•Summary : Reader thinks she definitely doesn’t have feelings for Adrian. Then one night he shows up bleeding through her bedroom window, and suddenly pretending not to care becomes a lot harder.
•Pink lines are Reader's. Blue lines are Adrian's.
The next morning feels… strange.
Warm.
Quiet.
Safe.
For a few blissfully sleepy seconds, you stay curled beneath your blanket with your eyes closed, still half-lost in the memory of last night.
Adrian beside you. His arm brushing yours. The warmth of his body next to yours.
And then your brain finally wakes up enough to realise…
The bed is empty.
Your eyes snap open immediately.
Nothing beside you except wrinkled sheets.
A weird ache hits your chest so suddenly it almost annoys you.
You sit up slowly, staring at the empty spot beside you.
Last night flashes through your mind again:
Adrian in your clothes
Adrian half-asleep beside you
Adrian’s arms around you
Adrian looking way too happy over the tiniest things
You press your lips together.
Of course he left.
It’s Adrian. He probably woke up at sunrise and climbed back out the window like the vigilante he claims himself to be.
The thought makes your chest hurt worse for some reason.
Which is ridiculous.
You barely have time to spiral before you hear noises from the kitchen.
Cabinet doors. A pan clattering. Someone muttering: “Okay, eggs... here...”
You freeze.
Then immediately get out of bed and walk toward the kitchen.
And there he is ... •_•
Adrian Chase standing at your stove shirtless, with your oversized t-shirt tossed over one shoulder while he pokes at something cooking in a pan.
Your brain stops functioning instantly.
“ADRIAN!?”
That’s when he turns around.
And the smile that spreads across his face is so stupidly adorable it physically destabilizes you.
“Oh” he says brightly. “Hey, y/n.”
Like this is normal.
Like he isn’t standing in your kitchen half-naked making breakfast at eight in the morning.
“I thought I’d make food for both of us” he explains. “I hope you’re not mad ”
You blink several times trying to reboot your nervous system.
“Adrian, no, you should be resting.”
“ohh I'm well rested.”
“You’re cooking.”
“Yeah, great observation 😃.”
“ °_° ”
Adrian waves a spatula dismissively. “I slept really well last night. I feel great actually ”
You narrow your eyes suspiciously.
Because now that you’re seeing him properly in daylight…
His injuries look better.
Not healed-healed.
But definitely better than last night.
The bruising looks lighter. Some cuts already started closing. There’s still dried blood across his torso, but somehow he looks significantly less wrecked.
You frown slightly. “…Huh.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Adrian points the spatula at the table. “You sit. Breakfast is almost done.”
And weirdly…
You obey
You grab a water bottle first before sitting at the table watching him move around your kitchen like he belongs there.
Which honestly feels way too domestic.
Adrian carries the plates over carefully and sets one in front of you proudly.
And unfortunately for your sanity, his torso remains VERY visible the entire time.
You stare for one disastrous second too long.
Adrian catches you instantly.
Again.
Always
“Why are you shirtless?” you ask quickly, trying to recover. “Put your shirt back on.”
Adrian’s mouth curls immediately.
Tiny smug smile.
“…Are they distracting you?”
You choke on your own water.
Your eyes narrow at him slowly.
Oh NOW he decides not to be tone-deaf anymore.
Interesting.
“I’m serious.”
“I know” Adrian says innocently, which makes it worse somehow.
Then he glances down at himself dramatically.
“To be fair, this is probably my best feature.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“But correct.”
You throw a napkin at him.
Adrian laughs softly before finally pulling the shirt back on.
Which honestly does NOT help because now your oversized shirt is stretched across his chest and arms again.
Different problem. Same suffering.
Breakfast passes surprisingly peacefully after that.
Mostly because Adrian keeps getting distracted talking about random animal facts.
Then suddenly he asks:
“Can I borrow one of your bags?”
You blink. “…Why?”
“So I can carry my Vigilante suit” he says casually. “I can’t exactly walk around holding it. What if people find out?”
You stare at him.
“…Adrian. You literally climb through my window in that costume.”
“it's not a costume, it's a suit. Also I told you I was careful. ”
You decide not to unpack that.
Instead you grab one of your spare bags and hand it to him.
Adrian immediately starts stuffing the bloodied suit inside.
And that’s when it hits you.
He’s leaving.
Again that weird sadness creeps into your chest.
You hate it.
You hate how quickly you got used to him being here.
“So…” you say carefully. “You’re leaving?”
Adrian nods. “Yeah. I gotta go to work.”
“…Right.”
Your voice comes out quieter than intended.
Adrian pauses.
His brows knit slightly.
Because suddenly you look sad again and he has NO idea why
He watches you for a second while you avoid eye contact.
Then slowly:
“You can come to the restaurant later.”
You look up.
“Before my shift ends. Dinner's on me :)” Adrian continues casually. “Then we can go watch a movie at my place.”
The invitation comes out so naturally.
Like he already assumes spending more time together is the obvious next step.
And honestly?
You kind of love that about him.
Adrian looks mildly surprised when you answer immediately:
“Okay.”
“…Really?”
“Don’t make it weird.”
“I wasn’t gonna make it weird.”
“You absolutely were.”
“Fair.”
••••
Later that evening, you’re curled beside Adrian on his couch while some action movie plays in the background.
Well.
Technically plays.
Because your attention keeps drifting toward him instead.
Adrian is ridiculously focused on the movie.
Completely invested.
Eyes locked on the screen with genuine excitement every time something explodes.
And unfortunately…
He looks adorable
You glance at the space between you.
Then slowly scoot a little closer.
Adrian doesn’t react.
Still watching the movie.
You scoot closer again.
Still nothing.
Eventually your shoulder brushes his arm.
And before your brain can overthink it further, you lean against him fully.
Snuggling into his side.
Adrian goes completely still for half a second.
Internally? He is ASCENDING.
This is all he’s ever wanted:
his favorite movie
his favorite person (don't tell Chris)
cuddling on the couch
But somehow he manages to stay calm.
Barely.
His arms slowly wrap around you carefully.
Warm. Protective.
You melt into him embarrassingly fast.
The movie continues quietly for another minute before Adrian suddenly says:
“…Sooo. Do you like me?”
You freeze.
Adrian keeps looking at the TV.
Completely casual.
“Because I like you.”
Your head slowly lifts to glare at him.
But then you see his expression.
That stupid adorable hopeful face.
Soft eyes. Tiny nervous smile.
And your entire argument dies instantly.
You sigh dramatically.“…Ugh. This is not fair.”Adrian brightens immediately. “So that’s a yes?”
“I guess I do.”
His whole face LIGHTS UP
Then you immediately point at him threateningly.
“Again. DO NOT tell anybody.”
Adrian nods seriously.
“Okay.”
Pause.
“…Can I tell Eagly?”
You stare at him.
“…Maybe.”
• Summary : Reader thinks she definitely doesn’t have feelings for Adrian.
Then one night he shows up bleeding through her bedroom window, and suddenly pretending not to care becomes a lot harder.
•Pink lines are Reader's . Blue lines are Adrian's
♡★♡★♡★♡★♡★♡★♡★♡★♡★♡★♡★♡★♡★♡★♡★
After the bathroom conversation, the apartment settles into something quieter.
Softer.
The kind of silence that only happens very late at night when the world finally gets tired enough to stop buzzing.
Adrian is now sitting on the edge of the side table besides your bed . While you stand near your wardrobe pretending to find him some clothes, when really you’re trying to recover from the fact that this man casually shattered your emotional defense ten minutes ago .
Because seriously.
(flash back - few minutes ago. In bathroom.)
You asked him: “Why did you come to me?”
And Adrian, without hesitation, had shrugged and answered:
“Because you make me feel safe.”
Just like that.
Like it was obvious.
Like it wasn’t the kind of sentence that could rearrange somebody’s ribcage.
You had stared at him after that.
Actually speechless.
