#wesley/reader

[reds-fluff-extravaganza]

Wesley x female!reader

Requested over on ao3! Reader is new to the island and needs a job, so she works at the cafe!

You had just moved onto the island, away from the mainland. While your family was a little unsure about this idea, they wanted you to be happy, and if this would make you happy, then so be it. They would support you, and your choices.

You had just finished bringing your things, which were currently in boxes, into your new apartment, wiping the bit of sweat off your forehead before turning to face the boxes. Now it was time to unpack everything and get it put away. You looked out the nearby window and saw it was starting to get late, so you figured you could put your things away tomorrow and maybe take a walk around before getting some sleep, and maybe something to eat while you were at it.

You walked outside and took a look around your surroundings, before you started walking, to where, exactly? Not even you knew, you just wanted to walk around and see what there was around the island, and figure out where everything was. As you walked, you took in your surroundings, getting a wave here and there from people you walked past.

“They seem friendly enough,” you thought to yourself as you kept walking, a faint smile on your face. As you walked, you soon noticed a cute little cafe in the distance. Curious, you made your way over to the cafe, and when you saw that it was still open, you walked inside. Practically as soon as you stepped inside and the door closed behind you, you were bombarded by a bunch of cats, which caught you off guard and you nearly fell over. You managed to catch your balance before you fell, but you laughed a bit and knelt down to pet the cats.

“This is a surprise, the cats are usually pretty timid around new people.” You heard a male voice say, making you look up from the small herd of cats that were all wanting your attention. You saw a male with tan skin and blueish green hair, wearing what you could guess was a uniform for the cafe, and from the way he looked and how he sounded, you could tell he was a little flamboyant and takes pride in his appearance.

“Really?” You tilt your head slightly, petting a black and white cat that had crawled onto your lap. He only nodded in response, before looking back at you.

“I’ve never seen you around before, are you new?”

“Yeah, I just moved here today. I didn’t feel like unpacking everything at the moment, so I decided to walk around and find where everything is. Oh, that’s right, my name’s (y/n)!”

“The name’s Howell. Everyone else is… somewhere.”

“Everyone else?” You asked, curious to what he meant by that.

“Yeah, my siblings are all here, and I’m sure they’d like to meet you too… maybe. I dunno.” Howell held a hand out for you to take to help you up, which you took. Howell helped you up before letting go of your hand.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” You took a look around the cafe, noticing that it was pretty empty aside from you and Howell.

“It’s usually busier during the day, but you happened to come by as we were getting ready to close for the night.”

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you guys!”

“It’s whatever. You could come by tomorrow?”

“Sure, that sounds like a plan!” You smiled and nodded, turning to leave. “See you tomorrow!” You left the cafe and started making your way back to your apartment. What you didn’t see, was a certain older brother watching you as you left. Wesley walked over to Howell, looking at the door.

“Oh, that was Y/n, they’re apparently new to the island. They’ll be back tomorrow.” Howell could just tell he was at least a little curious about you. Wesley only nodded and turned to help clean up before leaving. Howell only shook his head and followed after him.

The next day, you had gotten up, eating a small breakfast your parents had packed for you before you left… why you didn’t eat that for dinner was beyond you. You got your things unpacked and put away. It surprisingly didn’t take as long as you thought, considering you had quite a bit of stuff with you. As you were unpacking, you remembered the cat cafe you had visited last night, and your encounter with Howell. You decided that you were going back again today, and you were going now since you were done with what you wanted to get done today. You walked outside, closed and locked the door behind you, and head back to the cafe.

“Welcome back, Y/n.” You were once again greeted by several cats swarming you.

“Thanks, Howell.” You saw a few other people, some you could tell were customers, and few… well you could tell by their uniform that they worked here at the cafe. You sat at a table by yourself, as Howell went to take care of something. You had the same black and white cat from the night before sitting on your lap.

“Hello.” you heard another voice speak up, making you look up at the taller male.

“Oh, hello!” You said with a soft smile on your face. “You must be one of Howell’s brothers?” It was more of a question than anything. He only nodded and sat across from you.

“…My name’s Wesley.”

“Wesley? Well, it’s nice to meet you! My name’s Y/n, I just moved here yesterday.” Wesley nodded once more, looking at you now. The two of you sit and chat for a while, or at least.. you talked and Wesley listened, nodding or making a little gesture here and there.

“Wesley doesn’t usually talk much to new people.. you must be special, Y/n.” You heard Howell say as he approached the two of you.

“Nah, I’m not really that special, I’m just an ordinary girl!” You laughed a bit in response. It was true, you were just a rather ordinary girl, who just moved onto the island yesterday, and you were just looking for some new friends.

“Hey… do you guys think we could be friends?” You asked suddenly, catching the boys’ attention. “I know we only just met today and everything, but I… don’t have any friends here yet, and you both are pretty nice from what I can tell so far.” You were cut off by Howell who responded to you with a,

“Yeah, sure, why not?” Wesley nodded in agreement to his brother’s words.

“Great! I’m happy to hear it.” You smiled softly.

“Maybe we could hang out later..?” You suggested, still petting the cat that was on your lap.

“Sure.” Wesley responded.

“Great! I’ll see you guys later, then!” You got up, the cat in your lap now on the floor, and you left the cafe, Wesley watching you leave.

“…you like her, don’t you, Wesley?” Howell asked the older brother. Wesley simply shrugged and walked back into the kitchen, Howell shook his head as he watched his brother leave.

It’s been almost a year since you met the Wizard family, and you’ve gotten pretty close with most of them, except for Crispin, but you didn’t mind it too much. However, you’ve gotten really close with the second oldest brother, Wesley. You two spend a lot of time together, whether it’s at the cafe or on his off days. Speaking of the cafe, Howell ended up offering you a job there since he knew you needed to work and he liked you, as a friend of course. You were rather grateful for this and so was Wesley, as this gave him a chance to be around you more often.

Over the past few months, you had gained a bit of a crush on Wesley, but you had shoved it aside since you figured he wouldn’t feel that way towards you… so you kept quiet about your feelings. However, practically all of Wesley’s siblings knew about your feelings towards him, and about he feels about you. They have debated on trying to set the two of you up on multiple occasions.

“Wesley.” Howell and Cass approached their older brother.

“Hmm?” He looked over at his younger siblings as he looked ready to leave the apartment.

“We know how you feel about Y/n. Why don’t you tell her how you feel?”

“Come on, Howell, don’t try to force him to confess his feelings.” Cass lightly smacked him upside his head, making him yelp in surprise and glare at her. Wesley only shook his head in response, as if to say that he just wasn’t ready to confess his feelings for you yet. He wanted to, but he felt… afraid, in a sense. As if he didn’t want to ruin your friendship.

“Wait where are you going?” Howell asked suddenly, curious to where Wesley was going.

“It’s Y/n’s turn to close up, so he’s going to walk her home.” Cass answered before walking back to her room.

“You do care for her… you should just tell her already.” Wesley just shrugged and walked out, closing the door behind him. He had thought about his siblings words as he walked back to the cafe. He wanted to tell you how felt, but he wasn’t sure if you felt the same way towards him…

As he was approaching the cafe, he saw you locking the door. You looked over as he approached, a soft smile on your face.

“Oh, hey, Wesley!” Wesley smiled softly in response as he walked up to you.

“Oh..? Are you going to walk me home..?” He nodded in agreement, keeping the smile on his face. “Oh, you didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s what friends are for, Y/n.” Friends. Oh how you wanted to be more than that, but you were fine with being friends, as long as you got to keep hanging out with him.

“Oh, alright, let’s go!” You smiled as the two of you walked to your apartment, talking as you walked. You talked about whatever came to mind, whether it was about your day at work, something you heard, or just… something completely random. Wesley just smiled as he listened to you talk, chuckling a bit in response to something you said.

As you got closer to your apartment, you felt something wet touch your forehead. Confused, you looked up, feeling it again but on your cheek and forehead once more.

“Oh shoot, it’s about to rain!” You two then started to run towards your apartment, which was only a few minutes away now. Fortunately, you got to your apartment before it started pouring down rain. You closed the door behind the two of you.

“Well.. it looks like you’ll be over here for a while until the rain stops. I hope you don’t mind.” You looked over at the taller male, who didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, he didn’t mind, as he would be spending more time with you. You felt the same way, glad to be spending more time with him.

“Well… we could maybe watch a movie or something..?” You suggested, to which Wesley nodded in agreement.

“Sweet, you get comfy on the couch and I’ll be back.” Wesley went over to the couch and sat down as you went to your room to change out of your uniform. As he waited, he looked around the room, taking in his current surroundings, he noticed a few pictures here and there, but he doesn’t say anything about them. He was curious, though.

You soon came back to the living room in a t-shirt and sweat pants/shorts. You went over to the couch and sat by Wesley, grabbing the remote from the coffee table and turning the TV on.

“Alright, let’s pick a movie.”

“…how about (insert movie here)?”

“Sure!” You nodded and brought up the movie, pressing play and setting the remote back down on the coffee table. Within the first half hour of the movie, you had ended up moving closer to Wesley without even realizing it. How could you not notice that? Not even you knew.

Wesley, on the other hand, had noticed the distance between you two had gotten shorter and shorter, until you were practically leaning against him. Without thinking, he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer. Surprised, you glanced up at him, but you decide to not question it, and rest your head on his shoulder as you go back to watching the movie.

It was rather quiet, except for you two occasionally commenting on the movie or laughing at something. It wasn’t an awkward silence, either, it was a nice kind of silence. Once the movie was over, the two of you looked at each other, him still having an arm around you, and you still leaning against him.

“Wesley…” you started, “there’s… something I have to tell you.”

“…so do I, Y/n.”

“…does it have to do with the fact that you still have your arm around me?” You asked. Wesley only nodded, and you could swear you saw a faint blush on his face.

“I… really like you, Y/n, as more than a friend. I have… never really felt this way towards anyone else.”

“Wait, really? I like you too, Wesley. And it’s okay, we can take things slow, heck, we don’t even have to tell your siblings about us if you don’t want to.” Wesley smiled softly in response to your words as he hugged you.

“I would appreciate that, thank you.” He said loud enough for you to hear before he kissed your forehead softly. You hugged him back, noticing how nice and soft, and warm he is.

“Would you… like to stay over and continue watching movies with me? Since, uh, it looks like the rain stopped.”

“I would rather be here with you. They know I’m with you.”

“At least give them a ‘hey, I won’t be home tonight’ or something, okay?” Wesley chuckled softly and nodded.

“Okay.”

“Alright, let’s get some snacks and watch another movie!” You stood up and went to the kitchen, coming back with a few snacks for you two as you brought up another movie, (favorite movie), knowing that tonight, it was just you and your new boyfriend, Wesley.

[princesevsnape]

Gryffindor Boys React - Sharing a bed for the first time

Characters: Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Oliver Wood, Neville Longbottom

Neville Longbottom:

He would be so nervous.

He’d try and stay as far away from you on the bed, out of respect for you

He’d be shocked when you move closer and cuddle up to him

He’d blush like crazy

But he’d finally relax after you tell him he doesn’t have to be nervous. He still is slightly nervous though

Harry Potter:

He’d find it a bit awkward at first not sure what to do with himself.

But he relaxes when you cuddle up to him.

He wraps you up in his arms and places gentle kisses on your forehead

He’d get a bit flustered because he can’t believe he can finally hold you close to him.

He’d wake up in the morning the happiest guy ever

Ron Weasley:

He’d be a bit shy

He’d reach for your hands and hold them in his

When you tell him to just cuddle you instead he does so straight away. He’d still feel a bit shy

He’d be surprised when you place a soft kiss on his lips

The next morning he asks you when can you share a bed again

Fred Weasley:

He’s straight in with the cuddles and kisses

He holds you close to him all night

He’d be telling you how lucky he is to be with you

And he’d constantly tell you how beautiful you are

He’d also find it difficult trying to stop himself from touching you all over but he respects you

In the morning he’d tell you that you are not allowed to sleep in a bed without him again

George Weasley:

Holding you close and stroking your hair

Placing soft kisses on the top of your head

Constantly complimenting you

Making sure you have more of the blanket than him to make sure you don’t get cold

In the morning he refuses to let you go

Oliver Wood:

He would probably bore you to sleep with talks of Quidditch strategies

When he realises you’ve fallen asleep he will wrap you up in his arms and even though you won’t hear him he apologises for always talking Quidditch

He will stare at you until he himself falls asleep

When you wake up in the morning you’ll be surprised to be in his arms but you cuddle into him further.

He would place a kiss on your forehead and tell you that you look beautiful making you blush and bury your face in his chest causing him to chuckle

[monicfever]

dd n punisher characters with a hypersexual/overly hormonal reader? of course if you're not comfortable with this type of stuff you don't have to write <3

hypersexual!reader 𝜗𝜚 daredevil & punisher hc’s

r e q u e s t e d ♡

characters used ᝰ .ᐟ matt murdock / frank castle / foggy nelson / karen page / elektra / ben poindexter / billy russo / dinah madani / james wesley / muse

⏜︵ MATT MURDOCK. 𐂯

matt pretends to be unbothered by how forward you are, but he absolutely notices every suggestive comment, every lingering touch, every flirtation. it always gets under his skin more than he lets on. he’ll smile that smug little half-smile, tilt his head like he’s trying to read you, and say something like, “you really don’t hold back, do you?” — but it’s always a little breathless.

he’s always listening. you think you’re being sneaky when you touch yourself in the other room, but matt hears everything. every breath, every rustle of sheets, every quiet whimper. it drives him insane. he’ll usually let you keep going for a while (just to hear it). eventually he’ll show up in the doorway, arms crossed: “having fun?” and the moment you smile at him, it’s over.

he likes the chase. you being constantly turned on doesn’t bother him, but he enjoys making you wait. you’ll try to crawl into his lap when he’s doing paperwork or patching himself up, but he’ll smirk and say, “you want something?” like he doesn’t already know.

he has rules, but you’re the exception. matt tries to set boundaries. “no distractions before patrol.” “not while we’re in public.” “not when i’m bleeding.” yet, somehow, your lips on his neck or your hand creeping under his shirt makes him forget every one of them. you’ll hear him groan out, “you’re gonna be the death of me.” while pulling you closer.

you fluster him more than he’ll admit. you’ve whispered things to him in church before. at nelson & murdock while foggy’s in the other room. across a dinner table while he's pretending to focus. every time, you catch the faint pink in his cheeks, the way he adjusts his posture like he’s suddenly uncomfortable in his skin. “you’re incorrigible.” he’ll mutter. and then he’ll kiss you like he’s punishing you for it.

sometimes, when you’re being especially over-the-top — dropping innuendos in public, texting him filthy things while he’s in court — he’ll give you that warning tone. quiet, dangerous, voice low and right at your ear.

when you’re feeling particularly needy, he’s infuriatingly good at switching the roles. “oh, now you want my attention?” he’ll murmur, catching your wrists as you crawl into his lap. “you seemed just fine earlier.” he knows exactly how to drag it out until you’re the one begging, and when he does finally give in, it’s intense, focused, and a little overwhelming in the best way.

aftercare means a lot to him, even if you’re the one instigating all the time. he’ll kiss your shoulder, your knuckles, the top of your head. he’ll ask, “you okay?” even if you’re giggling and glowing. “again? insatiable.”

on a heavier note, sometimes your intensity stirs something deeper in him. his own guilt, his conflict between pleasure and penance. there are moments when he’ll gently pull back, not to reject you, but to steady himself.

sometimes he worries he’s not enough. he knows you’re intense, that your needs don’t exactly quiet down. even though he’s more than capable of keeping up, there are nights where he wonders if he can keep satisfying you.

⏜︵ FRANK CASTLE. 𐂯

notices everything. every suggestive glance, every teasing touch, every time you slide up beside him wearing next to nothing. he won’t always react — not right away — but you’ll catch the slight tilt of his head, the shift in his breathing. he’s got that stillness that says don’t push me unless you mean it. and you always mean it.

he’s not one for words, especially not when it comes to sex. so when you’re being flirty, constantly on him, slipping innuendos into everyday conversation, he mostly just hums or raises a brow. when he does speak, it’s in that rough voice — something like, “you keep talkin’ like that, you’re gonna find out how far i’ll take it.”

he holds back for a while. you’re always testing the line, always touching, always turning things suggestive. he plays it cool at first, lets you push and push. once he gives in, he doesn’t hold back. it’s intense, fast, physical — he grabs, lifts, pins. after he’s quiet again. catching his breath. wiping his hand down his face like you’ve just unraveled him.

tries not to act like he cares about how much you want him, but the truth is it gets to him. you wanting him like that, so openly, so often; it gets to him. there’s something healing in it, something anchoring. sometimes when you’re curled up next to him afterward, he’ll press a kiss to your forehead and murmur, “you’re trouble.”

he doesn’t judge. never once makes you feel like you’re too much. your neediness, your teasing, your constant desire doesn’t scare him, doesn’t annoy him. if anything, it pulls him in. you’re real, alive, shameless about what you want. frank’s been in the dark too long not to be drawn to that kind of light.

he tries to ignore you when he’s focused, but you are relentless. sitting in his lap while he’s working on something. whispering, “wanna take a break?” with your fingers ghosting over his chest. he doesn’t look at you at first — keeps his hands busy — but his jaw tenses and his breath slows, like he’s trying to pray his way through it. “i’m tryin’ to get this done.” he’ll rasp. you smirk, “i’m trying to get you done.”

he doesn’t like being teased when he’s busy, so when you push him too far, pressing against him while he’s fixing something or whispering filthy things in his ear when he’s trying to clean a gun - - he’ll give you a warning. just a look. if you ignore it? he shuts the whole world out and shows you exactly what happens when you don’t listen.

when you’re being dramatic about needing him, he’ll act annoyed, but deep down it kills him in the sweetest way. “frank,” you’ll whine from across the room, “i’m bored and horny and you’re ignoring me.” and he’ll sigh like you’re exhausting — but then walk over and manhandle you into his arms without a word. picks you up and lays you out like he’s been waiting for you to ask.

he worships your body in private. all that heat and teasing you throw at him gets returned in full once he’s got you alone. he takes his time, holds you still, tells you exactly what he’s going to do in that deep, steady voice. “you want this?” he’ll ask, even though he already knows.

but he’s also so soft after. runs his thumb along your cheekbone like he’s checking you’re real. presses a kiss to your shoulder, your forehead, the curve of your hip.

