#anyway… maybe i’ll write a blurb >_<< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[tacodestroyeravenger]

Dark Matter Supernatural AU full lineup

Or what happens when a shapeshifter, synthetic being, werewolf, dragon, fae, and a vampire wake up with amnesia on a ship?

[vampireloverz]

i need lady dimitrescu so badly this evening…

[em1i2a3]

Carry The Zero

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry (or The Void) x Avengers!Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Bob are sharing a room while the Avengers Compound is under renovations, which brings on a slew of new things to learn about one another.

Warnings: Semi Spoilers for Thunderbolts I guess because Bob is in here. Other than that there is nothing too extreme happening in here, it’s a bit emotional, but there is fluff in here, I would kind of describe this as a Hurt/Comfort fic than anything. There are mentions of abuse and there is also some heavy petting maybe? I mean, I’ll put that in here to cover my booty lol.

Authors Note: My second viewing of Thunderbolts truly got my mind racing for what to write in regard to Bob. Thought I would put out this lil blurb and probably add more to it later in another segment or something! Anyways! Enjoy y’all and happy premiere weekend!!! :)

Word Count: 6,784

The room wasn’t built for two people, that’s what you knew for sure. It used to be a storage space, at least that is what you assumed judging by the various filing cabinets that lined the area, the dented lockers that were near the door, and the strewn papers that nobody decided to throw away in preparation for the move-in. The only thing that was the saving grace was the fact that the place had a window that let you look out onto the city. But it still didn’t truly make up for the cramped space, even though they were able to shove two twin sized beds inside it and call it a room–which showed how effective their planning was throughout all the chaos.

The Avengers Compound was still under renovations after a security breach took out part of the living space, meaning everyone needed to be shuffled like cards in a losing deck. Room assignments were given unwillingly to everyone, and you had been paired with Bob.

It was weird to be rooming with someone who had the power of a million exploding suns as people liked to say, because even though he carried that on his sleeve sheepishly, his personality certainly didn’t match that of a person who could take down the entire world. He was shy, quiet, and careful, tip-toeing around you like you were going to snap at him at any second–which was not the case at all.

Compared to the other options you had you actually preferred to be rooming with him.

The first few days had passed in near silence. You didn’t talk much, you’d only go into your room to sleep or change, and when you would do something outside of those two things Bob would rush out pretty quickly, apologizing nervously under his breath, like he thought you were obligated to time alone.

He’d go to bed early, and you’d catch him reading beneath the awful buzzing lamp that was left in the room from before the two of you moved in. You never really asked him what he was reading because the title was always changing, like he couldn’t finish anything, or he had so much time to himself he was finishing books like they were snacks.

Then there were little things you began to notice.

He’d pace a lot, wring his hands in his lap, or pick at the skin on his fingers. He was clean, he never left shoes in the middle of the room, and always lined them up neatly under his bed frame, even yours. He would flinch at loud noises, like if there was a childish argument happening in the communal kitchen and things got too high in volume he would get a little twitchy. He was observant, and paid attention to everything around him–sometimes you would hear him talking to himself, repeating fragments of conversations from earlier in the day, like it grounded him in some way.

He had his routine and you respected it as much as possible, but tonight was entirely different.

You were coming in late from training, and a med bay visit.

The scrape on your shoulder wasn’t serious, but it was bad enough to have Bucky send you down to get checked out. It was standard–some antiseptic, a lecture from one of the nurses about being more careful and aware of your surroundings, and then you were released with a warning, and a fresh bandage. You were exhausted, sore, and annoyed with yourself for not paying attention and letting your guard down during a simulation, especially because the past few nights had been like that.

By the time you reached your floor, the halls were quiet. There wasn’t any bickering or discussions happening in the kitchen, nobody was lingering in the living room with post-mission jitters, it was just peace, for once.

You stopped at the fridge to pick yourself up a bottle of electrolytes, then paused, eyeing the row of them. You bit your inner cheek, and after a second of hesitation you grabbed another one for Bob, tucking it against you.

You figured he would be awake like he always was when you were on your training nights. You weren’t sure if he was just waiting for you or if he was just incapable of resting when you weren’t accounted for, but you never asked.

Slowly, you moved down the hall, twisting the cap off your drink with a wince when you strained just a little too much, causing the bandage to sting beneath your shirt. You gritted your teeth and let out a frustrated grunt.

“Gotta take it easy on yourself.” You heard Bucky say from behind you. You turned on your heel, seeing he was still in his training gear, also holding a bottle of electrolytes as well, “You’re gonna burn out if you don’t take breaks.” You shifted under his gaze.

”I want to be better, that’s why I’m training. If you got your ass handed to you on the field you would be doing the same.” He shook his head.

”No. I would be resting and seeing what I could do better the next time. Don’t come to training for the rest of the week, just relax and recoup, we’ll revisit your regimen when you’re better.” Before you could say anything he typed his code in for his room, and was out of your sight. You could feel your body seething as you turned back around to continue making your way down the hall. You’d seen it coming from a mile away just by the way he was watching you during the simulation but you never thought he would say anything to you like that. It just added another layer of annoyance as you reached your room.

You pushed the door open gently, careful not to let the hinges creak too loudly. The room was dark, which was unexpected, Bob’s light wasn’t even on. The only thing that was illuminating the room was the shimmer of city lights, casting silver-blue shadows across the floor.

Bob was in bed, lying on his side facing you, with his blanket tugged up to his neck. His face was soft in the low light–features relaxed, eyes closed. Sleeping, or at least you thought he was. You lingered in the doorway for a moment, squinting in the dimness of the room to see him a bit better.

His light brown hair looked a little messy, like he’d been shifting around for a while before finally settling on the position he was in now. You wondered how long he was lying like that, or if he had been waiting for your return but fell asleep in the process, and now you felt even worse than before.

You let the door close softly behind you with a gentle click, removing your shoes slowly, one at a time. Every motion felt heavier than it should have–dull with fatigue, and edged in frustration. You padded across the narrow space, keeping your steps quiet, with the extra bottle of electrolytes tucked against you, the condensation seeping through your training jacket.

You crouched slowly beside Bob’s bed, biting back a wince as your muscles tensed in protest, while you placed the bottle down on the floor, angling it so he’d see it when he woke up. It was a small, quiet offering, just something kind, a consideration in a way. You took your next moves slowly as you stood up and turned to your own bed with a tired exhale, putting the cap back on your drink and throwing it onto your bed. One hand rose to the zipper of your training jacket, pulling it down in a swift movement, teeth grinding while you pushed the fabric off your shoulders, feeling pain erupt from your ribs and shoulder now, the muscles pulsing with burning heat.

The cool air of the room hit your skin instantly, and your tank top didn’t do much to hide any of your injuries from the environment. Your back arched with the grating sting that came through you, and one hand came up to press against the bandage, making sure it was still on properly and not tugging at your skin. The ache was sharp and pulsing, and when your fingers came away damp, you already knew there was blood seeping through the gauze. You grimaced but didn’t consider making another trip to the med bay. You were too tired to care at this point, and it wasn’t something that would cause you to bleed out, so it was a morning issue to deal with.

You turned toward your dresser, collecting a pair of cotton shorts and an oversized sweater that smelled faintly of sage, throwing both articles of clothing down onto your bed with a soft plop. You rolled your shoulder gently, testing the range of motion in it with a quiet wince before reaching for the hem of your tank top, peeling the rough fabric up your skin carefully, trying to avoid the worst of the sting, though even at your slowest pace you could feel the movement pulling at the wound.

The cotton clung briefly to the tape of the gauze and the dried sweat that coated your skin before finally giving way, and coming off completely. You let out a sigh of relief, as you let the fabric fall to the floor, reaching for your sweater next. The bandage on your shoulder throbbed with every shift you made, but it was the deeper bruises scattered across your body–ghosts of impacts from the past few days–that ached beneath your skin like an echoing thunder. You glanced down at yourself, taking in the way they bloomed across your ribs, stomach, and hips, at this point you could see more bruises than your actual flesh at this point, and they were tender, dark and swollen. Maybe Bucky was right, maybe you really did need a break…

Your fingers curled loosely into the hem of your sweater, but you didn’t think to pull it on yet, you just continued to look down at the wreck that was your body, and the longer you stared, the more numb you became. It was easy to take a break but it wasn’t deserved, you couldn’t afford to make any more mistakes during missions, and you knew you weren’t going to listen to Bucky, you would keep training until your body gave out.

You closed your eyes for a moment, before lifting the sweater towards you, ready to retreat into its softness, ready to disappear and call it a night, but then you heard it.

A breath. Sharp and quick. You froze in your spot.

Then came the sound of movement, the shuffling of the blanket, the mattress creaking under the shifting weight.

Your eyes darted toward Bob’s bed instantly, seeing that his back was now turned towards you. His blanket was pulled up around his shoulders, almost covering his whole head, but there was tension in his posture now, like he was more alert, and less relaxed.

Another breath was inhaled, only it was thinner this time, and wet, followed by a muffled sniffle. Your brows furrowed, and you worked quickly to throw your sweater on without hurting yourself so you were covered up completely, before making your way to his bed, crouching down on the floor, keeping your attention fixated on him. His shoulders were rising and falling now in uneven motions, and now you were piecing together that he was actually crying.

”…Bob?” You whispered, voice soft and low, like if you made it any louder than the volume you were at now it might shatter him. You could see the shuddering in his shoulders halt at the way you said his name, and he pulled the blanket higher over his head, like he was trying to shield himself from your eyes.

”I’m sorry…” Your brows pulled together in confusion as you leaned against the bed a little more, watching the outline of his frame beneath the covers, seeing the small tremors still running through his shoulders. You bit the inside of your cheek as you reached out, your hand hovering for a breath before resting gently against the curve of his back. He was radiating heat through the blanket, but he was stiff beneath your touch, like he didn’t know what to do with the comfort you were offering.

“Bob…Why are you apologizing?” You asked softly. He took in another shaky breath, but didn’t answer. You let out a sigh, rubbing your hand up and down his back like your mother used to when you cried, trying to soothe him, to calm him as much as you could.

”I…I saw the bruises.” He said, barely a whisper. Your hand on his back froze for a moment, “I-I didn’t mean to look, I swear, I just-“ His breath hitched, realizing that you were probably throwing daggers into his back with your eyes, “I just woke up…And saw them, and I couldn’t…Couldn’t stop remembering…” He couldn’t finish his sentence, it was just too much, as another set of sobs escaped his throat. You could feel your gaze soften at the noise, almost like a piece of your heart was breaking for him, continuing your movements along his back, pressing just a little harder into the muscle.

“Is there anything I can do? Do you want some electrolytes or something?” He shook his head.

”No…P-Please just stay…” His voice was hoarse, cracking under the thickness that coated his throat from the tears. You nodded even though he couldn’t see you, staring at his shoulders as he continued to cry, curling in on himself beneath his blanket.

You continued rubbing his back, keeping a steady and consistent rhythm. The heat of him radiated through the blanket like a furnace on the verge of burning itself out. Every time your hand passed over his spine, his shoulders seemed to loosen by a fraction.

“C-Can I ask something…Kind of w-weird?” His voice broke through the quiet again, in such a timid whisper that you barely heard it.

“Sure.” You replied, hearing him sniffle again. There was a long pause, and you could feel the hesitation, like he was trying to put his words together properly so whatever he was going to say didn’t come off creepy. You continued to run your hand over his back, waiting patiently for him, watching his figure rising and falling beneath the blanket, still seeing it shaking. In your mind, you were worried, you hadn’t seen him like this before, and there was a moment where you considered calling Bucky or Yelena to come help you, but then his voice broke through the thoughts.

”…Could you…” He took another breath, “Could you…Please hold me?” The question came out strangled, like it had clawed its way out of his throat before he could second-guess it again. You blinked slowly at the request, not because you were unsure of your answer, but because the way he said it was so gentle, and embarrassed it caught you off guard in a way.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting him to say, you thought maybe he was going to ask you for a tissue, but this was something far more vulnerable, something you never thought would come from Bob of all people, even though you knew he was sensitive. Inside you hesitated only because you didn’t want to hurt him by possibly doing the wrong thing, yet your heart ached watching him break down beneath his blanket which at this point was drowning him because of how much he had curled up beneath it.

“Of course…Just let me change out of these training pants first okay? It’ll just take a second.” There was no response to that, just movement. He shifted towards the wall so he was giving you enough space to get in, still hunched over like he felt guilty for the area that he occupied. You quickly stood up, and made quick work of shimmying out of your training pants and putting on your cotton sleep shorts, which was probably the best idea since you felt him burning through the blanket he was wrapped in. You brought your attention back to him soon after, returning to the side of the bed, your eyes roaming over the lump that resembled his body.

With a gentle hand, you tugged the edge of the blanket down just enough to uncover the top of his head, revealing his light brown hair again which looked dampened with sweat beneath the illuminating city lights that shined through the window. He didn’t say anything, or protest being exposed to you, so you took that as a good sign to continue.

You slid into the space he made for you, careful not to jostle the cocoon he made for himself too much, and eased your bad arm underneath his pillow so your scraped shoulder could rest in a neutral position where your bandage wouldn’t rip off your skin completely. You pulled up the blanket slightly, getting in behind him, scooting closer until your chest met his damp back.

His navy blue t-shirt was soaked through completely, and it wasn’t helping that he was wearing long pants to bed either. There was a fear he was gonna pass out from heat stroke or something, but he had mentioned it several times that he ran hot in general, you just didn’t see it to this extreme. He smelled like a salty rain storm, or like ozone, it was something indescribable to you in those moments, but it was what he typically radiated, it was familiar.

Slowly, you brought your arm over his torso, placing your hand onto the hard plane of his sternum, the muscles beneath his shirt twitching against the unfamiliar touch that you introduced to him.

Neither of you spoke, you just laid against each other in pure silence, listening to each other's breathing–his trembling, yours steady. He could feel your hot breaths against his neck and tried to pay attention to it, as you pushed down the blanket a bit with your elbow to shed the makeshift shield from his body. It took him a while to compose himself enough to speak again, but when he did, you were hanging off of every word.

”…When I saw the bruises…” He rasped, “All I could think about was me. When I was a kid…” The mentioning of his childhood immediately felt like a blow to your stomach. He had said something about how he was raised in passing, but it was an off handed remark that nobody really paid attention to. You figured it was something he didn’t want to talk about, but hearing him say this only made you dread what he was going to continue with.

”After he’d hit me…I’d go over to the mirror, just to see how bad it was. I’d tell myself it didn’t hurt, even if it did, I’d just lie to myself, because I knew if I cried, he’d just get angrier. He was always in the mood to beat me up so when he had a reason I think it made him feel justified in some…Messed up way.” Your chest tightened at his words, thinking about how scary it must’ve been for him, and how terrified he must’ve felt not knowing when his own father would strike. You didn’t speak right away, but you did shift, sliding your hand up higher on his chest, so you could press your palm flat over his heart. His shirt was soaked there too, yet beneath it all you could feel the frantic fluttering of his pulse, like a bird rattling against its cage.

“I’m sorry,” You whispered, your breath tickling his neck again. He didn’t respond, though he didn’t recoil either.

“None of that should’ve ever happened to you,” You continued softly, brushing your thumb along the fabric against his heart, “You were a child, and you didn’t deserve that.” He let out a breath like he was trying not to begin sobbing again.

”You don’t have to say that.” You raised your head a bit, almost in disbelief that he truly thought that what happened to him was somehow okay or justified.

”I do, Bob.” You murmured, inching just a little closer, feeling your body screaming in protest as your injured shoulder moved the wrong way, causing you to hiss through your teeth. Bob noticed instantly.

”You’re hurting,” He said quietly with guilt sinking into every syllable.

”I really couldn’t give a crap about that right now Bob, trust me I’ve been through worse. You’re hurting right now too and I’m not going anywhere. Do you understand?” You replied back, your voice low, but lacking bite, not that you intended to have it sound stern or anything.

Bob shifted beneath your touch, slowly rolling onto his back like the weight of your words cracked something loose inside him. You adjusted carefully to give him space, keeping your injured shoulder angled away from the impact of his back pressing against your arm, even though the ache felt like white noise beneath the tension that was beginning to rise in the room. When he settled on his back you adjusted yourself so your chin rested against his chest, keeping your hand splayed in the same position over his heart.

His eyes didn’t find yours at first, they stared blankly at the ceiling, the soft glow of the city lights catching the shimmer of the tears that were still pooling in his eyes. Now that you could see him fully, you realized how bad things really were. His skin was blotchy, and flushed from how hot he was. His cheeks were stained with fresh tears, mixing with sweat that created this overall sheen on his skin in general, which made his hair cling to his forehead. A long, old kind of hurt settled over his face, the kind that hid quietly within the corners of a person.

He inhaled shakily, and every exhale got caught somewhere between exhaustion and restraint. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath your chin, and it made you ache in a way that put a hole deep in your chest.

”Bob…” You murmured, barely louder than the sound of the city humming outside the window, “Look at me.” At first he didn’t move, keeping his eyes fixated on the ceiling, distant and confused, still taking in those short bursts of air. Your hand left his chest, bringing them up to his jaw, coaxing his attention with the lightest touch you could give him.

“Look at me Bob,” You whispered again.

Then slowly, his eyes shifted downward until they found yours. The moment his gaze landed on you, something cracked open between you both–it was quiet, and delicate, but present and grounded in the center of it all. His expression was drawn, and his lashes were clumpy and wet with tears, framing his shimmering blue irises.

The skin surrounding his eyes were raw, almost a blood red, like someone had scratched it and left their marks streaking down his flesh. You didn’t flinch away from it though, you just looked at him with such focus, like your gaze could settle the storm that was in him. You could see his lip tremble slightly under your gaze as he tried to hold himself still, tears brimming in his eyes again, threatening to spill.

”I hate remembering…I can’t stand it. I don’t want to remember this stuff…I don’t want to think about it anymore, and I don’t want you to associate me with being weak.” You raised your eyebrows, now raising your head up to you were looking at him a little better, resting your hand against his chin now.

”I don’t, ” You stated, watching a set of tears flow out of the corners of his eyes, swallowing loudly, “I don’t associate you with weakness.” You whispered, brushing your thumb along the smooth skin of his cheek.

”I associate you with patience…With overwhelming kindness, and with strength so deep it doesn’t even have to be displayed. You could burn the sky down…You could use all the pain inside you to destroy the planet…Yet you help, you listen, and you keep going. That’s not a weak person Bob.” You wiped one of the tears away with your thumb, feeling him hesitate before leaning into your touch.

“Y/N…I’m not right in the head…You don’t understand…You’ll never understand.” You shook your head, and sighed.

”I don’t have to understand everything to care about you,” Bob’s eyes squeezed shut for a moment, like the words that you said hit him like a truck. You could feel the tension in his jaw, as he clenched it tightly, trying to contain himself a bit.

“I used to think that if I could just bury everything deep enough maybe it wouldn’t make me feel so contaminated…But then when I got the serum…And The Void came…And that awfulness manifested into something bigger…I realized that it just wouldn’t go away. I’m dangerous Y/N…I’m not someone that can be fixed. I know you care, but I can’t risk hurting you.” You shifted closer to him, moving up slowly, dragging your chest along his. His eyes followed your movements, turning his head when you settled near his shoulder, feeling your hand leave his cheek.

“You don’t scare me Bob. You’re just saying this stuff because you think it’ll make me give up on you, but I’m not that easy to sway.” You whispered, reaching down to touch one of his hands, which caused him to flinch. He was already bracing himself, preparing to be pulled into one of your memories, but it didn’t happen…It was like…Things were quiet. Just pure emptiness, and the only thing he could see was you. He stared at you as you wrapped your fingers around his hand, seeing his brows draw together.

“H-How are you…Doing this?” He asked quietly, like he was afraid he was going to disturb the peace and get thrown into your mind out of nowhere.

”I locked it out.” He shook his head at you quickly.

”That’s impossible…It always gets in…” A small smile came up on your lips, hearing the disbelief in his voice, the way he was almost entirely taken aback by what you had just said. You leaned in a little closer to him, like you were going to tell him a secret, feeling his breath fanning over your face.

“Before I was recruited, I was part of a different team. Black-ops, kind of like what the X-Men used to be, but very much under the radar. It was just…Constant missions, we were a clean up crew basically, picking up the scraps that nobody else wanted…” You smiled faintly, the corner of your mouth twitching with the memories of your team, how close you all were, how none of you took crap from anyone…Similar to what you had now, just a little better because of the tether you all had between each other.

“We ran into a lot of people with gifts. Telepaths. Empaths…Stuff like that. Some didn’t even know they were projecting until it was too late. Others weaponized it. Pulled secrets out like stitches and drove people insane without ever touching them.”

Bob was still staring at you, eyes wide and brimming with tears, his chest rising beneath you in short bursts.

“It was mandatory,” You continued. “To train in mental shielding. Neural control. The discipline to lock down your own mind so tight it’s like a vault. We trained until our thoughts didn’t even echo. You learn to breathe around psychic pressure, to mask trauma with static, to reroute memories into dead space. You learn to feel someone reaching for you…And then cut the line.”

Bob swallowed hard, hearing the way you explained everything to him step by step, while still holding his hand, running your thumb over the back of it.

“I wasn’t trained to stop the Void,” You said gently, “But I was trained to stop something similar to it. And apparently, it’s just close enough.” You watched his lashes flutter like he didn’t know whether he was going to cry again or if he was just going to sink into the mattress and disappear entirely.

“…That’s why the mental noise isn’t so loud when we're alone in a room together…” He whispered under his breath, almost like everything was clicking in his mind, as his hand began to tighten around yours now, matching the same hold you had, “…Mental shielding…Who knew that would be the thing that makes everything go quiet.” You smirked at his comment, already hearing the tension in his voice wavering, feeling his breath sticking to your cheeks, shifting in front of him so your noses bumped slightly.

“Technically it’s still quite an experimental thing, but…It works when needed I think.” You can see his lip twitch slightly, drawing into his mouth just a little bit, as if he wanted to get a taste of your breath that coated it.

“It’s…Amazing.” Was all he could muster up to say, continuing to hold onto your hand tightly, like it was anchoring him to this quiet space in his head that he had not been able to reach since taking the serum. “…All I hear, and all I feel…Is you and I had no clue until now…” The sound of his voice made your spine tingle, and goosebumps raise on your skin.

It was shocking that moments ago he was this wreck, then suddenly it was like he was on top of the world. Maybe it was because he hadn’t been touched like this in so long, or maybe it was because he finally had a break from all the noise that kept draining him, you had no clue…But what you did know is how soft his eyes had become, and how deep his breaths were now that he was a little calmer, and not being treated like a threat of some kind.

You shifted again, getting almost unbearably close to him now, the fabric of the blanket sliding down slowly, exposing your clothed bodies to the silvery-blue light just a little more. Bob didn’t move, but his eyes never left yours, he kept every ounce of attention on you, waiting for your next action, hanging on every moment. His breath hitched when your knees bumped gently against his thigh, as the warmth of your bodies radiated like twin heartbeats pressed just barely apart.

Your noses were brushing against one another, and if you tilted your chin up by just a little bit, you’d be kissing.

”I’m glad I’ve been able to make it go quiet for you…Even if it’s not permanent.” A faint smile slowly appeared on his face–crooked, and trembling, but so genuine.

