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goldenlikedayl1ght · 15 days ago

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cowboy like me | r. reynolds

a/n: guess who's back. haha. sorry i said i was on hiatus and then wrote this. i saw thunderbolts and made it everyone else's problem so here is a fuck of a long fic. i dont know i just wanted to put all my ideas in one so there is a lot going on in this one but yeah. uhm. no real smut because i didn't wanna write because they fuck a lottt also the entire concept is based off this one screenshot i have and i do not know where i got it (it was from some sort of meme) but yeah! warnings: SELF HARM!! no really super serious descriptions but the reader is mentally ill and so is bob and reader does hurt herself at some point and bob wraps them. lots of talks of addiction and alcoholism and sobriety. lots of kissing and allusions to sex and teasing and everyone (bob and reader) is mentally ill and, yeah. sentry and void have a conversation with bob in his brain. also book club. word count: 9.4k summary: you get a text from an old friend and think.. you could do worse than a book club.. with some benefits. pairing: bob reynolds x sober!reader now playing: cowboy like me - taylor swift "now you hang from my lips/like the gardens of babylon/with your boots beneath my bed/forever is the sweetest con."

The first text comes at 5:43 on a Tuesday.

‘do you wanna start fucking again like maybe once a week?’

You must’ve sat, staring at your phone for twenty minutes. Who the fuck..?

The second text comes at 6:32.

‘it can be like a little book club, we can read the same book and discuss’

Book club..?

You ask yourself if this is some sort of joke, and another text shows up three minutes later--

‘i also have a real bed now.’

And then you remember this meth head you used to sleep with, some Florida guy who was always taking odd jobs to fuel his addiction—Cashier, house sitter, alligator hunter, amusement park mascot.. until he got fired, which always seemed inevitable.

You suppose you have no room to judge. You had only been in Jacksonville after your last friend in New York told you no more, that they wouldn’t watch you destroy yourself. But you didn’t need them to, you never needed an audience to fuel the urge to rip every little bit of your soul apart.

You had taken a job working at a Dunkin Donuts that was right next to a liquor store. It seemed as if the universe had given you a sign. You could retire here. Nothing but part time shifts, a bottle of vodka, and a shitty room for rent from the kinkiest 72-year-old lesbian you had ever met.. You had a little bit of respect for her, a sort of ‘good for her’ attitude.

And then, you met Bob.

You met Bob at a dealer’s house.

Romantic, right?

Bob was about to take his first hit in six or seven hours, and you sat uncomfortably scrunched against the couch, trying not to think about how many fucked up things had happened there.

And he sat on the other side of the couch, Bob sat, flicking his lighter on and off while he waited.

..The girl you were with was currently.. paying for the coke she wanted. You were never a fan of drugs, alcohol was your one and only, your soulmate—you could never cheat on her. But this girl promised to buy shots at the next bar. And now you had to listen to her ‘pay’ her dealer—and you presumed Bob’s dealer in the other room.

“Hey.” He speaks first.

You give him a side glance.

“Hey.”

“Waiting for.. stuff?”

“Just waiting for my friend.”

“Oh. Cool.”

A beat.

“What’s your—“

“Alcohol.”

“Oh. Cool. Mine’s meth.”

“Great.”

A beat.

“I need a fuckin’ hit man, I don’t know what’s taking her so long to fucking pay—”

God, you wanted a drink in that moment.

“So, he’s your dealer?”

“Yeah. And my roommate. My rooms the one down the hall.”

“Cool.”

Another beat.

You began tapping your foot against the carpet.

“Oh my god, it doesn’t take that long to—”

“It fucking takes a minute, relax,” You scoffed.

“Not this long.” You caught the unspoken words.

And then, almost in sync, you looked at each other, fully turning your heads to really see what one another looks like. Your eyes flickered up and down his features. Drunk as you were, you knew you could do much worse than this guy.

But before you could say anything, he spoke again,

“Wanna see my room?”

Your ‘friend’ didn’t really seem to be finishing up her transaction anytime soon. Plus, it.. had been a while.

“Sure.” You said, and you followed Bob two steps behind on the way down to his bedroom. When he opened the door, you know deep down sober you would be mortified—well, only if the sex was bad.

His room was small, clothes laid about in various piles across the room—a few lighters, a coin or two next to the odd chip bag.. and in the corner of his room, a twin sized mattress laid on the floor, black sheets and a red blanket, one that had been clearly loved.. and a very old pillow.

You just stared until Bob grabbed your wrist, pulling you along to the bed. He sat on the bed first, tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, and gently prompted you to ‘c’mere.’ As you sat on his lap, you realized that this guy was cute enough for this to become a regular thing.

Your lips locked with his, slowly pulling him in with slow, gentle kisses as if the two of you weren’t giving plenty of time for the moment to be interrupted by the end of the transaction in the other room.

And then, your hands traced up from his shoulders, past his neck and ears, curls wrapping around your fingers.

As if you couldn’t help yourself, you found yourself gently tugging at his hair, listening as he let out this soft moan, and you couldn’t deny—you could totally get used to this.

And after, when you laid back on his stupid twin sized mattress without a bedframe, your finger stayed twirled in his curls. Then, when he heard the other bedroom door open, he pulled on his boxers and got up, grabbing a sweatshirt as he headed to the door. He glanced back to you to ask,

“’m going to take a hit, want anything?”

“Something to drink?”

“I’ll get you a beer.” He had offered, and you found yourself smiling.

So, you came back. Again. And again. And again. And again. And then you got sober. Or at least, that’s the version you’d give your therapist when you next spoke.

When you got sober, you had gone from a smartphone to a flip phone, deleting and blocking many of the numbers from your party days.. until you had gotten to Bob. All you did was delete his contact from your phone—he still had your number if he wanted to reach out.

But he hadn’t. Not for the past nineteen months, and you’ll be honest—Month eight was such a big month for you (being able to babysit your niece by yourself for the first time, saving up for your own apartment, no roommates or family, and enrolling in a night class or two), so you had forgotten the meth head who purred when you played with his hair.

And yet..

You felt this.. tug. At something.

You found yourself responding—

“hey, i’ve been sober for nineteen months. not interested if ur still using.”

Your texting habits reflected your archaic tech.

But you meant it—Bob was.. well, you didn’t like to think about the things you felt for him, but it was enough to make you bury it as deep down as you could.

“me too”

And then, seven minutes later,

“therapy too lol.”

You glance at the time. You think about your favorite bar’s bottomless margaritas on Tuesdays, and you realize it has been a while.. it was typical for people not to date within a year of sobriety. But it had been nineteen months..

And this wasn’t a date.

It was book club..

“what do u want to read?”

You toss the flip phone on your bed and walk over to the shelf in the corner of your room. You inspect the spines of the few books you have and realize they’re not book club material.

You pick your phone back up to read the text—

“great gatsby? i never read it in school”

Neither had you. Maybe you had been assigned it once upon a time.

“okay. next thursday enough time?”

You were serious about the book club aspect of this. You know two things—

One, no mater how he answers, you’ll have to talk this over with your therapist. Maybe even your sister. You barely ever take risks, not since getting sober, and this risk scares the shit out of you..

Two—You are almost giddy at the idea of tugging at Bob’s hair. You’ve been alone for too long, but you can’t seem to trust yourself enough to download a dating app and hook up with strangers (you theorize you could become as addicted to hookups as you were to alcohol) and the idea of getting into a serious relationship makes you feel sick.. so maybe this is a good compromise.

You glance at the phone in your hand and see one more text--

“sure :)”

So, you send him an address to a coffee shop near your apartment. He asks you if three works. You say yes.

When you tell your therapist about it the next day, this huge smile grows on her face as you tell her about your dilemma—to be or not to be, to go or not to go, to fuck Bob or not to fuck Bob.

You debate this back and forth, and your therapist eventually tells you—

“As your therapist, I shouldn’t and couldn’t push you to do this. Read the book. Go to coffee. At the very least, you’ll get some closure. Or.. you could have an outlet. Remember your boundaries, and don’t pursue anything you aren’t comfortable doing. Ask him questions about his sobriety if it’s important for you to know to feel comfortable. Think about it, and we can talk about it next week before you go.”

And that was pretty good advice. You contemplated it, back and forth, bouncing a mental tennis ball off a mental wall in an imaginary room. Sometimes, there are bottles of booze in the imaginary room, and other times, Bob sits in the corner. Quietly watching you ‘throw the ball.” Somedays it’s just you and the tennis ball.

You’re very normal.

When you told your sister, she just laughed.

“So, at what point did you start seriously considering this?”

“..When I realized he had an actual bed now.”

And that’s all you can respond, because you can’t explain how curious you are. He was a meth head named Bob who had no bed frame, and yet.. you want him. After nineteen months, you think about the way he focused his attention to you in between sips, in between hits, in between fucks.

How his hand rested on your side, how those stormy eyes studied yours as you talked, asking questions about your delusional rambles—

“Right, but what does that mean?” He had asked one night.

“What does what mean?”

“What the fuck does it mean that I ‘am’ the.. hanging gardens of Babylon?” You had rolled your eyes, and the pads of your fingertips against his lips.

“They were a uh,” Your eyes flicker up and down his face. “These.. gardens. City of Babylon, a long long time ago-- They were supposed to so beautiful but there’s no archeological proof they ever existed, except they’re mentioned in poetry, so.. They may or may not be real and we’ll never know. You remind me of them.”

Bob just stared at you for a long time. He didn’t say anything but the way his eyes fixated on you made you alive.. And maybe more alive than the booze, and that thought petrified you because up until that point, drinking was your life. So, you ignored it. What else were you supposed to do?

When you’re done with therapy for the day, you go to the closest bookstore. You pick up the cheapest paperback you can find of Gatsby and then, your eye wanders, as it always done in a bookstore. You spot a book on The Seven Ancient Wonders of the world.. And you decide to buy it when you see the large chapter on The Hanging Gardens of Babylon.

///

The week passes quickly because you find yourself filling any free time you have with reading, underlining and circling quotes and words that F Scott Fitzgerald decided were good enough to convey his themes.

You barely register that it’s Thursday morning when it comes because all you want to do is reread your favorite parts over and over again while you get ready for the day. Before you know it, it’s.. time for book club.

You decide to get there ten minutes before three, hoping you’ll be able to grab a drink and relax before Bob shows up. The bell on the door of the café rings when you walk in, and there are a couple of patrons..

But you find yourself stopping in your tracks when you see a familiar face in the corner, a book on the table, as his finger traces a pattern on the cover.. absently. Like he’s somewhere else.

And then his head picks up, and he notices you. Neither of you say anything, neither of you smile.

In an instant, you’re not sure if you can do this, if—

“Decaf red velvet latte with whipped cream and cinnamon for Bob?” The barista calls, and he stands and approaches the counter, mumbling a thanks to the barista. When he glances down and notices your name scribbled on the side of a cup marked ‘half n half’ and ‘two splenda’, he picks it up and turns, handing you the cup.

“Hi.” He says, and you find yourself reaching out to take the cup, as if you just saw Bob yesterday.

“Hey.” You exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Wordlessly, the two of you sit at the table.

And there is quiet.

Until, Bob asks,

“So.. how have you been?”

“..Fine.”

“..Cool.” You remember this awkward feeling. Like right before the first time, you slept together. “Thanks for meeting with me.” He breathes after a moment, and you nod.

“Yeah.” You breathe, and then he asks,

“You’ve been sober since the last time we—”

“What did you think about the book?” You ask, reaching to take a sip of your coffee. Bob nods, taking the hint.

“I.. liked it.” He says, “It was a good first book for this. I liked that.. that Nick reflects on his life through these other characters and realizes what he does, or doesn’t, want.. How about you?” He asks.

“I liked it too,” and you find yourself wanting to just ramble about your analysis but you bite your tongue. “I think Daisy is a fascinating character too, especially in the way she seems so trapped in her situation. Like being with Gatsby is the only way she can feel alive or free or something.”

Bob considers this for a second.

“Yeah,” He starts, “But she’s.. a rich woman. She’s inherently part of the system that you claim traps her and is actively benefiting from her wealth.”

Wait.. was your awkward meth head situationship kinda.. smart?

You adjust from your rigid position and lean into the conversation a bit.

“Well, Why can’t it be both?” You wonder, “She can benefit from these systems and be miserable in them—she’s miserable, maybe because she’s benefiting from it, and her wealth doesn’t negate the abuse and strain on her marriage.” You say and go to take another sip of your coffee.

Bob is quiet.

Then, he says—

“Yeah. I think you’re right.” He smiles a little, and you feel your heart in your throat. “So do you think the green light was actually supposed to be as important as pop culture makes it seem, or was that just..”

“I think it is as important as we’re led to believe, because it’s a symbol of what things could be.” And then, before Bob can say something that would lead you to change your mind, you say, “Yeah, I stayed sober since the last time we talked.. When did you quit?”

He inhales and then closes his mouth, and you watch as he holds his breath, noting that his mouth is sort of puffed like a chipmunk. When he exhales, he responds,

“Right after that, I guess. I joined this.. medical.. study and quit to do that.. Then, I guess I just.. stayed sober.” He says, and you laugh, so with a bit of a smile, he asks, “What’s so funny?”

“You make it sound so easy.”

Then, Bob starts to laugh too.

“Do I?” He leans forward like he’s about to tell you a secret, and he says softly, “Because some days I feel like I’m drowning and maybe meth would be the key to being able to breath again..”

“So, what do you do when you feel like that?” You ask softly, not because you’re looking for an answer but because you need to know if sobriety is as big for him as it is for you.

Bob gestures to the table.

“This. Sugar, reading—” He cuts himself off like there’s something else when he meets your eyeline. “Do you want to go to your place or mine?”

And there’s no hesitation when you answer,

“Mine.”

///

Bob spends a long time studying the details on your shelves. He notices the pictures of a seven-year-old he doesn’t recognize and you, the small lego structures in between them, and he finds a small jar next to your TV with little chips in them.

“Do you want anything to drink?” He hears you ask.

“No, thanks.” He calls back, and you appear in the doorway.

“Too much sugar in that latte you had?” You tease, and in that way you love, he just stares at you for a long time, in that way that makes your heartbeat too fast.

“Can’t help it,” he says, “No meth means lots and lots of sugar.”

“Right,” You nod.

Your fingers itch by your side, and you decide—Fuck it. You’re not getting any younger, any more sober. So you go over to him. Like a scared deer, Bob just stares at you, while you try to not scare him off. Your hand ever so gently reaches up to tuck a lock of hair behind his ear.

Then, he shakes his head a bit.

“I haven’t done anything with anyone in a while.”

“Yeah, me neither.” Then, because you think you’ll tell him to leave and never come back if you don’t, you lean forward and kiss him, and as if that is how he gets air when he feels like he’s drowning, his hands are on your side, slowly stepping so that you’re backing up towards your bedroom.

Then, you pull away,

“Bob,” You start, “I’m not really looking for a serious relationship right now,” You start, and his lips begin to leave sloppy kisses, first along your cheek, then your jaw, then your neck.

“Mhm,” is all he responds with.

“I’m being serious,” You sigh as he continues to step forward, pushing you back towards the bedroom, his mouth hot on your skin. “I’m still working on getting my shit together,” You continue.

“I get it,” he says, his voice gentle.

“Do you?” You ask, but he can hear the smile in your voice. “Because it seems like you’re trying to sleep with me—”

“No, No,” He shakes his head a bit, “I’m not going to sleep with you, silly girl,” He hums, and you never want this moment ends, “I’m going to fuck you.” He says gently. It makes you laugh, and he chuckles too.

You decide to take the initiative and slip your shirt off-- Then, he takes off the sweater he’s wearing, and you have to take a second. You really look at him and begin to smile.