⏜︵ FOGGY NELSON. 𐂯

he is constantly flustered. like. constantly. you’ll say something absolutely filthy with a straight face while he’s drinking his morning coffee and he’ll choke every time. stammering, red in the face, eyes wide. “you — you can’t just say that while i’m holding hot liquid!”

he brags to matt. not in detail (he’s respectful, okay), but he definitely walks around with that post-you glow, hair messy, tie a little crooked, sipping coffee like he’s untouchable. matt raises a brow. foggy just shrugs. “what can i say? i’m being thoroughly appreciated.” — casually mentions to karen that he “had a very energetic weekend” while sipping his fourth cup of coffee.

he pretends to be shocked, but he loves it. he lives for it. he’ll say things like “you are so inappropriate” while his hand is already on your waist, pulling you closer. he’s not fooling anyone, not with that little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

he loves making you feel good. your neediness doesn’t put him off, he’s just thrilled to be the one you want. he takes his time with you. he listens. and when you’re breathless under him, gripping the sheets and begging for more? he looks at you like you hung the stars.

you make him feel like a king. you’re bold about it. you want him, loudly and often, and foggy melts. literally melts. “you want me that bad?” he asks, half in disbelief, half smug. and when you say yes without hesitation? he gets that cocky little glint in his eyes.

you make him nervous in the best way. like, this is a guy who can argue a courtroom into submission, but the second you lean in at the office and whisper something filthy in his ear, he loses all ability to function.

public teasing turns him into a mess. you run your hand along his thigh under the table, whisper dirty things while you’re walking beside him, and he’s just trying to not combust. “can you not?” he hisses through a grin, but there’s no real protest. he’s into it.

he calls you a menace all the time. lovingly. half-scold, half-swoon.

he tries to retaliate. he’ll flirt back. maybe even whisper something filthy of his own, thinking he’s got you now. you double down. he immediately regrets it in the best way. “okay, okay, you win,” he laughs, hands up. “you’re dangerous.”

he’s an aftercare king. gets you water, fluffs your pillow, runs a bath. holds you close while you both come down. if you so much as hint at being ready for another round he’ll fake-complain (“you’re trying to kill me!”) while already kissing down your neck.

when he tries to keep up with you, it’s adorable. you’ll say something filthy and he’ll try to match you with a slick comeback; but the timing’s off, or he blushes halfway through, and it just ends up being the cutest thing you’ve ever heard.

he’s a cuddler with no shame. after you’ve exhausted him (and let’s be honest, you do), he’s all tangled limbs and sleepy kisses. “you’re insane,” he mumbles, burying his face in your shoulder. “i love it. don’t stop.” his voice is warm, a little hoarse, completely smitten.

he can’t keep secrets. not real ones. if he’s been thinking about you all day, he’ll tell you. “you left me like that this morning and expected me to go to work like a functioning adult?” he texts you during court. you send back a selfie in something slightly obscene. he slams his phone face-down on the desk and mutters “i’m in hell” with a dazed smile.

“no more sending suggestive photos while i’m at lunch with matt’s priest friend.”

he loves you exactly the way you are. loud, needy, bold, inappropriate — he eats it up.

⏜︵ KAREN PAGE. 𐂯

she tries to be professional. she’ll be typing up a story, dead focused, and then you saunter in, leaning over her chair, whispering something that should absolutely be illegal. her jaw tenses, her eyes stay on the screen. “i’m working.” but she’s already shifting in her seat, biting her lip.

she has a secret mouth. when she wants to, she’ll say something so filthy it stuns you into silence. usually in a whisper. close to your ear. “you gonna beg for it, or just keep looking at me like that?” and then she just waits. calm. still. eyes on you, daring you to do something about it.

you flirt like it’s breathing, kiss like it’s urgent, touch like you need her; it leaves her reeling. she’ll try to keep her cool but you’ll catch the way she exhales a little too hard, or stares at your mouth a second too long.

she teases right back. once she’s comfortable with you, you’re in trouble. she’ll wait until you’re the one trying to focus, then lean in and say something devastating in that soft, matter-of-fact voice. “if you keep looking at me like that, we’re not making it to dinner.” and then just walk away. smirking.

but you also unravel her. she’s used to bottling things up, being composed. you’re all touch and need and hunger and affection. it pulls something raw out of her. when you’re whispering her name, clawing at her shirt, telling her how good she makes you feel, she loses her edge.

she’s fiercely attentive. your hypersexuality doesn’t scare her, doesn’t make her pull away. if anything it makes her want to understand you better. know your needs, meet them fully, love you through it. she’ll read you like a book — figure out exactly what makes you tick — and then use it.

she absolutely uses your energy to distract you. when she wants your attention, she’ll give you that look, chin tilted, eyes sharp, and say something devastating in a calm voice. “get over here.” and suddenly you’re the one undone, aching and obedient.

she knows when you’re trying to seduce her and lets you. she’ll play along like she’s unfazed, arms crossed, head tilted. “you think you’re being subtle?” she’ll say while you’re practically crawling into her lap. but the slight twitch at the corner of her mouth? the way her eyes darken just a little? yeah, you’ve already won.

she does not shy away from intimacy. your neediness doesn’t embarrass her, it draws her in. she’s not here to shame you or play coy. she wants to be wanted like that. to be touched like she matters. when she gets overwhelmed, she clings. yeah, you’re the hypersexual one — but when she finally lets go, she gets wrapped up in it too. hands in your hair, lips on your throat, whispering your name like it’s the only thing that matters.

she absolutely teases you in public. she’ll press up behind you at the grocery store, whisper something obscene with the most innocent look on her face, then walk off like nothing happened. you’re the one standing there stunned, clutching a box of cereal like it just said something inappropriate.

gets handsy when she’s tired. maybe it’s after a long day, maybe it’s when she’s half-asleep on the couch, but her hands start wandering, slow and lazy and full of intention.

⏜︵ ELEKTRA. 𐂯

absolutely thinks it’s amusing. from the start, she watches you with that signature, smug little smile every time you throw yourself at her like a live wire. her eyes are dark, hungry, like she’s daring you to want her more.

she matches your energy with terrifying ease. you flirt to fluster — she flirts to destroy. you say something filthy and she just smiles, leans in, and whispers something ten times worse in your ear while touching you exactly where it counts.

you don’t scare her. she welcomes all of it. feeds off of it. where others might pull away, elektra leans into it. and when you beg? her grin gets sharp.

she teases you to the edge of madness. she’ll touch you under the table during dinner, drag her nails over your thighs when you’re trying to focus, kiss your jaw and say, “you’ll behave, won’t you?” in public — knowing damn well you won’t. she wants you to break. that’s the game. taunts you when you’re needy. you’ll whine, cling, kiss her like you’re begging for something, and she’ll laugh — low and wicked. “you’ll have to earn it.” she’ll purr, dragging her fingers down your back.

she owns the aftermath. after you’ve lost your mind on her, desperate and clinging, she turns soft. unexpectedly so. hands gentle, voice low, fingers brushing your hair back as she says, “look at you. i do love how pretty you are when you fall apart.”

she lives for your attention. she won’t admit it, at least not easily, but the way you’re always reaching for her, needing her, dragging her in like you’re starving for her? it feeds something in her. reminds her she’s wanted.

she doesn’t believe in moderation. so you being constantly touchy, constantly turned on? she meets it with equal force. doesn’t ask why you want her again, just laughs, low and cruel, “on your knees, then.” like it’s the most obvious answer in the world.

she gets mean when she’s turned on. in that smirking, dominant, slightly dangerous way. “what’s the matter, sweetheart?” she’ll say when you’re writhing under her, voice honey-sweet and mocking. “this is what you wanted, isn’t it? all that begging…”

she tests how far you’ll go. she’ll push you in public, press a hand between your thighs under the table, kiss your neck just a little too long, and ask in your ear, “going to behave, or make a scene?” and when you shiver, grip her wrist, beg for more — that’s when she grins like the devil. “that’s what i thought.”

watches you like prey. doesn’t matter how many times you’ve kissed, or how many times you’ve begged her to take you apart, she always looks at you like she’s deciding where to sink her teeth next. you flirt with her in front of someone else? challenge her in that low voice? she’ll take you home and ruin you.

when you come onto her in a bad mood she melts. she could be fresh off a mission, furious, bloodied, but you crawling into her lap and saying, “let me help”? she softens instantly. not in a weak way, in a worshipful way. like your desire grounds her.

⏜︵ BEN POINDEXTER. 𐂯

at first, he doesn’t know what to do with you. you flirt like it’s breathing, kiss him like it’s urgent, touch him in casual greedy little ways that short-circuit his brain. he tries to act normal, tries to hold himself together, but you catch him clenching his jaw, fingers twitching, chest rising a little too fast.

he gets obsessed fast. the second he realizes how much you want him — how openly, constantly, shamelessly — you flip some hidden switch in him. he wants more. needs it. suddenly he’s tracking your every move, memorizing the way you kiss him, the way you look at him like he’s the only thing on your mind.

he follows instructions like they’re oxygen. “sit.” “stay still.” “hands behind your back.” you say it, and he does it. instantly. without blinking. it’s instinct at this point — his body reacting before his mind catches up. the second he obeys, he’s looking up at you, waiting for approval, wide-eyed and aching for your praise.

he’s dangerous when you rile him up too far. you flirt too much, grind against him when he’s trying to behave, whisper something filthy in his ear when you’re supposed to be focused, and he snaps. drags you somewhere private, presses you against the wall, and just takes. it’s quiet, intense, almost reverent. “you drive me crazy.” he groans, forehead to yours.

he doesn’t know how to handle being needed. you tell him you want him — again and again and again — and it undoes him. makes him shaky. makes him cling. sometimes after you’ve worn each other out, he just holds you too tight and buries his face in your neck. like he’s afraid if he lets go, it’ll all disappear.

he gets flustered in the cutest, darkest way. you say something explicit and he freezes — eyes dark, jaw clenched, pulse ticking in his neck. he doesn’t laugh it off or blush. he stares. silently. like he’s deciding how many rules he’s willing to break right now. spoiler: it’s all of them.

he’s so good at ruining you in return. the minute you start pushing him he gives it back, tenfold. pins your wrists. makes you beg. says nothing for most of it, just stares at you like you’re the most perfect thing he’s ever seen. when you come undone he whispers, “look at you… look at what you let me do.”

your neediness makes him feel safe. he doesn’t always say it. but knowing you want him that much? that openly? it quiets the noise. the guilt. the rage. he touches you like you’re salvation. holds you after like you’re the only thing keeping him on the edge of sanity. you are.

he spirals when you tease him and then act innocent. you’ll straddle his lap, whisper something obscene, kiss his neck, then just walk away like it didn’t happen. dex sits there, frozen, jaw clenched, staring at the wall like he’s trying not to snap a pencil in half. by the time he finds you again, he’s feral. “you think this is a game?”

he thrives when you lose control. the moment your composure cracks — the moment you beg, or whimper, or grab at him like you can’t take it anymore — his whole demeanor shifts. his lips curl into this possessive little smirk.

he's insatiable once you’ve broken the seal. if he’s gone too long without touching you he gets ravenous. rough, shaky hands. kisses that don’t stop. taking you again and again, like he’s trying to make up for all the hours he went without you.

he doesn’t know how to take it when you praise him. he stares at you like he doesn’t know how to absorb it. like part of him doesn’t believe he deserves that softness. but he needs it. and when you say it again, gentler this time, he kisses you like he’ll die without it. he adores being praised. when you tell him he’s good, or strong, or perfect, his whole body trembles, just a little. his breath catches. it’s like he’s hearing it for the first time, every time, and it shakes him to his core. “you like that, don’t you?” you’ll tease. and he’ll look at you with this raw, desperate expression. “say it again,” he’ll whisper, voice hoarse, “please.”

he gets needy in the best way. the more you touch him, the more you praise him, the more desperate he becomes. the man who usually has all the control suddenly becomes weak for you. he’s a mess when you praise him during sex. when you tell him he’s good in bed, that he’s making you feel good — that’s when he absolutely falls apart. his hands go slack, his body goes rigid, and he’ll mumble, “don’t stop.” over and over. every word that spills from your mouth is like a drug, and it’s ruining him in the best way possible.

he loves when you take control. push him down. tell him not to move. give him orders like you expect them to be followed — because he wants to follow them. he wants to earn your touch, your words, your love. when he gets it he’s panting, melting, gripping the sheets like it’s the only thing keeping him from floating away.

his obedience isn’t about power — it’s about love. he doesn’t kneel for you because he’s weak. he kneels because he trusts you. because he knows that when you give him orders, you’ll also give him affection. and that means everything to him.

⏜︵ BILLY RUSSO. 𐂯

tries to be cocky about it at first. smirking while you straddle him, talking shit like, “gonna take what you want, baby?” but the second you actually do — grab his wrists, grind down, whisper “be good for me” — his whole body shudders. the smirk fades. his jaw clenches. and he’s whispering, “fuck… okay. okay.”

he gets jealous of your attention. not just who you give it to — but when you withhold it. you tease him, flirt then walk away, or spend more time on your phone than in his lap, and he’s immediately pressing up behind you, voice low: “what, you done using me already?”

you catch him off guard constantly. dragging him into the nearest room, climbing into his lap during meetings, whispering something unholy while he’s trying to concentrate. and he plays it cool, sure — but the way he grips the edge of the table or clenches his jaw? oh, he’s losing it.

he becomes so obedient under the right pressure. you tell him stay still and he does. every muscle tight, breathing uneven, eyes locked on you like he’s waiting for his next instruction. he looks cocky, but that tension in his body? that’s need. he wants your praise. needs your permission.

he thrives off your desire. knowing you want him all the time, that you’re always thinking about him — it makes him feel powerful. desired. worshipped. he’ll tease you for it —“you really can’t keep your hands off me, huh?”

but the more you want him, the more needy he becomes. it stops being a game and starts being obsession. now he’s the one touching you constantly, dragging you into bed at all hours, whispering, “just one more time, baby. can’t stop thinking about you.”

he’ll let you use him. no ego, no fight — just “tell me what to do.” if you’re extra desperate, pulling at his clothes and grinding on him like you’ll lose your mind without it, he lets you take it. lets you pull his belt loose and ride him breathless. hands on your thighs, eyes locked on you like you’re holy.

he melts for praise but tries to hide it. you call him good and he lets out this shaky breath, head dropping back, hands fisting the sheets. “fuck,” he whispers, like he’s embarrassed at how much it affects him. you tease him for how much he likes it. “look at you,” you’ll purr, dragging your nails down his chest, “mr. billy russo. ceo. soldier. killer. begging for my approval.” and he groans. because yeah. he is. and when you call him your pretty boy, your sweet thing, your favourite toy — he thrives. eats it up. all of it. he follows instructions so, so well. you train him without even meaning to. tell him how to touch you. when to stay still. where to put his hands. he gets desperate for your praise. he’ll push himself to the edge trying to make you feel good, looking up at you like a starved thing. “you feel good?” he pants.

he wants you to ruin him. not physically — emotionally. he wants you to strip him down. take all the masks off. make him yours in a way no one else ever has. when you say, “mine,” and grip his chin so he has to look at you? his body goes limp. he nods, quiet, obedient.

he’s competitive about keeping up. you want it again? again? oh, he’s rising to the challenge. he won’t back down — won’t let you think for one second he can’t handle it. but by round five, he’s on his back, breathless, hair damp, muttering, “jesus christ— what are you trying to do to me?”

he starts scheduling around your sex drive. literally moves meetings, delays calls, closes his office door and texts you a simple: now. and when you show up already knowing what he wants? he just leans back in his chair, unbuttons his shirt, and smirks — “i knew you couldn’t resist.”

but the second you get needy? oh, he crumbles. you press up against him, whine a little, tell him how bad you want him — and suddenly the smug façade shatters. he’s flustered, hands already on your hips, murmuring, “yeah? tell me what you need, baby. i’ll give you everything.”

he keeps things on him just in case. backup condoms. lube in his desk drawer. a change of clothes. because he knows you — knows you’re unpredictable, insatiable, always two seconds from crawling into his lap and making him lose every ounce of professionalism he has left.

he talks a big game but loses it so fast. he’ll say shit like “you gonna ride me like you mean it?” or “hope you can handle what you’re asking for”— and then you do, and suddenly he’s gasping, clutching at you, swearing under his breath like his whole body’s going haywire.

your appetite breaks his composure. you get him worked up in public, and suddenly mr. smooth-talker is stammering. distracted. flustered. he’ll pull you aside, grab your face, and growl, “you need to stop or i’m gonna fuck you in the nearest locked room.” (spoiler: you don’t stop.)

⏜︵ DINAH MADANI. 𐂯

slow mornings where you can’t keep your hands off her while she’s brushing her teeth, trying to read case files, trying to drink her coffee — she doesn’t stop you, just mutters “insatiable” with a smirk. late nights on the couch with your legs tangled over hers, your fingers tracing the scar on her side, whispering everything you want to do to her — she listens quietly, then pulls you into her lap.

you call her detective when you're being flirty — she pretends to be annoyed, but the flush in her cheeks always gives her away.

she’s the calm to your fire, but when she snaps, when she lets go — you learn that she’s been holding back so much more than you thought. your need for touch grounds her; sometimes it’s the only thing that pulls her out of her head after a long day.

she’s not overly verbal during sex, but you are — and she loves it. loves how uninhibited you are, how you make her feel wanted in a thousand ways. sometimes she doesn’t say anything at all — just looks at you with that heavy gaze, hands on your hips, and you know exactly what she needs.

you send her texts during work: i need you, thinking about your hands, wear that button-down tonight — she leaves you on read, but always shows up exactly how you want.

she’s the type to make you wait. edge you for hours just because you’ve been too much all day and she wants to remind you who’s in control.

she sets boundaries with you early on — not because she wants distance, but because she knows your appetite could swallow her whole if she let its “you don’t get to touch me just because you’re needy,” she says, low and measured, her hand firm on your wrist — but she never pushes you away, not really.

she gives you rules. no touching without asking. no teasing when she’s on the phone. and god help you if you break them — she doesn’t yell, she disciplines. when you push too far, she doesn’t lose her temper — she goes cold, calculated. “take your hands off me. now. you don’t get me when you’re acting like a brat.” she uses your hypersexuality to train you — gets in your head, turns your hunger into obedience.

you test her constantly, and she lets you — up to a point. then it’s “knees. now.” and you’re on the floor before your brain can catch up. she loves that you want her all the time — but she makes sure you need her on her terms, not yours.

⏜︵ JAMES WESLEY. 𐂯

he’s amused by how needy you are — not mocking, just indulgent. “insatiable little thing, aren’t you?” he says without looking up from his glass. he doesn’t initiate in public, but you can feel it in his stare across the room — the promise of what he’ll do to you later if you don’t behave.

he makes you ask. always. “use your words.” and if you whine or pout? “that’s not asking. that’s begging. i haven’t decided if you deserve it yet.” his discipline is precise — never cruel, always controlled. he doesn’t punish out of anger, but out of principle.

you learn very quickly not to touch him without permission. not because he doesn’t want you to — but because he enjoys denying you just enough to keep you desperate.

“if you can’t sit still through dinner without thinking about my hands, maybe you don’t need dessert tonight. or tomorrow.”

he knows your body like a weapon — keeps you right on the edge with barely a touch, just his voice, just the way he looks at you when you’re squirming in his lap. he buys you luxury — lingerie you’re not allowed to wear unless he puts it on you, jewelry that marks you as his, bruises that match your diamonds.

there’s a cold satisfaction in how he makes you obey. “no talking back.” if you try to argue he silences you with a kiss, a firm grip on your jaw, “i’ll speak when i want. you’ll listen.” he loves the way you bend to his will.

when you’re on your knees, obedient and desperate, he takes his time with you, savoring the control he has over your every move, over the way you look at him like he’s the only thing that matters. he loves when you’re desperate, when you can’t hide how much you crave him. “beg for it,” he’ll say, casually, and the way you do makes him smile with that dangerous satisfaction.

in those rare moments when he decides you’ve earned it, he’ll show a sliver of tenderness. a brush of his fingers on your cheek, a gentle word in your ear — it’s the only time you get a glimpse of the softer side he hides behind his icy control.

he doesn’t let you forget who’s in charge. if you slip up, if you get too demanding or bratty, he’ll pull back with a simple “that’s not how this works. try again.” he holds back just enough to make sure you’re always wanting more. when he finally gives you what you crave, it’s a slow, calculated act — drawing you to the brink, then pulling you back again, just to see how much you’ll beg.

