin!"

Jisung didn't like being the center of attention. Usually when he had all eyes on him he'd shrink, pull back, and try to redirect them elsewhere.

But he had a point to make.

"You almost killed him," he could feel himself shaking as he pointed at Hyunjin. "You left him for dead. He would have died if I didn't happen to find him and change him."

Hyunjin, who had been ready to argue the problems with werewolf relationship dynamics, lost all steam. His eyes turned to Changbin.

He took in Changbin’s features, actually looking at him for the first time. Jawline, angle of the nose, brow bone…

His eyes widened, spotting the skinny kid underneath the new mass.

"God," his eyes swept down and back up Changbin’s body, "you've certainly bulked up, haven't you?"

=====

"I'm perfectly willing to admit that I fucked up that night."

"Fucked up doesn't even start to cover it!"

Chan sat back, watching Hyunjin and Changbin doing their best to speak civilly.

Jisung had argued that he should be included as well, but Chan had overruled him.

"You and Changbin will just rile each other up."

And thus, Chan was left with mediating between his least predictable and his newest employee.

"I know," Hyunjin agreed, palms outwards as he tried his best to ignore the part of him that wanted to give as good as he had gotten, "I'm not saying this to excuse myself, but I was new. It was a mistake. I was a mistake! I didn't have anyone to show me the ropes. I didn't want to kill you."

Hyunjin sighed, genuinely regretting his early hunts. Changbin, to his credit, didn't take the slight pause in Hyunjin’s words as an opportunity to start berating him again.

"I didn't want to kill anyone…"

Chan noted the way Hyunjin blinked, quickly holding back his emotions as he seemed to cave in on himself.

"I just didn't know how not to."

Chan continued to watch Hyunjin. Arguments about Changbin’s extremely difficult transition away from humanity aside, this was good information on Hyunjin’s character. He could kill, but he didn't like to. He regretted his mistakes. He appeared to struggle with balancing his physical needs and his moral compass.

Changbin rubbed his nose, looking away from Hyunjin. He didn't want to relate to the man who had ruined his life. He had been relatively happy working at A to Z shipping. He had had his coworkers, friends, his game nights, not to mention he had had only one internal monologue. He hadn't known the urge for destruction. It may have been a little boring, by comparison with his current life, but it had been a hell of a lot simpler.

"I get it," he admitted gruffly, "I do get it. I just…" he looked up at Hyunjin, clearing his throat before finishing, "I have dreamed of killing you for four years."

Hyunjin grinned.

"You're a man after my own heart."

=====

"Well?"

Jisung shuffled sideways down the hall, keeping his body facing Changbin in rapt attention as they moved.

"It's fine. He's…" Changbin shook his head, "he's a fucking idiot, but he's fine."

Jisung stopped his crabwalk, staring at Changbin as he continued down the hall.

"So you're fine with what he did?"

Changbin stopped, hanging his head for a moment. Straightening up, he turned to face Jisung.

He was tired. He was exhausted. He was drained. Jisung could see it plainly, now that he had dropped the bravado that came with anger.

"What's the point of being mad at this point? It doesn't change anything. I'm still," Changbin shrugged, vaguely gesturing at his body, "this."

Jisung stared at him. Sure, Changbin had a point, but it wasn't good enough. Especially not after the previous night.

"What about Tempawan?"

A low sound bubbled up from Changbin’s throat. Jisung couldn't help but feel a little satisfied.

"Don't."

"Don't what?" Jisung pressed, stepping forward. He didn't have much height on Changbin, but he made full use of what he did have. "You're just going to let him off the hook for that?"

"If she wasn't your friend, would you even care?"

Jisung, knowing that his friend could whip his entire ass if it came down to it, couldn't help himself. He shoved Changbin against the wall, hands curling into his collar.

"Fuck you!" He spat, "she's family!"

"Family you haven't talked to in a decade," Changbin scoffed.

Kill him. Jisung cleared his throat, aware that Changbin knew his tell.

"Too honest, huh?"

Jisung grit his teeth, ignoring the taunt. He let go of Changbin’s collar and stepped back.

"So she's nothing to you now? You've been wrapped up in her for months, but your fucking Sire comes around and suddenly she's not important to you anymore?"

"He's not my sire," Changbin rolled his eyes. "I'm just being rea-"

"Uh, guys?"

The arguing pair turned their attention to a previously unnoticed Felix.

Felix coughed, withering under their combined glares.

"Uh," he cleared his throat, "she… that is, Little… uh…"

"Just fucking spit it out Felix!"

Changbin swatted at Jisung for his outburst. It was one thing to berate him for forgiving Hyunjin, but there was no reason to lash out at Felix.

"She's awake."

=====

"I knew you worked with Boots," Tempawan smiled weakly at Jisung.

Jisung was fussing over her. He had threatened Changbin into staying away. Well, more like guilt tripped. But having been hopped up on adrenaline and testosterone was adjusting the memory into threats.

He was twitchy. He kept readjusting the blanket over her, making sure her pillow was positioned well, offering her a hand every time she moved more than an inch or two. Eventually, she had verbally bullied him into sitting down.

Now he sat, knees bouncing erratically, picking at his fingernails.

"Felix," he corrected her, "his name is Felix."

"That's cute," she smiled, "but I thought I wasn't allowed to know?"

"Who gives a shit?" Jisung huffed, "you already know mine."

"Yeah," she nodded, then cringed in pain.

In an instant, Jisung was standing by her side again.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she waved him off, "seriously. Though I'm beginning to think I'm cursed when it comes to dogs."

Jisung’s head tilted. He blinked at her a few times. "What do you mean?"

Minho had informed him of the fake story already. A dog attacked while she was taking a breather outside. It sounded reasonable enough, especially given that Tempawan’s memory had cut out approximately when her and Hyunjin had pushed open the employee exit.

"Or maybe I'm blessed?" She mused, picking at a stray thread on the blanket, "some people barely survive one attack, nevermind two."

Alarm bells were ringing in Jisung’s mind.

"Two? What are you talking about?"

"Yeah,” she tilted her head, eyebrows furrowing, “you don’t remember?"

Jisung shook his head vigorously.

"Actually, now that I think about it," Tempawan groaned, leaning back in the bed, "it was right around when you left. Still, I would have thought you'd have heard about it somehow."

"I didn't hear about anything."

"Ah, well it was the night we planned to meet up. You stood me up, if I recall correctly," she laughed, wincing once more.

Jisung vaguely remembered. His last trip to visit Malaysia. What an absolute shit show that had been.

He was there for two weeks and managed to get turned partway through. He had indeed stood up Tempawan, but only because that was the night of his first, unprepared and unpredictable, transformation.

Luckily for him, the man who had turned him had given him a place to stay that night.

"I waited until past midnight, you know," she sighed, "I figured you had messed up the days and were probably already gone. But still…"

Her words trailed off. She looked sad, defeated. Jisung wanted to hold her. He wanted to apologize, explain. He wanted to give her the confession that he had been planning on giving her that night - along with a second plane ticket.

"Anyway," Tempawan continued on, "I was attacked by a dog that night too. I was in the hospital for almost a week."

Jisung felt ill. He felt dizzy. There was no way. There was absolutely no way. No fucking way.

"Wanna see the scar?" Tempawan perked up, "it's pretty badass."

Jisung nodded, completely incapable of producing words through his panic.

Tempawan pushed herself to sit upright, free of the pillow behind her. She lifted her shirt, revealing the skin of her ribs. She stopped short of revealing her breasts, the shiny bands of her scars being revealed.

Jisung nearly fainted, twice.

On the one hand, he was remembering, in vivid detail, the time he had accidentally spotted his friend changing clothes. How he had been rooted to the spot, unable to look away. He had desperately, pathetically, let his eyes wander over her body. How many times had he replayed that scene in his head? How many times had he dreamed of kissing the mole under her breast? The same mole now being prominently revealed once more?

On the other hand, he was horrified. The signs of skin that had been torn and subsequently reknit itself together made his heart hurt. The indentations in her flesh, showing where tissue had been so surely severed that her body could not fill in the gaps completely, fogged up his brain.

The way the mark seemed to call out to him…

He found himself reaching up to touch the streaks of pink.

"Jisung?"

Tempawan wasn’t sure what the look on her old friend's face was. He seemed concerned but also somehow vacant. Had his eyes always been so light? They looked almost yellow, but she figured it may have been due to the harsh lights of the exam room.

He didn't hear her. All he could hear was high-pitched ringing.

"Quokka?"

His eyes seemed to clear at the nickname. She watched as he redirected his hand to land on her knee. He cleared his throat, shaking his head before looking up at her.

There he is.

She smiled at him, letting her shirt drop down to cover the scars again.

"Maybe they're not as badass as I thought," she tried to break the tension.

"No, uh," Jisung shook his head again, "I just… maybe if I had been there, it wouldn't have happened, you know?"

She took his hand in hers, squeezing it gently.

"If you had been there, what could you have done?" She asked, "it probably would have just ended with both of us in the hospital."

=====

"Where's the leech?"

"Damn, okay, racist, first off," Seungmin scolded Jisung, slowly turning in his chair, "second, I think he's in the garage."

"Sorry, fuck, whatever," Jisung ran a hand through his hair as he threw together half an apology, "what's his fucking name again?"

=====

"Hwang Hyunjin!"

Hyunjin looked up and not at all subtly moved to put his car between himself and Jisung.

"Shit."

To his surprise, Jisung didn't make any move to get closer to him. Instead, he simply stood, sizing him up.

"How did you know?"

"I didn't! I still don't! I've never known anything in my entire life!"

Jisung huffed. Obviously, the new guy had no idea what he was asking about.

"How did you know that she had been attacked?"

"I swear to god I had no fucking clue! I had no idea until I saw you and put two and two together," Hyunjin wasn't usually one to ramble, but he figured the longer he talked the longer he was not being attacked. "Like I'd want to give you another reason to flip shit whenever you see me."

That was fair enough. They didn't run into each other often, but whenever they did, Jisung hadn't exactly held back on how much he hated Hyunjin. Nothing too crazy had happened. Just a bit of posturing that those in the know, such as Bori and the girls, put down to the age-old Vamp/Wolf mutual disdain.

"Shut the fuck up," Jisung cut him off. "Just… tell me about the claim."

Hyunjin flashed his most charming smile.

"Well when a wolf loves a human very much…"

"Oh my god! Just fucking tell me why you think it's me!"

Hyunjin couldn’t stop himself from laughing, doubling over and pausing in his attempts to keep distance from Jisung, "she tastes like you."

=====

Changbin stared at the door. On the other side was the one person that had been plaguing his thoughts for the last few months. He could just go in and talk to her. Chan hadn't given him the go-ahead, sure, but she already knew Felix, Jisung, and probably Hyunjin’s face at this point. There was no reason he had to be the one person left out.

And yet, he had put the black and white mask on. Maybe it was out of fear. He had been rejected plenty of times in his life. He had heard a number of reasons, ranging from sweet to harsh. He felt stupid for harboring those words after all these years, but he felt more comfortable with the helmet. The mask was a good middle ground.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked.

"Finally," he heard it come faintly through the door, "please tell me you have a book or something."

Pushing the door slightly open, he peeked his head into the room.

"Oh!" Tempawan exclaimed, "sorry! I thought you were Jisung."

For a second, he couldn't speak. The room was soaked with her scent. Not the head-spinning version that emanated on her nights out, thank god, but it was still strong enough to cling to the inside of Changbin’s skull.

Kiss her. Make her forget about Jisung.

Changbin swallowed.

"Sorry," he started, "I'm actually… you might not recognize me without the helmet…"

"Bin!" Tempawan grinned. "I was wondering when you'd show up."

She could see his hesitation, and she didn't blame him. She was essentially a stranger, and whatever flirtationship she thought that they had could be exactly that: a thought that she had. On her own.

But she finally had a chance to get to know him. And she wasn't about to pass on the opportunity.

"I didn't want to intrude," he mumbled.

She laughed and waved for him to come into the room.

"Oh shut up," she teased him.

She frowned as he settled onto the wheelie stool that the doctor and Felix tended to favor. He seemed to be avoiding her eyes, and the mask… well…

Sure, she knew there were some rules about the drivers keeping their identities secret, but what did it matter at this point? She'd seen Felix's face at her first first-aid check. She'd known Jisung for years. What was the point of Bin hiding?

After a few seconds of silence, they both started speaking.

"I know w-"

"You deser-"

Tempawan laughed.

"Sorry," Changbin gestured for her to talk first, "go ahead."

"Ah," she smiled at him, "it's stupid. I just…" She played with the edge of the blanket, "I know we don't really know each other, but I'm glad that for once you're not seeing me at my worst."

Changbin smiled, not that she could have seen it. Even if he hadn't had the mask, she was staring at the blanket over her legs.

"You have an open wound on your shoulder," he pointed out, "how is this not your worst?"

She puffed out her cheeks, a reaction he recognized from Jisung. He wondered who had picked it up from whom.

"I just mean that usually you see me when I'm all," she shrugged, "messed up."

Changbin leaned back, tilting his head.

"So you go out once a week. At least you know how to get home safely."

"Yeah," she nodded, smiling at him again. He was sure that his heart stopped at the sight. Thankfully, her next words caused it to restart, jumping into double-time.

