#But then he'd see her walk it off and be all ?!

[daryltwdixon]

summary: You didn’t expect to spend your birthday catching your boyfriend cheating in your own bed. You definitely didn’t expect to end the night on your knees for someone else while on the path for revenge. || nsfw (?) MDNI 18+, m!receiving oral, blowjobs, Joel smokes cigs, cheating (not w Joel/reader), annoying ex bf, age gap (15yr gap mentioned but not specified), no outbreak, reader is drinking age, revenge, based off a song but not gonna mention cause singer is a trumper boooooo || a/n: good morning I woke up with the need to blow joel miller like his life depended on it. had this in my docs for a few weeks and decided to finish it up with some goooood ol' smut. enjoy!

Tyler was easy on the eyes. He came from a rich family, always looked put together and had a job at his daddy’s company, but truly… that was about it. He wasn’t clever, or thoughtful, or even remotely romantic or slick. If he had tried to cheat, he didn’t have the brain cells to pull it off. But you weren’t stupid. The scrunchie under your pillow wasn’t yours and the way he started turning his phone screen down whenever you were together wasn’t subtle. You saw it coming.

But you held your tongue, waiting. You gave him rope, a chance to prove that you were wrong.

And then, on your birthday—your fucking birthday!—you walked into your apartment after a long shift, already picturing the glass of wine and that nice dinner he promised he'd made a reservation for. You were halfway to slipping off your shoes when you heard the moaning.

High-pitched, theatric as hell, and coming from your bedroom.

Oh, Tyler!

Yes, Tyler!

It was like nails on a chalkboard.

You stood frozen for a second, your hand on the wall. It felt like something inside you cracked. And then the heat came boiling with rage filling your chest, crawling down your arms.

You crossed the room, your steps marching and purposeful, heart hammering behind your ribs. You didn’t even knock as you slammed open the door.

There she was: naked and sitting square in your bed, bouncing on your boyfriend’s dick like it was a trampoline. She turned at the sound, and her face went pale. Tyler’s too. Like a couple of deer in headlights.

You didn’t flinch. There were no tears.

You looked her dead in the eye and said, calm and flat, “His dick’s not even that good.”

They scrambled, tripping over each other like some half-assed comedy sketch. You just watched, arms crossed, unmoved. Tyler, once she was gone, spent the next hour groveling. Begging, bargaining, spinning his bullshit into excuses—something about how he thought you didn’t care, how you didn’t love him enough, how it was your fault. You let him talk himself in circles until he started getting angry, like his pathetic little tantrum might undo what you’d seen with your own two eyes.

You waited until he shut up, then threw his duffel bag at his chest and said, loud and clear, “Get the fuck out.”

Which brings you to now.

You knew exactly where he’d be on a Friday night. It was with the same group of knuckle-dragging football bros, drinking cheap beer and hollering at whatever game was on. You pulled into the gravel lot and spotted his car instantly. That brand-new black Jetta gleamed under the parking lights like it was proud of itself. Rims all shiny and new, fresh wax job and leather interior. 

You parked a few spaces down and killed the engine. For a second, you just sat there, breathing, fingers curled tight around your steering wheel. Your pulse thudded hot behind your ears.

Then you looked around. The sidewalk was empty, the lot full of cars but no one to be seen. And the nice thing about dive bars was they didn’t give a damn about security, so no cameras that you could see.

Good.

You stepped out, walked up to the Jetta, and just stood there for a moment. The night was quiet, but all you could hear was the roar of your blood in your ears.

 What a stupid fucking idiot. 

You weren’t sure if it was meant for him or you were talking to yourself. Tyler was a dumbass, no question, but you knew what he was before all this. You’d seen the signs, but you ignored them, made excuses for his sorry ass. So what did that make you? 

Still, you shook your head. No. That wasn’t on you.

Any decent person wouldn’t cheat on the girl who stuck by him for five damn years. The one who pulled him through college, helped him look for internships, edited every shitty cover letter he ever wrote before he'd given up and begged his own dad for a job. And not to mention, the girl who gave the best head he’d probably ever get in his sad little life.

Your grip tightened.

You flipped your keys in your palm, pressed one between your fingers, and brought it to the shiny sleek passenger door. You dug it into the steel, and began dragging it nice and slow and deep, carving a line into the shiny paint.

The screech of metal on metal made your jaw clench, but you didn’t stop. Because it was so fucking satisfying too. You moved to the driver’s side, dragging it around to the front, then the other side. One long, continuous line until his car looked like it had been attacked by a wild animal with a grudge.

Maybe that’s what you were, afterall.

You stepped back and admired your work before turning back to your car for the next step.

Next came the knife—his pocket knife. The one he gave you last Christmas because he "forgot to buy a real present in time." You took it from your bag and knelt beside the driver’s side tire and made a clean slash, the hiss of air escaping was music to your ears.

You did all four, each one a little more satisfying than the last. By the time you were done, the car sat sagging on those dumb, overpriced rims, looking completely defeated.

And then you reached for the bat.

A Louisville Slugger. Wood, not aluminum. Shiny and classic. You’d kept it waxed and clean since high school softball. You gripped it with both hands and stepped up to the front of the car, lining up your swing.

Your body tensed, knees bent, and you drew it back.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Your heart kicked up in panic as you spun, bat raised and ready, in case one of Tyler’s meathead friends had stumbled outside to play hero.

But it wasn’t any of them. It wasn’t anyone you recognized at all.

A man stood just beyond the glow of the bar’s neon sign, a cigarette balanced between his fingers as he exhaled smoke into the night. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with messy dark hair and a beard to match. The light above him flickered, buzzing with moths, casting a yellow wash over his face.

You didn’t lower the bat completely, but your grip relaxed just a little.

“Can I help you?” you asked.

He shook his head slowly, taking another drag. “Nope. I’m good.” He tipped the cigarette with two fingers and gave you a look. “Can’t say the same for you, though.”

You rolled your eyes and turned your back on him, raising the bat again. “Mind your own goddamn business.”

He let out a low whistle. “Now you’re just makin’ me feel bad for the guy.”

You huffed a dry laugh. “He had another girl in our bed just hours ago, wouldn’t feel too sorry for him.”

That shut him up for half a beat. Then he gave a soft laugh behind you. “Shit. Sorry about that. Sounds like a real winner.”

“He’s a piece of shit.”

“I believe you.” He nodded toward the car. “Still wouldn’t do that.”

You swallowed, throat dry, peering back at him, eyes dragging from his dirty boots up to the dark glint in his eye, “You seem to know a lot about this kind of thing.”

His eyes lifted to meet yours.

“You could explain away the scratches. The slashed tires, maybe. But bashed in headlights?” He shook his head. “Harder to blame that on a wild animal.”

He dropped the cigarette, pinched it out beneath his boot.

“And for the record,” he added, blowing out the last plume of smoke, “I’ve never cheated. If that’s what you’re getting at.”

“I wasn’t,” you said, a little too fast.

Silence stretched between you as you felt all the adrenaline, anger, and fire draining from your blood. Your shoulders dropped, leaving nothing but a hollow ache in your chest. Your fingers loosened, the bat slipping from your grip and hitting the ground with a dull thud. You covered your face with your hands, trying to hold back the sting in your throat.

The crunch of footsteps moved toward you.

“Hey,” he said, voice low but close. He didn’t touch you, just stood nearby, hovering. “Didn’t mean to upset you.”

You shook your head, swiped your eyes with the heel of your hand. “I’m fine, I’m good. I just… I shouldn’t have come here.”

He was quiet for a beat, then said, “Come inside.”

You blinked at him, confused. “He’s in there with his idiot friends.”

“Yeah,” he said. Then he looked at you again, steadier this time. “All the more reason.”

You stared at him. “Are you saying I should…?”

He didn’t finish the thought for you, he didn’t grin or wink or push it. All he did was give a small shrug.

And now that he was closer, you noticed just how big he was. Broad in the shoulders, tall enough to cast a shadow over you even in the low light. He smelled like pine and something woodsy, warm and clean even with the leftover tang of cigarette smell. The scent clung to the cool night air as the breeze passed between you.

You looked up at him, and he met your eyes without flinching. Even in the low light, they held a thousand colors—green and gold and deep, earthy brown, all muddled together in a warm, unreadable hazel.

“I’ll buy your first round,” he said, voice softer now. “If you change your mind.”

Then he turned and walked back toward the bar with that same calm, heavy gait.

The inside of the bar was dim and loud, but not packed. Neon lights flickered above the bar shelves, a pool table clacked somewhere in the back, and country music played just low enough not to drown out conversation. You sat on a high stool, elbows on the bartop, a fresh drink in hand. Joel, you’d learned his name, was next to you, close enough that you couldn’t move an inch without brushing up against him. His legs were spread wide, thighs solid beneath his worn jeans, your knees between his, both turned toward each other in a natural way of things.

There were enough people that you at least were well hidden from Tyler and his friends who packed into a booth at the far end by the jukebox.

And you were two drinks in, starting your third, warm enough to finally feel loose.

“He wore loafers with no socks,” you said, scoffing into your drink. “Like, on purpose. He said it made him ‘look sophisticated’. I told him he looked like a youth pastor.”

Joel gave a low chuckle, eyes fixed on the beer bottle in his hand, but his smile curved deeper when you kept going.

“He couldn’t cook, couldn’t fix anything, couldn’t win an argument without quoting Andrew Tate. I swear to God, if I had to hear about ‘high-value men’ one more time—”

“Jesus,” Joel muttered as his lips met the rim of his drink, shaking his head.

“Yeah, real winner.” You echo his earlier quip, tipping your drink back, then nudged his inner thigh with your knee. “But the real tragedy is he’s never gonna find another girl who gives head like I do.”

Joel choked. Like, spluttering his sip of beer kind of choking.

You watched with satisfaction as he coughed mid sip, nearly slamming his beer down on the bar as he wiped his mouth, eyes wide.

“Jesus Christ, woman,” he rasped, clearing his throat hard, still catching his breath. “Warn a guy first.”

You tried not to grin, but it was impossible. “What? I’m just telling the truth.”

“You can’t just…say shit like that outta nowhere,” he said, still recovering, voice lower now, rougher. He looked over at you, eyes flicking to your mouth, then down to your legs before dragging back up again. “Damn near killed me.”

You smirked into your glass. “You walked up on me with a bat in my hand, remember? I’m not exactly the ‘ease into it’ type.”

Joel laughed, a quiet sound that curled low in his chest. He leaned toward you more fully now, his thighs pressed warm against yours. His eyes twinkled in the dim bar light as his grin settled across his face. He was handsome. Not polished or pretty, but rugged and built like a man who worked with his hands. Masculine in a way that felt rare now, like he was made of dirt and calluses and something heavier. You couldn’t tell exactly how old he was, but he had to be at least fifteen years your senior. And somehow that didn’t bother you. Not one bit.

You were leaning in too, your fingers wrapped around your glass, the condensation slipping over your knuckles as your blood warmed beneath his gaze. The space between you buzzed.

But then, remembering yourself, you looked away and sat back a little more.

“Thank you, by the way,” you said, voice a little softer now.

Joel’s smile faded into something more curious. “For what?”

“For... this. For making it so my birthday didn’t totally suck.”

His brows furrowed, the smile wiping from his face entirely. He was just opening his mouth to say something when he was cut off by the sound of your name beside you.

You turned, and standing there, in all his fuckboy glory, was your ex. 

You rolled your eyes as you set your sight on him, turning away as soon as you could. Joel’s knees still bracketed yours, still facing you, his hand coming down to your thigh to steady you.

“The hell do you want, Tyler?” you asked, voice flat.

You didn’t look to see the expression on his face, and you wondered what the slow cogs in his brain were thinking as he looked between you and the man in the barstool across from you.

“What the fuck is going on?” he asked, voice pinched and high with something that sounded suspiciously like jealousy.

You took a slow sip of your drink, thinking through how you wanted to go about this. 

You could feel Tyler standing there, stewing, his presence irritating as the whine of a mosquito. Joel didn’t move, didn’t even look his way. He just kept sipping his beer, calm as anything, one hand still resting on your leg.

Tyler finally broke.

“So what—what is this?” His voice was tight, defensive. “You cheating on me now?”

You turned, purposely slow, and looked at him like he’d just said the dumbest thing in the world. Then you laughed. Not a chuckle, a full, disbelieving bark that caught the attention of the bartender and a few people down the bar.

“Cheating on you?” you repeated, eyes wide with disbelief. “Are you out of your mind? We’re broken up, you asshole.”

Tyler blinked, thrown off by your tone. “We didn’t break up.”

“Yes,” you said, voice clipped. “We did. You just weren’t listening when I kicked your ass out of the apartment and told you never to speak to me again. You remember? When I came home from work to the sound of you fucking some girl in our bed?”

His face twitched, jaw tightening. “It wasn’t like that.”

“It was exactly like that,” you snapped. “You couldn’t even give me one night for my birthday.”

Tyler looked confused, like the words hadn’t registered.

“I was gonna take you somewhere nice,” he said, voice rising as he gestured between you and Joel. “I figured you just needed to cool off. We were gonna go out tomorrow.”

You stared at him open-mouthed. “Tomorrow.”

“Yeah. I had a whole thing planned.”

“Tyler,” you said, voice flat with exasperation, “my birthday is today.”

He blinked again. It took a second, but then he winced.

You gave a soft, bemused laugh, shaking your head like you couldn’t believe the universe had really let you waste five years of your life on this man.

And then, beside you, Joel started laughing.

Not a big, loud laugh like yours, but just a low, quiet one. A little huff that grew into a full chuckle, deep in his chest. He shook his head, sipping his drink casually.

Tyler’s head whipped toward him.

“The fuck’s so funny?”

Joel didn’t look at him right away. He tipped his beer toward his mouth again, finished the rest in a few slow gulps, then set the bottle down on the bar with a soft clink.

“Just amazed she lasted five years,” he said as if reading your mind and finally glancing over his shoulder. “You make dumb look like a full-time job.”

You bit your lip, trying not to smile. Joel didn’t so much as blink.

Tyler bristled, standing up straighter. “You don’t even know her.”

Joel shifted beside you, his legs brushing yours as he twisted on the stool, planting one boot firm on the floor. He didn’t look at Tyler, hardly even acknowledged him. Like the kid wasn’t worth the breath it would take to answer.

“Know enough,” he said easily.

Tyler scoffed, puffing his chest like he could make himself bigger. “She’s not some prize, you know. She’s a fucking slut.”

The word hung there for a second. Long enough to feel the floor shift under you.

Joel went still.

Completely still.

His hand left your knee.

He stood and looked down at your ex.

And for the first time, Tyler actually looked nervous.

Joel stepped forward, close enough that Tyler had to tilt his head back just slightly to look him in the eye. Joel didn’t yell, didn’t shove. He didn’t need to.

He just looked at him hard and cold and steady.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen, kid.” he said, not blinking, not smiling. “You’re gonna turn around and walk back to your little friends, and you’re gonna keep walking and count yourself lucky, because if you stick around long enough to say one more word to her, you and I are gonna have a different kind of conversation. One that ends with you choking on your teeth.”

Tyler didn’t move at first. He just stood there like he thought he might still be able to win whatever stupid pissing contest was playing in his head.

But Joel didn’t look away. He barely blinked, barely even moved.

And something in Tyler finally folded.

