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if you ever see me reblog your fic twice, no you didnt. ignore the first one. i was just saving it for later. either as a lil snack or i wasnt ready for a full meal at the time
My Blurb: Oh hey! Look at this relatively timely update. Special thanks to my manager @pioched for yelling at me about abandoning the boys.
Disclaimer: Alas, I own nothing but my ideas. I do not give permission for my writing to be shared anywhere without my consent.
Summary: Reacher never needed anyone, he was a lone wolf and preferred it that way. But when he finds his mate beaten and bruised one night, she and the rest of the 110th show Reacher the benefits of being in a pack. Fated Mates, Shifter AU
Pairing: Jack Reacher x OFC Morgan Stone
Warnings: There are some darker things in this fic. Morgan is a rape and abuse survivor. Nothing is explicitly detailed but be advised. Your media consumption is your responsibility. This is a fated mates, wolf shifter AU and will contain claming, biting, mating and other wolf pack related things.
Reacher’s eyes snapped open like they did every morning, immediately on high alert when he realized he wasn’t in his bedroom. A shuffle and soft grumble next to him reminded him of the reason why. Morgan stirred softly, her body pressing closer into his, naturally reacting to the tension by seeking safety in him. He smiled, reaching over and smoothing the furrow in her brow gently. She had cuddled with him last night and was still wrapped around him this morning, although her arm that was in the cast looked like it was at an awkward angle.
She stirred again before her eyes blinked open slowly. She smiled shyly at him, a blush forming on her cheeks and spreading down her neck until it disappeared under his shirt. He had been relieved to see that actual pajamas weren’t in the pile of new clothes she had brought home yesterday. Seeing her in his shirts had quickly become one of his favorite things about having a mate.
“Good morning,” she whispered, “sorry I'm all over you” she added while trying to untangle herself from him.
He tightened his arms a fraction, causing her to freeze. “The day I don’t want you all over me is the day you need to check me for a pulse.” He lifted his hand and ran it over the blush on her cheek, smiling when she leaned into his touch.
“You’re not too bad yourself.” Her voice was low and she bit her lip as one of her hands ran across the mark on his chest. He shifted forward, using the hand on her cheek to pull her lip away from her teeth and bringing their faces closer. Her eyes bounced between his lips and his eyes and he could see the pulse beating her neck. “Jack…”, he cut her off with a groan, closing the gap between them and pressing his lips to hers.
I hadn’t been kissed often, but nothing could have prepared me for the way Jack kissed. KJ had done it a few times, but they were cold impersonal pecks done to maintain our facade and protect the family image. The couple boys that had been brave enough to fool around with Stone’s daughter had been sloppy and fast and wet and in a hurry before we were caught. Jack was different. His lips were warm and soft and he kissed me like he had all the time in the world to devote to the act.
My attempt to wrap my arms around his neck was thwarted when my cast got caught in the pillow. Jack broke the kiss, resting his forehead against mine when I giggled. “Does it hurt? You had it at a weird angle.”
I flexed my fingers, frowning at the increased mobility and lack of pain or pulling I had become accustomed to the last few weeks. “Ummm…no, actually. It feels really good.”
Jack sat up, pulling me into his lap and studying my arm. “I’m going to call Roscoe. She can check it out before the ceremony.”
“Oh, no, we don’t have….” I was cut off when he raised his eyebrow at me
“She said to report changes, this is a change. Now get dressed.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead before placing me on the bed and heading to his room.
Jack laid his hand gently on my knee to stop my leg from bouncing while we waited for Dr. Roscoe to finish looking at the x-rays. She had removed the cast, ordered x-rays, studied the x-rays, drew blood and then had me do a series of push and pull exercises with my arm. Now she was thumbing through her notes, jotting numbers down periodically before comparing previous x-rays to the ones I had gotten today.
“Roscoe.” Jack’s voice was a low growl that snapped her out of her thoughts. She glanced between us, noting his hand on my knee before placing the papers down and folding her hands on her desk.
“Your arm is completely healed. The odd part is that when we took x-rays two weeks after the break you were healing at a human rate. Which means that you shouldn’t be completely healed and able to do those exercises for another month.” She stopped and looked between us, smiling like she had a secret.
“Based on that face, you have a theory why she’s healing quicker now.” Jack responded dryly.
“I do. Your bond is strengthening as you get closer emotionally and physically,” She looked pointedly at his hand, causing me to blush. “The bond is using that strength to heal you in place of your repressed shifter abilities.”
I gasped, I had lived my whole life believing there was no way to fix my condition. My father had tried everything, the finest doctors his money and cruelty could buy. “You think our bond could fix me?”
“I can’t say anything for sure yet, but something has changed since you’ve been here.” Her phone rang then and she glanced at the caller ID. “I have to take this, it’s prep for the ceremony tonight. We can do some more tests in a couple weeks and see if anything else has changed.”
The statue of the Moon Goddess glowed, reflecting the full moon light and the strands of twinkling lights that had been strung around the village center for Melina & Sanchez’s bonding ceremony. Reacher sat at a table watching Morgan on the dance floor with Charlie and Lily, her cast free arm flailing about to some song that hurt his ears. She had leaned into him during the ceremony, smiling happily at the couple who had disappeared together an hour ago to complete the personal part of their bond.
“You going to ask her to dance?” Neagley sat down beside him, handing him a beer.
He scoffed, “I don’t dance.”
“Doc says the closer you get, the better the chances her wolf will emerge.” she raised an eyebrow with a grin.
Reacher simply shook his head. “Who knew being the Alpha meant you got to know everybody’s business.”
“I know what I need to know to keep my pack safe and help us prosper. I already told you, you’re part of this pack and so is she.” The song changed to a slow one. “So as your Alpha, go dance with your mate.” Neagley nodded her head towards Morgan.
I smiled up at Jack when he approached me, accepting his hand for a dance. “Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, pulling me close to him.
“Yes, it was a beautiful ceremony. And the celebration is much more fun than the last one I attended.” I laughed, trying to make a joke at my own expense.
Jack’s arms tightened around me, drawing my attention to his face and I could tell he wasn’t amused. “Don’t remind me that I have people to kill for that.” He paused for a minute, spinning us slowly before continuing. “You know there’s nothing you need to fix about yourself. It doesn’t matter to me that you don’t know about your wolf. You’re perfect the way you are.”
I smiled and lifted on to my toes so my mouth hovered over his. “Thank you” I whispered before kissing him. When we pulled apart, I rested my head on his chest until the dance ended.
“Let’s get you a drink. You’ve been dancing for a while.” he led me over to the bar that was set up to the side of the dance floor. Orozco, Franz and Angela greeted them before returning to their discussion.
“We’re covered everywhere but it would be nice to have another set of eyes in the west woods Patrol.” Orozco was saying.
Franz looked up at Jack, “Dixon still have you on training?” He grumbled when Jack nodded. “Sanchez being out has us spread thinner on coverage than Alpha likes.”
“I could help.” I said. Jack choked on the drink he had just taken and I patted him on the back.
“Damn Reacher, I think that’s the first time in all these years I have ever seen you ruffled by something.” Orozco laughed and Franz’s shoulders were shaking where he had buried his face in Angela's neck.
Jack ignored them, turning to me instead. “You are not going on patrol duty.”
Anger and a little bit of embarrassment ran through me at his words. “I'm not some weakling, I know I wasn't in great shape when you found me but don't forget that I had made it nearly two weeks on my own and undetected by a very powerful pack.” I took a deep breath, lowering my voice before continuing. “I want to help the pack, Dr. Roscoe said I was completely healed and I have been training with you everyday.”
