#but he would keep asking to go at night so a few days ago i decided to take him out at like 10 pm and he LOVED it

[v6quewrlds]

&.⠀⠀OFF THE TABLE II⠀⋆⠀JUSTIN HERBERT.

pairing⠀⁎⠀justin herbert x single mother!oc. word count⠀⁎⠀10.7k.

series summary⠀⁎⠀in maya's eyes, love has been completely off the table since the birth of her son, miles, six years ago. fate disagrees with maya's point of view, bringing her justin in more ways than one.

author's note⠀⁎⠀updates might be a little slow after this one. listen y'all, if you're from socal don't pay too close attention to the geography. i'm taking reddit's word for a lot of things in addition to the fact that i have zero clue where justin lives and don't care to know. series warnings⠀⁎⠀18+ mdni, smut, oc warning [maya atkins], single motherhood, friends with benefits, discussions of guilt, mention of deadbeat dads.

read more⠀⁎⠀justin herbert masterlist⠀⁎⠀previous, next.

"From my point of view, I think there's no harm in fully going for the Latin-Asian fusion thing. That opens your options a bit more flavor-wise." Her client of the month was a struggling upscale sushi bar on Manhattan Beach, and Maya was adamant about bringing in a fresh perspective. She had spent the last week experimenting with recipes that would appeal to the area's diverse palate without alienating the restaurant's existing clientele.

"So with the ceviche dish, we could incorporate some sushi-grade fish and add a twist with some citrus-marinated jalapenos," Maya suggested, her mind fully engrossed in the culinary brainstorming session with her client. Her laptop was open between them, a picture of the dish she had in mind taken on her phone the night before after a late-night cooking session two days prior.

The restaurant owner nodded, his eyes lighting up at the idea. "I like it," he said, scribbling notes down on his own pad. "It's definitely something we could promote during happy hour."

"Exactly," she echoed. "I would even go as far as promoting it alongside one of the signature cocktails we talked about. Something with a bit of heat to match the jalapenos, like a spicy marg or a wasabi cucumber gimlet. Really round out the profile."

The restaurant owner nodded again, scribbling away. Maya felt a buzz of satisfaction at the thought of her idea coming to life. "On the idea of keep the menu fresh, what do you think about rolling out a weekly special?" she asked, her mind racing with possibilities. "You could use local, seasonal ingredients to keep it exciting for repeat customers. The local clientele here is on the wealthier side so most will be open to trying new things."

He nodded enthusiastically. "That's a fantastic idea. I've been looking for a way to keep the menu feeling exclusive without being too stuffy." He leaned back in his chair, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "I'll have to talk to our suppliers, but I think we could definitely make that work."

"Great," she said, her voice brimming with excitement. "I'll draft up a few options for you to consider and send them over tonight. When do you think I'll be able to touch base with your service staff to talk through their concerns and the new menu ideas?"

The owner checked his calendar before looking back up at her. "How does next Friday sound? We're closed between lunch and dinner from 2 to 5 for staff training. That's usually when we go over menu changes, important reservations, that sort of thing."

Maya nodded, scribbling the details in her planner. "I'll make sure to be here. I'll bring the samples for everyone to taste." She stood up, smoothing out her dress pants. "Thank you for your time today, Mr. Castillo. I'll have the menu draft in your inbox by tomorrow."

Mr. Castillo stood as well, extending his hand for a firm shake. "Thank you, Maya. I really can't thank you enough for this. I'm excited to see what the future holds for us here."

Maya walked out into the warm afternoon, heels clicking rhythmically against the pavement as she dug in her purse to locate her keys. The beach was a short walk away, and the salty breeze carried the faint sound of waves and distant laughter. Despite the allure of the ocean, her thoughts remained inland with Miles. She slid into her car and started the engine, the quiet purr echoing in the quiet oceanside streets.

Miles would be wrapping up a playdate at a former preschool classmate's house within the next thirty minutes, leaving her just enough time to set her route to the host home. She pulled up to the house, a tastefully decorated Craftsman-style home in a quiet neighborhood of Culver City. The yard was meticulously maintained, with a row of tulips lining the walkway.

The front door had been left unlocked, the message shared through the playgroup's group chat. She stepped into the living room, the smells of freshly baked cookies and playdough assaulting her nose, reminding her of those late afternoon preschool pickups. The sound of children's laughter grew louder as she approached the backyard. Miles' giggle was unmistakable, a sweet melody that brought a smile to Maya's face.

"Is that slide new?" she asked, sliding the glass door open and stepping onto the wooden deck. The laughter grew louder, and she spotted Miles at the top of the new play structure, his little legs dangling as he waited for his turn to zoom down the slide.

Danielle, the mother hosting the playdate, turned to wave Maya over. "Hey girl! Bryan installed it last week just for today, what do you think?" She asked, her eyes shining with pride.

Maya couldn't help but laugh. "It's amazing, I'm surprised you guys haven't had a line out the door for the neighborhood kids."

Danielle rolled her eyes. "Oh, trust me, we have. We had to set up a schedule so they don't all show up at once."

Maya chuckled, watching Miles slide down with a look of pure joy. "Well, it's definitely worth it," she said, her eyes focused squarely on her son.

"Anything new with you?" Danielle asked as Maya took a seat at the patio table, sipping from the iced tea she had been offered from a tray.

Maya took a moment before responding, contemplating how much to share about her recent romantic developments. She decided on a small nugget of truth. "Just had a good few weeks," she said with a nonchalant shrug. "Work's been busy, but I got out a little bit, flirted, nothing came of it but it was fun."

Danielle's eyes widened with interest. "Flirted? That's a first since, what, Miles' dad?" She leaned in closer, setting her own tea down. "Spill. Who's the lucky guy?"

Maya felt a warmth spread through her body and into her fingertips as they cupped the glass. "It's no one, really," she said, trying to downplay it. "Just a guy I met at a bar. We texted for a bit, but I think he got busy or something. It's whatever."

Danielle leaned back in her chair, studying Maya's expression. "You're holding out on me," she accused playfully. "You've got that look."

Maya couldn't help but laugh. "What look?"

"The look," Danielle insisted, her eyes twinkling. "Did you follow-up with him? Maybe he's just… busy."

Maya took a deep breath, feeling a mix of excitement and trepidation at the thought of seeing Justin again. "No, I didn't," she admitted, her voice dropping a notch. "I just… I don't know if I'm ready for all that yet, you know?" She looked at Danielle, her friend's expression one of understanding. "I just feel so out of my depth with all this. He was charming, sweet, but I guess I just wasn't special enough to keep his attention."

Danielle reached out and gave her hand a comforting squeeze. "You're more than special enough, Maya," she assured her. "And if he's not giving you the attention you deserve, then he's the one missing out."

Maya nodded, trying to convince herself of that fact. Her thoughts drifted to the previous week's encounter with Justin, his gentle touch, and the way his eyes lit up when they talked about food. She had hoped their casual flirtation could evolve into something more, but the silence following their meeting had been deafening and she couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment.

"Should I reach out? Maybe he is just busy and forgot," Maya wondered aloud, her eyes straying to her phone on the patio table.

Danielle gave her a knowing look. "If you want to see him again, just text him. Worst-case scenario, he's busy or not interested. But you'll never know unless you try."

Maya nodded, staring down her phone, chewing her lip, then turning to locate her son in the midst of his play. "Are you gonna do it?" Danielle deadpanned, breaking the silence.

With a deep breath, Maya picked up her phone, tapping her index finger against the back of her case. Then with a sigh, she set it aside. "Maybe later. I've got a shit ton of stuff to get done tonight." She turned her focus back to Miles, who was now engaged in a game of tag with his friends.

"Maya…" Danielle called, her voice cutting through the laughter of the children. "You're not seriously going to leave it like that, are you?"

Maya's eyes snapped back to her friend's, the warmth in them pushing aside the doubt. She took a deep breath, her hand hovering over her phone. Hovering, but not quite making the move to unlock it. "What do I even say?" she asked, the question a whisper.

"Just be you," Danielle said with a soft smile. "You managed to pull him in at the bar, didn't you? A simple 'hey', ask him about his week, maybe throw in a little self-deprecating humor about your crazy work schedule. Keep it light, easy."

"I'll think about it," she mumbled, watching as Miles dodged the grasp of one of his friends with the agility of a seasoned athlete. The way he laughed, carefree and uninhibited, was a stark contrast to the cautious tightening in her chest at the thought of reaching out to Justin.

As the playdate wound down, Maya helped gather the toys scattered around the yard and thanked Danielle for a great afternoon. With Miles in the backseat, she drove home, the quiet hum of the car's engine allowing her thoughts to drift back to the texts, or rather, the lack thereof.

It wasn't until Friday night rolled around that she reconsidered Danielle's advice.

She had decided to treat herself to a quiet solo dinner at a sushi grill, gathering some last minute inspiration to tie the bow on the Manhattan Beach fusion menu. Armed with her notebook and purse, the distant fire from the center grills heated her face from her spot at the hostess stand. The smell of ginger hung thick in the air, and Maya felt her stomach rumble with anticipation.

The walk to the bar was a long one due to the placement of the grills in the direct center. She had picked a spot that was a little less crowded, but still allowed her to observe the flow of the kitchen and the interaction between the staff and customers. As she approached the counter, she noticed one of the two bartenders was busy serving a large group of male patrons. Maya took a moment to appreciate the sleek black and chrome setup of the bar, the way the light reflected off the bottles behind it.

The men standing at the bar stood heads and shoulders above the average patron, their broad shoulders and muscular builds giving them away as being athletes beyond the shadow of a doubt. She shrugged the observation off; the grill was located in a neighborhood popular with pro athletes, so it wasn't unusual to spot a few lingering around the more exclusive spots.

The second bartender, a petite brunette with a bubbly smile, saw her approach and waved her over. "What can I get you started on tonight, love?" she asked.

Maya took a seat and perused the menu. "Just a ginger beer for now. I'm still deciding on food."

The bartender nodded and set to work, the sound of ice clinking against the glass a familiar and comforting melody in the background. As she waited, Maya couldn't help but overhear snippets of the conversation happening a few stools down. One of the men was talking about a game from college. She turned her head to take in the decor of the restaurant, taking in the modern chandeliers and the abstract art on the walls.

It was when she turned back that she saw him staring directly at her. Justin. Every unfathomable inch of him. His hair was shorter than it was when she had met him weeks ago, but that same quiet confidence was there, his eyes the same piercing shade that reflected the light gorgeously. His cheeks flushed a slight pink, and he looked surprised, yet delighted. She felt her eyes widen as they locked gazes.

He stepped away from his group of friends, drowning out their conversation as he approached. "Maya," he said, his voice a low rumble of surprise. "What are the odds?" There was that familiar lean against the bar top, his beer already forming a ring on the sleek surface.

Maya's heart skipped a beat, her hand frozen mid-air as she tried to process his sudden appearance. She gave him a nervous smile, her eyes darting to his friends before returning to him. "Hi, stranger," she said, her voice a little shakier than she had intended.

Justin grinned, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Small world, isn't it?" He leaned closer, eyes drifting over her notebook and beer as he took in the scene before him.

"Yeah," Maya replied, her heart thumping in her chest. "What are you up to?"

"Just having dinner with the guys," Justin said, gesturing to his teammates who had all turned to look at them now, an array of wide smiles and amused glances passing between them.

"Is that what's been keeping you busy? Dinner with the guys?" Maya asked, her voice filled with a teasing lilt. She couldn't help the little thrill that shot through her at the sight of him, the way his eyes held hers, the ease of their conversation.

"I deserve that," he flushed under her teasing. "Actually, I just was in Oregon for a few days handling some…" he paused, licking his lips hesitantly as if carefully choosing his words. "contractual obligations."

Maya raised an eyebrow. "Contractual obligations?" she echoed. "You're not going to tell me you're a CIA agent or something, are you?"

Justin chuckled, his gaze dropping to the floor briefly before returning to hers. "No, nothing that exciting." He didn't provide any additional details, which only served to pique Maya's curiosity further. The bartender returned to take Maya's order, and she requested the chef's special. The petite brunette nodded before heading back to the POS system.

The men from Justin's group continued shooting them glances just behind his back, their whispers and laughs growing louder. "Am I interrupting time with your friends?" she joked, trying to ease the tension between the two of them.

Justin shook his head, his smile unwavering. "Nah, we're gonna be here for another 30 to 45, still waiting on a table." He cleared his throat, his Adam's apple bobbing before he slowly added, "We'll have plenty of time to bond before the season kicks in."

Maya took a sip of her ginger beer, the fizz tickling her nose as she pondered his words. "The season?" she questioned, her eyebrows furrowing slightly. She had no idea what he meant by that, but if the way he eased that detail in told her it was significant.

Justin looked a bit flustered, as if he'd said more than he meant to. "Yeah," he said, his voice a little less sure than before. "I'm an athlete. NFL."

Maya's eyes went wide, the ginger beer almost slipping from her grasp. "Oh," she managed, trying to keep her cool. "Which team?"

"The Chargers," Justin said, his voice a mix of pride and something else she couldn't quite place. He was watching her reaction closely, gauging her interest or perhaps waiting for recognition that didn't come.

She paused before shaking her head with a chuckle. "Can I be honest?"

"Always," Justin said, leaning closer.

Maya took a deep breath and put her ginger beer down. "I have no idea who you are," she admitted, a laugh tumbling from her lips. "I'm not a sports person. But if you say you play for the Chargers, I'll take your word for it."

Justin's expression brightened with a hint of relief, taking another step closer to her. "No big deal. It's just my job," he said with a shrug.

"So, that's why you're so busy…" she hummed with an upwards curl of her lips. "CIA agent moonlighting as a football player."

That drew a genuine laugh from him, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Something like that," he responded. She took note of the deep dimple that appeared in his right cheek. The sound of his laughter was infectious and she found herself joining in.

"Well, if it's any consolation, I'm pretty busy myself," Maya said, absentmindedly flipping her notebook shut. "One secret for another?" she asked, moving forward when Justin nodded. "I have a son. He keeps me just as busy as I'm sure you are."

Justin's smile faltered for a moment before regaining its former warmth. "That's a big deal," he said, his voice genuine and a little softer than before. "How old is he?"

"He's six," Maya said, her eyes shining with pride. "His name is Miles." She watched Justin's reaction carefully, expecting some sign of disinterest or discomfort, but his expression remained open, curious even.

"Six… first grade?" Justin asked, his gaze holding hers with a gentle curiosity that made her heart flutter. She didn't miss the way his eyes dipped to glance at her hands before releasing a shallow breath at the absence of a wedding ring or even a tan line on her left ring finger.

Maya nodded. "Yeah, he's a handful but worth every second," she said with a warm smile. She felt a sudden need to explain herself, to justify her presence in this bustling bar on a Friday night. "He's with my parents for the weekend, so I have a little free time."

Justin's gaze remained on her, his eyes filled with something she couldn't quite read. "Well, it's good that you get some time for yourself," he said, his hand briefly brushing against hers on the bar.

The urge to explain herself continue to ravage her senses, pushing her to provide another disclaimer. "I really don't want you to feel like I'd be offended if you didn't want to pursue things," Maya spoke quickly, her voice a little shaky. "I know having a kid can be a deal-breaker for some guys. No hard feelings at all. I'd probably feel the same way if our situations were reversed."

Justin's expression grew serious, his thumb tracing lazy circles on her forearm. "Maya, I'm interested. Really interested," he assured her, his voice deep and sincere. "As long as you're single, I'd like to get to know you better."

The tension between them grew thick with anticipation. Maya felt a rush of heat to her face and took a moment to compose herself. "Well, I am single," she murmured, looking away shyly before meeting his gaze again. "But I can't guarantee that I'll have much time to devote to… whatever this might be."

"I get it," Justin said, his voice understanding. "My schedule's pretty packed too. My trip to Oregon was a last-minute Nike thing, and I've got a lot riding on the upcoming season." He took a sip of his drink, looking at her intently over the rim. "I can't say it would be fair for me to start something serious either. Asking for your number at the bar was a bit out of character for me, honestly."

Maya sat up a bit straighter at that revelation. "What do you mean?"

Justin cleared his throat, his voice dropping to a murmur. "It's been a while since I've put myself out there like that." He paused, searching her eyes for understanding, continuing when she nodded. "But I liked talking to you, and I'd like to do it again. Maybe without the pressure of making it into something it's not ready to be? At the very least, I think you're worth sacrificing some sleep over."

Maya felt a stutter of her heart, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "So, you're proposing…?"

"We can keep it casual," Justin suggested, his thumb still tracing circles on her arm, sending warm shivers down her spine. "Keep seeing each other, no strings attached, no expectations."

Maya took a deep breath, her eyes searching his. It was a tempting offer, one that whispered sweet nothings into the part of her that had been starving for male companionship for so long. "So… friends with benefits?" she asked, her voice steady despite the racing of her thoughts.

Justin's cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink, but he met her gaze without faltering. "If that's what you're comfortable with," he said, his voice earnest. "Emphasis on the friends part." A muscular arm bent behind his head to scratch nervously at the back of his head. "I just don't want to miss out on what this might be."

He tapped nervously against his glass bottle, the nervous tick defeating the auditory integrity of the confidence in his voice. Maya took another sip of her ginger beer, her mind racing with possibilities and potential consequences. Her eyes flicked over to the group of towering men who had been watching them, now engaged in their own conversations. She knew what he was asking wasn't typical, but something about the way he spoke, the sincerity in his voice, made her feel like it could work.

"Alright," she finally said, setting her drink down. "Friends with benefits it is. I'll go ahead and let you know that I'm free until Monday morning." There was a haze in Justin's eyes as he digested her words, his hand lingering on her forearm.

"Perfect," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. He pulled out his phone, scrolling through his calendar. "Promise I won't make the mistake of leaving this to chance again," he said, looking at her with a determined expression. "How about tomorrow night?"

Maya felt a thrill at his decisiveness, nodding eagerly. "That works for me," she said, watching him tap away at his phone.

Justin looked up, his gaze locking onto hers. "It's a date," he confirmed. "My place or yours?"

Maya's pulse quickened at the prospect of spending the night with him, but she remained cool. "Mine," she said with a nod. "I can send you the address."

Justin nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "Text it to me. I'll come over around seven tomorrow night." His words held an air of promise. She nodded, her voice a whisper as she agreed to his plan.

"Justin!" a male voice called out from his group, breaking the intimate moment. He looked over his shoulder, offered a thumbs up, and mouthed "I'll be right there."

Maya felt a twinge of disappointment at the interruption, but she knew this was a public place and he couldn't ignore his friends. "Go ahead," she said, smiling. "Don't keep your team waiting."

"Thank you," he murmured, his hand briefly squeezing her forearm. "I'll text you around five to make sure it's still a good time to come over?"

Maya nodded, trying to keep her excitement in check. "Sounds like a plan," she said, her voice a little too high, a little too cheerful. She welcomed the embrace he offered, feeling the warmth of his body against hers, the strength in his arms, and the beat of his heart against her chest. It had been so long since she'd felt this kind of closeness with someone, and she had to admit, it was intoxicating.

"See you tomorrow?" she asked, her voice thin with a whisper.

"Count on it," he said, his eyes filled with promise. He gave her a final squeeze before letting go, and Maya felt the sudden chill of the cool air in the bar.

Maya watched as Justin walked back to his table, his teammates slapping him on the back as he approached. She couldn't help but feel a bit like she was floating as she finished her ginger beer.

"I might've fucked up," Maya announced the moment the call to her best friend, Brooklyn, connected. She could hear the TV playing in the background and the clatter of kitchenware, but she had to get it off her chest before the excitement overwhelmed her.

"What did you do?" Brooklyn's voice was a mix of amusement and concern.

"Are you alone?" Maya whispered into the phone, her heart racing as she put the phone on speaker and set it down on her bathroom counter.

"Yeah," Brooklyn replied, her voice dropping an octave as she muted the TV.

"Look up Justin Herbert," Maya said, her voice barely a whisper as she paced the bathroom floor. "Tell me if you recognize the face."

"I know what he looks like, quarterback for the Chargers, right?" Brooklyn's voice came back after a few seconds of silence. "What about him?"

Maya leaned against the cool marble countertop, taking a deep breath. "Remember how I said I met a guy at the bar but it didn't go anywhere? That guy is Justin Herbert."

Brooklyn gasped. "You fumbled a quarterback?" she exclaimed. "Maya! Are you just finding this out?"

"Kind of," Maya said, her voice tight. "I ran into him again tonight at this sushi grill. He's actually really sweet, and he seems to be into me…"

"Maya, spit it out!" Brooklyn's voice was a mix of disbelief and excitement. "What happened with him?"

Maya took a deep breath and recounted the evening's events, from the awkward run-in to their unexpected connection, and finally, to the arrangement they'd made. "So, we're doing this friends with benefits thing," she concluded, apprehension coating her words.

Brooklyn was silent for a moment before she burst into laughter. "Girl, you've got to be kidding me," she managed through her giggles. "But seriously, if he's cool with you being a mom and all, and you guys are on the same page, I say go for it. You deserve some fun, and if the sex is good, keep him around; if it sucks, don't."

Maya couldn't help but laugh too, feeling some of her anxiety dissipate. "Thanks, B," she said, rolling her eyes at her friend's blunt advice. "But it's not like it's going to be a regular thing. He's a professional athlete, and I have a kid. We're both busy."

Brooklyn's voice grew serious. "You know what, Maya? Sometimes you just need to let go and enjoy living in the moment. You're a great mom, and you work hard. If this is something that makes you happy without messing with Miles' life, then why not? You deserve a little treat every once in a while."

She felt dazed, her mind playing back the feeling of his eyes on her, his hand squeezing her forearm, the blush that spread across the bridge of his nose and spilled pink across his cheekbones. It was like she'd swallowed a handful of confetti; the colors of their encounter glittering through her thoughts.

"Did you set something up? When are you seeing him?" Brooklyn's question brought Maya back to reality. She checked the time on her phone, realizing that it was already late, nearly midnight. "We're supposed to meet tomorrow night," she replied, chewing her bottom lip.

Brooklyn's voice grew more solemn. "When was the last time you…?" She didn't need to finish the question. Maya knew what she was getting at. It had been a while since she'd been intimate with anyone. Too long, if she was being honest with herself.

She wasn't ready to unearth the various reasons why she hadn't been with anyone since Miles' father. It was a conversation for another time, if it was ever a conversation she was willing to have. "It's been a minute," she admitted, shaky words hinged on a shakier breath.

"I genuinely want you to enjoy yourself tomorrow, My," Brooklyn said, her voice a gentle reminder that she was still listening on the other end of the line. "Just take it slow and make sure you communicate what you want."

Maya nodded, though her friend couldn't see it. "Thanks, B. Love you." They talked a few more minutes before wishing each other off. By the time her head hit the satin pillow, every inch of her was buzzing with anticipation.

The next day at work was a whirlwind of client meetings and brainstorming, leaving little room for her thoughts to stray. Yet, every time she glanced at her phone, she could feel her eyes drifting up to the time, ticking down to their rendezvous.

The clock hit 5PM and just as he promised, a message from Justin popped up on her screen. "Still good for tonight?" he asked. Maya felt butterflies in her stomach, and she quickly typed back, "Still good," she confirmed. "I'll be home from work in a bit." He responded with a few logistics, letting her know he would be stopping by his home before heading over.

If this were a cartoon, Maya would have jumped out of her skin at the chime of the doorbell. Her breath caught in her throat, her heart knocked against her ribcage, and she felt the heat in her cheeks spread down her neck. Her reflection stared back at her, jittery and anxious, in the mirror near the entryway of her home. She took a deep breath, smoothed her hair, and checked her outfit one last time: white linen drawstring pants and a square neck top of the same tone that she had agonized over for much longer than she was ready to admit to anyone.

Time slowed as her eyes swept over her figure in the mirror, taking in her fresh matching manicure and pedicure, hastily done in her bathroom before leaving for her meetings that morning. The doorbell rang again, and she took one more deep breath before heading towards the sound. She opened the door to find Justin standing on her porch, lilies in hand and a boyish smile playing on his lips. His hair was impeccably tame, a touch more gelled than it had been the night before, and he looked fresh from the shower, the smell of soap and cologne wafting towards her.

"I hope you don't mind," he said, holding out the flowers. "Thought they'd be nice."

Maya's eyes widened as she reached a hand forward to accept the bouquet, feeling the soft petals against her fingertips. "They're beautiful, thank you," she murmured, her cheeks growing even warmer as she stepped aside to let him in. "Come in."

Justin walked in, his presence filling the room with a sense of excitement and nerves. He looked around, nodding in approval at the cozy yet elegant decor of her home. "Shoes off?" he questioned, quick to notice the wooden shoe rack by the door.

"Yes, please," Maya said, lifting the bouquet to her nose, inhaling deeply as her eyes fluttered shut. When brown eyes met pale green, she couldn't help mirroring the shy smile that grew on Justin's face. They both knew what tonight was about, but the gesture felt sweet, almost too tender for what they had agreed to. She led him into the living room, the soft glow of the pendant lights casting shadows across his broad shoulders.

"Lilies," she hummed out, searching for a vase in her kitchen as Justin followed her, his eyes taking in her home with curiosity. She filled a clear vase with water and placed the flowers in the center of her kitchen island.

"I wasn't sure if you had a preference," Justin said, leaning against the counter as he watched Maya arrange the lilies. His voice was smooth, like a high-grade dark liquor, resonating in her chest and running through her veins like warm honey. She swallowed, her throat dry, and turned to face him.

"Magnolias are my favorite," she responded, opening a drawer to find her kitchen scissors, a navy blue pair that perfectly matched the accents scattered around the room. "But lilies are a close second. Thank you. They're gorgeous."

Justin took a step closer, his gaze dropping to her mouth, then back up to meet her eyes. "You're welcome." His voice was low, movements slow as he moved to stand just behind her. As she set down each flower after trimming the stems, he placed them in the vase, his large hands gently peeling open the petals that had folded in on themselves.

Maya felt his body heat radiating against her back, and she could hear the soft thud of his heart in her own chest. She snipped the last stem at an angle, handing it to Justin, her fingertips brushing against his. He took the final lily and placed it in the vase, stepping back to admire their combined effort.

"Nice work," he spoke softly. "Fits with the vibe of your place."

Maya set the scissors down in the sink. "Thank you," she murmured, feeling the weight of the moment settle over them like a warm blanket.

"How long have you been out here?" he asked, stepping away to lean against the island. His arms crossed over his chest, accenting the muscles beneath his shirt. They strained against the plain black t-shirt, discipline from his training evident in every line of his body.

"In Culver?" she clarified, feeling her back straighten as she leaned against the sink. "Two years now. I've lived in LA County my whole life, can't imagine living anywhere else." She turned to face him, her eyes tracing over the lines of his jaw, his cheekbones, and the way his eyes seemed to darken under the dim light the longer they stood there.

"It's a good spot," Justin agreed, his voice still a soft rumble. "Quiet, but not too far from the action." His eyes searched hers, a silent question hanging in the air. Maya felt the tension build, a delicious cocktail of nerves and desire.

"I'm assuming you're out near the beaches somewhere?" Maya asked, her hands nervously rubbing her arms. The question was innocent, but she felt the urge to fill the silence that stretched out between them.

