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navybrat817 · 3 months

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Indulgence

Pairing: Dom!Bucky Barnes x Sub!Female Reader Summary: When Bucky calls, you go to him. Word Count: Over 5.7k Warnings: Explicit sexual content, unprotected vaginal sex, D/s elements, bondage, aftercare, established arrangement, insecurities, pet names, longing, possessive behavior, world building, mix of canon and non-canon, slight feels (it's me, okay?), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: I'm very excited for this new AU, lovelies! There's a deep bond between these two, but we know the road to love isn't always easy. ❤️Beta read by the amazing @whisperlullaby, but any and all mistakes are my own. And thanks to @targaryenvampireslayer for listening to me ramble about this part. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You had only been asleep for an hour when your phone went off, your eyes barely open as you reached for the device and saw the familiar name appear. “Bucky?” You answered drowsily.

“Hey, angel,” he said roughly, the pet name bringing a sleepy smile to your face. It sounded like he hadn't gotten much sleep either. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“It’s okay. I have tomorrow off,” you said, a bit more alert as you sat up. “Are you at your apartment?”

“Yeah, I got back a bit ago,” he replied, swearing under his breath. “It’s really late. I just…”

“Need me,” you finished for him, stretching your back as you stood up. If he wanted to tell you he made it home safely from his latest assignment, he would've sent you a text. You knew by now that a call meant he had to see you in person. “Give me a few minutes?”

“You sure? I understand if you’d rather go back to bed.”

“I’m not going to get any sleep until I know you will, too,” you said. It would drive you crazy. “I want to come over. Okay?”

You wondered if the call dropped since you didn't hear anything on the other end. “Okay. I’ll send a car,” he said. He never let you pay for a ride yourself. “Thank you,” he added so softly you almost missed it.

“You don't need to thank me,” you assured him, though you appreciated hearing it. “I’ll see you soon.”

“I’ll be waiting,” he promised, your heart skipping a beat before he hung up.

You brushed your teeth again before you changed out of your pajamas. The outfit didn't exactly matter. If it had, he would’ve told you what you wear. It wouldn't stay on long anyway. You sensed that this was a night for him to simply blow off some steam or release anything still pent up from his assignment.

You were more than happy to help.

“On my way.” You messaged him a few minutes later as you went out to the car.

You politely greeted the driver before gazing out the window. If anyone had told you months ago that you’d be sleeping with the former Winter Soldier, you would’ve laughed at them for saying something so crazy. You never expected to meet the man, let alone connect with him. That was your life now though. You were sleeping with Bucky Barnes.

But it wasn't that cut and dry.

“I’ll be outside.” He sent back.

You smiled to yourself as you thought about Bucky, the man searching for himself again. After years of enduring horrific pain and having no control over his actions, he felt lost once he was free. In his eyes, he would never be able to right all the wrongs of the atrocities he was forced to commit, but making amends for his past was a start. It wasn't enough though to heal the cracks from within. It couldn't stop him from plunging into the deep abyss of his mind where it once felt whole.

He had to find a way to feel semi-normal again. He needed to do something good for someone else outside of his heroic duties. And he had to do so in an environment where he could express himself openly, honestly, and authentically with a person he could trust.

That was where you came into the picture.

If Bucky called, no matter what time of day and you were available, you went to his place in a car he paid for. You stayed until you were both satisfied. A more crude way to think of it was that you helped him fuck out his frustrations and gave him a means to inflict pleasure on someone instead of hurt. It was a routine you were used to by now.

“You wanna be my angel?”

You may be his angel, but you weren't his girlfriend. He wasn't in a place to have a typical relationship. You weren't just a fuck buddy either. You were his submissive of sorts, along with his confidant and a way for him to find release and some sense of normalcy.

While he sometimes fucked you like a whore, he never once treated you like one. He cared for your well-being and checked in on you the way a boyfriend would. He kept his place stocked with your favorite snacks. You didn't sleep with anyone else and neither did he. You looked out for each other.

Unlike your last boyfriend.

As far as arrangements went, you could do much worse. There were rules set in place. Bucky was honest about his needs and helped you heal your wounds from the failure of your previous relationship. But the more time you spent with him, the more you wanted to be with him.

Was it a recipe for disaster?

The drive seemed faster than usual because before you knew it the car stopped in front of Bucky’s apartment building. Your pulse quickened when you saw the brunette standing by the door, donned in his usual leather jacket. Even from a short distance, he looked massive and heat bloomed in your core as you knew what was to come. He moved to the curb with more grace than a man his size should have, his hard blue eyes set on you through the glass before he opened the door.

His gaze practically set your heart on fire and it went full ablaze when he tenderly smiled. He was stunningly beautiful even in the dark of night. It almost hurt to look back at him.

You had it bad.

“Hey,” he said, offering you his gloved hand to help you out. You hardly ever saw him out without his vibranium hand covered. “It’s good to see you.”

“Hey,” you smiled softly, giving the driver a quick thanks before you got out. “You, too.”

Bucky's large hand moved to the small of your back as he gently led you toward the building and opened the door. He didn't like to linger outside for too long. Neither of you spoke as he guided you to his apartment on the first floor and you didn't push him to make small talk. It was a delicate arrangement and some nights didn't call for filler.

Still, you tried to get a read on his emotions. There was a stiffness to his stance, but he didn't appear upset or angry. You also didn’t spot any obvious injuries.

“Were you hurt?” You asked as he took his keys out. He was only gone for a couple of days, but you knew how dangerous the missions were.

He turned and stared at you, not at all surprised by your question since you always asked. “No, I didn’t get hurt,” he assured you, reaching up to scratch at the stubble on his chin. “But I can't exactly talk about it either. I’m sorry.”

You nodded in understanding. It was information you weren't privy to and you doubted he called tonight to talk about it anyway. He peeled back layers of himself, yet there was so much underneath that you didn't know about. You cared for him regardless.

“Bucky, you don't have to apologize for that,” you reminded him.

“I just feel bad. You can tell me about your work, but I can't always talk about mine,” he said, looking both ways before he poked his head into his apartment.

“My job isn’t as ‘exciting’ as yours,” you teased before he let you in.

Bucky had a nice place. The partially exposed brick walls paired well with the hardwood floors. Tasteful, but not extravagant. The thick curtains in the living room matched the drapes in his bedroom. Since he occasionally slept on the floor by the oversized chair, it helped to block out the sun. He didn't have much as far as decor, but he did have a piece of art that his best friend, Steve, drew hung up in the hall.

He also had a bowl that you made on the console to hold his keys, which he promptly set them in.

It meant something that he even let you into his apartment when others close to him had never been invited.

“Need anything to drink?” He asked, slipping his jacket and glove off.

He had an empty glass waiting on the kitchen island in case you did. While you indulged in a drink now and then, he wouldn't allow you to have too many. He refused to have sex with you if you were inebriated. Said it took consent away and you wouldn't be alert enough to use a safeword if necessary.

He wouldn't budge on that rule.

“No, thanks,” you answered, gazing at him.

His T-shirt strained against his biceps, one flesh and one vibranium. You could still smell his cologne from the small distance across the room, amber and cedarwood. Warm, comforting, dominating. All the things he was to you.

Not the monster he sometimes believed himself to be.

You eyed him as he poured himself a shot of whiskey, the need to soothe him coming forward when you caught a distant look in his eyes. He didn't even make a move to down his drink as he set his hands on the counter and stared off. Maybe he couldn't give you the details about what happened, but you could take care of him.

Because as much as he sometimes had to have control over you, both of you had power in your relationship.

“Bucky?” You gently called out, pulling him from his trance. “You can talk to me, even if you have to keep some things to yourself.”

His shoulders dropped as he sighed. “Three months.”

“I'm sorry?”

“Three months since we started this,” he answered.

You realized he was right when you remembered the date. It felt longer yet still brand new. “Yeah. Three great months,” you smiled.

A knot formed in your stomach when he didn't smile back. “And you still feel safe with me?” He asked, gripping the counter so hard you thought it might crumble in his hands. “You really trust that I won’t hurt you?”

Your smile slipped, the questions like a punch to the gut as you walked toward him. You stopped a foot in front of him to give him some breathing room as he made eye contact. Where had that come from? What happened to make him question that?

“Of course, I feel safe. Not only do I feel safe with you and trust you, I know that you won't hurt me. You will always take care of me,” you said with fierce determination, yet with a vulnerability you couldn't hide. “If I didn't believe that, I wouldn’t be here and I wouldn’t submit to you.”

You told him the same thing the day you two agreed on this arrangement. He wasn't your boyfriend, but he wasn't like your ex. He wouldn't just throw you away without a second thought or ignore your needs. You also had faith in him that he wouldn't harm you.

And as much as you trusted him, he trusted you that much more. If he didn't, he wouldn't have called you in the first place. That meant he still trusted himself around you.

He looked away and asked above a whisper, “Do you still think I'm a good man?”

“Yes,” you replied without hesitation, your heart aching when his jaw clenched. “Bucky, look at me, please.”

He slowly made eye contact with you, a storm swirling in his stare.

“You are a good man,” you stated, needing to reach the part of him that believed it. “And it doesn't matter how many times you ask me that, my answer isn't going to change. Ever.”

Bucky was silent, his breathing the only sound in the space. You were worried that you said the wrong thing before he pushed himself away from the counter. Instead of moving back when he approached, you stood firm, ready to brace the storm. You sometimes felt like a mouse confronted by a lion when he got close, but it sent a thrill through you. Because you meant what you said.

You trusted him and he made you feel safe.

“I just had to hear you say it,” he whispered as he cupped your face.

A fire lit within you as Bucky captured your mouth with his. There was care and tenderness beneath the hunger and you found yourself clinging to his arms as you kissed him back. No one before him had ever kissed you with such desire, such passion. It had you chasing his lips when he pulled away too soon.

“Now go to my room, get undressed, and kneel on the bed facing the headboard,” he ordered, his voice low and allowing the words to sink in just in case you had any objections. Because he was done talking and ready to play.

So were you.

It took you a moment to answer since you had to bite back a whine. “Yes, Sir,” you whispered, feeling his eyes on you as you walked to his bedroom.

You focused on keeping your breathing even as you shed your clothes, taking a moment to fold them before you set them on the chair in the corner. The only time you left your garments on the floor was if Bucky put them there or had you put on a show for him. It was his space and you respected it.

He hadn't told you how long to wait for him, but your heart thumped as you knelt on the queen sized bed. You didn’t see any toys as you glanced around, but there was water, snacks, wipes, and the soft blanket you loved waiting on the nightstand. It took a moment for you to spot that there was a blindfold and scarf on top of the blanket. Your womb clenched in anticipation, an exquisite feeling knowing your patience and obedience would reward you.

Bucky walked through the door a minute later and shut it behind him. The energy shifted completely, both of you ready for each other. As much as you wanted to lift your gaze and look behind you, you kept your eyes downcast as he approached the bed. He cupped your cheek once he was close enough and forced your eyes to meet his.

“My beautiful angel,” he whispered, brushing his thumb along your skin as you glowed from the praise. He reached for the scarf and ran his fingers across the silk as he glanced at you. “As much as I hate to cover those beautiful eyes of yours and restrain you, I want you to concentrate on my touch tonight. Just let me have you.”

A shiver rolled down your spine as you nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

“Hands behind your back,” he said, moving to secure them once you did so. The silk was soft against your skin, almost as soft as the kiss to your shoulder. After years of being restrained, you knew he felt guilty at times taking your control away. The difference was you gave yourself to him willingly. “Tell me your safewords.”

“Green is good. Yellow to pause,” you stated, testing the scarf. He never bound you too tight, but it was enough that you couldn’t slip your wrists free. “Red to stop."

“Good girl,” he praised, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. You turned your head a fraction so he could slot his lips properly over yours. Gentle, yet hot enough to melt your insides. “My good girl.”

He maneuvered you so you were in the middle of the bed and spread your knees a bit further apart. He joined you on his knees, still fully clothed. Casting your gaze down again, you bit your lip when you saw the prominent bulge in his pants. A hand came up to grasp your chin before you could stare for too long and lifted your head. If you were still wearing your panties, they would’ve dampened from his darkened gaze.

“So beautiful and all mine tonight,” he said.

“I’m yours, Sir,” you whispered, the word “always” unspoken.

“And I know you were staring,” he smirked, his fingers working the button and zipper of his jeans. His impressive cock sprang free once he pushed his underwear and pants down far enough and you wished you could lean down and swirl your tongue around the large head. “Greedy angel. Just desperate to have my cock in you.”

“Yes, Sir. Please,” you begged.

He made a show of lifting the blindfold before he slipped it over your head, your body tensing up when your world went dark. Sight was one of the senses you relied on the most. It helped you absorb most of the world around you. And now it was temporarily gone. It felt like your heart would burst from your chest as you breathed a bit heavier. But Bucky was there, softly touching your face until you relaxed.

“Breathe, angel. I’ve got you,” he whispered, drawing a gasp from you when his lips touched yours. His hands mapped your body, brushing along your breasts down to your thighs. You felt him everywhere. “Color?”

“Green,” you whispered as a hand moved around your back and forced you to arch. He was careful not to hurt your arms. “Please.”

Your head fell back with a moan as his lips closed around your nipple. You could practically feel that he looked up at you as he gently suckled. A wave of arousal crashed through you as he pinched the other. No one had ever lavished your body with such attention the way Bucky did.

“I love seeing you like this,” he murmured against the swell of your breast. “Helpless. Trembling. Needy.”

You didn't mean to let such a wanton moan escape, but he made you feel needed. He made you feel wanted. It was a beautiful thing to surrender to him.

“And I love that I'm the one you trust to take care of you.”

“I trust you with my life, Sir,” you moaned.

And your heart, even though he had the power to break it.

Your chest suddenly felt colder when Bucky pulled his mouth and hand away and you shook from the loss of his heat. His vibranium hand touched your torso to remind you he was close when he shifted closer to you on the bed. You gasped when he dragged his hand down and you were helpless to do anything but feel when it slid between your legs.

“You're doing so well for me,” he said, his teeth grazing your neck as his fingers spread your sopping folds. He teased you, letting you soak his metal fingers as you mewled. He lightly bit you again when he replaced his fingers with his cock, sliding along your slit, but not pushing inside you just yet. “You want me inside you? You need me to fuck you, don't you? Tell me.”

Your cheeks flamed as you whined. “I need you to fuck me, Sir,” you said, trying to widen your thighs to take him in more.

“I will. I'm going to give you everything you need,” he rumbled, gripping your hips with strong and capable hands to keep you still. “And you’re going to let me ruin your pretty little pussy with my cock.”

You panted with want at his possessiveness. Filthy words were something you never thought you’d hear from someone associated with The Avengers and they kicked your body into overdrive. You ached to have him split you open. “Ruin me, Sir.”

In one swift move he lifted you, pulled you into his lap, and buried himself to the hilt. Your mouth fell open as you let out a cry, every inch of his cock stretching and making itself at home in your welcoming cunt. You couldn't brace yourself on his shoulders with your hands behind your back. You couldn't see the ecstasy in his eyes as he let you adjust to his size, but you didn't have to. Not with the way he dug his fingers in and groaned against your shoulder.

He took you to heaven when he was inside you.

“Color,” he said against your skin, thrusting his hips up once.

“Green,” you moaned, reminding yourself to stay still when you wanted him to move. “So green.”

“Good girl,” he whispered, gently kissing up to your ear. “Keep being good while I bounce you up and down on my cock.”

Your eyes fluttered behind the blindfold as he pulled you up and slammed you back down on his cock. Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth and your heart beat frantically in your chest. It was difficult to string thoughts together, but they all went back to him and how good he made you feel. How he made you feel beautiful.

Flaws and all.

“It’s like your cunt was made for me, angel. Practically crying all over my cock,” his voice was smoky as sounds of pleasure tumbling from your lips. The next moan was softer when he slid a hand up to your neck, resting it there as the other kept your hips flush against his. “You deserve to feel good because you are good. So fucking good.”

Your lower lip trembled as a sob worked its way to your throat, “Thank you, Sir,” you whimpered before he squeezed.

“And I. Deserve. You.” He punctuated each word with a deep thrust. You didn’t have to see his face to know the fury that surfaced. “My angel. Mine.”

It overwhelmed you as he bounced you in his lap, sinking you down onto him again and again. His thrusts were almost unforgiving, but the hand on your throat didn’t tighten anymore. He couldn’t hurt you. He wouldn’t hurt you.

“I’m your angel, Sir,” you moaned as he reduced you to a needy wet mess.

“I wanna tear you apart,” he growled against your lips. “And put you back together so you still feel me when you fucking breathe.”

“Tear me apart, Sir,” you gasped, a plea for him to use you more. Your thighs hit his as he thrust up and all you could do was take it. He touched places inside you no one else could reach, physically and emotionally, and you never wanted it to stop. “Please!”

“Tell me you need me to come inside you and I’ll let you come,” he ordered, the hand on your neck squeezing a fraction. “Say it.”

“Come inside me, Sir,” you begged.

“Bucky,” he breathed against your lips. “Say. My. Name.”

Your next breath was shaky. He always had you call him “Sir” on nights like this. Why was this different?

Your orgasm began to crest, but you couldn’t let go until you gave him what he wanted. And he’d give you what you needed. “Come inside me, Bucky,” you exhaled. “Please.”

He swiped his thumb along your pulse with a deep groan, his cock still driving up into you. “I will after you come,” he promised, his tongue sliding past your parted lips and pulling away all too quickly. “C’mon, angel. Come for me. Show me you’re mine.”

The sob you tampered down earlier resuraced, wrenched from your throat as you came. Your release continued, practically leaking around his cock as tears slid out beneath the blindfold. You were beyond rational thought as pleasure spiraled through you, vaguely aware that he thrust through it to chase his own end.

“Good. Fucking. Girl.” He grunted, pulsing hotly inside you as he filled you up.

Both of you panted as you continued to drift from euphoria, your heart still beating wildly. You were warm, but your body shivered as he lifted you up. Your combined release slid from your aching cunt once he slipped free. You floated and wanted him to catch you, but you couldn’t put your arms around him.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered when you let out a whimper. He made quick work of untying your wrists so he could lay you down properly and wipe away the tears still on your cheeks. “I’m going to take the blindfold off.”

Your eyes stayed shut for a moment when Bucky removed it, but you cracked them open when you wanted to see him. Your vision slowly cleared as you blinked a few times, your mind still floating as he came into view. He called you an angel, but he was the one who had a halo around his head at the moment. A gorgeous angel who had unrightfully had his wings taken away. He smiled like he wanted to eat you alive, but his touch was nothing short of tender when he brought his hand to your face.

“So fucking beautiful. You did so well for me. Fuck, I just wanna clean you with my tongue and fill you up all over again,” he praised as you clenched around nothing and whined. As hot as it sounded, you needed a bit of rest after that. “Not tonight,” he smiled, keeping a hand on you as he grabbed a wipe.

A reason he had everything close by was because you craved his touch after sex. If he ever got too far away, you whimpered and reached for him. It made you feel needy, but he assured you that he needed to keep touching you just as badly.

It just wasn’t fair that he looked so composed.

Bucky continued to shower you with soft praise as he cleaned you up. It didn’t take him long before he wrapped the soft blanket around you, trembles moved through your entire body as he put his arms around you, too. He took aftercare very seriously. It was a way for you to feel cared for and nurtured while allowing your body and brain to return back to normal. He never wanted you to experience negativity or sadness after any sort of session, especially an intense one.

You were aware that he moved you closer in his arms and rested his cheek against the top of your head, but you weren't ready to speak yet. It always took you a minute to come back to yourself and he was never one to rush or push you. If relaxing in his embrace was what it took to return to the world, he was more than content to keep you in his arms.

At least, that was what he told you.

You opened your eyes after a few minutes. Your heartbeat was back to a steady rhythm, but you still weren't ready to move yet. You were warm and safe. Bucky was there to take care of you. But what about him?

Had you taken care of him?

Bucky had a faint smile on his face when you lifted your head, his shoulders relaxed and eyes soft. Like he was at ease with everything around him. “Welcome back, angel,” he whispered, peppering your face with light kisses.

“Hey,” you smiled tiredly, your voice a little hoarse as you brought a hand to his hair, happy that you could touch him again. Judging by the way his eyes slipped shut for a moment before he opened them, he missed your touch, too.

“You okay?”

“I am and so are you. You're okay.” It wasn't a question. Whatever haunted him earlier was gone.

For now.

He didn't tear his gaze away as he reached for the water behind him, which you gratefully accepted as he put it to your lips. “You amaze me, you know? You just came back to yourself, but you're talking about me being okay.”

“Isn’t that why you call me?” You asked with a small frown, taking another large sip. “To help you?”

His brows furrowed. “It’s not just about me. This is about you, too.”

You took one more drink before you could say something stupid. Yes, this was about you, too. How he didn't push too far. How he’d hold you after sex and talk with you because those things were important to you. How he made you feel cherished and wanted for a short while.

You just didn't want to admit that he was a constant in your mind. But would it be so wrong if you did? Even if he’d never date you, didn't he have a right to know how you felt?

Communication was key and you would have to eventually tell him if those feelings persisted.

“It’s about both of us and I just want you to be okay,” is what you said because it was the truth.

He set the water aside and cupped your cheek, his calloused hand a little cool, but nice. You almost wished you could hide from his knowing eyes, but he didn’t press you for more. “I am now,” he said, swallowing a little. “I just couldn't let you see me tonight.”

Worry filled his eyes like he may have upset you, but you shook your head. You had seen his scars, but he was never obligated to show you his body. “You're letting me see you now,” you said, scooting closer as he brought your wrist to his mouth to kiss it.

You thought about how the evening played out. How he asked if you thought he was a good man. How he demanded that you speak his name. And how he said he deserved you. Either something happened while he was gone or someone said or did something to get to him. You wished you knew what it was since he didn’t expand on what had been eating away at him before.

“And before you ask, you didn't hurt me,” you told him, knowing the question was coming. You appreciated that he cared enough to check.

