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itsgivingmami · 7 months ago

Note

Rhea who’s been pining after reader ever since they met in NXT, reader was Damian’s best friend and gear maker.

Reader decided one day that she wanted to try making women’s gear and who’s a better subject than Rhea Bloody Ripley?

They get up close and personal in their first fitting and the champion gets flustered…

-Told you long requests were a bad habit, Maggie

A Measure of Love- Rhea Ripley

Enjoy!! Comments. Likes and reblogs always appreciated

Rhea picked up her pump cover from the bench and wiped her face, sweat running from her dark tresses down her temples. The air is cranked in her garage but it does barely anything to cool her flushed skin. The music is loud as she turns to face Damian, finishing his last rep of presses.

“You wanna grab lunch?” Rhea shouts and Damian slides his body out from the bar and sits up. He takes a moment to catch his breath and take a sip of water.

“I can’t I’ve got a fitting for war games,” Damian explains and Rhea feels her heart leap at the mention of her favourite person. “Speaking of which I don’t wanna go all smelly can I grab a shower?”

“You know where it is,” she teases in fake annoyance and he claps her on the shoulder and heads into her home towards the guest room. Once he’s gone Rhea deflates she leans against the bar with her hands clasped together holding her forehead up.

How many years, how many mentions, how many times had she thought of you and still, heart racing and if she wasn’t already worked up from the exercise she was sure she’d be blushing too. There was the assumption that she’d be used to it by now with all the time you spent in her head and not to mention all the time she’d spent scrolling your social media. For fucks sake you’d been to her house at least a couple times during parties, she could probably find you at Damian’s more often than not and you were constantly backstage during raw. That’s how you had met, and since that day not a single on had past that Rhea hadn’t thought about you in some capacity.

“Fuck,” Rhea arms were twisted behind her neck trying to get the buckle on her top closed but every-time she got the fascinator in place it snapped open. “Fuck!”

She’s rushing from the locker room towards catering, she’ll have to sprint to make it to gorilla before her fight but she can’t exactly go out topless either. Her bleach blond hair tickles the top of her hands as she holds her top, she’s relieved having it so short finally but it’s the perfect length to get stuck in the abysmal clasp.

“Priest!” Damian’s turns from the group he’s talking with to spot his friend yelling for him, he excuses himself quickly seeing the worry on her face and for a second he think she’s got some sort of neck injury.

“What’s wrong?” He asks trying to pull her arm from her neck, and she nudges him off. He stares confused,

“Stupid thing won’t stay closed can you try I’ve gotta be at gorilla,” she turns and he takes a moment to look before admitting defeat.

“Stay here,” he says before quickly running down the hall and out of view. Rhea bobbles impatiently as she feels time passing, maybe she should’ve just tried to find a merchandised shirt.

Damian’s boots are loud as he hauls back around towards her, there’s a quick glance thrown over his shoulder as a shorter woman’s comes trailing behind him. Her hair swings behind her in a ponytail, her large white button up, open on her shoulders acts like a cape as she and Damian run towards Rhea.

“Who’s this?” Rhea asks as they meet her in the hall, her eyes don’t leave the woman infront of her, staring up through round wire frame glasses.

“She does all my gear she’ll fix that,” Rhea squints for a minute before snapping back to reality, right her top, her match. She continues to stare at the woman as her brain catches up,

“I’ve got it I promise,” you tell her but her hesitancy has nothing to do with your skill and everything to do with the fact that she doesn’t want to stop looking at you. With a thick swallow Rhea nods and spins around, gently lowering to her knees and allows you to work.

She makes it out in time, the golden lights of nxt greeting her for the evening. Her tops holds strongly as she pins her opponent.

Damian congratulates her as she gets back to the gorilla but her eyes scan the room for you. As she makes her way back to the locker room she checks every hallway for the sight of you but nothing. She rips her gear off the first chance she gets and packs up quickly, throwing items into her bag before heading back out into the busy hallways.

She never did find you that night, but as a thank you she had sent you flowers a few days later come to find out you weren’t actually in town and they had died at your doorstep. That was the first on only time Rhea had decided to shoot her shot with you and years later you were still completely ignorant to the roses your building had removed from the hall.

From then she’d found every excuse to be close to you, came to Damian’s fittings when she could, offered to wait with you backstage at events. Everything but actually make a move on you or tell you how she felt.

“I’m headed out,” Damian leaned in the doorway with his gym bag in hand, she waves him off with a tired smile. She loves her closest friend but she can’t help the jealousy that creeps in. She finally leaves the garage to get a glass of water before heading off to a shower of her own.

She’s in her bedroom pulling out sweats and hour later with a table when her phone lights up with Damian’s contact photo. Probably wants to show off his new gear. She tosses the clothes on the bed and sits down, sliding to accept his FaceTime. Her phone nearly flys across the room when she sees your face light up her screen and she looks down at the towel covering her body.

“Hey gorgeous!!” You greet happily unaware the fluster you’ve put her in. “Do you have a second for me?”

She could laugh if she wasn’t caught so off guard. A second? She had years to give to you, years she’s waited stuffed under her belt. She runs a hand through her wet hair in attempt to look more presentable and nods swallowing thickly.

“Yeah always,” she tells you honestly, her mind tones brings a smile to your face.

“Are you loyal to somebody for your gear?” You ask quickly, Rhea furrows her brows and shakes her head.

“Not particularly I tend to shop around,” Rhea answers and you light up, Rhea hears Damian pipe in with a teasing ‘I told you so,” before you swatted at him. Rhea took your distraction as an opportunity to admire you.

Contrary to popular belief she was not all skulls, goth and black. She did occasionally enjoy the light and airy things in life, some might even call cute and one of those things, was you. The way your hair falls around your face and when you smile one side raises a little higher than the other. Your face had changed over the last couple years as did your habit for choosing contacts over your frames but to her you still looked as tempting as your first meeting.

“I don’t know how you deal with him,” your voice snaps Rhea back to reality as her phone comes back into focus. You’re rolling your eyes at Damian and smiling at her. “You’re never going to get married at this rate stupido!”

“Says the single woman,” Damian retorts and Rhea places her phone to view the ceiling. She hears you scoff as she pulls on a pair of sweat pants and a tee.

“I know how to treat a woman better than you!” And it was true, you did. You had more long term relationships than Rhea or Damian in the last few years and it gutted her every time. It both relieved and filled her with anxiety when you clarified that you were gay for the first time. Rhea had gone from worrying about you and Damian together to worrying about every other woman on the planet. “Where’d you go?”

Rhea tosses the towel into the hamper and grabs her phone and as she reappears you smile.

“Sorry you caught me out the shower,” You watch Rhea shuffle back and lean against the head board,

“I’m sorry I just really wanted to talk to you!” You explain and she feels her heart jump. She’s torn between watching you and watching herself ok her phone to make sure her face doesn’t betray her.

“I’m all yours,” Rhea admits, it feels nice to say aloud even though she really does mean it and you chuckle in response to what you assume is a joke.

“I’ve been thinking about moving into doing women’s ring gear,” you speak quickly a feeling of nerves flowing over you, “and since you and your terror twins are officially teaming up I was thinking that maybe I could do your gear too, could make them match and everything,”

Listen, Rhea knows she should be paying attention to your offer, and she hears you but the way you’re blushing and refusing to really look at her is something she hasn’t seen and it’s pulling the dominant side of her out of the hole she pushed it down into a long time ago in regards to you.

“You wanna make gear for me?” Rhea questions and you nod enthusiastically,

“Yes! Please what do ya say?”

“Hello?” Rhea shouts into the quiet room, her voice echoing back at her. She moves inside and closes the door behind her, the lights above her hum dully, a good sign that you’re here somewhere. She’s only been here a few times when tagging along with Damian but the studio is familiar enough, your loft hanging above the space.

“Hi!” She hears followed by the clanking of metal, she watches you descend the spiral staircase quickly and speed walk towards her. Your arms wrap around her neck, pulling her down your height. “Thank you for this,”

“Anytime,” she replies because any chance to spend time with you is a win in her book, getting new custom ring gear was an added bonus. “So what do you need from me?”

“I need your measurements and then we can look at some sketches,” Rhea freezes in place, measurements, her measurements. She wasn’t sure how that fact hadn’t crossed her mind, of course you were going to have to touch her at some point during fittings but measuring her? You were too busy floating around collecting your measuring tape and notepad to notice the (gay) panic happening. “Cool?”

“Oh? Um-“ Rhea forces a smile and nods as you look at her innocently, “cool,”

Half an hour later Rheas standing on a pedestal in her bike shorts and sports bra, her mind a mental minefield of trying not to think about you and simultaneously prepare herself for you to be so close.

“Okay so hold your arm out a little for me,” Rhea takes a sharp breath in as you gently touch her right arm, moving it to where you want it. “Perfect,” your hands are gentle as you measure the length of her arm and she can feel your eyes move along her skin.

“How come you decided to do women’s gear?” Something, anything, a distraction of any kind was better than the silence. You look up from the tape to her, her gaze remains stuck in front of her, stoic like a statue. “You’re pretty established with the work you do now,”

“I got inspired,” you answer vaguely and pull your tape along her arm back to your waiting hand, “there’s a woman I want to see in my clothes,”

“Gotcha,” she tries to say casually, throwing a quick answer out before her voice breaks. “So I get to be the guinea pig?”

“Hmmm,” you hum as you make your way around her, your finger tips are cold on the back of Rheas neck as you hold the tape and run it down the length of her back. You watch the muscle is her back tense and move and quickly advert your eyes back to the task at hand. “I wouldn’t send you out in anything I wasn’t confident in,”

“No I didn’t mean-“ your soft giggles cut her off as your forehead hits her back.

“I was kidding,” you rub her back gently to let her know she’s okay before moving to measure her waist.

“So who’s this dream muse of yours?” She can’t help but ask. Rhea tries to keep her tone playful but the way her tones drops towards the end of her sentence gives her away more than she’d like. Your eyes seemed focused on your tape and she hopes you weren’t plying close enough attention. “I’m sure Damian could put in a good word with pretty much anyone,” You avoid making eye contact with her as you return to your notepad to jot down her waist number and shrug.

“I’m sure he could knowing him,” you tease but say nothing else about it and it sends the gears in Rheas head turning full force. “Arms up,”

“If it’s someone in my division I could talk to them for you?” Rhea offers and she doesn’t know why, she doesn’t exactly want to share you but the way you’re measuring across her chest prompts her to start rambling.

“I don’t think so,” you giggle and smile at her. Now she was starting to feel antsy, all the past times a girl had shown up in your life she was blind sided, at least this time she had the opportunity to prepare herself for seeing you with someone else.

“Cmon just tell me who she is,” Rhea tries again ignoring your hands on her hips, “I know I could convince her,” why can’t she stop talking?

“I really doubt it Rhea,” you tell her, you lowering onto a knee in-front of her getting ready to measure her legs. You keep your eyes on her thighs as you measure them, refusing to look up. You write down your number before looking up. “Plus no need,”

“Why not?” Rhea asks, your vagueness is starting to irritate her, despite how cute you are how nice your touch feels.

“Because I’m already measuring her,”

To be continued…

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thisapplepielife · 3 months ago

Text

Written for @steddiebingo.

he keeps on loving me (and i keep on wondering why)

Prompt: Proposal | Word Count: 3503 | Rating: T | CW: Language | Tags: AU, Established Steddie, Rural Living, Corroded Coffin Guys, Good Uncle Wayne Munson, Living Life Isn't Always Easy, But Loving Each Other Is

Also on ao3 || bonus: mini vid edit

The sun is hot, blisteringly so, and Eddie steps on the edge of the shovel again. Pushing down hard. Digging into the old red dirt that's hidden away under the sod. Twisting, taking another chunk out, before tossing it aside. He'd just gotten the grass looking green instead of brown, at the cost of effort and time, both of which are always in short supply. Now there's gonna be an eyesore of a trench cutting across the yard.

Figures.

Get one step ahead, only to get knocked three steps back. It's all Eddie's ever known.

There's definitely a stoppage, and the rural sewer district insists it's on their side, not the county's, which makes it Eddie's responsibility to fix.

Wayne borrowed a hand crank snake from a friend at work, and they never even met resistance as they worked it down through the drain, as far as it'd go. The cleanout still running water out indicated the clog wasn't in the house, but somewhere else in the line, so they rented a hundred foot snake to run down the cleanout.

Sure that'd get it.

Still nothing.

For plan C, Wayne helped him mark the main line, suggesting he dig it up, further out. The shittiest proposal Eddie's ever heard.

But Eddie's doing it. Calling a plumber would take time and cost money, and if Wayne thinks they can do it themselves, well, Eddie trusts him. Wayne hasn't steered him wrong yet.

Eddie is getting concerned the longer he finds nothing, but fuck it. If he gets to the road, it's no longer his responsibility. He'd just have to eat the sunk time costs he's expended.

Goodie's supposed to be bringing out a borrowed mini excavator tonight, if he can. It's been hard with their schedules to make it happen, working opposite shifts at the refinery will do that, but it's getting dire. Eddie has started to believe that they only used to have a band. Past tense. With two of them working the night shift, and the other two working days, it's been an exercise in futility to actually get together at all these days, let alone play. Families, kids, work, overdue bills, all means music takes a backseat. Has to.

Eddie has considered pawning his guitar a time or two, but has never quite been able to make himself go through with that last resort option.

Doesn't matter right now. He's got bigger fish to fry, like digging this trench with his own two hands, if he'd like the drains to ever work again. The smell alone is motivation to keep digging.

That, and he's scared this might actually be the thing that's gross enough to finally send Steve running back to the city.

Eddie hears the car before he sees it. That's how it works out in the country. It might be Wayne coming back with another shovel, or maybe even Gareth is awake and ready to help. He hopes for Goodie and Jeff, but knows they aren't off work yet. When he catches sight of the BMW crawling along the dirt road, kicking up red dust, Eddie stops and leans against the handle of his shovel, smiling.

Steve.

The pretty college boy that stayed.

The boy in the khaki pants, and polo shirts, that hid a wicked smile and angel eyes. He blew into the bar Eddie was working in, sweaty, dirty, after struggling with a flat tire that stranded him. Wanting to borrow the bar phone to call a tow truck.

Eddie could do it better, and faster, himself.

He walked down the block with him, and it was a production. His tire was definitely ruined, and the donut was a little low, but held air when they took it out to the filling station on the edge of town, Steve riding along in Eddie's pickup, face turned towards the window, wind blowing against his face, happy.

Even with the shitty night he'd clearly had.

Tire changed, Steve wouldn't take no for an answer, shoving a wad of cash into his palm. It was more than he'd make in a night, lugging glasses and dirty dishes.

Eddie told him to go slow, to get a new tire tomorrow, and tapped the roof of the car.

And when Steve pulled away from the curb in that shiny BMW, Eddie assumed he'd never see him again.

But then he just kept coming back.

Steve was charmed by Eddie, for some goddamn reason Eddie will never understand, not fully. With a wallet full of money, and no real responsibilities other than getting his ass to classes on time. All Eddie's ever had were responsibilities beyond his years. Steve would have been easy to hate, if he hadn't been so…Steve. Gorgeous, funny, but tinged with just a little bit of sadness that only seemed to lift once he was sure Eddie wasn't annoyed by him coming and hanging out.

Driving out from the nearby college town to sit in a dingy, small town bar, just to be entertained by the barback that always got less work done on the nights he turned up.

He always seemed kind of lost, until Eddie was the lucky bystander that found him.

Steve's never divulged much about home, about his life back in Indiana, about his parents. He talks about them, sometimes, but says nothing. Eddie feels like he almost doesn't know any more about Steve's family today than he did that first night. Eddie's sure he came from a silver spoon, golden rule, private school, never missed Sunday church, good upstanding family.

But for some reason, he took a shine to Eddie. The blue collar, low dollar, out here where concrete meets old red dirt barback that didn't run him off the second he came back to the bar to do homework. Like the college library wouldn't have been a better place for that. But he kept coming back on nights Eddie worked, and Steve worked hard to charm him, like he didn't have it backwards. Eddie needed to chase him, not the other way around.

When he kissed Eddie for the first time, Eddie didn't expect more than a night or two. To maybe be his dirty little secret, while Steve publicly courted some rich college girl he'd go on to marry.

But that's not Steve Harrington.

No, Steve loves who he loves, and is loyal to a goddamn fault when he's loved back. Even when it meant he got cut off from all that old money. He acted like it didn't matter. Like a cushion of generational wealth wouldn't have made his life exponentially easier. He still stayed.

And has kept staying.

Steve could have anyone, anywhere, but he's chosen Eddie. He's chosen to make his home here in this little inherited farmhouse, with Wayne in his trailer just up the road.

He's chosen to work a job that he's overqualified for, and underpaid to do, just so he can live with Eddie in a house where all the drains are backing up into each other. Not even complaining about standing in the slow to drain shower water while Eddie figures it out.

It sure doesn't add up on paper, that's for damn sure, that Steve keeps on loving him, while Eddie keeps wondering why. Questioning why Steve Harrington is his biggest fan, his partner.

His love.

It doesn't make a lick of sense.

Steve wears his heart on his sleeve, except for when talking about home, no matter how many times Eddie has tried to pry. He just says his parents are out of the country, probably. No reason to go home to an empty house.

They might not stay in one place, but Steve definitely has, stepping out of that fancy car, hanging onto the door frame as he gives a little wave at Eddie, "Still no luck?"

"Not yet," Eddie admits. His hands hurt. He can't stop for long, or he won't want to start again. It's always easier to keep doing the thing that hurts, rather than stop and then have to get going again. Wayne taught him that.

Steve slams his car door, disappears in the house. When he reappears, he's in old jeans, and a well-worn t-shirt. Holes around the neck, and sleeves. And one that seems strategic around his belly button.

Eddie smiles, taking him in.

"Let me take a turn," Steve says, stepping down into the trench Eddie's been digging. Straddling the exposed sewer line. Eddie wonders what Steve's parents would think if they could see him. Their perfect boy, digging ditches, by choice. That he'd rather do that with Eddie than go home.

He could work for his dad, in some fancy office building that most likely wouldn't smell like literal shit.

But Eddie tells him where to dig, how deep, and lets him get involved in the project. Let's him pull his weight, as Steve'd say. That's important to him, even if it's not to Eddie.

They take turns digging until reinforcements arrive.

Eddie and Gareth take off a night from the refinery that they can't really afford. It's dark when Eddie crawls up into the bed of Wayne's truck and then helps pull Gareth up, careful of Gareth's bum knee. It's getting worse by the day, even Gareth is pretending it isn't.

Once up there, both of them hold spotlights for Goodie and Jeff to see what they're doing. Night digging isn't ideal, especially not the night before Goodie's wedding. But it's the only evening they've all had time off at the same time. They have to make due, life demands it.

Goodie's twenty-eight, which is nearly ancient to get married around these parts. Jeff and Gareth both got married right out of high school, it's just what's done. Not Goodie, though. He took his sweet time. He's just lucky Mel was patient enough to wait on his sorry ass.

Eddie razzes him about being last, about being scared to commit, but Goodie snaps back that no he's not last, Eddie's last.

Which is true. He supposes. He wasn't counting himself.

He's not scared to commit to Steve. He's already committed. Besotted. Wrapped around Steve's little finger, and happy about it. Knows he won the goddamn lottery, all for the price of changing a flat tire. Something he'd have done for anybody.

Steve wasn't anybody, though.

And when he wanted to stay, Eddie took the refinery job that he'd been avoiding like the plague, just to make ends meet a little bit easier. Wayne getting him hired on — no muss, no fuss.

Now, Jeff's guiding Goodie along in the dark as he claws the excavator into the yard. Careful not to go too deep. They don't want to make the problem worse. Pulling away dirt, and grass. Not the sewer line itself.

They find it. Smell it. A tree root that's grown far — far enough that Eddie never suspected the goddamn tree of burrowing through the pipe, creating this mess of a problem. At least they know what they need to do to fix it, now. That's better than not knowing.

It's two in the morning, and they scrub their hands with Lava soap at the outside hydrant as Mel, Carla and Di unpack food on the tailgate. Di with a sleeping baby strapped to her chest. The newest one. The other older kids, a mix of Gareth's and Jeff's, are all sleeping in the backseats of the cars.

Eddie bites into a fried pork chop, holding it by the bone. It feels like it did when they were teenagers, hauling hay for a nickel a bale. Sweating their asses off, eating lunch out in the fields, covered glass dishes of homemade fried chicken or whatever else the wives of the farmers they'd been hired by had made for them. It was always good, but often sat heavy in their guts in the summer sun.

Tonight though, it's dark, and cool enough to actually be pleasant. They sit around and eat off paper plates, talking, all together for the first time in a long time. Like there's not a wedding they'll all be at later this afternoon. Like they shouldn't all be home, getting their beauty sleep.

But they don't take these opportunities for granted, they are few and far between, circumstances be damned.

Steve doesn't cook, not really, claims he never learned how. Eddie likes to imagine he had personal chefs and butlers attending to his every whim, and that's how he showed up here, not knowing how to boil water. He just never had to learn.

Because his life had been easier, which Eddie is grateful about, honestly. He loves Steve too much to wish his own childhood on him.

He wouldn't want him to be like the little Eddie that had to pull a chair up to the stove when he was too short to reach, just to heat up a can of Spaghetti-Os while Wayne was at work. He was a latchkey kid after his mother's death. He'd ride the bus home alone, the last kid off, and let himself in with the key around his neck, alone. Where he'd stay until seven, when Wayne got home work. Tired, worn out, but still happy to see Eddie it always seemed. Ready to hear about his day. In return, Eddie learned to be responsible. To not burn the house down. To be good.

To brush his teeth without being told, and to lock the doors and go on to bed on time on nights that overtime kept Wayne away longer.

Eddie minded, because he couldn't afford to lose Wayne, too.

He knows now, that was never gonna happen. But at seven, it sure seemed like a pressing concern.

