#on second thought I’m not tagging all of them | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vingtetunmars · 2 days ago

Text

Cool Your Engine

Pairing: Eddie Munson x F!Reader

Summary: A summer car breakdown leads to unexpected sparks when you're met with Eddie Munson, the mechanic.

tags: NSFW, mechanic!Eddie Munson, meet cute, hooking up, smut (18+), Eddie is flirty, but reader is equally as flirty, so Eddie gets flustered, things gets steamy. No mentions of Y/N.

A/N: Here's another one for yall who hasn't moved on from spring 2022 (dw me too). And I have to warn you guys, it's my first time writting smut. If you have any requests, suggestions, or thoughts, feel free to send me a message. Reblogs are appreciated. Please do not steal or cross-post it on another platform without asking. Thank you.

word count: 3.484

masterlist

It happened three songs into your summer mixtape, somewhere between “Jessie’s Girl” and the first crackle of heat warping off the pavement. Your car coughed, shuddered, and gave up like a dramatic theater kid—right in the middle of the road.

“Seriously?” you muttered, pulling off to the shoulder with what little momentum you had left. A few horns honked in passing, but it wasn’t like you’d planned a breakdown in 90-degree weather with no shade, no A/C, and no clue what was wrong under the hood.

You kicked the tire. Like that would help.

Eventually, with sweat creeping down your back and patience fraying, you called it in. The tow truck guy took his time—of course—and an hour later, your car was being dragged into Thatcher Tires, a squat little shop tucked behind a gas station and halfway disguised by trees.

The tow truck rolled to a stop in front of an open garage bay. Music drifted from a beat-up radio inside—Ozzy—and you caught the glint of metal tools scattered across a workbench.

Then he stepped out.

He looked like a movie cliché. Grease-stained jeans, sleeveless band tee clinging to his arms, dark curls tied back with a red rag. There was a smear of oil across one cheek, a socket wrench in one hand, and the swagger of someone who’d definitely been kicked out of detention more than once.

And you knew him.

Eddie Munson.

High school’s resident chaos goblin. All leather jackets, bad reputation, and devil horns. You hadn’t really talked to him back then — different friend groups, different universes — but Hawkins High wasn’t exactly huge. You knew of him. He knew of you.

And now, apparently, he was the one holding your car’s fate in his ring-clad hands.

“Well, well,” he said with a grin, looking you up and down with obvious amusement. “Didn’t expect you to show up here. This some kind of undercover royalty mission?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Sorry?”

He gestured to your car with theatrical flair. “You know. Hawkins High’s golden girl, stranded in the heat. Sounds like the setup to a John Hughes movie. Except I’m pretty sure I’m the bad influence your parents warned you about.”

You stared at him. He was laying it on thick. Bold move.

“…The engine died,” you said coolly, not missing a beat. “Right after I put in gas. Which makes me think maybe it just gave up on life.”

“Tragic,” Eddie said, walking over to pop the hood. “Sounds like it’s got a flare for the dramatic. Can’t blame it. If I had to live off gas station hot dogs, I’d probably give up too.”

He bent over the engine, giving you an unfortunate front-row view of his torn shirt riding up at the back. You fought the urge to laugh.

Then, without looking at you, he added, “So, you come here often? Or do broken engines just bring us together?”

You blinked.

Oh. So he wanted to play this game.

A slow smile tugged at your lips.

You stepped a little closer, just enough that he noticed the shift in space. “Only when the universe decides to throw me at high school delinquents.”

Eddie straightened, wiping his hands on a rag that only made them slightly dirtier. He caught your gaze and faltered for just a second. “Touché.”

You tilted your head, pretending to inspect the engine. “So, you actually know what you’re doing? Or is this where you tell me I need a whole new car?”

He let out a breathy chuckle, tapping the wrench against his palm. “Nah, lucky for you, I’m the best thing that ever happened to this shop. You’ll be back on the road in no time.”

“Good,” you said, shooting him a look. “I’d hate to have to call another mechanic. One that isn’t flirting with me in broad daylight.”

That shut him up.

For a beat, Eddie opened his mouth—then closed it again. He wiped his hands harder. “Uh. Right. Yeah. I’ll, um, go take a look at the engine now.”

You bit your cheek to keep from laughing. This was going to be fun.

Eddie cleared his throat, dragging his focus back to the car like it hadn’t just gotten lightly roasted by someone way too cute to be standing in his garage, in his space, casually dismantling his ability to flirt like a functioning adult.

He leaned over the engine again, muttering something about valves as he poked around with the tip of his wrench. You folded your arms and leaned back against the car next to yours, watching him like he was a particularly entertaining movie.

“So?” you finally asked. “What’s the damage, Doc?”

Eddie popped his head up, giving you a crooked grin. “Well, after a very scientific examination—by which I mean looking at it and poking it a few times—I’d say your alternator’s fried. That, or your battery connections are shot. Could be both. Either way, your engine wasn’t getting the juice it needed.”

You blinked. “English?”

He laughed. “Car no get power. Car sad.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile snuck in anyway. “Got it. And how long does it take to un-sad the car?”

Eddie straightened up fully, wiping his hands on the same greasy rag as before. “If it’s just the alternator, I can probably have it fixed by tomorrow evening. If I gotta order a new part, we’re talking… two days, maybe three. Depends how fast the delivery guy wants to piss me off this week.”

You nodded, pretending to calculate your suffering. “So I’m without a car for at least a day. What a tragedy.”

Eddie shrugged, tilting his head. “Could be worse. At least you broke down near home. And hey, now you get to hang out at Hawkins’ hottest summer destination: the Munson Garage.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh, is that what this place is called now?”

“Unofficially. Only the cool people call it that.” He glanced away, rubbing the back of his neck with his oil-slicked hand and instantly regretting it when he smeared grease across his skin. “Which, apparently, now includes you.”

There was a pause.

You smiled again—slow and knowing.

He caught it and groaned. “God, I walked right into that, didn’t I?”

“Yep,” you said, popping the ‘p’ with satisfaction.

Eddie chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright, alright. I’m gonna pull the battery and check a few more things. You’re welcome to chill if you want. The office has A/C and a semi-functioning coffee machine. Emphasis on ‘semi.’”

You considered it, then nodded. “Fine. But if that coffee kills me, I’m suing.”

He gave you a mock salute. “Deal. You die, I get sued. That’s the American Dream, baby.”

You pushed off the car and made your way toward the garage office, brushing past him just close enough that his breath hitched—and if you smiled to yourself as you walked away, well…

He didn’t have to know that.

──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──

You stared at the buzzing fluorescent light in the garage office. It blinked in uneven spurts, casting a depressing glow over the chipped coffee table, stained carpet, and stack of Auto Weekly magazines no one had touched since 1981. The A/C hummed like it was on its last leg, doing its best to fight off the heat bleeding through the windows.

You checked your watch. Five minutes had passed.

You tried sipping the coffee.

Immediately regretted it.

You set it down and stared at the door leading back into the garage.

You didn’t have to sit here. He’d invited you to stay, hadn’t he?

Yeah. Totally invited. It wasn’t weird. Not weird at all.

With that flimsy justification, you pushed open the door and stepped into the garage again—where the air was hotter, thicker, and scented like motor oil, grease, and faint cologne. Not that you minded.

Eddie was crouched low at the front of your car, hands deep in the engine. He hadn’t noticed you yet, music from a nearby radio low but loud enough to cover the creak of the door.

And yeah—damn.

The band tee he wore earlier had ridden up again, revealing the sharp lines of his back and the tattoos inked along his side, smeared faintly with grease. His arms flexed as he twisted something with a wrench, a loose strand of hair falling across his face. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, leaving a smudge across his temple.

You shouldn’t have stared. You definitely shouldn’t have bit your lip.

But it wasn’t your fault he looked like the cover of a very specific kind of magazine right now.

Eddie finally looked up—and startled just slightly when he saw you there. “Back so soon? Office too glamorous for you?”

You shrugged, walking over like your pulse wasn’t doing weird things. “The light was flickering like it was trying to communicate with the dead. And your coffee? Crimes against humanity.”

Eddie grinned. “Told you it was semi-functional.”

You leaned against the worktable beside him, arms crossed, pretending you weren’t definitely watching the way his curls stuck to the back of his neck. “So what’s the verdict? Is my car dead or just in a dramatic coma?”

He wiped his hands off on a rag, then gestured vaguely toward the engine. “Still coma. She’s responding to tests, though. Could pull through with some TLC and a couple hundred dollars in parts.”

“Hmm.” You leaned forward, peering into the engine like you knew what any of it meant. “You really talk about cars like they’re people.”

He looked at you, a flicker of something dancing behind his eyes. “They kind of are. You learn their moods. Their quirks. Some scream for attention, others give you the silent treatment.”

“Sounds exhausting.”

“Sounds like high school.”

You both laughed, and for a second, the sound softened the space between you.

Then Eddie cleared his throat. “You didn’t have to come out here, you know.”

“I know.” You looked at him, bold enough to hold the stare. “Just figured you were more interesting than a flickering light and expired magazines.”

His smile twitched, but he didn’t look away. “Careful, princess. Keep talking like that and I might start thinking you actually like me.”

You tilted your head, considering him, considering your words. “What if I already do?”

For a split second, his confidence wobbled. A flush bloomed at the base of his neck, just barely visible through the smears of grease and heat.

“Well,” he said, eyes flicking down and then quickly back up, “then I’d say you’re making some very questionable life choices.”

You smirked, leaning a little closer. “Yeah. I tend to do that in the summer.”

Eddie blinked—visibly short-circuiting.

You didn’t press your luck. Just gave him a wink, turned around, and went back to pretending to look at the tools like you hadn’t just broken his brain.

From behind you, you heard him mutter, “Jesus Christ,” under his breath.

Victory.

You eventually peeled yourself away from the garage — mostly because the heat and Eddie were making it difficult to think straight.

After making a call, you walked back to Eddie, “I’m gonna have to leave her here for the night,” you said, glancing back at your poor, sunbaked car. “I’ve got places to be, and unfortunately none of them include waiting around in a garage for a miraculous resurrection.”

Eddie wiped his hands on that same rag, slinging it over his shoulder like a towel in some kind of car commercial. “I can work on it tonight, if you want. Should have her running by tomorrow.”

You tilted your head. “You offering that as a mechanic or a... friend?”

He gave a soft snort. “Well, the mechanic gets paid. The friend just wants an excuse to see you again.”

You tried not to let your smirk show too much. “Good thing I like both of them, then.”

That time, he definitely blushed — just a flicker, but you caught it.

A car horn sounded from outside. You glanced toward the open garage doors and saw your friend’s car pulling into the lot, waving lazily out the window.

“That’s my ride,” you said, already taking a few steps back.

Eddie nodded, brushing a grease-streaked curl from his cheek. “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You paused at the door, hand on the frame. “Don’t let her give you too much trouble,” you said, nodding at your car. “She can be dramatic, but she’s got heart.”

“Sounds familiar,” Eddie said, giving you a little grin — and a little look.

You raised your brows. “Careful, Munson. You flirt like that again and I might think you’re interested.”

He opened his mouth, but whatever clever reply he had fizzled the moment you winked and turned on your heel.

As you slid into your friend’s passenger seat, you couldn’t help but glance back once. Eddie was still standing there, rag over his shoulder, watching you go with a look that made the inside of your chest feel like someone had lit a match.

Yeah. Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.

──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──

The next afternoon, you were back — sunglasses perched on your nose, summer breeze tousling your hair as you stepped into the garage.

Eddie was already elbow-deep in the hood of someone else’s car, but the second he looked up and saw you, something in his face lit up. He wiped his hands off and met you halfway across the garage.

“She lives,” he said, nodding toward your car parked by the side. “Got her purring like a kitten. You’re all good to go.”

You gave him a pleased grin, twirling your keys around one finger. “So does this mean I owe you dinner, or just my eternal gratitude?”

Eddie blinked — caught for just a second in that space between flustered and wanting to flirt. “Depends. Are you offering?”

You tilted your head, amused. “I might be.”

He was the one who took the step closer this time. “Careful,” he said, voice low. “You say things like that and I’ll start thinking today’s gonna get even better.”

Something in the air shifted — like it always did when you two were alone.

It was supposed to be a quick stop. Grab the car, say thank you, go. But the way Eddie was looking at you — like you were trouble in the best way — made your pulse kick up.

“You’re staring,” you said softly, but didn’t back away.

“So are you.”

He reached up, gently brushing your sunglasses to rest on top of your head. The moment your eyes met without the tint between them, something snapped.

You closed the distance first — not quite a kiss, but your lips just a breath away from his. “Is now a bad time to say I’ve been thinking about you?”

Eddie exhaled through a laugh, but his voice came out hoarse. “Only if it stops you from doing something about it.”

And then you did.

You kissed him.

It was slow at first — like testing the water — but when his hands found your waist and you backed him against the wall beside the garage’s tool chest, it deepened. His lips were soft but urgent, fingers flexing against your sides like he couldn’t believe this was real.

He broke away just long enough to say, “You’re gonna ruin me, you know that?”

You smiled against his jaw, lips brushing his skin. “I’m counting on it.”

Clothes stayed mostly on. But hands wandered. A little too long under your shirt, his rings cold against warm skin. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging a soft noise from the back of his throat that made your stomach flutter.

The garage door was still open.

“I should not be doing this here,” you murmured against his lips, breathless, giggling.

“Tell that to yourself, then,” Eddie said, nipping at your bottom lip.

You kissed him like you meant to stay longer — and Eddie kissed you back like he didn’t want to let you leave.

What started near the open garage doors quickly got too bold, too heated. A quiet moan slipped out before you could stop it, and Eddie froze like a deer in headlights. His eyes darted to the open lot.

“Office,” he mumbled. “Now.”

You both practically stumbled inside, laughing between kisses. The office door shut behind you with a muffled click — suddenly, the hum of the fan was the only sound, and it felt like you were in a different world.

Eddie backed you against the wall first, lips trailing down your neck, one hand resting just above your hip while the other cupped your cheek. He kissed you like he was trying to learn you — slow at first, but full of quiet hunger.

Then he stopped.

His eyes searched yours, lips parted, chest rising and falling. “Are you sure?” he asked, voice hoarse. “With me?”

You nodded, without a second of hesitation. “Are you seriously still asking that?”

A beat passed. Then he muttered, “Okay,” like a promise.

His fingers slid under your shirt again — bolder this time, less cautious — and you tugged at the hem until he helped you pull it over your head. You made quick work of his, revealing the lines of his pale torso, lean and dusted with grease smudges and freckles.

You kissed each other like you were making up for lost time.

Eddie's hands wandered lower, gripping your thighs as he lifted you up against the wall, breath hot against your cheek. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured.

“It’s not enough,” you whispered back.

That did it. His mouth crashed into yours again — desperate, teeth and tongue and breathless heat.

Then he carried you to the desk, setting you down like you were something fragile. The fan buzzed above as his fingers skimmed over your waistband, eyes locked on yours the whole time.

“Still good?” he asked.

You answered by kissing him again, and guiding his hand where you wanted it.

His fingers traced gentle shapes over your clit — feather-light at first, almost teasing, like he wanted to hear you beg. When he slipped past the seam and touched you — properly — your breath hitched.

“God, you're soaked,” he whispered. “Is that all for me?”

You nodded, flushed and smiling. “Who else?”

He watched your expression the whole time, eyes dark, lips parted, the tips of his fingers slick with you. “Holy fuck,” he whispered. “You’re so soft…”

Your hands slid down to his belt, tugging at the buckle with shaking fingers. He let out a half-laugh, half-groan. “God, you’re gonna kill me.”

When his dick pressed against your thigh, hot and heavy even through his boxers, you felt the last of your patience snap. He leaned over you, foreheads touching, both of you half-dressed and frantic.

“Please,” you said, soft, just for him.

He kissed you again before he pushed down his boxers past his knees. When you saw his dick, thick and flushed, your stomach flipped in the best way.

He lined up, pushing in slow — steady, careful, giving you time.

His breath hitched as he slid into your entrance, stretching you in a way that made you gasp into his shoulder. His hands shook a little where they gripped the desk beside your hips.

“Fuck,” he groaned, dick buried to the hilt. “You feel… insane. You feel perfect.”

Eddie kissed every inch he could reach — your shoulders, your jaw, the hollow beneath your ear. His hands gripped your hips like he couldn’t let go. You tangled your fingers in his hair, nails dragging lightly down his back.

You whispered each other's names like secrets. You clung to him like he was the only real thing in the world.

The desk creaked beneath you with every thrust, the sound swallowed by the way your bodies met, again and again. His hands gripped your waist like you were the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

“I’m—close,” he admitted in a shaky breath, pressing his forehead to yours.

You nodded, moaning softly. “Me too. Don’t stop, Eds, don’t—”

You came first, thighs trembling, body arching as pleasure rolled through you in slow waves. Eddie followed almost instantly, hips stuttering, arms wrapping tightly around you as he let go with a broken sound against your neck.

For a long time after, the only sounds were your uneven breathing and the faint faint creak of the ceiling fan. He was still buried inside you, arms loose around your waist.

You were still curled up in the mess of discarded clothes and paperwork, your head against his chest, the fan doing a miserable job at cooling the both of you down.

Eddie was blinking up at the ceiling, completely flushed, dazed.

You grinned, breathless. “Don’t worry... I’m still gonna pay for the car.”

He let out a helpless laugh and pressed a kiss to your hair. “That’s not even close to what I’m worried about.”

#kar's fics ☆#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fics #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson smut #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things

383 notes · View notes

favefandomimagines · 2 days ago

Text

Bless Your Heart (d.s)

Summary: Y/N lives rent free in Odessa’s head and Drew does something about it

Drew Starkey x country singer!reader, smau! Megan Moroney face claim

Am I Okay?

I Know You

Hell of a Show

Indifferent

Taglist: @maybankslover @letstryagaintomorrow @cherrywriterrr @cokewithcameron

AN: this is a break in the main drama that isn’t needed but i thought it would be fun to get sassy Y/N

Liked by y/nusername, drewstarkey, joeyb_9, madelyncline, ellalangelymusic and 435 others

y/nupdates: our girl goes home to Nashville in three days!!!! Y/N is playing two shows in Nashville after her week off and I am SO excited to see her!

235 Comments

username: EEEEKK so excited!!!

username: I wonder who all will be there

username: Joe Burrow and Madelyn Cline are definitely going to be there

username: do we think Drew will show up?

username: doubt it…why would he want to go to his ex girlfriends show after he cheated on her?

username: she’s on tour 24/7 so I don’t blame him for realizing he wanted to be with someone he can see more often…

‘odessaazion liked this comment’

username: are you for real??? when you decide to be in a relationship with someone you stay faithful to them no matter what. and if you’re unhappy, you break up. you don’t cheat on them and humiliate them publicly

username: I think Odessa is more his type anyways. Drew never came off as a dude who likes bottle blonde singers

‘odessaazion liked this comment’

username: not Odessa liking these shady ass comments

Liked by y/nusername, lahjay_10, madelyncline, killatrav, jjettas2 and 783 others

joeyb_9: Nashville, let’s get it ✌🏻

tagged: y/nusername

899 Comments

username: even if they aren’t dating they’re so fucking cute

username: they’re totally together

username: don’t understand how she’s pulling all these hot guys

username: seriously!!! she’s like a copy and paste of every generic southern chick

username: for real, there’s not really anything special about her. She just runs around in a tutu trying to be like Dolly

‘odessaazion liked these comments’

Texts between Mads and Drew

Mads: tell your little “friend” that she needs to stop being weird and liking rude comments about Y/N. It’s getting old and creepy. What is she trying to prove by liking comments on a Y/N fan account and on Joes post?

Drew: I didn’t know she was doing that…

Mads: do you see some of the stuff they’re saying? Like she deserved to get cheated on and they don’t know how anyone as hot as you and Joe would want to be with her? It’s gross, Drew.

Mads: this needs to stop

Read 11:15am

Texts between Drew and Odessa

Drew: enough with the hate comments, Odessa.

Odessa: idk what you’re talking about

Drew: seriously? Because my phone is blowing up with all of my friends sending SCREENSHOTS of you liking hate comments about Y/N.

Odessa: oh come on, it’s a joke. Is she really that sensitive?

Drew; it’s not a joke. Nothing about what you’re liking is a joke. Especially when you go out of your way to like them on fan accounts and Joe Burrow’s instagram. You don’t even follow Joe Burrow

Drew: I knew I should’ve set the record straight the second those pictures were posted

Odessa: you’re not entirely innocent in all of this either. You could’ve told Y/N the truth and you didn’t. What does that say about you?

Liked by joeyb_9, kelseaballerini, hichasestokes, killatrav, drewstarkey, laineywilson and 922 others

y/nusername: I’m kinda busy playing shows, being pretty 😘

Have all that hatred behind a screen but won’t say anything to my face

877 Comments

username: YES Y/N

madelyncline: that’s queen shit right there

joeyb_9: 👀

username: we love sassy y/n

username: she did that

hichasestokes: go off

madisonbaileybabe: YES BITCH

#imagine #imagines #outer banks #jj maybank #rafe cameron #outer banks imagine #kiara carrera #john b routledge #sarah cameron #rudy pankow #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey #rafe obx

174 notes · View notes

annoyingsmartass · 1 day ago

Text

Stupid Dress Doesn't Fit (18+)

Synopsis: While getting ready for an event, Caleb walks into your room to see if you’re ready, only to find you standing in front of the mirror, mascara smudged, tears streaming down your face, as you stare back at yourself, completely hating the way you look in the tight dress. Caleb ensures you know just how good you actually look, with or without the dress on.

Pairing: Caleb x femChubby!Reader

Wc: 1.8K words

Tags: Caleb x femChubby!Reader, insecure!Reader, smut, unprotected sex, mdni, fingering (fem receiving), use of Pipsqueak Pips and Pretty Girl, established relationship, piv, dirty talk, mentions of body dysmorphia and insecurity, Caleb reassures Reader, crying because of body, squirting (kind of?), creampie, mirror sex, lmk if I missed anything!

Notes: This is my very first fic! I’ve wanted to get into writing for a while now, so I decided, what the heck! Suggestions and tips are welcome, just please be kind! Thank you! <3

You loved getting dressed up. But you also hated it at the same time.

Seeing all those beautiful dresses online, shopping for them, and thinking, “Oh my gosh! That dress is so cute on her!” and then ordering it, trying it on, and it not fitting the right way at all. It’s not fair how those models wear it so perfectly, and then the second you put it on, it looks as if you’re wearing a really bad Halloween costume from when you were 13.

That’s exactly the predicament you find yourself in on this Friday evening. After barely getting this new dress over your chest, shimmying it down over your tummy, and getting the skirt past your butt and thighs, you look into the mirror and feel like a lumpy sack of potatoes.

“What the hell? This is not how it looked online,” you huffed out, fuming because you did not have enough time to find another dress. You felt that familiar burning sensation building up behind your eyes, and before you knew it, tears were streaming down your face. Great, your fresh face of makeup was probably ruined now.

You looked over the way your tummy was visible through the front of the dress, the way your love handles made your sides look lumpy, and let’s not forget about how your thighs were practically spilling out of the skirt. You didn’t even want to go anymore, let alone let Caleb see you like this.

Sure, you two had been dating for a couple of months, and it’s not like you hadn’t had sex, but every time you did, you insisted on having the lights off, and who was Caleb to make you feel uncomfortable by denying your request? Some part of you knew that Caleb wouldn’t care in the slightest about your tummy or love handles; in fact, he would probably appreciate them (more to love, right?). But you didn’t want to risk it, because all of your past relationships always made you feel so insecure, like your worth was less than because of your size.

You’re suddenly yanked out of your self-deprecating thoughts by the sound of a soft knock and the opening of your door. Your tear-stained face whips around to find Caleb standing in your doorway, a white dress shirt stretched across his broad chest, straining against his biceps, complete with a blue tie and dress pants, a confused look written across his face.

He rushes forward when he sees more tears fall from your eyes, a look of concern filling his. “Pips, hey, what’s wrong? Why is my beautiful girl crying?” he asks with a soft voice, taking your hands into his. That statement only makes you cry harder, your face turning away from him, trying to escape his grasp.

