#i worked a full closing shift last night and a full opening shift this morning

[midnightquips]

Dangerously Close

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky & Y/N are undeniably attracted to each other. Seemingly the only way these two are getting together is with some extreme meddling.

Themes: mutual pining, teasing teammates, possessive Bucky, Thunderbolts chaos, friends-to-lovers-but-stupid about it, pining (a lot)

🔴 MINORS DNI 🔴 Warnings: 18+ content, PURE SMUT, dirty talk, praise kink, jealousy, soft aftercare, pwp, piv sex, unprotected sex, breeding kink

Author's Note: Thank you ALL for being amazing readers to the end of this story!!! ‪‪Hope to see you all in the next Bucky story ❤︎‬

💫 Dangerously Close Masterlist 📌 Sign Up for TAGLIST

Epilogue

You wake up warm.

It’s not just in temperature because Bucky is basically a human furnace, but in the kind of full-body comfort that usually follows one thing: being thoroughly, gloriously fucked.

You stretch slowly, muscles aching in the best way. 

Bucky’s still asleep beside you, one arm flung across your waist, the other bent under his head. His hair is mussed, lashes dark against his cheeks, lips slightly parted.

You watch him for a long moment. He looks peaceful. Unbothered. Not a single trace of the tightly wound tension he usually wears like body armor. His arm around your waist tightens it when you move.

You blink. “Are you awake?”

“Have been,” he murmurs, voice gravel-soft. “Just didn’t want to stop touching you.”

You glance at him. “That’s new.”

He opens one eye, smirking. “No, it’s not.”

Your heart does that stupid flutter thing again.

“Morning, doll.”

You roll your eyes but smile anyway. “Morning.”

You lie there a few more minutes, fingers tracing lazy lines over his chest. He doesn’t pull away. If anything, he shifts closer. 

Then he says, completely serious, “You’re not going to pretend nothing happened, are you?”

You look at him. “What?”

He swallows. “I won’t do casual. Especially not with you.”

Your chest tightens. “I don’t want casual either.”

His jaw unclenches. He leans in, kisses your forehead. “Good.”

Then, he pauses. “But... I also don’t want anyone knowing just yet.”

You ask, almost worried that this is what will burst the bubble. “Why not?”

He notices the pause.

“I want this to be ours for a little longer,” he says softly and assuringly. “Before the chaos. Before Yelena starts planning a wedding and Bob starts writing his best man speech.”

You chuckle. “Fair.”

“Just... a few days.”

You nod. “Okay.”

You press a kiss to his collarbone and slide out of bed. “But if we’re sneaking, you can’t look at me the way you did last night.”

He grins. “You mean like you’re the only woman I’ve ever wanted to ruin?”

“Exactly.”

It lasts four hours. Just four.

You walk into the gym like nothing’s changed. Your hair tied up, leggings on, a fresh water bottle in hand.

Bucky’s already inside, working the punching bag with his shirt off.

You are not prepared. Because the second your eyes land on him, your brain short-circuits. The image of those same abs pinning you to the mattress flashes behind your eyes like a sex tape on repeat.

You quickly turn away. “Control yourself,” you mutter.

Yelena, doing stretches nearby, raises a brow. “Talking to yourself already? That’s not a good sign.”

You wave her off, trying to focus on warm-ups.

It’s fine. You can totally act normal. 

Until Bucky walks past and taps your hip with his metal hand. Just barely. Just enough for your brain to remember exactly what it felt like to be touched by him in much less appropriate places.

You nearly drop your water bottle.

Yelena blinks. “You okay?”

“Yep.”

“You seem jumpy.”

“Super fine.”

She squints. “Did you and Barnes finally bang it out?”

You nearly choke. “What?!”

“You’re twitchy. He’s smug. You’re both glowing. I’m not blind.”

“Yelena.”

She leans in. “I told you he wanted to climb you like a tree.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands.

Yelena beams. “I knew it!”

By lunch, it’s no longer a secret.

Not because either of you said anything. 

But because Bucky can’t stop staring. And touching. And hovering.

You’re in the kitchen, slicing tomatoes for sandwiches, when his hand brushes your lower back. Again.

And when you turn, he’s already looking at you, like he wants to eat you.

Bob enters the room, pauses mid-step, and makes a slow, dramatic “ooooooooh” sound. “Am I interrupting marital bliss?”

You glare. “Go away.”

“Oh no. This is so much better than I expected.”

Ava, behind him, blinks. “Did you two finally hook up? Or are we all just collectively hallucinating the sexual tension?”

You set the knife down. “I hate all of you.”

John strolls in last, looks at the group, then at Bucky, who is standing two inches behind you, doing absolutely nothing to not look possessive, and claps his hands together. “Called it.”

You groan. “Seriously?”

Bob grins. “Honestly, I assumed it happened the night you dropped the plate in the kitchen. That was foreplay if I’ve ever seen it.”

Yelena and Alexei finally enter, squabbling about anything under the sun like they do.

Yelena looks at the both of you, grabs a slice of cucumber, and smirks. “I’d like to thank the Asgardian alcohol for its role in this union.”

Alexei proudly smiles, “Is me. My idea. Always a win with this soviet technique.”

You point a tomato-slicked hand at the both of them. “You are both no longer allowed near divine liquor.”

“I’m just saying—” Yelena shrugs, “—you’re walking a little crooked today but still... smugger. Good dicking does that.”

“Yelena!”

Bucky doesn’t say a word.

He just leans on the counter beside you, arms crossed, smirking like a man who knows exactly what he did to you last night.

John elbows him. “Proud of you, man. Took you long enough.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but doesn’t deny it.

Bob sighs dreamily. “Finally. Now the sexual tension isn’t a health hazard.”

And then it happens.

You’re heading toward the training room when you pass one of the new recruits. He’s not bad-looking. Tall. Friendly. Probably harmless.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says. “You got a second?”

You pause. “Sure, what’s up?”

He gives you a smile that might maybe be flirting. “Was wondering if you’d show me the modified grip Ava uses on her sparring baton. I’ve tried it a few times, but it’s… tricky.”

You nod. “Yeah, I can walk you through it—”

“Y/N.”

You turn.

Bucky’s there. His jaw tight, eyes darker than before.

He looks at the recruit, then at you. “Need you for something.”

You blink. “You okay?”

“Fine. Come with me.”

You glance at the poor guy. “I’ll find you later, okay?”

He nods quickly. “Yeah, of course.”

You follow Bucky down the hallway. “That was kind of rude.”

He stops, pulls you into a supply room, and shuts the door.

“Bucky—”

His mouth crashes into yours. Hard & desperate.

“Mine,” he growls against your lips. “You hear me?”

Your heart stutters. “I wasn’t—”

“I don’t want anyone else looking at you like that. Talking to you like that. Thinking they have a chance.”

You stare up at him, breathless. “You’re jealous.”

“I’m fucking obsessed,” he admits, forehead resting against yours. “And I’m trying really hard not to start a fight with a kid who just wants baton help.”

You press a kiss to his jaw. “You don’t need to be jealous.”

He exhales slowly. “I know. But I am.”

You cup his cheek. “Then let me remind you who I’ll go home with.”

His eyes flash. “Fuck, you’re gonna kill me.”

You smirk. “Only a little.”

He kisses you again.

And somehow, you just know this sneaking around thing? It’s not going to last long.

It starts with a group text.

Yelena: “Mandatory team bonding. Tonight. Rec room. 8pm. No excuses. I will hunt you down.”

Bob: “Are there snacks?”

Yelena: “Yes. And emotional vulnerability. Be ready.”

You raise a brow when you read it.

Bucky, behind you on the couch, peeks over your shoulder. “She’s planning something.”

You sigh. “Of course she is.”

“Want me to fake a mission?”

You snort. “No. If we bail, she’ll just reschedule and make it worse.”

“She’s already making Bob bring a guitar.”

You blink. “What? Why?”

“No one knows. He doesn’t play.”

By 8:05, the entire team is gathered in the rec room.

Yelena’s set the tone with suspiciously cozy lighting, a table full of finger foods, and a playlist labeled “Accidental Feelings.”

Bob is tuning a guitar he definitely doesn’t know how to play.

John Walker has a beer in hand and a let me guess, someone’s getting engaged look on his face.

Ava has claimed the furthest chair from everyone and is watching with vague amusement.

Alexei is reminiscing about family dinners with Yelena.

You sit on the couch. Bucky sits next to you, trying not to be obviously close.

It doesn’t last long.

Yelena plops down beside you and smirks. “Why don’t we go around and share something we love about our teammates?”

You groan. “Oh no.”

Bob raises his hand. “I’ll start. I love how Ava only rolls her eyes at me seventy-five percent of the time now. That’s growth.”

Ava mutters, “It was eighty before.”

“See?” Bob beams. “Progress.”

John sips his beer. “I love how I’m the only one here who could probably still get a government clearance.”

Alexei tries to start but Yelena cuts him off by gesturing dramatically to you. “Y/N?”

You blink. “What?”

“What do you love about Bucky?”

You choke. “I–I don’t understand the rules of this game. Is this Truth or Dare?”

“Could be,” Bob says, already grinning. “Bucky, your turn. What do you love about Y/N?”

Bucky’s jaw flexes. You open your mouth to rescue him, but his voice interrupts you before you could even say a word..

“I love the way she feeds us like she doesn’t even know she’s the best part of this whole team.”

The room goes quiet. You feel your heart lurch sideways in your chest. And then, so casually it’s criminal, he takes your hand, right there, on the couch. In front of everyone.

No one breathes.

“Okay,” Bob says finally. “So we’re all pretending they’re not in love?”

Alexei claps thunderously, “Wedding bells are ringing!”

John raises his beer. “I’m happy for them. But also, I lost twenty bucks. Ava thought you two had been secretly dating for weeks.”

Ava shrugs. “I have eyes.”

Yelena leans her head on your shoulder and sighs dramatically. “Finally. Now I can die in peace.”

You bury your face in your hands.

And Bucky?

He’s still holding your hand. Still smug. Still acting like he didn’t just let everyone in.

Later that night, most of the group has cleared out. Ava’s gone to somewhere you never know. Alexei has to take a call about a pee wee baseball team being named after him. John and Bob are arguing over who would survive longest in a horror movie.

You and Bucky linger. He’s sprawled across one end of the couch. You’re tucked into his side.

“You forgot the secret part,” you murmur, voice low.

He tilts his head. “Did I?”

“Hand-holding. The speech. The eyes.”

He leans closer and kisses the side of your head. “Don’t care anymore.”

You blink. “Really?”

“I’ve spent weeks pretending I don’t want you. That I don’t need you. Honestly, I’m tired of pretending.”

You stare at him. “So what is this, then?”

He’s quiet for a long time.

Then, he speaks softly: “Maybe something real.”

The words hit you like a warm breeze.

You slide your fingers into his. “Yeah. It is.”

He kisses you again.

And it doesn’t feel like a secret anymore.

It feels like a beginning.

Taglist: @killerwendigo @mrsnikolestan @starstruck-cowgirl @staley83 @wickedfun9 @sebastianstan0813 @yellowjm @geekandproud @Knowledgeableknitter @yvespecially @geek-and-proud @lex-is-up-all-night-to-get-bucky @Biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @jakesimper @danimuhle @marvelloonie @probablybucky @cozyjess @lana525 @watashiwababy @emilyswortwellen @maribirdsteele @amf71010 @sweettae02 @blackrigel @3sriracha @angelbabyange @stevetonycupcakes @buckyslefttooth @user6170171 @jasontoddswhitestreak @ifuckwithyouanyday @ficmeiguess @daydreamgoddess14 @schlattslonghairytoes @cheshiredobby @welcometomymadteaparty @twilyshy @marvel-addict23 @awkward-queer-kid @Sebastians-love @bbarnesbck @battymarie @hits-different-cause-its-you @snhoe

[verstappenverse]

Everything He Doesn’t Say

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Max has never been good with words, but you’ve never once had to doubt how he feels.

Authors Note: Inspired by this amazing piece from @jungwnies 💕

1.3k words / Masterlist

You find the first one in your glove compartment.

It’s early. The sun is barely up and the pit of your stomach still churns with the anxiety of the meeting you’ve been rehearsing for in your head since 4 a.m. You get in your car, toss your bag onto the passenger seat and open the glovebox to grab the parking permit...

A folded square of paper slips out and lands on your lap.

You recognise his handwriting immediately, messy, slanted a little to the left, almost illegible to anyone else. The edges of the note are frayed like it had been sitting in his jeans for a day or two.

You’re going to kill it today. Like always. Proud of you. –M.

You stare at the note for a long moment. He didn’t say anything this morning when he hugged you at the door. Just pulled you in, kissed your forehead, murmured, “Don’t stress, baby,” and then disappeared back into the bedroom.

But this, this is different, like a whisper he wasn’t brave enough to say out loud. You place it gently into the centre console, fingers grazing it one last time before you shift into reverse.

The second one is inside your gym bag.

You find it after a long day, half-asleep and grumpy and rummaging for your water bottle. You nearly miss it, folded between the towel and your sports bra.

It’s short.

Stop forgetting how hot you are. –M.

You snort. A laugh slips out before you can stop it.

Max has never been great with words. Not when it comes to you. Not in the I-love-you-so-much-my-soul-aches kind of way. He says you’re cute, or you smell nice, or stay close tonight, instead, but you’ve come to realise he says a lot more than he lets on.

You tuck the note into your purse beside your ID, where he’ll never know you kept it.

Max is in the kitchen when you get home that night, barefoot, hoodie sleeves pushed up. There’s soup on the stove. A half-burnt piece of bread in the toaster.

“Hey,” he says, glancing up.

“Hey,” you reply, quietly.

You stop when you see what’s sitting on the counter.

Your old phone charger. The one that frayed weeks ago and sparks when you plug it in, the one you keep saying you’ll replace but never have. It’s not just been replaced but upgraded. A newer, longer cable. Still pink. Still tucked into the exact same cable holder you’d been using.

Next to it is your favourite chocolate bar. The one that's hard to find. The one you mentioned in passing weeks ago, "God, I miss those. Haven’t seen them in ages."

You blink. “Where’d you find that?”

He doesn’t even look up. “Petrol station outside of town. You don’t need to thank me.”

You pause, because you were about to. He always says that ‘You don’t need to thank me’ whether it's setting your alarm when you forget, running you a bath without asking, or quietly re-parking your car after you leave it crooked. He doesn’t say it to be dismissive. It’s almost shy, like he doesn’t know what to do when you look at him with full-blown gratitude.

He sets your mug down beside you, your favourite tea with just the right amount of honey.

You look at the counter again pink charger coiled neatly, wrapper waiting.

“You okay?” he asks, voice soft.

“Yeah,” you murmur, reaching for the tea. “Thanks.”

Max doesn’t reply just shakes his head, chuckles and brushes his hand across your lower back. He hands you a bowl and waits for you to sit beside him on the couch, gently tugging the blanket over both your legs.

“I found the note,” you say after a few minutes, voice soft.

He doesn’t look at you. Just spoons soup into his mouth and shrugs. “What note?”

You smile. “The one in my gym bag.”

“Oh.” He blinks like he genuinely forgot. “That was meant for Monday.”

You lean your head against his shoulder, heart stupidly full. “Still worked.”

He never posts about you on Instagram.

It used to sting a little, in the beginning before you understood him, before you stopped comparing him to other people.

Because Max doesn’t care about optics, doesn’t feel the need to declare his love in public or share photos from every date night. He barely remembers to post anything at all unless someone reminds him.

But he does change his lockscreen.

You notice it one night while he’s asleep, phone buzzing softly on the nightstand with some notification he’ll ignore until morning. You pick it up to silence it and catch a glimpse of the photo.

It’s from your trip to Lake Como last summer.

You’re not even looking at the camera, head turned, eyes bright, smiling at something stupid he said. It’s not posed, it’s not perfect, but you look happy.

And he chose that version of you, the soft, unfiltered one.

You place the phone back down without a word and curl closer to his chest, whispering a quiet I love you into the dark.

Sometimes he sends you videos. Random ones.

A goose chasing a guy down a beach. A cat flipping off a countertop. A golden retriever refusing to drop the stick that’s three times its size.

No caption. No context.

It always comes when you’ve been apart too long both of you swamped with work. You’ve learned to read between the lines. It’s never just a meme.

It’s I miss you. It’s Can we talk? It’s I just want to hear your laugh.

You send one back. He replies immediately.

And just like that you’re texting again, heart full.

You walk in on him reading one night.

It’s the same book you’ve been talking about for months, the one you rambled about over dinner, quoting passages like a hopeless romantic.

Max is not a reader. He struggles to sit still unless he’s in a simulator or watching race footage, but there he is, lying on his back, squinting at the tiny print, brow furrowed like he’s concentrating harder than he does in qualifying.

“Max?”

He looks up, startled.

“Are you seriously reading that?”

He shifts awkwardly. “Just wanted to see what it’s about.”

You move toward him slowly, cautiously.

“And?”

“It’s... alright.”

“You hate it.”

“No,” he says too quickly. “It’s just... kinda dramatic... but the girl talks like you. Like, the way she explains stuff. I get it now. Why you like it.”

He flushes and looks back at the page, mumbling. You lean over and kiss the corner of his mouth and hope he understands that this means more than a thousand grand gestures.

Max doesn’t say “I love you” very often.

It’s not that he doesn’t feel it, he just doesn’t know what to do with big, consuming emotions, but he shows it.

In the way he tucks your hair behind your ear when you're too sleepy to do it yourself. In the way he places his hand on your back when you're walking through a crowd. In how he notices when your hands are cold before you do and slips his into yours without a word.

And especially when he drives.

You notice it every single time, how he buckles your seatbelt before his own. Leans over and makes sure it clicks. Tugs it gently to test the tension. Only then does he fasten his own and start the engine.

It’s so automatic now, so ingrained, you don't think he even realises he’s doing it, but you do.

You always do.

One night, months into this quiet, gentle love you’ve built, you find another note.

Tucked into your left sneaker. The old pair you rarely ever wear.

You unfold it and feel your chest tighten.

You make everyday better. –M.

You press the note to your lips, overwhelmed, and decide then and there that maybe he doesn’t need to say “I love you” often, because he’s always saying it in his own way.

In every little thing.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

favorite girl to see

words: 700

warnings: implied sex, cart girl!reader, soft!rafe, fluffy

“hey boys.” you grin as you greet them all, but your eye is on one boy in particular.

“there's my favorite girl to see.” rafe smiles, quickly putting his putter back in his golf bag.

you roll your eyes despite your cheeks blushing. “you just like me because i bring you drinks.”

“nope.” rafe shakes his head, walking closer to you as you stay sat in the cart, worried your knees would buckle if you tried to stand up with his full attention on you. “otherwise id say that to all the cart girls.”

“mmm, and you don't?” you raise your eyebrows.

“absolutely not.” rafe scoffs like it's a ridiculous notion.

“what'll it be for you today?” you ask rafe, standing carefully and rounding the golf cart to the drinks area, opening up the cooler, expecting to grab him a high noon or white claw like usual.

“just a water, actually.” rafe turns to look at his friend he's golfing with. you don't even glance away from rafes perfectly chiseled features. “anything for you top?”

“im good.”

“one water it is.” you dig out a bottle from the melting ice, taking a towel and drying off the sides so you don't have a wet drink to rafe.

“so kind.” he coos, reaching into his wallet.

“rafe-” you sigh, already knowing what is coming as he pulls out a hundred dollar bill.

“nope.” rafe says, stuffing the bill into your hand. “take it. a tip for my favorite girl to see.”

“the water is like five bucks, this is a ridiculous tip.” you state, always trying to argue against the way rafe tips you, knowing you'll end up conceding and taking it. 

“well, if it makes you feel better about it, there is something else you can do for me.”

“hm?” you question as rafe pulls out his phone, taps a few buttons, and then hands it to you.

“put your number in.”

-- 6 months later --

you look around the golf course, having taken a later shift instead of the early one you're used to. you're getting out on the green much later than normal, trying to spot your regulars, one in particular.

you put your cart into drive the moment you see him, skipping by any other groups who may be trying to buy something. you'll loop back later to get their orders, but your sole focus is on one man.

“rafe.” you hop out your cart, giving a quick look around before jumping into his open arms, knowing while employee member relationships are technically against the rules, rafe could pull a few strings if anyone ever tattled on you.

“my girl.” rafes smile is infectious, especially as his hands drop down to squeeze your ass over your skirt, pulling your hips right up against his. “you're here late.”

“let's just say someone kept me up late last night.” you giggle, pressing a kiss to rafes lips, knowing he's the reason you had to switch shifts this morning.

rafe deepens the kiss, one hand coming to the back of your neck to keep you close as his mouth covers yours, lips and tongue gliding against each other.

“babe-” you sigh, pulling away.

“yeah, i know.” rafe steps away, knowing you only allow so much pda when you're at work.

it's one of the reasons rafe tried to convince you to quit many times, insisting you didn't need to work now that you had him, but you like picking up a few hours every week.

“what can i get you?” you ask, taking his hand in yours and tugging him towards the cart.

“another kiss.” rafe smiles. you roll your eyes and press a quick peck to his lips.

“and to drink?”

“gatorade, i guess.” rafe shrugs. “im also kinda tired from last night.”

you don't miss the wink that he gives you as you fish out his drink.

rafe grabs his wallet from his back pocket as you let out a groan, knowing what is to come, his tipping habits not changing one bit despite being together.

“what?” rafe says, handing you the large bill, knowing he'll take you shopping later to spend it. “i want to make sure you give better service to me than any of these old bastards.”

“speaking of service-” you get on your tiptoes and whisper into rafes ear. “meet me in the employee break room in 30?”

sfw tags: @winterrrnight @bejeweledreverie @ladyinbl00d @ethanthequeefqueen @drewsephrry

[passingnotions]

Out of Office | Yeseo (ft. Mashiro)

smut, 2.9k words

“Who brought all that cake?” You walk up to the cubicle, mouth full and still taking another bite.

“Hm?” She continues typing a seemingly endless email.

