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sanguineterrain · 2 months

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Hello madame terrain, I have been thinking about boxer!jason for some time now and I'm wondering if you have any thoughts about him? if not that's totally okay too ☺️ love all your writing!!!

lol hi, madame terrain is adorable 💕 also boxer jason is big brained!!! let's do it ;)

boxer!jason todd x gn!reader. reader is an apprentice to a ringside doctor (leslie thompkins). tw creepy OMC intimidates reader, jason protects/defends r, fluff, my attempt at boxing stuff.

****

Leslie said she'd be back in an hour.

You're currently at the thirty minute mark, hoping for a natural disaster, an angel, anything, because...

"Doc gives me stuff for my pain all the time," Keith says for the third time. "It's real simple."

Keith Dixon is one of the gym's regular fighters. You haven't seen enough matches to judge his fighting, but you can confidently say that his people skills are in the toilet.

He'd barged into the office ten minutes ago and had refused to leave even when you said Leslie was out.

You need to make a break for it.

"You have to wait for Dr. Thompkins," you say, lifting your chin. You won't give in and risk losing this job. No way in hell. "I can't administer medications. I'm not licensed."

Keith rolls his eyes. He's a hothead, new to Gotham. Likes to fight. Likes to fight mean.

"Look, you're new. I'm just giving you a heads-up on how things work around here," he says, backing you up further. You're nearly against the wall.

Where the hell is Leslie?

"I'm sorry, Mr. Dixon, but I can't prescribe painkillers without her supervision."

"Uh-huh. Know what I think? I think you're just not cut out for the ring," Keith says, cornering you against the cabinet. "Cute thing like you shouldn't be hiding in an office. The Doc ought to know better..."

"Is there a problem?"

The new voice makes you flinch, just a little. Keith pulls back, posture easy but guarded. The second guy holds himself similarly. He's also well-built, clad in a gray tee and black sweatpants. His hands are wrapped.

"J-man," Keith says, daggers in his teeth. "Man, I thought you were benched for the week. You meet our new assistant? They're still getting used to how things run around here."

The mystery man looks at you. His eyes are a lovely teal.

"Is he botherin' you?" he asks.

"I—" You swallow. "I was just explaining to Keith that I can't administer medicine without Dr. Thompkins."

Keith huffs. "Jason, tell 'em how this works."

Jason faces Keith. They nearly match each other in height and bulk. You hope to God they don't decide to brawl here and now.

"I think you're the one who needs a reminder, Dixon," Jason says coolly. "Seems pretty straightforward to me. You need to wait for the Doc. So was there something else you needed?"

Keith's mouth presses into a line. You can tell he's got about a hundred ugly thoughts on his tongue right now.

"Nope," he grits out.

"Mm. Then step off."

Keith obeys. You slip out of the corner.

"I'll come back," he says.

"When the Doc's here," Jason adds. It doesn't sound like a suggestion. "If y'need a reminder of her schedule, I don't mind giving you one."

Keith looks at you. You hold his gaze, heart pounding.

"Of course," he says, all false charm, and pushes past Jason. "See ya in the ring, J.T."

You can't relax even after Keith leaves. Jason remains in the doorway. You close your eyes at the thought of dealing with another fighter. It's not bad with Leslie here, but this is your first time alone. It's already a disaster.

Obviously, none of the fighters respect you like they respect Leslie, even after three weeks of you working here. You don't even know all of the fighters.

"Hey." Jason doesn't move from his spot as he asks. "Y'okay?"

"Yes," you say, keeping your back straight. "I'm fine. Do you need medical attention?"

"I just came to get some more wraps. But I can get 'em at home."

His voice is softer now that Keith's gone.

"No need," you say. "That's what I'm here for."

You get a roll of tape from the drawer. It takes you three tries to pull the edge out. You drop it twice.

You feel Jason's eyes on you. You keep pulling the tape, but it won't comply.

"I got it," he says. "I can wrap myself. Toss it here."

You pause, tape half unfurled. "Dr. Thompkins told me to do all wraps myself."

"Leslie's cool. I won't tell her, anyway."

You shake your head. "Why don't you want me to wrap your hands?"

Jason glances to the side. He leans against the doorframe, purposely casual.

"'Cause Keith's a big guy. And I'm a big guy. And your hands are still shaking."

You tighten your grip on the tape.

Jason gestures to the office. "This is your space. I won't come in if you don't want me to. That's not how this works."

"It's... it's the job," you say, startled. "I don't—I've heard that Keith's rough with everybody."

"Yeah, well, he's an asshole. You shouldn't have to be rough back. Good fighters turn it off outside of the ring. I don't want to make you feel small. Alright?"

Tension bleeds out of your spine. You no longer feel like prey.

"It's easier if I wrap them for you," you say, and turn your back on him to fetch the antiseptic.

The tiles behind you creak as Jason hesitates for a moment. Then he walks in and sits in a chair, so you're higher than him.

He looks up at you. He really does have beautiful eyes. His eyelashes are dark and delicate. There's a faded bruise on his cheek.

He's boyishly handsome, with a mouth that looks like it smiles a lot.

"Do you also fight here?"

He nods. "Since I was eighteen. Been here a while."

You take one of his hands in both of yours. Jason's already thrown out the old tape. His knuckles are cut up. They're covered in scars. His fingernails are short and neat.

His hands are big, far bigger than yours. Veins feed into each other from the backs of his hands up his forearms.

You take out the antiseptic spray.

"Might be cold," you warn.

"'S okay."

You spray his skin. Jason doesn't even flinch.

"Your hands are really soft," he says.

"Oh, thank you. I use Isley's Salve. Works great."

Why did you share that?

Jason's mouth quirks. "Yeah? Might have to try that. My hands have seen better days."

"I have some in my bag." You let go of the half-done wrap and dig through your backpack. You pull out the small tube of salve and squeeze some onto his hands.

Jason is quiet and still as you rub in the lotion. He's pliant as you finish the wraps, letting you turn his hands over. You pull the wraps tight.

"All done," you say, face suddenly warm like you've been caught doing something you weren't supposed to.

He flexes his hands a few times. "Thanks. You're good. I can see why Leslie chose you as her apprentice."

You shrug. "Anybody can wrap hands."

"Dunno. I've seen some pretty shit wraps in my time."

"Oh. Well, um, I'm here most of the time, so feel free to come by and get your wraps changed."

He hums. "Sure. Don't worry 'bout Keith. I'll take care of it."

Your eyes widen. "I don't want more trouble..."

"You won't get trouble, I promise. We don't tolerate that here. 'Sides, he's overstayed his welcome."

You nod. "Okay. Thank you, Jason."

"No need for thank you's. Y'alright getting home?"

"Yes, I'm okay. Leslie's dropping me."

Jason nods, then picks himself up. He pauses like he wants to say something else, but he strides out of the room like he's in a rush instead.

"Well, um. G'night," he says over his shoulder. "Take care."

It's about fifteen more minutes until Leslie returns.

"Everything alright?" she asks in a tone that tells you she already knows the answer. "I ran into Jason on my way in. He said Keith Dixon gave you some trouble. I'm sorry I took so long. Are you alright?"

"You ran into—I thought Jason went home for the night."

Leslie looks like you've just told her the sky is red. "He wanted to make sure you were okay. So he waited till I came back. Are you okay? Did Keith hurt you?"

You shake your head. "No, I'm alright. Just shaken up. He's a bully. Wanted painkillers."

Leslie frowns. "He won't bother you again. I'll make sure you're not alone."

"It's okay. I mean, Jason was there."

She nods. "Mm. He's a good boy. I know his father."

"Yeah, he, uh, was nice. I wrapped his hands."

Leslie raises an eyebrow. Your shoulders rise.

"What?" you ask. "You said to practice my wraps."

She shrugs. "Nothing, nothing. I did tell you that. I'm glad you got some practice in."

You follow her to her car. Soon, Leslie pulls out of the lot.

"Leslie, do you mind if we stop at CVS?"

"Sure. What for?"

You feel for the little tube in your pocket.

"Need more Isley's Salve... I'm, uh, running low."

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood fanfiction #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd imagine #dc fanfic #batman fanfiction #batman imagine #boxer jason todd #inbox #blurb

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dazednmatthews · 1 month

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sick!matt headcanons

based on this ask n answer i saw on my feed!! all credits to both of these amazing ppl for the idea!!!

-matt is definitely the type to be a whiny mess when he’s sick

-we alr know his ass is in his room and sleep 24/7 but the second he starts to feel even a little bit ill he’s in there with blinds drawn and bundled in his blankets so tight

-he’d be texting you every second he is awake though, begging to see you

-“please baby. i just want to be next to you.”

-and ofc course you don’t give a damn about getting sick because that’s your man and you’re gonna stick beside him!

-“i know, honey, i’m coming. gotta stop at the store to get you some things.”

-matt always likes to find new shows to watch. it’s like his thing, but when he’s sick it’s a constant marathon of all his comfort shows and movies.

-“can we watch taken?”

-“again?”

- “it’s such a good movie, babe. liam neeson is just too good not to be a real spy.”

-“whatever you want, baby.”

-you love taking care of him, but getting him to take medicine is the most annoyed you feel

-“that shit tastes so bad, i’m not drinking that.”

-“do you want to feel better or not?”

- you’d argue back and forth for a little while but you get your way regardless

-“matt if you don’t take this fucking cough syrup, i’m going home.”

-“…fine. where is it?”

-a lot of naps. constant napping.

-you’re both cocooned underneath several blankets, legs intertwined, matt’s head on your chest. he’s been in and out of sleep all day while you’ve been watching the movie playing softly on the t.v. your hands are running through his hair affectionately. his hands are wrapped around your waist tightly. you think this is the closest to heaven you’ve ever been.

-when you eventually have to get up, you do your best to unwrap yourself from his hold, but his ass will not let go.

-“where are you going?” his voice is thick with sleep and a little nasally cause of his congestion.

-“babe, i have to pee.” you pat his head affectionately. “you’re gonna have to let me up.”

-“nooooooo,” here comes the whining again. “stay.”

-“the quicker you let me up, the quicker i’ll be back, matt.”

-chris and nick make fun of him so bad for it.

-“he’s fucking insufferable when he’s sick. i don’t know how you’re doing it right now.” nick says.

-“he’s not that bad,” you roll your eyes while heating up some soup for the two of you.

-chris laughs, “this is hilarious. big, bad, tough guy matt getting his ass kicked by a cold.” he’s much more happy than he should be at that. “mr. tough guy getting spoon fed soup by his girlfriend.”

-you let them have their fun for a while before you light heartedly shut them up. “lets not forget that mr. tough guys girlfriend has cleaned up your-” you point at nick, “vomit, and has also babied you when you got your ass kicked by a sunburn.”

-they shut up after that

-sleepy matt is one of your favorite versions of him

-when you come back into the room he’s sat up against the headboard shirtless, doing that cute thing where he rubs his eyes incessantly, blankets pooled at his waist

-his hair is strewn about, fluffy and wispy. he stretches, enough for you to see the top of his pj pants

-he looks at you as you enter, gatorade and soup balanced in your hands

-you put the dishes and drinks on the bed side table and he smiles at you oh so warmly

-he moves from his spot to the side of the bed where you stand, opening his legs for your to go in between them. he looks up at you, pulling you towards him. your hands find his shoulders, kneading softly.

-“thank you, baby.”

-“of course, matty. you’ve gotta stay hydrated if you’re gonna get better.”

-“no, not for the soup. well, yes for the soup, but i mean for everything. for staying with me. for taking care of me. i know i’m a lot right now.”

-he looks sheepish, so you bend down to kiss his cheek.

-“you’d do the same for me.”

-you stay there for a couple sweet moments, his face pressed into your stomach and your hands playing with the hair at the nape of his neck

-eventually you both lay back in bed, ending the day doing your favorite thing, just holding each other

-of course you end up sick

-you’re a lot better at being sick than matt but it never matters

-he’s babying you just the same

-“can’t believe being a good girlfriend got me sick. i hate you.”

-he rubs your back while your head is in his lap

-“i’m sorry sweetheart. don’t worry, though. i’ll take good care of you. just rest.”

-you’re not worried in the slightest. he always does.

#matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo edit #chris sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo fanfic #christopher sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt stuniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo headcanon

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alwaysmicado · 7 months

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What you need

2.9k | 18+ NSFW | fwb!Joel Miller x f!reader | pt. 4

Warnings: no outbreak AU, implied age gap, facesitting, unprotected p in v, creampie, pet names, Joel is the little spoon Summary: Joel is sick and your pussy's the best medicine. A/N: This one’s just cute! 🤍 After the next two parts or so, we’ll start to get into it for real. Fucking around is fun, but it doesn’t last forever, does it…

pt. 1 ・ pt. 2 ・ pt. 3 ・ series masterlist ・ AO3

You: How was the client? Joel: I stayed home, not feeling too well You: You need anything? Joel: Just you ;) You: I’ll be there in 30. Stay in bed! Joel: No no babe, it’s okay Missed Call Missed Call Missed Call Joel: You’re unbelievable

“Oh, come on,” you groan and lift the measuring cup towards Joel’s lips. “Why are you such a stubborn baby, huh? Just drink the fuck-”

You stop yourself when you see him raise an eyebrow, a smug smirk tugging at the corners of his pale lips. He’s sitting in bed, his back supported by pillows, his head leaning against the wooden headboard panel.

Propping Joel up comfortably like this was a struggle in and of itself since this grown, successful man only sleeps with one, worn-out pillow he’s probably had since before you were born, so you also had to get two plumper ones from his couch to provide enough support for his poor back. What is it with him and refusing comfort?

At least now you know what to get him for his birthday in September…

“Hmm, you love it,” he teases and puts his hand on your waist to pinch you lightly.

“I would love it if you stopped fighting me and just took the damn NyQuil,” you counter and search his eyes. They’re heavy-lidded and glassy, revealing the exhaustion Joel’s been trying to fight all day.

You sigh and softly brush a strand of sweat-dampened hair from his forehead. He’s running a fever and the cool, damp washcloth you put on his forehead to alleviate at least some of his evident discomfort only did so much.

At this point, you really just need him to listen to you for once, take the damn medicine and, most importantly, lie down and give his body the rest it so desperately needs.

You look at the collection of bottles on the nightstand next to him and shake your head. Since you didn’t know what his symptoms were before you came, you stopped at a pharmacy on your way over and bought everything : DayQuil, NyQuil, a bottle of cough syrup, peppermint tea, a bunch of pain meds, Epsom salts with eucalyptus and essential oils, fresh produce to make a smoothie - hell, even a thermometer because you weren’t sure if he has one.

The only thing missing is the patient’s cooperation.

“I appreciate your care, darlin’,” Joel murmurs, reaching for your hand to pepper your palm with soft kisses, “but I really don’t need any of that. I’m just a bit under the weather, that’s all.”

“You’d rather die than admit you’re sick, huh,” you state with a tilted head and raised eyebrows.

“Now that’s a bit dramatic, isn’t it,” he murmurs and nibbles on your arm.

“Says the grown man who gagged from the tiniest sip of green smoothie,” you scoff.

“Yeah, well, that shit was disgusting,” he chuckles, pulling you closer by your waist so you’re straddling his lap. “C’mere, sweetheart.”

“You have a fever, Joel,” you sigh and cup his cheeks. “I’m worried, okay?”

“About little old me?” He smiles and squeezes your hips.

“Yeah,” you lean in to press soft kisses to his cheek. “And I need you to let me help you, so tell me what-”

“Sit on my face.”

“Huh?” You sit back up and look into his eyes in surprise.

“Take your slutty little pants off and sit on my face,” he repeats with a cocked eyebrow.

“How is that-”

“I’ll take the meds if you do,” he interrupts with a smirk, his eye crinkles giving away his genuine amusement at this genius suggestion.

You sigh deeply and look at the ceiling. How is this guy real? “And a whole smoothie,” you murmur as you get up.

You push your shorts down together with your panties, let them fall to the floor, then climb back onto the bed to straddle Joel’s lap without the covers separating you this time. He looks at you hungrily, the fever completely forgotten as he sees and feels your naked cunt and thighs.

“Mmm, that’s it, baby,” he groans softly, his big hands on you immediately, gripping your ass and moving you up and down the length of his hardening cock. “Look at the mess you’re already making on me,” he murmurs, turned on by the wetness you’re spreading over his gray sweatpants.

“You get off on caring for me, hm?” He taunts with a smug grin.