“you’re not getting anything until you prove you can behave.” — you have to be good for him to get what you want.

⏜︵ MUSE. 𐂯

he calls you his favourite canvas, but he never means it metaphorically. his fingers drag across your skin like brushes, like he’s trying to paint need into your bones. he doesn’t understand restraint — when you want him, it feeds something primal in him. “say it again,” he demands, breathless and too close.

blood on his hands, paint under his nails, and you pulling at his shirt like you’re starving — he doesn’t care what time it is or what mess he left behind, not when you’re looking at him like that. he laughs when you get desperate, but it’s not mocking — it’s delighted. “look at you,” he purrs, “so hungry. like a little beast. i could make something beautiful out of that.”

he marks you in more than bruises — red smudges from pigment he won’t name, his fingerprints staining your thighs, your back, your neck — like he’s signing you. he gets obsessed with patterns — the way your body responds to certain touches, sounds, pressure — like he’s studying a new medium. “arch your back. no — slower. let me see the shape of it.”

he doesn’t like being told no. not because he’s cruel, but because he can’t comprehend being denied something he craves. your desire fuels his delusions of devotion. when you touch him, it drives him manic — like being wanted back is a concept he can’t entirely believe, and he spirals into reverence or obsession. sometimes both.

he doesn’t knock when he enters — he appears, silently, suddenly, like inspiration itself. and when you look at him with need in your eyes, he exhales like he’s relieved. “oh good. you’re ready for me.” he doesn’t understand why you crave him so often — but he adores it. treats it like proof. like you were made for him. like your desire validates the madness in his head.

he feeds on your desperation — physically, mentally, artistically. your need becomes his muse, your body the altar he builds madness on. when he ties you up, it’s not just for control — it’s a frame. your body, trembling and aching, becomes the exhibit. “stay still. you’re art now. don’t ruin it.”

he’s rough, but never careless. every bruise is intentional. every handprint, every bite — a signature. he gets frustrated when you wear something that hides his marks.

after, when you’re ruined and trembling and boneless, he presses his forehead to yours, whispering in rapid, breathless phrases: “my perfect, filthy little thing.”

and then he sketches. right there, with you still shaking, sprawled over his lap — he sketches the aftermath. the glow. the way you fell apart.

started 4.27.2025. finished 4.28.2025.

( masterlist. )

©️ monicfever 2025

[ouran1a]

YEAHHH U WRITE FOR CHUBBY READERS ? may you write something about pete with a chubby s/o ? sfw or nsfw is fineee

mmph this is so late i’m so sorry babycakes :(

18+, afab reader, pete is a short mf with tiny hands, blood/marking, technically autoerotic asphyxiation hehe

y’all i used fuck like a million times i’m SORRY. like=fuck for me idk idk idk idk

everything with pete is so fucking messy and he fucking loves it.

kisses are filled with nipping and spit and moans, greedy little hands always roaming and groping and pinching and squishing, sex was full of screaming and tears and cum and blood,

but you sitting on his face might be his favorite.

thick thighs shaking and covered in ugly fucking yellow and purple bruises and bites, blood still leaking from the deep teeth marks he’d left, your cunt just centimeters away from his hooked nose and salivating mouth, your blood and slick still shining on his cracked lips.

He scoffed quietly at your hovering, landing a heavy swat to your ass and relishing in the breathy gasp you let out, “‘s called face-sitting, ma, not this shit yer doin’” he chided. his tone was so fucking smug and arrogant, hands warm as he pinched and squeezed the pockets of chub along your hips, thumbs pushing down on your hanging tummy while he tried to drag you down to actually sit in his face.

you squirmed, body vibrating with an intoxicating mix of pleasure and dull pain, your flushed face was pulled into a grimace, baby hairs stick to your sweat slicked skin, “don’t wanna fucking break you neck, baby..” another smack to your ass, god that one was gonna leave a welt. pete yanked in your hips again, internally fuming at the fact he couldn’t force your hips down with just his brute strength, “i’ll bite yer fuckin’ clit off if you don’t” another hard yank, you drop just a bit more, “sit th’fuck down,”

seconds pass and you stay still hovering, so naturally, pete’s mouth starts running, “fuckin’ tease.” he snarled, angling his head up to nip and lick at your puffy cunt lips, “gonna touch n’ rub all up on me then pussy out when ‘m right fuckin’” he nudged your clit with his nose, grinning like a fucking maniac at your soft moan, feeling your thighs give a bit more, “hmm— ‘m right here, don’t fuckin’ keep my pussy from me,”

his voice was muffled by your thighs and yet it it still felt like he was talking right in your fucking ear, “jus’ cause your lame ass ex couldn’t man up n’ eat this fat cunt don’t mean i won’t,” pinching just above the inside of your knees, pete gets you just lost enough to finally sit you down in him, moaning like a bitch at the feeling of your full weight pressing in him.

immediately, you’re gasping and yanking at that short black hair, you can feel his nose smushed against the sensitive little bundle of nerves and his tongue slotted as deep as he can get it in you, you can still hear his fucking slurping and sucking, such a nasty fucking sound. His hands are constantly moving, one almost mindlessly feeling up your side, becoming you to curl down so he can flick and pinch your pebbled nipple while the other wrapped around his weeping cock, red and almost angry.

pete felt like he was fucking floating, he couldn’t breathe at all, throat closed and nose covered by your juicy cunt, his cock was throbbing, already so fucking close just from a few strokes. he was getting lightheaded, could feel your hips rocking back and forth, down into his face, using him to get yourself off. he could hear your muffled moans, hardly audible through your tummy and fat legs suffocating him, the sounds shot right to his dick, legs squirming and hips desperately humping up into his hand.

you got lost in the feeling, mind blank except for the friction of his nose and mouth against your cunt, the almost ticklish touch of pete sucking and lazily biting your lips. you didn’t even notice him cum, painting his hand and stomach in spunk while you just grinded harder and harder down into his face. pete didn’t try to pull you off, both hands now gripping your thighs, blunt nails leaving angry red marks all in the soft skin.

the band in your belly was pulled taut, you were at the cusp of your orgasm, one hand shakily gripping the headboard while the other yanked at his hair, “o-oh! i’mm’onna c-cum— ohmygod i’m gonna cum s-so fucking ha-ard!” all it took to snap the string was pete angling that fucking nose and wrapping his lips around your pulsing clit, nipping and biting the fucking thing.

you screamed, actually screamed, as your hips stilled, shaking and panting and sweating while your cunt gushed on his face. pete slurped it all up, blood trickling down from where his nails had broken skin while you moaned and gently rocked your hips to ride it out.

after a while you tried to lift off his face, only to gasp in pain when pete’s razors of teeth nipped your cunt lip again, beady little eyes glaring up at you, “sit th’fuck back down,” hand suddenly stronger than your limp thighs pulled you back down, “‘m not fuckin’ done with m’pussy.”

[zerosbubble]

The Rookie Prank War!

Tim Bradford x Rookie!reader [PLATONIC] — Ongoing series: Like Father, like Rookie.

A/N: Okay, so, I may have had a mini writer’s block—but! Hopefully this lengthy oneshot makes up for it. 😭

Summary: You start a (mostly) harmless prank war with one of the other rookies. Tim doesn’t care—until you drag him into it. Now he’s torn between helping you win and making sure you don’t get fired.

Pranks weren’t technically against department policy.. but that didn’t mean Tim Bradford approved of them.

Tim Bradford didn’t play games.

He didn’t do pranks. He didn’t do childish antics.

He especially didn’t do rookie nonsense.

For the first two weeks of your ongoing prank war with Aaron, Tim had stayed blissfully uninvolved. Sure, he rolled his eyes when he caught wind of your antics, and yeah, he warned you at least three times that you were playing a “dangerous game.”

But he had other things to worry about, like actual police work and making sure you didn’t get yourself killed.

So long as you weren’t embarrassing him, he didn’t care.

Yet here he was.

Stuck in the middle of a full-blown prank war between his own rookie and Aaron Thorsen.

And it was entirely your fault.

It all started when you strolled into roll call one morning looking suspiciously innocent.

Tim, unfortunately, knew you well enough by now to recognize that nothing good ever came from that expression.

He barely glanced up from his clipboard before sighing.

“Kid.”

You blinked at him, wide-eyed, the very picture of fake innocence. “Yes, sir?”

Tim’s eyes narrowed. “What did you do?”

“Why do you always assume I did something?”

Across the room, Lucy snorted, barely looking up from her coffee. “Because you always do something.”

Before you could fire back, the doors burst open like a dramatic courtroom scene.

Aaron stormed in, and for a second, you thought he might actually combust from sheer rage. His usually pristine uniform was slightly disheveled, his patrol belt slightly askew, as if he had been fighting for his life.

He pointed an accusing finger at the room.

“Okay, which one of you messed with my shop?!”

You barely bit back a grin. “What happened, Thorsen?”

Aaron glared, breathing deeply like a man trying to suppress a violent outburst.

“…Every time I hit the brakes,” he gritted out, “my car starts blasting ‘Barbie Girl.’”

Silence.

For a full three seconds, the briefing room held its breath.

Then—

Chaos.

Angela doubled over, wheezing, gripping the table for support. Meanwhile, Nyla had to physically turn away to wipe the tears forming in her eyes.

Lucy? Clapped.

She actually clapped.

Tim sighed loudly, rubbing his temples like he was regretting every decision that led him to this moment.

Aaron threw his hands up. “Do you think this is funny?!”

Angela barely choked out, “I—I just—” She gasped for air between cackles. “It fits your whole vibe, man.”

“My vibe?!”

Nyla, still wiping away laughter tears, nodded seriously. “Yeah. Rich kid turned cop? Total Ken energy.”

Lucy lost it at that. “Oh my god, Thorsen’s a Ken!”

The laughter doubled.

Even Grey—Grey, the literal sergeant who had the patience of a saint (and zero tolerance for rookie nonsense), tilted his head like he was mildly impressed before exhaling sharply, looking away like he was suppressing a smirk.

Aaron, however, looked seconds away from committing a felony.

Tim, watching all of this unfold, finally turned to you, exasperated.

“You’re lucky Grey isn’t in the mood to suspend anyone today,” he muttered.

You beamed, utterly unbothered. “That means I win this round, right?”

Aaron’s glare deepened.

“Oh, you’re so going down.”

And just like that—

The war escalated.

Tim just sighed deeply, wondering what debt he had left to pay that had led to him being responsible for you.

By the next day, you knew you were in trouble.

Aaron had resources.

Specifically? Money.

Which meant he had somehow managed to hire a professional prankster to help him.

You came back from patrol to find everything in your locker had been individually gift-wrapped.

Every. Single. Item.

Socks? Wrapped. Notebooks? Wrapped. Your taser? Wrapped, complete with a bow.

The squad was losing their minds.

Tim, walking past, barely spared it a glance. “That’s what you get, kid.”

You turned to him, desperate, your hands clasped together as if you were praying for a miracle, “Sir, I need your help.” you whined.

Tim scoffed, turning on his heel to face you with a stern look, one that screamed ‘I don’t have time to play around.’ “Absolutely not.”

“Please?”

“No.”

You leaned in. “Come on. You hate losing.” You argued.

“I’m not in the game.”

You cheekily smirked as if you were in on a joke that he had no knowledge of, “Not yet.” You cooed with a knowing look.

Tim eyed you warily, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You just grinned, giving him a firm pat on the back, “You’re already on my team, sir.” You exclaimed, already daydreaming of all the possibilities of how this prank war was going to end.

Tim frowned. Hard. “Kid, no, I’m not—”

“You gave me a direct order to win.” You said, raising a brow.

Tim blinked, staring. “I did not—”

“Ohhh, but you did.” You tapped your chin, feigning deep thought. “Just this morning, you said—what was it? Oh! ‘Don’t let him get away with that, kid.’”

Tim groaned, already regretting every decision that led to him being stuck with you. “That wasn’t—”

“Sounds like encouragement to me,” Lucy cut in as she walked by, smirking.

Angela who’d been watching this whole ordeal unfold with arms crossed, grinned like this was the most entertaining shit she’s seen all day, “Oh yeah. That’s definitely involvement.”

Wesley, who wasn’t even part of the department but just happened to be visiting Angela, sipped his coffee and muttered, “That would hold up in court.” Adding his very valuable two cents in.

The whole squad was watching now, entertained as hell.

Nyla leaned back in her chair, nodding like she was considering the argument, “You do hate losing, Tim.” Gaining a nod of agreement from Nolan who’d just come back from returning war bags.

Tim turned to her. “Not the point.”

“Sounds exactly like the point,” Nyla countered.

Tim exhaled sharply, looking toward Grey who was strolling past like maybe—just maybe—he’d be saved.

Grey just raised an eyebrow, not even bothering to stop walking, or taking the risk of hearing things he didn’t wanna hear, “I don’t care what you do as long as it doesn’t make my life harder.” He casually said, already disappearing into his office.

Tim groaned again, dragging a hand down his face. “Fine.” He pointed directly at you. “But if I help you, it’s only to make sure you don’t get fired.”

You beamed. “That’s a win in my book.”

Tim muttered something under his breath—probably regrets and prayers—but you didn’t care.

Because Tim Bradford was now on your side.

And that meant?

Aaron didn’t stand a chance.

The next morning, Aaron strolled into the locker room, yawning as he reached for his locker.

He unlatched it—

And immediately stumbled back as a dozen overstuffed balloons burst out, each one exploding mid-air and showering him in a relentless, ungodly amount of glitter.

It got everywhere.

His uniform. His hair. His soul.

Aaron froze, hands outstretched in horror as the last bits of glitter floated gently onto his already-ruined uniform.

The room?

Absolutely lost it.

Angela gasped, eyes wide. “No. Freaking. Way.”

Nyla leaned against the lockers, impressed. “Okay, I gotta ask—how did you even set that up?”

You shrugged, innocence personified. “Trade secret.”

Lucy wiped away actual tears. “It’s so evil.”

Wesley, who somehow kept getting roped into this nonsense, just sipped his coffee and muttered, “That’s a felony in some states.”

Tim, standing beside you, pinched the bridge of his nose like a man deeply regretting his life choices.

“Don’t get cocky, kid,” he muttered.

Aaron, still frozen, wiped a slow, agonized hand down his glitter-covered sleeve.

Then, very carefully, very deliberately, he turned his deadliest glare on you.

“You,” he said, voice deadly calm, “are so. Dead.”

You?

You just smiled.

Because this?

This was only the beginning.

From that point on, it was war.

Aaron, never one to back down from a challenge, retaliated by slipping red food coloring into your hand sanitiser.

You stared at your hands in horror—bright pink, you raised your hands in the air like you’d been caught in a crime scene. “What the fuck?!”

Aaron, smug as ever, gave a short laugh. “I thought it would be a nice touch.”

Tim, ever the reluctant mentor, simply sighed deeply from his desk. “Here,” he muttered, tossing a pack of tactical gloves your way. “Wear these until it fades.”

You, still sulking about getting caught up in Aaron’s prank, slipped the gloves on. “You’re the best, sir.”

Tim leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples like he was at peak regret already. “I regret everything,” he mumbled, half to himself.

But you weren’t done yet. Oh no, this was only getting started.

The next move? You reprogrammed Aaron’s entire shop GPS to only speak in Tim’s voice.

You watched with barely-contained glee as Aaron got into his shop, fully unaware of what awaited him.

It didn’t take long for the magic to happen.

A few miles into his patrol, Aaron pressed the GPS button.

The voice crackled to life, Tim’s voice, smooth as ever.

“In 500 feet, make a U-turn, rookie. And try not to embarrass yourself.”

The entire squad, who had been waiting outside, erupted.

Angela gasped, barely holding her coffee. “Oh my god,” she half-laughed, half-choked on her drink.

Nyla actually slapped her knee. “You are a genius.”

Grey, who normally maintained a wall of composure, actually snickered and cleared his throat, turning to Tim. “You sure you didn’t record those lines yourself?”

Tim was staring at you, eyes wide with a mix of confusion and something that could’ve been admiration.

“Kid.”

You beamed, leaning against the counter casually. “Yes, sir?”

Tim’s brow furrowed as he gestured vaguely toward the car. “Where the hell did you get a recording of my voice?”

You just grinned and leaned back, tossing your hair over your shoulder. “That’s a trade secret too.”

Aaron, furious, slammed the car door, his face flushed red, glaring at you through the windows. But you didn’t even flinch.

Because you knew…

You’d won again.

By the end of the week, Aaron was running out of ideas.

But you?

You were winning.

Each day, you upped the ante, pushing the limits of what could be considered acceptable behavior in the workplace.

You’d switched his shop keys for ones that didn’t fit. You’d swapped out his patrol jacket for one covered in pink rhinestones. You’d even clipped a “kick me” sign to his back when he wasn’t looking.

Aaron’s frustration was at an all-time high, but you were still going strong.

Unfortunately, Tim?

He was growing more and more exasperated.

“If you get fired,” he muttered as you and Aaron stared each other down across the room, “I’m not writing your recommendation letter.”

You grinned, unphased. “I would never get fired, sir.”

Tim glared. “You put silly string in Aaron’s patrol air vents.”

You paused, looking innocently at him. “…Okay, fair, but—”

Tim’s eyes narrowed. “I helped you. I am complicit.”

You grinned wider. “That means you’re an accessory.”

Tim groaned, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I hate you.”

Angela, who had been watching this whole thing unfold with an amused smirk, chimed in. “No, you don’t.”

Tim turned to her, exasperated beyond belief. “They’re worse than Lucy.”

Lucy, who had been silently enjoying the drama from her corner, gasped in mock outrage. “Hey!”

Tim pointed directly at you, almost accusingly. “This is your fault. You encouraged them.”

Lucy just grinned that mischievous grin she always wore when chaos was afoot. “I am so proud.”

You raised an eyebrow. “See? Lucy gets it.”

Tim rolled his eyes, rubbing his forehead as though he were moments away from walking out the door and never looking back.

“I really regret this,” Tim muttered under his breath.

But no one was listening—because you were too busy preparing your next move.

The prank war had reached its peak.

Aaron was tired. You were unstoppable.

But it wasn’t until Grey finally had enough that everything came to a grinding halt.

“If I see one more prank,” Grey called out from his office, voice like a thunderclap that cut through the chatter, “you’re all pulling double shifts.”

The squad froze.

It was as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice water over everyone. No one dared to speak. You glanced at Aaron, who shot you a murderous look, but both of you knew—this was it.

The war was over.

You stood up, offering your hand to Aaron with all the grace of a seasoned negotiator.

“Truce?”

