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angelfic · 11 months

Text

— CALM AFTER THE STORM

pairing: remus lupin x reader

summary: the 4 times you hate each other, and the one time you don’t. alternatively, remus lupin is a pain in your arse and yours alone.

warnings: enemies to lovers, swearing, kissing, mention of blood and wounds, some bad writing as always which is unedited

author’s note: just a little e2l fic for my own indulgence as its my fave trope and its criminal how i barely have any e2l fics… also haven’t written anything in ages soooo enjoy!

when he just has to be controversial

The sun was beaming, colourful rays reflecting over your book through the stained-glass windows of the Gryffindor common room as you lounged on the sofa with your head in Lily’s lap. You were barely paying attention to the chatter of your friends around you, choosing to focus on your copy of ‘The Catcher in the Rye’ and Marlene’s soft guitar playing. The lazy afternoon is a welcome break from the increasingly stressful N.E.W.T lessons that have had you all so exhausted, you’re not sure if Peter is asleep or dead from his curled-up position on the rug.

You don’t even realise someone is saying your name until Marlene tickles the sole of your socked foot with her guitar pick, making you yelp and draw your legs in from where they were previously tucked in between Marlene and her guitar.

“What was that for?” you grumble, nudging her arm with your foot.

Marlene smirks, nodding over to James. “He told me to get your attention. Didn’t specify how.”

You roll your eyes and turn on your side to face the boy in question, his grin unfaltering as he multitasks polishing the handle of his broomstick and talking to you. “Not my fault you’re dead to the world when you’re reading,” he says, matter-of-fact, continuing when you raise your eyebrows in impatience. “I was just wondering how you could look so interested in that book. Remus said he’d do my homework for a month if I finished it the other day and I couldn’t get past five arse-numbingly dull pages.”

You scoff, adjusting your position again to face Remus as well. “And why was Remus betting you to read my book, exactly?”

“It was my copy,” Remus replies, scribbling away on his parchment, cross legged on his chair, to undoubtedly finish the Potions essay that Slughorn had set yesterday. You’re transfixed on the way his hand is moving across the page for a second, unable to fathom how someone can have such messy handwriting. You aren’t surprised in the slightest that the next words coming out of his mouth are ones you disagree with. “I wanted to see how long he lasted reading the slowest-paced book in the world.”

You abruptly sit up at this, shutting your book and forgetting plans of relaxation.

“Hey, watch it!” Lily exclaims, lifting the bottle of black polish she’s using to paint Sirius’ nails from its balanced position on her thigh to avoid you spilling it all over her white top. “If you’re about to argue, please refrain from throwing things until after I’ve done the second coat of nail polish.”

You pointedly ignore this and narrow your eyes at Remus who, infuriatingly, still hasn’t lifted his head from his essay. “I’m surprised you found it hard to read such a slow book. Thought that’d be perfect for you.”

“Look what you’ve started, Prongs,” Sirius sighs, examining his nails.

Seeing the corners of Remus’ lips pull up into a slight smile at your comment just spurs you on in defence of the book you were previously enjoying. “Besides, it’s about a real-life teenager with real-life struggles, not The Hobbit on his latest adventure.”

“Who’s Hobbit?” James mumbles, scratching his head in confusion as Marlene just shrugs, equally oblivious.

“It’s overrated,” Remus insists, finally setting down his quill to look at you. The amused expression still hasn’t left his face and you make a noise halfway between a scoff and a high-pitched squeal of indignance. “Even James agrees.”

“Oh, and James’ opinion on literature is the standard now?” You raise a brow, tutting when James starts to protest. “The only book James has finished in the last six years was Quidditch Through the Ages.”

The way James slowly slides the aforementioned book under one of the sofa cushions doesn’t go unnoticed by anyone. Sirius starts snickering, much to Lily’s annoyance as she tries to control his hand. “She got you there, in fairness, mate.”

Sirius’ chortling seems to stir Peter from his sleep and he opens one eye to peer at you. Seeming to catch sight of your irritated expression, he frowns. “Are these two arguing like an old married couple again?”

“Merlin help us if these two ever decide to get married,” Marlene utters under her breath, bent over her guitar and avoiding the weight of your glare.

“Yeah, he wishes,” you grumble, shuffling around on the sofa to get back into a comfortable position with your book. Remus’ smile has only widened in response and he seems to enjoy your discomfort as you overcompensate for showing your annoyance by wriggling about.

“I dream about it every night,” Remus replies, dryly and Peter giggles below you before turning over to sleep again.

You overcompensate a little too much by moving around, because Lily huffs from beside you and starts scrambling around for a tissue. “What did I say about the second coat?”

“I didn’t throw anything this time!”

2. when he won’t let you give someone a black eye

Defence Against the Dark Arts is your favourite N.E.W.T subject for a lot of reasons. You enjoy the lesson content, it’ll be useful in future years, and it’s the one lesson you share with every single one of your friends.

You’ve gotten used to James and Sirius messing around while Professor Marigold recites fact after fact about spells and creatures and wizards of dark nature. Its like soothing background noise to you and your classmates who all concentrate in silence most of the time.

Which is why your quill stops on your page and leaves a growing ink blot when you hear snickering and whispers from the other side of the classroom rather than from in front of you where the marauders sit in a line.

The scoffs of disgust coming from Snape and Mulciber are loud enough to attract the attention of the rest of the students and even the teacher, who eventually sets down her piece of chalk in the middle of talking about Wolfsbane potion with an impatient sigh.

“Is there some sort of pressing issue that can’t wait until after class to discuss, boys?” Professor Marigold asks with a tone of ire that would impress Professor McGonagall. “Even Black and Potter have decided to give it a rest today.”

She’s not wrong, you think, noting how they’ve been less disruptive than usual for this lesson, probably tired out from setting each other’s robes on fire in Charms the hour before.

“The pressing issue is werewolves,” Snape mutters quietly, as though he doesn’t want to make a big issue but can’t stop himself from speaking up. “We should be learning more about how to kill them and less about the price of potion ingredients.”

Lily gasps from beside you and Sirius and James tense up at his words. Remus doesn’t lift his head, but you absently notice how his grip tightens around his quill when Peter nervously turns to him. Peter isn’t one for conflict and he’s always been nervous around this particular group of Slytherins, so you’re not surprised he’s anxious.

“Werewolves are still people, you can’t just go around killing them!” you find your mouth moving on its own, before your brain can catch up. When Snape turns to direct his scowl at you, its matched by your own as well as Lily’s disappointed frown. “They didn’t ask to be werewolves, they physically can’t help it! How would you feel if people wanted to kill you for not being able to control being such an arse.”

“Miss Y/L/N,” Professor Marigold warns, setting her stern eyes on you. You’re not one for disrupting lessons or getting into trouble, so when Remus turns around to look at you with a raised eyebrow, your cheeks start to warm and you stubbornly don’t look his way again.

Snape ignores her to continue glaring at you. “I don’t have the capacity to kill people in a feral rage now, do I?” His gaze flits from you to Lily and Marlene and then lingers on the boys. “Of course, you’re defending werewolves. It’s no surprise considering who you choose to associate yourself with.”

“Mr Snape.”

“You have no need to fly into a feral rage to kill people,” you reply, voice steadily rising in volume. Sirius and James turn their heads back and forth like they’re watching a tennis match and you know the only reason they haven’t piped up to agree with you is because they’re too entertained watching the way you’re about to jump out of your seat to pounce on Snape. “All you need to do is show someone your face for them to die of fright–”

“ENOUGH!” Professor Marigold’s booming voice cuts through the laughter of everyone on the Gryffindor side of the classroom and when you turn to look at her, you see even Remus’ shoulders are shaking with silent laughter. You’re not sure why this pleases you, but it doesn’t last long enough for you to figure it out before Marigold waves her wand in the direction of the door and sends it flying open. “Both of you will wait for me outside the classroom until the lesson has finished so I can discuss your appalling behaviour.”

You gape at her for a second, before relenting and grabbing your bag, not wanting to argue with her authority. Your friends have different ideas.

“That’s not fair!” Marlene exclaims, standing up in protest. “She didn’t even do anything wrong.”

“Yeah,” James agrees, also standing up. “Snape’s the one who was being an annoying pri–”

“Sit down, everyone,” Marigold cuts him off, pursing her lips. “Everyone except Mr Snape and Miss Y/L/N. Do not even think about speaking Mr Black, or I won’t hesitate to suspend your and Mr Potter’s Quidditch privileges until further notice.”

Sirius shuts his mouth after a nudge from James and you shoot your friends a grateful smile before making your way out of the classroom, followed closely by Snape.

The door shuts behind him and you don’t bother sparing him a glance before dumping your bag on the ground and leaning against a wall to focus your gaze on a suit of armour for the next five minutes. You’re about half a minute in when you notice that one of the hands are slightly wonky and the classroom door suddenly opens.

Remus, of all people, enters the hallway to join the two of you and quickly shuts the door.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, furrowing your brows and getting up from against the wall.

“Yeah, what are you doing here?” Snape sneers at him, and you give him a scathing look before turning to Remus for an answer.

Remus pointedly ignores him to stand next to you against the brick wall. “I just pointed out to Professor Marigold that you both have your wands and she may not have two students left out here by the end of the lesson.”

“I can defend myself,” you snort, folding your arms. You aren’t sure if you’re annoyed that Remus is insinuating otherwise, or if you’re touched that he doesn’t want you to be hexed into oblivion by Snape. “Especially from him.”

“Oh, I know,” Remus raises both hands in surrender as his tone becomes grave. “It’s not you I’m worried about, trouble.”

“Ha ha,” you deadpan, rolling your eyes at the nickname. He started it around a year ago when you got your first ever detention for helping Sirius and James Charm the Slytherin chairs to throw them off every time someone sat. Your friends had kept quiet about your involvement, but Peeves had spotted you, the nosy bastard. The nickname stemmed from the fact it was the first time you had ever gotten into trouble and it never failed to irritate you. “You better be careful I don’t hex you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of annoying you,” he says, but the serious tone of voice is ruined by the way his lips are twitching in an attempt not to laugh at you. “After what happened when I said I didn’t like that one Jane Austen book? Forget it.”

“Hey, you insulted one of my favourite characters,” you point out, resting a hand on your hip. “What did Emma ever do to you? You had that hex coming.”

“I had pink hair for a week,” Remus narrows his eyes at you, but you can tell he isn’t really angry. Although he refuses to admit it, you know for a fact he didn’t hate the pink hair considering how good he looked with it. An annoying indiscretion on your part. Remus looks behind you for a split second before leaning in a little to whisper. “I won’t get in the way if you want to turn Snape’s hair pink, though. Preferably a very bright shade of flaming, hot pink.”

At risk of your own cheeks flaming up from how close he is – really, what’s the need? – you shake your head let your hair fall into your face. Almost having forgotten Snape is also there, you start when he scoffs (for what you think is the millionth time this afternoon) and you sigh before facing him begrudgingly. “What now?”

“Couldn’t handle the content of today’s lesson?” he asks, tiling his head. You’re about to ask him what the hell he’s talking about before you realise, he isn’t actually talking to you, but to the boy behind you.

“Uh…” you trail off, not sure how to respond. All three of you currently standing in the corridor know that Remus is smart enough to tackle any type of content, especially something as memorable and interesting as werewolves.

Remus’ amused demeanour has been wiped away and you can’t determine his exact expression, but his voice is cold when he talks to you. “Just ignore him.”

“You and your group of friends can’t help themselves when it comes to defending strays and all sorts,” Snape continues, much to your confusion. “It’s not enough that you’re a group full of blood-traitors and mudbloods…”

Remus tenses up behind you and you find yourself frozen for a second.

The next thing you know, you’re lunging at the greasy-haired Slytherin with every intention of hurting his face with your fists, wand long forgotten. Your fingers barely brush his robes, however, when you feel yourself being hauled back by strong arms that wrap around your middle.

“Let go!” you snarl, enjoying the way Snape has backed away, eyes wide and worried. “Did you hear what he said? Remus, let me go.”

He doesn’t relent, still holding onto you when he leans down to speak in your ear. “You’ve already gotten into trouble. You’ll get into a whole lot more when everyone walks out to see Snape with a black eye and you with bruised knuckles.”

“Worth it,” you grit out, still pulling away from his grip and throwing daggers with your eyes at Snape. After a few more seconds of pointless struggling, you relax very slightly just to turn in his arms so you can direct your next words to him more pointedly. “Not only is he a slimy, blood-supremacist twat, but he also wants to kill a poor bunch of werewolves. We should be throwing him into the bloody Black Lake!”

“I know, I-” Remus is cut off when the door opens and students start flooding into the corridor to provide a barrier between you and Snape, indicating the end of the lesson. Remus finally lets you go when he realises you’re in direct view of Professor Marigold who stands behind her desk, waiting for you. “I had no idea you were such an advocate for werewolves.”

It’s the last thing you expected him to say and you immediately look up at him and frown. “Again, they’re people. They don’t deserve to be victims of prejudice just as no one does.” He doesn’t respond, staring at you with an unreadable expression and a hint of a smile. Your frown deepens in confusion. Was he… laughing at you? Especially after you had just gotten along. “I’m so glad you find me amusing,” you say, scowling and storming back into the classroom and away from Remus.

3. when he's too good for flower crowns.

“Tell it again,” James insists, grin wide as ever plastered onto his face despite the withering look you send his way. “Getting a glimpse at even the possibility of Snivellus getting pummelled by Y/N would have made my entire year.”

“The galleons I’d give up to have been there,” Sirius releases a wistful sigh, closing his eyes as he lies down, facing the sun.

You hand him the daisy chain crown you just finished and he dutifully dons it. “I’ll alert the Ministry of Magic to order in a time-turner for an issue of utmost urgency,” you say sarcastically as you start on the next daisy chain. Sirius merely winks at you.

“I think you should’ve let her have at him, Remus,” Marlene states, unapologetic. You nod vehemently in agreement, a little too enthusiastically as you end up splitting a daisy down the middle.

Lily tuts, adjusting her own flower crown as it slips against her silky red hair. “I’m glad you didn’t. Godric knows what Professor Marigold would have done,” she shudders at the thought, ever the diligent student.

“Forget Marigold,” Peter chimes in. “Imagine what Professor McGonagall would have done.”

You don’t miss how he looks over his shoulder in case your head of house is taking a stroll along the grassy grounds.

“She would have combusted when you called him an ugly arse,” Remus pipes in, unhelpfully might you add, from where he sits slightly away from the group under a tree, reading.

The comment sends Marlene, Sirius and Peter into a fit of laughter – James is too busy staring at the way the sun is making Lily look ethereal and she’s too busy pretending not to notice while being secretly pleased. Doing a quick survey of your friends, you see everyone now has a flower crown except Remus. You make your way to the tree he’s resting against while the others chat, and sit yourself down with purpose.

Remus lowers his book very slightly to peer at you and your too-sweet smile. He raises a sceptical brow. “Should I be scared right now?”

You drop the fake smile and hold up your flower crown expectantly. “Everyone has one, but you.”

“How observant,” he says, setting his book down to look at you in mock astonishment. “Have the Aurors at the Ministry caught wind of you yet?”

“Don’t be a pain,” you groan, dropping it onto his open book. “I want everyone to wear one for the picture!”

Remus sighs, looking at the large camera over by your bag. You had saved up all summer to buy a magical camera to be able to take pictures of you and your friends in your final year at Hogwarts. The time you used your own muggle camera was a disaster of sparks and broken bits of plastic that took hours to mend. “I already agreed to your incessant picture-taking,” he reminds you, acting like it’s the most painful thing in the world. “The flower crown is not happening.”

“Fine, you miserable git,” you flick a handful of grass at him, sending him sputtering. “Now come and sit for the photo.”

You return to the group with Remus behind you and get everyone in position before hunting down someone to take the photo. Glancing around, you spot a close bunch of first-years and send Lily to use her Head Girl credentials (and warm and inviting personality, of course) to rope one of them into coming over.

“Okay, smile everyone,” you order, plopping down on the grass next to James. You elbow him in the ribs, not even having to look at him to know what he’s doing. “Stop looking at Lily and look at the camera.”

With a couple of mutterings and some nudging, the nervous first-year Hufflepuff girl shakily takes the picture and hurriedly hands you the camera in the middle of the picture sliding out of it. James and Sirius go back to playing with a golden Snitch while Peter watches, while Remus returns to his book.

Lily looks at the picture and coos over how cute everyone looks at the same time as Marlene complaining about her hair. You impatiently take the picture back to slide it into your photo album and something catches your eye.

Sirius is making a peace sign behind Remus’ head. His head that wears a flower crown.

4. when he bleeds out on you.

You’re not sure what time it is – either very late at night, or very early in the morning. You do know, however, that you want to finish your Herbology essay so you can enjoy tomorrow (or today) and cheer your friends on in the Gryffindor vs Ravenclaw Quidditch game. You only have the conclusion left and you’re confident it’ll be done in the next ten minutes.

If you can find your damned quill, that is. You could have sworn you had it ten minutes ago, just before you snuck down to the kitchens to persuade the house-elves to give you the strongest cup of coffee they could make. You take a quick sip and grimace at the lukewarm temperature before setting it down and getting up to search. After turning every sofa cushion upside down, you go to crouch behind the sofa.

You hear the door to the common room being swung open and the hushed voices of the Marauders enter, but you don’t take too much notice as you squint for your quill. It isn’t unusual for the boys to be roaming around the castle at odd hours of the night, but a hiss of pain grabs your attention at the same time you spot the quill.

“Can you guys manage taking him up to the-” Sirius cuts himself off when your face pops up from behind the sofa. He freezes in his efforts to hold up Remus, who you notice is leaning on him and James and Merlin’s balls he’s covered in blood.

“What the fuck happened to him?” Your voice comes out weak as you walk over to the boys. Remus has deep, bleeding slashes over his chest and an assortment of little cuts on his face and hands. He seems barely able to keep his eyes open but when his gaze meets yours, he winces. He isn’t the only one hurt and you realise Sirius’ arm is damp with blood and trembling, the same going for James’ thigh. “What the fuck happened to all of you, oh my God…?”

“Peter, you were supposed to keep watch,” James hisses at the boy who looks like a deer in headlights. He looks a lot better than the others, with only a couple of small cuts scattered around his face and arms.

“She was behind the sofa!”

James’ leg buckles and you snap out of your state of shock to dart forward and keep him steady. “Right. Shit, okay,” you breathe out, holding off asking any questions to prevent anyone from bleeding out. “James, Sirius, set Remus down on the sofa and take off his shirt. Peter, help these two up the stairs and go find a first-aid kit or something.”

“We’ve got a couple in the dorm,” Sirius says, summoning one of them down with a quick Accio and handing it to you. He hesitates for a second, probably unsure if he should stay and explain things, before deciding to turn in the direction of the stairs with James as Peter rushes to help them up. “Look after him, please. We’ll be right back, Moony.”

“Take your time, I’ve got him,” you utter, already fiddling with the first-aid box and trying to open it with shaky hands. You’re no healer, but you know enough to panic when you see Remus has had his eyes closed for the last few seconds. “Remus, keep your eyes open!”

He groans, cracking one eye open to look at you. “I’m injured and bleeding out and you still manage to yell at me.”