“Oh, shut up,” you roll your eyes and capture his lips in a bruising kiss. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you close, as close as he possibly can, kissing you greedily. You writhe and wriggle on his lap, moaning into his mouth, your hands tangled in his hair.

He breaks the kiss to nibble and bite at the soft skin of your neck, leaving marks behind. You’re letting it slide this time, enjoying the tantalizing sensation of slight pain mixed with the soft touch of his lips and facial hair that’s causing your pussy to clench around nothing.

You’re just going to have to wear a silk scarf or something to work.

“God, I wanna taste you so bad, baby,” Joel moans into the crook of your neck, his eyes closed. You bite your lip and hum as the friction of your movements on Joel’s pants stimulates your clit perfectly.

“You gonna be good if I let you?” You purr into his ear with a roll of your hips, eliciting a soft whimper from him.

“You come all over my face, angel, and I’ll do whatever you want,” he whispers, his fingers digging into your sides.

“Alright, baby,” you coo and lift your weight off his lap. “Lie down for me.”

Joel scoots down and lays his head on the pillows, looking at you intently with big eyes. You position yourself over his face, hold on to the bed’s headboard panel and lower your hips carefully.

“Look so fucking gorgeous,” he mumbles before hooking his arms over your thighs and pulling you further down. His warm breath and facial hair tickle you as he kisses your lips softly, then drags his nose through your wet folds, inhaling your mesmerizing scent and nudging your swollen clit before repeating the movement.

You throw your head back and moan softly as he slides his tongue between your folds, lapping at your dripping hole and pushing in ever so slightly before circling your clit. Your fingers tangle in his dark curls as the vibrations of his deep groans intensify every movement of his lips and tongue.

“Fuck, you taste divine like always,” Joel breathes as he dips his tongue into your wet heat to lap up as much of you as he can. You look down and clench around his tongue when you see his blown pupils and frenzied look. His mouth moves at a relentless pace, making you squirm and tug on his curls harder. You’re so close already.

When your moans get louder and Joel feels you grinding your pussy on his face harder to chase your imminent high, he can’t resist biting the marks already adorning your skin.

“Ow, fuck!” You cry out in surprise at the sudden pain shooting through you. You hadn’t even noticed the purple bruises on your inner thighs when you showered and got dressed today.

Maybe it should concern you that your body hasn’t been without bruises for a few months now. But it doesn’t, if you’re being honest with yourself. You just weren’t planning on showing someone else’s marks off to Joel this time. You really weren’t.

“Fun night?” Joel asks with a smirk before sucking on your swollen clit hard, keeping you in place with his hands splayed over your ass.

“Can’t complain,” you bite back back, or at least try to, since your voice devolves into a soft whine at Joel’s harsh treatment of your sensitive bundle of nerves. The deliciously painful feeling is almost enough to send you over the edge.

“Oh fuck, that’s it,” you moan as he starts lapping at your dripping hole again, his nose rubbing against your clit with every stroke. “Feels so good, baby.”

Joel groans with each lick to your puffy folds and throbbing clit, hooking his arms over your legs again and digging his fingers into your skin. “Please, Joel,” you whine, tugging on his hair harder.

“Use my face, angel,” he pants breathlessly, completely drunk on your pussy. You’re the sweetest thing he’s ever seen or tasted. “Take what you need from me.”

He's bucking his hips, trying to get as much friction from his pants as possible, precum leaking out of this cock steadily.

“I’m– oh fuck –I’m gonna come,” you moan, sliding your drenched pussy over Joel’s tongue and nose frantically. He hums blissfully, holding on to your thighs and watching your face as you arch your back and fall apart with a strangled moan.

You come on his tongue, your hips stuttering and your whole body trembling from the intense orgasm. Joel groans as he eagerly drinks your cum and slowly licks you clean when he feels you come down again. You yelp and your hips jolt at the overstimulation when he sucks your pulsating clit into his mouth, savoring your taste.

You lift your hips and look down at him, your chest heaving and a satisfied smile playing on your lips when you see his jaw and facial hair dripping with a mix of his saliva and your cum. He looks gorgeous like this.

You swing your leg over Joel’s chest and lie down beside him. He turns to face you and gently traces your thigh with his warm hand, still breathing heavily. You scoot closer, so you’re flush with his body and place your bent leg between his.

“Kiss me, Joel,” you purr as you nudge his wet nose with yours and caress his cheek with your palm. He gives you a smile before leaning in and capturing your swollen lips with his. You part your lips and allow his tongue to slip inside, feeding you your own cum. He grabs your ass to pull you closer against him, your bodies pressed together heatedly, both breathing heavily as you feel the thud of your combined heartbeat. Joel groans into your mouth softly as he rubs his throbbing cock against your hip, his hand traveling along your waist to your belly. You thrust your hips so your pussy rubs against his thigh on the bed, more than ready to come again.

“So perfect,” Joel murmurs against your lips as he slides his hand under your shirt and palms your breast. He tweaks your hard nipple, eliciting a soft moan from you. He furrows his brow and looks into your eyes intently, his pupils even bigger than before. Every fiber of his fevered body is aching for you, to be close to you, to become one with you, to be yours.

You see something shift in his face, but can’t put your finger on what it is, so you don't say anything.

“Can I fuck you?” He mumbles into your neck where he’s kissing and biting at you sloppily, his hand still massaging your breast and his cock screaming for release.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” You breathe, your need for Joel to be alright still trumping your primal need to get off. You're an animal, not an asshole.

“I’m more than okay, darlin’,” he reassures you with a tired smile.

“And you’re not gonna die on me halfway through?”

“Don’t care,” he murmurs and takes your hand to press it against his erection. You rub up and down his length slowly as he slides his hand between your legs. You groan when he circles your sensitive clit a few times before sliding two of his fingers into your warm cunt. He pumps them in and out a few times before adding a third, the heel of his palm putting delicious pressure on your clit.

“You want me to ride you, baby?” You pant, feeling your second orgasm build already.

“Can we-,” Joel breathes, his cock throbbing, “can we just stay like this?”

“Of course,” you nod and help him pull down his sweatpants. He pulls his fingers out of you and wets his cock with your slick before removing his pants fully. “C’mere,” you coo as you draw him close to you and drape your leg over his hip. He strokes his length a few times before nudging your entrance with his pulsating tip and sliding in in one smooth thrust. He wraps his arm around you, splaying his hand on your back under your shirt, moaning into your hair when he bottoms out.

“Oh shit, you feel too good, baby,” he groans and holds on to your ass cheek to pull you toward him in unison with his frantic thrusts. “I– fuck –I ain’t gonna last long,” he pants. “You want me to fill you up?”

“Yeah,” you nod with a needy moan, your brow furrowed. Joel’s cock is hitting your g-spot repeatedly, causing the muscles in your thighs and lower belly to tense and your climax to approach rapidly.

“Tell me, baby,” he breathes, his cock massaging your inner walls with every snap of his hips.

“I-I want you to come inside me, Joel,” you whine, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Please, please fill me up.”

He can feel your walls tightening around him and your whole body tensing, so he tilts your head up by gripping the nape of your neck. “Look at me, baby,” he breathes and grinds his pelvis against your clit. It only takes a few more of his thrusts for the tension in your belly to snap with an intensity you’re never able to achieve on your own. Or with anyone else for that matter.

You come with his name on your lips, your walls spasming and contracting around his cock as you ride out your orgasm. Seeing and hearing and feeling you in such a state of ecstasy due to his touch pushes him over the edge, emptying himself deep inside of you with a breathless groan. He stays buried inside you as his cock pulses and your pussy swallows every last drop of his warm cum.

You stay like that for a minute, limbs intertwined, skin hot and sweaty, breathing heavily, hearts pounding, looking at each other curiously. You slowly trace Joel’s eye crinkles with your fingertips, then gently run your fingers along his perfect nose before moving further down to gently touch the bare spot on his jaw where his facial hair never grows.

“What’re you doing,” he chuckles, drawing shapes on your ass and thigh with his fingertips.

“Nothing,” you lie with a warm smile. “Just looking at the man who most definitely just gave me all of his germs and will most definitely come and clean my apartment when I’m lying in bed with a fever."

Joel rolls his eyes in mock offense and you giggle. “Told you to stay away when you showed up here,” he murmurs and slaps your ass playfully.

“Oh, Joel,” you sigh, “you’ve come inside me so many times that our DNA is probably the same at this point.” You kiss his forehead. “I don’t care about a few germs if I get to ride your face and hear your cute little whimpers when you almost come in your pants like a teenager.”

Joel's cheeks flush with a mix of fever and embarrassment as he catches the hint of a grin on your face. “Stop it,” he grumbles, the corner of his lips twitching involuntarily. “You’re mean.”

“And you’re impossible,” you chuckle, your hand reaching out gently to stroke his forehead and tousled hair in a soothing gesture. His eyelids flutter at your touch and a faint sigh escapes him, a small surrender to the tenderness you’re offering.

— “Thank you, darlin’,” Joel murmurs before setting down the glass on the nightstand and laying his head on the pillow mountain you’ve built for him. “I’m just gonna lie down for a bit.”

“Alright, baby” you coo, walking over to your bag to retrieve your phone, then sitting on the bed beside him. You play a game for a few minutes, relaxing and monitoring Joel’s rhythmic breathing. He’s lying on his belly, his head turned away from you, his left knee pulled toward his chest. It’s the same exact pose you sleep in.

In another life you might fall asleep like this together every night, two puzzle pieces fitting together perfectly, completing each other. You smile softly at the thought and reach out to stroke his back.

“All your fault,” Joel grumbles into the pillows.

“Huh?” You ask, startled and confused. You thought he was fast asleep.

“Haven’t seen you in over a week,” he mumbles. “Bad for my system.”

You chuckle and plant a soft kiss on his temple. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “Won’t happen again.”

“Just stay for a while,” he murmurs, his voice a mere whisper. You linger for a few seconds, studying his profile, before lying down behind him. He instinctively turns from his belly onto his side, so you can drape your arm over him.

“You can sleep now, baby,” you whisper as you nestle against his back, molding your body to his contours, your warm breath ghosting the nape of his neck.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

---

Thank you for reading! 🤍

part 3 || part 5 || series masterlist

#fwb!joel miller x f!reader #fwb!joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #pedro pascal characters #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller AU #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller tlou #joel the last of us #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel miller fluff #the last of us fic #smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal

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headspace-hotel · 2 years

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i'm too...skeptical of a person to vibe with much of the "witchcraft" adjacent spirituality that's popular nowadays

However, one of the most difficult things to understand about The Past is that for many of your ancestors, the distinction between "spiritual" and "mundane" phenomena did not exist.

and this does create problems for the idea that "science is for one set of questions, religion is for another" or at least the idea that "witchcraft" is a religion (exclusively). In The Past, philosophers speculated about the universe from the point of view that there were spiritual realities and that they weren't distinct from material realities. Before the modern idea of gravity, there was the idea that the four classical elements each had a particular nature, with earth being the heaviest and fire being the lightest. This also corresponded to a moral reality about the elements—the lighter elements were more "pure." (This is why in Dante's Inferno at the center of the Earth is Satan himself.) These people weren't assigning morals to substances in the way we now think of it. Their spiritual and moral realities were just "real" in the same way as the physical world.

People asked "From what we know of God, what can we hypothesize about the existence of extraterrestrial planets and beings, and what they are like?" And it's interesting to note that the belief in God didn't obstruct them from asking these questions; instead, it allowed them to ask these questions at a time when they didn't have naturalistic observations to go on.

But I'm getting off track—modern science is derived from things like alchemy and philosophy, and we are a bit biased here because we tend to see Aristotle and the like as precursors to "science," whereas when indigenous people maintain and pass down a collective body of naturalistic observations about their world, that's seen as some kind of cutesy pagan thing. Which is just racism.

In reality, ancient astronomers were also priests, medicine was practiced by shamans. They were people with knowledge that the average person did not possess. If there's a generic word for this type of person, it's "wise woman" or "wise man": the "three wise men" that are said to have visited Jesus were astronomers. The figures we see as "spiritual" often dealt primarily, and sometimes almost exclusively, with physical, natural phenomena. When they did deal with spiritual phenomena, it was for a lot of the same reasons that we do.

(Arguably, we have a worse understanding of some things, because we see everything in the physical world, including our own bodies, as unaffected by the meaning we assign them.)

What this means is that "witchcraft" can and should be to some extent "mundane" and evidence-based. But in my mind, "witchcraft" means possessing some kind of knowledge that is hands-on, practical, and not easily obtainable just by reading books or wikipedia, tempered by wisdom as a guide for when and how to apply it. It's also a social role; it suggests your knowledge makes you important to your community.

...

So I think an auto mechanic is technically some kind of witch.

#random #witchcraft #history #history of science

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doki-doki-imagines · 5 months

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Hi! If requests are still open can i request mk1 men with an angel reader? Thanks!

author note: Earthrealm guys for my own sainty🫡

Johnny Cage: -"Have you fallen from Heaven? Cuz' you are an angel." "It's exactly what happened." "…Seriously? We should totally make-" "No." -The man is so curious. -He flirts here and there, but mostly, he just wants to know how angels work and how it is up there. -Maybe some juicy info will slip, and Johnny will be able to make a movie out of it…

Kenshi Takahashi: -When everybody told him you are an angel, Kenshi thought you were just a nice person. -When Johnny told him you are an angel, Kenshi thought you were also beautiful. -For sure, Kenshi never thought of feeling feathers when you protected him during a fight. -"So you are an angel." He says, breathless. "Yeah, nobody told you?" -"Will my sins be forgiven?" "My Lord welcomes every sinner seeking redemption."

Raiden: -Literal angel meets metaphorical angel. -Every time you two meet in the same room, you make it shine for how nice and good you both are. -You are both so sweet that Lao swears that some of his teeth rooted. -"Can I touch them?" "The wings?" Raiden nods. -Best experience ever: 10/10. It felt like caressing a cub and heart is relaxed better than any medicine could ever do.

Kung Lao: -"You are wayyy too nice." "I'll take it as a compliment." -He teases you restlessly, Lao wanna see the angel snap back at him. -If only he knew what you went through, he'd understand that his chances are less than zero. -The real surprise will be when you'll tease him. -"You are so cute when you blush, Lao." "????" -He is going to get you back for this.

Liu Kang: -"Do not be afraid." "Did you just steal my line?" -You are not the first angel he has seen, but it's been so long since he has been in contact with one that he'll try to keep you as long as possible on Earthrealm. -"Your presence has been healing for everyone. They hope you'll stay here for much longer." "Aren't you sure that "they" isn't just you, Liu Kang?" -Seeing him choke on his tea was a real sight, almost heavenly.

Geras: -It's not the first time Geras meets an angel, so he won't be surprised by you. -He likes to chit-chat, tho! You are both so old you for sure have a lot of stories to tell to each other. -Geras appreciates your help keeping the timelines safe, so he'll always be ready to give you a hand if you need it.

Bi-Han: -"What should I be afraid of? You are nothing more than a mythological chicken." Shows angelic true form "…fuck" -He won't treat you with any respect unless you defeat him in a fight. -Your true form will haunt him in his nightmares, tho. -"Repent Bi-Han." -Maybe an angel is the push he needs.

Kuai Liang: -He is so respectful to you, bowing every time he greets you. -Wouldn't mind training with you, and don't you dare go easy on him! -"Are my flames as hot as hell ones?" "Dear, I'm sorry, but I'm not a fallen angel. For sure, your smile is bright as our light." -Congrats! You made Liang blush, shy smile on his face making him uncharacteristically cute.

Tomas Vrbada: -"Have you fallen from Hea-" "Sorry Tomas, Johnny already tried it." "Damn it!" -Tomas looks so sweet that he reminds you of your brothers. -Too bad that then you remember his work… -He is really curious so you'll be asked a lot about your past and family. -"Are my mom and sister fine?" "I'm sorry Tomas I can't reveal anything. But relax, they are in good hands."

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rarepears · 3 months

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Okay I'm thinking - very dangerous, I know.

Luo Binghe was away and pretty much completely out of contact with human life in the Endless Abyss. He's popping up in people's dreamscapes, sure, but it's still a dream at the end of the day and it's not an exact reflection of reality. Things he learn from people's minds still have to be taken with a grain of salt; he knows from Qing Jing's teachings that one man's truth isn't the whole truth. And from Shen Qingqiu himself, Luo Binghe knows how easily one can convince themselves that the truth isn't the real truth but a lie; delusion is a powerful force.

Anyways, what I'm saying is that Luo Binghe was away for 3 years. All sorts of things could have happened in the cultivation world! It's basically like being in a coma for three years!