“The one in the break room.”

“Oh, the intern.” She’s focused on the second monitor now, lost in some spreadsheet.

“You’re the intern.”

“The new intern.”

You shift your stance; raise a brow in anticipation.

“They’re in an onboarding meeting right now.” She tilts her head towards the conference rooms.

Through the blinds, though far, you can spot figures bathed in blue projector light. “Huh. alright.”

“Also, I got hired last month—come on.”

“Sure but you’re still under me—” You try, stumble through it. “You were, under me, last week.”

“That joke’s not landing.”

“Yeah, it isn’t.”

The room in the distance lights up. There’s movement, a handshake? They’re standing around and chatting.

“She’s your type.” She stops typing; looks up at you.

And you stop chewing. “Shiro, what am I supposed to make of that?”

“Just saying.” Her eyelashes bat a faux pout. “Hope I don’t get replaced?” 

“Catching feelings, are we?”

“Oh.” Tone breathy, thespian, and with a hand at her chest. “From our very first night.” 

A door opens at the end of the office space. You straighten up, finish what’s left of your pastry, and shoot a look towards Mashiro while heading over to your desk.

From where you sit, there’s not much to see. You listen to the shuffle of steps somewhere on the floor, to the casual chatter. There’s corporate laughter—measured, mechanical—and a lilt to a voice you hadn’t heard before. The sounds come and go. Close, then far, then close again: she’s getting introduced to everyone. 

Eventually: “oh, think we missed someone over on this corner?” Pretty platform heels clatter around to where you sit until finally revealing themselves. She’s a cheating five feet tall. Dark and elegant hair frames this darling, sweet look. Prettiest fucking cheeks on the planet. “Hello! I’m Kang Yeseo.” She extends a small hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Pleasure’s all mine,” you manage, standing up and returning the gesture.

“Oh, I see you found the pastry tray I brought.” She looks at the small plate by your keyboard. Her smile is beaming. “Hope everything was to your liking!”

“Yeah—yeah.” Your best is a nonplussed nod. “It really is.”

You hear your boss call out over the divider wall. Says she’s the new intern. Starts tomorrow. Ah, I see, you reply. Your head tilts when you realize. The calendar marks Friday. “Working over the weekend?” 

“They said it’d be easier to learn because of the slower pace. Can’t say no to that!” She laughs. “I’ll be shadowing someone.” 

You work tomorrow.

“Guess I’ll be seeing you in the morning, then.”

“Oh, great! We’ll get to know each other fast!” She’s all verve—begins to walk away from view before finishing her own sentence. “Nice to meet you again. Gotta head back to the tour!” 

You collapse on your chair, processing. “Nice to meet you, too.”

~~

There’s a narrative step you miss, trip over. You’ll have to pick up the pieces sometime. They’re probably tangled in the locks of her hair, the glint in her eyes, or that flashing, disarming smile—

Okay, alright. It’s not romance, not by a longshot, but you do see her twirling the ends of her locks every once in a while, like she’s the one in love and, hey, sure. 

Because you fuck the girl so well that she’s consumed by the idea of you.

Mashiro strokes your ego over the week and Yeseo your cock, over the weekends. That’s your onboarding procedure, if anyone were to ask. 

Shiro says you’ll make Yeseo fall for you, that maybe you already have, that there’s no way those university boys give her anything worthwhile when it comes to attention. Salaryman, Mashiro says, has the money, the apartment, the free time, and god that cock.

You stop Mashiro—recommend she go into acting. Say it suits her. She asks, at some point, which angles you think the camera would best capture. Her face is on the mattress, ass at a complete diagonal opposite.

“This, right here.” You’re making a frame right behind her with your fingers, then catch her gaze in the full length mirror over to your right. “This is the one.”

“Mm,” she hums. “I bet.” Mashiro reaches her arms back, face still on the duvet. Her palms land flat on her ass, and with a gripping pull, she spreads open. 

Your arms fall to your sides—they settle, defeated—and you think it’s amusing that the bed frame sits so low to the ground. It makes you kneel, though Mashiro already makes you kneel without having to ask, regardless of whatever piece of furniture she’s propped up on. It’s less skill, more innate talent—like she was made for you, built, sculpted—but, yes, Mashiro has the skill, too. She’s well practiced on what makes you practically melt. You’ve run your hands over that piece of art a million times and it still has you sighing your deepest sighs when your knees finally hit the ground. 

With your palms replacing hers—ass and cunt kept spread open and waiting—Mashiro speaks through the reflection. “You look mesmerized.” 

“I am.” You can hear the smile in her voice and smile back. Your hands get busy, kneading.

Like a pup that’s excited to be played with, Mashiro wags it a little, to mess with you, because it throws your brain for a loop every single time. “Tongue, baby.” She pushes her whole body back a bit, tone sultry. “Come on.”

“When’s the last time I made you cum?” You ask.

“Every time,” she giggles out.

You give Mashiro a long, slow lick. Admire the luster. “No, as in—” she’s so close that you’re breathing her in—“when did you stay over last?” 

Before she gets a chance to inhale a response, you get to work. Sheets scrunch in her fists. “Ah,” Mashiro lets out gently. “It’s been more than a week.”

Your hands don’t let go. You’re pulling her onto your face and your tongue laps, laps, laps—lips locked. It’s, immediately, a mess. Spit, wetness. The taste is divine.

You take a second to breathe. “I missed you.” It comes out so, so low, like gravel, like the need to eat this woman out reverts you to only the most instinctual and primal. 

Your fingers are leaving impressions on her pale skin, you realize. You’re not even grabbing on that hard.

“I know you did.” She laughs. 

You go back in; she moans. It’s a whole thing. Your tongue runs flat from clit to rim and you’re unsure which one of you throbs the hardest. 

But Mashiro turns, eventually, flips herself over, and pulls a pillow under her head for support. She wants to look at you, in the reflection, face to face—loves to look at you when she cums. And you’ll make her, every time.

“Could come over more often,” she says, kittenish, and you know exactly where it’s headed. “But you’re always so busy.”

You tease a finger right over her folds. “Uh huh.” Slip it in.

Her breath hitches when you curl it at the right spot. You love messing with each other like that.

“You have a spare key, Shiro. Can come over any time.” Your lips are curled into a wicked smile, and you dive back in, lick her a couple more times, kiss her thighs, have her throw her head back in delicate bliss. 

“And walk in on you two?” She pulls your head up—stares. “I’d be devastated."

“Heartbroken, I’m sure.” You’re holding her gaze and putting another finger in; her hips buck. Fuck—you enjoy this as much as she does. 

She bites her lip and her eyes go narrow when you hit that spot again, letting your face go. It’s permission: make me, until my legs quiver, until I can’t fucking take it anymore, please.

You slide in another, because you’re allowed, and frankly, because you enjoy the obscenity of it. She’s stretched out and you simply stare. In, out, a bit of a curl again, as much as three digits permit. You’ve heard Mashiro say worse, to be fair, curse out heaven and hell. Knowing that you could take her much further feeds your ego. 

“Bet you couldn’t bear it,” you’re saying, straightening up, fingers still in her cunt. You stare at her pretty legs, folded and spread open, giving you all the damn room in the world. “Watching me fill her up with a load that you’d want for yourself.”

The little whimper when you slip your fingers out is as cute as it is profane. You’d do anything for her, for less than that. To watch her unravel every time is enough of a reward.

“Is that what you do?” Mashiro catches her breath, finally. “Pump the little thing full until she leaks?”

You settle your knees on the mattress, aligning your stiff cock, and nodding. Guilty as charged. You decide it’s best to have her cumming with your length inside her messy-wet folds. “You get so slutty when you’re jealous.”

Your cock starts back on the path that your fingers just explored as she quips, “bet you don’t even wash the bedding before it’s my turn.” Mashiro’s nodding along at your slow thrust. She’s all play, still, but your cock’s splitting her open bit by bit. Attention’s divided, to say the least. “You’re such a whore.”

“Baby,” you coo, proud because her gaze falters. You’re halfway and she’s already slipping a hand down to play with her clit—though it’s not until you sink to the base with a firm push that you take her breath away. She does this eyes-shut exhale. 

And no, it’s not romance here, either.

“Only you get the bed.” 

~~

It’s been a couple of Fridays since you last worked weekends, and any excuse is a good excuse for Yeseo. Company outing after work? Take her home. New to this part of town? Poor girl, you’ll show her around (and take her home). Ah, too tired to walk to hers tonight, and yours is only one train stop away? The pair of jeans she has on today, by the way—christ—bless casual Fridays. You do, in fact, take those home, too. 

How impossibly fortunate. A straight flush. You have the girl cockdrunk for a whole fucking month. Not to say that she doesn’t have you similarly obsessed. That much goes without saying.

And, again, there’s some fill-in-the-blanks section that has to go unfinished or we’ll never really get to—

You both wake up at midnight—yes, midnight, because you had crashed on your sectional only six hours prior. There was actual work to be done this week, on top of the fact that Mashiro went home with you three out of those five, exhausting days. She gives you weekends off; calls it the babysitting gig. You tell her to not do that.

Now, Yeseo’s in the shower. The scene is cut-to, a tad jarring and sudden. Interior apartment, Saturday, zero hundred hours. You have the noise floor where it’s all ambient sound out in the living room, your kitchen appliances buzz, the aircon kicks in. Nice and quiet, until the figurative camera sends it down the hall and past your bedroom door. Wet white noise fades in. Rhythmic… clapping? 

There aren’t that many useful euphemisms from here on out. Everyone has read this script before.

The intern’s against glass. It’s a heavenly slope, really, the way her upper torso is flat on the shower door. With hands braced at either side of her tits, her lower back arches out—legs tensed, tiptoed—and her ass angles out just so. It’s plush, it’s deadly. Your hands are settled on that striking indent where her hips and waist meet while your own hips push, thrust, and press against her round, easy cheeks. 

Fuck—

Yeseo pushes back in kind. The tempo is practiced and well known to the both of you, though there’s a key difference. The camera wouldn’t pick up on it, not from the angle it would find itself at. And you yourself can’t figure out if this right here is where you’ll end it—where the scene cuts.

A little longer, you’re telling yourself. 

See: contraceptives—left the whole pack back at the office. It’s the whole reason why you decided to fall asleep in the first place. Yeseo said something about buying some right as you both stepped through the front door but your mouths sufficed for the subsequent half hour. Some dinner, that was.

And because there’s no self-control, she didn’t have to do much to persuade you into taking a shower before heading to the closest pharmacy, or gas station, or anywhere that happened to be open at this ungodly hour and—

Again, no polite terminology here. 

You’ve been fucking her raw for the past ten minutes. Her fertile arousal gathers at the base of your cock every time you piston in, in, in—so messy, smeared, depraved—and your thumbs leave flush-red marks whenever they press onto her smooth, luxury skin.

So you cum, naturally. Flood her womb. It’s filthy, because Yeseo is at that point, too—the girl put a finger over her clit a minute ago and ran it in circles until her eyes went hazy, went dumb. Until her thus-far dulcet moans turned into half breaths and broken whimpers. There’s a ‘yes’ in there somewhere, a flash in the pan, brief and hissed, as the tension in her chest breaks into more cries of pleasure with your name intertwined.

You groan, then, slipping out only a moment after and holding your cock like it’s fucking expired. The feeling is an overstimulated frenzy—electric, and still jolting. Out of all things, however, what fucks with you is not what you did, but how it looks: her figure shivers as she plants her heels back on shower tiles; hot and sticky white lands next to her feet. 

It reeks of debauchery—hasty, impatient. Yeseo’s cunt leaks and all you think about is dipping back in for seconds.

But the scene cuts. Shower steam continues to rise and, with it, your thoughts fade into the next.

~~

She’s reading something that you’re sure is not right. Perhaps it’s not wholly accurate. It’s also noon now, for what it’s worth. the sleep’s polyphasic—a total blur—as it always tends to be over the Saturdays and the Sundays. 

“Seventy-two hours,” Yeseo says. She’s sitting on your kitchen counter, eating grapes. Girl hasn’t had a single piece of clothing on since the day before.

“You’re kidding.” 

“Says it can be effective even five days after.” Her mouth’s full. “Damn.”

You close the fridge and walk over to her. “Are you reading an AI summary?” 

“Well, it’s summarizing the links below that, so.” She turns her phone towards you. 

Levono-whatever-the-fuck’s the active ingredient—Plan B. The morning-after pill.

“Uh huh,” you say, incredulous. You’re also sweating, almost.

“We’ll get it Monday morning,” Yeseo ensures. “Grape?”

“Can’t we head out right now?”

She feeds you the one, hovers another in front of your lips. “I’m doing a round of laundry.” 

The bunch that you bought this week happens to be seed-in. 

“And that stops you—” You swallow. “How?”

“The condoms are in my duffle bag, the one that has the rest of my clothes?”

“Ah,” you discern. “The one you left at the office.”

“The one I told you,” she asserts, “to get for me before heading out.”

Open your mouth. You’re gullible by choice, you tell yourself—Yeseo feeds you the second. 

She has one set of clothes, one, and it won’t be ready for another thirty minutes. It crosses your mind that you forgot the color of her underwear, at this point. Never properly memorized it. You figure it foreshadows what’s left of the weekend; settle on that fate.

“Wanna put on the movie I mentioned the other day?” She hops off the laminate and walks towards the couch. The edge of the counter is imprinted on her upper thighs and it’s safe to say you’ll be having to replay the film some other day, at a time where there’s at least one layer of fabric to dissuade you from the inevitable. Not like that ever does anything.

You hum. “Not a bad idea.”

Yeseo stands so casually in your living room, working the remote, nothing on. The curtains are pulled back and a noontide shine contours her shape as if the heavens were on a campaign to meddle with you at every possible turn. Your eyes are glued to each and every divot on her skin, to the curves and the lines that lead to them. Her hip cocks off to the right and it has your head tilting to the left—could get you dizzy just like that.

You try to determine where to start again, though walking over to her, it’s not much of a conscious decision. Your palm lands and unabashedly grabs the heft of her ass. No hesitation. It spills through your fingers—has you hard in an instant.

“Should be fun,” she says, absentminded. With the way the selection box goes over and around and anywhere but any of the streaming apps, you know she’s not quite paying attention to the TV, either.

You, regardless, still ask: “what’s it about, again?”

The answer to the next is no.

“Does it matter?”

Superfluous, and somewhat of a spoiler, but this does snowball until the aforementioned Monday morning. Sunday will have you running the same scenes. The blocking will maybe be a bit different, though the outcomes are all the same: you suck at pulling out. 

And you’ll tell yourself it’s by choice.

[moonlightkitties]

CW: Hybrids, Animal Attack.

You can reader part one here!

Working as a border collie hybrid on retired, farmer Price's farm is not for the weak.

The farm rests in the middle of nowhere, a secluded stretch of land where rolling hills and thick patches of wildflowers stretch as far as the eye can see.

The only thing you've had to worry about until this moment was the stubborn sheep that Price managed to spoil.

The other thing were the wolves.

So.

Many.

Wolves.

You can't count how many hours you've had to stay awake to make sure that wolves wouldn't attack your sheep.

A night like tonight was when you had to stay in your dog form and stay with the herd while they grazed. Your small form wasn't that big to take on a herd of wolves but Price reassured you time and time again that the wolves don't bother the sheep.

Oh how wrong he was.

Your ears pricked at something rustling in the nearby woods, you got up from the middle of the grazing area, your eyes scanning the trees. The wind shifted, carrying the strong scent of wolf. You let out a warning growl, noticing how the sheep were getting a bit nervous. The scent did not move away and your ears pricked and eyes widen at the sound of a howl. You could see eyes glaring at you between the trees and you bent down, getting ready to attack if you could.

Two to three wolves broke through the tree line, their snarls vibrating in your chest.

Your paws stumbled over themselves, you weren't trained to attack full grown wolves.

A wolf lunged. You dodged clumsily, barely avoiding its snapping jaws, but another wolf was already behind you. It caught your back leg in its teeth and yanked.

Pain blurred your vision as another wolf crashed into your ribs, sending you sprawling. You tried to roll to your feet, but your bad leg gave out instantly, a jolt of agony ripping through you.

"Hey!" you heard a loud yell and the sharp crack of something hitting wood. The wolves froze mid-movement, ears swiveling toward the sound. A tall figure burst through the tree line, lit by the low moonlight, Price.

As a last resort trying to save yourself, your body shifted back into your human form, which confused the wolves into backing off.

You groaned, your leg was definitely broken, and your eyes were growing heavy.

The wolves, startled by the sudden transformation, faltered. Their hackles raised, but they hesitated. One gave a low, uncertain growl before they all turned tail, slinking back into the shadows of the tree line.

You didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

Price ran towards you and you could see the panic on his face before you blacked out.

-------

You gasped as your eyes shot open, you were sore, your whole body ached and yet you were warm.

You looked around, the bedroom you were in was brighter than the one Price gave you and you were cocooned in blankets.

You sat up, hissing as you did, you could hear muffled voices. You ignored your body screaming for you to go back to bed but you quietly slipped out of the bed, yelping as your right foot collided with the floor. You limped to the door and opened it, your parents were in the living room, your father growling as your mother tried to calm him down.

All three of them looked at the bedroom door as you limped out, Price immediately coming to your aid.

"Easy there," he said, making you steady, helping you walk towards the couch.

"I'm fine," you told your mom, embarrassed as she immediately started sniffing you all over.

"You're not," your mother said, her eyes glistening with fear.

"I am, it was just a few wolves," you said, shrugging.

"I'm sorry," Price told you, "I should have listened, the wolves never got to close before," he finished.

"You need a livestock guardian dog," you father told him, "a strong one, kangel shepherd maybe."

"Where can I find one?" Price asked.

"There's a breeder a few miles from here, it'll be a day trip though," your father answered.

--------

Price left early tomorrow morning after your father gave him the address to the breeder. You weren't ready to have another hybrid take control of your schedule with the flock. Price said that he wouldn't interfere with your herding and only protect them if another wolf came even close but you weren't convinced.

But you’d seen it before. Once someone new came in, the humans started relying on them more. You’d worked too hard, proven yourself too many times to just be pushed aside.

Your leg still ached, wrapped tightly and bound with a stubborn reminder of your own limits. The sheep barely listened to you yesterday. They could smell the difference. They knew.

You huffed through your nose and looked back toward the field.

This is still your farm. Your flock.

You weren’t giving up that easily.

It was a few hours before you heard Price's truck pull into the driveway, you shot up from off the couch, wincing as your leg burned but you limped towards the window.

A huge kangel shepherd was sitting in the back of his truck, he looked like he didn't stand for anyone to defy him. His dirty blonde fur was rough looking and he had enough scars on him to prove his worth. Even from this distance, you could tell he was older than you, more seasoned.

His black ears flicked, alert and cautious, he didn't look at you. You followed his gaze, his eyes looked out toward the fields, toward your flock, as if he already knew where he was needed.

You scowled and let out a growl.

Of course he had the look of someone who wouldn’t take orders. He looked like someone who gave them.

You could care less about how many wolves he fought and herds he protected, you were not about to let him walk all over you.

Price got out of the truck and made his way around. He spoke calmy to the hybrid, in his quiet, commanding tone. The Kangal’s head turned slightly, and then, suddenly, his eyes were on you.

His eyes were sharp, intense, and blue.

How wrong that color was on a dog so dark and intense.

No emotion passed his face, like he could care less that you were there.

A yawn passed his face, dismissive.

Like you were no threat at all.

“Oh, hell no," you muttered under your breath. You weren't supposed to shift into your animal form until your leg was stronger, but you didn't care. You ignored the pain and limped out of the doggy door that Price installed. You walked down the porch stairs. Price, surprised to see you shifted, patted your head, a smile forming his mouth.

"This is Simon Riley," Price told you but you could care less, "call him Ghost, he prefers that," he said.

Well the nickname definitely fit him.

"Be nice, pup," Price said, noticing the way your fur bristled over your shoulders, "he's not here to take your job."

You scoffed and turned around, stalking back into the house, you didn't trust him enough to stay in your human form so you pushed your bedroom door open with your muzzle and jumped on your bed.

Ghost. What kind of name was that?

You closed your eyes.

Just a guard dog, you told yourself. Just a backup. Not a threat.

But those damn blue eyes wouldn’t leave your mind.

[sturniclos]

Early bird gets the worm!

Pairing: Kyoya Ootori x reader Warnings: 18+ mdni, smut with fluff, creampie, morning sex, hints of overstimulation, praise.

It had been known upon Kyoya's friends and family that he was not, by any means, an early riser. Whenever bothered in the early morning, or any time before he had wanted to wake up (even if it's 4pm in the afternoon), Kyoya was always grouchy. Spouting cynical and rude comments, glowering and mumbling at whoever even thought of disturbing his sleep. Everyone had taken note to never bother him in bed.

However, in his second year of college, something started to shift.

Mori and Haruhi had taken note of it first- Kyoya had gotten progressively more polite. You could even go as far to say he had become an early bird, his second semester of classes mainly consisted of 8 or 9 am lectures compared to his 2 to 3 pm classes.

Kyoya had claimed it was because of the length of the classes- and it was better to go to one long class in the morning twice a week rather than five short ones in the afternoon. It had convinced most of the group- knowing he always had an efficient strategy in order to maximize anything for his benefit. In typical Ootori fashion, Kyoya had a logical reason for everything.

Tamaki had wondered what it was. A newfound maturity? He started going to bed earlier maybe. What if he started to become an insomniac and was actually never sleeping in the first place, and he started becoming kind as a result of his delirium?

Haruhi had crossed off the last option, rolling her eyes at his ridiculous assumption. She didn't really care why, but Tamaki never leaves things alone. Rejecting Tamaki's idea of watching his every move, Haruhi had opted to just ask Kyoya in order to settle Tamaki's nerves.

"Kyoya-kun, I've noticed you've been more of an early riser, is there any reason as to why?"

Kyoya tilts his head, looking up in contemplation before smiling to the side. "I've had more to look forward to in the mornings than I did before." His gaze follows you, observing your face as you animatedly tell the twins a story. Your eyes meet his for a split second, smiling sweetly at him before turning your attention back to the twins.

