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mrslilyrogers · 4 years

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Betrayal Part 6

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: (AU) Set in New York. You and Bucky have been married for 5 years. He’s the love of your life and you are his. At least, you thought you were until he started slipping away from you, coming home late and smelling of another woman’s perfume? You are in denial. Are you just losing your mind or are you really losing him?

Author’s notes: Sorry this took so long. I’ve just been going through something at home. I posted about it, I think a week or two ago. Anyway, thank you for those who reached out to me and thank you for all your feedback with this. Really warms my heart and has been such a great help. This chapter is a bit longer than usual, I hope that makes up for it. Let me know what you think! :) Oh, and if you want to be tagged, please message on my ask. Thanks!

Warnings: Cheating, Angst

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Bucky let out a yawn as he opened the door to their apartment. He couldn’t help the smile forming on his lips as he took the stairs two steps at a time. Excitement building up in his chest to see his girls despite being so sleep deprived the past few weeks.

“Trust me, my friend, enjoy your time now. You’d be lucky enough to get three hours of sleep before you hear that wail of death again,” Thor had warned, all serious and brooding, as they lifted heavy weights at his gym the week prior to Y/N’s due date. To Bucky’s horror, he was proven right. They barely had time for themselves anymore, let alone sleep. Today, was his first day back at work since Y/N had given birth and he was so tired, he almost dozed off at their meeting. It was a good thing Sam had backed him up but of course, only for the price of constant teasing after. “Hell, it’s only been a few weeks and you already look like the walking dead, Barnes! Even Thor looked better than you, and that’s saying a lot,” he motioned around his stomach, referring to the time their usually fit trainer and gym buddy gained weight after welcoming his first child. So naturally, when Bucky refused to go with them for their usual after-work training, Sam couldn’t help but quip,

“You’re losing touch, Barnes! Next thing we know you’d lose all that hair and have a beer belly, god, I’m never having a baby!”

Bucky just rolled his eyes and dismissed him with a casual “Later, Wilson,” not bothering to have a witty retort as he always did. Sam tsked him and shook his head, giving him a genuine smile despite his teasing manner. Bucky really couldn’t care less about putting on a few pounds. He just wanted sleep and his wife. And of course, to see his daughter, because no matter what he just couldn’t blame his little miss smarty pants, always knowing when her parents had closed their eyes to rest so she could wake them up again.

He thought his first day back at work would’ve given him the respite he needed from taking care of a newborn baby for weeks but all day, he had just missed his little Lizzie. It was as if holding her in his arms after a long day at work was his prize. It didn’t help that as much as Sam had teased him, Steve wouldn’t stop remarking on his change in attitude, “This is great. I’m so proud of you, Buck.” while patting his back like the big brother he was. Bucky had just scoffed at him, not at all knowing how to respond. Steve was the only one who had been there for him all those times he and his sister had been under Rumlow’s care. He knew the things they went through and how having a family terrified him. His reassurances meant more to him than he could admit. He vowed he’d never make his daughter feel unwanted and unloved like how he was throughout his childhood when both his parents died abruptly leaving him and his sister abandoned to the foster care system. A chill went up his spine at the remembrance of all the “conditioning” he went through, all the pain he had to endure to achieve the “order” Rumlow so devoutly believed in. The slight tremor in his hands warned him he was getting in too deep. He took several deep breaths as he tried to shake off the memory. It was all in the past now. Even Becca had moved on, married right out of college and started her own little family. Y/N and Lizzie were his future now, this family they were building was more important to him than anything else. A dream he never thought he’d have.

He slowly opened the door to their bedroom quietly, not wanting to wake Lizzie up if Y/N had finally gotten her to sleep. She must’ve been bored out of her mind with her taking the time off her newly-built bakery to take care of Lizzie while they haven’t sorted their schedules out yet. All week, she had been worried about how they were all coping without her. He brought the tulips up with a big grin on his face, ready to gift it to her as a peace offering from her time off work and hoped it could cheer her up even for just a little bit. His eyes landed on her curled up on the bed, a bit of her hair falling on the side of her face, her even breaths putting him at home as she peacefully dozed off. He looked to the bassinet beside the bed, a soft smile playing on his lips. His little girl slept like an angel with her pink cheeks and her tiny mouth puckering as she dreamed. He placed the flowers on the bedside table, giving Y/N a kiss to her forehead before heading to the bathroom to change, all the while wondering how he got so lucky after everything he’s been through. He met the love of his life in college, married her after eight years of being together then had a baby girl in their first year of marriage. Maybe the universe wasn’t out to get him after all.

He snuggled next to Y/N, draping his arm across her waist. She moved back into him, her back to his chest as he pulled her close, drinking in the scent of her hair, sleep already seeping into his tired mind until the “wail of death” broke free. A lazy smile formed on his lips. He knew it, his little girl was smart.

“Ugh,” Y/N grumbled, already making her way to stand up.

“No, no. Go back to sleep, I’ll get her,” Bucky said as he kissed her on the cheek and stood up before she could protest.

“But you just got home, Buck,” she complained but didn’t make a move to leave the bed.

“Shh,” he smiled back at her, picking his little Lizzie up.

“How are you sweetie? Are you hungry? You just miss Daddy, don’t you?” He cooed, rocking her in his arms while Y/N watched, her heart in her eyes. He continued to coo and rock her and soon the baby went back to sleep. He looked up to Y/N with a cocky grin on his face only to find her with her phone out, taking a video of the moment. He rolled his eyes, “If you continue to take videos of me and Lizzie, you’ll run out of space on your phone. But see, I told you, she just missed her dad!” He then proceeded to make a show of a sleeping Lizzie to Y/N’s phone while she giggled in the background.

“Yeah right. You just got lucky, Buck,”

“Oh come on, you must admit she’s always calmer when I’m around,”

Y/N laughed again, ending the video and putting her phone back on the bedside table, finally noticing the flowers.

“Aww, babe you didn’t have to,” she said, bringing it up to her nose. Her heart skipping a beat as she watched him smile at her. She’d never get tired of his smiles, she thought, not knowing he was thinking the exact same thing about her. Her smile faltered for a split second as she brought the flowers back down to the table. It wouldn’t have been noticeable to anyone else, but Bucky knew when something was bothering her. He noticed it ever since they got back from the hospital four weeks ago.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, concern in his eyes as he held on to Lizzie.

“It’s nothing, really,” She waved him off again, shaking her head.

“Y/N…” He warned.

“I just… I’m just thinking maybe I should sell Winter Bakery—”

“No,” He cut her off before she could even finish her sentence, his voice stern.

“Hear me out, Bucky. This makes sense. You’re about to get promoted and I’ve only been open for a year. I know, for sure, we’ll get losses from this but if we plan it right, It shouldn’t be so hard. We have Lizzie now. I don’t think I can do both—,”

“Yes, you can.” Bucky cut her off again, determinedly reassuring her. She wished she had that same faith in herself but she just shook her head. How could she be a mother and manage her own business at the same time? Winter Bakery had just been opened for a few months before she realized she was pregnant. She remembered all those days she sluggishly went to work with her belly swollen, trying her best to show her employees that she knew what she was doing but deep down inside, she had no clue. All the anxiety she was facing with opening her own bakery cafe and being a new mother were all too overwhelming for her. She was in uncharted territories. It was pathetic. She was pathetic. This was not how she imagined their first year of marriage would be like at all. They hadn’t planned to get pregnant. They were going to wait it out, prioritize their careers first before they even discussed having a baby. Now, their plans were all screwed. And she hated herself for thinking that way, she loved Lizzie with her whole heart, seeing her for the first time she knew she’d never love anyone the way she loved her child and yet… the guilt was eating her alive and she hated herself for it. Winter Bakery could wait, she just has to—

“Y/N come on, this is your dream.” Bucky’s convincing voice cut her out of her reverie.

“Yes, but it’s different now. It’s not just the two of us anymore, Bucky. We have Lizzie, and you’re about to get promoted. You can’t just slow down in your job but I still can. I’ve only been open for a year—”

“Yes and you’d stay open for a lot more. Come on, we can do this, Y/N. Tomorrow, I’d get off work so you can visit your shop,”

“Bucky, you just got back to work. You can’t miss it tomorrow.” She replied exasperatedly. The reason he went back earlier despite Shield having a longer paternity leave was for his promotion. He needed to clock in more hours, show that he was up for it.

“Watch me,”

“Bucky, come on. You’re getting promoted remember? Steve said so himself, it’s almost already a done deal. I’m being serious,”

“And I’m not?”

She gave him a face that said he was pushing his luck and he tried his best not to laugh at her. She looked adorable whenever she gave him that face. He flashed her her favorite smirk as he put Lizzie down. Lying back down beside her, he let out a huge exhale.

“Come here,” he said, beckoning his arm out for her. She laid her head on his chest, right under his calm heartbeat, feeling herself relax in sync with him. He softly played with her hair, brushing his lips on her forehead gently.

“I’m being serious too, Doll. Stop doubting yourself. You’re more than capable enough to handle this. I know you,” Bucky reassured her, rubbing soothing circles on her back.

“But how can you be so sure, Buck? I have no idea what the hell I’m doing half the time,” she replied, hating the whine that seeped into her voice.

Bucky chuckled from underneath her, the rumbles from his chest somehow easing her worries. “Baby, you married me. What more proof do you need?”

“Come on, you’re not that bad,” she said, feeling a smile tugging at her lips despite herself as she propped her head up to look at him.

“Babe, seriously. Go to your shop tomorrow. I can get Steve to cover for me. With this promotion, I’ll be earning a lot more. We can get the best day care for Lizzie when you start going back to work. Hell, even hire a nanny if we really need to. We’ll be fine, Y/N. I promise, trust me.” He said, tucking her stray hair back behind her ears. He looked at her with all the trust and encouragement in his eyes.

“We’ll make it work?” She asked, doubt still in her voice but feeling a weight being lifted off her chest.

“We’ll make it work.” He reassured her, nodding his head before craning his neck forward to give her a gentle kiss, calming all the worries and tension she’d been feeling all day. That night, as sleep claimed her, she had a gnawing feeling deep in her gut that no matter what happens with Winter Bakery, everything was still going to be okay. Because she’d always have Bucky.

______________________________________________________________________

Y/N waited in bed as Bucky tucked Lizzie in after getting home from the hospital. Soon after Steve had left, the test results came back and it turned out she had a UTI. They were immediately discharged when her fever had lowered with a prescription of a round of antibiotics. Y/N let out a sigh, it had been such a long night and she was relieved and thankful Lizzie didn’t have anything more serious. As to Bucky, she felt… oddly calm and relieved too. Finally, it felt like a weight had been lifted off her chest. Her marriage, although broken and beaten, was at least honest now. Only question was, where do they go from here?

Bucky cleared his throat when he entered their room, Y/N looked up at him from her perch on her side of the bed with an empty look on her face. For the first time in his life, he didn’t know what she was thinking, he didn’t know what to say to make her feel better. And it was his damned fault that he couldn’t. He only wished he could turn back time and undo all the mistakes he made because it wasn’t worth it. None of it was worth it to lose his family.

“How long has it been going on, Bucky?” She asked him, her voice numb. He closed his eyes, shaking his head. Why did she want to hurt herself like this? Did she know it would hurt him just as much too?

“Y/N, please don’t ask me that,”

“You wanted to explain, didn’t you? So do it now, answer my question, explain. How long has it been going on?” She asked again patiently. She didn’t know where the hell she got her patience from but it was better than breaking down and throwing things at him which was what she always thought she might do. Silly of her to think she’d even have the energy for that.

“Two months.” He answered truthfully, letting out a puff of air as his jaw twitched, his hands forming fists at his sides, trying his damned best to keep his distance and not to wrap his arms around her, to prove his love for her. He knew it wouldn’t work anyway and she deserved better than that. She nodded her head as if considering but in all honesty, she didn’t even know where she was going with this, she didn’t know why she was asking things that would break her. All she knew was that it was better to know than be kept in the dark, better than being lied to.

“How did it start?”

“Y/N…”

“How did it start, Bucky?”

”I, I met her at a bar,” Bucky uncomfortably answered, swallowing a lump in his throat. No more lying. But a voice in the back of his head told him this wasn’t going to end well. She was going to make him leave. He was going to lose her.

“You say you don’t love her. You love me?” She asked, her voice finally breaking, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She fought so hard not to cry, her throat worked as she swallowed down her tears, her body stiffened at trying to control herself, to keep herself together. Bucky was in front of her in a stride. Kneeling down, he put his hands on her arms and stared deep into her eyes willing her to understand and to listen to him.

“Yes, god, yes! Y/N, I love you. You’re the one I love. I swear, it’s always been you,” He said frantically, slightly shaking her, his eyes convincing her to take him back but she just stared back at him doubtfully, her brows furrowed. She shook her head as she backed away from him and stood up.

“No, Bucky. If you loved me, you wouldn’t have cheated on me.”

“Two months!” She screamed exasperatedly as if finally understanding everything he’s told her. How could he have slept beside her and pretended everything was alright for two whole months while meeting up with another woman? How could he tell her he loved her when he had been lying to her face? It was as if a dam had broken loose inside her, all of her emotions spilling over.

“I can’t even look at you right now, Bucky. How can you do this to me? To us? To Lizzie? We’re your family.” She paced the room, her hand on her forehead as she tried to think back on all those times she tried to make it work. “You know, I don’t even know if I believe you! You’ve been way distant for longer, I doubt it’s only been for two months!”

“No, Y/N! I’m not lying about that, I swear! No more lies anymore. Y/N please... I’m sorry,” He pleaded, his voice becoming desperate. Did it even matter anymore that he wasn’t lying now? The point was that he still fucked up. And there was nothing he could do to make it right. He had no excuse, he was a selfish bastard.

She scoffed at that, her voice incredulous as she whirled back at him, “A little too late for that, don’t you think? What did you think, Bucky? That you’re the only one who makes sacrifices? I know starting a family was the least of priorities when we got married but we said we’d make it work. You promised, we’d make it work! I’ve stayed loyal to you throughout everything and this is how you treat me when you say you love me?”

“I’m sorry,” He hung his head knowing his words weren’t enough. He wished she would punch him, hurt him, do her worst to make herself feel better because she deserved that. God, she deserved better than that.

“Get out, Bucky. I don’t care where you stay, just please leave.” Her voice quivered, tears welling in her eyes. She tried to regain her composure but her traitorous tears spilled down her cheeks.

“Y/N, I… please just tell me what to do to fix this and I’ll do it. This is completely my fault. There’s no excuse, but please, just please give me another chance,” Bucky desperately tried to get near her again, to hold her close but she stepped back as if his touch would burn her.

“For months, you’ve made me feel like I wasn’t enough and still I ran after you. What? You think I didn’t know? You come home late at night drunk and smelling like her perfume and you think I wouldn’t notice? All those times I waited up for you, cooked your favorite dinner, come by your office only to find you not there but still, stupid me, hoped you’d come to your senses and get back to me.” She laughed dryly at that, shaking her head at her foolishness but continued on, he needed to know how he made her feel. She wanted him to hurt as much as she was hurting.

“It’s too late, Bucky. I… god! Can you believe that, Buck? I knew all along but I ignored it ‘cause I knew I’d let it all go if you just stopped. You had me wrapped around your fingers, doing anything for your whim, following whatever you wanted and I lost myself in it! You’ve made me into such a fool and I can’t even blame you for it! I was so stupid for you. And that’s my fault. I deserve better, no more of this. You need to leave, I don’t care where you go. Stay in your office or go to her house. I don’t care, just leave!”

Bucky stared at her, a lump painfully lodged in his throat as what she said dawned on him. Shame, guilt and regret punched him in the gut. He hated himself more than anything. He’d been such an asshole, the worst husband he could imagine. How could he have treated the only woman he’s ever loved like this? What kind of a sick monster was he?

“I’m sorry,” he says again, pathetic words he knew wouldn’t change a thing. He turned to leave, feeling her eyes boring into his back, hoping against all odds that she’d call him back. Once he reached the door, his hand lingered on the knob, there was one more thing he needed to ask, and he was afraid to even think about what she would say.

“Y/N...” he turned back to look at her, his eyes searching and pleading.

“What are we going to tell Lizzie?”

Y/N sighed, burying her face in her hands. She looked so small and defeated and all Bucky wanted to do was to run to her and envelope her in his arms, hug all her problems away. But he was the one who caused all of this and there was nothing he could do but to accept whatever she wanted to throw his way.

“I don’t know, Bucky. I don’t know,” her gaze drifted skyward, as if she could get her answers from there. She was confused, her bravado slipping. It was a different thing when she thought he hadn’t cared at all, that he was going to give them up for his mistress but he wanted to stay, he wanted to fight. And who was she to take her daughter’s father away from her? It wouldn’t be fair to Lizzie.

“I’m going to tell her you’re called for work and need to be away for awhile. At least, while she’s sick. I don’t want to stress her out more and then, we’ll give her the talk,” her eyes didn’t betray the warring emotions in her heart. She wanted him to see that she was determined. She wasn’t backing out, he was still leaving. Period.

Bucky nodded, giving her a grateful, forlorn smile. She was the best mother he could’ve asked for his child.

“Thank you, Y/N. I’ll grab my stuff tomorrow. I promise you won’t have to see me then. But baby, please, think about this. Don’t give up on us, give me another chance to prove myself, please,” he pleaded with her again, hoping if he gave her enough space she’d want to talk soon. She just stared at him, her eyebrows knitting. She didn’t know what to say, she didn’t even really know how these things went.

“I’ll give you all the time you need, Y/N. But please just, please don’t give up on us,” he begged again, softly this time. His eyes conveying all the guilt and fear he felt and all Y/N could do was nod. What was she supposed to say anyway? Say “thank you” to the only decent thing he could do? She wanted to laugh at the irony of that. The best thing the man she loved could do for her was to leave her alone. What has her world come to?

“Bucky, wait,” she called out as he opened the door. Bucky looked back at her, his hopeful eyes scanning her face. Y/N felt shame and anger boiling in her veins, making her resolve stronger.

“Could you leave your keys once you get your stuff?” She asked coldly, keeping her voice strong. If he thought she was going to be easy, he was wrong.

“Of course,” Bucky assured her, willing to give her the world if she just asked him to.

“Take all the time you need. I… just know, I’ll always be here, waiting,” he said sincerely, humbly, laying his soul at her feet. He didn’t care if it took forever, whatever it takes.

Part 7

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #bucky fic #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fanfic #steve rogers #betrayal #marvel fic #marvel x you

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starrybethany · 4 years

Text

I’m Sure - Adam Boqvist Imagine Part 1

Word count: 3.3K

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

I heard about Adam before I met him. The guys had hung around my office, claiming they wanted to catch up with me, but I really know it’s just because they want to gossip. Hockey players are like that. We were catching up on how their summers went.

“Hey, did you see who was drafted, Y/N?” Dylan asks, wandering around the small room and staring at various objects.

“Nope,” I pop the ‘p’, scanning over the email recently sent to me. “Who was it?”

“This Swedish kids with sick hands,” Alex gushes.

“Really? Is he gonna be the next Patty Kane?”

“Please, like anyone could be like Showtime,” he scoffs.

Dylan pulled up some videos of his highlights, showing them to me.

I nod in approval. “Looks like hockey.”

They give me unamused looks.

We’ve had this talk plenty of times- they think that since I work at the United Center, I should understand hockey more, I think that since I work for United Center and not for the Blackhawks, it really doesn’t matter.

Adam had spent that season in London with the Knights. I had heard about him sprinkled into conversations here and there but really, I just focused on my work as being the suites advisor and making sure everything went smoothly. It was a great year for bookings, and apparently a great year for him.

Alex tried explaining the kid’s talent to me when we were on a double date with our partners, but I still couldn’t understand hockey that well, so I just smiled and nodded. He let that slip by.

It wasn’t until he was here in Chicago that I got it.

For some reason I had been down at the rink, watching practice take place. He had spent a few weeks with the Hawks- weeks that I had taken off to take care of my boyfriend after his knee surgery- and was sent down to Rockford almost as soon as I had returned.

The boys were really upset that I hadn’t met their new friend, Kirby especially, who was a new addition to our group almost as soon as Dominik introduced him to me.

But then there he was, back on the ice. I squinted my eyes, not remembering a ‘27’ on the team. The last name clicks, and I watch as he flies around on the ice, joking with the guys and passing the puck skillfully.

I got it. I understood then why the boys thought he was so talented and why he was back in the NHL at the mere age of nineteen. He played with confidence and speed, a conscious defenseman- something the boys tell me they’ve been struggling with.

Then I un-got it.

Alex had invited a couple of us over for drinks one night and my boyfriend, as he did often, accompanied me.

“Oh, you guys haven’t met yet,” Alex comments, pouring glasses of wine for all of us. “Y/N, this is Adam, the defenseman we’ve been telling you about. Adam, this is Y/N, she works as a suites advisor for the UC.”

“Nice to meet you,” I reach out, shaking his hand. I thought he was attractive, I won’t lie. From the detailed tattoos to the messy hair, he was just my type. But my boyfriend was sitting right next to me, so that was a line I didn’t want to cross.

It didn’t matter to Adam, though. He winked at me as we shook hands, which I found distasteful, but allowed myself to send him a tight-lipped smile.

“And this is my boyfriend, Steven,” I emphasis, resting my hand on Steven’s thigh.

“Oh yeah,” Alex mutters.

Alex always tended to forget about Steven. In fact, everyone seemed to forget about Steven.

“So, suites’ advisor?” Adam questions, ignoring the man sitting next to me. I could feel my boyfriend freeze up at the clear dismissal.

“Yep.”

“What do you do? Just say hello to all of the rich investors?” By the smirk on his face and the small sip of wine, I can tell the dig is intentional.

He knows there is much more that goes into this job than that, so I don’t know why he’s trying to get under my skin. Especially when we just met.

“Um, no, actually, I schedule who books suites for when, what suites are available, who caters what suite. A lot goes into it, actually,” I send him a fake smile.

His smirk just widens, digging under my skin even more.

Steven and I had left early that night.

I ungot it again at the family skate. I’ve never learned how to skate- the guys tried to teach me, but I get frustrated easily so they stopped attempting. I’m stumbling around on the ice by myself, the boys stopping by once and a while to check on me but quickly rushing off to be with their significant others. Steven has work today and we had an argument a few days ago, so I didn’t even bother inviting him to the family skate.

A hard body runs into me from behind, causing me to become unbalanced and hit the boards, catching myself before I fall right onto the ice.

“Ow,” I turn around to glare at the person who pushed me, narrowing my eyes even more when I see the familiar blonde boy and the smirk that he’s always wearing. “What’s your problem, dude?”

“What do you mean?” His accent is thick with his words, making my stomach flutter but the irritation replaces the fluttering quickly.

“You’ve just been rude to me for no reason. What’s up with that?”

He gives me a surprised look, like he didn’t expect me to confront him on it. But I don’t know why he would think that- if you’re going to be a dick, I have a right to call you out on it.

He scoffs quickly, an annoyed expression quickly replacing his surprised one. “You’re overthinking everything.”

I watch as he skates away in annoyance, Kirby replacing his spot next to me.

“You two are close, right?” I question.

He nods.

“Why does he hate me so much?”

He laughs at that and I’m the one who’s shocked now. “Isn’t it obvious? He likes you.”

I give him an unimpressed look. “You’re saying he’s acting like an asshole because he likes me?”

“Hey, I didn’t say it was logical,” he puts his hands up in defense, skating away.

I’ve always thought that was ridiculous. If you like someone, just tell them. And if you don’t, just avoid them. There is no reason that meanness is needed, especially if it’s because you really like that person.

I try to avoid Adam after that.

It doesn’t last long. About a week of avoiding him goes by before I find myself out at a bar with him and a few other players. I had just broken up with Steven, discovering that I no longer did my ‘in love’ giggle with him or smiled when I saw his name pop up on my phone.

But just because I fell out of love with him didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt. It hurt. It really hurt. So that’s how I found myself one, two, three, four drinks in at the bar, too drunk to remember what I was saying and too drunk to care about how I might feel the next day.

I went on the dance floor to blow off some steam, swaying along to pop songs and screaming the lyrics.

Arms wind around my waist and I look down at them, spotting a familiar sleeve. I turn around in his arms, careful to not move my hands. I’m worried of what I might do if that happens- even though Steven and I had just broken up, I’ve been touch-deprived for weeks.

“What are you doing, Adam?” I question, leaning closer so that he can hear me.

“You’re single now, right?”

“Yes, but did I give you permission to touch me?” I raise my eyebrows.

He takes a step back with amusement, raising his arms defensively to show me that he’s respecting my boundaries.

Then I can’t help but think: fuck it. After being in a committed relationship for years, why not mess around with some guy I have intense sexual chemistry with? He’s hot, he’s sexy, sure he’s an asshole but I’m sure that confidence would do wonders in bed.

So, I throw myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck and tangling in his blonde locks as I pull him as close to me as he can get. One of his hands rests on my ass while the other rests on my hip, tugging me closer and closer to him.

He’s staying with Alex and Lyndsey, so we end up at my apartment in my bedroom. And when I wake up in the morning, I don’t regret it.

I regret it when I go to work the next day. He gives me a knowing look every time he passes me in the hall and even Kirby sends me a look or two.

It happens for a couple more days until one day he finds himself in my office with Dylan and Alex Nylander, another young rookie.

I’d been struggling with work all day, people bitching at me on the phone and numbers not adding up so all I really wanted was to finish the last hour of work and go home.

Then Adam gives me a look.

“What’s your problem?” I snap.

He gives me a confused expression, causing me to elaborate. “We slept with each other once and now you think you know so much about me? Do you think you can hold this over my head or something?”

Dylan chokes on his spit and Alex stifles his laughter, Adam flustering with words.

I organize a stack of papers on my desk, not even bothering to make eye contact with any of them. “I think it’s best if you three leave.”

They respect my wishes. An hour later I lock my door with a deep sigh, turning to make my way towards the parking lot. A body pushes me up against my door suddenly, causing me to gasp and dart my eyes up to see who my attacker is.

My eyes meet familiar blue ones and my body relaxes at the sight, then freezes up again when I realize I’m stuck in between his arms.

“You know, I didn’t really like that stunt you pulled earlier,” Adam breathes out, breath fanning over my face. His head leans down and he nibbles at the skin on my neck teasingly.

I hold back a moan at the action. “You didn’t?”

“No,” he bites down a little bit harder, causing me to wince. “I think you’re going to have to be punished for that.”

“You think so?” I whisper out.

“I think so.”

“Then I think we should get started on this now, don’t you think?”

“I agree.”

And that’s how I began sleeping with Adam Boqvist. Neither of us are looking for anything serious- I want to live the single life after being in a committed relationship for so long and he wants to enjoy his single, youth years in the great city of Chicago.

Plus, he would be the last person I would date.

He’s cocky, selfish, obnoxious, loud- I could keep going.

But either way, the relationship between us, or whatever you want to call it, isn’t end game. He isn’t the person I want to spend the rest of my life with. He’s not the one I want to raise children with or sit with on rocking chairs on the porch.

He’s just a guy I want to have sex with until I find the right person for me.

So, tell me why I’m sitting in my shitty apartment bathroom with two pregnancy tests sitting on the small basin of the sink.

I crisscross my legs on the toilet, fiddling with my fingers anxiously. They have to be negative. They have to be.

I can’t have a child right now. I want to focus on my career and build my reputation in the field. I don’t want to have a baby just a couple years into starting this job. I can’t afford a baby anyways; Chicago is an insanely expensive city and I can barely afford to live by myself.

Hell, I live in a loft.

Besides, I can’t be connected to Adam for the rest of my life. I can hardly stand the guy as it is.