You know what would be the worse year to fall into a coma? 2019.

(Can you see where I'm going with this?)

It would be freaking hilarious if Luo Binghe falls into the endless abyss in the cultivation world's equivalent of 2019, an epidemic hits human civilization, and Luo Binghe returns, none the wiser of what happened, but he's sure as fuck wondering why face veils have become such a Fashion Statement that Everyone is wearing it. By then, the illness that had struck most of the human town and cities isn't as bad so it's not so talked about - also it's been a couple years now so everyone is used to it - but it's still a Concern. Not everyone can be rich enough or well connected enough to get the special medicine from the Qian Cao peak to stave off catching the illness.

Luo Binghe is also pretty sure everyone can tell he's a demon because they keep looking and glaring at him. He's very self conscious of his skills of maintaining his glamour hiding his demonic attributes.

(No, Luo Binghe, it's because you cough and sneeze without a face covering on. And also because you aren't maintaining 2 meter social distancing rules. StoP TOUCHING anD insPecTinG eaCh FruiT and vEgetablE at hte markets omfg are you trying to spread your germs everywhere and get people sick!!! )

#luo binghe #svsss #svsss ideas #scum villain's self saving system #mxtx #while luo binghe was in the endless abyss the human world goes through an epidemic and luo binghe is none the wiser AU

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zepskies · 8 months

Text

Smoke Eater - Part 2

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real.

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.

AN: I was overwhelmed by the response on Part 1 (in the BEST way). 🥹 Thank you so much for everyone who read and sent me your lovely amazing comments! Here's Part 2 a bit early for ya. 😘

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 6,400 Tags/Warnings: Idiots flirting, with a side of sexual harassment. 😪

Part 2: "Lieutenant Winchester"

Firehouse 25 was just as much a house as it was a home.

Especially for Dean Winchester.

In the common room, he sat down at his preferred corner of the sofa with a cup of coffee. By now, the guys knew this was his spot, perfectly angled toward the new flatscreen TV someone donated last month.

Up until then, they’d had to hotwire the same tank from 1995, which had only got basic cable. Now at least the newer smart TV came with a subscription to Netflix, courtesy of the donor.

Dean raised his favorite Batman mug to his face, expecting to imbibe some rich dark roast. What he got was a travesty.

Spitting out the brown soil water back into the mug, he coughed and grimaced.

“Jack!” he called out.

Jack Kline, the newest addition to the house, raised his head from where he was trying to scramble eggs in the open kitchen directly behind the couch.

“Yes, Lieutenant?” he replied.

“Why does this coffee taste like ass?” Dean asked. His voice was still gruff with sleep, as he depended on his morning coffee to wake him up, not assault his tongue.

Behind him, Jack blinked in confusion. “Uh…”

Dean finally turned around and gave the younger man a raised brow.

“What brand did you buy, Candidate?” he asked.

A candidate was a freshly graduated firefighter on probation. They were the rookie, the bottom rung of the totem pole, and Jack was that proverbial whipping post.

“Um…” Jack went to find the coffee canister he’d put away in the cupboards. He showed Dean the red plastic jug. “Folgers. It was on sale.”

“Fuck me,” Dean muttered. “Never Folgers, Candidate. Anything but fucking Folgers. The one thing we don’t skimp out on is quality joe.”

“That ain’t nothin’ but dirt water, son,” Benny remarked, as he and Gordon entered the common room. Benny held a to-go mug he’d brought from home. After he’d seen what Jack brought for groceries yesterday, he’d taken no chances.

“What you wanna get is Gevalia,” Benny added.

“That European crap?” said Gordon. He took his usual spot at the dining table, leaning back in his chair. It left Benny to sit at the other end of the couch with Dean.

“Better than that piss water you drink,” Benny said with a smirk. Gordon raised a brow at him.

“Tea is medicinal, jackass.” The Black man raised a finger to punctuate his point. “It’s good for you. Unlike that carburetor fluid y’all drink.”

“Whatever, man,” Dean said, even though a grin edged at his lips. “All I know is, we need premium coffee, stat. Or it’s gonna be a cranky shift.”

“I can go to the store real quick,” Jack offered.

Say what you want about the kid’s poor taste in grocery buying, he was always willing to jump in when you needed him.

“Nah, stay on breakfast,” said Dean. “I’ll go afterwards. But remember, today you’re practicing rappelling drills.”

Jack nodded. “And lunch duty. And helping clean the truck, and all the bathrooms…did I miss anything?”

Dean shared a look with Gordon. Not only did he drive the truck, but he was one of the men Dean relied on most, as he had the next highest seniority on the job out of the whole firehouse.

Well, except for Benny Lafitte, Captain of the Rescue Squad. Squad members were considered specialists in complex rescue situations. They were highly trained on more sophisticated technical rescue equipment and rappelling, even scuba diving.

It took long years for a firefighter to make it onto Squad; something that Dean used to have ambitions for. But ever since he got promoted to Lieutenant on Truck 79, he realized that his role in this house was best served on the Truck, not on Squad.

“If he gets through all that, Meg might have something for him too,” Gordon said.

“Oh, don’t bring me into this,” remarked a droll voice. “I’ve already got one pound puppy to look after.”

Their Paramedic in Charge strode in with Chuck on her heels. They’d just pulled into the firehouse driveway on Ambulance 7.

“Nice. That’s how you talk about your partner of three years?” Chuck said with a frown. Meg turned to him with a wry grin.

“Only the ones who can hack it on my Ambo,” she replied. “What can I say. You’re special, Shurley. Either that, or a glutton for punishment.”

Gordon shook his head and looked over at Jack.

“Careful with that one. She chewed and hacked out her last partner in under a month.”

“Poor guy didn’t even transfer,” Dean added, making a “flatlining” motion with his hand. “He just quit. Dropped out of the Fire Academy that same day.”

Not all firefighters were made through Meg’s department, but it was a common route, working as a paramedic while getting put through your paces in the Fire Academy. Dean himself had gone straight to the Academy after getting his EMT certification.

But at Dean’s words, Jack’s eyes widened a fraction. Meg turned to him with an almost feline smile.

“How was the call?” Benny asked her, speaking of the job they’d just returned from. Meg’s expression dimmed a little, as did Chuck’s as they both sat down at the table.

“Ah, just Henry again,” she said. “Overdosed on his insulin.”

Benny frowned, while Dean shook his head. Jack’s brows furrowed.

“Who’s Henry?” he asked.

Meg sat back in her chair with a subtle sigh. Knowing his work partner’s mood, Chuck answered the young man’s question.

“He’s homeless, lives by the river,” he said. “He’s one of our ‘regulars,’ you could say. When we get the call, usually he’s passed out. Dehydration. But sometimes it’s more serious.”

“You can’t take him to the hospital?” Jack asked in concern.

“Today we did,” Meg said. Her brown eyes met Jack’s, her mouth in a thin line. “But without health insurance, there’s only so much they can do after they get him stable.”

That fell a bit heavily into the room. It wasn’t a pleasant fact, but it was the reality. Jack was learning more and more about that aspect of this job, and learning if he could handle the darker shades of what it could bring.

“Well, breakfast is ready,” he said, bringing a large plate of eggs and toast onto the counter. Dean tossed him an appreciative half-smile and got up from the couch.

“Thanks, kid,” he said, walking over along with everyone else. He took a moment to pat Jack on the shoulder.

“What do you want to do first: run drills, or help me and Gordon wash the truck?” Dean asked.

Jack looked up with a smile. “Can we run drills first?”

Dean nodded, grinning back at him. “Good answer.”

The rest of the Truck and Squad crews ambled in at both the announcement and the smell of food. And before long, the common room was filled with conversation, good-natured teasing, and shitty coffee all around.

From his vantage point facing the open door to the driveway, Benny caught sight of a young woman heading towards the double doors with a large tupperware bin in hand. Bonnie the receptionist happened to be coming in at the same time. You asked her a question Benny couldn’t quite hear.

“Dean… Oh, you’re looking for Lieutenant Winchester?” Bonnie asked. Her voice tended to carry. “Right in there, hun.”

“Well, that sure is interesting,” Benny murmured with a smile. He glanced over slyly at his friend. “Heads up, brother.”

Dean looked up from his plate of eggs expectantly. Benny gestured over with his eyes, just as you walked into the firehouse, both cautious and unsure of where you were going.

Dean’s brows raised. He found himself setting down his plate and getting up from the couch before he really knew what he was doing.

You looked exactly how he remembered. Though this time, you weren’t coffee stained in your professional blouse and black pencil skirt. His attention drew briefly downwards to your heels, this time solid black (and even taller than the last pair, damn).

He noticed all the same things he had last time: the shade of your hair, pinned up again with a clip as stray pieces framed your face. The way you carried yourself when you finally saw him, straightening with a subtle confidence in your shoulders, even though you looked a bit nervous. And the pretty curve of your lips when your eyes found his.

“Hey, there,” Dean said. He gave you one of his trademark smiles. “Good to see you again.”

“Uh, hi,” you said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I guess I don’t have to ask if you remember me.”

Dean nodded. “‘Course I do. What can I do for you?”

Your face seemed to freeze up a bit as you looked up at him.

“Oh, um, nothing really. I just wanted to say thank you, again,” you said. And you glanced past him, where the rest of the firehouse members were discreetly watching. “All of you, actually. And my friend told me that firefighters really like food…but, I mean, doesn’t everyone?”

You laughed a little, in a nervous way that made Dean struggle not to smile too much.

“Anyway, I like to bake,” you twittered on, “and I had some time this week after…well, you know what happened. So…I brought this!”

You raised up your tupperware with a smile.

And you were damn adorable, Dean thought. His own smile deepened as he glanced down at the offering, then at you. He took the container and opened the lid, and was honestly surprised at what he saw.

He could’ve sworn these were Bonafede, just-poured-out-of-the-box Girl Scout cookies. Dozens of them. He saw shortbreads (complete with the little wavy lines), Samoa cookies with the coconut flakes, and even what looked like chocolate covered Thin Mints. They also smelled delicious.

“Wow. Thanks, sweetheart,” he said, with genuine warmth. “I’m pretty sure the guys are gonna tear these apart the second I put ‘em down.”

Your face brightened, and Dean noticed how it reached your eyes with a bit of a blush.

“Well, I hope you guys enjoy,” you said. Your hands fiddled with your purse next.

“Heading off to work now?” he asked.

“Yep,” you nodded, with a certain glint in your eye. “I plan on taking the stairs this time.”

Dean raised a brow. “All 22 floors?”

“Gotta get my steps in somehow,” you joked. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to become a repeat offender, make you guys come all the way back across town again.”

“Aw, I wouldn’t mind,” he said, meeting your eyes. And he found that he meant it. In fact, he didn’t think he’d mind if your building’s elevator broke down every damn week.

Your expression shifted towards amusement. “Well, you must be very dedicated to your job.”

“Protect and serve,” Dean teased back. “That’s our motto, you know.”

“Isn’t that for police officers?” you quipped.

He chuckled. “Hey, if the shoe fits.”

“Well…” you considered that with a tilt of your head, more seriously than he expected you to. You met him with a more earnest gaze. “I think it does.”

Right then, Dean had a feeling, deep in his gut, that he needed to know you. He had half a mind to heed his instincts, to take advantage of the signals he thought you were sending him, and ask if he could take you out sometime.

But it was unprofessional here at the firehouse (not that that had stopped him before). He’d been making efforts to curb that kind of behavior for the past few months.

He also remembered the 30 floors of your massive, fancy office building. He considered the price tags that probably came with the admittedly sexy, high-powered corporate look you had going on. Those were probably a lot more zeros than he was used to seeing on his paycheck.

So for once, he didn’t pull the trigger.

“Well, thanks. I really do appreciate that,” Dean replied. His smile then was more sincere, if also more professional. He gestured at the container in his hand. “And on behalf of all the guys, thanks for this too.”

“You’re welcome,” you replied. “I have to go, but…thanks again, Lieutenant Winchester.”

“Ah,” he shook his head, “just call me Dean.”

You agreed by smiling, just a little bit more.

“Dean.”

He nodded back, sending you off with a smile of his own. He forced himself to taper it down after you left, and he had to turn around to meet his friends. Their grins reminded him of piranhas.

“All right. Out with it, you freakin’ jackals.” He waved his free hand in a “bring it on” gesture.

Meg was the first one to burst out laughing. It spearheaded the rest of them, whooping and catcalling and generally being menaces. Even Jack was grinning at his lieutenant’s expense.

Meg got up from her seat and bumped Dean’s shoulder on her way to the kitchen, where she dumped her dishes.

“Thanks again, Lieutenant Winchester,” she mocked in a saccharine sweet voice. Then she lowered it into an exaggerated mimic of his deeper one, “Call me Dean, baby girl. Fucking priceless. You should get your own Hallmark movie.”

Dean rolled his eyes. He’d been prepared for this, but his face was still getting warm.

“Shut up, Meg,” he tossed back. They all had an ongoing Family Guy joke that never failed to make their PIC narrow her eyes. And she did so now, giving him a fake grimace as she left the kitchen.

“All right, kiddos. If you need me, don’t,” she said. “Chuck! Let’s sort the ambo’s inventory.”

“Got it,” her partner nodded. He too got up and placed his dishes in the sink before he took off after Meg.

This left Dean with the rest of the guys, who still gave him knowing smiles as he set your bin of cookies down on the table. He blew out a breath before he returned to the couch and sat down heavily across from Benny and Gordon.

“I never thought I’d see the day that Dean Winchester bitched out,” Gordon remarked.

Once again, Dean rolled his eyes.

“Truly incredible,” Benny added. He shook his head when Dean just crossed his arms. “She was eying you like a pork cutlet, and you just let her walk outta here.”

“We’re in the house, guys. What was I supposed to do?” Dean groused.

Benny and Gordon looked at him like he’d just denounced Led Zeppelin (his favorite band of all time).

“Get her goddamn number, Winchester,” said Gordon. The man’s lips curved. “Or at least, introduce her to a brother.”

Dean shot him a glance. Gordon Walker was damn good at driving the truck, but he was also known for being a hunter of the ladies himself.

“She seemed nice,” Jack put his two cents in with a smile. He was standing behind the couch, leaning his elbows on it. Gordon scoffed, nodding his agreement.

“Yeah, with a fat ass too,” he said, sipping his tea.

Benny reached over and hit his shoulder to shut him up.

“That’s a lady, Gordon,” he said. Though a suspect smile graced his lips as he glanced at Dean. “A lady with a nice ass.”

Dean shook his head, but he couldn’t disagree. The first time he met you, he’d been impressed by the way you stood your ground with your asshole boss. Dean thought you were going to chuck that lethal looking heel at the guy. But behind that steely exterior was a kind little softie.

Today, he got your sweet side. It was equal parts sexy and adorable.

And damn if you didn’t have a nice ass, nice curves, and a nice mouth.

But your eyes, he thought. Those were nothing short of beautiful.

About twenty minutes across town, an apartment building was swarmed by police cars. One unit in particular was sealed off with yellow caution tape as a team of officers drifted in and out.

What a fucked way to die.

Detective John Winchester observed the unnatural angle that the victim—Jerry Stillwell, a certified public accountant—had his throat cut with a jagged weapon.

It hadn’t been clean in the least. And he’d bled out across his work desk and a stack of papers, as well as his desktop computer. He was 45, unmarried, and murdered in his own home in the middle of a Friday afternoon.

The computer wouldn’t turn on, and not because of the blood. It had been wiped with magnetized technology, most likely by the intruder. Though there was no sign of forced entry, according to John’s partner. The murder weapon was missing as well, though it looked like a knife wound.

John leaned over the on-site medical examiner’s shoulder to peer closer at the man’s wounds. Stillwell had most likely been grabbed from behind. So far, the signs pointed to the culprit being someone the victim knew.

They probably took Stillwell by surprise, but he was a large man. If John had to guess, over 250 pounds, unathletic, but still, not easy to overpower. Likely the suspect was a man over 6 feet; strong, and efficient. Though the messiness of the kill made John think this guy took "pride" his work, so to speak.

“Signs of struggle,” said the M.E. “Skin under the fingernails. He fought back, and…huh.”

John’s interest piqued at the man’s shift in tone. “What?”

“Take a look at this.” The M.E. was holding Stillwell’s right hand, palm-up, revealing a small burn on the inside of the wrist. John’s gaze sharpened on the mark.

“Cas, come here,” he said. Across the room, Detective Cas Novak paused in his task of examining the entry points of the apartment to join John at his side. His blue eyes widened a fraction at seeing the burn. It was a symbol of a snake eating its own tail.