“I wasn’t yelling,” you frown, unscrewing the bottle of dittany and scrambling for the cotton pads. You try to avoid Remus’ gaze because you feel extremely silly about being more panicked than him when he’s the one with claw marks down his chest. “Don’t move, or it’ll hurt.”

While dabbing the liquid onto the deep gashes in an attempt to close them up, you ponder on the fact that he probably knows it hurts from experience. You’re not completely clueless.

“What are you thinking?” Remus whispers in the stifling quiet of the common room, looking unsure.

You don’t cease in your movements, changing cotton pad after cotton pad. It takes you a minute to muster up the courage to meet Remus’ gaze again and this time he looks more nervous than you’ve ever seen him. “You’re a werewolf, aren’t you?”

Remus gives you an almost imperceptible nod, like he doesn’t want to admit to it. You take a deep breath.

“Who else knows?” you ask calmly, as if you’re asking him about the weather.

“The boys and Lily,” he admits, swallowing hard. “Oh, and Snape.”

“Snape?” you exclaim, halting your dabbing to gawp at Remus. “I’m not saying you had to tell me or anything, but Snape?”

Remus winces and you don’t think it has anything to do with his injuries. “In my defence he found out on his own and hates me for it,” he rushes out. “And it’s not that I didn’t want to tell you… I-”

“It’s fine,” you cut him off, waving him off and wondering how good you’re hiding the fact you’re a little hurt. “You didn’t have to tell me.”

“No, I wanted to. I did,” Remus insists, looking earnest. There’s something in his voice that’s a little pained and desperate that has you meeting his eyes. “I just couldn’t have dealt with it if you started looking at me differently. The boys and Lily sometimes do, y’know? Like I’m made of glass or something. It’s refreshing whenever you scowl at me or call me an idiot or an arse or a stupid gi-”

“Okay,” you stop him, stifling a grin. “I get it!”

Remus’ eyes flash with relief for a second before you notice doubt start to creep in again. “You don’t need to hide it, by the way. I won’t hold it against you if… If you’re scared or disgusted, or-”

“What?” you cut him off again and scrunch your nose in confusion. “I’m not scared or disgusted. Why would you think that?”

“You’ve been a bit too calm,” he points out.

Rolling your eyes, you grab a bandage to start patching up the worst of the injuries before you move onto the minor cuts and bruises. “I didn’t want you to think I was freaking out, or looking at you differently,” you quote his own words to him with a pointed look, making him smile again. “I don’t, you know. Think of you any differently, I mean.”

His expression is unreadable as he just looks at you and you just look at him, bandage hovering over his chest before his fingers come up to brush the back of your hand. He lightly holds your hand, softly running his thumb over your knuckle as his voice drops to a whisper again. “Thank you.”

You offer him a gentle smile, holding his gaze for a second longer before focusing on bandaging him up again. His hand drops to the side and you oddly find yourself missing his warmth. The large bandage adheres to his skin and you run your fingers along the sides to stick them down, feeling him shudder under your touch.

You quickly busy yourself with looking for more supplies in the kit to hide the way your own breathing has increased slightly. “Hey, anyway, I almost walloped Snape right in the eye for you. If that wasn’t any indication of my standing on werewolves, I don’t know what is.”

“Ah, my knight in shining armour,” Remus chuckles before breaking into a wheeze as the muscles of his injured abdomen contract. “Fuck, don’t make me laugh.”

“Don’t laugh at me then!”

5. when you’re definitely not jealous… you’re not!

Three cups of coffee. You’re on three cups of coffee. It’s also the same number of hours you’ve slept and by Godric can you feel it in every inch of your body as the muted chatter of the Great Hall buzzes around you. Your head is in your hands as you contemplate stealing some Polyjuice potion and bribing a first-year to take a dose with your hair in it so you can go to bed and they can pretend to watch the Quidditch match.

You knock back the last sip of coffee when you sense a presence sliding onto the bench in front of you. Groggily setting the cup down, you see that its Remus. It takes a second to remember why this is concerning.

“Morning, h- Wait, what the hell are you doing out of bed?” you hiss, leaning forward to avoid anyone listening in. You scan your eyes over his chest, two seconds away from ripping his shirt off to check his bandages. “How are you even standing?”

“Relax, Florence Nightingale,” Remus says, rolling his eyes at your dramatics. He does his own quick sweep of the table and sees that most people are out in the Quidditch stands already, so he proceeds to pull the neckline of his shirt down slightly to reveal an already fading scar. No bleeding in sight. “I went to Madame Pomfrey with the boys this morning and she hurried up the process like she usually does. I feel achier than a 90-year-old woman with a metal hip, but the brunt of it is gone and Pads and Prongs are good as new.”

“Okay,” you say slowly, narrowing your eyes slightly. “If you’re sure you can sit out in the stands…”

“I can once I’ve consumed every cup of tea on the premises,” he says, reaching for the teapot. An annoyingly smug smirk starts to appear on his face while he pours. “What, are you worried about me, trouble?”

You scowl instantly. “No, I just don’t want you collapsing on me in the Quidditch stands while I’m cheering the boys on.”

“Right.” He hides his grin behind his cup of tea.

“Hey,” you mumble, nodding to Patricia Holloway who looks like she’s making a beeline to your table. More specifically, towards Remus. “Bright and cheery Hufflepuff incoming.”

“Merlin, it’s too early for this,” Remus whispers, taking another sip of tea before his face breaks out into a charming smile directed at the girl who slides into the empty seat next to him. “Morning, Patricia.”

“You look good today, Remus,” Patricia rests her elbow on the table and tilts her head to look at him with simpering eyes. It’s no secret Remus is good-looking and you’ve heard a million girls talk about him before. You’ve never seen any of them approach him yourself, though. You can’t say you enjoy it. “Are you… okay, Y/N?”

You didn’t realise you were scowling until she addresses you and you rapidly smooth out your expression, clearing your throat. Remus looks amused, which makes it harder to keep the scowl off your face. “Fine! I’m fine, just a bit confused since Remus looks half asleep,” you attempt a laugh through gritted teeth and are spurred on when Remus is actively trying to fight a grin. “And his hair currently makes him look like he’s been dragged through the Forbidden Forest.”

He can’t stop himself snorting at that, but Patricia just looks confused as though unsure how to react. She settles on a nervous little laugh, turning back to him. “I can fix that for you, here,” she says, scooting closer and starts to run her hands through Remus’ hair. You poke your cheek with your tongue, marvelling at how bold she’s being and how Remus is just sat there, still looking amused as ever. “There, what do you think?”

“A hairbrush couldn’t have done a better job,” you deadpan, softening your expression slightly when Patricia begins to look a little disconcerted. “You keep doing that, I’m going to head off to the Quidditch field.”

You all but storm out of the Great Hall, exhaustion having left you completely. It’s replaced by a newfound whirl of irritation that pools in your stomach and creeps up your throat, making you feel a little sick. It must be the coffee, you think, and you’re trying to remember if the beverage has ever made you experience this when all of a sudden there’s a hand circling your wrist.

“Stop, Y/N,” Remus says, a little breathless. You didn’t realise he’d run out after you and you feel bad about his injuries before your gaze snags on his newly tousled hair. “Godric, you walk fast.”

“I didn’t ask you to catch up to me,” you snap, purposely scowling this time. The cheeky bastard still looks amused and your irritation is growing faster than ever. “Besides, the match doesn’t start for another fifteen minutes. Plenty of time for Patricia to give you a whole new hairdo. Maybe she can give you plaits or– Why are you laughing.”

“You’re jealous,” he exhales with a smile, sounding positively delighted. Any feelings of concern have disappeared and are being rapidly replaced with wanting to thwack him upside the head. “Oh my God, you really are jealous.”

“Jealous, my arse,” you scoff, turning your back to him with every intention of speed walking out of the castle. His long legs keep up with you easily and he rushes in front of you to stop you going anywhere. You glare at him. “Leave me alone, Lupin.”

“Not until you admit that you’re jealous.” Remus is positively giddy with glee and you feel a flush of heat crawling up your neck. You set your jaw stubbornly and he’s incredulous as he shakes his head. “Merlin, you really have to argue with me on everything don’t you? I don’t care about Patricia Holloway and I’m glad you’re jealous. Means you’re less likely to break my nose when I kiss you.”

You barely get the chance to make an incoherent noise when Remus grabs you by the waist and presses his lips against yours, kissing you like he isn’t prepared to let you go anytime soon. His mouth slides hot and wet against your own and you gasp into the kiss when he nips lightly at your lip, your hands coming up to slide into his hair, making it unruly all over again.

Remus is the first to break apart, too soon, and you physically restrain yourself from chasing after his lips. He pulls back slightly, breathing fast to look into your eyes, searching for the answer you’re unable to speak yet.

“You… uh, I-I’m…” you trail off, dazed and breathless and head swirling with every emotion under the sun.

Remus laughs, pulling you impossibly close and leaving a soft kiss on your jaw, which doesn’t help your current speech issues. “If I knew that was all it took to shut you up, I’d have kissed you years ago.”

“Wha-!” You slap his arm, snapping out of the haze. You hide your current uncertainty behind a glare. It hit you like a ton of bricks, but you realised about five seconds into the kiss that you wanted Remus Lupin in every way, shape and form. You’re more than a little terrified, so what better defence mechanism than anger? “Why did you actually kiss me, you prick?”

“You are the densest, most clueless,” Remus begins, pausing to kiss you lightly a couple times when you start to scowl. “Most stubborn and most beautiful little witch I’ve ever known. And if you haven’t figured out after almost seven years that I love you, then I’m afraid we might have to admit you to St Mungo’s, because really-”

“Stop,” you whisper, lifting a finger to press against his lips, effectively silencing him. “You love me? You actually, seriously love me?”

He rolls his eyes and nods, like it’s obvious or something. You huff. “Then why have you been such an annoying pain in my bloody arse, Remus Lupin?!”

“Because,” he says, the word coming out muffled and you hastily remove your finger. “It was a good way to keep your attention. Plus, I like when you’re angry. It’s cute.”

You scowl without thinking and his smile impossibly widens.

“See?”

“Shut up and kiss me again,” you say dryly, pulling him in by the collar to give him a short, searing kiss. “Oh, and I guess I love you too.”

“So, no broken noses in my future?” Remus asks hopefully, softly sliding his nose against yours.

“No promises.”

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin blurb #remus lupin ff #remus lupin fic #marauders x reader #marauders fanfic #remus x reader #remus lupin scenarios #andrew garfield x reader #remus fanfic #remus fanfiction

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elliespillowprincess · 1 month

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ARE WE STILL FRIENDS?

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a/n: hi everyone! i wanted to write a story w friends to lovers trope so here it is! im not sure if this will be an ongoing series, ill just have to see where it goes!! this kinda sucks im sorryyy i haven’t written in a while ive been so busy w school </3

cw: toxic!ellie, situationship abby???, tipsy sex, fingering (r receiving), violence?, kinda public sex, honestly badly written + not proofread😭lmk what else!!

WHY YOU SHOULD NOT SUPPORT NEIL DRUCKMANN

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it was a normal friday, you had just got home from classes and were getting ready to go to a kickback with your friends to drink the stress of finals away. you were going with your friends dina, jesse, and your roommate ellie. all of you became friends during your freshman year of college, you and ellie deciding to room together. you were just finishing up your makeup, and you got up to change, beginning to take your robe off, when your door flies open.

“hey, y/n i-“ she makes eye contact with you as you quickly attempt to cover yourself, your robe already halfway off. “shit- i’m- i’m sorry! i didn’t see anything! i swear i-“ why was she still standing there?

“get out!! go!” you say, clearly embarrassed. she turns around, clearly flushed. you become extremely red, but remember this isn’t the first time she’s walked in on you getting dressed. or the second, or the third..

you walk out of your room, wearing a simple outfit of a tank top and shorts. you meet eyes with ellie, who looks you up and down, seeing what you’re wearing. it was like everything was quiet. you’ve had a crush on ellie since you met her, but you’d always assumed she didn’t like you back since she was bringing in a new girl every week. she was wearing a blue flannel with a white tank top under, paired with a pair of jeans. you couldn’t help but admire her, and wonder what she looked like under her-

“y/n!! i feel like i haven’t seen you in ages!!”

your trance is broken by dina, who runs up to you, giving you a big hug. you hug her back, closing your eyes and smiling a huge smile. the four of you haven’t hung out in ages. most of your nights consisted of either studying, or smoking with ellie and watching whatever dumb movie was playing at the time. the two of you let go, and you walked up to give jesse a hug as well.

“god it’s been so long since we’ve all been together!” you say, letting go of jesse. “is everyone ready?”

“yeah, we’ve been waiting on the princess to finish getting ready.” ellie says, sarcastically. you roll your eyes as jesse grabs his keys and the four of you head out to the car. dina immediately takes her spot up front, leaving you and ellie in the back. “can i have aux?” ellie says before the car is even on.

the four of you arrive at the party shortly after, everyone arguing on what music to play. jesse gets out first and goes to open dina’s door for her. “you’re cooked, jesse.” ellie says, laughing. “hey! i think its cute.” you argue back. ellie just looks at you and rolls her eyes, laughing, as she gets out of the car.

the party wasn’t full, nothing crazy. you walk in first, immediately beelining to the drinks. you bump into a large, blonde hair girl.

“woah, you good?” you meet eyes with the women’s hockey teams star player, abby anderson. you notice her hands are on your waist, steadying you before you fell.

“oh my god, i’m so sorry!” you laugh.

“don’t worry about it, what’s your name gorgeous?” she says with a smirk. you look around, and see ellie already chatting it up with a ditsy girl. if she can have fun, why can’t you?

“y/n, and you are?” you knew the answer to this, everyone did. but you ddint wanna seem like a stalker for knowing her name when she didn’t know yours.

“abby. are you here with anyone?” she asks, scanning around the room. you hardly even notice when her hands leave your waist, steadying herself on the counter.

“oh, just my friends. i split away to grab a drink.” you slightly turn to pour a random bottle into one of the red solo cups stacked on the counter.

she laughs, watching you. “a pretty girl like you doesn’t have a boyfriend?” she asks, tilting her head slightly. it makes you blush, downing the liquor for some liquid courage.

“oh i don’t- i don’t really like guys..” you giggle. she raises her eyebrows.

“oh, so i do have a chance?” she replies, taking a sip from her cup. “do you wanna head up to my room?”

you look over to jesse and dina, they’re dancing to whatever shitty house music is playing. then to ellie, who’s clearly already had a few drinks, chatting it up with two girls now.

“sure, let’s go!”

abby grabs your hand, leading you through the crowd. you can’t help but love how big her hand is in yours, how she led you through the crowd saying hi to almost everyone. you almost make it to the stairs when you hear a commotion, and abby is shoved away from you.

“the fuck are you doing anderson?”

it’s ellie.

what’s her problem? she has girls at her disposal and she’s worried what you’re doing?

“don’t start shit at my party, ellie.” she says back, getting closer and towering over her. you knew abby and ellie didn’t get along that good, ellie always told you it was because abby was cocky and spoiled, but clearly it was more than that. “what’s your deal?”

“my deal is that you’re trying to treat her like she’s one of your sluts, she’s probably drunk and you’re taking advantage of her!” ellie barks back, slurring her words. this makes abby angrier, and you have to step in.

“ellie, it’s not that big of a deal. i said yes, im barely tipsy. can you let us be?” you didn’t realize your words sounded a little rude, but it didn’t matter. you knew this, with abby, was only gonna be a simple fuck and nothing more. she glares at you, grabbing your hand and trying to drag you out of the house. you try to resist her, but she’s stronger. “ellie, let go!”

suddenly, abby shoves ellie hard. “she said let the fuck go, ellie!” ellie’s expression changed. she looked infuriated. she drops her drink and punches abby in the face. “oh you fucked up.” abby says getting ready to punch ellie. you shove ellie away, telling abby to find you on instagram, that you’ll text her and that your sorry. you begin practically dragging ellie out. dina and jesse stop you before you can leave.

“what the fuck happened?” dina says, looking at the clearly pissed ellie.

“i’ll tell you when we get home, im just gonna call an uber, go home, and sober her up.”

“you sure you don’t want a ride? we don’t mind i-“ jesse says.

“no, it’s fine. i’ll text you guys when i get home.” you go to leave, pushing ellie out and ordering and uber.

the ride home was quiet. the uber didn’t even make small talk as usual. the air felt so thick you could cut it with a knife. finally, you stop at your house, thanking the uber driver, and go around to ellie’s side to help her get out.

“i don’t.. i don’t need your fucking help.” she snaps. you roll your eyes and continue to help her, dragging her inside and pushing her on the couch. “god, what’s your problem?”

you don’t know why she was acting so mean. true, she had a few drinks, but she didn’t usually act this this when drunk.

“what’s your fucking problem ellie? i mean, god, can i not make my own decisions?” you snap, going to the kitchen to pour yourself a drink. “you fuck a new girl every week, sometimes two, and i can’t do it once?” you take the shot. “what are you so mad about?” you shout, going to pour yourself another.

you hear her shift a little on the couch. “nothing, i don’t have a problem.” you audibly laugh, she’s being ridiculous! you down another drink, closing the bottle. it makes you cough and gag a little.

“if you didn’t have a problem, you wouldn’t have fucking punched abby for talking to me.” you start to go to your room, wanting to sleep it off.

“stop.” she says. you do as she says, you don’t know why but you do. “sit down.”

you walk over to the opposite side of the couch and sit down. she sits up from her laying position.

“i just.. she has fucked almost every girl at school. i don’t want you being one of those girls.” you burst out laughing, not believing what’s being said to you right now.

“are you serious, ellie?” you look at her in disbelief. “you do the same thing as her! i knew it was gonna be a simple fuck, i knew that and i didn’t care! so fucking what if a girl has some built up tension, am i not allowed to release it how i want? god, you’re immature.”

she stares at you blankly, before pulling you in and giving you a hug.

“you’re better than that, y/n.” she says into your shoulder. “if you needed it that bad i’d rather you come to me than an ass like her, god at least we know each other.”

what?

you sit there in disbelief as she continues to hug you.

“ellie, what? do you even know what you’re saying?” you stare at her as she begins to pull away.

“y/n, i..” she trails off, just staring at you.

“you need to go to sleep.” you say flatly, getting up, tossing her a blanket, and going to your room. you didn’t wanna deal with this now, and hoped it was all just some fucked up dream and everything would be normal in the morning. ellie would be back to her playful self, the two of you back to being best friends. you get in your bed, too lazy to undress and take off your makeup, and drift off to sleep.

the next weeks were completely different. ellie hardly talked to you, and she was bringing more and more girls home almost every night. she stayed out until the early morning, waking you up with the moans of the girls in her bed.

it made you sick.

you hardly ever saw her, either. she’d try her best to avoid you, but the rare occasion where you’d turn a corner and bump into her only made her turn away back into her room.

regardless, you decided to have your own fun. you’ve been texting abby off and on, and the two of you only got so far as making out at parties, parties ellie was at. the two of you would make eye contact whilst your mouth was in abby’s, hers in another girl. but why should you care? she was the one avoiding you. she was the one who said you should just be friends with benefits.

you were studying when you get a text on your phone.

abs: hey, i’m throwing a kickback tn, u coming right?

you sit for a minute, wondering if this is really what you need.

y/n: ummm idk what kind

like crazy or chill

abs: chill

just a few friends

u can bring dina n jesse if u want

you contemplate, and decide it won’t hurt anything if you go. you type abby your reply and inform jesse and dina.

abs: starts at 9 don’t be late

y/n:🙄

you start getting ready, it’s only 7 so you don’t have to hurry. you decide to fuck with abby a little, and put on a tight dress she won’t be able to resist. you start on your makeup when you hear the loud moans coming from your roommates room. you try to ignore it, try to focus on your makeup, but it’s so damn loud. you stand up, frustrated, and march to ellie’s room. you raise your hand, about to pound the door and tell her to knock it off, when you hear something.