He pressed a kiss to your temple. “Good because I’d never stop hating myself if I did,” he admitted, looking at the ceiling for a moment. “You don't deserve that kind of pain.”

Your heart swelled, not letting any past hurt enter your mind. He made you believe that you deserved better than what you had. It was a good feeling.

“Neither do you. And that's a reason why safewords exist. Both of us can use them,” you reminded him. Like aftercare, he took the words seriously. He listened to you. And if he ever got overwhelmed, he had every right to stop it the same way you did. “So no self-hate tonight.”

He huffed in mock annoyance. “Yes, ma’am. And speaking of self-hate,” he teased, tilting his head to look your way. “I really don’t want to go to therapy tomorrow.”

There was a forced calmness in his blue eyes as you assessed him. “You still don’t like your therapist,” you stated.

One of the conditions of his pardon was that he had to go to therapy. It was meant to help him process his thoughts and past experiences in order to work through them. Though he didn’t tell you what went on in his sessions as it was none of your business, he didn’t keep it a secret from you that the doctor was far from his favorite person.

You wondered if Bucky told her about you.

“What’s there to like?” He asked.

You smiled a little, knowing better than to poke the bear and say she probably wasn't that bad. “Well, being able to speak to someone who provides non-judgemental and empathetic support is one thing.”

“That’s why I like talking to you,” he said, the affection in his voice making your heart skip a beat.

“Oh,” you said, not sure what else to say.

Moments like that made you think he cared. No, that wasn’t right. You knew he cared about you. But hearing things like that made you feel like there was hope for more and he wasn’t ready for that.

Hope was both a wonderful and dangerous thing.

“Have you met anyone else?” He asked suddenly, moving his hand to your back.

It was a question Bucky asked every time he had you over. He said from the start if there was another man in your life that you’d rather be with, someone who could offer you more, he’d step aside. There wasn't anyone else. You didn't want anyone else.

And while it was admirable that he would walk away if that ever changed, your heart ached at the thought that he’d easily let you go. Because at the end of the day he wasn't ready for a relationship. Not yet.

Even if he was, who said he wanted one with you?

“No, I haven't met anyone,” you said, feeling the warm breath of his exhale against your skin as his hand moved up and down your back. It relaxed you more and you found yourself fighting a yawn. “Have you?”

“No,” he chuckled. The crinkles by his eyes made him look carefree. “Not since you saved me.”

You shut your eyes, afraid that tears would well up if you looked at him. “I didn't save you. All I did was buy you a coffee one afternoon,” you whispered dismissively.

That day changed your life.

“I’m going to let that slide since you're sleepy, but I’m going to remind you when you're wide awake that you did a lot more than that,” he spoke. He held you a little tighter when you stayed quiet. You were more tired than you thought. “Get some sleep, angel. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You let your eyes shut at his command. “Thank you for taking care of me, Bucky.”

“Thank you for taking a chance on me.”

There was something else unspoken in the air, but a tender kiss to your forehead stopped you from reading too deeply into it.

In the morning, he’d send you back to your place after he made you breakfast. He’d text you later to make sure you were okay. He would continue to check in and you would do your best not to fall for him more. Because one day he wouldn't need you anymore. You didn't know when that day would come, but tonight you could indulge in the fantasy that Bucky wanted you to be his girl.

Permanently.

I just want these two happy and together. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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simp4wom3n · 3 months

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Hidden in Plain Sight

Requested: Yes/No - request

Pairing: Jenna Ortega x Reader

Summary: Despite dating Jenna for the past two years, and even getting married, no one knew until your most recent appearance on Jimmy Fallon ~ Word Count: 1.5k ~ Warnings: None just pure fluff

A/N: Hello there!! I haven't written a Jenna fic in so long as it was so fun to write I stg. Please feel free to give feedback, but I love you all, and I hope you enjoy <3

The cheers from the audience echoed through the backstage corridors as you made your way towards the cheers from your dressing room. With your recent clean sweep of the Grammys, winning every award you were nominated for, numerous talk shows and interviewers begged you for your time. Whilst the prospect of going on almost every talk show excited you beyond belief, you couldn't help but be more excited for this one.

Jimmy Fallon.

You had been on his show once before, just before the Grammys when all of your nominations were flying in, and to say you enjoyed it would be an understatement. That being said, as you made your way to the curtains, waiting for your name to be announced, you felt the familiar buzz of your phone in your jacket pocket. Quickly grabbing it, a smile instantly grew on your lips as you saw who had texted you.

Jenna: "Good luck my love!"

Jenna: "You're going to absolutely kill it."

Jenna: "Also I can't wait to see your outfit again, you look soooooo good."

Your smile grew larger as you read her messages. Unbeknownst to the public, you and Jenna had been dating for over 2 years and even married for over a month. Ever since you had gotten engaged, the rules you two had set for your relationship in public had loosened.

You started going in public more, holding hands when walking down the street, and even occasionally sharing gentle kisses. Despite doing all of this, whilst the speculation around your relationship grew exponentially, neither of you had ever confirmed anything. The most the public had to go off were pictures of you holding hands and attending dinners.

If anything, you were shocked they hadn't figured it out yet.

Before you can reply to Jenna, you hear Jimmy start to introduce you. Swiftly turning your phone off and throwing it back in your pocket, you fix your posture and take a deep breath before you hear your cue.

"Please welcome the talented and always entertaining, Y/n L/n!"

With his words, the curtains before you open, and you take confident steps onto the brightly lit stage. The crowd roars with applause as you look at them with a warm smile, waving at them before your eyes meet a familiar face.

Looking at you with a matching smile and her bottom lip gently caught between her teeth is Jenna. Winking at her, you redirect your attention to Jimmy, who helps you get to your seat.

Taking a seat in the chair, the cheers from the crowd continue as you duck your face slightly, overwhelmed by the welcome, whilst Jimmy's contagious laugh can be heard in the background.

With the noise finally settling down, you send a grateful look to the audience before finally facing Jimmy. "Y/n! Welcome back. I feel like we saw each other just the other day." You chuckle slightly as you nod along, "Yeah, well, it has only been a few weeks.".

"But so much has happened since I last saw you. I mean, you now have five Grammys!" The crowd once again erupted with cheers as your cheeks ached with the amount you were smiling. "I do, yeah. It still doesn't feel real at all, like... I don't know. I'm still speechless about the whole thing, to be honest."

Jimmy laughs at your words with his familiar smile. "I mean, you took down the likes of Billie Eilish and Olivia Rodrigo. That's insane!" "I know! Trust me, I know. They're my idols," you respond with a giggle. The warmth that Jimmy always brought to his interviews made this so much easier for you, especially with Jenna watching you from the audience.

That being said, Jimmy's face changed to something more curious as he reached behind him to grab a board that you figured would have a photo on it. "Speaking of idols, It seems you have been getting close to someone I'm sure most of us see as an idol."

Oh, you knew where this was going.

Turning the board around, Jimmy reveals several paparazzi photos of you and Jenna outside a restaurant. The two of you can be seen holding hands and hugging on a memorable cold New York night, your anniversary, actually. A myriad of "oo's" fall from the crowd as you briefly cast a glance at Jenna, her cheeks possessing a new rosy hue. With a slight giggle, you looked back at Jimmy, who looked at you with a smirk.

"So... Tell me if I'm wrong, but it looks like someone is dating Jenna Ortega." Licking your lips in thought, the idea of revealing that she was actually your wife grew more potent by the second. With a final glance at Jenna, you smile at Jimmy with a mischievous grin. "She's my wife, actually."

Jimmy laughs, thinking it was a joke, before seeing the look on your face, to which his eyes go wide. "Wait, actually?!" It was your turn to laugh as the crowd grew louder at your revelation. "Yeah, we got married about a month ago," you spoke through your fit of laughter.

Jimmy stood up, screaming, "Oh my god!" as the crowd joined. Looking back towards your wife, who remained hidden in the audience, your eyes met as she looked at you adoringly, her cheeks redder than ever.

"You're not joking, right?" Jimmy asks as he finally moves to sit down again, out of breath from his excited rampage. "No. No, I'm not joking," you laugh at Jimmy's face, "My wife is actually in the crowd right now." pointing your hand towards the love of your life, the smile that adorns your face could easily be compared to the one you wore on your wedding day.

You finally got to show off your gorgeous wife and couldn't be happier.

Everyone gasps as they spot Jenna, and a light quickly moves in her direction. Embracing it like she does everything, she stands up and waves at everyone before blowing you a kiss. "What the... come down here, oh my god." You hear Jimmy yell excitedly as he gestures for her to walk down onto the stage.

As she starts to make her way down the steps, you get up from your chair and approach her. Offering her your arm as you meet her, she kisses your cheek softly as you lead her onto the stage, where Jimmy awaits in shock. The sound of the crowd was deafening as the two of you sat down on the chairs, your hands intertwined as Jimmy sat down behind his desk.

Laughing at the flabbergasted look on his face, his attempts to refocus don't seem to be doing much. "In shock?" you ask him with a smile, to which he quickly nods. Regaining some of his composure, he picks up the photos and points them back towards the crowd. "So then, in this photo, how long had you guys been dating?"

"Funny story actually," you start with a smile, "That was actually us going out for the first time after we got married.". The crowd 'aw'd as Jimmy smiled warmly at the two of you. "The best part is that you can actually see our rings in the photo," Jenna chimes in, which makes Jimmy quickly turn the photo around and look as closely as he can.

You laughed as his jaw dropped, "You're telling me no one noticed?". Turning the board back around so the cameras could zoom in on it, you shrugged your shoulders with a smirk, "We were just as surprised, trust me."

"Can we see the rings?". Looking at Jenna, she pulled your wedding ring from her pocket and handed it to you. As you slipped it back onto your finger, she held her hand out where her wedding and engagement ring could be seen. The crowd cheered as you matched her and held your hand out.

"I know it's early, but this has to be the best moment of 2024." Jimmy gasps as he looks at your hands. Both you and Jenna simultaneously laugh and blush at his comment, your eyes looking towards your wife in adoration.

"Well, thank you so much, Y/n and Jenna, for coming today. This has been absolutely amazing." Jimmy rounds up the interview, presumably running out of time with the unexpected addition of your wife. "Thank you so much for having us." With that, you and Jenna stand up and start making your way back to the curtains, waving to the audience as their cheers once again deafened you.

When the two of you finally made it backstage again, you had no time to think before Jenna jumped on you and tightly wrapped her arms around your neck. You giggled as you wrapped your arms around her waist and buried your face in her neck. "I can't believe we just did that," she mumbled happily into your shoulder.

Pulling back from the embrace slightly, you look into her eyes before kissing her lips tenderly. "I don't know how I managed to marry you, but I did, and there is no way I'm not showing you off," you spoke softly as you pulled away from her kiss.

Her cheeks ignited fiery red as she smiled warmly at you before pulling you in for another kiss, this time for passion. You had completely forgotten that you were still backstage as she took over your senses. Hesitantly pulling back out of breath, she mumbles against your lips.

"Let's go home."

Tag-list:@nitchxhdc @emeraldevan @looseheartedlady @the-night-owl-blr @badassjaguar @txmxav @oh-thats-cute @blckrwidow @cacciatricediartemide @flaiire1805 @rainbow-love4ever @fall-08 @simp4nat @natashadeservedmore @livingforwaddams @alexkolax @ssinfulprayers @wifeyjennaortega @thenextdawn @wol-fica

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x fem reader #jenna ortega imagine #jenna x reader #jenna x y/n #simp4wom3n

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buckymorelikefuckme · 1 year

Text

a shore thing

bucky barnes x fem reader

i decided to write it hehe

a/n: any and all mistakes are my own! feedback is encouraged & welcomed :) xoxo

Bucky calls your name for the umpteenth time, beyond exasperated as you stumble away, giggling uncontrollably as you evade capture. He's hardly tipsy anymore, having decided to nurse a single beer for the last couple hours when he noticed how heavy you were drinking. Somebody needed to be responsible, he told himself. Even Steve was letting loose more than usual. But, to be fair, they were all on vacation.

“Guys, the taxis are here,” Nat announces, yet again, leaning heavily against one of said vehicles. “Bucky, we gotta go.”

“I’m trying my best here,” he replies. Although, that's not entirely true. “Someone should've cut her off ages ago.”

“Boooooo,” you heckle as you run past him.

Bucky sighs heavily. “Fine. You can stay here by yourself.”

You pause abruptly, almost tripping over your own feet, but you catch yourself before you face-plant into the gravel. “You're leaving me?” you ask in a pitiful tone.

“Yup.” Bucky turns and takes a few steps away, hearing you whine in protest. “Have fun.”

“Noooo, wait!”

Your uneven steps come closer and closer to Bucky and as soon as he gauges you're within arm’s reach he spins around with a smirk. It makes you lurch to a stop, gasping as it dawns on you.

“Betrayal!” you shout, pointing an accusatory finger at him. You try to take off running again, but Bucky is quicker. You're swooped up into a fireman’s carry before you even register your feet leaving the ground. “Ack! Put me down, you absolute caveman!”

Sam sticks his head out of the taxi. “There's room in this one.”

Bucky steers his steps that way, feeling your tiny fists beating his back the whole way, and plops you into the open seat. You let out a cute oof that he ignores as he tries to latch the seatbelt. You're a squirmy little shit though, and he soon finds that the only way he’ll be able to get the group back to the hotel is to enter the taxi himself and pull you into his lap. He quickly shuts the door and finally latches the seatbelt around the both of you, telling the driver to go.

Sam shakes his head in amusement in the seat beside Bucky. “You're seriously the only one who can rally that firecracker of a woman.”

“Hey!” you object with a pout. “I'm drunkies, not deaf. I can still hear you.”

You and Sam begin bickering and Bucky rolls his eyes, but he doesn't do anything to interfere. He's too busy trying to think about literally anything else other than the ginormous mistake he made by placing you on his lap. You, the person he's been in love with for far too long now, who has absolutely no clue of his feelings and sends constant mixed signals.

There are days he's sure you feel the same with the way you look at him, but then the next day you go out of your way to make sure he knows the two of you are just friends. He's losing his fucking mind. He doesn't know if he should tell you how he feels or try to move on.

You're wiggling suddenly, body jostling atop Bucky’s and his mind is forced to return to the present, only to see you and Sam slap-fighting like children.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” he addresses the driver, “I swear they're actually adults when they're not three sheets to the wind.”

The driver waves off the apology with a chuckle. The fight ends with you pinching Sam’s nipple, his cry of pain and outrage making you giggle wildly and throw your head back onto Bucky’s shoulder. After you catch your breath you sit up and wiggle some more until you're sitting sideways and can look at Bucky. Your eyes are glassy and your smile is sly and a touch wonky, and Bucky still thinks you're the cutest, sexiest woman he's ever known.

“Why don't you like me for real?”

The taxi is uncomfortably quiet. Bucky blinks a few times, shifting his gaze to Sam, who’s suddenly very interested in the passing streetlights and palm trees outside the window. Traitor, Bucky thinks. With no help from his supposed friend, Bucky looks back to you.

He clears his throat. “I do like you.”

“No,” you huff, rolling your eyes, “I mean like, like me like me. Like, more.”

Bucky is silent again, his mind whirling with a million questions–the biggest one being what the fuck?

“I'm not sure what you mean,” he says carefully. He hopes playing dumb will work in deterring the conversation, but he should've known better.

“You always just joke about it, but you never mean it. Always get my hopes up.”

“What are you talking about?” he blurts, truly flabbergasted, but he cuts you off before you can reply. “No, don't answer that. You're drunk, okay? You don't know what you're saying.”

You poke his cheek roughly, pouting. “I just want you to like me back, Buck. Wanna kiss you whenever I want.”

Bucky swallows thickly, unable to take his eyes away from yours as you lean in closer.

“Don't you wanna kiss me?” you question, reaching up you play with the hairs at the nape of his neck. “Can I kiss you, Bucky?”

Your lips graze his, a feather-light touch, and he exhales shakily. Of fucking course he wants to kiss you. He's wanted nothing else for the last year. But he doesn't want it like this. He says your name, voice low in warning. You either don't hear him or you don't care.

Bucky’s eyes flutter closed as you continue pressing light kisses to his lips, the corner of his mouth, his chin, along his jaw. He fists his hands where they rest on either side of you, praying for the will to remain strong.

“You're drunk,” he repeats, a last ditch effort in getting you to stop, but even he can hear how weak the protest is.

“I still know what I want, what I feel.” You brush your nose against his. “I want you.”

Sam coughs pointedly beside both of you. “We’re here.”

Bucky is quick to unlatch the seatbelt and help you out of the car. Nat walks over and grabs your hand, Steve walking leisurely behind her.

“Let's go to bed, please,” she begs as she drags you with her.

You begin whining again, reminding Bucky of your inebriated state. He shouldn't have let you kiss him. You're not going to remember any of this tomorrow. Guilt punches him in the gut. He's so fucking weak when it comes to you.

“I wanna sleep with Bucky,” you complain as you resist.

Natasha squawks. “What?!” Her eyes are as wide as saucers, flicking back and forth from you and Bucky. Sam fails to hide his snort.

“His bed is bigger,” you explain, “You take up too much space.”

Natasha gasps. “How dare you!”

You turn to Bucky with pleading eyes. “Bucky, please let me sleep with you.”

“I… I'm not sure that's a good idea,” he replies.

You stomp your foot. “Pleeeease?” Your pout is lethal. “I promise I won't take up too much space.”

Sam puts his hand over Nat’s mouth before she can start yelling, doing his best to frogmarch her into the hotel so they don't cause a disturbance. Steve follows languidly, which is the sign that he's quickly coming down from his drunken high and will likely crash the moment his head hits the pillow.

“You should just sleep in your room with Nat,” Bucky advises.

“I don't wanna sleep with her,” you say, stepping back into Bucky’s space. One of your hands grasps his shirt, the other trailing across his chest. He fights the shiver threatening to run down his spine. “I wanna cuddle you.”

You look up at him through your lashes and Bucky knows he's lost. He sighs. You grin and giggle, grabbing his hand to lead him inside the hotel. He's quiet the whole ride up in the elevator. Your head is resting on his shoulder, humming along to whatever song is playing in your head. You’re still holding his hand.

When you're both standing in front of his room door, Bucky pauses, about to try one last time to get you to go two rooms down to the one you're supposed to be sharing with Nat, but you snatch the key card out of his hand and open the door before a word can leave his mouth. He doesn't trust you to be alone right now, and with Sam babysitting Nat and Steve probably snoring away in his own room, Bucky accepts his fate. He enters the room, closing the door with resignation.

“Ugh, god, these heels are the worst,” you grumble as you trip your way over to sit on the bed. You fight with the small buckle before making a noise of complaint. “Buckyyy…”

“Jesus,” he mutters, huffing as he walks to you.

He kneels in front of you and carefully takes your shoes off. You hum, pleased, once your feet are free, wiggling your toes.

“Why do you wear them if you hate them so much?” he mumbles.

“Because they make my legs and ass look fantastic, duh.”

Well. That's fair, Bucky supposes.

“Can you unzip me now?”

Fuck. Bucky chokes on nothing.

“Unzip you? What are you planning on sleeping in? Your pajamas are in your room,” he points out.

“Can't I borrow one of your shirts?” you ask, blinking innocent eyes up at him.

He doesn't trust it one bit.

“Please, Bucky? My dress won't be comfortable.”

Your pout makes yet another appearance. He doesn't bother pointing out that you wouldn't have this problem if you went to your own room. You'd ignore him anyway.

“Fine,” he grumbles. He rifles through his bag to find a shirt for you, grabbing pajamas for himself while he's at it. “I'll go change in the bathroom.”

He turns to head that way, but you stop him.

“My dress,” you remind him, spinning around and pointing at the zip.

Bucky's pretty sure you could do this by yourself, but he's just ready to go to bed at this point, so he’ll do whatever he has to to get there. He tries not to put too much thought into the action, but his mind can't help but wander, imagining unzipping your dress with different intentions. The more skin that is revealed to him, the more his breathing picks up. He takes note that you didn't wear a bra with this dress, which makes him realize you'll be wearing his shirt with only your underwear beneath it. He curses mentally.

He steps away like he's been burned once the zipper reaches the bottom. “There you go,” he says, voice gruff.

He doesn't wait for your response, quickly escaping into the bathroom before anything else can be asked of him. It doesn't take Bucky long to change his clothes, but he still lingers in the small space to gather his wits, taking his time as he brushes his teeth, and even splashes some cold water on his face. He stares at himself in the mirror for a moment.

“She’ll forget all of this by morning,” he assures himself.

He's not fond of the way that statement makes his stomach twist.

When he leaves the bathroom, he finds your dress pooled on the floor in the same spot you stood as he unzipped it. You're standing next to the bed, fidgeting with the hem of Bucky’s shirt that hangs off your small frame. He raises a quizzical brow.

“I don't know which side you prefer,” you say, unsure.

Bucky feels himself soften at your expression. “I'm good either way.”

You dart for the left side, lifting the comforter and sheets and snuggling underneath them. Bucky's lips twitch, but he resists smiling.

“C’mon, Buck, I want cuddles,” you entice, patting the spot beside you exaggeratedly.

He only hesitates for a split second. It's late and exhaustion is settling in his bones. He’ll worry about consequences in the morning.

You waste no time in invading his space once he's in the bed. You nudge his arm until he lifts it, worming your way under it and placing your head on his chest, your own arm slung over his waist. Bucky goes still, holding his breath until you get comfortable. Slowly, he lets his arm fall across your back, closing his eyes with a heavy sigh.

“Bucky?” you whisper.

“Hm?”

You nuzzle into his pec. “Love you.”

Bucky's eyes snap open then. His heart begins hammering in his chest and he prays that you're close enough to sleep to not notice.

“Goodnight,” he rasps after a minute passes by.

Your only reply is a light snore. Bucky feels his heart crack in his chest.

The next morning, Bucky lies awake, staring at the ceiling. He's not sure exactly how much sleep he got, but it wasn't a lot. You only got clingier as you slept, practically wrapping your whole body around him.

Bucky is a weak, weak man.

