#( her smile brightens a room ;; photograph )

[yanderenightmare]

part two

TW: none? ig

fem reader

You’re there with a friend, only waiting, holding her stuff—feeling in-the-way posted on the wall as closely as possible, making yourself as small as you could while models and other busy passersby buzzed about back and forth in front of you.

Your friend—one of the many models—had just done her fifth outfit change and was all but running back to the photo shoot. Apparently, the photographer was a real jackass.

Jackass was an understatement. You feared he’d turn around from the white background sheet he was facing, spot you and tell you that you didn’t belong in there and to get the fuck out. He was certainly shouting that same thing to some of the models.

Your friend was then next to bite the bullet—being the fifteenth model he’d sent on their sorry way. 

You’d honestly thought it was for the best—she’d get nothing but scorn modeling for that narcissistic drama queen anyway. You give her your best sympathetic smile as she teeters over. It doesn’t surprise you to see her on the verge of tears. Some of the prior ones had been all but bawling their eyes out, running out of the room as fast as they could. But you couldn't blame them—if anyone were to shout at you that way, you’d most likely have died on the spot.

His eyes fall to the back of the room in frustration—a heavy sigh leaving him. Seems he was out of models already. What a pity until—right there, standing small and almost insignificant next to the changing area, there’s you—the perfect face he’d been needing.

“Oi you, get dressed,” he bites with a finger pointed towards you. But no, he must have changed his mind about your friend who’s standing next to you as you hand her back her clothes.

She brightens up when she notices, dropping her clothes back in your arms to go back, only—

“No, not you,” he very nearly sneers. “You there,” he points again—this time, it isn’t a question of who it’s directed at. “Why aren’t you dressed?”

There’s such a harshness to his tone that you’re almost convinced you’ve done something wrong. But no, you’re not supposed to be dressed.

“I’m not a model,” you call back.

At that, he scoffs. The smile on his face must be the cockiest thing you’ve ever seen in your life.

“Everyone’s a model, sweetheart. We’ll send you a check in the mail.”

Your eyes are round—too stunned to be affronted. He taps his shoe, hardened gaze directed at you, unwavering in wait. You’re almost scared to say no.

“Well? What’s it gonna be?”

It’s only been a few seconds, and still, he sounds as if he’s been waiting forever—exuding impatience on a level you’ve never seen.

You open your mouth to tell him off, but a tug from your side makes you stop.

“You have to,” your friend ushers. “It’ll be trouble for me if you don’t.”

You give her an incredulous look—but she only grabs you and drags you with her into the many rows of clothes, picks out your size, and helps you get into it before you’ve even said another word aside from a pitiful “Wait—” 

Lastly, she applies some light makeup to your face before pushing you out into view of the waiting photographer.

You’re in too deep to be turning back now. Besides, you wouldn’t want your friend to get fired when she works so hard just to have gotten in the same room as the guy before you—so you end up walking over, ever so awkwardly—not used to the height of the cigarette heels.

If he notices, which he most certainly does, he doesn’t say anything.

He seems to have found some patience he lacked, watching you—bearing an expression, almost amused.

You don’t return the favor, looking down as you stop before him.

“So, uhm—what, ugh—” you mumble, on your way to peek behind you, hoping to get some sort of direction from your friend, when he grabs your chin and makes you face him.

Still, he makes no sound—only wetting his thumb with a lick of his tongue before putting it to the outer corner of your eye. You gasp, but it doesn’t deter him as he smudges the eyeliner to his liking. Doing the same with the other eye. He continues until he’s satisfied. Keeping his grasp on your chin, he angles your face here and there slightly while his intense glare rakes over you like he’s a tortured artist chiseling a sculpture to some vision in his head—then hums with a smile, softly, “Perfect.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Shigaraki, Dabi, Aizawa, Shinso, Overhaul ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Naoya, Toji ♡ HQ – Tsukishima, Kageyama, Iwaizumi, Sakusa ♡ BLLK – Reo, Rin ♡ AOT – Levi ♡ DS – Akaza, Sanemi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[dovveri]

strike a pose

synopsis: momo’s the best photographer in korea and she’ll be taking your pictures for the annual haute couture magazine

warnings: swearing, 69, mutual masturbation, filming during sex, taking pictures during sex, reader has a praise kink

w/c: 4.6k

a/n: can be read as a standalone but also follows directly from sana’s part

⌞ ⌝

"momo!"

a pretty girl with bright blonde hair pokes her head out from around the corner, eyes brightening when she sees her assistant with you in tow.

"come in! i've been expecting you! y/n right? sana told me all about you!"

"s-she did?" you gulp nervously, unsure of what exactly sana told the world-class photographer.

momo grins, "enough anyway. c'mon- let's get you changed. we've got quite a few shots i want to try out today. sana really outdid herself with the outfits this time. i can't help but think she was a little more inspired than usual." there's a teasing lilt to her voice, like she knows something you don't.

you can only allow yourself to be ushered along as hands start pulling at your clothes, makeup brushes touch up your face, and hair rollers are placed into your curls.

after your appointment with sana, she had managed to get your contact number, either through your agency or whatever else. it was mainly just for business though, she’d ask for your opinions on certain colours or ideas she had, treating you as if she didn’t fuck you senseless in her workshop upon your first meeting. you just took her lead and pretended it never happened, though every time her name lit up your phone screen you’d feel a little tingle down your spine at the memory.

"alright! let's get going team we have a lot of shots to take today!" you hear momo's stern yet excitable voice over the pop music in the studio. momo's reputation was just as prestigious as sana's, though she was admittedly a lot less intimidating. people said it was because of her general airy obliviousness that made models feel at ease and comfortable when posing for her that made her a pleasure to work with. of course, that never diminished from her actual job at hand, she was the best photographer in korea, always booked out and only shooting for the best magazines and companies across the country. she could be a little awkward but her work spoke volumes, she was simply better at communicating with her tool than with her words.

you're rushed over in your first outfit of the day, an extravagant, floral piece with a set full of colour and vibrancy. once all the stylists are done touching you up and hurriedly move out of the camera frame, momo wanders up last, smiling and adjusting your body to her desired position.

her touch is soft, barely there, it leaves goosebumps on your skin, or maybe it was the fact that the a/c was on high.