“That makes four,” Cas said.

“Yep. We’ve got ourselves a murder cluster,” John said. Cas nodded. He beckoned John to the side, making sure the M.E. was out of earshot before he spoke. “Isn’t it time we brought Sam up to speed on this, at least?”

John’s brows furrowed.

“No,” he said. “Sam’s an ADA. We don’t go to him until we have someone to indict.”

He walked away from Cas, who frowned. John knew damn well that wasn’t what he meant. This was the fourth murder within six months of this nature. The fourth to be branded with the mark of Azazel…a criminal who supposedly disappeared decades ago.

Shortly after November 2, 1983, the day of Mary Winchester’s death.

Seeing Dean again had gone better than you thought it would. It left you feeling light and downright cheerful when you left the firehouse this morning. Unfortunately, the great start to your morning only crumbled when you reached your office.

Now, even at the end of your day, finally back at home and in the familiarity of your kitchen, the tension headache was back.

“Dre, I’m tired. Can’t we do this another night?” you asked.

Your cell phone was balanced between your ear and your shoulder as you counted out your grandfather’s pills, and placed them in each “Monday through Sunday” box in the blue container.

“No, we absolutely cannot. Because today was horrific,” Andréa said. “For me, because my coworker decided to play hookie on the day our top account needed the mockups of their new website. Never mind that she hadn’t even started.”

Pause for an aggravated breath, through which you frowned in sympathy. She’d told you the entire story over lunch today.

“And for you, because Nick once again displayed why he’s a subhuman neanderthal, in spectacular fashion,” she added.

Your grimace deepened at the reminder.

Earlier today, just before a sales meeting you were set to lead, you’d turned away from the conference table to set up the projector. Nick was early for once, making it just him and you in the room.

He’d sat back in his chair and uttered a remark that set the hairs on the back of your neck on end.

“I’ll tell you what, babe. You sure know how to wear a skirt.”

Your back straightened, and slowly you turned. Your face was set in stone, save for a solitary raise of your brow.

“Excuse me?”

Nick’s smirk was lazy as he kicked his feet up on the table. His hand held a tumbler of whiskey. You noted the half empty carafe, which just yesterday had been full and untouched.

“Fucking fantastic legs,” he said, vaguely outlining your shape with his hand. “I applaud you. It’s all very…sexy secretary. Oooh! Sexcretary. Fucking brilliant.”

You gaped, trying to put a clamp on the furious spike in your blood.

“Are you drunk?” you asked incredulously.

He raised his fingers an inch or so apart, scrunching up his face and trying not to laugh.

“Actually nah, not at all,” he bluffed.

He let his hand fall back into his lap. You shook your head and set down your papers in order to cross your arms.

“Good. Then you’ll hear me clearly when I say, I’m filing a formal complaint with Billie in HR,” you said.

“Whaaat? Why?” he complained. You huffed incredulously.

“For your little comments, which are getting more and more heinous. Not to mention your excessive drinking during company hours.”

Nick pursed his lips. “Christ on a stick. Can’t you take a fucking compliment?”

“No,” you deadpanned. “What I refuse to take is any further sexual harassment. This isn’t the first incident I could disclose, but I’m damn sure you’ll want it to be the last.”

He kicked his feet off the table and slowly stood. You didn’t want to be afraid of this sloppy, frat boy drunken attitude, but a tendril of trepidation still laced down your spine as you took a step back.

“You could do that,” he nodded, tilting his head. “Or, I’ll give your Zimmerman account to Josh, along with your commission.”

You frowned, and shock made your entire body tense.

“You…you can’t do that!” you exclaimed. Your insides fairly shook with frustration tinged with anger. “I’ll sue you.”

“With what money?” Nick scoffed.

Your brows knitted together then. How the hell would he know anything about your finances?

The man noted your reaction with a nod.

“Yeah, I know all about grammy and gramps. Surgeries, funerals, treatments…” he said. He leaned against the table with one hand, and still he fairly loomed over you.

He wasn't as broad as someone like Dean, but he was tall and lean. His dirty blonde hair was swept to the side, his blue eyes bearing down on you.

“I am this company. If you don’t like it, you can get the fuck out, sweetheart,” he said.

His gaze lowered, roaming your glowering face.

“And good luck getting anywhere else without a reference from one of the biggest corporations in Lawrence, Kansas.”

You sighed. Yeah, you might’ve shed some frankly embarrassing tears in the women’s bathroom after that. You hadn’t even told Andréa the full story, which included the details of his comments, along with his threats.

You didn’t want her to worry. And maybe, more selfishly, you were embarrassed at having to deal with it at all.

Truth be told, you still didn’t know what the hell you were going to do. About Nick, or your job…but somehow, getting drunk at a bar seemed about the last thing you should be doing.

“I need a drink,” Andréa insisted. “Which means you definitely need a drink. And I know exactly where we’re going.”

After a long moment, you leaned your elbows on the kitchen counter and rubbed through the persistent ache in your forehead. Maybe, just this once, you deserved to forget about reality. Just for a little while.

“Fine. Where?” you asked.

“It’s this great bar Meg told me about. The Roadhouse.”

“Ah, the usual suspects,” Ellen drawled at the men who managed to find seats at her bar, next to the rest of their party. The Roadhouse was packed on a Friday night, but she always had room for these two.

Benny and Dean wore similar tired, but pleasant smiles as they greeted their esteemed barkeep.

“What’s it been, Ellen, a whole shift since I’ve seen your delightful face?” Dean said.

Ellen gave him a mocking smile as she poured him his favorite beer on tap. Dean grinned and clapped his younger brother on the shoulder as he sat down. He and Cas had been waiting for a little while.

…Well, maybe longer than a little.

“Hey, dude,” Dean said. Sam perked up from his second beer with pursed lips.

“You know we’ve been waiting on you for like an hour, right?” he said.

“Aw, don’t get your panties in a twist, Sammy,” Dean teased. He nodded his thanks at Ellen when she set his beer in front of him, and a glass of whiskey for Benny. “We had a last-minute call. Some guy just couldn’t wait to start his Happy Hour. Drove his car into the company fountain.”

Sam’s brows raised incredulously. He looked over at Benny for confirmation, and the other man gave a resigned nod.

“Apparently it set the ducks into a tizzy,” he said. “The guy’s fine. Probably gonna get slapped with a DUI.”

Dean smirked and raised a finger at both Sam and Cas. “Duck Guy’s your problem now.”

Cas shook his head and raised his beer to his lips.

“Not my department.”

“Mine either,” Sam scoffed. Both of them worked in homicide cases, just from the differing sides of law and order. In fact, they worked together more often than Dean and Cas did.

Dean looked over at his friend Cas for a moment. He looked like more of a hot mess than usual, with his tie half undone, and a scruffy half-beard covering his face.

“Geez, man. You look like shit,” Dean remarked. “You and Meg fighting again?”

“No,” Cas replied, his brows furrowing. “…Well, yes. But nothing more than her usual insanity. Something about the cat preferring to sleep next to me than to her.”

“Well, that’s not so bad,” Benny said. “My dog don’t like her either.”

“Maybe they can smell that she’s feral,” Dean quipped. Cas sent him a dry look at that.

“She threatened to move out,” he revealed. “Even packed a bag at 3:00 in the morning. I spent two hours unpacking what she was re-packing, all while we argued in our underwear, not sleeping.”

Sam and Dean shared bemused looks, while Benny shook his head into his whiskey.

“So how’d it end up?” Sam asked. Cas sighed and took another long sip of his beer.

“Like it always ends, Sam,” he said, his lips quirking. “With our neighbors calling the precinct to complain, and me, somehow ending up sleeping on the couch for a crime I didn’t commit. If she wants to blame someone, blame the goddamn cat.”

Dean chortled. He brought his beer to his lips, but couldn’t resist a light jab at his best friend first.

“Dude, I love her like a sister, but your girlfriend’s unhinged,” he said.

Cas could only nod. “Most are, I’ve come to find.”

Sam scoffed and shook his head. “Not mine.”

“Yeah, that’s because Eileen doesn’t have to see you more than two minutes at a time,” Dean teased. He and his brother still shared an apartment, and Sam’s job as an Assistant District Attorney wrought demanding hours.

Sam shot his brother a flat look.

“Oh, I’m not taking that from the serial playboy,” he said.

Dean’s brows knitted together.

“All right, calm down,” he said. “I’m not Hugh Hefner.��

“Mr. Hit and Run,” Cas added, a smirk gracing his features.

“Chief ‘No Daddy Issues,’” Benny tipped in, giving his annoyed, green-eyed friend a sly glance. “With a side helping of the Clap.”

Dean’s lips pressed into a line. He leveled a finger at Benny.

“That girl was clean, okay? False alarm,” Dean said. His gaze raised heavenward as he sipped his beer. Thank Christ for that one. “The rash was just carpet burn.”

Sam shook his head and turned to his brother more seriously.

“Bottom line: until you date a woman for more than two weeks—hell, two days at a time—you don’t get to comment on the happily committed,” he said.

Dean rolled his eyes. He knew his track record with relationships. As in, he didn’t really have a record…but it wasn’t for lack of trying. At least, not for the past few months.

Sam managed to break Dean out of his thoughts by clearing his throat, pushing his empty bottle across the counter.

“All right, speaking of. I gotta go,” he said.

“Aw, why? We just got here. Let me buy you another,” Dean offered.

Sam shot his brother another knowing look. Dean knew it well; it said, if he’d been here on time, they would’ve shared the first two drinks.

“I’m picking up Eileen,” Sam said, grabbing his blazer and fixing the collar when he put it on. “There’s this Latin club she wants to go to.”

Dean raised incredulous brows.

“My brother’s going salsa dancing?”

Sam sighed in exasperation, despite his smile. “Bye, Dean.”

He shot his other two friends a nod.

“See you guys.”

Cas and Benny both saw him off with a subtle raise of their drinks, while Dean just shook his head.

“All right, Samantha,” he called out. Sam didn’t bother to turn around as he raised up a choice finger behind him.

Dean snorted into his drink. “Very mature.”

Benny and Cas shared a wry look. They were relieved when Ellen’s daughter Jo came by, picking up the slack for her mom, who was serving a rowdy group of college kids at a nearby table.

“Hey, guys. Need another round?” Jo asked. She gave them all a familiar smile, but her eyes lingered on Dean. He gave her a more reserved smile back.

“Hey, Jo,” he nodded. “I uh…actually think I’m good right now.”

“Me too,” Cas said. He even stood up and grabbed his trenchcoat in similar fashion as Sam had. The two had paid for their beers before Benny and Dean even got there.

“Aw, not you too,” Dean groused.

“If I don’t make dinner, we run the risk of the apartment going up in flames,” Cas informed him. Dean could only assume he was talking about Meg. “Despite working with the Fire Department for ten years, the woman can’t manage to boil an egg without supervision.”

Jo raised a brow, but her smile was bemused as she turned to Benny. “Anything for you?”

“Nah, darlin’. I’m good,” he said. But sensing the unspoken request in her eyes when she glanced at Dean, Benny straightened and raised from his seat. “But I’ll be back. Need’a hit the head.”

Dean internally sighed as Benny left him alone at the bar. Or, well, relatively alone. Jo lingered in front of him to wash and dry out a few glasses. The air between them was stiff, and a little awkward.

Dean’s thoughts shifted back to his brother then; while he still couldn’t believe Eileen had wrangled his gangly Sasquatch of a brother into going dancing, Dean was happy for him. Truly and sincerely. Sam deserved having someone who softened him, made him break away from his endless cases and have some fun.

Dean could also admit, if only to himself, that he was maybe a little jealous. Sam had something good with his girl. Something real.

Dean had carpet burn.

“So, how’s studying going?” he asked Jo. He couldn’t stand awkward silences. “Still planning on giving your mom a heart attack when you get into the Police Academy?”

Jo’s blue eyes flicked up to his. She brushed a coil of blond hair behind her ear after she finished drying a glass, and a smile raised the corner of her lips.

“Wouldn’t be the first time I gave her something to yell about,” she quipped. “But since you asked…my exam is in three months.”

“Good,” Dean nodded. “You’ve got time. Study your ass off. Keep up the conditioning routine I gave you, and you’ll be set. Just don’t forget the strength training. Very important.”

“I got it,” she said, this time with a brighter smile. “Some old firefighter gave me some pointers.”

Dean tilted his beer at her accusingly.

“Hey, don’t pin that old shit on me yet. Benny’s got more mileage than I do…”

He considered her then, after briefly looking down at the counter.

“What?” she said.

He kept his lips tight. “Nothin’.”

“No, Dean. What?” Jo pressed. “You want to say something. Say it.”

He blew out a breath and shook his head.

“Ellen’s not the only one who’s gonna worry about you on the job, that’s all,” he said. Jo flickered at a rueful frown.

“That’s ironic,” she said. “I can handle myself, Dean. Something you so often seem to forget.”

“That’s not fair, and you know it,” he shot back. His hand tightened around his beer.

Jo’s face fell into irritation, mostly to cover up the hurt he saw buried deep behind her eyes. She gave him some relief by glancing away from him.

“And this is why we didn’t work out,” she muttered. Sighing through her nose, her eyes met his again. “You know what I hate, more than anything? People worrying.”

Dean carded his fingers through his hair, his brows knitting together in aggravation.

“Yeah, well, maybe they have good reason to,” he said. He could’ve predicted the way she tightened up. “And if I remember right, you did your fair share of hand-wringing the next time I responded to a fire on the job.”

He knew it was a low blow. But his point was made, and he fully expected the anger in Jo’s tight frown. They’d dated for a few weeks, mostly in secret.

That had been enough for Ellen to blow her top. Not because she had anything against Dean…just his job: at the very same firehouse her late husband had once served.

So Dean had backed off. He’d ultimately felt he had to end it. And clearly, Jo still resented him for it.

Slowly, however, the fire in her eyes dimmed. Her finger tapped on her side of the bar counter.

“You think I don’t worry anymore just because we’re not together?” she asked him.

Dean didn’t have a good answer for her. So his gaze fell to his nearly empty beer.

But he was even more relieved when Benny finally got back from the bathroom, or wherever he’d fucked off to for the past few minutes.

He did seem to know that he was interrupting a rather tense moment. Seeing as neither Dean nor Jo wanted to break the silence, Benny supposed it fell on him.

He reclaimed his seat and raised a smile up at Jo.

“I think I’m ready for the next round,” he said, glancing at Dean’s soured mood. “Two whiskeys, please, Joanna.”

Jo treated Benny with a half-smile. He was the only one besides her mother who called her Joanna (and got away with it). After one last look at Dean, she reached over for the Jim Beam.

You met Andréa at the bar in your own car, just in case you needed to dip out early to check on Grandpa George. He was happy to see you going out.

“You’re pretty as a doll, sweetheart,” he’d said, patting your cheek after you kissed his goodbye.

The thought made you smile, even though you thought you were dressed casually in your dark wash jeans and blouse. When Andréa met you outside the bar, she nodded in approval.

“Good. I like the hint of sexy,” she said, plucking at the sweetheart neckline of your top. You rolled your eyes and tried to cover up the cleavage a little, but she batted at your hand.

“No, no. Leave your professionalism at work,” she said. “Tonight, you’re going to relax and have some fun.”

It was hard to think about loosening up when you were literally getting belittled and threatened at work…but you supposed she had a point. You always had to be put together. You had to be sharp, because this world wouldn’t hand you anything on a silver platter.

And not to mention, you couldn’t just think about yourself. You also had to provide and take care of your grandfather too. He was the only family you had left, and you were it for him too…

But you took in a slow, deep breath. Tonight, you could have a couple of drinks with your friend. You could just be yourself, with no responsibilities other than not getting too drunk to drive yourself home later.

So with a sigh, you smiled and linked your arm with Andréa as you headed inside the Roadhouse.

It looked kind of divey from the outside, a worn-looking brown building with a faded red sign. But inside it was all dark wood and leather barstools and rows of soft lighting overhead.

There were records displayed on the wall; Prince’s Purple Rain, the Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper, and David Bowie's Ziggy Stardust, among others. Boston’s “More Than a Feeling” played on the wall speakers.

There were several tables, both high top and regular four-seaters, as well as a long bar that spanned the far wall, where rows and rows of liquor were showcased. You followed Andréa’s lead to the bar, where you took a seat at the far end and tried to feel like you belonged here. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d gone out to a place like this.

“This is nice,” she leaned over into your ear to say. “Next time my cousin should meet us here. She’s a handful, but I think you’d like her.”

