#Note Counting Machine Price

[melanchoire]

PRICE OF CONCENTRATION ──── yu jimin

── ( 📓 ) your focus is laser-sharp on the lecture, but your classmate karina, ever the mischievous one, decides boredom is a personal invitation to drive you wild; first with innocent attempts to catch your eye, then escalating to a secret game of teasing touches that slowly melt your resistance, until a shared, unspoken look seals the deal – textbooks forgotten, and the dorm room beckons for a different kind of study.

pairing. switch!student!karina x switch!student!fem reader

warning(s). cunnilingus, fingering, making out, pet names, scissoring.

word count. 4,5k

request. for some reason this request disappeared from my inbox 💔

the bright  lights of the lecture hall hummed, a monotonous drone that mirrored the professor’s voice, droning on about something you were sure was important, but karina couldn’t for the life of her care. you, however, were a model of academic focus, a bastion of attentiveness in a sea of glazed—over eyes and restless fidgeting. she watched you, her gaze tracing the neat, precise strokes of your pen as you filled your notebook with information. you were a machine, a perfect student, and it was honestly a little vexing.

you were a study in contrast to her current state. your posture was impeccable, your focus unwavering, your pen moving with a rhythmic precision across the page, capturing every nuance of the lecture. karina’s eyes seemed to trace the smooth lines of your handwriting, the neatness a stark contrast to her own messy scrawl.

she straightened a little, trying to emulate your focus. she leaned forward, eyes darting to the screen where the professor was projecting dense formulas and colorful graphs. you could almost see the struggle in her face, her brow furrowing in concentration as she attempted to follow along. but it was like watching a car try to start on a cold morning, sputtering a few times before succumbing to silence. her concentration faltered, her gaze drifting to the window behind the professor, where a few brave sparrows were flitting about.

karina leaned back in her own chair, stretching her legs out beneath the desk, a silent protest against the suffocating boredom of the class. she crossed her arms over her chest, a gesture that screamed, “i’d rather be anywhere else.” she turned to you again, a small frown creasing her brow as she watched you. how could you be so engaged in this? it was like you were a different species entirely. she tried. oh god, did she try. she tried to mimic you, focusing her attention on the professor, willing herself to absorb the words, the concepts. but it was like trying to grasp water — the harder she tried, the more it slipped through her mental fingers. it was as if her ears were working, registering the sounds of the lecture, but her brain was refusing to process them, like a stubborn computer refusing to run a program. her mind was a tangled mess of “why was she even here?” and “does this really matter?”

giving up, a defeated sigh escaping her lips, she decided to go for a different approach. she scanned your pencil case, a kaleidoscope of brightly coloured pens and highlighters, and plucked out a vibrant purple one. she made a pathetic attempt at taking notes, the pencil scratching against the paper, but her handwriting was a chaotic mess of angles and loops, completely devoid of the neatness you possessed. vague, disconnected words filled the page, interspersed with doodles of abstract shapes and grumpy—looking faces.

boredom gnawed at her, a restless beast demanding attention. she turned towards you, poking your arm with the end of the pen. she wanted to talk, she wanted your attention, she wanted anything but this agonizing lecture. you didn't even look up. you knew what it meant. she was like a bored child, seeking attention, eager to find someone to share her misery with. you continued to transcribe the professor’s words, unfazed.

you didn’t miss a beat of the professor’s monotone, your hand still moving across the page. karina felt an inexplicable urge of annoyance bubbling up within her. then came the poke again, this time a little harder. she was persistent, you had to give her that. still, you refused to acknowledge her. so, she poked you again, a third time this time, it was quick as if giving you the pencil. that’s when you reached out, taking the pencil from her fingers. you didn’t even break eye contact with the professor. you didn’t see the small scoff that escaped her lips, the way her eyes narrowed in playful frustration.

she wasn’t going to be brushed off that easily. karina reached for the cord of your headphones, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. she yanked it from your ears, the soft humming of the song you were listening to floating into the air, a low, rhythmic pulse. you finally turned to look at her, one eyebrow arched in a silent question. karina knew that look. she was going to get a lecture about class soon if she didn’t diffuse this now. she’ll take the risk. she loved when she got you going.

you gave her a light punch on the arm, just a playful tap, but it still stung a little. “pay attention.” you mouthed, your voice low, a clear line drawn in the sand, but she couldn’t help but notice the slightest hint of a smile at the corner of your lips.

“class is boring.” she retorted, hitting you back in the arm, a little harder this time. “i’m bored.”

“well, if you paid attention, you might not be.” you whispered back, a hint of exasperation in your eyes, but it was clear you weren’t actually mad.

“you’re weird for actually liking this.” she teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief. you chuckled lightly.

“you know i like learning.” you said. “It’s not my fault you can't focus for five seconds.”

“hey!” she exclaimed, her voice a little louder this time, drawing a quick glare from the professor. you exchanged a quick look, a silent agreement that she had pushed it, before you returned to your notes, effectively shutting her out.

for a good five minutes, she was silent. you figured she had finally run out of energy. then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw her pick up a pen and begin to write in her notebook. “okay.” you thought, that’s unexpected. you didn’t let it distract you, though, because you were focused on the next set of formulas.

that is, until you felt it. a touch, feather—light, on the side of your knee. you glanced down, your heart doing an unexpected leap in your chest. karina’s hand, warm and soft, was resting there, seemingly innocent. she was still writing in her notebook, her attention appearing to be fixed on the professor, but that hand, though, was doing more than just resting.

you tried to dismiss it. maybe she was just being absent—minded, maybe she didn’t realize she was touching you. but then the hand started to move, inching upwards slowly, tracing the curve of your leg as it went, the subtle graze of her fingers sending shivers up your spine. it reached your thigh, the warmth of her palm making your skin tingle.

you shifted slightly. surely she would stop now. it was a blatant invasion of your space, and you were certain she was doing it on purpose. but no, the hand kept moving, its fingers now pressing gently into your flesh. it was heading higher, angling to slip under the hem of your skirt.

your breath caught in your throat. the lecture faded into background noise, the formulas on the screen becoming a blur. your heart was pounding in your chest. you could feel the blood rushing to your face, your cheeks getting warmer, and you were sure you were turning as red as a tomato. you glanced sideways to meet her eyes, not before letting out a small cough, trying to sound as subtle as possible.

“karina.” you hissed in a low, barely audible whisper, a warning laced in your breath. you tried to sound stern, but there was a tremor in your voice that was quite embarrassing. her gaze flickered from her notebook to meet yours, the corner of her lips twitching upwards in a knowing smirk. she raised an eyebrow, as if to say “what?”, her eyes wide and innocent.

“stop.” you mouthed, your voice barely a breath.

she simply shook her head, her fingers now almost touching the edge of your skirt, and whispered back, “pay attention.” her voice an innocent whisper that barely reached your ears. the smirk never left her face, the mischievous glint in her eyes telling you everything. she was playing with you, teasing you, testing your patience. and you had a feeling she was enjoying every second of it.

karina’s hand, a warm, persistent weight on your knee, was the culprit. it had started subtly, a gentle brush, and had gradually escalated, inching higher with each passing minute. 

it was a battle against your own body, a struggle to focus on the quadratic equations scribbled on the chalkboard when karina’s hand rested, bold and possessive, on your thigh. it wasn’t just on your thigh, not really. her fingers were creeping higher, inching towards the hem of your skirt, the whisper of fabric against skin sending shivers that had nothing to do with the overly air—conditioned room. 

now, her fingers were perilously closer to the edge of your skirt, threatening to slip beneath and find the delicate lace of your panties. your breath hitched. you couldn’t focus on the teacher’s droning lecture; every nerve ending was screaming under the tantalizing pressure of her touch.

a simple glance, a fleeting lock of your eyes with hers, was all it took. you saw the same anticipation mirrored in their depths, a shared understanding of the unspoken desires crackling in the air between you. a silent promise of something more, something that couldn’t happen within the confines of the brightly lit classroom.

you knew the dance by now; the way her eyes, dark and mischievous, met yours, a coded language spoken only between the two of you. it was a simple exchange, a silent understanding of the desire that simmered beneath the surface.

you were barely registering the teacher’s droning voice, your attention consumed by the escalating heat radiating from karina’s touch. your breath hitched, a small, involuntary gasp that you hoped went unnoticed. you glanced at her, a question in your eyes, and her answering smirk sent a thrill through you. it was time.

karina’s voice, smooth as honey and laced with a playful urgency, cut through the monotonous lecture. “excuse me, mr. kim?” she called, her hand still firmly planted on your thigh. your skin prickled with anticipation. “i think that… well, maybe we should go to the bathroom. she’s not feeling too well.”

all eyes turned to you. you felt your face flush even more, a blush that wasn’t entirely faked. the combination of karina’s touch and the sudden attention had your heart hammering against your ribs. you felt the familiar clamminess of your palms, and the slight sheen of sweat on your forehead was real enough, lending truth to karina’s claim. the teacher, a middle—aged man who barely registered his students beyond the first row, glanced at you with a perfunctory frown. “you alright, miss…?” he squinted, searching his register your face.

you could feel the heat rising more in your cheeks, mirroring the flush you already felt from karina’s touch. you pressed your lips together, trying to look convincingly ill. a slight sweat dampened your forehead, the nervousness and anticipation adding to the charade. you gave a weak little cough, hoping it added to the effect.

mr. kim, ever the gullible academic, peered at you with concern. “oh my, you do look a bit pale. are you alright?”

you managed a feeble nod, grateful for the dramatic flare that karina had instigated. “yes, just a bit lightheaded.”

he seemed convinced enough. “alright, go along then. but don’t take too long.” he dismissed you with a wave of his hand, turning back to the whiteboard, utterly unaware of the charade playing out before him.

you practically bolted from your seat, grateful for the reprieve. you expected karina to lead you toward the bathrooms or the infirmary down the corridor, but instead, she took your hand again, her grip firm, and guided you in the opposite direction, toward the dormitories. a thrill shot through you. you glanced at her, raising an eyebrow in question.

“the infirmary is that way.” you murmured, a hesitant question hovering in your tone.

“we’re not going to the stupid infirmary right now. of course, we’ll get there, don’t worry.” karina replied, her hand now resting on your lower back, guiding you forward. “but first things first.” she said, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “my room is closer. we can… recharge there."

“but what about class?” you asked, trying not to let your voice betray your excitement.

karina winked. “after the fun, we'll go to the infirmary, get a note. problem solved. you’re still 'sick', after all.” she said, emphasizing the last word with a mischievous lift of her brow. “we’ll get a medical certificate, and we can give it to your professor.”

“he’ll probably notice that there’s a big time difference between when we left the classroom and when we went to the infirmary. and he’ll wonder why it took us so long to get to the infirmary after we left class.” you pointed out, trying to sound like you were trying to be responsible, even though your heart was already racing at the prospect of what was about to happen.

“we’ll say that we were in the bathroom because you were nauseous or you went to wet your face and cool off. or maybe even that you felt dizzy and almost fainted? i don’t know, but we’ll figure something out.” she says, her grin growing at the look of disbelief on your face. karina bit her lip, her eyes sparkling. “too extreme, isn’t it? well… how about we just say we went out onto the terrace or something because you needed some fresh air? maybe we can even blame it on the awful school lunch, if he still asks.” she added, her voice laced with amusement. “he never pays attention anyway.”

you couldn’t help but laugh, any lingering doubts swiftly melting away under her infectious energy. as you approached her dorm door, you noticed a name tag next to it. “wait, what about your roommate?” you asked, remembering the other girl whose name you vaguely recalled being “giselle”.

karina chuckled, pushing the door open and waves a dismissive hand. “don’t worry about her. she hasn't been in the dorm since the party last weekend. she always crashes at someone’s place after parties… she’s probably sleeping off a hangover at her boyfriend’s place. i haven’t seen her around since then, at least.” you had to admit, you had expected her to be there. you found yourself thanking her party habits internally. “don’t worry about her. let’s just focus on what matters, okay?”

she pulled you into the room, the door clicking shut behind you, and suddenly, you were alone. the room was neat, a stark contrast to the controlled chaos of karina’s personality. it smelled faintly of vanilla and something uniquely hers, a scent that made your senses swim. 

but the air in the small space crackled with a palpable tension. karina turned, her eyes locking with yours, and all the words, the worries, the questions, evaporated.

she reached for you, her hands cupping your face, her thumbs tracing the line of your jaw, and you were lost. her lips met yours, a soft, gentle pressure that quickly deepened into a hungry kiss. you tasted her, the sweet tang of her lip gloss, the warmth of her mouth, and you melted into the sensation.

your hands moved, finding their way to her shoulders, pulling her closer, desperate for any skin-to-skin contact. her fingers tangled in your hair, gently tugging as she deepened the kiss, and you moaned into her mouth, the sound raw and unfiltered.

the world narrowed to the feel of her lips on yours, the soft gasp of her breath mingling with your own. you could feel her body pressed against yours, the soft curves of her hips and the firm press of her chest, sending shivers of desire through you. you could practically feel her grin against your lips, as if she was just as giddy as you were.

but of course, you two couldn’t stay as two lovey—dovey people for long. 

now the kiss was hot, demanding, a release of all the pent—up tension that had been simmering between you since earlier in class. her hands, now free from the confines of your skirt, tangled in your hair, deepening the kiss. you leaned into her, your body pressing against hers, the soft texture of her shirt against your skin igniting a fire within you.

karina broke the kiss, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. she was a sight to behold, dark eyes shining, cheeks flushed, lips swollen and red: an absolute goddess. “wow.” she whispered, her voice husky. “that’s... more than i was expecting.”

you, a little flustered still, managed a breathy laugh. “better than boring classes, right?”

she grinned, a flash of white teeth against her flushed face. “absolutely. come here.” she murmured.

she grabbed your wrist and practically dragged you towards her bed, her nails digging into your skin. as soon as you two reached it, she pushed you down onto the mattress, crawling over you with a predatory grace.

she straddled your hips, her knees on either side of your thighs as she loomed over you. her hands gripped the hem of your shirt and in one swift motion, she yanked it up and over your head, tossing it carelessly to the side. she took a moment to admire your bared skin, her eyes roaming over your curves hungrily.

leaning down, she pressed her lips to your collarbone, her tongue tracing the delicate bone before she nipped at your skin. her teeth grazed your neck, leaving a trail of red marks in her wake as she made her way up to your jawline.

she captured your bottom lip between her teeth, tugging on it gently before soothing the sting with her tongue. she kissed you deeply, passionately, pouring all her lust and desire into the kiss. her hands slid down your sides, her fingers splaying across your ribcage.

karina’s hands slid further down, her fingers hooking into the waistband of your skirt. with a wicked grin, she tugged them down your legs, taking your panties with them. she tossed the pleated fabric and lace aside, leaving you bare and exposed beneath her.

she took a moment to admire your naked form, her eyes darkening with unbridled lust. she licked her lips, her gaze lingering on the juncture between your thighs. slowly, teasingly, she ran a finger along your slit, feeling the slick heat gathering there.

“fuck, baby, you’re so wet already.” she purred, her voice low and dripping with desire. “i’ve barely touched you and you're already dripping for me. such a needy little thing, aren’t you?”

she circled your clit with the pad of her thumb, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp. her other hand slid up your stomach to your breast, kneading the soft flesh roughly. she pinched your nipple between her fingers, rolling the hardened nub between them.

karina leaned down, her hot breath ghosting over your aching core. she inhaled deeply, the scent of your arousal filling her nostrils. a low, approving moan rumbled in her throat before she dragged her tongue along your slit, tasting your essence.

”mmmh, you taste even better than i imagined.” she murmured, her voice vibrating against your sensitive flesh. she circled your clit with the tip of her tongue before suckling on the hardened bud, sending jolts of electricity through your body.

she dipped a finger into your entrance, pumping it in and out of your tight channel. she curled it upwards, stroking that special spot inside you that made your toes curl. her thumb continued its relentless assault on your clit, rubbing quick, tight circles around it.

karina could feel your walls fluttering around her finger, your body tensing as she brought you closer to the edge. she added a second finger, stretching you further, filling you completely. she pumped them in and out of you, her palm slapping against your clit with each thrust.

karina could feel your body trembling beneath her touch, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. she knew you were close, teetering on the brink of ecstasy. she doubled her efforts, her fingers pumping into you harder, faster, determined to push you over the edge.

“that’s it, baby, come for me.” she growled, her voice rough with lust. “i want to feel you come undone on my fingers, i want to taste your pleasure on my tongue.”

she sealed her mouth over your clit, sucking hard as she thrust a third finger deep inside you. she curled them, stroking that sensitive bundle of nerves, pushing you ruthlessly towards your peak.

your back arched off the bed, your hands fisting in the sheets as the coil of tension in your belly snapped. you cried out, your voice echoing off the walls of your dorm room as your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave.

karina didn’t let up, continuing to work you through your climax with her fingers and tongue. she drank down your release, moaning in satisfaction as your essence flooded her mouth. finally, as the aftershocks began to subside, she slowed her movements, gentling her touch.

she crawled up your body, her fingers trailing over your sweat—slicked skin. she captured your lips in a searing kiss, forcing you to taste yourself on her tongue. she smiled against your mouth, a wicked, triumphant smile.

“not bad for a warm-up, gorgeous.” she purred, nipping at your bottom lip. “but we’re far from done.”

her fingers find the waistband of her jeans, unbuttoning the button and lowering the zipper, pulling down her pants along with underwear from her long legs in the blink of an eye. a wicked grin spread across her face as she rolled onto her back, pulling you on top of her. she gripped your hips, her fingers digging into your soft flesh as she guided you to straddle her waist.

“c’mon baby.” she purred, her voice low and dripping with lust. “let’s see how well you handle being on top. impress me.”

she reached up to cup your breasts, kneading the supple mounds in her hands. she rolled your nipples between her fingers, pinching and tugging on the hardened peaks until you gasped.

karina’s other hand slid down your back, her nails raking over your skin until she reached your ass. she gripped your cheeks, squeezing the firm globes in her hands before pulling you forward, grinding your slick heat against her own.

karina’s eyes darkened with lust as she felt your wetness coating her skin, your arousal evident in the slick slide of your folds against her own. she rocked her hips up against yours, the hard ridge of her clit rubbing against your sensitive nub in a delicious friction.

“fuck… you’re so fucking wet.” she groaned, her voice strained with desire. “i can feel how much you want this, how much you need to fuck me.”

she guided your hips in a slow, sensual grind against hers, the movement allowing you both to feel the heat and pressure building between your thighs. her hands slid up your sides to your breasts, kneading the soft flesh roughly as she watched your face intently.

karina could see the pleasure playing out across your features, the way your lips parted in soft gasps and moans as you moved against her. she leaned up to capture your mouth in a searing kiss, her tongue delving deep to dance with yours.

she nipped at your bottom lip before trailing her mouth down to your neck, her teeth grazing the delicate skin. she sucked hard, intent on marking you as hers, on leaving her claim for all to see.

“ride me, baby.” she commanded, her voice low and rough with lust. “take what you need, what you want. ise me for your pleasure.”

karina’s hands gripped your hips tighter, guiding you as you began to move. you rolled your hips in a slow, sensual grind against hers, your slick folds sliding against hers. the sensation of your wetness mingling with hers was intoxicating, the friction sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your core.

as you found a rhythm, you started to bounce on her lap, your breasts jiggling with each downward motion. karina’s eyes were glued to your chest, watching the mesmerizing dance of your curves. she leaned up to catch a nipple in her mouth, suckling hard as her hand kneaded your other breast roughly.

her hips jerked up to meet yours, the head of her clit catching on your own with each thrust. the pressure built inside both of you, the heat coiling tighter and tighter in your bellies. you could feel karina’s muscles tensing beneath you, her body drawing closer to the edge.

karina’s fingers dug into the flesh of your ass, spreading your cheeks wide as she pulled you down harder, urging you to give her more. she could feel your walls fluttering around her, your body tightening like a coiled spring.

“that’s it, baby, fuck me just like that.” she panted, her voice ragged with desire. “i’m so fucking close. come with me, come on my pussy. i want to feel you fucking soak me.”

karina could feel your movements becoming more urgent, more desperate. your hips were moving frantically, grinding and rolling against hers in a wild dance. the obscene sound of your wetness filled the room, the slick slap of skin against skin echoing off the walls.

she could feel her own release building, the tension in her core winding tighter and tighter. she was so close, teetering on the brink of ecstasy. she needed you to come with her, needed to feel your pleasure as you rode her hard and fast.

“fuck, don’t stop.” she growled, her voice strained and rough. “i’m gonna come, baby. come with me, fucking soak me with your cum. i want to feel you fucking drench me as i come undone.”

she slammed sharply her hips up against yours, her clit rubbing hard against your own. the sensation was electric, sending a jolt of pure pleasure shooting through your core. your body stiffened, your back arching as your climax crashed over you like a tidal wave.

karina let out a guttural moan, her voice echoing off the walls as her own orgasm consumed her. her hips jerked and twitched beneath you, her body shaking with the force of her release. she could feel your walls clenching around her, your essence gushing out to coat her skin.

she gripped your hips hard, holding you in place as she ground against you, riding out the aftershocks of her climax. she panted harshly, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. finally, she collapsed back onto the bed, pulling you down with her.

karina wrapped her arms around you, holding you close as she peppered your face with soft kisses. she smiled up at you, her eyes shining with satisfaction and contentment. “... that was incredible.” she murmured, her voice soft and sated. “we’re definitely doing that again, baby. and again, and again…”

just as she was about to continue, a knock on the front bedroom door brings you two out of the intimate moment you were having. 

“karina? are you in there? it's me, giselle. can you open the door? i lost my keys during the party last friday! actually, i think i lost my entire handbag…”

[v6quewrlds]

HOMIESEXUAL, BURROW & IOSIVAS.

pairing⠀⁎⠀joe burrow/andrei iosivas x reader. word count⠀⁎⠀10.3k.

summary⠀⁎⠀joe burrow comes and goes through your life like the tides. just when you think you've caught him, he slips away from your grasp. just when you think you've finally moved on, he sneaks back in with empty promises. as if things couldn't get any messier, enter andrei iosivas, joe's wide receiver.

author's note⠀⁎⠀huge thank you to @xolilyxo for saving my life with this idea <3 i haaaate writing meet-cutes/first dates so bear with me for the first part of this fic. joe is genuinely horrible in this one sorry lmao but i love toxic!joe and this was so fun to write. will be taking a little bit of a break from this blog so take this as an apology <3 warnings⠀⁎⠀some usage of y/n, vicious cycles, situationships, reader needs to stand up, 18+ mdni, smut, angst, fingering, a singular spank, backshots!, choking, empty promises, joe will say anything for a nut, condoms used as metaphors lollll, no real ending bc i couldn't choose.

You adjusted your earbuds, the pounding bass of your workout playlist keeping pace with your sprints on the treadmill. The burning in your lungs was a familiar sensation, a small price to pay for the endorphin rush that washed over your tense muscles.

Your attention was squarely focused on your sprints and breathing, exhaling sharply as you watched the clock on the treadmill count down to the end of your cardio session. The chime signaling the end of your workout pierced through the music, and you slowed to a jog, taking a moment to catch your breath and lower your heartbeat.

As you lowered the speed and incline to a brisk walk, you felt a presence beside you. You glanced over to find Andrei, the Bengals' wide receiver, hopping onto the treadmill next to you. His eyes lit up when he saw you, and a smile slowly spread across his face in recognition.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice warm and easy. You took in the sight of him, the tattoos on his left arm flexing as he pressed the start button on the machine. “Y/N, right?”

The two of you had met a few times in passing at games and parties, but you never really had a chance to get to know him beyond small talk. “Yeah. You're Yoshi?” you said with a smile, using the nickname you had heard the team float around him.

He laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Andrei, but Yoshi's cool. I didn't know you came to this gym.” He matched your pace as you walked side by side, your legs moving in unison.

“Yeah, it’s convenient, for when I’m in town for work and don’t want to miss a workout. How about you? How’s your first off-season in the league treating you?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady as you inhaled and exhaled as intentionally as you could.

Andrei’s smile grew. “It’s been intense, but I’m loving every second of it. Gets a little lonely without the team around though. How about you? You work with Sam's fiancee, right?”

“Jess? Yeah. She was my RA during my freshman year. We work in marketing together. She’s the one who talked me into joining her in Cincinnati after I graduated. Best decision I ever made, really,” you replied.

Andrei nodded, his gaze flickering to the screen of his treadmill as he cranked up the speed, long, tanned legs still in a walk despite the speed increase. “I'm still getting used to the city, but the people here are great. And the fans are crazy about football, which is pretty awesome to be a part of.” He took a sip of his water, his dark eyes meeting yours briefly before returning to the display in front of him. You couldn't help but notice the way his biceps bulged as he lifted the bottle to his mouth.

“I don't wanna keep you from your workout, but it was nice seeing you, Andrei.” you said, your racing from more than just the cardio. You stepped off the treadmill, your legs feeling like jelly as you headed for the locker room.

“Hold up,” Andrei called after you, his voice filled with a gentle urgency. He quickly followed you, his eyes searching yours. “This is kind of random, but would you be down to grab lunch or something sometime?” His question hung in the air, charged with an undercurrent of hope.

“I’d like that,” you said, a genuine smile playing on your lips. You felt a sudden warmth spread through your body, and you hoped the fluster in your voice wasn’t too obvious. Andrei’s eyes lit up, and he immediately offered to exchange numbers. You swapped phones and tapped in the digits with fingers that trembled slightly from the excitement of the moment.

The next few days, the two of you texted back and forth, coordinating your schedules. It was a delicate dance, considering your busy lives, but somehow, it worked. You found yourselves with a mutually free afternoon and decided to meet at a quiet spot, a hole-in-the-wall burger joint that had been recommended to Andrei by some of his teammates.

At first, you didn't recognize the address or the name of the burger joint. But as you pulled up to the nondescript building, the heavenly scent of sizzling meat and the sound of laughter spilling out from inside sent your memory hurtling back to nearly a year ago.

You had come here with Joe once.

Joe was a waxing and waning fixture in your life, coming and going with the tides of the football season. The two of you had first met when Joe was drafted by the Bengals, and you quickly recognized the pull of his charismatic orbit. His charm and easy confidence had drawn you in, and your friendship grew into a passionate, secretive not-quite-relationship that had always been tinged with the bittersweet frustration of knowing it couldn’t last.

The league was unforgiving, and Joe had been clear about his priorities - football, family, and his foundation - none of which included space for you. But as the months went on, you found yourself hoping that maybe he would get his head out of his ass. As if he would suddenly wake up and realize that he did have a little space for you in his very short list of priorities.

But there wasn't space. Joe Burrow was a creature of habit, and football was his first love. He'd told you that himself, more than once. The season had taken precedence over your somewhat casual arrangement, and by the time summer rolled around, it had all but fizzled out like the last whispers of a forgotten promise.

Now, as you sat across from Andrei, the smell of greasy burgers and fries swirling around you two, you felt a pang of guilt. You would have had to be blind to miss the way Andrei's brown eyes lit up when he talked about his day and listened eagerly to your lame office stories. He was so earnest, so present, in a way Joe was incapable of being - not that it was the quarterback's intentional doing.

The two of you talked about everything from your families to your favorite movies, and it was easy, comfortable. Andrei had a way of making you feel heard that you hadn't felt with Joe. He wasn't distracted by the shadow of football, his mind wasn't a million miles away on the field. He was right here with you, in this moment. And when he reached out to steal a fry from your plate with a dimple you hadn't noticed before, you felt a jolt of something you hadn't felt in a long time—true, uncomplicated happiness.

“Yo, earth to Andrei! You okay, man?” Tee Higgins’ teasing voice cut through the air as the team gathered around their lockers post-workout. Andrei had been lost in his thoughts, his eyes glazed over as he replayed the events of the past few days texting with you.

