#the best nurses I worked with were the ones who cared a lot but were still total hardasses.

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch1. he said yes!! congrats!!

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, n have been taking care of your sick mom ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 1/x (probably 10)

ᰔ words. 7.8k

a/n. hellooo omg welcome to this debut chapter!! tysm to everyone who wanted to be on taglist for this!! i was gagged at the amount of people!! yall are amazing omg n thanks for supporting my works :''') hope you enjoy this chapter and i will see all you lovelies at the bottom <33

nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 :: ch4 (pending)

Love thy neighbor.

Cherish thy neighbor.

Tolerate thy neighbor.

Peacefully coexist with thy neighbor. 

Fuck thy neighbor? No, wait, not that one.

It’s murder thy neighbor. That was the phrase you were looking for.

Murder thy neighbor so gruesomely that you’d leave no trace behind. Murder him and bury him somewhere no one could ever find him, so that even in millions of years from now when some other highly advanced mammalian species overtakes the planet and embarks on journeys to acquire fossils, thy neighbor will still never grace the atmospheric oxygen of the earth ever again. It’s the punishment he’d deserve for thoroughly pissing you off at the worst times possible and in the worst ways possible. The smallest of prices to pay.

“SATORU!!!” you yell, storming up the sudsy driveway of your next-door neighbor’s house at eight in the morning, clad in your dirty scrubs from the hell of a night shift you just endured working at the hospital, glass containers inside the lunchbox you were holding hitting painfully against the poor joint in your knee but you just don’t care. Anger is all you can see right now.

Your neighbor (derogatory) stands there in his pajamas with a spray nozzle in his hands, passively spraying water across the top surface of his car, and when he sees you, he pulls his left airpod out of his ear and looks you up and down once. You’re pretty sure there’s steam coming out of your ears. “Uh, do you mind? I’m trying to wash my car.”

“How many fucking times do I have to tell you not to park your stupid boat in front of my driveway?!” you yell at him, voice hoarse and nails digging into the skin of your palms by the clench of your fists.

“Hm?” he leans back a little to glance past you to his boat. “Oh, you mean my 2023 Boston Whaler 220 Dauntless with low profile bow rail welded stainless steel, Mercury FourStroke hydraulic power steering and, not to mention, a platinum gelcoat hull? That silly old thing? It’s not even parked in front of your driveway.”

“Yes. It is. Are you blind? I can’t move my car into my garage, hence why it’s running idle on the fucking street right now. Your boat’s on my property.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes. It is.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Uh. Yuh-huh.”

“Honey. I’m a real estate agent. You don’t think I’d know where my own property line starts and ends?”

“Park. It. On. Your. Drive. Way.”

“I spent a lot of money on that boat,” he sighs, “I intend to show it off on the street. Stop acting like there isn’t more than enough room for your tiny prius. It’s not my fault you have the motor skills of a toddler and don’t know how to pull into a driveway,” he pauses for a second and tilts his head upwards in thought, “Oh. Motor skills, haha, get it? Fuck, that’s funny. Hold on, I gotta jot that down,” he pulls his phone out of the pocket of his cotton plaid pajama pants, “my niece would love that. She gets all giggly about puns these days. It’s her birthday next weekend, by the way, turning five.”

“Oh, right,” you scratch the top of your head (been too busy to wash your hair), and realize the ponytail you threw your hair up into at the beginning of your shift last night is now barely hanging on for dear life, “I forgot to tell you, but my cousin said he can’t rent that pony out for her birthday party anymore. Apparently it died.”

He stares at you. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Damn.”

“Mm.”

He shrugs. “That’s fine, thanks anyway,” he swipes up on his phone, “they had crazy hair day at my niece’s elementary school yesterday, wanna see a picture?”

“Sure.”

He turns his phone to show you. “My sister let her cut her hair a little shorter this time since she wouldn’t stop asking. I guess all her friends at school were cutting theirs short too so they wanted to be matching.”

“Aww,” you pout with a small smile when you see the picture, “I think it suits her. That’s a lot of glitter though, y’know that stuff’s really bad for the environment.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, turning his phone screen back to face him, “anyway. I was halfway convinced you just came from some crazy hair day when I saw you stomp up my driveway just now.”

“I’m gonna guillotine your head off with the trunk door of my car. Now move your boat.”

“Hold on one sec,” he says, holding a finger right up to your face, and you flinch backwards slightly before going cross-eyed to stare at it, and then you’re glaring at him again. His phone is ringing in his hand. “I gotta take this.”

“Wha–” you try to interrupt him, but he just says shhh and shakes his finger in front of you, which makes you want to bite it off.

“Hi, Donna!” he exclaims into his phone, “so good to hear from you. Oh, no, not at all, you caught me at the perfect time. I’m just washing my car. Nah, you’re not interrupting anything.”

The urge to smack him consumes you.

“Oh okay, cool, I’m glad you took some time to think about it. Let me know when you want to meet again, if you’re still interested in the house, we can make an offer. Uh huh. Yeah. Sorry, what’s that? Oh,” he pulls his phone from his ear to look at the time, “yeah, that’s fine. Is that the one on 6th street? Sure, I’ll see you then. By the way, how was little Tommy’s soccer game yesterday?...Aw, that’s okay, he’ll get the next one. Hm? Yeah, what’s up? Oh, you know that I’d love to, and there’s no one that enjoys your green bean casserole more than I do, but I’m actually busy tonight! I know! Bummer! Maybe some other time? Alright. Yeah, thanks, you too. Take care. Bye.” He presses the end call on his phone, and there’s an awkward silence as he narrows his eyes at the screen in concentration for a moment while typing something onto it, and then the corner of his eye catches sight of something in his periphery, that something being you, and he jumps a little.

“Oh fuck,” he places a hand on his chest and exhales, “I didn’t know you were still standing there.”

“I’m seriously going to whack you across the face with my lunch box right now.” 

“That gigantic industrial lunch box you carry around for your 12-hour shifts?” he points at your hand, “you’d have blood on your hands. I’d be dead.”

“Yeah, that’s the goal, idiot.”

“You’re so fucking violent, jeez, I bet the inside of your head looks like the inside of Jeffrey Dahmer’s. How do you sleep at night?”

“With fifteen milligrams of melatonin, blackout curtains, a satin sleeping mask, and in the mornings.”

“...that didn’t make you sound like any less of a serial killer.”

“Whatever, at least I don’t have a complex for elderly divorced women. You know that what you do for work isn’t any better than prostitution, right?” 

“Okay. Now I have to hear where you’re going with this.”

You cross your arms across your chest, and your gigantic industrial sized lunch box with the millions of glass containers inside of it hits your hip painfully, enough to warrant a wince, but you keep a straight face as to not show any weakness. “You flirt with vulnerable women who have just gotten out of probably extremely heartbreaking marriages from their cheating country golf club husbands, and pretend to care about all their drama, just so that they’d buy a house from you. I literally heard you say to a lady the other day,” and you do your absolute best to mock him in the most insulting way possible, “‘it’s okay Lorraine. If you’re still struggling to fill your new house with someone new too, then you know where to find me.’”

“Yeah. She wanted to rent out her guest bedroom. I was gonna help her look for tenants.” 

“O-Oh,” you stutter, but stand up straighter, “doesn’t matter. You still pimp yourself out for a sale.”

“So what if I do? I’m hot, why wouldn’t I take advantage of that? You could’ve done the same thing too, but you didn’t, and now you’re stuck working miserable nursing shifts that are probably taking years off of your lifespan.”

“You’re the one taking years off of my lifespan. Now move your fucking boat.”

He sighs and slips his phone back into his pocket before walking past you to your car, that still had the driver’s side door open and was idle in the middle of the street.

“W-Where are you going?” you ask.

“I’m gonna park your car in your garage for you,” he says, waving his hand up in the air dismissively because he knows you’re about to protest, and then he ducks his head into your car, reaching his arm in for the lever that moves the seat backwards, and adjusts it all the way back before he’s able to take a seat at the wheel. And your yelling is a pestering he pays no mind to as he shuts the door.

“Wait– I didn’t give you permission to–” you shout as you step into your driveway, holding your arms out because you’re scared he’s gonna chip off your side mirror on the stern of his boat, but he deftly pulls your car into the driveway. He also almost runs you over in the process.

When he gets out of your car inside your garage, you storm right up to him and yank your car keys out of his hand. “You almost flattened me over my own driveway.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have been standing there,” he easily retorts and leans against your car before crossing his arms over his chest. “Also, case proven, there’s more than enough space to pull your car in. You’re just piss poor at parking.”

“I swear to fucking god. If you’re ever in a life-threatening emergency and wind up at my hospital, your emergency isn’t going to be the thing that kills you, it’s gonna be the cocktail of deadly meds I inject straight into your veins. And I’ll have it charted like it was a death of natural causes.”

His brow furrows and he frowns, but it’s in that sarcastic way that tells you he’s not threatened by you, and the idea of using the taser in your purse on him is briefly entertained in your mind, “I’ve got Kaiser, hun,” he says, “I wouldn’t go to just any regional hospital for healthcare. Put some damn decorum on my name, Jesus.”

“How is it you’re stupid, an asshole, have a sick fetish for elderly women, and also somehow classist at the same time? Can you pick a struggle please?”

“Stop saying I have a fetish for elderly women,” he hisses at you, “especially with that loud obnoxious voice of yours. Our neighbors are gonna think I’m a creep.” He pretends to shiver.

“But it’s true. I bet you lost your virginity to a fifty-year-old cougar the day you turned eighteen. And to one that was probably grooming you even before then, too.”

His eyes widen. “Damn. How’d you know.”

“That you’re a victim?” you ask, tone derisive, “your entire personality is living proof. Please seek help.”

He rolls his eyes. “I was never groomed, and I didn’t lose my virginity to an elderly woman,” he corrects you, “...although said woman was a little older than me.”

“I’ve literally got no fucking interest in this conversation anymore. Get the fuck out of my garage,” you practically spat at him, “the last thing I need to deal with after getting off of a 12-hour night shift is coming home to your stupid face out on the street.” You push past him, making sure to nudge him with your shoulder but he hardly budges, and you lose balance from your own attack, and now you’re doubly pissed off before you make it to the door with your keys jingling in your hand to find the right one to unlock it.

“Good night,” he calls out to you, and you click the button on the garage door so that it starts closing, and watch him as he panics before ducking his head underneath it to make it outside before you can essentially lock him to rot inside of your garage, and then you shut the door behind you, finally inside the comfort of your home.

Ah. Silence.

But it was never a comfortable one. 

“Mom?” you call out as you open the door out of the laundry room to make it into the living room, and your eyes scan the floor. You don’t see her in the kitchen, or on the couch in front of the TV, sometimes she spends time in the pantry room but she’s not in there today. You round the corner over to where the front entrance of the house is, and you see her standing there, peering out of the window to the other houses on the streets. She holds her hands loosely behind her back, and she’s so still she could be a statue.

“Hey,” you say to her, softly, so as not to startle her. “I’m home.”

She looks over her shoulder at you, and you realize her line of sight was set to next door, where you see Gojo has resumed the wash of his car. “Why are you yelling at that sweet boy across the lawn?” she asks you, “he helped me fix the air conditioning last week.”

Your eyes widen slightly, but then you sigh. Typical Gojo getting involved where he should really just mind his own business. “I’m pretty sure by fix you mean he just pressed a bunch of buttons on the thermostat until it started working again.” 

She doesn’t respond as she continues to stare out onto the street, tilting her head slightly while deep in thought, like she’s trying to make sense of what she sees. 

“Mom,” you gently tug her sleeve, “I think you should get away from the window and get some rest. You look tired, and I need to take you for chemo in the afternoon.”

She gently pulls her elbow away from your grip of her sleeve and turns to look at you. “Mom?” she repeats after you, “why are you calling me ‘mom’? Who are you?”

Your blood runs cold from her words, but you don’t have the time or the luxury to react in the way that you want to, and so you suck in a deep breath. It was one of those days. But it’s cruel that she’ll remember your neighbor and not her own daughter. “I’m your daughter,” you gently reintroduce yourself, to the woman who gave you life, “I know that might be a little weird to hear right now.”

“No…” she says, “I think that makes sense. I’m sorry, dear, I think I have a bad memory these days.” She looks at you with concentration, studying the features of your face. “My daughter, yes. You look…oh, dear, you look like you should sleep.”

You nod slowly, releasing the breath you were holding. “Yes. You too, mom.”

You place your gigantic industrial lunch box on the kitchen counter, and come back to hold your mom’s hands as you lead her to her bedroom downstairs. By the time you fix her a small meal in the kitchen, bring it to her and make her eat so she can take her pills, she’s ready to take a small nap and you know that you’ve earned some sleep now too.

The upstairs master bathroom beckons you the second you get upstairs, and even though you’ve been using the master bedroom & bathroom in this house ever since moving your mom downstairs four years ago since she had trouble getting up the stairs, it still feels odd to stand in front of the sink without a stool underneath your feet, like what you had to when you were a kid and your mother would braid your hair. You’re a grown woman now, and as you stare at your reflection, you’re not sure if you can recognize yourself anymore. But rather than dwell on if it was because of any profound reason, you figured you just needed a shower and to get some sleep before you have to wake up again in five hours. Exhaustion is evident on your face, and you swipe under your eyes to get the smudge of mascara off before it tattoos your skin forever. 

Hot water on your skin does little to help your drowsiness, but at least now you feel clean of your shift, and then you remember there are blood stains on your shoes from the stab wound patient that rolled in at 2AM last night, and you should really let them soak for a few hours while you sleep, but you just can’t bother right now. Instead, you slip into something comfortable, draw your curtains back to mimic the dead of night in your room as best as you can, grab the bottle of melatonin sitting at your nightstand and pop a few tablets, feeling feverish as you slip into your sheets. You pull the comforter up over your eyes, a decision that is less ideal than using a sleeping mask since you’ll be breathing your own carbon dioxide until you fall asleep now, but it’s okay. It’s cozy under your blanket. Just this once. And you count sheep to make you sleepy. At least until the melatonin beats you to it.

—

“You’re looking better,” Dr. Johnson says to your mother as he accesses the port on her chest, “were you able to get a good rest?”

Your mother nods and points to you. “My daughter made me take a nap.”

“That’s good,” he coos, “it’s good to get rest before chemo. Your daughter really cares about you.”

“I know,” your mother smiles up at you, “I’m so lucky.” You return her smile with one of your own.

Dr. Johnson starts to push the line of chemo into your mother’s port as she sits on the chair in the treatment lounge, and then stands up from his rolling chair before the nurse quickly moves to twiddle with the drip of the IV bag. 

“Ready for consult?” he asks you.

You grip your binder to your chest. “Yeah.”

You walk into the doctor’s office, one you’ve more than familiarized yourself with over the past couple of years, then take a seat across from Dr. Johnson’s desk as he clicks through his computer before handing you a copy of your mother’s recent lab work.

“Her tumor markers are rising,” you say as you sift through the papers.

“They are, we’ll likely switch to monitoring them every four weeks going forward. But it’s okay, not to worry,” he says, “tumor markers can raise for all sorts of reasons unrelated to cancer.”

“She had a cold last week,” you say, “maybe it’s the inflammation?”

Dr. Johnson lets out a small laugh. “I’m sorry, y/n, sometimes I forget you’re a nurse.” He hums to himself as he pens down something on the notepad in front of him. “When was your mother’s last PET/CT scan?”

“It was in February,” you say, “she’s due soon. I was going to ask if you could order one for her.”

“Yes, I will, I’ll do it right now,” he says as he types something into the computer. “You still have the standing orders for her routine lab work, correct? Do my MAs need to send you the scripts?”

“No, that’s okay, I got them already. Good for six months,” you reassure him.

“Alright, perfect.”

There’s an awkward silence that settles in the room as you shift in your seat with the binder in your lap, full of all of your mother’s medical information and emergency department discharge packets and recent lab work and imaging. You mess with the plastic cover on top of it nervously.

“It’s good she remembers you today,” Dr. Johnson comments, “I remember last week you were upset she didn’t.”

“Oh,” you say, “yeah, I’m sorry. Sometimes it’s hard.”

His eyes leave his computer screen for a second to look at you. “Are you doing alright?”

You nod slowly. You had to be alright, you had no other choice. “I’m fine, thanks,” you say, “um, actually, doc, I just wanted to share with you that I’ve been keeping track of my mom’s Alzheimer’s progression.” You open your binder in your lap, pulling out a packet of papers and placing them on his desk, turning some of them towards him but he doesn’t really spare a proper enough look. “I’ve just been noticing she’s progressively worsening a bit faster than her neurologist had projected.”

“Okay,” he says, sounding curt, and that nervousness comes back. But goddammit, you’re a nurse, you know how to deal with stubborn doctors. And it’s for your mother. There was no one else left to advocate for her except you.

“I was just wondering if we could also order a brain MRI for her?” you ask, “just to rule out anything…her brain fog has been bad, worse than usual, and I’m just really worried about metastasis, especially if it’s a glioma, I’d just want to catch it as soon as possible.”

You have sympathy for oncologists, really, you do. They must deal with paranoid family members all the time, but how could someone blame another for wanting what’s best for their loved one? You don’t think that’s an empathy that anyone should ever lose, regardless of how long you’ve been practicing medicine. 

He sighs. “There’s no indication for that right now, not with her response to treatment as well as her lab work. I’d suggest we just wait on her next PET/CT results, and we can go from there. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, okay?”

“I know,” you say, “but her next scan isn’t for another couple weeks, plus the week it’ll take to have it read, it’ll be far out, so…if we could just order it now?”

He interlocks his fingers and places his hands in front of him on the desk, looking at you with a stern face, but he glances down at the paperwork you’ve sprawled in front of him with scribblings of all the detailed notes you’ve been taking of your mom’s responses to her Alzheimer’s treatments, with time stamps and descriptions of her mental state, and his furrowed brow relaxes slightly. He breathes in deep. “Alright. Fine, I’ll order one. I highly doubt we’ll find anything, though. But since there’s no clear clinical impression warranting a brain MRI right now,” he mentions as he directs his attention back to his computer, “I don’t think insurance will cover it for you with the diagnoses I put in.”

“That’s okay,” you quickly respond, “I’ll pay for it.” 

You collect your imaging orders from the medical assistants at the center of the oncology floor. The chemo nurse, Mai, informs you that your mother still has about two hours left before her treatment is done, and she gently suggests you go eat something while you wait. You tell her it’s okay, that you want to wait with her, but she tells you the hospital cafeteria is serving tater tots today for tater tot tuesday, and those tater tots are to die for. But before you go downstairs to the cafeteria, you find a few minutes to cry in a one stall bathroom.

—

“God damn,” you hear your coworker, Hana, dreamily sigh as she leans on the handle on your standing mobile nursing work desk, and you trail her line of sight to the tight asses of the EMT men that walk by while rolling a stretcher. “It’s like being hot is a part of their job requirement.”

“Uh-huh,” you agree mindlessly as you try to catch up on charting for the rounds you just ran on your patients around the emergency department beds.

4/20/2024 0200: patient notified of the importance of taking ibuprofen. Attempted to give pt the medication. Pt responded “suck on this, bitch”, gestured to his general groin area, then threw ibuprofen tablets at RN. pt upset and requests narcotics instead. Informed MD of pt’s behavior and request. MD will not order narcotic pain medication at this time. Will continue to monitor

“How’s your mom doing?” Hana says, interrupting your typing as she turns to face you now.

“She’s okay,” you say, continuing to punch keys as you stare at your monitor, “she has a PET/CT soon. It’s always nerve wracking when the next scan is coming up.”

“Have you given hospice any more thought?” she asks.

You stop typing and stare blankly ahead at your screen as your heart sinks a little. You have given hospice more thought, and you came to the decision about a week ago that you would go through with it. It’s becoming so increasingly difficult taking care of your mom at home, more than you can manage with all of her doctor’s appointments, radiation appointments, chemotherapy appointments, all of which happen during the late mornings or early afternoons so you can’t even properly rest on most days that you come home from night shifts. Even though you only work three shifts a week, you can’t remember the last time you got a full, uninterrupted eight hours of sleep because of how messed up your circardian rhythm has become. You were practically a walking zombie, and you hardly felt like a person anymore. You’re not going to switch to the day shift, because that would make it difficult to take your mom to her appointments, and also because you get paid extra with the night shift differential, and above all other necessities, what you really needed right now the most was money. Forget the fact you’re still in debt from nursing school, but you co-signed on the medical loans your mother had taken out for treatments, and five years of high acuity medical bills was a living nightmare. And you were living that nightmare. 

“I did,” you say, “I’ve been looking into hospices, but a lot of them are further away than I’d like.” You glance down at your keyboard. “I…I’m going to miss having my mom home. Even though it’s hard to deal with her mood swings and stuff sometimes, I just think the house would feel really empty without her.”

“Aw, my dear,” Hana sighs and rubs her hand up and down your arm soothingly, “I’m sure you’d love to have her home, but I think it’s becoming too much for you. I say this with love and care, but I can’t remember the last time I saw you genuinely smile.”

Your eyes widen slightly from her words, and you release some of the tension in your shoulders, tension you didn’t even realize you were holding onto during this conversation.

“It’s too much for just one person,” she continues, “while I understand you want to spend more time with your mom, the quality of time you’re spending with her could be so much better if you had some weight lifted off your shoulders, where you’re not worrying about her medication schedule or doctor’s appointments or blood draws and all that.”

You nod slowly and manage to give her a small smile, then place your hand over hers that was still soothing over your arm. “Thanks, Hana. I know, I appreciate you looking out for me. I…I think I’ll look more seriously into hospices. It’s just they’re really expensive, too, so I have that to consider as well.”

“Hmm,” she withdraws her hand from you and juts her bottom lip out as she looks up at fluorescent emergency department lighting. You hear a patient cough in the distance as your senses take in the ambient environment once again. “Y’know, there’s this really great new hospice in town that functions as a general facility and also helps manage a lot of chronic diseases too. They have nurses there that do blood draws and everything, and they also transport patients to their affiliated hospital for treatments, like dialysis and chemo and stuff. My friend’s mom has breast cancer and was recently accepted into that hospice,” she tells you, pulling her phone out and looking through some of her messages, “I think it’s only a fifteen minute drive from your house.”

You tilt your head at her with interest, wondering why it didn’t come up on your provider search through insurance, but regardless, it sounded too good to be true. “It’s probably really expensive. My mom’s under the state insurance right now, but I’ve explored government insurance plans too and they’re still really pricey. I just can’t afford it, not with all of her cancer treatments, and adding her under my insurance isn’t really going to be any better either.”

She groans. “I know. What’s with our healthcare plan? You’d think as a hospital, they’d choose better plans for their employees,” she sighs, and then stops to read some of the messages on her phone, “but my friend said that her husband was able to add her mom as a dependant, and his insurance covers 90% of it. I’m sure it depends on the illness, but they only pay a few thousand per month out of pocket.”

You blink at her. “Really? T-That’s insane…do you know what insurance her husband has?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s a Kaiser facility.”

“Oh,” you sigh, “well, they wouldn’t accept state insurance. That’s a private HMO.”

“Shoot,” Hana looks at you apologetically, “I’m so sorry, love, I forgot about that. Sorry to get your hopes up.”

“That’s okay,” you smile at her, “thanks for trying. I’m glad it worked out for your friend, at least.”

Hana glances at her watch and realizes her break is over, so she heads back to her side of the emergency department, and you’re left standing at the nursing station with thoughts running through your head now, and still catastrophically behind on charting.

Hmm.

Kaiser.

You swear someone mentioned that to you recently.

Or maybe you were just remembering another one of those ads you see on television at night. No, no, you’re pretty sure it came up in conversation with someone, but you can’t remember when or why or what or where or who. Hmmmmm. Kaiser, Kaiser, Kaiser. 

Nope. Nothing.

Oh well, maybe it’ll hit you later.

—

It hits you in the form of an intrusive memory when you wake up on a Thursday afternoon in a cold sweat after having a hallucinogenic melatonin dream where you were getting chased by a giant rabbit (don’t ask). 

Kaiser.

Gojo said he has Kaiser insurance. 

And the idea that comes into your head after that is so ridiculous, so absurd, so positively bonkers that you have to slap the sleepiness off your face for a second to make sure you’re still not in some dream state of living, and the harsh sting on your cheek proves that you’re not. And the idea still persists. And now you’re swinging your legs over the edge of your bed, and grabbing your laptop, and opening it, and inputting your pin, and then spending a good three hours researching if this little idea of yours actually has any good level of merit to it, if it could even succeed, if it was even legal? You even find yourself on the phone with insurance representatives, and you stare at the tens of thousands of dollars of debt on your Excel spreadsheet where you keep track of your finances, and you feel the exhaustion in your bones, and you also remember how fucking annoying Gojo is. And yet still, the idea persists. 

And when the pieces of the plan start to unfortunately fall into place, you say, fuck it. What was worse than potentially getting into six figures of debt? It’ll be fine.

But you can only hope he says yes.

.

.

.

[reading commercial break]

hello!! this is ellie, the author. so sorry to interrupt, there is still a bit left for this chapter, but i just wanted to jump in here real quick to explain for some of my readers that may not be american so they may understand reader’s desperation to financially cover the costs of her mother’s healthcare bills. this story is set in suburban america lol, where the healthcare system is so messed up honestly, and this excerpt from the book the body by bill bryson kinda explains:

“Where America really differs from other countries is in the colossal costs of its health care. An angiogram, a survey by The New York Times found, costs an average of $914 in the United States, but only $35 in Canada. Insulin costs about six times as much in America as it does in Europe. The average hip replacement costs $40,364 in America, almost six times the cost in Spain, while an MRI scan in the United States is, at $1,121, four times more than in the Netherlands. The entire system is notoriously unwieldy and cost-heavy.” p360; “...America spends more on health care than any other nation–two and a half times more per person than the average for all other developed nations of the world. One-fifth of all the money Americans earn–$10,209 a year for every citizen, $3.2 trillion altogether–is spent on health care.” p359

unfortunately, a lot of how much you end up spending at the end of the day, depends significantly on the health insurance that you have. it could make the difference of spending a few hundreds to a few thousands to a few tens of thousands and beyond, just based on the insurance plan, even if the illnesses/treatments are exactly the same.

but yeah, just wanted to provide that context lol!! so you must understand reader’s desperation to save a buck!!! 

ok back to regularly scheduled broadcasting!! 🧚‍♀️💕✨

[end of reading commercial break]

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—

You’re sitting at a table outside your favorite cafe in town, leg bouncing up and down underneath the surface impatiently and nervously, and you glance at the time on your phone for the fifth time within the past five minutes because you’re unable to alleviate any of the anxiety you’re experiencing right now. You hear the jingling of the cafe door behind you and then you’re a little startled when someone emerges in your periphery by your side.

You look up and see Gojo standing next to you, and you see he already went inside and grabbed a coffee to-go for himself.

“Hey,” he greets you.

“Hi,” you say with a small wave.

He takes a seat across from you. “What did you want to talk about?” he asks while he settles in and smooths down the fabric of his suit jacket. He’s not wearing a tie, and has a couple of the top buttons of his shirt undone to reveal some of the skin at his collarbone. Probably to seduce the divorced single moms, you think. “And if you called me here to try and convince me for the millionth time to pitch in for that fence you built six months ago, I’m just gonna say no again. I didn’t even want that fence built in the first place. It fucked up the roots on my avocado tree.”

“It’s a joint fence. Neighbors usually pitch in for that kind of stuff, asshole. At least normal neighbors do. You know I talked shit about you to everyone in the neighborhood when you refused to pay and all of them agree that you’re being a stuck-up prick about it?”

“You know that I also talked shit about you to everyone in the neighborhood and they said the same exact thing about you?”

“Wha–” you gasp, blinking a few times from the betrayal, then mutter “...those two-faced bitches” under your breath.

“So,” he pulls his sleeve back to glance at his watch, “what did you want? I’ve only got thirty minutes to talk before I need to head to an open house.” He brings his cup of coffee to his lips.

“Oh. Right. Just a favor,” you say, “I was wondering if you could marry me.”

He almost spits out his coffee.

“E-Excuse me?” he croaks out, exasperated, and he’s coughing a little bit as he hits his chest with a fist to alleviate the irritation in his throat from some hot coffee that went down the wrong pipe.

“I mean, if it’s not an issue, I’d really appreciate it if you could marry me,” you attempt to clarify, but you realize you probably should’ve thought a little more about how you were going to ask him this, and now you’re too deep to backtrack, so you just hope you’ll find the conversation along the way.

He’s looking at your like you’ve got six heads, brow furrowed and mouth hanging open slightly with that what the fuck? face you see him wear sometimes. But then he sits up a bit straighter, expression morphing into a curious one as he studies your face, head tilting a little in his scrutinization. Then, his face relaxes entirely. He has this knowing look as he nods up and down slowly, like he just figured something out, and then he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose in some type of faux frustration. And you don’t understand why you’re already seethingly angry about what he’s going to say next.

“Oh god,” he sighs, “I knew this day would come.”

“Huh?” you squeak out.

“Listen,” he says as he crosses his arms, but one of his hands comes out from where it was tucked in his elbow to waive around in the air as he articulates his words, “I know that I’m very charming, and handsome, and chivalrous, one might say the modern knight in shining armor–”

“Satoru.”

“–and yes, I’ve seen the way you look at me,” he dramatically sighs, “when I’m taking the groceries up the driveway…when I’m out mowing the lawn…when I stretch on the sidewalk before I go for a run. I feel your eyes on me like a hawk. Quite frankly, you look at me like I’m a piece of meat, and I feel very violated by it sometimes–”

“What the fuck are you talking about???”

“But I get it. Really, I do. There’s no need to be embarrassed about it–”

“I’m not embar–”

“It was really only a matter of time before you would do this. So overcome by your feelings for me that you just had to go against the grain of centuries of matrimonial standards and swallow your gigantic pride to propose to me.” 

“Oh my god, what the fuck are you saying–”

“But,” he says, collecting himself now, and taking in a deep breath, “my answer is no. I mean, I shouldn’t have to explain why. But I will. First of all, where the hell is my ring? Secondly, why aren’t you on one knee in front of me right now? Also, in a cafe? Really? I thought you would’ve known I’d have liked something a little bit more romantic than this. Y’know, private, but also where my family’s somewhere around the corner. Maybe by the beach–”

“Can you stop talkin–”

“–while the sun is setting, and I’m wearing a nice dress, and there’s bubbles in the air and rose petals on the sand, and you tell me how enamored you’ve always been of me, and how you can’t wait to spend the rest of your life with me,” he indulgently sighs, “I mean, it’s every guy’s dream. But nooooo, of course you’ve got no taste or sense for romance in any capac–”

“OH MY FUCKING GOD, FORGET THIS,” you stand up out of your chair, fast enough to where it almost falls backwards, and you grab your purse to sling over your shoulder, “I cannot believe I actually thought this plan would ever fucking work.” You’re about to walk away from the table, because you’re realigned with the wisdom of exactly why you can’t stand this man, when his hand reaches out quickly to grasp onto your wrist, to keep you still, and you jump a little from the contact. You look down, his hand unrelenting in its grip as his knuckles flex slightly, and you’re not sure if he’s ever touched you from how foreign the sensation feels.

“Wait,” he says, and when you look at him, his eyes are a little wide like a puppy, “you’re being serious?”

You yank your wrist out of his grip, but the warmth of his touch still lingers, and you wrap your own hand around it to distract yourself from it. “Why would I just ask you to marry me out of nowhere if I wasn’t being serious?”

He gives you a look like the answer to your question is obvious. “Uh, to fuck with me?”

You’re still holding onto your wrist, protectively pressing it against your chest with your back turned away from him slightly, and you look up at the sky for a brief second. Hm, perhaps you could have brought the favor up a bit better, and you realize it might’ve sounded insane on his end, and you’re also still thinking about the tens of thousands of dollars you could save if he said yes, and so you hesitantly open your body language up to him again.

“Just sit,” he sighs.

You take a seat across from him again, hands finding the warm coffee cup in front of you and you purse your lips together before tucking your bottom lip under your front teeth. You take a deep breath before speaking again. “I…I’m being serious. I was wondering if you could marry me as a favor, and not because I think you’re some type of irresistible man candy, god, where do you get your gigantic ego from?”

“I–”

“Rhetorical question, shut it.”

He blinks at you. “What favor are you asking for that’ll be satisfied by me marrying you?”

You twiddle with your thumbs. “I want to put my mom in hospice,” you say, eyes flickering down slightly because you’re worried you’re about to tear up from the words, but when you realize you’ve got enough conviction not to, you look back up at him, and his eyes on you are a little too observant, “most of the hospices in town are further away than I’d like, and really expensive, but I heard there was a Kaiser one nearby…and that a lot of the costs are covered by insurance. So, if you married me, I could send my mom there. And also, under your insurance, the care network would be better, so I could get her a new oncologist and neurologist, and I’d know she’s being taken care of. And…” you clear your throat, “well, it’ll be a lot less expensive, so I can start to catch up on…well, whatever, you get the picture.”

His eyes narrow at you in thought, and he glances at your hands on the table that are nervously fidgeting, and then his eyes meet yours again. “I’m not sure if you can add a…spouse’s parent to a healthcare plan?”