Aaron sighed, rubbing his temples as though trying to physically push the frustration out of his head. But then, after a beat, he reluctantly extended his hand.

“Truce.”

And just like that, the tension dissolved.

But not without Tim watching from the sidelines, his expression ageing five years in a matter of seconds. You could practically hear him thinking, What did I get myself into?

The squad, still thoroughly entertained by the spectacle of the entire week, immediately pulled out their phones and gathered together in front of Aaron’s locker, now completely covered in glitter, to take a group picture.

Angela, still laughing, wrapped her arm around your shoulders. “This is definitely going on the wall in the break room.”

Nyla, wiping tears from her eyes, nodded. “I’ll print out a copy, frame it, and put it next to Grey’s desk. For posterity.”

Grey, who had been leaning against the doorframe, gave a low grunt of disapproval but didn’t stop them. “You’re all ridiculous.”

But even he couldn’t help but smirk.

And Tim?

Tim stood a little farther away, arms crossed and looking like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. He was trying to hide the fact that, despite everything—the pranks, the chaos, the countless headaches—he was proud.

He refused to admit it, of course. Not in front of anyone.

But watching you outsmart Aaron every step of the way? Watching you win in ways he never thought possible?

Yeah.

He was definitely proud.

taglist: @its-ares @nevereclipse @chezze-its @mcckunty

[linaslore]

s.s. | gentle distraction

a/n: watching tvd for the umpteenth time makes me more obsessed with stefan so here's another one shot. it's also inspired in one of my fav stydia (teen wolf) scenes.

warnings: inappropriate language, mentions and/or descriptions of blood, injuries, death, anxiety, panic attack. some details may not be 100% accurate. english is not my first language. not my gif!

stefan salvatore x afab!reader.

summary: you are attacked by the katherine pierce and your worries and fears manifest in the way of a panic attack, but stefan comforts you in a very unexpected yet unique way.

🚫do NOT copy, translate or put my work thru an AI.

You got up startled and breathed heavily. Your eyes took some seconds to adjust to the lack of light in your room. Well, to be more precise, the room you had been occupying at the Salvatores’ Boarding House for a couple of weeks now. You took a glance at the clock on the nightstand: 3 A.M. Cursing to yourself, you laid down on the bed again. You hadn’t had any decent amount of sleep since the Masquerade Ball; the night you’d thought it was just about going out with your friends, but it ended up being a truly near-death experience. And obviously, your brain chose the quiet and lonely nights to make you revive all those memories.

Caroline, your closest friend, has tirelessly begged you and your group of friends to go to the Masquerade Ball at the Lockwood’s Mansion. She had recently begun dating Tyler so she wanted to make a good impression on his parents by taking all of you to the charity event that they were organizing together with the Founder's Council.

“Say again, please, how could I, that I’m not part of the Founding Families, help you look good in front of your boyfriend’s parents?”, I questioned her while we got our coffee cups from the counter at this new small shop that opened near our school.

“Well, Tyler, Stefan, Damon, and Elena have to go due to the obvious reason, Bonnie has accepted and Matt can’t make it due to his work shift. I don’t want you to feel left out”, she casually replied before giving her coffee a sip. “Besides, the more people I bring, the better the Lockwoods will look in front of other powerful families thanks to me!”

I’ve never understood how Caroline math works.

“Care, don’t worry about me. No offense taken. I have no problem with staying at home, eating pizza, watching a mov..” My speech slowed down as she frowned at me. “I’m not getting out of this, am I?”

“Y/N, you know I don’t take a ‘no’ for an answer. Come on! It will be so much fun!”

Little did she know…

You were on the dancefloor with your girl friends, Caroline, Bonnie and Elena, moving your bodies to the beat of this new party song. You were having a really good time. Of course, you’d never admit that to Vampire Barbie (as Damon often called her) because that will surely give her a free pass to drag you to any social event in Mystic Falls.

Speaking of Damon, he was at the Ball too. And so was Stefan. You’d spotted them leaning against a wall, drinking something and chatting among themselves. Your eyes rested on the youngest Salvatore for longer than you may have liked it, but you couldn’t find the strength or the willingness to look away. The black suit he was wearing made him look more handsome than he already was. You had a big crush on him since the day you met, but obviously you haven’t made any moves on him because of Elena. Now that they’ve broken up because she took a bigger interest in Damon, there might be some chance for you.

At some point his eyes found yours and he gave you a sweet smile. You gave him one of yours but then instantly looked away because you didn’t want him to know you were blushing. Probably he couldn’t tell because of the distance, but still. You excused yourself to your friends so you could go and talk to him. Any interaction with him would make coming to the Ball, wearing this long dress and these uncomfortable heels totally worth it.

Suddenly, while you were making your way towards Stefan, the power went off and silence took over the place for a couple of seconds. The people around you started to murmur, asking themselves what was going on. You tried focusing on what you managed to hear so you could find any of your friends and leave the mansion. A horrible sensation took over you.

As you were about to take your phone off your purse to turn on the flashlight, you felt a sharp pain throughout your abdomen and let out a muffled scream.

That’s when the lights were switched on again and you saw what it seemed like a butcher’s knife piercing your middle section. You heard several screams from the people around you and how they started running away. You were losing tons of blood but you couldn’t move due to the shock. You also saw the person who had stabbed you. Elena? No, that couldn’t be true. Physically, it was her; her exact same face. But the clothes were different and there was something in her eyes that wasn’t there before. Evilness.

“An early birthday present for you, Y/N. Enjoy”, she said grinning and then exited herself with supernatural speed.

What the fuck?

You couldn’t think about anything else as you felt all the energy being dragged out of your body and collapsed to the ground. Luckily, before your head hit the floor, somebody caught you in their arms.

“Y/N”, you heard Stefan’s desperate voice. He removed the knife and gave you his blood to heal you. You drank it but the injury was far deeper than what a little of vampire blood could cure, so you were struggling to keep yourself awake. It seems he could sense it as well so he grabbed your face and tried to make you focus on him. “No, no, don’t close your eyes. Look at me!” 

You gathered the almost non-existent strength you had to obey him but you could feel yourself blacking out.

“I can’t. Sorry, Stef…” that’s all you could manage to say and he shook his head.

“Y/N, look at me, don’t fall asleep”, he interrupted you but his voice appeared to be more distant; as if he was talking from the other side of a tunnel. Although your vision was blurry, you saw a second pair of hands pressing something on your abdomen. 

“Stefan, what do we do?” It was… Caroline? 

“We need to get her to the hospital. We’re losing her.”

And then, pitch darkness.

You woke up at the hospital the following day. There was a bandage wrapped all around your abdomen and your mind was foggy. Flashes of the previous night events came and went. Caroline and Stefan knocked on the room door shortly after to see how you were doing. They gave you a ‘Get better soon’ card signed by everyone, including Damon. You could picture him doing it against his will with his typical frown on his face.

“Soooo, are you going to tell me what happened last night?”

“Y/N”, Stefan started talking. “Why don’t we wait until you feel better to give you the details?”

“But, I’m already doing better. Look, I’m not bleeding”, you lifted the sheets that were covering your body to show him your clean bandage. “And I’m also fully awake”, this time you raised your eyebrows.

He squinted his eyes, not fully believing the attitude you were giving him, especially while still lying on a hospital bed. You were spending a lot of time with Damon lately.

“Ok”, Caroline continued. “The one who tried to kill you was Katherine Pierce, Elena’s doppelgänger." You looked at her nodding, as if you understood that word. You had some googling to do as soon as you got home. “And you almost did, your heart stopped for some seconds but the paramedics brought you back with CPR.”

“Why would she do that?”

“We aren’t sure yet”, it was Stefan’s turn. “The strongest theory is that you were used as a distraction. Damon saw Katherine take something from the Lockwood’s mansion and ran away. We need to go back and check what’s missing.”

“That bitch. I’m gonna…”, you started getting up from the bed but Stefan quickly stopped you.

“You are not going to do anything other than recovering. Let us deal with Katherine. We’ll make her pay for this.”

After being discharged from the hospital, Stefan suggested you go live with him and Damon since being alone in your apartment wasn’t a good idea. This way, they could keep an eye on you in case Katherine or any of her minions made an appearance.

However, regardless of who is there to protect you, the atmosphere of paranoia and uncertainty, combined with your insomnia have led you to a dark place. You were so trapped in your own rthoughts that you didn’t realize that you sat up on the bed again and started crying loudly, therefore waking up Stefan.

“Hey, Y/N”, you jumped a little due to his sudden voice. “What’s wrong?”, he asked, sitting on your bed and then cupping one of your cheeks with his hand. 

“Everything”, you chuckled despite the tears.

“Don’t worry, we’ll catch…”, you interrupted him. You were growing tired.

“I’m sorry, Stefan, it’s not that I doubt any of you, but Katherine… she is really smart. She has fooled us once and she can totally do it again… I’m…", you tried swallowing the lump in your throat. "I’m afraid to close my eyes and sleep because that way I won’t be aware of her coming in here and finishing me off.”

Stefan could actually see all these negative thoughts come in and out of your head. Your brain was like an engine. And your eyes looked like waterfalls due to your unstoppable tears.

“Or what if…", you continued. "What if I turn into a vampire?”, your breath became unsteadier ; you were panting, “What if I’m already turning into a vampire? You and Caroline… the other day… said I died but then came back. I had your blood in my system when that happened, right?” You were talking so fast that Stefan didn’t even have time to cut you off. “I don’t know, maybe someone secretly gave me human blood while I was sleeping at the hospital so I didn’t notice the transition. I can’t do this, I can’t. I…”, you took your hands to your chest as you felt the beginning of a heart attack.

“Y/N, please. Look at me", he cupped both of your cheeks with his firm hands and looked deeply into your eyes. "I need you to breathe with me. Focus on my voice”, he started inhaling and exhaling for you to copy him but it was a failing attempt. You were not paying any attention to him. Your panic attack was at its worst.

“I’m going to die”, you blurted out, with a trembling voice. You repeated that sentence over and over and over.

Stefan knew you suffered from anxiety but he didn’t imagine you (or has never seen you) like this. He mentally cursed himself for not previously asking you what to do in these situations. He tried the breathing exercise once again but it still didn’t work. He tried mentioning people and things you loved, happy things, so you'd rather focus on them, but it was also a dead end. You were absolutely trapped in your overwhelming suffering. He grew more desperate. Then, a quick memory flashed through his brain. He once read in a book that holding one’s breath may stop a panic attack. He didn’t think that covering your mouth and nose with his hand would work, so he crashed his lips onto yours. He didn’t know how you would react, but it was better than doing nothing.

Your eyes opened widely but then closed again. You were too shocked to do anything else, but still managed to enjoy the kiss. Slowly but surely, the storm inside of you died down. He was the one who pulled back after some seconds. You stayed frozen in your place, with a confused expression.

You wanted to ask him what that was for, but the words got stuck on your throat. Stefan seemed to read your mind.

“I once read somewhere that holding your breath could stop a panic attack”, he gave you a concerned but loving look. “And when I kissed you, you stopped breathing”. You stared deeply at him after his explanation.

“Did I?”, you added with a shaky and sore voice.

“You did”, he smiled softly, also lowkey shocked about how much he liked to kiss you.

You thanked him with a sincere whisper. You didn’t want to move yet, in case of breaking the spell. Of this being a dream and waking up during the best part. Your heart was still racing but now for a different reason. The good kind of racing. He also stayed there close to you. 

He continued to ask you if you were feeling better; you nodded in response. Your cheeks flushed. He started getting up from your bed to give you some space but you didn’t want that. You wanted to be as close as possible.

“Stefan, wait… Can you stay with me, please?, you pouted. Your voice came off soft and innocent. “Until I fall asleep, at least”.

“Yeah, sure. For as long as you need.”

You smiled while you moved a bit to make room for him on your bed. He laid down, resting his back on the wooden bedpost and opened his arms, inviting you to snuggle on his chest. Once you did, he wrapped his arms around your back. Your legs were also tangled with his. The sound of his heartbeat worked as a lullaby, relaxing every muscle on your exhausted body. You felt the tension and fear melt away. Your now steady breath mixed with Stefan’s. 

“Thank you for staying”, you told him, your voice was barely audible.

“Always”, he murmured while one of his hands played with your hair and the other one stroked your back gently. You could get used to this. A faint smile curved your lips as you thought to yourself: Bring it on, Katherine. I’m not afraid of you anymore. Well, you were a little bit. But with Stefan’s comforting presence, you felt you could overcome whatever evil plan she had for you.

Your eyelids started to feel really heavy with the weight of last weeks' worries. You were slowly drifting closer and closer to sleep. The last thing you recall is Stefan placing a kiss to the top of your head. 

“Rest well now, Y/N. I won't let anyone or anything hurt you again. I promise”, he whispered although he was pretty sure you couldn’t hear him due to your finally peaceful slumber.

that's the end, my friends. i'd love to read some feedback :) and, of course, if you have any request, leave them on my asks <3

[supercap2319]

Y/N: "When I die, I want everyone to attend my funeral."

Stefan: "Done."

Y/N: "Except, Damon. That bitch better be in the ground with me, pushing up daisies."

Damon: "Hey!"

[dyns33]

The Painting

In the long series of characters I loved for a while only to move on to a new one just as quickly but still wrote about them, James Wesley. Yes, the Kingpin's assistant.

James had warned her very early in their relationship.

On their second date to be honest.

"Y/N, you have to understand that my job takes up some of my time."

He hadn't clearly explained to her what his job consisted of. From all the calls and messages he received, he managed a lot of things that he then reported to his employer, like an assistant or a secretary.

It was impossible to say precisely if he didn't explain it to her because it was boring, complicated or dangerous, if he didn't trust her or if he didn't want her to be in trouble.

In any case, James Wesley was clearly used to compartmentalizing his life, with every moment meticulously planned. There was no reason for it to be any different for his romantic relationship.

It could have been a problem if he wasn't romantic, or at least not in a conventional way.

Each of his attentions, his gifts, appointments, compliments, were perfectly prepared, calculated, and even sometimes with a hidden goal.

"James, it's too much." Y/N murmured as she discovered the gold and diamond necklace he was offering her.

"Nothing is too much for you."

"I really don't deserve all this."

"I object. You don't hold it against me for my many absences, while many people wouldn't have accepted my schedule."

"I know you're very busy."

"Indeed. Besides, I know we had planned to go see your parents next weekend, but it turns out that my employer wants me to deal with an urgent matter, so unfortunately I won't be able to come."

"Oh, James… They'll be disappointed not to see you."

It was false, they both knew it, because most of Y/N's close friends didn't really like the man she had agreed to marry, not understanding her choice at all.

However, he was still a good husband. Despite his cold and calculating demeanor, James really loved her. They had met in a bookstore, while he was doing research for clients, Y/N had helped him, they had talked, and everything had started from there.

Love was the only way to explain their relationship. He could have perfectly well stayed alone, and she brought him nothing in the professional field.

Y/N repeated this to herself as she waited for him for over an hour in the fancy restaurant they had booked several weeks ago to celebrate their three years of marriage.

No doubt she could have called him, quickly resolving the situation by reminding him that he was expected, or by learning that he was unavailable. He was more and more taken up by his employer.

But this was James' idea, he had organized it. So she waited for him. A waiter came to see her several times with a sad sorry smile, if she wanted to order or if she had to wait any longer. After 3 hours, she had taken a simple salad that she had eaten while swallowing her tears.

Y/N had then walked around the streets, not wanting to go back to their empty apartment right away. It was impossible to explain what had pushed her to enter this contemporary art gallery.

The manager of the place, Vanessa, welcomed her gently, ready to help her find the piece made for her.

"It's not for me, it would be for my husband. For our 3 years of marriage."

"Oh, congratulations ! It's an important step in a relationship, a real baptism of fire. Tell me about your husband, what he's like, what he likes."

"James is very cultured, always elegant and calm. A hard worker, very busy, but always attentive when he has the time."

"I see the kind of men." she smiled mischievously. "I met one of them recently, very difficult to read, a controlled passion. I can show you several paintings."

Some works were proposed, large, small, red, yellow, white, but none spoke to Y/N without her being able to explain why. Until her gaze fell on a canvas at the other end of the gallery, which attracted her like a magnet.

A rather large painting, between gray and blue, that Vanessa described as the saddest in the gallery, not really understanding her client's choice, while she had spoken of her marriage in rather positive terms.

But Y/N declared that it was perfect.

Still very busy with his work, James only came home two days after she hung the painting in their living room, and even so, he didn't notice it at all, his attention mainly focused on his phone or his computer, and the rest of the time on her.

He hadn't noticed the date at all, proving that he had completely forgotten their anniversary and the restaurant, kissing her as if everything was fine while simply apologizing for his prolonged absence.

"My employer isn't very available at the moment, I have to be everywhere at once. Believe me, that doesn't really please me."

"I hope he'll offer you a nice vacation soon."

"Ah, that would be wonderful, but he'd be lost without me. He apologizes for asking me so often. He recently found love, he doesn't like the idea of ​​getting between us. He asked me what your favorite flowers were."

"That's nice of him but absolutely not necessary."

She could have told him that the only thing she wanted was for her employer to learn to manage a little on his own, especially if he ruined her dates to go to his in peace.

But since she suspected that it wouldn't change anything, she put on her best smile as she accepted her husband's kisses before he left for a long day of work.

It had been over a week when he stopped in the hallway, his hand on the doorknob.

Y/N didn't look at him, thinking he had simply forgotten something, continuing to chew on her breakfast.

"When did you buy this? " he asked, and she understood that he had finally noticed the painting.

"Oh. A few days ago. Do you like it ?"

"… Where did you buy this ?"

"An art gallery in the neighborhood, I walked past. The color reminds me a bit of your eyes."

James looked at her strangely, before putting his briefcase on the ground, putting his phone in his pocket, to come back to her and hug her.

The gesture was touching, even if she didn't understand it.

Then he apologized for missing their wedding anniversary.

It seemed surprising that he could make the connection between this oversight and a painting. Impossible even.

Except that Vanessa was his boss's new lover. She had told him about this client who had bought the saddest work in his gallery, and the information had been passed on to Wesley for strange reasons, probably to know what to avoid doing to succeed in a relationship. Since his couple was soon to celebrate its third anniversary, James could be considered a good advisor.

"Forgive me, darling. I have no excuse. I had so much to think about, I totally forgot the date. We had a restaurant and… Did you wait for me at the restaurant ?"

"Don't worry, James, I understand."

"No, it's unforgivable. I should never have forgotten such an important day. Why didn't you call me ? I would have come right away."

"I didn't want to disturb you."

If the painting was considered sad, the look he displayed at that moment to look her in the eye was worse.

Maybe he had made it clear that he was busy, but he had always done everything he could to be at home as much as possible. The fragile balance that he had managed to maintain for all these years was however beginning to waver, without him realizing it and without Y/N trying to shake him, accepting her fate.

Because she was convinced that he would choose his job no matter what. There was no point in fighting, he loved her, but he didn't love her enough to change that.

"Y/N… Maybe I'm conscientious and my job has a certain importance, but it must not encroach on our relationship. The time I dedicate to you is just as important, never hesitate to reprimand me if I get lost. There is no way you're going to think that you're not important."