“y/n.. fuck- ugh” it’s ellie. there’s not another girl in there. it’s her making the noise. you can’t help but feel the heat rise to your cheeks hearing that. you think about breaking her door down, but you’re frozen listening to her whimpers and pleads. “fuck- put my- kids.. fuck!!”

“ellie…?” you softly knock on her door. it feels like all the sound from the world has been removed. “ellie, you okay..?”

you hear shuffling. “just- what? do you need something?” she sounds annoyed, scattered.

“i heard you saying my name i just-“

she swings open her door. she’s messy, her hair is ruffled and sweat beads on her forehead. “what do you want?”

you just sit there and stare at her in disbelief. her cheeks are a bright shade of pink and she’s slightly out of breath. her smell is intoxicating.

“i just heard you say my name and.. wanted to see what was up..” you trail off. she doesn’t say or do anything, just stares at you.

“where are you going?” she asks, as if she wasn’t just caught moaning your name.

“oh um.. abs is throwing a little get together..” you say coyly.

“and you’re wearing that?” she snaps back. why was she so upset?

“look ellie- i don’t get what your fucking problem is-“

“i’m going, let’s go.” she says bluntly.

“ellie, you’re not even invited, it’s a small thing.”

“so? i know jesse and dina too, im not gonna be your little plus one. cmon ill drive us.”

rolling your eyes and arguing with her as you follow her to her bike, she hands you a helmet. “relax, y/n. what’s she gonna do?” she hops on and you follow behind her, climbing on the bike and wrapping your arms around her. “hold on tight.”

when the two of you eventually arrived after you pleaded with ellie to stay back, abby looked pissed. the night consisted of a few drinks, dina and jesse cuddling on the couch, and eventually leading to a game of truth or dare.

you were sat right next to abby, her arm around you, and ellie across the living room. it was small, only about 20 people. you were shocked abby even allowed ellie to be here, she barely even paid mind.

“abby, truth or dare?” you hear an unfamiliar girl ask.

“dare.” she says, almost as to impress you.

“i dare you to…” she looks around for a moment. “kiss alexis.”

the room got quiet, all eyes on abby. everybody know alexis and abby used to fuck on the low, but people assumed you were with her now. abby wasted no time getting up and almost making out with her, making you annoyed and your stomach churn.

“i’ll be right back, gonna get a drink.” abby says, getting up and going to the kitchen. the atmosphere was off.

“um, yeah me too.” alexis says, running after abby. “abby, can we talk?” you hear her say in a whisper.

“umm.. okay fine, ellie then, truth or dare?” a random guy asks ellie.

“dare.” she says whilst eyeing you.

“play 7 minutes in heaven with y/n”

you shoot dina a look, and start nervously looking around the room at everyone. ellie gets up from her seat, walks over to you, and practically drags you to abby’s half bathroom, shutting and locking the door. the two of you are mere inches away, smelling the alcohol on her. you had a few drinks, giving you a little liquid courage.

you two are so close, and the air almost feels thick, hard to breathe. she’s leaning against the wall, just staring at you and waiting for you to do something.

“we doing this or not?” you say bluntly to her. immediately, she grabs your face and starts making out with you roughly, catching you off gaurd and causing a moan to slip through your lips. she pushes you against the counter and lifts you onto it, placing herself between your legs. it’s too intimate, whenever you’d pull away, the two of you would make eye contact before smashing your faces together once again. you’ve always wondered what it’d be like to be one of the girls on the other side of ellie’s door, to be the one ellie makes whimper and scream.

“what the fuck is going on in there?” you hear abby shout, followed by dozens of knocks. ellie doesn’t stop, though, and only becomes more aggressive, grabbing onto your thighs. she pulls away for a moment.

“does your little girlfriend make you wet from just a kiss?” she says, staring into you. “i can feel it against my jeans, doll.” the loud bangs from abby are drowned out and all you can hear is your guys’ breathing. “tell me, y/n. does she make you feel the way i do?”

“no, no els she doesn’t.” you pull her back into a kiss as she reaches her hand underneath your dress, and discovers you’re not wearing any underwear.

“dirty slut, you knew this’d happen huh?” she doesn’t waste time before one of her fingers begins pumping into you. “you’re mine right? tell me.” she adds another. you feel dizzy, it’s too intimate. i mean, you were here with abby, now you’re getting fingered by your best friend?

“els i…” the pounding on the door only grew louder and louder, your heart racing. her index and middle fingers pumped into you at a rapid pace, her palm grinding against your clit. you wrap your arms around ellie’s neck, pulling her closer. “this.. this is wrong..” you want to pull away, you want to shove her off and open the door for abby.

right?

“do you want me to stop, y/n?” she says before kissing along your neck. “tell me to stop and i’ll stop.” she continues to pump her long fingers into you. “do you want me to stop or do you wanna cum on my fingers while your little girlfriend is trying to rip me to shreds?”

“f-fuck… fuck- no dont, don’t stop ellie.” she uses her free hand to hold your face and forces you to look at her.

“atta girl.”

“ellie i swear to fucking god i’m gonna kick your ass!” the door is on the verge of breaking, splintering sounds coming from the door. all the tension is pushing you further and further to the edge, ellie overtaking all your senses. you’re drunk on her. every pump of her fingers into your hole and rub against your clit by her palm only pushes you further and further, and she can tell.

“y’gonna cum? cum all over my hand, cmon give it to me.” she whispers. her pace speeds up and one, two, three more pumps and you’re coming undone on her, biting her shoulder and squeezing her neck tightly to muffle your moans. “there we go, that’s my girl. my fucking pussy.” she says, working you through your orgasm. you feel like you’re in a trance, like the world stopped for a moment.

that moment ended with a loud CRACK coming from the door.

#ellie williams #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie x you #ellie tlou #ellie smut

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ellemj · 5 months

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Time & Temptation - Roommates w/ Benefits Pt. 3

Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Read parts 1 and 2 first if you haven't!

Summary: Bucky took a bullet for you and your ungrateful attitude is exactly what will help end his unwanted attraction to you, his new roommate. Or at least he thought it would help, until he found out how pretty you look on your knees.

Warnings: profanity, teasing, alcohol consumption, mutual masturbation, hint of a size kink, blood, gunshot wounds, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Word Count: 5.7k

A/N: According to @littlemiss-yeehaw, this is the filthiest thing I've ever written. Idk if I agree but it's a lil tiny bit filthy. Sorry for the long wait but I did NOT want to risk half-assing this chapter when I was so focused on getting through the 12 Days of Smut in December. Hope you all enjoy!

Pissed. That’s what you are in this moment, beyond pissed. You’re in the backseat of Sam’s car as he drives you and Bucky through the city, heading back to your apartment complex. He should be heading toward the nearest hospital but of course, the stubborn ass super soldier who you now call your roommate adamantly refused to go to the hospital after being shot.

“If I see so much as one drop of blood on my leather seats...” Sam threatens coldly, shooting Bucky a side-eye from the driver’s seat. You don’t even have to see his face to know that Bucky’s returning the calloused look. You let out an annoyed sigh as you start unbuckling the strap of one of your heels, your shimmery body glitter reflecting the mix of moonlight and streetlights streaming in from the windows. “And you,” Sam says, casting a glance in the rearview mirror and catching your gaze, “don’t get glitter all over my damn car.”

“I’d be getting glitter all over Elias Leveaux’s car right now if Bucky hadn’t inserted himself into my op.” You put extra emphasis on the word my, using the rearview mirror to look at Bucky’s stoic expression. He keeps his eyes trained on the road ahead, refusing to dignify you with even a brief darting of his eyes in your direction. After kicking off your heels and stuffing them in your duffel bag, you reach behind yourself to start undoing the back of your lacey corset top. Though it looks hot as fuck on you, it’s also uncomfortable as fuck and you’re not wearing it for a moment longer than you have to. Your breasts are one more snap away from spilling out of the top when Sam catches Bucky’s gaze drifting to the rearview mirror so briefly that he’s surprised he even noticed it. Sam’s quick to reach a hand up and tilt the mirror to point at the ceiling, shooting Bucky a disapproving look. He would’ve expected a man from Steve’s era to behave a little better than that. “What the hell were the three of you even doing there tonight? This was meant to be a solo op, I didn’t need any more backup than I already had.”

“Right, you’d be safely on your way to Leveaux’s house right now, wouldn’t you? Without a bullet wound in your head or your chest or wherever else?” Bucky seethes, growing more and more tired of your stubbornness. Do you not realize that it was a planned shooting? Someone knew Leveaux was going to be at the club tonight and they plotted it all ahead of time, aiming to either scare him into staying off of the streets of the city or maybe even aiming to kill him. It was going to happen regardless of how much backup you did or didn’t have tonight.

“You know, Bucky, you can’t say shit. You got yourself shot tonight. You should’ve stayed in the club.” As soon as the words leave your lips you feel a tinge of regret settling in the pit of your stomach. He got himself shot protecting you. He shielded you with his own body. He was observant of your surroundings, he saw the dark car slowly coming down the street with its windows halfway down, and his first move was to shove you against the wall and put his body between yours and the danger behind. He likely saved your life, yet you can’t find it within yourself to offer him even a measly thank you. He’s actually a little bit thankful for everything that happened after you left the stage earlier, because he was really starting to wonder how the hell he was going to find enough to dislike about you to keep his cock from getting hard every time you cross paths, which is way too often when you live together. But you acting like this? Acting like he did you a disservice by not only saving you from a hail of gunfire but also by saving you from going home with the most notorious arms dealer in the northern U.S? He thinks this ungrateful attitude of yours might cure him.

When the sound of your last corset fastener snapping open disturbs the short-lived silence in the car, Bucky clenches his teeth together. He wishes you would wait until you were home to change, but he also couldn’t stand knowing that you were sitting there in that fucking black lingerie set with nothing but another man’s coat covering your skin. Maybe he isn’t as cured as he thought.

“You should’ve called me Sam, you should’ve told me that you guys were going to be there tonight.” Your tone is a little softer as you slip on a black Calvin Klein bra and then pull your black sweater from earlier over it.

“Fury didn’t brief us until the last minute, I had no idea it was your op until it was too late to call you. You were already onsite.” Sam explains, trying to diffuse your anger a bit more. You sigh as you slide your black jeans over your legs and begin zipping and buttoning them closed.

“I’ve been waiting to get him alone for months.” You’re sulking. You put so much time and effort into tracking Leveaux’s every move, every hobby, every place he frequents. You know the man inside and out, and you knew this night was your only chance to get what you needed from him. You lift your right hand and massage your temples with your middle finger and thumb, feeling the start of a stress headache coming on.

“You’ll get another chance. He was pretty damn interested in you and what you had to offer.” Sam points out, fixing the rearview mirror back into its proper position and using it to make eye contact with you. He knows you work hard and that you’re good at your job, and he hates to see you so frustrated over one op being blown for reasons that were out of your control. As much as you want to blame Bucky, it wasn’t even his fault. However, you plan to hold a bit of a grudge regardless.

“Answer this one for me, when you were briefed, did Fury tell you that my cover name was the same as my real first name?” You ask, perking up in your seat a bit as you fish around in your bag for your socks. It’s freezing outside and you can barely feel your feet after wearing your heels out in such a low temperature.

“You really think I would’ve blown your cover unintentionally?” Bucky questions, his blue eyes boring into yours in the mirror. Clearly he takes offense at your insinuation. He might’ve inserted himself into your moment with Leveaux on a whim, but he isn’t reckless like you, he knew what he was doing outside the club. He was saving your ass. You stare right back at him, malice lighting your gaze on fire.

“You’re telling me you meant to do it on purpose?”

“Calm down, we knew your cover name was the same as your real name. Your cover wasn’t blown.” Sam interjects, trying his best to stomp out the flames of the fight that’s brewing between you and Bucky. His eyes leave the road for a moment as he casts a glance between the two of you, unable to ignore the growing tension in the car. “What the hell is up with you two? I’ve barely ever seen you guys interact, much less be at each other’s throats like you are right now. Am I missing something?”

“No.” You and Bucky speak the word in unison. The last few minutes of the car ride are taken in silence, no one daring to say another word as you and Bucky stew in your own anger and Sam focuses on avoiding patches of black ice in the road. You’ve almost forgotten that Bucky’s been shot, until you get out of the car in the parking garage and see the sizable, dark red wet patch smeared across the fabric covering his torso. He’s keeping his flesh hand held tight over the area, in an attempt to abate the blood loss. It looks a lot worse than he’s been making it seem, but you’d expect no less from someone so damn stubborn.

It only takes a couple of minutes to make it to your floor of the complex, and as soon as the elevator doors begin sliding open to let you both out, you can feel that urge somewhere deep inside, tugging at your conscience. You’re going to end up breaking out your first aid kit and using it on him. You can’t even argue with yourself, it’s what’s going to happen. It’s inevitable. Fuck your medical background and inherent need to take care of everyone but yourself.

Bucky’s planning to shower the blood off of his skin and maybe throw a couple of bandages over the entrance and exit wounds that he knows he’s sporting. That’s the most that he thinks he’ll need. He’s barely ever needed any more than a little wound cleansing and maybe some gauze here and there, he heals so quickly that first aid always been an unnecessary comfort. As he trails behind you down the hallway, watching the way you fiddle with the set of keys in your right hand, he wonders what you’re thinking now. He imagines you’re probably picturing yourself leaving him standing on the curb as you ride off into the dark of night with Elias Leveaux. Would you really have made it all the way to Leveaux’s house and let him put his hands on you? Would you have let him have you? All for a little bit of intel that you could probably gain in a much safer way? God, Bucky can’t stand you or the way you operate in the field. The next time Fury calls him in on anything related to you, he’s waving a white flag of surrender and saying hell no. He isn’t going to be tasked with sitting on the sidelines to watch as you let some criminal touch your ass and whisper sweet nothings in your ear. Fuck that.

You deftly slide your key into the lock, turning it to the right before pushing the door handle down. When the door swings open, the darkness of your apartment greets you, mingling with an eerie silence. That’s another thing that you and Bucky don’t have in common. You always leave a light on when you go out, whether it’s a table lamp or the light above the stovetop in the kitchen, you hate coming home to darkness. But Bucky never leaves a light on. It’s like he’s allergic to all things cozy and comforting. You’re acutely aware of his presence behind you as you step into the apartment and stop in your tracks when he shuts the door behind you both. It’s dark, too dark. Of course, when you freeze right in front of him, Bucky’s next step sends him crashing into your back, which sends you nearly sprawling to the floor. He reaches out with his vibranium hand and grabs you by the elbow, steadying you quickly before letting go. It only takes him a second to figure out why you’ve stopped short, and he turns around to feel along the wall by the door until he hears the way the scratchy sound of the rough painted wall gives way to the smooth plastic covering of the light switch panel under his metal fingers. When he flicks the living room light on, you let out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding.

Bucky watches as you cross the living room and disappear down the hallway, making a left turn into your bedroom with your duffel bag in tow. Maybe he’s imagining it, but he swears he sees a trail of glitter and being sprinkled across the floor in your wake and cartoon-style steam billowing out of your ears. With you gone, he can finally think without a cloud of anger fogging up his thoughts. His first move is to turn on the lights in the kitchen and fish a cold beer out of the fridge. His second move is to lean back against the edge of the island and take a long sip of said beer as he gauges how much his gunshot wound hurts. Not that much. Listening to you give him shit over nothing was more painful than the bullet he took for you. God, you’re fucking infuriating. As much as he detests your presence here tonight, he still finds himself tuning an ear in your direction. He can hear you rummaging around in your room, presumably searching for something by the sounds of your sighs and various objects sliding across the carpet. For a second, his mind floats back to the first night you moved in. The soft moans and whimpers that fell from your mouth, quiet enough that he had to strain his ears to hear them but loud enough that he was able to fucking memorize them. His grip around the beer bottle tightens as he tries to focus on anything besides those sounds, anything besides the recurrent sighs traveling down the hall right now. What the hell are you even doing in there?

“Take off your shirt.” Your voice sounds out from down the hall, reaching Bucky’s ears and making him do a doubletake.

“Last time you saw me without one you asked why I never wear one.” Bucky points out, now he’s really wondering what you’re doing in your bedroom. He hears your socked feet pattering against the floor of the hallway just before you turn the corner and step into the kitchen. His eyes lock onto yours first, but then they quickly dart down to the compact, army green tactical bag in your hands. He recognizes it in an instant. “I think if I got myself shot, I can handle the wound care on my own, sweetheart.” Bucky throws your earlier words right back in your face. You narrow your eyes at him as you step up to the island and set the first aid bag just a few inches to his right. You’re silent as you unzip it and start pulling out a few supplies you’re sure you’ll need.

“Just take off your shirt and sit your ass on the island.” Your tone is really starting to convey how fed up you are with his shit. He thinks about arguing a little more, but he’s as ready to be done with you tonight as you are with him. He figures the fastest way to get this over with is to let you take a look at his wound and see how fast he’s already healing, and then you’ll leave him alone and you can go your separate ways for the night. So, Bucky turns and sets his now half-empty beer bottle on the island next to the first aid kit before grasping the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head. He drops it on the floor by your feet, watching with poorly masked amusement as your eyes rake over his toned shoulders, his chest, the rippled muscles of his abs, and then… “God, you should’ve gone to the hospital, Bucky.”

Though the lighting in the kitchen is pretty good, Bucky being so tall casts a shadow over his lower body, making it hard to get an illuminated view of the bullet’s exit wound. Your hand lands on his vibranium shoulder without hesitation and you tug him forward and to the side, urging him to turn around. He complies, gritting his teeth at the feeling of your palm and fingertips brushing over the scars where vibranium meets tortured skin. It doesn’t hurt, in fact, he finds himself annoyed at how soothing your touch feels. He wants this whole thing over with. You lean over to examine the entrance wound on the side of his lower back as Bucky runs a hand through his hair and squeezes his eyes shut. It doesn’t look anywhere near as bad as the exit wound on his frontside, which is exactly what you’d expected. You don’t give Bucky any warning as you swipe a pre-soaked pad of iodine over his wound to clean it. You want to check for bullet fragments, to give him a few stitches and maybe even a shot of a local anesthetic, but you’re sure he’d rather take another bullet than let you do any of that. So, you simply clean the wound and fashion a secure, waterproof bandage over it. When you stand up again and tap his shoulder, he turns back around to face you, looking even more annoyed than before. He doesn’t make a move to sit on the island, so you let out a frustrated sigh as you do the only thing you can think to do, the thing that Bucky wishes you hadn’t done. You sink to your knees in front of him.

