#by the light of evans side table lamp

[rabbit-bf]

[proship dni pls]

Love me forever, or not at all 🖤

[saveyourblood]

The Exit (Evan Buckley x Reader)

Summary: “She isn’t as good as me,” you say. It isn’t a question. It isn’t even a taunt — it’s a simple fact. The one where you and Buck were together, now you're not, and you're cycling through the five stages of grief.

Word Count: 2.2k Warnings: mild violence, toxic(ish) relationship

“There’s no way he moved on that quickly.”

Denial. 

Hen just looks at you. You take another sip of your drink. 

She successfully convinced you to go out after work for the first time in months. Unfortunately for her, that doesn’t mean you’re good company. Your only plan for the night is to get so drunk that you can get his face out of your head. 

“It’s like I always say: Men ain’t shit.”

“You literally never say that.”

“I don’t have to, because they ain’t shit,” Hen grins. 

You try to smile. God, you wish you could. You’re pretty sure that night stitched the corners of your mouth into a permanent frown. 

“I just can’t believe it,” you mutter. You signal for the bartender. 

Hen sighs. “Look, babe, there’s no way that relationship is going to last. She’s a rebound.” 

“You think he’d introduce us to his rebound?”

“The whole point of a rebound is that you don’t know it’s a rebound,” Hen explains. “Buck thinks he loves her because he still loves you, and that love doesn’t just… disappear. It has to go somewhere.”

“Why can’t I have it?” 

Hen sighs again, a sad smile on her face. 

“Maybe I was just a really shitty partner,” you cede. “Maybe if I could be better, we could be better.” 

Bargaining. 

Hen’s in the middle of a sip, but she shakes her head anyway. “No, that’s not what happened.”

“I don’t even know what happened. I think that’s the worst part. I mean, here’s this man that I think I’ve been in love with for the last three years, and the second I mention the word ‘marriage,’ he runs for the hills.”

“He’s got some personal shit to work through,” Hen says simply. “Shit that you can’t fix.” 

“But why couldn’t he let me at least help him? Isn’t that what a partner is supposed to do?” 

Hen plays with the napkin on the bar in front of her. “Buck’s never had a real partner — not until you came into his life. I think underneath the macho firefighter charade is a boy who’s just… scared of how he feels.”

“He doesn’t know how he feels,” you scoff. 

The bartender wordlessly fills the empty shot glass in front of you. You take it the second he’s done pouring it, wincing as it burns your throat. 

“Maybe that’s what he’s scared of,” Hen says softly. 

“He can’t be that scared: he has a girlfriend,” you retort bitterly. You push your empty shot glass around aimlessly before quietly adding, “I’m so tired of feeling this way.”

Depression.

You won’t be reaching Acceptance anytime soon, so for now, you cycle through the other stages of grief… except for Anger. 

You and Anger either don’t get along or get along far too well. You and Anger is either tequila and lime or tequila and a goddamn blowtorch. Anger gets you everything you want or it ruins it, and there’s no in-between. You’re not friends, not even close; Anger is your shadow, nipping on your heels, ready to strike in the right lighting. 

You look over your shoulder at the pool table. Buck and Eddie are taking turns shooting, and off to the side sits Taylor. 

You don’t get what Buck sees in her, yet you absolutely get it, and it’s an infuriating paradox. She’s a news broadcaster, but she looks like she could be a model. Where you have scars and curves, Taylor is clear and straight-edged. She flips her long red hair over one shoulder, and even under the shitty bar lamp, it shines. 

It’s the right lighting. 

You push yourself away from the counter and hop out of your seat. You march across the bar, far too steady on your feet considering how much you’ve drank. It’s as if Anger, which usually follows behind you, is propping you up and pushing you forward. 

Taylor sees you first, because of course she does. She smiles a little as her eyebrows furrow. It’s juvenile, but you kind of want to punch her in the mouth and see what her perfect little smile would look like with a fresh painting of blood over it. 

“Is everything alright?” She asks innocently. 

“Yeah, just… Buck, can I talk to you? Outside?” 

Buck, who’s lining up a shot, looks up. His mouth opens slightly before he forces it closed, his jaw clenching in the process. He quickly shoots, the cue ball bouncing off the side of the table before hitting another ball. He doesn’t even look to see if he made the shot; he stares at you the entire time. 

He stands up straight, rolling his shoulders back. “Yeah.”

Buck leads the way. If Anger wasn’t following you so closely, you’d feel Taylor’s gaze burning a hole in your back. 

It’s cold outside. Not unseasonably, considering it’s February. Hell, it’s not even actually cold; you grew up on the East Coast, so where you’re from, winter chills you to the bone. Here in LA, winter is more like a breath of fresh air from the summer's unrelenting heat. 

Buck crosses his arms over his chest. He’s from the East Coast too, so you know he isn’t cold.

“What’s up?” He asks.

You laugh. Like, actually laugh. You haven’t done it in so long that you almost forgot how it sounded, how it feels. You missed the rumble in your chest and the shaking of your shoulders. You missed laughing, and you missed laughing with him. 

Buck isn’t laughing, though. He’s just staring at you. 

“You know what? Nevermind,” you chuckle, turning on your heel. 

You take a few steps down the sidewalk before Buck calls after you. “Where are you going? You’re the one who wanted to talk!”

You stop dead in your tracks, any trace of a smile leaving your face. 

Buck shifts behind you. He’s close enough to hear but not close enough to feel. 

“Does she know?” You ask, back still turned to him. 

He shifts again. You let the silence deafen you both.

“...It hasn’t come up.”

You laugh again. It isn’t genuine this time. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

You try walking away again, but Buck grabs your arm. It feels like his fingertips are made of fire. You spin around to face him, causing him to let go. His jaw is set again. 

You grab fistfuls of his shirt, spinning him around and pushing him against the brick wall of the neighboring building. 

Anger. 

“Don’t you dare fucking touch me,” you growl. “You lost that privilege a long time ago.”

Buck keeps fucking staring at you. He raises his chin a little, but he doesn’t try to move your hands. 

“You are so full of shit, you know that?” You continue, shaking your hands a little before letting go of his shirt. 

“You’re drunk.”

He can smell it on your breath. He can’t possibly know you well enough to know you’d never say any of this sober. Because sure, you were together for three years, but you’re not together anymore. One of the reasons for that has to be that he doesn’t know a damn thing about you. 

“You’re still full of shit,” you repeat. Even you can tell that it isn’t as convincing this time. You take a step back; being this close to him is making your stomach turn. 

Buck pushes off the wall, towering over you. “How? How am I full of shit?” 

“You’re a liar,” you say, tilting your head up to stare at him. You won’t let him intimidate you. 

“A liar?” Buck challenges, getting closer to you. 

Anger. Anger. Anger. 

You put your hands on his chest and push him against the wall again. You aren’t strong enough to manhandle him — to a certain extent, he’s letting you push him around. That pisses you off even more. 

“You lied to me for three fucking years straight,” you hiss. 

“How?”

“You told me you loved me.”

Your voice wavers, and you can’t stand the sound of it. You clench your jaw and take in a breath, which you let out shakily. No fucking way are you going to let yourself cry in front of him. He doesn’t deserve your tears. 

“You told me you loved me, and when I wanted more, you ran,” you say, pausing to swallow. “You told me you loved me for three years, and not even three months later, you’re showing off your new girlfriend.”

If only for a second, you swear his vision drops to your lips. Buck goes right back to staring at you, though, and you see his jaw pop — he’s getting angry. 

Good.

“Are you ever gonna tell her?” You challenge. You lean in, the gap between you growing shorter every second.

His jaw doesn’t relax. 

A chuckle escapes you. Of course he isn’t. 

You put your hands on the wall, inches from Buck’s waist on both sides. You lean in, turning your lips to his ear. “Remember this, Evan Buckley: everywhere she touches you, I was there first.” 

Buck grabs your face with one hand, and your brain short-circuits. Your chin is tucked between his thumb and index finger, the rest of his fingers resting on your cheek and neck. He pulls you back first, then turns you around until it’s you who’s pressed against the wall. 

Then, he kisses you. His hand stays where it is while the other pins your hip in place. The kiss doesn’t feel like it used to; it’s somehow worse yet better than when you were together. There’s no trace of love in the way his tongue slides across yours or the way he takes your lip in between his teeth. Everything about this is so rough, so raw, so needy.

Eventually, Buck brakes away but keeps his forehead pressed against yours so hard you think it might leave a bruise. He huffs out a few breaths that you gratefully inhale. 

“She isn’t as good as me,” you say. It isn’t a question.  It isn’t even a taunt — it’s a simple fact. Three months ain’t got shit on three years. 

“You just had to go and fuck things up, didn’t you?” He mumbles, voice gravelly. 

He’s kissing you again. Your head is fuzzy, and you know it isn’t from the booze. He’s pressing into you, but you manage to snake a hand in between your waists to palm him. He’s half-hard, and when you make contact, he lets out a low groan into your mouth. You swallow it whole. 

His words finally register. You squeeze him, probably a little too hard. He groans again, finally moving his hand from your face to the wall behind you for leverage. 

“I fucked things up?” you challenge quietly. Your hand hovers over Buck’s crotch, and he leans closer, desperate for any connection. “You’re the one who ended things.”

“You’re the one who wanted to change things,” Buck argues. 

His head dips, and he starts to kiss your neck. You let out a small sound at the sensation, biting your bottom lip to quiet yourself. You’re still pissed at him, but you continue palming him through his pants, which earns you another groan. 

“I brought up the idea of a future, and you ran,” you say between heavy breaths. “You’re more scared of change than you are being alone. It’s pathetic.” 

Buck bites the skin above your collarbone in protest to your words. You wince; it’ll definitely leave a mark. 

The weird thing about your relationship with Buck is that it never really felt like it ended. At least, that’s how you took things. One second, you were happy, and the next, you were moving into a studio apartment that wasn’t his. There was no funeral, no eulogy, just a loss so deep that it gave you whiplash. You didn’t bury your relationship under six feet of dirt; you buried it under six feet of snow. You buried it alive. And the snow is melting. 

Buck’s hand sneaks under your waistband, and it’s as if the alcohol in your bloodstream burns off. You’re left sober, staring at a sickening reality: this is wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Even though it feels so fucking right, it is so fucking wrong. 

Both of your hands find his shoulders. You push him away, not as roughly as before, not even with a lot of force. Really, all it takes for him to pull away is the change in your demeanor. 

“You have a girlfriend,” you whisper.  

You still don’t think it’s fair that he got to move on so quickly. Buck is flying down the freeway and left you at an exit miles back. He’s moving on way faster and way better than you ever could. It doesn’t feel fair. But then again, it doesn’t matter what you feel. Because there is no ‘you and Buck’ anymore: it’s Buck and Taylor, and somewhere in the backdrop, there’s you. 

Your hand finds his wrist, which you pull away slowly. You press your lips together, then let out a sigh. “You should probably get back to her.”

Acceptance.

[kinardsevan]

when it comes to you

here, have the entirety of that oneshot @station18908 inspired. i feel more satisfied now after adding to it.

-

Evan’s hand is dug tightly into the collar of Tommy’s t-shirt as their tongues tangle, Tommy lapping into the inside of his mouth with a hand grasped firmly around the inside of Evan’s thigh as his thumb brushes dangerously closer to the height of his pelvis, feeling like a weight on body. He can’t even express exactly what it is about this moment, just that he needs. 

“Evan,” Tommy tries to murmur against his lips, but the younger man is fervent, pressing himself closer if it’s possible, clinging tighter to the collar of Tommy’s shirt. 

Still, Tommy’s experience in all things outweighs Evan’s needs, because his hand leaves Evan’s leg, drawing a soft whimper from the younger one as Tommy’s hand comes to wrap around his hand and gently peel his fingers from his shirt, tilting his head forward and pressing his forehead against Evan’s as he breaks their kiss. 

“Tommy-..” 

“We should slow down,” Tommy whispers hoarsely. He leans back just enough to catch Evan’s gaze, and Evan stares back at him with the saddest expression he thinks he’s ever seen on his face, one that he doesn’t want to see at all. 

“I don’t want to stop,” Evan assures him, leaning forward and ghosting his mouth over Tommy’s, hot breath colliding—he can still smell the sweetness of the wine from dinner from Tommy. 

“Evan,” Tommy replies, his tone hedging a gentle warning. They’re playing in dangerous territory, and Tommy knows his own limits, and even though Evan Buckley really loves to push every single one of them, they’re still not there yet, and he won’t push him. But also, he can only handle so much. 

Evan gulps, looking up at his boyfriend, lifting his hand from where Tommy still has it against the collar of his shirt, until he rests it on his cheek. His eyes skate over the surface of Tommy’s face, from the three-day-old stubble on his jaw, the curve of his lips, the angle of his nose, and those ocean-blue eyes, and something in his chest cracks. 

“I-I know we’ve talked, and I-I’m not really ready yet, b-but…” He doesn’t know what else to say. They have talked, extensively, about how he’s not ready to go all the way yet. But he needs to feel Tommy’s skin under his fingers. He needs to touch parts of him far too covered by clothing. He just needs.

Tommy takes a breath, his own gaze skating over Evan’s body and face as he tilts his head slightly, slips his tongue between his lips to wet them, and it makes Evan growl lowly in his chest. Tommy’s nose twitches slightly with a smirk at Evan’s reaction. 

“Are you open to oral sex,” he asks. 

A grunt escapes Evan’s mouth before he can even reign himself in. Tommy’s mouth? On his dick? Oh holy fuck. He doesn’t even have the words in that moment, and all he can do is nod hurriedly, having to remind himself to keep swallowing from how dry his mouth just got. Tommy’s smile widens briefly, and then he leans forward and pecks him quickly before he pushes up off the couch and extends a hand to Evan. The younger man watches him with curiosity, taking his hand a bit apprehensively. 

“Where are we going,” he rasps, letting Tommy pull him out of the living room after turning off the TV and singular lamp on the side table. 

“To the bedroom,” Tommy responds, leading him around the corner into the small hallway. Inside Tommy’s bedroom, the lamp beside the bed is already turned on, emitting a soft glow into the room. It’s one of those lamps with touch settings, and it’s set to the lowest option, only lighting the room up enough to what could definitely be considered mood lighting. 

Once they’re in the room, Tommy turns back toward him, letting his gaze trail once more before he looks back up at Evan. 

“How do you want to do this? I can undress you, or if that’s too much, you can do it,” he offers. 

Evan stares at him for a time, his brain taking far too much time to process the question and then even longer to decide. He’s already so overwhelmed by the implications of what’s about to happen that his fingers are shaking as they wrap around the hem of his polo and start to pull up. Still, Tommy is not blind to his plight—he never has been—and he steps forward, sliding a hand around Evan’s neck and kissing him tenderly, his fingers delicately sliding beneath the navy polo on the younger man. They rest gently against his abs, not moving any further for a time, and it pulls the anxiety from Evan’s body as he relaxes against Tommy. Tommy, who is so protective already of him, even so early on in this thing they’re doing together. Tommy, who worries about Evan’s comfort above anything else, who puts all of Evan’s needs before his own, and who would rather stop something in pursuit of his own pleasure than risk hurting Evan. 

Tommy’s sandalwood cologne is all around him as he reaches up for his boyfriend’s calloused hand and gently pulls it down. Evan holds it in his own for the briefest of moments, against his chest, letting Tommy feel the hammering of his heart inside his chest before he slides it down to the bottom of his shirt, encouraging Tommy to continue. 

Still, ever the gentleman, he doesn’t rush it. When Tommy’s right hand joins his left underneath Evan’s shirt, he moves slowly, letting his fingers learn the angles and curves of Evan’s hips and ribs slowly until Evan finally takes half a step back, breaking their kiss and lifting his arms over his head on purpose. He stares at Tommy wantonly, and this time it’s Tommy who gulps before he lifts the shirt away before tossing it to the floor, letting it be forgotten. 

In the seconds after, they stand in the same spots for a time as Tommy’s gaze moves over Evan’s body and takes him in. It’s not like they haven’t seen each other stripped down; they’ve already had several sleepovers, and Tommy showered at Evan’s loft after Maddie’s wedding. But this feels different, probably because it is. This is overtly sexual in nature, and there’s a war happening inside Evan’s chest between the excitement over what’s about to happen and the ever-present fear of rejection, of being not-enough. But if those fears think they’re going to gain a foothold, Tommy is quick to squash them, wrapping his large hands around Evan’s ribs and pulling him back with a devouring kiss. 

Tommy’s fingers are expert as they peel Evan’s jeans open, shove them to the floor, and then he works him backward until Evan’s calves hit the bed. 

“You have far too many clothes on now,” Evan rasps against his mouth, staying upright when Tommy tries to nudge him down. The older man chuckles against his lips as Evan’s fingers slide inside his flannel. 

“Need to level the playing field?” He asks. 

Evan hums in affirmation, and Tommy moves with him as Evan shoves the layering piece off before his hands are underneath Tommy’s t-shirt, feeling every inch of his boyfriends washboard abs rippling beneath his fingers until he reaches his pectoral muscles. Tommy steps back the same way he did several minutes before, and he lifts his arms, letting Evan peel away the t-shirt and toss to join Evan’s own shirt on the floor. 

“Feel better,” Tommy asks him, that same playful smirk on his face as his fingers trail along the band of Evan’s briefs. Evan nods, his lips slightly parted as he smiles back at Tommy. 

“Good,” Tommy replies. He steps forward and kisses Evan lightly, quickly a few times, tilting his head a bit more each time. He leans forward, up against his ear. “Can you lay down for me?” 

The question causes a sharp intake for Evan, reminding him why they’re doing this to begin with. When Tommy leans back, there’s concern on his face, but it’s that expression that tamps the anxiety for Evan, reminds him that Tommy is only moving at his pace. He steps back again until he’s flush against the side of the bed, and then eases down onto it. Tommy follows him, resting a knee on the side of the bed next to Evan as he kisses him through until Evan is flat on his back while Tommy’s hands trail up and down his chest, never one to be over presumptuous. Instead, it’s Evan who guides Tommy’s hand down to his briefs, squeezes their palms over his hardened length, moaning at the feeling of Tommy’s fingers on him. 

“Okay,” Tommy rasps against his lips, stealing a few more pecks before he starts trailing kisses down Evan’s chest, wet and languid. He bites gentle nibbles into spots long his way, making Evan twitch beneath him as he gasps into the darkness of the room until Tommy is off the bed, kneeling on the floor and his fingers are sliding inside the elastic of the briefs, pulling them away from Evan’s body. 

Evan’s breath stutters as cold air hits him fully, but Tommy’s hands are quickly on his hips, thumbs brushing against his pelvis while he trails kisses over the insides of Evan’s thighs. Evan sobs softly at the torture of having every other part of his body showered with attention, the fervent need inside of him reigniting like a wildfire. 

“Tommy, p-please,” he begs softly, his hand finding the curls of his boyfriend’s hair, trying to pull him away from where he’s kissing over his left thigh. When Tommy turns his head to look up, Evan’s head is only bent high enough off the bed to catch his gaze. 

“So beautiful,” Tommy murmurs back to him, kissing his thigh once more as he stares back. “Alright, Gorgeous. I’ve got you.” 

Tommy’s hands move to the back of Evan’s calves, gently tugging him forward a few inches on the bed until they’re framing Tommy’s body. He reaches one hand back up to a hip while the other wraps around Evan’s cock, and Evan whimpers just at that contact, letting out a long, broken moan when Tommy starts to stroke him. He stammers curse words, lifting a hand to his mouth and biting at it in an attempt to quiet himself. 

Tommy frowns, pulling his hand away and reaching up for Evan’s arm. 

“Baby, don’t do that,” he murmurs when Evan looks up at him. “Don’t think you have to be quiet.” A dry, silent sob caves through Evan’s chest at the unspoken nature of what that gesture even means. Tommy stares at him for a moment with that gaze he saves just for him, and then he’s leaning forward Evan’s eyes widen just the slightest as he watches Tommy watching him while he takes his cock into his mouth. Tommy is still holding his hand as he starts to bob down, using just enough suction to drive Evan absolutely insane. His head hits the mattress again, completely overtaken by everything Tommy. The smell of his cologne mixed with his natural scent, the comfort of his black blanket beneath Evan’s body, the feeling of his naked torso against Evan’s legs, and his hands on Evan’s body. 

Moans fall out of him faster than he can think, and Tommy’s determination to keep them coming and get him louder seems to be heightened with each new lap of his tongue, bob of his head. Before long, Evan is bucking his hips, keening breathlessly as Tommy still holds his hand in one hand while the other gently presses Evan’s abdomen back to the bed, working him over even more fervently until suddenly, all too quickly and unexpectedly, his orgasm hits him like a freight train and he wilts against the bed breathlessly. Tommy works him through it, only letting up when the tension starts to ebb out of Evan’s body. 

Lips trail up Evan’s abs, his ribs, a few dropped in the center of his chest over his heart, to his collarbones into his pulse point, his jaw, and then Tommy finds his lips again, a pleased smile on his face as he drops a few pecks on Evan’s still open lips. 

“F-fuck,” Evan stammers, his pupils still blown as he looks up at Tommy hovering above him. He finds the ability to move his fingers again and slides a hand up the other man’s chest to the side of his neck, moving his tongue several times until there’s saliva in his mouth again. 

“So that was okay,” Tommy asks him, a little too cheeky if Evan has anything to say about it. 

“Fuck off,” he rasps back. He swallows, his eyes trailing over Tommy’s face, catching on his lips—swollen and oh so pink, and they were just wrapped around his- 

“Mm- not tonight, sweetheart.” He presses down on the bed, kissing Evan so softly that it makes the younger man moan into his mouth again, the tiniest whimper falling into Tommy’s mouth. All he can think is fuck fuck fuck because he knew he liked Tommy, he likes him a lot, but this is edging into some really dangerous territory and it’s not just the hormones from that orgasm, he swears. This feeling is the same one he had in his chest that morning on the ship when he stopped Tommy for those three seconds, only amplified by six billion degrees. His hand slides around to the back of Tommy’s hand, keeping him close as he licks over Tommy’s bottom lip, into his mouth. He wants to keep him this close forever, live inside their own little infinity where this man always seems to know how to take care of him and put him first, never pushes him to do more than he’s comfortable with but still manages to raise their limits in a comforting way. Its way too soon to think it, but Tommy Kinard might be it for him. 