"Thank you for taking care of me, Bin."

[spectralvulture]

The year was 2008, Obama was on the verge of being elected in his campaign against McCain, I was 17 and annoyed I didn’t get to vote. My Nanny loved having her news shows on all day every day. I think seeing what was going on may have been a coping/grounding mechanism to reality when she didn’t trust her own mind, due to the dementia storming her mental castle. She always liked having news on though, so who knows, maybe a bit of both, either way I do think it kept her grounded in reality.

That was the year Russell Brand infamously hosted the MTV VMA’s, roasting Bush and encouraging our nation to vote Obama. She found that smarmy British loon funny as hell, and me, a child of the internet and already familiar with his antics, enjoyed how much she enjoyed him in that moment. Nanny particularly enjoyed this brutal joke against future former President Bush: “‘We thought it was nice of you to let him have a go, because in England he wouldn’t be trusted with a pair of scissors.”

Damn straight; that was my Nan. Alzheimer’s may have been her downfall but she never ceased to be a badass.

That happened in early September, and she periodically would re-watch his roast thanks to DVR. That’s the funny thing with dementia, people tend to write off their short term memory and never trust them to know what they are talking about. My Nan, a bit over a year away from breast cancer accelerating Alzheimer’s and the inevitable catching up; she always kept her chin up, even when stressed. That’s what mom’s do, isn’t it? Hide the stress from their kids. They can’t hide it of course, it’s always obvious, and it often can lead to contempt or the kid blaming themselves for everything. If we are perfect everything should be okay- right? Right. That sure happened as three generations of stubborn women attempted to live under the same roof in peace. Tale as old as time.

Anywho, fast forward to October, over a month from the infamous Russell Brand VMA appearance. I had just been on a cruise with my mom and my Nanny. Three generations of women just cruisin’ and rocking invisible mental illness, some aware of that- others left in the dark.

You always see your family, even when they don’t think you do.

It was the end of the trip and we had just flown from Florida to San Francisco. I was tired, mom was tired, Nanny was tired. Everyone was ready to be home, but we had to shuttle to a hotel where the car was parked, late at night under the cover of dark. We exited the airport as a giant black SUV opened its doors, and an entourage and a very familiar face unloaded like some kind of clown car. I leaned into my mom and whispered: “Mom!!! That’s Russell Brand!” My mother, bless her soul, still not sure if this was intentional or stress as she is trying to figure out where our shuttle is picking us up, snapped loudly: “RUSSELL WHO?” I was immediately mortified, but that guy just swung around to face us, arms extended in welcome and proclaimed: “ARE YOU LADIES FLIRTING WITH ME?!” My mom connected dots and as he walked over she said: “Oh! You’re the guy that made all those Bush jokes! Nanny loved those!” Or something along those lines. “Nanny? Nanny!!! I love Nanny!” Then swooped in and gave her a big hug. He was gentle and charming, sharing a moment with the three of us as we fumbled our way to taking a picture at his suggestion. I dug out my camera, I don’t recall what words were going on between the adults as I focused anxiously on digging to the bottom of my bag. We got our picture, he gave more hugs, and that was that. What a fun little story. For the next year, whenever my Nan saw Russell Brand on the TV she would get excited and say: “Look Andrea! Your friend is on TV!”

Sweet shit, isn’t it? Now to this day I have a fond spot for that dude, even if he puts people off. He showed us kindness and gave my Nanny a memory that lasted the rest of her life, even if she only had a bit over a year left with us. A new memory was made, even if it got turned around a bit. She recognized that man as a charming friend of the family, and I’ll carry that for her in my heart, cause that’s all you can do with a fond memory. Can’t go back, just carry it with you and move forward.

Happy Thanksgiving to those that celebrate. I’m about to put together a Bolognese lasagna for my Turkey Day, happily situated in a family that declines holiday expectations but still loves spending the time together when anyone speaks up and asks them around.

Stay safe and warm out there, and if you’re with family you love and feel safe with, hold them tight.

[krazykiki05]

Niki Lauda: An Event to Remember

"Niki, I have something to tell you." Emily says in German. Niki glances at his wife before returning his eyes to the road. She was a worried look on her face.

"How important is it? Can it wait until we get to the hotel?" Nikki responds in the same language. Emily thinks for a moment. She messes with her index finger's nail.

"I-uh-I guess it can." Emily mutters in English. Nikki sighs.

"I don't mean to upset you. But it seems important and I want to give you my full attention." Niki defends himself in English. Emily nods.

"I understand." Emily says in German. She gazes out the car window.

"Your German is getting better." Nikki compliments in English. "The words are getting faster."

"Danke."

Once at the hotel, Nikki starts stripping of his uniform. "What was it you wanted to tell me?" Nikki asks in German. Emily takes a breath. Nikki was now in a white shirt and underwear.

"I'm pregnant." Emily just blurts it out. Nikki takes a moment to process this. Emily at and there, frozen in nervousness.

Nikki smiles before walking over and giving her a big kiss. "That is great! I'm happy." He says. Emily sighs of relief.

"Oh Nikki. You're going to be a great dad." Emily says, wrapping her arms around her husbands neck. Nikki smiles again, placing his hands on her waist.

The couple now sat on the couch and watched TV after eating dinner. "What promoted you to take a test? You were showing no symptoms." Nikki asked. Emily lightly chuckles

"I have been throwing up a lot recently. You just don't see it because it before you wake up and while you're racing. And half of my favorite foods make me want to gag when I smell them. Also I was late." Emily answers.

That night, the couple slept cuddled together. Emilys head laying on her husbands chest. She was fast asleep. The driver on the other hand? He was wide awake. He was thinking about becoming a dad. Becoming a dad with this woman. Nikki wonders sometimes if he would have chosen her at will instead of being forced into a marriage. She was nice, caring, pretty, and supportive of his work. He was attracted to her and cares for her. But he's seen other women in the streets on in the stands at races who are equally as beautiful, and wonders if what if they were the one. Because he wanted to go up to them and flirt but couldn't. Nikki realized he liked the idea of being married. Someone to share his victories with and to be there for him when he loses. People like to call him a rat for how he looks, being married tells the public he's good enough to get a woman to love him.

Nikki stops dwelling on the hypotheticals and moves on to thinking about him being a father. Nothing in the world could prepare him for this. He doesn't even have an idea how to be a god dad. His father wasn't the best role model. He only has a couple of months to prepare.

Nikki holds his wife tighter before drifting off to sleep.

The next morning Nikki awoke as usual. Emily was already up and around. Nikki saw his uniform was already laid out on a chair along with his shoes. Emily was in the kitchen. "Good morning, darling." She greets in German. "Coffee is made and breakfast is almost ready." She says in English. Nikki nods

"I'm going to take a shower first." He mutters.

Nikki emerges from the bathroom in nothing but a towel, his hair dripping wet. Breakfast was done so Emily was cleaning up. He stops her by putting his hands on her waist. Emily turns around to face him. Nikki plants a sweet kiss on her lips. "How are you feeling?" Nikki asks in German.

"Okay. Just a little nauseous." Emily answers. Nikki let's his thumb carress her stomach. "What the plan for today?" She asks.

"Practice race with James and Andretti then a press conference with both. So I better get ready."

Nikki drove them to the track. There, they were greeted by the head mechanic. "Nikki! Emily! Good morning!" His Italian accent was thick. The couple greet him witch cheek kisses. "Ms. Lauda I hope you're feeling better from yesterday." He says. Emily chuckles while Nikki looks confused. Even his mechanic knew she was off?

"Well I won't be feeling better for the next 9 months if you know what I mean." Emily hints. The mechanic gasps.

"Oh my- that's a great news! Congratulations!"

James watched from his tent Emily rush behind Nikkis tent and cough up her breakfast. Nikki was too far behind, holding her hair. The episode didn't last very long and Nikki started asking her if she was okay in German. Emily was nodding and saying she was fine in English. Nikki then yelled at someone for water. "Nikki! Nikki. I'm fine. Don't worry about me and just have a good practice." He heard Emily say. Nikki didn't look convinced. He made her sit down and handed her a bottle of water. Then he had to go. James decides to walk over and make sure everythings okay. Just because he had beef with her ratty husband, doesn't mean he has to be a dick to her. "Emily!" James calls. Emily smiles at him.

"James! How are you?" Emily stands up.

"I'm great! I'm ready for today. I just came over to ask if you're okay." James asks. Emily grimances.

"Oh l. You saw that. Yeah uh, I'm fine it's just that.. We're expecting." James eyebrows raise.

"Wait! Really? That's amazing!" James gives her hug. Emily chuckles. "Congratulations!"

"Thank you. So dont kick his ass too hard now that he has a family to come home to."

PRESS CONFERENCE

Nikki points to a reporter in the middle. "Is it true that you are in an arranged marriage? And that your wife is pregnant? Did you force that upon her?" Gasps came from the crowd. Nikki was speechless. So was James beside him. Emily was in the back, hidden away. Her hand covered her mouth. Where the fuck did they get that information? And where did the last question come from?

Nikki starts speaking the first thing that comes to his head. "The origins of our marriage is none of your business. I cherish my wife very much and am very lucky to have her in my life. Yes we recently got pregnant but I don't know how you found out. I also don't know where that bullshit question came from of me raping my own wife. I have not and will not force her to do anything she is not comfortable with. I'm done here." Was the last thing Nikki said before standing up to leave. James leans in to his mic.

"Fuck you!" He growls before following Nikki. Emily rushes out as well. The reporters notice and start to stalk her.

"Nikki!" James calls.

"I have to find Emily! We need to get out of here." Nikki thinks out loud while rushing down the hallways, searching for his wife. James wasn't too far behind him.

"Nikki!" Emily calls, searching for her husband. It was difficult being surrounded by reporters shouting questions at her.

"How far along are you!?"

"Did he force you to marry him!?"

"Is he forcing you to have his baby!?" Emily started to panic. All she wanted to do was break down and scream at the top of her lungs. Finally, she spotted a familiar red jumper.

"Nikki!" She calls louder. Nikki hears it and pushes through the crowd of reporters and holds his wife. She buries her face in his neck.

"Stay strong." He says in German in his ear. James bulldozed through the crowd

"HEY! BACK UP. BACK UP." He bellows. Scared reporters do as he says. He turns to Nikki.

"Get her out of here, I've got your back." Nikki nods and starts speed walking to the car. All while shielding his wife from the cameras.

He opens the door and pushes her into the car before running around and getting in the drivers side. He locks the doors. Reporters bang on the car for answers. Still shouting questions. Nikki holds his wife as she breaks down. "Nikki!" She cries. He squeezes her.

"Shh. I know. I know. I'll get us out of here." He mutters in German. He starts the car and starts to drive slowly, causing reporters to move. He maneuvers the car with one hand while he other arm stay wrapped around his wife.

Once they got to the hotel, Nikki looked around to make sure there was no reporters around before getting out.

Once they they shut and locked the door, Nikki held his wife who started sobbing again. "Nikki why would they say that?" She whimpers. Nikki places a kiss to her cheek.

"They are just looking for crappy media. I will go and clear everything up tomorrow. You don't have to worry." Nikki assures.

"Tell then the truth, Nikki." Emily says, still resting her head on her husbands shoulder. "Tell them how our marriage is arranged. For money for racing. But also tell them how we did fall in love with each other." Nikki pulls away from the hug.

"You father will kill me." Emily shakes her head and sniffles.

"I'll talk to Papa. He'll understand." Emily promises. Nikki places both hands on each side of her face, using his thumbs to wipe away her tears.

"I know it's going to be hard, but I need for you to relax. For the baby. I will take care of all this. Go lay down and try to clear you head. Don't turn on news." Nikki demands. Emily nods before walking off.

"Hey. It's Nikki. I need a press conference tomorrow. Just me. All of this shit needs to be cleared up. No, no. She's not coming. Because I said so. Just make it happen."

The next day Nikki called in staying he would go to practice. Everyone understood. James also called in to attend Nikkis press conference.

"I am here today to address the rumors regarding my wife. About our marriage. About her pregnancy. So I'm going to start at the very beginning.

Yes, we had an arranged marriage. It was the only way I would get money from her father for racing. Upon meeting my future wife, I could already tell I was going to have a happy life. She was gorgeous, and made me laugh. She has supported my career and has done everything she could for me. I wouldnt trade her for anyone else.

Now, as for the pregnancy. What can I say? Married people have sex." There was a slight chuckle over the crowd. "That's how most of us came to be here. Unplanned? Sure. But not disappointing. We are both excited to welcome our first born.

I don't know what kind of man you take me for, but I don't rape my wife. All of the many, many, time we have had sex," Nikki pauses for the chuckles, "has all been Consented and wanted by both of us. Despite our arranged marriage." Nikki glances to his left by accident, and saw his wife standing beside the background. The Same wife he told to stay home and safe. But he decided to use it. He gestured to her to come up there with him. Emily started walking up the stairs. He turns back to the reporters. "I can't believe we live in such a disgusting world where I had to come up her and say this. The same world I'm planning to raise my child in."

Nikki stands up, wrapping his arms around his wife's waist while she wraps her arms around his neck. They both go in for a deep kiss, posing for the camera. They hear rapid clicking of cameras. After a few seconds they pull away.

