#thank you for the lovely ask!! I have a lot of thoughts

[strang3lov3]

Honey-Do

“You’re gonna work on these every day. And I’m gonna check to make sure you did ‘em all, and if you did, you get to put a sticker down. And if we fill this sheet all the way up by the end of the week, I’ll make ya cum,” Joel explains. “That’s how you can earn back your privileges, Pumpkin.”

Tags - one shot, smut, unprotected piv, creampie, orgasm denial, ddlg dynamics, fingering, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, sneaking around with bad influence uncle tommyyyyy, joel jerks off, sex before dinner, angst + tension, spankings, rewards and punishments, elements of abuse, hurt/lots of comfort, pinky promises, dark. this is a work of fiction, and all characters are adults.

A/N - have I ever not delivered. here’s your uncle tommy fill, as promised. thank you to two anons who know who they are for helping with the creation of this fic, and thank you to my dear L for editing with me! anyway, it's been a minute but i'm happy to see you all :) hope you enjoy. i wrote this through a splitting headache so i'm going to chill now.

Your bedroom door clicks as Joel unlocks it from the other side, and the hinges groan and creak as he pushes it open. He looks at your figure lying in your bed, warm sunlight painting over your skin. Joel knows you’re not sleeping. You’re just lying in the quiet room, soaking up the sun like a kitten. 

“Hi, kiddo,” Joel greets softly, smiling before taking long strides across the room to meet you. He’s stepping over your clothes and tripping on other odds and ends before he reaches you - you’ve been picking out your own clothes lately. Apparently you’ve been less than impressed with Joel’s sense of fashion. Ooohkay, he thought. You’re such a messy girl with the way you try on all of your clothes, then leave them all on the floor. Those, coupled with old, expired bottles of nail polish and lip gloss. Joel told you not to use those lip glosses, but they’re just pretty to look at sometimes. 

“Jesus, girl. Fuckin’ room’s a pigsty,” he says, and he sits on the end of your bed, springs creaking with the shift in weight. 

You ignore him. Joel leans over and kisses both of your cheeks and then your forehead, then your nose. “Don’t smile,” he teases, “Don’t you dare laugh.” And he repeats this, his facial hair tickling your skin, until you’re giggling and your eyes finally open. 

“Ohh, there she is. Mornin’, Pumpkin,” Joel says, chuckling at the way you squint through the bright sunlight. 

“Mmm…morning, D–” you’re interrupted by your own yawn, which makes Joel laugh. “Daddy.” 

Joel pushes some hair out of your eyes. “Lazy ass,” he mumbles. “Listen, kiddo. M’on patrol today, so you’re gonna be home all alone. Y’gonna be alright?” he asks, softly stroking the skin on your cheek. “Gonna be a good girl?” 

He wonders if he can trust you. If he can give you this inch, and you won’t take a mile. The doors and windows will stay locked, of course, but there’s other things he worries about. Joel knows you, you know. You’re never as sneaky as you think you are. 

“Mhm. I’m always good, Daddy.” 

Joel rolls his eyes. “Uh huh, fuckin’ smartass. You can make eggs an’ toast for breakfast, and there’s leftovers in the fridge for lunch. We’ll figure out supper later, hm? Maybe we’ll go to the cafeteria. See what they’re cookin’ up.” 

“Yeah, that sounds good,” you smile. 

“Good.” Joel pats his thighs and then stands up, knees popping loudly. “And I want you to clean all this shit up, alright? Didn’t raise ya to leave messes.” 

You sigh heavily. “I know. I’ll do it.” 

“Good girl.” Joel bends down and kisses your head one last time. “Eat all your lunch an’ have a good day. I love ya.”

You love days where you’re home alone. You used to hate it, and Joel wouldn’t let it happen a whole lot. You hated how lonely it felt, how quiet. You’d hear things go bump that weren’t there, and you’d feel just…nervous. Joel came home once and found you all scared and trembling, and he promised he’d be home with you as much as he could. 

He made good on his promise. And you liked being home with him until you didn’t, until you found it suffocating and boring. Scary. Joel’s house went from being a quiet safe haven away from the horrors of the world to a sort of horror in and of itself. A Sisyphean loop, where nothing ever changes. And it never will, no matter how much you tug on your windows that are bolted shut, or yank on your door that only Joel can unlock. You can never leave. 

You’d stare longingly out the window, hoping to go outside on your own. Just once, maybe. To go in the woods and wander, pick at strange flowers and plants and everything else. Just be alone. Joel grants you so much, and yet, you want so much more than that.

It makes you feel bad, if you’re being honest with yourself. You know what’s out there. What he saved you from. You know you’re safer with Joel, and you know everything he’s done to keep you safe and comfortable and happy. You’re in good hands with him, even if they’re hands that hurt you sometimes. Hit you. Spank you. Choke you. They’re still Joel’s hands, and they’re warm, right? And they love you. 

He said when the weather warms up some more he’ll take you to the lake. You really hope he does. 

You spend the day reading, drawing, watching birds and other critters that come by. Joel thinks it’s cute, the way you’ve named the chipmunks and squirrels that frequent his patio. How you recognize them like they’re your friends. 

Joel tries to leave his bad mood away from home. He knows he’s got a habit of carrying it with him, and regrettably, taking it out on you. You take your moods out on him too, though. Not that it matters. He curses himself for even acknowledging the fact. He’s older, he’s wiser, he’s more patient. You’re not. He’s the parent, you’re the child. But when he comes home, you can tell it was a bad day. You can hear it in his footsteps and in the way he breathes, and it makes you tense. “Y’ready for dinner?” he asks, voice tired. 

“Mhm.” 

“Didn’t hear ya, kiddo. Speak up.” 

“Mhm.” 

“No, no mumblin’. Use your words and tell me, yes or no,” Joel demands, feeling his blood pressure begin to spike. 

“Yes.” 

Oh, you fucking…you. You’re always going to match Joel’s temper. You stare at him and he glares back, balling his fists before turning on his heel to get changed. You both need something to eat, before this goes from zero to one hundred. 

But then Joel goes upstairs, and he walks past your bedroom and sees that nothing - nothing is picked up. He’s back downstairs before he even thinks it through. Before he showers and takes a moment to breathe, even. 

“What’d I fuckin’ tell you?” 

Your stomach drops at his tone. “What?”

“I asked ya to take care of your room, and I come home to see you’ve done fuck all.” 

“I guess I just forgot, Daddy. I’ll do it tomorrow.”

Joel scoffs, “Yeah, uh huh.” He pauses for a moment, then puts his hands on his hips. “We talked about this, Pumpkin.” 

“Talked about what?” you ask, and it makes Joel fucking irate that you won’t turn your head to look at him. 

“Look at me when you’re speakin’ t’me,” he barks, startling you. Looking at him from across the room, you can see he means business. Joel’s eyes are already dark to begin with, but they’ve gone black - so depthless and so endless that you can’t tell what’s behind them. 

“You’ve been slackin’,” Joel says in a low tone, breathing heavily as he takes heavy steps toward you. “S’gettin’ old, kid.” 

“I know, I just–”

“Jus’ what?”

You pick at your chipping, poorly-applied nail polish as you roll the answer around in your mind. “I don’t really want to do chores. I mean, I know my room is…but the other stuff, I–” 

“Tough. You live under my roof, y’live under my rules.”

“Then it’s your roof, your mess.” 

The words come out before you can even think about them. You press your lips together immediately, shrinking in your seat a little at the way Joel cocks his eyebrow and puts his hands on his hips. “Wanna try that again?” he asks, and you know what this is, what it is he’s doing: he’s giving you an out. And it’s awfully generous of him, considering. “Don’t make this a bad night,” he warns.

You pause this time, thinking about what you want to say next. I’m sorry, Daddy is that fucking close to rolling off of your lips when you notice that little wren sitting on the windowsill. She’s a frequent visitor, and Joel says she’s just like you. Fiery, assertive, sometimes. Vocal. A pistol. 

She looks at you for a minute, then flies off. It sends a pang of longing through your heart, and perhaps even jealousy that that beautiful little bird can spread her wings and fly away and you…can’t. Not with the locked doors and windows, not while eternally existing under Joel’s fucking microscope.

“I didn’t ask to live here, Joel,” you bite. 

“Oh, s’that’s how we’re doin’ this? This is how tonight’s gonna go?” 

“Yeah.” You get up from your place on the couch and shove into Joel’s shoulder, but he shoves you right back down. He glares at you, and you glare back as hard as you fucking can. Staring at him like you wish you could fucking…you don’t even know. You’re blinded by the same rage and upset that Joel is at this moment, but without the agency to do one fucking thing about it. Joel, on the other hand. 

He takes your jaw in his hand, squeezing your bones tight enough to bruise the soft flesh that covers them. When you jerk your head away, he squeezes tighter. “You don’t get to walk away from me,” he growls, leaning in close enough that you can feel his hot breath on your face. “I do a lot for ya. Done a lot for ya,” he says in a low tone.

“You never let me leave,” you argue. “You trap me.” 

That gets Joel, wounds him a little. His face changes when you say that, before twisting back into something darker. “That’s what you think, huh? That I trap ya?”

You swallow thickly, then part your lips to speak. Joel cuts you off with a wave of his hand. “I keep you safe,” Joel whispers. “Fed. Happy. An’ all I ask is that you follow a few simple rules. That’s all. You wanna go back out there on your own, with the fuckin’ raiders and clickers, I can make that happen. Watch.”

Joel’s jaw ticks as he glares at you, fuming at the indignant little look on your fucking face. He could hit you right now, right across your cheek. Or maybe he’ll bend you over his knee and beat you until your ass is fucking raw and bleeding. That’ll teach you, that’ll fuckin’ teach you…

The anger flows through his veins like a fucking poison, and only when one of Joel’s knuckles crack, startling him, does he let your face go. He didn’t realize he was holding you so hard.

“I don’t like you,” you whisper. 

Joel makes a face at the statement, then nods, because he’s heard it all before. It hurt the worst the first time you said it, but you came back to him crying, hours later when you’d had a nightmare and needed him. Not want - that wasn’t the word you picked. You said you needed him, Daddy, and you were so sorry. You didn’t mean it. You love him and you need him. 

He clicks his tongue against his teeth. “M’not too keen on you either, right now, Pumpkin.”    

The room is tense as you and Joel stare each other down, and neither of you budge until Joel tells you to go to your room and stay there. He tells you that you can forget going out to dinner, and you can stay in your bedroom until he feels like looking at your face again. You’re grounded, too - he doesn’t say from what. Now get out of his sight before he fucking hurts you.

You’re in your room forever, the hours alone spent alone passing like days. The sun went down forever ago, and you can’t stop yourself from crying. You held it together long enough downstairs while fighting with Joel but the moment you stepped foot into your room, you burst like a dam. 

And it sucks to cry alone, to not have Joel there to hold you and wipe your tears. But is that what you’d want? Is that what would make it all better? Maybe. Joel has a special way of being your heaven and hell, all in one man. He’s both your nightmare and your solace after a bad dream. What are you supposed to make of that? What are you supposed to do other than cry like this?

You don’t bother wiping your tears when there’s a double knock at the door. “S’me,” Joel says. “M’comin’ in.” 

You keep your back turned to him as he enters your bedroom with a plate and a glass of water, and he sets both down on your nightstand. “Went and grabbed some food. I gotcha…let’s see here. Chicken, mashed potatoes, corn.” 

“Not hungry.” 

“Not even for some pumpkin pie?” Joel asks, noticing the way your eyes widen at the mention. “Still your favorite, right?”

You pause. “No,” you answer, eventually.

“No?” Joel asks. “Hmm. Guess I’ll eat it myself. M’gonna get even fatter than I already am…this is a very unhealthy thing to do to your dear old man, y’know,” Joel says, cutting into the pie with the side of his fork, which scrapes against the ceramic plate. You flip over and sit up, and Joel feeds you the bite instead of eating it himself. “There she is,” he murmurs. 

That’s how you got the nickname. Joel asked your name many times back in that cold, shitty cabin. You wouldn’t tell him. He understood, of course, and he told you his name anyway. You were always such a stubborn girl. For the life of him, Joel could not figure out why you wouldn’t come back to Jackson with him, why the hell you were so apprehensive about trusting him. Most people jump at the opportunity to stay in the cozy, warm settlement but…not you. 

You were a tough nut to crack. It took a lot of time for you to trust Joel. He used to sit in that cabin with you while on his patrols - Tommy would show up sometimes, too. He’d just sit with you, talk a little, the way you’d do with a stray dog in a shelter. He’d bring you warm thermoses full of soup or tea and sandwiches for you to eat, and he was just patient.

And it was pumpkin pie that finally got you to come home with him. He brought you a slice one day, and you scarfed it down quickly and asked if he had more. “Nope,” he answered. “Gotta come back to Jackson f’ya want more. Got all the pumpkin pie you could eat.”

You mulled it over in your mind more than you ever had. And this was after weeks of Joel visiting you, bringing you food, sometimes dry wood to keep your fireplace warm. You didn’t trust him yet, but you didn’t…not trust him. And you really wanted that fucking pie. 

It was your choice to live with Joel, too. When he brought you back, they offered to put you in a house with other girls around your age. Nope. You wanted to be with Joel. Somewhere deep down, you know you picked him to be yours before he picked you to be his. Doesn’t that make you a little responsible for where you are now? 

“Yeah, alright, Pumpkin. I guess I could make some room for ya,” he winked.

“Breakin’ rules here,” Joel murmurs. “It goes dinner first, then dessert. Right?”

You ignore him as you swallow your bite. He’s only teasing. And besides, this is not a battle he wants to fight. At least you’re eating, anyway. Joel puts his hand on your knee and speaks softly, “I shouldn’t have gotten on your ass the way I did.” 

“No. You shouldn’t have,” you snap, and Joel feeds you another bite of pie. You take the fork and eat the rest of the slice quickly, then lay back down and flip over.    

His poor, sweet, tender-hearted girl. Don’t you know that attitude of yours is only gonna get you in trouble? Joel thinks it's just where you’re at in life - he thought he knew the world like the back of his hand when he was your age, too. 

Joel turns your face and wipes your tear-stained cheeks, all swollen and raw. Eyes rimmed red as more tears well up, then spill down, back into your hairline. “Oh, sweetheart. What am I gonna do with ya?” he sighs, gently thumbing away those tears again. He wipes a few crumbs of pie crust from your lips, too.

You sniffle and shrug, avoiding his gaze. A hiccuping sob escapes your lips. “S'okay. Drink some water,” Joel tells you, pulling you upright. He gives you the glass, has you take a few sips, and he notices the way you look at his hand between your thighs. He notices your muscles twitching, eyes widening…knows exactly what you want as he rubs his thumb over the skin. Joel knows you want him to fuck you, to make you feel good, because you always feel better after he gets you off. Presses your little reset button. He’d reckon those pretty pink panties of yours are a little soaked, too. Poor thing. And isn’t this part of tonight’s problem? 

You can’t get anything past Joel. You’ll never be able to. 

“Daddy–”

“Not tonight, kiddo. Y’lost them privileges.” 

“Please,” you beg. Joel takes your glass of water and sets it down on the nightstand. 

“No,” Joel bites, pulling his hand away. He pulls your blankets over your shoulders, then turns off your lamp. “Daddy’s gonna have to think of a way for you to earn ‘em back.” He kisses you on the forehead, saddened by the way you turn away from him. “I love ya with my whole heart, Pumpkin, but you are gonna learn that there are consequences for your actions. Now get some sleep.”

Joel takes the glasses and checks to make sure the baby monitor is on, then leaves you. A night of sleep will be good for you both. 

But it is a hard night, isn’t it? You spend the night tossing and turning - Joel can hear it on the tinny, crackling speakers of the receiver. He doesn’t rest any easier either, so he gets in the shower late at night. Maybe the distant noise of the running water will soothe you to sleep. 

He washes his hair and his body, then grips his cock tightly in his fist. He strokes himself slowly, top to bottom and over and over again, building to a quicker pace in short time. “Ohh, Pumpkin,” he whispers, cumming over his knuckles. Joel rinses himself off and dries himself, then checks on you in your bedroom - you’re out like a light. Good. Fuck, he hates fighting with you. 