As the minutes slowly pass by, I convince myself that I’m not actually pregnant. The ache in my ankles and lower back are due to stress from work and the vomiting is because my eating habits haven’t been as consistent as they usually are.

I’m just going to completely ignore the fact that I let Adam have sex with me without a condom while I was off my birth control for a while due to the weird side effects it was giving me.

It’s like I’m watching from outside of my own body as I reach forward, grabbing the sticks and holding one in each hand.

Positive. Positive.

My heartbeat fastens and I can feel my breath getting shallow. I try to focus my breathing, counting to four over and over and it slowly helps.

My eyes open back up as I ground myself and I can’t help but just stare at the sticks, switching between the two. I’m pregnant. I’m having Adam Boqvist’s baby.

I really didn’t prepare myself for the next time that I’d see him. I’ve already prepared myself to deal with this on my own- whichever way I decide to do that. I haven’t really decided that yet either.

“Hey,” he grins at me as he enters my office, shutting the door behind him. “I have about ten minutes before Kirby starts to look for me, let’s have a quickie.”

“No, Adam,” I sigh, swallowing the lump in my throat. The words are just begging to come out. I’m pregnant. You’re going to be a dad.

“Why not? Is it because we’re at work? We’ve done it in your office before,” he protests.

I set the pen down next to the pad of paper gently, crossing my hands on the top of the desk and turning to focus him with a serious expression. His mischievous grin fades when he notices that I’m not in the playful or teasing mood that I’m usually in when I see him.

“What’s up?” He questions.

“Adam, I’m pregnant.”

His reaction is not one I expect. His face turns to one of confusion, like he’s genuinely unsure why I would be telling him this.

“Congratulations?” He says it more like a question.

My eyes narrow into a glare at the word. He doesn’t believe that it’s his child. I feel hurt, disrespected, and angry. Who does he think I am, the type of girl who has unprotected sex with everyone who walks?

Not that there’s anything wrong with those girls, more power to them, it’s just- he knows me. We’ve been in each other’s beds most of the time for the past couple of months. I spend practically every night with him, and he has the nerve to doubt paternity?

“It’s yours, idiot.” I can’t help but let that dig slide.

“Well how do you know that?”

“Because if I’m not working, I’m having sex with you,” I say slowly, like I have to spell it out for him.

“Well how do you know it’s not- uh- what’s that guy’s name- Steven’s kid?” Adam inquires, his eyes showing that he’s searching hard for an excuse to not take responsibility.

I scoff, leaning back in my chair. “Whatever, Adam, I don’t care if you believe me. I’m going to figure it out.”

“You better.” And by the way he says it, I know what he wants me to do. I know that he doesn’t want to be a father- although actions do have consequences, there is a reason that abortion and adoption are options.

I can also tell that now he knows for sure that he is the father. And he sure as hell doesn’t want to be the father.

I don’t know why I’m so nervous. It’s just scheduling an appointment- I can always cancel or reschedule.

But my finger rests over the call button for a long time, ‘Planned Parenthood’ looking up at me, mocking me, taunting me.

Do you want an abortion or not? Do you want to be a mother or not? Do you want to go through this pregnancy or not?

There are so many questions flashing through my head. Quite frankly, I don’t know what I want to do. I have no one to turn to- as much as I love the team, I don’t want to cause a rift between them and Adam, and I don’t want to think that we’re closer than we actually are.

I cut out my family years ago.

My friends are all party girls, they wouldn’t know the first thing about a baby if it hit them.

Everything is telling me that I shouldn’t do this. I shouldn’t want to raise a baby on my own, I shouldn’t want to be a single mother.

But why do I so desperately yearn for it? Why did I feel joy when I looked at those sticks and why do I get excited at the thought of little footsteps running around on hardwood floors?

I press the call button.

It gets two rings in before I end it, knowing I’ve made my choice despite all odds.

I need to keep this baby. I know Adam won’t be there for me, but he doesn’t need to be. All this baby needs is to feel love and support and it’ll get that from me and me alone. I need to start fresh, though, to make sure that I’m the best mom that I can be.

“I can’t believe you quit, just like that,” Alex states with a disappointed tone.

I told the guys I quit because I want a change in scenery. That’s not a lie, I’m excited to be moving to the beautiful state of Colorado to start new. But I also hid the news about the baby. They don’t follow me on social media, so they’ll never know- unless Adam says something to them about it. But I doubt he will.

“We’ll miss you,” Dylan adds.

“I’ll miss you guys too,” I respond, closing the cardboard box containing all of my office supplies. Picture frames, pens, cool knick-knacks. All packed into a box ready to be shipped to the mountain zone.

“Hey Adam, Y/N was just getting ready to say goodbye,” Alex says, making me look up from taping up the box with wide eyes.

Sure enough, the blonde is leaning in the doorway, looking unsure for the first time since I’ve met him. It’s weird to see him so hesitant. It’s not him.

But I also don’t feel bad for him. A real dad would step up and want to be there for their kid. A good dad would do that. But clearly, and unfortunately, I was right. Adam Boqvist is and always will be selfish.

I say my goodbyes to Alex and Dylan, the box in one arm while I lock the office with the other hand.

“You’re really leaving?”

“Let’s just get this over with, Adam,” I start, turning to him. He winces when I look him in the eye, seeing all of the resentment and anger I feel towards him. “I’m keeping the baby. I’m raising the baby on my own. Don’t worry, I won’t put you down on the birth certificate. You’ll never see us again.”

His mouth opens then closes. “Are you sure?”

I scoff at the question, shaking my head in disbelief. I go to push past him. “Oh, trust me, I’m sure.”

#NHL imagines #Chicago Blackhawks imagine #Adam boqvist #Adam boqvist imagine #hockey imagines #bimsure

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missskzbiased · 4 years

Text

Getting a Roommate

That’s Actually my first fanfic here (I wrote fanfics a loooong time ago, but not about SKZ, so it’s a whole new world) So I’m kinda nervous kkk

Genre: Romance; College Au; Roommate Au; Love Triangle Word Count: ~2,9K Female lead YAYAYA: For now I only know it will have a Roommate (Not necessarily Who Y/N will end up with) , Romance and everyone is in College. Would like an opinion about who She should move in with, but don’t even know if someone will answer it KKK So maybe I just choose it randomly

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Final)

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You couldn’t believe your luck, maybe it’s because you don’t have any. Not sure. You just needed to find a roommate for now, but it’s your life we’re talking about so of course, it couldn’t be so easy, right?

Well, right.

To begin with, you could only find male roommates, which could not be a bother, but also could! So you decided to go out of your way and meet all of them in person and on the renting place, because who knows what could be there waiting for you? You were very aware that psychos could exist in all forms and usually, they looked like a normal dude waiting for you to take that bait, but at least you could narrow down a bit the ones that look suspicious from the start, right? It couldn’t hurt...

Except that yes, it could!

You only had a day to find a new place, because your so loved old roomie made you the favor of getting both of you expelled! A really great day it was. Now, her parents wanted her back and out of college (rich brat, indeed), but you do not have the money to live alone (you wished you could be a rich brat, hm?) and happens to need a place that takes your money and your sorry ass by the night. You had four places to look up to that met your needings, that were really just being accepted by the night, you swear you didn’t even ask for a good bathroom, a bus stop or a nice place! You just needed a bloody bed!

The roommates you saw, unfortunately, weren’t helping your case tough.

The first place was really pretty! The guys were also quite alluring, but they were kinda... Fuckboys? It wouldn't really be a problem if one of them wasn’t a dick!

“ Hey, Y/N, right?” A boy asked when you stepped in. Friendly enough, you guessed.

The place was all clean and bright, which may suggest he could be a psycho... Blood cleaners could make the walls so shiny? Maybe. Your worrying thoughts about the possibility of being murdered ended when he spoke up again.

“ As you can see we have a really clean place” He bragged. You don’t think that a psycho would be bragging about his skills to hide evidence to a victim, but again you don’t understand a psycho’s mind “Everything has to be clean if you want to bring chicks around, right? You guys love a clean place to fuck”

Oh, well! It was... Unexpected.

“I beg your pardon?” You tried to be polite and smile, unsure about what to think now.

“I and my roomie are really... How can I say it to you? Fuckable? Well, it may sound crude, but yeah! Fuckable” He was pondering really hard about the words and he still managed to choose Fuckable. Nice. He wasn’t wrong tough “And we like to do it, okay? So we bring a lot of girls here, that’s why we like to keep everything clean and shiny, so they can feel well”

Your mind was stuck on “we like to do it, okay?” but you also noticed the warm smile he was giving, trying to be a gentleman. What in the world? You smiled back to him, feeling at a loss of words.

“Well, you can like to do it... It’s not wrong at all, hm...” You tried to remember his name.

“Minho” He said, smiling.

“ Minho” You smiled back “And I can see you guys think about the girls a lot...” Well, at least they wanted them to feel welcomed, right?

“Not really” Another voice spoke up, and you turned back to see the other fuckable roomie you could get. You can’t believe you thought that.

And you couldn’t believe he said they don’t think about the girls at all! What a jerk.

“ Oh, this is Hyunjin!” Minho said to you, pointing at his friend “He’s the one who cleans the stuff and I’m the one who cooks stuff”

“ So you guys have a system... What would I do if I got to live here?” You asked, curious about the practical matters.

Hyunjin smiled, but different from Minho, who only smiled friendly until now, Hyunjin’s smile was cocky and you could almost hear his mind talking shit right now.

“ You could fuc—“ Before he could end his sentence, Minho rushed to his side and put a hand upon his mouth.

What an asshole...

“ What he means is that you can help cleaning stuff or cooking stuff, anything you feel comfortable with. Hyunjin doesn’t really like to do the dishes and neither do I... So you could do it if you don’t mind... And you could do the laundry if you don’t want us to see your stuff or something” He tried to be reasonable.

Something was smelling suspicious here... Why would Minho be so worried about Hyunjin talking shit if he was alright with “fuckable” and “we like to do it” himself? He got his hand off Hyunjin’s mouth and you narrowed your eyes in their directions.

“Okay, spill out” You said, crossing your arms.

“ What do you mean?” Minho asked, confused.

“ Are you trying to find a new fuck buddy or something? Why are you so desperate in getting a new roommate if you guys have all sorted out? I can see you think Hyunjin is disturbing your plans on getting me here” I blurted out and they were surprised.

“ A fuck buddy?” Hyunjin laughed out loud, slapping Minho’s shoulder “My dear, why would we look for a fuck buddy that lived with us? It would only make it difficult to fuck another person later. Are you even hearing yourself?”

“What Hyunjin means” Minho tried again, fed up with his roommate “Is that fucking our roommates would not be allowed at all”

“ And we mean it” Hyunjin warned “I know we’re really good and all, but even if you begged I couldn't fuck you” He said sympathetically.

What?!

Minho widened his eyes, shocked with his friend’s words, and so did you.

“ Why on the Earth I would beg you to fuck me?!” You let out, enraged.

Hyunjin smiled and you wished you could smack it out of his face. Minho held his shoulder, trying to warn his friend, but Hyunjin was not the smart type at all.

“ Believe me, you would beg so much you would be embarrassed the next day”

Minho slapped his own face and turned to you with an apologetic smile.

“He’s dumb but he’s a good roommate, I swear” He tried, but you were already heading towards the door.

“ Y/N!” Minho called you, and you turned back, your hand on the door handle and the door open “The truth is that the rent will get higher and we don’t have the money to continue to live here... That’s why we want a new roommate. It’s just that Hyunjin is an asshole and doesn’t want a girl here...”

You scoffed.

“What? Are you afraid to beg me to fuck you later?” You utter.

Minho let a small laugh at your retort, amazed, but Hyunjin scoffed.

“ I’m afraid you will want to fuck us so much that when we do fuck our real fuck buddies you get all shitty and decide to move out, and we have to look up another roommate all over again” He spoke a little too high to your liking.

“Not everything revolves around your dick” You said, a fake and sweet voice coming out.

“ But a lot of people do” He guaranteed, mimicking your tone.

That was it, you couldn’t deal with him any further, so you slammed the door and went to the next place. You could hear Minho fed up “Nice one, dumbass” from the other side and it made you feel a little better.

The second place was way better if you were being honest, but the guy was a little bit... Tight? Maybe he just needed to warm up a little bit, He seemed really nice and sweet.

“YN?” He asked simply, letting you come in when you nodded.

He walked you through the apartment, pointing and explaining some things here and there. When he finished, he looked to you and waited.

“It’s a really nice place” You offered, unsure about what to say “I could move in right now” You smiled, trying to be a friendly guest.

He hummed, sitting down and gesturing you to do the same. You sat down on the sofa across him.

“ So let’s talk about the rules” He suggested and you thought it was a really good idea. He seemed responsible and smart, different from the other roommates you met. “Neither of us can bring anybody home” He eyed you, searching for a reaction “ And we should be home at eleven at most”.

That made you furrow your brows.

“Why?” You asked suddenly “I mean... I would like to go out sometimes, wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t really have the time” He answered simply “And you can go out as much as you want if you don’t come back after eleven” He shrugged.

Hm… It wasn’t so bad, but it could be better, right? Maybe one of the others could be a better option.

“ That’s…” Understandable? Okay? You weren’t quite sure what to say, so he just spoke up.

“Boring?” He offered “Yeah, I get that a lot… But I have a really tight schedule and I would like to not be bothered by anyone past eleven. You may say you won’t drink much, but eventually, you will have a day when you do and I will have to hold your hair up instead of sleeping”

Oh… That was kinda sweet, actually.

“ Or you will get home all excited about a hangout and I will have to listen to it instead of sleeping… Or you will bring someone home and ask them to be quiet, but they will be loud as hell instead of letting me sleep…” He rumbled.

You guessed a lot of roommates really disturbed his sleeping schedule before.

You laughed, and he stopped talking for a moment.

“Sorry, I can totally understand you. If I decide to be here, I will make sure to let you sleep like a king” You smiled, but he didn’t return it.

“If?” He asked, sighing “So you’re not interested”

“What?! No!” You tried to say, but he put his hand up, asking for you to stop.

“That’s fine, I get a lot of it… I guess people don’t need to sleep anymore and I’m just an old hag” It sounded like a joke, but he wasn’t smiling, so you tried not to.

“ I don’t think you’re an old hag” And the smile slipped right away “I just think that maybe I can find someone as nice as you, but a little bit less… Tight?”

“ That’s fine” He assured “I have another person to come to check here out, tough” He warned “I won’t save it for you, okay? If He wants to stay, I will let him”

“Understandable” You laugh “See you later, Seungmin” You said, getting up “I will probably be back since you’re the nicest old hag I ever met”

He smiled at it and shook your hand.

“ I hope the next guy isn’t an old hag, then, so I can live with the nicest not hag I met around here” He said, this time I laughed and went towards the door.

“ What an honor” You said, faking a bow, and He laughed back.

So the second place wasn’t really a disaster, right? But maybe you could do better… The third-place got your hopes down, tough. Although the guy was really nice and gentle, live with him could be a little… Noisy.

When you knocked, He was already waiting for you and you got yourself thinking about all the murderer thing again. Was Seungmin too nice? Maybe He could kill you past eleven? You laughed at the thought and looked to your new guy. He looked nice… His smile was big and his voice really warm. When you stepped in, you noticed the house was a bit dark, though.

“Oh, We got a vampire here?” You said smiling and he laughed.

“ We have a lot of light here” He answered, fully opening the curtains. When the room lighted up, you saw that the place was actually cozy. “I was just watching a movie” He explained, pointing the TV.

“Sorry to interrupt” You said, but he waved his hand, telling you not to bother.

“Well, I will be honest with you, okay?” He started, and you could see nothing good would be coming “Before you see the apartment, I have to warn you that I bring girls here”

Great, another fuckboy? Was the college so full of hormone like the movies pictured it?

“That’s not a prob-“ You began to say, but he interrupted you.

“And they can be loud” He continued.

Ok? Was He bragging about his sex? Was he hooking up with really loud singers? What is the point here?

“ Do you have a problem with listen other people sex?” He asked.

Excuse me?

“Well, yeah” You answered high pitched.

“ That’s a shame…” He sighed “I was hoping you would like this kind of thing, but that’s fine… Actually, you wouldn’t hear much, I guess, but maybe some pet names or begging… Is it really unbearable?”

Okay, so He was a dom who liked making people beg for him? You must have been thinking a lot because his face seemed a little embarrassed right now.

“That’s not something to be ashamed of!” You rushed to say, kind of shouting it to his face. He got surprised and smiled at you, laughing right after.

“ I know it’s not, I just thought I had made you uncomfortable” He said “I really need a roomie and I’m hoping to get someone that likes it” He confessed.

What?

“ I don’t really plan to make sex with you” You blurted out.

You felt your face burn and you saw his ears getting red. Really red.

“ NO! That’s NOT what I meant” He hushed “I meant I hope to get a roommie that doesn’t care about the name calling and the sounds! Not that it would be bad if you planned to make sex with me… I mean, you’re really pretty and all, but if you don’t like that kind of stuff it may be a little difficult… I mean, why am I even saying this? That’s nothing wrong with making sex any other way, it’s just…” He let a big breath out, this time he looked abashed “I will just stop talking”

“Oh… Well…” You weren’t sure what to say. Both of you flustered in the moment, looking at each other “I guess it won’t go well… I still have one more place to go and I have one place in mind… But I wish you luck!” You rumbled.

“Yeah, ok! Totally cool!” He said, still ashamed of his speech.

You waved goodbye and got out of the room. Only one more and maybe you could find the perfect place.

“Y/N!” The guy was really happy to see you here.

“Hey” You smiled, unsure.

“Is that her?” The other guy asked, coming to the living room.

Well… You could say that everything was out of place. Even tough both of them seemed ok, the place looked like it was turned upside down. Were They looking for something? You probably were staring a lot, because one of them scoffed.

“Jisung can be like a hurricane” The one you assumed to be Changbin said, while poiting to his friend, who smiles sheepishly.

“I will admit the place is not tidy, but we’re fine people” He assured you and you laughed.

“Besides the hurricane guy is there something I should be aware of? Do you have a curfew or something?” You asked, just to be sure.

“ Why the hell would we have a curfew?” Jisung blurted out and looked at you like you were crazy “You can go and come as you wish, dude”

“Although you may have to be aware of something” Changbin started and you didn’t like it. What would it be this time? “We make music and we can be really loud sometimes” He warned.

Oh boy.

“How loud?” You asked, tired.

“A lot” Jisung admitted.

“ Could you guys stop being loud at night?” You asked, hopeful.

“ Maybe?” Jisung wondered, looking at Changbin “Sometimes we would have to go through night tough… But we could try to arrange that, I guess”

“ Yeah, we could…” Changbin agreed.

“ Would you guys also help to clean up the place?”

Jisung laughed at that.

“Of course! I can be tidy” He assured.

“No, He can’t!” Changbin scoffed “But I can help you and He can mess everything up all over again”

Hm… Was it a good option? Maybe you should take it, you would have just to put up with a messy roommate and a loud background. It couldn’t be that bad, right? If it was really this bad, you can search for a new place, having time to get a really nice place this time.

Or maybe you should go to Seungmin… He looked tidy enough and you don’t really need to party that much. You can just hang out with your friends all night long If it’s necessary or crash in their place.

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I’m not a native speaker, so if you guys have anything to suggest about the writing I am more than happy to listen (read?) about it!

Felix and IN will come next. Kept them for logistic kkk I Just LOVE Love triangles, but I still don't know who they are going to be. Suggestions are welcomed

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thequibblah · 3 years

Note

directors cut for WTRF? 🥺👉👈 not biased at all obviously just objective third party asking for a directors cut hmmm hmmmmm

literally how could u do this every other word in that fic is an easter egg i can't shut up about..... bestie u are about to have regrets

one thing u should know is that 90% of things in this fic have real-world equivalents and its not even like....... hidden equivalents. serie primo = serie a, for instance. this trend is going to continue and i won't apologise <3

fun fact i named the bar the Bar and the drinks after shapes because i was too lazy to come up with something actually clever

this bit

I’m grinning to myself by the time she approaches my table.

was a very intentional fakeout and if you read this and thought "she" would be lily, feel free to sue me for emotional damages

the biggest conundrum of this AU was, how are jily not going to have met in school when magic exists? the solution was, of course, having multiple magic schools. but i couldn't let one of them have hogwarts, that didn't seem fair. i know i did sort of let lily have it..... but i felt more comfortable making hogwarts a university so there was a legit reason why james wasn't there and in gryffindor (if he'd gone he absolutely would have been)

once solved, i did the fun thing of naming them! ottaline gambol's was easy, i just scrolled through the list of ministers for magic and picked a progressive one. peverell hall was a whim, made all the funnier when lily's reaction is:

Much was made at Otty’s — one of the more progressive magical schools, named for one of the more progressive Ministers of Magic — of schools like Peverell Hall and St. George’s. The latter, I know, is chock-full of pureblooded elite. Peverell Hall is supposed to be slightly better, but still.

dang, it's gonna be funny if she ever finds out james is a descendant of the guy it's named after

fun fact, i included this because peter's question was a real thought i had when reading bond and free, your inspiring writing knows no limits:

The first thing you conjure in Walking Wombat is a yellow quill... “Why yellow?” Peter asked. Eddie gave him a strange look. “Why not?”

i realised i'd put jily in the same conundrum they had in tis the fucking season here:

It’s only then that I remember she’s just bought us drinks. I turn back to my triangle. “Oh, shit.” I suppose I can pawn it off on one of the others.

...but of course the resolution is rather different, and i do so enjoy a james with no filter (aka default james)

I briefly lose control of my brain and my tongue. “Is it too soon to say I’m in love with you?”

by the way, no-filter james will be a theme. wild things sure do run fast but not as fast as this boy runs his mouth!

also, another interesting challenge here was making sure james has a reason to be the way he is in AU. i love playing around with james's childhood/background and seeing how that affects his character while (hopefully!) staying true to who he is. i did that in ttfs by having him move around a lot and not meet the marauders until after the flashback timeline, which is why he's less of a git — he doesn't have the level of comfort in a social setting that canon james has with hogwarts, which is basically his playground from day 2 of first year lol

here, james was probably a fkn nightmare all through school, but of course he gets a big ego check when his quidditch career is derailed. i imagine his years in italy as a continuation of that humility lesson.

I will fully admit I used to be a cocky prick. This is what comes of being a kid who grew up with everything. But one useful thing that the whole fiasco four years ago taught me is humility. I’ve learned how to ask nicely for another chance.

and so much of writing him in wtrf is juggling that typical confidence with the insecurity/fear of losing something he's invested so much in (and has seen slip away before). it's really new to me, because typically i give lily uncertain life circumstances, but i suppose it's both of them in this AU.

the car thing was... i swear didn't start out as smutty, it was purely because i wanted a way to establish lily as muggleborn in a world where the connotations of not having magical parents is very different. more to come on that!

also, come to think of it, by this metric...

I’m now in dangerous territory, since that adds another impressive action to her running tally.

...i think james is already in love with her LOL

this bit:

The street is considered indecent and the downstairs hallway would have our landlady come running at once, so if it pleases Your Honour, we would recommend the sitting room sofa.

...was actually because in draft one lily was a lawyer, but then it was funny enough that i didn't want to take it out, but NOW i realise it makes it sound a little like she's addressing james as your honour, which.... hm. but anyway, we move on

Marc Bolan begs us to get it on through the stereo, vocalising my thoughts exactly.

the song here was initially "you shook me" (h/t @keepingupwithpotters) but i chickened out because zeppelin is SO horny dfjkhgkjs

also, it gave me so much joy to read everyone reacting to lily thinking about her ex (the general vibe was "who the fuck is this guy!!! ew!!!!") — rest assured (or, unassured??) that he has a part to play in all this. anyway, this is one of my fave lines:

He’s just a person, and there’s such a relief in sleeping with James and not the myth of a guy.

because as any come together reader knows....

Just James. Just James. It was never just James.

wtrf lily will learn!

literally the whole world knows i'm obsessed with needle drops that have no subtlety at all, but this one...

We just laugh, tangled together in a sweaty heap, as “Heaven Is in the Back Seat of My Cadillac” plays through the car’s speakers. “On the nose, isn’t it?” James says, sitting up.

...was pure luck, because i was looking up the top hits on the uk singles chart for the week(ish) this scene takes place in so that i could find a song that would realistically play on the radio, saw this, and was like omg the stars really do align

i feel like the thing i enjoy most about writing romance is the importance i get to place in noticing/looking/observing (and sometimes, not noticing!). it's just such a powerful but simple writerly tool, and god knows i am obsessed with pithy descriptions anyway, so this bit i am especially happy with:

James is already waiting, leaning against the car with his hands in his pockets. I feel as though I’m seeing him for the first time, the faint light of the flickering streetlamp catching him in profile: the strong slope of his nose, the hard line of his jaw, the curve of his smile. He studies the facade of our building with open curiosity, and I wonder what he’s looking for.

(one can only imagine james's train of thought in this moment. perhaps "ah. here lives the future love of my life"?)

“Thanks,” she tacks on at the end. I tip my head to one side in confusion. “For what?” “For, I don’t know. Being nice.” She laughs awkwardly. “I don’t do this very much.”

it wouldn't be a quibblah original tee em without some discourse to come about the nature of romantic/sexual relationships, would it? one thing i enjoy about this AU ("one thing" i say as if this isn't the billionth thing in a list) is that i get to write a romantic lily who's squaring that romanticism with what she perceives as the culture of the times. (this is a bit of a staple in all my characterisations of lily, but it is not often paired with casual sex, the complication of all complications!)

oh this bit literally wrote itself like i didn't even pause to think just vomited it out:

In the morning — and it must be early still — the sun streams through Lily’s sorry excuses for curtains with aggression that cannot be ignored. I crack open an eye to find myself sprawled out across her bed, quite literally spread-eagled. She’s attached to my side like a barnacle. Or a very pretty barnacle, anyway.

i'm especially proud of james's voice in this story. i don't often write first-person fic and i was worried how it'd turn out, but i think james as a character/narrator typically colours his own 3rd-person narration so strongly that it ended up a smoother transition than i'd feared!

also i just. i can't resist throwing in comic relief and i hope that this whole segment was a gentle enough preparation for the awkwardness that followed LOL

All of a sudden, the balcony door bursts open. I nearly drop the mug. “What the—” Mary pokes her head around the corner, sporting a righteous smile. “Morning, handsome.” Over her shoulder she shouts, “He’s on the balcony!” I blink. There’s a sound from inside the flat, as if something very large has just been dropped. Then a swear. “Oh, shit,” I say, realisation dawning, “you weren’t looking for me, were you? It’s so loud out here—” Mary cups a hand around her mouth and stage-whispers, “Lily was frantic.” She’s quite violently yanked back, and Lily herself appears in the doorway, slightly out of breath. “Should’ve checked the balcony first,” she says, and closes the door before Mary can insert herself into the space again. “Hi,” I say, which is agreed-upon best practice for greeting a woman you’ve just had fantastic sex with and ideally would like to have sex with again.

to this day i don't know what lily dropped. let's hope it wasn't expensive!

Captained the under-17 English squad at the World Cup some years back, Serie Primo’s lead goal-scorer of last year… Only an injury in what should’ve been his first season at Puddlemere mars his record. I wince reading about it and comparing it to a heap of press clippings. James Potter was hurt, and Puddlemere didn’t fancy paying for him not to play, so they shipped him off to Milan.