“It’s more peace than I thought I’d ever get…So thank you.” He replied back, his hand squeezing yours, not in desperation, but with something closer to awe, like he still couldn’t wrap his head around the situation that was happening in front of him. His breath brushed across your face as he watched your eyes roaming over his. You couldn’t help but stare at him, to take him in now that he wasn’t crying, to admire the person who was in front of you. It was hard not to lose track of time studying his features, and how they were just…Him.

There was a long pause between the both of you, a snippet of time suspended into the universe where nothing else existed beyond the narrow bed and the hum of the city beyond the window. His chest rose slowly, puffing out warm shallow breaths against your lips, and for a second it felt like he was hesitating on something…But then, he leaned in.

It wasn’t fast, or sweeping like he was trying to catch you off guard. It was careful, like every little millimeter he closed between the both of you was an offer for you to pull back, but you didn’t take it.

When his lips met yours, it was a soft, trembling brush of mouths that lingered more in intent than execution. He kissed like he was afraid you were somehow going to disappear, but you could feel how much he truly wanted this. His lips were warm, and slightly parted, and you could taste the faintness of tears and salt, still hesitating to go the full mile.

There was a moment where he was about to pull back, and that’s when you took the opportunity to fully lean into the kiss and throw logic out the window, just for this one cut of time

Your lips moved against his, answering the softness of his approach with something more certain and grounded. The taste of him was still there, but now it was amplified tenfold from how much more pressure you were placing on the kiss now.

He was stiff at first, the tension in his jaw made it evident, like he was unsure of what he was allowed to do, what he was okay to give back, or like he was bracing himself for the possibility of you pulling back before he could even try to meet you where you were at. But then your hand let go of his, and slid up to cup the side of his face, and he let out the smallest gasp of disbelief against your mouth. Your thumb brushed gently beneath his eye as your lips molded to the shape of his mouth with a tenderness that shattered whatever restrain he’d been holding onto.

Your arm shifted beneath the pillow, bending just enough so you could lace your fingers into his damp hair, pulling him in more with such grace that it made him groan. His hand moved to your neck then–his shaky fingers pressing softly just below your ear, his thumb brushing over the curve of your jaw as he located your pulse instantly. His touch wasn’t possessive, it was filled with care, and curiosity. He wanted to feel the warmth of your skin, the steady–or not so steady–rhythm of your heartbeat beneath his fingers, he craved to be closer to you, and every moment that passed was giving him the signal that you wanted that too.

He shifted gently, slowly turning onto his side without breaking the kiss, being cautious not to put anymore unwanted pressure on your arm beneath him as he wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you in until your bodies were flush against one another. You could feel the dampness on your sweater from his shirt, and your bare legs brushing against the cotton of his sleep pants, which only overwhelmed you more, knowing it was going to be a challenge to stop this from going too far.

His hand splayed out on your back, twitching against the fabric that covered it as you parted your lips for him, allowing his tongue to brush against yours with the softest flicker of hesitation, tasting you like he was drinking something sacred. The breath he let out against your mouth made your skin prickle beneath your sweater, and it only encouraged your response.

You angled your mouth to his, encouraging him to continue, feeling him follow suit in an instant, matching your energy bit by bit, syncing with the way you moved against him. When your hand slid further into his hair, and curled within the damp strands, gently tugging, he let out the smallest, softest moan–it was so quiet and desperate it sounded like it had been buried within him for years. It made your head spin hearing it, and it only made you shift yourself towards him even more, feeling his thigh nudging between your legs so the both of you can completely mesh together. It was such a subtle move, but it lit up every nerve ending in your body like it was nothing.

Bob’s hand slid beneath the hem of your sweater, craving the feeling of your skin beneath his touch. His fingers traced the small of your spine, barely putting enough pressure on it, yet he still managed to send shivers through your body. He was getting bolder, but kept his awareness at the forefront, like he was cataloging every reaction you gave him, terrified that he might cross an invisible line and ruin the moment.

You felt the muscles in his arm shift as he pulled you even closer, putting more pressure between your bodies until you felt every rise and fall of his chest, and his heartbeat pulsed through you. His knee shifted again, nudging further between your thighs, pressing it gently into the thin cotton fabric that covered your most sensitive area, eliciting a gasp from you now. You could feel yourself falter control for a moment, moving your hips just a little to test the friction that you wanted, and that’s when you both realized just how far this could go–and how close you already were to getting there.

His hand tensed against your back, and the kiss slowed down, until he found the correct moment to pull back, just a few inches. His lips were still parted, only now they were swollen and wet with saliva. He was out of breath, and you mirrored the same sentiment, as the both of you tried to even your racing hearts before they exploded. His pupils were dilated, and in the dimmed lighting you could only see a faint glisten of blue that rimmed the darkness that took over, the burn was there, the want was there, but there was the looming fear that you both were going from zero to one hundred really quickly, and that’s when regrets could be made, and neither of you wanted that.

”…We can’t do this…” He whispered, his voice cracking from being the first one to speak. You nodded faintly, your fingers still toying with his hair, reluctant to let go completely, but understanding him.

”I know,” You murmured, “Not like this…Not tonight.” You clarified. He closed his eyes, a soft exhale brushing your lips as his fingers twitched against your pulse point on your neck again.

”It’s not that I don’t want to,” He added quietly, “God I do…You have no idea.”

“I know,” You said again, running your thumb along his cheek, soothing the skin there, “Me too…I want to as well…But we’re not ready. Especially after being in the headspace that you were in a few minutes ago.” He nodded slowly.

”I don’t want it to be something that will be confused for a moment of distraction.” You stared at him, hearing how serious he was about it, “And I don’t want to ruin anything.” He added softly, opening his eyes again to look at you.

”You’re not ruining anything, we’re just pressing pause…And that’s completely fine, and it’s the best decision to make for right now.” He gave a small, nervous smile at that and leaned forward to rest his forehead against yours, “We’ll talk more about it later…But for now how about we just relax hmm?” He let out a shaky breath, the heat from it hitting your lips and invading your mouth for just a split second.

”Yeah…I’d like that.” You smiled faintly, as your bodies untangled just a bit from one another, removing the both of you from the intimate position you had found yourself in moments before. His knee shifted out from between your legs, and rested against them instead, letting the tension unravel and disappear slowly.

He wrapped both arms around you now, carefully noting your injury, and you folded yourself into his chest, letting your hand rest on his ribs as he pulled the blanket up to shield the both of you.

You both stayed there, nose to nose, breath to breath, hearts beating unevenly against one another until sleep came over you like a harsh wave.

[psformybss]

What about something with secret fiancé reader where she’s very pregnant and they are at an OBX thing and Drew is just so loving and supportive and dotting on her and everything. No pressure to do this, just a thought, totally under stand if you don’t want to.

Let Me, Baby

series masterlist

warnings: pregnancy mention, fluff, third trimester softness, drew being doting, domestic vibes, casual dialogue, obx cast dinner

an: i love this idea so much, thank you anon! this lowkey inspired me to write a little blurb for like each month of her pregnancy so i’ll probably post that soon i just gotta finish it lol

By the time they pulled up to Madelyn’s place, the porch lights were glowing and music was already drifting out from somewhere inside.

She unbuckled her seatbelt with a grin. “I swear, if JD didn’t bring his mac and cheese, I’m walking out.”

Drew was already out of the car and opening her door before she could even reach for the handle. “You’re not walking anywhere. I’ll carry you to the kitchen myself if I have to.”

She rolled her eyes, but took his hand anyway. “I’m not that pregnant.”

“You’re in the third trimester,” he said, steadying her with one hand on her back. “You’re not lifting a finger tonight. Or walking more than ten feet.”

“I did laundry, walked the dog, and vacuumed today,” she pointed out as they made their way up the front steps.

“And I offered to do all of that,” he said, holding the door open. “I was overruled.”

Inside, Madelyn’s place smelled amazing—something garlicky and warm—and laughter came from the kitchen. Carlacia was leaning on the counter drinking a Topo Chico while Chase and JD were pretending to help her cook. Madison waved from the couch, bowl of chips in her lap.

Madelyn came over first, grinning. “Look who finally made it.”

“Traffic,” Drew said like an excuse, even though they lived ten minutes away.

Madelyn hugged her, then looked her up and down. “You look so good. Seriously, you’re glowing.”

“She always looks good,” Drew said, kissing her temple like it was second nature.

“I can hear you,” she muttered with a grin as she kicked off her sneakers.

“Let me—” Drew was already scooping them up before she bent down. “I got it. Go sit, I’ll bring you food.”

“I just walked in the door.”

“Exactly. That’s enough effort for one night.”

Madison snorted from the couch. “He’s been like this the whole time?”

“Worse,” she said, waddling (fine, maybe a tiny bit) over to the couch. “He tried to carry my water bottle to the bathroom this morning.”

“She was carrying laundry at the same time!”

“You were still brushing your teeth!”

“I’m efficient,” Drew said, appearing again with a throw pillow that he fluffed and wedged behind her back. “You comfy?”

“I was fine until you started fussing.”

“I’m not fussing,” he said, adjusting the blanket on her lap. “I’m taking care of my girl. Big difference.”

Chase popped his head around the kitchen door. “You two are disgusting. I mean that in a loving way.”

“Let them be gross,” Carlacia said, stealing a chip. “She deserves it. She’s carrying a whole human.”

“She reminds me every day,” Drew said, heading back toward the kitchen. “But still makes her own coffee like a rebel.”

“Because I like doing things for myself!”

“Yeah, and I like doing things for you,” he said over his shoulder. “So let me win once in a while.”

She leaned her head back against the couch, smiling. “If you weren’t cute this would be so annoying.”

Madison grinned. “Nah, you love it.”

She did. He came back a few minutes later with a plate that looked like it had been carefully constructed by someone with a culinary arts degree.

“I got the corner of the lasagna, no onions in the salad, and one of JD’s muffins before they all disappeared,” he said, handing it over like it was made of gold.

She blinked at the plate. “Are you psychic?”

“Just observant,” he said, then flopped down beside her and gently lifted her feet into his lap. “Eat. Hydrate. Relax.”

“Who are you,” JD muttered, walking by with a soda. “And how do I get someone like you in my life?”

“Grow a uterus,” Drew deadpanned.

Dinner was loud and easy, everyone talking over each other and arguing about whether JD or Carlacia made the better pasta dish. Drew made her another plate without asking and refilled her drink twice before she could even notice she needed it.

When they all moved out onto the patio afterward, she stretched out on one of the benches and Drew sat down, immediately tugging her feet back into his lap like it was his job.

“You good?” he asked, rubbing slow circles into her calves.

“Mhm,” she said around a yawn. “Still got some energy left, I’m not crashing yet.”

“Let me know when you hit that wall,” he murmured. “I’ll get you home fast.”

She opened one eye to look at him. “You know you don’t have to do everything, right?”

“I know,” he said with a small smile. “But I want to.”

Carlacia wandered over and sat beside them. “You two are kind of unfair, by the way.”

“What, ‘cause he treats me like royalty?” she joked.

“Exactly. Now my standards are all messed up.”

“He’s setting the bar,” she teased, nudging Drew with her foot.

Drew leaned down and kissed her knee. “Just taking care of my girl.”

“Okay, ew,” Chase called from across the patio. “Can’t y’all save that for not a group hang?”

“Don’t be mad just ‘cause your love language is roast battles,” Madison said, tossing a pillow at him.

Eventually, she started to fade a little—nothing dramatic, just the usual post-dinner slump—and Drew noticed without her saying a word.

“You ready?” he asked quietly.

She nodded and let him help her up, even though she didn’t need it. He held her hand all the way to the car, carried her leftovers, and made sure she was buckled before even starting the engine.

As they drove off, she looked over at him and smiled. “You’re sweet, you know that?”

“I better be,” he said, lacing their fingers on the console. “You’re doing the hard part.”

She laughed. “Pretty sure you’ve carried 80% of the workload tonight.”

“And I’d do it again tomorrow.”

Her smile stretched wider as she looked out at the road. “Yeah. I know.”

taglist: @maybankslover

[musingsofheaven]

SO, ASL? p1

summary: You logged on for fun. Maybe a dumb convo because you fantasized sleep. Definitely not to let some stranger talk you to get wet. But here you are. Logged in. It’s fine. You’re fine. Just casually rubbing one out over a guy you don’t know while whispering “fuck me” into your own hand. But you are just a girl!

pairings: rafe cameron x afab!reader

warnings: 3.6k words. mature themes. sexting format. masturbation (f solo, m implied). orgasm denial/control. explicit sexual language. intense dirty talk. exhibitionism-adjacent. anonymous chat. overstimulation. voice kink (implied). read responsibly.

notes: so this was supposed to be a tiny thing… like a silly idea that maybe stayed under 1k?? like just a little blurb to get out of my system. and then i started writing. and um. yeah. 😵‍💫 i wrote this while ovulating. which explains a lot. like… a lot a lot. and i know it’s kinda cringe (okay like really cringe) but listen… i literally couldn’t stop thinking about touching yourself to someone you’ve never even seen??? like??? that’s so unhinged. and so hot. and so girlcore™. 🥵🫣 anyway this is disgusting and i should be locked in a box but i hope u enjoy 🫶😻

You don’t usually do this.

Maybe you do that when you’re so fucked up, meaning too bored, too awake, too alone, or yeah. P.S. You’re not even really into anonymous chat stuff. But it’s 2:21 a.m., and you’ve been rolling around your bed, taking some melatonin, and even listening to asmr bullshit. Your bed feels shit right now, and your phone is useless because it’s not helping you to fall asleep. Your brain is spinning in that useless, itchy way when you’re overtired but still too wired to sleep.

You have also been scrolling for too long now. Friends are asleep. You don’t have someone to annoy while you’re awake. You’re not ready to read, watch, or do things. Now that you’re on the home page, type in one of those chat sites.

There’s a video chat option, but you chose the anonymous chat instead. Because... why not? Text only. No usernames. No cameras. Just with the thrill of matching with a stranger. Either you’ll match with someone good, or it’ll be mediocre, so skip it. Hit or pass, really.

You’ve just welcomed the typical page stating that you must be 18 or older, etc., rules that people won’t follow. Ultimately, a start button will be available, allowing you to click it.

Connecting you to someone…

You wait for it to load.

Then... there’s this classic: “You are now chatting with a random stranger.”

Stranger is typing...

Stranger: Hey, stupid question but

Stranger: If you have a flavor, what would it be

You blink. Yeah, it’s a fucking stupid question.

Then smiles.

You: That’s what you say to the conversation?

You: Not some typical age and gender?

Stranger: Yeah. But don’t say vanilla. I’ll block u

You: Wow, okay.

You: Hm... mine’s probably like matcha and cherry chapstick

Stranger: Okay slut

You snort. That will likely offend you greatly if you come here in a bad mood or with a bad attitude. But fine, since you’re bored, you’ll try to entertain yourself with this.

You: U?

Stranger: Probably Coke and whiskey

That makes perfect sense because Coke and whiskey are a good combination. It’s not Coke-like drugs, but Coca-Cola.

You: You mean the drink, right...?

Stranger: Right, right.

The conversation flows smoothly and unfolds quickly. It’s really funny and chaotic, honestly.

You talked about random things, mostly stupid things. We even had a fake fight about which pasta was the best. Your answer is carbonara. His is spaghetti. He admits to getting banned from Tinder for making his bio say, “just here to fuck and psychoanalysis how you after sex,” and people thought he was a poser or catfish too. Probably implying to you he looks good. It’s messy, stupid, and weirdly comfortable for two people who don’t know each other’s names.

You check the time. 3:37 a.m.

You: Damn, how are u still here?

Stranger: Insomnia. Boredom. Maybe because you make the conversation interesting

You: Wow. Smooth.

Stranger: I try

Stranger: Can I say something?

You: What something?

You: Do I wanna know?

Stranger: Depends on how lonely you are tonight

Your breath catches. Confused about what he meant. Ah, yes, you also exchanged information, but not in a too-personal manner. There’s a pause. You stare at the message. Like it knows something you don’t.

You: …say it

Stranger: I keep wondering what you taste like when you’re half-asleep and lazy about it

You freeze. It’s not some overreacting freeze; it’s more like staring dumbly at your screen.

You: Wow

Stranger: Too far?

You: A little bit

Stranger: If you wanna end the chat, it’s okay

You stare at the message. Like, really stare at it.

You could close the tab or end it intentionally. Perhaps you can thank me for the weird conversation and return to the part where you try (and fail) to sleep. You could reason out that you’ll do something. Or shut off your phone so you won’t get disconnected. You don’t even know what this guy looks like. You’ve never heard his voice. He could be a serial killer or what.

But you don’t close it.

You type instead.

You: Nah

You: Didn’t expect that ...://

Stranger: What did u expect

Stranger: U typed cherry chapstick like u weren’t tryna start shit earlier

You: Hey, I am genuine with that one

You: And maybe I was bored

Stranger: And now?

You: Still bored. just… warmer

Your heart skips a little after sending it. You don’t know why you admitted that. You know it’s true. You’re not really uncomfortable in the conversation. Honestly, you want to explore it more.

Stranger: Mmm

Stranger: Good

Stranger: Bored and warm’s a nice combo

Stranger: Makes people honest

You type and delete it. On his end, it keeps showing the stranger is typing. You don’t respond right away. You’re biting your lip. Tugging at your shirt. Your thighs press together without meaning to.

Stranger: Hey, cherry chopsticks

Stranger: Still there?

You: Yeah

Stranger: Wanna do something stupid with me?

God. You swallow. Okay, okay, that’s where you will draw the line! You will end it now. You swear. But it’s anonymous. It’s nothing. You’re never gonna meet this guy. You’re just killing time until sleep comes to you.

That’s all it is.

You: Okay

You: How stupid

Stranger: Tell me what you’re wearing

You stare at that message like it’s a trap. If you answer it, something irreversible will happen.

Because you could lie. Maybe lies about some information about what he’s asking. It’s not like he’s going to know. Say you’re wearing something sexy or perhaps lingerie. Just go thirst him more.

You could close the tab.

But you don’t.

You: Ugh

You: Shirt

Stranger: And?

You: Just a shirt and shorts, okay

Stranger: Nothing underneath?

You bite the inside of your cheek. You hate that he guessed that. Maybe it’s too obvious. Most women don’t prefer not to sleep with a bra on.

You: I didn’t plan on chatting with strangers tonight, lol

Stranger: I didn’t plan on jerking off with strangers tonight either, but here we are

You feel your stomach flip. Not in a gross way. Not in a warning way. Just… dizzy. It feels buzzing and hot, that kind.

You: You’re really doing that? haha

Stranger: My hand’s been in my sweats for like 10 mins now

Stranger: You’re hot

Stranger: Even without a face

You don’t know what to say to that. It’s unhinged. It’s... fuck, you never get to that point before when you’re on this site. When they start saying things like this, you’ll end the chat. No one’s ever said it like that. Maybe there is. But not precisely, you encountered it.

You: You’re crazy

Stranger: A little

Stranger: Wanna help me?

You feel your legs shift again, shut them close, rubbing them together a little more. Feel your skin heated. You shouldn’t want this. You shouldn’t be doing this.

But god, you’re so bored. And tired. And warm. And trembling already.

You: Okay

Stranger: Yeah?

You: Yeah

You: Tell me what to do

Stranger: Take the shirt off

You: What if I’m cold lol

Stranger: Bet your nipples are already hard anyway, so it doesn’t matter

Stranger: I wanna picture it

You: You’re fucked up

You: That’s... ugh

Stranger: Yeah

Stranger: So, take it off

You do. Fuck. You could just say in the chat that you did it even though you didn’t. But your fingers shake a little. You followed what he said and threw your shirt somewhere in your bed. Your screen lights your bare skin faintly, shadows moving across your chest when you shift. You know he can’t see you. That’s what makes it worse. Or better.

You: Okay, it’s off

Stranger: Fuck

Stranger: You are touching yet?

You: No

You: I was waiting for you to say it

Stranger: Good girl

Stranger: Put your fingers in your mouth first

You: ?

Stranger: Wanna imagine how wet you are before you even touch

Stranger: And bet your mouth’s drooling just thinking about it

Your thighs press together again, just trying to get pressure from the tiny movement. You don’t even realize you’re doing it until you read that again and go still.

You: I hate you

Stranger: Do it

You: Did

You: Uhm, fingers...

You: Wet

Stranger: Fuck

Stranger: Now rub

You insert your hand underneath your shorts and panties. You did what he instructed you, slowly and lazily, as if your body was being controlled by him. Just barely tracing your clit. It’s not even good yet. You’re just testing the water at this point.

You: Mmm

Stranger: Yeah?

Stranger: Fuck yourself a little

You: 2 fingers

You: Ugh

Stranger: Bet it’s tight

Stranger: Fuck, I wanna ruin you

Stranger: Throat, pussy, whatever you’ll give me

Stranger: I wanna keep you fucked out and dumb all night

Stranger: Ruin you till you forget your own name

Your breath stutters. You press your palm down and try not to moan even though there’s no one around to hear.

You: Say more

You: Pls

You’re hardly able to type. You’re already breathless, hand sliding wetly between your thighs again, screen dimmed just enough to feel this is wrong, like a secret, like you’re not totally exposed. Your pulse jumps as his typing bubble appears.

Stranger: Wanna pin you down

Stranger: Make you gag on my cock while you finger yourself

Stranger: Fuck your throat till you cry

Stranger: And then stuff your cunt so full you can’t even think

Stranger: Going to fuck you raw

Stranger: I’d spit on you and make you say thank you

Stranger: I’d keep going even when you say you can’t

You just stare at his multiple messages as if he knows it’s turning you on reading them. You are probably imagining it already with some faceless man in your head. Your stomach flips. Your legs are already shaking, two fingers deep and dripping. You whimper as you type, back arching off the bed.

You: Fuuuck

Stranger: Yeah?

Stranger: How deep are your fingers right now

Stranger: Tell me

Your eyes move from the phone to your hand as your knuckles and palms glisten. Your inner thighs are sticky, messy, and flushed.

You: Knuckles

You: Palm, maybe

You: I’m fucking wet

You: Pls

You: It’s so messy rn

Your hand’s already so soaked. Your fingers are curled tight inside you, clenching each time you thrust it smoothly and to your liking. You’re making a mess of the sheets, thighs sticky, flushed everywhere. You don’t even want to look down because it’s humiliating how wet you are. How much you need him to keep talking. Humiliating because you're being spoken to in such a manner by a stranger.

Stranger: God, I’d bury my face in it

Stranger: Tongue all over your clit

Stranger: Going to suck your clit and kiss your slit

Stranger: Fuck you with it until you scream

Stranger: Eat you til you sob for it

Stranger: Like it’s the last meal I’ll ever have

You whine, thighs closing together. Trapping your hand between it. You’re already beating and twitching around your fingers just from reading it. You imagine it.  His mouth is hot and open against you, messy and greedy, his grip bruising your hips as he eats you while you’re grinding into his mouth.

Your legs are trembling. Your clit is throbbing, aching, begging for touch.

And your fingers are still knuckle deep inside your cunt and still thrusting lazily, just enough to get pleasure. So yeah, you’re completely fucked because words shouldn’t do this to you, but you’re so horny, and he needs to scratch the itch.

You: You’re disgusting

Stranger: You like it tho

Stranger: Your pussy’s dripping all over your fingers, rn.