He takes both of your wrists in one hand, using the other to gently grab your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Hey, answer me, pretty girl,” he says, a small, reassuring smile on his lips.

“I’m sorry,” is all you manage to get out between sobs. “It’s okay, take your time, just tell me what’s wrong, Pips,” Caleb says, wiping your tears away with his thumb.

“It’s just, I’m sorry, I’m not ready, and I hate this dress and how it looks on me, and I’m sorry you have to go out with me looking like this-” you’re cut off by a kiss, his lips meeting yours gently, but with a purpose.

As he pulls away, his eyes don’t leave yours. “What are you even talking about? This dress? It looks fucking amazing on you, Pipsqueak. And I’m the luckiest guy on the planet to be able to go out with you. I hate how much you talk down on yourself. You’re so breathtaking, and I want to show you just how much I love you. I’m going to make sure you know just how fucking amazing you are.”

Your eyes go big at his last statement, a blush creeping across your cheeks. You swallow harshly as he moves his eyes painfully slow up and down your body. He kisses your lips quickly, one last time, before turning you around to face the mirror, your back pressing against his firm chest. He rubs his hands up and down your arms slowly, goosebumps left in their wake.

“Look how pretty my Pips is in this blue dress, the way it hugs every beautiful curve,” his hands move down your sides slowly, accentuating your curves, “how delicious her thighs and pretty tits look in it,” he grabs your hips, slightly rubbing your ass against his crotch. He leans down to whisper in your ear, his hot breath fanning over your neck, “and how beautiful she’ll look with it off and on the floor.”

He kisses your neck, biting slightly without breaking eye contact in the mirror. Your chest rises and falls quickly with your increased heart rate. “B-but Caleb, can’t we just go over to the bed if we’re going to do this? In front of the mirror is going to be embarrassing,” you mutter out, eyes darting down to the floor.

“Nah, I’m going to show you just how much I appreciate this beautiful body, and you’re going to watch until you believe it yourself,” he says with a smirk. You bite your bottom lip, knowing that if you actually wanted to stop, he would in a heartbeat. But, there’s a part of you that wants to give in, wants to let him worship your body. So you let him continue.

He begins to unzip the back of your dress, sliding it down your body painfully slow. He savors every second of it, the way it lets your lacy panties and bra set show, and the way it bears you on display for him. You can feel the bulge in his pants against your backside now, making you squeeze your thighs together in anticipation. His hands leave your body for a second, undoing his tie and dress shirt, letting them fall to the floor.

“So pretty for me, Pips,” he mutters out, undoing the clasp of your bra and letting it slide to the floor as well. He holds back for a split second before his hands are on your boobs, kneading them as they fill his entire hands. You arch into his touch, a small moan slipping past your lips.

“Eyes up, watch how good I make you feel,” he bites out, one of his hands coming up to grab your chin, making you watch yourself in the mirror. With one hand still on your chin, his other hand snakes down your body, moving your panties to the side, and slipping one finger between your slick folds.

“So wet for me already, do you secretly like the way I’m making you watch yourself?” he smirks, finally putting two fingers inside your tight hole. “That’s my girl, so pretty grinding against my fingers.” Your pussy clenches tightly around his fingers, his erection pushing painfully against the zipper of his dress pants as he continues to grind against your ass.

“Fuck, Caleb, please!” you whine, not even knowing what you’re begging for at this point, just knowing that you need more. “You want me inside of you, Pipsqueak?” Caleb huffs out, his fingers working quickly inside of you. “Yes!” you moan out as he curls his fingers inside of you. Your thighs clench around his hand as he brings you close to the edge.

“I want to watch you come undone on my fingers first, pretty girl. Cum for me, yeah? Gush all over my fucking fingers, let me see you.” Your back arches against his chest, your legs beginning to tremble. That familiar coil at the bottom of your tummy begins to tighten as he brings you dangerously close to the edge.

“Fuck, Caleb!” you whine, clenching around him as he curls his fingers again, “I’m gonna… m’ gonna cum!” you moan loudly, watching yourself come undone on his fingers in the mirror, slick gushing around his hand.

“So pretty for me,” he says as you come down from your high, chest heaving. He gives you about thirty seconds to catch your breath before he’s yanking your panties off completely, fumbling with his button and zipper and pulling his own pants and boxers off.

He walks you forward, pushing you flush against the mirror, your tits pressing firmly agaisnt it. “Look at how beautiful your tits look like this,” he murmus as the cold glass adds a whole new sensation to your nipples. “Now, I want you to feel how much you drive me crazy, I want you to forget all your insecurities, that sound good?” All you can manage is a nod before he grabs your hips, slamming into you, pushing you even harder against the mirror. You back is flush against his chest as he sets a slow but thorough pace. You can feel every inch of him as he begins to move. He’s mezmerized by the way your ass jiggles as he thrusts into you.

His head falls back as you clench around him, already dangerously close to another orgasm. “Can you hold on for me pretty girl? I want to make this last,” he pleads, a groan erupting from him as you clench again.

He picks up his pace, a lewd wet slapping sound filling the room mixed with heavy breathing. He drives into you, making your whole body move with each thrust. You can feel yourself getting close, not sure you’ll be able to hold on much longer.

“Please, Caleb, I need to cum, please!” you beg, unable to think straight anymore. The only things left on your mind are him and how good you feel. You can feel his thrusts starting to get sloppier, his cock beginning to pulse inside of you. “I’m close Pips, I want you to cum around my cock inside you, pretty girl. Come undone for me,” he moans, his cock beginning to twitch, “Cum for me.”

You practically scream as your slick gushes around him, your orgasm making you see stars like your were just hit by a freight train. You feel his hips stop briefly, stuttering against you as he groans, his cum shooting in hot spurts inside of you. Your legs practically give out as his body is the only thing holding you up against the mirror.

“Do you believe me now when I say how beautiful you are?” he says with a soft chuckle, shaking his head before putting his forehead on your shoulder, still catching his breath. You nod slightly, a smile decorating your lips.

“Should we go clean up? I’m guessing we probably won’t make it in time now,” he laughs again, looking at the time. The event started 30 minutes ago, and they weren’t great with late admission. You nod, turning around to kiss him again, this time softly and filled with passion. “Thank you,” you murmur, burying your head in his chest. He hugs you tighter against his chest, “Of course, Pipsqueak.”

FIRST FIC COMPLETED!

144 notes · View notes

florencebirdsong · 2 days ago

Text

Pipette Visit

Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary: You’ve stolen the good pipettes. Professor Harkness interrupts your office hours to convince you to give them back.

Tags: professors, lowkey hate sex, fingering

No pronouns used to refer to Reader. Reader is wearing nondescript pants.

Words: 715

ao3 | masterlist

You’re marking lab reports in your office when Professor Harkness slams open the door.

“You stole the good pipettes,” she says, allowing the door to slam just as loudly closed behind her.

“Did I?” you ask disinterestedly. You write a question mark on the report in front of you. Professor Harkness stalks around your desk and swings your chair around to face her. “I didn’t take them,” you sigh, “And I have a million reports to mark so if you could turn me back around?”

“I know you took them. You’re the only one stupid enough to.”

“You’re the one obsessed with them, Harkness.”

“Says the professor I caught sneaking them out of my laboratory.”

She did find you stealing them. She then proceeded to fuck you instead of just taking them.

“Feel free to check my lab.”

“I don’t need to check what I already know.” She leans both hands on the arms of your chair. “Give them to me.”

“No,” you say. Partly because they are the best pipette set in the department and partly to piss her off. She’s hot when she’s pissed off.

“Fine.”She swipes the reports off of your desk.

“Rude.” She manhandles you onto it and you’re suddenly feeling a lot less defiant. “Giving me what I want right off the bat isn’t the smartest way to go about this,” you observe.

Professor Harkness snorts derisively. “You can get any whore to fuck you.” She yanks your belt off and shoves done your pants. You lift yourself up to help get them past your thighs. “I’m the only one who can make you come hard enough to pass out.” She shoves two fingers inside of you without preamble. You’re soaked. They glide in easily.

She knows exactly where that special spot inside of you is and she curls her fingers to hit it.

“Fuck,” you gasp and hold onto the edge of the desk. She goes quiet as she concentrates on working you up. Her movements harsh and demanding. You can’t do anything but take it.

“Give them to me and I’ll let you come,” she says, her lips brushing your cheek.

“I can come by myself.” Your defiant words are weakened by the pitch of your voice.

“Not like this,” Professor Harkness says, all confidence and earned ego. She’s right. No matter what you do or what toy you use you never come like you do under her hands.

The thought of denying her never crosses your mind. The one time you called her bluff she left you empty and aching for weeks. Still, it’s hard to give in.

“Almost there,” she taunts, her fingers curling.

You have to choose soon or she’ll choose for you. You hold out until her fingers starts to slow. The idea of her pulling out with you so close is agonising.

“Second drawer,” you moan. Agatha pauses and a pathetic, needy sound escapes your throat. She quirks an eyebrow, asking if you’re serious. You don’t have enough wits to respond. She begins to draw away and you latch onto her wrist. She clicks her tongue but doesn’t pull back, instead leaning over and pulling the drawer open. The pipettes sit right on top of the folders filling the rest of the drawer.

“Check your lab my ass,” she mutters, more amused than annoyed. She plonks them down on the desk next to you, which would normally infuriated you with how obsessed with them she is. Right now you can’t think past your aching cunt. “Well, a deal’s a deal.”

The almost careless way she says it stops your slow brain from processing what she means until her fingers are hitting that spongy spot inside of you. She rubs harsh circles on your clit at the same time.

You come embarrassingly fast with a high-pitched noise. Your nails biting into the wood of your desk. Professor Harkness pulls out the second your shoulders relax. You barely have the wherewithal to hold yourself up as she collects the pipettes. There’s no time to gather your thoughts for a last, departing barb. She’s already walking away.

“A pleasure as always,” she says. You can hear the smirk in her voice. She waves over her shoulder as she walks out the door. Her fingers glisten.

End note:

Here's a cut snippet that I like enough to share :)

She yanks you up and out of your seat. She kicks the chair out of the way then pushes you against your desk. You always forget how strong she is. “Give them back and I’ll fuck you.” You’ll fuck me anyway, is on the tip of your tongue but that may piss her off enough for her not to.

#birdsong writes #agatha h.#agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness x you #agatha x reader #agatha x you #smut #reader insert #x reader #x you #fanfiction

126 notes · View notes

whisperedmeg · 11 hours ago

Text

RE-ENTRY BURN ―.✦ s.r. soft animal series ∘ part vi

pairing: spencer reid x fem!nurse!reader

summary: spencer returns to the field, and the soft parts of him begin to harden. together, they search for a way to hold on.

genre: hurt/comfort, like kinda fluff if you squint I guess?

w/c: 2.7k

tags/warnings: post-prison spencer, spencer goes back to work, reader gets anxious again but for a diff reason, spencer is still a reassuring sweetie pie, reader meets (part of) the bau, just some kissing but nothing more than that, big moment in their relationship !!

a/n: I wrote, erased, and rewrote the second half of this chapter like five separate times before I was happy with it and I’m still not 100% convinced, so I hope it turned out okay. no spoilers but there’s some major payoff at the end in this one 🙂‍↕️. as always, thank you sm to everyone who has followed this series so far 🫶🏼

series masterlist

The call came on a Thursday morning.

Spencer was sitting on my living room floor, back against the couch, flipping through a book of poetry he insisted he didn’t like but kept rereading anyway. I was in the kitchen in one of his old t-shirts, buttering toast and making an omelette and wondering if I had time for a shower before my shift. The air smelled like coffee and rain. It felt like a quiet, ordinary kind of day.

Then his phone rang. And I watched everything in his body go still.

“Yes,” he said after picking up. “This is Dr. Reid.”

His fingers tightened around the phone. His spine straightened. I turned off the burner.

I didn’t try to listen, but I didn’t leave the room either. He only said a few words: Okay. Thank you. I understand. See you soon. But when he hung up, he didn’t just look different — he looked lit up, like something dormant had just sparked back to life.

He stared at the phone in his hand for a second, then looked at me with wide, stunned eyes.

“That was them?”

He nodded slowly. Then, voice thick with disbelief and something close to awe: “They’re taking me back. I’m reinstated.”

For a beat, all we did was stare at each other.

Then I crossed the room and launched myself at him. He caught me, laughing, and spun us around so fast we nearly knocked over a vase.

“Oh my god,” I said, cupping his face. “Spencer, that’s amazing. You did that.”

“I didn’t think—” he broke off, blinking fast. “I thought it would take longer. Or that they’d changed their minds.”

I kissed him, hard and messy and happy and full of relief. He kissed me back just as fiercely, both hands buried in my hair. We were still tangled in each other when the real weight of it started to settle between us.

I pulled back slightly, breathless. “So… what happens now?”

“I report to Quantico next week. There’s some re-entry protocol — updated field certifications, paperwork, so on. Then I’m back on the team.” He paused, then added, “Back on the jet.”

I nodded, trying to keep my smile steady. “Right. Of course.”

But a quiet fear had already begun to curl into my chest — something I didn’t want to name. The fear that maybe the version of Spencer I’d come to know, the one who made me coffee with too much cinnamon and traced my shoulder blades with reverence, was only who he was here, with me.

Who was he when he was chasing monsters across state lines again? Who was I to him in that world?

“Hey,” he said gently, reaching for my hand. “Talk to me.”

“I don’t know what to say,” I admitted. “I’m so, so happy for you. And I want this for you. I… I just don’t know what it means for us. I don’t know that version of you. Your life is about to get a lot bigger, and I’m still here, going back and forth to Millburn, in scrubs, on twelve-hour shifts, staying exactly the same.”

“You think I’m going to leave you behind?”

I paused. “I don’t really think that. But I still fear it. Which might be worse.”

His grip tightened slightly. “I’m not going anywhere. But… I know this will change things. I just don’t know how yet.”

We sat with that — the not-knowing. It was becoming a constant companion.

He exhaled slowly, his forehead resting against mine. “We’ll figure this out. I promise.”

—

His first day back, I packed him lunch.

It felt stupid and too intimate and maybe a little bit like denial, but I did it anyway. Hummus, cut-up vegetables, and fruit, plus two hardboiled eggs he’d probably forget to eat. Spencer had a habit of doing that — starting a meal but then getting too absorbed in his work or the documentary on TV or the book in his lap to remember to finish it. I tucked in a note before I could overthink it: You’ve survived worse. Just breathe. You’re gonna be great.

He texted me later to say thank you. Then I didn’t hear from him for six hours.

I tried not to spiral.

When he finally walked into his apartment, he looked… different. Not bad, but sharper. Like someone had ironed some of the softness out of him. I was already waiting for him on his couch — he’d given me my own key last week and told me to use it.

“How was it?” I asked.

“Strange,” he said honestly. “Good. Overwhelming.”

I kissed him and tried to pretend I wasn’t searching his eyes for cracks.

—

By day three, he was already packing an overnight bag.

“There’s a case,” he said, tucking mismatched socks into a duffel. “We think there’s an unsub targeting sex workers.”

I sat on the edge of the bed, watching. “That was fast.”

He shrugged a shoulder. “It’s the job.”

The words landed harder than he probably meant. I swallowed thickly.

“Will I get to know where you are?”

He turned, reaching for me. “You can know everything I’m allowed to tell you. I won’t shut you out.”

I nodded, because I didn’t trust my voice.

He kissed me once — soft and lingering — and then he was gone.

—

The next few days passed slowly.

He texted when he landed in Denver. Again when they reached the local precinct. That first night, he called me from his hotel room. His voice was tired but steady, full of soft reassurances: I’m okay. I’m thinking about you. I wish you were here.

But the check-ins were short. Sporadic. Sometimes twelve hours went by without a word, and I had to remind myself he was just busy. That it wasn’t about me. That he had bigger things to worry about. That he wasn’t retreating.

Still, I found myself staring at my phone more than I wanted to admit. Writing texts I didn’t send. Wondering if this low, quiet ache in my chest was normal or the beginning of something harder.

When he got back four days later, he smelled like airplane soap and adrenaline. His arms were around me the second he was through my front door, and for a moment, it felt like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

“I missed you,” he murmured against my hair.

I squeezed him closer. “I missed you every second.”

Then he pulled back, and I saw it — the part of him that was already half gone again.

“You okay?” he asked.

I nodded. “Are you?”

“I’m tired. But yeah.”

“Did you eat the eggs?”

He blinked. “What?”

“In the lunch I packed. On your first day back.”

A small smile tugged at his mouth. “I forgot.”

—

That weekend, Spencer’s work friends invited him out to a nice dinner downtown.

He insisted I join him. Said he wanted me there. That he wanted me to meet more of his team, and that they wanted to meet me, too.

I said yes because I could tell it meant a lot to him — and because I genuinely did want to meet the people closest to him — but I was a nervous wreck over it. I felt like I was going to be interviewed by the people who had known him for years, who had pulled him from blood-soaked crime scenes and watched him unravel and rebuild more than once. People — profilers — who could probably read body language as easily as breathing. People who would know if I was feeling even just a little bit off.

Penelope nearly vibrated with joy when Spencer and I walked into the restaurant, hugging me like I was a gift-wrapped surprise. JJ gave me her usual perceptive, friendly smile, the kind that made me feel both seen and slightly exposed.

But it was meeting Emily and Rossi for the first time that made me sweat.

Emily shook my hand with polite warmth, but her eyes were sharp. Measuring. Assessing. As if she couldn’t help it. As if it was hardwired into her, the way it was hardwired into me to check pupils and track vitals. Rossi gave me a smile so charming it almost felt intimidating — not because he was skeptical, but because he was paying close attention, the way you do when someone you love finally lets you see something they’ve been protecting.

I did my best to hold my own. I answered questions about myself — my job at the infirmary, the story of how Spencer and I met (they loved hearing how I’d given him my number via scrabble tiles), what I liked to do outside of work. I laughed when they teased Spencer about still being the worst at remembering to eat, and about the time he tried to explain string theory at a retirement party and knocked over an entire cheese platter mid-metaphor. He rolled his eyes and claimed it was an unfair exaggeration, but his ears turned pink.

There was a moment when Emily asked what had drawn me to Spencer, and a million different answers piled up in my throat all at once. I just smiled and said, “He’s easy to care about. Even at his lowest, he was still always the kindest person in the room. Plus, he even pretended to feel bad when he kicked my ass in chess.”

Garcia let out a delighted little sound, pressing her hand to her heart. JJ’s eyes softened with something almost protective. Rossi gave an approving nod and raised his glass. And Emily — she didn’t quite smile, but her shoulders loosened, like she was easing off an invisible trigger.

Still, the entire dinner felt a little like walking a tightrope — one foot in Spencer’s universe, the other still hovering over mine. I couldn’t tell if I was holding my breath or just trying to match their rhythm.

“You okay?” JJ asked gently while we waited for dessert. “It’s a lot, I know.”

“Being part of this world?”

She tilted her head. “Being with someone who spends half their life chasing ghosts.”

I smiled tightly. “I haven’t quite figured out where I fit yet.”

“You don’t have to know today,” she said. “But if you care about him — and it’s pretty clear you do — then hang on. He’s worth the turbulence.”

I looked over at Spencer, who was in the middle of arguing with Garcia about the probability of alien life as if the past six months hadn’t nearly broken him. His hands moved as he spoke, his expression animated, utterly absorbed in the debate. There was something so familiar about it — the way he lit up, the way he met the world with open palms and big questions. Like the worst thing had already happened, and now he was trying to believe in wonder again.

“I know he is,” I said softly. “But turbulence still leaves you breathless sometimes.”

—

Later, in the car, Spencer took my hand. “You okay? You’ve been kind of quiet.”

I shrugged, watching the city pass by through the window. “I’m just tired. It was a good night.”

He glanced over at me, unconvinced but gentle.

“I really like Penelope,” I added. “She always hugs me like I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

“She thinks you are,” he said, no hesitation. “And she’s right.”

I smiled, feeling my cheeks warm. “And JJ. She’s… perceptive. And kind. Like she sees things but doesn’t make you feel too exposed.”

His thumb brushed across my knuckles, slow and steady.

“And Emily was warm in a scary, FBI-chief sort of way. I was terrified she hated me, but then she made that joke about your hair and I felt like I passed some kind of test.”

Spencer let out a soft laugh. “That’s exactly how you know she likes you.”

“And Rossi’s stories are even better than you said they’d be,” I continued. “Though I’m still not convinced that the one about the ambassador’s wife and Ringo Starr actually happened.”

“Oh, it definitely did.”

That made me laugh. I leaned my head back against the seat, exhaling. “It was a good night, Spence. Really.”

Spencer smiled softly, but didn’t say anything. His thumb moved in slow, absentminded circles against my hand — like he was trying to ground me without interrupting whatever was unraveling inside my head.

I hesitated. “It’s just…”

He waited, thumb still brushing lightly over my knuckles. I kept my gaze on the window.

“It’s strange,” I said slowly. “Watching you slip back into your world so naturally. Not in a bad way — it’s a good kind of strange. But I’m still figuring out where I fit.” I paused for a beat. “Sometimes I worry I’m just watching your life take off without me.”

He turned to look at me, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. “That’s not what’s happening.”

“I know,” I murmured. “But it feels that way sometimes. You’re re-entering a life that’s so much bigger than I ever knew, and I’m still finding my place in it.”

His fingers tightened gently around mine. “You’re not on the outside of this. You never were. You’ve always had a place with me.”

I nodded, though the ache lingered. “I know, Spence. It’s just… kind of a lot, I guess. I wasn’t ready for how much of it existed before me, which I know sounds incredibly silly.”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he pulled the car over with a soft turn of the wheel, settling us into the stillness of a side street, headlights casting long shadows through the trees. Then he turned toward me fully.

“You’re part of my life,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “The best part. I just need you to trust that I’m still in this. Even when I’m gone on cases. Even when I come home wrecked and quiet. I’m still with you.”

I looked at him then, really looked. At the man who had once been shattered, who had let me see every broken edge, who had handed me the glue and trusted me not to cut myself as I helped him put the pieces back together. And who now was flying straight toward the storm again, because that’s what he was made to do.

“I trust that,” I said softly. “I really do. I just don’t want to be the thing that keeps you grounded if what you really need is flight.”

His brow softened, and he reached across the console to cup my jaw, thumb brushing just beneath my cheekbone, tender and steady. “You’re not holding me down,” he said. “You’re giving me a reason to land.”

My throat tightened. The knot in my chest loosened — not all the way, but enough. I nodded, blinking against the rush of everything that wanted to spill out.

He gave my hand a final squeeze and slowly pulled back onto the road.

And this time, I really did let myself believe him.

—

That night, we didn’t sleep right away. We just… laid there, wrapped around each other, quiet and breathing like the hush itself was sacred. His hand rested against my back, fingers tracing slow, absent-minded lines — like he was etching something into the moment to keep forever.

It all felt different now. Not just tender, but certain. Like something had settled between us that couldn’t be undone.

He shifted slightly, just enough to look at me. His eyes moved across my face like he was studying it, memorizing it, letting the silence stretch long enough to make my breath catch.

Then he said, softly but without hesitation, “I love you.”

No preamble. No buildup. Just the truth, laid bare between us.

It hit me like a tidal wave, sudden and warm and full. I think part of me had been waiting for him to say that — aching for it, really. I had felt it already, but still, actually hearing it aloud cracked something open in my chest.

I blinked hard and reached for him, tracing his cheek with the backs of my fingers.

“I love you too,” I whispered. “I think I have for a while now.”

Something in him shifted — softened, unknotted. He exhaled like he hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath. And then his lips curled into a smile so bright it almost hurt.

“You mean it?”

I nodded, and his smile deepened, eyes full of hope. “I think I’ve been waiting to hear that since the moment I met you,” he murmured.

Then he kissed me — slow and deep. Not hurried or desperate, just honest. His lips on mine like he was saying it again with his mouth, his hands, his whole body:

I’m here. I’m yours. I’m trying. I love you.