His stomach is rounder than it was nineteen months ago when you last met. He’s.. thicker. His rips aren’t poking out of his stomach. No, thicker isn’t the right word.. He looks.. healthier.

And that is hot.

“What?” he asks, “What is it?” he wonders, and you just shake your head.

“Nothing. You were saying something about fucking me?” You wonder, and he nods.

“Right, right.” He says softly, grabbing your face and bringing you in for another kiss. Your hands trail up his neck and find his hair as he slowly sinks down, so he’s kneeling between your legs.

Your hands find his hair, and in between kisses, you gently tug on his hair, and just completely melt when you hear a soft moan leave his lips..

And old habits die hard.

So, you do it again.

///

You lay on your stomach, your face smooshed against the pillow you have your arms around. Bob is sitting up in bed, and you find yourself looking at him for a long while.

“So, What are you doing for work now that you’re sober and in New York?” You ask.

Bob plays with your sheets.

“Uh,” He lets out a soft half chuckle. “..You know the uh.. New Avengers?”

“Vaguely.” You shrug. You don’t really have the time to keep up with that sort of thing, between your job, between babysitting your niece, between being sober.. And it’s not like you have social media, so.. yeah. Vaguely.

“..That.”

“That what?” You ask, furrowing your eyebrows.

“That’s what I’m doing now.”

“Bob, I’m not following.”

His finger begins to run down your arm.

“I guess I.. sort of count.. as a.. New Avenger.”

“…What?”

“I need you to stop asking me that,” He sighed. “Do you remember the uhm.. medical study thing?”

“Yeah.”

“Something they did.. it changed me.. A serum.”

“So you’re like, some sort of superhero or something?” You wonder, and you say it like it’s funny. Bob looks uncomfortable—much more than he usually does.

“..No. I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.” He says. “I’m dangerous, I.. Do you remember last year when the.. the Void attacked New York? Right around the time that the New Avengers got announced?” He asks.

You pause.

“I mean, yeah, but I was in Jersey at the time, at a wedding.” Your first since getting sober. It was a rough weekend.

“Yeah, that was me.”

“..What was you?”

Bob wishes he could sink into your mattress and never show his face again.

“The void.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I’m not allowed to go on missions or.. get into any emotionally challenging situations..” he sighs. “Because I.. I can barely keep him.. or even the.. Sentry at bay.. I’m working on it.” He finally looks at you. “Which is why I don’t want a serious relationship either.” He says. “We.. we could just be friends.”

“Friends who fuck.”

“Book club with Benefits?”

You smile.

“Friends who discuss literature and also fuck.”

Bob rolls his eyes a bit, his lips pursing into a reluctant smile.

“Book club with benefits.” His pointer finger starts at the top of your back and travels down your spine, “Lots.. and lots.. of benefits.”

And if you could focus on anything other than how good that felt, you might’ve noticed the flicker of gold in his eyes.

///

“Decaf Caramel Frappuccino with extra caramel and whipped cream, and a medium hot coffee with half n half and two Splenda for Bob?” The barista calls, and you step forward to grab your drinks.

You hand Bob his glorified milkshake and sit at the same table you sat at last week.

“So,” You start, “Lord of the flies.”

“Yeah,” He breathes, “I.. I didn’t really like this one.” He shrugs.

“I think the concept is interesting enough.” You respond, “And it’s interesting that the group is only made up of privileged little British white boys. The horrors they put each other through might never have happened if they had been a group of schoolgirls, or if they had faced any hardship before this.” You shrug back, taking a sip of your coffee.

Bob nods as he studies the atmosphere of the café.

“Hey, do you wanna split a slice of cake or pie or something?” He asks, and you find yourself giggling.

“You’re ridiculous.” You scoff. Bob huffs.

“You’re boring.” He accuses and you just laugh more.

“I am not boring, I’m consistent.” It makes Bob shake his head.

“Coconut cream pie?” And the way he makes those puppy eyes makes you sigh.

“Fine. But you’re one piece of pie away from me accusing you of being addicted to that in place of Meth.”

“You wouldn’t.” He smirks, like he knows you better than you know yourself.

“Sure I would.” You shrug, “I’m just a concerned friend, Robby.” You smile, and then you watch as Bob gets up to get a slice of pie, ruffling your hair as he passes you.

///

“And then I said to him, I say, ‘If you want to hire spider-man to try and do your bidding, be my guess, but I—”

Bob is biting his tongue as he listens to everyone talk. He’s sitting on a chair at the kitchen island, watching as John moved around the kitchen, preparing dinner. He’s been staring at the same page of The Outsiders for ten minutes, just thinking.

Bucky is complaining about Sam, and before anyone can respond with anything, Bob clears his throat and puts his book down.

“Can I ask you guys something?” he wonders, and everyone’s head immediately turns to him. He barely talks in these group settings, so Yelena, who sits by his side, nods.

“Sure, what’s up?” She asks.

“..I need.. advice. I need to get a birthday gift for.. a friend of mine.” is how he starts.

“Not anyone in this room, right?” John asks, and everyone, including Bob, just looks at him.

“No. I know you think I’m socially inept, but I know not to ask what I should get someone while they’re in the room.” He huffs.

“Alright, who’s the gift for?” Bucky asks.

Bob wants to tell them all about you—your quirks, your laugh, the way your brain works, the way you feel wrapped around his—

But he hesitates.

“Just.. a friend.” He breathes. “From.. Book club.”

“Book club?” Ava answers, and already it feels like a mistake to have asked them but they’re his only friends besides you.

“Yeah, we.. choose a book to read every week and we meet up for coffee every week to talk about it.”

Yelena glances down to the book on the counter.

“Book club..” She nods, “And how long have you known this friend?”

“…It’s complicated.” He breathes.

“And do you hangout outside of book club?” John asks.

Bob’s cheeks flush.

“Sort of.”

“What does that even mean?” Ava asks, and he shrugs.

“We.. do some other stuff. I don’t know, she—”

“Oh, she?” Alexei finally pipes up, letting out a gruff laugh. “So you like her?”

“It’s just difficult to explain!” He snaps, and everyone pauses when the lights flicker. For a moment, no one says anything.

Then, Bucky huffs,

“So just try.” He gently prods. Bob hesitates.

“She’s.. I do like her. We started book club last month, but.. We met before.. Y’know.” He gestures around, “We..” his cheeks are red as tomatoes now. “When we’re done with coffee and talking about books, we.. we go back to her place, and we..”

Immediately everyone either groans or laughs. Bob feels like he might die on the spot.

“That is so weird,” Yelena laughs, and Bob groans as he covers his face with his hands, shaking his head.

“Never should’ve told you guys.”

“Okay, okay,” Bucky says after a moment. “You knew this girl before the Sentry project?”

“Yeah. We both were.. were addicts in Florida. We started hooking up, and I knew from before I went to Malaysia that she was moving back to New York, so I looked her up and—and you all said I needed to get a hobby!” He offered.

“We meant like,” Ava shrugs, “Knitting or—”

“Book club?” Yelena smiles. Bob bites the inside of his cheek.

“So, what should I get her for her birthday?"

“Well, what kind of message do you want to send?” John asks. “That you want to be more than.. whatever it is that—”

“..Book club with benefits.”

Everyone looks at him.

“What?”

“..That’s what we call it.”

“Oh, my god,” Yelena and Ava are giggling now.

“Okay. What kind of message do you want to send?” John asks again, and Bob hesitates.

“..That I care about her, that..” he shakes his head, “that.. I’m sorry for..” he picks his head up and notices everyone staring at him. He can hear the Void laughing at him in the back of his head.

“For..?” Bucky offers gently and Bob shakes his head. And then, he begins to tell his teammates about the last time he saw you.

///

Nineteen Months Ago

You and Bob had been sleeping together for months. Hanging out in between fucks and hits—or drinks. He had burrowed his way into your heart and taken up this big chunk of it, replacing booze in your late-night fantasies.

When he wasn’t extremely high, and you weren’t extremely drunk, you found yourself falling for him. The attention he showed you had been it’s own high, and you had let yourself become addicted to someone who you would never have a normal life with.

But he was there, waiting for you with a shot after every shift. You often helped him light up. The two of you encouraged each other’s destructive behaviors. Became each other’s self-destructive behaviors. Like the mentally ill addicts you were.

Your sister had flown down to Florida to see you.

You hadn’t asked her to. You knew she wouldn’t approve of this.. lifestyle. And at first, you wished she had never come to see you, because you did not want to stop drinking.. and then she wore you down. Your big sister always knew how to get you to do whatever she wanted.

So, the night before she was scheduled to fly back to New York, you went to see Bob. His roommate let you in, and you found him high and on his bed.

“Robby,” you said as you walk in. He smiled twenty seconds later when he registered your presence.

“I love it when you call me that.” He spoke.

You smiled weakly. You took a seat on his mattress.

“I have to talk to you.” You had said. He sat up, leaning forwards.

“Mm, All you do is talk to me,” he said slowly, and his hand grabbing yours. “Come kiss me instead—” His lips catch yours, in a soft, sweet kiss. He pulled away, and you whispered,

“Robby, please.”

And only then had he registered an important detail.

“You don’t taste like booze.”

You always tasted like booze.

“Yeah,” you nodded, “that’s why I wanted to talk to you—”

“No,” he said softly, “No, don’t—”

“Tomorrow, I’m flying to New York with my sister. I’m going to rehab.”

He shook his head, sighing.

“What.. what changed your mind?” He asked, and you shrug.

“My niece. My sister told me that.. she’s sick of having to talk about me like I’m dead. That she wants to know me. She’s six. Her names Ella.” A smile tugged at your lips. “She does dance. And she.. she loves to read, my sister said.. It reminded her of me.” Then, you shook your head, tears brimming your eyes. “I want to be in her life. I want to taste my mom’s cooking again. I.. I want to get better.” You cleared your throat.

“I’m going to Malaysia tomorrow.” Bob said, and your eyebrows furrowed.

“What?”

“I got fired from my job, so they gave me my last paycheck.. So I spent it on a plane ticket. I’m going to Malaysia with.. thirty bucks in my pocket. Maybe I’ll find the answers. Or, at least more drugs..” He shrugged. “Come with me.” He had offered.

You just shook your head.

“No.”

“No?” He scoffed, “What do you mean no?”

“No. I won’t go to Malaysia. I’m going torehab..” You started, and you inhaled before you asked, “And you should come with me.” You offered.

Bob let out a humorless chuckle.

“You..” He shook his head. “You’re just like everyone else.” He sighed, and you shook your head.

“Robby,” You whispered. “Please come with me. Get clean. Be.. be with me.” You said quietly, and when you leaned in to kiss him, he tilts his head away from you.

Oh.

“You should go.” He huffs. “I need to pack.”

You nod.

“You’re right. I should go.”

You stand, and make your way to the door, wiping your tears as you go.

Bob doesn’t say anything.

You stopped in the doorway, turning around to look at your sweet boy with no bed frame one last time.

“I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for.”

And then, as if you weren’t soul crushingly and devastatingly in love with him, you left. And you hadn’t seen him again. Not until you started book club.

///

“Decaf vanilla bean macchiato with whipped cream and cinnamon and a medium hot coffee with half n half and two Splenda for Bob?” Bob grabs the drinks today, and when he sits across from you, you start—

“So. Frankenstein?”

Bob sighs.

“I liked that it’s the first ever sci-fi novel, and it was written by a young woman. It’s interesting.” He shrugs.

“Yeah.” You nod, and you open your mouth to say something but Bob beats you to it,

“I mean, I don’t.. I don’t know. Victor is just.. so stupid but also so.. self-centered. He’s— He’s the one who created the monster, why can’t he take accountability for it? Why is the monster doomed to always.. be a product of his creator?” He sounds frustrated, so you gently shrug.

“It is bullshit. But I think the person aspect of him, the human aspects of the monster are all him. The best parts of him comes from the work he does on himself.” You shrug, and Bob knows this conversation has strayed from Frankenstein. Kind of.

“Yeah.” He sighs softly.

A beat.

“And I agree.” You shrug, “Victor is a fucking idiot.”

Bob just smiles, and then asks,

“Wanna split a chocolate chip muffin with me?”

///

Bob calls you on a Saturday afternoon between book club meetups.

“Hey,” You say into the phone, “Everything okay?” You usually don’t talk except for your weekly meetups.

“Yeah,” He says into the phone.

“Okay.” You smile. “Do you.. need so—”

“Come over.” He gently requests, “I- I mean, You don’t.. you don’t have to, I was just wondering if you wanted to—I guess..” He breathes.

“Robby, it’s not even Thursday.” You tease.

“I don’t.. care,” He breathes.

“I..” You start, “Would.. really love to, but I gotta do laundry.”

“Do your laundry here.” He offers.

“Bob.”

“What?” he whines, “I..I just need.. to see you.”

You bite your tongue, but it would be nice to see him. To see his new, full bed. And you know that if he has a washer and dryer, it would make laundry a lot less frustrating than doing it in the laundry mat down the road from your apartment.

“Okay,” You sigh. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.” You promise.

Bob meets you in the lobby of New Avengers tower, watching as you walk in, holding a bag of laundry as you make your way to him.

“This place is crazy,” You tell him, and Bob just smiles awkwardly.

“It’s.. just a tower.”

“Yeah, but like.. It’s definitely not just—” You cut yourself off when you realize how out of his element Bob looks. “Where’s this awesome new bed I hear so much about?” You ask, and it seems like it’s enough for him to relax.

“Come on, I’ll show you upstairs.” You follow him into the elevator, and when the doors close, he says, “So.. You’ll.. probably meet the team, or at least some of them.”

“Oh, I get to meet—” You clear your throat and wipe the smirk off your face. “That’ll be nice.”

Bob just looks at you for a moment.

“They’re.. kind of.. intense.” He breathes.

“Bob, we were addicts in Jacksonville, I can handle a couple of.. teammates.” You shrug.

Bob gives you an awkward smile.

“Yeah, sure.” He sighs. The doors open, and you follow Bob out, looking around the apartment. Like he’s looking around for trouble.

“Bob, seriously I—”

“Heads up!”

You and Bob duck at the same time when a football comes flying towards your head.

“Sorry,” a voice says, and you see.. The US Agent and The Red Guardian, coming to retrieve their ball.

“Ah, Bob,” The Red Guardian says, “Who is your girlfriend?” He smiles. Your cheeks flush.

“Uh, She’s.. just my friend. Who happens to be a girl.” He says.

“Right, right.” He nods.

“We’re in a book club together,” you start and both men start laughing while Bob looks intensely embarrassed.

“Oh,” One laughs, “You’re the book club girl.. I’m John. This is Alexei, are you staying for dinner?” He asks.

You glance to Bob, who looks back to you.

“Uh,” He shrugs, “I don’t.. maybe.” He breathes.

“Maybe isn’t—”

“Too late, we’re doing laundry, Bye!” Bob says, grabbing your hand and pulling you along. You just smile and bite back a comment about how jealous he seems.

“They seem nice.”

“They aren’t.” He grumbled, and you just laugh.

When you’re done putting on your laundry, Bob takes you to his room, and you can’t help the smile that stretches across your room. It’s a little messy, but there are books here and there, cozy blankets, warm lighting, and.. no meth. No booze.

You jump onto Bob’s bed, stretching out with a soft laugh, this stupidly large grin on your face.

“Oh, My Robby situationship has a real bed now, how divine,” You hum, and Bob just stands in the doorway with a soft smile on his face.

“I missed you.” he says softly, and you shake your head.

“Well, I’m here now,” You offer. He scoffs and walks over to the bed, finding his place on top of you as you lay back.

“Not really good enough for me,” He confesses.

“Needy Robby.” You jest, but before you can tease him further, he kisses you.

