#and trying to help them get life back on track

[joelmillerisapunk]

MILLLLAAAAAA I have not known peace since reading this

First of all, the tension. The history. The forbidden desire just simmering under the surface, waiting to explode. Every single moment had me gripping my phone like it owed me money.

The fact that they had all this unresolved emotion and then bam—thrown into the most intimate scene imaginable??

This was SO intense, so raw, so emotional—and the way it all came back to them in the end??? Like, she wrote the script for him. She was always going to find her way back to him.

I am never recovering from this. EVER I am crying in the club, hiding in the bathroom, sobbing into my pillow. okay favorite parts timeeeee - and this is my live reaction so excuse every emotional rollercoaster I hit here....

-> WAHHHHHH FJSDKJSDKLJF already killing me goddamnit He closed it and took a moment before rereading the first page, with the name left blank. It could only be you. That was the only explanation for getting a script without the name of the author on it. And there was no way the scene he had just read, so familiar, so intimate, could be coincidental. Or could be written by anyone else. He grabbed his phone and sent a message to his agent, unable to contain his annoyance.that’s fucked up, Will*Will calling* -> OKAYY I SEE HOW IT IS YOU WANT ME TO CRY ALREADY HUH? “It’s… damn, Will, it’s our story, ok? Or a part of it, I don't know. Anyway I can’t play this. Can’t play me.”

-> WHAAAA I CANT DO THIS I CANT BUT I WILL IM SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP He didn’t know how Joel used to hold you firmly against the mattress, hands on your hips, lapping at your cunt to make you come again. Because he always wanted more, always wanted to give you more. He didn’t know that pushing his cock in you was the sweetest, most intense sensation he’d ever felt. Even now, years later, he never felt something like that again. Will didn't know any of that, had no idea how intense it had been. Because the only thing Joel told him was “you don’t bring her up. Ever.” -> she is so relatable omfg I would be doing the same You knew what he looked like, you watched all his movies. In need of his voice, his smile, his gestures, his laugh. In need of him. But seeing him for real- not through a screen but in the same room, not some character but Joel, the man you loved more than anyone else, the man you would still call “the love of your life” in your thoughts -, was breathtaking, almost surreal.  -> SOBBING EXCUSE ME SIR? WTF YOU DOING SHAKING HER OFF LIKE THAT NO SIR NO SIR So you approached him, without overthinking it, but as soon as he saw you he gave you a subtle but firm shake of his head. The message was crystal clear - he didn’t want to talk to you, didn’t even want you around. It stopped your hesitant steps in their tracks, and the shy smile you had the courage to build instantly disappeared, and your gaze fell to the floor. Trying to control your breathing, to fight back the tears you felt welling up.

-> my good goddddd im dying over here i am not okay sos help me He shook his head to think about something else and to resist the urge to take the script out of the drawer. Instead, he took a sleeping pill and went to bed.

->idk Milla, i think you write the most beautiful things and you really wanna make my heart fall out of my ribcage. The writing was pure and vivid and as he was reading your point of view he felt like his ribcage was suddenly too small to contain his heartbeats.

-> ooooof THIS IS BUILDING UP OMG OMG OMG SMDFKSDA “Who do you have in mind for the female lead?” he asked finally. “Well… me,” you answered, without lowering your gaze that time.

-> stab me it might hurt less than this In tears in your car, your boxes in the back, eyes fixed on the rearview mirror where Joel’s silhouette was getting smaller and smaller. Until you could no longer discern his clenched fists, his stone face. Until he was only a small dot, until he wasn't in your life anymore.

THE ENTIRE INTIMATE SCENE HOLY SMOKES IM DIZZYYYY

-> I have no thoughts just thots my brain empty but this is delicious “I can feel you clench on my fingers, you’re gonna be a good girl and come again for me?” he asked, before swirling his tongue over your clit again. “Thought about it so often,”

AND THE END AHHH IM SOBBING

Close-up

8k7 | Joel Miller x fem reader | ao3 | masterlist Summary: Joel receives a script that takes him back to the memories of your love story. He realizes that out of protective instinct after the break up, he has not been honest neither with his own feelings nor with you Warnings: 18+ mdni. ex lovers reunited, angst, mostly Joel pov, Joel can act cold out of defence mechanism, he has trouble accepting his own feelings, pining, slow burn, pet names (sweetheart, baby), semi public sex, just the tip, soft!joel, oral (f), piv, creampie. Pic for mood only, reader has no specific physical descriptions. 

a/n:  this is written for @jolapeno 's dear-uary challenge (prompt here) thank you for this challenge Jo, and it was such a cool prompt 😍😍😍 Thank you @aurorawritestoescape for beta-ing and for reading this one soooo many times 🥹😘💕 @/saradika-graphics for the dividers 🙏

I sent you a script, tell me what you think tell me more just read it, trust me

The informal messages between Joel and his agent, Will, were usual. They had known each other for a long time, they were friends, and Will had always found him perfect roles. 

So as always, Joel trusted him- even though the first page of the script, delivered to him by a courier, was not completely filled, making him wonder why. 

In the evening he put his cup on the coffee table, and lay down on the sofa, a soft light lamp behind his head. With his back leaning against the cushions, shirt, jeans, bare feet. Always the same ritual, always the same setup, when he was about to read a new script.

He started reading it, taking a sip of coffee from time to time, until his heart leapt in his chest as he got to a particular scene. 

He closed it and took a moment before rereading the first page, with the name left blank. 

It could only be you. 

That was the only explanation for getting a script without the name of the author on it. And there was no way the scene he had just read, so familiar, so intimate, could be coincidental. Or could be written by anyone else. He grabbed his phone and sent a message to his agent, unable to contain his annoyance.

that’s fucked up, Will

*Will calling*

“Yeah,” he grumbled as he picked up, without even trying to hide his feelings, then he got up to pace the room.

“Look, I know what you’re thinking, Joel. But she’s a great writer and actress, you know it. We’ve been looking for a good drama movie for a long time. This one’s perfect.”

“It’s… damn, Will, it’s our story, ok? Or a part of it, I don't know. Anyway I can’t play this. Can’t play me.”

“Joel, listen to me and think about it. No one would know. And it can be therapeutic.”

“Thera… jesus, you gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Joel sighed as he hung up and threw his phone on the couch. 

Why the fuck would Will do something so stupid and inconsiderate, giving him a script from you? 

At the beginning of his career, his agent sent him one project for a movie in which you were expected to play too. Joel confessed that you two had been together, and added “you don’t bring her up. Ever,” to end the conversation. So Will never did. 

Until today.

He sat back down on the sofa, resting his forehead on his fist, resisting the urge to throw the cup of coffee across the room. He was surprised by his own reaction, his nervousness. His anger. Barely able to control his emotions, he felt so weak, like his heart was about to tear in two again, swallowing him whole. He was affected, years later, as if it happened yesterday.

So, sure, a long time ago he asked Will not to talk about you anymore. But they might have been  friends, his agent might have known about you, but he didn’t know the details. Didn’t know how profoundly the break up had hurt Joel, how much you had gotten under his skin, back then.

And in Will's defense, it wasn't like you never saw each other again, at parties or ceremonies, under Will’s gaze who thought that it wasn't that bad, after all. It was years after your separation, now having the job that both of you dreamed about, talked about, sweaty young adults in a messy bed where he had just made you come.

Will wasn't aware that it was actually that bad. 

Because he didn’t know the way Joel looked at you, when you were together. He didn't know how sweet and caring Joel was with you. He didn’t know how much he loved wrapping his arms around you, and having you curl up against him. 

He didn’t know how Joel used to hold you firmly against the mattress, hands on your hips, lapping at your cunt to make you come again. Because he always wanted more, always wanted to give you more.

He didn’t know that pushing his cock in you was the sweetest, most intense sensation he’d ever felt. Even now, years later, he never felt something like that again.

Will didn't know any of that, had no idea how intense it had been. Because the only thing Joel told him was “you don’t bring her up. Ever.”

The first time you saw each other again, was in a place full of actors, agents, writers and directors.

You couldn't believe he was here, a few steps away from you. Of course, you knew you'd cross paths one day, but suddenly he was closer to you than he had been in years and you felt your heart racing. He was even more handsome than he was back then, if it was even possible. You knew what he looked like, you watched all his movies. In need of his voice, his smile, his gestures, his laugh. In need of him. 

But seeing him for real- not through a screen but in the same room, not some character but Joel, the man you loved more than anyone else, the man you would still call “the love of your life” in your thoughts -, was breathtaking, almost surreal. 

So you approached him, without overthinking it, but as soon as he saw you he gave you a subtle but firm shake of his head. The message was crystal clear - he didn’t want to talk to you, didn’t even want you around. 

It stopped your hesitant steps in their tracks, and the shy smile you had the courage to build instantly disappeared, and your gaze fell to the floor. Trying to control your breathing, to fight back the tears you felt welling up. 

If you had looked up right away, you would have seen guilt sweep through his eyes. But when you finally raised your head, seconds later, he was on the other side of the room. The only thing you could see was his back, which he undoubtedly presented to you deliberately, as if his glare hadn’t been enough to make a point.

All evening, you struggled to keep conversations going, to concentrate, to think of anything other than his dark stare, furrowed brows, and the way he shook his head at you without any hesitation. For years, you had been wondering what he had thought of you, after those years. You just got the most brutal answer to that question. 

The second time, a journalist had done some research and discovered that you attended the same university, graduated the same year. He took the opportunity to bring the subject as Joel was walking by. He probably hadn't seen you amongst all those people, because you were sure he would have gone the other way, otherwise. You didn’t have much choice than to kiss, feigning a friendly closeness that had never existed between you. You had been lovers, then strangers. No in-between. 

His scent, so familiar, invaded your nostrils. He always wore the same perfume, the one you had given him for a birthday. It surprised you but you didn't have much time to think about it, as he ended the hug quickly.

Joel's eyes were shifty when you looked at him, a fake smile plastered on his lips. Which could probably seem real for people who didn't know him, but not for you. Not even years later. You answered the journalist's questions as best as you could, until Joel leaned towards to give you a hug that was as neutral as his eyes on you, cutting off the questions. Then he walked away, leaving you facing the journalist who was delighted with the exclusive material and oblivious to the unspoken scene that had happened in front of him.

Joel thought back to those two evenings, after he’d hung up on Will and before he’d put the script away in a drawer. He needed to regain control of his emotions, and to do that he couldn't continue reading your words, at least for now.

He went to the kitchen for a fresh cup of coffee, and despite him trying, his mind wandered to lazy mornings where he would get up to make two coffees and then come back to the bedroom. He’d put them on the nightstand, before cuddling up to your warm body under the sheets, hearing you moan gently. Sometimes you would fall asleep in one of his shirts, and he loved smelling his scent on you, as if you were marked by him, somehow. It always made him feral, possessive. He didn’t know he had that side in him, until you.

You'd always grab his hand to kiss the tip of his fingers, before sliding them along your folds, feeling his cock harden against your ass and your pussy starting to drool. He would make you come with his digits, his lips against your ear, caged in his arms, then he'd slide his cock between your thighs and your soaked folds, just in time for your last spasms to squeeze his tip. Sometimes he would keep fucking you like that, lying behind you, and sometimes he would roll you on your back, taking his place between your thighs. Until he’d come, grunting, growling, his hair disheveled, and you often fall back asleep, his cock softening inside you, the cups of coffee cold on the nightstand.

He shook his head to think about something else and to resist the urge to take the script out of the drawer. Instead, he took a sleeping pill and went to bed.

The next morning he woke up groggy. He put on a t-shirt and sweatpants, poured himself a cup of coffee, and put aside his good resolutions. He didn’t need the script to think about you, anyway. Time never healed his wounds, he never forgot you or the pain he had felt when you’d left. His thoughts were always hurtful, possessive and raw.

Even years after the break up he couldn’t help but think about you when his wrist fucked his shaft. Even sometimes when he was in a relationship. He hated himself for that but couldn’t help it. He missed your cunt, your hands, everything. But he couldn’t accept the idea that he was simply missing you. 

He always thought that your bodies were made for each other, and you always breathed the same words. He knew you meant it, his cock buried in you, his eyes fixed on yours rolling to the back of your head and his ears filled with your moans, barely able to tell his name.  

Until it was over. 

He knew it could happen, you always told him that you'd have to leave for California one day in hope to live your dream, that you couldn’t do it in Texas. But he brushed it off, not wanting to believe it, not wanting to think about it. He hid it in a corner of his mind, until he had no other choice but to face reality. Until it hit him. That day, he realized that he wouldn’t get to wrap his arms around you for the rest of his life.

He lay down on the couch and started to read. And the more he read the script, the more he realized that you wrote only the moments that had really happened. 

The story, background, was slightly different, probably so that no one could ever make a connection to the two of you. But the moments were real, and it made him dizzy.

You wrote that dance in your small apartment, first for the both of you, that you rented after graduation. You worked as a waitress and Joel was a barista, and you two went to as many castings in Austin as you could, dreaming every day about being actors.

That night you put on some music and danced. He kissed your hand and looked at you. He felt warm. He loved you so much that his heart was aching. He made you spin and you laughed, and it was like a spring breeze in the apartment, filling his lungs with fresh air. When you stopped twirling you brushed his hair and then kissed him. 

The writing was pure and vivid and as he was reading your point of view he felt like his ribcage was suddenly too small to contain his heartbeats.

Over the next two days, he took the script out of the drawer regularly. Slowly touching the paper that already bore the marks of repeated handling, him  lying on his couch, taking his time before opening it. 

He read it all, and the sweetness, the sensitivity with which you described your moments moved him profoundly. The person he had loved, cherished, cradled in his arms, wrote that. 

All the intimacy, the love and care you both felt for each other were there. For several years he made everything to forget the good moments, to focus only on the ending to feed his bitterness, but the fact was that there had been so many beautiful moments. And he could read them, feel them again. Couldn’t deny them anymore.

Your words were so familiar, so true to your love story, that his anger slowly gave some place to something else: nostalgia. Finally allowing himself to miss you and what you two had. He was still wondering why you had written the script and sent it to him, but now he was ready to learn the answer. And he wanted to look you in the eye when he’d ask you this question. But he wasn't sure how he’d behave, when you met. Didn't know if bitterness or nostalgia would fill his heart.

So after two days of silence, Joel picked up his phone and sent Will a message.

Ok, set up a meeting

Because of your busy schedules you could meet only in two weeks. The delay was driving him crazy. 

He made a copy of the script, his copy, which he filled with annotations, dates. Underlining moments or words erased from his mind, out of grief, anger or self-protection.

He got hard several times, while reading some scenes. And sometimes anger would come back to creep into his thoughts, whispering to him that you never should have sent it to him, when your separation had been so painful for him. 

And Will was not the only one Joel said “you don’t…. ever.”

To you, it’d been “If you leave… you don't call me. Ever.”

That morning, as he got used to doing several times a day, he grabbed his copy of the script. He had handled it so much that the sheets were already damaged, some pages peppered with annotations. 

As he was reading, he remembered how you had loved to run your fingers over his jeans when you were watching a movie on your little couch. Playing with him, your hand going higher and higher, just to hear his breathing slow down, just to hear him murmur a needy and low “sweetheart, what are you doing?”, making you smile widely. Knowing that he would manhandle you two seconds later to be under him, pulling your panties to the side and pushing his thick length into you. He remembered the feeling of your breasts against his chest, how you whimpered in his neck while he was fucking you hard and deep. 

He was nervous the morning of the meeting. He took a shower, hoping to get rid of the fatigue and headache from the lack of sleep the night before. He put on a shirt and jeans and grabbed his car keys, put on some music when he started to drive, trying to change his mind, but it didn’t work, he was still anxious. He parked near the building. Once inside he found the meeting room and knocked on the door. He heard you say “come in” and took a deep breath before twisting the handle.

You were alone, sitting in a chair, and he quickly pushed aside the thought of how pretty you were. Joel immediately noticed your hands, pressed together nervously, before you stood up to greet him. He stopped when you walked towards him and your smile faded like that time.

“Wait,” he said, his hand raised in front of him, as he was trying to control his emotions. “I just… Why did you send it to me?” he added without any preamble, his tone harsher than he intended. 

“Oh… ok. Straight to the point, huh?” you said, sitting back down, and removing an imaginary crease on your sleeve, eyes lowered to the desk.

“I never…” you started to say, before stopping and taking a breath. “I think I needed to write our story down.” 

Joel’s sigh stopped you. You tried to keep a low and calm tone, not to show your anxiety. You knew that facing him wouldn't be easy. He had given you a glimpse of his coldness after the situation with that journalist.

“Joel, please, listen to me.” 

You looked at him, and yet you had no idea how his name, escaping your lips, tore his heart apart. He never thought he’d hear it again, and the familiar intonation made him shiver.

“I honestly think it would make a great movie,” you said. “And you must think so too, since you’re here.”

“I don’t know why I’m here, honestly. Except that I want to know why.”

“Would you have preferred to discover it once the movie was out, your role played by someone else?”

His gaze on you, dark and possessive, made you freeze.

“No, I really wouldn’t have appreciated our story, my life, played by someone else, Jesus,” he growled.

He put his hands on his hips, a stance you’d seen him do dozens of times before, searching for words, and then he sat in a chair, pinching the place just above his nose with two fingers. Trying to stop the headache that was threatening to come again. It had started off badly, and he knew it was his fault. He was too stubborn, too cold.

“Who do you have in mind for the female lead?” he asked finally.

“Well… me,” you answered, without lowering your gaze that time.

“You?” 

A part of him, that he thought was gone the day you had left, woke up with a groan. He couldn't imagine the movie being made, you playing... well, you, and him being played by another man. It was unthinkable and made his jealousy and possessiveness stir painfully in his chest.

Unlike you, he hadn't watched your movies. He tried though, when he saw your face on a movie poster for the first time. He went to the cinema, but he walked out of the theater the moment that actor leaned toward you to kiss you. He couldn't stand to see someone kiss you, when he couldn't do it anymore.

“I’m the best person to play this character, aren’t I?” you said softly, interrupting his thoughts. “Just like you’re the best one to play the male lead. Look, I know you’ve been rumored for a role like this for years. I know you’re not opposed to it. So why not?”

“Because it’s not about playing a role here,” he sighed. “It’s playing in front of a camera, things we said, did, years ago. Intimate things that belong to us.”

“I changed some things, no one has to know it’s autobiographical,” you started to say, before he quickly cut you off. 

“I know it is. And so do you.” He walked over to the window to stare at the buildings in front of him. “When you leave someone, you don’t do that. It’s unhealthy,” he said, almost softly. Resigned. He turned to you before adding, “Why stir up something that died years ago?”

He didn't expect to face the sadness that clouded your face, and once again guilt seized him. You were sad, upset, and despite the bitterness he’d been feeling for years, he didn’t want to hurt you.

“Joel… I didn’t leave because I didn’t love you anymore,” you answered, standing up and walking towards him. You stopped a few steps away to respect his boundaries, before you'd see his body stiff. “I left because I had to follow my dream, and it wasn’t working in Texas. And you wanted to stay in Austin, to take care of Tommy. We ended it because a long-distance relationship would have been too painful, because I didn’t want us to be unhappy, barely seeing each other, not being able to feel each other often enough. So I left. And I told you all that. You knew it, you knew why.”

You took a breath, after formulating what was oppressing your heart, waiting for him to answer.

“Playing with feelings is dangerous,” he said in a low voice.

“This isn’t a game, Joel. I'm not playing. I’m sure it would make a great movie. And maybe we need to express all that, even years later.”

“Do you remember what I told you that day? The last day?”

“Of course, I do. You told me not to call you. You told me that if we had to meet again… then it would happen. Well, it's happening, Joel.”

He looked at you, confused, and headed towards the door, brushing past you lightly as he passed. 