Andrei snapped out of his daze, his cheeks flushed with a mix of exertion and embarrassment. “Yeah, my bad, guys. Just had a good session out there.” The lie rolled off his tongue, but the smirks from his teammates told him they weren’t fooled.

“Oh, I bet you had a good session, alright,” Charlie said, waggling his eyebrows. Their side of the locker room erupted into laughter, and even Andrei couldn’t resist a chuckle despite the roll of his eyes.

“Leave him alone, he’s just got a crush is all,” Chase Brown chimed in, slapping Andrei on the shoulder.

Andrei felt the weight of his words and his cheeks grew even warmer. He knew he was being obvious, but he couldn’t help it. You had consumed his every thought since your first real conversation at the gym. The way you had looked at him, the way your laugh had filled the quiet moments between your words, it was intoxicating. He hadn’t felt this way about someone since high school.

“She's older too, ain't she? Like by two years?” Tee said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. Andrei nodded, his face growing hotter by the second.

“Yeah, but that's not a big deal, right?” he managed to get out.

Chase laughed. “Who? Jess' friend? That's cool, she's a catch for sure. But why’re you blushing so hard, man?”

Andrei shrugged it off, trying to keep his cool. “It's nothing. Just met up with her a few days ago, you know how it is.”

“Oh, he's gone,” Charlie exclaimed, grinning as he slapped Andrei's back. “You got it bad, dude.”

“Shut up, man. It's not like that,” Andrei protested, his voice betraying the excitement he felt.

Joe kept his head down, focusing on his own locker, pretending not to hear the jokes at Andrei's expense. But the mention of your name sent a jolt through him. He knew he had no claim on you, he had made that clear when he chose football over you time and time again - he was aware. But the thought of you with Andrei was like a knife twisting in his gut. He felt a strange mix of jealousy and protectiveness, a storm of emotions that left a dark, uncomfortable weight on his chest.

As Joe made his way to the parking lot, he was flanked by Ja'Marr and Sam on either side as they talked about their evening plans. He cleared his throat, trying to dislodge the unspoken tension. “Has Jess mentioned anything about...?” he ventured, keeping his voice casual, not completing his thought hoping Sam would catch the unspoken name.

Sam shot him a knowing look, eyes narrowed, lips curled into a smirk. “Do you two get off on playing this weird hot and cold game?” He asked Joe, a disbelieving chuckle bubbling from his chest.

Joe’s face remained impassive. “What are you talking about?” He played dumb, hoping his friends hadn’t noticed the jealousy bubbling beneath the surface.

Sam rolled his eyes. “I haven't heard anything about her seeing anyone, but why don't you just text and ask her? Or better yet, just tell her you fucked up and want her back? I know she hasn’t blocked you yet, Jess reminds me of that every time you two come up in a conversation.”

Joe scoffed, trying to play it cool. “It's not like that. I just want to know she’s good. It’s been a while since I’ve seen or heard anything. That's all.” But the way his heart hammered in his chest, his blue eyes defensively wide told the defensive end it was a lie.

“If you say so,” Ja’Marr spoke up, his voice filled with an unmistakable hint of amusement. “But if I was her, I wouldn't take your ass back.”

Joe shot him a look that could've frozen water. “Thank you for your input, Ja’Marr,” he muttered, his eyes narrowing.

Sam laughed again. “Look, I'm sure she has nothing to hide. If she was seeing someone, she’d tell Jess. And since she hasn’t, then maybe it’s not that serious yet. Just apologize, I’m sure she’ll hear you out.”

Joe nodded, trying to convince himself that it was true. But the gnawing feeling in his gut told him otherwise. He knew he had to see you, to find out for himself what was going on. He couldn’t stand the thought of you with someone else, not when he hadn’t even had the urge to officially end things.

After arriving home, Joe found himself pressing your contact name, then the FaceTime button, his heart racing. When you picked up, he could see the surprise in your eyes. You looked beautiful, the soft glow of your bedside lamp highlighting the warm tones of your skin. Your curly hair was pulled back into a loose bun, and you had that look on your face, the one that told him that if he played his cards right, you’d fall right into his lap, just like you used to.

“Hey?” you said, a hint of wariness in your voice.

Joe took a deep breath, trying to keep his cool. “What's up?”

Your eyes searched his for a moment, reading the tension in his voice. “Not much, just sitting at home. What’s up with you?” you asked, playing along.

“I was wondering if you’re busy tonight,” Joe said, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “I haven’t seen you in a while. Thought I could come over, catch up.”

You leaned back into the cushion behind your head, raising an eyebrow. You knew Joe’s moves better than anyone else. At times, you thought you knew him better than he knew himself. “Why? You miss me?”

Joe’s eyes held yours, the intensity in them unmistakable. “Yeah, I did. And I wanna see you. If that’s okay?”

You felt a mix of excitement and annoyance. Why was Joe suddenly interested again? You knew he couldn’t just turn it on and off like that - not matter how much he liked to pretend he was unbothered by the gray area of your situationship. But the temptation was too strong. You missed your connection, the way he made you feel.

“Okay, come over then,” you said with a sigh, unable to completely hide the smile that tugged at the corners of your mouth.

Joe arrived at your apartment later that evening, and the moment he stepped inside, it was as if you had never stopped seeing each other. He took in the familiar scent of your perfume and the sight of you curled up on the couch. He couldn’t help but feel like he was home. The two of you talked about nothing and everything, the conversation flowing easily like it used to. He told you about the team's new plays and strategies, and you updated him on work and Jess' wedding planning.

But there was an undercurrent of tension, something more than just your unresolved history. Andrei's name hovered in the air, unspoken but present. As the night grew later, Joe's eyes searched yours, looking for answers he knew you wouldn’t just volunteer to give him.

“So, are you seeing anyone?” he finally asked, his voice casual, the rush of blood to his face anything but.

You felt a jolt of nerves. You should’ve known this was coming. “No, I’m not seeing anyone,” you replied, your voice steady despite the guilt of such a lie creeping in. “Not officially, or anything.”

Joe’s expression didn’t change, but you could see the muscles in his jaw tense. He knew you well enough to read between the lines. He knew you were lying to him. “But there’s someone you’re interested in?” he pushed.

You nodded, looking away from him. You felt the guilt press harder on your chest. “Yeah, I guess. It’s new, and I’m trying to figure it out. Figure him out.”

Joe leaned in, his hand falling over the back of the couch as if attempting to surround you without actually touching you. “Is it serious?”

His voice was a mix of curiosity and something else, something that made the guilt in your stomach coil tighter. He had a way of suffocating you, of making you feel like you were drowning in his mere presence, and you hadn’t realized how much you missed that feeling.

You took a deep breath. “No, it’s not serious. Not yet, anyway. We’re just...seeing where it goes.”

Joe nodded, his eyes focused intensely on yours. The silence between the two of you grew heavier, charged with unspoken words and desires. Finally, he leaned in closer, deciding he was tired of playing cold and now wanted the hot.

“Can I kiss you?” Blue eyes bore into yours, plump pink lips parted before his bottom lip was pulled between his teeth.

Your heart skipped a beat. You knew what giving in to him would lead to, but you couldn’t resist. You nodded, and Joe’s mouth was on yours before you had the chance to reconsider. The kiss was familiar and yet somehow new, filled with the same passion you had always shared, but with an urgency that hadn’t been there before. It was as if he was trying to claim you, to remind you of what they had before you were swept up in someone else's tide.

As Joe’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer, you felt the weight of the decision you needed to make. Andrei’s sweetness versus Joe’s intensity. The comfort of the known versus the excitement of the unknown. Your thoughts spun like a tornado, threatening to consume you. But for tonight, you decided to let it go, to lose yourself in the feeling of Joe’s hands on your body.

You moaned against his mouth, giving in to the moment. And with that one sound, the two of you were back to where you had left off months ago, your bodies tangling together in a dance as old as time. You stumbled towards the bedroom, hands fumbling with clothes and buttons, eager to reacquaint yourselves with each other's skin.

“Joe,” you whispered breathlessly as your bodies collided in a fiery embrace, the passion igniting like dry grass in a summer field. He kissed you like he owned you, and for a moment, you let yourself believe he did. Your bodies moved in a symphony of desire, every touch a silent declaration of his intent.

“What do you want from me, Joe?” you managed to ask between gasps, your body responding to his touch despite the turmoil in your mind.

“I don’t know what I want,” Joe murmured against your skin, his voice ragged with need. “But I know I can’t stay away from you, no matter how much I try.”

Your head tilted to the side as Joe's lips attached themselves to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses that made your body tremble. The room was spinning with the weight of his body on top of yours, you felt like you were drowning in his touch. It was all too much, too familiar, too overwhelming.

Joe let out a breathy chuckle against your neck, drawing a confused furrow of your brows in response. Your eyes cracked open in question, his blue eyes staring deeply into yours. “Isn’t this my shirt? You kept it?”

You felt a heat creep up your neck, the fabric of Joe’s shirt you had borrowed one night months ago clinging to your body. It had become embedded in your rotation of casual wear that you had completely forgotten it didn’t truly belong to you. “It’s comfortable,” you murmured, your voice thick with shy lust.

Joe's eyes searched yours, a hint of possessiveness flickering in their depths. “It looks better on you than it ever did on me,” he said, his voice gruff as he pulled the shirt over your head, leaving you in only a pair of panties. The air in the room grew thick with anticipation, your eyes locked as you both knew what was coming next.

With a fierce passion that seemed to have been building for months, Joe's hands explored every inch of your body, relearning the curves and planes he had once known so well. His touch was rough, almost desperate, as if trying to erase any memory of anyone else that had been there since him. And for a moment, you allowed yourself to be lost in it, to be consumed by the fire that was him.

He set you back against the sheets of your bed, eyes hungry as they trailed over every inch of your exposed skin. He settled over you, his frame broad as it obstructed your ability to think - or see - anything but him. His hands slid down your body, caressing your waist, your hips, before slipping into the band of your panties. He tugged them off, tossing them aside with a primal growl that made your stomach flutter.

“Unreal,” Joe hummed under his breath, his eyes roving over your bare form, his fingertips tracing the outline of your thighs, your belly, the swell of your breasts. The word seemed to hang in the air, a declaration of his desire, a claim of ownership.

You felt a shiver of anticipation, your body responding to his touch despite the chaos in your mind. You leaned up, your hands finding the hem of his shirt and tugging it over his head, revealing the hard planes of his chest, his muscles flexing in the dim light. Your eyes met again, a silent challenge, a silent question, a silent promise of what was to come.

With a low sound, his hands slid down to your thighs, urging them apart as he settled between your legs. The heat of his skin against yours was almost too much to bear, and you found yourself arching up to meet him, your nails digging into his back as he kissed your neck, your collarbone, and your breasts. His mouth was everywhere, leaving a trail of fire in its wake, and you could feel yourself spiraling out of control. The pads of his fingers traced circles on your inner thighs, moving higher, closer to the center of your need, until you were writhing beneath him.

“Joe, please,” you begged, the words slipping out unbidden. He chuckled darkly, his eyes gleaming with a hunger that was almost predatory. He knew exactly what he was doing to you, and it was a power trip he didn’t even bother hiding.

“Gimme me a minute,” he hummed darkly. His thumb grazed your clit, sending a shockwave of pleasure through your body, making your back arch off the bed. “I want to make sure you don’t forget who this pussy knows best,” he whispered, his voice thick with arousal.

Your eyes widened, and you bit your lower lip to stifle a gasp. The possessiveness in his tone was something new, something you had never heard from him before. It was raw, primal, and it sent a thrill through you that you couldn’t ignore.

Joe’s fingers teased and prodded with a firm pressure that had your hips moving instinctively. He watched your face, his eyes hooded and intense, as if memorizing every reaction. His free hand slid up your torso to the sides of your neck, giving it a trying squeeze that made you moan. The sound was music to his ears, and his mouth found yours again, his tongue demanding entry as his hand continued its merciless torment.

The sensations were overwhelming, and you couldn’t help but respond to his dominance. Your legs fell open wider, giving him full access, begging for more. And Joe delivered, his fingers slipping into your wetness, his eyes never leaving yours. He watched your face contort with pleasure, his own expression a mix of satisfaction and hunger.

“You’re so wet for me, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick with lust. “Always so wet, so ready. I love that about you.”

Your eyes rolled back in your head as he worked you over, his thumb pressing down on your clit as his fingers curled inside you. You could feel your orgasm approaching, a storm cloud gathering on the horizon, ready to break at any moment. You didn’t know if you could handle it, didn’t know if you wanted to handle it.

His hand moved faster, his grip on your neck tightening slightly as he watched you writhe and unravel beneath him. Your breaths grew shorter, your moans louder, until you were practically sobbing for release. And when it came, it was like nothing you had ever felt before. It burst through you like a tidal wave, drowning you in pleasure so intense it was almost painful. Your body spasmed around his hand as you rode out the wave, Joe’s eyes never leaving your face, his thumb pressing down harder on your clit as he watched you come apart.

When the tremors finally subsided, you lay there, panting and boneless, staring up at the ceiling. The room was spinning, and you could feel Joe’s weight on top of you, his cock pressing against your thigh. He kissed you deeply, his tongue tangling with yours, as if trying to claim your mouth the same way he had claimed your body. And for a moment, you let him, savoring the taste of him, the feel of his hardness against you, the scent of his sweat and cologne.

“On your stomach, pretty girl, just like that,” Joe ordered, his voice gruff with need.

You mindlessly complied, rolling onto your stomach with a shiver. The coolness of the sheets against your overheated skin was a stark contrast to the heat of Joe’s touch. You felt his hand glide over your back, tracing the line of your spine before it trailed back down, his thumb rubbing tight circles into the base of your spine as he distracted you from the anticipation as he pulled a condom on. Then, without warning, his hand connected with your ass in a firm slap that made you yelp and jolt forward. You looked over your shoulder at him, eyes wide and questioning.

“Want you to remember me every time you sit down tomorrow,” Joe said with a smirk, his eyes ablaze with possessiveness. He grabbed a pillow and placed it under your hips, shifting your ass a bit higher. You could feel his cock, hot and heavy, pressing against you. The head of it slid against your wetness, teasing you, making your pussy clench with want. He didn’t waste any more time, pushing into you in one swift movement that made you gasp, your head falling forward into the sheets.

You felt filled to the brim with Joe, his size stretching you in a way that was both unavoidable and incredibly satisfying. You could feel him everywhere, his grip on your hips tightening as he started to move. He was relentless, his thrusts deep and demanding, setting a pace that had you panting and moaning into the sheets beneath you. You knew your thighs were going to be sore in the morning, but you didn’t care. This was what you had been craving, this was what you had been missing.

“You feel so good, baby,” Joe murmured against your ear, his teeth grazing your skin as he whispered sweet nothings that sent shivers down your spine. You could feel his breath hot and ragged against your neck, his hips slapping against your ass with each thrust. It was needed, it was carnally satisfying, and it was everything you had been trying to ignore.

Your eyes squeezed shut, and you bit down on a stray pillow to muffle your moans. You didn’t want to admit it, but Joe had a way of making you feel like no one else ever could. It was infuriating and intoxicating all at once. Your hands clawed at the sheets, trying to find purchase, as Joe’s rhythm grew more intense. You could feel your orgasm building again, a slow burn that was starting at your toes and working its way up.

“Fuck, Joe,” you murmured, your voice muffled by the fabric. He chuckled, the sound sending vibrations through your body.

“Just how you like it, huh?” he said, his voice a low rumble in your ear. You whimpered, unable to form words as he continued to fuck you relentlessly.

Your eyes squeezed shut, the sensation of him inside you was overwhelming. Each thrust was like a declaration of his claim, each slap of skin on skin echoing through the room. He was everywhere, his heat enveloping you, his scent infiltrating your senses. It was too much and not enough all at the same time.

“Mm, that’s right,” Joe encouraged, his voice thick with pleasure as he watched the way you responded to his touch. “You need more from me, don’t you?”

You choked out a strained 'yes', the words trapped in your throat by the intensity of your building climax. You felt him shift behind you, his cock sliding out of you briefly before he turned you onto your back. He hovered over you, his eyes burning with desire. His hand found your chin, tilting your head back as he kissed you again, his tongue plunging deep.

With a powerful surge, he thrust back inside you, filling you completely. Your nails raked down his back, your legs wrapping around his waist as you tried to hold on to the last shreds of your sanity. The sensation was exquisite, his length stroking you in ways that only he seemed to know how to. You could feel your body responding to him, your inner walls tightening around him as he picked up the pace.

“Love being inside you, always have,” Joe murmured, his eyes locked onto yours as he pushed deeper, his hips moving in a rhythm that had you both racing towards the edge. Your breathing grew more ragged, your breasts heaving with each thrust. “You’re so fucking perfect, baby. Fuckin' made for me.”

Your eyes fluttered shut again, the words playing on repeat in your head, echoing through your body with every stroke. You knew you shouldn’t let his words affect you, but they did. They hit you in a place you thought you had closed off to him through the distance. A place that was still raw and tender, despite the time apart.

“Missed your pretty voice whispering my name. Can you say it again for me?” Joe rasped, his teeth grazing your neck.

“Joe,” you breathed, your voice shaky and needy. His name fell from your lips like a prayer, and you felt his cock swell at the sound.

“Say you missed me,” Joe urged, his eyes searching yours as he continued to drive into you. His movements grew more urgent, each thrust more forceful than the last.

“I missed you,” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. His eyes flared with triumph and need, his strokes becoming more powerful. He slammed into you, pushing you further into the sheets, with such a fervor that made the headboard thump against the wall with every thrust.

“Fuck, yes,” Joe groaned, his voice strained as he pushed into you. The sound of the headboard colliding with the wall grew louder, punctuating the air with a steady rhythm that matched his own. “Missed you too, more than you know,” he murmured against your skin.

Your eyes squeezed shut, the confession sending a bolt of heat straight to your core. You wrapped your legs around him tighter, your heels digging into his ass as you encouraged him to go harder, faster. The feeling of his cock hitting just the right spot inside you was divine, and you knew you were close.

“I'm sorry,” Joe murmured, his breath hot against your neck as he kissed his way across your throat. “I'm sorry I've been an asshole. Did I hurt you?” He didn’t stop moving, his thrusts still deep and demanding.

Your eyes flew open, and you stared up at the ceiling, your heart racing. The tenderness in his voice was unexpected, and it hit you like a punch to the gut. You couldn’t bring yourself to respond verbally or physically, too ashamed to admit the truth out loud. But Joe read you like a book, his gaze searching your expression for confirmation.

“I know I did,” he said, his voice low and remorseful. He slowed his pace, his strokes becoming more deliberate as if trying to convey his regret through every touch. “But I’m not gonna let you go again, baby. I promise you that. You’re mine, and I’ll make it up to you, every single fucking day if I have to.”

Your heart swelled at his words, even though a part of you knew you shouldn’t let them affect you. But here you were, lying beneath him, your body singing with pleasure, and you couldn’t help but believe him.

“Okay.” You whispered, still avoiding his gaze as your lips pouted in thought.

Joe’s expression softened, and he leaned down to kiss you, his hips stilling for a brief moment. When he pulled back, he said, “Gonna make you feel so good, baby. Just hold on for me, okay?”

The look in his eyes was earnest, and for a moment, all the tension between the two of you dissipated. You whispered your approval, your hands moving to his face, your thumbs tracing the sharp line of his jaw. You could feel his muscles tense as he took a deep breath, then his hips began to move again, slow and steady, as if he were savoring every inch of you. His eyes remained fixed on yours as he pushed into you, each stroke sending a new wave of pleasure crashing over you.

Your walls tightened around him, your body responding to his gentle dominance. His hands roamed over your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He kissed you with a tenderness that was at odds with the roughness of your fucking, his tongue dancing with yours, tasting every corner of your mouth. It was as if he was trying to claim you all over again, to erase every memory you had of anyone else.

And for a moment, you let yourself believe there was no one else.

Joe’s eyes searched yours, his expression a mix of lust and something deeper, something that made your stomach flip. His movements grew more calculated, his hips snapping against yours as he drove deeper. You could feel yourself climbing, your body coiling tightly around him, ready to shatter.

“Look at me, baby,” Joe murmured, his voice thick with desire. “I need to see your eyes when you come for me. I need to know it’s all for me.”

Your eyes opened, meeting Joe’s intense gaze. His eyes were like blue flames, burning into your soul. You could feel the pressure building within you, your orgasm threatening to break free. Your moans and whines were strangled as they escaped your throat, your breaths coming in quick pants as you tried to hold on.

He leaned down, whispering in your ear, “Good girl. Let go for me. Take what you need from me, baby. Wanna hear you scream my name when you do it. Give it to me. Give it all to me.”

The words were like a trigger, setting you off into an explosion of sensation. You moaned his name, your body convulsing around him as you shattered into a million pieces. Your nails dug into his skin, your legs tightening around his waist as the most intense orgasm of your life ripped through you. It was as if every nerve ending in your body was on fire, each spark igniting a new wave of pleasure.

His own climax followed closely, his hips jerking as he buried himself deep inside you, groaning out his release as it spilled into the condom preventing his proximity from truly reaching you. Joe's weight pressed you into the mattress, his breathing heavy in your ear. You remained connected for a few moments, your hearts pounding in sync. Slowly, he pulled out, rolling to the side and disposing of the condom before pulling you into his arms.

Your mind raced as you lay there, your body still trembling. You felt Joe's thumb stroking your cheek, wiping away a stream of tears you hadn't even realized had fallen. He kissed the bridge of your nose, his touch gentle and soothing.

“I've got you,” he whispered, pulling you closer. “I'm not going anywhere.”

You curled into him, the weight of his words pressing down on your chest. Joe’s arms around you felt like home, and you didn’t want to leave that behind.

You sighed, deflating against him with no energy to question his intentions or the future. For now, all that mattered was the warmth of his embrace. The comforting beat of his heart against your ear lulled you into a sense of peace you hadn't felt in months. The two of you lay there in the afterglow of passion, your breaths slowly syncing as you held each other tightly.

Your head continued to spin over the next few days, the intensity of that night with Joe replaying in your mind like a highlight reel you couldn’t turn off. Each time you saw Andrei at the gym or exchanged texts, you felt that dreadful pang of guilt. The sweetness of his smile and the genuine concern in his eyes made you feel like the worst kind of person for indulging him when you couldn't get Joe off your mind.

“I'm the worst,” you groaned to Jess one evening, a week after Joe’s unexpected visit. You were lounging in Jess and Sam’s living room, a bottle of wine between the two of you.

Jess looked at you, her expression a mix of confusion and concern. “What do you mean, babe?”

You took a deep breath and recounted the evening with Joe, leaving out the explicit details but sharing enough to paint the picture. Jess’ eyes grew wider with every word, until finally, she spoke.

“Yikes. You might be in deeper than you think,” Jess said, her voice a mix of shock and amusement. She took a sip of her wine, her eyes fluttering over to Sam as he took a seat next to her, his arm wrapping around her shoulders. “Babe, did you know about this?”

Sam looked at you, his expression begging you to play along. “Know what?”

You rolled your eyes with a huff, “Samuel, please. Did Joe say anything to you?”

Sam���s eyes darted to his fiancee whose eyebrow arched in challenge before he cleared his throat. “No actually. I told him to talk to you about the Andrei stuff, but he didn’t say anything happened.” He took a sip of his sports drink, the in-season replacement for his usual beer. “He's actually been pretty tight-lipped about everything, to be honest. Did you guys ever talk it out like I told him to?”

You sighed, playing with the stem of your wine glass. “Sort of. He said some stuff that... I don’t know. It just messed with my head. He said he missed me and that he’s not letting me go again. And when we were together... it was like nothing had changed.”

Jess’s eyes searched yours, understanding dawning as she frowned. “In a good way? Or in a...”

“In a way that seriously makes me question my self-respect,” you replied, your voice laced with frustration and self-pity. You took a long sip of your wine. “And now I’ve got Andrei, who’s so sweet and caring, but he’s also... I don’t know. He’s just different.”

Jess leaned in, her expression earnest. “Look, I know Joe’s got that... that pull, you know? And it’s easy to get swept up in it. But you can’t ignore what you have with Andrei either. Maybe you should take a step back from both of them and figure out what you really want.”

You nodded, knowing Jess was right. But the thought of cutting ties with either of them made your stomach twist. You enjoyed the excitement of Joe, the comfort of familiarity, but there was something about Andrei's gentle persistence that was equally intoxicating. You took a deep breath, setting your wine glass aside.

“I know you’re right,” you said, rubbing your temples. “But it’s so complicated. I don’t want to lead Andrei on or hurt him.”

“What about Joe?” Sam asked, breaking the silence. “I know you guys were never officially together, but do you care about potentially hurting him?”

Your gaze drifted to the floor. “Honestly? I don't. Not in the same way. With Joe, it's complicated. He's complicated. I don't even know if he'd ever truly let himself be hurt by me.”

Sam and Jess exchanged a look, the gravity of the situation settling over them. “Maybe you should just talk to them,” Sam suggested, his voice gentle. “You owe them that much, at least.”

You nodded, the weight of his words sinking in. You knew he was right. It was only fair to be honest with both Joe and Andrei about your feelings. But the thought of that conversation, of potentially losing one or both of them, was worrying.

Andrei felt like he was slowly going insane, his eyes scanning every line of your last text to him over two weeks ago. He had tried calling, but you always seemed to be busy or your phone went straight to voicemail. With the Bengals' season reaching its peak, he had been thrown into a whirlwind of games and practices, leaving him little time to dwell on his feelings. But now, with the team entering their Bye Week, he had nothing to distract him from the hold you had on his thoughts.

On the second day off, unable to stand it any longer, Andrei found himself at your gym again. He hoped to catch you, to talk things through, to understand what was happening. When he saw you, you looked stunning in a sage green workout set that hugged your curves in all the right ways. He approached, his heart racing, his mind a whirlwind of questions and fears.

“Hey,” he called out, his voice calling out softly through the sparsely populated gym. You looked up, your eyes briefly widening before you schooled your expression into something more neutral. He could tell you were surprised to see him, but there was something else there, something that looked suspiciously like anxiety.

You stood from your spot on the floor where you were stretching, casually reaching for your water bottle. “Hey, Andrei,” you greeted him coolly, your eyes avoiding his.

Andrei’s stomach twisted, his mind racing with a thousand things to say. He took a step closer, his eyes searching your features for any sign of your connection. “Can we talk?”

You hesitated, glancing around the gym before nodding. The two of you found a quiet spot in the corner, the clinking of exercise equipment the only soundtrack to your conversation. He watched as you took a sip of water, your eyes desperately trying to find something to focus on other than him. It was clear you were avoiding eye contact, and his heart sank.

“Look, I’m sorry if I misunderstood things and freaked you out,” Andrei began, his voice tentative. “I just... I don’t know. I can’t stop thinking about you, and I don’t get why you’re avoiding me.”

Your eyes finally met his, and he was taken aback by the sadness in them. You sighed, setting your water bottle down. You began to clear your throat to speak but paused, your hand picking at a piece of lint dusting your top. Andrei felt his heart racing, unsure of what you were about to say.

“If you don’t want to see me anymore, just tell me,” Andrei said, his voice thick with emotion. “But don’t ghost me. That’s not who I thought you were.”

You could only look at him, your chest tightening at his words. The truth was, you didn’t know what you wanted. Your mind was a whirlwind of Joe’s gravity and Andrei’s sweetness. You took a deep breath, your eyes never leaving his. “It’s not that, Andrei. There was a situation that came up and... I just need some space to figure things out. It’s nothing you did, I promise.”

He searched your face, looking for any hint of what you were referring to, but you offered nothing more. Andrei nodded slowly, his Adam's apple bobbing with an unspoken question. “That’s all I’m asking for. Just tell me if you need some time. I’ll wait, I just... I can’t ignore the way I feel about you. And if you don’t feel the same, then I need to know that.”

