INTERNAL MONOLOGUE

ᵂᵉˡᶜᵒᵐᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵐʸ ᵇˡᵒᵍ

[manonwillpower]

𝗔𝗕𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗠𝗘 ' ｲ .

Ｉｚｚｙ． ２０ｓ． ｓｈｅ／ｈｅｒ.

୨ㅤ࣪ 𝖒𝖞 𝖒𝖆𝖓 𝖔𝖓 𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖕𝖔𝖜𝖊𝖗, 𝖎𝖘 𝖘𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖎 𝖉𝖔𝖓'𝖙 𝖚𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖓𝖉 Ⳋ᧙

Ｍｉｎｏｒｓ ｄｏｎ＇ｔ ｉｎｔｅｒａｃｔ

(my requests are open! read guidelines before interacting with this blog. love ya!)

୨ㅤ࣪ Masterlist - Guidelines

[babybellabale]

holy fucking. what the fuck. how the fuck. i need air asap. i need this old man NOW

[dolcesaints]

hot take: whenever i read an x reader fic of dex and his north star (especially fluffy domestic ones which is ironic because it’s dex we’re talking about) it’s always so out of character for him.

i’m so tired of the “dex will never do that to u” narrative. YES HE WOULD. unintentionally, maybe, but still. i get that he wants a north star and would do anything to keep that person in arms reach but did we also forget that whenever he looses control he would def put hands on u??? like what he literally did to dr mercer.

he would probably take a moment to cry and apologize for hurting you when u finally tell him to stop because at the end of the day, that man is pathetic and i luv him for it <3

no hate to all the authors who’ve written about dex being this way, i indulge myself in those fics and i enjoy most of them. this is not me bitching about soft kitten dex because i still do like the fics but it’s also just me moaning about how i could possibly get a very masochistic fic of him because ik the dexnation is freaky in a dead dove being eaten kinda way.

[livfastdieyoung69]

benjamin poindexter crying cause you’re mad at him….dex begging and pleading that he’s sorry…dex dropping to your feet and whining into your tummy….dex telling you he’ll do anything, he’ll be so good…dex looking up at you with pretty eyes full of tears and the need for your praise while he eats you out like a mad man

[grlchrm]

Refreshing the FUCK out of the Benjamin Poindexter x Reader tags

[manonwillpower]

If someone writes a Bullseye fic where the reader is in the same institution as him during the timing between original Netflix Daredevil S3 and DDBA S1. Where she can see dead people, even people that Bullseye had taken out. Like a scene can be where she could see Foggy Nelson and there be plot there. Or when she gets out of that institution, she'd hired as a private investigator to find John Doe's, and one of them happened to be someone that he'd killed.

I might have to kiss them (digitally). If someone were to hypothetically write this, could they hypothetically tag me?

[michaelsbm]

still your husband ᜊ (18+)

michael jackson x fem!reader

summary: after weeks of you and michael butting heads about him being absent and you and your kids lives, michael finally makes it up to you

contents/warnings: martial problems, cold shoulder/silent treatment, you guys have kids, soft!dom michael, angst, absent!michael, fighting, language (barely), eventual smut, oral (f! receiving), fingering (f! receiving), not proofread, hand holding, needy!michael, pathetic! michael, sweet talking, basically michael begging the whole entire time for you to forgive him, ect

word count: 1.8k+

w/a: omg i’m so sorry i’ve been gone from writing fics for so long, genuinely don’t know what happened. this fic is heavily inspired by @7typicaln7gga7 on tt, go check out her content i love her sm

the house had never felt this quiet before. not because the kids weren’t loud, they definitely were. toys were scattered across the living room floor, cartoons hummed from the television, and little footsteps constantly echoed through the halls. but between you and michael, there was silence where love used to sit comfortably. days would pass with barely more than a few tired words exchanged. “dinner’s in the microwave.” “i’ll be home late.” “the kids already went to sleep.” that was it. you used to wait up for him. at first, you understood the long studio nights, the meetings, the rehearsals. he was michael jackson, the world constantly needed pieces of him. But eventually it stopped feeling like sacrifice and started feeling like abandonment. especially when your children began asking questions.

“is daddy coming to my recital?” “can daddy tuck me in tonight?” “why does daddy always work?” and every single time, your heart cracked a little more trying to answer for him. so the arguments started.

“you’re never fucking here, michael! you weren’t even there when our babies took their first steps.” you yelled across the bedroom, almost sure you can hear yourself from all the way outside. but you didn’t care at the moment, you were so frustrated with michael that you couldn’t control your emotions like how you usually do. “baby im sorry, but i’m doing this for us, and you should already know that by now.” he snapped back, his voice sharper and firmer than usual. “but we don’t have you here, what aren’t you getting goddamn it, you act like you’re not a vital person in our kids lives, in my life.” shaking your head while holding back tears, after a few seconds you storm out the room, spending the night in the one of the few guest rooms. the worst part was how exhausted he always looked afterward. like he wanted to fight for the marriage but didn’t know how anymore.

today was no different. he’d come home late again, shoulders slumped beneath a black button up, curls falling messily around his face. he barely had time to step inside before one of the kids ran to him. “daddy!” michael immediately scooped them into his arms, kissing their cheek repeatedly while apologizing softly for being late. you watched from the kitchen doorway, arms crossed. he looked over at you then, and paused. instead of your usual oversized shirt and leggings, you wore the dress. the one he loved.

soft purple fabric hugging your body perfectly, your hair done, perfume lingering sweetly through the house. nothing overly dramatic, you just looked beautiful. effortlessly beautiful. michael stared for a second too long. “wow…” he muttered quietly. he looked you up and down, biting his lip at the sight of your curves, basically undressing you with his eyes. the longer it went on for the more horny he got, but knowing you guys weren’t on good terms and you probably wouldn’t help him with his straining hard on, he snapped out of it. you definitely noticed his body language, essentially begging for you. but you simply turned away. “dinner’s on the stove.” the dismissal stung him immediately. still, throughout the evening, his eyes never left you. while helping the kids wash their hands, cutting up fruit at the counter, laughing softly when your youngest nearly spilled juice everywhere. you moved through the house like sunlight he hadn’t stood in for months, and it hit him hard. this was what he’d been missing. not glamorous parties. not screaming crowds. not sold out arenas. this, you, his family.

later that night, the kids were asleep and the room was dark except for the faint moonlight slipping through the curtains. you laid on your side of the bed facing away from him, leaving a noticeable gap between your bodies. michael laid there quietly for a long time. then the mattress shifted, you felt him move closer. his fingers brushed against your arm before he leaned forward, pressing the softest kiss against your bare shoulder. your breath caught despite yourself. michael rested his forehead lightly against your back, voice barely above a whisper. “are you awake baby?” it took you awhile to answer but how could you ignore him when he’s all up on you like this? “yes michael, what’s wrong.” “ im sorry, i’m so tired of this.” silence. “i don’t know what’s been happening to us lately…” his voice cracked slightly. “but i miss you so much.” your eyes closed. “i miss talking to you. i miss you laughing with me. i miss holding you without feeling like you’re slipping away from me.” his hand gently intertwined with yours beneath the blanket. “please i wanna make this right, let me make this right.” he says pressing long sloppy kisses along your side, slowly trailing down. and for the first time in months, you didn’t pull away.

he gradually makes his way down towards your black laced panties, after not seeing you like this in weeks hes practically drooling at the sight of your wetness in front of his face. “god… you don’t know how much i needed you these past few weeks, i-i could barley control myself, knowing you didn’t want me back… it hurt me so badly.” he’s sucking the inside of your thighs, leaving marks of himself on you. “please talk to me darling, i need to hear you right now, i crave you so badly, please im begging you.” that familiar pout creeping on his face. “michael, fuck, just get it over with.” youre surprisingly still are feisty with him, still giving him attitude. “don’t be mad at me anymore, please angel, let me prove to you that im sorry.” he licks a clean swipe across your growing damp spot of your underwear. you’re squirming under this delicate touch, god you missed this so much, you missed the way he took care of you, especially during nights like this.

he pulls your panties to the side with trembling fingers, revealing your glistening pussy. your clit is swollen and begging for attention. michael leans in slowly, inhaling the scent of your arousal with a shaky breath. “oh, my love…” he whispers softly, voice barely above a broken murmur. “look at you… so wet for me. even after everything I’ve done.” he presses a gentle kiss right above your clit, then another on your inner thigh, like he’s afraid to rush this. his hand finds yours, fingers sliding between yours and squeezing tightly, anchoring himself to you. “i’m so sorry, baby,” he breathes, lips brushing against your soaked folds. “i’m so, so sorry for leaving you alone all those nights… for not being the husband you deserve. please… please let me make it up to you. let me show you how much I love you.”

before you can respond, his tongue drags slowly up your slit, savoring every drop of you. a soft, needy whimper escapes his throat. “god… you taste like heaven,” he murmurs against you, voice thick with emotion. “i’ve missed you so much. missed this. missed us.” he laces your fingers even tighter together as he begins to worship you with his mouth. his tongue moves in slow, loving circles around your clit, gentle but relentless, occasionally dipping down to lick long stripes through your folds. every movement full of devotion. “please forgive me, angel,” he whispers between soft licks, his voice cracking. “i was wrong… I was so wrong for putting everything else before you and the kids. I hate myself for making you feel unloved.” he sucks your clit into his warm mouth with care, tongue fluttering softly. “please… please let me prove i can be better. i need you back. i need my wife back.”

you moan quietly, your free hand gripping through his soft curls as your hips roll against his face. michael lets out a broken, grateful sound and squeezes your hand harder, refusing to let go. “talk to me, darling,” he begs softly, lips glistening with your wetness. “please… i need to hear your voice. tell me you still want me. even a little.” He pushes two fingers inside you slowly, curling them gently against that perfect spot while his tongue continues its tender assault on your clit. “i’ll do anything… anything to earn your forgiveness. just please don’t shut me out anymore.” tears sting your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure and the raw vulnerability in his voice. he’s never sounded so open, so desperate. “fuck michael, you feel so good, j-just like that.” you moan out, back arching off the sheets. “i love you,” he murmurs, voice pleading as he laps at you slowly, savoring you. “i love you more than anything in this world. you and our babies… you’re my everything. i was a fool. a selfish fool.” he kisses your clit sweetly, then sucks it with aching tenderness.

“please, baby… please forgive me. let me spend every night from now on showing you how sorry i am.” his fingers move in a slow, deep rhythm while his mouth stays glued to your clit, sucking and licking with loving devotion. the wet, intimate sounds of him devouring you fill the room, mixed with his soft, continuous pleas.

“cum for me, my love… please,” he begs, voice trembling. “let me taste you. let me feel you fall apart for me again. i’ve missed it so badly. i’ve missed you so badly.” the combination of his skilled mouth, his gentle fingers, and his heartbreakingly soft begging pushes you over the edge. your orgasm washes over you in deep, powerful waves. “m-michael!!” you cry out his name, thighs trembling around his head as you squeeze his hand tightly. michael moans softly in pure relief, licking you through every pulse, drinking you down like he’s been dying of thirst.

when your body starts to relax, he continues placing the gentlest kisses all over your sensitive pussy and inner thighs, murmuring against your skin. “thank you… thank you for letting me touch you again,” he whispers, voice thick with emotion. he finally crawls up your body, still holding your hand, and rests his forehead against yours. His dark eyes are glassy, full of love and regret. “i’m begging you, baby… please forgive me,” he says softly, brushing his lips against yours in a feather-light kiss. “i’ll never make you or the kids feel alone again. i swear it. just give me one more chance to be the man you married. please, my love… say you’re still mine.” he waits, breathing softly against your lips, thumb gently stroking the back of your hand, completely vulnerable and open, waiting for your answer. “yes michael, i forgive you… im still yours, i love you so much.” his eyes softened, kissing you gently again and again, “but i’m still not proving to you that i’m sorry.” he fiddles with his waist band, pulling his pants down. your eyes widen, this is going to be a long night.

w/a: AHAHA this was so hot, i’m back doe did yall miss me 👀 lol but i hope you enjoyed this!!!

taglist: @lewlewlemon-44 @lotuspetalss @darkgreengrl @elianalovesyuri @rlm-11 @whos8 @yesalphadawn @imnameiya @eclipvcy @lavnderluv @grey342 @thedoggonegirl @7viiseven @unknown111 @mjssluttyfish @tatumcelts @gogoyubari888

[buildinguplikewaves]

the monster in me (loves the monster in you)

PAIRING:Benjamin Poindexter x F!Reader

SUMMARY: Newly appointed "good guy" CIA!Dex gets a handler. It goes about as well as you expect.

WORD COUNT: 5,700K-ish

WARNINGS: Some light stalking, some faint jealously, some reader lore dropped, and a four letter word starting with K

CHAPTER FIVE: the girl gone job

[AO3] [1] [2] [3] [4]

TAGLIST (by request): @doesanyonereadthis, @bitch-spaghetti-o

"Dex?"

He heard you voice tremble beneath the downpour from above. Dex wanted to attribute it solely to the rain. His mind was desperate to connect the hesitation in your tone to the weather. To anything other than what he witnessed. To what you realized he saw. Your eyes -- the ones he came to memorize in his mind -- were wide with concern. Fear. It was an expression he had yet to see on you. Confidence was the standard and a smile was your default, but fear? It changed your whole body. What once were animated hands now hung limply, fingers restless at your side. Your posture had sunk slightly, crestfallen in the wake of the revelation. Dex wanted to form a concrete thought, but his mind buzzed with activity. He could see your lips moving, but the sound of static was too overwhelming.

"... somewhere and talk about this?"

Dex pushed through the white noise, clearing the thick haze of his mind until he was present once more. The mission. The rain. You. It all came surging back. You had moved closer. Did he miss you closing the distance the same was he missed some of your words? Had his overstimulated mind lose that time? Or had he chosen to ignore you to preserve what last bit of sanity he had left?

"Dex," you implored, "Can we talk? Please?"

The pad of Dex's thumbs pressed against the handles of the blades he held before he moved to slip them into his belt. He took a step back, then another. Your hands wanted to reach out. To connect. Being unable to only seemed to distress you more. He hated that. The mission was still active. He hated that more. There would be no closing it until you were both safe and out of sight.

"Target's eliminated," he reported, turning towards the direction of the stakeout point, "I'll grab the gear. Go back to the car."

"Dex--"

You had moved to follow after him. It was a mistake. Your steps were swiftly halted when Dex spun around. He stared you down, eyes hardened and void of warmth. The sight had you more than just pause. Danger didn't just tease at the edges. It consumed and filled the space between you.

"The car. Now."

The words had you flinching, as if delivered with a sturdy blow. The order had snapped something in you. Dex watched a your lips parted to speak, but no words came as you seemed to decide against it. You reached up to wipe the rain -- or at least what he thought was rain -- from the corner of your eyes before you turned to leave. You passed the two bodies, only slowing to pick up one of the flashlights from the ground. Dex didn't wait for you to leave. The target was down. It was only a matter of time before police would be dispatched and search the woods. The white noise rose in the back of his mind as Dex walked back to the stakeout point. He broke down the sniper rifle, secured it in the case, and collected all traces of your presence onsite. He picked up the now muddy coat that he threw off in haste to get to you, slipped it on to conceal his tactical gear. He found your fallen hat as well, tucking it into the backpack.

It was around that time Dex saw the first man begin to stir. Dex glared up ahead at the men that laid on the ground. They were the reason. The disruption was their fault. He moved without thinking. The slip of a blade cut through the rain, embedding itself into the skull of the first man. The same fate met the second man soon after. He picked up the remaining flashlight without slowing down his stride, continued his trek back to the car.

You were waiting by the rental, leaning against the passenger's side door as Dex cleared the woods and stepped onto the dirt road. He fished the key from his pocket and unlocked the car before he moved to store the bags in the trunk. By the time he slipped into the driver's seat, you had already seated yourself in the passenger's side seat and buckled yourself in. Dex yanked his Bullseye mask from his face and tucked it into the pocket of his coat. Between the rain and mud, the rental would be a mess. They'd have to pay extra fees for the carelessness. Something Dex knew would upset you... or rather upset you further. Dex risked a glance in your direction as he moved to buckle himself in. You were quiet, uncharacteristically so. Your arms were crossed over yourself, fingers curling into the soaked fleece you wore. Reddened eyes stared ahead, silently waiting for him to drive.

The drive back had only the sound of rain to fill the silence. The bed and breakfast had quieted down significantly by the time you both returned, granting the opportunity to grab the bags and make it to the rooms without anyone seeing the disheveled state you both were in. You both walked down the short corridor towards your separate rooms, keys quietly unlocking the doors across from one another. Dex's hand remained on the doorknob. Not yet pushing the door open to step inside. He listened for a pause, for the sound of you turning, for the possibly of even a word.

CLICK.

Dex looked over his shoulder as the door to your room ticked shut, followed by the flick of the lock. His jaw set as walked into his room. He let the door close behind him, dropping his case by his feet. Flipping the lock on the door, he stripped himself from his soaked coat. The fabric felt tougher, made it harder to peel off. Frustrated, Dex ripped the remainder of the coat from his arms. Hands clawed at the rest of his wet clothes until he was rid of them. He ran his hands over his face, raked through his hair as he forced himself to breathe. Steady breath in, hold, then slow breath out.

Just like you showed him once.

Fuck.

Dex dropped onto the bed, face down on the mattress. What the hell was he going to do now? Dex buried his face into the nearest pillow as the noise in his head turned up slowly. For once, he welcomed the static. He let the white noise in his head drown out the thought of you and what he saw, pushed the responsibility of figuring it all out until the next morning. He slept. Barely. Restless, he turned and twisted beneath the sheets. He fell in and out of consciousness, in-between the sleep he needed and the twisting feeling in the pit of his stomach that prevented him from a moment of respite.

"I saw the news this morning, bud. We're very happy about this one. I'll reach out with your next mission once it comes in. Absolutely crushing it, you two."

The message came in early morning from Mr. Charles. Things didn't feel right, even with the stamp of approval from the higher ups. Dex threw on a pair of sweats and a tank before he padded across the hall to your door. His knuckle brushed against the door before he tapped two solid knocks against the wood. He waited, only earning silence in return.

"It's me," he finally said, knocking once more.

Nothing.

Dex contemplated grabbing a knife and breaking the door open, even going so far as to check the hall around him. Setting his hand on the doorknob, he expected the resistance that came with a locked room. Instead, the handle turned completely, clicking open softly. Dex wordlessly slipped inside. Maybe you were in the restroom, maybe you were ignoring him still. Either way, he needed to see you. Better to ask for forgiveness than an apology. Not that he'd actually ask for either. He closed the door behind him, turned towards the room. The empty room. No suitcase. No bed that was slept in. Not a single trace of you left behind.

You were gone.

And you stayed gone for days.

More accurately, you were gone for nine days, one hour, forty-five minutes, and twenty-three seconds.

The first day was wasted in France, where you seemingly turned off your phone and forced Dex to search nearly every five star hotel and restaurant within a respectable distance from the airport for you.

He took a flight back to Washington on day two, where he spooked your address out of the poor girl who sat outside of Mr. Charles's office. Once that was obtained, he searched your apartment, which he suspected was the address you must have supplied to Charles for CIA records. The minimalist space he broke into in no way aligned with your personal style. It was too clean and muted. Boring. It has absolutely none of your touch, your style, or your warmth.

Day three consisted of combing through the dummy apartment, the leasing apartment, and what he could find of your financials to extract your real apartment address in DC.

Days four was spent casing your actual place, waiting for you to reveal yourself.