But Steve didn't live that life, and Eddie's shown him how to do things. He can change a tire now. And now he can dig out a sewer line. He can also make a mean peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and boxed macaroni and cheese that's only sometimes over or under-cooked. And that's what he's made tonight. Nobody complains, just eats the potluck of food, eyes drooping. Bone tired like they always are.

Everybody else finally heads home, ready to crash. When Eddie stumbles into the house to shower before bed, he doesn't take the now fully draining shower for granted. Not tonight, not ever.

Eddie's appreciative that Steve made them anything tonight. He definitely didn't need to, he'd made a lot of headway digging before the heavy machinery arrived. Steve's tough as nails, made of hardy stock, even if he doesn't always look like it. Eddie likes to imagine Steve hauling hay. Perhaps shirtless, glistening in the sun as he tossed bales like they weighed nothing. Eddie would have got nothing done if Steve had been there to gawk at, that's for sure. It was much easier to work alongside Goodie bitching, Jeff making him do it anyway, and Gareth struggling with the hooks.

With the water hitting his face, and then disappearing down the drain like it should, Eddie is relieved that it's fixed. Even if they had to do it after dark, under spotlights.

Steve's standing in the kitchen, wearing his glasses, hair a mess after air drying. But he's pouring two mugs of what he calls nighty night tea as Eddie slides into a mismatched vinyl chair at the kitchen table.

"Thanks, sweetheart," Eddie says, picking up his mug. Mindful of the forming blisters on his hands. They're gonna hurt.

In bed, Steve slings his leg over Eddie's, just so they can touch. They both needed to be asleep hours ago. They have a big day tomorrow.

In the morning Eddie knows Steve will dress to match him, he's seen him do it before, as to not overdress for events out here in the sticks. Weddings out here aren't like he's used to back home, Eddie's sure. No black tie. No sit-down dinner. Just cake and punch and cream cheese mints in a church hall basement.

Afterwards, they'll all go out for beers at the bar.

Wedding over, Steve dances with Di, spinning her across the small bar dance floor, her best dress twirling out, as she laughs.

Eddie watches, smiling.

They love Steve as much as Eddie does. Steve might not have grown up here, not like them, but he fits in, did from the jump, honestly. Once they got past his stuffy clothes, and that over shellacked helmet of hair he's grown out longer, softer and let get messy and messier over the years.

He's learned to two-step since he's been here, and the wives are all over him because of it. There's a gracefulness to him that none of the rest of them can replicate. It's natural to him. Innate. A fluidity that Eddie assumes only money can buy.

Steve's definitely tipsy, and edging towards drunk. Eddie can tell just by looking at him. He's laughing, having the best time, Di happily along for the ride.

Gareth isn't looking at them, his head is down on the bar, leg up on Eddie's thigh. Propping that knee up. Not even the shots tonight haven't helped. His knee is fucked, and they're gonna have to do something. Sooner rather than later.

"I can't drum with no knee," Gareth declares, head on his arms.

Well, that's true. But that's the least of their concerns. He can't feed his kids if he can't work, and that's a little more pressing.

Eddie rests his hand on Gareth's calf, rubbing it softly. Steve said he will call in a favor, and Eddie doesn't know what that means. Not exactly. He asked if his dad, or mom, is a doctor and Steve just laughed, so he assumes not.

Whatever trick he has up his sleeve, they'll take it.

"We're gonna get it fixed, don't worry," Eddie tells him, but worry is all they do around here.

The night is winding down. Last call. The bride and groom, long gone.

Eddie settles up their tab. When he goes to collect Steve, he's grinning.

"What?" Eddie asks, unable to keep from smiling back.

"You ever gonna marry me?" Steve asks, a happy drunk, leaning too close to Eddie's face.

Eddie swallows. Well, for one, they can't. Not legally. And for another, he had no idea Steve wanted that. That he's been waiting. It's the best proposal he's ever heard.

"Is that what you want?" Eddie asks, putting his hands on Steve's hips, holding him steady. "You could do better, you know?"

"Pfft, never," Steve slurs, pouting out his lower lip. "Duh, 'course I want you to marry me. Because you love me."

Eddie laughs, patting his hip.

"I do love you, sweetheart. And I'll marry you. Just tell me a time and place."

The grin Steve gives him is blinding, but still slightly wicked. Eddie's not even sure he'll remember this tomorrow. Still, Eddie'll take the proposal for the earnest wish that it is, at least in this moment.

He knows Steve loves him, and only god knows why, because Eddie sure as hell doesn't.

In the morning, Steve's hungover at the table, eyes closed, black coffee steaming in his mug. Oh, it's bad if he hasn't diluted it with ungodly amounts of cream and sugar yet.

"Mornin'," Eddie says quietly, sure Steve's got a pounding headache. He's not about to make it worse by being too loud.

Steve tilts his head backwards, opening his eyes, "In the yard, here at home, after the grass grows back."

"What's that?" Eddie asks, pouring his own cup of coffee.

"Where and when I want to get married. I'm telling you," Steve clarifies and Eddie grins to himself, back still turned away from Steve.

When he turns, he flashes a smile Steve's way, "Okay, sweetheart. That's what we'll do," he says, leaning down. Wrapping his arm around Steve's neck, maneuvering him into position to kiss his face, his cheeks, making him laugh before capturing his lips, sealing the deal.

"But for now, I want hangover eggs," Steve demands, and Eddie can do that. He can definitely do that.

Eddie gets a jar of Wayne's home canned whole tomatoes out of the pantry, and when he's finished, he scoops the tomato and egg mixture onto a plate, next to two slices of toast. Wayne's recipe. He watches as Steve uses the toast to break the first yolk, and smiles. Perfect. Just like Steve.

He drapes both of his arms over Steve's shoulders, down his chest, pressing his face close to Steve's. He's so goddamn lucky.

Steve Harrington not only wants to marry him, but also said that this house, Eddie's little piece of heaven, his mother's childhood house, his childhood safe haven, is home.

He couldn't ask for more, or better. Steve's it. Everything. And he wants to celebrate their already built life here in this place Eddie has lived most of his. With his mom, before, and then with Wayne, after.

And now, forever, with Steve.

Inspired by the song "Wondering Why" by The Red Clay Strays. I also have a little vid edit I made set to the song that inspired this whole idea. It was an earworm that had to be dealt with in fic and video form. It was just screaming to be steddiefied, lol. (Title come from the song, as well.)

If you want to sign up for a future bingo event or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiebingo.

My masterlist for my bingo card can be found here.

#steddiebingo2025 #steddiebingo #prompt: proposal #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #steddie fan fic #steddie fic #stranger things #thisapplepielife: short fic #thisapplepielife: steddiebingo

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barabaraoranges · 28 days ago

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volt & eddie appearance headcanons

"i don't like them," the man says through gritted teeth, after spending three hours on developing appearance headcanons for them

spoilers for eddie and volt's route. spoilers for realization (will tag this one). everything below the cut

i am also interpreting volt and eddie as being chronically ill/disabled.

volt

6'4". i don't think he's necessarily muscular, just broad shouldered. while he has slight visible abs, it's not due to muscle, it's just due to him being lean and his weight distributing to his thighs and shoulders area.

.... i do think he has a flat ass in dateviator form. he can't have it all, that just isn't fair.

in-game, i think there is some progression with his appearance to hint that things are going bad for him. like, he starts off just fair skinned when you first meet him, but slowly you start noticing things aren't okay. heavy foundation and concealer that doesn't quite cover up his pale neck. streaks of electricity that show underneath the makeup, no matter what he does. an undeniable exhaustion on his face.

on the last night, his skin is quite literally almost translucent with heavy blue undertones and, instead of blood, you can see electricity flowing through him. he failed to consider how the the spotlight would show through makeup.

if he's exhausted, his eye bags are a dark, dark blue and ripple faintly with electricity just underneath his skin. on especially bad days, you can see the edges of his lips turn a faint blue.

during the story progression, i would imagine this would be noticeable, so he wears especially heavy eye makeup. once the story concludes, however, he wears noticeably less eye makeup

on rough days, you can watch him quite literally breathing out sparks like he's about to overexert himself from just standing. this is especially common when it's raining or storming or there's particularly bad weather out. he needs convincing to not open the bar for the night and to rest.

after playing their route, i actually can't stop thinking about frankenstein-like volt. i think he's got heavy surgical scarring on everything that isn't covered, especially on the torso area. heavy evidence of poorly done stapling and stitching work around the stomach area, going down into the thighs and ankles. scars healed a grayish-blue color, but it's difficult to tell if it's from his own internal electricity or a result of how they healed

trans guy. top and bottom surgery, with a full phalloplasty. compared to his other surgical scars, they are far more neat. his copper bracelets cover the phallo scarring on his left wrist

i don't know how electricity works, but i think he could tie his hair up with a wire or something if he really wanted to.

his pubes and armpit hair are electric like his hair. overall hairless, but he does have a modest happy trail and bush.

fangs. uses them shamelessly to flirt. happy to expose them with a smile.

realized version (spoilers), i imagine that he still has some degree of chronic illness/pain when he becomes a human. stays in if he doesn't absolutely need to go out. he wears out quickly and needs to take breaks often so he doesn't burn himself out. he's still fair skinned and still has his body scarring, but they look like normal, faded scars now. he has been able to put on healthy weight and maintain an exercise routine to handle his pain. while he doesn't have abs, but he does have a fantastic ass now. owns a nightclub (quickly becomes a gay club) that ends up becoming popular very quickly, fantastic owner and people are constantly desperate to work at his bar.

eddie

5'7". he's really not built at all, fairly average weight, if anything underweight from illness. very soft core area, stretch lines and loose skin. stretch lines are most notable on his hips and ass. really the only muscular part of his body as his arms and shoulders, but even then they're more lean than anything

heavy scarring on his hands and arms from electrical work. a lot of them look like ferns on his arms. palms are prone to drying excessively and painfully cracking. if he wasn't constantly getting his arm hairs singed, they'd be fairly hairy

essential tremor in his hands. gets worse under stress and anxiety. hands tend to be swollen from arthritis from overworking himself.

struggles deeply with joint, muscle fatigue, and overall body fatigue. needs to take a lot of breaks, all of which volt stresses over on the daily. there's a bed in the closet for him to sleep in, fitted with heated blankets. he also can't stand for an extended period of time and usually sits in a chair

recognizes he needs a cane and finger splints but doesn't want volt to stress over him even more

also a trans man. top surgery but no bottom surgery.

thin layer of chest hair, but a generous happy trail with some stomach hair.

fangs. he doesn't make them as noticeable as volt does, but he definitely pays attention when people notice them. uses them shamelessly for flirting, to his advantage.

realized version (spoilers), he finally officially retires! volt's nightclub makes enough money that he can stay at home and take care of himself. he gets bored, though, so he picks up maintenance around the house. puts on healthy weight and finally gets mobility aids. i'd imagine his disability would translate into some form of arthritis, so he'd be put on an arthritis treatment regiment.

#—the orange writes #date everything eddie #date everything volt #date everything spoilers #date everything

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gymft1 · 2 years ago

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youtube

Back exercises with bar and T-bar

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butterli5 · 2 months ago

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James was the first one to wake up in their shared dorm room since he joined the football team in second year. He’d heard plenty of grumbling from Sirius over the years about how no sane person should be vertical at that hour, let alone pounding pavement in the cold like it was fun.

So James tried, as much as he could, to keep things quiet. He’d slip out of bed without pulling the duvet too far, tug his running shorts on in the dark, and wrestle his sweatshirt over his head with practiced ease.

But lately, there was something…new.

Because at 5:04 a.m. sharp, just after he closed the building's door behind him, James would find Remus waiting on the staircase. Always the same steps. Always the same half-grumpy look on his face like he couldn't believe he was awake either. His hair was a mess, his eyes bleary, like he hadn’t looked in the mirror before slipping out.

Remus grumbled something about joint pain and Pomfrey and “might as well try some exercise and see if it helps,” and showed up on the steps in old trainers and a too thin t-shirt.

James had blinked at him, “You running?”

Remus shoved a granola bar into his chest. “Don’t make it weird.”

James didn’t. Not out loud.

But his brain definitely made it weird.

Because here was Remus Lupin, pale, quiet, slightly sarcastic Remus, jogging beside him in long, lean strides, his curls matted on a side one day, and falling loose around his face the next, his long legs managing to catch up to James by some miracle.

And James couldn’t stop looking.

Not just because Remus bit the inside of his cheek when hills got steep. Or because he cursed softly under his breath when his laces came undone. Or because he flushed so easily, the color climbing from the edge of his collar like a secret.

But because he was there. Every day. Tossing James one thing or another before they started stretching, a smoothie, a banana, or a granola bar, muttering about how he needed to eat something before working out for three hours, and then running beside him like it was normal, like James was someone you made time for at dawn. Like this was their thing. And every day, by the second lap, Remus would start to shiver.

James started carrying an extra sweatshirt without even thinking.

One morning, as Remus was catching his breath on the bleachers, James stripped it off and tossed it at him.

“Don’t say I never give you anything.”

Remus looked up, cheeks flushed from the cold, or maybe the run, and caught the hoodie mid-air.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, but still tugged it over his head.

Remus has always been more lean, and so the sweater was a couple of sizesvlarger than him. The neckline slipped off one shoulder, exposing the curve of a collarbone, sharp and delicate. James looked away immediately.

He did not think about that. Except he absolutely did.

He thought about the way Remus’s fingers clutched the hem like it was some sort of anchor. The way he pulled the sleeves down over his hands and stared out at the pitch, chest still rising with each breath. He thought about how Remus showed up in that same one the morning after, how he couldn't stop looking at how it looked like it belonged more on him than it ever did James as they warmed up.

He thought about it way too much.

So when he woke up one morning, clibimg down the stairs two at time with a goofy smile on his face, his stomach grumbling at the thought of what Remus would procure from behind his back, and didn't find him at their usual place, even after he waited 20 minutes, it hit harder than it should have.

He ran without him, but it wasn’t the same. The rhythm was off. He was too warm. Too alone.

Half an hour later, just as he was about to head inside, he heard footsteps behind him, fast and frantic.

He turned, and there was Remus. Hoodie clinging to his sweat-slicked back, face flushed, curls damp and wild. His chest was heaving like he’d sprinted the whole way.

James stared. “How the fuck did you catch up to me?”

“You were supposed to wake me up,” Remus snapped, trying to catch his breath. “We.. we have a thing. I run with you. Every morning.”

His voice cracked slightly on thing.

James blinked. “You sprinted a mile just for me?”

Remus dropped onto the stairs, clearly trying not to keel over. “Shut up.”

“You’re breathless.”

“I’m not.”

“You absolutely are.”

“I said shut up. ”

James grinned, heart hammering. He dropped beside him, thigh pressed to Remus’s, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his damp skin.

“Alright,” James said softly, voice dipping. “No running today.”

Remus huffed, but didn’t move away.

James nudged him gently. “Let’s just sit. Watch the sunrise.”

“I didn’t come here to sit, Potter.”

“You came here for me.”

Remus went completely still.

The sky was turning gold behind them. Their shoulders were touching. Their thighs. Their hands just barely brushing where they rested between them. Remus didn’t pull away. He didn’t say a word.

His breathing was slowing, but his cheeks were still pink.

James looked at him, really looked, and felt his chest squeeze tight.

Remus turned toward him at the same time.

Their noses nearly brushed.

Neither of them moved.

Remus’s eyes flicked to James’s mouth for one heartbeat too long, and then away.

James swallowed. His voice came low, raw. “Next time,” he said, “I’ll wake you up. Promise.”

Remus smiled, just a little. “You better.”

Their knees were still touching.

Their breath still mingling.

And the sun rose for both of them like it had been waiting all along. And along with it something gentle bloomed in James' heart.

#remus lupin #james potter #romantic moonchaser #moonchaser #I told you guys I'm having moonchaser fever #I live these two they always make me giggly #Also Remus trying to be slick when everyone can see that he is down bad if he's running #And oblivious James is my hero

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definefaulty · 1 month ago

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gym-bro oc x male reader

~mlm nsfw, top male reader, size difference (reader is thinner), public (in a gym lol), slur (f-word, used lightly)~

he’s your older brother’s best friend, a tall jacked guy with huge arms, and legs. he comes over all the time, not really talking to you beyond saying hi, one time asking where another bathroom is. but damn he’s eye candy, usually wearing a tight t-shirt and short-shorts, the fabric hugging his muscles to show off. his face is hot too, straight out a movie, and his eyes always look so flirty, so confident. you’d be lying if you said he hadn’t made some appearances in dreams, waking up hard as hell.

at some point your brother had left in the evening suddenly, mumbling something about a girlfriend? you guess she was upset about something and he rushed out, and then there was that knock on the front door. you were always the one to answer it cause your brothers a lazy ass, and you could even recognize the sound. when you opened the door you found him standing there as usual, hands in his pockets and a backpack on one shoulder, his lips moving to smirk at you, looking down.

“oh, hey bud.”

they were supposed to go the gym that night, some twenty-four-seven one thats empty during the late hours, and your brother never told him he had to switch plans. such a guy. feeling bad you had invited him in anyway, sat him on the couch and got him a glass of water. talking on the couch together is when you finally learned his name is Michael, he tells you to call him Mike. he learns yours too and flashes a bright smile at you, that has you feeling like you're floating a bit. he ends up inviting you to the gym with him, feeling your shoulders and arms and saying he could help you out, y’know, and yeah staying up so late was not your plan but the prospect of watching him lift weights? hot and sweaty? maybe even doing squats? so you said sure! and changed into some gym clothes and he drove you there.

the parking lot is as deserted as he claimed, sparse lights are on at the front entrance. the night air is cool and calm as you both walk through the street and enter, met with the hum of fluorescent lighting and a slight smell of sweat. there’s a scan by the archway to enter the gym proper, which unlocks some closed doors, and he uses his phone to put a guest with him. he leads you down the walkway where you survey the rows of equipment, totally empty. lights turn on as you walk by motion sensor, and stopping inside the mens locker room he deposits his backpack, taking out a water bottle.

back out the locker room Mike finds a clear space and starts you both off to warm up. it consists of a lot of jumping jacks, where you get to watch his tits bounce behind his T’ and some stretches, his warm hands holding your waist pushing you forward to reach your toes. your breathing is already getting heavy, more because of how close he is than the exercises.

then you move to the weights, walking around the bench press. Mike lays some weight onto the bar for himself to slide under.

“just stand at the head there,” he explains, settling down on his back and situating his grip on the bar.

“sure,” you have to clear your throat, standing above him.

you’re too aware of how close your crotch is to his face, his eyes focusing on the bar. he breathes deep and focused, lifting the bar up and beginning his reps. unsure if you’re supposed to he spotting, or something, you just watch the flex in his arms, and how his pecs push together on the up, sweat forms along his forehead and neck, tantalizingly dripping down his popping veins and flexing muscles. you swallow, trying to get your gaze off as you feel blood to start to move down. it doesn’t help when your eyes land on his spread legs, thick thighs flattening on the bench, his shorts revealing much of his skin. you instead look away at the empty space of the gym, trying to remind yourself where you are.

you’re stirred back to Mike when he places the bar back with a metallic clang, breathing hard. he sits up and turns to you with a smile.

“wanna give it a go?”

you clear your throat, stepping back from the bench, “yeah, sure.”

he gets himself off the bench, removing most of the weight on it. you can't help staring at the sweat collecting on the back of his shirt, running down the muscles on his back. he places the last weight down on the stack nearby, patting the bench.

"here ya' go."

laying down where he just was a second ago has your skin rising, feeling his warmth on your back. you place both hands on the bar mostly trying not to stare as he stands over you, his crotch over your face and his pecs standing out from this position. its then you notice how visible his dick is, and realize he might not be wearing underwear.

"put your hands like this," he says, moving yours.

his hands are rough and warm, making you jump slightly as he touches you. he keeps his hands close to yours as you lift the bar and start to bring it down, the weight making your arms and chest burn, the movement also sends more blood down, starting to fill your dick out. you try to focus on just your arms, clenching your muscles to distract from whats happening down there, but he watches you closely, squating down a little to follow the bar, his crotch coming closer to you.

"yeah, good job," he says, "couple more."

you grunt with the effort, the burn starting to be too much and just about get the bar back on the legs, letting your arms drop with fast breaths. he chuckles deeply above you, leaning on one hip with his eyes cast downward. everything is making it so difficult to not have a boner.

"i think you could some more."

you sigh loudly, furrowing your eyebrows at him, "i can't!"

"trust me, you just need some," your jaw drops as he pulls the front of his shorts down slowly, his cock spilling out above you, "motivation."

"we're..." your mouth waters, heart pounding so hard it kinda hurts, "we're in the... someone could see!"

"nah, relax," his voice is smooth, he squats down a bit and presses his hardening dick to your cheek, "no one's here, and trust me, they won't find out."

you can't find the words to even argue, and when he drags his cock into your mouth you wouldn't be able to say them. instead your tongue laps at the head of his dick, getting under his foreskin, he hums with the stimulation, low and gravelly, and pushes himself further into your mouth. you moan around him, hands reaching up to grab his hips, moving him forward to fuck your face. he pushes further, his cock hitting the back of your throat, you breath through your nose, smelling the musk from his ballsack as it drags on the front of your face, his shorts are dropped now, your hands move over his asscheeks that you can just about see, massaging the meaty mounds. he groans loudly throwing his head back, feeling the bitter taste of pre cum in your mouth and his cock filling your throat. you start gagging and he pulls out, a thick string of spit connecting the end of his cock to your mouth. he breathes heavily, flicking the strings of saliva and cum onto your face.

"okay, four more reps."

you huff, feeling your lips swelling and your throat used, "really?"