"Hidden Hills, actually," he spoke up, his eyes finally taking her full figure in. "It's quieter, more private, close to the mountains." Each word grew successively lower, dripping in a tone that suggested although he was more than happy to discuss his living situation, there was something else on his mind.

Maya felt the air thicken. "It sounds beautiful," she managed, the words clipped and breathy as his hands found her arms. He removed her hands from her skin, drawing her closer to his body. There was a gratifying magnetism to his touch, a force that made her knees weak.

A hand found her waist, the touch electric, sending a shockwave through Maya's core. She stepped closer to him, feeling the warmth of his breath against her cheek. "It is," he responded, the words falling from his lips nonchalantly.

Her head tilted back to take in the full view of him, the soft light from the pendant lights above highlighting his features. Justin's hand slid from her waist to the back of her neck, his thumb brushing against her pulse point as his eyes searched hers. "So beautiful," he whispered, his breath warm and sweet.

The moment was charged, the air around them crackling with the unspoken understanding of what was about to happen. Maya felt a flutter in her stomach, a mix of anticipation and nerves that she hadn't felt in a long time. She stepped closer to him, chest to chest. His hand tightened around her neck, angling her head just right as he leaned in. Just before their lips met, he asked a question, clementine sweet and a little shy, "Can I kiss you?"

Maya's breath caught in her throat. The brief handful of seconds between the question and her response seemed to stretch on for hours. Then, she nodded, her eyes fluttering shut as his lips met hers. The kiss was gentle, soft exploration that enveloped her lips in supple warmth. She leaned into him, her hands finding his biceps, feeling the power beneath her fingertips. He kissed her like he had all the time in the world, as if he had no where else to be. It was just them, in her kitchen, the scent of the fresh lilies mingling with the lingering aroma of his cologne filling her senses and making her head spin.

The hand cupping her face guided her into a more passionate kiss, his other arm wrapping around her waist to pull her closer. Maya melted into him, the heat of his body enveloping her, making her forget the exhaustion of the day. He kissed her as if her starving, as if he had been waiting for this moment since the moment they met. His kisses grew more urgent, his tongue slipping past her teeth to tango with hers. She whimpered softly, her hands roaming from his arms to his chest, feeling the contours of his muscles.

Breaking the kiss, there was a brief pause before she laughed. Slow and soft as her head bowed forward to hide the smile that was growing across her face.

"It's been a long time," she eventually confessed, meeting his gaze again.

"Would you believe me if I said the same?" Justin's voice was low, the question a gentle tease, as he brushed his thumb across her cheek, tracing the line of her jaw. The admission hung in the air, stretching the moment out into something more intimate than it had been before.

"No," she chuckled, her arms draping over his neck, releasing an involuntary sigh as both of his hands held her waist tightly, pressing her closer to him. "But I appreciate the attempt to make me feel better."

"Save your compliments until after," he responded with that bashful smile of is. His head dipped to kiss along her neck, hands hovering over the curve of her ass, not quite touching but the promise was there. He was giving her control, making her feel desired without overstepping, and Maya appreciated it more than he knew. "Might disappoint you."

Maya's laugh was light and airy, the sound of it filling the kitchen. "I doubt that." She leaned back into his touch, her eyes closing as his mouth worked its magic. His mouth rediscovered hers, the kiss deepening and growing more heated. Her head tilted back to give him better access, the feeling of his kisses setting her skin on fire.

Justin's hands moved from her waist to her hips, his thumbs gently digging into her skin as he lifted her onto the counter. The coolness of the marble sent a shiver down her spine, her legs wrapping around his waist as the kiss grew more intense. His kisses grew more demanding, his tongue caressing hers, tasting and exploring every part of her mouth. Maya's hands slid down to his chest, her nails lightly scoring the fabric of his shirt.

Maya felt her heart racing, her breath coming in shallow gasps as Justin's kisses grew more urgent. He paused, his eyes searching hers for consent. She nodded, unable to speak, her chest rising and falling rapidly. He took this as his cue and leaned back in, his teeth grazing her neck, slipping the strap of her top down her shoulder as his kisses trailed down to her collarbone. She let out a small moan, her hands fisting in his hair as she tried to hold onto something solid in the storm of sensations.

His hands roamed up her sides, feeling the softness of her skin, the heat of her body. He squeezed her hips, cursing under his breath before he leaned back into her, pulling the top over her head and capturing her mouth again. "Bedroom," she said between kisses before pulling back to catch her breath.

Their eyes locked for a moment, the air thick with desire. He nodded, lifting her off the counter with ease. She wrapped her legs around his waist, his strong arms supporting her as they stumbled through her house, her heart hammering in her chest.

"Where am I going?" he laughed upon the realization that he had no clue which way was which in her space. She reciprocated his amusement, pecking his lips one more time before tapping his hand, delighted as he took the nonverbal hint to set her down.

Maya led him through the dimly lit hallway, the sound of her pulse pounding in her ears. They reached her bedroom, a soft oasis of white and grey tones, the king-sized bed dressed in silk sheets that matched the curtains fluttering gently in the breeze from the open window.

"You're stunning," Justin murmured, his eyes drinking in the sight of Maya standing before him in her bra and linen pants. She took a seat at the edge of her bed, crossing her legs, watching him as he took off his shirt. His abdomen was a washboard of muscles, each one defined and rippling as he moved. She felt a surge of desire that was almost overwhelming.

His hands parted her legs, providing space to accommodate his larger frame as he knelt between them. Maya's eyes traveled down his body, her gaze lingering on the waistband of his pants. Justin caught her stare and chuckled, placing a warm kiss to her cheek. "Patience," he whispered, his hand finding the back of her neck to draw her back into a kiss. His thumb traced the line of her jaw, his eyes searching hers for any hint of doubt. Finding none, he kissed her again, pressing her back into the mattress.

"I wanna know what you like," Justin murmured against her ear, his breath warm and tickling her skin. His hands began to explore her body, his fingertips dancing along the edges of her bra and the waistband of her pants. Maya felt a shiver run down her spine, her body responding to his touch. "You'll tell me what's working and what's not, yeah?"

"Mmhmm," she mumbled, nodding as her eyes fluttering closed. She felt his hands move to her bra clasp, deftly unhooking it, allowing her breasts to spill out into his waiting hands. He took his time, teasing her sensitive nipples before his mouth followed, suckling and nipping, making her back arch off the bed.

Maya's breath grew ragged as she felt Justin's hand slide down the front of her pants, his thumb brushing against her clit over the fabric. She gripped the bedsheets tightly, trying to maintain some semblance of control, but it was a futile effort. His touch burned into her skin as he drew the pants down her legs, dropping them where he had disposed of her bra moments before.

"Justin," she whispered his name, a plea and a warning. He looked up at her, before leaning over her, trailing slow kisses from the top of her breasts down the center of her chest, over the small roll of her stomach, and down to her navel. He kissed her gently, a silent promise that he'd take care of her, that he'd make her feel good.

Maya's body responded to his touch, her legs instinctively spreading wider. He kissed along her inner thighs, the anticipation making her quiver. His hands creeped up her thighs, pulling her closer to the edge of the bed as his mouth hovered just above her panties. She felt him inhale deeply, a subtle groan escaping him as if her scent was intoxicating. The fabric was the only barrier between them now, and the heat of his breath made it clear that he was more than ready to take things further.

Maya felt exposed, vulnerable, but his gaze was nothing but adoration and hunger. Justin took his time, kissing along the soft skin leading to her core, making her squirm and whimper with need. His touch was light, feathering over her most sensitive spots, building the anticipation to a crescendo.

Her hand moved to cover her mouth as she sighed and squirmed underneath him. Justin took the cue and began to kiss her through her underwear, the touch of his lips brushing featherlight against her, making her toes curl. "Oh," she breathed out, the sound muffled by her hand. He looked up at her, a smug smile playing on his lips before he hooked his fingers into the fabric and slid it off her.

The coolness of the air hit her skin and she shivered, but it was quickly forgotten as Justin's warm mouth replaced it. His tongue found her folds, flattening and exploring, making her body tighten with pleasure. He was gentle but insistent, slow but deliberate as he indulged in his first tastes of her. Maya's hand fell away from her mouth, and she gripped the bedsheets tightly, her knuckles tight as she moaned his name.

His thumbs parted her folds, giving him better access to her clit, and he began to circle it with the tip of his tongue. Maya's hips rolled upward, urging him closer, her thighs tightening around his shoulders. Justin took his cue, increasing the pressure and speed, his tongue flicking and stroking her sensitive nub as Maya's breaths grew erratic.

"Shit," Maya hissed through gritted teeth, the sensation of his tongue on her clit was almost too intense. Her legs trembled, and she felt like she could come at any moment. Justin seemed to sense her urgency, his movements becoming more purposeful, his tongue pressing harder and faster against her swollen nub.

"Talk to me, Maya," Justin rasped, his voice thick with need as he continued to pleasure her. His arms wound around her thighs, keeping her in place as he feasted on her. She bit her bottom lip, trying to keep her moans to a whisper, not wanting to be too loud. Her hands found his hair, her fingers tangling in the soft strands as she directed him to the exact spot that sent shockwaves through her body.

"So good, Justin, so good," Maya breathed, her eyes squeezed shut as pleasure began to coil tightly within her. The warmth of his breath, the wetness of his tongue, it was all too much and yet not enough.

Justin took her words as encouragement, his tongue swirling and flicking over her clit with newfound vigor. He could feel her body tense, her legs shaking. His hands gripped her hips, holding her still as she began to buck against his mouth. Though he could sense she was close, he could tell she need a bit more to send her over the edge.

"What do you need, baby?" Justin murmured against her, his voice gruff with desire.

"Your hands," she whispered, her voice shaky. "Use your hands, please."

Justin's eyes gleamed with understanding as he slid one hand up her body, his thumb tracing circles around her clit as he inserted two fingers into her, stretching her and curling them in a way that had her hips jerking up to meet him. Maya's eyes rolled back in her head, a long, low moan escaping her as he found that magical spot deep within her. The hand she had embedded in his hair gripped the strands tighter, her other hand gripped the sheets next to her head as she arched her back, pushing herself closer to him.

"Mmm, sweetest thing," Justin murmured as he began to pump his fingers in and out of her, stroking her in time with his tongue. He could feel her getting wetter, her muscles tightening around his fingers as she grew closer to climax. Maya's moans grew louder, and she threw her head back, her body shaking as she lost control.

"There you go, so beautiful," Justin murmured, his voice a gentle rumble against her thighs as he watched Maya's orgasm crash over her. Her body tensed, then released, a gush of wetness coating his hand as she rode out her peak. Maya's mouth fell open, and she stared down at him with a mix of shock and pleasure. He took his time, his tongue and fingers moving in tandem, ensuring that she felt every ounce of her climax before finally pulling back after she had gone slack with satisfaction.

He kissed a path back up her stomach, her breasts, and her neck before finally claiming her lips in a deep, passionate kiss. "Thank you," she murmured against his mouth, her voice hoarse from her moans. "Fuck, thank you so much."

Justin chuckled, his eyes bright with amusement and arousal. "I should be the one thanking you," he said, his voice a low growl as he positioned himself at her entrance. "You taste incredible."

She breathed heavily, trying to catch her breath as she watched him fumble in his pockets for a condom. He pulled out a black foil packet and ripped it open with his teeth, rolling it on with a confidence that made her stomach flip. "You okay?" he asked, his voice gentle, and Maya nodded, still floating on the aftershocks of her climax.

"I'm glad you had one, I'm sure mine are expired," she laughed nervously as she watched him sheath himself, the mood lightening slightly. Justin leaned in to kiss her again, his hand resting on her cheek. The kiss was tender, contrasting with the passionate, desperate one from moments ago. He positioned himself at her entrance, his cock pressing against her wet folds.

"Stopped by CVS on my way over," he chuckled against her lips as the head of his cock swept through her folds, teasing her. "Think the guy at self checkout nearly recognized me," he whispered, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

Maya couldn't help but giggle, the tension in the room dissipating slightly as she felt the warmth of his skin pressing against her own. "Well, I'm grateful for your preparedness," she murmured, her eyes fluttering closed as she felt him nudge against her entrance.

Justin took a moment to appreciate the feel of her, the slickness of her arousal coating his tip. He pushed in gently, watching her face for any signs of discomfort. Maya's eyes went wide, and she took a deep breath, but she nodded her consent. He pushed in further, inch by inch, until he was fully sheathed inside her. He stilled, giving her time to adjust to his size.

Mirrored sighs passed through parted lips as she adjusted to the fullness of him. Justin's gaze remained fixed on hers, a silent question in his eyes. Maya nodded again, and he began to move, his hips rocking in a steady rhythm that had her gasping. The initial stretch gave way to a warm, delicious friction that had her breathing out slow and deep. He was mindful of her comfort, his strokes deep and deliberate, each one hitting that spot she hadn't realized she'd been craving.

Her body began to respond, hips moving in sync with his, the quiet slap of skin on skin echoing in the room. "God, yes," she purred as she held his face in her hands, her lips brushing against his before taking his bottom lip in a gentle nip. Justin's eyes darkened, and he picked up the pace, his hips moving faster, his cock driving into her with purpose.

Their breathing grew ragged, their kisses sloppy with passion as they lost themselves in each other. Maya's legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper, urging him on as the tension within her began to build once more. "Deeper, please," she whispered, her back arching as he hit her sweet spot.

Justin's muscles flexed as he complied, shifting his weight to press her further into the mattress. She released a strangled moan that sent a jolt of pleasure through him. He could feel the tightness of her pussy, her walls contracting around his cock as she grew closer to another orgasm. His own desire was mounting, his balls drawing up tight, but he was determined to make sure she came again before he allowed himself the release he desperately craved.

His nose nudged against hers, foreheads touching as their eyes locked, the air thick with desire. "You take me so well," he murmured, his voice strained with effort as he held back his own climax. She nodded, her hands roaming his back, her nails digging in as he pushed deeper into her gaining a steady rhythm that had her crying out.

"Feel so good around me, squeeze me just right… fuck, you're so tight," Justin groaned into Maya's ear. Maya's eyes squeezed shut tighter, her orgasm building again. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed this, the feeling of being filled by someone who knew what they were doing. If she wasn't so caught up in the moment, she might've felt a twinge of embarrassment at how pathetic she sounded. But she didn't care; all she cared about was the delicious pressure building in her core, the way Justin's cock hit her in just the right spot, the way his muscles and warm skin felt under her fingertips as she clung to him for dear life.

"Don't stop, please don't stop." She whispered, voice trailing off with a moan. He watched her face, her eyes scrunched up in pleasure, her teeth digging into her bottom lip. He leaned in, taking her mouth in another bruising kiss, his hips snapping into her with a ferocity that had her gasping for air. Maya felt the second orgasm wash over her, her body tightening around him, her nails digging into his back.

Justin could feel her pussy pulsing around his cock, the sensation so intense that he had to bite back a groan. He waited for her to come down from her peak before he allowed himself to let go, his hips moving faster, harder, until he couldn't hold back anymore. He buried his face in her neck, biting down on his bottom lip as he came, his body shaking with the force of his release.

For a moment they sat in the stillness, panting and sticky with sweat, their hearts racing in sync. When he pulled out, Maya made a small sound of protest, the feeling of emptiness sudden and surprising. He kissed her neck gently, his breath warm against her skin. "You okay?" he asked, his voice low and concerned.

Maya nodded, savoring the feeling of his weight on her. "Perfect," she murmured, her voice hoarse from the moans and cries that had filled the room. She felt him shift, his body sliding off hers, and she reluctantly opened her eyes to find him standing beside the bed, disposing of the condom.

He turned back to her with a soft smile, "Bathroom?"

Maya nodded, "Through that door, to the left."

While Justin was in the bathroom, she couldn't help but replay the last few moments in her mind. The way his muscles had tensed with his release, the sound of his grunts of pleasure, the weight of him pressing her into the mattress—it was all so overwhelmingly perfect. She took a deep breath and decided to use the time to collect herself before he returned. She stood up from the bed, groaning at the ache between her legs, and walked to the bedside drawer to grab an old t-shirt, deciding to hold on pulling on a clean pair of underwear until her own trip to the bathroom.

When he came back out, Maya was lying on the bed, her legs drawn up to her chest, the shirt riding up to expose her smooth, brown skin. She felt a bit shy now that the haze of passion had lifted slightly. Justin leaned over the bed, planting a kiss on her forehead. "So, about those compliments…"

Maya couldn't help but laugh, full, bright, and warm, pulling him down towards her for a peck. "The compliments still stand. It was really good." Her giggles continued as he flushed under her gaze, bashful but pleased.

She stood from the bed, heading off to the bathroom to clean up. When she returned, Justin's back faced her, muscles beneath sun-tanned skin flexing with the effort of pulling his discarded shirt over his head. "What are you up to for the rest of the night?" Justin asked, glancing over his shoulder as he moved to zip and button his pants.

Maya shrugged. She felt a sudden shyness wash over her. It had been so long since she'd had a one-night stand, and she didn't quite know the protocol for what came next. Was she supposed to kick him out? Rush him toward the door and pretend it was nothing more than a good lay? Or was she allowed to enjoy his company a little longer? Offer him to stay the night?

If the way he seemed to move in slow motion as he zipped up his pants was any indication, Justin had noticed the hesitance in her tone and the indecision in her gait. He turned to face her fully, the question in his eyes mirroring the one in hers. "Tell what you're thinking," he spoke, the rumble of his voice cutting through the quiet of the room.

Maya took a deep breath. "I don't know if this is how these things usually go," she admitted, playing with the hem of her shirt as she leaned against the doorway of the bathroom. "But, I had a really great time tonight. And, like you said last night, I do think we could be really good friends. Even with the other stuff."

He stepped closer, reaching out to take her hand. "So tell me your plans for tonight. Friends hang out, right?" Justin's eyes searched hers, hopeful but not pushy.

"Well," she exhaled, trying to ignore the way her heart raced at the thought of spending more time with him. "I've had a recipe bouncing around in my head for a client I'm working with. I could use some fresh eyes, and a taste-tester." She bit her lip, watching his reaction closely.

Justin's smile grew wider. "I'd love to help," he said, genuine interest lighting up his eyes. "Did you think I'd turn down a meal?" He laced his fingers with hers and gave her hand a gentle tug. "Lead the way, chef."

If she were a few shades lighter, the warmth in Maya's cheeks would have been glaringly obvious as she led Justin to the kitchen. She hadn't had anyone in her kitchen, not like this, for what felt like an eternity. It was her sanctuary, where she poured her love and passion, and now, she was sharing it with someone who had the power to dismantle the walls she'd built around her heart. There was a strange comfort in the simplicity of it all, though—just two people sitting in the aftermath of the afterglow. It felt almost domestic.

Wide eyes watched as Justin lifted a bite of the upscale plate, Maya's twist on her grandmother's oxtail stew recipe, to his lips. She'd been nervous about serving something so personal to a man she'd only just met, but the way he savored each bite told her she'd hit the mark. She couldn't help the pride that swelled in her chest as he nodded in approval, swiping the corner of his mouth with a napkin. "This is incredible, Maya. Really good."

The smile that broke out on Maya's face was a mix of relief and satisfaction. She watched as Justin took another bite, his eyes closing in appreciation. "Thank you," she said, feeling a bit more at ease now. "It's based on my grandmother's recipe. I've been playing around with it for a new client."

Justin continued chewing, slightly amused by the way she retrieved a notebook from one of the island drawers. She flipped the small black cover open, sorted through the pages filled with neat rows of notes, and scribbled something down. "Ah, the notebook," he teased, taking a sip of the freshly made mango-passionfruit juice she'd blended together.

"The notebook," she echoed with a chuckle, "This is my bible. It's where I keep all my thoughts, notes, and inspirations for my work." Maya looked at the notebook with affection before setting it aside, focusing her gaze back on Justin. "So, tell me, what do you think needs to be tweaked?"

He pondered for a moment, swirling the juice in his glass before taking another sip. "I don't know," he said honestly with a laugh and a shrug. "It's perfect, really."

"Okay, I guess I could ask specifics," Maya said with a smile. "What do you think about the balance of flavors? When does the spice kick in for you?"

"The flavors are spot on," Justin replied, his eyes sparkling with delight. "The spice is a slow burn, which I like. It doesn't overpower the other seasoning." He took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. "But, if you're looking for something to tweak, maybe just a hint more of thyme."

"You don't even know what that means, do you?" Maya teased, raising an eyebrow.

Justin chuckled, setting his fork down. "No comment," he said, his cheeks tinged with a hint of pink. "But seriously, Maya, this is amazing."

Her laughter filled the kitchen, the sound bouncing off the gleaming countertops and stainless steel appliances. "Well, I'm happy to hear that," she said, her heart swelling with pride. "Maybe we can make this a regular thing. You can be my taste-tester."

"I'd be happy to help," Justin said with a grin. He casted a glance to his Apple Watch. "But, I gotta head out. Got some early morning training I can't miss." He stood up, stretching his tall frame, his muscles rippling under his shirt.

"It's getting late," she echoed. "How long's your drive?"

"Not too bad," he said, brushing a hand through his hair. "But I've got to get going if I want to get some decent rest."

She walked him to the door, feeling the cool night air sneak in as he stepped out onto the porch. He turned to her, his hand resting on the doorframe, and for a moment, Maya watch the conflict play out on his face—desire to stay, responsibility to go. "I had a great time tonight, Maya," he murmured, his eyes holding hers in a way that made her knees weak.

"Me too," she whispered, her voice barely a breath. The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words and the hope of future moments. Justin leaned in, capturing her in another kiss, tenderly giving into a brief second of abandon before pulling back. "I'll text you," he promised, the words lingering in the air as he took a hesitant step back.

"That sounds familiar," she mumbled, crossing her arms over her chest as a good-natured smile tugged at her lips.

Justin chuckled, that deep, round dimple in his cheek resurfacing. "Deserved again." He propped his forearm above her head, leaning against the doorframe, his eyes tracing the lines of her face as her head tilted back to properly take him in. "But I promise, I won't be the one to fuck this up again. I'll text you first. I swear."

Maya's smile grew into a grin, the warmth of his body radiating against her as they shared the small space. "I'm holding you to that," she murmured.

Then there was a lull. Justin made no effort to turn around, unlock his car, and leave. Instead, he remained where he was, his eyes locked onto Maya's. It stretched on forever; this silent conversation passing in between dilated pupils and shallow breaths. From this angle, where Justin towered over her, Maya could see the slight stubble on his chin, the way the moon cast shadows on his cheekbones, the softness of his lips that had just been on hers. There was a pull to him, a gravitational force that she hadn't felt in so long, and she found herself leaning in for just one more taste.

She swore it would be quick. Just one more kiss to hold her over until they saw each other again. But as soon as their lips met, she felt everything all over again. The heat of his skin, the softness of his mouth, the way he tasted like a drug. It was addictive, this rush of sensation, a hit to the system that made her heart knock against her ribs. Her hands curled into his hair, his touch pressed into her waist.

One more kiss was never going to be enough.

She was obsessed.

[becausebuckley]

the longer speculation is, the better🙏💕✍️

alright, since you all asked so nicely <3 i’m posting this with the warning that i don’t do screenwriting, so who knows how pacing works in episodic format, and i definitely don’t have any sort of medical knowledge or fire knowledge or whatever lol. what i do have is sleep deprivation and a fever! it’s been A Day.

9x01

So, the season opener, 9x01. We start out not with one of our favourite characters, but someone mysterious. This person wakes up in the morning and goes through her morning routine while something upbeat plays in the background. We see her getting dressed, heading to work etc, but we never see who, exactly, she is. She makes breakfast, but doesn’t eat it. Her workplace looks like a lab of some sort. She greets the security guard, then a colleague, who warns her that the microwave keeps sparking and she shouldn’t use it. The mystery scientist says something about the fire suppression system going down two weeks ago only being the starting point and they bemoan budget cuts together. Her voice sounds vaguely familiar, but we still don't know who we're following. As she enters her own lab, we see her two assistants squabbling over a lunch-related issue. They jump apart once they see our mystery scientist walk in. One of them says that they're all ready and that today is the big day. The mystery scientist agrees, says she’s been too nervous to eat, and examines a vial of some sort of medicine that's waiting for her. As she leans away, her face becomes visible on a reflective surface.

Moira stares right into the camera, smiling.

Cut to the 911 intro.

We pick up again at the Diaz (and Buckley) residence. Buck wakes up on the couch, groaning as he pops his back. He shuffles to the kitchen and begins making breakfast. It's clear that he's been living here for a while, fully settled in. The furniture is a mix of his and Eddie's stuff. Christopher and Eddie come in and the three of them have breakfast together. They have a short conversation that establishes the following: Buck is looking for a new place, but hasn't found anything fitting in part due to Eddie's criticism of them, he's been crashing on the Diaz couch even though Eddie keeps telling him to take the bed for a night (it's unclear if he means they should swap sleeping places or if they should share the bed), and Christopher thinks that Buck should stay and make him breakfast every morning. Buck says something about breakfast dishes being where his and Bobby's cooking lessons started (as a fun little callback, he's made the same dish that he made Maddie way back in season 2 - i think it was an omelette?). Cue melancholy expressions. Someone checks the time. They rush off to school/work. Buck and Eddie nearly trip over each other when they grab their work stuff: Buck says he promises he'll be out of their hair soon, and Eddie says there's no rush. He longingly looks after Buck as Buck and Christopher walk towards the car.

Cut to Maddie and Chimney's place. Chimney is balancing getting ready and taking care of the baby. Maddie is doing Jee-Yun's hair while Jee eats breakfast. They're all a bit in a frenzy and the house looks chaotic. They discuss that Maddie's maternity leave is ending soon and how it's more difficult to manage two kids than they expected. Chimney mentions that, now that he's captain of the 118, he's spending more time at work than he was before, and that the paperwork is horrible. Maddie asks if he regrets taking the position. Chimney says he doesn't, that he's glad he's proven to himself and the team that he can do it, but that he wonders if he made the right choice.

Then a quick scene with the Wilsons, just enough for Hen and Karen to announce to the kids that they’re going on their first family vacation in a few weeks. They’ll be going to some sort of all-inclusive family resort and they’re all excited. (this isn’t so much related to this opening arc as it is something that I think would be fun in a future episode, something fun and light for this family after everything they’ve been through these past few seasons. I imagine the kids trying to optimise the all you can eat buffet spread while Hen and Karen deal with assorted mysteries a la FOMO, and then they’ll get a nice big thing later on in the season to kind of spread everything out nicely)

We have the team go on one quick call to establish the dynamics now that Chimney is captain. Something medical, probably, or just someone being stuck somewhere. In any case, it’ll be silly and end well. On the scene, Buck jumps out of the engine, groaning as he lands. Ravi reminds him that he’s happy to help Buck find a new place so he no longer has to sleep on the couch. Eddie cuts him off and tells him to focus on the job, clearly not wanting Buck to move. The call will show us that Chimney is a much better captain than he was last time around. Hen takes the lead on the medical stuff, helped mostly by Eddie and Ravi, with Buck a little more in the background. This would then set up a paramedic arc for either Ravi or Eddie, I’m not sure which of the two.