Your fingers find his hair in familiar movements, and Bob deepens the kiss further, his tongue slipping past your lips. His fingers dip under the shirt you’re wearing, and a soft shiver runs down your spine as he scratches up your sides, and when you moan in response, it seems to make him more confident in his movements.

Your fingers curl around his hair, tugging just barely on his hair. In between kisses, you mumble,

“Need you,” And he just catches your lip in his teeth, tugs a bit, and goes back to kissing you. And kissing you, and kissing you—

Until you hear the shatter of a glass on the nightstand. Both you and Bob pull away and your heads turn to look at the pile of glass and the water dripping off the nightstand.

“Did you..”

Bob’s face flushes.

“I-I didn’t mean to, I just—”

There’s a brief knock on the door, and then it opens, and a short blonde woman walks in.

“Bob, is everything okay, because—Woah,” She stops, noticing the compromising position the two of you are in, just as Bob takes his hand out of your shirt. “Oh, this is what happens at book club, huh—”

“Yelena!” Bob snaps, his cheeks red with embarrassment. Your eyebrows furrow when you see his eyes flicker gold.

“I was just trying to make sure you’re okay! The lights were flickering..”

Bob groans and rolls off of you.

You just smile awkwardly to Yelena.

“He’s fine, we were just..” You shrug. “Uh..” You chuckle awkwardly.

“Right, just.. Tell him to relax whenever he comes back down to earth,” She says, and then steps forward and holds out her hand, “I’m Yelena, it’s nice to—”

“Okay,” Bob stands suddenly, walking towards Yelena, “I’ll see you at dinner, okay?” He says, and she just smirks.

“Have fun at uh.. Book Club.” She says, turning to leave. Bob closes the door behind her and then glances back to you, and then groans, covering his face with his hands.

“Bob,” You grin, a soft laugh lacing your words, “Baby, it’s really not that bad.”

He looks at you when you call him that.

“It’s not..?”

“No.” You smile. “Come back to bed..” And then, you try, “Please, baby?”

Bob moves like lightning to kiss you again. It’s actually impressive. Not as impressive as breaking the glass or turning off the lights because he was just too.. needy. But, his speed is pretty impressive.

///

“Decaf pumpkin spice chai with extra cinnamon and a medium hot coffee with half n half and two Splenda for Bob?” You take the drinks from the barista, and slide into the seat across from Bob, glancing over to him.

“So,” You start, “1984.” You sip your coffee.

Bob gestures to you.

“Go for it.” He smiles gently.

You begin to talk about the political implications of the novel..

And Bob becomes slowly lost in thought. It starts out simple enough.

He notices how gorgeous your hair looks. You’re always so pretty.

We could take such good care of her, a voice says in the back of his head, She should know everything we could offer her.

Or..

No, Bob thinks. It’s bad enough that the ‘Sentry’ wants a piece of you, he wouldn’t be able to stand it if he entertained any thought of letting the Void out.. especially if he wanted to get anywhere near you.

Why not?, the voice asks, you could help.. We could help. She wouldn’t have to worry about her sobriety or any of her silly thoughts.

He’s right, The Sentry agrees, and Bob feels like he might be sick, How could you even know what she wants if you haven’t asked?

Because, Bob thinks, you don’t even want him. Why would you want either of these—

Because I’m better than a God, The first voice tells him, And he’s..

Everything you aren’t.

Exactly.

Shut up, Bob thinks, She wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t at least a little bit into me.. right?

You’re so naïve, Bobby, He could hear the Void mocking him, and it was even worse when Sentry cut in—

She could get a fuck from anywhere, and let’s face it, you’re not particularly tal—

“Let’s go back to your place,” He says suddenly, cutting your rambles off.

“Everything okay?” You ask, watching as he stands, grabbing his jacket.

“Uh.. Yeah.” He smiles awkwardly, “I’m just..” He shrugs, “In a.. a giving mood.” His cheeks flush when he says it, and the tips of your ears go red when you realize what he’s saying.

“Okay,” you nod, “No, like—pastry or brownie or—”

Bob clears his throat and inhales like he doesn’t want to regret what he’s about to say,

“I’ll have something sweet real soon,” He says. Your ears get redder.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

You stand up and take the last sip of your coffee.

“Okay.” You say, throwing out the cup on your way out the door.

“Okay.” Bob smiles, following you to your apartment.

///

“Decaf caramel dolce Frappuccino with cinnamon and extra whipped cream and a medium hot coffee with half n half and two Splenda for Bob?” Bob takes the drink from the Barista and slides into his usual spot.

He hands you his drink, and then you start,

“I cannot believe she married Rochester!” you whine, tossing the book down on the table. Jane Eyre was the book selection for this week—well, two weeks, it took you guys some time to get through it.

“Yeah,” Bob breathes, shaking his head, “I.. I mean—”

“Do not defend the man who kept his mentally ill wife locked in an attic and got with a nineteen-year-old,” You start, and Bob smiles a bit. He stares at you for a long moment and then you ask, “What’s wrong?”

“Uh, no-nothing.” He shakes his head. “I was just..” He shrugged, then he clears his throat, “She got a family, right?” You sigh.

“Yeah, she did.”

“And yeah, it would’ve been.. nice for her to end up with someone her age, but..” he shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s really good for her.” You just look at him. “Or maybe he died tragically young and left her his money.” You smile then.

And after a moment, you say,

“I guess everyone deserves a second chance, right?” You wonder, and he nods.

“Yeah.”

Bob feels like he can’t breathe.

You notice he looks it too.

“Wanna split a brownie?” You ask, and Bob smiles.

“Yeah.”

///

1:32 A.M.

You’re not sure if this counts as relapsing. You twist your phone in your hands and try to focus on breathing. In and out and—who should you call?

Your therapist? Your sister? What would you even say? ‘Sorry, I know you’re usually worried about me drinking but I just couldn't fight off the compulsions or the depression tonight, so can I come over so I don’t do what I just did again?’

You open your stupid fucking flip phone and dial Bob’s number.

“Hey, everything okay?” You note the lack of sleep from his voice. He must’ve already been up.

You inhale to try and answer, but you hesitate. You don’t want to start crying.

“Can I come over?” Is all you can say.

“Sure,” he answers immediately. “Do you want me to pick you up?”

You do. You want to see him as quickly as possible, but.. you have this insane thought that you don’t deserve the comfort, that you must wait to see him.

“I’ll walk,” And if Bob notices the distant tone, he doesn’t say anything.

“Okay. I’ll see you in ten, I’ll meet you in the lobby.” He says gently, and you nod, even though he can’t see you.

“Okay.”

You get up from your place on the bathroom floor, but you don’t hang up, so after a moment, his voice comes through the other end of the phone,

“Everything okay?” And you wish he would stop asking it.

“Mhm,” Is all you manage as you get your shoes on. You make your way down the stairs, the phone pressed against your ear.

Maybe he knows something is wrong, so he asks,

“Have you started reading The Hunger Games yet?” He asks. It was for ‘book club’ this week, and he just needs to hear you talk so he knows you’re still there.

“Yeah,” You breath as you walk down the stairs, the movement down the stairs more instinctual and second nature than conscious movement, like your brain is fixated on the fact that if you can get to Bob, you’ll be safe—safe from what, you do not know.

“What did you think?” He asks, as he slips on his own slippers, trying to think of anything else he can ask.

And in your daze, in your foggy brain that you try to stumble your way through, as you walk down the streets of New York, the cold air sending goosebumps up your arms, the breeze even stinging the fresh cuts on your arms. A group of girls about your age come down the street past you, drunk and giggling and you think about how alone you feel.

Your feet stop in front of a bar, and you take a moment to just stare at the neon sign, thinking about how easy it would be to get a drink. Another breeze plucks you out of your spiral. You wish you had brought a sweater or something.

Your head turns and you can see the ‘new’ Avengers tower just a few blocks away. So, you keep walking. You can make it there. Bob is waiting for you in the lobby.

“I like that the first thing we learn about Katniss is that she loves someone,” you say, walking towards the tower now. Your hands are beginning to shake. “We don’t know anything about her, her name, her place in the world, or even anything about the world.. we just know that she loves someone.” And when you say ‘someone’, your voice cracks. You can see the doors of the tower now.

“Yeah,” he says on the other end of the phone, and as you get closer you see him there, a small smile on his face as he stands there, and it registers in your brain that he is smiling as he’s talking to you. It registers, just barely. “Sometimes I.. I can’t believe how smart you are.” He says, and it makes you feel almost.. anxious. Like he’s lying.

You hang up as you walk through the doors, and Bob’s shy, isolated smile falls when he sees you. When he sees your arms.

“Holy fuck,” is what he says, and that does not make you feel better.

“I’m sorry,” you say, your tears now falling freely, and not because you’re sad, but because you’re ashamed, and because you feel bad that Bob has to deal with this and because..

This definitely counts as a violation of your ‘book club with benefits’ agreements.

“It’s okay,” he starts, “it’s alright, we can handle this,” He says, but you hear the shakiness in his voice. You know he’s pushing through his own terror in this moment.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, taking a step back from him, but he shakes his head as you continue, “I.. I shouldn’t have come here,” And you go to turn but you feel Bob’s hand grab yours.

“Yes, you should have.” He says, “Because if it were me and I didn’t call you, and I just let myself spiral further, you’d be so mad at me.”

You know he’s right.

“You shouldn’t have to take care of me.”

“But I want to.” He says gently. “So let me.”

And you nod, because you know the path you’re on. You know what letting him in leads to.

So does he.

You don’t say much else, but you let him lead you upstairs, his hand clutched around yours.

The ride up the elevator is quiet. Bob just keeps his grip on your hand and then he asks,

“What else did you.. like about the book?” He asked.

You search your brain for an answer. You know he’s trying to keep you distracted.

“I like Peeta. He’s a sweet character.” You say gently. And then, before you can stop yourself, you say, “He reminds me of you.” Your hand shakily comes up to brush a lock of hair behind his ear. You notice the way a small smile tugs at his face. His head tilts and he kisses the palm of your hand.

The doors to the elevator open, and Bob’s fingers lace with yours.

“Let’s..” he nods towards the door, and you nod in return. He walks just a step ahead of you, but you notice the way he takes the occasional glance back. Both of your heads pick up when you hear footsteps approaching, and there stands Yelena, in these plaid pajama pants and a big tee shirt for some beer company. She looks half asleep but she smiles when she sees you two.

“Oh look, book club meets late now, how—” she stops, her face growing concerned when she sees your arms, “What did—” But she stops when she sees Bob shake his head. Instead, she glances back to you and in a way that leaves no room for argument, she says, “You call if you need me.” And without another word, she turns and makes her way past you down the hall.

You and Bob find the bathroom. “Take a seat,” he gently says, and you decide to sit on the edge of the tub. He shuffles through the supplies and pulls out some bandages and some antibiotic spray. He takes a rag from off the counter and soaks it in some warm water. Then, he turns back to you. “Can I see?”

You just hold your hands out, and Bob starts by just looking at the cuts. There’s not a ton of them, but there are enough for him to notice. He gently cleans them with the warm rag and then sprays your wrists with the antibiotic spray.

“When did you learn first aid?” you ask.

Bob shrugs.

“When.. when you’re the standby in a team of superheroes..” he shrugs. “You pick up on a few things.”

“You’re a hero too.” You say softly. Bob doesn’t respond, he just wraps your wrists with the bandages he holds. He doesn’t want to tell you that he’s no hero, that he’s hurt so many people that he thinks he’ll be repenting for the rest of his life.

He turns around to put the spray and bandages away, and when he turns back, he sees you sitting on the floor, leaning against the tub. He sighs and sits next to you on the floor. Then, he asks,

“Do you want to talk about it?” You shake your head. “C’mon..” he says softly. “It’s just me.” He reminds.

“I..” You sigh. “I haven’t.. self-harmed like that since.. middle school. I just wanted to feel something, anything that didn’t feel like I was drowning.” You confess. “I’m sorry I bothered you, I don’t know—”

“Stop,” he says softly, “We’re..” He sighs. “I meant it. I want to take care of you.”

You can’t stop the tears from falling as you shake your head.

“You wanna know the worst part?”

Bob’s voice is genuine when he says,

“I want to know all of it.”

Finally, you turn your head to look at him.

“I’m falling back in love with you.” You tell him. He nods.

“Can I tell you a secret?” He asks softly. You feel a smile tug at your lips, and it makes Bob smile too.

“Sure.” You answer.

“I never stopped.” He said, “When I saw you again, it was like..” He shook his head. “I should’ve gone to rehab with you.” He whispered. Your heart aches. “I never.. never should’ve went to Malaysia or..” He frowns. “I could’ve built a life with you. A real life, not just.. One where I have to pretend like I don’t.. like I don’t want to ask you to stay.”

Your heart breaks when you see tears brimming his eyes.

“Robby,” You whisper, even though it’s just the two of you in this bathroom. The lights flicker just a bit, so you lace your fingers with his.

“I.. I was so.. so stupid.” He shakes his head, “I never..” His eyes meet yours. “I really screwed it up, and.. I’m sorry. And I love you.” He confesses.

“What about uh..” You sniff, “What about neither of us wanting to be in a.. serious relationship?”

“Fuck that.” He says, and his confidence in it takes you back, “I’m tired of.. of not seeing you everyday. A week is too long to go without seeing you.” He confesses, and your free hand comes up to tuck a curl behind his ear.

“I love you too.” You tell him. You lean your forehead against his and then say, “So ask me.”

“Ask.. Ask you what?”

“Ask me to stay.” You whisper, “And maybe I will.”

“..Just.. Just maybe?”

“Guess you’ll have to ask and see.”

“..Stay.” He says softly. You can’t help it, so, you say,

“That’s not really a question—” Bob stares at you for a long time, a smile making his glare much less intimidating.

“Will you stay? Here, with me?” he wonders, “Be with me.” He requests.

You kiss him, but there’s no expectation in this one. You don’t expect him to want to fuck, to want to sleep with you. This kiss is pure, with no strings attached. No benefits.

When you pull away, you nod.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll stay for as long as you want me to.” You promise, and Bob smiles a bit, looking down to your intwined fingers.

“That’s.. nice.” Your awkward Loverboy responds, and you’re shocked when he asks, “Do you.. uhm..”

“Do I..?”

“Do you.. wanna watch.. Star Wars with me?” he wonders.

You can’t help but smile.

“Which one?”

“The best one.” He shrugs. “Revenge of the Sith?”

“Sure. That sounds nice.” You confess.

Halfway through the movie, you would fall asleep right on top of him, and Bob would realize that this was always where he was meant to be.

///

For your birthday, Bob hands you a small present, wrapped in paper decorated with sprinkles. When you open it, you find a copy of The Great Gatsby.

Only this copy is bound by leather and has this beautiful dark blue and gold cover on it. It must’ve cost Bob—well, it wasn’t cheap, but It’s gorgeous, and inside, you find a note scribbled onto the title page—

“I found what I was looking for.

Love, Robby.”

#thunderbolts #thunderbolts fanfiction #thunderbolts fic #bob reynolds #robert reynolds #sentry #the void #bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x you #bob reynolds fanfiction #robert reynolds x reader #robert reynolds x you #robert reynolds fanfiction #sentry x reader #sentry x you #void x reader #void x you #lewis pullman

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pencil-n-pen · 5 months ago

Text

Princess ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚

⊹‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

leon kennedy x fem!reader

Summary: Being an independent woman and a full time student is all fun and games until final’s season. Luckily, your not-quite academic rival Leon Kennedy is there to pick you up when you fall.

cw: Female pronouns and description used for reader but nothing detailed (no skin color, eye color, hair type, body type, etc.) This is basically just an x reader for my independent eldest daughters who do nothing but their absolute best all the time everyday and deep down want a hot guy with beefy arms to let them relax for a minute. So i guess expect the related issues that come with being an eldest daughter?

