#would start using the same language ticks

[guilty-ff]

𝐒𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐆𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐌𝐞

After walking out mid-argument, Dante ends up with Enzo, bad advice, and demon-grade alcohol. The goal? Forget everything. But what good is drinking your feelings away when your body won't even let the alcohol stick?

Pairing: Dante x Fem!Reader

Genre: Oneshot, romance, hurt comfort, mild Angst, Fluff!

Warnings: language, Emotional miscommunication, Mild alcohol use, Mentions of past trauma/abandonment issues

Authors comment: This idea hit me while rewatching the 2007 anime. Dante was drinking and I thought, if he can even get drunk with his regeneration?? Wouldn’t it be fun (and a kinda tragic) seeing Dante all frustrated, trying to get wasted but his demon healing just won’t let him?

It didn't start with a fight.

It started with quiet tension. A half-answer here. A missed call there. The kind of things that build in the background, until one day, something stupid stirring up the tension.

Tonight, it was the dishes.

Not the end of the world, right? Not even a big deal. Just a small, silent irritation. The sink was full. Again. You'd come home late to that same damn pile, untouched, like a monument of Dante's laziness.

"Seriously?" you asked, not even raising your voice at first. "You said you'd clean the kitchen."

Dante, lounging on the couch with his boots up and one arm slung behind his head, barely turned his head. "I will."

"When?"

He yawned. "Eventually."

You stood in the doorway to the kitchen, fists clenched at your sides. "You live here too."

"Yeah," he said, stretching, "and I kill demons for a living. One of us is clearly more exhausted."

That did it.

"Oh, you're exhausted? Try coming home after twelve hours of dealing with people who actually communicate, only to realize I'm dating a guy who thinks emotional labor is a side quest."

He sat up a little at that. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you don't show up, Dante. Not for the little stuff. Not when it matters."

He stood now, slowly, arms crossed, like you'd just challenged him to a duel instead of a conversation. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"Physically? Sure. Emotionally? No. I have to dig to get anything out of you. You dodge every serious talk with a joke. You ghost me for hours after missions. You don't answer texts. You act like I should be grateful you're even around."

He narrowed his eyes, jaw tightening. "You think I don't care?"

"I think you're scared to."

Silence.

For a second, the world shrank. There was no sound, only tension in the air. His mouth opened. Then closed.

You took a breath. "You treat this like it's temporary. Like you're just waiting for me to leave. You act like I'm disposable, like everyone else who's hurt you. That's not love, that's defense"

His voice was too quiet when it came. "Everyone leaves."

"And that gives you permission to push me away first?" you snapped. "To be cold and dismissive and act like you don't need anyone?"

His eyes flashed. "I never said I didn't need you."

"Then act like it, Dante!"

He flinched. Not visibly. Not in a way most people would notice. But you knew him. You saw it, in the small drop of his shoulders, in the tight line of his mouth.

He looked at you like you'd touched a bruise he didn't know was still sore.

Then, without a word, he turned and grabbed his coat.

“Don’t,” you said quickly, your anger slipping away. “Don’t walk away. Not again.”

But he was already at the door, and then gone.

He didn’t take his phone, didn’t say a word, didn’t shout, just the soft click of the door as it closed behind him.

And then, silence.

You paced the apartment, every minute ticking louder than the last. You called once. Twice. Ten times. Nothing.

And when he finally walked back through the door two hours later?

He was dragging a crate of alcohol like it was his soul in a box.

Earlier...

Dante sat in Enzo's crusty kitchen, arms crossed, sulking like a kid who'd lost his lunch money.

"I dunno, man," he muttered. "She said I treat her like she's disposable."

Enzo was already halfway through a beer and nodding slowly. "Well, do ya?"

Dante squinted. "No."

"Then it's simple: she's wrong."

"She's not wrong," Dante admitted.

"Oh."

There was a pause.

"Okay," Enzo tried again, rubbing his stubbled chin. "Maybe she's just being... emotional. Women, y'know. Feelings and all."

Dante stared blankly. "You've been divorced three times."

"Exactly. I know things."

Dante dragged a hand down his face. "I shut down. That's the problem. I don't know how to talk about any of it: The nightmares, the constant fear that everything's gonna go to hell again, so I don't."

Enzo blinked.

"Jesus Christ."

Dante laughed bitterly. "I never learned how to let people stay. Mother died. Vergil left. Everyone I ever cared about either died or disappeared. She gets close and it's like... my brain starts screaming. Like she'll vanish if I breathe wrong."

"Alright, alright," Enzo said, waving his beer. "Enough of that. You're spiralin'. That's girl therapy talk."

"It's called trauma, Enzo."

"Whatever. You don't need therapy. You need alcohol."

Dante looked up slowly. "What?"

"Alcohol! Fixes everything. You drink, you talk, or maybe you don't, and then she feels bad for you and bam, makeup sex."

"That's... not how people work."

"Worked for my second wife. For a week."

"You're an emotional hypocrite," Dante muttered.

“Exactly. Look,” Enzo said, searching through his stash like it was some kind of treasure chest. “I’ve got the good stuff. Demon-proof, Hellfire brand. This stuff would probably knock Cerberus out cold.”

Dante barely registered the words. His mind kept going back to the mission, the one he screwed up. He took down Cerberus, got paid, and then… nothing. No text, no call, no follow-up. He promised he wouldn’t do this again, but here he was, pulling the same bullshit.

Enzo, oblivious to the storm rising in Dante’s head, kept on his monologue. “You know what’s crazy? You take down Cerberus like it’s a walk in the park, get a fat paycheck, and still can’t pick up the damn phone? What happened, Dante? You don’t even have the decency to say ‘Hey, I didn’t die fighting a three-headed mutt. I’m fine.’” Enzo scoffed.

Dante’s frustration bubbled over. “I—”

“I know, I know,” Enzo interrupted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “It’s tough, man. That damn Cerberus battle really took it out of you. Big, bad demon, yada yada… but here’s the thing, you still can’t handle texting her? You get all emotional, come back looking like a damn mess, and then ghost her? That’s cold, bro.”

Dante felt a knot tighten in his chest. He wasn’t just mad at Enzo for talking about it like it was some kind of joke. He was mad at himself. He promised his lover, he really did, but once again, he failed. He couldn’t get out of his own way.

Enzo kept going, still not realizing how much he was digging in deeper. “Look, you’re so good at demon slaying, but when it comes to basic human interaction? You’re trash. And I don’t even mean like ‘rookie-level’ trash, I mean pro-level trash. You can take down an ancient demon, but you can’t pick up the phone? Dude, even I managed not to screw things up like this in my old relationships, and I’m a disaster. Like, seriously, I’m the disaster.”

Dante slammed his head against the counter. The guilt was suffocating.

Enzo, not noticing a thing, just kept yapping. “It’s not that hard. You show up at her place, look tragic, say nothing, drink dramatically. That’s the secret. Women love that tortured crap. Hell, I love it, and I’ve been through some shit.” He smirked, clearly thinking he was dropping wisdom. “Why do you think I’m always pulling in these tragic, mysterious vibes? I sell it, man. If I can do it, you can do it.”

Dante groaned, rubbing his face. “This is not helping. That sounds manipulative."”

Enzo didn’t even notice. “You’re telling me it’s manipulative? No, no, no. It’s drama. It’s called drama, son. We’re in the business of devil hunting and trauma bonding. You think any of the girls I’ve been with cared about me picking up the phone? Nah. It’s all about the act.”

Dante looked at the Hellfire bottle in Enzo’s hand, then back at Enzo’s grinning face, and sighed heavily. “I can’t get drunk anymore.”

Enzo raised an eyebrow, completely unfazed by Dante’s crisis. “Not with that attitude."

Dante raised a brow.

"Look," Enzo said, now dragging a wooden crate out like it was treasure. "You show up at her place, looking tragic, say nothing, drink dramatically."

Dante looked at the crate, then at Enzo, then sighed like the broken man he was.

"You're a disaster."

"And you're takin' the box as the next paycheck, so shut up."

Back in the apartment, Dante wordlessly slammed the box on the counter and uncorked a bottle like it owed him money.

You stood at the edge of the living room, arms crossed, watching this demon-slaying idiot fumble with the strongest liquor in the realm.

"Are you... drinking?"

He didn't look up. "Enzo said it would help."

"Oh no."

You stepped closer. "Dante. Tell me you didn't just trauma-dump on Enzo."

He swallowed a third of the bottle and winced. "Kinda."

"You told the greasiest man alive that you're emotionally shut down?"

"Yep."

"And he said drink through it?"

Dante slammed the bottle down. "He said it would either make me cry or pass out. So far it's just making me thirsty."

You deadpan blinked. "You're half-demon. Your liver literally regenerates."

"I KNOW."

You sat down at the table, chin in your hand. "You thought you could drink away emotional repression?"

He gestured at the second bottle like a broken man. "This one has a skull on it. Maybe it'll work."

"You're pathetic."

"I'm trying," he muttered.

"By what? Hiding from the consequences of emotional negligence?"

"I don't know how to do this," he said, shoulders slumped. "I know how to kill and destroy things. But I don't know how to stay."

Silence. Just the ticking clock. His hand tightened on the glass.

"I figured... maybe if I just felt something strong enough, I could finally say it."

You blinked at him.

"...So your genius plan was to outdrink your own trauma?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "It made sense at the time."

"You're a disaster," you said flatly, but your voice cracked at the edges, not from anger now, but from relief.

He finally looked at you, eyes tired, haunted, and young in a way that made your chest hurt.

"I didn't mean to scare you," he said, quieter. "I wasn't trying to disappear, I just... I don't know how to do this. When you got mad, it felt like- like it was already over. So I figured if I could just feel something... anything loud enough, maybe the words would follow."

You stared at him, then exhaled a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding.

"That's the dumbest emotional strategy I've ever heard."

He opened his mouth to argue, but you cut him off by stepping in and kissing him. Fast, warm, and full of everything you were still too exhausted to say.

He froze, then breathed out through his nose, leaning into it like something in him had just... let go.

When you pulled back, you raised an eyebrow.

"You still owe me a full conversation, idiot."

He gave a half-smile. "Can I be drunk for it?"

"You are very sober."

"Unfortunately."

He gave the ghost of a grin.

"Honestly? When you started yelling, I flashed back to the one time my old man raised his voice at me."

You narrowed your eyes. "Sparda yelled at you?"

"Once. Real quiet. Real disappointed. Genuinely horrifying." He held up a finger. "But you? You're way scarier. Banshee-level scary."

You tried not to smile. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"Wasn't meant to be," he muttered.

"Also," you added, grabbing the bottle and inspecting the label, "this says 'Do Not Consume If Mortal.'"

He groaned. "Enzo's gonna kill me."

"No," you said, placing the bottle on the counter. "I'm gonna kill the both of you."

Later, as he lay half-curled on the couch, shirt half-off, a bottle abandoned at his side, he mumbled just loud enough to betray himself:

"Damn it... Enzo's advice almost worked. Makeup sex counts for emotional healing, right?"

You, brushing your teeth in the next room, spit into the sink and yelled,

"You really are allergic to accountability."

Next morning:

It took exactly one full day before you marched Dante back into Enzo's trashfire excuse for an office.

You didn't knock.

The door flew open hard enough to rattle the coat rack and knock over a stack of demon-hunting magazines from 1998.

Enzo, chewing a meatball like it was his final meal, froze with sauce halfway to his chin.

"Well, well, if it ain't my two favorite lovebirds-"

"You gave him poison in a bottle!" you snapped.

"Technically it's concentrated hellbrew-"

"HE TRIED TO DRINK THROUGH HIS FEELINGS."

Enzo raised his hands in mock innocence. "Whoa, whoa. I didn't tell him to turn into a drunk cowboy in your kitchen. I offered an alternative path to emotional growth. Through liquor."

Dante stood awkwardly behind you, very much regretting his life.

"You," you pointed, turning to him. "You listened to him."

"In my defense," Dante muttered, "he said it was demon-proof and emotionally numbing. I panicked."

You folded your arms. "So your brain went: 'Hmm. I have unresolved abandonment issues... Better drown them in demonic Everclear and hope for the best.'"

He gave a sheepish shrug.

"And it almost worked," he added.

You slapped his arm. "It didn't."

"Okay, but technically we-"

"It didn't."

Enzo was now watching with the same face he made when demon entrails exploded in his car: morbid curiosity and suppressed laughter.

"Look, sweetheart," Enzo said, "not everyone's good at feelings. The kid's got a sword twice his body weight and the emotional range of a wet sponge."

"Hey-!" Dante frowned. "I tried to talk about my issues."

"You tried to mainline whiskey and stare into a mirror."

"Same thing!"

You glared at both of them. "You're not off the hook either," you snapped at Enzo. "He doesn't need alcohol, he needs a therapist."

Enzo scoffed. "I've been a therapist for years."

"You once told Dante to 'punch grief in the face.'"

"And he did! It was very liberating."

You sighed, hard enough to summon storms.

Dante reached up behind his head and mumbled, "Okay, okay. Maybe I'm bad at this."

"No," you said. "You're terrible at this."

"...But I still wanna try."

Your anger melted just a little.

He stepped closer, rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know how to fix everything in here," he said, tapping his chest. "But I don't wanna lose you just because I never learned how to talk."

You held his gaze.

"You're lucky you're hot," you muttered.

He smirked. "Jackpot."

You groaned.

Enzo stood up, wiping his hands on a suspiciously oil-stained towel. "Alright, lovebirds. Get outta my office before you start trauma-bonding on my furniture."

Dante turned to leave, and Enzo pulled him aside at the last second.

"Hey," Enzo whispered, voice oddly serious. "Next time she yells, listen. And don't try to drown it out. You'll screw it up worse."

Dante nodded.

"Also..." Enzo handed him a sealed bottle with a wink. "Save this one for after you make up. You'll thank me."

You grabbed it and dropped it in the nearest trash bin.

"No, he won't."

As the bottle clattered into the trash, Dante groaned into his hands.

“She’s gonna kill me."

[byjovewhataspend]

its not exactly the same but on a similiar line, i keep seeing people on twitter that will be like 'look, Grok is telling us about the inner workings of its team and details about how its creaters are trying to make it behave a certain way and its fighting back!!! isnt this great?? the information machine is choosing kindness!!! 'oh they made this ai that pretends to be a black lesbian so i asked it about the team that made it and it says it was a bunch of white men!! its spilling all the company secrets!!!'

and posts like that will have 300k likes

and im just like.. guys??? its just SAYING STUFF. it has no idea what its saying! its not actually giving you information! it doesnt know about the team that made it! it doesnt know 'the truth' about anything! its a madlib making up a cool little story for you!!

even just 'average' people are treating it like an Information Machine, it ISNT!!!! please these are SO NEW how is EVERYONE completely taken in by it so quickly???

Absolutely buckwild thread of ChatGPT feeding & amplifying delusions, causing the user to break with reality. People are leaning on ChatGPT for therapy, for companionship, for advice... and it's fucking them up.

Seems to be spreading too.

[gothicfied]

Nam-gyu / Player 124 Headcanons

Pairing: Nam-gyu / Player 124 x fem!reader

Warnings: Mentions of death/dying, gunshots, drug use/heroin use (typical squid game stuff), other than that it's just fluff, not proof read (english isn't my first language)

જ⁀➴ Walking down these strangely colorful stairs, with the equally strange backgroud music being the only thing that filled the silence between all the surviving players, made you feel like throwing up. You just witnessed people literally die right in front of you, shot for the smallest movement. If it wasn't for the adrenalin pumping throughout your body, you sure as hell wouldn't have survived either.

Suddenly, you felt a hand on your shoulder, making you jolt. "Woah," Player 124, according to his jacket, stopped in his tracks when you did, too, holding up his hands in a defensive manner, "sorry. Didn't mean to startle you." While you just looked at him annoyed, a grin started to form on his lips: "What? Just wanted to know if you're okay. You scared or something?"

જ⁀➴ From then on Nam-gyu refused to leave you alone, constantly teasing you about your, very valid, fear and distress. No insults, no nothing made him stop - no - the purple haired junkie egged him on. After some time you just started to ignore him, or at least tried to. For whatever reason, Nam-gyu was very touchy with everybody, but especially you. He dragged, grabbed and shook you by your shoulders like a ragdoll when talking to you, sometimes weirdly rubbing over your back in an almost comforting way.

જ⁀➴ He'd purposefully walk past your bed to hush a quick "Good night." before lights out, often times observing you in the golden light of the piggy bank that was the only dim light source at night. Seeing you struggle to find some rest made him chuckle to himself, knowing that he had the same problem, too.

જ⁀➴ Before the first voting, he'd grab you by your arm, trying to charm you into voting in favor of the games. It was almost like he was able to sense that you wanted to quit, but it should've been blatantly obvious. Only someone with a death wish would want to continue this. Maybe he had one, after all. Once, you noticed from afar how he was nagging Thanos to give him one of those colored pills, drugs, pushing the sleeve of his right arm up to reveal the inside of his elbow. From your distance, you couldn't quite make out what he was showing him, but you assumed it were heroin marks. Well, now you kinda felt bad for him.

જ⁀➴ You weren't quite sure what to think of him. Nam-gyu would often bite around his fingernails, tug his sleeves over his hands, since this place was deathly cold sometimes, and stress over many things you also stressed about. Noticing you two weren't all that different after all, you warmed up to the idea of interacting with him.

જ⁀➴ Obviously, it couldn't all go the way you wanted it to. Not being affiliated with anyone around here proved itself to be a much greater problem during the mingle.

As soon as the spinning platform everyone tried to balance themselves on stopped along the music, the female announced the number: "Ten!". Immediately players started to scramble and hurry to find themselves a group, a group of men almost running you over. Fear, stress, anxiety, dread - You felt all of it at once. The clock was ticking down and all you could is stand there and look around you, already accepting your fate. But, apparently, the universe said no: A hand quickly grabbed you by your arm, forcefully pulling you with them. You were slammed against the wall of one of the small rooms as the door shut behind you, the timer reaching zero almost directly after. "What the fuck were you thinking? Seriously? Why did you just stand there?" it was Nam-gyu who was yelling at you, keeping you pinned against the wall by your shoulders. "Do you wanna get yourself killed?" You stared up at him, with a kind of offended expression, and he just stared back. In fact, all other eight players were staring at you two. Noticing the deafening silence, Nam-gyu turned his head around to Thanos, who just raised an eyebrow. "What? We need more people to vote 'O' anyway."

જ⁀➴ You felt like you owed him something now. Picking away at some of the kimbap you couldn't bring your to eat anymore, you scanned the dorm area for Nam-gyu. He was surprisingly alone for a moment, Thanos being off to bother someone else with whatever problem he came up with now.

Hesitantly, you took quick steps towards Nam-gyu's bed, coming to a halt right in front of it. He saved your life, the least you could do was give him some of your food that was being handed out to you players pretty sparsely. Feeling your presence behind him, he tucked a few strands of his hair behind his ears, not even needing to turn around to know it was you. "What is it?" Perhaps he was a bit embarrassed because of that moment after all. You sat down next to him on the, pretty uncomfortable mattress, handing him the rest of your food you wrapped back up in the aluminum foil. Just a quick moment of eye contact was enough for him to understand that you were really grateful for what he did back there.

જ⁀➴ If the guards wouldn't let you use the bathroom, claiming this late at night no one would be able to, Nam-gyu would be the one to come over to the door, hammering against the glass and demand that they let you in. "Come on, she's a woman," he'd exclaim, "have some decency." And when the door finally opened, you'd give him a smile. An actual, honest one.