You agreed with a smile. “If she’s anything like you, I think I’m well trained to handle your brand of insanity.”

Andréa leveled you with a playfully mocking look.

“Ah, you’ve got jokes tonight. Okay.” She waved over the blonde bartender.

“Hi, ladies,” she greeted. “I’m Jo. What’re we starting off with tonight?”

Before you could order for yourself, Andréa grabbed your arm and spoke over you.

“Do you have absinthe?” she asked.

Your eyes widened. “What?! I’m not drinking that—”

“Sure do,” Jo replied in amusement.

“Great,” said Andréa. You didn’t like her sly grin. “She’ll have an Aunt Roberta. I’ll have a vodka cranberry.”

“What the hell is an Aunt Roberta?” you asked.

Jo listed the ingredients on her fingers. “A nice molotov of brandy, vodka, gin, blackberry liqueur, and of course, absinthe.”

Jesus Christ. You shot Andréa a glare, even though you were trying to dim your smile.

“Are you trying to chill me out or fucking end me?” you asked.

Andréa smirked. “Whatever it takes.”

You rolled your eyes, but you nodded your agreement. Jo’s smile remained as she went to prepare your drinks. Meanwhile, your eyes wandered as you once again took in your surroundings.

Really is a cool place, you thought. And it was busy without being overbearingly crowded. There were even a few seats between you and the rest of the patrons at the bar. Your gaze drew a path onwards, eventually reaching the other end of the bar.

There you caught sight of red flannel over a black undershirt, familiar broad shoulders, and an even more familiar face. Your eyes widened a fraction as his met yours, gleaming with recognition…and interest.

That slow smile of his was familiar too. It made a lance of heat run down your spine. You gripped the counter, mostly to steady yourself as you let out a breath.

Lieutenant Winchester.

AN: *rubs hands together* It begins. 😏

Lol how'd you like Dean's little moment with the reader at the firehouse? Plus the introduction of the rest of our cast!

(And a possible serial killer on the loose?) Though sorry about Nick. He's a douchecanoe.

Next Time:

Anticipation and nerves coiled together in your lower belly. You turned to your friend, who was already sipping at her vodka cranberry.

“Dre, help me,” you pleaded.

Andréa discreetly followed the path of your gaze, and her brows raised. A smirk curved her lips.

“Oh, babe. You need to help yourself,” she replied.

“I haven’t done that in a while,” you admitted. Your dating life had been sorely lacking, between the demands of your job and taking care of things at home. “I’m gonna say something demented.”

Andréa huffed in amusement.

“So? That’s half the fun,” she said.

Keep Reading: PART 3

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420

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msfbgraves · 8 months

Text

Thinking about Abraham van Helsing and his refusal to even discuss vampirism until people have drawn their own irrefutable conclusion and going, oh, this poor sweet kaaskop (cheesehead, that's what we Dutchmen call ourselves).

You see, Dutchmen, and Hollanders in particular, are almost aggressively opposed to the idea of the supernatural. We're factual and neutral to a fault. The most well known horror story about the Dutch - The Flying Dutchman - was written by the English. We don't do fancy ourselves. Our horrors are aggressively real and mundane (it's flooding. We are obsessed with flood prevention. Scared out of our mind by drowning and storms). Our horrors are tangible and real and out in the open. Dying in a flood. Dying in a coal mine (a more Victorian fear). Dying in a flooding coal mine, to combine the two. Dying at sea. Dying in traffic.

But you can fight the sea. And we do fight the sea. With engineering. Technology. We look at stuff in detail and deal with what is right in front of us (the sea, the universe), and only that. We're bad poets and good scientists, we're great figurative painters. We are, as everyone knows, aggressively literal and straightforward.

Indeed Bram, that sweet man, has a very literal approach to vampire fighting. Lucy is being fed on? Blood transfusion. Aenemia is aenemia. Also, autopsies are autopsies, no matter why they are performed. Medicinal flowers are medicinal flowers, prevention is prevention no matter the circumstances.

He has been conditioned to think that everyone will violently reject anything supernatural that isn't in the Bible and even then. Because that is a what a Dutchman, a Hollander especially, would likely do. "The ordinary is crazy enough", is a close approximation of one of our most well known sayings.

And now imagine Bram van Helsing coming across vampirism somewhere prior to the story. He will have rejected it at first. Maybe he rejected it too long until he either had to choose between the truth of his own perception or the fact that he was insane. He will have self-diagnosed any and all mental illnesses that could afflict him until deciding that he was of sound mind, and this was a vampire attack. What would have taken a citizen of Bistritz minutes to accept and act upon (nothing too far removed from their religion, most likely), would have taken Bram weeks or months of lonely agony and doubt.

And maybe by then, it was too late?

Still, even after Lucy's testimony (in writing!); the punctured neck, the blood loss, the bat, the wolf attack, the physical changes, does he not say to Jack - if it quacks like a duck and walks like a duck and acts like a duck, I am going to treat it like a duck, my friend. Instead he waits for Lucy to turn in front of Jack's eyes so he will have to believe in vampires because he saw it himself. To Van Helsing this is the only way to convince him because that is what it would take to convince an educated Dutchman. (I always joke that there are so few supernatural occurrences in The Netherlands because our outright refusal to believe in any of it kills it stone dead.)

This is dangerous, by the way - had he been alone, he wouldn't have let it get this far, I am sure of it. But there is a greater problem, a hunting vampire on the loose and he needs the help of his friends. And he doesn't dare confide in them.

How long has he been alone with this...?

Bram... 😭💔

#abraham van helsing #van helsing #dracula daily #bram stocker's dracula #dutch culture #nederlands

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ohmyeyesmyeyes · 2 months

Text

stages - j. marino

summary: from gym girl to girlfriend

warnings: john x f!reader, swearing, fluff, mentions of a cold/flu and a broken wrist, mention of the reader running and catering business, consumption of painkillers/flu medicine

word count: 6.6k

“You’re not going to stick around?”

You stopped walking, your attention solely focused on trying to find your car keys from the deep depths of a hectic gym bag, but even you couldn’t deny that the sound of an increasingly familiar voice distracted you.

It was a consequence of using the gym closest to the rink, you supposed. That, or just sheer chance that your gym of choice was also the exact gym that John Marino chose to frequent. But it was honestly just one heck of a fucking coincidence that each time you stepped foot inside the building, he was also there. Somehow you’d – against your will – managed to go from polite greetings on the treadmill to considering each other friends.

It was a weird dynamic, one that didn’t particularly extend outside of this one gym, but he was clearly comfortable enough to insinuate he wanted you to hang around a little while longer. If you didn’t already know his plans for the day you’d have probably thrown him an amused glance, or maybe even entertained the thought.

You shook your head, fingers clasping eagerly around your keys, before finally turning to look at him. He was wearing a compression shirt, his hair only slightly damp because this short trip of his was only to warm himself up before he’d journey across the street to the practice rink, and there was a careful kind of look on his face. He was watching your reaction, head tilted, hands wringing a water bottle.

He already knew what your answer would be, because like you knew his plans, he knew yours, and even though he knew the effort was futile, it would never stop him trying.

“Are you ever gonna come and watch me skate?”

You shrugged, watching him walk over to his own locker and pull out a hoodie, “I’ve seen you skate.”

He shook his head adamantly, making for the door and holding it open for you to follow him, “Not in person, that’s different.”

You were about to protest, knowing exactly where this conversation was heading, but before you could, he pulled a face, and whatever was about to follow you knew was going to be a teasing jab in your direction, “Oh, wait. I think I get it, you just want to see me up close, because you won’t get that if you come to a game? You’ll miss looking at my face.”

You huffed a laugh, “That psychology degree is finally getting put to use, huh?”

The teasing smile was still on his face, even as he turned to look at you right as you both walked out of the building and into the daylight. He was confused, the slight and fractional twitch of his eyebrow showed that, as did the way his mouth seemed to twist as his brain reworked your words.

It must have been because you didn’t deny his words that made him falter in his step and squint into the sun. You felt your cheeks heat up and your attention was thankfully stolen by the hollers and shouts from the other side of the street – you couldn’t make out the face from where you were standing, but from the size of the pairing alone, it looked like the Hughes brothers waving on the sidewalk.

“Maybe next time.” You muttered quietly, more to yourself than to the curly haired man in front of you, because if you didn’t say the words aloud like some kind of mantra, you knew you might actually never end up seeing him skate. This way, the promise felt real. And he seemed to have heard your voice carry over the slight breeze because he almost snapped his neck turning to look at you, and every morsel in your body recoiled at his quick reaction, “I’ll let you get going.” You stuffed your hands in your pockets, avoiding his eyes (he still hadn’t said anything, but there was absolutely no doubt in your mind that he had something to say).

“I’ll see you later.” He mumbled, nodding.

***

You had a sneaking suspicion that John didn’t know you were here – in fact, it wasn’t really a suspicion, you knew he didn’t know you were here. It was partly down to the fact that he’d already asked you and you’d had to decline because, technically, this was a work thing, it just so happened that his work thing and your work thing were the same work thing.

You’d been debating on how to approach him, mostly when you should have been paying attention to whoever it was that you were in a conversation with, but he just kept catching your eye. You didn’t know if he was just in a spot that you seemed to naturally redirect your eyes to, or if his almost lonely mood was catching you off guard.

He was a talkative person once you got to know him, but he’d spent the majority of the night stuck shoulder to shoulder with Luke Hughes, the two of them clearly muttering comments to each other under their breaths, usually one that would send them both spiralling into short fits of laughter before they’d inevitably straighten and try to look more professional in the face of a big boss or investor walking past.

It was weird seeing him in such a formal setting, and in a suit nonetheless. Fuck, if you knew he could clean up that well, you’d have been eagerly accepting his game invites just on the off chance that you’d see him dressed up. It was certainly different to seeing him in his shorts or joggers and a gym top – not that an outfit choice such as that was entirely unappealing (it most certainly wasn’t – he wore his gym clothes very well) for someone like him; meaning he could pull off a plastic bin bag if he really wanted to.

You hadn’t really spoken to each other since the other day and that awkward comment was made. Even the texting seemed to have slowed a little bit, and if it wasn’t for his ‘are you busy tomorrow night?’ message, you’d have just assumed he wasn’t even interested and taken a hint and left him alone until you’d found yourself enamoured by someone else.

Though…looking at him now, smile lines making a full appearance and grinning mischievously, you weren’t entirely sure it would be too easy to even look in someone else’s direction when what was in front of you was so incredible.

That being said, the person in front of you wasn’t John in any way, shape, or form. You didn’t know who they were or what they did, but they were talking to you about something to do with hockey equipment–

“I’m the caterer.” You blurted, cringing almost apologetically when they halted with their glass halfway to their mouth, a look of mild shock passing over their features.

“Oh.” They started, “Oh, I’m so sorry, I thought you were the…nevermind, I apologise.” They hurried to correct themselves, and they were being so polite about it all you couldn’t help it when you jumped in.

“No, please don’t apologise, I should have said something sooner.” There was a brief pause where the both of you shared an amused look, “But if you want to know about the food?”

Their eyes seemed to light up, “Is there a dairy-free option?”

“Yeah, there is. You want me to show you?”

“Please.” They nodded gratefully, eagerly hurrying after you, and it was just then that John saw you out of the corner of his eye.

Granted, it wasn’t necessarily you that he saw, but a flurry of quick motion in his periphery. The kind of quick motion that would normally draw the eye under any circumstance, and it was as his eyes slid back to Luke that he felt something click in his brain – he didn’t quite understand what it was until his eyes returned back to…you.

He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry and his lips parting, all completely against his will. He blinked once, twice, then three times just to be on the safe side, but…you were still there: talking animatedly to one of the sponsors and pointing to the food assortment along the table with a bright grin on your face.

Luke’s mouth was moving but John swore there wasn’t any sound coming out, or nothing of that much value, anyway, because his entire attention was completely devoted to you, as he always seemed to find it. He felt his jaw clench, confusion beginning to stir as his mind reworked old conversations for something that he might have missed.

Boyfriend? No.

Family relations? He didn’t think so.

Did you know anyone else on the team? He was the only one, he was sure of it.

Work?

Work. He remembered you’d mentioned something about catering, but he’d just assumed you worked in a restaurant with how vague you’d been about it all.

But it made sense.

“Isn’t that your Gym Girl?” Luke bumped into his shoulder, his voice dripping with awe, and John wanted to cover his eyes. He wanted to grab Luke by the shoulders and physically turn his attention elsewhere, and that sudden desire to keep you out of his reach struck a nerve.

He’d never found Luke annoying before. He didn’t like it that much.

Instead, however, he schooled his expression into one that gave the impression that, yes, he knew you’d be here, and shrugged, still keeping his eyes on your figure, “She has a name.”

Luke ignored his comment, “She’s…wow.”

John frowned, turning to Luke and taking in the little glint in his eye and the drop of his jaw. He was beginning to find the child incessantly annoying, even if he was right in his words – “Jack wants you, look.” This time John actually laid his hands on Luke and twisted him to point over to where Jack was watching them rather curiously, sheer dumb look he supposed, and pushed him in his brother’s direction before making the rather bold decision to interrupt your conversation before he could psych himself out too much.

It had been a good few days since he’d last seen you, and since then he didn’t think he’d actually had any mental reprieve from your earlier conversation about him finally putting his degree to use, and if he was honest, John kind of wanted an answer. He’d like to bring it up somehow, maybe later on in the evening or maybe not even tonight – but if there was one thing he’d describe himself as, he’d probably say he was pretty good at checking off a to-do list once it had been established, and getting to the root of that was definitely on there somewhere.

It wasn’t a priority, though.

But talking to you must be, because before he could even register the sickening thump of nervousness in his chest, he’d found himself standing directly to your right, one hand awkwardly holding his tie in place and his other shoved into the pocket of his suit pants.

You were still talking to the other person about the food, and he decided – for the sake of not wanting to interrupt – he’d made a dire mistake, and immediately changed course and darted left, only to find himself in front of a blank wall within a few short strides.

He sighed, placing his hands on his cheeks, and automatically pulled his phone out of his pocket with the faux urgency he’d mastered in the face of an awkward situation: wherever he felt a little bit too self-conscious in a public space, he’d reach for his phone. It gave his hands something to do, his brain something to be distracted by, and to onlookers it might make it seem like his awkwardness and fumbling was intentional: after all, no one could really avoid an important call or text, could they?

This time, though, he inhaled deeply, attempting to calm his nerves. He knew part of it was because he was technically at work, with his colleagues that were probably watching his every move if Luke had blabbed as expected – and that just added a whole new layer of pressure that he hadn’t previously considered before.

Was it why you kept shooting down his invitation to a game? His teammates could be intimidating if they wanted to be.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard, a string of messages – your messages to each other – pulled up. He blinked, frowning briefly, unable to recall even opening his message app, let alone seeking out your contact.

He’d been doing it more often, actually–

“Hi.”

He whirled around on his heel, jacket flapping with the brusqueness of the motion, and came to face you. He slid his phone back into his pocket, never really finding the strength to concentrate too much on where he was placing it, and before he could even consider replying, there was a dull thud and you were holding his phone out towards him, looking equally as apprehensive as he was.

“Thanks.” He muttered breathlessly, a flash of warmth tingling his hands.

You just nodded, your own hands fiddling with themselves in front of you, and he was watching – at least, he was until you seemed to become aware he was watching you do it and then you hid them behind your back almost instinctively.

He cleared his throat, eyes flicking back up to your face, “Fancy seeing you here.”

And he did fancy seeing you here, if he was being honest with himself. You looked lovely. You always do, but there’s something a little bit more thrilling to him about seeing you here wearing more formal clothes than seeing you inside a gym wearing sports gear.

It was a nice change, he decided.

You cracked a smile at his comment, and before he could think too much into it, he was echoing the same sentiment back at you, “I know, right? You’re gonna be sick of me by the end of the night.”

“Oh, please.” He shrugged, unable to help himself, “That could never happen.”

He froze, hand once again attempted to put his phone inside his blazer pocket. He couldn't do anything, not even breathe, as he waited for your reaction. His words had slipped out a little too easily and with not enough hesitancy. He hadn’t even had time to think that maybe he shouldn’t have said that, before you stepped in, thankfully not too taken aback by it.

“Never say never.”

And he swore, right as his phone dropped into the pocket, that he felt something in him snap at the expression on your face and your sudden change in demeanour. But you seemed to flick out of it almost as soon as you’d done it, because in the next instant you were happier somehow, and he just knew that teasing lilt in your tone was more self-deprecating than he would have liked to think.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you, I don’t even know, I guess I was trying to surprise you?” You got out, eyes darting everywhere but his face.