"alright?" she checks in on you, eyes twinkling.

you gulp from her proximity, the only thing separating your bodies the camera hanging around her neck. you nod sheepishly, unsure of yourself.

she smiles, "just let me know if you want to take a break or anything yeah? remember you're the most important person in the room here, if we don't have a model, we don't have pictures, so don't be afraid to make any demands at all."

you nod again, not trusting your own voice to speak, but you appreciated momo being so accommodating of you.

with that, she steps back, holds the camera up to her face, and starts taking photos.

⌞ ⌝

momo isn't the type of photographer to yell out compliments or directions while she's working. she stays quiet most of the time, only asks you to keep natural and do whatever feels comfortable. it's not awkward though, you could tell how focused she got when she was working, how much effort she put into her job, what a perfectionist she was.

soon enough, you've run through all but one of the outfits and backdrops, the swimsuit segment.

your hair is being curled into wavy, ocean-swept locks when the stylists pull out the skimpiest bikini you've ever seen. after they're done clipping together the pieces, some of them even have the shame to look away despite having seen you in all your naked glory multiple times during the shoot. you thought it was a piece that was perfectly reflective of its maker. covering almost nothing yet leaving everything to be desired, teasing in the most erotic way imaginable.

the studio has already been cold enough with the air-conditioning on full blast, but now with the new beach backdrop and a mist fan blowing directly on your body and face to give your hair the appearance of being freshly blown through with a sea breeze, you're near shivering.

it doesn't help the chills going down your spine every time momo glances over at you. and momo makes it known when she likes something and when she doesn't. and the way she was stalking towards you like you were her prey, her eyes dragging over your body again and again, licking her lips, until she's almost nose to nose with you, it was pretty safe to assume she liked what she saw.

"alright?" her voice is husky, like she's controlling herself from doing something not so work-friendly.

you can only nod, breath hitching.

"hmm... are you sure? you don't look alright."

"h-how do i look?"

she gives you a devilish glare, "i don't think you want me to answer that y/n."

"why n-not?"

she leans in even more, you almost close your eyes out of habit before you realise she's breathing next to your ear, voice low, only meant for you, "is that how we're playing this? you're gonna act stupid? or... do you have a praise kink y/n? want me to tell you what a pretty girl you are? to tell you about how i think you look absolutely succulent and how badly i want a taste? how i want you riding my face with your perfect tits swinging back and forth while you leak into my mouth, my camera set up recording every movement, every sound, every scream you'll be making because of my tongue? is that what you want to hear?"

your ears were always sensitive, even momo breathing near them has you squirming and the inside of your bikini bottoms soaked. you whimper as she whispers filth into them, feeling light-headed and desperately needing to hold onto her or you'd be at danger of falling over and exposing just what she made you feel to all of her staff.

she smirks, turning on her heel quickly and barking , "out! everyone out! good job today but I'll be finishing up these final shots myself. thank you all for your hard work."

her staff exchange glances a little uncertainly, never having been told to leave early by momo before, so they were unsure if that was what momo really meant.

momo tuts impatiently, "did you not hear me? pack up! let's go!"

her staff are prompted into movement, hastily running around and collecting their personal items before bowing out of the studio. momo glares down anyone that looks to be dawdling for too long, tapping her foot and ensuring her studio was empty before turning back to you.

you gulp, grateful the makeup on your face was covering the bright red blush on your cheeks. you both knew what was going to happen. it was a little absurd this was happening to you a second time when both times it's been 2 of the most influential people in the fashion industry. you're still in disbelief that they wanted you.

momo eyes you again with a smirk, fully appreciating you without the burden of her staff bustling around and calling for her attention in the background.

"alright gorgeous. let's do some standing poses first. whatever makes you feel the most confident."

you nod, taking in her direction and pushing one hip out, raising both arms to mess around with your hair, face morphing into a practiced smile, going for the sexy, energetic woman on the beach.

momo starts snapping away, humming and checking the photos every now and then, there were a few she took from certain angles that were a little... questionable, but you weren't one to question, so you let her do whatever her creative freedom asked her to.

"now can you lean forward? hands on your knees please."

you blush, this was a classic swimsuit stance, it would be fine, there was nothing to be shy about.

you do as she asks, switching your happy-go-lucky smile to one that’s a little more seductive.

momo takes a second to raise the camera to her eye, staring at your chest like she had lagged out. but once she does, she’s back to work, making sure she gets all the best shots.

“now lie down. on your side.”

you gulp, following her instructions. momo moves the fan to be at your face level, so it’s still blowing through your hair. she lingers a little, adjusting your face, hand on your chin. her eyes are stormy, the hint of a smirk permanently etched onto her lips. her hands drift from your chin, down to your shoulder, gliding fingers leaving goosebumps in their wake. your breath hitches audibly when she slips down to your side. she hums approvingly, her smirk growing as she traces your side, your stomach.

then she slides backwards, leans back on her knees and brings the camera back up to her eyes. you’re caught as her shirt lifts, her very visible abs peeking through.

momo clears her throat, “camera’s up here darling.”

you lick your lips, not even needing to fake your next look, reeking of pure sex. all you can think about is momo’s abs, her thighs, the way her knees are spread, her biceps, her well-endowed chest, all that muscle she was packing underneath a teasing smile.

she takes the picture.

then she’s the one leaning forward, going on all fours, crawling towards you slowly.

you hold your breath as she reaches you, nudging your hip lightly so you’re lying horizontally. and then she’s hitching a leg over your side and sitting on top of you.

your hands instinctively go to her hips but she catches them, pushing them above your head, her chest smothering your face in the process.

she leans back too soon, bringing the camera to her face, adjusting herself to sit better on your hips. “there we go. you’re a pretty girl.”

you blush brightly at her comment, looking away shyly. she starts snapping immediately, grinning. you compose yourself and look back towards the camera, biting your lip, drooping your eyes, satisfied when you hear the stutter in momo's work before she starts clicking again.

once she's happy with those shots, she moves off your body, but keeps a hand on your stomach to keep you there, pushing down slightly letting you know who was directing you, who owned you. then she's propping up a beach ball, or an umbrella, you couldn't really tell you were too focused on the way her abs tensed as she lifted and shuffled things around.

she leans you back, then slides her hands down from your stomach to your thighs, pushing gently.

your eyes widen, unable to resist as she spreads your legs, licking her lips as she stares.