In the morning, you tiptoe down the stairs, stopping first behind the wall to steal a peek at Joel before he sees you. He’s got breakfast made already - French toast, eggs, hash browns. You take your place at the table, yawning as you twirl a fork between your fingers. “Mornin’, sweetheart,” Joel murmurs, pressing a kiss against the crown of your head. He serves you a large helping of breakfast, your Felix the cat cup is already filled with juice. “Sleep okay?” he asks, sitting next to you and serving himself. 

You shrug. 

“Yeah, me too,” Joel agrees. You and he eat in silence for a couple of minutes, the only sounds being the chirping birds and the cutlery scraping against the plates. Joel finishes his food before you do, and when he does, he gets up from the table. You watch him set his dish by the sink, then grab a couple of papers or something from the counter and bring them back to the table. “Been thinkin’ about how you can earn back your privileges,” Joel begins. Your attention is immediately caught by a few shiny, sparkly papers, decorated in little stars. “Stickers,” Joel explains, peeling one off and sticking it on your nose. “See?”

“Mhm.” You grab the packs of stickers, but Joel tugs them back. 

“Ah, ah, ah. Can’t have those yet. You gotta earn ‘em.” Joel shows you a larger paper next, something he made and drew up himself. ‘Pumpkin’s Honey-Do List’.

“What’s honey-do?”

“S’a chore chart,” Joel explains. “Honey, do this for me. Honey, do that. Get it?” You nod. “We’re gonna use this chart to keep track of your chores, okay?” 

Before you answer, you take some time to look over the chores Joel wants you to do. Sunday through Saturday Joel wants you to tidy your room every day. “Every day?” you whine, thinking of the enormous mess sitting in there right now. It’s gonna take for fucking ever to deal with all of that.

“Every day,” Joel answers. “F’ya stay on top of it, it’s not much of an issue. Been tryin’ to tell ya that, Pumpkin.” 

The rest of the daily chores listed are no surprise. Do the dishes, set the table, make the bed, sweep. But there’s some new ones at the bottom of the chart - dust all the shelves and baseboards, wash the windows, mop. Joel explains that they only have to be done once at some point this week. 

“You’re gonna work on these every day,” Joel says. “And I’m gonna check to make sure you did ‘em all, and if you did, you get to put a sticker down. And if we fill this sheet up by the end of the week, I’ll make ya feel good again. That’s how you can earn back your privileges.”

You think about it, looking over the chore chart. Joel’s all capital letter handwriting, and the silly pumpkins he drew at the top of the chart. “Hey, you,” Joel taps your arm. “We square?”

You still don’t know. You don’t know why you’re hesitant. You’re just…that’s just who you are. Stubborn, indignant. A rebel with a heart of gold. 

“Psst. Take the fuckin’ deal, kiddo.” 

“Okay, Daddy.” 

Joel holds out his fist, pinky finger extended. You wrap your pinky around his, and then he brings both his and your hands to his lips and kisses your knuckle.  

You get started after breakfast, cleaning up your room while Joel takes care of some other stuff around the house. It’s not so bad when you have a goal in mind and a better attitude about the entire thing. It goes by quickly, too, and you feel better when your room is put back together. You don’t know why you let it get so bad. Maybe it’s reflective of your mood. 

Dishes come next, and it’s made easier because Joel cleans as he cooks. It’s just a matter of washing and drying a few plates and forks and glasses, then putting them back into the cabinets. Sweeping comes after that, and then you’re done until dinner tonight when Joel needs the table set. 

It is nice to walk through the house with him as he inspects your work. The concentrated frown on his face as he looks in your closet at all your clothes all hung up and folded neat, and the way it splits into a smile of approval. “Y’did good, kiddo,” he murmurs as he kisses your head. It takes you a moment to decide how exactly you want to place the stickers down, but you like doing it. It’s going to look so pretty when it’s filled in. 

Tomorrow is the same, and the next day, and the next day. Joel does his walk throughs every evening, and then you do your stickers at the table. “Mm, doin’ some neat patterns there, I see,” Joel says gently. 

“Mhm.”

“Very pretty, sweetheart. I’m so proud’a ya,” he smiles. “Couple more days, right? Finish strong.” 

When you wake up on Friday, you feel excited. There’s really not much in your room to clean, not much to sweep around the house, not much of anything to do, really. 

…Until Joel reminds you about the specials. “Ahem,” Joel says, pointing to the chores at the bottom of the chart. “These need’a get done, too.” 

“Oh, fuck.” You cover your mouth before Joel has a chance to scold you. “Sorry.” 

He makes a face at you, but he lets it go. If letting a dirty word slip is the worst thing you’ve done all week, then so be it. You probably picked it up from him, after all. 

Joel quickly makes you a sandwich at the counter, then slices it in half and puts it in the fridge. That’ll be your lunch later. “Uncle Tommy’s coming by today,” Joel says. “But don’t think you can sweet talk him into helpin’ you with those chores, Pumpkin. This is still a punishment.” 

“Mhm. I know, Daddy.” 

“Good girl.” Joel kisses you quickly on the cheek, then he’s out the door. “I love ya. Be home later.” 

When Joel leaves, you go upstairs and shower, then pick out something to wear - just a pair of shorts and a tee, neither of which you particularly like, but that’s okay. You don’t want to dirty your favorite clothes. After checking your list, you get started with dusting first. You’ll work top to bottom, and then do the windows at the very end, per Joel’s suggestion. 

Dusting is tedious. It’s tedious to take every little knickknack and tchotchke off the shelves, but you do like the way the wood sparkles after you wipe it clean. And it feels better, too. There’s a noticeable difference when you clean the place, like you’re washing away everything bad that’s built up over time and starting anew. 

You pause cleaning briefly to eat the sandwich Joel made you, and then you’re back to cleaning, on your hands and knees as you wipe the baseboards. You still have some tall cabinets and shelves to dust, but you’ll figure that out later. 

The back door opening startles you, and in comes Tommy, handsome as ever and smiling so big when he sees you. “Hiya, sweetheart.” 

“Hi, Uncle Tommy,” you greet. You feel Tommy’s eyes on you as you dust, tracing over every inch of your figure. It’s awkward as you clean and Tommy stands there. You’re not exactly sure what he was sent here to do. Maybe he’s your babysitter or something. 

He peruses the house, and you wonder what he’s thinking. You have a more difficult time reading him than you do Joel, though that doesn’t mean Joel is always easy to read, either. Tommy notices your chore chart and smirks at it. Good fucking god. 

Baseboards are done now, so it’s time to finish those cabinets. You drag a chair over to the kitchen counters, but even with the added height, you can’t reach the tops. “Uncle Tommy?” you ask. 

“Yeah, honey.” 

“Do you know if Joel has a step stool or something around here?” 

Tommy holds up a finger before he’s off to check for you. There’s nothing in the closet, nothing in the garage, either. “Don’t think so, sweetheart.” 

“Hmm…” 

“Whatcha thinkin’?”

Joel would throttle you if he knew what you were about to do, but he’s the one who didn’t account for your inability to reach the tops of the cabinets he wants cleaned. You hoist yourself up onto the counter top with a rag in hand, wobbling as you stand up tall. 

“Woah, woah, woah. Let me use the chair an’ I’ll get ‘em myself, darlin’,” Tommy says as he stands behind you, his fingers tapping against your legs as he gets ready to catch you. He gets a nice look up your shorts from this angle, too, llikes the lace on your panties. “Gonna crack your goddamn skull open, girl.” 

“You’re not supposed to help me,” you tell him, frowning at how disgusting the tops of these cabinets are. “Ew.” 

“Says who?”

“Daddy,” you answer. 

“Ohhh. Daddy says so, huh?”

You sigh, “Yep.”

Tommy rolls his eyes. “Get down, honey. I don’t like ya up there like that.”

You know better than to argue with Uncle Tommy. He’s fun, sure. But he does have the authority to do whatever Joel does to you, too. Joel’s made it clear that when Tommy’s around, you are to listen and obey him the same as you listen to Joel himself. You turn around and bend down slowly, feeling nervous and unstable on your feet. “C’mere, sweet pea. I gotcha.” Tommy grabs your waist and steadies you, grunting as he helps you down. 

“Can’t believe your old man’s gotcha doin’ all these chores without any music,” Tommy says. You shrug, and Tommy’s off toward the living room where Joel’s got a turntable and some vinyls. He puts them on every once in a while, but you’re not always into the music he picks. 

Tommy puts on Jim Croce and does a little dance that makes you giggle. He wiggles his hips and snaps his fingers, biting down on his bottom lip. “Alright,” Tommy claps his hands together. “Let’s get to work.” 

He takes the rag from your hand and stands on the chair, dusting the tops of the cabinets himself. “I appreciate this, Uncle Tommy, but you really shouldn’t…if Joel finds out–”

“You gonna tell on me, sweetheart?”

“N-no…” you mumble, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. 

“Then your daddy won’t find out,” Tommy replies. 

He finishes the cabinets quickly, then gets off of his chair with a grunt. “Okay, darlin’. What else ya gotta do?”

“Uhmmm…” you trail off, mentally tallying the chores you’ve already done. With Tommy’s help, you’re just about finished. “Windows are last,” you tell him. 

Tommy nods. He grabs a spray bottle from a closet as well as two squeegees, then hands you one. “You wanna do the outsides or the insides, sweetheart?” 

“Insides,” you answer. “I’m not supposed to go outside without Joel.” 

Tommy makes a real show of looking around, raising his eyebrows and squinting dramatically. “Funny, darlin’, I don’t see Joel anywhere,” he says, then pauses. “Why don’tcha wash the outsides and get some fresh air, honey?”

“Okay,” you smile. Tommy gives you the spray, then opens the door and tells you to meet him at the kitchen window. You feel exhilarated as you leave and round the house, loving the sun on your skin and the breeze in your hair. When you meet him on the other side of the window, he motions for you to spray yours down, which you do. Then Tommy opens the window and reaches for the spray, then shuts the window. You flinch when he squirts it at you, and laugh when it hits the glass and not yourself. Tommy winks, then squeegees his side of the window as you do the same. 

He nods his head to motion to you to go to the next window, where you and he repeat the routine. You do the same with the next one and the one after that, and when you’re finished, you come back inside and rest on the couch. 

“Think that means we’re ‘bout done, huh?”

“Yep,” you answer, then pause. “You won’t tell Joel, right?”

Tommy sits next to you and zips his lips. “M’not a narc, honey. So we get to put stickers on your chart now, don’t we?”

You shake your head. “Nope. Joel has to do a walk through,” you explain. 

“Ahhhh,” Tommy nods, understanding. “So whatcha gettin’ for fillin’ in all the stickers?”

Your cheeks heat up at the question and you shy away from Tommy, which makes him laugh. You have no poker face at all. 

“Uh huh,” Tommy winks. “Oh, I get it.”

You squirm in place a little, wondering if you should talk more about it. You kind of want to, honestly. Joel tells you that you can tell him anything, but you know you can’t. Not just anything. “It’s been a week,” you admit finally to Tommy, and immediately you feel relieved to have someone else to talk to about this. About Joel. “Well, almost. Tomorrow makes a week.” 

Tommy scoffs. “Well shit, kiddo. Your old man’s a fuckin’ hard ass.” You shrug silently, and Tommy raises an eyebrow at you. “You can agree, y’know. Ain’t gonna hurt. An’ I won’t tell him if ya do, either.” 

“A little,” you admit, quietly. But Tommy hears, and he smiles. 

“Can’t go a day without it, myself,” Tommy tells you, stretching out on the couch a little. He rests his hand on your thigh, drawing little patterns down to your knee and back up again, patterns that make your skin tingle and make you feel funny inside. Nervous, excited…in almost the same way Joel makes you feel nervous and excited. But there’s an added layer here. You know you shouldn’t be letting Tommy do this to you.

“I think you should reward yourself, ‘f I’m bein’ honest. You did all your chores, after all. Right?” 

“...yeah.” Uncle Tommy has a funny way of making the guilt in your belly disappear, if not for just a moment. It’s in the way he speaks and the words he chooses, and it’s in his sparkling brown eyes and his charming smile.  

“Why don’tcha go to your room and take care of yourself, then? Hm?”

You shake your head. “Joel - Daddy says I’m not allowed to,” you reply. 

“Ohh. Not allowed to do it by yourself.” Tommy clicks his tongue and turns his head toward you. “S’too goddamn bad. Joel’s gotcha on a short fuckin’ leash, don’t he?”

He slides his hand up your thigh, inching his pinky finger past your shorts. Tommy likes the way your breath hitches in your throat when he traces the thin, damp fabric of your panties with just his fingertip. Sensitive fuckin’ girl.

“And you’re really hurtin’ for it too, I can tell. A fuckin’ week, good lord,” Tommy whispers, then pauses before speaking again. “Well, I’d reckon you’re not doin’ nothin’ wrong by lettin’ Uncle Tommy make ya cum, huh?” 

“I-” you stutter, “I really - I don’t know, Uncle Tommy.”

Tommy grins, his eyes so warm and so black, so endless. “Oh, sweetheart. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with it in my book.” He wriggles his fingers up your shorts a little more, and slips them past your panties. That little gasp when he touches your lip, lightly teasing you there. Good lord. 

“Then s’gonna be our little secret,” Tommy whispers. “Somethin’ special, jus’ for me and my sweet girl,” he says. “How ‘bout that, darlin’?”

You nod before the little voice in your head telling you not to do this becomes too loud. You can trust Tommy, right? He wouldn’t do anything to get you into trouble with Joel. And like he always says, what Joel doesn’t know won’t kill him. 

You can’t ever pull one over on Joel, but you can try. And if Tommy’s right, and he probably is - you’ll succeed.  

“Good girl,” says Tommy, pulling your body into his lap. He unbuttons your shorts and pushes them down your legs, then cups your pussy with his large hand. You sigh at the relief that comes with the pressure, resting against Tommy’s chest. “C’mere, honey. I gotcha.” 

You spread your legs for him and he rubs you through your panties, just lazily at first, feeling you dampen the fabric. He traces your clit next, “Oh, fuck,” you moan, leaning into him. “More,” you gasp. 

Tommy slides his hand under your panties, touching your bare heat. You’re so fucking warm and so fucking wet, with that pool of arousal he’s created. And it didn’t take much, did it? No, no. Of course not, not when you’ve been starving for it for so long. Longer than a week, too. Tommy knows the way you look at him and what goes on in that head of yours. And if he were a betting man, he’d bet that when you do summon the courage to get yourself off on your own fingers, despite Joel’s rule, that you’re thinking of him. Maybe not every time, but enough.  

“Uncle Tommy,” you moan, eyes squeezing shut as you arch into his touch. You rock your hips as he circles your clit, reaching for his thick bicep. You hold him tightly, whimpering, “Oh my god.”

“Y’wanna hold onto me?” Tommy chuckles quietly, rubbing you slowly. “You can hold onto me, sweet pea. M’not goin’ nowhere. Jus’ you and me right now, sweet girl.” 

He’s so warm, and he smells so fucking good. It’s nice to be in a pair of arms that are safe and dangerous, but different from Joel’s safe and dangerous. You watch yourself in the freshly cleaned windows, all wrecked as Tommy pleasures you. 

He’s sliding his fingers down your seam next, then pushing two into your entrance. And it’s when he curls them rhythmically, looking for that special, sweet little place deep inside you, that you really start to moan. “Relax,” Tommy whispers, squeezing you tightly. “Hold still, honey. Be good.” 

Tommy shifts the positions a bit so he can rub your clit with his other hand while fucking you on his fingers. It’s not long before release is right around the corner, with all of that hot, sparkling pleasure blooming deep in your gut. Your thighs begin to shake and twitch, “You cum nice for me now,” he whispers. “Show Uncle Tommy how hard you can cum.” 

And that’s all it takes for you to fall apart, crying out loudly as he fucks you through your orgasm. Tommy doesn’t let up until you’re a shuddering, gasping mess, until he’s made certain that your needs have been met. A goddamn week, he thinks. That’s fucking ridiculous.

“You cum so pretty, sweetheart,” Tommy whispers, pulling his fingers away from your cunt. They’re all shiny and drenched in your arousal, and he brings them to his lips and sucks them clean. He pats you twice and you get up and off of him, all shy and bashful as he stands up and stretches, his rock-hard erection bulging through his denim. “Fuck, look whatcha do t’me,” he groans, pressing his palm against it. “I’m off, kiddo. Gonna let me leave without a hug and a kiss?” he asks. 