(you cannot imagine how much pointed interrogation of my brother it took to gather this intel.) i constantly worry that i've got dates or timelines wrong somehow — you might notice i tweaked under-17, which used to be under-19 until i realised that made no sense (even though in terms of its career importance i would much preferred it to have been u-19.... anyway). i also found out that u-17 football squads don't actually have captains but i said fuck it on that count.

but obviously i started writing this AU for the sports possibilities, only to discover i'm going to have to interfere a great deal with the Timeline (you shall see in future instalments).

god i really went through the whole fic. like i reread the whole thing to do this. here u go clare jfbghjfd

#this has no right to be this long #wtrf #clareee75 #ask me #director's cuts

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moving-accounts-uwu · 4 years

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Right Where You Were Meant To Be (Bucky x Plus-size!Reader)

Fandom: Marvel

Characters: Bucky x Plus-size!reader

Warnings: Fluff, hurt/comfort, body-shaming

Story type: One-shot

Word count: 2.7k words

Summary: Reader has a crush on Bucky the second she looked at him but she also has feelings of self-consciousness about her body and doubts she’d ever end up with Bucky or any guy like Bucky. That all changes one night at one of Tony’s parties.

(A/N: This is a cute little one-shot idea I had and just wanted to write out. I feel there aren’t many plus-size!reader stories so I wanted to make my own. I’m a chubby girl and felt like I needed some love, lmao. Any mistakes I take responsibility for, this story wasn’t beta read, so I apologize for any mistakes. I hope you enjoy nonetheless!!! Also, the gif isn’t mine, but he just looks so precious <3)

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It all started when you looked at him for the first time. He had just moved into the Tower, and you had just gotten the job as Tony's new assistant since Pepper had become CEO of Stark Industries. Because you worked in an environment with superheroes who were very fit and healthy, you had become self-conscious of yourself; whether it would be what you wore, the things you ate, or just how your body looked in general.

Being a bigger girl, it often took a toll on your mental health when you would notice the glances, the whispering, the judgmental stares, and how shopping for clothes in your size was difficult, and it made you feel like you had to lose weight to fit in and belong. You felt alone and isolated.

You didn't have any friends; you didn't even talk to many of your co-workers, and just kept to yourself a majority of the time. When Bucky moved in, you noticed he did the same. He didn't speak much to the rest of the team, he mostly stayed in his room, and only hung around Steve. Bucky was very fit, and his muscular body showed it whenever he wore tight-fitted clothing. You would never wear tight-fitted clothing for fear of having your plumpness accentuated.

After five months working for Tony and having a more friendly relationship with the rest of the team, you had built a few close bonds with some of the heroes. Wanda and Natasha were your closest girlfriends and would regularly have 'Lady's Nights' every Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. Tony, Clint, Sam, and Steve were like your older brothers and would look out for you.

You and Steve made it a routine to do small exercise and yoga in the afternoons just after 4 o'clock. How this all started was because you wanted to accomplish small goals for yourself, as Sam told you to do to help with your mental health.

"Steve," You called out as you stepped into the Tower's gym, the one place you knew where to find Steve if he wasn't in the common room.

"Oh, hey (Y/N)! What's up?" Steve turned to face you as he held the punching bag still while he watched you walk closer to him, noticing you fidgeting with your fingers nervously.

"I just... I wanted to start doing light exercises, you know, to boost my endorphins, and so I have something to do in the afternoons when I've finished with work." It wasn't a complete lie, but it just sugar-coated the fact that you just wanted to lose weight to gain confidence in yourself.

Steve had agreed to help you; he wouldn't push you too much either because he didn't want you to strain anything and not push you out of your comfort zone too much. Both of you would exercise for an hour each day in the afternoons. This routine had been going on for six weeks, and you were enjoying it. You felt better about yourself each week when you would check your progress and write down how much you lost during the week; you were more confident than you were all those weeks ago before asking Steve for help.

During one of those afternoon exercises, you and Steve were both in the Adho Mukha pose with Steve wearing his usual tight t-shirt that you swore was a size too small, and shorts while you wore a loose, black tank top, and tight-fitted leggings that complemented the shape of your plump ass. You were so in the zone that you hadn't heard the gym doors open and the sound of footsteps coming closer to you. Bucky stood behind you and Steve, him getting an eyeful of your butt while he cleared his throat to catch his best friend's attention.

"Hey, Bucky! I didn't notice you were there. (Y/N) and I were doing some yoga, would you like to join us?"

You. Were. Mortified. You quickly stood up beside Steve and looked down at your feet, trying to avoid looking at Bucky after having your ass practically in his face.

"Uh, I kinda have to get ready for 'Girl's Night' tonight, but I think Bucky can keep you company." You nervously spoke, having your words jumble out quickly due to your inner-embarrassment. "I'll see you later, Steve!"

You bolted out of the gym as fast as your legs could go and made it up into your room without another incident. When you flopped onto your bed, you let out a loud, exhausted sigh before closing your eyes shut tightly. 'Why did I have to act like a nervous wreck? You didn't even let him talk for Christ's sake!' After beating yourself up over the little incident, you started to get ready for 'Girl's Night' with Nat and Wanda.

It was two hours into 'Girl's Night' and you, Nat and Wanda had, at least, drank four glasses of Kraken Rum and about three shots of Vodka. You were more relaxed and carefree, enjoying your time with your best friends while gossiping about an episode of Criminal Minds you all saw the other day together.

"Not gonna lie, I would love to have a man like Morgan. Have you seen his muscles? And how he kicks down doors like a badass?" You gushed.

"That is true, and I fully believe Morgan and Garcia should be together. They have chemistry and look so cute!" Wanda loved her Morgan and Garcia ship.

"Eh, I like to have a super cute genius but that's just my opinion" Nat took a sip of her fruity vodka drink while shrugging her shoulders.

"Of course you would, you're with Bruce and that's a little bias, Nat." You gently shoved your red-haired friend playfully.

You and Wanda giggled like school girls when Natasha scoffed before she pointed an accusing finger at you.

"Well, says you, (Y/N)! You practically drool whenever you see Barnes."

That shut you up quickly. 'How does she know?! Play it off'

"That's very funny Nat, but I don't know what you mean."

"Don't bullshit me, (Y/N). I've seen the way your cheeks get all pink and how your eyes are glued to him whenever he walks by. You're so smitten it's grossly cute." Then Wanda turned to you with a small smirk on her face.

"Maybe you should ask him to work out with you and Steve!"

Flashbacks of your embarrassment earlier that day made your face go pale. 'Absolutely not'. You shook your head furiously, staring at your two friends with fear. There was no way you'd have the guts to do such a thing, not after how you acted around him before. Plus, you didn't want him to look at you with disgust when he looks at you working out. You shake off all the negative thoughts before finishing off your last bits of rum.

"I think I'm going to head off to bed now, gotta wake up early tomorrow. Tony wants me to help him organize and plan a gala party to celebrate his newest project. And when I say to 'help him' I mean I'll be doing most of the work while he hides away in his lab with Bruce." You said before walking off and waving the girls goodbye.

2 weeks later...

You had most of the gala planned out. You had booked a cute catering company to organize some food dishes for everyone and even hired a group of people to decorate one of the large common rooms that would fit all the guests on Tony's guest-list. You had even bought a cute new dress to wear for the party. The party was starting that night at 7:30 and you would hopefully get everything done while having an hour and a half to spare to get ready.

When the decorating and planning finished, you quickly made your way to your room and got showered and changed. You stood in front of your mirror for quite some time, nitpicking every flaw you could see, judging your appearance because you knew how the other women at the party were going to look flawless and have every man swooping in for them. A sudden knock on your door snapped you out of your negative thoughts.

"(Y/n), you ready?" Wanda's voice called from the other side.

"Y-yeah! I'm coming now." You dashed for the door to get away from the mirror so you can't put yourself down even more. Once opening the door, Wanda linked your arm with hers, and both of you walked toward the elevator.

Telling FRIDAY which floor, you both arrived just as a few of the guests were mingling around; drinking, eating, and chatting. You glanced around, hoping to see the familiar faces of your friends, spotting Sam, Nat, and Clint near the bar where Natasha was serving the drinks. Tony was standing next to Pepper and being an absolute flirt as always while Steve and Bucky were standing near a corner with drinks in hand. Before you could make your way over to the bar, Wanda told you to wait where you were while she goes to quickly touch up her make-up, disappearing before you could say a word. You stood there awkwardly and looked around, making sure everything was going swimmingly until you felt a presence behind you. A tap on your confirmed that someone was indeed behind you.

You turned around to see a group of two slender women and three muscular men staring at you with smug and cocky smiles on their faces.

"Can we get some more drinks? And make them with a little more alcohol this time." One of the men quirked an eyebrow, waiting for you to scurry off to grab their drinks.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not part of catering. I'm-"

"You certainly look it though, I mean, you're not dressed like you're here as a guest. The dress you're wearing looks like the other catering staff." A woman spat, her eyes narrowed at you. You started to feel self-conscious about your outfit now, realizing the color-scheme looked very similar to the catering staff.

"Plus, the dress isn't that flattering for your body hun. We can practically see your muffin top and panty lines with how tight that dress is on you." The other woman commented while she leaned to the side to glance at more of your plush figure.

A stinging sensation began to appear behind your eyes, feelings of doubt, and an anxiety attack began to make themselves known. So looked away from the group and quickly made for the elevator, shooting Wanda a quick text saying you weren't feeling too well. 'How stupid of me to think I even looked good or that I could fit in at the party.' By the time the elevator doors reached your floor and the doors opened, hot tears were falling down your cheeks as you tried to furiously wipe them away with zero results. The tears kept flowing down as you began to walk down the hallway to your room; quiet footsteps barely making noise as they followed you. Just as your hand settled on the door handle, a warm hand clasped onto your shoulder gently. With a yelp, you spun around with a jump to look at your "attacker", only to find a pair of stormy blue eyes staring at your teary eyes intensely.

Bucky's eyes held hints of concern and worry, but it was hard to see because he was good at hiding his emotions, and the fact that your eyes were blurry from crying.

"You okay, (Y/n)? I saw you leave the party quickly and noticed how fast your breathing was." Bucky had to look down at you because he was so tall, or was it because you were just very short?

"I'm fine, Bucky. I just don't do well in crowded places or with so many strangers. I got a bit overwhelmed but it's fine now." You weakly smiled but he could see right through it, he always did.

"You had a panic attack after speaking to a group of people, and judging by the looks they gave you while talking to them, I can only believe it wasn't a pleasant conversation." Bucky then brought both his flesh and metal hands to cup your face while he peered into your eyes more. "Tell me what happened, doll."

You sighed, you knew he wasn't going to let this go. Even though you both barely spoke to each other, he still cared for you like the both of you knew each other for years. Something about his calm voice and caring nature helped your nerves settle.

"They thought I was part of catering and asked if I could get them more drinks. I told them I wasn't catering, only for them to make snarky comments about my outfit and body. But it's fine, I'm used to having those comments made to me, I've dealt with those types of people all my life." Your hands gently held his and tried to move them away from your face but Bucky didn't budge.

"You don't believe them, right? I mean, I think the dress looks good on you. It shows off your curves and any man who doesn't get blown away is blind."

You gave a humorless laugh and shook your head at Bucky, looking down at the floor.

"You're just saying that to be nice to me, Buck. We both know girls like me don't belong in a place like this, or a party like that. You can go back to the party, I don't want to waste more of your time." You went to turn away when Bucky held your upper arms tightly.

"Not a chance, doll. I'm not a fan of crowds myself and was about to leave the party myself until I saw you run away. I'd rather spend my time with you and making sure you don't ever think that you don't belong."

You both stared at each other for a few seconds, his stare was intense with adoration and love while you stared at him in shock that he'd want to spend time with you. Before you could blink, Bucky leaned down and you felt his soft lips on yours, his arms wrapping around you and caging you into a warm and gentle embrace. Your hands rested onto his firm chest while his hands rested on your lower back, just above your butt. At first, you were in shock but then you gave in to the kiss and snaked your arms around his neck, your fingers embedded into his long hair.

The kiss was full of passion, and so much love that you didn't think it was possible. When the need for air was too much, you both separated and looked into each other's eyes once again.

"H-how? Why me? We barely know each other!"

"Because, (Y/n), I've been smitten for you since I first laid eyes on you but didn't have the guts to tell you. Steve's been a punk and trying to get me to join your work out sessions for weeks but I was too nervous to do it." Bucky's cheeks tinted red as he chuckled.

"And why's that? I was scared that if saw me working out, that you'd be grossed out by my body." You explained, chewing on your bottom lip.

"I could never be grossed out, sweetheart. I love a woman with curves and plumpness to her. I was nervous that if I watched you work out, I would try to make a move on you too fast and scare you away. I didn't want that to happen." Bucky grabbed your chin and leaned in again, his lips almost touching yours. "And you looked downright sexy in those tights, they shape your ass well."

You gasped and lightly smacked his shoulder while he smirked at you. His playfulness coming through. You made the first move this time and got onto your tippy toes to kiss him. This is was quicker than the first but still held the same emotions. With so much strength you underestimated he had, Bucky lifted you up, your legs wrapped around his waist as he opened your door and carried you over to your bedroom. Both of you watched a bunch of movies in your room; many kisses were shared before you both passed out, cuddled up under your fluffy blankets, safe in Bucky's arms. Right where you were meant to be all along.

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Thanks for reading!!! <3 <3 <3

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broadstbroskis · 4 years

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four times matthew tkachuk tried to use a pickup line plus one time it worked

big shoutout to the anon who went around dropping pickup lines one night for some inspiration for this. you da real mvp. also i’ve now written three fics for this mofo and they’ve all been plus ones. not sure what this says about me but but i’m certain it’s something.

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1. Sorry, but you owe me a drink. [Why?] Because when I looked at you, I dropped mine.

It’s a Saturday night in September and you’re out with your friends celebrating the fact that every single one of you have finally landed jobs after graduation. The weather’s starting to cool down, but it’s not so cold that you can’t enjoy one of your favorite rooftop bars still.

Around you, your friends share your excitement. The whole squad (well, the whole squad that had remained in Calgary, you’re still bitter about Lauren leaving you all for Vancouver even if the opportunity had been amazing) is partying like you’re back in school but with the paychecks you’ve all got now and you’re certain you’re going to be feeling it in the morning.

Laughing on the dance floor with Kath, Will, and Claire, you push your way through the crowd once the song ends to refill your drink. You can’t help but shimmy your shoulders a little at the song that follows it, while you wait for the bartender to fill your whiskey sour.

There’s a tap on your shoulder and you turn, to find a guy with curly hair and dimples smiling at you. His face looks so familiar, but you can’t quite place it.

“Sorry.” He tells you. “But I think you owe me a drink.”

“Oh yeah,” You ask casually, sure you know where this is headed, especially since you’ve managed to place his face. Matthew Tkachuk, star forward for the Calgary Flames and perpetual pest. “Why’s that?”

Somehow, his grin widens even more. “Because when I looked at you, I dropped mine.”

The bartender hands you your whiskey sour and you think about it for barely a minute. “Well let me help you with that!” You dump your drink on him, taking only a moment to relish his shock, before walking away to find your friends.

There’s a huge spot of laughter behind you and it’s only when you reach Kath again that you turn around to realize that it’s Matthew’s friends that laughed. Tucked under the arm of one of the guys still snickering at him is a pretty blonde girl, eyeing you with interest, until she catches you looking back, and gives you a smile and a thumbs up.

2. Do you like raisins? How do you feel about a date?

“Oh my God!” The voice, quite frankly, kind of scares you. It’s too close, much higher than you were expecting, and doesn’t sound anything like Kath’s, who’s due to meet you and Claire any minute but certainly wouldn’t greet you like that.

“Can I help you?” Claire asks, pretty rudely, but you’re not inclined to scold her for it at the moment, when this tiny blonde is standing super close and staring at you with huge eyes.

“You’re my hero!” She exclaims and then covers her mouth. “Sorry! You don’t know me.”

“No, I don’t.” You agree.

“We were all here a couple weeks ago and you threw a drink on my boyfriend’s friend.” She grins. “I’m Sam, and you are my personal hero as well as all of our friends.”

After you and Claire introduce yourselves, you ask, “If he’s that much of an asshole, why are you guys friends with him?”

“He’s more of a pest than an asshole.” Sam says immediately, which does mildly reassure you that Matthew Tkachuk isn’t a total dick. “He’s actually a really nice guy, just cocky as shit.”

“Yeah, I got that much.” You say dryly. “Couldn’t you tell?” You continue, which sends all three of you into giggles, until Kath finally arrives.

Sam orders a drink with the three of you, hanging around the bar to chat for a while. “I’m stealing all of you.” She declares, after a while, that the four of you have mostly spent laughing. “We have a table in the back, come on.”

“I don’t really know.” You hesitate.

“Honestly, don’t even worry about that. Matty’s totally over that. Honestly, he’ll be more annoyed about the boys chirping him than you turning him down.”

And how’s that saying go? Speak of the devil and he shall appear? Right over Sam’s shoulder pops his head; she’s just missing the angel and she’d be every cartoon you’d ever seen. “Here you are.” Matthew says. “Mony’s looking for you.”

“Perfect!” She grins. “We were just coming back over”

He looks over at her use of we and grins as soon as his eyes meet yours. Just like Sam, he hasn’t forgotten you either. “Hello!”

“Hi.” You return politely.

“We’re going to head over; you coming?” Sam asks Matthew. He points to the bar. “‘Kay, see you there.”

“Hey wait,” All four of you stop, looking over at him, but he’s only got eyes for you. “Do you like raisins?”

You know this is a line, but you can’t for the life of you imagine where the fuck he’s going with it. “No?”

He grins, cheekily, that same one from last time you’d met. “How about a date, then?”

You grin back. “I’m allergic.” You pat his cheek mockingly and then move past him to follow Sam back toward that table in the corner to meet the rest of her friends.

3. Do you know what my shirt is made of? Boyfriend material?

Matthew’s brother is in town for a game, which means his whole family is in town for a game, which apparently means there’s an after party in his apartment with members from both teams and whoever else they want to invite.

You’re not quite sure how or why you managed to be invited, were honestly planning on turning down the invitation, but Sam insisted you show up, so here you were, rolling up to Matthew’s condo, with her, Sean, and Noah, shortly after the Saturday afternoon matinee.

The party already feels like it’s in full swing when you arrive and yet, people continue to arrive after you. You get caught up chatting in the kitchen for a few minutes with a lovely blonde woman, who you only later learn is Matthew’s mother, and then spend the next five minutes denying that fact completely as Sean and Sam laugh hysterically. “But she’s so nice.”

“You should see her roast Chucky; she gives it pretty good.” Sean’s still laughing.

“Which is pretty much Matt.” Sam adds pointedly. “Come on, YN. When he’s not being a total pest, he’s a pretty great guy.”

You took a sip of your drink instead of answering her. You certainly started to see the great guy side of Matt as you and your friends had started to spend more time with Sam-who frequently came with varying numbers of a hockey team, about as often as she came with just herself-and it was definitely getting easier to see that he actually could be a nice guy. One who was always there for his friends, who adored his family, who’d drop anything the second one of his people needed help.

But a lot of the time, you still just saw a cocky mofo who was used to getting what he wanted. You couldn’t think of a time you saw him that he didn’t at least send a wink at you. He still frequently tried to make some kind of cheesy pass at you, with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face, like it was all some kind of game.

Sam takes your silence for the reluctant admission that it is and pulls you over to play some wild drinking and card game that you never quite get the hang of and abandon quickly (you hate losing too much to play for long). But that much losing means your drink is empty already and so you head for the kitchen again for a refill.

Just your luck, the only people in the kitchen are Matthew and Brady. You would have been able to pick his brother out of a line up instantly, even if Noah hadn’t pointed him out to you when you guys first walked in. Matthew grins immediately, the same as always, and you just roll your eyes, preparing for what’s to come. “Knew this day would come.”

“And what day is that?” You return. “The one that I’m here, in your apartment?”

“And you know, you don’t have to leave now!” He holds his arm out to you as you look on unimpressed. “‘Cause you know what this shirt’s made of? Boyfriend material.”

He’s grinning that dimpled grin at you and for once, you actually refrain from rolling your eyes at him. “Shame your whole family’s in town right now or I could take it off to confirm that.” You trail a finger down his chest, stopping just before it reaches the button on his pants and grinning widely as he chokes on air, before turning to grab your drink and leave the room immediately afterwards

The sound of Brady’s laughter almost catches you for a second, since you’d actually completely forgotten he was there

4. Hey, you’re pretty and I’m cute. Together we’d be Pretty Cute.

You just needed one more afternoon pick-me-up. One more coffee would do it, right? And then this stupid project would be done? Before deadline?

You put the order in. Your favorite barista at your favorite coffee shop promises she’ll bring it over when she’s finished with it and you settle back into your table to get back to work.

An arm drops onto your shoulders. “How’s my favorite girl doing?”

You tense immediately. At the voice, at the arm, at the words. “I doubt.” You say, hearing the coldness in your voice that is only reserved for the man who’d dropped himself into the seat across from you uninvited shortly after removing his arm from your shoulders. But at least his arm was gone. “That I could ever be considered your favorite girl, considering how many girls you cheated on me with when we were together.”

“Come on, babe, don’t be like that.” Kyle says.

You stare at him in disbelief, unable to even respond. “Don’t call me babe.”

“Who, me?” You’ve never been so grateful to see Matthew before, let alone to have him slide into the seat next to you so closely.

You smile at him, actually moving your chair closer to him-literally anything to get you further away from Kyle-and are impressed when he doesn’t even flinch. Just throws his arm around the back of your chair and returns the grin “Well, you too.” You tease.

Matthew grins. “Nah, babe, you know I like riling you up too much.” You can only roll your eyes at that.

“Well this has been fun, babe.” Kyle says, finally standing up, reaching out to pat your hand resting on the table.

“She told you not to call her that.” Matthew intercepts his hand, pulling yours toward him. His voice is flatter than you’ve ever heard it.

“Be fun to do this again sometime.” Kyle continues like he hasn’t heard a word Matthew said, but you can tell from the look in his eyes that what he’s going to say next is going to hurt. “You know, if your boyfriend can share you better than you could share me.”

Your jaw drops and you can feel tears spring to the corners of your eyes as he finally, finally walks away. Next to you, you feel Matthew tense, like he wants to get up and follow him, and you reach for one of his arms. “Don’t.” He pauses. “He’s not worth it.”

“He’s a real dick.” He grumbles.

“Yeah.” You say quietly. There’s nothing really to add to that that you or your friends haven’t already said and so a long moment of silence follows that admission.

“Hey.” Matthew nudges you.

“What?” You ask grumpily, reluctantly meeting his eyes.

“You’re pretty and I’m cute.” You give him a look, like get on with it. “So together we’d be Pretty Cute.”

For once, his cheesy pick up line brings a smile to your face, turning your mood around instantly. And the second you start to smile, Matthew does as well. “There we go, there’s that smile.”

+1. Kiss me if I’m wrong, but dinosaurs still exist, right?

Perched on the counter of Johnny’s breakfast bar, legs dangling off, you cheer loudly as Elias sinks another cup. He throws his hands up victoriously, looking over at the paper bracket that you and Sam had spent hours working on, only for someone to splash beer all over it when they’d thrown their hands up in outrage over a ruling.

It was the Flames’ annual Beer Olympics and you were still managing to enjoy yourself, even though your elimination had come early after Noah had thrown the game because he’d spotted the girl he’s been talking to recently rolling in the door. He hadn’t even been phased when you threw your half full cup of beer at him, or when it nailed him in the back, and he still doesn’t look upset about his wet back, smile seemingly permanently fixed on his face as he continues to chat with said girl.

For your part, after elimination, you’ve become both a personal cheerleader and trash-talker. You’re an equal opportunist, you know? Someone makes a bad shot, you’re going to call them out on it.

Newly eliminated, you’re not entirely surprised when you feel a new presence by your side. It wasn’t like things had abruptly changed after the run-in with your ex at the coffee shop, but the energy was definitely different.

Gone was the cocky grin, replaced with a softer, dimpled smile that you’d always return. The pickup lines were cheesy jokes, a thing between the two of you, said with a little bit of questioning and a tiny bit of hope as each time he waited for you to laugh.

And each time you did, enjoying the smile it brought to his face. More and more you saw the genuinely great guy he was- in fact, it was the dominating trait over how much of a pest he was, how cocky he was, how annoying he could be.

Of course, it’s possible you spoke entirely too soon on this as his first move upon coming to stand next to you is to poke you in the sides repeatedly. “Why’d you have to do me dirty like that?” He whines.

“Elbows!” You repeat simply, calling him out for the same thing you’d shouted at him earlier.

Matthew comes around in front of you, resting his cold drink on your leg in what you can only assume is payback. “You’re wrong.” He tells you.

“Maybe,” You say with a grin. “You’re wrong.”

“Oh I’m never wrong.” Matthew assures you, and then a familiar grin appears on his face. “In fact,you can kiss me if I’m wrong, but dinosaurs still exist, right?”

He’s waiting for your laugh, you can see it in his face. But you don’t want to, is the thing.

So you reach forward, grabbing his face and pulling it toward yours. There’s just enough time to register the shock on it before your lips meet, but Matthew pulls his shit together enough to return a breathtaking kiss, so when you do finally pull away, you’re practically gasping for breath.

“Um. You’re wrong.” You manage, finally.

“Don’t even.” Matthew grins, stepping forward into your thighs, and kissing you once again.

#matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk fanfic #hockey imagines #hockey fanfiction #nhl imagines #nhl fanfiction #my hockey fics

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stiles-halee · 4 years

Text

Kinkmas Day 2: Mating

This was so not where he wanted to be on a Friday night. He was finally in college, he should be living it up, at a party or getting drunk somewhere. Instead, he was huddled up in his dorm-room, nose pressed into his pillow as he palmed his crotch.

He was in heat.

Normally he was pretty regular, he knew when it was coming and planned accordingly. He had even made plans with Scott tonight, they were going to get drinks with a few people from Scott's work, but only minutes after he solidified their plans, he had to cancel.

The heat gripped him tight, making his entire body shiver. It was only a matter of time before the heat had taken over completely.

He promised himself when he moved into his dorm that he would never have a heat here. He had been completely successful, able to tract and sense his heat coming, able to leave the dorm and head home, he was only about an hour out from Beacon Hills.

The idea of having a heat inside a dorm room made his stomach role. Everyone would smell and hear everything that what was going on, thin walls and all. It was weird enough trying to squeeze in a jerk session in the communal showers.

Stiles groaned, rolling over and pulling his hand out from his pants. He knew that he couldn't will his heat away, it didn't work like that, but he still wanted to put it off as long as possible.

He laid there for a bit, in his tiny top bunk, trying to distract himself, messing around on his phone or picking at the fabric of his navy blue blanket.

Scott had sent him a text, "just checking in." Stiles snorted, but texted back that he was fine, apart from the extreme embarrassment of having a heat in a dorm. Scott sent back his sympathies, but he would never get it, he was a beta.

Of course, he was offered a variety of dorm choices, including Omega only, but opted for a mixed dorm, what a foolish decision it seemed like now. He wondered if the Alphas could smell him and what that meant. He didn't want to admit that turned him on further.

It wasn't like what the movies portrayed, Omegas and Alphas crazy out of their mind or anything, but it was like having a couple drinks. You could still make decisions, still in your right mind, but your judgement was slightly clouded.

A knock sounded at the door, startling Stiles slightly. He got up with a groan, his body slightly sore from the heat, though he had done literally nothing except lay in bed. He adjusted himself quickly, only half hard anyways, before going to answer the door, figuring it was Scott.

He opened his mouth at the same time he opened the door, prepared to tell Scott to go have fun without him, that he wanted to be miserable alone, and that Scott should go live it up in his place. What came out though, was a weird, sort of strangled sound that Stiles wished hadn't come out.

It wasn't Scott.