You: No

You: Shut up

You: You’re not even real

You don’t know why you said that. That he’s not real. Maybe because you know after this, you’ll end the chat. Forget him. That this is just one wild bored moment, and you just got horny. But he is. He’s real in your phone and the cause of the slick between your legs. He’s real in how you’re grinding into your hand and trying to get off.

Stranger: I’m hard as fuck rn

Stranger: Stroking slow

Stranger: Rubbing the pre to the tip

Stranger: Thinking about your cunt choking my fingers

Your breath hitch. You’re clenching down around nothing now because you pull out your fingers before sliding wetly back in with your wrist trembling, whole body hot, and legs shaking a little.

You want him here in your bed so bad it fucking makes you almost type if he wants to meet up right now. You don’t even know if you’re in the same state or even the same country. You want his fingers inside you instead. You know it’s longer, thicker, and rougher. You want his knuckles brushing against your clit as he thrusts it in, fuck, how will he sound when he whispers in your ear? His hand is holding your wrist down when you twitch, from how much it’s all too much.

You: I can’t stop

You: It’s so warm

Stranger: Rub your clit

Stranger: Just one finger

Stranger: Go slow

One finger on your clit. Just like he said.

You do. You listen and switch from fingers inside to rubbing your clit. That stupid little part of you that never listens to men like this fuck, you never liked to be told what to do, never talks to men like this. That part of you? She’s gone. She drowned in slick, in the low beating of your own pulse pounding between your thighs.

You whimper, actually whimper out loud while you follow him, legs twitching. Your soaked fingers are still on your clit, and when you circle it over and over, your eyes roll. Your back arches just a little. You’re so far gone, and it’s actually embarrassing and disgusting. Thighs jerking every time his messages pop up. He’s just words on a screen, but fuck... making you get off. It’s so dumb how good it feels. How this stranger, this faceless, nameless boy, has you folding like this.

You’re soaked. You’re dripping. And you’re still not close to done.

Stranger: Still holding it?

Stranger: Be good for me

Shit. Be good for him? Why he’s talking like that. Why he’s praising you. You don’t even answer. You are nod like he can see you. You know he didn’t. You know he’s not here. You bite the edge of your blanket and rub tighter circles, trying to keep your hips from lifting and grinding at it.

You type with one hand, fingers almost slipping, and the phone nearly falling to your face. You can’t even type properly

You: Mmm i cant take jt

You: Pleaseplease csn i cum

You: So vlose

Stranger: Fuck

Stranger: Okay

Stranger: Cum for me, baby

Fuck. Then after his permission you come. So hard you choke on it. A sob in your throat, your body folding, shuddering. Your legs are kicking out under the blanket. Hitting it left to right. You can’t even manage to stay still. Your toes are curling, too.

You: Fucfkkk

Your hand’s still between your legs. You’re soaked, your thighs, your fingers still twitching like they still want something. Your chest is panting a little while your eyes are closed and open; you don’t know what to do.

Stranger: That was so hot

Stranger: You still there?

You didn’t reply for a moment and let yourself catch your breath. Thank fuck for your good connection because you’re not disconnecting from this chat while you’re not replying. Your hand’s still gone, but you haven’t moved it yet. There’s heat trapped everywhere, in your neck, in your hips, curling lazy and slick between your thighs like you’re still trembling from it.

Your legs are like a bent spring. Your chest’s rising too fast. The screen’s glowing beside you, still waiting.

You: Did u cum too ...?

You typed out. I didn’t know why you were even concerned about it. For fuck all you know, he’s not really doing anything. But you can’t help but get curious. You imagine him leaning back, spent, his lips parted just a tiny bit, probably still holding his phone in one hand while the other one is sticky, especially in his pal.

Stranger: Yeah

Stranger: It got on my screen, lol

You cover your cheek with your blanket, feeling embarrassed by his message. Maybe you’re blushing, not that you notice it. You’ll just disguise it as your body’s reaction to your orgasm.

You: Gross

But you’re smiling, biting the corner of your bottom lip. It’s that dumb smile, even though your fingers are damp and you haven’t moved an inch. There’s something about the fact that he came, too. Perhaps you feel reassured knowing that he enjoyed it too. Somehow. Like, wow, you really did that. From just chatting with him, or probably he’s already too horny, so it’s inevitable. Not that you care much about it.

You: You’re disgusting

Stranger: You liked it

Stranger: Admit it

You: Maybe

You: Shut up

Your thighs flutter again. You roll onto your side, toes tracing the sheets as if they’ll do anything to cool you down.

Stranger: Can’t stop picturing you

Stranger: Bet you looked so fucking pretty cumming

You take a deep breath. You let your fingers away from your cunt and from the slick of your inner thighs. There’s a burning in your ears like it depends on how he messages you, and it’s not even yours anymore. It’s him, somehow. It depends on every line he types and how he describes it.

Fuck. That was disgusting. Do you literally think about that? Boredom will lead you to do things you will not return for. Like this one. Particularly this one, yeah.

You: You’re actually gross

Stranger: And you still didn’t skip

Stranger: An hour ago, you said you were bored

Stranger: Still bored?

You: No lol

You: Kinda feel like I need sleep now

You: Maybe I need to touch myself to fall asleep

He doesn’t reply. Well, at least not quickly, as he always does throughout your conversation. You almost think he left, that it’s over, that he got what he wanted, he cummed, got dirty, and satisfied his horniness like most guys on here do. However, the bubble then pops back up.

Stranger: Hey

Stranger: This is gonna sound dumb, but

Stranger: Wanna exchange socials?

Oh. You blink. Once. Twice. Then again. You just stared at it for a while. Your body’s still high from earlier, flushed and naked under the sheets, and now your heart and stomach are doing that stupid flip thing. Nervous. Overthinking. Fuck.

Stranger: You don’t have to btw

Stranger: But I liked talking to you

Stranger: Not just the… yk

You are still not replying; you are just still biting your lip. Shit. You should end the chat now. You swear that this was it. That’s it. Yeah. Never exchange social media with them, as you always do. The part swears it’s just for fun, just for the night, that gets off and signs out. She’s quiet now. Real quiet. Like she’s mute.

You: Maybe

You: Depends on what ur profile looks like

You: If we’re ugly, I’m blocking u on everything

Stranger: Bold of you to assume I’m not hot

Stranger: I’ll send mine first

You: …fine

You: But if you catfish me, I’m calling the FBI

Stranger: Deal

Stranger: Here’s my IG

Stranger: @rafe.cameron

He drops the username without hesitation. He’s so sure of himself that women will enjoy what they see. They will het flutter if they talk to a stranger who looks like that.

You stare at it. Just wondering if it’s really his or if he just randomly drops someone’s handle. Your fingers hover. You haven’t even typed yours yet.

You: Oh

You: You are so unserious

Stranger: Dead serious, actually

Stranger: Go look

Stranger: I’ll wait

Curiosity wins.

It always does.

Curiosity kills the cat, they say.

You can quickly switch tabs and open Instagram from there. Your brain is still dumb and high off him, of how he talked to you like you were his, like your noises were made for him.

Paste his handle in the search, wait for it to load, and then view his profile. And then...

“Oh fuck,” you whisper to yourself like anyone’s here to hear it. Like anyone could possibly believe this shit. Like you are talking to him.

Jesus. Is this really him?

Like, him him. Tan lines and dark hair. A jaw looks too good, which makes you want to lick it. One too many shirtless mirror pics in his highlights and a follower count that makes your stomach drop.

Rafe Cameron.

You: What the fuck

You: What the actual fuck

You: Ur famous

You: You have many followers

That is him. Right? But you still doubt it, kinda. The guy who made you cum with just his chat. Who called you baby. Who told you how pretty you sounded when you begged.

You scroll. Just once. To check the preview of what his feed will look like. Just enough to feel your thighs press tighter together before you go back to the site to check his profile.

Stranger: Follow me

Stranger: I’ll follow back

Stranger: Don’t act shy now

Stranger: You literally came just talking to me

Stranger: And now you’re embarrassed?

Your cheeks heated. You move under the covers as if it will do shit, like you’re not already wet again, just reading his tone.

You: I didn’t think you were real

You: Like a normal person

You: Not some…

You stop. Don’t even finish the thought. He’s enough to ruin you. Smug enough to know it.

You: I hate you

Stranger: No, you don’t

Stranger: I’ll be in your head for days

He already is. And this shit makes you want to actually talk to him. Maybe you’re more attracted to him now.

You pause. Hesitant for a moment. Then you follow him.

Three seconds later:

@rafe.cameron followed you back

Oh. That’s really him. Shit. That’s really him. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.  Your stomach flips. Your skin crawls on your body.

Stranger: There we go

Stranger: Night baby

You: Fuck off

You managed to say that before “Stranger has disconnected” shows the screen. You left the site and went to Instagram to stalk him again. You’re smiling. Well, not really. You’re more likely grinning. You’re still heated and wet. Your panties are soaked around one ankle like some whorey medal you are showing. You’re too busy staring at his name.

Rafe fucking Cameron.

It sounded too sexy. His name will probably sound more sexy when you moan it. Your pussy spasms like it remembers every second since his words slid into your head, every word typed out by some cocky stranger that was too full of himself.

You open his profile again.

It’s worse the second time. This time. The tagged photos, the stories, every new picture sends a fresh jolt to your cunt like you’re putting it on an electric socket. Thirst traps on yachts. It’s a beach pic with his hand in some girl’s waist, but it’s just a back photo. Jesus fuck, that mirror selfie. He’s in the bathroom. The towel is so low that it’s showing his v line. Fuck... The body is well-defined but not excessively muscular. Just enough to catch women’s attention.The caption?

@rafe.cameron: Just showered. Missed a spot?

You choke on your spit in your mouth. Literally choke. Your pussy flutters like it knows he meant you.

Your finger twitches, and you tap through the highlights like it’s some boudoir folder, and every image makes your pussy clench harder. His jawline. That golden skin. His hands hang low near his hips like he knows exactly where you want them.

God. You hate him. Hate that he made you come to chat. Hate that he’s so attractive. Hate him. That is concerning to feminists because you want him to fuck you like some whore. Hate that your cunt’s still greedy, still wanting for more, that your hand is already creeping back to your tits as it belongs there.

But it doesn’t stay long there; your hand moves lower in a slow, familiar feeling taking over. Your fingers dip between your legs, tracing the mess he left behind. You’re so wet it’s embarrassing. It’s slippery, soaked, and obscene.

Your thumb circles your clit once. You shiver, and you press harder before rubbing faster. Then, because you’re disgusting and already past the part where you will pretend you’re not sexually attracted,, and horny again, your fingers slide inside like they’ve been waiting forever.

You moan. Soft, shaky, breathless right into the empty room. The stretch around your pussy is perfect, especially since you haven’t touched yourself recently. It feels like you’ve been aching for it. You imagine it’s him. His fingers, long and rough and thick, whispering... Already dripping? Jesus, baby. What’d I do to you?

You grind up into your own hand like a bitch in heat. From the first grind, it’s already slick and more filthier. Your fingers work in the push and pull, in and out, while your thumb rubs your clit just enough, maybe just some flicks. Your phone still glows in your other hand, his face watching you fall apart from that one Instagram post. Smiling, all sun-bleached confidence and a hot body.

It’s like you’re stalking him because of something. Maybe the idea of his picture staring at you excites you. Want him to see this. It is to know how fast you get worked up. That he made you finger yourself with just one sentence and a username.

Your legs start shaking. You’re so fucking close.

That made you zoom in on his pictures. Zooming is the area where you get turned on the most. And shit, every new image makes your pussy clench harder. Made you pump your fingers harder, faster. Made you panting quietly and try to stay quiet.

And when you come? It’s something. Sloppy. A wet rush that makes your fingers slip, and your hips shake and thrust forward repeatedly. You moan into the pillow, biting it, praying no one hears. It’s loud. Ugly. The kind of orgasm that leaves you twitching, gasping, some post-nut clarity.

When you finally stop, you’re limp. A little. Your thighs managed to get tired this time. And your wrist, too. You lie there, still flushed and soaked, panties bunched around your ankle like a trophy. Tits out. Hair matted to your forehead.  Your body slacks with leftover heat. Your fingers are still slick and sticky. Your phone is still open to his account, a disgusting mess of slick thighs and a shameful self.

You don’t chat with him like he expected you to. Well, it’s not that you are expecting him to think that. No. Well, maybe a little.

If you close the app like that, it will help you erase what happened. Like whoever god there didn’t already see you finger yourself hard over some pictures of a stranger you met from that shitty site.

Jesus fucking Christ.

What was that?

Seriously. What the actual fuck was that.

And you stare at the ceiling, half sleepy, flushed, pussy still quivering like it’s got a mind of its own. Chest rising like you just got hit by a truck full of shame.

Your clit’s still throbbing.

“Jesus Christ,” you whisper, like maybe God’s taking calls tonight.

𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓© 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍

𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝

[ruinix]

your writing is genuinely amazing…like we are not worthy….

i humbly ask for a continuation of the bj blurb you did with Quinn where him and reader are 69ing 🧎‍♀️

Hello, anon. Lovely. Yes, of course, but it is I who is not worthy of you for reading my fic. I fear this moved up the queue because…just because. Anyway, for context, Part 1 is [ Payback ] aka BJ blurb. But if you squint…it can be a standalone (maybe? i think it is or I might be delusional). Please enjoy...

Fifteen

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Smut, Handjob with spitting, Hair tugging, Overstimulation (both), Cum tasting, Oral sex (m receiving / Blowjob, then both / 69) 🙂‍↕️, slightest bit of Choking, a sprinkle of Dominance, Quinn literally losing it over you 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↔️

Count: 2816 words | Masterlist | Taglist

You’re just staring. Quinn thinks it’s—his proposition—an easy sell, but you look so annoyed, glaring at him from between his thighs. You’re looking at him like he just wronged you. He’s confused.

“You don’t want me to have more?” You huff, crossing your arms, eyebrows meeting, glaring up at him with so much anger.

“My Love, I’m not saying that.” Quinn sighs, flinching when you don’t ease up on raining down hell on him.

"Quinn!" You stand up, mounting his lap, hands grabbing his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. You pout, peering at him with such wide pleading eyes—gone is the glare. You repeat, “You don’t want to give me more?”

“What are you saying?” Quinn groans. The pain is sending heat to his sensitive cock. His mind is hazy. He’s not sure why you’re pouting when he just told you he wants another position. “I didn’t say that.”

Because…why would he get in the way of what you want? When did he ever do that to you?

You want pancakes for morning? Sure, he’ll make you some while he makes his own plate of smoked salmon, eggs, and potatoes. You want coffee? He’ll brew you a cup. You want beer? Even if he doesn’t drink anymore, he always keep the cans of your favorite brand in the fridge. You want a cocktail or mocktail? He has recipes in his phone.

You always get what you want. He’ll make sure you have everything you want. Everything you need. He’ll give it with no hesitation. So why the fuck would you think he’ll not let you have your fill of him?

“Well, you basically said it.” You sniffle for effect which works immediately.

Quinn is sitting straighter, mind clearing up yet he’s still confused. What did he say again?

“I want to eat you out, then I’ll fuck you,” were his stumbling words. Well, that’s the problem, isn’t it? You fucked him too much with your mouth that he didn’t say all of what he wanted to say. No wonder you’re pissed and sad.

“Sorry, my Love.” Quinn brushes a hand over your glistening lower lip that was just around his cock. “I meant to say and to rephrase, I want to eat you out while I fuck your mouth.”

You whimper almost immediately. Your grip on him finally eases. He, kind of, likes the pain, but the release only send more heat to his cock. You nod, grinding your clothes pussy over his aching member, hands rubbing over his shoulders to further your point that you’re pleased. Quinn is too. This is the reaction he was thinking about. Not the glare. Just you, being so needy as him, while his own hands grip and trace circles on your thighs.

“You should turn off the TVs. You’re wasting energy,” you murmur against his lips, teasing him with kisses that you’ll make him work for.

You’re just there, but you’re not letting him kiss you. Quinn keeps trying to kiss, failing and failing because you decide to kiss the corners of his lips. You’re driving him insane.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, willing himself not to come again as you grind over his cock, he turns off TVs, groaning when your hand wraps around his cock. Just tell him if you want him dead. You’re killing him with every stroke. If he hasn’t yet seen stars from the earlier tryst, he is now.

“My Love,” he gasps—shamefully sounding like a whine. “I will come if you don’t stop.”

“It’s okay. I won’t waste it.” You nip at his ear. He can feel your tongue tracing along the shell of his fucking ear. “Just one more. Then we can go to the bedroom?”

“F-fuck,” he breathes, hips shallowly meeting your rhythm. “You’re copying me, aren’t you?”

He feels your grin against his ear. You finally let go of his ear to meet his gaze, mischievous glim in your eyes. Of course, you are. Of fucking course. No way this is unprovoked. This is you enacting revenge on him for how much he teased you before. Isn’t it? Fuck.

He’s so fucked.

Still, he doesn’t mind it, but you’re really killing him. Especially now, because you fucking spit on his dick. The way you immediately slick it down his cock, mixing it with his arousal—he is fucking dribbling pre-cum or maybe it’s already fucking cum. He’s not sure.

“You don’t like it?” You taunt, brushing ghost-like kisses on his parted lips.

Cruel. You’re so cruel.

“Please, my Love,” he pleads.

You’re making him feel so weak.

“I promise. Just one more.” You press a soothing kiss on his eyebrow like it would help him.

Your words are exactly what he whispers when he fucks you—with his tongue or fingers or thigh or cock. Oh, you’ve plotted this so hard, haven’t you? It’s working so much. Quinn doesn’t understand why it does. He’s so utterly confused why it’s so hard to contain himself when he can fuck your pussy and make you come around him so many times without coming instantly. So why is your hand undoing him so easily? A fucking mystery.

It honestly doesn’t even matter.

Fuck. It feels so good. Like a high without drugs or alcohol or caffeine. It’s just you.

“I need your cum, Quinn.” You finally capture his lip, tongue immediately moving against his.

He groans because. Fuck. His. Life. He can taste himself. His cum. God, he tastes so good on you.

“’m close,” Quinn mumbles.

He bites down on his lips because of how fast you part from him, a trail of saliva just breaking and hitting his chin. Curses string past his lips when you greedily licked over his dribbling slit. He’s fucking gone. He can’t stop coming into your mouth. Can’t stop his hands from grabbing your head, down his fucking length so he can spill down your throat. You said you won’t waste it. He trusts you. He does. But fuck, he needs to make sure. Needs it to reach nowhere else but inside you.

He whispers your name, pleading for you to stop sucking, but you keep sucking, flattening your tongue up his underside. His vision turns fucking spotty that he wraps his hands around your hair and forces you off his cock. Pop. The fucking pop of you releasing his cock from your suction. You succubus. Nymph. Minx. Oh, God. There’s no saving him.

“Stop, stop.” Quinn pants, sweat beading on his skin. “Give me a fucking minute.”

“You never gave me a minute last week.” You smirk up at him, scratching his thighs with your nails. “Did you?”

“No,” Quinn groans, letting go of your hair, trying to fix it but failing. “Sorry.”

Shrugging, you stand up, grabbing his hands to help him up. Quinn feels like he ran two marathons. His legs are almost jelly as he walks after you. He can’t stop looking at your ass especially when you push your shorts down, revealing nothing else. You got no panties? Fuck. He almost wobbles when his fucking cock just stands. You tut, pushing him down to sit on the bed.

His lips part, failing to produce words. His throat is fucking dry. Blush heats up his cheeks when you hand him a bottle of water, coaxing him to drink while you strip down to nothing. Quinn has never drunk water so fast. His hands tremble around the plastic, squeezing like it’s a squeeze bottle—it’s not. He made a mess which would normally drive him insane. Not today.

Not when you just sat on his lap, hands going up, from your inner thighs to the glistening flesh where it meets your pussy, to your waist, to your breasts. Like you’re presenting them to him. Evil. So fucking evil like a Demoness.

“You wanna fuck these first before—”

“No,” he cuts you off, his sight darkening, his blood simmering. He’s done playing your games. You can play some other time. “Sit on my face, my Love.”

Quinn grabs your throat when you try to speak. You whimper when he pressses down your arteries, controlling the blood flow to your brain, just how you like it. Your whole demeanor shifts from the teasing brat to helpless and needy whore. Just like that Quinn grabs your rein. So easy when you were so fucking playful.

“Sit on my face or I’ll have your head hanging over the edge to fuck your throat while I eat you out,” he threatens.

Your sharp breath and whine, your hand gripping around his wrist when he gives another firm squeeze, and your arousal dripping on thigh are all signs that you want both.

You’re so hungry today. Still can’t get your fill of him when he already gave you two full loads. Greedy.

“Which one first?” he asks, releasing you, making you whine and grab his hand to put around your throat again. He does, but he doesn’t put the pressure you thoroughly need.

“I want to sit on your face,” you grumble, annoyance leaking out of you.

“What’s gotten into you today?” Quinn asks, gripping your hip with his other hand. As much as he likes the mind-blowing orgasms, you’re not normally like this. Like you’re proving a point.

“I just wanna reciprocate…” You sigh, looking away then back again. “Plus, a bit of revenge. You made me lose it last week. I want to do it too. I chose today.”

He watches your tongue dart out to lick your lips, watches your eyelashes fan as you blink. Your hands rub over his chest like you’re stringing a spell. It’s working. Whatever shadowed his vision clears. All he can see is you. His heart pounds. Quicker. Much quicker than it already did.

You’re staring at him with those pitiful eyes. He can’t help but melt.

“You can do whatever you want,” Quinn groans. “I did go hard on you last week, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” you huff, biting your lip. “I loved it.”

Of course, you did. Quinn enjoyed it too. He always enjoys his time with you. Whatever you two do. Movies. Cooking. Cleaning. Kissing. Fucking. Sitting down on the couch without doing anything. He loves doing things with you.

“I enjoyed what you did to me,” Quinn pertains to the earlier moments. He instantly gets rewarded with a wide smile. Your smile that makes your eyes crinkle at the sides, eyes sparkling with so much joy. “You made me lose my shit.”

You laugh, so amused, so proud of yourself. You should be. You have that right. He loves you so much, so he kisses you. Less unhurried. Never less of love.

But when you scoot further down his thigh, pussy grinding over his cock, he’s once again a goner. It’s all fucking blink. Now he’s lying on his back, gripping your hips, pulling you down, tongue slowly lapping over your pulsing clit to your entrance. Fuck, tastes like a perfect pussy. A delectable pussy.

Oh, the way you scream, trying to get away when he’s only starting.

“Oh, baby,” he murmurs as your back arches, as you helplessly pant. “I thought you want more?”

Your answering sob drowns out his senses. This is what he needed. Everything feels so right, so fair. He savors your taste, sliding his tongue into your quivering pussy. You’re so wet. You haven’t come yet, have you? He got to fix that. That’s not fucking allowed. He needs to feel you come so hard around his tongue.

You whimper, grinding down, hands on his abdomen for leverage. Your words are nothing but gibberish, yet he understands it. You want more. More. And more. He’ll give you more. You don’t need to beg. Not now. Some other time, maybe. Before he can start plotting, Quinn swipes his finger over your clit and pussy pulsates.