“m-momo.”

“hmm?”

“um- the- the photos?”

she clicks her tongue, “impatient are we? just let me enjoy the view for a little.” her eyes track back up your body, smirking at the hooded look you give her, breaths coming in and out visibly harder, your arousal too obvious to ignore.

after what feels like forever sitting in your own slick, she finally moves backwards, bringing that goddamn camera back to her face, her smirk only growing wider with each passing second, before she starts to click.

she takes a few shots, then feigns disapproval, frowning down at her camera in the most exaggerated pout you have ever seen, so you know it’s just for show.

“y/nnnnn~” it’s cute, too cute. “i don’t like these. will you… spice it up a little?”

you take a breath before responding, steadying yourself, “spice it up?”

“yeah. y’know…”

“…i-i don’t.”

momo’s expression changes immediately, scowling, her cutesy show over in a flash, “don’t be a brat y/n. you know what i’m talking about. you think i can’t see you dripping for me? you think i can’t see the way you’re squirming, how you’re imagining the way i’d feel under you, inside you? don’t make me spell it out for you. be a good girl and do what you want to do.”

she's completely right of course. her words only encourage the thoughts you've been keeping locked away since the moment you saw her. you didn't think it was professional for this to happen a second time, hell the first time you didn't think it was professional.

but you gulp, hesitantly bring your hands down to your stomach, tracing the skin there lightly. you feel your nails dig in just lightly and you gasp, hyperaware of your body and all its sensations. the cool air of the room, that fucking fan that's been blowing wet mist at you for the past 20 minutes, momo. god momo. she was so fucking hot. in that sleazy, greasy, nice-guy way straight girls found film bros hot. except momo had the face and body to match the arrogance she hid under practiced professionalism and niceties.

you whimper as a hand trails up and captures a breast.

momo grins, bringing her camera back up to her eye, more vocal now than she has been the entire photoshoot.

"there we go. now we're getting somewhere."

you feel your breaths go heavier, no longer able to hide yourself as you ache to rub your thighs together.

she notices of course. she notices everything about your body.

"don't you fucking dare. tease yourself. make it worth it. make yourself earn it."

you try and take a breath to steady yourself again, though you don't know why, each breath hasn't been helping at all, only making the matter worse as you become more and more aware of your arousal.

with difficulty, you bring your other hand to your chest, now groping both your tits, moaning fully, completely on display for her while she snaps away.

"there we go- that's good- more like that- mhmm-"

momo mumbles praises and compliments that make your head dizzy and your pussy clench. your fingers find two hard nubs that have been begging for attention since you had gotten in this glorified piece of cloth. you pinch simultaneously and let out a pathetic sound of lust.

momo gets it all on camera. zooms in even.

knowing you had an audience, that this was being recorded, it gave you a sick sort of thrill that made each squeeze of your hands feel that much better, each click of momo's finger, like she was rubbing your clit with each photo.

one hand slips under the bikini top, doesn't reveal it to the camera, but it's obvious where it is, pulling and twisting as you writhe, legs shaking, sweat collecting, desire building.

momo comes closer, sits right between your legs, keeps them open, captures your face mid-moan, anyone could hear the pornographic sounds you were making without needing film, the pictures momo took were enough. she was that good.

the heat of another person near you makes you grow desperate. "m-momo- p-please- i- i- i need-"

"hmm? what do you need darling? tell me. remember i said you're the most important person in the room. without you, we don't have pictures, without you, i don't have a job. so, what do you need?"

"y-you! please-"

"me? what do you want me to do to for you?" she cocks her head, acts confused, you know better.

"w-what you said e-earlier! p-please i'm please- i'm begging-"

"oh you're begging? why are you doing that? i'll give you anything you want darling. there's no need to beg. do you think i'm that mean?" she pouts, has the audacity to look completely innocent even while she has you under her, dripping onto the floors of her studio, hands groping at your chest, back arching trying to get closer to her.

"m-momo!"

"what?!"

you almost cry, sliding your right hand down your stomach, straight into your bikini bottoms, the waterproof material did it's job too well. you couldn't tell from the outside, but the inside, it was drenched. you moan as your fingers meet your folds.

momo doesn't even glance down, keeps staring at you in mock ignorance.

you slide a finger up and down your slit, gritting your teeth as you rub your clit harshly. too harsh, you would come too soon. you ease up, sliding back down to your entrance, hips bucking up, other hand still twisting at a nipple.

snap!

you roll your head back as your hips rock against your hand, letting her slide down and position herself right in front of your cunt, lens pointed directly at it. you can't look at her, too embarrassed as you push your fingers in and out of yourself, just centimeters away from her face, from her instrument.

you've been groping at your chest enough that the material has ridden up, half of your chest exposed to the studio, to the flashing lights at each click of momo's fingers, and fuck you needed more space. so you hastily pull at the strings tying the bottoms together, just one side while your other hand keeps pumping in and out of you. it falls away easily and you feel yourself clench around your own fingers at the gasp momo lets out, snaps growing quicker in succession.

the hand that untied your bottoms goes right back to your neglected tit, rubbing and squeezing while you hump your hand.

you risk a glance down, and you almost cum at the sight.

momo's got one hand on her camera, the other down her pants.

