#Apartment Cleaning Seattle | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

loaksky · 2 years ago

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— 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒖𝒔𝒄𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒆 | 𝒂. 𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏

emt!abby x clumsy fem!reader, fluff / angst / smut (mdni!), wc: 8.8k (abby makes me ill).

synopsis: abby’s recuperating from a rocky relationship. tending to you more than once has gotta be fate.

content warnings: language, 18+ content (MDNI!): fingering (abby & reader receiving), oral (abby receiving), standard emotional constipation, non-graphic depictions of injuries / blood. let me know if i miss anything! not proofread well!

tagging those who interacted with my interest post! @eden-nox , @feeeeebbb , @thecowardwrites , @dawn-bunni , @dykefromstatefarm , @kingofcrabs17 , @deadliebalboa , @caitlinisfruity , @matchabxba , @abbysidechick

main masterlist | tlou masterlist

THE FIRST TIME ABBY TENDS TO YOU is an embarrassing circumstance all its own. And not necessarily because you’d hurt yourself, but because of one meddling little sibling in particular.

It’s nearly 2am in the morning, a little brisk outside of the apartment complex, and Abby’s trailing behind her rotation partners up three rickety flights of stairs.

“Seattle EMS!”

The door’s flying open and a frantic girl no older than fifteen is ushering the trio in the apartment.

“It’s my sister,” she says quickly. “She cut her hand with a knife. Won’t stop bleeding.”

Abby’s observing her surroundings, eyes flitting around the space as they file quickly down the hallway, walls neatly littered with polaroids, picture frames, and various other decorations and knickknacks.

As they spill into the living room, Abby’s eyes settle on you, sitting on the coffee table in nothing but an oversized tee and some boyshorts.

There are tiny smears of red across your thighs, right hand applying pressure to your left palm with a wad of paper towels. One look at your face shows draining color and Abby’s setting the duffel on the floor.

“Need her rate and blood pressure,” one of her partners says. “Anderson, can you assess the damage?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Abby says, kneeling in front of you.

She swears she feels a jolt of electricity pass through her nitrile gloves when her fingertips brush your skin. You’re shaky, eyes droopy because you’ve never been great with blood.

“I’m gonna take a look,” Abby says softly, coaxing the paper towels away from you. “That okay?”

You nod, hair falling into your face as she turns your palm over to analyze the wound.

“Sheesh,” she whispers. “What’d you do?”

When you’re silent for a moment, warmth momentarily returning to your cheeks as embarrassment floods your system, Abby’s eyes swing to your younger sister who’s seemingly clocked the considerable tension between you and the hot EMT.

“We were making brownies,” she fills in helpfully. “Big sis was chopping up the nuts.”

One of Abby’s partners chuckles, the one filling out the paperwork, and Abby glances at you again, something niggling in the pit of her stomach when she sees the flustered way you bite your lip.

“Personally not a fan of nuts in my brownies, but that’s a hill I’ll die on.”

Abby’s trying to distract you, take your mind away from a the gnarly gash cut deep in your palm line. It works, she thinks, when you crack a small smile.

“Me neither,” you agree, and it’s the first words you say all night.

Your voice has a sweet rasp, one that makes Abby’s gut twist.

“Guess this means nuts really are a no go,” you say, hissing momentarily when Abby makes start with cleaning your wound.

For a moment she forgets you’re talking about brownies and your little sister’s searing gaze should be confirmation enough, but after gathering all of your important information and spending the next forty-five minutes cleaning you up, Abby’s being stopped in her tracks as they file out of the cramped living room.

Your little sister catches her as the two other techs swing into the third floor hallway.

“My big sis is gay, FYI,” she giggles mischievously. “Like real gay.”

You call her name, absolutely horrified.

Abby can’t help the smile that splits her face.

“Mmm, good to know.”

You’d barely recovered from that moment, still reeling nearly a week later after your failed sleepover party with your little sister that ended in the hottest tech seeing you in the worst condition possible.

And while you thank every force above that Abby hadn’t seemed too perturbed by your sibling’s antics, it’s still something that makes you rub the heel of your palms into your eyes and kick your feet in annoyance before bed.

But just when you think you’re finally getting over it, you cross paths again.

Fate has a cruel way of flexing its humor because you’re turning an especially crowded corner in the freezer section of Whole Foods when your toe catches the corner display.

“Shit!” you hiss, basket clattering to the floor.

Your jar of extra garlic-y marinara is rolling away and a few of your lemons are scattering between avoidant feet.

“Hey, you alright?”

And you’ve heard that voice before, familiar hum haunting your dreams for the past week and a half.

You look up just as the body associated with the voice crouches in front of you, pasta sauce in one hand and trio of lemons in the other.

Of course it’s Abby in all of her glory. Her hair is loosened from her braid, falling over her broad shoulders as she searches your face. She’s in her work polo, few buttons undone and belt somewhat loosened.

Something akin to recognition flashes over her features as she takes you in.

“Thanks,” you whisper when she rights your basket and carefully sets the runaway items inside.

“You’re always hurting yourself,” she teases, standing to her full height before offering her hand out to you.

For a moment you were caught up, so engrossed in seeing Abby again like a direct manifestation of your very fears (and a wet dream or two), that you hadn’t noticed that people were staring.

Your face is hot as your fingers brush her palm and she’s hoisting you up like you weigh nothing. When you shift your weight to the foot you’d tripped on, your face screws up in discomfort.

Abby’s scarily perceptive, equal parts because it comes with the job even when she’s off duty, and also because it’s you. She doesn’t know what’s so different about you, especially because she hasn’t bat an eye at another girl in the past seven months since her previous break-up, but she can’t take her eyes off of you. She’s certain her pupils are blown wide by now.

“Does it hurt?” she asks, steadying you with warm hands.

Abby has to force herself to glance up at you when she happens to notice the way your chest hitches, pendant on the dainty chain that rests between the divot of your collarbones glinting under the fluorescents.

“A little,” you admit.

Abby doesn’t hesitate to take your basket alongside hers and offers you a perfectly sculpted arm.

God you could actually combust, not only because you’re beyond embarrassed but because Abby’s too fucking hot for her own good.

“Easy,” she tells you as you move through the aisles slowly.

She’s guiding you to a quiet corner in the foodcourt, setting you gently against the bench before plopping down next to you.

Your lips part to thank her, tell her that you’ll just rest here for a moment before going about your day, but she’s lifting your leg into her lap and undoing the strap of your sandal wordlessly.

“Oh—”

Her gaze swings to yours.

“Gotta get a better look,” she tells you with an easy smile, fingers gentle around your ankle.

She starts rolling, testing your range of motion. When your expression pinches, she’s rummaging through her basket, only to produce a frozen bag of peas a few moments later.

“Doesn’t look like any bruising is forming and you’ve got your full range of motion,” she observes. “Just a rolled ankle. Nothing some ice won’t fix.”

You stare at her unblinking, nodding stupidly as she applies a slight amount of pressure with the frozen vegetables.

“I, ah—” you let out a low hiss and Abby shouldn’t lick her lips, but her mouth’s dry and the skin of your legs are like butter. “I think I’ll be okay.”

The concern that shades Abby’s features makes you squirm on the bench, ankle still propped in her lap.

“Did you drive?” Abby presses, and she knows that this is a bad idea.

The two of you could be on your way, paths officially untangling, but something inside of her is compelled, tugged hard at the sight of you.

“No…” you trail off sheepishly. “I walked.”

Abby’s lips part, words escaping her before she can stop and think twice.

“I’ll walk you home,” she offers.

“Oh, Abby, you don’t have to do that,” you say gently.

It’s like someone squeezes the air from her lungs at the sound of her name leaving your lips in a rasped hum, makes her wet her lips again because her mouth’s gone dry.

“You’re probably really busy, I don’t want to be a bother,” you add with a soft smile.

“You wouldn’t be,” she assures you. “Just wanna make sure you make it home safe.”

And it’s such a sweet sentiment, one that makes warmth bloom in your chest and your tummy. But there’s a dull ache, a squeeze that makes your thighs involuntarily press together. It’s barely perceptible and you hope to whatever’s in the universe that Abby’s not keen when it comes to body language.

The planes of her face are serious, bump on the bridge of her nose pronounced as you watch the set of her jaw. Fuck, did you want her bad, feel embarrassment creeping because if anyone nearby could intercept your brain, they’d find a slew of less than appropriate thoughts accompanying the more tame.

Without another word, Abby’s hooking your sandal back on, patting your shin gently before setting you right and gathering the combination of your groceries and hers.

You make a move to follow her, but she levels you with a warning glare.

“Stay put,” she urges. “I’ll take care of it.”

“But, Abby—” you splutter.

Your name is stern on her lips and another dull ache ebbs as she stands over you in her uniform, muscles stretching the fabric taut.

She’s off a moment later and after what seems like an eternity waiting almost helplessly, Abby returns with a few paper bags. She’s stuffing the receipt in her pocket and your expression shifts, lips pursing.

“How much do I owe you?” you ask as soon as she offers her elbow to you.

“Don’t worry about it,” she quips, body tensing in the slightest as she acclimates all over again to the feeling of you clinging to her. “Now let’s get you home.”

“Abby!” you whine, drawing her name out petulantly.

It’s so domestic, all of it. Carrying your groceries with your arms looped through hers and the two of you strolling down the sidewalk to accommodate your hurt foot.

“What?” she mocks, and you can’t help but smile.

“You’ll be late for work,” you say softly, unable to stop the passing observation of how sturdy she feels against you.

“I’m off.”

And something like relief, excitement, jolts at the thought. Makes you hush the rest of the way to your apartment building like the courage is still brewing.

The middle-aged woman that sits at her desk in the lobby and plays Candy Crush half of shift pauses to spare the two of you a passing glance as you walk in, eyebrows raising and lips twitching.

“Afternoon, Marianne,” you greet sheepishly.

“Good afternoon,” she parrots, rolling her lips to hide the amused grin threatening to spread.

Abby is none-the-wiser as her eyes flit around the lobby in search for the elevators.

The ride up ends up being shrouded in total silence save for the whirring of the lift’s gears and your shallow breaths. For a moment, Abby wonders if she’s overstepped. If she’s made you uncomfortable and read all the signs wrong.

As the two of you approach your door, the very one her and her coworkers had banged on a little over a week ago, she’s trying to come up with the words to apologize, tell you that she really just wanted to make sure you were okay.

(Even though she’ll only ever admit to herself that perhaps part of it was self-indulgent and the softness of your skin was like a high).

But you’re beating her to it, untangling to shift your weight to your uninjured foot and turning to face her.

“Do you…” You swallow and blink once, then twice, gathering the rest of your courage. “Do you wanna come in?”

Oh— Abby hadn’t been expecting that. She’d been expecting you to fumble with your groceries and close the door in her face for good. But now you’re looking up at her through thick lashes and a shy grin and all she can think to herself in this moment is that she’s a goner.

“I’m making dinner,” you add. “If you’d like to stay.”

Another slice of domesticity that has Abby’s wires crossing.

“Sure,” she agrees easily, and it takes everything inside of her not to teem with too much excitement when you turn to slot your key into the lock and the door springs open.

Your apartment is just how she remembers it from the little details she’d picked up the last time she was here. That same scent of lemons and what she thinks could be incense. Though it’d felt a little out of line, unprofessional to be too engrossed in her surroundings the first time, especially when her eyes caught a particularly suggestive photo among the wall hosting polaroids.

You’re with a group of girl friends, bent over in a too short skirt so that the swell of your ass is pressed to the girl in the center’s front. The shot gives a perfect eyeful of your cleavage in a tiny little triangle bikini top and the cherry on top is the pair of red cat-eye glasses sliding down the bridge of your nose as you wink at whoever is behind the camera.

You pause at the end of the hallway when you notice Abby’s no longer close behind.

“Looks like somebody knows how to have a good time,” she observes jokingly, but her cheeks are so incredibly warm because christ you’re beautiful.

You’re sheepish.

“Definitely retired from that life,” you tell her, and she notes that the neat sharpie dates back nearly six summers ago. “Now I like to bake with my little sister and injure myself.”

Abby can’t help the smile when you start gazing at all the other polaroids tacked into a heart formation on the crisp white walls.

“You seem like the life of the party,” Abby says, eyes lingering on another polaroid of you in what seems to be a dorm room with a joint pinched between your fingers, sporting a feather boa, a paper crown that says ‘birthday girl’ and those same red sunglasses.

You huff out a laugh.

“I wouldn’t say that...”

She wonders if she’ll see that side of you. So far you seem so quiet, reserved. It makes her want to peel away the layers and learn you.

The thought makes her blink hard.

“Kitchen’s this way,” you say after a few moments pass, turning on your heel to pad down the hall and swing left.

Light pours from where you flip the switch to the kitchen’s fluorescents.

Abby finds that the living room and kitchen is far tidier than the last time she’d been here, obviously cleaned after the entire baking debacle with your little sister.

My big sis is gay, like real gay. The words were like a subtle push. One that made Abby weigh the potential.

She’s setting the paper bags on the counter, making a move to go through the bags to help you put the groceries away, but your hands close over hers, slightly smaller and warm as you halt her movements.

“You’ve done enough for me,” you say, smile crooked. “Make yourself at home.”

And the household phrase is so cliche, but makes a split second reel of what making herself fully at home entails. She’d never admit it out loud, but part of it is bending you over the kitchen island.

She swallows the lump in her throat as you limp around the kitchen.

“You should rest your foot,” she says.

Your smile widens.

“I’m okay,” you assure her.

She leans against the counter, watching as you file everything in its rightful place. The muscles in her face involuntarily twitch when you stand up on your tip toes to throw a box of cereal on top of the fridge.

Your ass looks absolutely edible in your jeans and the low cut of your top shows the way your shoulder blades contract.

Definitely doesn’t help her blooming kitchen fantasies.

“You want something to drink?” you offer.

“Just water, please,” Abby clears her throat, gaze snapping up to meet the gaze you throw over your shoulder.

And she has to use the cute little glass you give her as a lifeline, nearly crushing the frosted green glass to bits multiple times over the course of you prepping dinner and the actual thing.

Because not only are you wickedly witty in a way that’s easily overlooked, but you’re phenomenal in the kitchen. Nearly drools watching you cut through your produce while chattering happily about growing up on the west coast and your college years.

You work through the building heat to set a painted ceramic dish piled high with pasta that Abby absolutely devours with nearly as much fervor as she likes to think she would you.

“Good?” you ask hopefully, leaning forward on your elbows.

“Better than good,” Abby says eagerly. “Great, fantastic.”

“Yay,” you cheer pure-heartedly and she could melt. Especially when she polishes off the plate and you sit up straight. “More?”

She easily agrees just for the sake of watching you.

“You should, uh—” You scratch the back of your neck nervously as she continues eating. “You should stop by again. If you, y’know, wanna…I cook a lot and there’s usually a lot left over.”

Abby could scream in excitement. She’s one intrusive thought away from reaching over the island to squish your cheeks and tell you that there’s literally nothing else in the world she’d wanna do than to see you again. Instead she forces her composure with an easy smile.

“I’d really like that.”

And the way she sits back in her seat, legs obviously spreading under the surface to stretch has you wiggling uncomfortably. The last few buttons of her polo have come undone, exposing a freckled expanse of skin that you’d love to sink your teeth into, and somehow, sometime while your back had been turned, she’d opted for undoing the rest of her loosening braid to throw it into a topknot.

The tension is palpable, thick enough to choke, and at times, as the two of you chat over the kitchen island, it has you stumbling over your words.

Even more so when you walk her to the door at half past ten. She’s leaning against the doorframe like she doesn’t want to leave, and truthfully, you don’t want her to. Want to spend as much time as you can caught up.

“I’ll call you?” you bite the bullet despite the tremor in your fingertips.

Abby nods, arm banded around her paper bag of groceries, a tupperware of leftovers nestled on the top.

“Yeah, please,” she hums.

And there’s one final moment of tension that clings between the two of you as she kicks off the doorframe and you close the door, back pressed against the wood.

After that night, the lines you dance blur impossibly. Always a will she, won’t she that seems to equally frustrate the two of you for vastly different reasons unbeknownst to the other.

You because you can’t get a read on Abby, always teetering over a steep edge trying to get her to bite your advances. But you know, know that there’s something there. Abby because she’s given more and more reason to fall into you with every passing moment, but can’t seem to take the plunge, entirely too freshly single to think about another commitment that could fail and leave her already mending heart beyond repair.

And she knows it isn’t fair, especially when the tension both romantic and sexual is absolutely brimming. You’re nothing like the partners she’s been with before, especially not her last girlfriend who was practically your polar opposite. You were gentle, sweet, funny. Good at practically anything you could get your hands on.

But something stalls her, keeps her from diving headfirst despite late nights laying on your living room floor talking about things both minute and infinite, cooking with you in the snugness of your tiny kitchen, even inviting you to outings with friends and vice versa.

So you take the plunge instead, one Saturday evening weeks after your first meeting, after spending long swathes of time tangled in each other’s presence.

You’re at a bar with her and her friends, slight buzz giving you the smallest nudge of confidence to cling to her arm. And god does Abby look good tonight, especially so, in a dark button up and fitted pants. She’s got her hair down, tickles your cheek when you nuzzle against her shoulder.

Her friends’ eyes are inquisitive, curious because touches between the two of you rarely linger for longer than a few moments, but you’ve been glued to her side all night. She doesn’t say anything though, doesn’t shrug you off, even wraps an arm around your shoulder when you return from the restroom.

So with a few more drinks and a little more liquid courage, you’re toeing a little over the line. You’ve pushed her hair over her shoulders, pressing your lips experimentally to the skin behind her ear. It’s a sensation that has her freezing up almost imperceptibly, but you can tell with the way her muscles grow taut under your fingers.

“What’re you doing, angel?” Abby asks quietly, span of her large palm gripping your thigh.

“Nothin’,” you hum, nose bumping her ear.

She breathes out a hollow laugh, tries to turn her attention to her friends who are obviously trying to ignore your displays of affection. But then your lips are brushing with more force against her collar and she’s sliding out of the stuffy booth to get some air.

Her resolve is obviously crumbling, even more so when she stands at the bar waiting for the next round of drinks and your arm bands around her waist, the other flattening below her belly button. When your pinkie slides beneath her belt buckle, she’s pushing off the counter.

And for a moment you think you’ve upset her when she gathers all the stout glasses and winds through the crowd to return to the booth you’d previously occupied.

You barely make it to the back of the bar when she’s emerging from the bodies and grabbing you roughly by the bicep.

“Abby—”

Her lips are slotting yours before you can apologize, and she tastes like cherries and liquor. Her arms wind around your waist, one hand on the small of your back, the other grabbing a handful of your ass.

“Abs,” you whisper breathlessly, unable to feel any embarrassment for taking up a high traffic aisle as she bites your bottom lip.

“Your place or mine?” she asks, voice gravelly. “Because you started something that I’m gonna need you to finish, princess.”

And your knees are jelly the entire trek to your apartment, insides liquid and tummy fluttering because a warmth has begun to pool in your panties. The way Abby can’t keep her hands off you through the elevator ride up makes it all the worse.

“You’re such a fuckin’ tease, y’know that?” she hisses in your ear as you miss the keyhole a few times. “For the last six weeks all you’ve done is toy with me and—”

Her breath hitches when she presses her front to your back and slides her hand up the skirt of your backless sundress to feel the stickiness forming between the plush of your thighs.

When you finally force the door open, Abby’s kicking off her shoes and her fingers are making work of her top buttons. You’re quick to swivel on your heel, shoving her roughly against the front door to push up on your tiptoes and pepper kisses over the curve of her jaw.

“Me?” you huff petulantly, an uncharacteristic gleam in your eye as your fingers are deft on her belt buckle. You unbutton her dress pants. “You waltz in here all the time looking so…so…fuckable.”

Abby nearly chokes on her breath.

“And you try to play coy, but I see right through you, Abby,” you say in such a gooey tone. She throws her head back and moans. “I see the way you look at me. The little things you do. You’re not subtle Anderson.”

And that’s new. Calling her by her last name.

Your hand’s down the front of her pants, under her boxers and you feel it. How wet she is. Feel the slick between her folds as you circle her clit.

“Oh, fuck,” she breathes, lips parted as she takes the sight of you in.

“Wanna make you feel good,” you sigh, biting your bottom lip as you stare up at her.

She nods eagerly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you hum.

Her hands come up to cup your cheeks, leaning down to steal a few kisses before her hand’s wrapping around your wrist and pulling you from her heat.

“Open,” she barks, guiding your fingers to your lips.

You do so without argument, the taste of Abby making your eyes hood.

You make a noise in the back of your throat, and Abby’s walking you back towards your bedroom.

“You wanna make me feel good?” she asks, back of her knees hitting the edge of your mattress. She’s got you situated between her legs, shucking off her top and shimmying her trousers and boxers off in one go. “Then get to work.”

She’s spreading her legs, gaze locked as you lower until you’re eye level with her cunt. The pale moonlight that filters the window making it absolutely glisten.

You’re kissing the skin of her inner thighs, hands on her knees as you glance up at her, only find her with her bottom lip tucked harshly between pearly teeth.

“Want you bad,” you admit breathily, biting the taut skin before laving at it with the flat of your tongue.

All you receive is a shaky breath, seemingly knocking the words straight from her lips.

“Nothing?” you taunt, biting the other side.

Abby’s opening her mouth to say something snarky, but your lips are on her clit and your middle finger’s sliding in with ease.

“Jesus, fuck,” she whispers breathlessly.

And you’re smug as you eat her out, vibration of your moans rumbling through her core when she threads her fingers through your hair and tugs ‘til the tension in your scalp stings deliciously.

“Shitshitshit,” she chokes when you add another finger.

Under normal circumstances, she’d be embarrassed when her body locks up and her legs shake after what seems like only mere moments, but after she comes down and the fog clears, she’s wiping that smirk off your pretty face.

The sight is one to see, Abby leaned against your headboard with your back plastered to her front. The skirt of your dress is scrunched around your waist, flimsy straps knocked from your shoulders.

She’s merciless, thick fingers plugging you full.

“Ah, Abby,” you hiss, hand wrapping around her wrist.

“Can’t get over how tight you are.” She bites your earlobe. “You can barely take two.”

As testament, she stuffs you deeper. The squelch is downright filthy, your arousal pooling down your slit and onto the sheets. For a moment Abby’s pulling her digits from your heat, spreading her fingers in front of your face to show you the stringy strands of clear that web her knuckles.

“See that, princess? See how wet you are?” she teases, other hand taking a palmful of your tits while her mouth maps each blemish and mark with kisses across your shoulders and neck.

“So fuckin’ pretty like this,” she husks. “Wish you could see how pretty you look.”

You throw your head back, chest heaving as her fingers curl inside the spongy walls of your cunt and applies such a toe-curling pressure against the spot that has you seeing stars. It makes your back arch, knees twitching against the legs that Abby uses to keep your thighs spread.

“You gonna cum, pretty girl?” she whispers, blowing air against the shell of your ear as her ministrations grow sloppy.

You nod quickly, body tensing.

“M’gonna fuckin’ cum,” you whimper, “Please, Abs, don’t stop. I’m—”

Abby could cum all over again when your chest pushes forward into her hold, head lolling back against her shoulder as you let out a pitched whine that sounds a lot like her name.

“Fuck!” you swallow, falling slack against her sticky skin as you gush.

Her other hand drops to your clit, lazy circles making your pussy clench around the fingers still stuffed inside.

“That’s right, princess,” she huffs. “Cream all over my fingers.”

Your breaths stutter, pussy clenching as you let out a needy little moan.

“So good,” she praises. “Such a good girl.”

And you’re absolutely boneless, head knocking gently against hers as you push further into her chest. You feel her weight shift as she reaches, then the gentle feeling of her cleaning you up despite sleepy overstimulated protests.