Haruhi immediately understands and looks at Kyoya as he admires you softly, a small smile gracing his lips as you laugh at the twins' responses. Tamaki, however, cannot accept the answer, and can't help but press more.

"What could've possibly transformed your nasty attitude into such a morning person?"

Kyoya pushes his adjusts his glasses before looking to the side, pausing as he stirs his tea to think about the answer. There were a couple of reasons, really.

You had started small. Giving him sleepy teas at around 8 pm, offering him a massage or inviting him to watch a movie with you. Goading him into sleeping earlier in the night. Slowly helping him loosen his tie and removing his shirt as he typed away at his laptop, peppering kisses along his neck. He could feel you practically smirk as his typing slows, more and more typos progressively pop up on his screen before he finally shuts the laptop shut to give you his full attention.

You'd tire him out before he could open his computer again, panting heavily against him as you bounced on his lap, his hands digging into the plush of your ass as he slightly guided you back and forth. A filthy combination of your slick and his pre making a mess on his lap, the lewd sound of skin slapping echoing in his room every time you sank further on his cock.

"m' close," He whispers, gripping you harder as he moves you faster. His lips latch onto your neck, his left hand moving to circle your clit in tight circles, earning a pathetic whimper from you in return.

"Come on, pretty girl, I know you have one more in you."

"Kyo- I can't, s'too much-" Your hips stutter against his, head falling into his neck as you try catching your breath. Kyoya is unrelenting, however, quickly speeding up his work on your clit while thrusting up into you as you gasp in pleasure. The heat in your gut turning into a tight coil as you spasm around him, kissing him through the overstimulation of him thrusting into you through your orgasm.

Kyoya returns the kiss deeply, his hands now gently rubbing your sides as he cums inside of you. His thumbs circle your hips, soft lips muttering praise as you both come down from your high. You groan slightly in response, glancing to the side to see a bright green "9:51" back at you, smiling softly before turning back to him.

"You have me beat. Let's take a shower in the morning together, yeah?"

Kyoya can't help but agree as he cleans you up with a warm rag, fighting the fatigue so that he can savor the moment of you in his arms before nodding off.

You'd work your magic until he'd slowly, but surely, started waking up earlier and earlier. His mood, however, had yet to change. A snappy mumble and slight glare still ever present as you slightly shook him awake.

Mornings were a lot slower, instead of shaking him awake, you'd started to wake up slightly earlier, lightly massaging his head to ease him out of sleep before getting up to start your own routine. You brush your teeth and get dressed and cook a simple breakfast, bringing the plate back to his room before resuming his head massage, sweetly cooing at him to wake up.

"Kyoya, it's time to get up. I made you breakfast."

His brows furrow before shaking his head slightly, pulling up the covers to his chin before turning towards his pillow.

You roll your eyes, leaning down to kiss his cheek, 1, 2, 3. The smile on his face slowly grows for every smooch you pepper on his face. How could he be mad when his sweet girlfriend is waking him up so kindly?

The blanket suddenly shifts, his bare torso revealed as he gets up to kiss you back. He rubs his nose against yours affectionately as he looks you in the eye.

"I know what you're trying to do."

You don't seem to feel guilty, instead landing another kiss on his lips with a dramatic "mwah!". A teasing smile on your face. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Kyoya indulges nonetheless, and now he finds himself waking up earlier than you do. Admiring your figure in the soft morning sunlight as your chest rises and falls with your breathing. His arm lazily hands around your waist as he caresses your back, appreciating the glow that highlights the tip of your eyelashes to the cupids bow of your lips.

When you do wake up, you cling closer to Kyoya, muttering a soft "g'morning." as you kiss his shoulder, slowly trailing down his torso to his briefs. You lightly palm his bulge before affectionately leaning on it, hot breath ghosting over the fabric, making his breath hitch as he lightly grasps the sheets.

Nimble fingers yank the band of his briefs down as you kiss the tip affectionately, looking up at him as you kitten lick his shaft before taking him in your mouth.

Kyoya sighs, hand finding purchase in your hair as you bob your head along his length, slowly going up before slamming your head down. His tip bruising the back of your sensitive through as your tongue flattens against the vein on the underside of his dick.

He's whiny in the morning, you note. Slight sleepiness making him more sensitive to your touch. His breathe hitches and small moans escaping through his praise as he throws his head back in pleasure.

"Fuck, feel so good around me. Love waking up like this." His hand in your hair grips tighter as he quickens the pace, reveling in the way you gag around his length. His harsh pace was a stark contrast to his hand on your shoulder, gently rubbing your shoulder as he roughly fucks your face.

You moan around him as you play with your tits, one hand pinching your nipple as you look back up at him, his normally icy glare gazing at you with adoration. His cock twitches at the eye contact before his spills into your mouth. You take it all, swallowing before disconnecting with a small "Pop!", a string of saliva connecting from his tip to your mouth.

His breathing is heavy before he brings your face to his, gently kissing you as he catches his breath between kisses. He pays you back, gently fucking you from behind in the shower. Goosebumps scatter your skin as he presses you harshly against the cold glass, watching as the water splashes around his hips with each thrust.

One would think it's greed. His never-ending greed to have you prettily whimpering in his room every time he wakes up, face buried against the base of his cock, or when he slowly cuddle fucks you as you whine against his soft satin pillows (a purchase he made just for you). He can't help it- it's hard to resist when you look so gorgeous in the early mornings. He feels rejuvenated after seeing you breathless and panting with his cum seeping out of you, whining at the loss of feeling full.

Soon enough, you'd successfully gotten Kyoya's sleep schedule on track. A healthy balance of cardio and rest, and Kyoya had never worked so efficiently. He almost wonders how he was able to acheive so much without you there.

The specific reason was far too intimate to share- especially to someone as dramatic as Tamaki. So instead, he shrugs and takes a sip of his drink.

"I got a better alarm clock."

[agreeewrites]

i so love your writing like my fav account and i found you almost two days ago 😭 would you be up to write anything about james potter? like anything. it’s okay if not!! Have a good day/night💞

omg I'm honored!! i'm so glad we found each other 🩷

work for it

feat. james potter x fem!reader | mdni 18+ | masterlist

“Jamie,” you whined, nosing into his neck, his skin deliciously warm under the quilt. He still smelled like the shower he took last night, eucalyptus and something woody, and you wanted to crawl into his ribcage and live there.

His response was a sleep-addled groan, his face buried in his pillow, dark hair like a halo against the white cotton.

You pushed at his broad shoulder, rolling him onto his back, his legs still tangled with yours. He was bare chested, rippling muscles on full display. But it was only you there to appreciate them in the quiet for your bedroom, tan and glowing in the morning sunlight.

And appreciate them you did, pressing kisses across his collar bone, down his sternum. “James, pleaseeee,” you whined again, shifting to lay on top of him, lapping at the purple mark you'd left under his right ear the night before.

“Mmph,” he sighed, shifting a bit beneath you. He brought up a big hand, calloused from years of quidditch, and you thought you’d won, that he was going to draw you in for a kiss, but instead he grabbed your face and weakly shoved your head from his neck. “M’sleepin’” he mumbled, but you caught the corner of his lip twitch upwards.

“But honey, I need you.” You put on your most pitiful voice, dragging your hand down his torso to palm his cock through his boxers. He was already half-hard, throbbing as his heart pumped more blood south.

James continued to doze, seemingly oblivious to your plight, but his cock betrayed his interest.

Determined, you freed him from his underwear, pleased to find precum already beading at the tip and spreading it over the head with your thumb. Still, his expression remained neutral, his breathing steady.

“Jamie,” you purred in his ear, wrapping your hand around his base and gliding upwards, velvety and hot against your palm. “Don't you wanna fuck me?”

He chuckled, the corner of his mouth finally quirking up. “Need another hour after all the fucking I gave you last night.”

“But I need you nooow.” You kissed along his scuffed jaw, jerking him a little more pressure, twisting your wrist at the top in the way you knew he liked.

“Gonna have to work for it, love,” he said, eyes fluttering closed once again.

You pouted to his closed eyelids. “I could just take care of myself…” you mused, and he cracked open an eye at you, the warning clear.

Just that look was enough to make your pussy clench, his quiet dominance never failing to undo you completely.

You smirked to yourself and shifted down his body, kissing where the sunlight dappled along his abdomen before settling between his legs.

Tangled in sheets and swimming in sunlight, you took James into your mouth, savoring the silken feel of him on your tongue as you bobbed your head. Drool collected around his base, your tongue sweeping along the root of him and circling the head, loving on him, appreciating him with your mouth in every way you could think of.

Eventually, his fingers found their way into your hair, not applying pressure, just feeling you raise and lower, keeping your bedraggled strands from getting in the way.

“So pretty, babygirl,” he cooed, voice still rough with sleep, and you preened, heart thudding at his gentle praise.

Unable to wait any longer, you lifted off of him with a pop and climbed up his body, straddling his waist. You were dressed in one of his shirts, the hem dragging your mid-thigh, but otherwise bare, so your drippy pussy nestled perfectly against the underside of his shaft.

James smirked, stretching his arms overhead with a big yawn, always such a show off. “Not satisfied yet?” He asked, his hands tucked behind his head, elbows akimbo.

You rolled your hips, his drool-covered cock gliding through your slit with ease, and his eyes rolled back in his head, Adam's apple bobbling in his throat.

“If you're just going to lay there like a lazy oaf, I'm going to make myself come,” you teased, rocking slowly against his length, the head nudging your clit just right.

“By all means,” James hummed, watching you through heavy-lidded eyes.

You reached between you, lining his cock up with your entrance, and sank back onto him, inch by delicious inch, until he was fully seated inside you, stretching you just right.

“Fuck, love. You're still dripping with me,” he rasped, watching with greedy eyes as you peeled your shirt over your head, tossing it across the room. “And you want more?”

You nodded, flexing your legs to lift and lower yourself, undulating your hips in a circle while you moved, savoring the feeling of him grazing every inch of you. Your movements were self-indulgent, single-minded in the pursuit of your own pleasure.

“Touch yourself, baby. Yeah, just like that—good girl,” James said, his breath becoming more labored as you fucked yourself onto him, his muscles tight with the effort of keeping his hips still.

Your fingers worked quick circles over your clit, your body falling into the perfect rhythm to make you come—and fast.

It was already building, a simmering heat growing to an inferno in your belly until moans were spilling from your mouth like a favorite song, your hips grinding on his with fervid desperation.

James canted his hips up, sensing you were close, and fucked into you once, twice, and then you were coming, a torrent of bliss ripping through your body like a storm, washing away the rest of the world.

“There we go. S'gorgeous, honey. That what you needed?” He cooed, cuddling you down to his chest while your body trembled and quaked. His continued rocking into you, languid and sloppy, ensuring you got every drop of pleasure you worked so hard for.

You nuzzled into his neck, breathing hard as you slowly returned to reality, his fingers grazing your spine, the movement of his hips, guiding you back.

Once you felt sturdy, you pushed yourself up, swinging your leg over his hips and sliding of the bed.

“Wait, where—”

You smirked, skipping towards the en suite bathroom. “Gonna have to work for it, Potter.”

He was off the bed in a flash, lunging at you across the room and you squealed, not a shred of sleepiness in sight.

© agreeewrites 2025. do not copy, translate or claim my writing as your own.

[evansbuckle]

Mechanic!SingleDad!Bucky Barnes AU.

This is my first time writing a fic since like 2021, but I haven't been able to get this out of my head for the entire day, so please, enjoy. Likes & reblogs are always appreciated <3

Word Count: At least 20 for sureeeee!

Warnings: There's brief swearing, brief mentions of death and parental abandonment. Reader is referred to as y/n, with she/her pronouns, and has curly hair. Bucky's a dad? I'm pretending I know how cars work + bad grammar (i have a creative writing degree and still can't tell if the full stop goes after a speech mark or before)

masterlist link part two part three part four part five part six

Grease, Part One.

It was one thing to have a car breakdown on you. It was another thing for it to happen at half eleven. In the evening. Outside a garage. That was shut. 

“C’mon don’t do this to me, man,” I begged the car as I hit the steering wheel, and tried the engine again to no prevail, “I’m gonna sell you, I swear.” 

I looked at the garage my car broke down outside of, eyes narrowing in on the “CLOSED” sign on the door. I could see a faint light inside, and there was a nagging in the back of my head that drove me to knock on the door. It was barely thirty seconds before a greased up man opened the door. 

“We’re closed.” He gruffed out, wiping his hands on what looked like a vest.

“I know, and I swear I usually wouldn’t do this but my car just stopped and I don’t really know what’s wrong with it and I’m here, and please?”

“What are you asking me to do exactly?” The man asked, amused.

“Well, realistically what can you do with it right now?”

“I can push it into the garage and ask you to come back in the morning, where I’ll be able to tell you what’s wrong with it.”

“Are you serious?” I looked at him with a level of shock in my eyes that he clearly wasn’t expecting, as he sort of grimaced at me, like he was uncomfortable. 

“Nine in the morning.” His tone was stone-cold, so I thanked him again, gave him my car key, got my bag and left, walking home. It didn’t take long to get back to my apartment, twenty minutes, ten if you run because it’s the middle of the night and you’re scared. I was greeted by a series of barks and leg rubs as I walked in, leaning down to pet the giant dog that was at my feet, “Hi Cheryl.” 

It didn’t take long to get ready for bed either, I speed-ran feeding the dog, getting changed and brushing my teeth, not really wanting to waste time considering I had work in the morning. As I lied in bed, I couldn’t stop thinking about the man who opened the door.

I didn’t realise I’d fallen asleep until my alarm rang, signalling it was time to get ready for work. I walked into my kitchen to the smell of my coffee machine doing Gods work, and the dog asleep on the floor. I reached over to pet her head as I poured myself a cup, downing it almost instantly. It wasn’t nice when drank all at once, but the energy boost was always welcome. I brushed my teeth, got changed, fed Cheryl, and left for work. 

Opening shifts at the coffee shop were always my favourites. Me on my own, and the music I choose, having a slow hour before the day. I opened the cafe, letting the few early-waking elderly come in and order their usual pots of tea and pastries, taking my time with them. The time flew by, as it often does when old ladies are recounting their youth to you, and I left my coworkers on their own to go see a man about a car. 

*

The bell above the door gave away my presence as I walked into the garage, the smell of grease and petrol almost knocking me clean out. I scan around the room before I see the brunette from last night, making my way over to him. 

“Uh, hi,” I said, awkwardly waiting for him to turn round.

“Oh,” he checked his watch, “right on time.” All I could think to do was nod at him, waiting expectedly. 

He cleared his throat before carrying on, “so, the problem is your engine. Can’t tell the main cause, but it seems like it overheated. You also need your brake belt replaced.”

“Right, sure.” The far off look on my face must’ve given away my cluelessness as he carried on.

“I’m gonna replace your engine, because it short-circuited basically. Got too hot and broke which meant your car couldn’t start.”

I opened my mouth to reply before I felt a little hand poking my leg. I jumped a little, entirely focused on the man in front of me to notice the carbon copy of him, just with blonde curly hair, standing at my feet. 

“Hi! I’m Becky!” The little voice called out next to me. I crouched down next to her, “Hi Becky, I’m Y/N.” I offered my hand, she didn’t hesitate to take it in hers and give it a shake. “Wow, Becky, gotta say I think that’s the firmest handshake I’ve had in a while. You clearly mean business.” She nods at me, then runs over to the man in front as I stand back up. 

“Daddy, she’s got hair like me.” She whispered to him. The man looked up at me, taking in the curls on my head that I hadn’t bothered to try with today. He nods, “Yeah, sugar, she’s got curly hair like you.” She turned back to me, holding out a colouring book, “Do you wanna see my colouring? It’s princesses.” 

The man looks at me taken aback, “You can,” he says, “I’ve gotta fill out some paperwork for your car anyway.” 

Becky leads me into a little office in the back of the garage, the place covered in scribbly drawings, all signed “Rebecca Barnes” at the bottom. We sit on the floor and she flicks through the book, showing me her favourites.

“Becky, what’s your dads name?” I ask her while she points out a green unicorn. 

“Bucky.” She giggles.

“Yo-your dads name is Bucky? And he named you Becky?”

“Technically, I named her Rebecca. And my name is James,” Bucky smiles at his daughter from the doorframe he’s leaning on, “my middle name is Buchanan, so everyone calls me Bucky.”

I snort, “your middle name is Buchanan?”

“Don’t laugh,” he chuckles, “my parents were old fashioned.” I can’t help but let out the laugh building in my chest as I take in the attractive man standing a few feet away from us. Easily six foot, and covered in grease, it made sense he’d have a daughter by now. My thoughts weren’t finished fully forming before Becky runs off to another mechanic.

“She’s sweet,” I say, watching her potter about, “how old is she?”

“Too old,” he looked at her with a soft glimmer in his blue eyes, “she turns six in a couple months.” He turned back to me now, “you know she doesn’t take to strangers often. Usually takes her, like, three interactions with someone to warm up to them.”

There’s something warm blooming in me at the thought of this girl taking kindly to me and it makes me smile. “I used to work at a kindergarten, maybe that’s why.” He chuckles, a deep sound, raspy, “yeah maybe she can smell the teacher-vibe.”

He walks around me, going to sit at the desk, grabbing a form and quickly scribbling on it before standing in front of me again. “So, technically this was just a consultation, ‘cuz I didn’t do any actual work on it so I’m not charging you for this,” he thrusts the form toward me, “I do need you to fill this out though so I can start on it today. It’s just basics, phone number, email, all that.”

I nod at him, my face scrunching up at the price written at the bottom of the paper, and I don’t get a chance to voice myself before he interrupts. 

“It’s steep, I know. But we need to buy you a whole new engine.” 

“No I get it, it’s just, you know, it doesn’t make it any less scary.” I lean forward on the desk, filling out the rest of the form, handing him the paper. 

“It should be around a week, but I’ll keep you updated as I go.” 

“Thanks,” I say, looking him in the eyes “Not just for this but for taking it in last night, I think you literally saved my life.”

He chuckles again, “I don’t know if I’d go that far.” A faint blush creeps up on his cheeks. 

“I would Bucky, seriously. I think a lot of people would’ve just told me to fuck off and come back in the morning, so, thank you,” I turn around to start leaving, “you should come by Cafe Cloud sometime, have a coffee on me, you know, if you want.” 

I don’t give him a chance to reply, waving bye to Becky and walking back to work. 

*

Getting settled back into work was nothing short of horrid. Two machines broken, the register jammed, and the staff bathroom in  disarray. The next seven hours sped by, but not in the good way, in the way that left your head pounding and your feet burning. We were open still, but by now the crowds had gone, and the only people left were students who had their faces buried in laptops. The little bell above the drew my attention, as I watched Bucky walk up to the counter.

“Hey,” he said, voice rough, “I’m taking you up on that coffee if it still stands.”

“Course it does, what would you like?”

“Filter’s fine, thanks.”

I nod, “take a seat I’ll bring it out to you.”

It doesn’t take long for the filter to brew, and while it does I bring Bucky his cup and saucer, setting it down. While I grab the carafe, I grab him a blueberry muffin too. Filling up his coffee, I set the muffin down in front of him. 

“Oh I didn’t-”

“I know, but it’s end of day. It’s either give them away or throw them out. They’ll be getting some too,” I nod around to the other 3 people left in the cafe. “Shout if you want more.”

“Actually, I uh,” he starts, looking pained at the fact he’s speaking “I wondered if you wanted to sit with me, if you’re not busy or anything.”

“Sure, just give me a second.” I turn around and walk back behind the counter, pouring myself a cup and making sure my co-worker was okay on her own, before sitting down with Bucky. 

“I just, I don’t know, what I’m doing here actually.”

I raise my eyebrows at him, laughing at his facial expression, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here.

“I wasn’t going to come, but then I thought, Becky’s at a friends for dinner, and I don’t really wanna sit at home on my own, so I’m here now and I’m blabbing your ear off.” He laughs a little at himself, taking a sip of his coffee, “Shit this is good, what the hell?”

I laugh at the change in his attitude as I watch him take another sip, “On your own? Becky’s mum not home?”

His face contorts into something unreadable while he splits the muffin in half, pushing one half to me, keeping the other for himself. “Ah no, she uhm, she’s not really around, anymore. Not for a while now.”

My face scrunches up at his revelation, “Damn, I’m sorry. Is she still with us?”

Bucky chokes on his coffee, “Yeah, yeah she’s still kickin’ somewhere. She just,” he shrugs, wiping at his mouth with a napkin, “decided she didn’t want anything to do with us so she left.” 

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“That must’ve been awful, I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, “Honestly she’s been gone for longer than she was around. It feels a little like it’s always just been me and Becky against everything else.” His face lights up a little at the mention of his daughter, the corners of his mouth lifting into a smile. “I don’t think she really remembers her mum anyway, or at least she’s real good at pretending she doesn’t.” 

“How long has it been just you two?”

“About four years.”

I think for a second, “If Becky does remember her mum then it’s probably very little anyway. Don’t think kids really start having conscious thoughts until they’re about two. You tried asking her?”

He shakes his head no, and finishes off picking at his half of the muffin, “I keep meaning to, I just, I don’t want to make her sad, make her feel like she’s missing out on what other kids have, you know?” He looked at me then, his stormy-blue eyes looking mine. 

“I don’t think you’d make her sad, as long as you were careful about the reason why her mum left. As for the missing out, she’s going to feel like that anyway,” I hold my hands out in front of me at the horrified look on his face, “Maybe not now, and hell maybe I’m incredibly wrong and she’ll never feel like that, but when I was a teenager and I didn’t have my mum around, I was so jealous of my friends it was ridiculous.”

“Your ma leave you too?”

“Not voluntarily. She passed when I was about ten. So when I was a little older and discovering literally everything, it made me angry at the world, ‘cuz why did everyone else get a mum that lived but me? You know?” 

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I lost my parents too, a while ago. It’s not easy.”