Sunlight begins peeking through the curtains, eventually finding its way to the bed and across your closed eyes. A frown forms between your brows and he almost smoothes it with his thumb. The only reason he stops himself is because you groan and turn away before he can.

“Turn it off,” you croak.

“The sun?” he retorts with a laugh.

“Yes,” you reply derisively. “Kick its ass for waking me up.”

Bucky smiles to himself. “Whatever you want, my love.”

It feels like the room freezes in time after the endearment escapes him. With a jolt, you sit up and face him. Bucky can't read your expression, but that's mostly because he's doing his best to look anywhere but your face.

“Seriously?” you gripe. “You're still going to poke fun about that kind of shit even after what I said last night?”

That gets his attention pretty easily. He meets your gaze and hates the dejected look on your face.

“What–what are you talking about?” he questions, thrown.

Your chin wobbles slightly before you scoff, whipping the comforter off your body as you attempt to leave the bed, but Bucky sits up and grabs your wrist to stop you.

“Wait–”

“Let go of me,” you demand, refusing to look at him.

“Not until you tell me what the fuck is going on,” he replies firmly.

You turn to him with a glare. “You're still joking about my feelings for you, even though I made it perfectly clear how I felt last night.”

“Felt? You… you don't feel the same anymore?” He's grasping for straws here. “I thought–I mean, I didn't think you were serious. You were drunk, I…”

“It doesn't matter if I still feel the same or not,” you reply, the fight leaving your body.

“Yes, it does!” he exclaims. “God, of course it fucking matters. If you have feelings for me, I need to know.”

“Have I not made it abundantly clear already?!” you retort. “If you're that fucking dense, then here you go: I'm fucking in love with you, you big, stupid, gigantic ass–”

He cuts you off by dragging your body to his and kissing you. You make a sound of shock, but you don't push him away, so he deepens the kiss, tilting his head and flicking his tongue at the seam of your lips. You open for him with a gasp, your tongue meeting his and making you both moan. He pulls away, chest heaving.

“We're both stupid,” he declares. “I'm in love with you too. I thought you were the one not taking it seriously.”

Your dazed expression begins clearing and realization sets in. “Oh my god,” you mumble as you yank him back into a kiss that has him reeling.

“Do you know,” he starts between kisses, “how fucking hard it was—to be a gentleman last night?”

You giggle. “I was hoping you wouldn't be a gentleman.”

Bucky curses, manhandling you until you're flat on your back. “That can be arranged.”

“Promises, promises,” you goad, biting your lip.

“Exactly,” he replies, lips tugging into a smirk.

Needless to say, the two of you have to put up with merciless teasing for the rest of the trip… But it's worth it.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #avengers fic #marvel fic #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader

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pumpkin-writes · 6 months

Text

i'm sorry

jax teller x reader

warnings: mature language, some mildly steamy smoochin', mostly just soft, fluffy, sappy jax. you know, what the show robbed us of.

word count: 1.1k

notes: as requested by @thisreadswhatever

i hope you enjoy, love! i had so much fun writing this 🤭 thank you again so much for your request & positive feedback on my other jax stuff ❤️

you had hardly slept. you tossed and you turned, you stared at the ceiling, you stared at the empty space in the bed that jax normally slept in. the two of you fought for hours the previous night, and ended up going to bed angry. you never went to bed angry at each other, and really you two didn't fight. but with all of the stress of the club, jax hadn't been himself lately, and he unfortunately took it out on you after dinner last night. what started as an admittedly snide comment from you about dirty dishes or something irrelevantly domestic like that turned into a screaming match between the two of you. you spewed things like "arrogant" and "mama's boy" at him, you finally broke down and told him how much you hated that he never talked to you about club stuff. and when he erupted back, he called you things like "nosey" and "ungrateful" all things that stung when you heard them, but what got you is when he called you a bitch. it wasn't what you were used to from him by any means, he typically adorned you with pet names and practically worshipped the ground you walked on.

jax knew he fucked up, the second the word left his lips. things with the club had really been getting to him, and suddenly, he felt like his world was falling apart. all his knew was the sons of anarchy, it was his legacy. but since he'd found and read his father's journals, he wasn't so sure of that anymore. he wasn't sure of most things, and he hated the uncertainty. he hated how on edge he'd been lately, working late, sometimes not even getting a chance to see you before you were off to bed. but he always came in and slipped under the covers with you and wrapped you up in his arms. god, he wished that's how last night went. just when he thought he'd been lucky enough to spend the evening with you having dinner, he had to go and fuck it up. he didn't even realize how fired up he'd gotten and how out of hand your argument got until he saw tears instantly swell up in your eyes in reaction to him calling you a bitch.

he took the liberty of sleeping on the couch, not knowing where to begin when it came to his apology. just as you barely slept, neither did jax. instead, he stared at the ceiling until the sun came up, just thinking about how he could make this up to you. was he really willing to lose you over an argument? an argument that shouldn't have even happened, he thought, but either way, the answer was absolutely not. by the time the birds started to chirp outside, he couldn't wait anymore. if he was going to do this, it had to be now, while everything he wanted to say was still fresh in his brain.

the sound of the bedroom door creaking open behind you made you go stiff. should you just act like you're asleep? before you could even decide, you felt the familiar feeling of the duvet lifting and jax sneaking under it. you bit your lip, unsure if you should just turn around and say something; tell him to leave, or tell him how upset you still were. but you stayed frozen on your side, waiting for his next move. that's when you felt him scooting closer in toward you, the warmth of his body radiating against your back. with a final, swift movement, he'd wrapped his arms around you and pulled your body flush against his.

"good morningggg," his voice was low, yet still possessed a sing-song tone that made the corner of your lips start to curl up into a smile. his hand started to work it's way up, then so gently down your arm, and jax found himself nuzzled into the crook of your neck. "i know you're awake." he mumbled into your skin before pressing a kiss to your neck, sending shivers down your spine, another kiss following not a moment after. "i'm sorry."

you sighed and finally gave up. you couldn't just sit there and pretend to sleep while he was trying so hard to get you to face him. although you still felt conflicted about all that had been said the night before, you hated not talking to him. not sleeping beside him. and he knew just how to make you weak, peppering your neck and shoulder with more and more kisses. it was kind of nice to have him so desperate for your attention and forgiveness. maybe you'd let him keep trying to prove how sorry he really was.

you shifted a bit in his grip before fluttering your eyes open to meet his baby blues. how are you supposed to stay mad at at face like that? but you kept it together, following through on making him work for it. "are you now?" the tone of your voice was so very obviously teasing him, and he knew it once he saw the cocky smirk you sported. if you wanted to play this game, he was down. "i am so," he began, all while he snaked his arms around your waist entirely, grabbing a proper hold of you. "so, so," his head dipped down and your foreheads met in the middle, "so sorry." seeing jax this way made you gush on the inside. you were starting to feel bad, almost, and you didn't see yourself playing hard to get much longer.

you were practically stuck in jax's arms, he'd been holding onto you pretty firmly and didn't intend on letting you go until he made things right with you. you'd been eye to eye, faces only inches from one another and all you could think about was his lips. his soft, beautiful, generous lips that you just couldn't take your eyes off of. and jax noticed, of course he did. he knew you wanted to kiss him, or him to kiss you, and hell, your wish was his command; no need to say it out loud.

without another second of hesitation, jax leaned into you and pushed his lips to yours hungrily. it's all you need to give in and accept his apology, returning his energy and moving in synchronization. you felt him softly bite your bottom lip, and it incites a soft moan to escape from your lip. you feel jax smile against your lips before pulling back from you, leaving you longing for him to keep going. "i knew i could make it up to you." his words made you roll your eyes, and all you could say in response was what you'd already been thinking all morning. "maybe you should be sorry more often."

#jax teller #jax teller one shot #jax teller imagine #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy imagine #sons of anarchy one shot #jax teller x reader #mine

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pensat-i-fet · 10 months

Text

All yours (Rúben Dias x Reader)

**So I got a couple of requests to write about being on holiday with Rúben after he posted some holiday content. And a more specific one involved this sort of fwb situation with some jealousy in the mix that inspired me a lot. And this is what I came up with. I always appreciate any feedback but this time it'd be interesting to know your thoughts since the tone and vibe (not the topic itself completely) of this is similar to a Rúben series I need to continue working on. So it'd be amazing to know how you guys feel about it. Enjoy reading!! ❤️**

Word count: 2947

Masterlist

Wattpad

"You're coming with us to our holiday, right?", asked Rúben when you got out of the shower.

"I don't know".

"What do you mean you don't know? You've travelled with us for the last 5 years. Do you have better plans?"

"I just…I don't know if it's the best idea now that…you know".

He got closer to you, smirking. "I might be having memory problems. Now that what?"

"You'll have other problems if you don't remove that annoying smug grin from your ugly face", you said, rolling your eyes and making him laugh.

When you tried to walk towards your closet, he stopped you wrapping his arms around your waist.

"Do you mean", he said, leaving kisses on your neck, "now that we stay in each other's beds instead of the guest rooms during our sleepovers? Because I only see that as a bigger reason for you to be there. I'm sure we'll find a way to have some alone time".

"But this is just something casual, Rúben. You’ve said it many times. What if I cockblock you? Or worse…you cockblock me!"

You noticed his arms holding you tighter for a heartbeat before he let go of you.

"We'll be fine. Please come with us, the boys always want you there. I want you there. You know that".

There was something in his tone that made you stop. Did he sound a bit…sad? But why would he? It’s just the summer holidays.

“Where are you going anyway? Same as always?”

“No, we’re going to Miami”.

He looked at your reaction, knowing you’d wanted to visit Miami for years. That was actually one of the reasons why he suggested that place as an option in the first place.

“I mean…”.

“I’ll send you the info when I finish booking everything”.

“I didn’t say yes, Rúben”.

“You said it with your eyes”.

“Oh yeah? What are my eyes saying now?”, you asked, glaring at him. “Stop smirking! You’re so annoying!”

"We are going to have so much fun!"

"Nothing is going to happen there. No one can know about this…arrangement. Or we'll never hear the end of it".

"Try and be a bit more quiet, then".

He was still laughing when the pillow hit his face and you took that opportunity to go get dressed. And to start planning what to pack for Miami.

"I'm so hungover", you said when your little group of friends was waiting at the airport for your flight to the US.

"You sit with Rúben, then. He's probably still hungover too from the celebrations".

"As long as he doesn't puke again…".

"You're all so funny", said Rúben, rolling his eyes. He wasn't hungover but really tired after such a long season.

"You take the window seat. I'll be sleeping most of the time, anyway".

"Ok".

Trying to get comfortable, you started to notice it was a bit chilly on the plane.

"I need my jacket and your brother has my bag. I'll be right back", you said, trying to get up but Rúben stopped you.

"Just wear my hoodie", he took it off and put it in your lap, but instead of taking it you just stared at it. "What?"

"It's just that, wearing your clothes…that’s like couple stuff. And we’re not a couple".

"It's something you've done your entire life. Don't try to make it weird just because we are sleeping together now".

"Rúben!", your eyes widened and you also noticed the man sitting to your left staring at you two.

But he just shrugged and put his headphones on, ready to watch a movie. So you took the hoodie and put it on before trying to fall asleep quickly. But seeing Rúben sitting next to you made it harder to sleep. This whole friends with benefits thing was fun. I mean, it was Rúben you got to sleep with. But it was also…weird. You had always been friends and how were you supposed to go back to just friends once one of you found a partner? And why did that idea feel so wrong right now?

"Can't sleep?", he asked when he looked at you and saw you staring at his movie.

You shook your head, sighing.

"Come here".

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. Come closer so you can cuddle me. You'll fall asleep quicker".

"You think so highly of yourself, Dias…".

But you did as he said, moving closer so you could put your arms around his waist and place your head on his chest. His arm was around your shoulder and his hand kept caressing the top of your arm. And even if you were overanalyzing a gesture that was so normal for you two, in just a couple of minutes, you were already sleeping.

Sleeping on the plane meant you were ready to enjoy the rest of the day once you landed in Miami. Everyone else just wanted to go to the beach and rest but you were itching to go out to explore the city.

"Come on!! It's so early. Let's go find somewhere to eat and then we can walk around the area".

"I'll go with you".

When Rúben spoke, everyone looked at him and you started to worry about them suspecting something. He was always volunteering to be with you, no matter what you suggested.

"Cool, Rúben can go with you and be your bodyguard for tonight".

"Bodyguard?"

"We aren't going to let you run around all alone in a foreign country…and at night".

"You don't even let me run around my hometown", you muttered, rolling your eyes at how overprotective they all were.

"You are like a little sister to us. We have to protect you. So off you go with big bro Rúben".

Shaking your head, you turned to leave the hotel, noticing Rúben right behind you.

For the first couple of minutes, you two walked in silence. You were too busy staring at your surroundings to say anything. And then you noticed Rúben putting his arm around your shoulders.

"What are you doing?"

"There are some weird guys looking at you".

"Thank you, big brother. What would I do without your protection?"

Rúben didn't find your sarcasm funny and when you were walking past an alley a couple of seconds later, he made you both walk inside it so he could push you against the wall and kiss you.

"I'm not your brother".

"You aren't my boyfriend either".

He shook his head, looking like he wanted to say more but not doing it. "Let's keep walking".

When you got back to the hotel, a part of you was hoping he would ask you to go to his room. Or that he would follow you to yours but he only wished you a goodnight and left you outside of the lift.

That's where you found him and the rest of the gang the next morning.

"Ready for today?"

"What's the plan?", you asked, hoping they didn't just plan on staying at the beach all day.

"Breakfast, beach, sightseeing and night out".

"I love that plan", you said, clapping your hands. "Maybe we can go shopping too".

After you had some breakfast, you moved to the private area of the beach so you could relax on the sunbeds for a couple of hours.

"I need sunscreen on my back!", you said, lifting your arm that held the bottle until someone grabbed it. You didn't even know who did, but when you placed your head on the sunbed, you saw Rúben sitting a couple of sunbeds away from you. So it wasn't him.

You closed your eyes, trying to relax. But anyone who bothered looking at Rúben's face would have noticed the tension in his features. He knew neither his brother nor his friends were interested in you in that way. They really meant it when they said you were like a sister to them. But still, seeing another man's hands on your body filled him with rage. He wanted to be the one putting the cream on your back and shoulders, leaving kisses all over your body while he applied it. But he had to look from afar. And it ruined his mood for the whole day.

By the time you made it to the hotel, you only had 30 minutes to get ready. But you already planned some cute outfits for the nights out so you ended up getting ready in less than half an hour.

"You're wearing that?"

His friend's words made Rúben look up.

"We are not doing this, boys. It's just a dress".

"One of us by your side the whole time, yeah", they joked.

"You'll have to catch me first!", you laughed, running outside of the hotel and making all your friends get up quickly to follow you.

You were so busy looking behind you that you didn't notice someone walking in front of you until you bumped into him.

"Oh my God! Sorry".

"It's ok", he said, holding your arm to steady you. "Are you ok? Were you running away from someone?"

His concern made you smile. And the fact that he was cute didn't hurt. "My friends but as a joke. They are alright…and right there".

"And they are all men".

"Yeah", you laughed. "But they act like little boys most of the time".

When they got to where you, and a stranger, were, they didn't know what to do. It was always hilarious to you how they didn't understand the concept of you talking to other men. You were one of the lads to them, but in moments like that, they realized you weren't a lad.

"We were going to grab a drink at a bar, do you want to come with us?"

"Sure", the guy, Sean, said. And you introduced him to everyone before making your way to the bar.

To say that Rúben wasn't happy would be an understatement. He just kept staring at you and Sean, while you were laughing and dancing. It should be him doing that with you, not a random dude whose last name you didn't even know.

"Another drink? How obvious".

"What are you muttering, grumpy?", asked his brother, who knew more than you and Rúben thought.

"Nothing…but I mean, what's that? The third drink he buys for her? We all know what he's trying to do".

"We are here to avoid that, stop worrying. No one is hurting her while we are around".

"I don't know. Maybe she wants it. Maybe she wants him".

Everyone could hear the bitterness in Rúben's voice.

"When she should want you, right?"

Rúben cleared his throat, not wanting to look at his brother after being so obvious.

"Do you think I don't know about you two?"

That made him look. "How would you…".

"You're not as discreet as you think you are but I get you wanted to keep it a secret so whatever", he shrugged. "What I didn't know was that there was more".

"More?"

"You couldn't be more jealous, Rúben".

"It's just something casual. But she's my friend…".

"No, she's my friend. That's why I'm careful to look her way every once in a while just in case she needs me. You are just looking at him and fantasizing about breaking his nose, probably".

Rúben shook his head and left to go to the bathroom. He just needed to splash some cold water on his face to hopefully get his common sense back. You were just friends with benefits. He didn't get to be jealous.

"Hey, bro".

Of course, it had to be Sean who he found in the bathroom. "Hey! Having a good time?"

"Do you have to ask?", he laughed, and Rúben didn't like that laugh at all. "Your friend is so hot. Is she good in bed too? She has to be, right?"

"How would I know? She's just my friend".

"Right…if my group of friends had a hot chick like her in it, we would all be just friends. Of course".

"What are you insinuating about her?".

Sean didn't realise how much bigger than him Rúben was until they were almost face to face.

"The way you all joke, the way she dresses…and she just invited me to buy her drinks before she even asked my name. Do you want me to believe you haven't all at least tried it once? I know girls like her".

Rúben pushed Sean against the wall, lowering his voice to try to not make a scene. But making sure his voice was menacing enough for Sean to get the message that he could break his nose, like his brother suggested, very easily.

"You don't know her at all. And what you're going to do is go out and excuse yourself and leave. Or you'll regret every word you've said about her…and all the ones you thought but didn't say out loud. Am I clear?"

Sean swallowed and nodded. And Rúben moved back just enough to allow him to leave the bathroom but to also take note of how strong Rúben really was.

He took a couple of deep breaths before going out and when he did, he couldn't believe what he saw. Not only was Sean still there, one of his hands was on your waist and he was whispering things in your ear.

Without saying a word to anyone, he walked towards you two and when Sean saw him, he just smiled.

"You don't want to make a scene here, do you?"

"What are you talking about?", you asked, looking from Sean to Rúben, confused about the whole situation.

"We are leaving", said Rúben, grabbing your hand so you can follow him.

"What? No! Why would I leave? I'm chatting with Sean".

"The guy who calls you a whore the moment you're not around? No, you are coming with me".

"He called her a what?"

All of your friends were now surrounding Sean. But you didn't care about any of them, tired of their overprotective nature towards you. So you let go of Rúben's hand and got out of the bar.

Rúben followed you, worried about your reaction.

"Wait! Stop walking. You're not even going in the right direction!"

"Maybe I'm going in the right direction because I'm going as far away from you as possible!"

"You didn't hear what he said about you. It was disgusting".

"If I want to be with a disgusting guy, it's my problem!"

"Now you're being ridiculous. Should we let you be taken advantage of?"

You finally stopped walking and turned to look at Rúben.

"What do you want from me? You are confusing me so much that my head is fucking spinning! First, you want us to just be fuck buddies and nothing else. Then you act all jealous whenever I talk to a guy but you keep on going out with girls so…how does that work? Do I get to be jealous too? Or it's only you who can?"

Rúben didn't know what to say. Because he was the first one confused by what he felt.

"What is it, Rúben? Because I don't know. And now you do what? Defend my honour? As if you were my boyfriend".

"You didn't hear what he said about you", he repeated, still mad at Sean's words.

"Let me guess. He thinks I'm fucking all of you, right? Like literally every man I meet that finds out I have a group of friends with only men in it", when you saw Rúben's face, you let out a sad laugh. "He was going to be a one-night stand, Rúben. Not my future husband. Who cares what he thinks about me?"

"I do! Hearing him say those things about you…".

"I said it the other day and I'll say it again. Rúben, you aren't my boyfriend. Stop acting like you are".

He swore under his breath when you started to walk again.

"Let's change that, then".

"Change what?"

"Let me be your boyfriend".

This time you stopped walking but feared turning to face him. Those were the words you had been dying to hear since the day you kissed while watching a movie months ago. You expected him to tell you he felt the same way about you. That he had been in love with you for years too. But he just proposed the stupid friends with benefits arrangement. And you said yes because at least you got to have him in some way. But it wasn't enough. You kept pushing him, telling him you weren’t a couple when he acted like your boyfriend. You wanted him to react. And he finally did.

"Don't just say it because you are angry at a dude calling me names, Rúben. You don't get to play with my feelings like that".

"I'm not playing. I thought I was scared of losing you as a friend but…I was just scared of facing my feelings. Of telling you how I felt and seeing you rejecting me".

"How do you feel?"

"I love you. And I know it's not the first time I tell you that but …I don't mean love as a friend. I mean, that too, of course. But I'm also in love with you. And I have been for a while"

He didn't know how to interpret the tears in your eyes. But a hug was always a good option, right?

"I love you too. But I need all of you, Rúben. Not just the little bits I've been getting these past months. It’s all or nothing".

"You have it all. All of it. I'm all yours. And I need you to be mine".

"I already am".

#ruben dias #ruben dias imagine #ruben dias one shot #ruben dias x reader #ruben dias x y/n #ruben dias fluff #ruben dias angst #footballer imagine #footballer one shot #footballer x reader #footballer x y/n #footballer fluff #footballer angst

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fallinforerling · 11 months

Note

can we get a 13 and 16 angst to fluff with jude please x

in the wrong - jb

A/N: screaming, crying, throwing up. this one has a bit of a double POV that jumps from jude’s to reader’s. i love to write little angst to fluff thingies, especially with jude. send your request! remember that feedback it’s always welcomed. love you xx

ೃ⁀➷ jude’s taglist

ೃ⁀➷ jude’s masterlist

ೃ⁀➷ masterlist

: ̗̀➛ requested phrases

13. “why are you calling me? it's two a.m.”

16. “i'm angry but i still love you”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You couldn’t believe your eyes. Was this a sick joke or something?