He lost his patience by day five, inevitably breaking into the window of your living room to take a look around. The sight of your apartment made Dex dizzy. Compared to the bogus apartment the CIA had on file for you, this place felt loud and lived in. Comfortable, if not a little chaotic. Plush seating overflowed with soft blankets and decorative pillows, bookshelves littered with paperbacks and trinkets. Each room had a wall of a different, deeply rich color. There was always something on a wall as well. Artwork, a mirror, a shelves filled with bottles and vases, a plant. There was still no sign of you though. He moved through the space and stepped into your bedroom, where he found a very old, very worn green sweater with NEW YORK in big, bold letters thrown over the small chair in the corner of your room. Dex found himself brushing his thumb against the soft cotton sleeve, contemplating the potential insanity of his next move.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

Getting into New York unseen proved difficult, but not impossible on day six. From there, Dex moved a little more comfortably. This was his city. The same city he almost died and was reborn in. The same city that granted him his new life. He resumes his search similar to his method in France. Only instead of a five star radius around the airport, Dex lined up the top ten most expensive hotels in the city. He knocked the more traditional ones from the list with ease. You weren't going to stay in historic hotels, as nice as they were. Your choice in living space would be as colorful and sleek as you were. That fact was exactly how he spotted you.

Shopping bags swung from your hands and bright red heels click, click, clicked against the marble of the Baccarat Hotel. He kept his head down and stayed a safe enough distance away, but his eyes found themselves locked onto you. You looked... good. More than good, if he were being honest. Dressed in far finer garbs than the last time he saw you. He left a wide space, watching as you walked into the nearby elevator. Once the elevator doors closed with you inside, Dex moved from his cover. He observed each numbered floor above the elevator doors light up. One by one, floor by floor, until it stopped at the top floor. He scouted out the most expensive suite. The only one that occupied the top floor of the hotel. Bedroom, separate living and dining area, kitchenette. An opulent waste to Dex, but to you? He had no doubts you'd book the expensive suite without a second glance.

Dex had initially planned on cutting your trip short. Make his presence known. Yet somehow he found himself on day seven, waiting for you to leave the hotel. It was nearly afternoon when you finally appeared, immediately hailing a cab. He trailed the cab on the motorcycle he borrowed off some guy the night before, following you across town. All the way to... a maximum security prison. Despite his desire to track, Dex kept his distance. He may be working for the CIA now, but he knew better than to tempt fate and follow as you went inside. You were in there for two hours. The visitation time. Though his memory was spotty during his incarceration before Vanessa Fisk broke him out, he remembered how some inmates would receive visitors. Dex waited those two hours, noted the way your lips were set in a firm line when you left. He wondered what -- or who -- in that prison had caused that expression on your face. He wondered if he'd get the chance to ask about it someday.

He succumbed to the agitating feeling in his stomach on day eight and booked two tickets back to DC for the next morning. He kept his distance for eight days. You left without a warning or a trace. Without an explanation. Instead, you chose to run away to New York. He didn't understand it, yet he still sought you out. Still found you. That was honorable in his mind. A politeness. Surely you would agree with his assessment of the situation, if he could just get you alone. A task that currently felt impossible when you planted yourself in the middle of a packed night club that evening.

You wore a winter blue dress that draped over your front and dropped at your back. The fabric looked like it was dusted with sparkles. You looked like stars rippling across dark ocean waters as you danced. The lights in the club reflected against the glitter in your hair. At least that was how it looked from where he leaned on the second floor railing. Dex wasn't a fan of night life. The odd hours of service, the loud and unfamiliar music, the cramped space... It was a sweaty, sensory overloaded mess. He had little interest in it. Although it was impossible not to have his curiosity piqued at the sight of you that night. He watched as you moved to the music in the sea of bodies. The way your hips dipped and swayed, the way your hands trailed along your body and the body in front of you.

Wait.

Dex's grip on the railing tightened at the sight of another dancing near you. Was this normal? Did people just touch one another in night clubs? He watched with a different kind of intensity in his eye as you continued to move. This time his eyes were burning holes into the guy's hands, which trailed a little too close to your lower back. He considered his options, fairly certain he'd tip his hand if that man suddenly dropped dead on the dance floor. So his eyes continued following your movements, his feet stepping to keep you in his line of sight.

You departed sometime in the early morning on day nine, sweat covered and hair mussed from the night. Dex followed you down the streets of Queens, down the city blocks until you made your way up the ramp of a diner. Dex stared up at the giant letters above the building.

BEL AIRE DINER.

The space was nearly empty and looked like repairs had been made since the last time Dex was there months ago. A new lobster tank in place, patched up walls where bullet holes used to be. You sat at a window booth, eyes moving over the plastic menu in your hands. The glow of the lights was softer in the evening. Music softly played in the air as Dex made his way across the room. Your eyes don't lift from the menu when Dex slid into the booth across from you.

"Took you long enough."

You raised your gaze to look at Dex over the top of the menu.

"Over a week," you noted, "I was starting to think you weren't as good as they say you are."

"Sorry to disappoint."

"You didn't. At least not about that."

You set the menu down on the table, manicured nails tapping the tabletop as you leaned back in your seat. Dex set his forearms on the table as he leaned forward. He watched you, waited for your smile. You had smiled during the days he followed you. At the staff in the hotel, at the taxi drivers when you left the hotel, in the stores you shopped in. Your smile had been as carefree as your dancing earlier that night, but now? Now your face had none of that. You were pleasant, not openly hostile. However, the warmth that came so naturally to you had cooled significantly. Your lips parted to speak, but quickly stopped when a waitress made her way over to the table. Thankfully, it was not the same older woman as the last time Dex had visited the diner. The odds of anyone recognizing him diminished greatly. He sat back as the older woman smiled warmly as she approached.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes," the waitress said, "How long has it been, honey?"

"Too long," you replied, melting to the picture of ease.

"You're not getting your pancakes somewhere else, are you?"

"I wouldn't even dare to try and replace this place. However, if I were -- which I absolutely haven't at all -- they weren't half as good as here."

The older woman laughed, a hand resting on her hip. Dex watched as the waitress tipped her head in his direction, though she still addressed you when she spoke.

"And is this one the reason you haven't been around?" she asked, hint of a grin on her lips.

Dex raised an eyebrow faintly, interested in hearing your reply.

"Quite the opposite," you replied, "Benji here is the reason I'm back in town."

Benji? Dex made a face at the nickname, as you continued.

"Unfortunately, I got a job out of state," you explained further, "But I had some time and decided to take my friend here to my favorite place for breakfast."

"We'll get you the usual then. Same for your friend?"

The waitress looked at Dex, who nodded faintly.

"Yes, ma'am," he confirmed, earning a kind smile from the woman in response.

"Handsome and polite?" she grinned, scribbling down the order on a pad she pulled from her apron. She sent an obvious wink in your direction. "You got good taste in friends, honey."

You smile as the waitress collected the menu and made her way off to drop the orders into the kitchen. The curve of your lips faded slightly as you found yourself alone with Dex once more. Fingers itching for motion, you found yourself picking up the paper napkin nearby. You twisted it, then unrolled it. Repeated the motion in silence.

"If you're here to kill me," you finally said, eyes focused on the napkin as you continued to twist. "I'd prefer for it to happen after pancakes. Ideally, not in front of the staff. I've been coming here for years. It's a nice place and she's a nice lady. She works as a waitress most nights so she can watch her grandkids in the afternoon while her daughter's at work. If it happens here, the diner will be down for at least a couple days for a police investigation. She'll be out a few days worth of a paycheck. Some people live check to check. It'd be... rude. I don't want my last moment on earth to be an inconvenience in a place I really like."

"I'm not here to kill you."

Your fingers paused.

Your eyes rose.

"You're not?"

His answer was simple.

"Why would I?"

"Why wouldn't you?" you immediately asked, fingers tearing the napkin into strips as you added, "Mr. Charles would have dispatched you the moment you told him I ran. It would be the correct protocol for the CIA. AWOL or whatever..."

"Mr. Charles doesn't know."

Your eyes were touched with confusion.

"You didn't tell him I ran?"

"I didn't tell him anything."

You looked at him for a beat more before you began to lower your gaze to the napkin in your hand. Dex reached out, a large hand coming to rest over both of yours. It lingered there before Dex slowly curled his fingers around the torn napkin. He drew the pieces from your hands, leaving it at the edge of the table and out of your restless fingers.

"You--" you stopped yourself for a moment as the waitress brought over a couple waters, continuing when you were once again alone. "You saw what I did and then you just... sent me back to the car. You didn't give me the chance to talk about it. You were cold--"

"I was direct," he told you, "You were... upset. I was not equipped to fix that. We were in the middle of a mission. The target was just eliminated. Police would have been called. We already had two intruders onsite. You may not have liked it, but what I did was necessary."

Dex took note of your restlessness. The way your hands flexed open and closed, the feeling of your leg bouncing beneath the table. Quietly, Dex reached out and slid his napkin in your direction. He waited for you to take it. It seemed to soften some of the tenseness when you began to tear it to pieces.

"Why are you here, Dex?"

"You left," he simply replied, "I'm here bring you back."

"It can't be that simple."

"Why not?"

There was a brief pause as the waitress arrived with food. Two plates stacked with pancakes, fresh strawberries, and whipped cream. A small dish for butter and a bottle of syrup was left, as well as a few extra napkins. Neither of them moved as the waitress left them alone once more.

"Don't you have questions?" you asked him.

"I do," Dex replied, "I'll ask them when we get back to DC."

"Why?"

Dex gave you a look. Isn't it obvious? He motioned to the plates that sat between you both. Your ridiculously requested sweet treat in the early morning hours.

"It's 2AM, sweetheart."

Dex saw it then. The way you tried to bite down an incoming smile. The attempt was futile. There you were. The smile that was so big it touched your eyes and made them shine. The laugh -- soft at first, then slightly louder -- that took up space in his mind more then he'd like to admit. Dex found himself grinning. His first real smile in days. You picked up a fork and tugged your plate closer.

"These are my favorite pancakes in all of New York," you beamed, reaching out to drizzle syrup over your already sugar sweet plate, "From age six to ten, my parents would take me here before every drop off and after very summer pick-up from boarding school. Didn't matter what time of day. Pancakes were always ordered. I've yet to find a place that makes them this good."

"Why six to ten?" Dex asked, as he picked up his own fork.

"I was six when they first sent me to school in New York," you explained, "And they passed in a car accident when I was ten so..."

There must've been something in Dex's face -- the tilt of his head or a blink in the eyes -- that conveyed sympathy, because you were quick to keep talking.

"It's okay though. Really. I mean, at the time it definitely sucked. No one enjoys being orphaned during their formative years, but I ended up with a decent trust at eighteen. It wasn't a lot, but it was enough not to be terrified of the future."

Dex sat with that information for a moment. He was orphaned around that age. He didn't know why that sat on his tongue or why he wanted to share that piece of himself with you.

"Were you sent to an orphanage too?" he asked you.

Maybe one like Lyndhurst, where he had ended up, but for girls. Dex watched as you bit into a pancake piece before you shook your head at his question.

"A few of the teachers were concerned about a kid with my... condition being placed in the system," you shrugged faintly, "So when most of the kids went home to their families for the summer, I stayed at school. It wasn't too bad. There were other kids who didn't have places to go to and most of the teachers were around. It made it less lonely."

Dex felt his fingers tense around the fork he held, forced himself to soften the hold. Your experience was so unlike his own. Did that environment craft the person you became? Did his own upbringing make him the way he was? Would it have changed anything? He wasn't sure it would have.

"Sounds like a good place to land in."

"It was," you smiled, admiration in your voice, "I kinda owe my life to Xavier's. I make donations as frequently as I can. For a school for gifted youngsters, you can only imagine the kind of maintenance they need to keep that place running."

"'Gifted youngster'," Dex repeated, as he stabbed a piece of pancake onto his fork, "Is that what you are?"

"What I am is a mutant," you replied, thoughtfully, "Human-presenting, which others can't say, but I guess it's easier to call us 'gifted' when we're younger. Makes us feel special instead of different."

"You are different," Dex explained, simply, "But you're special too. You're... You're both."

He noted the way your face tinted faintly, a blush touching your cheeks. Your lips pressed to suppress a particularly deep smile. It took you a moment before you spoke again.

"I guess I stayed in New York because of Xavier's," you said, "Well, that and this place. There were a few years that I wasn't around. I got caught up in something that went sideways. I was advised to cut my losses and skip town, which I did. I tried Boston. I hated it. Thankfully, I got a call a few months back. A favor for a friend. My first time back in a while. I missed the city. I tried to visit this place, but the diner was closed for renovations. Some drug bust with the NYPD--"

"AVTF," Dex corrected, immediately, "And it wasn't a drug bust. It was a vigilante call."

"Whatever," you began to say, eyes focused on your pancake. You paused for a beat, eyes flickered up to look at Dex. "Wait.... How exactly do you know all that that?"

Dex smiled a little too proudly.

"You know what?" you quickly added, "I don't wanna know."

"You sure you don't want to know?"

"Of course I wanna know," you quickly replied, "Tell me everything and leave out nothing."

Dex smiled as you scooted forward in the booth, leaning in as he started to tell his story. You'd both spend the rest of the early morning meal that way. Just two people exchanging words over pancakes without a care in the world. Dex embraced the opportunity to speak with you, to witness your smile once again. It felt like catching up on time lost. It's nearly 3AM when you stacked the now-empty plates and moved to pay at the register. Dex stopped you, suggested you hail the taxi while he covers the tab. You waved goodbye to the staff, whispering for Dex to remember to tip before you left. Dex watched as you made your way outside, through the double glass doors towards the sidewalk.

"Give the girl your jacket, honey."

Dex turned to spot the waitress, who was all smiles as he moved towards the register.

"It's cold out," the older woman advised, "Offering your jacket would be sweet. She seems like the type of girl that likes sweet."

Dex looked over his shoulder slightly, caught the sight of you -- still in your shimmering dress and heels, most likely hopped up on sugar pancakes, and soon to experience the crash that followed -- slowly twirling circles on the sidewalk outside of the diner and not at all thinking about hailing a cab.

"Yeah," he hummed out, under his breath, "She's a sweet one."

He pulled out eighty bucks, dropped it on a thirty buck tab. He murmured a faint 'keep the change' before he made his way out of the diner. You were mid-spin when you came to a stop, eyes landing on Dex... and his jacket. Held open for you. He got the pleasure of seeing the glimmer of surprise, followed by earnest recognition. You said nothing as you turned to slip your arms through the sleeves of the jacket. You're instantly engulfed with heat. You silently insisted to yourself that was the reason your cheeks get warm.

A taxi is hailed moments later, Dex rattling off your hotel to the driver as you both slip into the back seat. The ride to the hotel is spent in relative silence, with only the sound of the radio playing. Some unfamiliar pop star singing some enchanted song. He couldn't focus on the lyrics. Not when the side of your body leaned into his. Not when your head finds its way onto his shoulder. Dex spent the next twenty minutes sitting completely still, unable to move. Not wanting to move for fear of disturbing you.

When the taxi neared the front of the hotel, Dex rouses you with a hand on your knee. You insisted on paying the taxi this time and bid the driver a safe night before you moved to join Dex on the sidewalk outside the hotel.

"Keep it," Dex said, as you began to shrug out of the jacket, "You can give it back to me at the airport. LaGuardia. 11:30AM. Gate B13."

"You were that sure you'd find me by today?" you asked him.

"Got the ticket yesterday," Dex smirked, nodding towards the jacket, "Ticket's in the inner right pocket."

Your eyes narrow playfully as you pat a hand over the right side of the jacket, fingers dipping into the front before you drew out a flight ticket from the pocket. You blew out a small chuckle before placing it back into the pocket once more.

"Where are you staying?" you asked him.

"Got a hotel down the road," Dex replied, "Cheaper. Guy at the front desk doesn't look too closely at IDs. Takes cash."

"Sounds about right," you laughed, "Do you need to get another cab?"

"I can walk."

"You'll be cold without your jacket."

Dex smirked.

"I'll live."

You smiled in return.

"You better."

Dex watched as you shifted on your feet. Weight from one heel to the other as you hugged the jacket around yourself. You shift closer to him. One step followed another until you stood toe-to-toe. You looked up -- and up -- to meet Dex's eyes. Your face softened, grew more heartfelt. Dex felt a chill roll down his spine as you rose onto the tips of your toes, arms reaching to wrap around his neck and shoulders. His hands took a moment before he remembered to move them, placed them cautiously at your hips. You're holding him -- hugging him -- with your face buried slightly into the crook of his neck.

"Thank you for finding me," you murmured against his shoulder, a small laugh in your words as you added, "And for not killing me."

You raise your head just enough to press small kiss to his scarred cheek. He wills his pulse to slow at the contact. It refused to. Instead Dex felt the beating go into overdrive. It continued to beat as you lowered yourself back to your height. A relentless pounding forming two words when you began to pull away. Don't go. Dex's fingers curled around the fabric of his jacket. He drew you closer before your arms could fall away completely from his shoulders.

His head dipped, swiftly closed what little distance there was between your face and his. Between your lips. Dex had never really been one to participate in gestures of romance. He had seen others perform the motions, yet so rarely engaged in it himself. But this moment? With you, in the early hours of the day, still beneath stars and moonlight and city lights? This he can do. So he kissed you. His lips were hesitant at first, unsure. A soft brush against softer lips. Testing. Slowly teasing. Then, when he was certain you wouldn't push him away, he tasted. He kissed deeper, hands slipped beneath the jacket you wore. Fingertips slid against your sides, gripped at your hips. Pulled you closer, kept you pressed against him. Your hands dropped from his shoulders and came to rest against his chest. His lips begged for entry and claimed your mouth completely once granted.

You'd both part slowly with shuddered, nearly desperate breaths. Dex dropped his forehead down, lightly rested it atop your head as you gathered your bearings. His thumbs brushed against your hips slightly before he withdrew his hands, taking the front of the jacket and drawing it closed. You said nothing as Dex brushed a hand along the length of your arm. A small touch. A quiet gesture. Your fingers grazed against his for a beat before breaking away completely. Neither of your spoke again. Dex simply nodded towards the hotel, a silent signal for you to head inside. You didn't question it. You moved on shaky legs towards the large entrance of the hotel doors, looked back slightly where Dex still remained. He waited until you were completely inside before moving from the sidewalk and down the long city block, towards his own hotel.

Something shifted in the air, changed the winds irrevocably, but Dex paid it no mind.

At this point in time, Dex simply existed with one simple fact.

You weren't gone anymore.

And that was enough.

[killshotx]

rabbit’s paw | shane maguire x reader

(MDNI, explicit sexual content, fem!reader, flirting, biting, fingering, p in v sex, outdoor sex, shane gets lead around like a dog on a leash but he likes it)

5.1k words

part 1

———

A proper shower is not an everyday occurrence for Shane Maguire. A scrub with baby wipes or a quick rinse with a portable camp shower is the best one can usually achieve out in the wilderness, and Shane prefers to spend most of his days in the trees. The creatures of the earth don’t care if he crawls into bed most evenings with a thin layer of dirt on his skin. Tonight, though, the squirrels and the birds won’t be his only company, and he has a feeling you would be less than impressed if he showed up for your date unwashed and sweaty.

A date. That’s what it felt like when you asked him to take you to see the stars. Shane is no romantic but this feels like classic romance. You and him and the night sky, alone on a ridge overlooking Yosemite. Cicadas chirping. Moon full and bright. He hopes you’ll think the mood is right, because the showers cost $5 to use and the box of condoms in his backpack cost $10, and he’s put so much damn work into wooing you these past few days that he thinks you might actually hurt his feelings if you turn him down now.

The cold water clears his mind, running grey and brown as it swirls around the drain at his feet. The workday was long and he spent most of it thinking about this evening, about seeing you again. He scrubs himself down with a scented body wash, fingers working into aching muscles, raking shampoo through his cropped blonde hair. He scrubs until he’s spotless and towels off in the damp stall, tugging on jeans and a soft t-shirt, boots, a dark flannel.

The bathroom is noisy with the commotion of other campers bathing and chattering. He picks a spot in front of an empty sink, drops his pack on the counter and digs out a razor and shaving cream. The stubble on his jaw disappears under the blade of his razor, and he wonders if you don’t prefer him that way. A little bit rugged. A little bit wild. But the skin left behind is smooth and soft, and he imagines you brushing your fingers over it, holding his face in your hands, planting your lips on the clean line of his jaw.

Shane Maguire, primping and preening for a woman. A likely place for him to be.

He takes a step back from the mirror to look over himself. Runs a hand through his damp hair. Adjusts the watch on his wrist. And, optimistically, tucks a condom into the pocket of his jeans. It’s getting late, and you’ll be waiting for him to text you.