I shake my head, “no it’s not, but my point is it’s probably going to happen to Becky too. I just wonder if it would be any consolation to her if you talked about her mum more. But again, it’s not really my place to say, so please, ignore me.”

By now the last of the customers had gone, and it was just me, Bucky and my coworker Morgan left in the place. Bucky and I had  spent the last two hours talking about nothing, and I ended the day feeling like I’d made a new friend, even if he was almost twenty years older than me. He sat and watched as Morgan and I closed, laughing here and there at our music choices and berating us when we got distracted. 

“Alright, I’m ready to go,” I say to Bucky, my work apron now off, bag on my shoulder.

He opens the door for me, letting me out first. 

“So, I’m up a couple blocks that way,” I point up the road. “It was nice to see you again, and please, come by anytime.” I start to walk off but I don’t get very far before a strong hand wraps around my arm, stopping me in my tracks. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Going home?”

“You’re walking?”

“Well my car is under your care so unless you’d like me to somersault home.”

“I’ll drive you.” 

Bucky doesn’t give me time to respond, placing one arm softly on my back, barely perceptible, as he guides me across the street to his jeep. He opens the passenger door, and gives me his hand as he helps me in, shutting the door and walking round to his side. I give him the address, and we drive off, but not before he grumbles about the part of town I’ve chosen to live in.

It takes us all of three minutes to drive back to my apartment.

“Do you wanna come up, for a glass of water or anything?”

“Yeah. That’d be nice.”

He opens my car door, letting me step out and walk us over to the building. I lead him up the stairs and down the hall to my door. I wince as I realise I’d forgotten about the St Bernard currently waiting for me.

“Any chance you’re scared of dogs?”

“Not at all. Why?”

I smile as sweetly as I can, opening the door and walking in to meet Cheryl, the dog currently jumping up and down at the sight of her owner. I pet her, holding her by the collar as Bucky shuts the door. 

“Bucky, meet Cheryl. Cheryl,” I kneel down, scratching behind her ears, “You be the good girl I know you are, this is Bucky, he’s no danger.”

Cheryl tentatively walks to Bucky, who’s holding his hand out for her to sniff and get used to. She sniffs for a few seconds, before flopping down onto her back, inviting Bucky to rub her belly. I laugh at her, but the sight of Cheryl getting along with Bucky makes my chest feel oddly warm. I go to pour him a glass of water and leave it on the kitchen island. 

“Hey sweet girl,” he talks to Cheryl, “You’re gorgeous aren’t you?” Cheryl barks playfully, 

“Yeah you are, attagirl.” He pets her head again before standing up and walking back over to me, taking a sip of the water.  

“Cheryl?”

There’s a sheepish smile on my face as I say, “I used to love Cheryl Cole. It felt right.”

He laughs then, the lines by his eyes evident when he does. He puts the glass of water down as he walks around the apartment, taking it in, the dog trailing behind him, tail wagging furiously.

It isn’t fancy, by any means. The kitchen and living room were right there when you walked in, and there was one bedroom and one bathroom. But after a few coats of a warm yellow paint, a few days of bookshelf building, and hours of various trinket organising, it had become home. 

Bucky stood by a shelf of records, taking his time looking through them. “Radiohead?” he scoffs playfully, rolling his eyes, “Let me guess, you’re a creep? A weirdo even?”

I can’t help but laugh at him, walking over to stand by his side. I take the vinyl out of his hands and put it back on the shelf, “leave me alone, I think they’re good. There are literal millions of people who agree with me.”

He turns to face me, arms crossed over his chest. “There are also millions of people doing crystal meth. That doesn’t make it good.” He laughs at my reaction then, tipping his head back and placing his hand on his stomach. 

When he finally composes himself, his gaze settles on my face. I physically watch his eyes as they take in all my features, from my hair to my eyes, to my nose, my lips. His gaze doesn’t drop any further, but it takes a while for him to look back into my eyes and when he does, his own have grown darker.

“I should go,” he says, clearing his throat. “It’s getting late and I still need to pick up Becky so,” his voice trails off as he walks to the door. 

He opens it, then turns around, “thank you for tonight, I needed that.” 

I offer him a smile as he leaves, and I move to lock my door. Cheryl runs up to me, panting and her tail wagging. I kneel down to give her a kiss, whispering to her “I think I may have just met your dad.”

[coolemmasulivan2]

You're the Worst (But Come Get Me)

Pairing: Ferran Torres x Reader

Summary: Ferran teases you during your "me time" and you give him the silent treatment. But when your car breaks down the next morning, he's still the first person you call.

Word count: 1226

Author's note: First time writing for Ferran. Let me know how I did!

Que tu cuerpo e' mi lugar favorito Y tu boca, mi comida favorita Porque tú ere' lo que yo necesito Porque yo soy lo que tú necesitas

It had all started over something stupid, the night before.

He knew it was stupid, he was aware, in the way only someone who had spent the last few years dating a woman with the patience of a saint and the zero-tolerance policy of a nurse working back-to-back shifts could be.

The night before, you'd come home tired, already peeling off your shoes before the door shut. He had just come back from training, full of energy from practice and zero awareness of volume.

You made tea, grabbed your blanket, and turned on your favorite show, the one you'd been looking forward to all day. It was your "do not disturb" time.

But of course, he'd disturbed.

Approaching you from behind the sofa, he cupped your jaw making you look up at him and kissed you passionately. His lips always took your breath away, but this was not his time.

You pushed him away, breaking the kiss. "Guapo, stop it." You said, looking back at the TV. (Handsome)

He flopped down beside you on the sofa, his hair still damp from the shower and a protein bar in his hand.

"¿Qué es este?" He asked, eyes on the screen and an arm over the back of the grey sofa. "Wait, is this the one where the twin brother ends up being the killer?" (What's this one?)

She stared at him, mouth opened in disbelief. "Ferran!!!"

He laughed at her reaction. "Lo siento, no sabía que no lo habías visto todavía." (I'm sorry, I didn't know that you hadn't watched it yet.)

"Today is the first time I sat on this sofa this week, when could I have watched it?"

"Well, I just summarised it to you. Now you know who's the killer and you don't need to waste your time watching it." He smirked and played with the hem of your t-shirt. "Maybe... deberíamos desperdiciar nuestro tiempo en actividades más productivas." (We should waste our time doing more productive activities.)

You stared at gin and without a word, stood up, took your tea, and walked away.

"Wait, babe, I'm sorry! You're not really mad, are you?" He waited for a response, but nothing, just the sound of the bedroom door closing. "Okay, you're doing the silence thing again. Shit!" He said to himself.

You woke up with his arm slung over your waist, his face buried in your hair.

The room was quiet, only the sound of the rain tapping against the window.

He was warm against you.Normally, your loved mornings like this. You would've rolled over, tucked yourself closer into his chest, and let yourself have just ten more minutes.

But not today.

You shifted slowly, pulling yourself out of his arm and slipping from the bed.

He stirred a little but didn't wake up, instead he let out a soft sigh and rolled toward the warmth you left behind.

You got dressed quietly and tiptoed downstairs into the kitchen. Your shift didn't start for over an hour, but you’d planned to stop by the grocery store first and then straight to the clinic. Easy!

The rain was heavier, by the time you finished shopping. You loaded the bags into the back seat and climbed into the car. But as you pressed the start button... Nothing.

"Are you serious right now?" You muttered.

You tried again. Still nothing. Just that sickly clicking noise and a dashboard that refused to light up.

You groaned and sat there in the quiet for a long moment, forehead against the wheel, before sighing and pulling out your phone.

The phone rang three times, before he picked it up.

"…Hello?" His voice was thick with sleep. Low, scratchy, confused. You were still annoyed with him, but the fact that you had woken him up, broke your heart.

"My car won't start!" You said flatly.

"You've broken your vow of silence." He said smugly. "¡Gané!". Silence. Then a slight shift in his tone. "You want me to come get you?" (I win!)

"No." You said sarcastically. "I just called to hear your sleepy nonsense."

He chuckled, voice gravelly but warming. "Love when you're sassy! Where are you?" You told him where you were. "I'll be there in ten." You thanked him and hung up before he could say anything else.

He pulled into the parking lot in nine minutes flat and parked next to you.

You grabbed the shopping bags from the back seat, placing them in Ferran's car.

You got into the car and rolled your eyes, seeing the smug smile on his face. In back joggers and a hoodie, he looked like he'd rolled out of bed and driven still half asleep.

Without saying anything, he handed you a steaming to-go cup of coffee.

"I added extra sugar." He said. "Figured that was appropriate."

She took a sip. "It's awful."

"But you're drinking it." He glanced sideways, a smirk tugging at his mouth. "You still mad about last night?"

"Yes!"

"Pero igual me llamaste." (But you still called me.)

"You were convenient."

"Ouch." He clutched his chest. "You wound me."

They drove in silence for a while, the rain drumming steadily on the windshield.

He kept glancing sideways at you, waiting for a smile, a glare, something. But you kept sipping your too-sweet coffee, looking out the window.

Trying his luck, he placed his hand over yours.

You looked down, before giving him a look. "Take your hand off, Torres!"

He only squeezed your hand, bringing it to him and kissing it. "Eres tan mala, hermosa. Ya te dije que lo siento." You only rolled your eyes. (You're so mean, beautiful. I said I was sorry.)

When you pulled into the clinic parking lot, he didn't let go of your hand.

"Ferran, I have to go."

He tilted his head slightly, lips twitching. “Can I kiss you or are you still pretending you don't miss me?"

"When you get home, don't forget to take the bags out of the car." You said, ignoring his question and reaching for the door.

"Wait." He said. You looked at him. "¡Por favor, solo un beso!" His voice lower now, softer. (Please, just a kiss!)

You didn't say anything. But didn't move away either. He tilted his head, lips just barely a breath from yous.

And then, at the last second, you turned your head, letting his kiss land on your cheek.

He pulled back slowly. "Oh no. You're not doing that."

His hand slid behind your neck, warm, his fingers brushing the edge of your hair. He pulled you toward him and kissed you passionately.

And even though you were still annoyed, you kissed him back right away.

Because you always did.

His mouth on yours felt like home. Like something you didn't want to admit you needed every damn day.

When you broke apart, your foreheads rested together. Your hand curled in his hoodie, anchoring him to you without a word.

He grinned, smug again. "See? You like me better when I shut you up."

"Te odio!" You muttered. (I hate you!)

"También te quiero." (I love you too.")

You groaned and opened the door. "Drive safe, idiot."

He reached across, tugged your wrist and stole one more kiss before you could climb out.

"Have a nice day, love."

You walked off shaking your head, but you couldn't hide the smile.

[brattyspence]

you say dad!spencer and i come running like the wind. with the time change this weekend i’ve been thinking about spencer with a little one whose sleep schedule does NOT adjust well with the time change and does the whole “the sun is out so i should be awake” debate and then chaos ensues because spencer thinks blackout curtains but then it’s too dark even with the nightlight

a/n: dad!spencer requests always open. always. not proofread bc i dont wanna ❤️

tags: girl dad!spencer, no mention of reader bc ???, fluff fluff fluffy

word count: ~ 600

masterlist

Spencer thinks he has it all figured out.

The morning begins smooth enough. Charlotte is coaxed out of bed with the promise of Nutella on toast and five extra minutes of story time before school. She's sleepy, full of yawns and grumpy toddler expressions, but she's up and cooperating.

“Why did we get up early?” She asks, socked feet wiggling off the edge of the sink as Spencer attempts to mix her mess of hair into a more presentable look.

“We didn't,” he replies. “We got up at the same time we always do.”

“No,” she huffs. “It's dark outside.”

Spencer sighs, nudging one loose curl back behind her ear. “Yeah. We lost an hour last night.”

“We lost an hour?”

He senses his mistake immediately.

“No. Not exactly. We didn't lose the hour-”

“Where did it go?”

“It didn't go anywhere. We just turned the clocks back an hour.”

“But why?”

It's futile, he knows. There's almost no point in explaining to to her. He knows she could understand, but she's a toddler. She will choose to fight and poke and prod, especially if it means making bedtime more complicated for him.

That night, the conversation picks right back up where it left off.

“But the sun is out,” Charlotte says, voice full of conviction. “When the sun is awake, I’m awake.”

“The sun is always awake,” Spencer replies. “It never goes to sleep. It's just visiting another part of the world.”

“But-”

“Honey.”

Charlotte frowns, watching him draw her curtains closed, leaving her room darker than it's ever been.

“Is the moon gone?” She asks, voice noticeably smaller.

Spencer sighs. He knows she's not not pushing his buttons anymore. The usual bite has left her tone, and instead he's reminded that shes three. She's actually asking a question this time.

“No. The moon is on its way. It's just… running late today.”

Even in the dark room, he can just barely see the reflection of her wide eyes staring back at him.

“You're sure?”

He nods, although she can't see. “I’m sure."

She's quiet now. He knows she's thinking, trying to work it all out in her own way, and she won't be sleeping if she's worried.

“Scooch over.”

Bedsheets ruffle and shift as Charlotte repositions herself, making room for him on the edge of her bed. She tucks herself up against him, wiggling around for a moment until she's content.

“I'll tell you all about the moon and the sun and how they work if you close your eyes and try to sleep,” he says.

Charlotte nods, squeezing her eyes shut.

As he begins to explain the time change, starting from the tilt of the earth and how it rotates, he knows she's listening. Her eyebrows furrow slightly, and she fidgets every so often.

“-and we orbit the sun. Orbit means that we rotate around it. And it takes us one whole year to orbit the sun.”

“I've been around the sun three times?” She asks, peeking one eye open.

“Mhm. So if you think about it, on your birthday, the earth is right back where it was on the day you were born.”

In a few more minutes, her grip on his shirt softens, and soon she's asleep.

Spencer knows he should leave her be– putting her to bed like this is only creating bad habits–but he doesn't. Instead, he makes sure she's tucked in, and then settles himself in against her pillows. Really, you only get a few trips around the sun before your kids grow up and stop asking hard questions.

[yanderefarm]

yandere vampire's pet

cw;; dehumanization?, blood, vampires, humans as pets, yandere, angst, suggestive

this is the last named and drawn oc i have ready. i still have two more concepts in my drafts but they're not finished yet.

this might not show his yandere tendencies as well as characters like ares or emil but he's more of a self destructive type. he's more likely to hurt himself for doing something wrong than he is likely to hurt someone for touching you.

also i had to include the vampire guilt and angst im only human (human with a guilt kink)

you're a vampire lord in a world run by vampires with a yandere human pet who you found in a run down human farm after he basically threw himself at you. who clung to your leg and insisted he tasted so sweet you wouldn't regret taking in. who you took pity on seeing his scarred neck and decided to take him with you home.

you fed him and brought him to full health in a year. on the anniversary he begged on his knees for you to make him your pet. you complied. you didn't expect the preservation procedure that would allow him to stay with you forever to mess up his brain. or maybe this was always his personality.

he begged you every day to feed on him. he would sneak into your bed chamber and cut his neck to wake you up. he would sit himself in your lap around noon and undo his shirt buttons to give you easy access. if you dared to refuse him he would cry and beg so pathetically.

you made him this way why didn't you want him? he would often cry until you feel guilty for destroying his humanity. you always gave into him. he always got clingier. he tried not to get in your way during work but one day you let him lay his head on your lap and sit in your office quietly all day. so you had to let him again the next day.

if he really pushed too far you would lock him in an old attic room. oh how he sobbed. you would open the door the next day to be met with his bloodshot eyes that held no light. he would kiss your shoes and cling to your legs while he spoke hoarse apologies. you always forgave him and carried him in your arms to eat breakfast.

on the occasions that you two went to a party held by your fellow vampire lords he would always try to show off. you'd buy him new clothes and a new ribbon to hide his old scars. he liked being the most beautiful arm candy for you. it wasn't unusual for high quality pets to get passed around at these parties. at the end of the night he would often find himself in a strange bed, dizzy from being bled and pathetically crying for you.

your dear pet had spent the whole night being ravaged while you were doing business. his naked and used body laying in the unfamiliar bed, barely conscious. you sighed as you sunk onto the bed, your added weight causing him to shift slightly but he made no noise. usually by now he would be sobbing and reaching wildly for you, those degenerates must have really worked him hard.

you reached out and played with a piece of his hair. "I'm sorry, you poor pathetic creature."

your cold lifeless hands gently brush against his warm cheek. his body finally shifts a little, instinctively pulling away from the cold. you can't help the sad smile that falls on your lips seeing that. you forget how cold you are with how he clings to you at every opportunity. you can smell his blood right now and the tug of your instincts tells you to feed. you forget that you're a monster with how he treats you with such adoration and reverence.

"your life would have been better if you never met me." you push his hair away from his neck, revealing the old scars with fresh wounds scattered among them. your fingers brush against his pulse and he gasps.

you watch his olive eyes blink open slowly, they look almost too heavy to open. you want to gently close them like one would a corpse but the wide smile that spreads across his face stops you. if your heart could still beat you're sure it would have skipped.

"good morning." you said softly.

he used all his remaining strength to wrap around your waist. "y/n..."

his voice is so hoarse and he sounds so exhausted but there's the undeniable happiness. you guide his head to your lap, cold fingers twirling around his hair again.

"was i good...?" his eyes blinked slow again.

"yes. you were so amazing again tonight." you felt the weight of guilt pressing against your chest.

"reward m'...~" you knew he was asking you to indulge in him as so many others had tonight so you just ignored him.

you gently gathered him up in your arms, the top sheet draping over his body. you grabbed his discarded ribbon off the bed before you began carrying him out. the ribbon was sat on his stomach and his weak hands fiddled with it idly. he seemed to be too deep in thought to let sleep overtake him again.

"master... 'm glad you made me...." he nuzzled his head against your chest.

"your father made you." you corrected as you approached your carriage.

"no... y'... made m' y'r pathetic creature." his eyes finally started to close. "so glad m' life is master's.."

[motthe]

there's no death here | robert "bob" reynolds [part 3.5]

ཐིཋྀ: this isn't what i want to be part 4 so we're gonna call it an in-between to save my sanity and give ya'll something to read at the cost of my roman numeral aesthetic (rip she'll be missed).

warnings: dialogue heavy, absolute fluff, hints of jealousy, tiny bit of angst for days loong since past.

masterlist| ao3

There are three floors dedicated to housing the New Avengers. The original setup hadn't been changed: two rooms, full bathrooms attached, and a shared living/dining room with a full kitchen. Being the gentleman, Bucky offered his room to you for the remainder of the morning. He refused to leave you on a half-finished floor or the couch of the shared meeting space. He was also an hour out from his alarm going off. Getting back to sleep wasn't in the cards for the super soldier.

In the elevator, he explained he lived on the same level as Walker. Yelena was floored with Bob and Ava with Alexei. When you asked how that had come around, he gave a bone tired sigh.

“Ava would kill Walker in his sleep,” he said, point-blank. “Walker would kill Alexei with how loud he snores—this was the only option.”

“Guess Yelena wasn't budging?” you chuckled. Then again, you understood if she’d wanted as much space from her dad as possible.

“She's closest with Bob. Just made sense.” He opened his door for you, giving you the grand tour with a single arm wave. The room was spotless, everything having a dedicated place. Likely old army habits. “She pulls him out of his head. The rest of us are distractions at best.”

“Hey,” you murmured, nudging his shoulder with yours, “he cares about all of you so much. You're family.”

“Some family,” he scoffed, but there was a lift to the corner of his mouth. “Certainly warmed up to you fast.”

“Easy to get attached when you're in and out of each other's head. You saw how I was with Nat and Wanda.”

Bucky's lips flat-lined. Paired with a criminal side-eye, you shook your head and schooled your expression.

“Don't.” You turned to his bed, ripping off the comforter and climbing in. “I promised to help him. He's had enough trauma bonds to last a lifetime.”

“Its not a crime to get close to him, kid,” he grumbled, sighing when you gave your final look of warning. “All right. Just washed the sheets yesterday, but looks like you don’t care—” you grunted, burrowing into the bed—“yeah, figured. Get some sleep. You're welcome to anything.”

“Thanks,” you breathed, settling into his large and expensive mattress. “Night, Bucky.”

“Good morning.”

He closed the door on you rolling your eyes, the lights automatically dimming. The soft whir of electricity kept the lingering silence at bay. Between the light smell of his cologne and the original layout, there was an old sense of comfort being here but a strange uncanniness to it all, too.

Everything always changes.

You were exhausted, but your eyes remained wide open. Laying there facing the ceiling to floor windows, you watched the first streaks of sunlight peek through with slow breaths. The blue hour steadily brightened to gold. That never changed, at least, even after countless all-nighters for work.

Maybe I should’ve just stayed up like Bucky and done something useful. The lingering aches in your neck and back detested the train of thought.

A brush against your mind had you tensing and cursing at the muscle cramp before you recognized Bob's energy. Rubbing your neck, you allowed your shield to soften but not enough to provide him full entry.

You okay? you asked.

“I'm fine. I just… You're hurting. Are you okay?”

You frowned, shifting the covers over the bottom half of your face. That's weird. You shouldn't have been able to read my thoughts.

“It's not—I wasn't trying to. I mean I couldn't hear you, but I could feel you, you know?”

You had empath abilities, so it wouldn't be insane to think Bob shared the talent with his phrenic powers. That and maybe you didn't have the tightest security on your mind. It had been a long night. What do I feel like then?

“Physically? Like me reading with my head down all day.”

And emotionally? You quizzed just because you were curious.

“Maybe…despondent?”

You huffed, already well aware where that word had come from. Dr. Arlington brought out the emotion chart, huh?

“I didn't realize how many flavors of sad there were.”

Flavors? you laughed.

“It sounded better than ‘types’ but I immediately regret everything.”

You giggled into your pillow, finally letting your eyes drift shut. Thanks. I feel better.

“I'm sorry I ruined your night.”

You didn't. It wasn't your fault.

“I can tell it was bad. Yelena was looking at me differently.”

I don't want you to worry about it.

“I don't remember what happened,” he said, surly with himself. “Worrying is all I can do.”

I'll clue you in, you promised, just not right now. I'm tired.