Your eyes softened, your heart torn in two. You reached out, placing a hand on his arm. “Andrei, I feel the same. I really do.”

He searched your eyes for any hint of a lie, finding none. The relief visibly washed over him. “So, what’s the deal, then? Why the distance?”

You took a deep breath, your mind racing with the events of the past few weeks. You had been avoiding Joe's calls too, the fear of what you might admit in the heat of the moment too strong to risk. The guilt was eating at you. “It’s complicated. I have some personal things to figure out. And I don’t want to lead you on, Andrei.”

Andrei nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “Okay. I can give you space. But, when you’re ready, can we talk again? Maybe go on an actual date?”

You felt a rush of warmth from the earnestness in his voice.

“Sure,” you said, your voice soft. Andrei's smile was like the sun breaking through the clouds. All he wanted to do was give in to the hope that filled him at your words, to press his lips to yours and show you just how far gone he was. But he knew you needed space. So, with a nod, he stepped back.

“I’ll give you some time. But just know that I’m not going anywhere, okay?” His words were firm, a declaration that resonated in the quiet corner of the gym.

You nodded. Your throat was tight with the effort of holding back your true turmoil. “Okay,” you whispered.

Andrei’s eyes searched yours, as if trying to read the story behind your guarded expression. He smiled slowly, a mix of hope and pain etched into the lines of his face. “Cool, just text me when you’re up for it. We can keep it casual, no pressure.” His hands buried in his pockets as he took a step back, giving you the space he promised.

You felt a pang of longing as you watched him walk away, his broad shoulders slightly slumped. The reality of your situation was like a heavy weight pressing down on you, and you couldn’t ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach. You needed to talk to Joe, to understand why he had come back into your life so suddenly and what he wanted. But the thought of facing him, of admitting to your feelings and the mess you had created, was terrifying.

Days turned into nights and the week stretched on. Your thoughts consumed you, a tumultuous storm of emotions. You went through the motions of your daily routines, but your mind was elsewhere, replaying every moment with both Joe and Andrei. The intensity of your feelings for Joe was undeniable, but the tenderness Andrei offered was something you hadn’t experienced before.

So with a deep breath, you reached for your phone and typed out a message to Andrei. “Hey, I’m free tomorrow. If you’re still down, maybe we can grab brunch?”

Your heart skipped a beat as you hit send, the gravity of your decision setting in. Andrei’s response was almost instant, his excitement palpable even through the screen as he offered a time and a location for your date.

The next morning, as you sat across the table from him at a cozy bistro, the scent of pastries and fruity drinks mingling in the air, you felt a mix of anxiety and anticipation. The conversation flowed easily, filled with laughter and the kind of comfort that comes from unguarded openness. But there was a new tension between the two of you, a known thread of desire that hadn’t been there before.

You found yourself leaning in closer to him, drawn to his gentle smile and the way his soft giggles crinkled the corners of his eyes. When he walked you to the door of your apartment, you held on to a half hope that he would kiss you. But when he just gave you a warm, lingering hug before pulling back to look into your eyes, you realized that maybe this was exactly what you needed. A break from the intensity that Joe brought. A chance to explore something new, something that was patiently waiting for you to catch up instead of dragging you along for the ride.

The door clicked shut behind you, leaving you in the quiet embrace of your apartment. The scent of Andrei’s cologne lingered on your clothes, a sweet reminder of the date that couldn’t have gone any better. You took a deep breath and leaned against the door, your heart pounding.

Andrei hadn’t stopped smiling since he hugged you close that morning. His cheeks constantly flushed, and his eyes gleamed whenever he thought of you. He felt like he was floating, his every step lighter, his spirits soaring. He had been waiting for this moment since he first met you, the chance to show you that he was more than just a younger teammate of your best friend’s fiance. He wanted to show you the man he was and the love he had to offer.

The other guys immediately picked up on the change in Andrei's mood, his energy at practice the first day back from the Bye unmistakably lighter. Tee and Charlie exchanged knowing glances, and Chase was the first to speak up. “You keep smiling like that, you might be able to start catching with your mouth.”

Andrei chuckled, shaking his head as he took his place for the next drill. He hadn't realized he had been smiling so much, but he couldn't help it. The date with you had been like a breath of fresh air, and he was eager to see you again. You hadn’t stopped texting since that day, lightly flirting and setting up another date. He was trying to keep things casual, trying to moderate his excitement, but it was hard when he felt like he was finally making progress.

On the other side of the field, Joe noticed Andrei’s change in demeanor, his own mood plummeting. You had shown no interest in seeing him again, and the realization that you might have moved on with someone else—someone on his own team—was a bitter pill to swallow. He threw himself into practice, pushing his body to the limit to distract himself from the ache in his chest. But every time he looked over, Andrei’s smile was like a knife twisting in the wound.

“I’m down bad, bro,” Andrei chuckled, his eyes crinkling as he watched Tee and Ja’Marr laugh at the honesty of his admission. “I haven’t even kissed her yet and she’s all I can think about.”

“You haven’t kissed her?” Tee’s eyebrows shot up, incredulous.

Andrei shrugged, his cheeks flushing slightly. “I want to, but I don’t want to rush it. I’ll do it when it feels right.”

Tee nodded, understanding. “Just don’t wait too long, man. Girls like that, they don’t come around often. You gotta let her know what’s up before someone else does.”

“Speakin’ of, I’m surprised Joe was cool with you two hanging out,” Ja’Marr said casually, rolling his shoulders as the words spilled out casually.

Andrei's eyes snapped over to him, his smile fading. “Joe? What do you mean?”

Ja’Marr looked up, catching the shift in Andrei's expression. “You didn’t know?” He paused, realizing he might have just stepped into a minefield of unspoken locker room drama. “My bad, bro. Never mind.”

But it was too late. Tee stepped forward, shaking his head at Ja’Marr’s retraction. “Nah, finish what you were saying. Andrei deserves to know what’s goin’ on.”

Ja’Marr took a deep breath. “Okay, so, they had a thing a while ago. No labels or nothing, but it was definitely more exclusive than just hooking up. They decided to cool it off because Joe was focused on rehabbing his wrist, and she didn’t like feeling like a distraction. But they do this weird hot and cold shit every now and then, it’s toxic as fuck, honestly. But that’s just how they like it, I guess. Sam swears they soulmates but I don’t know about all that.”

“Damn,” Tee breathed out, his eyes wide as saucers as the information sank in. Andrei's heart dropped to his stomach, the revelation hitting him like a sledgehammer. The world around him grew quiet, the laughter and shouts from the other players fading into the background. He stared at the football in his hand, his mind racing.

“What the fuck, man?” He looked up at Ja’Marr, his voice low and tight. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

Ja’Marr held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Look, we all knew you had a thing for her, but it’s not my place to stir shit up where there might not be anything. Besides, Joe never talks about what they got going on, you know how he is. You and Joe are cool, and she’s not his girlfriend. You do you, you know?”

But Andrei didn’t know. He had thought he had a shot with you, that the connection was real and genuine. But now, knowing that Joe had been in the picture before - and possibly still lurking in the background - the doubt began to creep in. He couldn’t help but feel like he was just the rebound, the second choice. The easygoing charm that usually filled him was gone, replaced by a storm of confusion and anger.

After practice, Andrei went straight to his locker, avoiding Joe’s gaze as he packed up his gear. His mind was racing, trying to piece together what this meant for him. He shot off a text to you, asking to meet up at your place. He needed to hear it from you, to understand the depth of what had happened between you and Joe.

When he arrived, there was a storm in Andrei's eyes that you had never seen before. You felt a sinking feeling in your gut, knowing that something was wrong. He stepped into your apartment, and you could see the tension coiled in his stiff shoulders. He didn’t bother with pleasantries, his question coming out in a rush. “Did you and Joe have something going on before me?”

Your heart stopped. You hadn’t expected this. You took a deep breath and nodded slowly. “We did. But it’s over. It’s been over for a while.”

Andrei’s eyes searched yours, looking for a lie, for any reason to believe you were just playing games. “Then why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was tight, each word forced through gritted teeth.

You felt the walls closing in on you, the guilt of your omission weighing heavily on your chest. “I didn’t want to hurt you, Andrei. It was a complicated situation, and I didn’t know what to say without messing things up between us. I care about you, and I didn’t want us figuring things out to be tainted by me explaining my past with Joe.”

“I don’t care if you hurt me,” Andrei said, his voice filled with intensity. “I care about being with you, about us. How could you think keeping that from me would be better than letting me decide for myself?” His gaze was unwavering, and you knew he wasn’t going to let this go without a fight.

You looked away, your eyes stinging. You knew you messed up, but you didn’t know how to fix it. “I’m sorry, I just—”

Andrei’s hand on your cheek made you stop. He turned your face back to his, his eyes searching yours. “Don’t apologize. Just tell me if there’s still something between you two. Because if there is, I can’t do this. I can’t compete with him.”

Your heart clenched at the raw honesty in his voice. You took a deep breath and met his gaze. “No, there’s nothing going on. I want to move on.”

Andrei studied your face, the tension in his body slowly uncoiling as he saw the sincerity in your eyes. He took a step closer, his thumb brushing over the stress lines marring your face. “Okay,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “Okay.”

The two of you stood there for a moment, the air between you charged with a tension that had shifted from anger to something more complex. Andrei leaned in, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was both tender and demanding. It was a declaration of intent, a promise that he wouldn’t back down. The kiss grew deeper, more urgent, and you felt yourself melting into it, your hands curling around his shoulders as if you were holding on for dear life.

When you finally broke apart, panting, Andrei searched your eyes again.

“Fuck it.”

He didn’t need to say more. With a newfound sense of urgency, he scooped you up into his arms and carried you to the bedroom, your kisses growing more frantic with each step. The weight of your confessions and the unspoken tension between you had transformed into a fiery passion that could no longer be contained.

In the dim room, you undressed each other slowly, as if savoring every moment. Your hands explored familiar yet new territories, the heat of your bodies melding together as if you were two puzzle pieces that had finally found their rightful place. The intimacy was intense, a blend of attraction and lust that neither of you had ever experienced together before.

“Are you sure?” Andrei’s voice was a gentle rumble against your skin as he paused, his hand hovering over the clasp of your bra. You nodded, the anticipation in your eyes unmistakable.

The rest of your clothes fell away, and you were left in nothing but the glow of the streetlights filtering through the blackout shades. Andrei took his time, exploring your body with a reverence that made your heart swell. Each touch was deliberate, each kiss a silent promise that he would be different from Joe, that he would treat you as more than an option.

Andrei’s hips moved in a steady rhythm, his eyes never leaving yours, as if he was afraid that if he blinked, you would vanish forever.

“Keep those pretty eyes on me, I don’t want you to slip away from me again,” Andrei whispered against your ear, his breath hot and heavy as your bodies moved together. “Gonna make sure you don’t forget me, no matter what happens with him.”

Your eyes searched his, a mix of want and fear. You nodded, your voice a breathy whisper as your eyes rolled back with a flutter of pleasure. He was so deep, so gentle, so deliciously slow as he pushed into you, making you feel like the most precious thing in the world. Your calves resting against his shoulders, legs parted, giving him full access, and he took it with a groan of pleasure that made your toes curl.

Andrei’s eyes never left yours, as if he was trying to memorize every detail of your face in the throes of passion. It was raw and beautiful, and it made your heart ache in a way you didn’t know was possible. You could feel yourself letting go, giving in to the moment.

“I’m all yours,” you murmured, your voice thick with need. Andrei’s response was to kiss you again, hard and demanding, as if he was sealing your fate with every touch of your tongues. The sound of your bodies coming together filled the room, a testament to your connection.

His hips began to pick up their pace, propping himself up on one elbow, his other hand roaming your body, leaving trails of fire wherever it went. Your chest heaved, your breath hitching as you felt yourself getting closer to the edge. You were falling, and you hoped you might never get back up again.

“Fuck,” you whimpered as he reached between you, his thumb circling your clit with a precision that made your back arch off the bed. Andrei’s eyes were intense, watching your reaction with a hunger that only fueled your own. The room was a cocoon of desire, the air thick with the scent of your arousal and the sound of your ragged breaths.

“Good girl, takin’ my cock like this,” Andrei groaned, his teeth clenched as he fought to hold back. He knew he had to give you what you needed, what he knew you deserved. He could feel the tension building in your body, the way you tightened around him with every stroke. He leaned in closer, whispering sweet nothings in your ear, his words hot and fast. “You’re so perfect, baby, so fucking perfect.”

“More, please, I need more,” you moaned, your voice shaking. He could feel the desperation in your words, the need for release, and he was more than happy to oblige. His hand found your neck, his thumb gently caressing your pulse point as he picked up his pace, his hips slamming into you with a force that was both gentle and fierce.

“Come for me, baby, come all over my cock,” Andrei urged, his voice low and demanding. And as if on cue, your body obeyed, the tension snapping as you shuddered beneath him, your orgasm washing over you like a tidal wave. He watched as you came undone, the sight of your pleasure etching itself into his soul. He couldn’t hold out much longer, the feel of you tightening around him pushing him over the edge.

With a moan of his own, he came, his release hot and powerful as he filled you. He collapsed next to you, his tanned chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath. You blinked slowly, biting back a smile as you felt him shiver against you, his milky white spend slowly leaking out of you.

You turned onto your side, your bottom lip pulled between your teeth as a hand came down to brush through Andrei's dark hair, your eyes shining with a newfound fondness for the man beside you. He pulled you closer, your limbs tangled together like vines, and you felt a warmth spread through you and couldn't help the giggle that escaped. Your giggles spurred Andrei on, unable to suppress his own chuckle as you two erupted into laughter at the absurdity of your situation.

The room grew quiet, the only sound was your mingled breathing and the occasional creak of the bed. Andrei’s thumb traced patterns on your bare shoulder, his eyes studying your profile in the soft light. “I meant what I said,” he murmured, his voice serious despite the playfulness of moments before. “I want to be the only one for you. I can handle whatever shit comes up with Joe. I just need you to be honest with me.”

You swallowed hard, feeling a knot in your stomach. The weight of your decision settled on your shoulders like a heavy blanket. “I will,” you said finally, tilting your head up to catch his eye. ��I promise.” He responded with a soft, lingering kiss on your swollen lips.

Eventually, Andrei’s grip loosened, and he rolled away from you, smiling as you whined at the sudden loss of his warmth. “I need to use the bathroom. Need me to get something to clean you up?”

“Please,” you replied with a tired smile, watching him stride across the room naked. The confidence in his step was something you hadn’t seen from him before - not off the football field at least - and it made your stomach flutter. He closed the door behind him, humming softly to himself. You settled into the sheets, releasing a sigh of contentment.

But like clockwork, it didn’t last long. It never lasted long.

Your phone lit up on the nightstand, catching your attention with the notification of a new text. You rolled over, reaching for it lazily and your eyes widened as you saw Joe’s contact name on the screen. The message was deviously simple, as it always was. Your heart beat out of your chest as you read it to yourself.

Are you free tomorrow? We should do something. Miss seeing you.

[moonieandi]

snapshots pt. 3 | stanley pines x f!reader 

summary: a quick look through concerning the early months of your life “married” to stanley pines, particularly centered around moments on the couch

warnings (TW): mdni, contains mature/suggestive content, swearing, alcohol consumption, mentions of drug use

tags: mature/suggestive content (in act iii), fluff, early relationship described, pining, affection

notes: please note that there is heavily implied/suggestive/mature content in act iii of this posting (after the second break)- if you do not wish to interact with this type of content i swear to you you can completely skip it if you like, i attempt to not tie TOO much significance to the written scene- and if you would prefer that the postings stray away from this kind of content i will attempt to better balance it in the future! i am in no shape or form a very “smutty” writer (mainly bc i have never written it), so i hope the scene isnt like… terrible ya know lol (also i don’t consider it much for “smut”- i am def using said word very loosly). annnnyyywayyys hope you enjoy and as always my dms are open for suggestions in the future and general conversation and encouragement! enjoy!

also to note! I believe the story is best read in order- i put certain dependences on certain words and bring descriptions back to really solidify the importance of certain scenes/interactions ! but completely up to you, lol

edit 8/27/24: hello! below i have linked the up to date masterlist for this series- thank you for reading, hope you enjoy!

word count: 4.5k

| masterlist | part iv |

She had caught him sleeping on the couch in the early heat of June. 

They had a late night on the couch, discussing Ford’s margin notes and rewatching The Price is Wrong. Stan had a certain affinity for price matching, and she was more than a little stunned to learn of it the first couple of months they resided in the shack together. 

She just didn’t expect this 30-year-old man to know the price of most common household appliances. 

After his divulgence last month, in which he had confided a little bit of his background in sales, she began to piece together that although Stan considered himself a conman in every way but words, she considered it pure brilliance. 

So she quickly got used to late-night T.V. shows, as they discussed next steps back and forth, with Stan interrupting conversations to yell out extremely accurate prices at the small box T.V. in front of the couch. It had grown on her, actually, and had turned rather… endearing. 

If not also incredibly hilarious, as he was so passionate about his own accuracy he usually forgot his volume, and sometimes took to ranting at her. 

“Hun! Hun! This is a load of malarkey I tell ya! That vacuum price is way too high! It don’t even come with added nozzle attachments!” 

She would laugh, and he would revel in making her do so. 

They had concluded the night in a similar fashion, and she had stumbled up to her bedroom. The first one on the right from the stairs. But he had lingered in the living room, muttering about tidying up some soda cans and taking the trash out quickly. 

She had shrugged it off, giving her goodnight, and made her way up the stairs. She had fallen asleep so quickly, she hadn’t heard the usual meandering steps of Stan as he made for his own room across the hall from her. 

She almost never woke up before him, another thing that surprised her. She figured he was the type to doze in and out in the early morning, but he seemed to be quick to rise and even quicker to make a pot of coffee, usually stumbling down the stairs thirty minutes before she could manage to roll out of bed. 

So she thought it odd to look down the stairs and not see the usual kitchen light on, and the usual grumble of the shitty coffee machine either. 

She found him snoring on his back, the throw blanket she had brought with her half on half off him. It had grown a little muggy in the shack, due to the distinct lack of central air, but Stan’s solution seemed to be very simple. 

Just wear less clothes. 

Something that wouldn’t disturb her in the slightest, if it were not for, well… Stan. 

She was a scientist, a usual logical thinker, and only slightly prude (due to her upbringing), but she was no idiot, and she knew the man she was cohabitating with was attractive. 

I mean, he was also funny- made her laugh more times than she could count. He was oddly sincere for his age and even more oddly protective. He was flippantly affectionate and even more flippantly kind to her. 

And he was also shirtless. 

Something she takes note of instantly, instinctually. Whipping her head to make for the kitchen, and trying to forget the curve of his broad shoulders and the slight swell of his stomach. The smattering of dark hair on his chest all the way down to the crisp edge of the boxers she had folded two days ago. 

Coffee, coffee coffee! 

She didn’t make as good of a cup as he did, she had never had to before. Something he scoffed at, but quickly took to doing himself. He made it every morning, now. Always up before her, with her mug waiting for her by her worn kitchen chair. 

She turned to the stove instead, moving pans and turning on the burner. She’d make breakfast for them instead of her shitty burnt coffee special. Pulling eggs and bacon out of the small fridge she went to work. 

The smell woke him up, and she noted his groggy fumbling to redress himself. Glancing out the archway from kitchen to living room she watched him pass to the stairs, still shirtless. He takes the stairs two at a time, back up to his room to retrieve new clothes she presumed. 

He returns in minutes, in typical fashion it took him not too long to get ready in the morning. 

He walks in, still stretching, with hair muddled from sleep. A pair of work jeans that had seen a lot of love in the past month, and a shirt that was quickly growing too tight around his arms and shoulders. She decided to ignore that sliver of stomach that peaked out when he raised his arms a little too high, otherwise, the bacon would burn. 

He made his way to the coffee machine, beginning the usual morning routine as it spurred to life. Moving to the sink he began washing their shared mugs. 

Breakfast was always a little quiet like they both couldn’t be bothered to open their mouths beyond sating their appetite. They still moved the same, instinctually and without words. Falling into their unassigned assigned seats, Stan moving to grab her feet and drag them across his lap, while she moved the salt and pepper between them both. She always reached across to his plate, grabbing his toast to butter first and then moving to her own. 

She had decided to interrupt their usual silence this morning, looking across to Stan as he fumbled with the morning paper. He always went straight to the comics in the morning, hoping to pick up on a joke to read to her that day, hoping to make her laugh first before anything else in the morning. 

But she had thrown a wrench in his usual plan (that she still hadn’t picked up on yet). 

“Why were you on the couch?” She asked, biting around her toast. 

“It’s cooler down here hun.” 

“I know heat rises Stan, but the sun rises on my side of the house in the morning. It ain’t that hot upstairs yet. Is there something wrong with your bed?” 

When first rearranging rooms he had resolved to take Stanford's old one. He didn’t want her to have to live in the shell his brother had left behind. His more intimate nick-nacks and sticky notes had been scattered around what is now Stan’s room. Along with his random mismatched socks and sweater vests, and his cologne. And he didn’t want to think about having her live around the last remnants of Stanford, because she got this weird look in her eyes already when she retraced his brother's writings and he couldn’t stand it. He had lived with Stanford for eighteen years, and sometimes entering the room was at least therapeutic. 

Except Stanford always had a weird affinity for sleeping on the ground. 

It’s the main reason Stanley even had the top bunk during their preteen years to begin with, because Stanford would find himself stiff on the floor most mornings. His brother had a tendency to doze away on any hard surface he could rest his head on, starting at his desk most nights, moving to his bed, but usually rolling off it in favor of the floor. Stanford was… not one for restful sleep. And his hard ass mattress showed it. 

“Ya.” Stan muttered behind the newspaper. “‘Ford trying to fuck my back up from another dimension.” 

“You can have my bed?” She offered up her own mattress, one she had splurged on with her own money. He still remembers her playing Goldilocks that day at the flash mattress sale she had circled in the classifieds the week before. 

He shook his head at the memory, them both laying side by side on each bed as she had discussed odds and ends. She had argued that she needed approximately 5 minutes on each mattress to sink into each, and that she couldn’t be intrinsically thinking about her comfort when doing so. So she had him lay beside her and talk to her, as she flipped from her back to her side testing out her comfort and considered the gravelness of his voice. Until she had landed on the right bed, the tenth one, declaring it her perfect match as she looked over at him beside her. 

“Nah, I can’t take your perfect match, hun, your one true love.” He joked, folding up the newspaper with the comics up, setting it aside in favor of looking at her. “Besides my bed is fine for now. I just… sometimes I like being close to the door.” 

She hummed. “I can rearrange the living room today? Do you want to move your bed downstairs?” She hadn’t even questioned it, still searching for something to sate his comfort. 

He laughed at this, he would never let her rearrange things without him and she knew it. He had hovered something harsh those first three months, moving around most things for her as she pointed from object to object. 

“No, no.” He shook his head. “I just, I ain’t used to sleeping in a room without a straight way out of it yet.” He admits, munching on his bacon, shrugging like he was discussing the weather. “So sometimes I just, sleep on the couch. No big deal.” 

She sits back in her seat, shock marring her face. He had spent so long hopping from place to place she had forgotten he hadn’t had a place to call home in a decade- besides his car. Something that may have four walls, but had no heart. 

Hotels, to cars, to floors of shelters, he had slept in questionable places for far too long, and in some cases Stanford’s room sometimes felt like a new prison, or at least reminded him of a certain Colombian one. Except this one contained taunting memories and a stupid amount of sweaters. 

It hurt more, to open his door to find hers closed, for some reason. He didn’t like the thought of her trapped either, nestled in a part of the house he couldn’t get to. But he didn’t know how to voice this to her without sounding mad in a way. Or obsessive maybe. 

She digs her toes into the junction of his ribs, grabbing his attention. She’s smiling across from him, and standing before he can ask why. Grabbing his hand, she pulls him up the stairs to their own parallel doors, not even hesitating to walk through the door Stanford used to call his own. 

She’s muttering under her breath as he stands in the doorway, landlocked by witnessing her in this exact space for some reason. She moves to the window, opening it all the way and fumbling with the screen. She gets it off and makes to climb out the window before he can protest. 

“If you want a way out, you got it right here!” She grunts, footing her way through to the shingled roof, his protests falling on deaf ears. 

“Get the fuck back in here!” He leans out, making to grab her. “Ain’t no way this shack's roof is any good!” 

She prances around, slightly mocking him by moving away from his waving arm. “Stan! It’s fine!” She laughs, the sun shining on her figure. Suddenly serious she stops, hands on her hips. “Seriously, if you need a way out, keep the window open, okay?” 

She crawls back through the window a moment later, using Stan’s hand as a weight as she balances back on the wooden floor. 

Still serious, she continues, “Stan if you need to keep the window open, you can keep the door open also if you feel like it.” 

She smiles like she has a brilliant idea, moving across the hall she opens her own room to display her own mess of things. “I can keep mine open also if it helps.” 

How the fuck had she read his mind? He was continually dumbfounded by her unquantifiable amounts of patience she had for him. Like it was a reserve she tapped into, to specifically deal with all his dumb bullshit. He would let it pile in the back of his head, but she’d reach back in and shake him awake, present him with a solution, and he forgets himself in his need to question “why?”. 

He had taken too long to respond, and she stands in the hall, hands wringing her too large t-shirt and looking surprisingly bashful. “Is this okay?” She asks, is this what you need? Vying for his approval as she continues. “Because really I don’t mind you sleeping on the couch, I really don’t, you can keep doing it if you like! Really! I just… I just…” 

Unspoken between them, he already knew. She meant well, she meant the best actually. She wanted him to be comfortable, here, with her. Wanted him to stop moving from place to place in the house because no where felt right because it all felt like a trap. Wanted him to know the four walls they shared could never be a prison, and that she didn’t want him to hop around anymore searching and clawing his way out of it. To not have to Goldilocks around the house, because across the hall from her had to be just right. 

And it was. Because she had read his mind as usual, and he was almost tired of being absolutely astounded by it. 

He nodded, smiling across from her, his confirmation in the squeeze he gave her hand as he reached for her again, and in the ruffling of her hair he gave her as he slipped from the house later. Making his way outside to his work, somehow lighter than usual.

They ended up on the couch most weekends, or at least most Saturday nights. 

She had insisted, against his better nature, that it was not appropriate to drink yourself into a stupor on a weekday. So he had gotten used to the shared moments on the weekend, routinely looking forward to shitty VHS movies and even shittier boxed wine and beer. 

She laughed at fucking everything when she was drunk. He almost wondered if she had ever been high, or if she even needed to be. He might as well be a stand up comedian most weekends, because if he thought he had a great audience Monday through Friday, well he had an even more endearing one on the weekends. 

It was a hot July night, and she had scoffed at his light beer that resided in the back of the fridge. Tisking at him as she danced around the kitchen, pouring sweet red wine into mugs (their only cups), and shooing him back to the couch. Only wine in the summer, only wine when it was this hot.

And it was hot, and humid, unsurprising for Oregon really. So hot in fact, that she had decided pjs were appropriate attire for the night, luckily for him. So he shed his jeans in favor of loose boxers and a well worn shirt. Unluckily for him, she had decided upon much the same wardrobe, which was odd for her and only uncomfortable for sober him. 

But he wasn’t sober anymore, and he had to admit she was rather enchanting hunched over on the couch, laughing at his shitty jokes with one of his old band t-shirts on, shorts that she made no indication of even owning, bagging up around the tops of her thighs. 

He had been intoxicated on numerous amounts of things, nothing, of course, too hard or addictive per say, but it’d be the first time he was this drunk on wine. 

And it was… different. 