"yes, really," he laughs, stroking his cock above you, "this will be fun."

with a rush of determination you grab the bar, and he moves over you again, his wet cock dangingly right above your face, and his thighs around your head. your cock is fully tenting your pants, your pulse rushing blood around at top speed. he spots you as you lift the bar once again and try to speed through the reps, your arms a bit shaky but as he squats to follow you his dick is long enough that you lick the tip, and he laughs.

"don't rush it!"

you laugh, and push through the fourth rep, loudly putting the bar on again. Mike leans down to kiss you, your mouths colliding in a sloppy spit filled mess, your tongues meeting in the middle as you hold his neck. he pulls of with a gasp, his lips wet, and stands again to put his cock in your mouth, you take it with more eagerness, hallowing out your cheeks and wrapping your tongue around it, humming so he feels the vibration. he holds the sides of the bench, using the leverage to start thrusting into your throat, his balls slap your nose as he loudly moans into the empty gym.

"fucking good faggot," he growls, "thats a good mouth.."

you fight through the gags, grabbing his cheeks again, pulling them apart and then pushing together, watching it over the obsceneness of his balls flying in and out of view. his words fuel a fire in your chest, determined to get him under you next. he pulls away and you gasp for breath, sitting up and wipping the drool all over your chin, you meet eyes as you do, both of you grinning.

"you should do your second set, don't you think?" you tilt your head to the side, faining an innocent smile despite your flushed face and abused throat.

he nods smiling, "of course."

he picks his shorts back up, his hard cock pressing down his thigh, the tip sticking out the end. he trades places with you laying down again, neither of you bothering to actually put more weight on. he grabs the bar as you get ontop of him, you gulp, nerves dancing in your stomach. he winks at you as he starts, and you steel yourself to tug your pants down, getting your cock out your underwear. he breathes hard and slow, his eyes totally focused on your member, you don't have to squat down as much as him, dragging your tip around his handsome face, over his lips, where his tongue darts out to lick the underside of your dick. it sends a shudder through you, your eyes darting to make sure the gym is really empty, before you look down to watch your cock sink into his waiting mouth, in time with him moving the bar down. you groan, feeling his mouth contract around your girth, grabbing the sides of his face you push it all the way in, enjoying the feeling of your ballsack on his face, pushing your pelvis nearly flat against his face. his moans vibrate around your cock making your eyes roll, and you start moving up and down, reaching forward to grab his pecs, massaging his hard nipples through his thin shirt.

you give him a moment to breath, still moving the light weight up and down. you stroke yourself as you move forward a bit for him to suck your balls, his tongue darts around to flick across your hole, and you drag your cock across his tongue sticking out, smacking it on his mouth. then you pick up a pace of fucking it, watching your cock bulge in his throat, he gags around you as you get rougher, feeling the slimy warmth of his throat milking your cock. he smacks your thigh to signal you, standing back up your cock drags a thick amount of saliva with it, mixed in with your pre cum. he gasps, placing the bar back, tears running down his face, you coo at him.

"sorry, too much for you, big boy?"

he shakes his head, face flush, you can see a wet spot forming in his shorts, "no, you can keep using me."

"that what you want? you want your friend’s little brother to mess you up?" you stroke yourself to his face, your mind darkening with lewd ideas.

"yes—yes, please."

you feel yourself harden more, moving around him quickly to straddle him, getting yourself under the bar you quickly move his shirt up and over, him lifting your arms to let you. grabbing the meat of his pecs you push them together to sandwich your cock inbetween, his skin is hot and smooth, sweat adding to the lubricant of his saliva all over your cock. you thrust yourself between his pecs, the tip of your dick meeting his mouth where he kisses it, sticks his tongue out to lick it.

"fuck, your tits feel good," you moan, he nods and you notice his hand moving as masturbates behind you, "big slutty tits, all for me right?"

you thrust forward farther, letting your cock move into his mouth, basically sitting on his chest now, you throw your head back and moan into the air, inching forward to get your cock in deeper. your thighs rest on the sides of his head, and you grip his hair, keeping his head flat as you start fucking into his head, the base of your cock moving over his tongue, wet gags filling the gym.

"who's the fag now? isn't it you? my bitch!" you smile devilishly down at him and he moans even more.

you pull out his mouth, feeling yourself almost get too close. he coughs and sits up carefully, you feel his cock press against your ass as he does and your back hit the bar. he grabs your face and drags you down for more kissing, you taste your own salty pre cum in his mouth, running your tongue over his. you both pull back with a gasp, his eyes staring into yours as you both take a moment to catch your breath.

"how about," he says between gasps, "we do squats, and you spot me?"

you laugh a bit, understanding where this game is going.

the gym is smelling of spit now, but you two move over to the squat rack with tents in your pants, his shirt slung over his shoulder. you two take a swig from his water bottle, the water trickles down his jaw and it’s even more erotic than it would have been an hour ago.

he doesnt put a lot of weight on the machine, because obviously this is not going to be a strength workout. he looks at you a bit shyly from the side, as he drags his shorts down and kicks them off, now stark naked in the fucking gym. you shake your head looking around you two again, palming your cock. he stands under the bar and gets it up, clearing his throat.

"just, stand behind me, y'know."

"i got it."

you get close behind him, letting your eyes wander over his broad shoulders by your face, down his back where it slims down, and then his sculpted fat cheeks, where you decide to kneel down to their level.

"go ahead, then."

he squats down, his cheeks spreading to reveal his hole, pink and puckered, smooth as his chest is. you waste no time in burrying your face in, your tongue lapping his hole. he gasps, getting low in his squat, then standing back up, you stay kneeled, wipe some drool off your chin.

"keep going."

he nods, squatting down again, you grab his cheeks when he gets low, shoving your tongue into his hole tasting his sweat, your tongue gets in only a bit before he stands again, his legs shaking a little. he breathes hard, squats again, your face meets his ass as planned and you prod his hole with a finger at the same time, getting another gasp from him.

"fuck," he whines as he stands, "i want your cock already."

"patience," you say teasingly.

when he goes down again you shove your finger in, he groans at the intrusion and you watch with amusment as your finger drags out his tightness, you repeat this as he squats more, getting his hole ready for your cock. eventually you decide, fuck it, literally, and drop your pants as he reaches the height of a squat, and starts going down, you plan on going slow, following him up to get it in, but when he gets to where your cock is you guess you got the height wrong with how low you are, and your cock sinks all the way in.

"fuuuck!" he moans, "keep—keep it in!"

"oh, fuck," you move with him, wrapping your arms around his torso you both stand from a squat.

his walls crush your dick, squeezing so tightly the pleasure is almost painful, you raise to the tips of your toes, stretching to keep most of your cock in. his own dangles between his legs, pre cum starting to drip out of it. he squats back down and you follow, the both of you moaning, your face next to his. his whole body feels hot and wet with sweat, your cock getting grinded into and pushed further inside his guts.

"fuck, feels so good," he whines, his legs and arms shake.

"probably should," you have to suck in through your teeth as he stands, "put that bar back."

"yeah," he says breathlessly, his mouth hanging open.

you two move back together to do so, he steps under it and leans his arms over the bar, arching his back and sticking his butt out.

"fuck me, please," he moans, looking at you over his shoulders, his eyes are hungry and he shakes his ass, both globes wobbling tantilizingly.

you breath out of your mouth, having to rise up a little to get it in. when the head of your cock breaches again you both moan, eyes rolling. he holds onto the bar for dear life, you clutch his hips and start driving your own, his cheeks bouncing with your thrusts. the lew sounds of skin slapping fill the gym, along with your moans.

he mumbles inchorently, his face laying on the bar, "fuck my pussy—fuck my pussy-"

his face is still so manly looking, his voice deep, big muscles and frame, split on your cock and moaning like he's in heat. you grab the bottom of your shirt and bite on it, hands bruising his skin. his ass sucks your cock back in everytime you pull it out, slamming your hips forward. you groan and lay forward on his back, letting your shirt fall out your mouth to bite on his shoulder, running your tongue over his skin and sucking. you hug him from behind, kissing more over his shoulders, and reach down to grasp his cock, sliding his foreskin up and down. his moans get quicker and higher, and you feel his legs start to bend. you stand up again, slowing your thrusts, having to clench your ass together to keep from cumming. his pussy clenches as you drag yourself out, his hole gaped and winking at you, he lets out a low groan, hanging onto the bar by his arms and letting his hips stick out more.

"i have another idea," you say between breathes, picking your pants up but leaving your cock hanging over the waist.

you grab his clothes and bottle, as he huffs standing up. sweat has collected along his forehead, his eyes wet, his big chest heaving with his breaths, a string of cum leaking from his cock onto the mat. you shake your head and sigh, pointing towards a chest press by the locker room. he lets a breath out, standing with his arms on his hips, you smile to yourself, he'd be like an athelete mid competition, if he wasn't naked and having sex.

he settles down onto the machine, "put some weight on it, i wanna see those tit's work," you say and wink at him.

he blushes a bit, moving the lever lower. he's still naked and you get on your knees between his, he looks down at you almost shy from his position, you wonder where that confident smug act went, you figure you fucked it out of him.

"go ahead," you tell him, and grab his cock, slurping up a string of cum from it.

"okay," he whispers.

he looks up as if to focus, moving the sides of the machine forward, the view is as is good as you hoped, his pecs flexing together with effort, veins popping in his neck. you swallow his cock, dragging your tongue around it and start slurping loudly around him, your other hand pumping your own dick.

"oh fuck," he breathes, each movment getting a exhalation as your head bobs up and down on him.

you moan staring up at him, his cock is hard as a rock in your mouth, the weight lifiting make his pulse quicken with every push and everytime his cock pushes into your throat.

you let your cock go to get your fingers in his ass again, having to squirm them in under his balls. his head falls back, his body covered with sweat, probably getting the seat super wet. you move your fingers as much as you can, burrying your nose in his pelvis with a deep breath.

"fuck i'm close," he exclaims, his thighs spreading and he moves forward, shoving his cock further.

you fight the gag coming on, getting your head higher and quickly moving up and down in a long slurping motion. you dig your fingers inside as deep as they go, pressing forward on his prostate, trying to milk him dry.

its then that you both hear the front door open, literal feet from the entrance to where anyone can see you.

you both jump, making wide-eyed contact for a second, before you dart for the clothes and he runs into the locker room, you're right behind him, making sure the door closes gently.

through the gap you're just in time to see your brother walking in, looking around the gym.

you shut the door, both on the verge of laughing and panic, your cock still hanging. you turn to Mike who's also panicked, and gasping for breath.

"it's my brother!" you whisper.

his eyes widen more, leaning forward, "what? shit," he looks to the side, his head probably spinning.

"Mike?" you hear your brother calling, walking closer to the locker room.

you quickly scan around, the lockers are pretty tall and did look spacious, it's a crazy idea but with no time to think you throw one open and drag Mike inside by his wrist, getting the door closed as you hear the locker room door open.

"you in here?"

you hear footsteps as he walks in, passing the locker you're both squeezed inside, probably going to check the showers further inside.

it's a bad moment, stuck in this close space, both of you trying to hold your breath, but you look down to his ass, exposed and in front of your cock, against your better judgment (not that you still have that) you grasp your shaft, lick your lips, and line yourself up at his entrance.

you look up to find him looking back at you, his big shoulders trapped between the locker walls, he bites his lower lip, slowly sticking his ass out to you and covering his mouth with his hand.

you'd swear if it wouldn't be so loud, and start pushing in.

his ass sucks you right in and you quickly get your shirt off to stick it in your mouth, laying your hands on his waist again. you move agonizingly slow, watching his eyes roll above you as your cock stretches and fills him, your jaw clenching down on your shirt to stifle any moans. when you bottom out he looks back down at you with desperate eyes, scared and horny.

your brother sighs loud as fuck, annoying as always, and stomps by the locker you’re in leaving the locker room.

you both wait a bit, cupping his sweaty ass and moving what small amount you can for some relief. his hole clenches and unclenches your cock, he moans behind his hand with his eyes shut.

its a minute before he opens the locker door, checking side to side to make sure the locker room is empty. you walk out behind him, inspecting how much you just drooled into your shirt.

"think he's gone?" Mike asks, looking back to you, then down, you see him gulp.

"probably," you kick your pants off, tosing them behind you in the locker with the other clothes, "lemme breed you."

he moves you to lay down on the bench in the center of the room, straddling your hips. he frots your cocks together and leans down to kiss you, more sloppy making out as the buzz of nerves at almost getting caught fade, into the wet bliss of his mouth.

he bites your lip as he pulls back, letting it go and shifting forward to get your dick under his hole. he sits on it slowly, his head tipping backward as he leans back onto his hands.

you groan leaning back with your hands holding your head, watching your cock disappear under him. he starts riding you, his big cock bouncing up and down, slapping onto your stomach and against his abs.

"i've wanted this so bad," he whines.

"me too," your breathlessly reply, "you feel so fucking good."

you watch his pecs bounce as he moves, his thighs pumping with the effort. your hips thrust up to meet him, a beautiful expression of pleasure on his face, jaw hanging open.

your balls tighten, your core flexing as you feel your orgasm approaching, not fighting it anymore.

"i'mma cum soon," you groan.

"yes—fuck yes, cum in me!"

you sit up, crashing into his mouth, and move kissing down his jaw, sucking on the side of his neck. he holds your head there, his arm around your shoulders, moaning your name with feverish need.

your abs burn thrusting up into him, holding his ass in both hands, with another thrust your eyes roll back, your load shooting inside him. you bite on his skin, burying your face into his pecs as your orgasm rocks through you, cum unloading through your dick. you fall back onto the bench, spent, as Mike rides your cock more, squeezing his nipples, the overstimulation has you yelling his name, hands squeezing his thighs, his eyes are rolled back chasing a hands-free orgasm.

"i’m cumming baby!" he yells, "i'm cumming oh my god—"

his noises are so loud and high pitched, and with a final landing of his ass on your hips, your cock getting abused in his cunt, cum squirts out his cock without being touched.

his load lands on your face and you taste the bitterness on your mouth, it coats your chest and stomach in his warm semen. you're both gasping hard, and he lays down ontop of you, your softening cock still inside, mixing his cum between your chests.

you take a moment just holding him there, the post nut clarity of everything you've done just now hitting like an ice bucket. you swallow dryly, but can't actually feel bad.

"fuck," he says, "we really need to clean up and go."

after showing in the gym as quickly as you could (really just washing the sweat and cum off) you both threw on your clothes, despite the sweat and drool in them, and some spots of cum that must've leaked inside the locker. in the parking lot you find just Mike's car and your brothers, who's leaning against the hood looking at his phone.

with fear in your stomach you approach, he looks up hearing your footsteps.

"Mike! you?" He asks, "where the fuck were you two? and what are you doing here?"

you clear your throat, "we were using the bathroom earlier, then showered. and i was taking care of the friend you ditched!" you say, giving a shrug and moving past him to get in the passenger seat, "it's late, lets go home!"

he looks from you incredulously to Mike, who laughs a little, his backpack hanging from one shoulder.

"i figured your lil bro could use some meat on him y'know," he says with a shy smile, "though, he actually has more than i thought," he adds a bit quieter.

you shut the car door, huffing a sigh of relief. your brother dabs Mike bye, and as he turns Mike looks at you, giving a small wave, his eyes darting down. you think about your load still inside him, how he didn't actually clean that out, and gulp.

your relationship with your brother's best friend has just gotten totally fucked. you don't feel bad towards that shithead though, just adjust your cock watching Mike walk to his car.

#mlm ns/fw #mlm nsft #top male reader #x male reader #pwp fics #oc x reader #mlm smut #smut

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toomanystoriessolittletime · 4 months ago

Text

Lights, Camera, Colombia

💫 Chapter One 💫

Summary: Ten years after he quit the DEA Javi gets approached by a production company, asking if he would like to be involved in the production of a documentary about Pablo Escobar and the drug war. When he agrees, he meets you, one of the producers of the documentary and the woman who he will spend the next months working with on the documentary and travel back to Colombia, the woman who will get to know about the side of him that he never wants anyone to see, the woman he wants to spend the rest of his life with.

Chapter Summary: Javi and you finally meet when you pick him up at the airport in Colombia and you get to know each other. And oh boy you just know the next couple of weeks are gonna be trouble....

Pairing: Javier Peña x fem. reader

Wordcount: 7.4k

Rating: T (for some flirting)

Warnings: angst, fluff, a look into Javi’s head, Javi's anxiety, food mentions, flirting so much flirting

A/N: I am so excited to finally get the first full chapter out! I tried to do as much research as possible but we all know this is fictional so just roll with it lol

follow @toomanystoriessolittletime-fics and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics

Full Masterlist // Javier Peña Masterlist // Lights, Camera, Colombia Masterlist

Flying was not something Javier particularly enjoyed.

It wasn’t even the flying part about it, but all the rest. And most of it, the waiting. He hated to sit around and just do…. Nothing. Hell, he even brought a book with him that he attempted to read on the layover in Houston. Instead he went to the bar to have a beer.

He had been okay in the planing of this trip to Colombia. He had checked in with you, made a couple of suggestions, even though what you had planned out was already close to perfect.

The two of you had talked quite a lot through email and through phone to get to know each other a little before spending so much time one on one.

He knew a little about your family and that you had been working with TC production for a little over five years now. The last documentary you had worked on had won a couple of awards and after finding out about that Javier had asked you to send a copy of it to him so he could watch it.

And you did.

It was a documentary about how the drug war affected the whole of the United States.

And Javi had loved the way it was put together. He could only hope that this one would be just as good.

He knew that you already had been in Colombia for the last couple of days to prepare. It was quite the schedule you worked out, but you always left enough time to relax for a day or two before moving on to the next location to shoot.

Only last week you had gotten the confirmation that you’d be able to shoot in what was left of La Cathedral, which apparently had been bought by a benedictine order to be turned into an actual cathedral with time. And you’d also be going to Hacienda Napoles. Something he found himself excited about, since he didn’t have the chance to go there back then.

Yet overall what he felt about going back to Colombia was anxiety.

In the week leading up to his flight even his nightmares returned. He had to schedule an extra appointment with Margery and she taught him some breathing exercises to calm himself down. Sure, he could have taken anxiety meds, but there were better times to start looking into that then when he was about to leave the country for six weeks.

And so he took those breathing exercises and a big glass of whiskey instead of anxiety meds. A combination that would hopefully get him over the next couple of weeks.

His CIA contact had informed him that he indeed was still on some kill lists in Colombia. But he was told not to be too concerned, the cartels had other issues to figure out at the moment. That, and he was traveling under a wrong name.

Also set up by his CIA contact.

Maybe if he hadn’t been a mess back then (well… he is still kind of a mess) things with Heather, the CIA contact, could have worked out. She was pretty, super intelligent and had a killer smile. They had met shortly after he came back from Colombia and had to get to one last DEA hearing where she was sitting in.

It was a short but intense fling they had. And thankfully they parted ways as friends which was why he could reach out to her for a favour like this.

She also took care of the gun permit for the journey for both him and you.

„Flight 405 to Bogota, Colombia is now ready for boarding. Please proceed to your gate“

He took a deep breath before he emptied his glass of beer. Closing his eyes he counted down from ten as he took some deep breaths, before he grabbed his backpack and walked out of the airport bar and towards his gate.

He gave the flight attendant a small smile, her cheeks flushing as she handed him back his boarding pass before he proceeded down towards the plane, pleasantly surprised that he would fly first class.

Not that he had much from it.

He was asleep before the plane was even up in the air.

Maybe the next time you were considering a new project it should be somewhere more up north. Like…. Canada or…. The north pole.

You had been in Colombia for four days and even though people around you were telling you that this weather was completely normal and actually quite cold for the season, you were sweating like crazy from the moment you got out of bed. The humidity was not something you were used to or fond of.

You were more of a rainy day under a blanket type of girl.

Though you could admit that there were worse ways to spend a sunset than on a hotel balcony facing the ocean with a glass of white wine while only wearing your underwear.

You had spend the day meeting up with the film crew who would already be busy tomorrow with scenery footage and interviewing some of the locals while you would go to the airport to pick up Javier. He had told you he could rent a car but you had waved him off, telling him that you had to get used to driving in this city anyway.

If you were honest with yourself, you were excited to meet him.

You had talked quite a lot in the last weeks and you got to know him a little. He had opened up a little about how Colombia had changed him and that while part of him was looking forward to see how the country changed, there was also the lingering anxiety about what had went down there all those years ago.

You were pretty sure that only a fraction of the things that happened while they were working in Colombia had been made available to the rest of the world and you hoped that you would learn a little more. Sure, there would be things he could not talk about but the journalist in you wanted to at least try to get something new out of him.

And, of course, you knew that he was an attractive man.

Even if he aged very poorly, which you don’t think he did, you did see the ID of his DEA badge and ID that he sent to you via mail, he would still be just your type.

Something you hoped would not disturb your work.

Then again, a little flirting never hurt nobody, right?

But you were going to far ahead. You hadn’t even met in person yet and here you were already flirting with him in your mind.

You sighed, watching the sun disappear into the ocean.

In four days you would take him to the old search bloc building and after that to one of the drug labs that he had taken down that was now a restaurant.

You had high hopes for the next weeks and you were excited to start working.

His plane had touched down almost 45 minutes ago and you were growing a little anxious. You hoped that there were no issues with him traveling under a cover name or with his gun.

You were pleasantly surprised that the permits had been dealt with so quickly.

Just as surprised as when you learned that he was still on four kill lists from new cartels that had formed in the wake of Escobars death and the downfall of the Cali cartel.

You hadn’t told Javier yet that depending on how good this documentary did, you might get the chance to do one on the Cali cartel too.

But that was not something you were concerning yourself about now.

There would be a time for that in the future.

Now, you were excited and a little anxious as you waited for Javier to walk out of baggage claim.

And you didn’t have to wait for that much longer, the doors opening and there he was in the flesh.

Carrying a big brown suitcase in his left hand, his eyes hidden behind some dark sunglasses as he walked out. Since he didn’t know what you looked like, it gave you some time to take him in. He was the definition of tall, dark and handsome and if you thought yesterday that he could become a problem, you were now downright fucked.