You let out a breathy scream. You grind down while also trying to run from the pleasure. So Quinn hooks one arm over your thigh. You can’t escape him. Not when he’s the one feasting now. You can’t rob him after he came for you. He won’t let you.

You keep muttering his name, keep trying to get off, keep grinding on him. His pretty girl is so conflicted. That’s cute. You’re cute.

Your thighs are quivering. Your weight on him. Quinn loves that so much. He smells your arousal, your cum, your pussy. He smells everything. He would love to die between your thighs. Die with your taste on his tongue. The only thing that’s missing is your lips around his cock. Where the fuck are you?

You mutter his name in a whiny voice, cursing and sighing. You probably fail to remember why you two are in this position. You always do that, but it’s okay. Quinn’s here for that reason. He traces up his hand over your thighs, your hips, and your back. He put pressure on your arch of your spine.

Finally, he feels your breaths on his cock. Your clumsy kisses on his shaft made him thrust up. Damn. He doesn’t think any of you will survive this position. Both of you are losing it. Why are you two only doing this position now? God, your lips, your tongue, your mouth, your throat. All of them feel so good.

Your wanton moans send vibrations through his whole body, so he makes sure to do the same, humming into your pussy, tongue tracing every crevice in you, sucking and gulping your arousal. Your responding sounds bring him more pleasure. Physically around his cock. Emotionally because he’s the cause.

Fucking perfect.

Quinn replaces his tongue with two of his fingers—the ring and the middle—and his thumb traces and teases your clit. He licks up to your other hole. He can’t neglect any of you, can he? No. Never. He’ll die if he does. Too bad he can’t reach the lube in the drawers. Too bad your arousal or his spit isn't enough lubrication. Too fucking bad.

‘Next time’, he thinks.

Quinn gives it a few more kissed before he’s back to your pussy, because you’re whining for him to stop. If you don’t want his touch there, then he won’t. He knows you. You just don’t want it today. That’s perfectly fine. Whatever you want.

He slides his tongue besides his fingers, stretching you. He knows how much you can take. You can take more than this. Oh, you do. And you love it. It’s the way your pussy clenches around his tongue, his fingers. The perfect squeeze like you’re afraid that he'll leave. He will never. He will—

You kiss his fucking tip like you’re making out with him. Your hand rubbing down his fucking length. Harsher, harder, sucking and playing with him as he does with your pussy.

“Fuck,” Quinn mutters as you do.

“Quinn,” you breathe as you kiss along length. “Close.”

He knows. He fucking knows. He can feel the familiar tremors he felt just minutes ago. The tremors he thoroughly memorized every time his cock is seated inside you. To know you is such a gift he’ll never take for granted.

So, he lets you come again, lets your cum drip into his awaiting tongue, lets you ride your orgasm. He lets you even the playing field, because now, both of you are in the same tally.

Two for two.

A good ratio, but not for Quinn. He needs you to come more than him. He needs you to soak him and lose it because it’s too much. He needs you to writhe and beg for rest. He needs your head over the edge while he fucking uses your throat. He needs to hear you gag. He needs to see your tears on flush cheeks. He needs to see your pussy red and raw from just his tongue while you get overwhelmed.

He already lets you have your control, but you’re always on the losing side here. He has more stamina and more drive to use you. Oh, the ways he’ll use you for what you’ve done to this supposed lazy rest day.

You’ve done this.

You should be prepared for more. The way you whine so softly, you’re still clueless about what you’ve done. You thought he’d just let you get away.

Quinn is kind. He’ll let you have your fill of his cum. You want your stomach to be filled with, so he’ll give that to you. It will warm your stomach, but you would realize that your pussy is not. Not a single drop of cum inside.

He knows it will drive you fucking insane.

You will be begging to be filled while also begging to stop. You will be so conflicted.

That’s a perfect scenario.

Because Quinn will not listen.

You can have whatever you want, but he already decided…not tonight.

<- Previous (Part 1: Payback)

[mrspiastri]

stop pretending!

wc: 1.9k words

an: i was so overcome with excitement i had to write this blurb sorry :D based on this req!

“Don’t even think about it.” Y/N almost growled at her boyfriend as he moved to sit next to her on the couch.

“What? Why?” Oscar questioned, still frozen in a sitting position in midair.

He got no response, just Y/N huffing and looking back at the TV screen.

“Darling, are you still mad at me?”

Still no response, just another exaggerated huff as she turned away from him.

Oscar almost wanted to laugh, but he knew she would positively kick him if he did. It was just really difficult for him to take his girlfriend seriously when she looked like a disgruntled puppy.

Y/N had been in a pretty bad mood ever since she woke up; her clients at work were being nuisances, her friend had cancelled on their lunch plans, and the couple’s cat Sylvia decided to throw up on the very expensive rug they had in the living room.

Not to mention, Oscar had been out the whole day, promising to come home for lunch. She decided to make up for the day’s negativity by enjoying some time with him, which she hardly ever got, only to get a text at 3:30 pm, saying he would only be home in time for dinner.

That one text was Y/N’s final straw. She decided she would do nothing about it and simply decided to ignore him.

Oscar sat down anyway, carefully, like the couch might explode under the pressure of her silence. He placed his hands on his knees and leaned forward just enough to peer at her face.

“Alright. That’s fair. But just for the record, I was going to come home for lunch. I had every intention of doing that. I even imagined the whole thing. You, me, some pizza. Maybe a nap after. Sylvia purring between us. The dream.”

She blinked slowly. Unmoved.

Oscar frowned and scooted an inch closer. “But then someone needed to run the meeting late. Someone else wanted us to check our seat fittings again. And then my phone died, which is completely your fault, because someone keeps stealing my charger.”

Still no response.

Oscar tried to look into her eyes, but she angled her face away just enough to keep him out. He could see her mouth set in a tight line. The same mouth he usually kissed good morning, goodnight, and roughly seventy-nine times in between.

She stood up. No warning, no words, just got up and walked toward the kitchen.

Oscar sprang to his feet and followed her like a puppy. “Oh. Oh we’re going to the kitchen, good thing I’m hungry.”

Y/N reached the fridge, opened it, then stared inside with what Oscar could only describe as aggressive purpose. He leaned against the counter beside her and waited.

She closed the fridge and walked to the dining table. Sat. Crossed her arms again.

Oscar followed, pulled out the chair beside her and sat sideways in it so he could face her. “You know, I read this article once that said couples who laugh together live longer. So technically, by ignoring me, you’re putting us in danger. Are you okay with that?”

Nothing. Not even a blink.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

She stood up again. Oscar groaned dramatically and stood too. “You know, most boyfriends would’ve stopped following you by now. But not me. I am persistent.”

She made her way to the bedroom. Oscar kept talking behind her like some sort of lovesick narrator. “Do you remember when you said I was the most patient person you’d ever met? I feel like this is a test. Is this a test? Am I being punk’d?”

Y/N walked into the bedroom and sat on the bed, pulling the blanket over her lap like it was a barrier between them.

Oscar leaned against the doorway, then slowly walked over and knelt in front of her. He just quietly knelt, eyes searching hers even though she was refusing to look at him.

“I know you’re upset. And you have every right to be. You had a crap day. Work was horrible. Your friend cancelled. Sylvia turned our rug into modern art. And then I went and messed it up more. I said I’d be here, and I wasn’t. And I’m sorry.”

She shifted but didn’t look at him.

He rested his chin on her lap, arms folded on top of her thighs like a sleepy golden retriever. “I missed you all day. I kept thinking about how nice it’d be to just come home and lie next to you for a bit. I didn’t want to ruin the day for you. I wanted to fix it.”

No reply.

He pouted slightly. “You’re being very stubborn, you know. Cute. But stubborn.”

Still silent.

Y/N’s phone buzzed on the nightstand. She picked it up, glanced at the screen, and answered it without a word to Oscar, who was still half-sprawled across her lap.

“Hey,” she said, voice softening just slightly for her friend on the other end.

Oscar perked up, trying to catch snippets of the conversation, tilting his head like a curious dog.

“What are you up to?” her friend asked, cheerful and unaware of the storm cloud hovering over Y/N’s head.

Y/N glanced at Oscar, who wiggled his eyebrows at her hopefully, trying to earn a smirk or a flicker of mercy. Nothing. She looked away and sighed dramatically into the phone.

“I was supposed to have lunch,” she said. “But I got bailed on.”

Oscar sat up straighter.

“Oh no,” her friend gasped. “Is Oscar not at home?”

Y/N looked him right in the eye. Cold. Unwavering. She spoke into the phone with deliberate calm. “No.”

Oscar’s mouth dropped open. “Alright, that’s it,” he said, voice all mock scandal and playful outrage.

Before she could react, he snatched the phone out of her hand. “Hi, yes, lovely to meet you. She’ll call you back later. Don’t worry; I’ll make sure of it.” He hung up with a cheeky grin and tossed the phone onto the bed.

“Hey!” Y/N reached for it, but he was already moving.

Oscar wrapped an arm around her waist and stood up, lifting her off the bed like she weighed nothing. She squeaked in protest, legs kicking gently in the air, but he just laughed and hauled her out of the room.

“Put me down!” She tried to sound angry, but her voice betrayed her with the tiniest laugh.

“No can do. You revoked my 'boyfriend's rights'. Now I’m reclaiming them by force.”

He marched them to the living room and dropped onto the couch with her in his arms, carefully manoeuvring her so she ended up sitting on his lap. She immediately tried to wriggle away, but he locked his arms around her thighs, holding her in place like a seatbelt made of affection.

“You’re trapped. Accept your fate.”

She gave him the flattest look she could manage, arms crossed again, face tilted away. But she didn’t move to actually get up. And her cheeks were just a little pink.

Oscar leaned forward and rested his chin on her shoulder, squeezing her legs gently. “I’m sorry, Y/N. Really. I know you were looking forward to lunch. I was too. I should’ve let you know sooner that I wouldn’t make it. I didn’t mean to ruin your day.”

She didn’t reply, but she wasn’t fuming anymore. Just quiet.

“And I know you don’t want to talk right now. But I’ll sit here as long as it takes. As I hold you hostage on my lap.“

She sighed, but it was just a whisper of breath.

He reached out slowly and poked her side. Just a little.

Nothing.

He poked again. “Come on. You know you want to smile. I’ll even let you yell at me after. You can scold me for being late. For working too much. For not bringing you the chocolate you like. For looking like a kicked puppy every time you glare at me.”

Y/N finally looked down at him. Not a smile. Not forgiveness. But the tiniest glint of soft amusement in her eyes.

“You’re stuck with me, you know. This is your life now. Me, following you around like a lovesick fool until you forgive me. Or until Sylvia kicks me out of the apartment. Whichever comes first.”

Y/N let out a long sigh. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Only because I love you,” he said, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “And because you’re cute when you’re mad. Even cuter when you pretend not to forgive me but secretly want to kiss me anyway.”

“I do not,” she muttered.

Oscar gasped softly. “Lies. I can feel the affection radiating off of you. It’s like a hug with no arms.”

“You’re so dumb.”

“I thought that’s what you love most about me.”

She finally cracked a smile. Small. Barely there. But it was enough for him to light up like a kid at a candy store.

He pulled her closer, arms tightening just a little around her. “There she is. My favourite person.”

Y/N shook her head but leaned back into him just slightly, letting her head rest against his chest. “This isn’t over; I’m going to hold out on you longer next time.”

“Bold of you to assume I’ll ever let there be a next time.” He glanced down at her hand, which was resting rigidly on her thigh like it had no interest in being touched or noticed. Slowly, as if she might swat him, he reached out and gently tried to lace his fingers through hers.

Her hand shifted ever so slightly away.

Oscar narrowed his eyes. “Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be.”

She didn’t say a word, but a tiny smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

He scooted forward on the couch, wrapping one arm tighter around her waist and reaching again with exaggerated patience. This time, he grabbed her hand outright. She didn’t fight it, but she didn’t help either. Her fingers stayed stiff, pointing upwards like awkward little sticks while he tried to slot his fingers in.

Oscar frowned.

Y/N raised her eyebrows innocently, lips pursed, like she had no idea what he meant.

“Oh, we’re playing hardball,” he muttered and carefully started to push her fingers down.

One by one.

She bit her lip, trying not to laugh. He could feel her shoulders shaking slightly as she fought it off.

Oscar used both hands now, fully committed. “You’re really going to make me fold your hand into mine like I’m trying to wrestle a kitten into a sweater?”

Y/N lost it a little, a quiet giggle slipping out as she turned her face away from him, but he caught the crinkle in her eyes.

“There it is. I knew you were pretending.” He finished curling her fingers around his hand and held it triumphantly, giving it a dramatic shake. “Look at that. We’re holding hands. Like a couple in love. Isn’t it beautiful?”

Y/N tried to pull away, but he held on tighter, both of them laughing now in quiet bursts, trying not to lose the silly, playful silence they had built.

“You’re ridiculous,” she said, shaking her head but not letting go.

“You say that like it’s new information,” he whispered back, squeezing her hand once more, gently this time. “Now shut up and let me cuddle you. It's my turn to be clingy.”

[gracie-eilish]

roommate billie au [pt 3.5] technically a bonus part bc i got excited about a long idea hehe]

warnings: angst if you tilt your head and squint with your glasses off, spicy innuendo/smut like reaction (no smut)

an: update!! it was @bililyy who inspired me!!! go check out her headcanon/blurb combos!! literally such a creative way to write stories/headcanons!! i hope you don’t mind me taking inspiration🥺🩷

roommate!billie, who texted or called you everyday over the winter break.

roommate!billie, who was scared shitless you’d regret the kiss.

roommate!billie, who still wanted to respect your space to figure out your sexuality. and was prepared to love you regardless of what you decided.

billie: if you ever need someone to talk to about it, you know you can talk to me, but i totally get it if you’d rather talk to someone else.

you: billie ur the only one i wanna talk to about this shit. none of my friends back home are gay, and im not this close with anyone else at school so..

billie: well i’m here whenever you need baby. i’m free right now if you wanna ft?

you: not right now. i’m about to go out with my family, but maybe when i get home??

billie: i’ll be here love.

read 6:12pm

roommate!billie, who could feel it… she was so down bad for you. in just a short six months, you had wrapped billie around your little finger.

roommate!billie, who’s family loved you but was sick of hearing about you day in and day out while billie was still home from school.

“i mean i don’t know how she does it,” finneas closed his eyes and sighed, still poking away at the monitor, working on an song of his own. but listened to his little sister gab anyway.

“she’s just so pretty. she always looks so perfect, like hair and makeup done up, cute little outfits, and her perfume, holy shit her perfume, it’s like a drug. i genuinely feel drugged when she sprays it or walks by me. fuck she’s got me under this little spell of hers..”

“billie, i think you need to tell her how you feel. it’s just gonna eat away at you for the rest of the year if you don’t.” billie sat and thought about it for a second.

“but what if she doesn’t feel the same? or what if she decides she’s not gay? then i just have to live with this angelic siren for the rest of the year, pretending not to fall in love with her??”

roommate!billie, who couldn’t sleep the night before move in for the spring semester. she was so excited to see you.

roommate!billie, who didn’t even hug her family goodbye after lunch. just jumped out of their car, calling a goodbye over her shoulder, practically sprinting up the stairs to your little dorm.

roommate!billie, who felt the world stop when she saw the faintest flush on your cheeks when she opened the door. maybe this could work…

roommate!billie, who engulfed you in the softest, warmest hug known to man. it was slow, tight, her thumbs brushing your clothed skin while she breathed in your scent, intoxicating herself on you. above anything else, she was just happy to see her best friend again.

roommate!billie, who trailed behind you like a puppy all day. messing with you while you both unpacked, trailed around the grocery store behind you, watched as you drove back and forth into town and back.

roommate!billie, who suggested having a cozy, movie night in, since classes didn’t start until monday. so you stocked up on snacks, changed into comfy pjs and got settled.

roommate!billie, who set up her new projector she got for christmas while you were in the shower. hanging up a sheet, and projecting it onto the wall next to your bed. she stacked pillows and blankets onto her bed across the room.

“ta-da!” she exclaimed, as you walked out of the bathroom, clad in pjs and a towel around your hair.

“wait shut the fuck up this is so cute!!! did you get this for christmas!” billie nodded proudly from her perch on the small bed.

you two made small talk as you dried your hair enough so it wouldn’t drip, and billie picked a movie out.

roommate!billie, who felt like her heart may beat out of her chest, when you automatically snuggled into her side, letting her wrap an arm around your waist.

roommate!you, who had never felt so safe or cherished in a relationship.. no, friendship.. or.. situationship?? whatever you two were… before.

roommate!billie, who carefully tested the waters, moving her hand to rest on your hip, right where your hoodie and sweatpants met. letting her hand rest for a few, before letting her hand slip under your hoodie to rest on the bare skin of your hip. her heart fluttered when you didn’t move.. just snuggled your head more into her shoulder.

roommate!you, who tried to mask your gasp when you felt billie’s soft fingers resting on your bare hip. you snuggled your head into her shoulder further, hoping to distract from the way you clenched your thighs together masking the wetness starting to drip between them… you’d never felt that before from a relationship..

roommate!billie, who once again, didn’t move a muscle once you had fallen asleep on her shoulder. simply just turning off the projector screen and moving the snack bags away from the two of you.

roommate!billie, who eventually needed to wake you up, as sleeping on your side like that would give you a crick in your neck.

“baby,” she whispered. “baby, i gotta move you or your gonna hurt your neck.”

you simply whined in protest, still barely awake, but not enjoying the movement to your cozy position.

“i know, so sleepy and grumpy,” she cooed, biting back a laugh. “…you wanna stay here?” she closed her eyes bracing herself for rejection.

you nodded against her shoulder. sitting up slightly so billie could lay back. before billie could even lay still, you had flopped down onto billie’s chest leaving her surprised… but melted quickly after. wrapping an arm around your back, while the other threaded into your hair. you sighed sleepily, nuzzling your nose on her neck.

roommate!billie, who checked her phone real quick. the date, january 18th, screamed at her. it wasn’t even the first day of the semester yet and she was falling even harder.

roommate!you, who for the first time in your life didn’t need a eye mask, or air conditioning, or purple humidifier light to sleep. you slept more peaceful than you ever had before that night.

… and so did billie. leaving a kiss to your forehead before drifting off herself.

[undersugarnights]

Too Bad You’re Married…

✦ MDNI — 18+ Only ✦

✧ pairing: ashton irwin x reader

✧ summary: a dangerous meeting with a handsome stranger in a bar leads to the best sex of your life.

✧ warnings: face fucking, unprotected sex, cream pie, squirting, face riding, semi-public sex, rough sex, dom!ash, roleplay

✧ word count: 6.6k

✧ title: mascara — by Deftones

✧ author’s note: BITCH GUESS WHO’S BACKKKKK!! sorry for disappearing chat, it seems as though i had a bit of a writer’s block. the juice i was running on when i pumped out all of the previous fics seems to have run out, but alas here i am! i can’t promise i’ll be as active as i was before, but i hope you enjoy this little blurb because IT WAS SO FUCKING FUN TO WRITE. this was inspired by a certain line in the song mascara by Deftones. stick around till the end, i promise the fluff is worth it.

also, thank u soup for being my other braincell when it comes to writing ashton. you hyping me up helped a ton. ALSO TY FOR CHOOSING THE ASH ERA AND PICTURE AHHHH!!!

anyways leave requests if u want.

Copyright © 2025 undersugarnights. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

The air in the bar was thick—saturated with the cloying scent of cheap perfume and lingering cigarette smoke, all underscored by the raucous echoes of drunken laughter. You tapped your carefully manicured nails against the sticky tabletop, eyes flitting nervously from face to face, cataloging each stranger with uneasy precision.

The thrill of the night buzzed beneath your skin—sharp, electric, almost unbearable. Your heart pounded erratically in your chest as your gaze remained fixed on the bar’s entrance, each passing moment stretching thin with anticipation. Maybe it was the taboo of it all—the unspoken danger, the uncharted territory you’d sworn never to touch—but the butterflies in your stomach had taken flight with dizzying urgency.

The bartender made eye contact with you again—for the third time in ten minutes. You offered nothing back, just lazily nursed your drink, tracing the rim of the glass with a fingertip. Condensation clung to the outside, slick and cool, and you found mild amusement in watching a droplet race downward, faster than the others.

“Must be some evenin’ if you’re entertaining yourself with a damn water droplet.” The voice—low, accented, tinged with amusement—slid into your senses just as he took the seat beside you.

Your eyes flicked to him. Sandy stubble framed a sharp jaw and hollow cheeks, his dark hair falling messily across his brow. And then—those eyes. Bright green, catlike, studying you with lazy precision.

The corner of your mouth curled into a smirk, slow and knowing. Your gaze dropped—right to the glint of a wedding band wrapped snug around his ring finger.

Instinctively, you twisted your own wedding band, the familiar pressure grounding you as a wave of anxiety surged—unwelcome, but far from unfamiliar. You straightened in your seat, spine stiffening, willing your features into something resembling calm.

“I find that the simplest things can be the most surprisingly amusing,” you hummed, voice dipping into something sweet and slow, almost syrupy. Then, you met his gaze head-on. “You’d probably know that if you didn’t strut around like you’re God’s gift to the Earth.”

His eyebrow arched, a flicker of intrigue crossing his face as his tongue dragged across his lower lip. He nodded slowly, accepting the barb with practiced ease. “Terrifying,” he murmured, raising a hand to flag down the bartender.

His emerald eyes flicked back to yours with a lazy sort of confidence, and a single dimple appeared as he smiled. “You want a refill? For a water droplet rematch?”

You took a breath, steady and deliberate, refusing to acknowledge the way his gaze swept over you like muscle memory—lazy, familiar, sure. Like he already knew the answer.

“Get me something stronger,” you murmured, stretching languidly in your seat.

His eyes followed the arch of your back with a quiet, hungry reverence—the kind of look that sent heat cascading through your limbs.

His smile could undo a person. “A woman after my own heart,” he mused, a pleased hum curling beneath his words. “I like that.”

You rolled your eyes as he turned toward the bartender, ordering two whiskeys neat. Presumptuous. But, annoyingly, spot-on.

“I’m sure your wife could agree,” you said, voice cool and edged.

His gaze flickered back to you, the smile still etched effortlessly into his features. “Let’s let bygones be bygones, shall we?”

He tilted his head slightly, eyes trailing down to your lips—lingering—before dropping to your hand.

“Unless you want to talk about that massive rock you’ve got on your finger, too.”

You didn’t reply.

He pressed on, tone light, teasing. “That really is quite the ring,” he said, amusement never fading. His gaze sharpened just slightly, like he was trying to solve a puzzle. “You must be quite special, hmm?”

You narrowed your eyes, shifting in your seat. “I thought you wanted to let bygones be bygones?”

“You’re right,” he said with a nod, not even a flicker of shame. “My bad.”

Then he pivoted fully, turning to face you—his body leaning in like he’d known you forever. Like this wasn’t something dangerous.

“My name’s Ashton.”

You paused. Then, evenly, “Y/N.”

Ashton pursed his lips in thought before letting a slow grin curl across them. “Y/N,” he repeated, rolling the name across his tongue like he was testing its weight. The way he said it—deliberate, slow, far too familiar—sent a flash of heat cascading down your spine. “Pretty name.”

You shrugged, biting your lip as you toyed with your glass, carefully considering your next move. “For a pretty woman,” you purred, casting him a look from beneath your lashes. “It fits.”