Your eyes followed the movements of Sasha, the “friend” that crashed from time to time on your reunions, always cheeky and happy to be there. But you knew better. She was into Jude; it was very evident, but your boyfriend didn’t seem to agree with you. Every time you brought up the way she would always find an excuse to be near him, whisper into his ear, or just touch him for no apparent reason, he would say you were seeing things, that there was nothing to worry about. That you were crazy. And, of course, she didn’t care that you, his girlfriend, were there to witness it all.

You were furious.

“Babe?” You called, wanting to get Jude to your side as fast as possible before Sasha could get her hands on his chest or something like that. “Can you come here for a second?”

Jude knows you. He noticed the way you were avoiding any type of chatter, with arms crossed and no sight of even a tiny smile on your face. You were mad, that was evident. But he chose to ignore it since it happened every time Sasha was around. He didn’t get it. Yeah, maybe you didn’t like her as much, but he wasn’t going to avoid her just because of that.

“What’s up?” He seemed a bit apprehensive, since your eyes were sparkling the kind of way they always did when your blood was boiling.

“Can we head home? I’m tired.”

“Now?” He turned back to see all his friends still chatting and drinking. “Can we stay a bit longer? The night’s just starting, babe.”

You took a deep breath, not wanting to seem like a difficult person. But God, you just wanted to leave.

“Is it because of Sasha? Babe, come on. She’s just friendly, we’ve been over this before.”

Oh?

“Friendly?” That word alone made you forget about being easy. He brought it up. “Jude, she flirts with you all the time. You can’t tell me you don’t notice it!” Your eyes went directly to her, who was on the other corner, looking at both of you with a tiny smirk, like she was enjoying the effect she had on you. “She’s waiting for the right opportunity to make a move. And yes, I don’t tolerate her. So, can we please go?”

He stood there, looking at you with a frown for a few seconds before sighing.

“I don’t see it because there’s nothing to see. She’s a friend, and if you want to leave just because you can’t stand a person, then you’re free to leave…” He regretted saying that as soon as it came out of his mouth, but it was too late. You were already doing that thing with your mouth when you were about to explode.

Your whole face went from angry to serious, obviously offended. He just basically kicked you out of the party, choosing a practical stranger who loved to flirt with him over you?

“Oh! So I am the problem… Okay, fine.” You turned, and before he could say anything to make you stay, you were out the house.

He was dumbfounded. He didn’t expected that reaction, since you were the calmest person to ever exist. He followed outside, trying to catch you, but the only thing he saw were your car’s lights before it hit the curve.

Fuck.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

As soon as you were inside your car, you muted your phone. There was no way in hell you were answering anyone’s texts right now, especially not Jude’s.

How dare he? Implying that you were not only imagining things, but also telling you to just leave if you weren’t happy around Sasha. He was the biggest asshole in the whole world. You hated crying, but it was impossible not to when you thought about it all. Why did he act like he didn’t get it? How many times did you reassured him when he felt insecure? Why wasn’t he doing the same for you?

A slight sob escaped your mouth, and you felt grateful that at least you were near home. Crying while driving was a bad combination. Biting your lip, you speeded a bit more, wanting to get out of the car as soon as possible. All you could think about was that your boyfriend didn’t even care.

When you finally made it inside, you weren’t letting yourself just fall into bed and cry yourself to sleep, even though that was all that you wanted. That was out of the question. So you headed to the bathroom, taking all your accessories and clothes off while walking.

“Fucking prick.” You murmured, throwing a high heel against the floor without actual force, just wanting to let some of the anger out.

You just couldn’t get your head around how the night ended. He was such an…

“Stop! Stop thinking about him, it’s not worth it.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Jude was growing more and more worried as the minutes passed. He tried calling and texting, but you weren’t picking up your phone. It’s been almost an hour, and even if he tried to, there was no actual way of getting a car to take him to your place immediately. He had to wait at least another thirty minutes, which was hell. He deserved to be left behind after what he said to you, but he couldn’t stand not knowing where you were and if you were okay.

“Please pick up, please, please.” He murmured like a prayer, pacing back and forth. “I’m such a prick…” It was the twentieth call he made just this past ten minutes, and you were still not picking up.

When he was about to make attempt number twenty one, the door to the backyard opened. Jude turned a bit, just in time to see Sasha’s grin while approaching him. He didn’t have time for this.

“What’s wrong, Jude? Your little girlfriend abandoned you, didn’t she?” Jude stared at her with an arched eyebrow, not feeling the little joking tone she was using while referring to you. “Ah, come on! Don’t let her ruin your night, we can still have fun…” One of her hands brushed against his arm, making him slightly uncomfortable with the way her eyes were looking at him.

Why was she staring at him like that…? Oh…

“Yeah, no… That’s not happening.” He made the space between them wider, still holding the phone to his ear. The realization that what you said was absolutely true hit him like a truck. Yeah, he was the fucking prick. “I don’t know what told you I’d ever cheat on my girl, but whatever it was, nonexistent. Now, excuse me, but I have to get to her house before she thinks I’ll ever waste my time on you or anyone else.”

Sasha stood there, with an open mouth and an offended expression for a long time, even after Jude left her all alone in the backyard. Just as he was about to leave the house, his phone rang. His heart made a little twist, hopeful about you calling him back, but what he saw was the best second option of the night. Thank God.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

It was around two a.m. when your phone started to ring. You groaned, regretting unmuting it at the last minute. Why did it had to rang just when you were finally falling asleep? Your eyelids felt so heavy that you could barely see the phone screen as you answered, already knowing that it might be Jude.

“Hello?”

“Are you home?” Jude’s voice was a bit agitated.

Your eyebrows furrowed, annoyed by the interruption and a little bit by his voice.

“Where else would I be, Jude?” You paused, checking the time. “Besides, why are you calling me? It’s two a.m.”

“Because there’s no way I’ll go to bed knowing my girl is mad at me.” He sighed. “You were right, as always… Can you open the door? I left my key at home.”

“What?” That woke you up.

You got out of bed as fast as you could, going straight to the living room so you could look outside. And yes, there he was, looking up at you, like he was waiting to see you peeking out of that exact window.

“So?” He shouted, smiling a bit despite the absence of reaction from your side.

Without a word, you went directly to the door. While opening, you felt your heart a bit heavier on your chest. He came. Once the door was open, you both stared at each other with big eyes; he seemed scared of standing there, and you were feeling a mixture of happiness and desire to punch him in the face.

“I’m sorry.” Was the first thing that fell out of his lips, making you smirk a bit. “She was, indeed, flirting with me. And I didn’t want you to leave, I don’t know why I said that.” When you didn’t reply, he got closer. “Can I come in?”

“What do you think?” You didn’t move from the door, still looking at him with a frown.

“I think you want to punch me in the face.” Despite that statement, he held you by the waist. “I’ll make it up to you.”

You didn’t know the exact way he was offering to make it up, but you didn’t actually care. Because he was there, and he was saying he was sorry. He did care.

“Okay, you can come in.” When you gave him enough space to do so, he held you fully, embracing you with his arms until you couldn’t breathe properly.

“You’re still angry, aren’t you?”

“Of course I’m angry, Jude… But I still love you… Sadly for me.” The last thing you said was in a joking way, trying to get on his nerves as much as he did a few hours ago. Payback and all that.

“Hey! Not fair! I’m an idiot, yes… But never stop loving me for that.” His face was buried in your neck, so you could feel the vibrations of his voice and the warmth of his breath on your skin. “Never stop loving me, please.” This time, it sounded a bit like begging.

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes.

“Never…” And somehow, yours sounded like begging as well.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚⋆·˚ ༘ * JUDE’S TAGLIST

#jude bellingham #footballer blurb #footballer fanfiction #footballer fic #footballer fics #footballfics #jude bellingham imagine #jude #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham fic #jude x you #jude x reader #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham fluff #jude bellingham angst #jude bellingham one shot #mimi answers #mimi's requests

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justabigassnerd · 2 years

Text

More Than Friends

Pairing - Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Mitchell!reader

Word count - 4,147

Warnings - swearing, passing out, mentions of not eating/sleeping, mutual pining (dumbass edition)

Summary - y/n and Bradley have had crushes on each other since forever. Only problem? They're both dumbasses

A/N - not sorry about a new Rooster fic. Y'all don't stop me, y'all get whatever the fuck I decide to write. Yes, reader's callsign is Pegasus again I think I'm gonna stick with that for fics where reader is an aviator unless y'all really hate it. Anyway, I'll stop rambling now. As per y'all, please send in requests, feedback and enjoy!!

It was a typical Friday night at the Hard Deck. It was packed with navy personnel grouped with their friends as they drank and laughed. You and your friends in Dagger Squad were huddled in your usual corner, hogging the pool table to play amongst each other. You were playing against Bob as the others chatted and watched the game.

“I’m getting another round.” You hear Rooster announce to the group mere seconds after the all too familiar bell rang, signalling that someone was going to be paying a round for every person present in the bar right now. You glance up at Rooster from where you were lining up your shot at the pool table, seeing him coming over to you.

“Hey Rooster.” You smile, straightening up after taking your shot and watching as Bob moves to take his turn.

“Hey y/n/n. I’m getting us a round thanks to that lovely gentleman over there. Is there anything in particular you want?” Rooster asks, smiling at you as he stops just in front of you. You were fighting to keep the blush from your face at Rooster’s proximity, you had harboured feelings for him not long after the two of you hit high school, and you kept it secret for the sake of your friendship. You two were best friends, as close as can be and you’d not ever dare ruin the security of your friendship by admitting your feelings. You knew there was no way he liked you back anyway, so you were content with just staying friends. When your dad Maverick pulled Rooster’s papers from the naval academy, your friendship was threatened but after some explanation and pleading on your part, Rooster finally understood that you had nothing to do with what your dad did and so allowed you back into his life. After all, you were his best friend. That close call with your friendship was enough to scare you off ever admitting your feelings, almost losing him was terrifying, you never wanted to experience it again.

“You know what I like, Bradshaw.” You laugh, shaking your head as you turn back to the game when you catch Bob gesturing to the table with a small yet smug smile, impressed with himself. Rooster rolls his eyes just before you turn away and then crosses to the bar to ask Penny for more drinks. As Rooster walks away, Hangman crosses to you.

“You know Bradshaw totally likes you right?” He says once he reaches you, resting his arm on your shoulder.

“We’re friends Seresin. I’d be offended if he didn’t like me.” You scoff, shrugging his arm off your shoulder and getting ready to take your next shot.

“You know what I mean.” Hangman teases, poking you in the side just as you take your shot, making you squirm and mess up your shot.

“You’re so infuriating.” You groan as you stand up straight.

“And you love it.” He fires back with his signature cocky smirk, laughing as you shake your head.

“Unfortunately I do, because you’re one of my best friends, much like Rooster is.” You emphasise, watching as Bob takes his next shot.

“You know I hate to admit it, but I agree with Hangman. Rooster definitely has feelings for you. And it’s no secret you like him too.” Phoenix cuts in, crossing to you and taking the pool cue from your hand, taking your go for you.

“I don’t see any evidence that he feels like that.” You reply, glancing across the crowded bar to where Rooster was still patiently waiting for his drinks, striking up a conversation with Penny as she serves drinks.

“Trust me, he’s unbearable whenever you come up in conversation. If anyone mentions anything he could remotely relate to you he’ll be talking about you for hours. Also, he looks at you like you hung the moon. He has it bad for you.” Payback joins the conversation now, an empty beer bottle in his grip as he waves his hands around. Gradually more and more of Dagger Squad join the conversation, insisting that Rooster likes you.

“What’s got you guys all riled up?” Rooster asks, coming over with a tray of drinks for everyone.

“Hangman here was insisting he’s a better pool player than me.” You lie smoothly, smiling over at your friend who places the tray down on the nearby table, waiting for everyone to take theirs before he handed you your own drink.

“Well you’ll just have to prove him wrong now, won’t you?” He grins as you take a sip from your drink. You nod wordlessly and take the pool cue Phoenix was holding while Hangman takes the cue from Bob. Phoenix gives you a quick wink as you roll your eyes. Rooster sets up the game as you glare across the table at Hangman, knowing that if you looked at Rooster you’d be reduced to a blushing mess. His muscles flexed perfectly as he adjusted everything, and his sun-kissed skin was glowing under the lights of the Hard Deck. When he finished setting the game, he straightened and smiled at the two of you.

“May the best player win.”

As the two of you began playing, Rooster grabbed his beer and stood alongside Bob, making small talk as they observe the game.

“So, when are you going to admit your feelings for Pegasus?” Bob asks subtly, making Rooster choke on his drink. Since joining Dagger Squad, Bob had broken out of his shell a bit, being more comfortable with his team as time passed. When Rooster looked over to his friend, he saw a cheeky grin on his face.

“We’re just friends Bob. Besides, there’s no way she likes me like that.” Rooster says once he’s recovered from his coughing fit.

“Rooster, she definitely has feelings for you. It’s so easy to see.” Bob insists, grabbing a handful of peanuts and eating them. Rooster glanced over at where you were fist-pumping, bragging as you potted yet another ball while Hangman insisted it was a lucky shot and a gentle smile graced his face. Rooster had come close many times to admitting how he felt for you, but he always held himself back, reminding himself that he'd rather keep you as his best friend than lose you because he admitted his feelings.

When you finished your game of pool, beating Hangman within the next couple of turns, you decided to head home, not wanting to stay up too late. Rooster caught sight of you bidding goodbye to everyone and weaving your way in and out of patrons to get out of the bar.

“Where do you think you’re going, Mitchell?” He calls as he gets out of the bar, smiling as you turn to face him.

“Heading home, Bradshaw. You heard me in there.” You laugh as you face him.

“By yourself? In the dark?” He asks worriedly, glancing around at how dark it had gotten while you were all in the bar. He knew you were tough; you could fend for yourself much better than most, but it didn’t stop him from being terrified when you did things like walk home alone in the dark. When you nodded your head at his words, he instantly dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out the keys to his Bronco.

“Nope, come on I’ll give you a lift. I was planning on heading home soon anyway.” He says, gesturing towards his car. You sighed jokingly but followed him to his car, climbing in the passenger seat as he got behind the wheel. The drive to your house was quiet, the sounds of the radio preventing silence as Rooster drove. You kept stealing glances over at Rooster, admiring the way his eyes shone under the streetlights. When you reached your house, Rooster stopped the car and turned to you.

“See you tomorrow. Good night y/n/n.” He says with a soft smile, making you lean towards him, enveloping him in a hug which he reciprocates without hesitation. As you climb out of the car and walk up the path to your front door, he keeps an eye on you, his body feeling as if it was on fire from the hug you had just given him.

The next time the team tried to get Rooster to admit his feelings was when you and the team decided to hold a movie night at your place. You had settled on one end of the sofa and Fanboy all but shoved Rooster to sit next to you as the rest of Dagger Squad took up every available seat, with some actively choosing to sit on the floor just so Rooster would end up sat next to you. When everyone settled down with snacks and takeaway pizza you played the movie. As the movie plays, Rooster ends up stretching his right arm across the back of the sofa. You weren’t aware of him moving his arm, but your subconscious caused you to lean closer to him as you tug the blanket you had wrapped around you closer. Neither you or Rooster were aware of your movements, you were so used to each other’s presence and being close wasn’t a foreign feeling for the two of you. Now filled with food and getting warmth from both Rooster’s close proximity and the blanket, you found it harder to keep your eyes open as the movie played. The lights were off and the only light in the room was coming from your tv, so you doubted anyone was going to notice if you dozed for a while. Your eyes closed for but a moment and the next thing you knew, you were slumping against Rooster’s side, his arm now wrapped securely around you.

“Sorry.” You mumble, moving to pull away but Rooster tightens his grip ever so slightly.

“You’re okay, you can sleep.” He whispers reassuringly, softly running his hand up and down your arm, lulling you back to sleep within seconds. Rooster tried to keep his gaze on the movie, but he couldn’t help looking down at you every so often, smiling when you snuggled closer to him. He loved the way you fit perfectly in his arms, and when he finally got the confidence to do so, he rested his cheek atop your head. However, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Coyote looking at him and shot a glare his way.

“Not a fucking word.” He hissed, knowing if Coyote started talking now, the whole group would start causing a ruckus and he wanted you to get some rest. Coyote’s eyes widened slightly at Rooster’s tone, but he quickly shook his head with a slight laugh.

“Geez Rooster, protective much?” He teases, making Rooster’s jaw clench as he carefully lifted his head off yours. The glare Rooster was firing Coyote’s way was finally enough to get him to back off. When the movie eventually ends, Phoenix turns the main light on, and Rooster instinctively shields your eyes with his hand, so you don’t get woken up.

“Phoenix, turn the light off.” Rooster says quickly yet quietly and when Phoenix realises you’re asleep she listens, turning the light off while Payback leans over to turn a nearby lamp on.

“Look at you, Bradshaw. So whipped for your girl.” Hangman grins as Rooster rolls his eyes.

“She was tired, I wasn’t going to let her sleep uncomfortably.” He defends as Fanboy laughs.

“And that’s why you’re practically cuddling her? You didn’t want her to sleep uncomfortably, sure. But you have Pegasus nice and comfy in your arms. When are you going to tell her how you feel?” He says through laughs as Rooster feels his face flushing red.

“Okay guys, let's wrap this up now.” Bob says, even though he would join in on the teasing occasionally, he knew when enough was enough.

“I’m with Bob. Now’s not the time. Let’s go before any of you guys royally fuck up.” Phoenix says sternly, pointing towards the door and every member of Dagger Squad, except Rooster, get up and cross to the door, bidding Rooster a quiet and awkward goodbye. When the door clicked shut, your eyelids began to flutter slightly, and you began to stir.

“Roo?” You ask quietly, curling further into him as he lets out a soft chuckle.

“Yeah?” He responds, waiting patiently as you open your eyes, glancing around for the rest of your friends.

“Where’d everyone go?” You question, the tiredness still evident in your voice as you shift your head to rest on his shoulder.

“They went home. I didn’t want to disturb you.” He explains, fighting back a frown when you pull out of his arms, rubbing at your eyes with your hands.

“I totally underestimated how tired I was. I’m sorry for falling asleep on top of you.” You apologise, stretching as you speak.

“It’s fine, y/n/n. It’s not the first time you’ve fallen asleep on me.” Rooster teases, laughing as you shove his shoulder gently.

“I should get to bed. You should think about doing the same. According to dad, tomorrow’s training isn’t going to be easy.” You laugh, standing up and moving to the bottom of the stairs while Rooster heads to the front door, tugging his shoes on and just as he turns around to say goodbye, you wrap your arms around him for a quick hug which he returns without hesitation.

“Good night, Bradley.” You say softly before pulling away, allowing Rooster to move to open the front door.

“Good night, y/n/n.” He replies before finally exiting the house, gently closing the door behind him.

When Rooster had gone, you tidied up the living room before taking yourself up to bed to sleep. As you lay in the double bed, you found yourself missing Rooster’s embrace. He was always naturally so warm, and you were freezing, huddled under your duvet for warmth, wishing you could have Rooster’s arms around you once more to help lull you to sleep.

The day Rooster finally admitted his feelings for you was the last day he would’ve considered doing such a thing. You and Hangman were prepping yourself for your training session up in the air with your dad.

“Ready for me to beat you up there?” Hangman teases, pulling his aviators off and shoving them in his flight suit pocket.

“In your dreams, Seresin.” You scoff jokingly, shaking your head but immediately regretting the action. You’d been training so hard recently; you’d neglected to take care of yourself. You didn’t sleep as much as you should’ve been, and you’d often forget to eat. Any free time you had was researching flying techniques or getting one on one dogfight lessons with your dad when you could convince both him and Cyclone into letting you borrow the fighter jets for a bit. You had been exhausted the past few days, but you refused to let up, being just as stubborn as your father. When you shook your head at Hangman’s cocky attitude it made your head spin. Everything suddenly lost its focus, and the next thing Hangman knew was you were passing out right in front of him. Thankfully his brain kicked into gear quick enough to catch you before you hit the floor, kneeling down while holding you. He looked around frantically, hoping he could see someone who could help him. Within seconds, Maverick appeared in front of him, gently shifting you from Hangman’s arms to his own.

“Hangman, what happened?” He asks quickly, glancing from you to Hangman.

“She just passed out. I didn’t do anything I swear!” Hangman says defensively.

“I didn’t say that you did, and I know you wouldn’t do anything.” Maverick replies calmly, noticing you beginning to stir.

“Hey, sweetheart. Back with us?” Maverick asks sweetly, helping you sit up carefully as you open your eyes, blinking as you gain focus on your surroundings.

“What happened?” You ask, leaning against your dad as he looks down at you.

“You fainted. Damn near scared the crap out of Hangman here.” Maverick replies, nodding over at Hangman who still has worry written across his face.

“Sorry, Hangman. Didn’t mean to scare you.” You laugh weakly as Hangman smiles with relief.

“Scare me like that again Pegasus and you’re buying my drinks for a month.” He says, shaking his head jokingly as you mock salute him.

“Alright, Hangman you go and grab Payback and Fanboy. Tell them they’re training with you instead now.” Maverick orders and Hangman doesn’t waste a second in getting up and going in search of Payback and Fanboy.

“So, any explanation as to why you might have fainted?” Maverick asks as he helps you to your feet, leading you towards the Top Gun building, ignoring your complaints.

“Maybe I forgot to look after myself a little because I was focused on training?” You say, your inflection making Maverick turn to face you, concern all over his face.

“y/n, answer this next question honestly for me. When’s the last time you ate a full meal or slept a whole night?” Maverick asks and when you remain silent, trying to think of an answer he shakes his head.

“Okay, you’re getting some rest. I’m taking you to the rec room and then I’ll grab you some food.” Maverick says, taking you to the rec room, being grateful it was empty and sitting you down on the sofa before making sure you’re comfy.

“Dad, I’m okay.” You insist, grumbling at his overprotectiveness.

“You just passed out. You need to eat and rest. You’re staying here and you’re not training until I think you’re better. I’m saying this as both your father and your superior. I just want you to be okay, sweetheart. You can understand that, right?” Maverick says, sitting down beside you and you see the worry in his eyes as he spoke.

