#because i liked his friendship with andy

[reivenesque]

Holy shit why did they do Andy and Maya so dirty with those wigs in that last scene of Station 19??

Speaking of doing dirty, did Grey Damon want to leave/do something to offend the writers because the last time I saw writers fuck over their own character this much it was Jimmy Borelli in Chicago Fire - or Ava Bekker in Chicago Med (in fact the Chicago Universe routinely fuck over their own characters).

But on a less important note: I, as I'm sure many other people out there in the world, hated Kate. Obviously we don't hate her as much as her own writers cause wtf was that ending lol

So yeah... obviously instead of doing something healthy like sleeping, I just spent the whole night watching the entire last season of Station 19 and honestly, as far as my personal opinions are about this show, it wasn't the worst final season of a show I've ever seen.

[nerdierholler]

Is Andie's reluctance to be more than friends with Mason related to a previous incident with Bobby? She though it would lead to something serious, he thought it was just some fun, they both thought the other was on the same page and weirdness ensued. Hmmm, pondering.

[esote-rika]

lose some, win some | Spencer Reid Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Waldorf!Reader Category: Hurt/Comfort, Smut 18+, MDNI Summary: COLLEGE AU! When your debate team loses the national championship, you and Spencer return to your shared room and find a productive way to take out your frustrations. Content: Waldorf!Reader is a sore loser, lots of dialogue in the beginning, Sassy!Spencer, some talk of misogyny, Spencer makes up for it by being a munch (so f receiving oral), virgin!Spencer but he’s also a little shit, they are both little shits but it’s cute I swear, handjob, raw p in v but reader mentions she is on the pill, creampies, multiple orgasms for both of them (they’re frustrated and horny give them a break) Word count: 4.8k (it's porn with a plot for once) A/N: Not really frenemies or rivals, they’re just really angry young adults. Idk what Spencer’s actual age was in college, but he studied several times so for this fic, he’s on his third degree and is 21. If the debate stuff is incorrect, I'm sorry. I did do some research but there's so many different rules and styles lmfao. My friend who competes says it’s fine and understandable so :) also massive thanks to @just-call-me-by-yn @mggslover and @notlongtolove for helping me brainstorm and @wheresmacoffee because she was there JK  ILY ANDY their banter during the filthy part is for you <3.

Spencer Reid doesn’t particularly care about the prestige that comes with winning. Most people crave it for the validation, or because it’s another impressive thing they can slap onto their resumes, but being a genius his entire life allows him not to worry about that. His academics speak for themselves. He doesn’t need to pad it with extracurriculars. Instead, he enjoys the skills that are honed from debate—learning to listen to arguments, finding the perfect way to rebut, memorization and reviewing with like minded individuals. The university team is a well oiled machine composed of four people— him on his third degree, two other male juniors, and you, the only woman.

Over the span of two semesters, he’s memorized the quirks of his teammates. It’s essential to building rapport, after all, and he’s eager to get something good out of this. Something less academic, and more social. Friends, perhaps. While he’s formed a bond with the other members, you have always been an enigma. Stoic and ambitious, you remind him of a statue. Cold and oh so beautiful. You’ve often kept to yourself. And after several rejected attempts at friendship, he’s learned to just observe from afar.

He knows from experience that observing allows you deep insight into people, and so he knows after two semesters that you’re perhaps the most competitive out of the entire team, the most hungry for a win. This drive, he suspects, comes from a deeply rooted desire to prove yourself, though he’s unsure why. What else do you have to prove? You have everything, as far as he’s concerned. Keenly intelligent, beautiful, with a circle of friends that adore you. You aren’t like him, who has to sink his claws deep into this debate team in order to get a dose of social interaction. No, you have a life, no matter how marblesque you may seem.

And yet, somehow it’s still not enough for you.

He thinks it’s utterly ridiculous, and absolutely fascinating.

The weekend of nationals is taxing. You’ve been fighting for the opener role since the semis, but it would require too much adjustment, which no one is willing to risk so close to nationals. Not only does he not want to give up his spot, he also knows how ruthless you can be as a rebuttal speaker. He's meek, and you have a tendency to be aggressive, it's why the original roles go so well. 

Your adviser agreed, and there’s been tension ever since. 

To make matters worse, hotel arrangements somehow have placed both of you in the same room. The force of your resentment is palpable even to a normally clueless guy like him. Distracting. Pages being turned in your exaggerated annoyance. He’d complain of dramatics, but he doesn’t want to start anything. 

The fact that you’re rooming together also doesn’t help him. Sure, there are different beds, small twin mattresses on either side of the room, but still. Proximity to a woman his age has him anxious for reasons entirely unrelated to nationals. 

So when you lose the championship, his concern for your reaction behind doors overwhelms the regret of losing. 

No one is happy with the results. It is obvious from the set of his jaw, the tenseness of your shoulders. Spencer tries to calm down, accept defeat with a modicum of grace, at least in front of other people. He can tell the rest of the team is trying too, but quite unconvincingly. Onstage, accepting the medals for second place—mockingly silver, and no trophies—the team’s smiles are forced, plastic. 

Back to the hotel rooms are a different story. When you slam the hotel door shut, it echoes down the hall and makes even your debate adviser flinch. It would have made Spencer flinch too, if he hadn't already expected it. He's grown accustomed to how bad of a loser you can be. Like a tornado, your anger spares no one from its destruction. It is in these moments that your stoic resolve crumbles, no longer unfeeling, but rather fully human. Hurtful. Ruthless Unfortunately for him, he's directly in your line of fire.

He catches bits and pieces of your muttered diatribes. He’s used to those too. Normally, he would have ignored them. Losing sucks the energy out of a person, regardless of how uncompetitive he is. Besides, your ranting is mostly harmless, until one sentence snags his attention.

“— knew I should have been the opening speaker —”

He is clawing at his tie, trying desperately to get it off, but the words make him stop immediately. He whirls around, brows furrowed, “What?”

You pause as well, “What?”

“What did you say about being the opening speaker?” He watches you roll your eyes. It does nothing to calm the bitterness in the back of his throat. The normal song and dance goes like this: he’d say a string of words in an attempt to soothe the fire burning in your nerves, and you'd say something so vitriolic he'd refuse to speak to you for the rest of your time together. 

But today, having just lost the biggest championship after working so hard, he's a short fuse and your words are incendiary.

“I said I should have done it, like I asked—”

“Ah, as usual, you're mad that you didn't get what you wanted.” 

An offended scoff. He's almost proud he managed to pull that out of you. “You take too long—”

“Nationals isn't the time to suddenly alter the roles,” he tells you, shaking his head. He manages to loosen the tie, finally, tossing it on his bed with so much aggression it misses the mattress and lands limply on the floor, “I've always been the opening speaker.”

“Yes, and one would think that after going through so many debate competitions,  you would learn to be more succinct,” you snap, shoes making harsh clacks against the tiled floor, “The goal isn't to let us know you're the smartest person in the room, Spencer, it's to set up the tone and groundwork of—”

“I don't need you to lecture me about being the opening,” he interrupts, “I know what my role requires of me.”

“Do you?” Eyes flashing, you walk to him until you're almost chest to chest, “Because we still lost.”

“And you blaming me?” he hisses, leaning down. He hates doing this, stooping to your level of pettiness. Normally, he would choose to be the bigger person, refusing your verbal sparring; he likes to focus his energy on the actual debate, the opposing team, not his own teammates. But your words cut deeper than normal; it isn't the fault the team lost, that's just a flat out lie, “We advised you multiple times to memorize the statistics—”

“Something you're better at!” You look physically pained to admit his superiority, but the words spill anyway, “You'd be so much better to do the rebuttals since you have your stupid photographic memory, and I can set the tone better, but nobody on this little boys club ever listens to me!”

He's surprised at the choked tone your voice has taken. In his mind, you're a complete equal—you made it to the team through hard work and impeccable skills, like the rest of them did, after all. It didn't matter that you are a woman to him, so of course his instinct is to deny. “That’s not true.” but even his voice sounds weak. 

How would he know if it’s not true? He’s never been in your shoes before, never had to reckon with what comes with being the only woman in a team of men.

“Isn’t it?” he flinches at the venom in your voice, “You all act like I'm an afterthought—I get the shittiest positions even when I know I can be more effective in a different one, no one ever asks me for strategy, hell, you never invite me to your stupid chess games.”

His mouth opens and closes foolishly, latching on to the one thing he has a full response to, “I thought you hate chess.”

A sharp laugh, petulant and bitter, “I do, but it would have been nice to be included.”

He doesn’t know what to say. You’ve turned around, yanking off your pristine maroon blazer so roughly he’s afraid it might rip. The silence that grows makes him itch, hands balling into fists as he tries to think of what to do. Social dynamics have always been a thing of mystery to him. 

He wonders if he is part of this problem. He’s no stranger to feeling different and on the outs, and it pains him to think that he inadvertently caused someone else to feel that same, unpleasant exclusion.

But, no. Quickly, he recalls every single time he’s tried to include you—a museum trip that you’d declined because you had a party you wanted to attend. His extra tickets to the Nutcracker.

“That’s not true,” his voice is firm now, following you until he’s standing right behind. Lavender hits his nose and his brain registers the scent of your shampoo. Definitely too close if he can smell that, but he refuses to back away, intent on getting his point across, “That’s not true, I’ve tried to— you were always too busy.”

“What, I’m a liar now?” you spin around, pretty features twisted to somehow express both anger and hurt. He almost falters. Almost. 

But he’s too worked up, even though he knows he should back off, to not trivialize your experiences in order to defend himself. He should know better than this, but the sting of your accusation spurs him on. So he pushes, eyes narrowing, “Last year, September 14, 21, and 29, I invited you to come with us for several casual chess tournaments, you declined all invitations because you claimed you hated chess. October 29th, I told you about the new exhibit they were displaying—”

“It was Halloween weekend, I already had plans—”

“December 19th, I offered you Nutcracker tickets and you said you’d already seen it—”

“I have,” your voice has grown quiet now, and if he stops speaking for a single moment to look, your features have relaxed into something gentler. But he’s on a roll, and you have always been right about things; his inability to be succinct is one of them.

“Even this year, I invited you to study multiple times, but you’ve always had prior plans,” the words are spoken with neutrality. He isn’t even angry anymore, just eager to list everything down and let you know how hard he’s tried with you. Even after the numerous rejections, he’s made an effort, but of course, you have other friends, other plans outside your nerdy debate team. He’s never held that against you, but if you wanted to point fingers, he has the means to defend himself. And sure, he wants to prove you wrong on some level too, but that’s the lesser point. “Maybe if you stopped acting like you’re better than me, and just accepted, you wouldn’t be feeling so excluded.”

“I don’t act like I’m better than you.”

“You just said you would have made a better opening speaker.”

You scoff, “Oh my god, you’re infuriating, I can’t believe I’m stuck with you!”

Spencer bristles at that, “I’m giving you the facts, it’s not my fault you can’t handle them.” he says, leaning closer, trying to make her see his point, “You’re always so closed off and the other guys have just given up trying. Maybe if you—”

“What? If I smiled more? Acted less like a bitch?” you sneer, eyes narrowed dangerously, “I thought a genius like you would know better than to use misogynistic language like that.”

“Wha— no! Don’t put words in my mouth.” Spencer replies, shaking his head. The conversation is devolving into something dangerous, the air crackling with something electric. He assumes it’s anger. They will never get anywhere, so he sighs, softening slightly, “I never said that. I’m just pointing out that you weren’t blameless in this, you know?”

You’re silent. He watches you, takes in how the resentment in your eyes have been dulled by something more contemplative.

He continues, “Listen, I’m sorry if we’ve made you feel like you were on the outs. I’m sure we have to do so much reflection as a team and as individuals about how we treat each other, but it’s unfair to say that we never include you when I have actively been making efforts to—”

Your lips are upon him. 

That’s inaccurate. 

You are upon him, arms flung around his neck, body pressed flush against his. He feels the entire world tilt, and he’s unsure if it’s because you’re pulling him down or because your lips are so pillowy he’s instantly eager for more. Wants it like a man starved. Needs it, needs more, but his body betrays him. Whether it’s his inexperience or surprise or a combination of both. He freezes, blinking rapidly at the sight of you. Eyes shut, and face so close to him; so, so close he can count each individual eyelash, see the tiny freckle on your eyelid that gets hidden if your eyes are open.

And then you're gone. The freckle disappears as you look at him with wide eyed mortification. 

“Shit, Spencer, I—”

It’s his lips that cut you off this time, seeking out the velvety warmth of your mouth. Your lips part under his, and he registers a sound, soft and whining. It takes him a moment to realize it came from him, from the back of his throat and muffled by your lips and tongue and oh you’re both falling.

Literally. He must have leaned too far into you; you’re suddenly collapsing, forcing him down because your arms have him in a vice grip and he’s too busy chasing after your lips. The next thing he knows is he’s on top of you and you’re sprawled on the bed beneath him. Time stands still; he’s painfully aware of how cliche that is, but every sense of eloquence seems to have been expelled from his brain as he takes you in; lips swollen and wet from his kisses, pupils blown wide. Every breath you take pushes your chest up against his, and he can feel your heart thrumming against his body. 

“Well, that was one way of shutting you up,” you chuckle with a cockiness that makes his heart speed up, though it isn’t borne out of embarrassment. Every single physiological effect of your body is evidence that you’re enjoying this, telling him you’re just as worked up as he is. The breathiness in your voice, the quickness of your heartbeat. 

The fact that you’re pulling him down again, legs hooking around his hips. He surrenders to it, lips meeting yours once again, deeper and more desperate this time.

He closes his eyes, relishing this, kissing you, touching you, an act he had believed is reserved for attractive jocks and charismatic art nerds. Not him, quiet and lanky, shifting to avoid his angular bones from digging into you, and to place himself more comfortably on the bed. Inexperienced, ungainly, and yet here he is, his tongue pushing into your mouth in his first forays into something that his peers have experienced years ago.

Spencer Reid isn’t used to being the one behind, doing the catching up. Child prodigy, genius, the words aren’t meaningless. He’s been ahead academically—which, up until this point, has been his whole life. But feeling warm lips beneath his own has him reconsidering some of his life choices. 

The kiss is messy. Sloppy from his clumsy attempts to keep up with your eagerness. You’re tugging at something, and he realizes it’s to untuck the rest of the crisp shirt you’ve donned for the debate tournament out from your skirt. His hands settle on your waist, finding smooth, heated skin from where your shirt has ridden up. Careful fingers help push it up, burying under the fabric until his palms are mapping out the slopes of your body. 

Soft. So damn soft. 

Not cold marble after all. He theorizes you must be soft everywhere, and he decides to test it out with his lips, laving kisses along your jaw, down the sweet, musky skin of your neck where your perfume still lingers. Instincts take over and he allows himself a taste, tongue darting out. You shudder, so he does it again, greedy for your pretty moans and gasps. 

He can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips, “Thought you were mad at me?” he mumbles, trailing his kisses down the column of your throat. 

You’re all mhms and ohhhs right now, so far from the usual image you present to the world, a preppy, manicured woman who wrestles for control over everything. You must hate this, he thinks, being beneath him physically, caged within his arms which are deceptively strong for how fragile he looks. 

“Shut up,” you grumble.

“Make me.” His grin is dopey when he lifts his head to meet her gaze.

Something brushes against his crotch, and now he’s the one gasping, jerking in surprise at the friction. You’ve slotted your thigh between his, and his traitorous body responds by grinding down on it shamelessly. The look on your face is smug, triumphant.

“Huh,” saccharine and mocking, you blink up at him innocently, “That was easier than I thought.”

His head drops to your neck again, but he isn’t kissing you anymore. Just open mouthed breathing as he rubs himself on your thigh, hands tightening on your sides, “Mhm.”

“Are you gonna come? Spencer, I haven’t even touched you yet.”

He sinks his teeth into your flesh to fight the needy whines because yes, he’s so embarrassingly close and you’re both still fully dressed. He hears a hiss, and he backs off immediately, murmuring apologies, “Didn’t mean to—”

“‘S okay,” you tilt your head back, give him more access to your neck, “Just don’t leave marks.”

Permission to bite. He gulps, heart beating wildly, before ducking back down. Chapped lips run over your neck, finding a soft spot to bite, forcing himself to soften the way his teeth sink into your skin. All the while rubbing himself on your thigh because it’s probably the closest thing to heaven a man such as him will ever experience. 

He hears your laughter, your mocking cooes of, “You’re so fucking needy” but he can’t bring himself to care.

You’re correct, he decides, as you usually are. He’s needy, desperately so, eagerly chasing the delicious pleasure of dry humping your thigh. 

“Hold on, Spencer.”

You push him back gently. A whine rips from his throat, “Mhm—why?”

He gets his answer soon enough. Your hands undo his belt and he swears this sets his whole body on fire. Nobody’s ever seen him like this. Never has another person touched him so intimately, seen him so out of control, so brainless. He’s babbling incoherently as your hand strokes up and down his length, his hips rutting into your hand. It’s out of sync. Two dancers on entirely different rhythms.

Your laughter rings in his ears, one hand tangled in his hair as the other does unspeakable, tantalizing things to his aching cock. 

“Mhm, can’t— I’m gonna—” and he’s spilling into your hand, hot, viscous liquid overflowing from your hand and staining your skirt, “Ah, shit.”

He collapses against you, head on the crook of your shoulder as he tries to catch his breath. “‘M sorry, I’ll– I’ll pay for your dry cleaning.”

Your chest shakes as you laugh, “Would you? I think you owe me more than that.” The heat in your voice makes his breath catch in his throat.