"But…"

"No 'buts'." he cut her off, grabbing her shoulders so she could look him in the eye. "Promise me, if I forget another appointment, make me crawl at your feet to be allowed to go home."

"Be serious."

"I'm always serious, you know that. Now, could you… Can you take that painting down ?"

"Oh. But I like it. It really reminds me of your eyes."

The painting stayed, because it pleased his wife, and because it served as a reminder to James Wesley whenever he left for work. He had hesitated to tell his employer about the incident, but the latter had eventually noticed a tension in his secretary and friend anyway, asking him to speak freely.

Upon learning that he was partly responsible for forgetting such an important birthday, the man had felt ashamed, apologizing to James and having a huge bouquet sent to Y/N, accompanied by a card thanking her for her indulgence and promising her improvements.

The following week, they were able to have a whole weekend together, even if her husband was a little feverish, not used to having nothing to do.

"Workaholic." she teased gently.

"You were warned when you agreed to marry me."

"I'm still happy to have you a little to myself."

"I may be busy, but I remain entirely yours."

Y/N snuggled up to him, enjoying this special moment knowing that James would really try to be there as often as possible, doing his best to prove his love to her, but that he would still be very busy with his mysterious employer.

[malertop]

Stefan Salvatore x Witch!Male Reader

YOU LIKE WHAT YOU SEE?

Gif is not mine!

Genre: nothing (for now..)

Season: 1 or 2 (beginning)

Y/N was Infront of the Salvatore mansion, after helping his best friend Elena, after finding out he's a witch and everything that has happened he just needed a normal day,while he, Elena and Stefan were in class they had to make a project, The teacher chose Elena and Bonnie and Stefan and Y/N.Stefan and Y/N have never been together without Elena or something so at one point Y/N was nervous while Stefan was excited as he wanted to get to know Y/N even better, after all they are classmates and friends, why was Y/N nervous? Well..let's just say there are some pretty big feelings that exist for Stefan but he can't tell him because he doesn't want to end his friendship with Stefan or Elena, after all Elena was his best friend just like Caroline and Bonnie, but she was just like a sister that Y/N needed after his sister died.

1.23 PM: Thursday

"Okay M/N you can do this" Y/N said as he was Infront of the Salvatore mansion while his arms were shaking and his bodies moving from left to right "Okay...it's time M/N" he said as his finger hit the bell, the door opened as nobody was shown to open it, neither Damon, neither Stefan. "Oh wow an opening from no-one door...how exciting..and weird!" Y/N said with a smile as he finished his last sentence and entered inside the mansion "Hello?...Stefan?..Damon?" Y/N said as he looked left and right for them as he was walking in the mansion, searching for where either Stefan or Damon are.After walking some more he decided to go to the second floor where he found an opened door "Maybe there?...or maybe there's much bodies of people that got killed and they are sucking their blood everyday and night so they cannot be hungry..." Y/N paused for a second "Well worth the try." he said as he began walking, as he was in front of the door there was nothing and no one again.Y/N entered and started walking deeper into the room, he turned his head towards the door to see if there's anyone there and the next second he bumped into something very strong which made him fall on the floor "Oh my god,I am so sorry M/N!" Said someone as they offered their hand for help "it's..okay" Y/N said as his vision was blurry for some seconds, he saw the blurry hand that he knew was offered for him and took it but damn, he got up in no more than 2 seconds.As he blanked one more time his vision became normal "finally,i can see again..not that I was blind" Y/N said as he didn't saw who helped him get up, he looked up and saw Stefan with nothing but a towel "Thank you Stefan" Y/N said with a smile but after realising who he bumped to and that this is the Stefan who was also with nothing but a towel his smile instantly fell "Hey, sorry for making you search for me, I was just showering and when I heard you I was trying as fast as i can to wash faster" Stefan said ashe was fixing his towel, making sure it didn't fall but Y/N didn't say anything as he was looking at the taller man's body "So are you ready for the project?" Stefan asked Y/N but there was no answer, was he not answering because he was fixing his towel Infront of him? "M/N?" Stefan asked in questionable voice as he said the shorter guy's name, after fixing his towel he looked up and saw Y/N who was starting at him, Stefan saw his reflection in his eyes but then Y/N's eyes went to the muscular guy's body which made Stefan looked down to see his body too then he looked towards Y/N, After 1 second Stefan realised it all..so Y/N was enjoying the show.

"M/N?!" Stefan said a little bit of loudly which made Y/N shook his head, now he is back to his sense again "Yeah? Sorry I umm..I zoomed out a little bit" Y/N said as he looked into the guy's eyes "Yeah before everything...I got to ask you something" Stefan said with a smirk as Y/N looked confused but still half smiled "Yeah what is it? Are you going to ask me if I brought everything? Because I made sure I do so don't wor-" "No..that..that was not what I was going to ask you.." Stefan interrupted Y/N as he tried to cool him down "Then what?..." Y/N said with a little smile "Do you like what you see?" Stefan asked with a smirk while Y/N blush could of had been noticed already for 10 minutes, his small instantly fell "W-What do you mean?" Y/N stuttered as he got nervous "I mean do you like seeing me like that?" Stefan couldn't stop smirking as he teased the shorter guy "I mean you know I can hear from miles away or more..right?" Stefan asked as Y/N instantly realised what was happening...he knows.Y/N's eyes went wide opened as he began to worry about his next act, slowly backing away he asked "so since you know are you going to kill me now...oh wait maybe even bite me and drink my blood!" Y/N said as he was backing away to the door as Stefan looked confused "what? no M/N" but Y/N still looked worried,scared and nervous which Stefan didn't like, he didn't like seeing Y/N scared or worried or anything but happy, peaceful and okay."M/N I wo-" but as Stefan was taking it was too late..Y/N was already gone.

[malereaderworld]

hi its the rookie person again. I forgot to mention something earlier. instead of it being a college or y/n's a vet type story maybe y/n needs to handle a parking ticket and meets Angela's son at the station. I think this idea would def eat. tyyy

-FQ

📌 | masterlist

Summary: you have to handle a parking ticket. when you get to the station you meet an aged up version of angela’s son.

Warnings: y/n is used, mentions of vapes and condoms, yn is in medical school who has to handle a ticket!

author’s note: will make a part 2 at 100 likes!

wc: 450

You didn’t have time for this, like really. Every minute wasted in this line, was one you could’ve been able to sleep, since today you would’ve had no class. But atlas, you were wasting your precious time in a line-

“Next!” An officer yells annoyed, i look up my thoughts interrupted. I am able to choose between an older officer or a much younger one. I choose for the younger officer, hoping he would be able to understand me more. I walk up to the help desk, the person behind me sighs, having to talk to the older officer.

“Good morning sir, how can i help you?” The younger officer said, with no enthusiasm. “Good morning officer, I’ve got this… parking ticket.” you struggle to grab the parking ticket out of your bag, which had a can of red bull, chewing gum, a vape, a condom, keys and the ticket. As i grab my parking ticket out of my bag, i sigh.

“Ah, a parking ticket, your first one sir?” The officer asks, without touching the ticket. Already having thought of the answer. “Uhm, not exactly. To make an awfully complicated story short, this is a ticket that i got for parking in my own parking space, so that’s why i came in.” This forces the officer to grab my ticket.

“mhm, okayy let me have a look.” He says as he scans the ticket and then looks at the computer screen infront of him. “What’s your name sir?” He asks me, as if it’s not stated on the ticket. “Y/n, l/n.” With a few clicks on his keyboard he types my name in. “Date of birth?” He asks.

“11-11-‘04” I look up at him, seeing his face get a confused expression. “Okay, so i see here that your ticket was given on the street of your registered residence.” He looks up at me, our eyes meet. “Yes, that’s correct.” He got the point of why i was there. He sighs, thinking hard. “Sadly i can’t help you with that at the service desk. If you go down the hall and ask for officer lopez. He would be able to help you further with that.” I sigh, visibly annoyed. How hard can this be… i think to myself “thank you officer.” I grab my ticket and go down the hall.

“Hey, excuse me do you know where officer Lopez is?” I ask. “Uhm that would be me. What can i help you with.” Apparently officer lopez asks me. “Uhm well the officer at the service desk told me you could help me with my parking ticket?” I hand him my parking ticket. “Hm okay, if you could follow me towards my desk.”

[princesevsnape]

Gryffindor Boys React - First Kiss

Characters: Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Oliver Wood

A/N: I really enjoy making these posts. If you would like any of these headcanons for other characters that aren’t part of these Slytherin and Gryffindor boys posts let me know I’ll still be happy to create a post with a few other characters too. As always thank you for the support

Ron Weasley:

He would be nervous

He’d be muttering to himself how he’s going to mess it up and how you’ll probably hate him

He’d blush as he keeps staring at you

It would happen after Gryffindor won a Quidditch match and everyone is celebrating in the Gryffindor common room

He knew he’d embarrass himself in front of the entire house but he doesn’t care he knows he has to just go for it

He’d be a bit awkward and might bump your nose with his own causing you to giggle

He’d think about just walking away until you grab him by the back of his neck and pull him in

The kiss is soft and warm

He lets you do most of the work as he’s still trying to figure it out.

He’d probably flail his hands around a bit not entirely sure what to do until you place them on your hips.

Everyone would be teasing him afterwards especially Fred and George

He’d be grinning like an idiot though not caring what they think.

Harry Potter:

It would be in private

By the Black Lake after dark

He would be hesitant

And a bit nervous

He’d lean in slowly giving you chance to pull away

The kiss is gentle and a little cautious

Afterwards he’d be flustered

He’d apologise

“Sorry if it wasn’t good enough”

Him sighing a breath of relief when you tell him it was perfect

He’d wrap an arm around you as you watch the stars for a bit afterwards before sneaking back into the castle and back to your common room

Neville Longbottom:

He would be so so shy

Blushing brighter than a tomato

It would happen whilst in the greenhouses, he’s showing you a plant he’s been tending to. You know how much he loves Herbology

He’d be stuttering over his words

Biting his lips out of nervousness

He’d mutter to himself trying to talk himself up to doing it

You kiss him on the cheek trying to get him to relax and then he leans in to kiss you slowly. Scared you’ll run away.

You meet him halfway

The kiss is soft and tentative

He’s blushing even more when he pulls away. If that’s even possible

He avoids your gaze worried he’s just messed everything up

When you kiss him again he’s relieved he didn’t mess anything up

Fred Weasley:

It happens after one of his pranks on Filch

He grabs your hand and you run and hide.

You find a hidden corner. that Filch walks straight past.

Once he’s out of earshot you can’t help but giggle.

Then you and Fred realise how close the two of you are, squeezed into this tiny space.

You stare at each other for a few moments

Then he leans in and kisses you.

It’s passionate and desperate. Like you’ve been wanting to kiss each other for a very long time (which you have)

When he pulls away he’s grinning like mad.

“We should definitely do that again” he smirks

“Yes we should” you say before pulling him for another kiss.

George Weasley:

He’d be flirting with you

Complimenting you

You’re both on the couch in the Gryffindor common room most people gone to bed

He can’t stop staring at your lips as you’re talking to him

Fred notices and says to George “just kiss her already”

You blush as George leans in.

The kiss is soft and gentle.

You run your hands through his hair deepening the kiss.

Fred would probably be cheering George on leading to George flipping off his twin

When he pulls away he’s smiling at you whilst looking in your eyes

“About time” you say causing him to chuckle

Oliver Wood:

It happens after an intense Quidditch game which Gryffindor lost

Oliver is frustrated

You try calming him down

He’s ranting about how Gryffindor shouldn’t have lost.

You keep trying your best to cheer him up but he just keeps ranting. He’s angry and upset Gryffindor lost

He stops mid sentence and kisses you

The kiss is intense and passionate

He’s taking out his anger on the kiss

When he pulls away he apologises saying he shouldn’t have done that

He smiles as you pull him in for another kiss

[monicfever]

Hiiii 👋👋👋 could you write hcs about punisher n daredevil characters finding reader badly injured? Like in the brink of death. Maybe in a scenario where reader is a vigilante, your choice :)

you’re critically injured 𝜗𝜚 daredevil & punisher headcanons

r e q u e s t e d ♡

characters used ᝰ .ᐟ matt murdock / frank castle / foggy nelson / karen page / elektra / ben poindexter / billy russo / dinah madani / muse / wesley

⏜︵ MATT MURDOCK. 𐂯

the first thing matt notices is the smell of blood. sharp, metallic, thick in the air. his heartbeat spikes as he’s running through the alley, scanning the shadows with a heightened sense of panic. he hears the faintest shift of breathing, shallow, labored, and he knows. he knows it’s you.

his heart sinks into his stomach when he finally locates you, crumpled against a wall, blood staining the concrete beneath you. you’re barely conscious, barely holding on. his hands shake as he drops to his knees beside you, instinctively checking for a pulse. it's weak, but it's there.

he’s trying to keep it together, but the fear in his chest grows. his senses are overwhelmed: the sharpness of your blood on the air, the brokenness in your breathing, the way your body is trembling under the weight of what you’ve endured. matt’s fingers graze your skin, feeling the warmth of your body despite the chill of blood pooling around you. his usually steady hands tremble as he pushes your hair back, his voice soft but firm. “stay with me. please, don’t do this. please.”

his mind is racing, calculating, desperate. every second matters. he can feel the damage, but he knows there’s no time to waste. he’s no doctor, but he knows the signs of severe blood loss, and he won’t lose you like this. his grip tightens on your hand, thumb brushing over your knuckles, even as his thoughts are whirling in a thousand directions. you’ve always been the one to keep fighting, to push through the impossible, and it kills him that he can’t be the one to save you this time.

the guilt hits him like a punch to the gut. he should’ve been there. he should’ve known. he’s supposed to protect you. but he didn’t. now he’s staring down at you, blood staining his hands, the overwhelming scent of iron mixing with the faint scent of you. his radar sense is a mess, overwhelmed with every small sound: the crackle of your shallow breaths, the faint tremor in your heartbeat, the sickening thud of blood dripping onto the pavement.

every instinct in him is screaming. no. no no no. not like this. he’s scrambling, trying to hold you together in his arms, his voice urgent and strained. for the first time in a long time, he’s terrified. he’s scared. his world is spinning out of control. you’re in his arms, slipping away.

you open your eyes just enough to meet his gaze, and that small, fleeting moment of connection — your weak, barely-there smile breaks him in ways he can’t explain. he hates himself for not seeing this coming, for not being there sooner. “i’m sorry,” he stutters, his voice shaky, barely a breath as he presses his forehead to yours. “i’m so sorry. i should’ve—” he cuts himself off with a sharp, frustrated sound. he’s shaking, his control slipping further as he feels your blood seep through his fingers, your body limp in his arms. the sound of your heartbeat is slowing, and every second that passes is like a knife in his chest.

without thinking, he scoops you up. he’s already calculating, running through every alley, every shortcut he knows, his mind fixated only on getting you to the hospital, getting you help before it’s too late. matt’s mind is already running, already picturing the faces of the scum who did this. they don’t get to hurt you and walk away. he bursts through the hospital doors, a breathless, wild mess, the doctors rush to take you from his arms.

as they pry you away, matt lingers in the doorway, his heart still in his throat. he’s torn between wanting to follow them, make sure they’re doing everything right, and wanting to tear through the streets and hunt down the monsters who put you in this state.

⏜︵ FRANK CASTLE. 𐂯

the second he sees your body slumped in the dirt, blood staining the concrete beneath you, something inside him snaps. not breaks — snaps. like a wire pulled too tight finally giving out. a deep, terrible silence settles over him for half a second. then it’s gone. replaced by fire.

“no, no, no.” he growls, running to you. his knees hit the ground hard but he doesn’t even register the pain. all he can see is you. broken. bleeding. your gear torn. your skin pale. your chest barely rising. the world around him turns red. frank’s voice is low and frantic as he presses his hands to your wounds, trying to stop the bleeding. “you stay with me. you stay with me, goddamnit.”

you’re still alive, barely. he can hear it. the ragged hitch of your breath, the faint stutter of your heartbeat. it’s the only thing keeping him from completely losing control. just barely.

he scoops you up in his arms, movements stiff with rage, with desperation. there’s no subtlety, no care for being quiet — he’s a storm tearing through the night, carrying your broken body like a soldier carrying a fallen comrade out of hell. the hospital is too far. too slow. he takes you to someone off the grid — a medic he knows, someone who won’t ask questions. and even then, even when they start patching up, frank can’t sit still. his fists are clenched. jaw tight. body vibrating with fury. he stares at the blood on his hands like it’s proof that he failed you.

he doesn’t say it out loud, but the guilt is unbearable. he should’ve been there. he should’ve known. the second he took his eyes off you, someone tried to take you from him. and now all he can think about is revenge. he demands a name. doesn’t care if you’re awake enough to answer. he’ll find out anyway. he always does. and once he does, that name becomes a death sentence.

there’s no hesitation. no mercy. whoever did this is already dead, they just don’t know it yet. frank will hunt them, one by one, slow and brutal. no warnings. no speeches. just bullets and blood and silence. he’s not out for justice. this isn’t about balance. this is personal. they tried to take you from him. they crossed a line, and frank castle has never let something like that go unanswered.

the second they say you’re stable, just stable, not awake, he’s gone. no words. no goodbye. just the heavy sound of the door slamming behind him and the fire in his chest finally given permission to burn the world down. the rampage doesn’t start with guns. it starts with intel. names. faces. affiliations. once he has them it’s over. brutal. no survivors. they’re not just dead, they’re erased. to frank, this isn’t about sending a message. it’s about making sure they never touch anything he loves again.

the bodies pile up fast. each one worse than the last. there’s no pattern except brutality. knives. bare hands. point-blank execution. he’s not even covering his tracks — he wants them to know who’s doing it. he wants the fear to spread. he leaves behind chaos. and a message, unspoken but loud: you fucked with the wrong person.

in the rare moments he’s not out hunting, he’s sitting beside you. still bloodied. still burning. he watches your chest rise and fall like it’s the only thing keeping him alive too. sometimes he talks to you. quiet, raspy words like confessions. he wipes the sweat from your forehead with a rag, gentle in a way that doesn’t match the carnage he left behind hours before. his thumb brushes your cheek, he breathes deep. you’re still here.

he doesn’t sleep. doesn’t eat. not until you open your eyes again. and when you finally do, even if it’s just for a second, he exhales like he’s been holding his breath since the moment he found you bleeding in that alley. “i got ‘em,” he says, voice low, gravel-rough. “every last one. they won’t ever touch you again.”

but even when you’re awake, he’s not the same. there’s something darker in him now. something permanent. he’s more aware that you are easily a target and can get ripped from him at any point. depending on the strength/length of the relationship, the next time you see him once you open your eyes may very well be the last.

if he has to become the devil to keep you safe — so be it. he’s already halfway there.

⏜︵ FOGGY NELSON. 𐂯

he’s not supposed to find you like this. he’s supposed to be waiting at home, maybe pacing with a mug of coffee gone cold, maybe falling asleep on the couch with the tv on low. but instead, he’s running through a dark alley, heart in his throat, phone in his shaking hand, following some half-panicked tip from someone who "saw someone in your suit" go down hard. he rounds the corner and sees you crumpled on the ground. at first, he doesn’t even register that it’s you. the blood, the way your body is twisted, your mask half torn. it doesn’t look real. it looks like a nightmare he’s having with his eyes open.