“Hmm,” Tommy hums softly, finally pulling up a moment later, looking Evan over. 

“I had no idea it could be like that,” Evan murmurs to him, brushing his thumb over Tommy’s lip. The older man grins down at him, dropping another quick peck onto his lips. Evan lets out a long breath and then runs his hand down the expanse of Tommy’s chest, toward his own pants, which are apparently unbuttoned now. Evan furrows his brow. 

“Sorry,” Tommy rasps at him. “Got a little uncomfortable.” 

“Do you need some help with that,” Evan asks, trying to reach lower. Tommy’s face flushes a little, but the smirk on his face remains. 

“I think I had enough help already,” he admits as Evan’s fingers slide inside the pants and he comes into contact with wetness. Oh. Oh. Evan smirks back at him, and then leans up on an elbow, kissing Tommy again. He brushes his fingers gently over Tommy’s softening length, and the older man jolts above him, a hand quickly coming up and grabbing Evan’s arm tightly, but he quickly loosens his grip. 

“S-sorry,” he stammers.

Evan smirks, pecking him again. “A little sensitive?” 

Tommy growls against his lips. “Don’t push it, or I’ll show you overstimulation.” 

Evan just chuckles against his lips as he slides his hand back out of Tommy’s pants and around his back, gripping him by his ass and pulling him flush down against him as he trails kisses along Tommy’s jaw. 

“I can’t wait."  

[evanchantingpeters]

How I met Evan Peters (Fanfic - Part 7 - Final)

Pairings ─ Evan Peters x Y/N (fem reader)

Summary ─ A couple of months after Jake’s (Evan’s friend) tragic accident left him fighting for his life in intensive care, Evan is spiralling, lost in despair, a shadow of his former self. Just as a sliver of good news about his condition offers a ray of hope, Y/N steps in, determined to bring some light into Evan’s shattered world. She starts with a seductive dance and builds to a night of passion. But Evan has a surprise—one that will change everything in a way Y/N never saw coming.

Warnings ─ Obscene language, lap dance, oral (both receiving), overstimulation, mild daddy kink, nipple teasing, spanking, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, cowgirl, missionary, extra smutty—like you like it.

Read Part 1 | Read Part 2 | Read Part 3 | Read Part 4 | Read Part 5 | Read Part 6

Word count ─ 5.1K (I had a lot to say 🤫)

18+ This is ADULT content. I’m not your mummy to supervise your net access. If you’re a minor, do NOT read!

@evanchantingpeters — All rights reserved. Please do not modify, translate, or plagiarise my content.

Previously on: How I met Evan Peters (Part 6)

“W-what’s up, Jeremy?” he stutters, his voice barely a whisper. “It’s Jake,” Jeremy blurts out, his expression twisting into one of anguish. “He’s fallen off the roof.” Jeremy’s words hit like a punch to the gut, the colour draining from Evan’s face. The room goes deathly quiet, the weight of his words sinking in. The room spins as everything comes to a screeching halt.

Two months after Jake’s accident 

Thursday, 16:42 pm 

You settle into the cosy corner of his New York apartment, the city’s hustle muffled by the soft hum of the radiator. A rustic wooden desk hosting your work setup and a quirky lamp, which has seen better days but adds to the character, stands against the wall. A plush bean bag chair invites you to sink in while a baroque rug sprawls beneath your feet, and a bookshelf stuffed with books and random knick-knacks lurks by your side. Sunlight streams through light, breezy curtains, making it a perfect workspace for your remote routine. With Evan busy with press and meetings for the next few weeks, this place feels almost like a retreat—if only you could shake off the looming frustration of the Excel table before you.

You’d think by now you’d have mastered the art of not losing your shit at work, being the corporate girlie you are, while dealing with this stupid spreadsheet, but nope. Here you are, puffing like the Big Bad Wolf trying to blow down formulas that refuse to behave.

As you’re fighting and suffering through, your hand drifts toward your phone. You know how it goes. Brain’s fried, and next thing you know, you’re aimlessly scrolling through the endless pit of Instagram reels without even realising it. Well, this time it’s Evan’s name glowing like a beacon of your favourite “distraction,” and your stomach flutters, your heart racing.

Oh, hello, messages!

You open the chat, expecting a quick “I’ll be back in 10’, baby. Can’t wait to kiss you” text or maybe a meme about cats judging people (you know, standard fare). Instead, what do you find? A picture. But not just any picture. Oh no, this man, YOUR man, is standing there in a white tee, his pose giving swagger “yo” next to Todd McFarlane, a comic book legend. The whole shebang.

And here comes the string of messages:

“Babyyyy, look - Todd McFarlane in da house for the press conference!!” 

“he’s signed the Amazing Spider-Man hardcopy!!” 

“ill bring it home and we frame it ;)” 

“we’re going live.. tune in xx” 

“changed into the blazer and stripy tee you picked for me. Love you so ♥️”

Let’s pause here. Not at Todd McFarlane – who, mind you, is hands-down a god in his domain, but no. Your eyes, traitors that they are, keep sliding back to that picture of Evan.

Because damn.

Todd’s cool and all, but Evan in that white tee and messy curls? Where do you even begin? The man looks like he rolled out of bed straight into a photoshoot and decided to smoulder for no apparent reason. You know the one—that half-cocked sly smile that screams, “Yeah, I know what I’m doing to do, and you’re welcome.”

You catch yourself zooming in and drooling over him like a total goofball. The scrunched-up grimace. The luscious Tarzan hair. The way his eyes carry a hint of sadness and fatigue but with residues of that familiar spark he always has. It’s weird how something as simple as a picture can make your heart do that silly backflip thing over and over again after more than a year with him. 

Snap out of it, girl. Spreadsheet’s waiting. But no, instead of getting back to formulas, your brain takes a little detour down Memory Lane. Suddenly, you’re remembering the last time Evan was kneeling in front of you. Not in some adorable, “let me tie your shoes, princess” way, but more of an arousing “let me worship you, queen,” Roman Empire situation.

Oh, yeah. That night. 

You’d seized your throne aka that big armchair in the middle of the dimly-lit living room. And there he was, on his knees, completely surrendered to you. His tongue was lapping on your wet folds like you were the sweetest cake frosting he’d ever tasted. His slender fingers were plumping in and out of you in all the right spots as he slurped up your syrups and juices, sucking on your clit like it’s cherry on dessert.

His tongue would thrash and french kiss your puffy sobbing walls up near the throbbing bulb of your sensitive clit. You tugged on his hair, his brown curls wrapped around your fingers like reins as he pulled you apart, inch by inch. Your jaw tightened as his tongue and fingers mercilessly rutted into you, giving you crazed whiplash as you squirt, all while licking you clean with eager choked moans. 

Your body tremors and orgasmic vibrations were seismic… just like they are now as your cunt pulsates and aches for him, even though you’re sitting at the dining table, fully clothed and miles away from him. 

Funny how memories can sneak up on you like that, isn’t it?

But here’s the kicker. As much as you’d love for a repeat performance, that’s not where you guys are at these days. Not since Jake fell off the roof at the party he hosted at his place. You get it–one of Evan’s best friends is in a hospital bed, clinging to life while in a coma, and Evan’s drowning in his own sea of emotions and sorrow. The man is dragging so much weight on his shoulders right now. 

And you respect that. You really do. Your sex life has justifiably taken a backseat, but you’re not here to push or force him. What you have and share with him isn’t mere lust; you love him, and you acknowledge that he’s having it rough at the moment. You’ve been trying to be his rock, the one who keeps him grounded while he navigates the heavy blizzard of the tragedy. 

But you can’t help it. 

Sometimes, your mind slips back to those sizzling moments where your bodies speak in a language only you two comprehend. Because, let’s be real—he might be wearing the blazer you chose for him in the morning, but under all that fabric, you’re the one who gets to undress the real Evan. And if that’s not worth waiting for, you don’t know what is.

You sigh, your fingers hovering over the keyboard, but you’ve left the spreadsheets and work far behind with all those cheeky little fantasies that gnaw on your brain. Still knee-deep in wet daydreams of Evan and his—well, *coughing* talents, when the universe decides to slap you in the face with reality. 

That “we’re going live, tune in xx” text blinks back at you from the chat, practically yelling to stop fantasising and actually be the supportive girlfriend you claim to be. 

Gasp.

Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap. Gasp again.

The press conference! You need to watch it. Like, now. 

You scramble up from the table so fast, you’d think the chair is lava, and launch into a desperate hunt for the TV remote. The remote is like a cryptid—always hiding in the most inconvenient places at the worst times. Last week? In the fridge. Don’t ask. Today? Who knows. You’re flipping couch cushions like you’re on an archaeological dig.

“WHERE IS IT?!” you yelp, your high-pitched voice bouncing off the walls like you’re a banshee in panic mode. Female rage core.

Nowhere. Absolutely nowhere. It’s like the remote’s decided to pack its bags and set off to Narnia with no return ticket.

Curse you, technology masterminds.

Plan B. 

You rush back to your laptop, slide your fingers along the trackpad to wake it up, and—oh no, what’s this? Your whole screen’s been hijacked by the most evil of phrases:

Software Update: 30% Complete.

Are. You. For. Real. 

You stare at the loading bar like you can will it to go faster. Or pretend you’re not watching, so it speeds up. Smart but nah, that’s placebo—no such luck. This thing is moving slower than a Monday morning during rush hours, and if you wait for it, you’ll be watching Evan’s interview in the past tense or through his narration once he’s back home. 

You let out a huff that could probably power a small wind turbine and whip out your phone, praying to every deity that your Wi-Fi doesn’t fail you amidst crisis. 

“Come on, come on,” you mutter through gritted teeth, frantically tapping apps like your fingers are on caffeine overload. And just when you think someone is playing another cruel trick on you—boom, there it is. The live stream. 

The screen lights up, and there comes baby Evan on stage, looking all sleek and profesh in his blazer (you knew the combo with the stripes underneath would work wonders *proud stylist smiling*). He’s sitting on a stool along with his co-stars, all of them gathered in this massive amphitheatre for their upcoming movie press tour. 

He’s got the mic in his hand, finishing up a sentence with that smooth, husky tone. You know, that voice that sounds like a lullaby wrapped in velvet. But there’s also the twist of dorky humour and the cute brow furrows he taps into when he’s either totally in his element or way too awkward. 

The interviewer gives him a nod, then sighs. Your stomach drops.

The next question is about Jake, as he’s guy well known for scripting some of the most beloved TV shows. If there were a Hall of Fame for TV writers, his star would be as big as a small planet. He’s adored by fandoms for his wit and creativity, and now you’re all grappling with the fallout from his misfortune.

You can see the shift in Evan’s face from media charm to something… darker, melancholic. He’s trying so hard to stay composed, but you know him. That tiny flicker of anguish behind his eyes filters through the cracks.

Evan takes a sharp breath and clears his throat. “Yeah, Jake was moved from LA and remains in ICU here in New York,” he admits, voice steady but edged with quiet vulnerability. “But there’s… a... there’s a glimmer of hope. He moved his hand today.”

For a second, the world stops spinning. Did he just say—? He moved?!

Your heart does a somersault, and you can’t help it—you cheer and clap right along with the audience, even though you’re alone in the living room in your mismatched socks, overstretched yoga shorts, and messy bun. Who cares, honestly? Jake moved his hand. 

Evan lets the crowd’s enthusiasm bubble up for a second before he delicately taming it. “It’s good news,” he continues, his voice like a fuzzy blanket, soothing yet cautious. “But let’s not start planning the parade just yet—there’s a long road ahead for him. We’ll have to see how his health evolves from here. I just wanted to share this little nugget of hope. His family’s already spreading the word, and they gave me the green light to pass it on to all of you.”

There’s a tightness in his voice, and you can tell he’s got a fortress built around his emotions, probably fighting not to let it crumble in front of all those people and cameras. Your baby’s always been strong like steel this way, the type who carries everyone’s baggage on his shoulders without ever letting on how heavy it is. 

You sit there, phone in hand, staring at his face on the screen. There’s so much going on behind those eyes, and you know he probably feels like crap underneath that calm exterior. 

You wish you could reach through the screen and just be there with him in a “I’ve got you, you’re not alone” kind of way. You’ve been weathering this storm together, and it’s been tough as hell. It’s taken everything in him just to stay afloat, but he’s doing it. He’s really doing it...

There’s something about post-work Thursdays that sends you into this frantic, impulsive must-clean-everything-in-sight mode. Not that Evan cares if there’s a pile of laundry in the corner or if the dishes are threatening to stage a rebellion in the sink, but still. He doesn’t expect you to tackle it all just because you’re working fully from home; he can do it himself, but you want the place to look neat and tidy. You know, like “I have my life together and didn’t just spend the last two hours binge-watching cooking videos on YouTube” level of very demure, very mindful adulthood.

So here you are, in full-on cleaning tornado mode—scrubbing the counter with the kind of intensity that could probably burn calories—when your ears perk at the rustling sound. 

That magical jingle of keys. The ignition. The click of the door unlocking.

Baby Evan’s home.

You drop the sponge like it’s on fire and just bolt. You don’t even think. It’s pure instinct, like you’re a puppy who heard the treat jar open. Your pulse leaps, your feet fly, and before you know it, you’re flinging the front door open just as he steps in. And there he is.

Your man. Your whole heart.

He’s got his arms full—takeout bags in one hand, his backpack slung over his shoulder, looking more mouth-watering than anything that could possibly be in those containers. His hair’s a little ruffled, his shirt rumpled from the day, but to you, he might as well be walking straight out of a rom-com.

“EVIEEEE!” you squeal, pouncing at him with the enthusiasm of a kid on a sugar high.

“Whoa!” he chuckles heartily, catching you mid-air. He spins you around even though you can sense the stiffness in his body as he battles not to drop the dinner. He’s out of breath, but he holds you tight, like he’s afraid to let go. His backpack slides down his arm, and for a second, you’re just tangled together—glued around him, his hands grasping on you firmly.

“Couldn’t wait to see me, huh?” he teases, his voice hoarse from the long day. But you can see it in his eyes—he’s just as hyped to be back in your little cocoon as you are. 

“You have no idea,” you breathe, and before you can utter anything else, his lips are on yours, kissing you like he’s been starved for weeks. You’re pretty sure you hear the bags crinkle between you two, but whatever… they can wait.

It’s not just a kiss. Oh no, this is the you-just-got-kissed-senseless kind that says, “I’m never letting you out of my reach again.” It’s deep and sloppy, and you feel it all the way down your toes. Little lewd moans escape your bodies as your tongues greet each other, swirling around in a lustful dance. He tastes like toffee, baby powder, warmth, comfort, and home.

You melt into each other, completely forgetting about the bags or the fact that you’ve still got soap on your hands. You twirl faster together as his hands mischievously squeeze your ass, making you giggle into his mouth.

“I was counting the hours to get to you, Y/N, and time was a total bitch today,” he grumbles, and it’s a husky purr near the nape of your neck. Your plump lips curl into an “awh, my poor baby” pout, cupping his cheeks in your palms as you swarm his face with little pecks. 

When he finally sets you down, you’re both grinning like idiots. Your heart’s doing cartwheels, and your stomach feels like you’ve swallowed a whole bunch of butterflies. You missed him. Not just having him around, but all the little things tied in—his laugh, his hands on you, the way he stares at you like you’re a precious gem.

Closing the door behind you, you pace together towards the kitchen, and get the itch to drop the question, “Did Jake really move?” Your voice is hopeful, but there’s a little tinge of fear there too. You know how much this means to Evan, so you need to tread about cautiously.

He pauses, chucking his backpack aside before turning to you. His eyes soften, and he nods, stepping closer. His hands find your waist again, his face buried in the crook of your neck. “Yeah. He really did.”

Before you can even process the relief, Evan’s lips are on yours again, soft whimpers rolling off him. This time, the kiss is slower, more tender like silky ribbons on your mouth. His lips trail from your mouth down to your neck, his breath tingly against your heated skin. “Gosh, how much I needed you today,” he whispers between kisses, his voice dense with emotion as he presses his mouth lower, toward the neckline of your sports bra. His fingers gently graze your sides and rest on your hip bones before massaging your ass, and your breath hitches.

You thread your fingers through his hair, feeling the tension melt out of him as his body leans into yours. “Me too,” you huff out, because honestly, you feel like you’ve been holding your breath all day, just waiting for him to come home.

But then you pull away slightly, the thought of Jake scratching the back of your mind. “Can we go see him now?”

Evan sighs, resting his forehead against yours for a moment, his breath warm and steady. “Not tonight,” he exhales, taking a couple of steps back. “It’s just family. They wanna keep it low with the visits.”

You shake your head in acknowledgment, nervously biting your fingernail. You get it—you really do—but there’s still that little sting of disappointment tugging at your chest. “How ‘bout tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, glancing over at you again as he tears the bags apart and unpacks the food. “We’ll try tomorrow afternoon. His family’s still adjusting, but I’ll talk to them.”

The relief that washes over you is like a pleasant, summer breeze, calming your frayed nerves. Tomorrow. You let out a breathy, “Okay, great,” your shoulders finally loosening. As you approach him to help dispose of the bags, Evan’s hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist in one quick, playful motion, pulling you flush against him. 

You barely have time to gasp before his lips crash against yours, his tongue barging in your mouth without warning, assaulting yours in tantalising ways that are better left unsaid. You loop your arms around the back of his head and drag him closer, your tits cushioning his shredded chest.

“Don’t leave, please,” he hushes, his lips caressing yours. His voice is huskier now, a bit rougher around the edges, and you can feel the warmth from his body merging with yours. His free hand slips down to the supple flesh of your waist again, fingers curling just under the hem of your top to tuck underneath.

You smirk against his mouth, tilting your head slightly. “You know, we do live together, sir” you tease, playfully pinching the tip of his nose.

“That’s a reminder in case you forgot,” he quips, nuzzling into the slope of your neck. His broad shoulders are curved over you from behind like a shield, throwing every organ in your body on high alert, your heart drumming violently.

He pulls back, and before you can react, he gives your ass a quick, cheeky smack that makes you jump. Your mouth drops open in surprise, but he just grins smugly, like he’s fully aware of what he’s done, and he’s proud of it.

“Hey!” you whimper, swatting at him, but there’s no denying your pulse thumps fiercely.

“What?” he squeaks sheepishly, throwing his hands up in exasperation, but the glint in his eye gives him away. “You look too good to keep my hands off. Plus, guess who was stuck in my head the whole day. Hint—it’s not the burgers,” he fires back, waggling his eyebrows at you. 

You roll your eyes comically, but your heartbeat is up now. There’s something about the way he’s staring down at you—like he’s hungry, and it’s not just for the takeout. You notice it when he leans in again, this time with a heat that wasn’t there a moment ago. His lips trace a line of open mouthed kisses from your jaw to your collarbone. Your fingers twist around his shirt, gripping it, as his hands roam a little lower, tugging you closer until you can feel every ounce of him pressed against you.

“Speaking of burgers, if food’s your love language, then you’re speaking mine fluently,” you chuckle, but the second you catch the look Evan gives you—whoa, buddy. Food’s officially second on his menu. His eyes are a pair of flamed balls, fixed onto you like you’re the main course, dessert, and everything in between—like you’re the most appetising thing in the room.

And, let’s just say, he’s a lot more “warmed up” than usual. His kisses grow deeper, rougher, and the way he’s touching you are the real giveaway… The man’s practically simmering.

And oh, honey, you’re more than pleased to help him get away tonight. So, in your most casual, not-at-all-planned-in-your-head-already way, you decide tonight’s the night to put up a show… Literally. 

You let your hands glide down his chest, feeling every erratic beat of his heart beneath his shirt. “You’ve been through a lot lately,” you murmur softly, your fingers dipping lower until you’re just hovering over his belt buckle, toying with the metal. “How about I pamper you tonight?”

You let your tongue slide over his upper lip, and damn if he doesn’t shudder. His eyes flash with thrill and curiosity—mixed with something darker, more primal. “Oh?” His voice comes out in this sexy rasp like he’s intrigued but still playing along, letting you lead for now.

You bite back a smug grin. Oh, you have no idea what you’re in for.

With a playful wink, you step back, making sure to drag your hand across his chest one last time. “Sit tight, big boy,” you purr, backing away with just the right amount of sway in your hips. “This show’s just getting started.”

You saunter down the hallway, feeling his gaze burning a path down your back. You can feel your heart pounding as you head into the bedroom, closing the door behind you. The second it clicks shut, you lean against it for a second to catch your breath. The adrenaline makes your hands quiver a little as you rummage through the drawer.

There it is: that little black number you’ve been saving for a night just like this. 

A lacy, black lingerie piece, sheer in all the right places, hugging curves like it was made for you. You shimmy it on, adjusting the straps, making sure everything’s sitting just so. 

A quick glance in the mirror as you set your hair free from the bun—tousled, sexy-but-effortless vibe, check. The lace hints at more than it conceals, and your lips curl into a slow smile. Oh, yeah, he’s done for. You toss on a silky robe, leaving it untied, the lace peeking through just enough to give him a preview. A little fragrance spritz and a light touch of your lipstick, and you’re sorted.

When you open the door and walk back into the living room, you find him perched on the couch, his eyes snapping to you like magnets, intense and feral, as you come into view. His posture is stiff, knuckles blanched as they grip the cushions like he’s holding on for dear life. His pupils, wide and black with want, devouring the sight of you as if you are something forbidden, yet irresistible.

His gaze lingers, darkening when it catches on the soft peek of skin where your robe parts. He swallows hard, audibly, and when you let the silky fabric slip from your shoulders and pool at your feet, his jaw clenches—hard (hint: and not just his jaw).

The low light of the room encases you as it casts a sensual glow over the room, deepening the shadows and sharpening the tension between you two like a blade.