“Me too. My brain just won't shut up.” There was a pause where both of your psyches drifted, his nudging yours before pulling back. “Sorry. How do you keep yourself in one place?” You threw a mental shrug his way and felt his awe at understanding it. “We can emote in here?”

You were too exhausted to laugh. Smiling hurt, but you did it without a second thought. So much we can do. Probably. Wanda and I would watch movies from memory and play simple games sometimes. Good practice but she skipped a lot of scenes sometimes.

“Wanda?”

Scarlet Witch? You were surprised to sense he hadn’t heard of her. She was a part of the Avengers for a while.

“I've lost a lot of time over the years. Never really kept up with news or social media.” The image of books and libraries flashed by. A kind old librarian signing off on a library card and telling him not to worry about the address. “I read about them a bit before I was…this. Maybe I should study up since I apparently have an amalgamation of their powers.”

Hmm. Good idea. You also were inspired for your next lesson with him.

“You mean today?”

Another shrug, weaker this time. You barely felt him brush over you, another accident like bumping into your friend on the sidewalk. There was warmth, bashfulness, an understanding. Something you couldn't quite pinpoint passing through in your fading awareness.

“I'll let you sleep.”

Mmm. Night, Bob.

A hand squeeze, scratchy fingers pushing back your hair or fixing the blankets closer. All those things wrapped into one as you drifted away from him, but they were so easy to lose and forget.

“Sweet dreams.”

It echoed into sleep.

Bob had never been much of a cook for many reasons but left to his own devices while the team was out, he thought it would be something worth learning, especially after Alexei's rule at the Watchtower after their second week living together.

“We eat dinner as team. As family.”

Bucky agreed to it, the actual leader on paper, but he had added to the rule: every floor divided up the work. Tonight was Ava and Alexei's turn and if the team knew anything, it was to come to those dinners with low expectations. But, since then, he had gotten a small talent for simple recipes, and being able to provide something—anything for the people who took him in when no one else would…

Well, it made him feel a bit better about himself. He couldn’t help them on missions, not as he was, so this was the next best option.

Yelena walked into the shared kitchen with all the swagger of a deadly assassin, footsteps always soft but never quite enough that Bob’s super hearing didn’t pick it up unless he was too deep in his head. “Smells good in here.”

“I made extra,” he called back, smiling to himself. She always ate whatever he made, even the more ungodly versions in the past. She also had amazing timing, never far when he started cooking. She was also a snacker and made it a habit to check he was eating during his lower days. It was easier with someone else around to remind him.

“Breakfast?” she said it in a teasing tone as it was technically lunch time, but Bob had been in the mood for morning-associated foods after everything hours ago. Also, his bread was going stale, and he knew how to remedy that.

Yelena stepped up beside him, thanking him as he pointed out the plates on the counter. “Did you get any sleep?”

“Not really. I tried,” he sighed, scared of worrying her, “but it was driving me crazy just laying there.”

Yelena gasped softly, ducking into his vision and pointing. “Is that French toast? We’re fancy now?”

He shrugged, smiling into his shoulder and keeping an eye on the bacon in the mini oven.

“Lots of food here,” she noted, filling her plate.

“I was gonna ask the others, too.”

“And maybe a certain guest?”

He glared at her but there was no real anger behind it. The timer went off, interrupting her bouncing eyebrows. He grabbed the cooking glove and set the hot pan over the back of the stove top to cool, meat sizzling and crunchy—just how she liked it.

“Felt like it's the least I could do,” he murmured.

Yelena made a noise in the back of her throat as she took her first bite of French toast, leaning back against the counter to keep him company. The eggs got cold fast, so he was making them now. “With how good this tastes, she might marry you.”

He rolled his eyes, moving the slices of bacon onto a paper towel plate when there was time between scrambling the yolks. “You want some eggs, too?” Yelena thrusted her plate out, mouth full and two slices of bread half-eaten. “You forgot the syrup,” he pointed out.

She shook her head, garbling out, “Powder sugar’s sweet enough.”

“That’s like, the whole point of French toast. No one eats it without syrup.”

“Well, I do. Meh,” she grumbled, her side bumping his as they passed smiles.

By the time he was munching on his own breakfast-for-lunch, Yelena was wishing him a good day and heading out. Dressed in athletic pants and a tank, he assumed she would be training. The home gym wasn’t quite finished yet, but Valentine had found them a place nearby with some sponsorship or something. He hadn’t gone yet despite the multiple invites, but his crazy body didn’t seem to be softening up with the lack of exercise. Yelena cursed him for that.

“Oh,” she paused in his doorway, turning to look at him, “she stayed in Bucky's room I think.”

He choked on his orange juice.

“I didn't mean it like that,” she said, stern and expression wholly unimpressed.

“I-I mean, they're close,” he coughed, grabbing a paper towel and wincing as the movement sent his fork off his plate and onto the counter. Everything was so loud these days. “Shouldn't be that surprising.”

“If he liked her, I would know.” She tapped her temple. “I sense these things. You have no competition, Bob.”

“That's not what I was saying,” he complained, refusing to look at her, but the noise she made proved she wasn’t leaving until he did.

She just pointed at him when he turned, Cheshire cat grin bright. “Be good. Be back in a couple hours.”

Rubbing at his eye as it twitched, Bob sighed and leaned back against the counter. He glanced at the mess he’d made from cooking—already tired at the thought of cleaning—and then the ceiling. He swallowed because Bucky's room was above his. That made sense from how close he had sensed you last night.

You'd been different that time around, less casual-acquaintance-that-knew-far-too-much-about-him and more... More like a friend. Those moments had been popping up more, but last night you'd felt so comfortable around him in that space. You'd been easing off every few seconds but still trying to be attentive, caring. It made his heart ache--a fondness so deep it truly did physically hurt.

He felt trusted. Like maybe you really weren't afraid of what he could become with one wrong step.

Closing his eyes, he reached out for your subtle presence, always small until you opened up. How you kept such a solid shield up even in your sleep was awe-inspiring. Would he be able to do that?

Just as he moved a bit closer, wondering if he should attempt to rouse you so the food wouldn’t get too cold, you rippled, and he panicked. Before he could withdraw, you were meeting him halfway, groggy and confused.

“What time is it?”

He could hear the sleep in your voice even here in this in-between. Uh, just passed noon, I think?

The shock of that revelation passed through. “I can't believe I slept that long. Shit.”

I made food. If you're hungry. You don't have to eat it.

Amusement had him ducking into his shoulders. You weren't even in the room, and he felt like hiding in embarrassment.

“I'd love some. What floor are you on?”

You're still in your pajamas when you walk off the elevator, hair a tad messier and wearing a plain grey sweatshirt that he didn’t remember seeing last night. It didn't fit at all.

He swallowed and passed you a tight smile.

“Walking around in my pajamas here feels like a walk of shame,” you murmured, and he chuckled, hands shaking a bit as he twiddled his fingers in front of him. “Should've grabbed my go bag from the car.”

His eyes perked up, a few steps taken towards the elevator. “Do you want me to grab it?”

“No, food first, please.” You grabbed your stomach, eyes beseeching. “I’ll apologize for my lowly attire after.”

“I’m still in my pajamas,” he huffed. The feeling of your eyes skating over him made him want to shrivel up and die.

“But you look so cozy and nice, still,” you complained.

He shook his head and nodded towards the dining table, big enough for the entire team and daunting with only two of you nearby. “I’ll, uh, fix you a plate.”

“Thank you.” And the way you said it as well as the way you looked at him when you said it—he wasn’t sure how to explain it, but it didn’t pass through or feel half-meant.

Everything you said always felt whole, and he wanted every word.

“Yeah,” he choked out, “of course.”

[goldfades]

joe x reader (6k celly, congratulations)!!

21. "i love you. i love loving you. it's something i'd like to do for eternity."

💐 proposal with this prompt, if it’s it on a vacation, I would love that!

aaahhh i love vaca joe, he's my fav. i hope you enjoyed, my love!

here's the song i was listening to while writing this, for the vibes:

warnings: nothing but fluff! kinda emo, proposal stuff, but very very soft joe!

You weren’t supposed to be here.

Not in this villa, not in this country, definitely not at this level of sun-drenched, champagne-flavored happiness, tucked away in the hills of Positano with Joe standing barefoot in the kitchen of your rental, flipping lemon pancakes and wearing the goofy little “CIAO BELLA” apron he swore he’d never touch, but here you were.

He’d just finished his first full healthy season in a while — 6,000 passing yards, MVP buzz, the kind of record-breaking year that made sports anchors speak about him with a reverence usually reserved for retired legends and planets in perfect orbit.

And he did it all like he always did—quiet, calculated, hungry. You knew better than anyone how hard he worked for this. The hours behind closed doors, the weight of expectation sitting on his chest heavier than any defender. You’d lived it with him. The rehab, the film, the games where every throw felt like a gamble with history. So when he crossed that final finish line and still looked like your Joe: soft-spoken and sleepy-eyed with cleats slung over his shoulder and that worn-down Bengals hat, you just about cried.

And then he said, “Let’s go away. Just us.”

And now… here.

It was only day three but it felt like you’d already unraveled and rewound yourself a dozen times. Long mornings in bed with the shutters open, letting the wind tell time for you. Afternoons spent wandering sun-bleached alleys, gelato sticky on your fingers, the ocean always catching the edge of your eye. And nights, those were yours. Bottles of wine, Joe’s feet in your lap and music humming low while you traced lazy circles into his skin.

He was lighter here. Laughing more. A little less made-of-stone and a little more made-of-boy. The kind who danced you around the kitchen just because Nina Simone came on, the kind who kissed you with his hands in your hair like he never wanted to be anywhere else.

You’d both needed this. The breathing room, the quiet.

But there was something else, too. A hum under your skin. A shift you couldn’t name. You’d caught him staring more than once — mid-sentence, mid-laugh, mid-forkful of pasta. Just looking, like he knew something you didn’t, like he was memorizing you.

And maybe that should’ve tipped you off.

Maybe the way he asked you to wear that dress tonight: the red one you almost didn’t pack, should’ve made you suspicious. Or the fact that he booked a private table on a rooftop with a view that looked stolen from a postcard. Or how his hands trembled, just a little, when he poured the wine.

But you didn’t know yet. Not then.

You just knew that you loved him. That loving him had always felt terrifying and soft and safe all at once. That whatever he was about to do, whatever he was carrying in his heart, you’d take it.

Every last drop of it.

The rooftop was already dripping in romance before you even got there.

It sat perched at the top of a boutique hotel that Joe had found on some forum weeks ago, buried in a thread titled “Hidden Gems in Positano”. It wasn’t huge, just one table, candlelight, string lights hanging from beams overhead and a view that could probably make the coldest person on earth believe in God.

The sun was sinking, one of those Mediterranean goodbyes, slow and deliberate. It washed the town in gold then blush, then something close to fire. The sky looked like it had been lit from within. The kind of view that silences you without even trying.

You’d dressed slowly that evening. Something about the way Joe had asked you, quiet and unassuming: “Would you wear that red dress tonight?” had stuck. He’d kissed your shoulder before he said it. Soft and casual, like he was asking a favor but also like it meant everything.

He wore a linen shirt you’d teased him about when he bought it in town yesterday: “You look like an off-duty yacht captain” but somehow it worked. His curls were still damp from the shower. He’d shaved. Not fully, just trimmed, like he cared about the night, about how it would live in memory.

He pulled your chair out for you. He always did, but tonight he looked at you a little longer before sitting down.

Dinner came in courses, each prettier than the last. Handmade pasta with fresh basil. Veal with lemon sauce. Caprese so fresh it didn’t taste like food, just like sunshine. Joe wasn’t saying much, which wasn’t weird exactly but his silences felt tighter than usual. Not tense. Just concentrated like he was holding something between his teeth and hadn’t figured out how to chew it yet.

You reached across the table, resting your fingers lightly on his. “You good?”

His eyes softened immediately. “Yeah. Just…” A pause. Then a crooked smile. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy in my whole life.”

Your heart clenched in that way it sometimes did with him, like he cracked open something delicate in you without trying.

“You deserve it,” you whispered.

He looked away then, toward the sea. The sky was darkening, the lights below flicking on like stars in reverse. His profile was half-shadowed, half-golden. You wondered if you’d ever stop memorizing him.

When dessert came, he didn’t touch it.

You were halfway through a bite of tiramisu when he stood up. Not in a jerky, nervous way. It was slow. Purposeful.

“Come here,” he said.

You blinked. “What?”

Joe held out his hand, the corners of his mouth twitching like he was fighting down a grin and failing. “Just for a second.”

You wiped your mouth, confused but smiling and let him pull you to your feet.

The music below drifted up from someone’s stereo, a Frank Sinatra record playing somewhere, warbling slightly in the open air. Fly Me to the Moon.

Joe’s hands found your waist, and he pulled you in close.

“Are we dancing?” you asked, already laughing.

“Yeah,” he said, breath close to your temple. “Kinda. Just… stand here with me for a sec.”

So you did.

You melted into him like you’d done a thousand times before, cheek pressed to his chest, heart syncing to the rhythm of his. He was warm. He smelled like aftershave and lemons and salt air. He held you like he was afraid he might forget the shape of you if he let go too soon.

A long moment passed. And then he pulled back just enough to see your face.

His eyes — gray-blue, stormy and steady, were searching yours. And something shifted in them. Something deep and impossible to miss.

He cleared his throat. Smiled once. Then dropped to one knee.

Your brain fizzled into white noise.

You stared down at him, mouth open, chest frozen mid-breath.

He was holding a ring. A simple one. Gold band. A diamond not too big but clear enough to catch the moonlight. But more than that, he was looking up at you like you were the only thing that had ever made sense in his entire life.

He didn’t rush it. He didn’t stumble.

He just said your name, quiet and sure. Like a vow all by itself.

“I didn’t know what I was doing when I met you.”

Your breath hitched.

“I just knew I liked the way you looked at me. Like you saw more than the jersey. More than the interviews or the stats, like you saw me.”

Your hands were trembling now.

“I didn’t plan any of this,” he continued. “Didn’t plan to fall for you so fast. Didn’t plan to need you like this, but it happened and I’ve spent every day since feeling like the luckiest man alive.”

You felt tears burn hot behind your eyes.

Joe’s voice was steady, low. His thumb rubbed slow circles into the back of your hand.

“I love you. I love loving you, and it’s something I’d like to do for eternity.”

You exhaled shakily. A single tear slipped down your cheek.

“I know it’s big. Forever always is. But I don’t want perfect. I don’t want easy. I just want you. As you are, as we are. I want the morning breath and the sarcasm and the fights about where to order takeout from. I want the messy, real, loud life we’ve built.”

Your knees were giving out. Your heart was somewhere near your throat.

Joe held up the ring. Not as a bribe, not as a prize. Just as punctuation. A promise.

“So… will you make me the happiest man alive, and marry me?”

You didn’t even realize you were crying fully now until your voice came out wet and cracked and somewhere between a sob and a laugh.

“Yes,” you breathed. Then louder, clearer. “Yes.”

He stood in one fluid motion, slipping the ring onto your finger with hands that were shaking just a little now. He kissed you like it was instinct, like breathing, like coming home.

The string lights flickered above you. The whole world seemed to hold its breath.

And then he pulled back just enough to whisper against your lips, voice thick and wrecked and full of everything he didn’t say out loud often.

“I love you. God, I love you.”

You were smiling so wide it hurt. Your hands were in his hair.

“Say it again,” you whispered.

He kissed your forehead.

“I love you.” A kiss to your cheek. “I love loving you.” A kiss to your mouth.

And with the stars blooming above you and the sea whispering secrets to the cliffs below, you let him.

[corroded-hellfire]

Could we perhaps get a blurb/chapter of when Eliza was born - maybe Eddie thinking back that this is so different than how Brittany was, when Y/N got into labor, where they were and how they reacted?

+ could you write about Eliza being born? I would love to see their reactions and eddie helping reader out plss

+ Please, let us in on the labor with Eddie and Reader from "As you wish". Did Y/N curse Eddie out, threatening to kick his ass or did Eddie do a prince Harry (God I hope not) and use all the gas?

I thought this would be a good chance to tell the story of two births of two very important Munsons, ten years apart 💕

Warnings: childbirth and all that comes with it, Brittany, not a warning but the italic sections are flashbacks/in the past

Words: 7.5k

[As You Wish masterlist]

The blaring wail of Eddie’s alarm clock wakes you up from your night of fitful sleep. It’s hard to remember the last time you had a full peaceful eight hours. The soreness in your lower back and the increasing pressure in your pelvis have been your loyal companions for the past few weeks, determined on not letting you have a moment of comfort. 

Next to you, Eddie smacks his hand against the clock. The whining stops and the bed shifts as Eddie rolls over and presses a kiss to your cheek.

“Morning, gorgeous.”

Your answering groan makes your husband let out a soft chuckle as he pushes himself up into a seated position. Figuring it’ll be better to get up than continue to lay there so uncomfortably, you roll onto your side and shove yourself up until you’re sitting. A look down at your feet reveals that your ankles are swollen. Again.

“Know what today is?” Eddie asks as he opens his underwear drawer. 

“Uh huh,” you hum. The mattress springs squeak as you stand up. 

“Think she’ll make her grand entrance today?” he asks.

“Doubt it,” you say through a yawn. “Babies are never born on their due date.”

Eddie strips off his shirt and comes around the bed to give you a proper good morning kiss. 

“How you feeling, baby?”

“Peachy,” you grunt. “Gonna go get the boys up.”

Luckily, neither Ryan nor Luke gives you any trouble waking up or getting ready for school. They know how you’ve been feeling lately and have been great about helping you out when they can. 

“Bye!” Ryan says as he slips his backpack on. 

“Have a good day,” Eddie says, ruffling both boys’ hair.

You press a kiss to the top of their heads and Luke rubs a hand across your swollen belly. 

“Be good in there, Eliza!”

A smile grows on your face at his words. They head out the door to the bus stop, Ryan giving you one last wave before you close the door.

“Alright, I’m gonna head out,” Eddie says. He walks over and cups your face in his warm hands. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”

“I will,” you assure him. 

He nods and presses a sweet kiss against your lips. 

“Relax and get some rest.”

“Okay.” You give him another kiss in return. “Have a good day at work.”

“Love you, baby.”

“I love you, too.”

Not even two minutes after Eddie walks out the door, you plop down in front of the television with the remote. The only thing on at this time of day are soap operas, which have started to become an addiction of yours since there’s nothing else for you to do. 

Fortunately, one of today’s plotlines is so boring and you predicted the identical twin brother twist a week ago, so you manage to fall asleep. It’s only a cat nap, but you’ll take anything you can get these days. 

A different kind of discomfort awakens you this time. Your stomach growls so loudly it feels like it rattles the windows. You rally the strength to get up from the couch, and with a little help from the arms and back of it, you’re standing. 

An infomercial for some Chuck Norris Total Gym blathers on as background noise as you walk–or more like waddle–into the kitchen. A peanut butter and banana sandwich has been a go-to for you during this pregnancy—after Luke happily introduced it to you one day over the summer. There’s something about the rich nuttiness and the sweetness of the fruit together between two pieces of bread that makes Eliza very happy in your womb. 

Once you’ve got peanut butter spread on both slices of bread, you move to grab a banana from the fruit bowl. The moment your hand touches the yellow peel, you feel a twinge of pain shoot from your lower back, through your tummy, and down into your pelvis. Your hand braces you against the counter as you breathe through the pain. 

What the hell was that? You think to yourself. That fucking hurt.

You take a deep breath and grab the banana. As you turn back to your sandwich and peel open the piece of fruit, it hits you.

Were those…contractions? No, you tell yourself, shaking your head. It had to be something else.

“No one ever actually has their baby on the due date,” you say into the quiet kitchen. “Maybe I have to pee again. I swear, this little girl thinks my bladder is a trampoline.”

Once you’re finished up in the bathroom, you head back to finish making your sandwich. But the minute you pick up the butter knife, another stab of pain attacks.

“Oh boy,” you say, one hand dropping the knife and going to your lower back, while the other rests on your bump. “You’re ready to come out, aren’t you? You heard that doctor say ‘October 7th’ and you made a note on a calendar, huh?”

The mental image of the baby in your belly marking the date off on a calendar makes you smile as you waddle over to the phone hanging on the wall. The line rings twice before someone picks up.

“Scott’s Auto Body, this is Mark speaking. How can I help you?”

“Hi, Mark.” You breathe through another twinge of pain. “Is Eddie there?”

“Yeah, let me go grab him for you,” Mark says.

“Thanks.”

It feels like an eternity as you hear the phone being put down, shuffling noises in the background, then low murmuring voices, until finally the phone is being moved again and you finally hear your husband’s voice.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” you say. “I, um, think I’m having contractions.”

“You are?”

It’s hard to tell if that’s excitement or urgency in his voice. Probably both.

“Yeah, the first one I just waved off as a fluke. But they’ve happened a couple of times now.”

“Alright, I’m on my way home, princess,” Eddie says, and you can already hear him moving around, starting the process. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you assure him. “They’re quick and not too close together yet. I’ll start counting when I feel the next one.”

“Good.” The sound of his keys jingling comes through the phone. “I’ll be there in a few minutes. I love you.” 

A hint of giddiness is already creeping into his tone. He’s wanted a baby girl for so long, and she’s finally ready to make her appearance. You make a mental note to think of Eddie’s excitement anytime a contraction overwhelms you. Of course, you have your own excitement, and lots of it, but seeing Eddie be so truly happy is one thing that could get you through all the pain in the world. 

Eddie unsheathes his sword as the azure dragon flies overhead. Too far for him to even reach if he threw his sword. The blood red skies cast a purple shadow on the giant winged creature. But Eddie’s almost there. He can see the tower in the distance, normally not a rough journey, but there’s bound to be something guarding the locked-away maiden.

As he gets closer, Eddie sees that it’s a female Cloud Giant tasked with keeping people like him away. Only the most noble who dare to help the poor young thing locked away. 