Tags/tropes: hurt/comfort, dom! leon if you squint, leon’s very touchy, leon being a gentleman!! probably ooc, i kinda struggled finding his voice :/

wc: 3.3k

a/n: wowee so i’m not rlly looking to be a full time author or anything but i could NOT get this idea out of my head and i figured i could give back to the tumblr fic community <3 here’s to everyone who wants hurt/comfort without smut, incest, or a needlessly specific reader! hope everyone’s recovering well from finals!

— ‎ ‧₊˚ 𓂃౨ৎ

The first time it happened, it honestly, truly, was an accident. A mistake, if you will. You would never willingly fall asleep on a random guy at a party. That is all kinds of bad for a number of reasons.

However. There were some… extenuating circumstances.

Finals. They’re a make-or-break for the first semester. Mostly just a break. In the sense that you contemplated how upset your parents would be at you if you dropped out and if the subsequent disowning would be worth it.

You did finals the same way you did everything. You worked. Studied. Borderline obsessed over it. Romanticized it so you could push through when the other’s resolve started dropping. Stayed home. Your friends bemoaned your “no-fun attitude” but they’re crying over their grades and you’re not, so.

Well. Actually you’re definitely crying over your grades, almost every day in fact. But not because they’re bad. Just because you’re tired. Really tired. The kind of tired that makes people have public breakdowns. But you can’t afford to have a public breakdown because you have to succeed at college and you have to work in order to stay on top of your bills and be able to send some money home to your family and make sure you have time to call your parents and make time for your sister to call you and vent because you didn’t have a you at her age and you wish you did so you have to be there for her and your friends need you to be there for them not to mention planning for how you’re going to use your degree after you graduate and—

Most of the time you try not to think about it.

So finals were over. And everyone wanted to celebrate. And you did, you promise. You’re totally the party girl type. Totally. (Maybe if you say it enough times it’ll come true?)

You don’t hate parties. You like dressing up and going out. It’s fun! It’s just… not your idea of an unwind. Not after you nearly ran yourself into the ground for a month straight for the sake of academic validation. You’d prefer to sleep for 72 hours straight. And maybe watch a movie at home in the sweatshirt you cried over your textbooks in. Maybe over a glass of wine? You’re not really sure. Relaxing never really goes well for you. It’s either depression-bed-rotting or full productivity.

Needless to say, you weren’t exactly thrilled to find yourself at this party. You’re not really sure how your friends convinced you.

But you’re here, in makeup and an outfit you like (you’re thankful this isn’t one of the ‘put on a tight dress and dance’ parties) and you just honestly want to go to bed. It’s a house party, so it’s not nearly as crazy as some of the other parties you’ve been (read: dragged) to, but still.

You’re on the couch, ignoring the smell of alcohol in the air and pretending the pounding baseline of the music coming from the speaker in the kitchen isn’t starting to give you a headache.

Ada Wong, a girl you’ve hesitantly dubbed your party friend, is sitting on your left, while the guy you can never quite tell what he is to her, is sitting on your right.

Leon Kennedy.

On a good day, Leon Kennedy is a smart, brooding, annoyingly capable guy who you share some of your classes with. On a bad day, he’s the bane of your existence. On a really bad day, you fantasize about all the ways you could kill him and turn the experience into a really good term paper.

It’s complicated. You’re smart. He’s smart. You tend to clash because neither of you like backing down from a challenge.

But right now, in this moment, at this party, the only thing you can think about is how fucking tired you are and how warm he is.

The music is so loud it drowns everything out in your brain. The few thoughts that make it through the overwhelm of sound are fuzzy and staticky. The cling and slip around in your head like syrup. The worst parts about parties are, funnily enough, working to cancel out the main reason you can’t fall asleep in your own bed at night: overthinking.

That and the fact that you haven’t sleep in forty-eight hours. An energy drink and an iced coffee count as a full nights sleep, right? You’re sure the heart palpitations are normal.

You manage to keep up with the steady flow of the group conversation, but as the night wears on, talking becomes harder and harder and just plain processing the words being said slowly turns into an impossible task. At some point, someone else squeezed onto the couch— you think it might be Chris? Ada did say he was coming late— so now you’re pressed against the one and only Leon Kennedy, and he’s radiating heat like a furnace.

Like you, he opted for a slightly more casual approach to the house party. Of course, he’s a guy, so his wardrobe was probably never that big, but still. It’s nice to see someone else in a sweatshirt and jeans.

You at least put on your favorite jeans! You call them your hot jeans, for self explanatory reasons. So what if you’re wearing an oversized sweatshirt? It’s cold!

You jolt in place, not realizing your eyes had slipped close and the conversation had continued on without you. Something prickles in the back of your head. An instinctual sort of thing.

Don’t fall asleep in public places.

Don’t fall asleep at someone’s house you don’t know.

You know the owner of the house, you think. You’ve been here once or twice. But you don’t know everyone at the party and where your friends have gone because they’re not in the group talking here and you should probably stand up soon, to wake yourself up, don’t let your friends down, don’t be that girl who falls asleep at the party, don’t—

You jolt again.

Wake up. You tell yourself. Leon’s looking at you out of the corner of his eye, but you ignore it.

It feels like a record skip. You’ll blink, and the conversation isn’t the same as when you first closed your eyes. The song isn’t the same. Were the lights always this bright?

“Whew!” Ada whistles from above. When did she stand up? “Someone’s got final’s exhaustion written all over their face!”

The group laughs and you do too, but it sounds different. Leon doesn’t. Why isn’t he laughing?

You jolt again. Harder this one. A full body shake. You wince as your knee knocks into Leon’s.

“Sorr—“

“Stop that.” He grumbles, and oh. A warm, solid hand snakes around your waist and pulls you closer. Closed to that warm, stupidly comfortable side.

This is wrong. It’s Leon. It’s Leon. You can’t. And this is a party, and your friends are here—

“Stop being stupid,” You can feel his chest rumble from where your cheek is pressed flush against it, and when did that happen? He picks up your left arm and drapes it across his stomach, then picks up your right arm and wraps it around his lower pack. “Squeeze.”

You listen, and wow. Who has time to go to the gym this much and be an academic rival? You feel like you’re slacking. Maybe you need to make time to get some—

“I can hear you thinking,” He says, voice deep and rumbly. It’s honestly a miracle you can hear him over the music. It’s probably because your face is pressed against his chest. If you strain, you can feel the dull thud of his heart.

“You have a heart?” You say, half-delirious with exhaustion. It comes out more as a question than a statement

“Mhm,” He rumbles. “I am in possession of one. Great observation princess.”

You frown into his chest. “Why are you always so mean? You call me that stupid name. I’m not a princess.”

“I’m not mean. Whoever said princess was a mean nickname? You decided that on your own.”

“Then how come you call me that?”

“Because,” He huffs, repositioning to a more slouched position that’s more comfortable for your neck. The arm tightens around your waist.

It’s nice. It’s possessive. Protective. No one’s ever really done that for you before. Usually it’s you doing the protecting.

You don’t want to relax. You can’t. You can’t.

“Because,” He continues, “Princesses need to be taken care of. Especially smart, stubborn princesses who never pause for one second. Not even when they should.”

You should get up. Apologize for how weird you’re being. Have another coffee or energy drink. Join the party. Do something that isn’t this.

“Go to sleep,” He says, his voice like a warm blanket settling and slipping into your mind. “Nothing‘s going to happen to you while I’m here. No one is going to be mad at you for sleeping. And if they are, I’ll kick their ass. Go to sleep.”

It’s easy to give in after that.

You sag, boneless. Like a puppet with it’s strings cut. You inhale deeply, breathing in the deep, rich scent that’s distinctly Leon.

Just for a few minutes. Because Leon’s watching. He won’t let something happen to you. Just for a few minutes. You’ll get up soon. You will.

He tucks you closer to him. “Sleep.”

You’re out like a light.

—

“No way, she’s actually asleep?”

“Holy shit Leon, did you drug her?”

“I did not.”

“Well, thanks, for whatever weird magic-spell you cast. Seriously. We’re all starting to get worried about her. She doesn’t take any breaks and she doesn’t let anyone help. Last week a librarian found her asleep on the printer. Fully standing.”

“Hmm.”

“I’m going to start inviting you to our apartment if it means she’ll actually get some fucking sleep. It’s unsettling finding her in the same position as when I left like, six hours beforehand.”

“Don’t worry. She’s in good hands.”

—

It’s horrific, running into him in the library.

What makes it more horrible is the fact that you’re ugly crying silently in the English textbook section, because it’s always empty. You’re ugly crying in the English textbook section of the university library and Leon Kennedy just walked into the aisle.

You sniff, lifting your head from your knees to stare up at him from the ground. He has a knack for finding you at your lowest, it would seem.

“We’ve got to stop seeing each other like this, princess.”

“Oh?” You sniff hard, running a hand across your face as if that will clear up your red rimmed, puffy eyes, the tear tracks on your face, or the flush on your nose. The action at least wipes away the snot. “I wasn’t aware you ever fell asleep on me at a party. Did I ever find you crying in the English textbook section of the library?”

He tilts his head. “Why the English textbook section? It’s one of your best subjects.”

“It’s the emptiest section. Plus, anyone looking for an English textbook at this hour isn’t going to bat an eye at me.” You wrap your arms around your legs and hug them to your chest. “What are you doing here?”

“One of your roommates called Ada. They said you haven’t been home since this morning. They thought you might’ve been at hers, or with me.”

You snort. “It’s like they don’t even know me.”

He rolls his eyes. “I think they were hoping you’d be there. I think anyone who knows you knew you’d be here.”

“Crying in the English section?”

“In the library, dumbass.”

He stalks forward, leaning back against the bookshelf across from you and sliding his hands into his sweatpants pockets.

“Tell me. Is your pathological avoidance to asking for help conscious or not?”

You kick out, one shoed foot catching him in the shins. “Dick.”

He shrugs. “Just want to know. I can’t exactly gloat over scoring two points above you if you’re not in top form. I want a fair fight.”

“Is that what you're here for?” You ask suddenly, everything in your body going rigid. “You think this is funny?”

“No,” He says calmly. “I’m here because you’re being stupid again. You know what’s not healthy, or smart?”

He gestures to you. You, sitting on the floor, tears drying on your face. “This. Going out to parties to make your friends happy when you should be at home, sleeping. Studying for so long you end up looking like your boyfriend of eight years just broke up with you. Come on, princess. Where’s those brains you brag about?”

“They’re up here,” You tap your forehead. Against your will, your eyes burn, tears welling up, your face tightening. “And they’re tired.”

You drop your head into your hands, forgoing your silent crying of earlier in the place of open mouth sobbing. You can’t help it. You’re just so tired. So done with it all. With trying to keep up, with trying to make space, with trying to make time. With doing your best and it not being enough. You’re tired of being tired.

“Annnd there it is. Come here.”

He lowers himself to the floor next to you, tucking you close in a similar fashion as that night at the party.

“Come on, same thing as before. Hold onto me. Give yourself a minute.”

You wrap your arms around his middle, same way as last time, burying your face into his shoulder. Someone could see. Someone you know might see you crying and think—

He reaches a hand up and pulls the hood of your sweatshirt over your head.

“There. Now no one can see your face. Stop worrying. Just cry, princess.”

You sniffle. “I’m getting snot on your sweatshirt.”

“It’s had worse on it.”

“Gross.”

You can practically feel the eye roll. “Can you stop being dirty-minded and focus on something productive? Like crying? Or not crying, if that would make you feel better.”

You shift, so your head is lying against his shoulder instead of smashed into it like before.

“Why do you care if I feel better?”

Why do you care?

He shrugs against you.

“Told you,” He pushes your hood back a bit, tapping you on the forehead with his pointer finger. “My competition’s no fun if she’s not taking care of herself. How else is she gonna kick my ass?”

“I can take care of myself just fine. I don’t need you to swoop in here, Leon.”

“Mhm,” He says. “And i’m sure you do great at it, considering you’re still alive and kicking my ass at those stupid socratic seminars. Consider this… self-care. In the face mask, getting your nails done way.”

“Who taught you self care?”

“Ada. We have face mask nights.”

You jolt up. “Is she—“

“She’s not my girlfriend, we’re not fucking, no she’s not going to be upset or care in any way about this. Calm down.”

You begrudgingly settle back against him.

“If anything,” He continues. “She’ll be excited to see you at more parties in the coming months.”

You frown. “I never said—“

“You only go to parties if your friends physically drag you or when you feel confident enough in your grades and the general state of your life. It’s really easy to tell which version of you shows up to the party. It’s the way you dress.”

“How so?”

He shifts slightly. Guilt twinges in your stomach as you realize how uncomfortable he must be.

“You wear your pick-me-up pants when you’re dragged there. The ones that make your ass look great.”

You sit up with a gasp. “My hot pants?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Is that what you call them?”

Your brain catches up to the rest of what he said. “Hold on. Did you just say—“

“I said what I said. I’m assuming there’s a reason you call them your hot pants.”

He smirks, and you flush.

“Moving onto more pressing matters,” He tilts his head at you. “You have two options this evening. Either I take you back to your place and you sleep in your own bed, or you come to my place and we binge watch the Oceans movies until you fall asleep.”

“How did you know I like the—“

“The icebreaker for club thing. You said they were your favorite movies.”

You look up at him. “You remembered?”

“You were wearing your hot jeans.”

“You’re the worst.”

He scans your face for a moment, eyes sparking with mirth and a little something less innocent. “Maybe.”

You sigh and lean back against him, exhaustion from all your crying hitting you at once.

“Nuh-uh, no sleeping here. You gotta pick one. My place or yours?”

You frown into his shoulder. “Ugh. Fine. Yours, but only because I wanna watch the Ocean’s movies. You better not have a disgusting frat house.”

“I do not. I do have popcorn and ice cream.”

“Ada bought those, didn’t she?”

“Nope,” He says, nudging you with his shoulder to stand. You clamber in gracefully to your feet, your head starting to pound. “Chris likes to have movie nights. It pays to be well stocked.”

Your cheeks warm as a large, steadying hand finds its way to the small of your back. “How many of my friends are you friends with?”

“I was friends with them first.”

“Ass.”

He chuckles incredulously. “For having friends?”

“Yes,” You say, letting him pull you to his side while you walk to your table where you left your stuff. Probably not the best idea to leave your entire net-worth unattended, but whatever. You were going through it. “How dare you.”

“Mmm. I see. My apologies, princess. I’ll tell Chris and Ada.”

“You get on that.”

You can’t help but smile as he helps you pack up your things, passing you items across the table and carefully zipping up your pencil case.

“Don’t touch my papers, I have a system.”

“Is the system absolute chaos?”

“Shut up.”

Once everything is packed up, you zip up your backpack, but before you can sling it on, Leon’s arm darts out and snags it right out from under you.

Your expression grows pinched. “I can carry my own bag, Leon.”

“I know you can.”

“Give me my bag.”

“No.”

You groan. “Why do you want to carry my bag?”

“See, there’s this thing called chivalry—“

“Oh my god, shut up. When have you and chivalry ever been synonymous?”

He shrugs. “Ever since I met the girl in the hot jeans who regularly kicks my ass academically.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Mmm,” He hums, wrapping an arm around your waist and walking you towards the doors to the library. “And you’re stubborn. Come on. Brad Pitt and George Clooney are waiting for you.”

You sigh dramatically, hiding a small smile in your hand.

Maybe you could get used to this.

masterlist | next part

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

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losers-clvb · 2 months ago

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rebounded dean winchester x sam's ex-girlfriend!reader

content: mentions of sam cheating on reader in the beginning, sam and dean are estranged brothers, dean gets competitive with sam, smut (grinding, fingering, dirty talk, finger sucking, nipple play, slight mentions of marking, incorrect use of kitchen table, unprotected piv penetration, breeding kink (but no actual breeding, trust, not in this economy!), very very very brief use of "daddy", praise), sam calls during the smut and they answer, fluff

word count: 3.2k

note: this is a part two to "rebound". special thanks to @amourcri3s and @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth for inspiring this in the comments. here is reader's revenge on toxic!sam.