And Adrian, completely unaware of the emotional grenade he’d just tossed into your lap, had only tilted his head slightly and added:
“You yell at me a lot, but like… in a worried way.”
You nearly passed away on the spot.
And then somehow he made it WORSE by asking:
“Can I stay tonight? I can sleep on the couch. Please?”
“Chris took my car” he added.
Like he hadn’t just said one of the purest things anyone had ever said to you.
Like your heart wasn’t currently doing acrobatics inside your chest.
Now you glance over at him again and sigh quietly.
It’s Adrian Chase.
Of course he doesn’t realise the weight of what he says.
You cross your arms. “You can stay.”
His whole face lights up immediately.
“Really?”
“You’re injured, Adrian. I’m not throwing you out a window.”
“I came in through the window :)”
“I know Adrian , I saw that. And that reminds me, stop doing that. Knock on the door like a normal person”
“it's not fun that way :(”
(back to present)
You rub your forehead tiredly before pointing toward the bathroom.
“Go change first. I’ll get you clothes.”
Adrian stands obediently and starts peeling the Vigilante suit down as he walks.
And unfortunately for YOU…
You turn around at the exact wrong moment.
Your brain short-circuits instantly
Because now you’re seeing him properly from a distance instead of through panic and first aid and blood.
Broad shoulders. Defined torso. Bruises scattered across skin you’re trying VERY hard not to stare at.
You stare anyway for approximately two disastrous seconds before catching yourself.
Adrian notices immediately.
His expression shifts into this ridiculous combination of:
shy
smug
adorably pleased
trying not to smile too hard
Which somehow makes it worse.
You immediately turn away and grab clothes from your wardrobe with the urgency.
“Bathroom” you say firmly, shoving the clothes toward him.
Adrian takes them slowly, still looking at you like he just won the lottery.
Then you physically close the bathroom door for him
“Privacy” you mutter.
“Wow” Adrian says from behind the door. “This is, like, super intimate.”
“PUT THE CLOTHES ON.”
A few minutes later the bathroom door opens.
And unfortunately…
The oversized clothes are not oversized on him.
At all.
The sweatpants sit low on his hips because there’s barely enough drawstring left to tie. The sleeves of your t-shirt stretch around his arms perfectly.
It does something deeply terrible to your nervous system.
Adrian notices you looking again.
This time he smiles openly.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You looked for, like… four whole seconds.”
“You’re hallucinating.”
“Am not.”
You immediately point toward the bed. “You sleep there.”
“Nope.”
“What do you mean nope?”
“It’s your bed.”
“You’re injured.”
“You’re soft.”
“That’s not relevant.”
You stare at him.
Adrian stares back confidently.
The two of you continue arguing for another five minutes.
“You take the bed.” “No, YOU take the bed.” “You literally got stabbed.” “Barely.” “THAT’S NOT BETTER.”
Finally Adrian pauses dramatically.
Then: “…What if we both sleep on the bed?”
The sentence hangs in the air.
Adrian immediately tries to act normal afterward even though internally he is ABSOLUTELY panicking
Because yes, he has imagined this before. Frequently. Embarrassingly frequently.
You look at him suspiciously.
“No, Adrian. I’ll sleep on the couch. I really want you to take the bed.”
“Nope.”
You just stare at him with zero emotions.
“If you’re not sleeping on the bed then I won’t either.”
“You are unbelievably stubborn.”
“You like that about me.”
“...I never said that”
Eventually, after more arguing that drains the remaining life force out of both of you, you finally agree to share the bed.
The lights go off soon after.
The room falls dark and quiet.
There’s still plenty of space between you.
Too much space, honestly.
You lie there staring at the ceiling while Adrian stays perfectly still beside you.
And the weirdest feeling starts building in your chest.
Because you hate sharing beds.
You hate feeling crowded. You hate people invading your space. You usually sleep better alone.
So why does the distance between you and Adrian suddenly feel… wrong?
You glance toward him carefully.
Even in the dark you can make out his shape beside you.
The shirt. His arms. The way he’s sleeping weirdly close to the edge of the bed.
You frown.
“…Adrian.”
Immediately: “Yeah?”
So he was awake 😭
“You’re gonna fall off the bed.”
“I’m strategically positioned.”
“That’s not strategic. Move over.”
Adrian obeys instantly.
Too instantly.
You narrow your eyes suspiciously while he scoots closer.
Then silence again.
Your heartbeat gets annoyingly loud.
Slowly… carefully…
You move closer too.
Just enough that your sides barely touch.
Your head rests lightly near his arm without putting pressure on his injuries.
Adrian stops breathing for approximately three business days.
You can FEEL how excited he suddenly is trying to stay still
So before he says something ridiculous, you mumble quickly:
“Don’t say a word.”
“…Okay.”
“And if you tell anybody about this, I’ll kill you myself.”
Another pause.
Then very softly:
“…Worth it.”
•Summary : Reader thinks she definitely doesn’t have feelings for Adrian.
Then one night he shows up bleeding through her bedroom window, and suddenly pretending not to care becomes a lot harder.
•Pink lines are Reader's . Blue lines are Adrian's
~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•
The first thing you hear is your window opening. Not knocking. Not footsteps near the front door like a civilized human being .
Just: shhk. The sound of your bedroom window sliding upward at two in the morning.
You jolt upright immediately, heart nearly exploding out of your chest
“What the fu-”
A dark figure climbs halfway through your window and immediately whispers: “Don’t scream.”
You grab the nearest thing on your nightstand and throw it on instinct.
The figure barely dodges it. “Ow! Jesus Christ!” And honestly? That voice is so recognisable that your fear evaporates instantly into pure annoyance.
“…Adrian.” Adrian Chase finally tumbles the rest of the way into your room wearing his Vigilante suit halfway unzipped and smeared with dirt and blood.
You stare at him. Then at the open window. Then back at him. “You know doors exist, right?”
“I didn’t want your neighbors seeing me.”
“You are literally dressed like a power ranger.”
“Yeah, but I'm careful” You open your mouth to argue again. Then you finally notice the way he’s standing. Slightly hunched. One hand pressed against his side.And suddenly your irritation turns cold.
“…What happened?”
Adrian immediately straightens. “Nothing.”
“There’s blood.”
“It’s mostly internal probably.”
“ADRIAN.” He winces slightly at your tone. Okay. Yeah. That’s bad.
You push the blankets off and walk toward him quickly, grabbing his wrist before he can pretend he’s fine again.
“You and Chris went without telling anybody, didn’t you?” Adrian avoids eye contact immediately. Which is basically a confession. You let out a furious breath. “You are BOTH idiots.”
“We solved it though.”
“You could’ve died though!”
“But we didn't.”
“uuuuugggghhhhh” you say in frustration.
Adrian watches you drag him toward the bathroom with this weird little expression he always gets when you’re paying attention to him. Like he enjoys it even when you’re yelling.
“You sound really worried” he says.
“I AM worried!”
“…Nice.” You glare at him over your shoulder. “You are concussed”
“Chris said it doesn't look that bad.”
You immediately whip your head towards him “YOU ACTUALLY GOT HIT ON THE HEAD!!!!” . Adrian gulps “No...” (seeing how you will react to his lie) . You just shake your head like a disappointed mother and sigh.
You push him down onto the bathroom counter and start pulling out the first aid kit with shaking hands. Adrian sits there surprisingly obedient for once.
Probably because he’s tired. Or because you’re mad. Or because he likes when you fuss over him and he’s psychologically bizarre. Probably all three.
You unzip part of his suit carefully and immediately regret having eyes. There are bruises already darkening along his ribs and cuts scattered across his torso. Nothing life-threatening. But enough to make your stomach twist.
You hate injuries. Always have. Even during missions you have to look away sometimes when things get too graphic. And now you’re staring directly at Adrian covered in cuts while trying not to panic.
Your hands shake while cleaning one of the wounds. Adrian notices immediately. “You okay?”
“No.”
“…Is it because of the blood?”