“You can,” you say, “I already called to ask.”

“Oh.”

“Mhm.”

Gojo hums to himself, laying his palms flat on his thighs and rubbing them back and forth on the taut fabric a few times as he thinks with his gaze set off somewhere in the distance. It seems like he’s running through some algorithm of thoughts in his head, and then he slowly nods to himself when he’s made a decision.

“Sure, I’ll do it,” he says.

“Y-You will?” you ask him. You’re uneasy at how easy it was to convince.

“Yeah. I like your mom. She’s a sweet lady, and I want to see her get better.”

His words touch you. And not from the distance of a ten foot pole like you’d usually allow, but more intimate somehow. And you get the feeling you should thank him, but you’re still pissed off from when he almost ran you over on your own driveway earlier this week. 

“Really?” you make sure, almost like you’re hoping he’ll change his mind because now you’re suspicious as to why he agreed so quickly. And you realize he’s already making you paranoid.

“Yeah. I’m saying yes to your proposal, y/n,” he says, “I mean, a marriage is just a legal agreement. Not a big deal. I’d want a prenup though, for obvious reasons. In case you’re a gold digger.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re too cheap to even pitch in for a fucking fence. You think I’d believe you’ve got any gold to dig?”

He sighs. “I said in case.”

“Well, anyways, we can work out logistics and paperwork or whatever later,” you say, and you extend your hand out for him to shake it.

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Um. You’re going to make me shake your hand over this?”

“Yeah,” you shrug, “it’s the diplomatic thing to do.”

“Yes,” he says, “for a diplomatic agreement.”

“Precisely,” you say. “That’s exactly what this is.”

He hesitantly brings his hand up to shake yours, but you quickly withdraw yours at the last second. “Nevermind. I don’t want to touch you.”

“Okay,” he easily accepts, “not how I expected to celebrate getting engaged, but whatever. By the way, when’s the wedding? Are we doing, like, a shotgun destination type vibe? Or something a bit more grand?”

“Just be at the courthouse at noon on Sunday.”

“What?! This weekend? That’s too soon,” he panics, “I need time to pick out a dress, and I need to figure out who my bridesmaids are going to be, and–”

“Satoru. Seriously. Just–...just shut the fuck up. Before the headache that you’ve already given me gets worse.”

You two sit in silence for a moment, him just mindlessly staring at a butterfly that landed on the plant at the center of the table, and you just staring off into the void past him while contemplating every life decision you’ve ever made. But that’s how it always was between you two. As much as you hated to admit it, you were jealous of him in a lot of ways. In every way that you were fucked up, he was nonchalant without a care in the world. You wish you knew what that sort of peace felt like, and you wondered if he could show you. Maybe someday when he doesn’t piss you off.

“So,” he interrupts your thoughts, “are you gonna take my last name?”

“Fuck no, I’d rather die.”

“Alright, jeez, I was just asking.”

.

.

.

[end of chapter 1]

a/n. yayy!!! he said yes!! omg congrats on ur engagement!! haha this was a lot of fun to writeee :'') i've got sm fun ideas for this fic. yea this chap was supposed to be longer lol there's still some groundwork to lay w the side quests, but will def cover more of that in the next chapter!!! tysm to everyone that wanted to be on taglist omg i hope that you enjoyed <33 love uuu guysss smmmm also my bad if some stuff doesnt make sense i'm tryna be less perfectionist when i'm editing so that i don't go insane 😍

➸ take me to chapter two!

taglist: @tremendousbouquetflower @cowgirlcujoh @joemama-2 @shinypearlywhites @sykosugu @lovebittenbyevans @luqueam @bloopsstuff @horisdope @alwaysfreakingout @crammingqueen @rideofthevalkyriess @lavender-hvze @gojocock @ceni707 @jxvajxy @catobsessedlady @madaqueue @bbyxxm @gojostit @nixie-19 @cheezitcracker @polarbvnny @cactisjuice @sleepyyammy @lysaray @k4tsukiis @kortanasworld @megumisthirdog @slut-4-gojo @drakenswifeyy @njoxuzi @elernity @jujutsubaby @secretmoneybearvoid @bunny-lily @strawberrygirl0 @httpxxg @bsdicinindirdim @v4mpieres @nanamis-baker @therealestpussyeater @air3922 @13-09-01 @marija4674 @whereflowerswenttodie @geniejunn @bakuhoethotski @ricaliscious @77uchiha77 @hellowoolf @tobaccosunbxrst @possumwho @nvrgojover @kittygrimm88 @samistars @shiin-ye @billiondollarworth @mmeerraa @fjorjestertealeaf @reinam00n @semra4 @st4ryki @new-weather47 @coltsgf @meownuuuu @strawnanamilk @lees-chaotic-brain @ironhottubstranger @spindyl @aise-30 @dunghirse @r0ckst4rjk @44ina @4y3sh4 @lindyloomoo @sweetpo1son @levisfavoriteteashop @delfiiii @fushitoru @gojosimp26 @beabadobeee @astrokenny @horisdope @muchlov3ashley @geniejunn @the-dark-creature @gojonegs @ritzes28 @mo0nforme @drownedpoetss

hope yalls fries never get soggy ever 💕

[arielleslipgloss]

Doll Mindset!! How To Achieve It 🎀

“Imagination and love can change the world.” - Barbie (Rapunzel)

Stay Positive!! One of the biggest parts of becoming a doll, is a positive mindset. Some of our favorite dolls (EX: Barbie) always stay positive. If something goes wrong, try looking for the positive. It’s always best to look on the bright side, rather than the dark. To stay positive, try practice talking highly of yourself. Not only you, but others too. Try encouraging those around you!! Life becomes a lot more fun when you uplift others. Trust me!

Dream big!! One thing about dolls is that they know how to use their imagination. They always shoot for the stars when it comes to their goals and dreams. Also they all truly believe that if they work hard, they can achieve anything. And you should believe the same as well!! If you want to become a lawyer, work hard for it. If you want to become a nurse, work hard for it. All you need is, some imagination, ambition, hard work, and dedication. You can do it, if you put your mind to it! 

Don’t be afraid to be yourself!! The Bratz rarely care if someone disliked their fashion sense. They liked their fashion sense and that’s only what mattered. Not if some stranger gives them a weird look. So, be confident in who you are. If you like something someone else doesn’t, so what?!?! Everyone has their own preferences. We can’t all like the same thing. If we all did, what’s the fun in that?

Take care of yourself!! I will never stop mentioning that everyone should be taking care of themselves. Always, always, always invest in yourself. If you have the time to do a full on spa day for yourself, DO IT!! Because taking anytime to care for yourself, will always be worth it.

Always be up for a challenge!! The Winx Club fairies were never afraid of a challenge. Whatever came at them, they remained fearless and positive. So, when your studies get challenging remain positive. Never let the challenge bring you down!! Instead be ready for the challenge and use it to grow.

Motivate others!! Encourage & compliment others around you. Once I started complimenting people more often, my life changed. I felt more positive and I was able to make others smile. Now, it’s a daily practice in my life to motivate others!

“That’s so weird. Fashion’s like your superpower. You shouldn’t have to hide it.” - Yasmin

Love you dolls!! Remember to stay positive and pretty 💋🎀

Xoxo, Arielleslipgloss

[pedgito]

𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐅𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 | Javier Pena x reader

↝ other fics | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | this is my own entry for the summer lovin' challenge, somehow torturing myself further by writing a fic amongst all my other wips and helping organize this challenge. there's sweaty javi p and office sex, that's all you need to know.

content warning | heavy smut, teasing upon teasing upon teasing, lots of mentions of heat/sweat, perfect use of ice in a situation like this, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, public-ish sex

word count — 5k

You curse quietly over your second paper cut of the day, nursing your pointer finger between your lips and silently reprimanding yourself for agreeing to help Steve—he was good at begging, you could give him that, and a hell of a sweet talker when he wanted to be. He always wore you down, a promise of coffee every day for a week on him, or lunch the following day, anything to sweeten the deal. This time it was neither.

“I rescheduled twice already,” He’s pointed out the reasons on his fingers, extending them out as he numbers them and using his finger to add emphasis as he pressed down on them as he went, “we finally have someone to watch Olivia for us this evening, and you know, you won’t even be alone—Pena’s staying late.”

He wiggled his three fingers like it was the best deal you’ve ever been offered, a smile growing on his face as he attempted to pass over the file that you took with reluctance, blowing out a puff of air and clutching it to your chest, arms crossed over the manila folder as you glance at your dainty watch—four in the afternoon. Not bad. Not great, either. You’ve stayed later—given your commute is only about five minutes. You tended to pick up the slack, for everyone, but mostly those boys. You weren’t sure how it ended up this way, but even Carillo acknowledged it. 

You did grunt work, small and miniscule things in the lives of two DEA agents who were out in the field hunting a notorious cartel leader every day—but you, you were dealing with papercuts and carpal tunnel, it wasn’t nearly as comparable.

And Javier Pena made sure to remind you every chance he had.

You pluck at the group of files labeled La Quica and El Limon, a hefty collection of data that has been compiled for the past several months and felt never ending—you were nearing the point of understanding every piece of information in this room back to front, knowing far too much about the cartel than you originally intended. It was terrifying; even seeing the look on either of the men’s faces when they returned back from a hard day of busts and undercover work.

And, maybe Javier just figured you didn’t care or wouldn’t be able to comprehend half of what was stored away in these files—but he sure wasn’t quiet about it.

It’s been around an hour now, tearing through the unorganized mess that the file room had become.

Mumbling the names under your breath as you drag your finger over the sticky note and kneeling down until your practically on all fours, digging through a box on the floor with your head tucked and oblivious to Javier as he rounds the corner to the secluded room, heavy footsteps falling on deaf ears, too entranced in the task to notice him.

He clears his throat with distinction and your head snaps up, looking clearly disturbed and annoyed—Javier offers a superficial smile and points a finger at the pile on the floor, his shoulder leaned against one of the tall shelves holding boxes upon boxes of crucial information.

Your eyebrows raise in expectation, head shaking slightly at him as you urge him to speak and get on with whatever comment he was dying to make as he continued to stare down, licking his lips briefly before they finally part and—

“Those the files we’ve been asking for?”

That Steve has been asking for—Not Javier, never Javier. He’s too macho and mighty for paperwork and sitting at a desk all day.

“It is part of them,” You say with emphasis, “I still have an entire section to go through. Steve asked me to pull everything we have on those two.”

“Well, everyone’s leaving—and I know where most of the shit is. I got it, you can head out.”

You seethe, jaw clenched and your eyebrow furrows as you stand, a pile of strewn papers in your arms.

“You know, instead of going through Steve to have me fetch the stuff you need—I don’t know, you could just man up and ask me directly.”

He has no idea what you’re talking about.

Except, he does.

He’s shoved off work to Steve who was enough of a pushover for his friend and partner, to pick it up when he had time, but this time it had landed on a busy day, a busy weekend, there just wasn’t enough time for him to handle it. 

“La Quica, El Limon—Carillo was talking to you about them this morning. What’s got you so tied up that you couldn’t handle it yourself?” You ask accusatory, back turned to him as you walk toward the table in the center of the room.

“We’ve got leads to check out, muñequita.” 

Out of your wheelhouse. Yeah—Okay, that explains it.

You roll your eyes at the nickname and drop the stack with a distinct thunk before moving past him, narrowly avoiding his broad shoulders as you walk past him, through the half-open door as you grab for one of the styrofoam cups on the water dispenser before spooning the ice into it and filling it with water, sipping with a distinct look of disdain as you eye Javier up and down, seeing that he’s followed you over, half in the doorway and half out.

“If you’re going to stand there the least you could do is help me,” You tell him, “that way we can both get out of here faster and not have to spend any more time together than we need to.”

“It’ll be faster if I do it myself,” He tells you, a metaphorical shoo-ing away as he nods toward the stairwell at the end of the hall, “I know this room like the back of my hand.”

“Have you been in here lately? It’s a mess. No one ever puts anything back in the right spot.” 

Javier’s got his signature pout on, looking downtrodden and pathetic behind his thick mustache perched on his upper lip, the constant look of being unimpressed by everything.

“I’m not leaving, Javier. You’re welcome to help, stay late, whatever—but I’ve been in this room, in this heat for an hour already and you’re not about to swoop in and snatch the credit for something you couldn’t be bothered doing yourself in the first place, alright?”

Javier looks surprised at that, not as much by the bite in your tone but the lack of snide comment, not calling him an asshole or a prick and storming off. Again, you brush past him with your drink in hand and take your seat, feeling the thin layer of sweat covering your body—it wasn’t that unbearable, but another hour and you would be a hell of a lot more crankier.

“Fine—” You respond, eyes tracking elsewhere as he moves form his place against the open door, only catching the lingering shadow of the door as it closed until it was far too late, “fuck, Javi! The—”

A loud click and Javier’s reaction time, given his ability to pull out a gun and have it propped at the ready in half a second, is far too slow. He turns, seeing the now closed door and turns back to you.

“Door,” You say, voice falling flat.

Javier backtracks and heads for the door, hoping and praying this was one of the days it wouldn’t lock—it was a tricky thing. Only working half of the time. Luckily, any other time it was during the day, surrounded by people who could help. But, now—it’s the two of you and no one else.

If you were pissed at Javier before, you were fuming now.

He jiggles the doorknob. Nothing. Fist pounding against the door. Nothing.

A quick shout out to anyone. Anything. Hoping someone would still be near.

Nothing. Not a sound.

“We’re stuck,” You sneer at him, “—sit down or that jiggling is going to drive me insane.”

He kicks the door for good measure, hoping by some miracle it might actually pop open.

You huff out an exhausted laugh under your breath and spread your hands out over the files, sorting out the important information and pictures from the notes and extra files that weren’t really needed. Javier approaches slowly and you take a sip of the water, thankful that you were at least able to reward yourself with that before you ended up in this mess.

Javier takes a look at his own watch and clicked his tongue before resigning to the fact that things weren’t going to go his way, dancing his fingers along the edge of the table as he took a seat, fingertips pressed into the surface as he settled, watching you casually under the flickering overhead light.

A few minutes slowly turn into several, quiet aside from the occasional shuffling of paper or sips of your water and you find that when no one else is around, Javier isn’t a total asshole. There’s no harsh quip or snide comment being lobbed your way but you can also tell that he’s just as frustrated as you, knowing that he needed to sift through this intel too.

But, the heat was sweltering—so distracting and despite the setting sun outside, had you reaching for a few buttons on your blouse as you leaned back, sighing as you picked up an empty file folder and fanned yourself in earnest, exposing your neck as you hung your head back.

You don’t hear Javier, but you feel him. His eyes on you as you lift your head back up.

Bewilderment. Annoyance. You can’t place it in the moment, he doesn’t even speak. But, you find yourself responding anyway.

“What? It’s hot.”

Javier throws a casual hand up in defense but his eyes follow your hand as they descend into your styrofoam cup, water long gone but the ice standing strong. You take a piece and cup it in your palm before rubbing it over your neck, instantly sighing at the crisp cold touch of it against your skin and aptly ignoring how it drips down the valley of your breasts, looking up to catch Javier at just the right time, his eyes looked on your movements and more pointedly—your chest.

“Here, try it,” You tell him, noticing the sheen of sweat on his neck, “it helps.”

He plucks a cigarette out of his half-empty pack and places it between his lips.

“I’m good.”

“Suit yourself, “ You shrug, but quickly lean forward to pluck the cigarette from his mouth and place it down on the table, “–hey, can you not?”

Javier looks at you in disbelief, snatching the cigarette off the table and tucking it away anyways.

“You smoke in this place all day, you can at least wait until we’re out of here.”

“Do you ever loosen up?” Javier pokes at you daringly, “I mean, what does it really take for you to pull that skirt out of your ass?”

“Not you,” You reply sharply, a smile spreading across your face, “but, putting away the cigarette is a start.”

Javier leans back in the chair with a dignified sigh, scratching at his forehead in frustration at the lack of progress and the fact that he literally has no way out of here.

“You know, he’s been off the grid for three weeks,” You speak out loud, knowing that Javier is well aware, “is there really anything in here that is going to help? Or is it just that all of the leads are dead?”

His demeanor breaks slightly, a shuffle in his shoulders as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“Both—maybe. This shit is probably pointless.”

“And that’s why you wanted me to take care of it,” You respond conclusively, “but you’re impatient—you don’t have to argue with me, I know you are.”

“Really, muñequita, you think you know me so well?” Javier asks testingly, tongue swiping over his bottom lip, “What else do you know about me?”

“That you like your ego boosted,” You retort, “and I’m not about to do that. So—”

“I didn’t ask you to,” Javier says with a smirk, eyes glinting with a faint, creeping darkness.

“Shut up,” You say in a clipped town before looking around curiously, “and what are we supposed to do now? Sleep here? I really can’t believe you fucking locked us in.”

“No, no—” Javier's finger wags in a motion that makes you want to bite them off, jaw clenching forcefully, “if you hadn’t wasted so much time then maybe we could have flagged down someone.”

“Okay, but you still let that door close.”

Once again, both arms crossed over your chest, a staredown is initiated. 

It wasn’t the first, it wasn’t the last, but you wanted to ruin him.

Knock him down a beg—hell, kick him off the pedestal and wipe the goddamn floor with him.

That stupid smirk, the boiling tone of cockiness wrapped in self-righteousness.

“Don’t think too hard, cariño.”

You huff out a half-impressed laugh and organize the files after a moment, stacking them to the side and reaching into your cup for another piece of your melting ice, repeating the same motion as earlier as you slide the ice between your breasts, but with the immense amount of eye contact you didn’t give Javier the first time.

Stubborn girl. He knew that much about you.

Javier doesn’t break immediately, but the small flex in his jaw, the slightest of cracks in his hard exterior.

Attack. Attack. Attack.

You wipe your arm against your sleeve, subconsciously pressing your breasts together in the process and Javier looks like he might keel over, eyes flicking up to meet your gaze now—he’s been caught. Gazing. Admiring. Seering to his memory for a later time.

You’re not really sure but you’re not going to let him off easy either.

“Now, Pena—Don’t think too hard.” You tell him in a sickly sweet tone, “It’s just a pair of tits.”

I don’t bite—you want to add. But, you don’t.

Because even if you found Javier attractive…there was just no way. 

No. Not possible.

“What is it?” Javier asks curiously, seemingly snapped out of his stupor, and meeting your gaze like he hadn’t just been staring directly at your breasts for far too long. “About me, I mean?”

You raise an eyebrow, finger circling the styrofoam cup as you center on the table.

“What?” You ask with a soft laugh of disbelief. “It’s—it isn’t your looks, Javier. It’s all of you. You undermine me, you treat me like a fucking lap dog. I might be a bitch but—I am not your bitch.”

He wasn’t expecting that intense of a response, it felt even more eerie as your tone continued on steadily. He considers interrupting but you continue, holding a finger up to stop him.

“You know—I transferred here to help with the assignment, collect the intel and take down Pablo Escobar just like you, but for some reason, you seem to think I’m just a personal assistant. Or one of the few receptionists who all want to throw themselves at you.”

“There something wrong with that?”

You roll your eyes in silence, but the gesture is loud.

“Did I say there was?” You counter, “I think the problem for you is that it isn’t me. That someone might actually find you repulsive, right?”

Javier only looks slightly dumb-founded, following your movements as you stand and fetch the stack of files, returning them to their make-shift home for the moment, buried away on a shelf that could be reorganized later—he turns in his chair, glaring right back at you when you turn on your heels. 

“Your legs don’t work?” You ask him, nodding toward thfew smaller stacks of files scattered about the table, “If you want to get the work done so bad, clean up—or do you want me to—”

“I. Got it.” Javier responds stiffly, standing on his own two feet. He scoops up the remaining files and puts them away opposite of the shelf you had, resting a palm on an empty spot as you lean back to pick up a stray piece of paper. “But, don’t act like I don’t see you kissing Carillo’s—”

You stand and shove the paper into his chest, “Finish that sentence and you will regret it, Javier.”

“It’s alright. No shame in your game and all that.”

Fuck this.

You reach for the cup of melted ice, splashing it promptly in Javier’s face before crushing the cup in your hand out of frustration, a moment of frozen realization coming to you.

Had you actually just done that?

Javier blinks, looking down at his soaked front before promptly removing his jacket in haste watching as you slowly back away, slightly disturbed by his calmness until he’s rearing on you.

Slowly—oh, so fucking slow. 

Your chest rises in slow, deep breaths and is nearly hanging off your shoulders by now, riddled with red, hot rage.

“Tell me I don’t make you even a little bit nervous, muñequita.” 

Is this a challenge? Is this what he’s worried about?

“You don’t.”

Your response is quick, but you find yourself pressed against a file cabinet and a few inches of free space before he’s right there—so close you can feel the heat of his body, your heart races slightly.

Okay, maybe just…a little.

“Again,” Javier beckons, a sneer to his tone as he crowds you in—“Look at me and say it.”

And for the love of god, the words never come.

“You let me flirt with you because you like it. Never correct me when I give you those little nicknames—look at you, you can’t even deny it.”

A half-truth. You didn’t mind it, but it wasn’t some sort of sustenance keeping you alive. Besides, it didn’t make up for half of the times he’s belittled you in front of your shared boss.

The heat is suffocating now and Javier’s eyes follow the trail of sweat down your neck, over your breasts, watching your fingers twitch at your side because—

Why do you feel the need to touch him so badly now?

To receive that touch in return and tenfold. 

“¿Qué pasa, pobrecita?” 

His fingers curl around the edge of the file cabinet behind you, barricading you between the wall and him and if you decided to show any signs of discomfort you knew Javier would back off in a heartbeat—you didn’t even need to say anything.

“Is that what it took?” You ask, voice soft in the small gap he’s created, eyes softening slightly as he hears you speak, “Being locked in here with me, nothing else to do—that’s what it takes for you to see me as anything other than some lowly little assistant to you?”

“You’re so fucking stubborn,” Javier says fondly, holding back a chuckle in his throat before his free hand is reaching for your neck and forcing your chin up and back, his thumb rubbing into the soft spot where your jaw twitches under his touch, swallowing hard.

“I thought you hated me.”

“I can say the same for you,” Javier responds, tilting his head slightly.

You’re so hot under his touch, skin clammy and wet from the ice and broken AC.

“I’m not saying I don’t.”

Javier presses his body against you slowly, your hands reaching for his shirt instinctively, curling into the fabric and feeling it stick to his skin, feel the weight of his chest against yours, and the very obvious strain of his slacks against your thin pencil skirt.

“And I never said I did,” Javier counters, “doesn’t change the fact that you get under my skin, querida.”

Javier leans in slow, that heavy eye contact never breaking until he’s there—nose pressed against your own and you sigh, breathing into his mouth as your eyes fall closed and he knows.

His lips are soft, careful. It feels like a test.

Your resolve melts in an instant, damning Javier for whatever spell he’s placed on you but you want more, hands skirting slowly up his front until they’re molding around his neck, kissing back with a similar eagerness, still laced in trepidation.

Things ramp up quickly, Javier’s fingers finding the edge of your shirt where it’s tucked into your skirt, pulling it free and squeezing at your sides, forcing your ass down against his knee from where it's tucked between your legs, somehow finding its way there in the chaos.

“Jav—Javier,” You breathe, pulling away, “maybe—maybe this isn’t the best place…”

Your eyes trail toward the camera tucked away in the corner of the room, knowing that it had to have some pretty damning evidence by this point—the list was long and you tried not to think about it for too long before Javier’s voice is pulling you back.

“That thing hasn’t worked in weeks,” He reassures and the flickering light above dims slightly, almost on cue, “are you scared of getting caught?”

You shake your head slowly and his smile grows, lips pressed against your own as he speaks and his hands tight at your hips, pressing your core right at the center of his thigh and pushing your skirt up until it’s bunched over your ass. You throb at the pressure, breathing out shakily.

“Then let go, muñequita,” He coos.

You hum, breath catching as he pushes his thigh up, your hips instinctively rocking against the pressure and if the heat weren’t already overwhelming, you would’ve passed out from that alone.

“It’s cute,” His hands aid your movement, a slow but steady rock of your hips as you furrow your brow at his voice, “—yeah that, you do that little thing with your brow whenever I talk to you.”

“Because I can’t s—stand you,” You voice falters, feeling him pick up the pace slightly to match your sudden eagerness, months without a proper sexual partner outside of yourself and you couldn’t help but be just a little bit more open to the idea of fucking someone who wasn’t your first option, or second—not even your last. Javier was nowhere on your list, actually. 

But, here he was. Offering himself over to you.

Besides, you had an entire night stuck alone with him—it wasn’t the worst way to entertain yourselves.

“Doesn’t seem that way right now,�� Javier counters, his ego shining through.

“Stop. Talking.” You plead, hands pulling at the seam of buttons on his shirt, pulling at it roughly in two quick, forceful movements until it splits open, mangling some of the buttons in the process but if upsets him, he doesn’t say a word.

Instead, he rips it away just as quick, pulling his leg away to descend to his knees, pushing your blouse up your chest until he can reach bare skin, mouthing at the soft skin of your stomach and—christ, it’s distracting. He yanks at the short zipper on your skirt, making a small noise of happy acknowledgement when he’s able to get it undone and pull your skirt down the rest of the way, breath hot over your underwear as he stares up at you, fingers curled around the thread at your hips.

You nod silently and he presses his mouth against your center, teasing kisses along your inner thighs that slowly turn into playful bites until you’re nearly squirming, begging with a softer version of his name that you never tried to let him catch you using.

“Javi, please.”

He pulls your panties down your legs, over your heels and to the floor with little care, too focused on settling your leg over his shoulder before a hand is curling over the top of your thigh, fingertips digging in as he licks a broad stripe through the center of your pussy, his other hand balled into the fabric of your shirt and you need less—less clothing, less restriction.

You fumble with your buttons, head falling back against the metal of the filing cabinet with a sigh as the tip of his tongue slides over your clit and down, a motion he repeats several times in your poor attempts to undress and chuckles against you when you curse, finally getting your top unbuttoned and letting it sag at your shoulders, your fingers buried in his hair as he groans, lapping at you eagerly as his hand rises blindly until he can squeeze at your breast.

You moan loudly, instinctively covering your mouth at the sound as Javier pulls back in subtle shock himself, surprised that you allowed yourself to be so vocal about how he was affecting you.

“Not a fucking word, Javi.” You berate him, pushing a finger into his forehead gently which he takes in stride, laughing quietly.

“No one is here.” He reminds you, “Listen.”

And you do, Javier slowly rising to his feet and pressing his lips against the side of your neck, working at his belt in time, shucking his pants open just enough for you to slip your hand into his boxers, gripping his cock tight in your hand—still, absolute silence.

“Let me fuck you,” Javier begs—begs with fervor, his breath hot against your ear, “please?”

You nod jerkily, feeling him settle his slacks just low enough that they aren’t a nuisance and pulling the thigh that was resting over his shoulder around his hip, his fingers digging into your ass as you tug at him testingly, enjoying the look on his face when you squeeze a little harder than he’s expecting, enjoying the heavy weight of him in your hand.

“Oh, I can fuck that hate right out, querida ” Javier admonishes, “don’t try me.”

“I dare you,” You challenge him, using your free hand to pull at the hair at the nape of his neck, earning a soft grunt in return, “—just remember to pull out, yeah?”

Javier full on snorts at that, a noise muffled into your neck when he leans forward, guiding himself to press against your cunt before he sinks in, both of your momentary hostility turning to full bliss.

His hand curves around the back of your head, a simple gesture but maybe more of a warning, his hips snapping into you suddenly, quickly, jostling you against the hard surface. He was protecting your head from the sharp edge of the cabinet and you almost laughed at the thought, but his impatient, fevered movements are sending you into a spiral, eyes rolling back.

“Stay with me,” He teases softly, lips at the base of your neck,  “want you to look at me while I fuck you.”

And you do, boldly, despite how your heart races. You let your body do the work, shutting your mind off for the moment—the hesitation, the worry, the regret that would hit you five minutes after this was over. 

You don’t remember it feeling like this, either. The full body sensation, his gaze heating you from the inside out, your thumb slipping over his bottom lip curiously, his teeth biting down gently on the digit as he fucks you deeper into the surface of the cabinet, if that was possible. 

There are no words, just sounds—moans that could be heard across the bullpen if someone was close enough and Javier, who is plenty vocal and has shown himself to be, can’t even form words, grunting with every few sharp snaps of his hips, fucking you so thouroughly it aches.

“Touch yourself,” He instructs, “let me see, muñequita. Wanna know.”

It doesn’t matter if he’s thought about it before—or, if somewhere in the deep, dark shadows of your mind that you might have had the same thought about him too.

There is no convincing, feeling yourself so on the edge already that it wouldn’t take much. And it doesn’t, your hand descending until your fingers graze over your clit, steadily bringing yourself closer and closer, legs shaking under Javi’s grip until he has to bear most of your weight as you come, blunt fingernails digging into his shoulder as you cry out. And he’s there too, so close and hanging on by a thread, the unsteady thrust of his hips a tell-tale sign.

Your heart is racing, mind too, and the words that come out aren’t anything of rational thinking.

“In my mouth,” You tell him, sounding more earnest than you ever have.

“You sure?”

You laugh through the exhaustion.

“Are you really questioning that?”

He shakes his head in amusement before he’s patting the back of your neck gently and urging you to your knees, jerking himself into your open mouth a few seconds before he’s coming, somehow managing to keep the moment tender as he holds your chin and squeezes gently, watching you swallow down the heady taste of him with your eyes locked on his.

“So, what now?” You ask jokingly, taking the hand he offers to you after a moment of him tucking himself back into his jeans, cursing when you shoulder bumps a stack of files on the way up, dropping them to the floor in a pile. 

Javier fetches your clothes and hands them over, redressing himself before plucking at the files hastily.

You’re nearly dressed when you hear him curse behind you.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“Hm?” You turn on your heels, busy tucking your shirt back into your skirt when you spot the item in his hands—a small gold key. “Well—don’t fucking stare at it. Try it.”

Javier approaches the door with quick footsteps, followed by your softer ones as you slip on your heels, gasping as the key turns in the lock and suddenly—the past couple of hours dissipates in an instant.

“Look at it this way,” Javier says lightly, “we’d still be stuck in here otherwise.”

Being that, if he hadn’t fucked you against the filing cabinet you’d be spending your night sleeping on the murky carpet of the file room floor—so, as usual, Javier Pena saves the day.

“Let me give you a ride home,” Javier suggests, “it’s the least I could do.”

“I live like three blocks away from—”

“Humor me?”

You chew at your bottom lip hesitantly.

Javier reaches forward suddenly, soothing the worry with his thumb.

“Pobrecita, if it isn’t all gone, we can try again?”

You slap his hand away gently, wordlessly taking his offer as you step past him, watching as his smile grows to a satisfied grin.

“You didn’t say no,” He adds.

Maybe he hadn’t fucked all of the hate out of you, but it was a start.

↝ special thanks to @undercoverpena for taking a look over this for me <3

↝ divider credit: yours truly.

[sweetbans29]

Teach Me: The Tragedy of Conflict (vi) - PB

Pairing: Paige Bueackers x Reader

Previous Part & Next Part

Summary: You and Paige have been best friends for the last 6 years. You trust her completely. And it is because of that trust that you ask her a rather forward question. AKA - You ask Paige to teach you.

Warnings: suggestive, tiny pains, bigger pains

Word Count: 4.1k

Sweetbans Masterlist & Teach Me Masterlist

AN: You knew it was coming soon.

Over the next few weeks, Paige's internal battle continues to grow. If she thought she was struggling before, each growing day continues to add even more thoughts and doubts that she has when it comes to you. But that isn't the only thing growing, her craving for you has exponentially increased since the last lesson.

Paige thinks about how intimate the two of you were at the most inconvenient times. She pictures you lying on her bed, half naked when she is studying. Her mind replays the sounds you made when her lips were on your neck while she was conditioning in practice. She closes her eyes in class and sees your back arching and hears you saying her name over and over again and all she wants is more.

But the last few weeks have been dry. No lessons, no 'practicing' as you would like to call it, just Paige longing for any touch she could get from you. Even those felt scarce.

Paige is studying with Azzi when she feels like she is going to combust.

"I need something, anything. I have been itching for weeks now," Paige says. The same book has been turned to the same page for the entirety of their study session. Azzi on the other hand was making good progress on her paper.

"Paige. I have been telling you for weeks to tell her how you feel. You are the one who has chosen to ignore any and all of my advice." Azzi says.

"It is not that simple - we freaking live together. What if she doesn't feel the same? That is how many years of friendship thrown away?" Paige says in frustration. She is getting heated.

Azzi laughs.

"What could possibly be funny about this?" Paige says pushing Azzi's computer.

"It is that simple. Just tell the girl you love her and I am sure it will all work out." Azzi doesn't know how much more blunt she can be without flat-out saying that you love Paige. Azzi's suspicions were confirmed that night you walked out of the bar with tears rolling down your face.

"F-that, I will not be the one to talk first," Paige says fed up with the conversation she initiated. She begins packing up her things.

"Where are you going? You haven't even started your assignment." Azzi says as she watches her frantic friend.

"I am going home to change and then WE are going out," Paige says.

"Paige, I don't want to go out tonight," she says.