Surprise, surprise, Sam Winchester broke your heart. Again.

You were sure it couldn’t get worse than this situation.

You had come home from work, already having a shitty day, and all you wanted to do was cuddle up into the arms of your boyfriend. Unfortunately, he already had someone cuddled up into his arms.

Though, it was technically less cuddled up and more him fucking up into her while pornstar-quality moans filled the space.

You don’t know how long you had stood in the doorway, just watching them with watering eyes. When Sam finally looked up, he wasn’t kind enough to look remorseful or even shocked.

“Come join us, baby.” Sam had beckoned to you. You had let out a cry in response, dropping your purse to the floor.

Fast forward a heartbreakingly long 72 hours and you were fumbling with the key to Sam’s own apartment. You knew he was gone. Mason had managed to track him down, finding his location to be in a different state with the same girl he had bouncing on his dick on your couch.

You needed to grab your things and run. You were never getting back together with him, and this, taking back the few possessions that you kept at Sam’s place, would help you fully get away from him.

You took in a breath before stepping inside, quietly closing the door behind you.

“Mmm, you are not my little brother.”

You jumped, a small shriek humming from your throat. What the hell? No one was supposed to be here.

Your eyes flew to the small couch in the corner of the living room space where a man, a very attractive man, sat with a glass of amber liquid in his hand. He smirked at you, tilting his head to the side.

“Who are you?” The hot guy asked. You shivered at the way he growled the last word.

“I’m just gonna go,” you mumbled, wrapping a hand around the door handle.

“You his girlfriend?”

Your fingers tingled with the familiar sensation you got when you were about to cry. Girlfriend. You weren’t, not after everything, but it was still hard to say out loud. You looked over your shoulder at the stranger, lip jutted out.

“Ah,” he sighed, like he knew about all the lies and manipulation just from your sad eyes. “What’d the bitch do?”

You blinked at him. Why did he care so much?

“Who are you?” You asked this time, voice small. He gave you a crooked smile.

“Dean.” When you furrowed your brows in confusion -- how were you supposed to know who Dean was? -- he continued. “Sammy’s big brother.”

“Oh.” Was all that you could say in response.

“He didn’t tell you about me.” Dean stated. He knew the answer.

After Dean caught his ex on her knees with Sam’s dick in her mouth just a week after they’d broken up, his and Sam’s fight had been too much to come back from. Fists flew, words were spat out, and Dean sped off in the Impala before he killed his little brother.

“I guess it slipped his mind while he was balls-deep in Kristy on my couch.” You immediately replied. You didn’t know where the sudden anger came from. Years of repressing it, maybe?

“You got a mouth on ya, sweetheart.” Dean smirked, enjoying every moment of this. He’d come to see Sam, maybe try to piece things back together since they were the only family they both had left. With you standing in front of him in the prettiest lavender dress he’d ever seen, he was quickly switching plans.

It was only fitting Dean sleep with Sam’s ex-girlfriend, just to even things out.

“Sorry.” You cringed at the apology that slipped out on instinct. Sam was always getting you to take the blame for things.

He had a bad day? It was all because you didn’t make his coffee in the morning. He flirted with a waitress? Well, maybe you should’ve given him head in the car before going into the restaurant. Even when he slept with other people, it was somehow your fault for not wanting to sleep with him the week beforehand. And you believed it every single time.

“Nothin’ to be sorry about.” Dean beckoned you over, gesturing with his hand. “C’mere, angel.”

You hesitated. You shouldn’t be here, alone in Sam’s apartment with his older brother, who was making you feel so much better without even trying. You almost turned back around, walked out the door, and left this entire mess behind you. Almost.

Dean’s eyes were locked onto yours while you walked over. Your boots -- the ones Mason bought for you as a “reward for leaving that douche for good” -- made soft thumps on the flooring. You stood in front of him, fidgeting with the hem of your dress.

“You still love him?” Dean finished off the rest of his drink and deposited the glass on the window sill near the couch. You shrugged. Yes was the answer that first popped into your mind until you remembered Sam’s proud grin at getting caught.

“I can help you forget him.” Dean spoke again, throwing his arms up casually on the cushions behind him. You dared to glance down at his spread legs. They looked like they would be nice to sit on. You wondered if he would feel like Sam, if he would be able to make you come like Sam had.

Only one way to find out, you decided.

You sank down into his lap, knees on either side of Dean’s thighs. Your dress rode up, lacy panties pressing against the seam of his jeans. He clutched onto your hips. If you wanted to, you could stand back up, no problem, but the grip still felt possessive, like you were his and he wasn’t ever letting you go.

You liked that.

“You wanna let me kiss you, pretty girl?” Dean asked, grinning at you again.

You swallowed down your hesitancy this time. You needed this. What was that thing Mason had said the last time you broke up with Sam? “The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else”? You were certainly going to take her advice this time.

Cupping his cheeks in your hands, you kissed him. You were thrown off by his hunger as he kissed you back. He was motivated by something, this wasn’t just another lay. You didn’t care to ask. What difference would it make?

You rocked your hips into his, humming when you brushed against his belt buckle.

“Fuck, sweetie,” Dean growled into your skin when he moved to your jaw and neck. You slid your hands down his face, over his chest, onto the growing bulge that was pressing into your heat.

“Please,” you breathed when he bit into the side of your neck, just enough to leave a bruise, his tongue flattening against it to soothe.

“‘Please’ what?” Dean teased. His hands found their way up your bare thighs.

“Please make me forget your brother ever existed.”

Dean ignored the twitch in his cock and instead pressed both of his thumbs onto your clit. The lacy cloth did nothing to cushion the pressure. You moaned, kissing him again.

Your teeth and tongues gnashed against each other. Your shared saliva was spreading across your chins. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, not when Dean was rubbing circles into you.

The connection only broke to allow space for your dress to pass over your head, then he was right back onto you. You were glad you’d chosen not to wear a bra that day. It was just one less layer between you and Dean.

“Sammy ever fuck you good? He make you see Heaven when you come?” Dean groaned into your mouth, palming at one of your breasts, a thumb still swirling on your clit.

“Mhm…,” you answered, half-moan. You couldn’t lie. It was the one thing Sam was actually good at in your relationship. The man knew how to fuck.

Dean didn’t seem to like that. It was as if you had told him that he wasn’t good at sex purely because his brother was.

“I’m gonna be better.” He growled and pulled your panties to the side. He slipped two fingers into you, making you arch forward into him, whining in pleasure. You had no doubt in your mind he would be better, just from the sheer confidence he held.

“Dean,” you sighed as he moved his fingers skillfully.

“That’s right,” Dean curled them forward, right into that spongy spot that had your spine giving out from holding you up. You were completely draped onto him, not that it slowed his pace. “Remember my name. By the end of the night, it’s the only thing you’re gonna know.”

You held onto his shoulders, soft moans leaving your lips. You muttered his name like it was a sacred chant.

“De… oh, I’m…,” you couldn’t bring yourself to finish the sentence. He knew what you were trying to say. He licked into your mouth, moving his tongue in sync with the way his fingers were pumping and curling.

You came with a moan of his name, just the way he wanted. It wasn’t the last time he’d be inside you. He was never going to get enough of those noises leaving your mouth.

You were still hungry for more. You squeezed his bulge just enough to make him hiss in pleasure. He promptly pushed his fingers into your mouth. You wrapped your lips around them, sucking. The eye contact you held made him groan.

“Sam’s a damn fool. He’s out chasing pussy when he’s got the best one right here.” He kissed onto the length of his digits you didn’t fully reach. This taste of you lingered on his lips as he kissed you, his fingers still in your mouth. He hooked them around the corner of your lips, moving his mouth on you like he was a death row inmate and you were his last meal.

“You’re mine now.” He mumbled, finally dragging out of your mouth, spreading your saliva over your cheek. You panted and watched his hands unbuckle his belt, mouth watering when his fingers slipped the button of his jeans open.

You helped him pull his jeans off, scrambling off of his lap until you were standing there, lace the only thing keeping you from complete nudity.

Dean shifted forward, falling from his sitting position on the couch to his knees in front of you. He shimmied your panties down, letting you hold a hand on his shoulder for balance to fully get them off.

“Gorgeous.” He muttered, pressing a kiss to your clit before standing, hooking an arm under your ass to lift you up with him. Your legs found a home around his waist, hands holding onto his shoulders. He kissed you, holding you close to his chest.

“Kitchen… table…,” you gasped into him. Dean didn’t question this. He carried you to the small kitchen, laying you out on the counter. He kissed down your sternum before latching onto a nipple, sucking until you moaned.

“He ever fuck you here?” He asked, looking up at you from where he was licking a stripe onto the plush of your breast.

“No.” You smirked. You had a few ideas of your own to make Sam pay for his treatment of you, and the spark of competitive edge in Dean’s eyes told you this was the correct choice. This was the exact reason you’d chosen the table.

“Good.” He pushed his boxers down enough to free himself.

“No condom?” You offered. Dean raised an eyebrow at you with a smirk.

“You let him do that?” Everything had to give him an extra thing to hang over Sam’s head.

“No.” You bit your bottom lip. Sam used to try to get you to do it raw constantly. You didn’t want to risk it, pregnancy and STDs, since Sam was so friendly with the neighborhood pussy. This? This was worth any fucking risk, just to see how Sam would react to the knowledge of it.

“Good.” Dean growled. He ran his tip through your slick, loving the way you shivered at the touch. He finally pushed into you, slowly moving in, inch by inch.

You groaned, eyes rolling back when he bottomed out. He gripped onto your hips, pulling out almost completely before snapping back into you.

“So fuckin’ tight.” Dean rocked his hips back and forth. He folded over you, kissing you again. You whined into his mouth.

“Gonna let me come in you? Fill this pussy up until she can’t take anymore?” Dean grunted.

“Yes!” You bit out, voice cracking from the pleasure.

“Yeah,” he chuckled darkly, “‘Uncle Sammy’ has a nice ring to it. Really show him how bad he fucked up when you’re walkin’ around all swollen with my kid.”

You rolled your hips into him, clenching around him at the thought of Dean showing you off in front of Sam.

A chime from near the couch broke you from your thinking. Your phone. You knew it was Sam. It was the ringtone he’d picked out for himself, at your request.

“It’s him.” You breathed. Dean’s hips faltered and you watched a wicked shine flash in his eyes.

“It’d be rude to ignore him.” He pulled out of you, making you involuntary whine in protest. To his credit, he was quick to shuffle through your purse and get back to you.

“Hey, baby.” You heard crackle out from your phone. Crawling back to you again, it seemed. This time you weren’t falling for it. You had better things to do, like moan at the stretch that Dean gave you when he pushed back into you.

“What the-,” Sam started to question, but Dean cut him off.

“Hi-ya, Sammy.” Dean had the widest grin you’d ever seen. You ran your hands up the sides of your body, cupping your breasts as he thrust into you at a steady pace.

“Dean.” Sam grumbled. You could almost see the dark glare in his eyes as he said it. “What the fuck are you doing to her? I wanna speak to my girl.”

“Ah, ah,” Dean tutted, rubbing a thumb onto your clit to make you whine. “She’s a little busy right now.”

“She’s never too busy for me.” Sam sounded far too confident about that fact. Dean snapped his hips into you. A sharp cry left your lips.

“And she’s not yours anymore, Sammy.” Dean growled. He smiled down at you. Your eyes fluttered shut with a sigh.

“You can’t fucking do this, Dean. She’ll never leave me. She loves me too much.” Sam was fumbling for arguments. Dean laughed dryly.

“Let me paint you a picture, Sam. I’ve got her spread out, naked, on your table, tits bouncing. God, I gotta tell you, this pussy was made for me.” Dean leaned down to place another kiss on your lips. You were breathless, both from him moving so effortlessly into you and from his taunting to Sam. He sounded so mean yet so sweet at the same time.

“Whatever,” Sam huffed out, the poison of jealousy stinging through his voice. “Have fun with my sloppy seconds.”

“Mmm, Sammy, she’s not too sloppy yet, but she will be when I come deep inside her. Fuckin’ leave my mark, right, sweetheart.” You babbled out a slurred “yes”, arching your back when he pulled your leg to wrap around him, allowing him to go deeper. “She ever let you do that? Fuck her raw?”

Dean already knew the answer, but it pulled a smirk onto his face when he heard the flex of Sam’s jaw while he spoke.

“She wouldn’t let you do that.” He huffed.

“It was her idea, man.” Dean chuckled. He turned his voice back to you. “You gonna let me do that?”

“Yes.” You gasped.

“Gonna make me a daddy?”

“Yes.”

Dean groaned and threw his head back.

“She-,” Sam sucked in a breath, “she loves me.” He was stuck on that. There was a time when it was true, and all he had to do was say it back in order to get you back. That changed the moment Dean kissed you like he had something to prove.

“Who do you love, pretty girl?” Dean asked you, grasping at your jaw. You opened your eyes, wanting eye contact for the words that were about to leave you.

“You.” You moaned, rolling your hips. “I love you, Dean. Only you.” You were laying it on thick, trying to prove a point. Was it true? You didn’t know. Maybe you loved Dean. You certainly loved the things he was doing to you.

You stuck your tongue out to meet Dean’s fingers halfway when they started to crawl up your chin. He watched as you closed your lips around three of them, sucking, never taking your eyes from his.

“Fuck, Sammy, can’t believe you let her get away. I’m not making the same mistake.”

“You fuckin’ ass-,” Sam growled, getting cut off again.

“Hey, we really gotta let you go. Talk later, ‘kay?” Dean didn’t wait for a response before ending the call, dumping your phone onto the table next to you. You hummed in approval. You hoped Sam was feeling just as shitty as he had made you feel. He deserved so much more than that, but it was a good start.

“Proud of you, angel. You did so fuckin’ well.” Dean grunted, using his newly freed hand to grip onto your hip. It was the last thing to send you over the edge. You clenched around him as you came, an incoherent whine sounding from you. It was muffled with his fingers still in your mouth.

Dean’s jaw dropped in pleasure and he slammed into you, chasing his own high. It didn’t take long before he was pulling out of you with a groan, spilling himself onto your lower stomach. A few drips of release slid down your waist.

You panted, keeping your mouth open to let his fingers fall free. A tired smile grew onto your face when he gently grabbed your bottom lip in his teeth. You closed your lips around his mouth, kissing him.

“Changed your mind?” You asked when he pulled away, looking pointedly to his cum still sitting on your stomach. He gave you a crooked grin.

“Figured I’d take ya out before I knocked you up.” Dean answered, rubbing soothing circles into the muscles of your thighs. You scrunched your eyebrows at him, ignoring the swoop of emotions flooding you at his words.

“Out?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, kissing the top of your bent knee. “Out. I meant it when I said you were mine now.”

The way he said it told you he not only meant it, but he meant it in a different way than Sam ever did. You were Dean’s in the same way he was yours. There would be no Kristy or Stephanie. It was you and only you.

You let him help you sit up and take you to the bathroom, running the shower to clean you both of the sweat and cum.

This was the best way to get over a breakup, you’d decided, especially when it was with the brother of the man who had broken your heart.

everything taglist : @littlesoulshine @sacr1ficialang3l @blossomingorchids @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @mostlymarvelgirl @missus-ackles @tinas111 @ambiguous-avery

jensen ackles taglist : @arcannaa

#FUCK SAM WINCHESTER #(not really he's my angel baby boy even when he's toxic)#but for the purposes of this fic: FUCK SAM WINCHESTER #mason is the number one fan of reader x dean #she actually gets along with him btw #loves him much much more than she could ever even tolerate sam #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester #supernatural #x reader #spn #supernatural x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester smut #jensen ackles

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linddzz · 6 months ago

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I intended to write out ONE scene for the early days of Team Hextech, but these dweebs completely derailed me into an entirely different scene by establishing nicknames.