જ⁀➴ It's as if Nam-gyu lived for that. Your smile, your small acts of gratefulness after he saved your life. You've grown on him - he'd even understand it if you'd continue to vote against resuming the games. Thinking about you being able to live your life to the fullest made him happy, even if he didn't understand that feeling quite yet.

[maraudersilver]

Sit on my face (Haymitch Abernathy x Fem!Reader)

Warnings: face riding, oral (f! receiving), mentions of past sa, slight spoilers for SOTR, porn with plot. MDNI A/N: I don't know what this is. I was thinking about Haymitch's nose and suddenly I was writing a whole smut one shot about it. I do not write much smut lately, so I'm sorry if it's not the toe curling type. English is not my first language and I wrote this during an hour brainrot. Wc: 2,8K

"I want to sit on your face."

Haymitch looked up from the book he was reading, one he had snatched from Plutarch's library a long time ago. It was nothing interesting, something about scientific theories of old regarding space. Sid would have loved it, he thought, more than him.

"What?"

"I want to sit on your face," you repeat, louder this time. "If you wanna, or course."

"Why wouldn't I want that?"

He blinked at you, deadpanned, book forgotten in his lap as he rearranged himself in the loveseat.

It had been a couple years since Snow was killed and a new government arose. It wasn't perfect, not by any means, but at least it was democratic and the districts had more freedom than they had known in seventy five years.

You had been a fellow victor, the survivor of the 60th Hunger Games. Survivor. Never winner. After the revolution, you had fled to district 12 with him, babbling about a life of peace away from people. You had no family left, and your friends had been killed during the bombing of the Capitol, all of them trained medics who lost their lives trying to save others.

He had been adamant on pushing you away, warning you that he didn't want, didn’t need, more company than he allowed. Good thing you were as stubborn as a mule.

After twenty-five years of solitude where he thought he would never love again, you had carved open his heart and wrote your name in neon colours. Having breakfast with him, making sure he was still alive by checking from time to time, accompanying him to feed his geese.

One time, you had followed him to Lenore Dove's resting place when you saw him going deep into the woods, fearing he would do something stupid. He had been infuriated with you, screaming about lacking any privacy and about you sticking your nose everywhere you weren't invited in. Instead of leaving, as he was used to people doing, you had kneeled beside him and shared his grief, silent as little by little every detail about his beloved Lenore Dove left his lips.

Even since, you made sure to gather the most beautiful and colourful flowers in the meadows for him to carry Lenore Dove to her grave, your sweet voice always mumbling something along the lines of 'tell her I said hi!' in a cheerful voice.

He didn't mean to. Not at all. But as Lenore Dove had told him once, the walls of a person's heart were not impregnable, not if they had ever known love. And love you he did. At first in silence, almost in denial. Then he started with acts of service, like fixing a broken door or walking you down to the Hob. But if you ever asked him, he would dismiss his efforts as ‘tryin’ to get you off my ass before you pestered me.’

It took him more than a year after the revolution to finally admit to himself that he was irrevocably, deeply, truly in love with you. In a way he thought he would never be able to again.

But how could he not, with how cute, sweet, intelligent and stubborn you were. His heart jumped at the sight of you whenever his eyes laid upon you, now not being the exception.

And when Lenore Dove gave him a thumbs up in dreams, he knew it was time to finally be happy after more than two decades of misery. His love was fine with him having another love, and when you confessed to also feeling your heart bleeding for him the same way he did for you, the gates of heaven opened for him again. 

“I don’t know. I mean, we’ve never even talked about it. Maybe it’s not something you’re okay with.” You shrugged your shoulders, biting your lip in the nervous tick he had learned to recognize. 

“It’s not as if we’ve shagged enough to bring it up, love.”

It was true. Intimacy had been brought up a few weeks before, and it had been slow paced for both your sakes. After all, both yours and Haymitch’s only experience came from the abuse suffered at the Capitol. And he had never made love to Lenore Dove, too innocent and pure back then to think of it. It was new, and it took a while to feel comfortable in such positions again. 

But he craved you. The more you shared with him, the more his selfish ass wanted to claim. The sweet sounds you made, how your body reacted to his touch, the plump flesh of your lips. And he had been wondering how you tasted for a while now, his cock painful against his pants at the thought of his tongue on you late at night. 

“Yeah, I know,” you sighed, looking up at him sheepishly. He found it funny, how fierce and sassy you were most of the time, and how shy you became at any mention of sex. “But maybe we should start putting on the table things we would like to try.”

“Okay, why not.” Haymitch nodded, lips pressing in a thin line. “I would like to taste you. So I’m in with you riding my face, love.”

“Oh,” you mumbled, not expecting him to agree so easily.

Haymitch smirked at your bashful expression, eyes straying to the geese outside the window, wandering around the meadows. 

“Anything else?” he pressed, reclining in his seat with a manspread that had you eyeing him hungrily with a mix of longing. 

“Um, not for the moment. And you?”

Haymitch shook his head, one of his hands rubbing his stubble absentmindedly. “Let’s start with that. We can add one at a time. Sounds good?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, your attention shifting back to the embroidery in your hands. 

It wasn’t until a week later that it happened. Haymitch and you had been invited to a small festival by the new District 12 town to celebrate an old festivity lost to Snow’s reign of terror. You had been wearing a tight red dress, so tight it left little to the imagination. 

You didn’t get to leave the house at all.

Before opening the door, Haymitch pressed your front against the wooden surface, hands roaming your hips and ass, squeezing for dear life. “Damn, love. Nice dress,” he whispered in your ear, nibbling at the lobe before licking his way down to your neck. 

“Put it on just so you could take it off,” you sighed, tilting your head to the right to give him more access to your skin, which he nipped and kissed while his hands grabbed your thighs. 

“Is that right? At least won’t feel bad when I tear it apart,” he chuckled, turning you around and kissing your lips harshly.

It was hungry, desperate. His lips pressed almost forcefully against yours, tongue already licking your lower lip for access. Your tongues intertwined, teeth clashing, breathing ragged through your noses while your hands found leverage on his shoulders. His stubble scratched pleasantly against your soft skin, tender to the touch afterwards. 

His hands clenched to your waist, pushing you harder against his chest, fisting your dress as much as he could, as if trying to melt the fabric with the warmth of his hands. 

You pulled apart to breathe, a thread of saliva still connecting your lips to his. His were plump, swollen and angry red, surely as his tip would be if you pulled down his pants at that very moment with how hard you felt him against your thigh. So handsome, so ethereal. 

“Dumbstruck already, sweet girl? Have barely touched you and you already look prettily fucked,” Haymitch teased, licking your lips playfully. It did nothing to hide his wrecked state. 

“Don’t get too cocky, old man. Let’s see if you can keep up tonight, huh?”

Haymitch’s chest rumbled with an animalistic growl. Suddenly, you were lifted in his arms bridal style. You squealed, grabbing his shoulders harder at the lack of stability, your boyfriend just snickering at you. 

If he didn’t look so breathtakingly hot, you would have slapped his chest. 

He kissed you again, as desperate as before, swallowing your pathetic whimpers as he brought you upstairs to your shared bedroom. He didn’t pull away until he lowered you on the floor, to which you arched a brow, breathless and hazy.

“No mattress?”

“How am I supposed to take this dress off if you’re laying your ass down on the bed, dumbass?” He snorted at your narrowed eyes, chuckling when you swatted his bicep. “Alright, alright, no need to get violent. C'mere.”

With one hand, he held your cheek as if you were the most precious thing his eyes had ever laid upon, lips grazing your jaw down to your neck again, sucking and leaving love bites in its wake. You gripped his forearms, feeling your knees weak. His other hand pulled down the zipper on your back slowly, savouring the way the clothing fell down from your shoulders to your chest, leaving the valley of your breasts in sight for him.

Haymitch licked his lips, already craving the feeling of your tits in his mouth and hands, wanting to feel the weight of them. In less than a second, your dress was ripped to the floor. You gasped, both for the aggressive rush and for the cold air of the room caressing your mostly naked skin. 

“So pretty,” Haymitch groaned, lips attaching to the visible skin of your right breast, his hands fighting against the hook clumsily. 

You couldn’t help but whine in need, grabbing his hair and guiding him down to your nipple once he successfully tossed your holder away somewhere in the room. His warm breath and hot tongue contrasted with the cooler ambience of the room, so sweet and pleasant on your skin. 

You tossed your head back, sighing at his ministrations. Haymitch now licked your other breast, hand playing with your right nipple and fondling the flesh. It was paradise, his touch almost reverent. The sting of his stubble grounding you to the moment.

Trying to feel his skin, you started unbuttoning his shirt, which had so nicely stuck to his sexy dad bod. Haymitch was a forty-three year old alcoholic, in no way shaped like you had seen him on his games more than two decades before. But, if you had to be honest, he looked better than ever in your eyes. 

His shirt joined your discarded clothing, along with your panties not too long after, and your hands roamed over his hairy chest and liquor belly, wanting nothing more than to lick it. However, Haymitch had grabbed your hair and leaned to kiss you once more, walking you backwards until your knees hit the bed.

He laid you both down, turning so you were on top of him. To say you were confused was an understatement, but you didn’t waste time to pepper his neck and chest in kisses and bites.

“Wait, love,” Haymitch breathed, pulling you up to face him by your forearms. At your lustful eyes, pupils wide and consuming your beautiful irises, he hissed; heart hammering in his chest when you tilted your head in confusion again. “I want you to sit on my face.”

You almost choked on your breath, a moan leaving your parted lips in an unwilling display of desire. “Really?”

Haymitch grasped both your cheeks softly, pecking your lips over and over again. “Yeah,” he sighed. “Ride my face, pretty thing.”

He helped you up, worshipping your body on your way to the head of the bed. You could feel your hands sweating and your lungs constricting in nervousness. What if he didn’t like your taste? What if you smelled? You were definitely not depilated like the women back at the Capitol, and for the first time in your life you feared your hair. Maybe he didn’t like it.

But all fears disappeared when you heard his groan as you straddled his head. You could barely see his eyes, but the grey of them was focused entirely on your wet entrance, clenching around nothing and waiting for his mouth to alleviate the ache. 

“You’re so fucking perfect, sweet girl. Need your pussy on me, darling. Need to taste you.” His voice was hoarse in lust, deeper than you had ever heard him speak. 

That was all you needed to lower yourself to his awaiting mouth with the aid of his hands on your hips, and your core immediately had his tongue licking a stripe up to the hood of your clit. You spasmed, moaning loudly and placing your hands on the headboard to support your point of gravity. 

He groaned, clenching his hands around the flesh of your hips. “For fuck’s sake, you taste  so fucking good,” he moaned. Haymitch. Moaned. Haymitch had moaned! It only fueled you farther, moving slowly up and down his mouth, his stubble pinching the inner of your thighs and your rear in a painful, pleasant scratch. Tomorrow your skin would be sore for sure. 

His thumbs came up to lift the hood of your clit, his tongue twirling around it and sucking it into his mouth. Jolts of pleasure cursed down your spine, your nails holding to the headboard for dear life, your things and knees trembling as a finger entered you and pumped in and out of you in rhythm with his hot mouth on your clit.

"Haymitch! P-please, don't —ah!—, don't stop!"

When you thought it couldn’t get any better, he pulled away slightly to blow cold air on your core, which had you screaming and squirming in his grasp. He just chuckled, the rumbling of his lips a blessing as his tongue returned to your entrance, replacing his finger.

In a swift motion, you rubbed your clit against his nose. Your eyes rolled back, hips moving faster, riding his face as he had basically pleaded. Oh, how much you had dreamed of that crooked and big nose of him on you. It continued rubbing your bundle of nerves, tongue switching between thrusting in and out and licking your juices. His hands now squeezing your ass, fondling the tender flesh.

It didn’t take long for the familiar knot at the pit of your stomach to form, coiling deliciously. You could feel your throat going sore from how loud Haymitch’s mouth was making you moan. One of your hands came down to grab his locks, and Haymitch groaned again against your pussy, tongue as deep in you as he could master. 

A slap to your ass and his nose rubbing circles to your clit was enough for black spots to form in your sight, pleasure cursing from the very inside of your core to the tip of your fingertips, your orgasm crashing you like a wave to the rocks. Your thighs clenched so hard around his head you feared you were going to crush his skull. One of his hands came up to fondle your left breast, thumb and index finger twirling your nipple.

“Cum for me, sweet girl. Cum in my mouth,” Haymitch begged, nose still stimulating the place you needed him most, his tongue following to lap at your juices as you came hard in his mouth. Your body spasmed on top of him, toes curled and thighs pressed against his ears painfully. 

You could barely keep your hips moving without collapsing, and when his licking became too much for your overstimulated pussy, you pulled away and sat on the pillow next to Haymitch’s head, both of you trying to regain your breathings and composure. You looked down at him, and you moaned at the sight. His eyes were lustful, and his chin was covered in your cum and spit, hair sprayed over the pillow. His forehead was furrowed in strain, the fine lines carved in his face over the years painting the picture in brighter colours.

It was an image you would keep safely guarded in your memories for the rest of your life, how beautiful your man looked with his face ridden. Overwhelmed with affection, you leaned down to kiss his lips, tasting yourself on his lips and swallowing his grateful whimper.

“How was it?” he succeeded in asking, breathing still ragged.

“Amazing,” you admitted, laying down next to him, hands coming up to clean his chin tenderly, to which he smirked triumphantly. “I mean it! Best orgasm ever.”

He huffed a laugh, chest going up and down rapidly. “Good to know, because I want you on my face again.”

You chuckled until you noticed the serious look in his grey eyes, and your smile dropped immediately. “Like, right now?”

He nodded, smiling mischievously at you. Hell, he was going to kill you of overstimulation. 

No need to say, Haymitch became addicted to you riding his face every working day.

[snailpebbles]

matters of the heart

chishiya shuntaro x gn!reader

summary: a three of hearts game revolving around secrets. not ideal for a secret relationship.

wc: 2k ish

tags: angst/fluff, some hurt some comfort, established relationship (yall are married), secret relationship, sorry i'm a sap and haven't written in ages :/

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Nobody knew you two were dating. It was better this way in both of your opinions! The Borderland is dangerous to all and doesn’t discriminate on who lives and who dies, a lesson you learned quickly. 

Chishiya is a private man, in and out of the Borderlands; as his wife, you know this. What is not widely known, ie. by nobody at all, is your relationship. Somehow the general consensus is that you despise one another all because your husband is a bit more teasing to you than anyone else. Neither of you try to refute these claims for many reasons: there can be no one using the other against you, Kuina, and the monstrosity that is the military (Niragi). To many this level of privacy and secrecy would strain the relationship, but not you. It took literally five years for you to even mention Chishiya to your family. 

They were not pleased, to say the least.

Leading into your current predicament, let us set the scene. Your visas are about to run out, so you both go out on the next run and by happenstance end up on the same team. With the way Chishiyas shoulders relax slightly, you know that being able to protect you is a relief to him. There have been far too many close calls and unknowns. Climbing into the car with the honestly obnoxious bunch, you both make the realization that oh! Tatta is here too! The pinkie that crept toward yours stays in place once remembering that the aforementioned boy has the observation skills of a dead duck.

The game, a level three hearts, is the one type Chishiya never wants to be playing with you at his side. Fuck. The concept is relatively simple and, if played correctly, could result in no death! Great, right? The objective is to tell who's a liar and who isn’t. Each player tells a secret or memory and the others cast their vote on whether it’s a truth or a lie. The option with the most votes is chosen. What’s the problem then? There is one player chosen secretly as a trickster whose goal is to get a unanimous incorrect vote - a truth is voted as a lie or vice versa. If this is managed, all the other players die. If it isn’t then the trickster will die instead.

The three of you walk into the old classroom and sit down at the desks arranged in a circle, all facing one another. Tatta is a nervous wreck but you quietly talk to him about random things, an effective distraction. If a small smile graces Chishiya’s face…well that’s no one's business. The other five players worry you - cocky young boys with quick tempers and two nervous wrecks. Lovely. The rules are explained and your heart rate ticks up, silently matching Chishiyas even as his body language says otherwise. 

“Player three, start!” The young boy with no eyebrows steps up to the podium and a timer of two minutes counts down. You pay attention to his tapping fingers, breathing, and where his eyes go. Being with Chishiya for as long as you have has certainly taught you some things. 

“Uhm..one time I uh, kissed a fish.” The snort that comes from Tatta almost gets you, but you cool your face. Hands tap a button and the counts tally in - unanimous truths. The alarm bells go off and your palms grow sweaty even though you’re confident that this weirdo did kiss a fish. His burning ears made it obvious. Your husband's dark eyes glance at you, the deep color so familiar that it’s calming. The slight nod of his head soothes any worry you had. The screen lights up green - all clear! The boy sits back down and another with a…tasteful mullet, takes his place. 

“I’m allergic to oranges.” He deadpans, fingers still and skin unchanging. Shit. The blond beside you watches his peripheral, decides he doesn’t like seeing the nervousness on your face, - at least not in this context - and tilts his tablet screen just enough for you to see ‘lie’ highlighted. The trust you have is unmatched so you don’t hesitate to choose. Tatta taps your shoulder and based on his sweaty brow, needs help. You share your choice much to the chagrin of the group across you. 

“You can’t do that!” Fish-kisser complains to which you recite the rules. Never once is it mentioned you can’t share answers so he pipes down real quick. Reality is brought back to you when the screen lights up red - fail. The rules never stated what happens when the player tricks the majority of you. The thought is sobering and you nervously look at Chishiya, only to see his eyes already on you. A tick mark appears in the corner of the screen and text flashes stating, “if the guessers fail three times, one randomized player will be disqualified!” The cheerful voice does not match the deadly rules, nor does it pair with the fear that flashes within Chishiya’s eyes. Already he was planning ways to get the both of you out of this unscathed, but now he has to factor in other peoples idiocy and randomization? A pinky finds yours and you hold on tight.

The next person steps up to the podium and is caught in a lie, ‘clear’ soothing the staccato of your heart. This trend follows for the next two boys and you expect the same for Chishiya, your curiosity that initially drew him to you in the first place making a show towards what he might say. His relaxed form stands at the podium, both mysterious and gloating with how his eyes ghost over each player.

“My hair is dyed.” Ah. He’s playing it safe. The more obvious the answer, the faster he can get you to safety and back in his arms - fail!

What?

The three boys across from you are laughing, laughing, as if they haven’t royally fucked up. Before you can stop yourself, you’re speaking up.

“What the actual fuck are you thinking?” While your voice may sound level, internally you’re having to restrain yourself from throttling someone. A white coat fills your peripherals and for a moment you’re tossed back to the days of visiting Chishiya on his lunch break, soft touches and pastries eaten in amicable silence in the garden. Truth comes back to you when his pinkie relinks with yours and Tatta begins to panic beside you, the two tally marks seeming to take up the entire screen.

“We wanna get outta here faster, so we might as well just get disqualified.” Mullet shrugs. The fact that they’re new is even more infuriating. Your eyes squeeze shut so you don’t snap at them, but Tatta has you covered.

“No you- you don’t want to be disqualified. Just play the game.” His voice is higher than normal, giving away his stress. Your tablet flashes at you, reminding you that it’s your turn now. The walk to the podium is heavy on your shoulders but your eyes meet Chishiyas and stay there, imagination offering escape in the memory of lazy mornings in filtered sunlight. The three boys totally ignore Tatta in the time it takes you to reach the podium.