It’s warm in your room as Abby slinks down the pillows and pulls the covers up. Her chin rests on top of your head as you cozy up to her, mumbling about how much you like her and how you’ve waited for such a moment.

You don’t remember the last thing you say before you doze off.

Abby does, though.

It keeps her up the entire night. Has her eyes blown wide as she stares up at the ceiling and the weight of the evening dawns on her.

Always wanna be with you. You’re my person.

And she doesn’t know how it’d gotten to this point. How did she let herself get so entangled with you? She’d always been aware that there’d been something there, that she was crushing and was almost a hundred percent sure you reciprocated, but this was far more than she’d anticipated.

It’s a step away from the ‘l’ word, and she’s not so sure it’s something she’s willing to fall into.

So Abby does what she does when she’s scared and she’s running. She’s replacing herself with your pillow as the sun comes up, heart squeezing when your cheek nuzzles against the fabric and your lips part to blow a breath.

She’s dressing as she makes her way to the front door, takes a final look at the polaroid wall that stares back at her as she tugs her shoes on, and slips out of the apartment building into the chilly Seattle air.

You’d been prepared for a lot of things growing up and into yourself. Had learned to swallow the bitter side of sweet, but nothing could have prepared you for the splintering feeling of Abby’s absence.

You wake up a few hours after she leaves, naked and hugging one of your pillows. The apartment is eerily silent as you wait in stillness for any signs that she’s just an early riser.

There’s no shower running, no clattering in the kitchen, no shuffling in the hall. And when you survey your surroundings, comforter wrapped around your shoulders, you suck in a deep breath.

Maybe she has work.

It’s a futile attempt to rationalize the situation, but you know Abby. Know that she’d leave a note, maybe a text, or—

You scramble for your phone, but deflate when you find a notification to water your virtual plant. For good measure, you open her text thread, but all that stares back at you is the confirmation that she was picking you up the night prior.

“Oh, Abby,” you whisper to yourself, something like sickness making your stomach twist.

The cursor blinks, keyboard clicking as you type and retype anything that’ll confirm that maybe you’re just being paranoid, reading into things too much.

So you settle on good morning 💘.

It’s almost instantaneous.

Read at 7:47am.

It takes a little under two weeks for Abby to surface again. Not without ample prodding. You’re a communicator, she realizes, as she sits outside of Jo’s Coffee and stares down at the string of texts from you over the past week and a half.

pretty girl: good morning 💘

pretty girl: have a good day at work

pretty girl: i made dinner if you wanna stop by

pretty girl: can i swing by the station with lunch?

pretty girl: just want you to know that i’m thinking of you

pretty girl: meet for coffee? wanna see you.

pretty girl: text me whenever you’re comfortable, i’ll leave you alone til you’re ready 💗

That final text is what makes her crack. Makes the guilt eat away at her. So she messages you when her shift is over.

me: jo’s at 4

pretty girl liked ‘jo’s at 4’

She looks up when the chair across from her scrapes against the concrete. You drop into the seat, fresh-faced and obviously newly showered. But she can see it in your eyes, the bags that puff like you’ve been crying.

And you have, even if you won’t admit it, because Abby’s the closest thing you’ve felt to what love could be like and these past two weeks have been agonizing as you try to pick apart every single facet of your situationship with her.

“How are you?” you ask, giving her a weak smile over the table.

“Good,” Abby lies, but you don’t see through her poker face and it stings, thinking that she’d been so unaffected by all of this.

You nod, fiddling with the fake leaves of the center piece.

“I missed you,” you admit shakily.

And fuck, did Abby miss you too, but she can’t find it in herself to face her fears head on. So she just nods, biting the inside of her lip.

“Didn’t miss me?” you tease, trying to make light of the situation.

“I don’t think we should see each other anymore,” Abby cuts to the chase, words leaving her lips like a shot that echos in the night.

It makes your ears ring, your brows furrowing as your lips twitch into a frown. Abby braces herself, knows what a brewing argument feels like. It’s sick to say that it’s familiarity, that sharp words and hoarse voices are a norm.

But you just shrink in your seat.

“Why?” you whisper.

Abby sucks in a deep breath.

“You don’t remember what you told me?” she asks like an accusation.

You blink.

“You told me that you wanted to be with me. That I’m your person,” she says.

And you wonder what’s so wrong with that. Especially when you’ve spent two months glued, when you were so sure it was mutual.

“I do,” you affirm softly. “You are.”

Abby squeezes her eyes shut, shakes her head.

“I’m not—” She clears her throat. “I don’t want a girlfriend. I don’t need the distraction. Especially not now with work and my personal life.”

Ouch. That had hurt, Abby calling her time with you and any subsequent moments nothing more a distraction.

“Oh.”

She doesn’t know why your response frustrates her, makes annoyance pinch the back of her brain as she takes you in, but it does. Full force.

“We’re better off as friends,” Abby says. “It’s easier, it’s—”

“Friends don’t fuck each other, Abby,” you say simply, and the calmness in your tone makes her upset.

She’s used to the shouting, to the arguing and being at each other’s throats in conversations like these. But you never fail to amaze her as you keep your composure.

“I have no intention of sleeping with you again,” she says stonily. “That night was mistake. I hadn’t been with someone in months and you were giving me attention and—”

In her frustration with the entire conversation, she hadn’t realized that tears were pooling in your eyes. That you were trying not to cry.

Her face softens when she notices.

“I’m sorry, I just—”

“You what?” you murmur. “What were these past three months, Abby?”

“I dunno,” Abby sighs in annoyance. “Two people enjoying each other’s company? We were drunk and—"

You simply nod, knuckling away the brimming tears before shrugging your bag over your shoulder.

“Where are you going?” Abby sighs when you stand.

“Home,” you answer quietly. “Whatever. Let’s just forget any of this ever happened.”

She grabs your arm over the table, opening her mouth to apologize again, but you’re shaking her off.

“Take care of yourself,” you tell her.

The days blur like the edges of a muddy watercolor.

You start to think that things could look up, that maybe Abby was put in your life for some reason you’ll uncover in the future. But the universe can be so cruel sometimes, knows exactly what to do to shatter the broken pieces you’d tried so hard to glue together.

It comes in the form of a night out nearly a month after you’d last seen Abby. She made no additional efforts, just left you wondering if you’d imagined it all, and your friends are especially tired of your moping.

It’s a surprise!

And you’re not really one for surprises. Especially not now, but they’re dragging you out, carting you across town. Your stomach sinks to your ass when you see the familiar neon lights. Feel your chest tighten on the trek up the stairs to the same bar that preluded your spiral.

You could throw up when you’re situated in a booth with your friends and you glance at the bar by chance.

Abby’s leaned against the counter top, looking as good as ever, but she’s not alone. There’s a girl that hangs off her shoulder, skin umber and eyes warm. She makes no moves to distance herself and you don’t know why you feel the anger begin to sizzle. Abby hadn’t been yours in the first place.

“What do you wanna drink?” one of your friends asks.

“Nothing,” you answer stiffly.

She follows your gaze to the countertop, sees the way your eyes burn.

You’d kept your situation with Abby private, didn’t want to jeopardize such a potentially good thing with your well-meaning meddling friends at such a fresh stage. But now that it’s soured, you stare openly.

“That’s her, isn’t it?” she asks, and your avoidance is answer enough. “C’mon, let’s show her what she missed out on.”

As it turns out, it doesn’t seem like much. Because she doesn’t even blink when you sidle up to the counter with your friend, three patrons between the two of you.

You’d always thought the two if you had a sixth sense for the other, but Abby’s oblivious to her surroundings, too engrossed in her drink and the pretty brunette hanging off her shoulder.

One of the bartenders goes up, asks what he can get for the two beautiful ladies, and your ears perk when her voice sounds. Nearly throw up the empty contents of your stomach all over the bar top when you see the way she slings her arm over the girl’s shoulders.

“Another vodka soda for my girl.”

She’s buzzed, you can hear it, but it’s the most sound declaration you’ve heard from her in the time you’ve known her.

You break away from the bar, and you run.

Abby feels like a shell of herself.

She’d gone out over the weekend, celebrating a visit from a close friend from the east coast. And it’d done a good job of numbing the pain for a little while, of taking her mind off of you.

But it’s Tuesday, the first day of her rotation this week and she hates that this feels worse than her previous break-up despite the unlabeled status of your relationship. You hadn’t even put up a fight, just took her rejection in stride.

It makes her feel infinitely worse, knowing you didn’t have it in you.

She doesn’t even realize she’s spaced out in front of the drink coolers of the convenience store after her shift when a voice snaps her out of it.

“S’cuse me.”

And she knows that voice. It’d been her greenlight all those nights ago.

Your little sister is brushing past her, going straight for the Body Armors and Gatorade. She must feel the way Abby stares because she’s side-eyeing the older girl from her post.

“Oh, it’s you,” she says, turning her nose up in the air.

Abby swallows.

“Hey to you too,” she says hesitantly.

Your little sister humphs, snatching the golden berry flavor and a yellow Gatorade. Abby takes a moment to glance at her basket, sees fever medicine and Tylenol among other things like instant ramen and Vitamin C gummies.

“Are you sick?” she asks.

Your little sister’s face screws up in annoyance.

“No, but my big sis is,” she says matter-of-factly.

That information makes Abby’s heart sink.

“She alright?” she asks carefully.

“She’s seen better days no thanks to you.”

And on a normal day, Abby would laugh because your little sister is witty, just like you. Can see where she gets it from. But right now, all she can imagine is you bed ridden and coughing up a lung.

“I can take a look at her,” Abby offers suddenly. “I—”

“Yeah fucking right,” your sibling scoffs.

Her language stuns Abby and this time she really can’t help but chuckle.

“You think this is funny?” she gripes. “You broke my sister’s heart. She’s been so fuckin’ sad because of you and you’re laughing.”

Abby sobers up quick, shakes her head.

“No, no, that’s not—,” she splitters urgently. “I– I’m laughing ‘cuz you’re just like her.”

Your little sister doesn’t look convinced, uses the back of her hand to wipe her nose as she levels Abby with an unrelenting stare.

“You suck, y’know that?”

“Yeah,” Abby sighs, hands flailing in defeat. “Trust me, I know.”

“And you’re a pussy,” your little sister adds childishly. “I know you really like my sister.”

Abby doesn’t even bother denying it, just stands there with a prepackaged sandwich that pales in comparison to your cooking and a diet soda.

“I do,” she affirms quietly.

“Then do something about it,” she says surprisingly. “My sister’s a catch, the coolest person I know. You’d be the biggest fucking dumbass if you don’t lock her down.”

And her candidness makes Abby crack a smile.

They stand there for a few moments in silence before your little sister is shoving the basket in Abby’s arms and prancing down the aisle.

As soon as Abby’s paid, black plastic bag in her grasp, she finds that your little sister has lingered outside of the convenience store.

She’s shoving a key in her hands.

“She’s too tired to open the door,” she says. “She likes extra lime in her ramen and runny eggs. Also hates swallowing pills so you’ll probably have to crush it up and put it in her water or something.”

“Who’s the EMT here?” Abby grumbles.

Your little sister pins her with a narrowed look.

“Don’t fuck this up Anderson,” she warns. “If Big Sis asks, I took a train to the mall to meet up with my friends.”

And just like that, she flounces away.

You’re asleep when she sneaks into your apartment.

She kicks her shoes off, sets the bag of convenience store goods on the kitchen island before padding through the living room to peek into your room.

Buried under a mound of blankets, just your eyebrows and forehead peek from the top as you snore softly. When she peels the covers away, she not only finds that you’re sweaty and your cheeks are flushed, but you’re wearing her favorite hoodie.

She hadn’t realized she left it here, but seeing you in it has her sinking to her knees by your bedside, chin resting on her bent arm.

“Hi, angel,” she whispers quietly, pushing the sweaty strands of hair from your face. “Missed you.”

You don’t budge, cheek smushed in your pillow as you snooze peacefully. And maybe she shouldn’t have come here, because all it’ll take is you asking her to stay.

She tucks the blanket to your chin, leans forward to press a kiss against your temple.

In the kitchen, she’s only reminded of how much she misses you. Misses this. She’d spent nearly everyday here during your time together. Brushed shoulders with you while you guys cooked together, leaned against the counter while you took extra care plating her food despite her protests of ‘we’re gonna eat it anyways’. You guys frequently laid out on the living room floor, snacking while watching movies, flipping through coffee table books or getting existential.

She’d made so many memories here, made a home out of you.

The thought stirs something emotional inside of her, makes tears prick the corner of her eyes as she rips open the packet of ramen and digs the seasoning sachet out.

Frustration wells as she goes through the motions in your kitchen by herself. Wonders why you had to go and be so fucking wonderful and make her fall for you.

She’s halfway through and angrily brushing her tears away when she hears your door creak open and your voice croak your little sister’s name in question.

When you stand in the doorway of the kitchen, her name is falling from your lips.

“Abby?”

You rub your eyes momentarily and Abby feels like the biggest piece of shit on the planet as you stand there with the hood of her pullover on, Christmas pajama pants and some crew socks.

“Hi,” she breathes.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, bewildered eyes bouncing around the kitchen as you take in your surroundings. The bags under your eyes are swollen, your lips chapped as you fidget in the archway.

“I ran into your sister at the convenience store,” she admits. “She said you were sick.”

“And?” It’s like you can’t fathom the fact that Abby would have any concern for you. Something like anger bubbles at the idea.

“What do you mean and?” Abby asks, eyebrows furrowing. “You’re sick and I… I care about you.”

There’s that normalcy again, that familiar feeling of emotions beginning to reach its boiling point. But she’s not angry at you. Could never be when all you’ve been is perfect to her. And perhaps in the back of her mind that plays the tiniest role, because you’re everything she could ever want, need, but she steady fucks it up every go around.

“Do you?” you whisper.

You look small, defeated, unable to meet her eyes.

“Of course I do, what are—”

“You really hurt me, you know that?” Your breath hitches. “You came into my life like fate, over and over again. Still do apparently. And you— You made me like you more than I’ve ever liked someone in my life. You let me see you, let me fuck you, let me… let me…”

It’s your first real display of heightened emotion. You don’t bother trying to hide your tears, or hide the way Abby’s built you up and ruined you these past four months.

“And then you just left.”

The lump in her throat nearly chokes her breathless.

“I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt, y’know?” you continue and Abby’s hands tremble. “That maybe you really just needed the time for yourself, but then I saw you, and—”

“Saw me what?” Abby interjects. “Where?”

“At the bar,” you squeak. “She’s really fucking pretty, and I hope she makes you—”

“What are you talking about?” Abby grills, taking a step towards you.

“If you didn’t want to be with me, if you didn’t feel the way I felt about you, you could have just said that,” you whimper, dashing the tears away in embarrassment. “You didn’t have to make an excuse about not wanting a distraction.”

“I’m so lost right now,” Abby says. “I—”

“I saw you at the bar this weekend,” you tell her straight. “You were with a girl, called her yours.”

And that floors her. She’s almost a hundred percent certain she would’ve felt your presence a mile away, But as you reveal that you’d only been meters away from her, the closest you’ve gotten in weeks, it makes her gut pinch.

She wracks her brain, tries to recall that weekend, tries to think of any woman who’d give you the idea that she’d choose anyone but you.

She draws a blank at first, but then she remembers the bartender’s passing comment.

You and the birthday girl are too sweet.

Abby had fake retched and Nora’d drawn out an exaggerated ewwww as the bartender set the vodka soda before them.

She’d been far too engrossed to realize that you’d been in the vicinity. But she’s not so sure she would’ve done much to take advantage of your presence if she had.

This is her first act of courage in months and she’s falling head first as she crosses the berth between the two of you.

When she stands a few inches away, you look up at her, thick lashes wet and nose snotty. You look like a mess, but Abby’s always thought you were beautiful.

“Nora’s not my girlfriend,” is the first thing she says.

You think you should feel relief, some semblance of hope flickering, but this feels a lot like uncertainty and you hate the limbo.

You don’t say anything, just wipe your nose on the back of your hand.

“I’m sorry,” Abby whispers, hands coming up to grasp your shoulders.

You make a noise in the back of your throat, corners of your mouth turning down in that telltale sign that you’re not done crying yet.

“C’mon, angel, stop crying,” Abby says weakly and the nickname makes your stupid heart flutter.

Her thumbs are brushing underneath your eyes, over the puff of your eyebags before she’s crushing you to her chest, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other winding around your shoulders to keep you anchored.

Your arms wrap around her waist, taking in the scent of her pine body wash and the softness of her detergent.

“I hate you,” comes your muffled hiccup.

Abby only hugs you harder.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

And perhaps she deserves that, but you’re pushing your face further into her chest and she barely hears you.

“I missed you,” you admit a second later, back of her work shirt fisted between nimble fingers.

A shuddering breath leaves her at the admission, makes her body relax as the two of you stand at the edge of your kitchen.

“Missed you,” she murmurs, savoring the way your body feels melding against hers for the first time in weeks. “Fuck, I missed you so much.”

“You’ll stay?” you whisper.

“Yeah, yeah,” she assures you. “I gotta go home and get some stuff, but of course I’ll stay.”

Your hold tightens and your head shakes.

“I mean stay, Abby,” you clarify. “With me. Don’t…don’t run away anymore.”

Her breath catches in her throat, a new onslaught of tears choking her as she nods fervently.

“Yeah,” she croaks, kissing the top of your head. “M’not going anywhere.”

BONUS

You don’t know where the time goes. It all seems to blur together in the moments you spend with Abby, and before you can wrap your mind around the fact, a full year has passed the two of you by.

“You look so pretty,” Abby comments, sitting on the edge of your bed with her legs spread.

She’s watching you through the mirror, blue eyes piercing and unblinking.

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the way she always seems to make you warm.

“Thanks,” you mumble, unable to hide the smile that twitches while you screw the cap back onto your lipgloss to take one final look at yourself.

“Not gonna say it back?” Abby feigns annoyance, pushing up from her seat to wrap around you, one hand bracing against the dresser as her chin drops to your neck.

“Then it’d be insincere,” you deadpan, head tilting to rest against hers.

She humphs under her breath, shamelessly sliding a hand up your dress.

You stop her fingers in their tracks, pushing off from the drawers to create space between the two of you and alleviate the warmth beginning to bloom behind your navel.

“We’re gonna be late for Nora’s birthday,” you quip, fingertips barely brushing the doorknob before Abby’s hands are gripping your waist.

She’s hoisting you to throw you against the mattress playfully.

“She’ll survive if we’re ten minutes late,” Abby assures you wolfishly, climbing over you to cage your body between her thick thighs.

“You’re gonna mess up my hair,” you whine, pushing at her shoulder.

Abby captures your wrists in one hand, other tilting your chin up to slot her lips between yours. The taste of the fresh coat of lipgloss you’d just applied makes her smile against your mouth.

She relaxes a fraction when you reciprocate, tongue languid. A noise of approval rumbles from her chest when you nudge her onto her back and bite down on her bottom lip. With a wicked glint in her eyes, she’s pulling away, hands resting against the curve of your ass.

Now you’re straddling her, manicured hands mapping from her waist to her shoulders to feel the ripple of taut muscles underneath. She’s tense, obviously waiting for your next move with bated breath and kiss bitten lips.

But then you shift teasingly over her zipper.

“Let’s go,” you hum, pressing a final kiss to her jaw before climbing off of her anticipating figure. “No dessert before dinner.”

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson smut #abby anderson fic #abby anderson #abby the last of us #abby tlou

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thollandneedy · 5 months ago

Text

Shower- Tom Holland

A/n: I was listening to "Pink Matter" while writing this btw

Warnings: Nudity and very sensual

Summary: Literally Tom praising Y/n until she surrenders to his seduction game

Don’t forget to share, like, comment and leave your ideas here

Bellah’s Masterlist 🪻

“It's finally over,” Y/n grunts as she closes the door to the room where she and Thomas were staying in Seattle after an event her boyfriend was supposed to attend in connection with a new movie that was about to be released.

“I know.” Thomas walks over to his girlfriend, who already has her heels in hand to return to the stylist later. “Do you want help with the dress?”

Y/n agrees, then laughs as she nods. The brunette's steps seem to be light, and the heels of his shoes tap against the floor. Just another one of his techniques to make him look taller in the photos. Straightening his messy curly hair after a vigorous flick to undo the gel, he breathed deeply as he saw his girlfriend waiting for him, leaning on the desk in front of one of the bedroom windows.

“You, Thomas Holland.” Y/n says slowly, feeling her neck embraced by a warm breath that runs down her spine, noticing that her boyfriend's fingers were unzipping her dress. “You mean no good”

The brunette's lips found the woman's back, making smacking sounds as they were placed on it, gradually stretching out one of his arms to wrap around her waist. The sound of Seattle seemed to be much quieter than London, while the cold weather meant that the moon was covered by cold mass clouds.

“Do I mean no good?” Holland asked with a sideways smile, pulling her closer to his body, making her feel every muscle that stiffened at his touch.

“Not at all.” Y/n's voice is light as a feather, while a waterfall seems to flow between her legs. “We need to take a shower” Y/n pulls away, once again being pulled tightly by Thomas's hand, who holds her waist as if he doesn't want her to slip out of his arms.

“Of course. You stay against the wall and I'll clean you up with my tongue.” The brunette's chocolate eyes met hers. Even more than a year into the relationship, you still managed to feel intimidated by your boyfriend when he said something dirty that showed his dark side.

“I'm serious. We have to catch the 5 a.m. flight tonight, and it's already 2 a.m.” The woman said, trying to convince her boyfriend to let her go to the bathroom, which coincidentally already had the door open and the lights on because of the smart apartment.

“Me too, love. You looked so beautiful today, I could hardly pay attention to what the directors were saying. You always steal the show.” Holland put one of his hands on the woman's chin, lifting her face with one of his fingers, who smiled and looked away. “How do you do that?”

“What?” Y/n asks, observing every detail of her boyfriend. How the round black glasses fit perfectly on his face, how his smile managed to be cute and sensual at the same time, and how his jaw clenched every time Y/n pulled the sexual tension to her side.

“ This.” Thomas turns away from his girlfriend, looking at her for a second. “You leave me breathless”

“I wanted you to leave me breathless.” Y/n retorts, finally joining in with the brunette, who accepts her participation by sliding her loose dress to the floor and then kneeling down, tracing kisses between her thighs.

“Really? Like that time in New York when I left you voiceless the next day?” The vibration of his voice against her thighs makes her core throb.

“Uh-huh.” The girl agrees, sliding her hands into the curls of the man who responds by gripping his girlfriend's ass tightly, seemingly in an involuntary move to bring her closer. His underwear seems to get tighter than usual, fulfilling his need for touch through wet kisses.

“Do you know what else I wanted?” Y/n asks in a velvety voice.

“What, my princess? I'll do whatever you want.” Holland seems to be surrendered to his desires, allowing himself to submit to his girlfriend who watches him from above with burning eyes.

“That we shower.” The girl says, causing the actor to tip his head downwards, laughing to himself in comic frustration.

“Are you seriously going to do this to me?” The man stands up, while Y/n grabs the fabric of his tie, undoing it with just a few simple movements.

“I'm exhausted and so are you.” Y/n says, pulling the black tie from Tom's neck.

“I'm never tired of you, love.” Thomas insists.

Y/n nods, smiling.

He knew exactly how to get her to give up her failed games of seduction

“If you behave, I'll think about your case.” The girl walks towards the en suite bathroom, feeling the ice on the floor.

“Really?” Holland asks, turning to the image of his girlfriend in lace panties with her breasts showing.

“Come here already, Thomas.” The woman rests her hands on the door frame, while the brunette takes off his shoes in a hurry to enter the room.

“You don't have to tell me twice.”