He scoffed, muttered something under his breath, and backed away. His footsteps were loud against the sticky floor as he turned and stalked over to the other end of the room.

You let out a slow breath, heart pounding harder than you’d expected.

Joel turned back to you, his eyes softer now.

“You alright?”

You nodded. Your voice wasn’t quite ready yet.

He sat back down beside you, the warmth of his presence sliding back into place. His legs bracketed yours again, your knees brushing his upper thighs.

“Didn’t mean to make a scene,” he added, picking up his empty bottle and signaling the bartender for another.

You looked over at him, studying the curve of his jaw, the easy set of his shoulders, the slow breath he took like nothing had just happened.

“That was…oddly really hot.” you said, almost before you could stop yourself.

He raised an eyebrow, but his grin tugged wide.

“That right?”

You blushed crimson, feeling the warmth of blood rush to your cheeks, “Don’t let it get to your head.”

He chuckled, soft and pleased, and when the next drink landed in front of him, he slid it your way instead.

“Happy birthday,” he said.

Looking back, you couldn’t exactly say how it happened. 

You remembered following Joel outside for a smoke, the air cooling your flushed, feverish skin. You shared the little white stick between you, the cigarette passing hand to hand, his fingers rough and warm every time they brushed yours. That simple touch felt electric.

You knew it was you who leaned in first. You were the one who grabbed his shirt, pushed him back against the siding, your fingers going straight for the thick hair at the base of his neck.

He smelled so damn good. Beneath the cigarette smoke and cheap beer was something deeper—pine, woodsmoke, a trace of sweat and musk that made your stomach twist with heat. He seemed so masculine and wild and grounding all at once.

His arms wrapped around you fast. One slid down to your lower back, the other tossing the cigarette aside without a second thought before wrapping a fist through your hair. He kissed you back just as hard, tongue sweeping into your mouth, like he’d been waiting all night for you to get the courage.

From there, it all moved very quickly. 

Because now Joel was looking down at you on your knees, the shadows of the side alley carving deep lines across his face. His voice came low and rough, barely more than a breath.

“What was it you said before, huh?” he said as his hand touched your hair, fingers curling around your ear as he tucked some of it back, “About givin’ the best head that prick ever had?”

You looked up at him with a slow, wicked smile, your palms dragging up his legs. You squeezed the thick muscle of his thighs, fingers digging into denim. Your heart thudded with anticipation, your mouth already watering as he cupped your cheek in one hand, thumb brushing your skin.

The other hand went to his belt.

The sound of the buckle unfastening made your breath hitch. The sharp metal clink, the slow drag of the zipper felt like a dare.

Joel’s hand dropped, wrapping around yours. He pulled your fingers from his thigh and placed them right over the hard bulge in his jeans, pressing your palm down slowly.

“Go on then,” he murmured, voice like asphalt, steady despite the heat you could feel radiating off of him. “Show me.”

You lifted your hands to the waistband of his jeans, tugging them down along with the band of his briefs, just far enough to free him.

His cock sprang up in your face, thick and flushed, the tip already glistening for you. It slapped lightly against his stomach, curved upward with a heavy weight before falling back into your eye line—aching, proud, and impossibly hard.

You swallowed.

He was thick from base to tip, the head swollen and flushed a deeper shade of pink, a bead of slick gathering at the slit and catching the low light. His cock twitched once as you stared, greedy for touch, for heat, for your mouth.

You wet your lips with a slow sweep of your tongue, your hand lifting as if drawn there by instinct. Joel hissed softly when your fingers wrapped around him. He was warm, so warm, the weight of him heavy in your palm. The dark, coarse hair at his base tickled your skin as you pressed your hand flush to him, steadying him as your grip tightened.

You glanced up, eyes meeting his.

He was so beautiful like this. Pants half down, jaw tight, hair mussed from your hands, chest rising with a slow, shaky breath. 

And in that moment, you made a decision. You were going to ruin him.

You were going to make him come in your mouth.

His expression told you he already felt it coming. His brows drawn, lips parted, eyes so dark they barely looked human. There was pride in that stare, but something else too. Need, barely held together, a tension you were about to unravel. He knew you’d ruin him too.

Your mouth opened slowly. Your breath stopping as you leaned in, the scent of him thick and heady, musk and skin and arousal coiling low in your gut.

You leaned in and ran your tongue along the slit at the tip of his cock, catching the bead of precum as it touched your tongue. He moaned breathlessly, and the sound went straight to your head, turning your thoughts to static.

You flattened your tongue along the underside, dragging it along the ridge where head met shaft. Then you pressed slow, wet kisses to the bulbous head, your lips soft, your breath warm. You licked and suckled, easing into a rhythm, teasing until his hips gave the slightest jerk.

Joel groaned, his breath hissing through bared teeth as he looked down at you. His gaze was heavy, unblinking, fixed on the sight of you between his legs.

And then, casually, he reached into his jacket and pulled out another cigarette.

You blinked, pulling away slightly to look up at him. “Seriously?”

He just grinned, the cigarette resting between his lips as he cupped the lighter and struck the flame. His eyes never left you, even as he took the first drag, the orange tip flaring in the dark.

You rolled your eyes, but you weren’t laughing. Something about it made your blood run hotter.

You sank down and took him fully into your mouth, lips sealing around the thick heat of him, your tongue flattening to feel every vein and ridge as he slid deeper. He let out a quiet curse under his breath, and his head dropped back against the brick behind him as he exhaled smoke into the night air.

You hated to admit it, but there was something so hot—so unfairly, stupidly hot—about watching him smoke while you blew him.

"You got the prettiest lips, baby," he groaned, "Look so good around my cock."

You pulled back slowly, letting your lips glide over him with just enough pressure to make his stomach flex as you moaned at his praise. Your hand wrapped around the base, slick with your spit, and you stroked him, watching his abdomen tighten with each pass of your warm slick palm.

Then you took him deeper this time, hollowing your cheeks as your tongue traced the underside, catching every pulse of blood in his veins. Your jaw ached almost immediately from the sheer stretch of him, but you didn’t stop. You wanted it to ache, to feel it for days after.

Joel groaned, quiet at first, like he was trying to keep it in. But the longer you worked him, the less restraint he seemed to have. His hips rolled slightly, not enough to choke you, just enough to meet your rhythm. You could hear the drag of his breath between his teeth, the low rumble in his throat as he let out a breathy curse. His free hand slid into your hair, just holding, his fingers curling loosely at your scalp.

His chest rose and fell in slow, uneven waves. The glow of the cigarette tip pulsed with each drag, the smoke curling upward and disappearing into the night as he watched you again.

You moved your hand in sync with your mouth, stroking the base as you bobbed slowly, building a rhythm he could sink into. Every time you pulled back, your tongue dragged along his length, warm and wet and unforgiving. You twisted your wrist when your hand met your mouth, just like you knew drove a man insane.

You could feel the tension in his thighs now, in the way his muscles tensed beneath your hand, in the little shudders that ran through him each time you went a little deeper. His groans were getting rougher. Louder.

You pulled back for a second, just long enough to kiss along his shaft, your mouth slick and open, tongue dragging up the side before you sucked his head in again, swirling your tongue in slow, teasing circles.

“Fuck,” he breathed, the word barely audible, his voice rough as gravel, "Gonna let me come in your mouth? That what you want?"

You looked up at him, nodding as best you could as you licked at his cock again with eyes wide and doe-like. His head tilted back, lips parted around the cigarette, brows drawn tight. His hand tightened slightly in your hair, and you took that as agreement.

You smiled, slow and smug, and ducked your head again.

This time, you didn’t stop. You let him hit the back of your throat again and again, worked your hand in tandem, made every pull of your mouth feel deliberate. The kind of rhythm that unraveled men. You moaned around him, lost in it too.

You felt him start to shake.

"Oh god, oh god," he chanted.

His thighs were trembling now, the muscles locked tight. His hand fisted in your hair, not to stop you or guide you, but to hold on for dear life.

And when he came, he swore. Loud, rough, his body curling forward over you like the force of it knocked the wind out of him, cigarette burning forgotten on the ground. You hadn’t even noticed when he dropped it.

His cock pulsed in your mouth as thick ropes of his come painted your throat, and you took it all, salty and thick but somehow not entirely unpleasant. You were surprised how easy it was to swallow every drop.

You didn’t move right away. Just rested there, mouth soft around him, lips still closed as he twitched once, twice, breath dragging heavy from his chest. When you finally pulled off, slow and careful, your chin was slick, your mouth swollen, your throat sore in the best way imaginable.

Joel stared down at you, completely undone. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, then looked up at him, breathless.

“Told ya,” you said with a sly smile, voice a little hoarse but playful.

He let out a laugh that cracked right down the middle, then leaned back against the wall, head tilted up toward the sky, needing a second to recover before remembering how to speak.

You stood slowly, wiping your hands on your thighs before reaching into your bag for your lip gloss. The little click of the cap echoed in the quiet alley as you twisted it open and ran the wand over your mouth, smoothing it back to its glossy sheen. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of the nearby window: hair wild, lips swollen, eyes a little too bright, and gave a small, satisfied smirk.

Joel hadn’t moved. He was still leaning against the wall, pants zipped back up, cigarette now completely gone, the filter crushed under the heel of his boot. His chest was still rising and falling like he hadn’t quite gotten a full breath back yet.

“Well,” you said as you tucked the gloss away and gave your jacket a tug into place, “thanks for the fun, Joel. I’ll see you around.”

You turned toward the mouth of the alley, but his voice stopped you before you could take more than two steps.

“Now where do you think you’re goin’?”

You glanced back over your shoulder, brow lifted. “You seem tired, old man. Didn’t think you’d make it to round two is all.”

Joel pushed off the wall with a slow roll of his shoulders, his mouth twitching into something between a grin and a challenge. He stepped toward you, his boots crunching quietly in the gravel.

“You live far from here?” he asked, voice low again, steady and curious like he already knew what answer he wanted.

You narrowed your eyes slightly, lips twitching. “Why?”

Joel stopped just to the side of you, looming close enough that you could smell the last trace of smoke on his breath, the salt of his skin. His hand reached up to push your hair behind your shoulder, and he dipped his head, speaking just beside your neck.

“Because I’d much rather fuck the birthday girl in a bed than in some dirty alley,” he murmured. “Somewhere I can really take my time.”

The goosebumps hit instantly, your lips parting as the space between your legs pulsed with fresh heat.

“Ten minutes,” you managed. “Give or take.”

Joel pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, but his hand moved to rest at your waist.

He looked down at you for a beat, then gave a small shake of his head. “You’ve been drinkin'.”

“So have you.”

“Neither of us should be drivin',” he said, voice still soft but firmer now, threading just enough authority through the warmth. “I’ll call a cab.”

You let out a slow breath, a half smile playing at your lips. “Being responsible is such a buzzkill.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his fingers skimming your side, tracing the curve of your hip, his hand up under your jacket, “but I’d rather make through the night so I can live to hear what you sound like with my cock in you, pretty girl.”

That shut you up.

[cherrychilli]

Absolutely have to know if you're doing a part two for the Eddie and virgin reader chastity cage bit, because ough! It's incredible stuff.

Either way, thank you for writing it!

Thanks for reading!

So, I wrote it intending for it to be a oneshot and I'm going to keep it that way

but

I woke up this morning with an idea for an extended ending. Just a short scene but I think that's all that's really needed. Hope you like it💛

Everything's so delightfully sticky and wet.

It's all sore between your legs from where his spend drips down onto your thighs. A wonderful feeling you doubt you'll ever tire of.

You're glad you waited too. He couldn't have been more perfect with how he took care of you. Stretching you out with his thick, dexterous fingers. Making you cum with his tongue first before he fit his cock inside you, his hand holding yours. So many sweet whispers of 'I've got you', 'you're doing so well', and 'fuck, you feel incredible.'

Then suddenly, the afterglow crumbles.

Someone's at the door. Someone persistent because they don't let up with their insistent knocking. Both Eddie and you groan, forced to unstick yourselves from one another so he can pull on his pair of sweats once more. Before he goes he makes sure to turn back and reach for you, placing a kiss on your lips that makes your body fill with butterflies.

Walking out of the bedroom, he's half ready to cuss out whoever's knocking on his door, swiftly pulling the thing open only for Eddie to nearly stagger back.

Danny Vaughn. Danny Vaughn is at his doorstep.

"Finally. Listen Munson, I've got a girl waiting", he gestures at his car parked nearby. Convertible. Ferrari red. Douchey. "And I don't have much time. Need some blow if you've got it. Dirty thing, I talked her into letting me do a couple of lines off her tits", he winks at Eddie in that sickening bravado heavy kind of way. "Aint she classy?"

Eddie's eyes turn sharp. "Fresh out", he lies, stony faced with his fist clenched at his side

Danny's face twists with annoyance but only for a moment, taking in Eddie's shirtless state, his body dewy and the smell of sex clinging to his skin.

The prick puts two and two together, clapping a hand against Eddie's shoulder with a thick grin. "You dog. Got someone over don't you? didn't take you for the lady killer type."

If it weren't for the fact that Eddie and you were together now he would have had Danny's beaten, pulpy body to deal with on his doorstep. He restrains himself though, not wanting your first date to be spent visiting him in jail.

"Eddie, I'm going to fix myself a drink. You want one?"

The sound of your voice has Danny immediately straightening up like a meerkat, craning his neck to see you over Eddie's shoulder, passing by in nothing but the tee Eddie had been dressed in a couple hours ago. So blissful, you don't even notice your dick ex at the door.

"Sure. Surprise me", Eddie calls out with his eyes cemented on Danny's face. God, it is so satisfying to see the crestfallen look taking over his stupid face.

"Yeah, so as you can see I'm pretty busy", Eddie goes to close the door, shit eating grin wide on his face. "Got a good thing going on here so I don't want to keep her waiting. It'd be pretty fucking stupid to take a girl like that for granted" he tells Danny pointedly.

Happily, Eddie closes the door on Danny's shattered face, calmly making his way to the kitchenette where he finds you going through the fridge, looking all kinds of amazing in his clothes.

"Who was at the door?", you ask him when he comes by to wrap his arms around your waist from behind. He hasn't been this happy in a long time, half wondering what he'd done to deserve someone as good as you. The other half not caring why, only vowing to become everything you deserve and more.

"No one, baby. No one important."

[bunni-v1]

OOOO do i have a request for you 🤭

THIGH👏RIDING👏

Colonel Caleb in full uniform while MC is grinding desperately on this thigh, wearing absolutely nothing except his hat. She’s all desperate and needy but he’s paying her no mind as he focuses on his work.

+ Caleb being all smug when he walks out of his office with an obvious stain on his black pants after

AGAFAFAGJA

Save a Horse Ride a... Colonel?

🍓I was actually about to stop writing for tonight cause I'd done so much of it but I saw this and fell to my fucking knees. Unfortunately, I don't have the willpower to do a full fic, but please take this humble drabble and kiss my little forehead for my efforts.

TW: Caleb is a little mean, which is a little OOC imo, but y'all can judge; thigh riding; NOT EDITED

Info: Caleb x Reader; NSFW

MDNI

Caleb's uniform was one of your biggest turn-ons recently. While it symbolized some rather unpleasant things for both of you, he looked so fucking hot in the damn thing that it was unfair. The cleanly pressed fabric fit him perfectly, sharp edges giving him an air of command that had you weak in the knees. It was a symbol of power, the literal representation of his ability to control, and you wanted nothing more than to ruin the damn thing.