You wrap your arms around his thick middle quickly, perhaps needing the hug more than Tommy even does. You kiss his cheek, and Tommy squeezes your ass. “Alright. Keep outta trouble, honey. I’ll see ya when I see ya.”

A few hours later, Joel’s barely got a foot in the door before you’re taking him by the hand and leading him through the house, showing him how well you cleaned everything. “Jesus, girl. Can’t a man eat dinner first?” 

“No,” you answer. “Look at the windows.”

Joel laughs, “I know, I see ‘em, Pumpkin. They’re sparklin’.” 

“And the baseboards–”

“Are nice and dusted, I see it all, sweetheart. You did good. Wanna go get your stickers?” 

You show Joel that you’ve already got your stickers and your chart in hand. “Go ‘head and put ‘em on then, honey. Y’did good,” Joel says, then pauses as you put the rest of the stickers down. The only one that’s missing is dishes and table setting for today, but that’s because it hasn’t been done yet. Joel tells you he trusts you, and you can put the stickers down anyway. “And you did do it all by yourself, right, Pumpkin?” 

“Mhm,” you lie. 

“An’ if I ask Uncle Tommy if he helped, what’s he gonna tell me?”

“No,” you lie again. 

“Good answer,” Joel replies, then pauses. “Did you play with yourself this week?” he asks.

“No.” 

“Promise?” Joel asks. “Did anyone else play with ya?”

“Nope,” you tell him. Joel smiles, then kisses you on the head and sits down on the couch as you admire your chart. You join him on the couch, sliding onto his lap instead of taking your usual place right next to him.

“Hey, you,” Joel smiles. “What’re you makin’ me for dinner, hm?”

You shrug. “I’m not even hungry,” you tell Joel, and he makes a face. 

“Sure you’re not.” 

You think you know what that means, what he’s doing. He’s deliberately quiet, waiting for you to ask for what you want. But you say nothing as you sit on his lap, eyes wide as you wait and wait and wait for what you’ve earned, squirming on his lap a little. “Whatcha so squirrely for?” he asks finally. 

“You know, Daddy.” 

“Mmm. Don’t think I do,” Joel drawls. “M’not a mind reader, Pumpkin.” 

But you’re too shy to say it out loud. So you take Joel’s hand and stand up, yanking him with you. He groans as he stands up, knees cracking. You hold his hand as you lead him toward the stairwell, “Where ya takin’ me?” he asks. 

“Mmmuhno,” you mumble, walking up the stairs with Joel trailing behind. 

“You dunno, huh?” he teases, amused as you take him towards his room. “Mmm, Daddy’s room. Okay,” he sighs dramatically. “Guess it’s bedtime, since Pumpkin says so. And I was gonna let ya stay up an’ everything, but alright.” 

You’re such a quiet, shy girl as you sit on the end of Joel’s bed, swinging your feet as he undresses himself. You pull at a string on your shorts, waiting for Joel to get the hint. You’re sure he does, but he’s just dragging this out, the same way you are, really. 

Joel, standing naked except for his boxers, turns to you. “Y’look like you’ve got somethin’ on your mind, sweetheart.” 

“Mm-mm,” you lie, unable to hide the smile that makes your lips curl up. 

“Oh, I think ya do. Wanna tell me what it is?” Joel asks. 

Finally, you relent. “Did I earn back my privileges?” you ask, biting down on your smile. 

Joel chuckles. “Was wonderin’ when you’d ask,” he says, leaning in close. He puts both of his hands on your knees, squeezing you there. “Yes. You earned ‘em back, Pumpkin.” 

You hum in delight and smile so big, then whisper something in Joel’s ear. “Well lie on down, then,” Joel murmurs. “You know what to do.” 

It takes no time at all for you to take off your clothes and lie on Joel’s bed completely naked, legs folded in half and swaying side to side as you wait for that inevitable dip in the mattress that comes from Joel settling between your thighs. It arrives all in good time, and Joel spreads you wide so he can devour you alive. 

He pushes your knees toward your chest and wears a crooked smirk at how anxious you look, ready for him to start. You’re wiggling your fingers, fidgeting with his comforter. Joel teases you with a couple of kisses pressed against your knees and your inner thighs. “Daddy,” you whine, pushing your hips toward his face. 

“Oh, I know, I know,” Joel murmurs, quieting your whines with a kiss to your pussy. “Iiii know, sweet baby girl.” He licks you from bottom to top with his tongue flattened, dragging it slowly through your slick folds. And Christ, how swollen you are - poor thing. But you did it to yourself, didn’t you?

“I am so–” Joel interrupts himself to suck on your clit a little, “So proud of you, Pumpkin,” he says, “My girl. You did so good for me, baby.” 

His beard tickles your inner thighs as he kisses you all over, then goes back to your clit. He circles it a few times with his tongue, then licks lower, burying his tongue in your soft, dripping entrance. You reach for his beautiful aquiline nose as he fucks you on his tongue, drawing up that gorgeous slope and past his forehead, tangling your fingers in his curly, graying hair. 

“Daddy,” you moan, whimpering for Joel as he drags his tongue back up and down your folds. He builds a rhythmic pace then, circling your clit repeatedly, all while allowing you to rock and grind against his face. He guides you orgasm quickly, savoring the way you gush into his mouth, your clit throbbing beneath his tongue. 

You’re fucking soaked, a mess of both Joel and yourself. Joel shoves his boxers down his thighs, erection springing against his soft tummy, and swipes his fingers through your folds. He collects your arousal on his hand, then uses it to coat his hard length. “Ready?” he asks, hovering over you. 

“Mhm.”

“Y’wanna help Daddy put it in?” 

You nod quickly. Joel knows you like to have some semblance of control over the pace at which he enters you, so he likes to grant you that. Not always, though. Sometimes he’ll split you in half just to remind you of who’s in charge here, usually when you get a little mouthy or something like that. 

You take Joel’s cock in your hand, tracing the bulbous head and the veins that climb up the shaft. You tilt your hips and drag him through your folds, sighing softly at the way you tease yourself. 

“You’re killin’ me here, kid,” Joel grunts, taking your wrist in his hand to stop you. 

“Sorry.”

“S’all good, baby.” 

You notch his tip at your entrance. “Your turn, Daddy,” you tell Joel softly. 

And in he goes. He slides into you slowly, filling you with the entirety of his length. “Ohh, big stretch. Attagirl,” he praises, grunting as he bottoms out. 

It always takes you a minute to get used to him. You do your little routine, make your little faces as you squirm and get used to his cock stretching you out, and when you’re ready, Joel begins to move. “Watch,” he says. “Look, look. Wanna show you something,” Joel tells you softly. You lift your head as he pulls out, his thick length all coated in your arousal. “Ain’t that somethin’?”

“Yeah,” you agree, letting your head fall back again. Joel braces himself on his forearm as he thrusts back into you, building to a slow pace. He’s in no rush, really, not when he’s sliding his big hand up your waist and over your ribcage and squeezes you there. He could crush you, you know. His delicate girl. He could do it. 

Joel bends down and skims his mouth and the tip of his nose over your breasts, taking time to wrap his lips around both of your nipples. He loves you so much, the elegant, gentle shapes of your body. All of those curves, all for him. 

The special way he fucks you - nothing comes close to this. No matter what, good day or bad, this will always be yours and Joel’s to savor. 

His cock is dragging against your g-spot, his pubic hair grinding against your clit. It’s all becoming too much, too sensitive for you to even cum. But Joel tells you to anyway. “Can’t, Daddy,” you whimper.

“Sure ya can,” Joel says. “S’been a week, honey. I know you’re needin’ it.” 

But are you, though? Not really, when Tommy took your punishment and reward into his own hands and made good and sure that you were well satiated before he left. And with the orgasm Joel pulled from you using his tongue, well. 

“One more, nice and big,” Joel encourages. “Show your daddy how hard you can cum on his cock, huh?”

Funny. Didn’t Tommy say the same thing?

Joel rubs your clit in practiced circles, coaxing along your release as he thrusts into you harder, faster, and deeper. And then it’s happening, and Joel’s name is spilling from your lips in breathy moans as you cum so hard on his cock, feeling indescribably full as your pussy pulses around him. It’s such a weighted, overwhelming feeling, and it washes over you in wave after wave. “Oh, baby girl.” Joel’s right behind you, breathing your name as he milks himself with your cunt, spurting rope after rope of his cum. “Take it nice an’ deep f’me,” he says, and like the most perfect girl you are, you take it all. 

Joel pulls out of you, not worried about the cum that spills on his comforter. It’s seen better days anyway, he thinks. 

After you both come down, Joel breaks the silence. “Think we should redo our date?” he asks, still breathing heavily. 

“Yes,” you answer. 

“I think so too,” he says. “Go pick somethin’ pretty to wear, and meet me in the shower to get cleaned up. Maybe we’ll see Uncle Tommy there or somethin’ too, huh?”

-

more dark daddy!joel here

anyway, i love ya. thank you for reading ♡ please dirty talk me in my inbox and reblog, because your words go a very long way in keeping me motivated to write. wouldn't be doin' this without ya.

aaaand the cat tax. remember that when it takes me a while to publish a fic, THIS IS WHO IS MAKING IT DIFFICULT TO DO SO!! okay!! do you see this! he's sitting on my arm like a fuck. fricken gizmo.

[tqlepatia]

⋮ ⌗┆FA$$HION KILLA .ᐟ ( PART II )

— OLDER ! RICH ! SEVIKA × MODEL ! MOTHER ! READER ( HCS ) —

౨ৎ - 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒' : " Here it iss !! I writed 2 times and tumblr deleted 😓 but thank God i have a big patience and writed it again, — angst, baby blues implied, and a lot of fluff (･ω･) . ".

𖹭 - Sevika knew she wanted to marry you the second she saw you doing shoots for the bridal collection of Vivienne Westwood, specially on the last dress.

𖹭 - "How would you feel about keeping one of those dresses?" You didn't understand until she pulled a ring from her blazer pocket, unmistakably the one that once belonged to Sevika's mom.

𖹭 - When you walked through the aisle, Sevika let herself cry a little in front of people, for the first time in years.

𖹭 - Honeymoon in Italy. You both barely left the room, too busy making love all day and night.

𖹭 -Sevika bought a new property-lush land, a greenhouse, a marble kitchen filled with cookbooks.

𖹭 - You started sleeping in, missing fittings without guilt—You stopped walking for a season, turned down four campaigns, and didn't feel bad about it.

𖹭 - You began documenting your domestic life privately-film photography, garden photos, table settings.

𖹭 - At night, Sevika would read the newspaper while you journaled on the sofa around the left side of the pool, while sometimes looking at the sky full of stars, sometimes she would stop reading a bit to massage your legs.

𖹭 - You started feeling the difference in your body- heavier breasts, longer naps, sudden cravings.

𖹭 - Sevika notice before you did, She held your hand the moment the test turned positive, barely blinking, just whispering "Okay."

𖹭 - Your bump showed faster than expected, and so did the press commentary.

𖹭 - Many brands of luxury tried to get a piece of the cake, trying to surf on the hype of one of the biggest supermodels being pregnant, sending gifts 24/7.

𖹭 - You began being tagged in "before/after" photos on Instagram, which led you to delete the app and all your social media.

𖹭 - She rubs your back when you throw up and kisses your hair even when you smell like ginger, massage your feet, make your breakfast with help of chefs.

𖹭 - She kissed every new stretch, every soft swell. "You're making something holy", " isn't so graceful that you are bringing another life to this world?" she whispered in soft nights.

𖹭 - Time to time, you realise how much your image was built over validation and numbers everywhere; your height, your weight, how many calories you consumed per day, your number of followers, or even how many runaway shows you got to.

𖹭 - You spent most days on the terrace in robes, drinking ginger tea, reading books about motherhood, so did sevika.

𖹭 - She took over the kitchen. The first time she made soup, she FaceTimed her aunt. You sat on the counter and laughed for twenty minutes at the story of Sevika's short childhood.

𖹭 - Your baby came fast. The labour was simple, you felt bad about the mother beside your room that screamed for hours after you finished your labour, and Sevika was there, holding your hand the whole time, crying as you screaming of pain.

𖹭 - She held the baby first. Then she gave the little girl to you like an offering, the little one was identical to Sevika's baby pictures, for a moment, you thought that the photos had materialised inside your womb.

𖹭 - You bled for weeks, and no one told you how lonely it would feel. The world celebrated the baby but forgot the woman who brought her into

𖹭 - You loved your baby. But sometimes, when the crying didn't stop, you had to put her down and sit on the floor, whispering "Please, please, please."

𖹭

- 𖹭 - 𖹭 - You stayed off the runway for five years. Not because you couldn't. But because you refused to miss her first laugh, her first tantrum, her first step, and all these things.

Some nights, you sat outside on the garden steps and asked the stars for forgiveness for not being glowing, grateful, or the best mom that your daughter deserved.

𖹭 - You and Sevika barely fight, but now you're in a bad mood almost all the time due to the lack of sleep and tiredness, you and she started having little fights till... they weren't little anymore. "I gave up My LIFE for this baby, Sevika! And what did you give up? Nothing! So don't tell me what to do with my daughter." After the fight, she kept silent and slept in the living room.

𖹭 - You cried almost all night that day, at midnight you went to see her awake with the strong brightness of the TV illuminating her face, by your expression she already knew that you were feeling guilty for the words so sharp as a knife earlier. "Lie here love, sleep on my lap, then we'll go to the bedroom, okay?"

𖹭 - Sevika posted photos rarely. The back of your baby's head. You're stirring soup. You asleep against her chest. Always faceless, always sacred, like the world doesn't deserve to see you and your baby.

𖹭 - Your child giggles uncontrollably when Sevika blows raspberries on her little and soft belly, and Sevika grows a habit of treating her like royalty. Some days, the little girl even chooses Sevika’s clothes for work.

𖹭 - The photo Sevika took of you sleeping with the baby on your chest became her phone background for a year ( she changed it for a photo when the little girl took her first steps, you looking at her like this 😮 )

𖹭 - The hate comments stopped mattering when you saw your child run to you, arms open, calling you "mama" and climbing into your lap.

𖹭 - Your daughter painted your nails with Sevika one lazy Sunday. She chose pink. Sevika let her paint hers too. The mess stayed on your hands all day.

𖹭 - You caught her once sitting on the nursery floor alone, staring at the toys. You asked what was wrong. She said, "I never had this. Not even close. I didn't know what it looked like until now." You kissed her temple and told her, "Now you're building it. That's the point." She didn't say anything, just pulled you into her lap and held you like she was grateful you ever existed.

𖹭 - When the fashion house begged you back, you almost said no. Until you looked at your daughter and thought, She should see what it looks like when her mother chooses herself, too.

𖹭 - You worked out until your legs shook, counted almonds, cried over a single croissant, habits thay you got when was just a teenager looking to follow your dreams career, and they're back. But you weren't chasing beauty, you were begging to feel like yourself again, before the world carved judgment into your skin. Sevika found you on the bathroom floor once, scale beneath your feet, and said, "No body is worth this war." But you were already deep in it.

𖹭 - You practice your walks again, more than satisfied when you notice that you still remember perfectly how you used to walk, that was already a part of you, was engraved on your brain—in a way you never forget

𖹭 - The first show you did after five years, you cried backstage. Sevika stood behind the curtain, hand on your shoulder. "You never stopped being a goddess," she said.

𖹭 - After the runway, you went straight home. You didn't want the afterparty. You just wanted to kiss your baby's forehead and check if she was fine.

𖹭 -Interviews started pouring in. You declined most. Until one day, you said yes. It was in your garden. Just two chairs, tea, and wind. The interviewer asked, "How are you so calm now?" You said, "Because I stopped needing approval, the only one I need is from my daughter."

𖹭 -You told her about the hate, the body talk, the way motherhood was romanticized and weaponized all at once. You and the interviewer cried. Not because you were broken. But because healing had finally arrived, The clip went viral. Not for drama. For its stillness.

𖹭 - Sevika watched the interview ten times. "You looked like the woman I fell in love with," she said with a big smile kissing your forehead

𖹭 - Every night, Sevika kissed you like it was the first time. Because in your softness, she found her strength, too.

𖹭 - You started hosting dinners with no phones. Just stories, music, and laughter. You read poetry again. You began to write your own.

𖹭 - When storms hit, Sevika insists you all sleep in the same bed. "Just in case," she says. In case of what, you're never sure. But you never fight it. You like the way she tucks the baby between you two, how her arm curls around both of you like you're precious cargo. You fall asleep to the sound of rain and Sevika's breath, like the world could end and you'd still be safe.