#tom holland #tom holland x fem #tom holland x reader #tom holland smut #tom holland fluff #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland blurb #tom holland oneshot #tom holland imagine #tom holland x you #tom holland x fem!reader #tom holland x y/n

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the-record · 7 months ago

Text

CASUAL.

SUMMARY: you want all of her, but abby only wants a friend

PAIRING: college!fwb!abby anderson x reader

A/N: i hate this a little but this is for the person who wanted a casual fic under the abby tag this is for u 💋💋 ur genius bc yes i love abby&casual&chappell so yes here

my masterlist

‘ I’M JUST A GIRL THAT YOU BANG ON YOUR COUCH ’

abby: babyyyyyyyt

abby: when ate you cming overrrrrrtt

angel: when you’re sober!

abby: boooooooooooooooooo

angel: i can come over tomorrow, i work tn anyways

abby: fine

abby: miss u

angel: miss u too babes

“you’re still with her?” dina asks while she reads over your shoulder. “didn’t she ghost you and come back like nothing happened?”

your thumb locks your phone as you turn it over on your lap. “so?” you turn to face the brunette, “its nothing serious anyways.” you have to defend yourself against dina and her girlfriend, ellie, way too often.

“tell that to angel three weeks ago crying in my apartment.” ellie piped up. “we’re just trying to be good friends.”

dina wraps her arms around your shoulders as you turn back around. “exactly babes, we love you.”

“whatever.”

you’re both quiet. an artist you dont know sings soft words while crickets harmonize. abby’s fingers run up and down your bare back and yours tangle in her hair. usually, the girl has an ample amount of topics to bring up, but tonight the jar runs empty.

“what are we?” you question. abby’s hand slows before settling on your lower back, toying with the band of her boxers that you wear.

she sighs before answering, thinking about what to say. “friends?” you snort in response. “i don’t know, i told you i wasn’t ready for anything serious right now. you knew what you were getting into.”

you push off of her and sit up with a soft groan. her room is dark but you’re able to find the tee you wore when you came over. the girl reaches for your hand but you pull away.

“i’m going home for the weekend, if you want to come with.” she smiles when she sees one pull at your face first. “it’ll be fun, a couple days away to seattle? hm?”

you face the blonde, now propped up on her forearm, a tousled braid over her naked shoulder. you give in so easy. especially when her lips find yours.

angel: can someone feed alice for me this weekend?

dina: yea ofc

angel: thanks hon

ellie: why cant u? wya

angel: going out of town :)))

ellie: with?

dina: stop interrogating her babe

ellie: no no

ellie: angel who and where

angel: seattle

dina: with who

angel: werent u on my side????

ellie: BRO

ellie: NO CHANCE OMFG

dina: angel dont omf

angel: i didnt even say who??????????????

ellie: ur so guility

angel: and youre so illiterate “guility”

dina: so defensive holy shit

dina: omg u are going with her

angel: omfg get off my dick

ellie: u literally never listen dude

angel: says u

ellie: tf does that mean

angel: cat?

dina: angel wtf thats low

ellie: ykw

ellie: she literally has a new girl every weekend

ellie: you’re just another fwb girl and u know it

ellie: have fun in seattle.

angel: i will thx xoxo.

her dad is sweet, a surgeon as abby brags. you can tell they’re close. he is observant and does his best to make you comfortable. their home is cozy, fireplaces with incredibly old family photos on the mantle. her senior portraits are hung in the staircase. you learn a million and one things about her on the trip.

she loves blue. big hiker. could play board and card games all day. doesn’t love to smoke. she hasn’t changed her room since the 6th grade. they can make a mean chocolate chip cookie.

you learn one that stays in the front of your mind during breakfast, and lunch, and dinner, and the car ride home.

“this is all just casual right? you dont actually have feelings? okay good, as long as we’re on the same page.”

when you come home, ellie ignores you as she moves around cleaning the dinner mess in the kitchen. when dina asks how the trip was, you leave out one small part.

“it was great. we went on an amazing hike and her dad is so kind, i had a lot of fun.”

she offers dinner bur you kindly deny, saying you were tired from the drive and just needed sleep. she smiled and sent you off with a quick hug and an ‘i love you’.

you continue to see abby.

she’s softer and kinder after that weekend. she kisses gently and sweetly. she takes you out on dates. you call her name in the passenger seat of her truck in a field in the middle of nowhere. it’s different now.

you don’t tell dina or ellie.

abby’s name is brought up less when people gossip over who’s with who. you hear less of her rendezvous’ with other girls. less and less until it stops.

you ignore your feelings and enjoy the warmth of her while you still have the chance. her dad invites you back and you spend many weekends with the two, laughing and drinking wine on the couch. she sits behind you on the couch while you watch a cheesy rom-com, making fun of the cliches with you. many smiles shared and laughs sung.

your favorite sleep shirt stays at her place. her favorite hoodie is hung in your closet.

when you go out with her friends she drinks and teases you in front of them. your cheeks warm, you excuse yourself and she always finds you in the bathroom. an apology and kiss lead to more.

ellie slowly forgives you, you all hang out as friends again.

her dad says he thinks of you as his daughter.

abby says she thinks of you as a friend.

angel: we need to talk

abby: woah sounds serious lol

angel: yes it is to me

abby: yea, okay. ill be over tn?

angel: okay, lmk ill unlock the door.

abby: see u baby

angel: see u

abby knocks, she always does.

abby smiles and sits on the edge of your bed.

abby shakes her head when you start to talk.

you can’t do this anymore. “i’m done abby. we’re done.”

shes confused though, “what do you mean? i thought we have fun.”

and you do, shes not wrong. but you have fun as ‘friends’ and not lovers. you hold her as a friend. you kiss, and make love, and drink, and laugh, together, as friends.

“i told you i didn’t want a relationship!” she counters. abby stands and grabs your hands. “i wasn’t ready, you cant be mad at that.”

you smile and shake your head. “im not mad, im just over it. i want more. a label, a sense of security abby.” you sit and pull her down with you. “i dont want casual.”

when she leaves you finally open up to dina and ellie. they’re quiet, but its comfortable as you speak and they understand.

abby texts an apology that night and you react to it, a heart.

when she texts again you don’t answer.

‘ I HATE THAT I LET THIS DRAG ON SO LONG

NOW I HATE MYSELF ’

#abby anderson x you #abby anderson x y/n #abby anderson angst #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson x reader

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hopelesslygaysstuff · 8 months ago

Text

50 Shades of Red || Chapter 2

pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff

summary: Wanda returns home to her roommate's many questions, and runs into a surprise guest at her job.

content warnings: none

word count: 4.5k+

masterlist

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! happy reading ♡

Chapter 2

Wanda’s heart is racing, and she feels a sort of numbness spreading from where Ms. Romanoff’s hand had rested on her shoulder. It had only been there for a few moments, but it still felt like tingles of electricity were ricocheting around her body. The sight of a clean, marble lobby greeted her, and Wanda rushed from the elevator.

Outside, the rain had just started. It was a welcome relief from the hot, stifling air and accompanying stares from several, gorgeous blonde women. The cool, gentle drops of rain hitting Wanda’s face washed away the lingering feeling of wrongness, and all thoughts of not fitting in started to fade as she handed her valet ticket to a man dressed in a black uniform. He was impeccably dressed. Was that a standard at this company?

Natasha Romanoff. The name rolls around Wanda’s head, her silently forming the syllables. No woman had ever made her feel the way that Ms. Romanoff did. Wanda wondered what it was. Her stunning features, her tailored clothes, her wealth? Maybe it was her quick, well-thought-out responses and striking green eyes.

Barely registering the man pulling her car to the front of the building, Wanda spares one last glance at the building behind her before easing into Seattle traffic. She had 165 miles to drive, and plenty of time to think about the interview and those questions.

Kate’s questions.

Wanda was seriously considering murder, because, what the fuck? Asking her personal questions about her adoption? The cryptic responses she received about Ms. Romanoff’s hobbies? The whole ordeal felt like a fever dream. A sudden memory rose up, worming its way to the front of her mind.

“Oh my god,” Wanda said out loud, fighting the urge to slam her head into the steering wheel. “I asked her if she was gay, what the fuck is wrong with me?”

Then, she remembered that Ms. Romanoff had responded with a simple ‘Yes, I am.’

She didn’t want to think about why her clothes felt too restrictive, too warm all of a sudden. Her fingers trembled slightly as she cranked the AC on, hitting the button for the radio. Anything to drown out the thoughts of penetrating green eyes looking at her, rooting her to her spot. The warmth of her hand, resting on her shoulder. A firm voice commanding her to be careful.

Her eyes drop to the speedometer. She’s driving much slower than usual. Wanda shakes her head, forcing her foot down on the gas pedal.

Best to just leave the whole thing in the past, Wanda tells herself, her eyes catching sight of her exit onto the freeway. She speeds up at the sight, a hint of rebelliousness rising within her as she sees the stretch of bare road in front of her.

There is no Ms. Romanoff and her commanding voice and sharp eyes here. She doesn’t have to ever see the woman and deal with the confusing feelings warring inside her ever again. Wanda can go as fast as she wants, and a slow smile spreads across her face. The speedometer doesn’t drop below 100 the rest of the drive home.

—

“Wanda you’re back!” Kate's voice rings out, sounding much healthier than it had been this morning.

Leaning against the doorway of their apartment, Wanda calls out a response. She shakes the lingering flashes of a large, glass building from her mind, kicking off her shoes near the doorway. She’ll pick them up later after she finishes berating Kate for her questions and avoiding any responses that don’t directly correlate to the interview.

She’s lucky to live with Kate. Her parents bought the apartment, and Wanda barely had to pay anything, much to her relief. Kate didn’t like the idea of taking much money from her roommate-turned-friend, and Wanda’s savings account was growing steadily as a result.

Walking through the doorway, Wanda finds Kate sitting upright for the first time in days, even if it is on the floor. She’s wearing purple pajamas with a dog face pattern and is surrounded by textbooks and random papers. Spotting an empty mug nearby, Wanda turns on the kettle to heat some water. She’s never needed hot tea more than at this moment.

“You’re back a little earlier than I expected,” Kate remarks, speaking quickly before Wanda can respond. “How was it, was she nice? I bet she is. What was she like? Did she answer all of my questions?”

“Woah, let me at least set your stuff down first,” Wanda responds, removing the recording device and stack of slightly crumpled questions from her bag. She sets them down on the coffee table in front of Kate and prepares a tea bag while her roommate excitedly runs her fingers over the buttons on the device.

“She was… intense.” That’s all that Wanda can say, and she responds to Kate’s raised eyebrows with a half-hearted shrug. “I don’t know, she was intimidating, well-dressed, and young. Like, only a little bit older than us young.”

Kate blinks, her expression clear. Wanda frowns.

“Don’t look at me like that, you didn’t give me a biography on her or anything. I went in completely blind, and she made me feel like some sort of idiot for not knowing basic facts about her.” Wanda removes the tea kettle when it starts to shriek. She carefully pours the hot water into her mug as Kate brings her hands to her mouth, her eyes round.

“Oh my God, I didn’t even think - I’m so sorry, Wanda.”

“It’s fine, you’re sick,” Wanda says, moving towards the floor and settling in next to Kate. “She was fine, really. But she spoke like she was in her forties or something. How old is she, anyway?”

“She’s twenty-six, again I’m so sorry. I should’ve briefed you or written a description or something,” Kate pauses, turning on the recording device. “I’ll start transcribing the interview, you asked all my questions, right?”

Wanda smiles into her cup, the ghost of a flush warming her cheeks. “Yes, I asked them. All of them.”

“Oh good, thank you again. I owe you big time!”

And truly, looking into Kate’s earnest, wide eyes, Wanda can’t find it in herself to be annoyed anymore. It’s in the past, now. Her gaze lands on the textbook still lying open on the counter. Fuck, with all the driving and panic and interview stuff, she’d nearly forgotten about finals.

Well, no time like the present.

—

Muffled sounds of music escape from Kate’s headphones, and Wanda gives up on trying to concentrate. Blinking blearily at the clock, she rubs her eyes as she realizes that three hours have passed. Slowly closing her textbook, Wanda stands and stretches out the numerous knots forming around her shoulders and neck. She grabs her mug, the last remnants of tea cold and unappealing as she brings it over to the sink.

“You got some great material, Wanda,” Kate says, pausing her music and pulling her headphones down to rest around her neck. She’s recently taken a shower, her hair still slightly damp as it leaves wet patches against her shirt. “I can’t believe you didn’t let her show you around, she was practically begging you to let her.”

Wanda scoffs. Natasha Romanoff begging? In what world? She had only been in the woman’s presence for around half an hour, and she already knew that woman would never beg. Besides, there’s no way a woman like Ms. Romanoff would willingly want to spend more time with her. Would she?

“I understand what you mean when you said she was intense,” Kate continues, oblivious to Wanda’s inner turmoil. “You didn’t write any notes?”

“No I didn’t,” Wanda turned on the sink, rinsing her mug.

“That’s okay, I can work with the recording. It’s too bad we don’t have any original pictures, she’s really good-looking too. That’s always a plus.”

Wanda feels a flush spread over her cheeks. Fuck.

“Sure.” She hopes her tone is nonchalant. Kate doesn’t react, and Wanda scrubs her mug a little harder than necessary. She gives her Scrub Daddy sponge a silent apology.

“Oh, be so for real, Wanda,” Kate says, turning towards her. She has no chance of hiding, her cheeks pink. “We both know that you like older women, you couldn’t possibly be unaware of her sex appeal.”

Wanda feels trapped. She decides on misdirection.

“I’m sure you could have gotten way more information out of her. You’re a journalism student, not me.”

“I doubt that, she basically offered you a job on the spot. Did you hear her talk about the internship or were you too busy drooling and imagining her fucki-”

“Oh my fucking god!” Wanda practically shouts, finally turning towards Kate. Her roommate has a wide smirk on her face, her eyes roaming over Wanda’s red face.

“Fine,” Kate drawls, her eyes bright and knowing. “What did you really think of her, then?”

Wanda lets out a breath, setting her mug in the dishwasher and turning towards Kate. She leans against the counter, thinking. “She’s driven and controlling, almost scary, but extremely well-spoken. She was… fascinating.”

“You sound like a psychology major,” Kate teases, laughing slightly at Wanda’s eye roll. She continues, “She seemed to like you quite a lot, wanna sandwich?”

Her words wrap around Wanda’s brain, her heartbeat quickening as she processes. Ms. Romanoff liking her? Maybe, but not in the way Wanda would want her to. She turns her face again, busying herself with the dishes left in the sink, avoiding eye contact as she tells Kate that yes, she would love a sandwich.

Wanda’s thoughts turn back towards her finals, her eyes wandering over to her textbooks near the couch. She should really stop thinking about Ms. Romanoff. Besides, she’s never going to see the young millionaire again.

That night, Wanda dreams of dark red hair, cold marble floors, and piercing green eyes.

—

For the remainder of the week, Wanda focuses only on studying for her finals, and her job. She was fortunate enough to pick up some extra shifts, her manager not questioning her sudden need for extra hours. If she needed to be away from her textbooks and thoughts of Ms. Romanoff, that was her own business.

Wanda didn’t mind working at a hardware store, but she’d be lying if she said it was her first choice. That being said, the only reason she stayed was because of the flexible hours and good management. Her boss, Carol, was hard at times but knew how to have fun and always had her employees’ back.

The bright yellow stickers she was putting on various items glared up at her, Wnada’s attention returning to the task at hand. Her job was monotonous at times, but she didn’t mind. It gave her time to think about classes, or the finals she was preparing for, or long legs and sharp cheekbones and dark red hair…

Giving herself a little shake, Wanda removes a sticker from its roll. Placing it on a roll of duct tape, she glances over towards the textbook she’d brought with her. What was it that she was studying? Oh, right. Something about Sylvia Plath and…

She glanced towards the clock and sighed. Four more hours and then she could leave and finally start the essay she’d been dreading.

The bell rang, signaling a new customer. Wanda returned to her task. Valkyrie was in charge of greeting new customers, so she paid no mind to the stranger entering the store.

“Ms. Maximoff, what a pleasant surprise.”

Wanda’s head shot up, her eyes finding dark green immediately. Ms. Romanoff, in her store. Her eyes traveled down the woman’s body of their own accord, taking in the well-tailored pants and shirt, casual enough to go shopping but still screaming of wealth.

Looking around, Wanda didn’t see anybody else in sight. Damn, Valkyrie must have slipped into the back office to talk - flirt more like - with Carol. She was on her own.

“Ms. Romanoff,” Wanda says, her voice barely above a whisper. She can feel her cheeks heating up, her voice low and bordering on the edge of confusion. Why was she here? The woman didn’t belong in a small town like this, shopping at a hardware store of all places.

“I was in the area for business,” Ms. Romanoff states, as if that answers all the questions Wanda could possibly have. Her green eyes are boring into Wanda’s, her attention focused solely on her.

Wanda can feel her heartbeat racing, pounding in her chest as she tries to think of something clever to say. Hell, she’d even settle for something coherent at this point. Anything to stop her from gaping in surprise at the woman currently standing two feet in front of her.

“Ms. Romanoff,” Wanda chokes out, meaning to say something more. Nothing comes out, her mouth snapping shut of its own accord, too stunned to continue.

“It's a pleasure to see you again, Ms. Maximoff,” she says, her eyes still boring into Wanda’s. “I need a few things.”

“Wanda, just… call me Wanda.”

Ms. Romanoff smiles, her eyes crinkling slightly at the corners as she continues to intensely stare at Wanda. Her smile seems victorious, like she’s just learned some big secret. It throws Wanda off for a moment, but she shakes the feeling and puts on her own smile.

“What can I help you with, Ms. Romanoff?”

“Only a few items, the first being cable ties,” she says, her voice low. Her eyes are sparkling slightly, like she’s amused. Wanda notices that the woman doesn’t offer her own first name in return, and blinks as she processes the words.

Who the fuck buys cable ties? What would fancy-pants-rich-ass Ms. Romanoff possibly need cable ties for?

“Right this way, we have multiple lengths.”

Professional, Wanda can do that. She attempts nonchalance, her attention focused solely on not tripping over her own two feet. Her cool facade is shattered the moment Ms. Romanoff steps next to her, the woman’s perfume wafting deliciously under her nose. Cinnamon.

Wanda is surprised at the bold choice, but after a few more seconds of not-so-subtly sniffing the air, she decides that the perfume is growing on her rather quickly. It would probably smell even better if Wanda was able to press her nose directly against the woman’s warm, soft neck and-

“So what type of business do you have in this area?” The words come rushing out, and Wanda winces at her abruptness.

Ms. Romanoff doesn’t seem fazed, her amused expression only growing stronger as she turns her head. Her green eyes find Wanda’s, and she smirks slightly. “I was visiting one of the research facilities in the area. I’m funding a project of theirs in relation to renewable wind energy and advancing it to create a sustainable solution in the future.”

Her voice is soft yet strong, a slight rasp that makes Wanda want to melt into the floor. A small part of her brain reminds her that the woman is only here for work, not because she somehow knew that Wanda would be working. It was just a pleasant coincidence.

“That’s admirable,” Wanda says as looks up. Fuck, those green eyes are still looking at her. Those lips are turned up in a half smile, just a hint of something pink on them. Wanda realizes she’s been staring for too long when those lips turn up even further, and she quickly looks away. Luckily, they’ve ended up at the cable ties, Ms. Romanoff’s long fingers trailing over a few different lengths before selecting a few.

“Anything else?” Wanda can barely hear herself, the thudding of her heartbeat in her ears making it impossible to focus.

“Masking tape, please.”

“Are you decorating something?” The question slips out before Wanda can stop it. Ms. Romanoff’s eyes crinkle again at the edges, amusement rolling off her in waves.

“No, I’m not,” she says, her head tilting as Wanda leads her toward the tape section of the store. “Have you worked here for a while?”

The question throws Wanda off, her head whipping towards the woman on her right. She's close, so close that their shoulders brush slightly as Wanda finds her balance. Her eyes seem darker than before, brows furrowed slightly as she waits for an answer.

Right, an answer.

“Oh, yes. Four years,” Wanda says distractedly, practically shoving a few rolls of masking tape toward Ms. Romanoff. The woman was distracting, and Wanda couldn’t concentrate. All the thoughts she’d tried to suppress came rushing back to the surface.

Dark red hair, falling over a strong shoulder, exposed forearms, and rolled sleeves of tight material stretching over muscles. Green eyes, piercing as they look at Wanda.

Fuck. Wanda cleared her throat. “Anything else?”

“Rope, if you have any.” Ms. Romanoff murmurs, her voice still low. Her attention is focused solely on Wanda, the masking tape and cable ties held loosely between her fingers.

“Ah, right this way,” Wanda says, her voice huskier than usual. She clears her throat again, speaking to fill the weird tension going on. “What type of rope are you looking for?”

“Anything soft, but strong will do. Five yards should be enough. Red, if you have it.”

Wanda feels her fingers trembling, her mind replaying those words as she measures out the exact length of rope. Fuck, why did Ms. Romanoff use such a low tone when speaking? She can feel the woman’s hot gaze on her, the back of her neck heating up as she cuts the rope. Quickly, her movements confident despite the slight tremors running through her body, Wanda manages to coil up the rope and ties a quick-release knot around the center to hold it in place.

“Were you a Girl Scout?” Her lips are turned up, but those green eyes show genuine interest.

“Camping in the woods isn’t really my thing, Ms. Romanoff.”

She arches a single brow, the sight sending heat coursing through Wanda and coiling in her stomach.

“Then what is your… thing, Wanda?”

Oh, her name falling from those sultry lips. Fuck, this woman was sending her already-tired brain reeling. The woman’s head is tilted slightly, her eyes searching Wanda’s like she was looking for the last piece of a complicated jigsaw puzzle.

“Well, I like books. I mean, reading. Reading books.” Wanda cursed herself, the jumbled sentences seeming to echo around the aisle.

“What genre?” Ms. Romanoff said, her eyes more curious than piercing. Wanda wondered why she was asking. Surely she didn’t actually care, she was most likely just looking to make small talk. But then again, the way her eyes were locked on Wanda’s told an entirely different story.

“Classics and feminist literature, mainly.”

Ms. Romanoff hummed thoughtfully in response, nodding slightly. Her eyes soften slightly, almost too subtle for Wanda to catch it. She didn’t want to think about what that meant, and quickly tried to think of something else to say. She draws a blank, her heart racing slightly as she slowly walks back towards the register, Ms. Romanoff beside her.

“How is the article coming along?”

Finally, something she could talk about. A safe topic.

“I’m not writing it. My roommate, Kate, is. She’s truly phenomenal, her articles are always very well-written. She’s also the editor for the magazine, so she’s really thrilled that you were able to do any interview, even if she couldn’t be there herself.” Wanda pauses to take a breath, a small detail coming to mind. “The only thing she’s concerned about is the lack of original photos to compliment your interview.”

One of those perfect eyebrows arches again.

“What sort of photos does she want?”

“I- well. I’m not sure, I didn’t really ask…” Wanda says, flustered. She hadn’t anticipated that response.

“I’m around tomorrow, if that works.”

“You,” Wanda chokes on air. Ms. Romanoff’s lips turn up into a small smile, and she feels the blush returning full force. “You would go to a private photoshoot? Kate’s going to be so happy, holy shit.”

Before thinking, Wanda smiles widely at Ms. Romanoff, her happiness shining through.

The redhead blinks slightly, and Wanda hears a sharp inhale of breath. The woman’s lips are parted slightly, her eyes locked on Wanda’s face and roaming around her features, landing on her smile, eyes, and her cheekbones before she seems to pull herself together.

Wanda immediately wants to catch the woman off guard again. Her face was so… soft. The genuine emotion was fleeting, but Wanda saw it and found herself craving more.

“I would be delighted, here,” Ms. Romanoff says, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a business card. Her fingers touch Wanda’s as she hands it over, and Wanda starles slightly at the cool tingles that spread throughout her hand at the contact.