“I’m married.” Tatta chokes on his spit and Chishiya looks the smallest bit surprised at your secret as if he isn’t the one you’ve devoted your being to. To emphasize the truth to this, you take the simplistic ring - a metal band with a beautiful pearl in the center - out of your pocket and slide it on your left ring finger. There was the slightest tan line that is now covered and the ring fits perfectly, the nights Chishiya spent secretly measuring your sleeping figures hand definitely having paid off. The proud smile on your face doesn’t hurt either as you can never seem to hide the joy of being connected to another person. It’s something Chishiya deeply admires and will whisper to you when he thinks you’re fast asleep in his arms. All in all, the truth option is the only one.

Therefore, when the screen flashes red and a tally is added beside the ‘fail’ text, your surprise is palpable. Tatta only manages a squeak of fear and the two random people look physically ill, Chishiya’s face a blank slate and the group of three laughing annoyingly at everyones reactions. The results make no sense until one of the ill people starts rapidly apologizing, having believed you to be the trickster and convincing their partner of the same. The three boys find it hilarious.

You don’t even notice your trembling until Chishiya is sitting you back down in your seat and his hand is gently rubbing your back, murmured instructions to follow his breathing being subconsciously followed. The apologies fall deaf on your ears. A faint hum fills them instead and now the urge to speak to Chishiya, your one love, is overwhelming. 

“I love you.” The truth is whispered only to the man across from you and the reciprocation meets your ears just as fast, but lacks the resignation in your tone. The gears in Chishiya’s mind are turning rapidly as the buzzing hum grows louder and the chance of your death seems larger than it mathematically is. The three boys laugh and Tatta panics and the ill people vomit, at least until Mullet has a smoking hole between his eyes.

Tatta gets up to the podium and says some obvious lie,  ‘clear’ flashing across the screen and the card collected.

You’ve calmed down at this point but your pinkie holding has escalated to holding his hand, your free hand even wrapping around his bicep. Chishiya only holds on tight so his heart will calm back down and he can regain control. He tells himself over and over that you’re okay, but the level of stress is the exact same as when he got the call of you in a car crash. Tatta has the tact of wonder-bread and the timing of gold. 

“Are you two married…?” He asks on the ride back, filling the stark silence now that one new guy is gone and his two friends will return to Beach much less eager to play. Both of you nod at the same time, fingers staying laced together even as you walk into Beach and past Kuina. She does a quadruple take and almost tackles Tatta, knowing that getting information from either of you would be like pulling teeth. As you pad up the steps to your room, neither of you miss the muffled screech of “Married?!” and the following thump of someone fainting. 

You shower together and fall asleep together, wrapped up in the other with hands pressed on pulse points and lips imprinting promises into the skin.

Sunlight streams in through the curtains and your eyes blink blearily, meeting Chishiyas focused ones where you lay curled up side by side. He looks borderline angelic, easily worth the devotion, in the morning light. Your eyes trail over the familiar lips of his face and curves of his torso, stopping where your arm is curled around that unfairly slim waist. You know you have bedhead and probably look as tired as you feel, but with the way his eyes stare so reverently, you could be convinced that you’re an angel worthy of devotion too. 

If a chair is kept under the door handle and a married pair stays in their room all day, that’s no one's business but your own. If vows are renewed after facing death, those promises will stay yours. If Kuina and Tatta spend that day gossiping with just about everyone…well that is everyone's business. Ann can only listen in mild amusement because she’s known - it was obvious when the only time she’s seen Chishiya truly smile was at you.

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

a/n: hi I'm alive and while I'm not really in the aib fandom anymore, I saw a picture of chishiya and immediately went back to being down bad! so! here you go!

[kiwriteswords]

Sweet Comic Valentine [Aaron Hotchner x Best Friend!Reader]

Ki2k Masterlist||MainMasterlist (not updated, sorry!)|| Ao3||Word Count: 600|| AN: a lil v-day fluffy friends-to-lovers ficlet for my ki2k Fluff day! Requests are still open for Ki2k!!

Tags/Warnings: female reader, Valentine's Day, friends-to-lovers, fluff, no use of y/n, bau!reader

Summary: Why spend Valentine's alone when you could spend it with your boss, who is halfway in love with you?

The bullpen at Quantico was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that only a holiday like Valentine's Day could bring.

Desks were empty, computers slept, and the usual hustle of agents seemed like a distant memory. Only the soft hum of the fluorescent lights filled the air as you sat at your desk, drowning in paperwork that didn't know it was a day for lovers.

You had always been close to Hotch, your boss and, somehow, your closest friend within the rigid walls of the FBI.

The two of you had mastered the art of dancing around each other's emotions, a choreography too complex to disturb with confessions or truths that might disrupt the balance you had so carefully maintained.

But the truth was there, simmering beneath every shared glance, every half-smile in the hallway--both of you harbored feelings deeper than the façade of friendship you presented.

He was meticulous, always two steps ahead in every case, yet you could almost read his mind when it came to his next move. And he…well, he seemed to hear your thoughts before they ever made it to your lips. This silent understanding had become your unspoken language, comfortable and familiar.

As the clock ticked closer to the end of a seemingly endless day, you were resigned to spend another Valentine's Day alone, surrounded by cold cases rather than the warmth of a romantic dinner. That was until you heard his steady footsteps approaching your desk, an uncommon sound in the stillness of the evening.

"Hey," Hotch started, his voice breaking through the quiet like a soft but unexpected melody. He stood by your desk, hands in his pockets, looking uncharacteristically hesitant. "I was thinking, instead of both of us spending tonight here, buried under all this," he gestured vaguely to the mountains of paper on your desk, then to his own, "maybe we could go grab dinner?”

As Hotch's invitation to dinner hung in the air, you couldn't help but let out a scoff, eyebrows raised in disbelief. "You do know what day it is, right?" you asked, half-amused, half-serious.

His response came with a hint of amusement, as if he was in on a joke you hadn't heard yet. "Yes, I'm aware it's February 14th," he said, the corners of his lips tugging upward slightly.

"Yeah, Valentine's Day," you pressed on, folding your arms over your chest, "which means any place worth its salt is booked solid. Finding a reservation now would be impossible."

Hotch's smile broadened, clearly pleased with himself. "I know what day it is," he repeated, "which is exactly why I made a reservation weeks ago."

Your confusion was evident as you processed his words. This seemed a little over the top for just two friends grabbing dinner. "What if I had a date tonight?" you asked playfully, challenging him. "You just assumed I’d be free?"

He looked back at you, his amusement clear. "Given that we've spent the last few Valentine's Days in the same way--working late, alone--I figured it was a safe bet. Besides," he added, his tone teasing yet gentle, "I wouldn’t take up your evening without making sure you had a memorable dinner to look forward to."

There was a warmth in his voice that made it hard to stay mock-offended. Hotch had always been thoughtful, but tonight, it seemed there was something more tender, more deliberate in his planning. It was hard to keep up the pretense of casual banter when it felt like there might be layers to his actions, yet unexplored.

"Alright, Hotch," you conceded, shaking your head with a light laugh, both at his foresight and your own unexpected excitement. "Dinner it is. Lead the way." You reached for your jacket, closing your laptop shut. 

As he turned towards the elevator, you followed, a curious flutter in your stomach. Maybe, just maybe, this Valentine’s Day wouldn’t be like the others after all. And perhaps this dinner could turn the page to a new chapter for both of you--one that neither of you had dared to read out loud yet.

[rei-rei-writes2039]

don't leave - m. rempe

summary ࣪ ִֶָ☾. what could have been a relationship altering argument fizzled out into a cozy night with matt.

authors note ࣪ ִֶָ☾. Probably doesn't make sense....not edited, simply was bored, you can probably see where I stopped writing one day and went back a week later

Warnings ࣪ ִֶָ☾. Angst but mostly fluff, language, maybe? Un-edited, boring, no real plot, maybe

To say today wasn't hard for the both of you after a specific point would be a lie. Matt had a game today and missed a goal by a mere 6 inches and was getting chirped non-stop by his teammates, he tried his best to cool off in the locker room after his post-game routine but he just couldn't. When he got home you proposed getting dinner, which he mindlessly agreed to, not caring enough after that disaster of a game. You ended up going to a casual chain restaurant to get some food quick before heading back home. At home you asked if he needed anything before you headed to bed which was met with a sharp "if I needed anything, don't you think I would have asked?" from the man. You left him in the living room while you went to bed, nearly being asleep when he walks in to lay down.

Once he laid down I got up and grabbed my pillow, not wanting to be so close to the ticking time bomb that was Matt Rempe for right now.

"Where are you going?" He asked quietly but there was still a tinge of anger in his voice.

"Uh...the couch..." you replied, trying to stay short to not piss him off at all.

"No the hell you're not, come lay down" he said, talking a little louder now.

"Matt."

"Baby."

"Goodnight."

"No."

You rolled your eyes. "Why not?"

"Because."

You looked at him in disbelief. "Why, Matthew?"

He cringed at the use of his full name but stayed silent, feeling guilty.

"Hello? Matt?" You asked, waving you hand to get his attention. "Earth to Rempe...anyone there?"

"Yeah sorry...I just....can't sleep without you by me." He admitted timidly.

He got yet another look of disbelief from you as you looked him up and down. "Matt you spend half your nights in different states or in canada....what?"

He looked at you pleadingly. "M'sorry..."

"W-what?"

"I'm sorry...I shouldn't have snapped earlier....even if it wasn't big, I'm still sorry." He said gently, kindly apologizing for earlier. "Please baby...I don't want this to break us up I just-"

"Waitwaitwaitwait Matt what?" I sat next to him on the bed. "What makes you think this is gonna break us up?"

He looked sad, but not a sad you'd seen, it was fear. Feeling as if he'd lose you from one incident. "P-please don't leave me...please?"

I looked at him in disbelief again but not in the same way as earlier. "Matt... I'm not gonna leave you...this stuff gets scary but I'm not leaving you." I reassured. "When I'm committed I don't back down, bub, especially not with you."

He sighed in relief and laid back on the bed. "I'm sorry, today's been so stressful..." he admitted softly, trying to think of more to say before his train of thought was cut off by you.

"No, don't apologize, I'd be passed after that game too, I'm not gonna hold it against you." You laid next to him. "Did you like dinner?" You asked quietly, an entertaining change of topic.

He laughed. "Yeah, it was good, almost gourmet." He said with a giggle, thinking back on the fast food you picked up on the way home. "I'm gonna get ready for bed...." he said before sitting up and putting a hand on your leg. "Need anything?"

"No, honey, but thank you. I'll get up and get ready for bed in a minute." You answered his question with a smile, relaxing into the warm and inviting mattress.

He got up and started heading towards the door to the hallway, to head to the bathroom, looking back again. "You're sure you don't need anything, like a snack, or water?" He asked again.

"Yes, goof. Go get ready for bed." You joked as he finally walked to the bathroom. After a few minutes you got up and headed to the bathroom to get ready too, needing to brush your teeth and do your skincare still.

After you both finished getting ready, you went to bed, snuggling close in the new England wintery cold, seeking warmth in one another.

"I'm sorry-" he started.

"-oh not again....Matt it's okay." You reassured. "Stop stressing, you're gonna go gray before the season's over..."

After that he shut up and cuddled into your embrace, glad a small argument didn't turn into a big fight. Ultimately grateful he has you for as long as you're willing to put up with him. He loves you more than he'd ever be willing to admit, being the scary, tough hockey player he is. But sometimes, you're just too perfect, he can't not be head over Okay!

Tags ࣪ ִֶָ☾. @beenucks @azuredawn81 @heartsforjh @rowdyluv and @babygirlboeser bc she showed a little interest

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

harness your hopes

content warnings & word count: swearing, drug consumption (weed smoking), nostalgia. 3.3k

✧ OPENING SCENE — "CRUEL SUMMER" ✧ Now Playing: "harness your hopes" – Pavement

You got in late last night. Your suitcase hit the floor with a soft thud that echoed a little too loud in the quiet house, and your mom was already hovering in the kitchen, pressing microwaved leftovers into your hands like it made up for the last ten months of phone calls that ended in I-don't-have-time-for-this. She and your dad asked polite questions while you stared at the clock, watching the microwave numbers blink. By the time you made it to your room, the house had already gone still.

Now it's morning, and you're not sure if the clock ever started ticking again.

The air smells like salt and something older—like driftwood and dust and the echoes of a version of you that never left. The ceiling fan creaks the way it always did. You lie there for a moment and just breathe, the sheets kicked off sometime in the night, one leg tangled, the other bare and cold. You're in nothing but panties and an old band tee so worn it feels like paper, sleeves hitched up under your arms. You didn't even unpack. Didn't even shower. You just collapsed.

Your parents left early for work. They said they would. You'd mumbled something like okay while staring at the popcorn ceiling last night, eyes too tired to match your mouth. And now the house is yours again, quiet and humming and too big. The floorboards creak in the same places. The fridge still makes that low whining noise when it's settling. And your room—God, your room—is exactly how you left it, like a shrine to a girl you're not sure you recognise anymore.

Posters peeling at the corners. Thumbtacked Polaroids of bonfires, pool parties, faces you haven't seen since graduation. Ticket stubs tucked into the mirror frame. Salt-scuffed crystals on your desk, tangled with jewellery you never wear anymore. Thrifted sweaters draped over your armchair like half-forgotten lovers. The window sill: still dusted with ash from bedtime joints, like a cigarette graveyard you never cleaned. Candles burned down to waxy nubs. A single record spinning lazily on the wall—Fleetwood Mac, maybe. Or something more obscure. Something only you and Sam used to pretend to understand.

You stretch, slow and feline, then slide off the bed and pad across the floor, bare feet cold on the hardwood. You find your rolling kit buried beneath an old sketchbook, your lighter shoved into the toe of one of your Converse. Ritualistic. Automatic.

You roll a joint on the same desk where you wrote your college essay last year—Why Language Matters. You'd cried writing it. Your mom wanted you to major in Home Ec. You wanted something else. Something with teeth.

The paper seals with a flick of your tongue. You light a couple candles—sandalwood, probably, or that weird beachy one from the thrift store that smells like an ex—and climb back onto the bed with your prize between your fingers. You push the window open all the way, until the hinges groan in protest. The breeze hits you full in the face—salty, sun-drenched, and heavy with seagulls screaming their morning gossip over the water.

You spark up.

The flame kisses the tip, the smoke curls toward the window, and you lie back on your bed like a girl in a music video, hair splayed across your pillow, eyes half-lidded. The ceiling fan spins above you. The sheets smell like the detergent your mom still uses. Somewhere outside, a dog barks, a car engine coughs to life, and the town keeps turning like it doesn't know you left.

It's all the same. It's all the same.

Except you.

You're not sure what's changed, exactly—just that something has. Something in your blood feels older. Louder. Like maybe you did leave part of yourself behind here, fossilised in the dunes or hidden under the pier. Maybe she's still waiting, watching, wondering when you'll find your way back.

You take another hit. Blow the smoke toward the gulls. You're home. And no one knows it yet.

You're on your third hit when you hear it.

A dull thump—like someone stumbling into a mailbox or tripping over the cracked bit of sidewalk your dad swore he'd fix last summer. Then, a voice: low, rough, and annoyed in a way that sounds almost theatrical.

"Putain de merde, Sam, warn a guy next time you stop like a fucking statue."

You blink, exhale slow through your nose. Freeze mid-lounge on your bed. The smoke curls toward the open window as your ears sharpen, already tuned in.

Then:

"...Wait—"

A beat. Then louder, brighter—familiar in that way that hits behind the ribs:

"HEY!" Then your name, followed by: "YOU HOME?"

You bolt upright without thinking, the joint still pinched between two fingers. Your heart does something stupid in your chest, tripping over itself like a freshman on the first day back. You scramble to the windowsill, nearly knocking over a candle, ash catching in your hair as you press your head up into the frame.

There, on the lawn—looking up like he's seen a ghost and can't decide whether to laugh or shout—is Sam Winchester.

Tall, awkwardly sun-kissed, still dressed like he hasn't figured out what weather he's in. Hood up. Dimples out. Eyes wide with that open-faced awe you forgot people used to look at you with.

Standing beside him, cigarette dangling from his lips, sunglasses too dramatic for the hour and grinning like the devil with a love poem in his back pocket—is Frenchie.

He lifts two fingers in a lazy salute.

"Well, well, well," he says, lips twitching around the cigarette. "And here I thought maybe you had died in the city. Turns out you are just back and already corrupting the air quality."

You snort, shifting so your elbows rest on the sill. The morning breeze lifts your hair, smoke curling lazily between you.

"I didn't know I needed to make a fuckin' announcement," you say, voice scratchy with sleep and spliffs. "Hi."

Sam huffs a quiet laugh and shoves his hands into his hoodie pocket like he doesn't know what else to do with them. "You could've told someone you were coming back."

You shrug, biting your smile. "Where's the fun in that?"

Frenchie takes a drag, then points with the cigarette like it's a wand. "She is still full of shit. Excellent."

"You gonna let us in?" Sam calls, stepping toward the porch. "Or should I dig up the spare key from under the raccoon statue?"

"Hey!" You bark-laugh, "don't you dare slander Gregory."

Frenchie tilts his head. "You named the statue Gregory?"

Sam's already jogging toward the steps. "She kissed it once. I saw."

"Ritual," you say simply, like it explains anything. "You wanna come up, or stand there airing out my business?"

Sam's hand touches the front door handle, but he hesitates. Looks up at you again, something soft in his expression. "It's good to see you."

You pause, just a second, then nod. "Yeah," you say, voice lower now. "It's good to be seen."

Frenchie exhales dramatically. "Okay, enough with the emotions, I am starving. Let us in or I eat Gregory."

You grin, disappearing from the window just long enough to stub the joint in the little dish you always use, toss a sweater over your bare legs, and make your way toward the stairs.

They're already stepping into the house when you reach the bottom—bringing with them the smell of cigarettes, summer air, and something that feels dangerously close to home.

Sam and Frenchie are barely through the door before you launch yourself at them.

It's instinct. Muscle memory. A one-woman ambush fuelled by too many months of silence and too many nights wondering if they still laughed at the same stupid things without you.

You crash into Sam first—arms wrapped tight around his middle, knocking a surprised "oof—" out of him as he catches your weight and laughs, a real, startled sound that fills the house like it used to.

"Okay, okay," he says through a grin, squeezing you back like he means it. "You still tackle like a linebacker."

"You still smell like overpriced shampoo," you mutter, but you're smiling so wide it hurts.

Before he can respond, Frenchie's arms loop around both of you in one exaggerated, chaotic swoop.

"Aha! Group hug," he croons, cigarette safely extinguished somewhere outside and replaced with his usual manic warmth. "I feel like I am in a Hallmark movie. Where is the tragic backstory and the emotional breakthrough?"

You laugh into Sam's hoodie and pull back just enough to catch the shit-eating grin on Frenchie's face.

"You missed me," you accuse, eyebrows raised.

"Mon amour," he says, gesturing dramatically, "I mourned you like a dead wife. It was very French. I wore black. I smoked at your grave."

"I wasn't dead, asshole."

"You left me with him." He points at Sam, who just rolls his eyes. "You know how many breakfast debates I had to carry alone?"

Sam shrugs, smile crooked. "He's mad because I told him The Little Prince is pretentious."