“No.” Technically true. It’s because it’s his blood 😭
You clean another scrape carefully while muttering under your breath. “You’re reckless.” “I know.” “You don’t think before doing things.” “Sometimes I do.” “Not enough.” “Probably true.”
The conversation falls quiet after that. Just the sound of running water and your uneven breathing.
Adrian watches you the whole time. Not in a creepy way.
Well. Okay maybe slightly in a creepy way because he’s Adrian.
But mostly soft. Attentive. Like he’s fascinated by the fact you care this much.
You reach for a bandaid near the sink, pushing your hair back quickly with your wrist. And that’s when Adrian finally sees your face properly.
The tear tracks you tried wiping away earlier. The wetness gathering in your lashes. The way your mouth keeps trembling every few seconds. His entire expression changes instantly.
“…Hey.” You keep looking down. “Hey” he says again, quieter this time. “Why are you crying?” The confusion in his voice almost breaks your heart further because he genuinely doesn’t understand.
You finally look up at him with watery angry eyes. “Because of you, idiot.” Adrian blinks. “What?” “You got hurt!” “I know, but I’m the one injured.” “Yes, exactly!”
He still looks lost . You let out a frustrated sound and set the bandaid down harder than necessary. “What if something happened to you, huh?” you snap, voice cracking halfway through.
“You keep doing reckless stupid things and one day you’re gonna go too far and then you... you...” Your throat closes before you can finish the sentence.
Adrian goes very still. Because suddenly he understands. Oh. OH. You’re not crying because injuries upset you. You’re crying because he got hurt. And for maybe the first time in his life, Adrian Chase genuinely does not know what to do with someone caring about him this much .
You’re wiping angrily at your face now, clearly embarrassed by your own crying. “I hate this” you mumble shakily. “I hate patching people up and I hate blood and I hate that you scared me and...” Your words cut off softly when Adrian reaches for your wrist. Careful. Slow enough not to startle you. Then gently pulls you closer until you’re standing between his knees. Your eyes widen immediately. “Adrian, don’t move too much, you’re hurt...” But he just wraps his arms around you anyway. Not tightly. Just enough to tuck you against his chest.
You freeze instantly, terrified of hurting him. Adrian notices that too. “I’m okay” he says quietly. You don’t move. “I mean it.” “…You’re literally bleeding.” “Ohh don't worry I just need to rest and then I'll be all right”
“I’m okay” he repeats softly. “See? I climbed through your window and everything.” “That’s not normal people behavior.” “Maybe not for the weak”
That startles a tiny wet laugh out of you. Adrian brightens immediately. “There it is.” You bury your face against his shoulder carefully.
And Adrian, who is catastrophically unequipped to handle emotions properly, just starts patting your back in the weirdest rhythm imaginable . (That one scene of Adrian patting Chris's back 😂😭)
You huff another laugh against him. Adrian’s chin rests lightly against the top of your head .
Then after a quiet moment he says “…So you DO like me.” You immediately pull back enough to glare at him. “This is what you got from this conversation?” “You cried over me.” “Because you were injured!”
“And you were emotionally injured :)”
“I’m going to reopen your wounds.” Adrian grins slightly. “You’re holding me really gently for someone threatening violence.” Your face heats instantly. He notices that too, obviously.
Which only makes him look more pleased with himself . “You act all cold” he says softly, almost teasing now. “But secretly you’re like…” He gestures vaguely toward your tear-stained face. “This.”
You groan and hide your face in his shoulder again. Adrian hugs you immediately like he won something.
Reader finds out task force 141 team went to a strip-club
‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡
Theme : Silly, Crack fic
Pairing : TF 141 x Reader (platonic relationship)
Summary: Reader can't hold in their laughter, imagining these “serious soldiers” in a strip-club.
(Just a stupid thing that came to my mind)
~∞~∞~∞~∞~∞~∞~∞~∞~∞~∞~∞~∞~∞~∞~∞~∞~∞~∞~
“You went where?” You ask.
You’re trying.
You really are trying to keep a straight face.
But it’s already slipping.
Soap shrugs like it’s nothing.
“A strip-club. What about it?”
That does it.
Your lips press together so hard they start trembling.
“Nothing” you say quickly. “Nothing at all.”
Gaz glances at you.
“…then why do you look like that.”
“What do you mean like that...”
You snort.
Actually snort.
Then clap a hand over your mouth.
“I’m fine... I’m fine...”
You are not fine.
Soap narrows his eyes.
“Why are you laughing.”
That’s it.
You break.
“I’m sorry...” you gasp, doubling over slightly. “I’m sorry, I just...”
You try to breathe.
You fail.
“I just imagined...” you wheeze, pointing vaguely at them... “all of you... sitting there...”
You look at Soap.
Then Ghost.
Then Price.
And that makes it worse.
“Like it’s a briefing 😭”
Silence.
You lose it.
“Just... just sitting there all serious...” you continue between laughs, “like... like... ‘yes, very good form, carry on’...”
Gaz turns away, already trying not to laugh.
Soap looks offended.
“The hell does that mean??”
“I don’t know!” you cry. “I just... I can’t picture you guys acting normal in a place like that...”
You wipe your eyes.
“Do you just sit there?? Politely?? Like you’re attending a presentation??”
Ghost shifts slightly in the corner.
“…we sit, yes.”
That absolutely destroys you.
“NO...” you point at him, laughing harder... “don’t say it like that... that makes it worse...”
Price exhales, rubbing his temple.
“It’s not as ridiculous as you’re making it sound.”
You look at him.
Then imagine it again.
Him. Sitting there. Completely composed.
Watching.
Like it’s just another meeting.
You collapse against the nearest surface.
“I can’t... I actually can’t...”
Soap crosses his arms.
“You’re making it weird.”
“I’M making it weird??” you shoot back, still laughing. “You lot are the ones going out like that...”
You pause.
Squint slightly.
“…wait.”
Oh no.
Another thought hits.
“How does it even work??”
They all look at you.
“Like... do you just sit there the whole time?? Do you... interact?? Do you clap???”
Soap blinks.
“…clap?”
Soap looks genuinely offended now.
“Why would we clap??”
“I don’t KNOW...” you say defensively, laughing again.... “what’s the etiquette?? Is there etiquette??”
Gaz fully turns away now, shoulders shaking.
“It’s not a bloody theatre!” Soap says.
“hhhaaahh okay!? And like...” you continue, unable to stop... “do you guys just... leave after?? Like ‘good evening, thank you for your time’...”
“Alright” Price cuts in.
Firm.
But there’s the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
You straighten immediately.
“…I’ll be quiet now.”
Silence.
Three seconds.
You glance at Ghost again.
“Did you tip properly?”
Ghost is just staring at you with his emotionless eyes.
“Did you just... hold the money?? Like... waiting?? 😭”. You add.
Ghost sighs, “I am not having this conversation...”
You turn to Soap.
He’s staring at you.
You bite your lip.
Fail.
“Sorry...” you whisper.
Then immediately...
“🌝👀”
Gaz loses it.
Soap throws his hands up.
Ghost exhales sharply through his nose.
Price turns away before he cracks.
And you?
You’re still standing there...
barely holding it together...
After Daniel points it out.
Everything gets worse.
Not because anything changes.
But because now you’re aware.
You don’t look at him (Buck) anymore.
Not once.
Not even by accident.
You’ve trained yourself.
Eyes down. Work only. Move quickly. Speak only when necessary.
It’s working.
Technically.
But Buck notices the change immediately.
Because the pattern didn’t disappear…
It flipped.
Before:
You looked at him too often.
Now:
You don’t look at him at all.
That’s not normal.
He watches it over the next few days.
You pass him in the hallway…
Head down.
When you are spoken to…
You respond politely, softly, barely lifting your gaze to him.
Deliberate. He thinks
That makes it… intentional.
And Buck doesn’t like unexplained changes.
••••••
Next day :
You don’t know why you were called.
That’s the problem.
It wasn’t Daniel. Not your usual work. Not a file. Not a correction.