You notice the way he draws in a deep breath and casts a displeased glance down at you, his eyes narrowed and brow furrowed, but he doesn’t move a muscle otherwise. You look up at him just for a moment, taking in his cold expression and everything below it…the taut muscles of his chest and abdomen, the way both of his hands are gripping the edge of the countertop, his beer long forgotten with you now on your knees. If you could hear his thoughts, you’d be hearing a chorus of not now, not now, not now as Bucky attempts to rationalize with his already-hardening cock. Bucky decides to give you thirty seconds to finish whatever the hell it is that you’re about to do down there before he pulls you up by your fucking hair. As if you can sense his short fuse, you get to work. Swiping the iodine pad over the significantly messier exit wound and then tearing open a packet of gauze with your teeth. You press a couple of the soft white squares against his still oozing wound and they quickly soak up the fresh blood, soaking through to your fingertips. Bucky’s wondering why you didn’t put on any gloves, aren’t people usually worried about catching some bloodborne illness when they do shit like this? The fact that his blood turning your fingertips red doesn’t even seem to bother you almost turns him on more. God, this is starting to feel a little bit too twisted. Bucky’s flesh hand moves on autopilot, his fingers coming to rest over yours as he applies more pressure to the wound and lets out a soft grunt at the pain. You let him hold your fingers there for a moment and you make the mistake of looking up at him again. Fuck. He can’t handle this. Bucky screws his eyes shut and tilts his head back a little, making sure when he opens his eyes again his only view will be of the ceiling above and not of you on your knees in front of him.

“Are you almost done?” He asks harshly, removing his hand from the top of yours and gripping the edge of the counter once more. You start fashioning another bandage out of gauze and medical tape as soon as his hand leaves yours.

“I would be if you’d sat on the island like I asked you to, you wanted to do this the hard way.” You retort. You can’t seem to get the tape in a good enough position, not with the waistband of his tactical pants in the way, so you take the initiative and curl two fingertips into them before tugging them down an inch. That one inch is enough to reveal the beginning of a v-line and your breath hitches in your throat. You’re suddenly all-too-aware of the compromising position you’re in. Even more than that, you’re aware of something you’d been completely oblivious to just a moment before: Bucky’s hard-on outlined through the fabric of his pants.

You’re frozen for a second too long and when you come to your senses once more, you look up to find Bucky staring down at you, his gaze a little less cold but every bit as intense. You decide that making eye contact with the man that you’re currently non-sexually on your knees for might not be the smartest move, so you’re quick to avert your gaze back to the task at hand. You’re able to get the bandage in the right place just fine after tugging his pants down an inch, and as soon as the tape sticks to his skin you rise to your feet. You’re the only thing standing between Bucky and the short walk to his bedroom door. You’re ready to collect your first aid kit and leave him standing in the kitchen to steep in his anger, but your mind can’t seem to get past the fact that he has a hard-on. He saw you staring at it too, and he simply stood there looking down at you, as if he was waiting to see how you’d respond to it. God, who the hell does he think he is? Crashing your solo op, taking a bullet for you like he’s some all-American hero, and then getting turned on by what? You giving him shit for it all?

Bucky’s waiting a bit impatiently for you to take your leave, for you to gather your medical supplies back into the little tactical bag and disappear into your bedroom for the rest of the night, leaving a trail of body glitter all over the kitchen and hallway. But instead of leaving, you’re standing in front of him, your eyes analyzing every twitch of the muscles along his jaw, every little move he makes with his eyes as he stares right back at you. Your boldness seems to intensify as you stand there taking in the sight of your roommate. You want the last word, and you want it to be something he’ll remember, so he doesn’t go screwing up your hard work ever again.

Leaning into Bucky’s space, you’re met with his intoxicatingly pleasant scent, he smells so uniquely like him. There isn’t any other way to describe it, it’s just Bucky. You brace your hands on the edge of the island on either side of him, your arms brushing against each of his as you rise up on your toes and position your lips so close to his ear that you could stick your tongue out and taste him if you wanted to. Fuck, you kind of want to. The thought only graces your mind for the briefest moment before you let your eyes flutter closed and focus on the anger you still feel bubbling up in your chest.

“Stay the fuck away from my solo ops.” You whisper softly but pointedly. Your bottom lip just barely grazes the shell of his ear as the last word leaves your mouth. That tiny, brief point of physical connection between the two of you is seemingly nothing, yet it sends a spark of electricity from your bottom lip all the way down to your toes.

Bucky’s form is rigid, trapped between you and the island, simultaneously hating and loving the position he’s been placed in. He wishes he only hated it. He wishes he could fist his hand in your hair and angle your head back until your neck is exposed to him like a blank canvas, ready for him to leave his mark. He wishes you would’ve locked yourself in your bedroom the moment you both got to the apartment, not even bothering to fish out your first aid kit and clean up his wounds. He wishes he’d never given you the idea to switch apartments with Vision, and yet, in this moment, his cock is harder than it’s ever been. That’s why when you let go of the island and turn away from Bucky, leaving your first aid kit on the countertop as you take the first step to leave the kitchen, Bucky reaches out and curls his hand tightly around your upper arm, stopping you in your tracks before using his grip to turn you back around to face him. In one swift motion, he tightens his hold even more and pulls you in until your chest is pressed against his and his warm breath is fanning across your face as he looks down at your widened eyes.

“I don’t take orders from people who don’t give a shit if they live or die.” Bucky spits, holding you against him for just a second after he’s spoken his piece, before dropping his hold on your arm and letting you stumble one step back. He expects you to maybe mutter something under your breath before stomping off to your room, annoyed that he didn’t let you have the last word, but you’re every bit as stubborn as he is. Every bit as stubborn and feeling like you have a leg up in the situation since you know what’s currently fighting to escape the confines of his tactical pants. A smirk tugs at the corners of your mouth as your eyes flit from his icy expression down to his waistband that sits right above the outline of his hard-on, and then back up to his eyes once more.

“Right, it’s probably bad form to take professional orders from someone you wanna fuck anyway.” When you say the word fuck, you let your eyes drift down to the front of his pants one final time, ensuring that he knows what led you to your choice of words. Now Bucky returns your smirk. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip as he shakes his head at you.

“That’s all adrenaline, sweetheart, nothing else.” His denial is both enraging and laughable. You tsk, closing the distance between the two of you one more time before reaching out with your right hand and letting the tips of your fingers, still tinged red with his blood, tap lightly over the center of his chest. He’s looking down at you, completely unable to force himself to look anywhere else, as you drag those fingers down his bare torso, so lightly that he feels goosebumps forming across the expanse of his skin. Your hand travels lower and lower, over the hills and valleys of his abs, ghosting over his navel, and down the thin trail of hair that leads straight to the thing you can’t stop thinking about. You let your fingertips skim over the fabric of his waistband just barely, just enough to really piss him off, and that’s when Bucky snatches your wrist away, his grip so tight that you’re sure it’ll leave a mark.

“Watch it.” He warns, with his eyes dark and narrowed as he casts you a disapproving yet sinful glance. You feel your bloodflow splitting in two directions, half of it rushing up to color your cheeks and the other have rushing down to pool low in your stomach, sending heat swirling between your legs. You swallow thickly. What the hell? Your body is clearly loving the way he’s talking to you and it’s pissing you off. You’re learning that you’re attracted to men with the unhealthiest of attitudes, and Bucky’s currently rising to the top of the unhealthy-attitude-yet-hot-as-fuck mental list that you’re keeping. He’s actually the only person on it. He just invented the list for you, in this moment, when he told you to watch it.

“I think I heard a button snap there, soldier.” You tease, letting your eyes flit down to the waistband of his pants again. Bucky’s jaw ticks as he flicks your wrist away from him and tries to ignore the new nickname you’ve decided to test out. How do you make such a common, simple title sound so damn filthy? Bucky thinks you could’ve actually heard the button of his tactical pants snap open, considering the way his cock has been twitching every time you open your mouth. He decides the only way for him to get out of this is to let you have the last word, so he stands there in silence as you study his tense face. He so badly wants to say something back, to anger you every bit as much as you’ve angered him tonight, but he knows how stubborn you are and every word he breathes will only keep you here in front of him longer. His tactic works like a charm and he watches with bated breath as you step away from him and take a few steps toward the hallway. You stop short right before disappearing behind the wall, looking over your shoulder and making eye contact with Bucky one final time.

“Let me know if you need any help with all of that uh…” You wave your hand around in the air as you refer to Bucky’s hard-on, with a near-permanent smirk plastered on your face. “Adrenaline. It’s the least I can do.”

Bucky’s left alone in the kitchen at last. He thought he’d feel instant relief once you left, but he doesn’t. He feels like he has a damn loaded gun tucked in the front of his pants. Let me know if you need any help? It’s the least I can do? Bucky has no doubt that you were simply being a sarcastic pain in his ass, but still. Your words were laced with innuendo and the sexual tension in the room was so thick that he could barely breathe. He is so beyond fucked.

---

The softest, sweetest little hum escapes your lips as your right hand moves of its own volition. The back of your hand feels the fabric of your cotton panties, which are a little bit damp even after you showered and changed into a fresh pair. The pads of your fingers are sliding back and forth along your folds, gathering your wetness and spreading it around, dragging closer and closer to your entrance with each downward sweep. When you let the tip of your middle finger dip down and inward, just barely entering where you’ve been feeling an empty sort of ache for the past hour, the steady string of hums and soft pants that were leaving your lips before become whispered moans. This is exactly what you needed.

Bucky’s fist is wrapped tightly around the shaft of his cock as he gives it torturously slow strokes from the base to the tip, prolonging his pleasure as long as he possibly can. He closes his eyes and instantly recalls the mental image of you on your knees at his feet, gazing up at him like you being in that position for him wasn’t at all out of the ordinary.

“Fuck.” Bucky groans lowly, speeding up the work of his right hand as his head presses back harder into his pillow. It’s burned into his eyelids, the image of you on your knees. It’s burned into his eyelids and he fears he’ll never be able to forget it. His brain takes the image and adds to it, evolving it to include your hands sliding up the fronts of his thighs and adding a flash of hunger behind your eyes. He gets far too close to finishing himself off too soon when he imagines you tugging on the waistband of his pants just like you did earlier, but enough to free his cock right there in front of you. God, he knows he’s well-endowed, but he can just picture how much bigger his dick would look if your hand was wrapped around it instead of his own. Another groan rumbles past his lips, louder this time, as he starts to lose a little bit of his self-control.

Bucky. His name is swirling around your mind for two reasons now. The first being that you’re touching yourself because of him. Because of the way he looked at you, talked to you, because of the way he pissed you off. You slowly pull two fingers out of your pussy and drag them upwards until you reach your clit, beginning to stimulate it a little too excitedly as the second reason presents itself again. He groans. Bucky Barnes groans for the second time. The first time that you heard it a few seconds ago you assumed he was rolling over in bed or maybe he accidentally laid in a way that aggravated his wounds from earlier tonight. But the second time you heard it you had no doubt about what he was doing. It has to be exactly what you’re doing, and you’re fucking thrilled. You know it isn’t the most honest or decent way to reach an orgasm, but hell, if he’s going to be so damn vocal with such thin walls, how can you resist? So, you rub circles against your clit, letting hushed pants and moans fall freely from your lips now, sure that Bucky’s too engaged in his own arousal to hear you.

You sound like a fucking goddess. Bucky doesn’t even take a moment to feel guilty, no, he only picks up the speed with which he’s desperately tugging on his cock to get to his release. A thin sheen of sweat has formed across his brow and his chest is burning with a mix of desire and near-hyperventilation as he touches himself and listens to the sinful sounds coming from across the hall. All cares have been thrown aside as yet another loud curse is torn out of him, and then an equally loud, provocative moan is returned from your room. That’s when Bucky’s eyes snap open and his thumb glides over the slit of his cock where precum has been steadily leaking out since your dangerous kitchen encounter earlier. If he’s being honest with himself, his dick has been leaking precum since you took the stage at the club earlier tonight. As the two of you exchange moans and broken swears through the walls, neither of you using an ounce of rational thinking, you race toward your separate releases simultaneously. When Bucky finally feels his balls tightening and his cock twitching against the palm of his tiring hand, his release comes at the sound of your final audible sentence of the night.

“Fuck, I’m cumming.”

You always get the last word.

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#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #mcu #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x you #marvel #the winter soldier #winter soldier #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes

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i23kazu · 8 months

Text

JUST GO TO SLEEP ALREADY!

characters. neuvillette & wriothesley x gn!reader genre. romantic fluff. an. preparing for my new school term............ thoughts n prayers peace n love | please reblog!! im getting back into writing and reblogs with tags and comments will make me want to write more :D

neuvillette, who watches you almost work yourself to the brink of tears because of your exams...

he doesn't... exactly know how to react. should he leave you alone? should he ask you to go to bed? was this even normal, in the first place?

after watching the circles under your eyes get more and more defined, he makes up his mind.

"my dear, please, for your own health's sake... go to sleep. i promise that things will be better for you when you wake up refreshed."

but this won't do! your paper needs to be turned in tomorrow night, and you've barely written the first 1000 words. it's not alright.

you want to cry.

neuvillette notices it, though. he sits down next to you, not saying a word.

"i'm stressed, neuvillette." you mumble, looking down at your laptop.

"i know that. but i can assure you that you're not going to get anything done when you're in such a state. i hate to see your sunshine get dulled, my dove – i promise, that when we wake up, i'll work with you." he smiles so sweetly, you want to burst into tears right then and there.

okay, maybe you did burst into tears right then and there.

he gathers you in his arms, wiping your tears away with his thumb. his voice is sweet and compassionate, his words contrasting his being – "i don't know what to say." turns into something that was exactly what you needed.

for a person who doesn't understand the complexity of human emotions and how they work ... neuvillette cares for you in a way that's wonderful.

"alright, alright, i'll go to bed. you promise you'll work with me tomorrow?" you sleepily whine, rubbing the remnants of your tears away from your eyes and closing your laptop.

"i promise, my dear."

wriothesley, who stares at you staring at your laptop. he's convinced that you haven't moved from that position in... maybe an hour?

were you even alive at this point?

"can you please just stop working and get to bed already?" wriothesley sighs.

"but i can't! it's due tomorrow. and i'm literally, like, about halfway through." you rub your eyes.

wriothesley wants to roll his eyes goodnaturedly at you. but he doesn't. he loves you too much for that, especially when you're too exhausted to comprehend anything else.

"alright, fine. but i'll stay here with you. would you like tea?" he runs his fingers through his hair, getting up from his position.

wriothesley doesn't wait for you to say anything – he knows what you want. he breaks out the selection of teas he kept in his office, going through each one to see which had caffeine and which doesn't.

he eventually returns to your working area, a pot of tea in one hand and two cups precariously stacked on top of one another. it's steaming hot, and he sets it down gently.

it's quiet and peaceful. there's nothing but the low hum of wriothesley humming a calming tune, and the sound of you typing away.

the tea doesn't seem to be working, though? your eyes grow heavier and your head seems to find its place on his shoulder. you swear, there's a soft hint of a smile on wriothesley's face.

his smile seems almost like a smirk.

and then it clicks.

"you planned this all along." you pout, rubbing your eyes tiredly. the tea that was chosen wasn't caffeinated, and his sweet humming... it was the perfect mix to lull you to sleep.

"of course i did. go to sleep, (y/n)." he chuckles, saving your essay and closing your laptop for you.

okay, maybe sleep did sound good ... especially if he carried you back to bed later.

taglist: @tiredsleep @loptido @raincxtter @chichikoi @ladyadii @soulsanta @sheiiths @genshinparty @eowinthetraveler @moonbyunniee @legitnoi @lemontum @manager-of-the-pudding-bank @starz222 @ilyuu @cherry-colored-petals @mondaymelon @tartaglia-apologist @soleillunne @m1shapanda @aimynx @smokipoki @adeptuscharm @diorlumx @vennnnn-diagram @ryuryuryuyurboat @yuminako @st0pthatsgay @aqualesha @sixtynintharchon @supernova25 @kunikuda-simp @starglitterz (send ask/comment to be added to taglist)

reblogs w/ tags & comments help me lots !!! if you liked this, please consider dropping me a follow as well :-) they all go a long way!

#astronetwrk #genshin x gn reader #genshin impact x gn reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x gn reader #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x gn reader #neuvillette fluff #wriothesley fluff #long post #[📝 stewardess' notepad!]

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ilovepedro · 3 months

Text

soft side | joel miller x f!reader

Valentine’s Masterlist | Main masterlist | Palestine

Please take some time to go through the Palestine links. If enjoy my writing, I ask you to help Palestine in any way you can.

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Word count: ~2.5k

Summary: You and Joel enjoy a quiet Valentine’s Day.

Warnings: no outbreak AU, pwp, established relationship, fluff, oral (f!receiving), fingering, squirting, cum eating, unprotected PIV (wrap it up y’all), creampie, praise kink, pet names (baby, darlin’, good girl), after care, reader has no description, no mention of hair type/body type/skin color, NO USE OF Y/N.

A/N: i haven’t written Joel in ages, so i’m a little nervous i can’t lie. i do have a dbf fic in the works for him, but he’s very intimidating since he’s so well-loved. i hope i did him justice 😭 anyway, i hope y’all enjoy! thank you for reading! as always, not beta’d - all mistakes are my own. 🏃‍♀️

Divider by @saradika-graphics

His truck is parked in the driveway. He’s home before you, something out of the ordinary with work being so busy all the time. You park your sedan beside his pickup and gather your belongings before heading to the front door. It’s oddly quiet as you shuck off your boots and toss your keys on its respective hook, save for the record player going in the living room.

Warmth glows throughout the house, painting the walls in a sepia hue.

Sauntering into the dining room, you spot a vase of tulips sitting atop the dining table. A card sits beside it, his chicken scratch scribbled inside.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, baby. Thank you for loving me and the girls the way you do. Don’t know what I did to deserve you. I love you.

-Love, J”

Your heart flutters at Joel’s sweet message, knowing he isn’t typically one for declarations. Rustling comes from the garage door, Joel trudging in with a bottle of that sweet wine you like.

“Hey, cowboy,” you mutter, grinning ear-to-ear. His head snaps up, a goofy grin crinkling his features.

“Hey, baby. Didn’t even hear ya come in. How long you been home?”

“Just got in.”

You waltz towards him as he sets the wine down on the table. His arms wrapping around you.

It’s instinctual.

Slotting your arms around his neck, you meet him halfway into a soft kiss. Melting into him, mindlessly carding your fingers through his hair as you kiss him sweetly, slowly – something you haven’t had a chance to do very often lately. Savoring every bit of him he has to offer.

“Hmm. It’s quiet. What’d you do to our girls, Miller?” You ask against his lips, Joel chuckling into you.

“At the movies with Tommy. Slipped him somethin’ so we could have the house to ourselves tonight. Should be back ‘round 9. ‘S a school night, but just wanted some time with my valentine,” Joel mumbles, his chocolate irises meeting your gaze.

Smirking, you hum in approval.

“Smart man,” you murmur before crashing your lips against his.

“Mhmm,” Joel agrees as he grins into the kiss. Both of you chuckling at his conniving plan.

“Missed you, cowboy. I feel like we haven’t had a moment alone in a while,” you utter as he places tender kisses on the column of your throat.

“Mmm. Missed you too, baby. Feel like I haven’t seen ya in ages,” he says into your skin, the two of you mindlessly swaying to the record playing in the living room. Unable to contain your laughter, Joel snaps his head up - his signature scowl returning.

“What’s so funny, darlin’?” He asks, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Nothing. You’re just… you're so… I like when you’re soft,” you timidly murmur in between giggles. His brows scrunch further, smirk pulled into a thin line.