Franz, who had been watching our exchange, added “Come on man, she won’t be alone. Orozco and I will be there the whole time.”
I stood on a rock surveying the clearing in the woods carefully. Either Franz or Orozco had stayed by my side the past couple hours showing me things to look for and what the boundary lines of pack lands looked like. The special markings in the trees that had I been paying attention to the night I stumbled into the village, would have warned me it was a wolf shifter pack. Jack had pulled them aside when he dropped me off at the security office that morning and judging by their faces, threatened them quite sufficiently if I was injured. I was just happy he had agreed to let me come, although his worries seemed unfounded as we continued walking. “The way everyone was acting, I was expecting this to be a little more dangerous. The most threatening thing we've seen is a sketchy looking hawk.”
“No, I noticed it too.” Franz replied. “We should have ran into some other types of shifters, a snake or something by this point. It's almost like they all just up and disappeared.” He pauses walking and looks at me. “You didn't happen to tell anyone else what route we were taking by chance did you?”
I shrugged, thinking about the info sheet Orozco had handed me with my assignment last night. “Just Jack. It was the only way I could get him to let me go on a patrol, even with you two. You know how he felt about it.”
Franz sighed, “Never mind, I'm pretty sure I understand what happened now.”
Reacher was waiting at the security office when they returned. He didn't bother hiding the mud on his boots or the twig in his hair and simply shrugged when Franz asked him if he had a nice run.
“Thanks for helping out today, Morgan.” Orozco patted her back before heading inside with Franz. Morgan nodded at him before coming to a stop in front of Reacher, her arms crossed over her chest.
“I don’t regret it. I won’t risk you.” Reacher said before she could speak.
She sighed, “I want a job in the pack. I need to earn my spot.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “You don’t have to prove anything.”
“What about the library? I’ve always liked books, they were my escape while dad kept me locked up. Lily said they don’t have time to take care of it.” Morgan grabbed his hand in hers. “Plus it’s on the village square, right off the road to our house. I would be safe. Please Jack.”
Jack studied her for a minute, before squeezing her hands. “We can talk to Neagley and the O’Donnell’s tomorrow.”
My Blurb: Hi everyone. I know it's been a minute since I posted but life has been rough the past few months. I do appreciate all of the love this story has received though and it really has helped me get my muse back. I have the next couple chapters outlined and I am hopeful that it won't take nearly as long to update. Love you all!
Disclaimer: Alas, I own nothing but my ideas. I do not give permission for my writing to be shared anywhere without my consent.
Summary: Reacher never needed anyone, he was a lone wolf and preferred it that way. But when he finds his mate beaten and bruised one night, she and the rest of the 110th show Reacher the benefits of being in a pack. Fated Mates, Shifter AU
Pairing: Jack Reacher x OFC Morgan Stone
Warnings: There are some darker things in this fic. Morgan is a rape and abuse survivor. Nothing is explicitly detailed but be advised. Your media consumption is your responsibility. This is a fated mates, wolf shifter AU and will contain claming, biting, mating and other wolf pack related things.
“Take the scenic route Dixon.” Neagley announces from the passenger seat, keeping her eye on the rearview mirror.
Dixon smoothly switches lanes, signaling at the last second onto the exit ramp for a lake in the opposite direction of the village. Angela and Charlie share a glance on either side of me causing my stomach to drop. “What’s going on?”
Neagley turns in her seat so she’s making eye contact with me. “We’ve been tailed since we left the restaurant. Georgia plates.”
Charlie gives my arm a gentle squeeze as a shudder rolls through me. “They found me?”
I begin to turn in my seat but Charlie stops me. “It doesn’t matter. You are safe, we will lose them and get home. We aren’t going to let them take you.”
“Of course it matters! You…you don’t know them.” I whisper, trying to keep my voice steady. “They are ruthless, and they will hurt all of you. I can’t let that happen, you have to stop and let me out.”
Neagley raises her eyebrow, “I’m not dumping you on the side of the road for those assholes to find you. We don’t abandon our own pack members. Plus, I promised Reacher we would bring you home safely and we are not breaking that promise.”
The rest of the ride is tense, Dixon maneuvers our vehicle through highways and backroads while Neagley keeps a sharp eye behind us. Three hours later, when we finally pull into the village, my nerves are shot. The SUV has barely stopped in front of the packhouse before I see Jack followed by Franz and several others appear on the porch, bolting towards us.
Angela hops out quickly, letting Jack pull me out and into his arms where I finally release the breath I had been holding. “Are you ok?”
I nod my head, melting into his embrace. “I didn’t even see them.”
Years of military training and his own rigid self-control had almost gone out the window when he’d received the message from Neagley that they were being followed. Only the knowledge that he would draw more attention to whatever path Dixon was taking back to the village kept him within the pack borders.
His bond with Morgan had grown steadily over the past few weeks and he had felt her terror when she must have realized. There had been a small tremor in her body when he had scooped her out of the vehicle, quickly looking her over. It had stilled now as she pressed herself into his chest and he tightened his arms around her, giving Neagley a nod over her head.
Morgan pulled away when Charlie and Angela began loading bags from the SUV into his truck. Digging in her pocket, she handed him the card back, a flush on her face. “I’m sorry, it’s a lot. I’ll pay you back.”
“Did you get a coat?” he asked, putting the card back in his wallet and helping move the rest of the bags. She nodded her head yes, refusing to look at him. “Then that’s all I care about. Let’s get home ok?”
Biting her lip she gave a quick hug to Charlie before letting him help her into the truck.
It felt like I tossed and turned for hours before finally falling asleep. The nightmares started shortly after. Shadows chasing me through the woods, my father’s snarling voice reminding me I was a disappointment, KJ’s laughter as he sank his teeth into my neck causing me to scream in pain, more noises and arms banding around me as I tried to fight my way free from the darkness.
“Morgan!” The voice was familiar and I struggled to pull myself towards it. A light approached and I saw the grey wolf that had been chasing the nightmares away appear. It snarled at the shadows, the pain evaporating and comforting warmth replacing the cold arms that had been holding me captive.
“Hey, it’s just a nightmare, I'm here, you’re safe.” Jack’s voice was clear now and I finally woke up pressed against his chest.
I shudder, crawling farther into his lap, letting his warmth evaporate the cold tendrils of the nightmare still clinging to me. The room is quiet for several minutes except for the sounds of our breathing and his hands soothing up and down my back, as I work on slowing my breathing. “I’m sorry I woke you” I finally whisper, tilting my face up from where it was buried in his neck.
“It’s ok, I'm a light sleeper. The military, plus my wolf could feel you panicking.” He leans back so he can see my face, one hand tracing my cheek lightly “I’ll always come when you need me to. Even if it’s just to chase the nightmares away”
“I think your wolf already has been.” Jack cocks his head in question. “Ever since I woke up in the hospital, a grey wolf has been showing up in my dreams. Whenever they start to turn into nightmares, it shows up and the nightmare fades away. I didn’t put it together until now but that's why your wolf looked so familiar to me when you showed him to me.”
Jack studies me for a minute before speaking, “It would make sense. My wolf wants to protect you as much as I do and we’re connected, bonded mates can form a telepathic bond.”
“If I had a wolf, would it chase away your nightmares?” I grin at him.
“I don’t have nightmares.” he shrugged in the confident way he says everything. Like nightmares wouldn’t dare disturb him.
“What do you do when you can’t forget the awful things from your past?” I whisper, sliding slightly out of his lap and breaking our eye contact.