“I understand, I’m sorry dad.” You say, wrapping your arms around your dad in a hug which he returns.

“It’s alright. Now, I’m going to get some water and some food for you. Stay put, okay?” He says after you pull away, standing up and pressing a kiss to the top of your head before exiting the room, leaving you to lie back against the sofa cushions, not knowing what to do with yourself.

Maverick made his way to the food hall and grabbed one of your favourite meals along with a bottle of water and as he started the walk back to where you were he bumped into Rooster.

“Hey Mav, I thought you were training with Hangman and Pegasus.” Rooster questions, wondering why his godfather is walking around the halls with food when he knows Maverick never passes up a chance to train his pilots.

“I am going to take Hangman for some training but not y/n, Payback and Fanboy are going in her place.” He says, regretting not explaining straight away when worry crosses Rooster’s features.

“What happened to y/n? Why is she not training?” He asks worriedly, not removing his gaze from Maverick.

“She passed out earlier. She’s not been taking care of herself the past few days, so she needs to eat and rest up. Tell you what, you take this food and water to y/n. She’s in the rec room. Make sure she eats. Cyclone will have my ass if I don’t get to training soon.” Maverick explains, handing the food and water to Rooster and holding back a laugh when Rooster turned and immediately headed in the direction of the rec room, wanting to check up on you as quickly as possible.

“Goose, please send your son some damn courage so he can finally make his move.”

Rooster entered the rec room rather ungracefully, barging through the door and nearly tripping over his own feet in his rush. Your head snapped in the direction of the noise and immediately felt your head spin, making you lie down and squeeze your eyes shut to try and rid yourself of the feeling.

“Are you okay? Mav said you passed out earlier.” You hear the familiar voice of your best friend ask as he crosses the room to reach you.

“I’m all good Rooster. Don’t worry about me.” You say, throwing him a thumbs up and opening your eyes when the dizzy feeling subsides, making you brave enough to sit up once again.

“Have we met? I always worry about you.” Rooster says as he sits next to you, putting the food on the table in front of the sofa and handing the water bottle to you. You thank him quietly and take small sips from the bottle.

“Mav said I had to make sure you eat so you’re stuck with me until you do so. But be warned: take longer than five minutes to start eating and I will start the whole aeroplane thing with the fork.” He continues, smiling when he gets a laugh out of you. You pick up the box of food and the cutlery and dig in when you realise what it is. As you ate you could feel your body thanking you for each mouthful of food and every sip of water. When you finish the food, you place the now empty box back on the table and slump back against the sofa, feeling full and satisfied.

“That is exactly what I needed.” You say with a smile as Rooster shakes his head, watching you with a soft smile.

“You better start taking better care of yourself, Mitchell.” Rooster replies, nudging you with his shoulder as you roll your eyes.

“You know you didn’t have to come just because my dad told you to, right?” You say, turning to look at Rooster as his expression shifts.

“I didn’t just come because your dad told me to. The second he told me you weren’t training with him, and Hangman I knew something must’ve happened for you not to be training. When he said you passed out, I was already getting ready to come and check up on you. You’re my best friend.” He says, bringing you into a hug, resting his chin atop your head. As you hug, you hear him whisper.

“Talk to me, dad.” His small whisper makes you adjust yourself so you can look up at him.

“What’s up, Roo?” You ask, noticing him flush red at your question, clearly embarrassed to be caught out.

“It’s just you only say that when you’re about to do something you’re worried about. What’s got you so worried?” You ask innocently, making Rooster fight the urge to not double back on his next words.

“I like you, y/n. As in, more than a friend way. Have done since our high school days. You’re beautiful and amazing and I’ve fallen so hard for you. It’s fine if you don’t feel the same way it’s just so hard keeping this in.” Rooster blurts, pausing once he finishes and beginning to second guess himself by your silence.

“Bradley, I feel the same. Ever since high school I’ve liked you as more than a friend I was just so damn scared of admitting it because I didn’t want to lose you as my best friend. We came close to it when dad pulled your papers so I figured it would be better keeping you as my best friend than losing you completely.” You admit, both of you now grinning ear to ear at the other’s confession.

“Can I kiss you?” Rooster then asks, leaning in, his breath tickling your face as he speaks and when you nod, he wastes no time connecting your lips. The kiss was slow and sweet. One of your hands rested on Rooster’s shoulders while your other found its way to the back of his head, your hands instinctively playing with his hair. Rooster was the same, one hand in your hair, messing with it while the other was resting on your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. You didn’t want to break the kiss but when the need for air became too much, you were forced to pull away, panting as you rest your forehead against his.

“I must say, Bradshaw. That kiss alone made the years of pining worth it.” You say with a cheeky grin as Rooster smiles.

“Come here, you.” He says playfully, bringing you in for another kiss. Once again, the two of you didn’t part until you needed to breathe. You always used to say that being hugged by Bradley Bradshaw was the best feeling in the world. At this moment you decided nothing was better than kissing him.

“How about I take you out on a date. Friday sound good?” He asks, laying back against the sofa cushions and tugging you into his side as you rest your head on his chest.

“Just text me a time and a place, Bradshaw.”

#justabigassnerd #justabigassnerdwrites #top gun #top gun maverick #rooster top gun #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster #rooster x reader #rooster x y/n #bradley bradshaw x mitchell!reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw #pete maverick mitchell #maverick x reader #maverick x daughter!reader #pete mitchell x daughter reader

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stealanity · 9 months

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“ EASIER. ” ft. kim sunwoo

genre & warnings : ex ! sunwoo, fluff, angst, swearing, alcohol consumption, drunk men ew

summary : you probably didn't expect your ex-boyfriend to come and pick you up on his motorcycle after a night out with your friends, but he's right here.. so?

word count : 2k>

a/n : feedbacks are allowed besties !

after a good drunken evening with your friends, you can't wait to get home. but the problem is, the girl who was supposed to drive you home had forgotten she wasn't supposed to drink, being now much drunker than you were. what a mistake to have trusted her, because now you had to get home alone at a very late hour. but lucky for you, you still had one last card to play : your brother.

as you waited patiently outside the bar for him to arrive, tapping away on your phone, ignoring the drunken morons around you, a familiar sound suddenly drew your curiosity. as you looked up, your gaze instantly fell on a pretty black motorcycle that stopped right in front of you. and its owner with.

« what the hell are you doing here? » you say with a sigh, a look of surprise probably pasted on your face. the boy in front of you shook off his helmet, finally giving you a glimpse of his face and his damn smirk. « your brother called me, i was on the road so.. he told me to pick you up. »

a nervous laugh left your lips, rolling your eyes at his statement. you couldn't believe your brother would dare send your ex-boyfriend to pick you up instead of him — you definitely couldn't count on him. typing furiously on your screen, you were quick to attack and swear at your eldest sibling, insisting that he was only just a bastard too lazy to do anything.

« i swear he's a dead man. » you sighed, tucking your phone away in your pocket as you began to walk, completely ignoring the other boy standing beside you. but quickly, he was riding his motorcycle beside you, calling your name to get you to stop. « no, don't call me. there's no way i'm going home with you, i'd rather walk. »

but sunwoo wasn't about to let you go so quickly, so he continued to follow you, dragging his pretty motorcycle that you loved with him. « you're going to walk? do i need to remind you that your brilliant minds didn't choose the bar nearest your home? »

he wasn't wrong : you had at least two hours of walking to do before you got home. but what was your brother thinking sending someone as insufferable as sunwoo to get you back home? a long sigh left your lips as a drunk came a little too close to you. « hey pretty girl.. i can take you home if you want. » he said, hiccupping, as you laughed in his face before putting on a disgusted face, moving on.

you heard sunwoo's laughter behind you, and the sound of his motorcycle starting up again. and within seconds he was back beside you, a helmet in one hand held out towards you. « come on, i can't leave you alone with bums like that. » sticking your tongue against your cheek to contain your irritation, you crossed your arms against your chest, continuing on your way. « thanks for your concern, but i know how to take care of myself. »

« oh i know that. but i also know that all you want to do is take a hot shower and go to sleep, » you hated having to admit that he was absolutely right and that you'd probably have to give in to his request in the next second, « the question is whether you want it in 3 hours or 20 minutes. »

pivoting towards him at lightning speed, you grabbed the helmet in his hand and slipped it on, not deigning to say another word to him — but you could swear you could see his smirk through his black motorcycle helmet. « hang on tight, pretty. » he said as he started off again, of course without receiving a blow on his back from you, « don't tell me what to do. and don't call me pretty. »

but even if your greatest wish was not to listen to him, for your own safety you clung firmly to his waist. you looked over his shoulder as he began to drive, letting the speed of the motorcycle make your hair fly behind you.

suddenly, a certain nostalgia invaded your heart — it's been a long time since you've been on a motorcycle, a long time since you've felt the adrenalin of being on two wheels. hair blowing in the wind, the landscape flashing by, drawn only in horizontal lines, the feeling of flying... since you were no longer with sunwoo, all that had disappeared from your daily life.

and come to think of it, you missed it terribly. especially being able to slip your arms around him, rest your head on his back and close your eyes, enjoying the floating sensation and the adrenaline in your veins. it was something you loved to do when you were with him — and he knew it.

but you had to stay focused, and not forget how much you'd suffered from your breakup. even if, when you think about it, everything could have remained as it was in the past. laying your head against his back, like in the good old days, you watched the city lights take shape around you, gleams of white, yellow and red invaded your sight, like the first time you rode that bike.

it was a warm summer night, you were out with your brother and his friends, including sunwoo. and against all odds, you and him instantly get along well. so much so that he asked you out on a date the very next day, just as he dropped you off at your place after a late-night ride on his motorcycle. it remained an unforgettable night for you : the star-filled sky and the gentle sound of his bike's engine had lulled your dream night. not to mention his adorable tired look and his drop-dead gorgeous smile. your heart was racing as much as it is now that night, and you'd probably give anything to relive it just once.

closing your eyes to fully enjoy the ride, your arms tightened a little more around sunwoo's waist. you could feel his body relax under your fingers, and the vehicle accelerate slightly after that — because he knew, he understood that nostalgia for the past had invaded your mind, and that this was his chance to prove to you that you wanted it all back, and above all him back.

after long minutes of driving under the moonlight and city lights, the bike finally slowed down, before coming to a complete stop in front of your house. « you're back home, babe. » he said softly, as he got rid of his helmet, ready to get off the bike. but your tiny hands clasped his leather jacket again, holding him against you, « no, please. let's stay here a little longer. »

sunwoo laid his tender gaze on your figure clinging to his : your arms around him as if your life depended on it, your head resting on his back, exactly as before. removing the gloves from his hands, he slid his fingers against yours the next second. but this simple gesture sent an electric shock through your muscles, causing you to instantly step back and get off the bike. « thank you for the ride, bye. » you say as quickly as possible, giving him your helmet while keeping your face down. but sunwoo didn't seem to agree with letting you slip away so quickly, and held you back by slipping his hand around your wrist.

« y/n, » he began, while you were still staring at the ground, « how do you feel? »

you didn't know if answering him was a good idea : a part of you wanted to cry and tell him that it had been a long time since your heart had beaten so fast, but the other part wanted to shut up forever and run far, far away from his smile and warm arms. nibbling your lower lip, you shook off his hand from around your wrist, bringing your arms to your chest. the boy let his arm fall back along his body, but his gaze never ceased to pierce your soul. you felt it, his gaze burning all over you, like the sun's aggressive rays in midsummer.

it would have been so much easier if every one of your feelings for him had disappeared — but memories and familiar sensations had this effect on your heart, that screamed out to you that you still loved him. it was like autumn, and you kept falling again and again.

« listen, » he said softly, as he approached you, pulling you back until you were trapped between him and his bike, forcing you to back up until you're caught between him and his bike, « having you back on my bike made me realize that i never want anyone else to ride it but you. »

your eyes plunged into his, now completely lost in his brown pupils filled with the stars that fell from the sky. without warning, his hand nestled against your cheek, enveloping it in a gentle warmth, his thumb mechanically caressing your skin as his face moved closer to yours. it was a dangerous game for your heart, which didn't know how to resist the gentle eyes of the only boy who ever managed to give you butterflies in your stomach. sunwoo was your daily adrenaline dose, and you could feel your skin burning under his touch — especially when his thumb deviated from your cheek to reach your lip, caressing it as if it were the most precious of diamonds.

you felt all your strength leave your body, as if an invisible force had pinned you down. and when your name rolled off his tongue, oh boi you knew you were screwed. « y/n, just one word and i'll stop, » he whispered, softly, almost as a sigh, and you could feel his minty breath crashing into your face, « but if you don't say anything, i'll kiss you like it's the first time i've discovered your lips. »

you didn't know what to do. in your memories, kissing kim sunwoo was like tasting heaven mixed with the sweetness of hell — an ember-hot kiss from an angel. but you mustn't do that, you mustn't give in to temptation, even if being his again was tempting. but after all, a simple kiss doesn't commit you to anything, right? but despite your long reflection, not a word left your lips — and the next moment, his lips were on yours.

it was as if you were discovering the curves of his mouth all over again, even though you knew them by heart. your eyes closed at the exact same time your arms slipped around his neck, drawing him against you, while his hands slipped under your thighs, lifting you off the ground to wrap your legs around his waist. and he kissed you divinely well, as if it were the first time, as if you had gone back in time to your very first date. you could feel his warmth invading you and his tongue chasing yours, while your heart raced in your chest — it was exactly as you remembered it. the same sweetness and feverishness, the same minty candy taste, the same animosity mingled with the passion escaping from his heart.

it was like before.

that kiss made you want to believe that everything could go back to the way it was, your lovely relationship of perpetual bickering and constant flirting. but the fact that you broke up wasn't for nothing — it would have been easier if he hadn't been your ex-boyfriend.

but.. a little flashback on a drunken night was no big deal, right?

you decided to give your memories a chance to come back to life, and give sunwoo the opportunity to love you like on your first date.

just tonight.

taglist ( fill out this form if you want to be added ! ) : @invuwrld @kimsohn @kyusqult

networks : @deoboyznet @kflixnet

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worldsetfree · 3 months

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Diamond is Unbreakable × Reader: Weekends Spent in a Beautiful Duwang

(+ bonus character sprinkled in just for you!)

At last, the weekend! You have survived another horrible week and once more been set free from the confines of societal expectations. You've been feeling a bit too stressed out lately, what with the serial killer and all... But what better way to relax than with some quality time with your beloved?

(I hope y'all enjoy these small slices of life! Feedback is welcome. These broader headcanons are really helping me ease into where I want to go.)

Higashikata Josuke

Great! He has to do some chores first or his mom will kill him, but he's been craving some TLC time with you.

He's kind of a homebody, so expect a day spent playing video games (cute couch co-op is exactly the kind of aesthetic he lives for), watching TV, and having snacks.

Loves physical contact. Will wrap his arms around you, soft kisses on your skin. Wishes you could stay the night and cuddle.

Super shy at school the next week. His friends will tease him about it.

Nijimura Okuyasu

"Oh, let me see if Josuke is free!" "No, no, no, babe. Let's take time for you and I."

When he finally gets the idea, his first suggestion is of course: going to Tonio's. It's up to you if you want to experience *that* with him, but either way a dinner date sounds like a great idea.

Okuyasu wants to be a gentleman this evening. Does his best, in his own way. Dresses up for you. "Oh, you look really hot tonight!" Holds open the door open for you. He'll get the cheque, he's rich now! (Excuse me, what?)

Is going to call Josuke and tell him all about it when he gets home. "Oi Josuke, I think I'm in love!" Josuke lives for it.

Kishibe Rohan

No. He's busy. Wait, you're serious? Oh shit, he feels kinda bad now.

You convince him to go on a cute picnic date in the park under the guise of people-watching for more inspiration.

Rohan's mind is more captivated by experiences than images. He finds himself noticing how the other couples act and decides to do some research. Holding your hand makes his heart flutter like a dove's wings. Kissing you is mental anethestic and fireworks all at once.

The manuscript he sends to his editor that week is notably more optimistic than usual. Pink Dark Boy won't be singing from the rooftops, but at least Rohan understands what's inspired the stupid cliché now. And he wants more and more exposure to this feeling.

Kujo Jotaro

He's tired and stressed out. Please take him away from this town, he actually really needs it. You both do, really. Responds to your request with an indifferent grunt. He's in.

Usually, he'd take you to the beach, but he's hit a snag with his thesis and if he sees those starfish right now he might just pull his hair out. And we wouldn't want anything to happen to his handsome locks.

Surprisingly spontaneous when he wants to be. "Let's go to Tokyo, I want you to meet someone."

The drive is peaceful and quiet. He's a great listener, but still not the best communicator. For example: he won't tell you until you get there that your lunch date will involve meeting his mom for the first time.

Bonus:

Tonio Trussardi

This sweet man takes a day off from his restaurant and invites you to his home. Greets you with flowers and wine.

Very excited to show you his garden. Look at his tomatoes!! Humble but oh so proud of the fruits of his labour.

Thinks the most romantic thing you two can do together is cook. But it's his day off? He doesn't mind! He loves his craft! Wants to hold your hands and teach you how to properly julienne a pepper.

Lives for that reaction when you take that first bite. Might use Pearl Jam to make it that much better for you. Domesticity makes him want a life with you.

#jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #diamond is not crash #diamond is unbreakable #jojo no kimyou na bouken #part 4 #jotaro kujo #kujo jotaro x reader #josuke higashikata #josuke x reader #okuyasu nijimura #okuyasu x reader #rohan kishibe #rohan x reader #tonio trussardi #tonio x reader #ramblingsfromzawarudo

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nahoney22 · 1 year

Text

His Little Armourer

Tech X F!Reader

word count: 3.4k

When Tech sends his and his teammates helmets away to be repaired, he becomes very intrigued as to who’s markings are now engraved into his helmet. After hearing high praise, he makes it his mission to go meet this armourer.

warnings: none, safe for work. Strangers to friends to lovers. Reader is confident and a little hostile at first. Tech develops a crush, reader is female. This is mainly Tech’s POV but towards the end drifts to readers POV.

Authors note: this was a request sent in by @krisyona1994 - sorry for the wait but I hope you enjoy.

Masterlist

My Ko-Fi

The Marauder was shrouded in a stillness that was only ever broken by the hum of Tech's clanking as he busied himself at his workbench. But his concentration was abruptly shattered by a throat-clearing noise that made him look up to see Hunter sauntering in, his helmet in hand and a satisfied smirk on his face.

"Tech, where did you send our helmets to get fixed?" Hunter queried, his eyes flickering with curiosity.

Tech swiveled around in his chair to face his sergeant, his eyes narrowing slightly as he considered the question. "I received a lead from one of Cid's associates about a workshop that specialises in gear repairs," he replied. "Why do you ask? Is everything satisfactory with your helmet?"

Hunter's face broke into a grin as he examined his helmet closely. "Yeah, they did a decent job. My filters are clearer, and my senses aren't going haywire anymore," he said, his eyes bright with appreciation. "In fact, I think they did a better job than you," he added teasingly.

Tech bristled slightly at Hunter's comment, but he quickly waved it off with a dismissive gesture. "My expertise lies in data and technology, not armor repairs," he retorted.

Hunter chuckled and clapped Tech on the shoulder, his expression friendly. "Relax, Tech, I'm just messing with you. But seriously, you should get your helmet fixed too. The others are all raving about how much better theirs are. Why not give it a shot?" he suggested.

Tech considered Hunter's words carefully, feeling a slight twinge of pride at the thought of someone else tampering with his valuable gear. But as he looked around at the other members of his team, he realised that it could be worth it if it meant getting their constant nagging off his back. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to have a professional take a look," he conceded, his voice tinged with reluctance.

After Hunter departed, Tech turned his attention back to his workbench, his gaze falling upon his helmet, which was still in dire need of repair. He examined the rough edges and malfunctioning visor with a critical eye, knowing that as a Clone who should be a master in this field, he knew he was more than capable of fixing it himself. Yet with the overwhelming positive feedback from his brothers being hard to ignore, he reluctantly sent his helmet off to the unknown workshop.

As he waited for his helmet to be returned, Tech found himself struggling to focus on his work, his mind constantly preoccupied with thoughts of the potential outcomes. He worried that someone might ruin one of the few things he knew like the back of his hand. But after just two days, his helmet was returned to him, its functionality and craftsmanship vastly improved.

Upon his return to the team, Tech was met with eager faces all waiting for his report. He examined his helmet with care, running his fingers over the gear. "I'll have to go on a mission to give a more accurate report," he said with a hint of satisfaction. "But I have to admit, I'm thoroughly impressed so far."

The team erupted in cheers, with Wrecker slapping Tech on the back so hard it nearly sent him through the windshield. Tech couldn't help but grin quietly to himself at their enthusiasm.

Obviously Tech had always been fascinated by the intricacies of his gear, but never truly appreciated the craftsmanship behind it all. So, when an upcoming mission was put on them after his helmet repairs, he was pleasantly surprised.

At first, Tech had been skeptical. The notion that someone or anybody could rival the expertise of what was the Galactic Republic's own technicians as well as his own brain seemed almost ludicrous to him. However, his doubts were quickly quelled after seeing the results firsthand. The repairs, just as the others had said, were flawless. The attention to detail unparalleled, and the improvements made to his helmet alone were worth the effort.

As he inspected the sleek new design, Tech couldn't help but feel a sense of awe. The visor was crystal clear, the readings precise, and the jagged edges smoothed out to perfection. It was as if he was seeing the world through new eyes.

In the days that followed, Tech found himself sending other parts of his gear off for repairs. He had initially thought it might have been a fluke, a one-time success, but after seeing the improvements to Hunter's sensitivity to texture and Wrecker's comfortability in his helmet which was usually too tight, he knew it was something special.

But naturally, Tech's curiosity wasn't quenched just yet. He wanted to know who was behind the magic, who was the mastermind behind the flawless repairs. So one night when the others were sleeping to the gentle hum of the ship as it traveled through hyperspace, he inspected the others' helmets one by one when he noticed something peculiar - a small mark etched into each one. It was the same mark on each helmet, a symbol he couldn't quite place.

