#duck sips coffee

[tyra-altavilla]

Here's a GIF

And here's all of the frames!!

[whytheylosttheirminds]

Don't Call Me Kid - Chapter 2

(Rafe Cameron x Reader series, 4.9k words)

series summary: You'd had a crush on Rafe Cameron since you were six years old, but he friend zoned you at every turn. Once shy and insecure, you found new confidence and self-love after high school. When your high school friends go on a reunion beach trip, Rafe finally sees what he lost, but he isn't going to give you up without a fight.

tropes: unrequited crush, glow up, she fell first/he fell harder

content: some angst, eventual fluff, slow burn, tomfoolery and shenanigans, drinking, fem!reader has occasional insecurity and body image issues

⇢ series masterlist

After weeks of all-nighters and cramming for finals, sleeping in on your first morning at the beach house felt incredible. It was only 9:30 when you finally stirred in the comfy bed, but it felt late in the day.

Coming down the stairs in your pjs and slippers, you smiled at the sound of your sister’s voice, joking around with her old friends. Your goal this trip was for her to have a good time, and despite the emotional rollercoaster of seeing Rafe yesterday, at this moment, you were glad you decided to stay. You entered the room to see half the house was awake, though neither Rafe or Tom had made an appearance yet.

“Ladies and gentleman, it’s Kerri Walsh Jennings!” Topper deepened his voice like a sports announcer when you entered the kitchen. The few people who were up all turned to you, playfully bowing and applauding like you were a true Olympian. You grinned and rolled your eyes, surprised at how comfortable you felt with the unprecedented attention.

Topper was at the stove flipping pancakes for everyone’s breakfast, wearing an apron that said “kiss the cook.” As you approached the kitchen island to grab a stool next to your sister, he leaned over, holding the spatula like a microphone.

“So tell us, Kerri, now that you’ve won the gold what will you do next?”

“Well, Top,” you played along. “First, I’m going to get some coffee…then I’m going straight to Disneyland!”

Everyone in the kitchen laughed, making the tips of your ears turn red. No one ever laughed at your jokes in high school, not that you were confident enough to make many. Rafe would tell you sometimes that you were funny, so long as no one was around to hear him admit it.

“Well I can help you with the first part,” Topper said, grabbing a mug and the coffee pot.

“Wow, so domestic of you, Topper,” you teased as he poured your steaming coffee in front of you.

“He’s our house mother,” Carter said, smiling wide at Topper who did a jokey little curtsy motion. Clearly this was a running joke between them.

Topper handed you a plate of pancakes, which Kelce promptly reached over your shoulder to steal. 

“Since when are you such an athlete?” Kelce asked, his mouth already full with your breakfast.

You told them all about your team at school, surprised out of your mind that everyone was actually listening intently.

Rafe woke up groggy and sore, ducking his head as he walked through the basement and made his way up the rickety steps. As he reached for the handle of the door which opened into the kitchen, he smiled at the sound of your voice on the other side. His smile quickly faded when he heard Kelce interrupt you with, “Yeah and you kicked Rafe’s ass, too, made him your bitch.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” 

Every head in the kitchen whipped towards the sound of Rafe’s voice as he emerged, except for yours. You shuffled slightly on your stool and sipped your coffee. Rafe didn’t miss the way you were ignoring him, his eyes grazing quickly over the smoothe skin of your shoulders before redirecting to anything he could find. 

“Cute apron, Top,” he landed on.

“Thanks man,” Topper said, ignoring his mocking tone. “Want some flapjacks?”

“Ew, who calls them flapjacks?” Carter burst out laughing. 

“Well now you don’t get any,” Topper scolded, pulling her plate away from her and handing it to Rafe.

“I don’t want ‘em if Carter’s put her mouth near them,” Rafe mocked. “We don’t know where she’s been.”

“Says the guy who licked the gym floor in seventh grade,” you said quietly.

The entire room came to a halt, everyone surprised at the sound of you joining in on the teasing. No one had actually heard you address Rafe yet. The awkwardness hung in the air, all eyes going wide as they waited to see if the notorious hothead was going to be able to take what he was dishing out. You just picked at your pancakes with your fork and hoped everyone would move on, but Rafe smirked at you, a playful twinkle in his eye.

“That was on a dare,” he defended himself.

When you finally looked up at him, your stomach twisted into a knot as you noticed how cute he looked in his white undershirt and grey sweats, messy bedhead and sleepy eyes. You immediately regretted acknowledging that you remembered something he did so long ago. Now, he was looking at you with something like excitement, smug that you were talking to him, like your big triumph the day before had never happened. 

“Oh, I didn’t remember that part.” It was a lie, you remembered everything he ever said or did.

Rafe’s face dropped at your impassive tone, his brief window of hope that all was forgiven slammed shut.

To your great relief, Tom chose that moment to enter the room, drawing the attention away from you and Rafe. He had apparently been out on a run, and his under armor shirt, wet with sweat, clinged to his form to reveal a sculpted chest below.

“How we doin’ everyone?” His cheery voice boomed. He slapped Topper on the back before giving Kelce a frat bro handshake across the counter. “What do we have here?” He whistled appreciatively at the spread Topper had put out.

As Topper rattled on about the many flavors and shapes of pancakes he could offer, Tom looked over at you with a cheeky smile and mouthed “good morning!” You smiled back with a little wave, butterflies erupting in your stomach at the way he was singling you out. 

After the volleyball game last night, you’d all gone to a seafood restaurant on the water. Tom had chosen the seat next to you, and made extremely pleasant dinner company. He asked you all about yourself, about school and what you were planning for the future. He was a great listener, and you were so glad to have someone to chat normally with without the baggage of your childhood hanging over your head. You hoped the week would hold many more cozy conversations with him.

Unbeknownst to you, Carter was watching as you smiled at him in the kitchen, and so was Rafe. They had very different looks on their face as they realized at the same moment that something was happening between you and Tom.

After Topper and Kelce reclaimed Tom’s attention, talking over each other about their plans to go fishing later, Carter squeezed your elbow and motioned with a nod for you to follow her out onto the patio. 

“Ummm, okay, what was that?” Carter asked with arched eyebrows once you were settled on the patio couch next to her.

“Oh my god I know. I shouldn’t have said anything, do you think everyone will think it’s weird I remember something he did in seventh grade?” You asked worriedly.

Carter scrunched her brows in confusion for a minute before waving you off with her hand. “Oh, no not Rafe, he’s old news. I’m talking about your little moment with Tom!”

“Oh, uh,” you cleared your throat, embarrassed that you were still lingering on Rafe when she clearly wasn’t. “I don’t know, he’s nice.”

“He’s fucking gorgeous is what he is,” she fanned herself theatrically.

“Are you into him?” Your stomach dropped at the thought that she might be interested. In your eyes, Carter always had first pick, and surely if Tom thought she was interested he’d choose her over you in a heartbeat.

“No,” she shook her head. “I’m having too much fun messing with Topper.”

You laughed hard at that, “yeah, I noticed. Are you two back on again?”

“Maybe,” she shrugged. “You think if I play my cards right I could get him to propose?”

“I think you could probably get him to do just about anything,” you chuckled.

“Okay, then it’s settled, I’ve got Topper and you,” she poked at your side and you swatted her hand away, “will make a move on Tom.”

“I don’t know about ‘make a move,” you took a long sip of your coffee, suddenly anxious.

Carter eyed you curiously, recognizing the insecurity she hoped you had left behind now that things were going so well. She didn’t understand how you still couldn’t see how amazing you are, but she was determined to prove it to you by the end of this trip.

Rafe did his best not to stare at you through the sliding door, but when he heard your melodic laugh float in through the screen, he couldn’t help the way his head snapped toward the sound, wishing desperately that it was him making you laugh like that. You used to laugh at all his jokes, and he’d taken it for granted. The sad thing was, he actually loved hanging out with you. You had a great sense of humor, and he always felt so comfortable when it was just you and him. He knows now he should’ve just called it what it was, been with you in public too. But he had so many eyes on him back then, and he was worried what people would think. Plus, he knew you’d stick by him even if he treated you like shit, and he took advantage of that. He kicked himself mentally, feeling like a Grade A chump while you sat there, looking beautiful in the ocean breeze, smiling through the window at some guy you’d met yesterday.

As he lost himself in his thoughts, Topper noticed him staring at you, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

“She looks good, huh?” He asked Rafe.

“What?” Rafe shook his head as if he could erase the thoughts that were plaguing him. “Who?”

“Oh, come on,” Topper nodded towards you and Carter on the deck.

“I dunno,” Rafe tried to play it off. “She looks the same I guess, a little different.”

“Bro,” Topper gave him an incredulous look. “She’s a fucking smokeshow. You’re into her, don’t even try and fool me.”

“If you're so into her, why don’t you go for her?” Rafe snapped at him.

Topper shook his head, “maybe because I’m not the one she was obsessed with for a decade.”

“She wasn’t obsessed with me,” Rafe protested. “We were friends.”

“Right,” Topper said sarcastically. “And I was a number one draft pick. Dude, she was in love with you, everyone knew it.”

Rafe leaned forward on the counter, propped on his elbows, looking down at his uneaten pancakes with a frown. His stomach twisted with guilt. Of course everyone knew, he knew it too. And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t use your adoration of him to his advantage from time to time. Okay, all the time. He couldn’t really blame you for still being mad at him, he was a dick. But he liked to think he’d grown some since then, not that you had any reason to give him a chance to prove it.

“I think she’s into your buddy, Dom, or whatever his name is,” Rafe grumbled.

“First of all,” Topper pointed the spatula at him, “you know his name is Tom. And second of all, I love the guy, but he’s got nothing on you. Give me one day, she’ll be back.”

“Don’t do anything weird, man,” Rafe warned, cringing at the thought of what kind of damage an unsupervised Topper could inflict.

“Don’t worry dude, I got it handled,” Topper assured him.

Rafe just chuckled and sipped his coffee, knowing this was a losing battle, “whatever you say, Top.”

The door slid open and you and Carter reentered the kitchen. Tom stood from his place at the little breakfast nook when you walked in, and you were relieved that he ended his conversation with Maddie and Sabrina so abruptly at the sight of you. He smiled down at you before heading into the kitchen to help Topper clean up. Rafe was noticeably not helping, sitting at the counter scrolling on his phone.

“No phones,” Carter said, swiping it from him. 

“Give it,” he held his large hand out to her, jaw ticking with annoyance.

“C’mon Rafe, don’t you want to live in the present?” She badgered.

He tried to grab it quickly, but she lifted it above her head, tossing it to Kelce on the other side of the counter, who tossed it to Topper, and the game of hot potato continued, much to Rafe’s chagrin.

“Y’all are children,” he scowled, sitting back on the stool in defeat.

“Who are you even texting? All your friends are here,” Carter jeered.

“I was looking up directions to the grocery store, seeing as there’s no fucking food in this house besides beer, and apparently pancake mix,” Rafe explained.

“No need,” Topper said. “Tom, Kelce and I are spending the day on the water and we’ll grab some stuff on the way back.”

Carter frowned at the thought of both of your boys being gone the whole day, leaving little to distract you from Rafe. This wouldn’t do.

“No, you can’t go out today, we're having a cookout!” She announced to the room.

“We are?” Kelce scratched his head.

“Yes, we are,” Carter nodded confidently, wrapping her arm around Topper’s waist, which you knew was all it would take to get him to agree. “And mom here is going to grill for us.”

“Oh am I?” Topper asked, eyebrows raised in amusement, not exactly protesting.

“Yes, so someone else will need to go get the food,” Carter continued. You knew her well enough to see that a whole plan was unfolding in her head. “Sissy, why don’t you go?”

“That’s…fine,” you agreed reluctantly, narrowing your eyes at her, trying to figure out her play. “I need someone to go with me though, we’ll need a lot of stuff.”

Carter and Topper smiled in sync, both thinking they’d just come up with the best idea anyone has ever had.

At the same moment that Carter blurted out, “Tom can go with you!” Topper loudly suggested, “Rafe can take you!”

Your lips forming a tight line, you gave them both an exasperated look. Their heads snapped toward each other, eyeing each other suspiciously. Rafe scratched the back of his neck, annoyed at Topper for butting in and hating himself for hoping you’d choose to go with him and not Tom.

Tom, meanwhile, was watching all four of you from the corner of the room, never more confused in his life.

“It’s cool,” he said hesitantly, the awkwardness palpable. “All three of us can go.”

“Fine, but I’m driving,” Rafe stood from his seat. “Can I have my phone back now please?”

He reached his hand to Kelce, who was the last to have it. Kelce panicked, wanting to keep the game going, and tossed it to you. You very nearly dropped it, letting it bounce between your hands but eventually securing it before it fell.

You just looked at it in your hands, then up to Rafe and Tom, searching for any way out of what was sure to be an uncomfortable outing without being rude. You came up with nothing.

“I guess I’ll go get dressed,” you handed Rafe his phone, making Kelce shake his head at you in disappointment.

The hum of the truck’s engine was the only sound in the car for a solid five minutes. You sat in the front seat, Tom having opened your door for you, while Rafe drove. You suddenly couldn’t remember what people do with their hands when they’re not driving. Where the hell do you put your hands? Tom’s voice cut through your internal panic.

“So, uh Rafe, Top says you went to Chapel Hill?” He inquired, sitting forward in the backseat so his head appeared between you and Rafe,

“Still do,” Rafe said curtly.

You looked at Rafe for the first time since pulling out of the beach house driveway. You wanted to ask him why he hadn’t graduated on time, always more invested in his academics than he was, but you were trying to pretend you didn’t care.

“Nice, man,” Tom tried to keep the conversation going. “I applied there, it’s hard to get in.”

“I guess I just hit the books a little harder than you then,” Rafe shrugged.

A scoff escaped you before you had the chance to stifle it. Rafe’s hands tightened on the steering wheel.

“What was that?” Rafe looked sideways at you for a moment.

“Nothing,” you crossed your arms over your chest.

“No, please share,” he prodded. You couldn’t believe he was copping an attitude with you.

“It’s just, I’m sure your last name had nothing to do with your acceptance,” you quipped.

Rafe’s jaw clenched and you smirked in satisfaction, pleased that you had gotten under his skin. Tom’s eyes flicked between the two of you, trying to decipher the vibe.

You were glad he didn’t try to attempt any further small talk. Once you got to the grocery store, you divided the shopping list three ways and split up to your designated aisles. You filled your cart as fast as you could, eager to get this shopping trip over with.

After checking everything off your list, you rounded the corner of the produce section toward the registers, your cart nearly crashing into Rafe’s. His entire shopping cart was filled with alcohol. You laughed at the sight. 

“What?” Rafe asked defensively.

“What are the rest of us gonna drink?” You smirked.

“Shut up,” he grinned. “It’s not all for me.”

“Okay but where is the stuff you were supposed to get?”

“It’s under there somewhere,” he mused.

“Sure,” you just shook your head with a smile and kept walking towards the register.

“Shit, wait,” Rafe rolled his cart to you and ran back down one of the aisles.

“No don’t worry about me, I got it,” you muttered to yourself bitterly.

You started pushing both carts but Rafe appeared quickly at your side again.

“Got it,” he breathed, adding one more thing to his cart.

It was a case of Redbull. You shifted on your feet uncomfortably, looking down into his cart. Redbull was his drink of choice in high school, you used to buy him one every day and bring it to him after practice, like a puppy fetching the morning paper. Rafe eyed you nervously, your soured expression leading him to believe you remembered just as well as he did. 

“Old habits die hard, huh?” You joked, trying to break the tense moment. 

“Yeah, can’t seem to kick that one,” he replied, relieved that you were the first to acknowledge it.

Tom caught up with you at check-out, his cart actually full of the things he was supposed to get. The three of you unloaded your goods to be rung up by a 16-year-old cashier who could not have been more annoyed that you had chosen his register.

Tom jumped in to help bag the groceries, chatting happily with the bag boy as he assisted. Rafe, however, stood there staring at his phone. 

After you finished emptying your cart, you watched Tom with a smile while he charmed the grocery store staff. Rafe looked up from his screen with a frown, stomach dropping when he saw that you were watching Tom with an affectionate smile.

“Is that everything?” The cashier asked hopefully.

You were about to say "yes" and also maybe "sorry" when Rafe cut you off.