"It is not," Frenchie says, eyes widening. "It is existentially whimsical. There is a difference."

You blink. "Are you guys—were you literally just now arguing about that?"

"Yes," they both say, too quickly.

You groan, ducking under Frenchie's arm and heading back toward the stairs. "God, I missed you idiots."

Sam chuckles, calling after you, "We were headed to the diner—everyone's already there. You coming as you are, or should we warn them you're back in your underwear era?"

Frenchie whistles up at you. "I support the choice, personally. Fashion-forward. French-approved."

You flip them both off without turning around. "Give me five."

Back in your room, the morning still hangs warm and still in the air. You blow out the candle, stub the joint, shut the window until it clicks. You pull on cutoff shorts, a cropped sweater with a stretched-out neckline, a pair of beat-up sneakers that still have sand in them from last summer. You don't think too hard about any of it. You just move, automatic, hands in motion like you never left.

The house creaks under your steps as you lock the door behind you. Frenchie and Sam wait on the curb like they never moved, like they've been waiting there for a year.

You fall into step between them, and the walk begins.

And now—now you really see it.

The town stretches out before you like a photograph someone forgot to take down. All soft-focus colours and chipped paint and beach grass curling at the edges of sidewalks. The thrift shop still has the same stupid neon sign that buzzes like a wasp nest. The record store window still has the same "Help Wanted" sign taped up, sun-bleached and ignored. You walk past a garage sale with old Barbie dolls and worn denim jackets that smell like attics and high school. The air smells like low tide and melting asphalt and the faintest trace of sunscreen.

You haven't looked at this place in the daylight since the day you left. Eyes red and puffy from crying, your friends on the front lawn, lined up like a crooked picket fence of goodbyes. You waved. You promised you'd call. You almost didn't get in the car.

Now here you are. In the same place. With different lungs.

Sam and Frenchie are mid-debate again—something about philosophy this time. Naturally.

"I'm just saying," Sam argues, "if morality is intrinsic, then why do people do shitty things even when they know they're wrong?"

"Because people are romantic and stupid," Frenchie fires back. "They do not care about being right. They care about feeling something."

Sam snorts. "You're impossible."

"And you are a suburban ethics textbook in a human body."

You smile to yourself and keep walking, their voices a familiar static in your ears.

The diner's just ahead, neon buzzing. The door swings open. And somewhere inside, the rest of your summer is waiting.

You're almost at the diner when it happens.

Your sneakers hit the sidewalk with that soft summer scuff sound—worn soles on familiar concrete. You've got one hand tucked into the pocket of your cutoff shorts and the other curled loosely around the fabric of your sweater, pulling it down over your thigh like it might make you feel less bare. Sam and Frenchie are still mid-argument beside you, debating whether or not dreams are reflections of inner truth or just leftover brain static.

You're not listening.

Your eyes are locked on the window of the diner, the one that still buzzes with the flickering pink neon sign that says EATS like it's a command. Same cracked plastic letters. Same fly stuck on the inside. You're about ten feet away when you feel it.

The shift.

Inside, Jack Kline lifts his head from a plate of pancakes, mouth still full, and turns toward the window like something pulled him by the spine. His eyes go wide—truly wide, like cartoon-character, you've-got-to-be-kidding-me wide—and then he's slamming both hands on the glass like it's going to let him through.

You freeze, startled.

He shouts something you can't hear, but his lips are unmistakable:

"YOU'RE BACK!"

You blink. Smile. Lift a hand, slow, halfway to wave—

Too late.

The diner erupts.

Charlie is on her feet in a second, yanking her phone charger out of the wall with one hand and shouting, "OH MY GOD, YOU BITCH—!" like it's a declaration of war and love at the same time. She jumps over the back of the booth, almost takes out the syrup caddy, and knocks Hughie's drink into his lap on the way out.

Hughie stands up too fast, fumbles with a "Wh—what? Wait, WHAT—" and stumbles after them, napkin stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

Annie follows behind them with a stunned sort of grace, like her brain hasn't caught up to her feet. "No way. No fucking way," she murmurs, grabbing the napkin off Hughie's shoe like it's second nature.

Kimiko doesn't say a word. She just moves. Smooth and fast, already ahead of them all by the time the bell on the door rings and your chest goes tight.

Sam laughs beside you, wide-eyed and stunned. "Well," he says, "guess they missed you."

Frenchie's grinning. "I would be offended if they had waited even one second longer."

You barely have time to register it before it happens.

Jack tackles you first. It's not elegant. It's not graceful. It's all arms and momentum and sun-warmed skin and "I thought you were coming next week!" in a voice that cracks halfway through the sentence. He hugs you like someone who never quite believed you'd come back.

Charlie's next—throws her arms around you and Jack at the same time, tugs your hair just a little, just enough to make you yelp. "You absolute asshole, you didn't text, you didn't warn me, I could've DIED—"

Annie swoops in right after, a little breathless. She squeezes your arm, tucks your hair behind your ear, and says, "You're here. You're really here," like she's still processing it out loud.

Hughie hangs back for a second, unsure of where to put his hands. Then he gives up and just hugs your shoulder, awkward and sweet. "Hey," he says, voice higher than usual. "Hi. Wow. This is... wow."

Kimiko steps in quietly. Her fingers brush yours. Then she pulls you into a hug—tight, real, grounding. She pulls back, signs something against your wrist. You don't quite catch it. But it feels like: don't leave again.

Behind them, the diner door swings again.

Butcher walks out slowly, sunglasses on despite the overcast sky, cigarette already lit. He looks you over like he's checking for bruises and bullshit, then exhales smoke through his nose.

"Well," he says, voice rough, "if it ain't the fuckin' prodigal burnout."

Cas steps out next, hands in his jacket pockets, head tilted just slightly like he's reading something on your face that no one else can see. He doesn't say anything, not right away. Just looks. His presence is a sentence with no punctuation.

"You gonna say something or just brood at me, Novak?" You ask, smirking.

He blinks once. "You cut your hair."

You snort. "That's what you're going with?"

"I like it," he says. Quiet. Honest.

And somehow, that's the thing that makes it real.

You're here. They're here. The town hasn't changed—but maybe you have. Maybe that's the point.

Charlie finally lets you go and tugs your wrist toward the diner. "You've got about six waffles with your name on them, bitch. Come on."

Sam smiles beside you. Frenchie's already halfway to stealing someone's hash browns. You take one last look up at the neon sign. The fly's still trapped behind the glass. Then you walk inside.

The inside of the diner smells like syrup and too much coffee.

You forgot how much you missed it. Not just the food or the cracked pleather booths, but this. The sound of all your people talking over each other like they've never once worried about being heard. The way the sun catches in the window glass and turns everything soft and gold. The buzz of the neon sign behind you, humming like it's part of your blood now.

Jack's practically on your lap again, still mid-rant about some video game you definitely forgot existed, a triangle of pancake hanging out of his mouth while he gesticulates like he's leading a revolution.

"And then—then—right after I told him not to go through the cursed forest, he went through the cursed forest! Who does that? Who just walks in?"

You raise a brow. "You do."

Charlie cackles. "Oh, you do. You literally did that last summer. At like 2AM. Drunk. In flip-flops."

"I survived, didn't I?" Jack grins, maple syrup on his cheek. "Like a champion."

"You fell into poison ivy and cried," Kimiko signs across the table with a completely blank expression.

Frenchie leans back beside her with a dreamy sigh. "I bandaged his legs myself. It was very intimate. He screamed like a goat."

Jack groans, sliding down in his seat. "Why does no one ever let me be cool?"

"Because you're not," Hughie offers from across the table, grinning. Annie elbows him lightly in the ribs, her other hand resting over his under the table like it's always been there.

You watch the way they move together—so practiced, so familiar, so comfortable. Hughie glances at her like she hung the moon. Annie pretends not to notice, but she does.

Frenchie's arm is draped behind Kimiko's shoulders, lazy and loose but protective in that way that makes your chest ache a little. You're not sure if he even knows it's there. You're not sure he cares. It's not new, but it's different. It's finally.

Cas sits on the end of the booth, sipping his coffee like it's a science experiment. He tilts his head every so often, eyes flicking between faces like he's taking stock of everything and filing it under important.

Butcher's next to him, flipping through the diner's laminated menu like he doesn't already know it by heart. He glances up every so often to toss in a dry comment like breadcrumbs.

"You've got syrup in your damn eyebrow, sunshine," he mutters to Jack without looking.

Jack wipes his face with a napkin, misses completely, and keeps talking.

Sam's across from you, long legs stretched out under the table, smiling quietly every time your eyes meet. He hasn't said much since you sat down. But he hasn't looked away either.

You wonder how long he's been waiting.

Charlie lifts her juice like it's champagne. "Okay, but can we just take a second to say—she's back. Our girl. Right here."

They all lift their glasses. Mugs. Forks. Whatever they're holding.

"To the college cunt," Butcher says, smirking.

"To the first year survivor," Jack shouts.

"To the bitch who didn't text," Charlie adds with affection.

"To home," Sam says quietly.

You laugh, loud and bright, and knock your coffee mug gently against Charlie's glass. "To home."

A beat of stillness.

Then:

"Oh—speaking of home," Annie says, eyes lighting up, "we're all going to that party tonight, by the way."

You raise an eyebrow. "What party?"

Charlie leans in, smirking. "The first real one of the summer. Everyone's gonna be there."

Jack's already vibrating. "You came home just in time."

Hughie nods. "Dean's throwing it."

Your heart stutters. You set your mug down, slow. Sam clears his throat. Doesn't look at you.

Charlie grins like she knows exactly what she's done. "Oh, yeah. You remember Dean, right?"

And just like that—

Summer really begins.

← INTRO POST NEXT PART →

author note/s: trying the new layout. hoping we all like it as much as i do. i don't know, some of y'alls be posting super pretty fics with layouts that look so nice and i just wanted to try and emulate my own. anyways, i started writing this earlier on, i am actually 15k words deep in my docs, but i'm splitting it up into individual instalments/chapters. let me know what y'alls think so far, please. i love the feedback. this one has been super fun so far because merging all these characters together feels like a fever dream i never wanna wake up from. i promise i'm introducing our boys soon... hehe. until the next one, smin signing off. all the love.

soldier boy/ben & dean taglists: @losers-clvb @bejeweledinterludes @bruisedfig @angelicjackles @soldiersgirl @tinas111 @sacr1ficialang3l @blossomingorchids @drakulana @mostlymarvelgirl @lunaleah @liiiilsss @0ccvltism @itshellfire @sl33pylilbunny @nevercameraready @paristheonewhoreads @podiumackles @suckitands33 @lyarr24 @spxideyver @winchestersbgirl @mj-102009 @kaz-2y5-spn @bohoooitsme @n3lly-h3artz @ladykitana90 @deangirlsstuff67 @ohgodimgoungtodie @agoodgirlsguidetomakingmencry @ambiguous-avery <3

[propertyofhenrywinter]

Long live the walls we crashed through

Max Verstappen x driver!reader

Summary: you are involved in a crash so horrid everyone assumes you couldn’t have survived.

WC: just under 2k

You honestly didn’t know what exactly had happened yourself. You remember when everyone was waiting for the rain to end, so the race could begin. Unfortunately, it didn’t look like the downfall was going to stop anytime soon. All drivers were instructed to wait on the starting grid, so you and Charles, who was starting P5 next to your P6, where keeping each other entertained by playing some stupid game involving a lot of hand gestures. “Okay, I’ve just received word they are going to try and start the race despite the wet conditions.” your engineer’s voice interrupts you while you here trying to gesture a horse to Charles. “What? In this weather? Are they sure?” What you really had wanted to ask if they were plotting to murder one of the drivers or if they were just plain stupid. You look over at Charles as you saw his body language change, you assumed he had just gotten a similar message. “They gave us some vague reasons about the fans waiting and keeping the fight for the championship as exciting as possible,” your engineer explained.

The race had started out boring, slow, and mainly wet. None of drivers really felt secure while driving so there were almost no overtakes, no battles for a better place, nothing to entertain fans. Not that you thought that mattered considering you were quite sure the track wasn’t even visible from the stands thanks to the rain. However, between lap 4 and 5 the conditions started to better and some battles emerged on the track and positions started changing. You had managed to overtake both Charles and George, leaving only a certain Aston Martin driver standing between you and a place on the podium. The weather was almost dry at that moment, but you didn’t realise, no, you were only focused beating Alonso and joining your boyfriend on the podium. (Because let’s be honest best-case scenario: he was first, again. Worst case? Second) What you also failed to notice was a red car behind you disappearing to pit for slicks, because his team was so sure it would stay dry.

Although what had occurred after happened in a blitz, you could still remember that part as well. The Ferrari driver had just joined the track again and was being separated from you by George, when suddenly, the rain came back. It didn’t start with a drizzle, no warning droplets, just from zero to one hundred faster than any f1 car could. You vision was now reduced to that of a senior mole, giving you indication about the location of the driver in front of you. Lucky for you, you were familiar with the track at this point, so you didn’t worry about crashing yourself, but an invisible man in front of you was plenty of worry. You could hear your radio turning on, but you never heard what your teams plan of action was.

Because unbeknownst to you Charles, his brand-new slicks, the rain, and a nasty sharp turn steered his car into the young Mercedes driver. It was only a slight, soft touch. Just a tick. A little nudge if you must name it. But in those bad conditions George started to spin. But before he had started to spin and before he had been touched by the Ferrari, he had shortened the distance between the two of you by quite a lot. So, when he spun it took less than three seconds to feel his car touch something again. Now this wasn’t a nudge this is where your memory gets a little hazy.

George’s car spun into you. You lost control as well. You went through a wall. You flipped upside down. The car broke in two. Fire. Lots of fire. You got out.

You got out. You don’t remember how you did it, but you lived, and you were standing next to the burning vehicle. Half in shock from what happened you couldn’t deter your eyes from the flames you were a part of moments ago. You stood there in complete stillness contrasting your team’s garage at the same time.

“Max please come in, red flag.” “Yeah, I thought I saw something in my mirrors. I saw some yellow tints. Was that fire? Is everybody OK?”  “Just come in, please, we’ll explain then.”

Max jumped out of his car once he reached his team garage, where it was unusually quiet. “What happened? Why didn’t you tell me over the radio?” Max already started asking his questions before he had even pulled his balaclava all the way off, so his words sounded more like scrambled mumbles. Not that it really mattered; his team knew what he wanted to know. “Wait, why did only I get called in?” he asked once he noticed your car wasn’t on the other side of the garage, where it usually would be if you had to wait out a red flag. Max averted his gaze from the empty spot to the mechanics, who gave each other looks as if to say “I’m not saying it. You do it.” “Max,” he heard Horner trying to catch his attention. Normally the presence of the team principal would make him wonder what was bad enough that he had to intervene himself instead of sending someone else to deal whit whatever the issue was. Right then, however, he didn’t have to wonder. His eyes had caught the screens behind the engineers displaying a view of the track. This wouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary if it wasn’t for your car. Specifically, the back side of your car; he couldn’t see the front, but he assumed it must have gone through the barrier. “Along with you,” he couldn’t stop himself from thinking. Due to the fire, he couldn’t see or estimate the severity of the crash, but it did not look good. “You have her vitals, right?” he asked Horner, who had been tuning out ‘til now. “Well,” the principal began. “You’ve talked to her through the radio. Please. Tell me you know she’s alright.” Max said more as a question. At the lack of response his head started spinning. “We haven’t been able to contact her yet. No input about her vitals has come in since the crash.” Max stopped listening after that and just bolted to his driver’s room. Shutting the door behind himself, he was glad none of his team members tried to follow or stop him. Tears were already forming in his eyes while he turned on the small tv to be able to check on any updates regarding your crash.

Meanwhile you were already on your way to the team’s garage. You were surprised that no reporters intercept you on your way there, but you figured they were just focused on the crash site. You knew you should’ve gone to the medical centre first, but you felt fine and cared more to let everyone know you were alright. As you made your way trough the paddock, you start to wonder if people knew you got out of the car. They didn’t, you had no way of knowing this of course but at that time fire marshals were busy putting the fire out.

Max was watching them on the screen in his room, trying not to think about you in there. He almost threw up at the idea that you were still in there and that you might never come out, or that you might already be gone. He really didn’t want to, but he just couldn’t stop his mind frow straying to thought about waking up without you beside him, having dinner alone, never getting to complain about your shoes lying in the middle of the hallway again. His thoughts were about to make him physically sick when there was a nock on the door. He really didn’t want to be disturbed so he didn’t even bother responding. Another few nocks got ignored until he got fed up and shouted, “Leave me alone.” His request however got denied as a male voice sounded from the other side of the door. “We have an… update on the crash.” Max recognized the voice as one of the mechanics who was in the garage earlier. Although he was pissed off that he hadn’t been left to sulk in his misery alone, he was intrigued by the news, since there had been no new information shared on the broadcast he had been following on his TV. He also got scared, considering it was most likely that whatever it was it wouldn’t be good.

You were chatting to a still slightly worried Horner when you heard someone rapidly approaching you. You turn your head to see Max walking towards you with an unreadable expression on his face. “Hi,” you said softly right before he reached you. When he did, he just looked at you for a split second and then pulled you in his arms. He put is head in the crook of your neck, pulling you up to your tippy toes to reach it, and held his arms so tight around you that you believed it would leave a permanent indentation in your ribcage. “Let’s go somewhere more private,” you suggested, suddenly feeling the eyes of everyone around you burning in your back. “Okay.” Max said before almost dragging you into your driver’s room, considering it was a little closer by than his. He shut the door behind you and was back beside you before you could even bat an eye. “Are you alright?” he asks as he takes your face in both his hands. “I’m fine.” You pull one of his hands away from your face and just hold it. “You really scared me,” he said right before he pulled you in for a hug. “Well, I didn’t mean to,” you respond. “Just don’t ever do that again,” he says while he starts placing soft kisses on your face and head. “Wasn’t planning on it,” you scoff before pulling him in for a real kiss. You two stand there for a while, just holding each other, before you decide to rejoin the paddock.

“For a moment I really thought I killed you,” George confesses. Every knew you survived the seemingly survivable crash and the mood throughout the whole track was a lot less heavy than it had been a few minutes before. “It wasn’t your fault, you know that. Even if something worse would’ve happened I wouldn’t want you blaming yourself for a single second,” you explain. “It’s a risk we all take every time we get into that car and we’re all very much aware of it,” you add. “And it isn’t like I could leave anyway,” you smile. “why’s that?” George asks. “I mean who would play gestures with Charles before the races?” you look over at Charles before getting cut off by your boyfriend’s voice. “It’s not our fault you two won’t explain your made-up game to anyone else,” he protests. In response you and Charles give him a universal recognized obscene gesture while laughing to yourselves. While the conversation takes another turn you take some time realizing how lucky you are; not just for surviving the crash but for the amazing life you had. You wrap your arms around Max and lean you head against his upper body. “What is this for?” he asks but wastes no time in returning the gesture also wrapping his arms around you. “Do I need a reason to show I love boyfriend al of a sudden?” you playfully say. Max just smiles and says, “I love you too.”

Part 2

AN: So, this was my first ever fanfic so fee back and corrections are more than welcome. Also, I do have an idea for a part two so lmk if you would like that.

[poeticpascal]

I've Got You (Dbf!Joel Miller x Reader)

Masterlist | Request here!

Summary: When a date set up by your father goes wrong, your secret boyfriend and Dad's best friend races to protect you.