it's a little pathetic, the way she's grinding down on herself, trying to alleviate the tension that's built up in her lower stomach, such a pretty girl reduced to a horny loser at the sight of pussy, but it gets you so hot knowing she was affected by you.

your eyes focus in on the hand trapped between the floor and her cunt, the rapid movements giving you an idea of what was going on inside her pants. you start to match her pace, bringing the hand that was palming at your breast to rub at your clit, pushing it around in little circles as you gasp and moan and clench for her.

momo curses under her breath, cheeks flushed as she stays on her stomach, a shaky hand still clicking away, changing settings, zooming in and out, capturing every moment of your build-up.

it was too much, her focus, the way you're pulsing, the flashes of the camera. you cum.

your vision whites out, throwing your head back, unable to hear the little curses momo lets out as she pulls her other hand out of her pants, frantically grabbing for her camera to be able to capture your full glory in your orgasm, her fingers still covered in her own slick, zipper undone as she scrambles to her feet.

you keep pushing in and out of yourself, slowing down the circling on your clit until a full stop, breathing heavily as your vision returns.

you blink, looking around hazily, pulling your fingers out of yourself with a wet squelch.

you find her eventually, stumbling around with her pants fallen to her knees while she fiddles with different cameras and light settings.

your post-orgasm haze finds her adorable. so different to the woman who said she'd have you screaming on top of her tongue. she was unpredictable, your initial canvas of her was wrong. she was simply... momo. she was unique, the only person who could possibly understand her was herself, and you doubted she understood herself. but that didn't matter, because she's good at what she does and she gets what she wants.

she notices you watching her after a little, blushing and kicking off her pants fully.

"sorry y/n just gimme a second."

you smile, shaking your head, "it's alright."

you watch fondly as she finishes up, but with her legs now exposed you can't help but feel the twinge of arousal in your core as your eyes follow the muscles of her thighs, her calves, her ass when she turns and bends. she acts so oblivious but she must know what she's doing.

you sigh, leaning back and running your hands up your stomach again, appreciating the view. you finally take off the bikini top, freeing your chest and groping freely at them as momo stands back up.

she checks the camera once more, then takes off her top. her bra follows quickly after, and she turns.

her eyes narrow as she stalks towards you, chest swinging proudly as you whimper, pinching your nipples and wishing you could just bite down on hers.

"i see you started without me."

"mhmm~"

"i told you to give me a second didn't i?" she stands above you, arms crossed over her chest, pushing her breasts together sinfully. you notice the wet spot on her underwear, trying to hide a giggle but failing.

she raises an eyebrow, pulling her panties off. that gets you to stop, your mouth watering at her cleanly shaven, dripping cunt.

"something funny?"

"n-no."

"c'mon. i like funny things. tell me."

"nothing's funny."

she kneels down in front of you, on all fours, your eyes go straight to her chest.

"impatient and a fucking liar."

you whimper.

she juts a finger behind her, her eyes never leaving yours, "i'm giving you what you wanted now. what i said. that camera's filming us, so are three others around the room, just so we get every angle. now you're gonna sit on my face and look pretty. understand?"

your eyes widen, wet already from your first orgasm, fresh arousal starting to build up. you nod.

"good girl."

you squirm at the term, watching as she lies down, then pulls on your thighs to get you to kneel on top of her. you're a little embarrassed as you lower yourself, but momo doesn't give a shit. she yanks you down and starts eating like it's her last meal.

your hand comes up to your mouth in an automatic reaction, trying to stifle the sinful moan you let out as she starts lapping at you. you can't control yourself. you never could around her. your body reacts on it's own. riding her face.

momo sucks your clit into her mouth and your knees buckle. you're afraid of suffocating her but she shares none of the same concern. arms pulling you down as you try to pull away, licking and suckling.

you look directly into the camera she has set up in front of you, imagining how messed up your hair was, how utterly ruined you looked.

momo's hands are on your ass, pulling you down still, but she lands a slap, the sound echoing throughout the empty photo studio.

you yelp, gushing into her mouth. she happily drinks it up, spanking you again.

the ripple of your cheeks must be captured on the camera behind you, maybe if momo had the quality settings right, it could even see the slick flowing from your cunt into momo's mouth, onto her tongue.

you can't bear to look into the camera anymore, eyes drifting down to momo's chest.

god you could finally see her. pretty dusk-coloured peaks sitting on top of the breasts you'd only be able to conjure up in your wettest dreams. her abs flex as she huffs with effort, making sure not to let a single drop of you go to waste, working efficiently and thoroughly at your pussy, licking into every wall, every corner. her cunt glistens, you notice her thighs rubbing together and you resist the urge to roll your eyes. you do it anyway but only because momo has her tongue inside you, hits a spot that has you seeing stars.

you test her, placing a little more weight on her face. she moans eagerly around you, pulling you down further.

satisfied she can hold you up, you shift your weight onto one hand, the other tracing down momo's chest, circling a nipple.

momo groans, vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure up your core.

you grasp the flesh, squezzing as her tit spills out between your fingers. momo bucks her hips, almost shakes you off of her, but her grip on your ass is tight, she wouldn't be letting you go until you came all over her tongue.

you're still moaning uncontrollably when you lean down, still groping a tit, pressing your own chest against her abs that feel absolutely heavenly flexing under your nipples, rubbing and moving giving just the barest amount of friction that drove you insane.

you grip her thighs, resting the front of your body on hers so you could part them, licking your lips at the sight that greeted you.

her cunt was pulsating. clenching around nothing, slick dribbling out of her. she talked so much but she was just as turned on as you. you planned on giving her what she was too proud to ask for.

you dive in.

momo moans into your cunt, hips rocking up before you push her back down, lapping at her pussy.

she tastes divine. otherworldly. salty and sweet, uniquely hers, just like everything else about her was uniquely hers. momo's grunting and moaning so prettily, and you're cleaning her up, even while she continues making a mess, you know you're not much better.