“No wait, these too,” he reached toward the shelf and grabbed your favorite candy, looking at you expectantly as he handed it to the cashier.

“Your favorite,” he explained bashfully at the sight of your furrowed brows.

“Yeah, it is,” you agreed. “Just surprised you remember. Thanks.”

You looked at him for a moment longer than you should, your eyes lingering on each other’s as you shared another silent memory. You felt a twinge of nostalgia that you knew you shouldn’t.

While you and Rafe looked at each other, Tom pulled out his black card and entered it into the machine. Rafe noticed a moment too late and scrambled to pull his wallet from his pocket, fumbling for his credit card.

“Oh no, hey man, I was gonna get it,” Rafe finally pulled out the credit card he was looking for but Tom was already signing the screen with his finger.

“No worries dude,” Tom brushed him off politely. “You can get me back later this week.”

Rafe was the most competitive person you knew, and the richest, surely he wasn’t going to let another guy pay for everything and walk away. He opened his mouth like he was going to argue with Tom, but with a glance back at you he closed it again. Then he carried as many bags to the car as one person could possibly hold, mumbling something like "multiple trips are for pussies." 

Another fifteen minutes of painful silence might just make your head explode, you thought. The second you were back in the truck, the bed overflowing with groceries, you asked Rafe for the aux.

“What are you gonna play?” He sideyed you as he held it just out of reach. You leaned across the console to snatch it from his hands, and he felt pins and needles where your hand had brushed him. He wondered if you realized it was the first time you'd touched each other in four years.

The two of you had always fought over the aux, you’d eventually give in to his pouting and listened to his shitty house mixes and soundcloud rappers.

“Don’t worry about it,” you waved him off with a grin.

Four years ago, you would have been way too nervous to play what you truly wanted to listen to, afraid Rafe wouldn’t think it was cool enough. But now, you pressed play on your go-to playlist with gusto and beamed when your absolute favorite song started booming through his subwoofers. 

Rafe tried to keep his eyes on the road, but he couldn’t stop them from dancing back over to you as you sang along happily to your music. You rolled the window down, letting the humid Florida air raise your hair in a wave around you. You giggled and tried to tame it, eventually giving up and letting it whip around your face.

There was something so light about you. Something joyful and at peace. He placed both hands on the steering wheel, trying to ground himself, jealous of your carefree spirit. Whatever intangible thing you had managed to capture in your years apart, he wanted it. And it hit him like a lightning bolt, a bittersweet truth he had fought for so many years - he wanted you.

One song rolled into the next, and Rafe searched for something to say to keep up the almost-friendly banter you had begun in the store, but before he could come up with anything, Tom sat forward suddenly.

“Oh hey I love this song!” Tom informed you.

“Me too!” You turned to smile at him, and Rafe listened enviously as you and Tom chatted about the many favorite artists you have in common the rest of the way home.

The house was quiet when you returned, everyone either taking their daily hangover nap or down lounging by the beach. Rafe’s hands turned white from once again carrying as many plastic bags as he could. You tried not to laugh, and tried not to notice the way his biceps bulged under his tight t-shirt, but you failed at both.

“Are you laughing at me again?” He raised his eyebrows in amusement, placing the bags on the counter. “What is it this time?”

“Sorry, you’re just so helpful all of a sudden,” you pointed out with a smirk.

“Well bag boy over there wasn’t helping,” he nodded towards the patio, where Tom was taking a phone call.

“He said it’s a work call,” you defended him. “He just got a job in New York apparently, a Wall Street thing.

“Whatever,” Rafe mumbled. What he wanted to say was “since when are you two best friends?” but he had already been fairly gruff with you today and he was trying to refocus on his goal of getting you to like him again.

You and Rafe put the groceries away in silence for a while. You tried to find the right way to approach the question you were dying to ask, failing to convince yourself you didn't care about the answer.

“So,” you started nervously. “You didn’t graduate this year?”

Rafe’s shoulders tensed as he tried to make more room in the pantry.

“Nope,” he said shortly.

“Did you take some time off?”

He was torn between being glad that you were talking to him and mad that this was the topic you’d chosen to break the ice with.

“No, I-uh,” he cleared his throat. “I failed a couple classes my first year so I’m still a few credits behind.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you said, leaning down to put the ribs for the cookout in the large freezer.

“It’s my own fault,” he shrugged. “I was an idiot back then.”

When you stood from the freezer to grab another rack of ribs, you were surprised to see Rafe standing close, his body looming as he looked down at you.

“I was an idiot before then, too,” he continued, voice low and uncertain.

Everything in your mind went fuzzy as the blood rushed to your face. This was the first time you could smell him, and it familiarity of his scent made you feel like you were being transported back in time. You fought the urge to inhale deeply, greedy for the rush of him filling your senses.

“Before then?” You blinked up at him.

Rafe struggled to find his next words. It took everything in you not to fill in the blanks for him, like you were back in high school slipping him the answers to a test he hadn’t studied for. But this time, you needed him to find the answers all on his own. You swallowed hard, leaving silence for the words he was searching for. 

Before he could find them, Topper and Carter came barreling into the kitchen, mid-argument as always. They stopped short when they saw the scene in front of them. Rafe stepped away from you so quickly you could feel a woosh of wind in his wake. It was eerily reminiscent of your teenage years, Rafe separating himself from you as soon as there was anyone around to see you together.

“Everything okay?” Carter asked tensely, noticing the way your shoulders had fallen.

“Fine,” Rafe said, tossing the rest of the plastic bags in the trash and heading down the stairs to his basement bedroom, closing the door firmly behind him.

“Damn, you two did good,” Topper said, admiring the cornucopia of food you’d brought back.

“You three,” Carter corrected. “Tom went too.”

She walked up next to you and lowered her voice, a sly smile on her face, “and how did it go with Tom?”

You didn’t match her playful mood, completely preoccupied thinking about the moment you and Rafe had just shared. Was he about to apologize to you? What would you have let him do if your sister and psuedo-brother-in-law had entered the room just a minute later?

“It was fine,” you said distractedly, closing the fridge and heading upstairs to your room.

Carter turned on her heel and looked at Topper with a frown, shocked to find him beaming back at her.

“What are you smiling for?” She snarled.

“Oh nothing, seems like my plan is working is all,” he grinned. “They were standing awfully close when we walked in.”

“Your plan?” She stepped closer to him, arms crossed. “What are you up to Thornton?”

“Just playing a little Cupid,” he smiled proudly.

“Okay well you can go ahead and put down the bow and arrow, because I’ve already got that covered,” she informed him.

“Really?” He asked in surprise. “I thought you hated Rafe.”

“Rafe? Ew, no, I’m talking about Tom, obviously,” she snapped.

“Your sister and Tom? Nahhh, do you not see how she and Rafe have been looking at each other? It’s so obvious,” he scoffed.

“You know what else is obvious? That Rafe’s still a dick and he doesn’t deserve her,” Carter argued.

“He’s actually grown up a lot,” Topper said, surprising Carter with the serious shift in his tone. “He’s been through some stuff, college hasn’t been easy for him. He could use a win.”

Carter considered this, but it wasn’t enough to satisfy the years of bitterness she held for Rafe.

“Well, he had his chance. He had millions of chances with her and he fumbled every one,” she said.

“I know he did, but under it all he’s a good person. And I think good people deserve second chances,” Topper explained.

“Not when they hurt my sister,” she concluded. “I won’t allow it.”

Topper's eyes creased with his smile as he looked down at her, loving her steely look and pursed lips as she put her hands on her hips. 

“You’re still so bossy,” he smiled, sliding closer to her until their chests were nearly touching. “I know we’re supposed to be fighting, but it’s kinda hot.”

He leaned forward to plant a little kiss on her lips, like he’d done a million times before. Carter leaned back, leaving his puckered lips hanging.

“Oh no,” she pushed him back, making him frown. “You don’t get to touch me until you join Team Tom.”

“Nuh-uh! Team Rafe for life baby,” he crossed his arms to match her stance, recovering quickly, more than used to being rejected by her.

She studied him suspiciously, wondering how quickly he’d crack if she actually withheld their inevitable beach trip hook-up. But he didn’t budge, he was as serious about this as she was.

“Fine,” she said. “The game is so on.”

(Chapter 3)

a/n: so tell me... are we Team Tom or Team Rafe?

please note, the taglist for this series is currently closed. For updates, follow @whytheylosttheirminds-works and turn on notifs 💕

[luveline]

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 —send me a shy!reader request for any character (with a plot) and I'll write a >1k drabble

sirius/james introducing shy!reader to remus. and shes just like quiet and in awe, but remus loves it.

luveline's 40k party ☆ tysm for requesting! remus x shy fem!reader

James is used to your personality after months of being your lecture neighbour, unperturbed by your quiet. "It's going to be fun," he promises, handing you a cold glass of cranberry vodka. "They're nice, okay? I won't let anyone irritate you." 

He's hosting a party and had the generosity to invite you round early. He's easing you in, so to speak. It took him two weeks of steady Hellos for you to work up the courage to say Hi back, another two weeks for small talk, a month before you felt comfortable speaking to him first. If you're that shy, a party is basically torture.

"It's not about irritating me," you say. 

"I know, I'm messing." James lists his head to the left. A second later, there's a knock at the door. "Aha. Wait here, shortcake, there's someone I want you to meet." 

"James," you say after him, wet from your glass leaking down to your sleeve, "what?" 

"I asked him to come early and say hello! He's quiet and handsome and you'll love him, just don't stare at his nose." 

What's wrong with his nose? you think, alarmed. 

James opens the door. Two new voices emerge, one scratchy and a little high, the other smoother. "I need to pee so bad," the scratchy one declares, followed by bounding footsteps up the stairs. 

"You alright?" the smoother asks.

You think there's patting, a hug, "I'm brilliant! You smell really nice, Remus, like a garden." 

"Lovely."

"In a good way! Come and meet my Y/N, you remember I told you about her nice gel pens?" 

James leads the smooth-voiced Remus into the living room. You hurriedly put down your drink and stand, wiping your wet hands in your shirt. You cringe at the darkening fabric but hide your grimace as they stop in front of you. 

"Remus, Y/N. Y/N, Remus," James introduces you both. 

Remus has a scar across his nose that seems cruelly cut. There's another beside it that starts in his upper lip, both of which end in his eyebrow. You know how self-conscious it feels to be looked at, so you manage to smile and offer your hand without too much of it. He's handsome with his scars, a nice nose with a ridge and brown eyes the colour of caramelised sugar.

"Hello," Remus says, shaking your hand. His is big enough to make yours feel small. 

"I invited her early because she's more fun than the rest of our lot," James says, throwing himself down on the sofa and kicking his legs out on the coffee table. 

Remus taps your elbow very gently as if to usher you to sit and sits down beside you, enough space to be casual but too little to stop the rampant nerves that blossom in your stomach. 

Remus asks about your life. What you're studying, where you're from, if James is being nice to you. While James is touchy in the rough older brother way, scrunching your shoulder and shaking you when you're not expecting it. Remus is touchy in a different way, you find, almost as if he doesn't know he's doing it. His shoe bumps your shoe, his hand falls down between his outer thigh and your own, his knuckles touching your jeans very lightly. He spins in his seat to talk to you. 

You don't notice other people arriving, nor the scratchy-voiced friends return. All you can do is look up at Remus with wide eyes. Your nerves meld to something warmer. 

"And what do you do?" you ask him. 

He smiles like you've wandered into a secret. "I'm trying to write a book." 

"He's being a bit much," Sirius says to James, the two now loitering in the doorway with matching beers. You and Remus chatter on, unaware of their running commentary.

"It's a very strong reaction. I knew she'd like him, but I didn't think she'd like him like that." James takes a sip of his drink. Remus asks you a quiet question. You duck your head, playing with your sleeves, and Remus, the bastard, ducks his head to follow your gaze, smiling at you all the while. 

James almost chokes, pointing his bottle toward you both as though Sirius isn't already looking. "He's eating it up. I forgot how flirty he is."

"She'll be nice to him, won't she?" Sirius asks, like it's a done deal. To be fair, Remus seems enthralled with you. 

"Definitely. She's very nice. Oh, look, that's sick, she's gonna pass out." James winces as Remus takes your arm into his hand. 

Remus wouldn't do anything cruel, but James wasn't joking when he told Remus that you were exceedingly, achingly shy. He's about to step in and rescue you, but you turn into Remus' touch and pull your leg up on the sofa to make yourself comfortable. Your voice is animated, if quieter than the average person's.

"Woah," James says, beaming.  

Remus flirts almost as a defence, like he wants to get the rejection over and done with so he can move on. You've yet to reject; you're looking up at him in moderate awe, your lips quirked into an easy smile. 

"Boo!" James calls, flicking his bottle cap at Remus, who brushes it away. "Took me three weeks to get a smile out of her," he mutters. "What a dick." 

[flowersforabby]

gf!abby who just can't keep her lips off of yours, even for a moment

abby hasn't always been a fan of lip gloss. to her, it's too bland and sticky, and it leaves a greasy residue on her lips whenever she wipes it off. there's just so much she'd rather reach for, such as tinted lip balms or lip tints, both of which never clings to her hair. in all honesty, she might've once been one of the biggest gloss haters out there.

soon after she met you, abby came to the realization that gloss wasn't really so bad.

"stop it," you groan, trying to shove her away to no avail. "you're ruining my makeup,"

at first, she'd been sat on the edge of your shared bed, sipping on a cup of freshly brewed coffee as you told her all about your plans for the day, which happened to include your friends and exclude, her. abby then ended up bringing over a chair from the dining table to sit by your side, watching intently in the mirror as you did your makeup, highlighting all the features of your face that she loved so much. it wasn't long before she was standing behind you with her arms wrapped around your neck, trailing kisses along your jawline.

"y'just look so pretty, babe," she mumbles against your skin.

you're all dressed up and ready to go, with a periwinkle boatneck top and shorts on. abby on the other hand, still bears her seal patterned pyjama set, with a matching pair of seal slippers on her feet. her unbrushed hair flows down freely her shoulders, with tangles that hold the memory of your fingers once intwined in them. during your more intimate moments, abby almost seems like a greek god, but at the moment, she's really just your girl. she looks human, in  all the ways that make her abby.

she sneaks a hand under your shirt to palm at your stomach, a comforting warmth and weight on your torso as you reach over on your vanity before you for the very last step of your makeup look, the final touch. with smitten eyes, her pupils all dilated, she watches as you apply a thin layer on your lips. you glance at her in the mirror, weary of the way she stares at your face, and you know what's exactly about to come when she starts to get up, her arms pulling away from your side.

"go away, abby,"

"one kiss, promise,"

abby leans down for a kiss which you duck, and she lets out a whine, before tilting your chin up to face her.

"what's the point of  having a girlfriend if i can't kiss her when i think she looks all pretty?" she grins, eyes still focused on your lips.

"one,"

"i'll take it," she says.

usually, abby's good at keeping promises. she lives up to her word and you'd trust her with your life. this time, she lies, as once you pull away- lip gloss still in hand, she leans in for another kiss. you kiss her back, just that once, and even though you stop doing so and even turn away, she doesn't stop. you shriek as she coats your cheeks in smeared gloss and abby doesn't let go until she's proud of her art; her last finishing touch.

"abby," you say, frowning in the mirror, observing the mess she's made all over the lower half of your face.

"think y'look even better, babe. but there's a little spot i missed right over there,"

a/n: finished hs and made it out of recovery so i think i'll be able to post a lot more... LOSER ELLIE HERE I COME!!!!

[ragingbookdragon]

It comes as somewhat a surprise when the others realize that something has obviously happened between their resident Lieutenant and Private, as she’s quick to fall silent whenever he appears, and even more so make herself scare when she can when he’s around. It’s only the third time that Soap sees it that he says something, because if he doesn’t no one else will, and where’s the fun in that?

He watches her duck her head and leave the break room, Gaz, Soap, Price, and Ghost sitting alone at the breakfast table conversing over soggy cereal and cooling tea; Soap pushes a piece of bacon on his plate and asks, “Trouble in paradise, Lt?” the corner of his mouth arches with a slight grin when he hears the warning grunt come from Ghost.

“No.”

“Seems like it,” he retorts, taking a sip of his coffee. “What’d ya do? Tell her ta fuck off?”