“It has my name, number, and email on the back. You’ll have to call or text before nine in the morning.”

Holy shit. She just gave Wanda her number. This insanely beautiful, well-spoken millionaire just gave Wanda her fucking number. She didn’t know what to do, so she ended up just staring at the woman while her lips parted briefly in an effort to say something.

Ms. Romanoff gives her a knowing look. “For the photo shoot.”

Right. The photo shoot. She feels herself flush as the amusement on Ms. Romanoff’s face mixes with something else that Wanda can’t quite identify.

“Sounds good,” She murmurs, looking up and smiling at the woman again.

“Wanda!”

Carol appears from the back of the store, her voice carrying over the shelves as she makes her way towards the front of the store. Her voice is bright, her lips already turned into an infectious smile as she rounds the corner.

Out of the corner of her eye, Wanda notices the way Ms. Romanoff goes stiff. Any trace of amusement is wiped from her face, her lips no longer quirked up in that secret smile Wanda receives.

“Oh, excuse me! I didn’t realize there was a customer here,” Carol says, her smile not faltering even as the redhead frowns at her. She’s rounded the register, her hand casually resting on her arm as she asks Ms. Romanoff if she’s been finding everything all right.

“Wanda has been very attentive,” she says, and Wanda snaps back into the conversation, noting the way Ms. Romanoff’s eyes linger around Carol’s hand resting on her arm. She loves her manager, truly, but her over-familiarity was leaving the wrong impression.

“Carol has been here ever since I started working my freshman year,” Wanda begins, her heart stuttering when Ms. Romanoff snaps her gaze towards her. “She and her wife throw really great Christmas parties.”

That statement causes Carol to smile and start babbling about how hard her wife, Valkyrie, works to make sure their infamous Christmas party is successful. Wanda listens politely, stealing glances at Ms. Romanoff.

Her posture is relaxed, her fingers playing with the end of the red rope Wanda had cut for her. There’s a small smile playing on her lips in an almost endearing way as she listens to Carol ramble. The stony expression she was wearing mere seconds ago is nowhere to be found, and Wanda hopes she’s right about what that could mean.

Ms. Romanoff… jealous? No, possessive maybe? Fuck, that sounds hot. Wanda feels like banging her head against the cash register.

“Anyways,” Carol says, seeming to realize how long she’s spent talking. “I won’t keep you waiting, I’m sure you’ve got a lot of work to do while you’re visiting! Is there anything else we can help you find today?”

“No, Wanda helped me find everything I need.” Ms. Romanoff says, her eyes flitting over to the younger woman.

It sounds like there’s a double meaning to those words, but she can’t quite wrap her head around the potential secret meaning. Wanda chooses to simply smile at her, watching as the woman’s dark green eyes sparkle at the sight.

“Well, I’ll be in the back if you need anything. Nice to meet you, and have a good rest of your day!” Carol says, her smile wide as Ms. Romanoff nods at her. She practically skips towards the back office, leaving Wanda and the redhead alone with a weird, charged tension now coursing between them.

Wanda swallows, steadying herself as she scans the items Ms. Romanoff has placed down on the counter. “Would you like a bag?”

“Please, Wanda.”

Her name rolls off the woman’s lips with the grace of an expensive, aged wine. The sound of it sends something heady and warm traveling down Wanda’s spine. She runs her tongue briefly over her lips, biting down on her bottom lip as she rings up the items and places them in a paper bag.

Looking up, Wanda catches Ms. Romanoff’s eyes staring at her lips. The woman glances towards her eyes, before smirking as she hands Wanda a heavy, black credit card.

“For the record,” she says, leaning in slightly as Wanda swipes the card. She still smells like cinnamon. It’s fucking intoxicating, and Wanda resists the urge to breathe in deeply.

“As impressive as Ms. Bishop sounds, I’m glad that you were the one to interview me,” Ms. Romanoff murmurs. Her green eyes are darker, somehow. Her voice is slightly raspy, and it sends tingles down Wanda’s spine. “Remember, call or text before nine in the morning if you’d like to do the photo shoot.”

In the span of a few seconds, Ms. Romanoff straightened her back and casually grabbed the paper bag of supplies. Her tone is all business and Wanda blinks as she processes. God, it feels like she just got whiplash.

“I hope to see you again, preferably tomorrow. You have my card,” she says, and smiles at Wanda. It's wider than the previous ones, the barest hint of white teeth showing through her lips. The sight of it causes yet another flush to rise to Wanda’s cheeks, and she wonders if she’ll ever stop blushing around the older woman.

Ms. Romanoff gives her one last look, her eyes flitting down towards Wanda’s lips briefly before she turns towards the door and confidently strides towards the exit. Wanda lets her eyes linger on the way the older woman’s hips sway with each step, her bottom lip trapped tightly between her teeth.

Fuck. Now she has to organize a whole photo shoot. Kate’s going to be thrilled, and Wanda is going to blush and stutter through the whole event.

She sighs, and pulls out her phone to text Kate. She can do this, all she has to do is admire Ms. Romanoff from afar and remind herself that the woman’s presence in her town was simply a coincidence. Perfect, that’s a good plan.

Then, Wanda’s brain helpfully reminds her of the way Ms. Romanoff’s eyes sparkled as she looked at her, and the way her lips quirked up slightly whenever she spoke. Wanda groaned, hitting send on her text to Kate and dropping her head into her hands.

Why did Ms. Romanoff have to be so fucking attractive?

Next Chapter

---

Dm or comment to be added!

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166 notes · View notes

writerslittlelibrary · 1 year ago

Note

You should make one where Wanda and nat get taken by the snap and it leaves there 14 year old daughter for her to grow up alone, later when they return there surprised to see her grow up at first they dont even recognize her because she turns out to be a cold badass. You can add some angst of her not being able to trust them and so on. But over time there family dynamic falls back but they notice y/n is hiding something because she always disappears and is seen talking on the phone. One night they think they hear talk in y/n’s room so they wait a few hours before they check it out and its y/n being super cute with her gf. she introduce her gf who helped her through the snap.

5 years is a long time

masterlist requests masterlist

pairing: WandaNat x daughter reader

warnings: grieve, loss, pain

genre: angst, fluff

words: 2093

a/n: thank you so much anon for the request. I love the idea and I hope you like it 🫶

You do not have my permission to repost, copy or translate my work

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Tears. That’s all you remember. The endless crying of that night. Your moms had told you they had to leave for a while to fight an important battle. They told you they would be back. They lied.

You remember Steve coming to your home. The home you grew up in. The home you three had lived in for your entire life. You were excited when you heard the door open. You thought your moms had returned. They hadn’t.

Steve was standing in the door opening, and the look on his face alone was enough to make you cry. So that’s what you did. For the entire night you did nothing but cry. You couldn’t believe your moms would break their promise. You couldn’t believe your moms would never hold you again.

Steve had taken you out of your home that night. He said he wanted you to stay with him, so you would be safe. He told you it’s what your moms would’ve wanted, but you had no interest in listening to him. You didn’t sleep that night. What happened wouldn’t leave your brain. You were devastated.

After a few weeks in the compound, you had started feeling angry. The first few days you felt numb, and you supposed feeling angry was better than that, but in reality it wasn’t.

You would ignore Steve. You wouldn’t eat or take care of yourself. All you could be was angry, and you and Steve fought all the time. After two months, you decided to leave. You were a few weeks away from your fifteenth birthday, and Steve was trying to get you excited for it, but you didn’t want to be.

Usually, you would be so excited you couldn’t sleep, but this time you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Steve talked about it non-stop, and you just couldn’t take it. What was the point in celebrating your birthday if the most important people wouldn't be there?

That was when you decided to leave.

You found an apartment in Seattle, wanting to be as far away from the compound as you could. That’s where you lived for the past 5 years. You were 19 now, and your life was different than it was when the snap happened.

You used your training to kill. You found that killing people was the only way to ease your anger, ease your thirst for revenge.

You weren’t proud of it. How could you? Your moms had taught you how to fight to protect, not hurt. You couldn’t find it in yourself to care, however. Your moms were gone. There was no reason in thinking about what they would or wouldn’t agree with.

You were currently sitting on your couch, cleaning some of your knives. You had another successful assignment yesterday and you were exhausted. There was a lot of commotion in the world, and your assignments were flooding. It seemed that suddenly everyone wanted each other dead. You didn’t know why, but then again, you didn’t follow the news.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a knock at your door. Besides Charlie, no one knew where you lived, and she wasn’t set to come home for another few days.

Hesitantly, you opened your door, and you almost broke at the sight.

In front of you were two people. Two people who you believed you’d never see again. Wanda gasped, clearly shocked by the wounds you carried on your face. Maybe the fact you’d grown 5 years shocked her too. Natasha just stared. She couldn’t believe it. Their little girl was all grown up, but that isn’t what shocked them the most.

The emptiness in your eyes did.

Wanda made the first move to hug you, and in your shock you didn’t react. You hadn’t thought this day would ever come, and now it did.

Natasha seemed to snap out of her shock, moving to embrace you as well.

They cried. You didn’t.

When they moved into your apartment you were quick to clean the knives from your coffee table. You were afraid of how they would react. You knew they would be disappointed, but you just weren’t ready for a lecture of them yet.

Natasha and Wanda stayed in your guest room, and much like the night you lost them, you were awake. You couldn’t sleep, and you knew they wouldn’t be able to either.

The next day Natasha and Wanda had convinced you to move back into their apartment. They kept telling you how sorry they were for leaving, and how they wanted to make up for all the years they lost. You agreed, moving back into your childhood home. You didn’t know how you’d react if they ever were to return, but you never expected to feel so… numb.

You had lived together for a few days now, and you had a hard time trusting them. You fought a few times already, mainly with Natasha. You refused to call them mom and mama again. You just couldn’t. Wanda was just trying to be there for you, while Natasha was more set on getting answers.

You were frustrated. You couldn’t provide your moms with any answers. You didn’t have any.

Last night you and Natasha fought again, and she yelled at you saying she couldn't recognise you anymore. You were lost. You didn’t know how to react.

All those nights you wished your moms would return to you, and wishing things would go back to the way they were. Now you wished things would go back to the way they were after they disappeared. You didn’t want to face them, and living with them again after so many years proved to be much more difficult than you initially thought.

Most nights you spend in your room, talking to the only person that stayed the same through all of it.

You spoke to Charlie most nights. She was the only person you had found comfort with all this time. The only person you felt you could trust, and the only person you felt you could be yourself around.

Charlie lost both of her parents in the snap as well, and when you were on an assignment one day to kill a dangerous man, you had found Charlie in one of the rooms in his house.

She was locked up, and she looked sick. You had taken her home with you, caring for her wounds. She didn’t speak much, only thanking you when appropriate. You didn’t mind much. You were happy you could still do some good. You were both 17 at the time, and you grew close quickly.

Charlie had told you what happened. How she lost her parents and the man had taken her. You offered her to stay with you, and she agreed. You grew closer quickly, and your friendship soon developed into something more.

Charlie was the only person you cared about. The only person you could be yourself around. The only person you loved through those years.

Charlie had reminded you of your humanity, and she never scolded you for doing what you did.

It’s funny, really. All those nights you spend on your own, in the bed of your new apartment, you longed to be laying in your own bed, with your moms downstairs. Now, while you were lying in the bed of your childhood home, with your moms downstairs, you longed for the nights in your own apartment. Spend watching movies and eating cheap take out with Charlie.

You hadn’t told your moms about Charlie yet. You didn’t know how to. You didn’t know you wanted to.

Your moms were downstairs, discussing your behavior. Wanda was crying. She felt so incredibly hurt by the fact you called her ‘Wanda’ now. She missed the days you called her mommy. When you would come running downstairs all excited because you had a random thought you felt like Wanda should know.

Her and Natasha were talking about how you seemed so closed off. So cold. How you were always in your room and how it seemed like you were hiding something.

Tonight, while you were on a call with Charlie, Natasha had decided to check on you, wanting to talk to you about their concerns. When she reached your room, she could hear you talking to someone. She decided not to knock on the door, instead opening it to see you lying on your bed, with your back turned to the door. You didn’t notice she was standing there, to captivated by your phone call.

You were giggling, and Natasha wasn’t sure when she last heard you laugh.

Natasha just stood there, soaking up your happiness. When you ended the phone call, you told Charlie ‘I love you’, which didn’t go unnoticed by Natasha.

When you turned around you were startled, and when you released Natasha was eavesdropping you were upset.

“I’m sorry,�� Natasha told you, and you sighed, sitting up in your bed. Natasha sat at the end of your bed, not wanting to make you uncomfortable by sitting too close. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, it’s just been a while since I’ve seen you laugh.”

“I’m sorry too,” you told her, not wanting to look at her.

“I understand it must’ve been hell for you, and it must have been so confusing, even now we’re back. It’s confusing for us too. A few weeks ago you were our little 14 year old girl, and now you’re all grown up. I’m sorry we don’t know how to help you, and I’m sorry we weren’t there,” Natasha told you with tears in her eyes.

You sniffled and shook your head. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been a terrible daughter. I was never mad at you. I’m just so angry, and I didn’t know how to handle that,” you explained to her, tears rolling down your cheeks.

Natasha pulled you into a hug, the first you’d had since the night they returned. You cried together, and Wanda, who probably heard the crying, came upstairs and sat next to you on the other side.

You kept crying, repeating ‘I’m sorry’ until you were so tired you couldn’t keep your eyes open anymore.

You fell asleep in their arms, and when you woke up, they were still there.

You had all moved down to the kitchen for breakfast, and for the first time in 5 years, you were eating breakfast together, talking. There was no tension, no crying, no fighting and no yelling. Just talking.

“So who was that girl on the phone yesterday?” Natasha suddenly asked you.

You looked up at her quickly, surprised with her question. “What?” you asked her confused. “Yesterday you were talking on the phone with a girl. You seemed really happy.”

You looked at your plate, pushing the leftover fruit around on it. “We’re not mad, just curious,” Wanda told you. “Her name’s Charlie. She’s kinda my girlfriend,” you told your moms hesitantly.

You didn’t look at them, but you felt Wanda scooting her chair closer, engulfing you in a hug. “We’re so happy for you!” she exclaimed, and you relaxed in her arms. “Thanks,” you mumbled. Natasha sat down in the chair on the other side of you, rubbing your back. “Where is she now?” Natasha asked.

“Still in Seattle. We lived together in that apartment,” you told her, sitting up straight again.

“We should invite her over, if you want too,” Wanda suggested. You nodded. “I’d like that,”

Two days later Charlie was standing in front of your door again, and she hugged you tight. “I’ve missed you,” you murmured. She nodded, kissing your forehead.

When she let you go, she noticed your moms standing behind you. Natasha was the first one to introduce herself, telling her it was nice to meet her. Wanda was next, giving her a small hug.

You had dinner that night, the four of you, and after finding out you had lived together for 2 years, Wanda suggested she should stay for a while. Charlie agreed, and you couldn’t be happier. The night was ended with movies, you in Charlie’s arms, just like all those other nights. The only difference was your moms sitting next to you, smiling at the wonderful young woman you’d grown into.

#black widow #natasha x reader #marvel #mcu #avengers #natasha romanoff #natasha x daughter #wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wandanat #wandanat x daughter!reader #wandanat x reader #wanda x daughter #wanda maximoff x daughter!reader

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pixiesfz · 1 year ago

Note

Is that Jessie fic getting a 3rd part? I want to see them reunite 🥺

I wrote this in my study I:

ALSO: I changed the club that y/n moved to because I was told Gotham wasn't near Portland and then I felt stupid but I'm not that familiar with NWSL

the set up j.f

plot: Your teammate is giving you a hard time about Jessie

warnings: angst part 3 of hey there

You had finally settled into your new home and had made your debut for Seattle Reign FC.

You had made some new friends and even kept in contact with almost all of the girls from Chelsea, Christine had come over every now and then to make sure you were okay but in reality there was only ever one girl that you wanted to see.

Jessie.

You hated yourself for it.

You were the one who broke her heart, you were the one to tear your relationship apart.

She has every right to ignore you.

But it still hurts when you would see each other in public and she wouldn’t even say hi.

But today was different. Today Seattle Reign would vs Portland Thorns and as both you and Jessie were midfielders you knew there would have to be some sort of altercation between you two.

Lauren Barnes, a friend you had made since your move was waving her hand in front of your face, trying to gain attention as you sipped on your hot chocolate. “Earth to y/n” she sang out and you looked up at her “Sorry?” you asked

“I said are you worried about the game but I think I already got my answer” she smirked “Oh” you shrugged “I guess”.

“So it’s true then,” Lauren said, leaning closer to you “What is?” you asked

“That you and Jessie dated before she moved to Portland”

You rolled your eyes at her eagerness “Yes we did Lozza, now go off and pester someone else” you whined, and the girl shook her head “Why’d you break up?” she asked “Because she was going to Portland and I thought my forever home was London” you told her “but you’re back here” she pointed out “I am” you nodded “So…” she trailed off “So?” you asked.

“So get back together!” she whisper yelled and you flinched away “Jesus Lauren” you whisper yelled back and she backed away sheepishly “Sorry”.

The girl didn’t stop making comments about the Canadian to you on the bus and in the changing room as you all got ready.

“You are not helping me,” you told the girl as you laced up your boots.

“I’m being honest I saw her looking at you when we were all checking out the pitch” she excitedly told you “No she wasn’t” you denied “She was! It was like you guys were playing tennis, every time you looked away she was looking at you and every time you looked at her she was looking away!”

“Do you mind focussing on the game?”

“Nope”.

You rolled your eyes in defeat and shrugged off your jacket “let’s go games about to start” you huffed and walked away.

Christine saw you walk out with a scowl as she was also planning to get an early start on the line-up.

“Kiddo what’s up?” she exclaimed and grabbed your shoulders, you turned your head towards her “Just a bad day,” you told her “Was it Lauren teasing you?” she asked and you shot your head up “How Did you-“ “I may have asked her to ask about Jessie to you” she admitted and you stepped back “why?”

“Because I have been pestering Jessie”

“Well stop,” you told her “Me and Jessie broke up a year ago” you started, not hearing the boots that were walking behind you “It’s been a year and I haven’t even got the courage to start a conversation with her and you guys are telling me to ask her out again, do you even know if that’s what she wants” you ranted.

Jessie has always been an early bird, to everything. It usually gave her peace and quiet but when she decided to join Christine at the line-up she definitely wasn’t expecting to see you waving your hands around whilst complaining.

“I haven’t even got the courage to start a conversation with her and you guys are telling me to ask her out again, do you even know if that’s what she wants?”

Your words were clean off your tongue and Jessie stepped away and hid behind the corner.

Ask her out again.

But you didn’t love her.

At least that’s what you told her.

“I’m sorry” you apologized to Christine and hugged her, sighing in relief when she smoothed her hands over your back “Freshen up kid, I’ll see you on the field”.

You walked away, thankfully to the front so Jessie didn’t have to worry about you but as soon as you were out of sight Jessie stepped to Christine.

“Why are you meddling?” she asked the older Canadian who was shocked to see her “Jessie-“ “She told me she didn’t love me and I moved states, I thought I was over her” she gritted her teeth “god” she cursed “you guys can at least talk about it,” Christine said and Jessie scoffed “she might have something that you’ll want to hear,” the older woman said softly “like what, how much she didn’t love for those two years of us dating”

“Jessie” Christine tried to reason but the girl back away “I’ll come when Janine does” she said and walked back to the room, opposite of where you had gone.

Christine watched her walk away and lifted her arms in surrender.

“Fucking kids”.

#woso x reader #woso #jessie fleming #jflem #jessie fleming x reader #part 4 coming right after

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seiya-starsniper · 7 months ago

Note

I wish you would write a fic where...

…Hob is a little insecure about his body in comparison to Dream. Dream is wondering why his love only wants to have sex in the dark…

I need some hurt/comfort 🥹

Oh man friend, I started writing this thinking it wouldn't be super long and then 9.7k words later...😅

Still gonna post the whole thing on tumblr since this IS a tumblr prompt, but it's probably best read on AO3 for length reasons lmao. I hope you enjoy this angst train!

AO3 Link: Cruel Summer

Rating: Mature

Warnings: None

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - America, Developing Relationship, Casual Sex, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Self-Esteem Issues, Self Confidence Issues, body image issues

Also tagging @dreamlingbingo as I'm using this fill for my free space!

-----------------

The first time it happens, Dream doesn't think too much about it. There's not a lot of thinking going on period, not really. Dream's only focused on the touch and taste and feel of Hob Gadling’s body against his as they drunkenly make out against the latter’s front door.

They’d been out tonight celebrating with their friends, all of them having finally achieved some hard earned life goal. Matthew and Jessamy were engaged, and planning a marriage out on Cape Cod the following summer, Lucienne had gotten promoted as an archivist at Harvard, Mervyn had finally launched his own cybersecurity firm, and Dream had just signed a publishing deal for the novel he’d been working on for the past two years. His editing team was even based out of Boston, even if their main headquarters was in New York, which made Dream’s life much easier.

Hob…well. Hob’s celebration was more muted than the rest. He’d just landed a job at Harvard as well, working as a professor, so he and Lucienne were now technically coworkers. And while it was a fantastic opportunity with decent pay, and mostly free summers, it had come at the cost of his relationship with Eleanor, his longtime girlfriend.

Eleanor had accepted a job across the country working as a marketing lead for a lifestyle clothing brand based out of Seattle. She’d wanted the position more than anything, but Hob hadn’t wanted to move, so they broke up. Hob insists it was all amicable, and that he’d miss everyone too much if he’d actually left, but they all knew Hob had been thinking about proposing.

Dream knows all this, and yet, when it had just been the two of the left at the bar and Hob had started openly flirting with him alone, instead of just playfully flirting with every single one of their friends, Dream had decided, “why not”, and matched the other man’s energy until they were suddenly making out just outside the bar while they waited for the Uber Hob called for them. It’s still the beginning of summer and not terribly hot outside, but Dream’s still grateful for the cool AC of the car that eventually comes to get them to drive the short distance back to Hob’s apartment.

When Hob finally unlocks the door and they practically fall into the front hall, Dream messily kicks off his shoes and works his way towards undoing Hob’s belt in between kisses. Hob wrangles them down the hall and towards his bedroom and Dream thinks vaguely about turning on the lights when they finally cross the threshold. But then Hob pushes him down into the mattress and Dream stops thinking about anything at all.

-----------------

The second time that it happens, a little over a month later, Dream is helping Hob clean up his apartment after their monthly movie night with their friends. They had all decided on rewatching Jurassic Park after Mervyn and Lucienne had gotten into a debate on whether or not dinosaurs looked stupid with or without feathers. But it had taken the group some time for them to even start the movie, since they had mostly gotten wrapped up with different bits of work and life gossip. It was rare that they were all able to get together like this, so the movie was a secondary concern for them.

During the movie, however, Matthew and Jessamy’s wedding planner called them about something that needed their attention immediately, and though they said it was fine to keep the movie running, they’d paused it anyways. Not even ten minutes after they wrapped up their call, Mervyn had to take a work call from a client suffering from some server issues.

Needless to say, it was nearly midnight by the time they finished the movie, and since only Dream and Hob had nothing to do the next morning, Dream had offered to stay late to help clean up and then crash on Hob’s couch for the night.

That is, at least, the story they tell their friends. The dishes and the food end up abandoned as Hob pushes Dream into the couch cushions and palms his cock through his black jeans. Dream moans and ruts beneath the other man, wrapping his arms around his neck and pulling Hob in for a desperate, filthy kiss. They make out like teenagers for what seems like hours, the taste of buttery popcorn and overly sweet margarita mix mingled in every kiss. Dream isn’t nearly as drunk as he was that first night, but he’s got a pleasant buzz going, which really only adds to the whole illicit nature of what they’re doing. Neither of them had mentioned the first time they’d fucked to any of their friends, they’d barely talked about just between the two of them, really.