"I thought I told you to stay home?" Nikki scolds.

"You shouldn't have to go through this alone." Emily defends. Nikki looks down at her stomach, caressing it with his thumbs. He feels his wife place a kiss to his forehead. Rapid clicking can be heard again.

[the-modded-inn]

Yes I know that in Skyrim that everyone is bi-sexual in mechanics but this is just my headcanons on what their sexual orientation is.

Kaidan: Open Bi-sexual with a little bit higher preference for women. When he was a bandit he would experiment with some of the male bandits before he got with Rosalind.

Recorder: Open Asexual that is open to date all genders, I don't think she'd be interested in current intimate acts.

Nebarra: Open Asexual that doesn't like people in general, let alone people touching him.

Inigo: Open Hetrosexual. Since he has had dialogue were it mentions that he is attracted to women I'm gonna say that he is straight, but there could be a possibility of Bi-sexuality that hasn't been added yet.

Onean:Open Bi-curious, from what little I can gather from her dialogue and passing convos I'm gonna assume she's young, maybe 18-20 ish and since this is the usual age that most people in just gonna go with Bi-curious.

Rumarin:Open Bi-sexual. You can not look at me straight in the eye and say with a serious face and say this man is straight. Plus I'm pretty sure he says in his dialogue that he is bi-sexual.

Bhruce: Everything sexual. You don't live a long life without at least trying everything at least once. Plus I believe after living for so long gender becomes a construct after a while.

Morgaine:Open Bi-sexual or Hetrosexual. Much like Bhruce, you don't that life that long without at least trying a few things but since she only in her 300-400's her experience is only limited to humanoid hopefully.

Caryalind: Closeted Asexual. Being a Prince means having a duties and rules to abide by. One of these rules is to 'produce a hier'. So for the most part of his life he had to play the role of the perfect son until recently. Hes still suffering from the effects of his father's homophobia.

Lucien:Closeted homosexual or Asexual another case of 'rich family, high expectations.'. Don't get me wrong from his dialogue it seems that they are very supportive and kind parents. However, since he is an only child the parents would expect him settle down and carry on the legacy eventually and Lucien feels guilty about it.

Sofia: Closeted Homosexual. I've headcanoned that she only uses men for money and begrudgingly gives attention. In reality she's deeply ashamed that she finds women attractive and actively hides it for whatever reason.

Auri: Open hetrosexual (Bi-curious?). In Valenwood, they don't really have a marriage or a 'continue the bloodline' trope that all other races seem to have. There has instances of her flirting with kaidan if you have downloaded the add-on. This shows she is attracted to men.

If have any questions or concerns about this headcanons please let me know! I'd love to get you're thoughts and ideas about the characters.

[jerzwriter]

because I'm curious, do you feel like your MC(s) are similar to you? You can expand on that as much as you feel comfortable, but as someone who basically writes exaggerated versions of me, I want to know more about the writers behind some of my fav MCs.

Hey there! Thanks so much for this ask!

I've always felt that there are characteristics of me in my MCs, but they aren't really self-inserts. I always viewed Casey/Kaycee as better versions of me. My latest MC, Zoe, she's a bit different, but there are still traces of me in her. If I ever get around to the OC I'm creating for Ethan in my Tobias/Casey world, she has some basics too.

Ways we're alike:

In my HC, Kaycee/Casey grew up in an inner city. Their family struggled financially but always did their best to do what they could for her. K/C is proud of her upbringing and credits it with making her sensitive to the needs of others who are not privileged in American society. She became an activist during her college years and continued to be civic-minded, involved in causes that matter to her throughout her life. That's all me. lol Kaycee decided one kid was plenty for her after Emma was born. ME. lol They both speak their minds and can be sarcastic and funny. ME (It’s the trauma… lok) They're both bisexual and have had relationships with men and women in the past, but they tend to be in relationships with men more frequently, so people tell them they're not bisexual. They do their best to educate people on this and support others like them. ME.

2. Zoe... OK, this is hard for me to say, and honestly, I just realized this as I'm answering your question. The circumstances are very different (of course, I have not survived a zombie apocalypse lol) But like Zoe, by the time I entered my young adult years, I had been through A LOT. Others who have been through similar things became closed off, retreated, turned to very unhealthy coping mechanisms, or gave up... but Zoe kept going and always felt there was something worth living/fighting for. And you know, that was me. Even though I don't realize it because, well, it's just my life... you know? But now that I look at it, I'm like, "Holy shit." This is pretty cool actually. Zoe is also sarcastic and a flirt - ME and ME. lol

3. Eva ... she's not too developed yet, but she's 1/2 Cuban and 1/2 Greek, which are two (I have more) of my cultural backgrounds. She grew up in NJ (like me) and struggled with self-doubt for a long time, mostly because of her family, who just didn't know better. ME lol

How we're not alike:

Our heritage is different. I didn't grow up in Philly (but I love it!). They love science, and I barely got through my classes, lol My parents were nowhere near as supportive as hers. I would have had a lot less tolerance for Ethan's shit before they were together, but maybe not at a younger age. (I'm like Casey - if he had left for the Amazon without telling me, he would have been dead to me. lol) Casey manages three little girls and a career with aplomb. I would have been in the fetal position and popping more Adderall than is legally allowed. lol (Of course, I didn't have a Tobias to help, so there's that... oh, we're different there too lol)

She's more fearless in battle than I would ever be. Though I've never been forced to be in battle, so I can't say that with 100% conviction. When we are put in in situations where we "must," we often find that we "do." I'd say she wants to be a leader, I did not. but I'm not 100% sure she wanted to (and I'll address that in writing). I think she just found she had to and rose to the occasion.

3. Eva's family was a pain in the ass, but she had a very loving/supportive father and older brother. Her mother was also misguided but kind. NOT my experience lol Eva is much more serious than me. She has a playful side, but nowhere near the lunacy that is me. Zoe and Eva are also 100% straight, so there's that. lol

Well, that got long! lol That's me. I hope that gave you a glimpse of how we're alike and different! Thanks so much for asking.

[auxiliarydetective]

No, I mean, what's your gender? - Whatever I want it to be.

I did it. I knew I would eventually, but I tried to ignore it. Everyone meet my A-Team OC. @datasgirlfriend Feast your eyes on what you have helped to create!

Their name is Anne "Karma" Kelley (she/they). In modern terms, they'd probably call themselves genderfluid, but in the show, she'd just give a shrug or sassy remark whenever asked about her gender due to the time the show takes place and was written in. It would also only use she/her pronouns for her.

Karma is relatively tall for an afab person, standing at around 5'7" or 170cm tall. She's slim and muscular and usually binds her chest if she's not presenting as 1000% fem. One of her most defining features are her birth marks - that the A-Team thought were bruises upon first meeting her since they could only see the one around her left eye. She also has one across her right shoulder and arm and at the back of her left thigh. Her skin is tanned and freckled, her eyes are a very dark brown and her hair is short and dark blonde. Have some more meikers for reference since none of them perfectly show what she looks like:

I might also make a sim of her to see if I can do it better. Either way, moving on:

Anne is their deadname and they'll turn into a raging demon if anyone ever calls them that. The A-Team knows this and they go to all lengths to avoid it. Even if she's presenting as very feminine (for a job, for example), the guys will come up with some way to avoid both her deadname and her chosen name, Karma, because they know it's a bit of a rare one. Depending on the situation, they'll either call her "Miss Kelley", "Kelly" and variations of that name. Face, however, always pulls out his arsenal of terms of endearment and he takes great delight in watching her not being allowed to yell or curse at him for it.

Her "official" A-Team nickname is Kit. Hannibal was the first to use it, though it's unclear if he didn't call her "kid" instead. Face picked up on it and he absolutely loves using the name. The guys all insist it stands for her skills with her makeup kit and a toolkit, but it's pretty obvious that it's an excuse to compare her to a kitten.

Which brings me to Kit's skill set: Using makeup and a fitting outfit, they can make themselves look like a men or women of varying facial shapes - and they can act the part too! Think of drag queens and kings and the way they reshape their face with contour and highlighter. Specifically, Kit does an eerily accurate impersonation of Face, even when viewed up close. Whenever the A-Team uses it in a mission, they refer to it as the "Two-Faced" strategy. She can also do an impression of Murdock, but she finds it hard to get the mannerisms right ("I'm just not insane, Hannibal, I can't come up with what to do or say!"), plus height really becomes an issue with him, so she only does it from afar. With Face, it still more or less works since subtle platforms exist. Kit is also a more than decent mechanic, acting as B.A.'s assistant at times or taking over for him if he can't reach something because he's too big. A former trapeze artist, Kit is strong, flexible and athletic. Any sort of climbing and parcour action usually falls on their shoulders once they're really accepted into the team. They're also a fast runner and will not hesitate to kick or punch someone - or slap, in Face's case. After all, they need him to stay pretty or whatever, so she doesn't hit him too hard.

I think it's become pretty clear that Kit and Face's relationship is pretty special. I mean, we know Face, the ladies' man. To him, Kit is lady enough (though she's considered one of the boys by the likes of B.A. and Hannibal) for him to be flirting with her. He likes teasing her a lot and she knows how to take it, sassing him in return. This is very much a "I would never fall for you!" situation. We all know she will, maybe she already has, but will she admit it? Hell no.

B.A. sees her as a younger sibling. A very feral younger sibling. He might not show it, but he's secretly very proud whenever she beats someone up.

Hannibal has basically adopted her. Something along the lines of "don't you ever tame your demons but always keep them on a leash".

Murdock and Karma are chaotic queer besties, challenging the concept of gender and any kind of normativity together.

The story of how she met the A-Team may also be coming your way. This may be a brainrot. Sound the alarm...

@starlightocs @starlit-ocs

[tropes-and-tales]

His Favorite

Day 23:  Thigh riding (Poe Dameron x F!Reader)

(For the 2021 Kinktober event offered by @beeschaos and @withlove-sid.  The original post and calendar/list can be found here.)  

CW:  Smut (thigh riding, as the title implies); 18+ only.

Word Count:  4190

AN:  This is very late - apologies!  Tide and time wait for no overly ambitious kinktober schedule.

The hangar is mostly dark:  only a pool of light remains in your mechanic bay.  The Resistance mostly runs on cobbled-together ships and a lot of prayers to whatever deities oversee the star system you’re currently hiding in.  But you make the best of it, and you take pride in your work.  You’ve never had a single ship – freighter or X-wing or otherwise – fail mechanically on your watch.

Tonight’s fun project?  Fixing Poe Dameron’s X-wing.  The Resistance might as well assign a dedicated mechanic to Dameron’s ships because he tends to fly them rough, land them hard, and then demand they work flawlessly for the next mission.

The man is a certified pain in the ass.

He’s also capable of being extremely quiet….which is how he’s able to creep up on you tonight in the mostly dark hangar.  You’re in the cockpit, recalibrating the navigational system that was fried in the latest fire-fight, when you hear him.  Not the heavy tread of boots.  His voice, actually.

“You almost done, sweetheart?”

He’s so incredibly close to you, you jump in surprise – and knock your head against the console.  You curse and straighten up in the pilot’s seat to see him leaning into the cockpit too.  He must have purposely climbed the ladder up as quietly as possible for you to have missed the sound of his boots on the metal…or the vibration of his steps on the ladder leading to the cockpit…

Asshole, sneaking up on you like that.  

“What do you want, Dameron?” you ask, biting back what you really want to say to him.

He flashes that winning smile of his that makes other women – and many men – simper at him.  “Came to check on how my favorite girl was doing.”

You shake your head and lean back in the pilot’s seat.  “She’s not doing great,” you tell him, and you begin to list out everything you’ve fixed so far.  “Some of her hydraulic lines were shot, the retro-thrust nozzle was fried, and I had to – “

“Not the ship,” he cuts in, his smile never wavering.  “You.  You’re my favorite girl.”

His nerve makes you laugh as you roll your eyes.  “Sure,” you retort.

“You are.”

Another roll of your eyes.  “Okay, what do you want?”

His smile transforms into a hurt look.  “I don’t want anything.”

“If you’re angling for a new ion engine, you have to get in line.  We only have two spares – “

He shakes his head at that, cutting you off again.  “Why do you think I want anything?”

You laugh again, and this time it’s a little bitter.  Poe Dameron and his winning smile and soulful brown eyes and cocky swagger.  You’ve seen enough of how he operates.  Flash the smile, flash the dimples.  Turn on the sad eyes, if necessary.  He could get whatever he wants, and usually does.  

Whatever he wants.  Whoever he wants.  The engineering quarters are a hive of gossip, and Dameron is oft the subject of the hour.

“When do you ever flirt unless it’s to get something you want?” you ask reasonably.  “So let’s just skip the flirting bit.  Tell me what you want, and I’ll see what I can do.  No ion engines, though.  Like I said, we only have a few spares.”

“Why do you think I’m flirting?”

“Why did you sneak up on me, then lie and say I’m your favorite girl?”

“Why would you think that’s a lie?”  He’s looking at you with an expression you can’t quite place, and while he’s smiling, it’s not his broad winning smile now – now it’s something softer.

Because you flirted with me after that one big campaign.  Because I thought you actually liked me and weren’t just drunk on spotchka.  Because I thought…I thought….