"Hey." It was Derek. He was in two of Stiles' classes, but Stiles only knew his name because he was a football player. Stiles wasn't really one for sports, but he knew some names that got tossed around in the dining hall or classrooms. Derek was a senior and on track to play in the NFL, everyone knew who he was. The question was why he was in this dorm, standing in front of Stiles.

"Are you lost?" Stiles asked. It was a stupid and pretty rude question to ask, or at least the way Stiles spat it out. Football players got their own special dorms. Stiles had never been in one, but he had seen the pictures, their dorms were dirty closets compared to their's.

"Uh, no?" Derek said, looking slightly offended. Stiles supposed that was fair.

Stiles cleared his throat, shifting to hide behind the door-frame slightly. He wasn't going to admit was was still happening downstairs.

"Sorry uh, Derek right? You're in my Victimology class?"

Derek nodded, looking at him oddly, eyebrow cocked. Even if Stiles didn't pay any attention to football, or for that matter was deaf, he would still know Derek Hale. The guy was gorgeous and sat second row in the classes they shared. He joked around with his friends loudly before class started, but as soon as it did, he never said a word, always attentive.

Stiles sat fourth row and on more than one occasion caught himself staring at the back of Derek's head, rather than the board.

Stiles waited for Derek to say something more, but he never did. "Um, did you need help on that paper? I haven't finished it myself, but-"

"Actually, I was wondering if you needed help." Derek cut him off quickly, speaking sternly.

Stiles gave him a look, a little taken aback. "Like I was saying, I haven't finished it, but I got a 98% on the first one, so-"

"I'm not talking about the paper, I finished it three days ago." Derek crossed his arms. So he finished the paper the day it was due? Jesus. Stiles was ambitious, but that was on another level.

"Okay, well-"

"I know you're in heat."

"Would you quit interrupting me- wait what?" Stiles shook his head.

"You're in heat." Derek spoke, raising his brows and motioning Stiles up and down, before refolding his arms across his chest.

Stiles' face burned a bright crimson, warming his ears. "Yes, thank you, I'm pretty sure half of campus is aware."

Derek smirked. "You don't usually stay for your heats do you?" He phrased it as a question, but the implication was clear, Derek knew that he didn't stay for heats.

"Now how the fuck is that any of your business?" Stiles took a step back. Heats were personal for Omegas, not something they really shared in great detail unless they were talking with their mate.

"I only meant I would have noticed." Derek shrugged.

"Once again, how is that any of your fucking business-"

"Your scent I mean, dumbass." Derek rolled his eyes. Oh. Was it that strong?

Stiles glared. "Sorry, asshole, not really something I can control you know."

The next thing he knew, Stiles was shoved in his room, Derek shutting the door behind him quickly. He began to walk around, not much to explore given the size of the room. He had his own dorm, a privilege of an honors student, but it was a dorm nonetheless, it was cramped.

"Yes, please, come on in." Stiles threw his hands up in the air, and kept himself in the corner.

Derek continued looking away, looking tense. He looked to Stiles and he could have sworn his eyes were slightly reddened around the iris's.

"Look, do you want my help or not?" Derek huffed, growing bored with the conversation.

"I'm sorry?" Stiles spat. "I don't need your help you absolute sack of donkey shit. Big surprise here, but I've gone through heats alone my entire life," okay, slightly embarrassing fact to admit to the insanely, super-hot Alpha jock that was standing before him. "so no, I don't need your help."

This time is was Stiles' turn to cross his arms and glare, though it wasn't half as menacing as Derek's gaze.

Derek shrugged, turning back towards the door. "Shame. You smell incredible and I would have given you the fuck of your lifetime."

"Jesus!" Stiles threw his hands up in the air. "You are the cockiest bastard I have ever met in my entire life."

"I'm not cocky, I'm honest." Derek smirked.

"Ah yes, Derek Hale, the oh so honest quarterback, best in the nation. What a title."

Derek made a face in amusement. "So you watch me play?"

"I've watched maybe four football games my entire life, don't seemed so pleased. I can see why the girls don't stop talking about you though."

Derek raised that stupid eyebrow again.

"You do indeed have a reputation." Stiles smiled.

"Is that so?" Derek took a step closer.

"Yeah, of being an absolute fucking asshole who fucks anything that looks like a hole." Stiles snapped, redirecting the conversation from where Derek thought it was going.

"Aw, that wasn't very nice." Derek pretended to pout, but it was clear he was amused by the banter. Too bad the conversation was actually pissing Stiles off, well, not entirely.

"Yes well, I guess we both know what it's like to overstep boundaries, now if you would please-"

"I'm not trying to overstep boundaries. I could smell you were in heat, it's the strongest I've ever smelt and according to you, I've been with my fair share of people, so I should know what the baseline is, right? I wasn't out and about, looking to fuck anything that looks like a hole, I was on my way to the library when I caught your scent. I was actually just going to check that your door was locked, but got wrapped into an oh so intriguing conversation."

"Make sure my door was locked? What are you the anti-rape police? Thanks buddy, really appreciate it." Stiles snorted.

If anyone ever asked, Stiles would refuse the fact that what Derek had said had made him feel something squishy inside of him. It was nice, something he didn't think Derek was. Sure it wasn't right to pass judgement on someone he didn't know but come on, he was a quarterback! An Alpha jock! A senior!

Derek looked away, seeming like he was about ready to leave. Maybe he was bored.

"Look," Stiles started. "Thank you, but like I said, I've spent a fair share of heats alone."

"Not here." Derek put simply, glancing at Stiles' unorganized desk, as though he was trying to understand all of the papers.

"How do you even know that- you know what, it doesn't matter, plenty of experience."

"Doesn't mean it's pleasant to go at it alone." Derek cocked his head, still reading a paper on Stiles' desk.

"Is this your way of trying to get into my pants?" Stiles smirked, leaning against the wall.

Derek shrugged. "If that's what you want."

"Wha-what?" Stiles sputtered, leaning up quickly. Stiles didn't even think Derek was into guys, all he ever heard was both squealing and complaining from girls. Those who wanted to be with him, and were with him, for a very brief period of time. Derek didn't seem to date, but fuck, yes Derek fucked.

"Do you want me to stay with you during your heat?" Derek asked.

Stiles snorted, trying to play off how nervous he was. It was true Stiles had plenty of experience with heats alone, but it was also true that Derek was right, they weren't pleasant. They hurt and were far less pleasurable than they should be.

Stiles didn't answer. The answer should probably be no. He didn't know Derek, not really, but maybe that made it better? He could do this and never have to deal with Derek again, or better yet, Derek would never have to deal with Stiles again.

"I could make you feel good." Derek took a step closer and Stiles swallowed, heat instantly shooting to his crotch.

"No more aches." He took another step.

"No more fevers." Another step.

"Only pleasure." They were only inches away. Derek cautiously placed a hand on Stiles' bicep, slowly taking his pain. It wasn't a huge amount, but Stiles always had aches during heat. And somehow, Derek knew that.

"I could make you feel good." Derek repeated.

"What's in it for you?" Stiles asked. It seemed like a stupid question to ask, but it also made sense. Why did Derek want to help him, some random kid in his class?

"I already told you, yours is the strongest scent I have ever smelled, it's pretty intoxicating. I want to see what it tastes like." Derek traced the tips of his fingers across Stiles' cheekbone, making him suck in a breath.

"Besides, I like helping people." Derek shrugged. What a mundane answer.

"Is that why you're going into Criminology?" Stiles asked, as Derek traced his fingers down his neck.

"Do you want to talk career paths, or do you want me to knot you?"

"Second option please." Stiles breathed out. Derek growled lowly, tucking his face into Stiles' collarbone gently, breathing in his scent.

"Thought so." Derek hummed.

#sterekkinkmas #sterekkinkmas2020

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27847538/chapters/68179390

#sterekkinkmas #sterekkinkmas2020 #Sterek #sterek fic #ao3 #ao3fic #teenwolf #Stiles #stiles stilinski #Stiles/Derek #stiles x derek #Derek #derek hale #Alpha #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #alpha/omega #omegastiles #alphaderek

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harritudur · 4 years

Photo

because every ship needs its ‘we accidentaly got married in Vegas’ AU, so here the noabeth version (AO3 link) 1860 words + pg-13 + no beta, we die like men!

Elisabeth wakes up to a headache, her head pounding too heavily to her liking. As she becomes more and more conscious, her eyes slowly crack open. This is… not her room. Then she notices a cheap plastic ring on her left hand (the kind of ridiculous rings you get for 2$ from capsule-toys distributors) and a warm lump curled against her side.

Well fuck.

The memories of the last 24 hours come flooding back:

—the fly to Las Vegas —the international congress about renewable energy sources —the four boring hours of conference she attended to (without sign language interpreter, thank you) —the open-bar on the second floor —the tall blonde man she already run into two weeks ago in Berlin, and couldn’t stop thinking about since then —his fingers as he tried to remember the few words in sign langage his mother taugh him years ago —his face as he explained his presence to attend the conference of Dr… something? about… doctrines? or was it churches? —his eyes dancing on her bare knee when she crossed her legs —his name she couldn’t stop mouthing between glasses of vodka —N-O-A-H —his hand, warm on her low back when they left the bar —his lips pressed to hers in the elevator —Noah —his arms around her waist as they walked out the hotel —alcohol —music —his mouth —the irresistible perfum she breathed in when her nose brushed the soft skin beside his ear —alcohol —the flashing lights —his mouth —more alcohol —a song —his fucking delicious mouth —giggles —a chapel —a kiss —a hotel room…

She stops and checks under the sheet.

THANKS GOD! Her shirt and skirt are still on.

With great care, Elisabeth stretches to observe her partner in crime. Even turned towards the wall as he is, she can tell he is still sleeping by the quiet rise and fall of his bare shoulders. She decides to take a more attentive look at him and the first thing she notices is a plastic ring of the same quality than hers on his left hand. Oh God. Then, the edge of a tattoo catchs her eyes, linen covering most of his back.

Leaves? Maybe flowers?

Her curiosity getting the better of her, Elisabeth pushes the sheet away to reveal the entire tattoo. A tree, with a classic design. Its branches large and full of leaves and fruits (apples), and its roots deep in the soil, each ramification, each bisection leading to a name. Religious names, but from different faiths.

Beautiful.

It’s only when he shudders lightly that she realizes her fingertips were tracing over the ink on his back. By the vibration she feels under them, he is murmuring something and her hand moves away.

After a few yawns, Noah turns over, and a soft smile begins to work its way across his face when his eyes land on Elisabeth.

“That dream again…” he whispers, so faintly she can’t read his lips. But his brief delight disappears when a violent migraine encircles his skull. He blinks, and remembers a few drinks, a few laughs, a few kisses, and… what else? He can’t tell. His incompetent brain makes him groan and Noah covers up his face with his left hand. As he does, something not supposed to be there touches his cheek, and he blinks again before muttering. “What the-”

A silly plastic band around his ring finger. “-fuck??!!”

The memory of his own voice singing loud and off-key Bruno Mars’ Marry You starts to haunt Noah’s ears, and the face of an Elvis Presley in a white rhinestone jumpsuit with a priest’s collar pops right into his mind.

“… oh. Oh.”

Everything is spinning a little around him, but pieces by pieces, the puzzle of the last night starts to reconstitute itself.

“Hm wellllllll… so apprently, we drank a lot,” Noah says as he sits up, cross-legged, and is now facing his wife. “And… we got married.”

The calm in his tone can not be heard, but Elisabeth sees it on his lips, his face, his attitude, his body… This whole situation seems absolutely normal and not upsetting for him, and she just wants to scream.

With great suppleness (which Noah remarks by an eyebrow-raising), Elisabeth reaches for her purse on the ground by the bed, and takes out her loyal notepad and blue pencil to write.

you’re not freaking out?

“Not really, no” he replies, shrugging. “And… It was your idea after all.”

She has to make him repeat the last part, because there is no way that she is at the initiative of this non-sense. Noah repeats the same words, with that astounding calm, and Elisabeth rolls her eyes in a cocky way. She writes down on a new page, in capital:

IMPOSSIBLE

“Yes. Your idea.”

Her head shakes. No. She is a rational woman. A reasonable woman. Sure, this Noah is sexy and hot and funny and smart and courteous and totally her kind of guy and she is definitely attracted to him… but no. No way! She is not the instigator. Or, is she?

Noah smiles at her gently and her chest suddenly tightens. Fuck.

After a tilt of his head to ask for permission, he takes the notepad from her hands and flippes through the previous pages. In doing so, Noah can go back in time, can witness and find passed conversations, and he eventually stops at one page. He smiles again and shows it to Elisabeth.

There, in blue, little hearts all around, a shaky handwriting that she identifies as hers:

<3< 3 marrY ME pleas e <3</i>

“If I remember correctly, you wanted us to get married, and I said no at first -because I thought it had to be a joke. But you almost started to cry. So…” he explains at an Elisabeth deathly pale. “I said yes. And we went to a chapel with an Elvis-priest.”

There is a furrow between Elisabeth’s eyebrows and she just wants the earth to open up and to swallow her. It takes her a long minute to processes the information he just gave and, like a sliver of light through the darkness, she… remembers.

[ she nuzzled into his neck, his arms secure around her waist, and breathed him in. He laughed and Elisabeth felt a warmth rush over her. Alcohol or Noah? She moved away to enjoy the enticing sight and kissed him again. And again. And again. Her hands started to dance in the air, before she could even think about it, and signed: marry me. ]

All the details of the night or their chronology are still nebulous. But she clearly remembers *that* moment, and the way she felt. The feelings. The want. The need to have this man. To claim him as hers. Where did such impetuous desires come from?

She looks up and Noah’s eyes are still on her face, but the calm in them shifts into something different. Trouble? Worry? No. Care, Elisabeth recognizes.

He gets off the bed to look for his shirt and she can’t help but huffes her disappointment when he finds it. Now decent (except for his bed-hair), he stands in the middle of the room, hands on his hips in a superhero pose, the one you use when you need confidence and nerve. His face softens into a tender look that makes Elisabeth’s breath hitch in her throat. Again.

“So, now that we’re all better, and sober,“ he says, walking back towards the bed and stops at its edge, “I guess I’ll go get us a divorce.”

A gasp leaves her lips and she sits up straight on the mattress. Divorce. How Elisabeth hates the word. Her parents divorced when she was still in her early teens and, witnessed the torment and tears, and she became determined, more than anything, not to be like them. To marry just once, for good! And with the man of her life.

She shakes her head. One of Noah’s eyebrows arches.

“No?”

She shakes her head once more and this time, mouthes her answer. No.

Noah gulps. It is not the reaction he expected, but it is not an unpleasant one neither. He glances at the end table next to the bed, observing a piece of paper on top. Their marriage licence.

[ they tumbled onto the bed, a mess of tipsy giggles and limbs. Noah pulled away to place kisses all over the side of Elisabeth’s jaw and neck, but she grabbed his face to press his mouth against hers. When Noah came up for air, a giant grin spread across his flushed face. She looked up at him with a tired but tender smile, and her fingers found the buttons on his shirt, too clumsy to work properly. “Let me…” he whispered against her lips, hovering just above them and Elisabeth took her chance to kiss him quickly before falling back on the mattress with a sigh. With difficulty, he eventually took off his shirt and tossed it on the ground. When he looked down, Elisabeth was snoring, dead to the world, and he laughed. Tiredness was taking over him as well, and Noah curled-up in the bed next to her. He pushed gently a stand of golden hair off her face before falling into sleep without a second thought ]

He nods.

“Okay?”

i don’t want to divorce. we could try. and i think i like you.

Her eyes glare at him with demand and Noah tries to find arguments against it. In vain. And he figures out how they ended up in this situation: he is unable to say ‘no’ to her (adorable) stubbornness. But is her ‘i like you’ enough to build a marriage on?

“Okay, okay… we can try and work it out,” Noah states as he sits by her side on the bed so she can read his lips more easily. “And… if we look at the situation in a practical way, there are benefits. Tax benefits. Insurance benefits. I read as well that marriage help you live longer!”

She laughs and he notices the dimples from her smile. Once more, her pen moves quickly over the paper.

marital confidences privilege too

This time, he is the one to smile, and his knee touches hers through the sheet.

“True! I mean… if I decide one day to kill people, I could tell you every details, and yet, you couldn’t testify against me.”

She tiltes her head, an almost curious expression appearing on her face as she looked at him. Then a grin, and more writing.

i was more talking about civil procedure for neighbourhood disputes but im in to cover up your murders

He laughs and Elisabeth wishes she can hear the sound of it. She easily understands how drunk-her could have wanted this man to be hers. Noah moves closer, and for a moment, she thinks he’s going to kiss her, but he doesn’t. And a part of Elisabeth wants him to.

Maybe when the time will be right -and after they both have brushed their teeth.

“I will order a very light brunch for two then.”

Noah eventually leans over to kiss her cheek and Elisabeth doesn’t withdraw. She could get used to that.

#okay BUT THEY BOTH TOTALY WILL KEEP THE PLASTIC RINGS -EVEN AT WORK #she will have very serious meeting with the CEO of the TIEDERMANN company #and he will gives courses in front of hundred of students about religions #WITH THEIR RIDICULOUS PLASTIC RINGS (THAT THEY SECRETLY CHERISH)#noah x elisabeth #elisabeth doppler #hanno tauber #noah dark #noabeth #noahbeth #YES i need all the au

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sunflowervolvimp3 · 4 years

Text

More Than a Melody (II)

Warnings: None

Pairing: bar musician!Harry Styles x Reader

Summary: Y/N doesn’t expect to see Harry again, so she doesn’t call him. Which he calls her out on when she sees him again.

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: here’s part 2! I really hope you like it, as this is still one of my first writings on my new blog. Please let me know if you like it, and reblog if you do! or shoot me a message! I’m still trying to get exposure on this blog, and anything really helps. and I really want to know if people like them! Also if you haven’t watched Cheer on netflix there’s kind of a spoiler? So watch Cheer on netflix and become emotionally invested and then come back and read this.

{masterlist}

“I can’t believe you didn’t call him.”

You sighed internally at Charlotte’s statement. It was the fifth time you’d heard it in five minutes, and it was starting to get on your nerves. “I can’t make you believe it. That’s your own problem.”

“I just—” Charlotte paused as she opened the door to the coffee shop, shifting the textbooks in her hand to do so. “Harry was attractive! And talented! And cute! Why wouldn’t you call him?”

“Because I’m not ready to be calling anyone!” You said exasperatedly, following her into the shop. “Parker and I just broke up—”

“Four months ago!”

“And I’m trying to focus on my studies!”

“Bullshit!” Charlotte snorted. “Last night, you binge watched the entirety of Cheer on Netflix.”

“I had to see if Navarro would win Daytona!” Your voice was defensive as you both got into the line.

“Well, they did. Which means the rest of your nights should be free to study, or go on dates with cute musicians!”

You groaned. “Give it a rest, Charlotte. It’s done.”

She paused. “You know, it’s not too late to call Jack—”

“Jesus, Char…”

She shrugged as she approached the cashier. “Just saying.”

You inhaled deeply through your nose, closing your eyes for a moment. You knew she was coming from a place of concern. She hated to see you holding yourself back and keeping to yourself. But the truth was, you just didn’t feel ready to pursue any sort of relationship. After the last relationship you had, you were scared. It would take a lot of convincing for you to allow yourself to get close to anyone again. And, as luck would have it, that convincing was about to start.

You stared at the menu board in front of you, trying to decide on what to order. You had your favourite drink, of course, but without fail, whenever you approached the till, your mind filled with all the things you could try.

You turned around to speak to the person behind you. “I’m still trying to decide, if you’d like to—”

Your mouth dropped open. A grinning Harry stood behind you, his green eyes sparkling with amusement.

He was dressed more casually than the last time you had seen him, as he wore a white t-shirt with a jean jacket overtop, paired with jeans that clung tight to his legs. His curls were as messy as last time, and when he spoke, his voice was just as rich.

“Need help deciding?”

Your mouth opened and closed for a moment before you found your voice. “What are you doing here?”

“Getting coffee.” The amusement in his eyes grew as he held up the travel mug in his hands. “Is that surprising?”

You felt heat rush to your cheeks. “Sorry.” You mumbled. “I just—I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Or you just didn’t expect to see me.” Harry said with a laugh. “You didn’t call.”

“I-I lost your number.” You said quickly.

“How? Did you get into an accident and lose your hand?” His grin grew. He was enjoying himself, and it was at your expense.

“No.” You replied hotly. “I just do this really weird thing called washing your hands. You may be unfamiliar with it, but it tends to get rid of things like germs or ink.”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve heard of that.” Harry snickered. “I’ll have to try it some time.”

A silence fell between you two, one that you couldn’t stand. You’d never been good with silences in conversation. To you, there was no such thing as comfortable silence. There were only awkward pauses, which you had to fill with bumbling sentences. Like now.

“I really—I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry I didn’t call.” You bit your lip, shifting your weight from your left foot to your right.

“It’s alright, I—” Harry laid his hand on your shoulder gently, moving the two of you from blocking other customers. “I know I was being cocky, giving you my number while you were on a date. You don’t owe me anything, really. I was just kidding a moment ago.”

“What do you mean? I wasn’t on a date.” You answered, confusion apparent in your voice.

Harry matched his tone to yours. “Yeah, you were. That bloke you were with, Jake?”

“You mean Jack?” You asked in surprise. “We weren’t on a date. At least, not to me. Our friends ditched us. We just met that night.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “So…it wasn’t a date? You were just hanging out? As friends?”

You nodded. Harry’s grin returned.

“I take it back, then.” He said smugly. “I’m glad I gave you my number.”

You snorted, crossing your arms. “It was still cocky.”

“Was it?”

“We had barely spoken!”

“We’re speaking now.” Harry pointed out.

You rolled your eyes in response. “Now doesn’t count.”

He sighed in exasperation, but the amusement in his eyes was still there. “What about once I buy you coffee? Will it start to count then?”

You chewed your lip, weighing your response. “Maybe.”

“What are you doing right now?” Harry asked, his fingers drumming against his travel mug. “Do you have time to sit and talk?”

“I’m actually here with my friend, Charlotte.” You glanced over your shoulder. “She’s—”

“I’m right here.” Charlotte walked over, her mocha already in her hand. “And I’ve got to run! But Y/N can totally stay and talk.”

“Wait, I remember you.” A grin came over Harry’s face. “You were at the bar.”

“I was. I was the one who dragged this hermit out of the house that night, so you’re welcome.” Charlotte matched his grin. “Keep her as long as you’d like.”

“Charlotte—”

“Bye! Text me if you’re coming home for dinner!” She called before dashing out the door.

Harry laughed. “Your friend seems eager to get rid of you a lot.”

“She’s eager for me to meet people.” You sighed. “She thinks I avoid it.”

“I’d say she’s right.” Harry replied, making you scoff.

“You hardly know me.”

“And whose fault is that?” He countered, raising an eyebrow. “Let’s fix it right now. C’mon, let me buy you a coffee.”

You sighed, but nodded. “Alright. Fine.”

Harry smiled triumphantly and got back in line. He ordered for you, repeating back your drink modifications perfectly and purchasing a latte for himself. Once you had your drinks, you followed him to a set of chairs in the back of the coffee shop, pulling yours out before sitting down in the chair opposite you.

“Thanks.” You said, taking a sip of your drink.

“You’re welcome.” He replied, sipping his own. “You know, I’m curious about something.”

“About what?” You asked.

“Charlotte set you up with that Jack guy, and now she’s trying to encourage you to hang out with me.” Harry began. “Why is that? She seems pretty set on—”

“Setting me up? Yeah. It’s a problem.” You sighed, tapping your fingers against your coffee cup. “She means well, but…”

“What’s the deal with it?” Harry asked again. “Is it like, a mission of hers?”

“Sort of. Mostly it’s because…” You trailed off, trying to pick your next words carefully. Normally, you wouldn’t speak of your past relationship, but you felt like you could trust Harry. “I broke up with my long-term boyfriend four months ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Harry murmured. “How long were you together for?”

“Three years.” You looked down. “It turned out that he was cheating on me, so it wasn’t much of a loss, but it just—it sucked. So I’ve just been…taking things slow in the dating department.”

“I can see why.” Harry said, his voice sympathetic, but tinged with embarrassment. “I feel like a bit of an arse for harassing you now.”

You snorted. “Believe me, this isn’t harassment. You’re fine.”

“I’m not, like…trying to force you to do anything you don’t want to.” He said this slowly, watching your reaction. “I’m not the type to—to try and—”

“Harry.” You cut him off quickly, feeling your cheeks heat up. “You don’t have to say that. I’m not looking for a relationship. I think I’ve made that clear. And—and as for…other things…”

Harry raised an eyebrow as you trailed off, but you couldn’t finish your sentence.

Sensing you were finished, he shot you a soft smile. “We don’t have to talk about it. I’d like to just know you a little better. As friends.”

That was exactly what you did. You sat in the café for hours, just discussing your lives and how you ended up where you were. You told Harry about moving to study in London, what your life was like back home, what your family was like. And after Harry got you both a refill on your drinks, he told you about his life.

He grew up near London, in a smaller town, but moved to the city when he was 18. He wasn’t in school, and had graduated with a degree in creative writing two years ago. He currently did some online freelancing work, but he wanted to write songs professionally.

“What about singing them professionally?” You asked when he told you that. “You’re really good, Harry.”

“Thanks.” He said, his voice humble. “I mean, obviously, that would be amazing, but I see myself as a songwriter before I see myself as a singer. I just want my music out there.”

“Did you play anything original at the pub?” You asked, trying to think back to his performance.

“No. They want covers, songs people know.” Harry shrugged. “One day, though. I’ll sing some.”

“Would you sing them for me?” You asked curiously, playing with the lid of your coffee cup. “I’d love to hear them.”

Harry chuckled. “I don’t have them with me. Or a guitar with me.”

“Some other time.” You replied. “You could give me your number again. I promise not to wash it off this time.”

Harry smirked. “How about you give me yours? I feel like that’s a safer bet.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your lips lifted. “Fine. Give me your phone.”

Harry cooperated, handing you his phone. You quickly typed your number in, saving it under your name. You handed it back to him before standing up.

“I really have to get going, but it was nice talking to you.” You said honestly, lifting your bag onto your shoulder. “Text me later.”

Harry stood too, leaning in and kissing your cheek lightly. “I will. And I’ll actually do it.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide how much you enjoyed his lips on your skin as you waved goodbye.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles fic #harry styles fluff #harry styles au #barmusician!harry #amateur musician!harry #writing

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rhysismydaddy · 4 years

Text

My Little Brawler - Feysand Headcannon 2

I’ll just go ahead and preface this by saying it’s long as SHIT. I went a little crazy. But here’s the second headcannon for Feysand. Thank you for the love on the last one! Next one out tomorrow.

Synopsis: Feyre Archeron is a 31 year old researcher who has devoted her entire life to her work. Her dating history is a mess, from an ex-husband to one night stands. A serious relationship? Hell no.

Rhysand Turner is a Virginia-born quarterback living it up in a football-crazy city. He doesn’t date and sticks to dumb blondes who look good on his arm and think how far he can throw a football is better than sex. Marriage? Not in a million years.

________________________________________________________________

Feyre swung the lab door closed, locked it behind her, and headed toward the hospital exit.

“Calling it a night?” Howie, the night-shift security guard asked from behind his desk.

She glanced at her watch and winced. “More like a morning now, but yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

He laughed and went back to his crossword puzzle. Nothing interesting happened in the hospital this late at night outside of the ER, so Howie was basically only there for her. Feyre frequently was the last staff member to leave the place, something her coworkers never understood.