80 notes · View notes

javiersvest · 2 days ago

Text

breathe, hold, release (pt. 2)

joel miller x f!pilates instructor reader

part one here

summary: joel comes to fix the sink and you both finally stop avoiding what's between you.

tags: mdni (18+ only), no outbreak au, no use of y/n, reader is afab/able bodied, has long hair, no other physical descriptors, age gap (joel is 40, reader is 28), catch the mr. darcy reference, kind of a slow burn bc i love tension, dom!joel, praise kink, fingering, mirror activities, oral sex (f receiving), body worship, unprotected piv (be smart), slight voyeurism ig?, creampie (reader is on bc cause i’m nasty), joel is a freak in this omg, please DO NOT attempt sex on a reformer, if anything is missing pls let me know!

word count: way too fuckin long 10.3k

a/n: first of all, thank you SO much to the response to part one. it warmed my little heart that so many people enjoyed it. i hope this makes up for the long wait! thank you to my three pookies (@naiadonis, @tmpestuous, & @imaginesbymonika) for beta'ing and feeding my delusions. this will be the last part but i would love to write some drabbles for these two, so please send in requests if you have any! also, i'm on twitter! come say hi :) enjoy ♡

Your mornings always started the same: shades up, door open, music low. The soft hum of downtown Austin stretched itself awake in time with you, the city exhaling with the same slow rhythm you followed to start your day. Even the most mediocre sleep melted away when you clasped your hands together and pressed them toward the ceiling, arching your back, breath spilling from deep in your abdomen.

You weren’t a Texas native – that much had been obvious the second you stepped on the plane. Southern drawls of varying intensities filling your ears, the heat coating your skin with a wrathful flair. California still lingered at the edges of your thoughts, sun-warmed pavement and salt in your hair. You’d built a life there; mornings guiding people through movement, regulars who felt like old friends, a humble studio tucked between your favorite bagel place and a long-abandoned repair shop.

You’d memorized the ebbs and flows of that neighborhood like the back of your hand. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was yours. And for a while, it felt like enough. But comfort has a funny way of turning stale the moment you let your guard down. In the middle of all that comfort, a crack had started to form – subtle at first, then impossible to ignore.

The breakup didn’t knock the wind out of you – it eroded you slowly. You and him lived parallel lives for months before either of you said anything; passing the coffee creamer, taking turns with laundry, showing up to mutual plans like clockwork. He wasn’t cruel, just tired in a way that made everything feel like effort, including you. Eventually you stopped trying, learned to keep your heart tucked behind a smile. It was safer.

When it ended, it wasn’t explosive. It was practical, like canceling a subscription. You moved out quietly, took on more classes at the studio, pretended you were unbothered. Clinging to your routine made you feel like maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t fall apart. But the spark was already dimming, and maybe deep down you’d known it was time for something new long before you let yourself admit it. A couple of months passed in a blur. You picked up more classes, then lost them. By the time the text came in, you were already half-unraveling.

It came through late at night, and you had stared at the blinking cursor of a blank calendar where you’d been drafting next month’s schedule far too long. Of course. Your studio’s owner, who’d always joked that she’d die with a foam roller in her hand, announced that she was retiring with her family. The space sold faster than you thought possible, and within a week, the foundation you’d built everything on was gone. You tried to patch things up with rec rooms, park sessions under swaying palms, but the roots had already loosened.

When Nia called from Austin, practically buzzing through the phone with excitement, the last of your resistance crumbled. Unlike you, Nia had discovered her need to get the hell out of dodge much earlier. She’d always been more adventurous, brave enough to step foot in a new place and carve a spot for her regardless of anyone’s opinion about it. You’d met in training years ago, the kind of instant bond that felt more like a reunion than an introduction.

She’d caught wind of a space opening downtown, and somehow decided you were the perfect person to take it over. At first, you dismissed it. You’d never been one for cowboy boots or country music, and the thought of leaving everything familiar behind made your chest ache. The more you sat with it, the emptiness of your space, the fading glimmer of your routine, the exhaustion – her offer sounded less like risk and more like possibility.

So, you said yes. You packed up your life, let go of the familiarity, and tried your best to embrace the unknown. You said goodbye to the Pacific, but most of all to the version of you who thought she'd never leave. You started again from scratch; introduced yourself to strangers, tried to find your new normal, and smiled so much your cheeks hurt. For the first month or so, the smiles were fake. You spent your days rebuilding what you’d lost, piece by piece, and your nights wondering if you’d made a mistake.

But soon enough the days stopped feeling so foreign, and all the things from home that you thought were irreplaceable began to lose their appeal. You built up rapport with new clients, had a new favorite lunch spot, and the barista a few doors down memorized your name and regular order. Week after week, familiar faces returned to the studio, fulfilling your purpose. Your first classes of the day were usually quiet, made up of older clients who enjoyed waking up hours before the sun. They liked your calm and the way it seemed like you were a morning person just like them. You knew who was rehabbing a bad hip, who didn’t like too much tension, who needed extra encouragement.

It wasn’t about doing a hundred perfect reps or getting people’s stomachs as flat as possible. It was about watching someone walk taller after six weeks, saying they’ve never felt stronger. About a woman thanking you because her back didn’t hurt for the first time in years. That mattered to you, it always had. That’s why you’d started teaching, to show the ways movement could soften even the hardest parts of someone’s day. Pilates was precise, yes, but it was also gentle in a way the world often wasn’t. You’d had students cry during classes before. You never asked why – just helped them breathe through it.

Saturday mornings became your favorite. You weren’t held to the five a.m classes like you were on weekdays, accommodating teachers and early risers who started their day in the quiet of the studio. Saturdays moved slower, giving you time to relish in each stretch, each song, each thought. You had time to sip your coffee between check-ins, time to let your voice warm into the room instead of launching straight into the rhythm of cues and counts.

Then, you met Joel.

Met was a generous word – you were more so acquainted with him. His jaw tight, hands stuffed into his pockets nearly the entire first interaction. Clearly he’d be more at ease with those boots in dirt rather than on the pristine tile. You’d thought, at first, he was just being a dad – maybe irritated he had to wake up on his day off to drive her, maybe just tired.

You greet him the way you greet everyone, with warmth that borders on effortless. It’s second nature by now, this instinct to disarm. You lead with brightness, offer softness in your tone, a joke curled lightly at the edge of your mouth. And it usually works. You’d encountered your share of prickly people around Austin, but most of them put on a performance: a polite smile or a stilted joke. Everyone yielded to it eventually.

But not him.

Not when you beam at his daughter. Not when you hand him the clipboard with the sunflower pen that you’d made during your lunch break yesterday. What you get is a squint and a dry, unimpressed “Really?” Like you’d just offered him a glittering child’s toy instead of a waiver. He doesn’t play the part, doesn’t pretend to be someone easier to be around. His face is unreadable in a way that feels unintentional – like he’s so accustomed to his indifference that it’s not even spiteful anymore.

You try – gently, playfully to pull something out of him. A smirk. A single syllable of amusement. Anything. You laugh, easy and unbothered. “I know. But everyone seems to like them.”

Still nothing. His shoulders stay locked in place, pen aggressive on the page like the words themselves are offensive. His handwriting is slanted and uneven, rushed like he can’t get out of there fast enough.

Sarah is the complete opposite, it seems.

She’s light – bright-eyed, curious, open in a way that feels rare in teenagers these days and even rarer in the people who raise them. You take to her instantly, eased by the amiability in her voice, the bounce in her step. You can’’t help but wonder where it comes from – because it’s certainly not him. You follow the movement of his hands, rugged and large.

No ring.

You shouldn’t be curious, but you are.

You take the clipboard back, eyes scanning to the bottom of the page. “Thanks… Joel,” you say, softening the syllables like you might smooth over rough fabric. He grunts in response, a low, noncommittal sound. You get the sense he’s not used to taking people up on kindness. Like it costs him something. You invite him to stay, watching him struggle to look for a response. For a moment you think he’s going to say something.

He doesn’t.

You feel his eyes on you the entire class. At first, you tried to explain it. Maybe he was zoning out like other parents did, counting down the minutes until they could beat the traffic back to their neighborhoods. But Joel wasn’t checking his phone repeatedly, wasn’t tapping his foot, didn’t look around. He just… watched. Not an ambient glance or idle observation. It was intentional. Trying not to notice was futile. You were trained to read bodies; breath patterns, posture, hesitation. And you see all of it in Joel.

The restraint that lived in the corners of his mouth, the divet between his brows each time you moved. You catch the way his jaw locks and releases when your spine curves, the faint twitch of muscle beneath his cheekbone as your voice dips into instruction. The way his hands, broad and calloused, strained and flexed against his knees like he was holding something back.

It took a lot to throw you off balance, but the autopilot you’d relied on all these years began to short-circuit. You roll your shoulders back a little straighter, suddenly being extra mindful of your posture, paranoid that you’ll trip over a mat, or hit the carriage against the board with too much strength. The weight of his stare clings to you like humidity, slick and unrelenting. It prickles at your neck, curls low in your belly. You keep moving, voice steady, but inside, everything is fraying.

You blink, adjust a client’s foot bar and try to refocus, fighting the urge to look over. Just once, that’s all you needed. Just a second to confirm if you were making it all up. You were not new to attention. You’ve been watched before, admired even. But this was something else entirely. Joel watches you like he’s trying not to break. Like there’s some quiet part of him that doesn’t believe he deserves to look, but can’t help it anyway.

You’re pulled from the fantasy as you check on each student, moving down the line until you get to Sarah. With your fingers on her ankles you guide her through, encouraging her as she starts to get the hang of it. She looks towards the bench, a hopefulness in her eyes that makes you melt. You follow her gaze instinctively – and see how Joel’s expression softens the moment their eyes meet. Pride blooms across his face and tugs at something in you, and you have to push down the guilt that starts to creep up your throat.

You don’t mean to look directly at him, you just wanted a glance. A peek into his true nature, not the barricade he’d placed around him. His head turns before you think it will, and you both seem to go rigid. The right thing would be to turn around, check on someone else – anything. But you’re held there.

His eyes move over you with slow precision, and you welcome it. They seem to be mapping your body, the slope of your throat, the line of your shoulders. While he inspects you, your head is fueled with images of him taking you apart with his hands. You wonder what he sounds like when he groans, what his mouth would feel like against your skin. Wonder how many times he’d make you come before showing mercy, or would he? Would he be as merciless as he looks, ruining you and apologizing for none of it?

You let him see that you see it; let him feel your curiosity inch toward want. Let him know you’re not innocent to it. You blink slowly and pull yourself away like it hurts. You turn your attention back to the class and pretend that he didn’t just strip you bare with a single look.

With each passing Saturday, the two of you moved in a quiet orbit. It stayed innocent enough for your guilt to dissolve under layers of niceties and easy chatter. Joel never volunteered much information, but the little he gave felt like something hard-won. Over time, you both softened. A brush of your fingers against the firm curve of his bicep. Smiles that lingered in the space between you, unhurried and a bit too long. But Joel never crossed the line, and neither did you.

Some days, you wondered if you'd imagined that first flash of heat. A byproduct of a lonely year, a new city, a fresh start. But then he'd show up again, every Saturday, planted on that bench watching you and Sarah. Sarah. She slipped into your life like she’d always belonged there. There’s a quick intelligence behind her humor, a deep-rooted enthusiasm for life you definitely didn’t have at her age. You take to her immediately, starting to look forward to seeing her just as much as seeing Joel.

You didn’t ask her to help around the studio, she just started doing it. She’s unfiltered in the best way, and underneath all of it, achingly sincere. She asks questions about your day, offers commentary that makes you laugh from the gut, and more than once, makes jokes about her dad being single.

Today was no different. The 11:30 class wrapped right on schedule, and Sarah darted to the back to fold towels, unprompted. Joel waited at the front, leaning casually against the desk, ready to talk to you. Today the exchange between you, once cushioned civility, stretched into something charged. You saw it in the way his smile faltered, like he'd strayed too close to a thought he wasn’t supposed to have. In the drawl of his voice, the dry wit, the way his eyes dipped to your mouth and quickly back. You pushed a little further, let your words flirt with implication, and watched the color rise in his face.

“And here I thought you were sitting in here cause you liked the view.”

He hesitates and you see the moment the mask slips. You let the silence stretch, not to punish him, but to watch him squirm beneath the weight of his honesty. There’s something tender about the way he tries to walk it back, like a man afraid of his own shadow. He offers a stammering apology, but you give him a way out with a smile. Make it clear he hadn’t misread you. His name tastes good in your mouth.

When he pivots to the sink in the men’s room and offers to take a look, you catch the flicker of something behind his eyes. It’s cute, the way he tries to pass it off as nonchalant. Like it’s not a thinly veiled excuse to stay close – and you say yes.

Not just because the sink needs fixing, but because the thought of him here on a Monday, with no Sarah and no audience, pulls something tight in your chest. Sarah clocks the shift immediately, the shared glance and unpulled string taut between you and her father. Her smirk is sharp and knowing as you offer her a pin, a feeble attempt at distracting her. Joel groans like it physically pains him to be perceived and you know there’s no avoiding it anymore. After that, Joel barely meets your eye. He stumbles over a “See you Monday,” and follows Sarah to the door.

Your heart thuds with something warm and bright that you haven’t felt since California. You exhale slowly. The studio falls quiet again, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning.

The thing you’d been tiptoeing around was no longer unknown. It had a name now – Monday.

The air is thick with the beginnings of Austin heat when you step outside of the coffee shop, keys jingling between your fingers and you grasp onto two, not one, cups this time. In your left, the usual overly-sweet latté that you made no exceptions for, and in your right – hot, no cream or sugar. Just bitter and bold. It was a hunch, but Joel didn’t seem like the type to ask for his cup to be drizzled with caramel sauce and topped with sweetened cream. Weeks of him sitting in your studio, gruff and unreadable informed your guess. The barista, knowing your usual, couldn’t help herself as she asked if it was for a special someone. You’d laughed as if it was silly, but it wasn’t.

The way your body anticipated waking up kept you from getting any meaningful sleep. That, and the fact you’d spent a couple hours imagining Joel’s voice in your head; gravel-worn and measured, your fingers easing yourself open. It was scary how easily you’d pictured it. His weight on top of you, the ache in the pit of your stomach, his lips forming the filthy things you wanted to hear him say once he let go of whatever had him wound up so tightly. There was too much of him beneath your skin.

The door to the studio groaned as you pushed it open with your shoulder, and you set the drinks down on the front desk with care. You busied yourself next, giving your hands something to do until Joel showed up, if he even did. Maybe you had been too forward and scared him away. Maybe he was being polite, appeasing your ego so as not to embarrass you in front of his daughter.

The soft jingle of the bell sends a jolt through your body and you emerge from the back with too much excitement in your limbs, smoothing your beige tank top like it mattered. Joel stood just inside the door, a heavy tool bag hanging from one hand, the other raking through his hair in that nervous, unconscious way he did when he didn’t know what to say. You had picked up on that, too.

“Mornin’,” he says, his voice low, roughened with what you assumed was sleep. You looked at him and every line looked the same, but it felt… warped. Like a song you knew well played a few keys too low, breath baited while you tried to figure out what was off.

“Good morning,” you replied, offering a soft smile.”You’re right on time, that’s good for business.”

He gives a small nod in response. Not unfriendly, but definitely distant. No trace of the quiet fondness you’d seen Saturday. No lingering look, no hush of amusement curling up at the corner of his mouth. Odd, you think. Still, you press on and gesture toward the front desk, the coffee waiting there.

“I got you something, no cream or sugar. I took a gamble,” your fingers grasp the cup and you extend it out to him. His eyes flick to the drink, then to you. There’s a beat of hesitation before he steps forward, his fingers brushing against yours to take the offering.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says, unreadable.

You shrugged, smile unwavering as you try to keep it light.

“I know. Dinner might need a little more planning,” you reply, half a shrug rolling through your shoulder. That earned you something. His mouth twitches slightly, almost a smile. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but it’s better than nothing.

Joel shifts his weight to his other leg and jerks his chin towards the back. “I should get started, get outta your hair.”

Your heart sinks into your stomach, but you nod without protest. He doesn’t wait for you to follow, or respond. Just turns and walks down the hallway like it made him ill to be in your presence. You swallow hard, the anticipation you’d felt all day yesterday subsiding. It felt more like dread now – your worst fears starting to be confirmed. You take a deep breath and let your head fall back, willing away the stress building with little accomplishment.

Unwilling to let the distance, physical or otherwise, settle too thickly between you, you follow him a few moments later. He’s already crouched by the sink, sleeves pushed up and wrapped around his elbows a bit too tight, not that you were complaining. His tool bag lay open at his side, the cup of coffee sitting to the left of the faucet. He doesn’t look up when you settle in the doorway, just keeps fidgeting with the knobs and studying the sluggish flow. You try not to let your disappointment come through your voice.

“So, gotta toss the whole thing out or can it be saved?” You ask, trying to get a peek at whatever it was he was doing.

“Pipe’s just backed up with debris. Gotta pull it apart, clean the whole thing out.”

You don’t respond, caught up in watching his hands reach for whatever tool he was looking for. Joel sits back on his heels and starts unscrewing the pipe beneath the basin with a practiced ease. The muscles in his forearms flex with each turn, veins taut beneath sun-warmed skin, and you can’t help but follow the motion, mesmerized by the quiet focus. His knees brace on the tiled floor as he leans in closer, the worn cotton of his shirt pulling taut across his back. You can hear the faint grunt of exertion as he loosens something stubborn, followed by the hollow clatter of old water draining through rusted metal.

Joel grunts something under his breath, more to himself than to you, and reaches for a cloth, wiping his hands absently before adjusting the trap. He’s all concentration; jaw set and brows drawn. Despite the task in front of him, he knows you’re watching. He can feel it.

“Don’t know how anything was getting through this,” he says without looking up. He dives into an explanation of what was keeping the drain moving so slow, but your brain is turning to mush the longer you stare. You hum in acknowledgment, but the words barely register. All you can think about is the way his fingers move, capable and deliberate.

Joel finally glances up at you, but you’re unaware. His eyes linger, still no smile on his lips as he tracks your gaze down. He clears his throat and your eyes snap up, like a camera flash freezing you in the act of wanting.

There’s no teasing in his expression – no smug lift of his mouth or arch of his brow. Just… quiet. You try to speak, some flimsy defense, a redirect. But your throat is dry, your mouth clumsy with words you don’t trust yourself to say aloud. Suddenly you realize how he must have felt on Saturday. He tilts his head slightly, brow furrowing as if trying to make sense of it. Of you. Then his head is shaking and he turns back to his work, but his hands aren’t as steady now.

“Just here to fix the sink,” he mutters. It sounds like a rehearsed mantra he’d created to keep himself in line.

“What?” you say softly, watching his brows furrow.

“You’re not makin’ this easy,” he says louder this time. You exhale slowly.

“Did I –” The words stick for a moment, and you try again. “Was I too forward? If I made you uncomfortable, I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, slow and almost imperceptible. “No, it ain’t that.” For a moment, it seems like that’s all he’ll give you. He sets the wrench down with a quiet clink. "Thought if I kept my head down, didn’t look too long, it’d go away."

You blink, caught off guard by his honesty. “I didn’t mean to push,” you say quietly, unsure whether you’re trying to reassure him or justify yourself.

“You didn’t, it was easier to pretend I was just passin’ time staring at you from that bench,” The words weren’t bitter, but they weren’t easy, either. They landed with the weight of confession, like he hated admitting it almost as much as he needed you to hear it.

“Sarah knew, can’t keep shit from her. Knew the very first day when I shelled out that money like that.” His thumb twitches on the edge of the counter, a small sign of Saturday Joel, the one who did let himself look too long, who smiled when you caught on.

Joel takes a breath and keeps fiddling with the sink. “And now, I’m here fixin’ a sink for a woman I can’t stop thinking about, trying not to say somethin’ I’ll regret.”

The words fold into the stillness between you. You don’t move, don’t breathe either, it felt like. You’re not sure how much time passes before Joel pushes to his feet, still not meeting your eyes. You wish he’d just look at you, give you any indication as to where this was going.

Joel turns his back to you and twists the faucet open, letting the water rush against his palms as he washes his hands. His focus stays on the steady stream, testing the pressure and checking his handiwork. Anything to avoid looking at you too soon. The running water stops and he stays there, both palms braced on either side of the sink. Then, he straightens, his shoulders rolling back as he turns to face you. When he does, there’s no mask left. His eyes have softened, and you’re standing face to face with the Joel you’d become fascinated with. His hands settle on his hips and he looks at you expectantly.

“So tell me what you want me to do. ‘Cause I can’t keep standin’ in front of you like this if it’s not gonna mean something.”

You don’t answer right away. Your throat is tight, heart knocking against your ribs like it’s trying to get free, and the air between you has taken on a weight you don’t know how to carry. But you feel the shift – the choice he’s making, the seemingly timid and hesitant version of him long gone. You’re yelling at yourself to say something, to not throw away the fact he’s willing to present himself so openly to you.

You blink at him, pulse thrumming like a struck wire. “I don’t…you can do whatever you want.”

He shakes his head, not in dismissal, but refusal. Refusal to let you duck behind hesitation like you’d both been doing the last month. He needed a clear answer. Your weight shifts to your other leg as you take a shaky breath, stepping closer with quiet bravery.

Your voice cracks a little when it comes. “I want you, Joel. But I don’t want you to regret it.”

No flourish, just fact.

He exhales hard, like you knocked the wind out of him. “No way in hell I’d regret this,” his voice dips lower. “But there’s no going back after this, no more pretending. You okay with that?” He lifts a hand and lets his fingers brush your jaw, slow and tentative, like he's still restraining himself.

You were trembling, not visibly, but deep inside – where his words struck chords you’d kept hidden. Where all your what-ifs and daydreams had lived quietly until now.

You meet his eyes without flinching, and you nod.

His thumb grazes your cheekbone, then he leans in, and you can feel your heartbeat throb between your legs. When he kisses you it’s not rushed. His mouth meets yours, warm and sure, a slow press of lips that steals the air from your lungs.

He pulls back just an inch, his forehead pressing against yours. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he whispers, voice rough with restraint.

You don’t. You can’t. You shake your head, small and certain. “I don’t.”

And that’s all it takes.

His mouth finds yours again, hungrier this time, and his palm presses to cradle the small of your back. You arch into him, realizing the room feels too small now. His body crowds yours as you feel him take a step forward, trying to guide you out of the bathroom.

Joel pulls back just enough to speak before his lips are back on yours, his voice thick. “Not here.”

You both stumble a little in your own urgency, breathless as he leads you through the hallway into the open space. Your legs bump against one of the machines, but he never wavers. You get a bit paranoid, wanting to peek and make sure you were, in fact, alone. You wouldn’t survive something interrupting this. One part of the studio is cast in gold from the completed sunrise pouring through the window, the rest of the blinds pulled down. The cold from the mirror’s glass meets your back, sharp and startling – but Joel is there, warm and inviting.

Joel’s hands slide up under your tank top, the compressive material molding to your body. You feel his thumbs dig into your hips as he pulls away. Your eyes are closed as you relish in the fact you now know what he tastes like, a tinge of bitterness mixed in. You take it you were right about the coffee.

“Take this off f’me,” he requests.

“Gonna need help,” you laugh softly, no time wasted as you move to pull it up, the stubborn fabric unforgiving in your haste.

“Relax, baby,” Joel steadies your hands, his smile reaching his eyes for the first time all morning. You huff and shake your head, heat rising to your face. You let him take the lead and lift your arms up, momentarily blind as he pulls it up over your head. Joel tries not to stare, but like every time before, he fails. His touch grows more confident, more consuming. You feel it in the way his lips press in a pattern over your neck, the way his fingers deliberately press through your leggings right where you’re aching for him.

“These off too,” he mumbles, already peeling away at your matching leggings. He’d imagined taking these little outfits off of you so many times, and he wanted to take his time, but god he’d been waiting for what felt like years.

Your breath hitches as he traces his fingertips over your back, body shuddering from the chills he left behind. The fact he’s still completely clothed doesn’t escape you, but a part of you likes that. The fact he’s here, in your space, staking his claim and undressing you.

“Joel, wait –” You interrupt him, his eyes flickering up at you in confusion.

“You want me to stop?” He asks, about to stand back up and help you with your clothes.

You lick your lips, hyper-aware of your heart pounding. A few seconds of silence pass before you’re shaking your head. “No,” you whisper, “I just… I want to see you too.”