Eddie picks up speed, his sword at the ready as he approaches the giant, then—bam! Something lands against Eddie’s cheek. He looks up, seeing if the dragon perhaps swooped down to swipe the knight with his tail. But the skies are clear. So, Eddie continues forward. Bam! What the hell is—

Eddie is jolted back into consciousness by his own pillow smacking his face. 

“What the…” Eddie grumbles in a scratchy, sleepy voice. “What’s going on?

He rubs his bleary eyes and sees that Brittany is sitting on the edge of the bed, her back to him.

“Britt?”

Eddie stumbles to his feet and clicks on his bedside lamp before walking around the bed to check on his wife. The first thing he notices is that the crotch of her nightgown and the sheets below her are wet. 

Wow, this baby must really be messing with her bladder if—wait. 

“Your water broke?” Eddie's voice suddenly has no trace of sleepiness in it. 

“Yeah.”

Brittany isn’t looking at him. Instead, she looks down at her hands resting on her large bump. 

“Come on, let’s get you changed,” Eddie says, gently slipping his hand beneath one of her arms so he can help her up. 

Brittany groans once she’s on her feet and Eddie hurriedly turns towards their dresser and digs for something she can change into.

“Contractions?” Eddie asks as he grabs a pair of sweatpants.

“Mhmm.”

“It’s okay,” he assures her. 

Eddie quickly helps Brittany into her clothes and grabs her already prepared overnight bag from the closet. He slowly leads his wife into the living room so she can rest on the couch while he grabs Ryan. 

The twenty-two-month-old is sleeping soundly in his crib. Eddie hates to disturb him, but the ball is already in motion. 

“Wha?” Ryan croaks as Eddie scoops him up and holds him against his chest.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” he tells his son. “Go back to sleep.”

Ryan thunks his head down on Eddie’s shoulder and immediately begins lightly snoring. 

The soft whistle in his ear makes Eddie smile as he steps into the kitchen to use the nearest phone. He quickly dials a number he knows by heart and waits for someone to pick up at the plant.

“Yeah, hi, is Wayne there? Yeah, Munson,” Eddie says into the receiver. He hikes Ryan up a little higher on his chest while he waits for the phone to get passed.

“Hello?”

Eddie’s never been happier to hear that gruff voice.

“Hey! It’s, uh, me. So, Brittany’s water broke and Ryan needs—”

“I’ll punch out right now and meet ya at the trailer.”

God, Eddie loves his uncle. 

“Okay, see you there.”

Eddie heads back into the living room and helps Brittany up with one hand while the other keeps a good hold on Ryan. Somehow, Eddie manages to get them both in the car, all buckled and ready to go. 

“Whew.” Eddie takes a deep breath in the driver’s seat. He takes one more before he starts the car. “Here we go.”

The moment Eddie walks through the front door, he makes sure you’re sitting down and comfortable. Sitting down? Yes. Comfortable? Not so much. 

But you’re content with your peanut butter and banana sandwich as your husband presses a kiss to your forehead. 

“Nine minutes apart,” you inform him through a mouthful of peanut butter. 

Eddie chuckles at the muffled words.

“Okay. I’m gonna get changed, then call Wayne so he can be here for when the boys get home.”

You nod and take another bite of your sandwich. 

Eddie comes back just as another contraction is starting. You set your plate down on the couch to your right and Eddie takes a seat on the other side of you. One of your hands braces you against the cushion you’re sitting on, and Eddie slips his hand into your free one. 

“Just squeeze my hand, okay? And breathe.”

The pulsating wracks your body as you focus on taking in a large lungful of air. You hold it for a few seconds, counting time by the number of gentle squeezes you give Eddie’s hand, then let it out. 

“Ugh,” you groan when the pain releases you. You flop back on the couch, tipping your chin up as you try and catch your breath. “That was the longest one so far.”

“We’ll start timing that too,” Eddie says. 

He presses a kiss to your cheek before pressing a few to the back of your hands. His hands stall when you let out a deep sigh.

“Do you not want me to be touching you? What do you need?” There’s a shake in his voice that angers you, because you know exactly why and who made him unsure of how to comfort a woman in labor.

“Yes, I want you to touch me,” you say, grabbing his hand in both of yours. “Your touch calms me.”

It doesn’t escape your notice that his shoulders sag in relief before he wraps an arm around your shoulders. 

“Just let me know what you want me to do,” he says.

“This,” you reply, leaning into his arms. Your eyes slip closed as you snuggle up to the warmth of his body. “Want you.”

“I’m not leaving your side, princess,” he assures you. “Do you want to watch a movie?”

You nod against his neck and Eddie swipes up the remote. He flips through the channels, but it’s the middle of a Tuesday, so there’s not a whole lot on.

“I can grab a tape or a DVD?” your husband offers.

You shake your head, holding onto him even tighter.

“Don’t want you to move. Whatever you find is fine.”

“Alright, well…I guess we’ll watch The Scarlet Pimpernel.”

Eddie feels your chuckle rumble against his chest.

“That’s fine,” you say.

It’s only seconds before another contraction starts, and Eddie can tell by the way your fingertips dig into him. This one lasts about as long as the previous one, and you’re able to get semi-comfortable against your husband again.

The house is quiet, the two of you on the couch, watching a movie that neither of you have any real interest in. The low volume only makes the loud pop that echoes through the room even more pronounced. 

“My water just…”

“Yes, it did.”

A heavy pause hangs in the air as the two of you stare at one another. It’s obvious you have to get up and get going now, but the realization that this is really happening is sinking in for you both. 

“Holy shit,” you breathe out in a whisper.

This breaks Eddie out of his trance. He starts to laugh and presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Here we go, sweetheart.”

He helps you up off the couch and into your room so you can change clothes. With your husband's help, you slip into a dry pair of sweatpants, an oversized Ghostbusters t-shirt Luke got you when you complained that there were no comfy maternity shirts, and one of Eddie’s hoodies on top of it—even though you can’t zip it up. Your old college backpack has been filled with supplies for weeks, all in preparation for this moment. Eddie slides onto one of his shoulders and walks with you to the front door.

Just as the two of you step into the living room, the door opens. Wayne steps inside and it takes four seconds for his eyes to go from you to Eddie, to the bag hanging on his shoulder, then back to you.

“Thank God you’re here,” you sigh in relief. 

If for some reason he hadn’t arrived here before the boys got home, you knew they’d be okay for a while, but you’ll be able to relax more knowing that their grandpa is here with them. 

“Heading out to the hospital?” Wayne asks.

“Yeah,” Eddie answers with a nod. “Her water broke.”

A smile graces the older man’s features, and it softens him.

“You got this, darlin’,” he says as he opens the front door wide enough for you and Eddie to get through.

You shoot him a grateful smile as you step outside.

“We’ll call when we have any update,” Eddie tells his uncle.

Wayne just nods and pats Eddie on the back as he passes. The two of you walk to your car together and Wayne watches from the entryway, not wanting to go inside yet in case he can help in any way. 

Once you’re securely in the car, Eddie waves to Wayne before slipping into the driver’s seat. As he adjusts the rearview mirror, his eyes catch on the car seat that’s been installed for the past two weeks. It brings a smile to his face as he starts the engine.

“Let’s have us a baby,” Eddie says as he shifts the car into reverse. 

As soon as you arrive at the hospital, it’s very quick work when Eddie alerts them you’re in labor. You’re brought right to a room and hooked up to lines and so many wires you’re not even sure what they’re all for. 

Your doctor shows up not too long after you’re settled into your bed and says you’re not quite ready to push yet. Your contractions are getting closer together, but they’re not quite at the active labor phase yet. 

Now after being hurried up to this room and all set up to go, there’s nothing to do. The flurry of activity kept your mind off the pain that was creeping up in intensity each time it snuck up on you. But now that there’s nothing to occupy your mind, it feels like it’s all that fills your head.

“Do you want some pain meds, baby?” Eddie asks, slipping his hand into yours.

He must’ve noticed the way you were gritting your teeth hard enough to wear them down to nubs. 

“I can have some?” you ask.

“Sure, sweetheart. Let me go get the nurse.”

Eddie is right and the nurse is able to administer some medicine that allows you to relax a little. It takes enough of the edge off that you’re able to focus on and appreciate Eddie’s attempts to distract you from the pain and boredom. 

Your husband had prepared ahead of time and had slipped his battered and well-loved copy of The Two Towers into your overnight bag. He now brings the story to life for you, reading with such passion, and doing different funny voices for the different characters.

“‘Beren now, he never thought he was going to get that Silmaril from the Iron Crown in Thangorodrim, and yet he did, and that was a worse place and a blacker danger than ours,’” Eddie reads to you. “‘But that’s a long tale, of course, and goes on past the happiness and into grief and beyond it – and the Silmaril went on and came to Eärendil. And why, sir, I never thought of that before! We’ve got – you’ve got some of the light of it in that star-glass that the Lady gave you! Why, to think of it, we’re in the same tale still! It’s going on. Don’t the great tales never end?’ ‘No, they never end as tales,’ said Frodo. ‘But the people in them come, and go when their part’s ended. Our part will end later – or sooner.’” 

Then it’s time for the doctor to check how dilated you are and the timing of your contractions. It’s still not time, she tells you with a sympathetic smile before heading out to attend to other patients. 

Now, Eddie finds a pile of old magazines and newspapers strewn about a small table in the corner. He picks up an outdated print of the Washington Post at random, sits in the chair he’s positioned near your head, and begins to read a news article in an over-the-top news anchor voice.

“The first musical number epitomized the kind of commercialized outrageousness that MTV has perfected in recent years. It featured Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera, decked out in white wedding ensembles in a homage to Madonna, who famously wore a wedding dress on MTV's first Video Music Awards broadcast in 1984, when she performed ‘Like a Virgin.’ Madonna appeared dressed as a groom, and the number, which also briefly featured Missy Elliott, provided the evening's first gyrating rumps, as well as a truly yechy moment: The sight of oversexed old Madonna tongue-kissing oversexed young Spears. It didn't seem outrageous or sultry; it smacked of desperation.”

“Such outrage,” you joke with a shake of your head. 

“Kids today,” Eddie says with an over dramatic sigh. “All their music is just noise.”

You giggle and reach for his hand. He gladly takes it and laces his fingers with yours.

“How are you feeling, princess?”

“I’m good,” you tell him, giving his hand a squeeze. “My wonderful, loving husband is doing a great job of keeping me entertained.”

A smile that can only be described as adoring grows on Eddie’s face. He leans forward and presses kisses to your knuckles.

“Anything for you.”

By the time the hospital staff gets Brittany up to her room and hooked up to all the equipment, the doctor says it’s not long before she can start pushing. Which also means that there’s no time to give her any drugs—no matter how much she begs. 

“Ugh! This sucks,” Brittany complains once it’s just her and Eddie in the room. 

“I know,” Eddie says. 

“Do you?” she snaps back.

“I mean, I…” Eddie stutters over his words. “I was there when Ryan was born. I know the pain you were in then.”

“At least they were able to give me something for pain then. Now I can’t even get a fucking Tylenol.” 

“Do you want to talk about something to keep your mind off it?” Eddie offers. He scoots his chair up to the edge of the bed and rests a hand on Brittany’s blanket-covered thigh. 

“Fine,” the blonde grunts out. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Um…what about middle names? We haven’t decided yet.”

“Didn’t we?” Brittany sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose.

“No,” Eddie replies. “Just first names. Luke for boy, Lucy for girl.” 

“Fine. So, Ryan’s middle name is after your uncle because you just had to do that,” Brittany rolls her eyes and shrugs her shoulders. “What about from my family?”

“What names do you like?” Eddie says between clenched teeth. She's having my baby, she’s having my baby, she’s having my baby, he reminds himself over and over again. 

“Anatoly,” Brittany says. “For a boy.”

“Luke Anatoly Munson.” Eddie wrinkles his nose at how the name sounds out loud. “I don’t think that goes.”

“Fine.” Brittany’s silent for a moment as she considers other names. “Andrei?”

Eddie internally sighs. He’s always thought it was cool that much of Brittany’s family emigrated from Russia, but the land’s native names don’t flow well with “Luke Munson.” 

“Aleksandr,” Brittany suggests, pulling Eddie out of his own head. 

“Huh.”

Eddie leans back in his chair, letting the name roll around his brain. It's a good one, he thinks. But…

“Should we use the American spelling?” Eddie asks.

“Why, so he can be named after your dad?” Brittany bites out.

The room is silent as Eddie furrows his brow. He shakes his head in confusion as a nurse steps in to check on the monitors Brittany is hooked up to. 

“That’s not…Britt, that isn’t my dad’s name.”

“What?” Brittany stares at her husband as if he has three heads. “Of course it is.”

“People called him ‘Al’, yeah,” Eddie starts. “But his full name is Alan. Not Alexander.” 

“Oh.” Brittany waves a hand dismissively as if not knowing her husband’s dad’s name after years together is nothing—a common mistake, even. 

Eddie shakes his head, shoving the irritation to the back of his mind for the time being. There will be plenty of time later to be annoyed by Brittany’s ignorance and apathy. After the baby is born.

The tension grows in his neck, so Eddie rolls his shoulders and leans back in his chair.

“So, Luke Alexander Munson for a boy?” Eddie checks.

“Sure,” Brittany says as another contraction washes over her. The way her eyes squeeze shut so tightly and her teeth clench with a vengeance pangs Eddie’s heart. 

“And for a girl,” Brittany grits out, obviously trying to talk through the pain in an attempt to ignore it, “Lucy Alexandra Munson.”

“That’s pretty.”

Eddie goes to take his wife’s hand as her body relaxes from the fading contraction. But Brittany snatches her hand back.

“Please, just don’t…touch me.”

“Okay. Sorry.”

Eddie barely has time to feel the sting of rejection before the doctor is back in the room to check on Brittany’s progress. 

“Good news,” the doctor announces. “You’re dilated enough. It’s time to start pushing.” 

“Oh boy,” Brittany mutters, trying to garner strength from her exhausted body. 

The room is a flurry of activity as nurses prepare everything the doctor might need. 

Eddie stands and goes to reach for his wife’s hand before remembering she doesn’t want to be touched. But as another contraction wracks her body, Brittany reaches up and grabs his hand. It brings a small smile to Eddie’s lips, despite how hard she’s gripping it because of her pain. 

“Alright, Brittany,” the doctor says as he gets into position at the end of the bed, “we’re going to try pushing now.”

“We?” Brittany barks out in a strained and breathless laugh. 

“Well, mostly you,” the doctor teases as a nurse goes to stand on Brittany’s other side, opposite of Eddie. 

“Alright, honey,” the nurse says, putting one hand on Brittany’s shoulder. “Push when the doctor counts to three.”

“One, two…”

He doesn’t even get to three before Brittany starts squeezing the life out of Eddie’s hand. Eddie just clenches his teeth and takes it though, willing to soak up any pain that he can from his wife. 

“Jesus, fuck!” Brittany shouts through her pushing. Her face is already sweaty, matting hair to her forehead. Eddie’s quick to brush it away with his free hand.

“You’re doing so good, Britt,” Eddie encourages. “You’ve got this.”

Brittany nods, either in acknowledgment of his words or just because she wants him to shut up. 

“Almost there, Mrs. Munson,” the doctor says.

Eddie’s eyes widen in surprise. When Ryan was born, they were at it for a while before he decided to make his grand entrance into the world. People had told him that second babies tend to come out quicker, but Eddie didn’t know this one was practically banging down the door to get out. 

“This one’s got some mettle,” Eddie says. 

“Just like Dad,” Brittany grits out and it takes Eddie a second to get her joke. 

Mettle, metal? He got it. 

Eddie huffs a laugh, honestly impressed by her ability to come up with a joke while she’s trying to pass a human being through her body. 

“Okay, now just one more biiig push,” the doctor says. 

“Come on, hun,” Eddie cheers, bracing his hand against Brittany’s as she channels everything in her to push. 

“Almost there, almost there…” the doctor repeats. 

Suddenly the shrill sound of an infant wailing fills the small room. It’s the most beautiful sound Eddie has ever heard. 

“It’s a boy,” the doctor announces, holding the newborn up enough for the parents to see. 

Brittany drops Eddie’s hand out of pure exhaustion, but there’s a smile on her face as she drops back against the pillows. The baby is handed to a nurse for initial cleanup. 

“I’m so proud of you,” Eddie says softly to Brittany. 

She tilts her head up and gives him a sleepy smile. 

The softness in her gaze has Eddie leaning down to press a kiss to her lips. Surprisingly, she kisses him back. 

“Would you like to cut the cord, Dad?” the doctor asks.

“Yes,” Eddie responds before the doctor can even finish the question.

He walks down to the foot of the bed and takes the pair of scissors to the umbilical cord, snipping it in two. Eddie hands the scissors back blindly, as his eyes never leave his newborn son. No detail escapes his notice as he watches a nurse gently take him and lay him on Brittany’s chest. 

“Oh, hi,” Brittany says, one hand covering the entirety of his little back. 

Eddie comes back up to the head of the bed and beams down at his wife and baby. Brittany glances up at him, then back down. 

“Look at this beautiful boy,” Eddie coos. 

Brittany chuckles and Eddie leans down to kiss her head, then the newborn’s.

“Beautiful little Luke,” Brittany says. 

A nurse takes him back to fully clean him up and swaddle him in a soft white blanket. 

“You want to hold him?” the nurse asks Eddie.

“Yes.” Eddie nods emphatically and holds out his arms. 

The moment the gentle weight lands in his arms, Eddie’s eyes fill with tears. 

“Hi, my boy.”

“To place a call outside of the hospital, please press nine.”

Eddie does as the automated voice tells him and leans back in his chair. You let your head loll to the side, the scratchy pillow brushing against your cheek as you watch your husband. This brief respite from contractions allows you to smile when you hear the echo of Ryan’s voice come from the phone.

“Hey, you,” Eddie says, grinning as well. “How was school?”

“Good! Isthebabyhereyet?” 

His eagerness makes Eddie chuckle. 

“No, no baby yet. Just figured I’d check in with you guys.”

“What he say?!” Luke shouts in the background. 

“No baby!” Ryan tells him. 

The phone shuffles back and forth before Luke says, “Just share it!”

“Uh, you both there?” Eddie asks. 

“Yeah!” they say at the same time. 

“Did you ask—”

“Not yet, I—”

Eddie tilts his head to the side as they bicker. He somehow deciphers that they want to talk to you.

“You can talk to her if you hush up and behave.”

Both boys fall silent at that. There’s a small pause before Ryan says, “Okay.”

“Good.” Eddie nods and hands the phone over to you.

“Hello?”

“Hi!” two young voices call at the same time. 

“How do you feel?” Ryan asks.

As if his question summoned it, a contraction rears its ugly head. Your forehead furrows as you try to ignore it and focus on the conversation with the boys.

“I’m doing okay.”

“Do you hurt?” Luke asks. 

Your free hand bangs against the bed rail in an attempt to keep from shouting in pain. Eddie sits up straighter in his chair, concern filling his eyes. He motions to the phone, silently asking if you want him to take it back. 

“Little bit,” you grit out to answer Luke while shaking your head to answer Eddie. 

“Did they give you any medicine?” Ryan asks.

“Yeah, a while ago. So, uh, what did you guys do at school today?”

“Nothing really,” Luke says. “Oh, you and Dad have to come down to the school and get the meat thermometer.”

“The what?” you ask. 

“The meat thermometer.”

“Luke, what are you talking about?”

Eddie looks at you, questioningly, and you shrug your shoulders. 

“Me and my friend Kevin wanted to test the temperature of the cafeteria hot dogs, so I brought the meat thermometer. But then we got caught and the lunch lady took it. So now you need to get it.”

“You did what?” You hear Wayne’s muffled shout. 

“We wanted to make sure it was safe!” Luke defends. 

The contraction finally releases you and you’re able to relax as much as you can in the lumpy hospital bed. 

“What about you, Ry?” you ask.

“I didn’t care how hot the meat was,” he says, completely serious.

You laugh and it helps your body wash away that lingering whisper of pain.

“No,” you say. “What did you do at school today?”

“We have to write papers for history class, and we started today.”

“Oh yeah? What’s the paper on?” you ask, trying to think of anything except the next contraction. 

“Everyone got assigned some kind of job we have to study. I got dentist.”

“And what did you learn today?” As much as Luke’s shenanigans can keep you entertained, they can also stress you out. But Ryan loves to go into detail about what he’s working on at school and this shall hopefully provide you with a relaxing distraction. 

“Uhh…” Ryan hums as he thinks. “The first dental school in America was founded by Horace H. Hayden and Chaplin A. Harris.”

“When?” you press.

“1840. In Maryland, in case you were gonna ask!”

It’s impossible not to smile at how well the boy knows you.

“Good job, Ry,” you tell him. “I’m proud of you.”

The beginnings of a new contraction appear, and your fingers tighten around the phone receiver. You spy your doctor out in the hallway and use it as an excuse.

“Alright, boys,” you start, “my doctor is coming so I gotta go, okay? Daddy will call when there’s an update.”

“Okay,” Ryan says.

“Love you!” Luke adds.

“I love you both, too. 

Eddie hangs up the phone for you just as your doctor actually does walk into your room. 

“How are we feeling Mrs. Munson?” she asks you. 

You’ve been “Mrs. Munson” for eight months now but it still gives you butterflies every time you hear it.

“Contraction-y,” you tell Dr. Hahn. 

She chuckles and nods her head in understanding. 

“That makes sense, you know, with the contractions and all.” She tugs two medical gloves out of the box marked “medium”. “Alright, I’m just gonna check how your dilation is going.”

As you lay back to let the doctor do her thing, Eddie leans forward and raises an eyebrow at you. 

“Should I be concerned about whatever it is that Luke did now?” he asks. 

“I think it’s okay,” you say with a chuckle. “Apparently, you just have to go to school to pick up a meat thermometer he brought to check the temperature of the school hot dogs.”

Eddie stares at you, his face almost as blank and emotionless as you’ve ever seen it. You can practically see his brain attempting to digest this information, but it thinks it’s reading the data incorrectly. 

“He what?” Eddie finally asks.