It was him.
Buck.
He didn’t explain much. Just said...
“Come with me.”
And you did.
Now you’re in the car.
Passenger seat.
Hands folded too tightly in your lap.
The city fades behind you slowly, buildings thinning, roads getting quieter, longer stretches of nothing.
You notice it.
And your stomach starts to twist.
You glance at him.
Just once.
Buck is focused on the road. One hand on the wheel. Expression neutral. Like this is routine.
Like this is normal.
It doesn’t feel normal.
You look out the window.
Then back at him.
Then away again.
Your thoughts spiral quietly.
Did you mess something up?
You go through everything in your head...
Files. Reports. Conversations. Emails.
Nothing stands out.
But something must have.
Right?
You risk it.
“…sir?”
No response at first.
Then
“Yes.”
You swallow.
“…where are we going?”
Simple question.
Your voice is small.
Careful.
Buck doesn’t look at you.
“Outside the city.”
That’s it.
That’s all he gives you.
Your chest tightens.
“…for what, sir?”
A pause.
Short.
Then...
“There’s something that needs to be handled.”
That...
That doesn’t help.
At all.
You look down at your hands.
Your fingers are starting to tremble.
You press them together harder, trying to stop it.
You glance at him again.
This time...
He looks back.
Just briefly.
And you...
You look away instantly.
Like you got caught doing something wrong.
Buck notices that.
The silence stretches again.
Longer this time.
He doesn’t fill it.
He never does.
The road gets emptier.
Quieter.
Too quiet.
Your breathing gets uneven.
You try to control it.
Try to stay calm.
But your mind is already running ahead...
This isn’t normal.
This isn’t work.
This isn’t routine.
The car slows.
Then stops.
Your heart feels like it drops into your stomach.
Buck turns the engine off.
The silence that follows is heavier than anything before it.
You don’t move.
You don’t even look up.
“Out” he says.
Not harsh.
Just… instruction.
You nod quickly.
“y-yes, sir…”
Your hands feel cold as you reach for the door.
You step out.
The air is different here.
Still.
Too still.
You look around.
There’s nothing.
No people.
No buildings.
Just open space and quiet that feels… wrong.
Your chest tightens.
This is it.
Buck steps out on his side.
Closes the door.
Walks around the front of the car.
Calm. Measured. Like always.
You stand there.
Frozen.
Waiting.
He stops a few feet away from you.
Looks at you.
And for the first time...
Really looks.
“You’ve been distracted” he says.
Your throat tightens.
“I... I’m sorry, sir... I didn’t mean to...”
“You’ve also been avoiding me.”
That hits harder.
Your eyes sting.
“I wasn’t... I mean... I just...”
You can’t form the words.
Your chest feels tight.
Too tight.
Buck watches you carefully now.
Something shifts in his expression.
Not suspicion.
Something else.
“I don’t tolerate uncertainty” he says.
And that...
That sounds final.
Shit! You think
Your breath catches.
Your eyes blur.
This is it.
Your voice comes out small.
Barely steady. Like a murmur. Barely above a whisper
“…are you going to kill me?”
Silence.
Complete.
Buck blinks.
Just once.
Like he didn’t hear that right.
Your eyes are glossy now.
Tears sitting right there, ready to fall.
“I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to mess anything up... I tried to do everything right...”
Your voice shakes.
“I’ll fix it, I will... I won’t look, I won’t... I won’t do anything wrong again...”
Your breathing breaks.
“Please don’t kill me.”
Buck goes still.
Completely still.
And then...
He reaches inside his jacket.
You see the movement.
Sharp. Sudden.
Gun.
It has to be.
Your eyes shut immediately.
Tight.
Your whole body tenses.
“Please don’t...” your voice cracks, “please don’t kill me... I’ll do anything you say... I’ll fix it, I swear... I won’t make trouble...”
A small sob escapes before you can stop it.
“I don’t want to die...”
“Stop.”
Your voice cuts off instantly.
Silence.
“…look at me”
You hesitate.
Then slowly...
Open your eyes.
Buck is standing in front of you.
Closer now.
And in his hand...
Not a gun.
A file.
You blink.
Confused.
Your breathing still uneven.
Tears clinging to your lashes.
“I’m not going to harm you” he says.
Calm.
Clear.
Certain.
You stare at him.
Trying to process.
“…you’re not?”
“No.”
A tear slips down your cheek anyway.
You wipe it quickly, embarrassed.
“I thought... I just...”
You look away, shaking your head slightly.
“I thought I did something wrong…”
Buck studies you.
Really studies you now.
The trembling hands.
The watery eyes.
The way you’re trying to hold yourself together.
“…you thought I brought you out here to kill you” he says.
It’s not mocking.
Not amused.
Just… understanding.
You nod faintly.
Too embarrassed to say it again.
A pause.
Then...
“You haven’t done anything that warrants that.”
That shouldn’t be comforting.
But somehow...
It is.
He holds the file out slightly.
“I needed to speak to you without interruption.”
You blink again.
“…that’s it?”
“Yes.”
You let out a shaky breath.
Your shoulders drop.
All that tension finally cracking.
Another tear slips out.
You laugh weakly, wiping your face again.
“I’m so sorry... that was stupid... I just...”
“You were afraid.”
You look at him.
He says it like it’s simple.
Like it makes sense.
You nod.
“…yes.”
A pause.
Then, quieter...
“You don’t need to be.”
You sniff slightly, trying to pull yourself together.
“…okay.”
Buck watches you for a moment longer.
Then...
“Come here.”
You hesitate.
Just for a second.
Then step closer.
He doesn’t touch you.
Doesn’t crowd you.
Just stands there, steady.
“You’re not in trouble” he says.
“Alright?”
—
You nod again.
“…alright.”
Your voice is still small.
But steadier now.
And for the first time since getting into that car...
You look at him properly.
And he doesn’t look away.
Tag list (open) : @not-the-teen-witch @mermaidseance
(Spoilers!!! DDBA S2 Ep5. This is inspired by the scene from Episode 5 with Daniel and Buck. I just switched Daniel with reader and changed the last bit. )
Theme: ? IDK , quite reader, avoids eye contact, keeps to herself. Observant Buck, controlled (you get it , the usual Buck)
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He starts noticing her noticing him.
Buck doesn’t notice you at first.
That’s not an insult.
It’s just how he works.
He notices threats. Irregularities. Changes in behavior that don’t fit the environment. People who demand attention.
You don’t.
You’re quiet.
Efficient.
You speak when spoken to. You keep your head down. You do your work and leave.
You blend.
Which is why, for the first few months
You don’t exist to him.
•••••••••
The first time something shifts, it’s barely anything.
A glance.
He’s standing near the far end of the office floor, listening to a conversation that doesn’t require his voice.
His eyes move.
Not intentionally.
Just… scanning.
That’s when he sees you.
Sitting at your desk.
Looking at him. (More like staring)
The moment your eyes meet his...
You drop your gaze immediately.
Back to your work.
Like nothing happened.
Buck doesn’t react.
Because it doesn’t mean anything.
People look.
It’s normal.
••••••••••
The second time he notices it.
He’s already aware of where you sit now.
Not consciously.
Just… filed away.
So when his gaze passes over that area again...
There you are.
Looking at him.
Again. More specifically staring somewhere between his lips and neck.
This time, you don’t notice he’s looking back.
Not immediately.
There’s a second where he sees it clearly.
Then you realise.
And your head drops so fast it’s almost abrupt.
Your shoulders shift slightly.
Like you’re trying to disappear into your desk.
That’s when it registers.
A pattern.
Buck doesn’t act on it.
He doesn’t need to.
He just… adjusts.
•••••••••
Over the next few days, it happens again.
And again.
Not constant.
Not obvious.
But consistent enough.
Every time he’s present...
You notice.
You look.
And every time...
You look away the second there’s a risk of being caught.
He starts watching for it.
Not directly.
Never directly.
But he times it.