“Damn right it does,” Ashton murmured, taking a slow sip of his drink—his gaze locked on yours, unwavering. “So, enlighten me, Y/N… what’s a beautiful married woman doing in a hotel bar at—” He glanced at his watch. “One in the morning on a Saturday, wearing lipstick that screams bite me?”

You inhaled slowly, gaze drifting over him with a lazy, deliberate hunger.

“Maybe I’m looking for a victim,” you mused, voice laced with danger and promise. Then you tilted your head, eyes narrowing just slightly. “What about you? What’s a handsome, married man doing alone in a bar… buying drinks for someone else’s wife?”

Ashton raised his hands in mock surrender, though the easy smile on his lips didn’t so much as flicker. “Just being a good Samaritan,” he said with a casual shrug. “You never know what kind of people lurk around at this hour… or the intentions you might encounter.”

“Oh?” you purred, tilting your head as you blinked up at him with feigned innocence. You slowly rested your arm on the table, exposing the delicate inside of your wrist—the soft skin catching in the low light. His eyes tracked the motion instantly, just as you expected. “And what makes your intentions so different from theirs?”

Ashton’s gaze lingered for a beat too long before lifting back to yours, something darker now swimming beneath the surface of his smile.

“Just looking for a way to kill some time,” he said, tone sincere but low. “Something to help with the jet lag, ya know?”

You hummed softly, lifting your glass of whiskey to your lips. “Jet lag,” you echoed, taking a slow, deliberate sip—Ashton’s eyes tracking every movement with the kind of hunger that would put a starved man to shame. A single bead of amber clung to the corner of your mouth. You reached up, wiping it away with the tip of your finger, and let your lips curl just slightly. “And here I thought you were just bored of your wife.”

Ashton let out a quiet, amused laugh—open, easy, a sound that vibrated in your chest. “She does get a little repetitive at times,” he said with a mock sigh, lifting his glass to his lips.

“Excuse you,” you said, feigning offense, narrowing your eyes as you tilted your head. “I’m sure she’s a lovely woman.”

His smirk deepened, eyes flicking once again to your left hand—your very occupied ring finger. “She sure is. Just like I imagine your husband’s quite the catch.”

You rolled your eyes, resting your cheek against your hand. “You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

Another flash of those damn dimples, and your breath caught just slightly. “The funniest, love.”

You let out a quiet chuckle—soft, reserved, almost unsure. Another sip of whiskey gave you something to do, something to hide behind. “You must be a nightmare at any social event.”

Ashton raised a brow, amused, and leaned into your space without apology. The scent of citrus and musk clung to him—rich, clean, and heady. Your eyes fluttered shut for just a moment, involuntarily letting it sink into your senses.

“Only if the conversation’s dull,” he murmured, glancing down at his glass, swirling the amber liquid with lazy ease. “Or if the wives look… particularly restless.”

“Oh, yeah?” you challenged, leaning in just enough to mirror him. “So tell me, Ashton… what is it that you think I’m looking for?”

He moved slowly, deliberately—lifting one arm and dragging the pad of his index finger down the soft skin of your forearm. The touch was featherlight, but it left a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

“I think you’re looking for a thrill,” he whispered, voice dipped in heat. His breath brushed your ear. “Something dangerous. Something to remind you you’re not just someone’s well-kept prize.”

Your pulse spiked.

You turned your head toward him—lips dangerously close, eyes locked. There was no hesitation in your expression. You wanted this. You both knew it.

“Mm. That’s a tempting offer,” you murmured. “You are offering, aren’t you?”

Ashton’s grin was slow and wicked, his head tilting like he was insulted by the question. “Darling, I’m not here to talk about your husband’s diamond preferences—though credit where it’s due, the man’s got taste.”

“Hmm.” You let Ashton hang there, suspended in the tension you both had carefully spun, letting the silence tease him just a little longer. The anticipation only sharpened your craving. “Does your wife know you’re out here complimenting diamond cuts?”

Ashton leaned in closer, lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice low and full of intent. “I’d much rather be doing more than admiring a ring on your finger,” he murmured, each word soaked in heat. You could feel the warmth of him, pulsing between you like a live wire.

Then he pulled back, slowly—reluctantly—and stood. He towered over your seated frame, casting you in shadow and possibility. His hand reached out, gentle yet firm, tilting your chin up until your eyes locked.

“You take control a lot in your life?” he asked softly, like he already knew the answer.

Your gaze held his, unwavering. “I’m looking for something that’ll let me give that up,” you replied, voice low, deliberate. “Is that what you’re here to compliment now? My willingness to obey? My need to surrender?”

His eyes darkened, hunger flickering across his features like a spark hitting gasoline. His jaw flexed, tightly restrained, and you could feel the war inside him—between restraint and abandon.

His eyes kept darting to your lips, and his tongue flicked out to wet his bottom one. For the first time, you saw something shift—surprise, almost awe—behind the heat.

“Do you want me to test just how compliant you are?” he rasped. “Or do you think your husb—”

“Let’s go,” you cut him off, the heat between your thighs finally boiling over. The game was over. “Take me.”

The air felt sucked from the room the moment your words left your lips. Ashton’s mouth parted slightly in surprise, but you knew there would be no hesitation. And there wasn’t.

His hand reached for you—delicate, yet firm—as his fingers wrapped around your wrist. The moment his skin touched yours, heat surged through your body, sealing your resolve.

The bar blurred into irrelevance as he led you past tables, past strangers who didn’t matter. His pace was confident, deliberate—like a man who already knew the outcome.

The hallways were quiet, save for the occasional couple stumbling toward their own late-night regrets, not sparing either of you a second glance.

When the elevator arrived, you tugged Ashton inside without a word, blindly slapping the correct floor button as he pushed you back against the mirror.

The door slid shut just as your spine hit the cold glass. He caged you there, body pressed against yours, hands gripping the railing behind you as if to anchor you. His eyes devoured your face—lips parted, breath shallow, pupils blown wide.

And then he kissed you.

No hesitation. No pause. Just heat.

His mouth crashed into yours, fierce and ravenous, like he’d been waiting all night to taste you. His tongue slid past your lips without resistance, drawing a soft gasp from your throat as he explored you—confident, controlled, hungry.

His hands wandered too—down the curve of your waist, to your thigh, lifting it slowly. One hand slipped beneath the hem of your dress, savoring the heat of your skin, rough fingers skimming delicate lace.

A quiet moan escaped as he bit down on your bottom lip, sucking it between his teeth. He groaned in return when your hips rolled against his, chasing friction like oxygen.

One hand came to your neck, strong fingers bracketing your throat—not squeezing, just resting there, feeling your pulse race beneath the skin. It made your head spin.

The elevator dinged.

You pushed him back—breathless, flushed—and grabbed his hand, fingers lacing tightly with his as you dragged him into the hallway.

“Jesus,” Ashton laughed, voice low and wrecked. “Impatient, are we?”

You stopped in front of the door, turned on your heel, and grabbed the collar of his shirt, yanking him down to meet your lips again.

“Just open the fucking door,” you murmured into his mouth, already losing yourself to the next kiss

Not surprisingly, one of Ashton’s hands came up to cup the back of your neck, keeping your lips locked with his as his other hand swiped the keycard and swung the door open.

The two of you backed into the room slowly, the door shutting behind you with a soft click that left no room for hesitation.

Ashton pulled away just enough to shed his jacket, letting it fall to the hotel floor. The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the city lights seeping through the open blinds—just enough to see by, just enough to want more.

The green of Ashton’s eyes was almost entirely overtaken by the black of his pupils. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths as his gaze dragged down your body, sharp and electric. This was different. This was new.

“Strip,” he said, voice eerily calm. Controlled. “And get on your knees.”

You turned, brow raised in a questioning glance. “What?”

“I said strip,” Ashton repeated, each word punctuated by a slow, deliberate step forward. There was no trace of the charming, cheeky man from the bar. This was something darker—something raw, unfiltered, and burning.

You bit your lip, fingers moving behind you to find the zipper of your dress. The seconds stretched, molasses-thick, as Ashton stood still—watching, waiting, hungering.

You slid the dress down your arms, letting the fabric whisper to the floor and pool at your feet.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, stepping closer. His eyes roamed your body like he couldn’t quite decide where to settle. “Keep going.”

Biting your lip, you reached behind your back and unhooked your bra, letting the straps fall slowly down your arms until the fabric slipped to the floor, joining your dress. Ashton had begun circling you like a predator stalking its prey, and the weight of his gaze alone made your thighs instinctively press together in a futile search for relief.

With deliberate slowness, you slid your panties down your legs, stepping out of the lace and nudging your discarded clothes aside. Ashton came to a stop in front of you, and wordlessly, you sank to your knees—eyes locked on his the entire time.

He licked his lips, head tilted slightly, savoring the way anticipation coiled tight in your body. His steps toward you were slow, deliberate, like he was drawing out your need on purpose.

His rough hand cupped your face, his pinky settling just under your jaw, tilting your gaze up to meet his.

“You look good like this, Y/N,” he murmured, voice low and gruff with want. His thumb ghosted over your bottom lip, then pressed between them, slipping into your mouth without resistance.

“Your husband’s lucky,” he added, dark amusement laced in the words. “Let’s see just how lucky, though.”

Your breath hitched as his hand dropped to his belt, undoing it with the kind of practiced ease that made your pulse stutter. The other hand left your face to pop the button, then the zipper, his movements unhurried and confident as he pushed his jeans just low enough.

He was already hard—thick, glistening, beautiful.

Your mouth watered at the sight.

You looked up at him through your lashes, your breathing shallow as he stepped in closer. Slowly, he pressed the tip of his cock to your lips, the salty taste flooding your senses as his eyes met yours in a silent question.

You didn’t hesitate.

Your lips parted, and you took him in—slowly, deliberately—just the tip at first. Ashton let out a low moan, his head tipping back as he eased deeper into your mouth.

“That’s my good fucking girl,” he growled, voice rough with pleasure, one hand sliding into your hair to guide you as he hit the back of your throat.

You let your tongue swirl around him, your hand wrapping around the base to take care of what you couldn’t fit. The weight of him on your tongue was addictive, the stretch of your jaw delicious as you began to move—slow, steady, intentional.

“Oh, fuck,” Ashton groaned, his eyes dark and half-lidded as he watched you. “So fucking pretty… just like I knew you’d be.”

His encouragement only spurred you on. You bobbed your head faster, wrist moving in perfect time as your tongue traced the underside of his tip—right where you knew he was most sensitive.

“God, you look like a fuckin’ dream on your knees,” Ashton gasped, his voice coming out rough and breathless. One hand came to brace against the wall behind you, the other still tangled in your hair, keeping you close.

Your lips were stretched around him, swollen and slick. Spit coated your chin, your cheeks flushed with heat. You let your eyes flutter shut for a moment, savoring the way his hips twitched slightly with every pass of your mouth.

Then you opened your eyes again—wide, glassy, unafraid—and met his with a look that dared him.

Take it. Take me.

Ashton recognized that look instantly. He smirked, a dark and pleased curve of his lips, and then his hips began to move—slow at first, then harder, faster, more demanding.

He fucked into your mouth with purpose, hitting the back of your throat again and again, and you let him. You gave yourself over to him completely.

“Pretty little thing,” he gritted out, breath ragged. “God, your mouth feels so fucking good.”

You moaned around him, and the vibration made him curse under his breath. It only made him go harder, faster, more desperate. Tears sprang to your eyes from the force, slipping down your cheeks without mercy—raw, messy, beautiful.

“Don’t cry, baby,” Ashton growled, fisting your hair tighter, the pace unrelenting. “You look so fucking pretty with my cock down your throat.”

You could imagine exactly what he saw—your body on your knees, mascara streaked like black lightning across your face, lips swollen and glistening, eyes wet and glassy, mouth full of him. Completely ruined, completely his.

And you loved it.

Without warning, Ashton pulled out of your mouth. You gasped, your throat raw, vision blurred as the world rushed back in too fast. The sudden loss made your body ache.

“You’re such a good little whore f’me,” Ashton panted, dropping to his knees in front of you. His hand gripped your chin, tilting your face up until your eyes met his. “But I need to come inside you.”

A whimper escaped before you could stop it. “Please, Ash,” you rasped, your voice hoarse and trembling from the effort of holding him so deep for so long.

“You did such a good job,” he murmured, thumb stroking along your jaw. “Such a good girl. And good girls get rewarded.”

You bit down on your lip, swallowing the moan building in your chest. The slick heat between your thighs was unbearable now, every shift of your body sparking friction you couldn’t ignore. You squirmed, desperate for more.

Ashton leaned in, capturing your mouth in a kiss that stole what little breath you had left. His hand fisted in your hair, anchoring you there as your hands clutched at his shoulders. Your mouths moved together with practiced, hungry precision.

With trembling fingers, you began to unbutton his shirt, pushing his jean jacket off in the same motion. His skin burned under your touch, the heat of him making your own skin feel too tight. His hands found your waist, dragging you into him as the two of you collapsed to the floor in a messy tangle of limbs—your body falling on top of him.

His tongue slid into your mouth again, slow and sure, drawing out a moan that vibrated between your lips. One of his hands roamed your back, the other dropping to squeeze your ass, fingers digging in possessively. The press of his cock between your bodies was firm, heavy, demanding.

You shifted your hips to grind against him, seeking friction, and he groaned against your mouth.

“I want you,” he gasped, pulling back just enough to breathe, “to sit on my face.”

The words knocked the air out of your lungs.

“Ride my tongue,” he growled, eyes dark with want. “Until you fucking come. That’s your reward.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, but Ashton’s gaze was already locked on yours—wide, dark, and desperate. Your entire body buzzed like a live wire, and God, you’d dreamed of this. Of his mouth. Of that stubble dragging along the sensitive inside of your thighs.

“Fuck,” you breathed, voice trembling as you took in the sight of him sprawled beneath you—an absolute dream of a man, waiting to worship you.

One of his hands fell away from your back as he propped himself up on an elbow, his eyes burning into yours as he waited.

“C’mon, baby,” he murmured, voice low, rough, and sweet like sin. “You don’t get to be shy. Not after you choked on my cock like you were fucking made for it.”

You bit your lip as he leaned back against the floor, lifting a hand to gesture toward his face.

“Up here,” he ordered, voice firm. “Bring that pretty pussy to my mouth.”

There was no hesitation. You moved up his body, thighs bracketing his face as you settled above him. The sight of you—wet, glistening, need dripping from every inch—made Ashton groan like he was in pain.

“God,” he rasped, eyes fixed on you. One hand came up, his finger lightly trailing down your slit, making you hiss. “You’re fucking soaked, baby.”

You began to lower yourself slowly, but it wasn’t fast enough for him. Ashton gripped your hips and pulled you down against his mouth in one swift, hungry motion.

The second his tongue touched you, your moan echoed through the room—loud, helpless. He licked a long, deliberate stripe through your folds, savoring the taste, before circling your clit in slow, maddening motions.

“Oh my—fuck,” you gasped, the words dissolving into a strangled cry as your hands scrambled for purchase on the nearby nightstand.

Ashton’s lips wrapped around your clit, sucking gently, then with a little more pressure. Your hips jerked in response, grinding down instinctively, chasing the searing high he was building with every flick of his tongue.

His stubble burned deliciously against the soft skin of your thighs, only heightening the sensation. He alternated between languid, lazy licks and pulling your clit between his lips, suckling it like he had all the time in the world—and every intention of wrecking you slowly.

Your thighs trembled uncontrollably on either side of his head as you rode the delicious flicks of his tongue. When Ashton groaned into you, the deep vibration sent shockwaves straight through your core.

It felt so good—too good. Your free hand tangled in his dark curls, your head tipping back in pure ecstasy as a crescendo of moans spilled from your lips. He encouraged the slow grind of your hips against his mouth, both hands gripping your thighs as you chased your high.

The room was filled with the sound of wet, sinful pleasure—his mouth working you over with no mercy. You chased every swipe of his tongue, every deliberate kiss to your throbbing clit, your hips stuttering with every stroke.

A deep throb coiled low in your belly, tightening fast as your breathing grew uneven and your moans climbed in pitch.

“Oh God, Ash,” you whimpered, voice cracking on his name. “Your mouth feels so fucking good. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

Ashton hummed in response, the sound rumbling against you as he squeezed your thighs tighter.

“Come for me,” he growled, voice muffled and rough. “Be a good girl and come all over my fucking face.”

That was all it took.

With one last flick of his tongue, your orgasm slammed into you, stealing your breath and darkening your vision. Your entire body shook, thighs quivering as a sob wrenched free from your throat—his name falling from your lips like a broken prayer.

Your spine arched, hips jerking as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you. Ashton didn’t stop—not for a second—his mouth working you through every pulse, every aftershock, until your cries blurred into whimpers of overstimulation.

By the time you came down, your arms gave out and you collapsed forward, catching yourself on trembling hands. Ashton eased you off his mouth gently, and you rolled off him until you were seated back on the floor, chest heaving.

“Fuck, your wife is lucky,” you muttered, pushing damp strands of hair out of your face as Ashton propped himself up on his elbows, wearing a thoroughly smug grin.

“She is,” he said, voice thick with satisfaction as he sat up and got to his feet. “But I’m here with you… and I’m not finished.”

You blinked up at him, still dazed, trying to piece your mind back together.

Fuck. He never came.

Ashton extended a hand, and you took it. With his help, you stood on shaky legs, and he placed a steadying hand at the small of your back.

“You can handle more, can’t you, sweetheart?” he growled into your ear, sending a fresh shiver down your spine.

He guided you toward the balcony, pushing the glass door open. Warm spring air hit your flushed, naked skin, and you gasped at the contrast—the city lights glowing just beyond the railing, the hum of the night surrounding you like a secret.

“Hands on the railing, babygirl,” Ashton instructed, voice firm as he stepped in behind you and bent you forward.

Your hands flew out to grip the railing, knuckles turning white with anticipation.

Ashton let a hand trail slowly down your spine, the light touch making you shiver. He leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear.

“I’m gonna fuck you now, okay?” he murmured, voice low and dark. “And I need everyone in this goddamn city to know it. Got it?”

You bit your lip, nodding eagerly, the thrill of his words pulsing between your legs.

He moved your hair gently over your shoulder, exposing the curve of your neck. His lips followed, soft and deliberate, as he kissed the sensitive skin. You exhaled a content sigh, eyelids fluttering as he scraped his teeth along your pulse point.

Then he sucked—slow, deliberate—drawing a deep mark that made your knees nearly buckle.

You could feel the heat of him behind you, the weight of his cock as it was pressed against your ass. Gently, Ashton adjusted his grip on your hips, the warm night air doing nothing for the goosebumps that decorated your skin at every minor touch.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Ashton groaned, voice thick with lust. “You look so fucking good like this—bent over, gripping the railing, dripping for me like the cockwhore I know you are.”

His hands roamed slowly down your back, spreading you open with a deliberate touch that made your breath hitch. You were completely exposed, completely at his mercy—and he reveled in it.

“Keep those hands right where they are, baby,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your shoulder blade. His voice softened just enough to make you melt before his fingers teased your entrance.

You let out a stifled moan, your body already throbbing for him. When he pushed one finger inside, your eyes rolled back.

“So fucking tight still,” Ashton hummed, pleased, like he wasn’t already obsessed with how you felt. “Gonna feel so good wrapped around my cock.”

A second finger joined the first, stretching you out, filling you. The sensation was intense, especially with how sensitive you still were—your climax from his mouth barely in the rearview.

You clenched around his fingers, hips shaking, legs trembling from the effort to stay upright. His pace was unhurried, torturous, and you could feel the smirk on his face even without looking.

Then, without warning, he pulled them out, and you whimpered at the loss.

You heard the slick sound before you even saw it—the unmistakable sound of him sucking your arousal off his fingers.

“Taste like fucking candy,” he groaned.

“Ash, please—” you started, only to be cut off by the slow, maddening drag of his cock teasing your entrance. He rubbed against your clit deliberately, and your knees nearly buckled.

“Oh, fuck,” you cried, hips jerking.

He chuckled darkly behind you. “You like that, baby?” he asked, taunting. “Look at you—clenching around nothing. You’re so damn desperate.”

“Ashton, please,” you begged, voice wrecked. Your fingers tightened around the railing, white-knuckled, as your whole body cried out for him. “I need you.”

And finally, finally, he gave in.

The air left your lungs in a gasp as Ashton pushed inside—inch by inch—stretching you open in a way that made your mind go blank.

He bottomed out with a low, guttural moan. “Oh fuck, that pussy’s perfect,” he hissed. “So tight around me, so wet. You feel fucking amazing.”

His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave bruises—marks you knew you’d wear proudly tomorrow.

Then he moved.

Without warning, Ashton pulled back and slammed into you, drawing a loud cry from your throat. The sound was lost in the buzz of the city below—but you knew you were only going to get louder.

His hips were relentless, slamming into yours with the kind of force that had your body jolting forward, the railing shaking beneath your grip. Your cries mixed with his breathy groans, the air between you thick with sweat, heat, and need.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he groaned. “Let them hear you. Let this fucking city know who owns this pretty pussy.”

Your head fell forward, resting against your arm as your body trembled with every deep, punishing thrust. The pleasure was blinding—overwhelming—consuming every thought until the only thing you could register was Ashton’s cock driving into you over and over again.

Your legs barely held you up as Ashton continued to pound into you, merciless and relentless. Your skin buzzed with electricity, every nerve ending alive, your moans dissolving into broken, choked-off cries as each thrust hit deeper than the last.

“Right there, Ash,” you gasped, voice echoing into the open night. Anyone could see you—if they stepped onto their balcony or even glanced out a window, they’d be greeted with the filthy, breathtaking sight of Ashton fucking you senseless.

And Ashton wasn’t faring much better. His composure had shattered, his strangled moans mixing with yours, the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the night air.

You were gone—completely undone. Your body no longer felt like your own, just a desperate vessel for Ashton to use, to ruin, to worship with every precise snap of his hips. He kept hitting that spot inside you—over and over—that made your vision blur and stars explode behind your eyes.

Your thighs shook violently, every thrust knocking the breath from your lungs.

“Fuck, yes—right there,” you cried, the words barely intelligible, your mouth working around them between moans. But he understood. Oh, he understood.

His grip on your hips tightened like a vice. He knew from the way you were trembling, the way you clenched around him like a vice—you were close. So fucking close.

“You gonna come for me?” he growled into your ear, voice a low, filthy rasp. Each word was punctuated by a brutal thrust that had your hands gripping the railing like your life depended on it. “I can feel it. This tight little pussy’s begging for it. Begging for me to fuck it dumb.”

A choked sob ripped from your throat just as Ashton’s hand left your hip and slipped between your thighs. His fingers found your clit instantly, rubbing tight, ruthless circles that made your back arch and a scream claw its way from your chest.

The only sounds were your cries, the wet slap of your bodies, and Ashton’s ragged breathing at your neck.

“You’re gonna milk my cock dry, aren’t you?” he snarled. “Fucking wring every last drop out of me, you dirty little whore.”

You bit your lip, mustering just enough strength to nod—but even that felt impossible. The pleasure was overwhelming, consuming every thought, every breath, every nerve in your body. Words were out of the question.