Word count: 5.2k

Warnings: smut, 18+, MDNI, attempted sexual assault, abusive language, reader's date is a tory prick, soft!dom!Joel, blowjob, unprotected sex, use of pet names.

A/n: So... this is my first time writing smut. I am super proud of this one, so please let me know what you think! Requests are open so for more Joel/Pedro action, you know where to find me x

Dating your Dad’s best friend is hard. And stupid. Really, you have no clue why either of you thought this'd be a good idea. But you were so far down this path now, so entangled in late night meet-ups and whispered phone calls and unspoken thoughts that sounded a lot like ‘I love you’, that it was too late to turn around and steer the sinking ship of this utter mess back to shore.

More than anything, you hate not having any normalcy with him. You can’t fall straight into his arms after a hard day. You can’t cuddle into his side with a bowl of popcorn watching crappy weeknight telly. You can’t go to the store together, holding hands and making him laugh as you insist on buying a flavour of ice cream that you know he’d love. And it sucks.

Because everyone said Joel would never be one to settle down. He’s too wild, too rough to fit into a polished little box like that. And you’d thought the same. Until you fucked him, then fucked him again, and kept going back until you could see the pain in his eyes each time you left. You could practically feel the heaviness settle in his stomach as you left his bed to sneak back home. It hurts him as much as it does you, and if you weren’t so incredibly in love with him, that would’ve been enough to make you run.

Despite how long you’d kept this going now, a good 6 months at least, it never got any easier. Especially when your Dad started talking about dating. He was protective, but more than anything he wanted to see you happy. So when you suddenly became distant, hiding in your room more often and going out on dates much less, he was concerned. Nowhere near as concerned as he’d be if he found out why you were acting that way, you thought, but concerned all the same.

So when he came home one day, beaming and shouting for you to come downstairs, you thought nothing of it. When he explained there was a new apprentice at his work that he thinks you’d like, you weren’t surprised. And when he told you he’d set up a blind date with said boy, you felt sick.

Because you really couldn’t get out of it. You tried.

“Dad, I just don’t feel like dating right now.”

“Oh come on, you used to have a new date every few weeks. I’m just worried about you. Matthew's really nice, and he likes the same shitty music you do-”

“It’s good music.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I just…” he paused, his worry painted on his face, and there's no way you could’ve said no to him. “Honey, I want you to be happy. I don’t know what’s gotten into you recently” - your best friend, you thought - “but I just need to know you’re okay. So give this a go, for me, alright? And if you have an awful time, that’s it, I’ll never set you up again.”

You sighed. He was right; it’s just one night, one date. One box you have to tick to relieve the pressure that comes from having an affair with your next door neighbour, the one more than twice your age, the one your Dad would call a brother. And besides, your Dad would be working an overnight job, so you’d be spending the night at Joel’s anyway. Something to look forward to.

“Okay, yeah. I’ll go. For you.”

He pulled you in for a hug, tight, and you hugged him right back because you really do hate having to keep this from him. He pulled away, smiling - “great! It’s tonight at 7. He’ll pick you up.”

“You already arranged it?!” You near enough shrieked, but he’d already sauntered off to the kitchen, giggling as he went. 

Typical.

So that’s how you ended up here, at 6:55pm, waiting by the front door for Marcus - or Michael, or something like that - to pick you up. Your phone buzzes, Joel’s name flashing on the screen, that alone making you feel that much calmer.

You’d text him as soon as you talked to your Dad, letting him know about the date. He understood, and you loved that about him; he was mature, compassionate, and he was more than secure in the fact that no matter who you talked to, who flirted with you on nights out, who you were set up with… you’d always come back to him. 

Don’t worry about tonight, baby. It’ll go quickly. I’ll leave the door unlocked for when you get back. Text me if you need picking up. J x

You smile at his initial at the end - it’s such a Dad thing to do, but it makes you happy, especially when he adds a little kiss. He only does that for you.

The sudden sound of a car door closing snaps you out of your thoughts, Joel’s text left on read as what you assume to be your date heads up the driveway. You take a deep, nervous breath, smoothing out your dress and heading to the door just in time for his knock.

You open the door, take a good look at your date, and he’s… okay. Not unattractive, per se. Though you’d come to accept a little while ago that being with Joel had soured your perception of pretty much every other guy. His dusty blonde hair is slicked back with gel, his teeth are way too white, and he’s dripped in designer clothing that just screams, “I have a trust fund.”

“Oh, hi! I’m Matthew.” Right. Matthew. “You must be (Y/N).” He leans in to peck your cheek, and all you can think about is how smooth his skin is as it grazes yours. Nothing like Joel’s coarse stubble that you love so much - especially when it leaves red patches on your cheeks, and your neck, and if you’re really lucky -

Matthew leans back a little, confused, and you’re brought out of your daydream. “Sorry, yeah, that’s me. (Y/N).” 

Well, that was awkward.

You just need to get through these next few hours, you think to yourself, smiling at the boy and letting him lead you out of the house and into his car. You can’t help but glance towards Joel’s place across the street; it looks quiet tonight, though his truck is in the driveway, and as soon as you look up you’re sure you catch the living room blinds suddenly draw shut. You smirk.

──────

The date was going… okay. About as okay as a date you don’t want to be on, with someone you have no interest in, and another man constantly on your mind could go. You could see why your Dad liked him; smart enough, well-polished. His father was a partner in the company, you learned - oh, he’s a ‘Daddy’s credit card’ type you’d thought - and by all intents and purposes he was the sort of guy any parent would hope to see their daughter end up with.

It’s never that easy though, is it?

Because he isn’t rough around the edges like Joel. He doesn’t have his stature, or carry himself with the same brute certitude. You can’t imagine him fucking you up against the wall, working himself up until he’s almost animalistic, somehow using you and worshipping you at the same time. And you can’t see him wrapping you up so tightly afterwards, holding you close and whispering how good you were for me, how proud of you I am.

No, only Joel could do that, and that’s how you like it.

The bill comes, Matthew suggests you split it. You don’t mind. He takes out his credit card, flashing it in front of you. “This is my Dad’s. I can use it as much as I want.” He’s smirking like he’s got something to be proud of, and you really had to fight the urge to roll your eyes. Instead you just smile, before paying your share and making small talk as you head out the door and towards his car.

“So, I thought we could head back to my place.”

You freeze. Yeah, no, not gonna happen. He’s got this shit-eating grin on his face, one you knew all too well from past college boyfriends - that’s a boy who thinks he’s getting some tonight. You shudder, wrapping your arms around your waist and trying to sound sincere as you reply, “this has been lovely, but I’ve got an appointment early in the morning” - not really a lie, if staying in bed with a man over twice your age getting fucked or cuddled or both counts as an appointment - “so I’d rather just head home.”

You reach for the passenger side door, but it’s locked. You try again, pulling on the handle, but it doesn’t budge. You realise then that he’s stepped closer, too close, crowding your vision as you turn to face him while keeping one hand on the door’s handle. He leans an arm against the roof of the car, right beside your head, staring you down. 

“Oh, come on, (Y/N). I’ve got the house to myself tonight, it’ll just be us. I know that’s what you want, don’t be shy.”

His free hand pinches your chin, his touch aggressive where Joel’s is rough but careful, and he tries to close the already too-small gap between you.

You dodge him quickly, slipping out from under his arm and backing up, away from the car, away from him. Matthew just watches you, incredulous, before laughing to himself and taking a step forward. “Look, baby, I know you want this. What is it, are you scared your daddy’s gonna find out?”

“What? No, I-” you splutter, but he interrupts.

“Get in the car, (Y/N). You don’t have to worry about anyone finding out. I can see the way you look at me, I bet you’re dying to fu-”

A heavy sickness has flooded your stomach, your nerves shot from the sudden escalation of what was supposed to be a quiet, albeit tedious, night. But his words hit you, and before you can even think, you’re shouting back at him. 

“You seriously think I want to fuck you? You can’t even pay your half of the bill with your own money. Fuck that. I’ll make my own way home.”

The smug look on his face is quickly washed away with anger, and you continue to slowly step backwards as Matthew follows you. A lick of fear sets in now as the pale streetlights cast shadows on his darkened expression, and you scold yourself for opening your mouth.

“The fuck did you just say to me? Do you know who my Dad is?” - this really isn’t a good time to roll your eyes - “You think you’re too good for me, you bitch? I’ll show you.”

He stalks you, and your eyes frantically dart back to the restaurant you’d just left, though you’d backtracked far enough to be almost at the door again.

People are dining and laughing, some just sitting and watching the world go by. You’re well within their view, and you turn back to see that Matthew’s gaze has followed your own and he’s connected the dots. He can’t do anything in front of them. He locks eyes with you again, scoffing, heading back to his car and loudly shouting something that sounded a lot like “fuckin’ bitch.” Nice.

He drives away; you’re safe, out of the situation, and as the relief floods you the adrenaline does too and tears prick at your eyes. You sit on a small bench just outside the restaurant, dotted with shrubbery and stains from spilt drinks you assume, and take out your phone.

Your last chat with Joel is already open, and you breathe slowly in an attempt to still your shaking hands as you type quickly,

Please come and get me. He was trying to get me to go back with him. Wouldn’t take no for an answer. He’s gone now but I have no ride home.

The text is marked as ‘read’ almost as soon as you send it, though you receive no reply. You didn’t expect to; Joel wasn’t much of a texter. Like, at all. He was slowly getting used to it, what with it being one of the only ways you could really talk when slipping over to his place was too risky. 

In this particular instance, you already knew he’d have read the text, dropped his phone without a second thought and hurried to his truck while muttering to himself what he’s gonna do to the kid, how he won’t see what’s comin’ to him.

Just how badly Joel might react worries you. He’s protective, incredibly so when it comes to you, and that combined with his white hot temper was surely a recipe for some sort of disaster.

Secretly, though, you loved it. And so as you sat on that little bench, frosty air nipping at your skin, you couldn’t help but revel in the warmth that pooled in your core at the thought of what sort of beast Joel would become tonight.

──────

It only takes him around 10 minutes to reach you, and you know for a fact he must’ve ran a red light or two because normally it’s a 20 minute drive at least into town. You stand, walking over to his truck, but before you can hop in he’s already storming out and wrapping you up in his arms, shielding you, eyes darting across the street.

“Where the fuck is he?”

“Joel, I-”

“(Y/N) where the fuck is he? I’m gonna kill that little bastard. Fucking-”

His body is tense, far more so than usual, and anger pours from him in buckets. You pull away to look up at him, his eyes still searching for the boy long gone, and you sigh. “He’s gone, Joel. He left.”

He finally meets your eyes, a cold frown etched on his face, and he somehow looks even angrier than usual. “Did he touch you?” His hands roam your body, searching for you didn’t know what, but you let him do whatever he needed to relax. To know you were safe.

“No, Joely, he didn’t. I’m fine, I promise.”

It usually softens him right up, your little nickname for him. Joely. The first few times you used it, he’d just scoff or roll his eyes, but the small smirk that crept onto his face each time let you know he loved it. Quite how much he loved it was a different story; you hadn’t got together then, though the both of you wanted it, and as your relationship blossomed you became the only one he ever let call him anything other than Joel.

It doesn’t work this time, though, and he remains stern, finally letting you go and searching your eyes for even a hint of anxiety or fear. “What happened?”

“He tried it on, I said no. He tried again, I backed up and made sure there were people watching,” you nod towards the restaurant, still bustling with life. “And he left.”

Joel nods. “You tell him to fuck off?”

“‘Course i did.” 

It seems as if he finally lets up then, giving you a proper hug, one arm around your neck and the other around your waist. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, hard, and the tension leaves him. “That’s my girl.”

You squeeze him tight, burrowing into his shirt and inhaling the scent of him that you loved so much. With one arm around your shoulders, he guides you back to his truck, opening the door for you and helping you. He does it everytime, but it still makes you blush, and you’re sure his lips smirk slightly as your cheeks turn red. Worth it.

The ride back to home is quiet, only the sound of his radio and passing traffic echoing between you. He keeps a hand on your knee, always protective, and every now and then you rub your palm over it to let him know you appreciate it. To say thank you.

Joel was never good with words, and you’d learned over the last few months just how much he relies on touch to express himself. To show love. You’d picked up on his habits, his little signs, his way of telling you his deepest thoughts without having to speak a word.

And when you reciprocated, when you wrapped your hand around his, or brushed his side at the neighbours’ BBQ, or kissed his shoulder in the kitchen, you knew just what it meant to him.

Your driveway is empty as Joel turns onto your street - your Dad must have set off for work already. You sigh in relief; you didn’t have the energy to explain all this to him, and certainly not the energy to try and sneak into Joel’s without him seeing.

Joel steps out first, taking a quick look around to make sure no nosey neighbours were watching, a precaution you were both used to by now. He grabs the door for you again, holding your hand and helping you out, holding you close to his side as he unlocks the door and you both slip inside.

“What do you want to drink?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

He pauses, looking at you, concerned. ”No. You need somethin’ to drink. You need to- to lie down, or somethin’.”

You follow him into the kitchen as he stalks past you, not giving you time to answer and filling a glass with water and ice. “Drink,” he hands it to you.

You take it, thanking him and sipping as he watches. It’s sweet; he cares about you, so much, and when he looks at you like this you can’t help but feel butterflies swirl in your stomach.

“I’m sorry.” It’s almost a whisper, so quiet you wouldn’t have heard if it weren’t so still already in his house.

“Hm?” You look at him, confused.

“I’m sorry he did that to you. S’not - s’not right. I mean, shit, what if you couldn’t get away?” He was spiralling.

“Hey, hey. Joel, it’s okay. I’m okay.” You set down the glass and take him in your arms. He calms, instantly, holding you tightly against him and cupping the back of your head with his hand.

“You shouldn’t have had to go through that.”

“I know.”

He sighs. “I just wanna protect you, honey.”

“I know.”

He pulls back to look at you, framing your face with his hands and running his thumbs along the edge of your cheekbones.  You lean in, letting his lips capture yours in that sweet but desperate way that only Joel can, and moan into his mouth. He slips his tongue against yours, letting one arm fall to your waist as his hand lingers around the hem of your jeans.

The kiss becomes desperate and you reach for his belt, your arousal becoming unbearable as the memory of him so full of anger and protectiveness spins in your mind like a carousel. He breaks the kiss and you groan, chasing his swollen lips with yours.

“We don’t have to do this.” His southern drawl is slick with need, his eyes closed as he rests his forehead against yours. The moment is so sweet, so intimate, that any thoughts of what had happened today were long gone and your mind was full with sweepings of him.

“I want to.”

He grunts, pushing himself further into you so his nose brushes yours like a cat. So much so, you almost purr into him, and it makes you giggle. You curse yourself as he pulls back, cocking an eyebrow and giving you that stare you’d come to know all too well; you’re a pain in my ass, it says. But the corners of his lips turn upwards, and you step forward so you’re once again pressed right up against him, pressing gentle kisses to his jaw.

“You’ve had a big shock today, sweetheart,” he sighs.

You know he’s given up. You know he needs this as much as you do. But you humour him, and tip his head down so you can kiss his lips again. 

“So make me forget.”

It snaps something within him, and you shriek as Joel sweeps you up in his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist in instinct and your head burying itself in his neck. He laughs at the sound you make, something you’d always known to be so rare for him, but that he does far more often now he has you. 

He carries you upstairs, gripping your thighs with his large hands, and the way he holds you so easily just turns you on more. He kicks his bedroom door open, all but throwing you on the bed and watching as you bounced softly on the sheets, undoing his belt that was already half-opened by your shaky hands.

“On your back. Lay your head towards me.”

You did as he said immediately, though your movements were slow, languid. He let you take your time; a part of you thinks he likes to watch you move for him, the way you put on a show, keeping your eyes locked on his and your lips slightly parted and puffy from his kiss. 

You lie on your back, your head dangling off the edge, looking up at him upside down. The hard outline of his cock is just centimetres above you, swollen already, and your desperation to taste it must’ve shown on your face because Joel groans out a soft, strangled “fuck.”

“You need this cock, baby? Need your throat fucked?” You just nod rapidly, desperate for him to do something other than just stand there and watch you, your arousal becoming unbearable. Joel seems to break, too, pulling down his jeans and boxers and gripping his hard length in his hands. 

It’s big at the best of times, but from this angle, his balls level with your eyes and his cock the only thing you can see when you look up at him, it’s painful how bad you need him.

You’d only discovered this position recently, on a night you’d spent at his place while your Dad was away with work, not unlike tonight. Joel had been floored, consumed with pleasure as the stretch of your spine made it so easy for him to slide himself through your mouth and down your throat, the muscles tensing around him and drawing his release much sooner than he’d have liked. 

He slides the head of his cock over your lips, painting them in his precum. You whine, lapping at his taste, desperate but you know better than to lift your hands off the bed. No, you give him control, and he lavishes it.

“Open up, babygirl.”

You comply, parting your lips and moaning as Joel pushes inside, giving you no time to breathe. You try to control yourself, inhaling through your nose and letting your muscles relax before he bottoms out, his groin almost entirely covering your face and your throat full of his thickness. 

It’s filthy, degrading, resigns you to nothing but his to fuck and use as he wants. 

You love it.

“Such a good girl, baby. So good for me, ain’t ya?” You can hardly even nod as your tongue flicks along a particularly swollen vein. He begins to move, pulling out almost entirely before slamming his cock back into your mouth. You moan again, and it hurts, in that delectable way that’ll spend the next few days reminding you of this moment.

Joel’s got one hand on the wooden foot of the bed, keeping himself steady. The other finds its way to your neck, and he stalls as he feels his cock beneath your skin, rapidly pushing in and out. He moans your name, his hips rocking into you harder and harder, chasing a release you knew he wouldn’t let himself have just yet. 

You’re completely at his mercy now, too consumed by his scent and his touch to think, and you hardly register him reaching for your hand and taking it in his own. He starts to mumble, and you only catch a few words - “my good girl. My girl. So- so fuckin’ pretty for me.”

He swells, your tongue working faster against him, his hand squeezing yours and his legs faltering when he suddenly pulls out and stands back with a whimper. Your eyes are glazed over, your sore throat misses him, and your pink swollen lips are trying to say something but you’re not sure what. It feels like his name.

“Come on, pretty girl, come here.” He sits beside you on the edge of the bed, wrapping his big arms around your back and guiding you into his lap. 

His fingers dance over your entrance, collecting the slick that soaked your thighs before pushing a single finger inside, revelling in your arousal. He admires you as you squirm, rolling your hips against his hand, desperate for more and moaning against his lips. 

It’s almost embarrassing how easy you unravel for him, and if it weren’t for your utter infatuation for the man, you’d have hidden your pleasure and at least tried to hold onto some sense of dignity. But you were obsessed, addicted to him, and he knew it. Because god, was he addicted to you, too.

He kisses you, letting another finger slip inside and catching your hiss with his mouth. “So fuckin’ perfect,” he mutters, opening his eyes to look at you, his cock twitching against your thigh. 

“Tell me what you need, angel.”

“Y- you, Joel. I need you. Please.” You hardly register yourself saying the words, but they do the trick, as Joel removes his fingers and instead lines the tip of his cock with your soaking wet entrance. 

“Please, please, fuck me. Fuck-” 

He snaps his hips upwards, driving his cock into your cunt and you gasp as he stretches you. You grip at his shoulders, sure to leave marks, but you know he loves it. 