So here's a teaser of sorts for the wider fic @amahhi and I are working on, which is going to be snapshots through their years together and also a way for me to shove every Jayvik meta I have into one manifesto.

Stage 1: let me sell you on the whole nickname thing with Academy Dorks. Pure pre-relationship fluff and dork4dork energy. Nothing bad is ever gonna happen to these cuties.

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

It is surprising, how easily things come together.

Surprising in how Viktor has now been around Jayce Talis for over 72 hours (it is currently at 79) and he has, at no point, felt an urge to knock Jayce out with a sharp swing to the back of the head so that Viktor could have a moment to himself. Surprising in the fact that he is not actually surprised by this. Nothing could surprise him now, when the euphoria fills his veins like nothing he's known before.

There is the magic. Of course there's the magic. The blue glow like a lightning flash caught behind his eyes and burned forever into his mind. There could not be anything but the magic now. Yet it was everything else that came with the magic as well. The freshly assigned lab that is, truthfully, hardly more than an old office with the furniture shoved out of it. The chalkboard being pilfered from the library in the middle of the night, because the single pathetic one the lab came with was a joke.

There is Jayce. Jayce, who is the magic, the spark, the surge of life and energy. Jayce laughing in little hitched noises that his stifling only turns into absurd wheezing, because they couldn't fit the stolen chalkboard out of the library at first, not until Viktor made him knock the whole thing over so they could remove the wheels. Which, of course, had to be put back on immediately after they got the thing through the doors.

"We're going to end up exiled anyway after this." Jayce whispered far too loudly, sitting on the wet stone of the Academy courtyard, fully illuminated by a street lamp to screw the wheels back on because Viktor's flashlight flickered dark after five minutes.

"Fine." Viktor hisses back, "at least we will have an actual chalkboard." Which is a nothing statement, but it makes Jayce curl in on himself with another fit of little hiccuping giggles, so that's alright.

"I don't think they'll let us take the board, V."

That causes Viktor to pause for approximately half a second, considering. "Is that a nickname?"

The little hitching laughs stop, which is a shame. Jayce clears his throat and goes back to tightening the wheel in place. "Uh. I guess? Sorry, is that ok?"

"You misunderstand. I've never been given a nickname before." Viktor taps his fingers on his cane, looking up at nothing as he examines how he feels about getting his first nickname.

"Oh yeah?" He can't tell if Jayce is secretly pitying him or not, but it doesn't sound like he is. "What do you think of it?"

Viktor tilts his head one way, and then another, feeling his face pull into a grimace. He doesn't want to accidentally hurt Jayce's feelings, but he does not think that insincerely given adoration of the nickname would be a good early mark for the relationship.

He intends on keeping himself in Jayce's life for however long his own lasts, by any means necessary. It's going to be a learning curve, figuring out how to have someone like him for that long, but he doesn't think lying or even stretching the truth is how he should accomplish this goal.

"Woah," Jayce says, and when Viktor looks down the other man is sitting, ass still fully on the wet paving stones, staring up at Viktor with sincere fascination and the beginnings of a grin. "You really hate that, huh?"

"No." He doesn't. Which he doesn't realize until he says so, but it's true, he doesn't hate it. "I am still deciding, don't rush me."

"Don't tell me you're grading my nicknames, V." Jayce huffs, and he shuffles himself through a puddle to get the last wheel on the last leg of their stolen goods. "I'm gonna have a panic attack over nicknames. And then I'm gonna have nightmares about the fact that I had a panic attack over a nickname, instead of over stealing Academy property. Hey. How come I've done more crimes in three days with you than I ever had in my life?"

"That seems like it is your problem." Viktor points out, leaning with both hands on his cane now, watching some curls of mist under the street lamp as he continues mulling over his first nickname. It's been given to him by Jayce Talis, who gave Viktor magic and who is now soaking his ass on the ground so that Viktor can have a better chalkboard. It seems a small price to pay.

"Yes." He decides, nodding. "It's fine."

"That sounds like one ringing endorsement."

"You wanted my opinion. Honestly? It eh, lacks creativity."

"What did I say about grading my nicknames?"

"Plural? No no, you get one."

"Hardass." Jayce grumbles, pulling first himself and then the chalkboard back up with little effort. Which is impressive, as it is not a small board. "What about me?"

"Hm?" Viktor is already moving, tugging the board around to make sure the wheels are all even.

"Come on, fair's fair. What's my nickname?"

When Viktor looks up - intending to point out that making a nickname for a name which is already a single syllable is counterintuitive - Jayce is at the other end of the board, grinning a blinding and crooked grin. His hair is a mess, with the mist depositing little gleaming drops of diamonds against the black. There's an eagerness, nearly a hunger, in his bright hazel eyes as he waits for Viktor's nickname. All of that, beaming at him from the other side of the board that Jayce agreed to steal at an obscene hour of the night for him. There are dimples.

"Lásko." He says, as naturally as a heartbeat, as easily as blinking. It's hardly a revelation for him. Viktor has already spent 77 of the past 79 hours reconfiguring his ideological stances on the concept of soulmates.

Jayce snorts, his grin falling, but not into a shocked disgust or even displeasure at the foreign sound. Instead, he sets his formidable jawline forward and pouts.

"I want a do over. That sounds so much cooler." He groans.

Ask me what it means.

Scratch that. Do not ask me that. However long one is supposed to wait before saying love, I am sure that I am under that mark.

"No do overs. Even I know that about nicknames."

"You don't make the nickname rules! You never even had one before!"

"No do overs."

"Ok! Fine! Congrats on being stuck with V!"

#arcane #jayvik #academy dorks era jayvik #my fic #jayce you are already so wrapped around this stick's pinky finger #also I know V is a game canon thing but Jayce calls Cait 'sprout' so i decided hes a nickname fiend

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dimonds456 · 3 months ago

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"Perhaps he may yet prove his worth to me" headcanon

I have So many Ford thoughts about this era of his life, here is only a sliver of my insanity FGHJSD

Alt text below cut ^^

ID: a bunch of Discord screenshots showing a single user rambling about Stanford Pines from Gravity Falls. User Dimonds456 has their profile set to the autism eyes Stanley image from Lost Legends. Here is the full transcript of everything they said:

Listening to Hana's Ford video at work again today (the 5 hour one) and something they were talking about in it I kinda wanna elaborate on. The line "perhaps he can still prove his worth to me," to me, is a line that I think Ford both does mean and doesn't mean at the same time, and the reason why is. sad.

To me, this is Ford realizing he's got no way out, right? Like, contacting Stan is part of his last resort plan, the one he had to switch to once he was given the 72 hours before his life- and the world's- came to an end

Like, let's be real: the plan "I'm gonna go back up to the caves to where I first discovered Bill and hope and pray there's an answer there" REALLY ISNT a plan

Hope and pray isn't a survival strategy, but that's where Ford is at rn

Every other plan failed.

Project Mentem takes too long to encrypt, and more than likely wouldn't stop possession anyway. It would just prevent Bill from seeing Ford's thoughts and memories. Might provide some protection, but not enough.

The Bill Proof suit he isn't mechanically knowledgable enough to actually make effectively, and he doesn't know McGucket is still in town

He can't go down to the basement else risk the possibility of Bill possessing him, and if he tries to dismantle the portal, as we see in TBOB, there's a good chance Bill will just fucking torture him over it

He doesn't know about the Cipher Wheel at this point, or if he does, doesn't believe it'll help. And even if he did, he doesn't know enough people or enough about people to know who he needs

He doesn't know about using a metal plate/tinfoil hat

He couldn't get access to unicorn hair, so the barrier is out(edited)

The caves were his last resort

At this point, he knows there's a good chance he's going to die. All he can do is make sure the world stays alive after the fact. But that doesn't mean he wants to. He is fighting Bill tooth and nail, holding out for as long as he can, despite the knowledge that in 72 hours, he is going to die.

Or, if not die, he's going to be blind and subjected to Bill's every whim

To me, the "perhaps he can still prove his worth to me" line is him clinging to the one last thing he DOES have control over: his emotions. And he's choosing to be angry because anger is a better emotion to feel than fear or anxiety

Cuz at this point, his entire world has been flipped upside-down, right

Bill was evil

Fidds was right

He's second-guessing his decisions about Stanley

He writes, in code, "have I been too harsh [to Stan] all along?"

Like, over the course of a couple days/a month, his entire view of the world and how it works has spun WILDLY out of control

He can't change the fact that Bill is evil, he can't change the fact that Fidds was right, so in a desperate act to cling to the one thing he has control over, he continues to take it out on Stan, cuz that's all he has

It's PEAK learned helpllessness

He has to have been right about something.

Cuz otherwise, he's the worst. And no one wants to feel like that, especially while being tortured at the hands of a demon and trying to protect the goddamn world

So he both means it, since I do think that came from a genuine place (his anger at Stan over the project), but also doesn't mean it at all (he knows Stan has worth but is too Regina George to admit that right now)

It's also why he was SO QUICK to bring that up during his and Stanley's fight

Again, he's clinging onto that anger as hard as he can

He had to cooporate with Stan to try and get him to take the Journal, but as soon as it looked like that plan was gonna fail, he started flipping out, both from stress, fear, anxiety, and from his anger he is refusing to let go

Again, Ford isn't dumb. He knows he's running on borrowed time at this point.

And something about knowing your life is either gonna end soon, or you're gonna become disabled and toyed with for the rest of your life, would mean he's not thinking rationally

ON TOP OF the lack of sleep and clarity

Does this make sense FGHJSKD

I'm pushing my learned helplessness headcanon on y'all SO HARD I'm not even gonna lie GFDHSJK

End transcript, end ID.

#ford pines #stanford pines #character analysis #gravity falls #meta analysis #analysis #grunkle ford #paranoid ford

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bengals-barnesbabe · 9 months ago

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The Girl Behind the Camera

Pair: Joe Burrow x Videographer!Reader

Descr: When The Bengals hire a new social media manager, people start to notice a certain QB coming out of his shell.

TW: mentions of sex, nudity, gossip, racism, classism, invasion of privacy, protective boyfriend!Joe.

Main Masterlist

WC: 2083

*. * ·┊┊┊┊ ➶ ❁۪ ｡˚ ✧

"Which of your teammates would you rather be stranded on a deserted island with for 72 hours?"

Was the question being asked on the way out from practice. From behind the black and white jerseys Joe could hear the bouts of laughter from each answer. Most of his more outgoing teammates thoroughly enjoyed walking up to the woman with the camera on a day to day basis, while others like him avoided making simple eye contact with her.

But today's Friday and Fridays are very special on this practice field. Not only do they have shorter practices but the recurring sports journalist major with a sometimes too sunny attitude, is replaced with the new silk press and brown glossy lips-wearing photographer that could stop him in the middle of the busiest highways just with her smile.

"Hey 9!" You beam as he approaches you with rosy cheeks. "Wanna hear today's question?"

I'd listen to anything coming from those pretty lips.

"Sure, whatcha got for me?" His eyes are solely focused on the way your glittery nails push back your dark brown locks and the movement of your lips rather than the content flowing from them.

He stands there motionless for a minute contemplating his answer, when in reality he just wanted to see how long you'd hold his gaze before squirming. 45 seconds is the current record.

"Joey, come on.."

25 seconds, he must look especially good today.

He smirks as your pout forms, or maybe he just likes giving you more work to do in the editing room (aka tonight at his place).

"Are you going to answer or should I shut off the camera?" A chuckle arises from his belly as you attempt to make an authoritarian stance with a smooth caramel leg jutted out and your glistening arms crossed over your chest.

Rolling your eyes at him, you start to ignore him and play around with the camera, before his voice interrupts you. "Alright, I'll answer. Only for you though."

He does his best to revert back to factory settings (aka grump mode as you like to call it) when you give him the go-ahead. "I guess, I'd take Ja'Marr. Hopefully, he doesn't get sick of me in 3 days."

You let out a cute giggle at his response recapturing his gaze from above the camera. He'd make it his life goal to keep that sound pouring from your plump lips.

So he adds to his answer. "Or I'd take my girlfriend, she loves beaches you know. She's kind of the yin to my yang." He smirks nodding to your necklace.

Flustered you try to cover your smile, before asking him a follow-up question. "Would you get on a boat to rescue her, if she somehow got trapped out at sea?"

"Of course, I would," he chuckles. "But then I'd ask where she found a boat in the first place and why she got in it when she doesn't like them either."

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

"Maybe she was just trying to find food for her quarterback boyfriend with a bottomless pit as a stomach." His entire body shakes with laughter as you smile accomplishedly behind the lens.

"That's cute, you know her or something?" You shrug, as he straightens up due to another presence approaching.

"Don't stop on my accord, you did great today J. And you Miss Thing, I can't wait to see the shots you got of my team out there." Coach Taylor praises walking past you, causing your faces to heat up.

"God, I don't know how much of this I can use." Your video voice sombers.

You watch as the orange jersey fills the frame until not even the 9 is visible. "Sounds like you have your work cut out for you. Kind of like how..." His low and teasing voice barely gets picked up on the audio. A shiver runs down your spine because you remember exactly what he said before walking out of view.

"Kind of like how you will when you get home tonight."

'And boy was he right, but not about the editing.' You think gawking at his body as he walks out of the bathroom, water dripping from his hair and shoulders down his nice pecs and delectable abs. His strong arms and toned abdomen are tinted red due to the steamy shower that's releasing vapor into the room.

"Still editing I see?" He asks teasingly as he ruffle-dries his hair with a microfiber towel. You painstakingly nod but push the laptop down and off your lap.

"It can wait." You say as your gaze drops down to the blonde happy trail that disappears underneath the towel secured around his waist. "It's not due til noon anyway."

"Good, I've been thinking about you laid out on my bed for me since we got home." A smirk curves up his lips when he notices your eyes fixated on the bulge of the fabric.

"Lucky me." Then the towel drops. Lucky me indeed.

✧ ⁺ . ° ➶ ｡˚ ✧

Eventually, the video does get edited and uploaded to social media like it's supposed to and your bosses thoroughly enjoy the impressions it brings to the organization.

You tried your best to edit out all of the parts that gave too much about your relationship away without completely taking Joe out of the video. You thought it did a great job, the final cut showed a very professional interaction between the two of you. Everyone was happy.

Until you started trending on Twitter almost 3 days later.

Something you didn't realize before becoming the Bengals' backup photographer/videographer and official social media manager was that your boyfriend rarely if ever participated in the post-practice videos. Anna, their main journalist, did mention that Joe liked to hide from cameras at practice, but you thought she was talking about paparazzi and overzealous fans. It wasn't until you went through every post-practice TikTok video that you realized that she was not kidding at all.

Currently, you are sitting wide-eyed on the couch watching a well-known YouTube gossip talk about your video and your relationship. She hadn't said the word dating yet, but by her analysis of the short clips- she was not very far from finding out.

"I think the key here is the woman behind the camera. Their conversation was short, but you could tell she could get him to say anything. And the way it's cut, oh my god. Anyone could tell that there was much more to this chat than we saw. Sadly, I couldn't find her socials, so the woman behind the camera wins this time."

You paused the video as soon as Joe's footsteps became apparent as he walked toward the area where you were sitting. "Hi, baby!" You cringe at the perky tone of your voice.

"Hi?" He says plopping down next to you and kissing your head. The lingering embarrassment makes your spine stiffen. Joe raises a brow in confusion. "Y/n, what's wrong?"