He had scoffed at the movie she chose originally tonight. She always chose the second movie, and he chose the first. They had a habit of in depth discussing during films, especially when more intoxicated. 

But he had never been so incredibly invested in a romantic comedy in his entire life, he blamed his company and the alcohol. 

“I can’t believe that he thinks he stands a chance with the likes of her! She’s sacrificed so much! Her jobs on the line here and he won’t even consider marrying her for a green card!” He yelled, just about jumping at the screen. This man in the movie was ridiculous, demanding things from his assistant and throwing her away the next. 

She ran back into the room, mugs full with their next round. She had become the bartender tonight, waiting on him and grabbing snacks when he’d ask in exchange for rubbing her aching shoulders. 

“What did I miss!” She rushed back, handing him his mug and taking her seat back in front of him on the floor, her throw blanket being used as a cushion. 

He takes a sip, setting the mug aside her own on the floor and moving back to place his hands on her tense shoulders. 

“She’s being kicked out of the country right in front of her boss and he ain’t gonna do anything about it! She basically does everything for this man, why doesn’t he see he needs her?” 

She groans below him, her head rocking back as she takes her own drink. “Are we gonna discuss the intricates of them having a relationship though? I love marriage of convenience, don’t get me wrong, but that’s her boss! Isn’t there a weird power dynamic here?” 

“Oh ya!” He agrees, nodding along as his fingers began to dig into her muscles. “We gotta talk about that because if this gets creepy we gotta pick out a different one. He’s already pissing me off!” 

She looks up at him, eyes glowing with an idea. Enchanted, she moves away from him, crawling to the cabinet beside the T.V., and he really swears that he tries to look away. But he also reasons that it’ll be a while before he gets the chance to see her in shorts again. And fuck. 

She turns back, a new VHS in hand. “This!” She exclaims. “Now this is my favorite rom-com!” 

A shitty picture is well worn on the front of the movie sleeve, a VHS he doesn’t recognize from the donation bin sitting in her hands. She must have brought it with her, and she must have had it for a while. 

She crawls forward, movie in hand and a bright, flushed smile on her face. 

“Please, please, please Stanley! This one!” She all but yelled as she leaned up into him. His legs had already been parted to accommodate her sitting in front of him, but now were warm with her torso between them, as she crawled into his lap, movie still in hand and smile still on her face. She leaned up onto his chest, a fake pout on her lips as she looked up at him. 

He forgot himself for a minute, excusing her silently for calling him Stanley in her drunken plee. His hand finding her waist as he answered. 

“Okay, okay!” He snorted. “Better be a better love interest because this guy sucks.” 

He missed her as soon as she left, but his heart still felt something sick when she yelled victoriously on the ground, hand raised in celebration, movie clutched to her chest. Rolling from her current position to the VHS player and popping out the current horrendous movie. All the while she giggled, and he followed in much the same manner. Laughing while running his hand through his hair, trying to soothe himself to forget her warmth. 

She crawled back to him (fuck) settling back into his knees from her position on the ground. The title screen flashed, but he was much too busy watching it illuminate her face. Heart sick again when she leaned her head all the way back, hair across his knees and thighs, she smiles up at him, a thank you on her lips. Clutching his mug in her hands, bringing it to her lips for a sip before passing it up to him too. 

And when he carried her to bed that night he wondered when the tight sickness would leave him. He never closed either of their doors. 

It didn’t happen like this, that night. 

Not from what he could remember anyway, but he felt too groggy to care about accuracy and too intoxicated by the image of her to care much for what was right. 

Her hands had continued up his thighs from her place knelt in front of him, his back hot against the living room couch. She had climbed up on top of him, creeping up to sit on his knees and thighs like she had been there before. Her smile turned sweet into something twisted as she leaned in close to his face, the closest she had ever gotten to it. Whispering something between the heat between the two of them, something lost on him, as he tried to lean closer, tried to bridge the gap between their chests, aching to feel her against the very front of him. 

He knew it was different because she had never worn this in front of him before, at least willingly. He had caught her in the middle of the night, stumbling from her open bedroom door to the bathroom down the hall, panties striped and endearing on her ass. He had seen them in the washer, had seen her fold them and tuck them away. And she was in them, sitting on his fucking lap. 

His hands made for her, reaching behind her and dragging her close, his fingers edging the back of the band of her striped panties. 

She gasps like she does when she’s happy for him, always jumping from her position on the couch cheering along with him when he gets a stupid fucking The Price is Wrong answer right. 

And it’s how he imagined it, fuck, how he was currently dreaming of her noises. In bits and pieces he could remember, his brain scrambling to paint an image of her wanting him.  

Her hands edge along the back of his head, running through his long hair, and tracing to the front along his jaw. Mouth open, her fingers glide along the bottom of his lip, teasing. 

She whispers again, closer now. Her chest heaving against his own, her ass waits precariously positioned above right where he dreamt of her being. Right along the space he places her feet every morning, right where he thought she may kill him.

He catches it this time, between them. Her voice wavering like it had that day in the car when she had apologized for calling him him. He thought of begging for it, allowing her to say his name, but she had read his mind like she always fucking managed to do. 

“Please, Stanley.” 

He had surged forward like his own tidal wave, meeting her in the hot space between them. But he could only imagine a kiss with her, dream of it here. 

He imagined it slow, and building. Imagined her hesitation and the pout of her lip between his fucking teeth, imagined her moan when he eventually came back for more. 

Her hands pulled at his fucking hair, the only time she had placed them there to harm, and he groaned as she pulled him forward, meeting again in the middle of the heat they shared there on the couch. She moaned, her hips rushing to his own, making a new heat between them. 

The friction between them was the same as the kiss, slow and building. Grinding herself in the curve of his lap, right where they both needed each other. Every pass slightly faster, every groan from her more imagined, more unreal. 

The pressure felt real though, and her fingers in his hair felt even more so. His head thrown back on the couch, he looked down his nose at her, a groan leaving his throat as she makes a home in his shoulder, as her hips cause waves against his fucking lap. 

Her breath is hot on his neck, something real, and her echoing noises move up his shoulder to his ear and it makes him hotter than he could imagine. Her groans come to a precipice, getting higher in octave and volume and she thinks to fucking bite him there, right on his shoulder. 

The image she makes shakes him, his hands remembering where they are on her ass and hips, as he makes to work them harder, to somehow bring her closer and harder to the crook of his boxers. Her teeth nestle into him, and it makes him groan more, her hot breath and aching moans reverb off his skin back to him. 

It sends him reeling forward, his own head rushing off the back of the couch, groaning in heat, moving in blind passion. His head rests against the top of her own, his big hands digging into the fat of her behind, finger creeping in through the top of her panties. 

“Fuck.” He groans between them. “Fuck, honey.” His hips canting up, her moans echoing again, her teeth unlaching, like she can’t ground herself to him anymore, because all the movement is him now. He’s fucking using her, the pressure hot, and she peels back to look at him, a heat in her eyes he can’t have imagined. He must have seen it before, marring her face. He had, he swears, seen her with this heat in her eyes before.

He was using her. 

It stops just as abruptly as it began, and he wakes to his discomfort. His room is cool despite the morning sun, the curtains by his windows billowing out with September wind. His door wide open, and his hand curled around something that no longer needed relief. 

His other hand, clutching his hair in a fist. The back of his head tender from the pressure, and his fingers heavy from sleep. 

He got up quicker than usual, his heart still pounding oddly in his chest as he attempted to catch a breath he didn’t remember losing. On his way out of his room, dresssed for the day, he peaks into her parallel room, her door wide open like it was every day now. 

He groans low, she’s wearing the fucking stripes. 

He tries not to think about it the rest of the day, tries not to be disgusted with himself, but his chest aches something odd and his stride is somehow uneven for the rest of the day. His heart carries something sickly when he sees her that day, and she pretends it doesn’t hurt he’s oddly quiet that day, or that he doesn’t read her the morning comics like usual. 

She thinks it has something to do with how flushed he is, when she catches his staring that evening, as they sit beside each other on the couch, T.V. echoing in the background.

[saltnsugarbear]

and I can go anywhere I want (just not home)

summary: winter in DC is cold! but you have a loving girlfriend to warm you up

title from: "my tears ricochet" by Taylor Swift

word count: 0.7k

content warnings: none! soft, warm day today!

side note: starting a small collection of gifts with Emily Prentiss and my beloved Ruby! I'm so delighted to call you my friend, you're soso sweet <3 this one is for you, my beloved

divider from @/tsunami-of-tears! who did the original one that I use but I'm using her winter themed ones for today!

Living so close to the water in winter is a nightmare. Winter in D.C. can be a blessing or a curse, depending on the weather.

That's why you're so glad Emily's apartment has heating.

How she manages such a nice place on a government salary in downtown D.C. is a mystery to you. But she manages. A place to the both of you.

And Sergio...

Sergio is a blessing of his own, a miniature heater that can be carried from room to room. Despite Emily's willingness, you're incredibly conscious of heating in the house. Favoring blankets, bundling and Sergio over turning on the heater.

Georgetown prices were not something you favored.

However, Emily knew this habit of yours, setting the heating to go on when she needed. She was more willing to make the apartment comfortable instead of nesting in one spot all night. You supposed it was easier for her to rationalize as the person who paid the bills for the apartment.

But Emily also had a habit of keeping her windows open at night. Except for the obvious safety hazard it caused, the cold from the waterfront sneaking in.

Maybe she did it on purpose. So that you had no option but to cuddle up next to her. Face buried in her sleep shirt, arms wrapped tightly around your stomach under your sweater. Sergio is tucked in the notch of her legs, cozying up to both his parents.

A blessing from the cold air is it makes Emily sleep like a log. She's hard to wake after a cold night.

That makes it easier for you to sneak out of bed. Replacing your body with a pillow under her arm before slipping away.

Your rustling, however, wakes Sergio. He's a silent cat, following you out of the bedroom like a second shadow. You're both silent as you pad into the kitchen, starting up the coffee pot and grabbing the sugar from the pantry.

Emily's started this bad habit of feeding Sergio on the counter top, causing you to conform to this habit. Grabbing his food bowl from the dish rack and the container of wet food from the fridge. He's graceful in his jump onto the counter, sitting politely in his designated spot on the counter. You put his breakfast in his dish before serving it to him.

The machine is done by the time Serge is fed, coffee carafe ready for you to pour. You collect your and Emily's mugs from the cabinet, setting them down and pouring them. You know how Emily likes her coffee so you're quick to prepare both cups and stirring them thoroughly.

Sergio chirps at you when he's done and you know it's time to set out his water for him. Once he's set up again on the counter you collect your cups, walk steady back to the bedroom.

Emily is still asleep when you enter the room, setting your cups down on the nightstand on your side of the bed. The bed is cold when you climb under the covers, wriggling you way over to Emily. She stirs when you slip cold fingers against her skin.

"Y're cold.." She mutters, face half squished against her pillow. You can't help but grin as you kiss her cheek, then her shoulder, then her nose, teasing her until she glares at you for avoiding her lips.

"Good morning.." You say softly before appeasing her, kissing her gently. She's pliable in the mornings, melting into your touch, a much different version of her than the one you see after work.

"Good morning," she sighs before pushing herself up. You're quick to follow, reaching for her mug and giving it to her with a kiss on the cheek.

"It snowed last night.." You tell her, nodding your head towards her windows. You can't see it from the bed, with how high up her apartment is, but the reflection is obvious.

"And I have the day off.." Emily reminds you quietly, watching as your face lights up. "So we can stay in bed all day.."

She's teasing you, leaning in close enough that it would be easy to close the gap.

"I like the sound of that..." You whisper and she smiles.

"Me too.."

[mistressofstars]

A Lecture on Desire - Part II

Pairing: Kathryn Hahn x Reader

Summary: A lecture on The Price of Salt is supposed to be all about Therese and Carol, but when Professor Hahn locks eyes with you, lines blur. Slow-Burn. Non-magical AU

Word count: 1.1k

Carol looked at her. "How do you become a poet?"

"By feeling things - too much, I suppose," Therese answered conscientiously.

- Patricia Highsmith, The Price of Salt

Part II

The hiss of steaming milk, the sharp whir of grinders blending into a steady hum of conversation. People weave through the space with trays and bags, the occasional burst of laughter cutting through the noise.

It’s your first day behind the counter, and every part of your new barista job feels like an uphill battle.

„Y/N, the line’s building! Keep it moving!” Your colleague snaps, but their words barely register. You slide a latte across the counter to a waiting customer, quickly wiping down a sticky spot before taking the next order. Your apron feels tight against your waist, and the sleeves of your shirt are damp from a botched attempt at steaming milk earlier. The heat from the machines only adds to your flustered state, making your hair stick to your temple as you try to keep up. “Next!” you call, forcing a smile.

After a chaotic morning, the café finally quiets with the lull after morning classes. You tuck a los

A scent reaches you. A faint trace of sweetness, like jasmine and earthy notes of musk and oakmoss …

You‘re about to turn right when you hear a smooth voice „Double espresso, to go dear.“

… something smoky, like tobacco or leather?

You blink, startled, as your brain catches up.

Professor Hahn stands at the counter. Her hair is open, a few strands falling loosely around her face. She wears a dark coat over a purple turtleneck, the same coat you noticed from the other day when you caught sight of her outside the library. She looks just as effortless, just as composed.

“Of course! Just a moment.” Your hands fumble slightly as you prepare the order, the movements automatic but your nerves far from steady. You can feel her watching you, every move sharp and calculating, as if she’s already figured out more about you than you’d like her to know.

„Here you go,“ your voice is steadier than you feel, but there’s a tremor beneath the words that you can’t quite mask. Kathryn takes the cup from you, her fingers brushing yours lightly, sending an unexpected jolt through you. She lets the moment linger before offering a small, knowing smile. “Rough day, honey?” There’s something playful hiding beneath her voice. She glances at the cappuccino stains on your apron before meeting your gaze again.

“I’m still getting the hang of it.” You swallow, trying to keep your composure.

“Mm. I can tell,” she says, her voice teasing.

You nod, your heart racing as she continues. “I liked your take on the reading in class,” she says, removing her glasses slowly before taking a deliberate sip of her espresso.

You open your mouth to respond, but she cuts you off „It’s a good start,” she adds, her gaze lingering on you, making your pulse quicken. You feel a heat rise in your cheeks.

Her lips curl into a knowing smile, and for a moment, the air between you seems to thicken. There’s something almost daring in her tone as she adds, “Well, anyway, you’ll get the hang of it… if you want to, that is.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with more than one meaning. You’re not sure if she’s talking about your class answers, your new job, or something else entirely.

“Well,” she says, as she prepares to leave.

„I‘ll see you in class, Miss Y/LN“, without another word, she turns and heads for the door, the bell above it jingling softly as she steps out into the cool air. The faintest trace of her scent lingers in the space, almost tangible.

Your first shift comes to an and end while wiping the counter you notice them, next to the cash register. Kathryn Hahn’s reading glasses.

…

You walk into class the next day, a bit of nervous energy humming through your veins. It’s been impossible not to think about the way Kathryn looked at you yesterday.

But now, as you settle into your seat the air feels uncomfortably charged as Kathryn walks into the lecture hall, heading straight to the front, taking her place at the podium without so much as a glance.

Your palms feel sweaty, but you try to shake it off. She starts the lecture, as usual, moving into a discussion of The Price of Salt. When you raise your hand and contribute your thoughts.

“I don’t think you’re interpreting it the way it was meant,” she responds curtly. The dismissal is subtle, but it stings just the same. She doesn’t look at you directly, her eyes scanning over the class instead and continues the discussion with someone else, leaving your point hanging in the air.

The rest of the class is uncomfortable, and when it ends, you’re still reeling. You leave the room quickly, trying to shake off the cold feeling in your chest, but as you gather your things, you realise - the glasses. They’re still in your bag, you had meant to return them to her personally today.

You know you should return them, but the thought of facing her now unsettles you, so you decide bring them to her office. The department building is almost empty and you slip into a side corridor near the staircase. Standing outside her office, the glasses feel heavy in your hand.

After a moment of hesitation, you make a quick decision. Instead of knocking, you approach the department assistant, handing her the glasses.

“Excuse me,” you say, “I believe Professor Hahn left these in the lecture hall“, your voice steady but your stomach fluttering. „Could you make sure she gets them back?”.

You get back to your apartment later that evening, feeling the weight of the day settle into your bones. You let the silence of the space swallow you whole, the hum of the city outside muted behind your windows.

Your mind keeps drifting so you you decide to do some reading for class.

The ping of an email snaps you out of your thoughts, and you glance at the open e-mail tab: Kathryn Hahn.

Your eyes widen and your heart picks up a little, and you’re almost afraid to open it. Your hands hover over the mouse. You klick.

Subject: Glasses

Dear Miss Y/Ln,

I assume I must have forgotten my glasses at the café. I’m not usually so forgetful, but it seems that day was an exception. Thank you for returning them to me.

As a gesture of appreciation, I’d like to invite you to lunch this Saturday at 2 p.m. Consider it a thank you for your promptness.

Do let me know if that suits you.

Sincerely,

K. Hahn

[twinsimming]

Energy Drinks by Twinsimming 🥤

This mod adds custom Energy Drinks to a new type of vending machine.

This is a script mod that can be placed in your Packages folder. It was built and tested on 1.69 but should work fine on 1.67.

Requirements

The Sims 3: Late Night

The Sims 3: Seasons

The Sims 3: Supernatural

The Sims 3: University Life

Overview

Soda-Lightful Vending Machine

Energy Drinks

Side Effects

Flavors

New Moodlets

Soda-Lightful Vending Machine

- Price: §1250 - Category: Large Appliances - Includes all 11 original swatches + 1 recolorable option (3 channels) - Poly Count: 2346 - Originally created for The Sims 4 by RAVASHEEN, converted to The Sims 3 by me

Like the vending machines that came with University Life, sims can Buy Energy Drink, Shake Machine, or Slam Machine.

Energy Drinks

Teen and older sims can purchase energy drinks from the Soda-Lightful Vending Machine for §5 each.

Energy drinks boost the Energy need, give sims the custom Energy Rush moodlet, and remove any moodlets related to low Energy (Tired, Sleepy, Exhausted, Buzz Crashed, etc.), similar to drinking coffee, but the effect lasts twice as long (6 hours instead of 3 hours).

Drinking multiple energy drinks in a row will boost how long the Energy Rush moodlet lasts, as well as increase the moodlet's value, up to 18 hours and +30 mood.

Once the Energy Rush moodlet expires, sims get the custom negative Energy Crash moodlet.

Side Effects

If your sim goes more than 24 hours without another energy drink, they'll start to suffer from caffeine withdrawal and gain the custom negative Craving Caffeine moodlet for the next 2 days. Drinking coffee, tea, barista bar beverages, or another energy drink will remove this moodlet.

Drinking more than 2 energy drinks at a time also carries the risk of a sim being electrocuted and dying.

Teens and Elders both have a 5% chance of being electrocuted, while YA have a 1% chance and Adults have a 3% chance.

Flavors

There are 8 different energy drinks to choose from. 6 provide flavor-related moodlets from the snow cone machine from Seasons and the bubble blower from Late Night. These moodlets last for 4 hours.

From left to right in the second preview photo:

Charged Cherry (Cheery Cherry)

Pineapple Power-Up (On a Beach)

Lightning Lemon (Laidback Lemon)

e-Lectric Lime (Lucky Lime)

Blue Raspberry Blitz (Raspberry Romance)

Gigawatt Grape (Gleeful Grape)

The Unidentified Fizzy Ooze energy drink replenishes Alien brain power, but makes non-Aliens nauseous.

The last energy drink is called Mystery Flavor and it works like the jelly bean bush from Supernatural; including carrying the risk of death, so proceed with caution.

New Moodlets

Energy Rush: Given when sims drink an energy drink, lasts 6 hours, +10, +20, or +30 mood

Energy Crash: Given when the Energy Rush moodlet expires, lasts 7 hours, -15 mood

Craving Caffeine: Given when sims go more than 24 hours without another caffeinated drink, lasts 2 days, -30 mood

Tuning

All of the tunable values can be found on the mod download page under the header “Tuning”.

Script Namespace

If you want to turn a different vending machine into an energy drink vending machine, open your desired object in s3pe and replace the current script name with the following:

Sims3.Gameplay.Objects.Twinsimming.EnergyDrinksMod.VendingMachine

Conflicts & Known Issues

This is a new scripted object, so there shouldn’t be any conflicts.

All of the drink cans are different colors when placed in the world and during the drinking animation, but they all have a red can icon when placed in a sim's inventory. I'm not sure how to fix this right now, but that should be the only issue of note.

Credits

EA/Maxis for The Sims 3 and The Sims 4, mesh by RAVASHEEN, Visual Studio 2019, ILSpy, s3pe, Notepad++, Sims4Studio, TSRW, Blender, Milkshape, Gimp, and Script Mod Template Creator.

Thank You

Thank you to RAVASHEEN and everyone in the Sims 3 Creators' Cave Discord!

If you like my work, please consider tipping me on Ko-fi 💙

Download @ ModTheSims

[moonkissedmagic]

lavender & honey (chapter 2)

pairings: agatha x reader, wanda x reader

synopsis: we slowly learn more about reader’s past with agatha.

a/n: i’m doing my best to not have one of them seem like the overwhelmingly better choice, but agatha’s redemption & development is gonna take a little while, so bear with me!

word count: 6.5k

— — — — — —

Before the flower shop, before Wanda, before everything��you were just a college student running on fumes and borrowed time, working the early shift at a half-dead café near campus.

5 years ago -

Early winter sunlight poured through the smudged windows of the shop, warming the scratched tile floors and bouncing off dulled espresso machines.

You had been on your feet since six, and your body already ached in that way only minimum wage could bring. The smell of burnt beans and steamed milk had embedded itself into your clothes, your hair, your pores. It wasn’t glamorous, but it paid the bills, and that was all you were really asking for those days.

You were halfway through your last semester of school, barely balancing evening classes, thesis deadlines, and your increasingly demanding manager. The tips were decent, the regulars were tolerable, and the playlist was almost always something you could work with—until that day.

That day, it was jazz. Not the smooth, sultry kind, but the screechy, chaotic sort—saxophones wailing like sirens, each note clawing over the last in an endless, jittery loop.

It made your temples throb and your patience fray at the edges. You were wiping down the counter when a new customer walked in.

Middle-aged, entitled, the kind of guy who probably listened to alpha male podcasts on his lunch break—but he was already grumbling before you could even finish a sentence.

“Large coffee. Black,” he said without looking up, thumb still swiping lazily on his phone.

You entered the order, forcing cheer into your voice. “Sure thing. That’ll be $3.85.”

He glanced up for the first time, his eyes skimming your name tag, then drifting lower with a look that made your skin crawl. The smirk that followed was sharp and practiced.

“Damn,” he muttered, loud enough for you to hear but quiet enough to pretend you didn’t. “Didn’t expect a body like that in a dump like this.”

Your stomach tightened. You kept your tone even. “$3.85.”

He scoffed, finally hearing what you’d said. “Four bucks for plain coffee? Jesus Christ, what is this place?”

You stayed quiet. You’d learned the hard way that arguing never ended well. But of course, he wasn’t done.

“You know,” he said, leaning in, his breath hot, “If you smiled more, showed off what you’ve clearly got, you could probably do a lot better than this.” He chuckled like he’d shared some piece of wisdom with you. “Hell, you could find a man, let him take care of you. That way, you wouldn’t be stuck in this shithole playing fake nice for tips.”

You smiled tightly, attempting to get the interaction over with. “The gas station down the street has cheaper prices, if that’s easier for you, sir.”

His mood shifted instantly. His jaw clenched. “Do I look like the kind of man who drinks gas station coffee?”

You said nothing. You couldn’t afford to say anything.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, swiping his card like it was a personal insult. “Back in my day, employees had a little respect. Some fucking gratitude.”

You blinked, stunned, then glanced down to make sure your name tag didn’t somehow say Punching Bag instead of Y/N.

“Excuse me?” you asked, tone clipped but steady.

He waved a dismissive hand, looking you up and down. “Just saying. Girls like you used to know their place.”

Your throat burned. Not from shame, but from exhaustion. From holding in every reply you wanted to give to men like him. Men who thought you were lucky to be spoken to at all.

It was too early for this. You hadn’t even had your own coffee yet. Still, you opened your mouth, something sharp and unprofessional already curling on your tongue—

—and then she appeared.

“Wow,” a voice drawled from behind him, all cool velvet and sharp edges. “That’s a bold take for someone who looks like he peaked in high school and never emotionally recovered.”

You both turned.

She was standing just a few feet away, arms folded, one eyebrow arched with the kind of practiced condescension that was somehow both elegant and deadly. Her lips were painted a shade too rich for morning, and yet somehow, it worked. Her black coat hung open to reveal a dark sweater and fitted pants that didn’t belong in a place that sold scones for three dollars a pop.

She stood there like the room belonged to her—like the world did, actually—and for a moment, even the machines seemed to fall silent.

“I’m sorry, were you under the impression this was a drive-thru for misogyny?” she continued, voice lilting and dangerous. “Because if so, might I suggest a hard left into traffic?”

He gawked. “And who the hell are you?”

She smirked—slow, razor-sharp. “Someone with eyes. And a brain. And the ability to order coffee without being a jackass.”

Agatha Harkness.

You didn’t know her name yet. But you would.

The man made a sound like he was gearing up for another round, but the weight of her stare was enough to pin him in place. She tilted her head just slightly, like she was calculating exactly how many layers of his self-esteem she could peel away with a single sentence.

“Oh,” she continued, eyes gleaming with mock sympathy. “You thought your opinion mattered? That’s adorable.”

He faltered. Said something about “entitled women” and “bad reviews” before storming off in a cloud of cheap cologne and wounded pride. The bell over the door jingled behind him, followed by blissful silence.

And then—

“Hello.”

You blinked at her. She was smiling now. Soft. Amused. Like the whole performance had been no big deal.

“You okay?” she asked, voice lowering. You nodded, a bit too quickly.

“Yeah, wow. I mean, yeah! I’m... fine,” you finished lamely.

She grinned, like she knew exactly what effect she was having on you. “Good. I’d hate to be upstaged by some asshole.”

You let out a breath—half-laugh, half-exhale of disbelief.

Then she looked at you. Really looked at you.

And you weren’t sure if it was the adrenaline or the way her eyes lit up when she smiled, but your brain completely short-circuited.

“Thank you, seriously,” you said, twisting your hands and trying not to feel completely undone under the weight of her gaze. “Most people just pretend not to hear.”

“Well, lucky for you, I never pretend,” she said, with a wink that made your face heat instantly.

You were suddenly very aware of how you looked—your messy hair, your faded t-shirt under the apron, the faint coffee stain on your uniform. You looked like underpaid chaos. She, on the other hand, looked like temptation in heels.

“Can I get you anything?” you asked, fumbling slightly for professionalism. “On the house, for the whole knight-in-shining-sarcasm thing.”

She leaned on the counter, resting her chin on her hand. “Tempting. But how about this—you give me your number instead, and I’ll consider it payment enough.”

Your heart skipped. “W-What?”

She grinned, eyes dancing. “I mean, I came in for coffee, but now I’ve found something far more interesting.”

You blinked. “That’s… bold.”

“So I’ve been told,” she said with a lazy shrug. “But I’ve never been one for subtlety.” She traced a finger along the rim of her cup, thoughtful. “In my defense, I don’t make a habit of flirting with strangers in mediocre cafés. You’re... compelling.”

“I—wow. That’s not a word people usually use to describe me before noon.”

She tilted her head, watching you. “Well, maybe you need to spend more mornings with people who have better taste.”

You felt yourself blush—really blush. Heat climbed up your neck and you racked your brain for how to respond.