He sends one off as he climbs onto his ATV. On my way now.

He drops his backpack onto the cargo rack and sees that you’ve liked the message, a little pink heart appearing next to the text bubble, before he stuffs his phone in the bag and heads out. Your cabin is a ten minute drive away off-trail, and by the time he pulls up to your front porch, the wind has dried his hair and the sky is painted in deep pinks and purples.

The window of your cabin is illuminated in warm yellow light. Through the parted curtains, Shane can see your clothes strewn over the quilt on your bed, as if you had been trying them on. He wonders if you were thinking of him when you picked them out — if you were trying to pick something he would like. Not likely. If the stunt you pulled last night was any indication, you already know you’ve got him on a leash.

He steps up to the door, pauses, runs a hand through his wind-tussled hair one more time, and knocks. Footsteps pad across the cabin floor, the sound soft and muffled through the door, and Shane remembers the last time he was standing in this very spot. Remembers the sweat on your bare skin and that satisfied smile. The door swings open and you’re there, tragically fully clothed in shorts and a shirt that hugs your body.

“Hello, mountain man,” you greet him. “You here to run off into the woods with me?”

“You know me,” Shane says, a smile creeping across his face. “Always looking for a pretty lady to throw over my shoulder.”

You step onto the porch and shut the door behind you, and Shane leads you down the steps to his 4-wheeler.

“And here I was thinking I was special,” you say, returning his smile with one of your own.

Shane huffs. “Sweetheart, you got no idea.”

He swings a leg over the seat of his ride and motions for you to follow. You climb onto the ATV behind him, chest pressed against his back, arms wrapping around his waist. Your body is warm against his and he can smell your perfume now, gentle and sweet in the fresh air.

“You been on one of these before?” he asks.

“Not really,” you say.

“Just hold on tight, keep your feet flat on the foot rests, and if I move you move — uh, you move — you move with me.” The words seem to stick, because your palms have flattened out on the plane of his ribs, moving in broad strokes over the front of his body.

“This shirt looks good on you,” you say, smoothing a hand over the fabric. “Feels soft.” Your arms wrap around his waist again and your hands settle over his ribs. He feels the heat of them like a brand through his t-shirt.

He clears his throat. “Yeah? You want to try it on sometime?” You laugh against his back, and before you can find some other way to torture him, he takes off into the trees.

The ridge Shane promised to take you to is not on any official trail. It’s a quiet spot. Secluded. One of the many places he’s discovered after years spent wandering the park. The two of you ride through pine forest, across a gulch, and up the steep hillside. Your arms squeeze tighter around him as the 4-wheeler rumbles up the sloped terrain, hands fisted in his shirt. There’s a smug satisfaction in the way you cling to him, and Shane lets himself revel in it as you finally pull over the top of the hill onto level ground.

Shane parks and cuts the engine, and the air around you is singing with the chirping and rustling of wildlife. Shane pats your thigh pressed up against him.

“Get a little scared there, princess?” he drawls.

Your teeth sink into his bicep through his flannel and he yelps. You hop off the ATV before he can retaliate and stroll to the ridge to survey the land spread out below. Yosemite at night is a wonder cast in soft blue moonlight. The jagged line of the mountains, the conifer forests below, the bright spots of campfires and lanterns dotting the spaces in between.

Shane rubs the spot where you bit him, the pain dull and pleasant. Grabbing his pack off the cargo rack, he follows after you.

“Just couldn’t wait to get your mouth on me, huh?” he says as he catches up with you. “And here I thought you didn’t even like me.”

You twine yours fingers with his, standing so close that the toes of your hiking boots bump up against his. “You like my mouth on you?” you ask as you bring his hand up to your lips, biting softly at his fingers. Your teeth leave a faint prickling everywhere they graze his skin.

“Yeah,” Shane says, voice low and rough, and because he’s nothing if not a cocky bastard, “got somethin’ else you can put your mouth on, if you want.”

“Oh, yeah?” you say, looking up at him through your lashes. “With or without teeth?”

Shane remembers that you’re evil. A devil sent from hell to torture him. You leave him with one last bite, mean and quick, before you drop his hand and turn to the ridge again. Shane also remembers that his mouth is the single greatest threat to his chances of getting laid tonight, so he considers himself lucky that he didn’t piss you off enough to send you marching back down the hill, and unzips his pack to dig out a blanket. He unfurls it over the grass and sits down on it as you admire the view.

“This is a nice spot, Shane,” you say. “How do you even find these places?”

“Been wandering these woods for years,” he answers. “Spend enough time in this park and you learn all of her little secrets.”

You turn to look at him. “You don’t ever get lost wandering around out here?”

He laughs and pats the space next to him, inviting you to take it. “The Rangers wouldn’t have had me if I couldn’t find my away around some trees.” You wander over to him and he continues. “The Army Rangers, I mean. Not the boy scouts that run around here.”

You stop in front of him, nudging his boot with your own to kick his legs apart. He obeys without protest and you plop down between his open legs, back pressed to his chest, and take his hands in yours to wrap his arms around you.

Oh, he is definitely getting laid. Shane gladly takes the excuse to touch you and rests his chin on your shoulder. The smell of your shampoo is herbal and pleasant. Lavender, he thinks, sweet like the wildflowers that grow in the spring. Your body is warm and soft against his as he presses you even closer into his chest, and you lean back against him with a content sigh.

“Tell me about the stars,” you say. “What’s that one?”

Shane follows your pointed finger to a bright star in the sky. “Alkaid,” he says. “First star in the Big Dipper.” He points to it himself, and then to the one beside it. “Mizar, Alioth, Megrez, and that red one —“ he says, tracing the line of the constellation with his fingertip — “Dubhe. And if you follow the line these two make, way out there, is Polaris.” His finger traces a line from the edge of the Big Dipper to another lone star.

“The North Star,” you say.

Shane squeezes your waist. “Smart girl. You’ll be a pro at this in no time.”

You laugh softly. “You think I’ll be navigating with the stars like you do?”

“Oh, I don’t use the stars for that, sweetheart. These days we’ve got this fancy new technology called maps and compasses.” You swat at him.

“But I can teach you to use those,” he adds. “If you want to come stay with me at my camp sometime. I’ll make a Ranger out of you, too.”

You give a thoughtful “hmm,” letting the offer hang in the air. “Maybe next time. When I’m back in the park later this summer.”

Next time. Shane likes the sound of that.

You point to another star, a blue pinprick against the inky black sky, and Shane tells you its name. He traces the outline of each constellation above you, patiently explaining them as he’s done for the plants and wildlife this last week. He loves this land. The affection bleeds through in his tone, his intimate knowledge of each and every part of it. He belongs to it, as wild as any other creature in its boundaries, and he realizes he’s given away this part of himself when you tip your head up to look at him fondly, your hand coming up to brush his cheek.

“I’ve had a lot of fun this week,” you say. “Thanks for showing me around. And buying me lunch.”

“Think I remember buying you more than one lunch,” he says, and you grin with mischief in your eyes.

“And I’m so grateful for all of them.”

“You better be,” he says. “The food in this place is all overpriced to hell.”

You take his hands in yours and press his palms flat against your hips, moving them up to the curve of your waist.

“You know, when we met a few nights ago,” you begin, “I thought you were an asshole.”

“Yeah?” Shane says. “And now what?”

“And now I know you are.”

Shane can only laugh. He’s man enough to admit that it’s true. You slide his hands further up your body, over the bottom of your rib cage. He feels your chest rise and fall in steady breaths. Can almost feel your heart thumping under your skin.

“You said somethin’ else about me too,” Shane says. “Somethin’ about being a waste of time.” He swipes his thumbs across your skin, and the calloused tips of them brush up against the curve of your breasts. His mind zeroes in on every point of connection between your bodies — your legs pressed up against the inside of his, your hips braced between his thighs. He’s certain you can feel his heart pounding against your spine.

“Oh, that’s not what I said,” you answer, guiding his hands higher. You turn your head to speak against his jaw, mouth hot against his skin. “I said you couldn’t make me come.”

And before he can speak, you press his hands into the fat of your breasts and he groans, low and ragged. His fingers sink into the soft tissue, kneading them under his sweaty palms, the thin fabric of your shirt and bra the only buffer between him and the heat of your bare skin. He wants them gone. Wants to feel the soft skin he saw for himself just last night, that he’s been thinking about every moment since.

You kick off your hiking boots and they roll into the grass. Your hands fall to your shorts, where you work open the button and slide the zipper down, hook your thumbs into the waist band and begin working them over the curve of your ass. Shane grips your breasts with enough force that he’s sure you’re aching under his palms, and watches, hungry, as you slide those shorts down your hips and toss them into the grass with your boots.

“I meant it when I said it,” you say against his skin. “And now I want you to prove me wrong.”

Shane doesn’t need to be told twice. He drops a hand to the space between your legs, covered only by the thin material of your underwear, and cups you with a rough hand. Damp fabric meets his fingertips, and a thrill skitters up his spine as he realizes that you’re already wet for him. That maybe you want this as much as he does. Your legs part to make space for his hand, breath hot against his neck, and he drags the flat of his palm against you in broad, firm strokes.

Thank you God, he thinks. Thank you Jesus. Thank you to whatever other higher power may be watching as he pushes your panties to the side and plunges two fingers into your entrance. Shane is not a religious man, but if there is a god out there to keep ledgers and hold grudges, he must not care much about the many sins of Shane Maguire, or else you wouldn’t be here whimpering into his ear.

This is the image that’s plagued his mind since you first shot him down at that bar so many nights ago, the sounds and sensations he’s been dreaming of. Your core, hot and silky under the rough pads of his fingers. The weight of your body squirming against him, your face crumpling as he probes every sensitive spot inside of you until he finds what makes you melt.

His fingers pump steadily inside of you, in and out, in and out, and you press down on the heel of his palm so it grinds against your neglected clit. Whatever you want, he’ll give it to you. Tonight, he’s your eager student, studying your body and your bliss with a gaze that devours.

The sounds you’re making are shutting down the higher function of his brain. Reducing him into an animal with two thick fingers sinking inside you, rubbing curiously against your walls, fixated with carnivorous intensity on each little shift in your expression. He curls his fingers into the spongy spot in your core and you arch against his chest, head tipped back against his shoulder.

“Yeah,” you say, breathless. “Yeah, right there. Right there, Shane.”

A week ago he was fisting himself to the thought of you saying his name like that. To the thought of you moaning and squirming against his body like this. You feel even better than he imagined while he was sweaty and alone on top of his shitty cot. The wet heat of you swallows his fingers up as they pump into you again and again, grinding against that spot you like each time. Hips rolling, you meet each thrust of his fingers, and the hand that was resting on his cheek is now fisted in his hair.

“You been so mean to me,” Shane says raggedly. “Leading me around like a dog on a leash. You like that? You like bossing me around?”

He feels your mouth curl into a smile against his skin. “You like it when I boss you around.”

Another point he can’t argue with. You’ve had him all but whipped for the last week and he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy every second of it. Your clever remarks. The ornery curve of your grin as you leave him high and dry over and over again. The sweet shine in your eyes as he shows you the best and most beautiful that Yosemite has to offer. You must know how much he wants you. How much he wants you to want him.

“Shane, I can’t — I can’t come like this. I need you to — need to you touch me —“

“I know, princess. I got you.” He drags his fingers, wet with your slick, up to your clit. You pant into his neck as he makes quick circles, and he feels your body drawing tighter and tighter as he pushes you right up to that ledge. Your fist tightens in his hair and the pressure on his scalp draws out a groan from deep in his chest.

He hasn’t even taken his clothes off. Hasn’t even taken all of yours off yet, and he’s charged like a live wire around your trembling body. Your hips jolt against his hand, little bucking motions that rub up against his pants where he’s hard and aching behind you, but he can’t even think about grinding into you now. He needs to see the way your face breaks as you tumble over the edge. Needs to hear his name on your lips as he guides you over it.

The movement of his fingers is tight, controlled as he swipes over your clit relentlessly. Your hand wraps around his wrist, to keep him there or to push him away, as your body starts to tremble.

“Ah, Shane — fuck, I’m — I’m gonna —“ your voice breaks around the words.

“Give it to me, sweetheart,” Shane says. “You can do it. Give it to me.”

And for once, you do as he tells you. Your mouth parts into a pretty “oh,” body arching off of his chest, as you finally tip over that ledge and let him prove you wrong. A week of trailing after you was worth it, the bruise you left on his ego that night in the bar finally paying off, as you melt into ecstasy under his diligent fingers.

He should have made you beg for it. Should have made you eat those words and kiss the wounds you left on his pride, but any smug satisfaction he feels is being smothered under the sound of your pretty voice chanting “Shane, Shane, Shane,” like your clever little head has emptied out of every thought that isn’t him.

He guides you through the waves of pleasure, working you through your orgasm until you’re shoving at his hand and your moans turn into desperate little “ah,ah’s” as the sensation becomes too much. When you’ve come down from that high and he finally relents, you slump against him, boneless, only to gasp as he wraps a strong arm around your waist and tips back onto the grass.

He hauls you onto his body, laying with your back to his chest as he fumbles with the button of his jeans and shoves them clumsily down his thighs, working them down just enough to free his stiff cock.

“You better have a condom,” you say, voice still raw. “I want you inside me. Now.”

Today, Shane’s optimism has payed off in spades, because he digs that silver packet out of the pocket of his jeans and tears the corner off with his teeth. He’s barely fit the condom over his tip when he feels your hands fumbling for his dick, your body squirming on top of him as you line him up with your entrance.

“Fuck, sweetheart, god — just give me a second,” he says as he finally rolls the condom down his length.

Shane grips your hips between his hands, anchoring your body against him, plants his booted feet into the earth, and sinks into you with one strong thrust.

The sound that tears from his throat is almost humbling. Around his fingers you were perfect, but around his cock you are addictive. Hot and soft and slick. He pauses there, bottomed out inside you, every muscle in his body tensing as his mind narrows down to the singular feeling of you, perfect and beautiful, wrapped around his cock.

“God, fuck,” he groans through his teeth. He just needs a minute. One moment to gather himself, to stave off the release he can already feel building in his gut.

Because you’re evil and devoid of mercy, you squirm on top of him. “Shane, move,” you whimper, rolling your hips in search of friction.

He’s not going to last. Your desperate little movements are almost too much, and Shane knows as soon as he starts fucking you it’s going to be a short walk to the edge of that drop. You’ll never let him live it down.

“Just give me a minute,” he says, thighs shaking with the effort not to slam into you and finish it.

But of your many virtues, patience is not one. “Shane,” you say, voice hard. “Fuck me.”

Fuck it. Shane gives up. “As you wish, princess.”

And damn it, it feels good to give in. He pounds into you without restraint, fingers gripping your hips with enough force to bruise, and your voice breaks on little hiccuping moans with each thrust. He should, perhaps, be more concerned about getting caught. Yosemite is a big park but certainly isn’t lacking in visitors, and the two of you are making enough noise that the night-crawling animals have gone silent and wandered elsewhere. He would care if he wasn’t so, so close.

“I’m not gonna last,” he confesses, hips stuttering as he draws closer to that high. “Touch yourself, fuck, give me one more. Wanna feel you.”

You drop one hand to rub yourself in quick little motions, the other hand clasped around his arm where it pins you to his chest. “I’m close,” you say. “Really close.”

Good, he thinks, because he’s nearly at the end of his rope. His thrusting turns erratic, losing its rhythm as the coil in his belly starts to unravel, heat spreading through his hips in white-hot release. His thighs burn with exertion but he doesn’t slow, the ache registering distantly in his mind as his orgasm burns through him and he spills inside of you.

Your fingers have gone shakey where they play with your clit, fingernails digging into the skin of his arm. “I’m coming, Shane, I’m coming, don’t stop.”

He grits his teeth and thrusts into you even as the pleasure shifts into the sharp sting of overstimulation, his legs trembling, his breath hissing through his teeth. The pain grounds him, brings him back down to earth just enough to remember that he’s still not done with you, that there are things he’s been dreaming about that he still hasn’t brought to reality. The first of which he remedies by fisting a hand into the hem of your shirt and dragging it up over your chest. His fingers find the band of your bra and shove it up as well, and finally, your breasts are free.

He watches with a wolfish gaze as they bounce with every thrust, and he seizes one in his hand as the other arm keeps you steady on top of him. The skin of your breast is warm and damp with sweat, softer even than the fabric of your shirt, and your nipple pebbles under his palm. He kneads it firmly, roughly, as you ride your second orgasm on top of him.

Beautiful. You’re so beautiful, and still he hasn’t had his fill. He wants you on top of him. Wants your taste on his tongue. Wants you in every way he can take you, but right now, his body is slick with sweat and trembling with the sting of overstimulation. He brings you down slowly from your high, hand still clutched around your breast, until your cries die down and your muscles relax against him.

He collapses onto the blanket, your bodies falling into a sweaty heap. You’ve gone boneless on top of him, two orgasms in quick succession sapping you of your energy, and Shane feels that smug satisfaction returning. You told him to prove you wrong — he did it twice. Maybe you’ll let him crawl into your pants again for his efforts, sometime later, when he isn’t panting on the ground.

He shifts you off of his chest and sets you gently on the blanket. Crawls over you. Dips his head down and takes one pert nipple into the heat of his mouth.

“Mmph,” he groans, sucking you into his mouth. Your hands comb into his hair, pulling gently at the strands. The other breast he takes into his hand, pressing and kneading into it as he sucks and licks at the other. He could be here all night. He could fall asleep like this, absolutely pacified with your tit in his mouth. “Fuck, these tits,” he says, and switches, taking the other between his lips.

Your nails scratch the skin of his scalp, dragging from his crown to the base of his neck, the tingling feeling so delicious that he could start moaning all over again. He releases you with a wet pop.

“So, what do I win?” he asks. “For proving you wrong.”

You look up at him with a half-dazed expression, body still loose and fuzzy with the aftershocks of your orgasms. “You want a prize?” you say. “C’mere.”

You grab the back of his head and pull him down to you, catching his mouth in a kiss. Your lips are soft and pliant, working slowly against his mouth as he melts into the kiss. He meets each languid movement of your lips with his own, and you hum contentedly into his mouth. It’s a sweet thing, slow and fond and pleased, not the rough claiming he’s used to during his usual one-night stands. When you separate, neither of you speak. You gaze at each other, panting softly, until your heartbeats slow and your breaths even out.

“Should probably get you back,” Shane says, pulling his pants up and tucking himself back into his jeans. “You’ll be fallin’ asleep on the ride home.”

You nudge your shorts with a pointed foot. “Help,” you say, and Shane plucks them out of the grass and slides your feet through the holes, working them down your thighs and under your hips. He takes one boot into his hand next and slides your foot into it, lacing it up as you lounge on the blanket.

“You got work tomorrow?” you ask as he starts on the other foot.

“Yeah,” he says. “But I’ll make time for you.”

“Stay with me tonight,” you say. “I want to wake up with you.”

Shane wants to wake up with you, too. Wants to do about a dozen other things that he’s been dreaming about.

“Whatever you want, princess,” he says, finishing the knot on your laces and planting a kiss on your ankle.

The ride back is long and quiet, or as quiet as it can be with the rumble of the 4-wheeler. The forest is dark under the canopy of the trees, and animals dart out of the way of the bright headlights as Shane effortlessly navigates the terrain. By the time you reach your cabin, the moon has traveled long across the sky and the park has gone quiet.

Shane cuts the engine and you slide off the seat behind him, tugging him to your porch and up the stairs with your fingers twined in his. He lets you pull him inside, locks the door behind him. Kicks off his boots and follows you into the bathroom where you both peel off your clothes and step into a blissfully hot shower. You wash off in comfortable silence, dirt and sweat melting off your skin. He watches you with a tired curiosity, eyes tracking over every exposed inch of your skin. Noticing and appreciating.

When you tug him into bed, he folds under your covers like he’s done it ten times before. Fits your body against his and wraps an arm around your waist like you’re already his. The pillowcase smells like your shampoo. Herbal. Lavender. There’s a dangerous comfort in this. He could get used to it.