He’ll enter the floor...
Wait a beat...
Then let his gaze shift naturally across the room.
And there you are.
Already looking.
Like you felt him arrive.
Like you were waiting without meaning to.
Interesting.
He tests it once.
Subtly.
Comes in earlier than usual.
Buck leans slightly against the edge of a desk, pretending to review something.
His attention splits.
Half on the room.
Half on you.
You’re trying very hard not to look now.
He can tell.
Your posture is tighter.
Your movements more deliberate.
Like you’re aware of being observed, even if you don’t know for sure.
He shifts.
Just enough.
Your eyes flick up instantly.
And then...
Down again.
Faster this time.
There it is.
He exhales quietly.
Not frustration.
Not irritation.
Just… acknowledgment.
Buck straightens.
His gaze shifts away from you.
Decision made.
••••••••••
Later that day
You’re walking down the hallway, a file held close to your chest.
Head slightly lowered.
Focused on getting from one place to another without interruption.
You almost pass him without noticing.
Almost.
“Miss.”
His voice is low.
Controlled.
It stops you instantly.
You freeze.
Then slowly look up.
Just enough.
Not fully.
“…y-yes?” (you say)
He studies you.
Up close now, the details are clearer.
The way your fingers tighten around the file.
The way you avoid looking directly at him.
The slight tension in your shoulders.
“You’ve been distracted.” (he says)
It’s not harsh.
Not accusing.
Just… stated.
Your grip tightens.
“No... I mean... I’m not...”
You stop yourself.
Swallow.
Shake your head quickly.
“I’m fine.”
You’re still not looking at him.
Buck tilts his head slightly.
Observing.
“You seem otherwise”. (He says)
Your breath catches slightly.
“No, sir. I’m... I’m alright.”
A pause.
He lets it sit.
Lets the silence stretch just enough.
Then...
“If there’s something you need” he says evenly, “you may say it” .
Your eyes flick up for half a second.
Then down again.
“…there isn’t.”
Your voice is smaller now.
More certain.
Not defensive.
Just… retreating.
Buck watches you a moment longer.
Then gives a single nod.
“Very well.”
He steps aside.
Clearing your path.
You don’t move immediately.
Just a second...
Like you’re waiting for something else.
When it doesn’t come...
You walk past him quickly.
Head down.
Steps just a little too fast.
Buck doesn’t turn to watch you go.
But he listens.
The pace of your footsteps.
The way they don’t slow until you’re out of range.
He files it away—
Not a threat.
Not a problem.
But no longer unnoticed.
And now...
He’s going to keep noticing.
PART 2
I have been wanting to put something out with Buck Cashman in it but nothing seemed to satisfy me. I'm not that happy with this either but it's close enough.
I'm thinking to write more parts of this , please let me know if I should or should I just scrap it.
Genre : Hurt/comfort , domestic, established relationship, period care .
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She woke up to warmth.
Not the good kind.
The kind that sent immediate panic racing up your spine.
She doesn’t even fully sit up before she feels it.
And her stomach drops.
No no no no—
She shifts under the covers then throws the blanket back and sees it.
Dark stain spreading into Ben's pale sheets.
She quickly walks up to mirror, twisting just enough to see behind her.
There it was. A dark stain spreading quietly across the back of her pants.
Her breath catches instantly.
“Oh my god.”
It’s humiliating.
She hadn’t even realized it started that heavy.
Her throat tightens.
Panic crawling up fast. She’s already calculating how long it’s been, how bad it looks, whether it soaked through the mattress...
Dex is awake before she says his name.
He always wakes fast.
“What.”
It’s not a question. It’s an alert.
"I bled through" she whisper. "I didn't mean to. It's just…"
He sits up immediately.
His eyes scan.
Sheets.
Her hands.
The blood.
He does not flinch.
He does not recoil.
He does not make a face.
His expression goes still. Focused
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not though” she whispers, mortified.
He peels the blanket back with clinical calm.
Assesses the damage like it’s a crime scene.
“It’s contained.”
“Contained? Dex it’s not a biohazard report…”
“It’s not on the mattress fully” he says flatly. “We can fix it.”
We.
Not you.
Her eyes sting.
“I didn’t mean to” she says, softer now. Ashamed.
His head tilts slightly.
“I know.”
He stands. Efficient.
Strips the sheets in one smooth motion.
"I'm sorry" she says.
He looks at her like that concept makes no structural sense.
“Why.”
“Because it’s gross.” she says.
“It’s blood” he replies evenly. “You bleed every month. That’s not new.”
“But not like this.” she whispers.
She wipes her eyes angrily
"I hate this."
He pauses.
Slowly turns back to her.
“You hate that your body works?”
“I hate that it’s messy.” she says.
His jaw tightens slightly.
Not at her.
At the concept.
He steps closer.Just close enough to block her spiralling.“Look at me.”
She hesitates.
He tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his eyes .
His gaze is sharp but not harsh.
"I don’t like the way you’re talking about yourself.”
"You are not messy . You are bleeding."
He then grabs a towel and hands it to her.
"Go get changed." nodding towards the bathroom. "I'll change the sheets" he says.
"Call me if you need my help" he adds.
She nods then grabs the towel and rest of the things she needs and get in the bathroom.
After cleaning up herself and changing, she stepped out of the bathroom. Towel wrapped snugly around her waist, while her stained pants left behind to soak.
She hesitantly walks towards Ben.
“You’re not upset?” she asks.
His eyebrow twitches faintly.
“Why would I be upset.”
“I ruined the sheets.” she says.
“And? ... it's just a sheet." He says.
The simplicity of it breaks something in her.
Her eyes fill.
Dex notices immediately.
He always notices.
He steps forward and grips her jaw gently, steadying her face.
He frowned, just a little. "Have I ever made you feel like I'd shame you for something your body does naturally?"
"No..." She whispers
His thumb brushes a tear away before it falls.
“You want heat or meds.”
“…Heat.” she says.
He nods once.
Moves away.
“Don't move , sit on the chair” he tells you.
You stay frozen anyway.
He comes back with the heating pad and fresh pyjamas. Soft ones. The oversized shirt you like. The soft throw blanket from the couch.
She’s sitting there, arms wrapped around herself.Smaller than usual.He stops in front of her.
“Arms up.” She blinks .
He sighs, softer this time. “Please.”
She lift her arms. He helps her change out of the top she was wearing and replace it with the fresh one.
Then .
"Stand" he says.
She stands and he removes the towel that she had wrapped around her waist and put on the fresh pair of pants.
Then he kisses the right side of her now clothed hip . A quick light peck .
He is standing now.
“You will not apologize for this again” he says quietly.
She lets out a shaky breath against his chest. “...Okay.”
His hand moves to the back of her head, fingers threading gently through her hair.
He can feel her relax now.
She rests her head against his chest.
"Come here" he says , guiding her gently back to the bed.
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aaahhhh... I feel like something is missing in the fic. It's just not hitting right 😭😭😭.
Theme: Fluff, cuteness agression, established relationship, grumpy x soft.
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He’s still not used to how quiet she gets before she does something reckless.
It’s late. His apartment is dim, city-light bleeding through the blinds.
She’s curled on his couch again, knees tucked in, his jacket draped over her shoulders like she stole it on purpose.
Dex stands near the kitchen, arms crossed.
Guarded. Always guarded.
“You’re staring” he says.
She blinks.
Looks up at him. Innocent. Too innocent.
“I’m thinking” she replies.
That’s worse.
He shifts his weight. “About what.”
She shrugs, lips pursed, eyes tracking him in a way that makes his skin prickle.
“You.”
Of course.
He exhales through his nose. “You shouldn’t.”
“I know” she says easily. Then, softer, “But I can’t stop.”
That does it.
He turns to face her properly, jaw tight. “Don’t say things like that to me. You kn...”
She stands suddenly.
Crosses the space between them before he finishes the sentence.
She’s close now. Too close.
He freezes, instincts screaming retreat, but his body betrays him by staying exactly where it is.