There was the hint of grey in his otherwise dark brown temples, his moustache trimmed to perfection. Dark, full brown hair that looked perfectly messy, as if he walked right out of a photoshoot. His pants were tight, his baby blue dress shirt, the first couple buttons open and revelling his chest, tucked into his jeans, a leather jacket covering his broad shoulders.

If he was only half as a flirt now as he was back when he was working here, things were going to be interesting in the next couple weeks. He came to a stop, taking his glasses of and let his gaze wander through the crowd, most likely trying to find you.

You took a deep breath, suddenly not the humidity being at fault for making you sweaty.

„Javier?“ You asked as you walked towards him, his head turning as he heard you, a small smile sneaking to his lips as he said your name.

„Yeah, that’s me,“ you couldn’t help but grin, stopping when you were in front of him, holding your hand out for him to shake.

He took it, his hand enveloping yours completely as he shook it and you gulped.

„It’s so nice to finally meet you in person,“ you said.

Going through security was surprisingly easy considering he was traveling under a false name. They checked the documents, asked what he was doing here and how long he would be staying and if he had a ticket for his return flight.

The long part was waiting for his suitcase. It gave him time to get to the restroom to pee and then throw some cold water into his face after he looked at himself in the mirror.

He really was back in Colombia.

Giving himself twenty seconds to freak out about it, he threw another hand of cold water into his face before he used a shitty paper towel to dry himself up. Walking out to the baggage carousel the suitcases were finally getting thrown out, yet it took another ten minutes for his to make an appearance.

With his backpack over his shoulder and his suitcase in his hand he finally made his way out onto Colombian ground. The airport looked a little different from how it did the last time he was here.

Apparently Starbucks had also finally made its way to Colombia. Something he found quite weird with how good the local coffee was.

He was still wondering about that, when he took his sunglasses off to let his gaze wander over the people who were waiting. He never saw a picture of you so he had no idea what you looked like.

Yet for some reason pretty came to his mind when he thought of you. Even though he only knew your voice.

He heard his name being called from his left side and he turned his head just in time to see a woman approach him.

You.

He said your name and you smiled and fuck if he thought you were pretty, actually seeing you with his own eyes and seeing how pretty you were? Well, fuck.

He took your hand, shaking it once, seeing your smile light up your whole face.

„It’s so nice to finally meet you in person!“ You said and he nodded.

„Likewise,“ he said, cringing internally. Likewise? Really Javier?

„Was your flight okay? I had the worst turbulences on my way here. Almost kissed the ground when I made it out of the plane,“ you joked and he smiled.

„I slept all the way through. I think the realisation that this was really happening caught up with me there,“ he said, nervously rubbing his hand over his neck.

„I can’t even imagine how you must be feeling. Only reading about everything that happened and knowing that you were there for almost everything? Unbelievable,“ you said in awe and he was sure he was blushing.

„Yeah. The last time I’ve been to this airport I had just been fired,“ he snorted and you huffed a laugh, starring at him.

„Are you ready to get to the hotel?“ You asked him and he found himself nodding.

„Follow me,“ you said and turned around and Javier found himself falling into step next to you as you led him out of the airport.

„The car rental gave me a super tiny car but I am supposed to get a new one tomorrow. So…. I hope you fit into the seat,“ you joked and he found himself grinning.

„I am sure I’ll make it,“ he said, winking at you as you looked up at him.

He caught himself looking over his shoulder, seizing up every person around him, looking for a potential threat. He felt his hands getting sweaty and he reached for his sunglasses, putting them back on his nose while he took a calming breath.

For the first time in a long time he felt the need for a cigarette.

The humidity outside was like running against a wall as they made it out of the airport building. You slowed your steps, noticing Javier was looking around, his sunglasses back on his nose.

„It looks different,“ he said after a moment, looking back at you.

„Yeah?“ You asked and he nodded.

„Also feels fucking different,“ he chuckled a little uneasy, trying to work through his anxiety. It had been a long time since he felt like this. You gave him a small smile, fighting down the urge to take his hand or touch him, feeling like you wanted to comfort him.

„We’re almost there. I hope you like the hotel. It just opened this year,“ you said as you stepped inside the car park, leaving Javier to feel like he could finally take a breather, a lot less people now around him.

„I’m sure it will be fine. As long as I get a bed and a beer I am happy,“ he said, adding „I think I underestimated how being back here would have me on edge.“

You stopped walking and looked at him.

„If at any point it gets to much, please tell me. I know you said you’d be fine, but being back here must be a lot for you. I’d never judge you if you ask for a break or even stopping this whole thing. I don’t want this documentary and being back here to be a reason that you end up hurt in any way, okay?“ You asked.

He took a deep breath after he listened to you, exhaling with a sigh.

„I’ll be fine,“ he said and you narrowed your eyes and he found himself smiling.

„I’ll tell you if anything gets too much, I promise,“ he added and your eyes softened, before you nodded and turned away from him to continue to lead him to the rental car.

And if Javier found himself checking out how great your ass looked in the jeans shorts you were wearing? Well he had to get the thoughts in his head to focus on something else than being back in Colombia now, right?

The drive towards the hotel was quiet.

Javier was busy looking around and noticing all the changes in the city and you were busy, well, driving.

It’s not like you can’t drive. But with living in New York City you don’t get to do it much and definitely not with being yelled at in a language you understand but never felt really confident to speak.

Javier on the other hand was surprised how much he recognised as you drove. Then again he did spend many years driving these streets. There was something different though. There were a lot more people out on the street. No buildings were damaged from gun holes or explosions.

It seemed…. Happier. Brighter.

„The hotel is actually on the ground where the old embassy building was,“ he heard you say and was reminded that he wasn’t alone. He had completely zoned out.

He looked at you, seeing how you were gripping the steering wheel tightly, muscle tensed. There was sweat running down your temples even though the A/C of the car was running on full speed.

He got the impression that driving was not your most favourite and he made a mental note to ask and offer to drive himself later on.

„They relocated the embassy?“ He asked and you nodded, changing the lane, blinker set to drive to the right.

„They didn’t need a big building like that anymore and they wanted higher security, so they moved to a new build building around twenty minutes from here,“ you explained, releasing a sigh of relief as you finally saw the hotel right at the end of the street.

Javi on the other hand was impressed by the big building in front of him that had no resemblance to the office building he had spend countless hours chasing after cartels and making numerous, oftentimes questionable decisions.

The whole area around where he used to spend his everyday life for years was completely transformed, nothing reminding him of the familiarity he felt walking these streets everyday. The café he used to get his coffee from was gone, replaced by a flower shop. The little empanada shop he used to get 80% of his dinners from gone, the whole building transformed into what looked like apartments.

There were big trees lining up the street.

If Javier didn’t know that he had been driving this street daily for two years he would never think this was the same place.

You drove around the hotel and down the street until the car stopped in front of the entrance. You turned of the engine and let your head fall back against the headrest, closing your eyes as you released a long breath.

„Not the biggest fan of driving?“ Javier asked softly. You shook your head.

„Not the biggest fan of driving,“ you said, before you looked at him with an exhausted smile.

„I’m sure you want to freshen up and relax. I made a reservation at the hotel restaurant for later today so we can talk through some of the things I have planned for this week. But we only start the day after tomorrow, so… there’s no rush, okay?“ You said and he nodded at you.

„Great,“ you nodded back before you took a deep breath and got out of the car. Javier did the same, walking towards the trunk to retrieve his suitcase and backpack. Before that though, he took his leather jacket off, the heat outside being really unbearable.

Was this the climate change bullshit he had read about? He didn’t remember it being that fucking hot in this country apart from the time he was forced to spend time with Stechner in the jungle.

You on the other hand schooled your face into what hoped look like expressionless once he was out of his jacket. It definitely wasn’t the jacket that made him broader, it was just… him.

You turned towards the hotel and the valet who thankfully would park the car for you before Javier could catch you starring. You were still mezermermised by the foyer of the hotel, a chandelier that was bigger as the car that you had just driven hanging over the desk, hundreds of lightbulbs artfully arranged.

You smiled at the woman behind the desk, having talked to her for a while the day before to get some recommendations for restaurants and bars in the closer area. You more felt that saw Javier as he followed you, a shiver running up your spine, the hairs on your neck standing up.

It was like you could feel his eyes on you and you fought the urge to turn around to confirm it for yourself.

In broken Spanish you asked for the keys to yours and Javier’s room and she gave them to you with a kind smile. Turning around you indeed caught Javier starring at you, sunglasses back in his chest pocket, eyes snapping up from what you were sure was your ass as he looked at you.

„You got the room next to mine. Both are facing towards the ocean more or less,“ you said, handing him the key to his room and he nodded.

The elevator ride up to your floor was a quiet one, both of you in your thoughts, the ding of the elevator arriving making you jump. You glanced up at him, finding him already looking at him before he stepped out and walked down the floor, you following him.

„I made the reservation for 7pm, is that okay?“ You asked.

„Perfect. I hope they got some good tamales. Otherwise we have to check if the place Steve and I used to get ours is still there in the next days,“ he said and you smiled a little, nodding.

„I would love that,“ you said, stopping front of your room.

„I’ll see you later?“ You asked, Javier nodded.

„If you need anything, just call or knock. I’ll be researching for another project, so I’ll be awake,“ you said, opening your hotel door and looking at him.

He just nodded again, giving you a small smile as he walked past your room and towards his own. You took a step inside, letting your head rest against the door as you heard a click when his door closed.

Yeah.

You were in trouble now.

Even though he had slept through the flight, the moment he got out of the shower in his hotel room he fell asleep again. And surprisingly he hadn’t dreamed of anything. It was just a blissful two hour long nap he woke up from once he got cold, having fallen asleep with just a towel around his hips.

With a groan he turned on his back, staring at the ceiling.

If he felt anxiety about being here when he first got here this morning, his feelings now where…. Different. He just didn’t know how exactly yet.

Then again he didn’t know how he felt most days. Now only the added confusion about being back in a place that plagued his nightmares came on top of it.

And then there was you.

When he talked to you on the phone leading up to this stay in Colombia he felt himself more and more looking forward to talking to you. The phone calls to you being the highlight of his day. He found himself thinking about what you were doing through certain times in the day and he questioned if he could be attracted to someone he had never met before.

But then today you had met and fuck if Javier thought he was in trouble on the phone with you, right now, knowing you were just on the other side of the wall of his hotel room was a whole different story.

You were beautiful.

In every single way possible and he had only spend an hour with you. Part of him was scared to find out what would happened once you spend every single day with each other, but there was also a part of him, a part he forgot existed, that was excited.

Excited to get to experience this new version of Colombia with you.

Excited to get to know you.

He took a look at the clock on his bedside table, realising it was later than he thought. And maybe he spent a little more time getting ready, before he made his way towards your room to pick you up for dinner.

You on the other hand did everything but research the project you had planned. Almost immediately after you took your shower you had called your friend in the states who knew about the documentary and about how much you already had started to like Javier during your phone calls.

But now?

Holy crap this would either be a very long and exhausting six weeks or this would be the best six weeks of your life. And you needed to let all these thoughts out before you were going out with Javier to dinner.

No. Not going out.

This was just a work dinner.

A meeting.

Going out sounded too much like a date, which it definitely wasn’t.

Which is why you did not wear the little black dress that had somehow made its way into your suitcase. You chose the light green summer dress that made your ass look great instead.

And if you spent more time on your make up and hair?

Well you were going out to a four star restaurant. That’s why you did it.

And you really didn’t do it for the look in Javier’s eyes as you opened the door, ready to join him for dinner.

You sat outside in the lush parklike garden of the hotel, enjoying the last hues of the sun warming your skin. All the way from your hotel room, throughout the lobby and into the restaurant you could feel Javier’s warmth next to you.

You didn’t know his hand had been hovering behind you all the way,

Now you were sitting across from each other, both trying desperately not to ogle each other while waiting for the drinks you had ordered and reading through the menu.

You had ordered a glass of white wine and Javier a glass of whiskey.

„The menu sounds good,“ he said finally and you looked up at him, his eyes still reading the menu.

„Yeah? I don’t think I ever had any of this except the salad,“ you said, pursing your lips.

„Really?“ He asked and you nodded.

„Even though I travel a lot for work I keep eating what I know like a true American tourist,“ you cringed and he chuckled.

„I could order for you? I know my way around the local cuisine. Or at least I did,“ he offered and you set the menu down with a smile.

„I would love that,“ you said, leaning back in your chair. He gave you a small smile before he continued to read through the menu.

„Any allergies?“ he asked.

„None that I know of,“ you said and he nodded.

You used the time the waiter took to get your drinks to look around the beautiful property, your eyes seemingly always landing back on Javier as he still read through the menu.

He had changed into a simple white polo shirt and some black jeans. You knew he must have showered, his aftershave filling the whole elevator cabin, making you positively dizzy. He smelled like he looked, sexy and a little dangerous.

„You sure?“ He asked once the waiter brought your drinks and you just nodded, listening to him as he ordered for the both of you.

Waiting until the waiter had everything written down and taken the menu’s back with him you reached for your glass of wine, bringing it up to smell it, closing your eyes.

You may not know your way around food, but wine? Yeah. You knew enough.

„Can’t believe what this place turned into,“ Javier said after a while and you looked at him as he looked around.

„In my research I learned that the old building had so much asbestos in the basement, that the renovation would have cost more than just to tore it down. That’s probably why the hotel chain got the property pretty cheap. And the location is really great. I walked toward the presidential palace earlier this week, it was so close,“ you smiled, finally taking the first sip of your wine.

„I had a lot of meetings in there,“ he sighed and you tilted your head in interest.

„What if I said we’re going in there next week?“ You pursed your lips and he raised both eyebrows.

„Really?“ He asked and you nodded.

„I haven’t told you yet but I do have some meet ups arranged throughout our time with people you have worked together. And from what I gathered from talking to them before hand you were all friendly with each other,“ you explained and he narrowed his eyes.

„I didn’t make any friends here,“ he said slowly.

„Now I know that that isn’t true. Steve Murphy and you seemed like friends,“ you said and he rolled his eyes, picking up his drink.

„He’s a fucking pain in my ass, that’s what he is,“ he snorted before he drank from his glass.

You chuckled.

„I bet the two of you were nothing but trouble working together. From what I gathered from our phone calls….“

„Honestly, and don’t tell him that. He was the best partner I could wish for out here. We went through a lot of shit out here. But he always had my back, even when I fucked up. And I really fucked up,“ he sighed.

„What did you do?“ You whispered and he looked at you, setting his glass down.

„I’m afraid, that’s classified,“ he winked and you laughed.

„Of course it is. I hope I can get some insider scoop out of your on our little journey through the drug history of this country,“ you said and he hummed, lips twitching into a grin.

„Guess you have to find a way to get your inside scoop out of me,“ he winked.

„Oh I have my ways, Agent Peña, don’t you worry,“ you winked back before you both laughed.

„We’re gonna start with you showing me your favourite places, or what’s left of them,“ you explained after you had the best empanadas you ever tasted as a first course. Javier, or Javi as he told you repeatedly to call him, told you a little about the work he was doing now, working as a consultant for the DEA in San Antonio.

He also told you he kind of hated his job, but had been doing it all his life and didn’t really know what else he could be doing instead.

„I’ve been working on movies all my life really,“ you said with a shrug after he asked how you got into your job.

„Really?“ He asked with a grin, you nodded.

„First movie I made was to blackmail my sister after I found her kissing Jimmy Miller in our garden when our mom was getting groceries,“ you said proudly and Javier laughed with a shake of his head.

„Remind me to never get on your bad side,“ he chuckled.

„It was her fault really, she broke my favourite toy,“ you chuckled too.

„God, sometimes I’m really glad I don’t have any terrorising little siblings,“ he sighs, still smiling.

„None?“ You asked, and he shook his head.

„I was a miracle baby more or less. Mama tried for a while to get pregnant and once the doctors said it was better to stop, boom, I happened. But she was already in her mid thirties which back then was… ancient to become a mother so both her and papa decided I was enough,“ he explained.

„Well, you haven’t missed anything without siblings. They’re kind of annoying, honestly,“ you say.

„You and your sister not on the best terms?“ He asked and you sighed.

„I wouldn’t say we’re on bad terms but… she’s the poster child. She went to college, married her high school love and had a baby. And because of all of that she sometimes does this thing where she tries to tell me how my life should be going. Because that’s what’s expected, right? You get married, you have the child, or children, and you life happily ever after while your husband brings home the money so you can have your picture perfect life, right?“

„If that makes someone happy, sure,“ Javi shrugged.

„Exactly. If that makes someone happy, they should do it. But I am not like that. I love my job. And if I end up falling in love and having kids, that man would have to deal with that. Cause I can’t see myself quitting my job go become a housewife,“

„I think I could become a stay at home man,“ Javi mused and you were so stunned after your little rant you could do nothing but laugh, enjoying the way the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled at you.

„What? Don’t I seem like the type to stay at home, take care of the house, maybe the kids? All of that of course only after I trick someone into marrying me,“ he joked and you smiled softly.

„I think you’d make a great stay at home husband for a very lucky lady some day. Or man. Whatever you’re into,“ you added quickly and he laughed.

„Woman. Just women,“ he clarified quickly and you raised one eyebrow.

„Really?“ You asked and his eyes narrowed.

„What’s that tone supposed to mean?“ He wanted to know and you just hummed.

„Nothing… Just…. Surprising. I would have bet you’re into men too,“ you shrugged, and he pursed his lips, bringing one of his hands up, his fingers rubbing over his perfectly groomed moustache.

„Are you?“ He asked.

„Into men? Oh yeah,“ you winked and he huffed a laugh before he shook his head.

„Into women,“ he clarified.

„I think so. Like, I’ve never been with one, but if I end up meeting a woman and fall in love with her? Who am I to run away from that?“ You asked and he hummed.

The waiter came and took your empty dishes, informing you that the main course would be served in a couple of minutes.

„Do you…. Do you have someone at home waiting for you?“ Javier asked and you couldn’t help but smile.

„I do,“ you said seriously and you might have imagined it, but Javier’s face fell for a moment.

„His name is King George and he’s currently staying with my best friend,“ you said, his face changing into confusion.

„He’s my cat,“ you clarified and Javier released a breath he was holding in a chuckle.

„So no. No one waiting for me at home Javi,“ you smiled, „What about you?“

„No,“ he shook his head, „I think I have some issues letting people in,“ he confessed, eyes widening as the words tumbled out of his mouth.

„But that’s not something I should talk about with anyone else than my therapist or my fictional future wife with,“ he added and you smiled softly.

„It’s okay. I have the same problem. When you’ve been on your own for so long, it’s hard to do this step of letting someone in. Not just in your head and heart. But in all your routines, your house, your life, your family. It’s….. The person has to be worth it,“ you said and he nodded.

„Yeah, It’s…. It’s sometimes easier being alone than opening up to someone only to get hurt in the long run, a sentence no one at home would believe I just said,“ he chuckled to himself, picking up his drink.

„Well I get what you mean. I rather be happy alone, than miserable in a relationship. Though I have to admit there are some things I miss about it,“ you hummed, resting your arm on the table.

„Like what?“ Javi asks, interested.

You hummed.

„I miss cooking for someone. Which sounds dumb, but cooking for yourself feels like a chore. If I get to do it for someone else? Well that’s something else entirely,“ you said and Javier smiled a little.

„Yeah. I hate eating fucking microwave dinners on the couch by myself,“ he said and you chuckled.

„Exactly. Like…. I am good most times, I am happy with how my life is. I just ask myself sometimes if there’s more? Like am I going to stay alone until the day I die or is someone out there who can handle my crazy ass?“ You asked and he hummed.

„You don’t seem so crazy to me,“ he said with a small grin and you raised one of your eyebrows, challenging.

„You’ve meet me what? Six hours ago? Give it time,“ you nodded with confidence.

„I’ve known you for a couple of weeks and from what I know? I think you’re an intelligent woman that loves her job and is good at it. You’re funny and between us, you’re fucking sexy as hell,“ he said like it was the most obvious think while your eyes widened, warmth spreading over your cheeks.

You were trying to come up with a response to his words when the waiter approached, serving the main courses. Javier winked at you and you suddenly felt so hot, you were sure he could see it.

You took a deep breath, reaching for your glass of water to take some sips.

„This looks good,“ you finally said, picking up your fork.

„Yeah,“ Javi said, eyes still on you with a look you couldn’t quite place.

„Shall we eat?“ You asked and he nodded before he picked up his fork too.

You continued to talk all throughout your dinner, though you made an effort to talk more about the trip and less about your personal lives. You were not sure why, but you felt way to comfortable with Javi and opening up to him about your life.

Not that this was bad, you just didn’t want to dump everything on him. This was a job and once this was finished you would most likely never see him again. You would move on to other projects while he moved on doing god knows what.

Sighing you picked up you new drink, looking up into the by now dark night sky, Javier having left to look for the restroom some time ago.

Why were you freaking out right now?

This was a dinner. Technically a dinner with a client.

A very attractive client who kept looking at you with his big brown eyes that seemed to hold so much longing and hurt in them that you felt like you wanted to hug him and never let go of him.

There was so much more to Javier Peña that you thought in the beginning. From interviewing people in preparation for the documentary the people seem to respect him for the work he had done and was still doing, but were judging him harshly for everything else he did. Be it how he got the work done or how he spent his private life.

More than once you had heard the word manwhore when talking about him and frankly?

If you would look like him, you would be one too.

„Penny for your thoughts,“ you jumped when you heard his voice behind you, a plate of what looked like cake in his hand that he set down in front of you.

„What’s that?“ You chose to ignore his questions as he sat down across from you.

„This is Postre de natas. It’s a kind of milk pudding and it’s maybe my most favourite dessert on this planet,“ he said and you nodded.

„Where is yours then?“ You picked up your spoon.