He turns that thought around in his mouth. Chews on it. Lets the taste linger and decides if it’s bitter or sweet.

“Shane,” you say, a gentle bid for his attention.

“Yeah?” he answers, voice hazy with sleep.

“Did you think I wasn’t going to make fun of you for lasting two minutes?”

Shane groans and drags an aching hand down his face. You’re evil. He knows that you’re evil.

You pull his hand up to your mouth and plant a kiss to his skin. “It’s ok,” you say with only a little bit of wickedness. “You’ve got time to make it up to me.”

Shane sighs. Presses you into his body. Finds your shoulder with his mouth and bites, sinking his teeth into your clean skin. You yelp, giggling and trying to squirm away as he pins you in place with one strong arm.

You really will be the death of him. But death has never scared Shane Maguire much, and at your hands, he’ll gladly submit to it.

He falls asleep wrapped around your body, the smell of you lulling him into peaceful rest, your body a comforting weight against his.

[manonwillpower]

I will continue to write for Love Me Not!! I just have one shots brewing in my head and will return to the series. Thank you sm for the support so far!

[buildinguplikewaves]

the monster in me (loves the monster in you)

PAIRING: Benjamin Poindexter x F!Reader

SUMMARY: Newly appointed "good guy" CIA!Dex gets a handler. It goes about as well as you expect.

WORD COUNT: 5K and some change

WARNINGS: canon compliant, eventual smut, eventual violence, attempted slow burn (we'll see how long i can hold out), dex is a good guy now (delusional), reader is totally "normal" (also delusional), rom-com elements if you like your rom-coms between two morally bankrupt troubled people, withholding information about reader for plot reasons, actual serious tags to follow

AUTHOR'S NOTE: No beta. Despite outlining a whole Bucky Barnes universe fic, this somehow ended up being my first Marvel contribution to fandom and my first attempt ever at a reader fic. Wilson said he wanted Bullseye to have a crazy girlfriend. This is my take on that request. Enjoy!

CHAPTER ONE: the coffee catch-up job

[AO3]

When Dex followed Mr. Charles onto a plane to Washington DC, he expected to be brought to an office, like his work with the FBI. He'd wear his gear, get his assignments, and do the job. A routine he could follow. The dependable kind. The kind that used to quiet the noise in his head. It had been easier to mimic and mirror in an office environment. Stability had been the goal back then. However, it was clarity that had blossomed in the months that followed his near-death and second chance at life at the hands of Daredevil. It was as if he had seen a new light. A different perspective. Understood his true purpose. To balance the scales. To provide his skills. To eliminate evil. The life of a real goddamn hero. A good guy. Dex felt the corner of his lips tug. A small smile. A bit of pride. How could he not take pleasure in that fact? He was one of the good guys now and, like all heroes, Dex had to overcome the odds and deal with the challenges that were thrown at him.

It was hard, but noble work.

That afternoon, the current challenge was... being in public.

At a mall.

Maybe mall was too small a word for the massive shopping center he found himself in. Countless stores and people at every turn. High end brands so expensive that one item would have cost about what Dex used to pay a month in rent in New York. He stood at the center of the plaza, eyes surveying as people moved from store to store. Their arms were loaded with bags. Probably thousands of dollars worth of junk. It was not what Dex imagined when he received a call from the hotel lobby front desk that morning and was informed that a car had been sent to him. The driver had picked him up from the hotel and dropped him off here. No Mr. Charles and no further instructions.

A small reprieve came when the phone in his coat pocket went off. He retrieved the ringing device, staring blankly down as it continued to ring. His phone was tucked in his back right pocket. This phone wasn't his at all and certainly wasn't in his pocket when he left the hotel room that day. He turned the phone over in his hand. It was flamingo pink and buzzing along to some pop song he wasn't familiar with. The caller ID name was a single sparkle emoji. What the absolute fuck? Dex answered the call, eyes sharp as he scanned the area. He gave no greeting, instead waiting for the other end of the line to speak.

It was your voice that came through.

"Took you long enough."

It was the kind of voice that curved around each word spoken. Made each sentence feel like an invitation. Casual. Kind in tone. Light. More than a little playful. Not at all the voice he expected to fill his ear. It was unfamiliar. Not just your voice, but the sound of someone -- anyone -- speaking to him warmly. It instantly set Dex on alert.

"Who is this?"

"Do you always take so long to answer calls or do you have an aversion to the color pink that I should know about?"

Dex frowned at his question being answered with a question. It instantly drew a giggle out of you. He turned where he stood, eyes trying to lock onto whoever was clearly watching him.

"You're going to be a fun one. I can already tell."

PING!

"See you soon."

The line cut. Dex dropped the phone from his ear, thumbing through the screen until he opened the messages. A simple instruction. The name of a coffee shop. The intention was clear. He was meant to go there. He pocketed the phone as he began to move, only slowing when he neared a store directory. The coffee shop looked like a local spot. The kind that decorated with the intention of providing customers with good vibes and fun aesthetics with their cups of coffee. It was the kind of decoration that Dex just didn't understand. It served no purpose. It didn't make the coffee taste any better. Dex didn't order a drink, instead opting walk past the small line towards the table in the back corner. Unfortunately, the table was located beneath a neon sign that read 'IT'S A MUG STORY (BABY, JUST SAY YES)'. He placed a chair on one side of the table before sitting directly across from the chair. Back to the wall. No surprises.

Well, one surprise.

You.

Dex's eyes flickered to the register at the sound of your voice. It was soft and sweet as you thanked the barista. He watched as you adjusted the handbag hooked on your arm before you took two to-go cups in your hands. You turned and looked over in his direction, eyes landing directly where he had chosen to sit. A smile spread across your lips as you made your way over to the table. The long peacoat you wore was a rich royal blue. It also was cinched at your waist and hung over your curves in a way that could only emphasize the swing of your hips as you neared. More importantly, it also concealed most of your body, which made it difficult for Dex to note any sort of weapon in sight.

"There's my guy," you happily said, setting down the cups on the table, "Made it here just in time for drinks too."

Instead of taking the seat across from him, Dex watched as you curled your fingers around the back of the chair and drag it over to his side. You set the chair far too close to his own. It was the lack of distance often reserved for close friends. The kind of dynamic Dex had absolutely no experience with. He sat straighter in his seat as you dropped down into the seat beside him, hooking the strap of your handbag on the corner of your chair. It was all too... friendly. Like this was something the two of you had done countless times. An act that Dex knew to be untrue since he had no idea who the hell you were.

"You will not believe how many coffee places are in this shopping center," you continue on, as you tug at the sash around your waist. You loosen and shrug out of the coat you wore, moving to hang it onto the back of your seat, alongside your purse. "Eleven. Such a strange, uneven number for one location and way too much caffeine in a five block radius. Have you--"

Your words are cut with a soft gasp as Dex pressed the tip of a blade into your side. Not enough to pierce, but enough to get your attention. In your distraction, you missed the way he reached into his jacket. Dex watched your face, waiting for the act to drop. It never comes. Instead, he watched as you look down to where the blade was. An incredulous look touched your face. Like somehow he was in the wrong in this exchange.

"Well, that's just rude," you pointed out, too casual for someone currently with a knife aimed in your direction. "I went through eleven coffee websites trying to find the best one in anticipation of today and now I'm going to have a hole in my fourth favorite shirt--"

"What is this?"

"I thought it was a lovely little coffee catch-up," you instantly replied, confusion in your eyes as you looked at him. "But apparently sweet treats trigger the fight response with you, which feels very strange, but who am I to judge? I'll note it for the next time, I guess."

You leaned back in your seat, clearly disappointed as you cross your arms over your chest. Dex tried not to acknowledge the way that motion dipped the fabric at your neckline on your fourth favorite shirt.

"Figures Mr. Charles would stick me with a total--"

"Mr. Charles," Dex jumped in, grasping onto the first thing that made sense to him that day.

The name earned a nod from you, as well as the beginning of what Dex anticipated was another earful.

"When I agreed to this arrangement -- and god did I not even want to agree to it in the first place -- I specifically requested--"

"Hey, no. Stop that," Dex stopped you, lightly tapping your side with the tip of the blade, "Focus. Who are you and why am I here?"

He had the good sense to stop you before you could throw yourself into a long winded response.

"Five words or less," he ordered.

You remain silent, looking pointedly from Dex's eyes to the blade in his hand. He relented after a beat, drawing his knife and concealing it back in his jacket. Once it was out of sight, he watched as you considered your next five words. You took your time, eyes aimed skyward as you thought. Once the words came to you, you sat up straighter, ready to play.

"New recruit."

You grinned, hands in the finger gun position as you pointed to him.

"Handler."

You motioned to yourself.

"Coffee catch-up."

You make a show of wiggling manicured fingertips at the two coffee cups that sat on the table still. You nodded. Not so much to Dex, but to yourself. Apparently a self-congratulations after a job well done. Dex's face pinched slightly in thought. You were... strange. Far too sunny and unsubtle. Your eyes were too expressive, your smile too welcoming. There was no fucking way you were CIA.

"That can't be right," he muttered to himself.

"It's right," you nodded, seemingly in understanding and not understanding at the same time, "Five words or less. Catch-up has a hyphen. It's a common error. People think of the action of catching up when really the hyphenated version is when you're trying to describe--"

"I thought Mr. Charles was the guy."

That gets a scoff of a laugh out of you.

"Oh, he's definitely the guy," you replied, a light roll in your eyes as you spoke, "But even the guy has to answer to someone and he's got so many players in the game that sometimes even the best of coaches need some assistance."

You find yourself slowing slightly as you took in the sight of Dex. He was clearly trying to work through the information in his mind. This was a new development for him. One that you weren't sure he approved of.

"Seeing how Mr. Charles didn't take it upon himself to break the news to you," you softly probe, "I'm assuming the gift basket I sent to your hotel room was probably really weird without the context."

Dex's brows furrowed in further confusion.

"I didn't get a basket."

It was your turn to look confused.

"Room 303 at the Four Seasons?"

Dex shook his head.

"Room 302."

Fuck.

"Well..." you said, mildly embarrassed as the realization hit, "Your across the hallway neighbor received a very confusing care package consisting of assorted fruits and snacks, a bath bomb shaped like a toaster, massage balm, a t-shirt of cartoon George Washington with the words 'WE THE PEOPLE SERVE NO KINGS', and one of those musical greeting cards that plays a song when you open it."

"Musical greeting card," Dex slowly repeated.

"Private Eyes by Hall and Oats," you confess, "It all seemed like a good idea at the time, but honestly? Halfway through shopping for items I just started grabbing things that looked fun and the theme I was going for just went out the window. I promise to aim for a more consistent theme next time."

You shift in the chair, turning your body towards Dex to face him fully. Dex watched as your shoulders dropped slightly. Disappointment was evident on your face.

"Man, I really dropped the ball not getting your room right," you added, solemnly, "Such a rookie mistake. That's going to haunt me for at least the rest of the day. Like, head in my hands in the middle of the night, unsettled sleep kind of haunt. The massage oil is actually one of my prouder moments too. It's topical CBD and really helps with aches and pains. I figured you'd need it after jobs. I put a lot of consideration into it and now some random is going to use it and not understand..."

There was something in the way you looked broken up over the whole thing that cracked something inside of Dex. He found himself fighting back a smile, a short breath of a laugh escaping his lips in spite of himself. The sound seems foreign coming from the man beside you and throws you for a moment. Then, as he came to expect, your expression brightened instantly.

"If you still want the basket, I have no doubts a man of your... abilities can obtain it. Just try to avoid leaving a body, if you can manage that," you suggested, before you motioned to the to-go cups. "Anyway, I tend to try out hot chocolates when I go to new places. I got you a black coffee though. I made an educated guess. You just seem like a black coffee kind of g--"

"You know who I am," Dex cut in.

"Sure do," you chirped out a confirmation, reaching out to draw the hot chocolate closer to you. Your eyes widen in anticipation as you did. "It's the perfect amount of chilly outside and it'll make the drinks so much more enjoyable. We should take advantage of the weather and make this coffee catch-up a coffee walk-n-ta--"

Dex stops you with a touch of his hand to yours before you could lift the cup from the table.

"You know what I've done," he tried to draw your focus back to the point once more, "What I'm going to do... and you still accepted the assignment?"

"I'm aware of your escapades," you replied, voice lowered to keep things between you, "My line of work was similar. Minus the violence and bloodshed and irreparable destruction left in the wake. So I guess it's actually not really all that similar when I really start to think about it..."

"Focus," he found himself telling you, earning an impatient huff from you as a result.

"You have targets. I had marks. Instead of your... y'know, tools," you explained, hand mimicking stabbing the air with a knife, "I used my words to... liberate specific types of people from a range of excessive and costly objects or semi-regularly an undisclosed amount of government issued currency."

That got his attention.

"You're a thief?"

You sniffed at the accusation, nose crinkling in distaste.

"Thievery is a thing I do, not who I am."

Dex didn't rise to the bait.

"You're not CIA," he hissed out.

"Technically speaking, neither were you until recently," you reply back in kind, voice dropping to a near-whisper. "At least you weren't until you signed whatever contact Mr. Charles put in front of you, same as me. If anything, I'm CIA-adjacent—"

Dex pressed a hand to your upper thigh when you tried to rise from your seat, forcing you back down. You freeze at the feeling of his fingers against the fabric of your jeans and the warmth that radiated from them. His hand remained as he seemed to search your eyes for answers you both knew he wouldn't find.

"Why would the CIA give me a grifter as a handler?"

In a totally mature act of rebellion, you slap at his hand. The sheer audacity caused the desired effect. He drew his hand back just long enough for you to slip out of your seat. You hurriedly grab your jacket and purse before taking the first two steps to leave. Dex watched as you appeared to second-guess yourself, turning back towards the table. You lean in quickly, voice dropping low enough that he alone could hear you.

"Probably for the same reason they gave me a murderer instead of an agent."

You made a point to grab your to-go cup before turning on your heels and storming off. You manage to clear the entrance of the coffee shop before he's half a step behind you. You feel the sharp point of a knife at your back. The second time that day you found yourself in this position. Dex looks about as calm as a guy like him could look to the general public. To-go coffee cup in the hand people could see. A blade threatening to cut into your spine in the other. He kept that hand blocked from sight, his large frame overshadowing yours as he crowded your space behind you.

Typical.

"You got a car?" he asked you, earning a nod in response. The order that follows is unnecessary, but spoken anyway. "Take me to it."

The walk to the parking garage takes less than ten minutes. You both spend it in uncomfortable silence. The car is tucked away in the corner of the garage, far from the other cars parked on that level. You dig the key out of your purse as you near the car. Dex watched as you unlocked the doors, tossing your coat into the backseat and storing your purse at the floor of the passenger's side. He ignores the way you need to bend at the waist to do the latter. Surprisingly, you turn back to him, motioning for his coffee cup with your free hand.

"It's a rental," you told him, unfiltered in your honesty, "I don't want to spill. They charge you more if you spill."

Dex watched you for a beat until you muttered a hasty c'mon, fingers making an impatient grabbing motion until he relents and set his to-go cup into your hand. You take the time to secure both cups in the center cup holder before sliding into the driver's seat and shutting your door. Then you waited. For him. He stared at you for a beat before rounding the car, situating himself into the passenger's side seat and closing the door.

"We're not driving yet," he pointed out, as you buckled yourself in.

You frowned down at the buckle in your hand before undoing the lock and letting the strap zip away.

"Force of habit," you said, "You should always wear a seat belt while in a car."

"I'm not here to talk about driving habits."

"I know you're not," you sighed out, "As evidenced by the knife poking holes into my fourth favorite shirt again. I mean, I know knives are your thing, but--"

Dex's arm shot out, large hand reaching out towards your face. Large fingers gripped your cheeks, squeezing them until you stopped speaking. He turned your face until you met his gaze. He tanks the dirty look you send him as an acceptable loss, shifting his body to face you fully.

"Focus," he instructed, feeling your nod under his fingers before releasing your face. He pressed a finger to your lips when he saw you draw in a deep breath to speak again. "Stay on topic. Start where we left off. Why did Mr. Charles pair you with me?"

You wait until he dropped his hand from your face before responding.

"My best guess is they're covering their bases. No way they'd risk one of their own with us. If I decide to cut my losses and skip town, it wouldn't be some random agent I'd ditch and run from. It'd be you. If I screw you over, I get Bullseye on my ass. If you decide to go into business for yourself and the result gets me killed... Well, they'd consider it an acceptable loss compared to the alternative. Either way, they can wipe their hands of a problem with minimal to no true loss on their end."

You pause, waiting for Dex to respond. When he didn't, you continued.

"The other reason seems pretty clear. There's a non-zero chance we cover each other's shortcomings. You take out targets. No question, no hesitation, no pesky little thing called guilt. You've got the mind for it. You've definitely got the build for it. Nerves of steel and the skill to execute it. The perfect hired hand."

Dex's lip curves into a smirk.

"I'm not hearing any shortcomings, sweetheart."

"Write it all out and you'll read like a perfect candidate, but guys like Mr. Charles don't just read what's written for all to see. He'd have dug deeper until every dark and dirty little secret of yours is lined up alongside all of the potential for good, then he'll weigh his options. Is it worth it to take on someone like you if the endgame means a job well done? For the CIA, it's a risk they're willing to take ten out of ten times."

"Someone like me?"

Dex watched as you ran your eyes over his face. You seemed to take in every curve and scratch there. He wondered what you saw. If you'd see the carefully crafted persona he had wore for years before or the man he became when he finally dropped the mask and simply existed.

Your answer was simple.

"Someone broken," you replied, softly, "You spend enough time gaming people and it gets easier to spot the flaws at a first glance. I can read it all over you. The cracks. The chips you tried to smooth over. The spaces you left sharp. You're broken... but the government doesn't mind you broken if you prove you could be of service. So yeah... You're broken, but useful. Just like me."

You picked up the to-go cups from the cup holder, flashing him a small -- albeit sympathetic -- smile as you hold his cup out to him. An olive branch of sorts. You waited until he took his own cup before taking a sip from your own.

"You get gold stars in the physical and even the mental of the job," you continue, knee bouncing as you spoke. "But not the emotional. You can take the shot no problem. Maybe you even intimidate the target into position or wait them out until they're in your sights. Not every target can be where you want them to be every time though. Some take maneuvering. Convincing. Some targets you might also need something from them. Something more than the lack of heartbeat. Information, objects of importance--"

Dex's free hand reached out to tap the knee you were bouncing. A silent request to stop. You shift in your seat, letting his hand fall away, but forcing your knee to stop nonetheless.

"That's where you come in then," he offers, nodding for you to continue before taking a sip from his cup.

"Where you view people as pawns to knock off a board permanently, I see them as moveable pieces. Same game, different approaches, but -- when working in tandem -- it can produce the desired results."

You drop your gaze down to the cup in your hand, free hand tracing circles around the to-go lid.

"You have a killer's instinct. You wear a mask and get the job done through brute force. You conceal your identity, but over time your mask has become one of your calling cards. People know to be afraid when they see you dressed up, but for the most part you're able to walk freely without it. I don't conceal my identity when I go to work."

Dex watched as your eyes flickered up to meet his. There was a glimmer in them now as you spoke. He listened as you continued, excitement growing in your voice as you did.

"I become a hundred different people instead. All with their own different histories and personalities. I know what each of them did for a living. I know each one of their dislikes and likes. Their preferred drink, what flavors and scents they associate with. I know what their comforts are, what makes them scared, what they torture themselves about in the middle of the night, what turns them on... and I use all of those things to get my targets to relinquish anything and everything I want from them. All while convincing them it was their idea all along to do it."

You sigh wistfully, as if reliving each and every one of the lives you previously cultivated.

"So that's your deal?" he asked, drawing you back to reality, "You got the gift of gab?"

"It's a bit more nuanced than that," you pointed out, an easy laugh on your lips. "But pretty much, yeah. I give good gab. It's one of my favorite talents, among other things. When you discover a gift, it feels like a waste not to use it to your advantage."

