#[^ also known as it's going to spend the better half of the day trying to grind it's horns and teeth down with a rock fgrgd]

[lpmurphy]

Begin Again

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Summary: It had been thirty years since his truck tires rolled out of her drive for the last time. Even longer since the day his locker door slammed shut beside hers and marked the beginning of Jack Abbot. Beth had never expected it to end. Never expected to live a lifetime with only the ghost of the boy who promised her one together. She never expected to see him again. Until that curtain flung open, and there he was. And just like that, Jack Abbot began again.

Notes: jack abbot/single mom!ofc, reunited high school sweethearts, second chance romance, slow (emphasis on the SLOW) burn, seriously it's slow, ofc’s daughter is a teenage gen z menace and we love her for it, angst/longing/yearning to the max, hurt/comfort, author is just an english teacher with no medical background, eventual smut, jack and ofc are emotionally constipated idiots, abby’s daddy issues flare up big time (divider credit to: @saradika-graphics)

Word Count: 5,676

Read on AO3

Chapter Nineteen: Burn

“Abigail Quinn,” Beth said, voice clipped, as the break room lights flickered on overhead. “I have already said no.”

She should’ve known better than to answer the phone. Her first break all night—only a few hours in, and she was already starving, overcaffeinated, and running mostly on spite. She wedged the phone between her shoulder and cheek, balancing the triage iPad under one arm while trying to coax the coffee machine into cooperation with the other. It wheezed out something vaguely brown. The carafe was still half full of lukewarm coffee she didn’t bother to dump out, the paper cups were nearly gone, she had her first moment to stand still in hours, and, instead of finding a moment of blissful disassociation in the stairwell, she was spending it arguing with her daughter over the phone in a stale hospital break room that reeked of microwaved fish. Of course. Ah, motherhood. Why had no one told her it would be so glamorous?

“But you’re not even home tonight!” Abby’s voice snapped through the speaker, full of that stubborn, righteous whine that always made Beth want to bang her head against the nearest solid surface. “Why does it even matter where I sleep? It’s not even late! What’s the big deal?”

Beth exhaled slowly through her nose. This girl was going to be the death of her one of these days. Her cause of death would be clearly listed: chronic exposure to sass, secondary to maternal overexertion. They’d be rolling her in a trauma bay with an embolism because Abigail Quinn Baker could not take fucking no for an answer. The side effect of being raised by a former debate team captain who, also, could never take fucking no for an answer, she guessed. Raise her strong, she’d told herself. Guess she’d been successful at that. 

God help this girl’s future husband. Whatever poor soul she decided to bulldoze through life with was going to need it. She hoped she found someone sweet and patient enough to just let her do it. Maybe Whitaker had a little brother he hadn’t told her about. 

The waiting room was full of the usual nonsense—head colds, sprained ankles, vague chest pains that would turn out to be gas—but nothing urgent. The half-baked kind of shift that dragged, slow and heavy, leaving everyone restless. She used to love night shift, back when she could feel the pulse of the ER and move with it like a second heartbeat. She met Russell on night shift, back when she was still a resident and he was the charming McDreamy trauma surgeon nearly fifteen years her senior who always managed to find an excuse to wander into the ER, even when no one had paged him.

She fell in love with him between sutures and central lines, in moments snatched under humming fluorescent lights. Got married. Got pregnant. Thought she’d finally figured it all out; a good man, a good life. That all of that ache had led her to something safe. And then Russell insisted she switch to days. At the time, she thought he was protecting her. That he didn’t want her missing the early kicks of pregnancy and bedtime stories to come, how it would be so much better for her body, so much better for their marriage. She knew better now. It had a lot less to do with family and more to do with that fresh-faced surgical intern he kept mentoring a little too closely. She hadn’t worked a night shift since. Hadn’t wanted to. 

So, yeah. She was not a fan of night shift.

But Abby’s last Homecoming was next weekend, and if she wanted that night off, she had to take this one in trade. So here she was, back on nights, trying to make coffee with one hand while wrangling a pissed off seventeen-year-old with the other.

“The big deal is that I said no,” Beth repeated, reaching for the cup as the last weak splash of coffee trickled out into the carafe. “It’s not a debate. It’s ten o’clock, and Charlee’s parents aren’t home. No. That’s a full sentence. Period.”

Abby groaned.

“You want to make it to Homecoming next weekend,” Beth continued, “I suggest you stop arguing before I rethink letting you go at all, child.”

Beth sighed as she tilted the carafe, but her breath caught and she coughed hard, only for coffee to slosh over the rim and spill across the back of her hand with a hot flash of pain.

“Shit,” she hissed, jerking it away with an annoyed, pained gasp. 

The iPad slipped awkwardly down her side, and the phone nearly dropped from where it balanced against her shoulder. She gave up and clicked it over to speaker, tossing it unceremoniously onto the counter beside the iPad as she yanked a wad of rough paper towels from the wall dispenser.

“Oh my god, you literally can’t even do that!” Abby’s voice blared into the room, shrill and emphatic. “It’s Homecoming! Gavin just asked me this week!”

Beth muttered something under her breath that definitely wouldn’t hold up in family court, and started mopping at the counter. Half-listening, half-debating whether she should just break her no-energy-drinks rule and hit the vending machine for a Redbull. The door creaked open behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder.

Jack stepped in, the fluorescent lights catching the silver at his temples. He gave her a small, tight smile and raised an eyebrow as he crossed to the fridge.

She’s on speaker, Beth mouthed. Save me.

He smirked and nodded. Abby coughed, then continued, “It’s literally the most important night of the year. Okay, the second most important, but still! You can’t do that! There are, like, laws against it! Everyone’s going. Gavin—”

“That sounds familiar,” Jack murmured, opening the fridge.

Beth shot him a look, but it didn’t hold. Her mouth tugged at the corners. She tried to hide it by looking back down at the spill. Of course it sounded familiar. Her mom had once said the same thing to her word for word. Senior year, after she and Jack blew curfew for the third time that week and tried sneaking down the drive like they’d been there the entire time, and absolutely had not rolled in twenty minutes after they were supposed to. Her mom had dragged them both inside, ripped them both a new asshole, and threatened to ground both of them like she had jurisdiction over someone else’s kid. 

Beth knew how this ended. Abby would go, same as they had. But, the threat still sounded good.

“Oh my god,” Beth echoed, voice dry as she dabbed at her stinging hand. Jack glanced over, brows knitting with concern. She waved him off, mouthing, It’s fine, but he stepped towards her anyway. “I literally can. Try me, kid.”

Jack stepped in front of her without a word. Beth startled when his fingers closed gently around hers, but it wasn’t the sting of the burn that made her jump, or caused the sudden lurch in her chest when he came close enough to smell the coffee and antiseptic clinging to his scrubs. 

One hand cradled hers from beneath, the other examining the back of it, the way he would with any patient. His thumbs worked with quiet precision, turning her wrist, checking for blisters. It was superficial. She knew that. She’d send a patient home with some burn cream and a discharge sheet in under twenty minutes. Still, she didn’t pull away when his fingers brushed between hers, lingering there a moment too long while he examined the angry red mark. 

“That hurt?” He murmured. She shook her head. 

“I wouldn’t push it, House,” Jack said mildly, still focused on her hand. His thumb circled the reddened skin as he turned her wrist over. Beth looked up, surprised, but his eyes stayed on her skin. “I know your mom. She’ll make good on it. Trust me.”

Beth huffed, tapping his shin with the toe of her sneaker, trying not to smile. He smirked, but didn’t look up.

“Ugh, Jack! Finally, someone sane,” Abby groaned through the phone. “Back me up! Tell her it’s not even that big of a deal!”

Jack took her wrist again gently, his hand warm and steady. Then, his other hand settled lightly on the small of her back, guiding her out of the way. Beth’s breath hitched just a little at the contact, sending a small shock up her spine that had nothing to do with the burn. She swallowed it down, keeping her eyes down, keeping herself from stepping forward like her body so desperately wanted her to do. 

“Go rinse it. I’ve got this,” Jack said, quiet but firm.

“Jack—”

He was already reaching for a fresh towel and started to clean the counter without looking up. “Go, Beth.”

She hesitated for a moment, too aware of the phantom warmth where Jack’s hand had been on her back, still buzzing like static, before she turned toward the sink, a new tickle in her throat sending her into another brief coughing fit. She rubbed her chest with a groan. Weird, she hadn’t had that this morning. Must have inhaled wrong, because that just happened to be a fucking thing that happens when you’re almost fifty, or her daughter was finally finishing the job and causing her organs to shut down out of pure annoyance. She cleared her throat and continued to the sink. She knew the drill; cool water, pat dry, maybe some Silvadene if it blistered, which was unlikely. She focused on that instead of the way her mind raced, grateful for the excuse to turn away before her face could turn just as red.

Jack’s voice floated from behind her as wiped down the counter, low under the rush of the tap. “Don’t rope me into this, kid. This is between you and your mom. I’m just an innocent bystander.”

“But she’s being totally unfair! She’s not even home!” Abby shot back, frustration bleeding through her voice.

Jack shrugged, tossing the crumpled paper towel into the trash and reaching for another. 

“You know what your mom and I see in here every night?” He said evenly, almost matter-of-fact. “She’s saying no for a reason, House.”

“Ugh, don’t give me the ER doc speech,” Abby groaned.

“It’s not a speech, Abs. It’s just the truth. It’s late, it’s pissing down rain, your tires are so bald, I can see the wires, so you’d be sliding all over the road. And it’s payday weekend, so add drunk drivers to the mix. I’m telling you, your mom’s got the right call.”

“Of course you’d take her side,” Abby muttered.

Beth turned off the tap and rolled her eyes, dabbing at her hand as she stepped back toward him, reaching for her phone. “Abigail—”

“It’s not about sides, Abby,” Jack said calmly, still wiping the last of the coffee from the triage iPad. “It’s about keeping you safe. The last thing your mom and I want is to see you wheeled in—”

Beth didn’t hear the rest.

Her brain snagged on four simple words: your mom and I.

He hadn’t said it to provoke, or assume a role. He’d just… said it. Like it still fit. Like it hadn’t been years and miles and entire lives lived in between when it had been you and I.

It wasn’t the first time someone had tried to speak with that kind of authority over Abby. She’d heard it before; from teachers during conferences after being told that her daughter struggled with being too bossy or too strong-willed while she bit her tongue and prepped her you don’t water yourself down speech for the drive home. From Ed, from her own parents, which always seemed to drive her the most up the wall. 

She should have bristled. She usually did. She hated when people tried to parent Abby without permission. But this wasn’t that. It didn’t feel like overstepping. It just felt…nice. 

Maybe it was the way he said it; gently, without posturing, without claim, or the way Abby seemed to argue with him less than she would with others. Just calm, quiet care. He wasn’t trying to parent her kid, wasn’t trying to insert himself. He was just… standing next to her. Saying we like it still meant something. Like it had standing in his arms in her laundry room; like just for a moment, it still could. 

She blinked, startled by the warmth pressing against her ribs. She didn’t trust it, didn’t know what to make of it, but she didn’t look away either, or drown out the whisperings that burned bright through her.

Jack turned and held the iPad out to her without a word. She took it slowly, her fingers brushing his, and that flutter tightened.

He was still talking to Abby, but she barely registered the words. Something about the way he was with her daughter—firm, respectful, measured—made her feel something sharp and startling in her chest. Not big. Not overwhelming. Just enough to notice. Just enough to make her pause. Enough to make her wonder; when was the last time she had this? Someone on her side. Another voice in the room. A time when she didn’t feel like she had to do all of this alone. She wasn’t sure if she ever had. 

She was used to doing this alone. Had been for a long time now. Decisions. Discipline. All of it had fallen on her shoulders, and she was happy to carry that weight. Most of the time, she preferred it that way. It was cleaner that way. Simpler. She didn’t have to rely on others, or beg them to be involved, or to just back me up this once. Please.

But that wasn’t what Jack had said. Not you, not your mother wants. No. Your mom and I, like he was shouldering it with her. She hadn’t hated the way it sounded coming out of his mouth.

And she really didn’t hate the way that Abby seemed to listen when he said it. That…well that did something low and hot in her gut that she wasn’t too proud of.

“Charlee’s mom wouldn’t care,” Abby muttered.

“That’s great for Charlee,” Beth said, finally finding her words again. “But I’m not Charlee’s mom. I’m yours.”

Jack stepped away from the counter, brushing his hands off on a paper towel. “Well, maybe Charlee’s mom hasn’t spent every Saturday night this year sewing kids back together,” he said lightly. “But your mom and I have.”

There it was again. That punch to the chest at those words that felt so foreign and familiar all at once in a way that terrified her and thrilled her in the same breath. Beth glanced sideways at him, a flicker of gratitude behind her tired eyes.

“We need to go back to work,” she said, crossing her arms across her chest, trying to ignore the way his shoulder brushed against her own. “You need to go to bed. And if I open Life360 and find that your butt is anywhere else but in your bedroom, you can kiss—.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Abby mumbled. Beth could almost picture her, flopped down on her bed like a Victorian heroine draped across a velvet chaise with a long suffering stare up at the ceiling fan. “Whatever. You two are so lame. I’m going to bed.”

“Good choice. ’Night, boo,” Beth said softly. “I love you big.”

“Love you bigger. ’Night,” she grumbled out, barely audible. Then, before the call disconnected with a quiet beep, she added, “‘Night, Jack.”

“‘Night, House.”

Oh. 

Why had that felt nice too?

The call ended, and the room fell quiet again, now that seventy decibels of teenage melodrama weren’t filling the air. Silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable. Just…charged. The way the air feels before it starts to thunder.

Jack crumpled the paper towel in his hand and dropped it into the trash, brushing his palms on his scrub pants. “How’s the hand?”

Beth looked down, flexing her fingers. The red mark had faded to a soft pink, just a faint sting now. “It’s fine,” she said. “I think they’ll let me keep it.”

“Ah, that’s a shame,” His mouth tipped into a crooked smile. “You with one hand and me with one leg? We’d make quite the pair.”

A laugh slipped out before she could stop it, soft and genuine. “Yeah,” she said, smiling back, “I guess we would.”

Jack held his hand out. “Let me see it.”

She hesitated only a second before placing her hand in his, the warmth of his palm curling under her fingers as he guided her hand into better light. His brows knit as he turned it gently, and his thumb swept across her knuckles, featherlight, sending that restless flutter through her chest again.

“I guess you’ll live,” he murmured. “Just get something on it before your next set of rounds. Does it hurt?”

“No,” she said quietly, though her voice felt different in her own ears; low, a little unsteady, as though the sting in her hand had nothing to do with why her heart had kicked up a beat.

“Good,” he said. His fingers gave hers an absent squeeze before he lowered her hand, but he didn’t let go.

Beth’s gaze dropped to where their hands still hung between them, her fingers folded into his, his thumb brushing lightly against hers as though it were the most natural thing in the world. The sight tugged something low in her chest, something she’d tucked away for years and hadn’t dared to reopen. But it stood beside her, whispering excitedly.

After a long moment, he finally let go.

Before she could stop herself; before she could even think really, her hand darted forward again, fingers sliding back into his. Like she was eighteen again, standing on her parents’ porch under a flickering light, certain the world was so wide and they had all the time in it. She felt her own breath catch, startled by her own impulsiveness. Her fingers tightened around his. She didn’t look up, afraid of what might be written across his face, but she felt the answering squeeze all the same.

She swallowed, mind still racing, grasping for words that wouldn’t come. 

“Thank you,” she said finally, her voice softer than she meant it to be. She gave his hand a quick, grateful squeeze before dropping it, tucking her own into her pocket as if to keep herself from reaching for him again. “For having my back there with Abby. She can be… pretty relentless when she wants something.”

“I wonder where she got that from,” he said, his voice warm with amusement.

Beth felt the corner of her mouth lift. She crossed her arms loosely over her chest, leaning her hip against the counter, trying to look unaffected even as her heart hadn’t quite settled back into rhythm. “Watch yourself, Abbot.”

Jack chuckled, low and easy, and for a second it felt like the years between them folded in on themselves; like they were back on her parents’ porch after curfew, trading quiet jabs under the glow of a porch light, hands brushing, rolling her eyes and whispering, You’re an idiot, Jack Abbot.

She wasn’t sure who the idiot was now, with her pulse thundering in her ears.

Beth let out a slow breath, trying to ease some of the tension wound tight in her chest. Her arms were still crossed, but her shoulders eased as she looked at him.

Jack’s mouth tipped into that easy half-smile. “Don’t mention. Half the shit I said was just repeating what I heard your old man say back in the day, anyway. ‘If you’re arguing this hard, you already know the answer.’ Remember that one?”

Beth’s smile deepened, the memory tugging warm and bittersweet at the edges. “Yeah. I remember. I’m surprised you do.”

“How could I forget?” He shrugged, pulling open the fridge for a bottle of water. “I probably heard him say it to you eight times a week for four years.”

“I wasn’t that bad.”

Jack turned over his shoulder, eyebrows raised, and gave her a dry, disbelieving look. “You keep telling yourself that. I could’ve said the sky was blue, and you’d argue it was green just to hear the sound of your own voice, Sparky.”

Beth rolled her eyes, a laugh slipping out as she shook her head. “God, you’re impossible.” The word Sparky still sparked in her chest like an old match struck in the dark. She let the smile settle, softer now. “Still… thank you. Really.”

Jack’s eyes softened too, and she could feel the weight of his presence steadying her in a way she hadn’t let herself lean on in years. She glanced down, picking at a loose thread on her vest, then back up at him. “Abby really likes you, you know.”

We both do, The Girl Before whispered from somewhere inside her chest, I always have. I still do. Say you still like me too. Even if I’m not brand new. Even if I’m a little broken. 

But she didn’t hush her this time. Didn’t shove her back into some locked box labeled then. Lately, that voice had stopped feeling like a stranger from a lifetime ago and more like something woven into her now. Not separate, not a whisper of someone she used to be before the world grew cold and she gained cracks in the foundation of herself that she’d never been able to fill, but just… her. She wasn’t some ghost hovering over Beth’s shoulder; she was tangled up in Beth herself now, stitched into every memory, every heartbeat.  She couldn’t remember the last time she knew that girl.

Jack’s smile deepened, slow and sure. 

“Well, the feeling’s mutual,” he said, and for a heartbeat, something shifted. 

Beth wasn’t sure what to make of that. Of him, of her own voice, of the warm hum in her chest that wouldn’t settle. Maybe it was best she didn’t try. She’d spent decades in her own head, sorting through and categorizing until everything she feared could hurt her was tucked away in places she didn’t have to deal with. She didn’t want to deal with this. She didn’t want to revisit this file. Not because it hurt, but because things, finally, were starting to feel like something. Not what they’d been back then. Not shiny or new or wide‑eyed with firsts, not that breathless rush of teenagers who thought that love would be enough and that it would never sting.

But something… familiar. Something she remembered the shape of even after all these years. Something good.

And if she said something, if she reached for him the way she wanted to, if she asked that question that had crawled through her like rot for thirty years, the one she had turned over in her mind in a thousand different ways—it might all go away.

She could lose this. Him. Lose the fragile, quiet thing that was starting to grow between them before it ever had a chance to become something better than just good. She couldn’t do that again. If he walked away the second time, then that would be it. The cracks she’d spent years patching would open up and swallow her whole, and she would not chase The Girl Before again. She would cease to be, and a new version would take her place, whispering, I told you so.