You huff and pout sinking into the couch cushions. "I kinda fucked up."

"How so?" He asks pulling your hands into his.

"Have you watched my video?" You whisper as if saying it aloud will anger the universe.

"No, but I heard it was doing well. Do you want me to pull it up?" You shake your head immediately. "What's wrong with the video?"

"You're in it." You mumble laying your head on his chest.

"Huh?"

"You hate attention, you hate cameras, and you literally hide from them when we're in public! And I put you in my video!" One of his hands lets go of yours and begins to stroke the back of your head.

"Baby, I put myself in-

"No, I forced you to do the one thing you've always set a boundary on. I'm a shitty girlfriend, I should've just ended it before you walked by or just kept the whole clip for myself."

"Y/n, listen."

"Joey I'm so sorry, everyone is talking about how you and 'the girl behind the camera' are probably a thing. They're probably digging up pictures of us in public at the moment and there's nothing I can do to stop it. All of your business is going to be aired out-

"I know-

"Reporters are going to start showing up to your practices, and paparazzi will be following us. It's a disaster- wait what did you say?" You sniffle pulling your head up to face him. And he's smiling?

"I know and I don't care. All I care about is that the most important woman in my life is safe and happy. That's you mamas." He says softly, wiping away a stray tear from your cheek.

"Wait but you've worked so hard to keep your private life- private and I should've respected that."

He shakes his head. "I wanted to be in that video because you were the one behind the camera. Even if we weren't dating, I would have been in that video and people would've had something to say about it. I did it because you make me happy and I love watching you work. In fact.." He takes his phone out and queues a video onto the TV screen.

"Joe, what is this?" You ask as he comes up in today's outfit looking like it was filmed when he left for work this morning.

"Just watch." He grins.

*In the video he’s seen smiling and taking pictures with fans before his morning meeting.

“Hey Joey B! Over here!” A young boy jumps up trying to get his attention.

Your boyfriend chuckles and shuffles over to the kid to sign his helmet. “Hi, how you doing bud?”

“I’m great! My sister’s sad that you have a girlfriend now though.” The kid vibrates with energy and excitement, very different than his sister who’s glaring at him from the side.

Joe just laughs, gives the kid a fist bump, and moves on to another fan.*

“Joe, you didn’t say anything. What is this supposed to prove?” You huff in confusion.

“I know, that’s just my favorite part. You just need to see what happens next.” He assured pushing your focus back to the TV screen.

*As Joe starts to wave bye to the crowd a swarm of paparazzi and journalists emerge.*

You immediately start to frown because this is exactly what he's been trying to avoid.

*The people behind the giant cameras ask him all kinds of outlandish questions, all of which he ignores until a question about you pops up.

“Joe, are you hiding your girlfriend because you’re ashamed of her career and her race?” He stops right outside the door to the facility and spots the woman who asked the question.

“What did you say?” His eyes squint and brows furrow in the same way as they do when people question his football fatality.

“Last night, the Bengals website updated their faculty and staff page. The only new social media manager was a black woman named Y/n. What other reason could you be hiding your relationship for?” She asks confidently sticking her camera in his space.

“Do you hear how fucking dumb you sound?” He says so calmly making all the eyes around him widen. Including yours as you watch the incredulous look on his face turn to a scowl.

“I’m hiding her from idiots like you guys who follow me around with cameras chasing the wrong narratives. Do you really think I want to hide the love of my life from the world? Cause I don’t, but I would rather us have a good relationship that’s private rather than a shitty one controlled by the media. Literally, look at what happened after one lighthearted joke got taken out of context! And to even comment that her race was an issue? What fucking year do you live in? I would love that woman no matter what she did or how she looked. And it shouldn't matter. All of you are ridiculous. Have a great day.” Then walked into the facility slamming the door behind him.*

When he looks back over at you, silent tears are falling from your eyes. “Shit was it too much.” He says panicked.

You shake your head with a chuckle then lean up to press a chaste kiss on his lips. “No, it was perfect. I love you so much, Joseph.”

He returns the sweet kiss and holds you close. “I love you more than anything Y/n. I’d do anything for you, never forget that.”

“I won’t.”

~●○°●○°●○~

a/n: sorta kinda inspired by @slimshiesty, if you know you know and you absolutely should know.

#black reader #joe burrow bengals #nfl imagine #cincinnati bengals #joe burrow #joe burrow x black reader #joe burrow x reader #introverts #socially awkward #social media #hidden relationship #bengals barnesbabe #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow fluff #fluff #videographer #shy boys

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biancasaidstfu · 6 months ago

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So there’s a photo dump by her friends all putting her in several locations over like 72 hours….thats interesting. She did the KS party, had a meal w her friend, then flew to Ireland to hang out in a bar w another friend. Both end up being proven as latergrams, one potentially older than the other but still not in real time, right? Seems suspicious to me.

She’s cute w the smoke and mirrors but I’d hazard a guess she wants everyone to look at those pictures rather than realize she went to Rome.

She’s trying too hard not to be seen in public w Luke. If he’s just your friend, grab a coffee w your bestie and get some PR out of it. My theory is that they can’t be seen together bc just one pic of them in real life again and everyone will know that they are serious.

Nic, please just order your monogram towels and send out your engagement announcements already (jk). They do too much sometimes. I’m side eyeing them respectfully of course. 🤣

#blessthemess

Either Nicola already has a teleportation device (can you get that on Amazon I hate driving) or home girl assembled the avengers to scramble her location.

I think it’s fairly obvious what was happening. Misdirection, sleight of hand type of work.

You’re also right, anon.

Why not be seen with Luke getting a friendly brunch. If that’s not a private relationship then end the speculation and get some incredible PR out of it.

It’s pretty obvious why we don’t see them around each other at all but we see her and Jake everywhere.

One of those relationships is private and one of them is out in the open all over the internet.

What did Nicola say she wants her relationship to be???

#p r i v a t e

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ganxiously · 7 months ago

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911 Fic Writing Resource: Shift Timings

Okay, so initially I was going to add this to my last post but the topic was completely different so I decided to make a new one. @capsbooty7 and @rutathenurse pointed out that since Tommy was working at the same time as Buck and the rest of the gang, he most likely worked the A shift and thus had his work time completely synced with Buck's. The concept was intriguing enough that I took a look into it.

Like many others, I had previously thought that each house had its own rota, and the timing and length of the shifts varied accordingly. However, that appears to not be the case. Firefighters, in the LAFD at least, work in 3 shifts - A, B and C and each of these shifts are 24 hours long. They don't do the 24/48 or the 48/96 but instead follow what I am given to believe is called the California Swing Shift or a Kelly schedule. Here, they essentially work every other day for 5 days and then have 4 days off. So the schedule is - On - Off - On - Off - On - Off - Off - Off - Off. This means they are usually working 72 hours per rotation but they can also trade in shifts or work overtime if they want to.

From what I found out, you can take more shifts or reduce it according to your convenience by trading with others so technically you can still do 48 hours and then even pull in overtime but the limit for a continuous shift is 60 hours after which you have to take a mandatory 12 hours off [this information was a bit outdated so I am not sure if this rule still stands]. Trade almost always happens for 12 or 24 hours but it isn't unheard of to do an 18 hour trade. Overtime usually happens in 12 hour shifts and you get paid overtime rates only when you have crossed 56 hours in a working week.

As for vacation days, you get 16 days after one year of service and 24 days after 10 years (so Tommy is getting 24 while Buck is getting 16 but Bobby, however, might be getting 25 since I'm guessing he's been a firefighter for at least 31 years). There are also 13 paid floating leave days allotted each year - 1 every 4 weeks.

Shift times are the same for every firehouse and the work day starts at 8am officially but you are expected to make 'face-to-face relief' at 6:30 am.

I am also including the January 2024 schedule here: [follow a colour to understand how the shifts work and where you can sneak in lengthy shifts]

If you have more information or would like to correct me on something, feel free to let me know.

@itsjustpoopeh mentioned:

and @ironworked pointed out:

@cafe-con-letty sent this ask talking about how Tommy's shift might vary as a helicopter pilot so you can also check this out.

#911 abc #bucktommy #fic resources #i'm not sure how helpful this actually is #but i went down a rabbit hole and now i know a LOT lot about lafd working hours #most of it is not pertinent however so you are getting the filtered version instead of a paragraph on Maurice Kelly

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bybobbysbeard · 4 months ago

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The Last Few Hours

Day 10 for @bucktommyfluffebruary: sleepy cuddles read on ao3 read other days here

Buck wakes to the soft, muted sound of a rainstorm. Everything else is quiet and far away. It must be late, or very early. He doesn’t want to open his eyes. It's peaceful here, in that slow, syrupy place between sleep and wakefulness. He’s curled up on his side, a warm body pressed up behind him. There’s a broad, masculine chest against his back and thick thighs brushing the backs of his legs. A heavy arm rests on his side, fingers absently stroking over his stomach. Soft lips touch the back of his neck. They’re so close, not an atom of space between them.

He would know that body anywhere. It’s as familiar to him as his own.

Buck rubs his face into the pillow. The rough, starchy fabric snags on his stubble. That’s… wrong. Buck converted Tommy to his fabric softener immediately after moving in. Their sheets don’t feel like this. Also, they’re both fully dressed for some reason.

He opens his eyes. Instead of the cream-coloured walls of their bedroom, he’s looking at the empty bunk across from him.

He’s in the communal bunkroom. Nearly all the lights are off, and the blackout shades are drawn. One bedside lamp casts a cool white light over their corner of the room.

That’s right, he’s at work. Trying to nap away the last few hours of agonizingly long 72 hr shift.

He goes to turn over, but the arm on his waist weighs him down, one large hand spreading out over his belly and holding him still. “Shh, baby. There’s not enough room.”

“Tommy? Why’re you here?” He reaches down, over the sheets; tracing rough knuckles and blunt nails. That hand flexes, pressing him into the body behind him.

Tommy’s low voice warms the back of his neck. “Your shift’s over. I came to pick you up.”

“Oh. Sorry.” He yawns, blinking and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “I usually set an alarm, but I guess I forgot.”

“Don't worry about it.” His hand goes back to rubbing Buck’s stomach. “Hen mentioned your leg was bothering you, so when you didn’t wake up with everyone else, they let you sleep. How bad is it?”

Buck takes stock, bending his knee gently and rotating his ankle. It throbs dully, but considering the amount of calls over the last three days, it could be worse. “Not too bad. It’s sore. The rain makes it ache sometimes.”

“I remember.” That aquiline nose runs along the side of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine.

“Why are you in a bunk with me? Not that I’m complaining.”

Tommy laughs softly, warm breath gusting over Buck’s hair. “Well, Bobby sent me in to wake you up, but you didn’t answer when I called your name, and then you just looked so cute. I couldn’t resist.”

“Tommy!” He knows he’s whining, but if his family finds his boyfriend spooning him in the bunk room, the teasing will actually kill him.

“Oh hush, only Bobby is still here. I saw Hen and Howie leave, and Eddie was already gone when I pulled up. I’m not giving them any more ammunition.” Another kiss is pressed to his neck, and Buck can’t help but relax back into the mattress. It really is too small for the two of them and the white sheets have been washed thin and bleached half-to-death. The pillow is so flat, it’s basically flush with the mattress. The whole setup is miles away from their comfortable bed at home.

But Buck is still so tired. And Tommy is so warm.

Tommy jostles him. His eyes pop open again; he hadn’t meant to close them. He can feel Tommy smile against his skin. “Evan, sweetheart, don’t fall back asleep. At some point, Bobby will come in here. And he will probably take pictures.”

Buck groans. “Okay, okay. You’re right. Let me up.”

Cool air rushes in behind him when Tommy shifts away, making him shiver. The rain gets louder against the roof. There’s some quiet shuffling as Tommy gets to his feet, straightens his clothes and walks around the bunk to face Buck.

Buck braces himself, and carefully swings his legs off the bed. His foot tingles as blood flows through the swollen limb. He knows if the alarm was ringing, he’d be sprinting into his turnouts. And hurting. More than five years post-bombing, his leg still has limits that he can’t ignore. It’s frustrating. If he hadn’t picked up a shift in the middle of his week, he wouldn’t need to be this careful with himself. But he doesn’t regret it. Having someone from B-shift owe him a favour is always worth it. He mostly just regrets that all of his family has medical training. They usually notice him favouring his leg before he does.

Tommy is standing in front of him. He’s muted to monochrome by the dim lighting. His well-worn jeans look silver, his black t-shirt is a void. The blue of his eyes is washed out to grey. He holds out his hands, open palms facing up.

Buck rolls his eyes. “I’m fine.”

“I know. Can I help anyway?”

Buck looks up at him. There’s nothing hiding in his open expression, no pity or judgement. He didn’t think there would be, but sometimes he can’t stop himself from checking. He puts his hands in Tommy’s. The bed frame squeaks as he’s pulled upright. A strong arm wraps around his middle while he finds his balance. When he's steady, Tommy leans in, peppering gentle kisses over his cheeks and lips. Buck sways forward, letting his boyfriend take his weight. The kisses taper off, until they're just standing there, forehead to forehead, wrapped around each other. Tommy pulls back a few inches and smiles at him.

“Ready to go home?”

#bucktommyfluffebruary #bucktommy #tevan #my fic #911 abc

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zegrasdrysdale · 9 months ago

Note

Jamie or Nico where the reader is sick has the stomach bug or somthing and being really sweet and either Jamie or nico is takeing care of the reader

[ i’ve got you ] n. hischier

paring : Nico Hischier x fem!reader

summary : Nico takes care of his girlfriend while she’s down and basically out with the stomach flu

warning(s) : the stomach flu, throwing up, being sick in general

author’s note : this request coming in while i was sick and throwing up myself was very funny

༺═──────────────═༻

The bathroom floor has become her friend over the past 24 hours or so. She’s spent more time in the bathroom than she has in her bedroom. The doctor at the urgent care told her to get as much rest as she could before she goes back to work, but the social media interns have been slacking since the stomach flu took her out two days ago. She hasn’t exactly been listening to the advice she’s been given and has been working from home.

This morning is no different than the last few days. Her back is against the wall right next to the toilet. Her eyes are closed but she’s not asleep. She’s probably going off of ten hours of sleep total in the last 72 hours because of the amount of time she’s spent in the bathroom.

The door opens and a pajama clad Nico walks into the room. Her eyes open and she looks up at her boyfriend of two years. Nico takes two large steps toward her and crouches beside her. He rests a hand on her forehead.

“Temperature hasn’t changed,” she croaks. “I checked it when I woke up. Still over 101 but less than 102. It’s like 101.6 or something. I can’t remember right now. I think I’m throwing up my stomach at this point because I’m pretty sure there’s nothing left in there to actually throw up.”

Nico frowns and sits crisscrossed in front of her. “I think you should go to the emergency room, liebling,” he tells her. “Your fever hasn’t broken and you’re still throwing up even though there isn’t anything to throw up. I know you are still working too so maybe not being home would be a good thing.”

Her stomach knots up and she reaches for the toilet. Nico grabs her hair and holds it up for her as she throws up for what’s probably the twentieth time in three days. Her throat is so sore from the bile she’s puked up.

Tears prick her eyes when she flushes the toilet and sits back. “I hate being sick,” she cries to Nico. “I hate that I practically live on the bathroom floor.”

Nico brushes her tears away. “I know,” he replies. Nico pauses for a second. “I’m going to tell Keefe and Fitzy that I’m going to stay home for the roadie so you aren’t alone, okay? I’ll do interviews or whatever here if they want me to. I’ll work from home like you even though you shouldn’t be working at all.”

“Interns don’t know what they’re doing,” she mumbles.

“This is when you let them figure it out,” Nico laughs as he brushes her sweaty locks out of her face. “Let your department head take over until you get back. Working isn’t helping you get better, liebling. It’s keeping you from getting better. Stressing about work isn’t good for you when you’re sick.”