Dex leaned back in his seat, thumb absentmindedly tapping against the side of his to-go cup. What you said -- as lengthy as it was -- made sense. He knew his reputation. The CIA wouldn't risk losing an agent, even with his sudden change in allegiance. It shouldn't have surprised him to find out they reached out to someone else to work with him. You were a talker, but seemed capable enough. If what you said about your skills were true...

"You'll gather intel and extract what's needed," he said, "Then you'll get the targets in sight--"

"And you'll go on to do what you do best," you completed for him. "It's violent and manipulative and exploitive and dangerous and disgustingly perfect, if I'm being honest."

You laugh. Soft at first. Almost in disbelief. Dex watched with a mix of confusion and fascination a your laughter grew. Louder. Harder. You laughed with your whole body. Head tilting back and arms clutching your side. Tears nearly spilling from your eyes. You laughed until it looked like it hurt. Dex had laughed before. A reserved sort of laugh he gave to former coworkers. The odd chuckle. It was the laugh he'd mirror to make other people believe he was like them. He laughed other times as well. When his mind felt freer, he'd laugh. A deep laugh. A dark laugh. After he succeeded on a hit or felt the satisfaction of getting away from a scene. Your laugh felt different though.

It wasn't for anyone.

Only you.

Well, now for you and him.

"This'll be fun," you decided, more to yourself than to Dex.

With that, you set your cup in the cup holder and moved to buckle yourself in. A silent signal that you were going to start the car. Dex had no choice but to do the same. You were a stickler for safety apparently. At least when driving was concerned. You flipped on the radio, cranking the volume before peeling out of the parking spot.

"You said you had more talents," Dex said over the sound of the radio.

"I did say that."

Dex waited for you to continue, speaking again when you didn't.

"You chat my ear non-stop this whole time, but you're choosing to not share now?"

He watched as your lips curved in satisfaction.

"Some things are better experienced in the heat of the moment."

The rest of the drive is spent in silence. Song after song filling that silence as you drove. Windows down, wind whipping your hair all over. Somehow, it was enough. You killed the music once you slowed to a stop outside of Dex's hotel. The car stays idle at the designated drop off sidewalk. You take a quick second to smooth your hair before flashing him a smile.

"All things considered," you admitted, "I'm going to consider our first coffee catch-up a roaring success. If you can resist poking holes into the shirt I wear to the next one, I'm confident it'll top this one."

Dex blinked.

That was what you took from this conversation?

"Right..." he slowly said, unsure how else to respond.

Your hand found his when he moved to unbuckle his seat belt. It remained there when you spoke again.

"Phone," you simply said, holding out your other hand. When Dex didn't immediately move, you explained further. "When you see Mr. Charles next, it might be best to keep this first meeting out of the conversation. He doesn't look it, but he's one of those undercover alpha types. He wouldn't appreciate not having things reveal themselves on his terms, which means I need the phone back. Don't worry. I'll give it back at our second-first meeting. It'll be like the first time. Only not as fun, because I'll be handing it to you."

This stays between us.

That was the understanding. A secret meant to be kept between confidants. It was a concept Dex had tried to imitate with others. In his professional life with Nadeem, even in his personal life with Julie... Neither of those times worked out well. Both of those times his mind was not his own though. Not the way it was now. That meant things were different. Good guys kept their secrets, because it was necessary. They even had companionship. People they trusted. People in their corner, willing to die for them. Matt has that. Sure Dex eliminated one of those people, but he had others. He had Karen Page. Dex knew from experience the kind of force she was in Matt's corner. The kind of unyielding loyalty that only comes from people who believe in their hero. Perhaps this was the universe's way of reinforcing his decision to join the side of the angels. Another balance of the scales. The old him wasn't allowed this kind of fellowship, but this new him? The better him?

This he can make work.

Dex nodded before reaching into his pocket and handing you the pink phone. He slipped out of the car after, to-go cup in hand. He shut the passenger side door, leaning in beside the open window with his arm resting on the hood.

"I never got your name."

"I got a hundred of 'em," you said, humor in your eyes, "I can give you one of them today, but it'll be different by tomorrow."

"What do I call you?"

"As long as you keep me alive, you can call me whatever the hell you want."

You flip the radio on and let the music blast through the speakers once more. Dex stepped back from the curb as you waved farewell, music fading into the sound of traffic as you tear away from the sidewalk and drive off. Dex smiled into his coffee cup as he turned to return to his hotel room. Well, after a quick detour to retrieve the package from the room across from his own. You had intended for him to have it. Seemed like a waste not to recover what was clearly his.

It's hours later when Dex gets the call from Mr. Charles.

"I had back-to-back meetings with some serious VIPs, but I've got an assignment lined up for you. We'll be getting you in touch with a... Well, a handler of sorts."

Mr. Charles's voice poured in from the speaker phone as Dex removed the countless decorative tissue papers from the care package.

"Think of her as your own Girl Friday."

"She got a name?"

Mr. Charles let out an exasperated sort of laugh.

"Several. Real one is unfortunately sealed away. You two can figure out a solution to that issue when you meet. You'll love her. She's, um... spirited, but useful. Gets the job done."

Dex picked up the package and carried it over to the hotel bed, placing it beside phone. He poked through the snack bags and fruits, taking a seat on the edge of the bed as he did.

"Sound like a real peach," Dex dryly replied, picking up a peach from the basket and examining it before dropping it back into the package.

"That's the spirit! I'll send you the time and location tomorrow. Welcome to the team, Bullseye."

Dex ended the call not long after, settling onto the bed completely. Back to the headboard, he pulled your care package closer. He found the card tucked between the ridiculous cartoon t-shirt and the small container of balm. Against his better judgement, he opened the card. Sure enough it began to play a song. Private Eyes. His own eyes moved over the hand written note inside before setting he card down -- still open -- so the song could continue.

'Making sure no one messes with your front so you better watch my back! XOXO'

[manonwillpower]

Guys...I have an idea. I just watched Off Campus and a fic idea for dex popped in my head. Older Dex is hired to be within an undercover project with the reader's father. The father is overprotective, which means that even the reader, even if she's older, can't go out as much. Reader sneaks to a club, pretending it's a lowkey dinner party for her college graduation. Dex is hired to follow her to make sure no one was tracking the father back for the classified mission. Also the fact that the reader is such a bad liar. He picks her up while dancing...heheheheheheheh and so on! I'm cooking it up, but I thought to share the concept first to see if it's a good idea?? Lmk!!

[manonwillpower]

My niche

- tabnotfound on twt

[manonwillpower]

i am so obsessed with both of ur fics!! you’re such a great writer, keep it up <3 (and keep feeding us lol)

Thank you so much 💕🥹 Posting on here was a bit scary at first but these comments are giving me life. I’ll keep feeding Wilson nation, we are already starved lol.

[eyesxxyou]

Send me asks about my fucked up beautiful prince with a disorder pls! I'll love you forever 🙏

(what dex looks like when ur giving him head and he's trying not to react btw)

[manonwillpower]

ʙᴀʙʏ

Synopsis: Wade Kinsella doesn’t usually have many female friends. Mostly all of them, he’d already slept with. Growing up, he’d had only one. Stuck with him through most of his early childhood, mostly seen for her tomboy-like qualities. Before moving to Los Angeles to be a reporter, she’d developed a crush on her childhood best-friend. Unfortunately for Baby, it never reciprocated. She’d return to Bluebell during the summer, homesick from life events, to hope for someone like Wade to change his perspective. (14k words)

Mature Content 18+

Mentions: Pining, Unrequited love, Friends to lovers, Trust issues, Loser Ex-boyfriends, Cussing, Brief mentions to Mommy Issues, Porn no plot.

(Baby = reader insert)

A/N: Watched Hart of Dixie, immediately felt inspired. This might just be a one shot, unless y'all want more! Enjoy!

“Flight to Alabama, boarding in ten minutes!”

Baby nearly checked her book bags and suitcases for the millionth time, wondering if she had forgotten anything. She knew she didn’t, some part of her felt so nervous to finally be back to her small town in Alabama. Bluebell hasn’t seen her face in nearly six years, it hadn’t even felt that long. 

Part of it brought incredible memories. Painting her fingernails with muddened dirt, along with her graphic tees. Playing sports, loving nature, nearly befriending a gator. Would always play pranks, only to those who’d tease her about her tiny glasses. Worse she’d done was plant earth worms in one of her classmates sandwiches, she’d screamed all the way to the principals office. 

She’d never been caught, since she’d always have an alibi. 

Wade Kinsella, her childhood best friend. Ride or die, so they called it. 

They’d call them a dynamic duo, always running into trouble. They were usually the ones causing the trouble, but that never gets brought up as much due to their assumed mastery of never getting caught. 

While they took turns, trying to get back at the prestigious football quarterback, Jimmy Praboo.

Usually, it turned out to not work in their favor. Since it would only made Jimmy’s advances that much harsher, mostly to Wade Kinsella and George Tucker. Baby would have her own struggles, which was enough for her to back off with her initial childlike behaviors.

Part of the reason as to why she’d put off going to Alabama for all these years. Going to college late, starting a life in a big city. She never would’ve imagined her life to turn out the way it did, which is why she’d been so hung up with the fact that she’ll see the version of herself she’d held embarrassment towards.

Bringing up old feelings, the ones that brought the initial push to move across the country.

“Last call for Bluebell, Alabama! Last call, boarding will close within five minutes!”

Her daydream nearly distracted her from the flight, noticing that she’d been the only one in the passenger waiting area. Grabbing all her luggage, walking over to scan her boarding ticket.

Hand wrapped around her suitcase handle, head held high. Wearing similar small glasses, paired with a hoodie from a well known fashioned brand. Jeans that are big enough to drag under her sneakers. Bluebell had its ways of bringing out a side of her that she’d love to hide in, distracting herself from the aching heart ache of her six years of pursuing a career.

–

Walking into the bus station, familiarity in the scents in the air, she’d leaned against the window near the seat. An old woman sat beside her, looking over at her with a curious stare. 

Feeling the weight of someone staring, Baby decided to look behind her. Flashing a knowing smile, dimples prominent. 

The woman’s face lit up, gasping for air, “Oh my goodness. I knew I recognized ya’. Baby, it’s so nice to see your face.”

Giggling, she’d tucked a strand behind her ear, turning bashful, “Wow, can’t believe someone recognized me so soon.”

The older woman let out a puff of air, “Of course I’d recognized ya’ sweetheart. You're hard not to spot, with your boy clothes. You sold it with your dimples. Remember, your mama had the same smile. How is she anyway?”

Baby swallowed her spit, smile falling a bit, “Oh, she’s alright. I’m planning to visit her while I’m in town. Hoping the summer heat doesn’t melt me first.”

She had regretted wearing her sweater, noting the heat’s intensity in the air conditioned bus alone. Sweat glistening her forehead, face flushed. 

The older woman, curls sticking to her forehead, letting out a nose of acknowledgement, “It will bring out the worst in everyone, that’s for sure.”

Baby knew what heat waves brought out in people in Bluebell, but since she’d been used to the desert heat of California, she didn’t worry too much. The only thing she hadn’t prepared for was the bugs, nearly hotglued to her hands and face with her sweat. 

Definitely not the homecoming she’d been dreaming for, that’s for sure.

The bus came to a stop, turning to the older woman to wish her goodbyes. Sitting up in her seat, where she’d grabbed all of her luggage to make her way to hitch a ride with a truck driver. To no one’s surprise, the truck driver recognized her immediately as well. In a small town, it was easy to recognize faces. Even the ones that had been gone for six years. 

Coming to a stop in the center quad of town, the truck driver halted to a stop. 

“It’s nice to see you, Baby. Hope to see you around.”

Flashing a knowing smile, she’d thanked him. 

Grabbing her luggage, she’d made her way to the Whippoorwill Blossom Bed and Breakfast. The only known place to stay for lodging in the town, which wasn’t exactly ideal. Considering once she made her way to the front desk, the whole town had already spread the word of her arrival. Once she made it to the receptionist desk, the lady’s face lit up like the old woman’s at the bus stop. 

Baby definitely felt like a celebrity in that town, knowing that everyone missed her dearly. No one felt that much animosity towards her for leaving, almost entirely forgotten about it. Well, not her mother.

Collapsing on her hotel bed, finally letting out a sigh of relief. Turning to the window, watching couples walking with their dogs and kids children on their bicycles. Bluebell finally brought some comfort, after experiencing the hectic life of a busy city.

–

Changing into a loose band t-shirt, one she’d gotten at a concert at So-fi, she’d been dying to get a sweet tea from The Butter Stick. The heat wasn’t giving her much grace, considering the air conditioning was busted in the hotel room. 

Afterwards, she’d been thinking of stopping by the Town Square to catch up with old faces, hopefully nothing too personal.

Until, she’d heard her phone ring. 

Grabbing her phone from her pocket, reading the name on the tiny screen. A shiver went down her spine, clicking the answer button on the keypad.

“Hey mom.” She’d let out a shaky greeting. 

Her mother, enraged on the other end, spoke with a mocking tone, “‘Hey, mom?’ That’s all I’m gonna’ get from my daughter that I haven’t spoken to for nearly seven years?”

Biting the side of her cheek, Baby let out a shaky breath, “I wanted to come visit. Maybe we can talk, I’d love to visit your new place.”

A pause hung on the other end. One that absolutely shattered Baby’s heart.

“No, I don’t think so, Baby. I think it’s best if you leave to Los Angeles as soon as you can. Once you're done pretending to be my daughter.” Venom etched in her words. 

The phone line ended. 

A broken sob shook the room. Granting Baby to hunch over, leaning against the ottoman on the end of the bed. Hand around her mouth, to silence her heart break.

Maybe, she’d hold off on her day trip for a sweet tea. Right now she’d been in desperate need for a drink, especially after a phone call like that. Wiping her tears, she’d grabbed her wallet, checking her appearance in the mirror.

Letting out a sigh of confidence, before making her way to the Rammer Jammer.

–

The place definitely hasn’t changed since the last time she’d visited. Since her twenty-first, she’d remembered getting nearly black out drunk on one of the bar stools. Made a fool out of herself, but had friends that covered her recklessness.

Wade sat by her bedside as she’d been puking in a bucket for the remainder of the morning after. Staying beside her throughout the best, worst night of her life. 

Now, on her way to the bar, she’d called for the bartender’s attention.

Clearing her throat in dramatic fashion, placing her elbow on the counter while thumping her fingers on the bar. 

“Oh, bartender? Hurry up, will you? Or do I have to wait another six years.”

Wade’s head perked up at the sound of her voice, scanning over face like it had been recorded in history. Eyes widened after a long pause of wondering ‘who the hell was talking to him that way’. It was then her face changed from boredom to a humorous grin, which he’d recognized the dimplage anywhere. 

He let out a shudder, shocked half to death, “Well, look at that. Baby, is that you?”

She’d let out a giggle, teeth on full display. 

Wade made his way around the bar, setting his towel on his shoulder. Almost running towards her, his arms opened for a warm embrace. Getting out of the bar stool, she’d hugged him back. The hug was warm, more than usual. Maybe from the heat wave, she thought.

Leaning back, creating social distance, Baby still held her smile. 

She flicked his forehead, causing him to let out a small pained noise.

“I can’t believe you didn’t acknowledge my presence once I’d landed my private jet. Can’t believe you lied about your telekinesis all those years ago, Wade. I’m heart-broken.”

Immediately picking up on the inside joke, he’d played along, “Well it ain’t a lie, since I can sense the presence of a groupie from miles away.” He’d stared down to her shirt, recognizing the band on its graphic. 

Her mouth opened in shock, “I’ll have you know, my taste in music had evolved. It just so happened to be during my time in the L.A.. Not the fact that the lead singer is a dreamboat or anything.” Hints of sarcasm laced her tone.

Wade, smiling, pinched her cheek, stating, “Okay, Dirty Diana, it’s good to have you back. I was wondering when the famous reporter would come back to showcase her mansions in the town square.”

Humor slowly dying, remembering the phone call with her mother, she’d ushered towards the bar. 

“Not yet, I can only afford a small condo at the moment. Getting somewhere, though.”

Sitting back in the bar stool, Wade made his way behind the bar to stand in front of her. Grabbing a glass from under him, placing it down on the counter. Reaching for a whiskey bottle, once that brought a smile to Baby’s face.

Wade poured the contents into the glass, ushering it over to her.

Sadness gleamed in his eyes, lowering them a bit, “As much as it’s a blessin’ to see your face again. I’m still a bit mad at ya’ for leavin’ all those years ago.”

The lack of a farewell in the town of Bluebell wasn’t exactly what Baby had in mind during her journey to California, but she thought it would be best. Bluebell was comforting, knowing her, she’d probably never leave considering it had been the only home she’d known her entire life.

So that meant she left her best friend, never even left a note. She’d written one for him, but never had the chance to actually give it to him. Well, a better interpretation would be that she was too scared to give it to him.

Taking a swig of the glass, she answered hesitantly, “Look, Wade, I’m so sorry about not sayin’ goodbye all those years ago. I just thought it would put more burden on Bluebell if I did. It was selfish, but I knew everyone here would convince me to stay. I would've never been happy if I didn't take that step.” 

Wade swallowed his own spit, nodding, “Yeah, I hear ya’. I don’t blame you. I just missed my best pal’. Hurt to see you go without a goodbye.”

Tapping his hand with comfort, smiling at him, she’d tried to lighten the mood.

“Well, I’m here now! Since it’s been so long, I’d love to stop by your house to catch up. How’s the old pops’ doing?”

Wade sent a knowing smile, backing up to focus on other drinks, “You know, Crazy Earl. Always givin’ me a scare whenever the tides calm. Surprised it hasn’t happened yet considering the heat wave.”

Baby knocked on the bar wood, hoping to break his word so it wouldn’t come back to haunt him.

“Don’t jinx it now. I’d love to see em’ if you're comfortable.”

Kinsella held a hesitant glance, looking over at the opposite end of the bar. Looking over to see his glance, she’d met with the eyes of another woman. Brunette, petite, and absolutely stunning. Her under eyeliner complimenting her eyes, along with her unique fashion sense. The woman stood out like a sore thumb in a town like Bluebell, something Baby knew all too well. 

Baby turned back to Kinsella, then back to the woman. They shared a known stare, like they’d exchanged a conversation with their eyes. One that indicated they've known each other for some time, which knotted her stomach. 

Deciding it was best to push it down, like she’d always done. Cutting the tension and deciding to be casual about the obvious hesitancy in his answer.

Smiling, masking her secret jealousy, she’d teased Kinsella, “It’s okay if you don’t feel comfortable, Wade. At least introduce me to your new girlfriend.”

This caused his head to jump up, absolutely horrified with her bold statement.

“She is- Dr. Hart is not my girlfriend.”

So she was the new doctor, she thought. 

Getting up from her bar stool, mocking his statement.

“Well, since I haven’t been here in some time, I’ll introduce myself anyway. Besides, she’s the only face I haven’t recognized for the six hours of being back here. I’ll just ask her myself.”

Reaching out on the other end, he’d tried to stop her, “Baby, no-”

Already at the opposite end of the bar, she’d called the attention of Dr. Hart sitting with her wine glass in front of her. She’d looked up with settled annoyance, wondering who was standing beside her.

Sending her a welcoming smile, she’d introduced herself, “You’re probably wondering who Kinsella called ‘Baby’ just now. Happens’ more than ya’ think. My name is Baby, it’s nice to meet you.”

The woman raised her brow, unamused, "Your name is Baby?”

Not exactly showing surprise, hating the name as much as she did. She decided to make a joke out of it to cut the obvious tension arising.

“B-A-B-Y. That’s my name. My parents didn’t care too much about picking one, so they decided to state the first thing they saw when my mama pushed me out and just stuck with it.”

A slight pause settled, then sudden laughter. The doctor had laughed at her joke while reaching out her hand, introducing herself as well.

“Dr. Zoe Hart, I’m new here. Sorry for earlier. Just thought I would have to deal with another one of Wade’s crazy ex-girlfriends. Glad to see I was wrong…I hope.”

A bit of insecurity reached her stomach, knowing it would've never been like her to be associated with Wade as more than a best friend. She boiled it down, giving Dr. Hart a smile of reassurance.