Caleb was aware of this, of course. What about you wasn't he aware of? The way your touch drew itself along the collar of his jacket. The way your eyes lingered on his hat. Dead giveaways. He didn't press the issue, though. Content to keep you wanting and needing for this, especially since he'd rather feel you skin to skin.

Yet, when you waltzed into his office unannounced with a big smirk on your face, he knew he wouldn't last long. Prancing around like you didn't have an evil little plan brewing, letting you think he was none the wiser to your scheming. He was right, too, when you came over and sat in front of him like the papers he was working on weren't there.

"You need somethin'?" He chuckles, hands finding their place on your thighs.

You don't respond immediately, plucking his hat off his head and resting it on your head with a smirk. His eyes linger on your lips for a little too long, watching the way you seem to glow with pride. You were cute when you thought you were getting away with your silly little schemes. It almost broke his heart that he'd have to hit you with reality sooner or later.

"I was thinkin'," you drawl, and he loves to hear it, cause that's how he talks. You talk like him now, and isn't that just everything a guy could want, "the whole save a horse ride a cowboy thing... could the same apply to a Colonel?"

"You propositioning me, pips?" He hums, leaning forward a little.

"Just wondering..." you sigh, "I know you're busy, though. Don't wanna get in the way."

A dry sigh pushes past his lips, "I am pretty busy, but I think I know a way we can both get what we want."

"Oh yeah...?"

He reaches up to straighten the hat on your head, smiling softly at the sight, "Strip."

The demand is so jarring when pitted against his soft eyes, you almost think you don't hear him right. But his expression falls a little, and he repeats himself, more direct this time.

"Take your clothes off," he pulls you off the desk, tugging at the end of your skirt.

You step back, eyeing him nervously as he leans back in his chair. Legs spread wide, showing off his erection shamelessly, not that he had any reason to hide it from you in the first place. He gestures for you to go ahead when you don't start, so you try and give him a show.

First, your shirt goes, crossing your arms over your body and tugging it over your head inch by inch. His eyes slide over the exposed skin, leaning his head on his hand like he was bored. The bra goes next, dropping to the floor and letting your tits bounce freely. You see his eye twitch at the sight, but he remains stoic otherwise. Shoes and socks get kicked to a forgotten corner of the room, then you focus on sliding your bottoms off.

You take your time with them, knowing he loves to watch you wiggle them down your legs in a struggle. They squeeze the fat of your thighs as you work them down, skin pillowing over the fabric on its way to the floor. You kick them to the side, then step forward between his legs, knowing he would like the honors of removing your pretty lacy panties you wore just for him.

With clinical precision, he reaches up. The leather of his gloves ran against the skin just above the lace, hooking them with his thumbs and sliding them all the way down to the floor. Unlike the rest of your clothes, he slides them into his pocket for later use. Then, almost innocent, he tilts his head at you.

"What do you think you're gonna do, hm?" Its spoken in a whisper that gets your spine tingling.

Your lip catches between your teeth, "'m gonna ride you?"

"Close..." he hums, repositioning you so you're standing over one of his thighs, "since you seem to like my uniform so much, you can use it to take care of yourself while I work. You can do that, can't you?"

You nod adamantly, already sitting yourself down on him. He holds you still as he readjusts his workspace to accommodate having you there, and all it takes is the tap of his fingers against your lower back for you to start grinding down on his thigh.

The feeling is odd at first - the slightly textured pattern on the fabric rubbing against you uncomfortably. It's not smooth like you thought it would be, but the more you drag your slick along it, the better it seems to feel. A simple back-and-forth motion is enough to get you wet, skin warming with each movement. It's not quite enough to do anything significant, though.

So, you change the angle at which you're moving, choosing to roll your hips into him instead. It makes you shudder at how much nicer it feels, head rolling back with a happy little sigh. The texture of his slacks pressed into your little bud deliciously, spoiling you with how nice it felt.

Caleb makes no move to help you get off, either. The scratch, scratch, scratch of his pen signaled the focus on his work. It made you a little dizzy, knowing that he was ignoring you. Letting you use him as your personal sex toy, griding your pussy into his thigh, and getting off all while he gets his work done. He's so good at coming up with solutions like this, it makes you want him more.

You had to be good though, or else he won't let you cum. If you distracted him too much, he'd send you home to be dealt with later, and you didn't want that. You wanted to gush all over his thigh while he worked so hard to provide for you. You needed to fuck his thigh good and hard and come undone all pretty for him, like the good girl you were.

You lean back a little for a new angle, Caleb subconsciously supporting your back with his hand, always so worried about you, even when he was trying not to be. You use that hand as leverage to press your clit directly into his leg, whimpering when it rolled deliciously against his suit over and over again. You could feel the orgasm building, so you chased the high instead of fighting it.

Giving up the position for a new one, leaned over him so that as much of his uniform was pressed against your naked body. His hand returns to his work like nothing had happened prior, and yours curl into his uniform as you push and pull your hips against him. You focus on pressure more than speed, making sure each roll is deep and impactful.

You're moaning his name into his ear, legs shaking with the effort you use to fuck yourself against him. You can feel how close you are, trying to speed up the pace to get there faster. The pleasure curls up your spine and falls out of your mouth uncontrollably, mumbling incoherent pleases and thank yous over and over. Caleb does not give you a reaction, and you don't need him to. You're already falling over the edge with one last harsh roll into his leg.

Your body trembles with all its might, hips stuttering in their pace, jerking a few more times before they still in a final slow drag. You sigh out his name, thanking him for letting you take care of yourself. It's when you slowly start coming back down that he sets his pen down, easing you into a sitting position where he is supporting your back. The softness in his gaze when you look at him is unearned after what you just when through, but you can't find it in you to voice that.

"Feelin' better, Honey?" He asks, pressing a little kiss to your nose.

You nod, "Mhm..."

"You did good," he compliments quietly, "why don't you go lie down on the couch over there, let your body rest while I go to a meeting, yeah?"

He eases you to your feet, guiding you to the couch carefully, like you might collapse. Carefully, he tosses a blanket over your bare body - one he'd only stored because of your surprise visits and complains about how cold the ship was - pressing a kiss to your forehead. You sigh at the affection, closing your eyes in bliss when he removes his hat and straightens out your hair.

"I'll be back soon, rest up," he hums one last time, and you are lulled to sleep by the gentle sound of his boots crossing the room and padding down the hall.

---

The Colonel's demeanor is unusual as he strides down the hall. Head held tall and proud, shoulders squared back like he was showing off, and strides long and confident. That was mostly to be expected, though. He didn't get where he was without confidence in himself. What really caught the eye of the officers around him was the giant stain on his normally perfect uniform.

They tried not to stare too hard at it, but it was painfully obvious. The dark patch on the apex of his thigh was jarring in comparison to the usually perfectly groomed Colonel they were used to seeing. Stupidly, they whispered to each other about it. Curious as to how it got there, why he seemed to be showing it off, and so on and so forth. It was almost funny, if not for him overhearing a pair of them whispering.

"Is there a problem," he bites, short and sharp.

The two men shake their heads, stiffening into formation, "No, Sir!"

"Why are you whispering about me, then? Do you think I'm stupid?" He presses.

They hesitate for a second, then one speaks up, "Your uniform is extra sharp today, Sir."

They expect him to bite at them again, scold them for being stupid. But instead, the impossible happens. Their Colonel smirks, "It does, doesn't it?"

[webslinger-holland]

Bucky x avenger or assistant in Thunderbolts timeline maybe

With All Due Respect | Bucky Barnes from Thunderbolts*

Summary: The newly appointed congressman and his sharp, no-nonsense assistant fight growing attraction behind closed doors—where power, restraint, and reputation collide.

Warning: mutual pining, yearning, tension, angst, some fluff in the end

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Assistant Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Type: Request

It was a bright and early Monday morning. The door to Congressman Barnes’ office opened with a soft click. The familiar rhythm of her heels tapping against the hardwood just enough to pull his tired gaze from the report in front of him.

She came into the room with a drink carrier balancing on top of a short stack of files in her hands. The sight of caffeine this early in the morning was the perfect wake up call. He straightened in his seat.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Bucky muttered, rubbing a hand over his face to wake up. “I was about to start chewing on the corner of this briefing.”

Carefully, Y/n went to lower the stack of files onto the top of his desk. He reached for the larger coffee automatically—until she effortlessly swatted his hand once. And he looked up at her slightly offended.

“That one's mine,” she said casually.

Bucky paused, brow raised. “What? Why do you get the bigger coffee?”

"I paid."

"You used my card." He replied bluntly.

She took a long sip from her cup which left a small red stain behind on the lid. “And the one who does more work gets the bigger caffeine dose. Your card was payment for emotional damage.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What damage?”

“Reading these.” She tapped her finger against the files left on his desk. She picked up the top one and tried to hand it to him, but he wouldn't budge.

Bucky groaned, slouching further in his chair like a teenager faced with summer homework. “I don't want to read them. They’re boring.”

“Tough luck. That's politics,” She dropped the folder on the desk with a satisfying thump.

He reluctantly reached forward to take the file. She briskly walked over to her own, much smaller desk near the front of the room. She missed the way his eyes watched her retreating figure. She came back only a moment later with a planner and pen in hand.

“You’re chairing two committees this week and your proposal’s being dissected in subcommittee," Y/n read from the planner and Bucky groaned again. "I need you awake, briefed, and at least pretending to care.”

He looked up at her, expression dry. “Remind me again why I hired you?”

“Because you were three hours late to your own ethics hearing and I saved your political career with one color-coded binder and a phone call just last month.”

“Right.”

Heading back to her desk again, Y/n sat down and got right to work. She typed emails, made phone calls, rearranged the schedule, and proofread packets for him.

All morning long, Bucky struggled to keep his focus on the packets in front of him often realizing his gaze was transfixed on someone else. She sometimes caught him staring, but he'd just pretend to read the packets again.

Picking up the phone and putting it to her ear, she typed a number and listened to the dial. She waved him down to get his attention.

"Don't forget about your lunch meeting with Henderson," she whispered because she anticipated someone to pick up the phone on the other end.

Bucky’s eyes softened. “You always remember the things I forget.”

“It’s literally in my job description, Congressman." She explained like it was nothing out of the ordinary, glancing at him from around her computer.

She always made the job easier. That was part of the problem.

She was brilliant and capable—keeping him afloat when all the politics threatened to drown him. Yet, every time he got too close, every time he lingered too long or made the mistake of looking at her like he wanted more, she’d pull away.

Professionally. Politely. Firmly.

She'd made herself absolutely, maddeningly off-limits to him.

He could see it in her posture—the steel spine, the strictly platonic smile. She was protecting them both. From rumors. From headlines. From himself quite frankly.

Still, that didn’t stop him from watching her when she wasn’t looking. And it didn't stop him from wanting her.

Later in the week, his assistant came into his office already talking on the phone with someone and just finishing up the conversation. He had been looking out the window of his office, but her sudden presence made him turn his head.

Watching with slight amusement, Bucky leaned back in his office chair and smiled at her mannerisms. She ended the call and tossed her phone onto her desk. Coming to round the side of his desk, she came to sit on the edge and slid some papers to him.

"Talking points for your meeting with the committee. And the full donor report you were too tired to finish reading last night.” She handed them off.

"So uptight," Bucky commented and Y/n sent him a look of warning. "Technically, I’m the one getting grilled by half of Congress today."

“And who prepped your notes, rewrote your speech, called your driver twice, and reminded you to zip your fly before you walked into the elevator?” Y/n wondered, lifting a perfectly arched brow.

Bucky blinked. “…That last part was a life-saving intervention.”

“Exactly.” She smiled. She held up a pen and pointed to a spot on the paper. "I need you to sign this."

"What are you doing this weekend?" Bucky asked, paying no mind to the form in front of him. "Have any plans?"

A long pause fell between them. She kept her gaze locked on the paper, still waiting for him to take the pen from her and pretending not to hear him.

"We could go out maybe—" Bucky began.

"James..." Y/n tried.

He knew that tone. And she only used his real name when she was dead serious about something.

“I know what it would look like. And you’re right to keep your distance.” Bucky confessed and lowered his gaze solemnly. “I just wish you didn’t have to.”

She felt a small gentle smile growing at the corners of her lips. "I'm flattered you asked."

As she sat perched on the edge of his desk beside him, Bucky spared her a glance. It was a shy and quiet glance; one with a slight hope for a future.

"Sign here," Y/n redirected his attention to the forms again. He reluctantly took the pen. "Focus, please."

So Bucky dutifully signed his name on the forms just like she wanted him to. She collected the papers together, suddenly satisfied and still keeping things professional.

Once she left, Bucky was left to his own thoughts once again. He wanted nothing more than to show his appreciation; for all her hard work, dedication to the job, and the patience she showed with him. The distance was starting to eat at him.

There was another fundraiser. The ballroom shimmered with low golden light with grand chandeliers casting a soft glow over polished marble floors and D.C.'s best-dressed elite. Bucky had shaken so many hands tonight he was sure he could sketch every cufflink from memory.

But all of it faded the second she walked in.

His breath caught in his throat.

Her dress was nothing flashy—she never went for loud—but it hugged her like a beautiful glove. She wore a deep navy silk that had a slit up one side. Her shoulders bare. Her hair was loosely curled and tumbling over her shoulders—very different from her regular pinned up look.

She didn’t look like his assistant.

He found her near the bar, chatting with a communications rep from another office. She turned just slightly as she sipped from a flute of champagne. Her lipstick looked wonderful in the lighting.

"Congressman,” Y/n acknowledged with a faint smile. She lowered her drink onto the bar that he leaned against.

"You trying to kill me?” Bucky asked with a deadpanned face.

Her face fell. "What?"

"That dress.” Bucky gestured to the dress and looked away just so he wouldn't be caught staring. She glanced down at herself and wondered if something was wrong with it.

"You don't like it?" Y/n wondered. She sounded ever so slightly disappointed.

"I do like it; that's the problem." Bucky confessed. He eased closer to her, so close that he could practically smell the perfume on her neck. "Did I… buy that? My card’s been a little overworked lately.”

She smiled to herself. "No, Bucky. You didn’t pay for this one.”

There was something about the way she said his name—low, teasing, familiar—that made his pulse spike. She only ever used “Congressman” around others in professional settings. Only on a few occasions did she slip up. And it made him feel like maybe she wasn’t entirely immune either.

"You look beautiful tonight," Bucky admitted softly.

Her smile faltered and he wanted nothing more than to make her smile like that again. She averted her gaze and reached for her drink again.

“Don’t,” she begged softly, keeping her voice low so nobody could hear except him. “Not here.”

“Why not here?” Bucky challenged just as gently.

“You know why.” Her tone was still gentle, but firm. She nodded toward the nearby photographers, to the colleagues, the staffers, the political sharks circling with champagne flutes. The wolves were always hungry. “They’re all watching.”

He hated that she was right. He just didn't want to say it.

“So this? You and me?" She motioned to the space between them. "It’s the one thing I can’t let myself have. I’ve worked too hard to be seen as more than someone who just looks good at your side. I do not want to be reduced to the assistant who sleeps with her boss.”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away.

“I’d never let them reduce you like that,” Bucky said, quiet and certain like the way someone speaks a promise.