Just before leaving, without looking at you, he said in a low voice, “my agent will give you my answer in a few days.” 

Once the door closed behind Joel, you remembered the day you left. 

In tears in your car, your boxes in the back, eyes fixed on the rearview mirror where Joel’s silhouette was getting smaller and smaller. Until you could no longer discern his clenched fists, his stone face. Until he was only a small dot, until he wasn't in your life anymore.

At that moment you were wondering if you had made a mistake. You kept wondering for years. To be honest, you still weren’t sure you made the right choice that day. You followed your dream and succeeded, but it cost you the love of your life.

You didn't know what to think about the meeting. It could have been worse, he could have left after two minutes of being there, you knew it. You could have said more, too, but you didn't want Joel to withdraw more into himself. And for sure, you couldn't have told him that you always thought of him when you were in someone’s else’s arms. That you tried not to let jealousy invade you when you thought of his personal life, knowing that you had no right to be. You gave up on that when you had left.

You knew what he thought, how he reacted. Now he needed time to process everything, and you just had to wait for his agent to contact you. You couldn't do more.

Joel got to his car in a blur. He realized where he was only sitting behind the wheel, too many emotions swirling in his head. Years without seeing you and it had gone by at the speed of light. He blamed himself for being cold, blamed himself for not being cold enough, and he was even more lost than before he saw you. He started to drive, the feeling of having mishandled things weighing more and more on his shoulders.

He took another shower when he got home, as if it could wash off his remorse and regrets, the words exchanged playing over and over in his mind.

“Joel… I didn’t leave because I didn’t love you anymore.”

“I had to follow my dream. You wanted to stay in Austin. To take care of Tommy.”

“You knew it, you knew why.”

Did he really start to believe that the events had happened differently, after you left? Had he really done it, to the point of omitting certain things, because he needed someone to blame, to keep moving forward? 

Had he really been that guy? Blaming you when there was no one to blame, just life and the choices that go with it, that we all have to do?

Had he really denied for years that you had left with a broken heart, too? That he had told you to never call him, after those wonderful years together? He felt like he was waking up with a monstrous hangover, and guilt gripped him. Truth is he let you down, and reality was hitting him hard.

Because you were right, you didn’t leave just like that. He didn’t want to acknowledge it for years, kept sweeping it under the rug, but deep down he didn’t forget it. 

And you were right, he hadn’t been able to prioritize your relationship. Couldn’t prioritize himself either. He had always been protective of his brother, but it reached another level when he came back to Texas after being dismissed. Tommy wasn't the same, and Joel knew that he would have constantly wondered if his brother was okay if he had left for California with you. Worried that he could be in jail after a fight, with no one to bail him out. Or that he could be drunk in an alley, alone, spending the night there. Or worse.

“I can’t leave Tommy here alone, with all his drinking and partying,” he told you, expression determined.

“But you need to think about your future, our future too, Joel,” you replied desperately.

Joel had probably hoped that you wouldn’t have left, that you’d have chosen him, until the end. And you probably hoped the same thing, too. 

Right person, wrong time. Fucking sad, but so banal.

So to forget that he was as responsible for the breakup as much as you were, he let his pain turn into anger, and he never let nostalgia set in, or his feelings show up. 

And everything blew up when you sent him that script and he started reading it. It was impossible to continue to deny the obvious, to keep thinking that his feelings were stronger than yours and that’s why you had left. It was impossible to forget that he had told you, “If you leave… you don't call me. Ever.” That he was the one who had cut everything off, once and for all. To protect himself, of course. But still.

So once you were gone, he did what he had to do, he took care of Tommy. Except that he started going to bars with him, at night. Drinking less than him, but still way too much. He took sleeping pills when he was obsessed with your absence, tired of squeezing your pillow way too tight in his fist, his jaw clenched with anger. He moved to a new neighborhood because he couldn't stand living in that apartment anymore where everything reminded him of you. 

When they were children and then teenagers, Joel and Tommy’s father taught them to work with their hands, and it helped them to find jobs on construction sites. And that he finally pulled himself together and helped Tommy the way he had to. It took him months, but he did it, and his parents would be proud of him, of them, if they saw their sons.

He worked hard, kept doing castings when his work allowed it, and eventually it paid off, even if it took time.

He thought about it all, and realized he needed to see you again before deciding on the movie. Needed to behave normally, to let go of his mask. So he asked his agent your number, then texted you:

it’s Joel. Are you still in LA?  I have some questions about the script can we meet again?  I am. When do you wanna meet? tomorrow night, my place? I’ll cook Sure!

He took a deep breath as he sent you his address. He let his emotions take over on purpose, to dispel the bitter taste in his mouth since you saw each other. Now he had to trust them.

The next day he started to cook during the afternoon, the dish that he hoped was still one of your favorite. He knowingly chose to invite you over to his place, to keep his mind occupied at least while he was busy in the kitchen. 

Once the dish was in the oven, he did a running session on his treadmill and showered. 

Anything to keep his mind busy.

You arrived right on time, a bottle of wine in hand.

“You still like the white?” you asked.

He did. Some things never changed.

As you approached the kitchen it smelled so good that you stopped there.

“Still one of your favorite meals?” he asked.

It was. 

You tried not to show that you were moved. Acts of service had always been his way of showing that he cared, and you weren’t expecting that when you showed up.

You sat down on a high stool in the kitchen and he opened the bottle of wine. You had a few sips, silently. Neither of you really knew what to say, at first. Then everything set into place, naturally, instinctively. A little shyly at first, bringing up things from your respective pasts, or present. You asked him how Tommy was doing, and he told you he was fine, that he was engaged to a woman named Maria and that they were going to be parents soon. You were happy for Tommy, sincerely. You had always liked him.

Joel was trying to act normally, to not pay too much attention to the ease with which you were chatting. How easily he opened up to you, telling you about his years in Austin, then his first ones in LA. His first roles, his doubts.

He was glancing at your hands when you weren’t looking at him. At your hair. 

He loved to see your eyes shine when you were talking about something that was important to you.

But above all, he loved to see them sparkle the first time he made you smile, that evening. It hit him, how much he missed it. Making you smile. 

His emotions were so familiar that his heart was beating a little too fast, like a horse freed from its reins.

And suddenly he wondered how he had been able to spend so many years without you by his side, when you had always been his sunshine, liberating his grumpy, reserved nature. 

A part of his brain told him that he was smiling a little too much, but he felt more alive during those moments with you than he hadn’t been in so long. 

Whether in a relationship or not.

And then he felt the atmosphere change, felt that you got nervous, an impression confirmed when you began to scratch your thumb. A habit that dated back years ago, and he'd always take you in his arms, kiss your thumb and tell you that he was there and that everything would be okay. Today, for the first time he couldn’t do all that.

“Are you ok?” he nevertheless allowed himself to ask.

“Yeah, it’s just… listen, I know you wanted to ask me about the script, but ehm... there’s something you need to know.” You took a deep breath before adding “there won’t be any movie if you don’t want to do it. If you’re not comfortable with it. I’m not saying this to put pressure on you, it's just… I just want you to know that your choice is completely free. I don’t want you to feel like you have to do it, for whatever bad reason.”

“I appreciate that you’re telling me this, thank you,” he said, in a tone you couldn’t quite define, half defeated, half tender. “Listen, I wanted to apologize.”

“For what, Joel?” you asked questioningly.

“Yesterday. I didn’t really know how to handle all of it. Honestly, I’ve been overwhelmed by a lot of emotions since I read the script. Including anger.” He didn't expect to tell you that, but the need was too much to bear. He needed to make things right.

“I know. I expected it to be complicated, after our two previous meetings,” you said, without animosity or bitterness. Just being factual.

He raised his eyebrows, as if to apologize, before continuing. “I wanted to apologize for that too. My attitude.”

“That’s your way of handling things, it always has been, I should have known. But I appreciate it too, thanks Joel.”

He nodded, then added “do you think we’ll be able to do it?”

“To do what?”

“Work together. To be coworkers on a movie?”

He saw your eyebrows furrow slightly, as you took the time to think before answering.

“Well… the evening’s going pretty well, right? You haven't shook your head at me yet, to show me the door.”

“Ouch!” he replied exaggeratedly.

“Too soon?” you asked, lips curled into a smile.

“A little,” he laughed.

He enjoyed it, that little moment. You’d had so many of them before. 

“Aren’t you afraid of what might happen?” he wanted to ask. 

“Aren’t you afraid of reliving things, that I’ll fall madly in love with you again and that the scenes we’ll shoot, my acting, will just express the reality of my feelings?” 

But he couldn’t ask you that.

He wanted to ask you if you had sent him the script because you still had feelings for him, but he couldn’t say that either.

“It’ll be a low budget movie. I mean, if we do it,” you said. There’ll be some outdoor scenes but not that many. Not many other actors either. It won’t be a long shoot.”

He nodded and said, “can I give you my answer in a couple of days?”

“Of course,” you smiled. “Thanks for the meal, it was delicious,” you said as you stood up. “You can text me if you have any questions.”

He thanked you and you complimented him on his house as you put your coat back on. His taste hadn’t changed. The rooms were simply decorated. As you walked toward the front door you glanced inside one of the rooms, and saw a table with a wooden sculpture on it.

“Oh my god, Joel? You still do the carving?”

“Oh… well… yeah. I never stopped.”

“Can I?” you asked.

“Sure,” he opened the door and you slipped through the gap, brushing past him lightly as you passed and you had goosebumps at the familiar scent. Still the perfume you had gifted him once. Reassuring. After all these years, instantly, it was there. Enveloping you. 

You approached the table and leaned over a piece he was working on, admiring the figurine that was being carved. A rodeo cowboy on a bucking horse.

“Wow, Joel… you were already very good at this back then, but now it’s incredible. The level of detail is mind-blowing.”

You looked at the shelves, covered with other sculptures. You approached them: bears, deer, wolves, rabbits.

“This is really amazing, you’re so talented. And… Do you still play guitar?”

“Sure,” he answered, nodding at a guitar case. “I usually play in the dining room. My guitars are over there. This one needed a little TLC. I just got it back. It’s… well it’s the one you gave me.”

You looked at him, unable to hide the surprise on your face.

“You kept it?” you asked, trying to hold back your emotions.

“ ‘ course I did.”

You nodded, your throat tight.

“I should go, it’s getting late,” you said. “Tell me about the movie, ok?” You looked at him hesitantly, but when he leaned towards you and wrapped his arms around your torso, your eyes closed at the feeling, so familiar, before you pulled away, told him good night and left.

Driving your car, you replayed the images of the evening in your mind. Of course, you had felt his gaze on you several times during the evening. And sometimes you could see Joel again. Your Joel.

Did he think about you as much as you thought about him? Did he suspect that you had sent him this script in the hope of getting back in touch with him? Did he know how much you missed him, all those years?

You had wondered so many times if he had been thinking about you. You thought about the hug, as comforting as before. You missed him so much.

Two days later, he texted you

“I’m in”

He kept looking at his phone after sending the message. The read indicator appeared quickly, then the writing bubble.

“Great, I'm so glad! I’m sure it’s gonna be amazing!!”

He hoped it would be. Hoped it wasn’t a mistake. 

He had to leave LA for several weeks for a shooting, and the organization of the film was put in place.

You sent each other a few messages in the next few days. Then the messages became more and more regular, while remaining purely friendly.

Several months later, the day before the shooting started, he knocked on your trailer to say hello.

You had rehearsed some scenes with the crew, and everything was ready.

The less emotional scenes were shot in the first few days. He didn’t ask for it, but he was glad. Every night he came back to his trailer, played the guitar, and thought about you. 

Seeing you every day was a very strange thing that he had trouble to define. He was happy to see you every day, to see the person you had become. And sad that you were no longer his. Filming these moments with you was like constantly reopening a wound that had never really healed.

That night, he took out the script, and reread the scene planned the next day.

EXT. THEIR APARTMENT -- EVENING He parks downstairs at their apartment, it’s dark. He knows she’s back from a week at her parents’. He’s eager to get home and see her again, he’s missed her. He quickly climbs the outside stairs and unlocks the door. INT. THEIR APARTMENT -- EVENING He puts his keys on the hall cabinet, takes off his jacket and hangs it on the coat rack. We follow him as he walks in the apartment, until he sees her in the doorway of the dining room. He smiles, we see love in their eyes as look at other. HER Hey baby He goes to her, they kiss, he takes her in his arms. She closes her eyes. HIM I missed you, baby. He brushes her cheek with his thumb. HER I missed you too. She takes his hand and leads him to their bedroom.

He stopped reading there, before the next scene, that was the most intimate, the one that made him anxious just to think about.

“I missed you, baby,” he said the line. He brushed your cheek with his thumb, like he had done so many times before. His eyes were fixed in yours. He wondered if he was imagining what he was reading in them.

“I missed you too.”

You took his hand and you headed out of the frame.

“Cut, it was perfect, guys! Go get ready for the next scene.”

He picked up his water bottle and took a sip. He felt dizzy.

You were both wearing underwear and bathrobes. Waiting to shoot the scene.

“Ok guys, you’re ready? Great, let’s go.”

The scene was a close-up of both of your faces during a sex scene, at night. You lay down on the bed first, after taking off your robe. He took off his too and lay down between your thighs.

“Is this ok?” he asked.

“Yeah, it’s ok,” you smiled.

“Action!”

You started to kiss, tongues quickly brushing against each other. His hands cupped your cheeks as he rolled his hips towards you slowly, careful that your crotches wouldn’t touch. 

It was overwhelming to feel you against him, your breasts against his chest, with only your bra between the two of you. It was a whirling moment, to kiss you in such an intimate scene, playing something that you had lived for real before. He groaned and slid his hand to the back of your neck to hold you as close as possible against him.

He felt you shift slightly, turning your hips to face his. He wanted to ask you what you were doing but he couldn���t. He was half hard from the moment he laid against you but now his cock was hard as steel. You pushed your pelvis forward and the tip of his cock nestled at your entrance, pointing against his boxers.

He could feel your wet panties through the fabrics.

“Don’t stop, baby,” you recited your line, and he growled.

He couldn’t believe you would act like that while shooting a scene, couldn't believe you were using him.

He pulled away to look at you and you murmured an unscripted “please.” Eyebrows furrowed, he nodded slightly. His fat head found its way, and his tip pushed your panties in.

It was hot, filthy, forbidden. So unprofessional, but he couldn’t stop. He recognized your moans, and the small team around you probably thought it was perfectly faked, when it was music in his ears. The music he thought he would never hear again. 

Your hands tightened on his biceps as you came. So quickly. He felt your walls squeezing his tip and he almost forgot to move, forgot the script, forgot you were shooting a scene. He pulled out, afraid he would come too, and faked his orgasm, neck tense and veins bulging, your hands caressing his hair at the back of his neck.

You said the next line “I love you, baby. I missed you so much.”

“I love you too,” was his.

“Cut!! That was amazing, great job!!”

There was a pounding on your trailer door as you got out of the shower. You quickly threw on a bathrobe and went to open it.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” he growled.

“Keep your voice low Joel, damn… Come in.”

You closed the door behind him, searching for the right words, pressing your hands together. 

“I, huh…” you stammered.

“No! No, talk to me. Tell me. You can’t… you can’t do that and stay silent.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” he chuckled.

“Having you so close to me, against me… I couldn’t help myself. I’m sorry. It was overwhelming.”

“Everyone could have seen, what were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t thinking, that’s the point, Joel! And they didn’t see, anyway.”

“Jesus christ you can't do that. You can’t just use me like that.”

“I know, Joel. I know, I’m sorry. It’s just…”

“What?”

You sighed, and that time he didn't try to rush you. You felt him soften, giving you time to find your words.

“I miss you, Joel.”

“No, don't…  Please, don’t say that.”

“I missed you the second I left and it never stopped.”

Hearing the tone of your voice and reading your eyes, this time he had no doubt that you really meant it. And he felt all the tensions in his body relax, as if he were freed from everything that had been oppressing him for years. You approached him slowly, eyes raised to his, and you slid your hand into his, and his large palm gently closed over it. You caressed his cheek with the other, and for a moment he shut his eyes, pressing his face against your hand.

“I miss you,” you said again and he rested his forehead against yours. He gently rubbed his nose against yours, before kissing your lips softly. He heard your breathing hitch for a moment, then you moaned slightly as you pulled away, just to look at him, Joel, not the actor, for the first time in years. He pulled you closer to him and brushed his tongue over your lips, as if asking for permission to push inside. Greedily, you slid yours to his, licking his tongue and lips, until he crashed his mouth against yours. His hands rested on your waist while yours moved up his back, pressing your bodies together. You whined when you felt his hard cock pressed to you.

You pulled away from him again, just to look at his face, and he wanted to pinch himself, just to be sure you were not some dream that would leave him disillusioned and alone when he woke up.

You took his hand and led him to your room.

“Undress me,” you said.

He pulled on the knot of your bathrobe slowly, making the two sides of the garment part, revealing the curve of your breasts that he caressed with his fingertips.

Your chest rose quickly as your eyes were plunged into each other, until he lowered them to your pussy. His heart was beating so fast that for a moment he was afraid it would explode.

He raised his gaze to yours, silently asking if you were okay.

“Yes,” you said. As if you knew he would want to hear it, that a nod wouldn't be enough.

He slipped his hands under the fabric of the robe and slid it down your shoulders. It fell to the floor, leaving you naked. So vulnerable, and yet you were the strongest woman he ever knew, following your dream by leaving for a city where you didn't know anyone. And made your dream come true.

But now you were here, in front of him. So pretty, so sure of yourself, of your desires.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said in a low voice.

He pulled you back, guiding you with his hands on your hips as he kissed you, until the back of your knees touched the bed.

“Lie down, sweetheart,” he said. The nickname was so familiar in his mouth, so normal. You did as he asked, moving back until your head rested on the pillow as he watched you, still standing at the end of the bed. Then he took off his t-shirt, unbuttoned his jeans and got rid of them and his boxers.

“Are you ok?” he asked.

“Yes,” you replied. “Haven't felt better in a long time, actually.”

“Me too,” he added, laying on the bed, his hand caressing your inner thighs that he kissed, then he spread them with his hands.

He ran his thumb over your folds, covering it in your wetness until he reached your clit and gently rolled it under his finger. You moaned, spreading your thighs wider. 

He leaned down, his shoulders taking possession of the space between your thighs, the scent of your arousal filling his nostrils. He licked a long stripe from your drooling hole to your clit, then placed his hands on the inside of your thighs, pressing your knees against the sheets, and you willingly let him do it, your hands sliding into his hair. He pushed his tongue into your cunt, growling against your folds. He never thought he would taste you again and an overwhelming feeling was running through his whole body. You were leaking into his mouth, down his throat and he pressed you against him, greedy for what you were giving him as your hips rolled towards him. His nose brushed perfectly against your clit, like it always did before. You clung to his hair as your moans were getting louder and louder.

"I'm so close, Joel," you murmured, hands lost in his curls. "Please, baby, please." 

“Take what you need, use me, sweetheart.”

“Oh my god, Joel… I’m gonna… I’m coming, fuck!”

He didn't let go of you, leaving his tongue buried in your pussy and his nose against your clit, gripping  your waist with his hands, as if they were in their natural place, your flesh welcoming them.

“Joel…” you whimpered.

“Another one, please, baby. Let me give you another one, ok?”

“I’m not sure if I can… I don’t know if I can,” you panted.

“Lemme try, ok?”

“Ok,” you whispered.

His tongue left your pussy, licking your puffy folds before teasing your swollen clit. His middle finger slid along your folds before he pushed it in you gently, immediately adding a second digit. His fingers pumped into you, making your wetness flow down to the sheets. He kept you pressed against the mattress, as he had done so many times, drunk on your taste and smell. His cock ached but he resisted the urge to grind himself against the bed, afraid of not being able to hold back and come on them.