“Soft? The hell you talkin’ about, darlin’?” Joel asks in genuine confusion.

“It’s not a bad thing, Joel. You’re just… real soft when it comes to me and the girls. It’s sweet,” you explain. He grunts.

Typical Joel.

“Well you three are the only people I care about,” he mumbles, his kisses resuming, nibbling on your neck. He draws out a breathy chuckle from you as your resolve slowly starts to crumble.

“Come on, Joel. I gotta make dinner,” you whisper, no conviction in your voice.

“Mmmm. ‘S alright. Already ordered us somethin’. ‘Sides - rather have dessert right now,” he rasps against your lips before smashing them together again. The kiss grows sloppy, heady, full of tongue and teeth. You moan into his mouth, feeling drunk just off his touch. He cups the back of your head while squeezing your waist with his other hand, leading you out of the kitchen.

“Lemme have my dessert first, baby,” he mutters before dragging you up the stairs. Drunk giggles bubble from your lips as he leads you to your shared room. Flinging the door open, Joel tosses you on the bed, diving into your neck as he litters kisses along your throat.

He nips at the spot beneath your ear, earning him a breathy moan. Soothing his bite marks with his tongue, he fumbles with the hem of your blouse. He tosses it over your head as you fiddle with the buttons on his flannel.

His rough hands undo the clasp of your bra, a moan breaching his chest as your breasts spill out of the cups. You slide off his flannel, revealing his taut chest and soft tummy, your mouth waters at the sight of him. Rugged and soft around the edges, you frantically undo his belt. A smug laugh rumbles from his chest.

“Eager now, ain’t ya, baby?” He teases, shucking off his jeans. He visibly twitches in his boxers, a damp spot of precum already leaking through. You palm him through the fabric, Joel groaning at your warm touch. Sitting up on your knees, you snake your hands up his torso and wrap them around his neck, slamming your lips together in another heated kiss.

“Want you in my mouth,” you rasp hungrily.

“Later, baby. Need to be inside you. Gotta get you ready for me first,” he grunts as he throws you back on the bed. In one swift move, he slides your trousers down your legs and discards them on the floor. He groans at the sight beholding him. Your lacey pink thong with a visible wet patch on them. He wildly yanks it off, nearly ripping the lace.

His lips ghost over your bare sex as he settles in between your legs. He peppers kisses along your thighs, his beard scratching against your skin.

“Joel,” you pant, plead. Your desire grows with every kiss to your thighs. He hums, the vibrations sending another wave of arousal to stick to your panties. His callused hands rest atop your tummy, settling your squirming.

“Joel, please,” your voice barely above a whisper. He laces his fingers with yours before diving in. Drowning in you, he moans at the taste of you. Savoring your tang on his tongue as he licks languid stripes up your glistening folds. Your wanton moans making his cock twitch, boxers growing messier with precum.

“Always taste so fuckin’ good, darlin’. So fuckin’ sweet,” he rasps before suckling your clit between his lips. You keen above him, arching your back into the mattress as your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“So fucking good, Joel. Feels so fucking good, oh my god.”

Mouth still wrapped around your precious pearl, he prods a thick finger at your entrance. Your eyes fly open, gasping at the intrusion. His thick, long fingers hardened by a long day at work always hit that spot in a way you never could. He groans as he watches you suck him in, gliding in with ease.

“Joel, oh fuck, Joel. More, please,” you beg, breathless as he brings you closer to your release. He slides in another finger, moaning into you as he watches them glisten every time he pulls them out, squelching around him with every pump. Crooking his fingers deeper, your moans grow pitchier with every stroke as he brushes your g-spot.

He releases your clit from his lips, licking hurried stripes through your folds, slurping up the juices that have pooled at his wrist.

“C'mon, baby. Can feel you squeezin’ my fuckin’ fingers. Fuck, can fuckin’ hear ya. Let go for me, darlin’. Come on my fingers, baby, let me have it,” he growls before flicking at your clit relentlessly. Your tummy clenches tightly, pressure bubbling over as you gush all over Joel’s mouth and fingers.

He groans as he skyrockets you into orbit. Floating around the sun, your vision burns hot and bright, body covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Joel hungrily, wildly drinks every drop before licking back up to your clit.

A puddle of your release gathers beneath you, it coats Joel’s wrist as it sticks to your thighs. Whimpering as you return to Joel, he releases your clit from his mouth and greedily licks up your slick from your thighs. Roaming up your body to meet your gaze, he brings two of his fingers to your mouth.

“Open for me, baby,” he snarls. You mindlessly obey, sucking in his slick-soaked fingers with heavy eyes. Moaning around him, savoring the taste of yourself.

Joel lets out a wrecked moan, his mouth gaping as you suck his fingers clean. Hastily removing them from your mouth, he hurriedly slips out of his boxers and kicks them off to the side. You catch glimpse of him through heavy lids, whining as he pumps himself, precum smeared along his throbbing length through gritted teeth.

You flinch when he lines himself up with your weeping cunt, clit throbbing as your breathing becomes even more ragged. Whimpers and moans reverberate off the walls as he slides home. Fluttering around him as he splits you open, tears prick your eyes. The sting heightens your pleasure. His cock kissing your cervix as you adjust to the size of him.

“Fuck, baby. Always so fuckin’ tight,” he grits, holding his orgasm at bay.

“Y-you’re so fucking big, Joel, holy shit,” you whine, gasping with every word.

His size is something you’ll never get used to.

He sloppily slots his lips against yours, the taste of you melding into the kiss. Threading your fingers through his salt and pepper curls, he groans into your mouth as you tug on them. His weight making the pressure in your tummy rise.

“Joel,” you whisper against his lips. He hums, capturing them in his again before you can speak. He smirks as you let out a hmph.

“Move. Please.”

Joel hisses as he slides out of you almost completely, before ramming back into you. Your back arches into his chest, his rough, large hands slitehering to cup the sides of your waist. Pinning you beneath him as he snaps his hips into yours. Nudging at that spongy spot with every thrust.

He’s incredibly deep, fucking an endless stream of whines and moans out of you. Gripping his broad shoulders for purchase, your nails drag down his back. You can feel him twitch inside you, his hips stuttering at the dull sting of your scratches.

“Pussy’s so fuckin’ good, baby. Best fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever had in my life. Good fuckin’ girl, takin’ all of me, squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight. You my good girl, baby? Huh?” Joel babbles, drunk off your pussy.

Your eyes struggle to stay open, every thrust sending you closer to the edge.

“Y-yes, Joel. Your good, fuck, your good girl,” you wail.

“‘S right. You’re mine. All fuckin’ mine, baby. So good for me. Wanna feel you soak my cock, baby. Come on my cock, baby. Need to feel you."

With no preamble, he brings his thumb to your clit.

“Joel!”

One stroke to your clit catapults you to your orgasm. Stars bursting behind your eyes, dizzy as he fucks into you harder and harder. You feel his cock twitching as he nears his own release.

“Gonna let me fill you up, baby? Gonna take all my cum like a good girl?”

“Yes, Joel! Fill me up! Please! W-wanna feel you dripping from me, please, Joel!” You scream as you ride out your high, tears streaming down your face.

“Fuck!” Joel barks, hips stuttering as he cums hard. Coating your fluttering walls with his cum, his guttural, drawn-out groan echoing in the room. The two of you ride out your highs together, babbling nothing but Joel Joel Joel as the sheets crinkle in your deathgrip.

He collapses on top of you, his weight pushing you further into the mattress. He can feel his cum seeping out of your throbbing cunt, but he can’t bring himself to pull out.

Not yet.

He catches your lips in a searing kiss, a silent check-in, bringing you back to him as you whine and writhe.

“I got ya, baby. I got ya. So good. Did so good for me,” Joel rasps, voice hoarse and mouth dry.

He slips out of you slowly, reluctantly leaving your warm, wet walls. Your cunt achy and puffy as it gleams in the setting sun that glows through the window. Both of you covered in sweat and sticky with cum.

Laundry definitely needs to get done tonight.

Before he rises from the bed, Joel revels in the sight before him. You swollen, shiny hole weeping with his cum. Diving in, he licks up your folds. A wail bursting deep within your chest as he cleans you up with his skillful tongue.

“J-Joel. Too much, baby. Too much,” you gasp, your clit stinging from the overstimulation. He pulls away, but not before he can stuff two fingers inside your pussy.

“Gotta keep you full of me. Want you to feel me drippin’ outta you tomorrow."

Moaning at the fullness, at his words, you helplessly keen as he shoves his cum back inside you.

“Good girl,” he rasps before slipping his digits out of you, he places a soft lingering kiss to your thigh. Sliding out of bed, he pads into the bathroom. The water runs as you lay sprawled out on the bed, legs like jelly and head spinning.

Returning with a warm washcloth, Joel carefully swipes between your thighs, gently cleaning up the mess you two made. You hum, the warm water soothing your aching legs and cunt.

He tosses the cloth in the laundry basket. Scooping you into his arms, you nuzzle into his chest. Basking in the warmth of his tender embrace. Smiling at the feel of his lips on your head.

“Love you, darlin’.”

Humming against his chest, you bring your eyes to meet his.

“I love you too, Joel. Best Valentine’s Day ever,” you giggle, Joel laughing along with you.

The doorbell rings, Joel sighing at the interruption.

“‘S the delivery guy. Let me go pay him, baby,” he rasps into your hairline, a bratty whine bubbling from your chest.

“I’ll be right back, darlin’, I promise,” he says as he slips from your grasp. Playfully smacking your lips, Joel rolls his eyes, smiling at your antics.

While Joel handles the delivery guy, you get up and strip the bed. Tossing the sheets into the laundry basket, you head into the hall to grab a fresh set. Making the bed with the new sheets, you sigh as you plop yourself on the mattress, snuggling under the blankets.

Joel clambers up the stairs and back into the room, pizza box in hand along with two glasses in one hand, the bottle of wine carefully resting atop of the box.

He sets it down on the dresser, pouring you each a healthy glass. He hands you a slice of pizza along with your wine, graciously thanking him with a smile on your face.

The two of you share the pizza on the bed, sidled beside each other as you debrief your days. As Joel goes for another slice, he stops in his tracks.

“Why’d you strip the bed?”

“Huh?” You ask through a mouthful of pizza.

“Why’d you strip the bed?”

“Oh. Well… it was messy. I thought I’d clean up,” you explain through your muffled mouth.

“And who said I was done with ya, darlin’?”

tag list: @nostalxgic @honeyedmiller @gracieheartspedro @undrthelights @harriedandharassed @pedrostories @morallyinept

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller tlou #ilovepedro valentine’s day series

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unorthodoxx-page · 2 months

Text

A Tale of Spirits Status and Other Updates (Long Post)

I've gotten a lot of questions about A Tale of Spirits and its hiatus status over the past few days (months lol). I've been mulling over this post for a while now, avoiding it if I'm honest, but I've gotten to a point where even I can't avoid the writing on the wall.

So, let's start with what's holding me up. Over the last ten-eleven months, I've been dealing with a nerve issue in my wrists and hands (both, if you can believe it). Now it's nothing super serious (we haven't had any surgery talks, thank God), but it bothers me constantly throughout the day, and having an office job doesn't really help. It's crazy to go through some of these older Tumblr posts because my hands were bothering me even then, but I didn't want to admit it.

Long story short, I feel like I'm caught in this...loop of trying to heal. I'll have really good, consecutive days, and when I think I'm on the right track, something happens, and I'm pulled right back into it. It's frustrating, demoralizing, and terrifying all at once. I try not to spiral into worst-case scenarios with this whole thing, but my hands are numbing while I'm typing this. So....yeah, it's slowed my writing practically to a halt. I can bang out a couple hundred words here and there and focus on one-offs since they don't feel so...daunting, but chaptered anything mentally makes my hands twitch. My long sessions are gone at the moment and this leads me to that writing on the wall I mentioned earlier.

I don't know when A Tale of Spirit will return.

Man, that hurts to type. ATOS has been a part of my life for almost two years now. I've grown so much from this story, and my writing has evolved so much from this story. I have so much fun with ATOS. I mean, that's the point of fanfic, but I have fun with ATOS. I go back and reread parts, and I laminate past narrative choices as if those words are written in stone. I snicker while working out dialogue and really (and I mean really) let loose with action choices and experiment.

Hell, I have AUs of this AU on my drive lol. I owe a lot of my growth and confidence to ATOS. I mean, I read every comment and every Tumblr message (and I mean every comment). The support and love this story has received makes me believe that I'm not as terrible of a writer as I thought, that I might actually hack it in the literary world, so it's devastating that I can't put all my energy into this or my personal work.

To be honest, I'm still halfway in denial. I know I'm going to finish this story eventually. I love it too much, but I can finally admit that I'm not sure when that 'eventually' will be. Geez, I should've written this a while ago, but denial is a blinding thing.

I tackle writing when I can, but the nerve thing has thoroughly pulled me into a slump.

I'm going to update ATOS to say indefinite hiatus and put this same message on AO3.

I'm not saying goodbye to ATOS. I was deep in my unposted arcs before all of...this reached a peak even I couldn't ignore. I was really doing something with April, Zuko, and Suki (fun dynamic, by the way). Azula's been fun to play with, and angry, fed-up turtles have been a challenge in a half, so I want you guys to see that one day.

So, there it is. I know this is closure for some of you, and you all deserve to know what's going on with ATOS. I know this update will be a relief for some of you because now, there's no more guessing. The dreaded 'indefinite' has been typed and sealed in digital ink (dramatic, I know).

I'm going to leave it here because I don't know how to end this post. I'll be around, lurking in possible (short) one-shots and slowly chipping away at ATOS. So, until then, rest, rehabilitation, and copious amounts of books and music to listen to.

See you soon.

#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #crossover #fanfiction #fanfic #atla #a tale of spirits #crossover fanfiction #atos #a tale of spirits question #a tale of spirits update #fanfiction update #health issues are the worst #this literally pains me to write #i'm not abandoning it #hiatus announcement #avatar the last airbender drill

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its-time-to-write · 11 months

Note

Omg I'm loving your response to my prompts!! thank you

I have a few ideas (You don't have to do them all) just throwing them out there to see what sparks ideas!!

I love secret admirer stories (I know its no where close to valentines day but still) maybe Reader is Rebecca's assistant and keeps getting gifts leading up to valentines day but she is pretty sure its like Sam or Isaac and tells friend Jaime (even though its really him) then the day of the grand finale and she comes to the lovely surprise of it being Jaime!

also if you could include Scarlett red roses in it for me (They are my favorite flower and the only flower I'm not allergic to)

So. I liked this one. Maybe too much? It might be the longest one I’ve written so far, so, uh, sorry about that. But I liked it a lot. It might be one of my favorite things I’ve ever written. Hope you enjoy. also the gif isn’t Jamie Tartt but it is Phil Dunster so hopefully that’s ok

honey, i’ll give you all my time

Good god, it’s February all ready. You have a love-hate relationship with the month; love, because Galentine’s Day and hate because Valentine’s Day. You and your friends would go out on February 15th to get discount chocolate from the shops, then return home for an ungodly amount of takeout and a movie. On the whole, you all preferred action movies with a good romance.

You’re dreading Valentine’s Day because it’s when your boyfriend of two years held your hands in his, and told you he wanted to break up.

That was a year ago. You’re mostly angry that he’s a dark stain on one of your favorite holidays. You’re absolutely determined not to let him ruin your enjoyment.

This is also the first year you’re not with your friends. You moved away last March because you realized your ex had been holding you back in far too many ways.

So. To recap.

You’re alone. You love Valentine’s Day, despite it forever being the day of your breakup. Your friends aren’t here. You have new friends. There is no one to go to the shops with on the 15th. But discount chocolate is still discount chocolate.

Your current job is as a personal assistant, something you excel at. You basically anticipate needs, meet them, and just generally make your employer’s life a whole lot easier. The application said the job required a lot of travel, but all expenses (minus some food) were covered.

You were shocked when you got an interview, then a second, then a third, then were hired.

Your boss is a woman named Rebecca Welton, and you’re half in love with her, but who isn’t, really?

You swear you’ve never been in such a healthy work environment. You mention it one day, early on, and she says it’s all thanks to their head coach, someone named Ted.

You meet him for the first time later that day, and you understand.

It’s impossible not to love him, because he has vision. He knows what he wants from his team, and he knows how to get it.

He believes the team extends far beyond the players.

He believes it extends to you, too.

Ted and Coach Beard steal you from Rebecca as often as they can, claiming emergencies such as “a toxic amount of testosterone from all these boys,” “life-threatening boredom,” and last but not least, “there’s a new pun Ted absolutely needs to test right now and he won’t take no for an answer.”

(You like to give Ted honest feedback on his puns.)

You also find yourself in their office when Rebecca is out for lunch, eating your respective sandwiches and swapping life stories.

They remind you a lot of your parents.

It’s mid-June when you mention the Valentine’s Day story.

It doesn’t hurt as much when it’s punctuated by Ted’s “he didn’ts” and Beard’s perfectly-timed gasps.

You find yourself laughing halfway through, unable to stop.

“And anyway,” you finish, cheeks painful from smiling so hard, “that’s why romantic love is a joke and I am drowning myself in platonic love forever.”

Ted and Beard share a look. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Beard says.

You shoot him a quizzical look. “What do you mean?”

“Well sweetheart,” Ted says, “between the two of us collectively,” here points between him and Beard, “we know of at least three of the boys on the team who are madly in love with you.”

“What?” you gasp, “How did you- where did you- who??”

Ted zips his lips and Beard tips a finger to him. “We know of five if we count Rebecca’s intel.”

You’re sitting cross-legged on the edge of Beard’s desk, in shock. “Rebecca knows about this??”

Ted and Beard shrug in unison. “We all have our opinions on which one should shoot their shot, but that’s neither here nor there,” Ted says.

“Coincidentally, it’s the one thing we unanimously agree on,” Beard nods.

You’re cut off from saying anything by the door opening. One of the players stands in the doorway.

“Excuse me, coach,” he says, accent thick.

Ted motions in a you have the floor type of way, and the footballer turns to address you of all people. “We’re all goin’ out tonight, and Keeley sent me to invite the new girl. None of the lads have really met you yet, just seen you ‘round. Thought it might be good for team bonding, or something. I’m Jamie, by the way.”

“Oh,” you say, taken aback. “I guess- yeah, I guess I haven’t really met them. I mean, I see you guys around and stuff and I’m at your games, but I don’t really know you. Are you sure you want me to come?”

Jamie shrugs. “Coach is always on us about bein’ a team or some shit. And, havin’ a girl around makes the lads look good.”

You think that makes sense, and then find yourself agreeing to go out that night with a group of footballers you don’t know, and (thank god) Keeley Jones.

You’re going to figure out which five before the summer’s over.

—

You have nice time out with the lads. They go to a bar and cram into separate booths. You’re wedged in between two who have introduced themselves as Isaac and Dani, and across from Sam, Bumbercatch, and Jan Maas. Roy, Richard, and a few others you don’t know are milling about, and you see Jamie and Keeley at a table, surrounding by giggling girls. The sight is so absurd that you catch yourself smiling and turning back to whatever conspiracy Bumbercatch is telling you about now.

—

You put Sam at the top of your list as soon as you get home. The man wears his heart on his sleeve, or maybe in his eyes, but you’re positive that he’s one of the five Ted and Beard referred to. One down, four to go.