So she didn’t say it. Didn’t ask. Didn’t risk the air between them shifting too far too soon. Instead, she held his gaze, a small, private smile tugging at his mouth, and let herself stand in it a little longer without needing to name a single thing.

“I missed that,” she said instead, the words barely more than a breath.

Jack tipped his head. “Missed what, Sparky?”

“That,” she said. Her fingers twitched at her sides, itching to reach out, to touch, but she held back. “You calling me that.”

Jack’s eyes softened, a flicker of something tender surfacing behind his usual guarded expression he wore at work. A slow smile curved his lips, warm and real. “I missed it too.”

“I’ve missed you,” That Girl said before Beth could keep it from falling out of her mouth. She wasn’t even sure if The Girl Before had been the one to say it. But it hung there between them, quiet and heavy.

She bit down hard on her lip, uncertain if she had crossed whatever imaginary line they’d pretended to draw only to kick the sand and redraw it again and again when they crossed it.

Jack stepped forward just a fraction, close enough that she could see the faint lines at the corners of his eyes, to count the freckles she used to trace her fingers along.

“That feeling’s mutual, too,” he murmured.

Her gaze dropped to his lips, parted slightly as if he might say something more, but he didn’t.

He was so close. Close enough to put her hands on his chest the way she had in the laundry room. Close enough to let his arms fold around her waist and sink into him like she’d wanted to for years. Close enough to tilt her chin and stop ignoring what had been trying to claw its way out of her since the moment she saw him, like it was compelled by the force of him. 

Close enough to finally ask the questions that still burned holes in her chest:

Why did you go?

What did I do wrong?

If I fix myself, will you come back?

God, he was just so close.

Her hands found his chest before she even realized she’d moved.

Who was she kidding? She realized. 

She knew exactly what she was doing as she stepped in, closing the narrow span of air that still existed between them. Jack didn’t flinch. His hand came up, covering hers where it pressed over his heart, fingers curling around hers like he was pinning her down before she could float away. His thumb brushed across her knuckles in a slow circle, and his other hand lifted, settling against her back, his fingers splayed wide like he couldn’t decide which part of her he needed to feel most.

She felt it under her palm; the quickened rhythm of his heart, steady but racing, a drumbeat that pulled a memory straight through time. Your heart is beating so fast, she’d whispered to him that night on top of the mill, her own laughter caught in her breath as his lips hovered over hers for the very first time. It’s like you’re afraid of me.

I am, he’d said, laughter soft and sweet against her mouth.

Her throat tightened. He was looking down at her now, eyes dark and searching, his palm still firm against her back as though urging her just a little closer. He looked at her like she was something precious and complicated all at once, like a puzzle he’d been trying to solve for decades, carefully fitting the fractured pieces of her together in his mind until they resembled something he recognized; something they both once knew.

Ask him, That Girl urged, a voice raw and desperate inside her ribcage. Just ask. Please. Make him stay.

Her lips parted. She could feel the words burning at the back of her throat; how close it all was to tumbling free.

Why did you go?

What did I do wrong?

Please don’t leave.

She swallowed hard, the motion thick in her throat as her eyes flicked up to the hazel she had once spent entire afternoons memorizing, cataloging every fleck of green and gold and how they shifted in the light. Then down to his mouth, the shape of it still etched somewhere deep in her memory. Her teeth caught her bottom lip like maybe, if she bit hard enough, she could keep the words from slipping free. Could keep herself from ruining it. From ruining herself.

“Jack…” she breathed, the syllable trembling, breaking the fragile silence.

A low sound escaped his throat in response, something rough and unsteady, his fingers curling tighter into the back of her vest as though the very idea of her moving away was unbearable. 

His forehead tipped forward until it rested gently against hers, the bridge of his nose brushing hers, his breath shaky and warm as it ghosted over her skin. She felt the tiny tremor that ran through him, the way his chest rose and fell like he was fighting the same current pulling at her. So close. He was so close she could almost taste the memory of him, every heartbeat between them loud enough to drown out whatever reason she still clung to.

“Say it,” he murmured, voice low, barely a command, more like a confession begging to be spoken aloud.

Stay. Don’t go. Don’t leave again. Come home.

The words trembled on her tongue, heavy and dangerous like they could tear the air wide open between them. Her pulse thudded against her ribs, loud enough she swore he could feel it through his palm, through the inches of fabric between them, through the years they’d both carried like scars.

Say it, That Girl whispered, fierce and aching. Say it before you lose it again.

Her lips parted, breath catching—unsure and sure all at once—as the words rose to the edge of her tongue. The question, the confession, all of it trembled there, waiting to spill into the space between them. 

Say it. Say it. Say it.

And then the door swung open.

“Baker, I’ve got a—”

Shit. 

Beth startled, jumping back like she’d been struck with a soft gasp, her hand slipping from Jack’s chest like it burned. His fingers hovered in the air for a fraction of a second before falling uselessly to his sides. 

Bridget stopped mid‑stride in the doorway, eyes landing on them with surgical precision. She didn’t bother to hide the way her gaze dropped to Beth’s flushed face, then to Jack, who looked like he’d just been caught red‑handed sneaking out of someone’s bedroom at seventeen. Bridget stood in the doorway, a chart in her hand, her sharp eyes cutting from Beth to Jack and back again. She didn’t smile, didn’t frown.

“Hm.” It was flat, unimpressed, and somehow louder than any accusation could have been.

Shit. 

“We were—” Jack started, straightening, his voice too quick, too smooth to be anything but a cover.

“Don’t need to know. Less paperwork that way,” Bridget cut in, dry as salt, shutting down the explanation without so much as a blink. She turned her attention fully on Beth. “I’ve got a pregnant woman, thirty‑two years old, thirty‑six weeks. She was in earlier today with Braxton‑Hicks, McKay sent her home. Says the contractions are getting worse. She’s in Five when you two are done…” her gaze slid briefly to Jack, then back to Beth, “…doing whatever you were doing.”

This is not fucking happening. 

Beth felt her stomach drop, her face heating like she’d been caught doing something far worse than standing too close. She managed a quick nod, not even looking at Jack in fear that she would blush so hard she’d incinerate. 

Jack cleared his throat, his hand still hovering slightly near her like he hadn’t quite told it to stand down yet.

“We were… consulting,” he said, the pause betraying him before the word even landed.

Beth cringed. Really? That’s the best you can do?

Bridget’s brows climbed, her lips pressing into a thin line that was one part amusement and three parts disbelief.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

“Mhm,” she said at last, letting the syllable stretch with every ounce of judgment she could fit into it. She turned toward the hallway, shaking her head, already muttering under her breath about some General Hospital, Gray’s Anatomy bullshit as she pulled the door closed.

The latch clicked, and the break room fell deafeningly silent again, except for the ragged sound of Beth’s breath as she tried to collect it.

Oh my god.

She still hadn’t moved from where she’d stumbled back, her palm gripping the edge of the counter like it was the only thing keeping her upright. Her knuckles were pale against the laminate, the tremor running through her fingers impossible to steady.

What the fuck are you doing? You are at work. You can’t just… you can’t just do that. 

He glanced at her, eyes still shadowed, still burning. She wouldn’t look at him. She couldn’t. Not with her face still flushed, or her head still spinning, or that heat in her belly still trying to burn through her, or her heart still trying to settle after nearly leaping into his hands. If she met his eyes again, she wasn’t sure what would happen; if she’d bolt toward him instead of away, if she’d finally say all the things she wasn’t ready to let loose. If she looked, she didn’t know if she’d stop.

What were you even doing? Did you even think? Where was your brain, Beth? You can’t do… that. Not with…not with him. Not at work.

So she pushed off the counter, pulse thundering, and bolted toward the door before he could say anything. The latch rattled under her hand as she yanked it open, the cool hallway air rushing in like a slap of reality. The door swung wide, and for half a second, she thought she heard him say her name; soft, low, almost hesitant. 

But she didn’t stop. She didn’t trust herself to. 

She turned towards Five, shoving down the way he looked at her. The weight of his forehead on hers, the heat of his breath, the way he gripped her when she said his name like it was his undoing. Like she still was.

“Say it.”

No. Don’t. Not here.

Do your job, you dumb bitch.

Fucking consulting. 

You’re an idiot, Jack Abbot.

She guessed she was one, too.

[a-place-agape]

Are you going to try and fish again today?

"I will try and rest today. I need to take care for myself."

[thediaryofaurora]

𖧐Kinktober - Day 3𖧐

Theme: Car sex / stranded

Pairing: Ticci Toby x colleague!reader

CW: NSFW, dry humping, f!reader, riding

Word count: 1.0k

Side note: Sorry this is late, I’ve been caught up in doctor appointments, but good news is I’m off my crutches 🧚 Also I didn’t prepare for Kinktober what so ever, burnout is going CRAZY. I’m gonna spend the weekend preparing more, but day 4 might be a little late also 💔

❤︎︎❥❤︎︎❥❤︎︎❥❤︎︎❥❤︎︎❥❤︎︎❥❤︎︎

“I-I already tried, damn en-engine won’t start.” Toby huffs, putting his hands in his pockets while he leans against the trunk.

“Then what the hell are we supposed to do??”

It’s the middle of winter for fuck’s sake, walking nearly 90 miles back to the mansion would take days, probably even get you both killed in the process. You already notified Tim, but even in a car it’ll take over an hour.

“W-we might as well get back in the car. I-it’s better than standing o-out here with the wind.”

“I guess.” You grumble, opening the driver’s side door and slipping in, Toby following suit.

Being shielded from the wind and light snow is definitely better than waiting outside and getting frostbite, but the temperature in the car had still dropped once the heat was turned off.

“It’s too fucking cold for this, are you sure we didn’t pack any matches?”

“No l-lighter either.”

Sighing, you put the keys back in the ignition, hoping for any chance of it turning on.

Vrrrrr, pufk

“Piece of shit.”

You two had already been out in the cold for half an hour, having to walk back from your mission, and looking down at your hands turning a faint purple makes the situation even more urgent.

“Get in the back.” You gruff, climbing over the center console and into the backseat. Toby doesn’t hesitate to follow, if you have an idea to keep you both from freezing to death he’s open to it.

“A-are we huddling?”

He chuckles, resting against the door while you crawl on top of him. No wonder he’s not as worried about the whole ordeal as you, he’s barely cold. You nestle up against him, draping your arm around his chest with a sigh. Even though you both had known each other for a while, he’s obviously nervous, the way his rapid heart beat is thumping in your ear while you rest your head on his chest making that clear.

Trying to take in any warmth you can get, you drape your leg over his hips, then you feel it: the reason he’s so nervy.

Maybe you can help him out, it doesn’t have to mean anything. Gently you grind down on him, enough for him to not know if you actually are or if he just wishes you were. Slowly but surely you begin to add more weight, and more, and more. After a few minutes it’s noticeable the way you’re perfectly rubbing your clothed cunt against his restrained boner.

His breath starts picking up, his wood only getting harder as you make it obvious what you’re doing. Your head is still rested on his chest, his heart thumping even louder than before.

You had been doing it for a few minutes now, keeping a steady pace of dry humping this poor, desperate boy. A small whimper escaping his lips as he begins bucking his hips up into yours, moving his hands down to your ass and pulling you closer onto him, his fully hard cock now rubbing perfectly against your swollen bud.

Now you’re both grinding into each other, the friction too much to handle. You need him.

Quickly you pull off of him, letting a whine. Your knees are on either side of his hips, hastily undoing his belt and unbuttoning his jeans. All he can do is look at you in awe, his eyes big and greedy as he watches you slip his pants down. His dick springs out, the tip already red and shining with precum. You slide off your bottoms, revealing your puffy, wet pussy. His length twitches as you position your hole above his needy cock.

Slowly you begin lower yourself onto him, his tip barely brushing your hole while it pulsates on his most sensitive part.

Toby has always been a beat it and get it over with kind of guy, not bothering to even use lotion while watching porn; so now, you slowly sliding down his girth makes it difficult not to cum immediately.

Your hole clenches around him while you take your time adjusting, his throbbing cock making you want to slam down on it. He stretches you good, but the pain can’t compare to the pure nirvana of him being inside you.

It’s half way in, just almost hitting your cervix. His heavy breaths have turned into pants, sweet little whines in between while you slide down.

“H-mghn… Y-y-y/n- please-“ His voice is a pure whine as he begs for more, his attempts to buck up into you stopped by your hands pushing his hips down to the seat.

The tip finally hit your sweet spot, your hips rolling against his as you adjust to the girth. You start picking up your pace, shamelessly riding him as you feel your high coming to a breaking point. It’s obvious his is too, his mouth agape while he pants and whimpers incoherent pleads.

Your climax comes crashing down over you, riding out your high on his twitching dick, your once freezing face now dripping with sweat. Toby came right after, his cum spilling out of you as you pulled off of him.

The car’s windows were completely unusable, the condensation too thick to see through. Small droplets of water formed and raced down, your body heats immediately filling the streak.

Toby’s dazed panting below you, eyes fluttering open and shut with every breath, his shaky hands still holding onto your hips as you lay back down with him.

A loud knock on the window startled the two of you, Tim’s voice breaking the silence.

“You better be clothed when you come out of there.”

Together you both gather your clothes and redress, stepping out of the humid vehicle into the baby blizzard. Tim’s car is pulled over to the side of the road in the distance, his headlights flashing.

You and Toby stumble behind him, your legs weak and unstable. At least you stayed warm.

❤︎︎❥❤︎︎❥❤︎︎❥❤︎︎❥❤︎︎❥❤︎︎❥❤︎︎

Kinktober Masterlist

Creepypasta Masterlist

[hanafubukki]

I feel a lot of the time we don’t consider the fae perspective. We mostly consider the human’s. Which, yes, of course because we are human.

But in a story like twst, where so many characters are relatable human or not, I think it’s a bit unfair to not consider their perspective.

The main one I’m thinking of right now is how we tend to criticize Malleus and his not being able to keep track of time.

We’ve been told that he has trouble keeping track of time, and in general, many of the fae do. To them, time moves different (not to mention how it can differ depending on species), but for Malleus it’s much more than that.

Malleus has been locked up in the castle for years. He got visits from Lilia and he looked foward to that. Beyond that? It was the same every single day. He was alone. Think about it. For us, we would get tired and bored of that. Time would move slowly. We would want to escape. But Malleus couldn’t. He was trapped there, making the most of it when he hid and when Lilia visits. To him, those moments of fun didn’t last long at all and the moments of melancholy lasted forever.

On a side note, we’ve seen how long it took Lilia to adapt to humans too, about 200+ years. (He’s still adapting now. He’s somewhat better at it now because of Silver and Sebek. Who are more day creatures and he had to adapt to that as well. Even though it’s still tough on him). So how can we expect the same from Malleus, when it took even Lilia this long to do it?

When Malleus grew older and he was able to escape, time moved quickly for him. He was able to spend time with Lilia and others. He had fun and freedom. To him, time sped up. Silver and Sebek age quickly. Malleus had trouble with how fast it was. Even in his dorm card he mentions how quickly they’ve grown.

But then, you also have to consider, Malleus is a fae, he’s abided by fae time for over a century and it was only recently (at least 17 years), that he tried to adapt to human time. From seeing a babe grow to now at NRC, where school is taught through human time. How can we expect him to suddenly adapt so quickly?

I wouldn’t be surprised that besides some of the fae, other beastman or merman might have more of a nocturnal clock too.

We expect him to adapt to humans but when has any of them helped him to adapt? When we ask things of others, don’t we usually try and meet half way?? Isn’t it selfish to always one-sidedly ask him to change?? And not help him achieve the change we are asking for?

It’s one thing for the rest of dia group to help him, and they try. But it’s another, when the humans don’t even try when Malleus is trying to get along with them and make a connection with them for peace between everyone. Even more so, he wants to get along and have friends too.

And then?? They get angry? At him?? For not adhering to their ways, but did they help him? Did you remind him? Or even send the invite at all? Or were you too scared and it’s easier to blame?

He’s known to arrive in advance hours before a meeting so he doesn’t miss it because he does care and he does want to attend. But where are the people to meet him half way? To remind him or even give him the proper or updated info?

It’s a two way street. We can’t always judge malleus because of his “bad” traits, when in reality, it’s a fae thing can we?

You can argue that it’s not others jobs to do that. And yeah you’re right, but then we have seen dorm leaders go out of their way to help others haven’t we? Riddle going after Idia is one example.

And if there is to be peace, then both humans and fae have to work together to understand the other.

I think it’s unfair to always expect Malleus to change without understanding his background and his childhood and how that changes his perception of time.

[bucketbueckers]

HEAVEN IS A HOME

pairing: azzi fudd x fem!reader

content: language, fluff, slight hurt/comfort, reader is a down bad loser i might have projected too much

wc: 3.8k

synopsis: Throughout the months leading up to the 2025 WNBA Draft, you’d been a mess of excitement and nerves, anxious to hear your name called and to finally play in the WNBA alongside the vets that had inspired you as a kid. You knew that the distance would be an adjustment for you and your longtime girlfriend Azzi Fudd, but you weren’t prepared for just how much you were going to miss her.

notes: im apologizing to ⬇️ anon and ⬇️ only bc this should not have taken me so long to write 😭 to be honest i just got rly busy and then kept putting it off. however. there is an azzi drought rn and i must do my part. also for the sake of the story and the concept of having azzi at reader's draft table we're going to pretend atlanta retained their 1st round pick in the 2025 draft. ok that's it, fudd nation i hope you enjoy 🫶

For as long as you could remember, there wasn’t a moment in your life where you and Azzi Fudd weren’t on the same basketball team.

Well, excluding the obvious like middle school teams and elementary leagues – but that wasn’t the point.

Your mom got a better job offer at the end of your 8th grade year, which led to you and your family relocating to Washington, DC that summer. You weren’t exactly thrilled about that. Leaving behind the friends you’d known your entire life meant you’d have to start all over again, and between your natural introversion and your larger than life basketball aspirations, you weren’t sure if you had the time to be social butterfly when you had offer letters to worry about.

Your parents enrolled you in St. John’s College High School, a private school that admittedly, did have a good basketball program. You found yourself at tryouts that summer, knowing that it was either varsity or nothing, but the one thing you weren’t prepared for wasn’t the kindness of the other hopefuls, who seemed to have overwhelming amounts of social battery. It wasn’t the rigor of the drills nor was it the expectations of who would soon be your coach if you had a say in it.

It was the 5’11 shooting guard with the purest jumper you’d ever seen in your life. You weren’t a bean pole by any means, but she – Azzi Fudd, you’d find out later after Coach placed you in the same scrimmage group – genuinely looked like she could snap you in half.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little into that.

You weren’t immediately friends, but you weren’t enemies, either. Azzi was sharp, focused, and you were a little busy with trying to maintain your distance so as to not gay panic in front of her. There was a quiet respect between the two of you. You were endlessly grateful you were a forward because you weren’t sure if you’d ever secure a starting spot if you were a guard and on the same team as Azzi Fudd, who shoots like poetry and looks like a goddess and – yeah. You were closeted and maybe a little oblivious at times, but all it took was one day of tryouts to know you were fucked.

When the roster is posted and you find out that the both of you made varsity, you knew that you’d win championships together with as much confidence as you knew that Azzi Fudd would, respectfully, ruin your life. That was just something you’d have to learn to accept. 

You make it through summer conditioning without any issues, but you find her shooting by herself late after the conclusion of the last day. Sheepishly, Azzi asks if you’d rebound for her – only, if like, you didn’t have anything else to do or anything, because like – and you laugh, because if she asked you’d curl into a ball as best as you could and let her shoot you from the logo (but, like, in a casual way), and you spend an hour rebounding for her.