“I know you wouldn’t,” Y/n nodded. “But you wouldn’t be the one writing the headlines.”

Her gaze lifted to his again, just for a second. Just long enough for him to see that it wasn’t indifference keeping her at a distance—it was the way she cared too much.

And the way she knew better than to trust a world that never once played fair.

Just as she turned to walk away from him, Bucky reached out to grab her wrist so they stood shoulder to shoulder. He didn't look at her, just held her close enough to hear. His cold vibranium fingers digging into the flesh gently.

"At least let me take you home," Bucky knew this was all becoming too much for both of them. “You won’t even have to say anything. Just... let me be the one who gets you home safe.”

Her expression flickered. Not from annoyance. Not resistance. Just hesitation—the kind built on months of boundaries, and months of slowly breaking them.

"Fine." She agreed.

The drive back to her apartment was silent and so was the elevator ride up to her floor. The two of them stepped out of the elevator together and silently continued walking down the hallway. He loosened his tie because appearances where no longer needed.

Standing in front of her apartment door, Bucky seemed slightly taken back when Y/n hesitated to get her keys out of her bag. Instead, they just stood there together. Neither of them having the courage to look each other in the eye.

The silence between them was thick — full of all the things they couldn’t say in public, and all the things they still couldn’t say here. Not really.

Just when he opened his mouth to say something, she cut him off.

"Whatever you're going to say, please don't say it." Her eyes flicked up to his, looking more pained than anything

“Why not?” He took a step closer, then stopped himself. “It’s late. No one’s watching. Why can't we just say it?”

She exhaled slowly, and when she spoke again, her voice was barely audible. "Because if I told you how I truly felt about you, I wouldn't be able to hold back anymore."

He confessed. “Me neither.”

She tore her eyes away from him, fighting every urge to just cave in and let herself feel something for once.

“I think about it all the time,” Bucky admitted. His words were heavy with restraint. “What it would be like. If we just—”

She closed her eyes. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

“I don’t care about the headlines.”

“I do,” Y/n almost snapped. Then her tone changed softer again: “Because it’s not just your name on the line. It’s mine. And once people start talking… they won’t stop. I’ll be the reason you’re not taken seriously anymore.”

He swallowed hard. “You’re the only reason I am taken seriously.”

That hit her. She blinked, stunned quiet for a second.

He was in front of her before she could breathe, metal hand ghosting just beside her cheek. His other hand trembled near her hip like he didn’t dare touch her—until she didn’t pull away.

“Bucky…” Her voice was warning, pleading, trembling.

“I’m not your boss right now,” Bucky whispered. “I’m just a man who’s tired of pretending I haven't wanted you for longer than I know what to do with.”

And then he kissed her.

Hard. Desperate. Full of every word he wasn’t allowed to say.

She gasped into his mouth, hands flying to his shoulders like they would steady her. He didn’t hesitate; he cupped her face with both hands, mouth slanting over hers.

She kissed him back. God help her, but she did.

Their mouths moved like they’d done this a thousand times in dreams. His hands slipped to her waist, pulling her against him like he couldn’t stand the inch between them. She wrapped her fingers in the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, deeper, needier.

And just when the kiss started to tip into something reckless— She pulled away.

Breathless. Shaken. Flustered.

They stared at each other with chests heaving. Their reality settling back in like cold water. Her fingers still fisted his shirt.

“I told you not to do that,” she whispered, voice broken.

“I know,” Bucky said. “But I’d do it again.”

Very carefully, Bucky leaned forward again with every intention of kissing her and capturing those lips he was already addicted to. However, Y/n quickly placed her hand on the center of his chest to stop him. She shook her head in denial; building up those walls once again to protect them both.

“We shouldn’t…” it pained her to say it—it always did. "At least not tonight."

"Alright," Bucky agreed. "I'll wait for you. As long as it takes. Another 100 years if I have to."

This pulled a soft chuckle from her lips; something that he'd especially grown fond of over the past couple months. She reluctantly pulled out of his grasp and opened the door to her place.

"Goodnight Congressman."

The dress peeled off like a memory—too expensive, too tight, too tied to a moment she wanted and couldn’t have. It landed in a soft heap on the floor.

She stepped into the shower and let the water run hotter than usual.

The hot steam filled the air. Her forehead pressed against the tile. She told herself it wasn’t emotion—just the weight of the week. The exhaustion. The pressure of playing someone composed when she wanted to fall apart.

She stayed in the shower longer than she needed to.

When she finally stepped out, she wrapped herself in a cotton robe, dried her hair halfheartedly, and climbed into bed for the night. She laid there comfortable, replaying those shared moments together over and over again in her head.

That was until her phone buzzed beside her. The name 'Bucky' showed up on the screen.

She hesitated. Then answered. Putting the phone up to her ear.

“Hey,” Y/n said quietly; her voice softer than it had been all evening.

"I didn't wake you up, did I?" Bucky's husky tone echoed into her ear.

"No," she smiled and tucked her legs under herself.

The line fell silent between them with neither of them willing to say something before the other. She heard the faint rustle of movement on his end. The city humming faintly through his window.

“I just wanted to make sure you got in okay,” Bucky said on the other side.

“You literally dropped me off at my door, Bucky.” Y/n sounded slightly confused.

“I know,” Bucky murmured, probably smiling. “I just… wanted to hear your voice.”

Her breath caught. The silence stretched again. She toyed with the string on her robe, not really sure what to say.

“You looked beautiful tonight,” Bucky added. His voice so gentle it didn’t feel like a compliment—it felt like a confession. She closed her eyes, head bowing.

“Bucky…” she hated all of this.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said quickly. “I just… I know you’re right. About everything. About how it looks. But when I’m around you, it’s hard to care about any of it.”

She didn’t speak.

“I didn’t call to make it worse,” Bucky added. “I just… I didn’t want the night to end without saying it. That’s all.”

Her hand tightened around the phone. She wanted to say me too. She wanted to say I feel it too. But all she could manage was:

“Goodnight, Bucky.”

A pause.

“Goodnight,” he echoed.

And the call ended.

THIS WAS MY FIRST BUCKY FANFICTION! PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU LIKED IT AND IF YOU'D LIKE MORE LIKE IT.

[mydarlingclaudia]

cw : major character death, baby death, angst

Simon Riley who says he’s still married even after your death when people hit on him

Simon Riley who still wears his wedding ring and keeps yours on the same chain as his dog tags

Simon Riley who lost not only you, but the baby you were going to have the day you died

Simon Riley who keeps the nursery the same as it was when you painted it and set up the crib

Simon Riley who shows up to the pub on Fridays an hour or two later than the rest of his team because the show you used to watch all the time only airs at eight p.m. on Fridays, he hasn't missed an episode

Simon Riley who goes to you and your babies joint grave first thing each time he gets back from deployment, there's a third joint part on the tombstone for him one day

Simon Riley who keeps the house the exact same as you left it, he even unfolds and refolds your clothes and the babies when he can't sleep

Simon Riley who doesn't really talk about it, doesn't check in with your family, doesn't take Price's advice when he tells him he should take time off after your death

Simon Riley who wakes up some mornings thinking you're in the other room with your baby, only to remember you aren't

–

You met through a neighbor, your sink had broken and she had pointed you in the direction of the scary guy down the hallway who had fixed her shower last year. He was in your flat for three hours, came out a bit sweaty and with grease on his hands and shirt, but he made your sink better than it was before it started leaking and he walked back down the hall with cash in his pocket.

The next time you see him is when you ask him if he knew anything about cars and if he'd mind taking a look at yours. He gets the check engine light to turn off and makes that wrong-sounding whirring sound to go back to normal, instead of cash, you offer dinner.

He didn't even think to turn you down, he wasn't due back on base for another week, he could use some company. You learned Simon wasn't a handyman or plumber, it was just an odd job he got good at, the military is where his duties lay, no wonder you hadn't seen him around much before.

After deployments, he comes over for dinner each week, then you start going out for dinner and go out to see movies and he starts to show up at your doorstep with flowers. The kiss comes first, officially dating comes second.

The longer you were together, the harder it was to be away on deployments. And you're everything Simon could ever want. Too good for him, too understanding and patient. But Simon still comes home to you, he still kisses your shoulders and lets you wash his back, he still wants to marry you.

And he does, he puts a ring on your finger that looks like the one his mom used to wear before she just took it off one day and never put it back on. He buys you a nice house with a backyard and a fireplace, plans out the whole wedding with you, he does everything right.

Pregnancy comes next, he never saw himself as a dad, but he got more and more comfortable with the idea as your pregnancy progressed. The nursery was yellow, you put a little mobile with seals and starfish and otters over the crib, Simon put the rocking chair together and painted it blue.

He held your hair back when you puked in the mornings, cooked most of the meals you ate over the nine months, did all of the massages, went to all the check-ups, even took that paternity leave he was convinced he'd never use.

He held your hand all through the delivery, your baby girl came out completely silent, one of the nurses in the room with you was new and he didn't know why she started crying at first.

He had thought he'd seen enough blood in his life for it not to really startle him the same way it did when he was a kid, but you and bleeding out being used in the same sentence put a whole new sense of terror in him. The nurses actually had him leave the room, there was only one way it could go, he knew that, but he sat in the hallway bouncing his leg like he was waiting for good news.

He drove home alone that day.

Simon spends his days waiting around now. You were really the only one for him, he knew that far too soon, but by now, he would've been picking his daughter up from her first day of school, maybe you'd even have another baby on the way. When he's not deployed, going through the motions aimlessly, he's daydreaming.

He's sad, of course he is, what else are you supposed to feel? But he doesn't cry as much as he probably should. He imagines school pictures in his wallet and hanging on the walls of your house, birthday party invitations stuck onto the fridge and date night's marked on the calendar.

He goes into the nursery sometimes, like he's waiting up with the baby, trying to get it to fall back asleep. He'll spin the mobile and sit back in the chair that he was meant to hold his daughter in and just stare at it, even after it stops moving, he stays.

Your grave is so heartbreaking to see, but it's comforting, also. That you'll always be there, you and your daughter, and one day, he'll be right next to you again.

[devinescribe]

At Your Service

Knight! Jason Todd x Princess! Reader

Warnings: swearing, uhh slightly suggestive comments, I think that’s all!

I’m in love with Jason Todd, and have been for forever. I love all the Batboys :3

The Wayne family had been protecting yours for as long as time itself.

It was lucky that your parents had only had one child, and Bruce Wayne had only 4. It was like extra protection all the time.

All. The. Time.

Since you were closer to the same age as Jason, he had been assigned as your personal knight. He followed you like a second shadow.

Even when you were kids, he'd be by your side, holding your hand to go across the street or the paths.

He was 7 when he was appointed as your ‘knight’(knight in training at that point), and you merely 5.

——

“Go on dear… say hello,” you mother said softly, watching you hide behind her, gripping her skirt, barely peeking over at the boy.

“Jason Peter Todd, do you accept the duty of guarding over the princess, protecting her at all costs?” Said one of the important people in the court who you frankly could not remember the name of.

“Yes.”

The boy stood with a seriousness, almost like he was already a knight.

He looked over at you, and your mom shoved you forward softly. You stumbled forward, almost tripping over your dress, and Jason’s hands quickly steadied you. There was a moment of silence as you both stared at each other, before you slithered to his side, gripping the sleeve of his tunic.

The court “awwww-ed” at the sight, seeing as you took such a quick liking to the knight in training.

——

He followed you around, two steps behind, watching silently. Like he always did.

You walked through the garden and past the fountain, to the big old willow tree at the end of the royal gardens.

“…Jason…?” You said softly, turning to face him.

“Yes your highness?” He responded.

You pouted, having already told him to just call you by your name.

He noticed and corrected himself, “My bad… um… yes, Y/N?”

“…Do I talk too much?” You asked, fidgeting with your dress as you sat on the grass beneath the willow tree.

Jason’s eyes widened as he heard the question, and he kneeled in front of you.

“Who said that?”

Your eyes met his and a chill ran through you. There was a dark fury behind them, as if you had just told him someone threatened to kill you.

“I-I… just… some maids…” you mumbled, now finding the grass very interesting.

Jason sighed, and sat next to you as a soft summer breeze whistled through the long branches of the willow.

“They’re wrong. You don’t talk too much, you talk just enough. You talking this well at your age is like… really… you’re really smart,” he babbles it out, like he’s not really thinking much, just saying.

You nod, nuzzling into his side.

“Will you read to me again?” You ask quietly.

“Of course Y/N.”

——

Now, you were 21, and he was 23. And things were the same. You still clung to him, and he still followed you around. Two steps behind. He still read to you whenever you asked.

Jason had always thought you would end up being bratty and spoiled. You were a princess, why should you care about those who were below you? But you didn't. You were kind, and charitable. Always caring about the people you would one day rule over. And he loved that about you.

Dawning a simple ochre yellow dress and flats along with your favorite jewelry, you walked down into the dining room.

"...Dick? Have you seen Jay...?" You ask softly. He wasn't at the table and he hadn't gone to get you as he typically did for breakfast.

"He’s uh... not feeling well," Dick responded, looking away.

Your brow furrowed in worry.

"Is he sick? Does he need something? He shoulda said something I woulda-"

You were cut off by Damian's annoyed grumble, "He's not sick, he's pissed the ball tonight is to find you a spouse and he can't be in the running-"

"Damian!"

The other two men called his name in a scolding manner. It was no secret to the Wayne boys that Jason had a crush on you. It was a fact that Jason kept very secret from you.

You pouted.

"...He's mad at me...?" You whimpered, not really understanding what Damian was getting at.

"No he's in lo-"

Damian's sentence was cut short by Dick's hand over his mouth.

"He's not mad at you. He's just tired is all. Did you need to go into town or something Princess?" Tim said, trying to save face for Jason.

You nodded softly, looking over at Tim before explaining, "Got a new dress for the ball... have to go pick it up... Jay was gonna go with... He promised.”

"Well, I'll go with you and by the time we're back I'm sure that Damian and Tim will have talked some sense into Jason," Dick suggested, sort of shoving Damian towards Tim.

The younger boy glared at his eldest brother, but said nothing as he stood with Tim.

You nodded and went over next to Dick, holding onto his arm as you walked out of the castle. Dick had always been like a big brother figure to you, always kind and having a big goofy grin.

"So...you excited for tonight?" He asked, hoping this would sort of change the subject.

You sighed heavily before responding, "not really but... if it's what I must do..."

He felt bad for you. I mean here you were actively miserable, walking to get a dress to an event you didn't want to attend.... Having to have the attention of every man in the room as they all fight for who gets to court you first.

"But it's okay... because Jason is gonna be there to keep me safe... I like Jay.... a lot. He makes me happy and makes me feel safe," you mumble, looking at the cobblestone path in front of you.

Then it hit Dick. Did you like his brother? Is that what you just admitted that you liked Jason? Instead of questioning you he just smirked to himself.

"Yeah? You excited about all the suitors at least...?" He asked, knowing full well you weren't.

You frowned and looked up at Dick with a glare. He knew you would rather die.

——

Jason was sulking in his room. Tonight was the night you'd get whisked away by some guy that wasn't him.

The heavy crimson black out curtains you had bought for him were drawn closed, blocking all light from getting in. He had locked the door that lead into your room because he knew that if he saw you today before the ball, he'd spill his guts to you.