Maybe it was because he was beginning to take the breath out of your lungs with every second you spent actually looking at him, or maybe it was because you were conscious of other eyes watching you both from afar, but there was something a little bit odd about the way you were feeling in that moment.

It felt like you wanted…John. The man in front of you. In a ‘hold his hand’ way.

Which was new.

So, the crush had intensified. It was the exact thing you had to realise at that moment in time. How terribly inconvenient of you.

It could only go downhill from here, couldn’t it?

John did something with his face, and you glanced at him, noting the smile lines in his cheek from a closed-mouth smile, “It was a pretty nice surprise.”

There was a lull in conversation, the both of you awkwardly looking at each other and then looking away, trying not to show the smiles on both of your faces. It was a weird coincidence that you’d been chosen as the caterer for such a large event for such a well-known team, but here you were, amidst John’s teammates – of who you’d been putting off meeting sheerly for the reason that it might be a little weird for the girl from his gym to purposefully attend a game or practice session with the intention of doing just that, but you supposed it couldn’t really hurt if it was classed as a ‘work thing’.

Although, the man next to you certainly made the entire night more bearable. An hour and a half later you two were still talking to each other, sitting down this time with your kneecaps touching and an elbow resting on one of the tables, unconsciously tuning out nearly everyone and everything else.

It felt cliche and you almost felt sorry for inadvertently stealing him away from his teammates just because you happened to be there, but you couldn’t really find it within yourself for that to be a genuine concern. It was the longest you’d ever talked to each other, really. A coffee after the gym was sometimes in the cards, but usually you’d just forgo wearing headphones when you saw his car parked in the lot and spend the hour in the gym talking to each other – but it never got this far.

Your attention was stolen momentarily by a sudden dimming of the lights and a change in the music, and a flurry of bodies slowly tiptoed out to the supposed ‘dancefloor’. The person you’d been talking to earlier was there; there were players with their partners; coaches with their partners; parents with their kids.

You turned to look at John, an eyebrow raised in question at the spectacle, but he had a kind of soft haze about him as he watched his people begin to dance with each other; it wasn’t anything particularly special – some people were off to the side chatting and some people were just swaying, but it was obvious it had become a kind of tradition at these kinds of events.

“All staff and players are recommended to stand up at this point,” he started talking, head still turned towards the floor, giving you a perfect view of his side profile, and you watched him talk fondly, “Apparently it encourages people to get ‘more involved’ or something.” And then he shrugged, inhaling and turning back to you, halting at the look on your face, “What?”

“You’re still sitting.”

“I’m talking to you.”

That shut you up a bit: he’d said it so quickly and with such fierce conviction, as though there couldn’t even be single other reason for him not doing as he was told, and all you could do was roll your eyes and breathe a short huff of laughter, trying with all your might not to read into it too much or blush under the lights.

You’d done so well not to, so far.

“You don’t have to, you…don’t you network at these things?”

He blinked, tilting his head in an amused fashion, “Network? Hm, that’s cute.”

You stared right at him, unimpressed, “You know what I’m talking about, don’t you have to chat up the sponsors?”

Instead of answering your question, he turned briefly to the crowd of people on the floor, not uttering a word – and if you’d known him any less, you’d have just assumed he hadn’t heard you at all, but the look he’d got on his face indicated he was clearly thinking about something. There was a slight furrow in the middle of his brows, and his mouth was twisted thoughtfully.

You hadn’t even realised you were staring until he turned quite brusquely back to you, a hint of a mischievous smile on his face as he did so, “Who are you going to dance with?”

You felt your face drop more than you realised you were doing it at all, and the comical jump of his brows was enough to tell you he’d anticipated your reaction.

“I’m working.” You excused, almost scoffing at the question.

“You’ve already worked. The food’s been made and put out. Who are you going to dance with?” He repeated the question with a considerable amount of vigour, and you had an inkling he asked it sheerly for coaxing a specific answer out of you.

You narrowed your eyes, dragging out the silence a little longer than what was necessary. You contemplated teasing him – maybe mentioning Nico – but ultimately opted on the side of caution.

“With you.”

He just grinned.

***

You blinked wearily, your head heavy and fuzzy and your wrist in so much agony is hurt to even stand up under the force of gravity. The hand in the cast was painfully cold, the fingers freezing to the touch, and you found yourself wincing on instinct as you used your other hand to curl the fingers into your fist.

You felt a little bit sick, if you were being honest. The painkillers must have worn off mid-nap on the couch because as soon as you’d pushed yourself into a sitting position a shooting throb seemed to echo right from the crack in your wrist bone to the very tips of your toes, and you walked rather blearily to the pile of meds on the table, washing some painkillers down with water.

It hadn’t even occurred to you that you’d been woken up because of something else until a knock sounded at your door, quite frantically. You stood in the middle of your living room rather dumbly, only able to tug your hoodie sleeve further down the bulky cast to cover the tip of your fingers, your brain too exhausted to even contemplate what the knock could mean or who it could be.

Your feet didn’t move, and you found nothing in you reacted to the sound like you usually would have. On a normal day you’d have jumped up to peer through the peephole to see who it was – but that didn’t happen.

At least not until a rather dull thump echoed across your door and an equally tired groan could be heard from the other side.

That sent your mind working again, because you knew that voice, though not in that context. There was just something recognisable about the undertones there that seemed to ring a rather important bell in your head, and you stepped forward, peeking through the hole just to be sure.

As luck would have it, there leaned a mop of curly hair just next to the number on your door, and you didn’t even need to see that familiar slope of his nose or the shape of his mouth to know who it was. He lifted his head, and from the resignation in his face you could tell he was just about to walk away.

You probably would have let him: you hadn’t actually managed to tell anyone other than your parents that you’d broken your wrist, for a variety of reasons: there wasn’t any cell service in the hospital; you’d got back to your apartment and immediately passed out from exhaustion and pain; and you’d broken your dominant wrist, which meant doing just about anything was twice the faff, and you hadn’t quite mastered the art of charging your phone or texting with one hand only without getting frustrated ( you’d actually thrown it across your bed and lost it in the small gap between the frame and the wall). And the idea of opening the door to him all ‘surprise!’ didn’t seem particularly appealing.

Or it wouldn’t have if he didn’t look as exhausted as you felt, with a red nose, pale cheeks and the packet of tissues clutched in his hand. He clearly wasn’t too well either.

“Wait!” You called through the door, voice still groggy and hoarse, and tried to unlock your door as quickly as you could without fumbling the chain or accidentally shutting the door before you could wedge your foot in the crack to prise it open with your non-injured hand.

You hid the cast behind your back, trying to appear chipper as you held your door open with your foot and smiled politely. It felt a little futile, though, with the way he seemed to blink uncertainty as his attention zipped to the bags under your own eyes and the lack of colour in your cheeks.

“Hi.” You mumbled, your brain still a bit of a jumble as you almost slurred your words.

He yawned, leaning his head against your door frame in an adorable manner and clearing his throat, “Hi.”

You had to stop yourself from lifting your hand up to comb his curls back from his forehead, and instead opted to give in to your instincts and smiled softly at him.

He reciprocated it, albeit a little sadly, “I thought you died.”

The smile on your face turned upside down, and instead of replying, you opened your door further, letting him step inside, still ensuring to keep your hand behind your back and away from his eyes until you felt as though you could tell him properly.

“You didn’t come to the gym last night and I texted but you didn’t answer, and you always come to the gym even if you’re sick, and I was just a bit worried, y’know?” He rambled, wandering towards your bathroom, “And then I woke up this morning and had to phone in sick because I feel like shit and I remember seeing the cold medications in your cu–”

He stopped, eyeing the packets of painkillers on the coffee table with both intrigue and concern, before turning to face you, eyes trying to justify any possible reason for that many packets to be out and already consumed, until his gaze came to a stop on the arm concealed behind your back. One hand came up to point at you, but before he could get any words out, he succumbed to three rather violent sneezes, all in immediate succession of each other, and by the time he’d finished, his eyes seemed redder and his cheeks even paler than before.

In fact, he blinked hard before moving himself to sit on the sofa, his head between his hands, still and silent.

“John?” You frowned, coming to sit beside him, this time uncaring if he saw the cast on your wrist or not, and placed one hand on his thigh. His eyes were screwed shut and his jaw was held ajar and crooked, deep breaths inflating his lungs slowly.

“Dizzy.” He groaned, pressing his thumbs to the bridge of his nose, and you inhaled sharply, continuing his journey to the bathroom and pulling out the necessary packets for him. You poured him a glass of water, coming to sit beside him once more, this time having some trouble popping out the tablets with one hand, and it was a particularly frustrated sigh that had him blinking cautiously to watch you.

“So, you’ve come to steal my drugs and give me your germs, huh?” You muttered fondly, about to ask him for help, but he interrupted before you could say anything else.

“What the fuck?” He mumbled, clearly ignorant to your teasing comment, his eyes fixated on your cast before trailing up to your face, moving slowly so as to not disturb another episode of dizziness.

You cringed, “I broke my wrist yesterday.”

There was a beat of silence when you watched him watch you, heart pounding a little harder than it usually would due to the unfamiliar situation. John was always caring, always wanting to help in some way, and you adored him for it, but this was a little different.

This time you guys were in a new relationship…and there was a small part of you that was a little worried that he’d take this as you not trusting him.

“How?” He blinked, the one word obviously not the only thing he wanted to say, but something he’d settled for for the sake of it.

You shook your palm, trying to get him to take the pills from you, and he did, swallowing them with the glass of water on the coffee table, before physically turning himself to face you, the look on his face suggesting he wasn’t about to do anything until you answered his question.

“I was…” You inhaled sharply, eyes darting from his face and the flaming of your cheeks only seemed to make you more nervous for what you were about to tell him, and instead busied yourself with picking up the box of tissues on the coffee table and holding it out for him to take, “I was with one of my friends, and she was teaching me to skate.” Your voice trailed off pathetically, almost too embarrassed to even look in his general direction.

You could imagine he was blinking, trying to make the words compute in his head, eyes boring into the side of your face like a madman. Maybe he was managing a small smile, too.

“Teaching you?” He asked, voice somehow rough and soft at the same time, and it was the warmth in his tone along with the complete lack of judgement that had you hesitantly taking a peek at him out of the corner of your eye.

You’d been right – on some level. He was hiding an amused smile behind his hand, and his eyes were wide with pleasant shock.

You nodded, rolling your eyes, “Teaching, yeah.”

He faltered, mouth open as though he was going to say something and thought better of it, before ultimately deciding to go through with it, “Why didn’t you call me?”

“Because it’s embarrassing.”

“What’s so embarrassing about breaking a wrist?”

“No, it’s embarrassing that I don’t know how to skate. I didn’t call you because there’s no cell service in the ER and then it pissed me off that I couldn’t type quickly enough and now my phone is wedged down the side of my bed and I can’t reach it.” You rambled, eyes widening in a rather self-deprecating manner, “Then I passed out.”

He sniffed, plucking a tissue from the box, his other hand almost going to hold yours before thinking better of it, “Did you go to the hospital by yourself?”

You shook your head, leaning back against the sofa.

“What did the doctors say about it?”

“It’s a Colles fracture, so I’m gonna have to wear a cast for a few weeks before they change it for a splint.” You sighed, picking at the end of the cast with disdain. The painkillers had eased some of the pain to a throb that seemed to beat on time to your pulse, but it was still uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable. And you were exhausted, as was the man next to you.

“I’d touch you but I don’t want to give you my germs.”

If he hadn’t looked so genuinely upset at that you might have said something else, maybe teased him a little, but with the heaviness tugging at his features already, you tilted your head, “You do look pretty rough.”

He rolled his eyes, a gap-toothed grin showing itself, “Thanks.”

“Still cute, though.” You grinned, nudging his hoodie clad arm with your own, unable to help yawning nearly immediately after, “Do you want to stay and have a nap?”

He raised his brows, clearly a little surprised by the offer, “Even when I’ve got the lurgy?”

You shrugged, “I’m probably gonna get it at some point anyway. Better to be ill together at the same time.”

“Even with your broken wrist?”

You paused, acting like you were considering changing your mind, and John huffed a laugh. You could tell he was unsure about your proposal, maybe he’d feel a bit guilty giving you his cold when you were already in a state yourself, because it was clear he was holding himself back from being his usual affectionate-self.

“Do you have an ulterior motive?” He asked, raising a suspicious brow.

“Not entirely, but I might need you to reach my phone.”

It wasn’t even fifteen minutes later that you were both cuddled up under your covers, your phone now safely plugged in and charging, you on the brink of sleep when John seemed to jolt up in remembrance of something. His sudden motions had your heart beating and a shot of adrenaline coursing through your body, perhaps thinking he was en route to throw up or something, but when you turned on your bedside lamp, he was grinning lazily, his eyes a little sleepy.

“What?”

He breathed a laugh, “Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t know how to skate?”

You shrugged, “I was gonna surprise you, I guess. You said there was that skate thing coming up, right? I was gonna suggest we go, but I wanted to practise and…it didn’t go very well.”

The cheeky grin seemed to melt off his face at your quiet admission, replaced by a softer, more sincere one, “You were gonna say yes to that?”

You pressed your lips together self-consciously, unable to help feeling strangely vulnerable with the intensity in his stare. You were very aware of the fact that you didn’t look your best, wearing Barbie PJ’s, and your hair was an absolute mess. Add that on top of not having had the chance to shower, you were pretty positive you didn’t smell too great either (you did douse yourself in deodorant earlier), so it felt almost unjustifiable that you were on the receiving end of such a look.

“Yeah.” You muttered, “I thought it best to at least try to look like I knew what I was doing if I was gonna be in the presence of professional skaters and cameras.”

His brows jumped up his forehead animatedly, head unintentionally leaning closer to yours in excitement. One of your favourite things about him had to be the way he was so unashamed to show enthusiasm for even the smallest things – it was always written so seamlessly and effortlessly in the way he’d nod his head when he was listening to you or the way he’d hold himself to show you he was interested. It had always tugged on your heartstrings, even when you’d first met him.

He didn’t say anything, but there was an odd expression on his face, like he was having an internal discussion with himself, and before you could stop it, you blurted a rather impatient “What?”.

He pulled a face, cheeks reddening slightly despite the chill to his skin, “I don’t know how to – I’m not good at talking about it, I’m not sure how to talk about it because it’s kind of overwhelming in a way that I can’t string the words together or something, but…” he sighed, “If I loved you less I might be able to talk about it more, and–Aargh.”

“You just quoted Mr Knightley.” You interrupted, eyes widening upon realising just what you’d interrupted him from saying.

“That’s what you got from that?”

You paused, eyes darting across the shadows of his face. You could just make out the smile lines on his face and the slow, weary blinks as he fought off the sleep he’d been dying to succumb to, and if wasn’t for the fact that he’d instigated this half-asleep conversation you’d probably feel a smithereen of guilt for teasing him in that state, but all you could do was nod and attempt to conceal just how smitted you felt. Fatigue tended to lower your inhibitions.

“Well, no, but…”

His grin seemed to widen and he pressed his face into your pillow, curls begging for you to run your hand through, and sent you a rather expectant glance that had you rolling your eyes fondly.

“You know I love you too. It just…”

“It still feels weird, huh?” He murmured, raising a brow and widening his eyes after a snotty sniff, “I still get nervous.”

“With me?”

He breathed a laugh, “Saying it. You just constantly floor me, I wouldn’t say you made me nervous, not like you used to.”

“The novelty’s worn off a bit, huh?”

“I prefer it that way.” He gave a short, self-deprecating huff, “I can function around you now.”

***

Luke knew John had been hiding something for weeks, if not months. And each time he cast his mind back to trace the source, the one thing that kept coming up was that Gala and Gym Girl being the surprise caterer – probably one or two days before John had shaken his head rather despondently after Luke had asked if she’d said yes yet. After that night (each and every time Luke looked over their way, they were both completely enamoured with each other, ignorant to anyone else passing by at that moment in time), John had changed.

Whether it was just how generally happy he’d been lately, even without saying it; whether it was his sudden attachment to his phone; whether it was keeping an overnight bag in his car – it didn’t take a genius to figure out something was up, Luke felt he was proof enough of that. But what he wasn’t quite sure of, was if anyone else had noticed the slight change in the older Defenceman.

John was a quiet type, Luke could happily yap to him and he’d nod along and ask questions when it was appropriate to, but he wasn’t entirely sure if he was like that with just him, or if it was just a John-thing.