We cut back to our mystery lab and one of the two assistants we saw earlier. Let’s call the assistants Stevie and Barbara, to make things easier (not significant names, just based on the books I have next to me rn). They’re working, but Stevie and Barbara keep arguing, with Stevie not taking any of Barbara’s suggestions seriously. Moira gets fed up and sends them out of the lab. They go to the break room and continue to fight. Barbara storms out. Stevie heads for the fridge and, in an act of revenge, takes Barbara’s lunch. He eats a few bites, then puts it in the microwave. While the food heats up, Stevie suddenly feels unwell and races to the bathroom. The last thing we see is the microwave, sparking.

Athena is on shift, driving, and taking a hands-free call from May at the same time. May is on a post-graduation vacation with friends, but is worried about her mother, who still hasn’t sold the house. Athena admits that something holds her back every time, even though she can’t stand to live there and spends as much time out of the house as possible. She assures May that there’s no need to worry. May says she’ll be home soon and clearly doesn’t really believe her. Athena gets a call to assist at a fire several blocks from her to help keep the peace. She says goodbye to May and heads to the scene. This both reminds us of Athena’s grief and opens up possibilities for May to rejoin dispatch or something along those lines.

The 118 arrive at the scene before Athena does. Chimney takes the lead and asks the crowd gathered in front of the smoking building what’s going on. They explain that there’s a fire, it started in the communal kitchen, their suppression system doesn’t work, and the fire escape collapsed when they evacuated, so quite a few of them are banged up. When Chimney orders the team to go inside, he’s blocked by the security personnel, who tell him they’re under instructions not to let any First Responders in. One of them looks uncertain and tries to let them help, but she’s overruled by the others.

Athena pulls up. Chimney explains the situation to her. While they try to talk reason into the security guards – way more than a simple lab would require, as Hen and Ravi discuss – several fancy black cars show up. The FBI takes over the scene and tells Chimney that they can extinguish the fire, but only from outside the building. The firefighters try to fight them on this, pointing out that there might be survivors inside and the fire is deep within the building, but the FBI won’t budge. They notice the 118 on their helmets and request a different station to help them. Chimney passes this on to Josh. Cut to Josh, who also has an FBI agent standing next to him at Dispatch, who agrees to send others.

While Chimney instructs Hen to take the lead on triaging the crowd outside, Athena decides to investigate. She pretends to drive away, then sneaks around the building. She finds another entrance to the building. The smoke is thicker back here, and the guard at this door is passed out. She radios Buck to bring Eddie, a med kit, and tells him she needs to borrow his gear. Buck and Eddie tell Ravi to cover for them and slip away. Eddie takes care of the unconscious guard while Buck helps Athena put on his mask and breathing equipment. She tells them that the FBI only told the firefighters not to go inside, not her. Besides, nobody tells her what to do. Athena enters the building.

Hen and Ravi are dealing with Barbara, who has a pretty nasty leg wound and internal bleeding, but who seems more focused on cursing out her colleague, who she’s sure is responsible. She explains that Stevie has been on her case since she started at the lab a few months ago. He’d been there for years, but she was brought in for the start of a new project, and Stevie doesn’t like that she technically outranks him. He’s been misplacing her supplies and eating her food to bully her. This morning, she added a homemade, extra-fast, extra-strong laxative to her lunch, hoping to teach him a lesson, and when she left the break room, she saw him heading for the fridge. Hen asks if Stevie made it out and Barbara says she doesn’t know and doesn’t care. Ravi goes to look for Stevie.

Meanwhile, Chimney meets the 133, who are pulling up, and tells them what’s going on. Their captain looks equally confused, but agrees to set up his men on the outside and at least try to stop the fire from spreading further. Once they get to work, the FBI dismisses Chimney, and when Chimney tells them that they have no right to block firefighters from doing their job like this, he’s told it’s a matter of national security. Chimney wonders out loud what kind of lab this is.

Athena makes her way through the building. There are alarms blaring, the hallways are filled with smoke, but the fire isn’t spreading too rapidly. She hears someone calling from the bathroom and finds Stevie, who refuses to leave the bathroom as the laxatives have truly taken effect. He immediately tells Athena that Barbara must’ve made them and that fast-acting mixtures like this are her specialty. He also says that they’re working on a big experiment and that his boss must be in here still, because she’d never abandon him (he actually says him and not me, so he’s referring to a mystery new person). Athena tells him that she’ll get him help, but Buck and Eddie are already behind her, which doesn’t seem to surprise her at all. She leaves Stevie in their care and continues to look for his boss.

Meanwhile, Ravi finds Chimney and Hen, looking troubled. He tells Chimney that he can’t find Stevie, but that he’s been told there’s another person missing, and her name is Moira. This rings a bell for both of them, but they agree that it can’t be her, because Moira is supposed to be in prison. Barbara pipes up and tells them that Moira was going to be in prison, but never ended up going there because her experiment took a turn. As long as the experiment survives, so does Moira. She says it’s all confidential, but Chimney pushes her and commands her to tell him what the experiment is. She says it’s not a what, it’s a who, and passes out, very dramatically timed.

Athena, following Stevie’s directions, finds Moira’s lab, though she doesn’t know that that is what it is yet. She sees Moira in there, but with her back turned and therefore doesn’t recognise her. The door is sealed shut, so Athena follows the windows alongside the lab and tries to find another entrance or catch Moira’s attention. Moira is aware of the fire, of course, and of Athena’s banging on the windows, but the smoke hasn’t reached into the lab, so she keeps going. She says something to herself about needing more time as she prepares a shot. Athena turns around a corner and is faced with a different section of the lab through a window. There are curtains here, so she can’t see as much, but through a small sliver, she makes out a bed, and she sees an arm. Moira’s experiment is a person.

Moira enters this part of the lab. It causes the curtains to shift. Athena can see more and recognises her husband, lying on that bed. He’s unconscious and pale. The camera zooms in on him. We see his chest rise.

Cue end credits.

9x02

We open with a flashback. Starting back at the end of the Contagion arc, when Bobby’s body is carried out, except we follow the body this time. I don’t really know medical stuff, but essentially, it’s established that Bobby is in critical condition, but not dead, and so they’re monitoring him For Science. Over the next few months, Bobby remains in a coma while Moira, Barbara, and Stevie work on finding him a cure so they can wake him up. The flashback montage ends with the same scene that the last episode opened on, Moira entering the lab on the day of the microwave explosion, except this time, it’s from Stevie and Barbara’s perspective and we get a little more information on what they’re doing.

Intro tune.

Hen and Chimney are trying to save Barbara. Once again, I don’t do medical stuff, but let’s assume that they somehow make sure that she won’t die, but she is still unconscious and needs to get to a hospital as soon as possible. They’re reluctant to leave, though, so Chimney asks Josh for another ambulance, which Josh reluctantly agrees to send. Meanwhile, one of the FBI people approaches Ravi and asks where the rest of their team is, and Ravi very badly lies and tells the FBI person that they went to get coffee. This is clearly not believed, but the FBI agent can’t do much about it yet, and Ravi runs off to triage more people.

Athena is slamming on the window of the lab. Moira finally stops ignoring her and whirls around, yelling something about needing more time. Athena can barely hear her. As Moira moves to inject Bobby with something, Athena kind of loses it.

Buck and Eddie are still with Stevie and try to stabilise his condition while also getting more information out of him. He’s reacting really badly to Barbara’s food experiment and needs proper medical care soon. When they go to carry him out, they find a new guard, weapon and all, at the back entrance. It’s the same one who looked uncertain earlier. The guard doesn’t see them, but they’re basically trapped.

While Barbara is loaded into an ambulance, Chimney, Hen, and Ravi discuss what they think is going on here. When Ravi begins to suggest that it could be Bobby, Chimney cuts him off and tells him not to go there. Hen places a hand on his arm and says that they have to investigate anyway. Through the radio, they learn about Buck and Eddie’s situation. They decide to go to the back and try to distract the new guard.

Smoke finally begins to enter Moira’s lab. She’s doing medical stuff and monitoring Bobby. She says the results are promising and he should wake up soon, but she needs more time. Athena keeps threatening her, still banging on the window. She clearly doesn’t trust Moira.

Ravi walks up to the guard at the back entrance. He tries to engage her in conversation, but it doesn’t work. He eventually decides to fake faint. Somehow, this works, and Hen and Chimney manage to sneak inside.

The fire, meanwhile, is very much not under control. There are three different firehouses working on it now, but they’re still not allowed entry into the building. The three captains discuss their best course of action with Josh. They’re all worried about the structural integrity of the building.

Moira is starting to feel dizzy. It’s a combination of smoke inhalation, heat, and the fact that she hasn’t eaten in days. Athena manages to convince her to open the door. She rushes in, pushes past Moira, and towards Bobby. He’s still unconscious, but colour is returning to his cheeks, and the oxygen mask is keeping him safe from the smoke. Athena, crying, radioes Chimney on a private line and instructs him to come here.

Hen and Eddie stay with Stevie while Chimney and Buck head for Athena. They use some of the fire extinguishers they find in the building to clear a path – neither of them has a full set of gear at the moment. Buck probably took off his helmet, as he does. They still don’t know what they’re walking into exactly. They don’t dare hope that it is what they think it is. They comment that the building is looking unstable.

Athena holds Bobby’s hand. She feels him stir, but he doesn’t open his eyes or seem aware of anything yet. In the background, Moira is fully collapsed on the floor, barely conscious. Buck and Chimney walk in and see Bobby in the bed. Buck drops the fire extinguisher he’s holding. Athena spurs them into action. Chimney goes to take Bobby’s vitals while Buck checks over Moira.

While all of this is going on, Ravi is still distracting the guard. They’re currently flirting. Ravi is doing badly, but the guard seems into it. Ravi sees Hen and Eddie appear behind the guard’s back, Stevie between them. Ravi pretends to faint again. This time, the guard isn’t fooled, and her act drops as she raises her gun at Ravi.

Moira comes to and tells Buck that she was just trying to keep the experiment going so she could get her Nobel prize and stay out of prison. Buck tells her that that’s selfish and that they’ve all been grieving Bobby. Before Moira can reply to this, her attention is caught by the flames licking around the door to her lab. Buck extinguishes them, but they realise they’re well and truly caught. Chimney and Athena turn to face them, too.

Suddenly, a weak voice says something about having bad timing. The camera pans to Bobby, awake, smiling.

A crack appears in the wall behind him.

End credits.

9x03

The episode opens with Bobby, Athena, Chimney, Buck, and Moira in the lab. They decide they have to move. Moira can walk with a little help, but Bobby probably won’t be able to, and Chimney doesn’t really want to move him without understanding his condition more. Moira explains that she’s been keeping Bobby in a stable condition for months and that the injection she gave him earlier is basically a supercharged version of the cure Chimney received, so he’ll make a full recovery, but being in a coma for months is still going to be hard to bounce back from. He tries to sit up, but is too weak to do so. They’ll need help, but when they radio the rest of the 118, they don’t get an answer.

The guard still holds Ravi at gunpoint. Hen and Eddie have ducked back into the corridor, still unnoticed, Stevie slumped against the wall next to them. Eddie tries to convince Hen that he can take the guard down, but Hen tells him not to risk it, and that they can’t control if Ravi will get hurt or not. Before they can decide on anything, they hear Chimney’s request for help. Chimney tells them that their suspicions were right. Hen and Eddie exchange a look and tear up. Eddie jumps up and makes to run outside, but he smacks right into Ravi and the guard, coming around the corner.

Ravi explains that he told the guard about their theory and that Chimney’s message convinced her to lower her weapon and help them out. She hadn’t known anything about what happens at the lap, but she’s been wondering, and this crosses all sorts of limits for her. She reveals that this was supposed to be a temporary job before she applies to the police academy, so she has no company loyalty whatsoever. When Chimney calls for them again, Hen answers and says that they’re on their way. Chimney says they’ll need to grab some gear first, because the fire is closing in on them, and they can’t get out like this, but they also have to hurry, because this building won’t hold itself up for much longer.

Bobby tries to tell the others to go and leave him. Athena says she absolutely won’t be doing that and the others agree. Besides, Buck jokes, the fire is too close now anyway. They just have to wait for the rest of their team.

Accompanied by a guard, Hen, Eddie, and Ravi make their way over to the other firefighters relatively easily. Hen hands Stevie over to another paramedic while Ravi grabs a hose, aided by the guard, and Eddie approaches the captains of the other firehouses. He explains the situation, fully ignoring the FBI agents next to them (or tossing a zingy oneliner at them or something idk). They decide to break with their original orders and rescue the trapped firefighters as soon as possible.

Inside, the flames are getting closer. They’ve moved to a corner of the room, Bobby leaning heavily on the others, as the corner they were in looked so unstable. Things look pretty dicey, but then, the smoke and flames are replaced by a massive gush of water. Hen, Eddie, and Ravi appear through the doorway, carrying a stretcher. There’s no time for a reunion, so they help Bobby onto the stretcher and make their way out. They evacuate the building just before it crumbles. Tears and smiles all around.

The next day, Harry and a newly-returned May reunite with Bobby (and Athena) in the hospital. The hospital room is covered in cards and balloons and other gifts. It’s revealed that Bobby is there for monitoring for a while, but that he’ll be cleared to go home in a few days, though he has a long recovery ahead of him. Athena and Bobby are no longer planning on selling the house. Athena makes a throwaway comment about nobody being able to experiment on Bobby or anyone getting in trouble or whatever, just to tie up those loose ends. Bobby’s physical and mental recovery, as well as more fleshed-out conversations with everyone, will play out over the next few episodes, but for now, everything is okay.

Several days later, at the Grant-Nash house, the firefam is preparing for Bobby’s return home. Buck is in the kitchen, helping Harry finish cooking a dish. When Harry carries it out into the living room, Eddie comes into the kitchen. He tells Buck that they need to talk about something and confesses that he doesn’t want Buck to move out. Buck is shocked by this, but also really happy, and agrees to stay. They’re called into the living room. Athena helps Bobby into the house and everyone yells surprise.

A voiceover begins. Bobby gives a sentimental speech about coming home and being alive and love and all sorts of good stuff. It plays out over the final montage of the episode. Picture the tsunami arc end speech, basically. Maybe there’s a Hozier song too, idk.

We see some scenes of the party and the firefam all together. Later that night, madney put their kids to bed and watch from the doorway, holding each other. Henren curl up on the couch and plan their vacation. Bobby and Athena lie in bed, Athena’s head resting over Bobby’s heart. Bobby lifts her hand and kisses it.

Eddie heads to his bedroom at night. Before he walks through the door, he turns around and looks at Buck. Buck gives him a soft smile and follows. He pulls the door shut behind them.

End credits roll.

The next few episodes get Buddie together officially, have Bobby decide if he wants to retire or go back to work or whatever, have Chimney decide if he wants to stay Captain, have Henren’s fun arc and set up a serious arc for them. Ravi does something, probably, I don’t know. Stuff happens. I’m too tired to think about it. Lucy Donato appears at some point. Couch theory is real.

[overwhelmed-alien]

ER Nurse/Firefighter Hangster 🧑🏻‍🚒❤️🧑🏼‍⚕️

Inspired by an episode of “The Pitt”. You’ll know which one.

The hydraulic doors opened with a whoosh of air and immediately the din of the waiting room assaulted his senses. Bradley Bradshaw sighed as he pocketed his keys in his hoodie. No matter what day - no matter what time of day - he visited his husband in the emergency room, the waiting area was packed to capacity. Over-capacity most times. Babies screaming, children crying, adults griping and complaining about the extended wait times. Coughing and hacking and moaning and yelling into phones. He didn’t know how the ER staff did it day in and day out without going crazy.

He stood behind a frantic mom bouncing a feverish toddler and waited his turn at reception. This was Jake’s third double this week. All hospitals in the area were severely understaffed, but two maternity leaves in day shift threw this one into an upheaval trying to keep up.

Bradley hadn’t seen Jake much lately; he’d come in shuffling like a zombie with just enough energy to shower and eat a little of the dinner Bradley had put away for him - more than likely his first meal in twelve hours - and then stretch out on top of Bradley on the couch to watch a movie. He’d usually be fast asleep within the first ten minutes. But Bradley didn’t care. Not about the drool on his chest, or the damp hair tickling his chin, not the quiet snoring or being pinned bodily to the couch by dead weight. He loved quiet nights cuddling in their pajamas, getting to hold that precious being in his arms, close to his heart, exactly where he belonged. He knew they were each other’s safe place. He knew that because Jake always held him after particularly difficult shifts, as well. Would make him his mom’s banana nut bread and thread his fingers through Bradley’s curls. Jake was everything to him. His safety, his sanity. Bradley knew Jake felt the same about him because he’d said so in his vows.

“Are you gonna just stand there looking dopey, Fireman, or do you got somethin’ to say?”

Mary the receptionist was Brooklyn to her bones. She’d worked at this San Diego hospital longer than Bradley had been alive and hadn’t lost a bit of her accent. He was pretty sure after these three years of him being a regular (both visitor and patient) that she knew his name, but she still referred to him simply as Fireman. Her Coke bottle glasses emphasized the blue eye shadow as she raked her gaze down his body appreciatively. He suppressed a shudder.

“Mary, sweetheart!” He smiled at her. He knew this song and dance by heart. “How are you, beautiful?”

“I’m almost as full’a shit as you are, bub. This is my third break.” She gestured to the Check-In window to emphasize she was, in fact, still working. “What brings you to my humble domain? Don’t tell me, don’t tell me. Ya wanna scoot back here “real quick” to definitely not defile the storage closet with the life size Ken doll again, huh?”

“That was one time, and there was no defiling. I told you, he was looking for gauze and tripped-“

“-face-first into your crotch, yeah yeah. What do I know about gravity, right, I’m not Isaac Neutron or whatever. Meanwhile, he probably needs some stress relief after the incident earlier.”

Bradley frowned. “Incident?”

“Oh yeah, some asshole built like an Oakland linebacker came in a few hours ago screaming about having to wait so long, and your boy toy flew out here like an avenging angel and chewed his ass out in front of everyone. It was like David and Goliath all over again. Your boy can string some inspiring words together when he wants to. Gigantor turned tail and walked out, quiet as a rat. People, am I right?”

He nodded, brows still furrowed. That did sound like Jake. As sweet as he usually was, he had no tolerance for rudeness, and held no qualms about confrontation. “Yeah. People.”

“Go on, get outta here, Fireman. Anyone asks, I didn’t see you.”

The door to the right unlocked with an audible click. He beamed and gestured a quick but genuine “thank you” before heading through the door to the emergency floor.

He’d just gotten off his shift and had swung by the Hibachi place Jake loved for a couple takeout plates. If Jake wasn’t busy they could eat together in the break room, if he was, he’d stick the box in the communal fridge for later and head home. Mostly he just wanted to lay eyes on his husband and make sure he was taking care of himself. When Jake got busy he always forgot to eat. Forgot to stop and rest. Bradley took his job to remind him very seriously.

Almost immediately, Bradley clocked something was off on the floor. There was always an air of frantic anxiousness back here in the ED, but it felt different tonight. The hairs on his neck bristled. He disregarded the patients and locked onto the different faces of the personnel, their body language as they hovered over screens and flitting around the stations.

They were angry. A cold, quiet, seething anger, kept at bay by professionalism, but it was there, and it was obvious.

He didn’t see Jake.

He did see Beau. It was hard to miss Dr. Simpson, he was a big man, a Navy man as well, one of his godfather’s good friends. Well, Ice’s good friend, he tolerated Mav. His handsome face was pinched tight as he rushed out of the corner unit in the back and wheeled around the main nurses station in the middle of the floor. He’d just picked up the phone when he met Bradley’s eyes. He put the phone down.

“Rooster.” Beau looked grim. There was blood staining his scrubs. “Who called you?”

Bradley’s heart sank into his stomach. “Wha-…nobody called me.” He shook the bag in his hand. “I - I brought Jake food.” He looked around again for a familiar blond head. “Beau, where is he.”

Beau could read him as well as Bradley could read everyone else. He probably sensed the impending meltdown because he was in front of Bradley in two long strides, strong hands gripping his shoulders. “He’s okay. He’s gonna be fine, son.”

The bag of hibachi dropped to the floor. “‘Okay’ and ‘gonna be fine’ are two different things, which is it.” He could see the pulsing of his heartbeat in his vision. Nurses were avoiding his gaze. “Where is my husband, I’m not asking again.”

Beau sighed, rubbed his hands down his face. He looked exhausted. “Dr. Benjamin is checking him out now-“

“-Why is Penny-“

“-Because she’s a neurologist,” Beau cut him off. Bradley fell silent and let the older man guide him through the nurses station toward the corner unit. “There was an…altercation…in the waiting room earlier. Jake confronted an erratic man causing a scene. You know how mouthy he can get. The man left, we thought nothing else of it. Jake…he went outside for a break a few minutes ago, the guy snuck up behind him and sucker punched him in the face like a fucking coward.”

He drew the curtain back and Bradley felt his knees give out. He caught himself on the foot rail of the gurney in front of him.

There was so much blood.

It covered much of his husband’s beautiful face, wrapped grotesque tendrils around his slim neck. The scrubs he wore were soaked. In Jake’s blood.

Bradley saw red.

“Hey baby.”

Jake’s tired, slightly slurred voice cut through the wrath-fueled haze in Bradley’s mind. He hadn’t even noticed the pretty green eyes - swollen and blood-red and wrapped in bruises already turning shades of blue and purple - staring up at him. Awake and alert. He was awake. Bradley shook out of Dr. Simpson’s hold and frantically reached for his husband, knocking the empty chair out of the way in his rush. He stopped short, not knowing where to put his hands that wouldn’t cause any more pain or damage, but needing to touch him more than he needed oxygen.

Jake must have sensed his husband’s desperation. He reached out with both arms and pulled Bradley in by his hoodie, forcing him to sit beside him on the gurney. He was sitting upright, not lying down, and he squirmed until Bradley’s arm was wrapped around his shoulders. He leaned into his husband and breathed a deep sigh, the tension melting out of him.

“Would you please be still,” Dr. Penny Benjamin was as beautiful as ever, even with the tight jaw and furrowed brow. Bradley hadn’t even noticed her sitting in a rolling stool beside the gurney. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and winked at Bradley. “Hey, Roo. Think he’s trying to absorb you through osmosis.”

“I’m fine with that.” Bradley croaked, his voice cracking, and squeezed a little tighter. He looked down at the love of his life. He closed his eyes. He couldn’t wrap his head around all the blood. Jake wasn’t supposed to be hurt. He had the dangerous job, not Jake. Never Jake. Jake was supposed to always be safe. He could be tired or angry or upset, but never hurt. “…Honey?” He didn’t even know how to speak to him in this state.

Jake held no such reservations. “I’m fine, B. Fucker blind-sided me like a pussy. Sorry, Penny.”

Penny huffed, but she was smiling. Bradley understood why Mav walked nose-first into a door when Penny smiled at him that time. “He’ll be okay. Took a hard fall, and head wounds tend to bleed a lot, but he doesn’t need stitches, just glue. His nose took the brunt of it, but thankfully it’s not broken. His stunning good looks will be intact once the swelling goes down, everyone will be happy to know.”

Beau let out a breath like he’d been holding it. “We’ll get him cleaned up and you can take him home.”

“Bullshit, I’m staying. I’ve got four hours left in my shift.” Jake sat up straighter and glared at Beau through his bruises. He looked exhausted and miserable. Bradley drew him in closer.

“You most certainly are not-“

“This isn’t the first time I’ve been punched in the face, Cy.”

“While that doesn’t surprise me at all, we’re still going to follow concussion protocol-“

“I’m a fucking combat medic, not a fucking candy striper, I’m fine.”

“What’s a candy striper?” A young med student walking by whispered to another, who shrugged. Beau shooed them away and pulled the curtain closed.

“Jacob,” Penny gently grasped his chin and shined a light in his eyes, gauging pupil responses again. “Straighten up or I’m taking you down to imaging and stuffing you into a CT scan.”

“But I can-“

“Bradshaw!” Both Jake and Bradley visibly flinched. Penny Benjamin was scarier than any drill sergeant. She pocketed her penlight and stood up to lean over him. “Sensitivity to light and sound. Anxiety and mood swings. You’re a little uncoordinated, a little slurry, and I bet you have one hell of a headache. I love you kid, and nobody is denying that you’re tough as nails, but you have a concussion, and you need to rest.” She reached over to pull Bradley in by the scruff of his neck. “Let your adorable puppy of a husband take you home and fuss over you for a change.”

“Go home, son.” Beau added. “I don’t want to see you in here for three days unless you’re getting checked out.”

Jake shook his head, drew in a sharp breath. Bradley could see the tears in his eyes, hear them in his voice. “We’re so short-staffed already.”

“We’ll survive three days without the mighty Jake Seresin Bradshaw, I promise.”

Bradley was elbowed in the gut as Jake flailed to stand up and prove his capabilities. He stood up, too, and caught Jake by the waist when he wobbled precariously. Blond hair tickled his face as Jake leaned his forehead into Bradley’s neck seeking comfort. A single, strangled sob escaped his throat before he tamped it back down. Bradley knew. These tears weren’t from pain, or even anger. They came from a place of helplessness and frustration and exhaustion. He’d had this conversation with Jake before.

It never ends. He was there to help, spent his time trying to make people feel better, live a little longer, and all he got in return was sucker punched. Spit on. Yelled at. Cursed at. Day in and day out. He saw the absolute worst in people, and fought like hell for them anyway. They all did. Every doctor and nurse and receptionist and janitor in this understaffed emergency department had a desperate need to save people, and it was taking its toll, some days more than others.

“I’m taking you home, sweetheart.” Bradley’s tone left no room for discussion. Jake just nodded against his neck, his exhaustion suddenly palpable. He sat the blond back down on the padding and dropped a lingering kiss to his forehead, making sure his mustache tickled Jake’s skin. “Let Penny clean you up a bit, okay, hon? I’m gonna step outside and talk to Beau a minute. Be right back.”

He gripped Dr. Simpson’s bicep and pulled him away from the cubicle. “I need a name, and I need it fucking now.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Beau don’t fuck with me, I’m gonna find out anyway, you may as well save me a few minutes of interrogation.”

“We’ve already got the police involved, let them handle it.”

“What, for him to get a slap on the wrist? Fuck no-“

“Need I remind you that the last time Jake got hurt here and you went all “Navy SEAL” on everybody, Ice had to get the fucking governor of California involved to keep your ass out of jail? Hmm? You think that’s gonna happen twice? Who’s gonna look after Jake if you’re in prison for attempted murder?” He stopped before he was actively shouting and took a deep breath. “You are one of the most intelligent people I know, but when it comes to that boy in there you turn into a knuckle-dragging dumbass.”

Bradley opened his mouth to defend himself but Beau cut him off. “This isn’t the first time one of my staff has been assaulted, and it won’t be the last. Understand that. It comes with the territory. We’ve all been hit and kicked and pissed and spit on. Every one of us. Jake doesn’t need a knight in shining armor to fight for him. He’s a tough kid, respect his capabilities. Right now the only thing he needs is a caring and attentive husband. Be that for him, Bradshaw.”

Simpson was right. Of course he was. Bradley knew he was a hothead when it came to Jake and his safety. He’d wanted to protect Jake Seresin the first time he’d ever laid eyes on him, even though it was, in fact, Jake protecting a wounded Bradley at the time. Every cell in his body vibrated with a primal need to protect that man, the love of his life and every life beyond.