“F-fuck,” he wheezes, like the breath’s been knocked clean and shallow out of him. He tries to maintain some semblance of self-control, but the sharp despair in his voice betrays him. He sinks deeper into the couch, spreading his legs slightly, shooting you this look that’s pure, unfiltered desire as he drinks you in. 

You want to torture him, enjoying how his gaze rakes over every inch of you, so you slowly strut over to him. Each step is deliberate, your hips swinging in a slow, intoxicating rhythm that’s nothing short of tempting. His composure slips just a little more—a twitch in his jaw, a harsh swallow, the way his chest rises and falls, faster with every second. His eyes flick down to the curves, then back up to your scandalous tits before snapping back to your face.

The heat from his body radiates into yours as you come to a stop, your thighs rubbing against his knees, and his hands instinctively move to grab your waist. But you’re not giving in that easily. “Uh-uh,” you purr, wagging a teasing finger at him, your lips forming a sly smile. 

His fingers freeze, but his eyes burn with frustration as you stretch, purposely slow, letting your ass hover just above his lap. The unmistakable press of his hardness through his jeans sends a jolt of arousal through you, and you can’t help but smirk. “I’m in charge tonight, remember?” 

Evan lets out a furious groan, his head falling back defeated against the cushions, hands flexing in silent restraint. The power you hold over him tonight? Oh, it’s delicious, addictive. You throw him one last, seductive glance before turning around, giving him the full view of your barely-there lingerie—delicate straps criss-crossing down your back and framing your ass like a gift he’s dying to unwrap.

You hear as a muttered curse slips past his lips, low and guttural. He’s so close to breaking, and you haven’t even actually started yet. You scroll through your phone’s playlist, cueing up the perfect song for the occasion. The room is soon filled with the slow, sultry beats of Beyoncé’s ‘Dance For You,’ wrapping around both of you like a spell. You start slow, letting the music guide your hips, rolling in hypnotic circles. 

You saunter towards a nearby chair, aka your prop, bending over it as your body flows like liquid heat to the beat. His eyes religiously follow every motion, waiting, his breathing growing heavier like he’s holding on a thread with every flick of your hips, every arch of your spine.

You roam your fingers up my body, teasingly stopping at your hips before dragging them higher, skimming over your breasts. With agonising slowness, you untie your bra, holding his attention and eye contact hostage. The second the lace slips off your body, you toss it in his direction with a devilish grin. He catches it with a hungry grunt, burying his face in the fabric like a man possessed, his smirk turning malicious as he inhales deeply.

“God, you’re killing me,” he groans, eyes exploding with thirst for you. The sight of him, chest heaving, lips slightly parted—oh, it’s so sadistically satisfying. 

You’re gonna make him beg for it. 

Leaning forward, just enough for your bare breasts to graze his chest, you bring your lips up to his ear, hot breath fanning the side of his face, “Good,” voice dripping with a promise for more. You pull back just a fraction, your lips curving into a wicked smile. “I’m just getting started.” 

You circle behind him, and he twists his head, tracking your every move, but you’re not finished (no pun intended).

“Please, Y/N. Come sit on my lap, or my face…just—” His voice breaks, raw and pleading, his body squirming as he shifts, desperate for release. The power thrumming through your veins is out of this world, and you bite your bottom lip knowing you’ve got him right on the edge. 

You start with the lightest touch, dragging your fingers over the hard lines of his shoulders, tracing down the sculpted muscles of his chest, feeling the shudder that runs through him as you slide lower. Your fingers brush over the taut muscles of his thighs.

His stiff length twitches beneath your touch, his growl of desire low and animalistic. His hands stretch again, desperate to reach for you, but you chuckle softly, knowing he’s at your mercy tonight. His usual command is gone, flipped on its head, and that hunger in his eyes tells you he’s loving every second of it.

The music pulses through the room as you circle back around to him. You bend low, your curves on full display, just close enough for him to grab a handful of your ass with an eager groan that rumbles through his chest. He finally pulls you into him, lips attacking your skin, trailing down your spine with feverish kisses as he peels your thong off. His breath brushes against your slit and clit as he descends, his lips so dangerously close it sends your body humming with desire. 

He can smell your fertility; the pheromones emitting from your body intensify his animal instinct to breed. His breathing is erratic now, his body practically vibrating with need to take you, but you still “hold the leash.”

He breaths come out in heavy bursts as he watches you straddle him, knees planted on either side of his hips. You grind down slowly, feeling the friction as you move in slow, sensual circles. His hands latch onto your thighs, his grip harsh and desperate, leaving marks that make your skin tingle. But still, you don’t let him seize control. Not yet.

Leaning in, you pepper steamy kisses along his neck, feeling his rapid pulse beneath your lips, your teeth tracing the sharp edge of his jawline. You tenderly bite at his earlobe, and he growls lowly, his hands spasming with despair to grab you, but even then, you won’t allow him to touch you the way he wants.

“The more you resist, the harder I’ll fuck you,” he warns with a hiss, his voice dark. It’s a threat and a vow all rolled into one that sends a heat pooling between your thighs.

“Perfect,” you retort in a hushed whisper against the shell of his ear, lips barely brushing the corner of his mouth—teasing but not quite giving in. “That’s the idea, baby.” 

You’re serving cunt, and he knows it well.

With a slow, calculated slide, you lower yourself down his body, your hands stripping him of his blazer as you go. You let your hands trace over his thighs and the hardened, erected mound in between. Kneeling between his legs, you lock eyes with him, watching the way his breath stutters, anticipation swirling in the air. Slowly, you unbuckle his belt, your fingers stroking his length just enough to drive him nuts as he lets out a shaky gasp.

You pop the button on his jeans and pull down the zipper with your teeth. The second you free him from the tight confines of denim, his aching cock springs out, pulsing with raw desire for you, the fabric of his boxers barely able to contain him.

You glance up at him again with a smug smile before leaning down, your lips brushing along his head. His hips buck instinctively, a ragged groan tearing from his throat. But you take your time, taunting him with light flicks of your tongue. 

Finally, you wrap your lips around him, licking his sensitive red tip with the end of your tongue. You swirl it around and lap up the shiny little pearls of precum that keep seeping out in his pent-up arousal. “F-fuuuck, Y/N. You’re gonna make me blow in a sec,” he grunts out with a hitched voice as you take his whole size in your mouth. 

Your eyes flash up at him, filled with mischief as you take him deeper, your lips stretching to fit his full size. “Isn’t that the point?” you murmur, your voice on a seductive octave. “I want you to cum hard... fucking hard all over me.”

Your fingers trace the thick vein along the underside of his shaft before squeezing his hardness and pumping with a fast and firm tempo. Your hand works in sync with your mouth as you suck the upper half of his delicious cock, pulling him in and out, each movement making him gasp and buckle uncontrollably.

His head falls back, eyes screwed shut, muscles tensing. Some inaudible drabble slips off him as he thrusts into your mouth. Pools of saliva are pouring out of the edges of your lips, your eyebrows knitted together as you keep gagging at his cock hitting the back of your throat. You push further, your lips tight around him as you meet his gaze once more, your eyes wild with intensity. His fingers weave into your hair, but he doesn’t force you—he doesn’t have to. You’re in the saddle tonight, guiding him closer to his magical release.

Your hand reaches for his, fingers intertwining as your head bobs up and down on him, earning little moans of delight from his chest. He’s a hot mess; trembling under the weight of the pleasure you’re generously giving him as you slide your mouth down his dick, your cheeks hollowed in a blend of sensual sucks and frantic pumps. 

The sound of you gagging, the wet slurp of your lips, and the way you glance up at him so innocently, brow furrowed with effort, has him reeling. “Ahh, yeah, keep going,” he breathes out, biting his bottom lip.

He gets a good yet gentle grasp of your hair, thrusting into your mouth in shallow, desperate strokes, but you maintain control, building him up slowly, methodically. He adores your lips, especially the way they loop around his dick and release these mewling sounds against it.

But now, his whole body is shuddering, his cock jerking inside, and you can feel the tell-tale sign he’s about to bust his load in your mouth. The blood rushes to his dick, draining any sane thought and cell in his brain, leaving him driven only by his primal instinct and craving for climax.

You slide onto his throbbing cock once more, gobbling on it like the insatiable whore you are. He presses your head down and keeps you there for a few seconds. As you detach from his member to draw a breath, his body immediately locks up, his abs contracting, and then—he’s there. 

His head snaps back as he erupts shivering whimpers of your name, painting your face with copious amounts of his thick, white, and deliciously salty cum, his release spilling over your lips. 

You open your mouth, tongue stretched out, catching the last drops as you pump him, milking every ounce of his release. His cum drips down your chin, and you let your fingers swipe off the remnants from your face, licking them off slowly, savouring the taste. Nothing goes to waste as you look up at him, lips wet, cheeks flushed with the aftermath of his orgasm.

“You’re one hungry bitch, aren’t you?” he rasps, his voice strained, still shaky from the intensity of his high. He laughs weakly, dragging his thumb across your cheek with a tender caress, though his hard-on still convulses, not quite ready to soften. He winces as he tries to adjust himself, zipping up his jeans with difficulty, but the look of satisfaction on his face is unmistakable.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, licking your lips as you flash him a sly, knowing smirk. His chest rises and falls heavily, his face reddish, eyes droopy, still lost in the haze of afterglow. 

Without wavering your eyes from him, you crawl up and climb to his lap, feeling your pussy drip with every inch of his skin that presses against you. He ogles your naked torso like a dog drooling over the bone. You position yourself just right, his semi-clothed swollen tip nudging against your slippery entrance.

“I am hungry for you, baby,” you purr with a pout as your fingertips draw lazy circles over the ridges of his abs. His eyes darken, filled with a renewed lust as he watches you, licking his lips like a predator eyeing its prey.

Letting out a dark, throaty chuckle, he wastes no time—he hammers his lips against yours, shoving his tongue deep into your mouth and kissing you with reckless abandon. His hands greedily paw at your tits, rolling your nipples between his fingers, tugging them just hard enough to make you moan against his lips. 

The arousal between you is electric as your body grinds against his, the friction sending sparks flying through you both; it’s like static rubbing off against each other, and you are about to feel yourself short circuit any minute. 

His hands hook around your ass cheeks before delivering a sharp, stinging slap that makes you yelp in pleasure, the sound echoing through the room. You press your lips harder against his with a mewl, tongues tangling.

“Evan,” you hush out between sloppy kisses, barely coherent amidst loud teeth smacking and clashing together. All thanks to his fingers dipping between your legs, teasing your clit with maddening eights as he grins victoriously, knowing he’s got you right where he wants you.

“My slut’s ready for me?” he hums, giving your ass another smack, the sound of flesh against flesh making you quiver with delight. Your hips swerve on his raging boner, the body-against-body friction igniting an ever-powerful spark within you both. To say you’re a ‘mere’ tease for him is an understatement. 

“You’re doing so good, my baby girl,” he gruffs, and his rough, veiny hands glide possessively toward your rocking waist as you begin to rub yourself against his thigh, slowly... teasingly. Every roll of your hips has him biting his lip, his eyes glued to the way your body moves against him.

“You’re in night care, baby boy, remember?” you hush, your voice laced with dominance as you lift your hips, fingers deftly undoing his trousers again. Your hand wraps around his cock, positioning him at your slick slit. Slowly, achingly slow, you sink down onto him, inch by inch. The stretch forces a moaning gasp out of you as your body adjusts to accommodate his size. Fiery electricity surges through you both, and he hisses watching as your pulsating pussy desperately tries to swallow his cock.

His hands tighten on your hips as you take him deeper, your nails digging into his biceps when he bottoms out, filling you completely. The fullness makes you shudder, your breath leaving you in a jagged burst as his tip presses snugly against your cervix. The deep groan that escapes his throat vibrates through your body, making you clench around him involuntarily, his hips stilling cautiously.

You start to move, rolling your hips in slow, languid circles, setting a rhythm that’s equal parts torture and bliss for both. His hands grip you harder, leaving faint red imprints on your flushed flesh, but he doesn’t push or pull—he’s letting you have the upper hand in riding him, his eyes dark and hungry as he admires you, mouth parted. The way he’s looking at you though? Like you’re a goddess descending from the heavens just for him. Oh, that does something to you.

“Look at you, baby. So fucking gorgeous, taking me like that,” he murmurs, pride and desire dripping from every word. A crooked smile is etched on his face hearing the sloshing whines squawk out of your poor needy folds as they cling to his cock. Every thrust, every grind, every little whimper from your lips makes his large member throb inside you, stretching you deliciously as you plop up and down on him.

You lean down, sealing your lips in a hungry, desperate kiss, your tongues twirling in a messy dance. It’s all teeth and moans again as he hits that sweet spot deep inside. It’s the type of kiss that makes time stop, like nothing else exists except for the raw, primitive connection between you two. 

His hands trail up your bare back, fingers tangling in your hair, keeping you close as you grind down harder. Your bodies move in sync, perfectly attuned to each other, and you can feel his cock twitching inside you with every movement. His eyes dart down to your bouncing breasts and toned stomach, but you quickly grab his jaw, tilting his head up to meet your gaze. “Nu-uh,” you whisper against his lips, your voice tinged with authority. “Eyes on mine, boy.”

He lets off a hearty chuckle, even going so far as to wriggle your ass back against him. “You feel so damn amazing, baby,” he huffs, voice rough with desire, talking over your whiny babbles. He cranes his neck to kiss the edge of your jaw before tenderly nipping at the skin.

Panting heavily, you exhale, “I could do this all night.” Your hips move faster, sliding up and down his thick length, the friction sending bolts of euphoria through you. His breathing grows ragged, and you can feel the tension rising, winding tighter and tighter. You’re so soft—sweet gummy flesh compressing around him with such ease, wringing him tight like a vice. He chokes when your pussy flutters—the way you clamp down on his dick makes his body go slack and his eyes roll back.

He lets out a low groan, barely holding himself together as your walls squeeze around him. “Thaaat’s it, hngh. This pussy knows it’s place,” he grouses, and your eyes widen, realising the shift in dynamic—he’s reclaimed control, already winning ground, sis. Before you know it, his plumpish tip drills further between each corner of your dripping cunt. Your small sobs amplify as he starts to move beneath you, his hips thrusting up harder, making your entire body quake with each deep pound.

“I love fucking you so much,” he grunts, nearly whining, his head tilting back as his cock jerks inside you.

Before you can fully catch your breath, Evan’s grip tightens on your hips. With one fluid motion, he lifts you off him, his arms hook beneath your thighs. You gasp, caught off guard, your body hanging in his grasp as he stands up, practically growling with primal need.

“You’re mine now,” he says, his voice low and dangerous, sending a bolt of excitement straight down your spine.

Without hesitation, he spins you around, carrying you across the room, your legs instinctively bundling around his waist. You’re in such a sweet, sexual brain fog that it takes you a second to get what’s going on. With one swift movement, he sweeps his arm across the dining table, sending glasses, cutlery, and whatever else is there crashing to the floor in a chaotic symphony of clatters.

“Evan!” You giggle dazedly, hands clasping on his shoulders as he sets you down on the table, the cold wood against your back making you shiver—but not nearly as much as the fire blazing in his eyes.

He leans over you and shushes you with a kiss, his lips brushing against yours as he pushes your legs apart. “I’m not done with you yet.”

You don’t have time to argue—not that you want to. He grabs your hips, yanking you to the very edge of the table, his body wedged firmly between your legs. There’s no remorse in his eyes—just pure, animalistic desire. One hand snakes under your ass, the other glides down your left thigh, lifting it effortlessly over his broad shoulder. The way he leans down and looks at you now, almost in slow motion... gosh. It’s like you’re the only thing he’s ever needed… like nothing else matters but taking you right here, right now, and it sets your entire body on fire.

He wants to smash, and he’ll get it.

The scent of your cunt is intoxicating, stirring every primal instinct inside Evan that he knows he must keep in check. He draws his hips back slowly, only his tip nestling inside you, then jams just once inside you. Your whole body jumps at the impact, your pleading eyes boring deep into his, a breathy hum punched out of you. He pulls back and slams forward again, growling through his teeth. Your pillowy walls are cuddling him, his heavy balls aching to be drained, eager to breed the fertile womb his tip is wedged against.

His hands roam up your thighs, grasping you like he can’t get enough. With each slow, deliberate stroke, he sinks deeper into you, your body arching off the table in response. The sensation of him rutting in and out of your sobbing sex is overwhelming—every movement has your breath hitching, your fingers clutching the edge of the table, desperate for some kind of anchor.

Your orgasm is building again, fast and intense. As the pressure inside you give way to climax, tears cascade down your burning cheeks, your features contorted in ecstasy. 

“E-Evan, I can’t take it! T-too much!”

He smirks, shaking his head. “Say please, baby,” he grits out, his voice low and commanding. His hips thrust into yours harder, making you lose all sense of logic. Your mind is blank, mouth hanging open, unable to form words as the pleasure consumes you.

“P-please,” a pained mewl tumbles out of you, and that single word tips him off the edge. His hips stutter, and with a series of deep thrusts along with a carnal chant of “ah, ah, ah, ah” pouring from his lips, he gushes inside you—creamy gooey ropes of cum dribble into you, not missing at all.

He’s panting heavily, hips jerking involuntarily as he empties himself, filling you to the brim with thick, sticky cum.

His groans of satisfaction blend with your breathy moans as you cling to him, feeling his weight stick against your skin like it’s adhesive. You bite into the soft skin of his neck, muffling your whimpers as he continues to thrust lazily, drawing out every last bit of his orgasm.

“Come for me,” he demands, his voice low and raspy, each word filled with the same raw desire that’s coursing through your veins. “I wanna feel you.”

That’s it—the words, the intensity, the feeling of him completely owning your body, claiming you in a way that makes your head spin—have you on a chokehold. You suck in lungfuls of air as the incoming pangs of orgasmic waves smash over you with impossible force. You can’t hold back the loud moans spilling from your lips, your body arching up and writhing beneath him as you come hard, your walls spasming around his cock.

He presses his forehead to yours, his hand gently stroking your cheek, his breath hot against your lips. Your body convulses uncontrollably in his arms as he rides out your climax with you, his cock still throbbing inside your over-sensitive core. 

As you come down, your breaths laboured and uneven, he buries his head to your chest, his mouth warm against your skin as his kisses travel down to your boobs, his tongue flicking over your sensitive nipples. Each subtle touch sends aftershocks of pleasure through you, your body still buzzing from the intensity of it all.

You huff, a breathless laugh escaping your lips. “You’re a menace, you know that?” you whisper, still trying to catch your breath. But he’s not done yet. You giggle softly as he moves lower, planting tingly smoochies to your skin, his breath like a warm breeze against your thighs.

“You smell like honey… I wanna taste you,” he murmurs, nuzzling his nose into the soft curve of your inner thigh. His fingers part your sloping folds, spreading you open for him as he watches the glistening cum leak from your swollen pussy. His primitive need to eat you up tests his sense of control. 

His tongue plunges between your labia, stretching them up with a slow and deliberate lick. Your thighs quiver around his head in the aftershocks of your climax, straining moans and semi-shrieks falling from your lips as his tongue dives deeper between your folds. The wet sound of him slurping up the mix of your juices and his cum is obscene, but it only drives you wilder, especially as he mumbles the moto, “Y/N... Thank you, thank you, thank you.” 

Your fingers lace in his drenched thick, curly brown locks, holding him in place. The untamed animal inside him is finally sated, fed well at the meal between your thighs. His teeth sink ever-so-lightly into the plump pout of your lips, and you can’t stop the desperate little wails flipping from your throat. 

Your eager pussy can’t help but drool. Streams of your slick cascade down between the crevices of your thighs and coat the entirety of his fingers. With a rosy flat tongue, he pads and licks you clean, taking every few seconds to pull his fingers in—only to push them right back out. As he re-enters, he pokes against your g-spot again, and again, and again…

That’s all it takes for the sharp twisting coil to snap within you for the second time, and your thighs turbulently shake within his feeble grasp. “Fuck, fuck,” you choke out, your breath coming in hollow bursts as you feel his hushed praises and loving words ghost against your clit. You can’t stay still for the life of you—it’s as if every muscle in your body rips apart once you come into his mouth, your jaw slackened and your eyes widened.

“Ohmygodohmygod,” you ramble, and Evan’s still flicking his tongue against your sobbing slit.

You’re making a mess out of him, and he’s still eating it up—the dedication. His chin got such a pretty glimmer of shine all thanks to your slick running down. With an echoing pop, he slides his fingers off your pussy, stretching his digits further apart just to see how your sap glues against them. The shaking from your multiple orgasmic release keeps on, the ringing in your ears never subsiding. 

“Mmph, Y/N. So beautiful,” he cries out, his voice cracking with emotion as he presses a kiss to your swollen, sensitive lips. Your sweet slickness smears against his stubble even more, but he couldn’t care less. All that matters is you, lying there beneath him, glowing with the outcome of your pleasure. 

Evan’s gaze lingers on you for a long moment, his chest still heaving as he melts in the sight of you—flushed, trembling, thoroughly wrecked from the intensity of what just happened. His hand gently strokes your thigh, trailing up and down in soothing circles as the both of you come down from the high together.

Propping your weight on your elbows, you stare down on him, a lazy grin playing at the corners of your lips. You pull him up for a sloppy, rough kiss. Your fingers pinch on his well-defined jaw as he rests on top of her. You can feel his stiff length press against her stomach, and it feels great. 

You reach up to brush his damp hair from his forehead. “You really know how to leave a girl breathless,” you mumble teasingly, though your voice is barely above a whisper, still catching.

A deep chuckle rumbles through his chest, and he leans into your touch, nuzzling his cheek against your palm. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he whispers, and you giggle softly, the sound light and airy.

You lay there for a while, the after-sex haze still buzzing through your veins. Evan’s sprawled out on the sofa, shirtless. His hair is all tousled, looking like some kind of model from a cologne ad—except sexier, and definitely more accessible. You watch him, feeling a dopey grin spread across your face. This man… God, this man.