“I can feel you clench on my fingers, you’re gonna be a good girl and come again for me?” he asked, before swirling his tongue over your clit again. “Thought about it so often,” he added, still pumping your drooling cunt with his thick fingers, then licking and sucking your clit.

“Yes, fuck yes,” you whined, just before you came on his diggits, clit pulsing against his tongue.

He crawled over to you, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and smashed his lips against yours, your wimpers now disappearing between them.

“I wanna suck your cock, Joel,” you breathed against his lips, but he shook his head. 

“Sweetheart… I'd love it too but I’m gonna come the second you’ll take me in your mouth,” he said. “And I really need to feel you around my cock. All the way this time, not just the tip. You’re ok with that, baby?”

“Of course, need to feel you too.”

“Damn you’re so pretty,” he said, and kissed you.

He grabbed his cock in his hand, the tip leaking, swollen and red, and nestled it at your entrance, pausing there for a moment before thrusting in. 

“Oh fuck…” you whined, making him stop.

“No, no no, don’t stop, I’m ok. Need all of you, please,” you whimpered.

Like years ago, he would give you everything you needed from him. So he didn't stop until he bottomed out. 

“Shit,” he groaned, feeling his balls tightening, ready to explode. He was struggling so hard not to come, but his breath was hitching with every thrust since he felt your pussy around him. 

You kissed, hips rolling towards each other softly and slowly. He loved to feel you around him again, and again he thought that your bodies were made for each other. He was sure of it more than ever. He slid his arms under your shoulders and you licked his neck, right at his pulsating point, then kissed the thin and delicate skin crossed by its veins.

“I won’t last, baby, I’m sorry…” he panted.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, taking him deeper.

“It doesn’t matter, fill me, Joel, please, just like before,” you begged, making him grawl, and he placed his thumb against your clit. It was enough to give you soon another climax and you pulsed around his shaft, digging your fingers into his skin as you came once again. He thrusted in a few times before burying himself, balls deep in your cunt, and shot his cum into your core, filling it to the last drop, his forehead against yours.

“Fuck, sweetheart….”

“I know,” you breathed. “Just like before.” 

For a few minutes both of you were panting loudly, waiting to catch your breath.

Then you caressed his cheek and he kissed you until he pulled away and lay down facing you.

“Come here, baby,” he said, welcoming you against his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, the way he always liked it so much. You stayed like that for a few minutes without talking. He just wanted to feel you against him, to hear you breathe slowly, to feel your skin against his. 

“I should have left with you,” he said suddenly.

You straightened up to look at him then said softly, “hey, no, don’t… Don’t hurt yourself by thinking that. You did what you had to do, and so did I. And we met again, like you said back then,” you added, and kissed him, then curled up in his arms again.

“We did,” he agreed, brushing your hair delicately. “So, that script?” he asked. “Was it to… like… get me back?”

“Of course it was,” you smiled against his torso, and he kissed the top of your head. 

“I’m happy you sent it to me, sweetheart.”

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[alsofoundinpeas]

Two Sides of the Same Coin

Summary: Y/N is an international pop star, adored by millions—and maybe a little too adored. When a deranged stalker, obsessed with her every move, begins killing those close to her, the BAU steps in. Derek and Spencer are assigned as her bodyguards, tasked with keeping her safe until the stalker is caught. Trapped inside her house, none of them are happy about the arrangement, but tensions rise as they struggle with cabin fever—and a growing attraction they can't ignore.

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+!! MDNI!! This fic is intended for adult audiences. Reader is kind of a cunt but only because she's extremely upset/disturbed by the situation. Mentions of stalking/violence related to the case (not excessive or graphic I promise!!). Oral (both m and f receiving), fingering (f!receiving), overstimulation (f!receiving), crying during sex (f only and it isn't from pain I swear), spit-roasting, protected PinV sex, spanking, mix of praise and degradation. Mean Dom!Derek x Bratty Sub!Reader x Soft Dom!Spencer.

Pairing: Derek Morgan x fem!reader/afab!reader x Spencer Reid

A/N: Basically think the Lila situation but on steroids LMFAO I really enjoyed having you guys vote for the fic and I may do it again soon :') I'll admit, I really enjoyed writing this and stepping out of my comfort zone a bit! I truly hope you guys enjoy this and if you do, please like, reblog, and consider following! <3 Thank you and I love you all!! :)

"You’re fucking joking."

The room was heavy with tension, everyone at the table shifting uneasily as Y/N’s words hung in the air. The meeting had only been underway for 45 minutes, most of which consisted of questions directed at her, trying to gather any information that might lead the BAU to her stalker. When it became clear that she had no idea of anyone who would want to leak her private information, the next bombshell dropped: she'd be stuck at home until they caught the person responsible.

Y/N’s manager, Anna, shoots Hotch a wary look as he clears his throat, his stern gaze never leaving Y/N. "At this moment, it’s a serious safety risk for you to leave your house—not just for you, but for anyone seen with you in public. As a result, SSA Derek Morgan and SSA Spencer Reid will be assigned to stay with you for your protection, and they’ll handle any errands you need until we can apprehend your stalker," he explains once more.

Y/N scoffed, her gaze briefly shifting to Anna before locking back on Hotch. "Really? So... not only am I being stalked by some fucking maniac because someone sold my information to the press, but now I’m trapped at home with two strangers? Two men I just met—what, thirty minutes ago?"

Derek and Spencer both sat up straighter, their expressions hardening as their lips pressed into thin lines. Neither of them was thrilled about the plan. They both insisted to Hotch that their skills would be better used helping the team, not playing babysitter for someone who clearly resented the arrangement. Hotch protested that they could still help from her house while also ensuring her safety, effectively shutting down any further arguments.

"We know this isn’t what you want, hun, but it’s either this or more innocent people—maybe even you—get killed," Anna urged, her hand resting gently on Y/N’s shoulder, offering what little comfort she could.

As much as she hated to admit it, Y/N knew Anna and Hotch were right. But that didn't mean she had to like it. The idea of her stalker thinking they had any control over her—believing she’d cower to some deranged loser who killed innocent people—sickened her.

"We’ll do everything in our power to track down whoever’s behind this," Hotch promised, his voice firm. "Once they’re caught, you’ll be able to go back to your normal life."

"Yeah, because everything’s going to feel normal after being stalked by a murderer," Y/N muttered, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She sighed, her gaze flicking around the table before landing back on him. "Fine. Whatever. Thank you. Anna can show them to the guest rooms. Are we done here?"

The meeting concluded once the rules for her quarantine were set and the safety of her family and friends had been addressed. She was to remain in the house at all times, contact with anyone would be made through a burner phone to prevent her stalker from intercepting any personal devices (which Garcia was already examining for any clues about the leak), and her loved ones would be under close surveillance by the local PD, who had already been notified of the situation.

Once Y/N had stomped up the stairs, Anna took the time to show Morgan and Reid around.

Y/N's house, for a pop star, was surprisingly modest. She didn’t have a sprawling mansion or an army of staff catering to her every whim—just a personal chef (whom she paid very well) and a groundskeeper to handle the lawn care. Anna explained that, even though Y/N was one of the biggest names in pop music, she was incredibly grounded and more down-to-earth than anyone she’d worked with, not to mention fiercely independent.

"No offense, but I’m not exactly picking up on this ‘down-to-earth’ vibe you’re talking about,” Morgan grumbled as Anna trailed behind him and Spencer toward their SUV.

Anna chuckled, nodding as she watched the men grab their bags. “Like I said, that girl is as independent as they come. She’s just frustrated because this situation strips her of that independence and probably makes her feel helpless—which isn’t something she’s used to,” Anna said quietly. “Give it time. I’m sure she’ll ease up on you.”

The next few days quickly showed that Anna couldn’t have been more wrong.

Rather than easing up on the pair, Y/N had begun acting as though they didn’t exist. The only time she left her room was to collect whatever meal Vinny, her chef—an affable older gentleman—prepared for everyone, and to chat with him briefly while he cleaned up before heading out for the night. When she did speak to either of them, it was curt, often laced with sarcasm, and was usually a request to leave the house, which was always met with a hard no.

A week passed with no progress on the case and only a handful of awkward interactions. Spencer knocked on her door several times, offering dinner or a chance to play board games with him and Derek, but each time she turned him down. Morgan stopped pushing as hard to get her to talk. He kept telling Spencer that if she wanted to throw a fit over them risking their lives to keep her safe, so be it.

As the second week dragged on with no significant progress on the case, tension started to build among everyone. Y/N’s remarks had escalated from sharp, sarcastic comments to full-blown arguments—mostly with Derek. She no longer confined herself to her room; instead, she began strutting around the house in the most revealing outfits she could find, knowing full well they flustered Spencer.

With Vinny handling the grocery shopping and Y/N’s house fully stocked with everything they could need, there was no real reason for Reid or Morgan to leave for the so-called errands Hotch had mentioned to get a break from her. Spencer had read and re-read every book he brought with him, unwilling to touch the ones Y/N had. Derek spent most of his time in the home gym or on the phone with Garcia and other team members, eager to contribute from afar.

As for Y/N… well, she was beyond tired of being cooped up in her room all day and decided it was time to take matters into her own hands.

The door creaked softly as Y/N peeked her head into the dark hallway, wincing at the sound before freezing. She held her breath, straining to hear any sign of movement in the house. It was late—just after 11:00 p.m.—and she silently hoped both agents were asleep.

After hearing nothing, she carefully tiptoed down the stairs and into the living room. Just as she was slipping her shoes on by the back door, the light suddenly flickered on, startling her so much she almost lost her balance. Spinning around, she found Spencer standing there in his pajamas, watching her with a wary expression, his face showing signs of exhaustion.

"What exactly are you doing?"

Y/N pressed her lips together, exhaling sharply through her nose as she shifted on her heels. “I… um, I was just going to run to the store. I’m out of—” She faltered, scrambling for a convincing excuse. “—shampoo! Yeah… and I didn’t think it was worth waking either of you up to grab it for me.”

Reid sighed, shaking his head. "Y/N, you know you're not supposed to leave the house, no matter what. Are you really willing to risk your life over a bottle of shampoo?"

"I wouldn’t be risking my life!" Y/N snapped, throwing her hands up in frustration as she stepped away from the door. "It would take thirty minutes tops."

Derek, already awake, had overheard the quiet argument from his room. Curious, he got up and headed down the hall toward the kitchen, pausing to listen. Spencer muttered something else, but it was too soft for him to catch.

Y/N rolled her eyes, releasing an exaggerated sigh before fixing Spencer with a glare that had him swallowing hard. She stepped forward, her chest brushing against his as she tilted her head up. "I’ve been in the public eye since I was seventeen, Doctor. I think I can handle a trip to the store on my own. I’ll even wear a disguise. I just want out of this fucking house," she hissed.

“I get it, Y/N. I really do. But there’s a psychotic stalker targeting anyone who even looks your way right now. We can’t take that risk.” Spencer’s voice was gentle, but his stance was unyielding. Despite how… intimidating she could be, he wasn’t afraid of her.

Morgan rounded the corner, an eyebrow raised as he took in the scene—Y/N and Reid practically nose to nose. He’d caught what she said from the kitchen and decided it was time to step in. “Y/N,” he barked, crossing his arms and leaning against the back of the couch. “Quit giving the kid a hard time. The answer’s no. Not happening, princess. Deal with it.”

Y/N tilted her head, her glare still fixed on Spencer. “And what exactly are you going to do about it? Punish me?” Her voice dropped low, dripping with mockery as she finally turned her attention to Derek, a daring glint in her eyes.

Derek’s eyebrows lifted, a humorless chuckle escaping him that sent a shiver down her spine. He pushed off the couch and closed the distance in two long strides. His hand shot out, grabbing her wrist and yanking her away from Spencer, his voice dropping into a low growl in her ear.

"Maybe I should. Maybe we both should."

Heat surged to Y/N’s cheeks as she glanced up at him, still pressed against his chest after stumbling into him. She swallowed hard, caught off-guard by the dangerous glint in his eyes. Neither of them looked away, both stubbornly refusing to back down.

“What?” Spencer sputtered, his voice laced with incredulity as he finally broke their heated stares. His eyes flicked between them, wide with shock. “Absolutely not! That’s beyond unprofessional—and completely inappropriate!”

"And at what point during this entire babysitting gig has she been professional or appropriate?" Morgan challenged, releasing his grip on Y/N's wrist to throw his hands up in exasperation.

Reid hesitated, opening his mouth to respond, but the words failed him.

"Exactly," Derek said triumphantly. "She’s been a complicated, hard-headed smartass from the second we stepped through that door—" He gestured toward the door with a pointed jab of his thumb. "—and she’s the one who asked for it. I say we give her exactly what she wants."

Spencer gnawed at his lower lip, his expression torn as he grappled with not only the moral implications of what was being offered but also the idea of his best friend and colleague seeing his dick. He shuddered at the thought, then turned his gaze to Y/N, who stood frozen, her expression one of shock—as though she hadn’t considered this could actually happen. "Is that… is that really something you want us to do?"

He couldn’t believe he was actually entertaining the idea. But Morgan wasn’t wrong… she’d been a pain in the ass the entire week they’d been stuck with her. And, despite the attitude, she was undeniably one of the most attractive women he’d ever laid eyes on. Besides, fucking one of the world's most famous pop stars certainly wasn't the worst thing that could happen to him while on a case.

Y/N glanced between the two of them, her gaze flickering before she nodded slowly. "Uh… yeah. It is," she admitted, her voice quiet and subdued—completely at odds with the mouthy, brazen woman she’d been all week.

She couldn’t deny that both of them were devastatingly attractive, and maybe if the circumstances were different then she would have enjoyed their company. It was the fact that they were so good at their jobs that agitated her, successfully keeping her trapped in her own house. As much as she loathed being stuck indoors, she had to give credit where it was due—they were doing everything they could to keep her safe and make her lockdown more bearable. Maybe she had been a bit too hard on them…

"Then go up to your room and wait for us on your bed," Derek ordered lowly. "Naked," he added.

The second she was out of sight, Spencer turned to Morgan, eyes wide with disbelief, and followed him into the kitchen. "Are we really going through with this?" he whispered, pacing back and forth as Morgan sifted through his wallet.

A shameless smile graced his face as he pulled out two condoms, tossing one toward Reid before shrugging. "I am. If you're uncomfortable, you don’t have to do anything. Seriously, kid. No pressure," Derek murmured, his tone reassuring as he noticed the hint of insecurity in Spencer’s expression.

Spencer flinched as the item flew toward him, stumbling back slightly before he crouched to grab the foil packet from the ground, shaking his head.

"It’s not that I don’t want to! I just—Hotch would kill us if he found out, and—"

"Then he won't find out. Simple."

Derek’s voice was calm, the complete opposite of Spencer’s nervous energy. He started toward the stairs, glancing over his shoulder at Reid with a smirk. "You coming, or what?"

Spencer breathed in deeply, releasing the tension with a sigh before nodding and trailing behind him toward Y/N's room.

Spencer wasn't a complete stranger to sex, having had a few short-term relationships that had always fizzled out due to the erratic nature of his schedule. But he didn't have nearly the experience Morgan had. He'd also never had a threesome, something he knew for a fact Morgan had participated in more than once thanks to his ability to overshare and desire to make Reid as flustered as he possibly could.

Derek stopped outside Y/N’s door and turned to Spencer. "Hey," he said softly, drawing the younger man’s attention. "Quit overanalyzing. I can practically see the wheels turning. Just follow my lead, okay? I know you’re a quick learner."

Spencer huffed out a small laugh. "I’ll do my best," he murmured, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to loosen the tension in his muscles.

Morgan clapped a hand on his back reassuringly, grinning. "If it helps, I promise my focus won't be on your dick if that's what you're worried about."

Reid shoved him with an annoyed groan, rolling his eyes as Derek stifled his lighter. Once he composed himself, he opened the door, leading the way into Y/N's dimly lit room. The sight before them had Morgan stopping dead in his tracks, causing Spencer to stumble into his back with a quiet grunt.

There before them, splayed in the middle of her bed, was Y/N. She'd listened to Morgan's instructions, having stripped completely bare. Her fingers traced leisurely up and down the inside of her thigh, and there was a coy smirk on her face as she glanced up at them.

"Finally," she sighed, sitting up as they began to strip out of their clothes. "And here I was thinking I was about to have to take care of myself."

Derek arched a brow, tossing his shirt to the floor. Spencer followed suit, lifting his hoodie over his head and letting it fall to the ground. Y/N watched eagerly as more and more of their skin was revealed, deepening the aching need throbbing between her legs.

"You sure you wanna keep running that mouth of yours?" Morgan chuckled, reaching down to shove his sweats down. The sight sent a thrill through her body as she let her gaze wander down his torso, landing on his hardening cock. Her breath hitched as he wrapped a hand around it, stroking himself once before stepping forward.

Spencer froze as he watched Derek round the bed, tossing his condom onto her nightstand before kneeling on it behind Y/N. His fingers lingered on the waistband of his plaid pajama pants, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn't help but stare as she shifted up onto her hands and knees, wiggling her ass enticingly in Morgan's direction as she kept her heated gaze locked on him.

"I'm sure—"

Her words were cut off by a yelp, her body jolting forward as a sharp smack sounded through the room. Reid's eyes widened, his cock twitching in his pants reminding him that he was supposed to be taking them off. He quickly sprung back into action, hurriedly stepping out of them.

"Since you're so sure..." Derek mocked her. "Then he'll just have to fill that pretty mouth up until you can use it to be nice."

He motioned for Spencer to move in front of her before pushing the back of her head down, leaving her propped on her elbows with her ass in the air and her head near the edge of the mattress. His hands rubbed up and down her sides, massaging gently as he settled behind her. "If you need us to stop, you just tell us, princess. Got it?"

"Got it," Y/N whimpered softly before another sharp smack landed on her ass. She cried out, savoring the slight stinging left behind from the motion.

Spencer's hand landed on her shoulder, stroking gently before guiding her chin up, waiting for her to lift back up onto her arms. His thumb traced her lower lip almost reverently before he stooped down to meld his mouth to hers in a hungry kiss. The moan that rumbled in her throat only spurred him on, and his tongue prodded at the seam of her lips briefly before he broke the kiss, straightening his back.

"Come on then, sweetheart," Spencer murmured breathlessly, reaching down to grab himself before tapping the flushed head of his cock against her bottom lip. "You heard him."

Y/N's tongue poked out to circle the tip before she moved forward, wrapping her lips around him. A groan slipped from his mouth as she worked her way down his length, adjusting herself to the feel of him in her mouth. She was honestly surprised when she got her first look at both of them—they were big.

Morgan waited until she found a steady rhythm to let his fingers drift down to her pussy, swiftly thrusting two inside of her. Her surprised cry was muffled by her mouthful, and he smirked, cocking his head as he began a brutal pace. "Huh? What was that?" He taunted, palming her ass cheek. "Couldn't hear you over all that gagging you're doing."

Spencer brought a hand up to cup her face as Y/N continued sucking, stroking his thumb along the indention his cock was causing against her cheek. The whine she let out around him was pitiful, but fuck did it feel good. He fought the urge to thrust forward into the warmth of her mouth, letting her keep a pace she was comfortable with.

"It better have been an apology," Derek continued, curling his fingers to stroke the rough patch of nerves inside of her that had her shoving her hips back into his touch. "You certainly owe us one. Doesn't she, Reid?"

Spencer chuckled breathlessly, nodding in agreement. He rested his free hand on the back of her head, keeping the pressure light enough to where he wasn't pushing down but enough for her to register the feeling. "She definitely does," he murmured.

“Then it's settled," Morgan hummed, pulling his fingers out of her dripping core. "Say you’re sorry to us, princess,” he demanded, landing a harsh slap to her ass.