you grind down against her while she rocks up into you, chasing your highs. you find her clit, sucking, reveling in the moan she sends through your body, not wanting to be beat, she doubles down, growing almost overly aggressive as she sends another slap down on your cheeks when you're least expecting it.

you can't hear each other, can't scream out the curses, her name, all you can do is grind and moan and suck.

the blinking red dot of the camera gets it all. every brush of nipples against stomach, every flick of tongue, every squeeze of ass.

it doesn't take much longer.

not when she just keeps sucking. you're sure she could draw your pussy by now, that she's memorised it all. you could probably draw hers.

your back arches as you cum, and you make sure she falls apart at the same time, massaging her thighs as she writhes and cums, whining into your pussy, drunk off your taste.

you roll off of her before she can get you going again, lying on your back, your elbows pushing you up as you finally get a look at her.

she's covered in you. huffing, throwing her head back to breathe, cum dribbling down her chin. you can't help but crawl towards her, licking it up, towards her lips.

she lets you kiss her, still catching her breath as she pants into your mouth, the taste of the both of you mixing on your tongues.

you break away, licking your lips and wiping your chin.

momo grins lazily, "i think we got some good content."

you snort, "you think?"

"mhmmm. mina will definitely be happy."

your eyes widen, "you're not showing these tapes to myoui mina?!"

"and to sana. she asked for them."

your mouth falls open, gaping dumbly at her while she laughs, patting your cheek.

"let me know if you ever need any shots done. i'll be happy to help. i'll send you the tapes too once it's edited." she winks, wobbling back up and going to check the footage.

you stare after her, still in disbelief that the three of them really were in kahoots this whole time. and then the self-consciousness hits. they were going to watch those tapes. they were probably going to cum to those tapes.

just what the hell kinda industry did you get yourself into?

[munariplans]

forty, love | part 3 | natasha romanoff

part 3 of forty, love | read part 2

synopsis: nothing's changed, or everything's changed, really, in the years away from you. natasha doesn't know which is better.

natasha romanoff x tennis player! reader

word count: 5k words

a/n: the final part to this very wonderful series. i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it. as always, thank you for your support.

masterlist

working up the courage to approach you after the match felt like having to work up the courage to approach you at graduation, except this time, she was being pushed around by a swarm of other reporters, cameramen, and the fans, all trying to get a glimpse of the winner of the grand slam. it was no longer the college’s favourite tennis player that she was seeing, no, it was almost as if she was looking at a completely different person. 

you were grinning from ear to ear, unbothered by the fans coming in swarms and happily signing each ball, each cap, each shirt that was passed your way. natasha assumed when you were in the position that you were in, paying fan service to the fans was the least you could do. the crowd was singing your name, and natasha was getting drowned out by people who were much taller, much bigger, and louder than her.

but then, by a stroke or luck, or mere fate, your eyes were roaming the crowd again, as if looking for someone. you were smiling and laughing with everyone around you, but your eyes betrayed the intention behind your search. somehow, this time, you caught natasha’s gaze in the crowd, among the many fans towering over her, among the cameras over her head obscuring your view. your smile faltered in the slightest bit, and natasha’s heart dropped. 

it was going to be like a repeat of graduation. it was going to be you, telling her no, not to come any closer again, and forcing her to retreat. it was you refusing to take her back, even then, even now. she took one step back, almost stepping on the foot of a photographer behind her, when you suddenly pulled your manager in by the collar, and whispered something to him. she saw his eyes shift to her as well, and he nodded, walking towards her while you returned your attention to the people around you. natasha found herself being escorted to your dressing room.

you only came in half an hour afterwards, when natasha had finished biting the last of her fingernails, and paced around the room about a hundred times by then. but when the door unlocked and you stepped in, it felt like natasha’s breath was knocked out of her lungs again. 

“hi,” you started, giving her a small smile. you were carrying the trophy natasha watched you receive with joy earlier. but then, you set the trophy down behind you, not even giving it a second thought when you returned your attention to the woman before you. you had decided natasha was more important in that moment. 

it was awkward at first; speaking after years of no contact. “hi.”

“you came.”

she wanted to say of course, i watch every single match of yours, but instead, she uttered, “yeah, my company sent me. i was covering the finals.”

you chuckled, nodding. you took the seat across from her, trailing your eyes up and down natasha. you thought she still looked like the woman you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. natasha caught you casually glancing at her fingers, and at the absence of a ring on the fourth one, you were ashamed that she had seen your expression brightening. 

you cleared your throat, desperate to change the subject. “you did what you always wanted to do. i always told you journalism was much more fun than chemical engineering.”

natasha couldn’t control the laughter that bubbled at her throat, remembering all the times she complained to you of how much she hated her degree, no matter how good she was at it. she always had a fondness for covering stories instead. you had been supportive of her pursuing her dreams, but she had wanted to be practical. you were proud that she was finally doing it then. “yeah, i tried my hand at a smaller firm after college, then i got this opportunity and…”

“...and you’re amazing at it. like i knew you always would be.”

she blushed brightly, fingers digging into the couch she was sitting on. then, she sat up. “but you! look at you…winning a grand slam, finally.”

it was your turn to get a little shy, sneaking a look back at the trophy, the shining Tiffany silver, and shrugging. “i won a grand slam.”

“congratulations.”

you thanked her, replying with, “it’s been a long time coming. i think…and i’m sure you know, you knew, that it’s all i ever wanted ever since i started playing. and now…it feels a bit surreal.”