"Come on, drinks on me," Paige says trying to bribe her to come.

"Fine, drinks AND food on you," Azzi says as she saves her paper and starts to get ready.

The two of them go to Paige's favorite local spot and meet up with some other teammates. They are all having a blast - drinking a little (or a lot) more than they should be for a Tuesday night but no one cared. Practice the next day wasn't until the afternoon so they could sleep in and nurse their hangovers all morning.

It is just after midnight when Paige gets a call from you.

"Hey B, where-are you at a bar?" You say when you hear Paige pick up the phone with a lingering 'hello'.

"Indeed I am!" She yells. "You are the smartest," Paige says with a giggle.

"I am coming to get you," you say as you rummage around your room to find something to throw over your PJs.

"Okay, I will sit right here until you get here," Paige says as she sits on the stool of someone else's table. The people give her a questioning look. "Oops, maybe not there," Paige says moving. "I will sit right here until you get here," Paige says as she is sitting one seat over but still at the same table.

"Did you get that? I moved." Paige says making sure you know where she is at. It doesn't matter as none of what she is saying is adding up since you can't see her at all.

"Okay B, don't move," you tell her.

"Imma be a statue," Paige says as she thinks she is staying still as a pole but is actually swaying to the music.

You let out a little laugh, "I'll see you soon."

You hang up and find Paige's location on your Find My app. You head to the bar, parking right out front and leaving your hazards on. Walking in, you immediately regret the decision to throw on just an oversized sweatshirt of Paige's and wish you would have opted for some sweats as well.

As you make your way through the crowd - which is surprising for a Tuesday night, and find Azzi and Evina first.

"Have you guys seen Paige?" You ask looking around.

Evina shakes her head no. Azzi nods her head over to the little stage in the corner as Paige steps up to sing karaoke. You are also now shaking your head as you watch your best friend make a fool of herself. The more you think about it in the seconds before the song starts, you think it is better to have her upset with you rather than videos of her singing karaoke drunk in a bar circulating the internet.

You weave your way to the stage and grab her arm, removing the mic from her hand. She yells your name in excitement until she sees you are taking her away from the spotlight.

"Let's get you home B," you say as try to get her off the stage.

"No, I wanna singggg," Paige whines.

"You can sing in the car, let's go." You pull her off the stage then wrap an arm around her waist to steady her. "Trust me, you will thank me later."

Paige lets you guide her out of the crowd, her arm now around your shoulder as she waves to her other teammates. You just shake your head and laugh as the girls follow the two of you.

Once you get back to your car, three girls pile in the back as you stick Paige in the passenger seat. You drive them back to your apartment building and begin to part ways.

"Thank you for coming to get us," Evina says with a hiccup.

"Always," you say as you wave goodbye to them.

Paige is asleep and you know once drunk Paige is asleep, she is not the easiest to get to do things.

"B, wake up. We need to go inside," you say shaking her arm. She brushes you off and turns the other way.

"B. I want to go to bed, can you please get moving." You beg the girl who makes no movement to move from your car.

Finally, you get tired enough to grab her arm and pull her out of the car. Her eyes only open a little as she now has to hold her own weight Her arms come to wrap around you, hugging you and nestling her head into the crook of your neck.

"Hi B," you say as you rub her back with one hand and close the door with the other, making sure to lock your car in the process.

"Smell like heaven, favorite smell," she says as her breath tickles your neck.

"Thanks B," you chuckle as you try to shift her to one side of you so you can walk the two of you up to your apartment. Her head stays hidden in your neck as she is now sidestepping with you as you lead her home.

Once the two of you are in your apartment you take her to her room.

"No," she says like a little kid.

"B, you are the one who was just about to sleep in my car." You say.

"Want yours," she says with a pout.

You roll your eyes. At this point you let her go and she puts her hand out to steady herself on the wall. You walk away from her and remove her sweatshirt. When you do, your shirt rides up giving Paige the perfect view of your bare back before you pull it down and walk into your room.

Paige instantly follows you into your room and plops down on your bed - her mind tells her she wants you but her body is exhausted.

She rolls over as you come to her. You start by taking her shoes off and placing them on the ground. She then lifts her arms.

"Flip over," you tell her as she rolls back over so she is lying face down on your bed. You pull at the sleeves of her jacket and remove it. She is left in her pants and tank top. Good enough, you tell yourself as you go to turn the light off.

When you finally lay down you feel Paige shift over to you. Her arm comes to hang around your waist.

You sigh.

Paige's head comes to find the crook of your neck again, her lips painfully close to the sweet spot on your neck.

Little to Paige's knowledge, she has been on your mind as much as you have been on hers.

You lean in just enough to have her lips meet your skin and you release the softest moan. Paige's hand grips your waist as she brings you closer to her, lips starting to move on your neck.

You savor her movements as she begins to pepper kisses up towards your lips.

Before her lips meet yours, you snap back into reality and remember she is not in her right mind.

"We shouldn't do this," you whisper. Paige's movements continue - not hearing what you said.

You place your hand on her cheek and bring her face up to yours. She leans in wanting to feel your lips on hers.

"You're drunk, B," you say. "You should go to sleep."

She looks into your eyes with what you believe to be love but tell yourself it is the alcohol.

She holds your gaze then kisses your nose and curls back up into your side.

The next day at practice Paige struggles and Geno is not having any of it. By the end of it, Paige looks like she has taken a beating. Everyone goes into the locker room to shower and head out but Paige stays back to go through more reps.

"B, you need rest." You say as you walk back out to see her working on her midrange jumper.

You know she isn't going to stop until she is content with her shot so you stand there watching her shot.

After about 10 minutes she finally takes a break.

"Adjust your thumb, it is going to lax when you release." You tell her.

She goes up for another shot, making the change you recommended. It goes beautifully into the basket. She shakes her head.

"I still don't know how you do it," she says a smile finally dawning her lips. "And why didn't you say that when Geno was drilling into me, huh?"

You laugh. "Because then you wouldn't learn to not drink in the middle of the week."

She looks at you with disbelief. She throws the ball at you and you catch it, dribbling it then shooting it.

Paige watches you in awe.

"Do it again," she says. You shake your head no, not really sure why you put it up in the first place.

"Please," she says as she brings you another ball, stands right in front of you, and places it in your hands. "Please."

You close your eyes and proceed to do a shootaround, Paige feeding you the ball. She watches you, eyes never leaving you. When you are finished you are slightly out of breath. You didn't miss a single one which even you found impressive.

Paige walks over to you.

"That was incredible - why did you ever stop?" She asks, not realizing what she is asking.

You sigh and sit on the ground. Patting the spot next to you. She sits across from you, wanting to see you.

"Before we met, I was set on going to UConn to play ball - there was no doubt in anyone who saw me play. They all knew I was going to play for the best," you say referring to Geno.

Paige bites back the joke she wants to make about how much you are hyping yourself up right now - she doesn't want to jeopardize your comfort in this moment.

"And no, I am not just bragging about myself - you can ask Coach yourself. He came to watch me play when I was in 7th grade, already counting down the days until I made my debut here." You say.

"That all changed when my mom left us on my 13th birthday. I woke up that morning excited for the day only to walk downstairs to see a single piece of luggage and my parents fighting. They kept yelling about me and what was going to be my future. She said she was tired of losing her daughter and that I cared more about basketball than I did about her. It was ironic because it was her and dad that taught me how to play. She was my mother and she believed I didn't love her and chose the sport over her. To be fair, I loved the sport more than I loved a lot of things, but never her. She cursed out my dad for ruining my life, saying things about how he was going to break me and I would never make it under his pressure. She didn't understand the relationship my dad and I have. I destroyed my parent's marriage and was the reason she left." You say and quickly wipe away the tears. Paige has scooted her way to you and has taken hold of one of your hands.

"I watched her walk out that day - what was meant to be the best birthday turned into the worst. I was sitting on the stairs as she walked out. She turned to look at me but didn't say a thing. She had said all she had to say. And she walked out."

"My game changed after that - had me in my head. I quit shortly after that. Quit playing that is, started learning the why behind all of it. Behind every play, every move, as many players as I could. I thought understanding the why behind the game would help me understand why my mom left. It didn't of course, but I was still just a kid you know? I didn't understand it fully - I still don't understand it fully."

"My dad saw me deep dive into learning the game from a different perspective and saw how I was excelling in learning the game faster than I learned how to play it. We both sort of just threw ourselves into it - neither of us knowing how to cope. It is how we connect with one another."

"I have started shooting again - but it still hurts. I don't know if there will ever be a time when I am shooting that I don't think back to that day. It is like a blessing and a curse. I feel free when I have a ball in my hand but am reminded of the cost. It clears my head but also opens old wounds."

Paige sits there and listens to every word you say. Out of the 5+ years of friendship, you have only ever mentioned your mom once. Paige remembers when you told her about your mom in the park but you never mentioned this. She feels tears well up in her own eyes.

Her hands come up to hold your face. You can't look her in the eyes so you just close them. She pulls you in and holds you.

She doesn't say anything - not that she would know what to say. All she knows how to do is hold you.

Once the sun begins to set and the gym begins to darken, the two of you head back home.

The team decided to hit the town that weekend after the game. You tag along, knowing you could use some fun. You stick to your classic while the team does a whole variety of different shots and drinks.

"Take a shot with us!" Evina yells as she orders another round.

"You know she doesn't, she likes her classic," Paige answers for you. You push past her, already feeling the effects of your first drink.

"No, I'll take one," you say, already shooting it back before Paige can stop you. She just watches you in surprise. You grab hers and throw it back.

"Ok, I think someone needs to slow down," Paige says and tries to grab your drink. You just box her out and tell her no.

"Let me have some fun B," you say. "I need a little fun."

Paige puts her hands up and lets you do what you want.

You make your way to the dance floor and start dancing with anyone and everyone. Paige watches you from a distance.

"Go dance with her," Azzi says as she comes up to Paige.

"Nah, she can have her fun," Paige responds and takes another sip.

Paige hates seeing others hands on your body but she isn't going to do anything to stop them. Rather she is going to find her own distraction.

By the early hours of the morning, Azzi can't find Paige anywhere and takes it upon herself to make sure you get home safely. When she takes you to your apartment, she realizes you don't have your key and is forced to take you to hers. You sleep on her couch.

You wake up to a major hangover, wanting nothing more than to be in your own bed. As you make your way out of your friend's apartment and stumble to your own, you come across the same realization that she had last night. You are keyless.

You knock hoping Paige is home. You are about to give up when you hear the ruffling of the lock.

When the door opens you are not met with your best friend, but some girl you believe is on the cheer squad.

You look at her with confusion and walk right past her. Even in your hungover state you know the first rule you and Paige had about the apartment was to not bring anyone back after a night out. All flings were to be done anywhere but there. You are quickly sobered up as you walk into Paige's room expecting to find her asleep in her bed but she is not. You walk back out into the living room - she's not on the couch.

"She's in her room," the girl says as she wraps herself in one of your sweatshirts. She probably thinks it's Paiges. Your heart drops to the pit of your stomach. She points to your room.

You push the door open slightly to reveal a sleeping Paige, naked in your bed. Clothes scattered throughout the room.

You grab a few of your things, desperately trying not to look at her.

"I don't think she will want you to take her stuff," the girl says as sees you packing some things into a bag.

You ignore her and finish grabbing what you need.

"Hey! I was talking to you!" The girl says loud enough to cause Paige to stir.

"Babe, why are you yelling?" Paige's sleepy voice cuts through the air., as she turns in time to catch her eyes meet yours before walking out.

Paige begins to scramble to her feet, forgetting the fact that she is butt naked, and attempts to go after you but you slam the door and are long gone.

"Paigey, come back to bed," the girl says, already lying in your bed. She's ready for another round.

Paige tunes her out, as all she can think about is how royally she messed up.

Paige is pacing the apartment trying to figure out what happened the night before. She swore she and the cheerleader were heading back to her place. The thing is, Paige doesn't remember being that drunk. She can pretty much remember everything.

Paige sent the girl away after you had left, making sure to get your sweatshirt back from her before she did.

Paige knows she messed up - you guys really only had the one rule and she had broken that. Not only that but she has brought another girl back to your room. What the hell was she thinking?

She tried calling you multiple times but it went straight to voicemail. She then tries calling all of her teammates to see if you went to any of them - only two of them answered.

"Don't worry P, she's probably just sleeping off the hangover from last night - she was super wasted." That was the only real response she got.

Paige decides to go to Azzi's to see if she has seen you. Azzi peaks her head through the door. Once she sees it's Paige, she steps outside and closes the door.

"Azzi - I know she is in there, let me see her," Paige says.

"Paige, I don't think that is the best idea," Azzi's voice is soft.

She tries to go by her but Azzi grabs her arms and looks in her eyes.

"Just give her some time, okay?"

"I don't know what happened," Paige says in defeat.

"I know P, I've got her. Just go get some rest okay?" Azzi says.

You don't go to the apartment for the next few days. You avoid going to any place Paige might be - that includes staying away from the team. The first time you see her is at practice on Tuesday, seeing that you weren't there on Monday.

The team is in the gym and Paige is anxiously waiting to see if you will be there. When you walk in alongside Geno and the other assistant coaches she is relieved but also now extremely nervous.

You don't give her any attention throughout practice. Paige even tries altering her shot to get you to come over to tell her how to fix it but you never do. All she gets is Geno yelling at her to focus or he will make her do suicides.

At the end of practice, you slip out before the girls leave the locker. Little to your knowledge, Paige never went in and was waiting in the parking lot for you.

She calls your name. You hesitate but keep walking. She runs to you and grabs your arm.

"Don't touch me," you say pulling it away.

Paige is taken aback, losing her words.

You look at her waiting for her to say something, anything really. When she doesn't, you speak.

"Okay if you won't talk, I will. I told you the darkest part of me - a part of me that less than a handful of people know. I opened up to you because I love you. I love you, Paige. I thought you felt the same, I thought I saw it in your eyes but then coming home the other day and seeing you brought another girl home. There was a fire that burned within my veins that fizzled out leaving nothing but disappointment. It wasn't that you slept with another girl because that wasn't the issue. The issue was that we have one rule. One rule. Not relating to our lessons but to our home. Our one rule, thrown out the window. See it might have been different if I walked in and you weren't in MY bed. But that is the only thing I can see in my head Paige - what the two of you were doing in my safe space."

Paige wants to say something but nothing comes out.

You sigh. You feel defeated.

"I don't know what to say B, I don't have the energy to fight with you." You look at her for the first time in days - your eyes are tired. "I forgive you. But I need to make myself clear when I say I need space."

Paige wants to argue, tell you how big of a mistake she has made and how much she regrets it. She wants to tell you she loves you and has for years now. She wants to tell you she isn't going to leave you. That the girl meant nothing and all the girls over the years have been a distraction for her - a distraction to get you off her mind. But none of that comes out.

You nod and get in your car and drive away.

Paige watches you leave. She doesn't know what to feel more, the peace of knowing you love her or the pain in knowing you are so much better than she is. She doesn't deserve you - that is the thought that clings to her.

She doesn't deserve you but needs you to survive.

AN: It almost feels worse when forgiveness is given instead of asked for. Let me know what you think. And as always, thank you for all your love and support 💙

[izels-writing]

r. lupin — i’m gonna be your wife

Pairing: remus lupin x fem!reader

Summary: despite what happens, you’re going to marry remus.

Warnings: FLUFFFF, honestly no warnings it’s just cute, written in two hours so if it’s rushed or bad don’t judge me yall 😔

you weren't sure of a lot of things. if anything, your indecisiveness was an integral part of your personality. anyone who knew you, even if it was acquaintances, knew that making decisions or being sure of something was hard for you.

but there was one thing you were sure of.

you were going to marry remus lupin.

no matter what life threw your way, no matter how many hardships or bad people that entered your lives—you knew that he'd end up being your husband.

you understood each other in ways no one else would. you were there for each other. you gave each other support when the other needed it. it was a beautiful, once in a lifetime thing you’d never find again.

you had told lily this once, but she gave you an unsure look—likely thinking you were crazy. it wasn't like you'd do something to ensure that you and him ended up together, you just knew it would happen. your interference wasn't needed.

now, the one person you'd never bring it up to is remus. he was unsure of dating you as it was, due to his furry little problem. you didn't want to mention the idea of possibly spending the rest of your lives together, because you knew how squirrelly he could be about love.

you had days where you doubted your assurance of knowing you'd marry him—you knew that was normal for anyone. but it always came to the same conclusion.

it'd happen anyway.

——

madam pomfrey let you inside as you stepped forward carefully with remus' tea and biscuits. being a student assistant for your school nurse certainly had its perks—getting to ensure your boyfriend actually ate was one of them.

you ambled over carefully to his bedside, placing the tray down as you sat on the chair next to him. he smiled weakly at you.

“how’re you feeling?” you asked softly.

“same as always,” he chuckled. you knew the humor was just a front.

“well, want some tea and biscuits?” you smiled.

he smiled. “sure,” he replied as he sat up and adjusted himself into a sitting position.

you placed the tray on his lap and sat back down, smiling as he ate slowly. he picked up his tea and went to take a sip before looking at you for a second.

“two sugars, a dash of milk, just how you like it,” you sighed, playfully rolling your eyes. he nodded in satisfaction and took a sip, savoring the taste of his tea.

“have you done your DADA homework?” he asked. your eyes widened.

“that would be a no,” he chuckled. “do you want help with it?”

you sighed. “yes, please. i don’t understand why i need it to graduate,” you groaned.

remus just laughed at you as you stood to get your school bag from one of the empty cupboards, bringing it back over to him. you enjoyed when he helped you with your homework—he never made you feel stupid or lesser. he knew how smart you were, no matter how much convincing it took for you to think the same.

it was a sweet thing you two did together after full moons. you’d care for him, he’d help you with homework or whatever advice you needed. funnily enough, this was also what brought you two close together in the first place to the point of being together for two years now.

you sat beside him on the bed, facing him—showing him the work you’d done so far, allowing him to survey it before he begun his mini-tutoring session.

he loved that about you. the fact that you didn’t see him as weak or unable after full moons like his friends. he didn’t blame them, frankly he knew he didn’t look his best, but he hated feeling weaker than them. you played to his strengths.

“okay, well half of this is right and the other half is…not…” he chuckled. you groaned, throwing your forehead down to his chest.

“can you just do it for me?” you pleaded, looking at him pitifully.

“unfortunately, i can’t, love,” he grinned. “you have to know this stuff to be a healer,”

“bloody hell,” you groaned.

——

after two hours of what you presumed to be torture, though remus would disagree, you talked and played board games with the physically exhausted boy. you both enjoyed spending the day together, even if you confined to one room throughout the entirety of it.

you placed down your piece after drawing the card, glancing up to find remus smiling at you—almost admiringly. you chuckled, “what?”

“nothing…” he chuckled back.

“come on,” you laughed, swatting his arm. “what is it?”

“you just…i hope you know how much i appreciate you and how much easier you make the hard days,” remus mumbled shyly.

you smiled. “of course, that’s what girlfriends do,”

he grinned, wincing as he started pulling himself up to cup your face. “i love you, y/n,” he whispered.

“i love you too,” you smiled, closing the gap between you both.

——

“and so, dorcas and emmeline are currently fighting because of that…” you concluded. because if there was one thing you and remus loved to do together—it was gossip.

“because of a hair product?” he questioned in annoyance.

“i know! i suppose it’s the principal or whatever, i dunno,” you shrugged.

“that reminds me of that one time james and peter didn’t speak to each other for a week over a quill,” remus snickered. “merlin, you should’ve seen the look on their faces when they realized sirius had it,”

you laughed. “i can only imagine,”

a few pairs of footsteps rushed inside and you both furrowed your eyebrows humorously at each other, craning your necks to catch sight of whoever was walking in.

suddenly, three boys appeared at your boyfriends bedside.

“hello, mister and misses lupin,” james grinned, greeting you both.

“hello, james,” you chuckled, sliding off of remus’ bed so the three of them could talk to him. “you guys want tea?”

“no, they’re fine,” remus said, glaring at them to dare to say anything more. they didn’t.

“great, ‘cause i ran out of tea earlier anyway,” you chuckled. “i’ll be back,”

it wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy hanging out with remus and his friends, because frankly you really did. they were a fun group and they were kind to you. but you also didn’t want to be that overbearing girlfriend who constantly hung around—so you immediately went to finish up restocking madam pomfrey’s stuff.

after an hour or two, the sun had gone down and the boys had returned back to their dorm without remus. obviously due to the fact that he was there for 48 hour care. though he didn’t show it, the full moon took a lot out of him.

you quickly returned to his bedside, smiling at his droopy state.

“tired?” you asked.

“very,” he chuckled. “you?”

“oh yeah,” you replied sarcastically, “stocking really takes the energy out of me,”

remus laughed. “alright, i was just asking, you twat, no need to be so sarcastic about it,”

you chuckled and sat down on the chair beside his bed. “no, truthfully though, i am a bit tired. i’ll wait until you’re asleep to go lay down though,” you smiled, squeezing his hand comfortingly.

“why wait?” he smirked.

you raised an eyebrow. “what do you mean?”

he scooted slightly, turning slightly to the side, before patting the spot next to him. luckily for you, you had changed into pajama pants and a tank top earlier—once the clock struck 8:30.

you laughed, rolling your eyes playfully, before crawling into his bed. you curled up next to him, laying face to face with the boy.

“careful, i could fall asleep here,” you joked.

“go ahead,” he grinned, kissing your forehead.

bonus;

remus sighed, bringing a hand to his face as he looked over the bills and debts owed. he felt terrible, having to constantly budget and decide whether to have a full fridge or a new stove. economically, it hadn’t been easy for you two.

and you didn’t deserve this, he knew that deep down. you deserved those pretty necklaces you eyed in the store but never commented on.

you knocked on the room of your shared office space in your house, smiling at your husband kindly. “what’s the damage, mr. lupin?” you chuckled.

“the same as always,” he sighed. you frowned slightly at his worry lines and his stressed out look. you hated seeing him like this.

you ambled over to him, sitting on his lap. you kissed his lips softly, massaging his head gently. he closed his eyes slowly, leaning into your hands. you kissed his face softly—in efforts to comfort him.

you never cared that you struggled with money, as long as you had him, things didn’t seem so bad. he tried his hardest and that was all that mattered.

“how about me and you watch a movie and eat some popcorn? the kids just went to sleep, so i figured we could have some adult time,” you chuckled, kissing his jaw slightly.

he chuckled. “i’d enjoy that a lot,”

he looked up at you, starry-eyed and lovingly and for a second, all of your worries slipped away. you smiled sheepishly, “what?”

“thank you for making the hard days easier,” he said, kissing your neck softly.

“of course,” you grinned. “it’s what wives do,”

[neverendingford]

.

[randomshyperson]

Best (Girl)Friends - Wanda Maximoff x Rogers!Reader

Summary: Wanda sympathizes with your willpower. 70 years on ice is a long time to wait for an intimate touch. And being the good friend that she is, Wanda offers you some help.

Warnings: (+18), some vague plot, smut with virginity loss, Rogers!Reader following all Wanda’s wishes, power bottom!Wanda, kissing, friends to lovers, mutual pining, explicit consent but Wanda being a tease and a bit possessive. | Words: 4.893k

A/-N-> I’m pretty sure this was a request, but I couldn’t find it anywhere. 

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad |

-&-

Shield acted as if they won the lottery.

In a way, it felt like that. Two Rogers siblings found on the same day would probably yield some promotions within the teams responsible, and a nice image bonus with the US government. 

But while Captain America was found in a negative temperature on the other side of the planet, his sister destroyed an entire building with her sudden appearance inside a blue explosion a few hours later.

In your defense, you had no idea what was about to happen. 

One minute, you were inside a Howard Stark-designed marine suit at the bottom of the ocean. But in Shield's defense, you were disobeying the orders of your director, that is, Margaret Carter on the phone, who five minutes earlier insisted that she would not risk losing another Rogers and that reaching the cube was not worth the risk to your safety, but you still put on the prototype underwater suit and dived in search of the item, which, to you, was the key to finding your brother.

You were right, in a way. Touching the cube with the determined idea that you would like to see Steve again really worked. The problem was how it happened. 

The explosion was all around you, and you saw nothing but the beam of blue light that forced you to close your eyes. One moment you were deep in the sea, and the next you were in the middle of one of the Shield Secret Bases, a thousand of bricks flying around with the force of the explosion.

Your presence in the secret room of Project PEGASUS caused Shield to be on high alert, and a dozen rifles to be pointed in your face.

But it was all cleared up in no time and ended with your figure handcuffed on the seat of a government Jet on its way to New York.

Unlike Steve, you were awake. And not the least bit in the mood to follow Nick Fury's theatrical demands.

"That's to avoid shock, Miss Rogers-"

"Absolutely not, Nicholas." You cut him off impatiently, your hands-free since Shield had clarified exactly who you were. "The first thing I'm saying to my brother won't be a lie."

Nick sighed. "I understand it's a delicate situation, Miss, but Captain Rogers has been frozen for too long. An innocent fantasy is meant to lessen the shock of the truth."

You skirted Nick without caring about the speech. "There's no way to lighten news like this one. We're both in the future, for Chris’s sake! That it's absurd enough. No more lies, and let me see my brother for once. You have no idea how long I've been waiting for that." 

Fury didn't have the heart to insist, not only because he had another supersoldier getting him out of the way, but because of the emotion in your voice. He waved in dismissal to any soldier more curious about your determined walk, and no one interfered as you made your way to the room where they placed your brother.

Shield had begun to create a scenario around him that made you chuckle in irony. You dismissed the agent posing as a nurse with a look, and Nick allowed you to be alone in the room, and without wasting any time, you made your way to the bed.

Steve looked the same as he did the day he disappeared, and you felt a sob break in your throat. Maybe the sound woke him up.

He opened confused eyes at you, and unlike him, you had aged a lot since the last time he had seen you when you were still a child. 

"Hey, Stevie." Your greeting came hoarsely, laden with emotion. Steve took a moment to recognize you.

"Y/N?" He asked, tense and startled. You could almost see the gears of his brain working, the way he tried to recognize his surroundings as well. "God, how long have I...?"

"Longer than you can imagine, big brother. Much longer." You replied before hugging him tightly. 

This must have been the last entirely friendly interaction you had with your brother, a reunion bittersweet for its peculiarities that was unable to conciliate years of differences between the two of you. Nor did the ice erase your hurt over Steve sending you away from the war when your parents passed away, or make you forget the years of training and working for Shield in search of him once you were back in Brooklyn. Nor did it change Steve's view of how he wanted to protect and keep out of trouble - which included superhero work - his younger sister who he had vowed to take care of.

But it was indeed an undeniable amusement to the rest of the team that the personalities of the Rogers siblings were so blatantly different, and it caused some apprehension every time Steve had to witness you leaving the tower in some sports car borrowed from Tony Stark while dressed in leather jackets borrowed from Natasha Romanoff.

The apex that you were entirely corrupted for all that he expected from a proper 1950s girl came in the addition of a certain angry witch to the team a while later.

Of course, the close age - if one ignores the years between the time jump and your arrival - you and Wanda had made your friendship an inevitability. But this doesn't mean that witnessing your clear crush on the new Avenger wasn't giving your older brother a headache.

Natasha thinks he deserved some credit. Considering he was a white man from the 1950s who was frozen before appearing in a new century, Steve was pretty open-minded. She was pretty sure this was due to the closet years of keeping a secret crush on his best friend, but she wouldn't be mean enough to torment Steve with that. 

And besides this, you were also getting used to the new century. And with the possibility of being able to have feelings for Wanda in an open and free way, so different from the world you lived in before.

The witch, on the other hand, had the greatest of fun tormenting you as much as she could while she waited for you to be ready.

And these teases came at every opportunity Wanda could take, from summer days at the tower pool where she had an excuse to wear bikinis around you and make a complete mess of you with the "friendly cuddling" which is how she came to justify the fact that your room was hers now and that there was nothing more platonical than sleeping cuddled up to your best friend.

With each passing moment, you grew comfortable and certain in your own feelings, parallel to which you became more confident in your powers and Wanda began to feel that the tables were turning on her every time a tickle war ended with you using your super-strength to pin her to the bed or you could effortlessly carry her away from a training session or conflict.

It didn't take long for the situation to become unbearable - Wanda was sure she would combust in the next cuddling session if she felt your body against hers again without that leading to what she really wanted, so now she had to take drastic action.

Communication was always the key to everything.

"Have you ever had sex?"

Your cell phone fell hard on your face. Wanda giggled at the mirror reflection: she was on her back brushing her hair and stealing glances at your figure lying on the bed, still learning to use the current technology but definitely loving the whole thing.

Snorting in embarrassment, you pushed the electronic device down onto the mattress and massaged your sore face. "I'm beginning to think you enjoy seeing me like this."

"What do you mean?" She asks innocently, turning her attention to the ring drawer. 

"Disconcerted."

Wanda chuckles mischievously, running her fingers through the options and trying to decide between the items as you stare at the ceiling. "I know you're like 100 years old, but won’t you tell me that it never happened? Not even when you became a hottie super soldier?"

You grunted in shame, covering your face with your arm. Wanda giggled again, this time putting on one of the silver rings. You were too far away to notice how her fingers were slightly trembling, giving away how she was equally affected by the conversation. But unlike you, Wanda knew how to keep it cool very well.

"Wandaaa." You grumbled, and she almost dropped the subject when you added. "No."

"No, what?"

With a sigh, you removed your arm from in front of your face but didn't risk looking at her. "Back then...I just, I didn't have the courage I guess. You know, girls were supposed to be virgins to marry, in theory. And well, I wasn't going to marry anyone because I was too busy working. And when I got into the army, the vast majority of the guys I knew started looking at me with contempt and indignation, and then came the serum I just...didn't know how to handle the attention."

Wanda spun the stool she was sitting on toward you, listening closely to your words. 

You sighed shyly. "I mean I had opportunities, but I just didn't feel comfortable following them. I wanted... to be with someone who liked me. Not the super serum, you know? Most people were only talking to me because of it. They hoped to gain some kind of benefit from meeting the American Soldier. I don't know, maybe it's just me trying not to sound so... cowardly."

Wanda stood up with a sigh, and you swallowed dryly, keeping your gaze on the ceiling until her face appear in your field of vision.

"Detka, you are literally the bravest person I know." Reminded the witch, bringing a small smile to you. "And there's nothing wrong with not being ready, or waiting for the right person. Sex is intimate, it makes sense that you want it to happen with someone you like and who likes you back."

"Thank you for being understanding." You muttered, swallowing dryly when instead of returning to her previous activities, Wanda sat down on the bed next to you. With a sigh and shifting your gaze to the ceiling again, you ventured, "Have you?"

Wanda's teasing giggle brought a deep color to your face. "Have I what?"

Snorting, you retorted, "Come on, you're the one who brought this up."

Wanda pinched you gently on the belly, smiling at your complaint. “A few times, actually.'"

It made no sense at all to feel jealous of a time you didn't even know her, and that you were somehow in the past, but still, a bitter burn filled your stomach. Wanda, the telepath that she was, seemed to know exactly what you were thinking, and without caring whether it would make your heart stop or not, approached you to use your torso as her personal pillow. With two legs on which side of your hips, she stared down at you.

"But it was nothing outstanding." She began, using her fingertips to wander all the exposed skin of your neck and shoulders through your pajamas and having the best time in the world in watching every single hair of you shiver. "I kept making the same mistake in settling down for mediocre sex. No real feelings, no passion, much less love. Always end up frustrated and having to finish the job alone."

You frowned in confusion. "Alone...?" But it only took one look from Wanda for you to understand what she meant and choke, your face pink again. The younger girl giggled, leaning her elbow on you to rest her chin on her own hand and take a closer look. 

"Eyes on me, baby." She asked, hoping you would overcome your own shyness to do so. When you follow her request, Wanda was ready to risk everything. "You know I love you, don't you?"

You sighed, nodding. "I love you too, Wanda." Your confession was huskier than hers, and she had to ignore the sincerity of what that really meant in order to stay focused on that afternoon's goal. "Kind of the essential thing on the best friend package, isn't it?"

Wanda chuckled, rolling her eyes. 

Of course, you would make a joke to lessen the intensity of the moment, if she was nervous in all her confident glory, she could have sympathy for you, who was literally having to deal with your long-time crush practicing lying over you.

"Friends help each other, don't they? Especially best friends." She retorted, and you frowned in confusion.

"Yeah, I guess… why, did something happen?" Before your confusion could turn to worry entirely and you could finish the movement of getting up, Wanda pressed her hands on your shoulders and pushed you back on the mattress.  "Hey." You chuckled puzzledly, but the laughter died into an affected sigh when Wanda simply shifted in your lap completely, in a very non-platonic way.  "Right, whatever makes you comfortable." You mutter, very aware of the heat radiating from the girl's body on top of you, who just chuckled mischievously at your shyness.

"Relax, dorogoya." Wanda reasserted in a low, dangerously seductive voice. Her hands were on your shoulders still, rubbing your loose pajamas and somehow pushing them down to the limits, exposing as much skin as Wanda could manage. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to...but I also need you to tell me exactly what you wanna do and how ready for me you are."

Your throat went dry, and Wanda's dilated pupils were not helping the words to form. She bit her lip, seeming to have the best time with your clumsiness.