She came in early, left late, and worked holidays. To say she was married to her job would be an understatement.

Grabbing her keys and walking out to her car, she had to admit they had a point. She’d given up her entire life for her work, but she had no regrets.

She’d made countless breakthroughs in nuclear medicine and had changed the face of chemotherapy and radiation. It payed off every day when she heard from the oncologists that one of their patients was cancer free.

As she drove to her townhouse--only four minutes from the hospital--she wondered if it was strange she preferred to be alone.

Then she remembered how she’d ended up when she committed herself to a relationship and shook her head. If you can’t trust the man you’re married to, who can you trust? No one.

She didn’t miss being married. At all. She didn’t miss having to come home from a long day at work and muster up the energy to talk about whatever was bothering him.

She did miss sex, though. She never went out, never invited anyone over. It’d been so long since she’d been with a man, she was pretty sure she had cobwebs down there.

Ignoring that thought, Feyre walked through her front door, threw her keys on the kitchen table, and went to bed. She had to be in the hospital in four hours if she wanted to get ahead of her schedule.

_________________________________

Rhysand jogged off the field, grinning at the look on his coach’s face.

“If you’re in love with me, I don’t want to know,” he joked.

Coach Matthews was at least five inches shorter than Rhys, but he reached up and smacked the back of his head anyway. He wasn’t actually mad, though. There were about three people in the world who could get away with talking trash to Adrian Matthews, and Rhys happened to be one of them.

“Shut up, smartass. I’m just excited. If you play like this tomorrow, we’ll wi-”

Rhys cut him off. “Don’t jinx me.”

A raised eyebrow. “After all this time, you’re superstitious?”

“It could be my last game,” he said, ignoring the look on the man’s face. “I don’t need any bad luck.”

He’d never admit it, but losing tomorrow’s game was easily the scariest thing in Rhys’s life.

Talent wise, there was no one better than him. He wasn’t cocky, but he knew it. He had better stats, better knowledge of the game, better everything.

But, according to sports, Rhys was old as dirt.

No matter how good you are, football isn’t a lifetime sport. Even though thirty-eight would be young to almost anyone’s standards, network channels and reporters were all wondering how long he would push on.

The guys he was competing against were all in their twenties, young and fresh and without back pain. And knee pain. And-

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself, idiot. No matter what happens tomorrow, you’ve had the most impressive career as a NFL quarterback in history. So get your head out of your old ass and play the game you know how to play.”

Rhys just laughed. “My old ass? What about you? When did you even sneak out of the retirement home?”

Before Matthews could attempt to kick his ass, a beefy hand smacked into Rhys’s back and Cassian--the other person allowed to talk shit to coach--said, “Oh, I see. You made a few good passes out there and now you’re over here drinking water and gossiping with coach like a couple old ladies. Cute.”

“Both of you, get your asses home and in bed,” the coach ordered, rolling his eyes. “I cannot believe I let myself draft two hard-headed, pain in the ass hillbillies,” he muttered, walking toward the other players.

“He’s just mad because he’s in love with you,” Cassian said, throwing a thick arm around Rhysand’s shoulders, and dragging him to the locker room.

Rhys pushed him off and laughed. “That’s exactly what I said.”

“So about tomorrow-”

“I swear to god if you mention the game one more time, I’ll tell everyone you wear women’s underwear when you play,” Rhys threatened, then ducked to avoid the helmet flying towards his head.

“Shut the fuck up, man! That was one time! And I wouldn’t have done it, but you made me watch Bull Durham and it seemed like a decent idea at the time. And I wasn’t even gonna talk about the game.”

Rhysand raised an eyebrow. If Cassian wasn’t talking about football, he was droning on about women, booze, or hunting. Sometimes a mixture. Before he could continue, Rhys made a bet it was women on his best friend’s mind this time.

“Anyway, me and Az were thinking we could go somewhere new tomorrow night. Regardless of how the score turns out.”

That caught his attention. The three of them had been friends since high school and had all played together till Azriel blew his knee out two years ago. They all lived in the same apartment complex still and got together almost every weekend. In all their time of friendship, they’d maybe gone to five bars. Once Cassian found a place and racked up enough of a tab, he stayed until they wouldn’t let him through the door anymore.

“Where?”

“There’s bar about twenty minutes from here. Az apparently knows the owner or something.” It made sense. After his injury, Azriel had gone into broadcasting and had made a ton of connections in the PR world.

“I don’t want to go anywhere crow-”

Cass cut him off. “He said it’s a small bar. No crowds.”

The one negative aspect of his life was the never-leaving pack of fans and paparazzi following him around. After the game tomorrow, it’d be hectic. He didn’t want to deal with that if they won, let alone if they lost.

Rhys shrugged. “Fine by me. Either way, I’ll be needing a lot of booze.”

“You’re so fucking dramatic man,” Cassian laughed. “It’s just a game.”

Rolling his eyes, “It’s the Super Bowl, idiot. It’s not just a game.”

“Okay,” his best friend and defensive tight end said lightly. “It’s a big game.”

As he thought about how a loss tomorrow could be the end of his career, Rhys could only nod and agree.

________________________________

Feyre walked through the front doors of the cancer wing and halted. John Weatherly, the Chief of Staff of the hospital--and not to mention a huge pain in her ass--stood at the threshold.

“You look annoyed,” she stated, ready for whatever lecture he was about to give her.

After all the time she’d worked for him, she’d never really gotten past her dislike of her boss. Or his misogynistic rants. Or the fact that he smelled like cigarettes. They worked in the cancer wing of the hospital, for crying out loud. And he had the nerve to smoke a cigarette every chance he got.

“I am,” he said, equally as blunt. “Are you aware you’ve worked at least 120 hours a week for the past two months?”

“Considering I log my own hours, yes.”

“That is a huge waste-”

“Are you aware that I’ve published three research articles during the past two months? Generating publicity, not to mention patients, for the hospital?”

“Considering I’m not an idiot, yes,” John snapped sourly. “But this isn’t about me. The board is implementing a new rule this week. No more work weeks over 100 hours.”

She opened her mouth to retort, but he held up a hand in annoyance. “Don’t bother. I already tried to tell them you practically live here. It’s not flexible for anyone.”

Feyre allowed herself to steam for a few moments before muttering, “Fine.” She tried to walk around him to the lab, but he stepped in her path.

“Since you’ve already worked over the limit, you’ll have to go home. Come back Tuesday.”

“Tuesday?!” she practically shouted. “Why not tomorrow? The time cards reset every week.”

“You’ve worked 115 hours this week. They told me to tell you specifically that if you want to continue to receive a paycheck from them, you will come back Tuesday.”

“This is so-”

“Have a nice two days off, Dr. Archeron.”

She couldn’t not work for two days. “What am I supposed to do all day? Just let me go get my paperwork, and I’ll work from home.”

“Feyre, I have specific orders from the hospital’s board to have the security guard escort you out if you try to go in the lab.”

Her mouth dropped open, but before she could tell him how ridiculous this was, he said, “Go home. Sleep. Watch the game.”

“Game? What game?”

It was his John’s turn to look shocked. “The Super Bowl is tonight. Did you really not know?”

“No, of course not. I don’t care about football.”

Her boss was silent, stuttered a few words, then said, “How do you not like football? You live in Boston! Rhysand Turner is practically a celebrity around here.”

She didn’t know why any medical professional would encourage grown men to smash into each other for sport, but kept that to herself. “Who is Rhysand Turner, exactly?”

“For a genius, you’re such an idiot,” he said bitterly. “He’s the quarterback about to win us the Super Bowl tonight. You should watch the game in your time off. Speaking of, leave. Now.”

“But-”

“Nope. Now.”

The urge to call him a jackass was so strong, she left before it slipped out. How ridiculous was this? She worked her ass off every day researching nuclear chemistry and the effects of chemotherapy in the body. It was important. Her work changed lives.

And they were telling her to go home and twiddle her thumbs. Or watch football.

She drove home angrily, wondering what on earth she would do with 48 hours of uninterrupted free time.

After finishing two loads of laundry, scrubbing her entire bathroom and kitchen, and grocery shopping, Feyre was bored. She tried to sit down and watch TV, but there was nothing on that interested her.

She flipped to the news, thinking she’d distract herself with politics. But no, everyone was talking about the game. Apparently, John was right. No one cared about anything except football today.

An idea popped in her head, and she smiled and picked up the phone.

“Finally!” her best friend shouted happily as she answered on the first ring. “I’ve been waiting for you to call; I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“Hi, Mor,” she laughed. “I’m sorry it’s been so long. Work is-”

“-crazy, I know,” she finished her sentence. “What’s up?”

Trying not to sound bitter, Feyre said, “Well, I actually have today and tomorrow off, so I was wondering what you were doing tonight.”

A pause.

“You know I own a bar, right?” Mor asked, as if Feyre were dense.

“Yes, of course.”

Another pause, then, “And you know it’s Super Bowl Sunday, right? It’s a busy night for us. Well, as busy as a tiny ass bar in the suburbs can be.”

Feyre laughed. “Oh, no worries, I’ll see you some other-”

“Wait! Why don’t you come?”

“Oh... uh...” How could she get out of this? Fake illness?

A knowing town crept into Mor’s voice as she said, “Don’t even think about telling me you’re sick, bitch. You already said you don’t have anything to do tonight. Or tomorrow. Which means you can get drunk! Ooh, or laid!”

Feyre sighed. “Mor, I don’t want to watch a football game. And I definitely don’t want to get drunk.”

She could tell her friend was smiling as she said, “Just laid, then.”

Feyre rolled her eyes and stayed silent, trying not to think about how true that statement was.

“Fine. Come at like 11. It’ll be pretty empty by then. But you’re definitely drinking.”

She debated arguing, but Mor would likely show up and drag her out herself if she tried. “Fine. One drink.”

____________________________________________

Rhys couldn’t stop smiling as he drove himself and Cassian through the city in his truck.

“You know you’re a millionaire, right, Rhysie?” his best friend asked with a laugh.

He just rolled his eyes, having heard this argument at least 20 times. “Don’t hate on the truck. I’ve had her since senior year.”

“It’s rusting. You’re a millionaire. Buy a new one.”

“Nope.”

Cassian groaned. “Why not?”

“She’s been with me through every win, every loss, everything. You know I lost my-”

“Stop! You already told me, and I almost throw up every time I get in this ass-mobile.”

Rhys laughed and punched his shoulder, then said thoughtfully, “You know, I think it was right where you’re sitting.”

Cassian swore and scooted as close as he could get to the door.

“Don’t worry, you can get out. We’re here.”

As soon as he put the truck in park, Cassian jumped out of the cab and wiped the seat of his jeans off with his hand, making Rhys laugh.

He climbed out of the truck, his body still lined with adrenaline. He’d played his ass off, crushed the opponent, and carried his team to victory.

He supposed he had Cassian to thank, too, considering he’d also played his ass off and kept Rhys from getting pummeled.

Their success was echoing through the city on excited whispers. Both of them had already turned their phones off they were getting so many calls from team managers.

They walked into the wonderfully slow bar, nodded to the few people still around who luckily didn’t ask for pictures, and went to find Azriel.

He was sitting at the bar, chatting to the bartender. Even though the bartender was hands-down one of the most attractive women he’d ever seen, it was the woman near Azriel that gave Rhys pause.

Cassian saw the look on his face, smirked, and nodded toward the empty chair between Az and the girl.

A good end to a good night.

He winked, then slid in the chair, nodded to Az--who rolled his eyes--, and turned to the woman.

She had clear blue-gray eyes, dark blonde hair, and full lips. She was... exotic. Different.

He smiled confidently and said, “Hey. How you doing?”

It was a simple line, but one that worked countless times when paired with a southern accent.

He couldn’t tell if the look on her face was amusement or shock. “Where the hell are you from?”

That reaction was one he was used to, so he grinned and said, “Virginia.”

“What are you doing in Boston, then?”

He couldn’t stop his eyebrows from pulling together. She was in a sports bar, where his face had just been plastered on every TV for four hours, but she didn’t know who he was? “Work,” he said simply.

Rhys could feel his best friends’ eyes on him, but he ignored them. “So, what’s your-”

The girl turned to the bartender, ignoring him completely, and said, “Mor, I’m going to make a call.” She cut her eyes toward the men around her and murmured, “Watch my drink.”

Every single one of their eyebrows shot up. Did they look that much like criminals? Sure, they wore a lot of black, but every one of them were multi-millionaires. Did he come off like a date-raper or something?

The bartender, Mor apparently, rolled her eyes and said, “Don’t take it personally. Even balls to the wall drunk, she’s cautious.”

Rhys could tell there was more to that story but shrugged and asked for a beer.

Mor slid it across the counter and smiled knowingly. “She’s pretty, right?”

He just turned to Azriel and asked, “How have you been, man? Did you report the game?”

“Yeah, they had me follow your stats the whole time. Boring shit,” he replied, laughing.

“I bet you could hardly talk fast enough.”

“Cocky bastard,” Cassian muttered.

Azriel nodded to the bartender and said, “This is Mor, by the way. I’ve known her since I left the NFL. Mor, this--as I’m sure you know--is Rhysand and Cassian, although I call them Dumbass 1 and 2.”

“You’re a funny, funny man,” Rhys muttered.

Mor’s friend came back and slid into her seat. Mor put another drink on the counter. The woman raised an eyebrow. “I said one drink, Morrigan.”

“Morrigan? Jesus, you’re already drunk aren’t you?”

Before she could respond, Az said, “Mor, perhaps you’d like to introduce the guys to your friend?”

She smiled and said, “Guys, this is Feyre Archeron, my very best friend who loves me so much she’ll stay and have another drink.”

“Since you’re buying,” Feyre said sweetly, picking the drink up. “And because I know you’ll make me feel bad about leaving so soon.”

Cassian asked, his accent even thicker than Rhys’s, “Why the bad mood, gorgeous?”

She turned and leveled a look at him. “I’d rather be doing something else.”

Rhys rolled his eyes as his best friend leaned down towards the woman and smiled slowly. “Well, you should’ve told me sooner. I’d be glad to do something else with you, baby.”

Azriel and Rhys both looked at each other and shook their heads. Cassian flirted with everyone. It drove them insane, but it was at least predictable.

The woman unlucky enough to have his current affections set her drink down with a little too much aggression, making Rhys chuckle. “What’s your name?”

“Cassian,” he replied confidently.

“Cassian, believe me when I tell you I have absolutely no interest in having sex with you. Leave me alone and go shook a chicken or something.”

The look on Cassian’s face was priceless, and Rhys bit his lip to keep his laugh in. Like Rhys, he was used to women being very... open to his suggestions.

Before Cass could even retort, the woman looked to her friend and asked, “Who the hell are these guys? Your friends?”

Mor pointed to Azriel and responded, “He is my friend. Those two rednecks,” she jerked her head toward Rhys and Cassian, “I don’t vouch for.”

Rhys put a hand to his chest in mock hurt. “We’re Azriel’s friends, which makes us pre-vouched.” He turned to Feyre and smiled. “You single?”

________________________________________

“No,” Feyre said at the exact same time Mor yelled, “Yes!”

The man next to her smiled smugly. “Since you’re single, let me buy you another drink.” She opened her mouth, but he said quickly, “Say yes. It’s just one drink, darling.”

His accent was so ridiculous, it sounded like he should be riding on the back of a horse in cowboy boots and a hat.

“I said I’d have one drink,” she stated to Mor. “I’ve had two. I’m going home.”

“Of course you are.” Her best friend sighed dramatically. “You don’t care about me at all, do you? I haven’t seen you in a month, and you come to my bar and stay for all of ten minutes-”

“Mor-”

“Then try to leave, and I probably won’t see you for another-”

Feyre gave in with a huff. “Oh, my god, fine! I’ll stay. You’re so damn dramatic.”

Her best friend jumped up and down like a toddler, clapping her hands stupidly.

“Now I don’t have an excuse, do I?” She tried not to roll her eyes at how big Rhysand’s smile grin grew.

“Don’t get so excited. I’m just using you for liquor.”

“Fine by me,” he replied smoothly. “I’m trying to get you drunk.”

Despite herself, she laughed. She wasn’t used to such honesty. She definitely wasn’t going home with the guy, but she couldn’t deny how insanely attractive he was to her. The kind of attractive that drove women crazy.

He was so tall, he towered over her even sitting down. He had dark hair, tan skin, and the most unique shade of eye color. They seemed almost purple and practically glowed as they raked over her.

She turned to Mor and gestured for another drink. “You associate yourself with the strangest people.”

Mor just shrugged.

“So, what do all do for work?” she asked the men around her, trying to make conversation.

Rhys quickly said, “We’re- uh- in sports.”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, but he didn’t give her a chance to ask any more questions. “What about you?”

She saw Mor roll her eyes, but she kept it simple as she said, “I’m a scientist.”

“That explains it,” Cassian said with a laugh.

This man had a special talent for pushing peoples’ buttons, it seemed.

She turned to him and narrowed her eyes. “I’m going to go ahead and guess that you ‘being in sports’ means you’re a football player, since everyone in this city is so obsessed with the sport. And you know what? Between the constant head trauma and the accent...” She looked him up and down with narrowed eyes, then said sweetly, “It explains a lot.”

Rhysand launched into a coughing fit. She saw Azriel glance towards Mor, but her best friend just shrugged and said, “Not a big football fan.”

“We can tell,” Cassian muttered.

“What kind of scientist are you?” Rhys asked, ignoring his friend.

Mor sighed, but Feyre said, “It’s complicated, but I’m basically a nuclear chemistry-”

“It is boring as hell, I assure you all,” Mor cut in.

Feyre rolled her eyes and sipped her drink.

Mor got a strange look on her face, bent down, and grabbed a bottle of tequila. “Who wants a shot?”

All three men at the bar raised their hand. Feyre just rolled her eyes. Looks like it was going to be a long night.

_____________________________________

As Feyre got up to use the bathroom, ignoring all of their taunts about having a small bladder, the bartender looked at Rhys and waggled her eyebrows.

“What?”

“Oh, we’re going to act like you weren’t just eyeing my best-friend’s ass?” She laughed, then said, “Feyre.”

“What about Feyre?” he said, keeping his voice neutral.

He liked her, sure. Over the past couple hours, she’d loosened up around him. She was... funny. And smart. And sarcastic.

And yeah, she was beautiful as all hell. He’d love to take her home, but... he wasn’t a relationship guy. Football took all of his time, and he traveled practically every weekend. The women he slept with were all young and didn’t care about anything other than his latest game.

Feyre was different.

“You like her, don’t you?” The bartender was nosy, that was for sure.

“She’s... serious.”

Mor raised her eyebrows, clearly waiting for him to continue, so he said, “I don’t date. And Feyre is... serious. She probably wants a relationship and marriage and all sorts of shit-”

“You know,” Mor interrupted, “I thought people were crazy for saying a southern accent makes people stupid. But you have got to be one of the biggest idiots I’ve ever met if you think that girl wants a relationship.”

“What?”

“She works over fifteen hours a day. Spends all her time in a hospital with nerds looking in a microscope. She wants nothing to do with a relationship, let alone marriage. Trust me.”

“Oh.”

The woman rolled her eyes and nodded to where Feyre was walking back to them.

Before she made it to the bar, he turned to Cassian and said quietly, “Get a ride back with Az.”

“Gladly. I hate that truck.”

He glanced toward Feyre and muttered, “Now, idiot.”

Cassian, brilliant actor he was, yawned obnoxiously and said, “Well. I’m gonna hit the hay.” He winked at Feyre. “It was nice meeting you, honey. Call me if you ever need some southern hospitality.”

She shook her head but a smile ghosted on her lips.

“I’ll refrain from the innuendo, but it was nice meeting you, too,” Azriel said to Feyre.

Mor followed the two of them toward the exit to say goodbye.

“You’ve had too much to drink to drive home,” Rhys stated as soon as they were alone. Feyre laughed, clearly onto his game.

He rose and extended a hand. “Come on. I’ll drive you back. I only had one drink.”

“Is this your version of southern hospitality?” she asked.

“Maybe.”

She seemed to consider this, then murmured, “It’s very different from Cassian’s.”

Rhys smiled. “I’d be happy to show you that version. Let me drive you home.”

“I live close to here,” she laughed. “I’m walking.”

He tried not to be too disappointed. The odds of her taking him home were slim anyway-

She slid off the stool and put a hand on his arm. “But Boston can be a dangerous city. Come with?”

_____________________________________________________

Rhysand got up from his seat and threw an arm around her shoulders. “Lead the way, darling.”

“You really have to stop calling me that. You sound ridiculous.”

She didn’t really mean it, though. His accent was... different. Sexy. He was sexy. Something he was most definitely aware of, but Feyre currently didn’t care.

Cobwebs.

He was funny and seemed nice enough and...

She ignored Mor’s knowing smile as they left, telling her she’d call her later.

“I have a feeling you’ll be busy,” she said knowingly.

She ignored that, too.

As they started the short walk toward Feyre’s townhouse, his arm still slung across her shoulders, she asked, “So, did you win tonight?”

She could feel his chest rumble as he laughed. “Yeah, we won.”

“And you played the...”

“Steelers.”

“Right. Congratulations, then.”

He seemed to think her lack of football-knowledge was amusing. “Why the hell do you live in Boston?” he asked with a smile.

She froze.

“What do you mean?” she said, trying to be casual.

She led them around a corner that led to her block.

“You hate football. You don’t like crowds. You could probably work anywhere. Why not live somewhere else?”

They walked up to her house, and she answered simply, “I moved here to do my PhD at Harvard, and they offered me a job. Made sense.”

“And do you like it here?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

She smiled, unlocked her door, and replied, “Ask me in an hour.”

He mirrored her grin, then pushed her by the shoulders through the door. “Give me two, and it’ll be your favorite place in the world.”

Feyre laughed, locked the door, then turned to him. Leaning against the door, she looked him up and down and muttered, “Clocks ticking, Rhysand.”

________________________________________________________

As Rhys opened his eyes, he was wonderfully aware of the weight atop him.

The naked weight.

Blowing Feyre’s hair out of his face, he smiled as she murmured something in her sleep. She was probably tired.

They hadn’t gotten much sleep.

Given how cautious she was when they’d first met, he’d half expected her to kick him out pretty early. Needless to say, he’d been pleasantly surprised.

When the feeling of her on top of him grew to be too tempting, he ran his fingers through her hair and murmured her name.

She shook her head, making him grin.

His fingers drifted over her back and he loved the way she felt in his arms. After a minute, she turned her head, chin resting on his chest, and looked up at him.

“Good morning,” she said simply.

He just pulled her up to him, pressing his lips to hers. She smiled against him, legs coming up to straddle his waist.

Rhys took in their position and smiled, leaning up to kiss his way up her neck. His lips brushed her ear as he whispered, “Cowgirl’s your favorite position isn’t it? And you say I’m country.”

He snickered, proud of his joke, then practically choked on the sound as she slid herself onto him. “Shit, Feyre.”

"No more jokes, Rhysand?” she murmured, rocking her hips slowly.

“Just Rhys,” he panted. He leaned forward to take one of her breasts into his mouth, and she gasped, the sound music to his ears.

“Rhys,” she moaned, fingers digging into his back.

“Yes, Feyre?” He gripped her hips to keep her still as he asked, “Do you need something?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, and he tried not to grin.

“I said ‘Good morning.’ Don’t make me liar.”

This woman would be the death of him. He laughed and released her hips, reveling in how she responded to every movement, every touch.

She picked up the pace, and Rhys just sat there with his teeth gritted and tried not to ruin the moment for both of them.

He could tell when she was close, her legs tightening around him, voice shaking as she called out his name. He pulled her hair, kissing up her exposed neck and across her jaw to her ear.

“Come for me, Feyre darling,” he whispered, pulling on the shell with his teeth.

She moaned, falling apart in his arms, and Rhys had to use sheer will to wait until she was done to finish.

This woman... was the definition of seduction. Even after a whole night together, he couldn’t get enough.

As they came down together, he looked at her and smirked. “Good morning.”

She smiled and kissed him, biting his lips gently. Even though he’d just had her, his body was ready for more.

He was about to flip them over when she ruined the moment and said, “You have to leave.”

She climbed off him, and he watched with amusement as she sprung from the bed, ripped the sheet off of him, and started pacing around the room.

She found his pants at him and threw them at him. “I’m serious, Rhys. I have to... do stuff.”

He ignored the clothes on his chest. They were both completely naked, and if he had anything to say about it, they’d stay that way for a while. “Like what? You told Mor you have the day off.”

“I do, but-”

“Then come here.”

She crossed her arms. “Rhysand.”

He sat up and extended a hand. “Just shut up and come here. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

_________________________________________________________

Oh, I’m sure you will, Feyre thought as she rolled her eyes and took his hand.

Then gasped as he used the other hand to rip the sheet off her and throw her on her bed.

She barely had time to process before he was on top of her, pressing kisses across her chest, down her stomach. Further.

Sweet Jesus, she thought. The man hadn’t let her sleep more than two hours last night. Not that she was complaining. The cobwebs were completely gone, that was for sure.

A moan escaped her lips as his teeth scraped her thigh, and he chuckled. She was about to flick his shoulder, but then his lips slid higher, and every thought emptied our of her head.

She couldn’t keep herself still as he kissed her, so he held her hips with both hands.

Hers found themselves in his hair and she pulled as he ran his tongue up her center.

“Rhys, baby,” she panted. She didn’t care how she sounded. Didn’t care about anything but the sight of his head buried between her legs.

She didn’t know if it was because she was out of practice or because he was some sort of sex god, but she was already close. Again.

By the time she came, her entire body was limp with pleasure and she was close to seeing stars.

When she opened her eyes, he was above her, smirking like a cat.

He leaned down to kiss her, but she flicked his nose in annoyance.

“If you try and fuck me again before I get some food, I’ll strangle you.”

Ignoring the warning, he buried his head in her neck and tugged on her earlobe with his teeth. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Feyre darling.”

She laughed against her better judgement, but pushed his shoulders until he let her up. If she didn’t eat something, she might pass out when they went again.

She grabbed his t-shirt from last night and threw it on as she walked to her kitchen. It came down to practically her knees, making her look ridiculous, but she didn’t care. It was soft and big and smelled like him.

“Pancakes?” she asked, turning around to catch him looking at her in amusement. At what she was wearing.

She raised an eyebrow, daring him to say something.

“Pancakes would be great.”

Feyre ignored the look in his eyes and started cooking. And kept ignoring it as he watched.

Every time she looked at him, he looked like he was five seconds away from throwing her over his shoulder and dragging her back to bed.

The idea of messing with him a little more was too tempting to ignore.

“Close your eyes,” she ordered secretively, reaching into her fridge.

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but gave in when she raised her eyebrows.

She used a finger to tip his head backward, then whispered, “Open your mouth.”

His lips curved into a smile, then opened. She took the can of Ready Whip and sprayed some whip cream in his mouth, laughing as his purple eyes shot open, full of amusement.

“Cute,” he muttered, swallowing the whip cream.

She leaned in and licked some of the remainder off his bottom lip. He froze, then reached for her. Before he could get those arms around her, she walked to the stove and took the pancakes off.

Sliding an unhealthy amount toward him, she said, “Eat your breakfast, dear.”

Rhys gave her an annoyingly perfect smile and devoured the food. She looked at him as he ate, wondering how he looked like a Greek god when he ate like... that.

He looked up as he finished and laughed at the look on her face. “Baby, don’t invite a football player over if you don’t expect him to eat all your food.”

She took their plates and stuck them in the sink. When she turned around, he immediately strode over and grabbed her face, pulling her lips to his.

He kissed her thoroughly, then pulled back far enough to say, “Meet me in your bedroom.” Another kiss. “And Feyre? Bring that whip cream.”