Soft kisses press upon your neck as he gathers his thoughts, willing his brain to work again. Anatomy, female anatomy. Female pleasure. What does he know about this? A lot, surprisingly, though mostly from books. Mostly in theory, but that’s a start. He can put them to practice right now. His hands drag down your sides until they catch the waistband of your skirt. “May I?”

“Okay.”

He pulls gently, exposing the rest of your thighs and legs. Honey brown eyes devour the expanse of your skin, hands clutching at the softness. He marvels at the way your flesh accepts his own, bright red splotches imprinted from his fingertips.   

He thinks of poetry, the uncountable amount of words and phrases written to immortalize women and love and sex, and he finds himself wishing he has the skill to compose something as beautiful, something worthy of you right now, radiant and half naked and somehow all his. 

But he is no poet, so he touches his lips upon your body instead. Pretty words will escape him, but his lips can speak even without them, he’ll make sure of it. He kisses down your abdomen, making sure to pay attention to every hidden freckle and birthmark he comes across. Your reactions make him feel drunk, to the point of affecting him physically. Messier kisses. Hands tugging and nearly ripping the lace of your panties because he’s unaware of his own strength. 

“So pretty,” he mumbles, “So pretty.” It’s all he can repeat, but then his tongue lands on your slick heat and suddenly words are forgotten in favor of vague groaning. Because how can he accurately describe the sensation of this? Tasting you. God how has he gone so long without this? Your nails scraping his scalp, his fingers sinking into your thighs as he keeps you still. He’s halfway off the bed, legs dangling off the edge, your thighs squeezing his face. 

There’s nowhere else he would rather be. 

He laps at your folds like a mad man, tongue pressed flat and dragging up slowly to get as much of you in his mouth as possible. His feet find the floor, allowing himself more stability to once again rub his growing erection against a solid object. The poor mattress is going to be ruined once they’re done.

“Faster,” you gasp, jerking your hips into his face, “Spencer— oh, yeah like that!”

Spencer Reid is a quick study, and when he hears the positive reactions, he doubles down until he feels you convulse against his tongue. You jerk so violently he has to hold you down. He pushes his tongue past your entrance experimentally, and feels you tug roughly on his hair in response, gasping his name and God’s name in slurred phrases as you ride out your high.

It’s the hottest damn thing he’s ever experienced.

 “Jesus Christ,” you gasp, and he has to repeat that ridiculous sentence again, because it’s true and he feels you deserve it.

“You’re so pretty.” He fears you might be some kind of magnet, because his lips keep getting drawn back to your skin. He lets his kisses travel up your hip bone, before grinning up at you, “Even when you’re being insufferable, you’re still so beautiful.”

“Gee thanks,” you huff, pulling at his arm, “How romantic, I’m swooning.”

“Might not be swooning, but you did just come on my face.” brilliant rows of teeth flash at you as he smiles smugly.

“Asshole.”

“Is that how you say thank you?” he drags his body up lazily, draping himself over you.

“I’m not— wait, are you hard again?”

“Uh…”

“Needy, needy boy.” you pull him down to you, and he almost protests, his chin and mouth still covered with your slick. But you don’t seem to care, so he follows your lead, God at this point he would follow you anywhere at all. You’re shifting beneath him, and the next thing he knows is your legs are wrapped around his waist again, your heat completely exposed and pressing against his cock.

“Mhm,” he pulls back, eyes wide, “I—”

“What?” you whisper, lifting your head to continue giving him kisses, teeth playfully nipping at his jaw, “It’s fine, I’m on birth control.”

“It’s not that,” he can’t deny you, his body relaxing back down over you. His lips catch yours for a moment, slow and achingly tender, “I’ve just never really done this before.”

He waits for the inevitable laughter. Here he is, at 21, and somehow still the same person he had been when he first entered college at 14. But you continue to look at him with heavy lids, breathless and flushed. 

“Okay,” your voice is kind, sweet, “Take it slow then.” your hand wraps around his length again, the movement slower this time, as you align him to your entrance. He hisses as the sensitive tip grazes against your folds, as he feels your entrance slowly give way to him and envelop his cock. 

“Oh,” he sighs. With your help, he sinks halfway into you, one hand gripping your hip, the other bracing himself on his elbow. Eyes squeezed shut, he stills and manages to ask, “Are you okay?”

You don’t speak, and so he forces his eyes to focus and look at you. The sight has him twitching inside you. Mouth agape and eyes hazy, you’re nodding up at him wordlessly as your hips rock up into his. “More.”

It’s exhilarating. He’s known you for the past year, worked alongside you but respected your need for distance. And now, here you are, not merely close, but one. Spencer sighs, and thrusts shallowly, eyes zeroed in on you and your reactions. He doesn’t want to hurt you, doesn’t want it to end too soon, so he moves slowly, dragging out his cock until only the tip rests inside you, then sliding into the hilt.

It elicits the most mellifluous sounds from you, making him smile in relief. He lets his forehead rest against yours, thrusts growing more confident, but still in that slow, almost dreamy pace. He memorizes every detail of this moment, from the way your eyes flutter closed, to the quiver of your legs as they wrap tighter around his thighs. 

“So good,” he hears himself say, “God, you feel so good.”

“Mhm,” you nod, nails digging into his back, even through his clothes. In the heat of the moment, you’re both still half dressed, only getting rid of your bottom clothes in order to get what you need from each other, “More, Spencer, I need more.”

He nods, letting his thrusts grow faster, rougher. It’s an awkward angle, he’s afraid his knees will start cramping, but the feeling of being surrounded by your warmth, drowning in your moans has him reckless. “There?” he grunts, angling just so, and he can’t help the smirk on his face when he feels your walls clenching around him.

“There, there, yes!”

He’s not sure how he manages to last as long as he does. Maybe it’s the sheer desire to feel you fall apart, for his cock to be drenched in your slick that keeps his release at bay. Maybe he has too much pent up sexual energy that’s just been dying to come out. Whatever it is, he’s thankful for it, because it means he’s spending more time inside you, hips moving with so much impact he’s pushing you forward with each thrust. 

“Yes, just like that.” you’re shuddering beneath him, and he moves his arm to the top of your head, creating a barrier between you and the headboard so you don’t hit it. He could stop, readjust your positions, but he doesn’t have it in him. 

No, he wants to stay inside you, forever if there’s an anatomically feasible way to do it. But unless he invents it, he’ll settle for right now, settle for the heat between your bodies, and how you’re practically melting into the mattress, arching so prettily against him.

“You close?” he murmurs, one hand finding your clit, drawing gentle circles with his fingertips.

“No fair,” you whine, bucking into him, “That’s cheat— Spencer!” 

You come undone in the most enthralling way, eyes squeezed shut, bottom lip bitten by your own lips. You squeeze and flutter around him, and he’s helpless to stop his own release, spilling deep inside you with a broken cry from his own mouth. Your name is whispered, over and over again, until he stills, his vision blurry as he collapses against you.

He curls around you, trying to get as close, “You—that was—wow.” 

You giggle, still breathless and glassy eyed, “Are you sure that was your first time?”

“Yes,” he gives you a series of kisses along your temple, “Yes, it was. You—wow.” he carefully pulls out of you, hissing quietly when the cool air conditioned air hits his sensitive flesh. “Was that enough of an apology for not including you to our chess nights?”

“You’re making jokes now?”

“No,” he smiles, leaning away to look at you, all starry eyed and boneless, “Not a joke. Because if it’s not enough, I can do it again.” a kiss to your cheek, “And again.” one on the tip of your nose, “And again.”

When you laugh in response, he cups your cheek, “I mean it.” he says with all the seriousness he can muster.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Does this mean you’ll accept my invitations now?” he lights up, a large smile splitting his face.

“Only if it’s a date.”

"Then it's a date."

[livingdeadblondequeen]

Off Script Feelings

Pairing:  Norman Reedus x Female!Reader

Word Count: 4453

Warnings: RPF, This is a work of fiction.

Summary: Something happens between you and your friend Norman that changes things.

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated.

Dedicated to: @minervadashwood & @littlegodzilla

‘If he was Rick, ya’d done the same thang.’

Erin shook her head, ‘No, because Rick wouldn’t treat me like Merle treats you.’

‘Ya don’t know nothan’’ Daryl snapped. 

‘I know Merle was the one that took me, Glen, and Maggie, back to that psycho as some kind of peace offering knowing what he was like. How could you go with him after that?’

‘Merle is my family, my blood. He’s all I got.” 

‘No, you got us. After everything, we’re family too.’ Erin pleaded. 

‘Nah, that’s Rick, and, Carl, and the baby. I’m just a tagalong ya’ll keep round to hunt n’ stuff.’

‘Then why’d you come back?’

‘I dun know!’ Daryl raged. 

“And Cut! That’s a wrap!”

You watched as all the anger and frustration vanished from your costar’s face, replaced with his concerned eyes and a small smile before he stepped forward to envelop you in his arms. You buried your face in his broad chest and took the comfort he offered you. “Sorry, sorry. Was it too much?”

“No, it was good, it just felt a little too real is all,” You explained as you pulled back and looked up at him. “Sometimes you’re just too good of an actor Norman.”

“Nah, just good at being an asshole,” Norman replied with a laugh as he kept his arm around your shoulder.

You laughed along with him, thinking of one particular instance where he had indeed been a bit of an asshole or at least you thought he was. It just happened to be the first time they met. 

You had been hired as one of the original cast members of The Walking Dead TV series, to play the younger sister to Andy’s character Rick, Erin Grimes. You had bonded quickly with your onscreen ‘family’ including Jon but also the other cast members so you had been excited to meet another one going into the next episode. 

You had been grabbing something to eat between takes at the crafts table when you heard someone come up behind you. You turned to discover it was Norman Reedus (You’d googled him like you had almost everyone) but before you could introduce yourself, he gave you one look and laughed in your face. You were so thrown off guard and embarrassed that you had stomped away. You couldn’t believe they had hired someone like that and you mentally hoped they killed off his character quickly. 

It wasn’t until a short while later when Sarah pointed out that you had food on your face that you knew that was why Norman had laughed at you. Your anger dissipated, replaced with embarrassment. The next time you saw Norman, the two of you talked about what happened and your friendship had begun. Now a few years later, the two of you were thick as thieves. 

“Let’s go out tonight, and grab some food and drinks,” Norman suggested as he guided the two of you off the set and towards your waiting trailers. “Nothing shakes off the day like shots.”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little at his suggestion. They usually used shots as the cure for anything, though sometimes that led them to more trouble. “While I like the idea, I am not up for going out. Today took a lot out of me.”

“We’ll stay in then.” He said with a shrug. 

“No, you don’t have to do that.” You said as you shook your head. You didn’t want to ruin his night. “Go out with the others and enjoy yourself.”

“I don’t know of anyone going out tonight,” Norman replied simply while rubbing a finger along his bottom lip and you knew he was coming up with something. “How about we go to my place? I’ll even cook if there is nothing we want to order and I have plenty of liquor. You can crash overnight if you need to.”

You were close to declining his offer when you thought better of it. While being out with a bunch of people didn’t sound appealing, neither did being home alone. “How can I say no to that offer?”

Norman smiled that beautiful smile that made the fan girls melt at you and you felt your heart beat a little faster, your stomach do a little flip, and another part of your anatomy grow in warmth. You couldn’t help it. Norman may be a close friend, but what you felt for him wasn’t just friendship. You knew it was more yet you did your best to not show it. You didn’t want to ruin things between you so you did not admit how you felt.

The two of you talked over the details before you decided that showering at his house would be better than your trailers. So you changed out of your costume, grabbed your bag, said goodbye to the rest of the cast and crew before you followed Norman’s bike to his house in your car. 

Showering at Norman’s or one of the cast’s places wasn’t new. It happened more than most people would think. It came in handy given that the cast hung out a lot together after their days were done so you needed no direction to the guests’ bathroom at Norman’s house. This was good considering his cat distracted him when they walked in the door. The powerful pressure and hot water felt wonderful on your skin as it washed away the dirt and makeup from the day. You became so relaxed that you stayed under the water longer than you meant to, so you quickly shut off the shower. 

Dressed in yoga pants and a T-shirt, you headed towards the music playing in the living room to look for Norman. It only took a moment to find him in his kitchen, phone to his ear, talking to someone while cooking. From what you could see by the ingredients, he was making one of your favorite dishes. 

You took a moment to look him over. His hair was still slightly damp so you knew he must have showered before he dressed in a dark pair of lounge pants and a plain white T-shirt with no socks, perfect for a night in. When he caught sight of you, he motioned to the beer he was drinking from then the fridge where you knew cold beer was waiting for you.

Not wanting to eavesdrop on his call, you took your drink to the couch to relax. You were so focused on the game on your phone that you didn’t hear Norman approach you until a plate of food suddenly appeared. It smelled delicious and you could barely contain a moan. “You’re a Saint.”

“Aye lass,” Norman replied in his Murphy accent as he winked while you laughed. Along with the food, he had brought another round of beers that he sat down before taking a spot next to you, close enough that the lengths of your legs were touching. 

As you ate, you listened to Norman as he told a story about something that had recently happened during his last trip to New York, as always surprised that he didn’t end up wearing half of his food as he did so. Norman always talked so animatedly that people teased that you watched him talk versus listening. It was like having dinner and a show. You had just finished the second beer when the topic of your conversation turned towards work and the scenes you had been filming. 

“After what we shot today, it looks like the writers are planning on something happening with Daryl and Erin,” Norman commented as he looked at you as if he needed confirmation. 

“Yeah.” You nodded in agreement. During season one, there was a scene between their two characters when the gang was at the CDC that got the fans speculating that there could be something more between the archer and the sheriff’s sister. The idea grew after season two aired and they shared more scenes on the farm and the search for Sophia. People ‘shipped’ them, they said they enjoyed watching Daryl’s interactions with Erin as well as his friendship with Carol. It had been talked about quite a bit at the conventions they had been to, though not all of Daryl’s fans were on board. “Or at least the seeds of it, see if the fans really want it. Drag it out as a slow burn.”

“What?” Norman asked confused. 

“Slow burn, it’s a well-known romance trope, where the writers take a long time to get a couple together.” You explained.

“Ah, I defer to the expert.” He said with a smile. It was well-known on set that you read a lot on set between takes, most of them being some type of romance novels. Norman and Andy loved to tease you about the more racy ones you read. 

“Hey!” You replied before smacking his arm. “Not all of us can be the brooding photographer, I need something to keep occupied during the downtime.” 

“Well all you’d have to do is ask and I’d be happy to keep you occupied.” 

Trying not to let Norman’s joke affect you too much, you focused back on the talk of your characters. “IF they get them together, they will actually be doing several troupes; enemies to lovers, best friend’s sister, maybe idiots in love.” 

“Whatever they do, I’m still all for playing Daryl completely lost at what to do,” Norman professed. You had heard him talk about playing Daryl as a stranger to physical relationships, or as he explained it ‘having no game’. “Not like a virgin but damn close. Erin would have to make the first move. I’m sure any time he’s been laid in the past was drunk in an alley or something quick like that.” 

“So Erin would be a seductress?” You asked as your eyebrow raised. 

“Ha, nothing like that. Just like in the moment, she would have to be the one to do anything because Daryl wouldn’t think to do it.” Norman explained. “Say the two of them are really close, physically I mean, and anyone watching would think it is the moment, but Daryl just wouldn’t do it.”

“Hmmm. I can see it.” You agreed. You didn’t know if it was the buzz you were feeling from the beers that gave you the courage to do it or if you had just lost your mind but you shifted around so you were on your knees and brought your face closer to Norman’s. You saw a brief flicker of surprise in his beautiful blue eyes before they turned curious as to what you were doing. 

“What if Daryl did something for her, and as a thank you she leaned up and kissed him on the cheek? Then when she pulls back, their faces are really close. So then she would take the chance and press her lips to his.” You explained. 

“I think I see what you are saying, but you should show me,” Norman said, his eyes dropping to your lips at the same time as his eyes darkened.  

You licked your lips before you began to lean forward. You had kissed Norman on the cheek numerous times, but this felt different. Not letting your nerves stop you, you leaned forward and pressed a kiss against his stubbled cheek, just a hairsbreadth away from the corner of his lips. You pulled back slightly, keeping your eyes locked on Norman’s. “Like that, then when she pulled back, he would be looking at her and they have a moment. Then she would kiss him.”

“Hmmm,” Norman murmured in acknowledgment and kept his eyes locked on yours. “Show me.”

You leaned forward and pressed your lips against his. They were soft and tender, not at all like you expected them to be. He was tentative, and exploratory, the velvety smooth touch of his lips ignited desire within your body. Norman's lips moved against yours for a moment before he withdrew slightly away from her, opening his eyes to look to you for a reaction. Instead of saying anything, you ran your hand along the side of his neck and pulled him towards you to place a firm kiss on his lips. 

This kiss was full of desire and passion. All the sexual tension between the two of them that had built up over the time you had met each other fueled the moment. Norman’s mouth molded over yours, hard and persuasive, parting your lips with the thrust of his tongue. He ravished your mouth as he brought his hands to your hips and tugged you to straddle him, bringing you closer to him deepening the kiss as he did. 

Your bodies rubbed against each other trying to touch as much as possible. You could lose yourself in his touch the way your body instinctively molded into his. Norman moved away from your mouth, his soft lips left soft kisses against your temple, the outline of your ear, your jaw. He found a spot behind your right ear and lingered there until your breath grew ragged. 

He continued his journey down the column of your throat, his breath warming where your neck met shoulder. You couldn’t help but bite down on your lower lip to stifle a soft gasp as his stubble brushed against the delicate skin along your collarbone, his lips sought out and found the most sensitive spots on your neck, causing the nerve endings in your skin to tingle in anticipation. You released the hold you had on his neck, letting your hands slide down so you could run your hands over the muscles of his chest. You could feel his muscles contract a little at your touch and your hips moved, brushing your core against his hard arousal. 