Dream had figured maybe they could talk about it tonight after everyone had gone home but well. He’d gotten distracted with Hob’s mouth.

When they finally move from the couch to the bedroom, Dream turns the lights on, but then Hob turns them right back off as Dream’s getting undressed.

“Are you one of those people who prefers to have sex in the dark?” Dream asks, laughing as Hob crawls on top of him, shedding his shirt and underwear along the way.

“Mmmm,” Hob says, putting his mouth on Dream’s neck instead of answering the question. Dream gasps as the other man bites down on that one sensitive spot just below his ear. “Don’t wanna get up later to turn them off.”

Dream hums, and that’s the end of that conversation as his mind floats away to far more interesting pursuits.

-----------------

The third time almost feels like a date. Almost. They don’t exactly plan to get together, just the two of them, it just sort of happens because Matthew had gotten sick, and Jessamy hadn’t wanted to leave him alone to fend for himself. She also wasn’t entirely sure if she was contagious herself and wanted to be safe. Mervyn was on call for a client this weekend so he wasn’t going out with them anyways, and Lucienne had decided she’d rather stay at home and catch up on some of her backlogged work rather than attend the Oktoberfest event they’d all bought tickets to.

Hob had texted Dream individually and suggested they go out anyway, just the two of them, and Dream’s heart had stuttered in his chest when he’d read the message. Hob had suggested a new restaurant that had opened up near his apartment, and while it wasn’t necessarily a first date sort of place, it was still a bit nicer than any of the places they’d go with their friends for just drinks or a quick bite to eat.

Dream agonizes for over an hour on what he should wear, before he ultimately defaults to what feels most natural to him, black jeans and a solid black polo instead of his usual band t-shirt, which he then pairs with a charcoal gray blazer, just to look a little nicer. But not too nice, just in case this isn’t a date.

Hob, much to Dream’s disappointment, is in his regular outfit of a graphic tee and sweats when Dream arrives. He’s not terribly out of place in the restaurant, but he’s clearly not dressed to impress. He eyes Dream very appreciatively though, and doesn’t comment on why Dream’s a little more dressed up than usual. What he does do, however, is spend the evening whispering into Dream’s ear about how he’d like to peel that blazer off Dream and make him wear it while they fuck.

They only make it through a single round of drinks before they leave, with Hob leaving their server behind a more than generous tip for wrapping up their bill so quickly.

Hob wastes no time divesting Dream of his blazer and tossing it down the hallway towards the bedroom before turning his attention back to kissing Dream senseless. He sinks to his knees and Dream moans as the other man then works at peeling his jeans off so he can blow Dream right in the front hall, up against the front door where anyone can walk by and hear. It makes everything that much hotter.

Later, when all Dream is left wearing is his blazer and nothing else, Hob gets up from where they’re kissing on the bed to turn off the lights and Dream frowns.

“You can just leave the lights on,” Dream says, before he coyly spreads his legs and shows off his best seductive pose to tempt Hob back to bed. Hob stares, transfixed at Dream’s posturing, before he huffs and then clicks off the lights anyways. Dream groans in annoyance and Hob laughs before he kisses Dream again.

“Sorry, just easier with the lights off,” Hob says, not sounding sorry at all. “Don’t worry about it too much.”

But Dream does worry. He doesn’t in the moment, but he does later, when they’re lying beside each other, Hob snoring away while Dream thinks and thinks and thinks. He thinks about how Hob always wants the lights off, and how he never cuddles with Dream after sex. He thinks about how they really only ever get together when it's convenient, but they've never made plans on their own, at least, not since Hob and Eleanor have broken up.

Dream realizes, with a growing dread, that maybe Hob still isn't over Eleanor, that maybe all there is between them is sex, and nothing else. It makes an awful sort of sense; in the dark, Dream can't tell if Hob’s thinking about someone else, hoping for someone that's not Dream. Eleanor and Dream couldn't be anymore different but that hardly matters to a man with a broken heart. A warm body is a warm body after all, and Dream's the only other single person in their friend group.

If Hob's a little bit confused as to why Dream is a bit short with him in the morning he doesn't show it. Somehow that makes the pit in Dream's stomach worse.

-----------------

The fourth time—there isn’t a fourth time because Dream fucks it all up.

Dream had met with his publisher earlier in the day, and the meeting had gone rather…poorly. His editor had straight up told him that he’d needed to make significant changes to the book, and Dream had argued until he was hoarse but to no avail. He’d then been told to go home and sleep on things, effectively being dismissed like a petulant child who’d thrown a tantrum in public.

Dream knew he had a good story. He also knew that some of the suggested changes were good ones, while others would fundamentally change the story he was trying to tell. But still, the sheer amount of changes had overwhelmed him, and Dream had lost his temper. He already knows, with a growing dread, that he’ll have to make some apologies the next day.

He’s about to go home, but Dream decides instead he’d like to get as drunk as humanly possible to wash the bitter taste of the day from his mind. He texts the group chat, and since it’s a Friday night, they all respond with enthusiasm to blow off some steam for the weekend. Everyone except for Hob, who says he’s not feeling like socializing tonight, but he’s sorry Dream had such a shitty day.

Dream tries not to be disappointed that Hob won’t show up. He wonders if he’d just invited Hob by himself, instead of texting their group, would he have come out, just for Dream? But they don’t do things like that, even with how long they’ve been friends. Before they started sleeping together, Hob and Dream had always just sort of existed together in the same circle of friends. Dream had actually met Eleanor first, and Hob only when they started dating. Dream has never spent any amount of alone time with Hob before now, and he still doesn’t know what sort of relationship they even have, if any at all.

Dream’s worries leave his mind when the others show up. Mervyn stays for only one round of drinks, and Matthew and Jessamy only two before they head out for the evening. They have an early appointment with the planner the next day to do some cake tastings. Lucienne stays the longest, though she really only nurses the same glass of wine the entire night. She talks Dream through his frustrations with his editors, and his overall story. She’s been with him every step of the way to getting this publishing deal, and Dream hasn’t told her yet, but she’s going to be the front page of his acknowledgements.

He’s so tempted to unload on her about Hob as well, but before he can gather the courage to broach the subject, she gets a text from someone and blushes furiously when she reads it. Dream pokes and prods until she admits she’s started seeing someone. Johanna. She’s not sure if it’s serious yet but well. They’re definitely physically compatible, and while she won’t show Dream her phone, he already knows she’s been sent something particularly provocative. So Dream lets her go, and then debates between ordering another drink or going home.

He does neither of those things, and instead pulls out his phone and texts Hob, outside their group chat. The alcohol has more than loosened Dream’s inhibitions and right now, he’s lonely and horny. Lucienne’s reserved but still elated expression as she had happily explained Johanna had made Dream miss Hob. So he texts the other man and tells him he’d like to come over.

Hob’s response isn’t what he’s hoping for: are you drunk?

Dream frowns at his phone and then his initial message: aree tou busy?? Can i comeocer?

Okay, maybe he was a little more drunk than he realized. He asks Hob if it matters, being careful this time to make sure he types everything out carefully, and then closes out his tab while he waits for a response. Nothing comes. Dream’s annoyed and disappointed, but not surprised, so he starts to make his way to the train platform to head home.

While he’s waiting, he finally gets a response back from Hob: okay. come over.

Dream changes platforms immediately and heads in the direction of Hob’s apartment.

When he arrives, Hob pushes a glass of water towards him, which Dream drinks down greedily. When he’s done, he joins Hob on the couch and crawls into his lap to kiss him, but Hob pushes him away after only a few moments. Dream lets out an annoyed noise when Hob does it again.

“Dream, not tonight,” Hob says, pushing him away when Dream tries to kiss him again.

“What do you mean?” Dream asks, now confused.

“I don’t want to have sex right now,” Hob replies, before he pushes Dream off of him and back onto the couch, going back to watching whatever crime drama he’d had on before Dream arrived.

Dream stares, open mouthed and hurt, as Hob decidedly ignores him for Netflix. He gets up angrily and stomps around the kitchen, tearing open the cabinets looking for something to eat, and also more water because now he has a pounding headache as his body struggles to sober up now that he’s no longer drinking.

“Dream!” Hob exclaims, getting up when Dream slams more than one cabinet door closed. “Come on, don’t be like this.”

“Like what?” Dream sneers, stuffing a potato chip into his mouth angrily. “I came all this way just to fuck you, didn’t I?”

“You’re drunk,” Hob points out.

“I’m always drunk when we have sex,” Dream argues, crossing his arms, chip bag still in hand. “You’ve never had a problem with it before.”

“Yeah well, I’m not drunk now, and I’m also not in the mood,” Hob replies angrily.

“Then why the hell did you invite me over?” Dream growls.

“I don’t know!” Hob exclaims, throwing his hands up in defeat. “I wasn’t thinking, obviously,” he adds, then gestures to Dream. “How was I supposed to know you’d be like this?”

Dream huffs, then carelessly tosses the bag of chips onto the counter. A few stray chips scatter across the counter, but Dream doesn’t care. Clearly Hob didn’t want him around, not for sex, and definitely not to comfort Dream after the awful day he’d had, so there was no point in staying.

“Fine, I’ll go,” Dream says, moving towards the door where he’d kicked off his shoes. He decides he’ll check the train times on the walk over.

“Dream,” Hob says, grabbing his arm before he can make it to the hallway. “It’s late. Come on. Let’s go to sleep.”

“I can get home on my own just fine,” Dream argues, raising his chin defiantly.

“No,” Hob replies, his voice stern as he grips Dream’s arm tighter. “Come on, let’s just go to bed. You need to sleep this off.”

“I can sleep on the couch,” Dream says, yanking his arm out of Hob’s grip. “Since you’re not interested in fucking my bad day out of me.”

“Dream, stop being so fucking difficult!” Hob yells, shocking both of them.

The echo of Hob’s roar hangs tensely between them, and Hob steps back from Dream with a hand over his mouth, clearly horrified at what he’s done. Dream also feels the prick of tears in his eyes as he processes just how angry Hob actually has been with him all night.

How the hell had this night gotten worse? Dream doesn’t know, but what he does know is that he needs to leave before he starts drunkenly crying in Hob’s apartment, and Hob is the last person Dream wants to see him like this.

Dream tries making his way towards the door again, but Hob seems to regain his senses and physically blocks him. Dream tries to push him, then tries to hit Hob’s shoulder to make him move, but Hob grabs Dream’s wrist to stop him.

“I’m sorry,” Hob says, his voice much softer this time, laced with regret and pity. Dream hates it. “I lost my temper, I shouldn’t have done that,” he adds.

“Fuck off!” Dream yells, and oh. No. No, no, no, no. Dream furiously blinks back the tears before they can start falling, even if he can’t stop the pained hiccups that betray his emotional state from leaving his mouth.

“Just—” Dream gasps, then forces himself to breathe, slow and deep, and then counts to five. “Let me go home. You don’t—” his breath hitches again, cutting off what he wants to say. Fuck. He couldn’t even string together a full sentence if he tried.

“Dream, please,” Hob replies, his voice practically begging now. “Don’t leave. I don’t want you going home alone like this.” Dream turns to meet Hob eyes, and his anger dissipates slightly when he sees how devastated Hob looks.

Despite how awful Dream feels, even he knows it’d be a mistake to go home in his current state. He’s highly emotional, drunk, and likely wouldn’t be paying attention to his surroundings. He could get mugged, or worse.

“Fine,” Dream finally relents. Hob lets out a sigh of relief, and hugs him. Dream doesn’t hug him back. He’s still angry after all.

But Dream lets Hob wrangle him down the hall to the bedroom, and then he strips down to his underwear to sleep, since he doesn’t have any of his own clothes here. And why would he? It’s not like they’re anything other than an occasional hookup after all.

Hob does offer Dream a shirt and pajama pants to wear, but Dream tosses them away from him without so much as a second glance. Hob sighs at Dream, and then shuts off the lights, turning away from Dream without another word to sleep. He’s clearly still frustrated with Dream too.

Dream lies there next to Hob, feeling cold and rejected and lonely. He hates everything about this. Hates that Hob let him come over and make a fool out of himself when he could have easily just told Dream to fuck off and go home instead. Hates that Hob even came onto him in the first place, all those months ago, and now they’re here, in this weird in-between state where they're together but not together.

Dream realizes too late that he really hadn’t cared if they had sex or not either. He’d wanted comfort more than anything, comfort from Hob specifically. But the only comfort he knew that came from Hob was sex. And that’s the worst part of it. Dream knows now, without a doubt, that he has feelings for Hob. That he wants more out of this than what they’re doing now, but he’s not sure Hob does. At this point, he’s too afraid to ask.

Hob’s bedroom suddenly feels like a suffocating prison as all of Dream’s feelings hit him at once. He’s going to cry again if he stays, and he really doesn’t want Hob to see him like this. He doesn’t want Hob to know just how badly he’s gotten under Dream’s skin.

Dream realizes he needs to leave. He’s stone cold sober now, having laid here in the dark with nothing but his thoughts and his third glass of water now emptied on the bedside table. He listens carefully for the evening out of Hob’s breath, then shuffles around in bed to see if any of his movements disturb the other man. When he’s certain that Hob is deep in sleep, Dream hurriedly dresses himself, checks to see that there’s still trains running this late at night, and then rushes out when he sees the next one is in just 15 minutes. Hob lives about 12 minutes from the nearest station. Dream can make it if he runs.

The front door slams loudly behind him as he leaves, but Dream doesn’t care. Hob probably won’t even notice that he’s gone.

Dream makes it to the station just as the train is pulling into the stop. As he’s getting on, he hears yelling and frantic running, the sounds of someone about to miss the train. Dream considers holding the doors until he sees just who's rushing towards the train.

It's Hob. Hob who is barely dressed, and running down the steps to the train platform in nothing but sweatpants and slippers. He catches Dream's eyes and waves frantically to get his attention. Dream’s heart flutters momentarily, and he imagines that maybe he was wrong about everything after all. That maybe there’s more to what’s been happening between them than just rebound sex.

Dream gets on the train anyways, and the doors shut just as Hob reaches the platform, and the train pulls away.

-----------------

They pretend like nothing is wrong after that night. Hob had texted Dream the next morning to ask if he’d gotten home okay, and Dream had left him on read. He had far more important things to worry about that morning, like his pounding headache and the fact that he needed to talk to his editor at some point.

When he finally fights off the last of his hangover, Dream has a much more pleasant conversation with his editing team, who he apologizes to for losing his temper. His team apologizes to him as well, which he doesn’t expect, but they reassure him it’s their job to encourage him, not discourage him from writing. They have a candid conversation about communication, and then agree on a plan to move forward with his book.

Dream happily shares the good news with his group chat, still ignoring the direct message from Hob. He credits Lucienne for talking him off the ledge the night before, and the flood of positive and congratulatory messages flows easily after that. Even from Hob.

Dream sighs when he reads the other man’s message in their group chat, then flips back to their private conversation. He really should apologize for his behavior as well, but he has no idea how to explain himself without revealing more than he’s comfortable with. So Dream turns off his phone, and goes back to working on his novel, hoping that maybe he’ll come up with something to say later in the evening.

He never does end up replying. Hob doesn’t privately message him either after that.

-----------------

It’s trivia night at the White Horse, and Dream would normally be excited to go and show off his arcane knowledge, but tonight he’s dreading the occasion. It’s been a month since he and Hob had last seen each other and he really has no idea how he’s supposed to act around the other man. Do they pretend like nothing ever happened between them? They haven’t spoken since, so things were clearly over between them.

Dream’s still trying to tell himself it’s better this way. They were hurtling towards disaster, and Dream should’ve really known better, should’ve known that he really can’t do casual after all, and now he’s probably permanently fucked up his friendship with Hob because he couldn’t keep his own feelings in check. He still hasn’t apologized, he doesn’t know if Hob even wants an apology from him at this point, or if he just wants to forget about everything that ever happened between them.

So when Dream’s sister texts him and tells him she’s in town for a few days, Dream jumps at the opportunity to meet her and cancel on trivia night plans. He receives a variety of boos and ‘we’ll lose without you!’ responses, all of which make him smile despite himself. Even Hob laments the loss of Dream’s knowledge for the evening.

When Dream arrives at The New Inn later that night, it’s not only his sister that greets him. Eleanor is with her. Dream hasn’t seen her since she and Hob broke up. When she’d moved across the country, she left the group chat and hasn’t really talked to anyone since. Dream had missed her, if he were being honest with himself. Even though Hob had said the breakup was amicable, and that Eleanor had only left the chat because she couldn’t be part of their plans any longer, Dream was still sad to see her go. He realizes he could’ve tried harder to keep in touch with her, but then everything with Hob had happened and well.

Dream wants to hug Eleanor and also scream at her. Wants to unload what a horrible last month he’s had, and also wants her to never find out he’d been sleeping with her ex. It’s not her fault that Dream fell into bed with Hob knowing he wasn’t over his relationship with her yet. It’s entirely her fault for being so perfect, however, that there’s no way Dream could ever compare, and that’s why Hob won’t look at him when they have sex.

When they had sex. Dream and Hob have barely spoken since that night, and only in their group chat. He’s pretty sure Hob doesn’t want to even be in the same room as Dream right now, for how ugly Dream had acted over what was supposed to be just a casual hookup.

“Not that I’m unhappy to see you, Ellie,” Dream says, giving both her and his sister a hug before taking a seat across from them. “But what are you doing back in town?”

“Dream—” Didi starts, but then Eleanor places a hand on her shoulder and stops her.

“We’re dating,” Eleanor says bluntly, moving her hand from Didi’s shoulder down to her hand. Their fingers interlace and Dream’s eyes boggle as he looks between them, shocked.

“When did this happen?” he asks, settling himself in for what must be an extremely interesting story.

Eleanor and Didi take turns recalling the story of how they met through a local meetup for knitters in Seattle, and how Didi had recognized Eleanor from one time she’d come out drinking with Dream and his friends years ago. Happy to have a familiar face, Didi and Eleanor had become fast friends, and they both realized they had a lot in common too.

Before either of them knew it, Eleanor was inviting Didi out everywhere as they explored their new city together, and Didi became accustomed to calling Eleanor after every shift at the hospital. One thing led to another, and then another, and now they’re practically attached at the hip. Didi even shyly admits they’ve talked about moving in together.

The two of them beam at him when they’re done with their story and Dream wants to congratulate them. Wants to be happy that his favorite sister is dating one of his oldest friends. He wants to make plans to visit them in their new home, maybe even help them move if he can work out the logistics. He hasn’t been out to Seattle in some time, and he really could use a vacation.

“I started sleeping with Hob after you left,” is what Dream says instead.

Eleanor spits her (thankfully white) wine all over Didi, who freezes in place, staring at Dream in shock. Dream stares back, horrified both at what he just said, and what followed after. He braces himself, expecting Eleanor to explode on him, to call him a slut, a bad friend, a terrible human being.

Instead, Eleanor starts laughing. Didi does too eventually.

“Oh my god, of course he did,” Eleanor wheezes as she doubles over in her seat. Their server rushes over, bringing some extra napkins and Didi excuses herself to the restroom to wipe off the rest of the wine. Dream and Eleanor are left staring at one another in silence, before Eleanor breaks the tension with another giggle.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes. “I’m not laughing at you, really, just the whole situation. Imagine if you brought Hob with you tonight?” she practically squeals.

“I—you’re not mad?” Dream asks, more shocked than anything. Eleanor just shrugs and drinks from her water glass this time, instead of her wine.

“I mean, did Hob at least wait a day before he tried to make a move on you?” Eleanor asks. “Not that it matters really, we were broken up before I left but well, you know. Respectful turnaround time and all that.”

“I—” Dream stutters, trying desperately to recall when that first time with Hob actually happened. “I mean, I think it was a few weeks after you left?”

Eleanor snorts. “Good enough, I guess.”

“Sorry,” Dream says, shaking his head as Didi returns and sits back down next to Eleanor. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around this. Did you know he wanted to—?”

“Oh no, no,” Eleanor says then starts laughing again. “Our breakup wasn’t planned or anything, don’t worry. It’s just that, well. He told me he wanted to stay with you guys more than me, so I’m not that surprised?”

“What?” Dream says, dumbly. “But you both said the breakup was mutual.” Eleanor sighs.

“I mean,” she replies. “It was technically mutual. But Hob wanted to stay in Boston, and I didn’t. And one of our last arguments before I left was about abandoning our friends.” She shrugs again. “I love you all, don’t get me wrong, but I really love living out in Seattle more. Especially the company.” She smiles at Didi, who kisses her on the cheek. “It kind of sucked that Hob really didn’t want to move, but it wouldn’t have been fair to ask him to do it all just for me and my career goals.”

“Oh,” Dream says dumbly. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.” Dream wouldn’t have wanted to leave Boston for any reason either, so it makes sense, he thinks. Boston is just that. It’s home.

“It’ll make double dating a little weird, though,” Eleanor adds, and Didi laughs.

“I think we’ll be fine though,” Didi adds, then turns her focus to Dream. “So tell us about you and Hob,” she says.

“I—we’re not,” Dream stammers, unsure of how to proceed further with the conversation. Eleanor and Didi’s expressions both fall.

“Oh, Dream,” Didi says, reaching out to take his hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”

“It’s fine,” Dream says though he feels anything but. “I don’t—it didn’t last long between us,” he admits.

“Wow, he fumbled the bag on you?” Eleanor interjects, shock clearly painted on her face. “My god, he really is an idiot.”

“No I—we had a fight,” Dream says, unsure of why he feels the need to clarify. “It was my fault really. I shouldn’t have—he wasn’t ready to commit.”

Eleanor makes a confused face.

“That—doesn’t sound like Hob,” Eleanor says after a moment, and Dream huffs in annoyance.

“You only knew him while you were dating, how would you know that?” Dream retorts.

“Because he told me he’s never done casual,” Eleanor replies. “When we first started seeing each other, he basically said just that. That’s what I liked about him, he wanted to do the whole commitment thing right away, even if it didn’t end up working out.”

“Well maybe he’s changed,” Dream says, far more grumpily than he intended. “He’s never said shit to me about anything, and still hasn’t, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Dream,” Didi says gently, squeezing his hand. “Are you okay?”

“It’s fine,” Dream insists, not wanting to go into the details of how he’d terribly fucked up his situation with Hob.

“You don’t sound fine at all,” Didi replies.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have this conversation at dinner though?” Eleanor interjects, looking concernedly at him. Dream huffs and then pouts. Eleanor was always hyper attuned to when people were upset, especially Dream.

But Dream does want to talk about it, even if it is a bit awkward, all things considered. Eleanor seems to at least be willing to hear Dream out, if nothing else.

They wrap up their bill quickly, taking some of their dinner to go, and find their way over to Dream’s apartment, where he spends the rest of the night wrapped up in a blanket while he recounts the past six months to his sister and Eleanor. There’s also, perhaps, a lot of wine involved. Solely because Eleanor had decided it was also girls night and they needed a lot of wine for a proper one.

“I’m going to murder him myself,” Eleanor says, holding up her bottle of wine when Dream finishes telling her everything that had happened up until now.

“El, no,” Dream whines. He’s really more embarrassed about the whole situation now than anything. Talking things over with the two of them had really helped, and Dream wonders if he should’ve talked to Lucienne, or even Jessamy and Matthew to start. Maybe he wouldn’t have let things go so far the way they did between him and Hob.

“Nah, he deserves it,” Eleanor replies, taking another swig from her bottle.

“It’s really my fault,” Dream tries to insist, knowing it’s useless to defend Hob to his own ex. “I knew he wasn’t over you and I—”

“No, Dream, listen to me,” Eleanor says, taking Dream’s face in her hands. “He never—” she turns away from him suddenly and then burps. Dream laughs, despite himself.