“Drop it, MacTavish,” Ghost warns darkly. “Nothing’s wrong.”

This time, Gaz jumps in. “C’mon, Lt., it’s obvious that something’s wrong. I mean, she won’t even look at you, let alone say anything unless you speak first.”

“An’ she’s callin’ ‘im ‘sir.’” Soap adds, pointing at him. “Christ, Lt., ya musta done a number on ‘er. Poor Puffin. So sweet and kind. Broke ‘er heart ya did.”

Price can tell that Ghost is close to snapping at the both of them but gets to it before he does. “Soap, Gaz, go catalogue our inventory for the mission next week.”

“Aw, but we already d—” Soap falls silent when Price shoots him a look and quietly grumbles to himself as he grabs his plate and cup, Gaz following in suit.

It’s only until the two soldiers are alone that Price asks, “What did happen, Simon?”

Ghost lets out a long sigh and rolls his head back, staring at the ceiling. “Pretty much told ‘er to fuck off.”

Price watches quietly as Ghost begins rattling to himself—he’s never really had to ask the man to explain himself. All he’s gotta do is prompt him to do so and Ghost does the rest.

“I just got mad. She’s always ‘round and practically up my arse, and I got caught up and instead of ‘andlin’ it properly, I shoved my fucking foot in my mouth and scalped her.” He rubs a hand over his face. “I meant to be gentler but once I started, I couldn’t stop. It just kept comin’ out. And now she fuckin’ hates me.”

He pulls his hand down and looks up at Price with a scowl—the man is smiling at him, but it’s that stupid smile that means more than Ghost wants to admit it does.

“Quit that.”

“You care about her,” Price murmurs, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, though his admonish is still harsh. “And instead of telling her how you felt like a grown adult, you took the ten-year-old way out and decided to be a cunt to her.”

“I didn’t mean to be such a cunt.”

“But the fact of the matter is that you did, and you’ve screwed up team fluidity and cohesion.” He looks at him. “You know a team divided—”

“Can’t stand,” Ghost finishes with an even worse scowl. “Yeah, yeah, I know.” He looks away. “I just don’t know how to even start tryin’ to fix it.”

“Well, apologizing might be a good start,” Price rumbles with a grin. “She’s a good kid, Simon. Her heart’s in the right place, even if it’s a bit much at times. Shows she cares. More than most do in our line of work. She’s a rare one.”

“I know,” he admits in a much, much softer tone. “I just don’t want her to lose that doin’ this.” His eyes meet Price’s, and they hold such a misery. “Look at us, Price,” he mutters, gesturing between them. “Middle age, unmarried, no kids, too fucked up for anything like that. She doesn’t…” he clenches his jaw. “She deserves a better path, a safer path, than this life. She deserves to go out and have a life where she comes home to a family.”

“That’s not your choice to make, son,” he replies gently, but there’s a firmness to it. “If this is what she wants to do, then she will. We can’t make her get out of service.”

Ghost growls low in his throat. “She has so much more potential than being cannon fodder. She could do somethin’ with her life. Somethin’ good. Somethin’ that won’t have her dying face down in the sand with a bullet wound in the back.”

Price simply watches him.

“But she’s so fuckin’ stupid. She wants to be here. She wants to spend whatever time she has dodgin’ bullets and wakin’ up every night in sweat ‘cause she can’t escape the dreams. No one wants to do this. We don’t want to do this. We do this because we have to. But her? She’s happy here.” He lowers his voice, it’s as if he’s in disbelief. “She’s happy here.” He looks at Price. “Why? Why is she so happy here?”

It's another long moment before Price speaks.

“You hear, son, but you don’t listen.” He moves the cup on the saucer. “She bounced around homes growing up, scraped by on the skin of her teeth. She has no one. But here, she has something. She has people who care for her, if nothing else, they won’t let her die alone.”

“Oh what? So, it’s found family bullshit?” Ghost spits. “If she dies, at least the team would mourn her?”

“Isn’t that what you’ve done too?” he replies, and Ghost falls silent. “People like Gaz, Soap, and myself are different than you and she are, Simon. We have homes. We’ve had families that have loved us, that do love us. But you two? Simon, you’ve made a home where you’ve had to. Made a family out of people you’ve bled for, would gladly bleed for. You’ve made something that’s yours. You made a family for yourself. And so did she. She’s made us her family. The one she never had the privilege to call her own.”

Price lets out a quiet hum, and pats his thighs, standing up and pushing his chair in.

“Think on what I’ve said, son. And if nothing else, apologize and leave it at that. Put the ball in her court and let her make the next move.”

As he walks off, he hears, “And if she doesn’t want it?”

He tosses a knowing look over his shoulder. “I’m sure she’ll take it.” His eyes twinkle as he adds, “Takes an awful strong woman to care about a man like you.”

[baocean]

flirt - rafe cameron

nice!rafe x reader college au warnings - smut, swearing, drinking summary - when rafe cameron finally takes an interest in you, you think its just another one of his one night stands

get comfy, grab a snack, because baby its longgger. i spent all day on this :) (hahaha ha ha h a) anyways, i wanted a nice, possibly even goofy rafe instead of him being batshit crazy all the time. so please forgive the personality change, we'll be back to our regularly scheduled programs soon.

━

when rafe cameron entered the room, everyone swooned. the football star of unc chapel hill, the hottest guy on campus, the flirt. everyone would gladly drop to their knees for him, except you.

it was like something was wrong with you. because you absolutely did not understand what everyone was always going on about over him.

sure, he was tall and handsome. he was good at football. but he seemed like a complete jerk.

you were a sophomore at unc, rafe was a junior. you’d become very familiar with the horror stories of being around and getting with rafe cameron.

he fucks girls then leaves them on read, picks fights for no reason, drinks way too much, and has a god awful ego.

you just did not get it.

at the party, in some worn out, dirty frat, you stood with your friends in a corner, people watching and giggling.

it had been a fun night so far, meeting new people and having a few too many shots.

but when rafe cameron and his friends walked into the room, everyone’s attention was on him.

you saw him, and wanted to scream ‘boooo’. rolling your eyes, you walked away from your enchanted friends towards the makeshift bar.

a drunk frat brother poured you another drink as your phone dinged. you went to check it, and when you looked back up, there he was, in all his materialistic glory.

“hey angel.” rafe lifted the corner of his lip, handing you the cup the brother just filled.

“thank you.” you smiled for only a second, hopefully fast enough he didn’t even see it, then started to walk away.

“hey, wait!” rafe called behind you, useless. you took a guess that tonight, it was your turn to be the special girl in rafe cameron’s life. you didn’t want that title.

your friends stared in bewilderment as rafe cameron stalks behind you, and pulls on your arm ever so gently to get you to turn around.

“what’s your name?” he asks, his face blank of any little smirk he had before.

“depends on who’s asking.” you shrug, taking a small sip of the juice from your cup. it was strong.

“me.” he clarified, a look on his face telling you should have already known that.

“oh. then, no.” you give him a sweet smile. he scoffs, shaking his head.

“and if it’s for my homeboy over there?” his long finger sticks out and points towards one of his friends, one you’d seen on campus before, but couldn’t put a name to his face.

“oh, if it’s for him, get him to come over here and i’ll tell him myself.”

“what’s your problem with me?” rafe’s face scrunched up, crossing his arms over his chest.

“i don’t have a problem, im just not interested.” you give him one last sickly sweet smile, before returning to the group of friends, patiently waiting to interrogate you.

it had only been a few days since your’s and rafe’s interaction. you hadn’t thought about it much, after getting home to your apartment and debriefing your friends, it had slipped out of your mind completely.

that was, until, you saw him walk into the coffee shop you were studying at.

immediately, you ducked your head, hoping not to get spotted.

he went up to the counter and ordered, fiddling with a straw in his hands, back turned to you.

you thought maybe he had missed you, so with a sigh of relief, you went back to your schoolwork.

“hi, angel.” you cringed at the voice. looking up, there he was.

he was wearing a bandana, tied around his head, some old carhart jacket. he had good style, you’ll give him that.

“oh, hey.” you tried your best to not sound so sincere.

“how’ve you been?” he asked, inviting himself to take a seat across from you.

“great. how about you?” his smile lit up his face, thinking he was finally getting somewhere with you.

he went to answer, when you cut him off, “i’m so sorry, i don’t know your name?” it came out more of a question, a dare.

his smile faltered for a second, and you took that as a win, before he stuck his hand out in between you two.

“i’m rafe cameron.” despite protests, you took his hand in yours to shake it, ignoring how much of a difference in size there was.

he raised his eyebrows, “your turn.”

“still not interested. lovely to see you, though.” you let go of his hand, putting your focus back into your schoolwork.

he scoffed, stood over you for a second, appearing to be looking at something on the table in front of you.

he chuckled, low, then bent down a bit. “i’ll see you later, yn.”

he picked up his coffee and walked out the door without a second glance. alarm bells were going off in your head. how could he possibly know your name?

you grabbed your cup to take a sip, and realization hit you like a brick. on the side of the plastic, your name was written in simple black sharpie.

recently, practice hadn’t been fun. especially since rafe realized the football team practices right next to the women’s soccer team. and also, since rafe found out you were on the women’s soccer team.

he’d made every effort to get your attention, calling your name and throwing footballs towards the soccer pitch, more or less annoying you. your teammates would squeal and giggle, and you groaned.

coach called practice, and as you were packing up your gear and getting ready to make the trek back to your locker rooms, you heard the distinctive voice from behind you.

“angel, how was practice?” you turned, seeing rafe, sweaty and red.

you probably looked the same at him. you’d been running on and off for two and a half hours today, you probably did not look your best. rafe would have disagreed.

“fine, thanks.” you wiped your face with a towel, taking your cleats off and finding your shoes.

“you know, when your face is all red like that, it makes me wonder what you look like when you’re getting f-” you hit rafe on the chest with the back of your hand.

“you’re appalling. does that line ever work on anyone?” you were completely disgusted by him right now, even if the thought did draw a little curiosity from you.

“sometimes. let me take you out on a date.” un phased, rafe cameron persists.

“why would i ever say yes after the comment you just made?” you laugh in his face, earning a shit eating grin from him.

“give me one chance. i don’t know what you think about me, but give me a chance to prove im not whatever it is.”

“no.”

“please, angel.” the way his voice upped an octave erupted thoughts, lot and lots of thoughts.

so, you’d finally give him a little bait to chew on for a while. “i'll think about it.”

with that, you left him standing by the benches. you rolled your eyes at the boy, but couldn’t help but smile.

three hours later you had a follow and dm from rafe cameron.

rafecam: have you thought about our date yet?

yourusername: no, not really

rafecam: come on angel

rafecam: one date is all i’m asking

yourusername: that’s all it’ll be since you’ll ghost me afterwards! it’s perfect!

rafecam: ohhh so that’s what you think

yourusername: the answer is no

rafecam: i’m not taking that for an answer

rafecam: it’s yes or yes

rafecam: i’ll be the perfect gentleman

rafecam: im the man of your dreams come onnnn

yourusername: you’re funny

rafecam: so does tuesday night sound good?

read

yourusername started following you!

deciding on something nice, but not too nice, you took your hair out of the rollers and sighed.

it’s your date with rafe tonight. you were feeling a lot of emotions.

you’d gone through rafe’s instagram the night he dmed you, had followed him back. there was even some 'get to know you' conversations somewhere in between.

pictures of his parents and sisters, his friends, pictures of them on a beach, all smiling. no pictures of him out at a party, or arms slung around girls. there was an image to maintain, though. the quarterback at unc, with forty thousand followers, of course he wasn’t going to post that.

you rolled your eyes and jumped up to show your roommate the black silk dress you were wearing for the dinner date at the fancy restaurant in town. anna was funny, bowing down in front of you like you were some god.

the doorbell to the apartment rang and your eyebrows furrowed. you thought, ‘no way he’d find a way to get up here, no way he’d find your apartment, no way he’d willingly come up here and ring my doorbell’.

but there he was, on the other side of the door, holding a small bouquet of your favorite flowers. your jaw almost dropped.

he was dressed nicely, a smile painted on his tanned features.

“how did you know where i live. and how do you know about the flowers?” you invited him in, giving him a undoubtedly suspicious look.

“don’t worry, angel. i have my ways,” he smirked, looking at your roommate. “hey anna.”

“oh, okay. got it. got it, thanks anna.” you shake your head, grinning as you put your head in your hands.

“we’ll put these in water then head out, yea?” rafe grabbed the scissors while you grabbed a vase to fill up with water, moving in perfect harmony.

the dinner went well, surprising you. he was a gentleman, like he had promised.

and as much as you hated yourself for it, you swooned, just like that.

his smile, and his jokes, and the lack of inappropriate ones. you thought maybe the bar was on the floor, right now you didn’t care. you could only thing about maybe, you could have been wrong about him.

he’d walked you back up to your apartment on the second floor, carrying his jacket and your heels over his shoulder as you walked together.

when you got to your door, it was unlocked, thank goodness, because you forgot your keys.

“these are yours. angel, i had a really good time. promise you’ll text me in the morning?” rafe asked as he held out your heels, a true, genuine look in his eye signaling he meant it.

you shrugged, love drunk, and pulled his arm so he fell inside with you. “we’ll see.”

he dropped the jacket and heels on one hump on the floor, grabbing around your waist and pulling you in.

the kiss was so desperate and rushed, but still gentle. one of his arms wrapped around your waist as you clung to his neck.

pulling apart, you grabbed his chin and lifted it upwards, placing light kisses on his neck, then sucking. his hands grabbed at your hips.

“you look so good. holy fuck, angel.” he returned the favor, kissing down your neck and shoulder, playing with the strap of your dress with his teeth.

you pulled him towards your room, and at first, he didn’t hesitate.

he faltered once you got to your door, pulling back from you.

“angel, i’ve wanted to fuck you since the moment i saw you, but i want to do this right.”

you were taken aback, not believing the words that were coming out of rafe cameron's mouth. you almost thought he was kidding, letting out a anxious chuckle, met with a confused stare.

"did you just say no to sex?" you questioned. he nodded, looking just as surprised by himself as you were.

he doesn't fucking like me, you thought. how could you be so stupid? of course, of course rafe cameron doesn't want you the same way you want him. do it right? what does that even mean?

and there it was, surprising you again, because since when did you want rafe? have feelings for rafe?

"okay, um well, goodnight, then." you tried, tucking your hair behind your ears and grabbing your heels from the ground.

"okay. goodnight, angel." he took a step forward to try and kiss you, but you crossed your arms over your chest and shook your head.

he faltered, heart shooting out of his chest. the one time he tries to treat a girl right, and he's fucked that up, too. he grabbed his jacket, stood up straight, gave you one last look and closed the door behind him.

rafe: good morning

rafe: do u maybe want to get coffee with me

rafe: or i could get it and bring it to u

read

rafe: helllllloooooo

read

rafe: angel what's goin on

rafe: text me back yn

read

it had been three days since you spoke to rafe. it'd been three weeks since you met him, officially. your emotions had been twisted, confusing. he’d been gone for an away football game. he stopped texting you after that.

you watched the game with your roommate anna, rafe throwing pick after pick, completely off his game. you sighed, hoping that the small flame inside trying to convince you you're the reason he keeps messing up is wrong.

the game ended, they won by one point. the team cheered on the field as number forty six walked off the field, helmet in hand and head hung low.

rafe: can you please talk to me

rafe: i would take you telling me you hate me over this

you: can you come over?

rafe: be there in ten

he was there in seven minutes, actually. looks of hesitation painting his features when you opened the door for him.

"you've been okay? you didn't text me back on wednesday."

"yea, we should talk about that." you nodded. his face slumped, he looked defeated.

"what? what is it, angel?" he took a step towards you.

"listen, i really only said yes to that date so you'd leave me alone," rafe felt a little bit liked he'd been punched. "but that entire date i felt so good, and i was honestly just fine with having one night with you and never speaking to you again. but then you said you didn't want to and whatever you meant by that, i'm not sure, but it, like, threw me off." you rambled, arms crossed over your chest in defense.

"i wasn't gonna have sex with you if it meant i never talked to you again." his blue eyes hidden under thick lashes, unable for you to get a good read on them.

"but rafe, thats like all you're known f-" your hands went up in defeat as you tried to finish your statement.