__________________________________________________________

By the time Rhysand left, Feyre could hardly stand up. She had no idea how she was going to make it through her shift tomorrow, given that she was so exhausted she could sleep probably for a day straight.

That’s when she realized that for the first time in her career, she didn’t want to go to work. She wanted to call Rhysand and tell him to come back.

That’s not an option.

A relationship was out of the question. It’d be cruel to him to invite him back, knowing it would never go anywhere. For all she knew, he was trying to settle down. With a nice girl who’d give up her life to have his babies and be a football wife.

Hell no.

As she got out of the shower, giggling at how shaky her legs were, she told herself to forget him.

But when the phone rang, she was surprisingly disappointed when she looked at the caller id and saw it wasn’t him.

As soon as she picked up, Mor practically yelled, “How was it?!”

“How was what, Mor?”

“The sex last night, idiot. Was it good? I bet it was good. You don’t look like that and not have a seriously huge-”

“Mor! Calm down.”

She could tell her best friend was enjoying this way too much. “I’ll calm down when you tell me. Everything.”

Feyre laughed, then gave in and asked, “What do you want to know?”

“How long did he stay? Oh, you made him walk back to his truck in the middle of the night, didn’t you? Mean woman.”

When she didn’t respond, Mor pushed, “Unless you didn’t. When did he leave, Feyre? Hm?”

“An hour ago,” she admitted.

The howl that Mor let out was practically inhuman. “Oh my god! You nasty bitch! Or, wait. Is he the nasty bitch?”

Feyre laughed. “You have no idea.”

“I cannot believe you let him stay all day. He must be good. He’s good isn’t he?”

She didn’t have to think back to remember the answer to that question. “You have no idea,” she repeated.

Mor laughed. “I’m so happy for you. Are you seeing him again?”

“No, probably not.”

She stopped laughing. “And why the hell not?”

“I don’t date. It wouldn’t be fair to him to keep sleeping with him and lead him on-”

“You’re both idiots.”

That stopped her. “What?”

Mor sighed on the other end of the call. “He doesn’t date. At all. He’s seen with 20 year old blondes who probably don’t know their head from their ass. You don’t have to worry about him trying to tie you down.”

“Oh,” she said stupidly.

Of course he wasn’t the dating type. He was a professional athlete. Women probably threw themselves at him.

“For someone so smart, you really are an idiot.”

“You have a point. Look, I have to go. I’ll call you later.” It was only eight PM, but she could hardly keep her eyes open.

“Worn out, aren’t you?” Mor asked in a knowing voice.

“Good night, Morrigan.”

____________________________________________________________

Rhys wasn’t surprised to see Azriel and Cassian in his apartment when he got back the next day.

“You dirty dog,” Cassian said smugly, throwing a pillow at his head.

Rhys smiled and told him to shut his fat mouth. “What are you idiots doing here? Get evicted?”

“Waiting on your ass,” Azriel said. “We’re going out.”

“Not everyone got laid last night,” Cassian said sourly. “Ruined a good win.”

Az and Rhys both ignored him. “Wanna come?”

“I’m gonna crash, actually. I have an early meeting tomorrow with coach.” It was an excuse; he’d barely made it home without falling asleep at the wheel.

“Mmhm, an early meeting with coach,” Cassian said knowingly. “More like a late night with a pretty blonde.”

Rhysand just winked and said, “We made sure to avoid your seat in the truck.”

“Disgusting,” his best friend said bitterly as the pair walked toward the door. “I hate that truck.”

As soon as the door swung close behind them, Rhys showered and passed out.

_______________________________________________________

Three days later, Rhys was watching highlights from the game when his phone rang. He smiled as he saw the caller ID.

“Unless the hospital is calling to tell me I’m dying,” he said as he picked up, “I’m going to assume this is Miss Feyre Archeron.”

“Wow, an athlete with a brain,” the sarcasm flowed through the line clearly.

“I’m a package deal, baby. So, what’s up?” If this was a booty call, he’d make her say it. He’d definitely give in, but he’d make her ask first.

“I don’t date,” she blurted suddenly.

He paused, then said, “Me either.”

“Okay.”

He didn’t know what to say, so he just mimicked, “Okay.”

“Then come over.”

Rhysand smiled, looking at his watch. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

_____________________________________________________

Two months later, they’d spent practically every night together. Either he’d stay at her house and get kicked out at the ass crack of dawn when she left for work, or she’d stay with him and he’d wake up alone.

On the rare days her boss forbade her from working, they’d spend all day together, running errands, cooking, fooling around. Hell, she’d even come to one of his football practices. “Out of pure boredom,” she’d claimed.

He’d never tell her, but seeing her had become the best part of his day.

Sure, he’d resigned his contract for the next year to keep his dream job, but even that paled in comparison to her coming over. He’d started to depend on her. He’d started to care about her.

Only Cassian--who gave him shit about it daily--knew. And had been told to keep his mouth shut about it.

Because he knew that as soon as he told Feyre, she’d bolt. He just had no idea why.

Sure, he’d said he didn’t date. He was thirty-eight and had a terrible relationship track record, having only had a handful of serious ones. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t try, right?

He’d never felt like this before... never been so desperate to spend time with someone. And it wasn’t just the sex like he’d thought for the first few weeks.

Because even when they weren’t having sex, he wanted to be around her. Wanted to hear her laugh, the one she let out when he surprised her or she made fun of his accent. Wanted to see her smile. Wanted to see her asleep in his bed, wearing his t-shirt.

He wanted her.

Ridiculous.

The first woman to openly not want a relationship with him, he can’t get out of his mind.

Snapping out of his thoughts, he noticed her staring up at him. “What?” he asked, worried everything he’d been thinking was written on his face.

“Nothing,” she said for the fifth time, stifling a giggle.

He rolled his eyes. “Just say it.”

“I cannot believe Dirty Dancing is your favorite movie!” She exploded, gesturing to the screen as if he were blind. “You’re a football player.”

“Which means I can’t have a good taste in movies?”

She shrugged. “It’s just not what I was expecting when you suggested we watch a movie. I figured you just wanted to come out here and have sex again.”

He grinned. “I did that for your sake. I figured if we stayed in bed any longer, you wouldn’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

With her head on a pillow in his lap, she looked completely adorable as she looked up and stuck her tongue out at him. “How considerate.”

“Southern hospitality knows no limits.”

As they watched the movie, Rhys couldn’t help but sneak glances at her. She was... distracting. The ocean eyes, full mouth, and delicate features were pretty much a constant distraction for him.

When the final scene started playing out, Rhys grinned like an idiot and said, “Dance with me, Feyre Archeron.”

“What?”

“Come on. I wanna show you something.” He took her hand, hauled her off the couch, and took her to the biggest open space in his apartment.

He put his hands on her shoulders and told her to stay put, then walked to the other side of the room.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” she said immediately, realizing what he had planned. “Absolutely not.”

Rhysand laughed and said, “Run and jump.”

“Hell no! You’ll drop me.” She crossed her arms and stayed put.

He rolled his eyes. “I promise I won’t drop you. You’re about a hundred pounds soaking wet.”

“No.”

“Chicken.”

“Excuse me?” she asked incredulously. “You seriously think that’s going to work on me?”

“Yep.”

“You’re right,” she admitted, barely giving him any time to prepare as she ran toward him, yelped, and jumped.

His hands wrapped around her waist as he lifted her up above his shoulders. She hollered like a wounded cat, but she stayed in the air and lifted her legs as he spun her around slowly.

She giggled as he held her up, and the sound was so adorable that as he let her down, he slowly dipped her. Her hair brushed the floor as he held her, wrapped his arms around her, and pressed a kiss to her lips.

He could tell she was surprised when she froze, but then she melted into him.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him close and opened her mouth for him. It was like it was the first time they’d kissed, and he couldn’t get enough. He kissed her like his life depended on it, and she responded to every movement. She sighed into his mouth and he drank the sound in.

When he finally brought her back up and pulled away, she had tears in her eyes.

“What?” he asked, concerned.

Feyre’s brow was creased as she brought a hand to her mouth. “I have to go,” she whispered.

“Feyre.”

She paced around his apartment, picking up her clothes and throwing them on as she went. “I have an early morning tomorrow.”

“You always have an early morning. What’s wrong?”

She pulled her boots on, zipped her jacket, and smiled tightly. “Nothing’s wrong. I’ll... see you later.”

He didn’t have time to say anything before she sped out the door.

Shit.

______________________________________________________

“He kissed me,” she said as soon as Mor answered the phone.

A pause. “He hasn’t kissed you before?”

Feyre sped down the road to her house, explaining, “Of course he’s kissed me. But this was different. He dipped me, Mor. Like actual dipping. And he kissed me. Not to get in my pants, but just because. Like he couldn’t stop himself.”

“Oh. You think he has feelings for you?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t want to find out.” This was the last thing she needed. The past month had been good. So good.

But it had to end. She didn’t want a relationship... even if the idea of never seeing him again hurt so much she couldn’t breathe.

He’d become someone to her in the two months they’d spent together. And even though it’d hurt like hell, she had to cut it off. Before it got worse.

“Feyre-”

“Don’t ‘Feyre’ me. I’m fine.”

Her best friend didn’t let up. “No, you’re not. Ever since Tamlin, ever since that night, you haven’t been fine.”

“Stop talking. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Of course you don’t.”

“Mor-”

“He hurt you, and now you don’t trust men. You got freaked out tonight because this thing with Rhysand could be real, and you’re scared. You’re scared if you let yourself love him, he’ll hurt you.”

Feyre suddenly yelled, “Wouldn’t you be?”

The line went silent, so she continued, “Yeah, I’m fucked up because of my marriage. It’s pretty easy to figure out. But wouldn’t you be? I was with Tamlin for eight years! Did you know that after hearing your worthless and pathetic and that you deserve what happens to you for so long, you start to believe it? So unless you’ve dealt with that for eight years and been trapped in a marriage to someone like that for eight years, don’t you dare bring it up to me. I have to go.”

She didn’t give Mor a chance to respond as she hung up.

She pulled into her driveway, took a deep breath and told herself the tears flowing down her cheeks were from her fight with Mor.

_______________________________________________________

“We’re closed,” Mor yelled as Rhys walked in the bar, then looked up and froze. “Oh.”

“Tell me, Mor. Tell me what happened to her.” He knew there was a reason she’d been freaked out after he kissed her. He just didn’t know what it was.

“To who?”

He came and sat in one of the bar stools, leveling a look at her. “To Feyre. Why did me kissing her send her running for the hills? I know she told you. She hasn’t answered my calls in six days.”

She shrugged, trying to make herself look casual. “Maybe she’s just not into you.”

“She’s into me.”

Mor snapped, “Maybe she’s not.”

His eyes softened, and she knew he saw it for the lie it was. “What happened to her?”

He could tell she was struggling with not telling him. She might not. But he wanted to fight for her. Wanted to make her happy. He just had to know how.

She took a deep breath and said, “Feyre and I used to live in New York, you know. That’s where we’re from. And Feyre was married.”

He nodded for her to continue.

“They got married young, and he... changed. He... just.. he was so angry. All the time.” She took a shaky breath.

“At first, I didn’t notice it. I didn’t see that anything was wrong. But one night, about five years into their marriage, I went to their apartment for dinner, and I saw that she had makeup on her cheek. Not a lot, but... like she was covering something up.” A tear that rolled down her cheek.

“And he saw. That bastard saw me notice it.” She wiped her cheeks, trying to compose herself. “And I didn’t see her for three years. He wouldn’t let her go anywhere besides work. And he hardly let that happen.”

Rhys closed his eyes sadly, but she continued. “I didn’t see my best friend for three years. Until she showed up in the emergency room.”

His eyes snapped open.

“I’m her emergency contact. I don’t know why she never changed it when she got married, but she didn’t. So I got the call, and drove to the hospital, and she was-”

She swallowed a sob. “She was in a coma for two days.”

Mor cleared her throat. “When she woke up, I don’t know how to describe it. She was... different. I helped her divorce him and get a restraining order, but it wasn’t easy. He controlled all her shit. Bank accounts, everything. She was never the same. We left, packed up, and moved to Boston together. She didn’t want him to know where she lived. I think... sometime I think she’s still scared he’ll track her down.”

“It took her three years to even go on a date. Another to have sex. She says she’s fine, but ever since that night, she won’t let herself actually let anyone in her life. She’s always been a workaholic, but after what happened... I don’t know. It’s like moving on, having a life, makes her remember her life before.”

Mor sobbed, “And I don’t know how to help her. Because he’s a cop, you know. That’s why it was so hard for her to leave him. We had to go to the freaking governor to get the restraining order.”

A sob wracked her body, so Rhys leaned across the bar and pulled her into a hug. It made sense. Why him showing any sort of feelings freaked her out. Why she’d been cautious around him, Cassian, and Az when they’d first met. Why she didn’t want a relationship with him.

But it didn’t mean he couldn’t fight for her. That he couldn’t tell her that he’d never hurt her.

“Mor,” he said softly. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

She pulled back and wiped her eyes. “Well, now you do.”

“I want to be with her.”

She nodded, and smiled sadly. “I know.”

“And she wants to be with me, too.”

Mor nodded again. “Go get your girl, Rhysand. But, just be careful. And I swear to God, if you’re anything like him-”

“I’m not,” he interjected.

“-I’ll shoot you. I’m not making the same mistake twice.”

“I’m never going to hurt her. You can count on that. Do you think she’s still at the hospital? If she’s not going to answer the phone, I’m gonna track her ass down.”

________________________________________________________

Feyre scribbled down her note, then peered back into the microscope. She knew it was late, but it’s not like she had anywhere to be. The thought sent a pang through her chest, but she ignored it.

She was so distracted thinking about how big of a mess she was that she didn’t hear him come in the lab.

“Feyre,” a familiar male voice said from behind her.

She spun around and opened her mouth to scream, but he was faster. She cried out as his fist connected with her ribs, but he stifled the noise when he slapped a hand over her mouth and shoved her against the door.

She tried to swing a fist toward him, but he pinned her arms against the door.

“It’s been a long time,” Tamlin said, smiling. “It took me a long time to track you down. You know how I found you? Paparazzi posted a picture of you leaving some football player’s apartment at three in the morning. Little whore.”

She whimpered as he squeezed her jaw.

“So I came to see you. At first, I wanted to punish you. You were my wife. Mine. And then you go and divorce me. For no reason. I wanted to know why.”

Howie, she thought desperately. If she could signal Howie, he’d come and save her.

She ignored what he was saying, blocked it out, and bit his hand as hard as she could.

Tamlin jumped back with a surprised yelp and she barely had a chance to scream before his fist connected with her eye. She fell to the ground and he kicked her in the side, making her curl into a ball.

“You bitch! Why are you screaming? If you’re trying to get that fat security guard, he can’t hear you.”

No one’s coming. A tear ran down her cheek onto the floor.

“Now, as I was saying,” he continued as if nothing had happened. “At first, I wanted to punish you. I had it all planned out.”

He knelt on the floor, brushing the hair off her cheek.

“But then I realized something. I realized you ruined my life. You told everyone I worked with, hell you told the governor, that I abused you. You got me kicked off the force.”

“Why are you here? What do you want?”

Please leave please leave me alone-

“I want you to suffer for what you did-”

“I do-”

Her cheek stung as a palm connected with it, making her cry out.

“Do not interrupt me again.” His voice was so cold, so calculating. “I want you to suffer. I want you to lose everything, like I did. But the only thing you ever cared about is work. And I couldn’t get you fired. No, you’re too good at your job.”

She shook with fear as he smiled down at her.

“But then I thought, if the job won’t lose you, you can lose the job.”

He ran a thumb over her lip, and she was paralyzed with fear when she realized the bitter taste in her mouth was gas.

“What did you do?” she asked softly.

His fist closed around her throat. She clawed at his hand, kicked at him, tried everything, but she was stuck. It had never mattered how hard she fought.

When her vision started to fade, he let go.

“Don’t question me,” he snapped as Feyre hauled oxygen into her burning lungs.

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a lighter, grinning down at her.

Feyre’s stomach bottomed out.

She had to think, had to do something. Or else she was going to die in here.

“You were so consumed by your work, you didn’t even smell the gas I lined this fucking room with. Always so distracted by your work.”

He laughed softly, “And now you’ll burn with it.”

He flicked the lighter open, and time seemed to stand still. Feyre didn’t let herself hesitate as she reached onto the counter, grabbed the beaker she knew was sitting there, and broke it over Tamlin’s head.

He swore and closed the lighter, then swung at her. She rolled away from him, placing a kick in between his legs that had him gasping for air.

She got up and sprinted for the door. Her fingers were closing around the handle when he caught up to her, grabbing her head and slamming her face into the metal door frame.

Feyre sank to the floor, and Tamlin knelt in front of her. She tasted blood, felt it running down her face, and knew from experience her nose was broken.

As he punched her in the stomach, she could tell she’d have a ruptured spleen.

He was still dripping wet from the beaker, but he leaned close and laughed.

He opened the lighter close to her face, the heat warming her skin.

“You always were a fighter.”

This is it. If she didn’t fight now, it was over. He’d drop that lighter, and they’d both go up in flames. Together at last.

Gritting her teeth, she told herself she wasn’t going to die here tonight. She was going to live.

She was going to kill her ex-husband.

Bringing her knees close, she rallied her strength and kicked his chest as hard as she could. As he fell backward, she jumped to her feet.

Before he could react, she grabbed the lighter out of his hand, threw it on his chest, and rushed out the door.

What Tamlin hadn’t realized when he’d lined the room with gas was that there were more chemicals in there than anywhere else in the hospital. He didn’t even have to use gasoline. But now that he had, one open flame, and the whole place was going to blow.

She ignored the growing flames on the other side of the glass as she engaged the door’s security lock. Ignored Tamlin’s screams as the petrol from the beaker reacted with the oxygen in the air and the present flame, erupting in flames twenty times hotter than usual.

She ignored everything happening around her except Rhysand.

Rhysand, who was running toward her, a confused and terrified look on his face.

She had no idea what he was doing here, but she sprinted full force at him, also ignoring the fact that he was a professional football player. She wrapped her arms around him and tackled him to the ground as the room behind her erupted.

Glass and debris and pieces of paper still on fire rained down on them as she looked down at him.

She laid on top of him, shielding him as best she could, and grabbed his face. Please be alive, please be alive.

His eyes shot open, arms coming around her to brush debris off her back.

“Feyre, are you all right? What the hell happened?” His voice was fuzzy, like she was underwater.

She probably had a concussion from where Tamlin had slammed her against the door.

Tamlin.

Tamlin was dead. She’d killed Tamlin.

“He’s dead,” she whispered. “He’s dead.”

Rhys was shaking her, telling her to stay awake. Alarms were going off, the sprinkler system sensing the fire and raining a flood down on them.

He was screaming her name.

She just looked at him and smiled softly. “I love you, by the way,” she whispered. Like it was the easiest thing she’d ever said. Like she’d been waiting to say it.

“I love you,” she whispered again.

Then passed out.

_______________________________________________________

There was something warm and heavy on her lap. And it had hair.

She opened her eyes and looked down at Rhys, peacefully sleeping with his head resting on her legs.

Gently, she ran a hand through his hair.

She was in a hospital bed, that much was obvious. There were probably police men outside waiting for a statement from her about why her much-beloved lab had been blown to pieces under her watch.

She knew from experience that as soon as she officially woke up, she’d be surrounded be nurses and police officers and doctors asking how she felt and...

She ran a finger down Rhys’s cheek.

She knew he was awake when his mouth twisted into a smile and he murmured, “Do that again.”

She did.

His eyes opened to meet hers, full of worry and passion and anger.

“Hi,” she whispered.

“Hi.” He picked his head up and put a hand on her cheek. “You’re so beautiful. This gown suits you.”

She knew he said it to distract her, and smile tugged at her lips, even as tears sprung to her eyes.

She was in the hospital. Again. Because of her ex-husband. And Rhys was here. He’d probably never look at her the same after this. Would probably pity her now.

He leaned in, and she thought he was about to kiss her, but his mouth landed on her cheek instead. As he licked her tear off her face.

“That’s disgusting,” she murmured, not pushing him away as he moved to the other cheek.

He pulled back and grinned.

“Mor told me about your ex-husband,” he said softly.

Before she could reply, he surprised her by murmuring, “And I honestly don’t know why you say you don’t have any country in you.”

Had he hit his head when she’d tackled him?

“What?”

“Considering you barbecued his ass,” he finished with a laugh.

Despite how awful and wrong that was, a giggle escaped her. And another. And another, until she was laughing along with him.

“That’s so fucked up,” she said, still smiling.

“Yeah, it is, but it’s all I’ve been able to think for the past four hours.”

Then his smile faded and his eyes grew serious. He put both hands on her face and pulled her close to him. “Feyre.”

“Rhysand.”

“It’s over now. He’s never going to hurt you again. No ones ever going to hurt you again. I’m so proud of you.” He said it all in the softest tone possible, and it made her chest hurt with how much she needed those words.

“I killed him,” she whispered, the reality of it crashing into her.

He shook his head. “You defended yourself. He was going to kill you. You fought like hell, and you won.”

Feyre nodded, pulling him closer until his weight was on top of her and his arms were around her.

“You kicked his ass,” he murmured through her hair. “My little brawler.”

She smiled, running her hands over his back.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to her.

She pulled back far enough to say, “What do you possibly have to be sorry for?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get here faster and I didn’t protect you-”

“Rhysand.”

“Yes.”

She shook her head and flicked his nose. “Shut up.”

“Okay.”

He hugged her again. “You should know,” he said a moment later, pulling back to give her a smile, “that Mor is outside with Azriel and Cassian.”

“Oh, God.”

“Yeah. I think they had to give Mor a sedative to calm her down. I’ll go get her if you want.”

Feyre shook her head, deciding to give herself another moment before dealing with that brand of crazy.

“Do you remember what you said to me? After you tackled me? Which, by the way, was insanely sexy.”

She knew under the humor was a twinge of anxiety, so she said, “I could talk about the homo-eroticism of what you just said, but I’ll give you a break. You’re under a lot of stress.”

Rhysand grinned and raised an eyebrow.

“I love you,” she murmured. “You know I do.”

“I do,” he replied smugly, smirking like a cat. “I love you, too.”

He leaned down and kissed her softly, ignoring the probably nasty black eye and bruised jaw. He kissed her, and she didn’t care about anything in the world.

Until the door banged open.

“You’re awake and you didn’t tell me!” Mor screeched, running in the room and throwing herself on Feyre, bruises be dammed. “Of course you didn’t because you wanted a chance to make out with your boyfriend before you did. Selfish, Feyre! Selfish!”

“Mor,” she muttered, hugging her back tightly. “I’m awake.”

“You’re such a bitch,” he best friend laughed.

“I love you, too.”

Rhys laughed and got out of his chair, probably going to talk to his friends and update them.

For the first time in years, everything felt right. It felt good. She was excited for tomorrow, not because of work, but because for the first time in a long time, she had people in her life she was going to fight to keep there.

For the first time in a long time, she wasn’t afraid.

_____________________________________________________

FUCK sorry this is so long! I literally had no intention of taking this route when I started writing it, but shit happens when it’s 2 am and you’ve had a long week.

As always, feel free to send me requests/asks/whatever. I love hearing from yall.

@bamchickawowow

#feysand #feysand fanfiction #rhysand #feyre #feyre archeron #a court of mist and fury #a court of thorns and roses #a court of wings and ruin #a court of dreams #a court of starlight and frost #feyreandrhysand #feyre darling #feyre x rhysand

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spookyceph · 4 years

Text

Good Graces Pt. 2

Finally got the second half of this fic together. Find it on Ao3 or the first part here on Tumblr.

Nothing explicit takes place, however, the non-canon talk is of a sexual nature. Also, Dabi is a masochist and likes being ordered around. But we knew this already, didn’t we?

Words: 2,789

Rating: M for language and sexual themes

The wait ended two days later in the same spot. Dabi was in the process of pouring himself his second drink of the night when a misty-edged hole opened in reality behind the bar. From it stepped the tall, elegant form of Kurogiri. Dabi had never really considered what a demon might look like, but the League’s second-in-command/butler/voice of reason provided plenty of inspiration. Impeccable suit. Ability to show up anywhere. Form too immaterial to hurt, but still capable of making someone pay for trying. As always, Dabi gave him a polite nod and fought back memories of how it had felt to unexpectedly be elbow-deep in that shifting darkness.

“Ah, Dabi. Just the person I was hoping to see.” Deep. Smooth as high-end nihonshu. The kind of voice that could talk somebody into trading away their firstborn. Or into joining a half-assed villain ensemble.

Dabi paused with his glass to his lips. He made a sound he hoped came across as Yes, I’m listening rather than Help, I’ve swallowed my own tongue in mortal terror.

“Shigaraki Tomura wishes to speak with you at your earliest convenience.”

This was it. This was not a drill. Dabi put down the glass without taking a sip. “Where?”

“He is in his room at the moment. I will open the way, if you wish to go now.”

He’d just slid off the stool when the words registered. The air behind him changed. It was like the faint static charge living things gave off and a feeling of being watched all at once. Except Dabi knew if he turned he’d see only a hazy oval of black floating there, the perfect width and length to swallow him completely.

He didn’t want to use the warp gate. No fucking way. Problem was he’d already gotten up—couldn’t sit back down without looking like a coward or a dumbass or both. And he sure as hell wasn’t about to admit he already knew where Shigaraki’s room was to the person who amounted to the closest thing the guy had to a father.

So, Dabi grabbed his glass again. Knocked back the contents. Pretended it was just like jumping into a cold pool on a summer day as he turned and plunged into the waiting darkness.

Nothing existed anymore. Not time. Not space. Not self. Then something—maybe Kurogiri’s will or just simple momentum—carried him back into being. He returned to reality with a gasp. Catching his balance, he blinked and took stock of his new surroundings.

Shigaraki sat on his heels not a meter away, staring up through the stiff fingers of his favorite fashion statement. Large sheets of paper littered the floorboards in front of him. Maps, Dabi realized, noting the grid lines and coordinate markings. Somewhere way out in the sticks, if all the green and brown were any clue. Turning his head, he saw shelves lining the walls. Books? No, too many the same size and too thin. Cases for games—hundreds of them. More than one person could finish without giving up on everything else in life. Then again, what did he know? He’d never been allowed to have any as a kid. Never been allowed to have anything that might distract him from the glorious future planned out for him since day one. And just look at how well that had gone.

At any rate, the room didn’t seem to have the right ambiance to banish or murder someone in. Dabi let his hopes peek out from the bunker of suspicion.

“What’s this stuff for?” he asked, nodding to the maps on the ground.

Nothing from Shigaraki for an adrenaline-spiking second. Then, he crooked the fingers of one hand. “Sit.”

Dabi obeyed, pacing himself. Step in closer. Let one leg fold under him. Just bend the other so the sole of his boot lay flat on the floor. Rest same side elbow on knee. Prop the whole casual façade up with the other hand behind him.

“You got something you wanna say?” Cool nonchalance despite all the spit having vanished from inside his mouth.

Closing those intense eyes, his boss-and-possibly-more drew a long inhale. Didn’t even gag on the musty museum specimen smell of the taxidermy clutching his face. Then it was Dabi’s turn to suck in a breath as Shigaraki pulled off the gray hand with fumbling fingers, setting it aside.

“I want you to lead the others on their first job,” he said, complete with direct eye contact.

Any pretense of self-assurance abandoned Dabi. His stomach clenched as if braced for a punch. He pumped his brain for something droll, snappy, cocky in response. The well had run dry. He settled for practical.

“What do you want us to do?”