The curtain pulled back and Jake was there, a little unsteady, Penny guiding him. Most of the blood on his face and neck had been wiped away; his scrub top was missing, the white undershirt a little less gruesome. Bradley met Beau’s eyes and nodded, reached out to shake the man’s hand briefly before hurrying over to Jake’s side where he belonged. He unzipped his Station 86 hoodie and wrapped it around Jake’s shoulders before zipping it up to hide the bloodstains on his collar. Jake looked up at him and smiled. “I would’ve stolen it anyway.” The Texas twang heavy on his lips. God, he looked so tired. On a soul-deep level.

“I know, angel. You wear it more than I do, anyway, guess I stole it from you. Just giving it back.”

“You know concussion protocol, I’m assuming,” Penny handed him a packet of papers with a knowing smirk.

“All too well, ma’am.”

“He’ll sit here and you can go get your car and pull it around to the ambulance bay. We’ll meet you outside.” Beau pushed a wheelchair behind Jake, who balked for a second before admitting defeat and flopping down into it.

“Yes, sir.”

“And then you’re going to take him home and put him to bed, and I don’t want to see him for three days. At least.”

Jake whined petulantly. Bradley bent down and dropped a peck to his hair, smiling into it. “Three days of couch cuddles. I’m totally down for that.”

Jake perked up significantly at that. “Yeah, that doesn’t sound too bad.”

Beau nodded sagely. “As long as you keep the supply closet shenanigans to a minimum.”

“Oh shit-“

The End

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Moon River 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, manipulation, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Loki

Summary: your husband is a mischievous man.

Note: this kinda just came together.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You race ahead in excitement. The turtles float lazily behind the tank wall but you crash into another before you can get far. You stop short and pout. You turn to face Loki as he struts through a gaggle of children and to you.

"I told you to wait for me," he girds.

"The turtles," you say.

"Yes, they will be there still if it takes us some time," he tuts.

"Hmph," you cross your arms.

He mimics you with an arch in his brow.

"You're not supposed to use your fairy dust on me."

"Magick and it was only for your safety," he assures you.

You stick your tongue out and reach up to scratch your head. As your hair slowly regrows, your scalp feels all too exposed. Your husband watches your nails graze through the short strands.

"You didn't wear a hat."

"I don't mind."

"I don't mean for vanity. It's sunny out." He girds.

"I'll survive. Gosh, you make the world seem so dire."

"Forgive me. I find my fears hard to let go of when they have come so close," he takes your hand.

"I'm fine. I'm in remission. The doctor said."

"Yes, I know what your mortal medicine woman said. What does she know?"

"Lulu," you chide. "Sometimes, I don't think it's the doctor and the neighbour and the barista you don't trust. I think it might be me."

"On the contrary, I've never trusted any but you," he assures. "It is why I am weak, darling. Thinking of life without you. Well... I'd never have found this place and had the pleasure of inhaling the smell of fish waste."

"Oh, you always see the bright side of things," you tease and swing his arm as you continue towards the turtles.

"You are the bright side," he insists.

"Loki Odinson, aren't you a soft little puppy," you chirp.

He tugs you to a halt in front of the turtle tank. He brings you to face him as his eyes flicker. He smirks. "You know I am no puppy."

"My baby boy," you speak to him in your dog voice. "Aren't you so sweet?"

"I've proven myself otherwise, haven't I? Not very long ago in the shower--"

"Yes, naughty puppy," you giggle and turn to the turtles. "But that will still be there when we get to it. Right now, turtles."

He sighs and turns so his sole squeaks. He leans over and rests his hand on your lower back. "And I'll still be as I am. Ready for you, darling." He whispers.

🐍

You haven't had a bad day in a very long time. Not like this. You're still in bed as Loki wakes up. You can hear him go downstairs and make his tea.

You don't even get up to join him. You usually have a smoothie but you just don't have the energy. He comes to check on you, startling you from a half-sleep with a hand on your shoulder.

"Darling," he sits behind you and rubs your arm. "What is the matter? It's a nice day. I thought you wished to go to the park and see the birds again."

You groan. "I'm just... tired."

"Do you ever sound it." He drawls. "I did keep you up rather late."

"Mm," you hum dully. You barely remember last night. You just feel weak.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"No," you babble.

"Perhaps a few more minutes," he suggests.

"Maybe," you whisper.

Your eyes close on their own and you drift off. When you wake again, Loki has you on your back. He rubs your chest as he calls your name.

"There you are," he says as he holds a bright green shape in his hand. It's the elixir. "You missed a dose."

You look at the bottle. "Yesterday. I forgot. I'm sorry."

"What about today?"

"I haven't got up--"

"So you should take it," he says as uncaps it. "It will help."

You nod. He leans over you and hooks one arm beneath you. He pulls you to sit up against the headboard.

"A bit extra today then to make up for yesterday," he slithers.

He puts the bottle to your lower lip and you let him pour it in. It spreads over your tongue and trickles down your throat. You swallow and sigh.

"And your smoothie? I made your favourite. Blueberry pie."

He puts the bottle on the night table and grabs the tall glass of purple. You smile and accept it, keeping it over your lap as you press your tongue to the roof of your mouth. The elixir takes a moment to settle.

"Lulu," you say.

"Yes, precious," he rubs your thigh.

"What is it?"

"What is what?"

You glance over, "the green stuff."

"I told you, an elixir." You puff out and look at him sharply. He squints. "Oh, I do hate when you look at me like that."

"An elixir? But what is the elixir made of?"

He takes a breath and tilts his head. "It's not important. I've told you what it does."

"I can feel what it does. But the doctor said my cancer is gone so..."

"It is an Asgardian brew. If I tell you the ingredients, you wouldn't understand. What it does is offer vitality." He explains. "The doctor also said that with your rebound that you will take time to feel yourself again. I didn't want you to wait so that's what the elixir is."

"Oh," you sniff. "I guess that makes sense."

"Aren't you gladdened to be here? To be alive? With me? You shouldn't worry so much about my fairy serum," he scoffs.

He's being dismissive. Yes, you tease him about the fairy stuff but he only copies that when he's mocking you.

"Of course I'm happy," you say..

"And are you feeling better?" He asks.

"A little," you lean back and drink the smoothie through the straw. You make a face. "You didn't add honey like I like."

He smirks, "well, darling, forgive me, I forgot to fetch some from the market. We are all out."

You make a face. "Well, now I am not so happy."

"Oh, no," he takes the glass from you gently. "Be assured, there is more than honey I have to offer."

He puts the glass on the night table and gets up on his knees. He pulls you down by your hips and straddles you on the mattress. You screech in surprise and giggle.

"Lulu!"

"Yes, darling, say it louder," he covers your body with his. "Forgive my forgetting. You know I could hardly need for honey with something so sweet as you at home."

[eddiesghxst]

BESTIES DONT HATE ME BUT AYBY PT 3 IS NOT DONE FOR THIS WEEKEND🫣

TO BE FAIR i think you will be slightly happy to know that the only reason why it’s not done is bc it’s fucking long and i completely switched things around to draw it out hehe. that being said, since i did not keep my promise (twice in a row😔), here is a very very rough draft of a steddie idea i had when i needed a palate cleanser earlier, enjoyyy <3

18+ — MDNI

word count: 3.5k

Steve needed to get out of his hometown.

Familiarity was safety. Safety was easy, for some time, until it got boring. Until Steve felt like he’d been a body filling a job. Just a guy holding a camera and wasting film on still life.

The small town paper liked his eye for symmetry but hated when he got too close, too real. Too sad, his editor would say, looking over his shoulder as she rejected another frame that didn’t match the ‘local pride’ narrative. 

“More smiling.” She once told him. Didn’t like seeing people in action. Didn’t like busy photos. 

And Steve did what they asked. Still shots. Happy in one snap— that’s what they wanted. But the pictures still felt dead, every last one of them. 

So he left. Worked enough to get a one-way ticket out west and rode a bus for three days straight, wondering if he’d just ruined his life or started it. 

The bus drops him off in downtown LA with a camera slung over his shoulder, twenty-seven dollars in his pocket, and a busted leather suitcase filled with two shirts, two pants, two boxers, and two pairs of socks. 

It’s hot. Smog settles low like a second skin, clinging to his clothes like his uncertainty. He doesn’t know anyone here. Not really. Just a cousin who hasn’t answered his last three letters and a belief that something has to give.

He gets a gig on the first day. Shoots a wedding for a couple who met three weeks ago. They pay him enough to get him three nights in a motel. 

By the fifth day, he’s scoured just about every ad in the city, sat through another miserable wedding shoot where the groom smelled like cheese, and eaten three different variations of gas station sandwiches. 

His fingers itch for something real to shoot. Something messy, honest— alive. 

And unfortunately, with just a few dollars to his name and a bruised ego, Steve’s hope begins to dwindle. 

That’s when it comes.

Folded in the back of a grimy newspaper outside of a diner:

BAND SEEKING LIVE PHOTOGRAPHER. MUST TRAVEL. MUST NOT SUCK. 

PAY: QUESTIONABLE.

ART: PROBABLE.

He tears the page out and sprints to the nearest payphone, coffee forgotten on the sidewalk, heart racing in his chest, camera hung from his neck. He doesn’t even know the name of the band.

The phone booth smells like piss and hot plastic; Steve has to stick his foot in the doorway to keep from drowning in it as he shoves the newspaper under his chin and jams a few quarters in. The numbers are sticky beneath his thumb and the plastic phone could possibly be carrying a few diseases on it, but Steve couldn’t care less as he raises it to his ear. 

It rings twice.

Then: “Yeah?” A man’s voice. Gruff, half distracted, something going on in the background. 

Steve fumbles, grabs the newspaper from under his chin so he can speak properly, “Hi— uh, hi,” he clears his throat, wiping sweat from his brow, “I’m calling about the ad? For the photographer— the one for the band. I saw it in the paper. I have a portfolio, I mean— well, some prints, not on me, but—“

“You busy right now?”

Steve falters. Blinks. Heart thrumming in his chest. “No.”

“Great. Come to Valley Sound, Magnolia and Laurel. Studio 5, doors unlocked.”

And before Steve can grab a pen and ask him to say it again, the line clicks dead.

…Okay.

Magnolia and Laurel. Valley Sound, studio 5.

Steve repeats it to himself all the way to the bus stop.

It takes him almost an hour to get across town. One bus, one transfer, and one wrong turn that lands him near an adult video store before a disheveled man in front of a liquor shop points him back in the right direction. 

By the time he’s standing in front of Valley Sound, Steve’s sweating through his clothes. The building is squat and half-forgotten. The bricks are old, there's fading graffiti on the side, and paint is chipping from the stucco. There’s no sign— just a buzzer and a glass door that gives when Steve pushes it open. 

Inside, the place smells like smoke, spilled beer, and old carpet. Music leaks through the cracks of the walls, different rooms bursting with different sounds. Steve trails through it like an imposter.

He finds Studio 5 by the echo of an argument. 

“No, Rho, that’s not what the line says—“

“Well maybe the line’s wrong, Eddie. Maybe you’re wrong.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time..” Someone mutters. 

Steve inhales sharply, grasps the door handle, and steps inside. 

And because nothing’s ever gone right for Steve, his shoulder catches a guitar case left too close to the door. The thing tips. He lunges too late, watches it clatter to the floor and cut through the room's chaos like a gunshot. 

Everything halts. 

Six heads whip around. 

A girl with smudged black eyeliner and a sharp gaze. A tall, wiry guy with a cigarette hanging from his lips and a bruised ego in his eyes. Another man with a drumstick twirling between his fingers. A bassist in sunglasses, even indoors. And the guy, who Steve assumes is the manager from the phone call, is against the wall with a pad of paper, chewing a toothpick.

Steve stares back. Heart hammering, pits uncomfortably sweaty. He clutches his camera like a lifeline. 

“Sorry.” He blurts. “I’m— I’m Steve. Steve Harrington.” He says, though it sounds more like a question. No one moves, they all stare, the drummer’s jaw ticks around a wad of gum.

“I take photos. Mostly live stuff. Street shots, candid, whatever’s got soul. I saw the ad and—”

The manager lifts a hand, barely looks at him as he walks toward the sound board, “Start takin’ photos. We’ll look at what you got by the end of the day.”

And just like that, the room goes back to a buzz, and the band turns back to the lyric sheet.

The girl lights a cigarette.

The tall guy strums a sharp chord.

The drummer and the bassist follow suit.

Steve’s hands shake as he lifts the camera. From nerves, adrenaline, uncertainty— all of it.

But when he looks through the lens— adjust the finder, zeroes in— he sees it.

Something electric. A little broken. A little holy.

He clicks.

————

Steve ends up sleeping on the studio’s busted couch for four nights straight.

No one tells him to stay that first night. No one tells him to leave, either. 

The next morning, everyone just kind of operates like nothing’s changed. They include him a little bit. Someone slides him a lukewarm coffee, someone else cracks a joke about his shoes, and they even buy him a sandwich from the deli with too much mustard.

He officially learns everyone's names in the band by the end of the day— Eddie, Jeff, Gareth, and Rho.

He learns the manager’s name later that day.

“Binny. Not Benny. Binny. With an ‘I’.”

Steve gets the hang of their operation.

They’re a storm in motion. 

Steve watches them and thinks, this shouldn’t work. 

Jeff barely talks. Gareth seems like he’d follow anyone with a cigarette and a vague plan, and you and Eddie? You orbit each other like dying stars. Violent. Beautiful. Codependent. 

Steve’s never seen anything like it. 

But the moment you play— it clicks. All the screaming, the dissonance, the weird inside jokes, the low-level loathing—you pull it into the music and make something real. Something Steve believed existed, but only just now found.

On the third morning, Steve asks how you all met each other.

Jeff’s plucking a low riff, effortless like it’s been living in his spine. You’re scratching notes of a song onto a pizza box while Eddie’s hunched over the soundboard, and Gareth’s flopped on the couch, arm thrown over his eyes, claiming a “five-minute power coma” that’s already stretched into fifteen.

It comes out without thought, curious and soft— “How did you guys meet?”

Jeff glances up, still playing. You lift your head, curious, and Eddie smirks, still busy with the soundboard.

“High school,” Eddie says. “Shit hole of a place. Jeff and I were in a music theory class together. Both got detention for arguing with the teacher over a Motörhead chord progression.”

Jeff nods, gazing at the yellow tint of sun seeping through the blinds, “You were wrong, by the way.”

“Still got the better grade.”

“You cheated.”

Gareth groans from the couch, “Not this story again.”

You crack a smile, and Eddie moves on, “Gareth came in later— split from his old band. Shitty pop-punk sound that didn’t deserve his skill. We stole him.”

Gareth doesn’t bother opening his eyes when he cuts in, “You begged.”

Jeff grins, “We kidnapped him.”

Steve’s got a smile stretching across his face, fingers dancing over his camera like he wants to capture their past. “And then what? You just… formed a band?”

You grin, leaning forward, “No, they tried to form, like, three bands. One was punk. One was screamo. One was—”

“Don’t say it.”

“—an acoustic duo called ‘Twice Shy’.”

Eddie slaps a hand over your mouth, “Lies. Slander. Shut it.” You lick his palm, and Eddie pinches you with a grimace.

Steve tilts his head towards you, “So when did you come into the picture?”

Jeff drags in a breath and shrugs, “We booked it after graduation. Aimed for LA with eighty bucks and a demo.”

“That’s when we met Rho.”

You smile and offer a lousy bow with a wave of your hand. “I was playing a garage showcase in Barstow. Just me and a loop pedal. I was awful.”

Eddie grins, “She was magnetic. So we stole her, too.”

Steve watches, quiet and fascinated by the story. The way you tell it. The way someone remembers it wrong, and someone else interrupts to fill in the blanks.

“Sounds like fate.” He softly says.

You shrug, picking up a pen and turning back to your pizza box, “More like desperation and dumb luck.”

Eddie says the best things come from that anyway.

Later on, Steve asks another question— “What’s Rho short for?”

Gareth speaks around a mouthful of his sandwich, “Catastrophe.”

You smile with a wink, and Steve decides that makes sense.

By the end of the third day, he’s invited to sit at the soundboard and snap some more shots— and that’s when Steve realizes he might actually be staying.

You record all day and fight all night. Rho yells with her whole body, Eddie spits venom laced with poetry, and somehow it works.

Steve develops film in the back of the manager's office, hung to dry between unpaid invoices and rusty lamps. The pictures are beautiful. Devastating. Sharp and vivid, and so honest it makes Steve want to cry. 

Binny takes one look at them and tells Steve to get a suitcase.

On the seventh day, Steve isn’t sure what’s going on, but they’re moving like there’s a ticking time bomb somewhere. Then at the end of the day, Binny claps his hands and says, “Time to take this show on the road.”

Literally. 

Seven in the morning sharp, they’ll be on their way to San Diego to play their first show on a seven-week tour. Twenty shows, twelve states. 

Steve is wired.

It’s the night before they leave when Steve forgets his camera bag in the studio.

It’s late. Everyone’s asleep or passed out. Steve thinks he left his bag in the wrong room again, rookie mistake. The building is dark, uncharacteristically quiet, but there’s an orange light seeping out from under one cracked door. There’s a soft and quiet hum shifting through the air as Steve walks toward it.

His mind is stuck on finding his bag, and his body’s moving on muscle memory. He doesn’t think. Just pushes the door open. 

Your legs are around Eddie’s waist. Your hands in his hair. His lips at your throat. Both of you leaned against the soundboard. 

You moan— soft, but sharp. Eddie growls something low and filthy— grabs at you like you’re his lifeline, like he can’t get any deeper into you, like the rage isn’t enough.

Steve freezes. 

Eddie’s head turns. Their eyes lock. 

It’s only a second, but it stretches, long and thin. 

You don’t stop. You don’t even look. Like you know, and you don’t care. 

Steve backs out and closes the door. Slowly. Leaves without his bag, doesn’t care anymore.

He doesn’t find sleep easily, too busy running the last few days back and piecing things together because Steve could not, for the life of him, figure you and Eddie out.

At first, he wasn’t sure what you were. Lovers? Enemies? Codependents in matching leather jackets?

He watched from across the studio for an entire week— you curled on the couch, Eddie sat on the floor in front of you, arguing over a chorus, laughing mid-insult, you throwing an empty soda can at his head. 

There’s heat in the way you speak to each other. Hunger. 

Steve just wasn't sure if it was all out of anger or desire. After what he’s seen now, he thinks it’s both.

————

LA TO SAN DIEGO

The van smells like weed, old vinyl, and denim.

Jeff drives the whole way. You smoke in the back. Eddie rides shotgun and flicks ashes out the cracked window. Steve sits in the middle row, camera in his lap, ten bucks in his wallet, and wonders if this is how cults begin.

“We should do Velvet Static tonight.”

You say it in a rare moment of humming quiet, eighty miles out from San Diego. Steve’s body is stiff from sitting, and Gareth is zoned out beside him.

Eddie cracks a grin around his cigarette. Jeff sighs. Gareth groans and digs himself into the side of the van, mumbling that he’s taking a nap. 

Eddie lulls his head to the side, eyes trained on the road ahead as Jeff continues to drive. He lets the silence sit for a moment, a stream of smoke filtering out the window before replying, “No.”

Steve doesn’t need to look at you to see the challenging glare on your face. It’s in your voice when you speak, “Why not?”

Eddie huffs out a laugh, “Because it’s emo bullshit with a tambourine. It’s fake. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Jeff snickers. Easily earns himself a crinkled-up wrapper to his face.

“Fuck you— it’s necessary. It’s a fucking break.” You argue.

Eddie scoffs around a laugh, barely glancing back as he responds, “Exactly! It’s boring. No one’s there for a break, Rho. People want noise, they want chaos—”

“You want chaos.” You cut in, “It’s my song. I wrote it. I wanna play it.” You insist.

Eddie licks his lips like he’s tasting his words before saying them. Steve can see his lashes flutter behind his sunglasses, his fingers twitch around the body of his camera. 

Eddie shifts in his seat, kicks a foot up on the dash, and lets out a breath, “Crowds not gonna like it.”

“I don’t care.”

It’s final and sealed.

Eddie rolls his tongue beneath his cheek, glances out the window, and brings his cigarette back to his lips to take a long drag. 

Later on, when Jeff stops to get gas, Steve hears you humming the song to yourself.

Steve doesn’t say it, but he disagrees with both of you.

————

The venue is a pit.

Steve would say it’s a ‘hole-in-the-wall’, but even a hole in the wall would look better than this.

Low ceilings. Sticky floors. A single busted speaker hanging from a flimsy cable— Binny took one look at it and said, “They’re askin’ for a lawsuit.”. And Steve is a thousand percent sure he saw a rat scurrying around behind the bar. It’s the kind of place you don’t remember until it ruins you.

Steve’s sweating through his shirt, camera strap rubbing the back of his neck raw. His arms are shaking from carrying a heavy amp to the stage, but he says nothing, just shakes them out and flexes his fingers every now and then.

Binny invites him to grab a drink at the bar while the band does soundcheck. Binny gets a whiskey neat, and Steve gets a beer that’s disgustingly warm and makes him sweat harder than before. Gareth is on stage, spinning a stick between his knuckles behind his kit, and Jeff is tweaking his sound when your voice snaps through the room.

“This monitor is fucking dogshit.”

It’s directed at the sound guy, some lousy middle-aged man who’s definitely not getting paid enough to handle half of the bands that run through this place. “We’re working on it.” He bites back, maybe a little too hard. You step forward, sunglasses perched upon your face as you squat down at the edge of the stage to meet the guys level and casually tell him to ‘get your shit together or fuck off.’.

The man throws his hands up. Gareth chuckles behind his kit. Jeff hasn’t looked up from his bass once. Eddie shrugs.

Steve stands at the bar, watching it all unfold with some sort of detached awe, camera resting on the bar top, warm beer churning in his belly. Binny’s next to Steve, down to a few sips of his drink, watching you like someone who's seen this movie before. 

Steve glances over. Binny shifts in his seat and exhales slowly. “I ever tell you how I got here?”

Steve blinks, “Like… with the band?”

Binny nods, eyes still watching you and the sound guy go at it. “I was managing an indie band. Rho was standing on a merch table. Screaming like she was fuckin’ possessed,” he huffs out a laugh, “Called their old manager a limp-dicked coward sack of shit and told him he’d be choking on his badge if he ever crossed her again.”

Steve raises a brow, “Seriously?”

Binny sips his drink, “Dead serious. Eddie told me I was their new manager, and I just… didn’t say no.”

Steve lets out a quiet laugh, grabbing his camera and switching it on, “And you’ve been stuck ever since.”

Binny shrugs, Steve wonders if the lines on his face are from age or stress. “I’ve tried leaving. Once. Gareth sent me a handwritten death threat,” he grins, “It was adorable.”

They both look back toward the stage where you’re pointing now. Eddie’s leaning on the mic like he’s about to throw his voice in. Jeff’s sitting on his amp, chewing gum, unmoved.

Binny leans on the bar with a sigh, watching his kids like a tired yet proud father, “They’re like feral cats. Loud, untrainable. You feed ‘em once and they think they own you.”

Steve lifts the camera, snaps a shot of you mid-scream. He gazes through the lens for a moment longer as Binny adds, “I still haven’t figured out if I’m managing them or just… surviving them.”

Steve lets that hang in the air for a moment.

The crowd comes in like a blur of torn fishnets, leather, and denim. Backstage is really just one boxed room with a table for food, a dying mini fridge, and two couches that should’ve been thrown out in the 70s. 

Eddie’s nursing a joint and repairing a broken string. You’re doing your makeup in the bathroom mirror, grumbling at Gareth when he shoves past you to take a piss. Jeff is sitting cross-legged and tuning his bass like he’s meditating.

It’s a nice hum of anticipation. The calm before the storm.

And it doesn’t last long.

The crowd thickens, and the noise rises, and Steve sinks into the least questionable couch of the two. Nearly blends into the couch with how still he becomes. He holds his camera to his chest, sits patiently and quietly, and watches the band twist seven ways to hell in just forty minutes.

It’s a bit mind-boggling to see. There on the old, withered couch, Steve watches four band members who were nearly zombies two hours ago become something akin to hungry beasts.

You’re pacing near the stage door, cigarette trembling between your fingers and burning the tips of them, lips moving— in a chant or a countdown, Steve can’t tell.

Eddie’s back is to the wall, head tilted toward the ceiling, a sheen of sweat already built over his neck, whispering lyrics like he’s summoning something.

“Three minutes!” Binny calls.

Gareth taps his drumstick against his knee. Jeff cracks his knuckles and twists his neck.

You stub out your cigarette on your boot heel, and Eddie rolls his shoulders before tossing back a shot someone hands him with no explanation. 

Steve watches it all— this quiet, manic prelude— through a lens.

One click here. Two clicks there. Another for good luck.

Then someone yells— “You’re up!”

The band moves like a storm.

And Steve follows.

————

a/n: HIII, a little rockstar moment for the girlies :p like i said, this is a very rough draft and not at all proofread, but I'll be coming back to this probably after I finish ayby TEHE OKAY BYE, GOING TO WRITE BEFORE IM MAULED MWAH

[crowsofdarkness]

pairings: bill skarsgard x female!reader

You decide to tell Bill what you've been hiding.

part one-please read this first.

no major cw's.

READER

No. 

No. 

No. No. No. 

This is all a dream, a nightmare. One that I’m bound to wake up from any moment with a breath of relief. 

Right, if it's a dream then why are you holding two positive tests and an ultrasound?

The thought made my stomach and shoulders fall in succession, knowing that there was no way I could deny it any longer. The last couple of months of constant morning sickness and sensitivity to certain smells were easy to ignore but the third month of no period was not. I knew my body was changing, my breast becoming sensitive to the touch and the sudden yet noticeable weight gain. It was evident that I was pregnant, something I told myself weeks ago, but I still tried to ignore because it couldn’t possibly be true. 

So now, here I was standing in the middle of my bathroom glaring down at the two positive pregnancy tests and the three ultrasound pictures. The doctor estimated I was roughly 12 weeks along and almost quickly, I knew who the father was. 

I’d only slept with one man the last three months and he was currently off in some part of the world filming. Yes, we had sex unprotected but I took the morning after pill as soon as I could the next day, not having the time before work to stop and pick one up; something I made known to the doctor earlier today. 

“Those don’t work all the time. It could be that you waited too long after intercourse to take it.” 

With shaking hands, I set them down on the bathroom counter and dragged my feet over to my bedroom across the hall where my laptop sat on my desk. I knew what I had to do, me making the decision on the car ride back home from my appointment that I would keep this baby and raise it by myself if need be. I made decent money at my job so I could live somewhat comfortably. I didn’t need Bill’s help, I wouldn’t force him into something he didn’t want only for him to leave years later when it got too hard for him. 

He still deserved to know, though. So now came the hard part of finding out where exactly Bill was. When I mentioned it to my friend that I hooked up with someone named Bill and he only told me he was an actor once he dropped me off home later that night, my friend went into full FBI mode to figure out who exactly I had sex with. Then, if that wasn’t the weirdest part, I found out he’s cousins with a coworker of mine. Distant or third cousins twice removed, something like that. 