—

It’s the end of July, and you begin to become friends with the team. You know for an absolute fact who is not interested in you, Jamie being one of them. Coincidentally, he’s the one you become closest to. You think it’s because you’re not worrying about sending mixed signals or leading him on. You dropped public hints about not really looking for anything romantic, just to be sure you wouldn’t hurt anyone.

As it is, Jan Maas and Dani have made the list. Jan Maas, because he stifled his Dutch bluntness for you and Dani, because he openly declared he was madly in love with you in front of the whole team.

—

Isaac makes the list in December. It had been in between him and Bumbercatch, but Isaac was the one who walked you to your car every night and the first one to say hello to you every morning.

You’re not gonna lie, it was cute.

You shared some of this with Ted and Beard, who remained impressively stone-faced. Rebecca proved to be equally impervious.

You shared all of it with your lunch-buddy-turned-work-bestie, Jamie.

You ate with him because Rebecca was constantly in lunch meetings these days, and Ted, Beard, and Roy were always revamping their football strategies.

Jamie would plop down at your table and say, “What’s the news, Amy Hughes?” in his perfect Mancunian accent, and then listen/add commentary to whatever you had to say.

You explained to him that the reason you wanted to know who liked you was so that you could be extra careful with their hearts. You knew what it was like to be led on, and you did NOT want to do that to someone else.

Jamie nodded thoughtfully at that and then said, “We’re all footballers though, ain’t we? We get the shit end of the stick all the time, hearts broke by models and whatever. Even ends up in the fucking press. Everyone here’s has their heart broken before, and we all know you aren’t doing it on purpose.”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “I’m pretty sure it’s short end of the stick, Jamie.”

And thus begins your lunch hour of bickering.

—

No one has made a move on you yet, and you don’t have a read on number five. You still think it may be Bumbercatch, but in reality, it slips from your mind. Sam’s moved on, Jan Maas has accepted defeat, Dani swears he will love you until the day he dies, and Isaac stays, well, Isaac. Still sweet. Still walking you to your car, coming round extra early in the morning with a coffee or a water, depending on which “looked less like shit.”

Really though, you don’t think about it until February first, when you walk into your office to a small box on your desk.

At first, you think it’s a box of Ted’s biscuits.

Then, you notice a small, scarlet-red rose taped to the top. There’s no note, and all that’s inside is a tiny paper heart.

It’s folded with extreme care, and you place it on your shelf, smelling the rose. It smells amazing and you make a mental note to figure out where the heck it came from. But for now, it’s time to work.

—

You don’t mention the gifts until February third, because now there’s been one a day. Each one with a scarlet red rose, and a different gift. Yesterday was an incredibly expensive bar of chocolate (it was life-changing) and today is a tiny gold bracelet.

It’s a simple enough chain, but it is absolutely breathtaking. There is no mistaking the fact that it is not cheap, so you take it and march straight to Rebecca’s office.

“Rebecca,” you say, hands outstretched, “look.”

She does, smiles, then says, “It appears you have a secret admirer.”

“But I don’t want that!” you cry. “I don’t even have time for that! I don’t even like anybody right now!”

She peers at you over her glasses. “Don’t you?”

The sheer weight of those words is enough to physically knock you back two steps.

You don’t, you swear you don’t, you’re absolutely sure.

What about Vienna? a voice in the very back of your head nags.

You reply, out loud, “We don’t talk about Vienna,” and Rebecca just shrugs.

“Have it your way,” she replies in a tone that means this conversation is over, but you’re the one ending it.

You turn on your heel and find yourself taking the route to Ted and Beard.

You burst into their office in such a flurry that the entire room turns to look at you. “Close the door,” you say with such urgency, that Trent hurries to comply. Beard even shuts the blinds.

“What’s on your mind, Ollie Cline?” Ted asks.

“Wait,” you say, holding up a hand. You point to Roy. “Do you want to be here? It involves feelings.”

“Fuck no,” says Roy, “thanks for being fucking considerate.” He follows it up with a pointed glare at Ted, then goes into his office and firmly shuts the door.

“Can he be here?” Ted asks, tilting his head toward Trent.

“I don’t care, he’s probably a good one to have around for this because look!” You present the three collected roses and the bracelet.

“Someone’s started leaving me gifts, and I’m pretty sure it’s a Valentine’s thing because of the roses, and it was fine for the first two days but this is expensive, and I can’t accept this!”

Ted and Beard share a look. You hate it when they do that and leave you out.

Ted sighs. “Listen, do you think this about Vienna?”

You fix him with a glare. “No. We are not talking about Vienna ever again.”

Trent pipes up, “What’s Vienna?” and you wheel around on him, taking your glare with you.

“Vienna," you spit, like it’s poisonous, “is a terrible, awful place where people think terrible, awful things. I never want to talk about it again and I never will.”

Trent nods. “Noted.”

You turn back to Ted and Beard, pleadingly. “What do I do? Tell me what to do.”

Beard gets up and puts his hand on your shoulder. “Kid, if you want my advice, take the damn roses and wear the damn bracelet. These boys make more money than they know how to spend, so just let it go. They all know how you feel about dating, so if someone’s shooting their shot, they know the stakes.”

You shake your head. “Fine. Fine. I’ll let it go.”

—

You decide to tell Jamie on day five, because it’s a Friday and you’re dying to get his take. You tell him everything, show him the roses in your office (hanging upside down to dry), and then hand him the notebook that was in today’s box.

“Jamie,” you say, “this is an expensive notebook. There was a typed note inside that said, ‘for your drawings.’ How did this person even know I like drawing? I never talk about it!”

Jamie looks at you and laughs a little. You’re very flustered for something most people would enjoy. “Dunno, love, but we’ve all seen the sticky notes you leave Coach. That might be it.”

You groan and flop down into your chair.

“At least tomorrow’s the weekend,” you say.

—

Jamie’s phone dings at 9:00am on Saturday with a text from you that says, what the actual heck and a picture of a brown bag at your doorstep. Inside is a plastic box of your favorite lemon muffin from a local bakery. He emphasized the image, then waits for your response.

It was still warm, you write. It was someone who knows where I live and knows what time I leave to get breakfast.

Jamie grins and sends you a shrugging emoji, and you respond with an eye roll and a you’re no fun.

Jamie reads that and privately disagrees. He thinks he’s lots of fun

—

You’re pretty sure it’s Isaac. After all, he’s the only likely candidate. He’s one of the few who knows where you live and knows your routine. Not in a creepy way, in a we’re-good-friends type of way. You bring this up to Jamie, after personally banning all talk of this with Ted, Beard, and Rebecca. Stupid Vienna. You should never have told them.

Jamie shrugs for the millionth, infuriating time. He’s been noncommittal this whole time. You’re over here pouring out your heart and soul, considering whether you like Isaac romantically or not, and all he can say is, “I dunno?”

This is not the Jamie Tartt you’ve become best friends with.

That Jamie would be down to hunt this secret admirer with you. That Jamie would be helping you figure out if Isaac had a chance with you. That Jamie would be way more engaged than the one sitting in front of you right now.

But, you suppose maybe that Jamie died in Vienna, so you stop bringing it up.

—

It’s day ten. Valentine’s Day is in four day, and you’re nervous.

You’ve decided you don’t like Isaac like that, mainly because it shouldn’t take you that long to decide if you like anyone. There has to be an initial spark, and you shouldn’t try to manufacture it.

Still, you’re not sure it is Isaac, so you’re not going to say anything about it. The scarlet red roses hang on your office wall, permeating the room with their scent.

You feel like you’re dying.

This is a cruel joke and you’re dying.

The building is basically empty right now. Rebecca and Higgins have some meeting, the team is on the pitch (including Will) and various other staff are somewhere far away from you. So, you jump a little when Trent Crimm comes tripping into your office.

“Vienna,” he says, no greeting. “If you didn’t want to talk about it, you wouldn’t have told anyone. I’m assuming you do want to talk about it, but you don’t want judgement from the people you love. I’m here to offer my services as a neutral party.”

You look at him. “Trent. You are a journalist. Your whole job is writing down people’s secrets. Why on earth would I talk to you about the worst day of my life?”

Trent shrugs. “I’m good at keeping secrets. This would be off the record. I’ve never lied to people about off the record, also. I consider it bad journalism.”

You consider this for a moment, then sigh.

“Alright,” you concede. “At least if this gets out, I know whose head I’m shaving in retaliation.”

Trent looks at you in surprise, seeing you in a whole new, slightly threatening light.

“It happened two months ago. It was around Christmas, and I didn’t have anywhere to go…”

—

Your family all had their own separate plans that Christmas. Plans that didn’t really involve you. Same with your friends. You said something casually to Rebecca, and the next day she told you she had booked you a trip to Vienna. Call it an early Christmas present, she said. It was at the Aumaris Vienna, and it was gorgeous and ridiculously out of your budget, but she said you worked hard and gave her peace-of-mind, and you can’t really put a price on that, can you?

So you went.

But here’s the thing.

Someone else didn’t have Christmas plans.

So when you brought up your trip at your daily lunch, said someone else casually asked, can I come?

You almost choked on your sandwich.

Because here’s the other thing.

You were, maybe, kind of, possibly just a little bit head over heels in love with this someone else.

You’re not sure when it happened, really, just that it was probably in August and that it was soul-crushing because you knew for an absolute fact that he did not, and never would, feel the same way.

You didn’t tell anyone except Keeley, but under the condition that she just let you say it and that she never, ever give you a response to it. Just listen.

She did, but you were pretty sure she almost combusted.

But who are you to say no when Jamie Tartt invited himself on your luxurious Christmas vacation saying, I’ll pay extra to get a plane ticket next to you?

You were doomed from the start.

To make matters totally and impossibly worse, he couldn’t find another room.

He had his tickets, but the hotels, he said, were packed.

It was Christmas, after all.

So that’s how you ended up in a luxury hotel with Jamie Tartt for a week and a half, one day of which was Christmas.

You know the, “there was only one bed” trope that everyone thinks is so cute?

It was that, but only if you add deep, shattering heartbreak to it.

Because every night, you had to listen to Jamie say, “goodnight, love,” and then get into that giant, soft bed as far away from him as you could manage.

Every morning you woke up to the pillow barricade long gone, one of his arms thrown around you. Or one of your legs on top of his. Or a million different scenarios where you end up literally asleep together, some weird gravity pulling you to each other.

You were falling so hard and so fast, that you felt like the air was knocked from your lungs when Jamie started talking about the girl he liked.

“She’s just so fucking beautiful,” he’d say, staring at an Alpine mountain. Or, “Swear she’s the smartest fucking person I’ve ever met,” while traipsing through the city. Or, “Pretty sure she’s ruined me for everyone else,” while getting facials at the hotel spa.

To be fair, you were the one who teased him into admitting he liked someone.

You just didn’t expect it to hurt so much.

The entire trip felt like heaven and hell had simultaneously converged on you, and you never wanted to leave but also desperately counted the days till it was over.

You came back and broke down in Rebecca’s office. Ted and Beard were there. The whole thing came spilling out, about how you loved the trip so much it felt like your heart would explode but that Jamie loved someone else.

They all exchanged looks amongst themselves and did their best to comfort you.

You pulled yourself together and they promised never to say anything to anyone.

—

“So that’s Vienna,” you finish.

Trent is just staring at you, mouth slightly agape.

He finally says, “My god, that’s fucked,” with such emotion that you decide right then and there that you like Trent Crimm and his rainbow mug.

Now, you just shrug. “I did it to myself, honestly. That’s why I’m tripping out about this secret admirer thing. And god, Trent, the roses. They’re so beautiful and it’s so romantic, and whoever it is obviously knows me well so there’s a part of me that wants to like this person, but…” you trail off.

“But there’s a part of you that’s hoping against hope that Jamie’s behind it all,” Trent finishes.

You let out a little laugh. “Yeah, that about sums it up.”

Trent looks at the roses, then at you. “Maybe you should talk to Jamie,” he says, gently.

You reply with a forceful, “No,” and then follow up with a small, “That’s what Ted and Rebecca say, too.”

Trent stands up, shrugs, says with a small smile, “Just a thought,” then he’s out the way he came.

—

It is Valentine’s Day. And it’s a Sunday, which means you are legally required to stay in bed until 10, at which point you will get out only to make yourself decent enough to go buy a good cup of coffee and maybe (definitely) something to eat.

You’ve just finished putting on your shoes, when there’s a knock at the door.

You take a breath, and get ready to let down your secret admirer as gently as possible.

You swing open the door to reveal-

“Jamie! What are you doing here?”

Jamie Tartt is on your doorstep, hands behind his back, looking shyer than the day you first met.

He opens his mouth and says the last thing you’d ever expect:

“D’you remember Vienna?”

Your heart, which had already been going fast because his dumb floppy hair was all dumb and floppy in his stupid, cute headband, is now working double time. You manage a nod.

Jamie takes this as permission to continue. “D’you remember how I couldn’t get another room, no matter how hard I tried? That wasn’t true. I could’ve.” He pauses, and you wait for him to continue.

“And d’you remember when we met, when I told you Keeley told me to invite you out? That was a lie too.”

You tilt your head, confused. He keeps going.

“Look- I fucked it. I fucked it a million times and I told Ted and I told Beard, but they kept helping me un-fuck it and giving me chances, and then Rebecca bought two tickets to Vienna and slipped me the other one, and they all told me I had a perfect shot.”

You’re still not understanding what he’s saying. He might as well be speaking another language. Jamie sees the confusion in your eyes, takes a breath, and tries again.

“Keeley told me to invite you out, but only because I’d seen you around and thought you were fit. Then Isaac and all the lads thought the same thing, so I didn’t even get to fuckin’ sit with you. And then you started sayin’ things about not bein’ ready for a relationship, so I tried to let it go. I really fucking tried. But I just couldn’t. Your eyes are too sparkly and your laugh is too fucking cute and I couldn’t let it go, so I started eating lunch with you and you fucking let me. I knew the moment I said anything about liking you, it was over.”

Comprehension has started to dawn, but you push down hope until Jamie’s done speaking.

“Everyone told me to shoot my shot in Vienna. We shared a bed, for fuck’s sake.” Here, Jamie looks bewildered. “But I dunno, I didn’t want to make shit weird. So when you asked if I liked anyone I said yeah, and started fuckin describing you, but you never fucking picked up on it. That’s when I got the idea to try one more time. All by meself, no help from anyone else. So…yeah.”

Jamie Tartt is standing on your porch confessing his love for you on Valentine’s Day and it is not a dream, because if it were your teeth would be falling out and his hair would probably be neon pink.

“I’m an idiot,” you breathe. “You like me? Like, like-like me?”

Jamie quirks a smile at that. “Not quite, darling. Pretty fucking sure I love you.” He pulls his hand from behind his back to reveal a bunch of scarlet red roses. The same from each gift.

“Got these for you,” he says. “D’you know how hard it is to get red roses in February?”

You don’t answer him because you’re leaping into his arms, kissing him like you’ve thought about doing every day for what feels like forever. He’s kissing you back, hand with the flowers pressed against your back, other hand in your hair.

“I love you too, Jamie,” you whisper against his mouth. He smiles and pulls you in again.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

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daddy-dins-girl · 4 months

Text

Talk Me Down

A fic requested by @anotherpedrolover

I was gonna wait until Frankie Friday (tomorrow) to post this, but this sweet human being has already waited like 2 months for me to finish this, lol, so here you go! I was asked to write a fic about insecure!Frankie who has some self-esteem/body image issues but after being with Reader (who is very appreciative of his body) he gets into it and develops a bit of a praise kink for it but but he hits a rough patch and gets into a dark place, feeling very undeserving of the love and attention Reader gives him. The person who made the request asked me to focus on his feelings and emotions when he is feeling bad and insecure (and specifically asked for some tears to be shed, lol) so I did my best to beat the crap out of Frankie (emotionally).

I hope this is somewhat what they had in mind and that they like it :) I've never really written anything like this (PWP queen over here) so I hope I got it right and didn't make Frankie too OOC. Hope you all enjoy it!

Page dividers provided by the gracious and talented @saradika-graphics

Ao3 link

My Masterlist Word Count: 9.8k Fandom: Triple Frontier (Frankie Morales x f!Reader) Notes: Pre/No TF Mission. Fic title is from the song of the same name by Troye Sivan. Warnings: 🔞 18+MDNI. Angst. Drama. Body Insecurity/Self-esteem issues. Praise Kink. Smut (pretty tame and not a lot, considering its me lol, but its there). Sad!Frankie. Mid-Life-Crisis!Frankie. Emotional hurt/comfort. Eventual happy ending. Established Relationship. No use of y/n. No physical description of Reader.

“Babe, have you seen my -“ you cut yourself off mid sentence as you turn the corner and your eyes land on your boyfriend, leisurely sprawled on the couch with his legs up on the ottoman, ankles crossed over each other and television remote firmly in hand while a baseball game plays in the background.

“Are you serious?”

“What?” Frankie asks, incredulous.

“We have to be at Will and Benny’s in like…” you pause to look at your watch. “Fifteen minutes! And what is that… are you eating the potato salad I made?”

“Was I not supposed to?” Frankie responds, forkful halfway to his mouth again already.

“Oh my god” You shake your head. You literally can’t with him today. You made that for the barbecue pool party today and now it was nearly half gone.

“Nevermind, let’s just go” you huff. You’re not in a great mood and maybe you’re being a little bitchier than usual thanks to this god awful heatwave but Frankie wasn’t helping matters any.

“I’ll be in the car” you grumble towards his general direction as you head out the front door. At least there’s A/C in the Jeep.

Surprisingly he doesn’t keep you waiting long. He’s shoving his slides on his feet as he hops down the front steps only a minute or so later and then jumps into the driver’s seat next to you, buckling his seatbelt and the two of you head out of the driveway.

“See, plenty of time” He grins at you when you pull up to the outside of your friends house a short while later with actually a few minutes to spare before your requested arrival time. You had attempted to stay mad at him, neither of you speaking more than one or two words the entire drive but now with that stupidly adorable smirk on his face you have no choice but to want to kiss it off of him. Despite your best efforts, a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth.

“There it is” his grin widens as he brings a hand up to pinch at your cheek and you playfully swat him away, trying and failing to hold back a little laugh.

“Baby I don’t know what you think we’re gonna miss anyway. It’s my birthday party. They literally can’t start without me”

“Francisco Morales, you’re going to be late to your own funeral, you know that don’t you?” You shake your head at him but the smile hasn’t left your lips.

“Oh baby we’re gonna be real late if you keep that ‘Francisco’ talk up” he says, wiggling his eyebrows at you and reaching over the center console to grab a handful of your upper thigh. “Maybe we skip the party all together, you give me my birthday present early, hmm?”

“Get out of the car you perv!” You laugh, giving him a playful shove. “Are you sure you’re turning 40 and not 14?”

“All right, all right I’ll behave” He sighs, hands up in the air to signal his defeat.

You’re glad he seems like he’s in a better mood so far today. He’s been a little off the last couple of days and you can’t say why. You’ve asked a few times if something was bothering him but he kept shrugging you off, insisting everything was fine. You chalked it up to maybe just work stress and are hoping now that the weekend is here that he’ll be able to just relax and have a great time with his friends.