Shigaraki’s shoulders relaxed a fraction, though his stoic expression never wavered. “I was given some interesting information about UA’s precious fledgling heroes. Seems they’re headed to a remote training camp in the mountains for the summer. No one will be looking after them except two of their teachers and four pros who specialize in wilderness rescue missions. I want you to ruin their little retreat.”

Dabi’s spine went stiff and straight as an exclamation point. “I didn’t sign up to kill kids—even baby heroes.”

But Shigaraki was already shaking his head halfway through. “Killing them isn’t the point. That would generate too much outrage, hypocritical or no. The police might actually pry their heads from their asses and make a united effort to hunt us down with that much public pressure on them. Not to mention every third-rate pro in the country would crawl out of the woodwork, looking to make headlines. We’d be finished before we ever got started.

“No, what I have in mind is some training of our own.”

Attention swapped places with apprehension. “Oh?”

“None of us have worked together. Most of us haven’t worked on a team at all. This is an opportunity to test how well your quirks and styles compliment or clash with one another.”

“So, what? We crash their field trip and start fucking shit up? Flee the scene when the fighting gets too heated?”

“I came up with a level objective for you to focus on.” From on top of the maps, Shigaraki scooped up a thick manila folder and handed it to him.

Taking it, Dabi flipped to the first set of pages inside. His expression stayed set in stone while his stomach took a cliff dive.

A pretty girl with skin the color of bubblegum and squiggly little horns peeking out of her cotton candy hair smiled out at him from the photo in the top corner.

Name: Ashido Mina

Age: 15

Quirk: Acid

“You got hold of the students’ profiles? Impressive.” And a potential fucking disaster waiting to happen.

Shigaraki shrugged modestly, lightly scratching a new crop of scabs that had popped up in jagged furrows on both sides of his neck. Scabs that hadn’t been there a few days ago. “It’s just their teachers’ assessments of their quirks and performance during class assignments. Personal information like relatives and home addresses were better protected.”

The vice slowly closing its jaws around Dabi’s thumping heart released. Regardless, he made sure not to linger on any one student as he leafed through several of the profiles. Just focused on breathing normally and pretending to read for what seemed like a reasonable amount of time before moving to the next. He’d wait until he didn’t have an audience to allow himself to register anything.

“What’s this objective supposed to be?” he inquired.

“Capture one of the stronger, more notable students and ask him to join us.”

A muscle in his cheek jumped when Shigaraki reached over and flipped to a report in the middle of the folder. Dabi forced himself not only to look but see.

The boy scowling out of the picture was blonde. Broad-shouldered. Red-eyed, though not as beautifully as the one sitting across the way. Dabi’s pulse evened out.

“Bakugou Katsuki,” he read. “Isn’t this the kid they had to bind and gag at UA’s Sports Festival—even though he won the damn thing?”

“The same.”

“The hell do we want him for? I thought we were full capacity on lunatics already.”

A sigh. “To spook the school’s supporters and society at large, for one. It’s not enough to kill heroes. More will just take their place. We have to convince people to withdraw their support of them. Turn against them, though that won’t come until later.”

Dabi snorted. “This little asshole will never agree to sign on with us. He’s obsessed with proving he’s above everyone else. I know the type.”

A twitch of interest crossed Shigaraki’s face. Instead of pressing, though, he filed the slip away in that mysterious brain of his. “I don’t give half a shit if he agrees. All that matters is he blabs to anyone who’ll listen that we targeted and tried to corrupt him once we let him ‘escape’.”

Tapping his fingers on the stack of papers, Dabi let the big picture come into focus. “Instead of outright attacking the school, we’re undermining their image. Making all the mommies and daddies wonder if a career as a pro is as great as they thought it would be for their precious snot-nosed bastards. Getting donors to think twice before reaching for those wallets. We’re playing the long game. Smart.” A thin smile tugged at one end of Dabi’s mouth. “Which leaves just one question. Why have me lead instead of yourself? People might accuse me of sleeping my way to the top.”

A lovely shade of pink, like the inner coating of a seashell, livened up Shigaraki’s cheeks. “We never—!” He huffed and turned away, pink deepening to rose and spreading to the tops of his ears when he noticed Dabi’s smile had widened to a grin. “You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?”

“Guilty. Well, on the last part anyway.”

Shigaraki continued to fume, hopes of an answer dwindling with each second of silence. Then, just when an apology was in the works, “Because I’m a shitty leader.”

Dabi exchanged his smile for arched eyebrows. “”And you think I’d make a better one?”

“You take initiative when you need to, and show restraint when you should. You’re able to read people without giving away much of anything about yourself. The others respect you. They like you. Anyway, from a purely tactical standpoint, since your quirk is long range you can attack and give orders without getting swept up in the melee. And…” Blood-soaked irises looked at him through a tangled curtain of white hair for a moment before flitting back to the safety of the maps. “I trust you.”

Every response Dabi had lined up crumbled. With them gone, he couldn’t pretend not to notice what they’d been hiding. Exposed to proper light and air, it bloomed, bright and bold despite the ruin it grew from.

“I won’t fail.” The words were hoarse, but came out easily enough for a promise he’d swore to make to no one except himself ever again.

“I know you won’t. Because this isn’t about winning or losing. I want you and the others to test yourselves as individuals and as a team. Do your best. Find what works. What doesn’t. We’ll figure out where to go from there. Together.”

He’d joined the League of Villains looking for a means to exact revenge. Being told what he’d always wanted to hear made for a hell of a bonus prize.

Dabi pounced. His mouth mashed into Shigaraki’s, muffling an astonished yelp. Cold hands latched onto the front of his shirt. Not Decaying. Not shoving. Clinging. Insisting. He obliged, wrapping his arms around the other man’s waist and shoulders, then letting his weight carry them both to the floor. They rolled across the maps, scattering stolen papers as they went. Lips and teeth and tongue combined in different ways between every panting break for air.

Winding up sprawled on top, Dabi relocated his kisses to Shigaraki’s neck. The whimper that came out of him when just a bit of suction was applied under the corner of his jaw went directly to Dabi’s dick. Shigaraki writhed, supple and strong, yet unsure and overwhelmed. His fingers—three on each hand—clutched hard enough to hurt through a carapace of scar tissue. The scabs crosshatching his neck scraped the tongue and tasted of rust.

He surpassed any fantasy conjured up in the past few weeks. Because he was real. Unpredictable. And, in that slice of time at least, he was Dabi’s.

Shigaraki gasped and arched at the feel of a hand slipping up under his shirt. Dabi became so absorbed in the smooth, cool texture of the skin beneath his fingertips he didn’t think anything of the arm that snaked around his own, or the heel hooked behind his knee until, with a sharp twist of hip, he was rolled. The air rushed out of him in a huff as he hit the floor. Shigaraki didn’t look it, but he was solid, planting himself on Dabi’s chest and pinning both his wrists above his head.

“No,” he said, decisive if out of breath. “We do this my way.”

Dabi kept perfectly still. One wriggle, one shift, and he would’ve cum in his pants right then and there. So, he relaxed one muscle group at a time. Controlled his breathing. Showed his boss what a good boy he could be.

“What did you have in mind?” he asked, already positive he’d like the answer.

Despite his command of the situation, Shigaraki’s gaze wandered off to the side. Unsure. Shy. God, it was going to be fun fucking both descriptions right out of him.

“I don’t have…experience…with this, ah, subject.”

Dabi had to keep his teeth clamped together to keep from laughing. Good. He had to be good or he wouldn’t get any treats.

“So, I thought…maybe we could each make a list. Of things we like—or might like. And of stuff we don’t, or aren’t interested in. Then…pick and agree on an option. Until…until someone gets bored or just doesn’t want to anymore or…whatever.”

The habit of exceeding expectations was quickly becoming one of Dabi’s favorite things about his new boss. “Is that what you’ve been up to these past three days? Thinking about what you want to do to me?”

Shigaraki shifted his weight forward a bit, breathing definitely speeding up a notch. “Not the entire three days,” he muttered.

Dabi rested his hands on slim hips, keeping them still before they sent him over the edge. “When did you want this list?”

He considered, worrying his already cracked bottom lip with his teeth and then catching the trickle of blood with the point of his tongue in a way that made Dabi’s toes curl in his boots. “We’ll need to start meeting regularly to work on the plan anyway, so…tomorrow, at this time.”

Meaning he had already made a list and wanted to see what Dabi came up with. “Done.”

“Well.” Shigaraki cleared his throat lightly. “It’s settled then.” Carefully, he started to slide his leg over. Froze when a soft hiss escaped Dabi. A finger stroked one of the staples in his cheek before pulling back, remembering permission to do so hadn’t been agreed on yet.

“Did I hurt you? When we rolled over?”

Absolutely precious. Dabi smiled. “Not as much as I want you to.”

Red eyes blinked rapidly, wide and startled. “I’m…sorry?”

“Don’t be. Now go on. Let me up.”

Still looking a bit lost, Shigaraki did, sitting with his arms wrapped around his legs. Dabi sat upright on a long exhale. Paused to collect himself. Got to his feet when he was reasonably sure he wouldn’t ruin his last clean pair of pants doing so.

“You’re leaving?”

The note of disappointment in Shigaraki’s tone almost toppled his resolve. He looked over through lowered lashes. “I have something pressing to take care of at the moment. Unless you don’t want to wait for a list to find out what it is.”

One glance below Dabi’s belt transformed confusion into open-mouthed understanding. “Oh.” Shigaraki buried his face in his knees. “Sorry?”

“I already told you. Don’t be.” And before his willpower evaporated completely, “See you tomorrow.”

He’d made it to the door when a final thought sprung on him. Pausing with his fingers on the handle, he peered back over his shoulder. “You didn’t come up with this whole training camp plan just to score some alone time with me, did you?”

The choked sound that came from Shigaraki was answer enough. Dabi finally allowed himself to laugh as he let himself out.

#shigadabi #shigadabi fanfic #dabi x shigaraki #shigaraki x dabi #dabi is touya #dabi pov

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cherry3point14 · 4 years

Text

Cookies & Milk

Pairing: Dean x British!Reader Warnings: Established D/s, mind you don’t fall down the crack Word Count: 2,172. Summary: Dean buys you some cookies. You call them biscuits. Arguments ensue, lines are drawn and restraints are required. A/N: Have any of y’all met @winchesters-meaty-feast? She’s my pal and partner in crime. We have extensive conversations about many a subject but one day the most important topic arose. Biscuits. I’m a dunker, she is not. It almost tore us apart but luckily we’re stronger than that. Anyway, I drabbled this Dom/sub biscuit thing in our chat and the following CRACK is what snowballed from that. (This is meant to be dumb ok. Don’t come for me over this weirdness.)

Ao3 if you prefer.

You should close your laptop.

In the late afternoon—underground where the time of day doesn’t matter—even then the light it’s emitting is too blue. Sure, you could turn down the brightness but it’s too little too late. Your eyes are already starting to ache from the strain.

You're not even doing anything important. You started scrolling a few hours ago; a news story that might have been something, but turned out to be nothing. Less than nothing, it was mundane. Dull as dishwater, as your mum might say. You would have closed your laptop then if it hadn’t been for that link at the bottom of the page. To another article, this time about an unexpected cold snap. This leads you to look up weather trends in Kansas, which becomes reading the articles on weather.com. Who even knew weather.com had articles? Still, they do and they’re very informative. The problem is that their data all points to it being cold as balls soon (your term, not theirs). So, now you’re shopping, with a pair of snow boots and two winter coats in your basket. And you’re debating a new scarf to put you over the free shipping threshold.

It is really time to shut your laptop before you go ahead and checkout. Dean hates having to pick up your parcels in town. Always complains that you have a problem. Pretty hypocritical considering the number of breweries he keeps in business. Besides he doesn’t even have a reason to complain, Marta loves seeing him, she lights up like a Christmas tree for him. You walk into the post office and you get a ton of side-eye, plus a ten-minute wait, but Dean? Well, he’s always at the front of her line.

You’re so engrossed in shopping that you don’t immediately look up at the sound of the bunker door. It’ll be Dean, you know that much. He’ll have a couple of brown bags from his supply run and you don't want to insult him by insinuating that he needs help.

It’s for the greater good anyway, the longer you sit here the more chance there is of you buying him snow boots too. Maybe he'll let you buy him a hat too.

Once he’s finished stomping his way down the stairs he sets the paper bags down next to you. It just so happens that's the exact moment you finally look up at him. A grateful smile on your face and over the top fluttering eyelashes—to remind him how loveable you are.

He shakes his head at how obvious you are. “I didn’t buy them for just you.” His unnecessary emphasis is all the permission you need.

“Is that smoke?” You sniff the air, one arm sliding inside the nearest bag, “must be the fire in your pants.”

He tries. Bless his heart. He tries to hold out. You can see him chewing the inside of his mouth as your arm moves about inside the bag to liberally finger his goods. The haul from the supermarket anyway. But he cannot resist your lame jokes and it ends the same as always. He cracks. A twitch of his lip, shaking his head and then an eye roll even Sam would be proud of.

“Other bag, Sherlock.”

“Ah-ha!” You grin when you switch to the other bag. Instead of fresh fruits and vegetables, you’re treated to food of the more processed variety. Plastic bags filled with crisps, a pie carton and, oh he really does love you, biscuits.

You slink back down to your screen, tearing the package open with your teeth as you do. Revitalised by the imminent influx of sugar. Dean sighs but doesn’t say another word. He picks up the rest of the groceries and carries them away. Presumably to the kitchen by the distant sounds of him putting everything away.

It’s another five minutes when he returns with a glass of milk that he puts down next to you. With a determined thump of glass on wood, as if the sound is an entire explanation.

“Thanks, but you know I don’t…”

“Take the damn milk.”

Normally you’d be irritated for being cut off mid-sentence, but it’s his exasperated tone that catches your attention. You even deign to look at him again, ignoring the popup that’s offering an extra 15% off if you enter your email. “You ok?”

He scratches at the scruff on his jaw while he tries to internally talk himself down from the ledge. “Nothing, nothing. Drink the milk, please.”

You look from him to the glass and frown at the white liquid. There’s nothing wrong with it per se. It looks like a perfectly good glass of milk, the kind you might see on a ‘got milk’ ad from the nineties. It’s not that you hate milk, you just prefer your biscuits to have a little bite. Dean should know that by now but if he’s forgotten then you are more than happy to remind him. “You eat your biscuits how you want, let me eat mine how I want.”

In your attempt to be rational you have failed to notice the desperation in his, 'please'. And now you’ve managed to tick him off.

“Cookies,” he grinds out.

“What?”

“They’re cookies. Dammit, you’ve lived here long enough to call a cookie a cookie.”

The outburst is not Dean’s fault. He’s not exactly hoarding MAGA caps and asking you to go back to England. No, this outrage is the product of a very specific joke that you might have taken too far.

Ordinarily, you switched back and forth between American and British all the time. As easy as breathing. You’d lived in the good ol’ US of A for long enough that your brain simply picked out the first word it could reach. A lot of the time it ended up being American without much intention, people understood better.

And then a few weeks back you’d been on the way to a hunt, sprawled in the back seat. Despite the fact that you were still strategizing with Sam you were comfortable. You could have fallen asleep right there if Sam hadn't kept talking. The word had slipped out on a whim. You called Baby’s trunk a boot.

Dean—being an absolute drama queen—had slammed on the brakes and eloquently asked what the fuck you called his Baby. Apparently, it was the first time you’d said that particular British word.

If you hadn’t found his reaction utterly hilarious that would have been the end of it. Except you did find it funny. The way his face soured, that little crease in the middle of his brow, he was so offended by four little letters. It was beautiful.

Now it’s been a few weeks of very purposeful language choices. Asking to borrow his mobile to make a call, or to wear his hoodie. And you’ll admit the ‘pip pip cheerio’ as he left the bunker earlier had been excessive. That isn’t even a real thing people say.

You’ve been torturing the poor guy with British slang. And because this isn’t the first time you’ve taken a joke too far, you’d usually hold your hands up and apologise. You’re good at apologising. He likes when you have to apologise because you always make it worth his while.

The problem is, biscuit had been an honest-to-god slip of the tongue. It had been the most natural word for your brain to conjure and so his anger seems a tad unjustified. Utterly out of proportion.

“It’s a biscuit.” You repeat as you take a bite, noticing the way his left eye seems to twitch at the crunch.

“It’s a cookie. It says right there on the packet. It’s a fucking sandwich cookie.” He points at the ripped plastic on the table for emphasis.

You sigh with the kind of effort that forces all the air from your lungs. “This country can’t spell half the time, why should I trust the packet?”

“Because you’re eating from it.”

He’s got you on a technicality. And he knows it. He knows it by the telling pause before you speak and the flash of panic in your eyes.

“So?”

It’s not an argument that’s going to win world-class debates but you couldn’t go ahead and let him have the last word.

Dean's problem now is he thinks he’s got you on the ropes, so he goes and gets cocky. He puffs out his chest a little and bites back a smirk.

“So? So… cookies and milk is as American as apple pie-”

“Invented by the Dutch.”

“-whatever. It’s a thing. Which means you gotta sit down, shut up and drink your fucking milk.”

You always love it when he does that. Argues his way to a conclusion whether he’s right or not. It’s kind of ridiculously hot.

Or at least that’s how you justify putting your half-eaten biscuit down. Slowly rising from your chair and crawling onto his lap. You lean in, slow enough to tease him, letting your breath settle over his skin as you whisper in his ear. “I know a way we could settle this.”

“What’re you doing?” He manages between teeth that are grinding against each other. The muscles in his arms are tense where he’s pulling at the rope that holds him.

Any other night and you might calm him down at this point. Remind your good boy that he shouldn’t hurt himself. Or depending on the game you’d remind him who he belongs to, who he’s foolishly directing his anger towards. But there’s no soothing touches or harsh reminders bestowed upon Dean tonight. This game is different. This is a battle for dominance, unlike one you’ve played before.

For the first time, he wants to win as much as you do.

There’s no mutual satisfaction in the room because you’re both out for blood. Where blood equals being right about snack goods. And unfortunately for Dean, he didn’t figure it out before he let you tighten the ropes around his wrists.

“I thought that was obvious, baby. I wanted something sweet.”

His eyes flick between the glass of milk he’d seen you carry in and the cookies plated up beside it. Well, you’d call them biscuits but that’s not what this argument is about.

“Don’t you dare.” There’s a threat in his voice.

For a moment it surprises you and you’re quick to counter him, “I’ll do what I like.” Your tone is reminder enough for him to remember his place.

He retreats a little, gives an inch so that you can take a mile. A breath rattles through his chest doing little to calm his tightly wound body. At the very least, he switches anger for desperation. Dean knows you love it when he pleads, “please Princess. Please, I’m begging you. Dunk it.”

Your entire body glows a little when he calls you by your name. The change in his attitude only urges you onwards though, with a smirk turning up the corners of your mouth.

Your hand finds a treat, fingers picking it up with deliberate, delicate movements. His eyes are wide as he watches you hover the biscuit over the glass as if maybe you’ll appease him. The whimper he lets out when you bypass the drink is almost fulfilling enough that you’re no longer hungry. Almost.

The room takes on an eerie silence as you part your lips and take a bite. A loud, crunchy bite. Crumbs fall onto the table beneath you—probably in slow motion— and chewing only seems to increase the volume.

“Son of a bitch.” He mutters as you swallow, “you’re crazy.”

You hadn’t planned on it but you walk across the room then, half a biscuit in your hand and a satisfied smile on your face. He’s slumped in his chair a little. He’s defeated since he knows he won’t defeat the knots keeping him in place.

“Come on, try it for me.”

“Go to hell.”

It's your turn to roll your eyes, “don’t be so dramatic, you’ve been to hell. This can’t be that bad.”

As you reason with him, you slide into his lap again, which will be torture enough because he can’t touch you. Except you also hold the biscuit to his lips.

“Please. For me. Be my good boy.” You coo as if you're not toying with him.

His thighs twitch beneath you at the use of his nickname and, because he’s always your good boy, he opens his mouth.

5eva tags: @divadinag @darthdeziewok @fluentinfiction @witch-of-letters @supernatural-teamfreewillpage @magnitude101999 @alexwinchester23 Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles @akshi8278 @bloodydaydreamer

#dean x reader #supernatural fanfiction #spn x reader #dean winchester x reader #spn fanfiction #supernatural #spn #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfic #dean winchester #dean winchester x you #dean x you #dean x y/n #dean dean the soft lil bean #I missed all the 2020 bingos so this is the sort of shit you have to suffer with now #I bet you missed me now

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boogiewrites · 4 years

Text

No. 9:”The Body.”

Chapter Four

Characters: Diego Hargreeves & OFC Eve Corpuz

Summary: Eve feels the pressure of learning about her powers and takes steps to do that when Diego takes too long to respond. She ends up meeting him again, by chance or fate, and they begin to realize that they have more in common than they thought.

Warnings/Tags: Light descriptions of fighting. Flirting. Bonding.Little bit of Luther.

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT! If you’d like added to the tags, just let me know. This is a multi-chapter fic.

Eve sits in the on-call suite with an ice pack on the back on her neck. She’d begun seeing how her power worked while she was at her job. She found it harder, the more she practiced the more drained she became. Being the overachiever she was, she’d passed out cold and gave everyone a good scare. She knew the cause but she couldn’t really say that so she’d had every remedy thrown at her and told to rest. So here she was with an energy drink in one hand and her phone in the other. She just had a few hours, she could make it. But she knew there would be more days like this if she didn’t take some time to figure things out.

As on-brand as ever, Diego had not texted her since the initial number text. She sighed and begrudgingly sent him a message first.

“I’m going to see if I can get my hours lowered. Whenever you can, we need to figure something out. I need to learn how to deal with this before I hurt myself.”

Her impatience for a response led her to take plans into her own hands. She made a few stops before she went home, to her community center to see where her defense instructor suggested she could go for some more intense training.

She settled in for the evening, making it easy on herself. She could probably get some decent info from a good google search on the Hargreeves. What? She was by nature a researcher and this was as close to a book on powers she was going to get. She had a personal training appointment with a new gym on the calendar for her next free day. With a plan in place, she felt better. For now anyway.

————————-

The response of “alright let me know.” Seemed underwhelming but at least it wasn’t only one letter. He’d sent it at 2:37 AM. What kind of sleep schedule was this guy on?

She’d been approved for fewer hours, not by much. But when you throw out the words ’work-related mental episode’ they tend to listen. She'd taken the first few checks she’d received and as she had never done before, she treated herself to new workout gear.

She figured she needed to learn to fight. If Diego, well, the whole family, did it and she was one of them... it made sense. If the wrong person found out about her, she could potentially be in danger, and she was not one that liked to be ill-prepared. Since she didn’t think he was moving fast enough with suggestions for what to do now, she’d found a quaint old gym upon the suggestion of her self defense teacher.

“They’re very good at what they do but they’re a little rough around the edges. Ask for the big guy, he’s the nicest, the other brother is a dick.”

She was always down to support family-owned small businesses and if they were good then what is some poor bedside manner when she dealt with people spitting on her for saving their life. This is should be nothing.

Good thing she had such an attitude because she’d far overestimated how good of shape she was it when she got winded from the warm-up. She was certainly getting her money’s worth. Extra fees to be seen at a late hour due to her weird work hours, but once she said she was a doctor the polite man on the other end of the line was very accommodating. That polite man turned out to be one of the biggest men she had ever seen. She thought it curious but didn’t want to be rude and assume he was the Luther she suspected he was. Luther sounded like a name any big guy could be called. This guy could just be super jacked on steroids and injectibles. As long as he was a good trainer she didn’t care. And so far he was giving her the most polite ass-kicking she’d ever received.

This night was an introduction to the gym, consultation, and free training session. She was sweating and focused as Luther went over the importance of safety in form.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I am a little bigger than you.” He laughs and she can see it’s a joke he’s used many times before. “Usually my brother helps in this part, he’s… a lot smaller than me. Not a lot he’s not tiny or something he’s… people-sized he’s normal...human man height. So learning with someone closer to your size is better than-“

“I think she gets it, big guy.” She hears a familiar voice coming down the stairs from the offices and apartment.

“Oh! I didn’t know you’d be in tonight.” Luther says with relief.

“Yeah, plans didn’t play out.” As oddly enough, his plans stood right in his gym.

“Eve here is getting her first session in late, she’s a doctor so… weird hours.” As soon as she saw Diego she knew he was the dick brother she'd been warned about. Checked out.

“Who’s stalking who now Doc?” He asks with a smile and a cocky suaveness he carried himself with.

“I didn’t know this was your gym.” She says a roll of her eyes.

“Oh you... know each other?”

“Yeah,” Diego asks without looking to Luther. “We at my part yet?” He asks with a raise of his brow.

“Yeah left it for last.”

“I got her from here.” He says giving him a casual hand of dismissal.

“Oh, you sure? I’ve got her forms filled out-“

“Yeah, I’m sure. Don’t worry about em. Head on out, I’ll close up.”

“You sure?”

“If you ask me that one more time I’m going to demonstrate on this dummy,” he pokes his chest, “instead of these other ones.” He knocks his head to the side of the room where the standing targets were lined up.

“Yep.” A gives a close-lipped smile and a nod. “Nice meeting you Eve, he’ll schedule you for the next one, kay?”

“No problem.” She gives him a warm smile and a nod in return to answer any doubts he might have about leaving her with him.

So Diego kicked off his boots as Luther wobbled around to lock the doors and turn off the lights. With half the room lit now, they stood face to face and sized each other up a moment. “You really didn’t know?” He asks after he hears the click of Luther being out of earshot.

“I swear. I asked my self-defense teacher and they recommended this place. Said you were good at training people to fight so…” she shrugs and offers her hands up.

“We are. I am.” He smiles proudly. “Why are you wanting to fight?” He asked with squinted eyes. She could tell he hadn't expected it.

“Well.. you do. I mean all…the people with powers do. I thought it’d be smart if I could really defend myself if I needed to. In case something goes wrong and... like... I get found and people wanna kill me.” she gives a weak shrug of explanation

He considers it a second. “Yeah, you just didn’t strike me as the type.”

“Why? You knew I took classes you stalker.” she taunts him.

“Well I had to know if you were legit before I came at you didn’t I?”

“And I you.” she quickly quips back.

“See. We have an understanding.” He passes his hand back and forth. “So… fighting huh? What you into? Judo? Jujitsu? Some boxing?”

“Everything.” She says with a self-assured nod and he lets out a dry laugh.

“Everything?” a cocky laugh that came from decades of experience busted out and stayed on his face in the form of a grin for awhile after.

“I wanna be good. I wanna be strong. I wanna win. Or not die and be maimed at least…. So whatever that takes is what I want to do.”

He could see a conviction in her eyes, she meant it. He was inspired for a moment by the rawness she gave so openly. The honesty was refreshing. “Then let’s do some conditioning. Start there and we’ll start discussing styles. Sound good?”

“Yeah.” She offers a supportive nod.

“Then drop and give me 50.” He grins.

She’d never sweat so much in her life. He put on music and had her do every cardio move she could have ever imagined. She left the desire to stay looking nice long ago once the hair started to stick to her forehead. She took everything he gave, and he was once again impressed. She’d yell out when she was trying to push herself and he'd clap and yell right back. She’d crack a smile when he told her to let it out and scream at him. So she did and she collapsed with her last burpee onto the mat. He pulls her up and gives her cheek a good supportive smack as she glares at him playfully.

“Ya did good, kid.” He pats her arm supportively. “Next time we’ll work on some moves too.”

“Good because I really want to hit you after that.”

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

“You’ve not been out for weeks, what’s been your deal?” One of Eve's friends she worked with, Molly asked. Her face always had a glint of sarcasm in her eye and a brow that never twitched. “I’ve had to work with Sean so much it’s been a pain in the ass.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I’ve just been… busy… going through some weird stuff right now and needed more time for myself. I’ve considered a career change anyway.”