You pull yourself up, snuggling into that familiar blue blanket from the edge of the couch—the one you always steal when it’s movie night, or when you’re feeling cosy after a particularly intense workout (aka “fuck time”).

“You look like a smurf burrito,” Evan quips, his hand lazily draped across his abs as he watches you pace around the room.

You snort, cuddling deeper into the blanket. “Better than looking like a sweaty, shirtless disaster.” You throw him a wink and a brow waggle, but honestly, the view is prime real estate right now. That man should charge admission.

He smirks smugly, running a hand through his messy curls. “Sweaty, shirtless disaster, huh? I was under the impression you were enjoying said disaster inside you just a few minutes ago.”

“Touché,” you giggle as you flop down the sofa, letting your head fall back against the armrest. “But the jury’s still out on whether I enjoyed it or tolerated it.”

“Oh, is that so?” His eyebrow quirks, and that playful gleam you love so much flickers back in his eyes. He leans forward, crawling towards you on the sofa with that predator-like grace, his hands landing on either side of your bundled-up self.

“Maybe.” You bite your lip, trying to keep a straight face, but your heart's already doing flips at the way he’s looking at you. Damn, those eyes.

“Hmm. Well, maybe I should just—” Evan dips down, his lips grazing your ribcage, making you gasp. You wriggle away playfully, pulling the blanket up higher as if it’s some kind of armour.

“Okay, okay! I loved it. Five stars on Yelp, glowing review and a side of fries.” You’re laughing now, barely able to keep up the act.

Evan chuckles triumphantly, that warm, rumbling sound that makes your pulse leap in your throat. “Five stars? Well, that must make me the Michelin Man of love.”

“Please,” you laugh, “the only thing you’re qualifying for is most likely to be found with a pizza slice in hand.”

His grin widens, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head. “Well, speaking of pizza, how about we start planning our wedding menu? I’m thinking pepperoni and extra cheese for the wedding cake. You know, something to make the guests feel like they’re in a pizzeria.”

You roll your eyes, giggling at his ridiculousness. “So, pizza-themed wedding, huh? What are we going to serve? Breadsticks as the bouquet?”

“Absolutely! And the best part? I’ll have a pepperoni ring!” He starts mimicking a ring toss, and you can’t help but crack up.

“Oh wow, my future husband is a real romantic,” you say, shaking your head in mock disbelief.

But then Evan leans in closer, his expression turning serious, and you feel the air shift. “But really, I want to make sure I don’t just slice into this whole ‘life together’ thing. I want to do it right. So, how about we order that wedding cake now because…” He reaches into his pocket, and your heart skips a beat as he pulls out a small velvet box.

You narrow your eyes in suspicion as you sit up. “What are you doing? Is this some kind of prank”

“Well, not exactly a prank. Unless you think proposing is some kind of joke.”

Your heart stops.

“What?” The word barely squeaks out, and you’re pretty sure your brain just exploded. Did he—did he just say proposing?

Evan’s mouth pulls into this soft smile, and before you know it, he’s dropping to one knee on the sofa. “I mean, I’ve got the ring and all that the protocol requires,” he mutters and your eyes bulge, mouth agape. “...and I don’t want to waste another minute from making you my wife!”

Your heart stops.

You leap up from the sofa, shaky hands flying to your mouth, shock flooding your system. The blanket almost slips off, eyes wide and heart pounding like you’re on the world’s most chaotic and steepest rollercoaster. Did he—did he also just say wife? “Are you serious?”

“Y/N,” he starts, his voice a little shaky but full of that Evan confidence that always makes you feel like the only person in the room, “I’ve been through a lot lately. We both have. But the one constant through it all—through the tough days and the good ones, the sleepless nights and the mornings I wake up next to you—is that I want every single day to be with you.”

Your eyes are already welling up, and you try to blink back the tears because oh my God, he’s really doing this.

“From the moment I saw you in that club, I never looked away. We started off with a bang, quite literally, but I’ve felt like I’ve known you my whole life and won the love lottery. You’re my jackpot. The reason I smile—even when I feel like I’ve hit every bump on the road. You make even the ordinary feel extraordinary, and I want to make this last forever.”

Your eyes are already welling up, and you try to blink back the tears because oh my God, he’s really doing this. Your pulse hammers so loud you swear he can hear it. And then it hits you. Yes.

“So here I am, making it official, ready to take a gamble on the biggest bet of my life. Will you marry me and make me the luckiest man on the planet?” He opens the little box, revealing the most beautiful ring you’ve ever seen—a subtle and stunning band with a sparkling diamond that seems to catch the soft light of the room just right.

You can’t even form words. Your mouth opens and closes like a fish, and your heart throbs so hard, you’re sure it’ll burst out of your chest.

“You drive me crazy in the best way possible. You’re my best friend, my partner in crime, my favourite person to order burgers with. I want to spend the rest of my life making you laugh, making you mad, and maybe every now and then... sweeping plates off the table to get to you faster.” He smirks, his eyes twinkling.

“Evan!” you gasp, half-laughing through your tears, remembering the chaos from a few minutes ago.

He chuckles heartily, but there’s something so tender in his expression now. “So, will you do me the honour of marrying me?” He opens the little box, revealing the most beautiful ring you’ve ever seen—a simple yet stunning band with a sparkling diamond that seems to catch the soft light of the room just right.

You can’t even form words. Your mouth opens and closes like a fish, and your heart is pounding so hard you’re sure he can hear it. And then it hits you. Yes.

“Yes!” you shout, your voice breaking with joy as you toss the blanket aside and fling yourself into his arms, knocking him backward onto the sofa. He laughs as you straddle his waist, hugging him tight, tears of joy streaming down your face.

“I love you,” you whisper breathlessly, kissing him hard, your heart swelling with so much love it feels like it might burst.

“I love you too,” he murmurs, smiling up at you as you kiss him again, both of you tangled in this beautiful, overwhelming moment.

He slips the ring onto your finger, and you hold your hand up, marvelling at how perfectly it fits—how perfectly it all fits.

And as you both lie there, wrapped up in each other and the ridiculousness of the moment, Evan chuckles. “So, Smurf burrito, looks like you’re stuck with me for life.”

You laugh, smothering his face with smoochies of aggressive cuteness magnitude. “Lucky me. Now... about those burgers? I’m still hungry.”

Evan grins, pulling you closer. “First, how about I show you just how well I can speak your love language?”

“Burgers first, then more disaster sex,” you tease, giggling as he tries to tickle you.

“Deal,” he whispers, stealing another kiss, because honestly, in this moment, you’re the best thing on the menu.

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

Taglist: sillysillygyal, junkie4weezer, frankiesweird, divinerulerz, nickrhodeslittledarling, @babymazz

@evanchantingpeters — All rights reserved. Please do not modify, translate, or plagiarise my content.

Announcement

This might not be a forever goodbye, and who knows, a spinoff of this series might pop up someday, but this is going to be the final part, y’all. I’ll admit, I sometimes feel like I’m navigating through a tiny room with towering walls in this digital space; like my creative expression is being restricted and policed, and I cannot fully communicate or channel my “writing persona,” if you will, in here. Still, every bit of your love and support has made it worth it. I’ve poured so much into this world, and Evan, well… he’s been an incredible muse through it all. So, thanks a bunch, truly. xx

[megalony]

Early Arrival

This is an Evan (Buck) Buckley imagine requested by Anon, I hope you like it I had a lot of fun writing this.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem@butlegendsneverdie@langdonzvoid@jennyggggrrr@rogmeddows@radiob-l-a-hblah@rogertaylorsbitontheside@chlobo6@rogertaylors-lipgloss@sj-thefanthefan@omgitsearly@luckytrashgooprebel@scarsout@deaky-with-a-c@killer-queen-ofrhye@bluutac@vousmemanqueez-blog@jonesyaddiction@milanosaurus@httpfandxms@saint-hardy@7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls@mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me  @hellsdragon@im-an-adult-ish@crazylittlethingg@allauraleigh@onceuponadetectivedemigod@ceres27@avyannadawn@noonenuts@sleepylunarwolf@coverupps@justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @missdreamofendless

911 Masterlist

Summary: During a bad storm that delays services and keeps everyone trapped in their homes, (Y/n) goes into labour with only Evan there to help her through it.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Raising the bottle to his lips, Evan took a large swig and leaned his forehead against his other arm that was smudging into the fogged up window. It was getting so bad outside that he couldn't see the street anymore. The rain was beating down against the window like bullets spraying down so hard and fast they looked as if they would break the glass.

It was supposed to be two in the afternoon but it looked more like two in the morning. The sky was a dark blue and grey haze and cars were whizzing past with full beam lights shining through the blackness. Although there weren't a lot of cars out in this.

Evan could hear the forecast blaring from the tv and it was telling people to stay inside unless they urgently had to leave the house. People were advised not to drive in this weather, buses were being delayed and stopped. Emergency services were stretching thin from the amount of accidents being called in.

God, he was glad he wasn't at work today.

He hadn't been at work all week and he wasn't going back for another month yet. Evan could just imagine the phone call he was going to get from Eddie tonight, telling him what a lucky bastard he was for missing the amount of callouts they were going to get today.

Pushing away from the window, Evan drained the last of the beer in his bottle and moved to sit down on the sofa.

He quite liked how cosy the apartment felt with the lamps on and the candles (Y/n) had lit earlier. There were over ten candles spread around the living room, dotted in front of the tv, on the coffee table and along the shelves on the wall. If they experienced a power cut today at least the couple would be alright.

He just changed the channel over to a movie when he heard footsteps coming down the stairs. He dropped his head on the back of the sofa and glanced over to the stairs and a gentle, warm smile flooded his face when his eyes set on his wife.

"How do you feel, babe?" His eyes followed her as she took very slow steps down and padded across towards him.

"Rough,"

"Come're,"

A warm, if pained smile pulled at (Y/n)'s lips when she watched him rest his left leg up on the sofa and open his arms wide, waiting for her to fall into his embrace. She eased herself down onto the sofa between his legs and slumped back into his chest as he wound his arms around her waist, resting his hands on her bump. She could feel his lips pressing to the top of her head and his arms pushed into her sides, squeezing her lightly.

"You look a bit better," He commented quietly as he slouched back into the sofa so they were practically lying down in the den of pillows littering the sofa.

Evan had been worried this morning when (Y/n) started to feel sick and couldn't stomach breakfast. She'd felt worse when a headache formed behind her eyes and the only good thing was the sound of the storm outside had sounded soothing and relaxing to (Y/n) for some odd reason. For the last hour and a half she had tried to sleep off her unease and left Evan downstairs to his own devices.

"Your child is a handful," (Y/n) closed her eyes and nuzzled her face into Evan's neck. She moved her hand and held his wrist, slowly moving his hand lower down her abdomen so he could feel the movement that had been persistent for the last week.

"They take after me, what do you expect?"

He began rubbing his hand up and down her stomach, pressing his fingertips a bit firmer against her skin like some kind of massage when he noticed (Y/n) shifted like she was in some sort of discomfort or pain. Every time he felt the baby wriggling or kicking he stopped his movements and rested his palm against her stomach. Her stomach was hurting and it felt like she was going to turn stiff but Evan’s massage was helping.

(Y/n) wasn't sure how long they laid there in a comfortable silence, her mind kept cutting off and dozing for a while. Her face was burrowed into Evan's neck and every now and then her fingers would graze up and down his bare arm.

But after a while, (Y/n) moved her hands to his thighs that were caging her in and tried to push up so she could sit up properly. She felt his hands graze up her sides until he was holding her chest and he gently nudged her forwards to help get her sitting up. When she was sat up, (Y/n) kept her hands clenched down on Evan's thighs and she tilted her chin down into her chest as her eyes closed.

"Babe, you alright? Do you feel sick?"

When a spluttering 'Oh God' left her lips, Evan shot upright and his hands clamped down on her hips. He leaned his head over her shoulder to try and see what was wrong but he couldn't figure it out. Her eyes were snapped closed and her nails were onw puncturing into his thighs, but when she opened her eyes, he followed her line of sight.

Her eyes were downcast to her thighs.

(Y/n)’s waters had broken.

Tears started to fall from her eyes and she couldn’t find it in herself to wipe them away as she just stared down at her thighs like there had been some kind of mistake or like she was waiting to wake up from a dream.

Why was this happening now? Right in the middle of the storm?

The only silver lining (Y/n) could think was that Evan was actually here with her when this happened. They had both been nervous that she would go into early labour before he finished and went onto annual leave and he would be on a callout when it happened. Bobby had given him his time off starting from this week since (Y/n) was thirty-seven weeks pregnant now and labour was going to be anytime soon. Her pains and feeling sick for a few days was a sign labour might be early.

Evan just didn't think it would be this early. His child had impeccable timing to decide to arrive when they were overtaken by a storm raging through the city.

"Oh fuck! babe I- I can't drive you out in this, it's too risky. Let's get you settled and I'll have to call 911 for backup." There was no way Evan was driving the truck out in this, he never drove the fire truck when the weather was bad because he didn't trust himself.

He couldn't go out with his wife in labour because if someone crashed into them or the tyres skidded in the rain and went off the road, help would be delayed. It would be the safest bet to stay home and call for the emergency services to come out to them. This way, (Y/n) was somewhere warm and safe and Evan had helped Bobby deliver a few babies, he knew the basics.

"It's your choice where you want to be, up or down," Evan motioned to the stairs before he very carefully eased himself from behind her so he could kneel down on the floor.

"What?" Why would she want to go and try to get settled in bed when an ambulance would soon come out to take them to the hospital? It seemed more practical to stay downstairs and wait here.

"Baby… help won't get here as fast as it usually would, the storm's causing crashes and makes the teams go slower. You've just got me,"

He started to smooth his hands up and down her thighs when she started to cry. This wasn't what she wanted when she envisioned having their baby. (Y/n) wanted to be in the hospital with Evan holding her hand, not delivering their baby. And she wanted Maddie here with them and the midwife they had been seeing since they found out about this pregnancy.

This wasn't fair.

"I can't move,"

"Sofa it is then." His smile was calming and (Y/n) felt one of the hundreds of burning nerves within her calm down at his pouting smile. "I'll call 911 now and go grab towels and everything we need. Just to be safe."

Deep down, Evan knew it was more than just wanting to be safe in case help took a while. He knew how long it could take emergency services to reach a situation and he didn't want to just sit and wait for them like a sitting duck. He wanted everything ready so if his wife started to push, he would be prepared to deliver his own child.

Evan rummaged around in his pocket for his phone as he bolted up the stairs and went towards one of the cupboards. He grabbed a pile of towels and some flannels and a sheet, and took a handful of (Y/n)'s hair bobbles in case he couldn't find anything else to use as a clamp for the cord.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"Hi, this is firefighter Buckley, I'm at twenty-one Hill court and my wife is in labour. I need whatever service you can get out to me."

"How far along is she?"

"Thirty-seven weeks." Evan stayed stood at the top of the stairs, just out of earshot of (Y/n) because he knew what was coming next.

"Okay sir, all of our dispatch teams are currently busy or being diverted but someone will be with you as soon as possible. Try and make your wife comfortable and keep a track of contractions, they should be a while apart and labour can take a few hours-"

"Her water already broke and contractions are coming quick, I think she's been in labour since last night."

Evan could see in hindsight that (Y/n) had most likely started labour during the night when she had been restless and uncomfortable and feeling sick. He couldn't be sure how long she had been in labour for but he needed help soon, the baby was coming now.

"I've updated dispatch of your situation, they will be there as soon-"

He hung up. He didn't need that bullshit that wasn't always true. They couldn't give him a time frame because teams were currently being told where to go and being changed from one scene to the next. When things started to progress Evan would call them back and see if Maddie was on shift so she could talk him through it. Until then, he would do what he could and wait for any sign of a dispatch team.

***

"Evan, fuck!"

(Y/n) closed her eyes and buried her face in her arm and dug her nails into Evan's thighs. She could feel his hands smoothing up and down her shoulders and he nudged his knees into her sides, silently telling her that he was listening.

She was knelt down on the floor in front of the sofa, resting uncomfortably between Evan's legs as he sat on the edge of the sofa, holding her up. The old bedsheet Evan had found was spread out on the floor beneath (Y/n) and she was left wearing her bra and Evan's button up shirt, having kicked off her underwear and leggings earlier.

(Y/n) took as many deep breaths as she could manage but her lungs were on fire. They were burning like she was breathing in smoke and she could feel her lungs inflating and deflating which was something (Y/n) never normally felt and it was horrible.

She stayed limp and let him move her so he could ease from beneath her so he could move beside her. Her arms fell onto the sofa and she pressed her forehead into the seat, arching out her back as Evan bent down to try and see if she was dilated or not and how far they had gotten.

"Alright, I'm calling back, I think you're ready."

(Y/n) was past the point of caring about that now, someone would turn up to help them eventually but right now Evan was the only one here who was able to do something and to help so he needed to help. When another contraction tore through her already broken body, (Y/n) pushed her head further down into the cushion as she let out a scream. Her eyes snapped closed but a small wave of relief shot through her when she felt Evan’s hand taking her own.

"911 what's-"

"This is firefighter Buckley, again, put me through to dispatcher Maddie Kendal. Now."

He wasn't playing around anymore, someone should have been here by now he didn't care how bad this storm was. His team should be out there somewhere and they should have heard all the dispatch calls. They should be on their way to him to help deliver his first baby. He needed his sister on the phone to walk him through this.

"Buck? What's going on?"

"(Y/n)'s in labour, like, pushing! I need someone to walk me through this I'm on my own here." He reached over and set the phone down on loudspeaker on the sofa so (Y/n) could have some peace of mind too.

He had seen Bobby deliver a few babies but Evan had never been alone in this situation to do it himself and he didn't want to be doing this alone. If something happened or went wrong he had no medical team here to take over or rush in with advice and do it for him. If something bad happened to his family, Evan was the only point of help and he didn't like that.

"Oh God… alright, whereabouts is (Y/n) right now?"

"I'm- I'm in-"

“Baby, baby stop pushing.” Evan’s words confused (Y/n) and she opened her eyes to look at him but she could see something in his eyes that worried her but she couldn't do what he asked. The pain was excrutiating but it felt better when she pushed, she wanted this over with.

“It hurts.” (Y/n) breathed through the words as she finally stopped pushing when the pain subsided for a moment.

"I know baby but you need to trust me. Maddie I can't see the head… I can see the feet. The baby's breach."

The look on Evan’s face made (Y/n) shudder because she could see all the emotions he was feeling and she knew each of them too well. He had sorrow and fear glistening in his eyes. The times he had seen labour, the babies hadn't been born breach. They came the normal way, head first, feet last like this baby should be. Evan knew this complicated matters.

A sob left (Y/n)’s lips as she relaxed all of her muscles instead of holding them tensed, feeling like she was sinking into the floor that she wanted to swallow her whole. She remembered reading about babies being born breached like this, they could get stuck or they could try and breathe whilst their head wasn’t born and suffocate. (Y/n) felt like she was going to be sick at the thought of the baby getting stuck when there was no professional here who would be able to help.

“I c… I can’t just wait here Evan.” (Y/n) whimpered as she felt her lips pulling down at the corners trying to release another sob. She could already feel her stomach tensing and the muscles tearing, it was going to be physically impossible for her to not push on the next contraction. She couldn’t just lie here and wait for help, she had to push.

"(Y/n), how are you positioned, are you lying down in bed?"

"She's knelt on the floor in front of the sofa."

"Good, that's good, okay Buck I need you to move her up onto the sofa, get her sitting on the very edge. Trust me, this will be a safer and easier position, gravity will be on your side. I can walk you both through this until help arrives and I've put you as a code red someone will be there soon."

"Alright," Evan slowly held (Y/n)'s arms and looped them around his neck, twisting her body so she was facing him instead of the sofa.

He felt her muscles go limp for a few seconds and she let him move her around. He pulled her up onto buckling knees and shaking legs before he turned her around and perched her on the very edge of the sofa, just like his sister said. Once Evan was sure (Y/n) was alright and wasn't about to collapse or scream in agony, he knelt down on the sheet on the floor and held onto her thighs for a few seconds.

Evan could see the logic here; if their baby got stuck, gravity would hold onto them and help pull them down.

"I need to push!"

"(Y/n), you start pushing again that's good and Buck, you'll need to help unhook the feet and let the legs dangle once they're out."

When (Y/n) cried out and tucked her chin into her chest, Evan grabbed a few towels to place around and have ready before he dared look again and see if the baby was any closer to being born yet. (Y/n) dug her hands into the sofa to the point she could feel her nails scraping through into the fabric as she tried hard to hold herself steady but she felt like she was going to fall forward into Evan.

His hands were both shaking horribly as he reached out and held onto the newborn’s legs that he could see. He tried to be gentle and uncurl them so they dangled down and didn't get caught or stuck.

“Maddie the legs are born. You okay baby?” Evan tilted his head up to lock eyes with her but his hands stayed shakily holding onto their baby’s lower half. He didn’t like it, he didn’t want to be doing this. Evan felt like his hands were covered in glue or slime that was sticking them to the baby and it made his stomach churn. He could handle blood and guts when he had to help others but this was something else entirely. This was his own wife and he didn't want to be the one to fix her and hold their baby like this.

“Hmm.” (Y/n) hummed back, nodding her head as she closed her eyes, digging her hands a bit more into the cushion to stabilise herself as she felt another contraction building up.

(Y/n) shivered, feeling her stomach muscles tightening when Evan had to pull on the baby’s arms to make sure they too didn’t get stuck or bent or caught in the way. The moment Evan let go of the baby with one hand to reach out for a towel, his head snapped back to look at (Y/n) as she cried, her foot beginning to tap against the carpet as she squirmed like she couldn’t manage to sit still.

"Buck, how are we looking?"

"I'm holding the body, just the head left."

"Okay. (Y/n), you need a really big push as soon as a contraction hits, we don't want baby waiting long in case they try and breathe too soon."

(Y/n) pulled her legs up a little as she continued to squirm around. It was like there was a weight tied to her and it was pulling on her insides and causing pain. When another pain hit, (Y/n) hit her hand against Evan’s shoulder to grab his attention and nodded that this was it.