You don’t say any of it.  He had flirted with you, made out with you…and the next day, obviously hungover, he had forgotten the moment completely.  Never said another word to you that wasn’t about his ship.

“What do you want, Poe?” you ask softly, and the use of his first name – or your tone – makes him frown.

“I really did just come to check on you.”

“Sure.”

He sighs.  “I came to thank you too.  Looking after my ship.  I don’t trust any other engineer with her.”

“Okay.”

Another sigh, and he hooks his arm around the ship to reach his other hand into his pocket.  He pulls something out and hands it to you.

“Here,” he says.  “I know you like these.  Saw them on the supply run and thought of you.”

Then he’s gone, back down the ladder, and this time you can hear his footsteps fading away.  You open the little packet wrapped in thin, crinkly paper – sweet-sand cookies.  They are your favorite – your mother used to make them when you were young.  

-----

You catch up with him a few days later.  You have to wait until the dining hall clears out a little, and Poe Dameron always has groupies hanging around him.  But BB-8 sees you, and the little droid gives a series of shrill beeps that pulls Poe’s attention to you.  His smile is wide as he walks over to you.

“You here to tell me that I got a new ion engine?” he jokes.

“Ha, I knew it.  You were just angling.”  You shake your head in mock-exasperation, but then you fix him with a curious look.  “How did you know?  About the sweet-sand cookies?”

“We talked about it.”

“When?”

Your question makes his smile falter a little.  “You don’t remember?”

“Remember what?”

“That night.  After the campaign over Pheryon.”  He rubs the back of his neck and looks a little ashamed.  “We…you know.  Hooked up.”

You furrow your brow and shake your head, this time for real.  “No, we….we made out.  But we didn’t hook up.”

“No, we definitely did.”  He tilts his head, rubs his neck again in consternation.  “I definitely remember.”

“No, we definitely did not.”  You emphasize the last word; you are clear on this point.  You had drank a little spotchka that night, but you were well in control of yourself.  Your memory of that night was pretty clear, and you tell him so.

“We talked,” you tell him.  “We were talking about our childhoods, and sure, I kinda remember talking about my mother, so I probably did tell you about the sweet-sand cookies.  And we…we, uh, made out too.”  You flush a little at that memory, the heat rising to your face.

“I stepped away to go get some water for both of us,” you continue.  “You were pretty out of it, and I felt bad.  When I came back, you were gone.  So if you hooked up with someone, it wasn’t me.”  You try not to sound bitter, but you know you fail.

Poe doesn’t look ashamed.  He looks flummoxed.  “No, sweetheart…I’m sure it was you.  I remember you…being there.  Uh, you know.  In my bed.”

Of course it wasn’t you.  You had stood there with two glasses of water in your hand like an idiot, then you had made a hasty escape to your own room once you realized you’d been ditched.  Alone, where your disappointment and tears could be vented without any embarrassment.

“I slept alone that night,” you tell him.

He seems so convinced though.  He stares at you, like he’s trying to see if you’re lying or pulling one over on him.  It’s a long, awkward moment until BB-8 bumps into Poe’s leg and lets loose a string of beeps that you can’t make out.

“What, buddy?”  He kneels down to listen to the droid, and BB-8 beeps for a long moment.

“Ah.”  Poe nods at the droid, pats it absentmindedly as he stands up.  “Okay, so slight revision.  That wasn’t you.  That was…uh, a figment of my imagination.  Apparently.  BB-8 here says that I stumbled back to my quarters, threw up, and passed out on the bed.”

“Ah,” you echo.  It sets your stomach aflutter, knowing that he hadn’t ditched you for another person.

“Guess it explains a lot,” he continues, and now he’s embarrassed, looking down at the floor near your feet.  “Why I woke up alone.  Why you have been…frosty to me since that night.”

“I thought you left with someone else,” you admit.

“And I thought I was such a disappointment in bed, you fled in the night.”

“Spotchka can hit you hard.”

“Apparently.”

There’s an awkward beat of silence, and you’re unsure of how to proceed.  So you do the best you can – you chuck him softly on the arm, you thank him for the cookies, and you turn to leave.  His arm shoots out and stills you.  His hand is warm on your wrist, and he only releases you after a moment.

“Wait,” he says.  “I’m sorry about that night.”

You shake your head at his apology.  It’s not necessary.  Your hurt has burned off in the face of the truth, and you harbor no ill will.

“You’re back on the list for a new engine,” you joke.  “See you around, Poe.”

No need to make future plans.  You know you’ll see him.  The man is a pain in the ass, and he rides his X-wing hard.  You’ll be working on his ship soon enough.

*****

It’s always easy to get time with you – you’re the best damned engineer in the Resistance, maybe in the galaxy.  Poe is always putting work orders in for you to look at his ship.

This time, at least, it’s a real issue.  The pitch and roll control pedals are sticky, slow to react.  Nearly cost him his life on the last intel run.

“See?” he says, demonstrating.  Right now he’s in the pilot’s seat, and you are on the ladder outside the cockpit.

“Well, I can’t see a feeling, Poe,” you say, and he loves this – the way you joke with him now.  It all makes sense now, why you went cold on him.  He’s glad it got cleared up, grateful for his droid to cut through human misunderstanding.

“Let me sit there,” you add, and you pull a cute little move, hooking one foot onto the side of the ladder and swinging away so that he can pass by you.  But he doesn’t move from his seat, and you frown at him.

“Come on, Poe.  Stop playing around.  I have to try the pedals myself to feel how they’re sticking – “

“You can sit on my lap,” he offers.  

He loves how flustered you get.  That’s what caught his eye that night – how flustered you got when he came over to talk to you.  You were so assured around the ships, around the piles of broken machinery that you could magic back into usefulness….but around him, you got rattled.

“I can’t sit in your lap.”

“Why not?  You’d fit.”

You open your mouth to protest, so he slides the pilot’s seat back the few inches it can – then he pats his lap invitingly.

He also loves how nothing can stand between you and a broken ship.  He knows that about you.  He’s seen you sprint into the jungle to work on a downed fighter.  Heard you beg Leia to haul in any destroyed piece of ship for you to repair.  

You glare at him for a beat, but then you climb into the cockpit.  You don’t quite sit in his lap….you perch awkwardly on his knee, most of your weight held off of him until he wraps his arms around your waist and hauls you back against him, making you squeal.

“You’re an ass,” you mutter, but sure enough – you shift.  You put your feet on the pedals and test them, muttering to yourself about maybe needing a new anchoring bolt, maybe just disassemble and clean and grease everything…

Poe doesn’t loosen his arm around your waist.  He really did think he took you home that night.  Hallucinated the entire event, or dreamed it.  It had been so vivid, he had assumed it was real.  Maybe the spotchka was laced with something that night, but if he closes his eyes, he can still remember it – the feel of your body underneath his, your hands touching him, your mouth beside his ear, whispering the filthiest –

“Okay,” you say, breaking his daydream.  “You can let me go.  I think I’ll start by taking apart the pedals…”  You trail off and tap the arm that’s wound around your waist, but he doesn’t release you.

“Can’t believe you thought I ditched you that night,” he grumbles.  

“You did ditch me,” you reply, and there’s a teasing lilt to your voice.  “I just thought you left me for a better prospect, when really you just left me to puke and pass out.”

“I wanted to spend the night with you.”  It’s easy to admit in the semi-darkness of the hangar, the privacy of the cockpit.  

“Well, spotchka has a way of convincing a person – “

“No.”  He cuts you off.  “Wanted to spend the night with you before I got wasted.  I’ve had my eye on you for a long while.”

You don’t reply to that.  He can’t guess what you’re thinking.  You’re facing away from him, and you go still in his lap. Knowing what he does about you, you’re probably weighing his words like a formula, like a blueprint.  Seeing what checks out, and what won’t fly.

“Turn around, sweetheart,” he says.  His voice is low, and he shifts his hands until they are on your hips, gently turning you, helping you maneuver in the tight space until you are straddling him.  You lay your hands on his chest and look at him evenly.

“I mean it,” he adds.  “I hate that you thought I would ditch you for another person.”

You look at him for a long moment, as if you’re judging his words.  Then you give a little nod, as if to yourself.  

You lean forward and kiss him, and it’s just like that night – only now, he’s sober enough to take in every sensation. You’re a great kisser, and it surprises him now – as it surprised him that night.  Maybe Poe judges engineers unfairly, but he always thought them introverted and shy.  You’re bold, though, when you kiss him – one hand drifting to the side of his face, tilting his head so that you can deepen the kiss.  As if you just needed him to tell you how he felt before you let your boldness out.

Yes, Poe remembers this.  The way your sharp teeth nip at his lower lip, then the way you suck against it, soothing the slight sting.  The way your tongue presses into his mouth, not a bit of hesitation as you explore him.  As you taste him.  

And this is even better, in his opinion.  Cozier, the two of you tangled together in his X-wing.  He doesn’t tell you, not right now, but he always pretends that he carries you with him on missions.  Not like a ghost, exactly…he just carries your memory.  The ghost of your hands, making sure the ship brings him home safely.  The best engineer in the galaxy, and his guardian angel.

It takes no time at all for both of you to get riled up.  Poe grows hard almost instantly, was already halfway there to see you hanging off the edge of his cockpit.  He guesses you feel similarly aroused, by how your short-bitten nails dig into the thick fabric of his shirt, by the subtle swivel of your hips as you kiss him.  Almost riding him, but not quite.  There’s not enough room for much of anything, but Poe doesn’t want to release you.  Doesn’t want to take you back to his quarters until he can make you come.

It’s a kink of his, something he’s ponders in great detail late at night when he is alone:  coaxing an orgasm out of you in his X-wing.  He’s had plenty of lovers in his bed; he wants you to be the first in his ship.

“Here, sweetheart,” he says, and he smiles at the confusion on your face when he tries to rearrange your limbs.  You let him, and he shifts you over just a bit – so that you’re just straddling one of his thighs instead of his lap.  He wraps your arms around his neck, and he smiles again when you thread one hand through his curls.

He lays his own hands on you – one on your hip, the other on your ass.  He steers you gently against him, against his thigh.  He sets the rhythm, and he loves the shimmer of desire that washes across your face before you start to move without his guidance.

Poe had been so certain that he’d taken you back to his room that night.  That’s how intense and vivid the dream (hallucination?) had been.  But he can see now – that entire dream sequence of you naked in his bed, him fucking you senseless….it doesn’t even come close to this moment.  

This moment is tame by comparison.  Not a bit of nudity.  No relief for him.  Just you grinding yourself on the tensed muscle of his thigh, taking your pleasure for yourself once he sets the scene for you.  He’s hard as beskar, but he doesn’t care about himself.  Watching you ride him…it’s incredibly hot.

You’re biting your lip as if you want to silence yourself, but you can’t stop the sweet little whimpers that tear out of your throat.  Your hair is back, no nonsense for your work in the maintenance bay, but a few strands have worked themselves free, framing your face.  Poe can feel how warm your face is, like you’re embarrassed…but not so embarrassed that you stop.

He leans forward, captures your mouth with his.  Another whine slips past your lips, but he swallows it.  Slides his tongue into your mouth to taste you, and it’s better than that night.  Now he can taste you and not the cloying aftertaste of spotchka.

Kissing you ratchets up your grinding.  You move faster.  Harder.  The hand that’s wound through his curls tugs against his hair lightly, making him groan into your mouth.  Your other hand moves from the back of his neck to cup his jaw.  You hold him steady as you kiss him.  As you ride him.

Poe swears he can feel the wet heat of you against his leg, despite your jumpsuit and his own pants.  There’s no way you could be that wet, but the thought makes him groan as the blood steadily pulses in his cock, straining for relief that won’t come until later.

He knows when you get close.  You change the rhythm a little, drag yourself more on him as you whine at the friction.  You break the kiss but he holds you close to him, presses his forehead against yours.  Your eyes are squeezed shut at the sensation of riding him, but Poe keeps his own eyes open.  To take in your every expression.  To watch you when you finally come.

You aren’t loud.  Maybe you keep it quiet because you’re in the hangar – Poe figures he’ll find out later, when he gets you somewhere more private.  But now, this first time you come for him…in his X-wing, no less…it’s quiet.  A restrained moment.  

You arch against him when you come, your breasts pressed against his chest as if electricity is arcing through you.  You throw your head back and let out a quiet, shuddering breath.  You whisper his name and tremble against him, and once your pleasure crests, you bend your head and kiss him as you calm.  You’re out of breath, and your kisses are breathless too.  Breathless as you say his name, breathless as you mutter out tame curses at the stolen moment in his X-wing.

When you calm, Poe steers you in his lap again.  Moves you until you’re curled up in his lap, and you huff out a breathless laugh when you feel his hardness poking against you.  But when you reach down for him, he gently stills your hand.  Lifts it to his mouth, kisses your knuckles, a little skinned and bruised from working on ships.

“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart,” he murmurs against the side of your head.  He’s dangerously close to coming already, and if you touch him, he’ll make an uncomfortable mess.  He just wants to hold you as you calm, as he calms…then he wants to take you to his quarters.  

“Want to make up for that night,” he says.