She looks up at him. Studies his face like it’s a puzzle she’s dying to solve.
“You look like you’re about to bolt” she murmurs.
“I might” he admits.
She smiles. A tiny, dangerous thing.
“Don’t.”
Before he can process it, she leans in and presses a quick kiss to his cheek.
Just a peck.
It’s nothing. Barely there.
Except his brain short-circuits.
He stiffens, eyes blown wide, breath caught halfway out. “What...”
She pulls back, frowns immediately. “That wasn’t enough.”
“What?” he asks, genuinely lost now.
She leans in again.
This time it’s slower. Sloppier.
Her lips linger against his cheek, warm and insistent, like she’s trying to leave proof she was there.
He can feel it. Feel her. His hands lift instinctively, hovering uselessly at his sides like he doesn’t know where they’re allowed to go.
“Hey” he murmurs, voice rough. “You...”
She makes a small frustrated sound and presses her mouth to the same spot again.
Then-
n o m
Without warning, she bites.
Not hard. Not cruel.
Just enough pressure to make him suck in a sharp breath and swear under it.
She pulls back instantly, eyes wide. “I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to...”
Dex is frozen.
Completely.
His hand finally moves, coming up to touch his cheek like he’s confirming it really happened.
His expression is unreadable. Dark. Bewildered.
“You bit me” he says flatly.
She nods, mortified. “I... I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just...” She gestures vaguely, flustered. “You’re right there. And you look like that. And I...”
She stops talking when she sees his lips twitch.
Just barely.
“Don’t laugh” she warns, pouting already.
“I’m not” he says. He absolutely is. Just a little. It’s gone as fast as it came, but she saw it. She always sees it.
“…Did it hurt?” she asks quietly.
“No” he answers. Honest. Then, after a pause, “It startled me.”
“Good” she mutters, then clamps a hand over her mouth. “I mean... sorry.”
He studies her.
This strange, soft, impulsive girl standing in his apartment like she belongs there.
Like she’s not afraid of the parts of him everyone else avoids.
“You do a lot of things without thinking” he says.
She shrugs. “Only with you.”
That lands heavier than the bite.
He steps closer before he can stop himself. Lowers his voice. “Don’t do that with anyone else.”
She looks up at him, eyes bright. “Jealous?”
“No” he says immediately.
She smiles like she doesn’t believe him.
He reaches out, hesitates, then gently presses his thumb to her cheek where her pout lives.
Experimental. Careful. Like he’s learning something new.
“…If you’re going to bite” he adds quietly, “warn me next time.”
Her grin is wicked.
“No promises.”
And for once, the darkness doesn’t retreat.
It leans in.
Not crying. Not accusing. Not even pouting at him anymore.
Just… standing there in his apartment, shoes still on, looking around like she’s cataloguing the place for emotional evidence.
Dex hates silence when it isn’t his.
“You can sit” he says, stiff, gesturing vaguely toward the couch like it personally offended him.
She obeys. Immediately. Curling in on herself, hands tucked into the sleeves of her sweater, knees drawn up. Too small for his space. His apartment suddenly feels wrong, like it swallowed something gentle it wasn’t built to hold.
He stands there like an idiot.
Hands flexing. Unflexing. No idea where to put them.
“Do you want… water?” he asks.
She looks up at him. Blinks. Her eyes are still shiny, but calmer now. Curious.
“…Are you nervous?” she asks softly.
That’s it. That’s the trap.
“No,” he says, instantly, too fast.
She hums. A tiny sound. Not convinced.
He turns abruptly, grabs a glass from the cupboard with more force than necessary, fills it, hands it to her without meeting her eyes. Their fingers brush. He flinches like he’s been burnt.
She notices.
Of course she does.
She takes the glass with both hands, sips, then says, very gently, “You’re shaking.”
“I am not.” he says.
“You are” she says, not teasing. Just observing. Like she’s studying a rare animal she doesn’t want to scare away.
He looks down.
His hand is, in fact, shaking.
He stills it by clenching his fist.
“…This isn’t normal for me” he mutters.
She tilts her head. “Me being here?”
“No” he says, then pauses. Corrects himself. “Yes. That. And...” He exhales sharply. “People don’t come to my apartment like this.”
“Like what?” She asks.
He gestures helplessly at her. The tears. The softness. The need.
“Like I matter.”
She goes very still.
Then, slowly, carefully, she sets the glass down and stands. She takes one step toward him. Then another.
He doesn’t move.
“I didn’t come here to break you” she says quietly. “I came because you already broke me a little.”
That hits harder than any accusation.
His throat works. He looks away, jaw tight, like he’s holding something feral inside his chest.
“I don’t know how to do this” he admits, barely audible. “You’re… different. You don’t act like people who want things from me.”
She frowns. Steps closer.
“Dex” she says, soft but firm. “I do want something from you.”
He stiffens.
She walks towards him. Reaches out. Stops just short of touching him, giving him time. Choice.
“I want you to stop pretending you don’t care” she finishes.
Silence.
Then, very awkwardly, very carefully, he lifts his hand and… hovers. Like he’s not sure what the rules are.
His fingers finally settle at her wrist, barely there, like she might disappear if he grips too hard.
The contact is tentative. Almost shy.
She looks down at it. Then back up at him.
“…Is this okay?” he asks, low and uncertain.
She smiles through the remnants of tears.
“It’s more than okay.” she says .
Something in his face short-circuits.
Because he doesn’t pull away.
Instead, he lets her step closer. Lets her rest her forehead against his chest. He stands there rigid for exactly two seconds before his arm comes up, slow and unsure, wrapping around her like he’s afraid of doing it wrong.
He exhales.
A long, shaky breath he didn’t know he was holding.
“There” she murmurs, hugging him properly now. Tight. Secure. Like she belongs there. “See? Not so scary.”
His other arm comes up without him realising it. Closes around her. Firmer now.
“…Don’t tell anyone about this” he mutters into her hair. “I have a reputation.”
She laughs. A small, watery sound. “Too late.”
He closes his eyes.
And for the first time, the darkness in him doesn’t feel like a weapon.
It feels like something she just stepped into… and stayed.
SUMMARY : She shows up at his apartment in tears, asking why he stopped reaching for her when everything felt like it was finally beginning. Dex pretends he doesn’t care, until her heartbreak forces him to face the fact that pulling away was never the answer.
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It's late.
The hallway outside Dex's apartment smells faintly of old paint and rain.
Inside Dex’s apartment is quiet in that way that makes the walls feel like they’re listening.
He’s standing in the kitchen, sleeves rolled, jaw tight, when the knocking starts.
Not polite.
Not hesitant.
Sharp. Desperate. Furious.
He freezes in his apartment, hand halfway to his glass.
The knock comes again. Harder.
No one knocks like that unless something is wrong. His first instinct is danger. His second is irritation. His third… confusion.
When he opens the door… his brain short-circuits.
She’s standing there with her arms folded too tight around herself.
Cheeks puffed, lips pressed together into a stubborn pout.
Her eyes are glossy, red at the rims.
She looks… small.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
Like she is holding herself together with sheer will and it's slipping.
He blinks.
Once
Twice
This is wrong.
This is not how she is.
She's composed. Controlled. Quite like him.
She doesn't know like this.
She doesn't show up at night.
She definitely doesn't look like she has been rehearsing words she doesn't trust herself to say.
“What are you doing here?” he says. Flat. Automatic. Defensive.
That does it.
She swallows.
Her chin lifts, like she's trying to remember how to stand tall.
“Why have you been so cold and mean to me lately?” she asks, and she tries to sound steady, she really does, but it comes out soft and cracked and wrong. “What did I do?”
A tear escapes. Then another. She wipes at them aggressively, like they’ve betrayed her. Like she's offended by the tears that escaped.
He hates this.
Not her. The feeling.
He hates that his chest tightens.
Mean?
He hasn't raised his voice. Hasn't said anything cruel. Hasn't touched her.