౨ৎ - 𝐓aglist ; @prettyinpink69 , @abbysdollie , @marieeeluvsyou , @littlelovelunette , @madzorwhatever , @zvmbitegirl , @salsalsusu , @kataranda.

[asxgard]

Companionship | pt. 14

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader

Previous | Next

Summary: You two have a little getaway.

[ Series Masterlist ]

Note: This took a hot minute lol I kept rewriting the first bit even after the rest was written, and then my dog got a bad infection (he’s okay now). It’s been a time lol I hope you enjoy!

Thank you for all the comments, likes and reblogs last chapter💜

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: age gap, SMUT (MINORS DNI), p in v, oral (f! receiving), fingering, light dirty talk, pet names (honey, sweetheart, my love), foul language

not beta read

On the night of Michael’s birthday, he grew more reserved. Dinner came and went with you trying to coax him back out of his shell — and you hoped it was only his nerves about you meeting his friends afterwards. You were nervous enough for the both of you, but you began to worry he was having second thoughts.

In the car, he said, “I’m nearly twice your age now.”

You leaned back into the passenger seat with a long sigh. You both sat quietly for several moments, Michael staring out the window while you rubbed your thumb along your other palm. The age gap seemed to hold steady over your heads — even as you were falling in love. He was now closer to nineteen years older rather than eighteen, and would be until your birthday later in the year. It was clear the near two decades were weighing on him.

You reached over to grab his hand, “And so what? We’ve discussed this.”

Michael ran his other hand over his face, letting out a huff of air. “I don’t want to steal your youth.”

“Michael, you’re not stealing anything.” You told him, “This is a two way street. One I’m actively choosing.”

He didn’t say anything, just kept looking out at the parking lot. He squeezed your hand with a heavy sigh.

“Do you feel like I’m stealing something from you? I don’t know…I haven’t fully gotten my life together yet, I’m still waiting to get my certifications…I can’t always be there in a way someone older might be able to—”

His eyes were on you while he shook his head, “Not at all. That’s not…I want you as you are.”

You held his gaze and smiled, trying to convey the same sentiment, “That’s what I want, too.”

“I’m sorry. I knew this wasn’t going to be easy or normal. I don’t want to keep chasing you away, I just wasn’t expecting to feel this way today.”

“Well, I’d rather you tell me what's going on in your head rather than bury it.”

He nodded, “And what happens when I turn 50?”

“That’s five years away. It’s not like I’m immune to aging…I’ll age five years, too.” You said. “And I’d hope we’d have made a life together by that point. We can deal with how you feel about it together.”

“I like the sound of that.”

You smiled, and he leaned over to kiss you.

The drive to the bar was quiet, but nerves had invaded your belly at meeting people from Michael’s life. You had been able to learn how to handle the judgment from strangers, but it felt like a whole new ballgame with people in his life.

Jack was tough to read, and it felt like Dana had been an easier sell. Her husband, Benji, had been easy enough to talk to, and took some of the conversational weight off your shoulders. Perhaps since he also did not work in the hospital, or perhaps he took pity on you, either way, it was relieving.

When asked about it, you told them about school and graduating — but it made you feel too young. One could attend university at any time in their life, but all of them had finished closer to when you were born. You tried not to be uncomfortable about it.

“How did you guys meet?” Benji asked, sipping his beer.

Your eyes flickered up to Michael, trying to conceal your alarm. Why hadn’t you discussed it? Did he want to tell them the truth or—

“Coffee shop. Our orders got mixed up.” Michael supplied, the lie passing easily from his lips.

Though, you had met at a coffee shop, so it wasn’t a straight up lie.

You forced a smile looking back to Benji, “We ended up talking for a while and I gave him my number.” Again, not a total lie, but your cheeks burned.

Dana’s eyes moved back and forth between you, “You could’ve told me she was your girlfriend when she came in, Robinavitch. No need for all that secretive VIP crap.”

You watched Michael cringe slightly at the use of his full name.

“I wasn’t yet.” You interjected, smiling shyly. “It took awhile for us to figure that part out.”

The night continued after with less pressing questions and easier small talk. They each traded stupid stories about patients, or the weirdest thing they found swallowed or inserted on x-ray. With Benji there, it made you feel less out of the loop, and he waved them off.

“Don’t you guys work there enough to not talk about it after hours?” Benji asked.

“Never after hours.” said Jack with a shrug.

Michael rolled his eyes playfully, “Fine, fine — how’re the kids?”

Another hour and they were all departing. Dana pulled you into a quick hug, whispering, “You’re good for him.” in your ear. You had grinned wide, relief flooding your system as you thanked the woman. Everyone parted ways after, and Michael took your hand as you walked to his car.

“They all seem like good people. I hope they liked me.”

Michael kissed the side of your head, “Of course they did. You make it easy.”

Your eyes met his brown, “You think so?”

“I know so.”

Before opening the passenger side door, he turned you around. He was fidgety, his hand growing clammy while the other rubbed the back of his neck.

“You okay?” You asked tentatively, squeezing his hand.

He cleared his throat, “I can’t really even begin to tell you how much I enjoy our time together, how much I enjoy you. I’ve—this hasn’t been easy and we had a rough start, but I’m glad you’re in my life. I love you.”

Your breath caught and you stared at him wide-eyed. Your heart thudded hard against your ribs and you reminded yourself to breathe.

When your thoughts returned, you smiled at him, “I love you, too, Michael”

—

“You sure know how to play the long con.” You said, eyes still bleary from the early morning as trees raced by.

Michael looked over at you with an eyebrow raised, before looking back at the road.

“Murder me in a cabin in the woods?” You elaborated, “Peaceful, quiet. It’d be great if it wasn’t so cliche.”

Michael laughed loudly, shaking his head. “Does that have anything to do with the documentary you insisted on watching last night?”

You had barely been able to fall asleep until Michael had pulled you into his arms, making you feel safe and protected. You loved those documentaries, despite how dark they were, or how many lights you had to turn on to get through them.

You sipped your coffee, “Of course not.”

“I see far too much blood and guts on a daily basis; I’d never spoil the cabin like that.” He said, tone momentarily slipping into something serious. “Besides, I like you too much. Thought I’d keep you around.”

You laughed, “How romantic.”

“I’m plenty romantic!” He said with a smile, “Cabin in the woods, a fire, good wine, the works. I even remembered to snag your favorite rom-coms from your apartment last week.”

You hid your grin by glancing out the window at the world speeding by. “And to think, you did all that to take me fishing…”

“You said you wanted to learn!”

Laughing, you said, “No harm in trying something once.”

He reached over the center console to grab hold of your hand, “I’m glad we’re getting some time away. It’ll be nice to not worry about work for a bit…”

“Or studying.” You added, intertwining your fingers. “Thank you for bringing me, I’ve been looking forward to it.”

He smiled softly, and you thought about all the feelings swirling in your chest. All of them easily spelling out love. Even after confessing it to each other weeks ago, it still felt new and exciting. Like everything had finally clicked into place after dancing around it forever.

His cabin was miles off the highway, found after traveling several winding roads, a long driveway nestled between towering trees. The trees eventually gave way to the cabin, quaint but with plenty of character. A picnic bench sat to the right of the structure, where a set of stairs led into a screened in porch. A large built in firepit sat several feet away from it.

The back door opened onto the porch, which held an outdoor dining table and a few outdoor loungers. The land began to slope downward right where the porch started, free of trees that made the view of the mountains all the easier to take in. The forest picked back up again about a quarter of a mile down, where it seemed the land leveled out again. Jutting out just slightly from the cabin was a storage closet, holding some cushions for said loungers, an umbrella for the table, and some odds and ends.

You took a deep breath in, and leaned into Michael when you breathed out. It was quiet and serene, the silence only filled by birds and buzzing insects. You could only slightly see one of his neighbor’s houses through the trees, but otherwise, it was completely private.

“You sure do know how to pick ‘em.”

Michael looked at you and smiled, “Yeah, I do.”

—

After an unsuccessful fishing trip, a hike and a long soak in the clawfoot tub, you emerged in the kitchen to see what Michael was doing. Uncooked burgers sat on parchment paper on a sheet tray, while Michael was putting a bowl of pasta salad in the fridge.

You followed after him and sat on one of the loungers while Michael cooked the burgers. He was humming an old blues song while you took in the view of the retreating sun over the mountains.

Dinner was spent under the sky, with quiet banter and easy conversation — and you savored more than just the meal. Pittsburgh could be busy, messy and complicated, but stepping back in a secluded cabin, you knew you wouldn’t change a thing about your life.

Cleaning up dinner, you both settled on the couch, turning on one of the rom-coms he had brought — How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days — and you curled into his side.

By the time the credits were rolling, you found yourself in his lap, kissing up his neck while his hands explored your figure. Your heart sped up in your chest, moving your hands to his hair. You tried not to grind your hips into his, trying to be slow — but your mind grew hazy with lust.

“Mike.” You breathed against his lips, half a whine, half a plea.

Like he could read your mind, his hands were on your hips, pushing just enough to where you got the hint and stood up. Your lips never left his, even as he led you to the bedroom, hand in your hair.

Once on the bed, Michael removed your pants and trailed kisses up your inner thigh. Your face heated and you suppressed the urge to beg him to move faster. You never wanted to rush him, to be painfully young in wanting it all without the chance to savor it, but his hot breath on your skin and his teeth nipping at your flesh made you feral. You were already squirming before he even situated himself to your wet heat.

Discarding your panties, Michael left a wet kiss to your clit, and you jolted at the sensation. One of his hands traveled up your torso to grab hold of your breast, fingers twirling around the nipple, while his other was locked around your knee. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, and you took in a deep breath to steady yourself.

Your clit was throbbing, spurred on by the sensation on your nipple. He held your gaze as he licked a stripe from your entrance to your clit. You moaned, gripping the wrist that was at your breast and held onto him like it would keep you tethered.

His tongue was an expert, and always left you seeing stars — your orgasm never taking very long, especially not when his fingers rubbed at that spongy spot inside you. He sucked, licked and devoured everything you gave him like a man starved, and it thrilled you more to know he was enjoying it. Even when he was being slow or teasing, he never seemed to mind how long it took.

Michael’s fingers curled upwards, tongue tracing circles on your clit until the wave took you in. You cried out his name, fingers in the bed sheets while the heat barreled through your system. He had a habit of not stopping, even when you grew overstimulated, sometimes eagerly even trying to coax a second out of you.

This time, though, you pulled him up to kiss him hungrily. The taste of yourself on his tongue made your thoughts stutter, before bringing him closer.

Without warning, you flipped you both so Michael was on his back and he stared up wide-eyed at you. Your shirt was easily discarded.

He smirked, hands going to your hips while you undid his pants. Pulling off his shirt, he pulled you in for a quick kiss. He was straining against his boxers, hard and immediately at attention when you pulled back his boxers. You were quick with the condom before steadying yourself over him. You leaned down to place a delicate kiss to his lips.

You sunk down on him slowly, hissing as you adjusted to his size, hands on his chest. He groaned low in his throat and you pulsed at the sound, your hips meeting his.

“Yeah? Like hearing what you do to me, sweetheart?”

You grinned, nodding dumbly, pulling his hands from your hips up to your breasts. To be so full of him made your eyes water and you threw your head back to try to find your breath again.

“Feels so good.” You moaned, looking back into his eyes.

You moved up slowly, before grinding back down and trying to find a pace you liked. Michael stared up at you, eyes dark, meeting you halfway with thrusts of his own. Heat coiled low again, pooling throughout your abdomen.

Michael moved a hand to your clit to rub lazy circles, and it burned deliciously — overstimulation yielding to pleasure. You moaned, moving up just enough for him to brush against that spot inside you.

“You look so good like that, honey. Fuck, you ride my cock so well.”

Your pussy fluttered at the words, eyes screwing shut. You felt lost in the winding euphoria coiling tighter. Michael gripped your hip while keeping his thumb rubbing your clit, thrusting up into you as you grew tighter and tighter.

Michael choked out a moan, and you hummed a mewl as you approached your climax.

“Mike—Mike—“ you whined, “So close—don’t stop, please.”

“Gonna fill you up, my love, come on. Come on my cock, know you want to.” He ground out. “You look so pretty when you do.”

You moaned low when the coil snapped and the white-hot heat invaded your vision and took over your senses. It rushed throughout your body and a single tear escaped the corner of your eye.

Michael was relentless after that, even as you were whining from the overstimulation, he kept going. Chasing his own high, but he never let up on your clit.

You felt completely blindsided by your third orgasm, rolling off the waves of your second until you were fluttering around him again. Crying out and squirming, you met a few of his thrusts in a cock-drunk daze.

Pleasure contorted Michael's face until he was coming with you, a groan low in his throat. His thrusts grew sloppy until they slowed. He twitched and you felt the warmth of it inside you, blooming upwards.

Your hairline was wet with sweat, and you breathed heavily. You leaned down to lay on his chest, his cock still stuffed inside you, but it had pleasure still echoing in your system.

Moving your head to his shoulder, Michael kissed your forehead. One hand trailed light lines up and down your spine, while you kept your hands on his biceps trying to catch your breath.

“I don’t think I ever wanna leave.”

Michael chuckled lightly, and brought you in for a kiss.

[ Next ]

want to join any of my taglists? shoot me a message!

Companionship taglist: @queenslandlover-93 @clementine111002 @virgomillie @emily-b @kaygilles @lt-jakeseresin @imonmykneessir @kniselle @gabsgabsvaz @rosiepoise88 @calivia @holdonimwalkingmysnail @valhallavalkyrie9 @blahkateisdone @shadowhuntyi @fuckalrighty @elli3williams @yournerdmodziata @i-know-i-can @dickheadturner @dcgoddess @pittobsessed @glamorizethechaos @blueb33ry-cat @whatdoesntkillyoumakesyoustrange @burningpenguinwitch @evienorville @equallyshaw @heyysolsister @justrandomthougt @babygirlagenda @lauracantsleep @rogersbarnesxx @longlivecandice @misshoneypaper @moonshooter @catmomstyles3

Dr. Robby taglist: @cherriready @seeyalaterinnovator @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @bxxbxy @18lkpeters @flyinglama @hagarsays @mayabbot @anakingreys @happyfox43 @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @sarah-the-bird-nerd @girl-obsessed-with-things

(50 tags have been reached with the combo of all three taglists, so unfortunately some of Dr. Robby & all of The Pitt taglist for this series will be added in a reblog right after this is posted - I’m sorry if this is an inconvenience!)

I’ve gotten a lot more comfortable with bigger age gaps since this started. Sometimes I forget I aged Michael down slightly lol

Robby’s Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day up next!

[daisybeats]

Imagine, if you will, Derek and Stiles are neighbors.

Stiles is finishing his graduate degree in mythology and Derek is in a history graduate program.

They make small talk in the hallways sometimes, but Stiles is mostly with the beautiful red headed girl and Derek is seen a lot with the beautiful brunette who looks ready to maim at the slightest provocation.

Derek is reading one night and hears yelling through the walls of his apartment. He doesn't think much of it until he hears a feminine voice yelling back. He realizes it's coming from Stiles' apartment.

After 15 minutes, he finally decides to go over and see if everything is okay.

He's awkward when Stiles finally answers the door and Derek asks if everything is okay.

Stiles huffs and says it's fine.

“Really? Because it sounds like someone’s being murdered in here.”

Lydia appears behind Stiles, wine glass in hand, her expression equal parts fond and exasperated. “Oh, no one’s dying. He just thinks Orpheus was right.”

Stiles throws his hands in the air. “He was! He risked everything to save Eurydice! That’s-”

“He looked back, Stiles,” Lydia interrupts, turning to Derek with a theatrical sigh. “That was literally the one rule. Don’t look back. And he looked.”

“Because love makes you do stupid things!” Stiles snaps, wheeling back toward her. “He thought maybe she wasn’t there! That maybe the gods lied! I’d look too!”

“You would doom your man to eternal suffering because of your trust issues?” Lydia deadpans.

Derek blinks slowly. “You’re arguing about a myth?”

“It’s not just a myth!” Stiles nearly vibrates with frustration. “It’s a story about human nature and the fragility of faith and-”

“And how men can’t follow simple instructions,” Lydia adds.

"God, if I hadn't broken up with you in highschool, I would have done it right now." Stiles grumbles.