“no,” he whispers. it’s the only thing that comes out. then louder, frantic: “hey! hey, baby, come on. stay with me.”

his knees hit the pavement. he doesn’t care about the blood or the dirt or the way his hands shake as he pulls you into his lap. you’re too still. too quiet. your breathing’s shallow. he presses his hand to your side and it comes away soaked. he nearly vomits. “you’re okay. you’re gonna be okay. we’re gonna — shit, okay— i need to call someone.” but he can’t even dial. his hands won’t stop shaking. his voice keeps cracking. “you’re gonna be fine, i swear. you’re not dying. you’re not dying. you’re not dying.” - he tells you, but it’s more for himself.

foggy has seen matt come home busted up. he’s patched bruises, stitched wounds. he knows what this life does to people. but this —you — he never imagined this. and now that it’s happening it’s like time is moving too fast and too slow at once.

he finally calls someone — matt, karen, someone who knows what to do. he blurts out the location, doesn’t even know if they can understand him through the panic in his voice. “they’re hurt, they’re — shit, they’re not waking up.” when help does arrive, he won’t let go.

at the hospital he’s a wreck. pacing, snapping at nurses, tears in his eyes. trying to keep it together but failing miserably. there’s blood on his clothes. he hasn’t sat down in hours. he keeps replaying it over and over — how pale you looked. how quiet. how close he was to losing you. when the doctors say you’re stable, he sits down for the first time and just cries. full-on, head-in-hands, silent shaking sobs.

he doesn’t leave your hospital room. not for food. not for sleep. not even when they ask him to. he’s curled up in one of those uncomfortable chairs, arms crossed tight like he’s physically trying to keep himself from falling apart. his eyes are on you constantly, watching your chest rise and fall. counting the seconds between each breath like it’s a lifeline.

the doctors tell him you’ll be okay. they say it a few times, gently, like they think it’ll finally sink in. but foggy doesn’t believe it until you open your eyes. when you finally do, he lets out a breath so heavy it sounds like he’s been holding it since the moment he found you. “hey.” he greets, voice cracking just on that one word. he tries to smile but it’s broken around the edges. “you look like hell.” you say, and then his eyes get glassy again because even half-dead, you’re still you, and he almost lost you. the tears come quietly this time. no drama. just him brushing your hair back with shaking fingers, but he’s not himself enough to joke. he just leans down and rests his forehead against your arm, letting the silence say what he can’t.

when you’re strong enough to come home, he sets up everything. extra pillows, blankets, meds. he googles like ten different recovery guides and keeps your favourite soup on the stove. he jokes, tries to keep things light, but you can see the fear still living behind his eyes. he flinches when you wince. apologizes for things that aren’t his fault. checks on you every few minutes, even when you’re asleep. “i know i said i could handle this,” he whispers one night while you’re resting, your hand in his. “but this, what happened, I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

he won’t ask you to stop. not out loud, because he knows this is who you are. he’s proud of you. scared for you. but proud. still, of course he wishes you would quit. he’s not a fighter. not in the way you or matt or frank are. but he’d go to war for you all the same, and you know if he had gotten there a minute later that night, he would’ve never recovered.

⏜︵ KAREN PAGE. 𐂯

it’s not the first time someone she loves has bled out in front of her. but this hits different. it’s you. and karen has already buried too many people. she told herself she couldn’t do this again, couldn’t love someone who runs headfirst into danger. but then there was you. and now you’re lying on the cold floor, broken, barely breathing, and she can’t stop shaking.

she stumbles when she finds you. almost slips in the blood. her hands go to her mouth before she can stop them — silent shock. her heart is in her throat. she drops on the floor next to you, her hands hover over you, afraid to touch, afraid she’ll hurt you worse — but she has to do something. she presses down on the worst wound, even though her hands are slick with blood. her fingers are slipping. she’s talking to you the whole time, voice trembling, like if she stops talking, you’ll slip away. “hey, hey, i’m here. you’re gonna be okay. just keep your eyes open for me, okay?”

her phone’s already on speaker, the dispatcher talking her through what to do. she’s holding pressure, crying without realizing it, trying not to fall apart because you need her. and she’s not going to let you die — not when she just started to believe maybe, just maybe, you were the one she wouldn’t lose.

when the ambulance arrives, they have to pull her away from you. she fights it at first, grabbing onto your jacket, her bloodstained fingers clutching the fabric like she can keep you tethered to this world just by holding on. at the hospital, she’s stone-faced. too still. too quiet. people keep asking if she’s okay, but she just stares straight ahead. she’s not okay. she’s watching nurses rush in and out of your room, scrubs soaked red, machines beeping. it all feels too familiar. and the worst part? she doesn’t know if she can do it again. the waiting. the not knowing.

when they tell her you’re stable, she doesn’t cry. she just walks into your room like a ghost and sits by your bedside. she doesn’t touch you at first. just watches you breathe. listens to the steady beep of the heart monitor and lets it stitch her back together, one slow beat at a time. eventually her hand finds yours. she stays the whole night, doesn’t sleep. just sits in that hard plastic chair, watching the sunrise paint shadows across your face. her eyes are red. her soul is tired. but she’s there. because she always is. because you’re worth the pain.

when you wake, she smiles — small, watery, but real. not forced. relived. “hey,” she says. “you scared the hell out of me.” she doesn't ask you to stop. she knows she can't. but her voice goes low, soft, trembling with something fragile. “next time, come home. don’t make me find you like that again.”

after the worst is over, after the colour starts returning to your face, karen shifts. she goes quiet, withdrawn. controlled. because that’s how she survives this: by doing something. by finding out who did this to you and making sure they can never hurt you again. she starts digging the second she leaves your hospital room. doesn’t sleep, doesn’t eat. just her laptop, a folder full of crime scene photos no one should have, and a growing web of connections on her wall — sticky notes, red string, scribbled names and locations.

she’s not reckless. she’s methodical. she calls in favors, slips into police records she’s technically not supposed to have access to, traces shell corporations and burner phones. if the people who came after you thought they were ghosts, they picked the wrong woman to cross. every night she comes back to your bedside like nothing’s changed. she talks to you softly, like she hasn’t spent the entire day tearing through criminal networks with a pen and a stare.

her version of revenge isn’t bullets or fists. it’s facts, it’s evidence, it’s exposing everything they’ve done and nailing them to the wall in court. she’s seen what blood-soaked justice does to people. it nearly destroyed frank. nearly destroyed her. so she’s doing it her way this time. but even she has limits, and when she finally tracks down the name of the person who ordered the hit on you, when she sees their face, reads their file, realizes how close they got to killing you - - there’s a split second where she considers just sending that name to frank. or matt. or taking a gun and doing it herself. she doesn’t. not yet. but the thought lingers.

there’s steel in her eyes when she looks at you. love, yes. but fire too. a dangerous kind of loyalty. she almost lost you. she kisses your forehead and brushes your hair, “you just focus on healing,” she says softly. “i’ve got the rest.”

⏜︵ ELEKTRA. 𐂯

she finds you by scent first. blood in the air, and her instincts flare. everything in her stills. her fingers twitch toward her sai. her heart? it drops, immediately. she knows it’s yours. her body starts moving before her brain catches up. the sight of you nearly guts her. crumpled. gasping. blood soaking into the street like it’s trying to swallow you whole. her face doesn’t change, not yet. but her heart is screaming.

“you idiot.” she breathes, kneeling beside you. her hands hover, uncertain. for a second, she looks down at you like you’re already dead. like she’s staring at a body and trying to convince herself it’s not real. then she snaps into action, fast, precise, pressure on wounds. a whispered curse in greek under her breath.

she doesn’t call for help, she is the help. she picks you up, cradling you close to her chest, and moves like a shadow through the night. rooftops. alleyways. no hesitation. she gets you somewhere safe, somewhere secret. a place no one but her knows. her hands are stained red by the time she’s finished patching you up. it’s messy, but she doesn’t flinch. doesn’t stop moving. if she lets herself feel even for a second, she’ll come undone.

and then she disappears. without a word. you’re alive — so now someone else won’t be. she hunts with the kind of violence that comes from fury. she doesn’t ask questions. doesn’t give warnings. she carves a path through the people who touched you like she’s making a statement in blood and she smiles while doing it. not because she enjoys the kill — but because it quiets the ache. for a moment, revenge is the only thing louder than her fear. she doesn’t care who they are. a gang, a syndicate, a hand of god — it doesn’t matter. they’re in her way and they die for it.

when she returns, days later, she’s cleaner. calmer. like she’s shed the blood and stepped back into her skin. but when she looks at you, still pale, still healing, that mask slips just a little.

she doesn’t sit by your bedside like matt or foggy or karen. she watches from the shadows, perched near the window like a ghost. barely breathing. doesn’t want you to see how shaken she is. doesn’t want you to know how deeply she feels this. how much of her identity unravels the second she admits: you’re not just another casualty. you ask her where she went, her gaze sharpens. “handled it,” she replies flat. but her jaw is tight, her knuckles white. you know what that means.

the night you wake up crying from pain, she’s already there. no sound. no warning. just a gentle hand on your ribs, shushing you softly. “breathe. it’s just pain. you’re alive.” but you see her eyes shimmer for a split second. not with tears — she doesn’t cry. with something that looks like grief curling inward.

when you ask if she’s okay, she laughs. cold and low. “you almost died, and you’re asking me?” she cups your face then, thumb brushing your cheekbone. the softest touch from the most dangerous hands. she doesn’t promise you’ll be safe. she never lies. but she does promise one thing, with venom in her voice: “if anyone tries this again, they’ll beg for hell by the time i’m finished.”

some nights you wake to find her pacing. barefoot. silent. a blade spinning in her fingers out of habit. it’s not restlessness, it’s restraint. she’s still seething beneath the surface, waiting for another name, another threat, another reason to hurt something in your name.

she starts training with you again before you’re ready. not because she’s cruel — because the thought of losing you again is unbearable. her touches are rougher. her critiques sharper. but her eyes never leave you. she’s watching, making sure it never happens again. you confront her, tell her she’s pushing too hard, that you need time. her jaw clenches. “time didn’t stop them from almost killing you.” she snaps.

she doesn’t ask you to stop being a vigilante. she’d never try to take that from you. but she does expect blood if anyone touches you again. it’s not a question. it’s a fact.

and still, on the quietest nights, she curls into your side like a girl afraid of the dark. because she’s seen death. been reborn by it. but the only thing that’s ever truly terrified her is the thought of living in a world where you don’t exist.

⏜︵ BEN POINDEXTER. 𐂯

he finds you by accident. it’s not a tip. not intel. he’s just out — tracking someone else — when he turns the corner and sees you. the second he recognizes your body slumped on the pavement, he freezes. mid-step. breath locked in his throat, eyes wide. everything goes quiet in his head. no noise. no inner voice. just a sudden, terrifying blankness that only ever comes with trauma.

and then it all slams back in. heart pounding, breath shaking, footsteps too loud as he rushes to you, dropping to his knees hard enough to bruise. his hands are shaking. “what the fuck —no, no — hey. hey. look at me,” he snaps, voice cracking as he lifts your face roughly. “you don’t get to do this. you don’t get to leave me.”

he presses his hands to your wounds, barely noticing that he’s getting blood all over himself. his suit. his arms. his face. he doesn’t care. he’s muttering now, voice slipping fast between anger and panic. “you’re fine. you’re fine. you’re gonna be fine.” there’s a twitch behind his eye, the way it always starts when he’s unraveling. the restraint is gone. he’s fighting the part of him that wants to go find whoever did this and carve their eyes out with a fucking pen.

he carries you himself. doesn’t trust anyone else to touch you. gets you to a safehouse, not a hospital — he doesn’t trust them, either. “i got you,” he keeps saying, over and over like a mantra. “i got you. i got you. i got you.” he patches you up with the kind of surgical precision only someone trained to kill would have. he’s been taught where to stab, where to shoot, where to break. now he’s using that same knowledge to keep you alive. hands still shaking. breath uneven. eyes wide and glassy.

when it’s over — when the bleeding’s stopped, and your breathing evens out — he just sits next to you. hands covered in your blood. staring at nothing. numb. it doesn’t last. the next day he’s gone. doesn’t say where, doesn’t leave a note. when he comes back there’s blood on his collar. a new rip in his jacket. a dark look in his eye. he doesn’t say a word. just washes his hands in the sink, slow and quiet. “they screamed,” he mutters later. voice low. flat. “when i found ‘em.” he doesn’t ask for forgiveness. not for the blood. not for the kill. he needs you to know what he did. in his mind, that’s love. that’s loyalty. that’s what he is.

at first he tries to hold it together. stiff jaw. blank face. but it cracks fast the moment he hears you groan in pain, or sees you wince when you move — it’s like a glitch in his programming. he paces. mutters. his breathing gets shallow. hands in his hair. “fuck. fuckfuckfuck.” he can’t stop replaying it. you on the ground. the blood. your eyes going glassy. the way your body felt in his arms — too limp. too quiet. it haunts him. he’s twitchier than usual, zoning out mid-sentence, jaw clenching like he’s trying not to scream.

when you sleep he stands at the door with a gun in his hand. all night. doesn’t blink. doesn’t rest. he hears every sound, every creak, every car outside — and for every single one, he’s ready to kill. he will not let it happen again. you wake up and find him cleaning weapons on the kitchen table. obsessively. over and over. something in his expression isn’t right. too calm. too blank. eyes dead.

you tell him you’re okay now. he snaps. kicks a chair so hard it splinters against the wall. slams his fist into the fridge. breathing too fast. too shallow. “you almost died.” he shouts, turning toward you, eyes wide and wild. you try to calm him. he steps back. shakes his head like he’s trying to shake the panic out of his skull. “i can’t lose you. i can’t—” voice cuts off. he’s choking on it. shaking. “if you leave, i’ll fucking burn down the world.”

he becomes obsessive. even more controlling — not in a cruel way, but in that desperate, self-destructive, bpd way where his fear of abandonment becomes everything. he checks on you every hour. double locks the doors. hides weapons around the apartment. watches you sleep like it’s the only thing keeping him sane. doesn’t want you going out with anyone that’s not him. “i don’t trust the world with you,” he tells you. “only me. only i can keep you alive.”

god help you the moment you try to suit up again. he begs. angry, terrified. “please don’t go.” his voice goes so soft, like he’s reverting back to the little boy inside him who just wanted someone to stay. he will beg you to quit, to stop, to give up that part of your life completely. if you go anyway he unravels. waits at home, pacing, crying, screaming into his hands, punching walls, whispering your name. “please come back. please come back. please come back.” when you finally do, and you’re safe, he grabs you, pulls you into him so tight it hurts, and presses his face into your neck. he’s trembling. sobbing.

he doesn’t let go for hours. doesn’t care how messy it looks. doesn’t care how unstable he seems. because when it comes to you? he needs. it’s not just love, you’re his survival.

⏜︵ BILLY RUSSO. 𐂯

the moment he sees you, his whole body freezes. it's not panic — it's shock. billy's usually composed, cold, the kind of guy who can walk through hell and come out smiling. but this is different. you're not just another casualty in his world, you're his everything. and when he sees you lying there, barely conscious, blood seeping into the concrete, it feels like the air leaves his lungs. for the first few seconds, he doesn’t move. his eyes go glassy, disbelieving. his heart is pounding in his ears, and he can’t process it. he doesn’t know what to do. everything he’s ever known, every instinct, every move, every cold calculation — it’s gone.

when he finally rushes to you, he’s all hands, desperate to pull you close. “hey. hey, baby. hey, look at me,” his voice shakes slightly, like he’s trying to ground himself in something real. something that isn’t this nightmare. “you’re gonna be fine. you hear me? you’re gonna be fine.” he pulls you into his arms and holds you against his chest, completely oblivious to the blood staining his suit. all he cares about is keeping you conscious. “just stay with me,” he mutters under his breath, over and over again. “don’t close your eyes. don’t fucking close your eyes on me.”

he knows hospitals aren’t an option. hospitals don’t work for people like you — people with blood on their hands, people like him. so he takes you to a private location, and pays for you to be privately attended to. he’s talking to you. low. soft. like if he can just keep you engaged, keep you anchored, he can fix you. “don’t think for a second you’re getting away from me,” he says, trying to sound confident, trying to sound calm. but it cracks. “you’re too much of a pain in my ass to just die on me, okay?”

the bandages are tight. the pain meds are there. but when you don’t respond, when you still look too pale, too still — he breaks. he can’t stop there, not now, not ever again. the fear that’s gnawing at his chest is unfamiliar. he doesn’t like it, so he drowns it. dives headfirst into revenge. the people who did this to you? they don’t just die. no. they’re tortured. billy goes into full punisher mode — ruthless, calculated, brutal. nothing is off-limits.

the nights are worse. he stays close, watches you like a hawk, like if he looks away, you’ll disappear. he doesn’t want to admit it, but there’s a fear in him now. one that claws at his insides, reminds him of all the things he’s lost before. he doesn’t let you go anywhere alone. not even for a second. when you try to go out, when you even mention getting back into the game too soon, he flips. “don’t you dare.” his hands grip your shoulders a little too tightly. “you’re not going anywhere. you almost fucking died. you’re not risking it again.”

if shit hits the fan and you’re caught in the crossfire again, if things go wrong, if you're too exposed, too vulnerable, billy goes feral. the change is instant, an animal’s rage flipping the switch in his brain. his body goes into autopilot as his mind snaps into pure chaos. without hesitation, he’s on the offensive. you’re the only thing that matters, and anyone who tries to get close to you, even just a second too long, is dead before they know what hit them.

he doesn’t give you time to breathe after that. the moment the adrenaline settles, billy’s back at your side. he’s close, too close. his hands roam over your body, making sure you’re intact, making sure you’re real. “are you hurt?” he asks, though he knows you’re not, he’s just making sure. his eyes don’t leave you for a second. his breath is still fast, ragged from the violence.

when you try to pull away from him, when you try to leave his arms or distance yourself even an inch, billy tightens his grip. his whole body freezes, and his gaze darkens. “don’t.” it’s low, dangerous. it’s a warning. and you can feel it. that slow, creeping panic that is threading itself into his soul. billy isn’t just holding you now, he’s clinging. because if you slip away again, if you pull too far from him, he’ll lose himself. and he knows it.

if you think you can get away to go out and continue your work he’s already planning how to stop you. every exit is blocked. every path you could take, every little crack in the world you could slip through, billy knows it. he knows because he’s thought about every possible way, and he’s ready for it. it’s not just that he wants to keep you close. it’s that he can’t breathe when you’re not around.

the possessiveness isn’t even the scariest thing about him. it’s his insecurity. billy russo knows he’s capable of destroying anything — and that includes you, if it comes down to it. “I’m the only one who can protect you,” he tells you in the dead of night, his face barely an inch away from yours. “no one else can. not like I can.” his presence is more a demand than an option.

his world is you. the only one who’s ever loved him. the thing that keeps him going, the thing that defines his decisions. no matter how violent, no matter how twisted, he’ll do anything to keep you.