He stops me leaving his lap with one hand on my hip, the other lifts my chin up gently to meet his gaze. “I find the awful thing, then I kill it.”
There’s a strange comfort in his words. Almost like a promise that he’s going to remove the awful thing from my life as well. I should be horrified at the thought of more violence but I’m not. Instead, it soothes me and a yawn creeps out of my throat.
He presses a kiss to my forehead before sliding out from under me. “Sleep well Morgan.”
“Wait!” I snag his hand when he turns. “Will you stay with me?” His raised eyebrow makes me blush. “I…I just mean that I feel safer when you’re near me…not that I want to…” I flailed my hand between us.
He scrubs a hand down his face. “Scoot over, I'm closest to the door.”
I nod and quickly scramble to the other side, pulling the blankets back for both of us. He settles quickly on his back, one arm behind his head and the other on his stomach. Before I can overthink it, I press myself into his side, laying my head on his chest with one hand slightly above the one on his stomach. He stiffens immediately but I don’t move away. “Goodnight Jack.”
The arm under his head comes around my back as he slowly relaxes, holding me against him with a hand on my hip. “Goodnight Morgan.”
I love you weird fanfiction. I love you unpopular kink. I love you unsanitized sex scenes. I love you fics that the mean girls make fun of on twitter. I love you monster fucking. I love you daddy kinks and foot fetishes and water sports. I love you stories about complex human emotions and bad choices with no consequences and characters hurting each other. I love you threesomes or polycules. I love you rare pairs. I love you furry art. I love you dark fantasies. I love you kink that’s so specific and self indulgent it was clearly written just for the person writing it. I love you ships that people think you shouldn’t be allowed to ship. I love you anyone who has the courage to put their art into a public space when that art is weird, or dark, or taboo, or something that will be considered unacceptable by the puritanical fandom police.
Adam Ruzek x Olinsky Daughter Reader (Nicknamed Tiny Tornado) [Finished]
Tiny Tornado or TT, a name your uncle Hank dubbed you with as a kid and it stuck. Alvin Olinskys oldest daughter. You're a first grade teacher which means keeping up with a bunch of little all day. You haven't been able to keep up with your dads unit until his birthday when you take him treats as a surprise and meet one Adam Ruzek. Your dad and uncle will kill him but neither of you can resist each other.
Summary: It’s 7:30 AM on your day off. You’re cozy in bed. Then Herrmann shows up at your door, demanding you get your butts moving for a firehouse charity event. Spoiler: no one wants to set up tables this early—but coffee, breakfast sandwiches, and Adam's presence make it almost bearable. Almost.
Tags: Slow Burn, Fluff, Humor, Domestic Life, Charity Event, Established Relationship, Found Family, Light Angst
Page divider by steviebbboi
The knocking starts soft at first—a gentle tap that weaves itself into your dream about lying on a beach somewhere tropical, where the only thing you need to worry about is whether your drink needs more ice. Then it gets louder. More constant. The kind of knocking that says whoever's on the other side of that door isn't going away anytime soon.
You groan and bury your head deeper into your pillow, pulling the comforter up over your head like it's some kind of protective shield. Next to you, Adam shifts, his arm tightening around your waist in that possessive way he does even in sleep, like he's afraid you'll disappear if he doesn't hold on tight enough.
"Go away," you mumble into the pillow, though you know damn well whoever's out there can't hear you.
The knocking continues. If anything, it gets louder.
"Babe," Adam's voice is rough with sleep, muffled against the back of your neck where his face is pressed. "Someone's at the door."
"I know someone's at the door," you mutter. "I'm ignoring them. You should too."
"What time is it?" He's starting to wake up now, and you can feel him reaching for his phone on the nightstand, his body stretching along the length of yours.
You crack one eye open just enough to see the early morning light filtering through the curtains. The kind of light that tells you it's way too early for any reasonable person to be awake on a Saturday morning. Especially a Saturday morning after the week you've had—three back-to-back cases, barely any sleep, and a mountain of paperwork that you'd finally finished at eleven o'clock last night.
"It's too early for this," you say, and you mean it with every fiber of your being.
Adam checks his phone and groans. "It's seven-thirty."
"Exactly. Too early. On a Saturday. Our day off."
The knocking comes again, and this time it's accompanied by a voice. A familiar voice that makes your stomach drop.
"Hey! I know you're in there! Come on, kid, we've got a schedule to keep!"
You freeze. Adam freezes. You both know that voice.
"Is that..." Adam starts.
"Herrmann," you finish, your voice flat with disbelief. "That's Herrmann at our door. At seven-thirty in the morning. On our day off."
"Why is Herrmann at our door?"
You squeeze your eyes shut, searching through the foggy recesses of your sleep-deprived brain for an answer. And then it hits you. Oh no. Oh no, no, no.
"The charity thing," you whisper, horror dawning. "The firehouse charity event."
"The what?"
"The charity event at 51. The one Herrmann's been organizing for like three months. The one he wouldn't shut up about last time we all went to Molly's." You turn over to face Adam, and even in the dim light, you can see the matching expression of dread on his face. "I told him we'd help set up."
"You told him we'd help set up," Adam repeats slowly. "At what time?"
"Eight," you admit, wincing.
"Come on!" Herrmann's voice booms through the door again. "I've got Cindy making breakfast sandwiches, but they're gonna get cold if you don't get your butts in gear! We've got tables to set up, decorations to hang, and—"
Adam drops his head back onto the pillow with a groan that comes from somewhere deep in his soul. "I'm a cop. I chase bad guys. I do paperwork. I testify in court. I do not set up tables at seven-thirty in the morning on my day off."
"Tell that to Herrmann," you say, but you're already starting to push yourself up, because you know there's no getting out of this. When Christopher Herrmann sets his mind to something, especially something involving the firehouse, he's like a force of nature. Unstoppable. Relentless. And apparently, willing to show up at your apartment before the sun is fully up to make sure you follow through on your commitments.
"Can't we just pretend we're not home?" Adam tries.
"He knows we're home. Your Jeep is parked right out front."
"Maybe we left it there and went somewhere else."
"Adam."
"I'm just saying, it's a possibility."
The knocking comes again, and this time Herrmann's voice has taken on that particular tone he uses when he's dealing with one of his kids who's trying to get out of doing their chores. "I can hear you two talking in there! Don't make me use my key!"
You sit bolt upright.
"He doesn't have a key to our apartment," Adam says.
"Whoops?" you shyly reveal that you gave Herrmann a key to your apartment a while ago in case of an emergency.
"Alright, alright!" you call out, throwing the covers off and immediately regretting it as the cool air hits your skin. You're wearing one of Adam's old Academy t-shirts and a pair of shorts, and your hair is probably sticking up in seventeen different directions, but at this point, you don't care. "Give us five minutes!"
You let out a long breath, running your hands through your hair. Next to you, Adam is still lying in bed, one arm thrown over his eyes like he's trying to block out reality.
"It's too early for this," he echoes your earlier sentiment.
"You already said that."
"It bears repeating."
You lean over and poke him in the ribs. "Come on, Adam. Up and at 'em. We made a commitment."
"You made a commitment," he corrects, but he's already swinging his legs out of bed, his bare feet hitting the hardwood floor. "I was just standing there, minding my own business, drinking my beer, when you volunteered us."
"You were standing right next to me, nodding along!"
"I was being supportive!"
"Well, now you get to be supportive while setting up tables."
He stands up, stretching, and you can't help but admire the view—even at seven-thirty in the morning, even when you're both exhausted and being dragged out of bed by an overly enthusiastic firefighter, Adam Ruzek is still unfairly attractive. His hair is sticking up in the back, and there are pillow creases on his face, and he's wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs, and you kind of want to pull him back into bed and forget all about charity events and responsibilities.