„It was the last one, you should have it," he said with a warm smile and you found yourself smiling back.

„That’s… That’s very sweet Javi," you said softly before you brought the spoon to your lips, eyes widened when the sweetness exploded in your mouth.

„Oh this is fucking delicious,“ you hummed happily, loving the was Javi’s eyes lit up as he smiled at you. You ate almost half of it, before you sat your spoon down and pushed the plate towards him.

„You take the rest, or I will have a sugar shock that won’t let me sleep,“ you joked and he laughed quietly before he started to eat, a long moan escaping his lips as he tasted the first spoon.

He closed his eyes in complete bliss while you schooled your whole demeanour to not react to how watching Javier eat his dessert felt like watching porn.

He licked his lips, humming to himself, sighing at every taste.

„I feel like I should give you two some privacy,“ you finally found the words to tease him and his eyes dropped open, looking at you before you saw his cheeks flush a little.

„I would say I’m sorry, but I’m really not. This might be the closest I got to having sex in a long time,“ he said, chuckling and your eyes widened, before you laughed.

„Guess I gotta find myself a desert that’s that good, huh?“ You joked and he licked his lips, having finished the dessert.

„Or someone to have sex with,“ he shrugged and you rolled your eyes.

"Like it’s that easy,“ you said and he pursed his lips, eyes playful.

„The guy at the bar has been eyefucking you all night,“ he said and you were about to turn your head to look when he stopped you.

„Don’t look. He’s not worth your time,“ he said and you titled your head.

„And how do you know that?“ You asked and he smirked.

„Saw his dick in the bathroom, he was next to me. Trust me, he is not worth it,“ he said seriously and your lips parted in shock before you giggled.

„Oh my god,“ you shook your head and he grinned.

„This is the weirdest business dinner I’ve ever had in my life,“ you still laughed, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes.

„Well this has been the best dinner I’ve had since I can remember, so thank you for that,“ he said and your smile at him softened.

The waiter approached, asking if you wanted to order anything else but you shook your head, much like Javi before you asked him to bill the dinner to your room.

Both Javi and you emptied your drinks before you both decided it was time to head back to your rooms.

You walked through the restaurant back towards the elevators, walking close by each other. You couldn’t help sucking your lip in to hide your laughter when you past the man Javi had talked about sitting at the bar, nodding at you with a grin.

Even if he was attractive, all you could think about was what Javier had said about him and you had a hard time not bursting out in giggles all the way to the elevators. When you risked a glance at Javier he was grinning too and you both chuckled as the elevator door opened. He waited for you to step in, following you, standing beside you as you pressed the button to the floor.

You didn’t know if it was seeing the guy, being so close to Javi or the three drinks you had but you found yourself asking „So if he’s not worth my time, how do you compare to him?“

You saw him suck his bottom lip between his teeth, before his tongue dared out to lick over his bottom lip.

He was about to answer when the elevator doors opened, having reached your floor. This time he put his hand on your lower back as he led you out of the elevator, slowly walking up the hallway towards your room.

You were already fiddling with your key when he stopped in front of your hotel room door.

„I’e be definitely worth your time,“ he finally said and you looked up at him.

„Yeah?“ You asked, voice just above a whisper. He nodded.

„And not just because my dick is bigger than his,“ he said, before he slowly leaned down to kiss your forehead. Your eyes widened, processing his words as he reached for your room key, unlocking the door for you.

„I’ll see you at breakfast?“ He asked and you dumbly nodded, before you slowly walked into your room.

„Sweet dreams," he winked as he pulled your door closed and only then did you realise that you had held your breath.

„I am in so much fucking trouble,“ you mumbled to yourself with disbelieving laugh, looking forward to what the next few weeks would bring.

next chapter

Taglist (please send me an ask if you want to be added to the LCC Taglist, I only have a taglist for this series, not for all of my works)

@pasc4lfuzz// @kirsteng42 // @imdreaminghere // @greenwitchfromthewoods // @theorganasolo // @inept-the-magnificent // @maried01 // @nationallampoonlemmings // @sunnytuliptime// @desuidesu // @galway-girlatwork // @missladym1981 // @bergamote-catsandbooks

#lcc series #my fic #Javier Peña #Javier Peña x fem. reader #Pedro Pascal #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction #narcos fanfiction

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satansdarlin · 8 months ago

Text

Marigold Margins: Chapter one

Wayne Enterprises CEO!Tim Drake x Fem!reader

Notes: a thank you to my lovely gf for beta reading this for me, this has been set up to at least to have ten chapters but I might combine some into one. Tim and the reader are both in their early twenties between 21-25ish. (Also indi and scarlet might be the yns of their own up coming stories :^ if yall would be interested). Drop a comment or a reblog! I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Warnings: mentions of cheating, slightly toxic work environment, dick being shameless and trying to set you and Tim up, timmy being cute

Word count: 8.4K

Rating: T

Shit, your feet hurt like a bitch. Your heels clicked against the marble floor, each step sending sharp reminders of the blisters forming on your skin. The golden stilettos had seemed like the perfect accent to your outfit this morning - now they felt like an exercise in masochism. Fashion over comfort: the eternal struggle.

"Morning, Gary," you called out to the janitor, who was already familiar with your early arrivals.

He paused his work, offering a knowing smile. "Good morning, miss. Mr. Drake hasn't made it in yet."

"Thanks for the heads up." You appreciated Gary's small kindnesses - they were rare enough in this department, where your rapid promotion to executive secretary had earned you more enemies than friends.

The executive elevator hummed to life as you pressed the button for the top floor. While waiting, you shifted your weight, trying to ease the pressure on your aching feet. Tension. The word perfectly described your entire situation at Wayne Enterprises. Was the forty-dollar hourly rate worth it? Absolutely. What secretary made that kind of money, complete with generous paid leave? But loving the job? That was... complicated.

The work itself came naturally to you. The real challenge was Timothy Jackson Drake himself. Everyone knew about him - Gotham's wonder boy, the youngest CEO in the country, part of the infamous Wayne family. But after a year as his secretary, you'd learned there was more to him than the nepotism narrative suggested. He'd earned his position through genuine brilliance and dedication. That same drive, however, meant he had... expectations. While never openly cruel, he could be relentlessly demanding.

The elevator announced your arrival with a soft chime. Your morning routine unfolded with practiced efficiency: lights on, computers booting up, files arranged on your desk. The coffee maker gurgled to life, filling the office with its rich aroma. You prepared Mr. Drake's desk with military precision - work files stacked just so, his favorite mug ready, a banana and granola bar positioned nearby (which he'd likely ignore until you forced lunch upon him).

Settling at your desk, you dove into the morning's emails and calls. The sound of dragging footsteps announced Tim's arrival, and you glanced up to find him looking like he'd just crawled out of bed - or perhaps never made it there at all. He mumbled something vaguely resembling gratitude before shuffling into his office, his silhouette visible through the frosted glass partition that separated your workspace from his. You watched as he slumped into his chair, took a long drink of coffee, and gradually transformed from zombie to CEO. It was a fascinating metamorphosis you'd witnessed countless times. The way his shoulders would straighten, how his eyes would sharpen from bleary to laser-focused. Even his typing changed - from hunt-and-peck to a rapid-fire staccato that filled the office.

"Meeting minutes from yesterday?" His voice carried through the intercom, significantly more human than his earlier greeting.

"Already uploaded to the shared drive and hard copies are in the blue folder on your desk," you replied, allowing yourself a small smile. After a year, you'd learned to anticipate his needs with almost supernatural accuracy.

"The Robertson contract?"

"Legal returned it this morning. I've highlighted the changes they suggested in yellow. Green tabs mark where you need to sign."

There was a pause, then: "What would I do without you?"

"Drown in paperwork and caffeine withdrawal," you answered before you could stop yourself. These little moments of casual banter were dangerous - they made it too easy to forget he was Timothy Drake-Wayne, your boss, and not just Tim, the overworked genius who occasionally made you laugh.

The intercom crackled with what might have been a chuckle. "Fair enough."

The morning proceeded with its usual rhythm until your phone buzzed with a text from Bruce Wayne's secretary. Your stomach dropped as you read the message: the Wayne patriarch was making one of his surprise visits. These always put Tim on edge, though he'd never admit it.

You pressed the intercom. "Mr. Wayne will be here in fifteen minutes."

The typing sounds from Tim's office stopped abruptly. Through the frosted glass, you could see him run a hand through his hair - a nervous tell you'd picked up on months ago.

"Right," he said, voice tight. "Can you-"

"I'll get fresh coffee, clear your schedule for the next hour, and make sure the quarterly reports are ready," you interrupted, already standing. "And yes, I'll grab you a proper breakfast from the café downstairs. You'll need more than a forgotten granola bar for this."

Another pause. "Have I mentioned you're terrifying sometimes?"

"Only when necessary, sir." You slipped on your torturous heels again, ignoring the protest from your feet. Bruce Wayne's visits always meant a performance - from everyone.

As you rushed to prepare for the impromptu meeting, you couldn't help but wonder what drama today would bring. Bruce Wayne's "casual visits" were never actually casual, and being caught in the crossfire between two of Gotham's most powerful men was not how you'd planned to spend your morning.

But then again, when did anything at Wayne Enterprises go according to plan?

You stood up when the elevator binged, quickly tapping the intercom to alert Tim with a short chirp. Your hands clasped professionally in front of you as your eyes landed on Mr. Wayne, himself. The man commanded attention without even trying, filling the space with his presence in a way that made your spacious reception area feel suddenly cramped.

"Good morning, Mr. Wayne. Mr. Drake is in his office." Your greeting was the perfect blend of professional courtesy and careful distance. Your gaze slid over to Samantha, Mr. Wayne's assistant, and you felt your smile tighten imperceptibly. She returned it with one of her trademark saccharine smiles, so sweet it could rot teeth. The fakeness radiated off her like cheap perfume.

Last thing you needed was another gentle lecture from Tim about "trying" to be nice to her. You still remembered his exact words from last time: "I know she's... difficult, but we need to maintain good relations with Bruce's office." Easy for him to say – he didn't have to deal with her passive-aggressive emails and tendency to "accidentally" schedule conflicts with Bruce's calendar.

Bruce Wayne nodded in acknowledgment, his steel-blue eyes taking in every detail of the office with that unnerving intensity he was famous for. "Thank you. The quarterly reports?"

You smoothly retrieved the leather portfolio from your desk. "All prepared, sir. I've included the updated projections you requested, along with the comparative analysis from last quarter." You handed it to him with practiced grace, careful to maintain eye contact for exactly the right amount of time – long enough to show confidence, short enough to show deference.

"Excellent." He accepted the portfolio, and you caught the slight raise of his eyebrows – approval? surprise? With Bruce Wayne, it was impossible to tell.

Samantha's voice cut through the moment like a dulled knife. "I hope those numbers match what we have downstairs. It would be... awkward if there were any discrepancies." Her tone suggested she'd enjoy nothing more.

You felt your smile freeze in place. "Everything has been triple-checked against the master database, of course." And quadruple-checked, because you'd learned early on that giving Samantha any ammunition was like handing matches to a pyromaniac.

The sound of Tim's office door opening saved you from further interaction. He emerged looking every inch the CEO – tie straight, jacket buttoned, not a hair out of place. The transformation from his earlier zombie state was complete.

"Bruce," he greeted, managing to make the single syllable sound both warm and professional. "I wasn't expecting you today."

"Best meetings are the unexpected ones," Bruce replied with that particular smile that always made you wonder if he actually believed that or just enjoyed keeping everyone on their toes.

You caught Tim's slight shoulder tension as he gestured toward his office. "Shall we?"

As they moved past your desk, Tim gave you the briefest of glances – a look you'd learned to interpret over months of working together. This one clearly said: "Hold all calls unless the building's on fire, and maybe even then."

Samantha lingered, adjusting her designer handbag with deliberate slowness. "I'll need copies of all correspondence between our offices from the last month," she announced, as if she hadn't already received them twice.

"I'll have those ready by the time the meeting concludes," you replied smoothly, silently adding 'you insufferable paper-pusher' in your head.

As she finally followed the men into Tim's office, you sank back into your chair, already pulling up the correspondence files. At least you'd had the foresight to grab that extra shot of espresso in your morning coffee. Something told you this was going to be a long day.

Eventually, as you'd expected, Samantha was ushered out of the room to give the two men privacy. The glass frosted further, obscuring Bruce and Tim from view – a clear signal that whatever discussion followed would be more about family than business. You mentally added "pick up comfort donuts" to your afternoon agenda, already knowing Tim's favorites: chocolate-glazed for regular bad days, Boston cream for family drama.

The rhythmic clicking of your keyboard filled the silence, punctuated only by Samantha's restless shuffling. She cleared her throat with obvious intent, and you looked up, raising an eyebrow in what you hoped was a passably polite expression.

"You know we've never actually talked," she began, voice dripping with artificial sweetness. "Which is so weird considering aren't we the same age?"

You bit back the urge to point out that she was actually five years your senior and somehow acted a decade younger. The irony wasn't lost on you.

"How did you exactly get this job?" she pressed on, tilting her head in practiced curiosity. "I always heard Mr. Drake was... picky."

Your eye twitched at the obvious implication, but you maintained your composure. Years of advanced placement courses had taught you patience, if nothing else. "Mr. Drake hand picked me for this job," you responded, keeping your tone professional and detached.

She gasped with theatrical surprise, as if this wasn't common knowledge in the Wayne Enterprises gossip circuit. "Really? Do you mind if I ask why?"

'Yes,' you thought, but instead rolled your head side to side, releasing some tension with a satisfying pop. "No, I don't mind. Mr. Drake chose me because he met me through the Martha Wayne scholarship. I was looking for a job during that time and my professors recommended me for the position."

You deliberately omitted how Tim had tracked your academic career with interest long before that – how you'd graduated high school two years early, earned a full ride to Gotham University, and excelled in advanced courses he'd specifically recommended. Let her draw her own conclusions; you had nothing to prove to Samantha or anyone else.

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken questions. You could practically see her trying to piece together a narrative that fit her preconceptions, one that wouldn't force her to acknowledge that maybe, just maybe, you'd earned your position through merit rather than whatever implications she was so eager to make.

Before she could formulate another sugar-coated barb, your phone buzzed with an incoming email. The subject line made you suppress a smile: it was from Tim, sent from his phone.

"If you'll excuse me," you said, turning back to your computer with practiced dismissal, "I have some urgent matters to attend to."

You could feel her hovering, reluctant to give up her fishing expedition. But years of dealing with Gotham's elite had taught you the art of creating an impenetrable wall of professional busy-ness. After a few more moments, she finally retreated to one of the waiting area chairs, her designer heels clicking in defeat.

Opening Tim's email, you found a single line: "Order lunch in. This might take a while."

You glanced at the frosted glass of his office, wondering what family drama was unfolding behind it. In your year working here, you'd learned to read the signs: the level of frosting on the glass, the tension in Tim's shoulders, the particular way Bruce Wayne's visits seemed timed to maximize inconvenience. Something was definitely up, and judging by the atmosphere, it was bigger than the usual Wayne family dynamics.

"The Martha Wayne scholarship?" Samantha's voice dripped with faux interest, her voice cutting through your thoughts like nails on a chalkboard. "That must have been... nice. Getting a free ride like that."

Your fingers paused briefly over your keyboard before resuming their steady rhythm. Two could play at this game. "It was an honor," you replied evenly. "The foundation only selects the top 1% of applicants. I'm sure you're familiar with the process, working so closely with Mr. Wayne."

Her smile flickered for just a moment. "Oh, I handle more of the... executive side of things."

"Of course." You kept your eyes on your screen, responding to an urgent email from R&D while she processed your subtle jab.

"Still," she persisted, examining her manicured nails, "it must be challenging, working for someone so... young. Especially given your... background."

You felt your jaw clench but maintained your professional demeanor. "Mr. Drake's age has nothing to do with his capabilities. He's one of the most brilliant minds in Gotham's business sector." Your tone carried just enough edge to make it clear you wouldn't tolerate any disparagement of Tim.

"Oh, I didn't mean anything by it," Samantha backpedaled, though her smirk suggested otherwise. "It's just that some of us had to work our way up the traditional path. But I suppose there are... other ways to advance."

You actually had to bite your tongue to keep from pointing out that her "traditional path" had involved an uncle on the board of directors. Instead, you smiled pleasantly and reached for your coffee. "Everyone's path is different. For instance, I started in the scholarship program at fifteen, finished my degree at twenty, and earned this position through academic excellence and practical capability. But you're right – there are many ways to advance."

The subtle emphasis on your achievements made her shift uncomfortably in her chair. Before she could respond, your intercom buzzed.

"Miss (L/N), could you send in the Miller files?" Tim's voice was perfectly professional, but you caught the underlying tension.

"Right away, Mr. Drake." You stood, gathering the requested documents, grateful for the interruption. As you moved toward his office, you called back to Samantha, "Please excuse me. Duty calls."

You could feel her glare burning into your back as you approached Tim's door, but you kept your posture straight and your stride confident. You'd worked too hard to let someone like Samantha make you doubt your place here, even for a second.

Besides, you had more important things to worry about – like what kind of family drama was causing that muscle in Tim's jaw to twitch visible even through the frosted glass, and whether you should upgrade those comfort donuts to a full stress-eating care package. You handed him the files before going back to your desk.

Your phone buzzed against the desk, the screen lighting up with a notification that made your stomach turn.

Text notification: 1

Asshole: hey bbg can we talk? I know you're probably still mad at me…

You swiped away Josh's message with perhaps more force than necessary. Josh. Your sweet, charming, lying ex-boyfriend who apparently thought "probably still mad" was an adequate response to finding him in bed with your supposed best friend. You'd been playing an exhausting game of dodge-the-ex across Gotham for weeks now, removing yourself from your usual haunts just to avoid his attempts at "explaining." The mere thought of him made your skin crawl.

"Whose that? Your little boyfriend?" Samantha's sugary voice cut through your thoughts like nails on a chalkboard. How someone could have such a grating voice was beyond you.

"Ex. Ex-boyfriend," you corrected automatically, then mentally kicked yourself for engaging. You shook your head, redirecting to safer, professional territory. "I'd rather not talk about it. Do you think you could send over the info for the upcoming Christmas gala when you get back to your office?"

Samantha's face fell into an exaggerated pout at your deflection, clearly disappointed at being denied fresh gossip fodder. You could practically see her filing away this nugget of personal information for future use. Nothing stayed private for long in Wayne Enterprises, but you'd be damned if you gave her the satisfaction of spreading this particular story.

Your phone buzzed again, and you flipped it face-down with a bit more force than necessary. The movement caught Samantha's attention, her eyes lighting up with predatory interest.

"Bad breakup?" she pressed, leaning forward slightly. "Those are always so... difficult. Especially when you have to maintain a professional image at work."

The implied threat in her words – that she could make this gossip very public, very quickly – wasn't lost on you. But you'd handled worse than Samantha's attempts at social manipulation.

"The Christmas gala details?" you repeated, your tone making it clear the previous topic was closed for discussion. "Mr. Drake needs to review the schedule, and I'd like to avoid any potential conflicts with Mr. Wayne's calendar."

Her lips pursed at your professional pivot, but before she could attempt another probe into your personal life, the sound of approaching footsteps from Tim's office made you both straighten instinctively. The frosting on the glass cleared as Bruce emerged first, his expression unreadable as always. Tim followed, and your trained eye caught the tension in his shoulders, the slight clench of his jaw that spelled out family drama in neon letters.

"I'll expect those reports by Friday," Bruce stated, though something in his tone suggested this wasn't really about reports at all.

"Of course," Tim replied, professional mask firmly in place. Only someone who knew him well would catch the slight strain in his voice.

Samantha jumped to attention, gathering her things with practiced efficiency. "I'll send over the gala information this afternoon," she chirped, finally, blessedly ready to leave.

You watched as Bruce and Samantha departed, waiting until the elevator doors closed before turning to Tim. He was still standing there, staring at the closed elevator doors as if they held the secrets of the universe.

"I ordered Thai from that place you like," you said softly. "And I can have someone grab those donuts from downtown if-"

"You're a lifesaver," he interrupted, running a hand through his carefully styled hair, completely destroying its professional arrangement. "But can we... can we not eat in the office?"

You blinked in surprise. In all your time working here, Tim had never suggested leaving the office for lunch. "Of course. Where would you prefer?"

"The roof?" He looked almost sheepish suggesting it. "I just... I need air that doesn't smell like Wayne Enterprises for a few minutes."

Your phone buzzed again – probably Josh – but you ignored it. "I'll grab the food when it arrives. You should go up now, get some fresh air."

He nodded, already loosening his tie as he headed for the stairwell. Twenty minutes later, you found him sitting on the maintenance ledge, jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up, looking more like a college student than a CEO.

"One Pad Thai with extra peanuts," you announced, settling down beside him with the takeout bags. "And yes, I grabbed extra spring rolls."

"You know me too well," he managed a small smile, accepting the container you handed him. "I'm sorry about..." he gestured vaguely with his chopsticks, "all that."

"Family's complicated," you offered, carefully keeping your tone neutral as you opened your own lunch.

"Bruce wants me to relocate to the Metropolis office," he said suddenly, staring out at the Gotham skyline. "Says it would be 'good for my professional development.'"

You nearly choked on your spring roll. "Metropolis?"

"Yeah." He stabbed at his noodles with more force than necessary. "Because apparently running the Gotham office isn't enough of a challenge."

"That's ridiculous," you said before you could stop yourself. "You've increased productivity by 40% since taking over, our client retention is at an all-time high, and the employee satisfaction surveys-"

"Have you been memorizing my achievements?" He turned to look at you, a hint of amusement breaking through his stress.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks. "It's my job to know these things."

"Right. Your job." Something flickered across his face too quickly to read. "Speaking of jobs... you'd have to come too, you know. To Metropolis. If I agreed."