“He never what?” Dream asks when Eleanor turns back to face him. She sighs.

“He never told you why he turns off the lights, and that’s on him,” Eleanor tells him.

“I—what?” Dream says dumbly. Hob turned off the lights with Eleanor too?

“Yeah, he—” Eleanor hiccups and then starts giggling. She releases Dream’s face and then falls back onto Didi, who’s sitting behind her on the couch. “He’s sensitive, you know? About—” she gestures at her front, “All the hair he has. Hates it when people see it. I think we had sex with the lights on like, twice, at most.” She pauses and then regards Dream, her expression sombering. “I thought you knew.”

“Why would I know that?” Dream asks, dumfounded. Hob had never given any indicator that he was sensitive about any part of his body, and no one in their friend group had ever commented on it.

“Because,” Eleanor replies, gesturing wildly. “Think about it. Whenever we went to the beach or anything together, did you ever see him take his shirt off? Or at the pool at Matthew and Jessamy’s place?”

“I—” Dream filters through his memory, which is an especially difficult task considering how drunk they are. He realizes that Eleanor’s right.

“Shit.” Dream groans. “I think I fucked up.”

“No, no, he did,” Eleanor insists. “I always told him I didn’t mind all the hair,” she adds then sighs. “I mean it’s a lot, but it never bothered me, you know?”

“It’s never bothered me either,” Dream admits. He’d rather liked the differences in their bodies actually. Hob was broad where Dream was lanky, naturally tan and sunkissed where Dream was pale. Dream had never had an opinion on chest hair before, what little hair he’d had it was so fine and thin that his chest looked bare anyways. But Eleanor was right. Dream had never really seen Hob casually uncovered. And while he was always eager to undress Dream when the lights were still on, Hob almost never fully undressed himself until after he’d shut them off.

It seems so obvious now, in retrospect. But Dream had been caught up in his own insecurities to really notice that Hob had any of his own to address.

“I honestly thought he didn’t want to look at me when he turned off the lights,” Dream confesses. “That maybe he was hoping he could pretend I was someone else in the dark.”

“Okay, I’m with my girlfriend,” Didi says suddenly, a murderous look in her eyes. “I’m a doctor, I can make it look like an accident,” she adds, holding up her weird hand mixed cocktail that has hot sauce in it.

“Didi!” Dream exclaims. “No murder,” he orders, then laughs at the absurdity of the entire situation. They all start laughing, and Dream feels something unwind in his chest when they do. He thinks about texting Hob, but ultimately decides against it. What he wants to tell him, he wants to do it sober, and in person.

Dream wakes up the next morning extremely hungover, and orders breakfast for delivery. Didi and Eleanor try to insist on paying him back, but he waves away their money, and tells them they can buy him dinner when he flies out to see them move. They both hug him fiercely on their way out and make him promise to see them at least one more time before they fly back to Seattle.

-----------------

A week after his conversation with his sister and Eleanor, Dream is outside Hob’s apartment door, pacing nervously as he rehearses everything he wants to say to Hob. His apology. His request to start things over, if Hob still wants to try. How he’s really been feeling about their whole not-relationship status.

Really, he’s just stalling knocking on Hob’s door. What if Hob doesn’t answer when he sees it’s Dream? What if he tells Dream to go away without even hearing him out? What if—

Dream groans and then mentally slaps himself. He needs to stop worrying himself unnecessarily. Either Hob will want to hear him out or he won’t. But Dream needs to at least try.

He’s about to raise his hand to finally knock on the door, when suddenly he hears Hob’s voice, distinctly from not inside the apartment.

“Dream?” Hob asks. Dream turns in the direction of his voice and finds Hob standing at the end of the hall, groceries in hand. Dream realizes he’s been an idiot standing in front of a completely empty apartment.

“Hi,” Dream says, every rehearsed speech and romantic gesture he’d just been rehearsing evaporating from his mind like wisps of smoke.

“Hi,” Hob replies, his voice flat. He looks tired, but not angry at least, to see Dream. “Did you need something?” he asks as he walks slowly towards his front door, eyeing Dream a little suspiciously. Dream can’t really blame him. Their last interaction had ended rather poorly.

“I—can we talk?” Dream asks, stepping aside so Hob can put his key in the lock. Hob sighs and his shoulders droop, like he’s been dreading this exact situation.

“Sure,” Hob replies, putting on a fake cheerful demeanor as he opens the door to let himself and Dream in.

“Do you need help with anything?” Dream asks, trailing Hob towards the kitchen.

“If you want,” Hob replies, setting the groceries down onto the counter. But before Dream can start unpacking anything, he sighs again and groans.

“Actually, Dream,” Hob says, turning around and facing him head on. “Let’s just talk now.”

“Uhm—okay,” Dream replies, now feeling incredibly nervous. Hob looks at him expectantly, crossing his arms as he waits for Dream to gather his thoughts.

Finally, Dream says, “I wanted to say I’m sorry. About everything that happened last time I was here.”

His apology seems to surprise Hob, who suddenly straightens up from his leaning position against the counter.

“Oh,” Hob replies, sounding dumbstruck. “I—I’m sorry too,” he offers, uncrossing his arms and running a hand through his hair. Dream realizes it’s longer than the last time he’d seen it. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper at you that night.”

“To be fair, I was being an ass,” Dream admits, even though it pains him to do so.

“Yeah but you had a reason to be,” Hob says. “I was just feeling sorry for myself for no reason and I took it out on you.”

“I still took my shitty day out on you,” Dream replies, shrugging. “So I guess we were both not at our best that night.”

“I guess not,” Hob accepts, with a small smile. “We’re okay then?”

Dream nods. “Yes,” he says, offering a small smile himself, then stepping towards Hob. “Why were you feeling sorry for yourself?” Hob’s expression shutters closed again, and he shakes his head.

“It’s not important,” he says, turning away and refusing to meet Dream’s eyes.

“Hob,” Dream says, taking another step closer and reaching out to take the other man’s hand in his. “It’s important to me,” he adds.

Hob sighs, and then turns his eyes to the ceiling. When he meets Dream’s gaze again, he looks pained.

“I’m not good at being casual Dream,” Hob tells him bluntly, and Dream feels a sense of deja vu run through him like a live wire. “If we’re going to keep doing…this, I want there to be a commitment. It’s not just sex to me.”

It’s almost identical to what Eleanor had said about Hob to Dream a week prior. Dream suddenly feels wretched for not noticing sooner, but also indignant, because why had Hob assumed that wasn’t what Dream wanted as well?

“Hob,” Dream says, as calmly as he can manage, before he squeezes Hob’s hand tightly. “What made you think I didn’t want the same things?”

Hob’s face falls. He looks intently at Dream’s face, and whatever he finds there only seems to upset him further.

“I—I don’t know,” Hob admits, before he groans and places his free hand over his face. Dream finds it a bit comforting that he hasn’t tried to remove Dream’s hand over his other one.

“I’ve read this whole thing wrong, haven’t I?” Hob says through his hand, before slapping his forehead. “I’m a fucking idiot.”

“You’re not,” Dream says, before he takes Hob’s free hand as well. “And to be fair,” he adds, “it’s occurred to me recently that I may have, as well. We’ve never talked about—about this,” he gestures between them. “Us. We just sort of skip to the sex.”

“Well, we have been drunk every time,” Hob replies. “You said so yourself.”

“Not—every time,” Dream says. “After Matthew got food poisoning, when I thought that you had invited me out on a date, we only had one drink each that we didn’t finish.”

“Wait,” Hob stutters, his whole body going rigid. “You thought I had invited you out for a date? That’s why—,” his eyes widen suddenly. “That’s why you wore the blazer.”

Dream blushes furiously and now it is his turn to look away from Hob’s scrutinizing gaze. “You don’t have to rub it in.”

“No I’m not I—,” Hob groans again, and then, unexpectedly, pulls his hands free before dropping his head down on Dream’s shoulder. Dream startles when he feels Hob’s arms suddenly wrap around his waist shortly after.

“I had no idea. None at all,” Hob confesses, then groans again. “God I would’ve taken you somewhere nicer if I knew you wanted it to be a date.”

Dream shrugs, then reaches up to pat Hob on the back. “It’s fine. Really.”

“Not really, but we can agree to disagree,” Hob replies, before he tilts his head slightly up to look at Dream “Can I get a do-over on that then?” he asks. “Take you out on a proper date?”

Dream wants that, he realizes. Desperately. So he nods.

“I do want that,” Dream says honestly. “But—”

“Oh God, there’s a ‘but’,” Hob groans before he straightens and untangles himself from Dream. Dream already misses the warmth of Hob’s body.

“It’s not a bad ‘but’,” Dream replies. “But there’s something that’s been bothering me since we—since all this started,” he finishes. “I want to make sure we’re really on the same page.”

Hob nods. “Okay, sure. What is it?” he asks.

Dream takes a deep breath to brace himself, and then looks Hob directly in the eye. Now or never, he supposes.

“Why do you turn off the lights?” Dream asks.

Hob blinks, slow, then suddenly blushes a furious red before he buries his face in his hands.

“Aw, come on Dream,” Hob sighs. “It’s really embarrassing.”

Dream softens a bit, but remains resolute. Eleanor had told him what she thought had been the problem all along, but he still needs to hear it from Hob himself.

“I need to know, Hob,” Dream insists.

“Why?” Hob asks, then sighs again. “I mean, I don’t know, it’s pretty obvious isn’t it? I’m not really much to look at, you know,” he says, gesturing to himself.

“Not much to look at?” Dream asks, unable to keep the disbelief out of his voice.

“I know, it’s stupid,” Hob sighs, running a hand over his face. “But I mean, Dream, look at you. You’re gorgeous and I’m…I don’t know, not that?”

“I’m still not following,” Dream says, still confused but also growing more and more uneasy about what Hob is implying. “Did you…did you really not think I was attracted to you? At all?”

“No, I—I just—,” Hob stutters. “I don’t know what I thought, honestly,” he says, looking guilty. “I just—I’m not as confident as you about how I look naked,” he adds, gesturing to his front, and Dream’s heart sinks at the confirmation of yet another thing Eleanor had told him. “I thought…maybe you’d change your mind about being with me. If you saw, well— everything.”

“Everything,” Dream replies flatly.

“I mean, you know I’m really…hairy,” Hob says, before he winces. “And well, I’m not really in shape or anything like that either…” he trails off, looking even more guilty with every new word that comes out of his mouth. Like he’s only just realizing now that he pushed his anxieties about his body onto Dream, who clearly hasn't noticed any of the things Hob's insecure about.

“So…what?” Dream says, suddenly feeling indignance and hurt creep into his voice. “You just assumed I wouldn’t find you attractive unless I was drunk and we had sex in the dark?”

“Wait, what?” Hob exclaims.

“Am I really that shallow sounding to you?” Dream continues, already feeling his emotions start to get the better of him.

“No, oh god, no,” Hob replies immediately. “Dream, I don’t know what’s brought this on, but swear it had nothing to do with you. I was just stupid and insecure about myself, and I wasn’t thinking properly. I’m sorry, I really had no idea it bothered you so much.”

A somewhat tense and awkward silence falls between them. Dream mulls over what Hob has told him, feeling wretched about how deeply they’ve both misunderstood one another. But he had come here to clear those misunderstandings after all. Hob had admitted his insecurities. Now Dream had to as well.

“I actually thought—” Dream says, then takes a shuddering breath to calm himself. “I thought you turned the lights off because you didn’t want to look at me,” he finally admits. “Because I wasn’t who you really wanted to be with.”

Hob’s eyes widen, first in shock, then horror. “Wait you thought that I—”

“Was using me as a stand-in for Eleanor?” Dream finishes. He wraps his arms around himself and then looks away, refusing to meet Hob’s eyes. He feels like a coward for doing so but Dream knows he’ll lose his resolve to admit everything he’d been bottling up if he does. “The first time we slept together, I assumed you were only looking for a rebound. And when we never talked about it after, or told our friends I—”

“Fuck, Dream,” Hob interrupts, grabbing him suddenly and hugging Dream to his chest. “I had no idea, I—fuck, I’m so sorry I made you feel like that.”

Dream sniffles, wrapping his own arms around Hob, shrugging helplessly.

“I should have said something sooner,” Dream says. “But I let it—fester instead. I had no idea that you thought you weren’t attractive to me either. But Hob,” he adds, turning his head to meet Hob’s eyes again, hoping he looks as serious as he feels. “I don’t just sleep with people I’m not attracted to. Regardless of how much alcohol is involved.”

Hob nods. “Yeah. I—I’m still sorry about everything though.”

“Me too,” Dream replies, then adds, a bit more quietly. “I like the hair, actually.” Hob chokes out a noise that seems half between a laugh and a sob.

“You don’t have to say—” he starts but Dream shushes him.

“I mean it, Hob,” Dream says, before he works a hand between them to pet the small patch of hair peeking out from beneath Hob’s shirt. “I think it suits you. And I would like to be able to fully appreciate it.”

When he looks up at Hob, the other man’s eyes are a bit watery. But then Hob blinks rapidly, and sniffles, before he hugs Dream even more tightly to himself.

“Stay the night?” Hob asks. “Not for—not for sex. Just stay with me?”

Dream nods against Hob’s shoulder. “Okay.”

Hob makes a decision to order takeout instead of making dinner like he originally planned, citing that he’d rather spend time talking with Dream anyways. They still put away the groceries, which helps release a lot of the emotional tension that had built up between them, and Dream enjoys the warm, domestic feel of the activity.

Once their food arrives, they settle on Hob’s couch and talk late into the night about everything and nothing. Hob catches Dream up on what missed during trivia when he was out with Didi, and Dream shyly admits that Didi had not been the only person he’d talked to that evening. Hob stares at him, equal parts awestruck and mortified, as Dream recalls his conversations with Eleanor and Didi, and how he found out they were dating.

“So what you’re saying is, I’m lucky to have my bits still attached?” Hob jokes.

“Hob,” Dream chastises him, bumping their shoulders together. “That’s not nice.”

“You didn’t date Eleanor,” Hob retorts. “She’s terrifying, do you know how many serial killer documentaries she used to watch?”

Dream did, in fact, know this. He had been subject to many episodes of Cold Case Files growing up with Didi, and his knowledge had been how he and Eleanor had first become friends. Dream suspects Eleanor’s deep passion for them is actually one of the reasons why she and Didi get along so well.

“Hob,” Dream says, a new worry now crossing his mind. “Are you—okay—with all of this?” he waves vaguely. “With Didi dating your ex while we—?” He trails off. They still haven’t really decided on what their official relationship status would be going forward, and Dream doesn’t want to presume.

Hob nudges Dream with his shoulder, and then kisses the top of his head.

“Yeah, I am,” Hob answers sincerely. “I mean—it’s never not going to suck that we broke up,” he adds. “But we had our time, and if she’s happy then I’m happy too.”

Dream nods. “That’s good to hear,” he says.

“Are you okay with it?” Hob asks. Dream hums.

“I am,” he answers, then huffs a laugh. “I did offer to help them move into their new place, though.”

Hob groans. “Does this mean I have to help too as part of my good boyfriend duties?” he asks.

Dream’s potsticker falls out of his mouth mid chew, hits his knee, and then falls to the floor.

“Shit!” Dream exclaims, putting his food on the coffee table before bending down to pick up the stray dumpling.

“I—did I say something wrong?” Hob asks, worry now clear in his voice. Dream shakes his head and then flops against Hob’s shoulder.

“You said nothing wrong,” Dream says into Hob’s shoulder, his face now flushed with embarrassment. “I was just surprised, is all. You—you said it so easily.”

“Boyfriend, you mean?” Hob asks, now in a teasing tone. “Do you like it?”

Dream nods, feeling ridiculous about being done in by a single word. But Hob doesn’t seem to mind.

“I like it too,” is all he says, before he places a hand underneath Dream’s chin and kisses him.

-----------------

As they’re getting ready for bed, Dream feels a thrum of excitement, even though they’ve still agreed that sex is off the table for the night. They’re both far too tired and emotionally drained from the evening to put in the effort anyways.

But then Hob is holding out his arm for Dream to snuggle into, and Dream feels like a teenanger as he curls up against Hob’s chest and rests his head on it.

“Fair warning that you’re going to wake up sweaty if you stay here all night,” Hob tells him. Dream knows he doesn’t mean to sound so self-deprecating, but now that he knows just how deep Hob’s insecurities run, it breaks his heart a little.

“That’s fine,” Dream says, pressing himself even closer. He can feel Hob’s chest hair poking through the thin material of his undershirt. Dream rubs his face into it, enjoying the rough, scratchy texture against his check. Hob laughs at Dream’s actions, and Dream hums in contentment. He really did like the feel of Hob’s chest hair. It was surprisingly soft in certain places, and warm. Maybe Dream would wake up because he’s too warm in the middle of the night. Maybe he won’t. He’s just glad that now he gets the opportunity to find out.

“You don’t have to pretend to be enthusiastic about it,” Hob says as Dream nuzzles him again.

“I’m not,” Dream replies, rolling his eyes. “It feels…nice.”

“Sure,” Hob replies. “Say that again in the morning.”

Dream does in fact, say something similar to that effect in the morning. He says it while he sits atop Hob’s lap, Dream gripping the thick pelt of hair for purchase as he ruts himself desperately against Hob.

They’ve never had sex in the morning. In the bright light of day. Somehow it’s even more intimate than what Dream imagines having sex with the lights on must feel like and he loves it. Hob is looking at Dream like he’s something divine, like he can’t quite believe that what they’re doing is really happening. Dream thinks he’ll never let Hob turn off the lights again when they do this. He never again wants to miss a single second of seeing the way Hob looks at him, at how stunning Hob’s entire body looks and feels when pressed against Dream’s. His new goal, for however long it takes, is that Hob never questions Dream’s attraction to him ever again.

When they’ve both reached their peaks, Dream collapses on top of Hob, uncaring of the sticky mess between them. Hob’s chest is warm and broad, and Dream finds himself slowly drifting back to sleep. Hob groans after a while, however, wriggling beneath the weight of Dream's body, and disturbing his otherwise peaceful post-coital rest.

“Okay, this is sweet and all, but now I’m the one that's too hot,” Hob whines, pushing gently at Dream’s shoulder. Dream laughs, a brazen, awful honking noise that he’s always been insecure about. But Hob had told him the night before that he loves Dream’s laugh, and Dream can see now that the other man wasn’t lying. He’s looking at Dream softly, so full of affection that Dream nearly forgets he needs to move and just stares at Hob for a while.

“What?” Hob asks, his eyes crinkled with happiness.

“Nothing,” Dream replies, smiling back before he moves off of his boyfriend’s chest.

Hob gets up from the bed once Dream rolls off of him and heads towards the bathroom. He comes back with two warm washcloths to wipe themselves off with. When they’re both done, he tosses both cloths in the direction of the hamper, missing his target by mere inches.

“Close enough,” Hob says.

“That’ll leave a wet spot on your carpet,” Dream tells him, already seeing his prediction start to come true.

“I’ll get to it later,” Hob replies before he kisses Dream, languid and slow and perfect. “I have more important things to do today.”

#dreamling #dream of the endless/hob gadling #hob x morpheus #dreamling bingo #dreamling bingo 2024 #seiya writes #seiya writes dreamling #angst angst angst

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upat4amwiththemoon · 2 years ago

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If you are taking requests. May I request Amelia X reader. Reader is her ex but they broke off( private practise , worked with Addison and all ). But reader left maybe to work abroad or the military. Fast forward now reader returns to Grey's Addison called them in , old flame,sparks . reader was always her safe place but they grew apart and had to grow(get sober). Just want Amelia to be happy, idk what the heck happened to Kai :((( I'm sorry if it's too much or silly feel free to if ore.

Somebody that I used to know

Summary: Even though years change people, the love for them stays the same.

Pairing: Amelia Shepherd x female!reader

Warnings: my medical knowledge is zero, talk of addiction, Scout doesn’t exist

Word count: 1997

a/n: Amelia deserves so much better

masterlists | guidelines

Addison walks towards the break room, hoping to find Amelia there before it’s too late. She walks into the room, luckily seeing the youngest Shepherd sitting on the couch, coffee in hand, talking with Maggie Pierce. “Amelia, could I talk to you for a minute?” She says right away, skipping the pleasantries.

With a look, Amelia stands up. “Sure.” She chuckles quietly, slightly nervous. “What’s up?” She asks after Maggie leaves to room for the two.

“I called Doctor Y/L/N here to help me with a patient of mine, she’s arriving today.” She tells, trying to gauge what Amelia’s thoughts are about seeing her ex again. “I wanted to tell you before she’s here.”

“Okay, thanks for telling me.” And with that Amelia leaves the room. Addison sighs, rubbing her forehead. Suddenly she isn’t too sure if she did the right thing, but she really needs Y/N here, she’s the best in her field. She just has to hope everything goes smoothly.

“Addison!” Y/N’s voice calls out excitedly.

The red head turns around to see her doctor friend walking towards her with a bright smile. “Hey, stranger.” Addison laughs, meeting her half way to hug her. “I’m so glad to finally see you. How was the world?” She pulls away, her hands on Y/N’s shoulders to see how much she has changed over the years.

“The world was good.” Y/N decided to leave the practice in Los Angeles to join the Doctors Without Borders, traveling all over the world with them. “How’s Seattle? I didn’t think you’d come back here.” She looks around the hospital. This isn’t her first time in Grey Sloan Memorial, but it has been a long time since she was last here.

“Seattle is good. You know I go where babies need me, and this baby needs us both.” She nods her head forward, so they start walking. “The baby is two months old and his heart is incredibly weak. He won’t survive without a donor heart, but getting a heart that small will take too much time.”

“That’s where I come in.”

“That’s where you come in.” Addison smiles, she missed working with her. “His heart could become strong enough, if you fixed the veins around it.” They walk into a room full of pictures of the baby’s heart and veins.

Y/N looks through the pictures, at times picking one of them up to see it closer. The heart is compromised, and the baby won’t survive long if they do nothing, but the surgery Addison is talking about is incredibly risky. Fortunately, Y/N is a risk taker.

“I can do it,” she states, “but I’m gonna need a lot of help. His vitals need to be monitored closely.”

Letting out a sigh of relief, Addison nods. “I’ll get you anything you need.” She pauses for a moment, contemplating on saying anything. “Amelia is here, you know? Incase you wanted to talk to her.”

“Oh.” Y/N clears her throat, cleaning up the pictures into a neat pile so she wouldn’t have to look at Addison staring at her. “I didn’t know that.” She mumbles.

The now silent and tense atmosphere of the room makes Addison question whether she made the right decision. Amelia is one of the most important people in her life, she’s her sister, but she also cares about Y/N a lot. Their relationship didn’t really end on the best terms, mostly because of Amelia’s addiction, but the relationship itself was good. They both were happiest Addison has ever seen when they were together.

“I’ll make a surgery plan and then get back to you, okay?” Y/N states, not waiting for Addison to answer as she leaves the room.

Her mind is all over the place, which makes her walk through the hallways with less attention than usually, though she does greet the familiar faces going past her. However, she doesn’t notice the person walking right towards her with the same state of mind. So, they crash into each other.

All the pictures Y/N was holding fly to the floor. “Shit, I’m sorry.” She grumbles, kneeling down to gather them.

“Y/N?”

The familiar voice makes her head snap up. Amelia is standing over her, an indescribable look on her face. The exes stare at each other in silence, both unsure what to do. They both knew of the others presence in the hospital, but they didn’t think they’d bump into each other, at least not yet.

Her breath hitches as she looks over Amelia’s face. As much as she doesn’t like admitting it, she missed her. “Amy.” With a mumble, Y/N stands up, dusting off her scrubs.

“Amelia, no one calls me Amy anymore.” She says with a small smile. Y/N just nods, putting it to her mind. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Yeah.”

Amelia scratches the back of her neck. “So, Addison called you.”