Yet, here they all were – the team, families, friends…John. With a girl. The girl: Gym Girl.

And because Luke had spent so much time with him, he knew that John wouldn’t bring someone to these kinds of events if it wasn’t serious. It’d have probably been serious for a while and just kept quiet to let them both figure things out between them – Luke understood that.

In fact, it was Jack’s innocently curious question that made Luke feel a little bit more smug than he probably should have.

“Who’s that John’s with?”

Luke glanced over at the pair once more: John with a sweet smile on his face that he’d never seen directed at anyone else ever before; his girlfriend with a cast on her wrist skating like a baby giraffe, John holding onto her pretty tightly as she wobbled on her blades.

It was a cute sight, Luke could admit that.

“His girlfriend.” He replied, fighting a smile when Jack’s head snapped in his direction, shock dripping from every feature.

“His what?”

“Girlfriend.” Luke grinned this time, “Y’know, his romantic part–”

“I know what a girlfriend is, you little shit.” Jack sighed, “When did that happen?”

Luke shrugged, “A while back, I think.”

Neither of the brothers said anything, but Luke was wondering if anyone else had had the same conversation within the last twenty minutes. Nico was talking to Timo, Curtis was hanging around with some of the media people – had they all asked the same questions, or did they already know?

“If you could pick someone on our team to get married and not tell us until they’ve got kids, who wou–”

“John.” Luke interrupted Jack, the both of them sharing a knowing smile.

#john marino x reader #john marino fic #john marino imagine #john marino oneshot #hockey fic #nhl fic #hockey player x reader #nhl oneshot #nhl imagine

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deonsx · 9 months

Text

If They Take Care Of You When You Get Sick

Feat: Dazai, Chuuya, Ranpo, Fyodor, Nikolai

Dazai Osamu

He really is very cautious in taking care of his one and only bella, He will hug you and give you lots of kisses regardless of your sickness, we know how bad he is at cooking but what will he do in a situation where he has to cook right now?

He thought about ordering food but didn't think it would be healthy so he tried making soup on his own from the cooking videos he really gave him full attention just to look at you, he ditched his job

"My beautiful bella, if anything happens to you, I would never be able to live" He's a real drama creator “Osamu I'm fine you're exaggerating"

I can imagine him holding you in his arms and not letting you walk "My love I can walk" You were told to him, His eyes were squinting looking at you "Still I will take care of you in the best of circumstances"

While you were sleeping, the moonlight hit your face and he watched you sleep, his eyes searched everywhere, he couldn't believe that he had found that true love and that she was lying in his bed like an angel right now "My beautiful angel"

Chuuya Nakahara

He's truly a masterpiece and he's a master at these, I can tell you he's the only man with excellent taste. He cooks with show even when You sick, which makes you smile, She takes her temperature every 10 minutes, pays a lot of attention, water bag and many things, pills, injections, serums, they are all here just for you now

He does 2-3 jobs at the same time, when you don't have control at home, things are only balanced by his power. You offered to call a doctor to the house, but he refused, "I'm the one who wants to take care of you, no one else is needed"

Of course he doesn't care if you're sick to kiss you too, he just lays you on his lap and watches you sleep, You rested your head on his orange hair and you fell asleep with his beautiful harmonizing perfume "My princess, I will always take care of you"

Ranpo Edogawa

No matter how cute and frivolous your boyfriend is, everything stops when it comes to you "I'll give you candy if you get better dear" you laughed at what he said "Ranpo I'm not a kid"

"I'm sure you will love it my love"he left kisses on your head, stroked your hair with his hands and tried to tell you a fairy tale "Once upon a time a princess..." He chose a beautiful story to put you to sleep

He can be very distracted while he cooks because you are the reason for making the food here, if you leave the room he is in and try to do anything while he is cooking he will scold you "Where were you s / he while I was cooking" he really asked you with a stupid seriousness on his face

"My love I just went out on the balcony" Ranpo shook his head disapprovingly "My wisdom instinct tells me you stood up for the laundry" He's not really serious at all. "If you try to get up again, I'll have to tie you to the bed in handcuffs, honey, be nice"

Fyodor Dostoyevski

He may indeed be the most normal lover among them, but just because he's normal doesn't mean he doesn't care about you, But of course he was interested in your illness and he wasn't that indifferent. "You still have a high fever, you need to take medicine dear"

He wasn't the best at cooking, he only cooked when it was absolutely necessary, but he wanted the best for you and brought home a chef who never took his money into consideration, yet you know how rich he is "The chef will make you 4-5 different main courses, if you don't like any of them just tell me my love"

He also considered calling a doctor home but didn't want to put you at any risk afterward because he had too many enemies, He left his job halfway just for you and took the best precautions for your recovery He tried every hour to heal you with special pills and serums "I don't know if you have any medical experience?"you asked him with a laugh. "Just for you, my dear”

Nikolai Gogol

"Darling please don't die yet we'll live a long life with you" He said stroking and kissing you "Ohh I'm fine please let me mind my business" "This is not possible, my love, I hired servants for you.." he spoke to you "Servants??" As soon as you asked, the door of the house opened and two women and two men entered. "People here will take care of your food, cleaning and your illness."

Your eyes really opened in surprise, you were expecting something, but you didn't think that he would exaggerate everything so much, He did make you feel like you were a princess in a castle, he was constantly teleporting around the house bringing you a water bag, ice cloth and a lot of things

He told you about his childhood while you were lying on a bed and you memorized everything he said word for word, he was saying it to sleep you, but when he turned his head to you he saw that you were not sleeping "My beautiful love is still listening to me?”

Enjoy!

I want to write them more as a father the time he spends with his children and his wife

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soullessdianthus · 8 months

Note

pls could you make a dating headcannon for Rudy? need to feed my delulu thoughts about him!!!

A/N: I love being delulu for Rudy. Especially because I feel so fckn bad lately.

Warnings: both sfw & nsfw

SFW

✧°. Rudy would be the most attentive and loving boyfriend you could ever imagine. Some of his colleagues would acrimoniously call him “too soft”, but they were just simple jerks who wouldn’t treat their woman properly.

✧°. He’s different from most men, Rodolfo is not afraid to show his “less masculine” side, expressing his emotions openly to his lover. If there would be any issue or disagreement between the two of you, he would rather talk it through then proceed with “quiet treatment”, ignoring the real problem.

✧°. Rudy is a great listener and his patience for you is infinite. He would never raise his voice at you in an angry way, like in an argument. Only when he gets worried about your emotions or health – then he would get adamant and help you out.

✧°. You are sick, a fever making you shiver and sweat? Your boyfriend is rushing towards you with a medicine box full of pills and a cup of warm tea with honey. He isn’t afraid to get infected, so he would pull you close to him while you try to take a nap in his arms – for your health of course.

✧°. He is the type of man that would bring you a bouquet of your favorite flowers every couple of days just to see your face glowing with joy.

✧°. Rudy is a great cook and specializes in traditional Mexican cuisine, thanks to his mother. He would be more than happy to teach you some of his family recipes in exchange for you sharing yours.

✧°. He loves your desserts – cakes, cheesecakes, cookies, anything containing sugar that you baked is his favorite treat through the day. Since the two of you started dating, Rodolfo might have gained some weight, but he swears to Alejandro that it is your fault! :((

✧°. Rudy is a kind of lover that won’t point out any of your insecurities or changes in your body that you might find “ugly”. He loves you, that’s what matters, right?

✧°. However, if it was you who pointed them out, he would take an extra time before bed to pepper the mentioned place with gentle kisses, his lips brushing over your tender skin.

✧°. Therefore, his love language would be words of affirmation. He would often tell you how much he appreciated you cooking, doing anything around the house or for you just being there for him.

✧°. If it comes to quality time, Rodolfo enjoys playing board games with you – in the living room, on the floor with some snacks on the side. Or reading a book together before bed, your form clinging to his torso under the sheets.

✧°. Rudy is also a clingy bastard. One of his favorite sleeping positions is to have his head buried into your chest, his arms wrapped around your waist. He secretly melts under your touch, when you massage his head after a long, exhausting day.

✧°. He is also a kind of body worshiper, you know? Do I even have to elaborate on that?

✧°. Rodolfo’s love is genuine and strong, taking care of his girlfriend better than himself. He feels responsible for your protection due to his work. If anybody would ever hurt you, he would go fucking feral.

✧°. But coming back to some more comfort with Rudy – he would gladly pull you into his chest during the night, when the storm was so loud that it woke you up, his girlfriend petrified with sudden noises.

✧°. “Es sólo una tormenta, cariño”, he would mumble through sleepy haze.

✧°. I can picture sweet dates with him, where he would take you on a picnic somewhere secluded, his hand rubbing your arms and thighs – especially trying to sneak under the hem of your skirt.

✧°. Or that he randomly took you to swim in the river on a Sunday afternoon. It was so steamingly hot in Las Almas that day, he had to chill somehow and the crystal clear water was so tempting.

✧°. And it was just another excuse to see you standing in the sunshine soaking wet, your underwear and bra drenched in water, clinging tightly to your body.

✧°. During the day, you would catch him staring at you countless times. But what is Rudy’s fault, that he loved his precious girlfriend so much?

NSFW

✧°. In the bedroom Rudy is mainly focused on service. Seeing your body flinching, spine arching just because of his touch (his fingers to be specific), makes him proud and a wide smirk twists his face.

✧°. For sure he makes the foreplay last long enough – caressing your body, squeezing the soft flesh of your thighs or breasts while sloppily making out. Rodolfo would try to suffocate you with his lips sealed over yours just to hear you little whimpers of struggle.

✧°. He is focused on seeing your face, therefore positions such as missionary, lotus or mating press are his first choice, always. I wouldn’t say he is strict on keeping eye contact all the time, but he adores staring at your glossy eyes, tears of pleasure collecting in the corners.

✧°. He won’t say it outloud, but please – ride him, on the couch, on the bed or in his car. Doesn’t matter where. Rudy will melt and moan, while sucking one of your nipples.

✧°. Rudy sometimes uses extra protection, even if you are on the pill. If you’re not, it’s a must for him most of the time to wear a condom. Rudy is not taking the risk, even though he really craves for a family of his own one day. It’s just not the right moment to start trying. Shit, you hadn’t even talked about it with him yet.

✧°. During sex he is very caring and attentive. Rodolfo takes pleasure from all the noises the two of you make – your whines and moans, especially the cries when you’re cumming all around his length.

✧°. In the aftercare the most important thing for him is to be close to you. To have your limp, sweaty body pressed tightly against his own, making you feel secure, protected and loved. Oh, how he loves you. <3

#request #reader insert #headcanons #rodolfo parra #rodolfo cod #rodolfo x reader #rodolfo rudy parra #rodolfo rudy parra x reader #rudy cod #rudy parra #rudy x reader

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kazutora-kurokawa · 3 months

Text

Taiju x Sick!Reader Who's Also On Her Period

♡ SFW and NSFW, fem reader, fluff, oral->fem receiving, fingering, blood kink, unprotected sex + creampie, soft!Taiju ♡

note: ngl I wrote this for myself lol, ofc I was gonna share it with y'all tho

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

SFW

🦈 Knew he was gonna have to take extra good care of you when you got sick because your period was right around the corner (he tracks it so he can be prepared)

🦈 Got you pads/tampons, painkillers and cold medicine, all your favorite snacks, and plugged up the heating pad he bought you

🦈 The type of boyfriend to carry you around the house when you're too weak to get up

🦈 Massages every inch of your body, he always knows every spot that hurts

🦈 Kisses you even though he could get sick, this man is not about to give up his kisses just because you got a little cold

🦈 Always knows what you need and when you need it, ask him for something and he's already in front of you with what you need

🦈 Cuddles you and gently puts pressure on your tummy to help with your cramps

NSFW

🦈 Massages and kisses your tits (you can't tell me he doesn't)

🦈 Eats your pussy without hesitation, he'd even let you sit on his face

🦈 Fingers you for hours on end til half his hand is completely covered in your blood and juices and you're begging for him to fuck you

🦈 Extra gentle with you, takes it nice and slow so he can hit all your weak spots

🦈 Grips your tummy with one hand and plays with your clit with the other

🦈 Something about seeing his dick going in and out of your pussy, getting coated in your blood, turns him on real bad

🦈 Creampies you because he knows how bad you need want him to fill you up

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Taglist

@arlerts-angel @i-literally-cant-with-this @trevengersprincess @giugiette @katshimizuu @happy-trenchcoated-impala @rinshawty @drunkcheesecake @darkstarlight82 @reiners-milkbiddies

#tokyo revengers headcanons #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers x reader #taiju fluff #tokyo revengers fluff #taiju smut #taiju x reader #I need him expeditiously #this man makes me feel things I can't even describe #I wanna sit on his face so damn bad 😭#he's just so fucking hot 😮‍💨#god bless Wakui for creating such a fine ass man 🫶

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be-missed · 5 months

Text

Find You Again (Chap 2)

Jenna Ortega X Fem!Reader

(pictures not mine)

Summary: Reuniting as stars, former high school sweethearts stage a fake relationship to boost their public image. Navigating the scripted romance, sparks fly. The big question: can this staged connection reignite their real love?

Warning: curse words, notify me if there are any. Credits to the owner for the picture that I used below the cut. There's a lot of time cut, just because.

A/N: I'm so excited to write this, enjoy. New series for y'all.

Song: South of the Border- Ed Sheeran (Feat Camilla Cabello and Cardi B)

That white dress (you can also see this in Enrique's Instagram)

Masterlist

Chap 2

______________________________________________________________

"What the fuck?" Y/N screamed inside her hotel room when she woke up "I didn't even went home with her, I... I went home with... I don't know what the fuck?" Y/N added clutching her head that's aching. Her publicist enters and said "That's what you get for trashing one of the paparazzi... But he deserve it anyway." Emilia gave the medicine to Y/N and added "Well, going home with Jenna is a much better headline than you assaulting a paps, right?" with a smirk on her face waiting for Y/N's reaction.

Y/N's eye widen with what Emilia said and replied "Hell no, the both of them aren't good for me, they need to be taken down, or like tell the media that I'm with some dude" finding her phone and trying to search a man in her contacts. With a disgusted look earned from her publicist, Emilia said "You would rather be linked with a man?"

Y/N gave Emilia a look that says "I would rather not be involved with anyone." With a smile, Emilia said "There's nothing we can do about it, even if we try to pay the media, we cannot pay the people in the internet, we're gonna be broke" and chuckled.

Y/N was lost with what Emilia said, "What do you mean by that?" Emilia replied "Well, you and Jenna are trending since yesterday up until..." and fished her phone up, opened her twitter and shows Y/N the top trending worldwide "now. Wow, the both of you are still trending."

"Fuck, this can't be, I'm gonna release an album in the next few months." Y/N said trying to pace around the room "Okay, then it's gonna be a good publicity for you" Emilia said that made Y/N stop in her tracks and looked at Emilia "No, it will not be a good publicity. I don't want my songs to be incorporated to that girl."

Emilia gave Y/N a questioning look "Who's 'that girl'?" with a teasing tone and Y/N replied "You know who Emilia..." and Emilia still continues to act clueless. "Jenna Ortega, of course" Y/N said and rolled her eyes.

"As your publicist, I don't see any problem with that. She has a good reputation, no bad issues, and her career is thriving" Emilia stated facts as Y/N tries not to listen because she knows that Emilia is right "Why are you even mad about the issue?" Emilia teased Y/N.

With a heavy sigh, Y/N walks to the bathroom and yells "YOU KNOW DAMN WELL WHY EMILIA" and slams the door.

As Y/N was trying to rinse her face hoping her headache will be passed through the water that damps her face, she can't still believe that people will push the her and Jenna together.

On the other side of New York City, Jenna was staring at the wall of her hotel room while chewing her lower lip trying to think how can she get out of this mess.

"Are you okay? What's the matter?" Jenna's publicist asked her while she checks the news outlets and every social media. Jenna stays silent trying to think, until she blurted out "How about a PR Stunt?" She hates the idea of it, being in a fake relationship with someone that she really doesn't care about. "We can have a fake PR Stunt so that the rumors with that singer will stop, once and for all." Jenna suggested.

Wendy, her publicist looked at her and said "You don't need no PR Stunt with anyone, you're career is going well and you have no bad blood with anyone and we're not gonna start that now. She and her team aren't giving statements about it too, so let the rumors be rumors. Not if you want to prove them right, and that's the only thing that you will do if we release a statement and they still keep on seeing you two together." With an annoyed look, Jenna then answered "I just don't want to be linked with that woman, please." She pouted and looked at Wendy, trying to make her idea work.