"was, it was. i wish you'd just talk to me instead, angel. but this-" he waves a finger between you two- "is different. i don't know if its because you give me shit every time i try to flirt with you or that you're just unlike anyone i've ever met, i don't fucking know. but id rather give this an actual try than pretend i could treat you like you didn't mean something more."

speechless, thats what you were. taking two steps forward and pulling him in. he tasted like mint gum, smelled like wood and vanilla. his lips parted, letting you familiarize yourself with his mouth.

he pulled back, "go on another date with me?" you laughed, then nodded, then pulled him back into you.

he pulled back again, "be my girlfriend?"

"you're pushing it, rafe." giving him a peck on the lips.

"well, just using my logic, here. if you're my girlfriend, then that means were giving it a try and we can fuck all we want." he shrugged, a hand finding its way under your t-shirt and onto your hip.

"you sound insane. ask me again later." you whispered into him, pulling him into your room, this time he didn't budge. rafe cameron, in your small, student housing bedroom, pulling your shirt off.

he kissed your neck, bit at the spots he'd sucked, picking you up and rolling onto the bed with you, earning a laugh from you.

you grabbed the hem of his shirt and tugged it up, rafe helping you out. your hands found their way to his upper arms, he closed his eyes and flexed under your touch, almost unconsciously.

"you look so pretty, angel. always do." he whispered, leaned down to kiss you again. he pulled your thin, loungewear bra to the side, let out a quiet groan, and kissed.

and he would have done anything to hear that small moan from you for the first time again. your hand reaches up to grab his hair as one nipple is in his mouth, the other being rubbed between his fingertips.

"angel, you want this as bad as i do?" he looked up at you, watched you nod, and smiled, kissing down to your naval.

lifting your lips, he slid the shorts off you, then his sweatpants next.

he lined himself up, pushing into you slowly, memorizing the sound of your gasps and moans. surely, this is what heaven felt like. sounded like. "holy fuck."

two strong arms landed on each side of your head as he slid in and out of you.

his words came out all incoherent, with a lot of 'please', 'angel', and 'pretty''s thrown in there.

this wasn't the kind of sex you'd have with rafe, you thought it would be more rough, not sweet and caring.

your eyes closed, his hand flying to your face, gripping your chin. "open your eyes, pretty girl. i wanna see you. wanna see whats mine." you let out a moan, clenching around him, too deep in pleasure to care that rafe knew you liked that.

"say it." rafe moaned, his pace fastening, a steady hand still on your face.

"im yours, rafe." he pulled you up as you gasped for the millionth time. now, riding him, your face was an inch above his, his features looked perfect under the sunlight.

"are you mine?" you got out, in between moans.

"since the first time i ever laid eyes on you. all yours, angel."

[moonstruckme]

Heyyy there! I really (like really) love your writing!!! It makes my day when I see you've posted a fic! I was wondering if I could request one either with doc!remus or emtxmaradeurs where the reader is very sick and kinda out of it and she's taken care of. Like maybe he/them asking her 'are you with me/us' becuase it looks like you're going to pass out. If you've written something like this before my apologies. Have a great day!!!

Thanks lovely, hope you have a great day as well!

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 670 words

When Remus and James get home from their shift, they find you and Sirius curled up on the couch, you with a mug of what appears to be noodle soup steaming in your hands. You’re taking sips of it like it’s tea. 

“Hello,” says Remus, perching on the armrest to peck his boyfriend on the head. “You two aren’t where we left you.” 

“One can only lie around in bed for so many hours,” Sirius replies, tilting his head back for a real kiss. Remus gives him one, and Sirius takes another for himself. “I’m very entertaining, but after a while we both needed a change of scenery.” 

“And why is our girl drinking soup like a warm beverage?” James directs the question towards you, but you don’t seem to notice. After a moment, Sirius answers for you. 

“She wasn’t doing very well with the spoon, and though I made some excellent points about how romantic it’d be, she wouldn’t let me feed it to her.” Sirius grins salaciously at you. You offer only a faint smile in return, and he squishes your thigh in his hand teasingly. “Eventually we had to compromise on a more innovative solution.” 

“I see.” James ducks his head, finding his way into your field of vision. “Sweetheart,” he says carefully, “are you with us?” 

You blink. Your eyes look fever glazed. “Yeah.” You match his gentle tone. “Hi.” 

He smiles softly. “Hey there. You seemed a bit far away, m’love.” 

“She’s only tired.” Sirius kisses the side of your head. “We’ve just had a nap.”

“Oh, must be nice,” James jokes. You smile in response. 

Remus frowns pensively as he plays with Sirius’ hair where it’s draped over the edge of the couch. It spills through his fingers like stygian water. “What’s her fever at?” he asks. 

“It’s coming down.” Sirius nods to the fever reducers sitting next to a half-empty bottle of cough syrup on the coffee table. “We’re working on it.” 

“What was it last you checked?” James presses, but Remus has already picked up the thermometer. He murmurs a quiet direction to you as he nestles it in your ear.

“Her cough’s gotten a lot better, too, if you haven’t noticed,” Sirius says proudly. “Right, babydoll? We haven’t been having many problems since the last time she had medicine.” 

That’s not saying much, James thinks as he looks around. There are still wadded up tissues strewn about the coffee table, enough that he wonders whether one of them ought to go buy more before you all get ready for bed, and even if your cough has abated the scrape of your voice indicates your throat still feels like you’ve swallowed knives. 

Still, he tries to sound upbeat as he says, “Yeah? That’s great,” and kisses your shoulder lightly. 

“I can see why you’re so tired,” Remus says. The thermometer beeps, and his brow pinches sympathetically as he reads the screen. “That nap was the first good sleep you’ve had in a while, hm, dovey?” 

“Yeah,” you say, your voice a thin rasp. “I still have to turn over every now and then when my nose clogs up, though.” 

“Poor love,” James coos, kissing your shoulder again. “I’m about to have a shower, would you want to sit in the bathroom with me and see if the steam does anything? I could use the company.” 

“That’s a good idea,” Remus agrees. “After you’ve finished your soup, though.” 

You give James a sweet, thoughtful look. “That would be nice,” you say. The sound of your voice makes him want to burst into tears. “Thank you guys for taking care of me.” 

Sirius makes an indignant squawking sound. “Um, that’s actually been me, in case you’ve forgotten. These two only just got here.” 

“Sorry.” You crack a smile, sleepy but real, and lean your head on Sirius’ shoulder. “Thank you the most.” 

He hums, quickly pacified, and lets his head rest atop yours. “Apology accepted. Luckily for you, I actually quite enjoy it.”

[alchemistc]

Evan's scraping a spoon across the plate of tiramisu they'd demolished when Tommy feels it bubbling up. He's talking about sperm whales, of all things, somehow navigating there from their earlier conversation about the Shelby his neighbor has been trying to entice Tommy into putting up on the lift even though Tommy has told him time and again that his entire life savings does not cover even a scratch in the paint on that thing, and Tommy wants to thumb at the cocoa powder stuck to the corner of Evan's lip, wants to drag him out into the street and dance under the moonlight, wants -

"And they have asymmetrical skulls, Tommy," Evan says, with his free hand still trapped beneath Tommy's and his smile stretching wide.

Half a year ago they'd sat at the table three yards to Tommy's left and Tommy had gone from nervous and smitten to reminding himself not to be too disappointed while he ordered himself an Uber in the span of an hour. It feels like a lifetime ago.

"I'm gonna say yes," Tommy says, which hadn't really been on his mind to say until this moment.

Evan stills. His hand twitches under Tommy's. His brow furrows and his lip curls out with the beginnings of a pout. "You found it, didn't you?"

"If you're gonna hide a ring box, sweetheart, do it somewhere we don't both keep our socks."

They've been playing fast and loose with the whole idea of pacing themselves since Tommy sat down at that patio table and took a sip of terrible coffee while the sun lit Evan up like he was the only thing worth seeing in the entire world. Finding the ring tucked behind his least favorite pair of wool socks hadn't even been a surprise, really.

"I can walk it back if you've got a speech," Tommy says, and Evan ducks his head and looks up at Tommy through his lashes. "God knows you might say something that changes my mind."

Evan laughs. It's a laugh Tommy fully intends to have as his soundtrack for the rest of his life. "Maybe no speech then."

"Still tweaking it, huh?"

"Maybe you just don't deserve to hear it, yet. That's what you get for hijacking the proposal, Thomas."

Tommy flips his wrist, rolls his fingers into the palm of Evan's hand, slides a thumb over his knuckles and grins. "Call me that again and I'm taking back my original statement, Buck."

Evan's nose scrunches adorably. "You made your point." (An argument, three months in, Evan pouting adorably because they'd run into an ex of Tommy's at a harvest festival and Tommy had introduced him as 'my partner, Buck'. Evan had spent the rest of the day caught up in naming conventions and the meaning of it all until Tommy's patience had worn thin enough to snark back. They'd discovered how great they were at makeup sex at three in the morning when Evan pounded on his door to continue the barely-an-argument.)

"Just. When you ask. Just know the answer's already a forgone conclusion."

If forced at gunpoint to choose a favorite feature of Evan's, it's the way his eyes actually sparkle like a cartoon princess when he smiles. He sticks his tongue between his teeth and taps his pinky against the second knuckle of Tommy's ring finger. "Noted," he teases, and Tommy doesn't even protest this time, when Evan picks up the tab.

[peppermintquartz]

The rose-colored glasses come off only around month four of their relationship, and even then a tint of soft dusky pink remains like a filter in front of Buck's eyes.

He knows Tommy's sense of humor is dryer than Death Valley, and he tends towards morbid commentary, but Buck finds tapeworms and maggots fascinating, so they match in that aspect anyhow.

What Buck doesn't clock at first - because it doesn't happen to him - is how bitchy Tommy can be.

--

Eddie shows up for movie night with a moustache over his upper lip.

Tommy raises his eyebrows. He radiates judgment. "You're branching out to being a porn star or is this a tribute to Eddie Guerrero?"

Buck doesn't even know who Eddie Guerrero is, but Eddie Diaz definitely does, going by the narrowing of his eyes, and he punches Tommy's shoulder none-too-gently about it.

Tommy pretends to stagger. "I didn't even make a comment about lying, cheating and stealing."

"Fuck you, Kinard."

"I got Evan for that," Tommy snarks back.

After the movie, Eddie dumps the remaining popcorn into Tommy's hair. Tommy wrestles Eddie to the ground, and feeds him a handful he snatches out of his curls. Buck is laughing too much to separate them.

--

"You're here to eat dinner, not each other's faces," Chimney says with a roll of his eyes.

"It's not like I'm scarring your child," Tommy drawls. "I'm sorry you're insecure about seeing two super hot hunks showing affection. Go kiss your wife about it."

"Don't tease him," Maddie scolds. "And behave."

Tommy ducks his head. "Sorry, Maddie."

Buck scratches the tip of his nose, because he's the one who has been running the top of his foot up and down Tommy's calf.

But then Tommy leans over the table to kiss Chimney on the forehead and gazes intently into his eyes. "Sorry, gorgeous. Next time, if I'm allowed, I'll eat your face."

While Chimney sputters, Buck smacks Tommy on his tricep.

"You have my permission," Maddie says, grinning.

"You don't have mine," Buck growls.

Chimney sputters, "Maddie!"

"I'm not insecure seeing two hot hunks make out in front of me," Maddie says, taking a sip of her wine with an arched brow and a wink.

--

They're cut off by a motorcyclist in a plaid shirt, blasting heavy metal as it goes, weaving in and out of the traffic on the freeway.

"Inconsiderate jerk," Buck grumbles.

"Nah, not that inconsiderate." Tommy drums his fingers on the wheel, his shades making him look like an A-list movie star. "He's wearing graph paper. Easy to calculate how much of a waste of space he is."

Buck almost chokes on his iced coffee.

--

"...and then Uncle Tommy said to Jessica Denson, 'I would call your parents, but I doubt they wanna talk about their biggest disappointment'," Mara says, a huge gleeful smile on her face.

Hen looks askance at Tommy, who shrugs unrepentantly. "What? She was taunting Mara about being adopted."

"And you're absolutely right to say that," Karen says, holding up a hand for a high five, and Tommy gives it to her.

Buck sighs. "Sorry, Hen."

She makes a face. "Nah. She deserves that. But next time, you pick her up."

[amywritesthings]

press four for more options. | part three.

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin) Word Count: 4k Summary: After seeing your ex with his new girl at a work party, you take the not-so-smart advice from a friend to call a sex hotline to get over him. Your match? A baritone bossy dom named Levi.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI - smut, alternate universe (modern), sex work, phone sex, dirty talk, dom!levi, light dom/sub, guided masturbation, edging, pet names, sex toys, multiple orgasms, mentions of body image Credits: dividers by @saradika-graphics

part two. / part four. | masterlist

“Hel-lo, is the idiot in the room still with us?”

A slender hand waves back and forth, back and forth, until you awake from your everlasting daydream.

Annie Leonhart sits across from you at your favorite coffee shop looking like the cat that caught the canary.

That knowing smirk hasn’t left her face since she sat down.

Curling her fingers, she pulls her arm and returns her hand to join the other under her chin once she’s finally caught your attention.

The small blonde squints her icy blue eyes, observing, deciding on what you’ll say before you launch your defense.

“That good, huh?”

Embarrassment is your first folly.

"I— What?!”

“I know a blissful climax cloud when I see one.”

“Annie.”

Sometimes Annie could be an ass, too smug for her own good, but she was a fiercely loyal friend and colleague.

Everything is meant in jest — at least, to you. Not many others got to avoid her wrath.

You lean over the table, reaching your hand out to cover her mouth.

She manages to duck your advances, expertly so, and rears her head with a small chuckle.

“Relax, no one’s listening,” she chides.

“That’s not true,” you argue under your breath. “It's a small shop. You know the vultures circle this place.”

“Not since the old thirsties got busted for their smutty book club — which, quite frankly, I resent losing.”

"You resent?" you repeat, mirroring her squint. “But you never ended up joining the old lady book club.”

“Mm, I didn’t,” Annie agrees, picking up her coffee cup to sip leisurely. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t listen. I looked up a couple of those titles for myself. In retrospect, they had good taste.”

“Seriously?”

“Dead.”

She pauses, setting the cup back on the table.

“So… are you going to make me work for the details, or what?” she finally leads, getting to the point while you skate around it with imaginary triple axels. “Did you call again after Friday?”

You did.

In fact, you've called several times — almost every night since last Friday with the exception of Tuesday, since you’d fallen asleep as soon as you hit the couch after working overtime.

It’s now another Friday afternoon, one week from the first time you’d called the hotline, and you’re wondering what constitutes bordering on addiction.

“I have,” you confirm. 

“That’s all you’re going to say?” she chastises with a grimace. “Boo — tomato, tomato.”

“What?! What did you want me to say?”

“For starters, who the guy is.”

“Not happening.”

“Loser.” A beat passes. “But it’s not Bert?”

You shake your head vehemently.

“Definitely not Bert.”

“Thank god,” she exhales. “I like you, but I don’t know if I like you enough to be calling up the same dude to get our rocks off.”

“Jesus, Annie.”

“Oh, come on, don’t be such a prude.”

You pick up your own tea, sliding it across the table before taking a tentative sip.

“I don’t know how you freely talk about this like we’re trying out restaurants.”

“Because it’s not real?” she suggests, and your stomach flip-flops. 

You know it isn’t. 

It’s a job.

It’s his job.

“I don’t know,” Annie continues, sitting back against her chair with her arm draped across the curve. “It’s no strings attached and hot. I’ll never meet Bert, and he’ll never meet me, and it isn’t like he’s going to ask to hold my hand and beg me to meet his mom.”

“You’re such a commitment-phobe,” you comment with the roll of your eyes. “You won’t ever meet anyone’s mom.”

“Yeah, because I’m not a psycho,” she replies with a snort. “I take it you went premium?”

You nod once. “Levi suggested it.”

Her eyes widen, delighted, and you scowl at your own stupidity.

“Levi?”

Ah.

Fuck.

"Wait." You sit up taller. “Don’t—”

“Oh, that’s a hot name.”

“Annie, I swear to—”

She sours to herself. “Damn, that’s so much hotter than moaning Bert.”

The tea in your cup bubbles from your chortled breath. 

“Oh?”