"I-I... god, Wanda..." You gasped and she leaned in completely until her breath was hitting your cheek.

"How about a kiss? Don't tell me you never got one?" She mocked and you had to chuckle dryly.

"You can be quite an ass, Maximoff." You murmured with your eyes closed, risking moving your hands to her thighs around your hips, the action making you both hold your breaths for a second. "I've kissed before."

"Hmm, I see." She hits back, deviating from the original path and letting her mouth tease your jaw, feeling your hands squeeze her thighs gently with every kiss across your skin. What Wanda wouldn't do to see you lose control...

"I like kissing." You confess hoarsely, mostly because she’s making you so nervous that the words are simply spilling. You kept your eyes closed and your neck stretched to give her more room to don’t stop. Aware of your words, Wanda hums again as she keeps depositing chaste kisses on your collarbone. "I like...kissing girls."

It should be a heartfelt confession, one that Wanda theoretically knew about but that you've never put into words before. But suddenly, Wanda bit down on you, hard enough for you to grunt in pain, opening your eyes. She grabs your cheeks with one hand, a hot fury in her eyes that makes you shudder.

"Rule number one, don't talk about other girls when you have one on top of you."

You open your mouth like a fish, babbling nonsense for enough time for Wanda to make a motion of leaving. But that makes you react. "I didn't mean to upset you!" You try quickly, hands moving on an instinct to hold her by the waist on top of you. Wanda has to bite her lips hard to keep from letting out a much more submissive sound than she would like when you just squeeze her firmly to keep her there. "Wanda, please forgive me! I-you caught me off guard, alright? I’m nervous… We’re friends and suddenly… you’re so close and I’m talking nonsense! Please, just… tell me what you want to hear.”

She huffs impatiently, crossing her arms and turning her face away as you sigh in defeat. Wanda wants to be annoyed, but you're so lovely when you lean your face into her, trying to ease her anger with chaste kisses on her cheeks and neck until you manage to get from her a stubborn smile. She has no choice but to uncross her arms to slide her hands up your shoulders, wrapping herself around your body again. 

She feels you smile and relax completely, the kisses getting firmer on her neck until they tickle and elicit a husky giggle from her. Still, Wanda settles a hand in your hair, and the slight tug to bring your faces close together again draws a deep sigh from you.

"I don't want to hear about other girls, detka. This is your last warning." She says seriously with eyes glowing red for a moment. Wanda had hoped to have a direct effect, but to her surprise, a teasing smirk began to form on your lips.

"Wow, you're totally jealous." You accused and she grimaced, trying to pull away once more. But that only made you burst out into a teasing giggle, while your strong arms wrapped around her torso, bringing her back to you effortlessly while keeping her locked into you. Wanda was clearly aware of how shaky her legs were with the motion, and trying to walk away again would only result in her falling to the ground. "Wanda, darling, the girls I kissed must be a hundred years old by now."

Reluctantly and with a rosy tinge in her cheeks, she mutters, "Honestly, I was hoping to be your first."  Her confession makes you rise your eyebrows in surprise, only to smile fondly next. Your hands moved again, caressing her back in an attempt to relax her as well. 

"Hey, look at me." You call out gently, waiting for the girl's stubbornness to subside with the help of your caresses. Wanda has a stronger color on her face when she finally raises her eyes to you again. "I didn't imagine this was anything of relevance to you. But I haven't lied before, I've never been with someone intimately. If you still want to, you can be my first... everything else."

She twitches her nose softly. "You’re making it sound like it’s a favor for me. I only want to... if you do too." She retorts with a certain determination in her gaze, and though you feel your cheeks burn with the ultimatum, you nod foolishly before breaking the distance.

It catches Wanda by surprise, the sudden kiss, and you're despairing when she doesn't respond immediately, pulling away at the same speed you approached. "Sorry." You say mortified and breathless, your lips tingling. "I like you, Wan. I really do. I just thought you should know before..."

She places a finger over yours, shushing your nervous anticipation. Her free hand goes to your cheek and Wanda pulls you close again, her eyes darkening in a way that makes you shiver entirely.

"Like I said before, just relax, baby. Stop overthinking." She whispers before she firms her mouth over yours. It's a sensual, intense kiss unlike any you've ever received. Wanda seems determined to drive you to complete insanity. She kisses you unhurried, waiting for permission to slide her tongue into yours, and giving you no room to breathe properly, head spinning with those new yet so familiar needy feelings. She kisses and kisses you until you're restless beneath her, your body burning and your hands curious testing limits that she doesn’t impose, only encourages you to break. Her taste and smell intoxicate your every sense, the feel of her body molded to yours, teasing your reactions and almost making you lose control of your strength. The tight squeeze you give her when she sucks your tongue earns a whimper from her that sticks and echoes in your mind, making you dizzy with lust. When she finally breaks the kiss to breathe, her lips are swollen like yours, and her pupils are so dilated that there is no green left in them. Your face burns for the matching fire you find in her gaze.

You are unable to find any words to describe this moment, so you only stare at her, blushing over the smirk that starts to form on her lips once she catches the adoring look you’re giving her.

Licking your lips to try to gain some focus, you dare to ask: “Was it…good?” You would have added “Did you like” or “Was I enough” if Wanda didn't break into a giggle that shut you entirely, your cheeks burning. Before the shame could surface, she grabbed your cheeks again. “You’re too cute, darling.” She says, kissing you again more quickly than before. Her hands move to yours then, intertwining your fingers together to drag them on her thighs, down, and then back up, this time under her skirt. Your heart stopped, and Wanda turned her dark eyes back to yours, her voice so low you wouldn't have heard it if you weren't so close. “Don’t be shy, see for yourself how much I like kissing you.” She whispers darkly.

When she kisses you again, her hands guide you under her skirt until you're in her front. The mere contact of your fingers with the wet spot on her panties makes you groan and break the kiss, needing a moment to just take a breath and calm your nerves. Wanda doesn't wait long, releasing your hands to move hers to your shoulders, needing firm support now that you're so close to where she needs it so badly. She gasps in surprise when your hand gives a quick tug that rips her panties off at once, a wave of new wetness running down her thighs in the same second.

You don't say anything about it, just turns your face to kiss her again, the same way she did before, and somehow even dirtier and more sexual, drawing gasps with every flick of your tongue against hers.

Because Wanda's your best friend, she wants to taunt you - tease you about being better at this than you let on, but all the words fall away at once when your fingers fill her in one go. All Wanda can do is moan, choking on the kiss as she feels you slide into her with such ease. 

"Fuck, detka." She moans with her eyes tightly closed, just as she pulls away to breathe. Your response is to just continue your movements, in and out of her without haste, feeling every mention of her warm walls squeezing your fingers. Wanda is burning on top of you and the sound of her drenched pleasure echoes low. You hum contentedly, nipping at her neck as she can no longer match the kiss, so close to her own climax. Your hand adjusts, increasing its reach, and when your thumb gives her clit the attention it needs, Wanda lets out an affected squeal. "W-wanna cum, baby. Please!"

You bite back a smile, surprised and impressed by the question hidden in the statement. You adjust to face her and wait for Wanda to feel the change to look at you too. The dark, lust-filled pupils leave you breathless.

"You can cum, sweetheart, you don't even have to ask." You assure her softly, never stopping your movements inside her. "I'm here to please you." You whisper, and it's enough for Wanda to break into an affected moan, hips thrusting helplessly against your hand until she arches her back and lets out the longest, dirtiest moan you've ever heard. 

Her eyes flutter shut as she rides her high on your soaked hand, until she finally opens scarlet pupils for you, a long groan leaving her lips as the last sensations of the best orgasm she ever had fade away.

Wanda turns her full attention to you in the next second, stealing quick but intense kisses until a husky giggle leaves her lips and tickles yours.

"You're too good at this for your own good." She prompts, and the compliment takes a heartfelt giggle from you. You try to relax under her gaze but Wanda's dilated eyes have a different twinkle as she holds your cheeks more firmly. "I think I want to keep you all to myself. Without sharing with anybody else. What do you say, baby?"

You swallow dry, suddenly quite vulnerable "H-hm, like... dating?" You retort in a weak tone of voice because you need to confirm and well the idea that someone as unbelievably awesome as Wanda Maximoff is actually asking for exclusivity with you seems too freaking surreal not to confirm. As many times as necessary.

Wanda giggles mischievously, settling herself on top of your fingers that never left her and sighing as she feels you even deeper than before. "Yeah, just like that." She moans, and you're not sure if she's answering your question or guiding you through the motions, but you get the impression that the answer goes both ways. 

It's not like you will contradict your new girlfriend any further.

Before Wanda could indulge in the sensation again, however, she stopped you with a gentle grip on your wrist. Raising curious eyes to the breathless flushed girl on top of you, your first reaction was to check if you had done something wrong, and by god, hurt her. But Wanda bit back a smile, her other hand going down to your belt.

"We're overdressed, honey." She whispered against your lips, red sparkles playing with the edge of your shirts, teasing them upward. " Strip."

Moaning low against her mouth, Wanda almost didn't let you pull away. In record time, your clothes were off and so were hers, between stolen panting kisses you fell to the mattress again, curious hands urging together.

Wanda pinned you beneath her with no effort despite your super strength, and feeling her naked against your skin drove you to the brink of insanity. She swallowed each moan with her mouth, appreciating the increasingly needy sounds as she fit against your hips, and began to move hers.

Soon, the friction became unbearably arousing and you had to clutch at the sheet, and the headboard. A hot, tight knot at the tip of your stomach left you breathless, every movement of Wanda's hips into yours, the perfect fit between your cunts was enough to make you choke. 

You practically meowed when she got the rhythm right. "O-oh god Wanda! T-there's something... fuck, I can't-"

"I know baby, just let go for me." She panted, her hands clenching the sheet on either side of your head, her hips frantic against yours. "Fuck, you feel amazing" She moans a confession, smiling satisfied at your expression of pure bliss beneath her.

Suddenly the knot bursts, and you're blinded by the pleasure of your first orgasm for a full moment. The headboard snaps in your left hand and Wanda cums in a loud, animalistic moan, spilling herself down on you before collapsing heavily onto your torso, your panting breaths mingling like your juices.

You try to recover together from the intensity of the climax, your hand finding her back on instinct to stroke her as Wanda nestles closer against you, an exhausted, satisfied smile on her lips.

She barely had a chance to lift her face to kiss you when the bedroom door suddenly opened.

"Kid, is everything all right in here I heard something breaking-'" 

You nearly knocked Wanda off the bed in an attempt to cover the two of you with the comforter - and the mattress lost a few springs in the process.

The two Avengers who'd entered the room covered their faces with their hands, but unlike your brother, Natasha was holding back her laughter.

"I'm sorry. We... I... you-"

"Come on Captain, we're leaving." Natasha cut Steve off with a pat on the shoulder, leading the way backward. "Sorry girls, lock the door next time. And well, use protection!" She burst out laughing, ignoring the embarrassed grumbles from you and Wanda, and closing the door.

With the safety of a locked door, you hid your face in your pillow.

"Great, the best day of my life might be ruined because my brother is going to have a stroke."  You grumbled, getting a hearty laugh from the other.

Wanda adjusted herself, stroking your hair until you looked at her again. "Best day of your life, huh? I'm flattered." She teases, smiling at the red that appears on your cheeks.

"As if you weren't cocky enough." You retort in the same tone, adjusting to hold her by the waist and pull her to you, getting on top now. Wanda sighs softly, even warmer with the addition of the blanket now, she finds it kind of hard to concentrate, much more talk. "Thank you, Wands."

Your line surprises her. "For what?"

"For being my first time." You clarify with a shrug, though your gaze was intense. "I've always wanted it to be with someone special, someone I like and trust. And there's no one I love more than you."

Wanda kisses you because she doesn't want to be the type to cry during sex, and she's pretty sure she would. You don't mind, she transmits the feeling through action and well, there are other things you're dying to do other than talk.

There will be time for confessions later.

[abbyshands]

for you

🇵🇸 LINKS | before engaging !!! | m. list | join my tag list!

♡ synopsis; making a home out of catalina island for years on end had been wonderful, but for most of it, you had been derived of the last piece of the puzzle: abigail anderson. you were a skilled medic, so when abby had showed up, you had cared for her, and nursed her back to the girl she was, helping her to heal, and to find home the same way you had. now, it’s abby’s chance to return the favor.

♡ pairing; abby anderson x fem!reader

♡ warnings; lot of game references, some of which include infected, the WLF, plot of the first and second game, loss, violence, etc, general angst (ish) in the beginning, but fluffy at the end, i promise, reader loses her dad in the backstory, and there’s a heavily established backstory for the reader, abby uses nicknames (my love, babe, gorgeous), reader calls abby baby, just general angst n’ fluff tbh!

♡ a/n; sooo this idea has been sitting in my notes app for the longest time, and to be honest, i’m not sure how i feel about the finished product! i don’t think it’s my best work? i don’t know. i like the idea but i’m unsure about the way i executed it. maybe i’ll revisit it at some point, but this is what i’ve got for now ♡

♡ wc; 4.5k

divider creds !

YOUR LIPS, MY LIPS. APOCALYPSE.

If someone had told you four years prior that this is where you would be today, you would’ve checked them for a bite mark.

Because they would have been losing their mind.

2034, and all the years beforehand, were years unforgettable. The person you were couldn’t imagine a life that wasn’t the one you had. Infected roamed, and danger lurked. But love prevailed.

And you were lucky to be a part of it.

You were born in Boston, Massachusetts in the 2010’s at an unlucky hour. To an unlucky life. You had lost your mom before you could say your own name, and the only biological family you had ever gotten to know in your life was your dad, who was the reason you were where you were today in the first place.

When you were young, your dad joined a group once asked to by the leader of it, a woman named Marlene. Since then, and for as long as you could remember, this group has been your place to call home.

They called themselves the Fireflies for the very bug they took the name from: Their goal was to spread luminescence in a world full of darkness. Your dad, who was an incredibly skilled medic, was roped into it when you were younger, for that very reason. And because of the group’s dire need for medics at the time, their leader, Marlene, who was an old friend of your dad’s, asked him to join, all but begged him to, really.

Your dad wasn’t one to deny anyone in need. It was in his nature, and it was why he was such a great medic. So, of course, he agreed.

But only if there would be a place for you, too.

Your dad raised you up as a member of the Fireflies, and then later as a medic, and it was because of him that you were who you were: A resilient individual, a survivor, and yet, a person who embodied compassion, just as he did.

The years went by hazily, the older you got, anyway. You became just as immersed into your work as your dad did, bettering your medical knowledge on a daily basis, be it by old books, rusted cassettes, or your dad himself. But all the while, you managed to balance work, love, and family, and, in a world like this one, that was a lot more than most people could say.

For obvious reasons, you couldn’t remember the 2010’s. Then came the 2020’s, which sped by your eyes. But the 2030’s as a general consensus were years ingrained into your brain. Full of friendship, family, and love? At times. But they also encompassed chaos, despair, and pressure, and changed your life forever.

And forever was a long time.

In the year 2033, all that you believed was true about the world as you knew it, crumbled to the ground. In a land following an apocalypse, it wasn’t uncommon to feel as if there was no way out, as if the life you lived had hit a place of no return.

Now, if only there was a way to fix it. A cure, right?

It was late one evening while you were working on somebody in the Fireflies’ medical center, that Marlene came into the room, expression serious, and voice showing for it. Once you had the person you had been caring for under control, you followed Marlene out of the center, and into a room of a pair of people, one familiar, and one not.

Your dad, and a man who would later become a crucial figure in this tale: Surgical expert, Doctor Jerry Anderson.

You didn’t understand what Marlene, your dad, and Mr. Anderson, as you used to call him, were getting at when you were first pulled into that room. All that they were explaining to you was blurring inside of your head.

Because it was unlike anything you had heard before.

Your ears were told a tale that you had heard on numerous occasions. A girl who was only a few years younger than you, was bitten. You weren’t sure how. But it didn’t really matter, did it? Everyone who was bitten turned into an animal in a matter of days. It didn’t matter how she had gotten the bite mark. It didn’t even matter where on her body the mark was. All you knew was that in a few days, this girl that was being described to you, would no longer be human. That she would no longer have control over her body, and she would no longer know right from wrong, up from down, man from woman. All she would know, was kill. Kill. Kill.

Unless she was one in a million.

Ellie Williams was hardly a human in your mind when you originally heard, but a God given chance, to fix the world as you knew it. You never believed you would live to see the day where a bite mark was a good thing, and yet, it was here, gazing you in the eyes.

Immunity. She was immune. The auburn haired girl had been bitten three weeks prior to the date you heard about this, and zilch. As Marlene had explained to you, it was like the mark was healing, not worsening. 

And in a desolate world, where danger lurked every corner, where sorrow was normalized, and where loss was ceaseless, you were desperate. The Fireflies were desperate. Hope like this didn’t come on a daily basis, now, did it?

You jumped on the prospect as soon as you became conscious of it. All of you did.

Graciously unaware that it would blow up in your face.

In the earlier days of 2034, Ellie was smuggled to a Firefly base in Salt Lake City, a medical center, where your dad, Mr. Anderson, and several Fireflies were residing. As head medic by this point, you decided to remain in Boston caring for the members of your group back home, especially in the absence of your dad and Mr. Anderson.

It’s your life’s biggest regret.

Marlene had asked that you come to the Salt Lake City medical center as soon as you could, and to employ someone else to take over for a bit. Mr. Anderson was a good doctor, but he had decided that to perform proper surgery on Ellie, he would need a few more hands. You were honored that it was you he had chosen. To you, it was on the same level as getting an award. And so, alongside Marlene, and a few more members of the group, you made your way to Salt Lake City, your hopes in your hands, and dreams in your heart.

There was a point during the journey, however, where you ran into some trouble. Infected. And naturally, you were not just a medic: You knew how to survive in a world like this, and you knew how to hold your ground.

Splitting up wasn’t usually recommended when it came to any scenario, and for good reasons. However, it was your only choice. You and everyone beside you aside from Marlene, split up to make sure that she was the first one to make it to the medical center. You remember the last thing you said to her like a movie on loop in your head. See you soon.

And it plagues your brain like the virus that grips your world.

See you soon. You wish you had never said it. You wish you had never split up.

You wish it hadn’t happened.

You did see Marlene. But she was no longer alive when it happened. Fear grasped your bones as your body paralyzed, eyes glued to Marlene’s bloody corpse on the second floor of the medical center’s parking garage.

Tears filled your eyes, slipping down your cheeks. And then, you remembered.

Dad.

You took off running, brain not even processing that you could be putting yourself in danger by doing so. Whoever had done this to Marlene couldn’t be faraway from the building for all you knew. Hell, they could even be in it. But you didn’t care.

You booked it to the highest floor, where your dad and Mr. Anderson were supposed to be, heart racing, begging and bargaining to the universe, or whatever God there was, or somebody, to ensure that they were okay. That they were just fine.

There are some days where you wish you hadn’t opened that door.

The pair of them, alongside a third medic in the room, were found by you in a shape similar to Marlene. Naturally, you ran to dad first, small, shaky hands reaching out to flip over his face down body.

But you were too late.

Your mind goes blurry whenever it goes back to recall the memory. You don’t remember much: Tears, nausea, shaking, panic. You remember screaming, loudly, at that.

And you remember passing out, before being pulled out of the room.

The second that Jerry Anderson was announced dead, all hell broke loose, and you knew, you knew, it was over. The chance that had been driving you and your family of Fireflies for the last year, was gone, and it wasn’t coming back. Unless a brand new surgeon was going to generously drop from the sky, you were hopeless. 

And it wasn’t even just that.

Because the universe had taken from you the one person you held closest to your heart. To your soul.

Dad.

You had a chance. You all did. 

And, then, it was robbed away from you.

You and your dying group made your way back to Boston knowing just that: That you were collapsing. The days passed by in blurs, each one gloomier than the last. You just weren’t sure what to do anymore. All hope for a cure was gone. All hope for yourself was gone.

In 2036, the Fireflies were disbanded by what little members of it were around to do so, and that was it. It was over. 

Your home was paradise, and paradise was gone.

You didn’t know what to do. Most of the family you had found here in the Fireflies was leaving, searching for a life away from the one you all had known for years. You didn’t know if you wanted to do the same. Part of you wanted to follow suit and leave Boston. Renew who you were. Adapt, and move on. But Boston had always been home, and by leaving it, you were leaving a part of you behind.

But you didn’t have a choice.

It was an early morning in 2036 when you began to pack your bags, readying to go. Where? It didn’t matter. All you knew was that home or not, Boston carried way too many painful memories, way more than you could bear. Marlene was dead. Mr. Anderson was dead. Dad was gone.

You didn’t see what else Boston had to give, that it hadn’t already taken away.

But just, just, when you were about to say your goodbyes, the universe, who had screwed you over in the past, clearly had different plans.

A few members had heard word, from previous members who had left the Fireflies before you, that on the west coast of the country, there was a chance: A chance to find home again, in a place named Catalina Island, a gorgeous land in California.

Risks had failed you before, and so had second chances. But, for once, you wanted to give in. You had to.

So you did.

That’s not to say that the second you got to Catalina Island, finding home once again in your fellow Fireflies, who were just as shattered as you were, that your tale was over. God, it was really, really far from it.

Because there was one more piece to the puzzle.

Abigail Anderson.

Anderson. The last name rang a bell once it escaped her lips. A blonde woman, body bruised, bloodied, and covered from the arms down in oozing gashes. Her hair was short and poorly cut, and from the way her bones were pushing into her skin, you could tell that she was severely malnourished.

Alongside her was a boy, obviously younger than her. Tousled black hair, bruises wherever you looked, and fully unconscious. In your time at Catalina Island, and as a Firefly in Boston, for that matter, you had never seen any pair of people in worse shape.

Not unless they were dead.

You remained head medic once you arrived in Catalina Island, naturally, and you had been managing that way for the last four years. So, when this woman showed up, this young boy by her side, like this, it was you who took control. It was you who nursed them, and it was you who made their scars, in a physical and mental sense, not disappear, but easier to handle. To bear.

By looking at them, by looking at her, it was like a mirror. You saw you.

Which is why you saw her.

Now, if someone had told you four years prior that this is where you would be today, losing your dad, losing Marlene, and losing Mr. Anderson, but falling for his child, you would’ve looked for a bite mark. But now, come the year 2040, where you had made a new life, one that Abigail Anderson was a prevalent part of, happiness no longer seemed impossible.

Because it wasn’t far away anymore, slipping from your fingers, the way it had on numerous occasions. 

It was in your hands.

And you were in Abby’s.

Your eyes were being covered by Abby’s large hands as she led you to a place unknown. You had to assume it was one of the several beaches on the island, sand under your feet, sounds of waves in your ears. A smile had been plastered across your face for what seemed like hours, as Abby dragged you along.

“Come on, Abby. Are you going to tell me what this is about or what?” you asked her for the second time in the last minute. You could hear her low chuckle from behind you, and the way it always happens, comfort surges into your veins.

You had learned from Abby, once you bonded over the mutual loss of your dad and hers at the same man, that once Mr. Anderson had been killed, her and her friends, a few former members of the Fireflies, joined a group named the WLF. You had hence learned that during her time there, she was commonly known as a rugged, scary person, who a lot of people in the WLF didn’t dare insult, nor disobey.

And you couldn’t lie: It was hard to believe that for a second.

You had learned from Abby, also, that her resolve began to slip when she met the young boy who she had made it to Catalina Island alongside, who you had also taken care of: Lev. To put it simply, Lev was a member of a different group, that the WLF was never supposed to come across.

Not unless it was in war.

But he changed her. He did. Some days, you could see how guarded Abby was, how she couldn’t help going back to all she used to know, which was being all but barbaric when she was in Seattle. Closed off, wary. But most days, like today? You knew in your heart, that deep down in hers, Abby Anderson was good. Not innocent, but good.

And that was enough for you.

“Just come on!” Abby chuckled as she walked, not letting up her hold on your eyes for a second as she led you along.

You smiled, shaking your head in mock disapproval. “I have work to do back at the center, and we’re not supposed to be roaming around like this. You know that, right?”

“Babe,” Abby responded in an almost firm tone of voice as her feet quit moving, forcing you to root your body to the spot. It was silent, before she pressed a series of sweet, sloppy kisses to your neck and cheeks, managing to keep her hand over your eyes all the while. She had you crumbling just like that, making you a giggling mess as her lips met your skin.

Her kisses subsided once a million of them seeped into you, and it wasn’t the island heat that had your face warm when Abby was done. “Can you just trust me, please?” she laughed, and you didn’t need your vision to know she was giving you that puppy dog look that had you falling to your knees every time. The one that you couldn’t resist if you gave it your all.

You were too easy. “Yes.”

It wasn’t long before you and Abby reached where she wanted to bring you, and once you did, she paused. She was perched behind you now, large hands over your face, the solacing sound of her sighs coming into your ears. “Okay. Are you ready, my love?”

There wouldn't ever be a day where Abby calling you that wouldn’t make your heart pound in your chest.

“More than,” you easily respond.

As soon as you said it, Abby returned your vision to you, and your eyes can’t help but widen at what you see before you.

Because you never pegged “rugged” Abby Anderson as one for picnics.

“Oh, my God, Abby,” you said more to yourself than the blonde as you slowly approached the scene. Laid out on the sand of the beach was a picnic blanket, a folded blanket, a few pillows, a basket, a few books, and playing cards.

Accompanied by a perfect view of the beach.

“Do you not like it?” Abby asked, and there’s an air of sadness to the way she says it. You turn to look at her on cue, your face one of complete, utter disbelief.

Like it?

“Like it? Baby, I love this. More than know,” you respond, meaning every word. It’s been a long time since someone has wanted to care for you. A long, long time, since you had been the receiver, not the giver.

“Abs, it’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

You can see Abby blushing as you approach her and take her face into your hands, her freckled skin burning in heat. She leans into your touch, pressing her forehead onto yours, and holding your hands in her own.

“I just,” Abby sighed, opening her eyes once more to meet yours, solemn expression across her cheeks. “I just don’t feel like I cherish you enough, babe, show it, that is. Because believe me, I do cherish you. S’just, it’s been hard for me to show you how much. All that you did for me and Lev when we got to the island. Taking care of us. Helping us find a home here. I’ll spend the rest of my life saying thank you for it.”

You can feel your soul healing the more Abby speaks.

“I know this isn’t nearly enough to make up for what you did for us, and I wish it was. But I just figured, maybe. . .it could suffice for now.”

“Abby, baby,” you let a small laugh escape your lips as you say it. “You don’t have to make it up to me. At all. I did what I did, because I saw someone in you. I remember asking for your name, and you responded by asking me where Lev was. You didn’t even care what shape you were in. All you wanted to know was if he was okay. You reminded me of me.”

“You reminded me of dad.”

You couldn’t help but sigh, letting silence seep into the air around you as your brain battled to process what you had just said. You didn’t speak on your dad as much as you likely should: Abby knew that, and so did you. Talking about him made your chest compress, and your throat would fail you, making it feel as if you were choking. As if you were helpless. As if you were there all over again. But Abby knew as well as you did, that when your dad came into discussion, it was for a certain reason. 

And for that reason, Abby didn’t speak: She hung fire. For you. For you.

“We live in a world where people combat their own morals just to survive. There’s no good guys. No principles, no rules, no laws. Anyone you come across is just as bad as you, and if not, they’re worse. But when I saw you? I knew. I knew that wasn’t you. Not anymore.”

You know you’re rambling by now, saying whatever comes to mind as soon as it does, but you can’t find it in you to care as you go on. “You want to believe I don’t know how much you care for me. But you don’t need to show it, Abby. I know you do. Right here.”

You take one of Abby’s large hands into yours, and as cliché as it is, not that you care at all, you place it over your heart.

“You feel that, don’t you? That’s all for you, baby. And it’s there that I feel how much you care about me. It’s there that I know.”

The same silence that was here before comes back. But this time, it’s not sad, or dark, or eerie. It’s solacing. It’s warm. It’s home.

And Abby doesn’t need words in order to respond.

It’s her turn to take your face into her hands as she pulls you in close. Her lips meet yours like they have so many times before, her familiar scent hitting your nose as you settle your hands onto her hips. The kiss is slow, and sweet, but passionate, and a burning desire surges inside you to never let her go, to always hold her close. To always call her yours.

You pull back from the kiss once you tire from it, gasping, Abby’s body mimicking yours as she does the same. You gaze into her eyes, the pretty blue ones that always make your heart swell, smiling up at her as you press one last kiss to her lips for good measure. “I adore you, Abby Anderson. You know that, right?” you grin.

It’s the first time you ever hear her giggle. “Me more than you, gorgeous.”

You spend hours there alongside Abby, and it’s the best time of your life. You spend time indulging in a few snacks the blonde packed for you, playing cards, and running around and playing in the sand, smiling all the way. You even get to hear Abby read to you, one of the most endearing things in the world, accompanied by the calming sound of the ocean before you. And when it came time for sunset, you sat down beside Abby, gazing on as amber, ochre, and rose faded into night.

It was perfect.

When it was nearly time for the evening to come to an end, you used the second blanket Abby had packed for your shared night to cuddle up beside her, heads rested on the pillows she had carried along as well. The side of your face was pressed into her chest as you gazed into the sky above you, Abby’s hand rubbing your back in slow circles to console you. Small suns coat the evening sky like sweet, powdered sugar, accompanied by a full moon that looks incredible over the horizon. All you could hear was the sound of the ocean, alongside Abby sighing gingerly every once in a while, or her pressing kisses to your forehead.

Not that you needed much more than that.

Suddenly, the sound of Abby chuckling in your ears snaps you out of your head, and you turn your face upwards curiously. Abby’s smile makes you smile, and it’s no surprise you began to wonder what the blonde woman found so funny all of a sudden.

“Remember how I told you Lev and I had to cross those bridges that were really high up?” Abby asked, and you had to raise an eyebrow, wondering where this was going. “Mhm,” you mumble, which is when Abby goes on.

“Well, before that, we had to get there by foot once we got out of the aquarium I told you about, the one I used to go to all of the time. That part of Seattle is overrun in rushing rapids, so a lot of the buildings around there were a lot more demolished than they usually would be anywhere else,” she explained.

“And, well. . .”

“We walked into this building, and there was a painting of these dogs playing cards. And I asked Lev if he knew our dogs could really play cards like that. Then he asked me if anyone found me funny,” Abby laughed. “It cracks me up whenever I remember it.”

She wasn’t the only one laughing. “Sounds like Lev. And like you,” you smile, and the tale makes you recall a humorous memory of your own. “Once, I was working late at the medical center back in Boston. I was doing research on this girl who had been feeling sick, but I wasn’t sure by what. Mind you, it’s late, and silent, if you don’t count me flipping the pages in my books.”

You giggle just remembering it. “It’s the weirdest thing ever, but my dad was really good at making Clicker noises. Like, really good. Sounded so real it made your heart drop. I was reading when I heard it, and I remember wondering how the hell infected had gotten inside. ‘Course I grab what was closest to me, a scalpel, and I swivel around.”

“And it’s dad.”

That one got Abby to burst out chuckling. “Oh, my God. Of all the things you could get, gorgeous. A scalpel?”

You rolled your eyes in response, playfully so. “What can I say? I’m just a medic. I didn’t carry a gun.”

Once Abby’s done laughing, which seems to take forever, she smiles down at you, pressing one more kiss to your forehead as if to make up for poking fun at you. You cuddle closer into her, letting your body relax in her embrace as a sigh escapes your lips.

You fall back into silence soon enough, eyes glued to the sky as Abby rubs her hand over your back, holding you like you would fade away if she let you go. You run your fingers through her short hair as you press kisses to her neck, jaw, and face, giving her all the love you know she deserves. Your eyes scan her features like she was molded by some higher power, and you can’t help but want to worship her, endlessly.

Not just for what she looks like. But for who she is.

“My baby. It’s like you were made for me, you know?” you whisper in Abby’s ear as your eyes pierce into her blue ones. But Abby’s head shook quickly.

You can predict what she’s going to say in response. “No, gorgeous.”

“It’s you who was made for me.”

—

reblogs are very much welcomed! <3

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[murdrdocs]

she’s driving me crazy

description. STILES STILINSKI finally gets another chance with you, and he won’t take it for granted

includes. SMUT 18+, riding, car sex, fem!reader, protective p n v, lots of making out, loser!stiles, awkward stiles, bi!stiles, exes getting back together, slightly manipulative reader, reader has easily malleable hair, reader wears makeup, drinking (but no drunk intercourse), bickering, scott guest appearance

wc. 6k+

a/n: long awaited stiles fic. bestie boo this one's for u. title from confidence by ocean alley. art credits unknown.

Stiles knows he fucked up. 

He had you, after almost a full year of tortuous pining, and he let you slip through his hands. All of it, your relationship with Stiles, really didn’t last more than two months. Two months where date nights were rain checked and eventually canceled. Sleepovers were lackluster, and nothing more than a movie playing in the back while Stiles worked over something that wouldn’t rest in his brain, leaving you alone in the center of his unmade bed. Promises were made, and never kept. It was a mess, a horrible, murky mess of Stiles’ own creation. 