"Almost there, keep going baby." He held a towel in his hands and curled it around their baby, trying to keep them stable and warm while he waited for (Y/n) to push again.

As soon as the weight felt like it had been dragged down, (Y/n) let herself flop back into the sofa and braced her weight on her tiptoes so she didn't slide down onto Evan. That was it, she just knew that was their baby out and in her husband's arms. She had done it.

"Maddie I've got them- fuck!"

“What? W-what’s wrong?” (Y/n) leaned her head down to try and see what was happening as Evan took their newborn baby into his arms and set them down on his lap. Her stomach tensed as she watched him quickly unravel the cord that had pressed around the baby’s neck but (Y/n) didn’t know if it had been tight or rather loose. She didn’t know if that had happened during the struggle of labour or if possibly it had been like that before. But it couldn’t have been, she felt the baby moving so it couldn’t have been strangling them for very long.

"Buck what's going on?"

“It’s alright…” Evan seemed to be speaking to himself more than to (Y/n) or his sister as he fumbled to grab the pair of scissors he had found downstairs earlier. He hastily clamped and cut the cord before he turned the baby on their side so he could rub his hand up and down their back to get them breathing.

(Y/n) felt her chest heaving as she tried to regain back the breaths that she had lost but her eyes were focusing on Evan as much as they could with the tears beginning to distort her vision. The moment a small cry flooded through the air, both parents felt like they were going to faint.

“She’s okay.” Evan wrapped the towel tight around his baby girl, rubbing his hands over her frame to make sure she wasn’t cold or still in some state of shock.

When he tilted his head up to look at (Y/n), the grin on his features was like nothing (Y/n) had ever seen before.

Pushing himself up on his knees, Evan leaned over and ever so gently settled the newborn into (Y/n)’s arms before he grabbed another towel ready for the placenta. At least this part was easier and Evan knew to keep the placenta so a doctor could check it was all there. The last thing they wanted was (Y/n) having a retained piece of placenta and needing surgery to get that out.

"She's alright Maddie… you've got a baby niece."

Evan’s legs were the ones to turn to jelly this time around as he slowly sat down on the sofa next to (Y/n), his eyes focused on the bundle in her arms who was well worth the wait. Turning her head, (Y/n) leaned her head on Evan’s shoulder as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. His arm wrapped around her back so he could rest his hand on their girl’s head, brushing his thumb over the small tufts of hair he could see.

“We did it.”

[thewerebunny]

Sam pulled the folding table over towards the middle of the couch and began building her customary nest of blankets and pillows around her lap, behind her back, under her leg.

"You could have used the side table if you wanted," Evan pointed out.

She gave him a confused look. Evan always sat on the right side of the sofa. It was next to the side table with the lamp on it that didn't have the funky shade that looked so pretty but also shone some light right in your eyes. He read there sometimes, and when they watched TV, he sat there at an angle so she could lean into him.

Sam usually kept to the middle, but she sometimes sat on the left side of the sofa, with her back to the arm.

She'd never take the right side. That was Evan's spot.

"...But that's your side."

"What?"

"The right side? That's your spot. That's where you sit, I sit in the middle."

She watched as his face did a complicated motion. His eyes flicked between the right side of the couch, to the left side, and back to her.

Whatever processes are going through his head aren't enough to stop her from getting her coze on, so she continues her arrangement of pillows and blankets. When she finishes and looks up at him, he's smiling. A bit of tension she hadn't even realized was there makes itself known by its sudden absence.

"I love you."

Sam grins. "I love you too! Now sit down, we don't want to miss the new Bake-Off! Noel hinted that there's a reference to us in this episode!"

[nuthinfoogazi]

Full tummy happy heart

Warnings:Pure fluff, that's it. Not proofread. Just wrote this fast and it's my first time writing!

It was 9:46 as you looked at the clock and heard your husband stepping through the door, tired from his day at work. He had been running on barely enough sleep and coffee for weeks and had been working so hard. You heard his keys clatter onto the bar of your shared kitchen as you are walking into the room to greet him with a big hug and a kiss. You missed him so much today. Just like everyday you were apart.

"Hey darling, I missed you today," he said while hugging you back and putting his head into your neck taking in your scent. Your pheromones mixed with your perfume drove him wild.

"I missed you too baby! How was work today?" You ask pulling away from his hug to look him in the eyes.

He looked back at you while his hands still wrapped around your waist, holding his embrace as he shook his head. You knew he was tired. Just looking into his sleepy eyes you knew he just wanted to lay down and sleep.

"Long. Too long. All I wanted to do was wrap up the scene and get home to you."

You smile as you brush his hair from his face, softly caressing his cheek as you lean in for a kiss.

His kiss was so subtle. Not his usual kiss.

"Your dinner is on the table so you should eat while it's hot babe." You say as you pull away and lead him into the kitchen.

He sits and eat his dinner and it's quiet as you two share the moment together. You giggle as you see Evan with spaghetti sauce on his mouth. He looks at you and shares a giggle himself.

"Babe you got a lil something on your face."

You say between a stifled giggle.

He takes his napkin and wipes his face with a cheeky grin.

"Did I get it?"  You nod and he still has that grin on his face making you wanna kiss him all over. He always did have that effect on you though.

As you both finish your dinner, you tell Evan to get comfy as you wash the dishes and clean on your kitchen table. You shut off the lights and your candle warmer as you are getting ready to plop beside your sleepy boyfriend.

You make it into the bedroom and slip on your (his) oversized white shirt he loves on you and your baggy joggers and climb into bed next to evan. The light from your lamp glows off his face as he lays on his back with one arm behind his head. You notice how content he looks. Just a white shirt,his Grey shorts and socks on.

"Baby, is your belly full?" You whisper as you wrap your hand around his stomach, slowly drawing circles on his tummy bulging through his white see-through shirt.

"Yeah. Since when did I gain so much weight? What are you doing to me sweetheart? Trying to make me fat,huh? Always cooking some delicious meals for me."

"You are not fat. You just have a little tummy. But it's ok I like it. Keeps me warm at night." You grin at he pulls you close for a kiss. You grow quiet after exchanging some I love you's and sweet gentle kisses.

"Babe, let me hold you tonight for a change." You say still rubbing his tummy.

He rolls over to his side after giving you a soft peck on your forehead and you pull the covers up over him. You spoon him and hold him close and he is out within 5 minutes. Full tummy and happy heart.

Yall this is my first ever writing please don't make fun of it lolol.

[cjlouwho]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers! Spread the self-love <33333

I did this here, but I'll happily self-promo more of my fics 😂 here's five more:

Something Worth Living For: Tommy thought it was a little ridiculous when he heard that all fire departments within the district were to meet at a rendezvous point to fight an incoming swarm of bees. Everything became a bit more real when his helicopter crashed and he was left to survive on his own. Dying in general might not have meant much a few months ago. But it meant a lot now. Because now he had a boyfriend with abandonment issues, and he needed to get back to him.

Under These Bright Lights (this is a WIP): When Evan Buckley got to LA, he knew he was right where he belonged. When he started acting, he knew that's what he was meant to do. When he got a main role on a new TV show called LAFD, he knew it would be a hit. When he met technical advisor Tommy Kinard, he had no idea how much this man would change his life.

Uncle Eddie (each chapter is it's own individual thing): A collection of moments between Uncle Eddie and Juniper Buckley-Kinard.

You're a Piece of My Soul I Can't Let Go: Buck walked into the house that screamed Tommy, Tommy, Tommy everywhere he looked. There was the couch they had picked out together. The lamp that Tommy had knocked off the table twice, yet somehow never broke. The kitchen where they realized they were far too old to be having sex on a countertop...

...Buck toed off his shoes and walked to the bed, lying down. He pulled his phone from his pocket and silenced it before setting it on his nightstand. He didn't want to be bothered. Maddie could see his location, would know he was fine. That was enough.

He curled onto his side, facing Tommy's side of the bed. He tugged at Tommy's pillow, moving it so it rested lengthwise against his body. He snuggled it tightly. Closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of Tommy's shampoo and cologne, still fresh on the pillowcase.

He fell into a dreamless sleep. Nothing about this felt right.

The Only Exception: For so long, love felt to Tommy like wearing a turtleneck on a summer day. It was uncomfortable. Itchy, sweaty, and no matter how much you tugged it away from your neck it came right back to choke you again.

That was the type of love he'd grown up with. A love that was never truly love at all.

[scarred0and-starry]

First Kiss-The Valkyries

AN: hello everyone! feels good to be back, finals are finished and I'm home for Christmas so I should be much more active! I've become a writing machine since I got home, not sure if I'm going to post again tonight but I for sure will have something tomorrow, enjoy!

-starly ☆

Marlene McKinnon

The Gryffindor common room was empty, save for the dying embers in the fireplace and the two of you curled up on the couch. It was late, and you really should’ve gone to bed hours ago, but Marlene had that way of making time feel irrelevant.

She leaned her head back against the cushions, eyes half-lidded and a soft smile playing on her lips. “You know, you’ve got this look,” she murmured.

“Yeah? What look is that?”

“Like you’re constantly figuring me out. Like you see all my chaos and… don’t mind it.”

You chuckled. “I don’t mind it. I like it.”

Her eyes glimmered, the firelight catching flecks of gold in the blue. She shifted closer, her knee brushing against yours. “Good. Because I’ve been thinking about this for ages.”

“Thinking about what?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“This.”

She leaned in before you could answer, her lips pressing against yours, soft but brimming with that signature Marlene confidence. Her hand found your jaw, holding you gently as though you were something precious—rare, even.

When she finally pulled back, her eyes were alight with mischief. “Alright?”

You laughed, breathless. “Not bad at all.”

Dorcas Meadowes

The courtyard was still damp from the afternoon’s rain, droplets clinging to the ivy-covered walls. The two of you walked side by side, boots squelching slightly against the wet stone.

Dorcas shoved her hands in her pockets, her eyes fixed ahead as if she were deep in thought. But you knew her better than that—she was nervous.

“Is everything alright?” you asked softly.

She paused, glancing at you before a small, almost shy smile curved her lips. “Yeah. I just…” She trailed off, her brow furrowing slightly. “Sometimes, it’s easier to fight Death Eaters than to say what I actually feel.”

You stopped walking, turning to face her. “You don’t have to say anything if you’re not ready.”

Her eyes met yours, dark and intense. “What if I want to?”

The rain began to fall again, soft and misty, but neither of you moved. Slowly, Dorcas reached out, her fingers brushing against your cheek before she cupped it, her touch steadying.

She leaned in, her lips meeting yours in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, like she was savoring every second. When she finally pulled back, a single raindrop slipped down her nose, and she laughed softly.

“Well,” she murmured, “that was terrifying.”

You grin wickedly. “Want to do it again?”

Her smile widened. “Absolutely.”

Mary Macdonald

The library was nearly empty, the soft glow of the enchanted lamps casting warm pools of light over the rows of books. You and Mary sat huddled at a corner table, a pile of parchment and textbooks forgotten between you.

Mary fiddled with the corner of her essay, biting her lip as she glanced up at you. Her curls fell over her cheek, and you reached out, gently tucking a strand behind her ear.

Her cheeks flushed, a soft pink spreading across her skin. “You shouldn’t do that,” she whispered.

“Why not?”

“Because it makes me forget what I’m supposed to be doing.”

You smiled. “Maybe that’s a good thing.”

She let out a breathy laugh, her eyes sparkling. “You’re a menace.”

Before you could respond, she leaned forward, closing the gap between you. Her lips brushed yours hesitantly at first, testing, like she was afraid she might break something delicate. But when you kissed her back, she melted into it, her hand finding yours on the table and holding on tight.

When she finally pulled away, she was smiling, her eyes bright and just a little dazed. “I think I’ve forgotten how to hold a quill,” she murmured.

“Worth it, though.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, her thumb stroking your knuckles. “Definitely worth it.”

Lily Evans

The Potions classroom was empty, the air still heavy with the scent of herbs and burnt sugar. You leaned against one of the desks, watching Lily as she carefully wiped her hands on a cloth, a satisfied smile on her face.

“Another perfect potion,” you said, grinning. “You make it look easy.”

She glanced up, a playful glint in her green eyes. “That’s because it is easy—when you follow instructions.”

You chuckled. “Not all of us are Potions prodigies, Evans.”

She stepped closer, her gaze softening. “Maybe you just need the right motivation.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

She paused, her fingers brushing against your hand, sending sparks up your arm. “Maybe this,” she whispered, and before you could think of a reply, she leaned in.

Her lips were warm and certain, the kiss lingering just long enough to make your heart race. When she pulled back, her cheeks were flushed, but her eyes shone with that unmistakable Lily determination.

“There,” she said softly. “Consider that your motivation.”

You grinned, your heart pounding. “I think I need a lot more practice.”

She laughed, her hand slipping into yours. “Lucky for you, I’m an excellent teacher.”

[ganseybois]

OMG I GET TO PROMPT YOU

Buck/Tommy are happy and have been dating, and Tommy's the one that tells Buck he can't give Buck what he wants

And he also tells him (kindly and sweetly) that Buck already has what he wants and has had it for years

AND MAYBE INCLUDE THAT RESOLUTION WITH A BUDDIE SCENE AT THE END? PLEASE?

HELLO LOVE here you go :) send me a prompt here!

“I don’t understand,” Buck says softly, trying very, very hard not to cry. “I thought…I thought I was doing everything right this time.” He laughs, a pitiful, horrible thing–right Buckley, like you can do anything right. 

“Hey,” Tommy places a hand on his - they’re in the loft, and Tommy has just broken up with him. “Buck, really, it’s nothing that you did. Not really. I just don’t think it’s going to work out for us.”

“But why?” he presses. “We’ve been okay. We haven’t even fought.”

Tommy sighs, looking at Buck so kindly, which makes this a million times worse. “I can’t give you what you want.”

“That’s not true!” he exclaims. “It’s not. I really like you, Tommy, this, we can fix this, I can fix this.” 

“Evan, hey, stop.” Tommy touches the side of his face. He is being so gentle with him, so fucking gentle, that Buck does, in fact, start to cry. “This isn’t on you at all. It’s not on either of us, not really. I just...am not the right guy for you, that’s all.”

Buck shakes his head. “Seems like no one ever is.”

Tommy smiles that sweet smile that he has, and looks at Buck with kindness, and true sincerity, and that makes Buck feel a thousand times worse. “Evan, the things you want? Family? Security? Love? It’s all right in front of you. You just can’t see it.” He leans back. “But don’t worry, because neither can the other guy.”

“Other–what?” Buck wipes his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

Tommy sighs, and shakes his head. “Eddie, I’m talking about Eddie.”

Panic rises in his chest, and he shakes his head. His feelings about Eddie are a tangled, complicated thing, and he has been very careful with them throughout the years. “Tommy no, I-I told you, there’s nothing going on. I..we’re just friends.”

“Right,” Tommy is still smiling, despite it all. “I know there’s nothing going on. I know you’re just friends. But you shouldn’t be. The two of you keep circling each other, and…as much as I like you Evan, I also deserve better.”

Hurt, Buck looks away, guilt rising easily in his chest. “I’m sorry.” he mumbles. 

“Don’t be, really. We can’t help who we love.” Tommy sighs. “But we can at least try and be happy.” He leans forward and kisses Buck on the cheek. “So go be happy, Evan.”

***

“Buck?” Eddie rubs his eye as Buck practically stampedes through his home. It’s late, it’s very late, Eddie’s hair is a mess, he’s in his sweatpants and a white tank top, and the house is dark. He was deeply asleep, but Buck kept calling until he woke up. “Everything okay?” he asks. “What happened?”

Buck nods, even though his heart is beating a million miles a second. “Can we talk in your room? I don’t want to wake Chris.”

“Sure, come on,” Eddie pats Buck on the back, closing the bedroom door when they make it in. 

When the door is closed, Buck rounds on him before Eddie can turn the light on or try and sit on the bed. “Why did you break up with Marisol?” he asks. 

Eddie seems genuinely surprised by the question, frowning as he walks over to the bedside table. He flicks on the lamp and sits on the bed. “I told you already, it just wasn’t right. We didn’t fit.”

“Why didn’t you fit?” Buck stands right in front of him, so Eddie has to look up at him. Eddie’s eyes flash with something Buck can’t name. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Eddie asks, his eyes flittering over Buck’s expression, like he’s not sure where to look. 

“Why didn’t you fit?”

“I don’t know, man, I figure if I have to try so hard then it’s not really worth my time, right?” his eyes dance over Buck’s lips, and then Eddie quickly looks away, down at his knees. “You drove all the way here to ask me that?”

Buck sits next to Eddie on the bed. 

His feelings for Eddie are strange - they always have been. He’s always been careful to never let it cross the line, no matter how much he wanted to. 

But he tests the waters, he puts a hand on Eddie’s knee. 

Eddie tenses, but doesn’t push his hand away. Doesn’t stop him, here in the intimate light of Eddie’s bedroom. 

“Tommy broke up with me.” Buck says softly. “Because he thinks he wasn’t the right fit for me.”

“I’m sorry,” Eddie replies immediately, looking over at him - he can see Eddie means it, too. Eddie wants him to be happy. “I know how much you wanted it to work.” 

Buck takes his hand back, but he’s looking at Eddie intently. “Haven’t you ever wondered why neither of us can seem to find something that works? Doesn’t it bother you?”

“I don’t know,” Eddie shrugs. “It could be worse. I have you and Chris, I don’t really need anything else. I’d rather be alone from now on then try and be something I’m not.”

Something catches in Buck’s throat. “You know…I love you for who you are, Eddie.”

“I know,” Eddie punches his knee tenderly. “I love you too.”

“No, I mean, I know, but no.” he sighs, irritated with himself. Shakily, he puts a hand on Eddie’s face, turning it again so that Eddie can look at him. “I mean, I love you for who you are, Eddie.” When he sees Eddie’s eyes go wide, he continues swiftly, knowing that if he doesn’t spill it out all at once, it’s all over. He has to take his chance, and if it bites him in the ass, he will stay Eddie’s friend because having this is better than having nothing at all. But he can’t hold it in any longer. “I love you, I am in love with you, and I have been for years - and I chalked it up to the fact that this is how best friends are, but…I’m so tired, Eddie. I don’t want to perform anymore either.” He can’t help it, he runs a thumb along Eddie’s cheekbone. “I’m sorry if this ruins everything but-”

Eddie kisses him. 

It’s a tired, gentle kiss, Eddie is both in shock and half asleep, but his lips are soft and tender, and his hand reaches to cup Buck’s face as well. It’s over too soon, but when Eddie pulls back, he takes a moment to kiss each of Buck’s cheek, and then his nose, and then another small peck on his lips. Buck feels more affection in those movements than he ever has in his life. 

Buck sighs, eyes still shut, afraid to open them and find this is a dream. “Everyone keeps kissing me when I’m talking. I guess I should take the hint.”

“Well, hopefully, I’ll be the only one kissing you to shut you up moving forward.” Eddie laughs softly, and Buck opens his eyes – Eddie is staring at him with love. A beautiful smile on that stupidly handsome face. “Actually, don’t count on it. I like hearing you speak.” He runs a thumb along Buck’s bottom lip. “Stay the night?” he asks softly. “We can talk some more.”

Buck tucks his face by Eddie’s neck, deliriously happy. “I’ll stay every night, forever, Eddie, if you’ll have me.”

“Sure you won’t get bored of me?” Eddie kisses the top of his head. 

“Impossible.”

Eddie chuckles, leaning back so Buck can look at him. “Come on, I have clothes for you. You’ve upgraded from the couch to the bed, Buck.”

It’s that, that makes Buck’s eyes fill with tears again, as he leans in to kiss Eddie again, and again, and again…

[drowninginthoughts27]

8/9 Colorful Word Count: 685

@jegulus-microfic

“James! We are not getting light up signs to put in our home!” Regulus whisper-yells.

James looks at him with pitiful puppy eyes, pouting out his bottom lip, but reluctantly sets down the light up neon sign.

“We still need the basics, a couch, a bed frame, some tables and chairs etc.,” Regulus continues, now guiding James away from the obnoxiously colorful decorations (that he’s not quite sure how James managed to find so efficiently) and towards the furniture section of the store.

James and Regulus had just bought a flat together after James had gotten his business degree. Regulus only has one more year left in school but he has in-person classes so infrequently that he’s practically never on campus anymore.

The apartment they got is small, only one bedroom, one bathroom, an office, kitchen, and a living room. But it’s perfect for them.

Close enough to Regulus’ College that he can commute. But far enough away that they plan on living there after he finishes school.

The one thing Regulus didn’t account for was how stressful furniture shopping would be. When they had lived apart their spaces were so drastically different. Regulus’ was darker, covered in fairy lights and deeper lighting, books crammed in almost every free square inch of space. Whereas James was big on natural lights, small knick knacks and colorful everything. Neither were messy or aesthetically unappealing by any means but they were definitely polar opposites of one another and it showed. Which is how he finds himself in a home improvement store with James wandering off at every possible opportunity.

Pulling out the list of things on his phone he starts to read off of it.

“We need a couch and an area rug. A queen size bed frame, night stands, and a dresser. A coffee table and two lamps. And a dining table, chairs, and bar stools. Oh and one or two bookshelves and a desk.” He lists off.

“Okay couch first.” James concludes, browse tightly knit in adorable concentration.

“Look at this one love,” Regulus says whilst guiding James over to a plush, emerald green, velvet couch.

“But what about this leather one?” James points out nodding over to a brown couch.

This goes on for a while.

There’s the table and chairs: A choice between a round or square table. Paired with either wooden or fabric chairs.

The bed frame: A Bronze metal frame or wooden pallets.

And the dresser. Natural wood or painted wood.

And the pattern continues.

But at the end of the day, all challenges aside, they’ve managed to make it out of the store with everything they intended on purchasing and more.

———

They had invited most their friends over to help move everything in. Providing pizza as an incentive.