The only problem? I could not remember what his last name was and needed to ask the coworker if he knew where Bill was. 

“Fuck, this pregnancy brain is no joke,” I groaned while resting my forehead on the cool wood of my desk. 

I’d also picked up one of those pregnancy books earlier and spent a few hours reading everything regarding the first trimester, which I had just surpassed. Rubbing my small bump, I sat up straighter in my chair and let my eyes flutter shut. 

“Alright baby, help me out here. Help me find your dad,” I muttered. 

Bill Skarsgard.

Snapping my eyes open, I hastily typed out a message to my coworker explaining that it was imperative I speak to Bill and if there was any way to contact him. With my job, it wasn’t odd for me to contact someone of importance or fame so I made up the lie of wanting to set up an interview. As I waited for my coworker to respond, I tried to think of the best way to go about this. It would be wrong of me to send him a direct message to tell him the news, something he could easily ignore or claim was false. 

He needed to see it for himself. 

A moment later, my coworker responded that Bill wasn’t fond of his number being shared which I understood, but then he told me Bill was currently filming in Los Angeles. 

Gnawing on my lip, I had to make a decision. Keep it a secret or fly out to Los Angeles to tell him. 

Clicking open a new tab, I searched up flights to California and once those were booked and paid for, I sat back in my chair and rubbed at my bump. I’d fly out next Friday evening and return Sunday morning. I couldn’t stay longer because I had work that Monday morning and I wanted to try and save up as much PTO as I could for maternity leave, my job offering a crappy version of it. 

Stretching out my limbs, I rose from the chair only to make it a few steps to my bed, falling onto it with a puff of air. Along with pregnancy brain being something I’d been suffering from, so was the exhaustion. It felt like no matter how many hours I slept at night, by 2 in the afternoon, I was ready for bed. 

Of course you’re tired, your body is growing a human.

I let the idea of me growing a tiny human made up of equal parts me and Bill lull me to sleep, those dark eyes plaguing my existence. I also couldn’t ignore the excitement that filled me knowing I’d be seeing him again. 

BILL

Boisterous voices spilled out of the restaurant as I walked out onto the sidewalk with some of my friends after hours of food and drinks. We had an off day from filming and decided to hang out with my costars. 

“Oh, I call dibs! Wait, nevermind she’s pregnant and I don’t need that baggage,” one of my co-stars shivered before giving his back to whoever he was talking about. 

With a raised brow, I slowly turned to face his gaze and sucked in a breath at the sight. Y/N stood a few feet away from the restaurant, wringing her hands together with nerves as her eyes darted around the bodies, trying to find a certain one. Her soft strands of hair blew over her shoulder with the unusually cool summer breeze as the bright rays from the sun casted her bare shoulders in a golden hue, yet it paled in comparison to the yellow color of her sundress that rested just above her knees. 

As my eyes traveled past the swell of her breast down to her lower half it was then that I realized exactly what my co-star meant and I let out a very loud choked gasp.

Everyone froze to look over at me, who had yet to remove my gaze from Y/N’s stomach as she ran a hand over it, a silent indication of what I’d been wondering to myself. One of my friends surveyed the scene in front of him, darting back and forth between me and Y/N. He muttered something under his breath before giving me a push towards her, my body still in a state of shock and I nearly stumbled over my feet. 

“Hi,” her voice shook with nerves when I stopped in front of her.

Now with the setting sun, I could see a patch of freckles covering her nose and cheeks. I noticed she had only one dimple on her left cheek when she gave me a small smile. 

But her eyes? Fuck, they still managed to pull me in nearly four months later. All I could think about was one simple thing: I hope she’s here to tell me that it’s mine.

READER

“H-hi,” Bill cleared his throat while stuffing his hands deep into the pockets of his pants “What are you doing here?” 

Letting out a shaky breath, I rubbed a hand over my small bump. “I’m pretty sure you can guess.”

His eyes flicked down so fast I nearly missed it. “It’s mine?” 

I already told myself not to get upset when he questioned it because I knew he would. I would have been more shocked if he didn’t. 

“It’s yours, Bill. You’re the only guy I had sex with in the last four months and unprotected,” I replied. 

Bill nodded while shuffling on his feet, but remained silent. 

“I only found out last week. I guess I tried to ignore it in hopes that it was all a dream because the last thing I needed was a baby,” I admitted while shifting on my feet. 

“Are you going to keep it? It’s obviously your choice. I’ll support you with whatever you decide so please don’t think I’m pressuring you into something because that’s not what I’m trying to do.”

As he rambled on, I gave a curt nod. “I do plan on keeping it. I didn’t expect to get pregnant before falling in love and getting married but when has anything in my life been traditional? I’m used to doing things on my own so this won’t be any different.”

Bill’s muscles constricted underneath his shirt as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Who said you were doing this alone?”

“Uh. I just figured that with how busy you are, you wouldn’t want to be bothered with a kid. I only came out here to tell you in person because it felt wrong to tell you in an Instagram message.”

He snorted, nostrils flaring, and took a tentative step towards me. “You don’t think it’s wrong to make assumptions about me?” 

I chewed on the inside of my cheek and forced myself to break the intense stare down between us. Suddenly being underneath his hot gaze, I felt the pep talk I spent all afternoon telling myself slipping through my grasp. Bile rose in my throat, part because of the pregnancy and part because of the nerves I felt flowing through me. 

“You’re staying here in LA with me until I finish filming then we can make a plan of what to do.” 

His stern voice caused me to whirl my head back towards him, my hair flowing over my shoulders. “Excuse me? I didn’t expect you to drop everything in your life for this baby so you can’t expect me to just uproot my life to please you!”

"I've never been one to half-ass anything, Y/N!" Bill bit out with a clenched jaw. His hands were perched low on his hip as my sudden news turned his world upside down. 

My hands rested on my stomach as I took a deep breath, to calm myself. My blood pressure at my appointment last week was a little concerning so my doctor made sure to tell me to take it easy, especially in these early months. The large group of people a few feet behind him pretended to keep themselves busy but I knew they'd been eavesdropping since I showed up a few minutes ago. 

Bill also let out a deep breath to calm himself. "If we're going to do this then we're doing it together. But we can't do it together if we're in different parts of the country, sometimes the world.”

I scoffed, still not quite ready to jump into the idea of packing up my life for the next month to live on the road with a man I had only met one night a few months ago.

"And if I say no?" I scoffed, my own hands perched on my hips. 

Those unusually dark eyes pinned me in place as he took a step closer towards me. I could feel his warm breath across my lips and the sudden hunger to taste him again was overtaking me. 

"You're carrying my child, Y/N. There's no way I'm letting you leave now. I need to do this right, please,” his voice cracked at the end of his sentence.

I wasn’t sure if it was because of the blazing sun, the nearly 90 degree heat, or the way Bill’s words cut deep that made my surroundings suddenly spin causing my body to go limp into his embrace. 

“Shit,” he cursed as he reached out to catch me from hitting the ground below and lifted my limp body into his arms. 

“I don’t feel so good,” I murmured into his neck, my body suddenly feeling clammy and drained of energy. 

“Hang on baby,” Bill cooed while carrying me towards the restaurant's outdoor patio and cupped my cheeks so I could look at him with heavy eyes. 

“When was the last time you ate something?” He wondered. 

I blinked slowly, trying my best to keep the bile that raised in my throat down, and let out a weak response. 

“Not since this morning.” 

The words tangled together as I felt a wave of nausea wash over me and Bill cursed again while yelling something to someone, it being white noise as I felt my body growing heavier. 

“Drink some water,” Bill urged me with a hushed voice, bringing a bottle to my lips and helping me take in some, the cool liquid easing down the urge to throw up everywhere. 

Next he took a granola bar from someone's hand and waved it in front of my nose, causing me to wretch back away from it. 

Peanut butter. 

I fucking hated the smell of peanut butter. 

“Y/N, you need to eat something,” Bill’s voice was sharp, along with his gaze on me. 

I cringed. “The baby hates peanut butter.”

He let out a low rumble of laughter before looking up at the man behind him. “Can you ask the restaurant if they have some fruit or something? I’ll pay for it.”

“Oh, the baby loves bananas,” I perked up, the little bit of water intake bringing life back into me slowly. 

Bill smiled. “One banana coming right up.”

After the man dashed inside of the restaurant, Bill’s hands rested on my knee with a long sigh.“You can’t forget to eat, Y/N.”

“I’ve been feeling sick all morning and spent most of the afternoon before coming here asleep. The plane ride took a lot out of me. I guess I forgot,” I gave a limp shrug. 

Worry etched on Bill’s face as he continued to kneel in front of me. “Can you even be flying?” 

The man, who I figured out was one of Bill’s friends, returned with two bananas and I took them with a grateful smile when I noticed he even peeled them for me. 

“I can fly until I’m thirty six weeks,” I answered after swallowing two mouthfuls of banana. 

“How far along are you?” 

“13 weeks.” 

I could see Bill figure out the dates in his head, confirming what I had already told him. 

“Due in September?” He asked, running his fingers over my knee, leaving goosebumps in his wake. 

Even in my weak state, I couldn’t deny how much I missed his touch as I nodded. 

“September 4.”

We sat in silence for a moment as I finished the bananas and drank a little bit more water. 

 “Feeling better?” Bill questioned. 

I patted his hand reassuringly. “Very much, thank you.”

Then I was met with worry behind those bright eyes of Bill’s and frowned. 

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” I breathed. 

He huffed before running a hand through his hair. “Can you understand why I want you with me, Y/N? Imagine if this happened and no one was there to help you.”

This was the very first time one of these episodes happened and I had to admit, it scared the hell out of me so I couldn’t imagine the fear coursing through Bill when I collapsed into him. 

Playing with my hands on my lap, I eventually nodded. “Okay. But I have to settle things back at home and my job before leaving. 

Bill did his best to hide his grin behind his hand as he scratched at his jaw, ultimately failing. 

“I’ll be in L.A for another two months. Can you take off that long from work?” 

My shoulders rose and fell. “I have some PTO that I can use. When should I fly back out here?” 

Bill placed his hat back on his head. “I’m actually not needed for filming the next few days. I don’t like the idea of you on a plane by yourself so we can fly back together and when everything is settled, we’ll fly back.” 

It was pointless to argue with him. From what I’ve gathered in the very short time of knowing Bill, when he had his mind set on something, he followed through with it.

As the noise of the busy street life fell around us, I fiddled with the ends of my dress, trying to gather the courage to say my next words, unsure if Bill would agree or even feel the same. 

“I want to make sure you understand that just because we’re doing this parenting thing together does not mean we're together.  We can co-parent but I’m not looking for a relationship, it doesn't matter that we’re having a baby together.”

My gaze was trained hard on my chipped nail polish that I hadn’t seen the look of pure heartbreak flash over Bill’s face but he was quick to put that mask back up. 

“Whatever you’re comfortable with, Y/N. I’m not going to force anything on you. I’ll be here for you; as a friend.” 

That, however, I did not miss; the way the word friend sounded bitter on his tongue.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” I said suddenly remembering something I had hidden in my purse. 

With curious eyes, Bill took the ultrasound picture I retrieved from my purse and grazed his thumb over the black and white picture, over the small fetus. His eyes now glossy as he blew out a shaky breath. 

“That’s-?” He coughed, trying to figure out his words. 

I nodded while resting my hands over my small bump. “That’s our baby.”

Bill cast his gaze from the ultrasound to my bump, back and forth a few times almost as if he was trying to understand how the little baby in the picture was the one I was carrying. The lines next to his eyes crinkled and his bottom lip caught between his teeth. 

“If we're going to do this together, Bill, you can touch it whenever you want. You don’t need to ask. This baby is half yours,” I assured him while reaching for his hand, placing it over my bump. 

He let out a breath, finally being able to feel where his baby was, and it was as if everything was clicking into place for him. Our fingers linked together, both resting over the bundle of what we created that night together. While I hadn’t expected this outcome from me telling him, I was extremely grateful that he decided to stay with me. The fear of raising a baby on my own kept me up the last few nights. 

I had meant what I told him, though. The last thing I was looking for was a relationship to make this between us even more messier than it already was. But when Bill leaned towards my bump to whisper something, I knew those words I had just spoken to myself in my brain were only that; words. 

“Hi baby, I’m your dad.”

[icarusdescending7]

Aquamarine - Chapter 6

Ao3 | First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Your fiancé died seven years ago, and you joined the military in his wake to fill the void his death put on you. Now, you work with the 141 for an assignment, hunting associates of their enemies.

Their Lieutenant, however, given you an uneasy feeling. You have a vague sense of familiarity with him, but from where?

-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-

You woke up on the couch of the common room, blanket draped across your body as a cold, half-drunk cup of tea sat next to you. You don’t know when you fell asleep, but you do know it was late before you did. You looked at the clock, and saw the time, 8:30am, and sighed. It was way past when you normally woke up but thankfully it was your day off. No worries about getting scolded by Price.

You sat up with a groan, stretching your arms high above your head and sighing. You willed a glance around the room, but were quickly stopped by a crick in your neck sending stabbing pains through your back. You rubbed at your neck, continuing to look around. Your eyes landed on the door right as Soap walked in, two cups in hand.

“Morning,” He smiled, holding up a cup, “Got ye a coffee. Dinnae know how you like it so I left it black.” He said as he handed you the cup, taking a seat beside you on the armchair.

You sipped at the coffee, having to take a second to wince at the bitter taste. “Black is fine. Just bitter. Thanks.” You took another sip, “When did I pass out? I feel like I got hit by a truck.”

“Eh, about four, I’d say. You crashed when we decided to sit down to talk instead of at the counters.” He shrugged, taking a sip of his own drink. “Oh, but you did fall asleep on Ghosts shoulder. You might’ve thought he was a statue with how stiff he got.” He snickered.

“Huh.” You mumbled, recalling the nights memories. You and Ghost were having a nice conversation, swapping war stories and funny moments while Johnny occasionally butted in to correct a detail Ghost missed. But there was one thing you remembered more clearly than others. You told him a story about your life before the military, about a bad day you and your then boyfriend were having, nothing going right and ending with a failed bottle of wine making the two of you sick.

He became serious about everything, never saying more than a few words until he bored you to sleep. “Yeah. I bet so. Did you two make it back to your rooms okay, then?” You asked, clearing your throat.

“Yeah. We talked for a while after you fell asleep, only left after you toppled onto the couch.” He said, recalling everything that happened after that. “Ghost left in seconds after that, I was the one to throw that blanket over you.”

“Thanks.” You mumbled, looking away in thought.

~~

You found the next few days awkward. Ghost, ever true to his name now, made it a point to keep out of your way. When he was working with you, he would either do all of the work or none of it, never actually doing anything to help you or refusing to let you help. Sometimes he outright refused to show up.

Eventually, you got sick of it, if his treatment of you and his sudden change in behavior. You decided it was time to ask him why he was avoiding you now, more so than he ever had before. You managed to hunt him down, finding him in his office, an effective cornering tactic.

“Ghost, I need to talk to you,” You said sternly, “Now.”

He looked up from his computer screen, his eyes hard as he regarded you. “About what, Sergeant?” He asked, his voice was low, almost annoyed, and his shoulders were squared with tension.

You paused, eyes widening but not backing down. “I want to know why you’re avoiding me.” you huffed, crossing your arms, “Ever since we hung out a few nights ago, you’ve been acting weird. Like…” You floundered for words, “…Like you’re afraid of interacting with me or something. As if I’m a problem?” You looked at him as you finished, meeting his eyes before looking away, not quite brave enough to hold it.

He stared at you for a long time, making you shift from foot to foot nervously. Finally, he spoke. “Why would I be avoiding you?” He asked, “I think I interact with you plenty, do I not? I’m your Lieutenant, not your friend.”

His answer made you work your jaw. It was such an asshole answer, and he seemed to know it from the way he leaned forward on his desk. “Oh.” You said, your tone beginning to match his. “So, let me get this straight. You can be friends— mates, with Soap. But you can’t be buddies with me?” You asked, “What’s the fucking difference?”

He stayed quiet, mulling over her answer, his eyes narrowing and opening as he considered how to respond to that, if at all. “The difference,” He said slowly, “Is that our friendship is more than that. We’re… forged in blood and shared experience.” His head tilted.

What an insufferable answer. “Trauma. That is called a trauma bond, Ghost. I’m not dumb, I’m aware that you two have been through a lot of shit together.” You reworded his answer, “But with that logic, that our ranks separate us, you and Soap can’t be friend either.”

He closed his eyes and let out a low sigh. “Back off, sergeant. You’re on thin ice.” He warned, fists clenching against the table.

“Why? I thought we could be friends!” You shouted, “Yeah! I think you’re a bit fucking creepy, a bit of a freak, but shit… Ghost!” You sighed, looking at him with a look of frustration. “I though we could be friend—”

“Fine! It was a mistake on my end, Sergeant.” He said louder than you, hitting his open palm against the table. “I was being friendly with you because you look like someone I knew. Someone so far in my past I may as well not know them anymore! I was comfortable with them!” He took a deep breath. “But you’re not them. I realize that now.” He sighed, shoulders sagging as if a massive weight were removed from them.

He stayed silent for a moment, his jaw working as he thought. He shook his head. “No fucking wonder you’re single. That fiancé you mentioned, I’ll make a good bet that he’s not actually dead, just avoiding having to live with you. Do you ever stop to think? That maybe he realized he made a mistake? Wanting to marry you?” He said lowly, bitterness seeping into every venomous word, using your experiences against you. “You’re—” He growled, about to insult you more but bit his tongue. Instead, he sat up straight and pointed to the door. “Get out. You’re Price’s problem now.” He dismissed, already turning his attention away from you.

~~

Your room was dark as you sat on your bed, staring off into space.

His words didn’t just sting. They had teeth. it was only to fear of yours, comma that your Simon loved you in his death. But you could never give yourself a reason why he would do that. Your Simon, was a good, loving man… He did everything in his power to show that he loved you.

Right?

You sighed as you turned on your bedside lamp, standing to go to your closet and dig out a bottle or whatever alcohol you had left. However, you paused as you came to your dresser. The box of shattered glass and one small glass figurine and stood there.

That figurine wasn’t always there, was it?

It seemed familiar. It looked custom, a woman in a dress, dancing with a soldier. But you couldn’t place where you’d seen it before.

“Strange.” you muttered before moving towards your closet, finishing your mission to get a drink. Or several.

[mymarifae]

alu is such a weird and particular cat. right now his big thing is he ONLY wants to go outside for his little walks at night. if i take him out while the sun is still up he does not want to and just makes us go home. i have no idea what's causing this

[yzzart]

⋆˙⟡ BOYFRIEND!DANTE ── HEADCANONS!

── content warnings: F!reader, mention of anime, Dante being needy, fluff, cute and light content and part two is here!

── word count: 653!

⭑.ᐟ Dante is always, ALWAYS, in contact with you and it doesn't matter where or when. — This is not an exaggeration, or a complaint, never. — Whether through physical touches or messages, SMS, — that man only uses his damn cell phone because of you and even though it's risky — he never lets you keep in contact.

“thinking about you right now ;)” “Dante, you only left about 5 minutes ago…?” “painful, isn’t it? do you believe i have an amazing joke ready? i need to tell you when i get back.”

⭑.ᐟ The demon hunter loves to snuggle up to you, to cling to you; being unable, and in his words, impossible, not to be close to you. — Well, that's his biggest weakness. — Dante always kept his hands around you, usually on your waist and caressing the region. — Like holding your hand, caressing your face and massaging your thigh.

⭑.ᐟ He loves receiving your attention, especially when he is between your boobs and receiving caresses, which make him fall asleep instantly. — you know this very well — However, there was one night, after a long and unbearable killing against beings from the underworld, Dante ended up falling asleep during one of the night conversations, which was your routine, and ended up drooling on your shirt.

⤷ The scene was…naive, also pitiful; your boyfriend was tired, he needed rest more than anything else. — And you, wanting to make him comfortable and pleasant, tried to get out of the position, which was to be underneath him, but an extremely sleepy and heavy Dante prevented your action and mumbled inaudible words — asking you to stay there, with him — and even without understanding, you obeyed.

⭑.ᐟ DDR — DanceDance Revolucion nights? This has become a routine worthy of you and Dante. — Every night, no matter what time it is, and even knowing that you have things to do the next day, this gentle game becomes a competition; Dante, without even caring who is in front, doesn't miss the chance to have fun with his girl.

"Come on, ma'am! Make me impressed, go, go!" + “It was with that swagger that you won me over, right, you smart little girl?” + “I can’t believe you beat me at my own game?”

“Shut your pretty mouth, big boy.”

⭑.ᐟ You are the only person, the only thing that can breathe, that can touch or question his necklace. — There is no discussion about that. — Dante trusts you, until his last breath, even though he has reason to distrust everyone and everything, he would never leave or abandon his loyalty and trust in you. — Out of fear, and respect and common sense, you don't dare to touch it on some occasions and Dante realizes this, he finds it funny, cute, pure; feeling loved and so cared for by you.

⤷ “There’s not a day, not a single day, that the memory of the day she gave me that necklace doesn’t cross my mind.” — Dante mentioned his mother, able to feel a small and unbearable burning in his eyes; he sighed, arranged you in his lap, directing a compassionate look in your direction as your fingers pass through the cord, without touching the amulet. — “And every day, i’m sure she would adore you.”

⭑.ᐟ Dante knows how to be a knight with you, and he really does. — Last piece of pizza in the box? He makes a point of leaving it for you, and that's a high-class knightly role in his eyes. — Even living such a complicated life, working with something so violent and filthy, he can't help but indulge his girl in a few whims.

⤷ Little writings on small pieces of old newspaper, which he left in his pants or jacket pocket, telling some joke or unfunny pick-up line and decorations are typical of Dante. — Teaching you to play pool and then beating him and your prize are moments of grabbing? Oh, Dante is a lucky boy.

[maskedbyghost]

Part 2 of fuck buddies with Simon (now with extra emotional damage)

You didn’t text him, you didn’t call, you didn’t chase.

But you did send one final message.

“This is the last time, Simon. I can’t keep doing this. I don’t want to be someone you only need when you’re lonely or angry or tired. I wanted you, not just your time or your hands or your body. You don’t have to say anything—I’m just letting you know I’m done. Please don’t come back. I won’t open the door.”

Then you blocked him.

Phone, socials, everything. And not in some dramatic, screaming, flinging-plates kind of way.

And for the first few days, nothing happened. No messages, no banging on the door, and no surprise visits in the middle of the night. Just silence.

But on Simon’s end?

Hell broke loose.

He didn’t even notice the message right away. He was halfway through watching a game when he opened his phone and saw it sitting there, timestamped four hours ago. He read it once, then again, and then stared at it like maybe if he glared hard enough, the words would disappear.

But they didn’t.

He tried to reply, of course. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard for longer than he’d admit. But when he hit send, the message didn’t go through.

His jaw clicked tight. Something cold and ugly twisted low in his chest. He tossed his phone onto the couch and paced. He thought about showing up at your place but didn’t. Not yet. Not when he didn’t even know what he was going to say.

It hit him, slowly. That you weren’t bluffing. That you meant it this time.

That he fucked it. Bad...

A month later

You’re sitting across from a guy who actually listens when you talk. He laughs at your jokes, asks you questions. He looks at you like he’s interested—not just in your body, but in your thoughts, opinions, and favorite takeout order.

It’s... weird. Not bad weird. Just different. Good, even.

You're at a quiet restaurant, corner booth, tucked into a little space with candlelight and soft jazz playing overhead. You’re just reaching for your drink when you hear it.

The click of a safety being flipped off, before your date goes still.

“Don’t move,” a voice says, low and dark behind him.

You know that voice.

Your blood runs cold before you even look at him.

Simon stands there, one hand is braced on the back of your date’s chair. The other? Holding a gun pointed directly at the side of the poor guy’s head.

“Simon—what the fuck are you doing?” you hiss, scrambling out of the booth.

“I just wanna talk,” he says, voice way too calm for someone with a loaded weapon in hand.

Your date is sweating, hands raised. “Hey, man, I don’t want any trouble—”

“Did I ask you what you wanted?” Simon snaps. Then he smiles. Smiles. “You’re gonna get up and leave. Right now. No questions. Go.”

The guy doesn’t argue. He bolts so fast he almost trips over a chair.

You stand there, staring at Simon like you’re seeing him for the first time. And in a way, you are.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you ask, shoving him back. “Are you insane?”

“I said I just wanted to talk,” he mutters, sliding into the booth like he didn’t just commit a felony in front of three tables.

“Jesus, Simon. You scared the hell out of him. You scared me. You don’t just pull a gun on someone because you’re feeling jealous!”

“I’m not jealous,” he says, lying through his teeth.

“Get out.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“You don’t get to show up here like this. You don’t get to throw a tantrum just because I moved on. You made it clear how you felt—or didn’t feel. Remember that?”

Simon’s hands are curled into fists on the table. He looks like he’s about to explode. But instead of yelling, he just leans forward, jaw clenched so hard.

“I fucked up,” he says. “I know I did.”

“Yeah,” you say coldly. “You really did.”

-

Aftar that, he doesn’t text you. After all, he is still blocked, so he can't.

So he writes notes. Slips them under your door, even though you never respond.

"I miss you." "I keep thinking about what you said. You're right. I treated you like shit. I don’t know how to fix it, but I want to try." "Still can’t sleep. I keep rolling over expecting you to be there. You're not."

You don’t write back.

Then the gifts start showing up. A bouquet of roses, your favorite. A playlist on a USB drive. A book you mentioned once, two years ago, that he somehow remembered.

He shows up to your building sometimes. Just sits on the steps, waiting, but not in a creepy way—he knows to keep his distance. But he’s there. Rain, cold, whatever. He waits.

One night, you come home late, and he stands when he sees you. “I’ll go if you want,” he says quietly. “Just... let me know you’re okay.”

You don’t say anything. Just unlock the door and go inside.

He doesn’t leave for another hour.

Two months in.

He catches you on your way to work.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me,” he says, walking beside you like he belongs there. “Just... give me a chance to make it right. Let me earn it.”

You stop walking. Look at him.

He looks rough. The beard’s thicker, the eyes are darker, and the weight of regret sits heavy on his shoulders.

“You can’t fix this with flowers and sad eyes,” you say. “I needed you. And you made me feel like a mistake.”

“I know,” he says, voice cracking. “I know I don’t deserve another shot. But I’m still gonna try. Every day. Until you tell me to stop.”

“And what if I never change my mind?”

“Then I’ll still keep showing up.”

He means it.

You can see it in the way he looks at you now—not hungry, not possessive. Just wrecked. Like he lost something irreplaceable and knows it.

You don’t let him follow you to work.

But for the first time in weeks, you don’t feel as angry. Not because he’s forgiven. Not even close. But because he finally looks like he’s suffering the way you did.

Three months.

You’re out with friends when he shows up again. This time, unarmed thankfully.

You’re tipsy, laughing, leaning into someone else’s shoulder—some other guy’s—and Simon sees it before you do. You turn and there he is, standing just far enough to not make a scene, but close enough to make your heart drop.

You think he’s going to come over. Ruin the night. Scare the guy off again.

He doesn’t.

He just nods at you. One short, respectful tilt of his head. Then he walks away.