“Yeah, not my favorite name ever, but that’s fine — because it’s more like he’s moaning Annie.”

Paired with a wicked grin, your friend winks at you.

“We have two very different wants.”

You squint, and her grin widens. “Wait, do you—”

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh my god, Annie.”

“What?!” she chirps with a chuckle. “You like the bossy ones, I like being the boss. You’re not allowed to kink shame me. We’re in this shit together.”

“Who said I like being bossed around?!”

She points her finger at your facedown phone.

“Porco Galliard bosses people around. I’m not stupid. And you scream ‘I don’t like being assertive’.”

Great.

The same observation Levi made over the phone without ever meeting you in person.

“Whatever, that isn’t the point,” you wave off, deciding to try and swerve the subject. “I wanted to ask: how many times do you call a week?”

Annie presses the tip of her tongue against her cheek as she considers.

“A week? Maybe two, three at most. It used to be a hell of a lot more, but I’m working a lot of late nights.”

“When you say ‘a hell of a lot more’, do you mean—?”

“Daily?” she finishes for you then tries to recall. “Why? Are you daily right now?” 

You hate yourself for a second. 

“Sort of? It’s only been a few days, but—”

“Hey, that’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

She reassures in that randomly serious way Annie can pull on a rare occasion.

Making fun of people might be her favorite pastime, but if she can sense true withdrawal from her friends, then she’s quick to stop. 

The blonde reaches over the table to pat your hand, but it’s hardly a comfort.

Annie is about as comforting as raw-dog wearing a hand-knitted sweater by an amateur: it's itchy, too tight, and you want it to stop immediately. 

“You’re a grown woman with grown woman money. If guys can go get blue balled at the strip club, then why can’t we call a hot guy over the phone?”

Again: not comforting at all.

With reluctance, you nod.

“You have a point.”

“I know I have a point.”

“Then again, I don’t know how long term this fix can be,” you reason. “It’s very expensive.”

“Yeah, but you know what’s more expensive?” Annie retorts. “Hooking up with a stranger at a bar who’s abysmal in bed. Maybe not so much for your wallet, but definitely for your ego.”

“And your sanity,” you agree, “if they’re weird.”

“Or a creep.”

“Or a serial killer.”

“A weird creep that happens to be a serial killer.”

You both give each other a look, an unspoken conversation of two delusional women saying ‘exactly’ in a singular gesture, as you sync the sips of your drinks.

.

.

— —

.

.

  “Do you ever — ha — use to — oh — ys?”

You’re not sure why you’re so chatty with your rabbit vibrator barely hovering over the hood of your clit.

A week ago, you would've been trying to smother yourself with a pillow for talking.

However, with each night you’ve called Levi, the more comfortable you’ve become.

More bold, if openly using toys tells him anything.

The avalanche that brought you here was quite swift.

Traffic lights no longer remind you of the cars on the road but the man waiting for you on this hotline.

A willing striptease; a compliance to do what you wish but let him take the lead.

All you had to say was ‘my hand’s getting tired’ during an edging session.

All Levi had to reply with was ‘if you had a toy, I’d allow you to tag it in’.

Allow.

Like you’re completely under his spell.

Like you couldn’t have been using one from the get-go, but you listened.

You said you did.

He said grab it.

(God, you always listen.)

Now you’re here, legs spread in the center of your bed with your phone sitting between the valley of your breasts as you talk to him through the speaker.

“I am right now,” Levi replies in that diplomatic way of his, the lift of his voice telling: he’s amused by the way you try to speak to him, even when you’re ready to scream with impatience.

“I meant on yourself,” you exhale shakily.

“On myself?”

“Like on c-calls,” you stammer, forcing yourself to focus.

He loves when you lose your mind.

You refuse to cave so fast tonight.

“A mystery for another day,” he teases, before adding in a firmer tone: “You earned it. Touch it to your clit, but don’t go inside yet. I want you wet and ready for me, understand?”

“You’re so mean.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he softens for just a moment. “And don’t talk back.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” you joke, before pressing the device against your clit.

The vibrations surge pleasure down your legs, causing your toes to curl.

You’re not sure if it’s the ‘sir’ or the moan you emit that makes him groan in return.

“The answer is no,” he finally states.

For a second, you think you did something wrong.

Then you circle back, remembering what you asked in the first place.

Right.

The toys question.

“You don’t?”

“Not on me, no.” He exhales, slow and steady. “Too busy making sure I’m hitting the script.”

That’s the funny thing about these calls:

The fourth wall? 

Broken.

He doesn’t pretend to be your boyfriend for the night, just as you don’t pretend he’s only yours.

You’re aware he’s a sex worker, just as he seems to open up about his profession when speaking to you.

At first Levi wouldn’t — it was meant to be a fantasy — but each night he’s divulged more.

Like how he used to be in the military. (Unrelated to sex.)

Like how he has an affinity for tea, going so far as to have a mild cup with you after a session in lieu of a cigarette. (Unrelated to sex.)

Like how he’s a Capricorn. (Unrelated to sex — kind of.)

In the midst of learning about him, you’ve learned about yourself.

You’re less vanilla than you originally thought.

With Porco, things felt regimented.

Scheduled.

You weren’t willing to open up your heart, much less your legs, because he was too cold behind closed doors.

Focused.

Driven to his work and passions.

Levi, on the other hand, will suggest leaning against the wall with your hand in your underwear, eyes forced to watch yourself in your full-length mirror.

To worship yourself, when he can’t.

To pump your fingers into your weeping core, when he can’t.

To give over complete and utter control with the promise that you’ll come as many times as he asks you to, because if he could be in this very room — this very apartment — he’d easily do it himself.

With Levi, you’re bold.

With Levi, you’re in.

So you’re not shy to arch your back, moaning into the receiver when you feel your first orgasm approaching you like the incoming tide.

“Levi,” you whimper his name, “can I—”

“Shit, baby, you know you can,” he practically purrs, already knowing what you’re going to ask. “C’mon. Let me hear that pretty little voice of yours, huh? Just for me?”

“Just for—”

The last word is garbled by the way your teeth clench, legs snapping together as the first climax hits after a relentless twenty-minute edging session.

It’s unreal.

It’s pain.

It’s bliss.

It’s everything you’ve ever wanted.

(Freedom.)

You pant, pulling the vibrator away from your body for a moment to catch your breath.

You hear him hum with approval on the other end, a low rumble against your chest.

“That’s a good girl,” he says after a beat. “Feeling better?”

“So much,” you confess breathlessly.

“You sound better.”

“Thanks to you.”

“Didn’t do much.”

“Oh shut up,” you scowl before laughing.

Turning off the toy for a momentary reprieve, you allow yourself to catch your breath as you grin up at the ceiling.

“Always so goddamn modest.”

“You’re one to talk,” he scoffs, shifting on the other end of the line. “Can’t take a damn compliment to save your life.”

You make a face like he can see you in the dark, but you decide to continue the conversation.

That’s a new thing the two of you have picked up — talking.

Lots of talking.

You get off, sure, but he knows your work drama, your chore schedule — your mailmen even have the same first name, funnily enough.

“I’m serious, though,” you exhale. “Do you ever like… get off? Without toys, obviously.”

“During a call?” he clarifies, and you nod. He answers like he can see it. “No, not — not typically.”

“Wow, so you’ve faked an orgasm with me,” you tease with a blissed out snort. “Shame, shame, I know your name.”

“I what?”

“Faked it,” you clarify, fluffing your pillows behind your head as you situate yourself on your bed. “As if I don’t hear you breathing all heavy and shit over there.”

Then something unusual happens.

The man grows quiet on the other side. 

Nothing shuffles.

No huffs or ‘tchs’.

Just… silence.

“Levi?” you ask, brows knit.

A beat passes, but he answers.

“Yeah?”

“Are you good over there?”

“I— yeah, fine,” he clears his throat.

Uh-oh.

You frown immediately, blinking twice. “Sorry, was that a weird question?”

“Not at all,” he clarifies, gruff this time, “just… I said not typically, not never.”

…oh.

Oh.

Suddenly you abandon the rabbit and sit up in bed, eyes as wide as saucers.

“Wait.”

“Scarlet.”

“No, did you actually—”

“I already said too much.”

“No, wait, you can’t just imply that you’ve gotten off with me then abandon ship here, Levi!”

“I’m not abandoning ship — why do you say such weird shit sometimes?”

“How many times?!” you yelp.

“I’m not answering that.”

“Holy shit,” you exhale, “I’m so mad I didn’t pay attention.”

It’s like you can hear Levi squinting, narrowing his eyes with uncertainty on the other end of the phone. “...why would you be mad?”

“Because maybe I want to hear you get off, too?” you suggest simply.

Another agonizing breath of silence.

Chewing on your bottom lip, you place your phone on your sheets and pick up the vibrator, contemplating your next move.

“Because I would totally love to just… I don’t know, make you moan, too? See what you taste like? Feel you lose control, pull my hair, hold my head down while I wrap my lips around—”

“Baby.”

Two syllables shoot out of his mouth, as if overwhelmed with shock.

Huh.

An Uno reverse in your favor.

You’re no Shakespeare, but what you say is as honest as words can possibly be.

“I picture you all the time,” you confess softly, pressing the rabbit vibrator’s first function.

A low rumble begins, and you guide it between your legs.

You’re already soaked from your session.

There will be little give to the toy.

“When we’re not on the phone together, I wonder what it would be like. I could be at work. I could be at a coffee shop. Like, holy shit, I was meeting with a friend today and all I could think of is how badly I’d love to just take you to it — maybe disappear in the back hall, find a bathroom? I’d bend over a sink. I don’t wear skirts all the time, but I’d wear one for you.”

You hear shifting on the other end of the line, but Levi is deathly silent.

Mindlessly, your hand takes hold of the vibrator and you press against your entrance.

With a tiny whimper, you push in, deliciously enveloped in a sea of vibrations.

“You wouldn’t need to wear a skirt.”

Suddenly his voice appears, and you accidentally push the vibrator further in, causing a strangled moan to exit your mouth. 

“Le—”

“Pants are just as easy,” Levi cuts you off, a thread of a whisper. “Couldn’t take that much effort. Wouldn’t give a shit if anyone saw your damn clothes at your ankles.”

Suddenly the room burns.

“I just know you’d fill me up so good,” you whine, and there’s a sharp hiss on the other end.

“Jesus Christ.”

There.

You hear it: the waver in his voice.

“Yeah, baby,” he concedes. “I’d fill you so fucking good.”

You whimper, a pathetic little noise at the base of your throat, and he exhales a large breath — as if he’s been holding back this entire time.

“Promise?”

“When have I ever led you astray?” he challenges, a bit more strained now.

It’s the hottest thing you've ever heard.

“I wanna make you feel so good,” you breathe, ragged and wrecked, and there’s a small groan on the other end of the line.

“You already do, baby.”

“Not how I want to,” you argue in return, body pulsating with the growing need to release a second. “You’re so good at making me cum, but all I want is to take it how you want me — bend me over and fill me up, push me to my knees and stick my tongue out—”

“Fuck,” he curses sharply. “You’re so good for me. So, so fucking good, not fuckin’ fair.”

“Wanna cum with you.”

He groans, louder this time, and inhales the most deliciously jagged breath you’ve ever heard.

“Right there, baby,” he forces out. “C’mon. Give me one more. Just one more.”

You don’t need to be told twice.

You purposefully bite your tongue when you come a second time, squeezing your eyes shut with all of your senses focused solely on your ears.

A grunt, as if he’s holding back just the same before exhaling, slow and languid.

In your mind’s eye, you see it: how he uses his teeth to hold up his t-shirt, painting his abdomen with streaks of white as he holds himself back from climaxing too loud. His whole body trembles. He squeezes the tip, milking himself for all he’s worth.

Pulling the vibrator from your body, you turn it off and toss it elsewhere on your bed. Your body curls around your phone, trying to stay quiet so you can listen.

Shaky.

Exhausted.

Not typically, not never.

You say nothing, can’t, but a small giggle of euphoria emits from your throat.

Surprisingly, Levi chuckles back with that drugged slowness that comes with exhaustion.

“You’re too damn giddy after two orgasms,” he chastises, which only makes you laugh harder.

“Uh-huh, Huff ‘n Puff,” you tease right back, and he tsk’s right against the phone.

And in your heart, you know—

Know you’re in deep shit.

Know that you like Levi, even if it’s impossible to like a stranger.

Maybe when you get this month’s credit card bill, you’ll sober up from your crush.

But not right now.

Just not right now.

.

.

— —

.

.

  The next morning, you’re up bright and early.

Skip the elevator to the apartment lobby.

Walk down the stairs to kickstart your adrenaline.

Skip the coffee at the local shop.

Choose a small cup of chai instead.

By the time you make it to the gym, you’re more ready than you ever have been in your life to take on the day.

.

.

— —

.

.

  Forty-five minutes later, your sweat even has sweat.

Staring at your reflection in the mirror, the endorphins from a tough workout only make you feel that more excited to get your shit together. To be more mindful of your time.

(Totally not because your last call with Levi was unreal. Nope.)

Overall, you went from hating your life to — well, this.

Whatever this is.

Owning your self agency and worth after a pitiful breakup?

Unfortunately joining this gym had been Porco’s idea — he’s a treadmill hamster, and you got swindled by the sea of abs under his tank tops.

A ‘couples activity’, whatever that meant.

(Being sweaty and tired without an orgasm to finish it off never did feel rewarding.)

After the breakup you considered trying to get out of your 6-month contract, but Porco dipped first.

He joined Pieck’s crossfit endeavor somewhere else in the city, leaving you and this dingy little gym to commiserate together.

Now?

Now, you excitedly get ready in the morning to the gym — not to get thin or look a certain way to appease anyone else. A revenge body is bonafide stupid.

No — you don’t want to be anything but stronger.

Because Levi would probably think it was hot if you were stronger.

Maybe the next time you call, he’ll be impressed that you’ve taken to strength training. 

Maybe he’ll give you some pointers — one more topic of conversation to be had.

Setting down the free weights back on the rack after a thorough cleaning of the equipment, you step out of the way of the other regulars gearing up for their workout and head towards the locker rooms to shower.

In the small pocket of your leggings, you hear your phone vibrate. 

Digging your hand in to fish it out, you see a familiar name on your lock screen.

[A. LEONHART]: Yo [A. LEONHART]: We’re all going out Tuesday for drinks – u in?

All.

All means the department.

All might mean Porco and Pieck.

Annie must sense your apprehension, before adding:

[A. LEONHART]: Porky probs not going, Pieck’s got a family thing

 

Well, that’s two positives.

[ME]: I’ll think about it. [A. LEONHART]: Think about it????

[A. LEONHART]: 🍅🍅🍅

Her and her fucking tomatoes.

You snort and begin to write back—

But not before accidentally slamming chest to chest into a stranger.

The phone flies out of your hand like a bar of wet soap.

Like a Scooby Doo short, it alley-oops to the sky then smashes down against the black-speckled rubber gym floor.

Before you can even react, the person you’d bumped into is bending to crouch on the floor.

“Shit. My fault.”

Every cell in your body freezes.

Time ceases to exist.

They scoop your phone into their hand, flipping it over checking for damage. 

Luckily, the screen is intact. 

No fall damage.

But that isn’t why you’re frozen.

As they rise to full stance, your eyes are still downcast. 

From their sneakers your eyes crawl up, up, up — noticing the basketball shorts that cut just above the knee with compression under armor peeking beneath.

On his torso is an emerald green tank top, clinging to his flexing abs, the fabric speckled with sweat. 

His collarbones are defined; chin just as sharp as his cheekbones.

Then you meet his eyes.

A blue-ish gray.

The man standing before you runs on the shorter side — under average height for a man.

His ebony hair dangles and sticks to his sweat-slicked forehead, the ends pointed and shaggy.

It takes a moment until you realize you’ve seen that hair before.

While you’ve taken to walking on the treadmill for your warm-up these last several weeks, he’s typically nestled in the strength training corner of the gym alone. 

Every morning that you’re here, he is also here diligently working on his physique.

He’s always in some squat position or lying on a bench, so you never paid attention to his face—

He’s fucking gorgeous.

“Looks like it’s fine,” he says casually, and your stomach falls out of your ass.

Baritone.

Smooth like honey, low like a rumble.