That earns a pause.

Joel’s gaze softens, something tight in his expression releasing as his hands still at the curve of your hips. He tilts his head, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly.

“Yeah?” he asks, voice warm. You nod again.

You reach for him as he moves, fingers slipping under the hem of his shirt. The fabric drags up over rigid muscle and sun-kissed skin. Your eyes rake over him – the strength in his chest and arms, the scattered scars, the way his shoulders stiffen with your eager eyes drinking him up.

You press your palms to his bare chest and feel his heart kick. Then, he takes your wrists and turns you towards the mirror, hovering behind you. His hands trail down your sides, thumbs tracing the skin just beneath your ribs before they settle on your hips. You try not to squirm when you feel his hand dip lower. One is running down the length of your back, the other nestling between your legs. He presses two fingers against your clit, rubbing small circles as your body tenses. He feels it, and glances up at you like he knows you’re in your head.

You hear your name and look at him through the mirror, lips parted in awe that he was touching you. “I’ve got you, okay? Just relax,” he tells you again. His voice is rough, breath warm against the back of your neck. The rough denim of his jeans scratches against your bare skin when he ruts into you, and you feel all of him – even through the thick fabric. You’re unprepared when you feel his fingers circle your entrance before they’re slipping in up to his knuckles, slow and brushing over every ridge. You gasp and dig your palms into the wooden barre.

“Look how fuckin’ beautiful you are,” he murmurs behind you, his hand steady at your hip.

His words aren’t lost on you, but you can’t bring yourself to look; can’t watch the way your mouth parts with every stuttering breath as he works you open after months of being touch starved. You squeeze your eyes shut and dip your chin down, flustered, but he notices.

“Nuh-uh,” he says, the hand at your hip shifting to your jaw, moving your chin back up to center. “Let me see that pretty face, wanna see you feel it.”

It’s not a demand – it’s a plea. Joel thinks he should slow down, ease up and let you process what’s happening. But you’d stirred something in him that he thought had gone dormant for the foreseeable future, and he just couldn’t get enough of you.

A noise of protest sounds from your lips but you listen anyway, looking at yourself and taking in your already disheveled appearance. Then, you look at Joel. Your eyes meet again, and despite his clenched jaw and furrowed brow, he looks back at you with a tenderness you’ve never received.

“Fuck, Joel –” you whimper, hips rocking helplessly against his fingers. “Feels so good…” Your hips stutter, back arching as you start to match the push and pull of his fingers. Each stroke is measured, not hurried, like he’s trying to memorize how you come undone.

He feels your pussy clench around his fingers and groans, unable to stop thinking about how much he wishes it was his cock. But this was about you, not him. He listens for every catch in your throat, every tiny twitch of your hips, adjusting his touch like he’s tuning an instrument.

And God, do you feel it – the dragging weight of his fingers as they bury inside you. The nights chasing this feeling felt ridiculous, your own fingers no match for his. Your grip falters on the barre as he moves with unshakable focus. Not a single part of you feels untouched; not with his breath ghosting over your ear, his hand buried between your legs like he belongs there.

Your thighs clench and Joel can feel it before you say anything, the sound of your moans like music to his ears. Two thick fingers stay buried inside you, curling with maddening precision. They move just right, pressing into the soft spot so deep in your pussy it makes your whole body lurch forward. He tightens his grip on you and chuckles in realization.

“Shit – there, huh?” he mutters, almost to himself, and the pads of his fingers rub slow, earnest circles against that soft spot inside you while his thumb finds your clit again. He watches you unravel in the mirror, lips parted, skin flushed, straining toward every stroke.

Your breath stutters when he curls his fingers again, his name leaving your lips like a prayer. “You’re crazy,” you say with a weak laugh, and Joel shakes his head in amusement.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “‘Cause of you.” His fingers go impossibly deeper, like he’s carving his name into you. The mirror captures everything: your parted lips, the desperate crease in your brow, the flushed skin blooming over your chest. His hand never falters, fingers relentless now, faster, messier, wetter – until you cry out, your whole body seizing against him.

Your knees buckle but he’s already there, holding you up as your orgasm rolls through you, wave after wave. Your walls clench around his fingers, and he groans into your skin, biting down gently as if to anchor himself through it.

“Attagirl,” he growls, helping you through the end of it, slower now. “Jesus, baby. Feel so fuckin’ good, makin’ a mess all over my hand.” You sag in his arms, panting, skin damp and shining in the low studio light. Joel doesn’t let go, holding you to his chest.

You’re in a haze, acutely aware of Joel guiding you to sit on the nearest reformer slowly, letting you catch your breath. The carriage shifts under your weight, none of the springs keeping it steady, making you brace yourself on the frame. Immediately, his brow knits.

“How the hell d’you keep this thing from moving?” he mumbles, frowning down at the machine like it’s insulted you.

You let out a faint, dizzy laugh. “You’ve gotta put the springs on, all of them keep it pretty still,” you explain.

Carefully, he reaches under the carriage, fingers brushing over the cold metal until they find the spring hooks. One by one, he pulls them forward with quiet effort, securing them into place until the carriage holds steady.

“What about you?” you ask, reaching out to latch your fingers into the top of his jeans, wanting to return the favor. Before your hands make any progress, he catches your wrist firmly.

“I’m okay, don’t need that from you, sweetheart.” Joel shakes his head once, his eyes scan over your body like he’s already thinking about what to do with it next. You open your mouth to insist, but the moment falters when he interrupts you.

“Lie down for me.”

You blink at him, still swimming in the aftershocks. “What?”

He says it again, more pointed this time. “Lie back, on the machine, baby.”

There’s no edge in his voice – just heat, thick and steady, anchored by the quiet rasp of someone who’s holding back far more than he’s letting on. His palm slides to your lower back, coaxing you down gently until your spine meets the carriage. He moves then, straddling the machine and pausing when it groans under his weight.

“This thing gonna hold me?” he asks, and you roll your eyes.

“It’ll hold,” you reassure him. He hums skeptically, but settles down anyway, his back to the footbar. You watch him adjust, and it wrecks you a little. Because you’re not sure when this stopped being about flirting, or power, or just the thrill of wanting someone impossible. You want him. Want him when he’s steady and quiet and full of things he’ll never say out loud; and also like this, in power and unafraid.

“What’s that move you do?” he asks suddenly, interrupting your thoughts. He asks like he’s been saving the question. You blink, caught off guard and he clarifies. “The one with your ass up in the air.”

You lift your head from the headrest and laugh, eyebrows arched up. “You mean bridging?”

“That’s the one,” he drags out the first word, his hands running up your calves. You smile knowingly.

“Knew that one would stick, you liked that move, huh?” you ask, and Joel smirks.

“Couldn’t get it outta my fuckin’ head,” he admits, laughing with you. You both trail off and you meet his eyes, a suspicious glint in them. His gaze lingers, heavy and fixed – and that’s when you realize where he was going with the line of questioning. His thumbs skim the soft crease behind your knees, pulling up gently and you feel your breath hitch.

“Do it for me,” he says, almost pleading. He guides both of your legs up on top of his shoulders, and you’re completely stunned. How can you say no to him?

You breathe a little hard from your nose amusedly and lift your hips from the platform with slow precision. You shake a little this time, legs still aching from your first orgasm, but anything Joel wanted – you would give it to him. Your spine peels from the carriage in a slow roll, just like you’ve done a thousand times. You remember when you did it in class, intentionally putting on a show for him while he struggled with his own desire in the corner of the studio.

His mouth parts slightly, eyes dragging over the new shape of you; exposed, tilted, perfectly on display for him. He’d seen it from that bench in the corner, but now up close, he was losing his mind.

“Fuck,” he breathes. You go silent, every nerve pulled tight like the springs beneath you.

And then he leans in, no more hesitation, like he’s got something to prove – with his mouth, this time.

The first brush of his tongue is featherlight, but it’s enough to steal every thought from your head. When he hears you whine, he flattens his tongue and licks a stripe from your entrance to your clit, slow and considerate, like he’s memorizing the taste of you in case he never gets to have this again. He stays there, focused, with one hand steady at your hip while he wraps his lips around your swollen center, a soft cry echoing this time.

“Jesus, Joel –” you choke out, head thrown back, both hands clutching the side rail.

He pulls back just a touch, teasing now, cruel in the only way Joel can be, with praise that tears your heart open.

“You taste so fuckin’ good, baby,” his voice is thick and guttural. “Knew you’d sound pretty like that when I finally got my mouth on you,” he tells you between soft kisses to your thighs, his beard scratching the skin.

Before you can reply, he lowers his mouth to you, his tongue parts you, warm and searching. Your hips twitch under his hold, toes curling as he pulls you tighter against his mouth. Thankfully he knows you can’t hold yourself up, one of his hands gripping your hip and the other supporting you just under your tailbone. Your body bows, thighs tensing around his neck.

You say his name repeatedly, chest heaving, and that only seems to drive him deeper. His hand brushes behind your knee and he grunts, sending a vibration through to the pit of your stomach. He draws circles, then suckles gently, alternating pressure until your grip on the frame turns white-knuckled. He hums low in his throat, pleased with the way you respond, the way you buck your hips towards him. Joel’s in a trance, his brows furrowed with concentration while he devours you.

“Oh my god,” you whine, the air in the studio starting to feel stuffier. His only reply is a soft growl of encouragement and the tightening of his grip as he pulls you closer, lapping up your wetness like he’s been waiting his whole damn life for the chance. Like you’re the center of the fucking universe.

He pulls back just enough to talk, his voice rough as gravel and thick with praise. “So fuckin’ good, can’t get enough of you.” The sound of his voice alone makes you whimper, head tilting back.

“Please don’t stop,” the words tumble out before you can catch them, raw and aching with need. They crawl under his skin and burrow there, hopefully for a long time, he thinks. Hopes. The coil in your belly tightens with every pass of his tongue, your body beginning to shake for the second time. He hums, hungrily and intentional, sending a pulse through you that makes your vision blur. You’re back on that ledge faster than you anticipate.

“Joel,” your voice breaks, a warning more than anything.

He doesn’t let up, doesn’t pause. If anything it only fuels him. His mouth seals over your clit while two fingers slide into you again, immediately finding your sweet spot after memorizing it like scripture.

Your hips jerk, thighs trembling around his head, but his grip holds you firm – one hand on your ass now, the other working in time with his mouth, and it’s too much. Too good. The pressure builds fast, white-hot and blinding. He groans again, savoring it, and the vibration is what does it.

Even when your cum coats his tongue he doesn’t stop, holding you through it, mouth and hands steady, guiding you through each convulsion until all that’s left is the soft, trembling aftermath. Your leg threatens to slide from his shoulder, but he steadies it, finally pulling back only when your head falls back onto the headrest with a thump.

When your eyes flutter open, he’s already there; watching you like you’re the only person in the world. Lips glistening, eyes dark and endlessly soft. There’s nothing cocky in his expression, just something reverent – like he’s grateful to have been the one to bring you there. You force yourself to sit up, dabbing at your forehead with the back of your hand. Joel’s hands are there at your sides, helping you up.

There's too much to say, too much swelling in your chest that you’re not ready to name. So instead, you let your fingers curl around his shoulder, dragging him in close, and kiss him. He doesn’t hesitate. His mouth meets yours hungrily, tongue pushing past your lips so you can taste yourself on him. You groan against his mouth, and Joel grunts, like it’s taking every ounce of control he has not to press you back down and fuck you right there on the reformer – if that was even possible.

“You with me?” he asks, voice low, hands cupping your face now.

You nod, barely able to speak. “Fuck – I mean, yes. I’m with you.” You correct yourself with a shake of your head, and Joel smiles.

“Good,” he says, and his eyes don’t leave yours, not even when your fingers trail to his waistband again. This time, he lets you pop the button free and his shoulders relax when the zipper follows. His breath catches when your hand brushes against him through the fabric, warm and straining – waiting for you. The sound he makes is nothing short of wrecked.

“Lift a little,” you whisper, and he does without question, just enough for you to ease the denim down his hips. His legs spread slightly for balance and you move to straddle him, calves pressing against the wooden frame.

You shift forward on your knees, reaching between your bodies until your fingers graze his cock. He’s already hard, sucking in through his teeth when you wrap your fingers around it and squeeze. With your hips lifted you guide him to your dripping core slowly, pushing only the tip through your slick folds.

Joel’s hands wander; up your back, on your waist, to your thighs – like he doesn’t know where to touch first. They only settle with his fingertips digging into your hips the moment you begin to sink down, lips parting as you relish in the stretch. It isn’t too uncomfortable, thanks to Joel’s incredibly thorough services. His hands are there, guiding you not to take too much at once, letting you go at your own pace despite the overwhelming temptation to fill you up the rest of the way.

“Here,” he mumbles, helping you angle your hips. You wrap your fingers around the footbar behind him for balance, eyes locked on his as you take the rest of him. He’s big, thick and hot and perfect. You both exhale like it’s a relief to finally, finally feel this. The moan he lets out is guttural and desperate. You grin, teeth dragging lightly across your bottom lip as you start to move. A quick drag up, a slow slide back down onto his cock. His breath shudders out, and you feel that he’s still tense, like he's holding himself back.

“Christ,” he rasps, and you can feel his thighs tense under yours. “You feel so fuckin’ good, baby. Like you were made for me.”

The words make you clench around him, his head tipping back for a second before he’s looking at you again, unable to miss another second of it. “Don’t stop,” he begs, and you don’t – you can’t.

Your rhythm stays steady; a slow grind that leaves you gasping each time you take him a little deeper. Your grip tightens on the footbar, the metal cool under your palms, grounding you as the pressure builds. He lets you take what you need, lets you move at your own pace, but his hands never stop roaming; thumb stroking your thigh, palm sliding up your back, hands guiding you while you tuck your face into his neck. The closeness allows you to feel every breath he takes, hear every strained noise he makes.

The reformer creaks beneath you with each rise and fall of your hips, the tension cords beneath the frame stretching in tandem. His mouth grazes over your collarbone, warm and wet, and then without warning, he starts to fuck up into you. It makes you sit up straight, and Joel’s hand comes up to your neck, his fingertips grazing your throat. He’s all concentration as he looks between your bodies, watching you take him like it’s his last chance.

In his fervor, you feel his fingers dig into the side of your neck, but he’s so absorbed in you he doesn’t notice. His fingers flex softly at your pulse like he’s feeling how hard your heart’s racing. Your legs work to meet his thrusts, one of your hands leaving the bar to rest on his shoulder. The muscle contracts each time he moves, and the sight of him so focused, jaw tight and brows tense, makes you melt. Your pace quickens, the sound of your skin slapping together echoing in your ears.

And then, his fingers tighten. Your breath catches in your throat, and your pussy clamps around him even tighter like it’s been waiting for it. Joel feels it instantly. His eyes rip up to look at you, catching the pleasure written in all of your features.

“Oh, you like that, baby?” he asks, brow ticking up in amusement at yet another discovery. You can only nod in response, breath slipping out in a fractured moan.as he continues bucking up into you, deep and sharp.

The pressure in your belly builds fast again, molten and consuming. His hand tightens, just holding you there and squeezing the sides in a way that makes your mouth practically water. A firm reminder that he’s the one guiding you now, that he’s been controlling you this whole time, bending you to his will. Your hips stutter, thighs shaking, and Joel speaks up, voice rough at the edges.

“Gonna cum for me again?” he whispers, voice rough at the edges. Your hips stutter, thighs shaking, and Joel keeps his grip on your throat secure.

“I can’t –” you whine, the words fragile and disbelieving, more plea than protest. Your body is heavy with the weight of sensation, the sharp edge of overstimulation skimming close to pain, but it only winds you tighter.

“Yes, you can.” His lips brush your cheek, his words sounding more like a demand than encouragement. “Ain’t so easy when someone else is in charge of your breath, is it?” His voice is thick with satisfaction, power lacing every syllable, and something about the way he’s so in control, so certain – it only makes you burn hotter.

You laugh, breathless and wild, but it turns into a whimper as he bucks into you again, perfectly timed with the curl of his fingers at your throat – and the tension snaps. Your head falls forward against his shoulder as your body jerks in his lap, thighs shaking uncontrollably. A third orgasm rips sharp and stunning through you, a strangled cry lost against his skin. Your remaining grip on the footbar slips, both hands squeezing his shoulders instead, clinging to him.

Joel holds you through it, easing the pressure at your throat immediately, his other hand stroking up your spine as he murmurs against your neck. “That’s it, baby,” he whispers. “So good. So fuckin’ perfect.”

Your whole body sags into his, boneless and raw. He cradles your back like you’re something precious, chest rising and falling in sync with yours. You can feel he’s still inside you, still hard – but he makes no move, doesn’t chase his own release. He just holds you. You lift your head slightly, eyes fluttering open to find him already watching you with something that guts you. .

“Still with me?”

You nod, barely. “Yeah. Just… need a second.”

“Take all the time you need,” Joel says earnestly. “Ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

You smile, heart hammering, breath still shaky. You press your forehead to his, grounding yourself. His touch never falters, just warm and steady like an anchor. He notices you’re still shaking and traces shapes on your back, trying to assist.

“Gotta breathe, darlin’," and you do, letting him coax air back into your lungs one breath at a time. His thumb strokes your cheek in soothing circles. His cock is still pulsing inside you with need, begging for something he’s ignoring.

You shift slightly in his lap, your thighs still trembling but pliant now. You feel the way his breath stutters when you clench around him, slow and gentle. It makes him grunt softly in disapproval, his head shaking once.

“Baby,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “You don’t gotta do that.”

“Let me,” you whisper, insisting. Joel pulls back just enough to look at you. His pupils are blown wide, lips parted, forehead creased with something deeper than pleasure. He cups your face like it’s the only thing tethering him to earth.

Your hips roll forward with care, not rushed this time, but steady; giving him what he wouldn’t take for himself. His hands twitch on your hips, not guiding anymore, but bracing. He buries his face against your neck like he’s trying to hold on, trying not to break too fast.

“Took such good care of me, you deserve it too,” you say, barely audible above your shared breath. That undoes him. He finally lets go, hips thrusting up into you again in slow, devastating strokes. You meet each one, nails digging into his shoulders as you let him bring himself to the edge with your pussy. You're still reeling from your own high, breathing through it the best you can.

You feel the tension winding tighter in him, the way his breath falters, each sound caught between a groan and a prayer. His hand trails down, settles at the base of your spine, pressing you down to meet each thrust.

“Fuck, baby, I’m –” His voice breaks off as his head falls back, jaw slack. You ride him through it, holding him steady, giving him the same patience he gave you.

“Give it to me,” you whisper against his mouth.

It’s a full-body thing; a shudder that takes him over completely, pulling him under in waves. He lets out a broken moan as he spills inside you, hips stuttering, one arm banding tight around your back while the other cradles the side of your face. You stay with him through it, stilling only when he does, pressing your lips gently to the line of his jaw, then his cheekbone, then his temple.

His heart is racing. So is yours. Joel lets out a long, shuddering exhale, forehead dropping to yours again. His voice is soft, breathless. “Fucking hell,” a shaky laugh catches in his throat. “Can’t believe you’re real.”

You smile, stroking a hand through the sweat-damp curls at the nape of his neck. “The feeling is mutual.”

His arms still holding you close, bodies still joined and glittering with sweat.

“Was that three?” he asks after a beat, eyes fluttering open. You nod with a faint, dazed grin, and he groans, like that knowledge alone is enough to destroy him all over again. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

It makes you pause, your forehead touching his. “Sorry?” you echo. “If that’s what sorry looks like, I hope you mess up more often.”

He smiles, corners of his eyes scrunching and you can’t help but stare. For just a moment, the world outside of the studio doesn’t exist. There’s only this. Neither of you moves, not wanting to be anywhere else.

Joel breaks the silence with a tap on your thigh, motioning for you to stand up. He helps you, steadying you until you find solid ground again. You’re still dazed, but start to pull your clothes back on – the thought of his cum filling you makes your heart soar. You catch him watching you like he’s half expecting you to disappear.

He dresses himself while you spray down the machine, unable to bite back the smile on your face. Every damn class, he’d be imprinted on your mind, the machine taunting you with reminders and flashbacks. Then, as you toss the towel in the bin, you hear him speak behind you.

“I ain’t good at this,” he says. “Talkin’ like this, feeling like this. But I swear, it’s been damn near impossible to think of anything else lately.” His brows twitch like he wants to smile more, but something vulnerable tugs at the edge instead.

You close the distance, instantly reaching up to caress the edge of his jaw, catching the coarse stubble there. You can see something hovering over him, almost like he’s still waiting for permission from you, to have you outside of the studio walls.

“I’m not asking you for anything you can’t give,” you say reassuringly. “I just didn’t want to pretend like it wasn’t there. And… I really like you.” You admit it out loud, and he lets out a stunned chuckle. He’s floored, not quite able to believe you’re equally as fascinated with him as he’s been with you.

“I really like you too,” he says, quiet but sure. “More than I probably should.”

That earns a real laugh from you. “We’re way past shoulds, don’t you think?”

He huffs, amused but in agreement. His head dips just enough to brush his lips against your forehead.

“Should’ve said this before I had you ridin’ me on that damn machine,” he mutters, gesturing vaguely toward the reformer, like the memory alone short-circuits his brain a little. “You maybe... wanna get dinner sometime?” He rubs the back of his neck, eyes darting anywhere but your face for a second.

You smile so wide it hurts. “Joel Miller,” you chide, tilting your head, “Are you asking me on a date?”

He smirks, eyes crinkling in that way that already feels like home. “Think I might be.”

You lean in close, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. “Then yeah, I’d like that.”

That charged, delicate silence that always hummed between you two is still there, but neither of you feels strange about it now. He squeezes your hand once reluctantly before stepping back, going to the bathroom to collect his tools – but not before you give him your phone number.

As he opens the door, sunlight spilling into the quiet studio, he pauses with one hand on the frame. He glances back at you, lighter now, like the weight he’s been carrying finally lifted.

“See you Saturday?”

You meet his eyes, warmth blooming in your chest. “Yeah,” you say, light but certain.

“See you Saturday.”

Joel steps through the front door just after lunchtime, toolbox in hand, shirt wrinkled and clinging faintly to his back. He’s quieter than usual, like he’s moving through a dream he hasn’t quite woken up from.

Sarah doesn’t look up from the couch right away – she’s mid-scroll, headphones half on, but her eyes flick toward him when the door shuts.

“How’d fixing the sink go?” she asks, one brow arched.

Joel sets the toolbox down on the floor with more care than necessary, grunting as he stands up straight. “Went fine,” he says plainly, avoiding her eyes.

Sarah’s eyes narrow, and before she can comment back, they zero in on the back of his shirt: the tag sticking out and wiggling as he walks past the air conditioner to the kitchen. A slow, knowing smile takes over.

“Your shirt’s inside out,” she remarks, smirking triumphantly when Joel freezes mid-step.

His hand lifts automatically to the back of his shirt, fingertips brushing over the telltale edge of the tag. He frowns, mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “God damn it.”

Sarah watches him retreat toward the stairs, his inside-out shirt like a billboard for guilty as charged. His boots thud heavily against each step, and before disappearing, he throws a glance over his shoulder; a sharp look that’s more of a warning than denial.

“Don’t start,” he mutters gruffly.

“I didn’t say anything!” she chirps, clearly enjoying herself. The bathroom door clicks shut a second later. Sarah barely holds in her laughter as she pulls out her phone, putting the other headphone back over her ear. She opens her text messages and clicks on the thread with Vic.

dude... i think my dad just hooked up with our pilates teacher.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #the last of us #tlou hbo #joel miller smut #joel miller au #joel miller tlou #joel miller fluff #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction

117 notes · View notes

blank-potato · 2 days ago

Text

Much Needed Relief

Pairing: Ava Starr x Reader

Summary:

You land in the bath, soaked to the bone. “I’m still wearing clothes, you heathen!” you gasp, sputtering a little as you come up for air, drenched from Ava’s not-so-accidental splash. Your shirt clings to you like a second skin, soaked and dripping, your pants just as hopeless. Ava’s laugh rings out, the kind of sound you wish you could bottle and keep forever. She leans back slightly in the tub, a smirk playing at her lips as water beads down her shoulders. “I need to get you undressed then,” she says, mischief dancing in her eyes. Or You help Ava relax in the bath after a tough mission.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ Explicit Content, bath sex, oral sex (female receiving), choking kink, hair pulling, nipple play, Possessive!Ava, Dom!Ava, Sub!Reader, kissing her scars, Ava being soft around you, Ava calling you a good girl

WC: 3.0k

A/N: I had to write something for the love of my life, hope you enjoy it! Ava Starr, the woman you are 🥹

✮⋆˙ ✮⋆˙ ✮⋆˙

Ava had gotten used to long days and long nights alone. She wasn’t used to having people come home to. The team had proven to be a good change, something to get used to, but good. It led her to you after all.