That catches Derek's attention. Is she not his girlfriend? Lydia's words about Stiles "dooming his man" filter in.

"Wait, are you guys not dating?" Derek finds himself asking.

"God no." Stiles says immediately.

"That vehemently quick denial kind of hurt my feelings." Lydia smirks.

"Eat me, Martin."

Suddenly Derek is hopeful. Maybe he can get to know his slightly neurotic, gorgeous neighbor.

"um, okay. Sorry. I misunderstood. I'll just be going now."

Stiles smiles at the man

"thanks for coming to make sure Lydia wasnt killing me. I appreciate that."

Derek nods and smiles back.

Before he walks back to his place he looks at Stiles one more time

"just so you know, I'd risk it all to turn back too."

[itsnesss]

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢 𝐝𝐨 | lando norris × fem!reader

summary | you confront lando about his new girlfriend, accusing him of replacing you. he admits he still feels for you, but you demand he prove his love by choosing you fully, not as an option

warnings | emotional manipulation, angst, heartbreak, unresolved tension, rebound relationship dynamics, betrayal

word count | 2.2 k

🖇 sctw album 🖇 more ln4

You see it from afar.

His laugh, the way he runs a hand through his hair, that same sidelong glance that used to be yours.

And her...

She’s wearing your coat. Well, not literally, but it looks like it. Same cut, same worn-out beige tone, like she stalked your old photos and built a Pinterest mood board with your name on it.

"Y/N?" your friend whispers, nudging you. "You okay?"

You’re not. But you smile. Of course you are. You’ve had months to prepare for this. To see them together.

Lando and the watered-down version of you.

She laughs a little too hard at something he barely said. Her hands reach for his like she has something to prove, like she’s marking territory.

And the worst part...

Lando doesn’t even notice.

Or he does. And he likes it.

"You look incredible," he says later, when fate decides to put you face to face. Charity event, lots of familiar faces, lots of cameras.

"Thanks," you reply, smoothing your skirt with a grace you didn’t have when you were with him. You don’t try to be cool anymore. You just are.

She shows up two steps behind, with a rehearsed smile and a scripted comment:

"I love your shoes! I literally saw them at Zara the other day and thought, this is so Y/N."

You look at her.

It’s not just the shoes. It’s your perfume. Your hairstyle. Your way of saying “literally.”

It’s creepy. And honestly, kind of pathetic.

"Yeah?" you say with a thin smile. "Well, not everyone has their own style."

She laughs, like it’s a joke. Lando doesn’t. He frowns. Because he knows you.

And you know he knows.

"It was a joke," she clarifies, but the tremble in her voice betrays her.

"Sure," you reply. "I just didn’t find it funny."

Hours later, you're on the terrace, a glass of wine in hand and a faint song playing in the background. The breeze carries memories, ones you'd rather not invoke. But there they are.

Your fingers laced with his, a broken promise, a fight in Monaco, tears in an airport.

"You shouldn't have said that," his voice comes from behind.

"Which part? The style thing? Or the not everyone part?"

Lando sighs.

"She’s not you."

"No. But she tries to be."

You turn around. He’s closer than you expected.

"Does it bother you?" he asks.

"What bothers me," you say calmly, "is that you let it happen."

Silence.

"You let her step into my place. What did you expect? That she wouldn't try to fit the shape I left behind?"

Lando doesn’t answer. But his jaw tightens.

And for the first time in a long time, you see something in his eyes you didn’t see when you were together:

Doubt.

And that’s when you understand.

Maybe she’s copying you because he’s still looking for you everywhere.

Lando doesn’t speak at first. He just looks at you with that intense stare you once could read with your eyes closed. Now, it’s all noise.

"You don’t have the right to be mad," he finally says.

"And you had the right to replace me so quickly?"

"I’m not replacing you."

You laugh, dry.

"Right. It’s just a coincidence that she likes the same movies I do, drinks her coffee the same way, and has the same ringtone I used to have. What a coincidence."

Lando takes a step toward you.

"She’s not you, okay? No matter how hard she tries. And I’m not the same since you left."

Your eyes lock with his. You see it: the regret, the confusion, the restrained desire.

"I didn’t leave," you whisper. "You let me go. Don’t forget that."

Days later, the universe plays dirty again: a private event, a small guest list, and of course, she’s there. Like a shadow. Like an echo. Wearing a skirt you used to wear and a hairstyle he once complimented… on you.

But this time, you’re done playing nice.

"Can we talk?" she asks when Lando gets distracted.

You raise your brows.

"Now you want to talk to me?"

"It’s just that..." she bites her lip. "I didn’t know it bothered you so much."

"What? That you copy me or that you’re dating my ex?"

She stays silent.

"Look," you add, your tone unchanged. "I don’t care that you’re with him. What bothers me is that you think copying me is the only way to make him like you. That says a lot more about you than it does about me."

She blushes.

And you walk away. Because you don’t have time for imitations.

Later, as you’re picking up your bag at the coat check, Lando appears behind you. Again. Always him.

"What did you say to her?"

"The truth," you reply without turning around. "Isn’t that what you used to like about me?"

"I still do."

You freeze. Slowly, you turn.

He’s close. Too close. Same scent, same chaos.

"Don’t say that."

"Why not?"

"Because we’re nothing now."

"Then why are you still hurt? Why do you look at me like that every time we’re in the same room?"

Your breath catches.

"Why are you still looking for me in other people, Lando?"

And that’s all it takes.

The tension bursts into an unplanned kiss — fast, furious, full of unspoken words. No cameras, no witnesses. Just the two of you, trapped in a corner where you still exist.

His hands hold you like you’re still his. Your fingers cling to his jacket like no time has passed. It hurts. But it feels good. It feels real.

"This doesn’t change anything," you whisper against his lips.

"It changes everything," he replies.

And for the first time, you don’t know if that gives you hope… or scares you.

Lando doesn’t say anything at first. He just looks at you with that intensity of his the one you used to read with your eyes closed. Now, everything is noise.

"You don’t have the right to be angry," he says at last.

"And you had the right to replace me so quickly?"

"I’m not replacing her."

You laugh, dry.

"Right. It’s just a coincidence that she likes the same movies I do, that she now drinks her coffee the way I used to, and that she uses the same song as her ringtone. What a coincidence."

Lando takes a step toward you.

"She’s not you, okay? No matter how hard she tries. And I’m not the same since you left."

Your eyes lock onto his. You see it: the regret, the confusion, the restrained desire.

"I didn’t leave," you whisper. "You left me. Don’t forget that."

Days later, the universe plays dirty again: a private event, a small guest list, and of course, she’s there. Like a shadow. Like an echo. Wearing a skirt you used to wear and a hairstyle he once complimented… on you.

But this time, you’re not here to play nice.

"Can we talk?" she asks when Lando gets distracted.

You raise your eyebrows at her.

"Now you want to talk to me?"

"It’s just that…" she bites her lip. "I didn’t know it bothered you so much."

"What? That you copy me or that you’re dating my ex?"

She stays silent.

"Look," you add, your tone unchanged, "I don’t care that you’re with him. What bothers me is that you think copying me is the only way to make him like you. That says more about you than it does about me."

She flushes.

And you walk away. Because you don’t have time for imitations.

Later, while you're grabbing your purse at the coat check, Lando appears behind you. Again. Always him.

"What did you tell her?"

"The truth," you reply without turning around. "Isn’t that what you liked about me?"

"I still do."

You freeze. Slowly, you turn.

He’s close. Too close. Same scent, same chaos.

"Don’t say that."

"Why not?"

"Because we’re nothing now."

"Then why are you still hurt? Why do you look at me like that every time we’re in the same room?"

Your breath catches.

"Why are you still looking for me in other people, Lando?"

And that’s all it takes.

The tension erupts into an unplanned kiss—fast, furious, full of unspoken words. No cameras, no witnesses. Just the two of you, trapped in a corner where you still exist.

His hands hold you like you still belong to him. Your fingers cling to his jacket like time never passed. It hurts. But it feels good. It feels real.

"This doesn’t change anything," you whisper against his lips.

"It changes everything," he replies.

And for the first time, you don’t know if that gives you hope… or fear.

The hallway lights flicker. In the distance, you hear laughter, music muffled by the thick club walls. But you’re still there, caught between yesterday and now, with his lips still brushing yours.

"This shouldn’t be happening," you murmur, without conviction.

Lando looks at you with a storm in his eyes.

"But it is. It always happens when we’re close."

And then, as if the universe demands immediate revenge, she appears.

"Lando?"

Your body freezes. Guilt crashes over you like ice.

Lando takes a step back, his lips still red, his breath uneven.

She sees you. She doesn’t need an explanation. The pieces fall into place—your lips, his rumpled jacket, your guilty eyes. It says everything.

"Seriously?" her voice trembles. "Here? With her?"

No one replies. There are no excuses. What could you say? That he kissed you first, that it wasn’t your intention, that you’re confused too?

But you don’t.

Because you’re not confused.

And that makes it worse.

"Since when?" she asks. "Was it always like this? Since we started dating?"

"No," Lando says, still looking at you. "But I never stopped feeling it."

She laughs. A hollow, wounded sound.

"Of course. How could I compete with her ghost if you never let her go?"

You feel awful. Not for confronting her. But because deep down, you always knew this would happen. That he was with you in body, but with her in memory.

She turns to leave. And for a moment, you almost go after her.

But you don’t. Because he doesn’t move. He doesn’t run after her.

He’s still there. With you.

"You’re not going after her," you whisper, more surprised than angry.

"I can’t."

"Why?"

Lando swallows.

"Because she’s not you."

Hours later, you’re in his car. No destination, just familiar streets and the radio playing low. Not much talking just breathing the same air. But something has changed.

"So now what?" you ask.

"I don’t know," he admits. "But I know what I don’t want."

You glance at him sideways.

"What don’t you want?"

"To lose you again."

And that sentence… it stays with you like an invisible scar.

But the problem is, this time, you’re not the one who has to stay. He has to prove he’s changed.

You stay at his apartment that night, but not out of love. Not out of habit. Just because you don’t have the energy to run… yet.

The city sleeps, but you don’t.

You’re sitting at the edge of the couch, a blanket over your legs. Lando stands by the window with a glass of wine he hasn’t touched.

The silence is heavy. He’s waiting for you to say something. You decide it’s time.

"You know what hurt the most?" you ask, without looking at him.

He turns slightly.

"What?"

"That you made me feel replaceable."

You say it slowly, like each word is a punch.

"Like everything I was to you could be copied, shaped into someone else. Someone younger. Easier. Less complicated."

Lando closes his eyes.

"I didn’t go after her for that."

"It doesn’t matter why you did it. You did it. And not only that. You turned her into me. You gave her everything you used to give me… just without the love you had for me."

"Don’t say that," he replies, hurt.

"Why not? Does the truth bother you?"

You stand, the blanket falls. Now you look him in the eye.

"Or does it bother you to realize you were never honest with yourself?"

He puts the glass down. Walks toward you.

"Y/N… I loved you. I love you. I swear."

"Don’t swear it. I don’t want empty promises."

Your voice shakes, but you don’t.

"Do you know how hard it was to rebuild myself after you? You were in everything. My coffee, my playlist, my Sundays. And just when I started to breathe without feeling you, you decide to kiss me."

Lando swallows hard.

"I didn’t plan that."

"But you did it."

You pause. Swallow the lump in your throat.

"And she saw it. You know what’s worse? She hates me, when you’re the one who dragged her into this. Just like you dragged me."

Lando lowers his gaze.

"You’re right."

"Of course I am."

You inhale deeply.

"And that’s why I’m not falling again. Not unless you’re willing to do what you never did."

He looks up.

"What’s that?"

Your voice is firm. Steady.

"Choose me."

Silence.

"Not as an option, not as an escape, not as comfort. Choose me fully. With the consequences. With the ugly parts. With the real stuff."

He nods.

"Then give me the chance to prove it."

"No."

Your words hit him hard.

"No?"

"Prove it away from me. Change without me as your excuse. Be better without needing to kiss me to remember why you loved me."

You take a step back.

"And if after that you still choose me… then we’ll talk."

[revelboo]

As a monster (specifically alien) appreciator (understatement of the century), never thought I could go beyond or any deeper into the abyss but lo and behold... I've the hots for a robot that changes into a city 😅

Srsly, I never even considered him and just thought aww last titan rest now pookie you worked hard but noooo... your writings just had to change that..who's next? Primus?! (affectionate) (also that'd be awesome ngl.. if anyone could write an x reader fic with Primus its you srsly. Dont stop at a robot that changes into a city, go for the planet lol)

Istg I started for purely Meg and Op but you're making me look at... literally every bot in the TF franchise HOW DO YOU DO THIS? WHAT IS THIS WITCHCRAFT?

Never stop creating though take lots of rest and hydrate daily, am just one fan but know that we will defend you and love you to the death 🤺 thank you so much for existing (not parasocial) 🛐🛐

🤣 I’m doing my job if you read something for a character you don’t even like or never considered and then go ‘oh, no. They’re fuckable.’

🔞 mass displaced mech 🌶️

Need

ES Starscream

• Gasping as an arm curls around you and you’re pulled back into your mass displaced Seeker, you didn’t even hear him sneak up on you. Heart racing, you try to figure out how he can be so damn silent when he wants to be and you feel him press his face against the back of your neck, venting to stir your hair. “Bad day?” You ask, reaching up an arm and he clears his vents aggressively, pressing his cheek against your palm.

• Bad is an understatement. Normally, he can talk about it, vent to you. But this? Running into Megatron unexpectedly has left him shaken. Because underneath the attitude and bravado, he’s still afraid and he hates it. “I need you,” he growls. Needs a distraction, to take that jittery edge off.

• Know that tone. He ran into Megatron again. “I’m right here,” you whisper, turning in his arms and pulling his head down. Going up on tiptoe to kiss him as his hands impatiently start stripping you. Know he’s going to take out that frustration and anger on you, that he might get a little rough with you. And that he’ll feel guilty afterward even though you never complain. “I’m not going anywhere.” Heart aching for what he’s been through. He’s only shared bits and pieces, but it’s enough to know that he’d suffered at Megatron’s hands.

• Why do you have to wear so many layers of coverings? Stripping you, he spins you and bends you over the human sized berth he’d made for you before he’d started demanding you sleep with him where he can hear you, feel you and know you’re safe. Palm sliding down your spine, he cups you. Spears a servo inside you, stroking impatiently as you grow slick for him. And then freeing his spike to stretch you in a slow, deliberate drive of his hips. “This is mine,” he snarls, hips pumping as his servos curl against your hips.

• Moaning, your fingers fist in your blankets. Hearing his aggressive rumbling growls, feeling the heat of him against your back as his wings flare. And if you’re his, then he’s definitely yours. Broken and awful as he can be, you need him like he needs you. You’re not even sure you can fix him or that you should try, those ragged edges as much a part of him as his spark. Spike driving deep as his hips snap against you, he’s almost too rough. Urgently rutting against you, ruthlessly driving you to that peak and you’re aware that you’re mindlessly begging for it.

• Moving against you, his mouth and denta skim the back of your shoulder. Feels you tighten on him, trembling as you come apart and he bites with a groan, denta gripping your shoulder as he keeps thrusting. Riding it out as long as he can before he’s overloading, filling you as you slump under him and he follows you down mindful of his weight. Feeling your heart racing as he keeps rocking lazily against you just to make you fist his spike before dragging his glossa against the marks his denta left on your soft skin. “Want to talk about it?” You ask, voice shaky and soft and he presses his helm against the back of your shoulder. Not yet. Doesn’t want that mech’s name to taint this, because this is his and no one will take it or you from him.

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

[12:17 pm]

(cw: wife!reader)

With yours and CEO!Johnny's schedules, it could be pretty hard to match up your schedules for small moments together. Sure, there were your nights spent together, the slow mornings, sporadic calls during the day. It was a schedule you'd both gotten used to and didn't complain about simply because you both knew that there were periods of time that could be worse. Like when Johnny had to go on trips to other countries, when either of you had long meetings, conferences that took you away from home.

All that to say, when one of you had unexpected free time, you were spending it with each other. That's why you were happily walking across his office with a bag of food in your hands and a happy smile on your face. You waved at his employees as you walked across the floor, smiling and asking how they were, how their kids were, and how Johnny was treating them.

You stopped in front of his secretary's desk, "Hi, how are you? Johnny has his lunch hour free today, right?"