But he knows exactly what she means.
“I’m haven't.” he says. Too quickly.
Her lips wobble. She hated that it does. Hates him seeing it.
“Yes, you have” , she insists.
“You stopped looking at me. You stopped answering properly. You don't stand near me. You disappear the second I walk into a room.”
Silence stretches between them, thick and awful.
And then…
“You shouldn’t be here” he says quietly.
Not because he doesn’t want her.
Because if she stays, he doesn’t trust himself.
She laughs again, broken this time.
“Yeah!” she says. “You’ve made that very clear.”
She takes a step back, wiping her face roughly, rebuilding walls out of sheer habit.
Dex doesn’t move. Doesn’t say anything.
Her voice drops, smaller now, and that hurts him more than the accusation ever could.
“Did I do something?”
A beat.
“Are you mad at me?”
Her eyes overflow. She blinks hard, furious with herself.
He should lie.
He’s good at lying.
But this isn’t a question he could lie to.
“No” he says.
Just that. No explanation. No comfort. No reach for her hand.
She stares at him like he’s struck her.
“Oh” she whispers.
That’s the sound of the floor giving way.
“So it’s just… this” she says, gesturing helplessly between them. “You deciding one day that I don’t get to…”
She cuts herself off, swallows hard.
“I feel stupid” she says instead. Honest. Bare.
“You should go home.” He says.
Her face crumples just a little.
Not dramatically. Quietly. Like something folding in on itself.
“You keep saying that” she whispers. “You keep pushing me away and you won’t even tell me why.”
She steps closer without asking. He doesn’t move back. That’s the first crack.
“I didn’t imagine it, right??” she says, voice trembling now. “I know I didn’t. I felt it. And then you just…” She shakes her head, frustrated, eyes shining.
“If you don’t want me, just say it.” she says.
That’s the kill shot.
Because he does want her.
And wanting has ruined everything he’s ever touched.
His jaw tightens. He looks away. The silence is heavy and bruising.
She sniffles, cheeks still puffed, lashes wet. “You don’t even care” she mutters, small and wounded. “I look stupid. I came all the way here like this.”
She gestures vaguely at herself, at the tears, the mess, the softness she never shows anyone.
Something inside him fractures. Not loudly. Not all at once.
Just enough.
Dex’s jaw tightens.
This is exactly why he keeps distance.
This. The emotion. The mess. The way it crawls under his skin and makes him want to fix something he knows he shouldn’t touch.
“This isn’t a conversation to have here.” he says.
She takes another step forward.
“I don’t care.”
Another tear slips free. She doesn’t wipe it this time. She lets it fall like evidence.
“…It’s not safe,” he says quietly.
She looks up at him through wet lashes. “What's not safe, Dex? Who is it not safe for ??" . She sounds tired at this point.
He exhales through his nose. Long. Controlled. Then he steps aside.
The door opens wider.
“Come in” he says, rough now. Low.
She blinks. Once. Twice.
"Hmm??" Like she’s not sure she heard him.
“Just…” He cuts himself off, jaw flexing. “Come in.”
Her eyes widen. “Wait. Really?”
“Yes. Before I change my mind.” he says.
She hesitates, then steps past him, brushing his arm by accident. The contact is electric. He stiffens but doesn’t pull away.
The door closes behind her with a soft, final click.
She turns to face him, still teary, still pouty, arms wrapping around herself again like she doesn’t know where else to put them.
He doesn’t touch her. Not yet.
But he says, quietly, almost like a confession,
“Don’t do this unless you mean it.”
Her lip wobbles. She looks up at him with wet eyes and whispers,
“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
That’s it.
That’s the moment.
He closes his eyes for half a second. When he opens them, something in him has shifted.
Not softened. Yielded.
“You can stay” he says.
And the way he says it sounds like surrender.
Summary: You’re convinced Ben Poindexter hates you. But when you’re caught off guard by period cramps at work, he’s the last person you expect to notice… let alone help.
You had learned to ignore Benjamin Poindexter.
The way he never said your name.
The clipped tone, the sidelong glares.
Like you were a nuisance he couldn’t wait to be rid of.
So you gave him space. Stayed polite.
He never thought he was cold.
Efficient, yes. Focused. Economical with words.
People mistook that for ice all the time.
You mistook it for hatred.
You noticed the way his eyes tracked a room before his body followed.The way he never interrupted anyone, just waited them out.
The way his responses to you were short, clipped, professional.
“Morning” “File’s ready” “Got it” No smile. No softness.
So you assumed the worst.
Because you always did .
By noon, the cramps had you folded inward like bad punctuation. You tried to sit straight, tried to breathe through it, tried not to let your face betray you.
But your body was louder than your pride. Your shoulders slouched.
One hand kept pressing into your lower stomach like it could negotiate the pain down to something reasonable.
Dex noticed.
Not dramatically. Not all at once.
Just a change in pattern.
You didn’t fidget like that.
You didn’t lean forward.
You didn’t pause mid keystroke.
“Are you okay?”His voice startled you enough that you jumped.
You looked up.
Poindexter was standing a little too close to your desk, head tilted, eyes sharp in that unnervingly precise way of his.
“Yeah” you said quickly, nodding.
“I’m fine.” The words came out brittle.
Your voice didn’t believe them.
He didn’t argue.
Just watched you for a second longer than polite. Then he nodded once and stepped away.
You told yourself that was that.
It wasn’t.
A few minutes later, you pushed your chair back, intending to grab some water, maybe hide in the bathroom until your organs stopped staging a rebellion.
You stood.
Your vision tilted.
You didn’t fall far.
Dex caught you like he’d already decided he would.
One hand braced your arm. The other hovered, uncertain, like he wasn’t sure where it was allowed to exist.
“Hey” he said, quieter now. “Sit”
“I’m okay” you insisted, even as your knees betrayed you completely.
“You’re not” he replied, not unkindly. Just factual.
He guided you back into the chair. His touch was careful, almost clinical, like he was afraid of doing it wrong.
His brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”
You hesitated. Embarrassment burned hotter than the cramps.
“It’s just… period cramps” you muttered. “They’re bad today.”
Something unreadable crossed his face.
Not disgust. Not discomfort.Calculation. “Oh”
You waited for the awkward silence.
The retreat. The polite exit.
Instead, he said, “Stay here”
And walked off.
You stared after him, confused, a little humiliated, very convinced you’d overshared with a man who probably barely tolerated you.
Five minutes later, he came back.
With a heating pad tucked under his arm. And a chocolate bar. And a paper cup of water that sloshed dangerously close to the rim.
“I wasn’t sure which one” he said, placing the chocolate on your desk like it was evidence. “So I got the one with… more sugar.”
You blinked at him. “You… didn’t have to do that.”
“I know” he said. Then, after a beat, “Use the heating pad.”
You stared at him like he’d just rewritten your understanding of reality...
“Thanks” you say.
That should have been the end of it.
But then you added, quieter, almost like you didn’t mean to say it out loud, “I kinda thought you hated me, you know.”
That one landed.Not hard. Just… deep.
“That would be inefficient and I care about efficiency” he said flatly.
“Right right” you say , remembering who you are actually talking to. It's Dex , what did you expect .
Dex hesitated. Just for a breath. His eyes flicked away, then back, calculating.
“I don’t hate you” he said. Lower now. “If I did, I wouldn’t be here.”
“I just don’t… show things well.”
Dex immediately regretted saying anything more than necessary. He could feel it happening, the familiar urge to retreat. He cleared his throat , posture straightening, expression smoothing into something neutral and official. The mask slid back on because it always did...
Your smile softened. “Good to know”
Silence stretched between you.
Not uncomfortable. Just charged.
He cleared his throat again and finally took a step back, reassembling his walls brick by brick.
“Don’t get used to it” he added, a little too quickly.
There it was. The line. The boundary drawn in permanent marker.
“Used to what?” You asked.
“This” he said, gesturing between you.