He knows this. But he still allows himself to mourn what could have been. He grieves what was. All while nursing a warm beer that doesn’t sit well in his stomach, mostly because of the sight he has been doomed to acknowledge—also his own doing as he could definitely turn his gaze elsewhere. 

You’re tucked under the arm of some guy who looks nothing like Stiles, and he doesn’t know if that makes him feel better or worse. Is that your dream guy? Or are you forcing yourself to branch out and try something that wasn’t him? He tries to resist the spiral that sends him on, and is only able to start crawling out of the self-deprecating and insecurity tunnel through Scott’s voice beside him. 

“What’re you staring at?” 

Scott reeks of alcohol and fruit-flavored syrup. If he wasn’t a werewolf, Stiles knows his best friend would be unable to stand straight by now. But Scott stands like his usual self next to Stiles, a big grin on his face probably from the attention he’s been getting from Kira. (It was sickening for Stiles to watch but he forced himself to be happy for the strong relationship his best friend has.)

Stiles’ immediate instinct is to lie. “Nothing.” He says it a little too fast. He tries to cover his slip up by taking a sip of his beer, but the flavor is unappealing to the point where the face of disgust he presents makes him look more guilty than he really is. 

Scott stares at Stiles, waiting. Stiles knows he won’t lie to Scott, not about something this small anyway, and it is only a matter of a few seconds before Stiles sighs. 

“Look,” he points at you and your suitor. “Don’t you think he’s making her uncomfortable? Look at that. He’s all over her. Probably reeks of Axe body spray.”

It’s then that the guy cracks another joke, your head throwing back in laughter just before you rest your ear against his chest. It’s so affectionate. As if you’ve known this guy for years, and not just mere minutes. 

Stiles flicks his eyes over to Scott, expecting to see his best friend analyzing the situation with at least a small amount of attention that Stiles is. Instead, Scott is looking over at Stiles, wearing what Stiles can only describe as a knowing smirk on his lips. 

Stiles steps back, a little bewildered. “What?” 

Scott, annoyingly, shrugs. He sips his drink, one he has solely for taste as Stiles knows, and only responds once he’s taken a long, slow swallow. 

“She seems fine to me. I thought you guys were broken up anyway.” 

“We are!” 

“Then why do you care so much?” 

Stiles can’t help but petulantly roll his eyes. He turns to face you and your human shaped bag of bricks once again, gesturing for Scott to do the same. His mouth opens, lips parted and tongue ready to spew out the analytics he’d been gathering this entire time in lieu of an excuse. 

Then Scott interrupts. 

“Do you want me to see what’s going on?” Scott throws a finger up towards his ear, one eyebrow lifted as he waits for Stiles to gather the implications and then make a decision. 

It takes Stiles longer to complete the latter than the former. 

He waits, thinks, looks at you and the guy. And then remembers the strict ‘no listening’ rule you all have set in place, the one he most definitely won’t betray in the name of jealousy, even if you aren’t particularly aware of all of the intricacies. 

When he sighs, it’s defeated and with his entire body. He knows he’s pouting, he assumes he resembles his teenage self—mopey and brooding. He doesn’t mean to speak through gritted teeth, but he ends up doing it anyway. 

“No. She’s probably … fine. I guess.” It hurts to admit, deep in Stiles' jealousy-filled gut. Scott’s way of comforting him is by clapping a hand on his shoulder, and telling him that you’re a grown adult who is allowed to make her own decisions, the same as him. 

Scott’s intentions aren’t understood until he points at someone in the opposite direction of you. A guy who, from the looks of it, has been eyeing Stiles for a while. He’s Stiles’ type. Exactly his type, actually, and Scott knows this. 

“Instead of sulking around …” Scott doesn’t need to finish his sentence in order for Stiles to understand. He only lingers for a few seconds, and then is pulled back towards the larger group by Kira’s eyes and grin. 

The guy on the other side of the bar is still watching Stiles. He’s smiling a small but confident smile, like he knows Stiles wants him as much as he wants Stiles. He tilts his head in a beckon, and Stiles is close to letting the guy pull him over there. Until he sees you step away from the man, smile dismissively up to him, and start towards Stiles instead. 

Instantly, it’s like a flip has been switched. 

He starts to feel the effects of the alcohol, even though he’d been nursing the same bottle the entire night. Still, he chooses to attribute the buzz flowing throughout his body to the overpriced beer and not excitement of finally having your attention. 

He watches your path, trying not to feel too disappointed as he takes notice of the way you’re struggling to walk in a straight line. 

You fall into his arms in a fit of giggles. Your head resting on his chest, your hands circling around his back. 

“Stiles,” you sing, long and drawn out and definitely drunk.  

He repeats your name in the same tune, placing his drink onto a tabletop next to him and abandoning it for good. Keeping you away from self destruction is his new main priority. 

You slump against him even more, turning yourself around and leaning back against his body. Your position leaves Stiles with nothing else to do other than stand stiffly. He knows that if you were sober, you wouldn’t be nearly as affectionate as you are now. He ignores the way your ass brushes against his crotch. He ignores the smell of your perfume wafting up to him, a scent he had the privilege of seeing you apply a few times before when you were dating. (The image of you getting ready for the day, lathering yourself in the oils and lotions and scents that worked to create your unique scent will never leave his brain, for better or for worse.)

He does his best to remain unaffected, but then you tilt your head up, the crown of your hair rubbing against Stiles’ shirt as you look at him. As soon as he glances down, he sees you pouting, clearly over exaggerated but it’s a look he, pathetically, will never be able to resist. 

“Why won’t you touch me?” You manage to sound pitiful, as if you had lost every single thing you hold dear to your heart in the last couple of minutes. 

In his response, he tries to remain neutral. Drunk or not, you know the game you’re playing, and Stiles foolishly believes that his knowledge of the ploy makes him insusceptible. 

“Because you’re drunk,” he platonically rests his hands on your shoulders and encourages you off of him. “And we aren’t together anymore.” 

You turn around to face him, grinning up at him like the cat with the canary as you tell him, “it didn’t stop us last time, right?”

That, and the way you almost throw yourself at some guy walking past, is enough reason for Stiles to link his hand in yours and pull you towards the others. Scott stares down at your interlinked palms for only a moment before Stiles explains his plan, which entails getting you back to your apartment before you do something you could regret. 

This isn’t an excuse for Stiles to continue hanging out with you. He makes sure he clarifies that to himself and his best friend before he’s pulling you out of the bar and towards his Jeep.

You’re both less than ten steps away from the entrance to the bar when you suddenly have your lips pressed to Stiles’. 

There is a moment where Stiles fails to resist. Where he reciprocates quicker than his brain can realize, acting on pure instinct and muscle memory instead of logic. He is unable to stop himself from getting comfortable, from linking this kiss to the last one he’d received from you. Hotter and messier than this one. (Lost in his appreciation to finally be kissing you again, Stiles fails to notice how you don’t taste like alcohol at all)

Only a few more seconds pass before Stiles reminds himself that you’re drunk, and that this is wrong. When he pulls away from your lips—regretfully, that is—he’s tempted into staying by the slight stickiness of your lipgloss and the almost-disgusting string of saliva that briefly keeps you two sewn together. 

You try to lean back in, but Stiles stops you with his hands on your shoulders. 

“You’re drunk,” he reminds you. 

You’re fixing him with a look, one that feels strong and weirdly sober. His suspicions have more proof to back them up when you say his name with the same matter-of-fact tone he had just used on you. 

“I’m not drunk.” 

He scrunches his eyebrows together, the muscles in his face mimicking the movement as well. His lips part as he nonverbally exclaims his confusion. He lifts one of his hands from your shoulder to hook his thumb towards the bar entrance. He looks around, for nothing or no one in particular, but as if the night will have an explanation that you would surely be willing to provide if he asks. 

He didn’t even need to ask before you provide an explanation. It’s cut and dry, matter-of-fact, spoken like it is the most casual thing in the world. 

“I faked being drunk so you could take me home.” 

Stiles knows what you mean. He’s not dumb. But he surely does feel it when he says, “If you didn’t feel well you could’ve just told Lydia. She would’ve taken you back to yours.” 

You roll your eyes. “If you don’t wanna sleep with me, that’s fine. Just let me know before I waste my time.” 

Stiles should stand up for himself. He should reprimand your attitude, and exclaim how unnecessary it was. Instead, he flounders and almost falls to your feet with the speed he clarifies himself. 

“No. I do wanna sleep with you. Like, really bad. But … um … well,” you lift your eyebrows and Stiles clears his throat. “How many fingers am I holding up.” 

“Jesus, fuck, Stiles.” He continues holding up his first three fingers on his right hand until you answer. “Three.” 

You lean in but Stiles takes a step back. And then another. And then another, until he’s standing against the wall of the bar and you’re standing at the edge of the sidewalk. 

“Walk in a straight line towards me.” 

You don’t seem happy about it, but you place one foot in front of the other over and over again until you’re in front of Stiles. Nothing more has to be said before Stiles places his hands on your hips, pulls you flush to him, and finally allows himself to kiss you. 

It’s been a while since Stiles had the privilege of kissing you. The last time, just a month ago, didn’t count in his mind. Sure, he remembered nearly every detail, but your shared inebriated state at the time overruled any legitimacy the encounter could have held. Now, it only acts as a reminder and motivator for Stiles to enjoy every moment of this that he can. 

Eventually, it would be smart, and preferable, to leave the outside of the bar and actually take you home where you two could be alone. But for now, Stiles presses his hands into the middle of your back as a way to pull you as close to him as possible. He has his legs spread, creating space for your limbs to stagger. Your hands rest on his shoulders, then at the back of his neck, then in his hair. Both of you are attempting to get as close to the other as possible, all while engaging in the sloppiest kiss you’ve ever had. You both kissed cleaner when you were drunk. 

Now, outside this bar with your closest friends inside, and with nothing but the night (and the bouncer) as witness, you submit to the other. There is a level of appreciation in the way your lips slide together. There is a level of gratitude in the presses of your tongues against each other. There is an exorbitant amount of longing that is solved each time you jerk your hips into Stiles and each time he reciprocates. 

You thread your hands through Stiles’ hair the same time that he slides his hands down to your ass and squeezes, pulling you as close to him as possible and rubbing his thigh against the center seam of your jeans. You both groan into each other's mouths—Stiles from the way you tug just right on his hair, and you from the feeling of his leg between yours. 

Sensing—knowing that he did something right, something good, Stiles does it again. And again. And again. The steady slide of his thigh between your legs does the job. You let your head fall, leaning the top of it against Stiles’ chest just right under his sternum. 

The sound of you moaning Stiles’ name goes straight to his dick, with a few remnants traveling to his head, leaving him dizzy and with a steady growing semi. His actions make you grip his hair stronger. His actions indirectly cause pleasure for him, too. 

It all disappears when the sound of spitting—loud and boisterous, almost cartoonish—breaks up the moment. Stiles stops his movements. He lays his hands flat on the back pockets of your jeans as he turns his head to the side. 

The eyes of the bouncer meet Stiles and Stiles’ ears burn. 

While the bouncer doesn’t say anything to him, Stiles knows the message he’s trying to communicate. 

Get the fuck out of here. 

Stiles is forced to push you back by hooking his fingers in your belt loops. He’s still touching you, at least an extension of you, but then your hands drop to your sides and Stiles can feel his body crying out for you. The same way his body calls out for vital needs—food, water, sleep, entertainment. He squashes his emotions for a second, plasters on a—truthfully sympathetic—face, one that comes off more as a tight lipped smile than anything else. 

“Sorry, man. You — uh. You have a goodnight.” He throws a hand up to the bouncer, hoping it is received as friendly. When the bouncer returns the gesture, still with that same look in his eyes, Stiles heads down the street and pulls you with him. 

The walk to the car is tortuous. His boner keeps rubbing against his jeans, leaving him to stop every few paces, face away from the street, and try to adjust himself. After the third time, you were voicing your frustration, claiming that it was taking forever to reach the car because of Stiles’ worry about who could see his erection. He tries things your way, ignoring the way his dick calls for his attention and instead focusing all of his attention on you. 

The way your hips sway in your tight jeans. The way the wind blows your perfume to him and lifts the edge of your shirt in one, giving Stiles a peek of your skin. It’s such a small look, nothing more than a glimpse, and Stiles feels like a Victorian man the way he’s having to bite his fist at the next crosswalk to avoid groaning. The street lights illuminate your face in just the right ways, highlighting your makeup in an unnaturally ethereal way. Everything about you is driving Stiles crazy. There’s no way he’s going to make it to your house. If he doesn’t get to his car soon, he might pull you into the next bar bathroom that he could find just for a semblance of privacy. 

If he could just get to his Jeep. 

It’s then that Stiles realizes he’s been walking for far too long. He stops in the center of the sidewalk. You stop right beside him. 

Stiles doesn’t say anything as he turns around and leads you three blocks down the street, one street over, and then into the parking garage elevator. 

The way you’re grinning at him alerts Stiles of the words soon to come out of your mouth, definitely words that would be at his expense. He stops you while you’re ahead. 

It’s nice to have the position switched. Your back against the wall instead of his. His hands are still on your hips, but he uses them to push you into the metal instead of pulling you into him. You have that part covered, your arms once more thrown over his shoulders, pressed into the back of his neck and head, drawing him in until the pressure of his lips against yours is a little painful. 

In the rush neither of you have pushed the button, leaving the elevator stagnant on the ground floor. Stiles notices at the same time that you scratch his scalp. He moans, he really can’t help it. His mouth opens as you purse your lips again, and he feels a little bad but you aren’t deterred. In fact, you do it again, your nails scratching in just the right spot and Stiles feels like an animal the way he shudders and keens. 

He’s more human when he admits, “Missed this.” He presses his lips to yours again, pulling back with a smack. “Missed you.” 

Your lips slide against his with what Stiles can only describe as desperation. Pure, unadulterated desperation and desire. You’re breathing a little heavy, deep exhales through your nose and inhales in the in between moments, and it doesn’t turn Stiles off at all. He wants more of you. He takes more of you. 

He doesn’t know how long you two are in there, but it is eventually you who pulls back first, your lips visibly swollen and lacking any of the makeup that was previously on it. 

“Has the elevator been moving at all?” You could check for yourself. Just one look over Stiles’ shoulder and you could see that the small screen still displayed a digital ‘1’. Yet, you’re looking up at him instead. Like Stiles is the most important thing in the elevator. Like he’s the most important thing in the world to you. (Maybe it’s Stiles’ delusion talking, but he chooses to believe it either way)

Still, Stiles looks over his shoulder, confirms that he hadn’t hit the button at all, and leans back to correct his mistakes. 

The elevator beeps twice, bringing you both to the third floor, and as much as Stiles’ wants to continue standing there and just admire you, he can hear the door daring to slide close. Again, he pulls you out behind him. 

As soon as he turns the corner, Stiles is immediately made aware of the lack of other cars on the level. It’s a little eerie, and if he wasn’t about to get his dick wet he would possibly be on the lookout for potential threats that could turn one of the best moments of his life into another inconvenience. 

Your hands are on his shoulders, his back, his arms, as you hold onto him. 

“Why did you park all alone? Did you plan this? Were you trying to get in my pants all night?” 

Stiles digs into the front pocket of his jeans and searches for his keys. “No. There were other people parked here earlier. They’re just all gone now.” 

You hum unconvincingly. “Uh-huh. Whatever you say, Stiles.” 

As soon as Stiles has the passenger door unlocked, he holds the door open for you and stares, hoping the annoyance is overpowering every other feeling he’s currently having towards you. 

“In the back,” he tells you. You smile up at him, big and entertained, and then do as he says. 

He climbs in right behind you. At this point in the night, there was no point in attempting to get back to your apartment or his. Stiles couldn’t wait much longer, and you two are no stranger to the back of his Jeep. You’ve been in this situation before. 

It’s all completely effortless. You’re already in the process of slipping your jeans off whenever Stiles has the door closed. He mourns for just a second, pouting to himself over not being the one to take those sinful jeans off of you. But then you climb over his lap, situating yourself to hover just a bit above him. 

Stiles plants his hands on your hips, just like he did before, and pulls you to sit right over him, just like you have before. He knows that the status of your relationship has changed since the last time he had the privilege of being in this space with you like this, but that doesn’t mean the way you do things has to change, too. 

You were never shy before. You would always be quick to attach yourself to Stiles in whatever ways you could, just like you had been doing just a little earlier into the night. But that’s gone now. Now, you’re staring at him, your teeth pressed into your bottom lip. 

Before you were together for a short time, Stiles had spent months pining. Months analyzing whatever he could about you. Months mentally cataloging your tells. And now, he calls on that information to declare that you’re hesitant. You’re nervous. No, not just nervous. You’re worried. Almost regretful. 

He tilts his head. “What’s wrong?” 

You shrug but Stiles knows you’re aware of what has you like this. He just gives you the time to voice it. 

Eventually, you say: “Will this change anything between us?” 

It’s his turn to shrug. “I dunno. Do you want anything to change?” 

You shrug again. 

“Well … do you want to keep going? And we decide that afterwards?” Stiles really wants to fuck you, but deep down he knows that if you stopped and got up off of him in this moment, he would be okay with it. Well, he would be okay with it after a few days. Maybe a week or two. 

A little part in him swells, jumps, and clicks its heels when you nod. 

“Yeah. That sounds good.” You press your lips to his once. 

“You just tell me when you decide, okay? I’m cool with whatever you’re cool with.” And Stiles means that. If he gets just one more time with you, if this is his final time with you, he would cut his losses and be grateful for the time that he was allowed. What else was he supposed to do? He would never dream of doing anything that could jeopardize his spot in your life. 

Stiles can feel the warmth of your center is his hand when he trails his touch down. He cups your mound and his eyes flutter shut. He feels like a pervert for only a second before you start to work your lips down his neck and rock your hips into his hand. The way your mouth suctions around his favorite spot almost has him distracted enough to not notice your hands working on his pants. Almost. 

He can’t really tell in the dark, but he can slightly feel your once confident movements start to falter. You stop on his neck, keeping your lips as nothing but a pucker against his skin before you pull away completely to look down between the two of you. 

“When the fuck did you start wearing a belt?” 

Stiles doesn’t want to tell you the truth, he feels like it would be too embarrassing. Really, he knows it wouldn’t, but something about having to tell you that he decided to wear a belt because you always said he should makes him feel a little meek. So instead of filling the silence with the truth, he fills the silence with the clinks of his belt buckle as he undos it himself. 

“Recently,” is all he tells you when you’re still staring at him for a response. Somehow, it’s enough for you and your hands are back on his waistband. 

In record speed, your hands are down the elastic of his boxers and wrapping around Stiles’ cock. He doesn’t hiss, but he does shudder. He tries to hide it by pretending that the car is cold, which it was beforehand, but now it’s warm. It becomes warmer when you spit in your hand, wrap it around Stiles’ cock and pump him a few times, and then push your underwear to the side and hover above him. 

It really pains Stiles to stop you, but he does. He asks if you have a condom, then he asks if you want to use a condom, and the entire time he’s kicking himself. Because he can feel the warmth radiating. He has his tip already nudged between your folds, and just this small touch is already making him lose it. His nails are digging into your hips, he’s breathing harder than he was before, and he has to blink a few times to really focus on you. 

It feels like Stiles blinks and suddenly you’re tearing the foil packet open and slipping the condom over him. He watches it go down as best as he can, and the light doesn’t reveal much. Just the bottom of you and the tip of him is visible, the rest Stiles is forced to make out through squints and memorization. 

He’s just briefly dejected about the lack of visuals, but then your hands rest on his shoulders and he hears you take a breath and he knows it’s time. 

Stiles rests his hands on your side and looks up at you. 

You go down slowly. Softly. It allows Stiles to feel each delicious inch as they go by, revealing more and more of the inside of you as time passes. He battles between watching your face and simply basking in it. Eventually, he settles on the former. 

Your eyebrows are tightened just enough to show your discomfort. You have your lips parted, long breaths leaving them every so often, usually right before you sink down again. And Stiles has seen you take him before. He knows that you have been able to take him faster than this before. And then he wonders: is this your first time doing this, with anyone, in a while? Have you been as lost without him as he has been without you? Have you even attempted to fill that hole, and was your stunt earlier tonight just that: a stunt?

There isn’t time for him to ponder over his questions like he would have wanted to whenever you bottom out. It’s with a sigh, the back of your thighs meeting the top of his just briefly. 

You rest your forehead against his, and you both breathe together. Or, it’s more so you breathing and Stiles matching the pattern. 

You lean up, you move your hair out of your face, and you tell him, “Don’t remember it being this hard.” 

Slightly cocky, Stiles tilts his head.  At first he doesn’t say anything. He smiles, his eyes are heavy when they look you up and down, and then he rubs your back. “Take your time.” 

You take the time you need and then you start moving. Up and down. Up and down. Agonizingly slowly at first, and then faster when you get more comfortable. 

This is what Stiles has needed. This is what he has been missing in his life. You’re like a drug for him, and one hit seems like enough at the time, but by the time this is all over he knows he’s going to be searching for more. He’ll do anything he has to, so long as it gets him in a spot similar to this again. 

He searches for your hand, refusing to look away from the way your body moves atop of him for even a second. You help him out, bringing your hand to his, pressing the fingertips together, leaving Stiles to interlock them. He lifts your hands, looking at them in the white light that enters the foggy window. Somehow, this image is even more captivating. There is a more pornographic way the two of you are connected, one that demands Stiles’ attention. There is something about the innocence of this. He’s doing nothing but holding your hand, and Stiles feels like he might either lose his mind, or cum too quickly. 

He might do both. One after the other. 

You sink down on him again, a little awkwardly this time, but it does it for you. You hit a spot that makes your mouth widen and your eyes flutter shut. You search for it, and find it miraculously. Your head throws back as you hit that spot over and over again, pleasing yourself on Stiles’ dick. The image is heavenly for him. It’s euphoric. 

He lets his eyes wander down your neck, along your clavicle, and your shirt reveals just a bit of your bust but it’s not enough. With his free hand, he pulls the rest of the fabric down, and when he sees that you’re not wearing a bra, he almost cums into the condom then and there. He doesn’t wonder how he hadn’t noticed, he doesn't consider how he hadn’t taken into account the natural shape of your breasts pushing through the fabric, almost reaching out to him. Instead, he leans forward, presses his hand into the curve of your back, and attaches his mouth to the untouched skin. 

Your free hand sinks into Stiles’ hair. Your fingers weave through the back of his hair first, and then you make your way up to the front, pushing back his bangs blindly. 

Stiles peers up at you from his spot around your nipples. You’re still in ecstasy—your head now level once more, but your mouth still open and your eyes still closed. 

He detaches from your nipple to tell you: “Look at me.” 

It fuels Stiles’ ego when you do as told quickly. 

You’re looking at him on his command yet Stiles feels like he’s the one entranced. Because of your eyes. Fuck, your eyes. Watery, lazy, but your pupils are dilated. Your mascara has transferred to under your eyes by now, and it’s smudged a bit, making you look completely fucked out. Stiles thinks some of your makeup along your face has disappeared too, but it allows for a fresh skinned appearance instead. 

Really, there is nothing else for him to do except kiss you. It’s so messy but so good. You flatter in your movements on his cock, but Stiles feels absolutely no remorse when he takes over. 

He unlocks your hands and plants them both on your hips again. This time, he uses the leverage to pull you down on him again and again. He lets you lead the kiss, while he leads this. 

Your hands land on the leather of the seat behind Stiles' back and the foggy glass pane of the window. He hears your fingertips glide down the surface as he starts to fuck you harder, and then the sound is combined with your moans when your lips separate from Stiles’. 

You call his name, low and breathy. 

He hums. 

“‘m so close. Keep going. Just like that.” He nods. Then you add, “Little faster.” And he does as told. 

Your forehead pressed against his, the sweat on both of your skin making your heads glide more than anticipated. It doesn’t deter either of you. When your nose bumps against Stiles’, he kisses you again. When your head becomes too heavy for you to hold it up, he presses his thumb under your jaw, rests his fingers on the side of your neck, and holds the weight for you. 

“You’re so pretty,” he tells you, adding your name at the end to seal the deal. “Baby,” he says, and his heart swells when you hum in response. So he says it again. “Baby, you feel so good. Feel so good, babe.” 

He doesn’t know what more he says. He can vaguely recognize his lips forming the words and his own voice in his ears calling you the prettiest girl ever, telling you that he could never get this anywhere else, telling you he never wanted to get this from anywhere else. 

“Needed this so bad. I needed you so bad. I’ve missed you.” And just as his words finish, yours begin. 

“Stiles, Stiles. Right there. ‘m … I’m…!” 

He singles two fingers out, slips them between your thighs, and rubs along your clit until you’re shaking above him and holding onto his wrist between your bodies. He doesn’t know if you’re trying to pull him closer or push him away, but watching you cum is too gorgeous for him to ever dream of making it stop. 

So he doesn’t. 

Not even when your eyes start to leak and your lips start to plead and you contract around him. 

“One more,” he asks. “I just need to see it one more time. Please.” 

The sound of him moving in and out of you is loud. He drifts his eyes down to watch it happen, groaning when he just barely sees a broken ring of white glinting in the fluorescents from the parking garage. 

It feels a little romantic when you cum and then Stiles follows right after. 

The Jeep is warm, the windows are foggy, and there’s an ache in Stiles’ thighs. He knows for every one of his aches, you have three. The condom has been removed, tied, and disposed of in an old paper bag Stiles had sitting on the floor of his car. His pants are pulled back up, but his belt is still undone. His shirt sticks to his skin and he really needs greasy food and a shower. 

But if that means leaving this moment, and never returning to it, he could put off his needs and wants for an eternity. 

You’re sitting next to him, redressed with the button of your jeans still undone. You’re staring straight ahead, trying to catch your breath as you rub the muscles in your thighs. 

Stiles doesn’t know what to say, so he licks his lips and he says, “Uh … do you … um. Would you like some … ice or something? For your legs?” 

You smile ahead, turn to face him, and shake your head. “It’ll be fine. Nothing a shower and good sleep won’t fix.” You pause. “And maybe some food.” 

Which is how Stiles ends up sitting in your bed, sipping the remnants of his Dr. Pepper as he watches you lather lotion on your legs with your towel still hanging off of your body. 

“Your food’s cold,” he tells you. He doesn’t tell you about the handful of fries he stole earlier, but he knows you’ll notice it and hold the grudge for later. 

Later. Will there be a ‘later’? 

“Be there in a second.” You start to walk back to the bathroom. “Should we go to that place in the morning? Or …” you look at your clock and wince at the time. “Later. The one with the really good pancakes?” 

Stiles is quick to agree. He would love to do something with you later. 

[emisloves]

ONLY ONE FOR YOU ✦ K.SN

PAIRING. fox hybrid!sunoo x bunny hybrid!reader

GENRE. MDNI, explicit content (smut), hybrid x hybrid au

SYNOPSIS. in a shelter for hybrids, you are the first ever bunny hybrid to step foot in there. having no other other hybrids of your species in the shelter, a fox hybrid by the name of sunoo quickly tries to befriend you. despite meeting a lot of resistance from you initially, he soon succeeds. years later, when your first ever heat approaches, you have no other bunny hybrid to spend it with — but that's not a problem, since your best friend always has a solution.

WARNINGS. bullying, reader is considered an outcast, sexual harrasment, attempted sexual assault, reader suffers from extreme anxiety, mentions of past trauma, graphic descriptions of assault, one one-sided physical fight, smut, dubcon, unprotected sex (a big no), overstimulation, clit pinching, clit slapping, nipple pinching, tit slapping, lmk if I missed something!

WORD COUNT. 9k

A/N. GIRLLLL I LOVE YOU SO FUCKING MUCH FOR THIS REQ literally love hybrid fics so much — and to write one of my own?!?! dream come true 🙂‍↕️ couldn't really incorporate corruption in this tho, sorry — hope you enjoy it nonetheless! p.s, had to take a ss of the req instead of directly answering it cuz tumblr literally put a content label on the damn draft 💀 also the smut is shorter than what I normally write, so please excuse that (along with the fact that I couldn't incorporate corruption and dumbification into this) — I'm trying to get used to the concept of 'going into heat' which is why the smut is short–

You were only fifteen years old when the shelter rescued you, having found you curled up in a corner under the bridge, freezing in the cold. They took you in almost immediately, giving you the care you required.

It took them almost two weeks to nurse you back to health, given how close you were to completely freeze over and die from the cold. It was one of the best two weeks of your life, having never received proper care before.

You never knew of your mother or your father, having been in a foster family for as long as you could remember — before they decided you were too much of a burden, taking you out for a ‘walk’, before abandoning you under the bridge, in the snowy weather, leaving you to freeze to death. If it weren't for your rescuers, you probably wouldn't have been alive right now.

While you were immensely thankful to the rescuers, it was weird for you at the shelter — once you were back to full health, that is.

‘And why is that?’, you may ask.

The answer is pretty simple. You were their first ever bunny hybrid.

Why exactly is that a problem? For that, you need to understand how the shelter works.

You see, just because the people rescued you and basically saved your life, doesn't necessarily mean they are good people.

The shelter was near the woods, at a place completely isolated from the rest of the world. The enclosure was huge, divided into several sections, each section having its own purpose.

The first section was for the younger hybrids, aka the hybrids who have yet to go into heat. Here, all the young ones stayed, hybrids of innumerable species mingling around together. This section contained several dorms, each one for a different species of hybrid. It also contained a large swimming pool and playground for the kids to enjoy.

The second section is the heat chamber, or rather, the breeding chamber. Here, hybrids were brought in whenever they went into heat. If two hybrids of the same species but different genders went into heat at the same time, they were locked inside one room for them to breed during the time of their heat. If only one hybrid of a certain species went into heat with no opposite gender hybrid of the same species going through the same, the rescuers randomly picked off a hybrid of the same species from the adult section to breed with the one going in heat.

The third section is the adult section. Here, the hybrids who have already had their first heat are brought, keeping them away from the younger ones.

The last section is the least important one. The servants’ quarter. Here, all the staff in the shelter resided.

The most peculiar thing about the shelter was that the hybrids weren't allowed to go into a section that wasn't their own. For example, an adult hybrid couldn't go into the younger section, and vice versa. Why did this rule exist, you had no idea.

Every section had different sections for different species to stay in, only during the time when they were supposed to take rest/sleep. Since you were the first ever bunny hybrid, you were completely alone in your section, which gave you great privacy during the first two weeks of your stay at the shelter, when the rescuers were trying to nurse you back to health.

It was only after you had completely recovered was when you realized the gravity of the situation.

After much coaxing, you had cautiously stepped out of your room, holding onto the hand of one of your kind rescuers tightly, eyes nervously darting around. This was the first time you had stepped out of your room, feeling extremely anxious at having to step out of your comfort zone — which was why your sweet rescuer was assisting you.

She didn't let go of your hand at all while you guys walked, whispering sweet words of encouragement to you along the way — something which your fifteen year old self appreciated a lot.

You both stopped in front of a door, causing you to look at her, fear evident in your eyes. She simply gave you a comforting smile, squeezing your hand slightly as a form of encouragement, before pushing the door open.

The door led to a huge open area, enclosed with walls. Hybrids of all types were in the open space, the oldest ones being teenagers. Most of them were playing around, some of the older ones sitting around and talking, laughing with each other. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves with each other.

The staff had already informed you about how you were their first ever bunny hybrid — a fact that had only heightened your anxiousness. There really weren't anymore bunny hybrids, causing you to look around nervously.

No one had seemed to notice your presence yet, something which you were fine with — before your rescuer cleared her throat loudly, making everyone stop their activities and look at you both with a curiosity that they didn't bother hiding.

You watched all of their expressions morph into confusion, your own anxiety hiking, your palms starting to become sweaty. You could see them whispering amongst themselves, their confusion evident in their voices — they had never come across a bunny hybrid before, so seeing you in front of them was a bit of a shock.

Your rescuer let go of your hand, causing you to snap your head towards her. She gave you an encouraging smile, beckoning you to go towards them with a tilt of her head. You shook your head, not feeling too encouraged from their reactions.

Yet, after a few seconds of debating with yourself, you slowly turned towards them again — a big mistake on your part. Everyone had a frown on their face, their whispering having intensified. The message they were trying to give you was as clear as day — you weren't welcome here.

Most of them had been here for a while, the older ones having been rescued a long time ago — just like you were — the younger ones having been bred. Most of them already knew each other for a long time, so to see a newcomer hybrid among them? That too of a species that they had never seen before? Why on earth would they welcome you?

You hated the glances they were giving in your direction, their whispers making your skin crawl. It was all so overwhelming to you — especially given the past cruelty that you had faced from your previous owners.

You could feel your eyes start to sting slightly, tears gathering on your eyelashes like transparent pearls. You were about to turn around and run right back through the door, to go to your room and lock yourself inside, never to come out again — before a sudden movement caught your eye.

A young boy — or rather, a fox hybrid — got off the swing that he was sitting on, before taking off in a run — with a jolt, you realized that he was running towards you.