“She did.” The pictures are starting to crease in her grip. “There’s a..baby, obviously, uhm, and she needed help.” She clears her throat, looking around for an exit. “I actually have to make a surgery plan for tomorrow, so, I’ll see you around, I guess.”

Going to walk past Amelia, she stops once a hand takes hold of her arm. “Could we talk? Just the two of us, later today.”

The ask makes Y/N hesitant, but the way Amelia is looking at her makes her give in. “Okay.”

“Awesome,” a smile spreads on Amelia’s face, “coffee, after work?”

“I’ll see you then.” She lets go and Y/N walks away, Amelia’s eyes never leaving her back.

Amelia paces around the lobby of the hospital, her mind racing a mile a minute. She has always considered Y/N her biggest love, maybe even soulmate, if she truly believes in them. Seeing her again has brought the feelings back to the surface and she isn’t sure what to do with them.

Her thoughts come to a halt when she notices Y/N walking towards her. Instead of her scrubs, she’s now wearing her everyday clothes. She looks just as beautiful as she did all those years ago. And she decides to tell her so, “you look beautiful.” Y/N hums with a slight smile, her cheeks turn warm, but she pays no mind to it. “There’s a small cafe down the street.”

“Let’s go then.” As they walk side by side, Y/N bites the inside of her cheek, looking down at the pavement. The silence is uncomfortable and they desperately want to break it, but neither of them know what’s appropriate to say in a situation like this. “How have you been?” Y/N decodes to ask, glancing at Amelia.

“Better. A lot better actually. I’ve been sober for a long time, though it’s still hard sometimes. I got two new sisters, sort of,” she chuckles, “Meredith and Maggie. And I’m the head of neuro department.”

“I heard about Derek. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” Amelia sighs. “It’s okay.” She opens the door of the cafe for Y/N before stepping inside herself. At the counter, they order their coffees, and when it comes time to pay, Amelia pushes Y/N’s hand away from the machine. “My treat.” She pays both of their coffees.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.” They move to the other side pf the counter to wait for their coffees. “It’s the least I can do after,” she pauses, “everything.”

“It wasn’t completely your fault.” She looks away from her. “You were going through a tough time.”

“That’s no excuse. I hurt you and drove away one of the best things in my life.”

Being one of the best things in her life sounds like an exaggeration, but the sincerity in Amelia’s eyes makes her believe she really means it. “You’re also important to me.” Before the conversation van keep on going, the barista shouts their names. They take their coffees and find a quiet corner place to sit.

“So, what have you been doing all there years?”

“I moved around with Doctors Without Borders.” Y/N sips her drink. “Also studied a bit on the side.”

“And your love life?”

If Amelia was anything, she was blunt. If she wanted know something, she’d ask, Y/N usually liked her unfiltered talk. “Love life, huh?” She giggles with a shake of her head. “There were some flings and one time things, you know, to release stress I suppose. But nothing that stayed.” Amelia listens intently while she drinks her coffee. “And you?”

She shrugs. “There was Link and Kai, but just like every relationship I have had, they ended with someone’s heart broken.” Amelia has a grin on her face. She has already gotten over the past two relationships, but it’s still disheartening to have failed relationships.

“Hm, you’ll find your person.”

“Maybe,” Amelia keeps eye contact with Y/N, “I really hope so.”

Looking down, Y/N taps the mug in front of her with her nails, all the feelings around them getting overwhelming. “Listen,” she changes the subject, “could you be in the surgery tomorrow? I need someone to monitor her brain activity, and you are the best there is.” She lifts her head to give Amelia a teasing look. “Or at least you used to be. Have you gotten worse over the years?”

“Worse? Do you know who you’re talking to? I’m better than ever.” Amelia answers to the teasing look with a challenging look of her own. “What I’m hearing is, you need my help because you aren’t in the best shape.” Her elbows are leaning against the table.

“Oh, wow.” Y/N crosses her arms. “Your ego is still sky high.”

Amelia laughs, which Y/N giggle as well.

The surgery has been going on for six hours already, and the whole room is tense. Amelia and Addison are monitoring the baby’s health, while Y/N is rerouting the veins near the heart. The surgery is already nearing its end, but there’s still things to do.

Y/N lets out a sigh, shaking her hand to ease the pain in her wrist. It has stayed on one position for a long time. She can feel multiple pairs of eyes on the side of her head, there’s an audience in the viewing room. This is an once in a lifetime surgery after all. Double checking everything she has done, Y/N lifts her head to her friends. “Are his vitals good?” The two nod. “Alright, we’re ready to close.” She says shakily, not ready to relax just yet. But she can feel the relief coursing through the room.

The sutures closing the opening on the baby’s chest don’t take long, as the wound isn’t as big as on an adult. The moment the last suture is on its place, people in the viewing room start cheering, so do the doctors in the operation room. Addison and one other doctor take the baby to NICU, not before thanking Y/N though.

Walking out of the room, Y/N slumps down to a chair, taking off her scrub cap. Amelia sits down next to her. “Watching you work is seriously magnificent.”

Y/N laughs, “you’re being dramatic.”

“I’m not!” Amelia throws her arm around Y/N’s shoulders, giving her a side hug. “You’re incredibly and I love you.” Y/N turns to look at her. “Give me another chance? Go on a date with me?”

“Okay.”

“Yeah?” Amelia grins widely.

“Yeah.” Y/N smiles too, her heart beating a hundred miles. She isn’t sure if it’s from the surgery she just did, or the fact that Amelia is looking at her like she’s the only person she cares about.

Amelia nods, feeling like she just won the lottery. “I’ll pick you up at eight, wear something pretty.” She kisses her cheek before walking off, going straight to Addison to tell the good news.

#grey’s anatomy fanfiction #grey’s anatomy fic #grey’s anatomy imagine #grey’s anatomy #amelia shepherd #amelia shepherd x reader #amelia shepherd x you #amelia shepherd x fem!reader #amelia shepherd x female!reader #amelia shepherd x y/n #amelia shepherd imagine #amelia shepherd fanfic #addison montgomery #platonic addison montgomery x reader #private practice #amelia shepherd x addison montgomery #fluff

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astralflower-writes · 8 months ago

Text

just visiting (part three)

♡ pairing: alex karev x female! reader

♡ genre: angst to fluff

♡ warnings: none

♡ part one, part two, part four, special scenes

♡ check out my grey's anatomy masterlist here

your flight was not until tomorrow evening, so meredith proposed that you and everyone, and by everyone, you, her, alex and the kids, have a small dinner party.

of course you were on cooking duty. meredith were giving the kids snacks and juice boxes. well, alex, he's sitting by the counter drinking his beer.

"god, you really can't stay? y/n i'll pay you. you can just stay and cook for us."

"mer, no."

the three of you laughed, reminiscing the times you had with them and the rest of your friends during intern year. the way they were crazy just so you'll cook a decent meal for everyone.

you were done with dinner and meredith offered to send the kids to bed. you were cleaning up in the kitchen quietly, when alex entered.

"hey"

nodding at him, acknowledging his presence.

"dinner was great."

"im glad you liked it." you replied and smiling at him briefly. "it'll be great you have you around again, y/n."

after you finished cleaning up, you tried to catch some sleep before waking up at 4am to cook a decent meal for mer, the kids and as much as you hate to admit, for alex.

they woke up to notes stuck on the fridge door which is most certainly from you.

had to move our flight earlier than planned. we will definitely visit again soon! - y/n & lucas

i also made that beef stew you guys liked intern year. it's in the fridge. - y/n

"i think the stew is for you." meredith said as she took the cereal box from the cupboards. "it's the one meal you always bugged her to cook." she added.

"oh. shut up mer." was all alex could say before looking for the container that has the stew.

you were now back in baltimore, going straight to the hospital just after dropping off your luggage and getting a babysitter for your child.

spending the day back was not like how you spent hours in the OR back in seattle. you tried to brush it off, but knowing that deep inside, you know that grey-sloan will always be your home.

you gave yourself a month to decide, whether you stay or go.

you had the day off, so you to spent the day with lucas walking around the shops near your apartment.

"hey sweetheart"

"yes mama?"

the both of you decided to eat ice cream and make sundaes.

"what if we moved to seattle?"

"to auntie mer's house?"

"no... but close to them."

"yes! if we moved i can always play with zola, bailey and elis! maybe uncle alex too!"

nodding at his response, which made you really consider moving back.

you: is the position still open?

mer: bailey says yes

mer: in surgery with her

you made arrangements the next day. they gave you another offer but you declined.

mer: when are you coming in?

you: have to hand off my patients here. maybe in two weeks?

mer: alex offers his room again until you and lucas find a place.

you: we'll just stay at the hotel for a while.

mer: want me to ask alex to drag you out of the hotel?

you: fine

you were slowly packing your things, when you're mother decided to visit you. "what is going on?"

"we're packing."

"we... we're moving to seattle."

"look mom, i don't want to fight with you guys anymore. so, please let me do this." she sighed before speaking. "are you really that miserable when you moved here with us?"

you smiled sadly at her. "our little stay in seattle made me and lucas happier."

she agreed, although she still said some things but she also said that she'll talk to your father.

meredith also offered that some of your stuff would be sent to her house before you guys arrived.

the both of you arrived safely, meredith and alex came to pick you up at the airport. "welcome back." meredith said as soon as you approached them. "it's nice to be back."

"what did your parents say?" meredith whispered as she helped you with your luggages. "had a small fight, one of them saying i should make sure that i won't be going back crying?"

"all set?" alex interrupting you and meredith's laughing fit.

you and lucas were dropped off as the both of them were needed back at the hospital and telling them that you had appointments to check out the houses you were considering.

the days you spent on meredith's house, you finally met amelia and maggie. after your small dinner that meredith somehow made, you made your way back to the room.

"hey. we're stealing your room again."

"it's fine. welcome back y/n."

over the next few weeks, you and alex started to talk to each other again. no more small talks. just normal conversations.

"alex!"

"can you pick up lucas from daycare? i have this surgery and it's going to be long."

"should we go ahead?"

"yeah. that would be great! thanks!" with that you dashed to go back to the surgical floor.

what alex didn't know, amelia and meredith saw the whole thing, how you talked to each other like it was always your routine.

"look at you two." amelia started.

"why don't you just stop sleeping on the couch and go back to your room. lucas has been sleeping with bailey for days now." meredith said pitching in.

"whatever. i gotta pick up the kid."

"they're basically playing house already."

"yeah. just like you and owen."

#astralflower writes #greys anatomy #greys anatomy imagines #greys anatomy scenarios #greys anatomy x reader #alex karev #alex karev imagines #alex karev scenarios #alex karev x reader

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docholligay · 6 months ago

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But what if instead of hating you, the house is mildly disapproving of you? Constantly making backhanded comments about your outfits, your choice of decor, the way you spend your free time?

Oh, honestly.

It was spellt--no, spelled--wait, spellt? No, written on the counter in a script Billie could barely read, all curliques and long arches. All that delicacy was balanced by the fact that it was written in the drips of Franzia that Billie had spilled across the counter while she was trying to unwrap her Taco Bell crunchwrap.

She'd been in this apartment two months. It had seemed like a steal, a backdoor entrance to a strange little apartment, two levels separated by the old, steep servants staircase. Most people wouldn't have liked it. It was the leftovers from the gutting of an old mansion into a triplex (and Billie), those three apartments sparkling clean and brilliant white, advertised as offering "glimpses into the past" with restained hardwood next to cabinets in Joanna Gaines grey. The walnut had been painted over, unfashionable tiling turned subway, and sold off to couples who were looking forward to the cheap cost of living in the area, giggling about their remote jobs.

Billie's apartment had never been fashionable. It was a servant's staircase attached to a servant's hallway and servant's quarters, atop a servant's kitchen. One of the bedrooms the landlady had generously called the parlor, never mind that you needed to pass through the kitchen to get to it. The hallway upstairs ended abruptly next to her door, with what was called 'exposed brick' on the half sold to a couple from Seattle but looked like 'a wall' on Billie's side. Sometimes you had to go down and hit the boiler, and there was no air conditioning in her part of the house, but the plus side was, no one wanted to live there.

Billie liked it, all in all.

Except the constant judgment.

For the last six weeks of eight, Billie had been haunted. There was no other way of saying it, no way about it, it was a haunting through and through. Not the sort of haunting she could ever tell anyone. Not a campfire story. No blood had spilled from her walls, and no chains had rattled around, but she did hear a deep, pained moan every time she put on a t-shirt with a cartoon character from the 80s on it.

It would have been fine to be watched, but Billie was being watched and judged, and what was worse was: Billie was beginning to think her snooty-nosed spirit might have a point.

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elliesbelle · 1 year ago

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Since reading ncty literally NO OTHER FIC COMPARES TO IT! I love it so much but now my standards are really high :´)

Belle sweetie I think you already suggested some other fits buuuut…do you know any other series (need something long) that’s also Ellie or Abby x reader that you liked and would suggest? Trusting only you with recs

haha well, i'm gonna plug the works of my mutuals again then!

@lonelyfooryouonly has PLENTY of amazing ellie series that are long and got a lot to read! (can't even choose a fave between them honestly)

@seattlesellie's not about love will have you crying and screaming and screaming with the s all at the same time! i still go back to it every now and again.

i'm not kidding when i say that @carmellie's see you next summer is everything to me. one time, carm released a chapter while i was at work, and i legit excused myself to the bathroom and didn't leave until i finished reading it!!!!

my wonderful love @totheblood has several series as well, superposition being one of my all-time faves (literally was already obsessed with the series before i even started publishing on here and before star and i were even friends)!

@callmelola111 has a bunch of ellie series, one of my faves is color me purple! i love flirty tension ugh

@s-4pphics has a BUNCH of ellie and abby series, literally just go through my sal love's page and you'll find so much content fr

@spaceshipellie's we were never just friends had me screaming and crying on the bus ride home, it was so so SO good

@glowstickfracture doesn't have a whole abby series perse, BUT they have so much amazing and sexy firefighter/fire medic!abby content that it's basically its own series!

sorority secrets by @cinnnamongrl was just so bellisimo chef's kiss, i did naught want it to end

my babes @phantombriide has a shit ton of smaus that are so immersive and they feel like reading a full blown series fr (and she has a new one coming out soon that i helped with so 😘)

@elliespeach's the air that i breathe isn't done yet, but it's everything to me and i'm at the edge of my seat waiting for the next chapter!

my love my life @cherriesxinthespring's seattle grace hospital is the reason i breathe, rose hasn't finished it yet but idc cause it's just so good

@coeurify's perfect girl is one of the very first elie fics i ever read and rinie is such a talented writer that you should just read everything they've written regardless

this isn't a complete list and i need to get back to what i'm doing skldfjdskls (i'm compiling this during a break from cleaning my apartment), but that's a start!

you can also check out the other list of fave ellie fics i made of my mutual's works too here.

#SORRY IF WE'RE MUTUALS AND I MISSED YOU #i can make a better list later if i remember skljfdssfldkj #looney ♡︎#angel ♡︎#carm ♡︎#star ♡#lola ♡︎#sal ♡#erin ♡︎#lee ♡︎#mi ♡#ang ♡︎#emmy ♡#rose ♡︎#rinie ♡︎#anon #belle answers

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icyg4l · 9 months ago

Text

PAC: Are You Getting Kisses This Pride Month?

Hello beautiful people! Tonight’s reading is hella self explanatory. This reading is apart of my Pride Month series. I will be using my Pride Tarot Deck in honor of this lovely month. This topic is dedicated to my queer folks who haven’t gotten as much action as they've wanted to and want to know if they’ll get some luck this time around. There will be some 18+ moments in these readings but nothing too extreme. There’s no need to talk too much so please! Without further ado, please select the image that resonates with you the most.

Top Left-to-Bottom Right: (Pile 1-9)

Pile One: For some reason, I am channeling that hand clapping game called ‘Mama’s Having a Baby’. I think that this pile is real fertile this month, lol. Or you could be feeling very playful and nostalgic this month. I also channeled the “trick or treat, smell my feet” song. So with that being said, I would say that you are getting kisses this month. Some of you could be kissing an old childhood friend. Perhaps you are rekindling with an ex that treated you very well. I am getting the energy of a cool down period. I feel like you will be hanging out with this person all day in public, but afterwards you go to their place or vice versa. This person is clean cut, has great manners and is very compassionate. They’ll treat you like royalty. There is a bit of teasing that comes with this kiss though. It does not come easy, you will have to work for it. It will be sloppy, hot and completely worth it. Congratulations, Pile One!

Cards Used: 6 of Cups, King of Cups, The Sun, King of Pentacles, Queen of Swords, Knight of Wands, 8 of Pentacles

Pile Two: I am seeing someone fold their arms and close their legs. So, this is a no for you, Pile Two. For some of you, you could be starting your abstinence journey this month for personal reasons. The top reason being you’re just not feeling the dating scene. The feeling of disgust is coming up. You’ve been in this predicament before, Pile Two. I feel like you will have the opportunity to get some kisses but you’re not all the way sold on going that way with whoever. I am getting that whoever this is, they just want to fuck you. But you are choosing to withhold your sexual/lustful urges because you can sense that they only want what you have for one night. Good for you for choosing yourself. You are not a doormat, Pile Two. Sniff out the bs and be done with it!

Cards Used: 5 of Pentacles, The World (RX), 6 of Wands, 3 of Wands, 9 of Wands, Strength, 8 of Wands

Pile Three: Well, it all depends, Pile Three. How bad do you want to kiss them? It’s all in your hands. I feel like everything will be set up for you to have the perfect kiss with them. Just don’t fuck it up. I feel like you will need to loosen up or be alone with them for a while in order for it to go right. Don’t rush anything and just be yourself. You don’t have to pretend to be anyone else. I am channeling the energy of Josie from Bottoms. Use her strategy to get you and your person alone. I get the feeling that you are coming with someone in mind. This person is someone that makes you feel at home and safe. The kiss itself will make you two closer. Don’t be surprised if some type of promotion occurs in the dynamic a couple days after the kiss. I don’t blame you for feeling so nervous but avoid acting as if you do not care. It will not manifest the way that you want. And once again, loosen the hell up, Pile Three!

Cards Used: The Devil (RX), Judgment, 4 of Cups, 7 of Wands, The Hermit (RX), King of Wands, 6 of Swords, 4 of Wands, 2 of Cups

Pile Four: I feel like you are traveling to a different city this month. D.C., Los Angeles, Seattle, Manhattan, Atlanta and San Francisco come to mind. I feel like you could be into some taboo shit when it comes to the bedroom. You might be into swinging, visiting sex clubs or be an avid collector of sex toys. When you visit this city, you will be enjoying the single life, just minding your business. I am seeing a club/party scene in my third eye. The scenario I am thinking of is someone buying you a drink and because of that you two will be acquainted throughout the night. This person could also invite you to dance with them. This is someone who is very friendly. If you are visiting a friend in this new city, this will be a friend of your friend. I feel like you don’t typically kiss someone when you first meet them, but on this night you will. It will be well-needed. This kiss will start off as innocent and you two will match each other’s freaks, lol. I feel like they might end up taking you home, lol (please be safe). In the morning, you’ll be worn out but will feel neutral about the situation. It won’t be something that you regret, but it will be something to talk about amongst your friend group, lol. The Carrie Bradshaw energy is very strong here, lol.

Cards Used: 4 of Swords, The Hanged Man, The World, 9 of Pentacles, 2 of Swords, 8 of Wands, 3 of Cups, Knight of Cups, The Star, 10 of Pentacles, Page of Cups, 3 of Pentacles

Pile Five: Your energy is conflicting, Pile Five. It feels like if you are kissing someone, then you will be kissing them for the last time. But I am also getting a scenario that you will be with someone but they are going to reject your romantic advances. In both scenarios, you are being led on/lied to/lovebombed unfortunately. If you do get kissed however, I feel like it will not be good. The kiss will be mid and it will make you question the state of the relationship. This is a wakeup call for you, Pile Five. If you’ve been feeling like they’re not being clear and sending mixed signals, this will be the sign that you are waiting for. This person is selfish and does not put in the effort to see things from your perspective. They have narcissistic tendencies and for that, they feel it is easy to manipulate the situation. I think you will have enough of this person sooner rather than later.

Cards Used: 9 of Cups, King of Wands, 3 of Swords, The Magician, 10 of Swords, Ace of Wands, 8 of Pentacles, Page of Swords, The Moon, 7 of Pentacles

Pile Six: Well duh. You knew you were going to get the kiss before you clicked on this post, Pile Six! I heard “She said yes!” as I was pulling for you. I feel like you have been waiting to make this person your significant other and this time, they will finally say yes. The reason for their delay is because they wanted to do things on their time. They did not want to rush anything. They wanted to make you feel included in their schedule. Others of you are already in a relationship and will actually be getting engaged. So, the kiss will happen after the question is popped! I believe that this proposal will happen in public (whether it’s for the position of marriage or not). This person means a lot to you and it makes sense why you two are together. The kiss feels like magic; like one of those kisses in the movies where someone gets picked up and twirled. Congratulations, Pile Six!

Cards Used: 3 of Swords (RX), 2 of Cups, 4 of Wands, 10 of Wands, The Emperor

Pile Seven: Now listen, you will get your kiss but it will be under one condition. You have to impress your person’s circle. I feel like this person puts you under a lot of tests. They’re kind of childish but if you feel like you can handle it, go ahead. I see you have a lot of faith in this connection. This person values their friendships a lot so your scenario makes sense. But there’s some type of disadvantage for you here. I feel like they will get their friend to flirt with you to see if you’re actually faithful. Maybe they will purposely start an argument with you in front of their friends to see how you will react. There is something about this scenario that feels abrupt. But you will pass the test and win your person’s trust. Be patient with them and take them serious, please! I think that the actual kiss will be “small”. It will be a peck on the lips, something innocent. The kiss itself could be abrupt as well, but at least their lips are soft, lol!

Cards Used: 7 of Pentacles, Ace of Cups, 6 of Pentacles (RX), 7 of Swords (RX), 8 of Swords, Queen of Swords, 2 of Cups, Page of Wands, 3 of Wands, The Empress, King of Cups (RX)

Pile Eight: There’s nothing blocking you this time, Pile Eight. Go for it! I feel like this could be your ex or this could be your partner who you’ve been on bad terms with. You could even feel like you are growing distant from your partner. This kiss will be sweet like honey. It’ll happen at the right moment. You’ve been meaning to do this but perhaps you’ve gotten rejected in the past. Another scenario I thought of is someone interrupting the kiss or there being some external circumstance preventing you from actually doing it. Somebody could be a cockblocker, lol. This kiss will seal the deal. It will be reassuring. This will be the ‘oh we’re definitely getting back together’ kiss or the ‘we’re back on good terms’ kiss. It will happen after a long talk. It could happen after a dance with them. Either way, this feels very intimate and it should have happened a long time ago.

Cards Used: Justice, 6 of Cups, The Devil, 7 of Wands, King of Wands, 6 of Swords, Judgment, 10 of Pentacles, The Lovers (RX), 10 of Cups, 5 of Pentacles

Pile Nine: Your pile is so interesting, Pile Nine. As I was pulling for your pile, I channeled the Funkadactyls theme song??? If you used to/still watch wrestling, this is definitely for you. But you have the tendency to let your thoughts get the best of you. Unfortunately, I do see this tendency getting in the way of you kissing your crush. This person has mutual feelings for you but damn will your nervous system get the best of you. I feel like you will unfortunately fumble the bag temporarily. But the opportunity will still be there. It’s not all the way off the table. Afterwards, you will get the kiss when you feel more ready and prepared for the event. You’re so cute omg. When the kiss finally happens, it will be intense. This is making me think of those Wattpad books where the smut starts and the writing goes like, “Their tongues danced for dominance”. The nerves will be shaken off in the moment. I feel like your crush will be stingy though or at least a bit of a tease.