Your heart did a complicated flip in your chest. "Are you... considering it?"

"No," he said quickly, then paused. "Maybe. I don't know." He set down his food and turned to face you fully. "Would you? Come to Metropolis, I mean? If I asked?"

The question hung in the air between you, heavy with implications neither of you were ready to address. Your phone buzzed again in your pocket, but for once, you didn't even notice.

You hummed softly, letting your gaze drift over Gotham's sprawling landscape. From this height, you could actually see past the city's ever-present smog, though any true Gothamite knew the city's real beauty emerged after dark. The endless sea of lights, the way the neon cut through the darkness – it was home, or at least it had been.

Your phone buzzed again, another message from Josh joining the pile. You glanced down at the string of notifications, each one a reminder of how quickly your social circle had imploded. Some friends they'd turned out to be – taking his side, sending nasty messages about how a "prude" like you had it coming. The betrayal still stung, but maybe not as sharply as it should. Maybe that said something about how ready you were to leave it all behind.

Your parents had always encouraged you to spread your wings beyond Gotham's borders anyway. "The world's bigger than Crime Alley," your mom used to say. You slipped the phone back into your pocket, silencing the ghosts of relationships past.

"Yeah, I'd come with you," you said finally, turning back to Tim with a slight smile. "It's my job to be at your side during all the professional hours anyway."

Something shifted in his expression at your words. "'Professional hours,'" he repeated, as if testing the phrase. "Right. Because that's what this is about. Professional... obligations."

The way he said it made your heart skip a beat. There was a weight to his words that seemed to encompass more than just office dynamics and working relationships. The autumn breeze picked up, carrying with it the distant sounds of the city below, and you found yourself hyperaware of how close you were sitting, how his rolled-up sleeves revealed surprisingly toned forearms, how his hair was still slightly mussed from running his hands through it.

"Tim," you started, then caught yourself. "Mr. Drake-"

"Don't," he interrupted softly. "Don't do that. Not up here." He gestured to the expanse around you. "We're literally above all that right now."

Your phone buzzed again, and this time Tim noticed your slight wince. "Everything okay?"

"Just..." you waved a hand dismissively, "ex-boyfriend drama. Nothing important."

His expression darkened slightly. "Josh?" At your surprised look, he added quickly, "I... might have overheard some break room gossip. About what happened."

"Great," you muttered, heat rising to your cheeks. "Good to know my humiliation made it all the way to the executive floor."

"Hey," his voice was gentle but firm, "you're not the one who should be humiliated. He's the idiot who-" he cut himself off, jaw clenching. "Sorry. Not my place."

"No, it's..." you found yourself smiling despite everything, "it's kind of nice. Hearing someone take my side for once."

The look he gave you then made your breath catch. "I'm always on your side," he said quietly, and somehow you knew he meant more than just the Josh situation.

You forced yourself to take a steady breath, trying to calm your racing heart. No. Absolutely not. You were not going to develop feelings for your boss. It didn't matter that Tim was barely a year older than you, or that his disheveled appearance right now made him look unfairly attractive, or that the way he was looking at you made your stomach do flips. This was a completely professional relationship and it would stay that way. You cleared your throat and offered him a carefully measured smile.

"Well, if we do end up moving to the Metropolis office, I'd have to start looking at apartments over there," you murmured, already running calculations in your head. Even with your generous salary, Metropolis real estate prices were notorious. Maybe you could find something affordable downtown, though the commute would be rough. Your inner penny-pincher was already cringing at the potential security deposits and elevated cost of living.

"About that," Tim straightened slightly, his expression shifting to something you couldn't quite read. "Wayne Enterprises has corporate housing in Metropolis. High-rise apartments, actually. Usually reserved for executives and their... key personnel."

The way he said 'key personnel' made your pulse jump again. Traitor heart.

"Key personnel?" you echoed, trying to keep your tone light.

"Well," he shifted slightly closer, and you caught a whiff of his expensive cologne mixed with coffee, "can't have my irreplaceable assistant living in some sketchy downtown apartment, can I?"

"I'm hardly irreplaceable," you protested weakly, even as your brain helpfully reminded you that no other assistant had lasted more than three months before you.

Tim's expression turned serious. "You are, though. You're the only one who's ever..." he paused, seeming to choose his words carefully, "understood. The job. The pressure. Me."

The last word hung in the air between you, loaded with unspoken implications. You became acutely aware of how close you were sitting, how easy it would be to just lean a little closer, how his eyes seemed to darken as they met yours.

Your phone buzzed again, shattering the moment. Tim's gaze flickered to your pocket, then back to your face, something almost like frustration crossing his features.

You sighed, glancing down at your persistently buzzing pocket. "I should probably..." you mumbled, finally pulling out your phone. You knew Josh well enough to know he wouldn't stop until you dealt with him directly. Your face twisted in disgust as you scrolled through the barrage of messages – a nauseating mix of sweet manipulation ("baby, please, we can work this out"), degrading insults, and crude comments about your intimate life together. The last ones made your skin crawl, especially his boasts about being the 'only one who could make you feel that good.' Gross.

You could feel Tim's eyes on you as you stared at the screen, trying to formulate a response that wouldn't just feed into Josh's need for attention. The weight of Tim's gaze was different from the usual scrutiny you felt in the office – more protective than professional.

"Maybe you should just block him?" Tim suggested, his voice carrying an edge you rarely heard. The CEO tone, as you privately called it – the one that made board members squirm.

You shook your head, words tumbling out before you could stop them. "No way. I need him to see I can live without him." The admission hung in the air, more vulnerable than you'd intended. Your fingers hovered over your phone's keypad as you entered your passcode, very aware of how childish that might sound to someone like Tim.

But when you glanced up, there was no judgment in his expression – just something fierce and protective that made your breath catch. He shifted closer, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body in the cool rooftop air.

"He already sees it," Tim said quietly, his eyes fixed on your face. "Every day you walk into this building, every meeting you handle perfectly, every time you prove you're exactly where you belong – that's you living without him. And doing it better than he could ever imagine."

The intensity in his voice made you look up, and suddenly you were trapped in his gaze, your phone temporarily forgotten in your hands. This wasn't your boss speaking anymore – this was something else entirely, something that made your heart race and your professional boundaries start to blur.

Your breath caught as you suddenly became hyperaware of every point of contact between you – his fingers wrapped gently but firmly around your bicep, his head tilted toward yours, close enough that you could see the flecks of blue in his eyes. "Mr. Drake, I-"

He rolled his eyes, but there was a playful warmth in the gesture that made your stomach flip. "Tim. Just Tim for right now."

Your lips parted to respond, but the creak of the rooftop door shattered the moment. Dick Grayson, the eldest Wayne sibling, emerged into the afternoon light, and Tim immediately pulled back, professional distance snapping into place like a shield. The sudden absence of his warmth left you feeling oddly bereft.

"Hey Timbo, sorry to interrupt your lunch but I need a favor." Dick's trademark charming smile did nothing to soften Tim's exasperated expression.

"Sure, just let me finish my food-" Tim paused, catching something in Dick's expression. "This is kind of favor you need now?" When Dick nodded apologetically, Tim grumbled but began closing his takeout container.

Before standing, he turned back to you, placing his hand over your phone. His eyes locked with yours with an intensity that made your knees weak despite sitting down. "Block him." It wasn't a request – it was pure CEO Tim Drake, the voice that brokered no argument. "We won't have room for people like him if we move to Metropolis, am I understood?"

The 'we' in that sentence felt weighted with possibility, but you pushed that thought aside. "Yes, Mr. Drake."

You watched as he gathered his things, noting how his professional mask slipped perfectly back into place, though something in his eyes remained softer when he looked at you. As he followed Dick toward the door, you could have sworn you saw him shoot his brother an irritated look.

Your phone buzzed again in your hands, but this time, instead of anxiety, you felt a surge of determination. Tim was right – you didn't need Josh's validation. With steady fingers, you pulled up his contact information and hit 'block.'

The city stretched out below you, Metropolis somewhere beyond the horizon, and for the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe properly.

Red and blue lights pulsed across your face as the bass thundered through your chest, making your ribs vibrate with each beat. The news of the Metropolis transfer was official now – you and Tim would be heading the new office. You couldn't quite suppress the smug satisfaction you'd felt watching Samantha's face fall when the announcement was made, her practiced smile cracking just slightly at the edges.

Now, though, you were somewhat regretting sharing the news with your family. Your elder sisters had immediately sprung into celebration mode: Indi, the successful Gotham model, had easily swept you all past the velvet ropes of one of the city's hottest clubs, while Scarlet had managed a few congratulatory drinks before motherhood called her home to your nephew.

That left you nursing a dirty triple Shirley temple (which had been a mouthful to order over the deafening music) and hugging the wall like it was your job. From your vantage point, you could see Indi on the dance floor, practically melded to some guy she'd been flirting with all night. The sequins on her dress caught the strobing lights, making her look like some sort of disco ball goddess – exactly the kind of attention-grabbing presence she was known for.

You took another sip of your drink, the cherry sweetness a sharp contrast to the adult addition of vodka. The music shifted, something with a heavier beat that made the crowd surge with renewed energy. You checked your phone out of habit – no more texts from Josh, thank god, but there was a work email notification that made your heart skip:

From: Timothy Drake-Wayne

Subject: Tomorrow's Schedule Change

Time Sent: 10:47 PM

Your finger hovered over the notification, debating whether to open it. Tim had been... different since that day on the roof. Not obviously so – you both maintained perfect professionalism in the office – but there were moments: lingering glances, fingers brushing when passing documents, the way he'd started saying your name just a touch softer than necessary.

As you hesitated to open it someone bumped into you, luckily you saved your drink from spilling all over the black halter dress you were wearing showing off your back.

“I'm so sorry, I didn't-” the masculine voice was cut off as you looked up and you both stilled. Seeing Tim out of a suit was jarring, seeing tim out of a suit and in a club? That was wild.

“Mr. Drake!”

“We are out of work. Just tim” he sighed at you but it was almost in a pleased exasperation.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Drake but you'll have to try harder than that,” The teasing words slipped out before you could stop them. Tim blinked and then a wry smirk pulled on his face.

Tim's eyes darkened at your challenge, that CEO intensity suddenly focused entirely on you. "Try harder?" He stepped closer, just shy of improper, voice dropping low enough that you had to lean in to hear him over the music. "What exactly would that take?"

The bass pulsed through your bodies, and you were acutely aware of how different this felt from your usual office dynamics. Here, in the strobing lights and thundering music, with your back exposed by the halter dress and his suit traded for dark jeans and a fitted black henley, the careful professional distance you maintained seemed to blur and shift.

"Tim!" A familiar voice cut through the moment. Dick Grayson emerged from the crowd, another brother – Jason – trailing behind him. "Thought I saw you come this way." His eyes landed on you, and his grin widened. "Well, well. Fancy meeting you here."

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, suddenly very conscious of how close you and Tim were standing. "Mr. Grayson," you managed, trying to sound professional despite the club setting.

"Oh god, not you too," Dick groaned. "It's just Dick, please. We're not at work."

"Leave her alone," Jason cut in, giving you a knowing look. "Some of us appreciate proper manners." He turned to Tim with a smirk. "Though I gotta say, baby bird, running into your secretary at a club? That's some rom-com level timing."

"Assistant," you and Tim corrected simultaneously, then shared a quick glance that made Dick's grin grow impossibly wider.

"Right, assistant," Jason drawled, making the word sound far more suggestive than it had any right to be. "The one Bruce mentioned is moving to Metropolis with you?"

The music shifted again, something slower but still thrumming with energy. Tim's jaw tightened slightly at the mention of Bruce, and you found yourself unconsciously shifting closer, a movement that didn't go unnoticed by his brothers.

"Speaking of Metropolis," Dick's eyes gleamed with mischief, "I hear the nightlife there is pretty tame compared to Gotham. You two might have to make your own entertainment."

"Dick," Tim's voice carried a warning edge that made you think of board meetings and difficult clients.

"What? I'm just saying, all those late nights in the office..." Dick trailed off suggestively.

You took a long sip of your drink, using the moment to steady yourself. "I should probably find my sister," you said, looking for an escape from this increasingly dangerous conversation. "She tends to get... ambitious when left unsupervised too long."

"The model?" Jason asked, eyebrows rising. "Tall, sequined dress, currently wrapped around that guy by the DJ booth?"

You turned to look where he was pointing, and sure enough, there was Indi, having apparently upgraded from her previous dance partner. "That's her."

"Runs in the family, huh?" Dick muttered, too quiet for anyone but Jason to hear, though the sharp look Tim shot him suggested he'd caught it too.

"I'll walk you over," Tim said suddenly, placing a hand on the small of your back. The touch sent electricity down your spine, his fingers warm against your exposed skin.

As you moved through the crowd, Tim's hand stayed steady on your back, guiding you through the press of bodies. The contact felt simultaneously too much and not enough, and you found yourself hyperaware of every brush of his fingers, every slight pressure as he steered you around dancing couples.

"I didn't know you came to places like this," you said, having to lean close to his ear to be heard over the music. His cologne filled your senses, different from his usual office scent – something darker, spicier.

He leaned down, his breath tickling your ear as he replied, "I don't, usually. Dick dragged me out to 'celebrate' the Metropolis news." His tone on 'celebrate' suggested this wasn't entirely voluntary. "Though it's looking up now."

The implications in that last statement made your heart race, and you were grateful for the dim lighting hiding your blush. You were nearing the DJ booth now, Indi's sequined dress acting like a beacon in the strobing lights.

Tim's hand slipped from your back as you reached the edge of the dance floor, and the loss of contact felt almost physical. You turned to face him, finding his eyes already on you, intense despite the chaotic lighting.

"About that email," he said, stepping closer to be heard over the music. "I was wondering if you'd like to-"

"Baby sis!" Indi's voice cut through whatever Tim was about to say. She detached herself from her dance partner, practically bouncing over to you. "There you are! And with company?" Her eyes raked over Tim appreciatively. "Very nice company."

"Mr. Drake-Wayne," you introduced formally, trying to maintain some semblance of professionalism even as Indi's eyebrows shot up in recognition.

"Your boss?" she stage-whispered, not nearly as quietly as she probably thought. "The one you're moving to Metropolis with?" Her grin turned predatory. "Oh, this is interesting."

You felt your face flame. "Indi-"

"Dance with us!" she declared, already reaching for both you and Tim. "Consider it a pre-Metropolis celebration!"

The music swelled, and you found yourself being pulled onto the dance floor, Tim's amused expression the last thing you saw before the crowd swallowed you up. His hand found yours in the chaos, steady and warm, and suddenly the bass didn't seem quite so overwhelming.

As Indi disappeared back into the crowd, presumably to find her previous dance partner, you felt Tim pull you closer, his other hand finding its way back to your exposed back.

"So," he said, mouth close to your ear, "about that email..."

Your heart thundered in time with the music as you waited for him to continue, but a commotion near the bar caught your attention. Your eyes widened as you recognized a familiar figure being escorted out by security.

"Is that...?" Tim followed your gaze.

"Josh," you confirmed, watching as your ex-boyfriend was firmly guided toward the exit, his protests lost in the music. "I didn't even know he came here."

Tim's hand tightened slightly on your back. "Want me to have security make sure he stays out?"

The protective edge in his voice made something warm bloom in your chest. "No," you said, surprising yourself with how much you meant it. "He's not worth the effort anymore."

Tim's eyes softened as he looked at you, and suddenly the club, the music, even Josh's dramatic exit – it all faded into background noise. "Good," he said quietly, though you heard him perfectly despite the chaos around you. "Because I was thinking..."

The music shifted again, something slower, more intimate, and Tim pulled you imperceptibly closer.

"Yes?" you prompted, your heart racing as his hand traced small circles on your back.

"Maybe we should discuss those Metropolis arrangements... over dinner?"

The implications in his tone made it clear this wasn't about corporate housing or office logistics. You looked up at him, finding nothing but sincerity in his eyes, and felt a smile tug at your lips.

"That would be highly unprofessional, Mr. Drake," you said, but there was no real protest in your voice.

His answering smile was worth every HR regulation you were about to break. "I thought you told me to try harder, hm?"

And there, in the middle of a Gotham nightclub, with your ex being thrown out and your sister probably watching with glee, you finally let yourself lean into the warmth of Timothy Drake-Wayne's embrace.

"Dinner sounds perfect," you whispered, "Tim."

His smile could have lit up all of Gotham.

That's how you and Tim had gotten swept over into a booth and were actually just talking for once. Well. You both might have been a bit tipsy.

“Honestly Josh wasn't even my worst ex. There was this one girl, Maxine. Max and I dated for like all of college but she'd never bring me home or anything cause she was still closeted and stuff which I mean I get it. I didn't come out til I was like sixteenish luckily my family had enough things to worry about with my sister scarlet becoming a mom that one of us being bi-sexual was kinda glossed over. But anyway Max ended up breaking up with me and getting engaged to just some guy within like a month.” Your hands moved as you spoke, nearly sloshing your drink but Tim steadied it for you and gave a sympathetic nod.

“I get that,” he murmured. Your eyes trailed over the crowd again silently checking up on your sister. You nearly spat your drink out causing Tim to also look over. “I think your brother is trying to serenade my sister.”

You watched in horror and slight pride as indi and dick were clearly flirting with each other on the other side of the club.

“Probably planning how to embarrass us next too,” Tim hummed his hand resting on your thigh.

You let out a soft laugh, not moving away from his touch. "Oh god, can you imagine the family dinners? Indi would absolutely weaponize her model status to terrorize Bruce Wayne."

Tim's thumb traced absent patterns on your thigh, sending little sparks of electricity through your body. "Honestly? I'd pay to see that. Bruce needs someone to ruffle his feathers occasionally." His eyes sparkled with mischief. "Though I have to say, you've been doing a pretty good job of that yourself."

"Me?" You blinked in surprise, taking another sip of your drink.

"Mmhmm." Tim shifted closer, his shoulder pressing against yours in the intimate space of the booth. "The way you handle Samantha? Your complete overhaul of the filing system? That presentation you gave last week?" His voice dropped lower. "Bruce hasn't been this impressed by anyone since Barbara Gordon herself."

The comparison to the legendary Barbara Gordon – now CFO of Wayne Tech – made you flush with pride and embarrassment. "I just do my job."

"No," Tim's voice was serious now, though his hand remained warm on your thigh. "You do so much more than that. You..." he paused, seeming to gather his thoughts. "You make everything better. Easier. Not just the work stuff, but..." he gestured vaguely with his free hand, "everything."

The vulnerability in his voice made your heart clench. You'd never seen him quite like this – guard down, words flowing freely, eyes soft in the dim club lighting. It was a far cry from the composed CEO who commanded boardrooms and managed million-dollar deals.

"Speaking of making things better," you said, trying to lighten the suddenly heavy moment, "remember that time you caught me stress-eating donuts in the supply closet after the Johnson meeting?"

Tim's laugh rumbled through his chest. "And instead of being professional about it, I just sat down and asked for one?" His eyes crinkled at the corners. "Best decision I ever made. Though I still maintain Boston cream is superior to your chocolate glazed preference."

"Excuse you, chocolate glazed is a classic for a reason." You nudged his shoulder playfully, then froze as you caught sight of Dick and Indi again. "Oh my god, they're exchanging numbers."

Tim followed your gaze and groaned. "Dick's never going to let this go. He's probably already planning double dates."

The casual way he said 'double dates' made your stomach flip. "Is that what this is?" you asked before you could stop yourself. "A date?"

Tim's hand tightened slightly on your thigh as he turned to face you fully. The booth suddenly felt much smaller, more intimate. "Do you want it to be?"

Your breath caught as you met his gaze. There was no trace of the CEO now – this was just Tim, looking at you like you were something precious and dangerous all at once.

"I..." you started, then jumped as someone slid into the booth opposite you.

"Baby bird!" Jason's voice cut through the moment like a knife. "And the assistant who's definitely just an assistant." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Tim's hand didn't move from your thigh, though you saw his jaw clench slightly. "What do you want, Jason?"

"Can't a guy check on his baby brother?" Jason's grin was positively feral. "Especially when said brother is getting cozy with his very attractive employee in a very public place?"

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, but before you could formulate a response, Indi appeared at the table, Dick in tow.

"Sister swap!" she announced cheerfully. "Dick's taking me to this amazing late-night food truck, and you" she pointed at you with a perfectly manicured finger, "are coming with us because I refuse to eat street food alone with a strange man, even if he is unreasonably attractive."

"Hey!" Dick protested, though he was grinning.

You felt Tim's hand squeeze your thigh once before reluctantly withdrawing. "Rain check on that answer?" he murmured, low enough that only you could hear.

Your heart did a complicated flip in your chest as you nodded. As you slid out of the booth, letting Indi pull you toward the exit, you couldn't help but look back. Tim was watching you go, something intense and promising in his expression that made your skin tingle.

"So," Indi linked her arm through yours as you emerged into the cool Gotham night, Dick and Jason trailing behind you. "Want to tell me why you never mentioned how hot your boss is? Or why his hand was very obviously on your thigh for the past hour?"

"Or why you're both looking at each other like you're starring in your own personal rom-com?" Dick added helpfully.

You groaned, but couldn't quite suppress your smile. "Can we just focus on finding this amazing food truck you mentioned?"

"Oh honey," Indi's grin was wicked, "you really think we're letting this go? You're about to move to Metropolis with that man. This is prime sisterly interrogation material."

As your sister dragged you through the neon-lit streets of Gotham, Dick and Jason providing running commentary on the best late-night eateries, you found your thoughts drifting back to the booth, to Tim's touch, to that unanswered question hanging between you.

Your phone buzzed in your purse:

From: Tim

Message: Dinner tomorrow? Somewhere without nosy siblings?

You bit your lip to hide your smile as you typed back a response:

To: Tim

Message: Only if you promise to let me order chocolate glazed dessert.

His reply was immediate:

From: Tim

Message: Deal. Though I still say Boston cream is superior.