He stopped almost right in front of you, his hands on his knees, panting, as he tried to catch his breath. He didn't look much older than you, his fox ears twitching, tail swishing in between his legs. He shook his head slightly, dusting the invisible dust on his clothes, before standing up straight, sending a radiant smile towards you. His smile was almost bright enough to blind you, his facial features — even the human part — greatly resembled that of a fox’s. His bangs fell on his eyes like a curtain, doing nothing to deter his natural beauty. He extended his hand towards you, his eyes almost turning into crescents from his radiant smile. “Hi! I'm Sunoo! You're the first ever bunny hybrid here, so that's why everyone is a little iffy towards you — but that's alright! They will warm up to you in no time. Would you like to be friends?”

Having noticed other people's reactions towards you, you were skeptical to accept his proposal of being friends — not to mention he was a fox hybrid — a predator. Would it really be ideal to be friends with someone like him?

Your anxiety and fear mixed together, causing you to take a step back, your eyes shaking slightly. Your reaction caused a small pout to form on his face, but it didn't deter him. He took a step forward, his hand still extended towards you. “Come on, let's be friends — I promise I don't bite–”

His last sentence caused your anxiety to spike, causing you to step backwards again. The rescuer that came with you watched the scene unfold with amusement, knowing how Sunoo’s nature was. The rest of the hybrids rolled their eyes at him, wondering why he was trying so hard to befriend you when you were nothing like the rest of them — a ‘strange creature’, that's what they called you.

You couldn't take it anymore. Sunoo’s insistence to befriend you was causing the whispering to increase, the whispers gradually becoming more hostile, all sorts of nonsense directed towards you. You balled up your fists, before turning on your heel, taking off in a run.

You tried to get to the door, your efforts in vain as the door was closed. Reaching it, you realized it was locked. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you turned, your heart almost jumping out of your chest when you realized that Sunoo was right behind you. Once again, there was a pout on his face. “I know I look a little scary but I promise I’m harmless! C’mon, let’s be friends — I won’t leave you alone until you say yes!"

You were frankly starting to get annoyed by him. You had never met a boy — or rather, a hybrid — around your age, and you wished it stayed that way. Why must he be so persistent? Besides, the idea of a predator and prey being friends was simply — weird. Surely he was smart enough to know that?

Sunoo either didn’t realize that, or he didn’t care. Either way, he wasn’t leaving you alone, following you around the entire space — playground — not caring about your efforts of trying to avoid him at all costs. He ran after you, calling out to you, yelling ‘slow down!’ behind you. You paid no heed, only running faster, trying to escape him. The other hybrids had lost interest in you by now, leaving both of you in your own little world.

At one point, you saw your rescuer open the door to leave, causing you to speed up. Before she could close the door, you slipped outside. You did a mental dance for how fast you were, before turning around, your heart dropping.

There was Sunoo, right behind you, panting again, his hands on his knees. He slowly straightened up, before speaking. “Wow, you’re super fast — I usually outrun everyone but you’re even faster than me! We should definitely be friends now, don’t you think so?”

You blinked at him, both annoyed and impressed by how persistent he was. You quickly turned on your heel, running away to your room. Just as you were about to close the door to your room, he stuck his foot inside the crack, causing you to jump back from shock. He opened the door by himself, before letting himself in, closing the door behind him.

He looked around your room in awe, before turning to you. “Your room is so different from ours — we don’t have such huge windows!”

You stared at him, your lips parted in shock. You had greatly underestimated exactly how persistent he was. For the first time since you met the other hybrids, you spoke. “Why are you inside my room? Why won’t you leave me alone? The others don’t like me, so why are you so insistent on being friends?”

Sunoo blinked rapidly, before speaking. “Woah there, slow down — one question at a time please. You keep running away, so I followed you here. As for why I won’t leave you alone, I already told you — I won’t leave you alone until you agree to be friends with you. I can be very persuasive — perks of being a fox hybrid. As for ‘why’ — I love making friends, and since you don’t want to be my friend, it just makes me want to befriend you even more.”

You crossed your arms, glaring at him through furrowed brows, your bunny ears twitching in annoyance. “When will you give up?”

He grinned, leaning on the wall on the shelf on his side. “As soon as you agree to be friends with me. You definitely look like you need friends, especially here — everyone needs a companion here, don't you think?”

With a sigh of resignation, you gave up. He had already made it quite clear that he wasn't going to leave you alone — no matter how hard you try to escape him. It was better to just accept his proposal, wasn't it? Besides, he was the only one here who showed a positive reaction to your arrival, he could be a good friend. “Fine! Let's be friends then.”

As soon as the words left your mouth, he stopped leaning on the shelf, looking at you with an even brighter smile than before, his eyes sparkling. “Really?! See, I told you I am very persuasive — come on, let's go back to the playground, I'll give you a tour!”

Sunoo excitedly grabbed your hand, dragging you back to the playground. The entire way he kept talking about the shelter, its different sections, the various restrictions and what not.

“–and then there is the heat chamber, or for lack of a better word, the breeding chamber. Whenever one of us goes into heat, we are made to stay there, in the company of another hybrid of the same species as us.”

You tilted your head, gazing at him with curiosity sparkling in your eyes. “Heat?”

He momentarily stopped his tangent, turning to look at you. “Yea…? Do you not know what that means?”

When you shook your head, he continued, slight disbelief mixed in his voice. “Well — when we are between the age of eighteen and twenty one, we experience our first ever heat. During our heat, we feel extremely feverish and an overwhelming urge to — well, mate. Unless and until our body thinks that we have mated, we are going to be — absolutely feral. It would be dangerous for a hybrid in heat to be around people — unless it's their mating partner.”

Once he was done explaining, his gaze had turned a lot more sheepish, trying to avoid making eye contact with you. His tail swished nervously, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he gulped, trying to gulp down his sudden flusteredness.

His flustered state affected you as well, your ears twitching nervously, your face and neck flushed, burning hot with embarrassment. You cleared your throat. “T–Thank you–”

He nodded, the redness starting to slowly disappear from his cheeks. “You’re welcome — oh did you know about–” Just like that, he went back to talking about random stuff. As you listened to him go on and on about even the most mundane of things, you started to zone out, thinking deeply.

Sunoo was an extremely bright person, almost as bright as the sun. He had a smile so radiant that it could light up an entire room. He was extremely intelligent and had really good intuition. He was good at observing people too, and could be very persuasive when he wanted to be. He was friends with literally everyone in the shelter, which also allowed him to have extensive knowledge about what happens in the shelter; which explained why he knew so much about the shelter and its ways.

He showed no signs of shutting up anytime soon. Just as you were about to snap at him, a loud bell rang, cutting him off. He looked at you with a pout. “That’s the bell — it’s telling us to retreat to our rooms.”

You were relieved at finally getting a chance to get away from him and his non stop babbling — but of course you weren’t going to tell him that. “Right — I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

He flashed his blindingly bright smile at you. “Definitely! You can’t get rid of me anytime soon–”

He got cut off by a staff yelling at the two of you to cut it out and go back to your rooms, causing his pout to return. He reluctantly waved you goodbye, before the two of you parted ways.

As days passed by, you and Sunoo grew closer, your bond unbreakable. At times you felt a little guilty for hogging up all of his time, since you weren’t his only friend — but whenever you voiced this out to him, he always shot you down.

“You’re my best friend. It doesn’t matter if I have other friends — you’re always going to be my first priority.”

You would feel your fluffy tail twitch from slight embarrassment at his words, your face flushing. All you would do was nod and give him a grateful smile.

Other times you would feel pissed. What did he mean by ‘first priority’? Did he think that you wouldn’t survive without him? That you were a pitiful person with only one friend — that friend being him?

You would quickly shake your head to get rid of those thoughts. How stupid and ungrateful of you — to think so lowly of the only person that willingly became friends with you? The only person in this dreadful shelter that shows you a bit of care?

It was weird — your thoughts, that is. You definitely were more anxious than any other hybrid in the shelter — a trait that was probably passed down from your human parent. You absolutely hated it, but you had to bear with it. After all, you couldn’t possibly do anything about it anymore — especially given the situation.

It was around a month or two after your twentieth birthday, Sunoo’s own birthday having passed a little over six months or so. The two of you were sitting in the sun, on top of a blanket, joking and laughing around with each other. Suddenly, Sunoo’s laugh died down, his forehead creasing. “What the fuck — why do I suddenly feel sick?”

And sick he was. His entire body was suddenly covered in a sheen of sweat, beads of it falling down his temple. His face and neck was flushed. He let out a low groan, clutching his head, screwing his eyes shut. You quickly reached over to place a hand on his forehead, checking his temperature — only to jerk your hand back immediately. He was burning up.

He held his head with both hands, low groans of discomfort leaving him, his ears twitching, tail swishing about. Feeling helpless, you looked around, not finding a single staff in the huge playground.

You looked back at him, biting your lip at how terribly he seemed to be suffering out of nowhere. You made up your mind, before trying to pull him up to his feet. “Cooperate with me here Sunoo, we need to get you to a staff so that you can be taken care of.”

WIth difficulty, you managed to haul him up to his feet, the two of you almost stumbling. You managed to drag him to the door, opening it. Once you were inside again, you began yelling. “Hello? Is anyone there? He is sick and in need of immediate medical attention–”

No sooner did you finish yelling, did two staff members appear. The both rushed to you, quickly taking him off your hands. With haste, they pulled him to the medical area, quickly assisting him onto a bed. As you watched from outside, you saw some of the staff inside whispering amongst themselves, pointing to your best friend.

After a while of examining him, you saw the staff inside break out into smiles, before quickly replacing it with their usual stoic expressions. One of the staff members came out. “He is alright, he just needs to rest for a while.”

You frowned. “How long is ‘a while’?”

The staff subtly rolled her eyes. “As long as it takes. Off you go now.”

Before you could say another word, she was gone, already going back inside. Once inside, she noticed you still looking inside through the glass. She quickly walked over to the area, before shutting the blinds, not before you caught another glimpse of Sunoo, passed out on the bed, drenched in his own sweat.

If you had looked a little harder, you would have noticed the tent slowly forming in his pants.

Two weeks. Fourteen days. Three hundred, thirty six hours. Twenty thousand, one hundred, sixty minutes. One million, two hundred nine thousand, six hundred seconds.

That's how long it had been since you last saw Sunoo.

You couldn’t remember the last time you felt this lonely. It almost hurt your pride to admit, but you cried a few times to sleep over the past few days.

If this wasn’t already enough, the other hybrids finally got an opening to bully you, without having to worry about your best friend coming to defend you. Every time you went to the playground, you were cornered by hybrids of various species, all of them having the same aim — to make your life miserable.

They usually poked fun at your long ears and tiny tail, sometimes going as far as to grab them, pulling on them — you still being the shelter’s only bunny hybrid did not help deter the bullies.

They would call you a spineless coward and laugh at you when they would notice the tears start to gather at your waterline — only leaving you alone when a staff would interfere, which, nine-out-of-ten times, did not happen.

You were in the playground again, the only reason for you going there was in hopes of seeing Sunoo — a hope that got shattered pretty soon.

As soon as you stepped foot in the playground, you felt a harsh push to your back, causing you to fall down, face first. You somehow managed to not fall on your face and potentially break your nose, by balancing yourself on your hands. As you peered over your shoulder, your ears drooped from fear.

Two of the most notorious hybrids were right behind you, identical grins on their faces, grins that screamed ‘evil!’. They were two bull hybrids, fraternal twins. Their sole purpose in life was to annoy the fuck out of people. The worst thing about them was that they had no idea where to draw the line.

One of them, the bigger one out of the two, sneered down at you. “What a pathetic little bunny — can’t even defend herself. What, you need your cute little fox hybrid to defend you all the time? Is that why you’re always around him? Pathetic.”

By now, you had fully turned around, your entire weight resting on your palms. Your eyes flicked between the two of them nervously, not knowing what they might do to you.

The second one leaned down to your height, before lifting a hand and rubbing at the fur of your ear, causing you to flinch. He paid no attention to your flinching, continuing to fondle your ear. He then turned to his twin and spoke. “Do you see how soft her fur is? If we had more than one of her, a boy, we could have made such pretty babies — each one would be sold at a higher rate than the previous one — all because of their fur.”

You froze at their words, your eyes growing wide with fear. What the fuck?–

You tried to subtly crawl backwards, something which they immediately caught on to. The one touching your ear grabbed it tightly, pulling it with enough force to make a strangled cry leave your throat. “Where the fuck do you think you're going? We haven't even done anything yet.”

To your utmost horror, he grabbed the front of your top, before trying to pull on it. You immediately stopped him with your hands, refusing to be taken advantage of in such a manner. The two of them laughed at you, before the one pulling at your clothes doubled his efforts. “Come on dumb bunny, just let me do this — you bunnies are supposed to be in heat almost all the time anyway, along with a very high libido — why are you pretending like you don't want this? Like you aren't a fucking slut under that ‘holier–than–thou’ guise of yours?”

You were beyond disgusted by their words, trying your best to stop the guy from attempting to defile you. In the process of your struggles, a button from your top popped off, causing your breath to hitch. Taking advantage of your momentary distraction, he pulled harder, effectively managing to tear it open.

You let out a loud gasp, both of fear and embarrassment, quickly lifting your hands to cover yourself. You were suddenly aware of how the three of you weren't the only ones in the playground, also how none of the others had come to your rescue.

They tried to push your hands away from where they were covering yourself. “Stop fucking acting like you aren't a whore — this can be over so much faster if you just fucking cooperate–”

You wrapped your arms around your chest tighter, tears starting to gather in your eyes. You felt disgusted by them, but even more disgusted by the rest of the hybrids who were simply watching the spectacle, enjoying it even–

His twin grew impatient, coming down behind you grabbing at your arms and assisting him in trying to pull them away from your chest. He managed to pry off a finger, causing them to redouble their efforts. It paid off, and they were able to almost pull off one of your hands–

“What the fuck do you think you're doing?!”

The two of them froze at the sudden interruption, before turning to look at the source. You peeked around them too, to look at your savior, your eyes greeting a sight that caused them to widen, almost comically so.

The person who yelled was none other than your best friend, Sunoo, who you hadn’t seen in an entire fortnight. He looked — different.

His fists were clenched tightly, his knuckles almost turning white from the pressure. There was an angry crease in his forehead, his eyebrows scrunched from barely contained anger. His jaw was clenched, a singular vein being prominent in his neck, pulsing wildly. His ears stood erect on his head, his tail swinging wildly. He looked like he was seconds away from pouncing them and ripping them into shreds.

It seemed like the twins had the same thought about him, both of them quickly getting up and running away. You hugged yourself tighter, remembering that your top was still torn.

Your best friend noticed your action, his demeanor immediately softening. He quickly rushed to you, shielding your body with his, before slowly ushering you up. He made sure to cover you, to save what little dignity you had left, dragging you to the door. Opening it, he stepped inside, quickly pulling you in the direction of your room. Once inside, he quickly shut the door, turning the other way, giving you the much needed privacy to change.

Once you were done changing, you let him know. “I’m decent now — you can turn around.”

He slowly turned around looking at you. The two of you held eye-contact for a bit, before breaking it, checking out each other’s appearance. He had certainly had two rough weeks, his hair seeming one shade darker than its natural color, face looking haggard. He also had enormous dark circles — yet none of it deterred his natural beauty. Judging by his concerned eyes, you could only assume that you too looked different from how he last saw you, although you had it a lot worse.

He stepped forward, reaching his hand out to tentatively cup your face. “Did they try to do something like this before as well? I swear I’ll kill them–”

You quickly cut him off. “No no — they didn’t try anything as — as physical as this before. This was the first time…”

His eyes darkened at your words. “‘As physical’? They did other things to you?”

Your breath hitched at the dark edge in his voice. “T-They did — but it wasn't anything serious! It was just — a bit of teasing, that is all.”

He pursed his lips, his eyes still taking all over you in concern. “If you say so…”

You looked at his own state, an overwhelming urge to hug him coming over you — so you did.

You wrapped your arms around his neck tightly, your chest colliding with his, almost knocking the breath out of him from the force of the impact. He looked at you in shock, since you had never hugged him before. He quickly hugged you back, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you impossibly closer, rubbing your back in a soothing manner.

You nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck, letting out a small sigh of contentment. You hadn't realized what a big part of your life he had become, only realizing it after the torturous two weeks that you had to endure without him.

You almost couldn't believe how much you missed him, how badly you craved his presence. You were grateful for having him in your life, and you truly wished you could say all of it to him — but that's hard to do, given your reserved nature. But you still try.

And you did try. “I missed you — so fucking much. Every day was practically torture without you…”

He somehow hugged you tighter, nuzzling himself into you. “I missed you a lot too — you have no idea how badly it was killing me to not be able to talk to you.”

You broke the hug, staring into his eyes. “What happened to you though? They told me you’ll be alright, and didn't even let me see you. When I went to visit you in the medical room, you weren't even there — I asked the staff, and they told me you needed better medical attention and were getting treated elsewhere. I tried pressing for more details, but they refused to say anything. How sick were you that they couldn't even let me visit?”

He grimaced slightly. “I — wasn't exactly sick.”

You frowned, tilting your head slightly. “You weren't sick? How is that possible? You were burning up when I got you to the medical area, and they moved you to another place–”

He sucked in a deep breath, cutting you off. “I wasn't sick — I was in heat.”

You froze, blinking aggressively to process the information. “You were in heat?” You echoed.

“In heat.” He echoed back.

You opened your mouth to say something, before closing it again. So your best friend went into heat two weeks ago — which means his heat probably ended today. Which also means that he is basically classified as an ‘adult’ now, like all the other hybrids that have gone into heat at least once. So how on earth did he come inside the so-called ‘younger’ section? Weren't hybrids of different sections not allowed to go into the other sections?

When you voiced out your concerns to him, he gave you a wry smile. “Technically speaking, I'm not allowed to be here — but being friends with even the staff had its perks, I suppose. They allow me to go anywhere I want, unless it results in a life-threatening situation.”

You nodded skeptically. “Right — so I'll still see you everyday? Like how I did before — before you went into heat?”

“Yep. You will.” He confirmed.

You sighed. “That's great–”

The sound of the bell ringing cut you off. You hadn't even realized how much time had passed. He ran a hand through his hair. “See you tomorrow then?”

“Yep — see you tomorrow.”

It was around 4 weeks later, the time when Sunoo’s heat was supposed to hit him again. The two of you had somehow grown even closer than before, stuck to the hip at all times. Your best friend seemed to have become a lot more protective too, having an arm around you at all times, glaring at anyone who seemed to look your way. He had changed a lot personality wise as well, becoming a lot colder than before — although he was still friendly to most people.

The two of you were walking around aimlessly in the halls, silently. Both of you were anxiously counting down to when his heat was going to hit him, even if it wasn’t fixed — for all you both knew, it could be the tomorrow, yet that thought didn’t remove the anxiousness that had enveloped the two of you.

Suddenly you stopped, an indescribable feeling taking over you. It was almost as if someone wrapped you in a blanket filled with heating pads.

You felt hot, hotter than you ever felt before. It was a searing heat that was tearing at your insides, crawling through your skin, begging to be let out. It was tickling everywhere, spreading inside your body like a wildfire, licking at everything in it’s way–

It was only when your bestfriend shook you did you realize that you had fallen in his arms, the heat having caused you to faint momentarily. “Are you alright? You just fainted out of nowhere and are sweating a lot–”

You tuned his voice out, too focused on his concerned face. There was a crease between his eyebrows, a concerned frown on his face. Your ears twitched as you realized how pretty his eyes looked from this close, his lips looking like a pair of soft velvety cushions. You concentrated on the way they were moving. You wondered if his lips would move against yours like that if he kissed you. How would his lips even feel against yours? Soft? Aggressive? Or would it–

You snapped yourself out of your thoughts. What were you even thinking? That was your best friend of almost five years now, how could you think of him in such a crude manner?

With a burning shame, you realized that your tail was twitching violently, panties were soaked — the immense heat in your body not making it any better. You had no idea what was happening, so you looked at Sunoo for help.

He looked at your pleading eyes and sweaty body in his arms, before the realization dawned on him. You were going in heat.

He quickly placed his hand that was under your waist more securely, before bending down to place his other hand under your knees, carrying you in bridal style. He ran in the direction of the heat chamber, calling out for staff on the way.

Once he was in front of the chamber, he kicked the door open, quickly running to the bunny section, having now been joined by two staff members, running by his side, shouting directions to him. He rushed you inside one of the rooms in that section, placing you down on the bed gently.

Your eyes screwed shut, eyebrows furrowed, a low groan leaving you. You started to squirm on the bed, causing the two staff members to quickly rush forward and tie your hands and legs to the bed, shocking Sunoo. He couldn’t say anything, simply watching it all unfold in disbelief.

Once the staff were done tying you down, they stepped back, watching you squirm in the bed, the heat radiating off your body, the sweat having drenched your clothes making them stick to your body. Your best friend immediately turned to them, speaking to them with a clenched jaw and barely contained anger. “Why the fuck did you tie her down? Aren’t you supposed to put another bunny hybrid with her to help her with her heat?”

The female staff turned to him. “We don’t have any other bunny hybrids, I’m sure you already know that. She needs to spend her heat alone.”

He looked at her, appalled. “Alone?! You know that’s not safe! She could die from the immense heat!”

Both the staff members rolled their eyes at him, ushering him out and walking out of the room themselves. “She will be fine, she’ll just have a terribly high fever. She’ll live.”

He stared at them in disbelief, the male staff pulling him outside by grabbing his arm. He looked behind him at your writhing figure, little whines of discomfort leaving you. The scene was quickly replaced by the door, as the staff shut it. They locked the door, before turning to him. “It will be better if you leave now. You won’t be able to hear her either, the walls are soundproof.”

They turned to leave immediately, causing his anger to spike. How could they be so cruel? How could they leave you to potentially die?

But you weren’t going to die. Not on his watch.

In a split second’s decision, he ran towards both the staff, grabbing the back of the head of the guy and pulling him backwards, slamming him down on the ground. The other staff gasped, quickly opening her mouth to scream — only to be grabbed by the throat. He lifted her by the throat, pushing her on the wall, restricting her air supply. Her face soon turned purple, before she fainted. He slammed her head on the wall behind her for good measure, before throwing her on the ground.

He turned behind him, looking at the guy on the ground. There was some blood on the back of his head, staining the ground, as he tried to crawl away. Your best friend quickly marched to the guy, before bending down. He grabbed the back of his head, before slamming it down on the ground again, knocking him out cold.

He fished for the keys to your room in the staffs’ pockets, before grabbing them and quickly going to your room. He unlocked the door, opening it, his ears filled with the sounds of your pitiful whimpers. He stepped inside, shutting the door and locking it from the inside. The way the doors were built, no one would be able to open a door in the heat chambers if they are locked from the inside, since hybrids go absolutely feral when they are in heat — a fact that he used to his advantage.

He turned to you, approaching you slowly. He had no idea why exactly he was doing this — all he knew was that he wanted — needed you to live, no matter what it would take.

He stopped right in front of you. His eyes raked over your figure, your entire body completely drenched — making you look like you were dunked in a pool with your clothes on. Your ears were twitching uncontrollably, your lips having formed a pout that kept trembling.

He lifted his hand, cupping your face, causing your eyes to shoot open. You took in a sharp intake of breath, panting heavily, staring at him with wide eyes. “Sunoo I — it’s so unbearably hot, I can’t–”

He was quick to silence you. “I know princess, I know. Just let me take care of you, I promise I’ll make it better.”

He didn’t wait for a reply, climbing over you on the bed, planting his legs on either side of you. He was quick to undo all the restraints on your body, giving you the freedom to move as you pleased. You didn’t move, simply staring up at him with parted lips and pleading eyes, breathing heavily. He was shocked at your self restraint — usually hybrids would be all over literally anyone near them when they are in heat — but a bunny hybrid?

Bunnies are supposed to be the most feral animals out there when they are in heat — hell, there was a literal phrase because of this exact fact, the phrase being ‘fucking like a rabbit in heat’. But somehow, you had a lot of self control — either that, or you hadn't yet registered what was exactly happening to you.

He cupped your face with one hand again, swiping his thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it down with just his thumb. Your eyes had glazed over, allowing him to do whatever he wanted — of course he was going to take advantage of that.

He grabbed the ends of your skirt, starting to slowly lift it up. Your body was drenched in sweat, the heat emancipating from you turning your head into mush. But your heat had not yet hit you fully, allowing a little portion of the rational part of your brain to protest against his actions.

As soon as he had lifted your skirt up enough to reveal the drenched cotton material of your panties for him to feast upon with his eyes, something in your brain snapped, allowing you to be aware of your surroundings once again.

Your eyes widened as you realized the position you were in — or rather, the position in which you and your best friend were in. “S–Sunoo what are you–”

He immediately silenced you with a finger to your lips. “Hush, pretty. This is all for your own good.”

You squirm underneath him. “M–My own good? But — we are friends — friends don't — don't do anything like this–”

He knitted his eyebrows, growing slightly impatient. “Do what? Save your life? I'm trying to make sure that nothing happens to you, and instead of being grateful you decide to be a brat? You realize I could easily leave you here to deal with your heat on your own, just like the staff were planning? But instead, I decided to go against them and help you with your heat, since there are no bunny hybrids in this shelter — other than you, of course — who can help you out. So just be quiet, yea? Stay put like a good girl and take what I'm giving you — it's all for your own good, after all.”

You went to protest again, but he quickly slapped a hand over your mouth to silence any further protests from you. He suddenly cupped you through your utterly soaked panties, causing your breath to hitch, your eyes rolling into the back of your head from the feeling. A muffle moan left you, making him let go of his hold on your mouth, wanting to hear more of your pretty sounds.

He traced his finger on your panties, right above your slit, causing more slick to gush out of you and stain the bed below. He pushed the panties inside your slit with one poke of his finger, your bare pussy coming into his view. Your cunt was entirely covered in your slick, your pussy lips swollen, begging for attention. He groaned at the sight, his mouth salivating from the sight itself. “Look at you princess — look so fucking pretty like this. Are you sure you didn’t want this?”

You could say nothing, only a whimper leaving you at his words, the insatiable need to get fucked slowly clouding up your brain. You bucked your hips against his hand, needing him to do something, anything.

He finally decided to stop torturing you, pulling your panties down and throwing them on the floor. As soon as the cold air hit your bare cunt, your heat hit you fully.

The lower part of your body felt like it was on fire, excessive slick pouring out of you in obnoxiously large amounts. Your whines increased to a fever pitch, your hips bucking up wildly in the air. You grabbed your best friend’s shoulders tightly, pulling him into a rough kiss. Your hips bucked against his in a desperate manner, his groans only increasing your need to be filled.

You were finally acting exactly how a bunny in heat was supposed to act, turning him on a lot more than you should have. His own pants grew tighter and tighter, stained by your slick. The kiss grew messier, saliva smearing all over your chins.

He finally had enough, grabbing both of your hands in one of his own, before breaking the kiss, your whines immediately filling the air. They quickly died down once he tore your skirt, discarding the ruined material by throwing it somewhere in the room. He did the same to the rest of your clothes. In normal circumstances, you would have definitely minded, but right now your brain was too lust-driven to care.

He let go of your hands once he was done completely undressing you — big mistake on his part, since you immediately grabbed his shirt and tore the buttons open. You fiddled with the button on his jeans, him having to assist you, before he was revealed to you in all his naked glory.

His cock stood tall and proud against his stomach, his tip an angry red, leaking a generous amount of precum. Under normal circumstances, he would have taken his time — eat you out; make you sit on his face, suck him off — but right now you were too desperate for any kind of foreplay. He knew nothing would satisfy your heat until you were properly bred — which was exactly what he was going to do.

He grabbed both your hands again and pinned them above your head in one of his own, before you became impatient again. He slowly pumped his cock in the other, smearing his precum all over it — not that he needed to, since your slick was enough to use as a lube.

Your impatient whining started once again, hips bucking up in the air, causing him to chuckle. “Such an impatient little brat, can't even wait to get filled up. It's all you need anyway, isn't it? Such a cock hungry whore”

Before you could say anything — even if you did it would probably be some pathetic pleading on your side — he aligned his tip with your entrance, coating it with some of your slick, before sliding in with ease, bottoming out. He reveled in the high pitched whimper that left you at the intrusion, one hand pressing down on the bulge on your stomach. The added pressure caused your eyes to roll up, cute breathy ‘please’s’ falling from your pretty lips, which were swollen from the intensity of the kiss earlier.

He pulled himself almost completely out, before plunging inside again. He set up a brutal pace, the slick pouring out of you making it easier for him. He held your hips tightly, snapping his own into yours, your slick making loud squelching sounds at the impacts.

He reached one of his hands up, pinching and twisting your nipple between his fingers, rubbing it harshly. He delivered a rough slap to your tits, your moans simply increasing in volume.

His hand traveled downwards, going to your clit, pinching it. He rubbed hardened nub harshly, the added sensation making your breath uneven, whimpers of his name falling from your lips. He cursed, before increasing the pace of his hips, slamming into you at such a fast pace that it almost felt like he was trying to tear apart your insides.

It was almost as if he felt like it wasn't enough, causing him to put his hands under your thighs and lift your legs up, pushing them against your chest. He rammed his hips against yours once again, the new angle allowing him to hit deeper, right into your cervix. As soon as his tip touched the spongy part of your walls, you let out a loud gasp, a shiver running through you. He smirked at your reaction. “Found it.”

He pounded into you at an even faster pace, your hands desperately holding onto the headboard, your ears flopping wildly with every thrust of his. His mushroom tip hit your cervix every time, whimpers falling from your lips in a beautiful melody.

His jaw was clenched, his hair sticking to his forehead because of the sweat. Even if he could reach deeper and feel your walls clenching around him tighter, the position wasn't enough — no, he needed to breed you like a proper mate would, otherwise this would be of no use.

As soon as he tried to slide out of you, you somehow managed to wrap your arms around his neck — albeit with some difficulty due to the position he had you in — and held him tightly, not allowing him to move. He was caught off-guard for a moment, before he allowed a smirk to break through. “What happened princess? Is this not enough for you?”

You whined slightly. “D-Don’t go — ‘m close–”

As soon as the words left your mouth, his eyes darkened, causing him to grab your thighs again, pressing them harder against your chest, nearly folding your body in half. He slammed his hips into yours at a brutal pace, barely giving you time to breathe. Every thrust of his had you screaming his name, the band in your stomach tightening almost painfully.

He brought one hand down to your clit, rubbing it painfully, the added stimulation making you choke on your screams. He flicked your clit, before pinching it harshly, causing you to reach your breaking point.

Your body spasmed around him, your creamy release coating his cock. He fucked you through your orgasm, a white ring forming on the base of his cock, making him groan at the sight. Once you stopped spasming, he pulled out — even though he hadn't cum yet.

His cock was pulsing, the tip an angry red. His entire length was covered with your sticky release, causing him to suck in a breath. His eyes went to your face.

You were still coming down from your high — which was hard, since you could only do so once you had been bred — which you clearly haven't. Even if you did, it still wouldn't be enough, since you would be hit with another wave in twenty minutes — the process would continue for two weeks, before your heat finally gets over.

Neither your problem was solved, nor was his, which only led to one logical solution — to fuck you again. He had to breed you, even if the two of you technically couldn't have kids because of the difference in species — but that wouldn't stop him from trying.

He grabbed your waist, before quite easily flipping you onto your back, pushing your ass up the air — making you properly present yourself the way you would for your mate. You let out a loud gasp — even if your heat hadn't calmed down, you were still very sensitive at the moment, the aftershocks of your orgasm still evident.

Even if he realized it, he didn't care. He aligned his throbbing length to your pussy once again, before slamming himself inside. His mushroom tip immediately pushed into your g-spot, making you see stars. Noticing your body's reaction, he pulled out almost completely, leaving only the tip inside, before slamming himself back in. You choked on your gasp, but he showed no mercy. He pounded into you at a rough pace, the mating position making the whole situation a lot more intimate.

He tried to not give it much thought, focusing on the way he kept disappearing inside you, the primal urge to mark and breed you taking over the rational part of his brain — even if breeding you was physically not possible.

He pushed his hand under your stomach, pulling you up, your back colliding with his chest. His hand then reached up to grab your neck, a small whimper escaping you. He squeezed your throat slightly, continuing to ram his hips into yours. The sounds of both of your skins slapping against each other filled up the room, along with your moans. His other hand reached down to your clit, rubbing it harshly, trying to force another orgasm out of you.

It wasn't too hard, given that you were in heat and hadn't been bred yet. Your moans increased substantially, alerting him of how close you were. With one last slap to your clit, your cunt clenched around him tightly, your walls spasming around him. Your creamy release dripped past his length, staining the bed under you.

Your orgasm triggered his own, causing his hips to still, his head thrown back with a groan. He shot out hot ropes of cum into you, painting your walls white. His hips moved shallowly inside you, his dick twitching, until he was spent. He pulled out his softening length, your exhausted body flopping down on the bed.

He flopped down beside you, his own chest rising up and down from the exertion, trying to catch his breath. He turned to you, pulling you in a hug. He stroked your hair softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “How do you feel?”

You nuzzled your face against his chest. “Like I'm on cloud nine.”

He let out an amused smirk, which quickly vanished. His body was somehow starting to fill up with an unexplainable heat, blood once again rushing to his cock. He frowned, unable to tell why he was suddenly turned on even after having practically fucked you to oblivion — before it hit him.

His heat was due.

As the realization hit him, his body began to be covered by a sheen of sweat, beads of precum forming at his tip. He whispered a small ‘sorry’ before climbing on top of you again.