Luckily, Dr. Hahn saves you from admitting you have no idea what goes on in the mind of Luke Munson. 

“Well, Mrs. Munson,” Dr. Hahn says, “the time has arrived. You’re fully dilated now; time to start pushing.”

You’ve known all along that you’d have to do this—hell, you’ve known it for about eight months now—but the reality of actually pushing a person out of your body is sobering. How did this moment finally arrive? Weren’t you and Eddie just sitting on the bathroom floor, waiting for the results of the pregnancy test? And now you’re supposed to start pushing? You feel as if you’ve had no time to prepare. Prepare for this labor, prepare for taking the baby home, prepare to be a fully-fledged mom to a newborn. 

A moment of serenity washes over you as your mind reminds you of one important factor, though: this is your and Eddie’s baby. You are bringing a child into this world that is half you and half the man you love. A baby who is the product of the love that you both easily fell into and fought like hell to make work. Suddenly, labor doesn’t seem so bad. It may hurt, but to you it is a privilege and honor to bring this little girl, and everything she stands for, into the world. 

“You alright, sweetheart?” Eddie asks. 

“Yeah,” you assure him with a small smile. “I’m ready to meet our baby.”

The infectious grin that spreads on Eddie’s face warms your heart and gives you a boost of strength to get this show on the road.

Eddie stands up as Dr. Hahn gets everything situated. He slips his hand into yours and leans down to press a sweet kiss to your lips.

“I’m right here with you, princess,” he says softly. “You’re the strongest woman—no, person I know.”

His words have your eyes filling with tears and the hormones certainly aren’t helping. 

“I love you so much, Eddie.”

“I love you, too.”

“Oh, here comes another contraction,” Dr. Hahn says, looking at the monitors that you’re hooked up to. “We’re gonna try pushing on this one, Mrs. Munson, okay?”

“Okay.”

The wobble in your voice is clear. Eddie presses a kiss to the back of your hand. Just as his lips brush your skin, you feel the now-familiar pressure that precedes a contraction. 

“Oof,” you groan as the intensity increases.

“Alright, now…push,” Dr. Hahn instructs. 

You take the deepest breath that your pain will allow, grit your teeth, and clutch your husband’s hand as you begin to push.

“Great job, Mrs. Munson,” Dr. Hahn praises. “Keep it going.”

And it does keep going. And going. And going. 

But fifty-three minutes later, you hear the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard in your life. 

Shrill, high-pitched wails fill the room, and you immediately begin sobbing. 

“Here she is,” Dr. Hahn says, holding her at an angle you can see. “Congratulations, Mom and Dad.”

Even covered in vernix and blood, your new daughter is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. A nurse places her on your chest, and the moment you feel that skin-to-skin contact with her, you’re done for. She already has you wrapped around her little finger.

The newborn continues her cries, escalating to a new pitch every time she gets another lungful of air. It’s as if she’s a royal, informing all her subjects of her many woes. 

Eddie leans in and kisses your lips, the tears on your face mingling with the ones on his. When your husband pulls back to stare at his baby girl, his face is filled with awe and adoration. 

“She’s here,” he whispers to no one in particular. 

“Do you want to cut the cord, Mr. Munson?” Dr. Hahn asks.

Eddie reaches for the scissors a nurse is holding out to him and he has them in his hand before you could say “Ryan and Luke’s new baby sister.”

This is Eddie’s third time doing this, so he knows right where to line the scissors up even before Dr. Hahn instructs him. Eddie severs the cord and a nurse takes the baby so she can have a proper cleaning. 

Neither your nor Eddie’s eyes leave the newborn as she’s swaddled up in a nice warm blanket.

“Do we have a name yet?” The nurse asks as she slides a pink hat onto the tiny baby’s head.

“Eliza,” you say proudly. Tears fill your eyes at the sound of her name out loud. Out loud now that she’s here. This precious little bean that’s been growing inside of you for so long is finally here, a real little person you get to hold and love on. 

“Eliza Marie Munson,” Eddie says, the same emotions that you’re going through reflecting in his voice. 

“Well, Dad,” the nurse says as she picks up Eliza and turns towards Eddie. “Would you like to hold your baby girl Eliza?”

Your husband nods emphatically, reminding you of Luke when he’s asked if he wants to go to the toy store. The nurse gently transfers Eliza to her father’s arms, and you watch as his face morphs as he holds his daughter for the first time.

“H-Hi, Eliza.” Eddie sniffs and clears his throat, trying to shove the tears away. “I can’t believe you’re finally here. I can’t believe that I actually have a daughter.” Slowly, Eddie leans in to press his lips to her soft, smooth forehead. Eliza coos and her face scrunches up adorably. “You wanna know something, Eliza? You have the best mommy in the world. And now I have the two most perfect girls in the world.”

Eddie looks up at you with a gentle smile. Tears are falling down your cheeks so rapidly that it feels like you’re playing whack-a-mole as you try to wipe them all away. 

Your husband stands next to the bed and nods at you, signaling for you to ready your arms for the baby. You gladly accept the warm little bundle, and more tears begin to cascade as you gaze down at her gorgeous little face. 

“Hi, baby girl. I’m your mommy.” Saying the words aloud sounds odd to your ears. Sure, you’ve basically been a mother to Luke and Ryan for years now, but you never introduced yourself to them as “mommy.” But that’s what you are, from Eliza’s first breath, you’re her mom for her entire life. 

“You okay?” Eddie asks. He reaches down and rubs a warm hand against your shoulder.

“I’m wonderful,” you say. “It’s weird, though. Having Eliza from this very first moment of her life, I now wish even more that I could’ve known the boys as soon as they came into the world.”

Eddie lets out a soft chuckle and places a kiss to the top of your head.

“Trust me, princess. This has been the least dramatic and stressful of all the kids’ births.”

You chuckle as well, and the sound seems to tickle Eliza. Her tiny head moves from side to side slowly, as if she’s shaking her head no in slow motion.

“I can’t wait for them to meet her,” you say.

“Guess I need to make a phone call home.”

The door to the hospital room clearly needs some oil as it squeaks open. Wayne steps inside, a curious Ryan in his arms. The almost-two-year-old gazes around the room with wide eyes, taking in all the unfamiliar equipment.

“Hey, you!” Eddie says as he takes the little boy from his uncle. “Did you have a good day with Grandpa?”

“Yep,” Ryan says, still taking in his new surroundings. “Play catch.”

“You played catch?” Eddie asks, his pitch rising in that faux excitement adults use when talking to young children.

“Uh huh!”

“That sounds like fun. Guess what?”

“What?”

“You’re a big brother now,” Eddie tells him. 

“Baby?” Ryan asks.

“Yes! Mommy had the baby. Do you want to meet him?”

Ryan nods enthusiastically, trying to look around his dad’s head to catch a glimpse of his mother. She comes into view as Eddie turns and walks towards the hospital bed, where Brittany is cradling a sleeping Luke. 

Eddie gently sets his older son down on the bed next to his mom.

“Hi, Ryan,” Brittany says softly. “Come here, look at the baby.”

Cautiously, Ryan shuffles forward and peers at the blanket-wrapped bundle.

“This is your little brother, Ry,” Eddie says. “You guys are going to be best friends.” 

“Do you want to hold him, Wayne?” Brittany asks, fighting back a yawn.

“‘Course.” 

Brittany carefully hands him over, and Wayne looks down at his new grandson in absolute wonder.

“Well, aren’t you the sweetest baby?” Wayne says to Luke.

As the older man cradles the baby, Ryan stands up and taps his dad’s arm. Eddie hums in question and raises his eyebrows at the toddler.

“Up, up,” Ryan says, holding his arms up.

It melts Eddie’s heart that Ryan wants to be held up next to his new brother. The room is quiet, save for the echoes of hospital sounds drifting in. 

Luke starts to squirm, unable to move much in his swaddled state. 

“Britt?” Eddie looks over his shoulder at his wife. “Do you have the pacifier?”

“Oh, yeah.” The blue pacifier that Luke has already shown an affinity for is on the bedside table, and Brittany hands it to her husband, who pops it into the baby’s mouth. Immediately, Luke calms back down, sucking furiously as he slips back into sleep.

Ryan leans over as far as he can in his dad’s arms, peering down at his brother in awe.

“My baby,” Ryan declares.

The adults in the room chuckle. 

“Can you say hi to Luke, Ryan?” Eddie asks, rubbing his hand up and down the elder boy’s back.

Ryan grins, his adorable baby teeth on display. He’s mesmerized by the new family member, and it fills Eddie with a warmth he’s never felt before. Ryan tries to lean over even more, wanting to be as close as possible.

“Hi, Luke!”

The comfortable quiet in the hospital room cocoons you, your husband, and your daughter as you all lounge in the bed. Your head rests on Eddie’s shoulder while Eliza sleeps soundly in his arms. Both of you are just staring at her, already completely wrapped around her little finger.

“She’s so beautiful,” you whisper. 

“Just like her mom,” Eddie replies, just as quiet. 

“Her mom needs a shower,” you say. “Badly. I feel all gross after getting all sweaty.”

“You still looked gorgeous, even giving birth.” Eddie turns his head and presses a kiss to your hair. 

The slight movement causes Eliza to fuss, wiggling like a little worm in her father’s grip. Her whines hurt your heart.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Eddie coos. He lays his head against yours.

Eddie begins to hum, and you quickly recognize the song as Sweet Child O’ Mine. All it takes is a minute of her dad’s soothing tone to lull the baby girl right back to sleep.

[6fangz]

SOMETHING ON YOUR MIND

⋆ ♰.˚🦇⌗ ˎˊ˗

synopsis: sergeant williams has been on your case since the second you moved to town; the loathing is palpable, and yet something seems to draw you back together

warnings: there is a reference to being sl*pped in this (not ellie, very vague no detail) but pls read at your own risk (!), age gap (reader is 23, ellie is 28) starts kinda angry ig, some fluff, ends w smut, fingering (reader receives), this was my excuse to write southern ellie w a drawl

southern!officer!ellie x rebellious!fem!reader

MDNI 18 +

a/n: alright…hear me out on this one i swear i had a vision. it’s long and i still dk if this came together the way i wanted it to but whatever here it is anyways enjoy and i hope today was #fab ok bye

the sun peeks through your curtains, shining directly in your face as you stir awake. you run a hand over your eyes in annoyance.

the alarm clock on your nightstand lets you know it’s barely nine in the morning, which is still way too early to be conscious in your book. you bury your head back under your pillow.

but then you hear it; a bang on the front door of your beat up single wide. you don’t get up at first, because you don’t know who it could be and therefore you don’t care.

yet whoever it is remains persistent, knocking and knocking until you just can’t take it anymore.

you drag yourself out of your bed begrudgingly and shrug on a sweatshirt, tucking your feet into your beloved dino slippers out of habit.

your shoulders are heavy as you walk down the hall, so you roll them in an attempt to ease the tension. it doesn’t really work, and the pounding is bringing on a headache at this point.

“i’m fucking coming!”

you swing the door open a moment later, finding yourself face to face with none other than sergeant williams herself.

her cowboy hat is tilted low on her head, choppy hair framing her shaded face, but you can still see that she’s angry. the little line between her brows is a dead giveaway.

you smirk instinctively, hand perched on your hip as you squint at her. “ah, sarge. i’d say good morning, but it’s not.”

“nice shoes,” she grumbles in response, eyes sweeping over the rest of your disheveled state, “didn’t realize you’d be sleeping in.”

her comment actually does make you a little self conscious, enough to tug your sorry excuse for shorts down to cover yourself a bit more.

“well i was trying to, but you just woke me up, so how about we get on with whatever this is?”

ellie glares a little harder, thumb hooked in the waistband of her pants. “fine, you happen to slash noah bennett’s tires last night? cuz he’s real certain you did.”

the answer to that question is yes, but she doesn’t have anything on you. if she did, then you’d already be in her handcuffs on the way to the station.

you’re too careful for her regardless, and that makes you smile. “nope, wasn’t me. that’s hysterical, though.”

“i’m sure y’think it’s funny. got an alibi, kid?” she pushes, country drawl on full display.

you don’t shy away. “i was working the closing shift at the bar. ask literally anyone.”

also true; you were bartending last night, just like you normally are, but you had taken an extra long smoke break to visit noah’s most prized possession.

he respects that dumbass truck more than the women in his life, let alone women in general, and he deserved every bit of it after being a dickhead for so long.

you’ve never had a problem personally delivering karma, and nobody gets away with harassing a girl on shift.

at least not while you’re around.

the suspicion is written all over ellie’s face, but she’s grasping at straws and you both know it.

“i already have. but i needed to hear it straight from the accused herself.”

“aw, if you missed me you could’ve just said so.” you tease, placing a hand to your chest like you’re charmed.

she shakes her head in disbelief. “trust me when i say i cherish every moment you’re not makin’ my life more complicated.”

the thing is that you don’t trust her words, especially not when you swear she glances down at your lips as she says them. but it also makes your throat seize in a way you hate.

“great, we’re on the same page. now am i free to go or what?”

ellie has to gnaw on the inside of her cheek to keep herself from saying no. there’s not a logical reason to hold you up any longer, especially without any real evidence.

it was just important to follow up on every lead. right?

“yeah…suppose so. but i have a funny feelin’ i’ll be seeing you again soon.” she straightens and takes a few steps down your front porch.

“can’t wait.” you shoot back, not bothering to stick around for a response before you slam the door shut.

it satisfies you for a moment to let out some of your frustration, but the urge to scream follows you back to bed anyways.

ellie has been on your case since the moment you two met, and never once has she given you a chance.

she made up her mind about you then, that you’re just some burnout loser causing trouble in her jurisdiction. and you can’t say that description is too far off base.

but she doesn’t really know your life, and she never will. you’re not even sure that she experiences enough empathy to try.

so why does her opinion bother you so much?

you squeeze your eyes shut harder, trying to force your brain to be quiet. one of these days she’s going to drive you completely insane.

ellie remembers when you first moved to the area, over five years ago now. you were only eighteen, but already so set in your ways.

she was a few months out of academy, twenty three and very green in terms of her career. in fact, you were the first person she ever pulled over on a solo shift.

it immediately fazed her that she didn’t recognize you, considering everyone had practically known each other since birth. you were so nonchalant, so not threatened, and it made her crazy.

you just snapped your gum as she ran your plates, huffing like a brat when she ended up giving you a speeding ticket.

“seriously? i’m new to town, i didn’t even see the damn signs.”

“all five of ‘em, huh?” she spit back, though she regretted it instantly.

you looked at her with the fire of a thousand suns, and everything changed. the rivalry, the chase, began in that moment.

you slipped your sunglasses back over your face, smiling to yourself like something was funny. “make them a little bigger and maybe i’ll listen.”

ellie had hardly retreated before you sped off, turning the bend and disappearing completely before she had even gotten back to her car.

you’ve always been two steps ahead since. too smart for your own good, in her opinion.

she’d grown in the ranks remarkably fast, becoming the youngest sergeant in town history, and you still don’t take her seriously.

honestly, she doesn’t take herself seriously around you either. not any more at least. you’re a different woman now, somehow even more real and hardened by life.

maybe that’s what truly vexes ellie; she understands you, but you make it so difficult to not retaliate. every second the two of you interact it feels like her whole body is on fire.

she can barely keep herself together and it’s mortifying.

in fact, she’d initially wanted to go home tonight and enjoy a couple glasses of whiskey, forget all about you for a little while.

then she happened to drive by the abandoned strip mall and that plan went to hell.

your car sits alone in the lot, tucked away so it’s barely illuminated in the dying sun. but she’d recognize that model and color combination anywhere, and she can see you walking back to it as she swerves across the street without a second thought.

you’re in the middle of opening your driver's side door when ellie pulls up and flashes her lights briefly.

you roll your eyes on instinct. the last thing you were hoping for tonight was another lecture, but you turn to face her direction anyways.

she steps out of her vehicle and strolls over, readjusting the brim of her worn stetson. you swear she never takes that damn thing off.

“figured it’d be you.” she states plainly.

you tilt your head. “figured what would be me?”

she shoots you a look, genuinely surprised that you’re playing dumb with her about this one.

“the vandalism. noticed it a while back, but i couldn’t be sure i was right until i caught you.”

you cross your arms over your chest defensively. “first of all, it’s not vandalism, it’s art. and second of all, why would you assume it was me? i just went on a walk.”

she huffs out a soft laugh, and to your surprise she reaches her hand toward you.

you manage to stop yourself from flinching as ellie wraps her fingers around your wrist, untangling your arm gently so she can get a better look at the lingering spray paint.

it left a stains despite how hard you had scrubbed at it with wipes when you were done.

“wanna tell me the truth now?” she prompts, and you force yourself to meet her eyes.

her touch is unbelievably tender compared to her harsh exterior and rough hands, and it makes your heart wilt.

but you don’t let yourself think about it for long.

instead, you wrench out of her grasp and get right back to arguing. “fine, maybe it was me. but this building is literally ancient and i’m just making it look nicer, so what’s it to you?”

it kind of wounds her that you pulled away, but she can’t blame you either. she’d probably do the same in your position.

ellie tries not to let her damaged pride show when she finally answers.

“y’know, i actually agree with you for once.”

you don’t think she could’ve stunned you more if she tried. you’re not even sure that she’s ever said anything genuinely nice, at least not to your face.

“very funny.” you snark, because you still can’t believe it.

but she doubles down. “seriously, m’not here to take you in. nobody’s bought the mall in nearly thirty years anyways, and i really do like your paintings.”

her voice is warmer, sincere. she’s telling the truth for once.

you clasp your hands behind your back to keep yourself from fidgeting nervously. it’s unusual for her to catch you so off guard, but she’s enjoying the moment while it lasts.

there’s a flutter in your stomach that’s getting harder to ignore. you’re shoving it away with all of your willpower but it doesn’t help at all.

“oh. i, um…thanks.” you finally stutter it out.

she motions toward the building sheepishly. “show me the latest?”

your eyes widen even further; this interaction is not at all going how you expected it to. it isn’t what ellie had in mind either, but you’re both appreciating it all the same.

she really had been visiting the mall a little too frequently since she discovered your work. you’re the only person nearby with a creative bone in their body, so it was easy to figure you out.

it became a habit to check in and see if you’d added anything. every new piece was so intricate, and she loved each one for different reasons.

she didn’t intend to admit that to your face though, and she’s beginning to regret it until you pivot on your heel, adjusting your tote as you lead the way.

“alright. but this better not be a fucking trap or something.”

ellie is quick to follow suit, matching your pace as you walk. “not a trap, kid, i promise.”

“i have a name, by the way, and i’m sure as hell not a child.” you remind her briskly.

“really? must’ve forgotten.” she deadpans.

you smile slightly despite yourself, turning your head before she can catch a glimpse.

it’s nice interacting with someone equally as sardonic in nature, even if she does piss you off most of the time.

“you definitely didn’t.”

this quiets her immediately. she just shoves her hands in her pockets, twigs snapping under your feet as you trudge through the overgrown grass.

a moment later you round the corner to the back wall and color begins to light up the decaying brick.

you’re running out of room at this point, so the most recent picture is pretty close to the end near you.

a meteor in its blaze of glory, hurtling down to nowhere.

you point it out, though ellie spotted it on her own easily. “this is the one i just finished. tried out some different colors.”

“wow.” she states simply, stopping so close beside you that her shoulder brushes yours.

your brows furrow as you watch her inspect it without further comment.

“wow what?” you pry, trying not to let the edge make its way into your voice.

she pauses briefly before looking over at you. “it’s just impressive. you’ve got an actual vision, i mean you’re…you’re really somethin’.”

its your turn to be silent; you’re trying to read her face, because it suddenly feels like you’re in unfamiliar territory. there’s not a hint of animosity lingering in the air.

instead, ellie is looking at you all starry-eyed, and you feel like you’re being pulled into a current you can’t escape.

“do you mean that?” your voice is faint, almost like you’ve been subdued.

the validation is making you feel fuzzy, especially since it’s coming from the one person you thought would never say it.

she nods, and this time she’s staring at your mouth rather obviously. “meant every word.”

it’s so quiet, only the sound of the birds chirping somewhere above you, and it feels like the oxygen has been sucked out of your lungs.

ellie begins to shift, to inch even closer to you, but then your phone rings and you both jump apart so comically that the trance is broken straight away.

“shit…” you mutter, fishing around in your bag momentarily before yanking it out.

the number makes your stomach bottom out, and every pleasant emotion you just experienced evaporates from your body.

nothing nice can last for long.

ellie clears her throat and you snap to life, muting the ringer because you can’t answer it in front of her.

“sorry, i—um, i have to go.”

you don’t even bother making up an excuse; you just bolt past her, high tailing it back to your car without another word. instinct has taken over, and your body is moving on its own.

she calls after you, but you can barely hear it over the ringing in your ears. only once you’ve successfully made it behind the wheel do you check to see if ellie followed along.

you deflate a little when you realize that she hasn’t, and that she won’t.

it’s been three days. three days and three sleepless nights since ellie saw you last.

she’s been up in her head ever since you ran away, chastising herself for listening to those provocative little voices and wondering what's occupying your own mind.

it’s shameful to admit, but after twenty four hours of silence, she had a compulsion to check in.

a brief stop at the bar let her know that you weren’t working, so she’d cruised through your neighborhood to find out if you were home.

the driveway was empty, and it remained that way when she visited the second time around.

the longer you’re gone, the more uneasy ellie becomes, and you’ve been plaguing her thoughts even more than usual.

had she misread your feelings? taken it too far?

she needs to see you, to talk. and you’re nowhere to be found.

the sound of the resin balls cracking against each other nearby snaps her back into the present. she sniffs, taking a sip of her whiskey.

it’s getting late, nearly midnight now, but ellie can’t bring herself to leave the bar. listening to the chatter of others is comforting.

and though the alcohol isn’t making you reappear, it at least gets her to loosen up a bit.

another swig. this’ll be her third glass of jameson, and that needs to be the limit for now. lord knows how she runs her fucking mouth with a buzz.

she glances around again, and her eyes skip over you thoughtlessly before she does a double take seconds later.

you’re perched in one of the corner seats toward the back of the bar, nursing a beer by yourself. you look exhausted, staring down at the shitty wood below you and picking at your thumbs.

ellie has never seen you here before, since she knows you prefer to get drinks straight from your coworkers.

this is the only other place in town though, usually frequented by the old farmers because they’re allowed to smoke and play pool at the same time.

and through the haze, there you are.

her stomach twists; she’s not sure if she’s angry or hurt, but it’s an awful feeling all the same.

she’s headed your way before she can even take another breath. you’re so out of it that you don’t notice until she’s actually sat down on the stool beside you.