It was quite the struggle getting the larger things up a flight of stairs rather tight stairs. (A true demonstration of Sirius, Barty, and Marlene’s lack of spacing awareness) Assembling things was also a very real struggle as the instructions were very clearly not in a language anyone there spoke. (Remus had ended up very wisely opening google translate to put Peter, Mary, and Evan out of their misery.) Pandora, Regulus, Lily, and Dorcas unleashing their inner interior designers. Making sure everything looked just right. Miraculously they were set up in their new flat after only one all nighter.

After everyone left James and Regulus walk around the apartment, side by side, admiring all of their hard work.

The green couch, with a deep wooden coffee table with a glass top, and thick rug in the living room. Wooden pallets act as a bed frame. And a black and brown dining room table with green chairs that match the couch flawlessly.

James’ posters hang in frames around the house. Books and plants filling open surfaces. With natural light flooding through each and every window. In the end James even got his light up sign- a sun with stars around it to hang- in the living room.

The house is a bit chaotic and colorful but they wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s exactly what both James and Regulus had envisioned. It’s perfect.

[nowandajenn]

Blue Christmas- chapter 9 (acceptance)

Pairing: Chris Evans/OC Kelly

Summary: After almost three years of marriage, everyone would tell you that Chris and his wife Kelly are the most stable, solid couple they know. But behind closed doors, things are tense as they keep trying for a baby, to no avail. When a secret threatens to shake their solid marriage to it’s core, will they be able to pick up the pieces?

Series warnings: angst (like a lot), mentions of infidelity, language, family drama, pregnancy, sexual situations.

Author’s Note: I do not consent to have my content, whether it be this story or anything else of my creation, posted by a third party on any other platform other than right here without my permission. This blog is 18+ and is not intended for minors. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Heed the warnings.

January 2nd

Chris is woken by the sound of the soft cries coming from the baby monitor on his nightstand. Scrubbing a hand down his face, he sits up in bed and swings his legs over. You open your eyes and look around blearily, throwing the covers back. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Go back to sleep. I’ll go.” he says softly, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. He throws on a pair of sweatpants and quickly heads out of the bedroom and down the hall as the cries intensify. 

“It’s okay, bub. Daddy’s coming. Hold on.” he mutters softly. 

When he reaches the door of the nursery, he quickly hits the light switch on the wall, and the soft glow of the mickey mouse lamp on the dresser fills the room. 

“Hey, hey, what’s with all the noise huh? What’s wrong sweetheart?” he coos as he approaches the crib. 

He’s stopped cold as he peers in, only to see the crib empty. He spins around, confused. Is he sleepwalking? Is he so out of it that you managed to get past him and grab the baby first? He could have sworn......

He turns around and jogs back to the bedroom, only to be stopped dead in his tracks. Instead of standing in his house, he’s standing in the doorway of a stark, cold hospital room. He sees you laid on a medical bed with your knees spread, a doctor in blue scrubs sat on a stool between them, a terrifying looking medical instrument in her hand. 

“It’ll be okay. Just try and breathe.” he hears the doctor tell you in a soft voice. 

He can see the tears streaming down your face as you turn your head to look at him, and his heart breaks. 

“Chris, I’m so sorry.” you whisper

He goes to take a step into the room to rush to your side and comfort you, only to find that he can’t move. He’s completely paralyzed, stuck to the spot he’s standing in, unable to go to you or move or do anything. 

He wakes violently; his eyes fly open and he gasps as his heart pounds away in his chest. His arms and legs jerk, a side effect of trying so desperately to move in his nightmare. As he slowly returns to full wakefulness, his heart slows down to a more reasonable pace and he covers his face with his hands. 

“God damn it.” he moans softly. 

His cell phone starts ringing insistently, and he reaches behind him blindly to grab it from the end table next to the couch where he put it before he fell asleep. 

Chris sees your name come up on the caller ID and his heart gives a harsh throb in his chest. Neither of you have spoken since the day he laid all of his sins bare for you and you told him about your miscarriage. He’s been alternately incredibly sad and depressed and wanting to self isolate, and desperately wanting to call you and comfort you and try and talk things out. After waking from that terrible nightmare, seeing your name on his phone screen seems like coming up for air after drowning. 

As he presses “accept”, he realizes that his cheeks are wet from tears, and he wipes them away with the back of his hand. 

“Kelly? Baby?” he chokes out, the words rushed and desperate. 

“No, I’m sorry-Is this Chris?”

The unknown female voice on the other end of the phone makes him sit up ramrod straight, all of the leftover fuzziness from being half asleep instantly forgotten. 

“Who is this? And why do you have my wife’s phone?” 

The smell of antiseptic and the blinding florescent lights hit him full force as he runs through the doors of the emergency room, his heart flying in his chest and his mouth so dry he can barely swallow. 

He forces himself to a stop in front of the registration desk before he goes straight over it with the sheer speed he was moving at. 

“I need- I need-” he pants.

“Slow down. Breathe. What happened? Are you hurt?” the nurse at the desk eyes him cautiously. 

Chris forces himself to take a breath so he can explain, using human English words, what he needs. 

“Dr. Richards. She called me and said my wife was brought in. She was in a car accident. Where is she?” 

“Okay, let me check for you. What’s your wife’s name?”

“Kelly. Kelly Evans.”

The nurse starts tapping on the keyboard and a million thoughts race through Chris’ head, each one of them worse than the last. The doctor gave him only the bare minimum of information on the phone, leaving him flustered and panicked, leaving the house in only the sweats and t shirt he had worn to bed. He’d been in such a rush that he didn’t even grab his coat, and was lucky he even managed to jam his feet into a pair of sneakers that were left by the front door. He replays the doctor’s words in his head on a loop. 

“My name is Dr. Richards at Massachusetts General Hospital. Your wife was just brought into the Emergency Department here about ten minutes ago. It seems that she was in a pretty serious car accident. We’re checking her out right now, but it would be a good idea if you could get here as soon as possible.”

“Mr. Evans?”

When Chris doesn’t respond, the nurse taps him on the hand, startling him back to reality. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. The doctors are in with your wife right now. She just got back from CT. Someone will be out to talk with you shortly.” 

“Wait, is she okay? Is she awake? How bad is it?” he asks. . 

“The doctors will tell you all of that when they come out.” 

The lack of answers to simple questions is scaring the living hell out of him. 

Defeated, Chris walks over to the waiting room and sinks down into one of the chairs. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and dials the number belonging to the only other voice he needs to hear right now. 

“Chris? Honey, is everything okay? It’s really early. It’s only seven-” 

“Mom, Kelly’s in the hospital. They called me about 45 minutes ago and said that she was in a car accident and they brought her here. They won’t tell me anything, and it’s pissing me off and I don’t know if she’s okay or-”

“Christopher, honey, breathe, okay? Take a deep breath.” Lisa says. 

He runs his fingers through his hair (he can only imagine what he looks like right now) and tries to take a deep breath, only it comes out shaky. 

“What hospital are you at?” 

“Mass Gen. I just- I don’t know anything right now. Nobody’s told me anything. I need her to be okay. That’s all I need.” 

“Listen to me. I’m sure everything is going to be fine, okay. Just be patient and try to stay calm. Has anyone spoken to her parents?” 

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. They would have called me.”

“Okay. Call them and let them know where you guys are. I’m going to get ready and head over there as soon as I can. Okay? Just breathe.” 

Chris sits in the hard plastic chair turning his phone over in his hands, trying to figure out what he’s going to tell your parents (especially when he doesn’t have any important information himself), when a doctor comes out into the waiting room looking for him. 

He stands up and rushes over, wiping his sweaty hands on his pants. 

“I’m Chris, we spoke on the phone. How is she? What happened?” 

“I’m Dr. Richards. Kelly was in a car accident this morning, as I told you on the phone. According to the paramedics that brought her in, an SUV T boned her car on the drivers side. The impact was pretty significant. I’m going to be straight with you and tell you what we’re dealing with here. She has three broken ribs, a fractured left ankle, her left humerus is broken in two places. We did a CT and found that she’s bleeding internally into her belly. We’re about to take her up to surgery right now so we can find the source of the bleed and get it under control, and also so one of our orthopedic surgeons, Dr. Miller, can set her arm. And that isn’t even to mention that she’s got abrasions and bruises to her face from the air bag deploying, and a pretty severe case of whiplash.”

Chris sits there staring at her like she’s lost her goddamn mind. 

“I know this is a lot to take in, but I promise you, we’re going to take the absolute best care of her possible. She’s in the best hands she can be right now. We’re going to be taking her up to get prepped for surgery soon, but I can take you to see her for a quick minute before she goes.” 

He swallows thickly before nodding his head. 

“Please.”

My whole body feels like it’s been crushed. Everything, from the top of my head, to the bottom of my feet, hurts like hell. I barely remember them pulling me out of the car, or putting me in the ambulance, or bringing me into the trauma room I’m in. All I’ve felt is the pain. I’m eternally grateful when they inject morphine into my IV, even though it feels like it just barely takes the edge off. I’m floating on the edges of consciousness when one of the nurses comes next to me and squeezes my hand. 

“Kelly, your husband is here. The doctor is bringing him back right now before you go to surgery, okay?” 

I try to nod before remembering that I can’t move my head or neck due to them being stabilized still. 

A couple of minutes later, the doors open and Chris is at my side and holding my hand, with tears in his eyes. 

“Chris?” I mutter tiredly. 

“Yeah, baby, I’m here. I’m right here.”

“Everything hurts so bad.” 

“I know. I know it hurts, but they’re going to take good care of you, okay? You’re going to be good as new.”

I look up, my eyes meeting his, and a moment of complete clarity comes over me. 

“I’m scared, Chris. I’m really scared.”

He brushes my hair back and presses a soft kiss to my forehead. 

“Don’t be scared, okay? These guys know what they’re doing. And I’ll be right here waiting for you when you wake up.”

“We’re going to go ahead and take her up now. It’s going to be a while, but I promise we’ll come update you.” the doctor tells him. 

Chris gives me a quick kiss and watches as they wheel me up to surgery, not moving until I’m out of sight.

With a heavy heart, he makes his way to the lobby to fire off a group text to my family and his, telling them where we are and how to find us in the hospital, before heading up to the waiting rooms outside the OR. 

His nerves are shot. Every time he tries to sit down for a minute to try and relax, he just bounces up again two minutes later to continue pacing up and down the halls. A couple of the police officers that responded to the accident found him and asked him a few questions about insurance, and then had told him that the car had been totaled and hauled off. Chris asks about the driver that hit me and they tell him that he was taken to another hospital and will be questioned when he’s stable. 

He finally wears himself out and slumps down in a chair next to Lisa, taking the cup of tea that she offers him. 

“I should have picked her up from the airport.” 

Several heads swing Connor’s way. 

“Why was she at the airport?” Chris asks. 

“She was in Chicago for a few days. She told me her flight was landing early this morning, and I told her I would pick her up since I knew she’d probably be tired, but she told me she parked at the airport anyway, and that she’d be fine and not to worry about it.” 

Chris rubs a hand over his face and sighs deeply. 

You had gone to Chicago. And something tells him you weren’t there to go sightseeing. Not in the middle of winter, anyway. 

“Wait, Chris, you didn’t know she was gone? How....” my dad wonders.

“What was she there for?”

Lisa can tell everyone is starting to get a little wound up, and she tries to quickly diffuse the situation. 

“Look, everyone’s nerves are a little on edge right now. We’re all worried about Kelly, so let’s all just try and stay calm and send out a good thought or say a prayer. It isn’t the time or place for this.” 

“But, I’m confused.....Chris, she didn’t say anything to you about leaving or taking a trip? I don’t get it.” my mom says. 

Connor turns to her and my dad. 

“My guess is she was in Chicago to track down the broad that Chris slept with while he was there.”

In that moment, Chris is certain he could cheerfully strangle his brother in law in the middle of the hospital, onlookers be damned, and not feel bad about it. 

“Hey, Livie, let’s go see if they have any good snacks in the cafeteria.” Carly says, standing up and taking Olivia’s hand, not wanting her to hear this conversation. 

“No, that’s not.....I don’t believe that.” my mom says. 

“That’s why the shop’s been closed. Captain douchebag over here told Kelly that he cheated on her, and she fell apart. And he didn’t know that she had gone to Chicago because she hasn’t been living there for like, a month. She’s been staying with Livie and me.”

My dad looks over at Chris, who looks equal parts devastated and capable of murder. 

“Chris, is this true?” 

He looks down at his hands, focusing on his platinum wedding band, before looking back up at my dad. 

“Yes.” he answers softly. 

��Nice to see you finally taking some responsibility.” Connor snarks. 

Look, I’m trying here, okay? I fucked up. I fucked up so big I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to fix it completely or if Kelly will ever forgive me. I know that. I’m trying to fix this and do right by her-”

Connor scoffs, cutting him off. 

“Is that why she came back to my place bawling her eyes out the other night? She was upset and wouldn’t tell me why, and she got on a plane the next morning.”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” Chris tells him in a warning tone. 

In just a few seconds, voices are raised and they’re in each other’s faces and a security guard finally comes over and separates Chris and Connor. 

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on here, but it stops now. This is a hospital. I know these situations aren’t easy and emotions run high, but you two keep at it, and I’ll throw you both out.” He gives Chris a look, and he can tell the guy knows who he is. “I don’t care who you are.”

The security guard walks away, and Chris shakes his head. 

“Your sister is in there being operated on, and you’re more worried about taking a shot at me and outing everything, even when you knew she didn’t want your parents to know, than being worried about her and what’s happening in there. You’re unbelievable.”

It’s been hours and you’re still in surgery. Your doctor came out once to tell them that they found the source of the internal bleeding, and now you’re minus one spleen, but that everything else was going as well as can be expected. 

Chris is sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, just trying to keep taking deep breaths and centering himself so he doesn’t just start screaming. He’s feeling so many different things at once, and it’s all just bubbling up inside of him, ready to erupt like a volcano. 

He doesn’t know what possessed you to go to Chicago. Or what happened while you were there. And honestly, right now that’s not even on his radar. Right now, he’s just hoping and praying that you’re going to be okay and the surgery will be done soon. 

“Evans?” the doctor calls.

Chris slowly gets up off the floor and walks towards the doctor, waiting with the rest of the family to hear the news. 

“Kelly just came out of surgery. She did very well, and you should be able to see her as soon as she wakes up, barring any complications.” the doctor tells them. 

Everyone breathes a deep sigh of relief at the news that you’ll be okay. 

“Our two biggest concerns were the bleeding in her belly, which we took care of, and her left arm. We went in and inserted an intramedullary rod and a couple of screws to hold the bone in place so that it can heal properly. These can stay in for the rest of her life, they’re not going to hurt her or cause any damage or anything like that. Under normal circumstances, I would put healing time at about 6-8  weeks, however, when we were operating, it looks like she has some nerve damage in her arm. Nerve damage is tricky because sometimes it can be healed with time and therapy, and sometimes it’s permanent. It’s too soon to tell yet how severe it is, so I don’t want to make any false predictions or promises. But we are going to be setting her up with a physical therapist probably within the next two days or so, after we give her a bit of time to recover.”

“Worst case scenario, what if the nerve damage is permanent?” Chris asks, swallowing hard. 

“Worst case? She’ll have chronic pain in the arm, and she won’t be able to use it the same again.We’ll just have to see how everything progresses. I’ll come back in a bit and let you know when she’s awake.”

[aishangotome]

Main Story Chapter 16-17: Before the Storm (暴雨來臨前) | Light  and Night 光與夜之戀

Chapter 16-15

♡———♡

When I woke up, it was already dark outside.

There were no waves, no sunset, no boat, and I didn't feel the pain of death. I sat up with lingering fear, the blanket slipping off my shoulders.

The star lamp above my head was still emitting a warm yellow light. Evan was leaning over the table reviewing documents, everything was unchanged.

Did I just have a nightmare? Why was it so vivid that it felt like I had really died once?

Evan: What's wrong?

Evan crouched down and took my hand in his. Wrapped in his warmth, I couldn't help but lean down, closer to him.

You: I just had a very realistic nightmare.

You: I dreamed that we were standing on a very narrow boat, the sea around us was endless, and there was a raging storm.

You: We could only hold on to each other to prevent from falling, but the boat was still sinking little by little.

Evan: And then?

You: And then -- then you asked me to push you off the boat.

I didn't feel like crying, but tears streamed down my face.

How embarrassing, it's just a nightmare, why am I crying? Evan reached out and gently wiped away my tears with his thumb.

Evan: And then?

He didn't say it was okay, nor did he say it was just a dream, but while wiping away my tears, he continued to ask me, and then?

You: I said I couldn't do it. I definitely couldn't do it.

Evan: Why? It's just a dream, I won't die.

He actually said the same thing as Evan in the dream.

Looking into his sad eyes, I suddenly had the illusion that I was still standing on that swaying boat in the storm.

You: You said the same thing.

You: There is no why. I don't even want to see you get hurt, how could I do that?

You: So I said, then I'll just die with you.

You: And then... the dream ended.

Evan: Idiot.

You: Not an idiot.

Evan: Just a dream.

You: Nothing to do with dreams.

Evan smiled, but his lips did not part.

Evan: If you could survive by pushing me down, would you still make the same choice?

You: Yes.

Evan: Don't look up to others more than yourself.

You: If that's the case, then why didn't you push me?

Instead of the surprise I expected, he calmly looked at me with increasing compassion in his eyes.

Evan: If you ever really encounter such a thing, remember what I said.

Evan: Remember to treat me as I said.

-

That night, after Evan walked me home, I had another sleepless night. Not because of the nightmare, but because of his last two sentences.

What kind of feelings did he have when he said them? I couldn't figure it out no matter how hard I tried.

Maybe we really will stand on opposite sides in the future. I was startled by the thought that suddenly appeared in my mind.

You: But if that really happens, then I'll probably lose badly.

Listening to the pitter-patter of the rain, I suddenly remembered the regretful look on Evan's face when he talked about his impossible wish.

You: Although I can't stop the rain, I can still offer some good prayers.

You: Since I can't sleep anyway, I might as well get up and do something.

-

The next few days, I still went to SONDER every day. Although Evan said there was no rush, I finished the drawings as soon as possible.

He wanted to give me two days off to rest and to take the designs to the screenwriter. He said she was very interested and I could also ask for her opinion.

You: I want to go too! I want to go too!

Evan: You haven't rested well these few days, you're not allowed to go.

I put my hands together and looked at him pitifully until the stern look on his face couldn't help but show a hint of a smile. I seized the opportunity and ran up to him, standing on tiptoes.

You: Please, I want to go with you too.

You: Please, Evan.

Evan: Oh, you...

You: You can't go back on your word if you agree! I'll go home and rest well now!

Evan: I'll pick you up tomorrow morning.

You: Yes, sir!

After agreeing on the time he would pick me up, I immediately called a car to go home and promised myself that I would go to bed early.

-

Usually, if there's something important happening the next day, I can never sleep soundly the night before.

But maybe I was too tired lately because after I got home, took a shower, and lay down on the bed, I quickly fell into a deep sleep.

When I woke up the next day, the curtains were soaked in sunlight, and the whole room was filled with a lazy atmosphere.

I nestled in bed for a while, feeling a bit lazy to move. But the thought of going out with Evan soon made me quickly get out of bed and happily pick out clothes.

-

Stepping out of the elevator, I could see his car from afar. Evan was rarely not wearing a suit today, but instead, he wore a simple white shirt. He stood beside the car, smiling in my direction.

I couldn't help but stop and look at him for a while before quickly running up to him.

You: Good morning~

Evan: Morning. How did you sleep last night?

You: Very well.

-

After routinely checking my seatbelt, a familiar paper cup was handed to me.

Evan: Here.

You: Latte?

I took a small sip.

You: How come it's milk?

Evan: Want to stay up late again?

Evan turned his face, his eyebrows raised slightly, as if to say, he wouldn't give me the chance to stay up late.

You: I know, I'll go to bed early like yesterday from now on.

We chatted casually, and before we knew it, the car arrived at the old town of Guangqi City. There were no more tall buildings around, but instead, white walls and black tiles.

After passing through the dandelion field, we walked further, and there was the largest artificial beach in Guangqi City.

Evan: We can't drive ahead, let's walk.

-

The breeze swept by, and the dandelions fluttered in the air above our heads, as if guiding our way.

I carefully picked my way through the empty spaces, afraid of stepping on their roots. However, before I could take a few steps, Evan suddenly took my hand.

You: What's wrong?

I wasn't stumbling, and the road wasn't difficult to walk on, so I couldn't find a reason for him to hold my hand.

However, Evan just smiled and said nothing, using his eyes to remind me to continue forward.

His face was hidden behind the snow-white, soft fluff, as unreal as a dream. I suddenly had a feeling that he was trying to hold on to something.

My heart trembled slightly, and I tightened my grip on his hand.

The sea in the distance rolled up blue waves, beating against the rocks and stirring up white foam. The sea breeze brushed against my face, salty, as if the sea had just cried, and its tears had dried in the air.

You: Let's go to the beach and take a look.

Evan: Aren't you afraid of the nightmare you had before?

You: No, I'm not on a small boat. Besides, even if I were, I've already made my decision.

Evan looked at me with pity. I knew what he wanted to say, but I also had my own persistence. So I took his hand and ran forward on the beach.

"Why are you so stubborn?" Evan opened his mouth, but his voice was scattered by the sea breeze and didn't reach my ears.

You: This reminds me of when we went to Liyu Island. Time flies, it was half a year ago.

You: But the beach on Liyu Island is smaller, this one is better.

Evan: It's a pity it's artificial.

You: You don't like artificial things?

After I said it, I felt my question was a bit funny. Who would like artificial things?

Tired from running, we sat side by side on the beach. Occasionally, one or two seashells and hermit crabs left behind by the tide would appear at our feet. When people need to relax, they should all go to the sea.

I turned my head and saw Evan gazing at the end of the sea with an expression I couldn't understand. But he was smiling, no longer the expressionless face he had when he was alone.

We shared a moment of silence, but it wasn't uncomfortable, but rather relaxing. When people need to relax, they really should go to the sea.

You: Evan, let's go to a real natural beach in the future, okay?