Despite you being early, the party is actually in full swing on your arrival. You and Frankie let yourselves in through the back gate where the backyard is filled with several of Frankie’s (and now yours, you supposed) friends milling about. The ones you recognize immediately are his old military unit; Santiago, Benny, Will and Tom, as well as Will’s girlfriend and Tom’s wife. There are a few other people around you’ve definitely met before but can’t place all of them. Either way, you’re glad to see so many people have shown up for Frankie on his big day.

The space is decorated too with balloons everywhere, a giant banner that reads “Happy Birthday Fish!” and a big poster board is taped up against the side of the house as soon as you walk in that has pictures of Frankie and his family and friends all over it with the title “40 Years In The Making” written at the top in huge block lettering. You and Frankie both take a moment to look over the board before anyone deeper inside the yard notices you yet. There are a bunch of photos from his younger military days and even a few from when he was just a boy that have you gushing over him, telling Frankie how adorable he was and pinching his cheek for good measure. You spot a couple of pictures of Frankie having fallen asleep at a party (something he’s been known to do) with his signature ball cap pulled down over his face and beer bottle loosely gripped in his hand and those give you both a good laugh. There’s two photos of you and him together, you notice, and your personal favourite picture of Frankie - him flying his helicopter wearing a pair of Aviators, looking so sexy it makes you melt each time you see it.

You safely assume the wife and girlfriends of Frankie’s closest pals were mostly to thank for the decorating. If it were up to the boys there would be a folded table in the middle of the backyard with a pack of cards and a cooler full of beer and that would be it.

“There he is!” Benny shouts across the yard the moment he spots you both just inside the gate. He dashes across the patio and throws his arms around Frankie, nearly knocking him over in the process before landing a few hard slaps to his back. “Happy birthday ya old fuck” he teases, grabbing on to Frankie’s shoulder and jostling him slightly.

“Yeah, yeah, it’ll be your turn soon enough” Frankie reminds him but Benny just shrugs.

“Always be younger than you though” he winks and that earns him a little shove from Frankie.

The rest of the greetings go more or less the same way, playful teasing or ribbing on Frankie for turning the big “4-0”. It gets old quickly but if it bothers Frankie he doesn’t let it show, just takes it in stride as he makes his way through the small crowd and says his hello’s.

By the time you get home much later that night you’re exhausted. It’s late and the day had been long (and hot in that blistering sun). Add to that you’re sober whereas everyone around you had been thoroughly wasted which made the night seem to drag on even longer. You wanted Frankie to have a great time, it was his birthday after all, so you offered to drive you both tonight and somehow that had turned into you offering to be an Uber driver for half the party so instead of it taking ten minutes to get home it had taken an hour.

“I’m beat” you announce through a long drawn out yawn, stretching tired limbs over your head. “You wanna come to bed with me, birthday boy?” You ask playfully, walking up to Frankie and looping your fingers through the belt loops of his tan cargo shorts to tug him a little closer, hoping he catches on that you’re not that tired.

“Think I’m gonna shower, I hate smelling like chlorine” he complains, gently taking your hands and removing them from his waist. “You go on, I won’t be long” he promises before leaning forward and planting a kiss to your forehead.

“Baby,” you whine, a masterful pout displayed on your lips. “C’mon upstairs with me, while it’s still your birthday” you try seductively, hand reaching out to brush over the outside of his pants at his crotch.

“I said I want to shower” Frankie replies back, a little too curtly for your liking and his tone leaving no room for argument as he pushes your hand away a second time. You frown and the huff of disappointment you breathe out doesn’t go unnoticed by your partner.

“Baby come on, I’m sorry. I just don’t wanna go to bed smelling like chemicals. Go on up to bed, I’ll be right behind you” he says with finality and gives your hand a little squeeze before dropping it and heading off to the bathroom.

You sigh but let him go. Truthfully you’d been trying to drag him out of the party for hours, desperate to get him alone and all to yourself. You don’t know what’s come over you today but you felt downright needy for him, your hormones just off the charts and now he’s making you wait even longer when all you want to do is rip his clothes off and show him exactly how glad you are that he was born forty years ago today and by some cosmic twist of fate found his way into your life.

Once in the bedroom and settled into bed you hear the spray of water come to life in the bathroom down the hall and your mind can’t help but drift and think about Frankie, naked and in the shower. How the water is cascading down his broad shoulders to his soft tummy and strong, thick legs and a heat floods your body, going straight to the lower part of your abdomen. You loved his body and you weren’t shy about telling him either. You remember back to when you’d first started dating, the early stages of your intimate relationship. He was so shy around you at first, always insisting the lights be off or even leaving his t-shirt on when you’d have sex. It was all a mystery to you, how someone as gorgeous as Frankie could have self-esteem issues but you loved to remind him how crazy he drove you and how perfect he was in your eyes.

At first he got so embarrassed at your borderline worship of his body, refused to even believe you in the beginning but he warmed up eventually to the point where he loved it. Craved it, even, your praise of him. Though he’d never admitted to it out loud and always remained a little bashful about it, you could tell. Frankie was already a very generous, selfless and enthusiastic lover, but when you really got vocal with him (or better yet let your tongue and hands do the talking) of how much you enjoyed every part of his physical anatomy, Frankie could get downright animalistic with you and it brought the already amazing sex to a whole new level for you both. You had definitely uncovered a little praise-kink in your boyfriend that you don’t think he even knew existed in himself and honestly no sexual relationship you’ve had in the past could ever hold a candle to the one you and Frankie have created together.

You plan on using every weapon in your arsenal on him tonight to truly wish him a happy birthday he won’t soon forget. You’ll caress, kiss and lick your way from his prominent neck vein, his broad chest with just the lightest smattering of golden brown hair, take more than enough time for your tongue to appreciate each of his small dusty pink nipples before you continue down his sternum to where he gets a little softer. You’ll playfully nip and suck at the small expanse of flesh at his belly that protrudes just barely over his waistline, making sure to let him know with words how gorgeous he is, how hot he makes you, how he’s all yours. You just hope you get to have your fill before he takes his own. It had taken you a while to get Frankie to allow you to appreciate him the way you wanted to. He was always insistent on your pleasure and he still is to this day, but you’ve managed to strike a fairly delicate balance now for the most part, though you’ll admit there are days where Frankie comes home and he just needs you. You’ve come to recognize it on him and you’re glad to give him the reins when that happens, knowing that he’ll allow you to do the same when you need it. When you said Frankie was a generous lover you weren’t exaggerating. That man would spend hours with his face buried between your legs if you’d let him, and sometimes you’d let him do just that. But tonight was for him and tonight you need him. Need to show him how in love with him you are in a way that words just can’t do.

You have to press your thighs together just at the thought of him in the shower now, hoping he won’t be long so you can hopefully pull him out of this weird mood he’d been in most of the day. It started not long after you got to Will and Benny’s. Just silly, little things that just seemed to set him off to the point where he’d either pick a fight with you (or whoever else he happened to be talking to) or just get overly quiet and wander off by himself. You think back trying to think what could’ve started it all. He’d gone into the party in a good enough mood but soon after he started acting weird. The two of you barely fought, like ever, and here you were today in front of all your friends getting into a yelling match with each other about goddamn sunscreen of all things. And it wasn’t just you, he seemed overly quiet today around everyone, even his best friends who were more like brothers to him than anything and none of it made sense to you, you just hope now that he was home maybe he’d get out of his funk.

Your mind doesn’t have any longer to dwell however because Frankie emerges from the bathroom and into the bedroom, already changed into a clean pair of boxers and a t-shirt. Your tongue absent-mindedly peeks out to swipe across your bottom lip at the way the wet curls stick to his forehead or how tiny droplets of water soak through the thin cotton of his dark gray t-shirt because he didn’t quite dry himself all the way off before tugging it over his head.

Not that it matters, you don’t plan on him wearing it long anyway.

“Finally” you smile at him from your spot on the bed and shuffle back slightly to pat down on the space next to you on the mattress. You pull back the bed covers to reveal that you’re wearing next to nothing, A black lacy bra and matching panties that really left nothing to the imagination. It was Frankie’s favourite on you.

“You didn’t have to wait up” Frankie says casually, looking down as he unfastens his watch from his wrist to toss it on the nightstand. If he notices your state of nearly undress during his brief glance in your direction he doesn’t say anything or even react. “Thought you were tired” he adds, feigning concern for your sleep habits.

“Read between the lines Morales, was just trying to get you into bed” you tease, sticking the tip of your tongue out at him playfully. He says nothing in response, just flips off the light and crawls in next to you but to your surprise just throws the comforter over you both and turns on his side and faces away from you as he scrunches up his pillow under his head until he’s comfortable and settles.

You frown, not that he can see you, but shuffle over to him anyway so you’re pressed up against his back and your arm slings around his waist. You stay still for a minute, waiting to see if he’ll take your less than subtle hint that you’re “not tired” but he just lays there, unmoving, and so you decide it’s time to take matters into your own hands. Literally.

Your hand slips under the hem of his shirt to rest on his soft belly and begins to gently explore. Fingertips dancing along the smooth skin and sparse little body hairs and moving over to his hip where you grab onto the small bit of extra skin there and massage his side but before you can go any further he’s grabbing your hand and pushing it out from under his shirt. He brings it to rest on top of his chest over the thin cotton of his t-shirt and just holds his hand over top of yours.

“Baby?” You breathe out into the blackness of the room, worry evident in your tone. Was he angry at you for something else now? You hadn’t even done anything for him to be mad at you about, you’ve been in bed the whole time.

“Sorry, I’m just tired” he mumbles into the pillow but you’re not buying it. Frankie was a bit of a night owl, not to mention it was a Saturday night, neither of you had work in the morning and the two of you always made sure to make the most of your weekend nights together when you could really take the time to make love the way you craved to all week.

“Hey,” you call out softly, grabbing for his shoulder and pulling it towards you so he’ll turn to face you. He lets you, turning halfway to you, onto his back and craning his neck to face you.

“Is everything okay? Are you mad at me or something?” You ask genuinely concerned. You try not to make it sound like you’re pouting because you’re not, you just need to know what’s going on with him. Maybe he’s upset about something, or maybe just a little too drunk to actively participate the way he thinks he should but you wouldn’t mind too much if he was, you certainly don’t mind taking care of him and you know he’ll more than make it up to you the next time.

He lets out a sigh and tiredly rubs at his eyes.

“Of course not. Come here, I’m sorry” he sighs once more and lifts his arm closest to you so you can snuggle into him, your head resting on his shoulder and your arm drapes across his middle again. He tilts his head down slightly to kiss the top of your hair but otherwise makes no moves to initiate anything further physically with you, just holds you tightly to his body.

“Are you really tired?” You ask quietly, turning your face slightly to nuzzle into his neck and plant little kisses there. You feel the little shudder that runs through his body and a smile pulls at your lips.

Maybe he wasn’t mad at you.

“I haven’t given you your present yet” you breathe into the warm flesh of his throat, tongue darting out to give a tentative little lick to the underside of his jaw and he rewards you with the slightest little moan, but it’s enough that you heard it and it encourages you to continue.

You begin to kiss and lick your way down the column of his throat while your hand leaves his chest to come down and gently palm him over his boxers and he instinctively thrusts his hips into your touch and you moan into his skin. You can feel him beginning to swell under your touch already.

“Mmm, can I take you out?” You murmur against his collarbone and he nods his head.

“Yeah,” he lets out in a breathy whisper and brings his own free hand down to help you shove his boxers down his thighs until he’s able to kick out of them.

Your hand wraps around his impressive length the moment he’s free from the confines of his underwear, slowly pumping him with practiced strokes and it’s not long until he’s fully hard in your hand and quietly grunting and groaning, your face buried in the juncture where his neck meets his shoulder. You hate that his shirt is still on, your mouth not able to reach all the places it desperately wants to.

Your hand leaves him for a moment as you push yourself up onto your knees and swing one leg over him so you're straddling his hips, your hands resting on his chest overtop of the soft worn cotton.

“You can be tired baby, let me all do the work” you coo, leaning down to place another kiss to his jaw as you slowly grind your pelvis into his. Maybe that was it. Maybe he was just too tired or drunk to have the full cognitive function he needed but that was fine by you, tonight was for him anyways.

“Shit,” he groans, hands sliding under the back of your panties to grope the globes of your ass in his two large hands and he presses you down even harder against his groin just as he thrusts his hips upwards, the delicious friction causing a moan to escape your lips.

“Mmm, you feel so good” you whimper against his heated flesh as you nuzzle the underside of his jaw and into his throat.

“Take these off” Frankie practically growls, impatiently shoving your underwear down and with his help you manage to wiggle free of them. You both moan in unison when your lower halves press together again, this time with no barriers between you as his throbbing member slides through your slick folds with every calculated thrust of your hips against him.

“Baby you make me so wet” you giggle, hands roaming his hard chest and broad shoulders. “God you’re so hot” you praise, mouth latching back onto his neck as you trail hot open-mouthed kisses down the column of his throat until you reach the collar of his t-shirt.

“Off” you gently demand, hands going to the bottom of his tee and beginning to push it upwards. You need to feel all of him, his warm skin on yours. Need to lick and kiss and touch every inch of him. “Let me touch you”

“Mnnmm mnmm” he shakes his head and without warning suddenly flips you both with practiced ease until you’re underneath him flat on your back and he’s on hands and knees looming over you. He grabs your wrists and hauls them up above your head, bringing them together so he’s able to hold them down with one hand against the top of the mattress so he can have one free and you giggle up at him.

“What’s gotten into you? You’re supposed to be tired, old man” you tease him but there’s no mirth in his eyes after he hears your words, no lingering smile on his lips. There’s desire, sure, but something else on his features. Subtle, whatever it is, but it’s there.

“Do you wanna fuck or not? Jesus,” he snaps. “I can’t do anything fucking right”

Oh, and there it is. It’s anger.

Your face scrunches up at his little outburst. That was not like Frankie at all. Not your sweet, loving, caring Frankie who adored you, this was someone else, someone you didn’t recognize.

“Get off me” you huff, easily wiggling your wrists free as he wasn’t holding too tightly and you bring your hands up to shove at his chest. His yelling at you instantly taking you out of the mood.

He does, immediately. He rolls off of you, grabs for his discarded boxers near the bottom of the bed and shoves them on. You do the same with your own underwear and also pull the sheet up to cover yourself, not wanting to feel any more vulnerable in front of him than you already do.

You have no idea what in the fuck that was all about, snapping at you like that when you thought everything was going rather well. He really was in a mood today apparently, and you didn’t care for it one bit. You’re already feeling overly emotional today, your period must be just around the corner or something.

The room falls silent. Frankie sits on the edge of the side of the bed, hands on his thighs and head hanging low while you lay back against the headboard, fingers twisting into the sheets, holding them around you like a shield. Tears well in your eyes, threatening to fall but you quickly blink them away before you bury your head in your knees.

“Do you want me to sleep downstairs?” He asks softly, the gruffness gone from his voice now. He sounds almost apologetic, though he’s still yet to apologize. He's not looking at you either, but your grateful for that at this moment.

You say nothing. Not trusting your voice just yet but the tiniest sniffle from your nose is near deafening in the stillness of the room. You quickly clear your throat in an attempt to cover the sound but it’s too late. Frankie’s head whips around back in your direction and he’s suddenly scrambling up the bed to wrap his arms around your lower back. Your legs lower instinctively to let him in and he lies over top of you with his head resting on your middle.

“Fuck, I’m sorry” he breathes out, voice muffled by the thin layer of the bed sheet as he buries his face into your stomach. “I’m an asshole”

“You’re not” you sigh. “Just - tell me what’s going on with you” you say calmly, hands now petting through his hair.

“Nothin’” he grumbles into your tummy.

“It’s not nothing, come on,” you try, a little softer this time. “You can tell me anything, you know I love you no matter what”

“Why?”

It's so quiet, so soft, mumbled against you that your ears almost didn’t even pick it up. Your heart breaks a little at the single uttered syllable.

“Hey,” you frown, grabbing both sides of his face in your hands and forcing him to look up at you. “Are you seriously asking why I love you? Where’s this coming from?” You ask, concerned. He’s been known to get down on himself from time to time but you’ve never seen him like this and it worries you.

He lets out a heavy sigh and rolls off of you, crawling up the bed to lay on his back next to you and rubs his hands over his face.

“Baby, talk to me” you press, turning to your side and curling up to his larger frame, hand stretching out to rest on his chest as your fingers play absently with the soft material of his t-shirt. “Did something happen?”

“Yeah, 40 happened” he groans, hand doing a sweeping motion down his body. “I mean, look at this” he shakes his head.

“Oh baby trust me, I look at this every day” you counter, an appreciative smile playing on your lips as your hand gently rubs into his chest.

“This perfect,” you pause to press a kiss into his cheek. “Sexy,” another kiss to his jaw. “Man of my dreams”

“Stop” he huffs, gently pushing you away. “Just don’t… say shit like that. It’s not true” he argues, flipping over onto his side to face away from you.

You know when to push him and when not to, and now is not one of those times. You’ll let him have his moment, knowing if you get too in his face about it he’s likely just going to shut down and you need him to be open with you if you’re going to get anywhere. So instead you just leave him be, but stay nestled into his side, your hand rubbing small circles into his back and shoulder blades, just a soft gesture to let him know you’re here and not going anywhere.

Long minutes pass and after a while you think maybe he’s fallen asleep, until you hear it. It’s barely audible, but it’s there. The tiniest whimper falls from his lips, followed by a quiet little sniffle before he buries his face into a pillow in an attempt to cover it up and your whole heart breaks in two.

“Frankie, baby” you soothe, pulling on his shoulder and forcing him to turn towards you. Surprisingly he doesn’t fight it, just lets you roll him over and he instantly buries his face in your neck once he’s facing you, unable to look you in the eyes. But you don’t need to see him, you can feel the hot tears on his cheeks as he presses into you and you wrap your arms around his shoulders a little tighter, one hand cradling the back of his head as he lets his emotions out.

“I love you, ok?” You whisper against his chocolate brown curls, your lips pressing a kiss to the side of his head. He says nothing, just nods his head against you that he knows you love him and he knows he’s being oversensitive but he just can’t help it.

“I wish you could see what I see” you murmur against him, still hugging him tightly to your body.

Franky gently pushes back from you slightly, quickly wiping at his eyes and collecting himself before his red-rimmed gaze settles on yours.

“I’m sorry I’m in a shit mood and taking it out on you, it’s not fair and you don’t deserve it” he apologizes, shaking his head slightly. “I’m just feeling down on myself I guess and I dragged you into it and I’m sorry”

“Is that what’s been going on all day?” You ask, genuinely curious. You’re starting to piece it together now, all the teasing he’s put up with all day, how he only seemed to be snapping at you when you complimented him or tried to take off his shirt tonight. Not to mention all his friends running around half naked in just their swim trunks all afternoon, most of whom kept themselves in very tip top shape. Maybe Frankie had grown a little softer since the two of you have been together but you loved it on him, his ‘dad bod’ physique. He has nothing to be embarrassed or ashamed of, as far as you’re concerned. But you suppose it’s hard not to feel self conscious when standing next to a shirtless Will, Benny or Santiago who all look like they could be models in some sort of hot firefighter calendar or something. None of them did anything for you though, Frankie would always hold your heart and your gaze, no matter who he was standing next to.

“I guess” Frankie sighs, fingers now picking at an imaginary thread on the blanket underneath you. “Sometimes I just wonder…” he trails off again and you frown.