Without hesitation, Tech grabbed one of his many devices and began scanning the mark inside Echo's helmet, then his own and the others. He was determined to get to the bottom of this mystery, to uncover the identity of the skilled worker behind the helmets.

After just a few minutes of analysing the data, Tech had his answer. The mark led him to a small workshop on a remote planet in the outer rim, a planet that had been inhabited for ages. Clearly those who once served the Republic, if the worker had even worked for them in the first place, now had to seek refuge in the far reaches of the galaxy.

When the others said they wanted to take a break from missions, Tech knew this was his opportunity to meet the person behind all the repairs. From helmets to pauldrons, everything they received back had been perfect. He had already sent off his helmet for yet another ‘repair’ and so he took off with the ship. He had given his brothers a vague answer when they asked where he was headed, he punched in the coordinates he managed to trace and zoomed off to the outer rim.

Once landed, he sensed a mixture of intrigue and excitement as his eyes scanned the barren landscape. The workshop itself was modest and unassuming, but as Tech stepped inside he was immediately struck by the level of craftsmanship and attention to detail on display. Every tool and piece of machinery was in its proper place, and the air was thick with the smell of oil and metal. Though, it was very quiet.

As Tech approaches the man behind the counter that he didn’t even notice at first, he can't help but notice the thick boots propped up on the desk and the man's head tilted back with eyes closed, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. It's a strange sight, considering how desolate and quiet the environment is. One would expect for someone to be upright and attentive - obviously not.

Tech clears his throat and gently strums his fingers over the surface to grab the man's attention. "Excuse me?"

The man opens his eyes slowly, emitting a heavy sigh from his lips. "Yes?" he replies uninterestedly, giving off an air of nonchalance that leaves Tech feeling somewhat disconcerted.

"I'm here in regards to an order," Tech says simply, his tone clipped and business-like. The man grunts and sits up properly, casting a bored look at Tech before glancing over his shoulder to the workshop in the far back.

"HEY!"

The shout startles Tech, the suddenness of it breaking the previously subdued quietness of the place. There's a brief pause before the man bellows out again, his voice booming and echoing through the workshop.

"I SAID ‘HEY’!"

"Kriff sake! What?" a female voice calls back, her tone irritated and impatient. The sound of clattering tools and metal hitting the desk and floor follows her words, suggesting that she's in the middle of something.

"A guy is here about an order," the man replies, his voice bored once more. When the voice from the back of the workshop asks who it's for and Tech recites the order number, a scoff of laughter is returned.

"Already? I've only just started!"

Tech peeks over the man's shoulder to see a figure hunched over a workbench, their face obscured by the project they're working on. Upon closer inspection, it's his helmet - the one he sent for repairs - and it becomes clear that this must be the person responsible for all the repairs.

Against all expectations, the guard seemed indifferent to Tech's request and granted him access after he asked. As Tech entered the back of the workshop where you were, he couldn't help but notice how immaculate everything looked. Most of the tools lay either untouched or had been meticulously cleaned, leading him to wonder if the you was a perfectionist or if it was merely a symptom of the barren planet. Or maybe he was just a messy worker…

When his eyes land on you properly, he’s a little taken aback. And he’s not too sure as to why.

You were dressed in oil-stained overalls, donning goggles that looked almost identical to his, except for the dark blue panes that adorned them. Every movement you made was calculated, precise, and deliberate. You manipulated the tools with such grace and dexterity that it was clear to him you may have had years of experience. It’s rare Tech finds himself in awe but in this moment, he definitely was.

“You shouldn’t be back here, sir.” Your voice brings him out of his trance, his heart skipping a beat at the sound of your voice addressing him.

“I apologise,” he replies, trying to ignore that inexplicable feeling of his chest tightening as he approaches you cautiously, “he just let me in.”

“Of course he did,” you grunt, sparks flying in front of your face as you do some minor welding that you seem completely unfazed by. As you sit back and inspect your work, you then look up to the man who wandered into the back of your shop. You push the helmet to the side briefly, and wipe your forehead with a rag and lean back on your stool with your arms crossed. “Are you here to make a complaint? If so, you can fill one out and I’ll pretend to care as I pretend to read it before throwing it in the trash.”

Tech pauses, sensing your hostility with ease. Clearly you were not someone to be trifled with which is exactly what he didn’t want to do. “I was actually just passing through.”

You raise a brow at him and study him intently. Though, Tech could get the gist that you could see right through him. “Hm, is that so?”

“Indeed.” Tech says, almost breathlessly as he tries to hood your strong and powerful gaze.

You strum your fingers over your thigh, as if thinking whilst you chew on the inside of your cheek as you try to suppress a smile. It didn’t take a genius to recognise that this helmet obviously belonged to him which left you ever more curious as to why he decided to come and see you. After all, you were in the middle of nowhere. You’re ever intrigued to know how he found you.

You look down and across to his helmet, fingers tracing over the white markings. “Your helmet is one I’ve enjoyed working on the most.”

Tech slowly creeps forward until he is standing beside you, looking at his helmet also. “I have to say I was apprehensive about handing over my gear to someone I do not know. More so because this is not exactly a business with many patrons.”

You breathe out a short laugh but nod your head understandingly. “May not have much, but I am one of the best.”

“Then why the hostility in regards to complaints?”

“Because my work has nothing to ever be complained about. I am confident in my craft. Also,” you start with a small smirk, “you came to find me.”

Tech couldn't help but feel a flutter in his chest at the sight of your smirk. There was something about the way you carried yourself, with an air of confidence and a hint of playfulness, that kept drawing him in. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he was certain that he wanted to know more about you.

“Granted I did analyse the mark you left in my helmet along with my brothers too. We… are very pleased with your work.”

“And only you came to see me? Or were you just ‘passing through’, like you said?” The smirk returns, causing Tech's breath to catch in his throat.

“You may have caught me out about that,” he says sheepishly, “but I was curious to see how you work and what else you could improve my helmet with.”

"Well," you smile, clinking your tools on the workbench and pulling the helmet closer to you, "I was thinking of fixing the antennas, rewiring the circuits, and even adding a larger boost. But since you're here sir, what would you like me to do?"

He’s is gawping at you, quite adorably, enamored and enjoying the sound of you talking. “Tech will do just fine.”

“Pleasure.” You stick your hand out, slipping your glove of and attaching it to his own whilst responding with your own name.

From then on, the pair of you sat together and for a job that should have only taken an hour, nightfall soon fell on you both. Turns out the pair of you had lots in common including running from the Empire which is why you ended up where you were.

From that point on, the two of you work together. However, what should have only taken an hour extends into the nightfall as the pair of you chat about your shared past of running from the Empire. You had originally been stationed on Coruscant, but when the Empire discovered your talents, you fled to a remote planet where you could continue your work without any Imperial interference. Only your employees knew of your whereabouts and were careful with whom they shared that information.

“Would you not consider moving to a more hospitable planet at some point? I can not imagine that you have much fun in a place like this? Plus an armorer is surely more required in times like this.” Tech questions, pushing his goggles up his nose meanwhile yours are placed on the top of your head.

You thought about his question before shrugging. “Maybe. But at times I like the solace… I like doing my own thing without having someone breathe down my neck. Also, I still get nervous at the thought of the Empire finding me and forcing me to make stuff for them.” You shudder at the thought, the new Empire never sitting right with you.

Tech understands your reservations - though - was hoping you would consider the latter. After all, he and his brothers as well as Omega can’t come to a place like this. There’s no means of work or anywhere by the looks of it… however it did seem a good place to lay low for a while too if they were to ever get into trouble. Before he could say anything, his comm starts to beep followed by Hunter asking that they need him back for a mission.

As Tech turned to leave, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment at the sudden end to your time together. You masked it with a smile and reached up to pat the top of his helmet. "Good job it's all finished and good to go, Tech," you said, your voice light but your heart heavy.

Standing up, you watched as Tech did the same. As you handed him his helmet, your hands accidentally touched, sending a jolt of electricity through both of your bodies. The palpable energy that passed between you was undeniable, though you both tried to ignore it.

Your eyes met, and you knew that a silent conversation was taking place. You felt a warmth rising in your cheeks, a feeling you hadn't experienced in a long time. As you let go of his helmet, you apologised softly, trying to hide your emotions.

Tech seemed flustered as well, but he said nothing. "I am sure I will be sending some more gear to you soon. If you would like to work on our stuff again?" His voice was quiet but he was also trying to break the tension.

Your heart skipped a beat. Of course, you wanted to work on his gear again. But you found yourself wanting something more. Maybe it’s because you’ve been alone for so long and never had a real connection with anyone but him before. So, you took a daring step closer to him, feeling the energy between you intensify. "Yeah, I'll work on your stuff," you said quietly, "if you'll come back and pick them up yourself again?"

Tech's hands clenched at your proposal, and he looked down at you, studying your very pretty eyes. You held your breath, waiting for his response. Finally, he spoke. "Of course," he said, and you felt your heart flutter with excitement.

You watch him walk away, feeling a pang of something you can't quite put your finger on. But you push it aside and get back to work, grateful for the distraction.

The next few weeks pass by in a blur of work, with occasional visits from Tech to drop off more gear for you to work on. You find yourself looking forward to his visits, enjoying the company as well as the conversation. Even if he does have a lot to say.

One day, as you're in the middle of repairing a chest plate, you hear the workshop door swoosh open. Glancing up you find yourself grinning upon seeing Tech standing there, holding a datapad.

"Hey," you greet him, setting the workload down. "What brings you here today?" You question him with a playful smile which he beautifully matched.

"I was hoping you could help me with something," he says, holding out the datapad. "It's not exactly armor-related, but I know you're good with technology."

You take the datapad and scan through the information, nodding as you go. "Yeah, I can definitely help with this. Shouldn't take too long either."

"Great," Tech says with a smile. "I'll leave you to it then.”

Tech stands by somewhat awkwardly, his fingers absently strumming against the side of his legs as he looked as though he was plucking up the courage to say something. You thought it was odd anyway that Tech would ask you to look at his datapad as he was definitely better suited for that area of expertise rather than yourself but as you glance his way, seeing the nervous expression on your face you had to ask what he was thinking.

“I was wondering if you wanted to grab a drink later? I know there is not much here but when you finish I would be happy to escort you to a place not too far from here on my ship.” He holds his breath.

You feel your heart race at the invitation, surprised but pleased. Very pleased. "Yeah, I'd like that."

The rest of the night is a blur when you meet up with Tech after work. One full of laughter, drinks, and good conversation. Both of you find yourselves enjoying Tech's company more and more with each passing minute, feeling a connection that was impossible to lose.

As the night comes to an end, Tech flies you back to your designated planet and walks you back to your workshop, one you slept upstairs in.

Both of you came to a stop outside the door, a soft wind surrounding you both. "I had a really great time tonight," he says, looking at you with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine.

"Me too," you say, feeling the warm air between you charged with something you can't quite place. "Thank you for inviting me out. It’s been a long time since I’ve done anything like this.”

Tech steps closer, his hand reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear in quite a suave manner for someone like him.

"Can I kiss you?" he asks softly, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation.

You don't hesitate, leaning up to meet his lips in a kiss that sets your body on fire. How lucky you were to know someone as smart as him to track you down and win your heart by your maker's mark.

Tags: @nunanuggets @andyoufollowyourheart @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex @jesseeka @ashotofspotchka a @oohyesplease @megafrost4 @theroguesully @equalityforcats @mustluvecho @misogirl828 @ladykatakuri @jambolska-grozdova @chxpsi @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @rain-on-kamino @either-madness-or-brilliance @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @chrissywakingup @kixs-husband @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @tinyreadersmur @seriowan @agenteliix @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @imalovernotahater @swiftiexstarwarssimp @the-good-shittt @whore4rex @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder @erellenora @photogirl894

#nahoney22 writes #tbb tech x you #tech x you #bad batch tech #the bad batch tech #bad batch tech x reader #the bad batch #tech x reader

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months

Text

If You Can't Dance 3

Warnings: dubcon, noncon, other possible triggers. Proceed with caution.

Note: this is what you get when you encourage me. Please leave any and all feedback! 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

Part of The Club AU

You login for the day with your usual set up. A mug of peppermint tea, your favourite sweater, and your gaming chair set to the most ergonomic setting. You connect to the company's shared server and go through the verification. It's tedious but necessary. You're certain there will be many tedious tasks to come as the merger looms heavy over the newly absorbed startup.

As your Teams pops up, you scroll through your tasks and prepare to start your usual squinting hunch at the screen. You grab your glasses and put them on. You really need to start wearing those.

Bing! You have a message. Oh, jeez, it's Jensen. Your manager, at least for the time being. You don't know what his new job will be in the unified structure. So many questions but you're more concerned with the backend.

'Morning, how's it going?'

He's casual and approachable. At least, from what you can tell over virtual text and the occasional video call. He checks in now and then so you assume this is just the same.

'Alright. Getting started for the day.'

The three dots pop up then disappear, then a new message appears.

'Did you enjoy last night? Didn't get to say hi, you looked like you had fun tho.'

'Oh. I guess.'

'It was nice to see everyone. Anyway, business. Meeting at nine for coders. Invite coming.'

You stare at the screen. Great. You hate team meetings. You always have to give and update but you don't have much to say. You do your work and it's right there for them to see. Why do you need to explain it?

'Got it.'

You send your response and ignore his reaction; a thumbs up. You put a timer on, knowing better than to trust yourself. You go back to your usual, trying to settle in with your minty brew. Last night has put everything off-balance.

Slightly agitated by the spontaneity of the event, you join the Teams meeting and try not to look at yourself among the five rectangles on the screen. Jensen's glasses glare in the camera and you take your own off, hoping to escape behind the blur of your vision. G is there too, the only other coder you've worked with in the company. He's a strange guy, quiet, and no one knows his full name. The other two, Marc and Dharshi round out the group. All of you sit silent, waiting.

"Oh, uh," Jensen unmutes as he seems to remember he's on a call, "alright, guys, I'll try to keep this short. There's a lot to do but I really didn't think that this message should come through an email."

You check your mug, cold and empty. You have a bad feeling about whatever message he's referring to.

"So, I know we've been doing work from home for a while, but, uh, with the new company, we're being asked to consider a more hybrid model. No decision has been made yet but next week, you are all required to report to the new headquarters so that we can meet our new coworkers."

"What?" Dharshi exclaims as Marc scowls. G just stares blankly, you think, it's hard to make out clearly. You probably look just as dull.

"I know, I know, I'm trying to get us down to only a couple days a week in office," Jensen explains, "right now, there's no decision made but we do have to try. There's a different culture with Blue Forest but I think we'll be okay."

G hangs up and Jensen sputters. Dharshi and Marc let out odd noises and you just sit there.

"Oh, must be a bad connection," Jensen laughs nervously, "so... uh, I'll follow-up with G and see you all Monday."

No response. Jensen fills the void with his usual managerial spiel; let me know if you need anything, yada yada. The call ends and you're left deflating in fractured safehold of your home office. Maybe you will all be too awkward and they'll just decide to keep you hidden away. You can only hope.

Oh and don't forget, you still have to go get your car after work.

🐞

Monday comes too fast, your weekend fading into a marathon of Fortnight and nature documentaries. You pull out your most acceptable outfit. Another long skirt and a turtle neck with oxford boots. Hmm, it's more Anne Shirley than business casual.

You drive into the heart of the city, the GPS guiding you to the modern office building with its transparent walls and sleek black structure. You grab your laptop bag, a messenger with butterfly patches sewn onto it. At the door, you're stopped and let in after verifying your Employee ID. You're told to go to the front desk to get your new credentials.

After you get sorted, you're sent down the hall to a conference room. You pass several offices and people you don't know. Your new coworkers. You grip the strap of your bag as a woman pops out of Room 1161B, the very one you were told to go to. You stop short as she smiles at you, her frilly blouse tucked into a sleek white skirt.

"Oh, you must be a new one, I'm Catarina," she offers her hand and you just stare at it. "You'll be in here for the Tech Orientation. There's tea and coffee, some pastries, and full catering will be available at lunch."

"Thanks," you mutter and peek into the empty room.

"You're so early," she praises, "sorry, I didn't catch your name. I need to check you off the list."

You enunciate the syllables clearly so you won't have to repeat yourself then turn into the room. You look around at the tables. Not the traditional long intimidating tabletop but several throughout the space. You don't know where to sit, if you should choose a particular seat, so you go to the waiting urns by the far wall.

You peruse the collection of tea bags. Chamomile, green, Earl Gray...

"Ah, pardon, could I trouble you for English Breakfast if they have it?" A voice nears before the footsteps reach you. The shadow stops beside you, the voice frighteningly familiar. You grab a bag of the English Breakfast and hold it out without looking over. It can't be, what are the odds? "Oh..." he says your name. The accent, the recognition, he knows you and you vaguely know him. Jonathan.

"You work here?" You wonder as you continue to shuffle through the packets.

"Yes, and I assume... you do too. Now. You are among the newly acquired?"

You nod and put down the box of teas.

"Is there something wrong? You don't like the selection?"

"No peppermint," you shrug.

You sidle along and grab a paper cup, instead pressing the spout for the large jug of cold water. The man fills his cup with hot water before tugging on the string of the tea bag, steeping it as he nears you again.

"It's rather a coincidence," he preens, "are you excited to start?"

You know you shouldn't be honest so you do your best to lie, "yeah."

"You certainly sound it," he laughs, "well, please, have a dessert... and a seat. We'll be all out before you know it."

"Thanks," you surpass the plate of tarts and croissants. You sit at the table nearest the corner and stare at the cup of clear water. You should've known to bring your own tea.

#jonathan pine #dark jonathan pine #dark!jonathan pine #jonathan pine x reader #drabble #au #if you can't dance #series #the club #the night manager

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myimaginedcorner · 11 months

Text

SCALES OF JUSTICE - CHAPTER 7 UPDATE!!!

Welcome back, my dear reader. It has now been 2 years since we first met, and soon, this journey will come to an end. Yes, we're very close to the finale of this book, all set, and everyone ready for the final push. However, that's still lost to future; today, I'm here to take you on a day around Galeya's streets, four little stories waiting to be discovered. Explore, decide, and shape your life and others - have the first taste of choices one must make when playing in a higher league.

As usual, I welcome any feedback, specially now that my beta-tester is quite occupied with her MSc (still a strong woman in STEM, still a prisoner to her project. We shall remember her dearly). If you have any issues, recommendations, or comments in general about my work, feel free to text me here or make a post in CoG forum, where I will be answering you to the best of my capabilities. This new update is MASSIVE - I've sure missed things among all the potential choices.

NEW THINGS IN THIS UPDATE:

Explore Galeya, a bastion to Hero's safety, a haven to its crime.

Choose how to sort out your rooms for the night.

Accompany one of your companions in their own story on this day of peace before the storm: steal, catch or save, your pick.

Discover secrets about yourself... or about others.

Remember: not always one can have it all.

Chapter 6 is 161k words long. Yes, I just decided to give you 3 of my normal chapters in one go. Enjoy!

KNOWN BUGS:

Sometimes, the image for Chapter 5's title doesn't appear at the beggining of the chapter. I'm unsure why, and thus the bug still persists.

DEMO DESCRIPTION AND USEFUL LINKS:

Scales of Justice is a fantasy game situated in another world, far away from Earth. There are plenty of species living together in harmony, but the human race is currently split in two civilisations: the one known as Hero kingdom, which is ruled by ‘heroes’, and the one named Vannais kingdom, controled by ‘villains’. Both nations hate each other and the fight between ‘heroes’ and ‘villains’ here is something that happens on a national level. The game is focused on lore, on character development and your own perception of the world: perhaps, your MC just wants to live a peaceful life... or maybe wants to save the world.

Or even rule it, if you’re into such things.

If you want to know a little more about this project and read the first 7 chapters, I'll leave the link to the game here -> https://dashingdon.com/play/myimaginedcorner/scales-of-justice/mygame/

If you want to discuss anything on CoG's forum, I'll leave the link for SoJ here -> https://forum.choiceofgames.com/t/wip-scales-of-justice-new-project-announcement-and-demo-release/101088/16

If you want to send me a more extensive feedback, here's my email -> [email protected]

Any mistakes, concerns or questions you have, feel free to contact me through Tumblr! I am very excited to share this story with all of you, and I want to make it as good as possible with your help!

RO DESCRIPTIONS:

Shoren/Seile → Heir to the throne of Hero kingdom, where your journey starts. Also, your old friend whom is very attached to you. Likes to read and practice magic, enjoys adventure and heroic deeds. A recognised “Hero”, with blonde curly hair, pale skin and a pair of beautiful blue eyes.

Robert/Reina → Order’s Paladin, defender of Hero and knight of Fate itself. Brave and honourable, they are determined to protect the people of the kingdom. Very loyal to friends and very dangerous as an enemy. Has short brown hair, tanned skin and an athletic build.

Valerius/Venis → An Outworlder, who was caught by cultists in the Wicked Woods. Gracious, elegant and charismatic, with ideas that you cannot always grasp. Has long, dark brown hair with a silver streak, olive skin and golden eyes.

Arion/Aria → Leader of Vannais, a recognised “Villain” who escaped from Hero and now rules the enemy kingdom. Serious, reserved yet respectful. Doesn’t like to stay behind hiding in the castle, an so always personally appears in battlefields and negotiations. Has short blonde hair, pale skin and greenish eyes.

Be careful! These characters have their thoughts and opinions on the world and your actions: if you want them to support you, convince them or take their side… or neither. That is your choice after all!

#scales of justice #interactive story #hosted games #update #chapter 7 #interactive if

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slightlyslytherinthings · 1 year

Text

Since when...

Warnings: Light Smut. Sebastian touching himself thinking of Y/N.

Description: Of course all aged up. There are two segments the first one is more an introduction and the secound one a light smut. Last year of the school. Sebastian being the narrator of this ff.

Please give me some feedback it is my first writing, I would love to know where I could improve. And maybe write a next part to it.