You twist a little in his lap and gaze at him, your eyes glinting with devilment.  “I dunno, Poe.  Do we have a barrel of spotchka for you to drink first?”

His fingers dig into your waist, tickling you until you squeal, and Poe laughs to hear such a free-spirited sound coming from you.  Especially after that period of coldness when the two of you misunderstood each other, when you kept your words with him short and curt.  

“Never again,” he says.  “That damned spotchka cost me too much time with you.  Had to go out of my way to get you cookies to start the peace talks between us.”

You furrow your eyebrows at that.  “Wait, I thought you saw those on a supply run…”  You trail off, confused.

Well, Poe’s been found out now.  He made a special trip for them.  Not entirely – he was in the vicinity of a Artoid Minor anyway, but he had spent half of the star-cycle searching for a certain bakery.  Best sweet-sand cookies in the galaxy, apparently, and Poe’s best bet at thawing your reserve with him.

You had been a little tipsy on spotchka that night too, after all, and you had talked about how homesick you were.  How much you missed your father.  Your mother.  How you’d do anything for a single bite of her cooking again.

Poe couldn’t bring your mother to you…but he could try to bring you a memory from home.  He tells you so now, and the confusion on your face cedes to almost-tears.  Almost-crying, and it alarms him.

“Sweetheart, I didn’t mean to – “ but you don’t let him get any further.  You cut him off by twisting in his lap and throwing your arms around his neck.  Hugging him hard.  Hard enough to surprise him with your strength.  Hard enough to surprise himself with how much he likes this, hugging you tightly as you struggle not to cry against him.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled against the crook between his jaw and his shoulder, against his neck.  “I really misjudged you.”

He chuckles.  “Maybe you judged me correctly and I was just making amends.”

“No,” you protest.  “I thought – “

“Hush.”  He cuts you off, puts a gentle hand on the side of your face.  Steers your head back to his, presses a soft kiss to your mouth.  “We don’t have to rehash all that old misery.  Let’s just move on.”

You nod.  “Okay.”

He flashes you his winningest smile, tilts his head questioningly.  “Come back to my quarters?  Spend the night with me?”

You laugh lightly.  “I thought we weren’t rehashing that old stuff, Poe.”

“That’s not old stuff, sweetheart,” he says.  “I’m fully in control of myself.  No puking, no passing out, no hallucinating.  This is new stuff only.”

You laugh again.  “Okay.”

“And if I mess up again, at least I know how to get back into your good graces.”

You smile and climb out of his lap, your legs a little shaky as you exit the cockpit, make your way down the ladder.  You wait for him to join you, and then the two of you leave the hangar – his arm around your waist, unwilling to let you go for even a moment.

“And maybe if I get a good run of not messing up…maybe we can talk new ion engines?” he asks, and you swivel in his arm, make a grumble of protest.  

“I knew you were conning me, Dameron.”

He stills his steps and reaches out for you.  Pulls you to him and kisses you, long and lingering.  The heat of that moment in the X-wing flares like an ember coaxed back into flames, and he grins at the way you press the length of yourself against him.  You feel it too.

“Not conning you,” he says when he breaks the kiss and takes your hand back in his.  He tugs you towards his quarters, hurrying your steps.  “Didn’t I say you were my favorite girl?”

You don’t respond to him, but you squeeze his hand.  You follow him, and you spend the night with him, and almost every other night after that.  Through the long war with the First Order, through the losses and triumphs.  Through the end of it and into peacetime and beyond.

The only time the two of you are apart, in fact, is when he’s on a mission in his X-wing…but he carries the ghost of you.  Not ghost, exactly.  The memory of your clever, skilled hands.  The best engineer in the galaxy.  His guardian angel.