Y/N let out a muffled cry around Spencer’s cock, gagging slightly as the movement pushed her forward. Spencer gently tugged her off of him, groaning at the line of spit drawing a bridge between his flushed head and her swollen lips. He looked down at her expectantly, stroking her cheek as he waited patiently.

“I-I’m sorry!” Y/N sobbed, looking up at Spencer with watery eyes.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d say she almost looked sweet with her flushed cheeks and pouty lips. But he did know better, and he knew that her being such a brat was exactly what landed her here.

“You behave and I promise I’ll take care of you, sweetheart,” Reid murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head before guiding her mouth back onto his cock.

Morgan chuckled darkly from behind her, massaging the tender skin for a moment before reeling back and landing another sharp hit to the same spot. Y/N's noise was stifled by the thick cock currently stuffed down her throat, effectively gagging her in the most erotic way. He repeated the motion, his eyes locked on the way her ass rippled underneath his palm.

"You better be thankful he's here, pretty girl. If it were up to me, you wouldn't be cumming at all tonight because of how you've acted."

That prompted a low whine from the back of her throat, causing Spencer's hips to jerk forward and a whimper to slip from his lips as the vibrations caused pleasure to sear through his veins. Taking it as encouragement, Y/N continued bobbing her head along his length, fighting against her gag reflex each time she took him deep into her throat. It was needy and messy, the sight of her spit dripping down her chin and her smudged mascara enough to make Spencer throw his head back and squeeze his eyes shut so he didn't cum down her throat.

While Y/N was distracted, Derek had reached for the condom he'd set down on her nightstand and slid it on. He shifted behind her to line himself up at her entrance, running the head of his cock up and down her slit before pushing forward.

She instantly keened at the sensation of him filling her up, her mouth hanging open and letting Spencer's length slip out as her eyes squeezed shut.

"Shh, that's it," Reid cooed, stroking her cheek gently with one hand while fisting himself with the other, pumping himself slowly. "You're doing such a good job, sweetheart. God, you're so beautiful."

"Fuck—" Y/N cried out, her body rocking from the brutal pace Derek set.

“I didn’t tell you to stop, princess,” Morgan grunted between thrusts, reaching up to shove her head back down on Spencer’s cock. "And you better not fucking cum."

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she began to bob her head once more, her moans muffled and blended with theirs. She could feel her arousal dripping down her thighs, a physical reminder of how turned on she was from letting the two agents sent to protect her use her, her pussy clenching around him at the thought. The pleasure coursing through her was overwhelming as Derek began to stroke her clit in time with his thrusts, taunting her even further with the orgasm she couldn't have yet.

It didn't take long for Morgan's hips to stutter, ramming into her for a few more thrusts before he emptied everything he had into the condom with a shout. Y/N's body trembled with exertion as she fought her climax with every ounce of willpower she had, wanting to prove to both of them that she could be good. Reid wasn't far behind him, shooting ropes of warm liquid down her throat as he groaned her name over and over, his hips bucking into her mouth sloppily. Morgan rode out his high with a few more weak thrusts before slipping out of her, landing one final slap to her ass with a tired grin.

"I think she's learned her lesson from me," Derek chuckled, gathering his clothes and slipping them back on. "Have at her, kid."

Y/N let Spencer's softening cock slip free from her lips, her chest heaving and face flushed as she fought to catch her breath. The sound of the door closing prompted her to look up at him, her eyes blurred from tears. Spencer smiled softly, moving to hover above her on the bed.

"You did—" Reid kissed her lips tenderly. "So, so good, sweetheart," he murmured as his lips trailed down to her breasts, a soft gasp falling from her lips as his tongue swirled around one of her taut nipples before sucking it into his mouth. "And now—" His words were muffled around her skin. "I'm going to make you cum—" He pulled away, blowing softly on the pert bud before switching to the other. "Over and over and over."

Y/N arched into his touch, tangling his fingers into his hair as his lips moved down her body. "Please," she whimpered, spreading her shaky legs to make room for him.

Spencer took mercy on her, latching his mouth onto her clit and suckling gently before lapping up her essence in slow, hard strokes. A guttural groan fell from her lips as he began to devour her, his own needy moans against her skin pushing her that much closer to her already devastatingly close orgasm. Her hips began to rock against his face as her grip on his hair tightened, incomprehensible babbles of his name leaving her over and over as the pleasure in her stomach coiled tightly.

All it took was the feeling of his tongue prodding against her entrance for her climax to seize her. Wrecked cries filled the room as she thrashed beneath him, her head falling back against her pillows as he continued working her through it.

True to his word, Spencer made her cum another two times after that before finally relenting, pressing a sticky kiss to her forehead before trotting off down the stairs to grab her a water bottle.

When he returned to her room, he gently coaxed her into sitting up and drinking, rambling softly about the importance of hydration after intense physical activity. Too drained to say much, she offered a weak smile and murmured a quiet thank you before handing the bottle back. She then curled up against her pillows, surrendering to the exhaustion pulling at her—but not without asking him to stay.

The next morning, when Morgan and Reid got the call that the stalker had been arrested, they exchanged a small, knowing grin before heading off to share the good news with Y/N. And when she slipped her number into their pockets with a casual "hit me up if you're ever in town" while hugging them goodbye… well, Hotch didn’t need to know about that, either.

Continued A/N's: This took a bit longer to post than I originally planned because I kept coming back to add more whoops I'm so sorry for the delay!! But I hope you guys enjoy it and of course please feel free to let me know what you think! :) <3

REMINDER: I do not give permission for my work to be re-uploaded to any other platforms (c.ai, Tiktok, ao3, etc.) under any circumstances. If you'd like to translate my work, then please just ask me before doing so. I know it sounds whiny, but I (as well as many other fanfic writers) spend so much time on these and it's genuinely not okay to take credit for work that isn't yours. It's insulting and completely unnecessary. If I do see my work uploaded anywhere without explicit permission, I WILL say something.

[bumblesimagines]

Familiar Faces

Request: Yes or No

Summary: When his afternoon takes an unusual shift, (Y/N) reacquaints himself with his neighbor and an old classmate.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical Twilight warnings, mentions of emotionally and physically absent parents, not much tbh