No words, nor begging, trying to guilt you into anything.

And that gets to you more than the thousand apologies he could’ve offered.

Four months.

It’s your birthday.

You don’t tell anyone. You keep it lowkey on purpose, like if no one says anything, you can just pretend it’s any other day. You don’t want the reminders. You don’t want the well-meaning texts from people who don’t know what you’ve been dealing with. You definitely don’t want to wonder whether or not Simon remembers.

But he does.

You find out when you get home and there’s a small package sitting at your door. No note. No name. Just your initials written on the wrapping in the handwriting you know better than your own.

You think about throwing it away. You almost do, but curiosity wins, and inside the plain brown paper is a little black box.

You open it and your breath catches.

It’s that necklace you once pointed at in a store window downtown—months ago, maybe even a year. A tiny silver ghost on a chain. You made some stupid joke about how it looked like him: “emotionally unavailable, disappears without warning, weirdly endearing.”

He didn’t laugh at the time. Just rolled his eyes and muttered something like “you’re annoying” under his breath.

You never mentioned it again, but he remembered.

You stare at it for a long time. You don’t cry, don’t smile either. You just sit there on your hallway floor, turning the necklace over in your hands until your legs go numb.

Then you put it back in the box and tuck it in the drawer by your bed.

You don’t wear it, but you decided to keep it.

And the next day, for the first time in months, you catch yourself wondering how he’s doing. Like maybe he’s not just doing this to win, maybe he means it.

Still, you don’t reach out.

Not yet...

Five months.

He finally knocks.

It’s late. Not obscenely so, but enough that you’re in sweats and no bra, and part of you is tempted to pretend you’re not home.

But something in you says open the door.

So you do.

Simon looks like hell. Wet from rain, hair flat to his skull, hands shoved into his jacket like he’s trying to keep himself from reaching for you.

“I wrote it down,” he says, holding out a thick envelope. “Everything I wanted to say. Everything I should’ve said before.”

You stare at it like it might burn you. “Why now?”

His throat bobs. “Because I thought giving you space would be enough. But space doesn’t mean silence. It doesn’t mean I stop showing you I care. I just... I didn’t know how to love you the way you deserved.”

“And now you do?” you ask, arching a brow.

“No,” he says. “But I’m learning. And I’ll keep learning, with or without a second chance.”

You take the envelope. You don’t invite him in. But you do say, “Good night, Simon,” soft and tired.

And he smiles, just barely.

You read the letter that night. You weren’t going to, but you do.

It’s messy. Honest. Full of crossed-out lines and little notes scribbled in the margins. He writes like he talks—short sentences, straight to the point—but you can feel how badly he wants you to understand.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel disposable. That’s not what you are. That’s not what you ever were.”

“I never knew how to show you I gave a fuck. That’s on me.”

“I kept thinking if I didn’t say anything, you wouldn’t expect anything. But you did. And I should’ve met you there.”

“I think about your laugh. I hear it sometimes when I’m dead tired. It makes me hate myself.”

“I’m not asking you to come back. But if you ever do, I swear I’ll never leave you wondering again.”

You fall asleep with the letter in your hands, crumpled a little at the edges.

You don’t message him the next day.

But the next week?

You text one word.

“Coffee?”

PART 3

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

do we still hate him guys??

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay

[reiderwriter]

☎️ Don't Call Me ☎️

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: After catching your boyfriend cheating, you find accidental comfort in your coworker. With your phone ringing nonstop, you're willing to do whatever it takes to start fresh.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, bug mentions (cockroaches), cheating, exhibitionism, dom/sub dynamics, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), squirting, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, slight spanking, mentions of masturbation. Dom! Spencer.

A/N: Haha... hi guys... been a while 😚 Please enjoy the fic I dreamed up over a month ago now, and was finally able to conjure up!

Masterlist

If you were to be asked how you assumed a five-year-long relationship would end, you'd likely say something like irreparable differences. Maybe a difference in lifestyle, growing out of love, or even different plans for the future. Unfortunately, the irreparable difference your boyfriend had chosen at 10 pm on a Thursday evening was being balls deep in an irreparably different woman. 

You supposed you should've seen the signs the relationship was drawing to a close and likely you did, but with your job itself being a life or death situation almost daily, you really didn't have much time to worry about the fact that your boyfriend was sowing his oats in other fields. Based on the look of the woman spread across your bed, the oats weren't that great for her either. 

Your reaction had been somewhat delayed, but curiously not as much as hers. She'd been wonderfully blasé about the man writhing on top of her before you started screaming and throwing things, and even now you were armed with a vase of flowers (dead - you'd bought them yourself before the case you'd been on for the last two weeks) she still looked slightly bored. But at least her legs were together now, and not gynaecologist level apart. 

Your boyfriend - ex-boyfriend? - managed to regain an ounce of dignity with a scrap of clothing, and did his best to shepard you out of the crime scene as you regained the ability to hold coherent thoughts that weren't about strangling him with his own tie. 

“Listen to me, please just for five minutes-” 

“Listen? I was just listening! To you moaning into that woman's shoulders with your eyes rolled back in your head!” 

It was as if in the last few minutes all the love you'd had for this man, all five years of relationship and comfort, and nights spent together had melted away in an instant. The rage dissipated, and you were surprisingly calm again, though that worried you, too. Surely you should be crying, or at the very least upset. You should be feeling some kind of emotion that wasn't a vague disgust at the man in front of you in full pooh bear mode, trying to tug down the hem of his shirt to cover the crown jewels. 

“It didn't mean anything. She doesn't mean anything. She's just - You're gone so long on cases, and I just-” 

“So you're saying it's my fault you're cheating on me?” 

“Yes! No, wait, no, no, no, no-” 

“No, heard loud and clear, I'll try not to save lives in the future, I'm sure the BAU will understand I should be on my back 24 hours a day instead, taking all four inches you have to donate to my worthy cause.” 

“Y/N, don't be like that,” he said, exasperated. Whatever he had to be exasperated about, you had no idea. Maybe blue balls. 

“Like what?”

“Like a bitch!” 

The room went still with silence as you let him sit with the words he'd just spoken, willing him to snap back quickly so you could keep even just a shred of respect for him. 

No such apology came. 

“I'm leaving now. I expect your things packed and out of here by 12 pm tomorrow, including your thing in the bedroom. Don't bother cleaning the sheets. Just burn them. Lock the door and post the keys through the letterbox when you're done.” 

“Y/N, I told you it's not like that, I still love you, come on-” 

“Well I don't love you. And please go put some fucking pants on.” 

You stepped back over the threshold of your apartment - the lovely, nice apartment you'd been living in for the last eight years, your nice safe space - and you shuddered. 

The question wasn't exactly what next, but more like where next. What next was sending a group text in your ex-boyfriends family chat telling them what you'd walked in on, and then leaving the chat before you could get any response. The where would be a harder sell. 

From this part of the city, it'd take 2 hours to get to Penelope’s apartment, especially at this time of night without a car. Emily's apartment was similarly far. Going through a list of your coworkers again, you mentally crossed off Tara, who'd been injured on your last case and was resting at her girlfriend's apartment, Luke, who despite the promised comfort of a cute dog, you were absolutely sure didn't have a spare bed, and all members of the team with spouses and/or children. Which left just Spencer and Rossi. 

Needless to say, you found your way to Spencer's apartment in only 20 minutes, though you were sure you had disassociated the entire thing. 

Knocking on the door, you felt a little bit awkward, but not awkward enough to leave and find a hotel at nearly 11 pm. Your last case hadn't been a pleasant one, hotel-wise, and you weren't exactly eager for another check-in.

Spencer opened the door quickly, his eyebrows knitted in confusion as he found you there  but only for a brief flash before his face brightened up. 

“Y/N? Do we have a case again? I thought Hotch said-” 

“Can I stay here tonight?” you blurted, needing to get the words out as quickly as possible before you convinced yourself to walk away. 

Spencer took a moment to take in your words, and you took the opportunity to look at him then. He was fully clothed at least, and you were glad to find that his pajamas looked comfortable and clean. A simple plaid cotton pant with a soft-looking white long sleeved shirt pushed up his arms slightly. He'd taken out his contacts and put on his glasses, and you wondered if you'd caught him mid-book. 

“Please?” you added in a hopeful voice as he still looked at you slightly confused. 

“Oh, of course,” he said, stepping aside and gesturing inside. “Is there something wrong with your apartment?” he asked, taking your go-bag from you without question and guiding you into the main living space of his apartment. 

“Thank you, yeah. Something like that. Shoes off or on?” 

“I have some slippers. You can take them off. What happened?” he said, placing the slippers in front of you and turning back to bolt the door. 

“Invasive species?” You said, trying to sound as nonplussed as possible  despite now feeling incredibly plussed.

“Oh, bugs? Yeah, I've had a cockroach or two in the apartment before. Did you know that the average female cockroach can produce up to 10,000 offspring in a single year?” 

You sat on his couch quietly, trying not to imagine 10,000 cockroaches and failing nearly spectacularly. Unfortunately, the only image that could surpass tiny cockroach babies was of your boyfriend pounding away at another woman. Which was just a brilliant move for your psyche. 

“Spencer, I know I've really intruded here tonight, but do…. Do you wanna drink with me?” You asked, hoping to drown at least a memory or two of the last 24 hours. Hopefully, the cheating one, but you'd take cockroach extermination as well.

A slightly worried look settled on Spencer's face, but he said nothing and nodded, walking to his kitchen, grabbing two beers and meeting you back on his loveseat. 

“Oh you really have beer here!” You exclaimed, thanking him for the beverage before cracking it open and taking a sip. 

“Morgan came over with some to celebrate 6 months out of prison. These are leftovers.” 

“Right… right…” 

The first few sips were so painfully awkward that you thought about returning back to your apartment and just sleeping on your own couch. 

Vaguely, you felt Spencer watching you, taking a sip of his drink for every sip you took of yours. 

“So…” you said, and he raised an inquisitive eyebrow again, already questioning whatever was about to come out of your mouth. 

“So?”  he asked. You weren't sure if it was the beer, the look on his face, or the crazy implosion of the last 5 years that had you giggling all of a sudden. You were just glad that when you cracked up, he cracked a smile as well, and a little bit of the tension went away. 

“Why are you really here, YN?” 

You took a deep breath and looked straight forward at the bookshelves Spencer had lovingly filled. Maybe this had taken him half a decade as well, so he'd understand how your life felt a little bit like a wobbly bookshelf at that second. 

“The invasive species I mentioned? It was the woman screwing my boyfriend in my bed. Ex. Ex-boyfriend.” 

You heard the intake of breath from Spencer before he put his can down and started thinking of something to say in reply to that. 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Oh… Y/N, I-” 

A shrill ringing cut him off, and you were almost glad to not be on the receiving end of whatever pitiful words he was about to push on you, until you checked the caller ID and saw your ex's name. 

“Don't pick that up,” Spencer said as you hesitated towards the phone. With a hand over yours, he flipped the phone over, locking eyes with you as he let it ring out. 

“He's just going to try it again.”

“Let him.” 

You nodded, breaking eye contact and sinking back into Spencer's slightly wilted couch cushions. 

“In your bed? Really?” he asked, talking another sup as you took a gulp, letting the beer fizz down your throat before you could answer.

“I told him to expect me tomorrow because of how the case was looking. I guess he wasn't expecting me.” 

“I think that was a given. Unless he was into that. Exhibitionism is one of the most common kinks among adult males, and-” 

“Oh he was not into exposing himself,” you laughed into your drink, propping your head up on your hand and turning to face Spencer more. He shot another questioning glance but didn't push the issue, so you silently explained as well. By pinching your fingers together to the approximate size of your ex-boyfriend's dick. 

“Oh. Well, it's not the size that counts?” He whispered almost ironically as he took another sip, now much closer than before. You'd done your best to distance yourself from your boyfriend even as he'd followed you through your apartment half naked, but you didn't seem to find Spencer's proximity threatening at all. 

Maybe because he wasn't having sex with a random woman in your bed 5 seconds before. 

“You wanna know the worst part?” You said, leaning closer as if to tell him an even bigger secret. “He didn't even know how to use it. I haven't-” 

Another phone call blasted through, and you grabbed your phone and put it behind you. 

“He's really great at interrupting conversation when it’s just getting good,” Spencer laughed, but you were slightly disappointed that he'd leaned back away now. 

“What was it you were saying?” He asked, taking a swig of beer again, can nearing its close. 

“I haven't had an orgasm in almost three years,” you said bluntly, watching the most genuine spit take you’d seen in your life. You pat Spencer's back as he coughed up inhaled beer, bringing your feet up under you into a cosier position. 

“Okay now?” you asked as his breathing returned to normal. 

“No? Three years, Y/N? Really?” 

You shrugged and looked away  almost embarrassed to be meeting his eyes now that your sexual history was the topic of the night. 

“We had sex. He's just… he's just a really lazy lover. It'd be the same stuff every time. Handjob to some clumsy fingers missing my clit, a few pumps and cum on my face. I wasn't exactly initiating seven days a week in the hopes that this time he'd be able to locate it.” 

Spencer was somewhere between horror and trying not to laugh, eyes wide with either alarm or the strain of having to keep it in. 

“It's okay, you can laugh,” you said, but he shook his head politely.

“Y/N, I was in prison and still had more orgasms than you this year.” 

“Hey, I hear prison is a great place to meet new people. Have new experiences.”

Spencer shot you a quickly horrified look as his cheeks flushed with heat. “Y/N, I was not someone's bitch in prison.” 

“Why not? You're pretty enough for it?” 

You'd meant the line to come across as teasing, just as you'd expected the finger now twisted in a lock of his hair, playing with him, to come off as teasing as well. 

But you felt a definite throb between your legs when he looked at you again, doubly so when his eyes darted down to your lips. 

You cleared your throat and tried for a teasing tone once again. 

“So you made someone else your bitch?” you smiled, trying to drag his eyes away from your lips before you did something you'd regret. 

“No. I… I spent a long time in solitary, and there's… there's really not that much to do.” 

“So you did yourself?” 

The tips of his ears were scarlet when you finally decided to back off, tucking the curl of hair behind his ear and letting him cool off. 

“Why didn't you masturbate then?” he asked, pouting slightly still from your interrogation. 

“Excuse me?”

“Your boyfriend couldn't make you cum, but a vibrator probably could. But you still haven't had an orgasm in three years. Why is that?” 

It was your turn to feel the heat, the warmth from the beer finally reaching your head. 

“He didn't want me to.” 

You didn't mean for the words to sound as sad as they did. The fact itself was just incredibly sad. Your boyfriend saw anything vaguely phallic shaped as competition and had encouraged “organic” coupling instead. 

You waited for Spencer to say something else, anything else as you held his gaze, waiting for the other shoe to drop, and him to start talking down to you as if you were simply a victim of the worst sex in the world. 

Instead, he said “so did that other woman look as miserable as you've been for the last three years?” and the spell was broken. 

You laughed so hard, you nearly choked on the beer you'd already finished. This time, it was Spencer's turn to land a hand on your back as you winded yourself with laughter. 

“She looked bored! She looked genuinely bored. I almost thought it was just a lifelike doll, she was that unphased,” you kept giggling between gasps, forcing the words out as you threw your head onto Spencer's shoulder, hand landing on his thigh as you finally calmed down. 

“I'd be horrified if anyone looked bored while in bed with me,” came Spencer's voice, and a little shiver ran down your spine as the rasp of his whisper rang in your ear. 

You looked up from his shoulder and caught his eye immediately. If you wanted to, you could lean up by a centimetre and catch his lips with yours. And you suddenly, very much wanted to do that. 

A final shriek of your phone behind you deterred you for a few seconds, and you were about to work yourself up to scooting a little bit away from Spencer when he leaned over you, grabbed the phone, and hung up on your boyfriend. 

“Do you want to cum, Y/N?” he asked, as quietly as before as his hands traced over you on their return journey to him. He looked down your body, eyes greedily drinking in your breasts, hips, thighs and legs tucked into his side on his couch. 

You didn't know what you were going to respond when your head practically nodded by itself. Enthusiastically. 

He doesn't immediately pull you in for a kiss, and you're worried for a beat that he meant that only as a hypothetical and not an invite. A final cry from your phone has you standing in seconds, completely detached from Spencer, and the nearly embarrassing moment you pouncing him would've been.

“I should probably take it this time,” you explained, turning slightly. 

But Spencer was faster than you, if not more prepared for what was to come. Wrapping an arm around your waist, Spencer tugged you back, pulling you onto his lap. When you were firmly situated - ass over his now evidently firm cock - he grabbed the phone out of your other hand, hung up and put it in his pocket. 

“Spencer, I-I don't think that's a good idea,” you gasped as his hands slowly progressed up to your chest, and his lips dropped to your neck, biting and sucking along whatever flesh was easy for him to access. 

“You need to cum. You deserve to cum, Y/N. I'm just here to help. Use me.” 

You stifle a sharp, quick moan, biting your lips and thanking God that he couldn't see the face you made when his hips ground his cock up into your ass. 

“I'm probably not ready for this,” you stuttered slightly, breath departing your body quicker than it could arrive. 

“Probably not.”

“We work together, too. It would be awkward.”

“It might,” he nodded. “But you still want to.” 

You couldn't help the moan, finally letting it free as you tossed your head back and clawed at his forearm, wrapped around you. 

Your ass had a mind of its own, grinding back into him in circles as his hands found their way under your shirt, inquisitive fingers stroking your nipples through your bra. 

“S-Spencer,” you whimpered again, legs spreading apart as you felt that familiar warmth settle between them. He didn't miss the longing in your tone, the shift in your core, pushing one hand down your stomach and trailing it onto your thigh. 

It was as close as he could get with your pants still on, tight against your skin. He squeezed your thigh,  still licking and sucking at your neck before his hand rose to the clasp of your pants. 

It took him a long lime to fumble with them, and you thought of helping multiple times but you let yourself get distracted by the tense definition of his muscles, the rigid line of his body as he strained to please you. 

Your mind fogged with lust, and you felt the vibrations from his pocket right under you when your phone rang again. You practically jerked up in shock as pleasure hit you in a wave, Spencer's fingers finally dipping into your panties just as the vibrations hit you. They weren't centred, of course, not anywhere close to where you needed them to be for you to enjoy them the way you would a toy, but that's what Spencer was for. 

He let the call ring out, tracing small, slow circles over your clit as you jumped up into his hand, moaning and whimpering the entire time. 

“What an idiot. I bet he never touched you like this. Nice and slow.”

“N-no, S-s-” 

“I'm so glad I'm right. He didn't deserve this beautiful cunt. You're so wet for me, right, baby?” You nodded and he hummed in response, voice low and making you pulse in his lap. 

“That's it, good girl,” he whispered as you worked your cunt up and down his fingers, stilling himself so you could find your own pleasure. 

“Spencer… Spencer, fuck-” 

With his free hand, he turned your face to the side and finally kissed you properly as you moaned into his mouth. He was quick to deepen the kiss, to press his tongue against the seam of your mouth and enter your mouth, quickly dominating you as you let yourself get more and more excited. Your hips stuttered, out of rhythm and out of practice, and you almost whimpered in frustration that you couldn't get off quicker, that your body wasn't finding the orgasm quick enough despite how good, how perfect this felt.

Sensing your growing frustration, Spencer broke the kiss. 

“Come with me,” he said, pulling his hands away from your wet cunt and out of your stupid pants and encouraging your hips up until you were stood and he was stood behind you. 

Cock still firmly stood against your ass, he walked you all the way to his bedroom, hands on your hips the entire time, memorising the sway of your walk. 

“Strip and get on the bed, please, Y/N,” he said, finally peeling himself away from you as you nodded quickly and listened to him immediately. You weren't sure what to expect, so you hesitated, laying down, crawling up until your head hit the pillows. You were almost disappointed when you finally looked back at Spencer and he was still fully clothed, so sure that he was going to fuck you to your climax. 

Instead, he approached the bed, gently slid his arms around your thighs, opened your legs wider, knelt on the floor and brought your cunt to his face. 

The first touch of his to guess to your clit had you almost beside yourself with lust. You'd been sexually active for a handful of years, and this - THIS - was the first time you'd experienced such acute pleasure. 

Your hips were unable to stop, thrusting up into his face as you willed his tongue to engulf you, to be a tool in your pleasure. 

Again your phone rang, but he grabbed it quickly, pausing only a second to silence it and discard it on the bed beside you, sitting it further up the bed where it would no longer be a distraction to him. 

He dove right back in, and you rewarded him with wave after wave of fierce moan, your writhing body only restricted by a hand snaked up onto his stomach. You still pushed against his face, practically fucking it as he flattened out his to guess and let you chase your high. 

“Spencer!” You gasped and moaned, voice dripping with lust and desperation, mouth not even properly forming words now you were so close. 

You propped yourself up slightly, looking down as Spencer's eye caught your own, his chin slick with your juices, his eyes dripping with lust. You grabbed a handful of his hair and jumped that little bit faster as you felt that long forgotten whisper of pleasure, that all-encompassing explosion of satisfaction, and you came apart on Spencer's tongue. 

“Thank you, thank you, Spencer, shit, thank you,” you whimpered, falling back again into the bed as you rode out the high. When you managed to open your bleary eyes again, Spencer was propped up above you, but instead of paying you attention, he'd grabbed your phone and bought it to his ear. 

“You heard that? Good. I'm sure you're aware now that she won't be returning your calls tonight. Goodbye.” 

His voice, his words, were like a cold bucket of water to your brain as you sat up, reaching for him and finding him as his hips circled your waist. 

“Was that-?” He cut you off with a kiss  a sweet, soft one. 

“Yes.” He kissed you again  and you melted into his touch as he pulled you into his lap again. 

“H-He-” 

“He knows now what a real orgasm sounds like. He knows you're not interested anymore. He knows you're mine now.” 

You shivered at the words, your lust addled brain flooding your senses, and your cunt as you reacted to the possessiveness of his words, his tone. Part of you was turned on by the exhibitionism as well. You'd had to walk in on your ex boyfriend completely exposed, and there was satisfaction in kicking him to the curb with a similar fuck you. A fuck you that you'd enjoyed a lot. 

You pressed your lips against Spencer's and rocked your hips against him again, tasting yourself on his tongue as he laid you down once more. His cock twitched against your leg as he propped you up on the pillows, and your hands trailed down to show it some attention as your sighed into his kiss.

He eagerly shed his clothes, first his top, sitting up and pulling it over his head, giving you a deliriously enticing shot of his chest and soft stomach before dropping down to cover your body again. You let your hand find the sprinkling of hair on his lower stomach, though, following it down as you encouraged his pants off. His cock was thick and heavy in your hand, and you gladly stroked it as he kissed the plains of your body again. He found the side of your neck that he'd neglected earlier, licking and sucking until it was almost as loved as the first side, before pulling your hand away from his cock. 

You pouted and began to protest when he quickly lined his cock up with your cunt, and slid in deep and soft before you could. 

“Needed to be in you,” he whispered in your ear, gripping your hips and sliding your legs up and around him as he pushed that little bit deeper. “Keep them nice and wide for me,” he said, dropping one last kiss to your lips, before his chest rose, and his hips pulled away again. 

When they snapped back into you, you let out a generous scream of pleasure that almost had you wishing you'd never hung up. He set a quick pace, a furious pace as he too moaned into the contact of your cunt and his cock, two desperate people searching for release. 

“So tight, Y/N, you're so tight,” he moaned, flesh hitting flesh as you dug your nails into his arms, already so wet again, you could feel the sheets under you growing damp. His hand left its perch on your hip and found its way to your clit once again, and you knew that you weren't going to be able to keep to this pace without cumming a second time. 

“Keep moaning for me baby, show me how much you want it,” his voice begged, almost a rumble with how lustful he sounded. You let your voice carry, each moan a little bit more unrestricted than the last. 

“Louder, Y/N, please. I want to hear how much you're enjoying this, you don't know how much I enjoy hearing your pleasure.”

His prayers were answered when he lowered his head back down and took one of your nipples into his mouth, gently grazing it with his teeth between licks and sucks. You practically screamed his name, pressing your chest up to grant him better access. 

You liquefied beneath him, pressure building and building until you felt him rock, lifting his chest as you came. He pulled his cock out, teasing it through your folds as you stuttered around him, your arousal squirting across his cock and sheets as you fell back to the bed, gasping in pleasure. Your hips stuttered against him, and he soothed you gently, still working his cock through your folds gently as your clit went from overwhelmed to calm to quickly overstimulated. 

“Spencer,” you whimpered, almost unable to take all the pleasure he was offering you. “Spencer, it-it hurts.” 

“Don't you want me to stop?” He asked, stopping his movements for a second as you deliberated your answer. The lack of movement was answer alone, and you shook your head no wanting to feel his cock against you, inside you, one more time. 

“Louder, Y/N, tell me what you want.” 

“I want to keep going,” you said, as he began slowly rocking his cock against you again, sticky from your cum. 

“What do you want me to do?” He asked, teasing a nipple with his hand as your eyes fluttered shut. 

“Please fill me up again, please I want to cum again.” 

“One more time?” He asked.

“Mhmmm… one more… one more, please.” 

You were cum drunk, so horny that you couldn't fathom stopping there. He pressed another kiss to your lips and encouraged you to flip over, propping a pillow under your stomach as he pulled your legs into the right position. 

You snuggled into the pillows at your head, pushing your ass up for him slightly as he nudged his cock against your entrance once more. 

“Where should I cum  Y/N?” He asked, reaching under you to slowly circle your clit again. 

“H-hmmm…” you said, eyes shut, focused more on the pleasure than the question. You didn't care anymore. You didn't care where he came, just as long as he let you do it, too. 

“Y/N, I expect an answer. Where should I put my cum?” 

“Anywhere,” you pouted, pressing your hips back into his cock in the hopes that he'd just fuck you again already. 

“That's not an answer,” he said, gently slapping your ass as he pulled his cock away. 

“On your back?” He asked, fingers still working your clit underneath, but trailing lower until they found your cunt, two entering you to keep you wet and stretched for him. 

“You'd need to shower before you could pass out, but I'm happy to help clean you off. They have communal showers in prison, so I'm not shy.” You moaned at the suggestion but couldn't answer further. 

“On your stomach? Again we'd have to shower off, but I would love to see your boobs decorated all nicely.” Your moans were whimpers now as he edged you with his fingers, his words gentle in your ear but dripping with so much lust and promise you couldn't stand it. You didn't want to make decisions anymore. 

“On your face?”

“Not on my face,” you snapped quickly, and he nodded and stroked your hair, hooking a strand behind your ear as he agreed. 

“Okay. Where, Y/N? Be a good girl and tell me.”

“I-Inside. Cum inside me. Please.” 

“Of course. Good job.”

He pulled his hand free gently, and quickly replaced it with his thick cock, and you moaned again at the weight of it against your walls, the familiar stretch of it. In this position, he reached deeper somehow, his thrusts slower, more precise as he drew out his own orgasm as long as possible, maximising his ability to pleasure you. 

“Good girl,” he muttered against your skin, dropping a kiss to your back. “Good girl.” 

“Wanted to do this for so long, Y/N,” he confessed with each thrust. “Look at how pretty this pussy is, how wet it is for me. I wish your boyfriend could see it. I wish he could see how well-behaved you are for me. How nicely you take my cock.” 