"Oh my god, you're texting him already, aren't you?" Indi peered over your shoulder. "This is adorable. Dick, look how adorable they are!"

"I hate all of you," you declared, but your grin betrayed you.

"No you don't," Dick said cheerfully. "Just wait until family game night. Bruce is going to have an aneurysm."

As your sister and the Wayne brothers debated the merits of various food trucks, your phone buzzed one last time:

From: Tim

Message: For the record? I definitely want it to be a date.

The Gotham night suddenly felt a lot warmer.

"You know, we do have another sister-"

"Indi! Stop it!"

You lunged for your eldest sister, but she was already showing Dick and Jason photos of Scarlet on her phone. Running a hand down your face, you fought the urge to text your other sister a warning about Indi's matchmaking schemes.

"Scarlet might actually kill you, you know," you deadpanned. Indi just shrugged, elegant and unrepentant in her sequined glory.

"That girl needs more to life than her shop and Harkin," she stated with a dramatic eye roll, scrolling to another photo.

"Harkin brings up my point. She's a mom, Indi. She can't just—"

"Lalalala can't hear you!" Indi sang out, covering her ears like a child rather than the successful model she was.

"I swear you are not the oldest out of all of us," you muttered, watching as Dick and Jason peered at the phone with increasing interest. "She runs a successful business, has an adorable kid, and is actually happy. Why are you like this?"

Dick looked up from the phone, his expression thoughtful. "The flower shop on Kane Street? With the blue awning?"

"You know it?" you asked, surprised.

"Bruce gets arrangements from there sometimes," Jason supplied, then smirked. "Though I'm betting he'll be ordering a lot more now that his son's dating the owner's sister."

"We're not—" you started automatically, then stopped, thinking of Tim's text burning a hole in your phone. Were you? The memory of his hand on your thigh, his quiet question in the booth, made your cheeks warm.

"Oooh, she's blushing!" Indi crowed triumphantly. "And here I thought Scarlet would be the one to snag a Wayne. She always was the pretty one—"

"Shut up," you groaned, snatching her phone. "Scarlet will murder us both if she finds out you're showing her photos to random men in clubs."

"Random men?" Dick pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. "I'll have you know we are now practically family. In fact..." He plucked Indi's phone from your grasp with surprising agility and continued scrolling. "As your future brother-in-law, I think I have a right to know all about my new sisters."

"Oh my god," you muttered, watching helplessly as Indi and Dick huddled over the phone, Jason offering commentary that was absolutely not helping.

Your phone buzzed again:

From: Tim

Message: Everything okay? Jason just sent me a very cryptic text about flower shops.

You looked up to find Jason watching you with a knowing smirk. "Did you seriously just text him?"

"Someone's gotta keep baby bird in the loop," he shrugged. "Besides, your sister's shop really does do nice arrangements. Bruce wasn't lying about that."

"The pink roses last month were from there," Dick added absently, still scrolling with Indi. "The ones for that charity gala?"

You remembered those roses. Scarlet had spent hours getting the gradient just right, each bloom a slightly different shade of pink fading to white. She'd been so proud of that order, even if she hadn't known it was for Wayne Enterprises.

"Speaking of flowers," Indi's eyes gleamed dangerously, "didn't Scarlet just hire that new delivery guy? The one with the motorcycle?"

"Indi, I swear to god—"

Your phone buzzed again:

From: Tim

Message: Should I be worried that Dick just asked Alfred for the flower shop's number?

You typed back quickly:

To: Tim

Message: Your brothers are conspiring with my sister. Send help.

His response was immediate:

From: Tim

Message: On my way. Though I should warn you, once Dick gets an idea in his head...

You looked up to find Indi and Dick exchanging contact information, presumably to better coordinate their matchmaking schemes, while Jason watched the whole thing with undisguised amusement.

To: Tim

Message: Too late. I think we're going to be seeing a lot of family dinners in our future.

From: Tim

Message: Good thing I like your family then. Even if Indi is currently plotting with Dick to revolutionize Wayne Enterprises' floral arrangements.

Despite everything, you couldn't help but smile. Your ridiculous family and his ridiculous brothers, all tangled up in each other's lives now. It should have been terrifying, but somehow...

"See?" Indi nudged you, having apparently finished her plotting with Dick. "This is what happens when you finally let yourself have some fun. Now come on, that food truck isn't going to wait forever."

As you let yourself be pulled along the Gotham streets, your phone warm with Tim's messages in your hand, you thought maybe – just maybe – your sister had a point.

Even if you'd never, ever admit it to her face.

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#fluff #timothy drake #tim drake #tim drake x reader #red robin #red robin x reader #ceo!tim drake

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dracosprettygirl · 2 months ago

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۶ৎ lift you up

pairing: gymbro!draco x reader word count: 891 words. summary: You told Draco you’d do a pull-up, and somehow, your legs are wrapped around his waist, your arms are shaking, and his voice is in your ear, telling you to pull. warnings: sexual tension; suggestive language; flirting; physical touch; profanity; not proofread, let me know if i missed anything!A/N: this was inevitable. and also short. pls accept gymbro!draco as a humble apology for the way i've been not even around because of finals <3 pt. 2 with cooldown?

♫ body heat by selena gomez.

It wasn't your finest moment.

You'd been feeling ambitious—bold, even—walking into the gym with Draco at your side. You had your water bottle, your playlist queued up, and enough post-preworkout confidence to say, "I'm going do a pull-up today."

Draco had just smirked. That maddening, sharp-edged smirk that screamed, are you now?

And now here you were. Dangling from the pull-up bar like an exhausted koala, arms trembling, unable to lift yourself an inch.

"Fuck," you gasped. "Why is this so hard?"

From behind you, Draco's voice was entirely too smug. "Because you're trying to deadlift your entire body off the ground like it weighs nothing."

You twisted your head toward him. He was leaning against the cable machine, arms crossed, grey t-shirt snug over his chest and clinging to the kind of definition that should be illegal.

"Oh, go on then, gym god," you snapped, dropping to the ground. "Show me how it's done."

Instead of taking the bait, Draco pushed off the machine and came toward you, a glint in his eyes that made your stomach twist.

"No," he said simply. "You're going to do it. I'm going to help."

"I already tried—"

"Come down," he said softly, and his hands were already at your waist, guiding you gently back into position.

You swallowed thickly. He hadn't even tried to be subtle—his hands stayed at your hips even after your feet landed shoulder-width apart, warm and grounding and entirely too intimate.

"You're going to do assisted pull-ups with me," he said.

"Assisted how?"

Draco smirked. "Wrap your legs around my waist."

You blinked. "What?"

"You heard me. Hop up on the bar like you did before, and wrap your legs around my waist." He tapped his shoulder. "I'll take the weight. You pull yourself."

"That sounds… inappropriate."

"Oh, it absolutely is," he said, a delicious gleam in his eye. "But we're already here, love. Might as well commit."

You hesitated—but his arms were already sliding around your waist, hoisting you up like you weighed nothing, and you had no choice but to grip the bar overhead. and your legs instinctively wrapped around him, anchoring at his waist.

Bloody fucking hell.

Draco's body was all muscle and heat, firm beneath yours, and you were pressed against him now—chest to chest, hips aligned. You could feel the slight hitch in his breath when you adjusted your grip on the bar, your thighs tightening around him.

"You okay there?" he asked, voice low.

"I—yeah." You cleared your throat. "Ready."

His palms came to your waist again, steady and guiding. "On three."

You nodded.

"One," he said. "Two—pull."

You did.

With his support beneath you—his arms lifting, your legs wrapped tight—you managed to pull yourself up. Just enough. Not much. But it was something.

Your breath caught, not from the exertion, but from the way Draco was looking at you when you glanced down—like you were doing something far more intimate than exercising.

"Again," he said, voice rougher now.

You pulled.

And again.

By the fifth, your arms were jelly, and you slumped against him, forehead falling to his shoulder.

"I can't," you panted. "My arms are—"

"Shh," he murmured. "You're doing so good. Attagirl."

You stiffened.

"What did you just say?"

Draco looked entirely unapologetic. "Attagirl. What of it?"

"I—nothing, I just—" Your face was burning. "You've never called me that before."

"Well," he said, smirking, "You've never clung to me like a baby panda in public before. Felt appropriate."

"You're the worst."

"I'm the one holding you up right now."

"You're the worst and strong."

He hummed, then dipped his mouth closer to your ear. "I should help you train more often. You're very… pliable like this."

"And you're very full of yourself."

"You're the one with her legs wrapped around me around me," he pointed out. "Not complaining, though. You're warm. And downright adorable when you're breathless."

You narrowed your eyes. "Keep talking, Malfoy. Let's see how many more times you can say things that'll get you kicked in the shin. Put me down."

"Mm. If I let you go, your legs won't hold you."

He was right.

You groaned, resting your forehead back on his shoulder. "This is humiliating."

"It's hot," he said casually. "You, clinging to me, panting, flushed. If this is what it takes to get you to let me carry you around the gym, I'll have us in here every morning."

You bit your lip. "Draco."

"Hm?"

"My arms are literal jelly."

"Good. Means you worked hard." He leaned down, brushing his nose against your temple. "Also means I get to carry you to the bench, rub your shoulders, and then take you home for a proper cooldown."

"That's not how cooldowns work."

"It is in my program."

He finally lowered you gently to the ground, but didn't step away—his hands lingered at your hips, thumbs brushing your waist.

You looked up at him, flushed and panting, but his gaze was soft now—no teasing, no smugness. Just Draco, with that stupidly fond look he got sometimes when he thought you weren't watching.

"I'm gonna get stronger," you murmured.

"I know you will," he said. "But I'm not letting you skip the part where I help you up. That's mine."

You smiled. "Possessive, are we?"

He leaned in, lips brushing your cheek. "Of you? Always."

taglist !

@belovedenzo

#draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy #harry potter #draco malfoy x you #draco lucius malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #lil's fics <3

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maybeelse · 7 months ago

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"... this is an abuse of power."

"Is it?" She tilts her head, genuine curiosity flitting across her face. By now you know that she's a perfect actor. On the table behind her, far out of reach, a bowl of soup—your dinner—congeals.

"Yes. There are rules for prisoners of war."

"Hmm. No, I don't think so."

"It doesn't matter what you—!"

She shushes you. When you're able to breathe again she continues, "the purpose of power is in its exercise. It doesn't care how it's used. There's no platonic ideal that I'm twisting out of shape, no laws written that matter more than how they are enforced. All hierarchy is unjust. That's what this is about, dear."

"T-then let me out of these fucking chains!"

"No," she laughs, "you don't understand yet! Not really. You'd just try to run back to your silly little empire, brew up a fresh load of hate and do something irredeemable. No."

"... fuck you."

"Mmm. Well. Are you ready to work for your dinner, or should I come back tomorrow with ... hmm, fried bacon? That's what you empire types like, isn't it?"

Your stomach clenches. It's been ... you don't know how long, really. There's no sense of time, here; it's blatantly obvious that the light shining in through your cell's barred windows doesn't come from anything as predictable as a sun. It's been getting hard to think, anyway; harder to remember what you're supposed to stand for.

Your eyes flick down, just for a moment. She notices. Parts her legs just far enough for you to see.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to give in.

#writing #flash fiction #2nd person pov #else writes

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tj-dragonblade · 6 months ago

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[FIC] Baby Got Back

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Rated: T Word Count: 3933 Tags: Human AU, gym meet-cute, lust at first sight, call that a meat-cute, supporting appearance by Death, Dream of the Endless is a horny little weasel, Hob puts the 'ass' in 'exercise class', Dream of the Endless (Sturridge Edition) has no cake to serve, embarrassment, exercise, Death is the worst (best) wingman

Notes: This happened bc @dragonnan shared this video in the Mr Sadman server and the scene Would Not Leave my brain. The meat-cute tag is also courtesy of Dragonnan. ❤️ Title is of course borrowed from Sir Mix-a-Lot's song of the same name. I physically could not call this anything else.

Summary: Dream's sister drags him to the gym. Will the instructor and his assets be enough to convince Dream it's worth his time?

On AO3 Dream is pleased to see, as he begrudgingly follows his sister into the exercise class she'd signed them up for, that at least the instructor isn't the bodybuilding jock type that has historically put him off going to the gym entirely. Dream gets only a glance at the back of him as they enter the space, but he is slim and athletically built—neither thick-necked nor thickly-muscled, nor is any part of him built like a tree trunk.

That is a relief.

Dream still does not want to be here.

But he loves his sister, and is ultimately not immune to her dogged persistence.

"Come on, Dream, just one time, please? I'm sure you'll find something you like about it!"

Months, she has been cajoling him; it is his hope that she will drop the subject now that he has finally given in.

"Hello, welcome everyone!" Mr. Not-a-Musclebound-Jock speaks up, drawing attention to start the class. "My name is Robert, but you can call me Hob, and I'll be your instructor for this undertaking! Good to see some of you back, and nice to see all these new faces too! Now, today we're going to start off slow; I'll demonstrate some techniques and we can all try them out one at a time before we really get going, alright?" He claps his hands, rubs them together. "Those of you who've been here before, please feel free to help out the newcomers if they need it. Especially if you brought them." He glances at Dream and Death with a tiny nod, as Death is one of those returning students, and Dream.

Well.

He is hearing the words—"quick stretches", now, and "warmup"—he is paying attention, truly, but he is also.

Staring.

Which is not so terrible; all eight of them in the class are watching the instructor and following along with the warmup, as they should. But Dream does not think his thoughts are in line with anyone else's.

Because the instructor, Hob—he is gorgeous. Arrestingly so. Beautiful in a very ordinary way; average height, the previously noted slim build, brown hair greying slightly at the temples and pulled into a messy bun, dark eyes, strong nose, friendly smile. Nothing individually remarkable, but together? Oh. That smile lances straight through Dream in a way that makes his stomach curl up giddily. Hob is wearing a white t-shirt that is tight and thin enough it can't quite hide what looks to be a lush thicket of chest hair, and the amount of hair on his arms and legs further supports that hypothesis. He's wearing mallard green spandex shorts that show off, well, everything, and it's all very nice.

Perhaps this class will be tolerable, after all.

"Okay, the first thing I want to tackle is a modified squat form," Hob says once they've finished the warmup stretches, and Dream is immediately reassessing his optimism. He hates squats; hates most sorts of physical exercise, to be honest, which is why Death had had to wheedle so hard to get him to join her. But squats, of course, were particularly loathsome. And Hob sounds far too cheerful about them.

"This modification is pretty simple; you'll just need to find a pole, here, and do like this." Hob turns so his back is mostly to the class, grabs an upright bar on the nearest weight machine—Dream has no idea what any of this equipment is properly called—then plants his feet far apart and leans back, bending his knees into a beautifully right-angled squat and Dream?

Dream nearly swallows his tongue.

Hob's green spandex shorts and everything they contain have gone from 'nice' to 'scandalously on display' and Dream is absolutely mesmerized. The way Hob's body drops, the wide stance of his legs, the way his cheeks spread as he sinks low—Dream is having capital-T Thoughts, none of which are in the bible, as Desire is fond of saying. Hob's thighs, while built slim, are well-muscled and incredibly toned and every contour of quads and hamstrings is straining into beautiful prominence beneath those shorts. His arse is likewise presented, every curve and dimple beautifully highlighted by shiny green fabric, and Dream is very sure he can see the imprint of individual hairs beneath the stretched spandex. The material is rendered slightly-sheer by the position and, unmistakably, there is a distinctive 'whale-tail' flaring above Hob's shapely cheeks.

Dream's mouth goes dry. Is he—?

There is a telling lack of lines under the spandex.

He is. Hob is wearing a thong.

Dream is ridiculously grateful for the Extreme Support jock strap he'd put on before coming here; he is having a most unfortunate reaction to every aspect of Hob's demonstration, but his shorts are far more forgiving than Hob's and the underwear beneath them is keeping things decent enough for the public environment.

He hopes.

"See the problem so many people have with squats is the knee strain," Hob is saying, as he straightens up again. He lets go of the pole. "Most of the time when we do squats, we're leaning forward a bit for balance, right?" He bends into position, demonstrating; his arse and thighs are on display again and it is no less arresting than the previous example. "And that's where that knee pressure comes from, trying to keep that balance."

Dream can think of several ways to help Hob keep his balance in such a position, all of which involve their bodies in intimate proximity and none of which would be particularly easy on anyone's knees.

"But like this"—Hob takes hold of the equipment again and leans back, drops slowly into his squat—"it's easy to keep your chest straight, get all that nice core support and this ninety-degree angle here"—his free hand strokes the curve of his own arse from hip to thigh and Dream inhales sharply—"and your anchoring pressure is all in your heels. No knee strain!" He sinks deep, presumably in demonstration and Dream is so full of lewd thoughts he genuinely fears he might burst. He watches the flex of Hob's thighs and arse as the man raises himself and lowers back into another squat; he bites his tongue to still the whimper rising in his throat, watches Hob perform another slow controlled bounce, is painfully aware of all his blood rushing south.

"This keeps all the working power in your glutes, which of course helps you build a nice tight round arse—and that's what we're all here for right?" Hob grins over his shoulder as he sinks down again.

A smattering of laughter answers him, including a chuckle from Death, but Dream cannot stop staring at Hob's arse. Which is indeed. Round. And tight. Chiseled. Contoured into sharp relief beneath the stretch of spandex shorts. And the texture of his body hair on top of all that? The thong? The way his cheeks flex and spread as he sinks low, clench beautifully as he rises up again?

Dream is utterly lost.

His sister bumps him with her shoulder. "Alright there, Dream?"

He makes a tiny, strangled noise that he hopes she will take for assent. He can only imagine what color his face is at the moment.

"You can do this at home, too, by the way, if you happen to have a pole—or a sturdy door jamb to hang onto." Hob demonstrates one more deep squat and straightens up, turning to face the class again. "Alright. Everyone find a support and try it out!"

Dream cannot. He cannot fathom duplicating the exercise with the vision of Hob's arse in his head, performing those same motions—supportive underwear or not, he is going to embarrass himself.

"Here we go!" Death singsongs next to him, indicating the nearest weight machine—which does in fact have two upright supports that will serve their purposes. She steps over and takes hold of one, leans herself back with feet planted wide and performs a squat.

Which does wonders to clear Dream's head; it's not titillating when his sister does it and he finds he can refocus appropriately.

"This feels ridiculous," he mumbles, joining her and reluctantly taking up position. "This looks ridiculous."

"Didn't look ridiculous when Hob did it, right?" Death's tone is entirely nonchalant, not even teasing, but Dream seizes up all the same. He knows she's sharp, that she can't have missed the way he was staring nor what, precisely, he'd been staring at. But her words are entirely innocent. "Just need a bit of practice and you'll make it look that good too, little brother."

He is about to reply as he lowers himself, something scathing and devastatingly witty, surely, but another voice cuts in first.

"Ah, so this is your little brother, DeeDee?"

Hob.

Dream, having just reached the lowest point in his first squat, finds quite abruptly that his body has decided to forget how to move.

His sister is answering. "Hey Hob! Yeah, this is Dream. I finally convinced him to come in with me."

"Wonderful! Always glad to have new friends join the fun!" Hob holds out a hand.

As if Dream is in any position to shake it.

His eyes are nearly level with Hob's chest and it takes every fiber of willpower he possesses to keep them up on Hob's face; in his distraction, he lets go of the pole to shake hands anyway.

Inevitibly, he falls flat on his arse.

"Oh god I'm so sorry!" Hob reaches to help him up, looking alarmed.

His sister is stifling her laughter.

"Thank you," Dream manages, pride bruised, face aflame, but he takes Hob's hand and pulls himself quickly to his feet. He does not dare look around to see who else in the class has borne witness to his bumbling ignominy. Besides which. Hob is no less attractive in close proximity and Dream's brain is replaying all those squats in quick flashes while also gibbering about the chest hair showing through that thin white t-shirt, none of which is at all conducive to keeping his composure. Desperately, he tries to pick up the thread of the conversation. "Yes. I am Dream. DeeDee's brother."

He never calls Death DeeDee. And she had just introduced him, by name, as her brother.

He needs to stop talking before he embarrasses himself any further.

But Hob only grins brightly, shakes his hand firmly. "I'm Hob, Hob Gadling. Teach the class, obviously." He drops Dream's hand, clears his throat. "Didn't mean to interrupt your practice—or drop you on your arse, apologies! Let's try that form again?"

"What? Yes." Dream tears his gaze from Hob's mouth and the dimple in his chin, and then again from Hob's chest, turns to blindly grab at the pole he'd been using. "Like this?" He moves on instinct, dropping into a squat, trying his hardest to remember what Hob had demonstrated without fixating on how his arse looked doing it.

He is not successful.

And he still hates squats.

"That's a good start," Hob says, encouragingly, and Dream is mortified by the way something in him warms to it. "Now let's try straightening up a bit more—may I?"

Dream is nodding assent before he realizes that Hob's hand is hovering over his back, that Hob is asking permission to touch.

He barely stifles the sound in his throat as Hob's fingers skate down his spine, offer firm pressure just below his waist while his other hand guides Dream's shoulders back. "There we go, see? Let the pole hold your balance so you can get this ninety-degree angle, right here"—his hand moves from Dream's back to his hip, a professional touch that nevertheless sends Dream's brain up in smoke—" and takes the strain off your knees. See?"

"Yes," Dream manages, barely aware of what he's agreeing with.

"Now, when you push yourself up, you've got to make sure you're using your legs," Hob cautions, as Dream rises. "Don't pull yourself up using the pole; you want the work happening in your thighs and your glutes." Thankfully (regrettably), his demonstrative touching seems to be done, and Dream does not have to cope with Hob's hands on his arse. He does not know how much more of this he can handle—the proximity, the images still burned in his brain. The touching. That voice.

That smile.

He just needs. One moment. A chance to compose himself, to remember how to behave like a normal human being.