“You what? You aren’t leaving me you bitch.” She says playfully but she means it. “Don’t leave me with those doctor dicks.”

“I’m one of those doctor dicks y’know.” She laughs.

“Nah you’re just a dick.” She grins and taps her glass to her friends. “I’m never very good at being sugar-coated but I'm here if you need to talk about it.”

“Uh...not yet. I’m okay, not sick or anything. Just had some stuff from my past kinda...come up.”

“Ah. The middle of fucking nowhere coming back to haunt you?”

“Yeah, I guess. Some big feelings and stuff came up with...in therapy.” She tries to cover and explain.

“Ah. I get it. It’s dirty work.” She gives a supportive nod. “But for real if you’re leaving let me know where so I can transfer too.” She smiles and knocks the bar to order another round of drinks.

“I need to get out though, just of the hospital and my apartment...so thanks for still asking.”

“No one else we work with is any fun. They don’t wanna go to loud shows they wanna go try out some overpriced bullshit Gastro-pub- whatever the fuck that is- and I’m just...it’s not me.”

“So I’m your only single friend in other words?” She chuckles.

“Nah I actually like having you around, don’t tell anyone that though.” She knocks her arm.

“What about people outside of work?”

“Eh. We have such fucked hours it’s hard to keep in touch.”

“Yeah.” Eve murmurs. “Making friends when you’re old is hard.”

“We sound like two old married birds bitching to each other.” She slides the new drinks their way.

“Here's to acting like we’re much younger women.” They clink glasses.

“Were you much of a slut when you were younger?” Molly asks after looking over the crowded basement of the bar. A small stage shoved in the back corner and the small doorways connecting the string along rooms made the space feel even smaller than it was.

The sudden question makes Eve laugh and almost choke on her drink. “I’ve had my moments.” She shrugs.

“Because there’s this fella that’s been looking at us for a while now and -don’t fucking turn-Christ-“ she laughs and smacks Eve’s knee. “No wonder you're single.” She rolls her eyes. “And if you happened to have been a slut, and in the spirit of our toast wanted to act like your younger self I think you might have a chance tonight.”

“Someones? Looking at me? Are you sure they just don’t want to kill me?”

“Nah, he’s been playing it cool.” She narrows her eyes in the way of the guy. “Here’s what we're gonna do. I’m gonna go to the bathroom, maybe take my own little stroll around this place and see what I’ve got options wise. And we’ll give this handsome stranger a window to come talk to you. I’ll be checking my phone if you need saving.”

“You don’t have to-“

“Hush. When’s the last time you got some?”

Eve opens her mouth then shuts it, defeated with the answer.

“That’s what I thought.” Molly teases. “So tits up and hopefully we won’t see each other until work Hmm?” She pats Eve's shoulder and quickly blends into the crowd of moving bodies.

She began scanning the room. She didn’t have to wait long to find out. She saw him smoothly moving through the crowd, in all black, and not a harness or knife in sight. The moves she’d seen at training with him were reflected in the way he moved, a bit like he was stalking but he hadn’t met her eyes again yet.

He was hurriedly doing a habitual perimeter scan as he moved across the room towards her.

She sat smugly, letting him come to her, feeling as if she finally had the upper hand. They meet eyes and an almost shy but endearing smile was matched and shared between them.

“Who’s stalking who now?” She says as he gets within earshot. “Just so you know it’s always been you stalking me.”

He gives her an easy smile and slides onto the stool next to her. “I knew you’d say that.” He shakes his head. “But I’m actually not here for you tonight.”

“I suppose it was a bit pompous of me to assume.”

“Not with how weird our lives are.” He shares the casual and almost comfortable air between them now.

The training had led to the banishment of that awkward physical barrier between them rather quickly. There wasn’t as much room for chit chat at training so the actual sharing of oneself, something neither were particularly skilled at, was still trying to break through that awkward stage. Luckily they were both practiced in faking it until you made it.

“How do I know you aren’t following me?” He teases

“How would I know where you’d be? I’m not the super boy detective here.”

“Funny” he answers flatly with a raised brow before waving to order a drink. “Then why are you here?”

“My friend wanted me to go out. I had been so preoccupied with… well… y’know all this going on now that I’d been neglecting what little social life I had. So I was due for a night to just see a show and chill but...you had to show up.” She jabs back with a warm smile.

“Lucky for you I’m not here for work.” He says almost proudly as if he were proving something to her. “I have a friend in the band and wanted to have a “chill night” too. But here you are.”

“Can’t get away from me.” She beams cheekily.

“You want another drink?” He offers with a nod towards her empty glass where the ice was starting to clink as she involuntarily moved it while she spoke.

“Oh. Guess I finished it.” She laughs at herself, a short sigh before rubbing a hand through her hair. “Yeah. Why not. Fuck it.”

“What’d you have? Virgin Shirley temple?”

“Oh, he’s got jokes.” She rolls her eyes. “Give me a… Horsefeather.”

The bartender grins. “Alright, Dorothy.” Before slipping away.

“What the hell is a Horsefeather?”

“The drink of my people.” She says as if he should know.

“Are you like a...native American or something?” He asks earnestly.

She laughs and pats his arm. “Be thankful you’ve got your looks hun.” He gives a smile before looking down and trying to figure if he wants to react to the insult or the praise. “No. It’s a Kansas thing.”

“You’re from Kansas?”

She nods and hands the empty glass off to a rapidly clearing and clearly overworked girl behind the bar. “Yeah. Basically.”

“You don’t look like you’re from Kansas.” he narrows his eyes.

“What is that supposed to mean?” She doesn’t feel any hostility from him, as she’d learned he often spoke without thinking.

“You’re not...y’know...White. Wait. Are you?”

She lets out a louder laugh and he enjoys the sound of it. “Honestly Diego, I don’t know. No one ever told me. I don’t think Corpuz sounds white but what do I know?”

“You kinda look Asian.” He muses out loud.

“Stop before you get racist bro.” She warns playfully with a pointed finger. “And what? Asians can’t be from Kansas?”

He pauses and considers it. “You right.” He answers quietly with darting eyes that showed him piecing his newly formed opinion together.

She sees the lull in the conversation coming as he gets distracted. His round dark eyes were still blinking in thought under straight brows that were furrowed in the middle, currently concentrated. The beginnings of a beard, a heavy five o clock shadow covered the lower parts of his face but his lips that she regrettably had noticed were full and soft weren’t hidden from its length yet. A rub of his chin and a scratch through his almost fluffy short hair distracted her as his long and lean hands fidgeted with themselves. She was used to seeing his hair damp and flopped over his forehead from training. Tonight it was dry and styled up, same for his choice of clothes. Just long enough to cover his scalp but not long enough yet to look messy. He was always in black, which she respected as a fashion choice. Although for New York it wasn’t very abnormal as a color of choice.

Eve quickly turns the conversation back to distract him from his self-reflection. “Did you come with anyone tonight? You give off that lone wolf vibe and I don’t think your brother is small enough to even fit through the door.”

His face transforms back to it’s easy-going politeness as it does when he’s with her. “Yeah, I’m alone. Just wanted to not be a shitty friend and try to be supportive by coming to watch them tonight.”

“That’s very nice of you.” She praises. “I was guilt-tripped too.” They both share a small laugh.

“Well, I’m glad we both got guilt-tripped then.” A warm tone she could feel more than hear as he slid her drink her way. “How’s your… y’know...stuff going?” he offers as he wasn’t entirely sure how to conduct himself outside of their usual healing or training.

“It’s…” she sighs and wrinkles her nose. “Going?” she shrugs and presses her lips. “I don’t really want to talk about it tonight if that’s alright. I came out to just be normal for a night. And get back to being… whatever tomorrow.”

He nods supportively. “You wanna go grab this booth and just... be normal? No super shit tonight?”

“I would fucking LOVE that.”

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

Molly, the greatest wingman, stalks the bar and circles, keeping an eye on her friend who was rustier than her when it came to picking up anyone. Besides being busy, which she most certainly was, Molly was lost as to why Eve didn’t have someone. She was attractive and smart and kind. Eve was straightforward forward and most of the time that didn’t ring well with men. Eve also got into her own head too much, preoccupied with the thought of messing up, anxious that someone would take one look at her and deem her not worthy and she’d get fired and lose everything she’d worked so hard for. Perhaps her fear of being vulnerable kept her from branching out. She had a lot going for her but didn’t really see it for herself. She’d spent so long being focused on her education and career, proving herself now against the past she had on paper that she was in fact good enough. Imposter syndrome is a real bitch. Not to mention being a woman, and a minority on top of that. Or at least she assumed she was, her mother was and none of the super-powered people knew who their father was. It was enough to be a woman in the medical world, but being one with slight monolids and an ambiguous face and skin color made it even harder. If she was professional, her face was read as cold and bitchy. A strong jawline and not super soft and feminine features made her unable to pull off the damsel in distress routine to slip under the radar unassumingly with her male colleagues. She’d had a terrible upbringing, rough and wild adolescence and now was trying to find her place in the midst of having powers and navigating adult life.

But Diego understood all that. He was the only person she’d ever met that could even possibly begin to understand what she felt. So as it does, shared trauma can create intensified bonds where other’s never existed before. So perhaps that’s why she felt so at ease as soon as she understood who, or what he was. It was almost as if a built-in trust came with his intense eyes and confident actions. Feasibly, that’s why they spent the majority of the night pressed shoulder to shoulder, shouting into each other ears from inches away in a booth, smashed together by the crowd of people around them. As the number of drinks rose, the inches between their bodies dropped.

They sat together as two ordinary people, sharing musical taste and stories of shows past. They drank and laughed and to anyone else they seemed like a cute couple on a date, sitting close with no show of awkwardness between them. After you’d had someone's head between your thighs, covered in both of your sweat and bruises from your grappling the previous day, sitting together seemed like nothing. And it also felt that way, effortless.

What surprised Eve the most about the night was how easy and fun it was. The conversation kept going despite the noise. There was even harmless flirting that she was realizing was a built-in thing with Diego. He was a professional, he was raised to be able to manipulate and know how to engage with people. But she never once felt like it was fake or forced. The crinkles in the corners of his eyes when she’d be inches from his ear and make him laugh led her to believe this was all genuine no matter how unreal the whole situation that brought them together felt.

“Thanks for getting me home,” she says with no slur but the warm buzz of alcohol being felt in her stomach and face.

“Can’t let anything happen to you now can I?”

“I”m trying to not let anything happen for myself….” her eyes go distant before fumbling with her keys. “Can we do some training that’s like… I wanna be able to hit, y’know?”

“You wanna do some boxing?”

“Yeah. I think I do.” she nods and roughly shuffles into her apartment. “I wanna hit you in the face.” she says seriously before they both snort and start laughing.

“Join the long line, honey.” he says with stretching arms. “I’ll find ya some gloves.” he nods in thought. “Tomorrow, if you’re able to anyway,” he smirks,” We’ll get started on learning what it feels like to take a hit.”

“I’m not that drunk.” she says with a wrinkled nose of playful defensiveness. “I’ll chug a pedialite and be fine.”

“Spoken like a true doctor.”

“Or a true alcoholic.”

“Too bad you can’t heal your own liver huh?” he teases.

“Maybe that’s what I'll work on next.” she says as she sighs, the tiredness setting in. “My brain training. Not the body.” she clarifies. “We’ll do punch kick beat em ups and I’ll try to heal the damage this stress is causing.”

“Punch kick beat em ups?”

“Shut up I'm drunk.” They both laugh and she reaches out to hug him. He didn’t expect it but he certainly didn’t deny it.

“Oh are you THAT drunk?” he smirks and looks down at her.

“You fuckin’ wish.” she snorts into his chest before pulling away. “We were...being like..normal for a minute. For tonight, I mean. I needed it, thanks. That was… the hug, why I hugged you... to thank you.”

“You’re starting to ramble now, go on and get in bed.” he turns her body and pushes her into the apartment. “You’re welcome. I had a good time too. It was nice to just…” he shrugs. “Not be me for a few hours.”

She nods and starts sitting her things on her counter. “I know what you mean.”

“That’s some depressing shit.” he stares at nothing in particular for a moment.

There’s a pause of reflection before they both laugh again. “At least we can bitch to each other?” she offers. “I’m glad you got stabbed Diego.” she chuckles.

“What the hell?” he laughs at her as she pats his arm.

“We wouldn’t have met otherwise ya idiot!” she shoves him back into the hallway lightly.

“Oh. I thought you were having some hella mood swings or somethin’.”

“Hella? This is New York son, not Cali.” she teases. “Get out of here before you say something else stupid and I decide I can’t be friends with you anymore.”

“That's the most solid and hurtful advice I’ve been given in a while.” he tips an invisible hat to her.

“I got plenty more!” she calls out to him as he leaves. “See you tomorrow!”

He raises a hand, a cute spin to face her, and walk backward. “Get some rest. I’m beatin’ your ass tomorrow.” he gave her a big smile that they both kept on their faces long after they were out of sight.

@s-h-e-w-r-i-t-e-s @jaegeeeeer @diegos-butt @anglovesthis

#diego hargreeves #diego hargreeves fanfic #diego hargreeves fic #david castenada #the umbrella academy #diego gargeeves x ofc #diego hargreeves fan fiction #diego hargreeves au #tua #tua fic #tua fanfic #the umbrella academy fanfic

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lilulo-12fanfiction · 4 years

Text

Not Alone- Dean Winchester x Reader

This was requested by @skarsgardandredmayne with the following prompts:

31. I fucked up

73. Oh, You’re Ticklish

So the prompts took me someplace unexpected. I hope you enjoy this!

As always likes, comments, reblogs, etc are appreciated. Please let me know if you would like to be tagged in my SPN stories. I also write for Avengers, TVD, The Originals, The Flash & Arrow.

SPN Masterlist

SPN Tag List: @deans-baby-momma @fandom-princess-forevermore @magssteenkamp @blancastans @jn-wolf @waywardsistersandpie

Now: Your heart was pounding in your ears as you ran through the warehouse. You felt the cold tingles traveling your body as you willed your heart and mind to slow down. You couldn’t think straight like this. You had been desperate to prove your worth to Dean Winchester and decided to hunt what you, Sam and Dean thought was one shifter, but it turned out to be a group of 3. You wanted to show him you were a good hunter. You weren’t a liability. You were good enough.

You had killed the first shifter with ease. The second one had been more of a challenge. Now? You were out of silver bullets and out of luck. You hated yourself for having to call him. You ducked behind a pile or rubble. You felt a tear slip out of your eye and you hastily wiped it away. You could hear the sleep in his voice.

“Sweetheart it’s 1am. Why the hell are you calling me and not here in the room asleep?”

“Dean?!” He could heat the fear dripping from your voice. “I fucked up...really bad. I’m sorry...you were right...” you had to take a deep breath. “You were right about everything. This isn’t your fault. Please don’t blame yourself.”

“Whoa whoa whoa...what’s going on? Where are you?”

“The warehouse.” You whispered. “There were 3 of them. I got two, but I’m out of bullets and I can’t find my silver dagger. He knocked it out of my hand and it’s too dark. Please just know that I care about you so much.” The three of you had figured out that night where the shifters were camping out. You had decided to take the night to rest up and go at them fresh the next day. When Dean made a comment to you about making sure you had your shit together you had steeled yourself and made the decision to do this without him and Sam just to prove the point.

“Jesus Y/N...wait, don’t you say goodbye to me! I’m on my way.” You heard him yell out “Sammy!” before he hung up. At least you got to talk to him. You didn’t know if he would make it in time. You were stealthy when you were on your game, but a terrified you was clumsy and you knew your time was up when a pile of pipes clattered to the ground. You took off down the outer edge of the warehouse. If you could get outside you had a better chance. More room to run and more places to hide. As you approached the door you felt a hand grip the back of your hair and slam your head into the wall. Your vision blurred and everything faded to black.

12 Months Ago:

You felt Sam wrap his arms around your shoulder as Dean lit the pyre. You and your brother had been a hunting team like the Winchester boys. Your father had worked often with John Winchester. You and your brother had carried on the tradition with John’s sons.

The four of you had been gutting a particularly nasty vampire nest. Your brother bad gotten cocky and while he was mouthing off to one, another one ripped his throat out. You and Dean couldn’t get to him in time. You had beheaded the vampire that had killed your brother while Dean and Sam took out the other 3. Now he was gone. Your father was gone. You were an orphan and all alone. Hot tears fell down your cheeks.

“I’m so sorry sweetheart, he was a good man.” Dean has muttered as he came to you and Sam. The two of you had a love-hate relationship. He loved to tease you-and you hated how much you loved it. The flirtation was fierce.

“Y/N- Dean and I talked, we want you to come stay with us at the bunker. We have plenty of room and this way you won’t be off on your own.” You looked over at Dean, but he had the face of a skilled poker player. You couldn’t tell if they had agreed upon it or if Sam had insisted on it. You and Sam were good friends. You knew Sam wanted you around, you couldn’t tell with Dean.

“Okay. But only for a little while.”

8 Months Ago

“C’mon sweetheart. Take me down. Fight me. You’re a big bad hunter right? You can fight demons, wendigos and everything else that goes bump in the night. You can’t take on me?”

He was goading you. It was his favorite past time. Well that and flirting mercilessly with you when you both were drinking, usually as an apology for criticizing you on cases. He was extra hard on you. You had heard Sam admonish him for it. Dean always blew it off.

Right now, he was frustrating you. He knew he was getting under your skin. He resided there as of late. He knew getting you going would make you sloppy. He easily caught you as you lunged at him in the gym located in the bunker. He easily caught your leg and before you knew it, you were flat in your back with the wind knocked out of you.

He had a smirk on his smug face and a glint in his green eyes. You couldn’t help but admire the crinkle of skin next to his eyes when he thought something was funny. He always smiled with his eyes. You weren’t sure if it was the man hovering above you or the impact on the mats that cost you your ability to breath.

“Sweetheart you have to do better than that If you’re going to best me.” He leaned down to whisper in your ear. As his hand ghosted the skin of your stomach you squirmed with an involuntary giggle.

“Oh...are you ticklish?” The mischief in his eyes gave him away. He had you pinned to the mat with his knees on each side of your hips and your wrists pinned above your head with one hand. You knew he was strong, but you didn't expect him to be able to hold you down so easily. Maybe it was because you didn't mind it.

"Dean- please don't." you begged for her mercy. Luckily just before he was able to deny you, Sam had walked in effectively dumping cold water on the interaction. From that day forward, Dean never gave up the opportunity to tickle you just a little bit any time he had the opportunity to torture you.

5 Months Ago

You sat in the library reading one of the random books you had grabbed from off of the shelf. The boys were off on a vampire hunt, after your brother, you weren't ready to revisit that wound so you decided to stay behind. Dean had sent Castiel to stay at the bunker with you. Why he thought you couldn't handle yourself, you didn't quite understand. You and your brother had split up on plenty of occasions and you were still standing. His lack of faith in you was starting to grate on your nerves. You would get ready to give him a piece of your mind but then he would give you these intense looks with his sea green eyes and you'd back down and agree to whatever terms he set. Sam couldn't get over it. Any time he gave the mere suggestion that you step back and let them handle something you went up one side of him and down the other. With Dean...you just couldn't and part of you hated him for it.

"Y/N?" Cas' voice pulled you out of your thoughts. You jumped at the sound of his gravely voice. "I apologize for startling you. I just wanted to make sure you were alright."

"Yeah...I'm fine. Why?" He stared at you intently. Cas had a way of making you feel that he could see right through you.

"Well I know it's not really normal for you to skip out on the action. Dean mentioned that this particular case might bring up some memories for you." You took a breath and closed your eyes to compose yourself. The truth was, you couldn't get the image of your brother's lifeless body out of your head. You knew you would be distracted if you went, you would be a liability. Cas put his hand on your shoulder.

"He wasn't wrong. I just...it's been a year since I lost him and it's still so fresh. I feel like I can't breath any time I think about him. With them hunting vampires, I just couldn't. I didn't want to be distracted. I didn't want them to have to save my ass because I couldn't keep it together. I didn't want to prove Dean right about being a liability." You could feel the back of your throat constricting. You were desperate to hold your tears back. You dug deep and looked up at Castiel. He had his head tilted slightly to the left as he studied you.

"Y/N...Dean doesn't see you as a liability. In fact, I've never heard Dean say one disparaging thing about you. He admires you." You scoffed.

"Thanks Cas for being here. I appreciate it. I think I'm going to go lay down for a bit." He pulled his hand from your shoulder and watched curiously as you headed to your little corner of the bunker.

2 Months Ago

You choked as you took a sip of your drink. You watched as Dean's eyes crinkled as he watched you. "Yeah...that is straight Jack Daniels...not a drop of coke in sight." You and Dean had just finished a salt and burn. A "milk run" as Dean had put it. Sam had needed some space from everyone. Every once in a while, one of the three of you just needed some room to breath. Since it was an easy case, Sam stayed behind to catch up on some sleep. The ghoul case you had finished prior had taken a lot out of him. Plus you were certain if he had to listen to you and Dean bicker in the close quarters of the Impala he might murder you both.

"I thought you were tougher than that." he laughed as you smacked him in the arm. You felt him pinch your side and you jumped away and laughed. He studied your face for a moment. It wasn't often he saw you genuinely happy, not since your brother had died. His death was a constant burden on your mind.. "You should do that more often."

“Almost choke?” You grinned.

“Laugh...smile. You light the place up sweetheart. Look, I know it’s been a hard year. God knows I know how hard it is. But he would want you to let go, to really be happy. You deserve it. I know you blame yourself...but it wasn’t your fault.”

You studied his face. It was rare that Dean expresses genuine emotion. It was rare that Dean wasn’t giving you a hard time. The mention of your brother had you rapidly blinking for a moment to compose yourself. You felt the intensity of his gaze increase. Finally you met his eyes again.

“Thanks Dean. I know you’re right...about him wanting me to be happy. I promise I’m trying. Being with you and Sam helps. I didn’t plan on sticking around this long; but the truth is, I can’t imagine leaving. You guys have become my family. I couldn’t do this alone.” He put his hand over yours as it rested on the bar and squeezed it.

“You don’t have to. We ARE your family. Me, Sammy and Cas. We got you Y/N. Your place is with us. You are not alone.” You felt your heart rate quicken. His damn eyes got you every time. It was the little crinkles in the corners.

The two of you spent the night drinking and telling funny stories about your brothers. It was a good night. It was the most fun you had in a long time. As you both stumbled back to the motel Dean took your hand in his and pulled you to him. His hand tangled in the back of your hair and he kissed you.

He captured your bottom lip in his teeth before exploring your mouth with his tongue as his other hand cupped your face. You had the lapels of his canvas jacket gripped in your hands. After a few moments sense took over your brain. As much as you wanted this, he was drunk. Sober Dean wouldn’t do this, so you pulled away and he studied your face with questioning eyes.

“We shouldn’t Dean. We’re drunk. I don’t want you to regret anything.” You thought you saw a look of hurt cross his eyes.

“Right. You’re right.” He stifly opened the door and you followed him into the room. He didn’t say another word to you that night.

The next morning, whatever warmness that had developed between the two of you had frosted over. Maybe you had been wrong about him having regrets.

“Dean- about last night...”

“It’s fine. No regrets right?” His voice had a little snap to it. You stared at the back of his head with shock. The ride back to the bunker was painfully quiet. The frost between the two of you grew from there.

A week ago

“Dammit Y/N!” Dean slammed the motel room door. Sam got to work at digging the bullet out of your shoulder. The three of you had been after a demon. You saw the gun before Dean did. You ran and shoved him out of the way. The bullet would most likely have been a fatal shot had you not pushed him out of the way.

“You should be thanking me for saving your ass! You didn’t see the gun.”

“Maybe I would be paying better attention if I wasn’t worried about making sure you didn’t get yourself killed!”

“Excuse you. I was hunting well before I met you. I don’t need you to protect me.”

“If I didn’t look out for you, you’d be dead by now! You’re off of your game and you’re a liability. You’re reckless with your own life. You don’t care what happens to you. Since your brother died.”

“Dean...” Sam’s tone was warning.

“No Sammy. Enough. I can’t watch you lose someone else. You may have been a good hunter. But you’re not anymore. Not like this. Not when you act like you have something to prove. I don’t need your death on my shoulders. There’s enough blood on my hands.” Dean stormed out of the room. You sat blinking back tears. So much for being where you belonged.

Now You could hear their voices, but it was impossible to open your eyes. It was like they were lined with lead.

“Cas if you healed her why isn’t she awake?” Dean’s voice was frantic.

“It was a pretty serious head wound and then the stab wound to her stomach was deep. She lost a lot of blood. She just needs some time.”

“I said horrible things to her after our last hunt. That’s why she did this. I didn’t even mean it! I was just so damn scared when she took that bullet for me. She has to know I’m sorry.”

“Dean...” Sam’s soothing voice echoed as you fell back to sleep. A few hours later you groaned as you stirred awake.

“Y/N...sweetheart. Open your eyes.” You felt Dean’s calloused hand run over your forehead and through your hair.

“You found me.” Your voice was horse. You blinked a few times to pull him into focus. “I was so stupid. I’m so sorry. I just wanted to show you I could still do it.”

“Shhh. Don’t you apologize. If I hadn’t lost it on you, this wouldn’t have happened. I was afraid of loosing you and I took it out on you. I’ve been taking it out on you since you turned me down.”

“Oh my God you’re dumber than I am. I didn’t turn you down. I just thought you were drunk and would regret it." The way he was looking at you took your breath away.

"Sweetheart I could never regret anything with you except for the way I acted." He helped you sit up on your bed. You looked around, they had gotten you back to the bunker. "When we got to that warehouse, the shifter had you hanging by your wrists, blood was dripping down the side of your head. They knew I was coming for you and they wanted to make you suffer in front of us. It was one of the worst moments in my life. The idea of not bringing you home. Of not listening to you sing to yourself when you make coffee in the morning, of you not calling me out on my shit and giving me a hard time, it was too much to take. They didn't know Sammy was there, and he got him from behind right after he stabbed you in the gut. If it were for Cas...well...we wouldn't be having this conversation." You threw your arms around his neck and squeezed him.

"I'm sorry Dean. I shouldn't have gone off like that. I know better. I was just so determined to show you I was still as good as I was before my brother. I was determined to prove that I wasn't a burden." Your hot tears hit his neck and you felt his hand cradle the back of your head.

"You are NOT a burden and you're an excellent hunter. We all have off days, especially after going through loss. God knows I've had my fair share of off moments and mistakes. I shouldn't have thrown it in your face. I was just trying to push you so you wouldn't ever put yourself in the line of fire for me again. I'm so sorry." You pulled back to study his face, he smiled at you and wiped the tears from your eyes.

"There isn't anything you could ever do to push me away." Before he could respond you pressed your lips to his. It took a moment for the shock to wear off and then he was kissing you back. You both jumped back when you heard Sam clear his throat.

"I was just peaking in to check on Y/N. I'm glad to see you're awake. You really gave us a scare." He smiled at both of you. "Oh...and it's about time guys." He walked out of the room chuckling.

"Y/N...I'm not great at relationships. Every single one I've had ended in one way or another because of this life."

"That's what makes you so perfect for me. Because I've dealt with the same thing. But we're both in this life. We're in this together." Dean pressed a light kiss to your lips.

"I promise you...I will do everything in my power to make this work. But there's plenty of time for all of this. You should rest. Slide over." You shifted your body to the left and Dean climbed into your bed with you and wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pulled you into him. You fell back to sleep listening to the steady beat of his heart.

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