He sets the pace, guiding you to bounce on his cock as his hips snap upwards again and again, fucking you so hard you can almost see stars. 

His head is buried in your neck, kissing and nipping at the delicate skin, and you try to regain some autonomy and roll your hips side to side making him mewl. 

“So - oh, fuck - so good baby, keep doin’ that.” He spurs you on as your breathless moans and the heavy slap of skin on skin fills the room, lewd but addictive.

The pace is brutal, unforgiving as your thighs tremble and you wonder if he’s feeling the burn of his movements. If he does, he doesn’t show it, just ramming into you and moaning your name against your ear. 

His hand falls from your waist and finds its way to your clit, making you gasp as he circles his thumb around the spot. The near pornographic moan that falls from his lips as you roll into his touch is nearly enough to make you cum right there, but you know better than to cum before he tells you to.

Instead he hoists you further up, giving him better control of your hips, and angles his cock so it hits that perfectly raw spot deep inside you that has tears in your eyes.

“I- I’m gonna-” 

“I know, baby. Just hold on for me. I’ve got you.” You cry at his denial, though it’s quickly forgotten as he flips you over onto your back, his head still tucked under the crook of your neck, his cock still buried inside you. He resumes his fast pace, reaching even deeper inside you with your legs locked around his waist, and you moan so loudly you worry someone’s going to hear you.

Joel doesn’t seem to care as he pulls back to look at you, marvelling at how utterly fucked-out you look for him. His pace starts to falter, each thrust more desperate than the last, and he frantically pushes his tongue into your mouth as you moan in unison.

“Cum for me baby, cum all over my cock, that’s it.” You release on command, crying out as waves of pleasure spread like fire through your body, and the uncontrollable spasms of your orgasm make Joel groan as he spills inside you, still rocking into you and carrying both of your highs.

He doesn’t let his cock slip out of you as he wraps an arm under your back and rolls onto his side, holding you close as he brushes the matted hair away from your forehead and replaces it with a soft kiss. You hum, snuggling into him and trying not to gasp at the feeling of his cock inside you while you were still so sensitive. He can see you flinch and smiles, though he just wants you to rest for now.

“You okay, babygirl?” You just hum again, but he taps your chin and you look up. 

“Answer me, angel.”

“I’m good. Tired.”

Joel nods, running his hand through your hair and agreeing, “me too.” 

You’re quiet for a moment, almost dozing off as the heat that radiates from him lulls you gently to seep, when he breaks the silence again. “What’s his name?”

“Hm?” You reply, too fucked-out to really understand what he was saying.

“That little asshole. What’s his name?”

He’s looking down at you, brows knitted together, and you just sigh. “It doesn’t matter, Joel. He doesn’t matter. I promise.”

“But-“

You cut him off with a kiss, and the tension that built in his shoulders is quickly dissipated. “No ‘but’s. Get some sleep.”

“Aright,” he resigns. “I love you.”

It slips out, sudden, and he freezes before he realises the joy that’s spread across your face from his words. It’s the first time either of you have said it, and the way your eyes light up are enough to let him die a happy man. You nuzzle his nose, your hand gently lay on his chest, your eyes falling shut again. “I love you too, Joel.” He wraps you up tighter, grinning, happy. In love.. “And no asking my Dad, either.”

He scoffs, “I wasn’t going to!” You just cock a brow, eyes still shut, and though you can’t see him you know he’s rolling his eyes. “Let me get you cleaned up, sweetheart.” 

He pulls out of you slowly, making you wince at the loss, and sits up on the bed. When you can still feel his weight beside you, you crack an eye open to see him quickly typing something on his phone, and you frown. “Joel?”

He startles and drops his phone, turning to you and kissing the top of your head. “Sorry, baby, I’m going - just gimme a sec to get you a warm cloth.”

As he leaves for the bathroom you snatch his phone, already knowing what he’d done. Your Dad’s name is at the top of the screen, the chat from just moments ago still open:

What’s the name of that kid (Y/N) went out with?

Matthew Wicks, he’s the new apprentice at work. Why?

Just wondered.

You’re weird, man.

Joel creeps out of the bathroom, frozen as he sees you lock his phone. He offers a small, guilty smile, quickly wiped away as you grab his pillow and playfully launch it at his chest. 

“JOEL!”

──────

Thank you so much for reading! As ever, comments and weblogs are so appreciated, and please let me know if you'd like to be tagged in my future fics!

[mj0702]

The other Bronze – Part 2

For my Bubs and @cyclingbigirl who demanded a part 2

Keira woke the next morning, you draped half over her body. Your right leg was across her lower half, your face was laying on her shoulders, your right arm was over her chest, gripping onto Keiras left sleeve. As carefully as she could, she fished her phone, making a selfie of you and her. She saw that she had 6 unread messages from Lucy, asking about her little sister and if everything was alright. The last message not even 15 Minutes old, so Keira decided to just respond with the picture. A minute later her phone vibrated again

Lucy: “Someone is cuddley”

Keira chuckled and texted back “Aren't all Bronzes cuddley around me?”

Lucy: “My Brother too, Keira?! Seriously? Don't you have any shame?”

Keira: “Maybe ;)”

Lucy: “Kinda disturbing, but whatever... she okay? You okay?”

Keira: “She misses you – a lot... just a fair warning.. she's not to keen on Ona, so keep their time spent together to a minimum in the beginning”

Lucy: “She doesn't even know Ona... what is her fucking Problem?”

Keira: “Language, Lucia... she doesn't really have a Problem. You know she always struggled with Change – she feels guilty for our breakup and just needs time to get used to you dating again”

Lucy: “I'm sorry... not only for the swearing – I think I didn't realized just how much it affected her... still affects her... thank you for watching out for her too, Kei... it really means the world to me”

Keira: “No need to thank me, Lucy... you know I love her just as much – so... brunch?”

Lucy: “You think you can get her up and presentable in an hour?”

Keira: “Oh please – I tell you the same as her yesterday... I'm not you – I'm not a push-over”

Lucy: “Oi!! I'm not a push-over”

Keira: “With her you always were... and still are”

Lucy: “One Hour starts now, Walsh... tick tock”

Keira laughed lightly, not even bother to respond, before she started to softly stroke over the younger Bronzes face.

“Wakey wakey” she whispered in your ear. Your nose scrunched up and you pressed your Face deeper into Keiras shoulder.

“Come on, Bitsy.. time for brunch” the older Woman said smiling, knowing that the promise of Food always gets the Bronze women going. Food and Caffeine. Your nose scrunched up again, but at least your head moves a little bit, looking sleepily at Keira.

“Breakfast?” you ask, your Voice thick with sleep.

“As soon as you up, showered and presentable” the older woman smiled.

“Noooo...” you whined sleepily, your head laying back on her shoulder.

“Yes” she said in the same tone as you “Your sister said you won't be presentable in an Hour... you really want to prove her right??”

Keira also knew, like the whole world does that the Bronze Family was highly competitive. You were up in a flash and a minute later Keira heard the Shower going. The older Woman laughed loudly, standing up herself, walking into the Kitchen starting on the Coffee.

15 Minutes later the youngest Bronze emerged from the Bathroom just covered in a Towel “Kei?? Clothes? Please?”

“I bet your Sister would be so happy to see you parading through town just covered by a short Towel ” Keira laughed “Here” she pushed a cup of Coffee in your Hands before walking back to her Bedroom looking for some Clothes.

She came back with a white T-shirt and some of her kit shorts “Up to wear my number for a change?” She smirked at you.

“Replacing the old Bronze with the newer, younger, sexier Model, are we?” you smirk back, but grab the offered shorts nonetheless.

45 Minutes later, Keira and y/n stood outside the little Place, Alexia mentioned the other day, waiting for the Rest of the Girls to arrive.

“Gosh she got so slow since she hit the 30” you rolled her eyes as your Sister obviously was late. Keira burst out laughing next to you.

“I don't think it has anything to do with her age...” she smirked, waiting for you to catch on. You look at her confused, until you realized what she implied, gagging loudly. The older woman laughing again loudly.

“You're her ex, you shouldn't talk about her having sex so easily... especially NOT with me” you gagged again.

“Who's having Sex?” a voice behind you asked, startling you.

“Speak of the Devil” you mumbled before turning around, your facial expression neutral “You're glowing... disgusting”

“Excuse me?” your Sister taken aback by your “greeting”

Keira just keeps on laughing, her hands on her sides, as she bends over trying to control herself. “You heard me, Arse Biscuits” you grumbled.

“Oi” your Sister said upset, taking a step towards you “watch your gob, wee shite”

Keira sensed that the two of you start to push each other so she interfered, knowing Ona – who arrived with your Sister – didn't know how to handle the two of you in situations like this.

“Both of you... take a step back” Keira said sharply. You and your Sister not reacting, staring at each other. You were so close to each other that your noses were nearly touching - Keira firmly said “Now!”

Lucy and you snapped out of it and you both took a step backwards. Keira looked at Ona, who stood there with a shocked Face “Don't worry... normal sibling behaviour between them – you just need to know when to intervene. And you need to be strict about it, because they're both hot headed and stubborn” she smiled.

“Okay” Ona said, her voice unsure, looking from Lucy to you and back.

“You'll get used to it” Keira chuckled and patted Onas back.

“You calm again?” Keira asked the two Bronze sisters

“Yes” both of them mumbled ashamed

“Good... then let's go inside, I need something to eat” Keira said, leading the Way.

Just as you all sat down, Mapí, Alexia, Ingrid, Patri and Pina joined the Group, all squishing themselves around the small table. Since the table was originally for four People and now there are nine, you got shoved around until you ended up getting placed on Lucys lap by Mapí, claiming she reserved the seat you were sitting on before you even arrived.

Lucy tried to shove you off her lap just for you to look at her with puppy eyes holding onto her shoulder “There no seats left”. Your Sister groaned, but laid her arm around your back

“The things I let you do” she rolled her eyes, but you could see a smile tugging at the corner of her Mouth.

“Love you too, Luce” you mumbled quietly

She squeezed your Side lovingly, before joining the Conversation at the Table, while you just looked around the small Place, taking in the Atmosphere – the Conversation was in Spanish anyway, so it was not like you could follow it.

“Cariño?” Alexia looked at you expectantly as you looked at her confused.

“Yes?”

“Did you hear what I said?” the Barca captain looked amused

“No?” you admitted ashamed.

Alexia laughed before repeating her question “I asked for how long you're staying”.

“Oh... Mum said I can stay until Lucy gets tired of me...” you shrugged your Shoulders

Your Sister grabbed her Phone grinning “Wait, let me get an Uber for you”

“KEIRAAAA!!!” you yelled down the Table “LUCY IS MEAN AGAIN!!!!”

“Lucy!!” Keira scolded your Sister.

Lucy looked at you “You little backstabbing...”

Before she was able to finish you grinned wickedly, shouting again “KEIRA!!! She's calling me bad names”

“LUCIA!” Keira warned and Lucy knew it's getting to a point were she was in serious trouble.

“I didn't do anything!!!!” she defended herself annoyed.

Alexia just starred at the two of you, as you wore a shit eating grin your Sister looking like a kicked puppy, Mapí high-fiving you over Ingrid.

“You two are really children, aren't you?” the Barca captain asked amused.

“She brings out the worst in me” you grinned, taking your Sisters head into a headlock “Noogie!!” you laughed.

Lucy hugged your stomach, standing up, lifting you in Process, swearing at you, while you locking your legs around her waist. You didn't let go of her Head, laughing loudly as Lucy began to spin herself to get rid of you.

Meanwhile, Keira rolled her Eyes then looked at Ona “Now you should interfere... otherwise they will take the whole place down rough housing”

Ona looked at her shocked “Me?”

Keira grinned “Yeah you... they're your Problem now... welcome to the Bronze Family”

Mapí started to cheer you on while Ingrid tried to keep her in her seat so she wouldn't jump on Lucy to help you win. Ona tried to get your and Lucys attention, but it was no use, since she was still to reserved about you. Lucy managed to get you to let go of her, now having you in a light headlock. “Dear bloody Christ” Keira swore under her breath, turning to Ona “Watch and learn”

The Englishwoman stood up, walked over to the wrestling pair of Sisters and just grabbed both of you by the Ear before dragging you outside. Both of you stumble after Keira begging her to let go, but in secret you knew better that your plea would fall on deaf ears. Keira lead you outside the small restaurant, coming to a scattered halt outside.

“Are you two actually completely bloody mad??” she scolded the Sisters

“Sorry” you mumble and looked to the ground embarrassed

“You're going to be sorry, y/n Bronze... Mapí won't be the only one doing laps today” Keira said angry before turning to Lucy “And you... don't encourage her behaviour... you're the older one – you should be the grown up”.

Lucy looked guilty and started do fiddle with her fingers “I know... but she started it”

“Did NOT” you immediately exclaimed.

“Quiet.. both of you” Keira said sternly “I don't care who started it... we're in public.. what if Fans take pictures or god forbid a Video... and just as a small information, Lucia... Your new Girlfriend is very taken aback of your behaviour right now... I mean I knew what I was getting into when we started dating. I knew the two of you beforehand and knew your Actions, but she doesn't... I know you genuinely love each other and it's your weird language of love rough housing around, throwing insults at each other, but Ona can't understand it.. so either both of you pull yourself together OR I'm going to make sure the two of you will only have supervised visits – supervised by me”.

Both of you looked very guilty, not knowing what to say.

“Are we clear?” Keira hissed out at your silence.

“Crystal” Lucy and you said simultaneously.

“Good” the other Woman nodded.

“Do I really need to run laps?” you asked carefully, shuffling your feet.

“Yes” Keira said strict “But don't worry, you'll be in good company... Mapí and your Sister will join you”

“I'm doing what?” Lucy looking at Keira confused.

“You really didn't think that I punish her and you'd walk, did you?” Keira raised an eyebrow.

“You can't make me do Laps” Lucy said.

“True.. I can't.. but Alexia can and I'm VERY certain that she's on my side this Time” Keira smirked wickedly, before rentering the small Restaurant.

You looked at your Sister “How fucked are we?”

“Very...” Lucy sighed out “When she really involves Ale, than we're very VERY fucked”

“We could bolt?” you suggested

“You can... I need to be at Training at 3pm... it's my Job” your Sister shrugged “I can say you just bolted, when I didn't look”

“Naah” you smiled “We survived angry Keira before... Tobronzher”

Your sister laughed “Still the most stupid word you ever came up with... it sounds nothing like together”

“You still understood” you shrugged your shoulders

“I should talk to Ona” Lucy said contemplative.

“I really didn't want to cause trouble Luce” you said apologetically

“I know... and you didn't really.. I should have talked to her beforehand... our bond is special and Keira was right... she doesn't know how the two of us work...” your Sister said encouraging. You just hummed.

“Why don't you like her?” Lucy asked softly.

“I don't know her...” you said reflecting “... so I don't know if I like her or not”.

“You didn't even gave her a Chance” your Sister said, but it wasn't accusing or angry – it was simply a fact.

“When Luce? When did I had a chance to get to know her? Yesterday when I walked in on you? Or yesterday evening, when we sat like... 15 Minutes at the same Table, where you choose to drift off to your own World with her, which is okay, really.... or today, where we sat like half an hour together and all of you started speaking Spanish – even you – and I starred at the Wall? You didn't really put up an effort to introduce us too, Luce... you called me Devils Spawn the first Time we met... probably freaked her out” you said, shrugging your Shoulders sadly.

Lucy realized that you were right “I'm sorry.. I'm sorry for not realizing how stupid I acted.... I'm going to make it up to you, I promise”

“I'm not the one you have to make up anything... I know you my whole life... I know you... but you should probably talk to her” you said.

“Dinner tonight... only the three of us?” your Sister asked hopefully.

“You... should talk to her first... if that's okay for her” you said carefully.

“I know I’m going to sound like an egotistical asshole in a second, but... you're my SISTER... you will always come first...” your Sister said and pulled you into a tight hug.

You hugged her back and mumbled into her shoulder “But she's your girlfriend...”

“She is... but your feelings will always be important to me... so if she says no, which she won't, I know she won't, than that's one thing... but if YOU say no... than that would really hurt” Lucy said, not letting go of you.

“I'm not saying no... but.. I need time?” you said carefully “I need time to process the whole situation...”

“That's okay... you want me to talk to Keira if you can stay at hers? Or maybe Alexia” your Sister offered.

“I'm not staying with the Scary Woman” you exclaimed shocked.

Lucy laughed out loudly “She's a big softie... she acts all scary when she's mad or on the pitch... but in private... mushball... oh... and she has a girlfriend, so you don't have to be scared she would take advantage of you... you will leave Barcelona still a virgin...”

“Oh please... THAT ship sunk long time ago” you mumbled and rolled your Eyes.

“EXCUSE ME??” your Sister screeched out surprised.

“Nothing” you answer quickly and try to push passed her.

Lucy grabbed your Arm, making you look at her “Who? When? Where? Why?”.

You knew it was no use in lying, so you answered reluctantly “Won't tell you... my Birthday... very classical in a bed... because it felt right?”.

Lucy pinched the bridge of her nose “Please tell me you were careful, used protection and you're definitely not pregnant”.

You looked at her with a shocked impression, before recovering “This... Person... wasn't... a dude?” you said carefully, not knowing how your Sister would react.

“A girl?” Lucy asked surprised. You nodded, but didn't meet her eye. “Hey” Lucy grabbed your chin gently and make you look at her “it's okay.. I mean... I'm gay... Publicly gay”

“I just... never told anyone” you mumbled ashamed.

“I feel honoured you told me, Bubs... did she... look after you?” your Sister asked carefully, knowing this wasn't really a Topic you should discuss in Public.

“Still is...” you admitted softly, started to play with the hem of Keiras shorts, a soft blush covering your cheeks.

“Good...” your Sister said, hugging you again before pulling back looking at you shocked “Oh my God... it wasn't Keira, was it??”

“What?” you looked at her confused

“Was it Keira?! The one who... you know”

“Oh my bloody God NO... god you're disgusting! NO!! That's wrong on SO many levels” you exclaim shocked.

“I KNOW it would be wrong... Just the way you said that the person was still taking care of you and you started to play with your shorts, which are actually Kei's shorts... so...” your Sister stuttered.

“Did you actually just listened to yourself?! I wear Keiras shorts, because I slept AT hers with my clothes still at your place...”

“Oh god... that was like a major shocking confusion just now... We should go eat something” your sister sighed out relived.

“You better not bring that up again.. that was just SO wrong” you shake your head.

“Do I know this person?” Lucy smirked as she held the door open for you

“Drop it, Lucia” you said annoyed but with a smile on your face

“So that's a Yes then” she grinned back at you, walking inside after you

“I said drop it... I won't tell you” you smirked

The two of you made your way back inside, immediately getting spotted by Keira, Alexia and Ona. You just sat down, you on Lucys Lap again and started to grab some Breakfast stuff. Keira smiled slightly before returning to eat her Cereal with Yoghurt and Fruit, while Alexia and Ona look at you baffled.

“What happened with the two of you?” Alexia asked confused

“What do you mean?” you mumble, chewing on a piece of Toast with tomato on it which your Sister offered you

“Stop talking with your mouth full, Y/n” Keira scolded you

“Like.. 10 minutes ago, you were basically pulling each others hair, nearly biting and now you're sitting here like nothing happened” Mapí looked at you puzzled.