Cards Used: The Moon, 2 of Pentacles, The Magician, King of Cups, The Star, Page of Cups, 7 of Pentacles, 5 of Wands, 9 of Wands (RX), King of Swords

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justagalwhowrites · 2 years ago

Text

New in Town - Ch. 3: First Family Dinner

Sarah comes to visit and has questions for Joel. A continuation of New in Town chapters 1-2 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Best Friend's Dad!Joel Miller x Female Reader

CW: Smut :D Yeah, they're horny, OK? Just expect a lot of smut in this fic. No use of Y/N. Age gap (reader is 35 Joel is 47, not a focus of the fic). Minors DNI, 18+ only

Length: 5.1k

AO3 | First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Joel actually felt pretty damn smart when he got to his house. He stopped at the trash bin that sat outside the garage and dropped his now empty coffee cup into it, just in case Sarah asked why he’d gone to the place with the name stamped on the side of the cup.

He didn’t have a good fucking reason to be at a coffee shop by your apartment besides being at your apartment. And he knew he wasn’t ready to tell his daughter about the fact that you two were… whatever the fuck you were.

What were you doing with him? What did you want with him? Why was it so hard to know and why was he so fucking afraid to ask?

Didn’t matter now. The morning Sarah showed up to surprise him with a visit was not the morning to be having this discussion.

“Baby Girl?” Joel called as he closed the door behind him, dropping his keys on the table in his entry way.

“Dad!” Sarah flew around the corner and launched herself at him, just like she’d done when she was a kid. He caught her, the air knocked out of him, laughing as he caught his breath. “I missed you, old man!”

“Missed you too, Baby Girl,” he said, setting her down and stretching out his back. “But you’re gonna have to cut me a break, think my back is gettin’ too old to be catchin’ you like that.”

“How am I supposed to properly shower you in affection if I can’t just throw my whole body at you?” She smirked. “But fine, I guess if it’s for the sake of your health…”

He rolled his eyes and tugged her against his side, kissing her temple.

“Just gotta have you move back closer to home,” he gave her a squeeze. “Wouldn’t need to tackle me if I just saw you more.”

“Yeah, I’m working on that,” she smiled. “Trying to get promoted from junior copywriter to intermediate so I can come to the Austin office sooner rather than later…”

“That’s amazing Baby Girl!” Joel gave her another squeeze before leading her to the living room and settling on the couch. “I’m sure you’re close, they know how good you are.”

“Speaking of my grand plan,” she said. “I see you’ve been hanging out with my work wife.”

Joel coughed to try to hide his surprise.

“What?” He asked after a moment.

“Well I know you didn’t do the Seattle Zombie 5K last Halloween,” she nodded at his shirt. Joel felt his stomach drop. “But I know we did.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

“Not doing a walk of shame are you?” She asked, her eyebrows raised.

“You ever known me to be the walk of shame type?” He asked, scrambling for a reason that he’d have your shirt. “I just fixed her garbage disposal for her a few weeks ago, got soaked. She was nice enough to give me a clean shirt so I wasn’t drippin’ wet on the drive home. Didn’t realize it’d made it into my dresser is all. I’ll have to wash it again, give it back…”

“But you are hanging out with her then?” She asked. “I mean, you said give it back like you were going to see her again so…”

“We went out once since I helped with the sink and shit,” he said, telling himself that it wasn’t a lie, not really. You’d only successfully made it out of the house together once. Sarah scrunched her nose. “What, Baby Girl?”

“Nothing,” she sighed. “I was just hoping you guys would be friends is all. You’re both kind of alone down here, you know? I worry. I don’t want you doing nothing but sitting in the house doing… whatever weird old man stuff you do.”

“I don’t do weird old man stuff…”

“And leave her alone too long and the next thing you know she’s on the dating apps and she ends up going out with some total idiots,” she said, ignoring Joel’s protest entirely. “Really, Dad, her taste in men is shit and I’m not here to keep her busy, I was kind of counting on you here.”

Joel frowned.

“Not on you to protect her,” he said. Though, from what little he knew, Sarah was right. Your taste in men was shit. “And I’m sure she’s got better things to do than hang out with someone who does ‘old man things…’”

That was something that Joel had been thinking about a lot over the past two weeks. Yes, you seemed to be about as insatiable for him as he was for you and he didn’t have any damn clue as to why. But he could think of plenty of reasons why you shouldn’t be. How long was it going to be before you realized that he didn’t offer you much? He couldn’t take you to fancy restaurants every week or on nice trips. He wasn’t interested in another child and you were still young enough that you might want to be a mother. His body was often sore and worn after decades of damn near breaking himself to make a living. How much longer would you be wanting to pull him into restaurant bathrooms and make yourself come on his leg because you just couldn’t bear to wait anymore? How much longer could he text you to bitch about work while on a break at a job site and have you respond with a gif from Sharknado because you knew it would make him laugh? How much longer could he look at the selfies you sent him and think to himself “that’s my girl,” even though you weren’t even his girl now let alone in the future?

He was already in too deep with you, way too damn deep. Someone was going to have to pry you out of him, you’d already settled inside his skin and he liked it that way. Liked thinking of you first thing in the morning and just before he fell asleep, liked that you were the first thing on his mind when he got lunch at a food truck and he stumbled on something really good, liked that you showed up with his favorite beer and some obscure snack food when you came over to his place because you said you saw it and thought of him.

“Her taste in men isn’t dangerously bad,” Sarah waved him off. “Just… she tends to go for guys who definitely don’t deserve her, you know?”

“Yeah,” Joel sighed. “I know.”

Fuck, did he know.

“Anyway,” she said with a dramatic eye roll that reminded him of when she was a teenager. He smiled a little. “I’m in town until Wednesday! I know you’ll have to work…”

“I can take a few days off,” he said quickly. “Get Uncle Tommy to make sure shit doesn’t go sideways…”

“Awesome!” She perked up at that. “Because I think there are at least two Curtis and Vipers I haven’t gotten around to seeing yet and I’m going to require a handcrafted Dad burger - preferably grilled - while I’m in town. My apartment doesn’t let me have a grill on my balcony, it’s so dumb.”

“Probably a fire code thing, Baby Girl,” he smiled. “But I think we can swing some movies and a cookout while you’re here. Tommy’d love to see ya, Maria too.”

“Can we start by jumping in the pool?” She asked. “Because I haven’t gotten to swim in months.”

“Might be a bit cold…”

“Please,” she scoffed. “This is mid-summer weather in Seattle, plenty warm enough for a swim.”

Joel smiled.

“Whatever you want, Baby Girl.”

The water was definitely colder than Joel would normally jump into but, for Sarah, he’d do just about anything.

He was still getting used to drinking with his daughter, the two of them floating around the water with beers most of the day. Joel got out for a bit to make sandwiches - he put potato chips on Sarah’s just like he had when she was a kid - and he just listened to what she’d been up to, hanging on her every word.

Joel had always felt incredibly lucky to have Sarah as his daughter. There were the obvious reasons, of course. She was kind and thoughtful, she was smart as a whip and loved to do well in school to the point that he almost never had to tell her to do her homework, she actually liked spending time with him. But she never had a problem being open with him about damn near anything.

It wasn’t always the most pleasant experience - hearing about boy problems when he couldn’t actually intervene was harder than Joel had expected it to be - but he was grateful for it. He never had to wonder what his daughter was up to, she just told him.

Part of it, he was sure, was because he’d asked her to grow up too fast. He hadn’t meant to, of course, but it seemed to come with the territory of single parenthood. There was no one there to back him up when he had to work late, no one there to take over the child rearing when he was sick or just so exhausted from work that he slept through his damn alarm. Sarah fell into the role of second parent, sometimes raising herself as much as Joel had.

He was just happy she didn’t resent him for it. She seemed to recognize how hard he’d tried to give her everything, do everything he possibly could to make her happy and give her a good life. Even if it hadn’t always worked, he’d always tried. The fact that she’d made it to college on scholarship, that she’d finished towards the top of her class, that she’d gotten a good paying job doing something she liked to do, the fact that she was happy and doing something with her mind instead of breaking her body down like Joel was every damn day of his life was the proudest he’d ever been of anything.

Could he really risk his relationship with her for you? Yes, you made him happy. So fucking happy. You were the first thing in years that he felt like he really, truly wanted. And it had hit him hard, so fucking hard. It was like he’d saved up all his longing just for you, like it had been waiting for something powerful enough to show up and unleash it all and it had knocked him off his damn feet.

But you were Sarah’s best friend.

“So one thing that’s seriously lacking in the Pacific Northwest is good TexMex,” Sarah said, lounging on a pool float, her face tilted toward the sun, eyes closed. “Think we can go out for dinner tonight? I need enchiladas and tamales and I need them sooner rather than later.”

“Only if you don’t get mad that I ask for the real spicy salsa,” Joel said.

“How did I end up so cursed that my two favorite people love to melt their tongues off as a hobby?” Sarah sighed. “But fine, order the miserable stuff. I’ll just get the regular salsa like a normal person.”

Joel scoffed.

“The normal ship has sailed with you, Baby Girl. Me and Tommy around you so much? Never stood a chance.”

Just an hour later, he and Sarah were headed into her favorite Austin restaurant. Joel added it to his mental list of places to take you. It was Sarah’s favorite for a reason, after all.

“Table for two,” Joel held up two fingers to the hostess but Sarah cut him off.

“It’s three, actually,” she smiled, not looking at him.

“Three?” He frowned. She ignored him and just held up three fingers to the hostess. It took him until they were at the table to really put it together. “Sarah…”

“I’m here to see you but I really want to see her, too,” she said as she slid into the booth. “And I do think you guys will really get along if you actually give it a shot. Please, Dad? Give her a chance?”

A chance wasn’t the only thing he’d given you.

“Baby Girl, I’m sure she’d rather do something besides…”

“Besides what?” Your voice appeared over his shoulder, Joel turning toward the sound so fast it made his head spin. You smiled a little sheepishly.

“Hi.”

***

Well Joel clearly hadn’t been expecting you.

That boded just so well.

“Hey Bestie!” Sarah squealed and got out of the booth to throw her arms around your neck. You laughed and hugged her back. “Ugh, I miss you! The office sucks without you there. So does the rest of Seattle, honestly.”

You laughed.

“I miss you too,” you gave her a squeeze before the two of you separated. “I keep trying to convince the VP at this branch that I absolutely unequivocally need a junior copywriter on my team. He hasn’t bought it yet but I think if I just keep asking him I’ll wear him down and he’ll cave to my annoying tendencies and just give me whatever I want.”

“Oh so you’re playing hardball,” Sarah teased as she got back in the booth and you slid in beside her.

“Clearly yes,” you nodded sagely. “I read ‘The Art of War’ and just bothering people until they give up is the best battle tactic in the world…”

You turned to look at Joel who was watching you intently.

You hadn’t expected Joel to show up tonight anymore than he’d expected you. Sarah was playing you both like a goddamn fiddle. You’d worn a strappy, silky slip dress with a denim jacket over it thinking you were going out with your best friend, not going to be stuck trying to keep from staring at your who-the-fuck-knows-what sitting across from you.

Who also happened to be your best friend’s dad.

You tried not to think about that part.

“Figured I’d force you two to get to know each other better over margaritas,” Sarah said brightly. “I can’t let you both just sit and stare at a wall all by yourselves until I can move back to town…”

“I don’t stare at walls!” You protested. Sarah ignored you.

“So you can at least keep each other company,” she finished.

“Good to see you again, Joel,” you said, trying as hard as you could to not picture him naked across the table.

Which was really fucking hard.

His dark button down was rolled up to his elbows and fit his damn broad shoulders so perfectly all you could think about was the way he looked as he fucked into you, the way his muscles rippled through his chest and you had to fight to not bite down on them. His hair was tamed without being sculpted or overly styled and you wanted to run your fingers through it and sink your grip into his scalp as he ate you.

“You too,” he said.

You’d never had this visceral of a reaction to a man you’d fucked before, never, not even when you were a stupid teenager. Of course, you’d never tried to hide your relationship before, either.

But you had the feeling that wouldn’t matter with Joel. You’d feel this intensity toward him whether Sarah was beside you or not, whether you could be open about your affection for him or not.

And now you were going to have to sit across from him when he looked that damn good all through dinner.

The second the server came to the table you ordered a margarita. You had a feeling you were going to need the tequila.

It took conscious effort to pay attention to what Sarah was saying as she tried to bring up things she thought you and Joel had in common. Almost like she was trying to launch an ad campaign for each of you.

It felt like forever but you were sure you’d only been seated a few minutes when you gave up on not touching Joel. You carefully slid your foot out of your pump and started sliding it up his inner leg, starting near his ankle. Joel jumped a little in his chair at the contact, his eyes darting to you. You just raised your eyebrows at him as you took a drink from your margarita and slid your foot up his leg to his knee. He shifted in his seat, his eyes steadily on Sarah but you could tell he had to focus on her now, actively work to give her attention. You smirked a bit at that.

You kept the pattern up as the three of you waited for your food, Joel’s eyes always going a little wide when your toes made it to his inner thigh.

“Ugh, I’m starving,” Sarah groaned as a tray of sizzling fajitas passed your table. “Here, scootch out, I’m going to the bathroom. That’ll make the food come.”

“It always does,” you agreed, quickly shoving your foot back into your shoe and getting out of the booth.

You both watched as Sarah made her way across the restaurant, turning to Joel the second you knew she was out of earshot.

“Did you say anything?” You were whispering anyway.

“No,” he replied. “We hadn’t talked about it, didn’t seem like the time… Did you say somethin’?”

“Not a word,” you said.

“I really need you to cool it over there, Beautiful,” Joel said. Any other time, you’d think he was teasing you but his eyes looked open and earnest now. “We can’t just go into a bathroom right now and it’s already a fucking miracle I haven’t tried to rip that goddamn dress off you, Jesus Christ, you can’t just show up places lookin’ that damn good…” “You’re one to talk!” You replied, incredulous, as you looked down at his exposed, tan, muscled forearms and back up at his face. “Fucking hell, Joel!”

He smirked a little.

“That’s all it takes with you, huh?” He teased, leaning across the table toward you. “Just a little bit of skin and you’re outta control?”

“Oh fuck off,” you rolled your eyes but grinned a little all the same. “I know you know what the rolled up sleeves thing does to women.”

“I promise I do not,” he said, watching over your shoulder now. “But you’ll have to enlighten me later…”

Sarah came back to the table and her face fell.

“Shit, that usually works,” she sighed. “Alright, scoot in, we can just trade spots.”

You obeyed and slid over, purposely leaning over the table as you did, giving Joel full view of your bra below your dress as you did. He was all but glaring at you as you sat back in the booth.

Consciously, you knew you shouldn’t be pushing him like this. For starters, this was not how you wanted Sarah to find out. Assuming she was ever going to find out.

But you shouldn’t be trying to frustrate Joel. Not like this, not so early on in your… whatever the fuck this was.

You had a tendency to do this, to bend things until they broke the second something was looking like it could get serious, the second that it looked like it’d be worth the time and the effort. You were starting to think it was something your subconscious did on purpose. If you sabotaged the relationship early, there wasn’t the same kind of risk. Push the guy too far and he’d break things off with you and you could return to the relative emotional safety of dating apps and bars. Only ever go out with someone for a few weeks and it wouldn’t hurt that bad if they left.

And they would leave. They always left. You might be worth the time for a bit but you weren’t worth the trouble for anything real, that much had been made clear to you in the years you’d spent dating around. It had gotten you hurt when you were young and stupid, back when you were Sarah’s age. Now, you fucking knew better.

You knew better than to get anywhere close to what you were starting to feel with Joel.

And here you were, doing it anyway, with your best friend’s dad.

So of course your first reaction was to push him. Push, push, push. It’s what you did.

You stirred your melting margarita.

You’d never been more relieved to have food brought to your table.

“Thanks so much for coming out tonight!” Sarah hugged you goodbye in the parking lot, the awkward, hesitant conversation at the table through dinner still tense over you.

“It was so great to see you!” You hugged her back and kissed her cheek. “Seriously, I’m wearing the bosses down, start packing now because I miss you too much.”

She laughed.

“I’ll be on the first plane out once I get a job offer,” she said. “Either way, I’ll be back for the holidays, we have to hang out then. Just us girls at least once, promise.”

You smiled a little, hoping Sarah would still want to talk to you at the holidays.

“Sounds perfect.”

Joel gave you a tight smile and a nod.

“Talk to you soon?” He said, his voice too open and honest to fit the shared awkwardness of your position feet apart in the parking lot.

“Yeah,” you smiled. “Text me?”

“Sure,” he smiled back.

You poured yourself a glass of wine the second you were in the door, only pausing to take your shoes off as you made your way to the kitchen. You settled in on the couch without bothering to change, carrying the bottle of wine with you, and you put on some shitty Netflix reality show you could zone out and barely pay attention to.

You were four episodes deep when your phone lit up.

“Fuck that was hard,” Joel texted.

You smiled a little.

“Was that hard or were you hard?” You texted back.

“Both,” he replied almost immediately. Your smile grew and you downed the last of the wine.

You hadn’t had enough to drink to be drunk but you’d had enough that it made you feel… bold. Like you wanted to try something new.

You took off your jacket and slid the straps of your dress down so your cleavage was spilling over the top of it, your breasts barely contained by it. You took a selfie, a needy look on your face, and sent him the picture.

“Need help with that?” You asked.

“Jesus Christ,” he texted back almost immediately. “Good thing Sarah just went to call some boy she started seeing back in Washington, can’t just send a guy shit like that and expect him to sit still.”

You bit your lip for a second, getting an idea. You headed for your room and shimmied out of the dress before you put on the sexiest bra you owned and switched to the matching panties. You posed in the full length mirror in the corner of your room, one leg out, a hand on your hip.

“What about shit like this?” You asked as you sent the picture along.

“Really fucking mean for you to send that when you know I can’t come take it off you,” he texted back.

You flopped down on your stomach on your bed, reminded of how you felt texting guys when you were younger and you had to make sure you didn’t go over your texting limit for the month.

“You can always fight back you know,” you said. “I can’t come rip your clothes off either.”

“You trying to get me to sext with you?” He asked.

“Maybe.”

It took a few minutes before he sent you a picture. He was in his room, stripped down to his boxer briefs. He fisted his cock through the fabric of them, the veins on his hand prominent.

“Something like this?” He asked.

You groaned, your hand sliding to your clit before you even thought about it. You rolled onto your back and took a picture of your hand slipping into your panties before sending it on.

“Just like that,” you replied.

“Fuck.”

The one word was all he sent for a minute before he followed it up with a picture of his cock in his hand. You moaned at the sight of him, a pearl of pre-come leaking from his swollen head. You wanted to swallow it up, lick up and down his thick shaft, take all of him in your mouth until you were choking on him and he spilled down your throat.

“Tried to make this last but you’re too fucking much for me,” he texted. “Couldn’t wait.”

You took off your bra and tossed it to the floor before taking a handful of your breast in your hand, holding the phone high over your head, high enough that it could capture your needy expression and the way you were touching yourself.

“Neither could I.”

Usually, when you fucked yourself, you used toys. You had a few that you’d become partial to over the years of cycling through men and relationships, the fake dicks in your life lasting a whole hell of a lot longer than the real ones.

Tonight, you didn’t need one. Didn’t think you could pull yourself away from touching your own body long enough to pull one out, not with Joel’s face and body and cock on the brain. You slid your hand down your chest, your stomach, back to your pussy. You rubbed your clit in little circles with your index finger as you stretched your middle finger down, down, down toward your dripping hole.

When his next message came through, you dropped your phone in your rush to open it and you scrambled to pick it up with one hand, your other one too occupied to want to do anything else.

This time, it was a video. His large hand was working his thick length, his cock still looking big even in his grasp that dwarfed your own. He worked his cock slowly, his thumb sweeping over the head and collecting the pre-come before he slid it firmly down with quiet moan.

“Fuck, I need you,” his voice was soft, a whisper. “Need to feel that perfect fuckin’ pussy…”

You were about to rewatch the video, your mouth watering, when he texted again.

“Can I call you?”

You didn’t respond. Instead, you just called him, putting the phone to speaker and setting it on your chest between your breasts.

He answered on the first ring.

“Hey beautiful,” he said, voice low and dark and needy. “Fuck, I gotta be quiet…”

“I know,” you said, whispering back even though you didn’t have a reason to. “Don’t care, as long as I can hear you.”

“Tell me what you’re doin’ to yourself,” he was almost panting. “What you’re thinkin’ about…”

“I’m rubbing my clit,” you moaned. “Got one finger inside of myself, thinking about you eating me out last night…”

“Fuck you tasted so good,” his voice became a little more strained. “Wanna taste you right now.”

You moaned and fucked yourself a little harder, a little faster, your eyes closed in pleasure.

“Add another finger,” he said. “Want you to work up to this cock, want you thinking about me deep in you when you come.”

“Fuck Joel,” you were panting now, too, as you added another finger.

“Tell me what you’re thinking now,” he whispered.

“You pushing into me,” you groaned it. “Opening me up for you…”

“Fuck, Beautiful, you’re gonna fuckin’ kill me.”

You heard the pace of his hand increase on the other end of the phone and you worked your pussy a little harder and faster, too, whimpering as you did.

“Can you fit a third finger?” He panted.

“Yes,” you managed, getting desperate, your body starting to feel tight, all the heat of you drawing deep into yourself.

“Add it,” he groaned. “Fuck yourself deep, hard. Fuck yourself like I fucked you last night, how I’d fuck you right now if I were there.”

You obeyed, thrusting your fingers in as deep as you could reach, whimpering at the stretch that you knew had nothing on his thick cock.

“You were so fucking deep,” your legs were restless, the tightness extending so far down that you knew your orgasm was going to make your whole body quake. “Fuck, you’re so goddamn big, Joel…”

“And you take me so fucking well,” he panted. “Take me like you were made to take this cock, fuck!”

“I was made to take you,” you whimpered, desperate and aching. “Made to make you come, need you to fucking come, please Joel, please come for me…”

“Fuck, fuck, I’m coming!” It was a choking, strangled whisper and you heard him muffle his moaning in a pillow, the sound of his pleasure sending you over the edge.

It was the hardest you’d ever come from your own hand, harder than you’d ever come with a vibrator, almost as hard as you came with Joel deep inside you the night before. Your body throbbed with it, so much that it felt like your fingers might break as they stuffed your overwrought pussy full. You all but sobbed as you kept working your clit, even as it was too much, fucking yourself through your own orgasm the way you knew Joel would if he were buried inside you instead of in his own fist. Once it was over, you slowly, gently, pulled your hand away from your dripping slit.

“Fucking hell, Beautiful,” he said after a minute, still trying to catch his breath. You smiled and laughed a little. “Christ, I hope Sarah didn’t hear that.”

“You stayed a lot quieter than me,” you were whispering again. It was fun to whisper into the phone with him, like you were going behind your parents’ backs with it.

“Still,” he said before he sighed. “I gotta go clean up, you made me make a hell of a mess.”

“You’re one to talk,” you smirked a little, looking at the slick gathered on your fingers.

“Can I text you tomorrow while you’re at work?” He asked quietly. “Something tells me I’m gonna miss you like crazy.”

“Course,” you smiled, settling down into your mattress. “Text me whenever you want, I always want to hear from you.”

Maybe it was the post-orgasm haze but you didn’t care that it sounded desperate.

“Good,” he said. “Because hearin’ from you always makes my damn day.”

You smiled at that.

“Miss you, Beautiful.”

You smiled bigger.

“Miss you, too.”

Next Chapter

A/N: Awww doubt is creeping in and they're still fucking each other's brains out from afar.

We love to see it!

Thank you so much for following along with this story! These two are so fun to write and I hope you're enjoying their journey. Love you all!

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #smut fic #joel miller x oc #joel miller smut

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