And, to be honest, it’s really nice. Azzi is probably the best player you’ve ever seen in your life, like Curry good. She’s down to earth, soft-spoken (when she wants to be – you’d later find out that she has quite the mouth on her and she likes teasing you as much as you liked teasing her), and she’s so kind and funny and thoughtful and you were hopelessly crushing on her by the time she called it quits.

You get her number that night. Frankly, you’re not sure how you were able to ask without stumbling over your words completely, but the both of you had a flush on your cheeks as you punched your numbers in each other’s phones.

That was the start of it. It wasn’t anything grand with swelling music or perfectly romantic. It was soft, a little hesitant, and a whole lot awkward in the I don’t wanna mess this up kind of way.

From then on, you were basically attached at the hip. You’re each other’s perfect complement on the court, an undeniable duo, and the only thing that feels as good as being with Azzi on the court is being with her off of it.

In January, the middle of your season, you finally muster up the courage to ask her out at the back of the bus on the way home from an away game. You’d won, obviously, but the grin on her face and the almost indignant, “Duh, of course I like you, too,” was way better than listening to the final buzzer ring in your victory.

You make it through high school with her. Through ridiculous arguments and silent treatments that usually ended with standing at each other’s door with flowers and an apology. Through injuries, setbacks, and lengthy conversations about commitments because UConn wanted the both of you, and she was looking a little too hard at UCLA, and there was no way in hell you were going to be a west coast girl. 

Eventually, the both of you do commit to UConn, which has to be some sort of major historical event because when was the last time the number one and number two high school recruits went to the same high school and committed to the same university? 

College is more or less the same as high school. You’re still glued at the hip, living out your dreams together, only there’s significantly more injuries. Azzi misses a lot of games. You miss her on the court. You miss passing the ball to her on the wing and watching her knock down a shot she would make in her sleep. It’s hard, but you love each other in spite of it.

And it’s made all the more worth it in 2025 when you cut down the net together, thinking way too hard about seeing her for the first time at summer tryouts and thinking that she’s the best player you’ve ever seen in your life. You knew she was, and the MOP trophy only solidifies that fact.

It’s worth it when you’re in a hotel room in New York together, your eyes wide and mesmerized as you watch her try on dresses on your draft night. She’s going to sit at your table, in front of dozens of people, and listen to your name be called to a professional team.

It was everything the two of you had dreamed of for years – on late night bus rides back to school, whispering quiet manifestation and prayers into the midnight air, on days where everything is just a little too loud and her knee aches and you remind her that the two of you are going to make it here together. 

She’s taking one final year at UConn, having missed so much time to injury. You’re leaving for the draft. You try not to think too hard about the distance, knowing that you’re as proud of Azzi as she is as proud of you.

When you see her draft night outfit for the first time, a rich, black dress with a plunging neckline and an illegal, sheer skirt, the distance is the last thing you’re thinking about. In all honesty, you’re thinking about a lot of things that you shouldn’t really repeat, but that’s not the point. You just don’t think you’ve ever been more in love.

You have your fragment of the net looped around the glittering necklace on your neck, your dress a complementary white to Azzi’s midnight black. You do media. Interviews. Pose for pictures dutifully like it’s not the biggest night of your life. And you and Azzi sit together at your draft table, with your parents at your side and your younger brother talking Azzi’s ear off about Fortnite as if he needs emotional support Azzi time.

But you wait patiently. You hold Azzi’s hand under the table like your life isn’t about to change right in front of your eyes. Her thumb brushes across your knuckle the same way it had when you sprained your wrist during conference play and you were sure that it was worse than it was. Her eyes promise you that, no matter how far away this draft takes you, she’d walk that distance if only to tell you that she loves you. The two of you would be okay.

You’re drafted sixth overall to the Atlanta Dream. Your ears are ringing and you’re trying not to cry, but you hug Azzi first and her whispered, “I love you” is what makes the tears start falling anyways. You hug your parents, then your brother, and you try your best to not trip when you make your way up the stage. You pose with the jersey, your hands shaking, and the subsequent media is a blur.

You opted to not have an afterparty. You and Azzi stay in, dressed in sweatpants and loose t-shirts, tangled together in bed. She’s holding your Dream hat, fingers brushing across the embroidered lettering, an impossibly soft expression on her face.

She kisses you soundly. You’re not even exaggerating when you say your entire life flashes before your eyes. You recall seeing her for the first time, thinking about how fucking pretty she was – and how pretty she still is. You think about the time she kissed you on the bus after a loss and how she tasted like coconut water because she’s a certified Gatorade hater. You think about every time the both of you lifted trophies together – high school, AAU, the national championship. You think about how the greatest moments of your life were always highlighted Azzi Fudd Yellow because she was right there with you for all of them and celebrating with her was always sweeter than the win itself.

You try not to think about how the next year of your life is about to be filled with achievements and milestones and accomplishments that you won’t be able to immediately celebrate together. You try not to think about how this draft is taking you to Georgia and how you won’t be able to pass to Azzi on the court anymore. You’ve been her teammate for so long that you’re not sure how you’re supposed to be someone else’s.

But she kisses you and you can’t think of anything that’s not the soft curve of her smile, her fingertips against your jaw, and the whispered, hopelessly in love “I’m so proud of you,” that she presses against your lips.

You don’t immediately fly out to Atlanta. You have a couple of appearances to make, the championship victory rally, and, unfortunately, one more final exam because a national championship may be able to excuse an absence but it doesn’t free you from the test. You and Azzi spent a few hours one night scrolling through apartment listings until you settled on one and you sent the paperwork in immediately.

The both of you fly out to Atlanta a few days before training camp. Most of your things had already made it down thanks to an excellent moving company, and you spend the entire day together with box cutters and a speaker blasting your shared playlist as you unpacked your belongings. You and Azzi debate which cabinet you should put your cups in. You add a hundred dollars worth of essentials to an Amazon cart because you remembered that you needed to buy pots and pans but you forgot oven mitts.

It’s so domestic. It’s so easy to get caught up in the excitement of moving in that you forget you’re not moving in with her. You laugh until you cry when you stub your toe on the coffee table that you and Azzi spent a concerning amount of time building together and you spend a few quiet minutes in the hastily assembled bedroom just staring at a framed photo of the two of you on your nightstand.

You’d been through everything together. Embarrassing high school phases, countless wins and losses, injuries, recovery, college, but you just couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that this would be something you couldn’t fully share together.

There would be no more coming home together after strenuous practices, preparing the ice pack for her knee and kissing the pout off of her lips because how dare you sit down without kissing her first? No more late night conversations while you rebound for each other. No more of those little things you took for granted because you just never considered a moment of your life not being spent by her side.

That’s not to say that you’re not excited for the new chapter – you are. All you’ve ever wanted in life was to play professionally, and now you’re about to do that. You have a great organization, and between BG, Rhyne, and Allisha, you have amazing vets. You’re going to a great city.

And you still have Azzi. You’ll have FaceTime dates after practice, you’ll be able to fly out to see her play in the offseason just like she’ll have time to come out and see you make your debut. You’re not losing her – neither of you would let that happen. You just have to do things a little differently. That’s okay.

Because there will come a day that she gets drafted, too, and you’d probably be taken further apart. But you’re living out your dreams, together, and even if you’re gonna miss her like hell, that overwhelming feeling of pride is a little stronger than whatever sadness you’ll feel when you wake up and reach for someone that’s not there.

There will come a day where you won’t have to settle for those brief moments in between flights and games. You’ll be on the same team one day. You just have to wait until then.

You’d been her teammate for eight years. And whether or not the two of you are in the same city or even in the same state, you’ll always be on the same team. That much you know for sure.

Azzi spends a couple days in Atlanta, helping you get settled in and walking around the city together. She tells you that your couch is off center and you kiss her because God, you’re so in love with her bossy ass. You make dinner together and you let her hold you from behind while you gaze at the sun setting over the skyline, thinking about how perfect forever sounds when it’s you next to her.

Then, April 27th rolls around, and you slowly blink awake to the sound of the sheets shuffling and Azzi gently removing your head from her chest. It’s early and the room is still dim. The first lights of dawn haven’t even begun to poke through your curtains, and it’s in your blind haste of reaching out for Azzi that you realize it’s not only the first day of training camp, but also the day she flies back to Connecticut.

“Az,” you grumble, still half-asleep, finally locking your hand around her wrist.

You can hear the smile in her voice as she giggles. “Didn’t mean to wake you, baby,” she murmurs, her fingers brushing across your cheek. She leans down to press a kiss to your temple. “Go back to sleep, okay?”

“What time s’it?” you ask, finally opening your eyes to gaze up at her. Azzi’s still wearing her bonnet, the one you’d put on her the night before, as was your routine. Her eyes shine with early morning weariness and a fondness that you won’t ever get tired of seeing. “You leavin’?”

“Of course not,” she promises. “It’s barely five. Just wanted to start getting ready and let you sleep in a little longer.”

The confession makes you soften, and you reach for her again, pulling her fully back onto bed. You sling a leg across hers and press your ear over her chest, listening to the rhythmic thump of her heart. “Not worth sleeping if you’re not here,” you mutter, eyes slipping shut again.

She laughs gently, her fingers carding through your hair gently. “You’re a big baby,” she teases.

You huff into her chest. “Yeah,” you agree shamelessly, not even able to argue against that. “Which is why you can’t leave me alone in bed. I’m all helpless and cold.”

She smiles against your hairline, but she doesn’t move, pulling the duvet across your bodies. You can’t go back to sleep – not like this, knowing that Azzi is awake and inevitably going through her mental checklist for packing. The both of you had gone through it together last night, making sure she had all of her clothes and packing up most of her toiletries (which had really only been unpacked out of formality, you and her shared many of the same products).

You’ll be driving her to the airport in about an hour and a half. You’ll hold her hand through the terminals and pretend to keep it together when the PA system announces that it’s time for her to board. You’ll probably kiss her just as the sun begins to rise, already counting down the hours until the next time you get to hold her again.

She’s still in bed next to you but you miss her already.

“You’ll be in DC for the preseason game?” you ask. She hums in affirmation. “And again for my debut?”

“You call me and I’ll be there,” she promises. “I’ll skip summer workouts and tell Coach I’m reviewing film in person.”

You crack a smile. “I’ll make sure to give you some highlight worthy minutes,” you promise. “Gonna give Kiki Elite 8 flashbacks.”

“You mean the Elite 8 where you got into foul trouble in the first quarter?”

“The refs weren’t being fair. They hate to see a girl ball out and look hot doing it.”

“I’m sure,” Azzi says placatingly.

“And I didn’t foul again for the entire game,” you declare proudly. “Ethical hoops.”

“That’s the real reason you got drafted. Clean game.”

You sigh dreamily. “And then you hit that three off the elevator screen.” You flick your wrist, imitating her jump shot. “I considered proposing, not gonna lie. Then I remembered I didn’t have a ring and you’d kill me over a public proposal.”

“If CD didn’t kill you first,” Azzi teases.

You nod somberly, wrapping your arm around her waist fully. “Would have been a good way to go,” you say. “In the middle of a basketball game with everyone knowing that I’m stupidly in love with Azzi Fudd.”

Her giggle makes you feel warm all over. “I don’t know about stupidly,” she whispers, “but Azzi Fudd’s really in love with you, too.”

You smile. “That’s my greatest achievement,” you admit, feeling Azzi soften against you. “Not the draft. Or the natty. But being the person you say that to.”

“You make it easy,” she says.

Neither of you say anything else. You don’t have to. You’re content to bask in the silence, the hum of the AC, the gentle thump of Azzi’s heart against her chest. She’d once told you that it beats for you and you were certain that your own heart pounded to a morse code rhythm that spelled out her name. You can’t imagine a life that doesn’t have her in it.

Gently, you confess, “I miss you already.” Her fingers brush against your cheek, her touch warm, and heat rises behind your eyes. You try not to cry as your throat tightens with emotion. “Part of me is scared to do this without you by my side. And, I mean – I know you’ll be there, always a call away, but I’m selfish enough to want you to stay. I want to come home to you and wear your shirt and tell you about practice. I want you to boss me around in the kitchen and tell me about something Geno said to a freshman. I just…” Your words falter, a tear slipping down your cheek, and Azzi doesn’t hesitate before wiping it away, her hand cupping your cheek fully.

“I love you, Az,” you say firmly. Your voice wavers, not out of unsurety, but because it’s the only thing outside of basketball that you’ve ever been certain of. “I want to share everything with you. I want to watch you succeed and be happy. And I know I’m going to be happy here and we’re both going to live out our dreams, but we’ve always been right next to each other.”

You swallow thickly. “I’m grateful,” you whisper. “I am. But sometimes you’re the only thing that makes sense and I’m really gonna miss having you next to me.”

“I know,” is what she murmurs gently. That makes something in your chest soften. You didn’t need the reassurance that you’d be okay – you knew that you would be. You just needed the acknowledgement that she knew how you were feeling, that she was feeling the same way about it. She’s never been on a team that you weren’t on, either. Just as you’ve spent most of your life being able to look over and see her smiling at you, she’s spent most of her life with you just a few feet away celebrating her wins like they were your own.

Her lips find your cheek, kissing away the moisture. She touches you so softly, not because she’s scared you’ll break, but because that’s just how you hold something you cherish. “We’ll be okay,” she swears, and you nod, because you will be. “We’ll make time. Visit when we can. I’ll be over here so often that you won’t even know I still have a dorm in Connecticut.”

You laugh, fondness spreading through your chest. “I’ll keep a bottle of your curl cream in the bathroom,” you promise. “And the coconut water you like. Not in the bathroom, but like – in the kitchen –”

Azzi kisses you if only to shut you up, and your smile grows against her lips as you get lost in the feeling. When you cup her cheeks, your thumb brushes against her pulse point, and you can feel the way her heart pounds. You know the cadence of it, just as well as you know the feeling of her lashes fluttering against your skin, as well as you know the raspiness of her giggles in the morning when she’s still in the throes of sleep.

“I love you,” she murmurs when she pulls away, her eyes shining with a vow as she stares at you. “And I’m always with you. Same city or different city. Same team or different team. I’m yours.”

You lean in to kiss her again, wordlessly promising the same. When the first light of dawn streams through your bedroom window, coating Azzi in a golden glow that you’d be content to wake up to for the rest of your life, you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that as long as you have this unconditional love in your chest, you’d always be right at home.

[lovemomhatepolice]

Hey babessss could you do a drew starkey x reader’s first time together… smut? Love yo<3

31’ - drew starkey

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pairing: drew starkey x fem!reader

warnings: first time sex, sexual overtones, age difference (Drew is 31, reader is 21), established relationship, oral sex, unprotected sex (PROTECTED YOURSELF), drunk!drew, drunk!reader, blowjob, a tiny bit of fingering, English is my second language!

belonging: NO NUT NOVEMBER!

type: totally smut with plot, a little bit of fluff (because drew is a cutie pattotie)

word count: 5k

summary: happy birthday beautiful man. there can't be a better gift, right?

more content: drew starkey masterlist, obx masterlist

You nervously adjusted the shoulder strap of your black dress, once again that evening. At the tenth you stopped counting. You were terribly annoyed by its material, its length, well today just everything stressed you out. You didn't know why yourself, and you were angry with yourself, because you were supposed to act as unsuspecting as you could - and it didn't work out.

"Drew, are you ready?" you finally asked, exiting the bathroom after spending a long time in it.

Today was his 31st birthday, which was no small feat. After 30, life starts to get more serious, even for someone like Drew.

Drew heard you open the door and from his seat in the living room he could see you coming out of the bathroom. He swallowed hard as he looked at you - you were as incredibly beautiful as you are every day. But there was something about you today - the way you walked, the way you smiled at him, the way you wore that dress - he couldn't take his eyes off you. In fact, for a few seconds he stopped functioning at all.

“Yes, I'm ready,” he finally said, getting up from the couch.

"Great," You smiled at him and picked up your purse, which was lying on a cabinet in his hallway.

You didn't live together, it was still too serious a step in a relationship you had only been in for less than two months. Despite the fact that you had known each other practically all your lives, by the fact that both of you lived near each other and you were friends with his sister Brooke, your relationship progressed very slowly and you were both probably happy about it. Finally, in such a fast-paced world, you could at least relax for a while and enjoy each other longer.

He walked over to you and grabbed your hand, interlocking his fingers with yours. You were so perfectly fitting in his hand - and he would never get enough of that sensation. A part of him also just liked the way it looked; how he would tower over you and your small hand would disappear in his bigger one.

“Ready to go?” he then asked again, bringing your hand to his lips to kiss it.

"I should be the one to ask you that," you laughed lightly, blushing from the tenderness. Drew was always like that. He always took care of everyone, tried to make no one feel bad. And for that you loved him.

"My birthday boy."

Drew pulled you closer to him and threw his free arm around your shoulders. He began to lead you toward the front door. “Are you sure you're not the birthday girl?”

He let go of your hand so he could open the door, and then opened it for you, holding the other at your back. He teased you. “You're just as excited as I am, or even more so.”

"Oh, because in the end I'm the one who can take you out to dinner and pay for everything," you said, sticking your tongue out in his direction as he closed his apartment.

Drew was already like that - he never let you pay for any of your dates or food. And even when you had to split it in half (which he didn't agree to very readily), he continued to try to wring it out somehow.

He laughed lightly as you headed to the elevator together. He pressed the button and turned to face you, his back leaning against the elevator wall. He lightly combed his hair with his hand, on which his inseparable ring.

“We've been over this before,” he said, still looking at you with a goofy grin. “I won't let you pay anything on my birthday. And in fact, I'd best not let you pay for anything. And ever,” he snarked.

"And that you can not allow, and I'll do it anyway," you laughed and took the lip gloss out of your purse. You turned toward the elevator mirror and started applying it back.

He smiled, looking at you. The man pulled away from the elevator wall and walked closer to you. He then grabbed your hips from behind and pulled you close, gently trailing his thumbs along your sides. Because of the large height difference, he bent down slightly, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Stop being so stubborn,” he teased in a light tone, placing a light kiss on your head.

"You're the one who should stop being so stubborn," you muttered, putting the lipstick back in your purse.

You turned toward him and put your hands on his white shirt, gently correcting it. "It's your birthday and I want you to just let yourself be pampered."

He chuckled, his arms then moving around your waist while he looked at you.

“You’re the one that deserves to be pampered,” he said honestly and leaned his forehead against yours for a moment, placing a light kiss on it.

"You too. Big grown man" you laughed playing with the button of his shirt.

Drew looked unearthly today. Every day he looked like he was created by angels, but today? Today he outdid himself. White shirt, black pants and matching jacket. Plus his hair, which was now a little longer... he looked like a god. „You’re thirty one today, that's no even a joke anymore.”

He also giggled when he listened to you. He loved the feeling of your hands playing with the button of his shirt. It was such a random and small thing, but it was still soothing. He enjoyed those little moments between you. When it was just you and the whole world was suddenly silent.

“Don't remind me,” he said with a small giggle, and a smile appeared on his lips as he watched you. “I feel old.”

"But you have ten years younger girl, it makes you younger," you laughed and grabbed his hands, which he had on your waist.

He giggled, well aware of this. Well, your age difference was something too big and unusual for many. But he didn't care, it was nobody's business. It was only yours, and you felt the best you could.