But then you remember Herrmann's voice, and the fact that he's probably standing right outside your door with a stopwatch, and you force yourself to move.
"Shower?" Adam asks hopefully, moving toward you with that look in his eyes that suggests he's thinking the same thing you were thinking a moment ago.
"No time," you say, dodging around him and heading for the dresser. "Herrmann said five minutes, and you know he meant it."
"A quick shower," Adam tries, following you. "A very quick shower. Together. Save water."
"Adam."
"I'm just saying, it's environmentally conscious."
You pull out a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, turning to face him with your best stern expression—the one you use on suspects who are trying to sweet-talk their way out of an interrogation. "We have approximately three minutes left before Herrmann breaks down that door. Get dressed."
He sighs dramatically but heads for his own dresser, pulling out clothes with the kind of resigned efficiency of a man who knows when he's beaten. You both dress quickly, moving around each other in the practiced dance of two people who've been together long enough to know each other's routines. You pull your hair back into a ponytail, splash some water on your face, and brush your teeth in record time while Adam does the same.
"Coffee," Adam says as you're both pulling on shoes. "Please tell me there's going to be coffee."
"There better be coffee. I'm not setting up tables without coffee. I have standards."
You grab your phone and keys, checking the time. Four and a half minutes. Not bad. Adam is right behind you as you head for the door, and when you pull it open, sure enough, Herrmann is standing there in the hallway, arms crossed over his chest, looking like a disappointed father whose teenagers just missed curfew.
"Four minutes and forty-seven seconds," he announces, checking his watch. "Cutting it close, kid."
"Good morning to you, too, Herrmann," you say, stepping out into the hallway and locking the door behind you.
He's dressed in jeans and a CFD hoodie, and he's got that particular energy about him that suggests he's already been up for hours, probably had three cups of coffee, and has a detailed schedule planned out for the entire day. Next to you, Adam looks like he might fall asleep standing up.
"Morning," Herrmann says, his expression softening slightly. "Sorry to wake you so early, but we've got a lot to do before the event starts at noon. Figured we could use all the help we could get."
"It's fine," you lie, because what else are you going to say? You did volunteer, after all, even if you'd somehow managed to forget about it until Herrmann was literally knocking down your door.
"Is there coffee?" Adam asks, and it's possibly the most important question anyone has ever asked in the history of questions.
Herrmann grins. "Cindy made a whole pot. And breakfast sandwiches. Figured you two would need some fuel."
"Herrmann, you're a saint," Adam says with genuine feeling.
"Yeah, yeah. Come on, let's get moving."
The three of you head down the stairs and out into the early morning air. It's one of those perfect Chicago mornings in late spring—cool enough that you're glad you wore a sweatshirt, but with the promise of warmth later in the day. The sky is clear and blue, and there's hardly any traffic yet, and under different circumstances, you might actually appreciate being up this early.
You head for the cooler, which is blessedly labeled "COFFEE" in Cindy's neat handwriting, and you could honestly kiss the woman right now. You pop it open and find a large thermos, several cups, and a bag of what smell like freshly made breakfast sandwiches. Your stomach growls loudly enough that both Adam and Herrmann look over.
"Someone's hungry," Herrmann says with a knowing grin.
"Someone didn't eat dinner last night because someone was too busy finishing paperwork," you shoot back, pouring coffee into one of the cups and taking a long, grateful sip. It's perfect—hot and strong and exactly what you need to face the day ahead.
You pour a second cup and bring it over to Adam. He takes a sip, closes his eyes, and makes a sound that's borderline inappropriate for public consumption.
"Marry me," he says.
"We've been over this. You have to actually propose first."
"I'm working on it."
Herrmann snorts. "You two are ridiculous. Come on, drink your coffee and let's get loaded up. We're burning daylight."
"It's barely eight in the morning," Adam points out. "There's plenty of daylight left."
"Not with everything we have to do, there isn't."
"Alright," Herrmann says, surveying the loaded trucks with satisfaction. "Stella said she'd come by to help with decorations."
"You okay?" Adam asks, reaching over to squeeze your hand.
"It's too early for this," you say again, but you're smiling now. "But yeah, I'm okay."
"You know Herrmann means well. He's just..."
"Enthusiastic?"
"I was going to say 'intense,' but sure, let's go with enthusiastic."
"Thanks for not making me do this alone," you say quietly.
"Are you kidding? And miss the chance to watch Herrmann boss everyone around for the next four hours? Wouldn't miss it for the world."
There are already several people milling around outside—you recognize Mouch and Cruz, and Stella is talking to someone you don't know, probably another firefighter from a different shift.
"Alright, people! Let's get this show on the road!" Herrmann shouts.
What follows is organized chaos. Herrmann has a plan—of course he has a plan, probably color-coded and laminated—and he directs everyone with the precision of a conductor leading an orchestra. Tables get unfolded and arranged in neat rows in the parking lot. Chairs get set up. Decorations start going up—banners and balloons and streamers in red and white and blue.
You end up on decoration duty with Stella, who greets you with a warm hug and a knowing look.
"Let me guess," she says. "Herrmann showed up at your door this morning?"
"Seven-thirty," you confirm. "On the dot."
She laughs. "He did the same thing to me and Kelly last week when we were setting up for the fundraiser at Molly's. The man doesn't understand the concept of sleeping in."
"I don't think he sleeps at all. I think he just runs on pure determination and coffee."
"And love for this firehouse," Stella adds, and there's genuine affection in her voice. "He drives us all crazy, but we love him for it."
You help her string up lights along the perimeter of the setup area, and as you work, more people start arriving. Severide shows up with Casey, both of them looking far more awake than you feel. Sylvie arrives with a carload of supplies from the hospital—apparently they're doing free blood pressure checks and basic health screenings as part of the event. Herrmann's wife Cindy shows up with their kids and even more food.
By ten o'clock, the parking lot has been transformed. The tables are covered with red and white checkered tablecloths. A grill is being set up for burgers and hot dogs, and a separate table for baked goods is already groaning under the weight of donated pies, cookies, and cakes.
You step back to admire the work, and Adam comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder.
"Not bad for a morning's work," he says.
"Not bad at all."
"Think Herrmann will let us sneak out early?"
You laugh. "Not a chance. We're here until the bitter end."
"That's what I was afraid of."
Herrmann appears at your side, looking flushed and happy and more energized than anyone has a right to be. "Looking good, looking good! Kid, I need you to help Cindy with the bake sale table. Adam, you're on grill duty with Cruz. We've got about an hour before people start showing up, so let's make sure everything is perfect."
"On it," you say, because what else are you going to say?
As Herrmann hurries off to micromanage some other aspect of the setup, Adam presses a kiss to your temple. "It's too early for this," he whispers, echoing your words from this morning.
"It's actually almost ten-thirty now," you point out.
"Still too early."
But he's smiling as he says it, and so are you, and as you head off to help Cindy organize baked goods while Adam goes to figure out the grill situation, you realize that maybe—just maybe—this isn't so bad after all.
Sure, you got dragged out of bed at an ungodly hour. Sure, you've spent the last three hours doing manual labor on what was supposed to be your day off.
But you're surrounded by good people doing good work for a good cause. The sun is shining, the coffee was excellent, and Adam is here with you, making stupid jokes and stealing kisses.
By noon, the parking lot is packed with people from the neighborhood. Kids are running around with their faces painted like tigers and butterflies. Adults are lined up at the grill, where Adam and Cruz are flipping burgers with the kind of competitiveness.