You never failed to make her feel at peace. You had been dating for around six months, and it’s been intense. You had been in love with her ever since she pinned you to the wall and pointed a gun at your head in the vault.

Love at first gunfight.

It wasn’t easy at first; Ava had many walls. They were so high and fortified, you thought you’d never be able to see over them, let alone get through. But bit by bit, she let you in. Whether it was looking to you first when things got tense on a mission, or always trusting your judgement. Or looking after you when you got injured, even when you insisted you were fine. And even her silently phasing into your room at night just to sleep beside you (which scared the absolute shit out of you the first time it happened) — she found her own way to say I trust you.

Eventually, she didn’t even bother asking you out; she just told you that you were dating, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“But that’s my food,” you complained as she stole a mozzarella stick straight off your plate without breaking eye contact.

“I'm your girlfriend,” she said, popping another one in her mouth. “I’m allowed to steal your food.”

She said it so simply, so offhandedly, but you couldn’t stop smiling for the rest of the day.

You stayed, even when she tried to push you away. She was always there for you, and you were always there for her. And you wanted, desperately needed, her to take care of herself.

One day, after cleaning yourself up after a tough mission, you decide to check on Ava. You walk into the room to see her lying down on her bed, still in her suit, stiff as a plank of wood.

“Ava…” you murmur, gently nudging her shoulder.

She grumbles under her breath before sitting up slowly, moving like every joint hurts. “What?” she groans.

“Want my help?” you ask, already kneeling beside her.

She lets out a long, reluctant sigh. “Fine.”

You help her shed off the suit piece by piece, careful with her sore limbs. You can see the tension tight in her shoulders, in the way her jaw clenches even when she tries to play it cool.

“You need to relax.”

“I’m plenty relaxed,” she mutters, eyes darting anywhere but at you.

“Don’t lie.” Your voice softens. “I must be able to do something for you. What if I ran you a bath? Just think about it — hot water, that lavender soap I got you, maybe some music…”

She pauses, clearly debating whether to protest again, but then the weight of the day seems to hit her all at once.

“…Okay,” she finally says. “But only if you sit nearby and make sure I don’t fall asleep and drown.”

You smile. “Deal.”

✮⋆˙ ✮⋆˙ ✮⋆˙

By the time you get her in the tub, she already looks more alive. When you found her, it was like she was on death’s door. Body heavy with exhaustion, eyes barely holding on. But now, with the warm water steaming around her, her features looked softer, less strained.

You can’t help but take a minute to admire her, the curve of her neck, the way her lashes flutter slightly as she relaxes.

You can’t keep your eyes off of her back either, how it slopes so gracefully, the muscles beneath her skin still subtly tense even as she sinks further into the warmth. The way the water hugs her form, rising just enough to obscure but not hide.

“Is the view that nice?” she asks without opening her eyes, a teasing lilt in her voice and the ghost of a half-smile tugging at her lips.

“You have no idea,” you reply honestly. Ava was your weakness; one look from her could make your knees buckle.

She opens one eye, those sharp eyes scanning you slowly before landing back on your face. “Closer.”

You raise a brow but comply, stepping next to the tub and crouching down beside it. Her eyes narrow slightly.

“Closer,” she says again, the hint of a pout forming, and it’s ridiculous how adorable it is on her.

You hesitate for a second, worried that if you got any nearer, you’d end up slipping into the tub with her. But then, with a sigh and a smile, you kneel fully beside her, folding your arms along the rim of the tub so you’re right at eye level.

That seems to placate her. For now.

She closes her eyes again and rests her head against the edge, her voice soft now. “Thanks… for this. I needed it.”

“I know,” you say, and reach over to gently run your fingers through the damp strands of her hair. “You don’t always have to be made of steel, Ava.”

She hums in response, not a protest, not quite acceptance, either.

You lather up a sponge, warm water trickling over your fingers as you lean in closer to her.

“Does it still hurt?” you ask quietly, fingers hovering just above the faint scar along her side, not yet daring to touch.

“I’ve had worse pains,” she replies, voice low, evasive.

“That’s not what I asked,” you say, letting the sponge glide softly over her skin, making sure to be gentle. To her, your touch is like a whisper, like a promise, almost like a tender kiss.

She exhales slowly. “It’s a little sensitive, is all. Nothing I can’t handle,” Ava says, but there’s the faintest tension in her voice, the kind she doesn’t even know she’s using.

“Don’t give me that look, I'm fine,” she adds with a soft groan, eyes half-lidded. You recognise the deflection, she’s trying not to worry you, trying to stay strong even when she doesn’t have to.

You don’t push. You just murmur an “Alright,” as you trail the sponge over her shoulder, slow and careful, letting the moment be whatever she needs it to be.

There’s a pause, quiet except for the soft lapping of water.

“Can you wash my hair?” Ava asks, her voice quieter than usual, almost hesitant, like asking for this kind of tenderness still felt foreign.

You smile gently, already reaching for the shampoo. “Of course.”

Your fingers move slowly, gently through her damp hair, working in the shampoo, your touch light but deliberate. Her hair curled and softened with the water, dark curls clinging to your hands as you lathered it, your thumbs brushing lightly against her scalp.

“That feels so good…” she murmurs, eyes half-lidded, her body relaxing into the warmth of the water and the comfort of your touch.

“I give amazing scalp massages, thank you very much,” you say with a soft chuckle, leaning in a little closer. “Certified by every ex I’ve ever had. Not that there were many.”

Ava lets out a quiet huff of amusement, the corner of her mouth twitching up in the closest thing she ever gives to a smile in moments like this.

“You should put that on your CV,” she mutters, almost sleepily.

You rinse the suds out slowly, carefully keeping the water out of her eyes, your hands lingering in her hair just a moment longer than necessary. "Only if I can list you as a reference."

You shift slightly, moving her damp hair aside and spotting a faded scar nestled against her collarbone. Without thinking, you lean in and lovingly press a soft kiss to it. And you keep kissing every other scar you can see.

Her breath catches. “What are you doing?”

You pause, your lips hovering near her skin. “Appreciating you.”

She turns her head just enough to look at you, her eyes sharp but vulnerable. “And why’s that?”

“Because I love you, Ava.”

Her expression falters, and suddenly everything around you falls into a hush. The faint sounds of the water, the hum of the room, all of it stills, like the world is holding its breath right along with her.

“…say it again,” she whispers, barely audible.

“I love you.”

Your heart stutters before pulling her in for a kiss. She’s slow, deliberate, it’s gentle like she’s memorising the shape of you, and you’ll never get over the way she kisses you like you’re the only thing that matters in her world.

You’re kiss-drunk, utterly lost in her, and don’t even notice her hands tugging at your shirt, until you do. There's a sharp tug, a surprised yelp, and then—

Crash!

You land in the bath, soaked to the bone.

“I’m still wearing clothes, you heathen!” you gasp, sputtering a little as you come up for air, drenched from Ava’s not-so-accidental splash. Your shirt clings to you like a second skin, soaked and dripping, your pants just as hopeless.

Ava’s laugh rings out, the kind of sound you wish you could bottle and keep forever. She leans back slightly in the tub, a smirk playing at her lips as water beads down her shoulders.

“I need to get you undressed then,” she says, mischief dancing in her eyes.

In mere seconds, you're naked on top of her, your hands exploring one another as you make out.

Then suddenly she phases through you before you can react. One second she’s in front of you, the next she’s on top, straddling your lap, pressing you gently against the back of the tub.

You blink up at her, momentarily breathless.

Her wet hair clings to her skin in delicate waves, droplets trailing down the curve of her collarbone, disappearing beneath the water. But it’s her eyes that hold you in place, burning with that intense, fierce look like she wanted to claim you, right here and now, like you were something sacred, something hers.

And honestly? You could die right here and be perfectly content.

She smirks down at you, one brow lifting in that familiar, cocky way that somehow still makes your heart race.

“Well, don’t you look cute…”

“Careful. Keep talking like that, and I might not leave this tub alive,” you murmur with a crooked smile.

Ava tilts her head slightly, eyes locked on yours. “Don’t worry,” she says softly, her voice almost reverent. “I’ll take care of you.”

She cups your face, holding all of your attention in the palm of her hand.

Then she guides your soft lips to one of her nipples. You let her, taking it into your mouth as you roll the other one between your fingers. The sounds she was making, making you feel incredibly weak, but also making you want to try harder. Desperate to see her, your eyes flutter open just as hers close in the pleasure that you’re giving her. Just then, she opens her eyes again, running her fingers through her hair and smiling at you. A smile that could kill if she wanted.

“So desperate to please, aren’t you?” She says before yanking you away from her chest by your hair.

She’s not wrong. You’d let her do just about anything to you right now.

You go back to work, licking and sucking to your heart's content while massaging her other breast in your free hand, you’re a little rough but you know that's how she likes it. "To that end, you bite down a little just to make her squeal, which she does.

You pull back to take in her blissed out expression, “And what was the biting for?”

“I wanted to leave my mark.”

Her laugh is low, throaty, and dangerous. “Of course you did.”

Not delaying for even a second, she wraps her fingers around your throat. Her grip is firm and commanding, yet not unkind when she pulls you in. But just before your lips can meet, she halts the movement, holding you there, suspended between want and ache.

You lean in, trying to close the distance, but she holds you back, her eyes burning into yours.

“What do you say?” she whispers, voice low and electric.

“Please?” you breathe, the word escaping you in a shaky exhale. It’s raw, needy, and there’s no doubt it sounds pathetic, but you don’t care. You’d beg for hours if it meant you could touch her.

A pause. Her grip doesn’t loosen.

“And?” she prompts, eyes searching yours like she’s testing you, like she needs to hear it.

“I love you.”

Her eyes light up when she hears your genuine confession. She gives you a chaste kiss on the forehead, squeezing down on your throat just a little tighter. “I love you too.”

Then she finally gives you what you want, your lips collide, and it’s nothing short of wild. She’s controlling you like a puppet, one hand on your throat, the other in your hair. You were completely and truly at her mercy.

She pulls away from you and releases your throat, and you want her back as soon as her touch leaves you. Luckily, she’s not one to leave you alone for long.

“Turn around,” She orders, and you immediately move to settle in with your back pressing against her chest. There’s a moment of peace before you feel her arms snaking around you, making their way to your swollen clit.

“Ava!” You whine as you buck your hips against her hand. She nibbles at your earlobe, set on making you lose your mind.

“That’s my good girl,” She says, her breath hot against your skin. You shiver when you feel her start kissing your pulse point below your jaw. You feel the water start to ripple, and feel her hips start grinding against you. Her pace picks up, rubbing your clit with and matching it to her roll of her hips. The sound of splashing water and both of your moans echoing against the bathroom walls.

“You’re driving me crazy, Ava.”

“What do you think you do to me?” She replies before sucking marks on your neck and shoulders. You can feel her pussy rubbing against you and you bite your lip, thinking about making her feel good. All you wanted was to feel her pussy grinding on your face and tasting her on your lips.

“You want something. I can tell,” Ava says, her voice low and knowing, eyes narrowing just slightly. She’s always been perceptive, especially when it comes to you.

“Wanna eat you out,” You admit, feeling suddenly so shy as if you hadn’t done it before. It’s the effect Ava has on you.

She smirks against your skin, the curve of her lips brushing your jaw as her fingers trace slow, deliberate patterns along your folds. “You’ll have to beg for it.”

“Please… can I eat you out?”

She moves from behind you, the water shifting with her as she rises, droplets cascading down her skin in rivulets, soapy suds sticking to her curves. She perches on the edge of the bathtub, commanding all of your attention.

Each and every curve is kissed by the dim bathroom light, casting golden shadows across her skin. She's so effortlessly beautiful it almost hurts to look at her. So perfect, you’d think she was sculpted by the gods themselves, crafted not just to be seen, but worshipped.

You crawl between her legs with doe eyes and good intentions, but all she does is tease you.

“Please, Ava. I want you so bad. I just…” Your voice is barely a whisper, breath catching as you look up at her. “Please. I’m begging you.”

She tilts her head, eyes dark and steady as they scan your face. Her voice is velvet and steel all at once.

“More,” she says simply, a command wrapped in a whisper, dragging the word out like she knows it’ll unravel you.

You don’t hesitate. “I’m yours. Please, let me show you who I belong to.”

Ava inhales slowly, like she’s trying to memorise the moment—the desperation in your voice, the way you look at her like she’s your whole world.

“Good,” she murmurs. “I hope you’re ready because you’re not getting up until I’ve had my fill.”

“I’ve never been more ready in my life.”

You don’t hesitate, laying messy kisses against her pussy, lapping up her slick like a woman starved. Her moans reaching your ears, her name on your lips sounding like a symphony. “So good for me, aren’t you?” She praises, her hands pulsing you deeper by your hair. You couldn’t lie, being yanked around by your hair by Ava was proving to be far more pleasant than you ever imagined.

She squeezes her thighs around your head, stealing your breath. She knew exactly how to toe the line between pain and pleasure. But who needs to breathe? Ava is your oxygen now.

You whine against her core when you feel her feet digging into your back when you touch a particularly sweet spot. You start to go to town on it, her moans getting her pitched as she grips you harder. So hard, you start seeing stars. When that happens, you tap out on her thighs and she loosens up a little (she’s not a complete sadist), but not enough to let you go. “What’s that? Begging for mercy?” She delights in seeing your desperate little face as you try your best to devour her.

“A…va…” You gasp out, still muffled by her wet cunt and she just coos and pets you letting you catch your breath for a few seconds, before enveloping you with her legs again.

“Good girl,” She praises you again, and it all feels worth it. You suck on her clit with more fervour, pulling her to you and gripping her ass like this was your one true purpose.

You're burying yourself between her legs, letting her use you until she's done. Little did you know, as soon as you were done in the bathroom, she was going to take you to bed and ruin you some more.

Masterlist

#ava starr #ava starr x reader #x reader #fluff #smut #ava starr x you #established relationship #ava starr fanfic #thunderbolts x reader #thunderbolts fanfic #thunderbolts*#thunderbolts #x female reader #ghost mcu #marvel fic #marvel fanfic #mcu fanfiction #ghost thunderbolts

94 notes · View notes

gracieheartspedro · 1 day ago

Text

Lotus Eater | chapter 2- 3.2k words

my main masterlist - eddie masterlist - series masterlist

previous chapter - next chapter

summary: eddie's your ride to school. life can't get any worse.... can it?

warnings: slow burn, 18+ mdni, mentions of bullying, abusive parents, food aversion, eating food in general, playing the lottery, reader has hair but not specified style, eddie drives fast, reader is constantly annoyed by him, nicknames (sunshine, he loves sunshine, sweetheart, etc).

a/n: hiii friends. chapter 2 is here. i'm working through this fic pretty steadily. let me know your thoughts! if you want to be added to the tag list, just let me know! <3

A routine settles in rather quickly.

After you and Eddie realize that the battery needs to be replaced in your piece of shit car, you call your mom at the diner and had her add you on for some evening shifts. You would be helping with dinner rushes on Fridays and working doubles on the weekends, if the hours allowed it.

This meant that without a car, you were now relying on Eddie to take you to and from school. And you disliked almost every second spent with him. Every morning it was the same conversation.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” He would say.

“Don’t call me that,” you would respond.

“Why?” He would ask.

“Because I’m not… that,” you would retort.

“Right… okay. Remind me not to speak to Miss Cranky-Pants in the mornings.”

And then the morning would be tuned out to some metal tape he had inserted into his radio.

After a week, he started stopping by the mini-mart right down the street from school and would pick himself up some mini chocolate donuts. And for some reason, he was adamant about buying you something to eat. The first time he tried, you told him you already ate, which was a bald-faced lie. He saw straight through you and brought you a pack of the same donuts he liked. You confessed you were not into chocolate donuts, you much preferred the powdered ones.

So every morning now, he would come out with a plastic bag with a new pack of cigarettes, two sleeves of mini donuts, and a Yoohoo. You absolutely refused to drink one of those things, much to Eddie’s dismay.

You would accept the donuts, never opening them. You just threw them into your backpack, letting them pile up in the front pocket.

During school hours, you began your journey as being completely friendless. Kacey has completely iced you out, even making jokes about you as you pass her locker. Gabe has her wrapped around his finger and all of his stupid jock friends used you as their newest target. You had paper thrown at you in math, people asking you jokingly where you bought your stained jeans from, and one guy even tripped you when trying to leave for the parking lot after school.

You do not understand where you went wrong. The only thing that could have triggered all of this is you asking Kacey what drugs she was taking during class. But now you are the butt of everyone’s joke.

You started to just keep your head down, avoiding the cafeteria, and biting your tongue when you heard snarky remarks about you in hushed tones.

Eddie noticed something was awry after a couple of weeks.

You do not know how, but one ride home in the afternoon he breaks the silence by pestering you about where you sat at lunch.

“I don’t see you hanging out with that girl you usually hang out with.”

You swallow your pride.

Only because you honestly wanted to talk about it with someone. Your pent-up anger was silently bridled deep within the pits of your stomach, waiting to explode. You could not talk to your parents and having no siblings gave you no outlet to just vent about it all. While you did not consider Eddie much of anything, besides maybe an acquaintance, he was now a listening ear for 20 minutes of the day when he took you to and from school.

“She’s not really my friend anymore.”

You can taste the bile in the back of your throat. It still tears you up inside that you did not have the Kacey you once knew and adored. She was lost, straying too far from where she once was.

His eyes glance over at you and then back at the back road that leads directly to your shared neighborhood. “Do you… want to talk about it?”

Hearing him pose the question causes you to retract back into yourself. You were not sure you were able to formulate the emotions into words quite yet. You thought the feelings all the time, but you were never good at putting them into a cohesive string of words.

You study Eddie’s side profile for a moment, trying to muster up enough confidence to express yourself genuinely.

The courage falters as soon as his brown eyes meet yours.

“I don’t think so.”

And the conversation ends there.

When Friday evening rolled around, you got dressed for work and piled into your Mom’s old Chevy to head for a night shift at the diner.

Arriving there felt like a judge reading you your death sentence. The place was packed already at 4:30. You wrap a partially stained apron around your waist and get to taking tables. Most of the older folks were kind, tipping you extra when you told them you were just getting back into the swing of working again.

But once 8:00 hit, the kids spilling out from the Hawkins High football game started piling into your booths. You were very overwhelmed when you got the 10 top and everyone wanted something different to drink. You stood at the soda fountain for 5 minutes, trying to not give yourself a headache remembering what every kid wanted.

When you deliver everyone their drinks, you jot down their food orders. Luckily everyone pretty much wanted burgers and chicken tenders, which would save you and the cooks more stress. When you ring in everyone’s desired meals, you go to the back door and stand outside for a moment, trying to rake in the fresh air.

You were drowning.

Everything literally went wrong in less than a week. You had no car, no friends, had to return to the job you despised, and there was no end in sight.

You try to take some deep breaths, closing your eyes to recenter yourself. You needed to get a grip. You did not have time to mope and freak out. You had to deal with it.

You walk back inside, your jaw tightened with tension. When the bell dings that your food is ready to be run, you do just that.

You worked a double on Saturday and Sunday, occupying your entire weekend with annoying customers and your nagging mother.

She was now requiring you to pay her $10 every time she drove you somewhere, including the diner. It was just another way for her to manipulate and take advantage of your hard work which is something she’s always done. You had no choice, forking out $40 by the end of the two days.

You knew that this was the way things would always be with your parents. No give, all take. You had spent most of your life being the person they needed you to be. They did not care about your grades, no, they cared if you cleaned the house. Did their laundry. Made sure the lawn was mowed. You could swear to whatever God that they only had you to have their own personal housekeeper.

Your mom was particularly vicious. She has never said one nice thing to you, always reminding you that you would just be stuck in the same awful cycle she was in. Poverty. Having kids young. Dead-end jobs.

You were set up to fail by your parents, and that’s why you wanted to get out so badly.

Your college applications will be hand-delivered to the post office the moment you finish them. You needed out. You would get out.

On Monday morning, you wake up early to take a long shower in the morning. You could still smell the fryer’s grease on your body and it made you feel disgusting. You practically scrub your skin raw trying to rid the fried scent for a vanilla lavender smell.

You get dressed, not even bothering to dry your hair. Your hair dryer was partially broken anyway. You needed to get outside before Eddie, wanting to give your hair some time to dry in the chilly morning breeze. You step out the door, you instantly curl your arms around yourself. The wind was sharper, more crisp than the morning before. Dead winter would be here in no time.

You shoot a glance over to Eddie’s trailer, seeing his uncle occupying the front porch.

Wayne was a nice guy. Kind of standoffish, but every conversation you have ever had with the man was always pleasant.

You do not know why, but you start walking across the street, gravel crunching under your sneakers.

“Mornin’, Mr. Munson,” You croak, clearing your throat as he puffs his cigarette.

“Hey there,” He blows some smoke out of the side of his lip, “Heard Eddie’s been takin’ you to school.”

You nod, eyes flickering between him and the makeshift ashtray on a cardboard box to his left, “Yeah, he’s been kind enough to take me since my car’s not running.”

He furrows his graying eyebrows, “Battery bad?”

“Yeah, and I think something with the alternator. Or somethin’. I’m not 100% sure.”

His face relaxes a bit as he leans back in the plastic chair. He takes a breath, about to say something, but the front door opens and Eddie walks out. His eyes lock onto yours in an instant, smirking a bit at your appearance.

“No time to dry your hair, sunshine?” He taunts, tossing his backpack over his shoulder. You want to laugh at his bold assumption, but instead, you just roll your eyes, looking at Wayne.

“Good mornin’ to you, too, Eddie.”

Wayne chuckles a bit at your response, ashing out his cigarette. “You always have a way with words, son.”

Eddie pats his shoulder, a shit-eating grin taking up most of his face.

“Thanks, man. I learned from the best.”

“Wasn’t me,” He grumbles, standing up with a grunt, “Don’t let him make you believe that, girl.”

Your face twists into a sly smirk, “No need to worry, Mr. Munson.”

Wayne wishes you two a good day and heads back into the confines of his trailer. You look at Eddie as he leans against the banister of the small front porch. He drops down a step, giggling like a little kid. You get a whiff of his cologne as soon as the wind picks up. It’s strong but the masculine scent is unobjectionable. Eddie never particularly smelled bad, just sometimes the cologne mixed with the smell of marijuana and made his jean jacket smell stale.

Why were you analyzing his fragrance anyway?

“I didn’t mean to take a jab at you, by the way. Your hair looks good,” He swallows his Adam’s apple bobbing. He brings you out of your own thoughts as his brows drop, his expressive face now stern, “I mean y-you look good-”

“Save it. It’s fine, Eddie.”

But his compliment makes goosebumps crawl across your skin. The way he’s looking at you, almost admiringly, is disabling your ability to swallow. You have never felt your face flush before, but the burning of your cheeks gives you away rather quickly. You turn away from him, your feet crushing the broken concrete under your shoes.

“We can’t be late, let’s get a move on.”

Eddie stops for his YooHoo and donuts, but this time he does not bring you powder donuts. He hands you a lotto scratcher and some fruit snacks. When he drops it in your lap, your first instinct is to gasp.

“Saw you eating those suckers in the hall last week,” He mumbles, shoving his glass bottle of chocolate ‘drink’ in his cup holder. He slams his door before he starts up the engine again.

It makes you smile to think that he watched you munching on your favorite snack in between classes. It is weirdly thoughtful, something you do not really expect from him. You grab the lotto ticket, holding it up.

“And this?”