“you deserved it more than anyone.”

there was no smugness, or arrogance, in your expression. it was one of quiet relief. natasha thought you still looked so beautiful when you sighed, nodding towards her in happiness. 

then came the reason for why you had invited her to your dressing room. “i was very happy to see you. i thought i’d seen you, from way down in the court and you were in the hospitality suite, but i thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. and then you came to see me after the win, and i knew it…it hit me like a ton of bricks.”

natasha’s lips were already quivering, watching you nervously profess to her of the reality that she too, had been experiencing, since seeing you again. “i was very happy to see you too.”

the glint in your eyes twinkled, knee bouncing in excitement as you heard her words. you had doubted if natasha was happy, or even willing to say yes, when you had asked your manager to ask her if she wanted to see you after. you were half-expecting her to say no, or to leave after a brief congratulations with you, but she stayed. the both of you stayed, in that dressing room for hours after, catching up and laughing and talking like the years had never passed. you forgot that natasha was once your best friend before she became the love of your life. 

and at the end of the day, when your team had to inevitably ask you to leave the room so they too, could pack up and return to celebrate, you were yearning not to have the time with natasha come to an end. you asked her if she had work to do, or any other players to interview or cover for, but when she said no, and looked back at you in hopes for something more, you decided to risk the chance.

“would you…want to go get dinner with me then?” you asked, fingers gripping the ends of your racket bag strap, drumming in anticipation. 

the look of surprise on her face caught you off-guard for a moment. “y-you don’t have plans? to celebrate?”

she watched you sheepishly admit, “to be honest, no. i didn’t expect to actually win the slam and…and i usually celebrate by myself, alone in my hotel room. which i know is pretty lame, and boring, but i just like to–”

“–to take it all in.” 

“you remember,” you grinned, and at natasha’s laugh, it grew even wider. you had missed hearing that laugh so much. 

she nodded, affirming you, “i remember. and i would really like to, getting dinner with you.”

–

you asked natasha if it was okay, for old time’s sake, that the both of you visited a diner a little outside of town. a little afraid that she would be upset that you weren’t taking her for an upscale restaurant, or high-end steak place, considering your status and the occasion then, but she said yes. she found that your preference for the little things never really changed, including your love for the nostalgia of celebrating the way the both of you celebrated in your years in college. 

with a fry in your mouth, you watched as natasha let out an uneasy chuckle halfway through dinner. then, she joked, “i guess you only stopped your losing streak after you left me, huh? maybe i was what was weighing you down for so long, stopping you from winning a grand slam earlier.”

“you weren’t.” natasha was a little taken aback at the seriousness, and the hint of vexation, of your tone. your expression too, had gone solemn.

“i–i mean–”

“–you weren’t the cause of my losing streak, natasha. and you definitely were the reason for my winning of a grand slam so early in my career. i want you to know that.” you were all i thought about before, during, and after my matches. you were all i ever thought about. 

she nodded, indicating that she understood. the atmosphere had gotten awkward again, no thanks to natasha’s self-deprecation. but you let down your own guard a bit, and offered her a taste of your drink. 

inevitably, you also asked, “how’s steve? did you and him make it? are you guys still together now?”

it was natasha’s turn to laugh, quite incredulously this time, to your face. your eyebrows raised, she let out another snort before she managed to calm herself down. “n-no! steve and i…we were never a thing. and we would never be, because…”

“...because?” you continued, but then natasha did a gesture, a flick of her wrist downwards, and her eyebrows telling you what it was suggestively, and it hit you. oh. oh.

the fit of giggles and chuckles that left the both of you at the same time was infectious, as both you natasha leaned forwards with how hard you were laughing. her hair shrouding a little of her face, she was still incredibly breathtaking even as she was snorting and laughing her heart out with you. you almost hadn’t wanted the moment to end, pure joy indescribable in both your faces. 

the both of you talked, and talked even more, into the night. it was like the years had never passed, like nothing had ever changed. at dessert, she even spotted another couple ordering a milkshake, and plucked up the courage to ask you, “can we share a milkshake too?”

your eyes travelled to the couple, and the memories of how the both of you would head to the diner for your weekly cheat meal and share a milkshake after when you won matches all returning to you then. it was a bittersweet memory that you enjoyed very much with natasha.

she always liked the flavour with chocolate ribbons, and you loved vanilla. in the past, you would argue over the flavour that you would order, the other never backing down on their insistence for the superior flavour. 

natasha, noticing your silence, and longing gaze at the couple, suddenly cleared her throat nervously. maybe it was too much, maybe she was being too much. “it’s perfectly fine if you don’t want to. you’re probably on a strict diet now, and it’s probably weird, to share a milkshake with someone who’s like a stranger, and–”

you returned your gaze to her, smiling. “–we can share a milkshake.”

you flagged the waitress down, and natasha’s heart skipped a beat when you told her that you wished to order a milkshake with chocolate ribbons without so much as a thought for your own preferred flavour. she remembers as well as you did of your little fights.

when the milkshake arrived, you even grabbed the little bottle of sprinkles by the table, and let it pour all over the top of the whipped cream, just like how natasha liked it. you remembered everything. 

she caught herself from reaching over to kiss you, many times, as the both of you inserted straws into the drink and began sipping the sweet treat.

you could tell natasha was longing for something more, still. she guessed she hadn’t realised how much she had really missed you; of course she did, she always did, but seeing you in the flesh again, spending the night and catching up with you, it felt like she was taken back to a happier, simpler time. natasha never realised just how much she had lost, being apart from you.

however, on the other hand, you were scared, and doubtful, of the woman before you. had natasha really changed, or grown up, you weren’t sure. for all you knew the reason she was making you so happy, and was being so kind, in the moment, was all because you had won the grand slam. if you hadn’t, things would have been completely different. you couldn’t be more wrong. 

natasha never cared about the grand slam, or the trophy you carried in, or even your career at all. all she wanted to see was you, and all she wanted was you. she just missed you.

you let natasha finish the shake, and when she did, you joked this time, “have you gotten enough insider scoop for your coverage of the US Open, then, ms. romanoff?”

you gestured towards the clip-on name tag natasha still had on her breast pocket, grinning at the title of senior reporter. it fit her so well. but that smile quickly disappeared, when instead of laughing along with you, natasha suddenly looked down, pushing the milkshake away dejectedly. a hurt look flashed onto her face, before she tried hiding it under the guise of looking away at something else. 