His secretary smiles up at you, looking at the calendar on her computer before her eyes find yours once again, "always nice to see you Mrs. Suh. Yes, John has about an hour and a half free, two hours but you know he has me schedule his itinerary down to the minute. He'll be very happy to see you. He doesn't tell me a whole lot, but I can tell when he misses you. Enjoy your lunch."

You smile sweetly at her, making a mental note to make sure she gets a very good Christmas gift from your husband. You knock on his office door, peeking your head in with a cheeky smile, "Mr. Suh, your lunch meeting is here."

"Lunch meeting? I didn't see that on my calen-" Johnny starts to say before his eyes finally fall on you. His shoulders relax at the same time his gaze softens at the mere sight of you, "my love. This is the best surprise ever. What are you doing here? I thought you had a conference."

You close the door behind you meeting him half way with a kiss on the lips and a smile, "it was a networking brunch. I'm free for the rest of the day, so I figured there was no better way to spend my time than lunch with my wonderful husband."

"Well, I'm just the luckiest guy alive, aren't I?" He smiles as he takes the bag of food from your hand.

You both settle onto the leather couch of his office as you both begin to open up the containers of food from one of your favorite, g to, restaurants. Johnny stares at the food hungrily, "I didn't even realize how hungry I was. Thank you, my love."

"Good think your wife knows you better than you know yourself, huh?" You wink, kicking off your heels before grabbing your salad off the table and getting comfortable on the couch.

While you both eat, you make small talk. You tell Johnny about your event, he tells you about his day, and the frustrating call he'd started his day with. He sips his drink slowly, his eyes find yours and then he asks, "you used my card for lunch, right?"

Your eyes glint with mischief, "...no."

"My love!" Johnny cries out, dragging his free hand down his face, "how many times do I have to tell you to not spend your money? You don't use your money for anything, alright? You use my money— our money for everything. Got it?"

You laugh, setting your own food aside as you crawl across the couch and cup his face in your hands. The wedding rings on your finger feels cool against his skin as he stares into your eyes. You lean in, pressing your forehead against his own, "if you'd have let your wife finish... I'd have told you that I used the cash you snuck into my purse this morning. Happy?"

He smacks a quick kiss against your lips, "very happy. I could never be anything but happy with you."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

butterflygirl738 (6)

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, sickness, medical bills, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You love butterflies and your mother, but life isn’t that simple. As life gets complicated, and expensive, you find yourself in need and an unexpected miracle presents itself.

Characters: Steve Rogers (CEO/Sugar Daddy)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

"It was a nice day," S says as he checks the rear view mirror.

You twitch out of your trance. Your eyes are itchy, the way they get after a double shift. You suppress a yawn and nod.

"Very nice, thank you," you agree and twiddle your fingers in your palm.

"But you're anxious to get home..." he says.

"Well....my mom..." you begin. "I'm not trying to ditch you--"

"Ha, I know. I'm selfish. I've had you all day." He keeps his eyes on the road. "Should we stop and get her something?"

"Um, that's. Mm. I'd love to but..."

"Might be suspicious. Got it." He clucks. "Well, what about tomorrow? You got plans?"

"She has an appointment," you say. "Check-up."

"Ah, makes sense," he says. "When is it? Maybe after..."

"Yeah, er maybe. But... how long are you here? What about New York?" You wonder. The big city, his company, all that is still a mystery to you.

"It can wait. Besides, the hotel has wifi. I got all night to catch up emails."

"Oh, right." You stare at the street ahead.

"Tomorrow?" He prompts before the silence drags.

"Tomorrow. After noon? Should be done by then," you assure him, twisting your fist around your finger.

"Can I ask you a favour?" He slows as he gets to your street.

"A favour?"

"Yeah. Nothing big. Promise." He turns the corner and keeps a snail's pace.

"Alright," you utter.

"Will you bring a few bills tomorrow? We can go through them. Sort that out--"

"S. No. I can't--" 

"But that's the deal," he insists. "How can I help if I don't know the situation?"

"I... I don't know. It's a lot."

"A lot you shouldn't be worried about. You should be focused on your mom. Not money." He stops in front of your building. He angles in his seat and puts his hand on the back of yours. "This is what I'm here for. To take all that off your shoulders."

You exhale and swallow dryly. "It feels like too much."

"Not to me." His thumb rubs the seat, close to your shoulder. "Look, I'm just me. I got more than enough for that. I want to do this. I want someone to share this with. To spoil, if I can."

You look at him. He's too good to be true. After all the bad days, all the set backs, all the red numbers, you just can't believe it's what he says it it.

"I'll bring one," you offer.

"One?" He echoes.

"Mhmm," you nod.

"The highest one then," he says. His tone is even but demanding. 

"Okay."

"Okay," he repeats and clears his throat. "Look, sweetheart, let's not ruin the day. Go inside, spend some time with mom. I'll text you."

You chew your lip. You should tell him. It won't help if he thinks you're ignoring him.

"Maybe not." You fidget. "I'm... I'm almost out of... I uh, the internet is down and I pay per message."

"Hm, why didn't you mention it before?" He challenges.

You sink down, pushing your shoulders high. "It's embarrassing."

He sighs. 

"No problem. Tomorrow. After noon," he pats the seat and rescinds his hand. "Hope the appointment goes well."

"Me too," you murmur in dread.

You undo your seat belt and grab your purse. You sit up and glance at him. He watches you expectantly but you're not sure what he's waiting for.

"Good night," you say.

His jaw ticks, "good night, sweetheart."

You smile weakly and get out. You shut the door gently and turn to step over the curb. You march up to the front doors and peek back. You wave then go inside.

You feel bad now. Like you're abandoning him. After such a nice day, you're just strutting off without giving him anything...

Your chest knots up as you climb the stairs. It isn't just him, it's the lies. You're not sure you can keep this up but if you don't, what are you going to do? You can't pay him back and the missed hours at work won't do much to help that. And if you keep calling in, well, you might not have time to make up for what you missed.

You're confused. This was supposed to make it all easier but it all feels so much more complicated. Why can't life be as simple as the chrysalis in the hamper? 

🦋

"Will you come in with me?" Your mom asks as they call her name.

You nod and stand with her. It's not like the early days. When she went on her own. She didn't tell you the diagnoses right away. Not until the first treatment. That was a horrible day and there's been many of those since.

You follow the nurse to the sterile room. You sit in the chair in the corner and your mother sits in the chair by the small counter top. You're silent. Both anxious.

Dr. Vincent enters. You almost feel like you should stand. You cross your legs and return his greeting. It's not a very good morning but you won't say so.

"So, Noreen," he says to your mother. "I have some news."

Your mother looks at him from her chair. She looks small like a child. You've never seen her afraid but in that moment, you see her eyes gleam.

"You're a candidate for stem cell transplant." He says.

Your mom looks at you and back to him. You don't know what that means either. You remember they mentioned it early on but it never came back up.

"No more chemo. At least for now. We think this is the opportune time and it could help with recovery in the long run," he explains.

"Oh, right," she breathes. 

"We'll send you for a few scans to see how things are looking but your last images were positive."

"Uh huh, okay," she blinks. "Is it very expensive?"

He hums. "It can be. Depending on insurance. Of course, it would be my recommendation for you to go with it. Chemo is showing results but in my experience, this is the best course of action. If you wish to continue as you are, it's entirely within your discretion."

You're both quiet.

"I'll provide you some information on it before you go. How about that? Give you some time to think." He says.

"That's good," you say as your mom stays silent.

"Alright, then, we'll do the usual," Vincent diverts. "Let's get you on the bed."

You sit patiently as he checks your mother over. He's quick and efficient. He has a full waiting room, even this early in the morning. You thank him after your mother does and he leaves the room.

She steps onto the stool and down to the floor. As you approach her, she sighs. She doesn't say anything as she leads you out of the room.

As she stops at the admin desk to get the folder of pamphlets, she bids them a good day. As you come out into the gloomy of the rainy day, you take her hand. She stops and stands at the curb, looking out into the distance.

"I'm tired, pie."

"I know, mom," you say.

"What do you think?" She asks.

"I don't know. Maybe... we should read the stuff."

"It'll be expensive."

"It's all expensive," you mutter.

She drops her head. "My last days and I have to watch my daughter work herself half to death just to suffer more and more."

"Mom, please, he said things are looking good--"

"Maybe but I don't know how much longer I can keep this up."

You swallow as your eyes burn. "It's... it's your choice. Always your choice." You look away, trying not to cry.

"Honey," she squeezes your hand. "I don't want to give up. I know you won't, either, but you're tired too. It hurts me to see you like this."

"Mom," is all you can eke out.

She lets go of you and looks at the folder. She exhales. "I'll read it over."

"We'll read it together," you offer. 

"When's work?" She wonders.

"Noon," you answer. Not work, per se. Just an obligation.

"Enough time for breakfast," she says. "My treat."

"Mom," you say.

"I know, I know. But I just want one last cinnamon bun before I go," she insists.

🦋

You're trembling. You haven't been able to stop since you left the apartment. You couldn't let your mom see the panic. She's already having a rough day.

You stand under the awning of the building, waiting. S drives up and you run out without pulling up your jacket hood. You feel in your pocket for the pamphlet.

You get in the car and flick the moisture from your cheeks. You gasp. "It's really coming down."

"You don't have an umbrella?" S says.

"Forgot," you shrug.

"Mm, well, looks like a day best spent inside. I was thinking, they got pretty good food at my hotel. We could have lunch."

You hesitate. The thought of his hotel room makes your stomach stir. You remember what he said. 'We'll see where it goes'. It's feeling more and more like there's only one way this goes.

"Sure, whatever you like." You sniff.

You buckle up and sit back. You tilt your head up.

"Long morning?" He asks as he pulls into the street.

"Yeah... a little."

"Bad news?" He asks cautiously.

"Mm, news... stuff to think about."

"Right," he steers on as the wipers swing back and forth. "Well, just relax. Once we get to the hotel, you can get dry and clear your head."

"Yeah. Thanks."

You close your eyes, content to let the rain and the motion soothe you. It's a moment to prepare yourself.. Maybe once you tell him, he'll change his mind.

When the car stops, you snap up as if you were sleeping. Your mind slows as the world does the same. S smiles at you and reaches behind your seat. He grabs an umbrella out of the back.

He gets out, shielding himself from the downpour, and comes around to open your door. He walks you up to the hotel doors and folds up the umbrella before he enters the lobby. He points you to the elevators.

"Got some work done this morning," he proclaims as you get on. "You were asking about my company."

"Oh, right. I was. Curious, I guess. I don't know anyone who owns one."

"You do now," he chuckles. "It's not as glamourous as it seems. This is as much time as I've had to myself in... a decade?"

"Really?"

"Not to complain. I mean, certain things I don't have to worry about. It's not a bad life. Solitary," he shrugs and the doors open.

He guides you along the hallway to his suite door. He lets you in ahead of him. He puts the umbrella in the tall vase by the door.

You unzip your jacket and hang it. You look down at your jeans. They're soaked. You rub the damp fabric.

"I got a spare robe in here, if you want to let those dry," he says.

"Sure, uh, probably," you agree.

He takes off his shoes and you step out of your boots. You linger by the door, shyly glancing into the suite. He stands up and combs his fingers through his hair.

"I'll get the room service menu," he grins and struts away. "Make yourself at home."

As he looks around, you reach into your jacket pocket. You hide the pamphlet behind your back, clasping your wrist tight, and tiptoe further inside. He waves the laminated menu at you.

"Right here," he puts it on the small round table between two chairs. "I'll get that robe."

"Sure."

You wait, reluctant at the edge of the sitting room. A couch and a clamshell chair in velvet. It's all so nice.

He comes back in.

"If you want to change before you make up your mind--"

"Uh huh, yeah."

You keep the pamphlet behind you and take the robe. He points you to the bathroom and you scurry into it. You lock yourself inside and strip off the wet jeans. The texture leaves your skin itchy. Ugh.

You hang them on the bar meant for towels and pull on the robe. It's soft and roomy. You tuck the pamphlet into the pocket and face the door.

You emerge as S sits at the table. You walk carefully, paranoid that the robe might fall open despite the tight knot around the middle. You sit down and lean over to read the menu. It's a good distraction.

"I recommend the mac and cheese, as simple as it sounds," he taps with his finger.

"Oh, I like mac and cheese," you say.

You continue your perusal. You'll probably just go with what he says. Your appetite is lost in the storm of your inside.

"So, uh, did you bring that bill?"

You sit up stiffly and blink at him. Your hand goes to the pocket of the robe. You gape at him. How do you do this?

"We can wait--"

"No, I can't. Not-- no. Because..." you stammer as your heart races. "Because it's... it's too much and... you can say no and... I'll be okay. My mom will be okay. I'll figure it out. I will."

"Woah, woah, sweetheart," he gets up and comes around the table. He gets down to his knees as he puts his hands on your arms, his thumbs caressing you. "It's alright. I asked you to--"

"No, no," you jitter as you reach in the pocket and slide out the pamphlet, slightly damp from the rain. "It's... it's more... it's..." you look down at the paper as you clutch it in your hands. "The doctor said it will be good but..."

He drags his hands down your arms to your hands. He eases the pamphlet free. He sits back on his heels and opens it. He reads it over as you cover your face.

"I think I should go--"

"I can do it," he says calmly. "One hundred? Easy."

"One hundred thousand!" You drop your hands. "S!"

"It's just money. This isn't about that. It's about your mom, isn't it?"

You stare at him. You don't understand how he can be so generous. It's just take, take, take, and you have nothing to give. And the more he gives, the more you depend on it. The hole only gets deeper and deeper.

[crushpunky]

actress!reader gets asked about drew

masterlist | actress!reader masterlist

based on this ask. a sort of compilation of y/n telling cute stories <3

Y/n settled in the chair opposite the podcast’s host, Claire, adjusting the mic as the interview began.

“Hello and welcome to another episode of Chit-Chat with me, your host, Claire Hale!” Claire said cheerfully before turning to face y/n. “Today we are going to be talking with the wonderfully talented y/n y/ln. Welcome!”

“Hi, thank you so much for having me.” Y/n smiled, smoothing a hand along her pants as the two of them launched into casual conversation, ranging in topics from y/n’s childhood to her favorite movies and her morning routine.

“So, I think the people are dying to know, how is married life?” Claire said, dropping her jaw open exaggeratedly. Y/n laughed, absentmindedly fidgeting with the diamond ring adorning her finger.

“It is great.” Y/n smiled. “I didn’t think it was possible to be this happy, y’know? Like I thought that I was happy before we got engaged, but actually being married is a whole other level.”

“Ugh, that’s so cute.” Claire swooned, causing y/n’s cheeks to warm as she thought back to the memory of waking up this morning in Drew’s arms. It was something that happened nearly every morning, but each time it made her heart flutter and fall impossibly more in love with him.

“I’m not even trying to over exaggerate or put on an act, I am just genuinely so happy right now.” Y/n continued, folding her hands in her lap as she smiled to herself.

“I think we are all so happy to hear that.” Claire nodded. “You and Drew have been together for such a long time, it’s so nice to just see two people who truly love and care for their work and each other. Speaking of, how do you guys sort of find that balance between work life and personal life, with both of you spending so much time away acting or away on projects?”

“It’s taken a lot of practice,” y/n chuckled. “Lots of hours of late night FaceTime calls and missed dinners until we both kind of decided that we needed to set up some boundaries and some of what we call ‘no excusers’.”

“‘No excusers’?” Claire asked, leaning in intently with a quirk of her brow. Y/n nodded, thinking back to when Drew and her had originally come up with the term. It had been after Drew missed a dinner with y/n’s parents, a dinner he had promised to be at amidst his busy schedule, just a day after y/n had to cancel on one of their preplanned coffee dates.

“Yeah, Drew and I sort of set up this system where we have certain things that we call ‘no excusers’.” Y/n explained. “They are things that the other person has to be at, or at least help to reschedule to be at, no excuses.”

“Both of us have such busy schedules, so it can just be super easy to retreat into yourself and just say ‘oh I’m too busy’ or ‘I can’t’, but we both knew that we wanted to be there for the other person when they needed it most, even if it was hard.” Y/n continued. “So, with the ‘no excusers’ we are sort of making a promise to the other person that we can count on them to be there for us, no excuses.”

“Really making sure to set aside time for you guys and your relationship and what’s important to that relationship.” Claire clarified.