At your movement, Norman’s hands slid down from your waist to over your ass. He squeezed it roughly before he moved them down farther to the back of your thighs. His grip tightened on your thighs before he rose from the couch. When you felt yourself leave the couch, you wrapped your legs around Norman's waist. You yelped a little in surprise, but you knew that his strong arms had you secure against him. Without pulling away from you, Norman made his way down the hall towards his bedroom. 

*****

The first thing you noticed as you came out of sleep was a heavyweight you weren’t used to draped across your midsection. You cracked your eyes open to see what it was and found yourself face to face with a sleeping Norman. He lay on his stomach while you were on your back, and his arm wrapped loosely at your side. Your eyes wandered lower and saw naked flesh down to the slope of his ass where a sheet lay half-hazard. Confusion flooded you for a moment before the memories of the night before flooded your thoughts and you know exactly how you got into the state you were in; naked in Norman’s bed with him. You had had sex with him, and not just once if your memories and ache in your body were correct. 

Very carefully you slid out from under Norman’s large arm, thankfully not waking him, and began hunting for your clothes. You couldn’t believe you had been so stupid to let yourself give in to your feelings for Norman. What were you thinking? This was going to screw up everything. If it had just been sex between friends, you could deal with it and you knew that was what Norman had probably been thinking it was. However, your feelings for him made things much harder to deal with. 

Once you found your clothes, plus your keys and phone you crept towards the door but stopped when a flicker of movement caught your eyes. You glanced over thinking it was Norman but instead finding yourself caught in the stare of Eyes in the Dark. And if you weren’t wrong, he had a look of judgment on his face. “Great, I’m caught doing the walk of shame by a cat.”

After you escaped the house and headed back to your place without breaking too many speeding laws, you took a quick shower. A part of you didn’t want to wash off Norman’s scent but you had to go to the set and you couldn’t go smelling like sex. You found several marks on your body but thankfully he had kept them in areas that could be covered easily by clothes. You didn’t want to have to explain to the makeup people why they had to cover up hickeys on your neck. 

Thankfully the scenes you had to do for the day were with Andy and Chandler and not with Norman. You couldn’t even remember if he was filming that day, the lack of sleep and your mind going over what happened had done a number on you. Luckily you remembered your lines and had no issues that might give yourself away. Or so you thought. 

“You seem off today is all,” Andy said as he came up and sat next to you out of the way as the two of you waited for the crew to line up the next scene. You looked up from your phone, you noticed you had a few missed phone calls and even more missed texts from Norman. 

“Just tired.” You replied with a small smile but Andy seemed to study you even closer at your answer as he took a drag off his cigarette. 

He nudges your shoulder with a teasing smirk, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. "I don't think that's it," he comments, the words hanging heavy in the air between you, thick with unspoken implications. You know with a certainty that borders on dread that Andy won't cease his gentle pestering. His persistence is unmatched, a relentless tide of playful prodding that washes over you, leaving you feeling increasingly exposed. It reminds you painfully of Norman, his own brand of determined teasing, a constant, low-grade annoyance that somehow, inexplicably, you found yourself strangely drawn to.

A wave of self-deprecation washes over you. Internally, you roll your eyes at your own predictable weakness. You know, with a frustrating certainty, that you'll soon cave.

"Fine," you relent, the word escaping your lips before you can fully consider the consequences. "But you cannot say anything to anyone. Except Gail, of course. But no one else."

Andy, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous glint that belies his easy going demeanor, assures you, "You have my word."

Casting a quick glance around, you check for any lurking ears, your gaze sweeping the room for potential eavesdroppers. The air feels thick with a sudden, unwarranted paranoia. Finally, you commit, the words tumbling out in a rush, "I might have… kind of… had sex with Norman last night."

Andy raises an eyebrow, feigning an exaggerated seriousness that does little to conceal the amusement bubbling beneath the surface. "You're not sure?" he asks, his voice dripping with playful disbelief. A gentle jest, you know, aimed more at easing your tension than anything else.

Your glare is half-hearted, a feeble attempt to scold him for his teasing. "I'm sure we did. That's the problem."

"Why? Was it that bad?" he quips, unable to fully suppress the grin that threatens to split his face.

Unable to suppress your own laughter, a sound that bubbles up from somewhere deep within you, you find yourself admitting, "Stop! It's not that."

"What?" He laughs with you, his eyes gleaming with genuine curiosity. "Just asking why it's a problem?"

Exasperated yet oddly amused, you exclaim, "WHY? Why do you think? If it was just sex, between friends, it'd be okay, but this is sex with Norman."

Andy's confusion is evident, his brow furrowing slightly as he tries to decipher your words. "How is that different? You and Norman are friends, close friends."

"We are," you confess, the weight of your admission settling heavily on your chest. "It's just… I might care about Norman as a little more than a friend." Saying it aloud is strange, a truth you've only ever confided in Lauren, a secret that has festered within you, unspoken and unacknowledged. Now that you've started confessing, it's like a dam has burst, the flood of your emotions threatening to overwhelm you. "So sleeping with him was beyond stupid of me. It's like I wanted to torture myself because I know something more with him is something I can't have."

Andy, with the ease of someone who has long since accepted the absurdity of your situation, asks, "What makes you say that?"

"Because Norman just sees me as a friend," you say, the words tasting bitter on your tongue.

Andy's sudden, boisterous laughter catches you completely off guard, the last reaction you were expecting. "I'm glad the mess of my life is funny," you retort, a mixture of playful indignation and genuine hurt coloring your voice.

"Oh sweetheart, that is not what I'm laughing at," he explains, his laughter subsiding as he pulls you into a comforting embrace. "It's hilarious how blind the two of you are."

"What do you mean?" you ask, your curiosity piqued despite your earlier annoyance.

"It is obvious to everyone but you two how much you care about each other," Andy says, his voice soft and sincere. "Maybe even in love with each other. You might have just told me, but I've known for a while now. Jon even left me with orders to text him as soon as the two of you got it together. We might all be actors, but the two of you can't hide it to save your life."

You opened your mouth to argue more, but before you could the call back to our marks was called out. Everything Andy said was on a loop in your head an hour later when you headed back to your trailer for a break. You were so distracted that you didn’t even notice the other person inside until you shut the door behind you. Then you found yourself trapped by a pair of piercing blue eyes. “Norman.”

He sat on the sofa in his regular clothes, hat, and sunglasses sitting next to him. His phone was in his hand but he paid no attention, instead focused on you. “Imagine my surprise when I woke up and found myself alone this morning.” 

“I had to get to set.” You stated but even to your ears, it sounded like a weak excuse. You could see Norman thought the same thing by the look on his face. 

“I’ve been texting, and calling. Decided you couldn’t ignore me if I showed up,” Norman said as stood up and walked towards you. You could tell he was watching you to make sure he didn’t make you uncomfortable or that you’d run from him. When you didn’t, he leaned his forehead against yours and his hands on your hips before he whispered. “Did we mess things up last night? Did I?”

You closed your eyes as you leaned into him. “No. It wasn’t you. I shouldn’t have kissed you in the first place.” 

“You might not have noticed, but I didn’t mind.” He joked. “I enjoyed it a lot and I thought you did too.”

“I did. A lot.” You admitted. It was the truth. The night spent with Norman had been incredible, and not just because of the many orgasms he had pulled out of you. It had been passionate and intense mixed with tenderness. A level of intimacy you had rarely felt before. And you were feeling it right now in his arms as well.

“I wanted everything just as much as you did. I wanted you.” Norman stated before adding. “I still want you.”

“It is not that simple Norman. I wish it was something as simple as sex between friends, blowing off steam after a tense day. I can’t separate sex from how I feel about you.” You admitted. You hadn’t planned to tell Norman how you felt, but what had gone as you thought it would since last night. “I could put those feelings aside to just be your friend but having a physical relationship would be too much.”

“Then don’t.” 

“Don’t?” You repeated.

“Don’t put your feelings aside,” Norman explained. ��For me what happened last night wasn’t just sex. I took you to my bed because I wanted you, not because you are beautiful and sexy as hell but because you’re you. And when you kissed me, I hoped that meant something, that there was something more between us.”

“Really?” You asked and Norman nodded. You couldn’t believe it, Andy had been right. 

“Yes.” He answered. “I enjoy the time we spend together, and I value you as a friend, but friendship is not the only way I want you in my life. I know I’m not easy to deal with, even working together there are times I’m gone, and there are a bunch of other reasons why you wouldn’t want to be with me but I hope.”

“I don’t care.” You said to interrupt him. “I know what I’m getting into and none of that stuff matters.”

This time the smile Norman gave you was a shy one, but still got your heart rate up. “So we’re doing this?”

“Yes. I want to see where this goes.” 

“Hmm, I think we should seal this with a kiss.” 

“Oh you do, do you?” You said with a laugh. 

Instead of answering with words, Norman moved to do what he suggested. His lips had just brushed yours when there was a knock at the door, one of the crew calling you back to set. You both groaned at the horrible timing. 

Norman kissed the tip of your nose, then your forehead before saying. “Go finish your scenes. I’ll be here when you’re done.”

“You’re staying here?” You knew Norman had no reason to be on set today besides coming to see you.

“Yeah. I’ll keep myself occupied and when you’re done, I’ll take you out to dinner. Unless you want to stay in again?”

“Tempting, but I think dinner out would be nice.” You stated. You liked the idea of the two of you alone but also thought it would be nice go to out. It would keep the two of you in check if others were around. 

Norman planted a quick kiss on your lips before pushing you towards the door. “Go, before I decide to say fuck the shooting schedule and not let you out of here.”

You laughed at his ‘threat’. “Okay, I’ll be back as soon as I’m done.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.” 

[suffering-asthmatic-tifosi]

Tiny Hands, Giant Hands

Warnings: none, I mean this isn’t the best fic ever

Pairing: Hozier x Fem!reader (the gender isn’t even specified tbh)

Word Count: 613

Summary: Seeing Andy again after a long tour was the best, but something about him seemed different all it took was one touch for you to really see that.

You didn’t expect him to be at the party you got invited to. You assumed it was just some good friends reuniting after a while, and you definitely didn’t know your brother was so close to him.

“Oh hey I didn’t you’d be here” he said, making you turn to face him.

“I was thinking the same thing”, you said with a smile.

He asked you how you were and how your pets were doing. You told him about how you got a new cat and had a trip planned for Italy soon.

You both talked about everything, from his music to different breeds of cats. It felt so nice to be reunited after a long time of not seeing your friend.

But there was something different about Andrew. Maybe his hair was a little longer, or his eyes a little greener, but there was something about him that you never noticed before.

You didn’t notice but he felt the same way. Something was blossoming between you both. Something new.

“Oh my God y/n, you wanna know a funny story from the Tour?” He asked you with a goofy grin on his face.

You nodded yes, you loved his tour stories.

“So the fans have started making friendship bracelets and giving them to each other, I think it’s because of Taylor I saw her do that. It’s so sweet tho I quite enjoy it. But anyway, so one girl, she handed me a bracelet that said ‘The Hoziest’ on it. I thought it hilarious so I took it. The thing is it was much too big for my wrist. So when I almost fell off my hand, poor girl, she apologized so much. I felt a little bad so I twisted the bottom and made it fit nicely then she was so happy.”

“Awwwwe that’s so sweet the fans are sharing the bracelets with you” you said to him.

“It was very nice, but do my wrists look that big?” He asked while taking his thumb and middle finger and wrapping them around his wrist to measure.

“See not that big”, he said with his fingers around his wrist

“Andy your fingers are huge that doesn’t count.”, you said giggling, removing his fingers and wrapping yours around his wrist to measure with ‘accurate’ sized fingers.

“And your fingers are so short Y/n” he said with a chuckle.

You shook your head no and you both put your hand out to measure hands.

But because you could never have any _perfect_ rom com moment you both put out different hands. You go to switch you hands but he does too. You both go back and forth like this a couple times until he gently grabs your wrist and puts your hands together.

“See tiny hands” he says looking at you adoringly.

“No giant hands” you said, still looking down and your hands connected.

You looked up and locked eyes with Andrew. Maybe his eyes did get greener..

Your fingers were about to intertwine when-

“Hey Andrew get over here John’s trying to impress everyone with his guitar skills or lack there of.”

Andy chuckled and smiled at you before getting up to leave.

You weren’t even mad, there was a spark, you could feel it. And oh how exciting it was.

Now how would your boyfriend react to this…

[steviesbicrisis]

Thinking about Steve and Eddie being totally clueless about their sexuality because they both had bro friendship which was more of a romantic relationship but they didn't know so they think whatever they're doing is just bros being bros.

Thinking about Robin being the only one aware of herself and those two idiots and losing her mind because of them.

--

*getting ready for Pride*

Steve: *rainbow stickers on his cheeks* how do I look?

Eddie: wow you're so pretty

Steve: ah thank you bro

Robin: what the fuck

--

Steve: *upset*

Robin: what happened

Steve: I had a date two nights in a row and I didn't have the time to see Eddie

Steve: it is outrageous

Robin: what about going on dates with Eddie?

Steve: ahaha you're so weird

Robin: *screams into a pillow*

--

Eddie: ... and she's like cool and all but, I don't know. She isn't my type

Robin: what's your type

Eddie: I don't know, someone who cares for their people, someone who acts like the parent of the group, maybe my same height, hot of course, and strong

Eddie: like, I think they should have the strength to pick me up, that would be hot

Eddie: and with gorgeous hair

Robin: sounds like someone I know

Eddie: What??? why haven't you introduced her to me yet???

--

Eddie: *DMing a campaign*

Steve: *sighs* isn't he cute?

Robin: you don't pay me enough for this shit

Steve: I don't pay you...?

Robin: EXACTLY

--

Eddie: Robin I have to ask you something important, it's about me and Steve

Robin: Finally!! It's happening! I've been waiting!!

Eddie: You knew I wanted to ask you who has the best hair??

Robin: I'm going to murder you

Robin: Steve of course

--

Steve: *on Eddie's lap*

Eddie: *petting Steve's hair*

Robin: Explain this.

Robin: in a straight way.

Steve: we're watching a movie??

--

Steve: *flirting with a girl*

Eddie: I hate her

Robin: you literally never spoken to her, how do you know?

Eddie: I'm a great judge of character

--

Eddie: *asking a girl out*

Steve: I hate her

Robin: give me one good reason to hate her

Steve: Eddie is a terrible judge of character

--

Robin: I'm tired of this, I have to get to the core of the problem.

Robin: have you ever had the same relationship you have with Eddie with any other guy??

Steve: Yeah me and Tommy used to be pretty close. You know, playing basketball together, sleeping at each other's place, helping each other with girls...

Steve: ah, and practice kissing of course

--

Robin: you quick, I have no time to waste. Who was your Steve before you met Steve?

Eddie: which one? I've had many close friends since kindergarten. I'm pretty sure my first friend was Andy, we would hold hands all the time. He was such a nice friend

Robin: That explains... so much.

--

Robin: OKAY THAT'S IT!

Robin: have you ever thought there is something a lil gay going on here???

Eddie: What? of course we did!

Steve: Robs we know you're gay

Robin:

Robin: I'm moving out

[ash5monster01]

Piano Man

Chapter Two - If I Only Had the Words (to Tell You) 🎶

Pairing: Steve Harrington x FemReader

Warnings: fluff, mentions of heartbreak, abandonment issues, emotional vulnerability, heart ache, established relationship

Summary: You and Steve have been dating for nearly 6 months, all of which he’s enjoyed. Yet it has been exactly a year since Nancy told him he was bullshit. So even though he desperately wants to tell you he loves you he’s afraid you might say he’s bullshit too.

word count: 2k

One ←→ Three

Masterlist

Fall 1985

But I only have these arms to hold you

It’s a dark Fall night. The house smelling of popcorn you had popped earlier to watch during a movie. Halloween decorations had been plastered all over Steve’s home, a home that hadn’t been decorated for any holiday in a very long time. You had changed that though, changed him. You made not only this home full, but his heart. Which is why Steve lies beside you in his bed absolutely hating himself for not being able to tell you how he feels. How much he loves you, how much you had saved him these last six months.

You had been there for it all. Cheering in the stands when he graduated, taking your lunch break to visit him everyday at Scoops Ahoy, not getting jelous of his newfound friendship with Robin, taking care of him when the monsters returned and the mall burned down, and even helping him and Robin get hired at the video store where you had worked this entire time. Everytime he thought you'd leave, somehow you were still there, and he appreciated you for every bit of it. So why the hell couldn't he say it?

He knew why. He knew because everytime he looked at the plastic Halloween decorations filling his home he was brought right back to Tina's Halloween party. Right back to that very bathroom where the only girl he ever loved looked into his eyes and told him he was bullshit. It had been a year but he still remembered how devastated he was, how his heart felt as she ripped it straight from his chest. The look in her eyes was seared into his memory, devoid of any emotion but distate blazing in them. He couldn't relive that, wouldn't relive that. Especially with you.

He may have loved Nancy but with you it was different. With you, he knew you were going to be the one. The one person handcrafted specifically for him. A soul designed to match his own in a large and lonely world. Somehow he had found you and now he wouldn't do anything to risk it, he would guarantee it. It had hurt when Nancy said she didn't love him but if you did. Well that would kill him.

"What kind of candy do the kids like?" you ask in the dark bedroom, voice overlapping that of Billy Joel's from the cassette player. You're My Home played softly throughout the room and you wished Steve knew that was how you felt about him. That until now you were pretty sure you had nowhere to belong and now you belonged to him.