I decided to give the book another chance! divider by thecutestgrotto

~~~

"Move your ass or I'm going to dump all your makeup in a pot of boiling water, Abby!"

He waited a moment, then felt a surge of satisfaction when the shuffling upstairs became a hurried thumping of footsteps, quickening their pace in fleeting worry of the threat. (Y/N) waited at the base of the stairs, his arms crossed over his chest and foot tapping impatiently against the old wooden floorboard beneath him. It was an empty threat, of course; he'd never let money go to waste.

His precious little sister was no longer the toddler who wept until he bundled her into his arms or the little girl who clung to his pant legs while suckling on her thumb until it turned bright red. She'd reached the tiresome age of thirteen, when she still dove toward him for safety during horror movies but stuck her nose up at his help. This was the age when children became teenagers, and their interests faded from dolls and playdates to makeup and hangouts at the mall with friends and potential future partners.

He missed those days. He'd give anything to return to them instead of working at some low-end diner where he served food to truckers, lumberjacks, and fishermen who'd known him his whole life. 

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Abby appeared on the landing, no longer wearing her strawberry-print pajamas or fuzzy red socks. A small huff left her before she rapidly descended the stairs and hopped down from the last step. The bottom of her low-top black converses landed on the floorboard with a loud and purposeful thump!

He scanned her powdered pink cheeks and the clumpy mascara sticking to her lashes, his arms dropping to retrieve her backpack from the floor. "You look like a clown."

"As if you'd know anything about makeup, asshat." Another thing about reaching thirteen: learning curse words and sounding like someone trying to speak a language they'd never practiced before. His smirk only made her roll her eyes and snatch the backpack from his hands, quiet huffy muttering filling the air.

Living with a preteen girl was certainly something. 

Once he slipped on his muddy, worn-out boots (and pointedly ignored Abby's mutters about getting new ones or at least cleaning them), he stepped out onto their wet porch and held the door open for Abby. His eyes tracked her as she made her way down the steps, a quiet hum of disappointment vibrating in his throat when the wet stairs failed to make her slip as they so often did. It was the highlight of his day, and he often took it as a good sign. 

Abby glared at him over her shoulder and he quietly snickered, locking up the house and wiggling the doorknob before carefully following her to his car. His head tilted toward their next-door neighbor's house when he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. He met Chief Swan's eye across the mini swamp of halfway submerged grass and mud combining their small front yards. Chief Swan raised his arm in greeting and then looked toward the figure standing on his porch, speaking words lost in the distance. 

Oh, right. His daughter was back in town. How could he forget when it was the latest buzz?

"Morning, (Y/N), Abigail!" Chief Swan called, and his daughter, Isabella, snapped her head in her father's direction with wide eyes. She looked at him, almost pleadingly, but her father either remained oblivious or purposefully ignored her because he made his way toward them and motioned for her to follow. Her nose crinkled as she trekked through the grass, taking long strides to avoid getting her shoes too muddy and wet. "You remember my daughter, right?"

"Yeah." Vaguely. He recalled 'playdates' when they were younger, the two of them sat side by side with little Jacob Black and his twin sisters on a fishing boat during the summer while their fathers fished and laughed about things their young minds couldn't fully understand. Most of the time, they were forced to 'play' while the adults sat by idly. He offered her a nod and she lifted her fingers off her backpack strap in greeting. "How are you, Isabella?"

"Good." She smiled nervously and visibly swallowed. Definitely not good. "Bella's fine, by the way."

"Bell, remember Abigail?" 

At the sound of her name, Abby looked up from her phone and squinted briefly at Bella before one of those polite I-have-no-idea-who-you-are smiles appeared on her face; the types of smiles you wore when a distinctively familiar elderly woman approached you with claims of having once changed your diaper. It was expected given Abby had been a toddler verging on child when the two of them were finally given the option to hang out with the adults or not. Bella held Abby exactly one time back then, and she'd looked as rigid as a statue the entire time.

"Mhm." Bella nodded weakly. "Hi."

"Hi." Abby turned back to her phone, wholly uninterested in catching up with someone she scarcely remembered. Bella looked relieved.

From the depths of his memories, he dragged out an image of Bella from their childhood and compared it to the young girl standing on the line between teenhood and adulthood. She was skinny and soft-looking, her cheeks still round with youthful fat and naturally flushed from the cold damp air but her limbs were long and almost lanky, unlike the small girl he remembered. She'd never been interesting looking with her pale skin, average chestnut brown hair, and normal brown eyes but she was pretty, in a conventionally attractive kind of way.

Awkwardness and tension forced her into a hunch, her head dipped and hands curled around her backpack straps to give an almost boxy look to her figure. Shy as always but perfectly average-looking like everyone else in town, apart from the Cullens, of course. Nothing made her stand out, and he assumed it was something she was relieved by. It was better that way in small towns. 

"We should get going." (Y/N) said, tearing his eyes away from Bella who'd also been flickering her eyes between him and his sister, likely updating the images in her head of them like he'd done. He jerked his head in Abby's direction. "I gotta get this one to school."

"Forks Juinor High is on the way to Forks High, isn't it?" Chief Swan questioned as if he didn't have the whole town and each individual street memorized, his blunt nails lightly scraping against the growing stubble along his jaw and cheeks in thought. (Y/N) was fairly certain he could drive around blindfolded and never miss a single turn. 

"Dad-"

"Why don't you drop Bella off? The truck's still got a dent from that accident." Chief's Swan voice went up a pitch, containing a certain tone (Y/N) was more than familiar with. It was a scheming type of tone, the type your aunts would have when they were subtly trying to set you up with someone while pretending otherwise.

In a far, distant memory of his childhood, he vaguely recalled Bella's mother once cooing over how 'perfect' and 'meant to be' he and Bella were when they were children. He was fairly certain the only thing they were perfect for was pretending and occasionally helping decorate each other's trees for Christmas.

"Dad." Bella looked positively mortified, so much so the tips of her ears turned a bright red. (Y/N) would've felt bad if it weren't a little amusing. "It's fine, I swear. It's a small dent, it's nothing-"

"Safety first, Bell." Chief Swan lifted his bushy brows at her and placed his hands over his hips in a typical dad pose before he turned back to him. "You don't mind, do you, (Y/N)? It'll give you time to catch up."

"Fine by me." (Y/N) chuckled and Bella's shoulders slumped with defeat. "Hop in, Bella." 

The ride to Forks Junior High was mostly silent, apart from the soft sound of the warm air pumping inside and the tapping of Abby's nails against her phone screen. Bella fiddled with the zipper of her backpack and glanced at him occasionally, lips parting as if to say something but chickening out last minute each time. He tried to keep his focus on the road, and then the carpool line, gazing at the school containing an ocean of memories. 

"Did you do your Civics homework?" He glanced at Abby in the rearview mirror, catching the way her lips pursed and a second of panic flashed over her face. He shook his head as the car slowed to a stop, listening to the soft click of the doors unlocking. "Finish it before class, alright?"

"Yeah, yeah." Abby slung her backpack over her shoulder and pushed the door open, hopping out of the car and slamming it behind her. A second later, she opened it again to call out a quick 'love you!' before she shut it and hurried off to group up with her circle of friends.

They greeted each other enthusiastically, hugs going all around before they huddled together, likely to gossip or gush over some dumb boy they'd forget about by the time the winter formal strolled around. He assumed half her friends would take up cheerleading in high school, not that Forks had much to cheer on with their mediocre school teams. (Y/N) already predicted Abby would follow suit and take on being a cheerleader just to have something in common with them. 

Bella chewed on her bottom lip and watched the middle school pass on by, the view replaced by a long expanse of towering trees. "She's taller than I expected. What is she, fourteen?" She turned to look at him, her toothless smile telling him she was simply trying to break the silence before it could grow unbearably uncomfortable. 

"Thirteen." He corrected with a heavy sigh. The word weighed heavy on his tongue. Thirteen would become fourteen and fourteen would become sixteen and soon he'd have a high school senior searching for colleges on his hands threatening to take his little firecracker away from him. "She's doing better than I was in middle school."

Bella laughed softly at that and the gripping tension in her shoulders disappeared. Her body slouched more comfortably against the car seat and her fidgeting fingers smoothed out along her backpack, the smile on her face turning into a more genuine one. "Charlie says you graduated last year. What are you still doing here?" Her head lolled back against the headrest, dark eyes watching him with soft interest.

"Mom works long hours at the hospital and Dad's always on the road. Someone has to keep an eye on Abby." (Y/N) shrugged casually despite the pinch of bitterness in his gut.

It'd been an option, his mother had insisted a few weeks before he was supposed to walk across the stage and grab his diploma, to teach Abby some of the basics so she could cook herself some meals. He hardly found it fair for her to be forced to basically live alone in a two-story house with no one else to tend to her apart from the rare times their mother had days off, but she usually spent those downing whatever liquor they had and sleeping the day away to actually count as time off work. 

"Do.. do you wish it was different?" Bella asked tentatively and she pushed herself to sit up straighter when the tall brick buildings of Forks High peeked over the treeline. She zipped up her crinkling coat and adjusted her backpack so one strap was snug over her shoulder and halfway resting on her thigh. 

"Sometimes." He nodded and felt a wave of deja vu wash over him when he pulled into the parking lot of the school. Four years of familiarizing himself with the route, three years of actually driving it and obtaining a parking spot most of his former classmates associated with him.

(Y/N) carefully drove through the parking lot, occasionally coming to a full stop to allow groups of students to hurry on by, and he almost immediately found his eye drawn to the shiny volvo just a parking spot ahead. The Cullens were gathered around, having just arrived from the looks of it; their car doors were still open, and the big bulky guy he always considered linebacker material was retrieving his backpack from the floor of the back seat.

(Y/N) wasn't familiar with the Cullens. The five of them had enrolled during his junior year and while they'd captivated his attention, he'd never been one for gossip. The boyish one with bronze waves and an air of grumpy indifference otherwise known as Edward secured himself a spot in an AP History class with (Y/N) during his senior year, but the singular time they'd interacted was when Edward had been chosen to hand out a paper for an essay.

That was about as much interaction as he had with the startling beautiful family, though (when she was coherent and conscious) his mother blabbered about how handsome and kind their father, Dr. Cullen, was. He made it a point to stay away from the hospital so he took her word for it.

"Should I drop you off with your friends?" He questioned, scanning the student body shuffling through campus or taking time to squeeze whatever water they could from their pant legs.

"Uh," Bella's eyes briefly flickered to a small group huddled together consisting of two brunettes, a blond jock, and a shorter guy who appeared deep into a debate nobody was particularly paying close attention to. She cleared her throat and shook her head, even ducking her head slightly when the car passed by them. "No, you can, uhm... you can drop me off by the curb. It's fine." 

Carefully maneuvering on the slick road, he stopped by the sidewalk leading up to the building and watched her fumble with the seatbelt, attempting to be quick but it effectively got her nowhere. A quiet, rushed apology tumbled from her lips before she pushed the door and stumbled out, nearly tripping on the curb but catching herself in time. Jesus, this girl. It was a miracle she didn't land herself in the hospital every week.

She ducked her head to smile at him, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Thanks for the ride. I'll see you later at pick-up?"

"Yep." She was like a deer- or a fawn, actually. Trembling legs and survival instincts that'd yet to kick in.

"Great, bye!"

Bella moved to shut the door only to catch it before it could shut properly. Her body stiffened and she held it for a brief second, as if her mind caught up to what her body had done, before she opened it again and ducked down to smile sheepishly at him. She hooked her finger around a strand that slipped over her face and her eyes flickered around the interior of his car nervously. 

"I.. I was wondering if you wanted to come to Seattle a week from Saturday with me- if you can, of course. I want to stop by and grab a few books, and maybe some clothes." Bella explained, shifting her weight from foot to foot as the consequence of her uncomfortable position settled onto her back. She then rushed out, "It's okay if you can't. I just thought it'd be nice to go with someone." 

"Sure, sounds good." He nodded, and she visibly relaxed once more. "I don't mind." 

"Cool." She nodded too and remained still as her mouth pressed into an awkward line. "Okay, uhm.. bye, again."

This time she let the door close completely and he chuckled under his breath, watching her quickly make her way toward the building to get out of the light drizzle right as Edward Cullen caught up with her. He arched a surprised brow at the sight of them together but from the irritated way Bella looked at him, he assumed they were far from friends. Edward looked amused, though. He spared a glance over his shoulder at (Y/N) and- much to his surprise, again- he raised his hand to give a small wave.

Did he remember him from History class? Maybe.. no, definitely. Why else would he wave to a complete stranger? Clearing his throat, (Y/N) waved back, which seemed to please the usually scowling boy. Edward turned back to Bella and spoke to her, prompting a flustered scowl and a peek over her shoulder at him. 

(Y/N) tore his eyes off the two and stepped on the gas, carefully avoiding getting caught in any iced-over parts and dragging a poor student along with him before he drove back onto the road. 

The diner he worked at, like most places in Forks, was just off the interstate and separated from other buildings by short expanses of woods on three sides. The neon lights that once shone vibrantly had dulled into a lime green color that read Milton's Diner during the daylight and Din in sparse flickers during nighttime, hardly inviting but it still had its fair share of loyal customers shuffling in and out throughout the week. It was a small, shabby, diner run by the same family throughout the decades.

It was there before him and it'd probably be there long after he perished.

Like a switch was flipped in his head, (Y/N) settled into work mode the second he stepped inside and found his nose assaulted with the smell of brewing coffee and cooking oil. He felt as if he'd stepped out of his body and left it to run on autopilot while he took orders, answered questions, laughed at jokes he'd heard a million times over, and balanced hot plates on his arms until the rush of morning slowed into the even pace of the afternoon.

He always knew he wasn't destined for much outside of Forks, or the dingy diner he worked at.

A certain hope lingered with him through his high school years, one that told him he could make it out of his small town and make something of himself, but that'd been promptly crushed under the heel of parents who'd had no business having a second child when they barely tended to their first. He wanted to hate them, to scream at them each time he saw them, but when he took in the exhaustion they wore like second skin, he always thought twice about it. 

The soft ding of the bell brought him back from his daily pity party and he pushed himself off the wall, already deducing the only other waiter working was on her tenth smoke break despite having only clocked in an hour prior. He reached into his apron and tugged out his notepad and pen, the greeting automatically rolling off his tongue before he even looked up. 

Bella stared at him in alarm, already halfway into one of the booths. Edward looked overly amused.

(Y/N) was no stranger to ditching class or recognizing former classmates on impromptu dates but he never expected Isabella Swan would be the type to do either of those things. Her face flushed in that familiar shade of red and she glared accusingly at Edward, her body lightly thumping against the cushion of the booth when she sat.

He tilted his head toward the old and chipped grandfather clock pressed against the wall by the counter. "Shouldn't you be in school?" He questioned them, pointing his gaze at Bella because he knew what her father would think about it. He had little idea what rules Dr. Cullen imposed on his adopted kids.

"I-" 

"Bella fainted," Edward stated, grinning when Bella glared at him again before he continued. "She wasn't feeling well so I offered to drive her home." 

"And you came here instead?" 

"And we came here instead." Edward nodded, almost as if he were a regular customer and not someone who looked like he belonged at a three-Michelin-star restaurant.

Edward picked up the flappy and likely sticky menu to study it, his eyes flickering over it too quickly for someone who was actually taking time to look at the options before he set it back down and peered up at him.

His eyes were an interesting shade of golden brown, which was odd considering (Y/N) recalled them being a whole lot darker the last time he saw him up close. He still looked other-worldly, like a model in a magazine whose face had been photoshopped to rid it of any imperfections, yet the area below his eyes was a darker shade as if he wasn't getting enough sleep. Strange for a kid who likely slept on the most expensive mattress and nicest of sheets.

"I'll get a black coffee." 

"I thought you were hungry," Bella said under her breath, hands roughly tugging at the sleeves of her wet jacket until it was snugly set beside her and draped over her backpack. 

Edward barely glanced at the menu. "And fries."

By the time (Y/N) turned around toward the counter, Dolores had returned to her spot behind it and set a cup of steaming black coffee for him to retrieve before turning to shout the simple order into the kitchen in her nasally voice. He shot her a thankful smile and she nodded in return with her usual blank expression, her attention more focused on squinting at Edward before looking away to read the newspaper she'd abandoned in favor of smoking.

Gingerly setting the coffee down in front of Edward, he looked to Bella but she shook her head dismissively. He gave a quiet hum of acknowledgment and tucked his notepad away, sparing the two another look before spinning on his heels and retreating to his corner while he waited for the fries. He tried not to watch them but they were virtually the only people in the diner, apart from an old man at the end of the counter who was blatantly dozing off over his half-eaten burger. 

Bella and Edward had a hushed conversation, one that seemed to amplify her irritation and his amusement. Every so often, her shoulders would slump and her features would relax, and occasionally his expression would tighten with seriousness before melting back into that casual, nearly teasing smile.

They were a strange duo but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Bella was so... Bella and Edward was the quietest of his siblings, perhaps even the normal one of the bunch.

The rattle and thump of the fries took his attention off the two and he slinked up to the counter right as Dolores plopped the basket onto the counter without looking up from her newspaper. He picked it up and took a few steps toward their booth, the smell of the warm fries tantalizing to his senses and he reluctantly parted ways with it. Before he could turn, Edward caught his eye.

"Sit with us." He said, and he added another layer of absurdity by scooting further into the corner and patting the spot beside him.

Did Edward Cullen believe they were... friends? He frantically thought back to his high school years post-Cullens but he only managed to recall the one singular interaction where he'd only muttered a quiet thanks and the few times he'd pass him or one of his siblings in the hallways. Maybe he thought there was mutual respect. Maybe he was thankful (Y/N) hadn't spent his time gawking at him and his family like everyone else.

"I'm working." He mumbled.

Edward surveyed the diner and then quirked a brow at him as if to say 'Seriously? That's your excuse?' so (Y/N) reluctantly slid into the booth beside him. Bella's eyes flickered between them, more perplexed than surprised, but she made no comment about it and instead fished out a fry to nibble on. Edward propped his head on his fist and kept his other hand spread over his thigh, at no point making any move to drink his coffee.

(Y/N) waited for a minute of silence and no movement to pass before he reached out to grab the coffee and some sugar packets from the little tray pressed against the wall. Edward only smiled and watched, a light laugh vibrating in his chest when (Y/N) sipped on it and immediately crinkled his nose.

"Edward is insistent on joining us on our trip to Seattle. I hope that's okay?" Bella's brows lifted in a pleading kind of way, her puckered lips and the way she glanced at Edward telling him she definitely tried diverting the subject but ended up giving in.

"You two can go." He spoke in a tone he hoped reassured her he wasn't mad about it. He wondered how much Charlie knew about the trip. Would he have to cover for her? 

"No," Edward shook his head and one of his wavy strands fell over his forehead. "The three of us will go. We'll take my car." 

Who was he to argue with a Cullen and deny himself a taste of their fancy lifestyle?

"How long have you been working here?" Bella asked, her chin tilted up and eyes roving over the random posters, license plates, signs, and animal head mounts scattered across the walls.

If she was looking for an aesthetic, she wasn't going to find one. The decorations had a habit of suddenly appearing with little to no explanation, and they didn't pay (Y/N) to question their choice of interior design. He could, however, do without a mounted deer staring at him while he worked.

"A while." (Y/N) answered, regretfully taking another sip of the coffee out of habit. Edward laughed again and attempted to muffle it by pressing his mouth into his knuckles when (Y/N) glanced at him. "Mom's work pays for most of the bills but I have to pay for my car, groceries, anything Abby needs or wants. I started working so I wouldn't have to bother her all the time."

"She's your mom," Edward said suddenly, his brows furrowing. "It shouldn't bother her." 

"She works long hours." (Y/N) shrugged but Edward still looked unconvinced. Annoyed, even.

Bella hummed. "And your dad? Is he still driving trucks?" 

His lips pursed. "I think. I haven't seen him around for a while but he sends money sometimes so he's still alive... somewhere. Sometimes I think he has a new family somewhere else."

Silence fell over the table, as it usually did when (Y/N) revealed his family wasn't exactly the white picket fence type. Bella looked sympathetic, but (Y/N) knew she was familiar with the struggle of having a somewhat incompetent parent and a borderline absent one, even though it'd been her choice to spend more time with Renée. Edward, on the other hand, looked furious with his deep frown and knitted brows that formed creases in his otherwise smooth skin.

"So, uh," (Y/N) cleared his throat, eager for a subject change away from him and his family. "How'd you two meet?"

"Biology," Bella answered yet her eyes were more focused on studying Edward. "We- We sit next to each other."

(Y/N) tried to ignore Edward staring a hole into the side of his head. He was sort of.. weird.  "Ah... well, we had History together last year. I don't remember where we sa-"

"I sat on the row directly behind you." Edward interrupted, his voice quiet yet naturally attention-grabbing.

"There wasn't a sitting chart but you sat in the same spot by the window the whole year and you spent half of the class each day staring out of it at the forest but you always got good grades. Kayla Patton and Chloe Asaka were the ones who sat next to you most often; Kayla because she had a crush on you and Chloe because she's known you since middle school and you had another class together. You were one of Mr. Wallace's favorites and you were always in class earlier than everyone talking to him even though everyone hates him because he's strict."

(Y/N) could only stare at the bronze-haired boy beside him in startled silence. He'd forgotten about Kayla Patton entirely, let alone even realized Edward Cullen had spent the entire year faithfully sitting behind him. The amount of conversations he must've overheard, the amount of habits he must've picked up on. He felt a hint of fleeting guilt for not having taken note of the Cullen earlier. 

"History couldn't have been that boring." He exhaled, suddenly feeling wildly shy.

He always considered himself more of a passerby, someone who blended into the background and went unnoticed by strangers. People recognized him, it was a given in a small town, but it was never the kind of attention that implied they were looking or waiting for him because they wanted to be in his presence. Yet, perhaps the most wanted boy in school, had paid him attention. Had he worried each time (Y/N) called out sick? Was he relieved each time he appeared the following day?

"It wasn't." Edward agreed, the anger replaced with soft amusement. The gentleness on his face was almost tender, like the way Chief Swan used to gaze at Renée before their divorce. "You were just more interesting."

Edward was full of surprises, and (Y/N) had never been a big fan of them. Heat licked up the back of his neck and bit at his cheeks, ones that were already warm from the smoke slipping out from the kitchen. He looked away from Edward with a quiet noise and when the Cullen chuckled, low and husky and vaguely flustered, (Y/N)'s heart undoubtedly skipped a beat.

Ah, shit. He'd been hoping he was immune to the untouchable Cullens.

No matter what he did, he couldn't get Edward and his stupid words out of his head. He'd forgotten how irritating and distracting crushes were- ugh God, was it really a crush?

Edward was undeniably attractive, he recognized it the second he and his siblings became the talk of the town, but he'd never actually been attracted to him. He'd had always been Edward Cullen, the guy whose model-like siblings were dating each other and nobody truly cared because they 'weren't actually related'. But now, each time he closed his eyes, Edward's pretty honey eyes flashed in his head, crinkled with warmth and humor.