Her eyes flicked to your lips, then back up, and it was like gravity had changed direction. “Agatha,” she introduced, offering her hand across the counter.

You took it, her palm warm against yours. “Y/N.”

“Y/N.” She repeated it, slowly, like she was trying it out on her tongue. “It suits you.”

You managed a smile. “So... are you always this forward?”

“Only when I know I’m right.” She released her grip, but not before her thumb brushed gently against your knuckles. “And I am right. About you.”

You tried to laugh, but it came out shy. She watched you like she could see straight through your skin, and maybe she could.

Finally, she said, “Dinner. Tonight?”

Your eyes widened. “Tonight? Just like that?”

“Just like that,” she said, already pulling out her phone. “Or are you going to make me fake a sudden interest in soy lattes just to see you again?”

You swallowed, then beamed, helpless against the pull of her. “Okay,” you murmured. “Dinner.”

And just like that—you were hers.

— — — — —

You blink hard, heart thudding against your ribcage like it’s trying to find a way out. Nat hasn’t moved, her hand still hovering near the doorknob like she’s just waiting to follow your signal.

The silence stretches.

Then Agatha’s voice slips through—soft, careful, as if afraid to touch something fragile. “How you doing in there, hon?”

It’s pathetic how much calmer it makes you feel. You hate that it works. Still knows how to cut through the noise, the ache, the panic, and find you where you’re hiding. You don’t say anything. Not out loud. Not with Nat right here, watching you too closely, knowing too much already.

But Wanda hears it too, and she reacts fast.

“Isn’t this your fault?” Her voice is sharp, words cutting through with cold precision. “You’re only going to make things worse.”

Nat sighs—long and steady, like she’s been holding her breath since before the night began. Her posture eases just slightly, tension draining from her frame as she crouches beside you again. Her touch is warm as she brushes a damp strand of hair away from your clammy face.

“You okay?” she asks, voice low.

You nod slowly, as if contemplating the question as you answer.

The corner of her mouth lifts. It’s not a smile, not really, but it’s familiar. Grounding. “What do you want to do, utka?”

You roll your eyes at the nickname. It happened once—you got chased by a duck one time and your best friend will never let you live it down.

She continues. “I can send her away. Or kick her ass. You know I’ve been waiting to do that.”

You huff out a laugh, the image of Nat decking Agatha absurd enough to momentarily distract from the emotional vertigo still spiraling through you.

Nat’s face softens. “I could tell Wanda to come in. Or tell them both to leave you alone. Whatever you need, just say the word.”

You take a deep breath, letting out a long exhale as you consider your options.

You could ask her to take you home. She would—no questions, no hesitation. You could burrow under your covers and pretend none of this ever happened.

But you can’t.

You think of Wanda—soft, kind Wanda—waiting just outside. She deserves a conversation, an explanation. She deserves more than your silence. Tonight spiraled faster than you were ready for, alcohol softening your edges until you unraveled in her hands. It was too much, too fast. And just before that truth began to settle, the unthinkable had walked through the door.

Agatha. Of all people. At the same club, on the same night, like the universe had been lying in wait.

You know how complicated things are with her—how much she hurt you, how much of yourself you had to rebuild after it all fell apart. But the longer you sit on the cold bathroom floor, the more you think about how she probably deserves something too.

You look up at Nat, and she sees it before you even say a word. She sighs, a quiet huff of disbelief, and rolls her eyes. As you get up to rinse out your mouth, she stomps to the door and dramatically flings it open.

“If I so much as see a tear streak down her face I’m ending you, Harkness.”

She doesn’t wait for a reply. Just looks back at you once more, her expression something like reluctant acceptance. “Call if you need me.”

“Thanks, Nat,” you whisper gratefully.

Then she’s gone, and you’re left with the two women standing in the too-narrow hallway, far too close together.

Concern is written all over Wanda’s face, and you’re starting to worry her eyebrows might never relax. Her posture is still, like she’s holding something back.

Agatha is uncharacteristically quiet. Her expression flickers like an old film reel—worry, regret, something tender—and none of it settles long enough to hold.

Wanda moves first, stepping forward, her eyes never leaving yours. “Are you okay?”

You offer a small smile and imperceptible nod, “Yeah, just had too much to drink. It’s been awhile since I’ve been out and I guess it hit me harder than I expected.”

They both seem to relax a bit at that, concern softening into relief. Wanda gives your arm a gentle squeeze. “You scared us, milaya. For a second I was worried Jen might actually faint.”

A snort comes from behind her, and you both glance over to see Agatha standing there, lips curled in faux amusement. She radiates thinly veiled disdain as her eyes settle on Wanda, like she’s assessing someone who’s taken up space that never belonged to them.

The Sokovian ignores her and turns back to you. “Are you headed out?”

You shake your head and take a breath. “Not yet. I should probably stay and talk to her. I’ll find you after, okay?” Your fingers brush her wrist, wordlessly letting her know you’ll be fine.

She nods, eyes flicking to Agatha like a silent warning before stepping away. You steel yourself, then tilt your chin toward the hallway.

Agatha doesn’t need more than that. She walks beside you like no time has passed. But time has passed, and it’s a fact you keep having to remind yourself of.

You reach the side exit and she pushes the door open for you, letting the warm night air rush in. The alley behind the club is dim and quiet, the buzz of music muffled by thick brick walls. You step outside and instantly, the space feels too big and too small at the same time.

You stop walking, your body still faintly trembling as the last waves of nausea ebb away. Agatha turns toward you, slow and careful.

“Baby,” she sighs.

“Agatha,” you reply, her name carrying a weight that settles between you.

Her face flickers, just slightly. “How are you? You look good. Healthy.”

“I’m okay,” you say. “Better.”

It feels like half of the truth.

Agatha steps forward, careful, like you might vanish if she moves too fast. “I know I’ve said it, but—I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’ll say it a thousand more times if that’s what it takes.”

“Please don’t—”

“Come home.”

Your breath catches, heart snagged in your throat.

“I’ll be better. I am better,” she continues, desperate to show you. “Things will be different.”

When you don’t immediately respond, she pushes on.

“It never should’ve gotten to the point it did,” she insists, the words tumbling out faster now. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice, I’m so sorry I didn’t stop it.”

There’s a beat of silence, thick with old ghosts.

“I swear it’s not what it looks like with her—Rio.” Her eyes plead. “I would never do that to you.”

“Agatha,” you sigh. You know why seeing Rio upset you, and you know your reaction wasn’t without reason. You never doubted Agatha’s loyalty—but Rio was a different story. The unease she stirred always lingered, like sour smoke that clung to your clothes. She never really let Agatha go, and deep down, you could never entirely blame her for that.

“I shouldn’t have gotten so worked up,” you say, voice even, careful. “You’re allowed to be with whoever you want. It’s not my place anymore.”

The words leave your mouth quietly—but they burn coming out, tasting like ash. You do your best not to let it show.

“Don’t say that.” She steps closer again. “I don’t want anyone else. Just you. Always you.”

The words light you up inside, just as they always have. It’s a kind of magic—how Agatha can make you feel like the center of the universe one minute, and a whisper the next.

She keeps talking, not willing to waste a second of the time she’s finally gotten with you. Curiosity, tinged with something sharper—something envious—slips through.

“Your… friend. She seems… nice.”

You can’t help but huff out a disbelieving laugh, shaking your head. You’ve always found it amusing—how Agatha adored softness on you, but seemed to scoff at it in anyone else. With others, she found it artificial. A performance. But on you? It was proof. Evidence of her theory that you were something rare. Otherworldly.

“Behave,” you warn, though your tone is fond.

She arches a brow, lips twitching into something mischievous. “Or what, hm?”

You meet her look with one of your own, a smile tugging at your lips before you even realize it’s there. As soon as you do, the corners are slipping and you’re looking away.

Agatha sees it—of course she does.

She closes the last few steps between you, and her hand comes up to your cheek, gentle but sure. She tilts your chin, coaxing your eyes back to hers.

“Hey,” she murmurs, her thumb brushing softly against your skin. “Stay with me, angel.”

Your forehead finds hers like it’s the most natural thing in the world—easier than breathing. And for a moment, you just exist there. Together.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you whisper.

“You don’t have to know, sweetheart,” she says gently, her voice tight with emotion. “It was never anything we couldn’t fix. Just let me fix it.” She begs.

“It’s been two years, Agatha.”

“And it shouldn’t have been.” Her hands find the back of your neck, like she needs to touch you to make sure you’re really there. “I know you were hurt—I get that. But, baby… you just left.”

Her devastation is unmistakable. It breaks your heart and knots something deep in your chest, forcing you to confront the truth you’ve tried so hard to bury.

“I thought I had to.” The words split at the seams, fractured and hollow. Even to your own ears, they don’t sound like enough.

“You could’ve talked to me,” she insists, quiet but desperate. “Everything happened so fast and then before I knew it you were just gone.”

Agatha’s eyes are glassy, matching your own. She’s still just a breath away, and the air of her words graze your skin.

You can feel yourself crumbling from the inside out.

For years now, you’ve tried to convince yourself you made the right decision. Repeating it in your head like a prayer, a survival tactic—if you said it enough, maybe it would start to feel true. But the wound never fully closed. Not because time didn’t try, but because you kept yourself away from the one thing that might’ve actually healed it.

“I forgot how to see past you,” you admit, voice soft, raw. “You were my everything, and suddenly, you weren’t around and I didn’t know who I was. Or what I was for.” You look down.

Agatha’s eyes are pained, but she stays silent. Listening.

You swallow hard, the next words tangled on your tongue. “Nat said that I—”

But you don’t get the rest out.

Agatha’s expression shifts in an instant, a flash of irritation slicing through the vulnerability. “Of course she did.”

You sigh. “Agatha—”

“I know she’s protective of you,” she interrupts, tightly. “And I tolerate her, barely, because of it. But if she’s been the one planting seeds in your head—”

“She wasn’t wrong.”

That stops her.

“I lost myself,” you say, more gently now. “And Nat wasn’t wrong about that.”

Agatha’s shoulders drop a little, the fire in her eyes dimming to something more wounded.

You pause, grounding yourself in everything you’ve had time to reflect on. “But I think maybe… you’d lost a part of yourself too.”

She blinks, caught off guard by the sincerity in your voice. You don’t say it with blame, only truth.

You exhale slowly, the weight of everything between you pressing heavy on your ribs.

“I shouldn’t have just walked away like that. I know that now.” You swallow hard. “But you hurt me. You didn’t show up when it mattered the most.”

She flinches, like the truth is a slap. But she takes it.

"I didn’t know how to stay without losing more of myself." Your breath trembles as you admit the truth. "I was ready to, if that’s what it took. That’s how much I loved you."

Agatha falters, but she doesn’t interrupt.

“And that’s not your fault—my bad habits, or the things I was willing to give up just to keep the peace. I know I should’ve talked to you, really talked to you. But back then... I thought I was. When I brought up you working less, when I asked you to come home earlier—I thought that was me trying to say something without having to say it.”

You pause, the memories settling in your chest.

“I didn’t make it easy to see, I know that. I kept pretending it wasn’t as big of a deal as it was—maybe because I needed to believe that too.” Your eyes flicker to hers, searching, gauging. “But I guess, somewhere in me, I thought if you really saw me—if you were really paying attention—you would’ve noticed.”

Another breath, softer now. Less accusation, more ache.

“But I don’t know, maybe that’s not fair. We were both drowning in our own ways. I just... I wish we hadn’t let it get that far.”

Agatha’s gaze softens, glassy again, and she looks like she might speak. You hold up a hand—gentle, not rejecting.

“I’m not saying this because I can rewrite the past,” you say. “Or because I think we should just try and fall back into what we were.”

You hesitate, fingers curling slightly at your sides.

“I’m saying it because it’s still here. All of it. Whether we like it or not.”

There’s no venom, no resentment—just the echo of something that never got its ending.

And then, quieter—slipping in like a confession. “I feel something for Wanda. I won’t lie to you about that.”

She closes her eyes like it physically hurts her. When she opens them again, there’s a war in her expression, but she doesn’t move.

“You need to know that, and really hear it, before I can think about bringing you back into my life in any way.”

The silence hangs heavy, thick with a thousand unspoken thoughts. After what feels like an eternity, she finally breaks it with a single question.

“She’s good to you?” she asks.

The question sinks into your ribs and stays there. Not because you don’t know the answer, but because it’s layered in everything she isn’t asking.

Is she good for you? Better than I am? Does she love you the way I do?

You don’t answer that part.

Instead, you nod. “She is.”

Agatha swallows hard. Her voice is fragile when she says, “I want you to be happy. Even if it kills me to think it could be with someone who isn’t me.”

For a moment, you almost believe that’s it—that she’s just letting you go.

It doesn’t bring you the relief it probably should.

Except then, she straightens, and a resolve settles in her spine. She meets your gaze, unwaveringly steady as she declares, “But I’m not done fighting for you. I won’t stop until you tell me to. You need to know that.”

You stare at her for a long moment. Long enough that you feel the weight of what she’s said. Long enough to see that she means it.

You know you could tell her to stop right now—ask her to leave the past in the past. Maybe that’s what you should do. Call this the closure you both never got and finally close the door for good. You weren’t lying when you said you couldn’t just jump back into things—especially not while you’re still trying to make sense of what’s happening with Wanda.

But it’s Agatha.

There’s a lot you’ve missed about being with her, but even more than that, you’ve just missed her. When you finally opened the shop, she was the person you wanted to celebrate with. Not because she had been your girlfriend, but because she had been your number one supporter from the very beginning. Even when it was all just a dream whispered in the dark, she never doubted you.

You miss her at group hangouts like this—the way she used to trade jabs with Jen, the quiet comfort she found sitting beside Lilia. They were her friends before they were yours. You’ve always known she was woven into the life you built here, but sometimes you forget that it was once her life too.

And maybe, just maybe, it’s time to let her step back into it.

You open up the back of your phone case, pulling out one of your business cards. Wordlessly, you hold it out.

She takes it slowly, reading the delicate script etched in soft purple ink. Her mouth twitches with something unreadable—half smile, half sorrow.

“Lavender & Honey?” The words feel familiar on her lips.

“It’s mine.”

The confirmation has her fingers tightening on the card like she’s afraid it’ll vanish, eyes darting up to yours in a flash.

“You did it,” she breathes, the weight of everything she missed heavy in her tone. “When?”

“A year ago.”

She looks from the card, to you, back to the card—like it’s too much information for her brain to process. “I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. So happy for you.”

Though they shouldn’t, her words still catch you off guard, sending warmth to your cheeks. You bite your lip, offering a grateful smile as you throw out your next words.

“We’re closed on Mondays, but open at seven every other day of the week.”

And then… you start to walk away.

“Y/N,” she calls after you, not ready for you to go.

You don’t stop.

You don’t look back.

But your voice is clear when you say, “Don’t be late this time, Agatha.”

— — — — — — — —

When you get back in the club, you beeline to the table, not giving yourself time to process all of what just happened. Maria notices you first and nudges Nat to get her attention. Before she can get up, Wanda intercepts and reaches you first.

“Hey, sólnyshka. Everything okay?” Her voice is gentle, but her eyes search yours like they’re chasing answers you haven’t given yet.

Rather than immediately respond to the question, you latch onto the first part of what she said.

“That’s a new one.” You offer her a jesting smirk, trying to steady yourself through the haze. “What’s it mean?”

She smiles, warm and adoring. “Sunshine,” she says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear with a tenderness that makes your breath catch.

Half of you wants to melt into her touch, to let her be your calm in the storm. But the other half is still stuck outside, with Agatha's voice echoing in your head. Wanda must notice the conflict dancing across your face, because she tilts her head slightly, silently offering you a space to talk.

You turn and give Nat a look that reassures her you’ll be back in a little, and once she gives you a nod in return, you’re tugging Wanda along to the quietest corner you can find.

As you settle, you stare at her for a beat too long, hoping the silence will string your thoughts together.

“Hi,” you blurt out, immediately regretting how lame it sounds.

“Hi,” she echoes, amused, her eyes sparkling.

You don���t even realize your nails are digging into your palms until she reaches forward, wordlessly soothing the tension there and stopping you from further hurting yourself.

“Milaya,” she says softly, “if you’re not ready to talk, that’s okay. I know you’re overwhelmed, but you don’t need to find the perfect thing to say.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, take a deep breath, and manage, “I’m sorry.”

Wanda frowns in confusion. “Sorry for what? You haven’t done anything wrong.”

You sigh, forcing yourself to meet her eyes. The green there is calm and grounding.

“I’m a mess, Wanda. I’ve been a mess for a while. I have so much I’m still figuring out, and the last thing I want is to drag you into it. You don’t deserve that.”

Pausing, you gather your thoughts, then add, “I want to be honest because the last thing I want is for you to feel like I’m keeping secrets or sneaking around. I care about you. You were my friend before anything else, and that means everything to me.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I don’t know if I’m ready for something serious. And I don’t know how often Agatha’s going to be randomly showing up now. It’s just… it’s a lot and I would never want to drop all of that on you.”

The brunette watches you quietly for a long moment, and you feel like you’re holding your breath with every second she doesn’t speak.

Finally, she says, “I can handle it.”

Your head snaps up so fast she almost flinches. “W-what? What do you mean you can ‘handle it’?”

There’s a gentle curve to her lips, something between amusement and affection. “I’m a big girl, Y/N. I can decide what is and isn’t too much for me.”

Her tone is kind, but sure. Once again, you find yourself in awe of her—of her quiet steadiness in the face of your chaos. Though some small, stubborn part of you almost wants to laugh at how certain she sounds. As if she knows what she’s signing up for.

“Wanda…”

“Do you have feelings for me?” she asks, not pushing, just asking. “Even if they’re small. Even if you’re unsure. Is there some part of you that wants to explore this?”

“I mean, yeah. Of course I-” You stutter.

“Then that’s all that matters,” she says easily.

“I’m not expecting us to start dating tomorrow.” Her voice takes on a teasing lilt. “I’m fine with how things have been and I like the pace we’re going. I’m more than happy to let things happen naturally, just like we’ve already been doing.”

She pauses, brushing her thumb over the back of your hand.

“I know your ex is going to be lingering around, trying to make sense of what she broke. And no, I don’t love the idea. But I do hope the two of you get the peace you’re looking for.”

Her eyes meet yours again—open, patient, unafraid.

You blink at her like she’s just spoken in riddles, trying to fully absorb the meaning of her words. “You’re like… kinda perfect.”

A subtle flush rises to her cheeks, but she laughs it off with a warm, knowing look. “I’m far from perfect, dorogoy, but thank you.”

After a moment, she glances out toward the crowd, thoughtful. “So that was her, huh? Agatha.” There’s no judgment in her voice, just curiosity. “She’s… intense. Not quite the kind of person I pictured you with.”

With a small chuckle, you shrug, knowing from experience that you and Agatha didn’t always make sense to other people.

A yawn slips out of you, and you both decide it’s time to head back and start wrapping up the night. When you make your way back to the group, it seems everyone else is in a similar position—paying tabs, grabbing bags, and stifling yawns of their own. You all walk out together and say your goodnights, with you apologizing for how everything turned out and promising to reschedule sometime soon.

Wanda squeezes your hand in farewell as she heads to her car, and you’re about to do the same when Nat grabs you and turns you in the opposite direction.

“And where do you think you’re going, huh? You were throwing up barely an hour ago. I’m driving you home. No arguments.”

You don’t have the energy to argue even if you wanted to. You just lean into her side and let her lead you to the passenger’s door. Once you’re buckled in and she’s pulling out of the parking lot, a comfortable but charged silence takes over the space.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Y/N.” It’s not harsh, just careful.

“I’m doing the best that I can, Nat.” It might not be much, but it’s all you have right now.

“I know,” she says, quietly. “But you need to be careful. Wanda’s sweet. I like her. But she’s not the one I’m worried about.”

You sigh, already tired of this conversation before it fully begins. It’s one that feels all too familiar coming from her.

“No, Y/N.” Her voice tightens, her grip on the wheel just slightly firmer. “I was the one who was there when it all fell apart, remember? I was the one who picked you up when she couldn’t even be bothered to answer her damn phone. I saw what it did to you.”

You get where she’s coming from, you do. And yet it’s so much more complicated than that, and she knows it.

You nod slowly, eyes heavy. “I know you’re coming from a good place. I love you for it, I really do. But it’s not as simple as you make it out to be.”

“Y/N—”

“No.” You turn toward her, cutting her off, your voice trembling but resolute. “Let me finish.”

She quiets.

“I know all you see when you look at Agatha is someone who let me down. And yeah, she did. But you’ve always been a little biased, Nat.”

She opens her mouth to protest, but you keep going.

“You never liked her. You didn’t even give her a chance, you just decided from day one that I could do better.” There’s a pause, something in the air shifting, before you continue. “And maybe you were right, I don’t even know at this point. But you can’t pretend that we weren’t good together before everything. That I wasn’t… happy.”

She frowns, eyes flicking to the road ahead, jaw tight.

“You thought she was arrogant and difficult, and yeah—she was. But she also knew how to make me smile when no one else could. She believed in me when I didn’t. Whether you admit it or not, I think some part of you respected that.”

There’s a pause, the weight of old wounds settling thick between you.

“She was careless,” you continue, softer now. “But Agatha never would have hurt me on purpose. Not ever. We both know that. She loved me more than I ever thought was possible. And we both know that’s what’s made all of this so much harder.”

Natasha’s shoulders stiffen almost imperceptibly, her fingers tightening around the steering wheel.

“She wasn’t there,” she whispers.

“She didn’t know,” you argue, your voice cracking.

And you believe it. You really do.

The memories wrap around you. “Everything just spiraled. What happened that day—it never should’ve gone down like that. I’ve thought about it more times than I can count. She messed up, yeah, I’m not denying that. She hurt me, and I’m not pretending she didn’t. But I think maybe… maybe I forgave her a long time ago. Or maybe I realized I hurt her just as much when I walked away.”

Nat’s face softens, but her eyes are distant, caught in the past.

“I remember that day. Going to get your stuff,” she says, and there’s something rough in her voice. “There was a second when she opened the door and thought it was you. The look on her face when she realized it wasn’t...” She trails off, searching for the right words, but comes up empty. “I was so pissed at her. But that was the only time I actually felt kind of bad for her.”

You try not to picture it, but it’s too late.

“I shouldn’t have done that to her.” You’re speaking to yourself as much as you’re speaking to Nat. “No matter how alone I felt, I shouldn’t have just left with no conversation.“

The air in the car feels thick, like everything unsaid is pressing against the windows. Nat’s silent for a moment before finally—

“I think I let my anger steer the ship,” she admits. “I was so mad. At her, at you, at the whole situation. I think I just wanted it to be over. Clean break. I didn’t care if you two ever figured things out. I just wanted you safe and maybe I made things worse.” She swallows, hard. “I’m sorry.”

The car rolls to a stop outside your apartment. You look over and offer her a small, tired smile.

“It’s not your fault. I should have been able to think for myself—I just didn’t know how back then. And before I knew it, I had completely upended my life.” You shrug, as if it doesn’t still weigh on your chest.

She mirrors your expression, tenderly assessing you as she considers her final words.

“Just be careful, okay?” She makes sure you meet her eyes. “This time around if there’s a problem, say something. With either of them.” She gives you a knowing look and a hint of amusement dances behind her eyes.

You playfully roll yours in response, “Yeah, yeah. I got it, Mom.”

The redhead scoffs, a smirk tugging at her lips. “God forbid a girl look out for someone.”

You grab your bag and lean over to squeeze her arm—your silent thank you—before stepping out of the car. “Goodnight, Nat,” you murmur, voice softer now.

She nods, but doesn’t leave right away. Her eyes follow you all the way to the door of your building, only pulling off once she sees you safely inside.

Upstairs, you move on autopilot—shoes kicked off at the door, jacket shrugged onto the back of a chair, bathroom light flicked on with a sigh. You wash your face, brush your teeth, and change into whatever's closest and comfortable.

Eventually, you crawl under the covers, the quiet of your room deafening after the emotional noise of the night. You stare up at the ceiling, trying to piece it all together.

You don’t know what just happened.

And you have no fucking idea what happens next.

[blufblucake]

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. Accidentally In Love | Chapter One

Paring: Prowl x GN!Human!Reader.

Trope: Grumpy x Sunshine.

Warnings: This story will eventually contain sexual scenes, so MDNI. Potential sensitive topics addressed in the story will include a trigger warning before the chapter.

Summary: Transferred to a small town after a mistake that nearly ruined your newly started career, you find your last chance at redemption slipping away when a simple patrol turns into a nightmare. Amid mysterious disappearances and strange incidents, you discover that reality goes far beyond what the eyes can see – especially when you find out that your silent, grumpy work partner is, in fact, a giant alien robot.

Word count: 3k

Next chapter

❝Come on, come on, move a little closer Come on, come on, I want to hear you whisper Come on, come on, settle down inside my love Come on, come on, jump a little higher Come on, come on, if you feel a little lighter Come on, come on, we were once upon a time in love We're accidentally in love❞

Author's notes: Hi! I'm back to writing after many years away, and I still feel a bit rusty. I hope the reading wasn't too dull. Enjoy the chapter! :)

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. Chapter One

Prowl walked with firm steps toward the meeting room where Optimus Prime was waiting for him. His expression remained serious and rigid as usual, but the others were already used to the mech's mood. Over the past few weeks, Prowl had been a bundle of nerves due to the Decepticons’ activities in that human city. He didn’t quite understand the faction's sudden interest in such a quiet and remote place, but he’d known their nature long enough to be certain that nothing coming from them was ever a good thing.

As he entered the meeting room, Prowl’s gaze briefly met Wheeljack’s, who greeted him with a subtle nod, which he returned. Optimus Prime sat at the head of the large table, his battle mask hiding his expression, but Prowl knew how concerned the Autobot leader was. He cared about all sentient beings in the universe and felt guilty for bringing their war to such a fragile planet. Prowl pulled out a chair and sat down, resting his servos on the table and intertwining his digits. His gaze remained fixed on a point on the table as he waited for a few more mechs to arrive for the meeting the leader had called.

Once everyone was present, Optimus cleared his throat before beginning to speak. “As you already know, we’ve been monitoring the Decepticons for a few weeks,” the leader said seriously, a noticeable trace of unease in his voice. “At first, we couldn’t understand their sudden interest in this city. However, we believe we’ve discovered the reason. Wheeljack, please, tell them what you found.” Prime passed the word to the engineer, who grabbed a datapad before standing from his seat. He walked to the other end of the table and used the datapad to project some images, allowing the other Autobots to see.

In the images unfolding before him, Prowl observed several inexplicable attacks and unusual interferences – unusual for humans, that is, but all too familiar to them as Decepticon activity. “I’ve been working for some time on a new machine, one that’s truly effective...” Wheeljack added before he started receiving judgmental looks from his colleagues. “My new invention was able to detect strange energy readings coming from the city. As we know, there are traces of crystallized energon here, but I have reason to believe these are more than just remnants.”

As he carefully watched the images and absorbed Wheeljack’s words, Prowl’s processor was flooded with thoughts of doubt. How many planets had they brought their war to? How many civilizations had been destroyed because of their actions? He understood that war came with losses, and innocent lives were unfortunately part of the price to be paid. But how high was that price? Prowl tried to hold on to reason, to the belief that no matter the means, the goal was what truly mattered. Yet, deep down, guilt consumed him, and he felt a painful tightening in his spark every time he thought of the families of the innocent lost.

“According to the new readings from the machine, this entire city is a massive reservoir of crystallized energon. Deep underground, there’s so much energon that, if the readings are correct, it could generate enough energy for a very, very long time!” When the engineer finished speaking, a brief silence filled the room, just a few seconds, before an explosion of voices erupted, all speaking at once. Most were asking the same question: Could Wheeljack’s machine be trusted, given the engineer’s reputation? Optimus Prime raised his arms and motioned for everyone to calm down, always maintaining his composure and ensuring everyone had a chance to be heard. His voice was tired as he said, “Please, my friends, settle down.”