His deep, slow strokes, his words, the kisses he pressed against any inch of your skin he could reach combined to push you over the edge a third and final time. This one wasn't loud. It wasn't dramatic. It was a steady shudder of pleasure from your hips and a quiet, satisfied sigh. 

You didn't say anything  but Spencer knew, he felt it, and he came moments after, cock deep inside as he filled you with his cum. 

“You're on birth control, right?” 

“IUD. Pill. Yeah.” You say between breathy sighs of contentment.

Muttering something behind you, he pulled out finally, leaving for a minute to grab a washcloth and clean himself off before returning to help you as well. 

“What did you mumble?” You asked, as he crawled back into your arms, looking up at him. 

“What?” He asked, ears turning slightly pink as you stared at him intently. 

“Just now. I told you I was on birth control, and you mumbled something.” 

He looked away, refusing to meet your gaze before dropping to kiss you sweetly once again. 

“Tell me,” you said, and he kissed you again. 

“Spencer, tell me,” you pouted, and he kissed the pout away. 

You almost asked again, but he kissed you too quickly, too deeply  and you lost your breath again. 

“I said,” he started, leaving you panting under him again. “It was good you're on birth control, because I like the sight of my cum dripping out of you.” 

The remaining breath left your body as you gasped, your face growing hot. You burrowed your face in his chest and let him hold you as you drifted into sleep, wrapped up in each other. 

[cinnxmxngxrl]

“Too old” pt 2

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

(you can read as a stand alone)

part 1 here Joel’s Masterlist here

Summary: It’s been days since Joel and you slept together for the first time, and now he’s pretending it never happened.

WC: 4.1k

Warnings: smut, minors DNI, dirty talk, age gap, unprotected piv, grinding, oral (f!receiving) (m!receiving) reader teases joel about his age a lot.

A/N: you don’t really need to read previous part if you only here for the smut.

‪❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀ ‬

It had been four days since you shared that night with Joel. Since he’d split you open on your couch. Completely animalistic, as if he couldn’t hold back any longer.

And now, he was acting as if nothing ever happened—fully ignoring you every time you walked past him. His gaze would drop to the floor, and he wouldn’t say a word when you greeted him. Acting colder than ever.

You were confused in a way you hadn’t been before. You were sure he’d enjoyed what you both did that night, he’d told you so, and you had seen it in his eyes, felt it in his body. So why was he acting this way now? You had thought things would be different, that they’d change after he opened up to you like that. You thought that night would shift everything for good, but instead, it felt like it was all slipping away.

Maybe that’s all you were to him—a quick release on a night he couldn’t hold it in any longer. He got what he wanted, and now, he was gone. Maybe he even regretted it.

That evening, you walked past his house. He was sitting on the porch steps, working on a saddle. His hands were steady, but his posture was unusually restless. You could feel his tension in the air, a heaviness that didn’t belong. He couldn’t shake the memory of that night with you—the warmth of your body beneath his, the sound of your moans in his ear. He didn’t know what to do with himself, felt so goddamn conflicted, cause how could such a pretty young thing like you be the best he’d ever had? Being with you felt so right, so damn good, but there was a voice in the back of his head telling him it was wrong. That he didn’t deserve someone like you. He was too old, too much baggage—too inappropriate for you.

You hesitated, unsure whether to keep walking or stop and say something. But you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Hey, cowboy,” you said softly.

He didn’t respond—just grunted in acknowledgment. But his eyes didn’t leave your body, roaming over you, travelling all over your body, remembering the way you’d looked with no clothes on.

“What’ya working on?” you asked, taking slow, cautious steps toward him as though you were approaching a scared animal, unsure if he might run.

He lifted the saddle he was repairing up in his hands, his touch running over the leather, careful and skilled. But he didn’t say a word.

“Did the cat eat your tongue? Such a shame… I remember you were so good with it,” you teased, a cocky smirk tugging at your lips as you tried to provoke him, curious to see how long it would take to get a reaction.

“Just workin’ on this old saddle. Damn thing’s seen better days,” he muttered, his voice rough. He was trying to resist your taunts, but you could see it in his eyes—he knew exactly what you were doing.

You stood there for a moment, both of you silent. The only sounds were his hands moving over the leather, the faint rustle of fabric, and his breath, shallow and tense.

“So, are we just gonna pretend you weren’t balls-deep inside me a few nights ago?” you asked bluntly.

He nearly dropped the saddle, his eyes widening with surprise, but his face twisted into a mix of shock and annoyance. “Jesus Christ, woman, ain’t got no damn filter on your mouth, do ya?”

“You didn’t mind it the other night, Joel,” you said, your voice dripping with confidence. You had one goal now—to make him fall again.

“That doesn’t goddamn mean you gotta go running that mouth about it like it’s some casual street chat,” he growled, a low huff escaping his lips as he cleared his throat, trying to regain his usual gruff composure.

“That’s a shame,” you said, pouting. “’Cause I kinda liked you balls-deep inside me.”

He cursed under his breath, his grip tightening on the saddle as he fought to keep himself from reacting too visibly to your words, his mind raced back to that night. Damn you and your stupid mouth—he could still feel it, that hunger between you, and it made him ache.

“We can pretend nothing happened if you want, Joel,” you said softly, in that sweet innocent voice you used sometimes, but Joel knew it was far from innocent.

He muttered something under his breath about stubborn women and loud mouths, but deep down, he didn’t want to pretend. Not at all.

“I can pretend I didn’t love the way your cock felt inside me,” you whispered, moving closer, your lips nearly grazing his ear.

“Shut your damn mouth ‘fore someone hears,” he grunted, his hands shaking as he tried to focus on the saddle, but every nerve in his body was desperate to ignore it. The tension was unbearable. He needed to avoid giving in to the urges that were consuming him.

He felt his pants getting tighter, and you noticed the bulge straining in his jeans, growing more prominent, his thick cock throbbing against his pants, like a wild animal desperate to come out.

And couldn’t help but tease. “Pretend I don’t still remember your head buried between my thighs… never seen a man so hungry, Joel. Are you always this hungry, or was it just because of me?”

“Maybe you were just too goddamn delicious…” he growled, breath labored, his voice low with restraint. The image of you was consuming him, and he didn’t know how much longer he could hold back from doing something really stupid.

“I know, but yeah, let’s just totally pretend that never happened, Joel,” you said, your fingers lightly tracing his chest, moving downward, reaching his groin, and barely tracing the outlines of his manhood through his jeans.

“You’re a wicked woman,” he muttered, a frustrated groan slipping from his lips as he grabbed your wrist, gently pushing your hand away, trying to keep his composure. “Goddamn you.”

“I thought you liked it, Joel. I mean, look how big and hard it is for me,” you teased, licking your bottom lip before biting it, a smile spreading across your face. “I’m kind of salivating right now.”

He let go of your wrist, his hand moving to your thigh. His touch was soft, yet possessive, his fingers trailing upward, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. “Goddamn, you’re a pain in the ass…”

“You love it, don’t even try to fool yourself. I’ve been thinking about this every night when I touch myself, have you?” you said, slowly tracing the outline of his bulge through his jeans, just a playful touch that was enough to make him groan.

“You got no goddamn idea, darlin’… you tasted like sweet honey. Like nothing I’ve ever had before…” He leaned in, his nose brushing against your neck, his voice a low growl against your skin.

“Come on, Miller. Take me to your bed.”

His eyes darkened, the intensity in them unmistakable. He was just a man, and there was only so much he could take.His hand intertwined with yours and without another word, he stood, pulling you along with him, his hand gripping yours. The saddle, forgotten, was left behind as he led you into the house and towards his bedroom.

The door slammed shut behind you, and before you could even think, he had you pinned against the wall. His big body held you captive, his hands moving to your waist, holding you there. He couldn’t control himself any longer, and he kissed you fiercely, his lips claiming yours as if he’d been starved for it. The kiss a desperate tangle of lips and tongue, he was taking what he’d been missing for days.

“Missed these lips, babygirl,” he muttered into your mouth.

His hands slid up your body, his fingers finding the hem of your shirt. With one swift motion, he pulled it over your head, tossing it carelessly aside. His eyes drank in the sight of you, taking in the sight of your bare tits. His large hands cupping your breasts. At first, his touch was tender, reverent, as if your tits were the most precious gift sent from heaven, but then desperation took over, and his hands were rough, possessive as he kneaded one breast with one hand, his mouth moved to lap on the other, his tongue swirling over your nipple, nibbling on it, sending jolts of pleasure through your body that had you gasping for air.

He spun you around, as if you weighed nothing, and you were facing the wall. Then, in a move that left you breathless, he dropped to his knees.

“Bend down a little for me, baby. Yeah, like that,” he said, his voice gruff, commanding.

You obeyed immediately, his hands stripping your pants off in one quick motion, leaving them tugged down your ankles. His fingers pushed aside your panties, spreading your cheeks wide open as his gaze lingered on the sight of your soaked slit, dripping now with your slick down your thighs .

“Well, look at that. You’re so damn easy to get wet, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. His face hovered over your core, taking in the glorious sight of you, as if he couldn’t get enough.

“Only for my old man,” you breathed, the ache between your legs nearly unbearable.

“Gonna take real good care of my girl,” he muttered, his tongue tracing a slow, torturous stripe up your slit. He groaned against your skin, his hands gripping your ass to keep you in place.

Not a second later, he was sucking gently, his lips and tongue working against your pussy, giving little suctions to your clit. You leaned your forehead against the wall for support, gasping for breath.

“Oh, Jesus, Joel!” you cried out, your voice trembling as the pleasure surged through you. “I swear to god you’ve… you’ve got a doctorate in eating pussy, fuck.”

He let out a low laugh, the sound vibrating against your skin as he continued to feast on you, his tongue swirling over your core. His hands dug into your thighs, holding you in place, his own breathing ragged as he devoured you.

“Just hush, darlin’… and lemme focus… Need to concentrate on this pretty, needy cunt of yours.”

His tongue moved faster, applying more pressure to your clit as he worked you over, each stroke sending you closer to the edge.

He rejoiced in the scent and the taste of you, and in the loud moans that escaped your mouth everytime he lapped harder on your pussy.

The feeling of his mouth on you, his hands holding you so firmly, pushed you to the brink.

“Fuck, Joel… I’m gonna cum,” you whimpered, feeling yourself unravel under the weight of his touch.

“Cum for me, baby,” he growled, the pressure against your clit making it impossible to hold on.

“Ngggh, Joel,” you whimpered, feeling him devour you like a starved man. “Oh, JoelJoelJoel…”

You cried out as your orgasm hit you like a freight train. Your body spasmed around his mouth, your pussy tightening around nothing, and all you could feel was the intense satisfaction flooding your body.

You turned around, watching him kneeled on the floor before you. His beard, lips, and nose were glossy, covered in your sticky fluids.

“How are those knees holding up, old man?” you teased, a sly grin on your lips.

“I don’t think you’re in any position to be smug, darlin’,” he said, smirking. “I just wrecked you.”

“Yeah, you did. And now it’s my turn,” you offered him your hand to help him up. He took it, rising to his feet with a little groan. You guided him to sit on the edge of the bed, standing between his legs. You turned, grinding your ass softly against his crotch.

“Fuuuuuck,” he grunted. “You’re gonna tease me like that?”

“This is for leaving me alone for days, Joel. Not nice, not nice at all.”

You moved your hips low enough to give him a little contact against his confined cock, but not enough to give him the friction he so desperately wanted.

“M’sorry, darlin’. I was a right dick,” he apologized, his voice almost a whimper. “Please, babygirl, I need you.”

“You’re so hard… Bet you’re leaking all over your boxers right now,” you said, grinding your ass harder against him, pushing it down, keeping him so close to the edge but not giving him what he really craved. “Are you gonna cum all in your pants, old man?”

His lip twitched, his resolve faltering. “I hate you… I… fuck—,” he groaned, almost in a cry.

You turned around, kneeling between his legs. “Mmm, don’t cry. I’ll give you what you want now.”

His face flushed, his mind hazy with need. He tried to regain control, but it was a losing battle, the image of you on your knees, waiting for him, filled his mind.

There was a huge wet stain on his jeans from all the precum leaking from his tip while you teased him. Wasting no more time, because you were cruel enough already, you undid his pants with ease. He shifted his hips, letting you pull them down.

His grey boxers were soaked, darkened with wetness. You palmed him through the fabric, feeling the sticky warmth. His breath hitched, his thighs shaking, counting the seconds before he could have his cock shoved down your throat.

When you pulled down his boxers, his rock-hard dick nearly slapped you in the face, standing proud and thick against his stomach, completely covered in his precum. His tip was flushed red, veins pulsing, almost angry like a beast needing to be tamed.

You gave him a soft kiss on the mushroom head of his cock, making him shiver, before your tongue darted out, giving a gentle lick all over the good eight inches of it. You traced the veins, savoring the salty taste of him.

He shifted uncomfortably, growing more relentless. Finally, you took him in your mouth, cheeks hollowing as you tried to take him fully—at least as much as you could. The heat of your mouth enveloped him, and the world around him faded. All he could focus on was the pleasure you were giving him.

“Oh, that’s it, babygirl,” he moaned, his voice thick. “Feels nice… keep goin’… slow now, take it easy.”

His hand moved to the back of your head, gently gripping your hair to keep it out of your face. His eyes never left your mouth, watching you take him in, how his cock disappeared inside your mouth.

You delicately cupped his balls in your hands, soaked with the drool dripping from your mouth. You gave them a little massage, kneading and gripping them, he was loving the ticklish sensation.

“Shit, you’re so good… such a good girl… so damn good for me.”

His hips jerked upward, thrusting gently into your mouth. Not too much to make you gag, but enough to encourage you to take more. You complied, taking him deeper, until his tip was pressing against the back of your throat. You let him set the rhythm, focusing on pleasing him.

“Fuck… I’m gon’ cum,” he gasped, his voice breaking into a whimper. “You gonna swallow it, baby? Gonna swallow all I give you?”

You took him out of your mouth with a filthy pop. He groaned, his cock twitching at the sudden loss of sensation.

“Not yet, Joel,” you said with a wicked grin.

“You’re evil,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. “Goddamn, you’re evil.”

You quickly climbed onto his lap, straddling him and kissing him hard. Both of your tongues fought for dominance. He grabbed your hips, fingers digging into your flesh, positioning you right above his cock.

He pushed himself into you, his body overwhelmed by the sensation of your tightness. The heat, the friction, it nearly undid him instantly, forcing a ragged moan from his throat. You sobbed at the way his length stretched you, painfully and yet deliciously. You felt as if you were being split open by him, but you wouldn’t dream of asking him to slow down.

Lost in the moment, Joel’s body trembled as he pulled almost completely out before pushing back in, each thrust deeper and harder.

“Joel… I can’t—”

“You can take it, baby. You took it so well for me the other night, just relax for me” he panted, his voice breaking as he struggled to hold it together. “Oh, you feel so good, so tight and hot around me, it’s killing me.”

You relaxed, your walls adjusting to his size, stretched enough and taking him beautifully now. His groan was almost animalistic as his body moved against yours. His voice, thick with desire, rasped in your ear.

“Ride me, darlin’… I wanna watch you ride me,” he whispered, his voice rough. “Ride this cock like you own it.”

He moaned as you began to move, your hips rolling in circles. One of his hands gripped your hips, guiding you and helping you find a steady rhythm, as he watched your tits bounce with each thrust.

“God… feels so good…” he grunted.

“Like this, Joel?” you asked, though you already knew the answer. He was loving it.

“Yes, darlin’… just like that… you look so damn good ridin’ me,” he said, nodding desperately.

He moaned as his grip on your hips tightened, need and desire taking over as he started to slowly push upwards slightly, matching your movements, thrusting into you.

“Tell me… tell me I’m the best you’ve ever had, Joel,” you teased, your confidence growing. You wanted to hear him say it.

“You’re the best I’ve ever had… shit, you’re so goddamn good… never had a pussy like this…” he growled, his teeth grazing your shoulder.

With a guttural growl, he pulled you close, his hands holding your hips almost punishingly hard, his body trembling as he lost himself to the sensation of you, riding him, using him, taking him the way you needed him.

“Oh, it feels so good, Joel… you’re amazing,” you cried, bouncing on him, your clit grinding against his base, adding another layer of pleasure.

“Yes… use me how you want, baby. Take all your pleasure from me… I’m yours,” he panted, lost in you.

His thumb found your clit, rubbing it with precision, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you.

He was fighting to hold on, to give you what you needed, but the sensations and the sight of you riding him were too much.

“Come on now, pretty girl… cum for me… cum around my cock, squeeze it tight,” he groaned.

You kept moving, long strokes that had him pushing up against your g-spot with every drag. Feeling your body start to tremble and give up on you, the tension in your stomach finally snapped, and you came with a loud moan, clenching around his cock as your body spasmed.

Joel felt every ounce of it. Your body, your touch, the way you clung to him as you reached your climax. It was almost too much to bear. He could feel himself getting closer, his body trembling as he teetered on the edge.

With one last rough movement, he pulled out, throwing you onto the bed. He shoved your hips and ass up, taking advantage of the angle, sinking into you with one powerful thrust. Your face pressed against the pillow, and your body screamed in exhaustion and overstimulation, this new position made Joel dive deeper into you, and you could feel every inch of him, crying out loud at the sensation. But you loved the feeling of him inside you.

He tried to hold on, to prolong the moment, but it was impossible, not when you felt so good, not when he needed his release so bad now.

“Fuck… I’m so close…” he grunted, his body tense. “Where do you want it?”

“Anywhere… anywhere you want, Joel,” you cried through muffled sobs.

With a guttural cry, he finally let go. Pulling his cock out of you with his hand, watching his cum shoot out of it, painting your lower back and your ass with hot, sticky white streaks. He knew that cumming inside you wasn’t a risk he could allow himself to make everytime you two did this.

He groaned lowly, his body boneless and trembling collapsing against the mattress, his mind still reeling from the intensity of his release.

“God damn, darlin’… you nearly killed me,” he said, voice hoarse.

You turned to look at him, a sly smile on your lips. “Too much for that old body to handle?”

He grinned. “If I remember correctly, you were the one cryin’ just a minute ago.”

You laughed softly, letting him pull you close, your head resting on his chest and your body molding to his, fitting against him like you belonged there. His arms wrapped around you, his hand gently tracing up and down your back absently.

“That was amazing, Joel,” you said softly. “I didn’t even know it could feel that good.”

He nodded, satisfied, a contented hum escaping him. The exhaustion was creeping up on him, but he was happy. He felt content, better than he had in ages.

“You gonna ignore me tomorrow and pretend this didn’t happen?” you asked, a hint of sadness creeping into your voice.

“I mean it when I said I was sorry. I guess I just got scared,” he whispered, his lips brushing your hair. “I’m not good at this whole being vulnerable thing, if you haven’t noticed”

You chuckled softly. “Yeah, no shit.”

“But I do like you a lot,” he admitted. “And I like this. Shit— it’s the best thing that’s happened to me in a real long time.”

You smiled, kissing his chest. “Then what is it? The age thing?”

“Partly, yeah. The fact that I’m older than you. You deserve someone better, someone younger, better looking, not some old sack of bones who—”

“Old sack of bones can keep it up like a champ and can fuck me better than any stupid boy in this town,” you cut him off, not wanting to hear another word about him being too old for you for such superficial reasons like looks. “And he’s better looking than all of them combined.”

He couldn’t help but grin, shaking his head in quiet defeat. “It’s still hard for me, this whole… romantic, opening-up thing. It’s been too long. I’ve lost too many people.” His voice dipped low, tinged with a sadness that clung to the edges of his words.

“You’re not the only one who’s lost people, Joel,” you replied softly, your fingertips brushing lazy circles on his chest. “But I think we’ve got something real here. I’m not asking for a ring or anything… but I don’t like when you disappear on me. When you act like none of this matters. It hurt.”

“I know,” he said, his thumb sweeping slow arcs along your back, his voice thick with regret. “I was an ass—more than usual. I just…” He paused, pulling you a little closer, like his arms alone could shield you from how clumsy he was with emotions. “I won’t do it again.”

You exhaled a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “Let’s just take it slow. I like being with you. You like being with me. That’s all it can be for now. Nothing more.”

He hummed in agreement, content, and maybe a little relieved. He almost couldn’t believe how comfortable he felt with you in his arms, like you fit against him just right.

He pulled the blankets up over both of you, his arm tightening around your waist. Then he pressed a kiss to your temple though you could feel in the tension of his body that he was still holding something back, still terrified of getting used to this, of how badly he wanted it.

“You better rest those hips before they give out, old man,” you teased, smirking against his skin.

He huffed a breath that was somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “My hips are fine, darlin’. You’re the one who’s gonna be needin’ the ice packs tomorrow.”

“Oh, look at you—getting cocky now, Miller,” you laughed.

His fingers trailed slowly down the curve of your body, pausing at your hip. “Ain’t cocky if it’s the truth. Hard not to be when I had you screamin’ like that.”

You snorted softly, swatting at his chest. “And you loved every second of it.”

“Damn right I did,” he said, voice rough with sleep and satisfaction. His hand lingered at your waist, possessive and warm. “Now shut up and go to sleep. Your old man needs his rest.”

Your old man.

[prlssprfctn]

Dick watches as the newly proclaimed crime lord, Red Hood, storms off on his bike, without a care in the world. Logically speaking, Nightwing should try to chase after him — he was an awful headache to his family lately, wasn't he? — but he had no power to deal with this right now, not when it was useless anyway; Red Hood escaped Batman as if it was his hobby, there was no way Dick himself would succeed, especially while he is wounded.

'Stuck-up,' he still murmurs faintly.

'You hate him?'

Dick almost flinches. Almost, because he is already used to the ghost of his little brother appearing out of nowhere, in day and night. Even now, little Jason is sitting atop of someone's car, swinging his feet in the air mindlessly. He flashes his brother a smile once their eyes meet, and Dick mirrors it in the instant.

'Hate is a strong word, Little Wing.'

'Well, I hate geometry. That's not that complicated,' Dick snorts at that.

'Why does it matter, anyway?'

Little Jason hums mindfully. There is a hint of hesitation in his actions, before he admits:

'I like him.'

Dick blinks a few times.

'You like Red Hood? Why would you like Red Hood?'

This doesn't sound like something Jason would say, right?

...Then again, Dick knew very little about his brother, and these things he knew, he started to forget a long time ago. It would be probably easier, to keep these details in mind, if only he had someone to talk about it — someone, who knew Jason, too. But Bruce is stubborn in his grief, and Dick cannot speak about Jason with no one else but his own ghost.

'He protects Crime Alley people in the way they need it,' Jason insists firmly. 'So, I like him. Can you not hate him, too?'

This is so fucking strange. Why Dick's consciousness tries to reassure him to like that red asshole? Isn't that just... bizarre? Is he finally going insane?

'Uh,' Dick rubs the bridge of his nose. 'Listen—'

The comms crack faintly, catching his attention. Barbara asks about the status of the mission, and he reports it quickly before turning around again, to look at Jason once more and resume their conversation.

But the ghost is gone again.

And Dick is still puzzled.

Maybe he should go through Red Hood's case one more time?..

[loonylupinblack3]

Shy

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader

Warnings: swearing, suggestive content

Summary: you have a crush on a certain co-worker but are too shy to tell him. so someone does it for you.

Word count: 2.6k

A/N: THIS WAS A REQUEST BUT WHEN I TRIED TO REPLY TO IT IT DIDNT LET ME AND DELETED IT INSTEAD (also jean is a meddling little shit in this and u just gotta accept that)

You watched him from across the hall greedily, eyes drinking in his panting form, the sweat coating his chest and back, the strained muscles underneath his wife beater tank top. Logan was a sight for sore eyes on a normal day, but when he was working out? He had you practically rabid for him.

You were sitting on one of the benches, a forgotten book in your hand you hadn’t glanced at in ages, preferring to treat yourself to the image of Logan Howlett hot and sweaty while working out. There were a few other X-men exercising alongside him, and others on the bench with you hanging out so you weren’t too out of place, but everyone could see the way you looked at Logan.

Everyone but Logan himself.

You’d joined the team a few months ago- 5 to be exact- after whispers had gotten to you of a safe space for mutants. Having hidden your true genetic code from everyone else in your life, you jumped at the chance of not having to hide anymore. With your unique skill set too- the ability to formulate and present illusions- you were an exceptional addition to both the X-men and the teaching staff.

You thrived at the X mansion. The kids loved you, you got along well with your fellow teammates, and you had suggested and helped act on several improvements to both the school and the team. You were a good addition, and the other mutants were grateful to have you there.

You’d just had one problem when acclimating to the school. Your teeny, tiny, incredibly small crush on your fellow professor, Logan Howlett. At first you really had thought it would be no big deal. Just a co-worker you had noticed was slightly attractive. That’s all. Other mutants had told you he was hard to talk to, and had a gruff, moody personality, so you’d thought the attraction would soon fade.

Unfortunately it had only grown. The first time you’d realised, shit, this might actually be a problem, was when you’d gone to get a glass of water in the middle of the night and found Logan leaning against the kitchen counter, shirtless, with a beer in hand.

You’d been so flustered, eyes continuously betraying you and straying to his chest that you’d blurted out the first thing that came to your head, “how’d you get beer in here?”

Logan had chuckled, observing you as he brought the beer bottle to his mouth for a sip. “Why? Want some Sweetheart?”

You’d felt heat rise to your face at the nickname, shaking your head. “No, I was just curious.”

Logan stared at you a second longer, eyes trailing your figure appreciatively before shrugging. “Your loss. And unfortunately I can't tell you how I got it. Gotta keep it a secret lest Xavier finds out.”

You were too flustered to argue so you’d just nodded, mumbled a quick goodbye, and quickly walked back to your bedroom. You hadn’t even gotten your glass of water. 

There had been other similar instances over the past few months. Logan just had a way to get under your skin, to cause your heart to go into cardiac arrest every time he looked at you, which made it hard to conceal your ever growing crush on him from literally everyone. Even your students knew about it, or at least had their suspicions, and you prayed they were too intimidated by Logan to ask him any questions about it. The last thing you needed was to get humiliated and have to pack up all your things and leave the home you had just created for yourself because you could no longer look any of your co-workers or students in the eyes again.

Especially Logan.

Things had escalated until you could barely look Logan in the eye anymore, and actively avoided him at all costs. The last thing you wanted to do was embarrass yourself in front of him, and though it was unpleasant you’d decided the best course of action was just to steer clear of him altogether.

Still, you allowed yourself some enjoyment, like watching Logan workout from afar while in a room full of people. The onlookers weren’t the best, but it was better than being alone with him when who knows what would happen.

“Like what you see?”

Storm’s voice dragged you out of your ogling, and you turned to her with a sheepish expression. “Maybe.”

She gave you a knowing look, raising her eyebrows. You ignored it, because you’d heard her suggestions many times before and found they didn’t align with your own interests.

“Go and tell him how you feel.”

And embarrass yourself when he inevitably rejects you? No thanks. You were more comfortable with keeping your feelings suppressed, continuously shoving them down, building a brick wall between them and you, to permanently keep them out. Yet for every single brick you added somewhere below you could feel three more being punched out, slowly destroying your barricades bit by bit. 