“Come for me,” Ashton snarled, his fingers rubbing ruthless circles on your clit. “Fucking come for me. Make a mess, baby—I wanna feel you soak my cock.”

With one final, devastating snap of his hips, your body seized up and you screamed his name into the night. Hot, blinding, electric pleasure crashed over you like a wave, so intense it shattered every thought. You were reduced to nothing but a gasping, writhing mess—your back arching, toes curling, mouth open in a silent cry.

And then it hit.

Just as your orgasm peaked—when you thought there couldn’t possibly be more—your body let go completely. A powerful gush spilled from between your legs, soaking your thighs and Ashton’s hips, the force of it making you collapse against the railing with a broken moan.

“Holy fuck,” Ashton breathed, voice wrecked, completely stunned. “That’s it, baby—good fucking girl. Squirt all over me. Goddamn.”

But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

The sight of you losing control like that only pushed him further. His thrusts turned savage, unrelenting, and your legs gave out beneath you. Ashton didn’t falter—his hands clamped around your hips, holding you upright as your body went limp.

“Look at this pussy,” he panted, planting hot, open-mouthed kisses across your shoulder. “Fucking soaked for me. You’re a mess, Y/N—the hottest, filthiest fucking mess I’ve ever seen. And I’m not stopping till I’ve come so deep it drips out of you for days.”

You whimpered, exhausted and overstimulated, but fuck if his words didn’t light you up all over again.

“Goddamn,” he groaned, chest pressed to your back, one hand gripping the railing while the other snaked around to hold you still. “You drenched me, sweetheart. You’re mine. You hear me? This pussy—this sloppy, dripping, perfect fucking pussy—belongs to me.”

“Only to you,” you managed to breathe, voice raw as another moan tore from your throat. “It’s yours, Ash. No one else’s. Ever.”

He groaned like he was losing his mind, lips dragging across your skin as he chased his own release. “Fuck, you look like sin,” he growled. “Bent over like a perfect little slut, dripping down my cock, soaking my thighs—you love this, don’t you?”

After a particularly brutal thrust, you let out a strangled gasp.

“I fucking love it,” you sobbed. “I love how deep you are. I love how you ruin me.”

That was all he needed.

One hand fisted in your hair, yanking your back flush to his chest as his other hand slid up to grab your tits, fingers rolling your nipples between them as your head fell back against him.

“God, you’re so fucking filthy,” he hissed into your ear. “Still begging for my cock even though you can barely stand. You squirted all over me and you’re still taking it like a good little whore.”

You moaned loud and broken—speech long gone.

“You want it?” he growled, cock throbbing inside you. “You want me to fill up this tight little cunt? Pump you full until you’re leaking down your thighs?”

“Please, Ash,” you begged, vision swimming. “Come inside me. Fill me up—I want to feel it dripping out. I want your cum fucking everywhere.”

He snapped.

With a loud, guttural groan, Ashton slammed into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt as his cock twitched deep inside. You could feel the heat of it—thick, hot spurts filling you, spilling into every inch.

“Fuck—fuck, take that,” he gasped, grinding into you through every last pulse. “Take my cum, baby. So fucking pretty when you’re stuffed full. This pussy was made to be ruined by me.”

You cried out, shaking as the warmth of his release spilled out of you, dripping instantly down your thighs. His hips jerked through the aftershocks, unwilling to let go of the moment.

He stayed there, pressed tight against your back, panting hard, fingers bruising your hips as he came down.

Finally, with a low groan, he pulled out—and the slick sound of his cum dripping out of you made him hiss through his teeth.

Before your legs had the chance to give out, Ashton scooped you up effortlessly, one arm behind your back, the other under your thighs. You sagged into him, boneless and ruined, as he carried you back inside.

He kicked the balcony door shut with his foot, his lips brushing your temple as he carried you through the room. Slowly, he walked you over to the bed and laid you down with care, then padded into the bathroom to grab a towel.

Your mind was still a haze of afterglow and overstimulation, but clarity gradually returned. The trembling in your legs faded, replaced by a deep, warm relaxation that spread through your entire body.

When Ashton returned, he wore a dopey, satisfied smile as he sat beside you. He gently spread your thighs, the towel in his hand already damp with warm water. With careful, tender motions, he began cleaning you up—wiping away the mix of arousal and cum with quiet focus.

You hissed when the fabric brushed over your still-sensitive skin, and Ashton’s head immediately shot up. A stray black curl fell over his eyes as he checked your face for any sign of discomfort.

You slowly sat up, your hand reaching for him. With a soft touch, you brushed the hair from his face. His expression softened as your fingertips skimmed his cheek.

“That was fun,” you murmured, a sleepy smile tugging at your lips.

Ashton grinned, setting the towel aside on the nightstand. “Yeah, it was.” He paused, eyes gleaming with mischief as he added, “Too bad you’re married…”

You arched a brow, already bracing for it.

“To me,” he finished with a shit-eating grin.

You let out a dramatic groan, dropping your head to his shoulder. “You’re so fucking annoying.”

He burst into laughter, clearly pleased with himself. “Oh, baby, come on!” he said, cupping your face with both hands and forcing you to meet his eyes. “You can’t tell me that wasn’t the hottest sex we’ve ever had.”

You rolled your eyes but leaned into his touch, pressing a kiss to the center of his palm. “Maybe,” you grumbled. “But did you really have to keep bringing up the wedding band you picked out mid-fuck?”

Ashton grinned, entirely unashamed. “I really outdid myself, what can I say?”

Your glare was unimpressed. “I pity your wife.”

Leaning in, he pressed a soft kiss to the tip of your nose, his teasing fading into something tender. He tilted his head, studying you with the kind of reverence that could only come from someone completely, hopelessly in love.

“She loves me,” he said quietly.

“Yeah,” you whispered, nuzzling deeper into his hand. “I do.”

Ashton smiled, flashing you a dimple. “I love you too, baby.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

hii congrats on 5k!! i love your writing ! if you’re still celebrating could i request a carmy blurb where maybe you’re syd’s besite and carmy has this biggggest crush on you (im talking this mf is Yearning) and she gets on him sooo hard about it like teasing him and reader and him end up together ? TIA <3

Not So Secret.

carmen berzatto x female reader

warnings - cursing.

written for my 5k celebration- post here, masterlist here, inbox here.

“You’re gonna stare a hole through her fuckin’ head.”

“Shut up.”

Richie laughs, following Carmens eyeline to where it’s fixed on you.

You’re stood in the restaurant with Sydney, both of you giggling at something she’s showing you on her phone. When you look up, you smile at Carmy, all soft and sweet and like butter wouldn’t melt. He almost melts, a puddle of yearning on the kitchen floor.

Sugar appears next to the two of you, holding out a piece of paper.

“This is a really rough draft of what we kind of want them to look like. Obviously you have full control, but this is kind of the vibe?”

When Carmen mentioned wanting a more personal touch on the menus, Sydney quickly offered your services. You’re the most artistic person she knows, gifted with naturally gorgeous handwriting that almost looks like calligraphy. Plus, she knows how much everyone at The Bear likes you, having been a part of their transformation. It’s a win - win.

“Yeah, I get you. So you want the title words like Dessert in more of a cursive, and then the actual dishes and descriptions in a typeface?”

“Yes! Do your thing. We trust you.”

She gives you a side hug, careful not to hit you with her bump.

“I’m gonna need some nice paper, and probably a new calligraphy pen so I can start from scratch. I’m gonna head to the craft store, and I’ll be back.”

“Carmy will go with you!”

Richie shouts it from the doorway, where he’s been not so subtly watching the conversation. Carmy blushes, clearly caught off guard.

“He needs to go to the craft store too, right Cousin? Good. Go. Bye!”

Carmy’s practically being pushed out the door, uncomfortable and flustered. You smile reassuringly, grabbing your bag and walking over to your car.

“You’re okay with me driving?”

“Course. Shouldn’t I be?”

You laugh, and he can’t help but grin, the sound settling nicely into his ribcage to warm him up.

“I’m a good driver, I promise. Despite what Sydney might say.”

He looks worried but gets in anyway, ever trusting you and anything you do.

He can’t help but sneak glances at you as you drive. You’re completely focused on the road in front, bottom lip pulled between your teeth as you concentrate. Carmy feels heat bloom across his chest at the action, wishing he could reach out and release it for you before you draw blood.

A text chimes through the air, startling you both. You press the button on your steering wheel so your car can read the message out loud.

From Sydney: Carmy. Tell her immediately or I’ll lock you in the walk in freezer. Sick of you acting like a lovesick puppy. This is your chance. Don’t blow it, asshole. We’re all tired.

Both of you freeze, your hands tightening on the wheel. Carmy wants to throw himself out of the moving car, but decides against it at the last minute.

You pull the car into the craft store parking lot, choosing a space and yanking the handbrake on. You turn to him, looking at him for the first time since the bombshell.

He’s blushed all over, chest heaving and bottom lip pulled between his teeth. You almost want to reach out and release it for him, before he draws blood.

“Carmy.”

“I think, uh, yeah, I just - that was clearly sent to the wrong person. Not meant for you.”

You laugh, suddenly, and it spooks Carmy so much that he jumps out of his skin.

“Yeah, Carm. That I figured.”

He laughs with you then, unsure and nervous. You reach out and place a hand on his knee, trying to calm him down. It just makes his heart lurch.

“What’s Syd talking about? Tell me what?”

He looks down at his lap, hands knotted together.

“I think you know.”

“Wanna hear you say it,” you whisper.

He finds the courage to meet your gaze, taking a deep breath.

“I like you. So much. I can’t stop talking about you to anyone and everyone that’ll listen - to the point that everyone at The Bear gives me so much shit for it. Sydney won’t get off my back, either. She says I’m ‘yearning’.”

You chuckle, rubbing patterns into the material of his jeans with your thumb.

“They’ve all made bets,” he continues, “about if I’ll ever tell you or not.”

“Who bet on you? And who against?”

“Syd and Richie against me. Marcus too. Tina and Sugar are on my side. Not sure why.”

“Wanna make Tina and Sugar some money?”

He quirks a brow questioningly, eyes going wide when you lean over the centre console and plant your hands on either side of his face. You’re so close to him that your breaths tangle together, one set of lungs working overtime.

“Kiss me, Carm.”

He doesn’t think twice, closing the gap and pressing his lips to yours. You tangle your fingers in his hair, trying to pull him impossibly closer. His hands find your back, tugging you into him as much as the limited space allows.

You whine when he bites at your lip gently, and he has to pull away to take a steadying breath before he passes out.

“You should get your eyes checked.”

He tries to process for a moment.

“Huh?”

“You must be blind if you can’t see how much I like you, Carm. How much I’ve always liked you.”

He grins at you, bright and white, and you shake your head before leaning in to kiss him again.

When you don’t make it back into the restaurant that day, everyone has never been happier to not see the both you.

[bonesxbows]

Unforgettable (Alastor X Reader)

My Masterlist

Everyone at the hotel seems to be overlooking you, talking over you, acting as if you're not really there. Though it's not on purpose, you know they don't really mean to be ignoring you, it still hurts. Everyone except Alastor. He's the first to notice when you start to shut down and slink away. 

(WARNINGS)

Autism spectrum reader

Selective mutism behaviors

Negative self talk (slight depression/overthinking)

Mentions of addiction 

I’m having the most wonderful time in college so far! (insert upside down smiley face here) Anyway this is based on something that happened recently so it’s 100% entirely self indulgent, I’m relying on writing for comfort right now and ya’ll are along for the ride so enjoy! Also I’m sorta undiagnosed on the spectrum so this isn’t entirely accurate but it is based off of my own experiences, if any of it comes off as offensive to anyone just let me know and I’ll be more than willing to change it. Comments and likes are highly appreciated, I feel like my writing has been in a slump lately so PLEASE let me know if this is any good

Banners by @strangergraphics

You were in your room, laying on your bed with your eyes closed, hands neatly folded on your stomach, and fingers mindlessly fidgeting with themselves. Wordless jazz drifted through the air, broadcasted through an old radio; a gift from Alastor. One that you cherished, the soft noise always doing wonders to soothe your restless mind. You often wondered if that was part of his intention when he had given it to you, if he had known about your condition even back then.

There was a knock at your door, but the visitor didn’t wait for you to answer before opening it. The radio magically shut off on its own once it sensed an intruder. You peeked open an eye, seeing a blurb of blonde hair poke into your doorframe. 

“Heya! We’re meeting down in the lobby for another group exercise, it’d be super if you could join us!” Charlie told you, her attitude as bubbly as ever. She didn’t wait for you to reply before skipping off down the hallway, leaving your door open in expectation for you to follow her. You sighed, getting up and doing just that, not really having much of a choice if you were still going to stay here.

Everyone had already beaten you down there, all congregating together and conversing. Though from your standpoint it sounded more like arguing. You grimaced from the noise but carried on, trudging forward to join the crowd. Alastor sensed your presence almost immediately, whipping his head in your direction once you were close. His smile grew tenfold at the sight of you. He patted the empty space of the couch next to him, silently beckoning you over. You relaxed just a little, Alastor’s presence easing some of the tension this social gathering had brought upon you. As soon as you sat down next to him he snaked his hand around your hips, pulling you closer into his side and resting his claws on your thigh.

The conversion around the two of you continued, though it was getting harder to keep up with what was going on. 

“This is Hell, toots! Ain’t exactly a walk in the park to jus’ cut it off cold!” Angel was standing in front of Charlie, all four arms raised in defense. 

“I get that, Angel, but we can’t exactly allow this sort of behavior forever. I’m open to ideas. Suggestions? Is there a way to ease out of this sort of thing?” She rebutted. You figured they were talking about someone’s addiction, possibly Angel’s himself’s, or maybe Husk’s. Either way, you wanted to help, they were both your friends. 

“Charlie, I-” 

“Ease out? Are you kiddin’ me? Do you know how addictin’ they make this stuff? It’s on purpose, baby! Once you’re hooked it’s for life!” 

But Angel beat you to it. Your words just weren’t fast enough. But you didn’t give up, maybe they just hadn’t heard you?

“That’s true, but-”

“There’s got to be something out there, some kind of cure. Right? Maybe we just haven’t found it yet. Come on, don’t give up hope just yet!” 

Charlie interrupted you this time. She flashed Angel a hopeful smile, but ironically she had just knocked all wind out of your sails. You deflated, defeated, and crumbled in your seat. Any hope that they would listen to you fizzled behind your eyes. You curled into yourself, watching them as they continued their little argument, embarrassment and frustration clouding your mind. You wanted to help, had information that could help, but it was like you were invisible. 

Invisible to all, except Alastor. Who took extreme note of the way your face fell when you kept getting talked over. Who noticed how your always pleasant smile vanished and never came back. And how you tried to practically disappear into the side of his coat. 

Irritation pulled at the corners of his smile, making his eyes twitch. 

When the conversation was more or less over, tempers cooled enough that everyone was at peace again, you were quick to excuse yourself, getting up and fleeing before anyone, especially Alastor, could stop you. You ran, head hung low, not even looking where you were going, just hoping your feet would instinctively carry you back to the safety of your room. Your brain was fuddled, one thought led to another, which led to another, which snowballed into a self-loathing mess. So much of a mess you almost face-planted into the wood of your door. Luckily you stopped in time, huffing a sigh and kicking yourself for not paying attention, before you pushed the door open and walked inside, slamming the door behind you. You threw yourself onto your bed, not caring what went flying where, just caring enough that your embarrassed face could be covered by enough fluff and plushness to not be seen by anyone. 

That is until your radio tuned back to life again, nearly making you just out of your skin at the sudden noise. It flickered through static but eventually evened out to the jazz that had been playing earlier. The peaceful music made your heart ache. You felt stupid. 

Oh, Alastor…your Alastor. You loved how safe and comforting he made you feel, but he deserved better than to put up with your weird antics and moods. 

“Darling? Are you alright?”

As if the radio tuning had been a prelude to his arrival, he had shadow-stepped into your room not three seconds later. You sprang up at the sound of his voice, turning around to see him standing near your desk, leaning against his elbow propped up on top of your radio. You opened your mouth to reply, but yet nothing came out, the words becoming stuck like thick cotton in your throat. So you simply shook your head instead, your gaze falling down to your lap. Your heart hammered in your ears. 

Stupid. You were being stupid. Overreacting. As usual. Just talk to him. 

You didn’t notice him walking over towards you until he was near, sitting down next to you on your bed, resting his cane against a nearby wall. He placed a claw underneath your chin, guiding your face upwards to look at him. He used his thumb to gently tug at the corner of your lips, pushing it upwards into a lopsided smile. One that didn’t stay, your face falling as soon as he removed his finger. 

He sighed at the sight. Though he wasn’t upset, not with you. His smile was compassionate, caring. A rare one he only ever showed you, but worry creased his brow. “You didn’t deserve that treatment, you know. I’d kill them if I could.” 

At that, he earned a small, fleeting, smile. His bloodthirstiness was endearing at times. 

“Ah, there's my darling. Can you use your words, ma chérie?” 

You shook your head again. Your vocal chords failing you, seizing up in your throat. This selective mutism of yours wasn’t new. 

“That’s alright. How about we go up to the studio, hm? Just me and you. I’ll even let you pick out a few records to play on air. How’s that sounding?” He tilted his head towards you, smile glinting with persuasion. 

You nodded eagerly, the thought of being in a safe space alone with Alastor already easing your mind. 

He stood up enthusiastically off your bed and held out a hand for you to do the same. “Wonderful. Shall we be off then? Best get to it while the record player’s still hot!”

(Song: It Had To Be You by Isham Jones)

You were sitting cross-legged on Alastor’s desk, flipping through his collection of records, while he continued on with his broadcast. “Duke Ellington”, “Fats Waller”, “Ethel Waters”, and “Isham Jones” all shuffled through your fingers, names that you had come to recognize over the countless times you had spent up here with Alastor. You handed him the last one your fingertips touched. His grin grew at your selection as he shut off his microphone. 

“A fine choice, dear, a fine choice indeed!” He pulled the black disc out of its sleeve, slotting it into the machine and dropping the needle down onto one of its grooves. The sound of upbeat trumpets and an accompanying jazz band filled the broadcasting studio, the same song playing to any and all tuned in to Alastor’s radio station. He began to hum along, pushing his chair back and hopping up, gently pulling you off of the desk with little warning. You clutched onto him as he grabbed you, your feet dangled mid-air for a moment before you found your footing, earning a chuckle from Alastor as you kicked at nothing. 

But eventually, you found purchase on the ground again, and when you did he began to glide you along, guiding you in circles around the room, one hand in yours and the other firmly around your waist. You kept your free hand on his chest, trying to keep your feet up with his. He didn’t take you dancing often, but when he did you were always reminded of just what time period he originated from. He was a natural, humming along to the tune floating through the air as he graced across the floor himself, leading you with him as he went. When he flicked his wrist and spun you in place you felt something inside of you loosen, easing up after the earlier events of the day. 

“Alastor?” You called out his name. There was a flash of surprise across his face at first, no doubt he had become accustomed to the silence, but it quickly gave way to fondness. He pulled you closer to his chest, slowing down his movements around the room. 

“Yes, ma chérie?” Static purred in the back of his throat. 

“Thank you, for…for all of this.”

He hummed in response, placing a gentle and quick kiss on the tip of your nose. “Anything for you, my doe.”

[em1i2a3]

Something Human

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader

Summary: Bob loves to watch you cook because he is practically incapable of making something edible–apart from baked goods. One evening you ask if he wants to help, and he reluctantly takes you up on that offer.

Warnings: No warnings, just a really small domestic fluff blurb (reader and bob aren’t in a relationship)

Author’s Note: After writing a crap ton of smut this week (and with more coming today and this weekend with RAF and my other stuff lol), I thought I’d take a little break with something cute. Maybe I’ll make it a series (Domestic Fluff Fridays! HA!) Anyways, thank you for reading as usual <3 In addition to that this one’s quite short because tomorrow’s post is super heavy and long (ha that’s what she said), and I just wanted some lightness to cut the rest of my stuff lol.

Word Count: 3,019

The garlic hit the pan first–minced fine, nearly beaten to a paste, added just as the oil began to simmer. It bloomed on contact, sizzling loud and bright, sending up an instant wave of scent: sharp and golden, the kind that made your eyes sting just slightly even before the heat reached them. The olive oil danced around the edges of the pan, spitting softly as the garlic turned fragrant and gold. You tilted the skillet just enough to coat everything evenly before adding the onion.

The thin half-moons were sliced with deliberate precision as you scattered them into the pan like fallen petals. The sound shifted to a deeper hiss, a slower sizzle as the moisture met heat. Their clean, vegetal bite softened within seconds, releasing something sweeter, something rounder. You didn’t stir right away. You just let them catch a little, the edges flirting with caramelization, until the first signs of browning peeked through the translucent layers.

The air grew heavier, denser with steam. Brown butter clung thick to the base of the pan now, dark and nutty, layering beneath the garlic and onion. You added the rosemary with a firm crush between your fingers–needles bruised, oils released–and the scent deepened, earthy and pine-sharp. Then came the tomato paste, a deep red dollop scraped onto the hot metal with the back of your spoon. It seared instantly, sticking for a heartbeat before surrendering, caramelizing into a darker, more complex version of itself.

Your hands moved on muscle memory alone.

The cutting board in front of you was already a mess of progress: stems stripped clean of their leaves, curls of lemon zest pale and waxy in the warm light, and scattered flecks of red chili clinging stubbornly to the heel of your knife. You worked through it all methodically–thunk, scrape, thunk–the rhythm steady and grounding. Your elbows stayed tucked in close to your ribs, blade gliding clean, your foot tapping gently on the tile in time with your slicing.

Every movement was its own kind of meditation. A ritual to smooth the static that lingered after hours of training and debriefs. The ache in your shoulder from being knocked into the mat still throbbed faintly beneath your collarbone, but the pain was distant now, blurred by steam and scent and focus. Here, in this space, your thoughts slowed. Here, you weren’t a weapon or a soldier–you were just someone cooking dinner.

You reached for a wooden spoon without looking, stirring the tomato paste through the softened onions and garlic, watching as the colour deepened into a rich amber-red now. The edges hissed as they caught again on the bottom of the pan, and you deglazed it with a splash of broth–just enough to lift in a single savoury cloud.

Then you heard it.

The soft scrape of metal legs against tile–hesitant, careful, and all too familiar.

You smirked, not turning at the sound, “There’s my audience of one.” There was a pause, then the slow creak of him settling onto the stool behind you, “You’re late,” You added glancing at the clock on the stove with mock sternness.

Bob let out a quiet, breathy laugh, almost sheepish, “Go–Got caught up with laundry.” You looked over your shoulder then, and there he was.

Perched in his usual spot on the other side of the kitchen island, hair damp and tied up from a recent shower, his hoodie wrinkled like it had been pulled on too quickly and was left unfixed. His sleeves were bunched at the elbows, exposing his pale forearms, as he rested them on the countertop as he leaned forward, posture relaxed but his expression was anything but that. His eyes were already locked on your hands, trailing every motion–how you stirred, how you scraped down the sides of the pan, how you worked with a kind of quiet authority that never demanded attention, but always held it.

He did this every night…Or almost every night. Sometimes you’d just be toasting bread, layering together a lazy sandwich, and you’d still catch the shuffle of his footsteps, the gentle weight of his gaze. There was something about the way you handled food–no matter how simple–that seemed to draw him in like gravity. And by now, you knew it wasn’t just hunger that fueled him to watch you, he just wanted to be around you.