The worst part is that she knows he’s right. Working isn’t helping her get any better. Stressing about what the interns are doing isn’t helping anything.

She sighs and looks up at him. “I’ll call my boss and tell her that I can’t work until I get back in the office,” she tells Nico. “I guess I’ll let the interns destroy the social media.”

“Leave it alone,” Nico tells her with a smile. “Your boss is capable enough to cover it. They won’t destroy the social media. I’ll call your boss for you while you soak in a warm bath. No more worrying about work. You’re not working from home anymore. That’s me if they need me to do an interview or two while they go on the road.”

After she nods, Nico starts a warm bath for her in the tub while she slowly strips out of the disgusting clothes she’s been living in since the first day she got sick.

Nico helps her into the warm water, which feels good on her aching body. He leaves the room for a couple of moments. She sinks down until her chin is submerged. Her eyes close as she finally doesn’t feel like she has to throw up for the first time in three days.

She doesn’t realize that Nico came back until he sits her up and sinks down in the water behind her. “You’re going to get sick,” she mumbles. “If I was going to get sick then I would’ve gotten sick already. Let me take care of you, liebling. I’ve got you.”

He grabs a cup from the ground beside the tub that he must’ve brought in with him and leans her head back to wet her hair. She hums at how good it feels to have warm water on her scalp.

Nico washes and conditions her hair, with her instruction because she wants to at least make sure her hair is done right. He helps her clean her body. He’s very gentle with her since her entire body is aching with fever.

“Do you think you can eat something?” Nico asks. “I can make you toast or you can snack on some crackers.”

She shakes her head and leans back against Nico’s chest as she shuts her eyes. “Wanna sleep,” she mumbles. “So sleepy.”

Her body relaxes and she feels herself enter a daze. Until Nico gently shakes her awake. “Can’t sleep in the tub,” he tells her. “Let’s get you dressed and into bed. Maybe I’ll have something ready for you to eat when you wake.”

With a tired groan, she allows Nico to help her out of the tub and wrapped up in a towel. He helps her into their shared bedroom where he grabs one of his t-shirts and a pair of sweatpants for her to dress into.

As soon as her body hits the mattress and her head hits the pillows, she begins to drift off to sleep. Nico presses a kiss to her temple and mumbles, “Sleep well. We’ll try food when you wake up. I love you.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

When she wakes, it feels like she’s blinked. She feels only slightly better when her nap is over, but she looks over at her bedside table and finds a piece of unbuttered toast. It looks like it was recently put there. Something small to get in her stomach since she’s thrown up everything else she’s tried to eat.

There’s a voice coming from the other room so she goes to investigate when she’s done eating. She throws on one of the hoodies she borrowed from Nico and heads out into the living room of their apartment.

Nico looks back at her as he’s saying, “… a couple of days away from the team. I’m not hurt but my girlfriend is very sick and shouldn’t be left alone.” He pauses. “Yes, just put me on leave for personal reasons. Say I have to deal with a family emergency for a couple of days.” He pauses again and turns his back to her. “Yeah, I’ll be available for an interview or two once this is announced. I know a lot of people will have questions and I’m not afraid to answer any of them.” He pauses one last time. “Thank you. Let me know if I need to do any interviews or if I need to send out a statement.”

Then he hangs up the phone and turns back to her. “You got your leave?” she questions.

He nods. “Yeah,” he sighs. “They understood that I need to step away. I don’t want to be in California while you’re here sick. I want to make sure I’m here if something happens and you need to go to the hospital. It’s one thing if I’m playing in a homestand, it’s another if I go on a California roadie for a week.”

She frowns and is so exhausted and overwhelmed that tears form in her eyes. They roll down her cheeks and she does her best to wipe them away before Nico sees them, but it’s too late.

Nico walks up to her and wraps his arms around her. “I don’t deserve you,” she sobs. “I’ve been such a bad girlfriend recently and stressing you out because I’ve been stressing myself out. I haven’t been listening to anything that anyone is saying to me because I thought working was more important than resting and getting better.”

“This is why I’m here,” Nico tells her. “To help you out in moments like this. Remind you to take a break. Relieve some of that stress by telling your boss to take over your work until you get back and help you into the tub so you can soak.”

The tears don’t stop at Nico’s words. They only get worse and her sobs get louder because she’s so tired and overwhelmed.

Yet, he holds her the entire time she cries in the living room.

This is the reason she loves Nico. It’s never been a choice between her and hockey for him. He’s picked her over his career numerous times over the past two years or so. Even at her worst moments, like right now. He’s always stepped away from hockey to take care of her.

It’s what makes him a great captain too. He’s always putting his teammates above himself, no matter what team he’s on or what country he’s playing in. Their needs, their injuries, their illnesses. It’s no surprise to her that those qualities come into play in their relationship.

She finally stops crying after five minutes, and Nico never lets her go. She looks up at him and he dries her cheeks with his thumbs.

“I love you,” she tells him. “More than you’ll ever know.”

Nico kisses her forehead. “You seem a little cooler,” he says. “Are you feeling better?”

“I don’t feel like I have to throw up the toast yet,” she sighs. “Key word being ‘yet’ in that sentence.”

He laughs and suggests, “How about a movie and you can sleep if you want? Does that sound good?” She nods.

The pair go back into their bedroom. She curls up at Nico’s side as he finds something to watch on Netflix. She never finds out what he put on because she was back asleep before he picked something.

༺═──────────────═༻

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starlightsreigns · 11 months ago

Text

daddy's home | d. priest

pairing: damian priest x black!oc (maya)

warning: 18+ nsfw! SMUT, SMUT, SMUT, unprotected sex, cnc (ish), minors, dni (please & thank u)

word count: 2125

note: sorry for any errors, wrote this in the middle of the night.

summary: maya misses her man more than anything, and her wish is always his command

5:30 pm - thursday

Maya lays sprawled out on the couch, exhausted from the day of work she had suffered. Her jet-black hair fluffed all over her face, flaring up whenever she took a deep breath. After sulking for a moment, she hoisted herself up to climb the stairs to take a shower.

The water was warm against her tense muscles. As an ER nurse, she’d work 72 hours on then have the next four days off. She was thankful for the opportunity to wash away all the stress and forget about the responsibilities she’d have first day back at work. For the next 3 days, she planned on sleeping, online shopping, ordering in, watching TV, and masturbating… it was only unfortunate that her boyfriend was on the road, not coming home any time soon.

Being a wrestler who traveled a lot was never an issue for her. Maya understood because being on-call at the hospital made it hard for her to make solid plans or commit to anything. She and Damian just figured it out. They always figured it out.

After her shower, Maya wrapped a towel around her body, sitting on the edge of her bed to grab her phone. A missed call from Damian was the first thing she saw when the screen lit up – a smile tugged on her lips as she returned the Facetime call.

“Hi baby,” Maya smiled when the call connected. His hair was pulled back in the neatest ponytail, which drove her crazy. “I wish you were here, papi.”

“Ah mi amor, I wish I was there with you too.” His deep, rough voice came through the phone. “I’m thinkin’ about you.”

Maya rests her back against the mattress, holding up the phone so Damian can see her face and her chest as she slowly moves the towel to reveal her breasts. Damian didn’t say anything as he licked his lips at her actions.

“I don’t think you miss me that much, daddy.” She purrs, teasing her nipples.

“Cariña,” Damian’s voice is rough and she knows she’s got him exactly where she wants. “You killin’ me right now.”

Nothing else comes out of her mouth as she lowers the camera to her exposed stomach, caressing the soft skin as she pushes the towel onto the ground. She angled the camera to give him the perfect view of her heat as she propped her legs up on the mattress.

“God, I wish you were here,” Maya slowly arches her back as her fingers find their way between her now wet folds. “All I can do is think about you.”

The gasp that leaves her lips is the final nail in Damian’s coffin. Hearing the way the moans fall out of her lips drives him insane. The way her fingers skillfully move keeps him in a trance as he palms himself through his shorts.

As she reaches her climax, Maya stares up at the ceiling, chest heaving, “come home, daddy.”

It takes a second for Maya to come back down, but when she does, she flips onto her stomach to look at her boyfriend once again.

“Eres una provocadora, Maya.” He smirks back at his girlfriend. “I can’t wait til I get my hands on you.”

“If you ever make it back home, I guess you will.” She rolls her eyes.

Damian can sense her annoyance and rightfully so. He quietly watches as she sets up the phone on the dresser. Maya goes through her stuff, throwing on one of his T-shirts and a black thong. She twirls to give him a full view. Her boyfriend cheers making her laugh.

“Okay baby, I’ll let you go, call me when you wake up in the morning?”

He hums, “Of course, mi amor, I love you.”

9:30 am - friday

Maya yawned as she walked out of the bathroom, dropping back onto her bed. It was rare that she woke up this early, but her body naturally got her up. Her empty cup of coffee sat beside her and her hair was tied up in a ponytail. Her frustrations were mounting without Damian there. She was never this insatiable, ever, but here she was fighting urges like a teenager all over again.

“Holy shit,” Maya groaned, flipping over to stick her face into a pillow.

The pressure between her legs was becoming unbearable. One of her hands finds its way between her folds while she picks up her phone with the other.

maya: baby, i wish you’d wake me up and fuck me senseless.

damian: if i could be there mama, i’d do anything for your ass

maya: i’ve gotten myself off three times since yesterday. I can’t keep fucking doing this.

damian: i’ll make it up to you, baby, i promise.

damian: just know, imma fuck you up when i see you. Only another week.

The knots in Maya’s stomach made it difficult for her to sit on the floor in front of her mirror. The T-shirt she wore the night before was discarded on the bed leaving her with with just the thong. Damian would describe her disheveled look as ethereal. Her black curly hair lay on her shoulders, her breast fully on display, with her right hand rubbing circles on her clit. Maya recorded the moment, throwing her head back in pleasure. Damian. The only word on her lips. She slowly inserted a digit in her soaking cunt, gasping while her eyes shut. Her brown skin was almost iridescent from the sunlight pouring into the room. And the sound of her wetness was both disgusting and indulgent, only causing her to add another finger, pumping in faster as she reached her orgasm. Maya could feel herself start to unravel and the only thing she could say as she came was her boyfriend’s name.

Yet, it wasn’t enough. Maya slumped to the side, groaning at the fact that what she just did was temporary until she would inevitably be horny again in an hour or two. She sends the video to Damian, locking her phone. Her next best option was to take a cold shower and a nap.

12:15 pm - friday

The house was quiet when Damian unlocked the door. He had to get home when his girl needed him. So, he took a redeye home. Damian tried to remain as quiet as possible, leaving his stuff by the door, and moving towards the bedroom where Maya was asleep. He couldn’t contain his smile at the sight of her. She was sprawled on the bed, on her stomach, wearing nothing but a thong. Her hair covered her shoulders and part of her face.

Damian shed his coat, leaving it on the ground as he moved towards the bed. Her text from earlier still ringing in his brain, coming to grant her wish. He removed the black T-shirt he was wearing. As he stood at the edge of the bed, Damian ran his hands over her soft skin, starting from her ankle, up her leg, over her perfectly round ass, and to her back. Maya doesn’t shift as her boyfriend caresses her.

“mi hermosa amor,” He murmurs as he leans down lightly biting one of her ass cheeks. “Pura perfección, mi novia.”

Just staring at his girlfriend made it difficult for Damian to contain himself as his jeans tightened. He took off his jeans, reaching to easily rip her thong. His hand stroked his growing erection, not even knowing where to start with his girlfriend. Damian slowly got onto the bed, caressing the ass that he’s missed so much. To his surprise, she was soaking wet. He groaned to himself as he dragged a finger through the slick making his girlfriend shudder, yet still asleep. One finger slips in, causing Maya to let out the softest moan, Damian watches her face as she was fast asleep and adds another finger. Maya was holding on tightly as he pumped his fingers in out out, completely turned on by the situation.

Unable to hold off any longer, Damian smacked her ass, positioning himself behind her, his tip dangerously close to her entrance. He hovers over her, pressing a kiss on her shoulder as he pushes into her. Maya’s face was pressed into the pillow, her breathing pick up as Damian bottomed out in her – they were skin to skin and he couldn’t believe he’d almost forgotten how good his girlfriend felt around him. Just the way he was squeezing around his dick was enough to drive him insane. He wanted to milk the moment the way Maya was milking him at that moment. Damian pulled out and then slammed back into her, loving the sound that was created every time their skin came into contact with each other. He couldn’t hold off any longer, the slower pace was driving him insane.

The pressure building inside Maya and the bed shaking is enough to wake her from her sleep, unable to contain the moan that fell from her lips. Damien chuckled at the confused look on her face, grabbing her by the neck so she can see him.

“Daddy’s home, mi muñeca,” He growled into her ear as the moans fell out her parted mouth. “Look at you, ain’t this what you wanted, Maya?”

It was impossible to get a word out of her the way her eyes rolled to the back of her head but when Damian tightened the grip around her throat, she had to choke out an answer, “Y-yes daddy.” Maya trembled out.

“Ass up,” Damien tapped on her ass, letting go of her throat so she can slump down onto the pillow. “Lemme give you what you been beggin’ for.” When her ass comes up, he grips her waist, slamming into her so hard that Maya can’t release a sound, but a whimper.

When his balls hit her clit with all that force, the moan finally frees itself from her throat and she can’t stop it from there. Maya grips the sheets until her knuckles turn white. Her neighbors are probably concerned by the way she couldn’t contain the nose coming out of her mouth. The pleasure created the thickest haze in her brain.

“You look so fucking good, mama,” Damian groaned, pulling out quickly to flip Maya onto her back then moving her to the edge of the bed. He plows back into her before she can have the chance to whine about the loss of contact. He hooks her legs around her shoulder then leans down to capture her lips with his as he buries himself deep in her cunt. Everything leaves her breathless, unable to conjure up a single thought. The pace is steady, hitting her g-spot like the pro he is, over and over again.

“Damian,” Maya groans, arching her back as she feels herself begin to unfold. “I’m gonna cum, I can’t–right there–”

A groan leaves her mouth as he speeds up, cutting off her words, “Go ‘head, muñeca” His voice comes out gruff, not letting up even when her eyes roll back and her body goes numb. Maya could swear her lip was bleeding from how hard she bit on it. Her eyes were open but she couldn’t see anything but a bright light as Damian fucked her until his release, filling her deep.

Maya, with all the strength she had left, pulled the older man on top of her, connecting their lips. She kisses him as though she hasn’t seen him in years unwilling to let him go. She didn’t realize when she started crying, but her emotions have had a mind of their own recently.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Damian was concerned, running his hand up and down her body wondering if he’d hurt her.

“I’m just so happy you’re here, love, that’s all.” She murmurs against his neck. When Damian lays beside her, she shifts so she’s sitting on his lap, whining when his tip grazes her heat. “How’d you do it?”

In their current position, Damian watched as his girlfriend massaged his chest, mindlessly grinding against his dick. Her eyes were locked on his and he was shocked by her insatiability. “I wanted to surprise you, I know we haven’t seen each other in a while and my baby seems a little… hornier than usual.”

Maya shyly looks down, halting her motion, “I’m sorry if it’s too much, I don’t know where it came from.”

“No, don’t apologize baby, ever,” He lifts her chin to bring back their eye contact. “It’s sexy.” Damian grips her waist, restarting her motions.

“How long are you home?” Maya questions, feeling his erection.

“All weekend, all for you, as many times as we can.”

They both smile, falling into round two.

truly the most random thing that came to me in the middle of the night. well... until next time :)

#wwe #wwe fanfiction #wwe fic #wwe imagine #wwe raw #wwe smackdown #damian priest #damian priest imagine #damian priest fanfic

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