You're manning the bake sale table with Cindy, and you've discovered that you're actually pretty good at sales when properly motivated. You've already sold three entire pies and countless cookies.
"You're a natural," Cindy says, counting the cash box with satisfaction. "We should recruit you for every fundraiser."
"Please don't give Herrmann any ideas," you say, but you're smiling.
Adam catches your eye from across the parking lot and grins, giving you a little wave with the spatula he's holding. You wave back, and your heart does that fluttery thing again.
"You two are cute," Cindy observes. "Herrmann says Adam's one of the good ones."
"He is," you agree. "Even if he complains about getting up early."
"Herrmann complains about getting up early too," Cindy confides. "He just doesn't let anyone else hear it."
You laugh at that, and as you turn back to help a customer who wants to buy a dozen cookies, you catch Herrmann watching you from across the parking lot. He gives you a thumbs up and a grin, and you return both.
“Do you see those?” Adam whispered to Erin, his eyes glued to the dark purple marks on your arms.
Erin glanced over and frowned, her brows knitting together as slowly closed up the folder on her desk, voice low. “She keeps coming in with more.. Is she seeing anyone? Do you think..” she broke off and looked at Adam, brows raising in question.
“I don’t think she’s with anyone.. I keep asking if she’s okay but.” He shrugged and crossed his arms over his broad chest, trying to ignore the tightening in his chest.
Adam was too chicken to admit he cared about you. More than just a friend or coworker. Your bright smile, bubbly personality, fearlessness in solving a case.. He was absolutely head over heels.
The idea of you being with someone that wasn’t him was bad enough, but someone who hurt you? He felt murderous.
He shook his head and put a smile on his face when you approached with a bright grin, hands clenching into fists at the purple marks up and down your arm.
“Hey, guys! What did you do this weekend?” You looked between your friends and crossed your arms. Erin launched into a story about dinner with Jay.
"And you should have seen him, this waitress was just about drooling-"
"Oh, she was not!" Jay called from across the room, pointing at Erin.
“Can I talk to you?” Adam didn’t realize he’d even interrupted the conversation. He’d been so stuck in his own head, his emotions bubbling under his skin as he looked at you.
Erin glanced between you both before turning awkwardly and going over to Toni, Adam glancing apologetically at Jay before turning on his heel and taking you to the break room.
'Adam, what-.. What's wrong?" The flush in his cheeks, the way the muscle in his jaw kept twitching.. He seemed so angry.
"Are you alright? The bruises.. They're multiplying, and you keep saying you're okay but I don't-" He was stumbling over his words, hands starting to wave as he spoke.
"Adam, Adam- Adam! Stop!" You laughed as you raised your voice and held your hands up, eyes bright with amusement. His hands fell to his sides as he looked at you, eyes worried.
"I'm not being abused, if that's what you think. I-.. Okay, listen. I took up pole dancing, okay? I've been dancing awhile and it.. Y'know, comes with some accidents. I have a showcase coming up."
The amusement in your eyes, the blush in your cheeks..
Oh.
Oh.
"Shit, I'm.. I'm so sorry. I thought you were.. I didn't realize.."
"Adam, it's okay. I really appreciate the concern, it's sweet." You grinned and stepped closer, hand on his arm and squeezing as you looked up at him.
"So.. Pole dancing, huh?" He tried to ignore the flutter in his chest at your touch, eyes glancing down over your form, trying to imagine you..
"Mhm. You wanna come by later? See what I've been working on?" You grinned and slowly pulled your hand back, brushing his skin softly. He could feel the flush in his cheeks and couldn't hide the grin as it took over his face.
SUMMARY: It was oddly domestic, sitting on the sink in one of the station bathrooms while Adam used a wad of wet tissue to gently wipe the remaining blood from your face. If you weren't fighting off a headache, it might have actually been kind of romantic.
WARNINGS: Reader gets punched in the face (not heavily described)
W/C: 1.2k
PROMPT: "You're like if an angel had a very severe ketamine problem."
"Oh, Jesus!"
"Holy crap, what happened to you?"
"Is your face okay?"
You were covered in blood, holding a wad of tissue to your nose as you walked back into the Intelligence bullpen. Jay was trailing behind you, a strange combination of amusement and concern on his face as Adam rose from his desk to rush in your direction. The others - Kim, Kevin and Antonio - were watching in disbelief. It wasn't unusual for you to injure yourself, but this was new.
Adam reached for you despite your gentle swats to bat his hands away, one hand latching onto your wrist to pull the wad of tissue away from your face in order to assess the damage. His expression twisted into a look of discomfort.
"Not pretty?" you guessed.
"You're a mess. Jesus Christ, what happened?" he asked, looking more to Jay for answers than you. He knew better than to ask you.
"Well, we were tailing our perp and our resident idiot decided to get into a brawl in the street with him," Jay said.
"That is not what happened!" you argued. "He was going to get away, I stepped in and when I didn't get out of his way, he punched me in the face." You grinned. "It was awesome!"
Adam winced at the state of you. Your eyes were already bruised, but it wasn't half as bad as he'd expected it to be. There was dried blood all over your face, but you didn't seem to care. On the contrary, you seemed quite excited about getting to tell your story.
Voight emerged from his office and surveyed the scene in his bullpen. He pointed at you. "You been checked out at Med?"
"For a punch to the face? Sarge, I'm fine," you said.
Adam raised his eyebrows. "No dizziness? Headaches?"
"I'm fine," you insisted, batting away his hands and pressing the tissue back to your nose. "I just need a clean shirt and I'm good to go."
"I've got one in my locker," Adam said. "C'mon."
"Get yourself cleaned up," Voight said. "If you think you're alright to stay, that's fine, but the first sign of anything wrong, you get straight to Med."
"It was one punch," you said, rolling your eyes as Adam tugged on your hand to pull you towards the locker room. "And I got him good!"
"That's true," Jay said. "I think she might've broken his nose."
"Score!"
Adam didn't let go of you until you were both in the locker room. He sat you down on one of the benches, opened his locker and rummaged for a clean shirt. You sat and watched, knowing better than to attempt anything else.
He tossed you the shirt when he found it and you caught it with one hand. "That should fit."
"I'm sure it will," you said, getting to your feet. Tossing your bloody tissue into the trash, you sniffed slightly and said, "I think my nose has stopped bleeding! Jay was so stressed that I was going to bleed all over his car."
"I'm not surprised," Adam said. "Get changed and then we'll clean up your face."
"Yes, Doctor," you said.
Reaching for the hem of your shirt, you pulled it up and Adam let out an odd, strangled noise. "What are you doing?"
"Changing?" you replied, still halfway through removing your shirt. "C'mon, it's nothing you haven't seen before."
"We're at work," Adam protested. "It's a bit different to when we're at home."
You grinned, pulled off your shirt and tossed it at Adam. He caught it with a disgruntled huff as you pulled his shirt over your head. "You weren't complaining last night."
"Because we were alone," Adam said. "God, you give me high blood pressure."
In response, you patted Adam's chest. "Gotta keep you on your toes."
"You're gonna be the reason I'm six feet under," Adam replied, catching your hand before you could disappear again. "C'mere, I'm not done with you yet."
"Aw, you want a kiss?" you cooed, puckering your lips.
"Absolutely not," he replied. "You're covered in blood."
"Do I look cool?" you asked.
"Yeah, sure you do, Rocky," he replied. "Let's clean you up. Then maybe I'll think about kissing you. If you sit still."