Waving her hands in front of her, dismissing the label, “No no, Wade and I are nothing like that. We grew up together, we’d been friends for some time. I haven’t been back to Bluebell in about six years, so I thought of visiting. Got homesick.”

Motioning her to sit, Dr. Hart gave her a knowing smile, “Wanna talk about it?”

Baby gave her a warm smile in response, sitting comfortably in the bar stool next to her.

–

Walking home from the Rammer Jammer to the lodging was a struggle, hoping she didn’t twist her ankle with the amount of times she’d taken a shot that afternoon. Still a light weight at heart, which was ironic considering she’d been on par with the doctor.

Dr. Zoe Hart was an incredible woman to say the least. Wanting to be a cardio-thoracic surgeon, moving to Bluebell to take after her previously unknown father’s legacy. Dr. Ethan Hart was the doctor who helped deliver Baby, which definitely made her feel sentimental to know he’d had a daughter of his own. 

Zoe grew up in New York City, which had been why she’d felt so out of place in the town. Everyone seemingly stuck to the same agendas, which was a culture shock to see Dr. Hart’s impression on the town’s new found openness to change.

Envious, Baby decided to keep the feeling so low it wouldn’t show once on her face. It was hard for her to acknowledge the fact that it was no one else’s fault but her own that she didn’t have the courage to break the norm. So she ran, like she always did.

Stumbling to find her footing, hoping she didn’t faceplant in the middle of town square. She hardly noticed the car that pulled beside her, recognizing its red exterior. 

“Baby, get in the car. I’ll take you to your room.” Wade rolled the window on the passenger side door.

Eyes barely open, she’d looked to her side, giving her friend a toothy grin, “Hey, Wade. Thought you’d be home by now.”

Wade, having no humor in his tone, gets out of the car to make his way towards Baby.

“Youre still used to city life to understand that it’s dangerous this late. A gator could've eaten ya’ for all we know.” He’d made his way to her side, holding his hand on her lower back to usher her inside of his car.

She blew a raspberry, shuffling a bit, “A gator? Nah, hopefully a bear.”

Body flushed against Wade, hearing the sound of his breathing. Snapping out of her drunken daze, now well aware of her surroundings. 

Suddenly flustered, she shooed his hand away, “I know how to walk, Kinsella. I’ve been able to do it for twenty-seven years.”

He laughed at her, ushering her into the car anyway, “Well by the looks of it you might need to take lessons from your mama again. You're stumbling like a newborn fawn.” 

Rolling her eyes while sitting in the car, she’d snipped back, “Fuck you, Wade.”

He giggles, closing the door while saying, “That’s my girl.”

–

On the drive to the lodging, it had been a relatively silent car ride. Whether it had been the exhaustion of the jet lag, or her inability to spark a conversation with the one man that made her weak in the knees. 

Wade Kinsella, a man who’d never known about his best friend’s unrequited fantasy.

She’d been pining for him for nearly thirteen years of her life, but never succeeded. Always met with the comfortability of the friend-zone, which she’d been fine with in order to still talk to her best friend. Seeing him go through girlfriends obviously made her hold back from confessing her love to the man, knowing it wouldn’t have been received the way she wanted.

By the looks of it, it seemed like he hadn’t changed a bit. 

The letter from the night she’d left Bluebell, still crumpled from age, had been sitting in her suitcase for some time. It confessed everything she couldn’t say with words, hoping it covered all of it with every pen stroke.

Her vulnerabilities, something that she had the hardest time expressing. 

Especially when she’d feared the perception of the town, judging her little girl fantasy with the town’s womanizer. It had been some time since the day she moved from Bluebell, but she hasn’t forgotten her love for the man sitting beside her.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t tried to break out of her crush. Dating in Los Angeles had its perks, gaining experience while also getting over someone that she hadn’t even kissed. It might’ve been seen as pathetic, but she never shamed herself for it.

Well, until Roberts came along. 

“I told Tucker to back off the woman. Always leading her on, but he’d been planning to marry Lemon by the end of the year.” Wade had been going on a tangent about current events during the whole drive. Which internally she’d been grateful for, but she’d been focused on other things in the moment.

“Mhmm, sounds like a nasty situation indeed.” She’d been facing the window, still calming down from the dizziness of her head.

Wade noticed her sudden lack of amusement, smiling to himself, “Oh, I’m sorry. Am I boring you? Has the city life reduced your attention span to mush already?”

Gasping, turning to him with an appalled expression, she responded, “Excuse me? Don’t blame my dull city life with your boring stories of a couple from high school, Wade.” 

His eyes still on the road, he reached over to shove his finger to the side of her forehead. Causing her to let out a frustrated noise, which made him laugh.

“It’s not about old high school drama, Ms. B. It’s about my life, which you’d clearly have shown mighty investment in. Thought it would be appropriate to keep you well informed of what’s happening in it, that's all.”

Noticing the passive undertones of his comment, jabbing back, “Well, I’m sure the investment is mutual since you haven’t once asked about me during this whole car ride.”

He’d nearly stopped the car, but he let out a scoff to suffice.

“Excuse me, woman? I don’t know if your brain is all scrambled, due to the fact that you're a raging light weight, but you paraded your whole life in front of Dr. Hart back there. Enough for the whole bar to hear you. So, I don’t exactly have to ask.”

She’d held a confused look, embarrassed suddenly, “Everything? I said everything?”

He blew a raspberry, shaking his head, “Your relationship with your mama, your aspirations as a reporter, getting laid off about a week ago, and how you want to make things right with Bluebell before you’d take off again.”

Ignoring his previous statement, her anxiety bubbling in her chest, she’d questioned, “What about Roberts? Did I mention him?”

Shock in his face, he turned to her side, “I’m sorry, who?”

A ring from her pocket caused her to jump in her seat, quickly pulling it out of her jeans. Speaking of the devil, she thought to herself. Answering the phone with an annoyed sigh, greeting the man on the other end with an unamused welcome. 

“What the hell do you want?”

The greeting caused Kinsella to hold a grimace, not wanting to get involved. He couldn’t help but overhear the conversation, since she’d been having it in his car. He’d only assumed the person on the other end was her mother, knowing they ended on bad terms.

Baby, how’s it going? The other end asked her.

“How’s it going? That’s all you got for me, Roberts?”

Wade looked towards his side, suddenly curious of the mysterious man that she’d referred to as ‘Roberts’ while holding this murderous look on her face. He’d only seen her like this occasionally, usually when she’d been teased in primary school.

It was different this time. Baby looked heart broken, lower lip quivering a bit when she spoke. 

I know you're upset, Baby. Please, can we talk in person? The other man comforted.

Letting out a sigh, Baby thought about it for a moment. Realizing that she’d spent this whole time running from her issues, even if one of the biggest ones was sitting right next to her. She wasn’t going to succumb to poor coping mechanisms, not anymore. 

“Fine, meet me here. At Bluebell.” Eyes rolling in annoyance. 

I’ll be there in a day. Take care, Baby. The line ended at that moment.

Wade held a consoling look on his face, truly unsure whether or not he should get involved with his friend’s secret affairs. He’d never seen her so emotionally invested. Not in anyone, which irked him. He was convinced she’d truly cared for this person, which made an unknown feeling settle in his stomach.

“Is- uh- Is everything alright, Baby?”

Wiping a tear that threatened to escape, ridding the evidence, she answered, “I’m fine, Wade. Just the heat gettin’ to me, that's all. You were tellin’ me about Lemon and George, they gettin’ engaged?”

Her swift change in subject unsettled something in Wade’s mind. Not wanting to cross the boundaries she’d clearly set, he’d thought to just keep driving. Talking about the engagement, while his fist balled on the steering wheel a bit too tight. 

–

Waking up after a night full of the unknown, well temporary unknown, Baby woke up with a slight headache. Heat caking her sweat, making it stick to her hair to her forehead, wishing for some relief when she’d made her way to the bathroom. She’d gulped down some water from the faucet.

Pouring some of it in her hands, wiping her face with the cold liquid. Sighing in relief, hoping the pounding of her head would ease. She’d jumped from her spot in front of the sink, hearing the ringtone of her cellphone increase the pains of her hangover.

Walking to the nightstand, while grabbing the phone, her eyes widened with shock.

Her ex-boyfriend was calling her. On her damn cellphone?

Panicked, she answered it. Concerned she might've done something she’d regretted the night prior when she’d gotten too carried away. 

Hey Baby, I wanted to let you know that I’ll be in Bluebell in the evening. Finding a flight was quite difficult. You already know what the schedule is, but anything for you darling. See you soon. 

“But-” The line ended without a word escaping her lips. 

Shaking her arms, stomping like a child, she’d let out an aggravated groan. She didn’t want to see her shitty ex-boyfriend. It was the whole reason she wanted to have this getaway, to forget her responsibilities back at home.  

It was too late to cancel, since he’d already been on the way here. It was almost noon, she’d already slept in way too late. She had no idea what to do, since her mind hadn’t settled from the last time she’d seen the man.

“God dammit!” She rushed to get ready. Putting on sweats with a loose white t-shirt, stumbling to put on her sneakers.

Leaving her lodging in a flash, rushing over to the Rammer Jammer. 

–

Wade had been cleaning the bar countertop, swooning over the brunette that sat on the opposite end of the tables. Wine glass in hand, talking with Levon Hayes, the town mayor who she'd been friends with.

As he’d scanned to see who’d arrived at the door, he’d held a staple smirk in her direction.

“You feelin’ alright, Baby? Need me to help ya’ to your seat?”

Baby ignored the man talking, rushing to Dr. Hart with assumed confidence in her step. It was truly unmistakable fear, her face painted with immense dread. Baby made her way to where Levon and her sat, immediately out of breath.

“Dr. Hart, I need your help with something.”

Levon turned around, a smile spreading across his face, “Oh, hey Baby! I heard you were back in town. It’s nice to see you.”

His clear lack of reading the room made it a bit awkward.

Baby gave him a smile, trying to settle her panic, “Hey, Levon, how's it going?”

Just as he’d opened his mouth to answer, it was cut short. Noticing the woman in front of him looked as though she’d run a mile to get there. 

Dr. Hart sprung out of her seat, ushering over to her new patient, “What’s wrong, Baby? Are you alright?”

Eyebrows contorting into the middle of her forehead, she’d let out a whine when saying, “It’s so much worse than you think, doc.”

Zoe, like it had been an unspoken rule, she’d immediately understood Baby’s panic. It had been about a boy, one she didn’t want to be caught alive with.

“Oh, boy.” Zoe ushered her to an open table. Sitting beside her as they motioned to sit.

Leaning forward, not wanting to speak above a whisper, she’d asked, “So, is this about a man?”

Baby nodded, gulping on nothing. Pushing her glasses up, sweat accumulating on her forehead from the heat.

“My ex-boyfriend, he’s on his way here. To Bluebell.”

Dr. Hart, shocked to hear the news, wanted to clarify, “Is he flying from L.A. to fix a mistake he’d made? How romantic. Why is this a bad thing?”

Hesitating, looking over at the two men looking over from the bar. Like they’d tried to attain the skill of mouth-reading at that moment. 

“What do you think those ladies are talkin’ about?” Wade asked the man in front of him.

Levon cleared his throat, looking back at the bar away from the girls, “If I had to guess, Baby is havin’ some trouble with a guy.”

Wade, eyes popping out of his skull, denied the statement, “Baby? Havin’ boy trouble? Like she’d ever.”

Whether it was an insult or a word of sentiment, they both shot their heads back at the ladies’ table once Zoe stood up in her seat in dramatic fashion.

“He what!?” She’d shouted so loud for the whole bar to hear.

Their gazes shifted to the woman now holding her head down on the table, embarrassed. Zoe, enraged from the statement her new friend uttered in her ear moments prior.

Levon smiled, turning his way back to the bar while clarifying his previous assumption, “Yup, she’s having boy trouble.”

Baby’s head perked up from where she’d just had her head down, tears brimming her eyes. Zoe, embarrassed of her outburst, placed her hand on Baby’s. Determination written on her face, assurance with her tone.

“He will regret ever letting go of such a wonderful woman once he sees you tonight.”

Baby’s shock was apparent, it was like she’d heard a different dialect come out of Zoe’s mouth. 

“What are you talkin’ about?” Turning her head to the side.

Zoe grabbed Baby’s arm, ushering her to get up. Telling her to wait by the entrance as she rushed to make a call, one calling her office to let them know she’d be showing up a bit late after her lunch. Chugging down her wine, immediately regretting it with a hackle.

Wade, giggling at the act, teased her, “Woah, what’s the rush, doc? Is Baby havin’ a heart failure she has to seek immediate medical attention for?”

Zoe, determined in her glare, indicated no sense of humor when saying, “You could say that.”

They rushed out of the Rammer Jammer, hoping to make it to the nearest shopping square with immediate attention. 

Levon watched as they left, elongating his verbiage once he said, “Boyyyy troubleeee.”

Wade smacked Levon’s arm with humorous annoyance, causing the man to let out a slight chuckle at his correct assumption. While Wade turned to the bar, he couldn’t erase the picture of Baby’s face in his mind. Seeing her so heart broken, always at the cusp of crying. He’d felt a twinge in his heart, not wanting to know the answer to the bodily reaction.

–

“Dr. Hart, I don’t think this is the look I’m goin’ for.”

Tits out on display, nearly an entire open back. It was like she’d been a different woman, granted her modesty had been a very well known attribute of hers. There had been times during her journey as a reporter where she had to step out of her comfort zone, like it had been a uniform for work.

It was never out of her own comfort, which had been an entirely new playing field for her.

“Come on, Baby. You look amazing! How else is anyone going to see that gorgeous back tattoo if you don’t flaunt it?”

Baby did have a back tattoo. Not exactly seeing a reason for getting it; she thought it would be a good way to express her own independence at the moment. Roberts definitely liked looking at it, which made her stomach tie up in knots.

“It’s not doing too much? What if it’s too slutty?” Noticing the curvature of her waist, extenuating her hips beautifully. 

Laughing, Zoe assured, “Oh trust me. City guys dive deep into slutty. He’d be an idiot to call you anything but a catch tonight.”

Smiling, feeling a sudden burst of confidence, she turned to the fitting room to change back into her regular clothes. Walking out with the dress in her hands, grabbing the pair of shoes to go with it, she’d paused at the lingerie section.

Heat rising in her flesh, she’d scanned over the variety of different laced panties. Not wanting to get too carried away, noting that this whole dinner was to get back at her ex-boyfriend for his shitty actions. Make him regret it all, while ultimately leaving him in the dark.

“I would go with those. Maybe you’d bring home another guy on the way to your room? Make sure to rub it in his face.” Zoe grabbed a white bralette to pair with the laced undies that complimented the dress she’d worn. Definitely something Baby wasn’t usually caught wearing, other than the comfort of her own home.

Well, Roberts had seen way more than a pair of lingerie, which still rose a familiar heat in her face. Not wanting to remember the effect he had on her within all their intimate moments.

 While they ushered to pay, the woman behind the counter looked at Dr. Hart.

“All these for the night out, Dr Hart? Make sure you're not making a mistake you're gonna regret when this heat wave breaks.” 

Zoe ushered her hands out, denying the implications, “No these aren’t for me. It’s Baby’s special night tonight.”

The cashier’s eyes popped out of her skull, looking over at the woman beside her. With her tiny glasses, tomboy-ish clothes, and worn out sneakers. The cashier wanted to see if there'd been another woman behind her, but to no avail it was true. It was all, Baby. 

With her mouth hung open, she placed the clothing in a bag. Giving it to Baby, not saying a word as they both ushered out of the store.

As they made their way to the entrance, Zoe made a comment, “It looks like she’s not the only one to be stoked for the new look.”

They both giggled, making their way back towards the mayor's plantation, where Dr. Hart’s carriage house resided.

– 

Looking in the mirror, she couldn't believe who she'd even seen on the other end. Doing her make-up, Zoe had assisted with the basics. Granted, all the skill came from Baby herself, which ultimately surprised her. She’d acquired monthly contacts, which she’d only used on rare occasions. She’d been grateful to pack them, since the tiny glasses weren’t the exact chic look she’d been trying to achieve.

“Holy moly. Girl you look so good, I’d even kiss you. Is that weird?” 

Laughing, she’d turned to face Zoe, giving her a kiss on the cheek, “Yes, but I’m weirder.” 

They both laughed, settling once they heard the front door open.

Kinsella, motioning over to the main room where they both stood. Looking over at Zoe first, hoping she’d solve the current bleed on his stomach that oozed into his shirt. 

“Yo, doc. I nicked myself trying to fix my car, hoping for your magic touch.” He’d smiled flirtatiously at her. 

Noticing she hadn’t been alone, he gazed over to a seemingly unknown person beside her.

“Oh, my bad. Didn’t know you had company. I’ll meet you back at the office.”

His flirtatious gleam stopped a moment, noticing a familiarity in the woman beside Dr. Hart. Nearly broke his jaw with the immediate identification he’d noticed once those familiar dimples were apparent. 

“Well I should get goin’ anyway. He should be here within the next half hour. Feel better, Wade.” 

Heels clinking every time she stepped, moving her way past the man with astute confidence. Hips swaying like an enchantress, like she’d been made to be a trap for any man or woman that looked her way. She’d outdone herself and she knew that. It only provided that much more confidence in her stride.

She’d touched his shoulder, granting him a comforting smile. It set off something so deep within him that immediately wanted to pull away from the woman in front of him.

She didn’t notice him tense, since she’d turned behind her to give Dr. Hart a wave, “Thanks for this, Dr. Hart. Bluebell would be lost without cha’.” 

Zoe giggled, watching her friend walk out of the carriage house. Looking over at visually stunned Wade, noticing the cut across his stomach. He’d still hadn’t said anything, not even when Zoe ushered him outside of the carriage house. 

– 

“What do you mean the reservation is canceled?!” Baby yelled at her telephone in frustration. 

The reservations for Francies’, a well known place for dates in the city. It had been the only place in Bluebell that had catering, which she’d known that her bougie ex-boyfriend would've had a preference for. Mobile haven been a couple hours away, she knew Francie’s was the only place to have the conversation.

The only other place was the Rammer Jammer, which definitely wasn’t accustomed to the attire she wore. 

Hanging up the phone, leaving the hostess on the other end from speaking their formalities, she’d wanted to rush to her room to change. She knew this idea was a poor judgement on her part, wanting to seek comfort with what she’d known best. 

That was until a fancied vehicle pulled up, parking nearby. A gentleman got out of the car, one that screamed entitled. He had a slick back, loose hairs complimenting his chiseled jawline. He’d been tall, posture straight. Everything on him was clean, from his nice dress shirt, tanned slacks to his shiny loafers. Roberts was a well known reporter in Los Angeles, one prestigious in class and title. 

He’d not only been her ex-boyfriend, but he was also her old boss. He’d been the same man to lay her off a week prior.

Even with that being said, that’s not even the worst part about the man.

Him holding a panty dropping smile, he’d made his way to her direction, “Baby, it’s so nice to see you.”

Trying not to throw up in her mouth, she’d sighed, “Hi, Roberts.”

Holding her chin up, causing her to swat it away, he’d smiled at her defiance, “Don’t be like that, honey. I know you're still mad at me, but you don't want to go into dramatics.”

Almost gritting her teeth, she’d replied with frustration, “Mad doesn’t even scratch the surface, honey.” Venom etched into the last word as she spoke.

Laughing at her ferocity, he’d let out a click of his tongue, “Still as spicy as ever. Perfect foreplay.”

Letting out a breath of obvious disgust, she replied, "You're disgusting.”

Looking at his watch, he’d ignored her comment, asking, “So where are we taking this sexual tension for tonight? A restaurant, or are we skipping straight to the bedroom? Hopefully not one with a gator.”

Letting out a frustrated sigh, knowing the man had only one intention of making it up to the woman in front of him. Fucking the resentment out of her was something that her ex-boyfriend did quite frequently, which never truly gotten rid of it. No matter how many times he’d push to outdo her expectations, nothing ever stuck.

“Reseverations cancelled when you got here. So, we will have to make due with the only place that serves enough booze to refrain me from ripping your throat out with my teeth.” She hadn’t been joking.