His bed was too big. You ordered he get a bigger bed because he was so big himself... and on the rare occasion you couldn't sleep you could have a spot.

However, in his thinking, he had forgotten one door. The main entrance to his room. Damian and Tim came in, basically slamming the door open.

"Wake up dickhead," Damian grumbled as Tim opened the curtains. The sunlight beamed through, hurting Jason's eyes as he struggled to adjust.

"What the fuck-"

"Enough sulking, she thinks you're mad at her," Tim said, going to Jason's closet.

Jason took a breath. The thought of you being upset made his insides hurt. Literally, his stomach was churning at the thought of your sad face.

"She... Y/N thinks I'm mad at her? Who the hell told her that?!" He growled, almost yelling, but not quite.

"No one did dipshit. You didn't go wake her up and you didn't go to breakfast. You promised you'd go with her to get her dress, but lo and behold, you're fucking sulking in here," Damian cursed, rolling his eyes in annoyance at his older brother's anger.

"...what Damian is trying to say is... she thinks you're upset with her because you are acting strange... you're the first person she asked about. She got worried and thought you were sick... she cares about you-" Tim tried to reason, still looking through his older brothers closet, but got cut off by Jason's sharp tongue.

"It doesn't fucking matter how much she cares about me, she's a princess and I... I'm just a knight. I'm just a street kid that's lucky Bruce saw any potential in me, and took me in. I'm not good enough to have her."

There was silence in the room for a moment, both brothers taking in what Jason had just relayed to them.

"...how will you know if you never try?"

Jason looked up at Damian as he spoke.

"The hell are you talking about kid?"

"You won't know how she feels until you tell her. So stop being a pussy and just tell her. I'm like...99% sure she feels the same. So screw labels and what your job is. In all technicality, we are nobles, who decide to be guards to the royal family. So... the status thing doesn't work."

Jason laughed and shook his head.

"Alright kid....alright."

“And would you look at that, you even have something to wear for tonight.”

——

When it was time for the ball, you waited for the court announcer to say your name. You looked down and smoothed out your black and red dress.

It was a big ballgown style dress that was a dark red fabric with black lace detailing. The bodice had a sweetheart neckline that was adorned with gold and pearls. As usual, you used your favorite jewelry and this time, you had your crown on. A golden crown adorned with jewels.

You picked it out because it reminded you of Jason. You couldn't wait to show him. You hoped he was here... He had to be, right? He was your night…

The announcer introduces you, and you walk into the ballroom. There's hundreds of people staring up at you, and you felt a bit overwhelmed.

No sooner had you reached the bottom step before you were crowded around by men, dukes, barons, lords, nobles, princes, kings of all ages and from every kingdom.

You tried to be cordial but were so overwhelmed and crowded around.

"Oh my lady, you are absolutely stunning-"

"You seem like you'd be a good mother-"

"Oh do save me a dance-"

"I assure you, you'll never have to work a day in your life again-"

"Take my hand and let's go dance-"

You tried to excuse yourself but it was no use. Until you hear the deep and rough voice behind you. The voice you had missed all day long.

"Alright alright, move along and give the princess some space can't you see she's overwhelmed?" Jason said protectively, guiding you through the crowd.

"And who do you think you are kid?"

"Jason Todd, her personal knight. What do you fuckheads want?" He scoffed.

"J-Jason! Language in the court!" You scold softly as the nobles gasped.

Yet none dared to follow or stop him. Who would? Jason was big. Like… really big. He wasn’t just tall, no he was also extraordinarily strong.

He just pulls you away from everything. Away from the noise. Like the knight in shining armor he is.

"Thank you..." you whisper, clinging to him.

He looks down and his hard glare softens to look at you. He stops walking and tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear. You're looking up at him with those wide puppy eyes that make him melt.

"Of course... couldn't leave you there with those creeps..." he mumbles, his fingers absentmindedly tracing your cheek, cupping your face.

The tension is so thick, he could cut it with a knife.

And the whole time all Jason is thinking is just how beautiful you look as he stares, the moonlight reflecting off of all your jewelry.

Your eyes take in what he’s wearing. A black suit, much like many of the other men, but with a red undershirt, and golden details on the edges of the jacket, his family crest embroidered secretly amongst the pattern on his lapel.

It matched your dress.

“You look wonderful Jay…” the words fall from your lips and he feels the air leave his lungs.

"You're... so… fucking beautiful..." he whispers, choking the words out.

You blush and look up, before holding his hand that isn't busy caressing your face. You don’t even scold him for his cussing. You weren’t in front of anyone… to hell with being proper. He needed to know, you had to tell him.

"Thank you... I-... Jay I need to say something..." you say, your hands fidgeting with his fingers.

He shakes his head, "Don't say anything princess..."

He leans in, watching for any sign of discomfort or any sign he should stop, before he pressed his lips to your own. In shock it took you a moment to register he was kissing you... but when you did, you kissed back, inexperienced and needy.

Your lips were soft, and your lipgloss was sweet, making him kiss you more feverishly. He was inexperienced, but he made up for it with his enthusiasm. You tried to keep the pace, but failed miserably.

He chuckled into the kiss and pulled away, "You've never kissed anyone?"

"No... have you?"

"Nah... to busy making sure you didn't get kidnapped... to busy thinking of you to even form the thought of kissing another girl..."

A giggle escapes your mouth and you stare up at him, happy. Elated. This was what you wanted. Him.

You could not care less about anything else. The crown could be stripped from you, your parents could have a male child and him be the heir, and you wouldn’t care, as long as you kept him.

Jason felt similarly. In every scenario he had been in… all he cared about was coming back to you. He could be disowned the next dawn, and all he would care about is if he still got to be your knight. Your protector. Yours.

"...Do you like my dress?" You ask, leaning into him.

"Of course I do. You look great," he complimented, his arms wrapping around your waist. He muttered something you couldn't hear, so you look up and ask him to repeat himself.

"I'm sure it would look better off you.”

You didn’t think he’d actually repeat it louder. This man had no shame.

Pause.

A moment of silence.

"Jason Peter Todd!"

Your scolding tone does nothing to compensate for the blush and the bashfulness your face shows. Maybe he would get to see it off of you in the future.

You shake your head of the thought.

Suddenly, Jason lets out a long, frustrated sigh.

"I can't have you princess and you know that... some fucking... stuck up prick gets you. It fucking sucks."

You look confused.

"Jason... you're part of the Wayne family... you're a noble," you say, a tone of confusion in your voice.

"Yeah, and?"

He was so very smart but so very dumb...

"Nobles can court royalty."

"Oh, cool. Oh. Oh."

You laughed at the look on his face as he figured it out. A smirk was plastered on his handsome face before he grabbed you and threw you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing, taking you to your room.

While you protested about being on his shoulder, he continued, opening your door with one hand, closing it and locking it before sitting you on your bed.

"Let me get that corset off you..." he whispered, tracing your shoulder.

You innocently nodded, turning your back to him. Jason… bless his heart, wasn’t exactly knowledgeable on ladies undergarments, especially not that damn corset. He growled at how hard it was to undo, messily pulling laces, until he was able to get it off. You slid out of your dress, in your bloomers and camisole.

“Tada!” You laughed as if you had just preformed a magic trick.

“They should’ve never put you in a corset… your body is already beautiful without it…” he whispered, carefully putting your dress on your vanity chair as you got your nightgown and towel to go take a short bath.

Jason took the door to his room and you frowned. You thought he would stay…

You pout, and head to your bathroom with a soft, “hmph.”

——

After your bath, you came in, dressed in a (F/C) nightgown, and saw Jason sitting on the edge of your bed.

“Jay…? I-I thought you-“

“Yeah yeah, you thought I just left like nothing happened. Nope. You’re mine now…. Um… yeah,” he said, almost hesitantly.

You smile, placing your towel up to dry, and go crawling into your bed next to him.

“Will you read to me Jay?” You ask, looking over at him.

He laughs quietly and nods, “Of course I will.”

“…I love you Jason…” you whisper, laying your head on his shoulder.

His hand reaches for yours, intertwining your fingers together as he says, “I love you too, Princess.”

[baronessvonglitter]

don't come around here no more

javier peña x f!reader | wc: 1.8k

summary: On a visit to Colombia, you're reunited with old work friends.. Javi is the only one who doesn't come to say hi...

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature. Angst. Hurt/comfort. Work relationship. Hidden feelings. Mentions of sex work and office hookups/infidelity. Brief mention of smut. A tiny bit of emotional infidelity. Reader is not described apart from having worn skirts on occasion in the workplace. No use of y/n. Not beta'd.

a/n 1: this is a personal one, based on an experience I had a couple months ago when I dropped by an old workplace. Not gonna lie, it stung when an old friend (and work husband) of mine didn't want to see me. But I'm okay with not knowing. Writing this has been therapeutic 🤍

dividers by @strangergraphics 👑

JAVIER PEÑA MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

You haven't been to the embassy in almost five years.

You'd spent over a decade of your life in service to the government, tracking down the bad guys until worse guys came along and then you'd work on catching them too, and on and on it went, cyclical. You never thought you'd dream of something more until you were offered a better chance back in the States.

Atlanta wasn't your hometown, but it was American soil and it offered more pay. You wouldn't have to worry about guerrillas and crooked cops there. They called and said they needed you. You answered that call, and left your post at the embassy.

Perhaps the hardest thing was leaving Javier Peña behind.

He'd been a friend from the start, showing you the ropes, offering a cigarette when you stepped out to take a break. You grew closer with each case you worked on, the leads growing stronger, the job riskier.

You heard all the rumors about him - he often went against orders, he had a knack for pissing off authority no matter how good of an agent he was - but the biggest rumor about him was that he had a tendency to fuck every willing female in his path.

You didn't give it too much credence. He was an American just like you, a Texan by birth, and just trying to do his job. He was single, like you, and in a foreign country. You couldn't blame the man for having some fun. It certainly didn't affect you.

Then the rumors grew worse. You heard about certain CIs of his, women who walked the streets, spent time in the beds of powerful drug lords.. they had information that he needed. Not uncommon for agents to strike deals with these women. Cops and agents all over did the same. Only thing was, Javi had a penchant for sleeping with them too.

You never asked him about his apparent conquests. He was your friend, your partner. But he told you anyway, giving you all the dirty details over bottom-shelf whiskey at the nearest bar in the embassy district. You got the sense he wasn't gloating, nor even confessing. Just spilling his secret:. Blanca had the inside dirt on private parties held by wealthy politicians, which often included visits from men of high rank within the cartels. And Jennifer, one of the secretaries at the embassy, met with him three times a week for a quickie in the filing room, and even after her honeymoon she came right back to work, staying late at the office, under Javi's desk with his dick in her mouth.

There wasn't a thing you didn't know about Javier Peña. And while you yourself harbored an innocent crush on him, you merely shook your head at hearing of his antics. Every Friday you found yourselves talking, laughing, even gossiping over your drinks as the evening gave way to night. And when the bar closed he'd walk you home,

And now you're back in Colombia, the air the same as you remember, the sky and even the buildings the same hues, pinks and purples and yellows to entertain the eye. It's as if time stopped the moment you left on your flight to Georgia.

You're welcomed back after being given clearance to the building, your former fellow civil servants greeting you with wide smiles, asking how your new posting is, what it's like in your new town, what your new husband is like. You answer them, taking a look around and noting the tiny changes in personnel. Wendy is on maternity leave, Felipe is retiring, and there's some leftover cake in the fridge which you're invited to have. You're trying to catch up with everyone, recollecting kids' and grandkids' names, when you catch a glimpse of him across the way, coming out of the elevator.

Javi's in a suit now, so different from the days of his barely-buttoned short sleeve shirts and tight jeans. His hair is a little longer, combed to the side, the little curls at the nape of his neck gone, the ones you used to tease him about and call him a baby duck.

As if he can feel your eyes on him, he looks your way, and it looks like his eyes widen as he stops in his tracks, nearly fumbling in his steps. You manage a meager wave, giving a smile, but he doesn't do anything in response. Not even a curt nod. He turns his gaze from you and walks on, into a corridor where you can no longer see him.

Rita, one of the clerks you'd worked closely with during your time at the embassy and who'd been like a mother to you, finds you and embraces you with a warm hug. She still smells like Giorgio Beverly Hills. "How have you been, my dear? We've all missed you so much," she says, pulling you away from her so she can admire the casualness of your look. She'd only ever seen you in pantsuits and the occasional skirt, and now she likes the new you: jeans and a relaxed button down blouse, at ease with life, albeit still chasing criminals.

"I'm well," you answer her, eyes still darting around for Javi. Where did he go? He'd surely seen you. "I've missed you all. The states are so different after being away so long."

Rita's eyes widen in realization. "I have to tell Javi that you're here!" she whispers conspiratorially, as if somehow she's reading your mind. "I'll go get him." She pats your arm and hurries away in the direction you saw him go earlier.

Everyone else gets back to work as you wait, feeling out of place. Your fingers itch to comb through files, to answer the ringing phones with hopes of a hot tip. The clacking of computer keys has you imagining typing up a report, the way you used to after a big raid or breakthrough, Javi at the desk in front of yours. pouring some tequila in a couple glasses for you to celebrate, loosening his tie.

No matter what, he never touched you. Not like that. Ever.

And a part of you always wanted him to. The closest you got was a side-armed hug as he walked you to your car the very last day of your work here.

Your eyes wander to your old office, the blinds open, and through the slats you see Javi turning in his chair as Rita raps at his door. You can barely make out the gruff "come in" from his lips. Rita approaches him a bit timidly, all smiles, hands clasped at her waist.

She's explaining that you're here, that this is probably a once in a lifetime chance because retired agents don't typically come back. They become too invested in their new lives, new cases, or worse.. they retire for good, put into the earth when a bullet finds its way to its target or a bomb goes off.

You're still here, looking right at Javi as his eyes find you, the harshness in them softens a little, perhaps at Rita's soft pleading. You ignore the crazy skip of your heart's beat as he keeps his gaze on you, his chest expanding as he takes in a deep gulp of air.

In an instant it's gone, the stony glare from before now in its place. He says some curt words to Rita, who pauses, a baffled look on her bespectacled face. Javi replies, his face growing red, obviously not changing his mind. Rita goes for the door but turns around, saying one more thing to him, looking rather high and mighty about it.

She meets you where she's left you, a sad sort of smile on her face. "He's busy," she says quickly. "He sends his regrets, dear."

You look back into Javi's office and find him already staring at you. He swiftly drops his gaze, pretending to read a file as he casually closes the office blinds.

"Rita, what's going on?" you ask her, disheartened because this is now how you'd hoped this reunion would go.

She only shakes her head, pursing her lips. "I don't know, honey.. I really don't know."

At the hotel, your husband is relaxing on the bed watching an old Colombian telenovela. He turns down the volume, patting the space next to him as you come in. "How'd it go?" he asks, watching you shed your jacket and hook your purse around a chair. "I'm guessing you didn't get the welcome you hoped for." His brows creases with worry as he strokes your hair. You lean into his touch, wishing you could dislodge the heavy stone of disappointment now resting in your belly. He's always so attentive towards you, so thoughtful. He knows all about Javi and your time with the embassy. Tears prick at the edge of your eyes and you do your best to blink them away, but he's there already with a tissue as his arm goes around you.