He was hyper-aware of himself now too, and when he usually tossed on whatever was in reach, he took a moment to think about his clothes before realization slammed into him each time. 

He wanted to strangle Edward, or better yet, run him over until his pretty face remained permanently disfigured and he had to remain on permanent bed rest so (Y/N) would never have to lay eyes on him again. 

Maybe he wasn't the best at processing his emotions...

(Y/N) swirled around the soggy cereal in his bowl and watched the remaining Cheerios swim along the milk, waiting to be eaten or dumped down the drain. Abby, thankfully, hadn't caught on yet to his predicament and he wanted to keep it that way. (Y/N) (L/N) had better and more important things to fret over than some stupid guy.

His head lifted when he heard two soft knocks on the door, and he waited until he heard another before scooping the bowl into his hand and chugging half of the remaining milk. The bowl clattered softly when he placed it into the sink and he wiped at his mouth, mentally flickering back through the checklist he'd made for Abby when she told him of sleeping over at her friend's place. Instead of seeing his sister standing on the porch, he saw their neighbor.

"Bella," He greeted and he looked her over, unconsciously searching for an injury or anything that could explain her sudden appearance. It was a Saturday but Charlie was working and he guessed it was easier to cross the yard than search the town for her father if she needed help. Bella looked unnaturally frustrated.

"Can I.. talk to you about something?" She asked, fiddling with the sleeves of her rain jacket.

He frowned. "Of course." 

With Abby having a sleepover at her friend's house and their mother essentially living at the hospital, the house was silent. Bella reacquainted herself with the interior, gazing over dusty picture frames and running her finger along the old railing as they made their way up into his bedroom. He couldn't recall the last time he'd had someone over who wasn't Abby's friend.

"You okay?" He asked and took a seat on the edge of the bed, head raised to observe her fully. Bella rocked back and forth on her feet and chewed on her bottom lip, her anxiety making him anxious. "Bella-" 

"This is going to sound crazy.. but hear me out." She began, not the start he wanted to hear but he nonetheless nodded for her to continue with furrowed brows. "I bumped into Jacob at the bonfire Mike invited me to yesterday night and he mentioned some things that had me thinking about the Cullens." 

"The Cullens?" He repeated, his confusion heightening as Bella began to pace his room, her fingers now toying with the ends of her hair.

"The tribe has stories about these 'people' they call the Cold Ones. Have.. have you ever noticed how Edward's eyes sometimes change color? From black to gold? Or how they're strangely pale and have this almost inhuman beauty? And when I had my accident, Edward was nowhere near me yet he managed to be at my side in seconds and left a dent in Tyler's van with his hands." 

"Okay." (Y/N) said long and slow as he attempted to piece the puzzle she was spewing together. "What exactly are you saying?"

"I think- I think Edward and his family are vampires, (Y/N)." 

[anorlondo00]

I do not care at all about sports and the sum total of my knowledge about American football is what I remember from reading Eyeshield 21 fifteen plus years ago, BUT. I am now invested in the football AU. Ace and Luffy are the mascots of the team and everyone loves them. They can do no wrong in Oyaji's eyes and he will let them get away with murder. In return, both of them are seriously devoted to making the team The Best EverTM. The first time the Whitebeards saw Ace throw a hail mary pass they swore it was going way too wide until Luffy tore down the whole length of the field, leapt like the monkey he is higher than anyone thought possible and slammed that ball down. Now the Whitebeards know to expect anything.

Also in my head Ace is the canon 2-3 years older than Luffy, and while he only became his legal guardian upon turning 18, he has helped raised him and the Whitebeards do a double-take every time responsible Ace comes out. Before Luffy joins the team Ace has to beg early off practice to go to a parent-teacher conference. After they're both on the team Ace still makes him PB&J sandwiches after practice, unruffled by doing it in front of everyone in the locker room.

Bootleg Marineford is a game where everyone (and especially Ace, under a lot of pressure) has been physically and mentally wrung out. The Marines team keep trying to sack Ace and get closer and closer, but Marco digs in his heels and makes an impassable barrier of himself. Until there's a crack in the line... And a small opening forms where Teach, who has been fighting with everyone recently, but especially Whitebeard and Ace, stands. Offensive player Akainu, who probably weighs twice what Ace does, hits him like an avalanche. Ace goes down. When Akainu is finally dragged off him, he stays down.

Luffy and Whitebeard are sprinting across the field toward Ace, but Marco's mind has hit the blue screen of death. There's nothing but static behind his eyes as he stares at his fallen quarterback.

The game is suspended and put up for a rematch. Neither Ace nor Marco, who did his level best to murder Akainu right there on the field, play.

(Ace is eventually fine, but now knows up front and personal the effects of a long-term concussion).

Claims not to know that much about American football, proceeds to clearly and accurately describe the exact plot I was also imagining—

YES! Are you KIDDING ME? This is perfect, I’ve got more

They don’t call him ‘Fire Fist’ for nothing, the kid throws missiles. The way Ace and Luffy find each other across an entire football field drops most people’s jaws.

Luffy will track the ball wherever Aces throws it. If Luffy get’s hurt in a collision catching the ball, Ace firmly believes that’s his fault.

That being said, Luffy is notoriously indestructible.

Bootleg Marineford: (That’s a hilarious thing to call it btw)

There was a flag thrown the second Ace got hit. Yes, it was Teach’s fault for leaving an open window. And. Akainu was needlessly brutal. Whitebeard was cursing him out before they even hit the ground.

Luffy was incredibly protective over Ace while he was unconscious. There were cameras everywhere.

Marco needed three people to pull him off Akainu. Instead of apologizing, he later told the media he’d gladly do it again.

Ace is out for the rest of the season. He’s absolutely devastated. That being said, he stood on the sidelines for every game.

Physical and neurological therapy were a bitch. Lots of ‘long talks’ with Pops.

Of course, Ace comes back to the field as soon as he’s better. Now, playing with the most overprotective offensive line you’ve ever seen in your life.

Thank you for writing this, it was so much fun to read!! And there’s a lot I didn't even mention like the adjusted age gap (perfect for this) and parent teacher conferences— I love it all!

[slcmml]

charlie & gn! reader — as long as i’m with you.

“i’d like to see the sharks.”

☆ this one is very self indulgent, because i adore sea life, but i like to imagine your first date with charlie was at an aquarium.

☆ he LOVES the touch tanks; he thinks they’re so fucking cool (and they are, by the way).

☆ walking through the underwater tunnel with him.. “are they fucking?” “..i think so.” “us?” “sure.”

☆ FEEDING THE ANIMALS WITH CHARLIE AUGGHHH!! he named each and every single animal he fed (despite them already having a name). “can i call you glub? you seem like a glub with the way you eat that fish.” “what does that even mean, charlie?”

☆ if you’re anything like me, then you definitely brought a polaroid camera with you. TAKING THE SILLIEST PHOTOS WITH CHARLIE AUGGHH.. kill me now.

☆ also buying the stupidest shit in the gift shop before you leave (shark gun shark gun shark gun)

“hey, that statue kind of looks like you!”

★ would it be horrible of me to say this is also self indulgent because i also adore museums?

★ now. i do not physically believe this museum date would be one of those cute ones where you hold hands and enjoy the silence together. because this is charlie we’re talking about.

★ he’s probably giggling at the paintings of naked people. “oh wow, he’s got a small cock.” “charlie, you said that so loud.”

★ physically cannot stand there and look at a painting for more than thirty seconds. he NEEDS to be in the kids section with all the interactive stuff.

“i fucking hate being an adult. why do stinky children get the cool shit?”

★ as always, will take the goofiest photos in front of anything he finds even slightly silly.

★ you both probably spend nothing more than an hour and a half in there before leaving to get something to eat, but that’s okay, the ice cream you shared was a banger.

“you spent fifty dollars trying to win me that?”

☆ arcade dates.. aughhh they’re so cute.. AND WITH CHARLIE??

☆ i think we all know the claw machines are rigged. but i’m not one to lay there and take it in the ass so i WILL spend as long as it takes trying to get a toy from it if charlie even SLIGHTLY mentions thinking it’s cute.

“babe, it’s fine, you don’t have to—” “i’m not letting this fucking machine dictate whether or not my boyfriend can have this goddamn octopus plush.”

☆ also i just KNOW that charlie would suck ass at dance dance revolution but he’d still spend at least half an hour going through songs and trying to win.

☆ spending SO fucking long going through the arcade games, trying to beat the high score on at least ONE of them (you never end up getting the high score).

“i’m tired, can we start heading back, please?”

★ i.. also enjoy hiking. another self indulgent one. but whatever.

★ you two probably take the silliest photos (like always). you laying on the ground, playing dead, in one photo while charlie has a shocked expression in the next.

★ collecting rocks and leafs. placing said rocks on the ground once you both decide to go off trail because it seemed fun. losing track of said rocks and getting lost.

“where the fuck are we?” “i think we’re in hell.”

★ watching as charlie tries to climb literally ANYTHING, and being slightly worried that he’ll fall.

★ getting SO fucking bored as you’re walking, trying to find the trail again, that you both just start playing i-spy.

“oh shit, oh fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! help me, i’m fucking falling!”

☆ roller skating dates.. mmmm.. has anyone seen that clip of charlie spinning around and then pointing to the camera? because of that clip, i don’t think he’s a HORRIBLE skater.. but definitely not a pro.

☆ he sure acts like it, though! tries to do these cool ass tricks and lands directly on his ass before whining about it.

“if i can jump and spin, can you please buy me nachos?”

☆ his ass does NOT land. you buy him nachos anyway.

☆ teehee.. i really like the idea of holding hands and skating around and just being silly little goobers.. charlie please save me, charlie if you can hear me, please save me charlie..

☆ takes your hand and dramatically dips you, “so, uh.. you come here often?” and then you both get off balance and fall.

© slcmml

[redroomreflections]

Hotel California | Track 15: Roadies

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha Romanoff, frontwoman of the punk rock band Velvet Rebellion, falls hard for a woman she believes is too good for her. Their intense relationship unfolds in the chaotic world of rock 'n' roll, where they struggle to balance fame, personal demons, and their undeniable passion for each other.

W/c: 6k

Chapter 15/20

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Note: Tour Life

Themes: love, fame, sex, drugs

OPENING NIGHT - MADISON SQUARE GARDEN - NEW YORK CITY

The anticipation in the arena was high. Seats were filled and packed to the brim. The smell of smoke and alcohol already filled the air; everyone dressed to the nines. The excitement buzzed, bringing strangers together as they murmured and cheered, some munching on popcorn, others dancing to the waiting music—tracks from Velvet Rebellion’s first album, Velvet Love. It’d been twenty minutes since the opener, Daisy Crowe, rocked the mic. Now was the time.

The lights dimmed.

Smoke and pyrotechnics hissed from the stage as the crowd roared. A spotlight hit center stage—Bucky, standing alone with his guitar slung low. He strummed the first notes, a sharp, electric riff that sliced through the noise, setting the arena on fire. One by one, the lights snapped on, revealing Wanda on bass, Steve on the keys, and Tony behind the drums, the beat building like a pulse. The crowd was losing it.

Backstage, the final preparations were a flurry of motion. A makeup artist gave last-minute touches to Natasha's face, technicians adjusted lighting and camera angles, and people raced from room to room, ensuring everything was in place.

You stood beside Natasha, trying to remain calm as you gazed around the space. You could hear the crowd roar. It felt unreal. Her fingers brushed over her jacket one last time as she met your gaze. A soft smile played on her lips, but the tension in her eyes was impossible to miss.

"How do I look?" she asked.

You cocked your head, then reached up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Almost perfect," you answered, brushing your lips against hers. She kissed you back, and for a split second, everything outside of the two of you seemed to fade away. You pulled back, smiling. "There," you said, "Now, you're perfect."

She chuckled and rolled her eyes, then grabbed your hands, her fingers interlacing with yours.

"Don't be lovey at work," Mitch grumbled as she approached with Isabella trailing behind her. Your daughter gave you a knowing smile, sidling up to your side.

"I'll do what I want, Lester," Natasha said.

You grinned, and she leaned over, kissing you on the cheek. "Thanks for helping me get ready," she whispered.

"Anytime," you replied, squeezing her hands. "Though maybe you should ask one of the professionals next time."

"Here, Natasha, for good luck," Isabella said, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a black hair tie. You recognized it immediately. It was one of her favorites.

Natasha’s face softened as she accepted it, tying it onto her wrist with a smile. "Thank you."

The crowd’s energy grew louder, the roar swelling as the moment approached.

Then, the lights above you flickered and dimmed, and the arena was plunged into darkness. The anticipation in the air was palpable. The sound of Bucky’s guitar rang out, followed by a fierce rush of music, and suddenly, the entire stage exploded into light.

"It's my turn now," Natasha breathed. "See you out there!" She quickly kissed your lips, then rushed off with Mitch to join the others on stage.

You watched them go, Isabella bouncing at your side. When you turned to face her, she was smiling. "I'm glad we're here, Mama," she said. "It feels amazing."

You couldn't have agreed more.

The next few moments were a blur. You clamped a pair of kids' concert earmuffs on her head and followed Mitch to the front of the stage. Then, bodyguards led you to an area of the crowd where you could see the show fully displayed. Isabella squealed with excitement as you stood in the center of the madness, the lights, the music, the energy.

You had no idea what you'd been worried about.

They started their set off with a bang. Tony pounded the drums, and Natasha, Bucky, and Wanda took the crowd on a high-energy journey through their first song - Rebel's Anthem, the title track. Natasha sang her heart out, working the stage and following the overarching theme. The band was a unit, an entity. They were unstoppable.

The audience was going wild, the cheering growing louder. They were having a blast. Isabella was bouncing, waving her arms in the air, with a huge smile. Natasha noticed you and waved before running across the stage and climbing the ladder to the upper level. She grabbed the mic and shouted into it.

She gripped the mic stand, head tilted back, soaking in the chaos before leaning into the mic, her voice smooth.

"We are Velvet Rebellion—welcome to the fucking show!"

The arena erupted.

Night Three - Los Angeles - The Forum

People still throw their underwear on stage. It’s always been a thing that never seemed to go away. Natasha strutted across the stage, her boots thudding heavily against the floor, a fire in her eyes. She was in her element—this was her world. The crowd went wild as her voice soared above the instruments, each note commanding their attention.

But as the show continued, something unexpected happened. From the middle of the crowd, a piece of clothing soared through the air, and before Natasha could even blink, a bra landed squarely on the stage, hitting the ground with a soft thud. The crowd roared with laughter and cheers.

"Really? This again?" Natasha muttered with a playful smirk, bending down to grab the offending garment. She held it up, her eyebrow quirked as she looked out at the audience. "You all are a special crowd," she teased, winking.

The audience erupted into cheers, loving every second of it. And as she tossed the bra to the side, another flew through the air, hitting Tony in the face. He let out a dramatic gasp, holding his hands to his cheeks like he’d been slapped.

“You’re all insane,” He called out, laughing as he took the microphone. “But hey, keep ‘em coming!”

Wanda rolled her eyes from behind Natasha. “Can we just play the music and not have a strip show every night?” she grumbled, but even she was smiling at the disorder.

"We should take a poll and see who wants a strip show more—the fans or our band," Natasha said with a wink.

The audience screamed, and Bucky grinned. "Well, now you've done it, Nat," he teased, throwing his arm around her shoulder. "We've got an audience to please!"

They played a few more songs, and the audience got rowdier as they did.

Night 4: On the Tour Bus – Heading to Vegas

Everyone always wondered what the band did while on tour. Specifically, what happened on the tour bus. She'd heard rumors of groupies, parties, and drugs, and she knew some bands get up to that; they'd gotten up to it at one point.

The reality of their time on the bus was a lot different. It was a different type of party with a kid on the bus for the next month.

Wanda sat cross-legged on the floor, her guitar resting in her lap. Her fingers strummed over the strings, filling the bus with music. Isabella lay across the couch behind her, her nose buried in a book. The guys were having some sort of eating contest. Natasha leaned against you, eyes half-closed, her head resting on your shoulder.

It was peaceful, calm, and semi-quiet, and you were content.

“You were amazing tonight,” you said softly, letting the bus lull the both of you to a state of peace.

“Yeah?” Natasha’s voice was tired but content. “I didn’t hear the crowd. I only saw you.”

You blushed and leaned forward, your lips brushing against hers. She smiled, returning the kiss.

Isabella groaned. "Please stop." followed by fake kissing noises from the rest of the group.

"We need our own room," Natasha muttered.

"I couldn't agree more," You laughed.

Night 6 - Chicago – United Center

The space behind the stage was cramped that night, and the team had made room for an interviewer from one of Chicago’s most prominent music stations, who was ready to get some behind-the-scenes moments.

“Alright, guys!” the interviewer called, waving the band over. “Let’s get some pictures, and then I have a few questions for you.”

When Tony pulled her into a side hug, Natasha had just finished catching her breath and wiping the sweat from her forehead. They smiled for pictures and answered questions as best they could.

"Alright, let’s spice things up a little—if you could steal one song from another artist and make it your own, which one would it be and why? Don’t hold back. I want the juicy stuff."

Natasha hummed thoughtfully, considering the question.

"Mine would have to be the Killers," she answered. "Their music has this fun, energetic feel to it. I want to give their songs a more modern sound."

The rest of the band gave their answers, and the interviewer smiled. "Interesting answers!" She turned back to the camera, grinning. "Now, it's time for a few fan questions. We've received thousands of letters from people worldwide and want to get some of their messages to you. So, without further ado, here's the first question..."

They ran through a list of questions, most of which were typical. "Who is your biggest inspiration?"

"What is your favorite part about being on the road?"

"What's the funniest thing that's happened so far on tour?"

Then, the interviewer's smile faltered. "The final question," she announced, sounding more serious. "We have a very special one today."

Everyone exchanged a confused look, but they remained silent, waiting for her to continue.

"A young woman wrote us a letter. Her name is Haley, and she's been a fan of Velvet Rebellion since their early days. She's currently battling cancer and is a huge fan of yours. She'd love to meet you. Can we set something up for the next show? You have a concert in Seattle the day after tomorrow."

"Bring her out," Wanda nodded, and the rest of the band agreed.

Night 7 – Seattle – Climate Pledge Arena

Meeting a fan was always a highlight for the band, but something about Haley made their night feel exceptional.

Haley was a teenage girl with a spark in her eyes despite the battle she was facing. The moment she stepped into the backstage area, her eyes filled with awe, and the crew couldn’t help but smile. They had all read her letter, and now, she was—standing before them.

The first thing she did when they met was quote a lyric from one of their deep cuts. It caught Natasha off guard, making her smile more expansive than usual.

"You know the words to 'Interstellar'? That's impressive," Natasha said, chuckling.

Haley grinned sheepishly, her cheeks turning pink. "I have a lot of time to listen to music. You're like... my escape. I don’t know how to explain it. Your songs help me get through the tough days."

Wanda's heart warmed at the sincerity in Haley’s voice. She put a hand on Haley's shoulder. "That’s what it’s all about," she said gently. "Music is therapy; it’s a way to keep going."

"Okay, I think it’s time for a tour," Steve said, smiling. "How would you like a backstage pass? We'll show you around."

Haley's eyes widened, and she practically squealed in excitement. "Are you serious?!"

"Of course," Steve replied, motioning for her to follow him. "Come on, let’s get this show started."

The band led Haley through the arena, showing her their dressing rooms, the massive stage that would soon be packed with screaming fans, and even the tour bus that had become their home on the road. Whenever they stopped to explain something, Haley was in awe, her hands trembling slightly with excitement but always eager to learn.

Eventually, it came time for the show, and the band had to prepare. But before they parted ways, Natasha turned to Haley.

"I've got something for you," she said, her voice soft. She pulled a leather jacket out of her rack. "We all signed it," she explained.

Haley took the jacket, tears filling her eyes as she held it close.

"I'll keep fighting," she said, hugging it.

"That's all we can do."

Night 23 – Tour Bus – En Route to Another City

Tour life was proving to be fun. For Velvet Rebellion, it meant extensive time together. Often, too much time together. The world outside was a blur of lights and shadows, but inside, the bus was an oasis of quiet disarray—a mix of scattered bags, leftover snacks, and half-empty water bottles. The rest of the band was elsewhere, chatting, winding down, or preparing for the next show. But in the back bedroom, it was just you and Natasha.

You lay on the bed, your legs intertwined, as Natasha caressed your belly. It was more soothing for her than you as she expressed her gratitude for this tour.

"I'm glad I got to do this," Natasha said, tracing invisible patterns over your skin.

"Do what?" You asked, a smile playing on your lips.

"Spend so much time with you," she whispered. "I know a lot of these days are blending now."

"It's a good kind of blending," you said. "I toured with my dad when I was a kid, but this is different."

"How?"

"I had a lot of time to hang out and have fun. Isabella enjoys the whole experience, and we have each other."

Natasha smiled. "True."

"I'm enjoying every moment with you," you said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She leaned into the touch, humming softly.

"Me too."

You leaned forward and kissed her lips, slow and tender. Her lips were soft against yours, and you savored the moment. You pulled away after a moment, smiling.

"What's on your mind?" You asked, sensing that she wanted to say something.

"We've been working so hard," she began, a thoughtful look in her eyes. "I'm glad we've found this moment. We've earned it."

"I agree," you nodded. " Thank God Wanda is our built-in childcare. She would be a great mom."

"Don't let her hear you say that," Natasha joked. "Next thing you know, she's pregnant or something."

"Would Agatha approve?"

"God no," Natasha snorted.

"Then they can be the weird aunts."

"Weird aunts?"

"Yeah, you know... the cool ones who spoil the kids and tell them all the stuff mommy wouldn't."

"They'd love that even more," She nodded. The TV blasted as the character onscreen did a bit that lasted too long for your liking.

"This TV has been playing silly cartoons for a while now," You moved to reach for the remote. It hadn't bothered you before, but now you wanted to enjoy your time together.

"No, don't turn it off," Natasha reached for your hands. "It will help the noise."

"Noise?" You raised a brow in confusion.

"You'll see."

"What are you up to, Ms. Romanoff?"

"Not much," she said, smirking.

"Liar."

"I just wanted a little alone time," she shrugged, smiling innocently.

You narrowed your eyes. "Uh-huh."

She laughed, pulled you closer, and kissed you again. "You can be quite loud."

"Me?" You gasped, feigning shock. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't play coy with me," she teased, kissing the tip of your nose.

"We can't do this," You hummed. "Everyone will know." It had been a miracle you made it this far without sex on the bus.

"You think they aren't already speculating?" Natasha said as she traced her fingers along the waistband of your sweatpants.

"Well, I didn't want them to have proof."

"I don't care if they do." She said as she nuzzled your neck. "You smell so good."

You giggled. "Really?"

"Mhmm."

Her fingers danced across your skin, teasing and tickling as she explored.

"You're not convincing me," You said through a moan as she used her other hand to pull down the front of your pants.

"What are you doing?"

"Helping you relax," she purred, lips pressing against your ear.

"Relax?"

"Yes."

"How?"

Before she could answer, there was a knock on the door. You pulled away quickly enough to see Isabella peek her head in.

"Bus beds are cramped. I want to sleep with you," She muttered as she pushed herself between you and Natasha.

"We were..." Natasha sighed.

"Were?" Isabella asked, her eyes already closing.

"I guess the fun's over," you said as you looked at Natasha.

"For now." She shook her head. "We really need those hotel rooms."

"We only have two more weeks."

"Two weeks of torture."

"It's not so bad," you chuckled.

"No," she said, smiling. "It isn't."

"I still wanna know what you were doing." Isabella cuddled into you.

"You'll find out later." Natasha quipped.

"Much later," You answered. "When you're thirty-five."

"You guys are weird," Isabella mumbled as she drifted asleep.

"We are," you said, glancing at Natasha, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

"I don't mind." She said, leaning in to press a kiss against your forehead.

"Neither do I."

You fell asleep, your body warm, your heart full. And you were grateful for every minute of it.

Morning Before the Next Show – Tour Strategy Session

Natasha sat with her legs propped on an empty chair, her sunglasses still on despite being indoors. Steve was hunched over his notebook, Bucky drummed a pen against his knee, and Wanda scrolled through her phone, occasionally tossing suggestions without looking up.