It was oddly domestic, sitting on the sink in one of the precinct bathrooms while Adam used a wad of wet tissue to gently wipe the remaining blood from your face. If you weren't fighting off a headache, it might have actually been kind of romantic.
Your legs were parted, giving him ample space to stand between them and pay attention to what he was doing. Your hands danced over his chest, playfully trying to distract him as you tilted your head back and let him work.
When your hand rose a little too close to his face, he playfully attempted to bite your fingers and you giggled. "We're at work, Mr Ruzek. Save that for the bedroom."
"You're a freak," he told you, stepping away. "There. You look pretty again."
"I always look pretty," you replied, reaching out to grab him by the shirt. "Now, c'mere and kiss me. I sat still."
"I guess you did," he said.
He obliged your request and leaned in to kiss you, taking extra care not to bump his nose against yours. By the time he pulled away, his cheeks were flushed and his breathing was heavy.
"Thanks for playing doctor," you said softly.
"Let's not make a habit out of it," Adam said.
You slid off the sink and grinned up at him. "No promises."
Heading back up to the bullpen, you noticed the way Kevin looked up as he saw you coming. "Hey, there's our MMA fighter."
You flexed your biceps and puffed out your chest. "That's me. I'm a winner, baby."
"You got socked in the nose," Jay said. "How is that a win?"
"We caught the guy," you said, dropping your arms to your sides. "Is that not a win? Plus, I got to punch someone in the face."
"How can you make that sound so innocent?" Jay asked.
"Because I am a sweet and innocent human being," you replied.
"I don't know about that." Adam followed you into the bullpen, shaking his head in amusement. "You're like if an angel had a very severe ketamine problem."
"All I'm hearing is that you think I'm an angel."
"Yeah, on drugs."
"I don't need drugs to have a good time," you said, sitting down at your desk. "Although, does anybody have any Advil? I got punched in the face and despite what I told Voight, my head hurts."
Adam rolled his eyes, but went to his desk drawer where he kept his painkillers. He tossed you the bottle and you caught it with a wicked grin. "Not quite the hard drugs you think I do, but these'll work."
"I'm not sure you need hard drugs," Kevin said. "You got enough energy in you to power a small city."
You tossed back a couple of Advils and shrugged. "Somebody's gotta keep it fun around here."
"I'm not sure getting punched in the face constitutes as fun," Jay said.
"Maybe not, but getting nursed back to healthy by Nurse Ruzek was fun for me," you replied, winking at Adam.
Summary: After a tough breakup, you move to Chicago after your best friend Stella practically begs you. She helps you land a bartending job at Molly’s. As you settle in, you meet Adam Ruzek from the Intelligence unit, and there’s an instant spark. Chicago starts to feel like the fresh start you didn’t know you needed.
WC: 2.9k
A/N: I'm in my Chicago era don't be surprised if I post a million fics about everyone. divider by viviansturns
The summer air drifts through the open door of Molly's, carrying with it the distant sound of sirens—a constant reminder that you're in Chicago now, not the quiet suburb you left behind. You wipe down the bar for what feels like the hundredth time tonight, the wood grain familiar under your cloth now after two weeks of working here. The overhead fans spin, doing their best to combat the heat that settles over the city like a blanket, and you find yourself grateful for the breeze that occasionally finds its way inside.
"You're doing great," Herrmann calls from the other end of the bar, his voice warm with encouragement. He's restocking the beer cooler, his movements efficient from years of practice. "Really, you're a natural at this."
You smile at him, feeling a flush of pride mixed with relief. When Stella first suggested you come to Chicago, when she told you about the opening at Molly's, you'd been hesitant. Bartending wasn't exactly what you'd planned for your life, but then again, nothing had gone according to plan lately. The job you'd had back home had fallen through, your relationship had imploded, and you'd found yourself with nothing tying you down and everything pushing you toward a fresh start.
Stella had been insistent. "You need this," she'd said over the phone, her voice crackling with that particular brand of certainty she'd always possessed. "Chicago needs you. I need you. And trust me, Herrmann needs the help."
Having an extra set of hands, especially hands that belong to someone he can trust (Stella's recommendation had carried some weight), has visibly lifted some of the burden from his shoulders.
"Thanks, Herrmann," you say, moving to refill a customer's beer. "I'm just trying to keep up with you."
He laughs, that big, booming laugh that seems to fill the entire bar. "Keep up with me? Kid, you're already lapping me. I saw how you handled that rush earlier. Smooth as silk."
The rush he's referring to had been the after-work crowd—a mix of firefighters from 51, some construction workers from a nearby site, and a handful of regulars whose names you're still learning. You'd managed to keep the drinks flowing, the orders straight, and even crack a few jokes that had landed well. It had felt good, natural even, in a way that surprised you.
You're in the middle of mixing an old-fashioned—Herrmann's been teaching you the classics, insisting that any bartender worth their salt needs to know them—when the door swings open. You glance up, your hands still working on autopilot.
There are three of them, and they move with a particular kind of awareness that marks them immediately as cops. You've been around enough first responders in your two weeks here to recognize the way they scan the room, the way they position themselves. They're in casual clothes—jeans, t-shirts, a couple of button-downs—but there's nothing casual about the way they carry themselves.
"PD's here!" someone calls out from one of the tables, and there's a chorus of greetings.
Herrmann looks up and grins. "About time you guys showed up. Was starting to think you forgot about us."
"Forget about Molly's? Never," The shortest of the three men with tattoos says. "We've been buried in a case. Finally closed it this afternoon."
"Well, first round's on the house then," Herrmann declares, and you see him start reaching for glasses. "Celebration's in order."
You finish the old-fashioned and deliver it to the customer at the end of the bar, accepting his thanks with a smile, before turning your attention back to the new arrivals. They're settling onto the stools at the bar, and you get your first good look at them.
And then there's the one who catches your eye.
He's tall—you notice that even with him sitting down—with light brown hair that's slightly mussed, as if he's been running his hands through it. He has the kind of face that's handsome, with a strong jaw, a straight nose, and eyes that crinkle at the corners when he smiles. Which he's doing now, laughing at something the one guy just said, and the sound of it is warm and genuine.
He's wearing a navy blue t-shirt that fits him well, showing off broad shoulders and muscular arms, and jeans that have seen better days.
"You must be the new bartender Stella's been telling us about," Kevin says, pulling your attention back to the group as a whole. He's smiling at you, friendly and warm. "I'm Kevin."
You introduce yourself, wiping your hands on your bar towel before reaching across to shake his hand. His grip is firm, confident.
"This is Torres," he continues, gesturing to the other man, who nods at you with a warm smile, "and this is Ruz."
"Adam." The gorgeous man corrects.
Adam. The name fits him somehow. He leans forward slightly, extending his hand across the bar, and when you take it, his palm is warm and slightly calloused against yours. His grip is firm but not aggressive, and he holds your gaze for a moment that stretches just a beat longer than strictly necessary.
"Nice to meet you," he says, and his voice is exactly what you'd expect—friendly, something that makes you want to keep listening. "Welcome to Chicago. How're you liking it so far?"
"It's been great," you say, and you're surprised to realize you mean it. "Different from home, but in a good way."
"Where's home?" Torres asks, leaning forward with interest.
You tell them about the small town you left behind, about how Stella had been your best friend since high school, about how you'd lost touch for a few years when life took you in different directions, but how you'd reconnected recently and she'd convinced you to make the move.
"Stella's great," Kevin says, and there's real affection in his voice.
"The best," you agree. "I don't know what I'd do without her."
Herrmann appears at your elbow with a tray of shot glasses. "Alright, alright, enough chitchat. These fine officers just closed a case, which means we're doing shots. House specialty."