"I wish I knew why he didn't want to see me. What did I do wrong? We were partners for years.. friends too. And after all these years he treats me like it all meant nothing.."

"It's okay," your husband soothes you. "Can I tell you something you might not want to hear?"

"Right now I'd love for anyone to be honest with me," you sniffle.

"I think you broke his heart when you left."

That thought had never occurred to you. It's a strange, foreign concept. Javi had treated you differently, but you supposed he just didn't need to get involved emotionally, physically, sexually with someone he'd work with personally every day. He slept with almost everyone in the workplace except you, and you'd considered yourself safe from his charms.

"It makes sense," your husband continues. "From everything you've told me, Javi's had the hots for you since day one."

You scoff at this idea at first. Then, thinking more deeply on it, the pieces start to come together. What if Javi had harbored these feelings for you and never told you, just let them sour in his heart until it turned bitter against you after all these years? "He never told me. The way he dismissed me you'd think we were strangers all this time.."

“Do you feel like you missed out? Would you have given him that chance when you were partners?”

It’s not an odd question, just one that takes you by surprise. Any adulterous thoughts are usually played off as jokes between you. You’re that comfortable with each other. But to give an honest answer requires more strength than you possess at the moment.

“No.. I wouldn’t have risked our friendship or our working relationship like that.”

Your husband kisses your cheek, still soothing you as he strokes your hair. "Baby, sometimes the best way to show our love for someone is to let them go."

Let him go.

a/n 2: adding some music inspo. Of course the title is from Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers:

and secondly, after my real life non-encounter with my former friend, I heard this song in a restaurant while I was still in a daze. It's such a sad and beautiful melody. (They Will Destroy You is always good when you're moody)

tagging those interested: @regularjoel @stevie75 @tateypots

@titabel @milla-frenchy @mystickittytaco @thesassyteacher91

@dilfsw @ghoulzlovez @axshadows @selinakpe

@inept-the-magnificent

[ghostlycamil4]

Hello!!!

I saw your requests were open so I thought I'd drop one for you ❤️

An I please get fem!reader x Prohero!Katsuki

They were classmates in hs, dated in their 2nd year and broke up shortly after graduating bc reader decided he should focus on his career since he'd been dreaming of becoming #1. He's heartbroken but throws himself into work, so reader makes the assumption that she'd made the right decision. They don't see each other besides the occasional passing on the street, maybe a team up between agencies here and there.

The reunion comes along, and the tension and feelings between then are still there. They don't talk much, but he offers to drive her home and it's quirlet at first, but then they talk about the breakup. She apologizes, and Katsuki is a bit snippy about it, like "I shouldn't have made the decision to end our relationship for you," and he says "yeah, you shouldn't have," kind of snippy, but not entirely angry.

She invites him up to talk in her apartment and things very quickly take a turn, they end up having intense, desperate sex and then talk about trying again.

Sorry it's so long but it's an idea I've head in my noggin for so long, and I just work too much to have time to write 🥲

𝐵𝑎𝑘𝑢𝑔𝑜: 𝑆𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑌𝑜𝑢, 𝑆𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑀𝑒

thank you sm for being patient with me! feel free to drop by again anytime, my inbox is always open for you <3

Warning: Content explicit sexual content, suggestive language, 18+.

It was supposed to be a class reunion, but with all the stiff speeches and cameras flashing everywhere, it looked more like an official gala. Heroes, execs, politicians… and him. Of course he’d be there.

You barely exchanged words. Just polite small talk. His voice sounded different, deeper—like time had roughened it too. He stood alert, arms crossed, like he didn’t quite know what to do in a place where no one needed saving.

When you decided to leave, he showed up. Didn’t say your name. Just stepped in your path and said:

"I'm taking you home."

"That’s not necessary."

"Didn’t ask."

And you couldn’t say no.

The car moved in silence, the hum of wet asphalt the only sound. That’s when you saw it: the “Outstanding Hero” plaque shining in the back seat.

"Congrats…" you said, not looking at him. "You deserved it."

"Yeah? You think so?"

"l always knew you’d make it."

He let out a bitter laugh.

"Right. That’s why you left, huh? So I could focus. So I could get here."

"It wasn’t like that..."

"Don’t tell me how it was. I was there too."

The silence hung heavier. Still, you spoke:

"I’m sorry… for how things ended. I thought if I stayed, I’d hold you back."

He looked at you for the first time.

"I could’ve done it with you. You weren’t a distraction. But you made that call for both of us."

A pause. Then, with a voice laced in something worse than bitterness:

"But thanks… for the congrats."

When the car stopped at the underground garage gate, you didn’t expect anything else. But Bakugo shut off the engine in silence, opened the door, and got out.

You hesitated for a second.

Was he going to walk you to your apartment door?

You didn’t ask. Didn’t say a word.

Just grabbed your purse and followed.

You walked together to your floor, your footsteps heavy in the hallway. You pulled out your keys without fumbling, but didn’t unlock the door just yet. You looked at him. He looked back. And you said something brief, almost automatic:

"Thanks for the ride."

"Hmm."

That should’ve been it. But just as you turned the knob, his hand closed around your wrist.

"You still feel it?" he asked near your ear, voice low and rough. "Or is it just me?"

It was the first time you’d ever heard him vulnerable—no sarcasm, no walls.

Just an honest question.

His hand slid to your waist, and his mouth found yours. At first, it was soft. Just a brush. A pause. Like he was asking permission.

But when you kissed him back, all that held-back urgency broke loose.

The kiss turned deeper, rawer. He pushed your body firmly against the door until your back met the wood. One hand reached over your shoulder, turned the knob, and with a single step, he led you inside.

When his mouth dropped to your neck, it was slow, leaving a trail of heat that made your skin shiver.

"You really thought I’d get over you that easy?" he growled against your skin. "Just forget you like it was nothing…"

His hand moved up your side—not desperate, but like he needed to make sure you were real.

"I didn’t think…" you managed between shallow breaths. "I just… thought it was the right thing."

"It wasn’t," his lips brushed just beneath your ear. "It was bullshit."

You rode him with legs trembling from tension and need, hands pressed to his firm, sweat-slick chest. Your hips moved in a rhythm somewhere between clumsy and desperate, chasing more, feeling him deeper with every grind.

Bakugo let out a strangled groan, like something cracked inside. He sat up, arms wrapping around you with wild need. He pulled you flush against him, mouths crashing together as his hips started to move with a pace that stole your breath.

"Fuck…" he muttered against your mouth, his hands trailing your back, your neck, your ass. "You feel the same… no, better. Fucking perfect."

Your movements got more erratic, needy, bouncing against him with broken moans. You heard him pant in your ear, curse under his breath, his hands gripping your ass to guide you harder, deeper.

Suddenly he grabbed you, flipping you onto your back with a rough, almost clumsy motion, settling above you. He pushed your legs open with no care, like the world was ending and the only way to hold it together was to be inside you.

There was no pause. No time to think, breathe, speak.

"So fucking beautiful," he growled through clenched teeth, hands gripping your thighs as he drove into you hard.

His hips pounded into you with a brutal rhythm, so frantic the wet sounds of your body meeting his echoed with every thrust. Your nails clawed down his back, unsure if you wanted to pull him closer or beg him to stop before you shattered.

"No one," you gasped, voice trembling. "No one... only you."

He grabbed your throat, not tight—just enough to hold you there, keep you grounded as you looked up at him, eyes fluttering shut from pleasure. His thumb brushed your jaw with something close to tenderness… but his body kept slamming into you like he was fighting something. Maybe everything he never said. Maybe himself.

"You made me lose my fucking mind…" he whispered, voice wrecked, sweat running down his neck, chest, the curve of his tense muscles. I kept remembering how you sounded... how you moaned my name.

You weren’t leading anymore.

You were his.

Completely his.

Your body shook, legs trembling, pressure building in your core with unbearable intensity—bringing you to the edge again and again, until finally, with a ragged moan, you shattered beneath him, clinging to his shoulders like you were falling apart.

And he… he followed right after. Burying himself deep, letting out a feral groan into your neck, his arms clutching you like he never wanted to let go again.

He stayed inside you, panting, face buried in your neck, chest rising and falling hard against yours.

"Fuck…" he whispered in your ear, barely audible. "Fuck… Y/n."

Neither of you said anything else for a while. Just the sound of his heavy breathing, your chest still trembling, your fingers lazily tracing the line of his back.

He closed his eyes for a second and dropped beside you, one arm reaching out. Instinctively, you turned, resting your head on his chest, your fingers drawing slow patterns on his skin.

"Would you do it again?" he asked suddenly, not accusing, just curious.

"This?" you whispered.

"No" he replied, his fingers gently toying with your hair. "Choosing for both of us."

You went quiet. Felt his chest rise and fall beneath your cheek.

"No" you finally said. "This time... I’d ask you."

You looked at each other like two people finally coming home. No questions. No promises.

Just the unspoken truth that, despite everything, you were still you.

Content @ghostlycamil4 2025. Do not copy or modify.

[eraserbread]

ex-hubby!gojo for the sinners au next pls 🙏🏾 🙏🏾 i think he'd be a little unhinged ab needing to be w her again, but actually forever this time

it's just not in your nature to turn down your ex husband, gojo, when he shows up in the middle of the night ✧

→f!reader, relationsip angst, no curses vampire sinners!au, manipulation, sfw

yes, you're sleep deprived, but you're not crazy.

the tapping on your windows—rustling leaves outside of your bedroom—wasn't just a hallucination. now, that tapping and rustling have shifted towards the other side of the room, pausing every few seconds just to start again.

you ran and hid against the wall, tucked under the window where you heard the initial tapping. it yanked you from your sleep, now you're in pitiful pajamas, heart racing dangerously in your chest. it feels like you're about to have a heart attack—surely someone is scoping out the area to try and rob you... right?

a defenseless divorcee that wears her sorrow on her sleeve would surely be an easy grab, you don't even blame the assailant for trying.

"are you seriously hiding from me?"

the voice slaps you sideways—fucking satoru. the rustling stops, and the wind whistles against the cool glass. you're nearly shaking, fingers digging half-moons into your bare knees.

no, this couldn't be him... satoru is far too prideful to show up at your doorstep like this. after days of not answering messages or calls, he's back so entirely, it's like he never left.

you two haven't really talked more than a few words since he got the divorce papers. he's been hanging it over your head, telling you he'd sign them if you just give him a day... then another... next, he'd have to see you face-to-face. then a meeting forces him to cancel, and the papers go unsigned.

it's why you're so exhausted, and why he's so adamant.

"are you crazy? you scared the hell out of me." once you've gained your nerve, you're peeking up from your crumpled kneel, eyes just barely passing the jutting windowsill before you're seeing him.

towering over you, thin white hair ruffled like he ran all the way here. his eyes are bright, uncovered beams illuminating the darkness of your soul, but it's him.

unmistakably, satoru is standing outside your window—a flimsy pane of glass keeping you apart.

he doesn't answer you, instead he reaches straight-faced into the chest of his hoodie, pulling out a sickeningly familiar bundle of papers. you watch him flip through the drawn-out pages until he reaches the end, never once taking his eyes off those words. then, he holds the last page to the window, showing off the fresh signature he placed on the dotted line.

you heart drops... in a good way.

he lowers that paper and your gazes meet. he's not hiding emotion well, though he's not crying, his eyes are downturned. almost predatory in the way they're pulling you in for pity.

"why didn't you just call me?" you're trying to get anything out of him, at this point. why he's here when he could've just mailed it to you, or why he's knocking and tapping on every window in your space.

"you were asleep."

"then, just leave them right there. i'll get them in the morning."

gojo stares for a second, then glances down as if he's checking a watch. "sun won't rise for another five hours." he steps back, arm motioning to the tight squeeze he had to endure between trees just to get your attention. "and I don't have access to the building."

you sigh, fingers moving to open the locks on the window. he could walk all the way around to the front, but then so would you. you wish he'd just leave the papers and fuck off.

cold night air flushes forward as the window pulls open, making you step back and guard your warm skin. satoru's eyes take you in once nothing is keeping you apart, picking you down to the core. it's shameless, you're exposed.

"give me the papers." you bite, thrusting an empty hand into the night. satoru stands quietly for a second, looking down at your hand, then to your avoidant face and static appearance.

"just the papers? you don't want me to come in?"

"no." you decide, beckoning them into your grip with a curl of the fingers. you're staring stubbornly over your shoulder, completely blocking him out because you know how weak you are. just one turn of the mouth, and you'll be pulling him to your bed.

"i'm not giving you anything until you let me in." he's being strict—it's unlike him—but it's making you swallow down nerves, and your body temperature rises as danger sets in.

everything you see in front of you screams satoru gojo, but when he opens his mouth... god, it's so different.

"leave them outside." you're begging now, voice soft and nervous in your throat. still, you can't turn and look at him. you can see his bright reflection in the window glass, but you can't focus on it. your skin starts to break out in goosebumps.

when curiosity catches on, you flit your eyes towards him, pitching a surprised, little frightened whine when you see the stare he's giving you. his bright, blue eyes are opened twice as wide as they should be, reddened and exhausted in the corners, with pupils the size of saucers.

two hands pressed to the plastic of the sill, his muscles flex and bend like something is keeping him from jumping inside. his long fingers are red, dripping with craze as he grinds his nails down to stumps.

"you're tearing me apart, and you don't even care." he growls, manic reflection drawing closer as he kneels to your height. strangely, you feel safe behind this window. it's like he can't come in—he won't show you this unstable side of himself to your face, only through open windows.

"we settled on this divorce twice. you agreed." you're trying to be the calm voice of reason in this situation, taking a tentative step back. you don't want to look at him anymore, you just want him to go away.

"to have my money, property, and life stripped from me? did you even think about me once?"

"we aren't good together! how many times do we have to continue proving that?!"

"as many times as we need to, because this is a fucking marriage—

you're feeling brave enough to reach out and slam the window down on his sentence, not worried about his fingers or his uncanny reflexes. you wouldn't fight with him tonight, and you figure he must be strung out on something serious to show up at your door so maniacal.

it's like the slam lowers him back to earth, because he's fixing his posture, running a slow hand through his hair as he looks down on you. his stare has evened out into something more reminiscent of the one you studied so many years ago.

"go home, satoru." you finish, grabbing the curtain to yank it over his reflection.

you can't see him anymore, so you think that's it. you stand for a second, hands pressed to your hips as you try to come down from the ordeal. something's not right—your brain doesn't believe it, but your heart does.

as you turn around to leave him in the dust, a soft single thud falls onto the glass, then as soft as the night, you can hear him whisper, "all I need is one more night, and I think I can be okay without you."

you're peering over your shoulder like you heard a ghost, lips parted in utter shock. it's the first time in all of your years, that he's given you that tone. so pure—innocent right down to the bone.

"can't you see? i love you so much that I'm willing to let you go..."

he sits ignored for a few moments.

"i know nothing will ever be the same with us, but you're all I think about."