There’s no way.

There is absolutely no way it’s—

“Here.”

The man holds your phone out for you, brows knitting curiously. 

You can’t speak. 

Hell, you can barely breathe.

He shakes his hand to wake you from your shock.

“Take it.”

You know that voice like the back of your hand.

Wordlessly, you reach a shaky hand towards the phone to take it back.

You part your lips to speak, but no words exit.

All you can do is grasp your phone and pull it to your chest as you catch the scent of his deodorant with a mixture of musk when he passes by, none the wiser.

By the time you turn to say something, anything—

Levi from Scout Services Hotline dips into the men’s locker room.

.

Author's Note:

...oops.

Thank you for reading part three of P4! I continue to be blown away by the response. Because of your encouragement, I wrote one of the fastest updates I've made in ages. How are we feeling now? Let me know in the comments!

Thank you for likes, and even more love to those who choose to reblog this to help spread the word of this series or reply in the comments. ilu xo

[tojisun]

(this is def inspired by htgawm s4e7 but) simon is totally the type to propose to you in a way that is quite mundane, if not a little unexpected.

thinking about simon taking you out for lunch by the cafe close to your work; you ordered a light lunch, paired it with iced coffee, and simon scrunches his nose in mortification but backs off with a chuckle when you tell him he can’t say shit after ordering steak and paired it with a cup of tea.

and you’re within the moment of recounting your morning, waving your hands around in excitement as you tell him about completing a project given to you by your supervisor, when simon just gets hit with this realization. this feeling that pulses within his heart—“you. i want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

so, while you’re lost in your story, simon plucks out the discarded straw wrap you tore off for your drink, and hides his hands underneath the table. he twists the paper, makes soft tears to cut it shorter, and pinches the ends so they stick together as best as they can. it’s sloppy but it’s a circle, small enough to fit around your finger.

“so,” you begin, sipping on your coffee. “what’cha hiding under there?”

simon shoots you a cheeky smile. “oh but you’ve seen it, haven’t you, lovie?”

you groan, chucking a balled-up tissue paper his way. “y’r gross.”

“that’s not what you were crying last night,” he playfully snarks back with a quirked up brow. your cheeks burn and you duck down to hide from his knowing gaze, trying desperately to tamp down the laugh that is making your lips twitch.

simon chuckles, shaking his head softly, trying to pretend that his heart isn’t quite literally lodged in his throat right now, before coughing lightly to capture your attention again. you give it to him readily with a small and confused smile dancing on your lips, and your eyes crinkled in the way that makes him swoon.

“si?” you ask, a little worried now that he just sits on in his silence. “are you okay?”

“yeah,” simon replies, a little breathless. “more than ‘okay’, actually. i’m-” he pauses, clearing his throat, his fingers still playing with the straw wrapping.

you watch as he breathes in deeply before his posture straightens and then he is pulling his hand out from under the table. you blink your eyes down to his hand where, pinched between his fingers, is the straw wrapping twisted and pinched to look like a small ring.

“this is a placeholder for the real one, s’just that i’ve always wanted to ask you when the timing is right but every time i’m with you always seemed to be the right time so…”

simon’s eyes are unwavering—they are pools of gentle storms—but you notice the way his hand trembles, taken by tremors that would have made you worry if his words had not seized your beating heart and cradled it with such tenderness that you feel like weeping.

“will you marry me?”

[roosterforme]

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 24 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley intended to take care of a few important things while he had the week off from work, but a quick visit to base brought with it a change of plans.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, adult language, smut, very hands-on Bradley, spanking, 18+

Length: 3500 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

The following day, instead of dressing in a uniform or flight suit, Bradley pulled on jeans and a tropical print shirt while he watched you get yourself ready for work.

"You look cute," he murmured as you wiggled into a dress and some simple flats. "And I like it that you're officially living here now instead of just staying for a few days."

"The commute is not ideal," you told him immediately. "But this is." You placed your hand on his abs before giving him the sweetest kiss that left him soft inside. "This is ideal."

Fuck. He was so in love it was insane. As soon as he was back in your presence for a few hours, having sex and eating pasta, he could barely remember how miserable he'd been on that deployment. It was like nothing else mattered as long as he kept coming back to you.

"Let me pack your lunch," he whispered, tilting your chin up for another one of those kisses. Then he was on his way to the kitchen before he could make you late for school. Before he got home, you filled the refrigerator with everything he liked to eat, and he inhaled two yogurts and some peanut butter toast while he made your sandwich. 

The notes you opened from the box he sent were on the kitchen counter, and he smiled. Nat covered for him big time on Christmas Eve so he could make that happen. He was excited to get to see her when he stopped by North Island, but he had to get you to work first.

"You don't need to drop me off. It's so far out of the way," you told him as you appeared with your tote bag. "I'll drive myself."

When he pouted, you laughed. "Come on, Gorgeous. I want to. I need to stop on base anyway."

"Oh, can you remind Marty and Nat about Career Day?" you asked, holding your bag open for your lunch.

"Nat's coming, too? You'll have the whole of the Navy there, Baby."

"The kids would love that."

Bradley narrowed his eyes. "As long as I'm still the favorite."

"You're irreplaceable," you promised.

You weren't exaggerating one bit when you said the commute was a killer. Bradley hummed along to the radio and held your hand, barely making it through the Starbucks drive-thru line and up to your school before the last minute that you needed to be there.

"I love you. Bye," you told him, kissing him quickly before jumping out the passenger door and running up the sidewalk with your enormous drink in one hand. He was absolutely addicted to the coffee now as well, and after he was sure you made it inside, he sipped his own cup as he drove back down the highway.

It was strange to be going through the guard gates this late in the morning, and when he approached the hangar in his street clothes, he heard Nat's voice and sassy whistle immediately. 

"Looking good, Rooster. Did you forget to do your laundry? Did you forget what time work started while you were deployed?" she called, and he made a point to mess up her hair when she gave him a tight hug. "You're the worst."

"I missed you too, Nat," he told her with a laugh. "Thanks for looking after my girl."

She shrugged and said, "I'm always in the market for drinking wine and talking about you behind your back. Plus, she's actually great. Hanging out with her is the best."

"Yeah," he replied, laughing harder. "That's why I want to do it all the time. I intend to do it forever."

One of her dark eyebrows shot up, and she smirked as she said, "Like forever, forever?"

He ducked his head and cleared his throat. "Yeah, but engagement rings are expensive." Natasha screeched and punched him in the shoulder. "Why are you like this?" he asked as she smacked him several times and jumped around excitedly.

Bradley was saved from being attacked when Maverick walked in with his familiar clipboard in hand and a frown on his face. "Phoenix, you're supposed to be in the tower. Rooster, welcome back. Why aren't you dressed?"

"My vacation days got approved," Bradley replied as Natasha quietly crept away. "I'm off the rest of the week. Didn't anyone tell you?"

"It's probably in my emails." Maverick's frown faded away as he pulled Bradley in for a hug. "I was a little worried for a minute there that you'd end up back in Norfolk." He slapped him on the back. "If you're off all week, why are you here?"

Bradley chuckled. "I just wanted to see everyone. Like you said, I was a little worried about Norfolk, too."

Maverick eyed him closely. "And did I hear you say something about an engagement ring?"

It wasn't like there was anything to hide. Bradley figured it was pretty obvious to everyone by now that his relationship with you was the real deal. Hell, Maverick even compared it to his own parents. "Yeah, I'm going to buy one this month. I just need to juggle some finances around to make sure I can get her something really pretty. But I'm going to start looking today."

A slow nod turned into a beaming smile, and then Maverick said, "Before you do anything, I have something you might want to know about."

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

You were dead on your feet at work. Staying up half the night making love and snuggling left you with a smile on your face, but you couldn't stop yawning. Your students noticed right away as you drained your coffee and groaned when the bell rang signaling the start of class.

"Did you have a hard time sleeping?" Jayden asked.

"A little bit," you replied, remembering the way you had to keep pinching yourself to make sure Bradley's strong arm wrapped around you all night was real.

"Was there a loud noise that kept you up?" Nia asked.

You tried not to snort as you thought about Bradley's moans and grunts in your ear as he fucked you from behind. "Something like that. It's time to review our spelling words."

Even though you insisted that Bradley didn't need to drive you to work, he did, and he promised he'd be back right on time to pick you up at the end of the day. But he was such a liar. He arrived at your classroom fifteen minutes before dismissal time with rosy cheeks and eighteen envelopes.

"Lieutenant Bradshaw's here!" Nia called out when your boyfriend knocked on the door before slipping inside. 

He made a beeline right to you, placing a rather innocent kiss on your cheek. "I hope you don't mind, but I wanted to drop these off," he said, holding up the envelopes. The top one had Jackie's name on it, and your heart soared. Butterflies took off. You had to work really hard not to kiss him again.

"We don't mind," you told him, and you watched him pass out the individual notes he must have written for your students while he was deployed. All eyes were on him as he walked around your classroom, delivering envelopes and answering questions.

"When did you get home from the Atlantic Ocean?"

"Was the food good on the aircraft carrier?"

"Are you coming back for Career Day on Friday?"

Bradley took everything in stride like he always did, but his eyes returned to yours frequently, and his flushed cheeks left you feeling dizzy.

"I got home yesterday," he said, voice deep and commanding as he set the last of his envelopes down on Violet's desk. "The food was terrible. So bad. Nothing like the Pacific Fleet. Nowhere near as good as what you ate on your field trip to North Island. I'm thinking about writing a letter to complain."

"You should," Violet told him seriously. "Yummy, balanced meals are so important."

"You're so right," he replied with a nod. "And yes, I'll be back on Friday for Career Day. Your teacher worked so hard on it, I wouldn't miss it for anything." You were gripping the edge of your desk now as he smiled at you.

"I didn't know you were allowed to wear anything except your uniforms," marveled Oliver.

Bradley looked down at his patterned shirt and laughed. "Should I stick with the flight suit for Friday?"

Then the dismissal bell rang, and your kids started to scramble. You usually had them packed up and ready to go a few minutes early, but Bradley was clearly more exciting than the end of the school day. 

"Don't forget about the spelling test tomorrow!" you called out as they all exited the room in a mass of chaos after high fiving your boyfriend. "Thanks for surprising us," you said as you spun to face him.

"Thanks for being so perfect that I can't stay away from you."

Your cheeks blazed with warmth as you ducked against his chest. Muscular arms wrapped you up in a hug as you muttered, "Did you remind Natasha and Marty about Friday?"

"Mmhmm."

"And did you get to see Maverick?"

He paused before squeezing you a little tighter and kissing the top of your head. "Uh, yes. I did. Now will you let me take you home so I can get back to my busy schedule of eating delicious food, napping and fucking you senseless?"

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

Bradley spent the following day unpacking more of your stuff while you were at work. You had all these fancy things he needed to make room for. Like an air fryer. And a rice cooker. Things he would have never used otherwise, but he didn't mind having them here now. 

He took breaks to read from the journal you kept while he was away, often smiling and laughing at what you'd written in your daily log. It was no wonder he fell in love with you through your writing; you were just the same as you were in person and so authentic this way. Then he read about the day you helped Edith with some chores, and he sprawled out on the couch with a groan.

You were the sweetest thing in his life. One time, Vanessa told him that Edith was annoying and only wanted attention. He rolled his eyes then, and he rolled them again now. She was elderly. Of course she wanted attention. But Bradley knew she also had arthritis, and helping her with yard work was fast and painless for him. He couldn't imagine you saying anything like that.

Bradley slipped into a hazy daydream, thinking about how he wanted to propose to you as his feet hung over the end of the couch. He wasn't going to last long now, and he knew it. Not with that ring tucked away in a Zip-lock bag which was duct taped underneath the bathroom sink vanity behind the pipes. If nothing else, he knew it was there, and he could rip it down any time he felt like asking you to marry him, but he wanted it to be special. Really special.

Maybe he could write something for you. Maybe he should take you out to dinner again. There had to be a way to make it just right so you couldn't say no.

After a few more minutes of indulging in the fantasy of having you as his wife, he stood up and attempted to use the air fryer to make lunch. Pretty soon he gave up and made a sandwich instead before walking next door to knock on Edith's door.

"Bradley!" she said, pulling the door open for him. "You're home. Your girlfriend told me you were deployed earlier this month."

"I just got back on Monday. A little bruised, but no worse for the wear," he told her with a smile. "I wanted to see if you needed help with anything."

"Oh, your sweet girlfriend already changed my light bulbs for me," she told him. Then she lowered her voice and smirked. "She's a looker."

"Yeah," he confirmed with a nod. "She's Gorgeous. She also moved in with me, so if I'm not home and you need something, you can always ask her, okay?" 

Edith fretted her hands, and Bradley leaned back out the open front door, knowing she wouldn't agree to his help unless she paid him in some way. Truthfully, he really did feel like playing the piano anyway. "It looks like you've got some weeds that need to be pulled, and your downspout is loose again. How about you think of a cool song to teach me, and I'll be back in like fifteen minutes?"

He ducked outside before she could answer, but he could hear her tapping away at the piano keys as he yanked some dried up weeds out of the soft soil. While he worked, he pictured the sheet music that Edith kept stacked up inside the piano bench, and he started to come up with an idea. The more he thought about the pages stacked up in his own house, the more he liked his plan. 

He was all smiles when he sat down for her to teach him how to play a Bob Dylan classic, and he was still whistling the tune when he went to pick you up from work.

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

On Thursday night, Bradley had you snuggling on top of him on the couch when you should have really been going over your final plans for Career Day. "You are such a distraction," you whispered, arms and legs wrapped up with his to keep warm since you were wearing nothing but his old sweatshirt.

His fingers flexed on the back of your thigh as he smirked and turned his head to face you instead of the TV. "And you're the best for helping me relax all week." His breath was warm on your cheek, and he kissed you there, saying, "Don't stress about tomorrow. It'll be perfect."

You nuzzled your cheek against his shoulder. "I still have to put all of my guests in order. I need to schedule the most impressive presentation last, for the grand finale."

"Okay, so put me last then, Gorgeous."

You grinned and tried not to giggle. "I was actually thinking Marty."

Bradley's hand slid up from your thigh, smoothing over your butt, and you knew what was coming even before you clenched with need. Bradley smacked you one time, and you moaned as he soothed away the sting with his palm. You were instantly aroused, fingers tingling and ears burning. Bradley's dark eyes were wide, searching your face, questioning what he should do next. When you nodded once, he grunted, and that big hand landed on you again, breaking the silence.

"Fuck," you gasped, rear end stinging as Bradley cupped and squeezed you, pulling you a few inches up his body so he could kiss you. His cock was getting hard in his gym shorts, pressing against your belly, driving you wild.

"You like that?" he whispered between heated kisses, but you barely wanted to take the time to breathe.

"Yes," you replied, mouth mashing against his. Both of his hands came up to your waist, yanking the sweatshirt over your head and dropping it on the floor. Then your lips were back on his as you moaned into his mouth.

The sex had been so sweet since he got home, and neither of you could be blamed for wanting so much of it after going so long without. But this was something else. Bradley's fingers dug into your flesh, and his kisses were rough. Demanding. You spread your legs a little wider, arching your back, silently begging for him to spank you again.

He did not disappoint.

You were aching, whining his name, enthralled by the cocky smirk on his face and the possessiveness in his eyes. "You want more, Gorgeous?" he asked, voice dark as his smirk grew. When you nodded vigorously, he kissed your lips so softly before he said, "You'll schedule me last for Career Day? I think it's where I belong, since I'm the most impressive."

Oh my god. He was playing with you now. You knew he wasn't actually jealous of Marty or Nat or any of the classroom parents, but he knew that you knew that your students would always think he was the most impressive. You would, too.

When you tried to kiss him, he pulled his face away from yours as he stroked your tender rear end with his fingertips. "Yes," you promised, "I'll put you last. You're the most impressive."

"Good girl." 

You gasped as he spanked you one more time, then he kissed you before pushing you up so you were straddling his thighs. When he yanked down his gym shorts, you were treated to the sight of his cock, thick and hard, smacking against his abs.

"Clearly I think you're impressive," he grunted, licking his thumb before running it along your swollen clit. It took no more coaxing before you had your hand wrapped around his cock, guiding him right where you wanted. You sank down on him, already a mess as he thrust up into you, hard.