He chuckles, ripping open his pack of donuts with his teeth, animalistically. “Maybe you’ll get lucky and not have to work at the diner.”

Another randomly thoughtful thing.

Instead of reading into the intentions of the gesture, you grab a penny from his tray of change and start to follow the instructions on the scratcher. 5 even numbers in a row and you win $500. You start randomly scratching the rows of numbers, knowing that you will not win much if anything. These things were one in a million chances.

You start to get hope when you get 22, 34, 12, and 6. One more even number and you would not have to work at the diner anymore. To think that Eddie would have solved all your issues with a $2 lottery ticket.

“Fuck!” You groan, slamming the penny back into the pile of miscellaneous change.

“Not a winner?” He giggles, pushing his second donut in 5 seconds into his mouth. Some crumbles of chocolate fall from his lips, which makes you cringe.

“First, chew with your mouth closed,” You wave at him with your pointer finger, “And second, yeah. Only four even numbers and not five like it wants.”

He covers his mouth with his ring-clad hand, chewing obnoxiously loudly. He swallows his sweet breakfast before he speaks, “I’m sorry, sunshine. There’s always next time!”

“I am not playing ‘til I win.”

He licks the tips of his fingers, ridding them of the chocolate layer. You don’t know why, but the way his rings catch the light, you find yourself almost hypnotized by the way his fingers move toward his lips.

He snatches the ticket from you, looking at the bold font and scrunching his nose. “Well, I am.”

You kept your head down all day. You skipped lunch and decided that time at the library would be a better option. When you sit down at a table, you notice the crew of kids beside you get up and snicker something about you. You eye them carefully and realize one of the girls is friends with Gabe. He really had everyone believing you were the worst person to ever exist. At this rate, you were going to beat out Eddie on being the biggest loser in school.

You get to his van later than usual, getting caught up in last period and ensuring your microscope was put away correctly. You are practically sprinting across the parking lot, nervous that he may just leave without you.

He’s chainsmoking a cigarette, leaning up against his hunk of metal. He does not catch your eye immediately, as he’s chatting to Gareth and waving his arms around like a madman. Eddie’s very animated, especially when he has the space to flail his arms around. He’s pretty good about keeping his hands near himself when you are in the car with him.

You exhale a loud sigh as you arrive at his side, your hands pressing into your hips.

“Did you run here?” Eddie asks as he lets smoke twirl out of his mouth. Gareth must have seen you running and just nods for you. You nod along with him, inhaling a big breath and then releasing it when your lungs stop burning.

“I didn’t want you to leave without me,” You pant, shifting your gaze away from the two boys. The idea that you relied so heavily on Eddie was making you nervous. If you got stuck here, half the school would refuse to give you a ride and you would have to walk home 5 miles. It would be as equally annoying as it was unsafe.

Eddie smirks, taking another drag of his cigarette. Gareth grins knowingly, tucking his hands in his dark denim.

“I ain’t ever gonna leave without you, princess. I can guarantee that.”

“You need to slow down!”

It was the one-millionth time you were yelling at Eddie to manage his speed. He was always flying down the back roads even though he had no reason to be in a rush. He just liked going fast.

His twisted expression throws you off this time. He reaches out, slapping your thigh playfully, “Aw, passenger princess getting nervous going 45 in a 25?”

You instantaneously smack his hand away, much harder than he patted you. You were not getting nervous, you just did not want to run the risk of Eddie getting pulled over and your mom not waiting around for you to arrive home to go to work. You needed the money and the anxiety of missing out because Eddie gets a ticket is stressing you out.

You tighten your jaw, “Yes! You’re gonna get pulled over!”

Your raised voice makes his face droop a bit in regret. Eddie was pretty good at reading when you were over the teasing. On rare days, he would continue on and mock your projected voice, which would lead to you completely icing him out. And if there’s one thing Eddie hated, it was you completely ignoring him. He thrived on getting a reaction, sure, but he enjoyed casual conversation with you even more than that.

“Fine,” He raises his foot off the gas, slowing down to a cool 30 miles per hour, “Only because I have sunshine in the car. Don’t want you to get your panties in a twist.”

You huff, trying to not get annoyed by his jab, but it starts to eat at you immediately. His words are like a soundboard of your Dad. Always making you sound more dramatic and obnoxious than what you really were.

“Stop calling me that. No sweetheart. No sunshine.”

As if to twist the knife, Eddie whispers under his breath, “You need to smoke a joint or something, you’re so tense all the time, sunshine.”

You grit your teeth, eyes darting over to him, “Weed fries your brain.”

He scoffs, smacking his steering wheel as if to take his annoyance out on it. “It does not!”

“You are a classic example. My Dad is an even better example,” You explain, crossing your arms over your stomach. You cock your brow, which Eddie catches the moment he finally looks at you.

He smiles and it makes your skin crawl. It was virtually impossible to get under this man’s skin fully and it bothered you. “You are not giving me any credit, sweets.”

“Do I suddenly need to? All you do is smoke and sit around. A lot like my Dad, except he has a real job.”

That gets him. You watch as he flicks on his turning signal and clears his throat. You render him speechless for a moment as he pulls down the gravel pathway. His eyes slowly blink as he pulls into his driveway and throws the van in park. He huffs, dramatically and pointedly.

“Jesus, you really know how to knock a guy down a peg.”

You had enough of him at that point. “Just stating the obvious.”

divider: @saradika-graphics <3

taglist: @moon-esque @walleloveseve @kellsck @awkward00noodle @person-005 @emxxblog @mediocredreams @justalotoffanfiction @kelsiegrin @thejordiverse @robinbuckleywife

#eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things au #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #gracieheartspedro #fic: lotus eater

82 notes · View notes

caoimhewritesfics · 2 days ago

Text

Little River Inn

(Undying Ground pt6)

Tags/CW: zombies mentioned. very chill chapter overall

WC: 2.1K

Pairing: Simon Riley x Reader. Reluctant allies to lovers

Series Masterlist → here

A/N: This is my vision for Si's hair

The walk was only supposed to take 16 days, if you didn’t stop for food or rest at all that is. As day 7 rolls around, the hunger and exhaustion cling to you like leeches in the pond your grandfather let you swim in when you were 8. He got a good scolding from your grandmother for it.

Damn it, Gerry! I told you that pond was no good!

Moments like this had you wishing for those leeches, that pond. Seven infected had surprised you early in the morning, the sun just barely climbing over the horizon.

Gnashing teeth right in your face, claws searching for something fresh to eat. It was your fault. The scramble to evade them, get Simon and Riley out of there unharmed. Simon was capable, anyone who looked at him could tell, but it was your watch. You were the one who had fallen asleep. The one who was supposed to be protecting them while they rested.

Simon refused to speak to you. Even the banter, which he loves, didn’t come. You couldn’t blame him. You wouldn’t talk to him if he had done the same thing. Even Riley seemed to find you insufferable. Turning away from any pets or coos, like he knew exactly what had happened.

But Simon couldn’t shut you out forever, and you were determined to make the man talk to you. Another 10 to 15 days with him in complete silence was worse than his questions.

You broke the quiet first, your voice cutting through the rustle of wind in the trees. “We need to stop soon. We’re low on food.” you said

Simon didn’t even glance your way. “Hunt then,” he muttered, eyes locked on the trail ahead.

You exhaled sharply, jaw tightening. “I can’t do that if we don’t stop.”

He halted mid-step, just for a second. “We had food.”

You looked away, scanning the thick canopy above as if the trees could shield you from blame. “I’m sorry,” you said, quieter now. “How many times do I need to say it? It’s not like I fell asleep on purpose.”

You bit down the rising frustration, forcing your voice to steady. “Look, Simon, I’m trying to apologize and fix this as best I can. You don’t need to like me, but at least work with me here.”

A long pause followed. Just as you began to think he’d ignore you again, he spoke, voice low but deliberate.

“Fine. We’ll stop in three hours. Plenty of light left to hunt then.”

Fine. You could live with that. You were hungry and getting impatient, but he was talking to you. That’s enough of a victory for now.

His dark eyes stay fixed on the terrain in front of you. In the time you’ve been with him, he hasn’t removed that skull mask. He was an enigma. Probably the most intriguing person you’ve ever met. He revealed so little about himself, even his face kept a mystery.

You hated that mask. You longed to see the man beneath it. Perhaps it would soothe you. Perhaps it would make everything worse. The feeling in the pit of your stomach is undeniable whenever he looks at you. That small bit of himself revealed to you, focused on you and nothing else. If you could see more of him, maybe just maybe your image of him would shatter and he would just be a man to you. Not whatever he had become. Mystery, enigma, captivating.

Riley's shrill yapping tears you out of your thoughts. He darts over the small hill, furry tail disappearing. You take off after him, calling his name. Simon grumbles and begrudgingly takes off after the both of you.

"Riley!" you call, heart skipping. You break into a jog, then a sprint, feet crunching dry leaves and loose gravel underfoot.

Behind you, Simon lets out a low, exasperated groan. "Every damn time," he mutters, voice thick with annoyance. Still, he follows, trudging after you with reluctant, heavy steps.

Then you crest the hill—and stop dead.

"Holy shit," Simon breathes, stumbling to a halt beside you.

Your eyes lock on the structure ahead. "Oh. My. God," you say, barely above a whisper. "Do you think it has beds?"

"It fucking better.”

A motel. Not a particularly nice one, but a standing one. The only thing to have touched it is time. Ivy crawls up the walls and the stairs look like a gust of wind would cause a collapse. Dust clings to the windows like a fly that got too close to a ribbon trap. A sign displaying the words in a faded red, "Little River Inn" dangles from one corner, creaking in the breeze.

You waste no time testing your luck on the stairs. They hold, just barely and you skip down the hallway to a room. You throw yourself inside, not caring if any infected were laying in wait for you inside. Lucky for you, there's not. Even luckier, the room looks to be untouched. Despite the years worth of dust, there is still a bed, still made and stable looking. The print on the comforter looks like one that your grandmother would have snatched up at your local home decor store, a browning, dated floral that had a special place in her heart, and now yours.

Simon saunters in behind you, taking in the dated yet homey decor. Making himself at home, he plops down right on the bed and unlaces his shoes.

Walking to the bathroom, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You're nothing short of dismal looking. Hair tangled and in need of a trim, dirt and grime have weaved themselves into your face. The bags under your eyes are dark, almost like moon craters. You haven't had the opportunity to care for your looks in years. It all seems trivial now. The face creams, toners, all the different brands and routines. There was no use for any of that out here.

Your thoughts drift away from your appearance, a soft, wet sound drawing your eyes downward to the sink in front of you.

Water.

Dripping water.

There's water in these pipes... And it's still running.

Your shaking hand slowly turns the handle. Water rushes forward, coating your hand. Before you have a chance to shout for Simon, he comes running, drawn by the sound.

“It runs?” He asks in slight disbelief.

“It runs.”

Simon pushes past you gently, eager to get a better look at the water. To your surprise he pulls his mask off and cups his hands under the stream, and brings water to his face, scrubbing at the dried blood and dirt along his temple and jaw. You can’t help but watch.

It’s the first time you’ve seen that much of him.

He's handsome.

Very handsome.

Brown eyes complimented by short blond hair. It's messy. Probably just hacked off with a pair of scissors or a knife, but it sure does suit him. His jaw is sharp like a knife, covered with a small amount of growing stubble. He's so... Simon. The lingering feeling of Ghost seems to go down the drain as he cleans his face.

You barely realize you're staring until he looks up and catches your gaze in the mirror.

You expect him to snap, to retreat again behind the hard lines of his silence or that damn mask. But he doesn’t. He just looks at you, really looks.

"Check the toilet," he says, breaking the spell. “If the pipes work, it might flush.”

You shake off the awkward moment, hand finding the handle, "Right... toilet."

You test the handle. A long groan, then the whirl of water rushing into the bowl.

“Holy shit,” you breathe. “We hit the jackpot.”

---

You had never gotten around to hunting. The excitement over the water and beds was too much of a distraction.

Taking turns with the shower had proved to not be an issue. The bed however... Simon wasn't one to share and the single bed in the middle of the room was almost laughing at him.

Riley’s curled up in the corner, nose twitching as he dreams. The comforter crinkles as Simon drops into the bed again, this time leaning against the headboard. He'll need to stake his claim before you do.

Though that clearly means nothing to you as you drop down beside him, bed dipping slightly. He shoots you a sideways glance that says what are you doing?

Whether you don't notice or just don't care, he's not sure. He watches with distaste as you make yourself comfortable, rambling on about thread counts and your grandmother's sheets.

"Simonnnnnn? Hello?" You sing, waving a hand dramatically in front of his face.

"What?" He snaps, barely turning his head.

"I'm trying to have a conversation with you here?"

He sighs sharply through his nose. "Well stop... and stop calling me that."

You roll your eyes, clearly unfazed. "You're so miserable."

He pulls his share of the blanket, which has proved to be slightly too small for the both of you closer to himself, as if touching you would infect him.

"God forbid you enjoy one human moment," you mutter, staring up at the ceiling. "Hot water, a bed, blankets that don’t smell like wet dog. But yeah, let’s all be miserable."

Simon doesn’t respond, just shifts slightly, shoulder brushing yours for the briefest second before pulling away again.

He’s slept in trenches, snowbanks, and bathtubs. So, this—this room with its flowery bedspread and peeling wallpaper wasn’t horrible. But it was quiet. Too quiet. And you were much too close.

"Just... Go to sleep." He was still angry with you, at least he thinks so. Perhaps he's angry with himself. For having you take watch when he knew you were tired. It should have been him. He's the soldier here. He's had experience. Not you.

He shifts, rolling to his back. Stares up at the ceiling like it has answers. But all he sees is your face reflected in the mirror—how you looked at him when he took the mask off. How you didn’t look away.

A soft breath escapes your lips. You shift in your sleep, unconsciously inching closer to him. Your hand brushes his forearm, and he goes still. But he doesn’t move away.

He watches you for a long while. Measures the rise and fall of your chest. The way exhaustion has smoothed away the tight lines of worry on your face. He lets out a sharp, reluctant breath, letting your sleeping form move closer. The muscles in his hand twitched, itching to reach out and touch you.

His fingers curl into the blanket instead.

Outside, the wind rustles through dead leaves and rattles the sign again. A hollow, creaking reminder of the world that used to be. Of everything that time left behind. If he listens too close the soft wind sounds almost like the growls of the infected.

But in here, there’s warmth. A living, breathing kind of warmth that scares him more than any infected ever could.

There's something about you. He can't put his finger on what... but there's something. Something that makes him feel like Simon. Not Ghost.

---

You were pressed lightly against his side, arm brushing his beneath the covers, your breath soft and even near his collarbone. He didn’t remember falling asleep like this, didn’t remember shifting closer. And yet here you were.

Simon stayed still, every muscle trained not to react. Old habits. Even now.

Your breath caught slightly as you shifted, murmuring something in your sleep. One of his hands twitched on instinct. The one near your shoulder, but he didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

He finally moved, slowly, carefully, pulling his arm free and sitting up in bed. The cold hit him almost immediately. The loss of your warmth like a slap across his skin. He rubbed at his face, blinked sleep from his eyes.

Footsteps behind him. Your footsteps.

He glanced over his shoulder. You were standing there, blanket still wrapped loosely around your shoulders, hair a tangled mess, but your eyes were clear. Watchful.

“Morning.” You sigh and shuffle closer, yawning, sleep still clinging to you.

He lets out a quiet hum of acknowledgement, “Morning.”

“We should get around to that hunt today. Not much rations left.”

“Yeah. Good.” He nods and shifts away from you slightly, needing space.

You were still staring. Eyes locked onto his face, studying him like an artifact in a museum. He still had his mask off. There wasn’t much need for it around you now. You’ve seen him. Besides, you were allies. As you keep reminding him, annoyingly so.

“Get your bag.” He gives you a small nod as he starts to collect his jacket.

Taglist: @your-internet-tenshi @little-mini-me-world @angeldemon28 @iminlovewithjasontodd @i-like-foxs @dravenskye @lilynotdilly @thatghostlykid @lostintransist @nicolebarnes @vybzwithjaz @night-shadowblood-writes2 @jimihendrixenthusiast76 @happyfacelol

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley cod #simon riley #ghost x reader #cod fanfic #cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod x reader #cod modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare #zombie au #cod au #caoimhewrites

110 notes · View notes

lazysoulwriter · 4 hours ago

Text

it's not silly. - pedro pascal. ── .✦

requested! thank you. content: angst with comfort, jealousy/insecurity, touchiness with others, emotional honesty, gentle reassurance, crying, established relationship, happy ending

---

you always knew how touchy he was.

he was warm. kind. affectionate. the kind of man who touched arms when he laughed, who wrapped people in bear hugs, who kissed cheeks like it was instinct.

you saw it on red carpets. in behind-the-scenes clips. in interviews where his hands would rest gently on a co-star’s back, or he’d lean in close to whisper something that made her laugh.

and the thing is… you knew it was innocent.

you knew pedro. he was all softness and good intentions. he made people feel safe. seen.

but knowing that didn’t make the jealousy sting any less.

and that’s what made it worse.

you never told him.

how sometimes your stomach dropped watching videos of him laughing with other actresses, his hand on their shoulder like he’d done with you in the early days.

how sometimes you scrolled through tagged photos on twitter and saw comments like “the chemistry???” or “she better be careful omg” and had to shut your phone off.

how sometimes you caught yourself wondering, am i just not built for this?

you weren’t proud of those thoughts. you hated feeling that way. it wasn’t who you were. and you never wanted to make him feel like he had to change — not for you. not for anyone.

so instead, you just… pulled away.

a little at a time.

he noticed. of course he did.

you stopped reaching for him when he got home. stopped sending good luck texts before press events. stopped sitting close to him on the couch. said you were tired. said you had work. said nothing at all.

and he tried to give you space. until he couldn’t anymore.

you didn’t hear him come in that night — the door opening quietly, his voice calling out soft and hopeful, “baby? i’m home.”

you were curled up on the edge of the bed, his hoodie pulled over your knees, chest tight. you weren’t sobbing. just crying in that quiet, exhausted way, where everything feels full and fragile.

“oh, baby—” his voice dropped when he saw you. “what happened?”

you shook your head. tried to wipe your face.

he crossed the room in seconds, kneeling beside you. “talk to me.”

“it’s stupid.”

“it’s not.”

a beat.

and then, finally, it cracked out of you.

“i just… i see how affectionate you are with them. your costars. and i know it’s innocent, pedro, i do. but it still hurts. and it makes me feel like i’m being crazy or insecure or not strong enough to handle dating someone like you. and i don’t want to be the jealous girlfriend, i hate that person, and—” your voice broke, “i don’t want you to change. i just… i don’t know if i can change either.”

his face fell.

not angry. not hurt. just heartbroken that you’d been carrying this alone.

“sweetheart,” he whispered, climbing onto the bed to hold you, “why didn’t you tell me?”

you shook your head against his chest. “because it’s not fair. you’re just being you. and i love who you are, i really do. i just don’t know if i’m enough for that kind of life.”

his arms tightened around you. “hey. hey—look at me.”

you did, reluctantly.

his voice was steady. low. honest.

“i love you. you. not the public version of me. not the charming guy everyone sees. i come home to you. i want to come home to you. you’re not weak for feeling this way. you’re not dramatic. and i never, never want you to feel like you have to shrink your feelings to keep me happy.”

you exhaled, shaky and still unsure. “but… you’re so used to giving people that warmth. what if i can’t keep up?”

“then we adjust,” he said simply. “we talk. we make space for both of us. i’ll be more aware, baby. i’ll check in more. i don’t want to accidentally make you feel like you’re not enough, because you are. you’re everything.”

you blinked back fresh tears. “so… you’re not mad?”

he smiled softly. “for what? you told me the truth. you trusted me. that’s the bravest thing you could’ve done.”

you melted into his chest, breathing in the scent of his cologne and warmth.

“and for the record,” he murmured into your hair, “none of them get this part of me. this.”

“the emotional mess?”

“the man who holds you this close when you cry.”

you laughed, watery and small. “you’re annoying.”

“you love me.”

“i do.”

“then let’s talk more. and love harder.”

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

---

taglist: @sarahhxx03 @lloydmustache @lolareadsimagines @greenwitchfromthewoods @silksepia @pascalswiftie @itstokyo-cos @mani-pedro @llsister @authorbriannarae13 @introvrtedjellyfish @aj0elap0l0gist @spencercmlover @cixrosie @cherrqbaby @cup-half-full-of-anxiety @joelmillerpascal @freakbobcult @sunlightpleasure@barnes70stark @mooniscrying @ohnaurshayla @croissantbakerylws @nellispunk @kasienka @taylorswiftsrep-blog @emerencedaily @byzyz @noovaarq @kristend512 @alltounwell @libbyaller @beaagiannelli @broad-shouldrs @oceanmcu @kysosa @melloispunk @jollycupcakeblizzard @angvlicsoulll @needz1nk @daddypascal17 @agustdpeach @mrsbilicablog @k4t13ispunk @hotdadlvr95 @lnnysnts @pedropascalfan221 @queenofklonnie22 @christinamadsen @ilovecheriies @stvr-bloom

67 notes · View notes

jeyramarie · 1 day ago

Text

The recruit- Yelena Belova x reader (Season 2 Part 3)

summary: when they thought it couldn’t get more crazy, Congressman Barnes shows up.

w.c: 3,862

warnings: angst, mentions of gun

a/n: my apologies for this part coming out later than anticipated. the clinic i work at has been… tough this week 🤡 but anyway, without further ado, lmk if you wanna be tagged and happy reading 🤍

part 1~ part 2

Previously on the recruit..

The honking continued, getting louder and louder until the limo stopped right in front of them. A tall man got out of the car, waving his hands in the air.

“Yelena!” He shouted. “It’s dad! Don’t go into the vault! Valentina is going to burn you alive!”

John and Ava slowly turned their head towards her while Y/n kept her eyes on the man.

“Alexei?”

“Y/n?” Alexei spoke in surprise, watching the widow walking towards him.

He wrapped his arms around her, placing his hand behind her head for support. Alexei was almost fond of the y/h/c. Ever since he met her, he always felt a need to protect. The Russian never pinpointed the exact reason, but he always tried checking in on her from afar. Just like he did with Yelena all this time.

“So good to see you.” He smiled, parting from the hug.

“You too.” Y/n smiled. “How’s Melina?”

“Oh no, that’s-”

“Can you guys catch up later?” John interrupted, rolling his eyes. “We need to get going.”

Alexei raised his hands in surrender, walking backwards towards the driver seat. Yelena walked to the back, holding the door open for the y/h/c who pecked her lips before climbing inside. The blonde got in the front seat as Y/n moved next to Ava, right behind Alexei.

“So I was able to catch up with Miss Fontaine to fancy event, I thought it would be good for networking, you know?” He started, turning to look at Yelena for a quick second. “But as soon as I overheard the coordinates of the vault, I rush back home, get this tactical beast, then I drive straight here. Oh, America is so big. Have you ever drive through Oklahoma? It’s so fast. Oh, forgot to tell you, don’t drink from the Big Gulp back there.”

“Ew.” Y/n muttered, staring at the cup in disgust, quickly moving her eyes to the blonde.

“Alexei, have you slept?” Yelena asked, turning to face him.

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead!” He shouted.

“I’d like not to die today, so maybe someone else should drive?” Walker suggested.

“Yeah, I can drive.” Y/n added, nodding her head.

“Mr. Walker, second coming of Captain America.” Alexie smiled, staring at the agent through the rearview mirror, completely ignoring the widow behind him. “You and I have much in common, you know? I, too, was a state-sponsored super soldier in Russia.”

“But also very different because Walker actually knows what he’s doing.” Yelena commented, staring out the window.

“Ghost, ah, what a magician.” Alexei continued. “You disappear, you reappear. When you reappear, does sometimes things not pop up in right places?”

“Oh, I find it best just to ignore him sometimes!”Yelena shouted to the back.

“What impressive friends you’ve gathered.”

“We are not friends, Alexei.” The blonde replied bitterly.

“No, we’re disposable delinquents.” Ava said, throwing her arm over the back of the seat.

“Whatever you are, the light inside you is brighter, you know?”