“Somehow it worked out that way, huh?” he asked with a smile and moved one of his hands to grab your chin, letting his thumb gently brush your lower lip.

"Oh don't touch or you'll smear my lip gloss" I laughed, feeling his thumb on my lip.

He chuckled again and shook his head, but his eyes were locked on your lips. The way they just begged him to lean in and kiss them.

“It’s not like I haven’t smeared it before,” he said in a teasing tone while he continued to caress your bottom lip with his thumb.

"That's why I had to correct it,"you laughed, looking into his beautiful blue irises, which were now, as always, laughing.

"Don't exaggerate," he laughed and leaned slightly over you, smacking your lips.

You smiled into his mouth, returning the kiss lightly. Now his lips were also shining from your pink gloss, but before you could tell him, the elevator doors opened on the right floor.

You took his hand and intertwined your fingers together, walking out of the elevator in front of him. You headed toward the exit of the building, getting more and more excited about the party you had organized. Drew trusted you and let you lead the way, but as soon as you spotted your present driver parked in front of Drev's apartment building, you stopped for a moment.

"Wait, i have to blindfold you" you said and took out a blindfold from your purse so he couldn't see anything.

In the end, Drew thought the two of you were going to dinner. But in fact you were taking him to his favorite club in Charleston, where all his family and friends were waiting for him.

"And how am I supposed to go the car without seeing anything?” he asked with a smirk.

„I’ll help you dumbass”

He laughed as he listened to you and allowed you to put the blindfold on him.

“I hope you don’t leave me stranded somewhere,” he said with teasing tone, poking your ribs.

You bent under his finger as he stabbed you in the ribs and laughed. “Oh this is just my dream. To leave you here alone blindfolded.” you muttered and took out some more headphones from the purse. “You can't hear either, forgive me darling,” you added and put the headphones over his ears, kissing him lightly on the lips.

“I've lost all my senses because of you,” he muttered, letting himself be led toward the car. “I knew it a long time ago, but to do it in a literal way. Wow. I didn't expect that.” You snorted with laughter and slowly opened the car door for him, being careful not to hit him, because compared to a low car, Drew was a giant and could quickly get a bump.

You got in after him and greeted your driver, who already knew the address well, so he only smiled in your direction. After a while, you set off for your chosen location, which was not that far away, but you had to drive a bit. And you knew very well that if you both had a drink with Drew, you would neither return as a driver nor on your feet.

Drew instinctively caught your hand and intertwined your fingers, playing with your nails, which you had freshly done. You smiled under your breath and laid your head on his shoulder.

~~~ You have already entered the club without much obstruction, however, further without taking off either the armband or the headphones. You led him out into the middle, letting his friends and family surround him, until you finally gave them a sign that they could shout surprise, when at the same time you took off his headband and headphones at the same time. “Surprise!” you exclaimed along with the others, looking from the sidelines at his reaction.

Drew stood for a moment, as if enchanted. Then he began to look around him, and when he saw all his loved ones, it made his heart warm. Each of them on this one day decided to come and make the man's birthday even better.

You smiled sincerely in his direction, continuing to be surprised that it all worked out the way you wanted. Everyone was there - the entire OBX cast, Odesa, his hometown friends and immediate family. “Surprise?” you asked, laughing lightly at your boyfriend.

Drew tried to say something, but continued to be too surprised. “I-wow…” he laughed under his breath, walking a little closer to you. “Really, thank you.”

His smile continued to grow as he took in the sight of so many familiar faces around him.

“The best things for the best boyfriend,” you muttered, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him slightly closer to you, smacking your lips. You must have distracted him a bit before his mother managed to blow out the candles on the cake she had prepared.

He laughed again as he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close. He placed a gentle kiss on your cheek, then turned to look at his mother, who was now standing in front of him with a birthday cake.

“How the hell did you manage to keep this a secret from me?” - he said, and everyone laughed.

“I guess we never know,” you said and wanted to move away from him so he could stand by the cake himself, but he cut you off.

But before you had a chance to take more than a step away from him he grabbed your wrist, preventing you from moving away.

“I want you here,” he muttered in a low tone only you could hear.

His mother set the cake down in front of him, and everyone started singing “Happy Birthday.” Drew’s eyes sparkled with happiness, and you couldn’t help but admire how his face lit up in the glow of the candles.

When the song ended, he took a deep breath and blew out the candles, laughter and cheers erupting from the crowd. You clapped along, feeling proud of your surprise.

“Alright, let’s cut this cake!” Drew said, reaching for the knife. He looked around at everyone, then back at you, his smile softer now. “I can’t believe you all did this for me. This means so much.”

You squeezed his hand, feeling a swell of emotion. “You deserve it, Drew. You’re amazing.”

As the cake was served, you took a moment to glance around the room. Friends were laughing, drinks were flowing, and the energy was electric. This was what you had hoped for—a celebration of Drew, surrounded by the people who loved him most.

Once everyone had their slices, Drew turned to you, a slice of cake in hand. “Here, let me feed you.”

You giggled, opening your mouth playfully as he brought the fork to your lips. The sweet flavor burst in your mouth.

The two of you sat somewhere in a corner, eating a cake together. Around you sat some of his friends and family, the rest were either getting ready to wish him well and give him a gift, another part was already standing at the bar, starting the celebration.

“Give me your jacket, I'll go put them away in the locker room, and you take care of the guests here.” you said to him, finishing your piece of cake.

"Don't be long," he muttered and gave you a small kiss on the forehead.

“I promise,” you muttered and went to the locker room, putting your jackets away together. In the meantime, his sister Mackalaya accosted you, giving you a tight squeeze. You had known her all my life, too, so it was great to see her again.

"How are you? How are you guys doing?"

Meanwhile, Drew continued to chat and talk to his friends sitting around him, but his eyes were continuously drawn to the direction where you had left moments ago.

“It really couldn't be better,” you smiled sincerely at her. “Drew is so wonderful, we are so damn happy.”

She chuckled happily at your answer, nodding her head with a smile.

"It's lovely to hear, you are just perfect for each other," Mackalaya said and glanced in her brother's direction for a second, seeing how he kept looking toward the locker room, waiting for you to return.

“We may come to you soon, after Drew finishes recording,” I said, squeezing her hand. “I can't wait to see Liliana.”

You saw Drew stand from the table and head to the bar with the others. You laughed under your breath as your gazes met together again and Mackalaya no longer held you.

“Looks like the party is really getting started now! Should we join them?”

She then looked back at you and nodded her head with a smirk.

“I think it’s our cue to join them,” she said, then grabbed your arm and led the way toward the bar counter.

As you approached, you could hear snippets of Drew’s conversation, his laughter ringing out like music. He caught your eye again, and that familiar warmth spread through you. He gestured for you to come closer, his smile broadening.

He moved forward slightly, stretching his arm and grabbing you by the hip, pulling you against him until you were standing between his legs.

“What did you order?” you asked, glancing at the bartender, who was preparing various drinks and grabbed the menu in your hand and looked for something for yourself.

Drew leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “I ordered a round of mojitos. They’re the best here,” he said, a playful glint in his eye. You could feel the excitement buzzing around you, the energy of the party enveloping both of you.

“Then I'll take the same too,” you muttered and handed it to the bartender, who added another mojito to his queue.

Drew rested his chin on your shoulder and let out a low chuckle as you felt him inhale the scent of your hair.

“How do you feel?” you asked, looking over his shoulder.

"Happy," he managed to utter before he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, his nose brushing against your skin. "I just want to enjoy the moment. Care to join me?”

The way he looked at you made your heart race, and you couldn’t help but smile. “I’m in. Let’s make it a night to remember.”

The whole evening passed in a wonderful atmosphere. Everyone danced, drank drinks, talked to a lot of people and you all just enjoyed being with Drew on his birthday. The man also seemed to be in awe. He had a smile on his lips the whole time and didn't leave your side for a moment. Whether you were dancing or he was getting a gift from his friends, you always had to be next to him. And you didn't mind at all.

As the night progressed, the air filled with excitement. You found yourself lost in the rhythm of the party, the way he pulled you closer during a slow song, his hands resting on your waist, made your heart flutter.

“Best birthday ever,” he said, his eyes sparkling when he looked at you. Drew started getting slightly more and more clingy with you.

“Can’t help it,” he murmured, a playful smile on his lips as he leaned in.

He pressed soft, lingering kisses along your neck, sending delightful shivers down your spine. Each gentle touch felt electrifying, and you couldn’t suppress the smile spreading across your face.

Drew tightened his grip, making it clear he wasn’t going to let you go anytime soon. As the music pulsed around you and laughter filled the air, you knew this was a night you both would remember—one full of warmth, connection, and perhaps a bit of sweet spontaneity.

You turned toward him and didn't have to wait long for the boy to attach his lips to yours. He didn't give a damn that all his immediate family and friends were around. He knew very well that he was in a trusted circle and no one would judge him or put anything on the Internet. He felt safe here, and with you in his arms, it was even better.

Drew pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours. “I’ve been wanting to do that all night,” he admitted, a playful grin on his lips. There was a light in his eyes that made your heart skip a beat.

Your kiss became more and more intense, but no one paid much attention to you. And even if they did - they didn't expect how great the feeling was growing in both of you. Suddenly you felt his hands on your buttocks as they gently clamped down on them, and you laughed, moving your lips slightly away from his to look into his eyes. This time there was something more intense in his gaze than usual. You knew that you both felt the same way.

His breath was slightly labored from the kiss, and his grip on your buttocks became firmer as he pulled you even closer so that you were practically flush against his body.

There was a hint of hunger in his gaze, a need for more than just a kiss.

“I want to go home,” he murmured into your mouth, smacking it again. “They won't even notice.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, a smile tugging at your lips. “What about all the fun?”

Drew grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I just want us to end this evening.”

The way he looked at you, filled with that intensity you both had shared all night, made your heart race. “Alright, let’s do it,” you said, a thrill of anticipation bubbling inside you.

You did not wait any longer, you both knew very well how the evening would end. You left the club unnoticed, leaving all your gifts behind. The club was closed tomorrow anyway, so you could easily return for them. You waited a while for your boyfriend, who struggled for a while to find your coats, but fortunately it didn't take long. Drew grabbed your hand and you went outside, immediately seeing your driver.

“I can’t wait to get you home,” he whispered, making your pulse quicken. You exchanged a look filled with promise, knowing that this night was just beginning.

~~~ When you arrived at his apartment, you couldn't keep your hands off each other. Drew had barely closed the door behind him, and he already had you in his arms and was leading you toward his bedroom, showering you with kisses all over your face. You were both laughing, which was typical of you, even at a time like this.

Drew gently laid you down on his bed, letting you take another moment to think about whether you really wanted this. Oh, how much you wanted it, and you knew very well that he did too. This was a big step in your relationship, but you knew you were safe in his hands and merely nodded, reaching up to his shirt collar to pull him close, bringing your lips together again in a kiss.

Your hands wandered in his hair, his all over your body. It wasn't long until you felt yourself starting to get wet from the rush of these emotions. You didn't shy away one bit anymore - you were well aware that your first time would be after alcohol, but you didn't doubt one bit that you wanted it. And so did Drew, whose eyes sparkled more beautifully than ever.

Drew’s touch was skilled and urgent, his hands roaming across your body as he drank in your every move. You could see the desire burning in his eyes, as he gently pushed you back down on the bed, his gaze never leaving yours.

"Fuck" he muttered, breathing heavy. "You're so beautiful"

You sighed, pulling him closer to you with your hips. You could feel that he was also already aroused. His still clothed cock fit perfectly against your body. You both silently cried out for the desired pleasure to come already.

He leaned down slightly, his lips trailing over your neck, his mouth hot and wet against your skin. He left a trail of kisses along your throat, his breath coming out in a warm plume against your skin.

"You feel so good," he said, his voice thick with growing need.

“Drew,” you muttered, moving your hips, feeling how hard he was getting with each passing second. You pulled away from him slightly and nimbly made him bottom out this time. You didn't wait a second longer. With trembling hands, you grabbed his belt buckle and tried to get him off. “Oh, someone is impatient,” the man laughed huskingly, helping you get rid of his belt.

Then his pants flew down and you could see his entire member, which was already standing in his boxers. This sight was bloody painful. You moved your finger over it, which made Drew moan, dropping his head onto his soft mattress. “Baby,” he muttered, looking at you with slightly closed eyes as you removed his boxers and his cock came free.

He was huge. You had seen him in passing before, but this was your first time. And you had never been so excited in your life as you were now.

You took him in your hand and ran your thumb over his pre-cum. Damn, it was such an arousing sight. You quickly replaced your hand with your mouth, taking him all the way into your mouth. He could barely fit inside them, but you wanted to be the best for him. You sucked on him, moving your head up and down, slightly causing yourself a gag reflex. You both giggled, however, you did not stop. You saw that Drew was getting closer and closer with every move you made, so you added your hand and squeezed his testicles. You could have sworn that this made him even closer.

“[Y.N], fuck,” he muttered, stroking your hair. Drew didn't take the initiative at all, giving you full control.

You felt his penis begin to pulsate in your mouth, so you sped up your movements even more. You took him deeper, licking and supporting yourself with your hand. Soon, with a loud exhale, Drew reached inside your mouth, and your throat was flooded with his cum.

It didn't occur to you to do this before, but now you swallowed it all with full confidence, moving your mouth up and down for a while more, helping him come down from his orgasm.

“You're wonderful,” he muttered, pulling you against him. You sat on his naked lap, connecting your lips at once. Drew could feel himself on your tongue, but it didn't bother him at all.

He quickly threw off your dress and attached his lips to your neck. You felt that dark marks would appear in these places the next day, but you didn't give a damn. You wanted the whole world to know that you loved each other. That you loved each other in this way. That you were all his and he was all yours.

Without warning, Drew pressed his lips to your one breast, squeezing the other. He swirled his tongue around your nipple, making you even wet your entire thong, which you were wearing at the time. With an audible smack, he moved to the other nipple, leaving hickeys around it.

“Drew, I need you, I'm begging,” you muttered, pushing him away from your chest. You were as wet as you had ever been, and the man's hungry panting increased that even more. Your words were like a command to him. He immediately changed your position, so that now you were lying under him on the mattress and waiting for him to finally be inside you. “You are so beautiful,” he muttered, placing kisses all over your belly, then your thighs, until he kissed your still covered clit.

You allowed him to slip off your panties and the sensation you felt when his mouth attached to your pussy was indescribable.

“How beautiful,” he muttered, curling eights with his tongue around your sensitive bud. “How wet.”

"Drew, stop teasing," I muttered, shrinking your feet behind his back.

He knew what he was doing with his tongue. He perfectly pressed, sucked and teased your clit, driving you closer to the end with each passing second. Without much warning, he put his finger inside your pussy and began to move it nimbly, hitting that point. "Fuck," you moaned, touching his hair. The boy looked at you, not stopping to caress it with his tongue and finger, then added another, stretching you accordingly.

“Please,” you muttered, feeling that you were close to orgasm. “Drew.”

The boy sped up his movements, pressing more with his tongue against your clit, which was already sensitive enough. You felt a pleasant sense of fulfillment as you reached on his fingers and tongue. “How fucking good you taste,” he muttered, returning kisses to you. You surrounded his neck with your arms, kissing him imprecisely. You threw your legs around his hips, moving your naked pussy along his length, wanting him to enter you already.

“There, wait, baby,” he said, smacking you on the corner of your mouth, ”Do you have condoms?”

You shook your head negatively, but at that moment you didn't give a damn. All you wanted was him inside me, just that. “It's okay, I'll take the morning-after pill,” you muttered, moving your hips, begging him for one thing.

“All right,” he groaned and grabbed his length. He touched you with his tip and you trembled because of it. You relaxed slightly, letting him enter your pussy. “How tight” he muttered, entering you slowly with his entire length. “Perfect.”

Drew moved inside you slowly at first, but seeing that it was only giving you pleasure, he sped up. You both looked at the spot where your bodies joined and smiled at each other. Oh, you have been waiting for this apparently for a very long time.

By how horny you were tonight and how much you were looking forward to it, it didn't have to be long until you both felt you were getting close to fulfillment.

You bucked your hips closer to him, wanting to be as close as possible and to feel him as much inside you as possible. Drew grabbed your hips and instinctively started moving even faster and hitting your sensitive spot each time.

“You're wonderful,” you muttered, combing through his slightly wet hair.

The boy only smiled at you and clung to you with his lips, breathing loudly. And with that moment you both came. You a moment earlier than he did. But when you felt his cum spilling inside your cunt and suddenly it was pleasantly warm there, you moaned.

When it was over, Drew slumped against you, tired but smiling like never before. You also smiled broadly, hugging him to your chest. He was still inside you and you could feel him slowly stop being hard, but it felt too good to end it. “I love you,” he muttered, placing a kiss on your sternum, between your breasts.

“I love you too, terribly,” you muttered, combing his hair from his forehead.

You kissed him in the same place, momentarily holding your lips there. “Happy birthday, sunshine.” The boy lifted his head slightly from your body and kissed you on the lips. “I couldn't think of a better birthday.”

A/N: I know! I know there was supposed to be another chapter, but with Drew turning 31 today, I couldn't resist writing something related to him ;p hope you liked it and that I didn't make any mistakes (there may be a change of narration somewhere, because at the beginning I wrote it in the first person ahahh)

please do not copy and translate my works! in case of any issues related to this - I invite you to discuss privately :)

[kisses4reid]

convenient pt.3 | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,,

pt. 1 | pt.2 (you cannot read this without prior reading)

summary - spencer likes the girl from the convenience store

warnings - awkward conversations and long silences, both of them being hopeless romantics, allergies/sickness

genre - fluff!!! college!fem!reader x earlyseasons!spencer

a/n - thank you for the love and support on this series. it goes without saying i appreciate all of you all 🫶 thank u @raevyng for the cameo. sorry this is short, it’s either i upload this part or i make y’all wait for another week - i like you guys too much to do that.

“good job on you’re stem cell report, y/n. it was very informed and unique. i liked the, now who was it… william blake quote you included!” the teacher spoke before a class of 60. it was back to teaching new information before the next assessment, you were just about finished typing the professor’s notes before she spoke up. the mention of your name nearly made you jump.

a few of the students looked back up at you, some looking around because they had no clue who you were. you liked it better that way.

you also had no idea who william blake was.

“oh- um. thanks.” you say barely above a whisper. professor raena simply smiled and pushed back her shoulder length bob from her face. she started talking again, so did your friend.

“thanks? the professor who’s known to call out people for their incompetence more than smile in the classroom just praised you. that’s all you had to say?”

maybe logan wasn’t your friend per say. maybe she was just someone who sat next to you the first class and also happened to be your neighbour. she was stubborn and straight-forward, insanely intelligent and also smelt great. but she was caring, and gave you tough love when you needed it.

you glanced at her and smiled awkwardly, “i didn’t have much time to think about an answer.”

“i spend most of my time thinking about what i’d say to professor raena if she ever complimented me.”

“that’s because your-“ you suddenly muffle a cough into your hand, “obsessed with her.” you bring out a small packet of tissues from your bag and wipe your nose, nose reddening. logan leans slightly away from you and you roll your eyes.

“you’re not going to catch anything, it’s just allergies.” you lean back and try to continue typing notes but logan continues,

“you should go home, have some medicine, get some sleep.”

“i can’t, i’ve got work.” you whispered, a man in front of you turning around to shoot you with a side eye.