"Why do you ask?” Steve hums, hands reaching to run through your hair. He lived for nights like this, where you just laid here with legs tangled together and talked about things practically meaningless.

"Well I want to make them happy, I know how much they love Halloween. Dustin hasn't shut up about it all week and I want something to cheer Mike up. I know how badly they wanted to dress up as The Goonies but with Will and El gone they can't" you tell Steve, hand lacing with his own under the covers. Steve smiles softly at you and how much you care for the very kids he had taken under his own wing.

"I don't know what kind of candy they like, I'm sure whatever is fine. As for Mike, tell him we can be Andy and Brand. Maybe I can convince Robin to be Data or something" Steve tells you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. The image of Robin in the Data costume meant for Will makes you giggle and Steve is pulling you closer, chest brushing against your own.

"You'd give up our Grease costume for that?" you ask, knowing how excited he was to be Danny Zuko and wear his leather jacket.

"Yeah but don't tell them that. They'll get big heads" Steve grumbles, practically hearing Dustin tease him about how much he loves all of them. You giggle against him and Steve warms over, feeling those very words sitting heavy on his chest. If only he had the words to tell you. He knew you were waiting, wondering why he hadn't said them. If you only had time to understand why he struggled with it so much. Everyone he ever loved left, if he said these words outloud he couldn't risk you leaving him too.

"You're the best Stevie" you tell him, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to his nose. Steve hums in delight, not allowing you to back away as he pulls you to his lips and kisses you quickly. He knows you love him, you only said things like that to replace those very words. If he would just say it your response would have been 'I love you Stevie'. Instead he gets broad statements that he has slowly come to despise.

"Yeah, yeah, best babysitter ever" he mumbles and you giggle because even though he pretends to hate it you know how much he loves it. How much he loves those kids. If he didn't he wouldn't spend time with them. One of those very kids was his ex girlfriend’s brother and he never let any of those things stop him. He was always there for them.

"Only the best can handle six kids at a time" you tell him and Steve searches your eyes, loving how when you look at them they’re filled with adoration instead of hate. He knows not saying anything won't change your feelings and you will carry on loving him without it. He just couldn't bring himself to say it, the urge never there even though he was practically dying inside to tell you. He wished you knew how hard it is to say.

Sometimes when he finds himself even close he feels silly. I love you seemed too simple to portray the love he had for you. It was so basic, a word your heard on the radio over and over again. Every song as simple as the last. How unoriginal were his words when the radio repeats them every single day? Even with his love for Billy Joel he figures he'll never find a song to sing you. One that perfectly depicted exactly how he felt about you. He doesn't want to sing those tired words again, words he wasted on people who never loved him back.

“You ever think about having kids?” Steve asks, leaning back into the pillow and staring at his ceiling. You admire the soft tufts of his hair on his chest, the way his bicep flexes as he reaches to tuck his hand under his head. He’s so handsome and it should scare you that your boyfriend of only six months has suddenly asked you about having kids and yet you don’t seem to mind.

“All the time” you tell him earnestly, snuggling into his side and grazing your fingers along his sternum, grinning when he shivers from your touch.

“I want to have a whole bunch, make me feel better about being an only child” Steve says, his hand pressed to your back slowly sliding up and into your hair.

“What do you mean, make you feel better?” you ask, lifting your head to glance at the boys face as he continues to be deep in thought.

“I was a lonely kid, my parents never really cared to pay any attention and without any siblings or cousins I was left to my own devices. I think it’s half the reason I was such an asshole in high school” he says, almost wincing at the thought of how many people he had treated like shit over the years just to guarantee he wouldn’t be all alone.

“You were protecting yourself” you say, understanding exactly what he means and Steve nods, eyes glancing down at your form.

“I want my kids to have built in friends and even better, present parents” he tells you and suddenly you find yourself wanting nothing more than to have kids with the boy beside you.

“You’ll be the best Dad Steve, I just know it” you tell him and there are those words again, sitting on his tongue and begging to escape but he just can’t seem to let them go. He hates himself for it, looking away before you see the regret in his eyes.

“I hope so, I just wish my Grandpa was still around to see it” he says, thinking of the only person in his life who ever really liked him for him when he was growing up. The man who had heaven sent you straight to him when he needed you the most.

“He is, don’t you worry about that Stevie” you tell him, eyes fluttering close as you listen to cassette playing in the room. The boombox clicked, indicating the start of a new song. Worse Comes to Worst slowly filling the room.

“Oh worse comes to worst. I’ll get along” you start singing the melody into the dark night air, the fall breeze fluttering in from the window and brushing against the curtains.

“I don’t know how, but sometimes - I can be strong” Steve starts singing along with you and suddenly your both giggling into the night, sharing a love for one another and a love for Billy Joel. The very man that had brought you two together.

“Do you ever get sick of listening to him?” Steve asks and you know he’s asking you about Billy Joel. You shake your head softly against his chest, gazing into those hazel eyes.

“No, he reminds me of you. Makes me feel close to you no matter where I am. Yet I suppose that’s exactly how he makes you feel about your Grandpa” you say, voice humming along the boys ribs.

“Yeah but now he reminds me of you too” Steve admits and you smile before leaning up and capturing his lips in your own. When you had approached the sad boy in the record store you never would have imagined it would bring you here.

"I'm gonna try and sleep" you tell the boy, snuggling closer and allowing your heavy eyelids to close. Steve smiles softly and presses another kiss to your forehead. He knows life goes on and tonight will soon be gone. Another missed opportunity to tell you exactly how he feels. His wished he had the words to tell you but instead he only has his arms to hold you, pulling you closer into him. It's really all you can ask of any man, to be held with such love even if he won't say it.

"Goodnight Rosy" he mutters, 'I love you' he says in his head. He knows disappointment swells in your chest, having been by his side for six months and waiting to know exactly how he felt about you. The only noise in the dark room now is the voice of Billy Joel and your soft breathing. He pulls you close, relishing in the feeling of having you in his arms. When he’s sure you’re asleep he tells you.

"I love you Rosy, I really do. Just please don't give up on me, I promise I want to say it. You deserve to know just how much I adore you but every person I've ever loved has left me. I know you won't but I need time for my head to catch up with my heart. Until then, if I only had the words to tell you..."

Taglist: @slvtforstve @keerygal @goosy-goose @livsters @blckburd @loveshotzz @ohwauwdoritos @superblysubpar @southereads @amataadriana @violet2022 @mxrcjqckspnchqsc @madaboutjoe @thunderstomp-and-tequila @justdamnpeachy @micheledawn1975 @fangfatale @kingstevesgf @eddiesguitarskills @palmtreesx3 @momospeaches47 @pbs-theundeadmaggot @notlilyyyy @xuimhao @lianna75 @lvjmel @sadbitchfangirl @halflifejess @starkleila

Comment if you want to be added to the taglist :))

[604to647]

Macarons

3.9K / Detective Tim Rockford x fem!reader

Summary: Tim thinks you’re mad at him.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please). Established relationship, soft!Tim, nicknames as usual (Shutterbug, baby, gorgeous), fluff and smut, oral (m receiving), titty fucking (don't look at me), unprotected PiV.

A/N: Another instalment of The Rockford Portfolio and this one is just silly, silly (until the smut😂); as always, can be read standalone. You guys know that TikTok couples trend where the user films their significant other's reaction when they try to leave the house without a kiss goodbye/saying "I love you"?  Ok, Shutterbug tries it on Tim (and Tim does not have the TikTok) 🤭🤭.

Photography inspired dividers by @saradika-graphics / Series Masterlist

You’re chuckling to yourself as you send goodnight messages to your friends.  While Tim’s been getting ready for bed in the bathroom, you’ve been catching up on the memes and TikToks that have been sent since you last opened the chat.  The latest ones all a variation of the same couples trend.

Hubby’s reaction when I try to leave without kissing him goodbye!

Pranking my boyfriend by not saying “I Love You” back.

Watch me confuse my golden retriever s/o.

The trend is mainly silly, the humour laying in the adorable confusion of partners who are clearly in love with their significant others.  Even if most of these videos are likely staged, you find yourself smiling at them.  Looking up to see Tim turning off the bathroom light, your heart skips a beat at how delicious your handsome boyfriend looks in his nighttime wifebeater and boxers combo; he’s giving you that lopsided, adoring smile that always makes your stomach flutter.  Damn you love him.

[10:49 pm] Good night babes!  Thanks for the laughs!  I think I’m going to try this on Tim tomorrow.

[10:50 pm] Hahaha! Oh my god, tell us how it goes!

[10:50 pm] Good night!  Yes, report back!

[10:51 pm] Oh yes please, I tried it on Andy and he was just like, ‘Did you hit your head?’ Hahaha!  Good night!

[10:51 pm] Good night!! Love you, bbs!

“What are you smiling about, Shutterbug?” Tim grins up at you after he slides into bed and snuggles his head into your pillow, ignoring the perfectly matching and fluffy ones on his side of the bed. 

Giggling, you set your alarm and put your phone away, “Just watched some funny TikToks that the girls sent.”

“I swear it’s like a secret language.  Sometimes those chats of yours are just videos and pictures - no actual words,” chuckles Tim as you turn off your bedside lamp and slip down under your shared covers.

“It is!  Like a friendship love language.  You should get TikTok, Detective – then we could speak it too,” you give Tim a playful smile because you already know what his answer is going to be.

“Don’t need to, Shutterbug.  You show me all the good ones anyways, and explain them to me if I don’t understand,” Tim presses a long and soft kiss to your lips, coaxing your mouth open so he can slowly lick in.  An invitation.

It’s a given that you’ll accept.  You gently roll the detective’s massive frame onto his back with your hand, the gentlest of nudges, before climbing on top of him. “It’s hard work, you know? Staying on top of all these memes and video trends,” you murmur, lips ghosting over Tim’s as your hips start to lightly grind down over his growing bulge, “Hard work should be rewarded.”

“Is that what you want, gorgeous?  To be rewarded?” Tim smirks into your neck as he trails kisses down the column of your throat.  You whimper in assent as his rough hands start to claw up your waist, thumbs drawing sweet circles on the underside of your breasts.

“Gotta use your words, Shutterbug,” teases Tim.

“Yes, please, Detective!  Reward me,” you manage to breathe out before letting out a joyous squeal at the lightning speed with which Tim flips you over.  Pinning you to the bed under his massive weight and kissing you hungrily, Detective Tim Rockford growls against your plush and pouty lips, “Going to reward you and then ruin you, baby,” turning your sweet giggles into moans.

The next morning, you have an early meeting that has you leaving for work earlier than usual.  Tim is just getting out of the shower when you slip on your work shoes and call out, “Bye!  Have a good day, Detective!”

Grabbing your jingling keys from the key bowl, you have to bite your lip to keep from laughing when you hear the hurried strides of your boyfriend rushing out of the bathroom.

“Have a good day, Shutterbug.  I love you,” Tim exhales as slows down and reaches the front foyer, glad to have caught you before you left.

You immediately regret turning around – this is going to be a lot harder than you thought; Tim is fresh from the shower with only a towel hung low on his hips, steam still rising off his hot body and residual drops of water dot his hard chest like diamonds.  His wet hair is slicked back, making him look distinguished even in his nearly nude state.  Forget not kissing him - how the hell are you supposed to keep from pouncing on him like a wildcat in heat?

Your best option has to be a quick escape; hand on the door handle you practically yell, “Okay, bye!”

“Wait!” Tim looks confused that you didn’t meet him halfway for a goodbye kiss as you normally would, but he smiles indulgently at your slightly frazzled behaviour.  It’s early and you didn’t get much sleep last night, “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Avoiding eye contact, you feign patting your pockets and looking in your purse, “No, I’m good!  Thanks, babe!”  You’ve almost got the handle pressed all the way down when you hear Tim’s voice closing in behind you, “Are you sure?”

Shoot.

You turn and put on a tight smile, trying not to look into the eyes of your stupidly dreamy boyfriend, but where can you look?  Where can you look?  Not that solid wall of muscle that’s close to caging you in, that’s for sure.  You can’t even look at Tim’s jaw because that adorable patchy spot in the scruff on his left side always melts you into a puddle of goo.  You say to his forehead, “Yeah, I’m sure, why?”

“Just seems like you might be forgetting a thing or two, gorgeous,” Tim smirks, but if you would meet them, you’d see that his eyes are starting to worry.

“I really should go, Tim,” you say with a sympathetic tilt of your head, “I can’t be late for this meeting.”

He has you trapped, your back pressed against the door, but Tim isn’t leaning in; he’s sure by now that you’re not kissing him on purpose, but he has no idea why.  Not wanting to force anything upon you, he just waits – giving you some time in case you change your mind.

After about twenty seconds of silence, you nearly squeak, “Tim?  I have to go to work.”

With a furrowed brow, Tim steps back to allow you to open the door for your getaway, “Okay, love you, Shutterbug.”

You nod as you slip out, “Okay!  Talk to you later.”

Now Tim is straight up flabbergasted – he catches the front door before it closes and calls after your retreating figure, “Baby, I love you!”

You turn around and actually give him a thumbs up?!  He’s about to leave the apartment half naked to come after you and ask what’s wrong when he sees you slide into the elevator right before the doors close.

What the hell was that?

---

In the elevator you exhale the ridiculously loud breath you’ve been holding and slump against the wall.

[7:38 am] Total fail, girls.  That was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do and Tim had no reaction at all!

---

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.

Tim absentmindedly taps his pencil against the edge of his desk, the repetitive noise echoing off his office walls and into the bullpen.  It was a habit he picked up a long time ago, and everyone at the precinct knew that if they heard that sound coming out of Detective Rockford’s office, it meant something had him stumped.

Your odd behaviour this morning has been on Tim’s mind all day.  He can’t for the life of him figure out why you didn’t want to kiss him goodbye.  Other than being a little harried, nothing seemed out of the ordinary with your exit this morning – your words were sweet and cheerful, you didn’t seem stressed about your meeting.  Was it his morning breath?  No, he had just brushed his teeth.  And even if it was your breath that prevented you from kissing him, it didn’t explain why you wouldn’t say “I love you.”  Normally so generous with your adulation and words of affection, he’s finding the change in your manner this morning to so off putting he can barely concentrate on police work.

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.

Had he done something?  Surely you would have said; it wasn’t like you to play mind games.  And even if he had, when would he have done it?  The two of you had gone to sleep the night before perfectly content; Tim didn’t want to toot his own horn but you seemed more than sated after your three orgasms.  To add to his confusion, you’ve been texting him all day long like you always do, like nothing was wrong at all.

Cheerful texts announce when you got out of your meetings, then a sad picture of the muffin you accidentally dropped on the ground, followed by one of the much better cookie you got to replace it.  You send suggestions and ask him what he wants to have for dinner.  The funny comic panel from Instagram that you screenshot for him makes him laugh out loud.  Your messages say that you miss him and look forward to seeing him at home.  Tim answers them all as normally as he can without showing his growing skepticism.

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.

Detective Rockford’s impressive solve rate is no match for this particular mystery.  What the hell was going on?  Tim suddenly recalls something his former captain and mentor had said to him once:  When you have conflicting pieces of intel, try to separate out the irrefutable.

Okay.  The only reason that you would refuse to kiss him or say ‘I love you’ would be if you didn’t want to.  And if you didn’t want to, it must be because you were unhappy with him.  For something.  It didn’t matter if you acted like nothing was wrong all day or he couldn’t figure out what he had done, it was irrefutable that he had made you unhappy.

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.

---

You get home a few hours before Tim and have most of dinner prepped before he’s due to arrive, so you decide to take a quick shower to wash off your work day.  Wrapped in the fluffy hotel-grade bathrobe that Tim had in fact purchased for you from the hotel the two of you stayed at on your trip to New York, you pad back into the kitchen humming to yourself.  You’re just thinking you’ll pop dinner in the oven when you’re surprised by your sweet boyfriend only just returned, gun holster still snug against his tight shoulders, waiting for you behind the kitchen island; big hands holding open the lid to a box of scrumptious looking macarons.

“Tim!” you exclaim, surprise and delighted, “You’re home early, baby!  What’s this?”

He looks sheepishly at you, “They’re ‘I’m sorry’ macarons.”

You look at him confused, “What are you sorry for?”

“I DON’T KNOW,” he practically howls, looking like he’s at the end of his rope.

You rush over and throw your arms around your hulk of a man and pull him close, running your hands over his broad back in what you hope is a soothing enough manner, “Tim, baby, tell me what’s going on.”

Tim’s face remains buried in your neck, inhaling the soft smell of your body wash as he sinks every part of himself that he can, his face, his hands, his chest into your soft cotton clad body, “I’m sorry, Shutterbug.  I’m sorry for what I did to make you mad, and I’m sorry I couldn’t figure out what it was.”

Running a hand up to cradle Tim’s head, you’re so confused, but wait until his expansive body relaxes a bit against yours before pulling away a little so you can look at Tim’s distraught face, “Baby, I’m not mad at you.”

He studies the bewildered but sincere expression on your face and believes your confusion to be genuine, but that only adds to his own, “But you didn’t want to kiss me goodbye this morning, and you refused to say ‘I love you’ back.”

The sharp gasping sound you make is so startling it causes Tim to step back from you and he watches as your eyes widen in shock and your hands fly to cover your mouth in disbelief.  Then just as quickly, you launch yourself at him and press a flurry of soft kisses all over his face, his mouth, his neck, “Baby!  I’m the one who needs to be sorry!! It was just a silly TikTok trend!  You didn’t do anything wrong and I’m not mad at you!!  I’m so, so sorry you thought that!”

Tim comforts you with a gentle squeeze of your waist - you look beside yourself and ready to cry, but he still doesn’t understand, “TikTok trend?”