“you think i said yes to dinner with you so i could get information for my firm?”

damage control. damage control, now, the sirens in your head immediately rang, as you sat up straighter, panicked at hearing her voice crack. “n-no, no. of course not. i was kidding, i didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”

“i’m not using you, if you think that’s what this is.”

“of course, i didn’t…” you choked on your words, “...that wasn’t in my mind at all. i trust you, natasha.”

it was a relief to hear, of course, but the sting was still there. however, in your desperation, and perhaps regret, still, you reached out your hand, holding hers, and natasha physically melted into your touch. “please, please believe me. it was a joke, which i realise now is a badly made one. i never meant for it to sound like you were using me, because…because i really enjoyed tonight. i really, really wanted to hang out with you, and this is the best way i thought we could celebrate my grand slam. i’m sorry.”

after all this time, natasha thought, she somehow still had you wrapped around her finger. she rubbed her thumb over yours, and nodded. “i understand. apology accepted.”

afterwards, you offered natasha a deal; free VIP passes to any future matches she wished to watch you in, in exchange for her forgiveness of the crudeness of your words. she found it adorable that you were still so apologetic, and touched when she got reminded that this was precisely the person she fell so hard for. 

– 

natasha appeared for almost every single match that you played when she had pockets of breaks away from work. wherever you were on the court, you could look up to find her there; smiling encouragingly and cheering you on regardless of the scores. even when there were so few spectators that she was only one of a handful, and even when it was a match that drew in the thousands. 

you often hung out after, and outside, the matches, natasha following you around the country when she secured a promotion that allowed her the flexibility to work remotely, and became, as one could call it as accurately as they could, best friends. you talked to her about your woes and struggles of your schedule, and she noticed that you loved it when she talked about her journalism too. she was there for you as much as you were there for her through it all this time. 

still, natasha always wishes there could be something more. it could have been pure selfishness on her part, or dissatisfaction from something unfinished, but was it so wrong to want to keep you all to herself? often, when she toured around with you for your matches, she would catch the occasional pining gaze of others upon you, wanting to experience what it was like to have a champion for a partner, and it would fuel her blood boiling at people who she barely even knew. other times, when there were celebrities, or public figures, who flirted with her in interviews, and she was in your presence, it almost made her even more upset when you would only look briefly in her direction, almost trying to gauge her response, before looking away again. was it so wrong for you to want her again?

this time, she was there to love you and support you through your losses. though you were no longer the irrational, insecure, and doubtful youth player that you were in your college days, a loss was a loss and it would still hit a professional player as hard as it would a rookie when it came to feeling like you could have done better. when your confidence was shaken, natasha would be there to hug you after your matches, whispering words of encouragement and telling you that you did your best out there. you hugged her back just as tight. when you received an unfair result, natasha was there to shit talk the umpire just as much as you were, allowing you to crack a grin and eventually end up laughing along with her on the poor person that was destined to give you the poor score. and finally, when you tell her that she could skip the next match if she wanted because you feared the result, she told you that she wasn’t going anywhere, and she would be just as happy to see you as she would be in any other match. 

eventually, natasha proposed that the two of you forget about tennis altogether when you were alone and outside of the tennis courts. ice cream hangouts became simply talking about the flavour of the month instead of the impending match the following day, picking her up after her shifts at work became a nice solace for enjoying the music on the radio instead of talking about strategies that you could have used in matches earlier in the day, and movie nights became a time for you to rest your laurels for a bit, and lean your weight against natasha, to take away your stress and sorrows for the week instead of thinking about tennis the whole time. natasha would never know it was the respite you had so badly craved ever since you started playing professionally, and the closest thing to a work-life-balance you had between tennis and the woman you loved.

in those moments, natasha refused to talk about anything, or touch anything remotely close to tennis, when she was with you. she had reminded you that she was there to hang out with her friend outside the court, not the professional tennis player, and while it took you some time to dissociate your identity from all that you knew, which was tennis, you began to learn to like the person you were outside of the sport as well, all thanks to her.

and eventually, natasha noticed, you finally allowing yourself to look at anyone else in the face after losing matches, ready to confront and thank the crowd for their support, still. you seeking her for comfort after certain hard matches, instead of her coming to you, you letting someone else in to the world that you had carved a path for all by yourself, all those years ago. and with a support system like natasha, it was hard to lose many matches, not when you found confidence independent of your results and began climbing up the ladder to become one of the top tennis players of all time. 

maybe the both of you had just grown older, maybe you both matured out of your college ways, or maybe something was different now; the way you would look at each other across the room and know, just know, what the other was thinking, what the other wanted. maybe something really had changed, when you would catch each other’s smiles and finish each other’s sentences. maybe natasha had changed, and so had you.

it was after a gruelling day in the office, natasha remembered, she wasn’t so sure of the date, but she had been of the time. she hadn’t asked you to, and she certainly told you to just go home after your match, since you would be tired and drained from the day, but you waited, in your car, until nearly 2 in the morning to pick her up and get her home safe. she had come out in a hurry, apologising for keeping you waiting and being so mentally exhausted from work herself. but you had gotten out of the car, and, taking her stuff away from her to load it into the back, you had come back for her afterwards, pulling her in for a tight, comforting hug before she could even open the car door. natasha immediately felt all of the stress and worries for the day melt away into the ground then, almost whimpering with how comforted she felt being in your arms. she felt like she could cry. 

“it’s okay. you did great today.” you said, smiling down at her.

“how would you know?” she muttered into your sweater, letting you rock her back and forth for a minute, “you were busy being amazing at tennis.”

“i asked my manager to record you on the news while i played. watched it after. incredible how you could look so cool even when you’re delivering the news.” you got what you wanted when you heard her chuckle, finally letting go after making sure she knew she was off duty, and with you now.

your tennis rackets and equipment were still in the back of the car, and natasha got reminded just of the day you had before you even came to pick her up. “how was it? the match?”

you kept your answer brief, already driving into the parking lot of the diner the both of you first went after your grand slam win. natasha was craving for a milkshake after a long day. “i won.”