Evan leaned down and gently tucked my windblown hair behind my ear, nodding.

You: I heard there are pink beaches in the world, but it's a pity that the company only gives five days of annual leave. Going out would be too rushed, I need to save up more days off.

He kept smiling and looking at me, seemingly enjoying listening to me talk. I couldn't help but talk more and more, wanting to make him happier.

You: Oh right, wait a moment.

I almost forgot the thing I wanted to give him. I paused, picked up a few more seashells from the ground, ran to the car, took out a white doll and a sewing kit from my bag, and quickly started sewing.

You: You said you wished there were no rainy days, and I can't do that, but maybe this can. Since you like the sea, I added some seashells.

I opened my palm, and a white teru teru bozu doll lay there. Evan was stunned, his eyes suddenly filled with emotion.

Evan: Thank you. I will keep it safe.

However, despite his words, he made no move to take it, and the look on his face suggested he didn't want the gift.

My hand froze in mid-air. We had just shared such an intimate moment, yet I suddenly felt like I hadn't understood him at all.

You: It's okay, if you don't need it, I'll take it back --

But before I could finish, he had solemnly taken the teru teru bozu doll in his hand and studied it carefully.

The sea breeze ruffled his hair, covering his eyes, but his gaze remained fixed on the doll.

Evan: Let's go, the appointed time is almost here.

Evan turned and walked towards the embankment.

I followed him, and after a few steps, I looked back involuntarily at the spot where we had just stood. The waves had come and gone, washing away our footprints, leaving no trace behind.

-

The destination was an old house with a sense of history. After knocking on the door, a tall, middle-aged woman opened it. Seeing us, she smiled slightly.

Woman: You must be the designers I spoke with earlier?

You: Hello, screenwriter.

Woman: Please come in, both of you.

We followed her into the house. The decor was simple and spotless, with fresh flowers on the coffee table.

I pulled out the design drafts from my bag and handed them to her.

You: Hello, I designed these costumes after reading Jude's story. Your story is incredibly captivating.

She took them with a smile, nodding in approval as she looked through them.

Woman: Your understanding of the story is truly beyond my expectations.

Woman: Miss Y/N, if you're willing, please come with me to the study. I'll show you the script.

The woman turned her back, her scattered pupils instantly emitting a blood-red light.

You: Shall I go ahead?

Evan: Yes.

I stood up and followed the woman's footsteps.

Evan sat on the sofa for a while. Not seeing the girl return, he was about to go to the study when he suddenly noticed the teacup on the table.

Steam was still rising from the teacup, and the tea reflected his face, showing nothing unusual. But he suddenly remembered that the screenwriter was not right-handed, yet the teacup's handle was facing to the right.

Evan's face instantly turned cold, a murderous intent emanating from his eyes.

-

He dashed up the stairs, where someone was already waiting. The man turned his head, his grim face illuminated by the light.

Lu Ting: My dear nephew, do you like the gift I prepared for you?

Evan: Move!

Evan turned his head, crimson swirling in his eyes, the door in front of him instantly merging with the wall. Where the crimson went, gold gradually covered it, the ancient crystal chandelier hanging down, rising and falling with the shaking of the ground.

In the blink of an eye, this place has become another place, or rather, has returned to a familiar place. This is an illusion. He was still immersed in his thoughts, and he didn't even recognize it.

Lu Ting: So, are you satisfied with my gift?

Evan: Are you looking for death?

A red light flashed, and a black hole appeared on Lu Ting's shoulder. He looked at his shoulder in disbelief. His nephew had always been disgustingly cautious, but he didn't expect him to make a move like this.

He swung down the uninjured arm fiercely, splitting a red crack in the air.

Evan dodged, but the crack spread faster and still hit him.

Blood flowed from the corner of Evan's mouth, he wiped it away with the back of his hand, and glanced coldly at Lu Ting's face.

Lu Ting covered his bleeding shoulder and took a step closer to him.

Lu Ting: Are you going to betray the blood clan?

Evan: No. I said from the beginning that I would offer her up.

Evan: But you shouldn't have acted prematurely.

Lu Ting: It is an honor for her to become the Patriarch's vessel one day earlier.

Lu Ting: I did this for the future of the blood race, and you are going against me for a vessel?

Evann sneered, his eyes emotionless.

Evan: It's just a courtesy, uncle.

The red light condensed into a sharp blade, unexpectedly piercing Lu Ting's chest, the gushing blood made Lu Ting's half face even more ferocious.

Lu Ting: How far has your talent reached?!

Evan: Do you think it's still the time when you were in control many years ago?

Evan: Uncle, it's time to wake up.

The atmosphere between the two became more tense, and the crossbeam fell from the ceiling with a loud noise. Lu Ting took advantage of the situation to raise the crossbeam and attacked Evan.

Seeing Evan's arms also become bloody, Lu Ting smiled triumphantly.

Lu Ting: Do you also think that everything is in your plan? At this time, the Patriarch should have got his container.

Evan's face changed, realizing that Lu Ting was delaying his time, but he was still blocked by him.

Lu Ting: For the sake of our uncle and nephew relationship, it is for your own good not to let you go, so as to save you from confirming your betrayal.

Evan: You are the least qualified to talk about betrayal.

Evan n took off his glasses, the red in his pupils gradually deepened.

Lu Ting: What do you want to do?

Evan: Nothing, just to remind you, don't forget what you've done.

In an instant, the castle shook, and the ghostly cries of women and the shouts of children came from all directions, floating in the air, making ones scalp tingle.

Lu Ting was horrified. He recognized the voices of his wife and children, and there was also the cry of another woman he would never forget. He covered his ears, his face full of unprecedented rage and fear.

The floor cracked open countless cracks in all directions with him as the center.

Lu Ting: Don't cry!

He almost shouted.

The red light turned into sharp claws and attacked Evan. He stepped back and narrowed his eyes, revealing a murderous smile in the splashing blood.

Lu Ting: You want to use them to threaten me, no way! I will never be controlled by you!

Evan: You're wrong, I don't need you at all.

Evan lowered his eyelids. The moment the voice fell, the monstrous anger turned into sharp red blades, gouging Lu Ting's heart.

The skin on Lu Ting's chest burst open inch by inch, two eyes met in the air, and Evan's body was covered with red blood in the blink of an eye.

Lu Ting: You are so affectionate and righteous, but it's a pity that your mother didn't think of you until the moment she died.

For a second, Evan froze for a second.

Lu Ting seized the moment when the cries became weaker, forcefully broke through the invisible barrier, and his words were broken in the wind.

-

I followed the screenwriter to the study, but that strange feeling happened again, the floor under my feet didn't feel solid. The feeling of being trapped in an illusion not long ago made me terrified.

I sent Evan a text message telling him about this feeling. Maybe I'm overthinking it, but it's always good to be cautious.

You: Thank you for sharing this with me.

The woman smiled and handed me a stack of scripts, saying that she had something to do and had to leave for a while. I can read it here first.

Bang - the wind whipped the windows, the glass windows rattled, and the sky suddenly darkened.

A sudden wave of uneasiness welled up in my heart, even stronger than last night. I was a little scared to stay, and planned to ask the screenwriter to borrow some scripts to take home.

However, as soon as I turned around, she was gone, and I was the only one left in the study.

Creak—A door opened in front of me, and an old man in a wheelchair slowly approached me.

You: Who are you?

He didn't speak, just stretched out his hand and gently grabbed it in the void.

A violent tearing sensation rushed down from the top of my head, and in my blurred vision, I saw his eyes glowing scarlet.

The fishy sweet smell of blood and the feeling of suffocation made me unable to breathe. I felt groups of power rushing from my chest to the top of my head, as if trying to get out of my body.

I was terrified and struggled desperately, but I felt my whole body was fixed on the wall, unable to move.

??: This is... the Creator...

His whole body trembled in shock.

I couldn't hear what he was saying, I could only see my body being entangled by wisps of red smoke.

The pain made me feel like my body was being torn and dismembered, and my heart was beating powerfully!

I don't want to die...I don't want to die--

You: Evan!

Fear made me use all my strength to shout out the name in my heart.

--The glass window in front of me suddenly exploded, bringing a shrill wind, the tall walls on both sides kept shaking, and a vague figure appeared behind the glass. Is it an illusion? Or did he really come?

You: Evan...save...help...

I spoke with difficulty, feeling my internal organs trembling. But he didn't move, just silently looked down at me. I even saw him nod respectfully to the old man.

Time seemed to go backwards, or maybe it didn't go at all, I suddenly felt a buzzing in my head.

He suddenly grabbed my hand in the dandelion field, he was eager to fulfill my wish in the office, his silence when I talked about the future...everything turned out to have a reason.

Actually, it's not that I never understood him, it's because he never cared about me.

Why, what do you want to do. I couldn't make a sound, so I could only use my last strength to open my mouth and ask him. But I know this is futile. My fingers were digging too hard and were already deep in my palms.

The response to me was still silence, and his back as he turned and left.

The hot tears stung my eyes, and I felt my cheeks burning.

I watched Evan's back as he left until it became blurred, and the sound of shells hitting each other was like a grotesque piece of music.

Consciousness is gradually becoming dull, even sadness is as difficult to find as dried water stains, replaced by a crazy joy that does not belong to me.

A force began to try to control my body, I bit my lip tightly, trying to stay awake by the pain, but every part that tried to regain control felt a tearing pain.

-

Evan closed his eyes and let his body lead him forward. He had thought about the moment when his wish came true many times, but he never thought it would be today.

But it still came true, the wish that had supported him for so many years could finally be realized. But why is he not satisfied? Evan was in a mess, he even felt like he was running away.

He closed off his hearing, his ears were empty, quieter than ever, yet so noisy that his heart ached.

It shouldn't be like this. It shouldn't be like this.

He clutched his chest tightly, the slowly beating heart under his skin was more intense than ever, the words lingering in his mind hit him again, she is very similar to you back then.

Yes, it is very similar. Even being forced to be a weapon in the end is exactly the same.

He thought he could become fate, manipulate the lives of others - from small characters to people around him, so that they would not suffer the same fate as himself.

But in the end, she still became herself.

A sharp crisp sound finally broke Evan's closed hearing. He lowered his head and saw a string of shells lying beside his feet. The shells had fallen off the hem of the sunny doll's skirt and split in two.

Shouldn't have accepted it. But for so many years, it was the first time someone seriously asked him, what is your wish, let me help you realize it. The long-lost expectation is growing wildly, and I can't tell why.

Actually, I started looking forward to it earlier - that's why I was tempted, hesitated, and wanted to push her away.

Evan turned around, countless sounds poured into his ears, wind, cries for help, laughter...

-

I opened my eyes with force, and was surprised to find that the restraints on my body were gone, and the old man just now looked at me in disbelief, he staggered back against the wall, blood dripping from his chest.

Behind him, Evan appeared. Why? I still didn't ask, he had already stepped over the old man and protected me in his arms.

Evan: Y/N, you must remember what I say next.

I suddenly had a bad feeling in my heart. The next second, the surrounding walls began to change, turning into a more ancient castle. The wind and rain began to rage from nowhere.

Evan: Go forward and go down the stairs, 200 meters on the right is the exit.

You: ...What do you mean?

Evan: This is an illusion, everything is fake, so don't be afraid.

He took a deep look at me and let go of my hand.

Evan: Go.

Evan pushed towards the void, making the girl move away from the previous position. Turning his head to look at the old man, his pupils turned blood-red again, and his thin lips with faint fangs let out a low groan.

In an instant, Evan was entangled with blood-colored thorns, and countless black bats flew from nowhere, landed on the thorns and sucked, until the whole body also glowed red.

The old man's complexion changed, and two blazing red lights shot out from his eyes towards Evan. Evan's scorched body gave off a burnt smell, but the thorns all over his body grew more luxuriantly.

The next moment, his blood-colored eyes suddenly closed, and the bats flew everywhere, making sharp screams in the air, the sound seemed to have a solid body firmly nailing the old man in place, building a cage.

Fear finally appeared on the old man's face, Evan, who fell in the ruins, stood up slowly, raised his hand, and made a virtual grip in the air at the position of the old man's heart.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

16-20 (LIGHT END) | 16-20 (NIGHT END)

If you’d like to support my translations, feel free to buy me a coffee here! :)

[integra1127grimmreaper]

Sound Of Goodbye

Prev

Ike Evans Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Warning: angst, etc.

Summary: Reflecting back on the day your dreams for the future was destroyed by a random meeting. Inspired by- Crystal Gayle's - The sound of goodbye. 

A/N: Based off; Would you hold it against me universe. Can be read as stand-alone.

You could feel your heart breaking with each heavy step you took behind Ike while making your way back to the hotel room.

He hadn’t even looked at you once when Vera had joined your table; completely enthralled by her as they comically chatted the evening away.

“Gonna take a shower” Ike mutters out, pulling at his tie as he heads toward the bathroom.

“I’ll join” you offer as a sort of peace offering.

“It’s gonna be a quick one” Ike shrugs you off with a head shake.

“You can take one after.”

“Ok” you dishearteningly murmur in response.

Five minutes later, Ike enters the bedroom dressed for bed.

“Shower’s open.”

Silently staring at him for a second, grabbing your night clothes; you head to the bathroom then.

*

We kissed goodnight

And we turn out the lights

We laid side by side in the dark

And we're waiting for sleep or a spark

But the night's on the run

And the spark does not come

And we quietly worry and wonder

And the silence is louder than thunder

And it rings with the sound of goodbye 

Wiping the fog off the mirror, you silently study your reflection.

Was your relationship truly in danger or was it all in your mind?

She was taller than you, far more talented, dare you even say; more beautiful?

She was everything you were not, and the fact that Ike was enthralled with her, hurt you to the core.

“Stop making up crazy assumptions...” you verbally scold yourself.

“You’re the one that has his ring on your finger. You’re the one that’ll officially be Mrs. Evans in two weeks.”

It rings with the sound of goodbye

I can't even tell you just why

It may be the truth or it may be a lie

But it sounds like the sound of goodbye

*

Entering back into the bedroom, you’re surprised to see that Ike’s bedside lamp had been turned off and he seemed to be sleeping already.

Softly sighing in disappointment, you walk to your side of the bed and climbed in.

Quietly listening to his breathing for a few seconds, you realize that he might still be awake.

“Ike...?” you whisper softly but he doesn’t respond.

Tears begin to form in your eyes when realizing he was purposely ignoring you.

“Goodnight... I love you” you murmur out, turning onto your side to face away from him as the silent tears began to run down your cheeks.

We can talk of the weather

We can talk of the news

We can talk of the talk of the town

There's another true love going down

We can talk about promises, talk about lies

But there's no use in pointing our fingers

And the sound of "I love you" still lingers

But it rings with the sound of goodbye

*

Waking up the next morning, you were surprised to find Ike gone from the room already, a note left on the table.

“Had a last-minute meeting.”

You frown at the note for a second.

Strange, he never mentioned anything about another meeting.

It rings with the sound of goodbye

I can't even tell you just why

It may be the truth or it may be a lie

But it sounds like the sound of goodbye

Time is forever

But love is a fire

And one day is one degree colder

*

Deciding to get some enjoyment out of your time in Havana, you went out to go shopping.

It was almost late afternoon when you were browsing around the last boutique on your list. With your back toward the entrance, you were completely thrown off-guard when hearing an intimately familiar chuckle.

It can’t be...

You thought you were mistaken but then he spoke.

Tilting your head in confusion, you were about to turn around but instantly froze when hearing a female voice giggling in response to him.

It couldn’t be her? Could it?

Slowly moving sideways to the opposite direction that they were walking to, you then turned around and there in front of your eyes; was the man that you loved, your fiancé; Ike, with his arm wrapped around the waist of none other than Vera.

You don’t make yourself known by them, don’t confront them either. Instead, you quietly but hastily leave to head back to the hotel. And that was where Ike found you later that evening, silently sitting at the breakfast table as he delivered the hardest blow your heart had ever received.

And the clock's tickin' over your shoulder

And it ticks and it ticks, and it ticks and it ticks

*

“There’s no easy way to say this...” Ike lets out an uncomfortable breath.

As loudly as your heart was screaming in denial, you had the gut-wrenching feeling that you knew exactly what his next words were about to be.

And then to your utmost horror, he says them.

“I’m sorry, but I've fallen out of love with you.”

“You’re in love with someone else, aren’t you...?”

A single tear slowly trickles down your cheek as you stared dazed-like into open space.

Ike sighs softly, dropping his head and nods.

“Yes.”

You shut your eyes as more tears began to flow, biting hard into your lip to stifle any crying sounds that threaten to escape.

“It’s Vera, isn’t it...?”

Ike lets out an even heavier sigh.

“Yes. I’m sorry...”

And it ticks with the sound of goodbye

I can't even tell you just why

It may be the truth or it may be a lie

But it sounds like the sound of goodbye.... 

Nxt

[donovankinard]

whumptober masterlist ✮

one month, 96 prompts, 51953 words, 9 pairings, several hundred tags, 31 fics, the 911verse and a whole lot of late nights have built up my completed whumptober. daily fics, spanning the month of october and containing physical and emotional pain for 911/ls characters, that have turned into a collection of some of my best works.

all 31 works for @whumptober 2024 are listed, linked and summarised under the cut ! includes a number of fics for @jeddieweek x

you're on the other side, as the skyline splits in two 1 - race against the clock: search party, panic attack, "if only we could hold on" mcd, la + tx, hen wilson & eddie diaz, 2.8k

Eddie’s good at his job, generally; he keeps a level head with his patients, he doesn’t take risks beyond what’s necessary, and he carries more compassion than the average person, he likes to think. And his friends are good at their jobs, too. He knows that. But when things get personal, when it’s Chris or Tommy or someone from the 118 on the line, he loses sight of it all. He loses the balance, the level head, the medical training and the firefighter training, it all goes down the drain. Marjan grabs his shoulder, dragging him out of the helicopter and further down the hillside, and all the way he feels like he can’t breathe; it’s not just the smoke that’s choking him out. Or the one where Hen’s gone missing, Eddie’s trying like hell to keep his head, and desperate times create panicked firefighters.

i'm home alone, and you're god knows where 2 - trust issues: amusement park, role reversal, "you got away with crime while the knife's in my back"no warnings, tx, carlos reyes/tk strand, 1k

A small mumble, something incoherent, comes from over by the table; Carlos rounds the couch, flicking on a lamp and sighing lowly as warm light floods the room. The scene before him isn’t a regular one, but it isn’t something he’s not seen, either. Only once before, right after TK first officially moved in with him. That was one of the only times, really, that Carlos sincerely believed TK would relapse; between the closed-off air and the tinge of crushing emotion, he truly thought that that would be it. Not least because he wasn’t even sure what was wrong; he’d merely come home to find TK sitting on the floor in front of the couch, eyes bloodshot and phone sitting open in front of him. His phone, sitting open to Carlos’ texts. Or the one where TK’s past always feels like his future, and Carlos tries to undo the harm Alex did.

lay on the horn, to prove that it haunts me 3 - set up for failure: fingerprints, wrongfully arrested, "i warned you" no warnings, la, evan buckley & athena grant, 1.4k

Starting a fire, a flickering flame that eats away at not only someone’s possessions, but their past? Their home, their security, their memories? He’s spent more than half his adult life trying to save even fragments of people’s lives from the chaos of the flames, and anyone who would do the opposite, who would actively destroy them, doesn’t deserve even an ounce of his respect or kindness. So to be accused of such is not only a terrifying experience, but a personal offence, to him. Or the one where Evan Buckley is charged with arson, and he works out who his real family are.

forest that once was green, colored black by killing machines 4 - hallucinations: hypnosis, sensory deprivation, "you're still alive in my head"ptsd/discussions of dead characters, la, evan buckley & eddie diaz, 1.5k

But when Eddie turned up, when they first became close, it woke Buck up a little. He educated himself; on the troops in Afghanistan, on the tumultuous violence and the horrific sights, on the experiences of incomparable emotional and physical agony. There was more than one night, after that first shift with Eddie, where Buck would spend hours twisted in his bedsheets thinking over the pages and pages of military history and soldier accounts and articles from Texan newspapers about Eddie’s medal. He was determined, really, to understand what the man had been through; that was the only way he knew how to help, was to understand, was to learn. Or the one where Eddie’s past won’t leave him be, Buck doesn’t know how to help, and the military took more than anyone’s inclined to admit.

i'm still trying everything to keep you looking at me 5 - sunburn: healing salve, heatstroke, "if my pain will stretch that far" no warnings, la, evan & maddie buckley, 1.2k

“Evan, you cannot keep doing this.” “Get off my back.” Evan seethes, pulling out of Maddie’s touch. Her hands are cold, as is the cream she’s applying; but her touch is pressing on his back, and the ointment stings on the burns, leaving Evan gritting his teeth. “I just forgot, okay?” “It’s not okay.” Maddie insists, grabbing his wrist and holding his arm still as she spreads the white cream down his shoulder, fingers careful but firm. “D’you know what these kinds of burns can do? Melanoma, DNA damage, abnormal cell development. Photoaging. Cancer.” Or the one where Maddie’s leaving, Buck’s pissed, and the burns on the outside aren’t the ones that hurt the worst.

i keep telling myself that it's them and not me 6 - not realising they're injured: unhealthy coping mechanisms, healed wrong, "it's not my blood" blood/injury, tx, tarlos, carlos reyes & mateo chavez, 1.9k

Carlos’ knuckles are rough and tender where they meet the fabric of Mateo’s shirt, and his eyes are bleary with tears, stinging and bloodshot from the dust blowing around them. Wind whips around his ears, almost taunting him with howls that feel like agony. The pouring rain does nothing to dampen the brown grit flying through the air around them, the smack of water on the road echoing through the street, accented by screams and the distant intonation of sirens. Or the one where Carlos has to get Mateo to safety, but his own pain falls by the wayside in the process.

are you with me, are you drifting through your doubt? 7 - only for emergencies; unconventional weapon, magic with cost, "it's us or them" injury/mental illness, la, christopher diaz & evan buckley, 3.5k