“where the hell have you—” she cuts herself off when you turn to fully look at her, and the air feels like it's been knocked from her lungs.

a bruise paints your right cheek, though it’s clear you attempted to cover it. your eyes are watery and unfocused. she watches the recognition wash over you slowly, and you smile.

“oh, hello there.” you state simply.

her blood is already simmering, and her fingers ache to reach out and brush your face. she barely stops herself, choosing to run them through her hair instead.

“i…you okay, kid?”

her voice is hesitant, because even though she wants to cave someone’s head in, she’s much more worried about approaching you with care.

you laugh a little, a hiccup mixing itself in at the end. “fuckin’ hate when you call me that.”

your hand is unsteady as you take another long sip of beer, and she thanks her lucky stars that you’re almost done with it. that’ll make it easier to get you out of here.

“you’re right, m’sorry. hell, you’re sittin’ at the bar and i’m still using that dumb nickname.” she says, scratching her chin awkwardly.

“whatever. been dubbed worse.” you shrug and let your gaze fall back to your knuckles.

ellie clears her throat, nudging her boot against your foot. “how about i take ya home, huh?”

“i’m not that fucked up, and for all i know you could be just as drunk.” you immediately get smart with her, but even you hear the way your words slur just slightly in the wrong places.

she shakes her head but keeps her tone even. “i know my limit, and i don’t go past it. how did you get here?”

“i rode my bike. i’ll be fine, don’t even worry about me.”

but she is worried, and you can tell by the way she rests her arm on the back of your chair that she’s not leaving your side.

three minutes ago you could’ve sworn that all you wanted was to be alone, but it’s actually reassuring to run into her.

“it’s dark and completely unsafe. you’re comin’ with me in the truck, and that’s that.”

you roll your eyes, but you don’t put up much of a fight. you’re tired enough as it is, and your house is over two miles away.

plus ellie smells so delicious, leathery and woodsy even through the smoke, and suddenly you don’t mind letting her assist.

“fine. but i get to pick the music.” you bargain, taking the final swig of your bottle out of spite before standing up.

she chuckles lowly, stretching out as she waits for you to grab your bag. “radio doesn’t work, but i got some CDs you can choose from.”

“you’re the youngest grandma i’ve ever met.”

“i can live with that.”

you follow her out of the bar, focusing on not tripping over your own feet while the breeze rifles through your hair.

ellie approaches the curb where your bike is perched and picks it up easily, carting it over to her old 93’ ford so she can lift it into the back.

you find yourself noticing the way her crewneck rides up to expose her stomach, plaid boxers peeking out from her baggy jeans. they sit low on her waist, low enough that you can see the shadow of her v line.

it makes your mouth dry, and dirty thoughts run through your mind without warning.

she comes around to the passenger side to swing the door open for you. you don’t interject when she goes a step further and helps hoist you up into the seat.

instead, you opt to enjoy her sturdy grip on your elbow.

the worn cloth interior is comforting, and even the car has taken on her scent at this point.

you’re already digging through the glove box by the time she’d made it around the hood and hopped up beside you.

“ellie’s magic mix?” you read off the title of one of the discs, and she can see the humorous glint in your eye.

“hey, be nice. it’s the first one i ever burned.” she explains.

you slide it into the player as she puts the car in reverse, and a few seconds later a brassy voice begins to hum through the speakers.

it’s familiar, which surprises you.

“charley pride?” you ask as ellie peels onto the road, and she looks over at you in wonder.

“and just how’d you know that?”

you shrug, grinning at her all loopy. “i like old records. the happiness of having you is one of my favorites.”

“well color me impressed.” she jokes.

a silence settles as you both listen contently, passing by the rolling hills that are shrouded in darkness. the car rumbles along against the uneven pavement, the only other noise aside from the song.

ellie shamelessly peers over as you stare out your window, chin resting against your arm while you contemplate something she can’t understand.

she doesn’t want to disturb, but she’s been waiting for a decent time to ask. it’ll never feel good, though, so she settles for right now.

“who gave you that shiner?”

you audibly suck in a breath, because you were dreading this inevitable conversation. “is it really important? i’m fine, and it won't happen again.”

“of course it’s important. someone hurt you, and i…i wasn’t there. but i can help, if you let me.” she’s practically begging you to trust her, and it’s obvious in her voice.

but you refuse. you fight against yourself yet again, like you’ve been conditioned into it.

“why would you have been there? i was at home. or my hometown, whatever. either way, it’s not your job to protect me.”

ellie’s eyebrows furrow in exasperation. “why d’you have to be so damn stubborn? can’t you just let someone care?”

“oh, and that someone is you? c’mon, don’t pretend like you suddenly give a fuck about me. you just want the thrill of acting like a savior.” you snap coldly.

the insult pierces through her like a shard of glass. her jaw ticks, fingers tightening against the steering wheel.

she can feel the angry truth welling in her throat. normally she’d choke it all back down, force herself to keep everything routine between the two of you.

but the flood gates are open, and you’ve pushed her beyond her limit this time.

“is that what you think? that i’ve never lost sleep over you, or gotten worked up over you? i was about to put out an APB when i realized you’d skipped town, and you’ve got the nerve to suggest that you don’t matter to me? i mean, fuck, all i can do when you’re not around is wonder where you are.”

this revelation makes you sit upright again, dumbfounded by the things coming out of her mouth.

so much is racing through your head at once, yet you remain eerily quiet. when ellie gains the confidence to glance over, she realizes you’re studying her face like you’re enraptured.

“stop lookin’ at me like and say something.” she grunts and turns her attention back to driving.

but a telling blush creeps up her neck, which you’re rarely lucky enough to see.

she doesn’t usually break a sweat like this, and you feel like you owe her the same candor in return.

even if it’s hard.

“that call that i got when we were together was from the hospital. it was my mom.”

you pause, taking a moment before throwing yourself forward. “so i visited, tried to get her on track again, but she didn’t want my help. she never has. and then things got heated. you can put the rest together.”

ellie can connect the dots, even though she hates what it leads her to.

you’ve always been self sufficient, but you also kept it a mystery as to why you’d moved or why you were all on your own in the first place.

she never pushed, mainly because you wouldn’t let her, but she can appreciate why you have the boundaries that you do.

instead of saying anything, she places a warm hand on your leg. not high enough on your thigh to be suggestive, but not low enough on your knee to be overtly friendly.

it’s not what you expected, but it’s what you were lacking all along; something to ground you, a reminder that she’s still beside you.

“i’m not going back again, y’know? seriously. i’ll be alright.” you reassure her solemnly, like it’s a pact now that you’re voicing it.

ellie nods, thumb brushing against your jeans naturally.

“i know you will. it’s who you are. but i’m sorry that you’ve been goin’ through this alone.”

her subtle movements send tingles of electricity through you, and your body is a little too excited by it.

“it’s mostly my choice anyways. i don’t let people get that far because i want to be alone. or, uh, i used to.” you fumble over it gracelessly.

you’ve never been very good at conveying your feelings when they’re positive, and with ellie it’s even weirder.

it’s easy to read between the lines, but she also wants you to say it. “and now you don’t?”

“no. not anymore.”

her cheeks grow even more red as she turns down your street, rocking slightly as you hit the numerous little potholes.

she slides her palm higher up your leg, whether it’s conscious or not. “interesting.”

your stomach flips in response, and when her eyes run over you again, they’re visibly darker than before.

there is something on your mind plays softly in the background, which is ironic because she’s overwhelming every single one of your senses. it’s been a while since you’ve felt like this, completely engulfed in another person.

maybe you had been mistaking passion for hatred this whole time.

a moment later you come to a screeching halt, and ellie moves her hand to throw the truck into park. it’s quiet; everyone’s lights are off, a sleepy fog crawling through the town.

“well, uh…” she attempts to start a sentence, a goodbye maybe, but there’s nothing coming to mind.

you’re so restless that your body decides to speak for the both of you; you unbuckle your seat belt, inching closer instead of heading for the door.

you grip her right shoulder gently, stabilizing yourself as you throw your leg across her lap to straddle her. a groan slips through her teeth when you readjust yourself on her hips.

you hold her neck, tracing her jawline slowly while she stares up at you.

“you sure you know what you’re doin?” ellie asks, restricting herself to grasping your thighs for now.

you nod, leaning in just enough to leave her aching for more. “i think i can handle it, sarge.”

the sweetness of your shampoo is intoxicating, and all it would take is a tiny move forward for her lips to close in on yours.

maybe it’s the longing on your face, or the way your hair is framing your cheeks, but the boundary of professionalism has completely blurred by now.

how can it be wrong when it feels this right?

so instead of arguing or being sarcastic, she closes the distance and kisses you. it’s soft, almost surprised at first. then she gets a taste of your minty chapstick and it’s hard not to devour you.

you pull her in even closer, tongues and teeth clashing together, and in the heat of the moment she barely notices you biting at her bottom lip.

it only electrifies her more when she does feel it, so much so that goosebumps crawl across her skin.

her palms travel to grope your tits needily and you let out a sigh that gets lost somewhere in the midst of your make out.

ellie had nearly snapped earlier seeing your cleavage on display in the little tank you had on under your jacket. she didn’t think she’d get to do anything about those indecent ideas, though.

“fuck, i’ve been waiting for this.” she breathes against your mouth, effectively working her way to your neck right after.

a moan finally escapes, a sound so goddamn divine she almost forgets how to function.

but she keeps peppering sloppy kisses down past your collarbone, determined to elicit that noise from you again.

“so you’ve always been hot for me, then?” you goad, though it’s hard to banter when you’re being so pleasantly distracted.

“i’d still call it a recent development.” ellie pauses to joke back.

but even after saying that, she’s dying to worship more of you, so she diverts her attention again to slip the straps of your top down.

her knuckles stroke your skin as she goes, and she’s got your bra unhooked in one suave maneuver.

you raise your eyebrows at her as she helps you out of it. “cute trick.”

she just smirks as she tosses the garment to the passenger side. you’re still decently concealed by the worn zip-up resting on your shoulders, but your cami is pulled down to your stomach to reveal your chest.

the sight of you alone makes ellie throb, pupils the size of saucers by now.

“i can do a lot more than that, sweetheart.” she promises, cupping your now exposed breasts so that she can drag the pads of her thumbs across your nipples.

you shiver at the sensation, pushing your torso into her harder without even realizing.

“show me, cowboy.” you whisper, and she can’t help but reclaim your lips before you even finish.

she continues grazing over your sensitive buds, which makes you whimper a little louder into her kiss.

it’s completely illogical to be doing this out in the open, but the homes are spaced out enough and her brain is too immersed in you to care about consequences.

you grind into her a little in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure building in your gut, though that’s not what you really want.

ellie knows it too, so she breaks away enough to speak. “something i can do for you?”

“just wondering what those fingers would feel like inside me.” you hum, and her hands drop to your waist without hesitation.

she wanted you to be in charge of how far this went, but she’d be lying if she said she didn’t want show you real pleasure.

and now she’s got the green light.

“filthy girl…can’t even make it into the house.”

there’s admiration in her tone as she frees the metal button to unzip your jeans, tugging them down your hips just enough to access you easier.

“it’s way more fun to live life on the edge.” you preach sarcastically, which she takes as more of a challenge than she should.

her hand dips into your pants and she skims across your clothed heat, enticingly slow to start.

your breath hitches in your throat and she feels your fist shift to grip her hair.

“then i sure hope you can be quiet for once.” ellie tests you right back, applying a bit more pressure as she traces the soft cotton.

you bite down on the inside of your cheek to try and hide your reaction, though every fiber of your body is ablaze.

it doesn’t help that she shifts down in the seat slightly, bringing herself more even with your breasts. she steadies your waist with her free hand as her mouth trails across the supple flesh, nipping at you every once in a while.

your panties are already damp, which rouses her so much that she decides not to boast. instead she pushes them to the side, letting her fingers run along your slick pussy.

the both of you groan, you into the open and her against your skin. she likes that you’re already clinging to her harder.

it makes her feel like you need her just as much.

ellie keeps the pace even but presses her tongue flat against your nipple, taking her time flicking back and forth. you squirm a bit, overwhelmed by the dual stimulation in the best way.

“a—aah…shit.” you whimper, rubbing yourself against her movements rhythmically.

she grins, lazily trailing her tongue across your skin, silently vowing that she won’t neglect an inch. “y’sound pretty when you’re not being a brat.”

“i’m not a—oh, holy fuck.”

without warning, ellie curls her middle finger and lets it slip inside of you, effectively cutting off your defense.

she slides it in and out a few times, giving you half a second to adjust before she adds another. you let out another lament, stunned even though it’s exactly what you want.

you clench around her and she swears under her breath. “so wet, so warm. you little minx.”

the praises go straight to your head, and you’re thirsting for her at this point.

she’s taking it slow, licking and sucking at your chest and neck while you move with the stroke of her arm. heat is building in your stomach, and you’re aching to spur the fire.

“faster ellie, please.” you beg, too far gone to worry about trivial things like dignity.

hearing you say her name while you plead is exhilarating, and all she wants to do is gratify your desires.

so she does just that, speeding up her fingers but ensuring that she buries them fully each time to hit all the right spots. and boy does she.

you tilt your head back slightly, giving her a better angle as you moan a little louder. it’s a sight to behold; your eyes screwed shut, tits bouncing in her face while she goes to work.

“please? didn’t realize i could’a just fucked some manners into you all this time.” ellie teases against your skin, and you give her a faint tug at her roots.

“shut up, i’m totally polite.” you bite back.

the way you’re sinking your hips down to fill yourself with her says otherwise, but it’s also ridiculously hot, so she doesn’t argue.

instead, she hums in agreement. “mhmm, such a lady, takin’ it so well.”

her compliments are leaving you absolutely spellbound, as much as you hate to admit it.

they’re dirty, and yet they sound so heavenly when she says them regardless.

your muscles are beginning to tighten from the pleasure, and ellie can feel it. but she knows she can get you there faster, make it even more intense.

so she continues pounding into you relentlessly, adding her thumb to the mix so that it brushes your clit.

your thighs twitch around her, and an involuntary cry leaves your throat.

“fuck, jesus christ!”

she smiles, completely ignoring the way her boxers are rumpled and sticky at this point. she’s not worried about herself; all she wants is for you to keep making those sweet little noises.

“feels good, huh, angel?” she asks, curving her fingers perfectly inside your cunt.

you nod, muttering something that’s not even coherent. your whole body is ablaze now; no part of your skin feels untouched by her goddamn magic.

ellie can’t believe she’s got you melting in her arms, exposed for anyone to walk up and see, but she loves it.

“right…there.” you gasp, clutching her hair and shoulder for dear life at this point.

she circles your swollen bundle of nerves harder while continuing to hit that sweet spot, and your legs feel like jelly.

you’re tensing around her hand with every stroke, all while she draws your skin between her teeth to leave hickies across the swell of your breasts.

huffs and groans fill the air, and it’s hard to tell where you begin and she ends. ellie doesn’t think she’s ever been this entranced by anyone, at least not in a very long time.

you’re goddamn beautiful, completely wild in this moment, and she adores it.

“i’m—mmm, gonna cum.” you whine, trying and failing to keep the desperate from your tone.

she doesn’t want it to end, but she hangs on to the hope that this is just the beginning and puts the rest of her energy into your satisfaction.

“give me everythin’, baby. let the whole fuckin town hear how dirty we are.”

she’s adjusts her grip to help rock you into her fingers, somehow filling you even more perfectly in the process.

your toes curl in your shoes right before your high crashes around you, mouth agape as you chant her name. your eyes squeeze shut while you finish, shaking lightly from the sheer force of it.

ellie keeps you steady while she gradually slows her tempo, simultaneously shimmying back up in the seat a bit so that she can watch you ride it out until the end.

the feeling of you cumming around her is something she’s not sure she’ll ever be able to forget, and the expression on your face is a close second.

finally, she stills completely, waiting until you’re able to look at her before she retracts her fingers.

they glisten in the nearby streetlights, slick from your orgasm, and your gaze glitters back as you watch her take them into her mouth.

you can see her tongue working, and she groans when she pulls them out fully clean a beat later, chest still heaving from all the activity.

“god, y’taste like heaven too.”

you cover your face with your hands in embarrassment, peeking through them as you shake your head slightly. “stop saying shit like that.”

ellie chuckles and tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear for you. “why, cuz it turns you on?”

“no, because you sound like a dork.” you lie, though the mess in your pants says otherwise.

ellie smacks your ass lightly in response. your arms fly down to wrap around her neck again as you let out a squeak of surprise.

“always gotta be a rebel, don’t ya?” she says, smoothing her palm over the place where it had previously landed.

there’s a smile plastered across her face though, probably similar to the fucked out one you’re wearing yourself.

you tangle your fingers in her hair, forcing her attention back to you. “well, someone has to make you do your job.”

“please, i know you’re soft for me under all that armor.”

you narrow your eyes playfully before pressing your forehead against hers. “i’ll deny it in public.”

ellie chuckles, and you feel her breath fan across your face. “we can work on that. how ‘bout we go inside and getcha cleaned up for now?”

“is this an excuse to see me fully naked?” you question as she slips the straps of your tank back over your shoulders gently.

“oh, are we still pretending that you don’t want me just as much?”

you place a chaste kiss to her lips. “yeah, yeah. touché.”

[tribalmajesty05]

Title: “Daddy’s Home”

Roman Reigns X You

****

The day had been long. Too long.

Our one-year-old, Amara, had been sick with a fever since early morning. Her cheeks were flushed red, her eyes glassy, and her tiny body was burning up. She refused to let go of me for hours, but nothing I did soothed her completely. No cartoons, no singing, no rocking. The only word she kept repeating in her small, broken voice was:

“Dada… Dada… Dada…”

And her daddy—Joe, known to the world as Roman Reigns—wasn’t due back until late that night.

By the time I finally got our other four kids to sleep, I was practically a shell of myself, walking the halls in worn sweats with a burning baby girl on my chest, sobbing softly into my shirt.

“She’s been asking for you all day,” I whispered into the quiet house, not sure if I was talking to the walls or the universe.

At exactly 10:47 PM, I heard the garage door creak open and slam shut. I didn’t even have the energy to move. Amara whimpered in my arms, her cries weak now, but still mournful.

Then came the heavy boots. The familiar rhythm of his steps. The keys hitting the side table. The bag dropping on the floor.

“Baby?” Joe called, his voice low but alert.

“In the living room,” I croaked, rocking Amara slowly, her tiny fingers curled into my hair.

He walked in and stopped the moment he saw us. His face softened instantly.

“Aww, my poor baby girl…” he muttered, dropping to his knees in front of the couch.

Amara lifted her head with effort, her eyes locking onto her father like he was the sun coming up after a week of darkness. Her lip trembled.

“Dada…”

“Oh baby,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Come here, princess.”

She reached out for him with desperate little hands, and I slowly passed her to him. She melted against his chest immediately, giving a small sigh like all was finally right in her world. Her cries stopped completely. My body sagged in relief.

“I’ve never seen her like this,” I said, rubbing my eyes. “She’s been inconsolable all day. Wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t nap. Just… cried for you.”

Joe sat back with Amara nestled against him. He gently ran his fingers through her curls, kissing her forehead. “She’s burning up.”

“I know. She’s been running a fever since this morning. I gave her baby Tylenol like the doctor said. Took her to urgent care. They said it’s a mild viral thing, she just needs rest and hydration. Maybe a couple rough days. But she was miserable without you.”

Joe’s eyes lifted to mine. “You should’ve called me. I would’ve come home.”

“You were doing press and had your appearance today. I didn’t wanna mess that up. I thought she’d calm down eventually. She usually does.”

He reached out and touched my cheek. “You look dead on your feet, babe. You been up all day?”

“All day,” I nodded, tears suddenly threatening. “And most of last night too. The other kids finally went down an hour ago. I didn’t even get to eat dinner.”

Joe stood, keeping Amara close, and gently guided me toward the couch. “Sit. Right now. I got it.”

“Joe—”

“Shh. Sit.”

I did. I watched him disappear into the kitchen, still holding Amara with one arm, her tiny head resting on his shoulder. He came back minutes later with a sandwich and a bottle of water, placing them gently in front of me. “Eat, babe.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” I whispered, taking the sandwich like it was gold.

Joe sat beside me and adjusted Amara in his arms. “She already feels cooler.”

“She’s been sweating a little, I think the meds are working,” I mumbled between bites. “She just needed her daddy.”

Joe looked down at his daughter, his eyes full of love. “She’s got good taste.”

Amara shifted and looked up at him, her face puffy but peaceful now. “Dada…” she whispered again, more content than before.

“I’m right here, baby girl. Daddy’s not going anywhere.”

I rested my head on Joe’s shoulder, sandwich half-eaten and forgotten.

“She really broke me today,” I admitted quietly. “I just… I felt helpless.”

He kissed my temple. “You held it down, like you always do. You’re the strongest woman I know. And now it’s my turn to take over. Go get some rest.”

I looked up at him, unsure. “You sure?”

“I got her. I’ll stay up with her tonight.”

“She’s gonna want to sleep on your chest.”

“That’s exactly where she’s going,” he smirked, already positioning himself to lay back on the couch with her.

I smiled softly, heart full despite the exhaustion. “We really made some clingy, dramatic babies, huh?”

He grinned. “They get it from you.”

I playfully slapped his leg. “You wish.”

We both laughed softly, and Amara, now asleep on his chest, gave a little hum—content, safe, and finally at peace.

Daddy was home. And everything was okay again.