"our bodies don't deserve to suffer, lets give them what they need just one last time."

you're not sure which of his pleas hit you the hardest, but you're hesitating as you give in and pull the curtain back. he's still there, forehead pressed to the glass, splayed open palm kissing the surface.

in the moonlight, your satoru looks so pale and uncommon. he's glowing as he blinks up at you, porcelain reflection cracking at the edges when you're pushing attention onto him.

and that palm is twisting into a fist, his eyes bright like those of a happy puppy about to be reunited with his owner.

one last time couldn't hurt...

it's what you tell yourself to dull the feeling of your inescapable demise. you're pulling that window back open, biting over your bottom lip as you let him crawl inside, one long leg at a time.

when he's in your space, hunching over you like an entity, hands closed around your meek shoulders, you're warm. it's familiar, here, like it's where you want to take your last breath.

nobody can really blame you, after all. he knows just what you need— how to get you off so you can sleep the night away like a drunk. the shame in your bones has dissipated into steam, and the divorce papers are cold and lifeless as satoru fishes them out and presses them to your chest.

"i want to try something." his voice is deep, you can feel it reverberate through your body and into your soul. he's holding your chin at level, making sure you're not looking anywhere that wasn't where he needed.

right now his face is morphing into something that panned out so perfectly within his calculation that he was holding back a laugh.

mm—sweet mercy. now you're finally going to be together forever.

[writeriguess]

I'M OBSESSED HOW YOU WRITE KATSUKI!!! That said, I'd like you to write an idea of mine. Katsuki has been in LOOOOVE with reader for a looooong time but has never confessed. Of course Bakusquad always tries to usher him because they can't stand seeing him so lovesick and keep telling him she's going to find someone else one day. And one day, their warnings come true and he hears that Iida has asked her to go out with him and she has agreed, which finally pushes him into confessing, and she returns his feelings but thought it's impossible he'd ever like her back, which is why she tried to move on from him and Iida presented a chance.

Too Late, Idiot

Katsuki Bakugou had been in love with you for years.

Not a fleeting, half-hearted crush. Not the kind that burned out. No—his burned slow. Deep. A steady ache behind his ribs every time you laughed too loud or leaned too close or looked at someone else the way he wished you’d look at him.

But he never said anything.

Couldn’t.

The words clogged his throat like smoke.

So instead, he watched. Glared. Pined in silence like a coward.

And the Bakusquad? They watched him.

Just tell her.

Kirishima’s voice, patient but firm, had become a constant refrain.

Before someone else does.

Mina warned, more than once.

She’s not gonna wait forever, bro.

Even Kaminari had a point. And Kaminari almost never had a point.

But Katsuki didn’t believe it. Not really. You felt... permanent. Untouchable. As if the universe wouldn’t dare hand you to someone else.

Until it did.

Until he saw it.

Iida, stiff as ever, stopping you in the hallway after class. Asking you something—his voice too far away to hear.

And you...

You smiled.

You nodded.

Katsuki felt the ground tilt under his feet. His heart didn’t break all at once—it cracked, slow and sharp like ice splitting under pressure.

He didn’t talk to you for two days.

Not because he hated you. God, no. He hated himself. For waiting. For assuming. For letting you go without ever holding on.

It was Kirishima who cornered him that night in the dorm lounge.

"You look like you’re about to explode"

"I am about to explode"

"So go tell her before you self-destruct"

Katsuki snorted, bitter.

"It’s too late"

Kiri shrugged like it was obvious.

"Then go make it not too late"

You were just coming back when he found you—walking up the front steps of the dorms, arms crossed against the chill in the air. Your expression was... off. Not happy. Not sad either. Just distant.

He stepped into your path.

"Oi"

You startled slightly, then blinked up at him.

"Katsuki?"

His hands were fists in his pockets.

"You goin’ out with him now?"

You stared at him like he’d grown another head.

"...I guess?"

"Why?"

You frowned.

"That’s not really your business, is it?"

He flinched.

Yeah. He deserved that.

But he didn’t back off.

"I thought you knew"

You tilted your head, wary.

"Knew what?"

"That I... like you"

It came out rough. Broken. Like it scraped something raw on the way up.

"I’ve liked you for a long time"

You just stared at him.

And then, softly, like you couldn’t help it—

You laughed.

Not because it was funny.

Because it hurt.

"No you haven’t"

"I have" he snapped, stepping closer.

"I was just—I didn’t know how to say it. I didn’t know if you’d ever feel the same"

Your voice was barely a whisper.

"You were scared?"

He looked away, jaw clenched.

"Yeah"

"Of what?"

"Of messing it up. Of losin’ you. Of hearin’ you say you didn’t want me"

You were quiet for a long time. Then—

"I thought it was impossible you’d like me"

You looked up at him, eyes shining.

"I waited so long, Katsuki. And I thought... I thought you just didn’t see me that way"

He swallowed.

"You said yes to him 'cause of me?"

"I said yes because I thought I needed to move on"

Silence stretched between you like a taut wire.

"You still wanna be with him?"

Your answer came without hesitation.

"...No"

His breath left him in a rush.

"Then don’t"

You smiled, soft and sad.

"Then ask me"

He stepped closer.

Close enough to feel your warmth in the cold.

"Go out with me, dumbass"

Your laugh was brighter this time. Real.

"You sure know how to sweep a girl off her feet"

He grinned.

"I’ve got a lifetime to practice"

[jacksonekennedy]

Jack walked into his bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He'd already packed the essentials — tooth brush, razor, shampoo, body wash. That was all neatly tucked away in his duffel bag. But there were a few other things that he'd been hesitant to pack. After Alice had caught Jack in his office, he really, really didn't want to bring any pills. Definitely no coke, but. But. He needed them, and Alice just… didn't understand. And he didn't want to make her understand. He had a feeling she never would, and it wasn't a problem anyway, so why did it matter? He wanted the next few days to be nice. If he didn't bring any pills with him, he just … wouldn't sleep. He'd be awake for days on end, and it'd be miserable for Alice. So, without another thought, Jack reached for the little baggies of pills. He'd thought of the perfect plan, actually.

There was an old bottle of hydroxyzine from a few months back. It was an antihistamine, used off label to treat anxiety, and it was generally nonaddictive. It was prescribed to Jack by his primary care physician to help with some of the "panic attacks" he'd been having. It made the average person drowsy. Not Jack. They hadn't worked for Jack, no matter how many he took. He was superhuman like that.

Jack dumped the leftover pills into the toilet, flushing them, before filling the bottle with Xanax and Adderall. He wouldn't bring coke. Adderall would be fine for a few days. As long as Alice didn't look inside (and he'd make sure she didn't), she'd never know the difference. The outside of the bottle said: take 1-2 pills as needed for anxiety/sleep. Prescribed to Jackson E. Kennedy. Refills remaining: 0. Yeah, this worked. In fact, Jack thought he could leave the pills on the nightstand of wherever they stayed. A (scummy) display of trust, so Alice would see that he was taking real medicine prescribed to him.

Jack walked out of his room, duffel bag in hand, particularly proud of his own cleverness. Alice was standing there in … all of his clothes, it seemed. His favorite Knicks t-shirt, sweatpants that were too big on her. And — were those the socks he'd packed for her, too? Jack smiled, trying not to feel guilty.

"You look exactly like me when I wear that. I don't think people would be able to tell the difference."

Jack reached for both of their bags, heading in the direction of the stairs.

"Car's here. Cora's sitter is also on the way. Anything else you need to bring? Last chance."

'Well. Neither of us are very good at this then.'

It seemed that way.

Jack exhales, letting out a breath that Alice seems to match when one escapes her own lungs. She was blinking hard. Trying to focus, trying to collect all the thoughts that had gone flying out the window with such close proximity, face still hot, skin tingling and thrumming with energy. She exhales hard. Face hot. All of her.

Was her head still attached to her body? All Alice could focus on was her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

Jack finds a shirt, some sweatpants, announces that he's going to change.

'...And you finish shopping here. And when you're done, just put your bags in the hallway. I'll carry 'em down. I'm gonna order a car.'

Offering to carry them for Alice, even after he'd offered her full use of his closet already— always generous with Alice, like it was instinctive.

"You've already packed such a good bag for me," she says, blinking hard, lips quirking.

Soft things– his things.

'I'll be like five minutes. See you in the hallway?'

Alice swallows again, feeling the thud of her heart and nods, biting down at the smile curling at her lips. Five minutes. And then, god— New Mexico. Them, together, in New Mexico, beneath a desert sky inset with diamond stars that seemed to be waiting for them. And maybe it had been— waiting for years, for thousands of years, for their arrival.

"Five minutes," she says, offering a smile, ducking back to grab her toiletry bag, hands flying, tossing in toothpaste and toothbrush and hairbrush from her bathroom counter.

And then— Alice turns round and opens the duffel. Out comes the Knicks shirt. The sweatpants. Even a pair of socks. Alice pulls those on, rolling the band of the sweatpants— big on her — tugging on a comfortable pair of shoes over the socks. Man. Head to do in Jack. It smelled like him, felt so fucking soft, so comforting, like she was blanketed by him in every inch. It made her feel proud, to wear his things.

Alice tosses the rest of the contents into her toiletry bag, throws it into her backpack, with the rest of her travel supplies, and seizes the duffel before entering into the hallway. Her heart is still crawling up into her throat, a thousand emotions thrumming inside her.

She sets the bags down. Tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, still pleased to be dressed head-to-toe in his things.

"Flight ready," she says, biting back a grin.

[mattslilies]

Coffee and Cookies - M.S.

"you always order that coffee but you never drink any of it." or... the one where matt keeps buying coffee he doesn't like just to have an excuse to talk to the cute barista behind the bar. warnings: none! soft, fluffy fic word count: 741 a/n: i probably will not post tomorrow! we're getting a new puppy and he's coming home after i get off of work!

matt loved the small coffee shop and bakery on the end of his street. it was one of his favorite places to be, the atmosphere always warm, smelling like freshly made treats and hot coffee.

matt wasn't a coffee drinker. he had never really liked the taste of it, never being able to find a perfect mix between too bitter and overly sweet. he loved the smell of it, hence why he didn't mind sitting in a coffee shop to get some of his work done, but he always felt obligated to order something.

that was how he ended up seeing you for the first time. the shop had been understaffed, you being one of the few people behind the counter, having to double making orders and taking them. he'd gotten up to order, getting a black coffee and a chocolate chip cookie, sitting down in his seat, pretending to sip from it and slowly eating the cookie.

the next few times he came in, it was you working again, and he continued to order the same thing, slowly beginning to work his way up to a conversation while he ordered. he didn't learn very much about you in the short interactions, but you had a sweet personality, and were always kind. this, on top of being strikingly beautiful, kept matt coming back time after time.

you would be lying to yourself if you said that you never noticed him. you did. you noticed almost everybody who came into the coffee shop, your brain remembering regulars and those who only came in every now and again. as matt quickly became a regular, you took note of his order, and one day, you quietly set it out for him when he walked in, giving it to him free of charge.

he'd smiled, and tried to argue with you.

"i can't take this. just let me pay for it! it's not a big deal."

"no. take it. it's a gift, i'm giving it to you."

you'd given him a playful grin, making a gentle remark.

"as long as you don't start expecting free stuff every time, then it's okay."

he'd shaken his head, accepting defeat, your smile always a way to win him over.

"alright, alright. thank you. really."

he'd left the total of the cost of his coffee and cookie in the tip jar.

you continued to quietly watch him when he came in, noticing that he was sipping out of the coffee cup, but it still looked the same amount of heavy every time he dropped it into the garbage can outside of the shop, thinking you couldn't see him. you watched him do it multiple days in a row, and when he came back, you said something about it while taking his order.

"your usual, again?"

he nodded, already reaching for his wallet to pay.

"why do you get the coffee?"

he froze, confusion on his face.

"what do you mean?"

you tilted your head, noticing he clearly wasn't expecting to be called out.

"you always order that coffee but you never drink any of it. why order it then?"

he smiled, paying for both of the items and moving to put his card away before answering.

"you got me. i don't like coffee. i ordered it at first because i felt obligated to order something to drink while sitting in here, but i kept ordering it because this really pretty girl kept taking my order, and i needed some way to get her attention on me, even for just a few seconds."

a furious blush rose to your face as his words registered. you'd found him attractive, of course, but you didn't think you were the reason that he'd kept coming back all these times.

"there are easier ways to get my attention than ordering coffee you so clearly hate."

"yeah? and what would those be?"

you grinned, being grateful that there was nobody behind him in line, because this conversation was making your entire shift better. you decided to go out on a limb.

"ask me on a date."

he looked a little surprised at your forwardness, but smiled at you anyways.

"when are you off?"

"six."

"so, can i take you out around seven-thirty?"

you moved to grab his cookie, putting it into a small paper bag.

"you can. no more ordering gross coffee."

he laughed, shaking his head.

"no. just the cookie from here on out."

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[nooneelsecomesclose17]

Prompt: John somehow convinced Vic it wouldn’t be a good idea for Rob to stay with her. Aaron sees Robert sleeping rough with loads of cans around him, and it’s cold.

Aaron was just finishing off his run, contemplating dropping into the pub for a quick pint before heading home as John was off on some training course for the night, and he didn't fancy sitting at home on his own all night.

He was cold even though it was meant to be summer, maybe he'd grab a burger while he was in there, if Marlon hadn't fallen out with Moira again over her meat supply and taken them off the menu. Had nearly caused a riot the last time so hopefully his mum would put a stop to it if he tried again.

He decides to run up the hill to the pavilion and back just to finish off when he spots someone. As he gets closer he can see them trying to force the door open.

"Oi!" He sprints the rest of the way and nearly falls over in shock when he sees that it's Robert. "Rob?"

"Go away Aaron."

"Not until you tell me why you're trying to break into the cricket pavilion."

"Every man needs a hobby."

"Are you trying to get yourself sent back inside again!"

"Gonna report me?"

"Don't be daft. Come on, what are you doing?" His eyes roam over him, he looks terrible. Even in the low light he can see the dark circles under his eyes, his hair is flat like it was in his worst days after being shot. Then he sees the bags shoved into the shadows, the four pack of lager and what he thinks is a bottle of some kind poking out and his heart breaks. "Are you...Robert, were you going to sleep in here?"

"No."

"I thought you were at Vic's." She'd gone backwards and forwards for ages on it, saying the place would be too crowded, but then Kerry had moved out to help Eric and she'd changed her mind. He'd kept out of it then, it was none of his business anymore.

"Yeah well. She changed her mind." Now he knows he can hear in his voice that he's been drinking and he hates it. Robert's been drunk before, they both have, but not like this, and he feels like he's out of his depth. It shouldn't be his problem, not any more, but when has he ever been able to walk away from him.

"Well you can't sleep in there. It's freezing! Don't know what's happened to the weather lately." He shook his head, what was he doing, having a nice chat about the weather when Robert was in front of him, apparently homeless. "What happened with Vic?"

"She said it wasn't working. Think she's fed up with me now she's got a newer model in her life. Probably been in her ear about getting rid of me ever since I got back."

"Are you talking about John? He wouldn't. Anyway why would Vic even listen to him, she loves you. You know she does."

"Funny way of showing it. Now are you going to go so I can wallow in my new living quarters?"

"Fat chance." He takes a deep breath, making a decision that he was very likely going to regret in the morning. "Come back to mine."

"What's Johnny boy going to think about that?" Aaron sees the spark of something in his eyes though, he wants to. It would be pathetic on anyone else, the hope in his eyes, but it's just Robert.

"He's away for the night. You coming with me or not? Cos if not I'll be going for my pint."

"Doesn't look like I've got any choice does it, unless you're going to pick this lock for me. You always were better at that stuff than me."

"Just bring your stuff."