“That was very nice, Alexei, thank you.” Y/n smiled, patting his shoulder.

“How bout this?” He continued. “You are team of scrappy anti-heroes.”

“Yeah, right.” John scoffed. “Go Thunderbolts!”

“What? Yelena.” The Russian smiled, staring at his daughter. “You named them after your peewee soccer team?”

“Oh my god.” The blonde muttered in embarrassment.

“The West Chesapeake Valley Thunderbolts, sponsored by Dimitri’s Elite Industrial Lighting and Electronics.”

“No, no.” Yelena shook her head, speaking over Alexei.

“Never won a game, Yelena had so much fun. There was a girl who pooped during a game, it was crazy.”

“It was sponsored by Shane Tire Shop.”

“Shane?” Alexei squinted his eyes. “What are you talking about, Shane?”

“Yes, it was.” The blonde nodded, staring at her father with concern. “You really need to sleep.”

“What about this Bob you mentioned? What’s the plan? Where am I driving?”

“It’s not like that.” Yelena shook her head. “We need to escape and we need to hide.”

“Yeah, it’s much smarter for us to split up, there’s an airfield not far from here.” John shrugged. “We’ll just disappear from there.”

“Split up? No, no, no.” Alexei commented, sounding almost disappointed. “You may not see what I see but I have been around long time.”

“Yeah, no shit.” The agent muttered.

“This is the making of a team.” He started, lifting his fist. “That can raise to glory. A team that can bring light to darkness.”

“That’s nice, Alexei, but I really doubt they wanna be a team.” Y/n commented, leaning closer to him.

“A team of heroes that can be on the weakest spots.” He continued, completely ignoring the y/h/c.

“No, no, this is not a marketing opportunity, okay?” Yelena replied, raising her voice, feeling annoyed by her father. “Valentina is hunting us and we cannot win, do you understand?”

“Baby, maybe tone it down a bit?” Y/n muttered.

“Why?” She whispered, looking back at the y/h/c.

“I do, you don’t.” Alexei argued back, raising his voice. “You said that Valentina was going to use the power of this Sentry Project to take over and get us killed.”

“Yes, yes.” The blonde replies as Y/n turns her head to look at Ava and John, who seemed uninterested in the conversation.

“You need to stand up to her, you and your team-” The Russian continued but was quickly interrupted by John.

“Uh, you got a convoy approaching fast, step on it.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.” Alexei grunted, pushing his foot in the accelerator.

“Is that it?” Ava questioned, noticing the slight change of speed of the limousine.

“Can this go any faster?” Y/n asked, leaning into the window seal that led to the passenger seats.

“Takes a second.” He muttered, hitting the steering wheel.

“Alexei!” Yelena shouted, watching as the numbers on the dashboard only went up every 4 seconds.

“They’re getting closer.” Y/n announced after moving next to John, wanting to stay vigilant of the trucks. “Oh no, they have machine guns.”

Bullets began hitting the metal of the vehicle, causing the back passengers to duck before lifting their heads from time to time to stare out the window. The military trucks got faster, leaving dust and bullet casings on the way.

“Alexei!” John called out, ducking once again as the shots kept coming.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry, she’s bullet proof.” He waved his hand. “Changing defensive measures.”

The Russian opened a small compartment under the radio, revealing a few buttons and switches. For a second, Yelena actually felt hopeful. For a second, she trusted that Alexei was gonna help get them out. Just like that mission in Ohio, right before she joined the Red Room. The bearded man pushed up a switch causing disco lights to turn on in the back of the limo. The song “Pony” blasted on the speakers, causing all three of them to look at him in question as Yelena sank in her seat in embarassment.

“What kind of people do you drive, Alexei?” Y/n asked in disgust before peeking over the back seat to hear the gunshots again.

The bullets hit the car rapidly, causing the back window to shatter as John placed his shield immediately.

“What happened to bulletproof?!” The agent shouted, pressing the shield harder against the seat cushion.

“Bullterproof-ish.” Alexei replied in panic.

“Jesus Christ!” The blonde shouted.

Gunshtos continued to attack the car, as John continued to shield the back window, restraining the bullets from coming inside. Y/n sat on the ground of the limousine, silently praying for a bullet to not catch her this time. Like she told Bob, it wasn’t the first time she was shot but considering the circumstances they were in and the lack of medical accessibility, getting shot was not an option.

“Time to bring out the bottle service.” Alexei said, moving his hand on his shoulde.” Come on, Ghost, give me the good stuff.”

“Not very inappropriate!” Ava shouted in doubt.”

“Vodka!” The Russian shouted. “Vodka now!”

The brunette hands him the bottle and he immediately takes off the cap. Alexei takes a sip before shoving a piece of cloth inside. He lit it on fire, throwing it out the window for all of them to watch the bottle crash onto one of the trucks. They all felt a glimpse of hope as they watched the front start catching fire before it extinguish immediately.

“Give me a break!” Walker shouted, covering them with his shield again.

“Alright, I’ll be right back.” Ava announced before putting her helmet on again.

“Where are you going?” Y/n asked, watching as she disappeared from the seat before appearing on top of the trunk.

A loud screeching sound erupted from the trucks, causing Ava to press her hands over her mask. John grabbed her suit and pulled her into the limosine, before covering them from the bullets. Y/n reached for the brunette as she agonized, covering her ears. The y/h/c looked behind her to see the blonde pushing her body through the door to sit on it, taking out her gun in one swift motion.

“Yelena!” She shouted, hurrying towards the front seat opening. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

A loud explosion came up behind them, causing all of them to turn to see each truck come into blazing fire. Alexei looked through the rear view mirror as the rest looked out the back to see a man riding a motorcycle. He held a gun on his left arm, dricing closer to the limousine.

“Is that Bucky?” John spoke in disbelief.

“Oh, oh, Winter Soldier.” Alexei spoke proudly.

Bucky released the wire of the last truck, before stopping his bike to get off. He grabbed the wire, wrapping it around his wrist to push it to the ground, causing the truck to flip over.

“Now that’s what I talk about!” The russian shouted with his fist in the air in victory.

John shouted in emotion along with Ava who slapped the seat in celebration. It was then that Bucky lifted his gun again, shooting something that landed on the trunk of the limousine. The object started beeping rapidly, causing all of them to stare in fear.

The device exploded, causing the limousine to lift up by the trunk before falling on its hood. John grunted as he lifted his head, looking around to see Ava crawling towards the broken window. They stepped outside and were immediately targeted by Bucky while Yelena began to open her eyes. The blonde felt confused, quickly remembering the y/h/c that laid a bit far from her.

“Y/n.” She muttered as Alexei woke up as well, looking to the side to his daughter crawling to the back.

Yelena reached Y/n, placing one hand on her chest while the other moved the hairs away from her face. Fear erupted in her mind, feeling as her chest began to close up.

“Y/n, come on.” She muttered, rubbing her thumb over the widow’s cheek.

“Is she okay?” Alexei asked, turning to look at them.

“I don’t know, she’s not waking up.” Yelena’s voice broke as she shook Y/n’s shoulders. “Baby, come on, open your eyes.”

After a few seconds, the y/h/c finally opened her eyes, immediately meeting the soft green orbs that always seem to bring her down to Earth. She took a deep breath, taking in her surroundings as the blonde kept pushing her hair back.

“We have to crawl out of here.” Yelena said, grabbing the widow’s hand to pull her on her hands and knees.

“Everytime I seem to feel okay, there’s always another freaking accident.” Y/n groaned in pain before looking up. “Anything else you got for me, God?”

“I’m sure God has got you covered if you’re still breathing.” Yelena chuckled, crawling out the window before turning to help the y/h/c crawl out. “There we go, careful with the glass.”

Y/n held Yelena’s hands, standing on her feet as she caught her breath. She looked over the blonde’s shoulder to see everyone tied up, sitting on the ground with Bucky standing next to them, pointing a gun at them. Yelena turned around, lifting her hand towards him to release the widow bites when Y/n grabbed her arm, lowering it slowly.

“Hi, Bucky.” She spoke, causing the blonde to stare in question. “Or should I say Congressman?”

“How have you been?” He asked with a chuckle as the widow smiled.

“I’ve been good.”

“What the hell is happening?” Yelena questioned turning to Y/n. “How do you know him?”

“I worked with him before Valentina recruited me.”

“She helped me with all the tech stuff at the Avengers Compound.” Bucky replied, nodding his head with an awkward smile.

“Okay, so, why are you here?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry I have to do this.”

“Do what-” Y/n began and was quickly cut off by a taser divide thrown at her.

Her body convulsed rapidly as she lost all her ability to move, making her fall to the ground. Yelena attempted to fight but was quickly hit with the taser as well, falling on her knees. The blonde tried to reach out to the y/h/c but her arm was pulled back by Bucky, who placed electric handcuffs on her.

A few minutes later they all sat in the garage of an abandoned gas station. Ava and Alexei sat next to each other while John, Y/n and Yelena sat across from them. Their restraints had been upgraded to metal wires and zipties, allowing Bucky to freely stand against the wall. He stared in deep thought, wondering why Valentina had recruited these kinds of people. Especially someone like Y/n, who to him, always had great potential.

“No, no, no!” Alexei exclaimed. “Just when I’m getting my team together. Mister Soldier, you are making terrible mistake.”

“Save it for the committee.” He replied bitterly.

“What committee?” Yelena asked, turning her head towards him.

“All of you are evidence in the impeachment trial against Valentina.”

“We don’t even work for Valentina anymore.” Y/n rolled her eyes, scooching closer to Yelena.

“She tried to kill us.” Ava chimed in, leaning forward to meet Bucky’s eyes.

“We were ordered to destroy all of her secrets.” John added, shaking his head. “Actually, she sent us to kill each other in this vault.”

“But then we met Bob.” Y/n shrugged.

“There was a man in the vault.” Yelena spoke, looking at the Congressman. “She’s done something to him, it’s called Project Sentry.”

“He shot up into the sky, he exploded and then he crashed into this mountain and then he died, didn’t die-”

“Yes, I got it.” Bucky spat, cutting Ava’s explanation. “He’s very, very scary.”

“Congressman Barnes.” John called out.

“Alright, Walker.” He replied, walking behind Alexei and Ava to stand in front of the agent.

The atmosphere shifted immediately. Whatever it was that these two men had, there was strong tension. Violent tension.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you know me, Bucky.” John stared with sincere eyes. “So cut the shit and listen to what we’re trying to tell you.”

“Yeah, I know you, John.” Bucky spat, placing his hands on his hips. “And you made your choices. I know it’s been hard since Olivia left and took your kid, but still, this is on you.”

“Barnes, that’s enough.” Y/n spoke, breaking the silence as she followed him with her eyes, returning to where he stood earlier. “There’s no need for you to speak about private things right no-”

“What? You’re defending him now?”

“I’m just saying that talking about John’s… situation, it’s not something you can just blurt out.” Y/n argued, staring at the agent with apologetic eyes.

“You know, Y/n, you’ve always been too nice for this line of work.” Bucky shook his head. “Bucky, there won’t be any committee left.” Ava spoke, changing the topic as she noticed the change in the energy of the room. “Okay? There might not even be a government, she has big-”

“Threads, yes, I got it, named Bob or Sentry, who flies, right?” Bucky spoke, feeling annoyed. “And you’re all heroes going after Val, ready to save the day.”

“We weren’t gonna go after her together.” John muttered in defeat.

“We were just trying to get home alive, actually.” Yelena shrugged.

“That’s even more pathetic.” The Winter Soldier shouted, turning around to face the window.

Alexei muttered something in Russian causing the blonde to shush him. Bucky’s phone ran, he picked it up almost immediately. He spoke in a hush tone, as Y/n leaned over to speak into Yelena’s ear.

“Are we really gonna testify against Valentina?” She whispered.

“I hope not, I just want to go home with you.” The blonde replied with a soft smile.

Y/n leaned forward, connecting their lips in a quick peck before Bucky’s voice burst their small love bubble.

“Bob?” He questioned, turning to them.

“Bob!” They all exclaimed, nodding their heads.

He remained quiet, furrowing his brows as he listened to the other person on the line. They all stared at each other in question, wondering if he wanted for one of them to speak or to just stay quiet. He finally hung up, looking up at them, quiet.

“It’s bad, Bucky.” Yelena spoke.

He walked behind Alexei, ripping away his handcuffs before moving to Ava.

“What are you doing?” She asked in fear.

“I’m letting you go.” He grunted, moving over to John’s side. “You’re coming with me.”

“Why?”

“Shh, for the glory.” Alexei whispered.

“Well you know Valentina, she's got this thing out there, people are gonna get hurt.” He groaned, cutting off Y/n and Yelena’s restraints. “And I gotta stop and her and you are gonna help me.”

“Wait, us?” Yelena asked in disbelief.

“Why? You got some place to be?”

“Bucky, you have the wrong people.” The blonde shook her head.

“Look, I’ve been where you are, you can run but it doesn’t go away.” Bucky sighed. “Sooner or later, it’s gonna catch up to you and when it does, it’s too late. See, you can either do something about it now, or live with it forever.”

“Stop Val and save Bob.” Yelena spoke, breaking the silence before looking up at herdad who stared proudly.

“I’m in.” Y/n smiled as John and Ava agreed before they all turned to the Russian.

“Yes!” He shouted. “Yes!”

They all stood up, following Bucky towards a storage truck. Alexei climbed in the passenger seat as John, Ava, Yelena and Y/n sat on the back. The truck was empty, perfect for a decoy car to be hidden in sight. The blonde grabbed the y/h/c’s hand, squeezing it before lifting it to kiss her knuckles.

“Are you okay? You’ve been quiet.” Yelena asked, as Y/n leaned against the wall before turning to look at her.

“Just thinking about what Bucky said earlier.” She bit her cheek from the inside. “How I was too nice for this line of work… He told me that, my frst day at the compound. Everyone rejected me, no one wanted to work with me but I was always there helping them… even if they were mean to me.”

“That says more about you than them.” The blonde smiled, tightening her grip on her hand. “When we first met, you were always so nice to me and I was clearly a bitch because I hated working with partners… and yet, there you were always looking out for me.”

“I’ll always look out for you, I love you.”

“I know, I love you too.” Yelena smiled, leaning in to connect their lips in a soft kiss.

She lifted her free hand, cupping the y/h/c’s cheek, pulling her closer to deepen the kiss. Their lips fit together as if they belonged with each other. They were so in trance, that none of them heard John calling out for them.

“Yelena.” He spoke, looking at Ava in disgust before turning to the couple. “Y/n.”

They broke apart in awe with one another before Yelena threw John a death stare, causing him to shift in place.

“What were you talking about?” Y/n asked, shifting closer to Yelena to wrap their arms together.

“The weapons we carry.” Ava replied, leaning forward.

“Oh well, I have these little widow, tzz tzz, zappy things.” Yelena spoke, lifting her right wrist, before taking out her gun. “I have this .19.”

“.45.” John said, showing his gun, smoothly realizing the bellet barrel. “The long barrel.”

“Oh wow.” Ava nodded her head, not feeling amused. “It’s big.”

“It’s long.” Yelena added, causing Y/n to chuckle under breath. “What about your hat?”

“My hat? You mean my helmet?”

“Whatever you wanna call it.” The blonde shrugged without a care.

John and Yelena kept going back and forth over the appearance of the helmet as Y/n began to notice that the drive was getting a bit longer than expected.

“Are we actually going to the Avengers tower? Is it even still the Avengers tower?” She squinted her eyes, looking at the rest of the group in question.

“Yes and I don’t know.” Ava replied before shouting. “Are we there yet?!”

“Almost!” Bucky and Alexei shouted back as they stayed sitting down.

Suddenly the van’s movement caused them to jerk to the side before quickly recovering. They all stood up and prepared their weapons to execute Bucky’s plan. Or what they thought was a plan. Gunshots were heard from inside the truck, queuing John to open the door upward. They piled out, finding one person to fight against.

A guard launched at Y/n, causing her to duck, swinging her knife acrodd his abdomen. The man fell immediatly as another one came running towards her. She grabbed her wrist, stepped on his foot, watching as he released the gun. The y/h/c caught it in mid air, pointing it over her shoulder to shoot, where it landed on his neck. Out of nowhere, a strong arm came around her neck as she felt the hard barrel of the gun against her back. She elbowed the man’s ribs and took the opportunity to knee him in the abdomen before grabbing her knife once again to stab it into the back of his neck. Y/n ripped away the knife and turned to Yelena when-

BEEP

“Jesus, you guys, we literally just put that drywall in.” Valentina spoke through the speaker. “I left the door unlocked for you, come up.”

They all stared at each other in confusion. She left the door “unlocked” so she was waiting for them. Valentina knew they were coming. Bucky walked towards the elevator first, pushing the button as the rest of the team walked closer to him. Yelena grabbed Y/n’s hand, intertwining their fingers together, silently reassuring each other that they were okay. The doors opened with a small ding, making them all pile into it. The y/h/c looked at the blonde, giving her hand a small squeeze before looking forward at the door. Y/n couldn't pinpoint the reason at the moment, she couldn’t tell her girlfriend, considering how crowded the elevator was. But a little voice inside her head told her that something was wrong, something was going to happen. She just hoped it didn’t have to do with Bob.

yelena taglist: @imfuckinggenius @yelenabelovasbxtch @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @ilovewinter101 @s1ut4nat @nebulablakemurphy @theshippergal @kacka84 @an-evergreen-rose @wandaswifeyforlifey @loomontoia @zombies1ayea @baylegend6 @twentyonetornmyheart @screechcat

#florence pugh #florence pugh x reader #yelena belova #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova x y/n #yelena belova x you #yelena belova fic #yelena belova imagine #yelena belova smut #yelena belova angst #yelena belova fluff #thunderbolts*#the new avengers

43 notes · View notes

prodagustd · 2 days ago

Note

Can we get a drabble of what happens at the bbq?

✧ this is a drabble of the road not taken, set during summer before chapter one.

—pairing: lawyer!yoongi x actress!reader

—rating: none

—genre: brother's best friend, one sided pinning (or both?), slow burn

—warnings/tags: maybe a bit of jealous yoongi?

—series: the road not taken

—words: 886

—a/note: hii this is short but i had fun writing it, thank you for requesting it!!! btw this is a bit unedited ... as always...

Four years ago

Yoongi wiped the sweat from his forehead and turned to see you at the edge of the pool, trying to dodge Fred’s attempts to throw you back in.

Your hair was damp and wavy, your cheeks were slightly rosy from the sun and your bikini was still glistening from the pool. The tiny strawberry pattern made his stomach turn.

Suddenly, he understood why your brother didn’t want you around with his friends.

He snapped his fingers at you, trying to get your attention. Fred was his friend, sure—but he didn’t need to watch him trying to get his hands on you. And he definitely didn’t want to hear you laugh unless it was at something he said.

Yes, that was an actual thought that crossed his mind. He’d been having all kinds of confusing thoughts since he came back this summer, and the weird dream he had about you during that ten-minute nap under the sun this morning hadn’t helped clear his head at all.

This had been going on for the past hour. It wasn’t just Fred—it was also Mike, and of course, it was him too. All three of them trying to get your attention like you were a completely different person, like you weren’t Simon’s sister anymore.

He’d be lying if he said it didn’t bother him. He was used to having your attention without even trying—now he had to fight for it like he was just another guy trying to make you laugh.

The feeling dissipated a little when your eyes found his. He motioned for you to come back to the grill. “What are you doing?” he scolded you, “You said you were helping me.”

You didn't hesitate to run back to him, leaving Fred hanging.

“Grumpy,” you murmured, grabbing your shirt from the lounge chair and tugging it on again.

“Hand me the tongs,” Yoongi said, not looking at you.

You leaned against the side table, where bottles of sauce and a pack of sliced onions sat waiting. “Say please.”

He glanced at you, squinting against the sun. “I’m holding raw meat. Do you really want to do this right now?”

“Desperately,” you said, but handed him the tongs anyway, your fingers brushing for a second too long. He didn’t comment on it, but his grip faltered slightly.

He was grateful that you put that damn tshirt on again.

Turning back to the grill, he pressed his lips into a thin line. He felt like he had a fever. Maybe it was the sun, maybe it was that stupid dream he’d had. He shook his head, trying to push it away, but every time he tried to forget it, it came back worse.

It hadn’t been a full dream, more like the kind of images that came slowly when he was on the edge of sleep, soft and in waves. It was just you, looking at him as he lay on the lounge chair. You were on your knees, and just when he was sure he was awake, you kissed the tip of his nose.

Even his mind was betraying him.

“You’re burning those,” you said, snapping him out of his thoughts.

He turned around the sausages, realizing you were right. “That’s because someone got distracted and abandoned me.” He defended himself.

You tossed an onion ring onto the grill. “Please. You can handle a couple sausages on your own.”

He didn’t respond—just poked at the grill, a little too forcefully.

You tilted your head, watching him. “What’s with the face?”

“No face,” he said quickly.

“Uh-huh.” You nudged his elbow with yours. “Is this because I left you for Fred?”

He let out a small sound, more breath than laugh, close to a sigh.

“Don’t worry,” you added, tone light. “You’re still my favorite.”

Yoongi’s grip tightened around the tongs.

There was no reason for that to hit the way it did. It was just words. Tossed out like nothing. But they hooked under his skin anyway.

He didn’t look at you right away. He kept his eyes on the meat, even if his mind had already gone somewhere else.

“Favorite?” he repeated, tone even. “Didn’t realize we were being ranked.”

You laughed, leaning your hip against the table. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

He shook his head, biting back a smile “What’s earning me that spot, anyway?” he asked, voice light as he pretended it didn’t phase him.

He glanced at you, and maybe he should’ve looked away quicker. You were close enough that he could smell the chlorine and sunscreen clinging to your skin.

You tapped your fingers against the table absently. “It’s a secret system, I can’t tell you.”

Yoongi scoffed, flipping one of the ribs and forcing his focus back. “Seems biased.”

“I’m wildly biased,” you said. “But it’s working in your favor, so shut up.”

He laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “You’re lucky I like you.”

You turned just enough to glance at him. “Yeah?” you said, casual, too casual.

He didn’t answer, he didn't know how to. That was the thing, it was too dangerous to put it into words, so he pushed it down. But in the back of his mind the thought was impossible to erase, that dream he had was impossible to chase away. He was doomed.

#yoongi x reader #yoongi fanfic #bts x reader #yoongi fanfiction #bts masterpost #min yoongi fanfic #bts fanfic #yoongi scenarios #yoongi fluff #yoongi one shot #yoongi drabble

33 notes · View notes

dr-gl0rbiez · 3 days ago

Text

Guess who’s back to their dumb art???? Memememeeme

So, let’s begin at the top.

Drag queen Darla is back!!!!! I for some reason really liked that concept and made ANOTHER drawing for it cause I’m a silly billy. Don’t know why I put the ‘running late’ cause dar does not seem to be in a rush at all. Who knows, maybe it’s internal panic, external grace.

Next is Purly and I just realized I forgot to add my stevepop here my bad! I reblog with stevepop and tag arcade in that too. Anywayyy, I thought of purly oddly quick when I saw the inspiration meme thing. Cause it feels like a conversation they’d have pre-dating! Or maybe I’m just TOO gay

Finally, my ‘Boy’ dog drawings from this post! I said I’d do it and I dids it. Yes both dogs die, sorry not sorry. What, did you think everyone gets to be happy in THE OUTSIDERS of all places?!?!?!?!? Dream on/j! Okay so I did make it slightly happy. I loved the idea of these dogs cause the whole post is based off a dog I had! I loved him very much and honestly, I’d do almost anything to just see how he’s doing. He was MY baby first yanno. Anyway, I did include little picture thingies in the drawings, along with what dog breed looked most like how I imagined + how they died and what was done to remember them! Dogs and cats and any animal makes me sad to think about. Like why must you be so filled of love and joy yet leave so soon?