“you’ve told me multiple times that your manager wouldn’t care if you stole from the store. i’ve also told you many times i also don’t care.”

“yeah well… i like working there, that’s all.”

she rolls her eyes again, and waves you off, her long brown hair blocking her disappointed expression from you.

you stayed loyal to your job for two nights, for nothing. sure you got paid, and sure you got to steal some strawberry milk to ease your throat for a couple of minutes, but it felt boring. you actually started to file through the month old magazines you sold for double the price of a new one. you almost made it a third day without dying of allergies (and another secret feeling of sickness you constantly ignored), before you decided you were over it.

you stood up, flipped the door sign so the word ‘open’ faced you, and turned off half of the fluorescent lights before someone was suddenly in the corner of your eyes. spencer was opening the door so quickly you thought you were being robbed, you wouldn’t have seen him if not for the bell ringing on his entry.

“y/n.” he panted, watching your fingers hover over the last light switch. there was two lights left flickering softly above the front door and the check out desk. he looked stoic in the light, dressed in a grey sweater a little too big for him (like his mother had bought it for him telling him he’d grow into it) and black slacks. he seemed to have gotten a trim, his hair just under his ears now. “you don’t close until 1.”

he was confused, eyes wandering with a light hint of relief. like he was happy he didn’t miss you.

“yeah.” is all you said before you turned away from the light switch and returned to the register, assuming he would get his usual. but he didn’t keep walking, he just turned his body to face you. his eyes were expectant, delirious in a way like he needed something from you.

it was silent before the tension literally forced you to speak, “um. i need to close the store before i pass out. so i can uh… get home alive.” you look down and realise the pile of tissues before you was making a mountain, quickly grabbing them and stuffing them in an over filled bin.

“um.” a cat caught his tongue, he looked down to his feet.

spencer was sitting in his desk chair, scrolling on his government provided computer through forums and websites on ‘how to ask out a girl.’ not realising a majority of his team was reading them as well. he heard a small, familiar giggle behind him, quickly closing the tab and turning his head to be met with many other faces. jj slapped garcia on the shoulder with a smile, who’s hand was over her mouth, morgan and emily also smiling. spencer sighed and was about to cover for himself before morgan stepped in,

“look, pretty boy. no websites or article is ever going to teach you how to ask out a girl. they know nothing.”

emily joined, “yeah, none of those things are going to work. i mean, one of those said ‘don’t take no for an answer’. that’s straight up harassment.” she chuckled. morgan walked forward and placed a hand on spencer’s shoulder.

“all you have to do is talk. learn to what she likes, and be confident.”

“that’s easy for you to say.” spencer mumbled.

“who is this girl anyways? who’s taking our genius away from us?” garcia asked, today her hair was adorned with green themed pieces and a small pink flower clip.

spencer couldn’t help but let the corners of his mouth perk up when he thought about the girl who worked at the convenience store. the girl who’s report honestly impressed him. the girl who knew his total without looking at the register. the girl who called him good looking without noticing, like it slipped off of her tongue with no second thought. “just someone.”

you were not just someone.

“yeah you should get home. you look terrible.” spencer’s eyes widened as you raised an eyebrow, “no i mean- not terrible- you never look or have ever looked terrible- i just meant today- no you- like you’re sick and obviously- i mean you don’t obviously look terrible- it’s just uh…” he nodded at himself after he noticed a smile creeping onto your face. “you know what i mean.”

“i know i look terrible, thank you.” he was slowly walking up to the register.

“you really should go home, i shouldn’t keep you here because of some coffee.”

you eyes stung and were puffed in redness, you nose dried yet running, eyebrow lines permanent from warding off a migraine. any other customer you would stay for, but you felt less guilty with him. not because you didn’t care, because you knew he did.

“yeah, thank you.” you grabbed your bag, put your empty water bottle into it and walked over to the lights, turning off the last ones, leaving you both in darkness. spencer was waiting for you, quite creepily as he was basically just a block of void. “you sure you don’t need your 3 minute lasagne?” you joked, and he smiled.

“no, this is fine.”

this? them? you thought this man was articulate.

you opened the door with a key-accessed button that automatically locked it after it closed, and walked into the warm streetlight with spencer.

“bye spencer.” you looked up to him only to find his eyes already on you. his face was plain of emotion, except maybe it was just the lighting that made you think he looked disappointed. not at you, at himself. he was silent, hands making their way into his pockets. it was a habit, you had learned. “what’s wrong spencer?” you asked softly, sniffling immediately after.

it was cold, the wind let a stray piece of hair cross your stuffy features.

“do you like old bookstores, y/n?”

you blinked, taken aback. “yeah. i like old bookstores.” you huddled into your sweater, a darker grey compared to his with a large font displaying your university.

“okay, goodbye y/n. see you tomorrow.” he hurried off into his car and you followed him with you eyes in curiosity.

you were already walking away before he could turn around and ask you something, he felt like he had missed his chance. but there would be more. spencer closed his eyes in frustration and took a breath, starting his car before texting the team’s group chat.

“Attempt One failed. 😐👎”

there was a string of messages after but he didn’t read them. all he could think about was the percentage of people who die alone, and then the percentage of people who are like you.

the next night he appeared at the normal time, around nearly 11pm. but he wasn’t the only one, logan was there with you, studying behind you on the floor.

she was bored, and needed to get out of her room, and the only person she knew well enough was you. there in her mens pyjama pants and an over-sized shirt that read ‘RIP Princess Diana’ with a photo of owen wilson on it, her computer warmed her lap and made a soft whirling sound the in the background.

“hi y/n.” spencer waved, he felt bad about last night. you were barely walking straight when you left and he could tell you wouldn’t get out of your ‘work clothes’ (whatever you wanted to wear with a vest over it) before falling onto your mattress, and he drove away. he didn’t even offer to take and walk you home, let alone give you a ride. but his hands were sweating and his heart thumping in his ears, and he couldn’t think straight.

“oh, hi spencer.” you turned from your own textbook splayed on the counter beside you to see spencer and his tall self. a bag of apples, a 2 minute bolognese container, and a bag of coffee. you scan them, weigh the apples, and watch him.

he wasn’t meeting you eyes. you furrowed your eyebrows for a second before telling him his total with a sniffle.

“i’m sorry for not driving you home,” he lifted his head, a piece of chocolate brown hair crossing his left eye, “or walking you home. or making sure you made it home safe.”

you widened your eyes slightly and sat still before spencer cleared his throat and continued, “i was nervous, about being around you. and my friends- my colleagues- told me i need to be more confident around you so.”

logan had stopped writing, glancing through her bangs up at you both. your mouth was slightly agape before you realised how stupid you looked and how awkward you were making it.

“oh- no it’s okay spencer, you don’t have to say sorry. i was- i’m fine. um,” you tilt your head with the corner of your lips quirking up with little resistance, “you talk about me to your friends?”

spencer nodded, put his hands in his pockets and thought for a second. he wished there was a better place to do this, a better person to take over for him.

all you have to do is talk.

spencer is great at talking.

“did you know that you could be scrolling for seven weeks before you can reach the end of ‘how to ask a girl out’ results on google? i was scrolling for a long time but then my friends told me to just talk and be confident, but i’m only good at one of those thing. so i was trying to ask you out last night but then i- well i failed basically, it isn’t my strong suit,” he took a breath, “so basically i’m saying sorry for not asking you out and not driving you home.”

it was silent, even a customer stopped humming.

“and also your allergy medication isn’t strong enough for your symptoms.” he glanced down to a white and blue box by your hand. you looked down, seeing logan in the corner of your eyes, hand covering her face.

“spencer-“

“dude just ask her out.”

spencer’s face dropped, and he looked over the counter to find another woman sat down, a cringed out expression on her face. his nervousness increased after he realised this wasn’t as private a conversation as he thought. wiping his hand on his vest, he continue with a gulp,

“no i can’t. not here, um. i’ll see you on monday. and i promise i’ll uh- be better? i’ll try again, so. okay see you on monday.” he quickly took his groceries and walked off quite speedily. you watched him walk away and then once he was out of sight, you simply stared at the box of allergy medication on the counter.

logan groaned in the background and said something about growing balls, but it was tv silence for you.

you didn’t know how to go out with someone, your last relationship was in your first year of high school with a guy who thought baby’s came out of a woman’s bum. not that spencer meant he wanted a relationship, no it could just be a friend ‘going out’. totally not romantic.

you slump and stuff your face in your hands. you didn’t care if you hadn’t dated for however long, he didn’t seem to be a man-whore at all. you just cared about how you were actually going to say yes to a man you’ve only talked to inside of an off-brand convenience store on the night shift.

you muffle a scream before the same silent customer placed a carton of milk on the counter.

“$2.50.” you grumble.

you carried logan’s computer bag as she took out a box of strawberry pocky on the sidewalk. the store was locked, the air was crisp, the light was flickering. you didn’t say much until logan couldn’t stand it anymore.

“you know when you’re this silent it’s actually pretty nice, i like peaceful walks home.” you nodded, and continued your racing thoughts with your line of vision stuck on the concrete as you both walked the block to your apartments. she sighed, “but it’s odd. you love talking. a guy likes you and you go mute?”

“his name is spencer, he does something dangerous for a living, he likes old books and drinks a lot of coffee. he gets home late at night, looks skinny but can lift a box of flour above his head with ease. he’s insanely smart and reads poetry, and helped me with my stem cell report.”

you look over at logan who looks a little disgusted but mainly confused.

“he helped me lift that box of flour without me asking. i have no idea who william blake is. i have no idea how he managed to put poetry in a biology report, and i have no idea how he can admit he’s going to ask me out and then not ask me out. his favourite colour is purple, his favourite fruit is grapes but he buys apples because they’re cheaper. and his name is… spencer.”

logan stopped in her tracks, making you copy. you flung out of whatever trance you were stuck in and raised an eyebrow at logan, “what?”

“what? oh no i don’t know, maybe you’ve just never told me about a man you happen to know a lot about, and yet don’t know anything about. you sound insane- not in the ‘loony-bin way’, in the romcom way. it’s disgusting.”

you both continued to walk, climbing the stairs to the foyer of your building before she took back her bag and gave you the pocky, mumbling, “you need these more than me.”

the elevator ride was mostly silent, and that continued before you both unlocked your apartment doors right beside each other.

“you need to ask him out, if he doesn’t do it first.” she entered her apartment before you could speak, let alone think.

suddenly your apartment felt lonely.

so did spencer’s.

he was cross legged on his plush couch on a call with penelope garcia, she was squealing every second minute trying to create a plan for spencer to ask someone out.

“spence, you’re making this very hard. how am i supposed to be your coach if i only have half a team?”

“you can find someone’s address with half a fingerprint, i think you’ll be fine.” he takes a bite of his 2 minute bolognese.

“that takes the fun out of it. i can only give you tips if i know her personality.”

spencer sighed, and thought for a second, he could practically hear penelope’s growing smile knowing she had won.

“her names y/n.” garcia squealed. “she’s smart and pretty. and her favourite colour’s purple and she studies biology. she knows my groceries off my heart and she’s allergic to pollen. she works late at night at the convenience store two blocks away from my apartment building, and she likes old book stores. she’ll be introverted around an extroverted person, but extroverted around an introverted person. she can read my expressions faster than anyone else, she tries out different hairstyles when nobody’s in the store, and she’s funny.” spencer smiles to himself, “she’s pretty.”

“you mentioned that, lover boy.”

pt.4

taglist: @jeffswh0re @hypotheticallyspeakingwitch @trashmonstersara @wannabewolf @evysian @navs-bhat @mywellspringoflife @daphnesutton @smalls155 @amortencjja @anuncalledbridge @belsreid @redmurderbaby @tatilolz @criminalmindsandhouse @forensicuntology @nomajdetective @ilikw @screechingphantommaker

[holyblonded]

reds vs blues | always sunny is australia

pairings: sam kerr x teen!reader, chelsea wfc x teen!reader, arsenal wfc x teen!reader

summary: chelsea’s team bonding day at sam’s place, so they millie take the opportunity to trying to get you the chelsea

notes: i think this is my favorite chickie story

You enjoyed routines. They made you feel safe, grounded, like you had control over at least one part of your life.

Today was an off day, which meant you could follow your usual off-day schedule with no interruptions. Wake up at 5:45 AM, brush your teeth at 5:47 AM, breakfast—toast, eggs, and a protein shake— at 5:50 AM, and then a morning run and workout at 6:00 AM.

By the time you were jogging back to the house, sweat dripping down your back, you already had the rest of the day planned out in your head. After showering, you and Sam would go grocery shopping with the list Kristie had made for you both, and then you could spend the rest of the day relaxing. Routine. It was perfect.

Except when you pushed open the front door, expecting the usual peace of your home, you were instead met with a brick wall.

Except the brick wall was moving. You blinked up, heart racing, only to come face-to-face with Millie Bright.

Your body did what it always did when startled—fight or flight kicked in. And today, it was fight.

“OH HELL NO!”

Millie barely had time to react before you threw a punch. Luckily—or maybe unluckily—your fist never connected because suddenly, strong arms wrapped around your waist and lifted you off the ground.

“Chickie, stand down!” Sam yelled, laughing but also clearly trying to prevent an international incident.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘STAND DOWN’? THERE’S AN INTRUDER IN OUR HOUSE!” you shouted, still flailing as Sam held you back.

“Mate, I’m the intruder? You just tried to knock me out in my own teammates house?” Millie asked, looking half amused, half impressed as she rubbed her chest.

That’s when you finally registered the amount of people in the living room. Chelsea players. All of them.

Your eyes darted around, taking in Erin Cuthbert, Guro Reiten, Zećira Mušović, and—oh god, why did it have to be Lauren James witnessing your public humiliation?

“What… what the hell is going on?” you breathed out, still slightly squirming in Sam’s grip.

“Yeah, so funny thing,” Sam said, grinning sheepishly. “I may have forgotten to tell you that the Chelsea squad was coming over for team bonding today.”

“TEAM BONDING?” you shrieked. “AND YOU DIDN’T THINK TO WARN ME?”

“I was gonna tell you!”

“WHEN?”

“…Probably after your run.”

“Well, you didn’t!” you huffed, glaring at her. “And now I just tried to punch your captain in the face!”

“You did try that,” Millie chuckled. “Gotta say, fast reflexes. Respect.”

“Yeah, no, I’m gonna go curl up in a hole and never come out again,” you muttered, hiding your face in your hands.

“Oh, come on, don’t be embarrassed,” Erin teased. “If anything, this just makes you an honorary Chelsea player. Half of us probably wanted to punch Millie at some point anyway.”

“Wow, okay,” Millie scoffed. “This is what I get for being nice?”

The room burst into laughter, and despite your burning embarrassment, you couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle too. Sam finally let go of you, but not before ruffling your hair like you were a misbehaving puppy.

“Welcome to Chelsea’s team bonding, Chickadee,” she said, still grinning. “You’re stuck with us now.”

You sighed dramatically. “This is literally the worst day of my life.”

“Oh, it’s only getting started,” Lauren said with a smirk. “We’re playing Mario Kart later. Hope you’re ready.”

You groaned. Routine was officially ruined.

The Chelsea squad should have known better than to challenge you at FIFA. You were unstoppable.

One by one, they had fallen. Erin, Lauren, Niamh, Erin, Guro, all of them left shaking their heads as you cruised through every match like a seasoned pro. It had gotten to the point where they weren’t even playing for fun anymore; they were playing to try and salvage what little dignity they had left.

“You’re a menace,” Lauren muttered, tossing the controller down after yet another humiliating loss. “This isn’t even fun anymore.”

“It’s fun for me,” you said with a smug grin, stretching your arms behind your head like you’d barely broken a sweat.

“Yeah, we got that,” Niamh grumbled, flopping down dramatically on the couch.

Millie, who had been watching the massacre unfold, cracked her knuckles and grabbed a controller. “Alright, move aside, amateurs. Time for the big guns.”

“Oh, this should be good,” Erin snickered, nudging Guro.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Millie said, rolling her shoulders. “You’re all just mad you couldn’t get the job done. I am about to end this reign of terror.”

You snorted. “You sure about that?”

“Absolutely.”

Millie set up her team with the focus of someone preparing for war, but you noticed the smirk playing on her lips as she spoke again.

“So, Chickie,” she started casually, too casually, “what’s your contract situation at Arsenal again?”

You narrowed your eyes, already sensing the setup. “One-year deal.”

Millie’s smirk grew. “Interesting. Interesting. Y’know, Chelsea’s got some open spots next season. Big club, lots of trophies, amazing facilities…”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m a Gunner, Millie.”

She clicked her tongue. “No, you’re currently a Gunner. You could be so much more.”

You focused on the screen, determined to ignore her as the match kicked off. But that didn’t stop the entire Chelsea squad from jumping in.

“Imagine playing in blue,” Lauren mused. “Wouldn’t that suit you so much better?”

“Imagine all the assists you’d get from me,” Erin added.

“You and Sam, back to playing together again,” Niamh sighed dreamily. “A beautiful homecoming story, really.”

“Better wages, better teammates, better club,” Millie emphasized.

“Arsenal’s literally above you in the table right now,” you shot back.

The room erupted into gasps and dramatic reactions.

“OH, SHE WENT THERE.”

“COLD-BLOODED.”

Millie, still locked into the game, smirked. “You don’t have to answer now, but just think about it, yeah?”

You shrugged. “I am thinking about it.” Then, without breaking a sweat, you slotted a goal past her keeper and leaned back with a smug grin. “And my answer is still no.”

Millie groaned, raking a hand through her hair. “Oi, Sam, help me out here.”

Sam, who had been lounging on the couch watching all of this unfold, just shook her head with a knowing grin. “Nah, I already tried and failed. Not getting into this one. Besides, I let her make her own choices.”

Millie gawked at her. “You’re actually useless.”

The Chelsea girls immediately turned their teasing onto Sam.

“Wow, Sam, you had one job.”

“Captain Kerr, failing her Chelsea recruitment mission?”

“Embarrassing for you, really.”

“Alright, alright, enough,” Sam huffed, waving them off. “I don’t see any of you convincing her either.”

Meanwhile, you scored again, making Millie throw her head back in despair.

“This is rigged,” she groaned. “We’re running this back. Best of three.”

“I’ve already beaten everyone here,” you taunted. “Do you really wanna embarrass yourself further?”

Millie pointed at you. “One more game. If I win, you have to consider Chelsea.”

You thought about it for a second before smirking. “And if I win?”

Millie paused. “…What do you want?”

You grinned. “You have to record a video, in full Chelsea gear, saying London is red and post it on your story.”

The entire room exploded.

“Oh my god, do it.”

“There’s no way you’d actually agree to that.”

“Millie, your reputation’s on the line here.”

Millie exhaled deeply, staring at the screen like it had personally wronged her. Then, after a long pause, she sighed. “Fine. Let’s do this.”

Two minutes later, you were up 3-0.

Millie, groaning, dropped the controller and buried her face in her hands.

“You’re making me say London is red,” she mumbled.

“You agreed to it,” you said cheerfully.

The Chelsea squad was howling with laughter. Sam looked like she was about to cry.

“This is the best day of my life,” Lauren wheezed.

Millie lifted her head just enough to glare at you. “I hate you.”

You just smirked. “Keep trying, Bright. It’s never gonna happen.”

“You better cherish this moment because it’s never happening again,” Millie grumbled, arms crossed, glaring at your phone like it had personally wronged her.

You grinned, holding up the camera. “Alright, go on then.”