Your eyes strayed back to Logan, like they always did, yet surprise striked you when you couldn’t find him. Your eyes scanned the room like a man on a mission, only to realise too late Logan was heading towards you, a towel in his sweaty grip.

He greeted Storm with a nod before his gaze zeroed in on you, and you mentally added another brick to your shield, determined to keep him out this time. 

“Y/n,” he greeted, eyes never straying from your face.

You looked down, fidgeting with your hands. “Logan,” and, because you were incredibly weak willed- “did you have a good workout?”

You swear as you looked back up at him you saw the remnants of a smile on his face, but it was gone in the blink of an eye so you couldn’t be completely sure. You don’t think Logan had ever smiled at you, and you felt the bricks within you start to wobble.

“It was alright,” he said curtly, ever the man of few words. He lingered though, as if debating to say something, when it came out anyway. “I’d like it if you joined us next time.”

You felt your heartbeat increase. You felt the jump and the rapid incline as you processed what he said, your mind swimming.

“Me? But I just do illusions… I don’t have a fight worthy mutation.”

“Which is exactly why you should workout. Build your strength so you don’t need to rely on others and can trust your own body to do the job, regardless of mutations.”

It was the most you think Logan had ever spoken to you all at once, and you were suddenly feeling very dizzy. Logan wanted you to workout with him, to spend time with him. Could you imagine? Standing alongside him while he panted. Sparring and ending up underneath him, his entire body weight crushing you between him. It was almost too much to think about.

You cleared your throat, trying to clear your mind of unhelpful distractions, and found your eyes glued to Logan as he brought the towel to wipe the sweat from his throat, his muscles straining right in front you as he reached behind the back of his neck, wiping the sheen of sweat from his body.

You were staring, you knew that, but you just couldn’t find it in you to look away. It was a godly sight, Logan in front of you, sweaty and staring right at you. How were you supposed to look away?

“Uhm,” you mumbled when Storm stepped on your foot. If she’d noticed your ogling Logan certainly must have, and you felt heat rise to your face at the thought. “Yeah, maybe. I’ll think about it.”

Logan looked at you again, really looked at you, before nodding, slinging the towel over a shoulder. “I hope to see you there.”

And with that he walked away, and you felt the bricks tumbling, clattering away inside you, and you could do nothing to stop it until you felt bare and vulnerable, watching the man walk away with the realisation this might be more than just a silly crush.

You couldn’t let that happen. Couldn’t let yourself go too far, even though you could already feel yourself falling. You needed stronger defences, more barricades and walls. And if that meant more space between you and Logan, more avoiding and distance, well, you’d do it. You couldn’ let yourself go past the point of no return with him. You couldn’t.

Your avoidance of Logan had continued ten-fold. Whenever he entered a room you would exit. You would no longer spend time watching him workout or teach or do anything, really. You stayed as isolated from him as possible, and when you couldn’t you stayed silent, eyes fixed ahead of you rather than on him.

Others had noticed. You heard the rumours, whispers of a fight, a break up that occurred between the two of you. It was laughable, the idea that you and Logan had ever been together in the first place.

It was working though, or so you thought. You could feel your shields and barricades strengthening each day, and you continued to build them higher and higher, in the hopes you would eventually not need to avoid Logan, for he would no longer have any effect on you.

Until then you were determined to avoid Logan and spend as little time with him as possible. Unfortunately Logan did not share that sentiment.

You’d just finished up a class, instructing your students to have their homework prepared for next lesson and watched them all file out the door when Logan entered. It was so unexpected you hadn’t a chance to leave before he was upon you, his figure towering over your frame. His arms were crossed and he watched you with a frown on his face, yet you weren’t afraid of it anymore. Sure, you had been originally, but soon you’d discovered behind the frown was usually no ill intent, so you weren’t nervous.

Well you were, extremely so, but not about that.

“Oh, Logan,” you managed, swallowing thickly. “What are you doing here?”

Logan crossed his arms. “We need to talk.”

You winced. “We do?”

He let out an aggravated huff. “LIsten, I don’t know what I did to make you so pissed at me but it can’t be this bad-”

You interrupted him, confused. “Wait, what?”

He sent you a look. “You. Being mad at me. I don’t know why.”

“I’m not mad at you.”

Logan paused, looking at you with a scrutinising gaze. “Yes you are.”

You scoffed at him wrongly telling you how you felt. “No, I’m not.”

“So why are you ignoring me? And don’t say you haven't-” Logan said, noticing you’d opened your mouth to defend yourself. “I know you are. You have been avoiding me for weeks, and if you’re not angry at me I can see no other fathomable reason for why you’re acting like I have the plague.”

I frowned. “You noticed that?”

Logan scoffed. “Of course I noticed it. You don’t even come to training anymore, not even to watch like you used to. Why?”

You shifted uncomfortably on your feet. You obviously couldn’t tell him the real reason, otherwise all the hard work you’d done would be for nothing because you’d end up humiliated and rejected anyway, but you knew Logan could tell when someone was lying from their pulse spiking, and yours certainly would if you lied about this.

You grappled for something to say, anything, to shake him off your trail. “I have to prepare for another class-”

“You’re not preparing for shit until you tell me what’s wrong,” Logan practically growled. “I can stay here all day Bub.”

Well shit. You didn’t really have another choice. You were going to have to tell him about your feelings for him. Literally anything else would have been better. Anything else.

At that exact moment Jean walked into your classroom and relief bloomed in your chest. You were saved, you were safe. You could use Jean as an excuse and-

“She was avoiding you because she has the hots for you, Logan. Something every single person in this school knows except you.”

Well, not anything else apparently.

Logan let out a noise of surprise and looked at you, but your eyes were glued to Jean, horror and betrayal painted on your face. She mouthed ‘your welcome’ and left. What the fuck? Was that the only reason she entered, to butt into your private conversation?

“Y/n. Was what Jean said true?”

You opened your mouth and then closed it, looking like something akin to a gaping fish. “Define truth.”

Logan narrowed his eyes at you, not at all amused, and his silence forced you to continue.

You sighed, preparing yourself for the inevitable heartbreak to come. “Yes, it’s true, alright, but I never intended to act on it and I won’t act on it so you’re fine-”

“Who said I didn’t want you to act on it?”

You started. “W-what?”

Logan took another step until your chest was suddenly pressed against his. “Did I stutter?”

You felt like you were going to stutter if you said anything, so you sort of just… stood there. Waiting. For what exactly, you weren’t sure. Some clarity maybe?

Certainly not Logan grabbing you by the waist and kissing you, so firm and confident you couldn’t help but melt into his embrace. His hands were grabbing your waist, finding the dips in your curves and squeezing there, grabbing them and tugging you towards him.

His lips dragged across yours, adding an air of desperation to the kiss. You couldn’t help but bring your hand up to cup his cheek, thumb stroking his bearded jaw as he kissed you deeper, seeming for all the world like he was never going to stop. You were powerless to stop it, and you found you didn’t even want to. Your walls were crumbling and you gladly let them if it meant you could continue kissing this man.

Logan hefted you up onto your desk and you let out a gasp, muffled by Logan’s lips. He smiled into the kiss anyway, amused by your surprise, and placed his hands on your knees to part them so he could get between your legs. 

You immediately wrapped your legs around his waist, something he liked if the pleased grunt from his throat was anything to go by. His kissing became more fevoured, like he wanted to devour you, and you gladly let yourself drown in him.

That was until the school bell rang, startling you both out of the kiss. Or rather, just you, because Logan seemed content to move to your neck when your lips stopped responding.

“Logan,” you murmured. “I have a class to teach.”

Logan made an angry grunt and continued placing open mouthed kisses to your collarbone. You laughed and gently pushed him away, causing the man to growl and look at you with such irritation you’d think you interrupted his wedding or something.

“I’m busy here,” Logan said.

You had to physically swallow the breathless sigh threatening to escape your lips, instead saying, “we can continue this later.”

“We will continue this later.”

You smiled, almost shyly, which was ironic considering he was still between your legs. “Yeah?”

Logan moved forward so he could whisper into your ear. “Now that I have you Bub, I ain’t ever letting go.”

He pulled back and your smile widened, making a mental note to thank Jean when you next saw her. “I can live with that.”

[mind-empty-just-fictional-people]

Fingerprints

main masterlist | marvel masterlist

summary: bucky remembers every time your fingers graze his skin

pairing: bucky barnes x female reader

rating: R for language

word count: 2.4k

warnings: mentions of torture, bucky is touch starved

timeline: set in an au after civil war

author’s note: touch starved!bucky barnes is so heartbreaking </3. (picture this bucky during the story, but he has the vibranium arm)

Bucky remembered every bad thing he did as the Winter Soldier. Like scars on his soul, he remembered watching the life drain from their eyes. He remembered every grueling torture session Hydra subjected him to.

He hated how well he remembered his past, and it haunted him nightly. The only thing that was keeping him sane was… you.

He had met you several months ago during the mess with the Sokovia Accords, but he’d only really known you a couple of weeks now. The moment he re-met you, your kind nature swept him off his feet. Up until then, he’d only received kindness from the Wakandans and Steve. But here you were, a stranger who only knew his worst sides, yet you were so gentle with him, so soft-spoken.

**

“Morning sunshine,” you chirped from the compound’s kitchen, pouring yourself a cup of coffee. “How’d you sleep?” you asked Bucky as he sat down at the kitchen island, facing where you stood.

“Slept fine,” he replied. His eyes were tired, burdened with the memories of the nightmares last night had taunted him with. He kept his focus on you. He watched as you stirred creamer into your coffee and as you blew on it through pursed lips to cool it down.

“You okay?” you asked, noticing how intensely he was watching you. 

“I’m fine,” he repeated the word.

“Uh huh, sure hun.” You nodded your head. “Want some coffee?”

“Yes please.”

“Coming right up.”

You grabbed a Stark Industries mug from the cabinet and poured him some coffee. After asking if he wanted any you poured in some creamer as well. You slid the cup across the counter and your fingers brushed his knuckles as he took it.

“Thanks, doll,” he said. He wasn’t just thanking you for the drink, he was thanking you for the fingerprints you left on his right hand, the hand that now held the warm cup of coffee. “How’d you sleep?” he asked, wanting to keep the conversation going but unable to think of a topic change.

“I slept fine,” you replied in a lowered voice, mimicking his. The impression worked because he let out a short laugh.

**

Bucky thought about this short interaction all day. He thought about it as he trained in the gym and as he took a quick shower afterward. He thought about it as he fell asleep that night; he thought about your soft hand brushing his calloused one. He tried to focus on the thought of you as he drifted off the sleep, yet his dreams were still plagued with ghosts of his past.

The next few mornings went about the same.

“How’d you sleep?” you’d ask.

“Fine,” he would respond.

You would ask him if he wanted coffee and he always did. You’d give him the cup and each time lightly brush his hand with the tips of your fingers.

It was barely an interaction. But to Bucky? He looked forward to it. He looked forward to the soft touch of your hand, he looked forward to the smile lines that would deepen when he made you laugh, and he looked forward to the brief conversation the two of you shared each morning.

One morning was different for Bucky, though. He could barely get himself out of bed; images of his dreams still swirling in his mind. He all but collapsed onto the kitchen chair as he sat to speak with you.

“Whoa, you don’t look so good, Bucky. You alright?” you asked, your voice laced with concern and kindness. 

“Just didn’t sleep great, that’s all,” he grumbled, slightly slurring his words.

You shrugged it off and began making his coffee just how he liked it. When you handed it to him, your fingers brushed against him like they had done mornings prior. He savored the moment of skin-to-skin contact before it was broken again.

He thanked you and began sipping the coffee. You watched him intently as he did so.

“What’s wrong, Bucky?” you asked him after a beat of silence.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he protested.

“Are you sick?” you asked. You walked around the island table and stood closer to him. “Can I touch you?” you asked as you brought your hand up to cup his cheek.

He couldn’t believe his ears. You’d just asked for his consent to do something to him; something as gentle as touching his cheek.

He couldn’t get the word out fast enough; “Y-Yes.”

You quickly put your hand on his cheek and furrowed your brows with concentration. You then put the back of your hand against his forehead.

“You don’t seem to have a fever,” you commented.

It was official; Bucky was in heaven. He was relishing in the feeling of your touch. Your left hand on his forehead, your right hand resting on his shoulder. He felt like he had been in darkness for ages and had only now begun to see pure light. 

It was over too soon when you pulled back.

“Maybe you need some more sleep, Bucky,” you suggested.

**

It’d been two weeks since Bucky’s favorite moment with you. Since then he’d barely gotten alone time with you; it was always interrupted by Sam or Steve coming into the kitchen for breakfast. 

He cursed the timing; he’d sit down just as Sam and Steve entered the kitchen, completely disrupting the routine he had going.

Today was no different.

“Morning gorgeous,” Sam exclaimed when he walked into the kitchen. “You make me those pancakes again?”

“You know it, stud.”

Bucky hated the “will they, won’t they” tension you two seemed to have going. He didn’t know you both swore up and down it was platonic flirting.

“You’re too good to me, baby.” Sam smiled widely.

Bucky stared daggers at him, wishing the earth would swallow himself or Sam up whole, anything to put an end to this torment.

But then you glanced his way and suddenly all his annoyance dissipated. The color of your eyes, hair, and lips under the harsh kitchen lighting made him feel like the luckiest man in the world just to be in your presence. 

“Bucky, you want some?” you offered him a plate with two pancakes. He happily accepted yet your fingers didn’t brush his hand when you gave it to him. Stupid plate, being big enough for two people to hold onto at the same time. 

He began eating the pancakes along with Steve and Sam.

“Goddamn these are good,” Sam practically moaned dramatically. “You are an angel, woman.”

“Oh stop it,” you laughed off his comment. Bucky hated feeling so jealous of Sam. 

**

The next time Bucky touched you was during a sparring session in the gym. Several trainees along with Sam, Steve, Wanda, and Nat were paired up and fighting each other. You were partnered with Bucky, Steve was partnered with Wanda, and Sam was partnered with Nat.

You threw a punch and he blocked it just as you expected, you kicked at him and again he blocked it. 

After a while, Steve yelled “Switch,” which meant it was Bucky’s turn to play offense. 

As he was punching you missed a block and he punched you square in the cheek with his vibranium hand.

“Fuck,” you gasped, covering your right cheek with both hands. “Oh fuck, that hurts!”

Bucky hadn’t felt such pure, immediate guilt in so long.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” he said quickly. “Shit, fuck, I’m so, so sorry!”

“It’s okay, not your fault,” you said between pained gasps. While you were a trained fighter and Avenger, you weren’t a super soldier. And without powers, a vibranium punch hurts like hell.

Bucky wanted to punch himself in return for hurting you. He wished to take the bruise forming on your cheekbone and give it to himself instead.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, sounding defeated.

He had been so excited to be partnered with you for training, he had been looking forward to it for days (Steve put the pair schedules up early) but now he wished you had been paired up with Sam instead.

“Let me kiss it better,” he could imagine Sam saying if he had made the same mistake. The bruise wouldn’t be half as big if it had been Sam’s left hand instead of his own. He could imagine Sam would pull you into a hug to express his apologetic sorrow, yet Bucky assumed you’d rather not get a hug from himself.

“Not your fault,” you told him again. You could tell by the expression on his face what he was putting himself through. “Make it up to me by walking me to the freezer for some ice?”

He was shocked by your words. You wanted him to accompany you to the gym’s kitchen? You weren’t going to immediately run to Sam and ask him for help instead?

“Of course,” he said. “Anything you need.”

“Ice that wound, Y/n,” Steve said from a few yards away.

“Already on it, Cap,” you replied.

**

You sat on a bench inside the gender-neutral lockers with Bucky on your left. You held the ice up to your cheek as you both stayed silent for a while.

“I’m really sorry, doll,” Bucky whispered, wanting to break what he felt was an uncomfortable silence.

“I forgive you, Bucky,” you said. You wished he could understand it wasn't his fault, but at the very least you wanted him to know you forgave him. “Besides, it was kinda my fault for not blocking that punch, I should’ve seen it coming a mile away.”

“I thought I went too quickly,” he admitted.

Truthfully, he hadn’t in fact thrown too quick of a punch. In reality, you had been distracted by the color of his eyes under the gym’s harsh lighting. The way they shone such a beautiful, bright blue had you so mesmerized you failed to block the (fairly slow because Bucky was going easy on you) punch.

“Not at all, hun,” you assured him.

Again you both sat in silence. You didn’t mind it, you didn’t mind Bucky’s company. Bucky, however, felt awful about the silence and thought it was a sign you didn't want to talk to him. 

“Can you do me a favor?” you asked. “It’s kinda a big one so feel free to say no.”

“Sure,” he replied. “Anything for you, Y/n,” he wanted to say.

“My hands are getting really numb, would you mind holding the ice pack for a bit?”

“Okay,” he said. You turned to face him, moving your left leg so you were straddling the bench as Bucky did the same with his right leg. The two of you now faced each other as Bucky asked; “Can I touch you?”

That warmed your heart and you nodded.

He reached out his vibranium arm and cupped the ice pack against your cheek as you let go of it. You smiled warmly and put your hand overtop his.

“B-Better?” he asked, his nerves running wild.

“So much.”

**

The punch had sent your relationship with Bucky back lightyears. Every time you talked with him he couldn’t help but stare at the swollen bruise he’d caused.

It bothered you how guilty he still felt even after you willingly took the blame. You could tell he was losing sleep over it so one night you decided to confront him while he stayed up past three AM.

“Bucky, what’re you doing up so late?” you asked, walking into one of the living rooms and seeing him sitting in the corner reading a book. “Is everything okay?”

You took a seat near him on the couch, your brows furrowed with worry.

“Could ask you the same thing, doll,” he retorted.

“I’m serious, Bucky, I’m worried about you.”

“You’re worried about me? Why?”

“Cause I’ve noticed how tired you are when you talk to me each morning, and I notice how you strain yourself trying to focus when you look at me.”

“You don’t have to worry ‘bout me, I’m fine.”

“I know I don’t have to, Bucky,” you said softly. “I worry about you because I care about you.”

“You… care about me?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

“Of course,” you replied quickly and reached out your hand. “Can I touch you?” He nodded and you rested it on his knee. “You matter, Bucky. Your health matters. And if you wanna talk about whatever’s keeping you up, I’m here for you.”

Bucky couldn’t take his eyes off your hand. 

“Thank you,” was all he could choke out. 

**

He eventually began to open up to you. Bit by bit, night by night, you were truly getting to know the great Lieutenant James Barnes.

The more you got to know him the deeper in love with him you fell. You felt selfish for wanting to kiss the pain away, but you couldn’t help it. All you wanted to do was hold him tight till he fell asleep in your arms. But that’s not what he wanted, you assumed. He seemed to be barely okay with the brief touches up till this point.

Whenever you could, whenever you weren’t too exhausted, you would stay up with him. A couple of times you both ended up sleeping on the couch because you fell asleep and Bucky didn’t feel right moving you without your permission. He hadn’t intended to fall asleep next to you, but it happened anyway.

One night you went to speak with him like you had done before but this time was different.

You stood in front of where he sat and when he looked up at you the light caught the glint in his eyes and made you aware of his tear-stained face. 

“Can I touch you?” you asked, just as you had done time and time again.

“Always,” he replied. You cupped his face with your hands. 

“Is this okay?” you asked, hands moving to tangle with his hair. 

“It’s more than okay,” he replied, leaning on your stomach as he brought his hands to rest on your hips. “Thank you.”

He wasn’t merely thanking you for staying up with him, but for the fingerprints you were leaving on his very soul. The lingering feeling of your soft touch on his trauma-filled skin.

He didn’t dare tell you about his most recent dream — a dream in which the Winter Soldier took your life.

[crowsofdarkness]

Bucky makes for a great teacher: pt. 1

18+ CW's below the cut(Bucky's dirty mouth, touching his cock over his jeans, inexperienced reader)

teach me masterlist

Bucky radiated body heat, it wrapping around me and causing a slick sweat to gather at the back of my neck. I tried to keep my hair down all night while we hung out in the Avengers common room watching a movie. Everyone had left awhile ago, leaving me alone with Bucky. With the way he had been watching me with sheer intensity, I quickly gathered my hair to throw it up into a ponytail. That simple action made him swallow thickly while shifting in his seat. 

“What?” I asked. “Did I do something?” 

With the way he was smirking, I could tell he was far from uncomfortable. The relationship between us was an odd one. I was still new on the team, only becoming a member a few weeks ago. But ever since my first day here, I felt this undeniable pull from Bucky. He would never come out right and say how he felt but he showed it with the way he flirted with me. 

“You threw your hair up in a ponytail after looking at my dick,” he said with a blunt tone. 

I blinked at Bucky with my mouth agape, not expecting him to say that. I’d never been around someone who spoke so straightforward like that so I expected myself to be disgusted. Instead, I found myself aroused because I definitely had been staring at his dick ever since he sat down next to me. 

“I wasn’t,” I shook my head. “Wait, what does me throwing my hair up in a ponytail have anything to do with your-.” 

I couldn’t say the word out loud. Thinking the word wasn’t an issue but actually spitting out the word gave me pause. 

Bucky’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, a movement I tracked with careful precision. 

“Dick,” he said the word slowly at first, hoping I’d repeat it. 

Instead I looked down at my lap to avoid eye contact with him which made him drag his vibranium fingers along the exposed skin of the back of my neck. 

“Do you really not know what it means when a woman throws up her hair after staring at a guy’s dick?” He wondered with a slight chuckle. 

I swallowed thickly, shivering under his touch and kept my voice quiet as I spoke. “There’s a lot I don’t know.”

There was this untenable pull from Bucky from the moment I bumped into him in the hallway my first day here. Something about the darkness in his eyes told me that he’d show me the dark parts of myself that were fighting to break through. The part of me that came alive while reading those dark romance books. 

“Do you want to know what it means?” Bucky questioned. 

Slowly lifting my gaze from my lap to meet his burning one, I gave him a slight nod after thinking it over. It was just an answer to a question I had, surely it wouldn’t hurt knowing. 

Bucky sat closer to me, gathering the ends of my hair between his fingers. “Typically, when someone throws up their hair in a ponytail, it means they’re getting ready to suck someone's dick.” 

I let out a shocked breath while glancing down at his lap, directly where his dick was. My hand was so close to his thigh as it was perched in my own lap and I nearly reached for him. 

“That’s-uh-,” my words fell away again when I felt his fingers graze down the side of my neck, over my collar bone. 

When I swallowed, Bucky tracked the movement with his thumb. 

“Are you saying you’ve never done that when you suck a guy's dick?” There was an oddly comforting and playful tone to his question. 

If it were anyone else being so upfront and vulgar I would have smacked them however the voice in my mind told me to continue on with him. 

“I’ve never actually done that before,” I motioned with my eyes towards his lap. 

Bucky choked on a laugh as his hand dropped away from me only for his face to go stone when he realized I wasn't joking. 

“You’ve never given head before?”

I shook my head, feeling even smaller than I was. Embarrassment filled me as he continued to stare at me with a bewildered look. Any chance I had to possibly have something with Bucky went down the drain. 

Why do you think he’d even go for someone like you? Have you seen him? 

Ignoring not only the stabbing in my heart but the voice in my head that often chastised me, I gave a somber shrug. 

“I’ve already embarrassed myself enough tonight. I think I’m going to head to bed,” I said while rising to my feet only to yanked back down onto the couch in my previous spot. 

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” Bucky asked with a tender tone. 

Immediately I shook my head. “No! You’re fine. It's just-I’m not used to talking about sex. I’ve been called a prude basically my entire life so to hear you be so open talking about it makes me feel embarrassed that I don't understand the reason why someone putting their hair up was a sexual act. Now I’m rambling and making more of an idiot myself and I wish someone would just shut me up.” 

“Do you want to?” 

My eyes snapped over to him after I pinched them shut. “Wh-what?” 

Bucky eased back into the couch, showing more of his lap at me; an open invitation. “Do you want to suck my cock?” 

The way he asked the question made my cheeks inflame with heat and I squeezed my thighs together when that heat spread straight to my core. With a quick flick down towards his lap, I could see the faintest outline of his cock against his jeans and didn’t stop myself from licking my lips. 

“I want to do something else,” I rushed out.

A low hum vibrated from the back of his throat. “What’s that?” 

I didn’t speak, simply kept my eyes on him, hoping he caught on so I didn’t have to say it outloud. 

“Doll, you have to use your words,” Bucky spoke while brushing his own hand over his cock causing both of us to share a moan. “Oh, is that what you want? You want to touch my cock?” 

I nodded feverishly, not knowing where this part of me came from. I’d never been this up front with anyone so I was surprised at myself. 

“Then take it,” he demanded while palming himself. 

I didn’t. 

I began shrinking into myself, becoming the form of me I was familiar with. The one that was called prude her entire life. 

“Doll,” Bucky moaned while bucking his hips into his own hand. “Take it.” 

I felt frozen in front of him, unable to push through the wall that suddenly built itself inside of my mind. All the teasing I’d gone through all throughout high school and the mental abuse from my ex were pestering inside of me, telling me I would do something wrong with Bucky and he would simply laugh in my face for how inexperienced I was. 

The loud voices seized when Bucky grabbed my hand and forced it on his cock, replacing his own hand. A gasp fell from my lips when I finally could feel what I couldn’t stop staring at it all night. 

“Oh god, it’s so-.” Like before, I couldn't finish my sentence, truly taken aback by the size I felt beneath my palm. 

My hand remained frozen, unsure what to do with it, so Bucky began guiding it. Up and down. 

“Just like that, doll. Press your palm against it,” he was breathless. 

Following his guidance, I began pressing my palm harder against his cock and he let his head fall back to the arm of the couch.

“Fuck,” Bucky hissed when I pressed to hard against his cock and I wretched my hand back. 

“I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” 

His head lifted from the couch and the haze look in his eyes made me whimper. 

“No, Doll. Quite the opposite,” Bucky reached for my hand again but I hesitated. 

“Maybe we should stop this. I don’t know what I’m doing and I’m sure you can find someone with more experience,” I rambled on. 

Once again he grabbed my hand and brought it back to his cock, my actions picking up almost instantly with his next words. 

“I just want you.” 

Those four words fueled the confidence in me as I began playing with his cock over his jeans again. Rubbing it as best as I could even though I wanted to slip my hand in his pants. 

“You’re doing so good, Doll,” Bucky praised. 

I whimpered again at the praise as I found myself kneeling between his legs so I could get a better angle with my hand. I dragged my finger down the length of it as his cock pressed hard against the zipper and when I could vaguely feel the head of it, I tested the waters by rubbing it between my thumb and finger. 

His hips bucked up into my hand causing him to curse before gently removing my hand and bringing it to his chest, halting my movements. I couldn’t stop the tears that began to well in my eyes for being stopped yet again. 

“No tears on that pretty face. The first time I cum, I want it to be down your throat,” Bucky explained while sitting up with a groan, adjusting himself in his jeans. 

My heart rate picked up as my hand continued to be pressed against the broadness of his chest. 

“I told you. I’ve never done that before,” I reminded him. 

With one thumb brushing against the back of my hand, the other dragged over my bottom lip causing me to suck in a breath. 

“It’s alright, doll. I’ll work you up to it.”