His favorite girl.

~~~Tag List~~~ @bananas-pajamas  @rachelxwayne​   @stardust-fray   @massivecolorspygiant​   @imspillingcoffee​   @amneris21​  @paintballkid711​   @mad-girl-without-a-box​   @bestattempt​   @rosiefridayrogersunday​   @strawberrydragon​   @hoeforthefictional​   @greeneyedblondie44​  @leannawithacapitala​   @stardust-galaxies​   @ataraxydreams​   @blunt-cake-yes​  @castiellover77​   @shesbiochem4​   @isvvc-pvscvl​   @frankie-catfish-morales​    @blacksquadron-roguetwo   @zizzlekwum​

[pink-sparkly-witch]

Can't Fight This Feeling, Pt. 3

Summary: A night out for Benny’s birthday turns into something more when an encounter with Y/N’s ex, Rick, has Dean finally finding the courage to tell her how he feels.

Pairing: Mechanic!Dean Winchester x Female Reader (Finally!)

Bingo Square: Quote B

Warnings: Angst, alcohol consumption, mentions of possible cheating, fluff, language, flirting, confrontation, kissing.

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: This is written as a submission for Tell Me A Story Bingo hosted by @supernatural-jackles. The square filled is Quote B which is highlighted in bold. This hasn’t been beta’d. Any mistakes are my own!

You can catch up here!

My Masterlist     AO3    Ko-Fi

Y/N got out of the cab and walked towards the Roadhouse. It was Benny’s birthday, and he was having a get-together with his friends. When he came into her office last week and told her about the plans for tonight, he specifically mentioned Dean was going to be there. She found that strange for two reasons: first; she didn’t know why he thought she needed to know that, and second; Benny and Dean were best friends, so, of course, he’d be there. 

She’d never told Benny about her huge crush on Dean, but she had a feeling he knew anyway. Dean was just her type. Smart, funny, just on the right side of cocky, and great company. It was always a good night whenever they went out as a group.

Dean was a ladies’ man, though, a one-and-done kinda guy, at least he had been since Lisa. Plus, she knew from being his date at his friend’s wedding last month that he only saw her as a friend. The problem was trying to tell her heart that and get over him.

Y/N had hoped, right up until the end of the wedding, that he’d kiss her. For real, this time. But he was nothing but a gentleman. Thanking her again for being a great friend and saying that his offer of owing her whatever she wanted in return still stood. She’d never cash in on it, though, because what she wanted was him.

It’d been two weeks since then, and things had returned to a relative sense of “normal” for them. Friendly flirting, teasing each other, her bringing him pie from the bakery down the road, him bringing her lunch from the Mexican place she loved across town. Back to being friends. He’d even taken a customer’s number, and she thought she overheard Benny and Dean talking about when he would ask her out. Once again, validating all the reasons she thought he only saw her as a friend.

Swinging the door open, Y/N walked into the bar, her eyes scanning the crowded room. It didn’t take long to see Benny playing pool with Castiel. She smiled to herself and headed over to the bar to order a drink and add money to the tab she knew would be behind there for their group.

“Hey, Y/N! How are ya, sweetie?” Ellen asked.

“I’m good, Ellen. How are you?” Y/N answered the older woman.

“Can’t complain! You here for Benny’s birthday?”

“Yup, you know I can’t miss a night out with that big goofball!” Y/N smiled. “Can you do me a favour and stick this in with the tab? And tell me if it’s getting low, and we’ll top you up,” Y/N handed a fifty over to Ellen, who put it in a tumbler behind the bar.

“Alright, done! Now, what ya drinking?”

“Better start easy with a beer. Can’t have you kick me out before that lot makes asses of themselves like usual!” Y/N and Ellen laughed as she put a bottle on the wooden bar.

The night was well and truly underway. The pool tournament was in its semi-final round with Benny and Sam currently battling it out and Y/N and Dean playing next. Charlie was currently hitting on a girl at the bar, Meg and Castiel were making out in the corner, and Donna was watching Benny with the biggest heart eyes she’d ever seen. The Deputy Sheriff was the best damn thing that had ever happened to Benny. They were good for each other.

Benny was a good man, a gentleman of the truest form, and many women had taken that for granted in the past. His intentions were pure, and he was too kind and generous for his own good. He was one of those rare guys who’d do anything for those he cared about. She always joked that if she ever needed to hide a body, she knew who she’d call - and he’d show up, no questions asked and, no doubt, with his buddy Dean Winchester right behind him with another shovel. 

Y/N and Dean were sitting quietly, watching the pool game unfold, knowing one of them would be playing whoever won this game. Of course, she was rooting for Benny because she didn’t stand a chance against Sam. At least if she played the Cajun, there was a slim chance that victory and bragging rights could be hers. Then again, she didn’t have a hope in hell’s chance at winning against Dean either. Unless she could distract him by strategically bending over the table, using her feminine assets to her advantage.

“Hey, uh- Listen,” Dean spoke, tearing her from her thoughts. “I just wanted to say thanks again for Garth’s wedding and… you know…” the mechanic rubbed his neck nervously.

“Don’t mention it. I was happy to help. It’s what friends do, right?” Y/N replied a little colder than she meant to and sighed with guilt when his eyes squinted with what looked like hurt.

“I told my mom we broke up. Said we were better as friends,” Dean continued. “So, uh… you’re free from me, I guess,” he chuckled. “You can get back to dating. You know, if you want to?” 

She wasn’t sure why it sounded like a question, but she nodded anyway. “Thanks. You want another?” Y/N gestured to his almost empty beer bottle. She needed to get away from him. She could feel the beginning of tears sting the back of her eyes and needed to get away from this conversation and from him. She thought she’d be fine tonight, but when he brought up that night and being friends, it upset her more than she knew it had a right to.

“Uh, yeah. I think Charlie was supposed to be getting more drinks, but it looks like she’s busy,” he grinned and nodded his head towards the bar where the redheaded mechanic was flirting shamelessly with a brunette woman at the bar. Shaking her head with a murmured “typical, " Y/N headed to the bar to get more drinks.

She ordered the beers first and returned to her friends, placing the bottles on the table. Dean went with her to help carry the whiskey tumblers, and she wanted to scream at him to leave her alone and give her some space, but she couldn’t do it. Not without him asking her what was wrong.

“Wow! Tequila? It’s like that, huh?” Dean raised his eyebrows when he saw the small glasses filled with golden liquid.

“Yep,” Y/N sighed. “Excuse the bad song pun, but tequila makes me happy, and God, do I need to be happy right now!” she scoffed, lifting the salt shaker, licking her hand and sprinkling the white grains on the wet streak left behind. “I was gonna have both of these, but you’re welcome to join me if you like?” she asked Dean, holding the salt shaker out for him to take. She didn’t know what possessed her to ask him when she so desperately wanted away from him, just being polite, she guessed, but the smile on his face meant she couldn’t take it back now.

Not one to turn down a challenge, Dean licked his hand, eyes on hers the whole time. Sprinkling the salt on his hand, Dean picked up the shot glass and held it up, waiting for her to tap it. “Cheers, sweetheart,” he smirked, eyes raking over her body.

Dean had been in love with her for a long time and had always found her incredibly attractive. He loved seeing a different side of her at the wedding, looking stunning and being flirty and touchy-feely with him. And tonight? Well fuck, she looked gorgeous.

Y/N wasn’t the type of girl he usually used for a one-nighter. She was the type of girl he wanted to settle down with. Funny, intelligent, kind, fun, beautiful. What more could a man want? Benny had always encouraged him to make a move whenever she was single. He’d asked again this week when he was going to ask her out, but he wasn’t what she needed in her life. She’d been screwed over far too many times by far too many guys for him to fuck things up even more for her. She deserved the fucking world, and he knew he couldn’t give her that.

Dean always screwed up in relationships, always putting his needs first and not thinking much about anyone but himself and his family. At least that’s one of the things Lisa told him when she ended things all those months ago. Dean thought he was a good boyfriend. He always made time for her and them as a couple. He also made time to be the role model and father figure her son had desperately needed.

He’d tried so hard to keep the spark they’d felt at the beginning alive, but she didn’t offer the same. He often found that it was her who didn’t make the time for him. She cancelled plans with him in favour of going out with her friends or colleagues. Sometimes staying out very late, occasionally all night. Dean didn’t like to dwell on that for too long. He knew there was a good chance she’d cheated on him. It was obvious to everyone, and she wasn’t subtle about it, but that was enough for him. He didn’t need to hear the words and make it real. Keeping his mouth shut saved his heart and pride, so he never called her out on it. 

“Cheers!” Y/N grinned and tapped her glass against his, bringing him back to the present. Licking the salt from her hand, she made sure her eyes never left his as the tequila slid down her throat and when she sucked seductively on the lime wedge. Dean almost groaned when her perfect, pink little tongue peeked out to catch the drip of juice that escaped from the corner of her lips. He held her gaze the entire time and followed her actions, slamming the shot glass back on the bar just in time for her to hold two fingers up at Jo, ordering another round of shots.

Tonight, just got a whole lot more interesting! Dean thought.

“No, that’s… it didn’t happen like that at all!” Y/N tried to defend. She lost to Dean in the pool tournament. The two tequila shots at the bar had made her too happy, warm, and fuzzy to concentrate on the game. She tried, she really did, but the second Dean took off his flannel and revealed his tanned and freckled muscular arms, broad shoulders, and rippled lines of his back that were straining his white t-shirt, she just about lost the will to live. She’d been turned on since the first time his perfect ass bent over right in front of her to take a shot. Definitely on purpose. “Don’t listen to her, man! She was drunk off her ass and probably wouldn’t know the truth if it slapped her in the face!” Benny laughed. “Hey! What is this? Pick on Y/N night? It might be your birthday, and I might be tequila happy right now, but that doesn’t give you the right to make shit up! If you remember, I’m not the one who woke up in their front yard in their tighty whities after that night!” she said, and the whole table erupted in laughter. “Yeah, yeah!” Benny laughed. “Remind me - where did you wake up?” he smirked. Oh, she could’ve killed him for bringing that up. “Go on, Cher, share with the group where you were when you woke up after that night. Or, more accurately, with who.” “First of all, there was no sleeping, so I didn’t technically “wake up” anywhere,” Y/N grinned cheekily as the others wolf-whistled. “But I spent the night in our most loyal customer’s house…” She blushed, and a round of shocked faces stared back at her. “What? He was, well is, hot!” “Shut the front door!” Donna exclaimed, grabbing Y/N’s forearm in shock. “You slept with a customer? Does he still bring his car in?” “Yes, and yes!” Y/N grinned. “Look, it was a one-time thing and a week later, I started dating Rick,” she smiled woefully and looked at her blonde friend. “Come on, more tequila and then let’s dance!” she said, grabbing Donna’s hand and dragging her onto the dance floor. Sam, Castiel, Meg, Charlie and her new friend began a darts tournament inviting Benny and Dean to join them, but both declined. The boys watched on as Y/N and Donna had the time of their lives dancing to the classic rock covers the band were playing. Dean’s eyes never left Y/N’s swaying body and rolling hips keeping in time to the beat. “Are you ever gonna ask her out, brother?” Benny asks Dean, his blue eyes following his friend's line of sight to the Y/H/C girl on the dance floor. Benny and Y/N hit it off the second she called him out on his bullshit on her first day working at the garage, and as soon as that happened, he knew she and Dean would be a match made in heaven. They’d just never been single at the same time, and they both had this annoying trait of thinking they weren’t good enough for anyone, let alone one another. “Not this again!” Dean fumed. “No, I’m not. It’s not like that with us. I  mean, yeah, I like her… a lot, and sure, she’s beautiful, but we’re just friends. S’all we’ll ever be, right? She doesn’t like me like that. Even if she did, we’d never work. I’d find some way to fuck it all up. I always do.” “Sure, whatever you say,” Benny’s chuckle was laced with sarcasm, and he shook his head in exasperation at his friend. “Come on, man! You’ve seen the guys she dates. I can’t compare to trust funds and doctors and investment bankers,” Dean spat before raising his whiskey glass and swallowing its contents in one. “Those guys didn’t work for a reason, Dean. They were all assholes. You’re not. Trust me, you two are perfect for each other. You just can’t get past your own so-called faults to see it. Either of you,” Benny sighed and gestured to his glass, silently asking if he wanted another.

An hour later, the only ones left were Dean and Y/N. No one was ready to call it a night just yet, but Donna had an early shift the next day and being the gentleman that he is, Benny took her home.

“Don’t look now, but Rick’s over there,” Dean said, instinctively moving closer to her. Was it protectiveness? Possessiveness? He wasn’t sure.

“Fantastic. There’s a great way to put me off my beer and ruin what was a fun night,” Y/N chuckled sadly, reaching for her jacket. 

“Hey, hey… look at me,” Dean said, placing his hand on her wrist, stopping her. “Don’t let him ruin your night, sweetheart. He doesn’t deserve that. You don’t deserve that. You shouldn’t leave whenever he shows up. Lawrence is a small town. You’ll never stop running.”

“Right, because you’d stand your ground if it was Lisa that walked in here? Dean, you wouldn’t even go to your friend’s wedding alone because of her,” she scoffed. Glancing up at him, she saw a flash of hurt cross his features. “I’m sorry,” she sighed. “That was a low blow. I’m frustrated and taking it out on you, and that’s not fair.”

“No, you’re right. I would be out that door so fucking fast if Lisa came in here,” Dean spoke honestly, knowing she wouldn’t judge him for his cowardice. “Maybe not if you were with me because she still thinks we’re dating,” Dean chuckled.

“Dean, you’re a good man. One of the best I know…” Y/N started, but Dean’s hand on her cheek stopped her.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, looking deep into her Y/E/C eyes.

“What?” Y/N responded, more than a little confused.

“Rick is coming over here. Do you trust me?” He asked again, softer this time.

“Well, yeah, but-” Before she could say anything else, Dean licked his lips and leaned in. He looked into her eyes for any signs of hesitation. Finding none, he looked down at her lips and closed the distance between them. His lips touched hers hesitantly, unsure if she’d kiss back or break his nose.

Y/N’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but she didn’t pull away. Dean slid an arm around her waist to bring her in closer. He kept the kiss innocent with no tongue, but it felt no less passionate.

“So, you’re dating him now?” Rick’s voice broke them apart. “You moved on quick,” he hissed.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Y/N spoke as calmly as she could, taking on a mildly irritated tone rather than the furious one she wanted to let loose with. “Weren’t you the one who ended things with me because I was holding you back? Didn’t you want to play the field? And feel free to correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t you also the one who shacked up with Bela Talbot not two weeks later?”

“She was a mistake, Y/N. And I’m sorry I did that to you. I don’t know what came over me. I miss you, and I still love you. Please…” Rick looked and sounded genuinely truthful, but she knew he was playing her because he’d been dropped by Bela as soon as the more successful and well-known businessman, Arthur Ketch, had looked in her direction.

“Just stop, Rick. I don’t want to hear it. You and me? We’re over. I don’t love you anymore. I don’t want you. I want more. More than you could ever possibly give me. I deserve more,” Y/N’s said, feeling relief wash over her and her shoulders relaxing for the first time in a long time.

“I-” Rick started, but she shook her head.

“My mind is made up, Rick. We’re over for good. I’ve moved on,” she gestured to Dean, who’d held her hand through the whole ordeal. “And you should too. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a date to get back to,” Y/N left no room for further conversation as she turned her back to him and put her full attention back on Dean.

“I’m proud of you, sweetheart,” Dean said as soon as Rick left. The kiss they shared had shifted their relationship. He could feel it. She’d kissed him the way you kiss a lover. Dean was finally starting to see just how perfect they were for each other, and now they were unattached at the same time.

The unmistakable sounds of Can’t Fight This Feeling sounded from the band up on the stage, and if that wasn’t a sign they were meant to be, Dean didn’t know what was. Bravely - or stupidly, it was yet to be decided, he threw all caution to the wind.

“I dare you to kiss me,” Dean blurted out.

“Dean…” Y/N began to speak, but Dean didn’t want to hear her rejection. Not when he still had something he had to say.

“Come on, kiss me! And tell me you don’t feel this… this thing between us!” he gestured wildly between them.

“Dean… I…” she tried again, but he still wasn’t finished.

“You can’t, can you? Because you feel it too… this pull towards me. And you’re scared. But sweetheart, you don’t need to be, alright? Because I’m in love with you. And if you let me, I’ll be everything you could ever need and want. I’m just asking for a chance here, Y/N.”

Y/N didn’t respond. She just blinked up at him with her long lashes. He was about to get up, walk away and admit defeat when her lips slammed to his.

Dean’s lips were soft, warm and perfectly plump, and she didn’t know if it was the alcohol talking, but she knew she wanted to taste more of him. She reached a hand out and wrapped it around his neck, gently pulling him closer to her.