“Wonder what?”

“Wonder what in the hell you’re doin’ with me” he sighs, throwing his hands up. “I’m a fuck-up. Forty years old and what have I accomplished in my life? I have a shit job, working for an asshole I can’t stand, flying tourists around and giving private lessons on the side to rich jerkoffs who don’t give a shit about learning anything about flying, just want a cool photo for their Instagram. Since I left the service I just feel like… Like I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing with my life anymore so I just haven’t done fucking anything. And you… god knows why you give me the time of day but you do and I just don’t ever feel like I’m enough. Least I could fucking do for you is go to the gym and take care of myself, god knows I need to eat healthier” He shakes his head and you’re unsure for a moment if he’s done beating himself up but before you even have a chance to articulate a response he starts up again.

“Like look at this!” He shouts suddenly, voice raised much higher than moments earlier as he rips his shirt off his head and sweeps his hand down his front. “How can you be in love with this, with someone who looks like this?! I… fuck’”

He doesn’t get any more words out, his hands flying to his face to hide his shame as he starts sobbing with how much hatred he apparently holds for himself and you can’t take it. You lurch forward, wrapping your arms around him and holding him as tightly to your body as possible. Thankfully he doesn’t push you away, just grabs onto you like you're his only lifeline, clinging to you with desperation.

“Frankie, my love, oh Frankie” you’re in tears now too, holding onto him for dear life so he can’t slip away from you. You won’t let him. Not this time.

You crawl into his lap, your legs wrapping around his waist and arms still around his neck like a needy spider monkey.

“I love you, so fucking much” you clarify, because you need him to hear you. “I’m sorry if I ever made you uncomfortable. I know I can get carried away sometimes but I guess I just thought you were okay with it, thought we were both into it. But I’ve never lied to you when I tell you how I feel about you or your body. Do you hear me, Francisco?” You ask and after a moment he nods his head just slightly, just once.

“I am crazy about you, whether you believe it or understand it. But if it makes you uncomfortable when I express my physical attraction to you the way that I do, then I'll stop. Or, you know, try to. Sometimes in the heat of the moment it might just come out but you can remind me and I swear I'll do my best. Just tell me what you need from me baby, whatever it is I’ll give it to you. I can’t lose you Frankie, I can’t!” Your tears flow even harder and Frankie’s grip around you tightens at your words.

“I know, I know” he murmurs softly. “Too fucking good for me” he reiterates quietly, but not in an argumentative way like he’d meant it earlier, more like he can’t believe you put up with his shit but he’s so glad that you do. You think maybe your words have sunk in because he's not arguing with you anymore, not berating himself, just absorbing everything. You decide to leave it be for now. You've said your peace, now you can only hope he'll believe your words and take everything you've said into consideration to fend off whatever demons are feasting inside of him. All you want is his happiness and you know that you can't be the one to solely give that to him, that he needs to find it within himself as well, but you're damn sure willing and hoping that he'll take the support you give him and that he'll let you be there at his side to continue to take on this journey of life together. If he wants to find a new job, or a new career even, you'd support him through that in every way you can. You'll do whatever is in your power to get him through this and you just hope now that he knows that.

You hold each other for several minutes, neither of you saying anything further, just taking whatever comfort you have left to offer one another. You don't push him for any more communication, assuming if he's not speaking it's because his thoughts are still a little all over the place and he still hasn't quite worked it all out for himself. He'll talk about it again when he's ready and whether that's tonight or tomorrow or next month, you'll wait for him. He's worth the wait, there's no doubt in your mind about that.

After a while Frankie shifts you both until he’s lied down on his back on the bed with you half draped over top of him and eventually sleep overcomes the tears and emotions and your breathing evens out as you both drift off within minutes of lying down, the full events of the day finally taking its toll on your weary bodies.

When you wake again the sun hasn’t quite risen to the sky but you know it’s only minutes away, not hours. You feel like you didn’t sleep at all. Your head is pounding like you’re the one who finished a gallon of tequila last night, not your boyfriend and his friends. Frankie is beside you, though you’ve more or less switched positions. You’re fully on your back with Frankie’s arm draped across your middle, his face buried into the juncture where your neck meets your shoulder and he snores softly. You’re glad he’s sleeping peacefully, god knows he needs it. You carefully extract yourself from him, needing to get up and use the bathroom, tossing on a pair of shorts and a tank top. As you pad across the plush carpeting and out to the hallway your mind spins a hundred different directions as you think about yesterday, about last night. You were both highly emotional but truth be told you’ve felt off for weeks. More tired. Bitchy. And you know you’ve been taking it out on Frankie even when he’s the last person that deserves it and who knows, maybe he thought you’ve been trying to push away from him and last night he just tried to do it himself before you got the chance to and he let his insecurities get the better of him. Of course that wasn’t your intention, you’ve never felt for anyone the way you feel about him and you meant every word last night when you told him you can’t lose him. You’ve just been a mess lately and you can’t really explain it other than you know it’s nothing to do with Frankie and certainly not his fault, he just takes the brunt of your ‘crazy’ because he’s the closest person to you. You don’t know what the fuck has been going on with you unless…

Shit.

You practically sprint the rest of the way to the bathroom down the hall, tossing open drawers and cupboards and medicine cabinets in a flurry as you look for that precious little white stick that might explain a whole hell of a lot that’s been going on with you.

“Hey” you softly call out from the doorway of the bedroom, leaning up against it with a large glass of water in hand. Frankie slowly stirs. He’s on his stomach now and raises his head to look at you through sleep-bleared eyes, wayward curls falling across his forehead.

“Hey” he rasps out, voice no doubt shot from all the talking and yelling and crying from last night.

This is what the water was for.

You cross the room and he immediately throws the blanket open, inviting you into his warm cocoon as he slightly sits up against the headboard. You hand him the water as you settle in next to his large warm frame and he chugs the entire glass in record time.

“Ah, thank you, I needed that” he says, clearing his throat and then reaching past you to place the glass on the nightstand before he wraps his arms around your shoulders and pulls you into his chest, his chin resting atop your head.

“How are you feeling?” You murmur into his chest, hand coming up to draw small shapes against his clavicle.

“Like a bit of a first class idiot, if I’m bein’ honest” he sighs and you squeeze your arms around him a little tighter.

“Don’t, babe” you tut, pressing a kiss to his chest. “You were feeling a lot yesterday and it obviously needed to come out. I’m glad it did. We need to be honest with each other, you know?” You tell him, tilting your head to look up at his face. He flashes the tiniest smile at you and leans down to press a kiss to the tip of your nose before you settle back against his chest.

“Some of the things I said last night though, I didn’t even mean. Not really…” he trails off, shaking his head like he’s trying to get his thoughts in order.

You push back from him slightly and up into a sitting position and turn to face him so the two of you can have a real conversation.

“Like what?”

He shrugs shyly and looks away, fingers fidgeting with the blanket around his waist. You hear a mumbled ‘dunno’ fall from his lips. You have a pretty good idea what he’s getting at but know that he’s too embarrassed to say it himself so you help him out, scooting a little closer and placing a hand on his naked chest before you let it slowly drift lower, fingertips dancing across his warm soft flesh and his eyes close and he lets out a content little sigh as he feels your hands on his body again.

“Last night I thought that maybe… I sometimes make you feel uncomfortable when we’re in bed with the attention I give and show you... Was that just insecure Frankie talking?” You ask softly. His eyes are still closed but he nods his head. Your hand rests on his stomach and you slide it upwards again and wrap it around his neck, your thumb brushing back and forth behind his ear.

“Sorry I basically called you a liar last night. That wasn’t fair of me” He tells you sincerely, finally opening his eyes to look back at yours. “I know you love me. All of me. God knows why, but you do” he finishes with a teasing smirk.

“I do love all of you. Every inch. And sometimes I just love showing you how much I do” you shrug.

“I know. And if I’m bein’ honest… I do… y’know, like it. I really like it. I just, yesterday, I don’t know what came over me. Just feeling sorry for myself I guess and wasn’t feeling… up to par, for you, and I guess I got a little too much in my own head. Shit I don’t know, guys teasing me all night, I probably had too much to drink and looking at those stupid pictures of me from when I was much younger and took better care of myself just had me feeling not very good about myself”

“Frankie, baby,” you begin, shifting your position so you can swing one knee over to the other side of his hips so you’re sitting on his lap on your knees facing him while he rests against the headboard. His hands immediately go to your hips and rest there, just holding you, while yours go to his shoulders.

“You never have to doubt for a moment how I feel about you. How I desire you. I need you to hear me on that” you tell him, staring into his eyes in hopes he doesn’t get too embarrassed and turn away from you again. To your delight, he doesn’t. He holds your gaze and his thumbs absently draw small circles on your hips. “I am in love with this Frankie, the one right in front of me. To me he’s sweet and perfect and yeah, he turns me on. Like, a fucking lot. So sorry, but you’re just gonna have to face facts, and thems the facts” you conclude teasingly and he lets out a little chuckle.

“Understood” he nods once before he pushes forward slightly and his mouth latches on to the side of your throat, gently kissing at your inviting flesh. Your head falls back and your hands travel up to hold the back of his head, fingers running through soft chestnut curls.

“There’s something else you said last night…” you begin, trailing off slightly as Frankie’s hot mouth on your skin attempts to distract you.

“Mmm?” He mumbles into your neck, not letting up from what he’s doing as he licks and nips and sucks at the supple flesh of your throat.

Despite wanting nothing more than for him to continue, your hands go to his chest and you gently push him back. He falls back against the headboard with a quiet thud and looks at you with a hint of confusion and worry in his gaze.

“You said you haven’t accomplished anything since leaving the military and well… I just wanted you to know that I am currently in possession of evidence that you have accomplished something very special. Might even be the most important thing you’ve done in your life” you shrug and he raises a curious eyebrow at you.

“Possess… what? What do you mean?”

Rather than spell it out for him, you take his large hand in two of yours and bring it to rest on your stomach, his palm flat across the span of your belly. It’s probably too early for a ‘bump’ just yet but you hold his hand there all the same and within seconds you watch as the realization dawns across his face. At first his brow furrows like he’s confused but then they perk up and his face splits into a giant grin that reaches his eyes and causes them to crinkle at the corners.

“Baby are you… are you serious?” He asks for confirmation and you simply nod your head.

“I mean, I think so. I’ve been feeling kinda off for a while and you my dear boyfriend were too sweet to call me out on any of my crazy shit” you add teasingly and huffs a little laugh but shakes his head. “Then it all kinda clicked into place when I woke up so I took a test this morning and it was positive” you shrug. “I’ll have to make a doctors appointment to be su-“

You don’t get the rest of the words out before Frankie is on you. He surges forward pressing his mouth to yours in a firm kiss before he moves to start peppering tiny little kisses all over your face and neck until you’re bubbling over with laughter as his facial scruff tickles your throat with his frantic movements.

“We’re having a baby?” He asks, eyes welled up with tears as he pushes back from you to stare into yours. He needs to hear you say it, make sure he’s not dreaming this moment. You had a close call together once before, hence the left over pregnancy tests in your bathroom cupboard but nothing came of it. Neither of you expressed disappointment or relief over the false alarm several months back, just kept on with your lives but now it felt different. At least for you. You felt… ready. Excited, even.

“We’re having a baby” you confirm, wide grin across your lips, ecstatic that Frankie is happy with this news.

“Oh my god” he breathes out, wrapping his arms around your back and pulling you tightly against his chest so he can bury his nose in your hair. “I'm gonna be a dad?”

“You’re gonna be a great dad” you clarify.

“Oh my god” he breathes out again, pulling you back tightly against him one last time.

“I’m so glad you’re happy about this” you blubber through a few tears, squeezing him back just as tightly. You really weren’t sure how this news would go over, especially given the events of last night and how Frankie currently felt about his position in life but you are incredibly relieved at how happy this news has made him. You weren’t planning this, like at all, but you suppose when you have as much sex as you and Frankie do, no matter how careful you are, it’s bound to happen.

“Of course I'm happy” Frankie murmurs into your shoulder. “I’m so fucking happy” you can feel a few stray tears fall against your skin and you smile, holding him impossibly tighter.

You stay there for several long moments, just letting everything sink in before Frankie speaks and breaks the silence. It’s quiet, muffled into the warmth of your skin as his face stays buried in your neck, but you hear it.

“Will you marry me?”

“What?” You breathe out in shock. You heard him, you know you heard exactly what he said, but… is this really happening?

“Will you-”

“I heard you” you quickly interrupt, gently pulling back from him enough so you can look at each other again. You put both hands on his face, searching for any traces of regret like maybe he just blurted that out because of the endorphins coursing through his body but he looks back at you only with pure love in those giant brown irises of his.

All the same, you need to be sure he’s absolutely sure and not just doing this because he thinks it’s ‘the right thing to do’. You want him to marry you because he wants to marry you, not because of any obligation he might feel. To be honest you’ve been waiting for a while for him to pop the question, you figured you’ve been together long enough, living together even for a while now but it hadn’t happened yet. You try not to feel too over excited that he’s asked you now, in case it’s for the wrong reasons, but you can’t help but feel how your heart practically soared the moment the words fell from his lips.

“And?...” Frankie asks hopefully and you realize it’s been several long seconds without you actually giving him an answer.

“Baby,” You sigh, your gaze glancing down for a moment and you feel his shoulders drop a little, like he’s already anticipating you saying no to him. “I would marry you in a damn heartbeat but… I just don’t want you to ask me now because you think you have to. This is a lot, I just don’t want to put any more pressure on you. I don’t expect you to suddenly feel ready to marry me because of this”

You try desperately to hold back the tears that threaten to fall. If he agrees with you and takes it back you won’t be mad with him but you know your heart will be just a little bit broken.

“Wait right here” he suddenly pipes up, taking your hands and pressing them into your lap before he extracts himself from the bed and runs over to the closet. You watch him closely, not exactly sure what he’s up to as he scavenges around at the top of the closet for a moment, rooting through a box you recognize that holds some of his military achievements that he said he didn’t want to hang up or have on display, a chapter of his life he had closed.

He seems to find what he’s been after and scurries back over to the bed, crawling across it on his knees until he’s back in front of you again and presses a small blue velvet box into your hands. You flip the lid open and a soft gasp leaves your lungs.

“This isn’t exactly how I wanted to do this” he shrugs. “I bought it weeks ago and I wanted to, you know, plan something big for you and then ask you but, I mean, what’s a bigger moment than this, right?”

Your eyes well up again (happy tears this time) as you stare down at the beautifully crafted diamond engagement ring that sparkles brightly despite the low lighting of your bedroom. The band is a beautiful rose gold, your favourite, and the cut of the diamond and style of the ring is one you’ve been dreaming about since you were a little girl. Clearly Frankie paid attention all those times you happened to pass by a jewelry store together.

“You’ve had this for weeks?” You ask through your tears, still not believing it, your dream actually coming true. Not only was Frankie asking you to marry him, but it was his idea and something he’d decided on long before he knew you were pregnant.

“Yeah I guess I’ll have to call off the marching band and the flash-mob dancers now though” he teases with a smirk. “Unless you want me to take it back and-” he goes to reach for the ring but you snatch the box out of reach, clutching it to your chest.

“Not on your life pal” you playfully threaten.

“Can I at least put it on you then?” he laughs. “That is, if you’re saying yes? Wait, let me…” he trails off and scoots off the bed again only to kneel down on one bent knee beside it. He reaches up and turns you so you’re facing him and a huge dopey smile spreads across your lips as you watch him want to do this at least somewhat properly. If anyone asks later you’ll leave out the part where he’s half naked when he popped the question.

“May I have that back, just for a second?” He asks and you oblige him, handing back the box.

He begins with saying your full name and your heart practically flutters in your chest as you take a deep breath, trying to keep your composure and get through this without being a weeping, blubbering mess.

“Would you make me the happiest man alive and be my wife?” he asks, slight tremble in his voice from his nerves and all you can do is give him a face splitting smile before you frantically nod your head and yank him up from the floor, crushing your mouth to his.

“Yes I’ll marry you Francisco Morales” you murmur against his lips between hungry kisses. “About damn time” you tease and he laughs at that as well. He knows he probably should have done this sooner but he’d been waiting to save up enough money to get you the perfect ring he knew you deserved.

Frankie regretfully pulls away from your mouth to carefully pull the ring from the box and place it on your finger before he holds both your hands in his and lets out a big sigh of relief.

“You make me so happy” he confesses, leaning down so his forehead rests against yours. “I’m sorry if I’ve ever given you any reason to doubt that, but you’re the best thing in my life. Best thing that’s ever happened to me and I’m gonna spend the rest of my life making sure that you and this little one feel the same way about me”

“I will always feel the same way about you Frankie” you promise, eyes slipping shut as another tear escapes which Frankie gently brushes away with the pad of his thumb.

“You’re sure you’re still gonna love me when I’m even more of a pain in the ass in a few months than I am now?” You ask playfully and Frankie huffs a laugh but nods his head affirmatively.

“We’re locked in now baby” Frankie affirms, gently twisting the ring around your finger. “It’s you and me”

“Plus one” you add, looking down to your tummy and Frankie laughs.

“Plus one” he confirms. “And maybe down the line… more than one?” he asks playfully, moving a little closer and nuzzling into your throat before he begins to plant hot little open-mouthed kisses there. You laugh wholeheartedly, your head tossing backwards. Leave it to Frankie to learn five minutes ago that you’re barely pregnant and already asking you if you want another. You really did love him with all your heart and you don’t think you’ve ever been happier than in this moment.

And it turns out that was the truth, that was your happiest moment, until about seven months later a new one replaces it as you hold your beautiful daughter in your arms for the first time. Frankie is at your side with his forehead resting against yours as a tiny hand clutches around one of his large fingers, the one that happens to have a shiny gold band around it now, and tears flow freely down his cheeks. He’d barely gotten there in time for your unexpectedly two-week-early delivery, but he’d made it. Thankfully he was well enough known around the hospital by this point that they allowed him to land his bird on the helipad on the roof before he jumped out and let his co-pilot take over for him as he rushed inside to find you.

It turned out Frankie had found his calling not long after your little unexpected surprise all those months ago. His reflections on the direction his life was going, coupled with your exciting news of having an addition to your family, gave him the push he needed to have his career together in a way that was both rewarding and challenging to him and after a few months of long days and intense training he was accepted into the local Red Cross chapter’s Search and Rescue Program as a Lead Pilot. He loved his job again. He was proud of what he did and most importantly knew that his family could be proud of him too. It allowed him to give back and to serve his community and country the way he always felt he was meant for, except now he could do it and still be home in time for dinner most nights, not shipping out to god knows where for months at a time as he had done in the service.

“Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Morales” the doctor beamed at the two of you, though neither of you could take your gaze off the tiny bundle in your arms long enough to look back at her. Frankie mumbled a polite ‘thank you’ towards her before pressing a kiss into your temple.

“You did it baby” he murmurs against your skin and you can feel the smile spread across his lips.

“We did it baby” you correct him, turning your head just slightly to press a kiss to the underside of his chin. “We made this beautiful, perfect angel” you sigh, nuzzling back in towards your daughter, inhaling that euphoric ‘new baby smell’ you’d up until now only read about but now completely understood.

“My girls” Frankie sighs, heart swelling with content at how goddamn lucky he got in his life.

“Thank you for loving me” he confesses, lips pressed to your temple.

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