At least the two of you were going to be together.

[victoria-grimesss]

locked on target

masterlist

->Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Fem!Reader

->Words: 4.7k

->Warning: MDNI! unprotected sex, rough sex, fingering, mask stays partially on, dirty talk.

->Summary: Working alongside the 141 for a year now, you’ve grown closer to the infamous ghost. Confiding in Soap about your crush, confession is the only way to rid yourself of the gnawing infatuation. 

->A/N: Despite all my writing being about König, ghost is my all time favorite baby girl, writing for him always intimidated me but I’ll give it my best shot, hope he’s not too OOC.

It’s been a full year on the 141 and you couldn't be happier, well not happy at the moment since you’re ankle deep in sludge. This mission is going as well as any other despite the evac being miles away through humid weather and wet ground. 

“Good thing I packed extra socks.” You muttered, readjusting your gun and pack and unsticking your boot from a deep pocket of mud.

“Oh come on lass it could be worse right? We could be treading through anaconda infested waters huh? Lighten up.” Soap is next to you. He's having an easier time removing his boots from the muck. 

Price is in the front with Gaz next to him talking about the evac and rations, you admire their relationship. Price has slowly morphed into some kind of a father figure to you as you assume he did for Gaz too or at least a mentor. Gaz and Soap are like brothers to you, you bicker like such. You pick on Soap when he gets too drunk to form correct sentences and starts singing songs from his childhood, and you get Gaz too when he laughs so hard you have to remind him to breathe. Like a dynamic triangle the three of you.

Then there’s Ghost.

He stands at the back of the group behind you and Soap, no evident trouble for him when it comes to the mud. He’s sturdy and observant, keeping a close eye on the treeline and behind the group. He's a great soldier and you admire his skills… and him. Ever since you met him you’ve had your eyes trained. 

I mean who wouldn’t.

From his expressive eyes which sometimes you feel look through you, to his broad shoulders where he holds the world on top of them, his strong arms that deal with enemies swifty, to…his… lower extremities that you certainly have only thought of once or twice. Maybe more. 

You should be ashamed of your feelings, and you lock them down deep the only time they have slipped past your lips is when too much alcohol loosens them. 

—

You confessed one night to soap, the rest were asleep and your insomnia was kicking your ass so you went to the parking lot where soap was nursing a bottle on the hood of his car, and you sat down and shared it.

“Something on your mind bonnie?” He hands the bottle to you, concern brewing in him.

“I don’t know, it’s just, Ghost.”

He laughs.

“Yea, I know about him, but what about him?” 

You take a couple large gulps of the amber liquid, it burns its way down and soothes your aching wanting heart, burying the hopeless romantic in you. Tears brew in your eyes and you always forget you either become a laughing drunk or a sappy drunk, seems the latter had won tonight.

“Aye- lass, what's wrong.” His hand is placed on your shoulder offering a comforting touch.

You sob and laugh at the same time, looking up at Soap.

“I think I’m in love with him.” You say quietly through a stream of tears that make their way into your mouth, making a weird cocktail of salty liquor.

“Oh bonnie…” Soap rubs your back, his voice is soft.

“I just, everything about him Johnny! I can’t get him out of my head, and he probably doesn't even look at me that way, he could get any girl he wanted!” You sob.

“Woah there calm down, gonna throw yourself into a spell talking like this. Look. LT cares about ya, truly. He thinks you’re a valued member of the team and I’ve caught him starin’ a few times so don’t be daft now ya hear. You’re a pretty girl and LT would be lucky to have ya.”

You sniff, wiping the tears and snot with a sleeve.

“Really? You think so?”

“Cross my heart and hope ta die. You’ll be alright.”

—

“It’s in my shoes.” You deadpan.

You hear Gaz laugh and Price looks back, checking on the team.

“Don’t worry Y/N, just imagine it’s a mud bath! Your skin will be smooth and shiny before you know it!” Soap laughs at Gaz’s antics, it’s nice when you can all joke around and relax. The hard part is over and now it’s simple evac.

“Right… how soothing.” Your eyes roll and you look back to check on Ghost, your eyes meet and a flash of electric lightning shoots to your heart, it feels good. 

He gives a quick nod and you return to your trudging. You wait till after the mission to pass any other signals, he’s too focused to register any flirting right now. Or that's the advice Soap gave you after that night.

“Right. Keep close by, chopper is land down in 5, need to evac quickly to avoid any unwanted looks.” Price alerts to the rest of the team once you’ve covered ground and are nearing sweet release. Your back and knees ache just at the thought of sitting. You nurse the last of your water and keep walking, you tip your bottle back along with your head to get the remaining drops and you trip over a protruding root.

Other foot trying to catch yourself a hand catches on your upper arm, righting you up.

“Alright there?” Ghost’s dark eyes are steady on you, maybe a bit amused, or maybe his eye paint is creasing.

“Yea, sorry just tryna finish off the bottle, didn't see that there.”

“Careful next time yea?” He releases your arm and waits for you to start walking again to pick up behind you.

“Yea, for sure LT.”

You feel his hand on your arm even after he released you and you want to untie the knot that Ghost has tied there and you know you’re royally fucked.

You’re all on the chopper and your legs just about give out, you always love the euphoric feeling of sitting down after a mission like this, the lactic acid in your muscles making them burn like no other. You sit across from Ghost and he visibly relaxes once the chopped takes off, the breeze from the open doors cooling everyone immensely.

“Good work everyone, I know evac was shit but you all hustled and we got the intel we needed. I think we all deserve a good ol drink when we get back right?” 

Price brings a smile to everyone's face, as tired as the lot of us are. You glance over at Ghost and his eyes look away from you, looking over his gear.

Your heart pains for some kind of acknowledgment that he feels the same, it’s like trying to hold the same fistful of sand no matter how hard you try it seeps through your fingers, you want him so badly you’d tape your fist shut if that meant keeping the sand in.

—

Back to base, ‘same day different shit’ you heard Ghost say one time. You often hold on to everything he says, hoarding each little piece he feeds you and storing it away somewhere special. Like you’re hoarding food for the winter, as if the winter is him falling in love with a woman that isn't you, when that happens you’ll open your little box of his sayings and advice and eat them slowly, savor them until all that’s left to drink is the tears you drown yourself in as consolation. 

A pity party is what you throw yourself that night, showering and getting a once over by the medic then making your way back to your room, Price wants to get everyone together tomorrow night for a drink, wouldn't hurt you think. You sit on the edge of your bed, the silence is deafening after a mission, tinnitus ringing your ears. The bed is cold, you want someone to warm it, you want Ghost to warm it.

The nightmares come to you quickly that night, visions of your team, your friends being ripped apart by bullets as you try to fire back into mist. You hold Ghost’s hand as he fades and you wake up coated in cold sweat and adrenaline.

3:18 a.m.

You toss and turn for a minute before huffing and leaving the bed, you need air. Adorned in sweatpants and a shirt you got on recruitment day you leave your room the sound of your door is loud and you wince as it closes. You go to the parking lot once more, maybe there will be more stars out tonight. 

The air is crisp and cool, you round the corner of the building where a bench sits, a lone figure is sitting and smoking there, you can tell it’s him by his silhouette. He’s broad and his legs spread wide as he sits alone.

“This seat taken?” You ask, scared if you talk too loud he’ll leave.

“All yours” No inflection is evident in his tone.

Silence sits between you two and you take a harsh breath to break it. It makes you uncomfortable. 

“Trouble sleeping?” His voice is deep and low.

“The usual, nightmares again. You?” 

“Not tired, too soon after the mission to sleep.”

“I understand.” 

You watch him carefully as he brings the cigarette to his lips and inhales, you inhale with him. You imagine him inhaling your perfume as his lips touch your neck. You stare, unabashedly, like you’re not scared if he catches you.

He adjusts where he sits, hips rolling to get more comfortable.

“Bloody bench feels like it’s made of spikes.” He mutters, quietly.

You breathe out a laugh as he exhales the smoke.

His eyes look to the side at you and then forward again.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” 

“Like you want something from me.”

“What if I do?” 

Your heart is racing now, faster than it had on any given mission.

He stands, throwing the cigarette to the ground and crushing it with his boot, he slips his mask down again and his eyes are locked on you.

“I’d say you’d better fuckin’ find it elsewhere, we both know I can’t give you what you want.”

“What do I want Simon?” 

His lips grow sealed when you say his name.

“Things I’m incapable of providing, best leave it at that. Night sergeant.”

His tone meant business, you know better than to chase after him. You sit on the bench, staring at the cigarette on the ground. It’s beaten and crushed like you feel right now.

You wonder if you can still taste his lips on it.

The walk of shame back to your room is humiliating, you pass some others that can’t sleep, nightmares aren't anything special around here and you wish you could pluck the worries from their heads.

Sleep is easy after that, maybe your body wants to make you forget the encounter with him but even so you dream of him. He’s an inescapable phantom.

—

“Aye there she is!!” Soap hollers from across the pub, it’s a quaint place, quiet enough to not be annoying but lively enough to not feel desolate.

A large corner booth is what they occupy and you wave as you make your way over, A few empty glasses scatter the table already you arrived ‘fashionably late’.

“Hey bonnie I gotta take a leak you can have my seat yea?” He nudges Ghost so he can be let out of the booth, Ghost stands towering over you. Soap shuffles over to the bathroom and Ghost  lets you slide into the booth before he follows, trapped between the wall and him. You’d rather be under him…

You greet them all and Gaz slides you a tall glass of something mind numbing, Ghost has his mask down but he’s nearly finished with his glass same with the rest of them.

“You got some catching up to do, miss fashionably late.” Gaz shoots a smile and you clink your glasses together.

Soap meanders back and pulls a chair to sit at the end of the table, you all squabble over what a better drink is and down rounds after rounds. The conversation somehow gravitates to relationships at some point and Soap is going on and on about this woman he met at the pub down the street.

“Oh she’s a real sweetheart, thinking about asking her out later this week when I get the balls to do it.”

You smile at the way Soap talks about her, you’d love to be admired like that, treasured.

“I think you should go for it Johnny! You're a nice guy, I can go in there and talk you up if you want, say you fought off ten men to save my life.”

He laughs, nearly tipping off his chair, 

“You’re a real wingman Y/N, if you can secure a date by all means.”

You smile and the air is joyous, little is heard from Ghost but you know he likes seeing the team happy, he sips his drink and observes, smiles hidden by his mask.

“Have you had any luck on the dating scene Y/N?” 

Gaz questions, eyebrows rising.

“Yea bonnie, never hear a peep out of you when we talk about lovey dovey shit.”

You shrug, taking strong sips of your drink.

“I went on a date a while back, he got me flowers, a real nice guy. Found out he was sleeping with my friend behind my back around the fourth date. Don’t really want to try anymore, end of story.”

You can feel Ghost’s eyes burning into you as you finish the sentence. His gaze is addicting and you feel sweaty locked in his stare.

“Well he’s a proper twat for messing it up with you then yea?” 

Price offers a tip of his head, sympathy in his eyes.

“Ah it’s alright, I’ll just wait for my prince charming to come sweep me off my feet.” You bat your lashes dramatically and fake a swoon, soothing the old memory with jokes. It turns the tide of the table ambiance to a lighter one.

“I need to piss.” Ghost says quickly, you scoot out of the seat and Ghost hurries off to where Johnny has gone to earlier.

“What’s up his arse?” Gaz says confused.

Price downs the last of his drink and slams it back onto the table.

“What do you all say to a game of pool?”

“I’ll watch, cheer ya’ll on.” You still nurse your drink and you start to buzz, worries slipping away like papers, but one it left, weighted down with a large paperweight.

“I’ll be right there, gonna finish this drink off.” Soap says, sloshing the leftover liquid that's in his glass.

“Very well, see you momentarily.”

Soap watched the two walk off, leaving the two of you left alone.

He turns back quickly, you get secondhand whiplash.

“Ghost has had his eyes on you the whole night please tell me you told him and he confesses his secret love for you!” Soaps eyes are huge and he’s pleading for the right answer.

“Not exactly.” He delfates.

“What the fuck do you mean ‘not exactly’?”

“I told him that I kinda wanted him and he said he wouldn't be able to give me what I want.”

“That's bollocks and you know it! He’s always watching you, never seen him doing that for any other lass. Now is the time, he’s all alone. Go on and chat him up, I’ll tell the boys you’ve gone home sick alright.” 

Soap winks and leaves before you can utter another word. You even your breathing and gulp down the rest of the liquid courage before strolling over to the bathroom hallway. It does not take guys that long to pee weird he's not around.

You walk outside, feeling deja vu from last night the breeze hits the same way.

“You should go inside, it’s cold out.” Ghost is standing leaned up against the brick wall next to the door.

“I was looking for you actually.”

He stands up straighter, shoulders held further.

“Lads looking? Not really in the mood to lose another game. Last time was enough.”

You laugh, the alcohol making it easier to relax around him. You're tipsy enough to have fake confidence for the time being but sober enough to make deductions wisely.

“No Simon, I’m looking. For you.”

“And I told you to stop, you don’t know what you’re thinking. You’re a nice girl yea? Find a nice young guy that can take you on dates and buy you flowers-

“I don’t want anyone else Simon. I want you because I’m in love with you!”

It seems like the whole world went silent after you said that. You’re steaming and don’t move your eyes away from him.

“Y/N.”

“I’m tired of pretending. I just had to tell you I couldn't hold it in any longer it was making me sick. I don’t care about fancy stuff, you should know that by now. I just want to be next to you.”

He approaches you, your neck craning to maintain contact.

“Y/N, I’m proper fucked up you know that? You’re too kind, too perfect to be ruined by a man like me.”

You sniff, the cold getting to you.

“I think you’re wonderful Simon really. You look out for everyone and make sure everyone is alright before looking after yourself. Let me please show you you’re worth loving in return.”

Your heart spills to him, spewing it’s contents violently.

“I’m not joking, I'm not ‘prince charming’ like you referenced earlier.”

“Even better.” You smile.

“Fuck it.”

Before you know it, he lifted the small portion of his mask to kiss you and you erupt, wrapping your arms securely around his neck as though you’ll fall if you don’t. His hands hover over your waist and you grab them and push them down onto your body and he pulls you close. He kisses you like it’s the last time, he makes up for all the times he should have, all the time he desperately wanted to.

He’s watched from afar for so long, your laugh creates sparks in his heart, seeing you make it back from another mission safely spurs him on. He would lay down his life for you and you don’t even know it.

He pulled back, mouth in the crook of your neck.

“Your place is nearby right?” You ask, rubbing his neck and down his back.

“Yea, yea it is.”

He leads you back, back to his den where he’ll draw you in with those eyes and that voice, calloused hands exposed from his gloves that will trace over your skin. The walk is in silence but you both are buzzing, the team won’t miss you, probably happy this chasing game is over with so peace can be established once more. He takes your hand as he leads you up the steps to his apartment, you grope his arm and he shoots you a sultry side-eye.

“Have I ever told you I love your arms?”

“You did just now love.”

Love, love, love. You want him to keep saying it.

He leads you in you’re caged in by his arms on the inside of the door. He looks you over head to toe.

“You look fuckin lovely tonight you know that? All I’ve been thinking about is tearing this top off of you and stripping you down.”

You shiver and bring your hands to run carefully from his abdomen up to his chest.

“You think of ripping my clothes off frequently?”

“Very.”

Stunned by his words and your head swimming he places his hands on your waist and lowers his head to your ear.

“Now if you’d allow me, I’d like to fuck you now.”

Hypnotized you speak.

“Yes please.”

His home is lowly lit and sparsely decorated, you assume he’s not here often or for long.

The bedroom is simple, a bed, two side tables, two lamps, and a dresser. An adjacent bathroom you can’t see.

“You have a nice place.”

“Well now I know you’re lying.”

You stand at the edge of the bed and he stands before you and his hands are on you again pushing you onto the bed you are surrounded by the smell of him, the deep umber and woodsy scent. 

“You know how many times I’ve pictured you in my bed?”

He’s inching your pants down your hips agonizingly slow as he speaks.

“How many times I fucked myself picturing you instead?”

“Ghost.”

“Nah none of that here, you’re gonna say my real name from now on and you’re gonna scream it alright?”

“Fuck Simon.”

“Yea. Just. Like. That.” Your pants are off and his hands move from your ankles up to your knees and caress to your inner thighs. His fingers skate your pantyline and your eyes are locked on his hand and he doesn't stop. His hands move over your hips and grip your waist before moving right below your breasts, he checks you with his eyes and you plead silently.

He cups you fully with both hands and you roll your head savoring his feelings.

“So fucking good love fuck.”

He strips you of your shirt and bra and you’re left exposed on his bed. He stands back to stare down upon you and you feel like a spread of food sitting on a stark white table ready to be consumed and ogled. He strips himself of his leather jacket leaving his quite form fitting black tee on.

You adjust under his gaze, his mask hides any expression but his eyes say so much. Raking over your body heavily and his chest rising and falling fast as though he had run a marathon.

“Simon.”

“Yea?”

“Do something.”

“Like what?” His voice is lighter now.

“Anything Simon!”

He laughs and places a knee in between your legs, spreading them wide to accommodate his other leg and hips.

“There we go, fuck all spread out underneath me.”

His hand is placed on your breast and rolls your nipples in his fingers, it moves down never leaving your skin until he reaches your core it’s hot and wet and he collects it on his fingers and when he finally touches you it’s like you’ve reached Valhalla. 

He slips a finger inside and it faces no resistance, you form around him and he slips in another starting a smooth rhythm.

“So tight, you think you’ll be able to take me huh love?” 

He’s pumping in you and you can hear how wet he’s made you, his eyes darting from his fingers to your face, thrown into pleasure.

He brings you to your peak so quickly you’re stunned and you grip his arm as you clench around him, his name being pulled from you like a mantra.

 You regain your mind and look at him as he slips from you and his fingers make their way under his mask, his eyes on your as he licks them clean tasting you on him.

“Sweetest fucking thing I ever tasted.”

He’s unbuckling his belt next, unzips his pants and pulls himself free. He's thick as all hell and a thick vein runs down the underside. It looks heavy and you pocket an idea for next time.

You're staring for a long time and his two fingers that just did unspeakable things to you tip your chin to look at him.

“Think you can handle it?”

“I can take it, just hurry up.”

“You’re always so impatient you know that.”

He places the tip at your entrance collecting your wetness to help with the initial push.

The stretch is delicious and you grip his arm and shoulder gasping at the feeling of being full of him.

“Fuck. Fuck you’re so fucking tight, squeezing me so fucking good.”

His one arm is braced at the side of your head, forearm spattered with tattoos burning your peripheral vision. The other holds himself, leading himself into you.

He’s seated fully inside and you feel split down the middle in the best way. Burning fire deep within you and you moan for him to move, creating the friction you need.

He starts moving and you both moan, he tips his head forward to watch where he enters you repeatedly.

“So good, fuck so big Simon.”

“You take it so well, love.”

His hand that once gripped himself holds your hip and moves himself like the ocean, fluid and rhythmic.

“Always dreamt about fucking you, you spread out of my bed while I fuck my cock deep into you.”

You throw your head back and he leans back, the warm air that was between you two leaving for the cold air of the room bringing your nipples to hard peaks which his eyes gravitate to.

“Alright c’mon love.”

He takes your ankles and your legs are on his shoulders. He thrusts that much deeper and hits the right spot to make you see spots.

“You like that, fuck I can see how deep I’m going in you.” 

His hand finds your and puts it on your lower stomach and pushes down so you can feel the way he thrusts within you and how deep he reaches, you clench around him.

“Yea you like that.” He's cocky like this, dominant and all controlling. You’re putty in his hand.

“Simon I’m close don't stop please, fuck please.”

He lifts his mask up over his lips and kisses your ankle, biting your calf when he growls and that's all you need to be pushed over the edge.

“Fuck, yea cum on my cock good fucking girl.”

He fucks you through it and leans down to be face to face again. Your legs draped over his shoulders and he hits the right spot with each thrust now, he’s battering you into the mattress and his growling with each thrust muttering about how good you feel and how nicely you wrap about him.

You claw at his chest through his shirt sobbing and babbling and moaning.

“Can’t even form a proper sentence, so drunk on my cock yea? You gonna be a good girl and cum again for me?”

The graphic noises from where the two of you are joining echos through the room and you hope his neighbors aren't home.

“Yes, yes Simon please please please.”

The bed is an orchestra of noises and he shoots a hand up to the headboard, his knuckles gone white from gripping it so hard. Your abdomen is tight, so tight and your so fucking close you just want to cum at the same time as him.

“Fuck fuck fuck, so tight and wet where do you want me to cum, fucking tell me.”

“Inside me, inside me it’s safe.”

Not a beat after that leaves your mouth he’s seating himself so deep within you, you feel him throbbing deep within you and your vision goes blurry, ears gone fuzzy as you both are thrown into the abyss at the same time. 

You hear a crack from above you but you pay no mind as your neck deep in pure white hot bliss.

“Fuckin hell love, really. Fuck.” He's panting, you’re panting.

You stroke his chest lovingly as he kisses your ankle as he slowly lowers your legs from his shoulders. He lowers his mask once more.

You glace up to where his hand still grips the headboard and a deep crack is ingrained in the wood.

You laugh.

“Jesus Simon, you fucked me so hard you broke your bed.” 

He removes his hand observing the wood and shrugging.

“Well worth it I’d say, I’ll invest in a sturdier one.”

“Are you saying you’ll invite me to your place more often?”

“Your place works too.”

You both banter as you both clean up, you shower and he washes the sheets and hangs around the kitchen, letting you some time to refresh.

You come out of the bathroom smelling like him, drowned in one of his shirts and he's leaned up against his kitchen island gazing blindly at the random rugby channel he turned on.

He slides you a beer and you take it gratefully, bumping your glasses together.

“I mean it Y/N, I’m not the kind of man you might be thinking.”

“No Simon, you’re exactly the man I’m looking for, you’re stuck with me now.”

There's a beat of silence before Simon speaks up again.

“I should probably thank Johnny for tonight right?”

“Yea, he pretty much told me to quit my bitching and confront you.”

He sips his beer, 

“Well, for once I can say thank fuck for Soap and his matchmaking skills.”

You laugh and stare at him in adoration, this is the start of something wonderful.

---

Tag list: @theredviolets

[mandarinmoons]

could you write spencer x reader, where reader is pregnant and they’re having like the worst argument ever, and too much stress causes yn going into labor. thanks🫶🏻

You were 9 months along and extremely pregnant. If it weren’t for Spencer helping you every time you needed to get up on your feet, you didn’t think you would’ve made it halfway through your term. Your feet were swollen, your back was aching and with the baby kicking more regularly, you were exhausted and couldn’t wait for it to be all over.

Spencer had been caught up with work for the past few days and wasn’t able to be there for you as much he needed to. By now your mood was pretty stable as you managed to get used to the hormones caused by the pregnancy, but this time around they had full control and with Spencer not being around to dote on you it was a recipe for disaster.

It was 11 o’clock at night, with not being able to sleep comfortably due to the size of your stomach you decided to stay up late until Spencer got home and watch whatever reruns the TV channel you had settled to watch had to offer.

While clicking through the channels the front door opened and closed and you heard a familiar sigh, Spencer finally got home. As he shuffled out of his shoes he slowly made his way to the couch, he pressed a kiss to your head and sat down next to you. Leaning over he caressed your stomach and pressed a few kisses on it too.

“How’s she doing?” Spencer’s voice was quiet and even in the dark you could make out that his under eyes were darker than usual.

“She’s been kicking a lot today, too bad you weren’t here to feel it,” the tone of your voice was almost snarky and even though Spencer wasn’t the best at social cues his eyebrows furrowed together as he caught on to your annoyance.

“Is there something wrong?”

You sigh and sit up a bit, “Spencer, I know your work has been hectic recently, but I can barely stand up by myself and not having someone here to help is really difficult.”

Spencer’s jaw lightly clenched and you saw a vein pop out on the side of his forehead, it was clear that your words were upsetting him.

“Sweetheart I’m sorry that I can’t always be here, but you need to understand that sometimes I just can’t.”

“Can’t you take some time off until I give birth?”

Spencer sighs and sits up as he rubs his hands over his face, “I can’t, we need the money. Having a family is expensive,” Spencer’s voice was agitated, you knew you should back off but you couldn’t, you were the one who was taking on the majority of the burden of bringing this child to life and you weren’t about to be shut down.

“Can’t you show a little compassion?”

“A little? Y/N I rub your back and feet every night, even after I get home from work, even if I chase down an unsub for how long, I always make time for you!” Spencer’s voice was getting louder and his fists clenched, meanwhile your blood was boiling and tears were threatening to spill from your eyes. 

“Screw this,” you managed to stand up and waddled your way to the bedroom while Spencer looked to the side and took a deep breath. He loved you but sometimes your stubbornness got a bit much for him.

You slammed the door shut and a moment later you felt a sharp pain in your abdomen which led you to gripping onto the nearby dresser. A groan left your lips and a moment later you felt water trickle down your legs, this was it.

“Spencer!” you yelled and he was by your side a second later, crouching down to look at your face.

“She’s coming, the baby’s coming.”

Spencer’s eyes went wide and he quickly grabbed you a jacket and a pair of shoes, which he helped put on, and gently guided you to the car.

One extremely careful yet quick car ride later you were taken into a hospital room and  nurses surrounded you as they helped you get through the pain, all while Spencer was right by your side squeezing your hand in his and giving it a sweet kiss every now and then.

“You’re doing so well sweetheart.”

You looked over at Spencer and winced as another contraction racked your body and whimpered, “I’m sorry Spencer.”

“Shh no no, it’s okay, don’t worry about that now. Let’s just focus on getting our girl here, yeah?”

You nodded and squeezed Spencer’s hand as another contraction took over.

Hours later cries were finally heard in the room and the little miracle that you and Spencer had made was put in your arms. You looked down at the now sleeping baby and ran your finger over her cheek. You looked at Spencer and saw tears flooding his eyes, that was his little girl.

“Do you wanna hold her?”

Spencer nodded eagerly and gently took the infant in his arms as he took in the sight in front of him, you had just given him one of the greatest gifts he could ask for.

“What should we name her?”

Spencer took a moment as he was still mesmerized by the presence of his own child.

“What about… Bailey?”

“I like that, Bailey Reid.”

Spencer chuckled and sat down on the hospital bed next to you. You inched a bit closer and admired how Spencer held Bailey. You rested your head on Spencer’s shoulder and he made sure to press a sweet kiss to your head.

“I love you so much.”

“I love you too, so much, and now also her.”

“Me too, so much.”

Taglist: @radioactiveinvisible @whoisspence @sreidisms @lanascinnamongirls @luvkatryna @sp3ncelle @iluvreid @khxna @keiva1000 @indigosamsblog @hiireadstuff @pleasantwitchgarden

If you want to be a part of my taglist go here!

You can find my masterlist here!

My requests are open so feel free to send one in! (SFW only)

[naamahdarling]

Maybe it isn't that I actually hate medical professionals? They just suck and are weird sometimes, and a lot of them shouldn't be practicing, but I don't hate them as a group, like, personally.

What I hate is their ability to make my life harder in ways that are often completely opaque to me, and a lot of the crap things they do are not really possible to challenge. And I hate the fact that holding them responsible fort dogshit behavior in any way that will actually benefit me is almost always impossible.

And I also hate the fact that they have to do stupid things sometimes because that's how the system is set up, and those things sometimes mean patients actually get harmed. They aren't fond of that part either! They don't want the system to be the way it is! But they don't have a choice, so sometimes people like me get forced by bureaucracy into doing things that are re-traumatizing. And I can't imagine that feels good for them at all, knowing that their patients are sometimes only "consenting" because that bureaucracy will not let them be helped in any other way. Which isn't consent at all. I imagine that must be pretty traumatizing for them, too, sometimes.

If it were easier to actually access medical care without tremendous delays in this country right now I would have much less trouble finding providers who are good at what they do and are not horrible people, and who have clinic staff who can do their fucking job.

Oh and I also don't appreciate how evasive and unwilling to commit they are out of fear of being held to an answer that turns out to be inaccurate, but I can't make an informed decision about my own care unless they give me at least some information about probabilities and trajectories and typicalities. Genuinely, how the fuck am I supposed to navigate that shit. I get that some patients are really fucking difficult, but I should be able to get a special stamp on my file or something that says I understand that sometimes medicine isn't an exact science and the best answers that my doctors can give may not always prove to be accurate in the long term. I know they don't like being in that situation either.

A lot of medical professionals are fucking assholes, and unfortunately the ones who are not are still hamstrung by a system set up to actively prevent people from getting care.

I miss my old doctor. He gave no shits about anything that wasn't the patient. He prescribed scheduled meds based on what the patient needed and not based on fear of consequences potentially being imposed on him by the punitive patient-hostile drugs-are-bad moral panic machine developed to force suffering people into buying more dangerous drugs off the street in order to prevent far fewer people from maybe getting high off of drugs that at least weren't laced with lethal substances. (The purpose of a system is what it does.) Did he get sanctioned and become locally unhireable? Unfortunately yes he did. Does he now provide concierge care to rich people? Yes he does. He found a way to make it work, God bless him.

Everything about the medical system in this country is fucked. Hospitals, doctors, nurses, pharmacies, pharmacists, pharmacy techs, phlebotomists, clinic administrative staff, insurance companies, medical schools and schooling, licensing boards, drug advertising to both providers and patients, pharmaceutical reps, researchers, research, publishing, medical trials, pharmaceutical companies, manufacturers and distributors, medical equipment, charting software, billing and billing codes, diagnostic criteria, charity and low income services, accessible transportation, home care, the lack of independent individual patient advocates, dietitians and nutritionists, access to physical and occupational therapy and physical and occupational therapists, the massive bigotry of every kind rampant in every corner of the medical field, social work, senior care and assisted living, deprioritization of informed consent and harm reduction, disability applications, inaccessibility of medical records, especially psychiatric notes which are specifically allowed to be withheld from patients, lack of continuity of care for disadvantaged people, care that is equitably accessible to disabled people, telemedicine, patient portals, phone systems, clinic hours, every single aspect of inpatient and outpatient psychiatry, facility security, all sorts of things going on with therapists who are nevertheless probably the least malicious group of people in this entire charade, aaaaaand patients themselves.

Also hospital toilets that are too tall and make it literally physically impossible for me to poop while I'm there waiting for somebody to come out of surgery. I just needed to take a crap, guys. You didn't need to make the toilets so tall that my feet didn't even touch the floor. It is very clean but there is no shitting for short people at St Francis.

[dduane]

Sorry if you’ve answered this before, but any tips on improving your technobabble?

I originally came at this problem from two different directions. The first one took considerably more time to enable.

(a) Be familiar (or get familiar) with the languages in which most scientific terms are coined: Latin and Greek.

I took Latin in high school, already knowing that I was a science person and that Latin was considered "the language of science". (And medicine, which also turned out to be handy for me later.) I also started studying Greek in college—and, sigh, I'm still studying it.

Once you're starting to get familiar with the languages, practice coining terms as you need them. While it's considered a failure of style in scientific naming to mix Latin and Greek in the same term, I've found it better to be guided by euphony than a slavish obedience to the rules.

Because sometimes a word or term just sounds right. "Temporospatial claudication", for example, was coined by running a Latin physics term head-on into a medical one. "Claudication" was (and still is in some countries) a term for a constriction in a blood vessel. Its origin in the Latin claudo- and clausum roots is responsible for the Emperor Claudius's name, which would once have implied somebody who limps secondary to such a circulatory problem. I simply bent the term's most basic meaning off into a different direction.

...So you see how that goes. Bang the roots together and see what successfully sticks.

The second approach is a little easier. But only a little.

(b) Base your coined terminology on the conventions and rhythms of real technobabble: by which I mean actual, technical scientific language.

The best way to pick this up in sufficient depth is by reading technical papers in your field of interest—lots of them—so you can see how the pros communicate to/with one another. Every field has its own jargon lying around just begging to be stolen... assuming you observe very carefully how it's correctly used. Otherwise you risk outing yourself as nothing but an interested but insufficiently-committed bystander. You must also be super careful not to screw with the interior grammar of such techspeak... as inevitably it'll have one.

For example: when I was tooling up for writing The Wounded Sky, I spent easily three months reading papers in/on hyperdimensional physics. (Not that I wouldn't have done this anyway. It's a fascinating subject, and before I went into nursing I'd been a physics major, so I had a fair amount of the necessary background to understand what I was reading.) Even in the 80s there were a lot of such papers around, and in those distant pre-Internet days I was helped a whole lot by living just across the road from the impressive science library at Cal State Northridge.

During that period I could be found in the periodicals racks once or twice every week, digging through the monthly journals on the hunt for material that would be germane to the plot I was boiling. I found ten times more goodies than I ever could reasonably have used. The toughest part was winnowing it all down to what I actually needed to scatter here and there for atmosphere's sake, or to plant in specific spots to grease the plot's wheels. (My favorite remains the [legit!] paper with the delightful title, "Taub-NUT Space as a Counterexample to Almost Anything.")

Anyway, I must have got something about that whole business right, since one Princeton physics professor whose work I'd cited at the end of the novel asked me if he could use it in teaching his classes. :)

But there's a third element involved; more an attitude that you apply to what you've produced while employing the first one or two approaches.