Encouraged that she felt the same way he did, Dean licked at her lips, requesting entrance which she granted quickly. He moaned low in his throat when their tongues met, and everything around dulled to silence as they forgot their surroundings and got completely lost in each other.

Y/N didn’t know how much time had passed as they made out at the bar, and she didn’t want it to end. Making her mind up, she reluctantly pulled away from him, giggling as he chased after her lips. “You wanna get outta here?” she said shyly, chewing on her bottom lip.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Dean grabbed her hand and helped her stand up. He took her jacket and helped her into that too. When she’d picked up her purse, and they left the table, Dean saw Rick glare over at them. Smirking, Dean placed his arm around Y/N’s shoulder and winked at the asshole who was stupid enough to let her go.

Part Four (Finale)>>

Jensen / Dean Tags: @akshi8278 @deanwanddamons @deans-baby-momma @siospins2 @sexyvixen7 @leigh70 @stoneyggirl2 @hobby27 @candy-coated-misery0731

Can’t Fight This Feeling Tags: @lilred91 @seppys-return-to-madness @im-totally-not-dezi @deanoxwinchester

[lightsovermonaco]

Body Shots (Pierre Gasly)

Inspired by (and beta read) by the amazing @limp-wrist-max​ thank you Mea! 

Masterlist

Word count: 3.5k

Recommended song: “Lucky You” by Sim Dane

Vacationing in Milan had its perks. Fine dining, luxury stores that were prime for window shopping, and the proximity to your best friend, to name a few.

When you'd touched down in Milan you had had no intentions of visiting Pierre. You had just finished your exams for your summer class and had a week before the next semester started up, so you had simply booked the cheapest ticket and boarded a plane. 

The intent had been to have some good wine, good food and unwind. Pierre saw your Instagram story minutes after you posted it and recognized the bakery you stopped at for lunch. And once he found out you were only a few minutes away from that weekend's grand prix, he had ideas that didn't involve you reading a novel all day.

Pierre had insisted that a last minute cancelation by a family friend had left a paddock pass unclaimed and had suggested you take it.

"You're my best friend, it'll be fun to have you experience a weekend through my eyes for once instead of sitting in the stands. Come visit me."

Something in the inflection of his voice made the simple request rub you raw. He missed you. It had been months since your last get together and you couldn't blame him. The last year had been rough for him and he  rarely had anyone physically at his side to help him through it.

Inviting you instead of one of his parents was about more than your current proximity to the track. He hadn't missed a beat in asking you, not hesitating to consider anyone else being with him this weekend.

Your stomach had turned as you climbed in a cab Sunday morning, not out of fear of something going wrong but because of the nagging feeling that something was about to change.

You'd known Pierre since you were kids. Your brother had raced in karting before pursuing another dream, but in the few short years you'd hung around European tracks you had managed to forge a bond with one of your brother's rivals. That friendship carried on regardless of the distance that separated you, kept alive by visits in the off season and once a year trips to the racetrack at Silverstone.

Pierre met you at the gates and you had barely seen him since.

A decent qualifying session saw the Frenchman start P10 on Sunday's race. He didn't hide the fact that he was disappointed, but come time for his final meeting with the team you'd never guess he was anything but ecstatic.

You had to be conscious about your mouth hanging open when Pierre stepped into the garage in his fireproofs with his suit half undone. The tuft of blond hair peeking through his backwards cap floats on an invisible breeze and he bounces on his toes. His brow furrows when he is handed a data sheet, listening intently to what the engineer points out.

Butterflies riot in your stomach when Pierre catches you staring and winks. You pray he writes the blush on your cheeks off as the heat and he must, because he raises his eyebrows and flexes a bit.

You laugh to cover the way you want to do nothing but strip him out of that tight fitted white shirt. Your crush was getting out of hand. Pierre's shameless, friendly flirting only escalated matters.

You told yourself it was nothing. He was like this with every girl he met, making a fool of himself to earn a laugh. You were no different, except maybe that you were a constant where most other women only got to enjoy his playful personality for a short time.

You're treated to a few long minutes of watching Pierre prep to climb into the car before he's heading out on track to line up at the grid. 

The race starts off fine, Pierre's pace is better than expected. One of the Haas's breaks down at the pit entry and Pierre's strategist decides to bring him in for a fresh set of tires. A kiss seems like the proper reward for their stroke of brilliance, which affords Pierre the advantage when the pits close soon after. 

Restarting on lap 28 is nail biting. Hamilton, Stroll, and Pierre make up the podium places. The entire garage gasps when Stroll goes wide at turn four. Hamilton serves his penalty and Pierre inherits the lead. Sainz jumps on the opportunity to attack.

Pierre defends brilliantly until the final lap. The team erupts when he crosses the line first, bringing home the win.

Red, white and green confetti sticks to his skin as he sprays the champagne over all of you. In the heat of it all, Pierre sits on that top step and shakes his head. You already know that the photos of him being snapped from all angles will be gorgeous, the sun shining down on the first French grand prix winner in decades.

A legend in the minds of his people and in yours.

You could scarcely believe it yourself. Your best friend had finally, after years of being pushed down, won a grand prix at the temple of speed. Red Bull had been wrong, just as you'd insisted when Pierre cried over losing his seat and his friend in one weekend. But god, did Pierre rise above it all.

Pierre catches your gaze just before he leaves the podium. A lifetime of emotion swirls around him like an enigma, begging you to find out what it was hiding. Your wave is barely more than a lift of your hand but Pierre notes it nonetheless, tipping his trophy in your direction.

You wait patiently on the sidelines as Pierre poses for pictures with his team on and off the track. His attention constantly falls on you, his grin widening each time he sees you tucked under the arm of an enthusiastic mechanic or crew member. Alpha Tauri was a family and you were an honorary member thanks to your connection to their driver.

An action packed hour of cameras passes before Pierre is able to break away. As soon as he's given the go ahead he passes his trophy off and marching to you. You're both practically running by the time you meet in the middle. You crash into him and he lifts you off your feet in a crushing hug.

"You did it," you whisper, overwhelmed by his success now that you've gotten the chance to celebrate with him. "I'm so proud of you."

Pierre laughs as he sets you on your feet. His smile is wider than you've ever seen it and you're sure his cheeks must be sore.

"Wish they allowed us to bring a friend up there," Pierre says softly, a smile melting into a sly smirk. "Seeing you doused in champagne is an image I wouldn't forget."

You shake your head, caught up in his ceaseless flirting. He had no idea that his honeyed words and gentle touches lit something inside of you, rattling your brain and making it impossible to form a coherent sentence. Instead you snatch the black and gold Pirelli cap off his head and place it on your own, earning you a peal of laughter.

"Looks better on you anyway." Pierre runs a hand through his sweaty, champagne doused hair, leaving bits sticking up at odd angles.

Someone calls Pierre's name, far enough away that there's no rush. Pierre's hands remain planted on your waist and yours stay wrapped around his neck. By the way his bright blue eyes bore into yours, you swear he's thinking the same thing you are.

"Thank you for believing in me," he murmurs, gaze falling to your lips.

"I knew it was just a matter of time," you tell him, inching up on your tiptoes. Tempted by his win, you want to ruin the best friendship you've ever had. You want to discover if the lips you spend far too much time dreaming about felt as soft as they looked. You want to know how it feels to be lost in Pierre, newly minted race winner, and find out just how he dealt with the adrenaline and euphoria of his incredible drive.

"Well done mate!"

Max Verstappen startles the two of you apart. You take a healthy step back and drop your gaze to the ground to hide your burning cheeks.

"Thanks." Pierre accepts the Dutchman's embrace and claps him on the back. "Sucks I didn't get to fight you for it."

"There will be more chances in the future. And I didn't expect to see you here, that's a nice surprise." Max knocks you with his shoulder, tipping you off balance. On instinct you latch onto Pierre's arm to steady yourself. You wait a heartbeat too long to remove your hand and both of you find anywhere to look but each other.

"So where's the party?" You ask, searching for a distraction from the way your palm still burns.

"Definitely not at Red Bull." Max shudders and you laugh because that's what you do when someone is being over dramatic. It rings hollow in your ears.

"I hear there's a few guys with adjoining rooms at the hotel who bought plenty of booze," Pierre says. "You and Dan wanna come by?"

"Is that really a question?" Max grins, already typing out a text as Pierre feeds him the details.

**********

"You should do body shots," Max suggests, which earns a roaring laugh from Daniel and a half hearted one from Pierre.

"I don't think so," Pierre says, "there's no one here I trust enough to let that happen."

"Not even your best friend?" Max gestures to you and shoots you a wink when Pierre glances over. "I think she's trustworthy."

"No thanks." Pierre holds up his plastic cup and salutes Max before draining it to the dregs.

Pierre's immediate refusal hurt more than it probably should have. You hadn't expected him to jump at the offer but having him shut the idea down so thoroughly hadn't been what you wanted either.

Max notes your pouty lower lip and speaks on your behalf. "Come on mate," Max insists. "You just won your first prix, live a little! It's not like you've got anything to lose, she's your best friend."

"That's exactly why-"

"Shut up, it would be fun! Wouldn't it?" Max says this last bit to you, a wild grin on his face.

Max expects you to turn red and object. That was his end goal. But what the Dutchman hadn't counted on was how drunk you already were on Pierre. On his smile. On his bright blue eyes, swirling in the aftermath of his unlikely triumph. And mostly on the not-so-sneaky way he glances at you every few minutes.

"Let's do it."

Pierre blinks, searching your face for any sign of distress. "Wait, are you serious?"

"Yeah, why not?" You shrug, suddenly fearing that you'd read him wrong and he really was against this whole thing. "Unless you don't want to-"

"Get the vodka," Pierre interrupts, nodding to Max though his stare remains pinned on you. Pierre latches onto your wrist and drags you around the room until he finds a table long and sturdy enough for his liking. 

"This a good height for you?"

The coffee table is low enough that you'd have to kneel. Luckily getting on your knees isn't something you'd mind doing for Pierre. You lick your lips without thinking. Pierre's pupils blow wide, black swallowing the swirling oceans of blue.

"Sure," is all you manage.

"Good." Apparently neither of you were able to focus on speech. You work together to clear the empty plastic cups and used napkins from the surface. Your hands brush when you both reach for the last cup and you just catch the way Pierre's breath hitches.

You and Pierre have danced this dance since you were teenagers. Each of you knows the steps by heart. The only difference is tonight neither of you were poised to bow out before the final lift.

"Beep beep, bitches!" You yank your hand away when Max's shout reaches you. Pierre's hand lingers in front of him,  outstretched as if your palm remained grazing his thumb. 

Max holds the bottle of vodka over his head as he wades through the crowd. "You're all about to be very, very entertained."

"Where's your chaperone?" You ask Max, searching for Daniel in the low lighting. You press your palm to your thigh, dissipating Pierre's lingering heat.

The Dutchman waves you off. "Went to get us more drinks. Pierre, isn't it kinda hard to do body shots if you're still fully clothed?"

"Who says I'm the one getting undressed?"

Max's grin dimples his flushed cheeks. "I mean you can ask her to take her shirt off in front of all these people if you want to."

"No," Pierre responds quickly. "Fine. I'll do it."

When Pierre strips off his shirt he gets more than a few whistles from men and women alike. That tended to happen when someone was built like a Greek fucking god, you supposed. Whoever voted for People Magazine's "Sexiest Man Alive" and decided on Michael B. Jordan had clearly never laid eyes on Pierre, with his bronzed skin, endless expanses of muscle, and brilliant cheshire grin.

Michael B. Jordan who?

Pierre hands the team branded shirt off and lays out on the table. He pillows an arm under his head, bare bicep flexed as he gets comfortable. Leaning in to kiss along the hard muscle was out of the question, however tempting it was.

Pierre looks up expectantly. "You coming?" 

Holy shit, this was actually happening.

"Yeah, I'm coming." You sink to your knees and Pierre laughs.

"Up here." He pats his thigh with his free hand and beacons you forward. "Please."

Screw it, you've already thrown your friendship out the window. This night ended either in heartbreak or awkwardness, might as well get your money's worth.

A few whoops break out above the music. The bassline isn't the only thing thundering in your chest as you straddle Pierre's thighs, hands braced on his chest.

"Okay?" Pierre whispers for your ears only. You nod with what you hope is a charming smile.

"Alright move," Max says, shooing you back until you're resting on your haunches. Max flicks the cap off the bottle and you grab it to take a long sip.

Max gapes at you and you wipe a hand over your mouth. "Close your mouth, you'll catch flies."

Pierre's thighs tense beneath you in response to your bold declaration. Dozens of Pierre's friends and team members gather around. For all you care, Pierre is the only person in the room.

"Last chance to back out," Max warns. You're too busy tracking the drop of liquid that falls from the neck of the bottle to splash onto the crease of Pierre's abs to bother responding. 

"Pour it out." Pierre's chest sinks with his demand, doing nothing but sparking your imagination, creating images of him heaving beneath you. You'd sell your soul to recreate the way you're currently poised above Pierre's hips with a little less clothing and no audience.

Max gives up hope on you replying and dribbles the alcohol up Pierre's abdomen, stopping just below his pecks.

"Have at 'er-"

Your tongue is on Pierre's skin before Max has finished his sentence. You feel the muscle tense beneath your tongue, going rigid at the first contact. The burn of the vodka doesn't even register as you lap it up, catching the drips that fall over his sides. 

You aren't sure either of you is breathing. Salty sweat mingles with the sharpness of the alcohol, an afterthought barely worth mentioning.

Blame the liquid courage or blame the high from Pierre's win, but you were confident Pierre was enjoying this just as much as you. 

Planting a hand on Pierre's hip, you steal a glance up at him to find him locked on you. You take that as permission to continue, dragging your tongue flat up his stomach and continuing well past where the vodka had been poured. Up between his pecks, over the curve of his throat that bobs beneath your tongue, over his chin until you meet his lips, already parted and waiting. 

Neither of you pay the shouts cresting around you any heed. You've both waited too long for this, endured too many almosts and what ifs to let the opportunity slip through your fingers. Your sticky hands cradle Pierre's face, angling it in a way that's to your liking so you can explore more of his mouth. He tastes like whiskey and mint, the juxtaposition of hot and cold scattering your thoughts. One of Pierre's hands finds the nape of your neck when you gasp for air, refusing to let you end the moment.

And it's pure, unending bliss that floods your veins when he nips at your lower lip, swollen and surely reddened from his kiss. His thumb sweeps across the back of your neck while you both fight to catch the breath currently evading you.

Daydreams didn't hold a candle to the real thing. One taste and you were addicted, craving as much as Pierre was willing to give.  

"Hey," he murmurs, the corners of his mouth tugging up in a stupidly gorgeous smile.

"That was nice," you tease, tangling your fingers in the silky blond strands of his hair. "I wouldn't be opposed to doing it again."

"Me too. Maybe somewhere where it's just us though. I wouldn't want to scandalize my team any further." You manage to steal another sweet peck before Max hauls you off Pierre.

"Fucking finally," Daniel says, clapping when you're upright again. "Do you know how long I've been trying to orchestrate this? The two of you really are dumber than a box of rocks. I can't believe all it took was Max suggesting body shots to get you two to kiss."

The arm that wraps around your waist feels right. Pierre hasn't hugged you like this before, with his chin resting on your shoulder and his nose nuzzling your neck, but it already feels like home.

Pierre ignores Max completely in favor of pressing a kiss to the shell of your ear. "Why don't we go back to my room? I'll pour more alcohol on myself if that's what it takes to convince you."

You're just about to take him up on the offer when one of his team members taps his shoulder. He glances at them impatiently, which the man thankfully doesn't take personally.

"They want some photos with you holding your trophy," he explains, handing a shirt and the star shaped interpretation of the Italian flag to Pierre. "It will only take a few minutes,  they promised not to keep you long."

Of course everyone knew exactly where your minds were. Sanity had long since left the premises, tangled up in crisp white sheets. Pierre's entire team and half the Red Bull garage had seen what had gone down while the prix winner was sprawled on that coffee table. There would be no chance of denying it in the morning. 

And while you'd never imagined that the first time you'd kiss your best friend would be directly preceded by licking copious amounts of shitty liquor off his super-heated skin, now that you'd experienced it any other way seems forgettable.