Robert's quiet as they're walking back, he leads him back via the play area rather than by the pub, he'd rather his family didn't see him, he'd never hear the end of it. Not that he's doing anything wrong, anyone would do the same if they found someone out in the cold.

When they get back he leaves Robert staring round the flat as he flicks the kettle on, both because he's cold and because it might help sober Robert up.

"How come you live here?"

"I left, after Liv, gave Vinny the house and he sold it to my uncle, the new one, not Cain. When I came back I was... let's say messed up a bit, and told him I was living here whether he liked it or not."

"It's interesting."

"Yeah? Well you should see downstairs then. I thought your taste was bad." He hands him a mug watches with a wince as he cradles it to him. "Rob..."

"Don't, Aaron, please. I wish you hadn't seen me like this."

"I could kill Vic. What was she thinking?"

"Like I said..."

"Yeah yeah. Even if John had told her she didn't have to listen did she? You can't live in the pavilion Robert. For one thing you need an address for your probation."

"You offering?"

He sits opposite him, "Surely you can afford the B&B for a bit, til you find your feet? You had savings before..."

"It's gone." He looks up at him. "The appeal cost money Aaron and i'd already put aside a load for Seb, for Liv. So...unless you can magic up a money tree I'm all out of ideas."

He blinks back tears before Robert can see. He might not want Robert in his life anymore but seeing him like this, with nothing and no one is too much.

"Well...tonight you're stayin' here. The sofa's a bit crap but it's comfy enough, and tomorrow we'll work something out." If John found out there'd be hell to pay but right this second he didn't care.

"I don't want to cause trouble..."

"Well that'd be a first." He's happy that he gets a bit of a laugh out of him. "It's fine. We'll sort something in the morning and no one needs to know do they? I'll get you some blankets and that, you look knackered."

When he's found the bedding and a pillow he goes back to the living room to find Robert already asleep. He covers him gently with the blanket and goes back to the bedroom sinking down onto the bed with a sigh. He should call Vic, but the thing with Vic is, once she's made up her mind she's got all the Sugden stubbornness, and really it's not exactly good for Robert to be somewhere he's not wanted. He has one other idea though, good or bad, it might just work.

"Hey Mack, it's me. Is there still a spare room at yours?"

[cillianmurphysdimples]

Requested - WE GOT ISSUES ficlet.

"Cillian (and of course YN) and life at home in the first days after bringing Clee home." - Anonymous request.

I'm going to cheat on my original format and do it entirely 3rd person for it to focus on Cillian's perspective.

Cillian stepped off the bottom step, his socked feet silent on the laminate floor, and into the front room. Immediately, exhausted though he was, he smiled. Y/N immediately held her finger to her lips but smiled a she lowered her hand. After a very unsettled night, wherein Clíodhna had slept in short twenty-minutes-at-most bursts, she was now fast asleep on the small padded nesting cushion in the corner of the sofa with Y/N sitting right beside her. Y/N had ventured down the stairs a little before six am, begging Cillian to get some sleep for a little while - promising she'd come to bed when he had rested.

Cillian glanced at his watch - eight am - and slowly walked further into the room. He bent down and lightly kissed Y/N's forehead. "Go on up to bed." He said quietly as he straightened up again. "We'll be grand now, the two of us." He smiled.

Nodding sleepily, Y/N smiled back. "There are three expressed bottles in the fridge, but there's more in the freezer. Offer the four ounces, but she'll take whatever she wants. Can't measure what she gets out of me so don't focus on it too much." She fussed.

Cillian nodded his head, but his eyes were focused on Clíodhna's slowly bobbing chin as she sucked against her tongue in her sleep. "I know," he said softly, then looked back at his fiancée. "We're grand," he raised his eyebrows. "Go up to bed - I don't want to see you for at least a couple of hours, missus, you hear me?!" He said with a faux serious tone.

Y/N got to her feet awkwardly and kissed Cillian's cheek as she stretched herself out. "But shout me if she's really upset or something, okay?"

"Go to bed!" Cillian laughed lightly, tapping his hand against Y/N's side. "I've done this before - and me and this wee girl are already well acquainted!" He smirked. "I'm serious, get up the stairs, will ya! We're fine." He watched as Y/N eyed him comically before she slowly matched her tired body from the room and up the stairs to the bedroom.

Alone with his daughter, Cillian sat down onto the sofa beside the nesting pillow and got comfortable, sitting on his left leg whilst dangling the right over it and off the edge of the sofa. He turned on the TV, keeping the volume low, and flicked through Prime until he found a film he was happy to half-watch as background noise, then declined against the back cushions of the sofa. He reached his right hand into the nest and gently laid his hand against Clíodhna's onesie-clad left foot. He swiped his thumb back and forth against the sole of her tiny foot - it barely fit the sleep suit, with the toe of the garment hanging loosely at the end. She looked smaller now she was home - a tiny dot anyway, somehow she looked little in their house that had, until now, only house fully grown adults and the occasional teenager.

He watched her chest rising rhythmically, and her eyelids flutter occasionally. Her little cheeks had filled out more in the last couple of days and it made her full lips look even poutier, somehow. It was taking all his strength not to reach in and lift her up, to bring her to his chest and snuggle her close, but he knew she needed the unbroken sleep just as much as they did. Later on today, Aran and Malachy were going to visit, along with Yvonne, and whilst he was excited for them all to meet her properly now that she was at home, where she belonged, he was also a little nervous too. He wasn't entirely sure why.

He'd felt upset for her during the night - he wasn't sure why over that, either. He'd felt helpless when she'd refused the bottles he'd offered and would only settle on the breast; he'd felt useless when nothing he or Y/N tried would clam her little sobs, and he'd felt out of his depth when her impossible small windows of sleep came two hours apart and lasted mere minutes. But....he loved that he was hearing her cry, hearing her voice and her sound. He found himself, rather sentimentally, remembering the Frank McCourt quote - sing your song, dance your dance, tell your tale - at how wonderful it felt, aside from the fact that she was upset, to actually hear her voice. It still lived in him, a fear of losing her and all the ways in which that could occur, but he kept the anxieties as low as he could with the firm and wonderful knowledge that she was here, and she was well.

He stilled his slow-moving thumb as Clíodhna stirred, her little hands balled by her face opening out in unison as she screwed up her face. He braced for her cry but it didn't come. Her pouty lips parted with a tiny kissing sound and her little tongue poked out briefly, before she resettled - calm and smooth-fsced - and her fingers curled back into little, loose fists.

"Ah, Clíodhna..." He whispered softly. "You break my heart, girl." He smiled, his eyes fixed on her perfect face. "Tá tú chomh hálainn, a leanbh beag." He began moving his thumb again. "You are, you're so beautiful. Hey, leanbh? Daddy's wee girl." He sighed softly, wondering if - besides with his sons - being this tired had ever felt so worth it, so fueled with happiness. "You'll see your brothers later, and your Auntie Yvonne. Jays, you'll be spoiled with the love. You will." He smiled, huffing a soft and breathy laugh through his nose. "Sure you can't hear a word I'm saying, and if you could it probably means nothing to you anyway." He teased himself. "I got texts and calls from your aunts and uncle, and friends who are lining up to be honourary aunts and uncles!" He smiled, keeping his thumb padding back and forth across the sole of her foot. "I don't know if there's another little one on this planet with as many people filled with love for them. You're so fucking loved, leanbh, and you don't even know it."

He rested his head back against the sofa cushions and kept his eyes fixed on his daughter. His heart felt like it might burst, so full of joy and contentment. He couldn't wait for the people in their world to meet her, for her to start feeling all of that love for herself. He simultaneously didn't want to share her and couldn't wait to parade her around and show her off. He knew he'd come full circle on her existence - and felt some guilt about his earlier feelings - and knew for certain that his life was complete for her being in it.

.

[highoctanegem]

[pm] Not really. Like, he still has Axis here, you know? Setting up a business anywhere else is gonna be super hard. And... AND! Also, friends and family that he'll eventually have to talk to, right? Like he's so over right now, but he'll be so back eventually. Right? Did he Why did he give off that vibe? He's not gonna be safe anywhere. Unless he goes to like, a place without supernatural activity. He'd get so bored there, though.

Thank you, Max <3 We love a nerd who keeps the lore, he should meet my sister. Not that I'm matchmaking or anything. I'm sure he's taken or whatevs. Okay, and what did he find? [user reads both cases, her hope dwindling a bit] Ooof, neither of those is like... super detailed or seems to have a happy endi. No shade to them obvi, I appreciate having anything at all. I just wish... there was more to help, you know?

That tracks, I mean... look at how he's acting. He's not exactly ready to put pen to paper either. But Maybe It would be kinda helpful for future

[the next day]

I totally felt the shift, we entered the good timeline, I'm telling ya. Where we get to meet up for drinks and dancing again. Oh, totes, we will be matching again.

LOL! I think it's buried under all that warden training, you're just better than us rangers and slayers at hiding it. What happened between the dumpster and him spooking you out?

Exactly. That's where he is right now. He doesn't think he's anything, even if we both see him walk. And why would he You grow up believing You see how the beast strips humans off their How it renders them He knows the changes an undead body goes through He knows he's an aberration better than

That's been going through my head a lot recently. It's like a broken record at this point. Cause I met a really sweet girl at Hallow's Eats the other day, she was new and I could tell she had no clue about anything at all. And that felt... worse, somehow? Like, I sure hope she's not gonna fall right into someone's jaws.

Right! See, that used to make so much sense to me. Caring about the bigger picture instead of an individual case by case situation. But then I saw Metzli's pain and Wynne's hurt over and Van's horror when I And there was Vic alongside to I dunno. I'm trying to work out this rebrand era. I don't wanna end up like the GAP one.

[pm] Is that not what he said to you? Isn't that the vibe you're getting? He just [...] has the leaving when things are hard vibe. And it's not exactly safe for him here. Well, not that it was safe before, but it's our duty to not be in safe places.

OKAY I have some lore. Okay, technically, my brother Max has some lore which he has given me because he collects warden journals like a nerd, thank you Max! So, none of this is super useful. In 1762, Britt Van De Zee's daughter wrote that her mother died in an undead attack (no details on what), but Britt's last journal has entries in her hand until 1766, but she stopped referring to her family at the same time that her daughter said she died, and she moved. She also made lots of references to her hunger, so it's generally assumed that she turned in 1762. We don't know if there are more journals that were never found, or if she died again, or what happened there. And then in 1892, Pablo Ramirez's wife came back as a spawn, and he spent two months trying to make her sentient, until a slayer came into the picture and dusted the wife. Apparently the Ramirez camp and that slayer's camp then feuded for 70 years, until enough hunter generations had passed for them to get over it.

Max says it might have happened more often, but that people maybe didn't write about it in their journals because of shame or trauma.

Last night was so fun! We should go matchies more often, we looked so cute!

I don't know what you mean, I've never been dramatic in my life! It was way worse for him, lbr. And not like it was his choice to give me a spook. So you're also just not going to UGH

Yeah, but actual corpses don't see themselves as anything, you know? I dunno, I mean, some people wouldn't die if they knew to carry silver or holy water or whatever, right? But a lot more people would die if everyone knew about the Secret. Sometimes it's hard knowing that you've probably made that one person's life worse, but that doesn't mean it isn't necessary, right? It's not about doing the right thing for one person, it's about doing the right thing for humanity.

[imaginingmanyfandoms]

OBSESSED with jamie tartt x kent!reader, idk why this pairing never crossed my mind before i need more of them asap... what are some of the ways he's asked her out before the first kiss? what temptations did she have to resist?????

doing this as more of a blurb / headcanon bc i think it just fits easier and i just wrote 2k words on the size of baby kent ii and i need a decompress

jamie tartt x kent!reader masterlist

after he first met you he'd already been gone for you (first meeting is being written soon)

the second time he saw you, waiting for roy in the parking lot outside the track, he'd been casual about it, thinking it would be a slam dunk - he was sure you'd felt the spark between you as well, and when you said no, he'd shrugged it out, thinking you were just playing hard to get

the next time had him shaken a little bit, he'd run into you at the park (totally at random and definitely not seen on Keeley's close friends insta story) and was striking up casual conversation, and it just flowed so well, you guys talked like old friends, and he thought maybe that's what he was missing last time. your shy smile when he complimented you was his bat signal, and he went in, asking you to dinner - but again, you turned him down, offering no reason and leaving without another word

then he was starting to wonder if maybe you were already taken, or just didn't like him. since you'd said no, he couldn't keep asking, right??? he decided to take the loss then, because he had to take no for an answer

but then he saw you a week later in roy's office, waiting for your brother, and you lit up when you saw jamie through the glass, but losing the smile as soon as roy walked in

and jamie understood then, it was just about roy, roy probably warned you off jamie, and that wasn't fair. jamie worked hard to be a good guy lately, he's been basically a nun spending all his time training, trying out his hand in dating before sleeping with someone

so he was back in it, you werent playing hard to get, you were just nervous about pissing roy off, and there was a spark between you guys

so he set a few rules for himself - ask once when he saw you, and take no for the answer until next time, don't seek you out like he did at the park, let it come naturally, show you that he can be a consistent thing in your life and it can be good, and finally always, always try to make you feel like he liked being you with or without you accepting a date, because that was the truth

so most interactions were the same, he would say hello, ask you how you were, what was new, ask you to dinner, then when you said no, he would smile and say 'maybe next time,' and then ask you random things about yourself. he made a mental note of everything (then put it in a note in his phone) he knew your favourite movie, coffee order, favourite take out place, favourite colour

it was how he knew you liked him too, because you offered up all this information freely, you were never tense or annoyed with him, just talked to him happily until roy stumbled across you guys and interrupted the fun

and over a few months of this, it evolved - jamie stopped finding interest in anyone else, not a blond in a bar or a model handing him their number at a match. and you stopped going on dates too, and you started looking forward to your visits with jamie. started going to the pitch just in hopes you'd see, even if you worried maybe this was all a ploy to piss roy off. and you'd started asking things back, you learned about his mum, what his favourite things are, you knew his hairdressers name and the obscene amount jamie spends on buying movies on apple tv instead of paying for any streaming services

towards the end, like two or three weeks before the first kiss, jamie started putting his knowledge of you in action

the first time he broke one of his rules was when he went to seek you out on your birthday, bringing you your favourite flowers, your coffee order and a bagful of different pastries because he hadn't asked you that yet. he offered to take you on a birthday date, you said no, and then the two of you sat and had a coffee together on the porch.

the second time he'd broken one of his rules was when he'd asked you out following the regular routine, but then during his game he saw you in the stands with keeley, wearing his jersey on your back, and you'd shown it to him, saw him looking, turned around and pointed both thumbs at his name on your back, and he malfunctioned, played better than he ever had, and asked you out again after the game, when he saw you in the hallway in his shirt, and he hugged you all sweaty and gross. but this time you said no differently, like you were sad about saying no. and his stomach dropped, because he liked you so much, he was a step away for falling for you entirely, but roy was in the way (a/n: might make this one a full chapter)

and he broke rule number 3, he didn't make you feel like he was happy just to be near you this time, he gave you a sad smile, and nodded, and went into the locker room. and it broke your heart because you were just as gone for him as he was for you, but roy would have been livid

and the next time was in roys office again, when you nearly started crying, and then jamie couldnt hold himself back, broke rule number 1 & 2 again, and finally broke thru the barrier