Grabbing your phone from the counter, you scroll to the videos in the chat you were watching last night and show them to him.  When Tim’s done watching the fourth video, he looks back at you chewing your lip adorably, worried, “So you’re not mad at me?  You just wanted to see what my reaction would be if you didn’t kiss me goodbye or say ‘I love you’ before you left?”

You look so small nodding up at him, “I’m sorry, Tim.  I didn’t know you would take it so seriously.  I actually thought it barely registered.  I never dreamed it would bother you.”

Now it’s Tim’s turn to be reassuring; stroking your cheek with two of his thick fingers, he tilts his head and smiles, “The woman I love more than anything suddenly won’t say she loves me or kiss me and it’s not supposed to bother me?”

“Oh Tim!” You fly into his open arms, lips crashing into Tim’s with a force that nearly sends him tumbling backwards.  Tim devours you with hunger and relief, so elated that rift he had imagined all day between the two of you turned out to be nonexistent.  You chase your deep and passionate kisses with light butterfly ones that map the entirety of his jaw and neck, fingers unbuttoning his dress shirt franticly to clear the path to his chest for your worshipping mouth.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” you murmur against his skin, making up for the times you held back these same words this morning.

“I love you too, Shutterbug,” Tim hums, hands roaming down your back; dipping low to grab and knead the plush globes of your ass.

Breaking away, you slip your hands under the firm leather straps of Tim’s holster and walk backwards, pulling him along with a shy smile, “Come, Detective.  Let me make things up to you.”  Tim would follow you anywhere, so happy to have you back, even though he never really lost you at all.  He moves in a daze as you lead him over to the living room couch, directing him to sit before you sink down to your knees like a dream between his wide spread legs. 

Quickly undoing Tim’s belt and pants, you look up at your handsome boyfriend with big doe eyes, pleading with him to give you what you want; unable to ever deny you even if he ever wanted to (which he never did), Tim lifts his hips slightly and helps you slide his pants and boxes down his thick thighs, his already semi-hard cock bouncing out and slapping against the buttons of his dress shirt.

You lick your lips at the sight of Tim’s beautiful, girthy cock, head already swollen and weeping for you.  Reaching out to give him a few tentative strokes with your hand, you angle the tip towards your mouth and kitten lick Tim’s slit until his whole chest rumbles above you. 

Smiling to yourself when you see Tim’s eyes close at your efforts, you lick several long fat stripes from balls to tip, following the ridges of the thick vein that run along the underside of Tim’s length before happily taking him in your warm mouth.  At Tim’s low throaty moans, you slowly sink your face closer and closer to the grey peppered hair at his base, taking in more and more of Tim’s throbbing cock while stretching your lips as wide as they can in order to accommodate his impressive girth.  Hands covering what still remains after your mouth is stuffed full, you start to bob your head rhythmically; spit leaks out of your overstuffed mouth and drips down Tim’s dick, making it shiny and easier for your small hands to pump.  The slick, wet sounds of your mouth and hands working in tandem have you dripping in your robe, desperate pussy clenching around nothing.

“Baby,” Tim’s hands cup the side of your face and gently guide you so you come off of him with a pop.  Not sure how it’s even possible, he gets even harder at the sight of your blow out eyes and messy mouth, hands still working him lazily as you gaze at him, already cock drunk.  Tim’s other hand reaches forward to pull at the lapel of your robe, “Want to see them.”

Knowing what he wants, you gladly shrug open your bathrobe, letting the fabric loll off your shoulders and pull open the front so that your bare breasts spill out for Tim to ogle.  Tim groans as he watches you wipe the drool from you face and spread it over your chest, rubbing your mess into your supple skin as you grope and play with your seductive curves.

“Do you want to fuck my tits, Detective Rockford?” you coo.  Tim’s eyes snap open at your dirty offer, nodding eagerly, mouth agape.

Shuffling closer until you’re pressed up right against the couch, you reach for Tim’s cock, already standing at attention, practically saluting and ready to nestle in between your pillowy soft breasts.  Dribbling a little more spit onto his dick, you use your hands to lube him up before gently placing him in the valley of your breasts.  Once you have him where you want him, you flash Tim a sultry smile and use your hands to press your boobs together, squishing them so closely that the bulbous head of Tim’s cock nearly disappears.

“Oh baby, your tits are so pretty,” moans Tim, unable to peel his eyes away from your chest.

“Thank you, Tim,” you purr politely, starting to move yourself up and down, stroking him with every bounce.  Keeping up a comfortable pace, you keep your eyes down, mesmerized by how hot Tim’s gorgeous dick looks sliding through the snug fitting opening between your tits – the very sight has you gushing.

“Fuckkkkk, that feels so good, baby,” he chokes out. Tim worships your breasts; normally unable to keep his hands off of them, he loves groping and manhandling your plush curves with his big, rough hands, and rolling and playing with your nipples until they’re hard and pointy.  But watching you use your delicate hands to press and hold your tits together, up and out so that the tight and deep valley in between hugs his cock oh so perfectly is unlocking something new and feral within him. 

“Let me fuck ‘em, please, gorgeous,” he practically growls; when your response is to stop your movements and slobber more spit down onto his cock before smiling back at him with a wide-eyed look of innocence, Tim’s hips start moving of their own accord, bucking wild and furious.

“Oh yes, Tim, fuck my tits just like that,” you whine; Tim is driving his cock up between your breasts with such vigor that your whole body is being jostled despite your best attempts to hold still for him.  The top of your robe has long since fallen off your body, but the sash remains tied tight around your waist so that the lower hem remains floating over your thighs; the opening at the bottom starts to open of its own volition from all the movement and the luxurious piping in the hem catches on your clit so deliciously that you scream.  You start to meet Tim’s every upwards thrust with a little downwards bounce so that you can rub against your robe, chasing after that mind-numbing friction; with your added efforts, Tim’s cock nearly hits your lips with every pass between your tits.  Smiling to yourself, you tilt your head down so that the next time Tim pushes up, you press down and give his tip a little kiss.

Tim’s body shudders and he nearly loses his rhythm.  You do this over and over, kissing his swollen head with the gentlest of pecks every time Tim’s cock breaches the tight cavern between your breasts and pokes out to meet your affectionate mouth.

Tim’s low baritone groans and huffs are getting huskier and faster, “Fuck baby, wanna finish inside you.” 

“Yes, please, baby, need you in me,” you cry as you scramble off your knees and climb onto Tim’s lap.  The debauched feeling of having Tim fuck your tits plus the heady sensation of rubbing your robe’s hem against your pussy has you so close already - you’re sopping wet and needy.

You sink down on Tim’s angry cock and slip your fingers under the shoulder straps of Tim’s gun holster as Tim immediately starts to punch up into you; holding on to the supple leather for dear life as he fucks you like his personal fuck doll, you throw you head back and wail how good he makes you feel.  Your tits bounce in Tim’s face and he thinks about how they looked minutes ago wrapped around his cock and he’s ready to explode, “Gonna come, Shutterbug.  Fuck, come with me, baby.”

Tim reaches down between your bodies and applies the perfect pressure against your slippery clit, barely completing one rotation of his rough thumb before you seize and clench down on him.  Your loud cries of his name taper to a soft, desperate mewling as he fucks you through it, chasing his own high.

“Give me your cum, Detective,” you plead as you continue to pull against the leather straps that border his broad frame, “Fill me up, Tim.”

He shoots his load deep in your cunt at these words, willingly obeying your filthy command.  Not only would Tim never deny you anything, he would readily do anything, give you anything your heart desired.  Your happiness and well being are all that matter to him – he comes hard and with the assuredness of a man that knows his earlier concerns of having made you unhappy were completely unfounded.  All is as it should be once again.

Coming down from your high, you release your death grip on Tim’s holster straps and wrap your arms loosely around his neck, smiling at him affectionately, “Am I forgiven, Detective?”

Even if he wasn’t still inside your warm cunt or your perfect tits weren’t sitting right below his chin close enough to lick, Tim’s answer would be the same, “There’s nothing to forgive, Shutterbug.”  

Eyes soft and full of love, you hold Tim’s gaze as you affirm for him again, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”  Each declaration of your feelings is accompanied by a corresponding press of your lips to his.  “I promise I’ll never do that to you again, Tim.  I’m going to kiss you and tell you I love you until you’re sick of it.”

“Never going to happen, Shutterbug.”

---

Afterwards, when the two are you are enjoying the ‘I’m sorry’ macarons that you giddily photographed, swapping cookies between bites so you can each try every flavour, you chew thoughtfully, “You know, this whole thing could have been avoided if you’d just get TikTok.”

You’re only joking of course, but your jaw drops when Tim holds his phone out to you, “Okay, Shutterbug.”

Eyes widening, you’re in disbelief, “Really?”

Tim grins devilishly and retracts his hand, “No, not really.  I don’t want to send you TikToks, baby.  I rather like the love language we have already.”  And with that he snatches the last bite of the lavender macaron from your fingers with his mouth and presses his lips to yours for the sweetest kiss you could ever ask for.

[cowgurrrl]

Sleeping on the Blacktop

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Author's note: guys we did it i wrote smut i actually like (ps this was edited but also not reread because I’ve been trying to write it for five hours so if you see any mistakes no you didn’t)

Summary: The Land of No Return [4.7k]

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR MEDIA CONSUMPTION, platonic expressions of love, the mortifying ordeal of being known, sexting, we finally get to know about reader's secret tattoos, smut, Joel the Menace makes his long awaited return with that dirty fucking mouth, mutual masturbation, phone sex (??(sure)), protected sex (no Miller babies for them) p in v stuff, June being indulgent with describing Joel Miller, anxiety, I think that's it??

Music floods the kitchen as you and Andie work on making the best "last supper but with women" possible. The lamps glow orange on the walls and create funny shadows when you dance together, pulling each other in and out to old jazzy tunes. You laugh when she throws a string of spaghetti at your fridge to test if it's ready a little too hard, and it splatters water everywhere. You, honestly, might be a little delirious. You're both in your pajamas, and you've been watching movies all day. You exchange what you remember from New Year's Eve and cringe at what the other fills in. You drink cheap wine from plastic cups and snack on chips as the food cooks. 

It feels like high school again, with all the girlish giggling and inside jokes you trade back and forth, except this time, instead of her going back to her house ten minutes up the road, she's going back to her apartment half the world away. No matter how long you get with her, it's never enough. Thousands of miles and different schedules will do that. Keeping long-distance friendships as an adult is just as hard, if not harder, than making new ones. 

When dinner is ready, you fix your plates and sit next to each other at your messy dining room table— the IKEA one she helped you build when Henry walked out with the first one— and eat. Paint stains the wood of the table, and half-finished works are scattered around the dining room, but you barely notice them as you talk. She tells you about the things waiting for her in Vienna: work, her cat, Oslo, and piano lessons. You don't have to pretend to be envious because you are. You have to go back to school and the Real World once you drop her off at the airport in the morning. You wish you could go with her. 

"Alright, c'mon. Spill it. What's going on with you and Joel?" She asks in between bites of garlic bread. You laugh and shake your head.

"There's nothing to tell."

"Bullshit. Tommy told me he saw you guys."

"Speaking of Tommy," you pivot. "What's going on there? You two seemed pretty chummy." You raise your eyebrows at her, and a big smile takes over her face. She takes another bite of food to buy herself some time, but there's no way you're letting her off the hook, especially after all her teasing about Joel.

"Nothing. We were just… talking." She finally says, and you give her a look. 

"Talking?"

"Yes. People talk. You should try it sometime."

"Was it talking like we are now or talking like Joel and I talked?" You hum, and she kicks her feet as she leans forward.

"So you and Joel did talk." 

"Well, we probably would've if somebody didn't come barging in."

"Goddammit, I told him to wait," she groans. "Sorry, girl."

"Yeah, me too," you say, and she laughs. You bump her knee and give her a look. "Alright, your turn. What's going on with Tommy?" 

"Nothing that could actually turn into anything." 

"Aw, c'mon. Don't count yourself out so early."

"It's not counting myself out. It's being realistic. I live in Vienna. He lives here. I'm not ready to come back to the States, and he seems content, so there's nothing that can happen," she shrugs. "It was a fling. A very nice fling, but a fling nevertheless." She seems a little too sad for it to have been just a fling. They exchanged numbers, and you've caught her texting him several times. She said she did kiss him on New Year's Eve (before she threw up), but they didn't go any further besides flirting the next morning. You watched them test each other at breakfast, and he seemed just as interested in her as she was in him. They'd be cute together. She sighs and pushes her pasta around in her bowl like a dejected character from a period piece.

"Tommy is very handsome." You comment, and she grabs your arm, animating all of a sudden. 

"Dude, I've been dying to talk about it. What the fuck are they putting in the water here? It's insane." 

"It's annoying, right?" 

"So annoying." She agrees. You laugh about it together and, finally, give her the details she's been waiting so patiently for. When you finish your story, her hands are over her mouth, and her eyes are wide. "Oh, my God. You have to get him back."

"I know, I know! He's driving me up a fucking wall." You say, taking a bite of food. It will get cold if you don't stop talking, but you also don't care. 

"You could surprise him with some lingerie or something." She suggests, and you groan. 

"God, I don't even remember the last time I bought lingerie."

"All the more reason to buy some." 

"I don't know. I feel like I could just show up naked, and he'd be happy with that."

"He sounds like a keeper then."

"Yeah, I don't know," you shrug. "I like him a lot. I just… don't know if it's sustainable."

"Why?" She asks. You almost want to gesture around your messy apartment and half-put together life as if it will answer her question.

"I mean, he's a good guy, and we're having fun, but for how long? His kid's gonna be in at least one of my classes until she graduates. Not to mention, he has another daughter who is in medical school. We both work full-time. And then there's the whole having to keep it a secret thing. It could get really old really fast." You sigh. 

"What if it doesn't?"

"What?"

"What if it doesn't get old? What if it ends up working out?" She asks. You take a deep breath. "You didn't even think about that possibility. Did you?"

"I just don't wanna get hurt."

"That's a very real possibility. Things could go wrong. He could break your heart. You could lose your job. Society as we know it could come crashing down, and you know what? The sun's still gonna come up the next day. The birds will still sing, and I will still be here," she says, putting her hand over yours. You purse your lips as you process her words. "You deserve nice things, kid. Don't count yourself out so early." She echoes your earlier sentiment, and you smile.

She's right. Of course, she's right. You don't let yourself think good things could happen because you're so focused on all the bad. She's known you for so long she can read your thoughts and know your habits before you can. What a horrifying and beautiful thing it is to be known inside and out like that. 

"Maybe you should've been a writer instead of a musician," you say, and she laughs. You squeeze her hand and sigh as you look at her. "I'm really gonna miss you."

"I'm really gonna miss you, too."

"I wish you could stay."

"I know," she says. "But you need an excuse to come to Vienna, and I need an excuse to come to Austin, and if I stay, we lose that."

"I guess that's true."

"Besides, if I stop making trans-Atlantic calls, I think my phone company would be concerned." She points out, making you laugh. You know she's telling you what she's told herself this whole time. She loves Vienna, but you know she gets homesick. You know she's trying really hard to convince herself to get back on that plane. You don't push her about staying again. You just indulge in her presence. 

"I love you." You say softly, and she smiles.

"I love you, too." She says. 

It means so much more than just "I love you." It means, "I love you, and I want us both to eat well." It means, "I love you, and I can't imagine doing this life without you." It means, "I love you, and I know you have to go." Never any buts. Always ands, because love like this knows no bounds. Not borders, not time zones, not lifestyles. 

You finish the dinner you made and clean the kitchen side by side before climbing into bed and staying up as late as possible to try and get Andie back on Vienna time. In the morning, you drag yourselves out of bed and sing in the car on the way to get coffee, and when the time comes for you to get her suitcase out of your backseat and watch her disappear behind glass doors, you hug her tight and tell her you love her again. She repeats the sentiment with another squeeze and deep breath that tells you how close to tears she is. Then, she turns around and doesn't look back to prove she's strong enough to leave. She doesn't need to prove anything to you. You always knew she was strong enough to do this.

The car ride back is emotional and lonely and tinged with the bass line of Ribs by Lorde, but your phone buzzes as you pull back into your apartment complex with tears staining your cheeks. 

Thanks for letting us meet Andie. She's a really sweet person. I'm sorry she has to leave today.

You don't remember telling him what day she was leaving, but she might've told Tommy, and Tommy told Joel. You smile and text him back. 

Thanks for taking care of us. She only had good things to say about you and Tommy. We'll have to all hang out again the next time she's home. 

And then.

Thanks for checking on me. I really appreciate it. 

Of course. I'm always a wreck when I have to drop Sarah off at the airport. I'm around if you wanna talk. Ellie's hanging out with some friends, and Tommy's on-site today.

You stare at the messages and debate your options. He basically just told you he's home alone and has nothing to do for the rest of the day. And yes, he is probably being sweet and really offering to talk if you're feeling lonely, but you also know how talking usually goes for you two. You smirk as you type out a message.

Just talk?

It seems like he can't type fast enough.

What else would you wanna do?

I think you made some promises you need to follow through on, Miller.

I guess I did. 

Come over and I can do just that.

Actually, I have some work to get done :( maybe next time?

You lock your phone and bound up to your apartment, conscious of the sudden lengthening of time between messages. It's fun to imagine him trying to come up with a response that respects your boundaries but also lets you know how needy he is. He may have started this little game, but you're gonna be the one to perfect it. Thus begins the days upon days of not sexting, but not not sexting. 