🖤🤍💚

Starting a new year and also the last year at hogwarts felt great, knowing that less than 365 days are apart until I can start a career, maybe traveling for awhile or just staying with my dearest twin Anne and with my lovely friends Ominis and Y/N. I wonder how their summer break went?

Speaking of I just seeing them standing at the great hall, "Hey Ominis! Y/N!". "There you are Sebastian, good to hear you again. Hopefully with less trouble than the last years", said Ominis, being cocky as ever. "Hey Sebastian good to see you again, totally missed you on my adventures.", as Y/N greeted me she put her arms around me to hug me thight for a moment.

Even after I spoke the death curse against my own uncle, and Ominis being mad at me, which was understandable, Y/N could manage to make him speak to me again. Not only him, she also convinced Anne to send me owls, she might even want to see me soon again. Y/N was really a true friend, after all I put her through and even after cursing that damned cruciatus curse to get out of the scriptorium, she still kept up with me and my problems. I should give it to her back somehow. Pleading of liking having friends in my debt, I'm surely forever in her debt.

Speaking of feeling her hug I noticed something different, it felt more softer and wasn't she usually bit closer? Merlin. It is her wider chest, which puts us apart, she definitely didn't had them the last two years, what was she drinking- STOP IT! I shouldn't think so inappropriate about her like that. I love her, as a friend, maybe even like a sister or even like a brother since she acts sometimes like one, maybe it was our influence, tho.

But still I shan't think of her like that, even if she truly grew more mature. Who am I to ask her out? She would be definitely better off with someone like Ominis. I must admit the thought of it feels off. Even if both of them deserved to be happy.

I gently got off of her hug, "We should go to the table, shall we?" She smiled at me with a wide grin as she went forward to the end of the slytherin table. Ominis and I followed her, he placed himself next to her and I sat towards her. Unfortunately Imelda Reyes joined us, placed her gossiping ass right next to me. Merlin help me to survive her annoying being. I always wondered how Y/N can be so friendly with her, but thinking of it since she also has no problem with my sorry ass, it might be even a greater superpower to keep up with difficult people than the thing with ancient magic itself.

➽───────────────❥

As the three of us sat outside, waiting for the transfiguration class to begin, a sudden dark cloud rain above us. I actually enjoyed the water drops running down my face, but I noticed the couple of Ominis and Y/n moving fast under the stone roof right before the classroom. "Sebastian please join us under the roof before you're getting a cold, my dear." her softly well sounding voice filled with concern rang through my ears and I followed them, like she was a siren calling a sailor of his boat.

"Are you getting cold? Your clothes are soaking wet.", she asked. "Don't worry, I just know the right spell to dry myself up." I used the hot air charm on myself. "That is a nice spell, do you mind drying my clothes too?"

Even tho she wasn't staying long in the rain, her blouse got a bucket or two full water on her and I could see her skin through it- damn it. Feeling the blood rushing to my cheeks and some other part, I also cast that spell towards her and maybe a bit to much than it needed to be. But it even made it worse, since her blouse got more pressed against her, which defined her gorgeous body even more. Merlin. Would she ever think like that of me too?

The class started and we sat- of course she had to sit next to me. It made it somehow worse, I think Ominis could start to tell that I was all over for her.

"Professor Weasley?", I raised my hand. "Ah yes, Mr. Sallow.", as she answered. I asked, "May you excuse me? I need to go to the toilet right now." - "Mr. Sallow the class just started.", she sighed. "But before an accident happeneds you're dismissed."

I stand up slowly hiding something with my cloak as much possible, I needed to go out of here, these thoughts of her wet skin... these silky fabric touching her nice silhouette, where I deeply wished she would want me to touch her- Merlin, since when had I developed such a desire for her?

I went of to a toilet stall, as fast as I shut the door and locked it. I began to unbotton my trousers and grab my little devil, starting to rubbing it. I pictured every inch of Y/n, her lips oh her sweet shaped lips.. imaging her to bite them because she would see something at me she also desired for so long. Her doe eyes which innocently hide her true nature of being a freak in the sheets.. I bet she isn't innocent at all. And Merlin these breast, what I would give to just get another glimpse. I moved my hand faster as I got more and more scenarios of her, like her blouse get lose and I could see her shoulders, she definitely would get aroused and start moaning if I could kiss them until she get bruises, enough bruises so that anyone knows she enjoys me, only me. I pressed my right hand against the door, thinking of how she would loved being pinned at it while her legs would perfect wrap around me, she would scream my name while I thrust my devil inside of her warm, wet witchhood until she can't walk or even say a word anymore. I would love to see her face while she comes, knowing that I could do that to her- "Merlin, Fuck. Y/N!"

I groaned her name a bit too loudly for a public toilet as I came in my hand. I have luck that no one was around. I cleaned myself in exhaustion and walked back to class. Y/N grin at me, when I rejoined the class.

Merlin, stop smiling at me like that again.

#hogwarts legacy #slytherin #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow jealous #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian x mc #sebastian sallow smut

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vettelinyourarea · 1 year

Note

ohhh can i get one arthuro request with just a friend to you by meghan trainor? arthuro got friend-zoned by his teammate will be a good pathetic one💀👍🏻

just a friend to you - arthur leclerc

genre: angst

word count: 863

inspired by just a friend to you by meghan trainor

warning: english is not my first language, one or two curse words

thank you so much anon for the request! i really hope you like this one and sorry for taking a long time to finish it!

I've been pretty busy with uni and will be busy with uni until May, that's why I'm not posting as frequently. Also, my requests will be closed until I finished all of the requests I have currently!

feel free to send me any feedback 🫶

---------------------

Why you gotta hug me like that every time you see me?

Why you always making me laugh

Swear you're catching feelings

I loved you from the start

“Arthur! I missed you,” you said, pulling him into a hug. It’s kind of like a routine for you and Arthur, hugging each other every time you saw one another. And frankly, it’s quite funny for the young man, seeing you doing all those things with him while saying that the two of you are strictly just friends. Everyone else doesn’t believe you, not even Arthur himself.

“We just hang out last night chérie,” he replied with a chuckle, returning the tight hug you have him.

“I guess I just love you too much that even a night seems too long.”

Arthur knew it was supposed to be a joke coming from you, yet still, he can’t help but wonder, do you really love him just as friends?

So it breaks my heart

When you say I'm just a friend to you

“Seriously, what is it between you two?” Dennis asked. Currently, you and Arthur are preparing for a race, joined by other drivers who always wonder what is going on between you and your beloved teammate.

“What? Never seen a girl and a guy being friends?” you said, trying to look annoyed and Dennis but failed eventually.

Arthur watched you silently as you laugh at Dennis and Paul, trying his best to stop his heart from breaking as the word ‘friends’ keeps replaying in his head over and over again.

Cause friends don't do the things we do

Everybody knows you love me too

Tryna be careful with the words I use

I say it cause I'm dying to

I'm so much more than just a friend to you

Just friends my ass, that’s what Arthur want to say to you when you woke up. It was 2 AM, and you are sleeping beside him which is a tradition for the two of you. After every race weekend, both of you would have a sleepover. Nothing really happened though, besides the occasional cuddles, hugs, and kisses on the cheek. But still, Arthur wonders what are you really up to? There’s no way nothing is going on between you two. The number of kisses you pressed on his cheeks, the number of cuddles, hugs. Everything you do makes Arthur question your intentions.

Because, there is no way the two of you are just friends, right?

When there's other people around

You never wanna kiss me

You tell me it's too late to hang out

It was in July when everything changed. At first, Arthur noticed that you gave him fewer kisses, which transformed into no hugs, then you never initiated any physical contact with him anymore, and it all wrapped up with you declining his invitation to hang out.

Arthur is frustrated about it and he doesn’t even try to cover it. He keeps questioning everything, did he do something wrong? Did he hurt you and he doesn’t realize it? Because it seems to him, you are trying your best to avoid him at all costs, and Arthur can’t help his heart anymore from breaking more and more each day.

And you say you miss me

And I loved you from the start

So it breaks my heart

When you say I'm just a friend to you

It was during a Christmas party held by Juan when Arthur finally got his answers. It was a chilly afternoon in Italy, every driver in Formula 2 are invited, and you are standing there alone, waiting for your drink when Arthur got the courage to approach you. “Can I talk to you?”

It was weird for you two now, standing all alone together in close proximity when it used to be so normal. “Why are you avoiding me?” He finally breaks the silence.

“I’m not avoiding you,” you replied, avoiding his gaze.

“Yes, you are and don’t lie about it.”

It was a few seconds before you finally answered, a few seconds too long for Arthur. “I have a boyfriend now,” you said looking down at the glass you are holding. You knew what you did to him was wrong, you knew all along that Arthur likes you more than a friend, you knew what you have done to him the past 2 years you become his teammate, yet, you still lead him on all those years.

“Who?” he finally asked with bitterness evident in his tone.

“Oliver,” you answered. You already knew it was wrong to lead him on for 2 years, and you knew it would be even worse if you date his close friend. Yet, you did both of those anyway.

“Congratulations, you don’t fucking deserve him,” he replied, clearly disgusted at you and he left you alone.

And that would be the last time you talked to him because not even two weeks later, news broke the Formula 2 community.

Arthur Leclerc is to leave Prema and race for DAMS this season

And maybe, you knew that it was what you deserve. Losing a friend, and a teammate because you want to have fun.

#f2 #formula 2 #f2 x reader #formula 2 x reader #arthur leclerc #f2 imagine #f2 imagines #formula 2 imagine #formula 2 imagines #arthur leclerc x reader #arthur leclerc angst #f2 angst #formula 2 angst #arthur leclerc imagines #arthur leclerc imagine #arthur leclerc x you #f2 x you #formula 2 x you #vettelinyourarea

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philliam-writes · 1 year

Text

you are in the earth of me [02]

Pairing: Anthony Lockwood x fem!Reader

Content: canon-typical violene, patching up Reader, author pining for Lockwood

Summary: Your eyes pop open. Lockwood is standing at the bottom of the stairs, leaning against the banister with his arms crossed, an amused look on his face. All tousled dark hair and brown eyes as sharp as glass, he is as tall as Kipps, perhaps taller, and lankier. But their demeanours are quite different. Where Kipps is calm and steady like stone, reliable like the earth that is always solid under your feet, Lockwood seems striking like a flash of bright lightning—quick-witted and assured in the path he carves as though the mere thought of something standing in his way is so far-off that he just barrels ahead with no regard of what he sets ablaze.

Notes: [01] | [03]

Words: 7.3k

A/N: Nothing could have prepared me for the overwhelming positive feedback I got for chapter 01!! Thank you so much for everyone who's joined the ride. I hope you guys will enjoy this as much as I!! (I'm on my 4th rewarch of Lockwood & Co. and I still delight in noticing all the small details they put into the show. Also. Lockwood's voice! Makes! Me! Weak!

02: for whom the bell tolls

each man’s death diminishes me, for i am involved in mankind. therefore, send not to know for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee

— John Donne

The Rotwell dormitory you live in, nicknamed the Lions Den, is a stocky brick house taking up a good chunk of Dovehouse Street. There used to be a hotel there, way before the Problem, and then an apartment complex for the rich elderly until Rotwell bought the whole building and its private gardens just to prove they can. Echoing the classical Georgian townhouses of Chelsea built out of pale toast and earthy red shades of brick, every residence features timber-panelled walls, triple-glazed windows, and smoked oak floors throughout.

The front entrance has glass doors sliding open for anyone entering. Somehow, the foyer always smells like pine needle polisher. To the right side is a row of mail boxes with each tenant’s name, on the left side is the guard’s office, separated from the foyer by sleek glass panels. Someone decided to put a whole rainforest inside, monstera, rubber trees, philodendrons. They nearly swallow tonight’s agent covering the shift: a bulky, young girl with dark curls to her chin looking like a malformed porcelain doll—delicate features on top, sinewy muscle stretching the seams of her wine red agent jacket going down. She stares at you for a moment, blinking with her long black eyelashes.

You wave.

She doesn’t wave back, and returns to painting her nails a vibrant yellow you could pick out from space.

Inside your mail box, you find ads and unpaid bills, reminders to pay said bills, and a very unflattering drawing of you working out in the dormitory’s underground gym area. You crumble the note and throw it back inside, slamming the window shut.

Your two-room apartment lies at the end of a long corridor, facing the backside and gardens. It is a copy paste of all other living complexes inside this building: a small entrance leading into a spacious living area with a cream-coloured two-seater couch at its centre, a solid cherrywood desk next to the curtained window and a heavy antique armoire twice your size pushed against the wall. Behind an ornate cedar door is the small bedroom, king-sized bed and heavy bureau and all that makes it look more like a hotel room advert than a place where you could wind down after a hard day.

As always, you stand in the hallway for a moment before turning the lights on. It is quiet, the room smells of polished wood and washed laundry. As always, it feels as though the walls are closing in.

You flick the light on and stash your rapier inside the umbrella rack by the front door, ignoring the two trash bags waiting to be thrown out. The laundry has been hanging for three days, but there was just no time to clean it away because you’re barely here—every minute spend within these walls is taken up by sleeping, eating or occasionally staring bleary-eyed at the ceiling and counting the heavy thuds from above whenever the agent living in the upper apartment decides it is time to practice tango in high heels at three in the morning.

You cross the room and open the window, letting in the cool night breeze. The smell of dawn hangs in the air, crispy and cold like the crackling of dry leaves. It will take only a few more hours for the sun to rise and draw London’s people from their homes to go about their daily lives. Jobs, grocery runs, late afternoon dates, strolls through the parks. When the world wakes up, you turn in to sleep, bloody, beaten and bruised, but alive.

You wonder if every day will be like this. Fight against the Problem and only chip away at the immeasurable scale of its extent. This night, you have secured two Sources, stopped two hauntings. But how does this affect the grand scheme of things?

Your head hurts. Best to leave the existential crisis for another day; right now all you need is your soft pillow and the familiar smell of your lavender-detergent. The Problem will still be there once you wake up; it will not ruin those precious hours asleep where you don’t have to worry about anything.

Every apartment has a tiny kitchen and bath adjacent to the living area. A cup of tea before you turn in, and maybe one or two of those chocolate chip biscuit a client gave you last week in appreciation for driving off the Lurker in her basement.

The kitchen looks just like you left it: as though a salt bomb has gone off. There was no time to put away the dishes or give the pan a quick scrub before you left for your shift, and now the leftover burnt bits stick to the dark surface. The half-full cup of coffee has grown cold since the morning, left forgotten. You’re too tired to clean up. It’ll have to wait until you wake up, or maybe even after the next shift.

You consider throwing your head back and screaming for a second when all of a sudden an intense hate for this apartment geysers up and threatens to swallow you. It is tiny, suffocating. There is nothing personal about this—you could disappear from the world and it would just become someone else’s responsibility and property. Nothing would indicate that you left a mark in this place.

Putting the kettle on the stove, you pick out your favourite mug with a broken handle—Kipps’s fault when he knocked it off the table a couple months back—and return to the living room. Your coat smells of burnt fabric from ectoplasm. The agency is very strict when it comes to appearance and representing Rotwell's splendid work ethic, so replacing it will put another dent in your account, but that is still better than going through the same trouble as last month when you appeared with a chocolate smudge on your jacket and every supervisor spotting you gave you hell for it.

Half-shrugged out of your coat, you walk back, past the closed window.

And stop.

Slowly, you turn. Only your own reflection stares back at you—wide-eyed and dishevelled from today. There’s a dark patch on your shoulder where ectoplasm has eaten like acid through the fabric of your coat. The lock is latched firmly on the inside, the metal clip winking at you under the Tiffany lamp’s reflection. Suddenly, everything depends on how still you are against the moving world.

Where did you leave your rapier? Ah, inside the umbrella rack back in the hallway. What’s the closest bludgeon weapon you can get your hands on? Only an empty Pringles can, yesterday’s dinner.

In the window’s reflection, the dark patch on your shoulder rises, distorts. Grows a head. Even with the room plunged into silence, your heart beats rabbit-fast and you hold your breath to keep from making a sound. Just this once, you’re thankful you were running late this morning and didn’t have time to clean up the leftover breakfast on your office desk that stands against the wall. Not even five steps separate you from the blunt silver knife glinting under the lamp with specks of dried jam on its blade.

The shadow behind you grows bulky shoulders and broad arms. When it steps onto the small area just a little to the right from the entrance, the wood creaks.

The world jerks back into motion.

You lunge for the knife on the table when a hard body slams into yours. You crash against the wardrobe, your head hitting the hard wood with a loud crack. The room spins as all air is knocked out of your lungs. You notice a blurry shadow rising in front of you, and your body moves on autopilot—rolls to the right and falls to the ground just in time to dodge a fist punching a hole into the wardrobe.

Nauseating headache throbs like lightning flashes in the back of your head as you scramble back to your feet, wheezing from the pain spreading through your body from the impact. Your rapier. You need your rapier.

Wood splinters when your attacker draws his hand back. He is almost two heads taller than you, completely clad in black. Even his face hides behind a ski mask. All you see are two pinpricks of unfathomably dark eyes as though this man has gazed into an abyss and the abyss has gazed right back at him.

He doesn’t move for a second, stands as though frozen on the spot. Only his hand flexes, relaxes. Clenches. Silver glints off his gloved knuckles. He is here with one intention only: to hurt you.

You don’t have time to ask why. His legs are longer; he closes the distance between you with two long steps, swings his arm towards your face. You spin and fling yourself over the backrest of the sofa, bounce off its cushions and jump to your feet on the other side. With furniture between you and the intruder, you finally force yourself to take in deep breaths. Think.

The smell coming off of him. You recognise it. Grainy, woody with a fruity note. The sweetness you picked up earlier this night must have been caramel. Alcohol.

“Look, if this is about me bumping into your table earlier at the Green Goose, you could just ask for a proper apology,” you press out between gritted teeth. Your whole body feels like a giant bruise, sore and laden from exhaustion.

Every step he takes around the couch, you mirror until it becomes a dance of bodies and mind to see who gives in first; who slows down and loses focus.

At first you believe the noise to be your frantic breathing—or his rattling wheeze, but then you pick it up. A rough, scratchy voice.

“Dickey … need … dickey …”

Your muscles are so taut you fear they might snap any second. Another circle around your couch you go. “What? I don’t—I don’t know what that is.”

“The … the key,” he repeats, louder this time. “I need the key.”

“Key? What key?” You feel the gnawing urge to squeeze your eyes shut against the vertigo of this situation. “I don’t have a key—”

The memory flies back so fast it nearly knocks you out like an incoming brick. Bronze, small, resting within the cushions of a small seal. Disappearing into the deep pockets of a black coat. The echo of death and violence still sticking to your fingers even through the fabric of your gloves.

You round the couch again and stop, the desk at your back. The knife is just in reach. “I don’t have that key.”

“I saw it. He gave it to you. You have no idea how important it is to us.” His voice rises to a snarl, the quality rougher than satin scratching over bark.

“He never gave—” Another memory hurtles your way—it is a wonder you don’t pass out from a concussion. The candy. It is still inside your pocket, suddenly heavier than a stone.

Everything makes sense now.

You take a step back towards the table. “You’ve got it all wrong,” you say, your words tumbling over themselves in their haste to get out, “I don’t have the key, and I don’t know where it is. I’ve got nothing to do with it.”

“LIES!” he hollers, and punches the backrest of your couch. The loud thud is like a gunshut, and you move, whirl around and grab for the knife—and completely misjudge where it is. Instead, your hand slaps on the dirty plate.

It could be worse.

Heavy steps thump behind you. You grab the plate, turn and hurl it at the man. It slams into him, shattering into thousand pieces.

You fly past him, towards the hallway and umbrella rack where your rapier is waiting. Stretching your hand out, your fingers brush against the silver handle—

A hard grip catches the end of your trenchcoat, yanking you back. The blow comes out of nowhere, slamming into your face so hard you see stars. Your back teeth clang together. Black dots dance before your eyes and blur your vision as pain radiates from your cheek. Something sharp and hard slides across your knees, slicing the fabric of your jeans clean in half.

Fingers curling, tightening their hold around the familiar hilt, you turn and draw back your arm, and let it snap forward like a snake lashing out and sinking its venomous teeth into its prey.

The silver-tipped edge of your rapier drives into the man’s shoulder and he cries out in pain, staggers back—and takes your rapier with him. He curls his gloved fingers around the thin blade and yanks the tip out of his shoulder, throwing your weapon to the ground where it lies useless and completely out of reach.

He reaches into a side pocket and draws a jagged, razor-sharp knife.

On second thought, maybe you should just run.

You bolt for the hallway once more, this time aiming straight for the door. The sound of a fast-moving object sailing towards you—something moving quickly and swiftly and with enough force to slice the air in half—makes you throw yourself forward, just in time to dodge the glinting edge nipping your hair.

You yank at the handle, letting white light spill into the apartment from the outside hallway.

Two thinks happen at once.

You wrench the door open and squeeze through the narrow gab. The man behind you slams bodily into the door and you hear a pained groan. At the same time, something sharp cuts through your trenchcoat and jacket. Searing-hot pain explodes in your left side.

You manage to push through and shut the door with a loud slam. A second bang shakes the door; he must have run into it again trying to chase after you.

Hot pain radiates from your side. You grit your teeth hard enough your jaw hurts and follow along the hallway all the way back to the foyer.

When you reach the night guard’s office, there is nobody inside. As if this night couldn’t turn even worse. A small glass bottle lies disturbed on the table, spreading yellow nail polish like spilt blood on its surface. The girl must have knocked it over, now gone to fetch a cleaner.

Great.

You throw yourself under the table and disappear from sight; somewhere on the first floor a door slams shut.

There has to be a way out. A way to draw attention; a way to drive him away. As your eyes rake across the room to find something, anything, they land on a red button behind a small glass window. The ghost-alarm in case of hauntings inside the dorms.

You crawl out from under the desk and scurry across the room, heart beating in your throat. If you turn and he is behind you …

Slamming your fist into the small panel, the button gives away without any resistance.