He gestured for Wheeljack to sit, then stood and began pacing around the table, his arms behind his back structure, servos clasped at the end of his frame. “We began noticing Decepticon activity shortly after a human excavation project started in the city center. Some workers reported seeing a bright blue glow while operating machinery, and others mysteriously disappeared. We have every reason to believe Wheeljack’s readings are accurate, and that the Decepticons discovered this long before we did.”

Optimus stopped at the other end of the table, where Wheeljack had been standing just minutes earlier, and placed his servos on the surface in front of him, leaning forward. Even with his battle mask covering his faceplate, it was clear through his optics just how serious he was in that moment. “They’re a few steps ahead of us, harming weak and innocent humans. We cannot allow this to continue, we must intervene as quickly as possible. After an analysis with Jazz, we discovered they’ve infiltrated human society, spying and spreading chaos. We need to investigate up close, gather more intel, disguise ourselves and... Infiltrate.”

The Autobot leader straightened his posture and began pointing at each of them, assigning roles. When he reached Prowl, the mech adjusted his stance and waited for instructions. “Prowl, I need you to infiltrate the local police department. You’ll investigate the unusual occurrences and be our source of information on the inside. Autobots, I’m counting on all of you. Let’s roll out.”

With that dismissal, everyone rose from their seats and began leaving the meeting room. Prowl did the same, walking briskly through the base's corridors. His thoughts were fixed on how he would manage to infiltrate human law enforcement. He hated to admit it, but he hadn’t done much research on this planet or its customs since their arrival, only the basics. He would need to expand his knowledge and upgrade his holomatter avatar if he wanted to do a good job and avoid revealing the presence of Cybertronians on Earth.

He knew he could count on Jazz, head of special operations. The mech had developed a peculiar admiration for Earth’s culture and its people, he could help Prowl improve his disguise and understanding of humans. In the end, spending more quality time with his colleague wouldn’t be so bad either. With his mind made up, Prowl changed direction and headed toward Jazz’s habsuite.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Even though it was still early – not even 6:00a.m. – the sun was already shining brightly outside, spilling into the bedroom through the gaps in the curtains. You hurried across the plush carpet covering the floor, grabbing your brand-new uniform and getting dressed. You were so anxious about your first day on the job that you hadn’t slept properly, imagining countless possible scenarios and conversations in your head, rehearsing your introduction over and over to make a good first impression.

This wasn’t just a new job, it was a chance for a fresh start. You knew you’d messed everything up at your last post, and you also knew they had sent you to this middle-of-nowhere town as punishment for your mistakes. Well, not all of it had been your fault, but of course, they would never punish a seasoned, well-respected officer. Naturally, everything had fallen on the rookie. You still couldn’t believe you had been foolish enough to fall for the sweet talk of a notorious flirt, a real Don Juan in uniform.

After finishing getting dressed, you stood in front of the mirror and looked at your reflection. The uniform was completely standard and simple, bearing the city’s police emblem on the chest. There wasn’t much room for personal flair, even if you added some accessories, you’d still look as basic as any other officer. And that was fine. You preferred not to stand out, to remain discreet. Making a good impression was crucial, so no one could use your past mistakes against you. You gave yourself a wide, encouraging smile, even though anxiety bubbled inside you.

The alarm on your phone snapped you out of your thoughts, and you quickly grabbed the device to turn it off. It was time to leave, you couldn’t afford to be late. You packed a few essentials into your backpack and slung it over one shoulder, then walked over to the aquarium where your Guppy fish swam calmly. You grabbed the container of fish food and leaned over the tank, sprinkling a few flakes into the water. “Olivia Benson, wish me luck...” you whispered, a fragile smile forming on your lips before you put the container away and left the room.

You picked up your car keys from the small table near the door and checked your appearance one last time in the small mirror before heading out. Climbing into your old Beetle and starting the engine, you flipped through radio stations in search of something to soothe your nerves. Traffic was light at that hour, and a few people were already walking the streets, off to start their daily routines.

A serious reporter’s voice made you stop changing the station and listen closely. “Two more workers involved in the construction of the new subway station have been reported missing. According to their families and friends, both were peaceful individuals with no enemies, no criminal records, and no known connections to illicit activity. The local police are investigating the string of disappearances, but no updates have been provided to the press so far...”

You furrowed your brow, thoughtful at the reporter’s words. You hadn’t been in town long, but your elderly neighbors had told you it had always been a quiet place. Sure, there were occasional incidents and petty crimes, but nothing serious or recurring. And that’s what you wanted to work on – uncovering what was really going on, finding those people, and delivering justice. You knew you were new to the force, it had barely been a year since you graduated from the academy, but it had always been your dream to make a difference.

The drive to the police station was quick and uneventful. Upon arrival, you parked your old Beetle in one of the available spots in front of the building. Slinging your backpack over one shoulder, you got out and walked toward the entrance. Inside, everything was quiet as expected, considering the hour. Timidly, you approached the reception desk, where a woman in her forties was working with her head down, fingers furiously tapping away at a keyboard. She didn’t seem to notice you at first, so you cleared your throat until she looked up. You tried offering your best smile, but her stern expression didn’t change as she pushed her glasses up with one finger and gave you a once-over. “Yes?” she asked.

"Good morning, I'm the new officer-" before you could finish speaking, she cut you off with a long sigh of someone clearly tired of her job and pointed in the direction of a police officer who was standing by the water cooler. "You're the rookie, right? Sergeant Smith will show you around," she said, immediately turning her attention back to the computer, leaving you on your own. Looking in the direction she pointed, you hurried when you noticed the sergeant was already walking away. You gently touched his arm to get his attention. He stopped and slowly turned toward you. His gaze moved from your hand resting on his arm to your face, where you wore a warm smile. Subtly, Sergeant Smith pulled his arm back and took a sip from his plastic cup, his eyes questioning who you were and why you had touched him.

You cleared your throat before speaking. "Hello, Sergeant Smith, I’m the new officer. The lady at the front desk said you would help me on my first day." He sighed and turned to walk again, his ‘come with me’ so low you almost didn’t hear it. You followed him through the station's hallways until you reached the locker room. He pointed to one of the lockers before saying, "That one's yours. Leave your stuff there, and next time, do me a favor and change into your uniform in here." You barely managed to put your backpack inside the locker before he started walking away again, forcing you to rush to keep up. He gave you a quick and vague tour of the station, so fast you knew you wouldn’t remember most of it.

Finally, you both stopped in front of the cafeteria, and he looked you over from head to toe. "Listen, you’re new here. Most of us already know what happened at your last job, so try not to give anyone a reason to mess with you. Got it?" You nodded, placing your arms behind your back and trying to stay composed, though you were burning with embarrassment on the inside. "You’ll be on patrol today. Your partner is waiting for you in the garage." Before you could say anything, he walked off, leaving you alone. First day, and you had already made a bad impression on two people. You hoped things would go differently with your partner. So, you decided to buy two coffees and a croissant as a peace offering.

With a paper cup in each hand and the croissant in a small bag, you walked to the garage and spotted only one patrol car parked there. It looked so sleek and new that it almost felt wrong to use it for police work. With long strides, you approached and knocked twice on the passenger-side window. The tint was so dark you couldn’t see anything inside. Getting no response, and struggling a bit due to your full hands, you opened the door and slid into the passenger seat with a wide smile on your face.

The officer in the driver’s seat had perfectly styled red hair and icy blue eyes so intense they almost looked like contacts. His mouth was set in a tight line, brows nearly furrowed together, his eyes slightly widened in what looked like surprise at your sudden appearance. You placed one of the coffee cups in the holder and extended your hand toward him. "Hi, I’m the new officer at the station. You must be my training partner, Officer..." you leaned in slightly, trying to read the name on his badge, "...Rowley!" Your hand stayed extended for a few moments, but when it became clear he wasn’t going to shake it, you slowly pulled back and tried another approach. "I brought you coffee!" you said cheerfully, offering the cup. He only glanced at you up and down, his expression unreadable.

Realizing that wasn’t going to work either, you let out an awkward chuckle and placed the cup next to the other. "You’re the strong and silent type, huh? That’s okay, I talk enough for the both of us." Your attempt at a joke fell flat – he remained completely serious, staring at you. Before things could get any weirder, a call came through the radio. "Moderate fire, possibly arson, reported in an abandoned warehouse in the North District. Reports of internal explosions. Fire department en route. Nearby patrol car to secure the perimeter."

Great. Some action. You adjusted yourself in the seat and buckled up. "Alright, let’s-" your words were cut off as Rowley suddenly sped off at full throttle, forcing you to grip the seat with both hands. He stared at the road ahead with such cold intensity that it didn’t seem human. Your gaze flicked between him and the road, baffled by the urgency for what seemed like a standard call. When you finally spoke, your voice trembled slightly, paired with a nervous laugh. "Let’s take it easy, Mr. Strong and Silent. It’s just a fire, and the fire department’s already handling it."

The car slammed to a halt, your body jolting forward and then harshly back against the seat. Looking out the windshield, you saw another police car parked directly in front of you. Your partner had braked to avoid hitting what looked like a dare from the other officer. Before you could react, the officer in the driver’s seat beside you vanished, just like that. Not like he opened the door and got out, he simply disappeared. One moment he was there, and the next, he was gone.

Your eyes widened in shock, mouth agape. You’d seen a fair share of strange and disturbing things in life, but never someone vanish into thin air. Instinctively, you screamed – a sharp, piercing sound that echoed inside the vehicle. As if things couldn’t get any stranger, the car in front of you began to shift, morphing and rearranging itself until it stood upright in its final form: a towering robotic figure. Glowing red eyes stared directly at you, and a malicious smirk curled at the edge of its metallic lips.

You screamed even louder, panic taking full control. Then, a cold, commanding voice filled the car, as if coming from everywhere at once. "Shut up and get out of the car!" You looked around, desperate to find the source. "What?!" you shouted in fear.

"Get the hell out of the car, you idiot!" the voice snapped, now angrier. Wasting no time, you unbuckled your seatbelt and flung the door open, jumping out. You crawled away on hands and knees, gasping for breath, your mind spinning. Looking around, you saw nothing but a deserted street; no houses, no shops, no witnesses. Over your shoulder, you looked back at your patrol car and nearly fainted as it, too, shifted and transformed into a massive robotic being.

You turned your body, sitting on the pavement and inching back in disbelief as you took in the sight before you. Your vehicle now stood as a towering metal creature with sharp red horns, its expression eerily human-like, serious and composed, reminding you disturbingly of your silent partner. "What the actual fuck..." you muttered, eyes darting from one robot to the other. Then, a deep, mocking voice from the other bot sliced through the silence, sending a chill down your spine. "It’s been a while, Prowl!"

Author's notes: I hope you liked it, I believe I'll improve little by little. If you find any mistakes, I kindly ask you to let me know. Thank you! ＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚

[rejectedbytheempty]

from the dirt we rise, ch. 5

pairing: farmer!john price x reader, no use of y/n

word count: 2k

cw: none

synopsis: when your car breaks down in the middle of the english countryside, a tall, dark stranger comes to your rescue

masterlist

the sound of the stairs creaking startles you from your sleep, and for a moment you forget where you were. it all comes rushing back to you when you open your eyes and realize that you’re in john’s guest room.

you groan softly and roll over, checking your phone to see what time it was. the clock read 6:08, and you were careful to not let your eyes drift downwards to your notifications. you weren’t sure if nathan would have even reached out, but you didn’t want to ruin yet another day with his antics and were loath to look at your texts to check.

in fact, you were fine with never speaking to him again, happy to let it all fade to an unpleasant distant memory. you were sure, however, that nathan would find some other way to fuck up your life, but for now you needed to get out of bed and find some coffee. you rolled out of bed, already missing the warmth of the blankets as you headed to the bathroom to freshen up.

after you had managed to make yourself look somewhat acceptable, you headed down the stairs. the smell of freshly brewed coffee hit you as you stepped into the kitchen, and you spotted the coffee machine with a full pot sitting on the counter, along with a bowl of sugar and a container of milk.

john was already sat at the table, coffee cup in front of him as he read the paper. his hair was still ruffled from sleep, some ends sticking out in small tufts. he was in a worn t-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants, eyeglasses once again perched on his nose.

the scene felt all too homey, like you were interrupting his morning routine somehow. shame crept over you, unwarranted as it was, and you turned to head back upstairs when john called out your name.

“you headin’ back upstairs already?”

you turned back around sheepishly, “i didn’t want to bother you.”

he gave you a look over his glasses like a stern professor admonishing you, “nonsense, you could never bother me. ‘sides, already heard you come down the stairs, no sense in sneaking off now.”

you smiled appreciatively at him, nodding at his words, “you’re right, i’m-“ you stopped yourself before apologizing, something you found you did all too much, “do you mind if i have some coffee, too?”

he gestured to the cabinet above the sink, “there’s some coffee cups up there, take what you like, sweetheart.”

you hated how quickly he could make your face flush with just a simple nickname, and you turned away from him as you grabbed a random cup from the cupboard, trying to hide the evidence of your flustering.

as you poured out your coffee, you noticed that the mug you had chosen was one of those “#1 dad” types but the dad part had been crossed out in sharpie with the word captain written in messy handwriting beside it.

once you put your preferred sugar and milk in your coffee, you turned around to sit at the table with john, who was now nose deep in the crossword puzzle.

he glanced up when you sat down, taking a note of the mug you chose he said, “good choice. the boys made me that one when i announced my retirement.”

you smiled softly as you took a sip of the coffee, but you did notice the faraway look in his eyes after he spoke, like he was remembering something. “you miss it, then?” you asked, and he blinked back to the present, looking over at you again.

“every day. it’s strange, practically my whole life was dedicated to it, and one day it just.. all went away. reckon that’s why i like to keep busy on the farm,” he admitted.

you nodded, “i understand, well.. i don’t exactly, but i do know what it’s like to dedicate yourself to something and even though you know it’s bad for you, you don’t remember life without it, so you stay..”

the room went silent, and you looked abashedly at your coffee, afraid you said too much.

“i promised you yesterday i’d take you to see the animals, right?”

you looked up at him with a puzzled expression, “yes, you did.”

he smiled, “well, i don’t intend on going back on my word, and if you’re up for it, maybe you could help around the farm today?” you gave him an appreciative expression, “that would be lovely.”

after you had finished your coffee and john had done around half of his crossword, you both headed upstairs to get ready. by then, the sun had settled on top of the horizon, lighting the sky with hues of pink, orange, and yellow.

you were able to find some clothes that you packed that might be suitable for farm work, or rather, clothes you were willing to get dirty. john thankfully had some boots from when one of his work friends, kate, came to visit, as she accidentally left them behind but couldn’t be bothered to go all the way to england from the states just for a pair of wellies.

john was definitely dressed more appropriately than you, wearing a flannel and a pair of overalls along with his own pair of boots.

“ready?” he asked and you shrugged, “as i’ll ever be.”

he chuckled, “i’m sure you’ll be a natural at it.”

then the two of you set off along a dirt path toward the animal pens. although you had seen cows from the roadside, you had never been close enough to one before to realize the sheer size of them.

while you were helping john refill their water, one ambled up to you, staring at you with its big brown eyes, tail swishing slightly behind them. you looked to john, to ask for help? you weren’t sure, to be honest but he was just smiling.

“she wants you to pet her,” he said, and you turned back to the cow who was patiently waiting. you slowly reached towards her and began scratching under her neck, she let out an appreciative grunt and moved her head back to expose more of her neck for you to pet.

“like this?” you asked back to john, eyes still trained on the cow.

“yep, just like that” he answered, and even though you were facing the other way, you could hear the smile in his voice as he talked.

he tried to teach you how to milk them but you could only coax a few drops out, much to your chagrin. he shrugged, “takes lots of practice, ‘sides, you didn’t get kicked, so there’s clearly some talent in there.”

your eyes widened, “they’d kick me?”

he laughed, “just messin’, i’d stop you well before they got around to kickin’.”

safe to say, that didn’t reassure you very much and you let him milk the rest by himself.

next were the chickens, he had you spread out the meal on the ground and they all came running from their roosts to peck the pieces from the dirt.

he gestured to the empty nests, “see? now it’s easier to get their eggs without them fighting back. protective things til it’s breakfast, then they’d abandon their eggs for a kernel of corn.”

you frowned, “that’s kind of sad.”

he waved you off, “you’ll feel bad til one of them comes flying at you to peck your eyeballs out, then you understand why humans started eatin’ eggs.”

you smelled the pigs before you saw them, your wrinkled nose making john have a good chuckle, “not the smell you expected?”

“i mean, i knew they smelled bad but, not that bad,” you said as you plugged your nose.

he shrugged, “after the first few years of living in the barracks, i think i went nose blind, or at least my smell tolerance was greatly improved.”

you shook your head, “don’t think i could ever get used to this.”

“fair enough,” he admitted, “why don’t you head on back to the house and get cleaned up, i can finish up here.”

you looked at him, “are you sure?”

he shook his head with a grin, “honey, i’ve done this everyday by myself, don’t think i’d be dead in the water if you left.”

you laughed, “you’re right, didn’t really think that one through, did i?”

“at least you’re pretty” he joked, heading down the path towards the pig pen, leaving you to bask in his words.

you thought about what he said all the way up to the house, in your head, you knew it was just a saying and he was just joking around. in your heart, well, your heart was still pounding something fierce as you walked in the house and took off your muddied boots.

your movements were so robotic that it wasn’t until he spoke that you noticed a man sitting in the living room.

“you’re not john” he said, which was rather obvious, you hoped.

you stopped in your tracks, looking him up and down. he was.. well to put it rather blunt, a beautiful man. he had a cap on with a worn insignia of the british flag on it that just shadowed the area above his dark, brown eyes. he was wearing a blue windbreaker, a pair of jeans, and a confused expression.

“i.. am not. who are you?” you asked, although you know you should be scared of a random man being in john’s house, you figured he had to know the captain. because why in the hell would he be waiting around in his house if he wasn’t supposed to be there, or at least, you hoped that was true.

“i’m gaz, who are you?” in that moment you remembered the conversation you had yesterday with soap and john where they had mentioned a fourth person in their task force, one that was still in the military and was now a lieutenant.

you sighed out a breath of relief, “oh, you’re gaz, the lieutenant, right?”

he nodded but was still cautious of you, “yes, uh, how do you know that?”

as you were about to explain what was probably a long winded and over-described story, you heard the door behind you open behind you as john walked in, one boot pulled off and the other in the process of being taken off.

once he freed his other foot and looked up his face split into a grin, “gaz! i didn’t know you were comin’!”

you looked back to where gaz was standing, his face now in a similar expression to john’s, “yeah, that’s the point of a surprise, cap’n.”

they both walked forward and settled into a heavy embrace, john clapping gaz on the back, “good to see you in one piece, kyle.”

then, his attention shifted back to you and he motioned you over to the two of them. he introduced you to kyle, the latter taking your hand in a firm grip, “sorry i was so rude earlier, didn’t know price got himself a bird. been too busy to tell me, i guess, or maybe he’s forgotten about me since starting this farm.”

you felt your face heat up, “oh, i’m not-“

“she’s not-“

you and john launched into similar protests, both stopping to allow the other to explain.

gaz broke the silence, “right, well, sorry for assuming then. christ, we got off to a good start didn’t we?”

gaz looked at you sheepishly but you waved him off, “i-it’s okay, i mean, it’s not like you knew.”

john nodded his head, “honest mistake, really. she’s just been staying here while her car gets fixed, and she just got out of a relationship, so nothing happened,” john rambled. you had never seen him so flustered, always seeming like he has a handle on the situation.

and you weren’t really sure why he was in such a hurry to dismiss the thought of being with you, were you that repulsive to him? maybe all those flirty remarks were just jokes, maybe he couldn’t stand you.

gaz broke the silence in the room, looking between the two of you stuck in your thoughts before clearing his throat, “so, you had breakfast yet?”

a/n: just wanna get it out there first and foremost, i am not a farmer, i have never done farm work a day in my life and so i just wanna say that this is all based on google searches and like.. little house on the prairie, so i apologize if its wholly inaccurate.. next, i am so sorry this took so long to get out, but with me accidentally deleting my og blog and school, i literally could not find any energy to do this lmao. but it’s here, yaaay!! also, i did take some liberties on reader, kind of projecting my lack of farming experience on her so i do apologize for her being kind of oc-y..

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[python333]

hi! i’m not sure if you’re taking requests atm but if you aren’t feel free to ignore this!

anyways, i was thinking what would it be like if you were back on base and did something nice for everyone and made their fave coffee/tea while you’re all relaxing after a long mission? like how would the 141 react and what would you make for them?

that’s all but i hope you have a great day and i absolutely love your writings!! they seriously are so detailed and amazing, you do a beautiful job w each one💌

unwind — python333

— — — —

synopsis the 141 + you are back from a super long mission and u make them their fave coffee/tea!!

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & gn!reader.

word count 3.6k

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

warnings 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign], gaz being a little shit.

note thank you so much for the req!! i am taking them right now, but apologies if i post them 2+ days after i get them, my writers block is slowly creeping back into my mind and im fighting it off the best i can! also, thank you for the compliments :3 ilysm youre too nice!! i saw ur reblog of bedbound too and i was so sjdfksdfks!! hope u have a good day too and hope you enjoy this fic, it's all fluff and way too in depth descriptions of making tea/coffee!!

As soon as the electric kettle clicks, signaling to you that the water inside of it has been boiled, you unplug it and pour the water into a mug you’d pulled from the cabinets. It still surprised you that there were any mugs left, with how many people kept stealing to put on their desk to hold pencils—by people, you mean Soap, and only Soap—but you weren’t complaining. 

You set the kettle back down once the mug is filled up just an inch below the brim and grab the tea bag you’d grabbed earlier, wrapping the string around the handle of the mug a few times before putting the bag itself into the water. Almost immediately, you see small tendrils of dark brown flow out from the drowned tea bag into the originally clear water. 

As that happens, you walk the small few steps over to the small fridge from the kettle and open it, grabbing the small carton of cream and closing the fridge shut. You walk back over to the mug and unscrew the cap of the carton, pouring some cream into the mug, adding a half inch of height to the liquid already in the mug before screwing the cap back on and setting the carton down.

You don’t bother to grab a spoon and mix anything yet, instead reaching over to the small terracotta container beside the coffee machine that contained sugar, and taking off the lid. 

You think for a moment if you should grab a spoon for this, but ultimately decide against it, instead just tipping the container over the mug and letting what you hope is two teaspoons of sugar spill over into the mug.

Afterwards, you put the lid back on the container holding the sugar and set it back next to the coffee machine, and grab the cream to put back into the fridge. 

Once the cream’s been put back, you open the drawers in the counter and grab a small spoon, one that’s just tall enough that it won’t be fully submerged in the tea, and put it into the mug.

You close the drawer and give the tea a few stirs before picking up the mug, being careful of the scalding heat and holding it solely by its handle. You carefully walk out of the snack bar extension of the kitchen and head towards Price’s office. 

After a year or two of working with him, you’ve learned a lot about his tea preferences—he likes Yorkshire tea, the original one, not the gold. He only likes cream and sugar in his coffee, just to make it smoother and make it a bit sweeter, but doesn’t like it too sweet.

You vaguely remember him telling you he’d never had honey or any other sweeteners besides a bit of sugar in his tea, and remember more vividly you thinking, God, that’s such an old person thing to say, but not saying it out loud. 

Once you’ve reached his office, you knock a few times and Price’s tired voice calls out, “Come in!” 

You open the door, careful to keep the mug from spilling in your hands, and walk in, closing the door behind you. Price looks up from his computer, presumably writing a report on the mission you’d all just come back from an hour or two ago, and offers a small smile when he sees you. He’s about to say something before he catches sight of the mug in your hands. 

“Did you…” He doesn’t finish his question, but you know what he was about to ask, and you nod in response. 

“If it’s too sugary let me know,” You tell him, setting the mug down a safe distance away from his computer, “I can remake it.” 

“I won’t make you remake it,” Price looks at you, almost offended, “You didn’t have to make me anything in the first place, but thank you, I really appreciate it.” 

“No problem,” You hum, walking away, saying over your shoulder, “Hope you like it.” 

You open the door without another word and walk out, closing it behind you, heading right back to the snack bar. Now for Soap. 

Soap typically preferred coffee to tea, despite tea’s popularity in Scotland. He’d told you that he really couldn’t taste the difference between different coffee blends, but upon hearing that there was a Scottish blend, he declared he’d only drink that one, because of course he did. 

He pretended he could tell if the coffee he was drinking was of that Scottish blend, but you knew he couldn’t. How did you know? You’d only ever given him Scottish roast once. Every other time since then, it’s been French roast. 

He’s never really used a coffee machine for himself, going to cafes or coffee shops most of the time for coffee, keeping his usual coffee order written in his notes app because he couldn’t remember it for the life of him.

He’d sometimes modify his order if certain coffee shops didn’t do certain things that he usually got, but his order stays mostly the same every time he gets coffee. Medium (or grande, if he’s at Starbucks) latte with a double shot of espresso. 

Typically, he’d get some shortbread too, but you didn’t really have any in the base, so he’d have to do without it today. 

Once you enter the snack bar, you grab another mug from the cabinets above the counter and place it under the coffee machine. You open the cabinets right by the ones that contained the mugs and grab a bag of ground French roast, pulling it out and putting it on the counter. 

You open it up and find that there’s conveniently already a small cup in there to scoop the coffee grounds up, and use your free hand to grab a new coffee filter from the same cabinets you got the coffee grounds from, swiftly putting it into the machine. 

You use your other hand to scoop up some coffee grounds and put them into the filter, closing the top of the coffee machine afterwards and turning on the machine. You’re grateful there’s more options listed on the small digital screen that lights up on the machine than just plain black coffee, not really in the mood to try and steam milk right now.

You tap on the ‘latte’ option and watch as the screen changes and hear the coffee machine start to whir. 

As it does that, you put away the coffee grounds and open up the cabinets that contained mugs once again, pulling out a small espresso glass and setting it onto the counter.

You wait patiently for the coffee to brew, and once you hear the small beep sound from the machine that signals that it’s done, you pull away the steaming hot coffee and set it down right next to the coffee machine. 

You quickly put the espresso glass under the machine and start it up again, this time tapping the ‘espresso shot’ option—surprised that’s even an option, honestly—and hearing the familiar whirring noise start up again. It doesn’t take nearly as long as brewing the latte did, the small beep coming much sooner than it did just a minute or two earlier, and you pull away the small espresso glass from the machine almost immediately after you hear it. 

You pause for a moment, looking at how much the latte part had filled up the mug, and look around for a moment before opening up the same drawer that contains the eating utensils and grabbing a straw, putting the straw in the still hot latte—is that a good idea? No. Did you do it anyway because you physically can’t think before you act? Absolutely—and taking a long sip of it.

You pull the straw out once the liquid in the mug is at a good inch below the brim and then pour in the espresso shot, setting the glass down after you do so.

You look around for a second for a trash bin and find one just a few steps away from you, quickly throwing out the straw you’d used and then walking back over to the empty espresso glass, picking it up and setting it down by the sink. God forbid we get a dishwasher in here or something, You think absentmindedly as you pick up the mug and carefully walk out of the snack bar with it, Would it hurt to at least get some dish soap in here or something? 

You make it out of the snack bar without burning your fingers and start the much longer walk to Soap’s sleeping quarters. You’d caught him walking out of his office in that direction earlier, so you can only assume that he’d gone there. 

Once you make it there, you knock on the door a few times and wait for Soap to call out to you and allow you to come in before twisting the door knob and opening the door. He’s laying on his back on his bed, thumb paused on his phone screen as he looks over at you as you enter. He notices the coffee and sits up a bit, grunting as he does. 