“We need to shake things up,” Steve muttered, flipping a page. “Something to make people feel like every show is different—like they’re getting something special.”

“More pyrotechnics?” Wanda suggested, glancing up briefly with a smirk.

“We’re already one spark away from burning the stage down,” Bucky shot back, earning a snort from Natasha.

Tony, pacing at the front of the room with a tablet in hand, turned sharply. “What about her?” He pointed the tablet directly at you, where you lazily sipped your coffee, not expecting to be dragged into the conversation.

You blinked. “Me?”

“Yes, you,” Tony said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re already part of the tour. The crowd eats it up whenever Natasha looks at you during a set or when you step out to fix something on stage. Why not make it an actual thing? Not just an interlude. A segment.”

The room went quiet, the idea lingering in the air like static.

Natasha finally lowered her sunglasses, her green eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “What exactly are you suggesting? We turn her into some kind of stage prop?”

“No,” Tony replied with a roll of his eyes. “I’m suggesting you lean into what’s already working. Maybe it’s an onstage Q&A segment, or she reads fan letters live. Hell, maybe she performs something with you—I don't know. Our hit song is one that she's featured on."

Bucky nodded slowly. “Could be cool. Breaks up the set, gives the fans something unexpected.”

Steve shrugged. "Why not? We'll have to figure out the details, but the concept is solid. It would work."

Natasha turned to face you, her gaze questioning.

"Up for a little on-stage action?"

"I'm game," You shrugged.

"Great. Now, let's go over the rest of the tour," Steve said, flipping to a fresh page.

Night 34 – Dallas – American Airlines Center

The crowd's roar seeped through the walls like a pulse, vibrating in your chest before you stepped onto the stage. Singing at a birthday party? Easy. Singing in an arena filled with thousands of people, blinding lights, or electric energy? That was something else entirely.

Backstage was a blur of movement—crew members adjusting cables, last-minute checks on instruments, radios buzzing with updates. But all you could focus on was the small mic pack being clipped to your bra, its weight suddenly feeling heavier than it should. Your hands felt clammy, nerves humming under your skin.

You tried to think of the things you would need to do. Where to stand on the stage, where to look, and how to sing. Your mind was blanking on everything. Then you saw her.

Across the stage, perched casually atop a random amp, was Isabella. Her oversized crew jacket nearly swallowed her whole, sleeves rolled up messily. She was chewing a piece of licorice you usually wouldn't let her have. But her eyes caught you—the same eyes that had watched you tie her shoes, fix her hair, and now stand on the brink of something terrifying. Eyes filled with adoration, persistent, as if to say, You’re already everything to me.

“You got this,” Mitch’s voice broke through, grounding you as she adjusted the earpiece.

You exhaled, nodding. “Thanks. Just as we rehearsed.”

The mic was placed in your hand, cool against your palm. You didn’t move toward the stage immediately. Instead, you crossed the short distance to Isabella, kneeling so your foreheads touched, the arena's noise fading into the background.

“Good luck, Mama,” she whispered, her tiny voice holding more power than a cheer ever could.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, blinking back the rush of emotion. Standing, you glanced over your shoulder. “Mitch, take care of my kid!” you called, tossing a playful wink back at Isabella.

With that, you stepped into position. Natasha was singing the first lyric, her voice soft and smooth. The crowd was into it, singing along like a beautiful chorus.

"I don't want to make it obvious,

Caught in the midst and can't lie.

Every touch, you make it harder for me, baby,

Go ahead and look me in my eyes,"

The lyrics left your lips quickly, and you were surprised by the strength in your voice. You kept the pace, moving from one line to the next. You had a few moments in the spotlight, and then it was Natasha's turn again.

As the song ended, you stood there, breathing heavily. You could see the fans screaming, cheering, and chanting, but it all sounded muted, like white noise.

"Let's give it up for my beautiful girlfriend,"

Natasha's words snapped you out of the daze. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, and the crowd screamed louder, a deafening roar that filled the space.

"She's not only a killer musician, she's an amazing mom. She's raising the coolest kid I've ever met," Natasha continued, her gaze meeting yours. “And she’s a pretty dope singer.” She winked. 

Your heart swelled at her words, and you couldn't help but smile. The audience continued to cheer, and you knew the following few shows would be the craziest yet.

Night 35 - Houston – Toyota Center

The show went well. Really well.

The adrenaline was still humming under your skin, even as you stepped offstage, your heart racing not from nerves this time but from the electric energy of the crowd. The Toyota Center had been packed, the lights blinding, the sound of thousands of voices blending into one overwhelming roar.

You were still slightly nervous about performing with the band again—those familiar jitters creeping in right before your cue. But Natasha had reassured you backstage, her hands gently cupping your face, her steady gaze melting the tension from your shoulders.

“It’ll be fine,” she whispered, her thumb brushing your cheek. “You’ve got this.”

She was right.

This time, as you finished your verse, the last note still lingering in the charged air, Natasha didn’t hesitate. She crossed the stage with that effortless confidence she carried like armor and pressed a kiss to your lips.

The crowd erupted.

Shouts, cheers, and whistles filled the arena, waves of excitement crashing over you both. Natasha grinned, her eyes sparkling under the stage lights as if she’d known exactly what kind of reaction that gesture would ignite.

After the final song, the band gathered center stage, taking their bows and soaking in the crowd’s roaring applause. But tonight was special—not just because of the show’s success.

Isabella was allowed to come onto the stage.

She dashed out from the wings, her little crew jacket hanging proudly off her shoulders. The crowd cheered for her just as loudly, and she beamed, standing proudly beside you.

Natasha crouched down, pulling her into a playful side hug, whispering something in her ear that made Isabella giggle. The dance crew waved her over, and without hesitation, she joined them, taking a bow like she’d been part of the show all along.

She quickly became a crew favorite—her charm was impossible to resist, and her confidence grew with each city and show.

You realized something as you stood there, hand in Natasha’s, watching Isabella bask in the spotlight's glow.

This wasn’t just another night on tour. This was a memory—a perfect, untouchable moment.

*******

Getting that hotel room was a must on your list of things to do on the tour. You were growing tired of cramped tour buses, shared bathrooms, and the constant hum of the road beneath your feet. The novelty of waking up in a different city every day had started to wear thin, replaced by an ache for a real bed, fresh sheets, and a door you could actually lock.

So, getting that hotel room proved to be a must on your list of things for the tour.

You'd had a few drinks after the show.

You didn't want to be drunk, but a bit tipsy was fun. It was nice to relax.

The elevator ride to the room seemed to take an eternity, even though it was only a few floors. When the doors finally slid open, you stepped out, fumbling with the keycard as you approached the door.

"Let me get that," Natasha said, taking the card from your hand and sliding it into the slot. Her hands were strategically placed on your hips, guiding you toward the door as it opened.

"You're drunk," Natasha laughed as she led you inside.

"Just a little."

"A little too much."

"Maybe."

The room was dark and quiet, the curtains drawn closed.

You kicked off your shoes and fell backward onto the bed, sighing in contentment.

"I could fall asleep like this," you mumbled, eyes drifting closed.

Natasha followed behind you, kicking off her boots with a groan. “I thought I’d miss the chaos,” she said, flopping onto the bed beside you. “I don’t.”

"Tour life is exhausting," You wiped your face.

"You're telling me," she sighed, stretching her legs.

"I could go for a nap."

"You and me both."

"It's a big bed."

"Yeah, but I'm not moving," She yawned, nuzzling her head into the pillows.

"I think I'll stay here too."

You didn't move, enjoying the feeling of the cool sheets and soft pillows.

“This was a good idea,” she murmured.

“Yeah,” you whispered back. "An excellent idea."

"You don't think Isabella will come knocking, will she?"

"Not with the promise of soda and a night with Wanda," You shook your head. "I'm all yours."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

Natasha's gaze drifted over your face, and a slight smirk appeared on her lips.

"What's going on in that pretty head of yours?"

"Just wondering..."

"About what?"

"If you're as tired as I am," She replied.

"Probably."

"Well, let's not waste a perfect bed," Natasha said, rolling onto her side, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin.

You raised an eyebrow, trying to keep the smirk off your face. "Or a perfect good bathtub." You pointed it out.

"Hmm," Natasha hummed, her eyes narrowing. "True."

"And there's a lot of room in there," you added, sitting up.

"It does seem like a shame to waste it."

You grinned, tugging on her hand. "Then let's not."

Natasha chuckled, following you to the bathroom, her eyes never leaving yours.

The tub was massive—the small size of a pool.

"Hotel bubble bath?" Natasha read the small bottle as you started the water.

"It'll do," You shrugged as you began to strip yourself, getting your head stuck in the shirt.

"Let me do it," She laughed as she helped you out, revealing the pout on your face.

"I'm super coordinated right now," You snorted, rolling your eyes.

"Clearly."

"Shut up," You giggled, leaning into her touch as she slowly peeled the fabric from your body.

"You're cute."

"I am."

"Let's get you cleaned up."

"Okay."

She stepped behind you, her fingers dancing over the bare skin of your back.

"We should probably get this off," She said, her voice low as she tugged on the fabric of your sports bra.

"You first."

Natasha pulled her shirt over her head, her fingers moving to the button on her jeans. You watched her, transfixed, as she unzipped them, pushing the fabric down her thighs and kicking them off.

You swallowed hard, your heart hammering in your chest.

"Now you."

You nodded, reaching for the clasp of your bra and undoing it with trembling fingers. You slid the straps from your shoulders, letting the fabric fall to the floor.

"God, you're gorgeous," Natasha whispered, her gaze raking over your body.

"You are."

"No, you," She insisted, closing the distance between you and capturing your lips in a heated kiss.

Your hands found her hips, pulling her closer as you deepened the kiss, your tongues exploring each other's mouths.

Her skin was soft against yours, her hair tickling your neck.

You let out a soft moan as she trailed kisses along your jaw, her teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck.

"Fuck, Nat," You whimpered, gripping her hips tighter.

"You're so fucking beautiful," She murmured, her hands cupping your breasts.

You arched into her touch, desperate for more.

"Please," You begged, your voice barely a whisper.

"Anything you want," She breathed, her lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.

"I want us actually to bathe first," You whispered with a sigh.

"Right," Natasha chuckled, pulling away reluctantly.

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize," She smiled, kissing your forehead softly. "I just need a minute."

You nodded, trying to calm the butterflies in your stomach.

The water was hot against your skin as you settled into the tub, the bubbles surrounding you like a cloud. She slid in behind you, her breast pressing against your back.

"I feel like I'm in the movies."

"Like a bubble bath for two."

"Exactly."

"It's perfect," Natasha said, resting her chin on your shoulder.

"Yes," You agreed, leaning back into her, your eyes fluttering shut.

"Just the two of us," She whispered, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on your thigh.

"How are you feeling?" You asked. "I know tour life has been pretty tame so far."

"Yeah, and then it gets crazy," Natasha shrugged. "This is usually when we go stir-crazy. Use things to keep us awake. Do other things."

"I see."

"It's always a struggle. Trying to keep a healthy balance," Natasha chuckled, her voice low.

"Yeah," You said, nodding. You leaned your head back to lean against her shoulder. "This is nice."

"It is," Natasha agreed, her fingers finding your skin again. "And the room is so big. We could do a lot of things here."

"What kinds of things?" You asked, trying to ignore how her fingers were making you feel.

"I was thinking," Natasha said, her voice low, "that we could start with this." She trailed her hands to your breast, tweaking your nipples with soapy water on her hands before moving lower. "Still can't believe I've had you all to myself for almost a year," Natasha murmured, her fingers circling your clit.

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

"Natasha."

"Hmm?"

"Don't tease me," You said, a slight whine escaping your throat.

"I'm not teasing you," She said, her voice dropping lower. "I'm giving you what you want."

A small moan left your throat, your legs widening as far as they could as she pressed harder.

"Oh god," You whimpered, your breath catching in your throat.

"That's it," Natasha murmured, her fingers never stopping. "You're so beautiful."

"Nat."

"Come for me," She urged, her fingers moving faster, the water splashing around you.

Your eyes fluttered shut, your back arching as you came. You didn't hesitate to turn and straddle her lap as you came down. The feel of her breasts against yours was intoxicating.

"I've been waiting for this," You said, your voice husky.

"Me, too."

You kissed her hungrily, your hands tangling in her hair as you explored each other's bodies. Her hands moved lower, cupping your ass, pulling you closer. You gasped as she pressed her thigh against your center, the friction making you shiver.

"I want you so bad," She moaned, her fingers sliding between your folds.

"Fuck," You whimpered, your hips bucking involuntarily.

"So wet," She breathed, her thumb rubbing your clit in slow circles.

"Nat."

"That's it," She whispered, her voice strained. "Come for me. Let me hear you again, baby."

You cried out as your orgasm washed over you, your body trembling as waves of pleasure crashed through you.

"Nat," You moaned, leaning forward and burying your face in the crook of her neck.

"That was incredible," Natasha said, her breathing ragged.

"It was," You agreed, kissing her collarbone.

"We're not done," She smirked, pulling you closer.

"No, we're not." Your lips ghosted over hers.

"I want to do something," Natasha said suddenly.

"What?" You asked her, never stopping for breath as you kissed.

"Let's get married," She said. "I want to marry you." She breathed, opening her eyes as you leaned back.

"Here? In this hotel bathroom?"

"That's it," Natasha grinned, feeling at ease with your response. "No more tequila for you."

"Nat," You giggled.

"I'm serious. I want to marry you," She said.

"Yes." You answered, holding her face in your hands.

"Really?"

"Yes, yes, yes," You said. "I want to marry you."

"Wait," She kissed your lips. She stood from the tub, not even caring about the water trailing behind her as she rushed into the bedroom for her luggage. You sat back, wondering where she was going and what she was doing, before she walked back into the room with a box.

"Nat?" You questioned. "You're serious?" You gasped.

"I know this probably sucks on the scale of when to ask for marriage, but I'm afraid when my head hits those pillows, I'll fall asleep," She said. She grabbed a towel for you, helping you wrap it around your body before wrapping another around hers. "I want this."

"Natasha, yes."

"Y/n, marry me," She smiled, her eyes sparkling with joy.

"I will," You grinned, tears brimming in your eyes.

Natasha removed the ring from the box and slid it onto your finger. It fits perfectly.

"Perfect," She said, kissing your knuckles.

"It's beautiful," You breathed, admiring the sparkling diamonds. "Where did you buy this? When did you buy this?"

"The night of our first performance," She answered. "I figured you're much too boujie for Vegas."

"I am," You nodded.

"If you want, we can forget this thing that ever happened," she began. "I can plan a whole dinner. Have this big show. I can..."

"Natasha, stop," You chuckled, silencing her with a kiss. "This is perfect."

"Good."

"You're perfect."

"Well, not really," She chuckled. "But I'm working on it."

"That's all we can ask for."

"Yeah," She breathed, a content smile tugging at her lips. "You're going to marry me?"

"I am," You beamed, wrapping your arms around her neck and kissing her passionately.

"I love you."

"I love you."

You felt giddy as she led you toward the bed, her towel falling away from her body and yours quickly following. You didn't even think that neither of you was truly dry.

"Nat, the towels..."

"We'll worry about it later," She said, pulling you beside her.

"We should...get under the covers."

"Yeah, probably," She breathed, her hands roaming your body.

"Or," You smirked, your hands moving lower, "we could just stay here."

"That sounds good to me," She grinned, pulling you closer.

"Oh, I have so much to think about," You began to get excited again. "When are we doing this? Where? Isabella goes home next week. I'd want her to be there. My parents will kill me if they aren't there. How do we keep this a secret?"

"Breathe, baby," She said, her hand finding your chin and lifting it so your eyes met. "We'll figure it out. Just enjoy the moment."

"I'm getting married," You smiled, a content sigh escaping your lips.

"We're getting married."

"We're getting married."

[serendark]

Misc. ideas and thoughts about Journals 1 & 2, as inspired by Forduary this year

I have too much going on to participate, but I really like the Forduary prompts this year!

Journal 3 has some things that help with inventing both Journals 1 and 2, I think.

Isn't it weird that gnomes and various other creatures are in Journal 3 instead of Journal 1, when it just feels like Ford would have met them 6 years ago when he first arrived to Gravity Falls? Like, did it really take six years before he wrote about or saw gnomes? Who knows, maybe! However you want to imagine it. I think Journal 3 itself can be used for examples of Journal 1, or you can work backwards from Journal 3 to invent more of what the landscape was like for Ford when he arrived here and was first getting his footing. Journal 3 has various bits looking back at his earlier years, like about his house being built iirc and Steve, so I think there is likely overlap with Journal 1 (and 2) already.

Journal 1 sounds fun as a novice Ford being awestruck by so many things for the first time, and trying as many experiments as he can, and having all kinds of inexperienced clumsy missteps. He traced this town as a big home of anomalies and now he is actually here, and beginning his dream on his own, fresh out of college! And there's all the locals to meet for the first time. Was it overwhelming in the best way possible that everywhere he looked there was just more and more and it felt impossible to possibly study it all? Were his first years really social while he tried interviewing everyone, before falling into his eventual status as a recluse who doesn't really connect with them, before he realized how lonely he was, or maybe he pushed through all of his negative feelings because there was so much that was exciting to focus on instead? Were there more weird holidays like Summerween that don't exist in 2012? Or, even, did Ford witness the very first year of Summerween? What are some local mysteries and ghost stories? Did he meet more of the parents of individuals we know about in 2012?

Were Ford's first notes a mess that he had to go back and reorganize later? Did he have to figure out ways of being better able to draw anomalies when life drawing isn't always an option? What's up with the camera and photos and all those other weird objects in his house in that one flashback scene in ATOTS? How much did Ford have to study and catalogue and take samples of local plants and water before he started noticing weird connections and magical influences? How did he figure out what equipment, tools, machinery, and anomaly specific magic detectors or whatnot that he needed? What was the iterative process like? Did he have a bunch of failed drawings, machines, and samples at the start? Did he hear about the underground weirdness black market and spend a lot of time trying to track it down before realizing how hopeless the endeavor seemed to be? One failure of many he would remember moving forward in his time here, but also exciting fuel to keep learning! Gravity Falls has so much to offer, far too much to stop learning just because of some unanswered mysteries.

I don't recall if Hirsch has ever spoken on the content of Journal 1 but I really think it has a lot of potential as a prompt if you're a little creative! Yeah it isn't super guided but I don't think it's boring at all!

And then Journal 2 is especially extremely super hype imo!! That's the one when he was really throwing himself into researching and learning about spells and magics, including spells he would even carry with him in Journal 3 as useful protective tools on excursions if I'm remembering that correctly. There's so much here that must be related to forest creatures, not to mention the artifacts. Did he catch wind of the Hand Witch or other potential similar individuals? The Love God? Were there more witches and creatures during the 80's than we see in Gravity Falls in 2012? Like how zombie uprisings were a regular monthly occurrence, mentioned in Journal 3, when that clearly chilled out and settled by the time of the show, not to mention the blood rain.

Wizard Ford! Warlock Ford! Ford, the DD&MD dork! Did he learn defensive enchantments? Was he really into useful utility spells instead, like one that keeps himself dry in rain? Or refills his quill ink? What offense might he have liked, or even felt uncomfortable with? Did he practice writing and learning sigils and runes and fae language? Did he sew any into his clothes, or wear any in temporary tattoos or skin paint? Were there things in the library or museum he was able to translate?

Were there other events like that carnival in Journal 3, or weird black magic holidays before such things were wiped from the townsfolks' memories? Was there more visible magic on average back then, and magic interacting with people and vice versa? How did Ford compare his experiences and studies with his beloved stories of fiction, historical reading, myths, and folklore? Did Ford make or find magic rings, pens, wands, hats, clocks? What are some really dumb and silly spells? Did he research how different phases of the moon, weeks in the month, days in the week, or certain hours in a day, or even the weather, influenced any of the rituals or how to acquire materials and items? Did some spells or rituals demand him to sit in pose for 12 hours before activating, and which spells or rituals were more instant or immediate? How about astrology?

This also overlaps with the period of time where Ford knew Bill for like 2 years before the portal was ever proposed, and before Ford had felt himself stuck at a dead end. Ford was still eagerly exploring and researching and practicing like normal, surely with some doubts and difficulties, but I think he was still starry-eyed, too. What was Bill like? How much did Bill help? How much of the stuff in Journal 2 came about from Bill helping Ford with leads, giving him breadcrumbs about things Ford wouldn't have known on his own? What questions did Bill answer, and did Bill tell Ford about any spells outright? Did Bill and Ford hang out working on translating runes together? Did Bill give Ford spells and sigils and all to solve himself like a mentally stimulating puzzle? Is this the period of time where Bill was the most like a practical helpful teacher and friend, and a stronger bridge between Ford and the local weird? Did Ford investigate different ideas about geometry and its relation to religion/spirituality/history/myth?

What potion recipes and ingredients could Ford have found and made and jotted down in Journal 2? The steps and materials needed for rituals? What about notes to be taken on the anomalous and magical properties of random materials and how those interact with mundane technology and science, like hen's teeth, fairy wing dust, certain mushrooms that only grow around fairy circles, silk from weird spiders? Or even how more familiar earthly materials interact with these, like mercury, blood, salt, gold, silver, onyx, honeycomb? What are some local legends and myths? Did Ford use any variety of magical ingredients, ritual, or spell for experiments specifically in his mindscape while he was asleep? Or maybe meditating in a fairy circle?

What offerings did Ford need to learn how to prepare for different creatures, spells, or rituals? Did he have to learn how to bake certain desserts as acceptable offerings? Did he have to make candles and parchment out of custom materials? Did he have to wear clothes of only very certain materials and dyes? If he got on the bad side of very dangerous creatures, or got himself cursed, how did he negotiate with them or figure out how to solve it? Does some magic only work on humans and not the beings of the forest? What experiences did Ford have regarding dreams and the mindscape? What experiments did Ford try? What technology and engineering did he attempt to etch with runes or control magics with? Did he have to lean more into his artistic skills and make sculptures, weave cloth, knit tapestries?

I don't remember if Hirsch has said anything about the contents of Journal 2 either outside of what we see in the show, and it's been a while since I've read Journal 3 to particularly remember what nods it may have had to Ford's pre-Journal 3 experiences. But there's so much potential! It's SO interesting!

I just completely don't relate at all to people who find these prompts boring just because two of the books basically don't exist. And if you don't like what Hirsch has said about them, then don't use or follow what he said? People always want more creativity about Ford's portal adventures and Stan's first acclimation to the weirdness of Gravity Falls after Ford disappeared, yet people are shutting down at the creative opportunity of these prompts.

There's so many different angles you can approach this stuff from, and I think that's a big part of what makes it fun to think about, personally! It is pretty hard to invent where there is nothing or not much guidance, but I think it is truly worth the attempt! There's nothing wrong with looking up secondary prompts if you need them, whether they're past Forduary/Stanuary/Fiddtober/Maybel/Dipcember/Dipril ones or from events like Funguary/Witchtober/Inktober/Mermay! I do really like how Stanuary has a bingo of additional prompts, and I think such a thing would be cool for Forduary too. I notice some previous years did have various extra prompt ideas.

I'm excited to see what people make, especially for Journal 2! Good luck everyone!! :D

[witha-boxofscraps]

You don’t get it you don’t get it you don’t get it.

Walter controls EVERYTHING. The shows narrative is bent to his absolute will to the point where WE as the audience don’t know when he’s lying and are manipulated into believing that he didn’t poison brock until it’s revealed by his own hand at the end of the episode. NOTHING happens without his say so.