You hesitated, then let out a small, awkward laugh. The kind that escaped before you could stop it. “I mean…” you said, shifting in your seat. “I could get used to this side of you. Hehe.” 😬.
“You shouldn’t” he said, a bit stiff.
You winced. “Right. Yeah. Sorry. Bad joke.” You bit your tongue.
Another silence. Softer this time.
He lingered near your desk under the pretense of nothing at all.
His eyes flicked to your face, checking for color, for tension, for signs you were about to push yourself too hard again.
He told himself it was a professional concern..And as he turned to leave...
“Let me know if it gets worse” he said, already turning away because staying felt dangerous.
“Or if you need to… sit out.” he added.
You nodded. “Okay. ...Dex?”
He paused, hand resting on the edge of the desk behind him.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks” you said.
Simple. Real.
He gave a short nod and walked away before you could see the way his jaw tightened, or how carefully he filed this moment away.
Labelled.
Remembered.
Because whether he liked it or not, something had shifted.
You can read it as part of the "STATIC" fic or just on its own .
Static
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PAIRING: Ben "Dex" Poindexter X Fem Reader
Theme: CUTENESS AGRESSION, fluff fluff fluff , reader kiss him on his cheeks, Dex being Dex.
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💜The smile that ruins everything (or does it 👀)💜
Poindexter is in his usual state.
Quiet. Closed.
His presence is heavy, coiled, sharp-edged.
She’s used to this version of him.
She mirrors it without thinking.
Calm. Observant.
Nonchalant (👀)
She’s learned that stillness is safer with him.
They coexist easily in that shared restraint.
They’re not in the middle of anything heavy. Just existing in the same space, parallel but close.
She’s talking.
Rambling, really.
About something mildly irritating.
Her hands are moving as usual, expressive, alive.
Poindexter is leaning against the counter, arms folded, listening.
And then it happens.
She says something dry. Something sharp-edged but playful.
She expects his usual response. A huff. A clipped remark. Maybe that almost-smile he tries to hide.
Instead, he breaks.
Just a little.
The corner of his mouth lifts. His eyes soften. There’s a brief, unguarded curve to his lips that looks almost… pleased.
It's small. Gone in a second.
But she sees it.
She freezes mid-sentence.
And something inside her clicks.
It’s not gradual.It’s not logical.
It’s like a switch flips somewhere behind her ribs and suddenly the dark room feels too quiet and he feels too unguarded and her brain goes:
That. That right there. That is illegal.
She stares.
“Dex” she says, voice suddenly bright in a way that doesn’t belong in the room.
He looks at her, brow creasing slightly. “What?”
Her lips twitch. Her eyes light up. There’s a dangerous softness there now, like she’s just spotted something precious and decided it’s hers to protect.
“Can I...” she starts, then stops herself, visibly vibrating. “ Can I please hold your face, please please please, please... Dex”
He blinks. Once. Slowly. “…What?”
“You smiled” She says with a smile.
“I...” He straightens immediately. “No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did, like you’re pretending you don’t care but you absolutely do.” she insists, already stepping closer.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He says looking away from her, trying to get himself busy with something else.
She squints at him. Tilts her head. “you smiled and I saw it !! ”
“Dex please let me hold your face” she says, almost whiny.
“This isn’t funny” he says carefully.
“I know” she says, nodding enthusiastically. “That’s why it’s happening.”
He studies her, genuinely confused now.
This is not her. She’s usually measured. Grounded. Controlled.
Right now she looks like sunlight with a mission.
“What got into you !!??” he asks quietly.
She doesn’t answer.
Instead, she reaches up.
Not fast. Not grabbing.
Her hands cup his face.
Warm. Firm.
Completely unapologetic.
Poindexter freezes.
The contrast is absurd.
Him, all shadow and restraint. Her, suddenly all softness and chaos.
She beams at him like she’s won something
Her palms are warm.
Her thumbs rest just under his cheekbones, grounding him. He leans into her palm , closing his eyes.
“There you are” she murmurs. “That’s the face.”
“Stop” he says automatically, but there’s no heat in it. Just disbelief.
She doesn’t.
Instead, she leans in and presses a quick, affectionate kiss to his cheek.
Then another.
Then another, rapid and messy and entirely unplanned, like she’s trying to pour affection straight into him.
Poindexter’s mind blanks.
This is not how this is supposed to go.
His hands lift reflexively, hovering at her wrists, not to stop her but to steady himself.
His heart is pounding so hard it’s almost embarrassing.
“What...” he starts, then loses the sentence.
“Hey” he manages, breath uneven. “Hey...”
She pulls back just enough to look at him, grinning, unapologetic.
“Sorry” she says.
“I don’t know why I’m doing this” she admits cheerfully.
“You looked too cute. It was a problem.”
That does it.He exhales a shaky laugh before he can stop himself.
The sound is quiet.
Rough around the edges. Real.
Her smile softens instantly. “There” she says gently. “That one too.”
He stares at her.
Speechless.
No darkness. No menace.
Just a man standing there while someone kisses his face like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
She gives his cheek one last affectionate kiss, then rests her forehead against his.
“Sorry” she says one more time, not sounding sorry at all.
He exhales, slow and shaky.
“You’re going to get yourself hurt” he says quietly.
She smiles up at him, softer now. “Not tonight”
That’s when his hands finally settle at her waist.Not to pull.Not to push away.Just to keep her there.
Just present. Anchoring.
“You can’t do things like that” he says, voice low but not angry.
“Why not?” She asks.
“Because I won’t always be able to stop myself from wanting to keep you.”
Her expression shifts. Not afraid. Thoughtful.
She steps closer instead.
“Then don’t stop yourself from wanting” she says quietly. “Just from hurting.” Something in his chest tightens and settles all at once. He nods once.
And when she leans into him again, this time he lets his arms come around her fully.
Not possessive.Protective.
The darkness doesn’t vanish.
But for the first time, it doesn’t feel lonely.
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aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!!! seeing him smile makes me want to smother him in kisses .
He finds himself standing a little closer than necessary.
Timing his movements to intersect with hers. Letting his shoulder brush hers and telling himself it was accidental.
It wasn’t.
The worst moment comes unexpectedly.
She’s upset. Not panicking. Just tired. Worn thin. The kind of tired that sits behind the eyes.
She rubs her arms absently, like she’s cold even though the room isn’t.
Poindexter sees it and something inside him tightens painfully.
Before he can stop himself, he says, “Do you want…?”
He cuts himself off.
She looks up. Hope flickers, unguarded.
“Want what?”
He swallows.
He can feel the line now. Sharp. Close. One step away.
“…another hug,” he finishes.
The room goes very still.
“Yes,” she says immediately. Then softer, “If you’re okay with it.”
He nods once.
This time, he doesn’t wait for her to initiate.
He steps in first.
Slow. Controlled. Like he’s approaching a controlled burn.
She melts into him the second his arms come around her. No hesitation. No testing. She presses close, cheek against his chest, arms wrapping tight like she’s been waiting for permission.
The contact hits him harder than before.
Because now he wants it.
His arms close around her properly this time. Not crushing. But firm. Protective. His chin rests lightly against the top of her head.
He breathes her in.
The noise in his head drops to a dull murmur.
His fingers flex once against her back, betraying the truth.
She feels it.
She doesn’t pull away.
“Is this okay?” she asks quietly.
He exhales through his nose, voice low and honest.
“I’m holding on,” he says. “That’s the best I can promise.”
“That’s enough,” she murmurs.
They stay like that, suspended in the space between restraint and need.
Poindexter knows, with unsettling clarity, that this is a line he will eventually have to redraw.
Because now that he’s felt what it’s like to be held like this…
Letting go might be the hardest thing he’s ever done.
Everytime I see him on screen, I have this strong urge to just give him the tightest hug. So this is what this fic is inspired from.
To anyone who is reading this I hope you enjoyed it...
Love you ❤️♥️.
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I used Google to translate some words , so please feel free to correct me if I have used certain words incorrectly.