Millie inhaled deeply, like she was preparing to walk through fire. “London is red,” she said, voice flat, eyes dead inside.

“Louder,” you prompted, barely containing your laughter.

Millie shot you the filthiest look, but she had no choice. The entire Chelsea squad was watching, waiting, smirking. So, through gritted teeth, she repeated, “London is red.”

You smirked, tilting your head. “And what about Chelsea?”

Millie exhaled through her nose like a bull seeing red. “…Second best.”

That was it. That was the moment the room exploded.

Erin was howling, clutching her stomach. Lauren collapsed onto the couch, wheezing. Guro had to lean against the wall for support.

“This is history,” Lauren gasped, wiping fake tears from her eyes.

“You actually made her say it,” Erin wheezed.

Guro just shook her head in disbelief. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

Millie, still fuming, muttered something under her breath before reluctantly posting the video to her Instagram story. The moment it went live, her phone blew up.

Within seconds, Leah Williamson reposted it with a million laughing emojis and the caption: The biggest win of the season.

Beth Mead added: Millie Bright, Arsenal’s newest signing?

Alessia Russo posted it with: She really said it with her chest followed by a crying emoji.

Even Millie’s own England teammates were absolutely roasting her.

“Delete it,” Millie grumbled, burying her face in her hands.

“Nope,” you chirped. “That’s staying on the internet forever.”

She groaned, slumping forward onto the couch. “I hate you so much.”

You patted her shoulder. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

A few hours later, the Chelsea girls invited you to lunch. After the FIFA massacre and Millie’s public humiliation, you figured you deserved a good meal. And for the most part, it was a nice, normal lunch. You were sitting next to Sam, deep in conversation about how adjusting to English seasoning was, when suddenly—

“So, Chickie…”

You froze. That tone. That voice. You knew exactly what was coming.

“No,” you said immediately.

Millie frowned. “I didn’t even say anything yet.”

“I know what you’re gonna say.”

Erin smirked from across the table. “We all know what she’s gonna say.”

Millie ignored her, leaning in with a conspiratorial smile. “Listen, I just think you’d look really, really good in Chelsea blue.”

You groaned, dropping your head onto the table. “Millie, give it a rest—”

“No, hear me out—”

“No!”

“You, Sam, same team again, beautiful reunion—”

“Millie.”

“A club that actually wins trophies—”

Lauren snorted into her drink.

“You wanna get sued for slander?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Millie just grinned. “All I’m saying is, we can make this happen.”

You turned to Sam, desperate for backup. “Please tell her to stop.”

Sam, sipping her drink casually, just shook her head. “Nah. I already tried and failed. Not getting into this one.”

Millie gasped dramatically. “Sam, you already had your go. Stay out of this.”

The entire table erupted into laughter.

“Sam, come on man.”

“One job, just the one.”

Sam just rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

The next day at training, you were casually chatting with Alessia, Kyra, and Vic about Millie’s relentless recruitment efforts.

“She just won’t quit,” you sighed, shaking your head.

Kyra, nearly choking on her water, laughed. “She’s obsessed.”

Alessia smirked. “I knew she’d try something, but this is actually ridiculous.”

“What’s ridiculous?”

You turned to see Leah Williamson standing a few feet away, arms crossed, her face unreadable.

“Oh, Millie keeps trying to convince me to join Chelsea,” you said casually, completely oblivious to the way Leah’s entire soul seemed to leave her body.

“She what?!”

Kyra, Alessia, and Vic started dying on laughter. Leah on the other hand looked like she was about to have a full-blown panic attack.

You blinked at her, confused. “Yeah, I told her I’m a Gunner.”

Leah stared at you. You, standing there all innocent, all cute, completely unaware of the chaos you had just caused. Something in her snapped— before she even knew what she was doing, she stepped forward and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I have taught you well.”

Then, without another word, she turned on her heel and marched toward Renee.

You frowned. “Uh… what is she doing?”

Alessia, still laughing, clapped you on the back. “Oh, you’ll see.”

From across the field, you could see Renee’s eyes widen as Leah started talking. Renee’s hands were in the air. She was pacing, looking like she was about to combust. Then, she vanished.

And when she reappeared just before lunch, she looked way too pleased with herself. She plopped down next to you on the bench and grinned. “Just a heads up—there’ll be some changes to your contract soon.”

You frowned. “What? Why?”

Renee just patted your shoulder like you were a clueless child, which you were. “No need to worry about it.”

You were so confused.

By the time you got home, Kristie and Sam were waiting for you, smirking.

“Uh… what’s going on?” you asked warily.

Kristie leaned against the counter, looking smug. “Arsenal increased your release clause.”

Your jaw dropped. “Wait, what?”

Sam shrugged. “They basically made sure Chelsea can’t afford you.”

You blinked. The realization hit you like a truck. “Wait— Leah did this?!”

Kristie and Sam burst into laughter.

You groaned, flopping onto the couch. “Oh my god, I’m never gonna hear the end of this.”

Somewhere, in another part of London, Millie Bright was probably screaming.

[lush-escape]

The Vigilante's Guide to Grief

pairing: Jason Todd x f!reader wc: 2k a/n: this chapter had me stumped. it's been a long time since I've written angst and I'm (unfortunately for yall) so happy to hear how upset it's making some of you lmao prev: anger next: depression

Stage four: Bargaining

Jason sits at his desk for the first time in weeks. He's staring at the notebook in front of him. He can remember the last time he tried journaling. The way he felt after, the way he spent almost five hours at the gym with Dick to calm himself down.

It felt awkward for him now trying to get back into it - the same way he felt the first time he tried journaling. But he pushed through the heavy feeling in his chest and picked up his pen.

hey,

it's officially July. I haven't written in a while I'm sorry. I don't know what it is about the heat that makes people crazier. Penguin went on a fucking rampage that took days to stop. I'm exhausted. I haven't been in the best head space either. Canceled a bunch of appointments with Christy. She said she understands but I know she's disappointed. I don't really want to tell her “sorry I'm actually Red Hood and I was chasing down a crazy guy who goes by the name Penguin with Batman. I need some normalcy in my life. I'm just tired of feeling like I'm letting down everyone in my life because of Red Hood. But I don't know anything else. Not that it's a fucking surprise.

It's your (official) one year anniversary with Jason and you were so excited to spend the night with him. He promised he would be home early, said that B just needed his help with a case and that it shouldn't take more than a few hours. You believe him, of course you do, despite the small bubble of anxiety in your stomach that kept whispering: ”he's going to bail”.

You can't let yourself be negative like that - not right now, you tell yourself. So you go grocery shopping wanting to cook a special dinner for the two of you and a dessert for after.

That evening everything was perfect. Dinner cooked to perfection, dessert smelled heavenly, you put on your best outfit. The one that you knew made Jason go a little feral every time you wore it. The table was set.

You sat excitedly at the table that was set with your best dishes, fresh flowers in a small vase he got you for Valentine's day, candles lit. Picture perfect.

“Be there soon.” The text from him read. The text from two hours ago.

Three hours ago.

Four and a half hours ago.

The candles burned out. Dinner is cold, bad now. And you sit there with tears in your eyes. Stupid. You feel stupid. You told yourself that you should have known a case with Bruce would mean he wouldn't make it home in time for dinner, but you held out hope.

Everything gets angrily thrown into the garbage. Dinner, dessert, the candles, the flowers. You stack the dishes in the sink and spray them off with tears rolling down your cheeks.

“Idiot…” you mumble under your breath before taking yourself to bed.

You're sleeping is interrupted several hours later, you didn't even hear Jason come home. But you definitely feel the way he slowly crawls over you in bed. One knee beside you, arms on either side of your head.

“Hey, hey-” he coos softly, voice rough when he feels you stirring.

“God I'm so sorry.” Jason kisses your temple before moving to the apple of your cheek, warm breath ghosting over your cool skin.

You're still angry, unbelievably so. But the second he's on you apologizing you deflate against your will. Of course you want to talk about what happened, be mad about it, but you also just want to be with him, want him to make you feel better.

“You didn't even text me.” You whisper.

“I know, I know. Two Face made a move an’ we went after him.” He's pressing his body weight against you, one hand on your waist while the other holds him up. He kisses down your cheeks to your jawline.

You tell yourself you can't be mad at him for that, you knew Red Hood came first - that's how it was since he was Robin and you knew that's how it would always be.

With a soft hum, mixing in with a sigh, you put your hands on the back of his neck. “You bailed on our anniversary.” You state it as a simple fact.

“I know, baby, I know. Trust me,” he kisses down the column of your throat and you tilt your head to the side, “I pray to God every day that I was different, that I could give you a normal life.” He presses an open mouthed kiss to your pulse.

“Don't want normal,” you breathe out a moan, “just want you.”

You feel Jason's lips twitch, like he's holding back a smile. “You got me, sweet girl.”

I know you'd get all huffy and cute with me and tell me something stupid like I don't need to change. Part of me thinks I do. I still pray to God that I could have been different for you. Normal. Then maybe you'd still be here.

Jason sits back in the chair and just stares at the paper in front of him. Praying to God… Even growing up Catholic with everything that happened to him, continues to happen to him, he's not sure he believes in much of anything anymore. The only thing he knows for sure is that evil exists in the world.

But he still clearly remembers the last time he truly prayed.

Jason was a mess, a wreck. He feels about as numb and dissociated as he did when he crawled his way out of his own grave. His mind was a foggy, jumbled mess. His head felt stuffy from crying as he made his way down the sidewalk. He was wandering aimlessly through Gotham. He wasn't even sure what time it was, just that it was dark and quiet on the street.

And then he stops, seeing a familiar set of steps out of his peripheral. He wipes at his nose with the sleeve of his jacket before looking up at the massive cathedral before him. Without thinking Jason's body moves on autopilot, pulling him up the steps.

He ignores the voice on his head telling him to leave, that it wouldn't be open, not this late at night. His hand is on the handle pulling the heavy door open. The high walls feel overwhelming as his feet carry him to the pew at the front of the cathedral. He sits with a heavy slump. Ornate stained glass windows glare at him.

Jason's not sure why he's here. The last time he was here was when he came with you and your family for Christmas. While neither of you were heavily devout you had promised your mom you would bring Jason along for the family tradition.

His eyes are heavy and dry from crying. He stares half lidded at the statue of Jesus that stands in the very center of the apse. Part of him wants to scoff.

“What a load of shit.” He whispers to himself with a rough voice. He can't remember the last time he spoke out loud, something other than crying. He knows you would scold him with a smile on his face for swearing in church. He hates the thought.

With a sigh he folds his hands together and rests his elbows on his thighs, his forehead connects with his hands. He sits like that in silence for several minutes before the tears start back up.

“‘s not fair.” The words come out in a wet whisper. He shakes his head. “Why couldn't things be different? They should have been different. She should be here.” He sniffles loudly.

“Why couldn't I save her? Please,” he whispers desperately. He opens his red rimmed eyes and stares at the statue.

“Please, please.” His voice shakes with each syllable. His cries grow louder, unabashed, all consuming.

“Please bring her back. Please. She didn't deserve this- didn't deserve any of this. Not me, not my bullshit.” Jason's shoulders shake as he sobs.

“I ruined her… it's my fault. Please, you have to take me instead.” He begs like the statue of Jesus can simply snap its fingers and replace Jason with you.

“I already died once, dammit. Please! You have to take me instead. You gave me a second chance when I didn't deserve it! I came back! Why can't she? You have to bring her back! I have to make this right. I have to tell her I'm sorry, I-” he breaks.

Jason cries roughly. His arms fold over his thighs and he cradles his head in his hands. “I have to tell her how much I love her. Just one more time, please.” His voice cracks again. He's not sure how long he sits there crying but he lets himself do so freely.

He doesn't remember falling asleep on the hard bench that he barely fits on. The sound of a door opening jolts him awake. His back and hips are stiff and he's congested from crying himself to sleep. He swipes at his face with his jacket sleeve again. His head pounds from dehydration.

“Good morning,” comes a sudden voice. It's calm, gentle.

Jason's disoriented for a second before he blinks the sleep from his eyes, “Morning, Father. I'm sorry, I'm leaving right now.” He says in a mumble.

The priest shakes his head as he walks over to Jason, a warm smile on his face.

“What brings you here, Mr. Todd?” He asks. There's a sympathetic tone in his voice that makes Jason bristle.

“How do you remember my name?” Jason asks, voice nasally. “Haven't been here in months…”

“Of course I remember you. Your soul is troubled.”

Jason stiffens, “Don't think they give you one'a those the second time ‘round.” He grumbles.

He smiles softly at Jason again but says nothing, waiting for him to answer his question.

“I um… came to pray. I think.” Jason answers, looking down at his folded hands in his lap.

“You think? What were you praying for, son?” His voice is so sympathetic and gentle that Jason almost hates him for it.

“I-” he clears his throat, “I lost someone. Someone important to me.” And immediately the priest knows who he's talking about, having spoken with your family about your passing despite being no contact with them.

“Ah, I'm sorry to hear-”

“Why wasn't it me?” Jason blurts out before he can stop himself, cutting the priest off. He's momentarily taken back by Jason's outburst.

“It should have been me. It's my fault she's gone.”

The priest is silent before he speaks again, “He forgives you.” He offers softly.

Jason scoffs, “Yeah? Bullshit. He doesn't forgive me. How could he? She was so good, so perfect and I got her killed. Me. A good for nothing. He hates me for getting her killed, ruining her-” his chest tightens and suddenly it's hard to breathe. It's ragged and rough. He's spewing his own projections, his own feelings.

“Son,” the priest goes to place a comforting hand on Jason's shoulder but he's standing before he can.

“I have to go. I'm sorry, Father.” Jason murmurs before heavy footsteps lead him out of the church.

Jason shakes his head and rubs his temple.

Praying doesn't do shit.

He slams the notebook closed.

taglist: @thy-crimson-king @vellichor01 @theendofthematerialgworl @tinasdcstuff @4rachn3 @cecebookworm

[sainzproductions]

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐨 ⋆ 𝐜. 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐳

THE OTHER WOMAN / SEQUEL !

where you acclimate to the current dating scene after eight years of being with carlos...

liked by lewishamilton, charles_leclerc and others

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↶*ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊ-

You felt like you had done a good job all by yourself. You took your sweet time getting used to being alone again, having spent the better part of the past decade accompanying carlos and living together with him.

As embarassing as it was to admit, there were days where you'd wake up abruptly as if hearing his footsteps, or the faint rumble of his voice lulling you to sleep. There were moments where you'd break down crying upon seeing an article of clothing belonging to carlos, or seeing pictures when you were still happily together.

It wasn't easy to forget an eight year relationship. You soon realized. He was all you've ever known and adored... You dreamt a life with the guy for crying out out loud!

You wanted all the permanent things, the domestic future, him.

But the reality was that you were different people who wanted starkly different things in life. Carlos was set on his career while you had the burden of being a woman. You didn't have forever to waste away, and you didn't want to spend it waiting for a future that could never be in the stars for you and him.

You had accepted it. It wasn't all tears, and tearful reminiscing anyways. Your life had picked up after a couple of weeks. It was a lie. You spent a month and a half being pathetic. But who was counting?

You were having the time of your life. Your singleness provided a way for you to realize new and old hobbies.

You finally went back to your hometown, despite your fears of facing your parents' knowing looks and getting an ill timed i told you so's from their ever skeptic way of seeing life. Especially your relationship with Carlos..

But your mother took one look at you; in your deshieveled and devastated form, wordlessly opening her arms and craddling your pathetic self as you wept about your broken heart.

You found peace in the tranquility of your childhood home. Reacquainting yourself with your horse, champion whom you had been neglecting— you realize belatedly. The help couldn't take the horses out that much, where you formerly took the stallion out for most of the day. You made sure to make up for lost time however.

You were also able to rekindle old friendships, quickly becoming fast friends once again as if no time had passed at all. You traipsed all over Madrid, enjoying the thrill of meeting new people, of learning new things... And how forward the current dating scene seemed to be in regards to matters concerning...

"Wait, wait." You press a hand towards his broad chest, breathing roughly. Your chest rose and fell with excitement as you tried to come down from how fast the things had quickly become heated between the two of you. "We're going a bit too fast, don't you think?" You whine under your breath, as his face came down to press open mouthed kisses on your neck, easily finding your most sensitive spot as he expertly manouvers your body, backing you up against the wall.

"Relax. We won't do anything you don't want." He says, softening his tone, "I'm not a hooligan." He tuts, pressing a feather like kiss on the side of your lips.

"Says the man who pulled me into a dark room to play tonsil tennis." You retort amusedly, stroking your fingers on his neck. You couldn't help but close your eyes at the sensation of his lips against your skin, his fingers making quick work of slipping under your skirt, and you hissed from the sensation of his cold rings against your thighs, "You're cold!"

"Warm me up then, love." He was evidently amused by your reactions and the way your cheeks flushed at his crude remark. He wiped away every other thought from your mind, as he kisses you wantonly. He made sure to hold your gaze as he pulls away, sinking down to his knees... and kissing your thighs softly. "Beautiful. So fucking beautiful. I couldn't think of anything else when you walked into the room. Nobody else mattered but you... you're bad for my business, darling."

You could hardly register anything else after that

↶*ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊ-

The breakup came with the long forgotten territory of male attention. Sure, there were some bold and uncaring lads few and far between, but Carlos had quickly shut down every attempt with a swift glare and a possesive hand over you. You didn't mind. You only needed him and his attention and everyone else were merely annoying backnoise.

As it is, your breakup was made public through the urging of Carlos' management and his public relations team. You cooperated seamlessly despite being civil, to the point of rudeness, to their every demand.

How ironic was it that through his blatant act of wanting to separate himself from you and everything else that had to do with you; he made a declaration to the world that you were readily available.

Your dms were sure packed to the brim when you'd later had the energy to do anything asides from the basic tasks of taking care of yourself. You couldn't laugh nor cry upon seeing several of carlos' work acquaintances making their presence known in your dms. You even saw his former (and possibly current) teammates taking their shot.

You couldn't help but wonder for how long has he been... Non committal towards his best mates about your real score. They couldn't possibly muster up the courage had it been the true duration of your separation. Men aren't that proactive. They atleast had some base sense of loyalty.

Then again, it didn't take very long for him to be spotted with some model on his arm. He looked happy, invigorated... Annoyingly handsome. Fuck him and his perfect face. You wished you atleast threw a heel at him for being a dickwad.

Were you seeing other people out of spite or trying to prove yourself to him? You wouldn't exactly say so. You'd had an agreement with the well established, and good looking gentleman who had made you tremble and writhe under his tongue. He was incredibly lax and cool, and great company in every sense of the word. He made you laugh, he also made you cry just now.

And so while you made yourselves look presentable, you were first out the door while he waited a few minutes to make his entrance into the party again. You gratefully took a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, wetting your parched throat as you looked around as normally as you could. Blending in with the fancy people in their cocktail dresses and designers.

You heard footsteps approaching after a few moments. Another man spotted him, and he grinned in recognition upon the sight of the ever famous....

"Sir Hamilton!"

[magicalrocketships]

Rivers of Light || part 8 ||

(reminder that this in its entirety contains mpreg, reference to giving birth, Max Verstappen's bad dad, past abuse, and on-track accidents.)

All previous parts can be found in the masterpost here.

Daniel is gone for over an hour, which is a long time to just be buying baby wipes.

Part 8

Daniel is gone for over an hour, which is a long time to just be buying baby wipes.