He wasn’t really as talkative after long missions like the one you’d all been on earlier—usually it took him a day or two to be more social and back to himself, so you didn’t take much offense to him not greeting you as loudly as he usually did. 

He nods at the coffee, “Is that for me?” 

“Mhm,” You hum, handing him the mug, “Be careful, it’s hot.” 

“Got it,” Soap carefully takes the mug into his hands, and softly blows on it before looking at you again and grinning at you, “Weel, thank ye for this. Ye really didnae hae tae.” 

“Price actually said the same thing,” You muse, almost to yourself, before speaking a little louder, “No problem.”

“Oh did he?” Soap asks, raising an eyebrow, before his expression shifts and he feigns confusion, “Wait, how come he got a drink afore me?”

“Because his office was closer to the snack bar,” You explain, crossing your arms. 

“… Nae, it’s definitely ‘cause ye hate me,” Soap disagrees, shaking his head in mock disappointment, “And tae think I thought we were friends.” 

“It is no— you know what?” You begin to argue, before sighing and rolling your eyes, “I do hate you, and we were never friends, you ungrateful piece of shit.” 

Soap laughs, quieter than he usually does but it’s still a genuine laugh. He looks down at the coffee again and back at you, before saying, “Thank ye. Again.” 

“No problem,” You replied, walking back towards the door and opening it, walking out of Soap’s sleeping quarters and closing the door behind you. Now for Ghost. 

Ghost typically liked tea more than coffee, but you think that’s just the British in him talking. Realistically, you could give him either or, and he’d say a polite ‘thank you’ and move on.

From years of being apart of the 141, any preferences or additives he liked to put in his tea or coffee slowly dissipated and instead he just drank either one plain. Which should make the tasks you’ve forced yourself to do today easier, but knowing you, you just couldn’t take the easy route with this. 

You remember a conversation with him that happened several months ago where you had been talking about your own tea and coffee preferences. Ghost had commented that he didn’t often put any additives in his own hot drinks anymore, but back before he’d joined the military, he liked to drink keemun tea occasionally with nutmeg in it. 

Keemun tea—which was fucking expensive by the way, costing around sixteen pounds for twenty tea bags in every store you could find them in—wasn’t too hard to find, so the next time you went on leave after that conversation, you’d bought a box of bags of keemun tea leaves and some ground nutmeg. 

You didn’t let Ghost know about it, and kind of forgot about it just a week after you bought it, but now the memory of you buying it and storing it in the snack bar behind a few other boxes of tea bags has resurfaced and it’s the only thing you think is appropriate to give Ghost at a time like this. 

You get back to the snack bar and almost robotically you pull a mug out from the cabinets above the counter and set it down on said counter, deciding to grab another one just so that you wouldn’t have to do it later, and setting that one down right next to the other. You open the cabinet beside that and move some of the boxes out of the way to find the keemun tea box in the very back, right where you last left it. 

You snatch it out of the cabinet and open it, pulling out a small packet and opening it up to pull out the tea bag inside. You go ahead and put the tea bag inside of the mug and put the tea box back in the cabinet, closing the small cabinet door afterwards.

You then grab the electric kettle that’s right by the sink and pop open the lid, putting it under the faucet and turning said faucet on, waiting until the water fills a quarter of the kettle. Once it does, you turn off the faucet and put the kettle down right by the outlet on the wall. 

You put the lid down and wait for it to click into place before you plug the kettle into the outlet and press the small button below the handle to turn it on, and listen as it starts to make a small whirring noise. You don’t waste too much time just standing there, waiting for the water to finish boiling, instead putting the other mug you’d pulled out from the cabinets under the coffee machine and turning it on. 

You tap on the ‘decaf flat white’ option and watch the digital screen change and another whirring sound starts up, now coming from the coffee machine.

You were starting to make Gaz’s while making Ghost’s drink because Gaz often made the mistake of drinking his coffee before it was cool enough to not burn his tongue, so if you made it earlier, it’d have more time to cool, and Gaz wouldn’t have to wait as long before drinking it, therefore solving the whole ‘burning-his-tongue-because-he’s-impatient’ problem he has. 

Gaz liked simple flat whites, and sure, he liked tea too, but nothing could top a good flat white for him. He’d get them anywhere and everywhere he can, and you honestly admire his dedication to getting a flat white everywhere he goes. 

The coffee machine finished up quickly, a small beep sounding from the machine as it stopped its whirring and a few more drops of coffee made it into the mug before it completely stopped. You pull the mug out from under the machine and set it aside for now, just waiting for the water to finish boiling in the kettle. 

Once the kettle clicks and the whirring from that machine stops, you unplug it and pour some water into the empty mug you’d picked out for Ghost, waiting until it’s filled up about a half inch below the brim of the mug before taking the kettle away from the mug and pouring the rest of the unused water into the sink. 

You set the kettle down beside the coffee machine where it belongs and check the drawer below the one that held the eating utensils, looking through some of the spices and drink additives in it before finally finding the ground nutmeg you needed. 

You unscrew the cap and tilt the small spice jar over the mug, letting some of the powder spill into the mug before tilting it back and screwing the cap back on. You put it back in its spot and close that drawer, now opening the drawer above it and grabbing a small spoon, closing that one after you’ve grabbed the spoon and putting the spoon into the mug to mix the spices in it around a bit. 

You leave Gaz’s mug on the counter, hoping that nobody steals it while you’re away, and instead pick up the mug meant for Ghost, carefully walking out of the snack bar with it. 

Ghost’s office is fairly far away, but you still manage to get there without burning your fingers or anything on the mug. You knock on the door a few times and wait for Ghost to call out permission for you to come in before you open the door and walk in. 

Ghost immediately looks over at you and spots the mug in your hand, but ignores it for now, instead opting to ask, “Did you need something, [c/n]?” 

“Not really,” You shrugged the best you could while holding scalding hot tea, “Just needed to give you this.” 

You set the mug down on Ghost’s desk before he can say another word, and watch as he eyes the mug with curiosity and confusion. 

“What’s this?” He asks, carefully picking up the mug, holding the top up to his nose to smell it. Before you can answer his question, you see his eyes widen and he questions a little louder, “Is this… keemun? With nutmeg?” 

“You can tell just from the smell?” You ask, mildly impressed, watching as Ghost’s gaze turns into one more in awe of the mug. 

“Yes, I can,” He mumbles, smelling the brim of the mug again, before looking over at you, “How did you know I liked keemun with nutmeg in it?” 

“You told me about it, like, a few months ago. Six months ago, maybe? I dunno.” 

“How do you remember a conversation from six months ago?”

“It was an important conversation, I guess?” You shrug, crossing your arms. 

You watch in silence as Ghost eyes the tea and you take that as your sign to leave, walking towards the door, stopping right in front of it to twist the knob to open it before you’re interrupted by Ghost. 

“Wait—” You turn your head and look at him over your shoulder, and immediately upon seeing his face, you think, oh my God is he tearing up? “Thank you, [c/n]. I really appreciate it.” 

You offer a small smile and reply, “Yeah, no problem. Enjoy your tea.” 

You open the door without another word and close it behind you, taking a deep breath before continuing down the hall back to the snack bar. 

You’re relieved when you get there and see the mug, still steaming a bit, still on the counter. You quickly walk over to it and pick it up, walking right back out the door with it and heading straight for Gaz’s sleeping quarters. You remember him being so tired from the mission—you don’t know whether to hope he’s asleep and getting some rest, or to hope that he’s awake so you can properly hand him his coffee. 

Once you make it to his sleeping quarters, you knock on the door, and there’s no response for a few moments, making you think he might actually be asleep, but then you hear Gaz’s drowsy voice call out, “You can come in!” 

You open the door and see him rubbing the sleep from his eyes and sitting up on his bed, looking over at you. His lips twitch up into a small smile once he sees you and he lets his hand drop into his lap. 

“Hey, [c/n].” He looks over at the mug you’ve brought with you, before raising an eyebrow, “You brought something for me?” 

“Very bold of you to assume it’s for you,” You close the door behind you and walk closer to him, “But yes, it is.” 

Gaz perks up a bit at that and happily takes the mug off of your hands once you hand it to him, and his smile grows significantly bigger once he sees you’ve brought him a flat white. 

“It’s decaf, don’t worry,” You say, as if reading his mind, “I figured you’d still want some sleep after drinking it.” 

“Always so considerate,” Gaz sighs teasingly, raising the mug to his lips like you’d thought he would. Thankfully, his tongue doesn’t burn this time after he sips the coffee, and you let out a small sigh of relief at the fact. 

“You know me,” You respond dryly, crossing your arms as you watch Gaz take a few more sips of the coffee. 

“Thank you for this, by the way,” Gaz thanks you, taking another sip of the coffee before stating, “I hope you know you’re my favorite now.” 

“Your favorite what?” 

“Just my favorite, in general,” Gaz hums, “This is the best flat white I’ve ever drunk. Ten out of ten.” 

“Thanks,” You thank him flatly, “It was made with love and a coffee machine I learned how to use yesterday.” 

“I can just taste the love in it.” 

“Not the coffee machine?”

“Well, it’s a bit concerning if someone can taste the coffee machine in their coffee, innit?” Gaz raises an eyebrow at you before taking another sip of his coffee. 

“Not if it’s the one I used.” 

“Whatever you say,” Gaz mutters, taking yet another sip of his coffee, making you huff out a small laugh. 

“You enjoy your coffee,” You say before walking back over to the door, closing the door behind you as you walk out and letting out a tired breath, starting to head back to your own sleeping quarters.

[nevadancitizen]

do you think you could write something where könig and/or ghost (separate) were nearby or watched reader try to participate in a conversation but constantly got ignored or talked over to the point where they just kinda go silent and walk away? they end up comforting the reader and just trying to be a shoulder to cry on while they talk about their frustrations because this is something that always happens to them <\3

it doesn’t have to be too long and you don’t have to worry about getting to this request too quickly!! thank u for reading anyways :3

-> THE SOCIAL WEAK LINK

synopsis: rookies and debriefings are pains in both you and ghost's asses. rich people fail the turing test while interacting with you and könig.

word count: 2.2k (~1.1k each)

characters: ghost, könig, awkward! reader (lol)

notes: (rings dinner bell) hey friend.. this req has been sitting since september.. im so sorry (ಥ﹏ಥ)

-> GHOST:

Debriefings were always boring. Everyone was tired, sweaty, and just wanted a cold shower and a warm bed. But what else encompasses the military so eloquently except unnecessary misery?

And to add to the misery, some rookies had tagged along to the mission. “On-the-job training,” Price had prattled off as he read the mission statement. He had given you and the rest of the 141 an exaggerated look that screamed If these rookies compromise the mission I’m going to tear the Lieutenant Colonel a new one.

The rookies (with callsigns Quest and Cable) were nice enough. They weren’t given the opportunity to burn off their energy on the mission like the 141 – they’d stayed behind as backup while the 141 went in to deal with the bad guys. As a consequence, now they’re in the debriefing room, chattering away like parrots.

Ghost could fall asleep in the chair he was in, if Cable and Quest were a little quieter. He looks at the next spinny chair over, where you’re sitting. You’ve got your knees tucked to your chin and are silently tracing the patterns in the wood table with a fingernail. Every now and again, you glance at the rookies, but ultimately turn your eyes away.

You were always just a bit too awkward to fit in with the rest of the military. Either too quiet or too loud; you rambled too often and your voice cracked when you did. You slipped through the cracks, into the quiet background with Laswell and Shepherd. You’re one of the powerful hands that move the pieces on the chessboard, but not a well-recognized one. Well-recognized within the 141, yes, but not on a wider scale. 

Ghost can tell how you’re feeling by the obvious emotion on your face. It’s yearning – an emotion Ghost knows well.

His eyes sweep the rest of the table. Gaz is fucking around on his phone, probably making a new Pinterest board, while Soap leans over his shoulder and watches him. Price is in another room, talking to someone important. Ghost couldn’t really bring himself to care about who. 

The entire room is bogged down with an unmistakable tiredness that goes right over Quest and Cable’s heads. Really, the only sound in the room is their voices and, intermittently, yours as you try to inject yourself into their conversation. Each attempt is met with pursed lips that barely count as smiles and something along the lines of “Yeah. Anyway…”

Eventually, Price pops in, leaning his head on the doorframe. The brim of his hat crinkles and his nose wrinkles up in disdain. He sighs. “Everyone out. Lieutenant Colonel wants this meeting room for herself. We’ll debrief later.”

Quest and Cable pop up like excited teenagers and head for the door, continuing to talk. “I’m soooo goddamn hungry. Hopefully the mess hall has something good…”

“Hey!” You practically jump from your chair, your eyes on the rookies. “Um, I heard that they just restocked the vending machines? Do you wanna maybe chick – I mean, check – them out with me? They’re just down the hall.”

They both tense, and Quest looks over their shoulder. They smile awkwardly and exchange a look with Cable. “Uh… maybe another time?”

You visibly deflate and rock back on your heels. “Yeah, totally. See you later.”

They both nod tersely and exit. You take a deep breath and let out a long sigh. You sit back in the spinny chair and it wheels backwards from the force.

Gaz shuts his phone off and groans while Soap sucks air through his teeth. 

“Not your best effort,” Gaz says. 

“I know,” you say. 

“Maybe you’re not just compatible with rookies?” Soap tries.

You roll your head back against the back of the chair and stare at the ceiling. “I know.” 

You sink further into the chair, then stand. “Whatever. Let’s clear out. Price will have our heads if we don’t.”

Ghost tails you out the door. You don’t acknowledge him, but you know he’s there (even if his footsteps are extraordinarily light for a man of his stature). 

“Pompous pricks, ay?” Ghost says. 

You stick your hands in your pockets, hiking your shoulders up by your ears. “Wish they were a little more personable. Wish I was a little more personable.”

“Why, you’re plenty personable.” Ghost laughs gruffly at his own joke as he nudges your shoulder with his. 

“Asking to go ‘chick out’ the vending machines is a personable interaction?” You relax your arms and knock your elbow against Ghost’s. 

“I thought it was funny,” Ghost says. “Even if it was just a slip-up.”

You sigh, but keep up with Ghost as he walks. “If it was funny, then why didn’t they laugh?”

Ghost thinks for a second. “Maybe they just don’t have a sense of humor?”

“You don’t have a sense of humor,” you jab.

Ghost scoffs. “Of course I do.”

“Then make me laugh,” you say. “Make me laugh right now.”

Ghost breathes in and exhales slowly through the fabric of his mask. “Well… do you know why the Cold War was called the Cold War?”

“The supernations fought using proxy wars,” you say. “America and the USSR never really went head-to-head.”

Ghost sighs pointedly. “Yes,” he says, “but also because of the icy-BMs.”

“The what?”

“The Cold War?” Ghost repeats. “Icy?”

“ICBM stands for Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles.” You stop midstep, looking at Ghost with a disbelieving smile. “Ghost, don’t tell me you don’t know what ICBM stands for?”

“No, it –” Ghost sighs. “Icy sounds like IC? Icy-BMs?”

You burst out laughing, waving Ghost away like he was some form of stupid. “Ghost, seriously? You don’t – oh my God!”

“I’m not a fucking knob, I know what…” 

Ghost can’t bring himself to correct you as he watches you laugh like that. It’s a bit too loud and there’s a snort in there somewhere, but it rings true and warms Ghost’s heart. He doesn’t mind being seen as dumb for a minute if you’re able to warm his heart with a sound as nice as that. 

-> KöNIG: 

König nearly always hates going undercover. 

More often than not, the higher-ups stick him in some ill-tailored enemy armor and send him in with nothing but a less-than-encouraging slap on the ass. They know he’ll make it out alive.

On this mission, he feels a little more comfortable. It’s more than obvious you’re not. 

You and König are camped out on the edge of a ballroom, sitting together at a small table. You’re dressed in a fancy outfit that just screams decadence, and it fits your role well – the adult child of some rich, cigar-chomping tech baron. König is playing the role of your bodyguard, dressed down from his usual military garb in a plain black suit (with kevlar padding) and a balaclava.

You cross one leg over the other at the knee and look down at your flute of champagne as you swirl it. The bubbles rise to the surface and pop as the pale liquid settles. 

“I hate this,” you say under your breath, just loud enough for König to hear. 

He nods along, but straightens up when a small group of people approach the table. There’s an older woman, a middle-aged man, and a girl, maybe fifteen. 

“Hi, sweetheart!” An older woman croons at you. “You’re Bohumil Silvester’s youngest, right?”

“Oh!” You sit up straighter and put the champagne flute on the table. “Yes, I am. And, um – and who might you be?”

“I’m Laila Matthews.” Laila checks over her shoulder at the people accompanying her. “This is my daughter, Adine, and this is my husband, Keaton.”

“It’s so nice to meet you!” You smile politely, but König can scope out of the corner of his eye that you’re gripping a bit of the fabric of your too-fancy outfit like you’re meaning to rip it off. You spout your fake name to Laila with a cheeky “But you know that already, right, ma’am?”

Laila is utterly delighted with your carefully constructed persona. She throws her head back and laughs, one hand on her chest and the other finding Keaton’s shoulder. “Oh, Lord. Aren’t you just your father’s child?”

You nod and, once again, smile politely while exchanging side-eye glances with König. He’s just as confused as you are. 

As soon as Laila recovers, she’s talking again. She gestures vaguely in König’s direction. “And who is this? Security, for this casual meeting?”

“Uh, yes, ma’am,” you say. “You can never be too careful these days, with all the laws about concealed carry and everything.”

“Well, I’m 57, and I’ve only had security for a few occasions,” Laila says. 

“You’re 57?” You bark, a little too loud. You can feel a few heads turn your way and Laila’s stare turns withering. König’s shoulders shake as he coughs into his fist.

“I mean, um, you’re 57?” You try again, quieter. “Because you don’t look it. Like, at all. Ma’am.”

Laila’s tone is flat when she speaks. “Right.”

“I meant, um, you look younger? Uh, anyway.” You smile nervously, then pick up your champagne flute and take a sip. “I love your family’s outfits! And the, uh, the way they match.”

Keaton leans in and grabs a hold of Laila’s shoulder. He gets up on his toes to whisper something in Laila’s ear. It’s hard to hear over the ambient noise of the ballroom. Laila nods and Keaton continues to whisper.

“Um, Laila? Mrs. Matthews?” You try to get her attention, to no avail. She keeps nodding to Keaton’s words like you’re not even there.

You stand and turn to Adine. “Adine, right? Tell your mother it was nice speaking to her.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” Adine nods absently, her eyes somewhere else on the ballroom floor. 

You toss the rest of the champagne in the flute down like it’s a shot and stand from the table. You make eye contact with König and nod towards the French doors that lead towards the balcony. 

People don’t notice as you and König step out. The sky is clear, yet the night is still young enough to be starless. 

“Christ, I hate rich people,” you mutter under your breath. 

König moves and leans his back against the wrought iron of the railing. His eyes sweep across the small area, then he nods. “Yes. That interaction was less than pleasant.”

You lean against the railing next to him. “Why was she even talking to me? And what did she mean, ‘Aren’t you just your father’s child?’ Like, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“I am… not sure,” König says. “Maybe it’s part of rich people code?”

“Yeah, maybe.” You huff out a laugh, then sigh. “I really wasn’t the best pick for this mission.”

“What do you mean?” König asks. “You are perfectly capable of fighting.”

“No, the, like…” you sigh again. “The talking part? I’m not fit for that. Never been a good conversationalist, never will be.”

“You are conversing with me right now, no?” König gestures between you and him. “This is a conversation. You are doing fine.”

“Yes, but…” you trail off. “You saw me. I shouted her age out in front of everyone.”

König hums. “To be fair, it was a bit of a shock.”

You glance up at him and laugh, a pretty smile gracing your features. “Shut up.”

“But it was!” König insists. The fabric of his balaclava puffs out as he laughs. “I had to cough to cover up my laugh. I nearly had to excuse myself.”

“Yeah, sure.” You shove his shoulder half-heartedly as you turn and look out over the railing, at the courtyard. König follows your gaze.

The courtyard is illuminated by ambient lamps. Paths are laid with bricks, with neatly trimmed grass in between each one. Exotic plants from every corner of the globe line the pathways, some of their flowers closed for the night. A fountain is in the middle, with water spouting out of the trumpet of a cherub statue. A few people surround the fountain, talking quietly with drinks in their hands in the low light. 

You lean close to König and point at one of the people – a man in a navy suit. “That’s the target. Mister T. Kilgore.”

“So he is,” König says. He pats under his armpit, checking his sidearm. “We need to get moving. I do not like the way Laila’s husband was talking to her. Suspicious.”

You nod and send König a small smile. “We’re still going with the plan, right? I’m going in and playing drunk?”

“Of course.” König mirrors your smile even though you can’t see it. “Besides, it’ll give you an opportunity to practice your conversation skills.”

You scoff, but you’re still smiling. “Yeah, if I’m planning on interacting with everybody as a drunk idiot for the rest of my life.”

“I’m serious!” König insists. “More likely than not, you’ll never see these people again.”

A beat of silence.

“You’re right.” You knock your elbow against König’s. “Let’s give them a show.”

[ms-demeanor]

if one was looking at a desktop good for 1) video games 2) high res+high layer count digital art, do you have any prebuilts you would suggest? i HAVE built computers before, but back in 2013, and imo it was easier to find compatible hardware then. my current box is a lenovo prebuilt, nvidia 1660 in it, and it's fine! but it's already being outpaced by hardware demands of software. i COULD just buy a new gpu, but if it's not compatible with something i am unsure i could diagnose what caused it without a lot of faff. i did have a mobo failure due to caps exploding within a year of purchase already, so i kinda am looking in the direction of New Box over ship of theseus because it only takes one explosion event to make you dubious.

Nope, sorry, gaming computers aren't my wheelhouse and I'm not comfortable recommending a specific machine. I will say that we've purchased a few computers through NZXT that seemed decent for the price so I've pointed folks their direction in the past, but I couldn't tell you if those machines were good for games (they were good for CAD).

Perhaps someone in the notes can give a good recommendation on prebuilt gaming computers.

[cowboygenesis]

15: kindred kind | kylo ren x reader

part 15 of the "bump it, cool it" series: masterlist. | playlist

pairing: [modern!au] kylo ren x reader chapter warnings: explicit language, mentions of chronic disease. word count: 3.1k series summary: when your roommate’s older brother needs a place to crash, you begrudgingly offer up your couch— only to realize he’s the most insufferable, entitled asshole you’ve ever met. the worst part? you can’t seem to stop thinking about him. notes: am in class posting on phone y'all i've missed ya. some might call this chapter filler, but i beg to differ (^_-)

Now Playing: Let Me Know - Baba Stiltz, Okay Kaya

“You got a quarter?”

You glance up from your phone, bleary-eyed and over-caffeinated, as Rey stands in front of the vending machine, repeatedly banging up the side and making the coins inside rattle. Normally, you think you’d laugh, but today your throat and vocal cords betray you.

“Depends,” you murmur, voice scratchy and used from your sleepless, breathless night.

“Yeah?” Her curious gaze meets yours, lips curled at the corner like you’re about to say something funny. And you try. 

“You plan on changing my life with that?” you retort smoothly, returning her smile just partially. The soggy paper cup between your lips tastes of coffee remains and something inexplicably saccharine, but the mindless chewing is all that’s keeping you together right now.

She snorts without missing a beat, turning to give you a playful sneer. “I was aiming for a Snickers, but sure. I’ll see what I can do for you.”

You dig into your pocket anyway, fishing out two quarters and tossing them her way. One bounces off the side of the machine with a dull clank, while the other she catches midair with a soft, strained gasp. Then, she gets to work punching in some digits.

The laundromat you sit in is half-empty, hums and clicks, and the periodic ‘ka-chunk’ of a dryer flipping over someone’s forgotten load. Even if Sade plays from the overhead speakers, nobody else is around, giving you the impression of a despondent 90s gig. ‘It’d be very conceptual, having a club inside a laundromat,’ you had told Rey previously. ‘Sort of avant-garde,’ she had replied.

You’ve been sitting side-by-side in those godawful molded chairs, creaky plastic digging into your ass and making you contemplate the floor as an alternative. Yet you feel like this was exactly what you needed to break away from your slump: not a sensory nightmare, but someone sane to talk to about normal, non-sex or love-related things.

There’s a long beat before Rey settles beside you, peeling open the candy bar and nudging half of it into your hand without asking. You take it. Not because you’re hungry, but because that’s the sort of gesture that makes you feel like you’re healing, even as the chocolate coating melts a little against the warmth of your fingers.

“Hey,” you begin through a mouthful of nougat, nudging her softly as you both melt into your chairs. “Do you think they ever refill these machines, or am I eating something made in 1985?”

“Hard to say,” she shrugs, chewing on her own bar just as thoughtfully, “it's a good year, though.”

You snort softly, swallowing another piece without chewing enough. Despite your theory, the chocolate sits on your tongue sickengly sweet, nearly nauseating with the aftertaste of dark roast. You know the cornershop you got the cup from doesn’t exactly put emphasis on quality, but the price is enough to convince you to ponder a refill.

You both shimmy a little as you watch the laundry spin into greens and browns on one side, and just whites in the other. Your mindless chatter slowly melts into quiet and sticky chewing.

“So,” she starts muffled around a bite, turning toward you just slightly, “did you get hit by a truck on your way here?”

You snort again, but your humor is inevitably met with a drawn silence. When your eyes flicker over Rey’s face, her quirked brow causes your heart to pump harder. 

It’s been five days and five nights of no contact with Kylo. After your shameful night spent together and that embarrassing morning after, he had gone to his ‘meeting’ and never came back. You figured it was a cover, sure, but could you expect him to just… vanish into thin air?

You tried calling. The signal beeps carried into what felt like infinity, and finally, punctuated with his voice. He was simple and to the point, like you’d expect of him.

‘Kylo Ren. Leave a message.’

So husky and void of warmth. The first few days, you’d call again, just to hear that two-second voicemail and lull yourself to a dreamless sleep, then rinse and repeat in the morning. By day three, you were spent and tearless.

Rey had given you the news that day, and you had to pretend like it didn’t matter at all. Kylo had gone ‘away’ to an undisclosed location for an unrevealed amount of time. ‘He’ll be back,’ she had said. His luggage was still by the TV, his toothbrush still lying idly under the bathroom mirror and taunting you with its ignorance to your pain.

Your heart pounded with regret and confusion, but relief took a close third. At the very least, you could rest assured that he was safe, somewhere far; somewhere without you.

You knew you had to tell Rey eventually. She squinted at your red-rimmed, puffy eyes every morning at breakfast, but stayed silent like she was trying to give you grace. It wasn’t as bad as pity, but still stung your gut. Nobody really talked about the less glamorous symptoms of heartbreak (like indigestion and headaches) and how hard it was to heal when it’s kept hidden from your closest friends, even when they try their hardest to inquire.

Finn and Poe knew nothing about the harsh downfall of your situation, either. Some small, prideful part of your heart felt like telling them your woes would just cement the end of it; the end of you and him. You struggled to speak his name anymore, even when the duo barraged you with question after question of ‘did it finally happen?’ and ‘how big is he? Oh, don’t tell me, it’ll ruin the mystery.’

“Excuse me,” you faux-scoff, voice weakening as Rey’s eyes burn into the side of your face, “try a lorry.”

“Right,” she snorts, popping the edge of the candy bar into her mouth and chewing slowly. You do the same while watching her squeeze and toy with the leftover wrapper, as if she were nursing some sort of anxiety you’re impartial to. You both knew what was coming, and you braced for it like armorless soldiers. “Sorry.”