“Yes.” Y/n agreed. “Neither of us had really been in a relationship with another actor or person in the industry, so we knew we had to make time for each other in our busy schedules if we wanted to keep this relationship.”

“That’s really sweet.” Claire grinned. “So, speaking of busy schedules, how did you guys find time out of yours to get married? I mean both of you had such huge and busy years last year, so I think everyone was pretty shocked to hear that you guys got married.”

“I think we were pretty shocked that we found the time too.” Y/n joked, causing Claire to laugh. Y/n remembered back to all the hectic planning on sets and over FaceTimes, getting dresses tried on between meetings with producers, tasting different cakes from the comfort of their home, pajamas on.

“No, but in all seriousness, I think we were both just so excited to get married that we were going to find time for it no matter how busy our schedules were.” Y/n said. “Both of us could barely wait a minute longer, like I remember that we had a countdown on the whiteboard in our kitchen, ‘Days Until We’re Married’, and we just made a huge deal of it each day counting down. Music, dancing, cheering, the whole shabang.”

“Stop, that’s so funny.” Claire chuckled.

“Our neighbors probably hated us, but we didn’t care.” Y/n giggled. “Like, did you expect me to not be excited to marry the love of my life?”

“No, you’re right, I can only imagine how excited you guys were.” Claire nodded. “I mean, you’ve been together for so long, like, four years?”

“Publically, yes, but privately about five.” Y/n giggled as Claire’s eyes widened.

“How did you guys even manage that?” Claire asked incredulously. “I mean, Outer Banks, like, blew up during that time, you must’ve had so many eyes on you.”

“Ha ha, yeah, that was certainly a very interesting time.” Y/n chuckled, remembering how the two of them would try and sneak around downtown Charleston, ducking into darkened allies to kiss like teenagers.

“It was during COVID, so for a while we just stayed inside. There weren’t very many opportunities to catch us, aside from the occasional social media post or livestream, but I think that we kept it pretty lowkey. I mean we already lived together, so we weren’t going back and forth between each other's places or anything like that.” Y/n continued. “But when things kinda started going back to normal, and we were going out more and more eyes were on us, it certainly became a lot harder.”

Y/n thought about a particular time in which a fan had snuck a picture of the two of them sitting on a bench just off the beach. The two of them shared AirPods, chatting casually. They hadn’t even realized that y/n had ended up perched in Drew’s lap, his hands resting on her hips as their faces sat just inches away from each other. They were too caught up in the moment, and in each other, to realize they were in public until they saw the photos later that afternoon.

“There were… multiple times where people pointed out something or noticed something that we hadn’t even thought about and we thought like ‘oh shit, we’ve been caught’, but we always managed to sorta weasel our way out of it.” Y/n giggled, brushing a bit of hair away from her face. “It was hard, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way.”

“Yeah,” Claire nodded. “That sort of situation definitely helps you guys to keep the relationship real, y’know? How did you guys decide to keep it private for so long? Was that a mutual decision?”

“Yes, yes it was definitely something we both agreed upon.” Y/n said. “I think we both wanted to make sure that our relationship was authentic and real, not just something shaped by other peoples’ perspectives or opinions. I really do think that that time where we kept things between ourselves helped to shape our relationship.”

“I know you said you kept it between yourselves, but other people definitely knew, right? They had to.” Claire asked.

“I honestly think that some of them knew before we knew ourselves.” Y/n laughed. There were so many moments and stares shared by the people around them who recognized the very obvious feelings between y/n and Drew. So many friends and family members would comment on the almost magnetic attraction the two exhibited, practically unable to go anywhere without the other. 

“But in all seriousness, yes people knew.” Y/n continued. “We kept it just between us for like… a month, month and a half maybe? But then we shared it with our friends, the Outer Banks cast, but they kinda already knew since we were all living together. Then a little after that we told our parents on FaceTime— because of COVID— and they also kinda had their suspicions.”

“That’s so funny.” Claire grinned. “Well, y/n, I really appreciate you taking the time to Chit-Chat with us! It was so much fun!”

“Thank you so much!” Y/n grinned. “Thank you for having me, it was a lot of fun.”

“Once again, thank you for watching and thank you for Chit-Chatting with us!” Claire said, her and y/n waving goodbye to the video and listeners at home.

[luna-rainbow]

That scene is horrible... they had him half naked in a room full of dressed men, men who, we can surely say, we're his abusers. It doesn't even have to be something s*xual, they were his abusers. It's horrible. My heart will forever ache for the 70 years he lived like that 💔

Thanks for the ask! Since I got a similar comment about the Civil War scene, I thought I’d just tag on my thoughts about both.

I feel like it’s already been mentioned by others, but the scene construction of the two scenes are so different. They put Bucky in a very different light, quite literally, for the audience.

I put the original clips here because many of our lovely talented GIF makers do a bit of colour correction and I just wanted to show how different the colour palette is in the originals.

The CATWS is bathed in a warm olive glow, a little bit sickly but starkly human. The CACW is a cold, icy blue that casts his skin with a ghastly paleness.

The CATWS scene also starts very differently. The camera hovers over Bucky’s face, giving him a humanness that we haven’t been allowed to see at all before. Most of that scene are closeups that really let you see Sebastian’s excellent acting as Bucky cycles through bewilderment, fear, defensiveness, doubt, and determination. The camera only draws back when Bucky is pushed back onto the chair, then it does that famous glide up over his torso, ending on his contorted face.

The purpose of that scene is to highlight Bucky’s vulnerability, through a combination of the horrifying flashbacks, the warm lighting that really brings out his human flesh, the shaky cam that mirrors his uncertain mental state, the camera angle that brings us very intimate with Bucky while also in the wider angles show how isolated and trapped he is by the people around him, the whole scene composition with the men looking down on him while he’s exposed and confused, not to mention the fantastic acting from Sebastian and also Redford in bringing out how quietly terrifying Pierce is.

The CACW intro is very different. We get a lot of distant shots of Bucky being variously obscured — by the mask and gas in the cryo chamber, by the shadows as he’s carried away, and simply by the distance as he undergoes the procedure. The composition of the scene (where he’s electrocuted) is distant and clinical, and the camera slowly approaches as the code words are read and we get the final close up when he accepts his mission. The harsh blue light makes him seem crazed and terrifying, rather than human and vulnerable. The costuming too — he’s clothed in this one in some quasi-futuresque nylon vest, again calling to mind robotics and artificiality. Then we get the yellow vintage glow right after the cut when we go to the Starks assassination scene, just to highlight the contrast.

The two intentions are incredibly different. CATWS is the breaking of a human. CACW is the waking of a monster.

The CATWS scene is a hard watch because of how vulnerable Bucky is, but CACW scene is fucking depressing because of how hard they try to make us forget his humanity.

[sentryluvs]

“Between the Stacks” Bob Reynolds (Sentry) x reader

summary: Bob sneaks out for some fresh air and meets you at a bookstore near the old Avengers Tower.

tags: Fluff, Bookworm! Bob, Bookstore owner! reader, Bob is the cutest awkward bean, set after the events of Thunderbolts*

These are chapters three, four and five ! you can find the first chapters here

003. The invite

One rainy evening, Bob lingered around after the store closed, helping you with chores like: cleaning tables, organizing bookshelves, stacking carts ect.

This had become a routine for him: escape the tower and visit you on your shifts, help around when the store was crowded, eat with you on your breaks, bring you the home-made food he would cook. And be overally very involved with you.

These actions slowly made you realize that you may be in love with this cute dork. You two had grown very close these past weeks, you noticed how he became more confident around you, even sneaking flirty comments here and there. He even took you to eat at the restaurant besides the store after one of the many closing shifts you spent together. This made you think and wish deep inside that he felt the same way.

A small blush coated your cheeks as his black shirt lifted while he finished stacking the remaining -but very heavy- chairs like they were nothing. This gave you a view of his well formed abs, a few drops of sweat dripping down as he set the chairs down with a grunt. He palms his hands and turns to look at you

“This should be it…” He said while straightening his pose. He slouched a lot to conceal his presence so you never imagined he would be the type to work out. You didn’t mind though but you couldn’t help to think jokingly What kind of work must he have?.

“ I uhh.. wanted to ask you something,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

You looked up, curious. “Sure, you know you can ask me anything ” You said sincerely.

“Would you…like to visit the WatchTower? I can get us in. It’s kind of a mess, still under construction, and very chaotic sometimes” He said while thinking about the constant bickering between Alexei and John, daddy-daughter fights between Yelena and Alexei, Yelena and Ava roasting John, John picking on him for the minimum but getting his ass beat in the training room anyways and Bucky constantly breaking the dishwasher for washing his arm in there, seriously, who does that?

“But… it’s special to me.” He finished and waited for your response expectantly.

You grinned. “I’d love to.” Guess you’ll finally see what kind of job has your loverboy ripped.

The next morning, you met infront of the store and Bob walked with you to the Tower. Suprisingly, it was very close. You guys made it in, you noticed how nicely he greeted the receptionists, construction workers and janitors, thanking them for their service, he trully had the kindest hear.

He pressed a random button on the elevator, and you guys arrived at a floor that contained an exhibition dedicated to the old Avengers. He led you around sharing stories about the building’s history, about the heroes and their mistakes. He was very passionate about the whole thing, it made your heart warm.

Bob took you to another floor, through the quiet, echoing halls, now talking about the newer heroes who reside here.

Finally, in a lounge overlooking the city, he turned to you, his voice trembling.

“There’s something you should know. I’m not… just Bob. “ In other circumstances you would laugh, but this seemed like something serious

He continued “There’s a part of me that’s dangerous. I’m Sentry. Sometimes, I’m the Void.” As he said this, you could swear his eyes quickly turned gold, then grey, then back to the dark blue you grew to love. Ah, so that’s it, he’s a heroe. Your heroe. You thought.

Bob took a step foward, now fully facing you, his eyes never leaving yours, filled with something you can’t fully describe.

“But when I’m with you, it’s quieter. I feel… safe. human.”

This time, you took the iniciative and reached for his hand, you tried to ignore how he slightly flinched, aparently not used to skin contact. He was terrified of hurting you, and would never forgive himself if something ever happened.

“You are human, Bob. And you’re not alone. Not anymore.” He was mermerizing

He squeezed your hand, relief and gratitude in his eyes.

After that, you guys went back to the shop, and spent the evening together. And before the sun set down, he had asked you to be his girlfriend.

You said yes, and iniciated a kiss that felt like a thousand fireworks lighting up in the sky at the sound of your love.

He was no longer alone, he never was.

005- Secrets, revealed

Two days later, Bob took you to the Tower to have coffee together in the lounge before your afternoon shift, holding hand and talking about trivial things when suddenly a group of loud people walked in. Two men, The Red Guardian and the US Agent, formerly known as the second Captain America bickering over a football tournament score, two girls who you would assume are Ghost and Black Widow discussing mission reports and a man you could recognize as the ex-winter soldier now congressman James Barnes. You could only guess these group of people are the New Avengers.

Alexei stopped short, eyebrows raised. “Bob? Who is this lovely lady?”

Bob flushed, but didn’t let go of your hand. “This is… my girlfriend Y/N” He looked at you with reassurance and love “She works at Tower View Store.”

You waved, cheeks warm. “Hi, very nice to meet you all”

Ava smirked “So this is where you’ve been sneaking off to.”

Hearing that made Bob’s ears feel on fire “You- you guys knew?!” Now feeling a little ashamed.

“Of course young Bob!” Alexei boomed “We figured you wanted time alone, and so we did not ask before. We did not want to make uncomfortable”

John grinned, patting Bob’s back “Well, it’s about time, Reynolds.”

Bucky just gave you a friendly nod. “Welcome to the madhouse”

Yelena, meeting your eyes with a look of approval, smiled, genuinely.

Bob looked at you, then at his team. For the first time, he didn’t feel like he had to hide.

He smiled

006- Epilogue

Bob Reynolds no longer hid his bookstore visits or his relationship. Tower View Store became your shared sanctuary, a place where he could just be Bob, not Sentry or the Void. Occationally, the Thunderbolts dropped by, pretending to browse while keeping an eye on their friend, or actually buying from your recommendations. Their visits brought more costumes, a win win situation.

One evening, as you closed up together, Bob squeezed your hand.

“Thank you. For giving me a second chance.”

You smiled. “You gave yourself one, Bob. I’m just glad I get to be here for it.”

Outside, the city buzzed with life. Inside, between the stacks and the stories, you and Bob found something steady-a new beginning neither of you had dared to hope for.

The end.

Special chapter is titled “Yelena’s Discovery” and can be read as a stand alone too! Will be published soon. Thank you all for your support🫶🏻.

[burningcheese-merchant]

Have you ever thought of any other fankids for your BxA pairings? Paneer and Jackie are so cute! :D

Awww thank you ❤️ here's a little doodle of them as babbies just for you. Jack's hair was kinda shaggy as a little kid lol. But he's getting better at holding his baby sister, see?

I've thought about other Beast x Ancient fankid, yeah. But to be honest, I can't really see the other pairs with kids. To elaborate:

Dark Cacao is already a father, and his son is already an adult, at that. I think he's had his fill of raising kids by now (especially because he already didn't do the best job with Dark Choco. He'd probably worry he'd fuck up the next kid, too). I can't really see Mystic Flour wanting children, whether that be because she doesn't see the point or because she, too, fears that she would fail as a parent. It's easier/more suitable for Flour to accept Dark Choco as a son and for him to accept her as a mother figure imo. Best of both worlds: you can have a kid, and the kid is already grown so they don't need raising lol

Same deal with Hollyberry tbh. She's already a mother, she's already had her time in that world. Her son is a man with his own life and accomplishments; her job is done and she wants to relax now. Now that there's a heavy implication that Eternal Sugar is fond of children (and perhaps even wanted to be a mother herself), I think... she would've wanted to have a child with Hollyberry, and would be kind of sad that Holly doesn't agree. But she would make peace with it. It helps a lot that Pepper Jack and Matar Paneer are around, honestly; she loves being an auntie. They both do. And that's enough for them

Shadow Milk and Pure Vanilla... That one's tough. I don't think Shadow Milk would be a good father tbh. He's already a deadbeat to Black Sapphire and Candy Apple, you know? Lol. Pure Vanilla is the opposite, he adores children and is great with them. I can see him wanting one with Shadow Milk; worrying it wouldn't go well, but wanting it nevertheless. The thought of having a happy family with his other half is an enticing one, even more so seeing their friends have one of their own. But it's a "two 'yes's" thing and Shadow Milk keeps saying no... It's the HollySugar dilemma but in reverse lol. The Ancient wants a kid but the Beast doesn't

Silent Salt and White Lily are the closest ones to that ideal imo. It's something Silent Salt sometimes dares to daydream about, even. But they're both so afraid, so nervous... They already think so little of themselves in general. They'd probably assume they'd be the worst parents ever. (They'd do just fine lol.) For now, they're content being Auntie Lily and Uncle Salt. But maybe someday...

... All of that just to turn around and say I thought of some kids anyway 😂😂😂😂😂 I'm a silly guy

MysticCacao kid would be Choco Tart

HollySugar/EternalBerry kids would be two daughters, Belladonna and Yew Berry

ShadowVanilla kid would be a son named Vanilla Cream

SilentLily kids would be a son named Fleur de Sel and a daughter named Salt Spray Rose (or Rugosa Rose, haven't decided yet)

None of them would be canon though, save for the last two 😅 but you're all welcome to ask about them anyway, if you're curious for some reason. (Otherwise I encourage you to go look at some other ShadowVanilla kids because they're actually very cool. @/justn0t has Panna Cotta Cookie and @/verystrangebun has Gold-Flecked Cookie, those two are my favorites)

[forsaken-headcanons]

EEEEK my first ask ever!!!! This is basically just my headcanons abt the survivors sleeping habits (not including killers 😅)

Noob - Certified insomniac!! Sleep? Hardly knew her

Builderman - Likely the most normal out of the whole crew, but still, he gets a few occasional nightmares here and there, but who doesn't?