Bob wasn’t watching to critique or assess. He wasn’t weighing your worth or noting your reflexes. He was just there, quietly absorbing every motion, like he didn’t want to miss a single second of something that made him feel a little more human.

You didn’t mind performing when the audience was just him.

He’d become your taste tester almost by accident, but now you couldn’t imagine cooking without handing him the spoon first. He had a good palate–gentle, observant. He always paused before answering, always really thought about the flavours. And you trusted him. Not just his taste buds, but the soft, earnest weight of his opinion.

Tonight was no different.

You felt his eyes tracking the arc of your spoon as you stirred the pan again, coaxing the sauce into silk with a slow, practiced motion. He was quiet for a long moment, hands clasped on the countertop like he didn’t want to interrupt the rhythm, even with a breath.

Then, finally:

“Wh–What’re you making?” He asked softly, like he was afraid to break the spell.

You glanced over your shoulder again, catching the faint curve of a hopeful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. His brows were still knit slightly, as if concentrating on not fidgeting too much in your presence. You noticed a slight cut just below his lip–probably from shaving but you didn’t question.

”Just some pasta sauce for right now, prepping it for when everyone starts coming back from their briefings.” You returned your gaze to the pan, letting the sauce bubble low and slow beneath your spoon. It was smoothing out now, deepening in flavor with each gentle stir. Behind you, Bob shifted a little in his seat.

“It sm–smells really good,” He complimented, voice softer than the steam. You smirked faintly, turning the spoon once more.

“Well, thank you…” There was a pause. Then, without missing a beat, “Can you grab some heavy cream from the fridge for me?” You heard the soft thud of him standing–no hesitation. The familiar patter of socked feet over tile, then the subtle suction-pop of the fridge opening. You didn’t turn around, just kept stirring until the bubbling evened into a low, warm hum.

“Here you go,” He said, and you felt the chilled carton brush lightly against your hand. You took it out of his quickly, giving him a nod.

“Thank you.” You offered him the spoon. “Hold this for me?”

He blinked down at it, then nodded with a quiet, “Yeah–ye–yeah, of course.” His fingers curled carefully around the handle, knuckles brushing yours. Now that he was close, the scent of his hoodie hit you–fresh and clean and strong with lavender detergent, the kind of smell that stuck to warm fabric straight from the dryer. It made your chest tighten just a little.

He held the spoon upright like he was guarding the pan, eyes focused on you as you poured the heavy cream in a slow stream over the bubbling rue of tomato paste and fixins. The transformation was instant–the deep red turned a creamy orange, blooming in soft swirls like marble as it thickened. You gently took the spoon back from his hand, fingertips grazing his knuckles again.

Thinking that he was dismissed he turned to go back to his designated spot, before your voice intervened on his actions.

”Want to help?” He stopped mid-step, shoulders tensing slightly.

”Oh…Oh n-no, I’ll end up ruining it.” You rolled your eyes as you adjusted the heat, setting the sauce to a gentle simmer.

“You think Michelin star chefs never made mistakes while they were learning how to cook?” He cleared his throat, scratching the back of his neck, a faint blush creeping up onto his cheeks.

”Well, ye-yeah, of course they did…But I’ll end up ruining what ev-everyone else is supposed to eat.” You let out a small laugh.

”I’ll take the fall if you ruin it. I’m not gonna throw you under the bus, Bob.” That made him pause. You saw it in his eyes, the way they slightly softened at your tone–at the reassurance, like he wasn’t used to hearing that someone had his back when it came to the small things.

“Now…” You said, pointing your spoon at him, “Go grab the red cutting board and take the chicken breast out of the fridge.” His lashes fluttered, startled by the sudden promotion of responsibility.

“Yo–You’re gonna put me in charge of handling chicken when I could literally kill someone by accident because I gave them sa–salmonella if I do it wrong?” You tilted your head slowly, fighting the grin that threatened to appear on your lips.

“Bob,” You started, voice low with affectionate amusement, “I’m gonna be guiding you. Please refrain from overthinking.” He bit the inside of his cheek gently, then slowly he gave you the tiniest nod.

”Alright…” He went for the red cutting board first, gently pulling it out from where it leaned upright near the sink and setting it on the island, his lips pressed into a thin determined line. Then, he made his way to the fridge, opened it, and bent slightly–peering in with intent before pulling out the package of chicken breast still sealed in its plastic from the grocery run earlier in the day.

You watched him from your place at the stove, resting one hip against the counter, spoon in hand. The sauce behind you gave a lazy blurp as it simmered low and thick. The scent filled the kitchen now—cream and rosemary and tomato and garlic all melting into one indulgent cloud that curled through the open space like incense.

He returned, standing beside the cutting board, holding the package in both hands like he wasn’t entirely convinced it wouldn’t attack him.

“Alright,” you said, pushing off the counter and walking over, “First, we’re gonna open that up, and pat the chicken dry with a paper towel.” He nodded quickly, already grabbing the roll from beside the sink placing it next to him so it was at the ready. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched him peel back the plastic, which made a little slimy noise.

“Gross.” He muttered under his breath.

“It’s just a noise, it’s not like it was the actual chicken.” You commented. As he blotted the chicken dry, you handed him a sharp knife, resting your hand gently on his wrist for a second.

”Don’t over think,” You said again, “Just follow my lead.” You showed him how to trim off the excess fat, where to hold the blade. You stayed close, your hand occasionally ghosting over his to steady his grip or adjust his angle–but to also have an excuse to touch him in general. His knuckles were tense, shoulders hunched slightly with the weight of focus. Every now and then, you’d glance back at the sauce and give it a stir, and when you returned, he’d still be there, right where you left him–pressing through the task with quiet determination.

It was nice, watching him like this.

Helping him.

For once, you weren’t the one being watched–you were the watcher, guiding instead of performing. There was something quietly intimate about it. The soft concentration on his face. The wrinkle between his brows. The way he bit the inside of his lip whenever he wasn’t sure what came next. You tried to make small talk, asking about his training, the book you saw in his room last week

But his answers were minimal. Not unfriendly–just…Brief. Distracted. So you decided to let the silence take over for a bit, just watching as he methodically trimmed the fat off with the focus only he could have for something that could be seen as simple to others.

“Good,” You murmured, leaning in to check his work, “That’s perfect. See? You’re doing fine.”

He didn’t answer, but his ears went pink. His focus stayed locked on the cutting board like one wrong move might reset the entire process.

You turned back to stir the sauce again, watching it thicken into something glossy and rich. The scent swelled even deeper now that the cream had steeped fully into the herbs. When you turned back, Bob was brushing the last of the trimmed fat into the waste bowl you’d placed beside him.

He turned toward you slightly, still holding the knife.

“What’s next?”

You gave him a small smile. “Slicing it. Wanna do that too?”

He hesitated just for a second before nodding. “Sure…Ye–Yeah, that would be okay.”

You picked up the chicken breast and demonstrated how thick the slices should be–steady, even pressure, angled slightly for better sear coverage. Then you passed the knife back, brushing his fingers again, before heading to the sink to wash your hands. He shifted to mimic your stance without needing to be told.

As you dried your hands, you leaned your hip against the counter, watching him resume. “How come you know how to bake but you never touched the art of cooking?”

The question seemed to catch him off guard. His throat bobbed. He adjusted his grip and began cutting, shoulders rolling up with a small shrug.

“M–My mo–mother used to have a lot of recipe books in our house…” His voice was quiet, unsure, but he didn’t stop slicing. “She wasn’t a baker or anything, but… sometimes I wo–would read them. I just found that the in–instructions were easier. Less… guesswork.”

You hummed, folding your arms loosely over your chest. It wasn’t much, but it was more than he usually offered. He never talked about his family–not in a way that gave you anything solid. There were scattered mentions, the odd comment about his dad’s truck, his mom’s sweet tooth, but never anything that grounded them in the room with him.

“Because it’s straightforward, right?” You asked gently. “The measurements are right there, and if you follow them, it’s supposed to work.”

Bob let out a little laugh–barely more than a breath, but genuine.

“Yo–You know me very well, Y/N.”

You both chuckled softly. His tone wasn’t bashful so much as…Grateful. Like being known by you was something he didn’t expect to feel good but did. Deeply.

He finished the last slice and reached for the next chicken breast without prompting, his movements more fluid now.

“What about you?” he asked after a beat, glancing over. “How’d you get so good at cooking?”

You smirked, reaching behind you to stir the sauce with your wooden spoon. “Living in a house full of tactical assassins kind of forces you to be a good cook, so… I had no choice.”

He raised a brow, blade paused mid-air. “You’re talking about yo–your past team, right?”

You turned your head, a sly glint in your eye. “No, I’m talking about this team of burnouts.”

That got another quiet laugh out of him, this time with a small shake of his head. “You guys are definitely way better than them. Least you appreciate my cooking.”

You snorted as you swirled the spoon through the sauce. “They di–didn’t?” he asked, voice softer now, just a little tentative.

You shrugged, not meeting his eyes right away. “Everyone was always on the go. I was too, of course, but…They didn’t really have time to sit and appreciate it. We were all on different paths, so bonding wasn’t really put on the highest pedestal.”

Bob was quiet for a moment. You glanced over and saw that his hands had stilled, knife resting flat on the board. He was watching you now–not with pity, not with discomfort, just…With that same steady attention he always gave when he tasted something new and tried to memorize what made it special.

You didn’t mind the silence. If anything, it felt earned.

He returned to slicing, a little more focused than before.

You knew he liked learning about you–liked gathering all the little breadcrumbs you dropped, whether they were intentional or not. You were more open than most on the team, but even so, Bob never pushed. He always waited. Always listened. Like there were lines you’d drawn in invisible ink and he was afraid to smudge them by asking too much.

But you didn’t mind when he asked. You liked when he did.

“You’re doing good, by the way,” You said after a moment, voice lower, meant just for him.

His hands stilled again, and when he glanced up at you, his eyes were soft. “Thanks,” He said. “That…Means a lot coming from you.”

You smiled, warm and easy, then bumped his shoulder gently with your own.

“Now finish slicing those and we’ll get the skillet hot,” You teased. “Time to see if you can master the flip.”

“Oh no,” He muttered under his breath, but you caught the twitch of a grin at the edge of his mouth.

[stevie-petey]

pretty girl

“Unfair. I was at least–” he breathes out sharply as you begin to suck lazily just below his jaw. “I was gentle, pretty girl. This just, fuck, this feels like torture.” “Shush and let me kiss you, Stevie.”

Summary: steve has to get his daily kiss quota in somehow, right?

Rating: general, makeout session, cursing

Warnings: fem!reader, use of y/n, slight neck kink if u arent into that, mild makeout session (so so so mild tho) - not proofread, i just kinda wrote so pls ignore typos lmao

Words: 1.1k

Before you swing in: hello ! i was in a bit of a lovey dovey mood, and while i adore writing come home, i simply couldnt bring myself to write more repressed feelings tonight. so, heres a quick lil boyfriend!steve blurb. it isnt at all correlated with come home (although if u squint ... maybe) its just me being so engrossed in my current crush and needing to be severely kissed. rip. anyways, enjoy !

-

Every night, Steve throws rocks outside your window. 

The rocks pang softly against the glass, one after another, as they bounce harmlessly on their endeavor to get your attention. 

Every night, you answer. 

“What ails you tonight, Harrington?” You’ve opened your window now, leaning your head out so that you can see the boy standing below. 

He winks at you. “The usual.”

“Hm,” you rest your elbows against the wooden panel encasing your window. “How many do you need this time?”

“Hard to say, but if I had to guess… A million, honestly.”

You laugh. “A million, huh?”

“Maybe even more.” Steve smiles up at you, admiring how the moonlight frames your pretty face, making it even softer than he ever thought possible. It takes his breath away for a second, knowing how the face staring down at him is the same face that stares up at him whenever morning comes. 

“Give me five minutes, lovely.”

Steve smiles at the nickname, letting it warm his face as well as his bones. “I’ll go warm up the car.”

You wave, blowing the boy a quick kiss, before closing your window to go over to your dresser. The top drawer has long come to contain your nighttime adventure outfits with Steve. A simple pair of sweatpants and his hoodie that you stole years ago but never gave back. 

He knows you have it still, but you know he secretly loves seeing you wear it. 

As soon as you’re ready, slippers and all, you quietly run down your stairs so you don’t disturb your parents and unlock the front door. The lock clicks harshly against the night’s quietness, but with one smooth turn you manage to undo the lock and open the door. 

Steve, true to his word, is waiting in his car with the heat blasting, just the way you like it. 

It’s winter, early January, and school hasn’t quite started back up yet. 

The second you approach the car, Steve gets out and walks to the passenger side so that he can open it before you even touch its handle. You scoff at the overdramatic mannerisms, but blush nonetheless. 

“I can open my own door, Steve.”

He shrugs. “Sure, but you’re beautiful and I love you.”

The words fall freely from his lips, and you intertwine your hand behind his neck and pull his lips flushed against yours. He hums into it, pulls you so that your chests are engulfed together and your legs stumble and enclose around his. It’s messy, your other hand clutches at Steve’s jacket and he relishes in the way your knuckles tighten around him. 

“One down, a million more to go.” Steve whispers against your lips. 

You laugh, throwing your head back and he watches the sight of it all. How your neck lengthens as you laugh, the way your hair cascades behind you and the way your eyes crinkle shut. You put on a whole show for him, and he can’t get enough of it. 

“You really think we can get through a million kisses tonight?” You ask, nudging your nose against the length of Steve’s jaw. 

He shivers. “Got a few ways I think we can manage that.”

You pull away now, though you keep your hand at the nape of his neck. “At least take a girl on a date first.”

“I’m trying, pretty girl.” He gestures toward the car, its engine humming softly. You roll your eyes, but when Steve finally opens the passenger door, you reluctantly let go of him and sit down. “Atta girl, Y/N.”

Before you can huff at him for the nickname, Steve gently closes the door and heads over to his own driver’s side. He opens the door, the warm air escaping a bit, and as soon as Steve is in the car he tugs at your hoodie (his hoodie) and once again you’re kissing. 

It’s longer this time, languid and lingering. He brings a hand up to your cheek and his thumb strokes the high point in a fluid back and forth motion. You lean deeper into him, your own hands coming up to his chest as if you could bring him any closer to you. 

Steve nips at your bottom lip and you let him in, you always let him in. 

You gasp as he sucks on the lip and you feel him smile at your reaction. With one hand still caressing your cheek, his other hand comes up to the base of your neck. It’s warm, he’s always so warm, and his calloused fingers find their usual place, splayed across both sides of your neck. His palm settles just above your collarbones and your breath hitches. 

“Steve…” You exhale his name, as if it were a prayer. 

He pulls away a little, his eyes a molten honey color in the moonlight. “Yes, pretty girl?”

You turn your head and press a kiss against the hand still on your cheek. “Three down, 999,999,997 to go.”

“Make that four,” Steve presses a kiss to your nose, then your cheek, then to the tips of your eyelashes. “Now eight.”

You giggle as he presses another kiss to your temple and then your ear. He’s everywhere, now, peppering kisses on every inch of skin he can find. “And here, and here, and here…”

Steve goes down to your neck now, his nose trailing down the bare skin, making you shiver, and his kisses are so soft. Despite his teasing and the hold he still has on your neck, his lips leave a trail so soft and sanguine against your skin that they burn like whiskey. 

He reaches for your hand now, bringing the length of your arm up to his face, and just before he presses even more kisses against you, you laugh and pull your arm back. Steve starts to whine, unhappy with his kisses being interrupted, but you comb your fingers through his hair. 

“Seems unfair to make you do all the work, lovely.”

Steve’s lips are red and swollen from earlier, they almost distract you from his response. “Shush and let me kiss you.”

He tries to duck his head back down to your neck for more, but you stop him. “Nuh-uh. My turn.”

Before Steve can argue some more, you tug at his jacket, and because you’ve caught him off guard, he falls so far forward that his neck is open for the taking. You press your own kisses against it, connecting the moles that litter his skin with a kiss, and Steve exhales shakily as you do so. 

“Unfair. I was at least–” he breathes out sharply as you begin to suck lazily just below his jaw. “I was gentle, pretty girl. This just, fuck, this feels like torture.”

“Shush and let me kiss you, Stevie.”

Steve’s hand tightens around your neck as the other flies up to your head, pressing you further into his neck as you suck on a spot that he particularly likes. “Yeah… Fuck, okay. Shutting up now.”

-

⌑ writing masterlist

[love7poetry]

✮˚. ᵎᵎ I LOVE YOU I'M SORRY 𖦹彡⋆｡˚

⤷ spidey!ellie williams headcanons

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ sophia's letter ! i took a hiatus without meaning to😞 unfortunately this is all i had time for, but it was lowk fun. tbh i think i’ll stick to one shots bc this is basically a few blurbs in one, like this is all over the place idk i don’t like it but i needa post. also, LIAAAM NOOO all payne no liam :((

.ᐟ. . . content warnings. r's race is not specified, characters death, spiders, fighting, unrequited love, r is bi/pan, ellie mistaken for a guy, ellie mistakes r for a straight girl, mental instability, fall from a high building twice, alternative universe, assault attempt, unserious writing style, grammar mistakes probably

{ inspired by @hiiikiko ‘s spider-man!ellie. pls check out their work, it’s so good ! }

do not support naughty dog or zionist neil druckmann

HELP HERE🇵🇸

✮⋆˙ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ˙⋆ ✮ spidey!ellie personally i think she's already a peter parker varient, trust me. these goofballs haunted down the killer of their father-figure for christ sake! of course peter had that whole not killing moto but like... oh well!

✮⋆˙ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ˙⋆ ✮ spidey!ellie in my mind gets her powers basically the same as in tasm, except she was only in the Anderson Tower (hehe see what i did there) bc one of her professors assigned a thesis on one of their exhibitions. of course she goes the same day you do, the girl she lowkey has a crush on.

✮⋆˙ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ˙⋆ ✮ spidey!ellie is a major LOSER omg. she admires you from afar bc she doesn't have the balls to start a conversation. she doesn't even think you're into girls to begin with so whats the point. leave it to ellie williams to fall for a straight girl smh

✮⋆˙ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ˙⋆ ✮ spidey!ellie needs glasses to see or else everything is just a blur. she never takes them off, not even to sleep, yet somehow she doesn't see you until it's too late. now, ellie only ever sees you in class, so in her defense, poor girl wasn't expecting you to just appear in front of her and bump into you. otherwise, she would've turned the other way. 

✮⋆˙ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ˙⋆ ✮ spidey!ellie has an apology problem, at least when she's nervous and boy do you make her nervous with your hair down and pretty face and glossy lips and cute outfits and gosh, she needs to get a grip. you tell her it's fine with a little laugh and ellie feels her face grow warm. 

✮⋆˙ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ˙⋆ ✮ spidey!ellie like canon ellie, is an overthinker, so of course she's thinking abt that awkward interaction. well, it was for her, you didn't even think twice abt it. you're a chill person and it wasn't like ellie shoved you hard. ellie didn't have that kind of strenght... not yet, anyway.

✮⋆˙ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ˙⋆ ✮ spidey!ellie was just too distracted to notice a colorful spider jump on her back, only feeling a sting after stepping foot out of the mutlibillion dollar company tower. you can imagine her disturbed look when she got to her dorm, feeling around her neck until she plucked off a web string with a dead spider still attached on its end. yuck. to make matters worse, ellie started feeling sick. she passed out and didn't wake up until noon of the next day.

✮⋆˙ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ˙⋆ ✮ spidey!ellie was an orphan after her mother passed away when she was nine. she was left under the care of her mother's best friend, marlene, since that was the closest thing to family she had left. to ellie, marlene was family, so she'd called her aunt marlene. i think you can guess where this is going...

✮⋆˙ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ˙⋆ ✮ spidey!ellie had promised marlene she would help with a charity event called the fireflies, but with ellie's new... condition, ellie just had too much on her mind. trying to balance college, having a lesbian crush on a straight girl, and finding out you can climb walls is a lot for a nineteen year old. and okay, maybe the first two are universial experiences, but definitely not the third. who is she supposed to talk to abt that?

✮⋆˙ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ˙⋆ ✮ spidey!ellie was stressing and she never had the best temper when stressed. she had been focusing in creating organic web fluid bc in my au shes not gonna have anything shooting out of her, okay? i mean i still have some questions for tobey's spidey.... moving on! the charity simply slipped out of her mind and when ellie checked her phone after an entire day of testing her new abilities, swinging and even doing a handstand in just her index and middle fingers, she saw abt fifteen missed calls from aunt marlene. ellie decided to stop by to apologies and that’s when all hell broke lose.

✮⋆˙ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ˙⋆ ✮ spidey!ellie acts like her mother's death doesn't bother her after a decade, but when her name falls out of aunt marlene's lips during her lecture abt ellie's bad puntuality and lack of time managment, it was obvious it's still an open wound. 

'you are a lot like your mother, ellie,' marlene spoke. so far ellie was just nodding along to whatever marlene was saying but that sentence really annoyed the hell out of her. 'you truly are, and that's a good thing.' ellie's jaw tightened, but she didn't say anything. 'but she lived believing that if you can do good things for people, you have an obligation to do those things,' marlene pointed a finger at ellie's direction. 'that's what's at stake here. not choice; responsibility.' ellie scoffed. 'that's nice. yea, that’s all well and good. so where's she?' 'what?' marlene stops.  'where is my mom? don't you think it was her responsibility to tell me this herself?' the words coming out of her mouth taste like venom. there's tears threatening to spill, but ellie refuses to let them fall. marlene exhales, shaking her head. 'how dare you?' ellie raises her voice for the first time that night. "how dare i? how dare you!'

✮⋆˙ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ˙⋆ ✮ spidey!ellie never got the chance to apologize for snapping at marlene. she knew deep down that marlene was just looking out for her, yet she was too in her head to see it then. ellie had stormed out right after and marlene went out looking for her. and it was the same thief that ellie did nothing to stop as she witness him rob a deli and even handed her a drink which she took without a second thought who killed marlene that night. 

✮⋆˙ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ˙⋆ ✮ spidey!ellie will never forgive herself for that, for not stopping the thief and letting him kill the one person she had left. since then, ellie uses her powers to help others. 

✮⋆˙ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ˙⋆ ✮ spidey!ellie also has a joel in this universe and he's finally being introduced, yippe! im mixing andrew's and tom's peters so i couldn't make him the uncle ben ik y'all thought he was gonna be. he's more like mcu's aunt may and tony. now bare with me pls

✮⋆˙ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ˙⋆ ✮ spidey!ellie made herself a suit out of old clothes and a handmade mask. she'd been going around the neighborhood for a few weeks doing small things: returning stolen bikes, bringing cats down from trees, helping senior citizens cross the street, etc. there were no headlines on her yet, but she was growing popular on reddit. it wasn't until one day ellie felt this weird chill down her spine. everything happened so fast, ellie just remembers the after math, the adrenaline rush of catching a 3000 pounds car going at 40 miles with her bare hands to stop it from crashing into a school bus. that was the first time ellie saved a live, multiple at that, and she knew this is what she wanted- no, needed to do.