"Bradley!" His hands were on your breasts, cupping you as he bucked his hips up again.

"Look at you," he rasped, fucking you rough while his hands were gentle. You bounced up and down, bracing yourself awkwardly on the too small couch. "Where do you want me to touch you?" he asked, eyes glued on your face and body. "Show me."

Without hesitation, you wrapped your fingers around his right wrist and moved his hand back to your butt. "A little more," you told him, voice shaking as he fucked you so good. Then he spanked you again and again, and you could feel it everywhere as you cried out. 

It was too much and not enough, and you bit your lip as he alternated between soothing you and spanking you until you were shaking, orgasm building. "Baby, you look and feel too good like this," he whined, wrapping his hands around your hips. "I'm so close."

But you were already there. You came as you leaned down and kissed him, those big hands sliding up, stroking your shoulders and neck as gently as you were used to while your ass tingled. You were making some wild sounds as you rode him until he filled you with his cum, then the two of you were panting in unison as your forehead came to rest against his.

You could feel him smiling, mustache brushing your lips as he said, "That was fun. Didn't know you would like it so much."

You moaned and said, "I'm as surprised as you are. And I'll put you last tomorrow. You're the grand finale. Obviously."

"Obviously," he agreed. "Just keep in mind, I'll be more than happy to spank you when you give me a hard time like that again." His lips found the side of your neck, his cock was still inside you as he murmured, "Got it?"

"Oh, loud and clear."

He chuckled, nipping along your skin as your butt throbbed a bit. You didn't want to move, but his stomach started loudly growling. Carefully, you started to sit up, brushing your fingers through his hair as you said, "It's been hours since you ate. Let's find something in the kitchen."

When you stood on wobbly legs, Bradley stayed lounging on the couch, guiding you and turning you so he could place one soft kiss on the spot on your butt where he had spanked you. Then he got to his feet as well, picked up the sweatshirt, and put it back on you.

He kissed the back of your neck and told you he never wanted to leave you again while you made him a grilled cheese sandwich. "Love you too much," he muttered, hand on your thigh as his leg brushed your tender rear end.

You thought about the weeks he was deployed without communication and how awful it was, but this right here was worth it. Making love in bed and rough sex on the couch. Learning what makes each other tick and sharing meals and enjoying how good it feels to have him hold you. All worth it.

When the sandwich was ready, you cut it into four triangles and took a small bite out of one before holding it up for him to eat it. "Thanks, Baby," he whispered, finishing it in one bite before you fed him the second one and then the third in similar fashion. He was finishing the last piece when he wrapped his arms around you and said, "Okay, Gorgeous, now I'm ready to help you get organized for Career Day before bed."

You laughed. "I just need to write a few things down and pick out an outfit."

"Oh. I wouldn't wear anything too tight," he suggested, smirking once more. "You're about to be sore tomorrow."

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

Okay, Maverick. Okay. Career Day is up next, and I need something nice to be there for Marty. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 25

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@solacestyles

@daisyhollyxox

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@shanimallina87

@ccbb2222

@xoxabs88xox

@thedroneranger

@cherrycola27

@fanboyswhore9

@xomrsalliej4787xo

@desert-fern

@horseslovers2016

@mattyskies

@hookslove1592

@blahehblah

@sadpetalsstuff

@local-spidey

@schoollover

@lex-winchester

@nicole01-23

@jessicab1991

@happyrebelruins

@samsgoddess

@bellaireland1981

@sagittarius-flowerchild

@mygyn

@yuckosworld

@daggerspare-standingby

@nessjo

@trickphotography2

@lyn-js

@furiousladyking

@godsfavoritebabe

@bethabear12

@halo-mystic

@sherlockstrangewolf

@theamuz

@khaylin27

[mawrmyy]

sugar 'n cream

Joel Miller x f!reader

word count: 2.4k

warnings:

18+ !!! minors dni please !!! smut, messy blowjobs, f!masturbation, tooth-rotting fluff, writing soft!husband!joel has become my brand at this point, pet names (angel, baby, perfect girl), lmk if i missed anything :)

You’ve fallen into a routine of waking up to the smell of brewing coffee every sunday morning.

Today is no different. Your eyelids flutter open gently, the burnt, earthy smell climbing upstairs to your bedroom. 

You linger in it, let yourself sink deeper into the white sheets as the scent envelops you, the familiarity of it feeling like a warm embrace. 

You can’t help but smile. You know he’s downstairs, probably pouring the dark coffee into two separate mugs; one for each of you. He knows exactly how you like your coffee, but he never gets it quite right. 

You love him for that. 

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes with the back of your knuckles, you begin to get up, the sheets rustling and twisting beneath you as you do. The floor tiles are cool against your bare feet, jolting you further awake as you tiptoe downstairs, hand lightly grazing the railing.

He’s there— broad shoulders facing you, muscles moving beneath his shirt as he pours the last drops of coffee into one of two mugs on the counter. You see him eye the sugar, contemplating whether or not to attempt sweetening your drink just how you like it. It makes you smile. 

You decide to help him solve the dilemma, walking towards him. 

He’s so warm. You feel the heat he radiates before you even wrap your arms around his waist, pressing a sweet kiss between his shoulder blades before resting your forehead there. He hums, and the vibration of it sends shivers throughout your whole body, you’re sure you feel him in your bones. 

“Mornin’, Baby,” Joel says softly. You hum in acknowledgement, unmoving from your position against his body, whining in protest when he tries to change positions. He chuckles, gruff and hearty, and you give in, loosening your grip on him. He turns over in your arms as he leans his back against the counter, and you lean your chin on his chest, looking up at him. He’s smiling at you, and it’s so soft and sweet, you’re sure your heart is going to burst out of your chest. 

Joel ducks his head down and kisses you, one big hand coming up to cup your cheek. A content sigh leaves your throat, and you feel him smile against your lips as his thumb softly caresses your cheekbone. 

You miss the warmth of his mouth as soon as you break apart. You grumble, your head nestling against his chest, ear against his thrumming heart. 

“Wanted to wake you up with coffee in bed,” Joel says. “Been workin’ real hard this week, Baby. Thought you could use the extra sleep.” He’s right, of course. He always is. He knows you so well, your Joel, always attentive, listening to your constant rambling and ranting as he holds you close to him on the couch after every long day. He’s so sweet, so good to you. 

You lean up, kissing him once again, this time shorter and sweeter. 

“I love you,” You tell him, because it’s true. He smiles, tugging you a little bit closer to him. 

“Never know how much sugar to put in your coffee, Baby,” Joel tells you. You huff out a laugh, reluctantly pulling yourself away from his body to pull out a milk carton from the fridge. You feel Joel’s gaze on you, burning a hole through your head as you pour the milk into your coffee, the dark brown shade of it softening to a lighter, caramel-like color.  

Before you can reach for the drawer to pull out a spoon for the sugar, Joel’s handing you one. It’s a normal teaspoon, but it looks comically small in his large hand. You take it from him, mumbling a thank you, Baby as you sweeten your coffee. His hand, the one that was handing you a spoon a moment ago, falls to the small of your back, and you revel under his touch. The two of you take a sip of your coffee simultaneously, and you smile into the mug as both of you find the other’s eyes. 

__ __ __

Joel likes his coffee black, black, black. You don’t understand why someone would choose to drink something that tastes like charcoal and burnt shit out of their own free will, but right now, as you kiss him, your tongue against his, you think you might not mind the flavor. 

He’s got you pushed up against the counter, marble digging into your lower back as he trails open-mouthed kisses up and down the column of your throat. His hands rest on either side of your hips, thumbs drawing circles on your waist. You’re breathing him in, holding the back of his head in the palm of your hand as his mouth nips and licks at your throat, kissing every sliver of bare skin his lips can find. Lost in the moment, you let your mind go completely blank with nothing but Joel.

Your man.

Your big, strong, capable man, always so good to you, so selfless. You know for a fact that he’d give you the world— he’s just waiting for you to ask him to. 

Your body moves on instinct, sinking to your knees before you even realize what you’re doing. Worshiping Joel is muscle memory at this point. Your hands travel up and down the outsides of his thighs, the fabric of his jeans rough and dry against the palms of your hands. You had asked him once, who the hell wears Jeans on their day off? He’d just huffed out a laugh and kissed you sweetly, and that was the end of the conversation.

Your fingers work at his belt, shakily unbuckling it, pulling it loop by loop before letting it fall to the floor beside you. Joel is looking down at you, eyes wide and dark and full of love and everything else that’s unsaid. His hand cups your face and you melt into his touch, nuzzling against him like a housecat basking in the warmth of a fireplace. 

“Baby,” Joel says from where he stands above you. His voice rasps around every vowel, lust dripping from it like honey. “Y’don’t gotta do that, c’mere. I’ll make you feel real good, Darlin’. Let me make you feel good.” You smile up at him, at your man, always putting your pleasure before his own. You shake your head softly, unbuttoning his jeans.

“Wanna make you feel good, Joel.” You say as you work the zipper down. His eyes never leave yours. Not as his pants fall around his ankles, or as you plant a kiss on his tan thigh. Not even as you palm his half-hard cock through his boxers, cupping him through the fabric. 

“Always taking such good care of me,” You say as you begin to pull his boxers down, kissing the newly revealed skin of his soft tummy. “Let me return the favor.” You keep tugging his boxers off slowly, pressing your lips softly to every inch of bare skin your greedy mouth can latch onto. You smile to yourself as you feel Joel’s breath hitching, the uneven rise and fall of his stomach against your curled lips. Your own breath catches in your throat as soon as Joel’s boxers fall to his ankles, his cock standing hard and proud before you, a bead of precum on the tip. 

This isn’t anything new. You and Joel have been together for a long time now, finally tying the knot last autumn after dating for five years. He takes such good care of you, showing his love in ways that range from sending you pictures of every heart-shaped object he comes across, to fucking you deep into the mattress until you’re screaming out his name. But still, you almost never get to love on him like you wish you could. He’s always so preoccupied with making you feel good, he doesn't realize that seeing him come undone for you has your sweet cunt clenching around nothing. 

You reposition yourself on your knees, making yourself as comfortable as the cold tile will allow, before taking Joel’s cock in your hand. He groans at the contact, your warm hand closing tightly around the thick base of him. The sound spurs you on, and you lean in to press a sweet kiss to the leaking tip. Joel’s hand flies to your hair, fisting it tightly. 

“Shit, Angel,” His voice is deep and gruff. You keep pressing feather-light kisses along the length of his dick, riling him up. “Fuck, go easy on me, Baby. Don’t tease me— shit,” You take him into your mouth, lips wrapping around the tip of his cock, tongue rubbing the sweet spot right beneath the head. The groan that Joel lets out is so primal and animalistic, you’re sure it’s been brewing in his chest for a while now. His hips stutter as he holds himself back from fucking your throat, and you take him deeper, mind hazy with the need to make him feel good, craving his sweet moans and groans. 

Joel is muttering about your perfect lips, and about what a good girl you are, taking him so well. His praise spurs you on, has you moaning and humming around his cock. 

But it’s not enough. You need more of him.

You pull your lips off of his dick with a wet pop! sound, spit dripping down your chin. Joel loosens his grip on your hair, confused. 

“Want you to fuck my throat,” You blurt out bluntly. Joel’s eyes go wide at your request. 

“Fuck– R’you sure?”He asks. You nod enthusiastically. “Don’t wanna hurt you,” He says, a little softer. His hand comes to rest on your cheek, his eyes wide with affection and worry. You hum, nuzzling into his touch, a smirk gracing your lips.

“Someone’s self absorbed,” You joke. Joel snorts, rolling his eyes.

“Goddamn smartass,” He replies, and you laugh. You press a light kiss to his lower tummy, his pubic hair scratching against your skin, before looking back up to him with a soft smile.

“M’serious,” You tell him. “Want you. Want all of you.” Joel inhales deeply.

“My perfect fuckin’ girl,” He says, and you beam. And after a moment– “Shit, yeah, okay.” It’s all the confirmation you need before taking him into your mouth once more, cheeks hollowing as you relish in his bitter flavor. Joel’s hand finds the back of your head once again, pulling you closer to him until the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat. His nostrils flare as he grunts, eyes never leaving yours. You can’t help but moan at the intimacy of it, at the warm weight of him against your tongue. 

You can tell your sounds spur him on, giving him more confidence as he bucks his hips against you, making you choke around his cock. 

He looks so beautiful like this, with his tousled hair and his coffee-brown eyes watching you in awe, you can’t help but let your hand slide down beneath the waistband of your panties, fingers running through your slick folds, drawing small circles on your clit. 

He looks like an Adonis, like an ancient Greek statue carved from the finest marble. You run a hand up and down his thick thigh, your other hand still toying with your cunt. You sink a finger into your dripping hole, making you moan even more enthusiastically as you bob your head up and down Joel’s cock. He’s close and you know it, the rhythm of his hips uneven as he fucks into your mouth. His eyebrows are furrowed and his mouth slightly agape and yes, he looks so handsome like this, you feel yourself clenching around your finger before slipping another one into your tight hole. Joel’s always been better at this than you, his fingers thicker and longer, hitting all the right spots inside of you. You can’t help but wish it was him, fucking you deep and slow, thumb circling your clit while two fingers pump deep inside your pussy, making you gush and cream around him. But no, this is about him, now. You swirl your tongue around his heavy cock, pulling your head back slightly to suck at the sensitive tip. Joel lets out a broken moan before pulling you against him, your nose against his soft belly. It’s a sweet burn. He’s so big, you feel tears beginning to blur your vision as you breathe deeply through your nose. 

He finally lets you break away, and you gasp for air. You smile up at him, practically glowing, the hand that was previously buried between your plush thighs comes back up to stroke him, the mix of your spit and your juices coating his dick as your hand tugs at him. 

“Want you to come in my mouth,” You say, before pressing a soft kiss to the side of the shaft. “Wanna taste you.” Joel curses under his breath, something you can’t quite make out. You smirk, before taking him into your mouth again.

“Girl of my- fuck- girl of my fuckin’ dreams,” He says, and you hum around him. He gives two hard thrusts into your tight throat, before his hips still completely as he comes. You’re pressed against him, your eyes screwed shut as you focus on breathing through your nose, not wanting to break away before you get to taste all of him, every last drop on your tongue.

Joel’s hips jerk as his cum paints the velvet walls of your mouth. The flavor of him is bitter and salty, something you can’t quite put into words. 

Something that’s all Joel, all yours.

You slowly pull your mouth off of his softening cock, swallowing every last drop of his release, all while never breaking eye contact. Joel’s breathing is heavy and his eyes are wide, watching your every move with utter fascination and adoration. You give him a small smile as he brings his thumb to the corner of your lip, swiping up a leftover drop of his come and pushing it slowly into your mouth. It’s a welcome intrusion, and you wrap your lips around the finger immediately, tongue circling the pad of it. Joel grunts, before helping you up so that you’re standing again and kissing you deeply, has hand on the back of your head. You can’t help but smile into the kiss.

He still tastes like coffee. He tastes like coffee and Joel and a hint of you, reminding you he’s all yours.

“I love you,” You tell him, and he smiles.

“Love you too, Angel,” He replies. “Fuck, love you so goddamn much.”

__ __ __

whew! this one took a while to write cause i was sick for the longest time and couldn't really think about sucking dick...

thank you for reading!! i'd love to hear what you thought, and constructive criticism is always appreciated :)

picture I -- Spotify on Pinterest picture II -- TheLastredemption on Pinterest picture III -- вишневый котик on Pinterest

[lenoraslament]

Slytherin Boys React: Romantic Moments

After my last three posts, consider this aftercare.

Fluff 💕no warnings

Mattheo Riddle

It’s been raining for days. You convinced a reluctant Mattheo to duck into a coffee shop as it poured outside. The atmosphere was cozy and perfect. The rain beat steady on the window and the smell of coffee warmed you.

You both sit sipping hot chocolate, whipped cream unknowingly on your lip. Mattheo had been grumpy all day, but at the sight he grins.

“What?” You ask with a smile. Mattheo cups your chin with once hand, wiping the whipped cream off your lip with his own as you giggle. Then he brushes his lips against yours as he teases you ghosting a kiss leaving you flustered.

“You know I love you, yea?” He asks softly as he gives you another warm kiss. Your heart flutters and he brushes hair off your face, his eyes full of adoration.