You help him distribute the glasses, and you notice the way Adam's fingers brush against yours when you hand him his shot. It's brief, probably accidental, but it sends a small jolt through you that you try to ignore.
"What's in this?" Adam asks suspiciously, holding his glass up to the light.
"If I told you, I'd have to kill you," Herrmann says with a wink.
"To closing cases," Kevin says, raising his glass.
"To closing cases," everyone echoes, and you watch as they throw back their shots in unison. There's a collective wince, a few coughs, and then laughter.
"Jesus, Herrmann," Adam says, his voice slightly hoarse. "What's in that, paint thinner?"
"Family recipe," Herrmann says proudly. "Been perfecting it for years."
"Maybe perfect it a little less," Kevin suggests, reaching for the water glass you've already slid in his direction. You're learning to anticipate needs, to read the room, and it's becoming second nature.
The night settles into a comfortable rhythm after that. You and Herrmann work in tandem, keeping the drinks flowing, and you find yourself drawn into the easy banter of the Intelligence unit. They're funny, this group, with the kind of dark humor that comes from seeing too much, but there's also a genuine warmth between them, a sense of family that reminds you of what you've observed with the firefighters from 51.
Adam, you notice, is the jokester of the group. He's quick with a quip, always ready with a comeback, and he has a way of lightening the mood that seems almost effortless.
"So," he says during a lull, when the others are engaged in their own conversations and you're wiping down the bar near where he's sitting. "Stella really didn't warn you about Herrmann's shots?"
You laugh. "She might have mentioned something about them being 'an experience.'"
"That's one word for it," he says, grinning. "I'd have gone with 'hazardous' or maybe 'potentially lethal.'"
"I heard that!" Herrmann calls from the other end of the bar, and Adam raises his hands in mock surrender.
"Just keeping it honest, Herrmann!"
You lean against the bar, finding yourself relaxing into the conversation. "How long have you been coming here?"
"To Molly's? Man, years now. Since it opened, pretty much. It's kind of the unofficial hangout spot for first responders. Good people, good drinks—well, mostly good drinks—and it's close to the district."
"The district?"
"The 21st District. Where Intelligence is based. We're just a few blocks from here."
You nod, filing that information away. "Stella mentioned that a lot of cops and firefighters come through here. It's nice, actually. The sense of community."
"Yeah," Adam says, and there's something softer in his expression now. "It is. This job can be isolating sometimes. It's good to have places like this, people who get it."
You're about to respond when Kevin calls his name, pulling him back into the group conversation, but he glances back at you with a smile that feels almost apologetic, as if he's sorry to cut the moment short.
The evening wears on, and the bar fills up more. Stella arrives with Severide, and she makes a beeline for you, pulling you into a hug that nearly lifts you off your feet.
"You're killing it!" she says, loud enough for half the bar to hear. "I told you you'd be great at this."
"You also told me Chicago winters were 'not that bad,'" you remind her, and she has the grace to look sheepish.
"Okay, I might have undersold that part. But you've got months before you have to worry about it!"
Kelly shakes your hand, his grip firm and his smile genuine. "Good to see you again. Stella hasn't stopped talking about how happy she is that you're here."
"The feeling's mutual," you say, and you mean it. Having Stella nearby again, having this built-in support system, has made the transition so much easier than you'd anticipated.
Stella drags you over to where Intelligence is sitting, insisting on introducing you properly even though you've already met. "This is my best friend from home," she announces proudly. "And if any of you give her a hard time, you'll answer to me."
"We've been on our best behavior," Torres assures.
You find yourself squeezed between Stella and Adam as the group rearranges to make room, and you're acutely aware of his proximity, the way his arm brushes against yours when he reaches for his beer, the warmth that seems to radiate from him.
"So what do you think of our city so far?" he asks, turning slightly toward you, and you catch a hint of his cologne—something clean and masculine without being overwhelming.
"Honestly? I love it," you say. "It's overwhelming sometimes, the size of it, the noise, but in a good way. Like, there's always something happening."
"That's Chicago for you," he says. "Never a dull moment. You been to any of the tourist spots yet? Navy Pier, the Bean, all that?"
You shake your head. "Not yet. I've been pretty focused on getting settled, learning the ropes here."
"We should fix that," he says, and then seems to catch himself, a slight flush creeping up his neck. "I mean, someone should show you around. Can't live in Chicago and not see the sights."
"I'd like that," you say.
This is what you'd been hoping for when you made the move—not just a job, not just a place to live, but connections, friendships, a sense of belonging.
As the night continues, you split your time between working the bar and joining in the conversations when things are slow.
You also notice the way Adam keeps finding reasons to talk to you, to catch your eye across the bar, to include you in conversations. It could be nothing—he seems like a naturally friendly guy—but there's something in the way he looks at you, a kind of focused attention that feels like more than just casual friendliness.
"Another round?" you ask when you notice their glasses getting low, and there's a chorus of agreement.
As you're pouring beers, Adam appears at the bar to help carry drinks back to the table, but he lingers even after you've lined them up.
"Hey," he says, "I meant what I said earlier. About showing you around the city. If you want, I mean. No pressure."
Your heart does that flip thing again. "I'd really like that," you say, meeting his eyes.
"Yeah? I know you probably have a lot going on, getting settled and everything, but—"
"Adam," you interrupt gently, and he stops, looking at you with those eyes that you're starting to think you could get lost in. "I'm interested."
"Yeah?" The hope in his voice is endearing.
"Yeah."
"Okay. Good. Great." He's grinning now, that full-wattage smile that transforms his whole face. "I'll, uh, I'll get your number from Herrmann. If that's okay?"
"Or you could just ask me for it," you suggest, amused.
"Right. Yeah. That's... that's probably the normal way to do it." He pulls out his phone, fumbling slightly, and you can't help but find his sudden awkwardness charming. He's been so smooth all night, and now he's tripping over his words.
You recite your number, watching as he carefully enters it into his phone, and then your phone buzzes in your pocket as he sends you a text.
"Now you have mine," he says. "In case you need anything. Or, you know, want to talk. Or whatever."
"Or whatever," you repeat, smiling. "Got it."
He's still standing there, and you're still smiling at each other, and there's a moment where the noise of the bar seems to fade into the background, where it's just the two of you in this little bubble of possibility.
"Ruzek! Stop flirting and bring the beers!" Kevin calls out, and the bubble pops.
Adam rolls his eyes but he's still smiling. "Duty calls," he says. "But I'll text you. About the city tour thing."
"I'll be waiting," you say, and you watch as he gathers the beers and heads back to the table, glancing back at you once with a smile.
The rest of the night passes in a blur of activity. More customers come and go, you master the art of making three drinks simultaneously, and Herrmann declares you officially part of the Molly's family. Intelligence stays until closing, their laughter and stories providing a constant backdrop to your work.
When last call finally comes, you're exhausted but happy, your feet aching and your face sore from smiling. As the group settles their tab, they each say goodbye, thanking you for the drinks and the company.
Adam is the last to leave, hanging back as the others head out into the warm summer night.
"Thanks for tonight," he says. "It was really nice meeting you."
"You too," you say, and you mean it more than you've meant anything in a while.
"I'll text you tomorrow," he promises. "About that tour."
"I'll hold you to it."
He grins, gives you a little wave, and then he's gone, the door swinging shut behind him.
Stella, who's been watching the whole exchange with barely concealed glee, immediately pounces. "Oh my God," she says. "Adam Ruzek? Really?"
"What?" you ask, trying for innocent and failing miserably.