In the meantime, Max moves the pillows into a nice little stack so that Bastiaan can sit propped up against them. He lists to one side if given half a chance, but he likes being in the hotel room with his daddy, and out of his baby seat. He likes the soft baby lamb rattle and holding on to his giraffe by the neck. He also likes the jangle of Max's keys out of his pocket.

Max grimaces as he puts the compression top back on. It chafes and has little damp patches on the inside where he's leaked milk earlier in the day. He really hadn't anticipated the leaking. He hadn't known that was a thing that happened. He doesn't know what other parents do to stop it. He's not got anyone to ask. He puts his t-shirt back on over the top and sits back on the bed with Bastiaan all propped up next to him. His little baby.

He doesn't text Daniel asking him where he is. It's a lot asking someone to be in the same space as a baby all day long. Max likes spending time with Bastiaan. They're only just learning about each other, but Bastiaan is his favourite person. And he really is becoming a little person now, with his little frowny face and his little smile just for Max. It's okay that Daniel isn't here. Max has been fine for a long time now. He's got used to being alone. He got used to not having Daniel for a friend a long time ago.

"It'll be nice to go home, won't it?" He tells Bastiaan, leaning in to kiss his little downy head. "Where our things are."

Bastiaan is focused on his rattle instead. He's managed to half-lose a sock even just sitting here. Max pulls it back up. He isn't sure where Bastiaan is going to sleep. He'd planned on holding him in the airport, so he didn't have to spend all night in the car seat, but he doesn't know here. Daniel had said something about sorting that out when he'd left to go to the shop, so maybe they have cribs in the hotel. Bastiaan's never slept in a crib. He has a Moses basket at home, and Max has it next to him on the bed. They're always very near each other.

When the hotel door opens, Max almost jumps half out of his skin, and so does Bastiaan. He makes a startled little cry of surprise and drops his giraffe.

"It's just us," Daniel says, half-kicking open the door. He's carrying a big shopping bag and behind him a hotel porter is pushing a very large cardboard box in on a cart. "I got you baby wipes."

Max picks up Bastiaan, kissing the top of his head. "Did you buy a lot of them?" He indicates the giant box, but Daniel is too busy sliding the box off the cart and tipping the guy pushing it to reply. "What is it?"

Daniel lets the hotel room door close after the porter and his cart. "Ta-da," he says. "I got you a carrycot."

Max turns his head to one side to look at the picture on the side of the box. It says Bugaboo. "Daniel," he says, while trying to soothe Bastiaan who's two seconds from bursting into tears.

"The baby needed somewhere to sleep," Daniel says. "So I got him somewhere to sleep."

"For one night?" Max asks stupidly. He doesn't understand.

Daniel is already opening the boxes. It's a black pushchair frame and a black carrycot. He's taking it out of the plastic and clicking it all together. "The carrycot can sit on here or you can have it next to you overnight. I don't know how you and Bastiaan sleep, but it's better than having to use one of the hotel cribs."

"What will you do with it in the morning?" Max asks. He jiggles Bastiaan up and down, because Bastiaan isn't used to other people and big noises. It's sad that Bastiaan only really knows Max. Other people would love him very much if they knew him.

"Well, you can take it, obviously," Daniel says, upending his shopping bag of things onto the little table. There's a new baby sleeping bag with little giraffes on. A three-pack of baby wipes. Other things.

"I can't take it on the plane," Max says. He's too tired to understand why Daniel's bought him a new pushchair. He has one. The car seat clips into it. He only has one baby.

"Well, about that," Daniel says. "Half the reason I flew up here was because I needed to pick the car up. So I'm actually driving back? Tomorrow? And I thought maybe I could drive you and Bastiaan? We can stop as much as you like then, take it easy. Give Bastiaan a nice trip back and me and you can catch up."

"I have plane tickets," Max says, because he does. They're non-refundable. He's paid for them.

"Door to door comfort," Daniel says, waving his hand at the pushchair. He bends down to get something from the table, and when he comes up, he's holding a small pink cuddly rabbit. "Hey Bastiaan, I got you a present. I'm sorry you've had to wait until now to have it, but I didn't know about you before today." He grins his lovely big smile. He leans in and touches the pink rabbit to Bastiaan's little pink nose. For a moment Bastiaan looks like he's going to sneeze, but he's just confused. He reaches out, his little hand touching the pink fur. "There we go," Daniel says. "A little rabbit just for you. I hope you like it."

"He does," Max says. Bastiaan has three toys now. He's a lucky little boy. Max still doesn't understand about the pushchair. Or about anything. He feels very stupid and confused.

"You don't mind pink, do you?" Daniel asks, still showing the rabbit to Max's baby, but he's talking to Max. "They didn't have a blue one."

"It's just a colour," Max says, because it is. He likes pink. His dad never let him have anything pink when he was growing up.

"Okay," Daniel says. "Good."

He's still making faces at Max's bemused baby, but despite his frown, Bastiaan's attention is fixed. Max knows how he feels. He's been focused on Daniel since he was seventeen years old. Having Daniel not contact him after the accident was one of the worst things, outside of losing racing. His mum hadn't contacted him either, but Max understands that. His dad explained it. She only wanted a winner, and Max had lost everything. His dad had only wanted a winner too, but he'd been saddled with looking after him after his accident. Max was sorry for that, but he wasn't sorry for getting pregnant with Bastiaan. His baby is lovely. He's not sorry for leaving his dad behind. He's never, ever coming close to Bastiaan. Bastiaan won't ever know him or be scared of him. Max has promised. It was the first promise he ever made him.

"Well then," Daniel says. "Are you up for it? Road trip with me tomorrow? Door to door service with as many on the way stops as either of you could want or need?"

Max is so, so, so confused. He feels like he's been wading through mud for months. Daniel bought his baby somewhere to sleep. He bought him a baby sleeping bag and a soft pink rabbit. He might not have been nice to Max after his crash but he's being nice to Max's baby now, and Bastiaan barely has anyone. Bastiaan deserves people, and Max doesn't have anyone to give him.

"Max?" Daniel asks. For a second, his smile slips. "Please. I want to drive you home. I've missed you."

Max has to look away. He blinks away tears. He's not a crier. He doesn't understand why this is happening to him, now of all times. The idea of not having to get Bastiaan through an airport and onto and off a flight by himself. Of spending the night in a bed instead of sitting up in an airport. Of Daniel missing him, when Max wasn't the one who walked away.

"Max?"

Max doesn't look at him. He doesn't want to cry again. Doesn't want Daniel to know that he's close to it. "Okay," he says. "Yes. Okay." He doesn't think about the money he's wasting on the plane ticket. The second pushchair he doesn't need. Eight hours in a car with Daniel.

Daniel lets out a breath. "Okay," he says softly. "Good."

Max kisses Bastiaan, and keeps holding on.

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Lonely Nights

Two uploads in one day? I'm cooking. Also inspired by @/shurisneakers grumpy x grumpy works, go check her works out they're amazing

Summary: Attending a party with the man whose whole goal in life seems to be annoying you to no end goes...not exactly as planned

You've lost count of the number of parties Natasha has dragged you to attend. You're pretty sure this is at least the tenth one in the past month, which is ten times more than the number of parties you usually attend. Then again zero times ten is still zero so you're not sure how the math adds up.

Grabbing another glass of whiskey, you stare at the golden liquid swirling around, trying to drown out the noise in the background. Parties really are far too loud for your taste, the only good thing to come out of them is the free flow alcohol that you constantly take advantage of. The drinks taste even better knowing that the tab is on a certain genius playboy billionaire and so at every party you lurk at the bar, inhaling drinks until you get hungover.

Tonight, there's a newcomer — Bucky Barnes, also known as the Winter Soldier. Turns out he's Steve's best friend who was thought dead and you have to admit, the brunette is quite the handsome man, although you'd rather die than admit it out loud. He's currently following Sam who seems to be on a mission to talk to a girl for more than a minute, and from the look on his face, quite enjoying the other's multiple failures.

You take another mouth of whiskey and look away, relishing in the way the liquid burns on the way down. Natasha has disappeared, probably to outdrink yet another poor soul, leaving you all alone at the bar counter, not that you mind. You quite like the personal space and lack of need to socialise with another human being, two things that are currently being challenged by a certain brunette you were watching not too long ago.

"Go away."

"I see you've been learning some manners." He leans over to take a glass of whiskey for himself, downing half of it in one go.

"And I see you haven't." You glare at him.

"Maybe you should introduce me to your teacher, I might just learn some manners then." He simply smiles at you.

"Hmph." You turn back to your glass. "So what are you doing here?"

"Was invited to the party by Tony." He swirls his glass before downing the remaining half. "Same as you."

"I can tell. Why are you sitting right next to me after I told you to get lost?"

"I believe you said 'go away', not 'get lost'."

"Same thing." You pinch the bridge of your nose. He was getting on your nerves as always, you sometimes swore he saved all his cheek for you and you alone.

"Nope it isn't. One is asking me to simply leave, the other is asking me to lose all sense of direction —"

"Okay Mr Dictionary, didn't ask you for the difference between 'away' and 'lost'. Why are you still seated next to me?" You grab another glass from a passing waiter and immediately inhale one third of it.

"I'm tired and want to sit down." Bucky shrugs.

"There's plenty of other seats out there." You gesture to where the crowd is.

"Here seemed the most comfy, although the company it offers could use some work." He smirks, biting back an amused huff when you roll your eyes.

"Then go and find company elsewhere."

"But you'll be lonely. As a gentleman, I cannot stand by and let a lovely person such as yourself spend the night alone." He dramatically places a hand over his heart.

"Since when were you a gentleman?" You snort, knocking back more alcohol. You were going to need more if this bastard insisted on spending the rest of the night with you.

"Since the moment I saw you sitting here alone."

"How chivalrous. You want a lordship or something?"

He laughs, reaching over the counter and pulling out a bottle of vodka. "If only you could grant me one."

"Dunno. Could try pulling some strings or something, haven't tried granting anyone a lordship before. First time for everything, am I right?" You toss a bottle opener his way and he catches it, raising an eyebrow.

"Do you have this on you at all times?"

"Swiped it from the waiter just now. Was going to open one myself but since you've already taken one you might as well share. Sharing is caring, right?" You wave a hand.

"Then sharing this bottle would imply I care for you." He pops the cap open and starts chugging.

"Hey! I provided the bottle opener! I deserve some!" You yelp, rising from your seat. He easily dodges your attempts to grab the bottle from him and grins, waving it just out of your reach. Growling, you leap onto the counter and dash along it, successfully swiping the bottle from his surprisingly loose grip. Hopping back down, you gleefully wave the bottle before chugging the remaining liquid inside, letting out a satisfied sigh when not a drop is left.

"I win!" You cheer, laughing. All that alcohol is making you giddy and you lean a little too far backwards, stumbling towards the counter but before you can hit anything, a pair of arms wrap themselves around you, stopping your fall.

"Can't have you dying before granting me that lordship." Bucky grunts, placing you back onto your seat. You try to shove his arms off, making a face when he refuses to let go before resuming your scowl and crossing your arms.

"I'm not dying before you," you huff, annoyed. More importantly, you weren't about to die from a fall when you've survived aliens, gods, superhumans and everything in between.

"Congratulations on surviving purely out of spite all this while. Would you also like a gold medal?" Sarcasm drips heavily from his words.

"I'll take one." You don't miss a beat, even when tipsy. Bucky would admire that, really he would, unfortunately he's on the receiving end of your sass so it's already less admirable because of that. At least him being here means you won't be meeting your end via counters, he would miss all that wit and sarcasm if that were to happen. After laughing at your cause of death.

"Unfortunately I don't have one right now. Mind waiting for a bit, doll?" His lips quirk upwards ever so slightly.

"A gentleman making someone wait? What kind of gentleman are you?" You lift another snagged bottle to your lips, taking a swig.

"One that knows you're caring enough to share that bottle with me." He easily wrestles the half-drunk bottle from you, chugging the rest while keeping you at arms length with his forearm pressed against your chest. "Thank you for your generosity."

"You're not welcome!" You huff, futilely hitting his arm in an attempt to close the gap. He grins, turning the bottle upside down to show you there's not a drop left.

"Asshole." You scowl, gripping his arm tightly.

"My pleasure." His smirk is infuriating and with the alcohol clouding your mind, the moment he drops his arm you close the distance, wiping the smirk off his face with a kiss. Your lips connect and his eyes widen, but he kisses back, his metal arm snaking around your waist while his flesh one pulls you closer so that he can devour you.

Bucky's lips taste of vodka, whiskey and whatever else he drank before being your nuisance and it tastes good. You breathlessly pull away, cheeks flushed and grab a breath before diving back for another round.

"You're a pathetic kisser," you gasp after pulling away for air again.

"And still you want more." He licks his lips, ice blue eyes shining with mirth. "What does that say about you?"

"That I'm going to need to teach you how to kiss."

"Then teach me." He lifts your chin up. "The night's still young."

"Step one: shut up." Your lips crash into his again and he shuts up, savouring the kiss.

"Step two: don't stop." He murmurs, threading his fingers through your hair.

"Step three: eyes on me, only me." You press your forehead against his, feeling his warmth. "Took you forever to kiss me."

"You're the one who took forever, I was always open to it."

"Asshole."

"Idiot."

"You just asked an idiot to be your teacher."

"I don't mind this idiot being my teacher." His thumb runs over your bottom lip. "After all, this idiot is my idiot."

"Hate you."

"Love you too."

[plaguewormart]

Delicious Benitez whump concept because I think you would appreciate it:

Vincent's spent most of his life eating a very simple largely vegetarian diet, because most of the places he's worked there wasn't a lot of money to go around, and there were always better uses for it than buying meat. He usually didn't eat meat except for special occasions.

Then after he moves to the Vatican, due to the sudden and drastic diet shift to but richer foods he becomes quite ill.

Ooooooh I love this!! I kinda changed it a little bit because I wanted to draw out the suffering,,, hope u enjoy!!

Vincent had expected a lot of hardships to come from his role as pope. He had been well aware of the scrutiny of the press that would analyze his every move and word, had been expecting working long hours and spending countless days in meetings with diplomats and members of the Curia. He had known that the papacy would make him unable to ever live a normal life again.

What Vincent hadn’t expected was the constant nausea. During the conclave, when tensions were running high and he often skipped meals in order to pray for guidance or walk alone in the gardens whenever he had a chance, he had felt weak and tired, but in comparison to his normal routine of working from sunrise to sunset, his lack of energy and slight nausea had been nothing to worry about.

During his first weeks as God’s representative on earth, Vincent had assumed the sickness came from the anxiety of suddenly being one of the most famous men alive, suddenly in charge of the entire Roman Catholic Church. Whenever he woke up with an aching stomach or ended up on his knees in front of the toilet, he thought the illness came from the grief of leaving his flock behind.

It wasn’t until a month and a half had passed, that anyone noticed how Vincent seemed somehow skinnier than the already borderline malnourished man that had appeared in the office of the Santa Martha. How the new Holy Father would seemingly have to force himself to swallow the food presented to him by the nuns, as if each bite was torture.

The nuns panicked, thinking that the Pope disliked the food they were cooking, Aldo kept inviting himself over to the Holy Father’s table at meals to watch him eat, and Thomas was fretting over the pope as if he were an overprotective mother.

Vincent never complained. Whenever the nuns would ask him his favorite foods he would, to their great dismay, wave them off with a comment of appreciating every meal they cooked. When Aldo would gently try to pry about his eating habits and weight loss, Vincent would tell him that he would make sure to take better care of himself. When Thomas practically begged Vincent to tell him what was wrong, Vincent would reassure him that it was simply the stress of the papacy getting to him, and that he would surely become better at handling it as time went by.

But time didn’t remove Vincent’s ailments. He would keep going through the days burdened by not only the papacy but also the pain that never seemed to leave him alone. He would pray for guidance and help, for forgiveness - just in case his pain was some kind of punishment. For a while he considered that God was finally striking him down for the sin of being born with a uterus.

Three months into Innocent XIV’s papacy, the pope was invited to share a meal with some of Rome’s homeless population. Vincent had loved the idea, finally getting to interact with and help people in need instead of trying to lecture world leaders on the importance of basic human decency.

The lunch was great. Vincent hadn’t been that happy since before the conclave began. He got to share a table with men, women, and children who told him of their lives and the things they’d experienced. He could comfort the hurting and feed the hungry. He’d even been able to almost ignore the pain that had become his constant companion.

Until, of course, it all went wrong. A short while after finishing the meal, Vincent felt the now all too familiar sensation of nausea, and knowing that there was no way to prevent the inevitable, he quickly excused himself from the table. Yet, this time something felt different. The nausea was accompanied by a strange itching in his throat, and the strange sense that he could not get enough air to enter his lungs.

He only made it a couple of steps away from the table before he realized something was very wrong. It felt as if his throat was closing, and every breath became more difficult than the next. He clawed on his cassock, trying to pull it away from his throat as if it were the white vestment that was suffocating him.

Vincent heard a voice yelling something, and he recognized it as one of the homeless men he had just been dining with, but his mind was fuzzy and he couldn’t understand what was being said. As he felt his body start to give up, his knees folding underneath him and his vision blurring, the last thing he felt was fingers on his neck and hands lifting his legs into the air.

-

Vincent awoke to the sound of beeping and the sterile scent of a hospital. His mouth was dry and instead of his normal white cassock, he had been dressed in a flimsy blue gown. Next to him, on a chair, was Thomas. The man looked exhausted, his skin a pale, almost gray color, and dark bags were present underneath his closed eyes.

Vincent watched silently as Thomas moved from bead to bead on the rosary, his lips twitching in silent prayer. He wondered for a moment whether Thomas had regained his ability to pray, because it didn’t seem as if the man had any issues right now.

When Thomas opened his eyes and saw Vincent looking back at him, he nearly fell off his chair in surprise. “Vincent! You’re awake!” Vincent smiled at the man’s excitement, “I wouldn’t have you hold another conclave so soon.” He joked, only to be met with a stern expression.

“Well you nearly did, Your Holiness.” The title was spoken as if it were an insult. “You didn’t think to mention to anyone that you’ve been feeling sick? We’ve all been trying to get you to open up to us, and you’ve been saying that you’re fine!” Thomas pauses his rant, grabbing Vincent’s hand as the anger seems to drain from his body.

“I’m sorry for yelling, Vincent. But you nearly died. If it weren’t for Mr. Bilal, you would be dead.” This shocked him, he knew something had been wrong for quite some time now, but to have been that close to death? In a situation so much safer than most of his work had ever been?

“What happened?” He asked.

“You had an extreme allergic reaction. Anaphylactic shock, they said. Mr. Bilal used to work as a doctor in Syria, and managed to recognize the symptoms fast enough that the ambulance arrived in time to give you epinephrine.”

Vincent was confused, “allergic reaction?” He asked. “I don’t have any allergies.” Thomas looked at him with raised eyebrows and an expression that showed how stupid he thought the comment was. “Right, sorry, I obviously do… but I didn’t know that!”

Thomas sighed before speaking, his tone that of a tired man trying to explain something to a child. “You wouldn’t have known, for a while. But once you came to the Vatican, it should’ve been quite obvious. And I know that it has been. We’ve all seen you lose weight, leave meetings to throw up or try to skip meals whenever you feel sick, unfortunately we all assumed it was because of the stress… because that’s what you told us.”

Vincent grimaced at the frustration in Thomas’ voice. But calmed when the other man grabbed his hand in his own, gently caressing it with his thumb.