“Yes I know,” you say breathlessly as he kisses you endlessly.

Theodore Nott

The biting cold air, makes you shivers your boyfriend looks unbothered in his coat. Another drag of cigarette smoke fills the air as it leaves his lips.

He’s as quiet as usual, forever lost in whatever quiet struggles he never wants to share with you. Theo observes you let out a shiver.

“Come here,” he says opening his coat, he pulls you forward. Your arm goes around his waist as he covers you both with the coat. You can smell his cologne and the smoke, his body warms you immediately as you sigh with relief.

“Better beautiful?” He asks in a low voice as he kisses the top of your head between drags.

Lorenzo Berkshire

It’s no secret that Enzo is popular with the ladies. Before you came along, he was quite the flirt. It comes natural to him, his charm. The way he can make a girl giggle and blush without much effort. And although he has reformed his ways, sometimes it just happens

You’re walking towards the Great Hall when you see a gaggle of girls surrounding your boyfriend. You’re secure in your relationship, so you only roll your eyes and laugh.

Enzo spots you immediately through the crowd, your little smirk making his eyes light up.

“Pardon me ladies” he says as he makes his way to you, grabbing your arm to pull you back before you get to far.

“Enzo it’s-“ you protest but he cuts you off before you can finish. He dips you back, kissing you in the way only Lorenzo Berkshire can.

“Sorry, I need some time with my girl,” he calls over to the group of fangirls he was talking to as his eyes stay glued to you. You both walk away as they all swoon.

Draco Malfoy

Draco was sitting in an armchair near the settee you draped yourself in the common room.

“Darling,” Draco’s voice snapped you out of your reading trance. You smiled over your book at him with an inquisitive look.

“Yes?” You asked tilting your head.

“Sit” he said in a low voice that made you blush as he patted his lap. His arms outstretched waiting for you as you sheepishly made your way over to him. He pulled you in his lap face nuzzling into your neck.

“I missed you beautiful,” he mumbles against your skin.

Your soft laugh makes him look up at you. “Draco, I am sitting less than two feet away,” your lips are nearly brushed against his as he holds the back of your neck gently.

“Still” he says as closes the distance between your lips.

Blaise Zabini

“It’s fifteen galleons,” your voice carries outside the dressing room.

“Well let’s see it then,” Blaise says, he’s been following you around Hogsmeade for the better part of the afternoon and you hopelessly look for a dress. The Yule ball on the horizon and you’re certain you will end up wearing your school uniform the way your shopping trip is going.

“It’s too expensive,” you insist, “I don’t even want to see it and risk liking it”.

Blaise hand plunges into the curtain of the fitting room pulling you out. You huff as you stand in front of the large mirror and are stunned. It’s gorgeous, clinging to your body in all the right places. A silvery blue making your cheeks look rosy, giving you an ethereal glow. It’s exactly what you want.

Before you groan in devastation, Blaise slips a hand around your waist from behind as he joins you in the mirror.

“You are perfection,” he whispers in your ear as he plants a soft kiss on your neck.

“It’s too exp-“ you begin to protest but he reaches back and rips off the tag making you gasp.

“We’ll take this one,” he says walking to the cashier to pay for the dress throwing you a wink.

Tom Riddle

All week you had spent trying your damnedest to understand this potion. Your boyfriend patiently explaining and re-explaining the complexity of the ingredients, the theories of brewing. Somehow it wouldn’t stick. Tom assured you that once you for in front of that cauldron it would all make sense.

It didn’t. The day of your exam, your mind went blank. Your professor sighed as he looked at the discolored gloop dripping out of your cauldron.

“I’ll give you an incomplete,” He said shaking his head, “you can make it up in a week Y/N but I have to say I’m disappointed,”

You nodded and thanked him as your heart sunk. The end of class was nearing and you dreaded seeing Tom. His grades were perfect, his standards impossibly high. Part of the connection you shared was your intellect. You felt tears of shame threatening to spill. When you saw him leaning against the wall outside your class, you let go.

Tom’s eyes widened as he observed your flushed cheeks covered in tears as you could only manage to shake your head. In an uncharacteristic panic he crossed the hall and immediately threw his arms around you as you sobbed onto his chest. The public display of his affection that never happened was not lost on you. His hand wiped your face and stroked your hair.

“Shh it’s okay,” he whispered against your forehead as he rubbed your back.

“You must think I’m an idiot,” you stutter out between hitching breaths.

His lips brush against your temple as he kisses it softly, “I think you’re brilliant.”

[rcmclachlan]

Return of the Mack

For @alchemistc. Hope you feel better soon!

At the fire academy, three things are beaten out of every trainee: fear, a normal sleep schedule, and the social influences that prevent one from intervening in the event of an emergency. Some have jokingly called the third one the Anti-Bystander Effect, because if someone needs assistance—whether it's to stop an assault, run into a burning building, or help a little old lady find a quarter she dropped—a firefighter will immediately rush in to save the day. It's a special brand of classical conditioning that instills an elevated sense of responsibility in every trainee, and it's paid in full by the state of California.

Which is why it's so odd for there to be three capable firefighters standing around doing nothing while there's an old man clearly in need of dire assistance. If the LAFD higher-ups knew they were actively choosing to watch the carnage unfold instead of lifting a finger to help, they'd all be shitcanned. 

Luckily, there's a fourth firefighter on the scene doing the absolute most. 

"I thought we made a pact to keep him from using his powers for evil," Eddie says, taking a dispassionate sip of his coffee. 

"Is it evil if he's actually using them in service of a greater good?" Hen's attention is half on what's going down and half on the Notes app on her phone, where she's typing out the week's grocery list. "You know, the enemy of my enemy is my friend?"

Draped over the railing like his bones have melted, Chimney gives a sage nod. "He's like a one-man Suicide Squad." 

In the apparatus bay, they watch as Vincent Gerrard uses the distraction of B Shift heading home to duck behind one of the engines, most likely to regroup after being thoroughly ambushed the second he stepped into the station five minutes ago. He slumps back and breathes. The moment of weakness costs him: a grinning demon rounds the corner and makes a bee-line for him as though he can taste blood in the air.

"So, which one of you said 'spreadsheet' three times in a mirror?" Ravi sidles up next to Chimney and unwraps a breakfast burrito from Delia's. 

Chimney gives him the stink-eye. "I hope you brought enough for the whole class."

"Nope," Ravi says, taking a cheerful bite.

"None of us summoned him," Eddie says. He leans down to try and catch the conversation being had, but he's too high up. For a second, he thinks he hears the words 'crack whore' but it's probably a trick of the bay's acoustics. "He's everywhere, always, just watching and waiting for you to slip up. Like God."

"Or the Devil," Hen says in agreement.

"Or Santa," Chimney adds.

Ravi chews thoughtfully. "I thought we threw out all the clipboards. Who gave him that one?"

"Tommy," Eddie, Hen, and Chimney say through a simultaneous, long-suffering sigh. 

It's not just any clipboard. It's the king of clipboards. It's the only clipboard that has ever fucked. The thing is a navy blue polycarbonate beast with "Buckley 118" embossed in fire engine red on the back, and the clip looks like it was forged in the fires of Staples HQ. 

At the bi-weekly Beer and Bitch Night last Friday at Golden Road Pub, Tommy had pulled it out of a bag and presented it on one knee like he was proposing, or bestowing a sword to a king. The entire brewery was then given front-row seats to an intense game of tonsil hockey that nearly went into overtime until Eddie threatened to call Athena because Bobby looked like he was seriously reconsidering sobriety.

"Does he know what he's unleashed?" Ravi sounds genuinely curious. 

As if on cue, Chimney's, Eddie's, and Hen's phones chime with three incoming messages. 

T.K. 07:26am: Has it started? T.K. 07:26am: Remember: you promised one of you would film it T.K. 07:27am: I'm offering 3 nights of free babysitting to the first person who delivers

That last one is followed by a gif of J. Jonah Jameson shouting "Bring me Spiderman!"

Hen frowns down at her phone. "Who the hell is that?"

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," Chimney mutters.

H.W. 07:28am: Why are you so desperate for video?  E.D. 07:28am: What 40-something year old still pinky swears? H.H. 07:28am: Clipboard Buck better not be a weird sex thing for you, Kinard

Tommy's typing indicator appears, then disappears. Then appears and disappears again. Then appears—

"Yeah, no." Chimney hastily pockets his phone. "Those two were made in a lab for each other, I swear to god."

Down in the bay, Gerrard has moved to stand almost directly underneath them. While they can't hear what Gerrard says to Melanie Wu, an electrician so talented she could probably take down the entire grid with her eyes closed, that puts such a dour expression on her face, they can hear it when Buck, popping up behind Gerrard like an insane Jack-in-the-box, says, "Don't worry, Melanie! This is something to bring up during Thursday's workplace conflict seminar."

"What seminar?!"

Buck isn't cowed. He taps his clipboard and says, "The one I scheduled with Chief Alonso. You know, the mandatory one we all need to do in order to keep our certification—well, we'll keep it as long as nothing comes up during the seminar that might call into question our ability to do the job."

There's a charged moment where it almost looks like Gerrard might take a swing at Buck, but then he notices the audience hanging above him like a Greek chorus and shouts, "Someone'd better top off the fuel and DEF or—"

"Already done, Cap." Buck makes a show of turning to the second page on his clipboard and lists off, "All fuel, DEF, oil, and coolant are set. Tires have been aired up. Hoses have been drained and cleaned, and re-rolled. Engines were all waxed yesterday, all medical supplies have been inventoried and stocked, and I've made a list of the harnesses and cutting torches that need replacing. Just need you to sign off on everything. Sir."

The ingratiating smile on Buck's face would fool even the wiliest of senior officers, and Gerrard himself looks like even he's not sure if what just happened was disrespectful, but they know better. 

"Diabolical," Ravi whispers, awed. 

Hissing through his teeth, Gerrard spins on his heel and storms away in the direction of the little office in the administrative section of the firehouse where he's taken to holing up like a miserable groundhog until they get a call that forces him back out. If he sees his shadow on the firehouse wall, it's six more hours of bullshit.

As soon as he's gone, all the firefighters that had stopped to watch the show burst into laughter and applause, and Buck cracks up, taking sweeping bows and blowing kisses to his adoring fans. 

Chimney rolls his eyes and looks to see what Hen's expression is doing, because no one gives good face like she does, but she's holding her phone in a way that clearly means—

"You're filming this?" Chimney demands, betrayed.

She gives an unrepentant shrug. "Three nights of free babysitting? I'm not proud."

"You do know this means Buck's going to get laid and be absolutely insufferable about it, right?"

"Three nights," Hen bites out through very audible regret.

Buck looks up, flashes a grin, and the second he clocks the phone he salutes it with the clipboard. Then he struts after Gerrard, calling almost lazily, "Cap, wait up! I wanted to talk about setting up a mock exam for everyone who's planning on taking the TCFP D/O!"

They all watch him go. Silently, Hen sends off the video with the air of someone about to make a drug drop. 

"So, when does Taylor Kelly's exposé come out again?" Eddie makes a dubious face in the direction of the administrative offices. "Because I don't know that Gerrard won't off himself before it does."

"We win either way," Chimney points out. 

"It comes out next Monday," Hen says, slipping her phone into her pocket and elbowing Chimney in the arm on her way to the stairs. "Karen and I are hosting a watch party that night and you're all invited."

Ravi beams. "Thanks, Hen. I'll definitely be there."

"And you'll be bringing dinner from Taco Azteca—for everybody. Make sure you get enough carne," Chimney calls over his shoulder as he follows Hen. 

"I'm not a probie anymore," Ravi whines. "You can't haze me like this."

Snickering, Eddie pats him on the shoulder and says, "You do this and I'll make sure you're not sitting anywhere near Buck and Tommy when Taylor drops the bomb about Gerrard and Ortiz."

"Extra al pastor and buche it is!"

[kneazle]

Sal stood outside of the hospital room, placing his body directly in front of the closed door blocking anyone from entering. As he saw them coming down the hall with Buckley in the lead he placed his feet steady on the floor, crossed his arms over his chest, and straightened himself to his full height.

They stopped short at the sight of him.

"Sal?" Chimney blinked in shock, glancing at Hen and Nash so quick he might have missed it if his gaze wasn't so focused on them all.

He narrowed his eyes. "Nice to see you too, Chimney."

"I just- don't you live on the other side of the country now?"

"I moved back recently," Sal said, not saying anything further on the matter. None of them needed to know about his wife passing, of moving back to LA with his daughter to escape all the memories that were becoming suffocating. "What are all of you doing here?" He said, eyeing them.

Buckley who looked fit to burst, stepped forward. "How- how is he?" He asked, eyes darting from the door and back to Sal, fingers fidgeting.

"Lucky," Sal said, jaw clenched. "He broke his arm, some ribs, they had to fix some internal bleeding, and he has some nasty bruises."

He seemed to deflate at Sal's words, the only person he didn't know reached over to take hold of Buckley's arm. "What I don't get is why any of you are here."

Buckley flinched back at the words and the man he didn't know narrowed his gaze at Sal before speaking. "We're here to see Tommy."

"Really? Wouldn't have known," He said sarcastically. "What I mean is, none of you have been there for him in the last three months. I get it, Buckley is your boy and Chimney in your case family- but Tommy was your friend long before he came into your life, but what does that matter huh?"

He watched all of them shift, guilt crossing most of their faces as Nash only frowned. Sal told himself he would keep control, but anger rose in his chest the more he stood in front of them, remembering the way Tommy mourned more than just the loss of his boyfriend because of his choice. "Tommy made a mistake and was an idiot don't get me wrong, but all of you were real quick to drop him and he might not have a whole posse behind him like Buckley obviously does, but he has me now, and as far as I'm concerned none of you deserve to step foot in this room."

"Deluca-"

"No," Sal interrupted, jaw clenched. "You aren't changing my mind, Captain Nash."

"Please!" Buckley burst out, a look of panic setting over his face. "I- I promise I won't yell or upset him, I just need to see him with my own eyes."

Sal felt bad for the kid, he did, it wasn't his fault Tommy had been broken too many times and got scared. He opened his mouth to tell him no, when a voice coming from the other side of the hall spoke first. "Sal, let Buck in at least," Lucy stepped near him, handing him a coffee. "You know Tommy wouldn't be happy if he found out you prevented Buck from seeing him," He huffed, taking a long sip from the cup, purposely stretching his response out. Lucy sighed in annoyance. "Look, do I support Tommy's choice? No, but the only person going in that room is Buck. The rest of you? A simple text asking someone how they are, takes two damn seconds. You didn't have to be buddies anymore, not if you didn't want to, but fuck would it have hurt to show some compassion for a man who you claimed was a friend only a day before?"

Silence settled over them all. Sal lifted his cup, hiding his smirk behind it at the rage seeping into Lucy's voice.

"We didn't mean to-" The one Sal didn't know the name of began to speak. Diaz, he thinks, trying to recall from Tommy's stories.

"Sure you didn't," Lucy spoke over him, a snap to the words. "Buck, you can go in."

Sal sighed but moved away from the door. Buckley nodded his thanks, head hung low as he moved, multiple emotions filtering across his face. He stopped when stepping beside Sal, turning to face him and Lucy with watery eyes. "Thank you you two...for being there for him." He ducked into the room and shut the door behind him.

Okay, maybe he wouldn't mind if Buckley stuck around. It was clear he still cared about Tommy, and that was enough for Sal.

Hours later after he knew they talked, Sal leaned against the doorway. Buckley sat in the chair as close to the bed as possible with his head laying on it sleeping with Tommy, hands held tight with their fingers laced together, both of their faces looked completely relaxed as tense and sadness turned to healing.

Sal nodded to himself and turned away, closing the door behind him.

"He's going to be okay," Lucy told him, moving away from leaning against the wall. "They aren't letting each other go again."

"I damn well hope not," Sal grumbled.

She chuckled, and swung her arm around his shoulders, leading him away. "Let's go get some breakfast from the diner for dinner."

"You're fucking weird," Sal told her with a scoff.

Lucy grinned, not offended in the least. "You said the same thing about Tommy but you love us. Now come on big guy, you're paying!" She moved away from him quickly with a laugh.

Sal gaped before taking off after her. "Like hell I am!"