At first, it's just messages about how you miss him and wish he was around. He tries to find an excuse to come over, but you effectively cockblock him at every turn. Your response times get a little slower the more worked up he gets, so he has to figure it out on his own. You never would've thought Joel Miller, a man with gray in his beard and wrinkles lining his face, could be such a fast texter, but you figure there's nothing more desperate than a horny man. 

Messages quickly escalate to pictures. They start off innocent enough: a picture of the painting you're working on, but your bare legs give away the fact that you're not wearing pants, a picture of him stepping out of a hot shower, his bare chest slightly red and glistening from the water, a picture of you wearing the burnt orange shirt he sent you home in New Year's Day with no bra on underneath. Then, you get a little bolder. After a quick trip to the mall, you pose in front of the mirror in a short delicate white night down with pretty lace details on the top, the hem barely hitting the tops of your thighs and showing off the large tattoos hiding there. You look hot, and imagining Joel's reaction to you makes you flush and rub your thighs together to get some relief.

It's true that Joel would've been happy if you showed up to his house wearing (or not wearing) anything, but when the photo pings to his phone, he's never been more grateful for Victoria's Secret in his life. His breath hitches in his throat, and he quickly tucks his phone into his chest like someone is gonna come up behind him and see what he's looking at. He's barely glanced at the photo and he's already straining in his jeans. 

Goddamn, he texts back. You're so fucking pretty, baby.

You like it?

It's a dumb question, but you really don't care.

It's perfect.

What do you like about it?

Besides the fact that you're the one wearing it? I like that it makes you look like more of an angel than you already are, and I like that I can finally see those tattoos you've been hiding from me. 

Bingo, you think to yourself. He was able to catch glimpses of the large pieces hiding on your back and shoulders at the art gallery, and when he picked up on New Year's Eve, you caught him staring at them each time. You thought he was following the inky lines up your body, but you couldn't be sure. Now, he's giving himself away, and you're practically buzzing with excitement.

You turn around in the mirror and arch your back, perfectly showing off your ass and the intricate tattoo lining your spine, and snap a picture. It's one of the largest ones you have, and it's also the easiest to hide. Besides, you definitely didn't get it for your own enjoyment. You live for moments like this. You send him the picture and smile as you type.

Like this one?

Your phone rings not even two minutes after he reads the message. You giggle when he groans into the receiver instead of greeting you.

"You're gonna fuckin' kill me, baby." He says, his voice so deep you can practically feel it rumble against your ear.

"I told you I'd get you back." You say it like it's obvious, but he just hums. There's shuffling on his end, and all you can do is wait for him to say something else.

"What else have you been hidin' underneath all those little dresses, hm?" He asks. "Tattoos. The most fuckin' perfect tits I've ever seen. Anythin' else I should know bout? 'S your pussy as pretty as the rest of ya?" You didn't mean for him to hear you gasp, but he seemed pleased that he could pull such a sound from you without even being in the same room. Just like that, any doubt or reservation you had left flies out the window. You finally cave and slip your hand down your panties to glide your fingers through your folds. "Am I makin' you wet, sweetheart?"

"Fuck," you mumble. It's absurd how turned on you are by this whole thing. Your fingers slowly circle your clit, and your head gets so fuzzy you almost forget to respond to him. "Yes, Joel." 

"Are you playin' with yourself?" He asks, and you nod even though he can't see you. "Poor thing. I wish I could be there to help ya. I'd have you spread open for me so I can touch you however I want. Figure out what you like and what makes you cry for me." You put him on speaker and throw your phone down so you can focus on gliding through your wetness, your middle finger pushing into you slowly.

"What... what would you do?" You ask, breathless. 

"I'd start by usin' my fingers just to feel you out, and I bet you'd feel so fuckin' good. I'd play with your clit until you're beggin' me to put a finger inside you, and I'd slip two in slowly while kissin' your inner thighs and watchin' you squeeze my fingers," you moan as you listen to his raspy voice and fuck yourself to his words. You try to imagine what his fingers would feel like inside of you. How different compared to yours, how much better they'd feel. Goddammit. "Then, I'd use my mouth on you while my fingers move in and out. I'd lick you all over and feel you soakin' me when I suck on your clit." He says, and you return to rubbing said bundle of nerves, faster this time, as you become acutely aware of his labored breathing over the phone. 

Is he touching himself? The idea of him holding the phone with one hand and fisting his cock with the other sends a wave of heat down your spine, and you keen into your own hand. A shaky breath and muttered curse leave his lips, and then you know for sure what he's doing. Your head spins, and you'd be embarrassed by how close you are just from his voice if you weren't entirely focused on the pleasure clouding your brain. 

"Fuck, Joel-"

"I know, baby, I know," he coos sympathetically. Another lewd moan leaves you as you get closer and closer to the edge, stars threatening the corners of your vision. "Are you gonna come for me like this?" He asks, and you hum in the affirmative, not trusting yourself to form words. "Come on. Let me hear you. I wanna hear what you sound like when you fall apart." His voice is coming faster and breathier, a light growl at the end of his words. How are you to deny him that? 

The speed of your fingers on your clit increases, but it's his own broken whimpers that finally do it. Your back arches as the waves wash over you, and noises you didn't even know you could make escape your lips. You can vaguely hear a broken sigh accentuated by a particularly hot whine from Joel's end. Henry was never as vocal or talkative as Joel is. None of your past partners have been. In the aftershocks of your orgasm, you have a quick passing thought that he might ruin dating for you. You might never want to see anyone else who doesn't treat you like this. You might be fucked.

"Joel," you say when you have control over your thoughts again. He takes a deep breath and clears his throat.

"Yeah?"

"Get the fuck over here now."

Joel's house is on the other side of Austin. With traffic, getting to your apartment can take anywhere from twenty to forty-five minutes, depending on how fast you're willing to go and how many red lights you can pass under. Joel gets there in fifteen. You're still in the flouncy dress you bought specifically to torture him, but by the time you open the door for him, you're much less interested in making his life any more miserable than you already have over the past week. 

He doesn't hesitate to charge into your apartment, grab your face, and kiss you like his life depends on it. His tongue sweeps over your bottom lip, and you open to him, clinging to him as his hands move from your face to the backs of your thighs to pick you up. You squeal in surprise and lock your legs around his waist to bring him closer and keep yourself from falling. Even though he obviously came over the phone at the same time you did, he's hard again and pressing against your bare pussy. He hisses when you grind against him, and his jaw clenches as he pulls away like he's in pain.

"Where's your bedroom?" He asks, wide eyes searching the hallway behind you.

"First door on the left." You say as you duck your head to kiss his neck. He sighs and indulges in the feeling of your tongue against his skin before he finally finds his feet and stumbles into your bedroom. You're halfway through marking him before he lays you down and immediately rucks his hands up your thighs, spreading them apart and making you whine. 

"You okay?" He asks, stopping all movement to scan over your face for any signs of discomfort. You nod and reach for the buttons of his jeans.

"Yes. Just need you." You say. 

"Are you sure?" 

"Joel, I just came from the sound of your voice. Yes, I'm fucking sure." You say, a little frenzied as you pull at the hem of his shirt. He laughs as he pulls it over his head and quickly unzips his jeans. 

"Feisty." 

"Can you blame me?" You ask, and he shakes his head. He tugs his jeans and his briefs down at the same time and unveils all of him to you in one go. He's beautiful. You knew he would be, but seeing the graying chest hairs and the pretty happy trail leading down to his hard cock in between his strong, tan thighs is an entirely different thing. You reach for him, desperate to feel the weight of him in your hands, but he stops you by slipping the tiny straps of your night gown down your arms. 

He carefully pulls the fabric down your body until it's pooled next to his clothes on the floor. His eyes fall to the black lines wrapping around your shoulders, and he draws his eyes to your collarbones and sternum, his breathing stuttering at the sight of you laid out under him. 

"So much prettier than I imagined." He murmurs as he ducks his head to kiss the valley between your breasts. You smile and run your hands through his curls as he mouths at your chest, leaving red marks in his wake and making you press him closer.

"How many times have you thought about this?" You ask. Has he always wanted you in the way you've wanted him? You're almost positive he has. There's no other way to explain the reverence with which he's looking at you. He's so wrapped up in you it's almost suffocating. Every time you glance at his face, he's staring at you with soft eyes and blown pupils. 

"Lost count." There it is. The confirmation. You grab at his ribs to bring him closer, pulling him over you to kiss him slow and deep. Despite the heat of him against you and the ache between your thighs, you both take the time to savor it. That is until his overthinking takes over. "I didn't bring a condom. Fuck, I was in a rush. I didn't think." He says quickly, like he's waiting for you to back out or push him away. You bring your thumb up to the worried wrinkle between his eyebrows and smooth it away, kissing his jaw.

"You think I would get you all worked up to not be prepared? C'mon, baby," you turn the nickname around on him, and he leans into your hand like a cat. "Top drawer." You say. He scrambles to your bedside table and grabs the first one he can find as you move onto all fours while he's distracted. You listen for the foil ripping and the subtle sound of the latex fitting over him. You can't stop the smirk from forming when he looks up and sees the sight in front of him.

"Fuckin' Hell," he mutters. Your back is arched perfectly, your hair gathered over your shoulder, and the tattoo you got done so many years ago is on display for him. "You are so goddamn perfect." He says as he presses his chest into your back and kisses your shoulder. He plants a few more kisses across your neck and back, making you wait longer than you already have, and just when you think you're going crazy, he slowly pushes into you and punches all the air from your lungs. 

He's big. Bigger than anyone you've been with before, and he seems to know that. He rolls his hips, and you moan, gripping at the sheets under you for stability as you adjust. His breathing is ragged behind you, and he groans when you involuntarily clench around him. "You okay?" He asks, his voice straining. His patience and self-control should be fucking studied. 

"Yeah, I'm okay." You assure him, and he nods. He starts to move slowly at first, but when you start whining and shaking under him, he snaps. You're both impatient. Months of following the rules and caring about what other people could think or say tumble out of your heads as he sets a rough pace. You've been dreaming about this and pushing it away since he walked into your classroom that day, and now that it's happening, you can't hide how desperate you are for him. You cry his name as he fucks into you deeply, no part of your bodies not touching, but it's still not close enough.

"You're so fuckin' good for me, baby. Jesus fuck," he moans into your ear, his uneven breaths echoing into your skull. "You feel so good." 

He sits back and brings you with him, changing the angle and forcing him deeper inside of you as his hand snakes around your waist and dips to play with your clit. You curse loudly and dig your nails into his forearm as bright pleasure courses through your veins. "'M gonna come if you keep doing that," you warn, your voice high and strained as he adds a little more pressure. 

"C'mon, honey, come on my cock for me. Please, I want it." It could be the slight whine in his voice or the fact that he's begging you for it, or the fact that the tight circles he's rubbing into your clit are making you see stars, but you come hard. You rely on him to hold you upright as he fucks you through your high, the slick between your thighs growing as his own orgasm washes over him, and he moans directly in your ear, an unexpected but not unpleasant gift. You think you could get off again just to the sounds he makes when he's coming. 

You stay like that for a second, wrapped up in each other and breathing hard with him still inside you, before he finally finds the courage to slip out of you with only a tiny pained moan. He carefully guides you onto your back, your bones jelly, and kisses your cheek before he pads off to the bathroom to throw away the used condom. 

It's quiet again in the apartment, but it's not lonely anymore. He makes himself at home in your space, asking if he can get water and snacks from your kitchen and walking around naked as the day he was born. "I wanna make sure you've got enough energy for round two." He says, making you laugh.

"Are you finally gonna make good on your promise to take your time with me?" 

"Fuck yeah." He says, coming back to kiss your lips one more time before walking to the kitchen. It's like if he goes a few minutes without tasting you, he can't function, or at least, that's what he makes it seem like. You're more than receptive to the attention and can only watch as he walks around. Your trust in your legs is not strong enough to get up just yet. 

In the domestic silence, it would be easy for your mind to run rampant with rogue thoughts and anxieties, but when Joel returns to the bedroom with snacks, bottles of water, and those stupidly sweet eyes, they get pushed to the back burner. He gets under the covers and pulls you into him, his warm body grounding you to this moment and not letting your thoughts stray. He presses kisses to your hair and your face every so often as you talk about everything and nothing. 

Somehow, it feels natural, like you've been doing this the whole time or like everything was leading up to this. Maybe it was. Still, you'll need to talk about this. You know you will.

Just... not yet.

TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @marantha @cosmoscoffeee @shyminnie07 @beezusvreeland @eddiemunsonsbedroom @harriedandharassed @doodlebob-mp3 @ignorethisplz2004 @buckyispunk @d1lf-loverrr @vee-bees-blog @moel-jiller @anoverwhelmingdin @casssiopeia @maried01

[bippityboppitybabe]

The Sleepover

Summary: Sometimes, good things do come to those who wait.

Pairing: Andrew Byrne-Hozier x reader

Warnings: fluff, friend-to-lovers, cursing, CONSENTING ADULTS DOING THE DEED - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: 3266

Author’s Note: I've always felt a little weird writing/reading about a real person. However, I've been in a writing slump for literal years and Hozier's music has always been inspiring. So morals be damned, right?

Disclaimer: Ya'll, I don't know this man. This is just the musings of a perpetually single lady and this should not be taken seriously whatsoever. Any mistakes are mine and mine alone (#noproofreading), and to be totally honest I just found this gif on the internet.

(Also, Mr. Hozier, I do apologize if you somehow find this on some dark corner of the internet. Please keep on scrolling.)

You hadn’t meant to stay the night— no really, you hadn’t. But there you were, tucked underneath a blanket as the day’s morning sun rays streaked across the hardwood floors. You could hear Andrew still snoring just behind you, he was probably asleep in the reclining chair you teased him senselessly about (“What are you, a seventy year old man?” / “Hey, once you fall asleep in one of these you’ll never say a bad word about them again”). 

And maybe he was on to something. An achiness had already begun to settle in your lower back, and your right arm seemed to have permanently lost feeling from where you’d slept on it apparently all night.

Blearily, you groped around with your left (and thankfully still operational) hand for a phone. Nearly jumping out of your skin when you saw the time.

“Andy. Andy!” You hissed, (regrettably) throwing the warm quilt off your body as you scrambled to an upright position. “Andrew, wake up! We overslept!”

The plan had been for a casual movie night. You showed up at a respectable six o’clock with both your favorite candies, and he’d prepared the popcorn and drinks. There wasn’t much of a chance to do this sort of thing anymore— you had your boring 9-5 big girl job, and Andrew was more often out of the city than in it. However, whenever your paths crossed you both made the effort to spend at least a little time together.

But when Andrew had texted you last week, revealing he had an actual free Saturday night, you’d practically burst from excitement. Andrew Byrne-Hozier was your favorite person in the world— he was funny, and kind, and considerate. And while, sure, you were a little in love with him and every moment in his present made your heart feel more like molten honey than an actual organ, his friendship was too important to risk.

So, for the last four years, you’d watched as he shuffled through a couple of relationships (it was worse when you actually liked his partner) and went on tour and recorded songs. You were always there with a funny meme or thoughtful advice or listening ear, and sometimes you were just there for him when it became a little too much.

And sure, you’d also dated a few people (nothing ever serious) and you’d adopted a cat (whom Andy had nicknamed ‘Jammy’ because one time he got his head stuck in a jam jar) and you’d switched jobs and moved into a new flat— so you wouldn’t say you were pining for your best friend. It was just a crush. (A crush that made your head spin and your heart stop but who cared?)

But back to last night. You were supposed to leave right after the movie ended because Andrew had some important interview via Zoom in the morning— and while you had been in the background of plenty of interviews, you’d both decided the risk of you being spotted or heard was too high with all the relationship rumors swirling. Andy had wanted the focus to be on his music and the charity a portion of the proceeds of his latest single went to— not add fodder to the fire of him dating someone (and that someone was, well, you. You get caught one time by the paparazzi leaving his house and all of a sudden the internet was desperate to know who you were).

But that interview was scheduled for fifteen minutes from now, and the man of the hour was still sleeping off the sugar crash you’d both apparently succumbed to last night.

Pulling on your socks that you’d somehow kicked off during the night, you spared a moment to throw one of the decorative pillows littering the floor at Andrew. “Andy, wake up!”

He just groaned and covered his eyes with the crook of his elbow. “Leave me alone, it’s too early for that.”

“No it’s not! You whisper-yelled, finally launching yourself up to properly shake him awake. “It’s 8:45 in the morning, you’ve got that meeting in fifteen!”

At that, his eyes shot open, and he looked at the leather watch he’d left on overnight. “Shit.”

You nodded, giving his pant leg another tug. “Shit is right. What do you need?”

“I need to brush my teeth and get dressed.” He started, taking your hands as you helped him up. “I need a glass of water and my notes.”

You nodded, already mentally searching his apartment for the things you could gather for him. “I’ve got the water and notes, you get dressed. Whoever’s finished first can set up your laptop.”

So quickly you barely felt it, your best friend kissed you in the corner of your mouth (definitely by accident, he’d obviously missed your cheek). “Thanks babe— thank god you ended up staying the night. I’d’ve slept right through till the afternoon.”

Ignoring the butterflies that suddenly erupted in your stomach (he’d called you babe a few other times and it always got the chrysalis’ hatching), you nodded and gave him a little shove towards his bedroom. “Of course, now get going!”

You remembered seeing his interview notebook on the kitchen table, probably from where Andrew had been working on it the afternoon before. Moving with efficiency, you gathered it up, tucking in any loose papers into the pages tightly as you could, before flipping to the last page so it would be open for him.

But there, in the corner, he’d written your name. Not super unusual, he’d probably been thinking about your plans for the evening as he wrote down any points he wanted to discuss, but right next to it was a tiny heart. 

And sure, Andy doodled all the time— on napkins and music sheets and even sometimes your hand, but nonetheless the sight of that little heart warmed your own. 