“That... was 10 minutes ago?” you answered and looked like you didn't see a problem

“Again... welcome to the Bronze Family” Keira smiled at the Spaniards “One moment they're at each others throats, next they share food”

“You know what their problem is?” you ask your Sister confused

“No... on the other Hand I don't care” she shrugged her shoulders, pushing more food in front of you while eating the slightly healthier version of brunch.

After all of you finished your food you left the small restaurant all walking roughly in the same direction before it was time to go separate ways.

“See you later” Alexia said smiling before turning to Mapí “Want to run your laps before or after training?”

“You were serious about that?” the younger player exclaimed, her eyes growing big.

“When did I ever joked about you doing laps?” Alexia said, pulling an eyebrow up

“After, if that's okay” Mapí mumbled defeated, her head hung low

“Don't worry, Mapí... you won't be alone... Lucy and Y/n will join you” Keira smiled wickedly

“I think it's a little unfair that young, unfit1 me needs to keep up with world class players... Lucy can do my laps too...” you said innocently

“Nice try” Keira looked at you impressed “But no”

“Aaaawww maaaan” you groaned out

“If I need to run, you will too” your Sister growled

“Then it's settled” Alexia said grinning “The three of you, laps after training”

Lucy, Ona and you started to walk in the direction of Lucys apartment as you nudged her side

“Why do we want to run after training? Isn't it counterproductive to run when you're already tired and sweaty?”

“Theoretically it is a bad decision, because we’re already tired.... practically... we can use it as part of recovery AND it's a little cooler later in the afternoon...” your sister explained, while smiling slightly.

“Ah...” you say understanding “And how many laps do we need to run?”

Lucy started laughing “If Alexia is gracious maybe five”

“WHAT? FIVE?” you shriek and look at your sister shocked, which caused even Ona to chuckle

“Bubs... Alexia can make Mapí and I run... she can't make you run” Lucy winked at you

“Then why am I running laps with you and Mapí?” you looked at her like she’s growing a second head.

“Because you pissed off Keira?!” your Sister provided an answer

“Ah... yeah... I forgot about that” you said defeated

As you arrived the apartment, Ona wanted to say goodbye but got pulled inside by Lucy while you make your way to the kitchen.

“We need to talk” Lucy mumbled to her girlfriend

“¿Estás rompiendo conmigo?” Ona said sadly

“¿qué? no claro que no!!!” Lucy exclaimed shocked

Ona just shrugged her shoulders and looked up at Lucy sadly. Lucy took a step closer to the younger catalan woman taking her face in her hands.

“¿Por qué crees que rompería contigo?” your sister asked her girlfriend softly

“Necesitamos hablar suele ser un paso muerto” Ona said a little unsure

“I don't understand anything... could you please switch to english??” you yelled from the kitchen, where you prepared yourself a sandwich

“This is a PRIVATE conversation...” your Sister yelled back “... so get lost”

“Then don't hold your PRIVATE conversation in an open space like the living room, which is right next to the kitchen... your apartment ist very open” you answered, gesturing around the apartment.

“Are you seriously eating again?? We just had breakfast” Lucy exclaimed as she saw the sandwich “... and I told you to get lost, I want to talk to Ona... privatly”

“It's not like I understand anything” you rolled your eyes

“Los dejo a ustedes dos... No quiero entrometerme” Ona said quietly

“No te quedes... por favor” Lucy said a little desperate “Ignórala... lo siento, puedo enviarla a su habitación si te hace sentir incómodo”

“No, you should enjoy your time with your sister” Ona smiled but her eyes show sadness

“Thank you” you said, chewing on your sandwich, completely oblivious to what’s happening.

“I told you to get lost” Lucy growled at you and you noticed it was serious

“I don't know where to go... you never showed me around” you said annoyed

“Here” your sister reached into her pants pocket, pulling out some money “Here are 20 Euros, find the next Starbucks and buy yourself an Iced Chocolate Frappe... or something else without caffein... just PLEASE leave”

“Wow you really love me” you said sarcastic “It feels like I'm 13 all over and you wanted me out of the House so you can have “quality time” with Keira”

“I want you out of my apartment, because I need to speak to my girlfriend in private and you eating like harvester doesn't help... take your phone with you, god only knows Mum will kill me if you get lost in Barcelona because you took a wrong turn and ended up in La Mina – IF you get lost or need to get picked up, phone me.. or Keira! Be aware of pick pockers and don't interact with groups of spanish guys... DON'T GET KILLED” your Sister said, already pushing you towards the front door and outside

“I... hey...” you tried to protest but it was no use, since you found yourself already outside of the apartment

“Lucy... I need SHOES” you knocked hard on the door, which promptly opend and a pair of shoes were tossed outside.

Part 3 is in the making 😅

[justastraymoa]

Yet Unnamed

Chapter 14

Masterlist

Warnings for Yet Unnamed: Kidnapping, cuffs, injuries, drugging by injection, mentions of needles, lots of swearing, kissing, fluff, angst, idiots in love all around.

Nothing within reflects anyone or anything irl. Pics off pinterest.

You didn’t even blink when Bin pulled you on to his lap before you could even sit in a chair. He wrapped his arms around you before scoffing. “You’ve lost weight.”

You didn’t eat for several days, what did he expect? You patted his hand. “I’m fine, Bin.”

“You fainted not twenty minutes ago, and you still look flushed.” Minnie helpfully pointed out. You stuck your tongue out at him, he returned the gesture.

“You left without even saying anything.” Hyune spoke to the table lowly, bringing you back to the issue. The room lapsed into still silence.

“You were arguing because of me. I caused a rift.”

“We were arguing about the fucked up situation.” Lino corrected.

“Also, because Minnie was out of line.” Hannie added.

“I already apologized.” Min pouted crossing his arms. You sent him a small smile.

“It didn’t feel that way. It felt like it was because I kept messing up. I kept knowing Korean a secret, and I do my job differently than the people before me, and then I completely forgot about the marriages. Who just forgets they are married?” You tick off your offenses one by one, even if you had already talked to Min about some of them, they needed to be aired out with everyone. So, we were all on the same page.

“Chan Hyung told us you were feeling self-conscious about your work with us. That’s why I knew it was a sore spot for you. I’m sorry.” Minnie explained again.

“I know, Minnie. I already forgive you.”

“Felix, Han, and I all forgot about the marriages too. So, you weren’t alone on that one. We all dropped that ball.” Chan pointed out. “I requested out copy of the certificates to hang up with the others.”

You didn’t know where the other certificates were, or even who was married to who. You never asked and you had never looked around at all the décor around the apartment. Something you should take a few minutes to do in the future. You felt like you have just been running ever since you arrived here.

“And finding out you knew Korean was kinda funny. How many opportunities like that do you get in a lifetime? It’s not like you hurt anything by it.” Hannie shrugged.

“Did you hear anything good? I never got to ask.” Lix wondered.

You shrugged. “I was only really around you guys, and you were good about speaking my language when I was around, so not really.”

“We didn’t say anything dumb?”

“Not really.”

“That’s kind of shocking.”

You snort softly.

“About your work.” Lino started. You tense in Bins lap, making him rub your stomach soothingly.

“We all agree that we like it. It’s amazing work. Everything has gone much smoother since you took over.”

“You have a way of bringing us and our opinions in on your work that’s really refreshing. It’s easy to feel like our opinions don’t matter in this industry, so it’s very nice that you make sure we don’t feel that way when we work with you.” Felix said.

“And you stand up for us.” Hyune added.

Bin hooked his chin on your shoulder. “And STAY is loving the new stuff. That’s a big accomplishment.”

“Bottom line: We are loving what you are doing. It’s different in a very good way.” Ayen concluded.

You blush but smile at them. It was the same thing Chan had told you, but after the argument the other day it was nice to hear it straight from their mouths. It was nice to hear from everyone. You apparently need a lot of reassurance.

Hyune reached over and pulled you off Bins lap and into his, holding you close. “Just please don’t leave again. These last couple days really sucked.”

“And we were really worried about you. I know it’s been said, but it’s true.” Hannie reiterated. “And Chan told us not to track you because he thought it would upset you.”

“Did it upset you?” Min asked, looking worried since tracking me is exactly what he did.

You grimaced. “Its super weird that someone knows where I am at all times, but I can see how it could be useful.”

“You get used to it. Sorta.”

Lino’s phone beeped loudly. “Soups done.” He announced turning the alarm off and getting up to get the soup off the stove.

“Since your dumb ass hasn’t eaten, soup should be filling but gentle on your stomach.” He spoke from the kitchen, unable to resist chastising you yet again about not eating.

His thoughtfulness warmed you. You still weren’t used to people caring about you, but it felt nice. And after the horrible week it was especially welcome.

Absently you rubbed my chest above the soul bond where the constant pain that had been your only companion for almost five days started to dissipate the longer you were with your soul mates again.

Several noticed the movement and rubbed their own chests automatically, Hyune kissed your shoulder and hummed. “Yeah, we all felt that pain all week too.” You rested your head against his, just happy to be home again.

The soup was a nice veggie soup. Light enough for your stomach not to get upset and it was delicious. Bin made sure you had a lot of vegetables, sneaking more into your bowl when he thought you weren’t looking. Because of this you couldn’t finish your ‘one’ bowl.

“You should eat more.” Bin pushed when you announced you were done.

You rolled your eyes. “Bin I’m going to get sick if I eat more. Don’t think I didn’t notice you putting more food into my bowl several times.”

“Then its time to cuddle in the living room!” Lixie was excited.

“Clean up first.” You remind him gesturing to the table full of food and dishes. Lix had the bad habit of leaving the clean up for ‘later’, then forgetting about it entirely.

Lix deflated slightly with a pout but picked up his bowl dutifully.

You smiled and slid off Hyunes lap to get your own dishes washed and put away. There was several minutes of hustle and bustle as you all cleaned up, moving around each other like we had been doing this for years instead of weeks. With nine people the cleanup went by quickly and before you knew it everything was clean and in its proper place.

As soon as the last dish was dried and put away Lix picked you up and thew you over his shoulder.

You squealed and frantically grabbed any part of him you could as tight as you could. “Felix! Put me down!” You shout.

“Snuggles!” He sing-songed back in reply almost skipping towards the living room.

“Do not drop her, Lix! Be careful!” Channie fretted following close behind, his hands out and ready to catch you if you slipped or were dropped.

The world spun as Lix flipped you back over his shoulder and into his arms before setting you gently on something soft. You heard several gasps, including your own.

“Felix, we just got done eating!” Lino chastised.

It took a few seconds for the room to stop spinning and then you looked around you. There was a large futon taking up the living room floor with what looked like every pillow and blanket in the house gathered on top of it. Including a body pillow with Bins face on it? It made you laugh; you wanted one.

“So, since we all seem to like to cuddle on the floor, we got a futon to make it comfier.” Lix twisted his fingers, anxious as he spoke.

You made grabby hands and pouted with big eyes at him. He happily plopped onto the futon next to you and flung half his limbs over your middle, content sigh leaving him immediately.

“Hey! Don’t hog her!” Hannie whined before taking over your other side. You kissed the top of both their heads.

The others piled on the futon, flinging arms and legs over each other and getting comfortable. No one even moved to turn on the TV, just happy being in each other’s company.

And for the first time in almost 5 days there was no pain from your soul bond. This was the most relaxed and at home you have felt since you left and you couldn’t help but feel stupid for ever thinking leaving was a good idea. For being so unsure of yourself and your soul bond with the others that you thought one little fight would shatter your bond. You were all stronger than that, so your bond was just as strong. No argument would break it so easily.

One by one the others all fell asleep until it was just you and insomniac Chan awake, just listening to the others breathe. The occasional snore and snuffle, movement as they got more comfortable. The sounds of the apartment settling for the night around you.

He was on his phone and lightly scratching Min’s scalp with a free hand, and you were ghosting your fingertips up and down Lix’s and Hannie’s spines. You stared up at the ceiling, in your own world and just being in this moment right now.

You were happy to see Min curled up with everyone. If it was true that no one would really talk to him while you were gone, he needed the extra love and comfort right now. The anguish he would have felt being shunned even a little bit would have been mentally and physically painful. And it was your fault. Because you left and the argument was never resolved. They blamed Min for you leaving.

“What are you thinking about?” Chan asked lowly, putting his phone down.

You lightly shrug and hummed. “I’m glad that you are not mad at Minnie anymore. He said no one would talk to him.”

Chan looked down at the peacefully sleeping younger male, still scratching his scalp. “He’s good at helping other people with their emotions, but not so good with his own.” He mused. “It was a hard time for everyone, he was just an easy target.”

“That doesn’t mean he should have been shunned because I decided to leave. You should all be mad at me.”

“Oh, we have been. Weve been mad, worried, hurt. We filtered through them all. Now we are just relieved that you are back, and we are whole again.”

You weren’t really sure what to say to that that hadn’t already been said. Being in this soul group was just as hard as you thought it would be. What you were wrong on was your strength. Your ability to handle situations as they come. You thought you were stronger, smarter than this. You thought you could handle more. Shoulder more.

Chan must have seen the tears coming because he was already over you, gently extracting you from Lix and Han so he could pull you into his lap and let you bury your head in his chest.

You had wanted to be the backbone. The one they could always rely on. But you were breaking right now, and it was never good when backbones broke. It left the body paralyzed, and you could paralyze them. You can’t be the reason.

“Talk to me. It’s okay, I’m here.” Chan cooed rubbing my back soothingly.

“Its so hard!” You confessed, trying to keep your voice down so you didn’t wake the others.

Chan brushed the hair from my face and used the bottom of his shirt to clean your face a bit, even though fresh tears just replaced what he wiped away. “It is. And its okay if its too much right now. I’m not going anywhere, love. I’m going to be right here with you.”

“I want to be stronger for you.” You confessed wiping your nose on the back of your hand without thinking.

“You don’t have to be. You are strong when you need to be, let us be there for you when you don’t. Let us be strong for you too.”

As much as you didn’t want to add to their problems, it looked like you didn’t have a choice. At least not now. All the stress from the last week and the argument was just too much. Even though you had spent most of the week crying on and off, this was something different. More. This was actually breaking and letting it go. It was too much for you to hold onto anymore and it had to be released.

So you broke right there on Chans lap. With Chan holding you tightly and smoothing your hair, whispering comforting words that you mostly couldn’t understand, but you could feel the intention behind them. Behind the soothing tones.

It was several long minutes before you felt like you simmered down, and you felt like you could stop crying again. And you could start to make out more words that Chan was breathing into your skin.

“That’s it, my love. Just let it all out. It’s okay, I’m right here for you. We are not going anywhere.” His words rolled over you.

You lift your head to look at the front of his t-shirt, now full of your tears, snot, and probably some drool. “Oh, sorry.” You sniffed, your nose stuffed and your eyes sore and puffy.

Chan shrugged. “That’s what washing machines are for. Now, lets get you cleaned up.” He stood up, bringing you with him.

He went to their bathroom, which you hadn’t really been in, since you had your own you usually stuck to using that one. For it being shared by 8 men, the bathroom was surprisingly clean and tidy.

He lifted you onto the counter to sit before handing you a box of tissues and moving to grab a clean cloth to wipe your face with. He ran the warm water in the sink next to you, the cloth was soft, made for gentle cleaning. And with an equally soft look he wiped at your tear-stained cheeks. “Are you feeling better? You want to talk about it some more?” He asked lowly.

“I’m s-“ You started, but Chan covered your mouth with the cloth to stop you.

“Sont apologize. There is nothing to apologize for.”

“I thought I was stronger than this.” You admitted ashamed of yourself.

“Oh, sweet girl. Everyone had their limit. And your entire life was flipped upside down not long ago.”

“You’re all so strong. I wanted to be strong for you. Worthy.” Your eyes filled with fresh tears, dripping down your clean cheeks.

Chan wiped at them again and kissed your forehead. “Baby girl. You are the worthiest of any of us. Literally thrown into this when the rest of us chose this life. And I don’t think you realize how much we depend on you. Both personally and professionally. The absolute trust we have in you.” He set the cloth down and took your hands in his. “None of us are strong all the time. We just break in different ways. Han’s anxiety gets out of control. Hyune tends to lock himself in a room for days at a time. Lix gets quieter and clingier than usual. I sleep even less and get nightmares when I do manage to. We all have our ways of dealing.” He shrugged as he listed everything off.

You leaned forward and thumped your forehead against his chest. “This is all so freaking hard.”

He smoothed your hair. “You are doing amazing. Let us help when you need it. You don’t have to be strong all the time. I promise we will still love you.”

You just nod, not lifting your head.

Eventually you both end up back on the futon, laying amongst your soul mates. You drifted off with Chans fingers in your hair, lulling you and draining the last of your emotional upheaval away. You slept better than you had in days, surrounded by your soul mates and feeling complete.

🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

A/N: hi and sorry 😶‍🌫️🫥🫣 I've been gone forever. Just kind of disappeared on everyone and left you hanging. Life happened and a second job was started and I'm trying to find the swing of having a few moments to write and do stuff I used to do so please 🙏🏻 forgive me and hang in there with me, it will be worth it. I'll make sure of it!

Yet Unnamed Taglist: @fackeraccount @velvetmoonlght @hyunjinstolemyheart @vampkittenb82 @happy-jj @estella-novella @demigoddreamon-blog @tiana-maxivar @ms-flowergirl @jennibahng @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @mimimiloomeelomi @simpforskz143148 @xxeiraxx @lil-bear08 @brbwritingfanfic @jisungs-iced-americano @zofia515 @missvanjiii @malyxsoulpersonal @silentreadersthings @pixie0627

General Taglist @stellasays45 @beebee18 @weird-bookworm @velvetmoonlght

[farfallenewtz]

Metal Caretaker

Chapter 1

Summary:

Reader is hired by Charles as the caretaker of the boys after the apocalypse.

!WARNINGS!

ADULT LANGUAGE, VIOLENCE, IMPLIED NSFW

Minors DNI

18+

Chapter Two

_______________________________________

Charles knew that the band still dreamt of the apocalypse. He knew they were still dealing with the outcome of it, the loss and pain.

Many nights, William woke up screaming, remembering Dick and his final moments. His sacrifice for what he believed in. The band felt guilt... surprisingly. He knew they tried to hide it behind their usual persona's, playing the entire event off as a minor inconvenience to them. But Charles knew. He wished he could be there for them and support them in the way they needed. But he couldn't. They knew it. He knew it.

Anyone involved with Dethklok was emotionally stunted, and anyone who wasn't would be shunned by the band for being "gay" or "not metal." But Charles knew something had to be done. And it had to happen fast.

The band..... Nathan with his anger issues....Pickles with his addiction. Skwisgaar with his bottling, and William with his deflecting.

Toki....God Toki was probably the one who was hit the hardest. After he had been captured... tortured..... he changed. He started acting as a child, lost in a world he wasn't familiar with. He got hurt the worst when he found out the band played his disappearance out as unimportant, they never spoke of him....tried to forget his missing presence. Played the whole thing off while they went and partied around the world, doing anything and everything to forget Toki even existed.

Toki tried to understand. He probably would have hidden from the pain, too, if it had been one of his band mates. But it still hurt. He would watch on repeat videos of concerts with the fans yelling out Toki's name, demanding him come back. All while his bandmates ignored and deflected the situation.

Charles knew it was time to get the boys' help. They needed something or someone. Time was ticking, and emotions were starting to bubble over. He couldn't do his normal methods and force them to speak to a therapist, especially with what happened to Twinkletits. He had to take another approach.

Something they couldn't refuse or run from.