These thoughts, these ideas of who he is and where he fits in, seem to sit on him a lot now. They weigh on his mind, and they’re heavy now, looking at these photographs, until Buck gives a small whisper of some choice words that Eddie would not be happy to know he’s using in front of Chris. “What?” Christopher asks, looking over to Buck until a shrill yell comes from outside his rolled-down window, and he turns to see what’s happening; most people are still in their cars, but two cars ahead a man’s climbed on the windshield of a silver Ford, face twisted in panic and shirt stained in several places. Or the one where Christopher has a lot to learn, Buck can’t be the one to teach him, and the people society shuns are the ones they end up fearing.

all of your falling, does it get exhausting, have you gotten sleep? 8 - sleep deprivation: isolation chamber, forced to stay awake, "leave the lights on" mental illness, la, evan buckley/tommy kinard, 2k

But when he swings open the loft door, he knows immediately that this is not Evan at his best; the lights are all on, which is rare, because Evan usually packs it all in for the night before Tommy gets home. The house is cold and the heatings off, the curtains are all drawn but there’s a thick wooden cutting board abandoned on the kitchen counter, two knives set on it with capsicum, carrot and zucchini. Or the one where Evan cracks under the weight of his own thoughts, Tommy witnesses his worst times for the first time, and sometimes all you can do is be there.

i'll always be looking for you in the distance, wherever i am 9 - obsession: broken window, bruises, "frame me up on the wall, just to keep me out of trouble" post mcd, tx, carlos reyes & gabriel reyes, 1.2k

Carlos knows that this investigation is beyond just him; he isn’t just out of his depth, he’s going out of his mind. Every time he thinks he understands something, there’s a fresh piece of information that changes things, a fresh perspective he hasn’t taken, a fresh alibi that wrecks his theory. If anything, having so many clues and leads should be satisfying; instead, it’s pushing him in circles of suspects and innocence, every hour spent on the case feeling the same as the one before. A waste. Or the one where Carlos is investigating his father’s case, every street leads back to the beginning, and a window takes the brunt of his frustration.

when i scream, you're my echo, will you cry if i let go? 10 - blow to the head; slurred words, passing out from the pain, "i can't think straight" + A7: no-holds-barred beatdown blood/injury, la, evan buckley & eddie diaz, 1.5k

Of course, when everything happened with the illegal boxing ring years ago, Buck was angry. At Eddie for getting mixed up in it, at Lena for her involvement, at himself, for not knowing what was going on. Eddie was putting Christopher’s last remaining parent in danger, but he was also putting Buck at the risk of losing one of the most important people in his life, and the latter didn’t know whether he was even allowed to be mad at him for that part of it all. It was frustrating, and it was overwhelming, and it was the kind of anger that sat inside Buck, like rust growing over every part of his life until all of his loved ones were red with his pain. Or the one where Christopher’s gone, Eddie returns to fighting to cope with his frustration, and the anger in Buck’s chest changes form, but doesn’t ever quite leave him.

you're not even here, but you're doing my head in 11 - seeing double; convenience store, loneliness, "leave no trace behind, like you don't even exist" no warnings, la, christopher diaz & eddie diaz, 1.5k

And Eddie thought, when Shannon left and he created this strength, this solidity, that nothing would break it. That no loss, no pain, could ever cause cracks in the foundation that was steadily built on his fatherhood. It wasn’t inherent, that strength; it was something he worked for, something he learned, and something he’d begun not to even notice. It wasn’t going anywhere, he’d thought. But then Chris left. And the strength did, too. Or the one where Christopher’s still in Texas, Eddie’s still in the convenience store, and the space between them feels infinite.

when will it stop being cool, to be quietly misunderstood? 12 - starvation: underground caverns, cannabalism, "just a little more" ednos, la, evan buckley & his parents, 1k

This idea, this thing that grew itself in his brain, started out as a tactic. A plan. A way to make his father catch his eye, make his mother look at him; not just look at him even, not look at his face, but see him, really see him. See the parts of him that aren’t all that pretty, the pieces that he hates to see in the mirror, and want it. Evan’s only ever wanted his parents to want him the way other people do, the way Maddie does, and this was supposed to help him do that. Or the one where Evan Buckley would do everything right if it would make his parents care, but he’s had to come up with other tactics.

i'm so sorry, i'm so confused, just tell me, am i out of time? 13 - team as a family: familial curse, multiple whumpees, "death will do us part" blood/injury/mcd, la, bobby nash & 118 firehouse crew, 1.2k

“I’m telling you, my name is Henrietta Wilson and I’m with the Los Angeles Fire Department. I need to speak to Bobby Nash, he’s here, he’s the technical advisor, it’s urgent, please, I need to talk to him.” “You have to go through security–” “Hen?” Bobby practically shoots out of his chair, waving away the crew and ignoring the scoff of the director on the far side of the room. “Hey, she’s a friend.” Or the one where mistakes have been made, it could cost someone’s life, and Bobby just wishes he had been there.

and i still talk to you, when i'm screaming at the sky 14 - left for dead: hunting gear, blackmail, "because i want you to know what it feels like to be haunted" post mcd/grief, tx, carlos reyes & owen strand, 1.7k

Carlos isn’t sure how he got to that point, that moment; he thought he’d done it right. He thought that he’d figured it out, he’d found the bad guy, he could take the punishment into his own hands and dish out the consequences, and it wouldn’t matter. It wouldn’t affect TK, it wouldn’t affect their yet-to-be marriage, it wouldn’t hurt him. They’ve always been separate, in his mind; his work, his family, and his Tyler. They’ve been three separate things, three separate lives that he leads, and that was how he wanted it. He’s gotten too used to one not affecting another, he realises sharply, his second whiskey pouring down his throat. Or the one where Carlos nearly makes a grave mistake, Owen tries to help him with his grief, and a man being dead doesn’t make him innocent.

wishing these memories would fade, they never do 15 - childhood trauma: painful hug, moment of clarity, "i did good, right? post cd, la, evan buckley & bobby nash, 1.6k

Given the complexities of his childhood, Buck should, in all self-honesty, be more adjusted to this idea by now. He spent his fair share of time in the emergency room or the backs of ambulances – as well as one or two cop cars, but that’s mostly irrelevant – and thus has plenty of experience watching teenagers doing the same things he did, getting hurt the same way he did. It’s been eight years since he joined the 118, and he’s had thousands of familiar-feeling calls in that time – and far more than one motorcycle crash. Or the one where the civvies are like mirrors to Buck, childhood is better remembered, and Bobby seems to know just what to say.

this is the last damn thing that i hold close to me 16 - necrosis: swamp, wound cleaning, "no, i can't feel anything' injury/infection, tx, carlos reyes/tk strand, 1.5k

It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to work out what an effort Carlos has been making since TK voiced his concerns of them drifting apart, and the improvement has been both significant and obvious; not just in their relationship, but in Carlos’ mood, in his demeanour. Getting through sex without falling asleep has definitely gotten easier, because they just went for two rounds for the first time since their honeymoon, and Carlos is still pressing languid kisses to TK’s neck. Or the one where Carlos is insatiable, TK’s paramedic instincts kick in, and they’re as strong as ever for all their flaws.

but tonight your apartment had so much appeal 17 - nowhere else to go: ruined map, shipwrecked, "we had a good run" + A2: communication barrier addiction (ref.), tx, tk strand & nancy gillian

She was hoping that would bring a smile out, but TK’s face remains fairly stony, the quirk at the corner of his mouth coming far more from a place of politeness than genuine amusement. Nancy gestures to the sofa, and TK sits while she grabs two sodas from the fridge, passing one to him and flopping onto her beanbag in the corner with the other. Or the one where TK and Carlos broke up, Nancy doesn’t know how to help, and sometimes the only place you can go is the best place you could be.

we're too young to drown, deep in dirty waters 18 - revenge: unreliable narrator, loss of identity, "i see what's mine and i take it" + A3: finding old messages post mcd/grief, tx, carlos reyes/tk strand & gabriel reyes, 2.1k

The photographs on the walls feature a Gabriel that never existed; a man who had no flaws, a man remembered by everyone as the smartest, the strongest. A family man, apparently. It all makes Carlos scoff mentally, but then the guilt overtakes him, and he returns a few days later to assist his mother with her latest panicked dilemma. Or the one where Gabriel left certain things behind, and Carlos isn’t sure how to feel about it all.

i don't know who i would be, if you ever leave 19 - blood trail: abandoned cabin, one way out, "is there anybody alive out there?" blood/injury, tx, carlos reyes/tk strand, 1.7k

TK tries not to involve himself in Carlos’ work with the Rangers; it’s complicated, and often confidential, and rarely as life-threatening as his own work. So he tries to stay two steps back, waiting for his husband to open up, to speak his mind, to share whatever case or suspect or civilian is the owner of the weight he’s bearing at the time. It doesn’t often happen, and when it does it’s usually very little, but if he has to go away for work he always makes sure TK knows exactly where he’s going, when he should be finished, and which Rangers or police officers should be with him. Or the one where Rangers Reyes and Campbell disappear during a work trip out to the hill country, and TK takes matters into his own hands to find them.

we ain't angry at you love, you're the greatest thing we've lost 20 - emotional angst: shoulder to cry on, giving permission to die, "it's not your fault" mcd, la, evan buckley/eddie diaz, 1.4k

Which shouldn’t be such a terrifying prospect, because Buck is known also for being one to go against the odds, to fight chance, and to win. But this time, Eddie’s not so sure. Eddie’s not so sure that Buck can come back from it, this time; regardless of his pure resilience, his determination, his stubbornness, Eddie just… doesn’t see it happening, not realistically. Not knowing what he does, about Buck’s injuries and about lightning and about loss and about death. Or the one where Buck was struck by lightning, Eddie knows that he needs to let go, and sometimes it’s a disservice to keep someone’s heart beating for our own sake.

i'm a falling star, a glimmer lighting up these cotton streets 21 - body horror: tattoo gun, spirit possession, "let the bedsheet soak up the tears" + jeddie week day one: LOVE MAKES A FAMILY no warnings, la, josh russo/eddie diaz, 1.5k

“We knew he wouldn’t be all-in, straight away, though. Like, we knew that, we were prepared for that.” Eddie insists, waving at the space around him. And they did – when Christopher announced he was returning from Texas, Josh sat him down and opened the conversation of what this would mean for them. The answer was… Eddie didn’t know; but it would take Christopher at least a couple weeks to warm up to the idea, he’d guessed. “I mean, when Buck first started going out with Tommy, it took two months for Christopher to be okay with even speaking to him.” Or the one where Josh endures an awkward dinner, the jury’s still out on the Diaz-Russo family, and Eddie’s love is the best reassurance.

it's like a mountain that's been weighing on my conscience 22 - bleeding through bandages: tourniquet, reopening wounds, "oh thats not good" + jeddie week day two: TRICKS + TREATS blood/injury, la, josh russo/eddie diaz & christopher diaz, 2.1k

But this is Christopher’s first Halloween back in Los Angeles; he came home not long after Christmas, and in the months since January has returned completely to comfort in Eddie’s presence. The rift between them faded so much in the time back together that, despite Eddie insisting Christopher could go with his friends if he wanted, the teenager asked if he could go with Eddie, Josh, Buck and Tommy instead. Or the one where Christopher and his dad are finally back on balanced ground, but Eddie can’t help feeling like he’s about to wreck it all over again.

we were closer, now it's over, but it doesn't mean it's closure 23 - forced choice: public display, broken pedestal, "i'm doing this for you" post mcd/grief, la, evan buckley & eddie diaz, 2.1k

It’s no small feat, what Eddie did; the crowd filming outside caught every single moment of it all. Him running back into the building, the IC hollering through the radio for him to stop as dust billowed around the ground floor; the echo of cracking concrete grinding against itself, and the woman stumbling down the steps as it all gives way, an agonizing yell bursting out between the huge crash of rebar and aggregate before silence as the dust settled. Or the one where Eddie loses his life in the line of duty, and Buck realizes the realities of the loss.

every single thing to come has turned into ashes 24 - radiation poisoning: collapsed building, equipment failure, "i never knew daylight could be so violent" + jeddie week day four: MISSING YOU post mcd/grief, la, eddie diaz/josh russo & bobby nash, 2.1k

Buck’s voice keeps Josh up at night; the splintering, cracking of his tone and the pain when he says Eddie’s name. The howling agony that seemed to rip from his chest, his grief like a creature clawing its way out, tearing flesh in it’s desperation. And then there were the faces, from every direction; pity, and fear, and the rough impress of grief on Maddie’s expression, because this isn’t just another man down, it isn’t just another mayday. It’s Eddie. Or the one where Eddie’s been gone for a month, now, Bobby wants to offer his help, and Josh can’t work out how he’s supposed to feel.

don't tell me about your problems if you're not tryna solve them 25 - surgery: stitches, being monitored, "it's for your own good" + jeddie week day five: PET PEEVES post injury/recovery, la, eddie diaz/josh russo, 1.4k

“Eddie, I love you. And as much as it scares the shit out of me, I want you to go back to work, I know how much your job means to you, and I know that you’re really helping people by being there. But if you go back in this state, then you might not be able to do that. Or worse, you might not make it home from your shift. So cut it out, this is for your own good.” Josh hates how sharp his voice sounds when he speaks, how every line is delivered with some sort of twisted fear, but not a single word of it is a lie. Eddie’s body needs time to heal, to recuperate. Or the one where Eddie’s cabin fever is getting to him, Josh is offering the best that he can, and the best medics make the worst doctors.

and the words i most regret are the ones i never meant to leave 26 - nightmares: breakfast table, parting words of regret, "i'm haunted by the lies that i have lvoed, the actions i have hated" post mcd/grief, la, eddie diaz & carla price & evan buckley, 1.2k

Eddie hasn’t heard anything from Chimney, or Maddie, or Buck, for that matter, since he left the firehouse; the last one seems somewhat irrelevant, seeing as the last they spoke Eddie essentially told him to fuck off in the middle of a supermarket, but the chill down Eddie’s spine echoes the disturbance in Carla’s voice. And if his gut is right, if the panic creeping like sweat across his skin is warranted, then something very, very wrong has happened. Or the one where Buck loses his life right in the middle of the lawsuit, and Eddie regrets all the last words he spoke.

at the end of every road, you were good to me 27 - voiceless: laboratory, muzzled, "i have no mouth and i must scream" post mcd/grief, la, christopher diaz & firehouse 118 crew, 2k

When Buck spoke at the funeral, it became really obvious to the fifteen-year-old – and to everyone else in the room – that he was not going to be the kind of person to sit down and allow everyone to talk over Eddie’s shortcomings. He’d been pointed and harsh about the video, and he’d tried to eradicate the weird sort of savior image that’s been painted in Eddie’s memory. And it worked, mostly – people stopped acting like Eddie was some hero who died saving someone, and started really treating his death like that of a fellow human. Painful and tragic, rather than heroic and brilliant. Or the one where Christopher is feeling the loss of his father, Buck is trying his best to help, and sometimes you just don’t know what to say.

if he ain't ever coming back, i'ma need some whiskey glasses 28 - denial: cctv, exposure, "they caught me red-handed" + A9: secrets revealed substance abuse, la, josh russo/eddie diaz, 1.1k

Eddie realises exactly two things, when the pounding his head echoes back into realisation and his awareness brings itself high enough: one, he is in a bed - and two, it is not his own. The sheets against his skin are soft, an airy, light blue shade lit by the cloudy glare coming in from the window. The walls on every side are bare, painted a cool grey shade, and the furniture is all white timber. The bed creaks quietly when he sits up, and the room comes into somewhat of a focus. Or the one where Eddie got a little too out of it in a bar, Josh brought him home for the night, and it’s hard to feel valuable when you’re nobody’s first pick.

trying hard not to be, i'm better when you're next to me 29 - fatigue: labyrinth, burnout, "who said you could rest?" no warnings, la, josh russo/eddie diaz, 1.4k

And there’s something in it all, something tender and warm and caring, that Eddie loves; but it still sparks defensiveness in his chest and panic in his stomach and an independent sort of fight in every muscle in his body, pushing and pushing outwards and pressing against his brain so much it makes him dizzy, until it all spills over and bursts into too–harsh words and useless insults. Or the one where Eddie’s overworking himself just to avoid Josh, and the rift between them is more than physical.

made it out alive, but i think i lost it 30 - recovery: hospital bed, holding back tears, "what have i done?" + A11: Survivors Guilt mcd/grief, la, evan buckley & christopher diaz, 1.3k

The makeshift-hospital sheets are pooled around his hips, and the lights are a cool, sterile white, dim in the late evening; his lungs heave with his breaths, and he’s dizzy with the way everything rushes back, clarity and confusion hurtling toward him in one twisted package of a sudden flood of thought. He’s only slept for a few hours, but he feels like it’s been years – and yet he’s entirely unrested, all at once. Or the one where Christopher didn’t make it out of the tsunami, even Eddie can’t seem to blame Buck, and sometimes you just need to feel hated.

fights turn into making up, and making up turns into love 31 - asking for help: therapy, making amends, "i'm alive, i'm just not well" substance abuse (ref.), la, josh russo/eddie diaz, 1.8k

Neither of them miss the curious glance that Maddie gives them when they walk off, nor do they pay mind to it; Josh links his hand in Eddie’s and pulls him onto the floor, skin sparking like fireworks up both of their arms and the warm light of the bar bathing them in a golden glow. The bassline thumps beneath their feet, aching through Eddie’s bones and blending into the swarm of light and sound and their people around them, Buck and Chimney hollering every word of the song blaring from the speakers while Josh and Eddie jump around. Or the one where Eddie gets out of his head, Josh gets into his heart, and there’s truly never been a better dance partner.

my ao3 whumptober series my whumptober playlist

[i-have-a-wonky-eye-too]

The Reason... (Part 6)

Chris Evans x reader smut

<Part 5< >Part 7>

In celebration of Chris being named The Sexiest Man Alive 2022!

Warnings: 18+ readers only, swearing, unprotected sex, pictures not mine (credit to owner)

"Sweetheart..." Chris gently shook your shoulder. "Babe... Sweetheart, wake-up." Chris shook you again, a little harder this time to wake you up.

You groaned, turning your head slightly in his direction. "Chris?" You asked still very much asleep, not bothering to open your eyes.

"Wake-up, baby, I have something to show you." He softly smiled down at you from where he was sat up against the head board of your shared bed.

You opened one eye to look at him over your shoulder, "Is it your dick?" You asked sounding more awake and hopeful.

Chris' brow furrowed. "What? No."

You tutted, turning back over and shutting your eye again. "M'sleeping."

Chris shook his head with a soft chuckle, "Are you serious? We had sex like, a few hours ago."

"And I'm sleeping right now." You muttered.

Chris rolled his eyes, "Will you just look at these, please." Chris held his laptop over the side of you.

You groaned at the bright light. "Ah, stop," You pushed his arm away. "Let me wake-up first."

Chris dropped his head back with a smile as you sat up grumbling to yourself and reached over to switch your bedside lamp on. The bright light made the pair of you groan along with Dodger. He quickly jumped off the end of the bed and wondered off to find his own bit of peace.

"Right," You took the laptop of from him with a huff. "This better be worth-" Your eyes widened and your mouth fell open. "Good lord..."

"Do you like them?" Chris asked nervously as he watched your face. "They're the final photos they're going to use in the issue. Are they sexy?"

You looked up at him with a frown. "Are you kidding me? Yes, they're sexy. They're," You shook your head as you stared at the picture of him in the green dress shirt.

You licked your lips, "This is why I'm always horny." You said looking up at him with a smirk.

Chris rolled his eyes with a tut. "They made me look like that for the-"

"You always look like that." You huffed as you closed the laptop placing it on your beside table. "Like, right now..." You moved under the covers and straddled him, thanking the lord the two of you sleep naked as you pressed your body against his, cupping his face in your hands, "Especially, right now, because you have that relaxed, homey..." You kissed his lips softly, "... just fucked look going on and I love that look." You smiled at him making him chuckle.

Chris' hands moved up your thighs to squeeze at your hips. "I know what you mean, it's my favorite look on you, too." He smirked as he moved his hands up your waist as he pressed his mouth against yours.

You moaned softly as the head of Chris' cock brushed between your thighs. You slipped your hand between you and positioned his thick cock against your already wet slit and slowly began to sink down.

"Go slow, baby," Chris whispered against your mouth.

You nodded, whimpering as his thick length filled you. You both moaned as he bottomed out.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, holding him close as Chris moved his hands over the curve of your ass. You slowly began to move your hips letting Chris' cock slip in and out of you. Your head fell back with a moan as Chris trailed his lips down your throat and over your shoulder, lightly nipping and sucking your skin.

You gave a harder roll of your hips making Chris groan and dig his fingers into your flesh.

"Fuck," He let his head fall back against the head board. "Sweetheart," He placed his feet flat on the mattress and gave a sharp thrust of his hips making you cry out.

"More," You begged.

Chris wrapped his left arm around your waist and placed right hand behind him, resting his weight on it as he bent his knees and began pounded up into you.

"Yes! Chris... there...-" You screamed out in pleasure as he hit your g-stop, your eyes rolling back and your nails digging into his back.

"Ah shit! Baby- fuck-" Chris moaned, his mouth hung open as you squeezed around his cock.

You threaded your fingers through his hair and pulled his face close to yours, crashing your lips against his in a passionate kiss.

Your whole body shook as your orgasm ripped through you making your toes curl and your fingers tug on Chris' hair as you pulled back with deep moan.

Chris gave a few more harsh thrusts, his fingers digging into your plump ass as he stilled, cuming deep inside you with shout.

The pair of you collapsed onto the bed in each other's arms as you slowly caught your breath.

Chris gave you lazy smile as he reached up and brushed your hair back from your face. He leaned in and pressed his lips against yours softly, "I love you, sweetheart." He whispered.

"I love you too," You smiled at him softly. "Did you keep that green shirt?" You asked, your eyes closed as sleep tried to claim once more.

Chris chuckled as he rolled onto his back. "Yes... I saw the way you rubbed your thighs together when I put it on."

You grinned at him. "... Nothing to do with us getting cum on it then?"