You glance at her sideways, tongue pressing to the inside of your cheek. The scent of warm fabric softener hangs in the air, melting into the otherwise stale air. And Rey doesn’t press, even as you stall to infinity. She just kicks her foot a little where it dangles off the edge of the chair, waiting you out like she’s done this for years, and she has.

And maybe that’s the only reason you’re prompted to talk, the words leaving your lips like a dry cough of air.

“I don’t know,” you say eventually, watching the light flicker overhead. Rey turns toward you fully now, trying to edge her body within the confines of her plastic chair. You glance her over just briefly, and inexplicably, it makes it easier to confess. Not fully, but enough to soothe her worries—and your own, hopefully—for a while.

“I thought he was different.”

Rey tilts her head mid-chew, cheeks pudgy when she turns to you. “What?”

“Like, not in a dramatic, Nicholas Sparks kind of way. Just… quiet, I guess. Intelligent but not, pretentious.” You continue, chewing a caramel-coated peanut as Rey grabs your forearm. When you turn to face her, she’s looking at you like you’re transparent, or worse, knowing exactly what you’re talking about.

She shakes her head wordlessly for a while, lips parted like she’s trying to conjure the right question. “Who?”

You freeze. The warm confessional haze evaporates instantly, replaced by full-body regret and the urge to lie your way out like you’ve done so expertly the past week. Months, if you consider your hopeless, slowly blooming feelings.

“Just… a guy,” you wave, swallowing thickly and feeling the residual sweetness in your throat. “At work.”

Rey’s face scrunches. You watch haphazardly as she tosses the wrapper on the floor, not purposefully, just caught in the moment of your half-assed confession. “A guy?”

You nod too quickly, and your lips tighten. Her gaze penetrates, so you opt for watching the wrapper instead, struggling to backpedal. “New guy. Or, a new customer.”

It’s not a lie, exactly, but Rey’s quiet. That long, judgmental quiet she does when she’s deciding how much of your crap to tolerate before inevitably calling you out on it, and due to that fact alone, you refuse to meet her eyes. The wrapper dances on the tiled floor, propelled by the AC. How wonderful that would feel right now, you think, to be a weightless, inconspicuous object free of consequences, smelling sweet and never once crying over a mediocre guy.

“I just,” you sigh, crossing your legs to toy with the yellowed shoelace. Rey stays quiet and unjudgmental, letting you take the pace you need. You know you’ll have to confess one way or another, and you aim for the latter; details were optional, and all you had to convey was your frustration. “It was stupid. And brief, and… I clearly read way too much into it. As always.”

She doesn’t push, which is somewhat worse; just leans back in her creaky plastic chair and offers, “Well, stupid and brief flings are still flings. You’re allowed to have feelings about it.”

You nod, but it’s the kind of nod people give when they’ve just benched themselves emotionally. And you have, too. There’s a lull among you, only the click-clack of someone’s chunky sandals as they pace behind the windows, children laughing.

“Okay, so,” Rey leans her shoulder gently into yours, and you finally get the courage to look up. She’s smiling, a sad half-smile that makes you shiver. “Tell me about him. This guy.”

You suck in a breath and sit back, staring at the whirring machines like they’ll offer a script for your woes. As hard as it was to drown in abandon after he left, you think talking about it might take the cake after all.

“He was just…” You fumble, words slurring slightly with a tingle in your throat. You clear it, then again. “He was intense. And really, really passive at the same time. But never boring, like he was thinking about something He actually looked at me, even watched me closely even if I wasn't doing or saying anything particular. And—and not in a creepy way, but in a way that made me feel like… I wasn’t just background noise for once. I don’t know.”

Rey’s brows raise slightly, but she says nothing. And you keep going, because now it’s all unspooling, bitter and sweet and maybe it was just what you needed all along.

“He’d say the smallest things and they’d feel like goddamn revelations to me, even if he teased me about it. He wasn’t nice, but when he was, it felt…real. So, so real and…and he touched me like I, we, were real, too. And I thought—” Your voice cracks just a hair, but you don’t continue. Instead, you try to stop your lip from quivering as Rey puts a reassuring palm atop your thigh.

“What happened?” She questions without softness. It’s not unkind, but the edges of her words are determined and nearly frayed.

You blink away your dry tears, the lump in your throat expanding enough to make it hard to swallow.

“He left.”

The radio stutters with static. Your laundry stops spinning with a sharp beep. Then, silence. None of you move to unload it.

“He left like none of it mattered. Like, I imagined the whole damn thing, you know? The whole damn thing,” you trail, feeling Rey’s thumb caressing your jeans. “He said he…I don’t know. I guess it doesn’t matter after all, because he lied about it. He lied about it all and then he walked out.”

You rub at your eyes angrily, trying to push the burn back in. Kylo’s at the forefront of your mind now, boring into your eyelids like a ghost tirelessly haunting your waking days.

“I still smell like him. Fuck, I haven’t even changed my sheets yet,” you let out an ugly little laugh, half-choking through the tightness of your body. “God, Rey. I feel deranged.”

Rey nods slowly, like she’s filing away a hundred questions she’s not ready to ask yet. You, on the other hand, ride that brief wave of anger, taking hurried rein and choking out another pained laugh.

“You know the last thing he said to me before he walked out?” You ask incredulously, looking at Rey with your head shaking in disbelief. She nods in encouragement, but you’ve already fallen quiet. The machines clunk and hum around you, oblivious to your pain. The turmoil.

“Lock the door behind me,” you repeat, settling on every word and individual vowel. You’re careful with your enunciation, even when he wasn’t. His words were quick like lightning and hurt just as much, like he just had to slam a dozen nails into your coffin before leaving you trapped with the memory of his touch in a crypt of his own making.

After a beat, with her hand still caressing your thigh, Rey says gently, “You don’t have to pretend it didn’t hurt. You’re allowed to be wrecked, you know?”

You sniffle, realising you’ve been holding onto the last bite of your candy bar. It sits between your fingertips, melted into the pads of your digits. You pop it in on your tongue for a lack of anything better to do, speaking somberly as you chew. It’s not as sweet anymore, and you think you taste the cheap coffee again. “What if I never stop being wrecked?”

Rey sighs, her gaze firm and holding you at bay. She grabs your hand, chocolate stains and all, and squeezes hard enough for it to ache.

“You will,” she presses, bobbing her head with the weight of the words. Her eyes don’t smile with her lips, but she still chuckles. “Probably by Wednesday.”

You snort joylessly, and your heart thumps with a slither of hope. Maybe, despite the chuckles and smiles, Rey is right. It was a fling, and flings tend to be quick, hard, and explosive—they find you excitable and leave you the same way. That’s one advantage you figure you might have; you were quick to kiss and fuck, and will probably be quick to forget all about it, too.

And suddenly, you don’t feel so wretched. Ruined and angry, yes, but you think that sometime soon you might stop missing him.

“So, hey,” Rey suddenly pipes up, her voice a little stronger now. She must have noticed your big, relieved exhale, as she smiles fully now. “My mom’s throwing a thing. Like, a thing thing. Her remission party.”

You glance up, eyes a little wide as your tonghe digs a peanut from between your teeth. Your selfish worry turns into a pang of curiosity, then floods into question. “She okay?”

Rey nods through that same smile. 

“Yeah. They caught it early this time. She’s feeling good. She’s, uh…” she trails slightly, biting her bottom lip to stop a grin. She’s happy. Hopeful, even. “She’s making casseroles. So. Really good.”

Despite the bad blood simmering in your gut, you feel like you can breathe a little easier now. You’ve known about Leia’s situation before, but due to the effect it had on Rey, you respected her grieving and never pushed too hard. 

You smile now, too, then catch her hand in yours, squeezing as tight as she did just moments ago. “That’s amazing, Rey.”

“She’d love to see you,” Rey adds quickly, a little too loud to be casual. Her free hand lands on your shoulder, eyes wide and hopeful like she’d just realised something important. “You should come. It’s just family and friends, good wine. Maybe some semi-intentional emotional terrorism via political discourse, but you know.”

“That’s just another Sunday for us,” you chuckle easily, and she joins you promptly with her own.

Her head tilts a little, giving you a playful quirk of her eyebrow. “Especially with Kylo around, right?”

You laugh a little, while inside, your stomach drops. There’s nausea, and terror, and a brief hiccup of air, but then you smooth it out. After all, Rey had remained oblivious to the toughest part of your predicament, but for now, you knew you’d keep it under lock and key.

“I’ll think about it,” you nod, gently withdrawing your hand from hers to let the trickling anxiety settle.

“Cool,” she says, her grin toothy and excitable. She shrugs suddenly, standing from her chair with a loud, painful creak and smoothing down her pants. “I was gonna guilt you into it anyway.”

“I appreciate the honesty,” you roll your eyes despite the hollow in your chest, standing up slowly and grabbing your laundry basket.

“It’s what makes me charming,” she shrugs, grabbing her own and crouching by the washers.

“Oh, is that what we’re calling it now?”

She gives a mock bow within the confines of her position, extending an arm just enough for you to catch her intention. "Sharp tongue. I see heartbreak hasn’t dulled your edge."

"Yeah, well," you murmur, glancing at the non-churning machines, "edges are all I’ve got left."

Rey laughs, and you watch with a bitter smile as she tugs at the washing machine’s handle. When it doesn’t give, she looks toward you with wide eyes.

"Holy shit—" she huffs, tugging another peg harder as you approach with a strained giggle. “It’s stuck. It’s actually stuck.”

“No, no, no,” you shake your head, stepping forward and shooing her away with a brief wave. “Let me try.”

“Dude, all my work clothes are in there,” she laments, dead-serious and approaching panic as you strain against the plastic handle. Indeed, it stays shut. “If I have to go into office in that fuck-ass onesie again, I’ll—”

You bark out a laugh, so hard you get startled by it. The sound feels foreign in your mouth, left behind like your hope for something more, something real; but it’s warm, and that’s enough to make Rey grin.

“There she is,” she teases, clearly pleased with her own witty quips as you keep tugging. You roll your eyes again, but it’s less malicious this time, paired with bright eyes and warm cheeks. 

“Come on, help me out here before I start crying, too.”

And the two of you wrestle the stubborn washed door together, laughing and swearing under your breaths until, with an ungodly squeal of rusted metal, it finally gives. After, you gather your laundry and bicker about who really got the round door to budge, neither of you willing to admit defeat.

For the first time in days, things feel normal again. Your lungs expand with fresh breath, laughing about everything and nothing at all while your phone buzzes with an inflow of texts, forgotten like they ought to be.

[shotoyami]

Could do gambit x f reader basically f reader is a normal person working and is saved one day by gambit in a fight and offers to take her home and basically gets to know her and take her out on a date’s <33

prenotes: Gambit beloved <33 !!! The silly little Cajun man, he has my heart… I loved writing this sm, super cute, might make a part two if anyone would like to see that!!!

Thank you so much for the request, anon<3

pairing: Remy LeBeau/Gambit + female reader

warnings: none, yet again!

genre: fluff, that’s all to be seen here

notes: so please ignore the jokes I make in here if anyone doesn’t like them, I had to make them as a retail worker and the usual daily struggles of retail. but if anyone laughs, I’m glad! (please respect your retail workers, they don’t get paid enough or appreciated enough)

word count: 900+

Sir, this is a Walmart…

Work. Mediocre, stressful, annoying. At least, that’s a normal day on the job. Another day at some high end grocery store that cannot be named here, just dealing with the same customers to expect every day. The entitled old people, the crass young people that shouldn't be without adult supervision, crying babies that the mother literally is not even a foot away from and doesn’t care about, and so much more stupidity. 

“You young kids and not respecting their elders. I swear, it’s like I always talk to the same person no matter where I go unless it’s a machine!” Like now, where an older woman is harassing me.

I force a civil smile onto my face, knowing everything is both on video and on audio, and that anything against store policy could get me fired. “I’m sorry to hear that, ma’am. Unfortunately, I can’t bend the rules for anyone. If I change the price for you, I’d have to change the price for everyone in the store- which can’t happen, of course.” I try to explain to the woman– which is stupid, because when do entitled people ever listen to reason? She starts shouting, which is to be expected, and of course a supervisor comes over, trying to gauge what’s happening, and now she’s screaming at them too. The supervisor gives me a glance and I just put my hands up defensively and turn and walk away– because I don’t get paid anywhere near enough to deal with this crap.

I fall into the breakroom’s couch with a long sigh, making one of my coworkers giggle. “Gosh (y/n), tell us all how you really feel girl.” I groan, but let out a small laugh, finding humor in my coworker’s words. “Was it Sharon again? Or Beth?”

I sat up as I respond, “Neither, it was Martha.” My coworker grimaces at the name, before she sighs.

“Yikes. I’m sorry girl, she’s a pain.” I snicker, nodding in agreement. “But have you seen that new looker that’s been coming in recently?” That sparks my attention, and I sit fully toward her, attentively. “No? Okay, so there’s this guy that’s been coming in, right? And he’s got weird eyes and a southern accent, and he flirts with everyone.” I nod along as she speaks, humming afterward in thought.

“No, I haven’t seen or met him yet. He sounds interesting?” She nods in agreement, but we’re interrupted as our supervisor comes in, rolling his eyes.

“Martha.” Is all he says, making both of us giggle. “You’re good to go back on the floor, (y/n).” I nod and hop up, making my way back out onto the sales floor.

Of course, my luck willing, there’s some weird looking people (hey, we’re not trying to judge here, but just imagine this the same kinda way as describing your neighborhood crackhead) getting into a fight on the sales floor. I stand there, awkwardly, because I’m not trying to get into the middle of all of that. 

As I go to shuffle on by, because I don’t get paid enough to care, some kind of metal comes flying at me. My survival instincts aren’t survivaling because I just stare at my impending doom for a moment, accepting my fate and all, until a card with a purple looking hue just flies in front of me and blows up the metal??????

Whilst pondering my existence and how I didn’t just die, I get grabbed and my snatcher???? savior???? just kind of runs, cursing in some other language – french? Once again accepting my fate, I don’t exactly struggle or anything because this is all on camera and surely  someone will clock me out for this or just give me extended pay time for dealing with this crap.

The person finally stops and sets me down in the back of the parking lot, and I find that it’s my coworker’s deemed ‘new looker’. “Ya’ alri’, cher?” I slowly nod, probably looking like a big eyed fish or a barn owl or something. He chuckles, offering a hand, “The name’s Remy LeBeau, ya’ welcome fa’ the save. How’s ‘bout yous make it up ta’ me by lettin’ me walk ya’ on home? Ya’ off the clock?” Again, I just nod stupidly – my coworkers can clock me out, it should be fine. Fortunately, I use public transportation anyway, so it all works out.

Of course, everyone’s staring at the man next to me. Not so much for his “good looks,” but moreso for his odd appearing eyes – red on black. The entire subway is…rather quiet for once. It’s a nice change, a welcome change. He’s the one that breaks the silence as we get off of the subway, “Ya’ from ‘round these parts?” He sort of leans over me, smirking but still being quite respectful. He’s probably fishing for something in common, given his thick southern accent.

“No, I’m from the next state over.” He slowly nods, humming and keeping the conversation going similarly until we arrive at my front door. “So, I be seein’ ya’ again? Here, le’mme give ya’ my fone number.” He quickly comes up with a way to scribble down his digits, handing the paper to me. “An’ maybe we can go on a nice little date or somethin’ soon, cher?”

A goofy smile comes onto my face at this words, a bit shocked that all it took was a bit of small took to charade this man, but I nod in agreement nonetheless. “I’d appreciate if it involved me not being in immediate danger next time?” He chuckles and nods.

“See ya’ then, darlin’.”

[sstormyskyess]

Hello lovely moot! Can I send a request? Need some more Gaz content please, there’s not enough as we well know. How about something steamy, stolen kisses and an intimate moment when the rest of the team are busy elsewhere. Gotta keep it quiet so no one catches you in the act and blows the secret. Happy with your choice of reader gender identity but top Gaz please 🖤🖤🖤

Undercover

author's note: hi beloved moot and fellow gaz lover!! i will always write gaz content til the day i die, i will populate the gaz x reader tag myself if i have to 💜 thank you for the request!! [and apologies for the wait, finals season is kicking my ass 🥱]

cw: smut, semi-public sex, fingering, unsafe sex [wrap it before you tap it!]

word count: 2100+

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick / Fem!Reader

Gaz had been getting on your nerves for the past hour now. He must be pent up from the last mission; there would be no other reason for him to be practically begging for your attention when he had plenty of other things to focus on. Mainly, the mission brief that was currently being held. The one that would be dictating the strategies you would be employing for the next mission.

But instead of taking in that crucial information, Gaz was squeezing and kneading at the meat of your thighs under the table. You shoot him yet another glare but his eyes remain forward, albeit unfocused. Your face was warming up exponentially, despite the cold winter air drifting in through the door.

“Soap, Ghost. This is need to know, follow me.” Price nodded to the door and all three of them left the room, leaving just you and Gaz in the makeshift meeting room that had been fashioned in the safehouse. Your gaze snaps to Gaz, a frown on your face. “What is wrong with you?!” You whisper-yell, your face heated up all the way down to your shirt collar.

He puts his hands up defensively, a cocky smile playing at his features. “I don’t know what you mean, sweetheart.” You groan, rolling your eyes and rubbing your hands over your face to calm yourself down enough to not strangle him half to death on the spot. “Were you paying attention to the brief at all?” You groan, exasperated by his antics.

Any further protests you were planning on raising were swiftly cut short by Gaz’s lips on yours, his tongue sliding across your bottom lip. You latch your hand to his shoulder, gripping tight and trying to push him off, your frustration fighting to keep your desires under control. He only deepens the kiss, leaning over you and pushing you back against the table. Ultimately, the heat between your legs won out, your body letting him lay you on the old wooden table, covered in important documents that most certainly weren’t meant to be tampered with or damaged in any way.

You let out a little whine into his mouth as his hands started to palm at your chest through your clothes, the soft plush of your breasts squishing under his touch. His hands slip into your sweater, pushing your bra upwards to get better access to your warm skin and perked up nipples. It doesn’t take long for him to lean down and shove his head under the hem of your shirt and wrap his soft lips around one of your hardened buds.

You gasp, grabbing onto his head through the thick fabric making up your sweater. “Gaz, they’re right outside!” You squeak, wiggling in his grasp. He just continues his cruel machinations, pulling you closer even though he was already practically laying on top of you. “I guess we better stay quiet then, yeah?” His voice is muffled by both your skin and the cover of your sweater over his head.

He holds your hips tight to stop your squirming before his fingers start to unbuckle your belt and slip the hem of your cargo pants down. They get shucked off, falling to the ground in a heap, leaving you in only your sweater and your underwear. Your legs instinctively try to close to stave off the cold air against your dampened panties, but Gaz catches them before they can.

He licks his lips at the sight of the wet spot your pussy had created on the soft fabric covering it up, a near ravenous glint in his eyes. He had to force himself to calm down, though; he didn’t have time to bury his face between your legs until your legs were shaking. That would have to wait for later. But he needed you, now.

You let him pull your panties to the side and glide his fingers along your slit, a shiver going down your spine at the feeling. “God, you’re soaked, love.” He smiles to himself, slipping one of his fingers inside, another fitting in beside the first quickly. You bite down on your bottom lip, barely able to suppress the needy moan that bubbles up at the way his digits wormed their way into your tight heat.

He starts to pump his fingers in and out, your hips twitching upwards in response with a sharp inhale. “Fuck—!” You slap your hand over your mouth to keep yourself quiet, your eyes darting to the door for fear of the other three returning and seeing you in this position. Gaz would have none of that, he decided before he grabbed your chin with his other hand and turned your eyes back toward him. “Eyes on me, darling, c’mon.”

Your breath hitches at the hungry look he gives you. You look him over through the fog slowly clouding your brain, taking note of the straining of his pants trying to hold his aching cock back. You’re brought back to reality when his fingers press against that spot that only he can reach, your back arching off the table. The spongy flesh melds around his middle and ring finger, a sharp jolt of pleasure shooting through you. You whine, wiggling under his touch. “Gaz, just hurry up!”

Gaz simply smirks, finally undoing his belt and pulling the zipper of his pants down with his free hand, the outline of his bulge visible behind the fabric of his boxer briefs. You gasp when he pulls you toward the edge of the table, your core pressing up against his clothed cock. He grips your hips tightly, grinding into you and putting delightful friction on your clit through your underwear.

He takes a little while longer to work you open, his fingers spreading your walls open. You clench around them, a tiny whimper leaving your pursed lips. “Gaz, c’mon..!”

“You think you’re ready for me?” He taunts, his smug face making a wave of frustration roll through you. “Yes, I’m ready! Hurry, please!” You whine at him. He shakes his head, laughing quietly. “Alright, alright.”

He lets go of your hip to fish his cock out of his underwear, stiff and leaking at the tip. You bite your lip at the sight, watching him intently as he pumps himself a few times and milks a few more drops of his pre-cum out. Your eyes dart between that delicious sight and his face, feeling your cheeks warm.

You hardly notice his fingers sliding out of you and the head of his cock lining up with your pussy, gliding through your folds. Before you know it, he’s pressing into you, stretching you open. It rips a moan from your lips, a moan that’s just a little too loud.

He jerks up to put his palm over your mouth and continues pushing himself inside. The rest of the moans you let out are muffled by his hand, and he chuckles imagining how loud you would be if he let you sing for him out loud. Maybe later tonight. “You know how much I love your voice, but you have to stay quiet, sweetheart.”

You shoot a glare at him, your eyes shouting at him, ‘If you didn’t want to get caught, why did we do this in the first place,’ but your wordless complaints are stifled when he starts moving his hips. Your back arches at the pace he sets off the jump; it’s obvious he was done playing around now, something about being enveloped in your wet cunt fully awakening his desires.

You cry out behind his hand, putting your own hand over his in an attempt to subdue your own voice more than it already was. The tip of his cock kisses your cervix over and over, the pressure in the pit of your stomach building up with each thrust. He leans over you, hands firmly planted on the table, hitting a different angle than before. A better angle.

Kyle grazes across your sweet spot, your entire body jumping in response. You practically scream his name into the palm of his hand, your eyes rolling back. “Fuuuck…” He groans at the way you tighten around him, his hips stuttering before continuing his quick pace. You whine, hips canting upwards to meet his thrusts.

Your eyes widen when he removes his hand while you were mid-moan, your own hand slapping over your mouth to replace his. He doesn’t let it stay there for long, though; he takes your wrist and pulls it away from your face, leaning down to put his lips on yours in a heated kiss. You let him slip his tongue into your mouth to dance with your own, covering up your lewd noises.

The table legs scrape along the floor with every one of his thrusts. You claw at his back through his shirt, tugging on it. “Gaz—” You have to bite your lip to stop your words from devolving into a moan, before continuing, “S-Slow down, they’re gonna hear us—!” You squeak when all he responds with is a particularly rough thrust.

“D-Don’t care if they hear, fuck—need to feel you cum on my cock, c’mon, do it,” He mutters and starts pulling you into his thrusts, groaning at the feeling of your pussy clenching down on him as you neared your climax.

He takes a moment to lean back and look over your body, a slight sheen of sweat gracing your skin and your eyes glassy. You feel his cock twitch inside you and your hips jerk; you stifle your whine, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him closer, desperate to finally cum.

“Christ, love,” He pants, his fingers digging into the plush of your thighs. “You’re so fuckin’ tight—” He bites into his fist, groaning into it. His hand shakes as he drags it to your clit, rubbing quick little circles into your sensitive nub. Your hands fly up to cover your mouth and muffle the string of moans that leaves you as your orgasm finally hits.

Gaz braces his hands on the table’s surface, nearly collapsing under the overwhelming feeling of the walls of your tight cunt fluttering as you cum. It only takes a couple more pumps of his cock for him to finish, his cum sending a pleasantly warm feeling through your body and eliciting a moan from you, not caring about the volume anymore.

Your breath shudders as you try to regain your bearings, your mind a bit fuzzy. His chest rises and falls with heavy breaths, You suck in a quick breath when he pulls out, your cunt oversensitive from his relentless onslaught he laid into it. He smiles and leans down to kiss you sweetly, his hands caressing your sides.

You sit up after a few moments, noticing that Gaz had pulled your panties back in place. You grimace and sigh when you feel him leaking out of you, which is bound to get the seat of your pants wet. You hoped at least you’d be able to escape somewhere to change soon.

“Are you satisfied now?” You grumble, sliding off the table and attempting to hide the way your legs were shaking. He just chuckles, kissing you on the cheek with a smile on his lips. “I am. At least until later tonight.” He plants another kiss behind your ear. “Thank you, love.”

You roll your eyes and playfully push him away, smoothing down your sweater and pulling your cargo pants back up, but not before Gaz grabs a handful of your ass and squeezes. He laughs when you squeak and swat his hand away, your cheeks puffed as you frown. “Stop that! And put your dick away, they're bound to come back in here any minute now.”

He does as you ask and tucks his softening cock away, zipping up his trousers. “Looking forward to later tonight, sweetheart,” he says with a cheeky little grin.

Soap leans against the wall next to the door to their makeshift briefing room, chuckling quietly to himself. Ghost and Price were less than amused, but they could at least acknowledge the absurdity of the situation. They left for five minutes and you and Gaz managed to get into each other’s pants within that short span of time.

“Remind me why we aren’t going back inside?” Ghost grumbles, arms crossed. Price shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m not interested in seeing my sergeants shagging like dogs in heat, Simon.”

Soap hides a louder laugh behind his fist, taking a second to compose himself. “Come on, L.T., no need to ruin their fun.” He barely held back the overpowering urge to reach over a few inches and jiggle the door handle just to spook the two of you. Just barely. Ghost rolls his eyes. “Should’ve picked a better time to have their fun, then.” He huffs.

“It’ll be fine. I can tell them off later.” Price chuckles at Ghost’s drawn out, dramatic sigh and patiently waits for the sound of squealing table legs to quiet down.

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

[lilybumblebee]

Commission Pricing

DM me to request commissions!

Portrait Size

All prices are in USD

Head: $10

Bust: $15

Half body: $20

Most of body: $25 (almost all of body is visible)

Total Full body: $30 (entire body is completely visible)

Quality (add option to portrait size)

Lineart Sketch: +$5

Colored with simple shading: +$10

Detailed shading: +$20

Recommended: most of body with simple shading ($35)

Pay at: https://ko-fi.com/ladybumblebee

Modifiers: Multiple characters: additional half price of the portrait size of the character added (ex: if you have a full body of a character, and just the head of another, that's $30 + $5 (half of $10 head) + the quality price). The most expensive body size in the drawing is full price and the rest are half. Ref sheets are counted as multiple characters.

Won't draw: Art the promotes hate speech, comics, gore (besides minor blood), machines/mecha, actual backgrounds, NSFW art that I'm not comfy with, actual animals, anything involving AI.

Might draw but not great at: Furry, guns (if the character really needs fancy guns, I'm not the person to commission), actual animals, replicating specific art styles, detailed musculature, I suck at drawing kissing

Good at: Designing outfits, drawing faces, nudity (either NSFW or artistic nudity)

Notes: You will pay half up front, and can request to see watermarked WIPS, but will pay the rest of the price once I am finished to receive the final drawing. Do not use any of my art to train AI, or to use as a prompt for AI. I do not offer full refunds, only half refunds. If you aren't happy with the result, you had plenty of opportunities to ask me to make changes or see how it's going, I'm sorry.

UNLESS YOU SPECIFICALLY ASK ME NOT TO, I WILL POST MY COMMISSIONS ON SOCIAL MEDIA

Wait times: I'm typically somewhat a fast artist, but expect for a drawing to take less than a week.

Fandoms I'll gladly draw fanart for: Jojo's Bizarre adventure (Jojo stands count as an additional character), Hylics, Dungeon Meshi, Zelda.

I'll draw fanart of other things, but if you're looking for fanart of these, I'd be a good choice.