Jesse’s relationship with literally every. single. character. on the show is influenced by Walt’s grip on him. Whether the relationships are healthy and become unhealthy due to Walt’s interference or are unhealthy to start with, they always become worse.

Jesse’s parents weren’t perfect by any means. But they genuinely were not bad people, as much as we love Jesse and hate to see him mistreated. There is plenty of evidence to suggest that his parents tried for years to get him help and to get his life back on track. But because we see his relationship with his parents AFTER Walt has recruited Jesse, it seems so much worse. His parents are dismissing with fake smiles and hollow attempts to keep up appearances. Walt is cold but “honest” as he tells Jesse what he truly thinks of him. Jesse’s parents were trying to help him! Walt was manipulating him! But we’re so fucking used to seeing the show (in earlier episodes) in a light that is entirely decided by Walt that we’re desperate for Jesse to get away from his parents because of how evil they appear. And that’s what happens. He pushes away from them completely and ends up solely reliant on Walt as the authority figure in his life, completely dependent on him for praise and guidance.

It happens time and time again.

We see that the second Jane becomes a problem to Walt, she’s suddenly more manipulative and “toxic” to Jesse. His relationship becomes dangerous with her and he admits after rehab that they probably wouldn’t have lasted long if they had taken the money. Suspiciously similar to Walt’s exclamation that Jesse would be dead within a week if he went off with Jane. Jesse becomes isolated once again for an incredibly personal relationship that threatened to replace his one with Walt.

And AGAIN it happens with Mike. The jealously and blow to the ego that Walt clearly felt when Jesse started spending more time with Mike. When Mike started taking on the authority role in Jesse’s life, Walt starts trying to subtly turn Jesse against him, making him question Mike’s motives with Walt’s signature “brutal honesty” of reminding Jesse of his uselessness and that he’s nothing without Walt, that Mike is only using him to get to Walt in order for Jesse to realise his own lack of worth and to crawl back to Walt for a sense of purpose.

Every. Single. Relationship. that Jesse forms on the show is destroyed by Walt and not just because people die due to Walt’s involvement. It’s the emotional manipulation that he uses on Jesse but also uses on US as the viewers.

[nix-that-rad-lass]

Legit it just keeps going downhill lol

Idk how I’ve made it the like seven years of owning a phone I have without shattering a screen until now but I did it

[spotaus]

Hi guys, this is usually what a doodle page ends up looking like <3 (oh, and @ancha-aus thought you might like this! Not writing but certainly fuel to my fire lol-)

This one is New Age filled!!! (Close-ups abd Lore beneath the cut!)

1) Night and Cross!

Night is actually very clingy once he's a teen. He doesn't usually realize it, but around the castle he'll snake to be closer to his Knights so long as there's no one he needs to keep his composure infront of is nearby. Cross is the one who's not used to physical touch (when it's not Ink ofc) so Night in his personal bubble makes his heart melt but also scares tf out of him <3

2) Error and Night's Meeting!

Error was carrying his whole life on his back and trying not to get arrested for unintentional property damage at this point, so when he saw the chance to get back at his brother and prove he was strong enough? Yeah, he got that on chance instantly. And was VERY smug when Nightmare chose him. (Also, Error is wearing gloves, so less Haphephobia)

3) Dream and Blue designs!

I think these are good tentative designs! Dream probably has a more regal fit, but he likes to play up that rugged exile look- He's inspired by Archers, while Blue takes on that classic Knightly-vibe. Their equipment is mostly stolen from Night's troops or brought with them from Blue's home kingdom.

Also, Dream is approx Killer's height at this point, shorter than Cross and *much* shorter than Apple!Nightmare. (Hc that Skeletons tend to be tinier in stature thanks to weird monster beauty standards. Horror and Geno's fam are outliers.)

4) Horror and Dust designs!

Horror is naturally a very *large* monster. He's very malnourished when Nightmare meets him, but by the time he's a Knight Nightmare has made sure that's no longer the case. He actually loves comfy, simple clothes, but to play up the whole 'strong mysterious' bit he wears a more barbaric Knight's garb. He doesn't mind acting scary, it's more fun that way :]. Dust is very very small, and envies horror sometimes for his size, but his tiny stature let's him control his body and move a lot quicker. He's very much based on a rogue, and usually covers the lower part of his face w/ a black cloth, and the upper part w/ his hood or mask. Dust only removes both to bathe, eat, or relax in a safe location. (Ignore that I can't draw the stupid gaster blaster lmao-)

These last two were space-fillers, but Cross and his Borzoi (Windmill, otherwise known as Milly (Killer named her-)) and really bad first wips of Ccino! I think Ccino was a chubby, happy toddler, but lost a lot of 'weight' (bone mass? Magic?) due to stress and pressure and bad eating habits. So it isn't until a while after the Coronation that he starts to relax abd feel safe enough to eat normal meals (Nightmare used to guilt him into eating snacks together, but as his boss (and younger brother) he can encourage it more often). By the time Killer shows he's still not quite healthy, but he's better. As more weight is lifted off his shoulders, the better he is. (That 'beauty' most people saw was a more stereotypical slimness, but Killer never stopped seeing Ccino as beautiful-) I think he never looked traditionally underweight, so no one noticed, and it was only much later that Night processed it. (And maybe it's why Dream hardly recognized him later on-)

[mad-hunts]

starting off this sunday with a sad fact, and that is often whenever barton smells this cinnamon, but as a part of a specific blend with... something else he can't quite identify? barton is reminded of marcy because she used to wear a perfume that had that sort of scent to it.

[senseiwu]

Just saw a video where someone mentioned reading the curious incident of the dog in the night time, and they thought afterwards they may have autism too. When they brought it up to their mum, she was like "you knew??" cause apparently she'd done that thing people seem to do where they keep an autism diagnosis secret from their kids

It made me remember when my grandma gave me that book to read when we were all at her place for Christmas. She said something like "I think you'll really like it", which confused me cause I was more into fantasy stuff than mystery novels. I mean. I did really like it. But it's one of the things that makes me wonder... did my parents do that thing too...?

[peter-sqloint]

well meaning guy 192 (love him): "its ok your intrusive thoughts are private. nobody can see/hear them"

me, system member, main obsessive compulsive symptom holder, capable of passive influence: "yeag. for sure , man 👍 ."

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Sugar Daddy

Money can't buy love, but maybe it doesn't have to.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who's very nouveau riche. Who has the wealth of the elites but none of their good breeding.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who's awfully young for someone so wealthy. Barely out of college when his tech startup went public and the cash started pouring in.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who is still painfully awkward around women.

Being a rich man in a big city means there's no shortage of models and influencers vying for his attention. And Yandere! Sugar Daddy never fails to get flustered when they're introduced to him.

Long legs, perfect skin, tiny ski slope noses... They're the kind of girls who wouldn't give him the time of day back in college and suddenly they're running their hands up his chest and whispering that he's just so clever, so accomplished. What guy wouldn't fall for it?

But he can never keep them around for long.

Their interest slowly dies out when he starts rambling about software development and production scale and AI integration. Money is a great motivator but all his girlfriends seem to leave for greener pastures. For millionaires with better social skills and better taste.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who ran into you entirely on accident. The club was too loud, the girls too pretty, the alcohol too rich. He slipped out of VIP and into the street, pressing his forehead against the cool brick and trying not to spew on the new designer shoes his ex persuaded him to get.

And that was when you came into his life. Cool hands on his shoulder and a voice telling him to take a deep breath and drink some of your water.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who looks up at you through his lashes, his face flushed from too much booze and being too near you. He can't fathom it. A girl helping him not because of his cash or connections, but because they're actually a kind person.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who grabs your hand when you turn to go. Your friends are calling to you to stop messing around with random drunks and he manages to slip you his business card, begging you to call him so he can thank you properly.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who wakes up with a killer hangover and your face burned into his eyelids. Who feels his heart jump when he opens his phone and sees a text from you.

Hope your night got better - y/n

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who immediately zooms in on your profile picture. A candid shot but it still makes him blush. Before the morning is over, he's already tracked down your social media.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who pores over every inch of your life. Your job, your studies, your friends...

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who retypes his message at least a dozen times before he finally responds to you. Who invites you to the most exclusive restaurant in the city as a thank you.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who picks you up in the most expensive car he owns. Who smiles a little at the careful way you close the door and buckle your seat belt. You're just as uncomfortable around luxury as he was.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who doesn't expect much from the date. He's learned not to go on tangents about technology and work, but without it he feels lost.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who realises you're more than capable of carrying a conversation. You're energetic and funny and interested in what he has to say. He feels himself opening up to you and before long, he's deep into a rant about data safety and you actually listen to him.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who realises you compliment him. Like a puzzle piece finally slotting into place.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who ends the night with a lipstick stain on his cheek and a big, goofy grin on his face.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who calls you the second he wakes up and invites you to spend the afternoon learning to horse ride.

And when you tell him you have work, he just laughs and tells you he'll triple whatever you're getting paid for the day. You nearly faint when he keeps his word and sends you a deposit worth more than your monthly cheque.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who wants to call you his girlfriend more than anything. His girl. He loves the way it sounds.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who tags along when you go grocery shopping and whips out his card to pay for it all when your back is turned.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who sends you a huge bouquet every week because you once mentioned liking lillies.

And the closer you get, the more time you spend kissing him and curling up in his bed, the more he spends on you.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who uses spring break to take you on a tour of the Mediterranean. Who rents out entire villas and chateaus to impress you.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who has your birthday dress custom made by an actual high fashion house. Who zips you up and kisses your neck and says he's never met a more beautiful girl.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who spends shareholder meetings daydreaming about you. Who has to pinch himself to stay focused.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who's helpless to stop himself falling for you. You're so real, so empty of pretence and greed.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who showers you with all the wealth he has and is blind to how uncomfortable it makes you.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who looks at you with a vacant smile when you try and break things off. Who pulls out his phone and sends you a deposit with so many zeros you have to rub your eyes to make sure you're seeing it right. Who asks if that's enough for more of your time or if he should double it.

Do you want a new car? An apartment? He'll give you anything, anything in the world.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who looks like a kicked dog when you say you don't want any of it. You hate feeling indebted to him. You hate feeling like some vapid trophy wife. You hate living off his charity.

He can't understand it. You could work for decades and not afford even a quarter of what he can give you. Is he so unpleasant, so unlovable, that you're wiling to turn your back of a life of luxury?

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who comes up behind you and slams the door shut when you try to leave.

You've always seen him as a nice guy, someone awkward and gentle. But the look in his eyes now makes you question all of it.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy whose voice is a low, broken rasp. He sounds on the verge of tears and on the verge of fury all at once.

You think you can just leave after everything you've been through together? After the fortune he spent trying to make you happy?

No way baby.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who grabs your wrist and yanks you up against him.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who laughs when you threaten to scream. Luxury penthouse, remember? Totally sound proofed. Totally private. No one gets in or out without his permission.

It's just you and him, like it should have been from the beginning.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who squeezes your wrist hard enough to hurt. Who kisses you so rough you cut your lips on your teeth.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who yanks at the pretty dress that he bought you. You want to be an ungrateful bitch? You want to throw his kindness back in his face? Oh, he's going to teach you a lesson.

You fucking owe him.

And he's going to use your body until that debt is paid.

[ghostsprincess]

I can't stop thinking about Ghost being such a gentleman when your boyfriend is an ass....

warning: domestic abuse, adult language

💀

You were mortified that it happened at work this time...

Your boyfriend was a brute of a man, made worse over the months by drinking alone at night while you bartended to help pay down your student debts from several years ago. He got a little rough with you, but only when he was plastered. And you forgave him, because he was decent the rest of the time.

But suddenly you had to start coming to the pub to pull pints with a little extra makeup on your face. The random patrons out for a casual drink wouldn't have noticed, but your regular boys did. You only knew them by Ghost and Soap. They were military and mean looking, but they laughed together like teenage schoolmates. It was always a good night when they sat at the bar, but you could often feel their eyes on you.

"Y' alright, love?" Ghost asked the first night you wore extra eye makeup and a bright red lipstick.

"Yes," you told him, not meeting his eyes. Your face hurt. Your boyfriend had slapped you two days ago. Your skin was puffy and bruised, and you were embarrassed and afraid to move out, so you stayed. "You boys need another round?"

They left you a sizable tip. They always did.

The next time you saw them, your lip was split open, and you were desperate for a way out of the mess your life had turned into. Trying to hide your face while you mixed drinks was a chore, and as soon as Ghost and Soap arrived, you knew it was useless.

When Soap disappeared toward the washrooms, Ghost leaned across the bar, his hulking shoulders taking up more than their fair of space, making you smile slightly. His voice was deep and soft, but his words made you shiver and freeze with your hand on a pint glass. "Y' know, a pretty little thing like you belongs on a pedestal. A man should touch you with reverence."

You stared at him silently as his eyes tracked the mark on your lip. When Soap returned, you didn't charge them a cent for their drink, but they tipped you well anyway.

When a confrontation happened at the bar, tears stung your eyes, and you wanted to hide. Your boyfriend was drunk and angry, and tonight he beckoned you from behind the bar to a dark corner near the hallway where he could have some privacy while he berated you and roughed you up.

"Please," you begged, running your hands nervously on your shirt. "Just go home. I'll be off work in an hour."

"How many of them have you fucked?"

"What?" you gasped, thinking he'd finally lost it. "What are you talking about? I need to get back to work."

He pushed you up against the wall with his other hand on your jaw. "How many of the men here tonight have you fucked?" His thumb brushed the spot on your lip that was nearly healed, and you flinched. "You have the guiltiest expression. So, tell me how much of a slut you've been. As your boyfriend, I need to keep you in line."

Then he was being hauled away from you as your legs shook. With wide eyes, you watched Ghost's massive bicep wrap around his neck like it was nothing. "Y' alright, love?" he asked you softly, and you nodded without saying a word. Then his face darkened, and his voice was an angry snarl as he told your boyfriend, "Ya' been relieved of your duties."

"The fuck?" he responded from his headlock, gasping for air.

Ghost sighed and rolled his eyes. "Fuckin' prick don't even know military protocol." Then he raised his voice a little louder. "I said, ya' been relieved of your duties. I'll take over from here."

Somehow, you found your voice. "Take over?"

Ghost's face softened again when he looked at you there against the narrow hallway wall. "With the boyfriend duties," he told you while Soap dragged your ex-boyfriend toward the exit. "Sound good, love?"

He was holding out his big paw of a hand, palm facing up, and you knew he'd be incapable of using it to hurt you. The softness in his gaze right now and every time he looked at you was proof enough of that. You didn't respond, but you smiled as you slid your hand into his grasp.

"That'll do for now," he grunted.

That was the night you came to know him as Simon.

💀

Part two

[xazse]

okay hear me out…. reverse hybrid au… with tigerhybrid!sukuna bc nobody else can handle him because he’s so aggressive and overbearing .. so reader is their last resort zoo caretaker and they’re is shocked at how it’s like reader has a leash on tigerhybrid!sukuna 😚

I’VE GOT IT?

Synopsis: You’re head of a completely different department so why are you being asked to help with an odd situation?

Warnings: Female!reader + Mean!Sukuna + cringe tropes (sorry) + Hybrid!Sukuna: ears and a tail + heat + cumming inside + doggy + NOTPROOFREAD!!! + obsessed!Sukuna

Pairings: Tigerhybrid!Sukuna x female!Reader

Notes: I’m really working to improve my writing for you guys!! Esp my non-English speakers

“Miss please you know we would never beg like this if it wasn’t urgent.”

“I don’t specialize in that field, how many times must I tell you?”

You were getting sick of these scientists coming to you more often than normal, there’s three right now begging for you to take on a case that you didn’t want to do.

“Sukuna is out of control, he’s already injured five of our best, now they refuse to work with him”

“And I should be the sixth?” You say with a quirk of your brow.

They all stop and stare at one another, you have a good ass point what makes them think that you’ll be the antidote for their beast they decided to keep.

“Like I said, my stance on this won’t change.”

Another voice in the doorway of your office speaks up: “I’ll upgrade your pay and have you transferred up.”

Your ears perk up at this offer, to go even further where you are right now means business and a fuck ton of money. On the flip side it means facing whatever they’re against but you’ve always been a little greedy for money so you oblige.

The scientists made sure to throw you in the thinnest garments: “to let him know you don’t have anything on you.” As they put it.

They also had told you no sudden movements and to talk with him in a calm manner, show him you aren’t afraid and find out what’s been making him so angry lately. Easy peasy except your life is on the line!

You disregard any negative thoughts of death and make your way into the place where they keep their hybrids, it’s like little apartments where they can do as they please in return for information on their biology, as far as you know they love it here. You’ve once met puppy!hybrids Satoru and Suguru they were very sweet men, needy but sweet.

Your first step into the apartment is met with a strong smell, a smell of something primal if that even has a smell. It’s warm.

You start poking around his place, checking his fridge and looking for anything out of the ordinary, nothing seems amiss though. It’s not until you come up to one of the doors and hear slight noises. You press your ear up closer making the noise more clearer: whining it sounds like whining.

Could he perhaps be In pain? You knock three times and announce you’re coming in. The door clicks and you start slowly pulling it open. You see the man in all his glory resting upon his bed, arms wrapped around his pillow and an unreadable expression.

Sukuna is big, he’s a big man compared to all the other hybrids, he’s brimming with pure muscle. Does he workout in here? Your thoughts are interrupted by slight growling: he’s warning you. Step any close r and he will have no choice but to harm you.

You pay him no mind, instead you step fully in and start looking around without a care in the world.

“You’re making trouble- why is that?” You say while looking through his dresser.

“You’re being extremely nosy, leave before I kill you.” He threatens harshly.

“If you harm me I’ll have you sent somewhere else, I know where you come from and I’m assuming you don’t want to go back.”

The room goes eerily silent like he’s making a choice, he opens his mouth to speak but a groan accidentally slips past his lips.

Oh… the big oaf is in heat, and top scientists couldn’t tell or try to track his cycle?

“You in heat big guy?”

“No-“

“Such a liar, I’m not here to make fun of you, I’m here to make sure you get proper help.”

“The only way I’ll get proper help is if I fuck someone.” So damn blunt you think to yourself.

He continues speaking: “I think you know they won’t allow that though.”

“Would you like some toys? I can request that for you.”

“Useless.”

You let out the loudest sigh and plop down on his fluffy bed. Bending your head in his direction you see he’s not looking at your face but your body, eyes fully trained on your pert nipples because of the cold.

You allow the poor suffering hybrid to mount you, putting a good bit of his weight on your back you can feel the outline of his thick meaty cock resting near your cunt and ass.

He’s hard, fully hard and probably has been for a while: you feel almost a little bad.

Sukuna doesn’t waste anytime grinding down against you, it feels so fucking good, his cock is accepting anything even if it’s the bare minimum. Everytime he meets your ass he whines, such a needy tiger you coo.

He’s ignoring all the dirty little comments you send his way too focused on the only good sensation he’s felt for a while, his hand doesn’t compare to your rounded ass. You reach between your legs and pull his shorts down, letting his cock bob free for a minute before he’s pushing up against you again.

He’s producing so much precum that youCan feel it through your silky garments.

“Smells so good… really good.” “Mhhhphmmm-“ he’s now being open with his groans too focused on the feeling of his tip prodding your clothed pussy. His swishing tail is within your eyesight, you grab it and rub it for extra stimulation.

You help him a little bit by bouncing your ass against him. He places his head in the crook of your neck and starts nibbling on your neck, you can feel how sharp his damn teeth are and pray to yourself he isn’t going to bite you: killing you in the process.

He doesn’t do any of that instead he just lightly bites, using no strength at all. While he’s busying tearing up your neck you slip your panties off, grabbing his fat length and teasing your wet hole. Just feeling it in your hand has your body burning up in arousal it’s been a while since you’ve had a cock, especially a cock his size.

You slowly start inching it in, the stretch is so damn unbearable and uncomfortable. When he feels what you’re doing he starts moving his hips already. An impatient thing such as him isn’t gonna wait. He gets about halfway in and you feel a thick liquid fill you, did this beast just cum? Already?

“Nhhhnn.. fuck-..” this doesn’t deter him because he’s sitting fully on his knees and pulling you flush against him, his entire length snuggly inside your pussy. He doesn’t wait to bounce you back on him, you can’t comprehend anything properly so shocked by how he just made you take every inch of him.

Your lashes flutter closed as he ruts into you like you’re the damn sex tox he’s been given, one he wasn’t gonna take care of properly. His hold on you is extremely tight so you can do nothing but take him fully, even when your walls threaten to constrict around him he pushes through it and keeps fucking Into you.

You allow him, allow him to thrust like a wild animal, mercilessly pulling all the way out of you just to slam back in. Drool is seeping down your neck where he’s latched on in droves. He’s far too gone, pussy has never felt this good.

By the end Sukuna is still rutting uselessly, he’s not even hard anymore he just can’t stop leaking cum nor has that good euphoric feeling stopped. He’s made a mess of your pussy, his cum and yours seeping down your thighs and onto his ruined sheets.

Hes licking at your face and you can hear a deep rumbling in his chest, this big hybrid is purring in content. Any attempt to move from under him is completely halted, he won’t let you move even an inch.

He begins sucking on your nipples, they’re definitely gonna be sore later but now it seems he just wants comfort and you fully give that to him. Rubbing his ears and whispering sweet nothings to him.

After that incident Sukuna is completely attached, he constantly whines for you to come see him including the scientists also calling for you to calm him down. He won’t let you have a moments peace.

Even when you tell him you’re extremely busy he’s having none of it, if he wants you to laze around and do nothing but rub him or praise/coddle him he completely expects it!

As his mate you’re meant to be with him all the time you should be grateful he’s even letting you leave the nest.

You were left fully shocked when he first called you his mate but the scientists explained that you were his first and now you are his last, they had all praised you because testing was made easier if you were there.

They’re all surprised to see him completely like mush under you, like one time when it was time for his blood to be drawn he made you come and sit in his lap while he had it taken. The doctors said he seemed to be completely smitten with you, in love and so possessive.