Pierre sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "I mean, I already have my trophy, but…" your stomach lurches when you realize he means you. Pierre catches the way your mouth hangs open and he shoots you a grin before accepting the real trophy.

"You carry it," he says, not giving you much of a choice as he thrusts it into your hands. "I'm occupied."

You're about to point out that his hands are, in fact, free and that the more likely reason for insisting you carry the trophy was his usual post-race laziness when he slings an arm around your shoulders and tucks you tight to his side.

"Is this okay?" Pierre asks when you involuntarily stiffen. God, it was more than okay, it was perfect, it had just caught you by surprise. You'd only kissed him a handful of minutes ago and Pierre was already wrapped around your finger, smitten as if you'd been a couple for years.

"Yeah no, it's perfect. Simply lovely," you say quickly, stumbling over your words.

"Can I kiss you again?"

Your answer comes in the form of a hand on his chest, stopping him in his tracks. You prop the trophy on your hip and smile up at your race winner.

"You don't have to ask that ever again. My answer is always yes."

[13uswntimagines]

We’ve Got Your Back (Alpha!Christen x Reader)

Request: Alpha christen press fic😍 and does it make me a horrible person cuz I want to see what christen would do to Hinkle? (Not to mention broon, uncle, ash....) 

Pt. 1

Author’s Note: So this turned out a touch different than i had planned. Let me know what you think! 

It was strange being back here. Back in the city, the stadium, that had almost been the sight of your demise. At least they had stuck the team in the visitor’s locker room. You didn’t know if you could have handled being back in that room. 

You rolled your shoulders and tapped the ball back towards Lindsey, sending the alpha a tight smile and trying to drown out the sea of unpleasant emotions threatening to pull you under. 

It was a stupid idea for Us soccer to have the team face off against the NWSL Allstars. You were part of the NWSL for goodness sake, it wasn’t like you didn’t play against these people already. It also meant you had to play against Her in the stadium she tortured you in. 

“How you holding up?” Christen asked, suddenly coming up behind you. She grabbed your clenched hand, coaxing your fingers open and intertwining them with her own. She let out a wave of her calming scent, trying to soothe you as much as she could with minimal contact. 

Though the two of you had… consummated your matting, and despite your normal cocky flirting, the two of you really weren’t into public displays of affection and there were thousands of eyes on you right now. 

You hadn’t even realized you were digging your fingernails into your palms. 

“Great now that you’re here hot stuff,” You tried to smile convincingly back at your mate, squeezing her hand tightly. She let out another wave of her calming scent, her eyes flickering around your face. 

One of the first lessons she had learned from Rose was that you never said when you were uncomfortable, but your tells always gave you away. 

“Always the charmer,” Christen said, a light blush covering her cheeks. 

You smirked at the alpha, shrugging. “It’s hard not to be when you always come out here looking like that”

She rolled her eyes at you, entirely used to your flirting. It hadn’t taken her long to realize that it was a coping mechanism for you. Whenever you were stressed or uncomfortable, your flirting intensified. 

It was a way for you to avoid your true emotions. 

“I’m literally wearing the same outfit as the rest of the team,”

You pulled your blushing alpha closer to you by your connected hands. You ran your nose over her cheek  “Hmm, but the rest of the team doesn’t have the-,”

The comment died on your lips when you caught sight of a certain alpha. You tensed even though she was stuck on her half of the field, separated from you by nearly the entire squad and the team of “Allstars”. But none of that had mattered last time. It hadn’t mattered that you were in a room full of people (nearly half of which were your national team teammates) or that the coaching staff knew what she was doing. 

Christen’s eyes followed yours, and she couldn’t suppress her growl (both for the other player being included in this game and the unpleasant emotions fluttering through your bond). 

“Vlatko swapped us, so you can stay on the left today. I’ll take the right and Alex will stay center,”

“You guys don’t need to do that. I can handle it,” You mumbled, suddenly finding the way your cleats ran through the grass incredibly interesting. 

Christen sighed, running a finger under your chin, grazing your scent gland as she tilted your chin up. “We know you can, just let us be a little protective over you, alright?”

You nodded biting your lip. You weren’t a weak omega, and you knew that the second you hit the field whatever grand plan they had was going to go right out the window. 

Well, part of it at least. You were sure that a certain alpha’s very white uniform was about to be stained very very green. 

****

You launched yourself across the pitch towards your mate, barely stopping to watch as your shot sailed past Jane Campbells outstretched fingers. You were having a blast skirting past the all-star defender, and fielding through passes and crosses from the Mewis’ and The great Horan. 

“Good goal baby,” Christen said, smiling wildly as she scooped you up in her arms and pressed a kiss to your neck, just above your mating mark. 

You pulled back, smiling at the alpha and flicking her lightly on the nose. “Good? That was fucking amazing! Did you see me put Stanton on her ass?”

Christen nodded, setting you back on your feet with a wide smile. “Yeah, and Kling. But I think I’ve seen Tobin do the same footwork before. I call plagiarism,”

You pouted, flicking the side of your alphas head again. “That’s not fair, I deserve a reward,” 

Christen grabbed your wrist as it migrated down her waist with an eye roll. “Behave little one,” 

She growled playful at you, about to lean up and nip your neck again, but the presence behind her stopped her. You whined loudly, displeased that she had stopped. 

“Get your omega under control Press,” You tensed at the alpha’s voice, burying your face in Christen’s neck, afraid that even the scent of Hinkle would make you lose your composure altogether. 

Christen's growl turned low and dangerous and was echoed by several of the teammates beginning to crowd around you. When your alpha promised the team would have your back, she meant it. 

“Come on Y/n,” Mal said, cautiously breaking from the group to approach you. Her hand carefully touched your back, avoiding any skin. No one wanted to test your alpha's control any more than the asshat on the field was. 

Christen made eye contact with the omega inching towards you, tearing her gaze from Hinkle. She nodded at Mal, coaxing you out of her neck and kissing your cheek. “go babydoll,” raising her eyebrow when you wined, but still pushing you towards Mal. You poured as Mal dragged you across the field, away from the brewing storm. 

You didn’t need to be in the middle of an alpha battle. You wouldn’t tell anyone, but you were fragile and she didn’t want you to have to feel her dominance when she put Hinkle in her place. 

She didn’t want to risk accidentally forcing you to submit. She would die before she did that. 

“that one needs a firmer hand,” Hinkle scoffed, as Christen walked back towards her position, waiting for Sheridan to put the ball back into play. 

“Why don’t you mind your own business?” Christen growled lowly, her eyes following you as you grossed the field with Mal. Lindsey sent her a stiff not. The entire team was behind you. 

“Just saying that I could give you some pointers if you wanted them,” Hinkle shrugged as though she didn’t feel the insane tension on the pitch. Christen scoffed catching her arm, spinning the alpha to look at her. She didn’t need any advice on how to deal with you. You were a handful, but you were her handful, and she was glad you were comfortable enough with her to show her your playful side. 

“Don’t waste your breath,” Christen said, letting out her dominant scent. 

*****

The Women’s national team was known for its impeccable control. With so many strong alphas in one place, it was imperative for the team's functionality and their commitment to equality.

But tonight that control was nowhere to be found, and it wasn’t just the alphas that were going a little crazy. The pitch was total chaos and at the epicenter was Hinkle. 

From the crazy tackles Lindsey, Becky, and Christen herself were committing, to the lengths Rose, Mal, and Alex all went to keep you as far from the Alpha as possible while still letting you put balls on goal. Vlatko’s tactics had gone out the window and the team was operating like a disaster (a very successful disaster as you had already scored 4 times against the all-stars, but a disaster nonetheless). All teeth and growls. 

You were just thankful that the game was over, and that you could finally escape the place with so many bad memories. And the mix of dominant pheromones that hung in the air, putting you even more on edge. 

You headed back towards the tunnel, uncharacteristically ignoring the opposing team trying to approach you for handshakes, and the fans screaming for your attention. It was unnerving to have your typically dosel alpha acting so aggressive. 

It pulled your inner omega so close to the surface, and you weren’t sure how you felt about that. 

“You know it’s wrong to ignore your superiors little omega,” The voice stopped you in your tracks. Your shoulders hunched and you seemed to almost fold in on yourself. 

An arm wrapped around your waist, shielding you from Hinkle. You relaxed a little at the scent of your best friend's mate. “Just ignore her,” Mal said softly, pulling you into her. 

Hinkle snarled at the two of you, rushing forwards to stand right in your path. You took in a sharp breath, your nose twitching at the press of Hinkle’s pheromones. You fought the urge to submit, the urge she had drilled into your skull from the time you joined the Courage to the time you finally made your escape. 

“What, your alpha didn’t teach you any manners either,” 

Mal tensed around you. You squeezed your eyes shut tight, waiting for the next blast of her potent scent. The one that would bring both of you to your knees. The one from your memories. 

“You need to back the fuck off,” Ashlyn’s protective growls were suddenly separating you from Hinkle, shortly joined by Becky, Alex, Rose, and Lindsey. 

“Or what?” She challenged, stepping up so she was eye to eye with the much taller alpha. 

“Come on girlies, let’s get you to the back, they can handle this,” Ali said softly, trying to pull you and Mal around the wall of alphas and the dominant cloud of pheromones beginning to form. You let her pull you around the alphas, trying to keep your head down. 

“No, she stays,” Hinkle sneered, catching your wrist as you passed. 

The reaction of the team was instant, but none was more prominent than your own alpha’s (who had been caught up singing posters with Tobin). It was a big No-no to touch someone else’s mate. 

“Take your hand off of her. NOW,” Christen growled, sending a wave of very dominant and very terrifying pheromones directly towards Hinkle. Even the little edge that caught you made you freeze and sent a shiver down your spine. The alpha immediately released you and whimpered as she fell to her knees. 

Christen smirked viciously (her typical kind-hearted ness nowhere to be found). She was the stronger alpha, and she wanted Hinkle to know how it felt to be forced to submit. She wanted her to feel the humiliation of being surrounded by people who wouldn’t help her. She wanted her to know what she put you through. 

Mal and Ali both tucked you into them and started directing you towards the locker room. Emily stepped in behind you, shielding you from where your alpha was towering over the shaking Hinkle. 

They were right, you didn’t need to see this. 

*****

The walk back to the locker room was short, but it felt like forever. The omegas spent it emitting their soothing scents, trying to calm your frayed nerves (which were only amplified by the emotions fluttering down your bond with Christen). 

If the little edges of Christen's dominant pheromones were that strong, you could only imagine what it felt like to be caught in a full blast. That thought alone terrified you. She was always so careful with you, but what if she lost control. 

“Shh, kid you’re ok,” An arm wrapped around you and gentle hands guided your shaking form to sit on the bench. 

You shook your head rapidly. You were a lot of things right now, but ok wasn’t one of them. 

You opened and closed your mouth several times, but no sound would come out. What if you upset your alpha and made her lose control? You loved to push her buttons. 

“Hey, You gotta breath y/n,” Mal said, suddenly appearing crouched in front of you. She grabbed your hands, flattening out your palms to prevent your nails from digging further into your arms. She bit her lips at the stressful pheromones pouting off of you, she had only seen you like this once. A very long time ago (ironically in the same place you were now). 

“Em, go get Rose,” She said, not taking her eyes off of you. Your best friend was probably the only person who could help you. 

Emily’s eyes widened. There was a reason why most of the team’s omegas were in the locker room instead of hanging out in the field with their mates. It was one thing to put an arrogant alpha in their place, and another to risk accidentally forcing an omega to submit. 

The team was insanely protective, and going out there while their instincts were on edge wasn’t a good idea. 

“I think she’s got her-...” Emily started softly, lightly touching Mal’s shoulder. 

“Wasn’t a question,” Mal growled, cutting her off, and finally taking her eyes off of you. You whimpered at the tone, your head tilting slightly and Emily nodded rapidly. 

“Right, I’ll go right now,”  

She exited the room at a near run. She didn’t quite understand what was wrong, but she knew you desperately needed someone. 

****

Emily wasn’t sure what she expected when she exited the tunnel, but it wasn’t Rose and Christen standing over a shaking Hinkle (she would have pegged Ashlyn and Becky as way more likely to get themselves into this situation). 

As she approached the group (and the insane cloud of pheromones, seriously they were going to need to fumigate the place)she caught the tail end of Christen's deep rumble. “That’s a despicable excuse for-...”

“I’m sorry to interrupt this-...” Emily said slowly coming up behind her alpha. She kept her eyes down and her hands out, very careful not to provoke the angry hoard any further. 

Lindsey whipped around, gulping to try and restrain her instincts. She lightly grabbed her omega’s wrist to prevent her from getting closer to the scene. All hell would break loose if one of the omega’s accidentally got hurt. “Go back to the locker room. We’ll be there after we finish,”

Emily shook her head, finally looking into her alphas eyes. “No. You don’t-“ 

Lindsey’s eyes hardened as she cut her omega off. “I’m serious Em,”

Emily glared at her alpha, ripping her arm from her grasp. “So am I. I need Rose or Chris because y/n is like having a panic attack,” She practically spat. 

She hadn’t known you for as long as Mal had, but she still felt the omega bond with you. The overwhelming urge to protect one of their own when they were in distress. If they needed an alpha to help you, then an alpha she would get, come hell or high water. 

Christen and Rose both looked up at the mention of your name, as did the alpha on her knees.  The alphas seemed to blink back to themselves, letting up on their emission of pheromones. 

“Pathetic,” the woman on the ground mumbled.

The answering growl from the group was instant, low, and very dangerous. “Don’t you start,” Ashlyn said, her voice deadly soft before looking back up at the two struggling alphas. “Go, we can finish this,” 

Rose and Christen nodded, sending one last snarl towards Hinkle before following Emily down the tunnel. 

****

Christen took in a sharp breath at your distinct scent, freezing in the doorway. The locker room air was saturated with stressed and terrified pheromones. Any remaining anger she may have felt for the asshole out on the field disappeared and was replaced by worry for you. 

Rose moved first, pushing past your frozen mate and joining her omega on the floor in front of you, crouching down to your level. If you noticed newcomers to the room, you didn’t show it. You were stiffly sitting on the bench in the corner, staring off into space. 

Rose gently rubbed your knee, trying to bring you back to yourself. “Hey Kitkat, what’s going on?”

You blinked down at the alpha, your head tilting automatically. “Nothing. I’m fine,” you said robotically and Rose’s eyebrows furrowed. 

She had only seen you like this once, and that was after-... it was too horrible to even consider. 

“Yeah, no one believes that,” She mumbled, using a finger to stop you from showing off your neck. 

“I -...” you started, but the words got stuck in your throat, caught between an answer and a sob. 

“Did all the pheromones bring back bad memories?” Christen asked, finally taking a step inside the room. She had gotten very good at reading you since you had mated and she knew you better than you knew yourself sometimes. 

You nodded, finally looking up at the alpha. Your alpha. You took her in, how she seemed more relaxed (minus the worried lines in her forehead) and her scent was its usual cinnamon and spice. 

The heavy dominance was gone. It wasn’t the terrifying figure that had confronted a monster from your past, no this was your Chris. 

She took another few slow steps towards you. Rose and Mal moved out of the way to give your alpha room in front of you. 

“You’re just so strong. What happens if I push too far?” You asked quietly. 

And finally, the pieces clicked in everyone’s heads. Christen shook her head and took your hands. “I would never baby. What you saw-. It’s different with other alphas,” 

It was embedded in the fabric of the team (and the countries) culture. You never ever forced an omega to submit, but submission had a different effect on alphas. It wasn’t uncommon for them to assert dominance over each other, and forcing full submission was a way to show an errant alpha bow off base they were. Alphas didn’t experience the emotional distress that came with full-blown submission. 

“Promise?” You asked, your voice small. 

“With everything I am. You can poke and prod and make me blush, but I will never do what she did to you,” Christen said, kissing the back of your hand and looking you in the eyes to show you just how serious she was. 

She waited for your shoulders to relax before releasing a wave of her soothing scent and pulling you into her. You trusted her, and you felt comfortable that she would keep her promise. 

If she didn’t you knew about 22 people who would have your back.