Shedletsky - Has frequent, and I mean FREQUENT, night terrors of 1×, especially after a round with them in it. Yet he doesn't talk to anyone about it and never makes it obvious (Builderman knows, though)

007n7 - Would probably sleep hugging an extra pillow since he's so used to comforting c00lkidd whenever he has nightmares

Elliot - Pre-Forsaken he would probably go to bed early in the night and wake up at, like, 5 a.m. or smth bc of his job. Forsaken time, though, it takes a LOT for him to even get an ounce of sleep bc of all the stress during rounds

Guest 1337 - The war and the whole military thing messed him up in some way, so he's a pretty light sleeper! Would swing a punch though if you startle him awake

Chance - Probably needs at least 20+ pillows to even CONSIDER laying on the bed, too bad The Spectre's a bitch that likes to see ppl mildly inconvenienced

Two Time - They occasionally sleepwalk, especially when the previous rounds were rough. Sometimes the other survivors just wake up to see them looming ominously in the corner with a dagger in hand (I wonder what they're dreaming about?)

Dusekkar - Floats in his sleep, which is why he keeps his windows and doors locked in case he floats away (This happened TWICE, Noob thought a killer snuck in both instances)

Taph - Sleeps like a log. It would take a lotta noise and shaking for him to even stir

-🧸🪆 anon (if it's not taken ofc!)

Hello!! Glad to be making your acquaintance! Welcome to the blog, friend :~]

I love these! If you don't mind I'm pocketing these.

reaches out to put them all in my pocket one by one while looking at you with wide eyes

Yeah. Thanks. Thanks for your contribution.

It's nice to have you, 🧸🪆 anon.

[eddiazx]

riding full throttle - evan buckley x reader

(in honour of the finale tonight, here's something about buck on the motorcycle since I'm still not over that scene)

The rational side of your brain can attest that motorcycles can be dangerous and come with a significant risk that other vehicles may not pose.

The horny side of your brain saw a video of your boyfriend riding a motorcycle, got into a boxing ring, and knocked out that rational side of your brain.

"Hey, Buck?" You say one evening, as the two of you do the dishes.

"Mhm?" He hums, giving you a lopsided smile to let you know that he was listening.

"What are the chances that you can rent a motorcycle for a night... for the two of us?"

Buck nearly drops a plate into the sink at your question. "Are you serious?" He asks, eyes bright and excited. He knows how you (and frankly the entirety of the 118) feel about motorcycles, so he stopped riding them a long time ago. That doesn't stop him from wistfully gazing at them when he's on the road though.

"Just for a day. I think it would be fun to have a little joyride, dont'cha think?" With that, you lean in to press a kiss to his cheek and get ready for bed.

You should've known that Buck would find a solution quickly. Your man is nothing if not resourceful, and the following Friday, when you park your car after work in your apartment's underground parking lot, you're met with a beautiful sight.

That sight being Buck straddling a motorcycle with his thick thighs, wearing all black. He holds out a helmet for you, before putting on his.

"Hop on, babe." Buck tells you cheekily.

You rest your hand on Buck's right shoulder before swinging a leg over the bike. Your front was flush with Buck's broad back, and you wrap your arms around Buck's firm middle. Even though he was wearing two layers, you can feel his body heat under your palms.

"Ready?" Buck murmurs.

You nod as a reflex, then utter a soft "yes" when you realize that he probably couldn't see you while he was facing forward. Your nerves were shot with both adrenaline and the fear of being on what Hen would call "a death trap", but you trusted Buck.

Almost as if he could read your mind, he reassures you: "I researched spots that were low traffic so we could be safer. I'll also stop or slow down whenever you want - just say the word, okay?"

You smile softly. Of course he had done his research. "I love you, you know that?"

"I love you, too. Let's go?" With a squeeze of your thigh behind him, Buck zooms out of the lot.

You couldn't help but feel alive with the wind whipping in your face, the rumble of the engine, and the comfort of Buck underneath your touch. You don't know how long the two of you rode - time felt endless and magical - before Buck eventually stops in a secluded area. He takes off his helmet, and you couldn't help but bite your lip in appreciation. Helmet hair should not look that good on anyone. He then helps you dismount, completely oblivious to your inner thoughts, before pointing up at the sky.

"Found an area where we can properly see some stars. It's not much, but..." Buck trails off.

You can't help but shake your head at his thoughtfulness. You face him, throwing your arms around his neck. "It's perfect. Thank you, Buck."

"You're welcome." He smiles at you, before leaning down to capture your lips with his. It's a kiss that starts off slow and sweet, almost syrupy, before you start tugging on Buck's curls and his hands firmly squeeze your ass in an attempt to bring your bodies closer. You eventually separate, light pants and exhales mingling with the night air. The two of you laugh breathlessly, before walking back towards the bike, hand in hand.

Buck mounts, and before he can put his helmet on, you climb on as well, but this time, in front of and facing Buck. You straddle him fully, and Buck looks up at you in surprise.

"What're you doing?" Buck questions, voice raspy with want, but his hands start to wander from your sides and thighs. His half-hard length (his perpetual state around you, to be fair) stirs in his pants, thickening up fully the longer you sit on him.

"Riding." You state innocently, rocking your hips against his.

"Baby." Buck groans in pleasure, hands flying to your waist, helping you grind against him. You lean down to kiss Buck again, teeth nipping at his rosy, full lips.

Your clothed hips continue to roll against his sensually and patiently, until it became desperate and quick when you knew your release was imminent. "Come on baby, come for me." He grunts lowly, urging you towards your release.

White-hot pleasure explodes behind your eyes, your nails digging into Buck's biceps as you come. Buck follows not long after, a wet spot staining his jeans.

The two of you wince, thinking of riding back in stained clothes. "Sorry." You apologize sheepishly.

"I'm not. We'll just have to go home and get clean together." Buck states with a wink.

Needless to say, your first riding experience with Buck was a hit.

[v6quewrlds]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Always," Justin said, leaning closer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One more kiss was never going to be enough.

She was obsessed.

[better-setterv2]

Hi 👋🏻☺️, I was wondering if you could write something avoit Lewis dating or engaged to a ginger/redhead, if it's ok.

𝒯𝒶𝓃𝑔𝓁𝑒𝒹 𝐼𝓃 𝒴𝑜𝓊

Authors Note: Hi lovelies! Here’s a quick one-shot someone requested. Crossing fingers it meets the expectation. Hope you enjoy! Lots of love xx

Summary: In the quiet of their London home after a whirlwind weekend in the spotlight, Lewis and the reader find solace in vulnerability, sharing insecurities about their hair and deepening their love by quiet honesty and unwavering support.

Warnings: insecurities

Taglist: @hannibeeblog @nebulastarr

MASTERLIST

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The house was filled with the quiet hum of familiarity, a kind of tranquility that only seemed to bloom in spaces meant for the two of you.

The warmth of the fire flickered lazily in the hearth, casting playful shadows on the walls. Outside, the London rain drummed a soft rhythm against the windows, a soft serenade that only heightened the comfort within.

You were nestled against the plush fabric of the sofa, your legs tucked under a thick blanket, the faint sound of the rain a soothing soundtrack to the moment.

The air in the room smelled like lavender - light, calming. You could almost taste it as it lingered on your lips, though your mind was still miles away.

It had been a weekend of flashing cameras, flashing smiles and so much noise that the moment you walked back into this house, you realieee how loud everything had been.

It wasn’t the chaos that had unsettled you, it was the undercurrent of judgment. A glance here, a whisper there. As if people were always waiting for you to trip up to somehow not be enough.

And it had stuck with you.

Lewis had picked up on it before you even realised what was going on.

As the weekend wore on, you had found yourself retreating inward, slipping into quieter corners and avoiding anyone who didn’t have to be near you. It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy the event, but being in the public eye with him, walking through the sea of flashing cameras, had somehow brought all the old insecurities rushing back.

You tried not to dwell on it, but you felt the sting now, in the stillness of this space that was only yours.

Lewis was in the kitchen, his voice carrying through the open door. "Chamomile or peppermint?"

"Surprise me," you murmured, not even bothering to look up from where you sat your fingers absently tracing over the soft material of your joggers.

The quiet was good. The quiet was safe.

A few moments later, you felt the familiar warmth of his presence beside you as he placed two mugs down on the table in front of you.

You inhaled deeply, the minty scent immediately comforting as he slid into the couch next to you, the space between you barely existent as his leg brushed yours. He adjusted the blanket around your legs, curling up in a way that invited you closer without even asking.

You wrapped your hands around the mug, trying to ground yourself in the warmth of it, but your thoughts drifted again.

“Your surprise is peppermint,” he said, a quiet grin tugging at his lips as he leaned against the back of the sofa, his arm brushing your shoulder gently.

You gave him a half smile, not quite reaching your eyes. “Thanks,” you murmured.

His brow furrowed slightly as he observed you. Your usual energy - quick, playful, full of warmth was missing, replaced by something quieter and deeper. He knew you well enough to sense when something was off, even if you weren’t saying it outright.

“You’ve been quieter than usual since we got back,” he said softly, his tone carrying the same tenderness he always reserved for your more vulnerable moments. "You okay?"

You hesitated, taking a long sip of the tea before setting the mug down, feeling the weight of his gaze on you.

He didn’t rush you, he never did. Lewis understood the power of silence in a way most people didn’t and somehow, it always felt like you were both speaking in a language that didn’t require words.

“I’m just tired,” you said, your voice barely a whisper.

It was the easiest answer. The most obvious one. But it didn’t feel like the whole truth.

Lewis leaned a bit closer, his knee brushing yours as he turned toward you. “You sure?”

You swallowed hard, trying to gather the fragments of what you were feeling. The words tumbled out, quicker than you could have stopped them.

“There was this photographer at the event,” you started, your voice wavering slightly. “I walked past him, and he said under his breath, but loud enough for me to hear "Brave choice with that hair color. Not everyone can pull that off."

His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but he didn’t interrupt. Instead, he turned his body fully toward you, taking your hand gently in his.

“I’ve heard stuff like that before, Lewis. People think it’s okay to comment on things they shouldn’t. On how I look, the ginger colour hair I have” Your voice cracked a little, and you looked down, suddenly unsure of how to continue.

“And I try not to care. I really do. But sometimes…” You paused, exhaling slowly as the emotions finally caught up with you. “Last night, I just felt like I didn’t belong. Like I was too loud for the world we were in, too much for the people around us.”

You felt small, raw, exposed in a way you hadn’t wanted to. Lewis didn’t speak right away. He just squeezed your hand gently, his thumb tracing circles over your knuckles.

“I’m so sorry you had to deal with that,” he finally said, his voice thick with sincerity. His gaze never wavered from you, as if he could see everything you were feeling without you having to say it aloud.

There was a pause, a long stretch of silence between you. He shifted, taking the mug from your hands and placing it on the table before pulling you closer, gently wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“You belong, sweetheart. Always. You belong with me.”

You blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the emotions swelling inside you. But his voice - his quiet conviction was like a balm, soothing the sting you hadn’t even known was there.

He didn’t say it in a way that felt like a statement of ownership. He said it like a reminder, like a grounding force that could lift you out of the storm that had been swirling in your mind.

“I’m not just saying that to make you feel better,” he continued, his fingers weaving gently through your hair. “I mean it. The first thing I noticed about you, before your smile or your laugh, was your hair. The way it just lit up the room. Like fire, like autumn leaves, like everything that’s vibrant and alive. It’s beautiful, darling. And it makes you stand out. In the best way.”

You felt your chest tighten, a warmth spreading across your cheeks. But it wasn’t just embarrassment more like something deeper, something safer, like a piece of your soul exhaling for the first time in days.

“And your freckles,” he added softly, lifting a hand to gently trace the spots that dotted your nose and cheeks, each one as familiar to him as the curve of your lips or the sound of your voice. “You’re perfect, my beautiful wife to be. In a way that no one else could ever be.”

You closed your eyes, his touch sending gentle shivers down your spine. When you finally opened them again, you found his face so close, his breath mingling with yours, his forehead pressed against yours.

“I’ve spent so much of my life feeling like I had to shrink myself down to fit into the mold others made for me,” he said quietly, his hand resting on your cheek, thumb brushing over the delicate line of your jaw. “But with you, I don’t feel that way. I feel like I can just be me. I don’t have to pretend, I don’t have to hide. And that’s because of you. You see me, baby. And I see you, too. All of you.”

The words felt like a weight off your chest, like a promise in the stillness of the room.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, lingering for a moment as if to imprint that feeling of safety into you, before sitting back, pulling you gently against his side.

You stayed there, leaning into him, letting the stillness of the moment wash over you. And in that silence, in the quiet comfort of just being together,this was home.

This was all you needed.

But something about the moment felt heavier than it had before, like there was something unsaid hanging in the air.

You could feel the shift in him, his movements subtly more restless. His fingers were tracing patterns along the blanket, and every now and then, his eyes would flicker over to you, as though he was waiting for you to speak, to ask him what was going on.

But you stayed quiet, sensing that the ball was in his court this time.

After a long silence, he shifted a little, turning toward you more fully. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, soft but intense, as if he was measuring you, deciding how much of himself to show.

“I’m not really one for talking about this” he started, his voice low, almost hesitant.

You raised an eyebrow, lifting your head slightly to look at him, the curiosity bubbling up. “Talking about what?”

He smiled faintly, rubbing the back of his neck, his usual calm mask slipping just enough to let you see the vulnerability there. He reached up to adjust the braids in his hair, tugging at them lightly as if the movement was more automatic than anything.

“You know, I never really thought about it much, but I guess I’ve always had this thing with my hair. My curls.” He looked away for a second, his eyes drifting to the fire, the light dancing off his face.

“When I was younger, I hated them. I used to get teased a lot at school, in the media, you name it. Always called things like ‘poodle’ or ‘messy.’ And, you know, when you’re a kid, that stuff sticks with you.”

You could feel his discomfort, his fingers now working absently through the braids, loosening them slowly. He seemed to be peeling away a layer of himself, one braid at a time.

“And as I got older, I learned to just braid them. Keep them neat, controlled. I guess you could say I’ve made armor out of them. When I put them in braids, it feels like I’m putting on this shield. It’s like the world expects it to look a certain way, you know? They want the neat, polished image. The curls? They’re too wild for that. Too much, maybe.” He let out a soft breath, his fingers now working on the final braid. "It’s easier to hide behind the braids than to just let them be."

You watched as he tugged one last time at the braid, pulling the tie free and letting his curls tumble free around his shoulders. The moment felt delicate, as if he were shedding a weight he had carried for so long.

“There’s something freeing about it, though,” he added quietly, his voice softening. “Letting them out, I mean. But it feels exposing. I never let anyone see them like this. Not fully. You’re the first one.”

The curls fell in soft, controlled waves, framing his face in a way that made him look younger, freer. You couldn’t help but smile as you took in the natural beauty of them - so wild, so uniquely him.

He exhaled a soft breath, almost like he was releasing more than just his hair. He ran a hand through the curls now falling freely, his fingers weaving through them in a way that felt almost grounding. “I guess I just needed to see it for myself. To show you that your hair and my own are perfect the way it is. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise baby."

The kind of stillness that only seemed to find you when you were with him. The crackling fire was the only sound other than the occasional whisper of rain against the windows.

You had been sitting with him for a while now, your head nestled against his shoulder, your legs still tucked under the blanket. Your fingers fiddles with the engagement ring, twisting it round as you thought. The warmth between you was more than physical like it was the kind of warmth that filled up the spaces inside, where the noise of the world couldn't touch you.

And then, after a long stretch of peaceful silence, you spoke again, your voice soft, barely more than a whisper. “I think we should get married in the spring."

He smiled, his fingers threading through your hair gently. “Oh? Why spring?”

“Because everything’s in bloom,” you said, your voice a little steadier now. “And my hair will glow in the sunlight. I want it to be bright, like a beacon for you. You’ll be the luckiest man on earth to have a wife who stands out like that.”

Lewis’s laugh rumbled through his chest, rich and deep. “I already am.”

You smiled, lifting your head to meet his gaze. “Well, prepare yourself, Mr. Hamilton. My hair’s about to outshine you.”

“Oh, it already does,” he said with a teasing glint in his eyes.

His hand slid from your cheek to cup your face, and he kissed you soft and slow, as if savoring every second. Then he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath warm on your skin.

“You’re the most beautiful woman in the world to me. I still can’t believe I get to marry you.”

You smiled, your heart swelling. “I still can’t believe you want to marry this freckled, fiery haired woman who overthinks everything.”

He grinned, pressing a kiss to your lips once more. “You’re perfect exactly the way you are.”

And as the rain continued to fall outside, the world outside their quiet bubble faded into nothing. There was only the two of them right there, right then, with the weight of the future wrapped around them like a promise.