"Don't 'what' me. I saw that whole thing. The number exchange, the lingering looks, the—"
"Okay, okay," you laugh, holding up your hands in surrender. "Yes, he seems nice. We're going to hang out sometime. It's not a big deal."
"Not a big deal," Stella repeats, shaking her head. "You've been here two weeks and you've already caught the attention of one of the good ones. Adam's a great guy. A little chaotic sometimes, but his heart's in the right place."
"I'm not looking for anything serious," you remind her, even as part of you wonders if that's entirely true. "I just got here. I'm still figuring things out."
"I know," Stella says, her tone softening. "And there's no rush. But I'm just saying, if something were to happen, you could do a lot worse than Adam Ruzek."
You help Herrmann and Stella close up the bar, wiping down tables and stacking chairs, and as you work, you find your mind drifting back to the evening, to the easy conversation and the warm smiles and the way Adam had looked at you like you were the most interesting person in the room.
When you finally step outside, the streets are quieter, the city settling into its late-night rhythm, and you stand there for a moment, breathing it in.
Your phone buzzes, and you pull it out to see a text from an unknown number.
"Hey, it's Adam. Just wanted to make sure you got home safe. Also, I was thinking Saturday for that tour? If you're free?"
You smile, your thumbs moving quickly over the screen.
"Home safe. Saturday sounds perfect. What time?"
The response comes almost immediately.
"10am? I'll pick you up. Wear comfortable shoes. We're going to walk a lot."
"Deal. See you Saturday."
"Can't wait."
You slip your phone back into your pocket, still smiling, and start the walk back to your apartment. It's only a few blocks, close enough that you don't need to drive, and you find yourself enjoying the late-night quiet, the way the streetlights cast long shadows, the distant sound of music from a bar down the street.
Main Masterlist
Chicago might just be the best decision you've ever made.
Summary: Kraven retires from hunting after a tragic loss, moving to a quiet village to find peace. You’re a healer in the village who recognizes him and knows of his dark past. Though you fear him, you also see the broken man underneath the hunter’s exterior. Slowly, you help Kraven heal—and he starts to hope for a life beyond hunting.
Pairing: Reader/Sergei Kravinoff
The village of Eldermere was a place untouched by the chaos of the world. Nestled between rolling green hills and dense forests, it thrived in quiet simplicity. The people here worked the land, raised their families, and left their doors unlocked at night. It was a place of peace.
And then he arrived.
Kraven.
You knew who he was the moment you saw him. The towering figure with broad shoulders, the sharpness in his amber eyes dulled but not extinguished, the way he moved—like a predator forced into stillness. He came to Eldermere without fanfare, taking up residence in a modest cabin at the edge of the village, keeping to himself.
Whispers spread among the villagers. Some said he was a warrior seeking rest. Others said he was a criminal, a man fleeing from the ghosts of his past. But you knew the truth.
He was Kraven the Hunter.
And he was trying to disappear.
As the village healer, you saw everyone who passed through Eldermere. People came to you for their ailments, their wounds, their fevers. When Kraven first came to you, it wasn’t for idle conversation. It was because his hands—scarred, calloused, unshaken by the horrors they had caused—were bleeding.
“It’s nothing,” he muttered, reluctant as you guided him into your small cottage.
“It’s infected,” you corrected, setting to work cleaning the gashes across his knuckles. “What did you do?”
His lips twitched in something that wasn’t quite a smirk. “Chopped wood.”
“With your fists?” you asked dryly.
“It seemed faster.”
You said nothing, but you recognized it for what it was. He wasn’t simply chopping wood. He was fighting himself, battling demons that had no physical form.
For weeks, he came to you with small injuries, never asking for help but never refusing when you offered it. You spoke little, though sometimes he would linger by your door, as if wanting to say more. And, against your better judgment, you began to soften.
You had been afraid of him at first. How could you not be? He was a man whose name was spoken in hushed tones, a legend of blood and conquest. But the longer you knew him, the more you saw beyond the hunter’s exterior. Beneath the hardened shell, there was something broken. A man trying to put himself back together.
And it terrified you.
The village accepted Kraven in the way it did all lost souls—with cautious kindness. He worked as a farmhand, chopping wood for the innkeeper, repairing fences for the horse keeper, helping with the harvest when his strength was needed. The people of Eldermere did not ask questions, and for that, Kraven seemed grateful.
But you saw the tension in his shoulders whenever he walked through the village. The way his hand hovered near his belt as though expecting to reach for a weapon. The way his eyes scanned every face, every movement, every shadow. He was always prepared for a fight, even where none existed.
It took time for the villagers to stop fearing him. It took longer for him to stop fearing himself.
But, slowly, he changed.
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, you found him sitting outside your cottage, waiting. His usual stoic mask was cracked, something vulnerable lingering in his gaze.
“I don’t know how to live like this,” he admitted.
You hesitated, setting down the basket of herbs you had been carrying. “Like what?”
He exhaled sharply. “Without the hunt. Without the war.”
You sat beside him, the warm night air wrapping around you both. “Then don’t think of it as living without something. Think of it as living with something else.”
His gaze met yours, searching. “And what is that?”
“Peace.”
A shadow crossed his face. “I don’t deserve peace.”
“Maybe not,” you admitted. “But you deserve a chance to try.”
For a long moment, he said nothing. And then, for the first time, Kraven the Hunter looked away from the world as a battlefield and saw it for what it was.
A home.
But peace does not come without a price.
One morning, the village awoke to an uninvited guest. A man stood in the town square, tall and lean, dressed in dark leathers. His presence sent a ripple of unease through Eldermere.
You knew, before he even spoke, that he was here for Kraven.
“Sergei Kravinoff,” the man called out, his voice carrying across the village. “You can’t hide here forever.”
Kraven emerged from the inn, his posture instantly shifting. No longer was he the man trying to build a new life. He was once again the hunter, the warrior, the predator.
“Vasili,” he said evenly. “I should have known they’d send you.”
The man—Vasili—smirked. “The world hasn’t forgotten you, old friend. The hunt doesn’t end just because you walked away.”
A heavy silence settled over the village. The people of Eldermere, who had grown to trust Kraven, who had seen him change, now watched in uncertainty.
Vasili continued. “Come back with me. Finish what you started. Or… we burn this place to the ground.”
Your breath caught, and without thinking, you stepped forward. “You can’t do this.”
Vasili barely glanced at you. “This doesn’t concern you.”
Kraven’s jaw tightened. “It does.”
The meaning in his words was unmistakable. This place, these people—including you—were now his. And he would not let them suffer for his past.
He turned to face Vasili fully. “We settle this now. You and me.”
Vasili grinned. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
The battle that followed was fierce, brutal. The village had never seen anything like it—the clash of titans, the raw force of warriors who had lived their lives in the hunt. Vasili was fast, lethal, but Kraven was something more.
He was fighting for something greater than himself.
When Vasili finally fell, bleeding into the dirt, the village was silent. Kraven stood over him, chest heaving, fists still clenched. He could end it. He could finish this the way he always had.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he turned away.
“Go,” Kraven said, his voice like stone. “Tell them I am dead. And never come back.”
Vasili coughed, glaring up at him. But he saw the truth. The hunt was over.
And so, he left.
In the days that followed, the village was wary. But when Kraven returned to his quiet routine—working the land, helping where he could—the tension eased.
And one evening, as you sat beside him by the fire, he spoke again.
“The hunt is over.”
You looked at him, at the man who had once been nothing but fury and bloodshed. Now, he was something more.
“So what happens now?” you asked.
He turned to you, a small, almost wistful smile touching his lips.