@kalied0skull so sorry for forgetting stevepop, I reblog with them in a second

#wohooo first art post since my break!!!#the outsiders #ponyboy curtis #dallas winston #curtis family #buck is mentioned but does not make an appearance #cause I still haven’t designed him oopies #anyway #sally bowles and other things will be posted to mr glorbiez tomorrow cause I am tired #it’s 3:07 AM maybe this wasn’t the best choice #while I’m sick too #and I wonder why I never get better quickly #glorbiez shush #okay enough #good morning good afternoon good evening and good night #I go honk mimimimi after stevepop

29 notes · View notes

actuallybean · 13 hours ago

Text

Holy Virgin* | Part Ten

You've shared everything with Sam but one thing—your faith. It’s never been a problem… until Heaven turns its gaze on you, and suddenly, devotion takes on a darker meaning. *Contains sexual material, pregnancy, thoughts of suicide/attempted suicide, virginity and has some religious themes: Minors DNI Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader, Dean Winchester x Reader (Platonic), Castiel x Reader (Platonic) Tag list: @mostlymarvelgirl @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @catsinacottage Part Eleven Supernatural Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The room had gone still.

Time didn’t stop — the minute hand on the wall kept ticking, and somewhere far away, the bunker’s pipes creaked like an old man shifting in his bones — but in here, in this moment, everything was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that came after an earthquake, when the dust hadn’t settled yet, and no one dared move in case the world cracked open again.

You sat upright now, legs curled beneath you like you were trying to make yourself small. Blankets pooled around your waist, your hands folded in your lap, still trembling with the warmth of Eden. The echo of God’s voice hadn’t left you yet. It lingered in your ribcage like a second heartbeat. Like a brand.

Dean was pacing — his boots thudding against the floor in an unsteady rhythm, too fast for thought, too loud for comfort. Sam hadn’t moved since the vision ended. He sat beside you like a statue carved from grief, jaw clenched so hard you could hear his teeth grind. And Castiel, ever unreadable, stood sentinel by the door. Silent. Stoic. Serene. As if he’d known this was coming all along. As if he’d never expected anything else.

You were the one who broke the silence.

Your voice was soft — not hollow, not cold — but distant, like it had to travel a long way to get out of your body. “I saw them.”

Dean stopped pacing. His head snapped toward you. “Them?”

You nodded slowly. “Adam and Eve. I saw the Garden. I watched her reach for the fruit. I saw the pain that came after — the labor, the blood, the exile. The way the light left her face when she realized the world would never be soft again.”

Sam inhaled sharply through his nose.

You stared down at your hands. They didn’t feel like yours anymore. Not after everything they’d touched — sacred rivers, impossible fruit, the outstretched hand of a child wrapped in swaddling cloth.

“And then I saw Mary,” you whispered. “Not just the way she’s painted in churches. Not just the holy light and the clean robes. I saw her afraid. I saw her hands shake when the angel spoke. I saw her carry the weight of Heaven inside her belly. I saw her give birth in the dirt. I saw her sob at the foot of the cross.”

No one spoke.

Dean’s eyes were on you, dark and wide. Waiting. Dreading.

“And then…” You swallowed. The words were thicker now. Harder. “I saw myself.”

Dean’s mouth flattened into a line. “You saw yourself… pregnant?”

Your silence was enough.

The room cracked open like glass beneath a hammer.

Dean threw his arms out. “Jesus Christ—”

“Don’t,” Sam said, voice low and dangerous.

But Dean kept going, spinning toward Castiel. “And you’re fine with this? You’re just gonna stand there and say this is normal? That this is okay?”

“It is the will of God,” Castiel said evenly, hands still clasped behind his back. “And He does not choose lightly.”

Dean let out a laugh — sharp and bitter and bone-dry. “Oh, great. That makes me feel better. It’s God’s will. Cool. She’s a kid, Cas!”

You flinched.

It wasn’t because it wasn’t true. You were young. Certainly younger than anyone who should carry the blood of Heaven.

But it stung because he said it like it disqualified you. Like being chosen was a mistake. Like he still couldn’t believe it had been you. Like you weren’t enough.

“I’m not a child,” you said quietly.

Dean dragged his hands through his hair. “You’re not ready.”

Your voice cracked then — not from weakness, but from the pressure of holding yourself together. “I didn’t ask to be ready. I didn’t ask for any of this. But I am.”

Sam looked over at you — really looked — and something in his face softened. Not with pity. With sorrow. With awe. With something between reverence and heartbreak.

Dean hit the wall. Hard.

The sound made you jump. The drywall cracked.

Castiel didn’t flinch.

“Would you like me to explain the symptoms of early conception?” the angel asked calmly. “They may help you prepare.”

Dean did punch the wall that time.

“CAS!”

But you… you laughed.

Just a short breath. Not from humor. From disbelief. From exhaustion. From the sheer absurdity of it all.

And then you looked up at Dean and said, “You’re acting like this is a surprise. We’ve known.”

Sam blinked. “What?”

You turned to him, more gently. “We’ve known for weeks, haven’t we? Ever since the angels came. Ever since the silence ended. Ever since the prayers started burning instead of begging.”

Dean’s jaw clenched. “Knowing it and hearing you say it are two different things.”

“Yeah.” You nodded. “They are.”

The silence grew thick again — thicker than before.

Sam’s voice broke through it, softer now. Tired. “What happens next?”

Castiel turned to you. Waited.

You met his eyes. And he spoke, solemn as ever.

“She will conceive,” he said. “Perhaps in days. Perhaps in hours. Perhaps… now.”

Dean turned toward the window, his whole body tense — like if he looked at you too long, he’d break in half. Like if he let himself feel any of this, he’d shatter.

You leaned back into Sam’s side.

Your voice was smaller now. “He told me I was ready. That I’m not Mary. Not Eve. That I’m me.”

And that… that was what scared you most.

Because Mary was holy. Eve was infamous. But you? You were just a girl in a hoodie, scarred from hunting, aching from loss, still trying to heal from things you never said aloud.

And now… now you were going to carry the future of the world in your body.

What if you weren’t enough?

What if this broke you?

What if it already had?

Sam wrapped an arm around your shoulders — tight, protective, desperate. You turned your face toward him just slightly, breathing in the familiar scent of his flannel, his shampoo, the sweat and salt and earth of your only family.

Dean turned back toward you, finally. And for once, there was no anger in his face.

Only grief.

Only love.

“I’m scared for you, kid,” he whispered.

And that… that was when your chest cracked open.

Because it wasn’t judgment. It wasn’t blame.

It was love. Big, broken, human love. The kind that fights everything it can’t protect you from. The kind that stays anyway.

“I know,” you said. “But I think I’ll be okay.”

You turned toward Castiel.

“You’ll stay?”

He didn’t hesitate.

“Always.”

Dean nodded once and turned toward the door.

“I need a drink.”

The door slammed behind him like thunder.

And Sam pulled you into his arms.

Forehead to forehead.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he breathed.

You closed your eyes. Just for a second. Just to feel.

“You won’t,” you said.

But beneath that promise — beneath the strength and the conviction and the calm — something else stirred.

Something ancient.

Something holy.

Something beginning.

And it was already growing.

Inside you.

Whether you were ready or not.

✦

The bunker had always held its own kind of hush — the stillness of the deep, reinforced walls, the heavy thrum of old magic etched into ancient Men of Letters design, and the hum of fluorescent lights above. But lately, the silence had shifted. It wasn’t comforting or neutral anymore. It was tense. Pressurized. A quiet that held its breath and waited for something to crack open.

Something had settled over you in recent days — not just the heaviness of a looming destiny, but a visceral, tangible weight. It wasn’t just emotional. It was physical. Something rooted beneath your skin, in your blood, in your bones. And no matter how hard you tried to dismiss it, to chalk it up to stress or fatigue, there was no denying the shift happening within you. It wasn’t something you could run from anymore.

You hadn’t prayed since the vision. Not truly. Not since Castiel had looked at you with those impossibly blue eyes and said the words you’d never imagined hearing: “You were chosen.” It was a quiet kind of abandonment — the way your prayers began to dry up like riverbeds after drought. Each one felt further away, like a hymn you used to know by heart but could no longer sing. Your lips moved. The words came. But they didn’t carry the same hope. Just echoes.

Still, every morning you woke up and felt it: The change. It was real. It was happening.

And today, the air felt different. As if the walls of the bunker could sense what was coming before you even understood it.

The smell of bacon curled through the air as you wandered into the kitchen — warm, rich, nostalgic. Comfort food at its finest. For a second, it almost grounded you. Dean stood at the stove in his robe and flannel pajama pants, spatula in one hand, frying pan sizzling beneath. There was a rhythm to his movements — flip, sizzle, repeat — a well-worn ritual that felt sacred in its own way.

Sam was already dressed, coffee in hand, leaning against the counter with one ankle crossed over the other. He looked relaxed, but his eyes tracked Dean’s motions with a knowing glint, like he’d already read the undercurrent in the room and was just waiting for it to break.

You stepped inside slowly, your hand trailing along the cool edge of the table, trying to seem casual. Normal. “Smells good, Dean,” you offered, your voice thinner than you meant it to be, threaded with the effort it took to keep yourself steady.

Dean glanced over his shoulder with a grin — all sunshine and bravado, masking the weariness behind his eyes. “Well, someone’s gotta keep this family alive and cholesterol-clogged.”

You gave a small laugh, forced but polite, and took a seat at the table, folding your hands in your lap to stop them from shaking. Something churned in your stomach — not nerves. Not hunger. Something deeper. Something unnatural.

Dean plated up breakfast with all the pride of a Southern momma serving Sunday brunch, sliding a full plate in front of you like it was a gift. Eggs. Bacon. Hash browns. Toast. Comfort in every bite.

But the moment the smell hit you — the heavy grease, the eggs cooked just a little too soft — your stomach lurched.

Your hand shot to your mouth before you could even think. A sharp nausea rolled through you, brutal and sudden, like a tidal wave swallowing you whole. You pushed up from the table so fast your chair scraped the floor.

“Hey—whoa, whoa,” Sam called as you stumbled past him, your shoulder grazing his arm. But you couldn’t stop. You barely registered their voices as you bolted down the hallway, heart pounding, vision narrowing.

The bathroom door slammed behind you with a hollow thud, and you barely made it to the toilet before your body gave out.

You vomited with such force it left you breathless, your hands clutching the porcelain edge as your body convulsed. This wasn’t a bug. This wasn’t stress. This was something other.

The bathroom light buzzed faintly above you. The toilet was cool beneath your palms. And somewhere behind the storm of nausea and fear and realization, you could feel it again.

The change.

You weren’t alone in your body anymore.

Sam’s footsteps came first, then Dean’s, thundering down the hallway. The door creaked open behind you, but you couldn’t lift your head.

“Jesus,” Sam muttered, falling to his knees beside you. His hand found your back instantly, rubbing gentle circles as your whole frame trembled.

“Hey, hey — it’s okay,” he murmured, voice softer than you’d expected. “You’re alright.”

You shook your head weakly, trying to breathe between gulps of air. “I… I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Dean crouched on your other side, his fingers curling around your arm. “You’re okay. Just breathe. In and out.”

Dean’s eyes flicked to Sam, something wild flashing in them. Frustration. Fear. Realization. “It’s happening,” he said, his voice low and grim. “She’s pregnant. Goddammit.”

Your breath caught. You sank back onto the cold tile, leaning against the wall, your body aching, your mind reeling. “I think so,” you whispered. “It’s… it’s starting.”

Sam’s gaze dropped to yours, searching, cautious. “You’re sure?”

You nodded, slow and hollow. “I’m sure.”

Dean stood abruptly, pacing a tight line across the small bathroom before snatching his jacket from the nearby chair. “I’ll get some tests,” he snapped, already halfway out the door.

“Dean—” Sam tried, but he was gone.

Silence settled in his wake, and you were left curled on the tile, shivering. Sam didn’t move. He stayed kneeling in front of you, his hand brushing gently over your cheek.

“We’ll figure this out,” he said softly. “Whatever it is. You’re not alone in this.”

You looked at him, blinking away the tears that threatened to spill. “I don’t think I’m ready,” you whispered. “I don’t think I’ll ever be.”

His thumb brushed the corner of your eye. “Then I’ll be ready enough for both of us.”

By the time Dean returned, his expression was unreadable. He tossed a pharmacy bag onto the bathroom counter, his mouth set in a hard line. “Pregnancy tests,” he muttered. “Go do your thing.”

You stood on unsteady legs, clutching the test in your hand like it was some kind of holy relic. A key to a future you weren’t sure you wanted, or could ever truly understand.

Dean and Sam stepped out, giving you space. The test box crinkled in your shaking hands as you unwrapped it, stared down at the slim plastic stick, and tried to steady your breathing. Minutes passed. Time warped.

When you finally opened the bathroom door, the world felt different.

Dean and Sam were waiting, standing side by side in the hallway like statues — still, silent, prepared for anything and everything.

But before you could speak, the air shifted again.

The lights above flickered.

And then he was there.

Castiel stood in the hallway like a shadow pulled from light, his trench coat fluttering gently despite the still air. His eyes found yours immediately, full of knowing.

“I felt it,” he said, voice soft and resonant. “God has spoken to you. I see it in you.”

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t.

He stepped forward, placing a warm hand on your shoulder, anchoring you.

“Do not fear this,” he said. “You are part of something greater than you can yet comprehend. You are not alone.”

Sam’s breath hitched quietly. Dean stared, brows furrowed deep.

“You’re okay with this?” Dean asked, voice sharp and incredulous.

Castiel didn’t blink. “It is the will of God.”

And in that moment — with the bunker still around you, the test in your hand, and the promise of something divine growing inside you — something loosened in your chest. Not joy. Not peace. But maybe… acceptance.

You looked down at the test. Then at Sam. Then at Dean. And finally, Castiel.

“I think it’s time to know,” you whispered.

24 notes · View notes

lacedinheaven · 1 day ago

Text

the warmth | chapter 1

Sorry it took so long! I had exam week, and I got sick :( but it's here!

Pairings: HBO!Ellie x Fem!reader

Summary: In which you run away from a cult and fall in love with your bestfriend.

Tags: SA, swearing, slowburn, pining, comphet, internalized homophobia, Ellie's still together with Cat (not for long)

I will add more tags in future chapters

WC: 2k words

❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈

5 Years Later

This time, there’s no noise. I wake up slowly, the early morning sunbeams slipping through the curtains and landing softly on my face. It’s warm. Calm. For a moment, it feels like the world is holding its breath. No gunfire. No yelling. Just birds outside and the faint creak of wood as the house stretches awake.

I have to get up. I’ve got a shift at the stables this morning. If I’m lucky, I’ll catch her before she leaves for patrol. Just a minute with her would be enough—maybe.

As I pull on my sweater and pants, I start to hear footsteps and voices downstairs. Sounds like Maria and Tommy are up too.

I head down to the kitchen, where the smell of coffee and something sweet lingers in the air.

“Hi, sweetheart. Have a good sleep?” Maria says, her voice light and cheerful as always.

“It was alright,” I mumble, already halfway through pouring a bowl of cereal. “I need to go, though. Shift at the stables.”

I shovel down a few bites, not really tasting them, and stand up quickly. Maria catches me in a warm hug on my way out.

“Okay, bye! Love you!” she giggles, waving me off like she always does.

Outside, the air is crisp, and I’m left alone with my thoughts on the walk to the stables. I can’t stop thinking about last night.

Cat danced with her.

I know I shouldn’t care—we’re just friends. That’s what we’ve always said. But still, every time someone else gets close to her, this slow burn rises in my chest. Not in a weird or possessive way. Just... I don’t know. I’m jealous, I guess. Jealous in a friendly kind of way. If that’s even a thing.

“Hi! You recovered from yesterday?”

Shit—I didn’t even notice Dina sneaking up on me. I jump slightly, then give her a tired smile.

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

“You sure? You’re not your usual chirpy self,” she says, her brows knitting together.

“I’m fine, really. Just had a bit too much to drink last night. Nothing serious.” I offer her a quick smile, trying to brush it off.

She nods, not fully convinced, but lets it go. We walk together in silence after that—a comfortable one. I’m grateful for it.

When we get to the stables, I see her.

Els.

My heart lifts for a second—and then it drops like a stone.

Cat’s still talking to her.

Why the hell is Cat still talking to her?

Dina walks ahead and joins their conversation like it’s nothing. Els turns around when she hears us, her face lighting up.

“Hey, you,” she says with a grin. “Excited for your shift?”

I scoff. “Of course, Els. Been counting down the hours.”

She laughs at my sarcasm, rolling her eyes, and starts going on about something—details about her patrol route or who she’s paired with—but I can’t focus. All I can hear is the white noise in my head and the way my stomach twists every time I glance at Cat.

“Els, I’m really sorry,” I interrupt, rubbing the back of my neck, “but I’m tired and I need to get the horses ready. Maybe you can tell me about it tonight?”

She hesitates, her expression shifting.

“Oh. Okay. That’s alright. Just—take care of yourself today, please?”

I force a smile. “Of course, Els. See you tonight. Have a good patrol.”

She nods, and I watch her walk off before turning back to the stalls. I spend the next few hours mucking out hay and brushing down the horses returning from patrol, trying to bury the unease inside me with routine.

Then I hear footsteps behind me—steady, familiar ones.

“Hey, darling. You joining us for dinner tonight?”

I turn around and smile at Tommy. His voice always has that calm, comforting tone.

“Hey, Tommy. I’m not sure yet. Els invited me over, so I might have dinner at Joel’s. That okay?”

He gives me a knowing smile and nods. “Of course it is.”

I give him a hug and tell him I’ll see him tonight.

❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈❈ ❈ ❈

“You should’ve seen its face—it was awesome. You would’ve loved it,” she says between fits of giggles.

I can’t help but laugh too.

“I’m so glad I don’t have to go on patrol anymore. That sounds like an absolute disaster. But of course it happened to you.”

Ellie had just finished telling me about a dramatic showdown she had with a squirrel during her patrol. Classic.

We’re lying on her bed, the late afternoon light soft against the walls. For a second, it feels easy—light.

But of course, she doesn’t let it stay that way.

“So... what was going on this morning?” she asks, voice playful but pointed. “And don’t say nothing, because I know you by now. You know you can’t lie to me!”

She says it like it’s the funniest joke, like it’s all just a game.

“Really, Els? It was nothing. Honestly.” I pause. I hate even saying this part out loud. “It’s just that... the anniversary is coming up. You know which one. And I always get like this around that time.”

I roll onto my side and lie next to her, our shoulders just barely touching.

She’s quiet for a moment.

“I get that,” she says softly. “Maybe you should try talking about it?”

I actually laugh at that—sharp and bitter.

“With Gail? Are you serious? How am I supposed to pay her—what, with the weed I don’t have? Or a bottle of whiskey from 20 years ago?”

Ellie chuckles, but it fades quickly.

“No, not her. I meant me. Or Maria. Even Joel. We just want to help you, you know?”

The air shifts. That familiar weight presses back in, the warmth we had just moments ago slipping away like water down a drain.

“Ellie, I don’t want to talk about it. Not with you. Not with anyone. I’ve told you that, more than once.”

She sighs, quietly frustrated.

“Yeah, I know. But clearly something happened, and it still sticks with you. Every time someone even brushes against you, it’s like your whole body shuts down. I think if you just let someone in—even a little—you might actually start to move forward.”

I sit up, my back stiff.

“Ellie... what do you think happened to me in there?” I say, voice low. “You were there for one day. One. Day. I lived there for years. Whatever happened to you in that single day—try imagining that, on repeat, for years.”

She sits up too, looking at me like I’m some wounded animal. Like I’m broken. Like I need to be fixed.

“No. Don’t you dare look at me like that,” I snap. “This—this is exactly why I don’t talk about it. That look. Like I’m some sick puppy that needs rescuing.”

I stand, shaking with something I don’t know how to name.

“I don’t need saving, Els. I saved myself.”

She starts to respond, mouth half-open, but I don’t give her the chance.

“Maybe you should call Cat again. She seemed to do a great job keeping you company.”

And with that, I walk to the door.

“Bye, Ellie.”

I leave without looking back.

By the time I get home, I don’t even bother with anyone downstairs. I sneak up the steps, my body moving on autopilot. I crawl into bed, hoping for peace—but knowing better.

And like clockwork, the nightmares come—vodka-soaked breath in my ear, cold hands on my back, and that same feeling I’ve never been able to shake.

❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈

I wake up slowly, but not because of the soft sunbeams warming my face like before. No, this time it’s the noise—again. There’s always noise when I wake up. Like the world’s allergic to letting me have a peaceful morning.

Someone’s knocking on my door like it’s life or death.

“Hey, I’m sorry about last night, okay? I shouldn’t have pushed you so much. Please let me in?”

I roll my eyes and stay quiet. I don’t even bother acknowledging her—but of course, Ellie being Ellie, she doesn’t give up that easily.

“And also, just so you know... me and Cat broke up last night. Sooooooo... come out?”

I almost laugh—almost. I bite my lip to keep it in, but the curiosity’s already got me.

“Why?” I call out through the door, trying to sound indifferent.

There’s a soft thump. I think she just sat down on the floor, maybe leaning against the door.

“She said some really shitty stuff about my friends last night,” Ellie mumbles. “I just didn’t want her around after that. That’s all. Nothing dramatic.”

Something about the way she says it makes me pause. It’s honest. Quiet. No big performance.

I get up and walk over to the door. Without thinking too hard about it, I swing it open.

She literally falls into my room, landing flat on her back with a startled yelp, nearly cracking her head on the wooden floorboards. The scene is so ridiculous I can’t help it—I break into full-on laughter, loud and messy, the kind that makes your stomach hurt.

I laugh until my eyes start to water.

Happy tears. For once, happy tears.

Not the kind that come after fights, or panic attacks, or because my best friend can’t seem to understand the word space.

She looks up at me from the floor, clearly a little offended—but not really—and then starts laughing too. Our laughter blends together, messy and warm and exactly what I didn’t know I needed.

“So... you forgive me?” she asks, giving me that pathetic puppy-dog look she knows damn well works on me.

I grin down at her, still catching my breath. “Yeah, Els. It’s okay.”

And in that moment, it actually is.

“But... now I’m curious. What did Cat say about us?”

Ellie draws a slow breath, clearly trying to soften the blow.

“Well, a lot actually. She said Dina’s high more often than not, and that she’s a bad influence. She said Jesse acts like some holier-than-thou saint. And to top it all off...” she pauses for dramatic effect, “...she said you were like a lovesick puppy over me.”

I raise an eyebrow, but before I can say anything, she waves it off with a little grin and leans in like she’s about to boop my nose.

“But I know that’s total bullshit, so don’t worry.”

It’s weird. But I like weird. Especially her weird.

“Yeah, total bullshit,” I echo with a smirk. “And plus... I might have a boyfriend soon.”

The shift in her face is instant. Her smile drops. Her eyes narrow slightly, like I just cursed her entire bloodline.

“What?” I ask, raising my hands. “I told you this, Els! Wyatt asked me out at the party—remember?”

She gives me this strange, unreadable look.

“I guess I just didn’t think you’d say yes. Are you sure? He’s not exactly known for being a gentleman.”

I let out a sigh and flop back onto the bed dramatically.

“Yeah, I know. But no one else has asked me. And I really don’t want to spend the New Year’s Eve party alone. So... next best, I guess? And seriously, what’s the worst that could happen? If he so much as lays a finger on me in the wrong way, he’ll be facing the wrath of Ellie Williams. He wouldn’t dare.”

That makes her laugh, and she gives me a playful shove.

“Damn right. Let me know if he needs a good beating.”

She smiles at me, and I smile back. It’s soft. Easy.

“Thanks, Els. That means a lot.” I lean in and give her a light peck on the cheek.

Her eyes flicker. She doesn’t say anything at first.

“Hey,” I say, changing the subject, “don’t we both have the day off? Maybe we could go do something?”

She looks at me, thoughtful, eyes narrowing just a little like she’s weighing every possible answer.

“Maybe. But... we could also just stay in? I could draw, you could read. And maybe we finally bake those cookies we love?”

I laugh out loud at the suggestion.

“You mean I bake the cookies and you stand there and eat the dough?”

She grins. “Exactly.”

“You’re lucky I love you. It’s a deal.”

❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈

Hiii! Again, please leave tips if you have any!

Taglist:

@angelreneeanderson

@abigaillovestoread

#bella ramsey #ellie wiliams #tlou hbo #ellie williams fluff #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams smut

21 notes · View notes