Sirens blare in the building. More doors slam—opening this time as hundred agents emerge from their rooms. Voices echo from the hallways, drowned by the sprinklers going off and raining salt from the ceiling like little diamonds.

You back into a corner, wide eyes staring at the foyer and counting down the seconds until your attacker enters—any moment, any moment, any moment. Only agents begin to spill into the hall, pale faced, groggy from being rudely awakened after tiring shifts.

With the imminent threat gone, the adrenaline pumping through your body slowly ebbs away—leaving behind bone-deep exhaustion, and mind-numbing pain as though your whole body is one giant bruise.

Your clothes stick to your skin, something warm tickles down your side. You cross the room on wobbling feet, forcing yourself not to look; convincing yourself that it is just coffee, just like a few hours ago when you sat in the booth next to Kipps.

The phone receiver on a corner stand is heavier than you remember. Your fingers move as if possessed, finding the familiar numbers on the dial. It rings. Once, twice.

Tears prick in the back of your eyes as it keeps ringing, your call remaining unanswered. Maybe he hasn’t come home yet. Maybe he is still out. Your throat is dry. You feel like an animal trapped against a corner. Suddenly, everything goes blurry.

Click. Kipps’s tired groan is all you get for a hello.

“Quill,” you choke out. Because despite having to call DEPRAC or maybe an ambulance, Quill Kipps will always be the first you turn to in moments of crisis. “Quill, I might have been stabbed.”

Silence. On the other line, you hear fabric rustling, as though he is crawling out of bed.

“What,” Kipps says, his voice rough from sleep, “the fuck.”

You still don’t know what is so special about the address Kipps has sent you to compared to the hospital or Scotland Yard where you assume they are more qualified to handle your dilemma, but you hope that you arrive soon because the daggers the cab driver keeps throwing at you seem more lethal than the gashing wound in your side.

When he finally stops the car—abruptly enough to launch your body against the frontseat—you rummage through your pockets and empty them completely, leaving a generous tip for bleeding on his car seats.

You barely manage to close the door behind you when he speeds off, leaving a dust trail behind.

The sky is turning cotton pink on the horizon. Dawn spreads light and hope across the city, bright and clear, and very painful for your strained, exhausted eyes. You turn away, taking in your surroundings.

The cab has left you in a residential area at the centre of London where the Victorian semis look like they might belong on old postcards from better times, before the Problem. 35 Portland Row is an inconspicuous, four-level house at the very end of the street. Just like its neighbours, it would not suffer from a new repaint, or maybe just a good clean-up.

A lone shadow sits by the stairs leading into the building, rising when you approach. Kipps looks like you feel: his hair sticks out in all directions and there are half-moons of shadow under his eyes, as if they have been smudged there with coal. He rubs the back of his neck as though that would release all the tension from the last twenty-four hours. Worry is etched deep into his face—worry and guilt, and it is an expression you haven’t seen in a long time. It makes your heart clench, turning it into something small, hard, and cold.

He meets you halfway and catches you when you stumble into him, allowing yourself to be held at last. His hold on you is strong and hard, until you hiss when sharp pain from your wound makes it hard to walk. Kipps’s hold lightens.

“What the hell happened?” he demands, his long fingers gently nudging your head left and right by your chin. You’re pretty sure there is a nasty bruise blooming from the punch.

“Turns out someone out there really wants that bloody key,” you say, unable to put quite the heat into the words like you wanted.

The effect is pretty much the same.

It is like a door slamming shut; his expression closes off completely. He puts your arm around his shoulders and hauls you up the stairs. To your surprise, the door is already unlocked and swings open when he pushes against it with his other shoulder.

You enter into a narrow, dark hallway, only illuminated by light streaming into it from an adjacent room. The house smells of iron and salt, leather coats, and a curious dusty, musty tang. On both sides of the walls hang weird masks and odd curios on shelves. Everything about this entrance screams extravagance, but also something inexplicably homely. The complete opposite from your apartment. Voices sound from the first door to your right, silencing upon the front door clicking shut behind you. Now everything is dead silent.

Kipps leads you past an old, chipped plant pot that functions as an umbrella stand and rapier holder. They are old French models with specks of ectoplasm stuck to blades, and dents in the hilts. One long, black umbrella is bent in the middle as though someone had used it as a weapon and didn’t get around to throw it away.

You emerge into a small, cluttered living area containing a fireplace, an old sofa and a few sturdy armchairs grouped around a coffee table. Heavy dark curtains obscure half of the window where the first streaks of sunlight steal through the gap, showing dust dance in the light.

Three heads swivel your way, all in different states of confusion. You recognise one face.

Anthony Lockwood jumps out of his armchair. It has only been a few hours since you last saw him, and so far he has only taken off his black coat. His white shirt is wrinkled, his black tie thrown over his shoulder. There is something restless about him, like a moth fluttering from flame to flame.

Kipps slides you into the free seat on the sofa right next to a giant pile of crumpled ironing. Shirts, pants, and briefs tumble to the ground as you finally allow yourself to slump into the seat and let your guard down.

The room tilts for a moment. You close your eyes, trying to comprehend today’s events. Multiple voices bombard you from all directions and turn into a pounding headache at the back of your skull.

A metal lid clicks open. Careful hands remove your coat, then lift your shirt where the blood has seeped into the fabric, making it stick to your gashed skin. When your eyes flutter open, Kipps kneels before you on the rug, a deep worry crease slicing through his forehead as he inspects your wound.

“Well, good news. It’s not that deep,” he observes. With swift fingers, calloused from handling rapier and tools, he takes the antiseptic and a clean wipe from the first-aid case—expert hands that are used to medical attention; that know the dance of patching up wounds and tending to injuries. You doubt it is something any agent will forget, even when they have served their duty.

When he applies the disinfect after cleaning the blood, you hiss; your body tenses from the pain. “Cool. I’ll thank him next time I see him,” you say through gritted teeth.

Kipps gives you a curt, quick look—but there is still some relief; relief that even now you can be snippy.

“Did you see his face? What did he look like?” Loockwood asks. He’s leaning over the back of the couch, hand holding onto the backrest hard enough his knuckles turn white.

“I don’t know, I was busy trying not go get turned into a shish kebab.” You kick at Kipps when he dabs the gauze a little too hard into your wound.

“Stop moving,” he warns.

“That didn’t work out much,” a girl’s voice notices drily.

You open your eyes. Behind Lockwood’s shoulder, two agents stare at you, blinking their wide eyes like owls.

The boy’s nose twitches. “She bled on the new rug, Lockwood.”

You feel like an exhibit in a museum. Lucy Carlyle and George Karim. Names only familiar to you because you can’t remember a day where Kipps has not complained about them as much as about Lockwood.

“Yeah, why exactly—am I here?” You shift in the seat. Something is poking you in the back. When you pat the cushion, you find an old, dry biscuit.

Behind Lockwood, Lucy gives George a long, pointed look. Seems like this isn’t the first time they witness someone finding leftover snacks in the crevices of their couch.

“You said he was looking for the key?” Kipps is applying gauze to your clean wound which makes everything just a little better; you begin to feel like a human again. Now all you need is a good, healthy amount of sleep. Preferable for the next three days.

“He thought I had it on me. Said something about … how important it was to them.”

Lockwood perks up. “Who is them?”

“Well, he didn’t give me a list or anything.” You pull out some stray socks from under your bum and let them join their siblings on the ground. Slumping into your seat, you notice it is quite comfortable. You’re sinking into the cushions and there is something calming about the smell of old wood and the heavy curtain’s detergent. “But he was desperate. It seemed like … I don’t know. He’ll be in serious trouble without it.”

“Well, good thing it’s with DEPRAC now,” Kipps says, settling back on his heels after he finishes bandaging you up. The silence hanging in the room is stifling. Kipps looks over the backrest of the sofa at Lockwood. “You did bring it to DEPRAC like we agreed to. Right, Lockwood?”

Slowly, Lockwood leans away from the sofa as though that is the only appropriate measure to take in case Kipps decides to hurl himself over the sofa and strangle him. He has the good manners to look almost contrite. “I might have missed out on the chance to deliver it to Inspector Barnes,” he says slowly. His face is calm and betrays nothing, like the blank statue of a saint in a cathedral.

Kipps is on his feet in an instant. Red patches of rage have broken out over his face and throat. “You lying, conniving piece of—”

Lockwood claps his hands loudly. “This just proves that we cannot let anyone except professionals handle this case. Least of all DEPRAC. Someone’s after it because they know whatever that key unlocks is important.”

“Or he was the Visitor’s killer and he knows it could be evidence,” George points out. “Like Annabelle Ward and Fairfa—”

Lucy slaps her hand over her coworker’s mouth. Her wide eyes stare at him, then pin you down. George blinks, then nods slowly.

You raise your hand. “You know, being the one who got stabbed over this, I veto you let the adults handle it.”

Lockwood gives you a dazzling smile. “Overruled.”

“Let’s sleep on it first,” Lucy says, rubbing the exhaustion from her eyes with her sleeve. “We’ll decide what to do next when we wake up. And yes, leaving it with DEPRAC is still an option.” She looks over at Lockwood, her eyebrows raised. You can’t think of many who manages to make a proposition sound like a threat.

“First reasonable thing I hear any of you say today,” Kipps scoffs. There is still anger in his voice, but you don’t think it is directed at anyone specific this time. This anger smells of frustration. It stems from knowing days like these are in the fine print of becoming an agent. The danger from having to deal with the living from time to time, which can be so much more dangerous than the dead. He turns to you. “Let me drop you off at a hotel.”

“I—” You don’t want to be alone, not after tonight. But Kipps also lives in the Fittes dormitories and they are mercilessly strict when it comes to non-employed visitors, despite being a senior supervisor like Kipps who enjoys some privileges.

“We must assume whoever attacked you might be out there still tracking you,” Lockwood says, and leans forward to settle his elbows against the backrest. His white shit stretches taut over his shoulders and back, catches over his spine. He lowers his dark eyes to you, within which swims a quiet, but solid confidence as though he has never faced a situation he couldn’t handle. It makes you want to rely on him, a thought you quickly push away the moment it steps into your mind. “We have a spare couch in the library you can crash on until morning—” He glances over his shoulder towards the window where sunlight peaks through the heavy curtains. An almost coy smile captures his lips, showing the hint of a dimple. “Until we wake up.”

You raise both eyebrows. “I can?”

Both Lucy and George give Lockwood the sideye. “She can?”

Lockwood frowns. “Unless you have somewhere else to go?”

“A couch sounds perfect.” You are tired enough you wouldn’t mind sleeping on the floor. You throw Kipps a quick look. He doesn’t look happy, but even he realises this is better than leaving you all by yourself.

With nobody objecting, George heaves a defeated sigh. “Let me go and pick up the empty chips bags,” he says, and shuffles out of the room. You hear wood creak when he stalks down the hallway.

When you tear your eyes away from where he left through the door, you notice Lucy keeps staring at you with an odd look you can’t place. As though she doesn’t really know what to think of you and why you are suddenly here, only 'here' doesn't seem to apply to the living room of her home. It feels like she doesn't seem to know why you have suddenly stepped into her life. She manoeuvres around Lockwood, painstakingly making sure there’s furniture between you and her.

Kipps is by your side helping you up. He follows Lockwood's directions through the entrance hall. You pass the stairs to the end of the hallway where George is carrying an armful of empty bottles and plastic bags out of what you assume must be the library.

It is a small, oak-panelled room across the hall from the lounge. No light sneaks inside with the heavy curtains shrouding the windows. Up to the ceilings, hardback volumes are crammed into black, heavy shelves that line all four walls. It smells of books and ink and printed paper, making you immediately feel at ease under the dim, warm light of an old standard lamp tucked into a corner.

Kipps makes sure you’re comfortable on the leather couch, throwing a worn, chequered wool blanket over your legs. He looks at you for a long moment. Then he seems to crumple inside, like paper; he sinks down in the leather chair opposite you, and puts his face into his hands. “I should have just told Lockwood No when he asked for someone with Touch. I never wanted you to get involved like this.”

“It’s a little too late for that now, isn’t it?” you state, but there is no malice or accusation in your voice. You are too tired for that.

Still, Kipps makes a sound like a kicked puppy. When you look over at him, you see him pale and slumped down, like someone who’s taken so many blows that the doesn’t want to stand anymore.

Your grab for his hand and squeeze until he returns your gaze. His pale green eyes look haunted. “I don’t think this is anyone’s fault,” you say. “Least of all yours.”

Kipps purses his lips. You squeeze his hand tighter.

“Maybe,” he allows. He scrubs at his face, eyes flitting over the hardcover books surrounding him. You grow drowsy with every steady ticking of an ornate mantel clock above the fireplace. To your side is a small, mahogany Victorian pedestal table with a leftover cup next to a stack of London Society magazines. “Or maybe I should have been more careful,” he continues. “Be more careful. So this doesn’t happen again.”

The fog of sleep that almost takes you is cleanly cut by his words. You blink against the dizzy feeling that tries to pull you under; dragging you down like wet clothes when you swim. You let go of his hand and sit up. “You are not responsible for me,” you say, unable to keep the heat out of your voice now. It comes back full force, scathing and blazing. “I can look after myself perfectly fine, and I would not have you waste your life away because you think you are obliged to protect me.”

“You could barely fend off that attacker by yourself,” he shoots back—his voice strains to remain diplomatic, calm, but this is Quill Kipps, and he has never been capable of putting the lid on the smouldering fire when it comes to your safety. “I made a promise and I mean to keep it until you’re retired and old and stop getting into danger—”

The rage that always lives inside you rears when he says that ugly word—promise. It is an almost physical pain, like nails against flesh.

“You are not my brother,” you snap. “And I don’t want you to be!”

All colour drains from Kipps’s face, then comes back in a rush of angry red as he tries to keep his anger under control. You know a lot about rage. How hard it could be to rein it in without a lifetime of practice. How it could eat you up inside.

He stands, slowly, calmly—and that is so much worse than when he explodes. This is him in his upset mood that you call ‘scary-calm.’ It is a calm that makes you think of the deceptive hard sheen of ice before it cracks under your weight.

“Quill—” you begin, but he is already moving towards the door.

“If I were Matthew,” he says at the threshold, not looking at you, “I would actually be able to protect you.”

It is a blow not meant to be a blow, and yet it drives through your chest like a poison-tipped spear. It stirs up age-old dust from a past you try to bury so hard that now you choke on it.

Matthew. Mat. Mat is gone because of you. And now Quill leaves you too.

You jump to your feet, ignoring the piercing pain in your side and stumble after him. Kipps disappears down the hall, then you hear the front door open, and slam shut.

You close your eyes and bang your head silently against the doorframe. Beneath your gloves your palms are slick with sweat and your fingers shaking. All day you felt like walking on a tightrope, and now a single misplaced step sends you plunging. You have never felt this alone before.

“Do you do that because you enjoy it, or because it feels good when you stop?” says a drawling voice from the corridor outside.

Your eyes pop open. Lockwood is standing at the bottom of the stairs, leaning against the banister with his arms crossed, an amused look on his face. All tousled dark hair and brown eyes as sharp as glass, he is as tall as Kipps, perhaps taller, and lankier. But their presences are quite different. Where Kipps is calm and steady like stone, reliable like the earth that is always solid under your feet, Lockwood seems bright like a flash of lightning—quick-witted, assured in the path he carves as though the mere thought of something standing in his way is so far-off, he just barrels ahead with no regard of what he sets ablaze.

Any retort dies on your lips when he throws something your away, and you catch the first object mid-air, pulling a face when your wound protests. It is cold and heavy—a pack of ice cubes wrapped in a towel. The second thing hits you in the shoulder and clatters to the ground. A package of painkillers. If you would look up the word Oops in the dictionary, you’ll find a picture of Lockwood’s current expression.

You bring the ice pack up and press it against your cheek. “Thanks.”

Lockwood gives a crooked smile. “Plenty of time to figure everything out later. If you need anything, our rooms are just another floor up.”

Your mouth is dry. He isn’t nice because he wants to; he too does it out of an obligation. “OK. Thanks.”

He crams his hands into his pockets, eyes raking from your feet up to your face. It seems as though there is something else Lockwood wants to say, but he decides otherwise and ends up simply nodding before he ducks back towards the kitchen where you can hear the hushed, urgent voices of Lucy and George.

You retreat into the library and shut the door gently. Only the clock’s ticking fills the room now, so loud it is almost grating against your ears. You tug your gloves off gingerly and place them next to the magazines. The skin on your knuckles and the back of your hand is dry like sandpaper. Later this evening, you have to make sure to get your hand lotion.

Ignoring the unpleasant feeling, you lie down and shimmy under the blanket. You tug your hands close to your chest where there is no danger to accidentally touching anything—you know there is no threat from objects belonging to the living, but after almost a decade of experiencing death echoes ranging from mild joy to severe depression, it is soothing to know that the gloves conjure a sense of separation, of safety. Without them, you feel naked and vulnerable.

Just a few hours of sleep. Then you’ll figure out what to do. Maybe you can pretend the whole day didn’t happen—run a few jobs, clean up your room after the attack. Return to normalcy. Return to your day-to-day life before you got roped into Lockwood & Co.’s business and their wayward modus operandi.

You close your eyes and pretend you don’t feel strangely safe listening to the muffled voices coming from the other room.

Something has taken a hold of your legs.

Your stomach roils with panic as you thrash against its grasp, smelling damp soil and rotten leaves—someone is trying to put you under the ground, bury you alive in unholy ground where all hope and virtue is lost, just like—

You jerk free—

—and fall.

The floor is hard and unyielding, slamming you awake on impact. The pain follows right after, radiating from your side to the rest of your body. Groaning, you try to turn to your other side, but with your legs still half-entangled in the blanket, you don’t make it far.

There was a dream. At least you think there was a dream. You can’t remember much, only the smell of rotten soil and copper.

From under the closed door, you see a slim sliver of late afternoon sun peak into the dark room. You lie very still for a moment, even though your back and neck hurt from being curled up on the small couch all night. It is not the foreign place that startles you, but the noises that belong to a lively home: cabinets open and close. Dishes clatter. Water boils. Voices drift through the walls, muffled but heartily warm and bright. It smells of heated butter, herbal tea, and something burnt.

A home. This is a home where people come to wind down after work, to be vulnerable, to pick up the broken pieces after a case.

For just a minute, you close your eyes and imagine this is your life. Your home. This is your room, smelling of books, ink, and candles. Somewhere downstairs a cup smashes into bits, but there is only laughter, bright and cheerful—someone shouts a jolly “Luce!”

You pop your eyes open; the pipe dream dissipates. Your body is a medley of bruises and aches as you get up. Kipps was right, the cut isn’t too deep, you didn’t even bleed through the gauze during the night. You look at the ornate clock hanging above the fireplace. It is past three o’clock. You have to be at Rotwell’s in an hour.

Blinking against the sting in the back of your eyes, you get up and grab your gloves from the small table and your torn, dirty Coat hanging from a chair’s armrest. The fabric stinks of blood and sweat, but there is no time to get back home and change into clean clothes. You can’t get late to work a second time this week.

Your initial plan to just march through the front door and leave doesn’t work out when you pass the open kitchen door. It is a small, cluttered room with a huge table in its centre like a pillar of strength. Several plates with food have been placed down, breakfast served for three people: boiled eggs in cute little eggcups, sandwiches, a fruit bowl, some hot, greasy sausages just out of the pan. There is flatbread and right beside it a plate with small bites like fruits, walnuts, sliced cucumber and radishes.

The agents of Lockwood & Co. coordinate around each other in a way that seems like a practised dance—Lucy swiftly dodges George carrying a plate with doughnuts while Lockwood steps out of her way striding towards the water kettle without even looking.

When she pauses and says something to him, he does that thing you find annoyingly attractive in men: since he’s much taller than Lucy, Lockwood leans down and tilts his head towards her to hear her better. He has a striking side profile, all sharp lines and elegant curves, a pointed jaw.

You see him smile, and grow increasingly annoyed at how effortlessly handsome he is.

George clears his throat, and then all three are staring at you standing in the doorway.

Lockwood’s mouth twitches into a smile. “Hiya.”

Lucy’s mouth twitches into something that hasn’t decided yet if it wants to be a smile or a scowl.

George notices you looking at the food on the table and promptly says, “We don’t own enough dishes for another person.” He calmly closes the cupboard behind him where you see another stack of plates and cups.

“Wasn’t interested. I’m not much into burnt toast,” you say like a liar. George huffs in offence. “I have to go anyway. Work and all that.”

Three heads nod at the same time, a conjoined Hydra.

Remembering you have something like manners, you quickly add, “And thanks for letting me stay.” That should be enough pleasantries. You hastily make your escape through the front door and manage two steps downstairs before you hear footsteps behind you.

“One more thing,” Lockwood says, propping himself against the doorfrome. You wonder if he owns any other piece of clothing other than his white shirts and ties. “Regardless however we proceed with our case, it would be to both our benefits to work out an association. There is no harm in having friends in established circles.” He puts on a smile, one you recognise from meeting him for the first time. Charming, but bashful, he plays coy to try and pull you around his little finger.

So this is how he wants to play it.

You slip into your jacket and smooth down the fabric to appear at least somewhat dignified. “We are not friends, Tony,” you say, and notice with some satisfaction the tick in his jaw whenever someone uses that nickname. “And frankly, if our paths don’t cross anytime soon, I wouldn’t mind. Now, if you excuse me—“ well aware of the ectoplasm stink and the tears in your jacket, you push your shoulder blades together— “we at Rotwell are quite busy with actually solving the Problem instead of playing detective games.”

With a confidence you don’t feel at all, you grant Lockwood one of your sly grins, your usual selling argument whenever you’re wearing your Rotwell armour. Lockwood’s face remains impassive. When you turn, heading out to the main street to get a cab, you feel his eyes burying like a dagger into your gut. In the distance, a church bell rings on the quarter hour, and you try and remember the poem about the bell tolling.

A/N: I cheated a little, the Rotwell dormitories are pretty much the Auriens Chelsea apartment complex. I'll upload a masterlist for this sometime this week to keep things a little more organised.

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