Smiling at her statement,taking what she said as flirting, he’d given her a once over, “Well, lets get going. I don’t know how much longer I can go on without wanting to rip something of my own with my teeth.”

Anger bubbling in her skull, she’d walked ahead of Roberts. Motioning him to follow. 

She only had one place she’d known would crush his ego, which was the only place that she’d known to keep her mind off his clear flirtatious advances. One that she’d known was her childhood crush as the bartender.

–

Walking into the Rammer Jammer, it was nothing short of a surprise for the whole crowd that sat within to witness. Baby, the presumed tom-boy, had looked like she’d been pulled out of a fashioned magazine. While a fancied, handsome young man stood beside her, giving the establishment a disgusted once over.

“Are we staying here? If I’d known I would’ve brought a roll of wipes. Maybe even bleach. Nope, bleach isn’t strong enough.”

Pulling his arm, pushing him forward, she’d let out an annoyed grumble. 

“Youre trying to make it up to me, remember? Sit your ass down.” She let out an annoyed grumble of curses to herself.

Sitting down, it felt as though the whole establishment had their eyes on her. Which suddenly made her feel insecure, arms crossing over her chest to hide within herself. She hurried herself into the chair, looking at the man’s disgust at the cutlery and tabletops.

He’d reached to get his phone out of his pocket, looking over at Baby, “This is ridiculous. I’ll just see if a place in Mobile has an open table for us. We can’t stay here-”

“Welcome, folks. I’m Wade, I’ll be here if you have any questions.”

Looking up at him, she’d seen his eyes shooting lasers at the man in front of her. Jaw clenched, veins popping out of his forehead. He hadn’t once looked over at the woman sitting so close to where he stood, he could practically feel the heat off of her. 

Roberts, stopping his actions, looked up at Wade like he’d been a familiar face. Looking over at Baby with an expression that only was presumed ill-intent.

He’d reached his hand out, “So, you're the Wade that my Baby keeps talking about.”

She wanted to crawl into her own body and escape. Not wanting to be a part of whatever crazy conversation this was about to start. 

Wade shook his hand, giving it a firm squeeze, maybe a bit too firm.

“Yeah, guess that would be me.” Wade still bore eyes with the man.

Roberts let out a taunting laugh, retreating his hand to rest it on the table in front of him, “Why so uptight, man? Is it the heat?”

Wade sends a laughter, lacking humor, in return. Stating, “You know those Alabama heat waves, man. Bring out the worst in folks’ around here.”

“Ah, I see. Won’t take it personally then. Since you clearly want my head gone with the way you're starin’ at me.” Roberts' jaw clenched with the last word he spoke.

Trying to ease the tension, she’d tried to gently divert the conversation, “How’s the cut, Wade? Did Dr. Hart patch you up already?”

Looking over at her for the first time since Zoe’s carriage house, he had anger glossed over his eyes. Trying to mask it with a flirtatious smile, shining his whites at Baby.

“Nothing you gotta worry about, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart? She internally repeated to herself.

It caused Baby to internally jump in her seat, hearing him call her a name so endearing. It made her whole face flush, goosies travel up her skin.

Roberts’ blew a raspberry, expressing clear boredom, “Alright, are you guys secretly fuckin’ now or what? Did you move on that quick, Baby?”

The statement that was heard caused Baby to snap out of the trance she’d caught up in. Making the bile traveling up her throat so putrid.

“Thanks for your hospitality, Wade. I got it covered from here.” She managed to utter out.

Wade had looked over at her face, trying to contain the rage within him. It hadn’t been helpful since the man on the other end wouldn’t stop talking. 

Roberts, egging Wade on, kept going with his taunts, “That’s right. Be a good boy and go catch some fish for us to eat. This menu itself is a health code violation."

Wade dropped his towel that rested on his shoulder, walking over to his side of the table, “Keep talkin’, Romeo.”

Roberts’ smirked, getting up in his seat now, “Romeo, huh? Only wish you’d been something of the sort yourself. Since I’d have your precious Juliet bent over for me and not you.”

“Keep runnin’ your mouth, asshole.” Wade grabbed the collar of Roberts’ dress shirt, clearly wanting to use his other hand to punch the lights out of him. A fight, Baby knew, Roberts’ would lose.

One thing about her ex-boyfriend was that he was all talk. Wade knew how to fight, he’d leave him in a state that even Dr. Hart wouldn’t be able to resuscitate him. 

Standing up in her chair, tired of the conflict, shouting, “Children!”

Both of them stopped, looking over at her direction.

Holding clear exhaustion in her tone, motioning them both to stop with her hands, “Wade, get your hands off of him. Roberts’, within’ the kindness of my soul, shut your fuckin’ mouth.”

The boys let go, motioning themselves to provide distance. Wade gave him a death stare, moving to the end of the table where Baby stood. 

Husky voice whispering in her ear, “I’ll have your whiskey in a moment, baby.”

Wade gave her a look, indicating he’d implied the name with a different meaning. She’d tried to ignore the heat that traveled up her neck, giving him an awkward lined smile. Nodding her head, as he’d motioned to the bar.

Roberts’, sighing in relief, fixed his collar, “Really, Baby? Him? I’d presumed maybe he’d be a lot less dirty lookin’, but he looks like he showers in grease.”

Looking at him now, biting the urge to scream, she spat out, “You have a lot of nerve.”

“Don’t tell me you're offended now. Look at this place, Baby. I understand why you wanted to leave so badly. You would've never made it far here.” Opening his arms to grant attention to the space around them.

Tears brimming her eyes, biting back at his insult to her home, “You have no right to be judging where the hell I’d started my life, comparing it to your privileges.”

“Like it matters anyway. You just want to go back to Los Angeles. I can see it in your face.”

She’d started shouting, not because she didn’t care, but she was tired of the world demeaning her life like it had been theirs to judge. Letting out a pained noise, tears now escaping as she spoke.

“How could you even say that? Knowing what the hell you’ve done to me? To us?”

The whole establishment turned to face them. Baby didn’t care, she kept going.

“How could I want to go to a place like that, knowing any semblance of anything reminds me of you? We built a home, but that wasn’t even enough for you.”

Roberts’ chuckled, not taking her words seriously, “Like it had been entirely my fault, Baby. You were gone. Like you’d disappeared no matter how many times I’d tried to bring you back. Your mind was somewhere else, or on someone else.”

Baby bit the side of her cheek, trying to bite back sobs, “You don’t get to do that.”

Roberts’, tilting his head to taunt her, “Oh, so I assume you haven’t told him yet.”

Slamming her fist on the table, causing everyone in the vicinity to jump. 

“Did we forget why you even are here, Roberts’? Need I remind you, our relationship was gone as soon as you brought another woman into our bed. Our bed. That was before you laid me off of a job because I stopped having sex with you.”

Roberts’ charisma died, settling with a masked embarrassment. Swaying side to side, while side-eyeing the man behind the bar. Wade had held a shocked expression, one that expressed as much heartbreak as Baby had been pouring out. Same with everyone else in that room.

“Baby, I-”

She’d walked over to the bar, grabbing the drink that had been placed on the counter. Not even making eye contact with Kinsella. Now standing in front of Roberts’, pouring the contents of the glass on top of him. He didn’t even motion for her to stop, he’d just occasionally mess with his eyes due to the sting of the alcohol.

Placing the glass on the table, holding a tight expression of distaste, the last tear escaped her eye that ruined her pretty makeup.

“I know why you're here, Roberts’. You got a call earlier that a job opening from our competitors hired me to take their open position, so you wanted me back.”

Leaning towards him, now taunting him, “Now, I may not be all tits like that skank was, but I’m a goddamn good reporter. You know as well as anyone, so you flew all the way here to try to cover your careless mistake.” 

Roberts’ looked around, noticing everyone's eyes on him. Knowing she’d been bashing on his reputation to a bunch of residents in Bluebell, Alabama. 

“Baby, I’m sorry. I know I messed up. Please, let me make it up to you.” He grazed her cheek to try to wipe the tears staining them.

She flinched, moving away from his touch like it burned her.

“You can’t fuck your way out of this one, Roberts. Good talk.” Baby grabbed her belongings out of her chair, walking over to the entrance with intent. Not once looking back to see the reaction of the establishment to the now lone businessman that stood with whiskey staining his designer shirt. 

–

Sobbing into her lap, leaning against the ottoman of her lodging, she’d desperately tried to stop the heartache corrupting her. She wished to have chugged the whiskey instead of pouring it on him, not wanting to waste the only thing that would help ease the pain. Haven threw her heels by the bed, already taking out her contacts to put on her tiny glasses. Wiping off her makeup - feeling every vulnerability.

She heard a knock on her hotel door. Causing her to jump, shooting her head up.

Annoyed, assuming it had been Roberts’ again, stated, “Go away, Roberts’. Haven’t you humiliated yourself enough?”

A voice on the other end replied, “I don’t think he has. Maybe we could put worms in his designer shoes?”

The voice familiar, caused her to spring up from where she sat and opened the door. The blonde hair, chestnut hazel blue eyes, chiseled jawline with the white beater with a chain; a persona only befitting Wade Kinsella.

“Oh god, Wade. Sorry you had to see that.”

He gave a comforting smile, holding a bottle in his hands, “Not here to make you feel bad about it. Can I come in?”

Smiling, she ushered him inside. Closing the door behind her. 

“And as much as I’d love to see his reaction, it would only feel right to only do that to Lemon.” She giggled.

Wade smiled, placing the bottle on the hotel side table, “She hasn’t forgotten about that by the way. No matter how many times I tried tellin’ er it wasn’t you. Ever since you'd shown up, she can’t stop talkin’ about it.” Lemon was the woman that kept teasing Baby in primary school. She’d been the victim to the worm-sandwich, which immediately stopped her rullish teasing then on. 

Grabbing the styrofoam cups by the hotel coffee machine, giving it to Wade to pour the contents into the cup. Thanking him once he’d filled her glass, sitting at the end of the ottoman where she’d found comfort.

Wade went to the opposite side of the room, sitting on the floor across from her, leaning against the wall. Sipping his glass, holding a hesitant look on his face.

Smiling at him, reading his intent like it'd been the back of her hand, “What is it, Kinsella? I know you want to tell me somethin’.”

Taking another swig of his cup, he cleared his throat, “Everything okay with you?”

Giving him a lined smile, indicating his question was obviously answered from the night she’d just showcased, he apologized. 

Not wanting to come off as harsh, she reassured, “I appreciate your concern, Wade. I’m doin’ alright. I wasn’t the one who embarrassed themself tonight.”

Wade laughed, taking another swig, poking fun, “Yeah, it was obviously the guy that had a last name as their first name. What a dreamboat.”

The joke made Baby spit out the drink she just tried sipping, noting that Kinsella’s statement had totally been true. Making them both bust out with gentle laughter, belly fluttering with olden joy of the past. They’d shared moments of the past in the moment while sharing the bottle, memories when they were both younger. 

As they drank more, the more the room spun. Causing Baby to lay down on the hotel floor, eyes staring at the ceiling as the world swirled in her vision. Wade was no better, laying beside her as they both stared at the ceiling.

A chuckle caught her attention, making her look over at his face.

“Was’ so funny, Kinsella?” Slight slurs of her verbiage apparent.

He giggled, looking at the ceiling, “Last time I’d seen you this drunk, it was your twenty-first. All stumbly and mumbly. It was cute.”

Maybe it was the alcohol making him a lot more forward with his feelings, but it made a heat creep up in her lower belly. Causing her to look at the ceiling again, hiding her sudden flush of emotion.

Wade, not noticing, went on, “It was also the day after, when you left.”

The statement brought her mood down immediately, causing a wave of guilt and sadness to course through her. She thought to listen, not hearing Wade open up about his feelings often unless it was about his family. 

He turned to face her, eyes full of vulnerability, “Why’d you have to go, Baby?”

She turned to face him this time, feeling the weight of his stare on her cheek. Stumbling to find an answer, she thought of the first thing that came to her head.

“It was my mother.” stating with hesitancy, which had been a half-truth. 

Not fully believing it, he turned to the ceiling, “I’ve known you for a good fifteen-years of my life back then. You didn’t care what people thought of you, let alone your mother. Now you're telling me it was because of her you never said goodbye to anyone?”

Sighing, feeling the conversation turning into conflict, “Wade, you're drunk. Maybe we should have this conversation tomorrow.”

Chuckling to himself, he shook his head, “How do I know if I got enough time to do so, Baby? What would stop you from leavin’ tomorrow mornin’ with that hope in my head?”

Emotion bubbling in her throat, already exhausted from the day’s endeavors, “Wade, I’m sorry for leavin’. I told you already. If I never left that night I would've never left at all. You know my aspirations were always a reach in this town, so I thought you’d understand.”

Nodding his head, now getting up from where he laid, turning to her gaze, “I woulda’ supported you. You just made it seem like it never mattered. Our friendship, or this town never mattered to you.”

The statement left her shocked, watching Wade get up to his feet to grab the empty bottle from the table. Baby sat up from where she laid, still feeling slightly dizzy. 

Stumbling her words, trying to find logic from the drunken emotion, “You do matter to me, Wade. You have always been so important to me. Along with the people here. How could you say that to me?” 

Tears brimming her eyes, sudden bile reaching her throat. Wade made his way to the front door, looking at her get up from where she sat with a slight wobble of her legs. 

“This whole time, I’d thought maybe it had been a selfish decision. You’d want a better life outside the city that raised you, like everyone else did. Forgettin’ what was built here; connections. Now, you come home. Everyone realized tonight that you’d just pushed them away for your own benefit. To push them away from letting them see how miserable you are.”

Eyes, raw from crying, only pained when they started once more.

Baby, desperately trying to build those walls again, snapped back, “Like you have any right to tell me that, Kinsella.”

He made his way to her, pushing past his placement near the front door, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Continuing, she pushed towards him, “Wade Kinsella, the town's womanizer. Who hasn’t slept with this guy? Hope he settles down soon, before it’s too late. Sound familiar?”

Chuckling, he let out a breath, “I’d least expected that coming out of your mouth, Baby. Real classy.”

Motioning forward, nearly within six feet from him, she continued, “We are grown, Kinsella. Maybe some of that should be a wake up call! Have you told Dr. Hart about your feelings for her yet?”

He stepped forward a bit, “Wouldn’t you like to know, reporter? Would you like that on the record?" 

Huffing, she turned around with annoyance, “Unbelievable.”

“What’s unbelievable is your sudden taste for the privilege. Did it feel nice while it lasted?”

Mouth agape, she stepped in front of Wade to be close to his face, “Watch it, Kinsella.”

He leaned in close, to where their noses touched, “You threatening me with a worm-sandwich? Not like you have enough whiskey to pour on my head, Baby.” 

Breath coming out in long drags, feeling the anger pool in her face, “You want to know why I left, Kinsella? Huh?”

His face, anguished, asked, “Why is that?”

She leaned in close, enough to be within inches of his lips, “It was because of you.”

He’d been stunned, stepping back within a moment. Processing her words, eyebrows contorting in confusion. 

“I don’t understand.” He’d tilted his head.

Baby, holding a tight grimace, motioned forward, “You are truly oblivious, Wade.”

He’d paused for a moment, before it hit him. No, before it absolutely destroyed him. The one person he’d thought of to be his only support system, had left because of him. She loved him so much, it pained to see him walk all over it without a care. Like it was with Roberts’ that night, wanting more but receiving false promises.

That night, during her twenty-first, she’d been alone that morning. Comforted by her best friend, hearing his blabbering aspirations in life. Wanting more than to just leave town, join the army like his brother did. Not wanting to carry the responsibilities of taking care of his pops’, holding the burden of starting his life later. Hoping she’d hear this with drunken ears, not knowing it would change her perspective forever. 

Her childhood, she’d spent yearning for the man in front of her. Wanting nothing more than to provide the comfort he’d needed, someone who’d understood his situation. Not realizing, she’d just turned out to be the same as him.

Longing for a future, wanting to make something of herself. Baby made a decision that day, wanting to leave Bluebell for the sake of her future. Her mother wanted something more for her. To be the perfect daughter, taking care of her needs like she’d been tasked with a job. Baby never wanted a life of longing anymore, she’d wanted to be someone. 

Yet, she’d landed with the short end of it. Moving to Los Angeles, meeting a guy at the company she’d applied to. Ended up finding out he’d been an executive, decided to date the man anyway. Always longed for his attention, always met short. She’d pushed through, ended up scoring a spot with another agency. 

Yet, she’d never felt so lonely.

Standing in front of Wade, she’d only been reminded of her naive hopes. Wanting to make something of herself, but he's honestly right. She was miserable, maybe that’s why it had pushed her to come back to rekindle what had been broken.

Baby, walking over to her suitcase, grabbed a small letter that was crumpled with age. Handing it to Wade, hoping he’d take it.

“What is this?” Hesitant with taking the letter, still holding it within his hand.

She sighed, answering, “A letter I was supposed to give to you when I’d left Bluebell after my twenty-first.”

His breath shook, looking down at the letter in his hand. 

Baby stepped back, motioning him to the door, “Read it, yourself. Outside this door. Depending on what you decide, I’ll be here. I’ll be fine with whatever decision you make, Wade.”

He let out a breath, slightly nervous, “What is that supposed to mean, Baby?”

She smiled, reassuring him, “You’ll see.”

As he made his way out the door, it shut within a moment. His eyes scanned hers, until the very last moment the door intercepted their eye contact.

–

Dear Wade,

I’d hope this is received well. Knowing the panic happening about now. I can imagine the fright my sudden absence is bringing to Bluebell. I know this was a sudden change, not expecting it myself. 

I at least wanted to be honest with you, Wade. Not sure where to start with it, since I hadn’t really been this honest with anyone. It helps writing this drunk, which you’d clearly made sure to take care of the mess the night prior. 

I guess I could start with that. You’re a good friend, Wade. Always sticking with those you care about, defending people of this community like it’s family. Going out of your way to make people feel heard - appreciated like it’s home. That’s why it was so easy to talk to you, knowing someone with just as much chaos as I would understand where it came from.

Being there when my parents fought, letting me stay in your dad’s house. Always ushering me to ignore the messes, even if it made me feel safe knowing I’d have a home to run to. When I'd get teased, you’d help get the spray cans and the smelly socks to get them back. Like I’d done to help you and George Tucker get back at Jimmy Praboo, even if it bit you in the ass afterwards.

You’d shown me courage. Especially the courage to get me out of this town. I know, probably not what you want to hear right now. Just listen and don’t rip the paper yet.

I know you’d probably not been aware, but I’d heard everything you’d said to me this morning. I know, I know. You're definitely fighting the urge to throw this paper out. It brought a new perspective within myself, to want to move past these responsibilities. Yeah, it may be a naive way of living, but you inspired me to be unapologetic about my dreams. My drive to be a better person, to be there for myself. You’d always done that, Wade. Always so damn good at it too. God has favorites. 

I don’t want to leave this town, knowing the man that showed me what love felt like would still be here. It brings me comfort knowing the man will always be unapologetically himself, helping those without a worry of his own. 

I just hope you celebrate this with people who love you, Wade. With those who care just as much as you do for others. Please take care of yourself. Who else is supposed to be my biggest fan when I fly my private jets? Also, say bye to everyone for me, I’d only had time to write you one, haha. 

See you in L.A. in my mansion, 

Ms. B

P.S. Actually, don’t call me, I’m a busy lady. 

– 

Waiting on the other side of the ominous looking door, she’d felt like the world was on her shoulders at that moment. Pacing back and forth, looking at the clock every now and then. Seeing that thirty-minutes had passed, it was about the time she'd felt was enough to stop avoiding the obvious rejection.

He hadn’t knocked once, which she’d only assumed he’d left. 

Baby remembered the letter being quite cheesy, not really knowing how to express her feelings without sounding like a little girl at heart. 

Walking over to the front door, waiting to see an empty hallway on the other side. What she didn't expect was Wade hovering his fist over the door, standing in the motion. Raising her eyebrows in surprise, she didn't know if this had been a hallucination that protected herself from the obvious rejection.

“Wade?” She questioned. Wanting to make sure his presence was tangible. 