✮⋆˙ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ˙⋆ ✮ spidey!ellie had kept a low profile as her alter ego until then. never would she imagine that the video of her stopping a moving vehicle would get in the hands of the joel miller, ceo of miller industries. he's known of the expirements jerry had been doing with all sorts of animals and he didn't like it. joel never thought jerry had it in him to actually modify the human dna, but here he stood with a wall-crawling college student. 

✮⋆˙ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ˙⋆ ✮ spidey!ellie didn't fangirl like mcu peter did when he met tony for the first time (i miss them). in fact she had the opposite reaction. she wasn't a fan of joel just like you and i aren't a fan of elon musk, but she respected him bc he has a flying suit. in this universe, joel was iron man and like tony, he told the entire world. when one of his enemies' killed sarah, he stopped wearing the suit. there's also no avengers bc that's too much writing for me 😇

✮⋆˙ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ˙⋆ ✮ spidey!ellie agrees to work with joel only bc he promised to make her a super cool suit with lots of new tech. he said her homemade suit looked like an onesie and the only insult ellie could come up with was that his face looked like an onesie... oh how did joel wished the one to get bit would've been a grown adult smh

✮⋆˙ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ˙⋆ ✮ spidey!ellie learns to be more in tune with her new abilities as time goes by. that chill down her spine, yea remember that? obviously we know they're spidey senses, but ellie doesn't know that, not until now. she kinda put two and two together, how she would get the feeling every time something bad was gonna happen. what pissed her off was that she had a you sense too. her stupid enhanced senses told her when you were near, but it only happened with you. like, what the fuck seriously

✮⋆˙ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ˙⋆ ✮ spidey!ellie is still a loser even after the bite so of course she has yet to talk to you. you now acknowledge her after the incident at the anderson tower, but it's just smiles if you two make eye contact. god, ellie feels so pathetic abt this clearly unrequited crush. until one day she overhears - not that she did it on surpose, it just happens a lot with her enhanced hearing - you talking about her! well... her alter ego, but it's still her.... yea, abt that actually....you and everyone else seem to think she’s a he?????

✮⋆˙ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ˙⋆ ✮ spidey!ellie is part of the tiny tittie committie as we know, so when she puts on joel's new and upgraded suit, she looks flat chested. she wasn't insecure of her size or anything, but ever since publicly teaming up with joel and gaining more publicity, people have mistaken her for a man, giving her the title of spider-man. it made her bust out laughing tbh

✮⋆˙ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ˙⋆ ✮ spidey!ellie started seeing her masked self almost everywhere, especially in classes. that's when she heard you and your friend talk abt her, or well him. 

'i need him,' ellie almost choked on air hearing you speak. you were watching a video compilation on tiktok of spider-man saving people with chloe, a friend you made during the beginning of the semester.  'ew, he could be like your dad's age.' chloe laughed.  ellie frowned, sitting a few rows back. she is definitely not old enough to be a college student's dad. as a matter of fact, she can't even be a dad so. you smiled at chloe and shrugged. 'that wouldn't matter, because what matters is what's on the inside.' it was clear that you were joking, but as ellie looked up to where you were sitting she wondered how you would react if you found out it was a girl you were talking about. would it matter? would you still like her then?  or would you be disappointed?

✮⋆˙ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ˙⋆ ✮ spidey!ellie tries to get over this crush by focusing on spider-boy, or wtv his name is. ever since becoming the city's hero, it's like everything has been dial up to eleven. crime fighting is far more intense but ellie likes the challenges. she's gotten a little cocky too, always joking and teasing the criminals she fights. her suit has a voice changer and she has a blast using it. 

'my grandma punches better than you,' she'd fake a yawn while grabbing the fist of one of the robbers when he tried to throw a punch. then she'd turn to the other who is already webbed up, 'actually, i never met my grandma.' then she'd punch the first guy just hard enough to kick him out cold. ‘but i bet her punches are still better.’

another instance is when she stopped a pretty big drug deal. about five men were going over what the plan was for the day, none noticed when ellie sneaked in until what seemed to be the leader grunted, 'you guys know what to do, now stay out of my ass.' ellie sighed loudly, 'it's hard to miss it.' 

✮⋆˙ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ˙⋆ ✮ spidey!ellie is just having the time of her life with this new identity that it becomes addicting, it's like her copying mechanism fr. joel starts noticing that ellie has become sloppy and tries to warn her, and although ellie promises she'll do better, she doesn't. she's saving lives, jesus christ. can’t a girl have fun?

✮⋆˙ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ˙⋆ ✮ spidey!ellie learns the hard way that not everyone is a fan, especially not the police. and okay yea that humbled her alr. it also annoys her bc she's doing half their job so you'd think they'd be more appreciative but no they named her a criminal and put out a reward for whoever can discover the vigilante's identity. now she has to put in double the work bc everyone she fights tries to pin her down to take off her mask. ellie really dislikes your mother for that, the police captian of the boston police department - bc im messy hehehe. you're like in love with spider-man tho, and are quite vocal abt it too 

✮⋆˙ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ˙⋆ ✮ spidey!ellie loves to hear you fangirl over her. like okay you're unaware of a lot of minor details - like the fact that it's actually spider-woman - but that’s okay, it's fineeee! baby steps right? well ellie takes a huge big girl step one night when she saves you from a gross man trying to assault you.

her spidey senses were going off, and she let them take her to a dark alley. she heard the voice of a girl struggling to push someone off as she crawled on the wall. ellie froze when she realized it was you, her heart beat picking up. this is the first time someone she knows is in trouble, and it made her feel uneasy.  'buddy, is this anyway to treat a lady?' ellie jumped down, voice changer on, making both you and the sick drunk to look over at her. 'i don't think so,' she grabbed him by the shoulder and pushed him to the ground, off of you.  'go.' she spoke, a little desperate to get you out of here. you stood in shock until you looked up at your savior and then booked it out of there. you run further into the alley until you made it to the other end, turning back behind you once you’re under a lamppost. you frowned when you couldn't see anyone.  where did they go? ellie held onto a web while she came down upside down. feeling movement, you turned and came face to face with masked eyes looking back at you. 'you saved me.' it was her job, of course she would save you, but no words came out. all ellie did was nod. there was a moment of silence as you two stared at each other, both out of breath. you from prior events, and ellie because she's never been this close to you.  you slowly brought your hands up to ellie's neck where the mask began. ellie quickly grabbed one of your wrists to stop you, but you reassured her. 'i won't take it off,' you whispered. ellie let go of your hand and felt you pull her mask up to her nose so only half of her face showed. you held onto the sides of her face as you lean in to kiss her lips.  ellie knew it was wrong, that in a way she was abusing her power. but when your lips connected with hers, all she could think about was how soft you felt. there was no way she would get over you now. 

✮⋆˙ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ˙⋆ ✮ spidey!ellie swang you home that night and ever since she visits you almost everyday, im talking five days out of the week. girl has it BAD after that kiss #freemygirl frfr😞 the visits start innocent and it wasn't like ellie was expecting anything, but somehow you two end up making out and who is ellie to stop it ok? she is just a girl. i mean she does feel bad at the beginning bc you STILL believe she's a male - in your defense, ellie still keeps her mask half way on even in a make out session as well the voice changer. you understand that "he" just wants to keep "his" identity a secret, especially after your mom's manhunt, so you don't question it. and that makes ellie feel even worse.

✮⋆˙ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ˙⋆ ✮ spidey!ellie was planning on telling you, i swear, but then joel found out ellie was seeing a girl and he warn her not to tell you anything. she was abt to cuss him out until he told her she was alr putting you in danger by being associated with a crime fighting hero, you knowing who is under the mask would just make you a bigger target. not to mention your own mother still hates her guts, and is putting you in multiple uncomfortable situations. 

'can i at least tell her i'm a girl?' ellie questioned, already fed up by this conversation. she rubbed the bridge of her nose before looking up at joel, who she had grown to look up to as a mentor. although they still bicker. joel sighed, 'we talked about this, kiddo. if people keep thinking there's a spider-man, the changes of finding out your identity are low.'  'she won't tell anyone.' ellie trusts you. in the time that you've been together, you haven't told any of your friends that you're up in your room with none other than boston's masked vigilante. you kept this part of your life like an oath, and ellie appreciates you for it.  however, joel doesn't know you like she does. 'have you forgotten who her mother is? this could be a set up, and you're falling for it.' ellie shakes her head. 'she's not like that.'  'look, if it had been any other girl, i would've said go for it. but she's the daughter of the woman who wants to turn you in, dead or alive.' ellie looks away from joel, but he continues. 'we gotta be smart about this.' ellie sighs, nodding. 'okay.'

✮⋆˙ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ˙⋆ ✮ spidey!ellie wants to go up to you in person as herself whenever she sees you in class, but knows she can't. like what do you mean her tongue was exploring your mouth just the night before but now you two are back to strangers????? it's driving her crazyyy and she feels so stupid and so guilty. it doesn't matter how many people she saves, ellie feels like she's going to hell for doing this to you. yet she can’t stop, not now, she’s addicted to your taste and when she sees you as her masked self later that day, she smacks her lips against yours for all the times she felt the argue to kiss you as ellie but couldn't. 

✮⋆˙ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ˙⋆ ✮ spidey!ellie is still bitter towards joel for not letting her confess her secret to you but they've grown close and he is helping her find out why jerry anderson would create radioactive spiders. they don't find much until the top of the anderson tower bursts into flames. boston for sure thought they were going to be the next 9/11 but thanfully ellie got everyone out safetly. it was afterwork hours so not a lot of people were there, but when ellie went back to make sure she didn't miss anyone, a sinister laugh echoed. ellie's body went cold and her spidey senses were going crazy. if you couldn't tell jerry is the green goblin in this au but i still picture willem dafoe bc he's just TEW good as the green goblin so im recasting him as jerry 😁

✮⋆˙ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ˙⋆ ✮ spidey!ellie definitely has a whole panic attack after being thrown against multiple walls by this not so kind dr anderson. she was just so overstimulated and physically hurt that it was all too much at once. this is ellie's first big villian and the old man can punch alr 

✮⋆˙ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ˙⋆ ✮ spidey!ellie has friends - dina and jessy ofc, but they’re unaware of her double life. ik i said she's a loser and i haven't mention them, but in my au her and abby were childhood friends until abby was sent to boarding school. they're literally peter and harry, you get me? so like norman, jerry was also neglectful and wouldn't pay attention to abby's friends, especially ones from so long ago, but ellie remembers him - also bc who wouldn't know the jerry anderson - and she knows that whatever she fought that night wasn't jerry, not entirely. he had this crazy look in his eyes and creepy smile, flying around in a hoverboard, accusing her of stealing his powers. yikes, awkward... 

✮⋆˙ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ˙⋆ ✮ spidey!ellie continues to fight him for some time, trying to figure out what the hell happened to him and how to help him. along with discoverying about anderson's sickness, ellie also finds out her mom used to work with jerry and she's the one who created the formula to cross-species genetics. yup, that really sent her spiraling - also im so uncreative and unoriginal im stealing from tasm bc ellie's mom also sabotaged the formula and added her dna into the equation, which is why ellie got her powers while jerry went nuts. okay he also gained some abilities but at what cost?

✮⋆˙ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ˙⋆ ✮ spidey!ellie goes to your place after finding all of this shit out without telling you any of it, but just being near you helps her calm down. at this point, she knows so much abt you and you so little abt her, but you don't seem to mind. you tell her that you've been fighting a lot with your mom recently, and ellie listens. it's nice to talk abt other things to get her mind off of wtv is happening in her messed up life. you ask her if her parents know what she does, and for some reason, ellie opens up. she tells you the few memories she has of her mother, something she's never done with anyone apart from marlene but even then those moments were rare, more so now that's she gone too.

✮⋆˙ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ˙⋆ ✮ spidey!ellie is letting her guard down around you more and more, that she doesn't realize she's being followed. in her mind, your apartment is a safe place so why would she need to be on alert? well ima tell you why: her spidey senses woke her up in the middle of the night, but she dismisses them since she's been anxious for the past few days. it isn’t until later when she goes to class, the one with you in it, that her senses go off again, stonger this time after not seeing you enter through the doors at all. you've been late before, but never absent since attendance is mandatory in this class. she rushes to your apartment after class thinking maybe you're sick - which she knows isn't the case bc she saw you last night and you were perfectly fine. when she gets there, there's a green note sitting eerly on your bed waiting for her. 'WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, SPIDER-GIRL'

✮⋆˙ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ˙⋆ ✮ spidey!ellie feels like she's going to throw up. jerry knows and he has you. ellie spends all day trying to locate you with joel's help. they were able to track jerry's/green goblin's last location to be in an abandoned clock tower on the outskirts of boston. without wasting anymore time, ellie rushes there. 

✮⋆˙ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ˙⋆ ✮ spidey!ellie gets to the clock tower as the last bits of sunlight set in the horizon. she climbs up and peaks through one of the broken windows. there, she sees you tied up to a pull with your arms above you kinda like mary jane in the spider-man 2. ellie couldn't see jerry anywhere but her focus was to get your out of here so very quietly she went in. you tried to warn her but by the time she removed the ropes on your wrists, a little pumpkin bomb landed next to her, exploding and making both you fall. i won't write the entire scene but i'll tease something - fyi when i say clock tower, think tasm2 gwen's death scene

jerry - or the green goblin - held you in his arms as his board hovered over ellie. he grabbed your jaw harshly, forcing you to keep your teary eyes on ellie. her gaze remained low after taken off her mask. she was following the goblin's instructions, too terrified of something happening to you. yet, she couldn't bring herself to meet the look of betrayal in your eyes. 'no, that can't be,' goblin mocked, and ellie never wanted to punch someone as much as she does right now. 'where is spider-man? i could've sworn there was a man under the mask. i thought so, did you, pretty face?' his neck turned to look at you, question ringing with faux surprise.  ellie clenched her fists, finally looking up at the goblin. 'you got what you wanted, now let her go!' goblin broke into a crazy smile. 'i want you dead, spidey! i need your blood!' 'you have me. just, let her go and we can talk about this.' ellie took a few careful steps forward. the goblin chuckled before nodding, 'okay.' then he pushed you off his board.  'no!' ellie tried to jump after you, but the goblin took a hold of her and threw her against a wall across the platform she was standing. 

✮⋆˙ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ˙⋆ ✮ spidey!ellie starts seeing joel as a father figure that night after he shows up in the suit. nobody had seen joel as iron man in years, but he couldn't let the girl he had grown to care for as a daughter fight alone. he got you to the ground safely before going back to help ellie fight the goblin. unfortunately he managed to escape but they were able to get a sample of his blood to start working on a cure.

✮⋆˙ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ˙⋆ ✮ spidey!ellie puts her mask back on before going up to you. she's holding onto her side, for sure with a few broken ribs that will heal in a week thanks to her fast self healing, and a limp on her walk. you're still shaken up from everything, from being kidnap and finding spidey's identity. you look at her with this unreadable expression and ellie starts trying to explain herself. joel flies down, interrupting the conversation to tell you it was his idea not to tell you anything, but before you can speak, sirens are heard outside the tower. 

✮⋆˙ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ˙⋆ ✮ spidey!ellie watches as you run to your mom, hugging her as she asks you if you're hurt. ellie stands to the side doing that thing where her foot fidgets with the dirt and she starts playing with her hands, lowk feeling lonely. that’s when joel will come in with a hand on her shoulder, telling her she did good and that almost makes her break down. dw guys, i promise they won’t end up like mcu peter & tony or game ellie & joel🥹

✮⋆˙ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ˙⋆ ✮ spidey!ellie doesn't see you in class after that, not for a week. she also doesn't go to your place to respect the fact that you most definitely need space. you're kinda mad at ellie, but you're feelings are still there. if only she had been honest from the beginning. obviously you recognized her from class, so after a week you go up to her. annndddd this is where im ending this bc i have an exam to study for but yea yea you end up forgiving her and all that lovey-dovey stuff, hope y’all liked this chaotic headcanon

˚ ༘ 🦕𖦹⋆｡˚

[nattiebugs]

shoreline secrets

jjmaybank x oldfriend!reader (blurb)

𝜗ৎ - you and jj dig up an old time capsule you buried together five years before. inside were old things you had deemed as “important” and a letter you never meant for him to read…

warnings - none! zero! zilch!

also, i am kind of reflecting my past experiences into this one yall. so be prepared for (previously) in love nattie! also, SLIGHT hamilton reference.

it had been nearly five years since you stood in front of the pogues and told them you were leaving for college - out of state, out of reach, out of everything that felt like home. you still remembered the way their faces fell, how the air seemed to thin with every word. there were tears - quiet, aching ones from everyone. everyone except jj. and his reaction seemed to be the one that stuck with you the most.

he didn’t say much when you told him. he just stood there, jaw clenched, arms crossed like he was trying to hold himself together. no questions. no goodbye. just a short nod, a scoff, and a sharp flick of his eyes to the ground, like looking at you would make it worse - or maybe make him break. he cracked a joke that nobody laughed at, shrugged like it didn’t matter, and walked off before you could even finish your sentence. but with the way his hands were shaking, you knew that he cared more than anyone in that room.

but it didn’t mean anything right? because that’s what you’ve been telling yourself since you started walking with him along the dune trail behind the boneyard, the sky streaked in hues of orange sherbert and pink cotton candy, the sun dragging its last light over the ocean.

“are you sure it’s really still there?” he asks, kicking at the sand with the side of his boot.

you nod, though you’re not. who knew if it had gotten washed away with the tide or if some kid dug it up while building sand castles. “unless the ocean ate them.”

jj doesn’t laugh. instead, he gives you an unreadable sideways glance.

you two haven’t really talked since you came back - not like this, anyway. not one-on-one. there’s been a few bonfires, parties, and a few accidental shoulder brushes that made your breath catch for reasons you wish would go away. but today when you asked him to come with you, he did.

you reach the spot just as the light starts to fade. it’s nothing special - just a patch of dune with dead sea grass and an old driftwood stump. but to you, it might as well be a time capsule of your teenage self. because it is.

you remember being eighteen, both of you sunburnt and giddy and full of things you didn’t know how to say yet. you remember jj carving his initials into the side of the box, and you remember writing a letter and shoving it into the box before he could bury it in the sand.

now, your fingers are digging into the cool sand, trying to find the metal box. jj drops beside you, wordless, and starts digging too. soon, your hands reach something smooth and slightly grimy. the tin emerges like a ghost - old, rusted at the edges, and still sealed.

jj whistles low under his breath. “well, i’ll be damned.”

you let out a soft laugh, wiping your hands on your legs and crack open the box. inside was dust, a polaroid, a lighter that probably doesn’t work anymore, a CD with don’t laugh, this slaps scrawled across it in faded sharpie. and two folded letters.

jj pulls out the polaroid first - you and him, younger, pressed together like gravity didn’t want to let go. you’re wearing his sweatshirt. he’s got that sun-bleached mop of hair and a grin so wide you almost flinch to look at it.

“god,” he mutters. “we were just kids.”

you don’t say anything. you can’t. there’s too much sitting in your chest.

jj pulls out the letters next. he holds them up - yours and his that you had wrote to each other - the looks at you.

“wanna read these?”

you nod. “let me read the one i wrote first.”

he nods in agreement and you go to grab yours, hands meeting in the middle. his fingers brush yours. you feel it and so does he.

you unfold your letter slowly. the edges are worn, the ink faded, but your handwriting is still the same - slowly written and neat like you were saving the moment. because you felt everything you wrote in this letter. it was real.

my dearest, jj

if you’re reading this, it probably means that i’ve told you about me going away to college and you’re missing me. whether that’s true or not, you’re here and you’re reading this. but anyway, i guess im saying this because i don’t think i ever will out loud.

you’re my best friend. you know that. but i know that you’ve always been more than that, i just never knew if i was allowed to say it. maybe you didn’t feel it. maybe i didn’t deserve to. but every time you laughed, every time you looked at me softly, like i mattered - i swear it felt like the only thing that was ever real.

when i come back, maybe we’ll talk. or maybe we’ll pretend none of this never happened. i don’t know. just… promise you won’t forget me.

i couldn’t forget you if i tried…

i think i love you,

yn

you read it twice. and by the time you looked up, you could see that he was peeking, reading along with you.

he looked up, staring at you like he wants to say something, but doesn’t know how to make it fit into words.

“i kinda wrote mine like you were never gonna read it,” he says quietly. “didn’t think you were gonna come back.”

“i didn’t think you’d still be here,” you admit.

the silence stretches between you - not uncomfortable, but full. he leans back on his hands, looking out toward the water. you watch the wind ruffle his hair, the way the last gold lights glint off his jaw, the curve of his shoulder beneath his worn out hoodie. it’s the same body that used to cannonball off the pier, that used to hold you when you’re problems began to heavy to deal with, that used to walk beside you to get groceries from the store. now, you’re both older. but he still feels like home.

“can i ask you something?” he asks suddenly, not looking at you yet.

you nod.

jj turns his head, and now he’s watching you like he’s memorizing you. every emotion on your face. every movement you make.

“did you mean it?”

you know exactly what he means. the letter. the feelings. all of it. and you don’t hesitate to give him an answer.

“i did,” you say. “i still do.”

he exhales slowly, likes he been holding it in for years.

then, quieter: “can i kiss you?”

his voice is low - almost like he doesn’t trust it, like the words are too fragile to be said out loud. there’s a flicker in his eyes you haven’t seen in years: fear, hope, longing. he’s asking, not assuming. giving you an out. giving himself one, too.

you nod, but this time it isn’t easy. your throat is tight, your heart caught somewhere between your ribs and your mouth, beating so loud you’re sure he can hear it. your breath stutters, but you don’t back away.

he shifts a little closer, one hand moving between you, uncertain at first, like he’s scared you’ll vanish if he touches you too fast. and then he leans in - slow, deliberate, like he’s memorizing the shape of this moment before he steps into it.

when his lips meet yours, it’s not hungry or rushed. it’s soft. careful. reverent. like he’s afraid to want too much, but he does anyway.

you melt into him before you can think better of it - because it’s familiar, god, it’s so familiar. the way his mouth moves with yours, the warmth of his hand brushing your cheek, the salt air clinging to your skin. it’s like slipping into an old dream. like maybe this was always going to happen. like maybe, somehow, it never really ended.

the ocean murmurs behind you, the box with your old letters sits between you in the sand, and for the first time in five years, nothing is being held back.

he pulls away just barely - his lips lingering for a breath, a heartbeat, one last second - before pressing his forehead to yours.

his voice breaks the quiet. soft. steady.

“i’m glad you came back.”

you don’t answer right away. your eyes flutter shut, letting the weight of everything you’ve both carried finally settle.

and when you do whisper back, your voice is barely more than a breath.

“so am i.”

and you meant it.

[dollgxtz]

Gosh I never thought this would happen to me but I have writers block yall 😞. I’m so nervous to post anything cause I feel like it’s not good. After Chapter 20 of HWE releases I worry about what I’m gonna post next.

I have a bajillion drafts but no inspiration to edit/finish them due to the sudden insecurity I have with my writing this SUCKSSS.

I knew this would happen eventually but damn if it’s not annoying??? I’m not new to writing or anything but this is the first time I’ve ever felt this bad. Maybe it’s cause I took a such a long break from writing due to being busy I have no idea 😭

Anyways just a little mini vent, just wanted to be transparent with yall. I’ll be okay!! I see your anon asks worrying about me and I just wanted to let yall know what was up!! I’m still active, just in a brain fog rn. Might try and post some shorter blurbs to get the creative juices flowing again :))

Love you all!!