“The doctors believe you have an allergy to…” he pauses to squint his eyes at a paper lying on Vincent’s bedside table. “Galactose-alpha-1,3-galactose protein.” Vincent levels him with a blank look, conveying that he has no idea what Thomas is talking about. “Apparently it means you’re allergic to red meat.”

Vincent once again blinks in confusion. “But I’ve had red meat lots of times?”

“Apparently, you can develop this allergy through a tick bite. You probably got bitten and didn’t even realize it. But God…” Thomas runs a hand over his face. “You must have been feeling so sick, for months!”

Vincent nods shamefully. As he thinks back to the previous months, it all seems so obvious, how he’d suddenly started eating a whole new type of diet, and how he would never leave food on his plate, not wanting the nuns to think he didn’t appreciate their food. How he’d been feeling nauseous constantly and throwing up more often than he’d ever done before. The pain that had become part of him. And the fact that hiding it all could’ve killed him.

After that day, Thomas makes Vincent promise to never ignore medical problems again, and to always tell someone if he was feeling sick. Vincent promises to try to take better care of himself, and to start asking for help when he needs it.

5 months into the papacy of Innocent XIV, one Mr. Bilal receives a letter requesting his expertise as the private doctor for the pope.

[yusume-the-writer]

If you wouldn’t mind, can we get a bf!Orter Mádl x F reader.

Where Orter is being jealous and over protective bf, that whenever men come near or talk with reader that he just scares them off in a way. And when confronted about his jealousy he denies (as expected).

Sweet and happy ending! (take your time!)

It's not jealousy if it's just to protect your loved one

Orter Máld x Fem Reader

Request made by Anon, thank you very much for this idea

I'm sorry for the delay. I was kind of having a problem creating a scenario, but I hope you like it

We have to agree that Orter seems to be really overprotective, as he is a Divine Visionary who follows the rules to an extreme and has probably made a lot of enemies.

Gender: Fluff

Summary: During a meeting between Orter and his girlfriend, someone appears to interrupt the couple's moment

Today was a great morning

 Orter had missed a day off to spend with his lovely boyfriend (Name) as he was away because of work

So they spent half the morning in bed because of (Name)'s neediness (and also because Orter was hungry for her affection), and then they had breakfast and got ready to go out in the afternoon.

Now it was nighttime, and (Name) had mentioned a restaurant she wanted to try because of a friend's opinion.

And here they are both, in the restaurant while waiting for their orders to arrive

"A friend of mine said the sweets here are amazing! I can't wait to try them~" (Name) says in a childish tone similar to a child entering a candy store

"Okay, but be careful not to eat too much and get sick later" Orter says

"Okay dad, I'll be careful" She says while looking at him with a pout

"(Name) and you?!?" Suddenly an unknown male voice says

Then a guy appears that Orter has never seen in his entire life.

But it seems like (Name) does...

"Oh and you Kevin..." (Name) says while facing the stranger

 However... she didn't seem happy about this sudden encounter

"Yes! It seems like yesterday that we met" The man known as Kevin says, seeming ignorant about the presence of the Divine Visionary

 "Yes... because we work in the same office" (Name) says while looking at him as if he had asked a question that didn't even need to be asked because the answer was too obvious

Which was true, but Kevin thought he was a comedian

'There's the annoying colleague' Orter thinks as he remembers (Name) venting about how annoying and insufferable a colleague was and that he thought he was the guy for making uncle jokes

He wouldn't say it out loud, but he wants Kevin out of their sight now.

He just wouldn't say it out loud because (Name) would tease him about being jealous.

 "Yeah... anyway -" (Name) tries to tell Kevin to go away

"Me and the guys from work are gathered here, don't you want to come? It'll be fun." Kevin cuts (Name), and it seems like he doesn't want her to deny the invitation

"She's on a date at the moment," Suddenly Orter says, catching the attention of Kevin and (Name)

"... And who would you be, man?" Kevin says it in a confused and disgusted tone of voice.

And, of course, he would be disgusted. There is a man who seems to be a thousand times better than him in front of him

"Her boyfriend, now that you're on leave, could you get out of our sight" Orter says while facing Kevin

 Orter didn't look like it, but he was very angry

Kevin looked like he wanted to say something, but he couldn't say anything

He wouldn't admit how threatening Orter looked or how he stared at Kevin like he was nothing more than prey, not an insect.

No, it didn't even seem like that Orter considered him, but rather just unbearable dirt on a clean floor

And like any dirt, it could disappear and no one would care

... An awkward silence filled the room around Kevin

Then he left without saying anything and went towards a table with people who saw the situation.

As soon as they saw that Orter was also looking at them, they quickly turned around.

 "Heh~" A laugh echoes in front of Orter

As he faced the source of the sound, he found (Name) staring at him with a knowing smile.

"It looks like someone is jealous~"(Name) says while still staring at Orter

"...The food has arrived" Orter says as he changes the subject and faces the waiter who brought the orders

"Hey!!! Don't change the subject!"

"If you don't mention that, I'll buy all the desserts you want"

 ".....Closed"

𝑩𝒐𝒏𝒖𝒔

 Orter was in bed reading a book while waiting for (Name) to finish her skin treatment.

"Don't you think it's better not to read so much?" (Name) says while lying down next to Orter

Confused, Orter stares and raises an eyebrow for her to continue

"If you keep reading so much, your vision will get worse" (Name) begins. "And if you continue, every time you take off your glasses, instead of your eyes looking like 3 they will turn into 4" (Name) ends

Suddenly a pillow is thrown in her face

[pearlywritings]

Blade + the erhu, please and thank you!

(Miss pearly, is that another reference to the phantom of the opera? Just asking)

Crazy but this prompt was asked for Blade twice! And once again - yep, that's the reference! (hopefully you all are not fed up with me yet--) On side note - it's been always a challenge to write for this man and every single time I pray that I didn't fuck up his character,,,,,,,

Always there

pairing: Blade x reader

prompt: "I will wait for you"

word count: 812 words

~ The Music of the Night event ~

The ever-sullen Stellaron Hunter has always had a hard time understanding your reasons to stay by his side. It isn't obnoxious clinging or following him wherever he goes, or even intentional lingering in the shadows nearby like you are some kind of a stalker.

No, it is none of that. You are just… there.

Obviously you are always there - working for Elio at the base as the Hunter’s personal chef quite literally predestines it. Blade doesn't remember the details, but it had probably something to do with Kafka and her complaints about Silver Wolf’s eating routine. And his. And the fact you poisoned someone to the point of royally pissing the IPC, which put “Wanted” posters across the universe with your face on them and landed you in the care of Destiny's Slave.

What he means is…you are strangely there for him.

You notice the dishes he takes liking in (despite him dodging all your questions) and cook him those when you think he looks especially gloomy. Every time he departs on a mission, somehow you manage to send him off with a packed meal - either you slip it into his luggage, or pass it on through his assigned partner or simply distract with conversation and thrust the container right into his hands. Lately, as you two got closer, you also started adding self-made sedatives and sleeping medicine to his meals. Did he try to kill you for that? No, but he did suggest adding poison next time.

Which you never did.

Why did his sleep get better?

Of course, you’ve grown to be caring towards every member of the crew - making Kafka her favorites whenever she had a shitty day, gently but sternly forcing Silver Wolf to eat properly, coming up with ways to feed Firefly delicious food too and letting her help in the kitchen, and managing to fulfil wild requests Elio sometimes has.

But Blade feels like he is special to you. Even if it took him half a year to admit it to himself.

“I’ll be here as long as you need me,” you once told him, as you were stirring the pot and Blade came to the kitchen to hide from the girls who, led by Kafka, wanted to mess with him. Too focused on wrapping clean bandages around the fingers of his left hand, the man didn’t let the thought sink at first, but once he did, he said nothing.

Something told him these were not the words you said to everyone.

Why did they bring him an allusive sense of peace?

Later on he started spending time with you - in training. Being a chef and knowing your way with the knife is good, but, as you reasonably noted, you are a part of the Stellaron Hunters now. It’ll never hurt to learn to defend yourself. 

Blade has never been known to be gentle. No matter if you are a sword master or a newbie - he’d go hard on you anyway, putting you through a hell of a routine. He was honestly thinking you would’ve soon realized that such harsh treatment wasn’t for you and turned to one of the female members. However, every day he’s at the base, you come. You whine and huff from exhaustion, but don’t complain. You listen carefully to his instructions whenever he stops the fight to give them (and he does so rarely, preferring the learning through the ‘life or death’ combat). You lie on the floor of the training area every single time the training ends, look up at him holding his sword and boring his red-hot coals of the eyes into you, and promise with a shaky smile, that ‘ten more minutes, a shower, and I’ll go make us an after-workout snack’.

Usually it’s more than ten minutes. Occasionally he has to carry your body to the showers, and you go limp on his shoulder on purpose. He quite often waits for you after he’s done with his own clean up. He rarely misses your cooking afterwards.

When did he start standing close to you as you cook, looming over you, staring at your hands over your shoulder?

He also doesn’t know how you two ended up sharing a living space, a bed even. Once, twice, a week, a month… At some point he just accepted it as a part of his life now. After all, you are not making it worse.

He is sane enough to be honest with himself - it got a little bit better.

You kiss his scars and run your fingers through his hair to calm him.

He lets you.

You are not clingy though.

He turned out to be one.

“I want you to see me as the place where you can always return to.”

He…bitterly laughs, but doesn’t say anything against.

“I will be waiting for you.”

…

He chooses to believe you.

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

hey so i finally wrote more witch au!

enjoy, friends!! though it's significantly shorter than the first part

pairing: steddie | word count: 2,004 | rated: T

Mama thinks that Steve’s had a love spell on him this whole time.

“Since when?” He’d asked.

“I don’t know, my dear, maybe since before you were even born.”

“What?! How?! I thought you said there was no such thing as love spells!” He knows that’s not true.

“There are none that are worth the pain.” she repeats, trying to placate him.

“Yeah, well.” Steve huffs, dropping his hands to his hips and heaving a sigh.

“But there are some that are rumored to be true love spells, soulmate spells.” She continues on when she sees the look on his face. “Rumored, Steven, only ever rumors.”

“Okay, so what do the rumors have to say about them?”

“Every spell like that I’ve ever heard of of this nature is specific to each caster.”

“So I’ve had this spell on me for possibly my whole life, and there’s no way to know anything about it or about the caster.”

“...I’m sorry, honey.”

“Maybe there are clues in the words you have.” Robin cuts in, reaching for the notepad and sliding it in front of her.

Steve huffs, “I need to know the whole thing; there’s definitely words missing.”

“Should you eat more bread?” Robin asks, already sliding the previously abandoned plate of bread towards him.

“You shouldn’t overwhelm yourself.” Mama says, pushing the plate back. “We don’t know if there’s a trigger to the spell, or if you and the caster’s paths will just cross one day, maybe they don’t even know they cast it.”

Steve blinks at her. “So I have a true love and they might not even want me?”

“No!” Robin belts out immediately.

“No, of course not,” Mama says, continuing on. “The one known thing about any spell like this is that they only work on those who are receptive to it.”

“So some weirdo can’t put you under their spell?”

“Yes, exactly Robin; Steve, whatever this is, whoever this was, they love you with all that they are. And you them.”

“I don’t even know who it is! How can I?”

Mama doesn’t have an answer besides saying “Your soul must know them already.”; Their conversation was over soon after that.

Steve spends the next couple days silent and brooding. He can’t stop thinking about how he’s what, marked to love someone he doesn’t even know? How’s that fair?

It could be any random person on the street that thought he was hot, some weird old guy or a lovesick middle schooler..He only just turned 25 the day before the bread incident, but he’s saddled with this huge unknown that isn’t going to get better any time soon?

Okay, apparently not just some weirdo according to Mama, but still. Un-fucking fair all the same.

He’s also pissed that he can’t give anyone all the baked goods he’s made within that time. Each and every one of them ending up with a sour aftertaste. 

“Damn witch bullshit…” he grumbles to himself, only half serious, as he scrapes another batch of sour sugar cookies into the trash.

He’s salty, okay? Pun intended. If he hadn’t ever learned the truth about the powers over food his grandmother (and now him too, apparently) has, he could’ve just excused the batch after batch being off on bad butter, or old flour.. Something other than his mood being what’s ruining his cookies.

That’s what he’d done every other time something he’s made tasted off, now he knows it was him the whole time.

Mama comes in then, he doesn’t have to look up to know the look she’s giving him.

Steve leaves the bowl of leftover dough on the counter, mumbles out a “I gotta go.”, then tromps out the back door and into the woods behind his grandparents’ home. 

He supposes it’s good that they live just outside the city, really, having the trees to escape under like this has helped him before, and he’s hoping will help him now.

Meandering through the underbrush, he strolls along until he reaches the small clearing he’d claimed for himself when he was what, 8? 9? Doesn’t matter. It’s his spot to get away from anything he needs to.

He sits down against the big oak at the edge of the clearing and tips his head back toward the sun filtering down on him through a gap in the canopy above him. He breathes in the fresh air, focuses on the warmth hitting his face, and just exists there for a while, slipping in and out of a soft snooze.

Suddenly, he’s shocked out of his dozing by the sound of twigs snapping underfoot.

If it were coming from behind him, he’d expect it’d be Robin coming to find him here, but it’s not. It’s coming from ahead of him across the clearing.

Steve stands and presses back into the trunk of the tree, wondering if there’s bears in these woods when a person stumbles through the tree line.

The man is thin, about Steve’s age if he were to guess, and covered in dirt, his light wash overalls and his boots are caked in it. His hair is long, pulled half-back away from his face and full of bracken from the forest.

He also seems to be in a daze, staring with dark eyes at Steve with an unfathomable expression. 

It shifts soon after, though, warming into a watery smile. “I’ve come home to you.” he says, clear as day, then collapses onto the grass.

“Oh, shit!” Steve rushes forward, kneeling down beside the man and quickly checking him over for injuries. 

Steve presses his fingers to the man's pulse confirm it's still there (it is) and there don’t seem to be any bruises or breaks in his limbs, so he goes to his head, feeling quickly under the tangles in his hair for any blood, any knots.

Nothing. There’s nothing apparently outwardly wrong with him.

“Hey, hey, wake up! You gotta stay with me, man.” he says, shaking him lightly. 

The other man’s head lolls to the side and his eyes open a crack, his lips quirking up into a smile. “M’love…”

“What is your name?” Steve insists in a slow, clear voice.

Instead of answering, the man raises his hand slowly to cup Steve’s cheek. “...v’wait’d so long..” he slurs, then goes limp again, his hand dropping to his chest.

“Oh no you don’t,” Steve gets his feet under him and gathers the man up into his arms in a bridal carry. His steps falter when he feels how light the man is in his arms, how much more thin he is than how he’d looked.

Steve adjusts his hold on him, making sure not to let his head hang backward over his forearm, and rushes back toward the house.

“Mama!” he shouts as soon as he clears the treeline into the yard.

She’s at the back sliding door as soon as he is. “Steve, honey, what—”

He pushes past her, hurrying to the spare room on the first floor with her on his heels. “I found him wandering the woods, I couldn’t just–I don’t know what’s wrong with him, Mama.”

She gestures him forward to the bed, “Put him there, on top the covers,”

He does, setting him down as if he’s made of glass.

As soon as the man is out of his arms, Mama takes his place. “Nothing seems broken, but he’s so light, he needs food, he needs water, should I call 911? I don’t even know his na—” he rambles on, not even realizing he’d started to pace until his grandma stops him in his tracks.

“Steve, listen to me.” she says, pulling at his wrists gently, removing his hands from his hair. “He will be fine. Now, go get a bowl of warm water and a washcloth and come straight back here.”

He nods dazedly, stumbling backward out the doorway and spinning to the kitchen.

Steve slides to a stop on the tile floor in front of the kitchen sink at the same time Robin gets home from her classes that day.

“I have a date!”

Wait, he needs the bowl first. He scrambles to the opposite counter for the large mixing bowl Mama uses for her damn bread and fishes it out with a clatter of everything that that had been in front of it on the shelf tumbling out to the floor.

“Steve?”

Should he put soap in it?

“Steve!”

No, Mama just said ‘warm water’, not ‘warm soapy water’. He nods to himself and turns on the tap, reaching under the sink next for a washcloth.

“Steven Otis Harrington.”

“Oh, hey Robin, you’re home.” The bowl’s almost full.

“Steve.” She spins him to face her, holding tightly to his shoulders.

He tries to twist back around futilely, “The bowl–”

“Steve. What. Is. Happening.”

He blinks at her a couple times. “Robin!” He pulls her to him in a tight hug. “Holy shit, you’re not gonna believe–”

“Steve, the bowl?”

“Shit,” It’s nearly full when he shuts off the tap, so he dumps a bit out and picks it up with both hands, “C’mon, he’s this way.”

“He? Who’s he?”

“Dunno, I found him in the woods.”

“Aw, Steve, you can’t just take in any ol’ stray dog you happen to find out in the wood—-” Robin cuts herself off as they get to the bedroom door. “Ohhkay…so..not a dog.”

“He looks to be dehydrated, but I don’t think he has any injuries.” Mama says in lieu of a greeting when they return. Steve sits down on the opposite edge of the bed that she is, and carefully passes over the bowl of water without looking at her.

The stranger immediately takes in his attention. His soft features, dark brows…Steve starts to pull the bits of brush out of the man’s hair, untangling twigs, leaves, and he can already see one of those pesky prickle things twisted into the hair next to his ear.

Mama sets the bowl on the sidetable, and gets to work immediately, wiping the dirt and grime from the man’s face and arms. “Robin dear, can you grab one of those sports drinks Pa loves so much outta the fridge? And a bottle of water.”

“Of course!” she says, darting back into the kitchen.

“We’ll need to get some food in him too,”

“We should make him scones.” Steve states apropos of nothing. “With chocolate chunks.”

“Maybe after he’s a bit better, sweetie.” Mama scoffs, wringing out the washcloth. “He needs healthy fats first, butter, oatmeal, avocado, things like that.”

“I can do that!” Steve says, jumping up excitedly. His former task forgotten, he rushes out of the bedroom and to the kitchen, nearly bowling Robin over in the process.

He gets to work on simple eggs and toast for their houseguest, avoiding Mama’s lucky bread in favor of his own store-bought stuff for now, he can make him his own later. 

As he scrambles the eggs, he focuses everything in him on the stranger, on getting him better, making him healthy again. He’s not exactly quite sure how to do what Mama does, but the sour cookie dough says he’ll do it without thinking about it…kinda.

Whatever. 

All he knows is that he’s telling the fuck outta these eggs to make his love better. Make him whole again.. Make him—

Wait..

Did he just refer to the random man laid up in the other room as his love?

Is…

The fugue state he’d been in since first laying eyes on the man crackles away just long enough for him to think.

What did he say before he collapsed? "I've come home to you."?

That..sounds right....why is that so famili—

Steve's eyes leave the pan of eggs in front of him and snap immediately to the scrap of paper he'd scrambled for a few nights ago.

Is he…?

And of course, as if the words weren't already plastered permanently onto his grey matter, there they are, plain as day.

tagging those that were interested on the last part!!! @mugloversonly @kittydeadbones @maybequizas @queenie-ofthe-void @newtstabber @angeldreamsoffanfic @eyesofshinigami @sunflower-trashbaby @perseus-notjackson @kaspurrcat @quinns-shadowy-arts

also, idk if this counts for it, but one of february's songs for @steddiesongfics is work song! which is what this fic is based on! 😊😊