He’d moved inside the room, causing her to back up with every step he took. Trying to read his face, not sure what clouded his mind. He’d looked conflicted, unsure what to do with himself. It was unlike Kinsella to do, since he’d exuded confidence with every action he took. Unapologetically himself.

Not now. Not with her. 

She’d started to get nervous, stumbling with words, “Are you alright?”

Still nothing out of the man in front of her. The baby walked behind her, grabbing her phone from her night side table. 

“Look, I can call Dr. Hart if this is stress induced. Even if it’s late, maybe she’d answer-”

Once she looked up, Wade was standing in front of her. He’d grabbed her phone from her hands, throwing it on the hotel side table with a thud. Assuming his reaction was out of frustration, Baby immediately apologized.

“I’m sorry for what I said about Dr. Hart. It was out of place. Let’s just talk about this, Wade.”

A hand cupped her cheek, causing a shudder to escape her mouth. The hand moved upward, its warmth trailing to take the glasses off of her face. Blurred vision, occupied every slow motion Wade made with his hand.

The intensity of his stare was enough to send a shiver down her spine. Unsure what it meant.

“Wade..”

He placed her glasses where her phone was, still looking at her face with conflicting emotions behind them. Hand grazing back to her cheek, trailing down to her chin, tilting her head up. 

“No need for a doctor, Baby. I know exactly what I need.”

Heart thumping out of her chest, practically ramming into her skull. Still in denial of the present, she’d do anything to escape the moment.

“You don’t…You don’t know what you're saying, Wade.” He made a flirtatious smile, enough to make Baby’s knees weak. Always had and always will. 

Swiping his thumb on her bottom lip, saying, “Weren’t you the one sayin’ we are grown?”

He’d inched closer, making it nearly impossible for the woman in front of him to breathe. All she could do is nod her head, dazed from the touch the man had been giving her. 

“So since I’m grown. I can make my own decisions, right?” His other hand snaked to her waist, pulling it forward to bring her lips closer to his.

“Is this a decision that you're making with the right head, Kinsella?” She managed to tease. 

He let out a shuddered breath at the comment, moving them over to the side table where the bottle rattled with the sudden movement. Still hovering lips, just enough to feel their breath against them.

“Oh, Baby…you have no idea.” His left hand trailed to the back of her neck, lips barely touching, but enough to feel the heat on them. 

Breathing short, still finding it hard to move, she clenched her hands against the edge of the table. Not motioning to touch him back, not wanting to commit until she’d been sure.

“Feelin’ a little historic, Wade? You gettin’ all worked up once I've shown the ankle now, huh?”

He’d grabbed her chin, gently moving it to gain access to her neck. Bending down, breathing in her scent. The act made her shiver, as he traveled up her nape to her ear. Breath heavy, like he’d been trying to restrain himself from absolutely losing it.

Whispering sweetness in her ear, right hand holding her jaw in place, “I’ve always known you’d been beautiful, Baby. I don’t know why it took you so long to realize that.” The statement absolutely shattered her, reducing herself to mush. Trying to save her dignity, she tried her last and final attempt to restrain herself. 

“The heat, this will pass. Right?” 

Growing slightly frustrated, he’d finally taken action. His tongue swipes a spot underneath her ear lobe, granting a shallow breath to escape her. Wet heat soddening her laced panties, which she’d pathetically tried chasing a release. Noticing her restlessness in the sudden jut of her hips, he moved his right hand from her jaw to her waist. 

Mouth swiping over neck, sucking gently, even leaving small bites in his wake. Kissing the bruising, motioning back to her earlobe, whispering in her ear.

“Your Romeo said he tried his hardest to get you outta’ that old noggin of yours? Right?” He used his left hand, wrapping it to the back of hers. She’d confusingly nodded, wondering why he’d mentioned Roberts’ at an intimate moment like this. 

“Maybe he didn’t try hard enough.” He leaned forward, laying Baby down fully on the table. 

“Wade-” She’d panicked in the moment.

“Trust me, Baby. I’m not going anywhere. Not like I’d ever want to.” He caressed her right thigh with his right hand, riding it up her leg. 

He’d lowered himself to his knees, table tall enough to meet him where his head met her heated cunt. Reaching his right hand to push her waist forward in order to meet his head at the edge of the table. 

He spoke as he got rid of her dress, exposing her laced panties, “You wondered where my head's at, sweetheart?”

Baby’s vocabulary reduced to ‘yes’s and shuddered breaths, since her soddened pussy had spoken for herself. Wade’s pupils blew out wide, shaking a breath of desperation with every word he spoke.

“Let me show you, baby.” The last word was let out in a desperate breath. Altering the meaning of the name to a more intimate pet name, which made her internally squeal. 

Breaking her defiance, giving into her overwhelming pleasure, she nodded her head. 

“Words for me, baby. I know that mouth works.”  

His fingers swiped a line down her slit, causing a whine to escape her mouth as she answered, “Yes, Wade.”

He smirked, feeling the effect he’d had on her with just a few words. Swiping his finger once over, causing her to shudder her breath in the moment. Propping herself on her elbows, watching his hand work on her laced panties with light teases. 

A light tease grazed over her sensitive clit with a swipe, causing her to jut her hips out of desperation. He’d lightly laughed, noticing her sudden clinginess to his touches.

“Quit laughin’, Kinsella. Actually do something about it.”

Smiling, he leaned forward, enough for her to feel his breath on her panties, “Yes, ma'am." 

Taking a lick for experimentation, it immediately clouded his better judgment. He’d fully started making out with her laced cunt, lapping up the wetness that pooled out with intensity. The shudders of breaths caught in her throat, trying her best to conceal her noises to not appear needy.

Noticing, he’d moved her panties to the side, her pussy on full display. Looking up at her expression, not once breaking eye contact as he began licking her labia. Causing her to hiss, not breaking the sexual staring contest he’d set. 

His tongue moved forward from the labia, reaching her clitorous. Causing her to bite the inside of her cheek, bracing for impact. Like it's been a challenge, he’s started making out with her clit, switching from flicking with his tongue to lapping the labia. Moving up again to give her clit love again, swirling his tongue like an olympian at eating pussy.

Whines break from her throat, causing her to jut her hips with every swirl of his tongue. Instinctively reaching to his hair, fingers running through his blonde mane. Tugging him closer, applying more pressure to his descent on her clit. It caused him to groan, moving his hands to the sides of her waist to apply impossibly more pressure. 

Moaning, she’d broken the staring contest by laying her head back on the table. Back arching, Wade’s descent only increased its ferocity. One of his hands, moving from her waist, met his mouth to spread open her folds.

“Wade- mffphh- fuck.” 

He’d pushed two of his thick fingers in her pussy, ushering them in out with the rhythm of his tongue on her clit. Motioning his fingers in an arched movement, causing more obscenities to escape her mouth. Feeling the bundling of intense hot pleasure rest in her lower belly, causing tears to brim her eyes.

“Sh- shit. Wade, I’m comin’ soo- fuck.” 

Groaning into her pussy, his fingers retreated back to holding her waist. Feeling the absence for only a split moment, until he’d been fully tongue fucking her, nose nudging her clit with every movement. 

The bottle on the table rutted with every motion of his head. The feeling makes Baby grab the edge of the table with one of her hands, using the other to squeeze his hair. Legs nearly suffocating the man, only egging him further. White, hot pleasure gathered behind her eyes, causing her to only say the man’s name before coming all over his mouth. 

Lapping every drop gathering on his mouth, wetness from the endeavor painting his chin. He’d helped her ride her orgasm, until the moment she’d dig her heel in his back. Ushering to stop his descent on her clit, making her nearly scream. 

“Wade!” She had to nearly kick him off of her. 

Leaning back, eyes completely dazed, he assured, “Sorry, got a bit carried away. Maybe it's the heat.” He teased with a shit eating grin.

Chin still glistening with her wetness, moving over to meet her now annoyed glare. She’d leaned forward, meeting his face halfway.

Grinning back at him, shaking her head, “You’re unbelievable.”

He bragged, jokingly, “So I’ve been told.” 

Feeling the confidence bloom in her belly, she’d finally been the one to break the initial hesitancy of kissing. Grabbing his chin, she placed her hand on his cheek. Placing a finger on his lower lip, motioning him to open his mouth slightly. He’d done it with a quiet breath, feeling her tongue pool into his mouth. Experienced, intentional. Sensual with the amount of passion behind it. He’d initially expected a couple of small ones as a warm up. She’d lapped his tongue with hers, moaning once she’d tasted herself. 

Her arms grabbed around his neck, deepening the kiss. Nearly swooned in the moment, his knees shook a bit from the intensity. Breaking the kiss suddenly, he’d let out a shallow breath. Both of them are short of oxygen, looking at each other.

“You were sayin?” She gave him a shit eating grin in return. 

He couldn’t believe this was the same woman who looked like a typical a-typical tomboy, inexperienced with dating. She’d nearly had him weak in the knees from just a kiss, which rarely occurred with many women in his experience. 

“You’re drivin’ me crazy, woman.” He reached to get her off the table. Reaching behind her to zip down her dress, pushing it down to reveal her matching laced set from her adventures that afternoon.

Grabbing her chin now, deepening a kiss as he lifted her from where she stood. Wrapping her legs around his waist as they made their way to the bed. Dropping her in dramatic fashion, he’d motioned to take off her panties. Once he had ridden them, throwing them to an unknown place in the room. 

She’d leaned forward, motioning him to take off his shirt. He’d happily obliged with a huge grin, helping her to stretch the fabric over his abs and pectorals. It was a drooling sight, for sure. Blonde chest hairs decorated his pecs, her hands trailing down his abdomen. 

Pulling him by the waist band, she looked at him with every movement of loosening his belt. Watching his eyes blow out with an intensity he’d never experienced, watching no hesitancy with every movement of her hands.

“Is this the same Baby that tackled boys in rugby? What happened to you? Whatcha’ do to her?”

Palming the obvious bulge in his boxers, he hissed, biting back a groan.

She moved her hand, squeezing slightly, “All grown up, remember?”

He laughed, grabbing her torso to move upward from the bed to the pillows. He’d stayed knelt backwards, standing at the edge of the bed. Stepping out of his jeans, leaving the obvious bulge in his boxers apparent. Pre-cum staining a tiny pool in them.

Moving his hands to the waistband of his boxers, he finally pulled them down. Eyes glued on his length, noticing the immediate intimidation she’d felt in the moment. Roberts was average, usually got the job done when needed. Wade was beyond that, with size and girth. No wonder women were all over him, the sight alone is enough to get the job done.

“You wanna’ picture, Baby?” She shot up to his gaze, realizing she’d been staring for an embarrassingly long time.

She teased back at him, “Only if it’s not all for show.”

Motioning up slowly to meet her face, she’d spread her legs to have him rest between them. Lining his cock to her entrance, teasing the tip within her folds to gather its wetness. 

He’d whispered in her ear, before slowly pushing inside of her, “I don’t know. You tell me, sweetheart.” The stretch made her eyebrows contort, mouth hang loose as he began pushing further until he’d just nearly kissed her cervix. 

A shudder of breath exchanged them both. Trying to adjust to this profound pleasure they’d never experienced before. It’s like their first times all over again, shattering their skin and bones with immense intensity.

“Fuck-” Wade readjusted his position. Noticing the sudden squeeze of her cunt was suddening jolts of pleasure down his spine. 

“Maybe it was all for show, Kinsella.” Baby teased, whispering in his ear with a steamed breath.

That did it. It was enough to break any semblance of self-restraint that he’d had. Not knowing where this profound eagerness came from, it promoted the sudden jut of his hips. Causing the woman to gasp, feeling the tip kiss a spot deep within her that made her see stars. Not saying anything back, Kinsella kept rocking his hips with the brutal pace he’d set. 

Lapping his tongue against the nape of her neck. Hands traveling down to her waist, holding them there as he’d rocked the bedframe with brutal thuds. Moans escaped her mouth every time he’d touch the spongy spot inside of her with his cock. 

“Wade- s’ too much.” 

Relentless, he’d never quit his brutal pace. Snaking one of his hands, grabbing her jaw for her to open. Placing his thumb there, watching her take it in her mouth. Swirling the tip of his appendage, looking at him with every movement.

“Never thought to be hearing your sweet voice, Baby. Truly is a blessin’.’” He jut his hips forward, causing her to let out a whine. Not being able to moan, from his thumb padding the center of her tongue.

“Been pining for me all those years. All you coulda just said is you needed some lovin’, I’m sorry for making this pussy wait for so long.” He used his wet thumb to move past her abdomen, all the way down to her bundle of nerves.

A strangled moan escaped her lips, loud enough for any person next door to make fair judgement of what's happening in that room. Well, the loud banging of the bedframe should've been clear enough. 

Finding the urge to bite back on his flirtatious taunts, she’d spoken in broken moans, “Mphh- you're full of it. Fuc- Woulda’ left me alone- mphfff. You know it.”

He chuckled, circling her clit to have her near spasming, “You're still thinking that you don’t drive me crazy girl? Woulda fucked ya’ like I am now in that band t-shirt. Make you sound like the damn opera.”

“Youre a– mphh- damn liar, Kinsella.” Holding a shit eating grin, dimples engraved in her cheeks, making the fire within him deepen. 

He leaned back on his hind legs, shifting his position to drive into her impossibly deeper. Lifting her waist like it was feather light, driving into her with the arch of her back. The new position made her shout with intensity, no man ever granting her the same level of satisfaction Wade had been rutting into her.

“M’ close.” Another intense orgasm building in her lower belly, Kinsella still showing no mercy on her bundle of nerves. Rutting into the same spongy spot that had her seeing white flashes, making her eyes roll back in her skull.

“Let loose, baby. I got cha’.” 

His praise drove her impossibly near the edge, afraid to let go out of fear. Desperately clinging onto anything, she’d needed his body on him. To hold her as she rode this intense orgasm building, tears brimming her eyes. Grabbing one of his hands on her clit, motioning him to fall forward. Shifting his position to lean down to face level, still holding his charisma. Even if sweat accumulated on his forehead, damn near out of breath.

“So needy-” 

Shutting him up, she’d pulled his head down with her arms into a deepened kiss. Tongue dominating him, causing his head to spin. Nerves shooting all the way down to his own building climax. Moaning in her mouth, he grabbed one of her legs, lifting it to drive into her cunt deeper. 

In the moment, they’d stayed in the motion. Until Baby’s legs shook, finally letting loose for the second orgasm she’d received that night. Causing her to desperately hold onto his shoulders, scratching them. She’d leaned down, leaving marks across his neck with desperation.

The sensitivity caused Wade to grab the base of her neck, driving into her sensitive cunt until he’s reached his climax. Moaning her name in her ear - milking himself dry. 

Wade collapsed to her side, both out of breath from the whole ordeal. Trying to process how the hell they went from him walking in with a bottle of whiskey to them tearing each other apart. Baby, hair sticking to her forehead, trying to catch her breath. 

Wade smiled to himself, laughing weakly.

“Was’ so funny, Wade?” She turned to face him.

He looked over at her, smiling like a dork, “You got a back tattoo without me? Knowing it’s been something we’d do together? I’m heartbroken, Baby.”

She sat up, unclasping her laced bralette, “Well,”

Her perky nipples on display, his eyes never breaking from them. 

“I have a few ways to make it up to you.” She’d motioned to get on top of him. 

“Oh, do tell..” He held the grin as he placed his hands on her hips.

The whole night carried on with intertwined pleasure, echoing voices, loud bangs, and maybe a few noise complaints. Knowing the town of Bluebell, the word would've gotten out by the time they’d sat foot into the Town Square. 

Not having a care in the world, it only fed into their pleasure more. Knowing they’d been unapologetically obsessed with each other, forever seeking each other's soft touches. 

–

A/N: Zoe fr had dressed her up for her to take her man, it's okay I love her too. Had fun writing this, thank you for reading!

[nghtwngs]

18+ mdni, dubcon elements, dom/sub dynamics, vaginal penetration, creampie, vaginal fingering, cunninglingus, somnophilia, choking, overstimulation, reader has no gendered pronouns, implied stalkerish behavior [reader], fbi!dex just being a rather friendly neighbor, mrs. miller close your catholic ears, smut below the cut

reader who has a huge, super obvious crush on neighbor!dex, always trying to run into him in the hallway, asking for spare batteries for your remotes and extra eggs for breakfast. the first few times it happened, dex was rather clueless about your attraction to him, because few people had ever really looked his way. and not that you weren’t pretty, he just wasn’t into you like that. you were nothing more than his kind neighbor who seemed to forget how to adult since he’s moved in.

it wasn’t until the nice but nosy old lady in 427 offhandedly mentioned to dex how generous you were, how you must’ve had everything one could possibly need stocked up, that he realized you were just using it as an excuse to talk to him. between his important assignment at the fbi and spending time with his support system julie, dex hardly had the time to be entertaining your little crush.

until he was put on administrative leave and nice, sweet julie turned out to be just like everyone else. scared of him and his devotion—his desire to be good just like her.

he had put a hole through his wall and a couple cds by the time he heard you unlock your front door. before he knew it, dex ripped open his own door, startling you.

“jesus, are you okay, dex?” you asked when you saw the distress on his handsome features.

the whole time he’s lived here, you’d not once seen him anything but the picture of put together. you envied it, but you also wondered if there was more underneath the mask of calm. was this what was hiding behind it?

in two quick strides, dex was in front of you, roughly grabbing your face and smashing his mouth against yours, tongue prodding through the seam of your lips. your shocked gasp allowed the warm muscle through. the question on your tongue died then. he pushed you both through your door, foot kicking it shut.

next thing you knew, he was harshly fucking his cock into you, pressing your face deeper into your mattress with his hand on the back of your throat. you can already feel the bruises around your neck forming. you sobbed his name, already having come twice around him. each of his thrusts were so precise, never faltering even as he was finally approaching his climax.

you’ve never heard his voice as raspy as when he began to taunt you, “you can take it, can’t you? i know you like me, or else you wouldn’t be letting me do this to you.”

“please, dex, dex, dex,” you blabbered like a mantra. you couldn’t tell exactly what it was you were begging for.

he held you down harder then, blocking your airway for a moment. “fuck, you’re so wet. you’ve thought about this, haven’t you? you ever imagined me knocking on your door and shoving my cock into you? oh, i can feel you squeezing me. you’d love that, wouldn’t you?

“mrs. miller said you were so helpful. she was right. that’s why you followed me around on my runs, didn’t you? just wanted to keep me company. you weren’t that dumb to think an fbi agent wouldn’t notice, were you? you wanted me to know with that little damsel-in-distress act of yours.”

you felt his weight press down onto your back, his fingers sliding from your sore hip to the center of your thighs. he smiled when he found your clit immediately, rubbing the overstimulated nerves with quick, precise movements. despite the mortification of being caught, you cried out in overwhelming ecstasy. your stretched walls clamped down so hard around his length, it was like they were trying to push him out.

but obviously, you wanted it. otherwise, your arousal wouldn’t be gushing out around his relentless cock like that, dripping onto your ruined sheets. each slap of his hips against your ass made such an embarrassing squelch inside the thin walls of your small room. hopefully poor old mrs. miller couldn’t hear any of this—she was terribly catholic.

dex spoke more in the last forty minutes than he had to you in the past three years he’s been living in this building. he teased you about your crush on him, praised you for being so good for him and his cock. it wasn’t long before your third release washed over you, milking him so hard that he spilled himself into you. you felt his hot cum flood your walls, shamefully (but blissfully) wondering if he’d slide himself out of you just to watch it leak out of your hole.

but despite his intense climax, he kept going, because dex was only a friendly neighbor cashing in on his neighborly generosity to you.

bonus: years later, the assassin bullseye would climb up your fire escape, sneaking into your apartment through your unlocked window. you must’ve been waiting for him to return, never mind the heatwave running through manhattan right now, and your ac just broke last week. you’d wake up to bullseye with his head between your thighs, fingers making those familiar strokes with deadly precision. he had lifted his mask just enough to expose his mouth, coaxing a shattering climax from you just like he did all those times before. (you had, in fact, started to leave your windows unlocked when you heard he escaped prison.)