You have to treat your coined terms as if they're absolutely real... something that any person educated in the science you're working with would know. The voice and tone in which you write using them has to reflect this absolute confidence and commitment to their reality. Because if you don't—at least while you're writing—absolutely believe in them enough to speak confidently about them, no one else will believe in them either.

But then that's a solid general principle anyway. If you don't do something you've created the courtesy of taking it seriously enough to believe in it (or its reality inside the larger reality you're creating), it won't long survive contact with exterior realities like the inside of your reader's mind.

HTH!

ETA: here's that citation page from the end of Wounded Sky. I believe it remains the only Star Trek novel with a cites list at the end. :)

[jointherebellion215]

Birdie

John "Bucky" Egan x female!reader

Summary: A rare night out in London has Bucky coming to terms with his feelings for you.

Word Count: 2.9k

Tags: mechanic!reader, songbird!reader, female!reader, she/her pronouns used, drinking culture, cursing, mutual pining, moderate bouts of denial, insecurities, women supporting women because it's what we deserve, let's pretend that The Old Therebefore is an ancient Appalachian folk song in this universe, maybe she's a Mary Sue idgaf, I just wanted to write something happy so LET ME LIVE, WWII era, there's no Y/N but reader has the nickname "Birdie"

A/N: Yeah, I'm obsessed with Masters of the Air. I had to write something for my mans before the creative procrastination literally killed me. Please leave a like, comment, or even a reblog if you're so inclined :)

You can read my OC version of this story on AO3!

Songs Mentioned in This Fic:

Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy by The Andrews Sisters

G.I. Jive by Johnny Mercer

The Ole Therebefore (Accapella) by Rachel Zegler

Disclaimer: I own nothing. This story and any recognizably named characters are based solely on dramatic portrayals of the characters from the series, not the real individuals they represent. All the respect to the actual service people who fought and died in the Second World War. Also, don't copy my writing without explicit permission. That includes you, you AI sonuvabitch.

Your heels clicked on the cobblestone streets, turning into the pub you’d heard so much about. You were out celebrating a very rare weekend off. The Brass had somehow allowed you and twenty other mechanics from base two days leave, so you took advantage of the opportunity and headed straight to London.

Your two best girlfriends from base were with you. Teresa was one of the toughest nurses you’d ever come across. She could give you a wide grin, crinkles around her hazel eyes, and reset a broken bone without breaking a sweat. It helps that she was already working towards becoming a nurse back in New Mexico, the war just sped along that process. You had bonded over your love of books, giving each other recommendations almost weekly.

You’d met Irene on the boat to England. She puked on your shoes almost thirty minutes exactly after leaving the port in New York. You gave a small grin, offering her a handkerchief and a piece of ginger candy and the rest was history. Finding out that she was a fellow mechanic was the icing on the cake. Coming in at a whopping five foot two, the spritely blonde could easily be found in a crowd with her loud Appalachian accent.

It seemed almost like fate for the three of you to have found each other. Being some of the few women on base naturally made you close, but you were closer with Irene and Teresa than any of the others. That’s not to say that you weren’t friends with any of the men, because you were. Friendly. 

All three of you were dressed to the nines, in contradiction to your everyday work wear. You all got ready together in your hotel room, giggling while you applied makeup here, spritzed some perfume there. You all felt confident and were ready to have a good time. You spotted some familiar faces and made your way over towards them, your friends linked arm-in-arm with you. Lemmons was the first to greet you.

Of the fifty men on the ground crew, Sgt. Ken Lemmons was the most welcoming of them all. From the get-go, he didn’t care if you were a man or woman. He just wanted to know that you were capable. You were sure he had to go through some hazing because of his age, which probably changed his perspective on gatekeeping the job. This made earning and maintaining respect a lot easier for the women on your crew. We all came over with the same goal, it was better for all if we just helped each other out.

“Hey Birdie! Nice to see you out and about.”

Ah, the famed nickname. You tend to hum and sing under your breath when elbow-deep in a project. It helps you pass the time and clear your mind. Of course, the rest of the ground crew quickly caught on to this habit of yours, which quickly earned you the nickname “Birdie”. You, of course, never sing solo in public, so this confuses anyone who’s not around you while you’re working. But the name stuck, so here you are. Birdie.

Chairs are quickly cleared for you and your friends, which you all graciously take. You go up to buy some drinks, knowing what your friends like, and quickly return with your drinks of choice. Conversation flows, laughs are shared, and a few drinking games are played over the next hours. Teresa soon speaks up on a topic you’d been hoping to avoid.

“Do you think he’ll be here tonight?”

You shrug and look into your drink, “Dunno. Why does it matter?”

Irene, the ever supportive best friend that she is, backs up Teresa. “What do you mean ‘why’? This is your chance to finally make a move!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You quickly deny, taking another sip.

An unladylike snort leaves Irene, “My ass! You and Major Egan have been making googly eyes at each other when you think the other’s not looking for months. I’m saying it’s time for you to perk your tits up, buck on over and ride that—!” You slam your drink on the table, pressing your hand over Irene’s mouth, heat rising to your cheeks in embarrassment.

“Are you insane?” You whisper harshly, looking around to make sure no one overheard you. You seem to be in the clear, which makes you calm down a bit. Irene pushes off your hand, takes a swig of her drink, and consults the person who started this whole conversation.

“Am I wrong?” You look to Teresa, who cringes slightly in agreement.

You gape at the pair of them. Normally, you were the median between the two girls who had vastly differing opinions. But this is what made them come to a consensus? Unbelievable.

“Look, I’m not saying that I don’t want to.” You start, which makes your friends nod encouragingly at you. “It’s just that… Is he really as interested as you think he is?”

They both groan and slump against each other, like they’d just run a marathon. Teresa sits up, scooching your chair in closer so that the three of you were in a private triangle, cut off from the rest of the group.

“Let’s look at the facts here, okay?” Teresa starts to tick off a finger with each point she and Irene make. But you seem to always have a rebuttal at the ready.

“He brings you coffee every morning.”

“I thought he does that for everyone.”

“He constantly fixes his hair when you’re around.”

“He takes care of his appearance!”

“He walks you to the mess hall every day for dinner.”

“We just happen to be going the same way. And we happen to have the same dinner schedule.”

“He read The Hobbit when you said how much you loved it.”

“He’s an adventurous guy, it’s an adventurous book, what’s not to like about it?”

“You two literally will walk and talk outside alone for hours.”

“A man can’t have a stimulating conversation with a woman?”

“He laughs at all your dumb jokes.”

“Hey! They’re not all dumb. Like, the one with the goose and the—”

“Point proven. Anyways! He has your picture in the inside pocket of his jacket.”

That one stops you in your tracks. You brain tries to justify this meaning but comes up blank.

“He…” You struggle with an excuse. “He…” Your best friends give victorious smirks in your direction.

“He… likes the extra padding in his jacket?” You stutter over what is possibly the most pathetic, sorry excuse you could have ever come up with.

“When are you gonna admit to yourself that he likes you? Like, actually truly likes you?” 

You gave a sad sigh, letting the insecurity you were feeling deep down come to the surface. “I just… He’s just so…” You had stomped down your feelings for so long that it was becoming hard to articulate what exactly you’re feeling.

“He just seems so unreal. Like, of everyone he could have chosen, why me? I mean, I know I’m great. But you’ve seen the other girls on base. They’re all so beautiful, smart, classy… and none of them are covered in engine oil ninety percent of the time.” You looked down at your hands, specks of grease and oil peeking out from beneath your nail beds. It seems like it would never completely wash out, no matter how hard you scrubbed. You hadn’t even painted your nails for this weekend, knowing it would be money wasted come Monday morning when you’re back on the clock.

Teresa and Irene share a look that you don’t see, then come forward and grab each of your hands. 

“The words you just used to describe those girls. All of that is you, Birdie. That and more. You being a mechanic doesn’t make you any less of a woman, and to hell with anyone else who thinks otherwise.”  You nodded in agreement, Irene’s words of encouragement slowly washing away your anxieties.

Teresa spoke up next, “You deserve someone who will rearrange the stars and the whole night sky for you. And I’m more than willing to bet that Major Egan is up for the job.” 

“Besides, none of that 'unreal' stuff. At the end of the day, John Egan is nothing more than a man. If he can’t look past his nose and his d—" You gave a squeak to cover up the vulgar word Irene was about to blurt in public. She rolled her eyes fondly and continued.

“If he can’t see what you’re worth and make the effort to treat you a hundred times better than that? That’s on him. Not you. You know what you deserve, and you deserve everything you want. Absolutely everything.”

You sniffed, happy tears coming to your eyes. You brought your best friends in for a hug, thanking them profusely. 

“Don’t sweat it,” Teresa grins into your shoulder “every girl needs to be pulled out of her well sometime.”

You pull back from the hug, grabbing your glass and tipping your head back, finishing the rest of your drink. “Even if he’s not gonna be here, let’s have a ball!” Your girlfriends cheer as the three of you go to the bar for refills.

One drink turns into two, which turns into a few more, and suddenly you’re buzzed. Your group are having a rambunctious time, Irene dancing by the local piano player. Once Irene looks over to you, she stops and whispers in the player’s ear. He nods, then starts a new tune. Irene starts up her voice, walking over to you and Teresa, encouraging you to join her. 

The alcohol has loosened you up enough that you don’t feel the nausea you usually associate with being perceived, so you join in the harmonies you and your friends have practiced in your bunks at night.

He was a famous trumpet man from out Chicago way

He had a boogie style that no one else could play

He was the top man at his craft

But then his number came up and he was gone with the draft

Soon the whole pub was jumping and dancing along to the tune as you brought a new vibe to the pub. It was like a spark that started an entirely new night and everyone was eager to go on forever.

One song turns into an entire set, which ends with a full rendition of G.I. Jive, which had everyone singing along. It was a magical moment; made you feel like you were a part of something important.

Irene sidles up to you, giving you a hug. She says in your ear,

“I think it’s time to slow it down a bit. How about you sing that song I taught you.”

She means an old Appalachian folk song that’s been in her family for generations. You had heard her sing it one night and immediately loved the dark, but strong nature of the lyrics. It was an honor to learn it from her. 

“I don’t know, it’s your family’s song and…”

“And I can’t think of anyone better to sing it to these soldiers.” You gave each other a look, her slight eyebrow raise gave you the courage to nod in acceptance. She smiled, hugging you again, her voice yelled out to the crowd. 

“Birdie’s gonna sing solo!”

The announcement is met with raucous applause, Irene and Teresa shoving you towards a dodgy looking table. Crank offers a hand up, which you take gratefully. As you find your bearings on the tabletop, you quickly spin around and find all eyes on you. 

The crackling energy in the air seemed to simmer, the fast-beating hearts of the pubgoers recognizing a moment to acknowledge you. Nausea starts to make an appearance, but a deep breath quells the sensation within you for the time being.

You take another deep breath. Inhale, exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

You close your eyes, open your mouth, and sing.

Meanwhile…. 

Majors Gale Cleven and John Egan walk down the familiar street, one eager to catch up with his fellow countrymen’s alcohol intake, the other just happy to spend time with his friends. They were arriving later to the festivities due to being caught up in filling out reports. By far the worst part of having a higher rank was the paperwork.

“It’s pretty quiet.” Buck acknowledges. “They’re usually rowdier by this point.”

Bucky sniffs, shrugging off the concern. “Ah, it’s probably nothing.” 

As the two men approach the pub, they find that a crowd has formed. Soldiers, civilians, RAF, USAAF, old, young— people had obviously stopped to watch whatever was going on. It was dead silent, save for a voice singing. Was there a radio show on or something?

A familiar face peeks out at them from the crowd, DeMarco quickly waving them over. 

Bucky is quick to question, “Hey, what’s going on?” but is immediately shushed by nearby crowd members. Buck cringes in apology, despite not being the one to disturb the peace. His best friend, ever unshaken by the opinion of strangers, carries on.

DeMarco leans in, whispering, “Your girl’s taking us all to church.”

“My girl..?” Bucky’s nose scrunches in confusion. He makes space through the crowd and quickly makes sense of DeMarco’s words. It was you.

I’ll catch you up

When I’ve emptied my cup

When I’ve worn out my friends

When I’ve burned out both ends

Standing on a tabletop, watchful eyes sat all around you like baby ducks flocking to their mama. You were captivating everyone with each note and word that flows from your mouth. Damn, you've got a set of pipes— a voice that belongs on the radio, in concert halls, on Hollywood records. He had no idea.

His little Birdie.

“Wow.” Buck mutters in awe from behind him, and Bucky couldn’t be more in agreement.

When I’m pure like a dove

When I’ve learned how to love

He hadn’t noticed before, but her eyes were closed. Like she needed to concentrate on each and every breath she took, every single movement her body made, before letting them out in an angelic melody.

As if by divine intervention, her eyes pop open and lock on his as she belts “how to love” 

It could’ve been an eternity, for all he knows, the amount of time that they spent locked in each other’s gaze. The world pauses around them, everything frozen. Her eyes were already the kind to knock a man clean off his feet with a single gaze, but he thinks- for a brief moment- that his heart completely stops beating.

John Clarence Egan would swear every day from then on, until his dying breath, that the course of his life was altered in that very moment. He knew how it would continue from then on, and how it would end. How he wanted it to end.

Then the world starts back up and carries on.

Right here in the old therebefore

When nothing is left anymore

Her final hums are joined by a short blonde woman who stands nearby, another face he recognizes from base. 

The applause that picks up after the end of the song is near deafening. The star of the hour gives a shy smile, a quick curtsy and is given a hand to step down from the table.

Everyone soon starts mingling, the normal chatter of the bar returning. But Bucky is stuck in his spot, dumbfounded. In all the conversations you’d had together, somehow this never came up. He should’ve put two and two together, as he recalls overhearing your hums one morning as he made his daily coffee delivery to you. But you had been caught off guard, so much so that you tripped off the ladder you stood on and fell. Luckily, his quick reflexes kicked in to catch you before any serious injuries occurred. 

Remembering the sensation of his hands on your waist and thighs, face just inches from yours, sent his brain into a tailspin. That’s not even considering just how damn cute you were when, after a beat, you turned away from him and playfully mourned the cups of coffee that were splattered all over the hardstand.

“John. John?” A hand waving in front of his face knocks him out of his reverie. He blinks once, twice. Then looks to his best friend.

His voice comes out uncharacteristically weak in response, to which he then clears his throat and corrects. “Yes—yeah?” He pops the collar of his sheepskin jacket to try and hide the rampant red of his ears that signals the heat radiating from them.

Buck just shakes his head and gives him a knowing smile. “You sure know how to pick ‘em, Egan. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“See what day?” Bucky starts to consciously return to his body, leaning on the bar.

“The day when a girl finally knocks you on your ass. I knew you had a thing for her, but that?” He points to his face and motions to indicate where they had just been standing. “That’s something else. That’s something real.”

Bucky gives another shrug in response, to which Buck throws back an unconvinced frown. He turns his head to gaze over the pub patrons and is distracted by you once again. Any denial he was about to spout immediately dies in his mouth when you lock eyes with him again and give him a dazzling smile. The world starts to fade away again.

His heart pumps faster in his chest at the sight. Damnit. He sighs, telling his best friend the truth he’s been privately wrestling with for a while now, all the while keeping his eyes locked on yours.

“I know, Buck. I know.”

Bucky smiles back at you and is elated when your face lights up. You give him a wave.

“She kinda snuck up on me.”

[spamgyu]

BACKBURNER // PART 2

DESCRIPTION: She had grown tired of being on his back burner, the person that he had kept warm until he gotten the girl he has had his eyes set on for years... And with a little help from her friend, maybe... just maybe she'll finally be the first choice. PAIRING: Seungcheol x Reader | Mingyu x Reader GENRE: Angst & Fluff PART 1 | MASTERLIST

She wished she could go back and listened to her friend when he had warned her starting something with him was a bad idea.

Y/n could remember that day so clearly — even more now that she spent a lot of her free time alone with her thoughts.

It was going so well, three months into dating Seungcheol and not a single red flag in sight. Things were looking up.

Maybe he wasn't the toxic man she had come to know of when they were in school.

It was all going so well.

He had invited her over to his place, wanting to cook her dinner.

"Wanted to do something cute." He explained. Y/n happily made her way over to his place, thinking that he was finally going to ask her the big question.

To be his girlfriend.

They spent most of the time giggling like high school lovers as they worked around each other in the kitchen; Seungcheol stealing kisses each time he caught her looking over at him.

Which was more than she could count on one hand — but she wasn't complaining.

They were nearly done. Just needed to plate their meal when the rug under her was pulled, sending her right back down to earth.

His phone hadn't even completed ringing when he picked it up, his demeanor instantly changing.

"Sunhee's flight came in a few hours early. Rain check on dinner?" He flashed her his dimply smile.

What was she supposed to do? Say no? Not with that smile.

Y/n agreed, allowing him to usher her out of his place; not without a kiss of course.

With an empty stomach and a freed up Friday night, she made her way to her favorite duo's place — in hopes that the two were not out terrorizing local single women at the club.

"He called off date night? For Sunhee?" Mingyu snorted as she picked off of his plate. "Can't you go and make yourself a plate? There's literally enough food for both of us."

She shook her head, grabbing another piece of chicken only for her to drop it as his hand lightly smacked hers. "She didn't have a ride."

God, could she be any more oblivious.

"Uber? Lyft?" He listed in bewilderment.

Y/n shrugged. "You'd do it for me."

She didn't care if he had a girl best friend. To most, this was a nightmare. It would have been the first big red flag to any other girl.

But Y/n knew she couldn't complain. Not when she was the first person Mingyu would call to tell her about the latest girl he was dating, the person he asked for outfit approvals, the person she called when she had any car problems. They were each other's person. Even if they bickered like their lives depended on it.

No, she couldn't be a hypocrite.

"Pick you up at the airport? During rush hour? You wish. I'd only do that for someone I love.... even then I'd reconsider it." He chewed.

"They're best friends." She defended, tapping her finger on the table to make a point.

"Who's in love with each other." Mingyu replied matter of factly, copying her actions.

As if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"No they don't."

"May I remind you that last week he didn't make it to your little breakfast date because she didn't feel well. She." He emphasized. "You would have to be dying for me to cancel on someone I was dating."

Y/n had almost forgotten about the incident. She and Seungcheol had made plans to try out a new cafe by his place only for him to cancel at the very last minute.

She paid no mind to this, knowing that he and Sunhee were close and she had no family in the city to be at her aid.

Little did she know at the time was that Sunhee simply had a hangover and Seungcheol had gone over to nurse her back to health.

"It's been three months and not a single title has been established. He's a red flag, Y/n. Back out now before you get even more attached." Mingyu stood from his seat, walking over to the stove where the rest of his meal was cooling — scooping extra servings for him and y/n. "You want more rice?"

"No, just chicken." She shook her head. "He's just being a good friend."

"I give it another month before he makes you cry." He sat back down, this time placing the plate in-front of her.

He was right.

Within a month, Seungcheol began giving Y/n mixed signals — one minute he was telling her how he couldn't believe he had managed to score a chance with her and the next he was leaving her on delivered for hours on end.

Only for her to find out he had been pre-occupied with Sunhee through their instagram stories.

But see, Seungcheol had done it so slowly and Y/n didn't realize that she had been put on the backburner until it was too late.

She was far in too deep when she had come to realize that she would never measure up to the girl.

She had been attached, falling deeper and deeper as each day passed.

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．

"Are you done?" Mingyu whined from across the table.

She had taken and retaken the same picture of their meal for the past minute, unable to find the right angle.

"It doesn't look like a date!" Y/n groaned. "You know for someone who came up with this brilliant idea, you're shit at making it believable."

When he had told her he was going to be picking her up to get lunch, this was not what y/n had imagined. She thought he would have at least chosen a much cuter place that was worth pulling her phone out for.

But what would have expected from the Kim Mingyu.

She nearly strangled him as they pulled up to the usual spot they would gab a bite from. After much convincing, and the offer of a free meal on him, she exited the car and followed him into the establishment.

Picking up his chopsticks to pick at the meat that was beginning to brown on the grill, Mingyu let out a small chuckle. "He won't believe it if I took you to something fancy."

Y/n rolled her eyes, leaning back against her chair as she watched him stuff his face. "This is so romantic." She deadpanned.

"Fine, here." He sat up, placing an elbow on the table and a smirk on his face.

He was posing.

She had seen enough stories from girls he had dated to know it was his signature look.

"The fuck am I supposed to do with that."

"Just take the damn picture."

Picking up her phone with a sigh, she angled her phone just enough to capture their meal and him – cutting it off right where his neck began. It was discreet enough to get people wondering, but also obvious enough for him to know who she was with.

She didn't want to post his face just yet.

"Next date better be something good and not barbecue."

"Relax, we gotta do it slowly." He shoveled a spoonful of rice into his mouth, wincing at the sight of him talk while his cheeks were full of food. "Date here and there and then Hawaii– that's when we'll become so insufferable he'll want to kill me."

Hawaii.

In about two weeks, she and the whole gang were headed off to the tropics for one of their college friend's destination wedding.

Of course it would be a destination wedding. It was Jeonghan.

He couldn't just have picked a local venue.

It was going to be a week full festivities, the group wanting to take advantage of all the island had to offer before they watched their close friend walk down the aisle.

Might as well.

Everyone was going to be there. Including her.

"Speaking of," Mingyu continued. "Switch rooms with Minghao."

Looking up from her phone, she raised a brow at him.

"Do you even want to do this? Why are you so dumb?"

"Hey!"

Rubbing his face and groaning in frustration, he spoke slowly. "Minghao's rooming with me, meaning you will now room with me. Seungcheol will see. He will get jealous. Is your pea brain picking up on this?"

Jeonghan and his future wife had thankfully blocked off a floor at the hotel for those traveling for his big day, allowing all his friends to be within close proximity to each other.

She had initially booked a room all by herself after waiting weeks for Seungcheol to bring it up when they had all received their invites in the mail.

But he never did.

In fact, he had told her he was rooming with one of his high school friends who had not seen in a while.

She couldn't even bring herself to be disappointed, a part of her fully expecting he wasn't going to make the suggestion.

He had seen the disappointed look on her face that day, reassuring her that he may end up in her room every night anyways.

"Just want to hang out with Jihoon, haven't seen him in years." He reasoned, placing a kiss on her temple.

What a fucking liar.

"If we're going to do this, you have to be nicer to me.".

"Whatever you say, stink." He winked.

"Stink?" Y/n made a face.

"Short for stink bug."

It was a nickname he had given her in middle school, claiming that she looked a like a stink bug.... and smelled like one too. Y/n hated the nickname at the time, nearly crying each time he would call her this in front of the boys in their class.

It was better than baby.

"We'll work on pet names later." She laughed.

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．

Their fake dates have gained attention from everyone but him.

The rest of their friend group had managed to fall for their act after the second cryptic instagram story that the two shared at his apartment.

Unbeknownst to them, they had spent nearly half an hour getting the perfect shot on his couch to make it seem as though they were cuddling – all with the help of Minghao, of course.

"This isn't gong to work. You guys look so stiff." He laughed as he watched the two make a face as they intertwined their legs, pretending as though they were cuddling as they watched a movie. "Scoot closer, Mingyu."

"If I scoot any closer, my skin will merge into hers." He snapped, following directions.

"Oh my god, just do it." She cried, her arms growing numb with the multiple attempts of snapping the picture.

Seungkwan was the first one to swipe up on the story, instantly noticing the familiar console in the picture; replying "??????".

Soon her inbox was flooded with the rest of the group's reactions; even more when Mingyu posted his version of the same pose.

All except him, who didn't even bother watching the stories.

"Switch seats with me." Y/n whispered loudly to Minghao as they waited to board their plane.

"I already switched rooms, you want me to–"

"I'm sitting next to him."

They had booked their flight together; at the time when she hadn't been able to foresee the future.

Y/n was originally going to go through with sitting through the flight next to Seungcheol, wanting to get under his skin after spending the past two weeks and a half posting of nothing but about her and Mingyu. But considering he had yet to even see a single one of these post that was directed to him, and not a single text, she didn't think she could sit a four hour flight in silence.

Not while Sunhee sat to his right.

Taking the boarding pass from her hand and handing her his, Minghao let out a defeated sigh. "I feel like I'm doing as much work in this stupid shit as you two."

They had disclosed their plans to him, and only him. They knew if it had to be believable, they need someone on their side who was able to corroberate their stories – just in case someone had doubts.

"Love you!" She smiled, reaching over to pinch his cheeks.

"You better." He grumbled.

It wasn't long before they were called to board.

Y/n palms were sweating at the thought of walking past him as she would make her way a few rows back to her newly assigned seat; but she had to keep her composure. Just as she had while they were all sat at the gate – pretending she didn't care that Sunhee wasn't giggling a little too loud at whatever Seungcheol was saying.

Or the fact that he had pushed her carry on all the way from TSA to their designated waiting area while she happily walked alongside him.

She had to keep her head up high.

He had already been sitting in his seat when he caught her eyes from the line of passengers who were all patiently waiting to put their belongings in their overhead compartments.

She was two steps away when he stood from his seat, motioning Sunhee to do the same, to make room for y/n to squeeze in to her spot by the window.

"Thanks." Minghao smiled, shimmying past the two; paying no mind to the confused look on his friend's face.

With furrowed brows, Seungcheol followed her movement – up until Mingyu grabbed the rolling bag from her hand.

"I got it." He lifted the bag with ease, sparing no glance to the eyes that burned a hole in the back of his head.

Once she was no longer in his eyeline, y/n let out a breath of relief – buckling herself in.

"High five." Mingyu held his hand up, proud of her.

"Gyu please, not now." She shook her head, attempting to slow down the beat of her heart.

His head tilted to the side as he watched the girl's emotion's spiral from nervousness to a near panic attack.

"Cheol?" He asked.

"I wish." Her legs bounced as the last few passengers took their seats and the flight attendants made their rounds; her lips growing pale as each second passed.

Mingyu watched as she shifted in her seat for the third time since sitting, adjusting her belt tighter as she felt the plane slowly taxi on to the runway. "Still?" He asked in disbelief, eyeing her knuckles that had turned white from gripping the arm rest.

Y/n simply nodded, closing her eyes.

She had always been a nervous flyer, despite the countless times people have explained the physics of a plane. To y/n it didn't seem logical, how was it that a flying bus could easily travel from point a to point b? All with nothing but a fan for an engine and wings that didn't flap.

It didn't make sense. And don't even get her started with turbulances.

The low hum of the plane had began to grow into a loud roaring sound; she could practically feel her heart sinking deep into the pit of her stomach as she waited for it to gain speed.

Y/n's mind was instantly distracted when she felt his pinky slowly interlock with hers. She opened her eyes to look over at him, but his eyes was closed and fully locked in to whatever music that was blaring on his headphones.

Grateful for his attempts to comfort her, she relaxed under his touch – feeling his hand slip under hers to interlock hands once the plane was at full speed, giving it a squeeze when the plane reached the end of the runway.

It was only a matter of minutes before they were in the air, nervously watching the buildings grow smaller and smaller as the ascended past the clouds.

All thoughts of free falling began to plague her mind again.

"Stop that." He reached over to shut her window with his free hand, pointing to her personal tv. "Watch. Don't look out."

Time passed quickly all thanks to Mingyu's annoying voice that had kept her distracted, talking over the movie he had suggested for her to watch – pausing almost every five minutes to listen to him either comment on the scene or babble on and on about a random picture from his camera roll.

She had given up halfway through the movie, opting to sleep instead. But Mingyu wasn't letting up; he had thought if she sat in silence, she would manage to come up with all the worst case scenarios possible.

He would have much rather waste his breathe talking her ear off than have to comfort her while she sobbed in her seat.

He had been traumatized the last time their family took a trip together to Japan; the first time he had seen a different side of her. She had always been the braver one between the two, an adrenaline junkie who seeked thrill rides and any activity that would have him cowering in an instant.

They were fifteen at the time and since then, he swore he would rather eat dirt before he relieved that same moment again.

Just as he had comforted her during take off, Mingyu took her hand in his as they made their descend down – still babbling on and on about god knows what.

"See not bad." He grinned as they felt their plane come to a complete stop.

The humid air instantly engulfed them as they stepped out of the automatic doors of the airport, each making a comment about how glad they were that they chose to dress lightly.

The boys were all like children let loose in a candy shop, gawking over the Jeep Wranglers at the rental lot – Seokmin and Mingyu instantly bickering over who would get the last black two door.

"Boys." A voice next to her giggled.

It was Sunhee.

While the guys loudly made arrangements on who would be getting which vehicle and who would be riding with who, Sunhee and Y/n stood back and watched.

"They're... something." Y/n forced out a laugh.

The thing was, she couldn't bring herself to hate the girl.

As much as she hated that she was the reason for the pain that Seungcheol had put her through, y/n knew that Sunhee wasn't the problem.

In fact, Sunhee had attempted to distance herself from Seungcheol at one point when she had found out he was dating her; but of course, he didn't have any of it. Y/n was in the other room when he had called Sunhee, saying that he and y/n were just casually dating and didn't care feel at all threatened by Sunhee.

It wasn't a lie. But it sure did hurt.

"Stink!" Mingyu called out from black Jeep, motioning for her to head over. "Come on!"

He had won the rock, paper, scissors against Seokmin.

Fighting back the urge to send him the middle finger, Y/n smiled at him and turned to Sunhee. "I'll see you at the hotel."

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．

"When'd you get that?"

Y/n turned away from her suitcase, halting her search for her white oversize linen button down, she followed his finger to the red fine line tattoo that read "lucky" at her hip.

Once they had all arrived at the hotel, the group wasted no time making plans to bound for the beach; agreeing to head up to their respective rooms to quickly change out of their airport loungewear to a much more appropriate attire.

Mingyu and Y/n have seen each other countless of times in their swimsuits, not bothering to bat an eye as they gathered all their belongings half naked.

"About four months ago." Y/n went back to practically tossing all her belongings on her bed.

Thankfully the room that they shared was a double queen, having it originally been Minghao and Mingyu's sleeping arrangement. She was able to make her own mess on her side without Mingyu's complaint about making the whole place look like a teenager's room.

He had been the clean one between the two.

"Nice." He nodded slipping a plain white shirt on. "Ready?"

"I can't find my shirt." She exhasperated.

"We're going down to the beach. Just go like that." He said, addressing her current outfit.

Which was just her swimwear and light washed cut off shorts that she had folded down to rest right at her hips. Something she had seen from pinterest when she was taking inspiration for her outfits for the trip.

"But I want to look cute." She pouted.

Aside from having to pretend like she was dating him, she still wanted to take document the trip and all her outfits.

She had an instagram feed to keep up, after all.

Rolling his eyes, he dug into his own suitcase – tossing her his crocheted short sleeve button down. "Come on, we're missing prime acting time." He clapped. "Need to annoyingly apply sunscreen on you and pretend to drag you into the water."

"Oh my god." She groaned.

When he said they were going to be insufferable, she didn't think he would jump right into it – dreading the fake laughs and giggles she would have to muster up the minute they stepped foot out of their room.

Grabbing her tote off the bed, Y/n put on her best smile and walked over to him. "Ready, bug?"

"Let the games begin, stink." He winked, slinging his arms over her shoulder – the two cracking up in an instant.

This was going to be a long week.

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．

They're act was in full force.

Mingyu wasn't lying when he said he would apply suncreen on her once they reached the sand, annoyingly taking his time as he reached her lower back.

He was also not lying when he said he would pretend to drag her in the water, throwing her over his shoulder as he bounded for the shoreline, only to set her down once he was ankle deep.

"Is he looking?" He asked, keeping one arm around her waist.

Discreetly peering over his shoulder, thankful that he was nearly a foot taller than her, y/n nodded.

Seungcheol was sat on his towel, watching the two with the same look he had been giving when they were at Seokmin's.

"Okay, we'll I'm gonna go play." Mingyu satisfied with his short acting career, nodding over to Hansol and Chan who was calling out for him at the deep end. "You're good for a few minutes?"

"Yeah I'm going to nap." She nodded, heading back up to where the other half of the group was lounging – not before she felt him give her hip a squeeze.

"For plot." He winked.

"Gross."

"You and Mingyu, huh?" Jeonghan wiggled his brows as she took a seat next to him, pulling her sunglasses back down to cover her eyes.

Along with Seungcheol, Jeonghan had managed to catch a glimpse of the two shamelessly flirting by the water.

He had bought their oscar worthy performance.

"Yeah." She replied shyly. "It kind of just happened."

They had yet to come up with how it just happened.

"Surprised it didn't happen sooner. Glad you got over this guy over here." Using his thumb to point at Seungcheol who had been shamelessly listening in on their conversation. Just like everyone else in the group, Jeonghan had been filled in on y/n and Seungcheol's weird relationship – despite being cities away.

"He'll just play her." Seungcheol snorted. "It's Mingyu."

The first time she had heard him utter a word to her in weeks.

"Can't be as bad as what you put me through." Y/n replied without missing a beat, laying down to soak up the warm sun.

She fought back the smile that threatened to creep up on her lips, content that she had managed to get in his head.

The plan was working.

"Okay, kids, no fighting this week." Jeonghan laughed nervously.

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