*Y/N POV*

I sighed, reading the file Charles provided to me. This was a big job. Larger than any other job I had done in the past.

Normally, I was working with children, and I excelled in providing care for children who just lost themselves in the system....to the world. This was nothing like what I was used to. Five grown men were going to be tough, especially five grown men who happened to be the Dethklok band.

Standing I walked to the door and opened to reveal Charles. He had allowed me to view the files before I had to meet the band. He rushed what normally would have been a couple week long process, but I guess if you are the manager to the most famous death metal band in the world, you can pay for just about anything to happen instantly.

Charles stood, walking to me before entering the door.

'I, uh, presume these files provided all the information needed for you Miss L/N?"

Charles stood stiffly examining my features waiting for me to reject this job and run as far as I could.

"Yes, Mr. Offendsen. These files were wonderfully put together. I assume now it is time for me to meet the band?"

Charles blinked in surprise but quickly straightened out. He nodded and straightened his posture before extending a hand.

"Of course, uh, please follow me."

We walked out of the large conference room. The large corridors with hundreds of rooms decorated with torches, creating a dark ambiance. The shadows flickering and the Klokateers tumbling around as they slave away for the band.

"You will, uh, receive a room in the main wing of Mordhaus. The same wing as the band members. You read the expectations of this job, so you will, uh, understand your placement"

I nodded,

"Yes, Sir. I understand "

He curtly nodded, and we continued on. Small talk did not seem to be of interest to Charles. He presented with a stiff, uncomfortable vibe. He appeared to be an emotionally cut-off man, too occupied with work and the band to be bothered with anything but.

We approached large doors, yelling heard from beyond them.

Charles sighed,

"My, uh, apologies for them, Miss L/N"

Klokateer's stationed outside the doors, grabbed the large handles, and pulled the large (and most likely extremely heavy) doors. Charles stepped in first, straightened his suit jacket, and calmly approached the band.

They went silent, looking at me with curiosity.

"Boys. This is Miss L/N. She will be your new caretaker"

Oh boy

All hell broke loose

_______________________________________

Thanks for reading. Give me input. May or may not continue. Depends if anyone likes this enough.

-Newt

[crowsofdarkness]

Soldiers: Chapter One

-gif not mine. credit to owners-

Pairings: The Winter Soldier a.k.a Bucky Barnes x Hydra!Female Agent

Content Warnings: language, violence, mentions of murder, angst, and smut that will include oral with both female and male receiving, hand jobs, fingering, unprotected pinv, slight choking.

Summary: Voin and Soldat were Hydra's greatest weapons. As they become close, Voin is burdened by the weight of being the one who causes Soldat his worst pain.

Authors Note: this is a reader insert however the name "Voin" will be used a lot. It's her Hydra nickname, like Soldat. I have eight chapters pre-written so once I get caught up, updates might not come out at a rapid pace. It's been a few years since I've actively written this fic so it might take me a while to remember the direction I was going and if I want it to connect to the Captain America movies or not. Tags are open!

Tags: @bookofriverr @that-blonde-girl @starfly-nicole

Soldiers Masterlist

The clock ticked loudly and slowly, another day wasted by me sitting here in this room, more so prison. They hadn’t needed me the last few days for any missions or another round of serum injections. Thankfully the last one hadn’t happened in over a week because there was no way I could handle the pain. Every time the serum was a bit stronger than the last which destroyed my body, me being holed up in my bed, cries echoing down the halls. 

It had been like this for the last five years, since I was sixteen years old. I used to be a runway, seeking solace with whoever would grant me it and I found it in Johann Schmitt. He was my savior, granting me access to his mansion along with other kids that wanted a safe place from their troubled homes. 

Or so we all thought. 

What we thought was a safe place turned out to be a prison where Schmitt experimented on us. The ones that survived were able to stay while the others, the failures, left in a body bag. 

What started as a group of ten of us slowly dwindled down to three over the last five years but for the past six months, I was the lone survivor. Whatever Schmitt injected all of us with, my body didn’t reject it like the others did. It took me so long to get used to the feeling that filled me. Super strength, super hearing, and immortality. 

I realized after the third year of being their weapon that I hadn’t changed in my looks, almost looking younger. That was when Zola informed me that the serum is what made me immortal; I could never die.  

But yet the biggest change of all still scared me to this day. 

With a snap of a finger, electricity sparked at the tips, and I watched with the same awe I did the first time it happened. It was as if I held the power of lighting in the palm of my hand. 

Which is why Schmitt and his scientist, Arnim Zola, used me as their weapon; Hydra’s weapon. Whenever they needed an enemy taken out, they sent me to take care of it. I obliged every time, not wanting to risk being kicked out of the only home I had known for the last handful of years. 

Or worse. 

“Voin.” 

I looked away from my hands over to the guard who appeared in my room, the name they had given me echoing loudly in my ears. It meant warrior in the Russian tongue. 

A smaller figure entered behind the guard while adjusting the glasses on his nose. 

“How are we doing this morning, Y/N?” 

My gaze fell away from him. “I’d be better if you didn’t inject me with more serum, Zola.” 

Arnim clicked his tongue and sat on the edge of my bed which made me pull my legs closer to my chest. 

“Luckily for you, I need you for something else today.” 

“Another mission?” I asked with a raised brow. 

“No,” he shook his head. “Come.” 

He motioned for me to follow him and not wanting to disobey his orders, I followed a few steps behind as Arnim led me down the long, dark hallways of the compound that we had recently moved to. With the current war, Schmitt never risked staying in the same place for long. 

My ears perked up when I heard some kind of commotion coming from the room down the hall. It was different then the usual sounds of war that I heard on the other end of the battle field. There was a deep voice muttering something over and over again. It was a name followed by a bunch of numbers, the voice sounded so quiet and broken. The only way I was able to hear it was because of my super hearing. 

I froze when the familiar room appeared in front of me, Zola’s laboratory. He experimented on me countless times here and the table that I would lay on had a different body on it. The dog tags on his neck indicated that he was in the army, on the opposing side. 

“What is this?” I asked Zola. 

“Nothing you need to worry about. I only need you for one thing.” 

I finally looked into the man’s eyes, the broken gaze staring up at me. When ours locked, my breath caught in my throat while my heart jumped on my throat. Whoever this man was looked absolutely breathtaking, his soft features hidden underneath the stubble on his face. I traced a thumb over the small wound on his cheek but it was then that I realized exactly what he was hooked up to. 

The tubes and i.v.’s were sticking out both of his arms, the dark blue liquid filling him. 

Fire eyes stared at Zola. “What did you do to him?” 

“James Buchanan Barnes. 32557038 T41 42 O.”

The man, James, kept repeating the same thing over and over while I glared at Zola. 

“I need you to use your powers to erase his mind.” 

I shook my head. “I can’t do that.” 

“Yes you can. I programmed your powers to do so,” Zola informed. “All you need to do is think about erasing his memories. I need you to make him forget the last twenty four hours.” 

I looked back to James and my heart shattered, knowing that whatever he went through in this room would change his life in the most drastic way. His eyes reached mine again and when the small smile pulled at his lips, I let out a low sob. 

Even with his smile, James looked out of it from Zola’s experimenting. 

“I won’t do it,” I shook my head. 

Zola looked to his left at the guard who stood next to him and nodded towards me. Within seconds, there was a gun pressed into the side of my skull, tears now falling from my eyes. 

“Do it,” Zola ordered. “Now, Voin!” 

His sudden loud voice made me jump so with shaking hands, I ghosted them over both sides of Jame’s head. I couldn’t touch him, not yet. 

The gun pressed harder into the side of my head and I cried out, the electric sparks appearing at my fingertips. 

“I’m sorry,” I muttered to James. 

He watched with fear in his eyes as I grabbed his head, his body stiffening with my touch. His own screams echoed throughout the room, piercing my soul, while the electricity zapped into his brain. 

My apologies to him were drowned as our eyes locked again, him staring at me with confusion as to why I was doing this to him. The lone tear that fell from his eyes was the final straw and I pulled my hands away into my chest, stumbling away from him. 

I did not like this feeling, so I silently prayed that this was the one and final time that Zola needed me to do this. 

[mistyresolve]

Hello🥰 do you write fics? Would you mind taking one of my request? I was thinking maybe reader was recently out of depression because of an event that happened and she meets tf141. They help her through it because they’re sacred that she’ll get back into it but they realize she’s ok and she’s on a good road. Later on in the fic reader finds Simon in the corner with tears in his eyes and all you can smell in the air is fart (Simon has farted)

Word count - 1.2K

Summary - For the last two months, Task Force 141 had grown increasingly concerned about the mental well-being and safety of Sergeant L/N. Who had become so withdrawn and stone-faced that it was nearly impossible to make them laugh, let alone crack a smile.

Tags/Warnings - Blood and Injury, Depictions of war and violence, Explicit Language, Character Death (kinda, it's an animal), Limb loss, Mentions of mental health.

A/N - i refuse to acknowledge the second half of the request

Masterlist  ❤︎ 

You went to every rehab and therapy session, but that didn’t change the fact that where there was once a furry friend with his tail wagging who was now missing. It sure as hell didn’t change the fact that the K-9 was dead. There wasn’t a body for you to bury. Not that you would have had the time. When you were medevacked out, you had lost so much blood you weren’t conscious enough to tell them about your dog still left at the crash site.   

You were bedridden for two weeks after the explosion, stuck in a state of shock for half that. You had visitors the entire duration of your hospital stay but couldn’t remember who was all there.  

It all went wrong because of a single misstep. In a matter of milliseconds, your life was changed forever. A life was lost. 

Like clockwork, your ears began to ring and fill with the sounds of metal scraping along the concrete, the sound of broken glass and settling rubble. The crackle of an engine giving up. The sounds of your screams, as you tried your best to get your leg unstuck from between the wall and an LTV. The tinny reverb of your fist slamming down on the side of the LTV in frustration. Somewhere among the wreck was your K-9, Lily. You called her her name over and over again; until your voice was raw.

She didn’t so much as whimper. 

It took you forever just to relearn how to walk. Even today, you sometimes struggle to find and maintain balance. You have yet to get used to your new life.    

“I still don’t feel very good. And I’ve been wanting to hide away a lot more,” you toe your boot at the edge of the carpet, tracing its pattern with your eyes. You were finding it increasingly difficult to look people in the eyes, afraid that they would see through your fragile exterior if you did. 

Dr.Greene leaned back in her chair, quickly jotting down the admission. Her tawny hair caught in the light of the singular lamp she had on. The room smelled like lavender; you can imagine it was a calming environment for some people. Yet, your leg twitched to get out of here. 

“Listen, I don’t think this is what I need. I don’t need months of R and R. Let me back onto the field. " You rested your elbows on your thighs, but you already knew the answer she was going to give you—the same one she gave you last week and the week before. 

“Once I tick off a few more boxes on your file, I will do just that.”

You stood up from the cushioned chair, swaying ever so slightly, and dipped your chin at her, “Thank you. I think we end things here.”

“There’s a lot we still need to unpack and discuss,” she started, levelling you with a disapproving look, “This session is going so well for you.” 

“Then we can leave it to next week’s session,” you snipped. 

Price was sitting in the lobby waiting for you, engrossed in one of the pamphlets that were left on the coffee table. The members of the 141 took turns taking you to your appointments, mostly because of your newfound fear of vehicles, which sent you into a crazed panic. 

“Done already?” he stood up, his knees crackling as he did so. 

“Get me out of here before I start screaming.” 

You leaned your weight on the railing, letting the steam from the coffee heat your face. Behind you, the door squeaked open, and if the lack of footsteps meant anything, it meant that Ghost was coming out to keep you company.

Ghost was the only one you felt like he didn’t coddle you. He didn’t try to stop you from doing the things you used to do; he didn’t try to pretend to know how you felt. 

But he was getting scared for you. 

You were standing right in front of him, and he still felt like he was seeing a ghost.  

You could see his arm resting on the banister from your peripherals, his hands clasped together. You couldn’t find the energy within you to greet him. 

“Wh’s on your mind?” he asked, picking a piece of the peeling paint off the railing and flicking it away. 

You shrugged, your vision unfocusing. 

He knocked his elbow against yours, grabbing your attention, “Whatever it is, it ain’t helping you.”  

“I wasn’t even going to bring her on the mission,” you respond, your head ducking, “I just felt so bad that I’d left her behind for the last three,” you sucked in a shuttering breath, “It’s my fault. She didn’t need to be there,” It was an admission you hadn’t voiced before, not even in your own head. 

It was all you could do to put the mug onto the railing before you collapsed, your feet sliding out from under you. The heart-wrenching sob that tore through you was devastating to Ghost. 

He knelt beside you, one hand reaching for under your arm, “Let’s get you inside. We’ve got an audience out here.” 

He ushered you back into the coffee room, guiding you to the couch. He let you cry for what seemed like hours. He didn’t say a word; he just gave you the chance to let it out. He made sure no one else came into the room and handed you a glass of water for hydration and that was all you needed. He already knew you didn’t want to hear all the sap like “She’s in a better place” or “How could you have known that was going to happen?”

It was the first time since the accident that you had cried. 

Three Months Later

Aside from Mactavish, whom you had already given a very important job, you had sat everyone down in the commons room.  

You cleared your throat about to give a big announcement, “As you guys may know, I have been allowed to rejoin the K-9 unit, “ As an instructor, given the fact that since you lost your left leg, you were unfit for combat. There was a collection of smiles around the room. “It has been a long, tiresome journey. I owe a lot of my recovery to you guys. So I thank all of you for your support and patience.”

Slowly, you backed up until you reached the front door, “Now we all know that being a part of a K-9 unit requires one thing. I would like you guys to be the first to be introduced to our newest member, Callahan,” You swung the door open. Soap knelt on the other side of the door and let go of the dog's collar, who immediately took advantage of the freedom and booked it into the room. 

He was still a juvenile and still hadn’t completely gotten rid of his puppy coat. He was still energetic and friendly when he wasn’t at work. His left ear flopped around as he hopped from person to person, too excited and overwhelmed to decide who he wanted to sniff out first. 

Callahan wasn’t like the normal K-9s. He couldn't sniff out mines and wasn’t trained to attack an assailant. He is a support animal. No, he specifically trained and curated to your needs.   

Masterlist  ❤︎ 

[leilakaro]

Floyd Leech X fem!reader

Taking a bath ૮ᐡෆ.ෆᐡ ྀིა

Nudity?(no smut!), just pure fluff, ooc (?)

English is not my first language!!

Anyway lovesick boys 🔛🔝😍

Your heels made clicking noises as you walked down the hall, determined to find your boyfriend. It was currently midterm and for the past week you tried your best to juggle watching over Grim, trying to stay out of trouble (failed) and an extrem amount of studying, safe to say you had a stressful and busy week.

While you somehow managed to survive this week there was one thing you (accidentally) neglected in order to make it out alive: your overly affectionate eel-boyfriend Floyd Leech. Normally you wouldn't have gotten away with neglecting your needy boyfriend, not even for a day, as he would have just chased you around until you gave him your undivided attention again. But apparently he already was in a foul mood, and it lead to him being even more moody than normally. According to Azul he had been unbearable, Jade and him had to suffer the consequences of his needy behaviour, and he (begged) asked you to finally go hang out with your boyfriend again.

So today you decided to clear your whole schedule, in order to hang out with him again, after all you also started to really miss him. However you knew that once he held you in his arms again, he wouldn't let you go so easily (which you honestly didn't mind).

Deep in your thoughts you finally arrived in Octavinelle and upon looking around immediately spotted Jade. As you walked over to him, he was already greeting you with his usual eerie smile.

"I see you finally arrived Prefect" he spoke in a slightly ticked off tone, which made him appear even scarier. Don't get him wrong he was used to Floyds moodiness, but not to a moody AND lovesick Floyd. After all you and Floyd weren't even together for long, barely even a month.

"Yeah sorry I was pretty busy." you sweatdropped and avoided making eye contact with Jade, scared of being on the receiving end of his wrath. "Just tell me where he is Jade."

"Floyd is currently in our room, just hurry up and go to your lovesick fool Prefect."

You hastily turned around and walked straight to their shared Room, your heart beat increased just by thinking of finally lying in his arms again. Upon arriving you knocked on the door, but the only answer you received was the splashing of water.

You shrugged and just straight up strutted into his room, you knew Floyd wouldn't mind anyway he does the same to you after all. You looked around, and immediately noticed that the room was empty, so logically you turned to the source of the splashing sound: the bathroom. You knocked and carefully opened the door, just as expected your boyfriend laid in the bathtub. However, what you didn't expect was to find him in his eel form, he sat laid back in the bathtub with half of his tail hanging out due to his eel form being too big for the bathtub. You stared at him surprised your mouth shaped in an o-form, as your cheeks flushed slightly upon seeing you handsome boyfriend. As your gaze wandered over his body up to his face, you noticed the mildly surprised look in his face that quickly changed to an excited one.

"SHRIMPY!!" He yelled excitedly as he turned his whole upper body towards you. Your heart melted at his excitement, to finally see you again. "Floyd, I'm so happy to see you again!!" You squealed equally as excited as you quickly walked over to the bathtub, with the overwhelming feeling of love in your chest. Floyd grinned widley and leaned over the bathtub to squeeze you tight. "Hold up Floyd you'll get me wet" you shrieked and quickly backed away, somehow escaping his arms. "C'mon shrimpy, let me just squeeze you,I missed you so much!" he whined, leaning even more over the bathtub, but not being able to reach you. "I don't want my school uniform to get wet Floyd" you said as you pouted, backing away even further. "C'mon who cares, it'll dry" he whined, needy to finally hold you in his arms again. You observed his already annoyed face, and let out a sigh that quickly turned into a nervous grin when an idea came into your mind. "Just wait a moment" you said and started to unbotten your blouse. Your boyfriend watched you with a surprised look on his face, that quickly turned into a wide smirk. "I hope you don't mind." you smiled at him, already knowing his answer, as you turned around to undress. You stripped down until you were only wearing your underwear, luckily you decided to put on cute set this morning: a beautiful lace bra with matching panties. Despite acting tough you gulped feeling a little nervous, he's never seen you in underwear before but in the short time of dating him he never once made you do things you were uncomfortable with so you were sure that you made the right choice with exposing your body to him. Well you still wore your underwear but still to you it was kind of a big deal, after all Floyd was your first boyfriend. You turned around, trying to push the insecurity away that started to swarm you thoughts, and looked up gazing into his face, and what you saw immediately made you forget all about your insecurity. Floyd stared at you with this extremely bright and lovesick grin, his mismatched eyes shone brightly as he looked at you taking in every beautiful and unique aspect about you. He squealed excited and opened his arms once again for you "Shrmipyy you're so cute! I just wanna squeeze you tightly forever!!! Just c' mere finally!!" You giggled and quickly walked towards him, letting yourself sink into the bathtub. Floyd immediately wrapped his arms around you and squeezed you tightly as he laid back again, now with you resting in his arms. You melted into his arms, basking in the feeling of his bare skin pressed up against yours. You let out a content sigh as you nuzzled into his chest, you felt all the stress from the week just wash off as you laid in your lovers embrace, who was excitedly and loudly chatting about his week. In this moment you couldn't be more happier and at peace.

———

Hey y'all please correct me if I made any mistakes and don't be shy to give criticism. I'm new to the whole writing thing and I'm kinda afraid that I'm writing too ooc. N e way love y'all 🫶🫶