⏜︵ DINAH MADANI. 𐂯

the moment she finds out you’ve been hurt, she’s frozen. it hits her like a ton of bricks. when she gets the call, when she hears what happened, she can’t breathe for a second. her chest tightens. her hands shake, but she doesn’t let it show. she’s a professional. she’s been trained for this.

her first instinct is to get to you fast. dinah’s never been one to waste time. but when she sees you, when she takes in the severity of your injuries, something inside her snaps. that sharp edge that’s kept her moving forward, her ability to compartmentalize? gone. in its place is the cold, biting realization: this is all too familiar.

she fights to keep it together as she kneels beside you at the hospital, checking for signs of life. her hands hover above you, but she’s too afraid to touch you at first. afraid she’ll make it worse. but when she sees your eyes flicker open, when she hears you weakly call her name, she snaps into action. her voice is low, soothing— something she learned to use to keep people calm in the chaos of her work. “you’re okay,” she says, even if her voice shakes. “you’re gonna be okay.”

but the worry doesn’t fade. in fact, it just makes her more determined to hunt down the people who did this to you. she’s driven by vengeance. this isn’t about breaking the law or falling into chaos — it’s about justice. it’s about doing things the right way. she has to — she’s always believed in the system.

her flashbacks hit harder now. she thinks of sam, how he died, how she couldn’t stop it. every time she closes her eyes, she sees him. his blood. his empty eyes. she sees you in the same way, and the guilt starts to fester. she’s relentless in her search for answers, and every dead end, every failure to get closer to them, feels like she’s failing you all over again.

the guilt and anger bleed together in her dreams. she wakes up in cold sweats, her mind flashing back to that night, the night sam died, and how helpless she felt. then there’s you, and the helplessness is even worse. the thought that she couldn’t save you. that she might lose you too.

but when she gets closer, when she finally has the chance to make them pay, it’s not a feeling of triumph — it’s just a cold, hollow satisfaction. revenge, for dinah, doesn’t bring peace. it doesn’t bring closure. it just empties her further. she’s not sure if what she’s doing is right anymore, but she can’t stop herself. the justice she’s been chasing her whole life feels hollow now.

the weight of the revenge still hangs over her, even after she gets it. madani knows that she’s done what she had to do, but there’s no true peace. the law isn’t enough, and she’s not sure she’ll ever find solace. the trauma lingers, the flashbacks to sam, and the faces of those who hurt you haunting her every step. but she’ll keep going. because that’s what she does. she survives. she endures. and for you? she’ll keep fighting.

⏜︵ DAVID / MICRO. 𐂯

fear grips him hard. you’re everything to him — he can’t even process the reality of what’s going on. he tries to call you, but there’s no answer. panic sinks in deeper. he’s trying to keep it together, but it’s all falling apart. he can’t lose you.

he knows he can’t do this alone. he’s smart, he’s good with computers, but this is beyond his control. so, without even thinking, he picks up his phone and dials frank. he needs help — real help. not the kind of tech solutions he usually works with, but someone who can find the people who did this and make them pay. frank picks up. david’s voice cracks when he speaks, but he tries to keep the desperation in check. the words spill out of him, but he knows frank doesn’t need any more details. frank doesn’t need him to explain — it’s always been a silent understanding between them. frank will help.

frank’s response is immediate. there’s no hesitation in his voice. “get to me. now.” david doesn’t need to be told twice. he hangs up, grabs his bag, and doesn’t stop moving until he’s at frank’s location. he’s shaking, from fear, from the overwhelming guilt and helplessness clawing at him. when david finally arrives it’s a blur of frantic energy. he’s pacing, his mind spiraling through a hundred different thoughts at once. frank listens, david explains what little he knows, but it’s clear he’s not thinking straight. his focus is broken, distracted. he keeps glancing over his shoulder as though expecting someone to come after him. frank doesn’t judge him for his panic. he knows david’s been thrown into a situation he’s not prepared for.

with castle at his side, david dives headfirst into research for revenge. he’s typing away at the computer, pulling up every piece of data he can get his hands on, but he’s still not in control. every lead he follows feels like a dead end. he’s so close, and yet it’s so far. he feels helpless again, like he’s failing you. frank knows exactly what to do, starts tracking down leads the way only he knows how, and it’s not long before david starts feeling that old rush of adrenaline. david watches as frank works, and a part of him feels sick. he doesn’t like the things frank does to get answers — he never has — but in this moment, he doesn’t care. he wants the people who did this to you to suffer. they will pay.

when he gets back to you, he’s exhausted, drained. he holds you close, his fingers trembling. the adrenaline’s worn off, and now he’s just done. his mind keeps running through what happened, but he’s too tired to make sense of it all. all he knows is you’re here, you’re alive, and somehow, somehow, that’s enough for him.

even with everything settled, the guilt never goes away. david knows he couldn’t have done it without frank, and that thought haunts him. he hates that frank had to be the one to pull him out of his panic, to get him to this point. he feels weaker for it. but he’s trying to hold it together for you. he’ll always try to hold it together for you.

⏜︵ JAMES WESLEY. 𐂯

it’s like his whole world stops. wesley is used to being in control, to managing every detail of his life with precision, but this is different. you are different. you’re the one person he can’t control, the one person he’s allowed himself to care about, and now you’re in danger. it shatters his calm, makes everything feel like it’s slipping through his fingers.

the moment he hears what happened his first thought is to get to you. immediately, he starts making plans, pulling strings, organizing everything in his mind with military precision. nothing is left to chance. he won’t leave anything to luck or fate. he’s already running through every possible solution in his head — getting you to safety, finding out who did this, and making them pay.

when he sees you hurt, it’s worse than he expected. his eyes narrow, scanning you for injuries, his expression hardening. this shouldn’t be happening. you shouldn’t be in this state. he’s quick to assess the situation — if you’re still conscious, he’ll call your name, trying to keep you awake and alert, reassuring you that everything will be taken care of. but deep down, he’s losing control. this is his fault. he wasn’t there when you needed him, and that thought claws at his gut.

he doesn’t waste time on emotions, at least not outwardly. wesley is all about efficiency. he’s trying to keep his cool because he knows if he loses it, if he shows any sign of weakness, the situation could spiral even further. he pulls you close, his tone sharp, “we’re going to get you help. stay with me.” there’s no comfort in his words, no softness. just cold, calculated action.

he won’t take you to a hospital. he’s already got another plan in place, one that he knows will guarantee your safety. he’s not leaving your side for a second, and he’s certainly not letting you be treated by anyone who could jeopardize the situation. he’ll take you to one of fisks safe houses, somewhere he’s already set up for emergencies. he’ll make sure you’re patched up, but not by a doctor, by someone he trusts, someone he knows won’t ask questions.

the person who did this is as good as dead. wesley doesn’t even need to think twice about what he’s going to do. the moment he finds out who’s behind this, they’ll pay. he’s methodical about it, just like everything else in his life. he’ll track them down, piece together every detail, and make sure no one escapes. they’ll regret crossing him, crossing you. he’ll track down every lead with obsessive precision. while youre recovering he’ll monitor every movement, every conversation, making sure no one can get close enough to hurt you again. he’s already planning, moving pieces on a mental chessboard, keeping you protected in ways you can’t even fathom. it’s almost clinical the way he works, and it’s terrifying. there’s no room for failure. when he catches the person who hurt you, there’s no mercy. wesley doesn’t do mercy. there’s no room for hesitation. he’ll handle them swiftly, in the way he’s always been trained to — calm, efficient, without remorse.

once it’s over, once the danger has passed, he’ll find himself restless. he won’t relax. not fully. the guilt gnaws at him. no matter how much he tells himself he did everything right, that you’re safe now, he’ll never fully shake the feeling that he could’ve done more. he’s been trained to protect, to control, and yet, in this one instance, he couldn’t stop what happened. it eats at him. he wasn’t fast enough.

when he checks on you later, there’s an unreadable look in his eyes. he’s there, by your side, but it’s not the gentle reassurance you might expect. he’s not soft about it. he’s focused on your well-being, but there’s that edge to him, an intensity that makes it clear he’s not quite done. not done with protecting you, not done with his need to control the situation. he’ll stay close, but it’s not because he’s worried for you. it’s because he can’t bear the idea of losing you or letting anyone get close enough to hurt you again.

if you ask him about it he’ll brush it off with his usual coldness. “it’s done. you’re safe. that’s all that matters.” there’s no emotion in his voice, no sign of the internal battle he’s fighting. because for james wesley, admitting weakness, admitting fear, isn’t an option. he’ll never show that side of himself.

but deep down, the fear never really goes away. it’s not just the fear of losing you, it’s the fear that he’s not good enough to protect you in the way he needs to. he’ll bury it. he’ll hide it. but the cracks will start to show, just a little. and as time goes on, he’ll start to wonder if he’ll ever truly be able to shield you from the world that’s out there.

⏜︵ MUSE. 𐂯

everything else fades away. he’s used to the violence of his world, the chaos of being part of hell’s kitchen, but seeing you in this state — broken, bleeding, close to death — shatters him. he’s good at shutting down his emotions, but this? it’s like a punch to the gut.

his first instinct is to move you, get you out of there. he doesn’t care about the blood or the injuries; he just needs to get you somewhere safe, somewhere away from the people who did this. he’s not gentle when he picks you up. muse’s hands tremble, but his movements are urgent, almost frantic, because this isn’t just any injury — it’s you. the one person who’s shown him a hint of softness, the person who doesn’t treat him like a joke. and now, you’re this. he hates it.

when he gets you to a safe house or wherever he’s decided you need to be, he’s not leaving your side. he’s patching you up as best he can, trying to stop the bleeding with hands that shake. he’s muttering to himself, cursing, moving like a man possessed. he knows this isn’t going to be enough, that the injuries are too severe for him to handle, but he can’t bring himself to call for help. not yet. not when he’s still trying to keep control over this.

when he finds out who did this to you it’s bad news for them. muse isn’t the type to sit around and wait for someone else to fix things. he’s always been the kind of guy who takes care of problems on his own terms. and if someone hurt you? well, there’s nothing stopping him from hunting them down and making them wish they’d never laid a finger on you. he’ll go after them with everything he’s got, no mercy, no hesitation, draining every last drop of blood from their body.

he gets reckless. the more he tries to keep his head together, the more the anger builds. he wants answers, he wants vengeance, but most of all, he wants to fix things for you. he’ll keep pushing until he finds out who did this, and when he does, he won’t hold back.

he’s constantly checking on you, watching you like a hawk. when you wake up, he’s there, hovering over you, his eyes filled with a mixture of relief, panic and concern.

as much as he tries to stay detached, you’re changing him. the more time he spends with you, the more he cares. it’s not something he’s used to, not something he can easily admit, but it’s there. you’re important to him in a way he never thought possible.

started 4.26.2025. finished 4.27.2025.

( masterlist. )

©️ monicfever 2025

[bullet-prooflove]

Yay! 3 things for Wes Mitchell please!

Career, cupcake & close

❤️

Tagging: @kmc1989 @toasted-stiletto @crusoe2000 @vivekaspencer @fanny-123456

Companion piece to:

Budapest

There’s a cupcake on the kitchen counter.

It’s a traditional Hungarian Zserbo from the bakery a few streets away from your apartment. It’s one of you favourites. Something Wes knows because you’ve eaten there together every morning for the past couple of weeks.

Underneath the cupcake is a note that simply reads.

Think about it...

You sigh, your fingertips tracing over his handwriting. He’d asked you last night to join the flight team, make the switch from teaching back into field work. You’ve been an instructor at the International Law Enforcement Academy for over a year now and haven’t had so much as a thought about a change in career until Wes offered up the position. Now it’s all you can think about.

The problem is you don’t know if you have the stomach for it anymore.

That last case you worked, it had fucked you up in ways you’re still trying to untangle to this very day. Wes may have read the file, flicked through the psych eval but he doesn’t understand the reality of it, what seeing ten young girls, starved to death in a storage container does to you. He doesn’t know that you’ve been in therapy since it happened, trying to combat PTSD because sometimes you see their faces in your dreams.

“You’re in an excellent investigator, you know it and I know it.” He’d said over a couple of beers, when he’d met you after your final class. “It’s time to step off the bench and get back in the game.”

You’d almost said yes but then you remembered that this is what Wes does, he comes into your life,  throws everything up in the air and then he leaves. It’s been that way the entire time you’ve known him. The two of you may be close now but it won’t last, not when he realises just how broken you are. It’s best to nip it in the bud before it gets any more complicated than it already is.

You pull out your phone before pulling up your message thread. Your fingertips swiping over the keys as you type out your text.

Sorry Wes, I think it’s time for you to start looking for your own place.

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[escapingrealtiylovinginsanity]

I've only watched the first 5 episodes and I'm obsessed! I am convinced that there is no part Jesse Lee Soffer can play that I won't love. I went to binge on some content for him and couldn't find anything (Big sad). So, I had to make sure he had at least one story. I'm still learning his character so this is probably not perfect.

Wes Mitchell Key 

You didn’t know what the hell you were thinking. The relationship wasn’t new but had been long distance since the beginning. Now you were standing in front of his apartment door, one travel-on bag thrown over your shoulder. You had jet lag from the flight all you wanted was a hot shower and any flat surface to sleep on.  

But now standing here anxiety twisted in your stomach clawing its way up your throat. You reached in your pocket pulling out a key. It felt heavy as lead in your palm and caught the light in the shine of the new metal. You had never used it before and half wondered if it would even really work in the lock. 

You and Wes had been officially together for eight months after steadily talking for three. It didn’t take a genius to know that Wes had trust issues. He didn’t talk about his childhood much, but the random snit bits that he had shared you knew it had been on the rougher side. He was slow to trust and despite his apparent mastery at reading suspects needed blunt direct talks to know where he stood in his personal relationships. 

You two hadn’t seen each other in person more than a handful of times. It had forced a strong foundation built on communication and genuinely enjoying the other company as opposed to falling into bed together because it was easy and lonely. Wes had openly admitted that he tended to do that in a lot of his previous relationships because he “wasn’t good alone”.  

It had been a major red flag and forcing you to keep the pace slow. He was charming, funny, and incredibly good looking and you didn’t want to get your heartbroken.

It didn’t stop you from falling in love with him.

Neither of you had uttered those words yet. Wes didn’t seem like the type to make that proclamation without meaning it and you didn’t want to back him into a corner. 

The feeling of him keeping parts of his life separate from you had caused more than one fight. It always happened in the same pattern. You would bring it up, he would acknowledge that he did it and promise to try harder to be more open. For a while, he would and it would get better but he always seemed to hide behind that last layer of protection. His reflex to protect himself at any cost. You loved him and tried to be patient with what he was working through but the pattern was incredibly frustrating.  

The last one had stuck pretty well. When he came for a week's visit, he had given you his key. He hadn’t said it but you knew it was his way of showing how much he trusted you. You couldn’t help but wonder if it had been an empty attempt to appease you. After all who would go across the country to actually use the key?  

You had only been to his apartment in Budapest once and he came to see you three times. When you met him, you didn’t even have a passport. While seeing each other hadn’t been frequent, the sex was always absolutely mind-blowing. 

Now you felt like quite the hypocrite as you had been hiding your own struggles from him. Things had gotten so bad, so overwhelming at home that you had packed a bag and paid for a flight on a whim. You couldn’t even remember if you packed underwear. Your brain had been like watching static on a TV and it was only halfway through the flight that you remembered that Wes wasn’t even home. He was currently in the Netherlands.  

You felt a gaze fall heavy on you. You look over your shoulder to see a man watching you stand in front of the door holding a key and making no attempt to open it for way longer than necessary. You scrabbled to put the key in the lock and let out a grateful yet slightly surprised breath of relief as the key twisted in the lock butter smooth. 

A glance back showed the man's suspicions seemed settled as he headed down the hall. Then you remembered the alarm and rushed in to type in the password letting your bag carelessly fall to the ground with a heavy thunk. You watch in anticipation after typing the code in. Wes would be the type to constantly change his code but the light turned blissfully green.  

You turned around to see the almost obsessively neat living room. It had a modern feel but it felt only half lived in like Wes hadn’t completely moved in even though he had been living there for over a year now. It looked exactly the same as when you had been there last. The only difference is the lack of pillows and blankets thrown on and over the couches. It was clear that he had done that for your comfort when you had been staying there.  

You stared blankly into the space. Should you call Wes to let him know you have invaded his home? A yawn forced itself from you and your exhaustion came over you in another harsh demanding wave. It had been over a 12-hour flight and you hadn’t been able to sleep at all. Thoughts of calling Wes were easily forgotten with the promise of sleep.  

You walk into his room and are washed in the scent of his cologne and aftershave still barely clinging to the enclosed space. It brought a soft comfort to you. A tease of his embrace. You paused thinking about how awful you must smell and all the germs you had no doubt gotten from the shared space of the airport and then the plane. Your fickle mind had you turning on your heel to the shower turning the water hot.  

As you rinsed off you noticed the only product that Wes had was a 3-in-1 body wash, shampoo, and conditioner. You didn’t even have it in you to care as you scrubbed yourself down with it only unconsciously noticing how awful it made your hair feel. You dried off sparing only the bare minimum amount of time towel-drying your mess of tresses before climbing into his bed. You sank into it with a sigh cocooning yourself in his blankets and before you could think twice you were out like a light. 

Wes entered his apartment quietly. Resetting his alarm before heading to the bedroom. He set his bag down gently as he headed to the bed. He sitting beside you brushing the still damp and tangled tresses off your face. You barely moved still deep in sleep. His eyes analyze you worriedly before leaning down and dropping a soft kiss on your forehead. 

Wes had been gathering his things when his phone had chimed alerting him that someone was at his door. He glanced briefly at his phone thinking it might be a person walking too close to his door or a package arriving he had forgotten he ordered. He had done a double-take when he realized it was you. You hadn’t mentioned anything about stopping by.  

He thought maybe it was a surprise visit. It had been a while since you had seen each other in person. The long flight explained why he couldn’t reach you the last few times he had called. He quickly dismissed that notion. You knew he was still in the Netherlands doing a job and he had given you no idea of when he would be back because he hadn’t known himself. If that wasn’t enough there was your slumped posture, hair thrown haphazardly up in a messy bun with thick chunks of hair escaping, only one carry-on bag thrown over your shoulder. He could feel your exhaustion through the screen, not the excitement you usually had when finally getting to see him again. 

He had watched with growing concern as you just stood at his front door with the key in your hand. You stood that way for so long that he thought his video might have frozen. It stung when he realized it was indecision. He had silently willed you to open the door but still you stood unmoving.  

His stomach clenched with guilt. It was his fault that you were hesitating. You had told him you felt like he had a life he didn’t want you to know. That he always had his walls up. He knew the truth and accepted the burden of trying to fix it. He thought he had been doing a good job and that it wasn’t a big deal.  

Watching you fight with yourself if you were truly welcome in his home or if you would be invading it spoke louder than your words ever could. They cut deeper too. Far past the walls that he had spent his life building. He was just about to call you and tell you to go inside when your head whipped backward clearly startled by something. Then you turned back with purpose and put the key in the lock. It didn’t give him the relief he was hoping for. You hadn’t chosen to go in, you had been pushed too. How long would you have stood there without that nudge? 