Shaking your head, you picked up an empty glass from the table and filled it from the tap. Beggars couldn’t be choosers and Andrew was lucky he was getting anything hydrating right now. You glanced at the oven clock.

“Seven minutes!” You yelled, rushing into the living room and setting down the notebook and water glass. Without overthinking it, you grabbed as much as you could off his de facto interview table (usually it served as his entryway table, but it was in front of the only blank wall in his home and was the best backdrop for any business conducted over his computer).

You dumped the junk that had been littering the surface onto the couch you’d just been sleeping on (giving the quilt you’d just been shrouded in a few minutes ago a longing glance), before scooting out the table just enough to fit a chair behind it. Andrew, finally exiting his bedroom and only looking a modicum more put together than when he entered it, snagged one of his kitchen table chairs before beelining for you.

“Andrew, your hair looks awful.” You stated as you looked for a pen in the pile on the couch. You tossed it to him, and he caught it with a well practiced ease.

He laughed, plugging in his laptop before scooching into the chair he’d just placed and powering on the computer. “There’s not much I can do about it now, but you always know just what to say to make me feel good about myself.”

Rolling your eyes, you pulled out your own hair tie and motioned for him to scoot. “I’ll braid it while you pull up the link.”

Andy complied, turning himself sideways in the chair and starting to log in. As gently as you could, you brushed your fingers through the wild curls to get out any major knots— then deftly sectioned it off into three parts and started braiding.

You would never admit this, but you loved braiding Andrew’s hair. Men always had the best hair (you were pretty sure it was scientifically proven) and he was certainly no exception. His hair was thick with so much body to it— some of your favorite pictures of him on tour were the ones where his hair grew wild from humidity. It never got quite so unruly in your hometown, but there was still something untamed about his hair you couldn’t get over.

But it was over before you knew it. Deftly tying off the end, you pulled the braid a little looser— picking out a few strands to artfully fall in Andrew’s face. You tugged the finished hairstyle before glancing at the clock. Finished with two minutes to spare.

Andrew adjusted himself in the chair, pulling up the Zoom chatroom and taking a sip of the lukewarm water you’d set out.

“Thank you,” he mouthed, before turning his attention to the screen.

As quietly as you could, you backed into his bedroom and closed the door behind you. Unsure of what to do with yourself or how long you’d be trapped, you crawled into Andrew’s bed and snuggled down into the sheets (surely it wasn’t crossing a line to take a deep sniff of his pillow, right?) Pulling out your phone, you plugged it into his charger and started scrolling on social media to pass the time…

… “Hey, wake up sleepy head.” A voice softly whispered, a warm hand brushing some hair out of your face. “My interview’s over and I got us some breakfast.”

You blinked your eyes open, struggling to focus on Andrew’s face in the dim lighting of his well-darkened bedroom. Your phone, which you must’ve fallen asleep on, was lost in the abyss of the crack between bed and nightstand so you had no way of knowing what time it was.

“How’d it go?” You slurred, burrowing a little deeper into the warm bed.

He smiled, “The interview went well thanks to you and your internal alarm clock.”

“Can I have just a little bit longer in bed?”

Andy sighed dramatically, “Only if I can join. I’m still half asleep.”

You laughed, but raised the sheets as he crossed over to the other side and got in. You two had shared a bed before, you reasoned as you turned to face him, once, a couple of years ago when he’d gotten too drunk for you to leave alone after a night out. And while intoxication was markedly missing in the scenario, you and Andrew were adults and could nap together.

“Thanks again for waking me up,” He whispered into the darked, turning to face you. “My agent would have been really pissed if I’d missed that. And I would have felt awful for wasting everyone’s time, of course.”

Gently, you pressed a finger to his mouth, “Shhhh, I’m sleeping.”

Andrew chuckled, but then took your hand in his and kissed your finger across his lips gently. Surprised by the tenderness, you opened your eyes to look at your best friend.

“I’m serious, thank you. I don’t know what I would do without you most days.” Andy said, his voice, while still quiet, had a gruffness to it you didn’t quite recognize. 

“Well, good thing you’ll never have to find out what life is like without me,” you whispered back, softly smiling. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I think, sometimes, the thing I’m scared of most is losing you.”

The confession took your breath away for a moment. Of course, Andy was the most important person in your life, but neither of you had ever said anything so… vulnerable to the other before. It had always struck you as funny— while it was no secret Hozier regularly barred his soul in his songs, the Andy you knew was fairly reserved and quiet. You knew where he stood not by his words, but by his actions.

You bit your lip, wanting to word your response carefully. Slowly, you moved your hand to his cheek, cupping his face. “I’m not sure there’s anything you could do to lose me.”

Your eyes locked for a moment, and you could tell he was looking for something in your face. You stayed still, like he was a deer you were scared of frightening away, and then the smallest smile on his face broke the trance.

“What about this?” He breathed, turning his face so he could kiss the inside of your wrist. Your face broke out in a hot flush, the feel of his lips against your skin causing the butterflies you’d been fighting with to begin anew.

You shook your head the tiniest bit, “We’re still friends.”

He leaned forward, and it was only then you realized how close the two of you were in this bed. The warmth of his body and the feel of his hand moving to rest on your hip nearly sent you overboard. Slowly, as if he was now the one afraid of frightening you, he leaned in and placed a gentle kiss right on the crook of your neck. “And this?”

Your toes curled and you almost gasped involuntarily, but you just managed to catch yourself. “We’re— we’re still okay.”

Andrew moved again, this time pulling you towards him so suddenly, his body was all you could feel. You looked up, his warm eyes searching your face again before gently, oh so gently, he brushed his lips against yours. “What about this? Are you okay with that?”

Words were lost to you as your eyes fluttered closed. You reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck, pushing yourself against him and somehow, even closer.

When your lips met again, there was no longer a question between the two of you. Suddenly, you were nothing more than the feeling of his fingers digging into your soft flesh, the scratch of your nails against his back, the heat that seemed to blossom in the space between your bodies. He groaned as your hips (involuntarily, of course) rocked into his, and you moaned at the feeling of his hard member against you.

“Andy,” You gasped, breathing hard but unable to even open your eyes— lost in the feeling of his lips trailing down your neck. “Andy please.”

Finally, you were able to crack your eyes just the tiniest bit, and almost gasped again at the sight of your best friend. He looked up at you, his beautiful hair already escaping your neat braid and his pupils blown wide as he seemed to drink you in. “Please what, darling?”

“Don’t stop.”

He didn’t. Gentle fingers eased your shirt over your head, and you didn’t even have time to feel an iota of self-consciousness before your sports bra gave way next. Bare to him, Andrew gently turned you on to your back so he hovered over you, one of his legs cutting between your own.

Slowly, almost tortuously slow, he lowered himself and placed his mouth over one of your nipples— teasing the sensitive skin before moving onto the other side. Your hands, desperate to do something, wove into his hair as you held him against your body.

His hand skated across your stomach, moving lower and lower until it slipped past the loose elastic of your sweats and underwear— those long fingers you loved watching play music parting you and dipping inside for a brief moment.

You arched against him, gasping at the sudden feeling of him. Part of you still didn’t believe this was real, that surely you still had to be sleeping, even as he deftly pulled your remaining clothes down your legs.

Kicking them off and into the room, your own hands pulled at his shirt while raking your fingernails across the pale skin of his back. Now chest to chest, you couldn’t help but grind down onto the sweatpant clad thigh between your legs, desperate for any friction to try and relieve the growing pressure. 

Hot kisses trailed down the side of your neck as you felt him laugh against your skin, “Someone’s a little impatient.”

You groaned again, your chest heaving against his as a hand reached to slowly knead a breast. “You have no idea how long I’ve been patient for,” your voice was breathier than you’d ever heard it. “How much I’ve been wanting you.”

A cry filled the dimly lit room as those long, tortuous fingers found you again— Andrew expertly rubbing your clit with a thumb as he shifted his weight to start taking off his remaining clothes. Your hands reached behind you, searching for something (anything) to steady yourself against as the sweet, familiar pressure started to grow.

He bent your right knee down with his free hand and spread you even wider. “Say that again,” he whispered as he laid down at your side, his voice barely audible over the rushing in your ears. 

You gasped as the crescendo started, two fingers now inside you— their movements exquisite and maddening. “I want you—” you paused for a moment, your eyes squeezing closed against the incoming tide. “Only you.”

Shuddering, you barely had a moment to catch your breath in the seconds after your first orgasm before Andrew was reaching around you, fumbling for a moment before finding a familiar foil and ripping it open. Planting a kiss on your temple, the two of you locked eyes for a moment. You smiled, tenderly stroking a finger down the side of his face.

Andy shifted his weight so he was hovering over you again, his eyes searching your face with a question. Barely coherent (and dazed from how quickly you’d just orgasmed), you leaned over to answer with a lingering kiss— resting your forehead against his to pause for a moment.

“Please, Andy.”

In response, those tortuous fingers curled around your hips, your best friend kissing your neck as he positioned himself right at your entrance. “Tell me,” he whispered against your sweaty skin. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

Your hips jutted upwards, and you groaned at the feeling of him brushing against you for just the briefest of moments. “I’ll never want you to stop,” You breathed, reaching up to stroke his face with your thumb. “I’ll never stop wanting you.”

The feeling of him, all of him, was more than you had ever created in your daydreams; you couldn’t have imagined how his hair would tickle your face as he leaned down to kiss you, you didn’t take into account the visual of his long, lean body as he thrust into you again and again and again, and never in a million years could you have conceived how beautiful of a sound he would make as he climaxed inside you.

Afterwards, glowing in the aftermath of your orgasm and the feeling of Andrew lingering on your skin, you turned over to face him. His hair, now completely fallen out of the braid you’d hastily pulled in it, spread out over the pillow like a halo. His cheeks were flushed (as were yours, you felt sure), the high spots a delicate pink as he breathed heavily and stared up at the ceiling.

“Hey,” you whispered softly, almost afraid to break the spell of the moment.

He turned to you, and his liquid brown eyes caught yours as a huge smile spread across his beautiful face. “Hey yourself.”

“You still have me, you know. If you want, I mean. I’m still not going anywhere.”

Andrew reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, pressing a kiss to your temple. The actions, so sweet and tender, made your heart squeeze with affection and hope. “Good, because I still don’t know what I would do without you.”

[strikexlightning]

Ryan Howard x Male Reader

not a request

notes: Happy New Year :D my next fic is also Ryan, but I think I might start one for Gabe because I watched an episode he was in and I need him very badly, so be prepared for that

cws: takes place during Company Picnic (5x28), exhibitionism, almost getting caught, the reader and Ryan are friends/coworkers with benefits

You grin, feeling the nice hot sun on you. It was the day for the Dunder Mifflin company picnic, and you were all for it. It was super fun to just fuck around for a day without any real responsibility. Not that you usually got any work done in the office anyway, but still.

Dwight had you standing next to Ryan during the volleyball game, which you were happy about. He didn't look like he really wanted to be playing, constantly checking his phone, but he half-smiled at you when you came up next to him. You had sex with each other on pretty much a regular basis, and you would consider him a friend but he gives you the same attitude he gives everyone else you work with, so you're not sure where your sorta-friendship stands.

The times you hooked up were mostly after going out for drinks, but there were a few times that he pulled you off somewhere during work to have sex. He liked the thrill of being caught, apparently.

You watched as he kept missing the ball, not even going for it and actively dodging it instead so he could text. You were okay at volleyball, not amazing but good enough to not completely embarrass yourself. The sun was bearing down on you, and running around playing sports was a tiresome activity, obviously.

You take a second to wipe your face, lifting your shirt to wipe the sweat from your forehead. When you lower it, you notice Ryan staring at you, but your gaze quickly goes from him to the ball being spiked right into his head. You cover your mouth, trying to stop yourself from laughing as you watch him yell something to the person on the other side of the net.

Dwight swaps him out with someone, yelling about Ryan doing absolutely nothing, so the man walks off to find some shade. You manage to get a point for your team and people start cheering, Andy giving you a high five. You genuinely start getting into the competitiveness of the game, putting in more effort once you get into it.

At some point even Dwight praises you, it's very vague and sounds threatening, but you appreciate the acknowledgement. After the heat starts to become too overbearing on you, you take a break, having Dwight switch you with someone else. You catch your breath, fanning yourself with your hand, which doesn't do much, so you grab something to drink, taking a sip and then holding the cold water bottle against your forehead.

Spotting Ryan, you go over to him with a greeting and he gives you a nod, not looking up from his phone. You silently stand next to him, watching everyone else play. It looks like the Scranton team is doing decent, which surprises you, honestly. Your arms start to feel a little sore, and you stretch them, lifting them above your head. Your shirt rides up a little bit, and you notice Ryan eyeing you as you lower your arms.

“Do you wanna ditch this whole thing?” He asks, and you automatically know what he means. You're not sure if you really want to, since there's not really anywhere to get some privacy, but the look in Ryan's eyes says he's fully willing to beg you.

“Mmmm…okay.” You say finally.

The two of you spend almost 20 minutes looking for a place that isn't in anyone's line of sight, and every time you find a place, someone comes wandering in.

By the time you find a spot, one that's just enough privacy to not get you arrested, the both of you are desperate. As your hands run over Ryan's body underneath his shirt, he kisses your jaw and neck, almost feverishly. You hold him by his hips, sort of pinning him up against the wall of the back of a building you had to walk all the way to. He bucks his hips up towards yours, already somewhat hard.

“Someone's needy, hm?” You say, laughing, letting him grind himself against you.

“You know I am.” He responds playfully. His head falls back against the wall, and he bites down on his bottom lip as he continues to grind against you.

You reach towards your belt and he instantly gets on his knees, doing it for you. He takes your hardening cock out, giving it a few strokes before pressing a kiss to the head. He licks along the underside before taking the whole thing in his mouth. He looks up at you as he bobs his head, and you put a hand in his hair. He releases a muffled moan, tongue swirling around the tip a few times.

You groan, push him down a little more and he takes it, swallowing you down to the base.

“Fuck, holy shit-” You stutter out, watching as he repeatedly takes your dick down his throat.

He pulls it out for a second to catch his breath.

“I've been practicing.” He says smugly before going back to it, not even bothering to try and stop the sounds coming from his mouth. Before you get too close, you pull yourself out of his mouth. He stands back up, pulling you closer.

You start to take his belt off and shove his pants down as he turns around, his hands bracing himself against the wall. You pull a small bottle of lube out of the pocket of your jeans before you push them back down. After the fourth time Ryan pulled you away from work to fuck, you decided to just start carrying it with you just in case.

He presses his forehead against the wall as you squeeze his ass, your growing erection pressing against him. Squeezing some lube out onto your fingers, his breath hitched as you slid one into him. You push in a second one, thrusting them in and out of him as he moans a little louder. As you pull them out, Ryan pushes himself back against you, silently begging you to fuck him. You laugh softly at his impatience and put some lube onto your hand, stroking yourself a few times before pressing the tip of your cock against his hole.

As you slide yourself in, he groans, his hands pushing harder against the wall. You start to move, grinding your hips into him a few times before pulling half way out and thrusting back in. Ryan squeezes his eyes shut as you fuck him, letting out moans and groans each time you thrust back into him.

You can tell he's trying to keep himself quiet, but it isn't very successful. That doesn't surprise you though, since he usually doesn't mind being caught. You just figure it's different since there are corporate people here.

You start to speed up, your cock throbbing inside of the man as you get closer and closer. His own bobs up and down, dripping and painfully hard, the head touching the wall every time you bury yourself back into him.

He lifts a hand to his mouth, biting down on it to muffle his moans, clearly having trouble keeping quiet. The two of you freeze, hearing footsteps near where you are. It sounds like they're walking towards the other direction, but to be safe, you stop. That's until Ryan pushes back against you a little, and you instinctively thrust into him again.

You hold his waist, starting to slowly fuck him. He cums without warning, groaning against his hand as it spills against the wall, his body shuddering.

He's squeezing tight around your cock, and it makes you groan softly. Neither of you care that there could be someone right there, you start to speed up again until you fall over the edge, delivering a few deep thrusts before finishing inside of him.

You stay inside him for a little bit as you both catch your breaths, until you hear more footsteps and pull yourself out quickly as the two of you rush to get your pants back up. Ryan hurriedly fixes his hair while you put your belt back on.

When whoever is walking comes around the corner, it's multiple people, part of the camera crew. You and Ryan both glance at each other.

“What, no. We were just taking a walk.” You say to the camera when they take you to the side to film a talking head. You weren't sure if you were convincing enough, but the look on the mic guy's face tells you that you weren't. Oh well.

[enden-agolor]

you CANNOT just post that and not tell us the back story

Oh boy okay here we go

randy x andy lore 🙈

I'll just post the context of the comic with a bit of lore and backstory.

So I already stated that Andy and I have been friends since 6th grade. I think that's about 16 years of knowing each other now? Well, friendship was kind of a struggle for me because of uh.. my home situation. The thought of having people over was very frightening and embarrassing, but Andy never really judged me or let any of that stuff get in the way of us being friends, but regardless, I almost always spent the night at his place whenever we would hang out. I'd walk about three miles to his place almost every weekend because he was only a few neighborhoods away. Anyways, so we had a lot of sleepovers and most of the time I would sleep on the floor in his room which like. Cool. Not gay. Whatever.

Well. I recall a discussion we had when we were about 13 (I think this was in 2010 or 2011) on facebook where we were just talking about personal stuff and I confessed I'd never really experienced any positive physical affection before? Nothing of note came out of that conversation, but apparently Andy remembered that.