He lowers himself into another squat, muscles already beginning to protest, making sure to keep his form as Hob had instructed.

"Good!" Hob says, sounding genuinely pleased, and Dream's insides turn to goo. "Use those glutes, excellent!"

"Because that's how you build a nice round arse, right?" Death says—how did Dream manage to forget that she is literally standing right beside him through all of this—and Hob chuckles, pats Dream briefly on the shoulder.

"That's right! And it looks like you could definitely use a little help in that area!"

Dream face is aflame. He is aware of the aesthetic deficiencies of his own backside. He does not need them commented upon by a man unfairly blessed in that regard, in front of his sister, particularly not while he is struggling through a horny crisis over this same man. He seizes desperately for the thread of escape glimmering in the comment.

"You dare offer such insult to one who has come to your class for its benefits?" He stands upright as he says it, letting go the stupid pole and drawing haughty arrogance around him like a cloak to hide the tatters of his pride and composure. "How disappointingly unprofessional. Excuse me."

And he flees.

Technically, he strides from the gym area at a reasonable pace. But inside, he is running. He ignores Hob calling after him, ignores the voice in his own head screaming about how rudely he just treated the pretty man with the beautiful arse, ignores the other voice in his head that sounds like his sister scolding him and ducks into the nearest restroom.

He just needs. A moment.

He braces both hands on the sink, grateful there is no one here to see, hangs his head and lets regret wash over him.

He has ruined his chances, he is sure of it. Chances at what, he can't quite say; it's not as though he was planning to proposition Hob nor ask him out. Just. Quietly suffer through classes with his sister and silently ogle Hob for an hour three times a week, perhaps. If he is honest with himself. But Hob is certain not to want him in his class again, nor will his sister likely bring him back after how he has behaved today.

That's one problem solved, he thinks, bitterly.

He should apologize for his rudeness. But he will not interrupt Hob's class to do it. He must wait for Death regardless, and the fact that she has not stormed into the men's room after him means she thinks he needs time to nurse his wounds and pull himself together. So he will do so.

He turns on the tap, splashes water on his face, dries it with the length of paper towel the motion-sensitive dispenser offers him. He stares at himself in the mirror for a moment, his pale face splotchy and gaunt and sour, mouth pulled into an easy frown, and sighs.

No, he had no chances to ruin in the first place.

With a sigh, he turns away and leaves the washroom, retrieves his phone and wallet and Death's as well from their locker, then finds a seat at one of the little round tables in the juice bar area to wait. He checks his watch; the class is scheduled to run for another forty minutes.

It is a long time to sit alone with his thoughts; he opens the sudoku app on his phone, mindlessly working through puzzle after puzzle while he waits.

It has been just under thirty-five minutes when his brooding peace is disturbed.

"Dream, oh good." Incongruously it is Hob's voice, not his sister's. "DeeDee said you'd probably be here. I wanted to apologize."

None of these words are the ones Dream might have expected; he opens his mouth to reply but instead of something normal what comes out is, "But your class is not over?"

Hob blinks, looking as nonplussed as Dream feels. "Er. Not quite, no, but your sister offered to run everyone through cool-down so I could come find you."

"Why?" Why can he not stop his mouth running ahead of his thoughts, that is the true question.

"Like I said. I wanted to apologize." Hob shifts his weight awkwardly, drawing Dream's attention unhelpfully to the way his thin white shirt has gained additional transparency thanks to the half hour spent sweating in front of his class. "My comment was entirely unprofessional, you're right. And I'm sorry."

"It is not untrue." Dream's backside does indeed leave much to be desired in comparison to others. "But. I appreciate the apology." He appreciates the view of Hob's chest as well, but mercifully manages to hold his tongue on that count.

He does not quite manage to keep his eyes from flicking down to Hob's shorts, to the smoothness of the bulge artfully contained by the spandex.

Thong, he remembers, and his mouth again goes a little dry at the thought.

"May I sit?"

"Please." The rote answer is out before Dream can puzzle over why Hob wishes to join him.

Hob pulls out the other chair and drops into it, leans forward just a little. "Really, I'm sorry. I picked up the vibe of your sister's teasing and ran with it but I haven't known you long enough for that to be welcomed or appreciated. I was very much out of line. And I apologize."

"I. Apologize, as well. For speaking so harshly in front of others and making a scene." Dream is trying very hard to ignore the way his insides are wibbling at Hob's words, Hob's voice.

"What? Oh. No, no, it's forgotten, don't worry about it." Hob waves a hand dismissively. "My fault in the first place."

Dream lets the matter lie.

There is a moment of awkward silence.

"So. First time to class, huh?" Hob flashes a bright smile at him, quick and awkward and terribly endearing. "What did you think?"

"It was. Brief," Dream says, before he can think better of it, and Hob laughs.

Dream's stomach swoops helplessly, flutters in consternated delight. Oh. Oh, but he is utterly gone on the sunshine this man exudes.

"Sorry, sorry. Of course. You'd definitely need a full session before you could answer that; stupid question." Hob shakes his head, grin fading, hesitation creeping into his demeanor. "Do you think you'd want to come back again?"

"I am. Undecided," Dream admits, honesty seeing him through as he stumbles over the possibility—does Hob want him to come back? Is Hob hoping to see him again?

Is he willing to suffer a regular gym appointment for the possibility?

"Ah. Well." Hob sounds downright nervous now. "It would probably be…good if you didn't?"

"I beg your pardon?" Dream is so affronted at hearing it stated so plainly he forgets that he has earned the rejection.

Hob startles. "Crap, no, sorry! That didn't come out right." He laughs, a nervous awkward laugh, but his smile is still bright. "Let me try again—sorry. Sorry." He takes a deep breath. "I'd like—I'd like to ask you out. But if you're in a class that I'm teaching then ethically I probably shouldn't do that."

Dream is, metaphorically, knocked in his aesthetically-deficient arse yet again. "You wish to ask me out? On a date?"

"Yeah. Yes." Hob reaches to toy with his earlobe, head tilting into the unconscious motion adorably. "Your sister has told me a lot about you, been talking you up for months and you're very pretty and I would love to get to know you under more comfortable circumstances? If you're interested, of course. No hard feelings if you're not I know we've barely met and I've already put my foot in it many times over but. Could I possibly convince you to let me try again?"

Dream is impressed by the flood of words just tumbling freely forth, and a bit gobsmacked yet unsurprised at 'your sister's talked you up' even as the pieces begin to click into place—but most of all he's delighted that Hob seems interested in him, and charmed by the earnestness with which Hob's asking for a second chance.

As if Dream's little tizzy in the class had been anything more valid than a cover for his own embarrassment. As if Hob has anything to apologize for.

He will have words with his sister later, though.

"My sister. Is setting us up."

"I do believe that was her intention, yes." Hob looks hopeful. "I'm far from opposed, if you're alright with it?"

"Then. All things considered. I will not be returning to your class, Hob." He offers a smile that he hopes is friendly with an undercurrent of coyness, and not off-putting. He glances up from beneath his lashes to catch the way Hob is blinking, his grin broadening in delight.

"Really? Okay! Are you—are you free for dinner tomorrow night?"

"I am. Where would you like to meet?"

"Merv's is a lovely quiet little pub not far from here—do you know it?"

"I do not."

"I'll text you the details then; it's relaxed and low-key but very nice, nothing terribly fancy but amazing food. And they accommodate allergies and dietary restrictions if those're a concern. Can I give you my number?"

"Of course." Dream opens a new contact and presents his phone; Hob types in his info with impressive speed and hands it back.

"Send me a text so I've got yours? My phone's still in the other room."

"Of course," Dream repeats, already composing the message as Hob stands from the small table. This is Dream—I look forward to our date tomorrow. Simple and to the point. Truthful and sincere. Nothing embarrassingly forward like the thoughts running rampant in his head. I want to rub my cheek in your sweaty chest hair like a cat. Or I would like to peel your shorts from your magnificent arse with my teeth. Surely that is too much for a first text preceding a first date. He will refrain.

"I've got another class to teach so I've got to run," Hob is saying as he pushes his chair back in. "But I'm delighted to have met you and I'm glad I won't be seeing you in class again, heh." He winks, an actual genuine wink that charms Dream all over again.

"As am I." He leaves it at that, never mind how badly he wants to say something smoky and lascivious about Hob giving him private instruction in whatever techniques he cares to demonstrate; he thinks that one of them might combust if he could deliver the line correctly, and possibly it would not be him. But he will save it for tomorrow evening, should the date go well. "I will see you tomorrow."

"Looking forward to it." Hob flashes his sunny smile again and turns, striding quickly back to the gym proper.

Dream watches him go, tight round arse and toned hairy thighs on perfect display, and shifts a little in his seat.

He has a feeling the date will go very well indeed.

= Started: 1/10/25 Drafted: 1/15/25 Posted: 1/20/25

It should be noted that I cannot vouch for whether or not the squat modification used herein is legit or safe. The validity of the exercise was obviously not the point of this fic, but, y'know. Just in case.

#TJs Fics #Sandman #Dreamling

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pastanest · 2 years ago

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Spencer Reid x she/her!reader

A/N: this just might be the steamiest thing I’ve written since I was a 14 year old on wattpad doing god’s work. anyway, merry christmas sluts x

warnings: suggestive but not outright smut, use of petnames, soft!dom Spencer

Orbit

Prison can have longterm effects on a person, regardless of the duration of time spent behind bars. If you were to ask Spencer Reid what aspect of him was impacted most greatly by his sentence, he would tell you it was his brain; more specifically, his ability to think. Now, he finds himself taking 60 minutes to make deductions that previously would have taken him 60 seconds. Time spent locked in a cage has left his mind feeling like it never left; his skull no longer feels metaphorically big enough for him to organize his thoughts, separate them for long enough to distinguish them. The incredibly open mind that Spencer has always had is most often a jumbled, frustrating mess, which only exacerbates the frustration already found there. That is, until you enter a room.

He hasn’t said it to you explicitly, but if anyone asked, Spencer would be unable to deny your innate ability to help him. It’s almost poetic, the way he views you, like you’re the moon to his planet of thoughts; you calm his tides simply by being in his orbit. By existing in his space, you soothe his mind enough to just think, and he’s incapable of ever taking that for granted.

While he can’t spell that out to you without risking mortification over your natural assistance to him with a brain function that should come naturally to him, you are a qualified profiler who has come to understand - in your own way - that Spencer just needs to be around you, sometimes. And he acknowledges that you have an understanding of this, of course. So, when there’s a knock at your hotel room door at 2am, and you scramble out of bed, throwing on an oversized t-shirt and running to the door to find him standing on your doorstep, the surprise that flashes across both of your faces is not something Spencer had predicted.

You are surprised because you can’t help wondering if your thoughts inadvertently summoned Spencer to your doorstep, still wearing his button-up shirt, tie and suit pants that you’d seen him in when working the case together today. On the other hand, Spencer is surprised to find you standing before him wearing nothing more than an oversized t-shirt, from what he can see, alongside the visible signs of you appearing to be…flustered? Your chest rises and falls with heavy pants, your cheeks are flushed, and your pupils are dilated in a way that perhaps only Spencer would notice, but he most definitely notices.

“Spencer! Wh- Come in!” You stumble over your own words, stepping aside to grant him passage into your hotel room.

He strides past you, a firm frown etched on his face. He had thoughts he needed to organize, hence his untimely arrival, but now you have presented him with an entirely new enigma that is his personal mission to crack.

Spencer takes a seat on an armchair in the corner of your hotel room, while you sit on the edge of the bed, notably turned almost completely away from him while you fight to regain some composure; a futile effort, because Spencer has already ruled out exercise (determining you wouldn’t be exercising at this hour or in this room), stress (because he’d have picked up on an irregularity when working alongside you at some point today), and a medical issue (much to your own present demise, you default to him for any questions regarding your health because you trust his expertise) as probable causes, which leads him to a particularly interesting conclusion, in two seconds flat.

“Is everything…okay?” You manage to ask him, and it’s as though you added that shy inflection to your voice just to tick another box on the list in Spencer’s mind, confirming his previous hypothesis without ever intending to.

“Yes, I just needed to think.” What he previously thought he needed to think about is entirely irrelevant now, but he digresses. “Are you…okay?” Spencer returns your question with the same wording, but without the shyness you so graciously included. He’s still making deductions, because he can’t risk acting on his current conclusion until he knows it to be true beyond reasonable doubt.

“Me? Oh, yeah! I’m fine!” You laugh lightly.

Overcompensating, Spencer makes a mental note, ticking another box on the list found in his mind.

A silence settles between you, one that he enforces with purpose. From where he sits in the corner of the room, he watches you like you’re the most fascinating study in human history. Which, he would argue, you are. The way you squirm, aware of Spencer’s gaze on you despite not even looking at him, has him fighting a smirk. There’s a shared awareness in the silence, an acknowledgement of the fact that you and your…chosen activities, are completely exposed to him in this moment, and he’s letting you simmer in that reality for a moment, allowing you time to adjust to that.

The next words Spencer speaks are very carefully chosen, and in that, they knock the air from your lungs.

“What were you thinking about?” The subtext is so clear he could have left the guise of a question out entirely, but there’s an air of respect in that he elects to ignore the access he has to completely embarrassing you. His voice is too quiet for anyone in the next rooms to overhear, so his respectfully tame phrasing is for your benefit, alone, but the answer he’s searching for is clear.

You swallow, hard.

There is no use in lying, not to a man currently counting the microseconds between every breath you take to accurately profile your body’s responses to this interrogation.

“You.”

And never before has Doctor Spencer Reid had a single word eradicate all 187 of his IQ points. It’s as though he can feel them stacking themselves back up in his brain in a frantic, trembling mess. Obviously, that was the answer he had hoped for, but to actually hear you say it goes far beyond any ability he has to accurately predict his own response, particularly when you spoke with a submissive tone that was not possible for him to miss.

5.7 seconds later, when Spencer has regained control over his motor functions, he clears his throat, grateful that you aren’t looking at him to have seen him lose his own composure momentarily.

“Is this the first time you’ve thought of me outside of a professional capacity?” And the award for least seductive means of phrasing an otherwise very erotic question goes to…

In Spencer’s defense, it is much easier for him to speak so formally and from a more analytical standpoint. If he lets his emotions take hold now, he may miss a piece of information from you that could be crucial to maximizing this opportunity for you both.

“No.” You answer, your voice more timid now, barely above a whisper.

In your defense, you wouldn’t even regard it as thinking of Spencer ‘outside of a professional capacity’, because you have a running hypothesis that he’d be a professional in that area of life, too.

Still, Spencer hears the anxiety building in your words - or lack thereof - and what they confess to him. The last thing he wants is to overwhelm you. At least, not like this.

Rising from the armchair he’d been occupying, he takes the few strides necessary to stand in front of you, towering over you while you remain sitting on the edge of the bed, your head hanging in shame.

“How many times?” Spencer’s voice is also quieter now, softer, but it’s far from timid. He’s being gentle with you, but his question is a demand for an answer.

You shrug without meeting his gaze, and Spencer raises an eyebrow down at you.

“Words, baby.”

And those two words are enough to make your breath catch in your throat.

“I-I don’t know, haven’t kept count.” You stammer, heart spluttering in your chest.

“Let me do the math for you, then.” Spencer muses, tucking his hands into his pockets as he observes you with a soft smile and darkened eyes. “When was the first time?”

You gulp.

“Do I have to ask for your words again?” That’s a warning.

“N-No, I’m just trying to think.” You try to defend yourself, your face feeling hot.

“You don’t need to do any thinking right now, baby, that’s my job.” Spencer soothes you. “Was it during your first week with the BAU?” He questions softly.

“…Yes.”

And that ignites Spencer’s synapses.

“From your first day, we were sent on a case that we worked tirelessly on. The first night was spent on the jet, second night you were so exhausted you slept on a couch in the office while I carried on working, third night I had to wake you in your hotel room at 3am due to a development on the case and I could tell you were in REM sleep by then, so you wouldn’t have had time that night, either. That means it was either the fourth night after we met, in your hotel room, or the fifth night after we arrived back home. Do you remember which?” Spencer asks gently, this time crouching down to be eye-level with you, looking at you with what you can only describe as puppy-dog eyes.

“…In the hotel.” You admit bashfully, meeting Spencer’s gaze for just long enough to see a flicker of his resolve crumbling.

You couldn’t even wait until you got back home? Bad girl. But he’ll keep such a notion to himself, for now.

“That’s good, thank you for telling me,” He praises instead, tucking your hair behind your ears from where he crouches in front of you, while you remain seated on the edge of the bed. “And since then, would you say it’s been once a week, or more?”

Your eyebrows furrow at this question, and Spencer is quick to amend it.

“Do those choices for answers not suit you, sweet girl?” He coo’s, watching you fall into a submissive headspace like it’s second nature for you.

“No…Once a week, but not just…one time.” You struggle to say, your voice sounding small, but you’re melting into the sensation of Spencer’s fingertips dancing over your cheek.

“I see,” He muses, trying his best not to reveal the fact that his brain is short circuiting over that information. See? Imagine if he’d rushed into this and missed out on hearing you admit that! He’d have rather been shot. Again.

“How many times is it usually?” This question has piqued Spencer’s interest more than he cares to admit, but he conceals that well.

“…Three.” You breathe.

“And how many times tonight?” His own voice is a whisper now, his fingertips trailing down your neck.

“Two,” You begin to say, and Spencer’s mind is already sounding like a casino with every machine hitting a jackpot in unison, before you add. “…and a half.”

It takes Spencer a solid second, and a second of being solid, to process that.

“I interrupted you?” There’s a huskiness to his voice that was not there before, and when you nod, he clears his throat. “Oh, I’m sorry, baby. Can I make it up to you?” And while he stands back up to his full height to lean over you, you instinctively fall back against the bed in what appears to be a practiced mating dance between you, despite it being the very first time.

“Can I?” It’s only when Spencer repeats his question that you realize you are yet to respond. In your defense, you had forgotten your own name because of the hazel in his eyes.

“Yes.” No sooner has the breathy word passed your lips, than his lips descended on the side of your neck.

Spencer’s stubble maps a trail down your throat, gently scratching at the skin while his lips leave tingling kisses in his wake. But if you think Spencer Reid’s mind has stopped working just yet, you are sorely mistaken.

“You said usually around three, implying that is your minimum,” His voice is deeper than you’ve ever heard it, his lips nipping at the shell of your ear. “-so that’s a minimum of three orgasms a week for the twenty weeks since we met, that’s a total of 60, but we should leave room for anomalies, so let’s round that up to 70, just to be as accurate as possible.” Spencer murmurs. “Is it always me you think of?” He’s incapable of masking the hope found in his own voice.

You nod frantically.

“Words, baby.” This time, that reminder is punctuated by a soft bite to your neck.

“Y-Yes, you, always you, every time.” You shudder. And who can blame you, when you’ve always known him to be capable of this?

“So I’m responsible for approximately 70 of your orgasms, without ever having touched you.” Spencer almost can’t believe it, but he can hear how smug he is in his own ears.

One of his hands presses into the sheets beside your head, holding himself up, but his other hand squeezes at your waist through the fabric of your oversized shirt, and he groans into the crook of your neck in approval.

“So soft.” He praises, wanting nothing more than to worship at the altar that is you.

Spencer’s fingertips trace the hem of your oversized shirt, the warm skin of your thighs tempting him beyond his previous ability to comprehend.

“May I?” He requests, ever the gentleman.

“Please.” You answer with the best synonym for ‘yes’ in this context that Spencer could have hoped for.

And he doesn’t hesitate. Long fingers slowly raise the hem of your shirt, bringing it up until it’s just above your belly button, and he lays his palm flat against your stomach, the skin fluttering under his touch. While his lips continue to lavish your neck, collarbone and ear, his free hand descends to the band of your panties, but doesn’t slip beneath it. A whine passes your lips when his hand continues its path south, and you feel him smirk against your neck, until his own breathing shudders.

“Oh, baby…” He groans, having never been more thrilled to feel a soaked piece of fabric in his life. “Look at you, look at the mess you’ve made of yourself. Poor little love.” Spencer coo’s.

But when you shake your head, he halts his movements completely.

“What is it, baby? You want to stop? That’s okay.” He immediately falls into a softness intended to comfort you, not wanting you to feel even remotely uncomfortable or upset. His kisses move to your cheek, each one an act of devotion. “It’s okay. Being in a submissive headspace can be incredibly overwhelming at times, and you can always tell me if it does. We don’t ever have to do anything that you don’t want to do, sweet girl. In fact-“

It’s only when you turn your head to meet Spencer’s lips with your own, that you manage to stop his ramble and his entire train of thought.

“It’s not that.” You’re quick to reassure him, not wanting him to overthink about having breached your boundaries.

“Then…what?” Spencer asks, looking into your eyes with the most sincere concern.

“I just wanted to correct you, because I didn’t make a mess of myself. You made a mess of me.” You smile up at him, and the sweetness with which you say something so sinful is enough to make Spencer’s heart drop right out of his chest.

In all his years, he has never understood the sensation of blood rushing away from his brain, more than he does right now.

His gaze softens with both relief and arousal, a sigh passing his lips that evolves into a light chuckle, before his lips fall to yours again, meeting you in a heated kiss. And when Spencer’s hand continues its previous path, he feels your thighs part, and a growl of some description rumbles in his throat.

“That’s my girl.”

That possessive title causes a delighted shudder to rock through you, which Spencer makes a prominent mental note of.

“70’s the number to beat.” He whispers in your ear seductively, and your jaw falls open.

“In one night?!” It’s more of a squeak than a question, but it makes Spencer laugh into the crook of your neck as his lips descend it.

“As much as I’d love to ruin your body for anyone other than me, I think that just might ruin you entirely, which isn’t my aim. But…” He bites at your neck. “I can promise you, you’re getting more than three.”

From where you lie, you can feel something pressing against your thigh that tells you it’s going to be a very, very long night.

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