The flight home was short but it felt long. His mind was in fix-it mode and whirling with what was the right thing to do when he got home. He wanted to talk to you about your relationship. There was nothing more he wanted than you being around. How deeply he cared for you. He wanted to know what that hesitation meant to you about your relationship because he knew what it meant to him. 

Even though Wes desperately wanted that to be the first thing he did. He knew it wasn’t the right one. He needed to find the underlying cause of what would cause you to spontaneously fly across the country. What had happened? And how did it build up that fast? Hadn’t he just talked to you a few days ago? You had been a little quiet but it had been late your time so he hadn’t thought much of it. Had he missed something so major? How long had whatever it was really been going on? 

Wes tried to suppress his worry not wanting to alert the team that you were there until he knew what was going on. He knew an attempt to run when he saw it, he had done it enough himself. When the group had asked if he wanted to get some drink before they had all returned home, he had feigned tiredness. He had beelined for his home. 

Wes smoothed the blankets over you gently, considering his options. He sighed deeply standing up. You looked vulnerable and small twisted in the blankets and curled up into a ball. You were in a deep sleep. You had barely moved since he had walked in. It wasn’t worth waking you up.   

[linaslore]

s.s. | the ripper's confession (one-shot)

a/n: well, i'm back in my tvd era and since I'm team stefan i came up with this. it's my first time writing smut, so please don't judge.

warnings: MINORS, DNI. mentions of blood, death, ripper!stefan, language, smut with some plot, dirty talking, mutual masturbation., piv. english is not my first language. some stuff may not be accurate, so please don't mind if I'm not faithful to the shows storyline. not truly proof-read.

summary: you are determined to find stefan after klaus forced him to run away, but one night, you receive a mysterious visit.

stefan salvatore x afab!reader.

please don't copy or translate my work!

It’s been about a month since Klaus convinced, well, blackmailed Stefan to travel with him. The hybrid forced him to turn off his humanity to “unlock his full potential” in exchange for his blood to cure Damon from a werewolf bite. And of course, Stefan accepted that deal because he would do anything for his big brother, despite all the arguments and disagreements they had over the last century. In the end, they loved each other immensely. 

So, the younger Salvatore has been M.I.A since then. Elena and Damon weren’t the only ones who were desperately trying to locate him. You were also dead set on finding him. He had helped you learn the ropes of being a vampire. 

Yeah, that’s right, you were also part of “blood lust club”, as Damon has often nicknamed your kind. Needless to say, you aren’t a vampire on your own volition. And worst of all, the way it happened was kinda stupid; or at least the first part. 

Last year, Alaric was training Jeremy, Matt, Elena and yourself on how to fight vampires with different weapons. Stefan and Damon were also there because they were going to help with actual vampire combat. Well, let’s be honest, Damon was there just to make fun of ‘baby Gilbert’ and ‘Bus boy’. But he couldn’t deny he didn’t enjoy “fighting” against Elena as he was really close to her and got to touch her body.

You were no better than him though. You focused more on casually staring at Stefan, who was wearing his typical white tank top that accentuated the muscles on his arms and back, than on the training itself. Anyways, Matt and Jeremy were practising shooting arrows at Stefan and even though they couldn’t hurt him, they weren’t doing it sooo bad – until Matt made a wrong movement and his arrow landed on your stomach. Everything happened so fast that not even the supernatural creatures were able to prevent it. 

Stefan didn’t hesitate for a second to give you his blood to heal you after removing the arrow from your body. Matt was truly sorry and you told him it was okay, that it was an accident but you weren’t perfect and held a small internal grudge against him. If you ever had the chance to train fighting only with him you would accidentally kick him in the groin.

However, you would have forgiven him more easily if that night had not been a full moon and Tyler had not freed himself from the Lockwoods' cellar and had not attacked you in the middle of the woods. Caroline, who was helping him with his werewolf problems, tried to heal you with her blood but it was too late, you were already dead. 

Hence, the combination of those two unfortunate events had resulted in you becoming a vampire. Stefan helped you to cope with your new condition. You honestly didn’t know what you would have done without him. And for this reason, you truly didn’t care if you had to move heaven and earth to save him from Klaus, or mostly, from himself, since he’s a ripper without his emotions and whenever he had come down from that high, he had serious symptoms of guilt and distress. You wanted to be there for him the same way he had been there for you.

One Friday evening, you were about to go out to meet with another witch to help you do a locator spell. Of course Bonnie was also helping to find Stefan, but she was dealing with getting her mom back after years of abandonment, so you didn’t want to bother her more than necessary. And besides, you needed the strongest witch you could find nearby Mystic Falls. You knew that Bonnie was powerful and had a lot of potential, but she was a relatively new witch. Whenever she had tried to do the locator spell, she had no results. Klaus somehow made Stefan vanish into thin air. 

So, as you were putting all the things you needed in your bag, someone knocked at your door. Who could it be? You had talked to Elena two hours ago and although you didn’t tell her specifically what you were going to do, you told her that you were going out for more clues of Stefan and that you would call her if you found something promising. 

You got closer to your door as you tried to listen with your vampire hearing to get anything from the person outside your apartment, but you stood there with nothing. You took a deep breath and opened the door, mentally preparing to attack. Time seemed to stop once you realized who it was.

“Stefan?”

You were too perplexed to say anything else. After all the time spent looking for him, he was there, at your front door. He was wearing a red plaid flannel and a pair of black trousers. He didn’t look injured or anything but something didn’t seem right. He didn’t look like the Stefan you knew. His eyes were different. The way he was looking at you was different. He may still have his humanity off. You needed to be careful.

“What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?”, he said as got closer to you. Your instincts made you give one step back but this didn’t stop him from walking towards you every time you got away from him. He closed the door once you were both inside. You had millions of questions for him, but you only managed to get one out.

“Did you escape from Klaus?”, you hoped his answer was affirmative.

“Not really, he’s too busy bickering with his siblings and putting a dagger in their chests if they say the wrong thing. He won’t mind if I'm gone", you were utterly confused. "So I thought I could pay you a visit and entertain myself with you”. 

When your back hit one of the walls of your apartment, he placed a hand on your cheek, slowly caressing it. However, there wasn’t love or anything similar in his eyes. All you could see was lust.

“What do you mean?”, you asked him, gathering the strength from God knows where. You were too close to him. One small movement and your lips could touch his.

“I came here to do something I should have done a long time ago”, he replied, his voice getting deeper and darker as the conversation continued. His eyes were fixed on yours, but he stole glances at your lips to get his message across.

“But, what about Elena?”, he rolled his eyes at your question and took his hand away from your cheek. He placed it on the wall beside your head.

There were a thousand things you could have said to him or certainly you could have managed all this situation a lot better, but the almost lack of space between you two didn’t allow you to think straight. In fact, you could not think. At all.

“I know I should care about Elena, she’s my girlfriend, after all, but I really don’t. And besides, do you think I’m not aware of how attracted she’s to Damon now? It seems being away from her gave her a free way to catch feelings for him”. He moved his face to whisper in your right ear. "And you don’t have to pretend with me”, he paused and your heart skipped a beat. “I know you don’t like her." He moved his face back to the original place. His lips barely separated from yours. "Having my humanity off has made me honest with myself. I’ve always thought you were really hot, but because of her, I pushed that thought to the back of my mind. But I cannot deny that sometimes when I see you, I cannot stop thinking about all the things I’d do to you."

That was it.

You lost whatever small ounce of self-control you had. You also have always thought Stefan was attractive but, of course, you didn’t make any move because of Elena. You weren’t the best of friends but she had knew him first and, besides, you'd like to think you had some sense of girl code in you. However, the closer Stefan and you had become as he helped you be a good vampire, the more difficult this task became. Your feelings for him grew stronger each day.

Moreover, a memory came up into your brain to help you justify what you were about to do. Damon, Elena, Jeremy and you had gone on a trip to find out if some clues about Stefan’s location were true. You stayed one night in a motel; the girls in one room and the boys in another. You couldn’t sleep at all because of the anxiety and disappointment over not finding him. So you heard Elena when she got up from her bed and exited your room. At first you didn’t pay much attention to her but then you started hearing some whispering. You used your vamp hearing and discovered she was talking to Damon. Then, they stopped talking and started kissing. You were about to get up and interrupt their wrongdoings but you decided against it because Damon would snap your neck and leave you to your luck far away from there.

“So, Stefan, what’s stopping you now?”, you retorted as he made you come back to reality by kissing your neck.

He gave you a devilish grin and proceeded to attack your lips without mercy for a while. Then, he placed his larger hands on your butt, cueing you to jump and wrap your legs around his waist. You happily did so and continued to kiss him as if it was the last thing you’d do on this planet.

You couldn’t really believe that this was really happening. You were making out with Stefan Salvatore. Well, a humanity-less version of him. You knew this was not ideal, but you decided you’ll deal with the afterthoughts and consequences tomorrow. Without breaking the kiss, he moved you both to the couch and sat on it. You started messing his hair with your hands while you positioned yourself more comfortably to straddle him.

However, despite the fact he kissed you stupid, one question popped into your head and you wouldn’t be able to stop overthinking if you didn’t ask him, so you told him to stop.

“I know you want this more than I do. As a matter of fact, I can feel it”, directing his eyes to his lap, where you were seated. You were wearing a skirt and your wetness has trespassed onto his pants. “Why did you stop?”, he started kissing and slightly biting your neck.

“Are you going to regret this when you turn your humanity back on?” You did not have your own humanity off, so that question came out of your mouth filled with anxiety and a bit of pain. He stopped his work on your neck and looked deeply into your eyes.

“Not at all. Trust me, I’m just doing what humanity-on-Stefan would have liked to do but he was too much of a coward to dare”, he reassured you and you let out a shy smile. “Now, shall we go back to our hot makeout session?”

You found it somewhat sweet that no humanity Stefan asked you if you could continue what you were doing instead of simply kissing you again. It almost felt like he was taking care of you. Maybe the Stefan you knew was not too buried inside of the ripper.

As an answer, you kissed the corner of his lips and then he placed one of his hands on the back of your neck to direct your lips to his and the other on your thigh. You couldn’t take it anymore, you need him in all the possible ways.

“Stefan, please”, you whispered against his lips, dragging the final “e” a bit.

“Please what?”

“You know…”

“Mh, no, I don’t… Tell me what you want.”

You broke the kiss and looked at him once again. You were just discovering he liked being begged. He placed both of his hands on either side of your waist and raised his eyebrows.

“Please fuck me”

“Your wish is my command, princess”.

You didn’t have much time to process the way he called you because he started trailing a path of kisses from the corner of your lips to both of your breasts. In the meantime, you started unbuttoning his shirt.

“You’re so beautiful”, he started talking in between said kisses. “I can’t believe how long I took to have you like this”.

You moved to the waistband of his pants and removed his belt while he used one of his hands to put your panties to the side and massage your clit with slow but constant circles. You put your face on the crook of his neck to shut your moans. You didn’t want your neighbours to find out you were having sex but Stefan grabbed your loose hair with his hand and pulled your head back so he could look at you.

“No, no, no. I want to hear the pretty sounds you make, princess”, he demanded as he continued playing with your clit. His movements became quicker.

The way he said that fucking pet name again could just instantly make you cum. But he didn’t have to know that, so you lifted your body so you could lower his jeans enough to have access to his cock. You slid your hand inside his boxers and started stroking his dick slowly. You guessed he was well-equipped because you had stolen glances at him while he was wearing sweatpants and they made his groin more noticeable than jeans. Yet, you never imagined how gifted he was.

The groans he was letting out due to your actions were doing it for you too. You didn’t know that you could get more turned on than you already were at this point. 

“You’re taking care of me so well, Y/N”.

“Stefan, please, don’t stop”.

You were very close to finding your release and you could tell he was pretty close too. It seems he was reading your mind so he inserted one of his fingers inside your cunt over and over, while his thumb kept caressing your clit. You moved to work on his neck. You grazed your fangs along it, without actually biting him, while you kept your handjob.

“You’re about to cum, right, baby?”, he managed to say in between moans and sighs. He added one more finger.

You nodded as you could. All of this was too much for you. Not only are you seconds away from reaching your climax, but also because it was him provoking it. And on top of that, he called you baby. Probably it was an empty word for him, but for your sake, you’re going to pretend he actually means it.

And just like that, both of you came. Your orgasm hit you like a trainwreck. You have had sex before, but none of the other boys have made you feel like this. And he only used his fingers. You pressed your forehead against his as you came down from the high and smiled at him. And he gave you one of his. You hadn’t realized how much you missed his beautiful smile until he smiled at you.

You started moving in order to stand up from his lap but he immediately put his hands on your waist to stop you. And, of course he did because he was so much stronger than you.

“Where are you going? For your information, I’m not done with you”, he smirked again and your brain almost exploded at how hot he is.

“I just wanted to move this to the bedroom”, you answered using a really innocent voice and looking away because honestly you were feeling kinda embarrassed. You’ve never been this blunt with anybody.

“Oh, who would have thought?”, he remarked as he got up from the couch, still holding you with his arms. You wrapped your legs around his waist again. “You were always so shy, so introverted, so obedient”, he attacked your neck with wet kisses again as he moved to your bedroom. If you were being honest, you were a bit disappointed that he couldn’t leave hickeys on your skin. They would stay for a couple of seconds but then disappear due to your supernatural healing abilities. You wanted him to leave some kind of mark on you.

“Who would have thought you would be this dirty?” he continued as both of you fell on your bed. He stayed on top of you this time. While making eye contact with you for the millionth time, he took off your skirt and panties in two swift movements. You finished removing his shirt and kept lowering his pants together with his underwear to his ankles. He did the rest and you took off your t-shirt. He smirked when he realized you weren’t wearing a bra. Now that you were both fully naked, his fingers touched teasingly your cunt again.

“I can believe how wet you still are after you came on my fingers. Is this all because of me?”. You nodded but he raised an eyebrow. He wanted you to use your words.

“Yes, Stefan. I’m a mess because of you”.

“Thank you, princess. I’d better reward you for making me feel so flattered.”

He grabbed his dick and started teasing your entrance. You looked at him to plead him to fuck you for once and for all. You loved the way he fingered you, but you needed more. You needed all of him. He stopped playing around with you and slammed his cock inside of you. He didn’t even give you time to adjust to his length and girth and he started rocking in and out of you roughly. You didn’t care, at all. You were having the time of your life.

As a reflex, you bit your inferior lip to shut your moans. He gave you a disappointed look.

“Remember what I said before, baby. I want to hear you”, he said as he pounded slowly but also deeply into your hole. “In fact, I want every single person and creature in this damn town to hear you. I want them to know who’s making you feel this good”.

You obeyed his request as you moaned without any restrictions. To hell with everyone and everything, you know you won’t regret all this, ever. Even if Stefan doesn’t give you the time of the day anymore after tonight.

He kept fucking you so good that you were ashamedly close to your second orgasm. You were constantly moaning his name quite loudly and rolling your eyes.

“You’re such a good girl. You’re making me feel amazing”, Stefan said while letting out heavy sighs.

Your vision started getting blurry and you couldn’t hear very well anymore. You were truly overwhelmed with pleasure. Stefan was going to be the real death of you. 

“I know you’re close, princess. Give me one more, please. Be my good girl”

You couldn’t take it anymore and you felt like your whole body was going to explode. Him calling you his good girl was the cherry on top of the cake. This second climax was just as intense as the first one, maybe even more. You no longer cared about hickeys anymore. He had surely ruined you for others.

He came shortly after you, letting out a sound similar to a growl and collapsed beside you on the bed. You turned your body to the side in order to face him. You couldn’t stop looking at him, at how beautiful he was. You saw something flickering through his eyes, but couldn't pinpoint what. Maybe some of his emotions were getting back. You were secretly hoping you would be the one that brought him back.

You also were aware of how heavily you two were breathing. For a second, you forgot you were technically dead. You let out a laugh as you put your bed covers over your two bodies.

“What’s funny?”

“Nothing… it’s just before you came to my apartment, I was about to go out to meet a witch.” You continued to smile but his eyebrows frowned, still not understanding. “She was going to help me make a locator spell to find you.” He finally chuckled at the irony.

You couldn’t contain yourself and placed a hand on his cheek and got closer to kiss him deeply. He kissed you back with the same intensity and put his arm around your waist. You wanted to let him know what he meant to you; how much you liked him. And he seemed to get the message because you felt him tense up.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. But I have to go…” he said, breaking the kiss.

“No, don’t. Please, can you stay?”, you looked at him, begging him with your puppy face to get him to do what you wanted.

“OK, just a while” He turned you around so he could spoon you from behind and kept you wrapped under his arms. His legs were also tangled with yours. “Until you fall asleep”.

“Thanks”

That’s all you have managed to say. It was quite difficult for you to fall asleep. All the things you did previously were  still fresh in your mind. Another question popped into your head. You prayed he hadn’t fallen asleep, but given that his breathing was still a bit irregular, you believed he had not.

“Stefan?”, you called his name quietly, afraid of speaking too loudly, in case all this had been a dream and you were about to wake up. 

“Yeah, I’m here”, you felt him put his face on the space between your neck and your shoulder.

“When are you coming back to us?”, you made a small pause. “To me?”

“Really soon, princess. I just need to find my window to finally get away from Klaus.”

You felt how he held you a bit tighter than before, as if he also thought this was just a dream and that you were going to disappear at any minute. Your body started to relax under his embrace. Finally, your mind drifted to a world in which you can stay like this forever. Away from all the bad things that happened around you two. Away to a world in which Stefan was yours and you were his. In this life, though, you were.

“I love you”, you blurted out almost inaudibly, without really processing what came out of your mouth due to your sleepiness, but Stefan caught it. 

He didn’t know what to say, his humanity was coming back, bit by bit. His thoughts were all over the place. He had to fight and conquer all his demons in order to defeat Klaus and make his way back to his home, and, to you. 

He also had to solve the ‘Elena situation’. He loved her, but he noticed how both of them drifted away from each other. Their relationship was not the same after she started to let Damon in. Of course, she wasn’t the only one to blame. He also had let you into his heart and he couldn’t help but notice how exciting the idea of starting a story with you was.

He later noticed that you fell profoundly asleep. Your breathing was calm and steady. He started slowly untangling himself from your body, trying not to wake you. He didn’t want to leave you like this, but he was afraid that Klaus, or his minions, would find where he went and harm you in any way. So, he had no other choice than parting now that hopefully you wouldn’t notice. Before exiting your room, and apartment, he gave you a light kiss on your forehead. As a promise that he’d be back soon, as he had said to you.

At least now he knew he had a reason to come back to Mystic Falls. He had you. And he knew you’d wait for him, no matter how long or what it takes. His princess would be there.

the end!

well, i hope you'd enjoyed this. or that at least the smut part wasn't cringey. i'd love to read some feedback. thank you for reading!

[supercap2319]

Damon: "Grayson? Stefan's outside in the garage, and he wants you to–"

Grayson: "He wants me to blow him?"

Damon: "What?! No! He needs your help moving his motorcycle, you horny slut."