Next time I went to his place for a sleepover, it felt no different than any other time we'd hang out. Playing video games or watching youtube or just hanging out outside. Well come bed time I remember going with him to his room and.. In a random change of events, he told me to get in the bed. I remember being hella confused and hesitant but I did and ended up just laying there awkwardly, him kinda laughing and telling me to turn around and scoot over, again my dumbass was really awkward about it. He shut off the light and crawled into bed after me and without saying ANYTHING just wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close. It's been well over a decade since this happened and I still remember the shock and confusion. I remember full body trembling and tensing and trying to control it because I just did not know how to react. And he'd asked if I was okay and I just responded with a stuttered "yeah." He ends up falling asleep like that and when I tell you I stayed up all night staring at the wall next to me and just. Experiencing that feeling of being held for the first time it was extraordinary.

It became a constant need after that but because I was afraid of being gay and uh. Also am just very shy in general. I would never ask for it and would instead just hope it would happen again which.. it did. And then my emotions kinda spiraled and it was very easy to fall for him.

But yeah Andy made me gay and I never dated anyone else before because I saved myself for him for many years after that happened. Just constantly cuddling as friends. I seriously can't ever imagine being with anyone else. He is kind of cool idk

[omegalomania]

face in my hands. listen to me. no just. just listen. like. i think on the whole fandom tends to heavily mythologize what certain songs are "about" despite this never being solidly confirmed to be the case and fob (pete in particular) generally try not to say without question What Songs Are About because they want people to take whatever meaning they can from it. but from now on we are enemies is one of the exceptions to this rule to a very limited extent and by that i mean that on two separate occasions, during the hiatus, patrick and pete shared a little bit of what the song was about on twitter, independent of one another.

if you haven't seen the film amadeus it's about a rivalry between two historical composers, wolfgang amadeus mozart and antonio salieri. salieri loathes mozart and finds him supremely childish and annoying...but also irritatingly brilliant beyond words. salieri obsesses over wanting to see mozart fail and even plans on killing him, but they do eventually form a friendship. then mozart gets sick and dies. salieri essentially breaks and loses his mind and years down the line will claim that he murdered him.

the name of the song, "from now on we are enemies," is a direct quote from the film. but it's not talking about mozart. it's a furious diatribe that salieri flings at god himself. he's so wildly and deliriously envious of mozart that he feels like this is divine punishment and so he declares god his mortal enemy for bestowing mozart with such brilliance. from now on we are enemies, you and i.

this is, i should note, one of the last songs fall out boy wrote before the hiatus. this and "alpha dog" were considered "new" for the believers never die greatest hits compendium, but alpha dog was technically debuted before folie released, on the welcome to the new administration mixtape. then fall out boy went on hiatus and there was no guarantee of return.

like i dont know what to say about this song that hasnt already been said. its fucking deranged as all get out ill tell you that much. its fucking unhinged that this song, this song with this central thesis statement, is one of the last songs you wrote together as a band before going your separate ways without any guarantee that you would reform again. and it's THIS. IT'S THIS SONG. a song that laments about whether anyone will remember you when you're gone (reminds me of flu game, reminds me of so much (for) stardust the title track, reminds me of .... so many of the themes inherent to their eighth studio album. actually.), and a song that practically lays out its inspiration for all to see. for a band that seldom if ever discloses with actual intent the Meaning behind their songs, this is a song that discusses a HIGHLY FRAUGHT ARTISTIC RELATIONSHIP and it's hard, it's real damn hard, to see anything but what is clearly all on display. composer but never composed (patrick has always considered himself a composer first and foremost). singing the symphonies of the overdosed (pete played a song that was named after the drug he tried to overdose on with his band mere nights earlier). i'm just a man on a balcony singing no one will ever remember me (again there's the fear and dread about the legacy you leave behind just before the band goes their separate ways).

can't fucking lay out the sheer psychological damage this does to my soul just thinking about this. they played MISS MISSING YOU the night before. just, you know, one of the other Songs that's so hard to disentangle from the hiatus because of the way it was written (patrick wrote the music while making soul punk, felt like it wasn't for him, and set it aside...despite there being, again, NO guarantee that the band would ever reform at this point, and then the song was only completed once fall out boy decided to come back, with joe and andy adding instrumentation and pete adding the lyrics) and whose music video features patrick and pete literally KILLING EACH OTHER. from now on we are enemies. i need to walk into the ocean. i need to lie down. im inconsolable.

[sosa2imagines]

Broken Hearts. Part 15

Warning- Fluff.

Back at home, there was a mix of relief and concern. On the positive side, the situation with Peter looking like the killer had been resolved.

However, the potential danger of the weed-smoking men hired by the two most despised individuals in the world, loomed over your thoughts.

The ordeal had been far from pleasant, and the realization of the risks you'd encountered settled in.

Amidst the chaos, your phone buzzed with an unexpected text message from an unknown number.

“My doll, you were so brave. That tight slap was impressive. It turned me on.”

“Who's the new long-haired guy? Tell him to keep some distance, doll.”

“Fuck!” you cursed, drawing the attention of everyone back to you.

“Barnes texted me...” you announced, irritation laced in your voice. “And Ari? he hates you.”

Ari, unfazed by the revelation, responded with a sly smirk. “Feeling is mutual.” he said, maintaining his cool demeanor.

“How did Barnes know you were there? That place is hardly a famous spot.” Nick inquired, annoyance evident in his voice.

“Wait,” Jake interjected, pausing his work on his laptop for a moment. “What were the names of the people who hired you guys?”

“Sarah Wilson. She contacted us.”

Jake quickly typed her name into his laptop, his fingers flying across the keyboard. Within seconds, a series of missing puzzle pieces began to fall into place.

Jake continued his search and suddenly exclaimed, “Sarah Wilson, sister of Sam Wilson, friend of...” Before he could continue, you and Lloyd chimed in unison, “Steve and Bucky.”

Lloyd's face contorted with anger as he almost exploded with fury. “Those fuckers!” he erupted, his voice dripping with rage.

You expressed your surprise, “Wait, I didn't know Sam had a sister.”

Jake provided the explanation, stating, “That's because she was in Florida before moving to Knockemstiff. And I'm guessing Sam never told you guys much about her.”

You acknowledged his words with a nod, while Lloyd ran his hand over his face in frustration.

“So, Sam must have told them?” Ari speculated.

Lloyd chimed in, a cocky smile on his face as he added, “I prefer them twelve feet down.”

Jake rolled his eyes, amused by their banter. Turning your attention towards him, you asked, “What?”

Jake shrugged in response and responded, “You don't have to work with these two crazy goofs all day. They were about ready to burn this town down for you.”

You smiled apologetically at him, and he returned the expression.

You sat quietly by the window, letting the men do their job. Too much testosterones were giving you a headache, looking at your old and new friends.

Over time, you and Ari had developed a solid friendship. Ari even opened up to you, revealing that he is bisexual and had developed a crush on Lee, not you.

Meanwhile, poor Lloyd remained oblivious to Ari's feelings, and Ari seemed in no hurry to clear up the misunderstanding. Enjoying the teasing, Ari continued to rile up Lloyd while keeping the promise made to Lee a closely guarded secret between you and him.

Jake, the sweetest of the bunch, was truly a gem. He shared your love for food, making him like Peter in that aspect. In the online realm, he was unbeatable, a feat no one could top. He had a cute girlfriend, and you could chat with him for hours, discussing everything from silly to profound topics.

Andy, oh how you wished Steve could be as loyal as him. This guy had gone through countless ups and downs, but he never complained. You, Nick, and Lloyd always prioritized making sure Andy had the time of his life. Andy often treated you like a kid, and he was truly a blessing in your life.

Nick, the handsome star, was known for his womanizing ways. However, he was fiercely loyal to his friends and always had their backs. Despite his intimidating demeanor, your nights out with him were undoubtedly the highlight of your life.

Some might naysay that Nick couldn't be trusted, but the truth was that he loved his friends, particularly you, more than his job or even his own life. And he wasn't afraid to show it to the world, something Steve could undoubtedly learn from.

The time you had spent together had drawn you all closer, and you were thankful to every deity out there for that.

However, nothing could compare to how close you had grown to Lloyd. To some, your relationship might appear rushed, a result of weak moments, but the truth was that you and Lloyd were made for each other.

Despite what others might think, nothing was rushed between you and Lloyd. You went with the flow, allowing your connection to develop naturally. Who knew that back in high school, Lloyd had already held feelings for you?

Even you secretly harbored a crush on him but life took you on separate paths, chasing careers and personal growth. Yet fate, in its mysterious ways, brought you all back together once more.

You couldn't help but compare Steve to Nick and Andy, but when it came to Lloyd, there was no comparison. You sometimes wished you had never married Steve, that it had been Lloyd instead. The thought lingered in your mind, filled with lingering regrets and what-ifs.

While it was true that you had to experience heartbreak and betrayal to be with Lloyd, those challenges served as stepping stones towards your current happiness.

Months, maybe even a year, had passed since Steve had shown you any kind of attention, and his betrayal still weighed heavily on your heart.

However, with Lloyd, you had found solace, and your ex-partners no longer shadowed your heart or mind.

Lloyd's approach to your relationship was vastly different from Steve's. He moved slowly and deliberately, not rushing the process to get it over with. Instead, he took time, being patient and gentle as he carefully stitched your broken and shattered heart back together, piece by piece.

The content smile on your face spoke volumes about your gratitude for him and the rest of your supportive friends.

Lloyd smiled as he sat down beside you.

“What are you thinking about, Sugar?” he asked, to which you replied, “You.”

Lloyd's smile widened at your response. “I'm also grateful for the boys,” you said gratefully.

“You and Ari seem to be close,” Lloyd said, jerking his brow in a playful manner. “Jealous?” you smirked, and Lloyd scoffed in response.

“Lloydy bear,” you teased, “if anything, we have become good friends, nothing else.”

 ”I like it. How about you scream that name when…”

“Don't jinx it,” you quickly cut in, not letting him finish his sentence. “So far, things have been great, and I hope they continue to be.”

Lloyd chuckled at your quick response, his expression softening.

“I know, I know,” he said, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “I trust you, you know that, right?”

“I know.” You smile proudly.

Lloyd chuckled at your statement, his tone playful yet protective. “I swear I will literally kill anyone who disturbs us!” he said with conviction, a hint of possessiveness in his voice.

You laughed softly, pecking him on the lips. “I can turn off my phone...” you suggested, “what about you?”

Lloyd shook his head adamantly. “No phones, nothing!” he declared. “No one is more important than you and me.” He hugged you tighter, wiggling his eyebrows at you in a flirtatious manner.

“Not so fast...” you began, “I want to go out first.”

Lloyd looked at you with a mix of curiosity and eagerness. “As in date?” he asked.

“Yes!” you confirmed, your eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Fine, be ready by 7:30, the driver will pick you up.” Lloyd replied, a hint of determination in his tone.

You raised an eyebrow slightly, challenging him. “Why can't you pick me up?” you asked, a playful smirk on your face.

Lloyd chuckled at your remark, his eyes glinting with confidence. “I know you can't resist me,” he said, a hint of mischief in his voice. “But trust me, it will be worth it.” he continued, pressing a tender kiss on your forehead.

With that, he left to prepare for the upcoming date, eager to make it the best night of your life.

Your happiness filled the air as you rushed to your room, your excitement akin to that of a teenage girl.

The date on the terrace had left you breathless, and the anticipation for the upcoming one grew with each passing moment. You couldn't imagine how magical the evening would be, but you knew that Lloyd had something extraordinary planned.

Part 14- Part 16

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[apt502-if]

Hi :>

Would you mind sharing a bit more about rainn and andi's friendship? Like, I think you've mentioned that they are childhood friends, did their parents know each other? Or did they go to the same school? Do they talk with each other daily?

Thank you!! Also I'm sorry if these are a lot of questions, I'm just so excited for more of your story and characters, but don't feel pressured or rushed to answer!! Take care ♥️

Hi! :}

They are childhood friends. Their parents knew each other since they were in the same class and they became best friends very quickly. Their parents are family friends but they don't talk as much anymore but Andi and Rainn talk almost every day. There are times where they go no contact only because of how busy they are but no matter how long they haven't spoken once they do it's like no time has gone by. The longest silence they've gotten from each other is about a month and that's because Andi would travel to places with bad reception. Andi and Rainn have gone beyond friends and are family at this point.

& no need to worry :>>> I love these questions!

[whateverisbeautiful]

What is something that you feel like the show didn't talk about or explain more on in TOWL and or TWD about Richonnes relationship or friendship?? I thought in TOWL Michonne would have asked what happened to Rick that left him injured on the bridge. Can u rank the TOWL episodes in your opinion about which one is the best and not as good? Can u also rank each episode 1-10 and give a reason why u gave it that number? Merry Christmas and I u have a wonderful new year 🥰🤩

Thank you! I hope it’s been a great holiday season for you as well. I think I’ll always remember 2024 as the Year of Richonne because we got to witness their beautiful return in TOWL and I got to revel in them all year with you all which I’ve really appreciated.

For the 1st question - I think in TWD it would’ve been impactful to have seen Richonne’s first discussion about Andre. They did subtly reference Andre once in season 8, but I think showing how that initial discussion about him went would just add even more insight into how Michonne and Rick connect, understand, and confide in each other. For TOWL, that would be interesting to have seen them share their side of what happened on the day Rick disappeared.

A TOWL episode ranking feels like the perfect thing to share on the last day of 2024. 😊 I wrote out my list from lowest to highest below. Happy New Year to everyone & thanks for reveling with me over here! 🥂💗:

TOWL Episode Ranking

#6: Episode 6 (7/10)

The Grimes family reunion was gold and so was the episode's opener. Plus, I liked the scene where Rick tells Michonne how much he missed her and when he shares he's mad about the time he missed seeing their kids growing up. There was just a few dialogue moments that I found forced or unnatural scattered throughout the ep. I didn’t mind how they handled the CRM stuff and wrapped up their plan tho. Some parts were a bit of a stretch, such as Pearl surviving that explosion, but overall I was fine with it. And seeing Rick and Michonne get their happy ending with their kids was everything. 🥹

#5: Episode 5 (7/10)

Ep 5 is placed here mainly because I felt the cuts to Jadis and Father Gabriel weren’t the most engaging and took up more time than it needed and I wasn’t really feeling the one-dimensional sibling trio. However, when it comes to the Richonne content in this episode, I absolutely loved their scenes together. 🤩 It was great seeing Rick and Michonne fully back on the same page and enjoying each other on the trip home. That souvenir shop scene and the lovely proposal were some of my favorite moments from the series.

#4: Episode 3 (8/10)

Episode 3 was a really good midpoint episode with a great memorable ending. For an episode where Rick and Michonne barely converse with each other, they did a great job of still having so much tension and impactful exchanges. This episode proved that all those two have to do is look at each other and it can communicate oh so much. Rick and Michonne having conflict and different approaches on how to save each other was interesting to see. Highlights from the episode were the scene when Michonne speaks to the portratist, Rick and Michonne's hot and heavy moment behind that boneless tree, and of course, Michonne yanking Rick out of a helicopter at the end. 🤭

#3: Episode 1 (8.5/10)

This was such a compelling premiere to me. Andy’s return as Rick Grimes in this episode was excellent as always and Okafor had such an impactful presence in just one short episode. I thought ep 1 did a great job of showing us the toll these years have taken on Rick and how the most resilient man could break and shut down the way he did. Rick finally deciding to stop fighting to get home strictly because he was willing to sacrifice himself to keep his family safe - the heartbreak and dejectedness Rick felt was palpable, especially in his final letter to Michonne. And I adore the dreams he had of Michonne in this episode. I’ll never forget how overjoyed I was hearing Rick say “5 pizzas and a wedding ring” the first time and realizing Richonne was going to reunite by the end of the episode. Iconic. 🙌🏽

#2: Episode 2 (9/10)

Man did they deliver with that Richonne reunion. ���� For that moment to be as highly anticipated as it was, it was going to be a tall order to successfully orchestrate Rick and Michonne’s first time seeing each other in years and they truly rose to the occasion and delivered something special. I loved seeing Danai reprise the role of Michonne and pick up where she left off from TWD, meeting one of my favorite additions to the TWD cast - Nat. Like Okafor, Nat made such a lasting impact in just one episode. It also makes a lot of sense why Danai got recognized for her performance in this episode because she knocked it out of the park with the emotion she infused into each scene. And then, Andy joined right with her once Richonne reunited. Another thing I love about ep 2 is that the Richonne reunion was already so well done but then they went and gave this episode an equally great Richonne scene between the CRM vehicles too. We were spoiled and I love that for us. 😇

#1: Episode 4 (10/10)

'What We' easily tops the list. Episode 4 is such a meaningful masterpiece to me and to so many. I’d list highlight moments from the ep but every scene is a highlight. Genuinely. 👏🏽 Just the other day I was thinking about the dialogue in this episode and started tearing up just thinking about it. What Danai crafted with this episode is so powerful and unforgettable. And Andy and Danai's performances were incredible. I love that this episode focused on just Rick and Michonne in one location, letting these actors and these characters shine.

There are so few things I’d give a 10 out of 10 to but this deserves it. I couldn’t ask for more. To watch two characters who love each other more than anyone has loved someone start the episode with more conflict than we’ve ever seen them have only to believably and powerfully reconcile by the end of the episode and bring each other back to life. Just wow. 😭❤️‍🔥

I’ve already said so much about Episode 4 but I can feel myself ready to type yet another novel about how exceptional this piece of television was. Before this gets even longer, I’ll just say that TOWL overall was already a big achievement for the franchise but Episode 4 is TOWL’s crowning jewel, and I’ll forever be in awe of how great and special that episode was in depicting the beauty of Richonne. 👑😌