"No, no stunts will be done and no statements will be released. This rumor is good for the both of you can't you see? The both of your careers are striving so well, her fans are supporting you and vice versa. The public sees you both as a good pair, so why not use Y/N as a stepping stone." Wendy said stating a good point that Jenna herself can't see a hole to poke in. Jenna hates it that Wendy is always right.

With a huff Jenna replied "Ugh, fine, but it will stay as rumors" and went to the bed and plop herself trying to gain more sleep.

---

Weeks after the said rumors have spread, both the singer and the actress went on the low since they didn't want to be seen together. Each of them kept on working privately for their own careers. Y/N doing some major to minor revisions for her album release in the next few months, while Jenna does some photoshoots and guesting in YouTube.

After the MET Gala in May, the both of them were thankful since they haven't seen each other in person. But surely, the rumors from their fans can't die as they sure did have a lot of photos and videos to talk about from the MET and those old photos of the both of them resurfacing from god knows where.

Y/N received a lot of incoming projects just like working for a song that will be played on a movie this coming December, she accepted the work, just for the fact that she will be writing a song; she just loves to write one, okay. Her agent would have explained for what movie it is, but Y/N just asked about how did the love story goes and then started to write one.

As for Jenna, September has been a chill month for her, a few fittings here and there for the Paris Fashion Week next month that she will attend and will be dresses in Dior. She spent her birthday with her family and closest friends. Trying to be more private and be less seen in public to not cause any disturbances in her life.

---

As September flew by with a bat of an eye, October has come with such a busy time for Y/N as she released her new album, every track has become a hit and has settled into the Top 10 songs of Billboard, her albums also sold millions and her songs are played in every radio station, which just means that Jenna, even if she doesn't want to, listened to songs that Y/N released.

Inside the car driving in the roads of Paris, Jenna was seated and a radio blasted a song...

She got the, mmm, brown eyes, caramel thighs

Long hair, no wedding ring, hey.

"EVEN IN PARIS?" Jenna exclaimed, she just arrived from her flight and she can't believe that Y/N is still haunting her. "What? It is a bop. Y/N, Camila, and Cardi did great with the song, you know..." Enrique teased her.

I saw you lookin' from across the way

And now I really wanna know your name

"Why would she even write a song like that?" Jenna tried to argue with Enrique, and her stylist just smiled and said "I mean, she just stated that she wants a woman with brown eyes, caramel thighs, long hair, is single, wears a white dress, and probably a Latina. You know I know someone with the same characteristics" Enrique ended with a teasing smile and a knowing look. "Fuck no" Jenna answered Enrique, trying not to barf herself out with that thought. Why would Y/N wrote a song about her.

She got the, mmm, white dress, but when she's wearin' less

Man, you know that she drives me crazy

"You did wore a white dress, you have brown eyes, hmm you had your hair long, you have beautiful thighs, you are Latina, and I'm pretty sure you're not married" Enrique pushed his luck trying to really into Jenna's nerve. "When did I wore a white dress? Huh?" Jenna tried to challenge Enrique, but as her stylist, of course he knows when did Jenna wore a white dress and answered "You remember that film interview with Melissa, that white dress from Zuhair Murad..." Jenna now remembers, and thought "Oh fucking shit, hell to the fucking no"

Enrique internally laughed at Jenna's reaction while Jenna pulled out her headphones, wore it and opened her phone, as she open her Spotify, she clicks the shuffle play to a playlist. Enrique smiled at what Jenna did, but in all honesty, even if Jenna hides it, Enrique can see that Jenna did enjoy Y/N's songs and even muttered lyrics of it, but only stopped when she noticed herself that she is singing her ex's songs.

In a hotel room in Paris Y/N exclaimed "WAIT, I'M ATTENDING DIOR? Am I not signed in another brand or something?" and Emilia just shrugged "No hun, you will go to Dior, you will meet big names there that will again boost your music and your status, so yes, Dior."

With a loud grunt Y/N started to pace around, which is a thing that she do when she tries to think of a way out for something that Emilia put her into. "Okay, please tell me that Jisoo will attend this show" Y/N says with her eyes closed and fingers crossed, Emilia just stared at her and answered her with a "Yes".

Just as Emilia thought, Y/N is a fan, and going to concert of Jisoo's group will be hard so this is a gift for Y/N and can also be a meeting place for new deals that Y/N needs to attract more people for her art and to gain more attention. But what Emilia didn't say is that Jenna will also be attending the Dior Fashion show. Even though Emilia knows about Jenna and Y/N's past, she can't let the rumor about the two die, since Y/N benefits a lot, she also knew that Jenna is benefiting by the fact that her publicist and her management is not releasing any statement, despite the allegations of Jenna dating Y/N and vice versa.

---

A large crowd has gathered, voices can be heard even from a mile away with how many people have gathered just to see the ladies and gents that Dior has invited.

Jenna with her black dress arrived, strutting down the big area that has been surrounded with people, waving and smiling to every people that calls her name. Walking inside the venue, she gets to meet a lot of people, from businessman, to artist, singers, and models.

A crowd has gathered in the middle of the room and she heard a voice coming from her publicist, "Okay, I don't know if you know her, but Jisoo is a global ambassador of Dior and she is in a group called Blackpink, go make friends." And with that, Jenna started to strut her way to a crowd of people and photographers, with her current status, of course people around her would know who she is, and without a doubt Jisoo and her are asked for a picture together.

On the other side of the venue, Y/N has been doing everything that she can just to meet Jisoo, but to no avail, she is stuck with old business man that has been eating her precious time, talking about old stuff that she really doesn't know. And in every French that will speak to her, she will just answer "oui" because who the fuck understands French? Not me, Y/N thinks.

But of course, the venue isn't as big as the USA or even Paris, so of course Y/N heard whispers that Jenna Ortega is also in the same vicinity as hers, but why would she believe something that she can't even see. Y/N thinks that if Jenna is really in the same place as hers, they would probably meet each other by now.

"You need to take your seat now, the show will start" She can hear Emilia's voice behind her and with a heavy heart, she decided to seat and hopes to meet JIsoo later.

Trying to get comfortable with her seat, a group of men started to walk her way and Y/N thinks "Who the fuck gets guarded like that on a fucking fashion show?" and when the men started to disperse, a lady wearing a high heel that is dressed in long black flowy skirt, a black see-through top, and a jacket with a long white jewelry hanging from her neck; Y/N's eyes travels upward and see's a terrified look on the other person's face.

Y/N's own face contorted with disgust, her fist clench on its own and when a curse word tries to get out of her mouth, a pinch to her side coming from Emilia broke her and said "Act nice." Wide eyed with a tight lipped smile greets the other person that is also trying to contain her emotions because...

"WHAT THE FUCK IS Y/N DOING IN HERE?"

Exactly, that was Jenna's thought when the body guards in front of her started to go to their post and give her her space and lead her to her seat. Her eyes widen, feeling that her blood suddenly is pushing upwards, feeling a little bit dizzy with how much her heart is pumping her blood from the anger that she feels from the inside. Her eyes suddenly moves to the side and looks at her publicist, jut like how her character Wednesday stare at people. Her publicist then whispered to her "Be good, now."

The both of them are now staring at each other, bewildered on how the fuck did they ended up seating next to each other on a Paris Fashion Week, knowing so damn well that there are hundreds of brand that's doing the same thing that they are doing right now.

With forced smiles and a toned down anger, Jenna seats beside Y/N, creating a big space between them that could accommodate another person if they wanted to. The two women, seating side-by-side, thinking of ways on how can they seat through the whole show without murdering each other or just to try to not cause a scene. Jenna did not brought enough patience for this show, if she only knew that Y/N will be here, then she would probably brought a lot of extra patience with her. As for the other girl, if Y/N would have known that Jenna would be here, she would've declined this offer immediately and just attend another show.

Without looking to her side Y/N whispers "what the fuck are you doing here?" Jenna trying not to look at Y/N has her ears ringing from anger with what she heard from the other woman and answered in a hushed tone "the fuck do you mean why am i here?" Y/N then turns her body towards Jenna and stated with a sassy tone "Why are you here? Are you trying to follow me?" This doesn't go unnoticed by Jenna "You're so full of yourself, I don't even know that you're in here you dumbass"

Before Y/N gets to speak, a photographer appeared and asked for a picture of them. With forced smiles, the two girls closed the gap between them and smiled brightly at the camera, acting like they weren't trying to slit each other's throat before he came in.

"Nice, another picture with you" Y/N said with a sarcastic tone, Jenna was trying to do some breathing exercise, praying that she wouldn't lose her cool because if things will just be on her way? She would've smacked Y/N right in the head with her purse. "Wow, who said I like being on one frame with you?" Jenna said with a tone full of disgust.

A cough from behind them ca be heard coming from both of their publicist, and they know so damn well how things will go if they continue to banter. So what they did was to be quiet, smile at the camera and the guests, and watch the fashion show unfold.

Half of the show have passed and Y/N wants to peel her ass from her seat, run to the nearest wall, and just smash her head. She can't stand another second of Jenna nodding at every model and hearing muttered words like how wonderful they are. Y/N moved over to Jenna and whispered "Don't act like you're interested, I know how much this things bore you." Jenna's hand travelled to Y/N's thigh and grips it, hard enough so that Y/N can feel Jenna's nails digging through the fabric of her dress "Shut up."

Y/N yelps and bites her lip to contain a surprised gasp that she just made, Y/N then lightly slaps Jenna's hand, "Don't you dare do that again, you're harassing me" Y/N said trying to threaten and Jenna gasped and pulls her hand away "I'm not harassing you!"

"Girls..." Emilia whispered from behind, with that, the two women sat quietly and tries to keep their hands from trying to pull each others hair. The scene that unfolded earlier where Y/N moved closer to Jenna wo whisper something and Jenna's hand on Y/N's thigh could tell a different story when you watch it from afar. That is why photographers tried to capture it, other guests also noticed the two being closer to each other.

While Y/N and Jenna watched the entire show quietly, both of their publicist seemed to arrived at a certain business deal that would greatly benefit the two stars that they are handling. But they know that this'll need more meetings and contract signings.

---

Dior Fashion show ended a few hours ago, Jenna was just chilling in the living room of her hotel trying to find a new movie to watch, but before she press play, her publicist messaged her that they need to have a dinner meeting to discuss future projects and this one is urgent. So what Jenna did was she got up and went to her dresser trying to find a semi-formal attire to wear and for her to somehow look decent.

In the lobby, there was Wendy, waiting for her with a bag on her hand and a cluster of paper on the other. "Sorry for the late notice, I just got this deal earlier" Wendy said trying to lead Jenna to the Hotel's Restaurant. While walking Jenna thought "Wait... why is my publicist making deals and not my manager?" And it made Jenna stop from walking and looked at Wende and asked "Does my manager know this so-called-deal?" and Wendy just answered "Of course, they're inside with the other party waiting for us" with a suspicious and eerie feeling, Jenna followed suit and walked towards the private room that Wendy entered.

A waiter opened the door on the other side and there was a big table with people who are seated and are talking, on the other side that faces her, she saw her manager, the other party which she guessed are facing their back to her. Wendy ushered Jenna to sit in the middle and while trying to look for the faces for the other party, Jenna feels like she knows the faces of these people. Starting from the right, analyzing her face, her hair, and the paper that is in front of her Jenna thought "Oh, probably she's the publicist" and when she moved from the so-called-publicist left, she sees a scowling face, eyebrows pushed together in the middle, lips are tight, and a rigid body posture, and Jenna thought "No fucking way" ready to run from where she is to the door, her arms were held down by Wendy and is trying to push her down to seat in front of none other than Y/N.

"What is this?" Jenna asked and Y/N "What do you think?" with a biting remark. The two of them holding a staring battle, trying to push each other's luck and trying to feel if the other one is gonna send them a punch or a slap. "Shut up, adults are talking" Jenna said with a smirk and Y/N answered "We are literally the same age, what are you talking about?" and before Y/N gets to add another remark Jenna cut her off and said "Oh yeah? Well the shut up, people who are mature enough gets to talk."

Y/N then stood up from her chair ready to pounce on Jenna when her manager hold her down and forced her to seat down and said "Calm down you two, we are not here to set you both to fight on a boxing ring in Vegas" and the other person in the room chuckles.

"Is this some kind of joke? What am I doing in here?" Y/N asked her manager and her publicist and Emilia answered her "Calm down first and we will explain, please girls." And Y/N tried to calm herself down staring at the wall.

Throughout the entire meeting, both of Y/N and Jenna's manager and their publicist explains how good it will be if the both of them will be in a public relationship. They explained that the media, the public, and their fans loved the two of them together, seeing how the rumor between the two of them isn't dying after months, how their status and fanbase got bigger, and how can this publicity attract more people to support the both of them.

"But I thought I'm gonna be okay without any public relationship?" Jenna said pertaining to what Wendy said and she answered "Well, it still is, but if you are in a relationship with Y/N everything will be better. It's gonna be a win-win situation for the both of us."

"I don't need this, I can do things on my own" Y/N said and her publicist explained "Yes, but it will be more better with a help you know" and that made Y/N furious "Okay, first of all I don't need her charity, I don't need anyone to boost my career. I am talented and that's what I'm gonna use." Then her manager butted in and said "Yes, we didn't mean it in that way Y/N and you know it. You're just gonna help each other out, be each other's stepping stone. When the contract finishes, there will be no bad blood and we will say that things just didn't work out because of schedule."

When Y/N's manager said that, both Y/N and Jenna looked at each other's eye, feeling like it did struck a nerve on the both of them, holding each other's stare for a second, the room went silent. Y/N then looked down at her lap after she caught Jenna stared at her, she plays with the end fabric of the table cloth. Jenna on the other and was just staring at Y/N, biting her lip, trying to say something but she can't eve formulate a word.

"Okay, I think we are done, we can continue this tomorrow, sounds like a plan?" Wendy said collecting the papers in front of her, the managers were standing up and trying to leave the room.

Y/N was still seating and looking down, Wendy and her manager knows so damn well that they need to leave Y/N alone when she went this silent. Jenna was also the same, still seating down in her seat, feeling like someone nailed her to where she is.

With a deep sigh, Y/N raised her eyes in front of her, where Jenna's eyes were awaiting. A lingering sense of familiarity can be felt in line with a feeling of deep longingness and hatred. The air was thick, both of them trying to read each other's mind. Y/N knows Jenna, she knows all of her, but not the one who is seating in front of her. On the other hand Jenna's waiting for Y/N to say something, because she knows Y/N so damn well, she knows her that well. Both of them feels like they were thrown back from where they were, contemplating and thinking on a restaurant.

Y/N and Jenna stared at each other for a second, Y/N's lips opened a few times, trying to say the words that runs through her mind, but failed after a few attempt. Jenna tries to calm her breathing because it seems like everything seems to fall on her shoulders, hitting her like a brick.

This wasn't what they imagined themselves after years of their break-up. They didn't imagine them seeing again, sitting on a restaurant, talking about their relationship. Everything that's happening brings ton of memories from the past that the both of them were trying to bury. So there they were, seated, facing each other, trying not to break down, and praying to whoever listens that this was just a joke, a prank, a dream, just not a reality that they need to face.

____________________________________________________

South of the Border Singer Y/F/N Y/L/N and Actress Jenna Ortega seen Dining together in the City of Love

Y/F/N Y/L/N and Jenna Ortega both attended the 2023 Dior Spring show together and both seated side-by-side, some photographers from the inside released pictures of them getting close to each other and seemingly enjoying each other's presence.

Just as we thought that it will end there, the two stars surprises us with them being together dining in a hotel where Jenna Ortega is currently staying. Sources from the inside told that they dine inside a private room. Both of the stars arrived and went away separately. But this doesn't stop us from getting a moment of them together.

This occurrence only ignites the rumor that Y/N's new songs from the album are all about Jenna. Both of the stars aren't releasing any statements and their agency are still silent about this issue.

Stay tuned for more of this brewing love story that us slowly unfolding in our eyes!

______________________________________________________________

A/N: HI, apologies for the long wait, I hope you like it. I'm open for your thoughts and comments. Thanks again for reading and waiting. Not proofread, so notify me if there are any mistakes.

Tag list:

@hy-uk-ai @ortegalvr @mirage018 @geed-3 @idkjustliving2 @aurora-starwars (sorry just tagged all of you)

#jenna ortega #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x you #fanfic #fiction #jenna ortega imagine #findyouagain

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