“that’s great!” she exclaimed, and you nodded, thinking that no matter how great it felt to win, somehow, the feeling of being able to see natasha after a long day felt even better.

the both of you ate in the car after, natasha laughing about a stupid thing your coach had told you during training, and you listening intently as she told you about a new unfolding story she was covering. it was safe, and familiar, and everything you had wanted after a match. 

it was the way that natasha wiped a crumb off your cheek, eyes glistening with something you always knew was more than friendship, fingers soft against your skin. the realisation that you had always known, but never dared to admit, all came rushing back. it was now or never. you never wanted her to be apart from you ever again.

“natasha.”

she was busy finding the sprinkles in her shake. “mmm?”

“do you think we’ve changed?”

she paused for a moment, looking up at the dashboard, before letting out a nervous snort. “what makes you say that? what a serious topic for tonight.”

“because i’ve changed. i think i’ve changed, a lot.” you angled your body to face her fully, inviting her to do the same. she sensed the shift in emotion in your tone, and finally turned to look at you. your stance mirrored that of the one you had displayed so many times in the past, when you were apologising to her after a bad fight the both of you would have.

you continued. “i’m not…that kid anymore. that angry, hotheaded, smug, and insecure kid you knew back in college. i-i think i’ve changed, i’ve grown, and i don’t ever want to go back to what i was back then.”

“i know,” natasha probed, “i know you’ve changed. i’ve seen it in person.”

you nodded, biting the corner of your lip, and natasha sighed. “and i’ve changed too. i’m not someone…who projects her desires, her insecurities of losing, onto someone else anymore. i’ve found peace with myself, and the time apart from you…it’s really helped me find myself and what i wanted for my future. winning clearly doesn’t matter to me anymore, and though it is nice, i think being able to enjoy and live in the moment, with people i cherish and love, that’s what’s more important.”

“i’ve changed because of you.” the both of you managed to say at the same time, sending shocked looks to each other at least, before natasha laughed nervously and you grinned with your heart pumping in your chest.

she motioned for you to speak first, seeing as you had something so earnest on the tip of your tongue. “i was going to say…i’ve changed, and everything’s changed, but i don’t think i have loved you any less, over the years. my love for you, it is the one thing that’s remained the same.”

natasha knew and didn’t know what was happening, both at the same time, until you reached over the console, and held her shaking hand. “i still love you, i always have, over the years, until now. and i know you might call me stupid, or even rash, for trying to repair something that we clearly thought was broken back in college, but…but i think we can make it work, this time. i think we can try again, and have the love we always dreamed of back then, now, as adults.”

at her stunned silence, you persisted, “i’m not saying you have to say yes now, or for us to get back together now, but i want you to think about it. really think about it, because i am certain that you are the one i have always loved, and you are the one i want to spend the rest of my life loving. so–”

“–yes.”

it was your turn to stare at her in shock. “...yes?”

then, natasha had tears down her eyes again, this time filled with joy and relief, as she threw herself over the console, and into your arms. “yes, yes, you idiot! yes i’ll get back together with you, yes i want to love you for the rest of my life as much as you want to love me.”

she felt you chuckle in relief through her arms, bringing her in for a kiss right after.

– 

“do you think you want kids? soon?” the topic had come up before, and while the both of you had discussed it briefly, it had never come to any real conclusion. natasha, naked and vulnerable and laying in your arms then, years after your confession outside the diner in your car, asked again. 

you were still catching your breath  beside her, the activities of the night after such a win tiring you out more quickly after the activities in the day.  “i want whatever you want.”

“well…” natasha drew circles on the bare skin of your back, “...i want them. pretty soon. i think we should start a family.”

she felt your smile against her own skin, nodding in agreement. “sure.”

“sometimes i see the kids that show up at your matches, up in their parents arms and wearing your caps to cheer you on, or even the ball girls and boys eagerly rushing in and out to help you during the matches, and i can’t help but want them then and there. even now, i can’t help but want them right now, with us, in this moment.”

you leaned over to kiss her sensually, cradling her face in  your hands, before returning, “my love, are you saying you have baby fever during my matches? and not a lovesick, guttural, lusting feeling for your fiancee that is playing–”

“–oh shut up!” she groaned, throwing a pillow at your face, “you’re the one that brought that stupid trophy to bed before you even thought about bringing me on it!”

she pointed towards the trophy at the end of the room, that natasha had almost kicked in frustration when she came in after her shower, sported in a brand new lingerie set just for you, and caught you hugging it and trying to fall asleep. you had to remind her that doing so would have broken your heart, and definitely your proposal to get married with her.

she felt herself being rolled over then, out of sight of the trophy, as you nipped on her skin and apologised until she gave in again. she always gave in when it came to you. “sorry. got jealous that my very beautiful, very sexy fiancee is busy looking at how cute the kids that support my matches are, instead of me. totally my fault.”

the glare natasha shot at you was met with another kiss that made her melt, but you weren’t free just yet. she rolled you back to straddle you, hands pushing against your shoulders to say, “i still want the kids.”

“my god, woman,” you sat up, pulling her down with you, “you just fucked my brains out, and we have a wedding to attend tomorrow. let me marry you first tomorrow, and we’ll have the kids after, okay? one thing at a time.”

it was getting pretty late, as she reluctantly grumbled her agreement. she was already breaking rules by sleeping with you the night before her own wedding; but how could she not? when her bride looked as gorgeous as the one she was snuggled up with, natasha didn’t mind breaking a few rules.

“fine, but if you dare bring that godforsaken trophy tomorrow, baby…”

that sprang your eyes open, lulling you out of the sleep you had been succumbing to. “come on, it’s wimbledon, i won wimbledon! don’t you think people deserve to see a wimbledon trophy in the flesh once in their lives?!”

“but not at our wedding!”

[steddiehyperfixation]

don't you forget about me (part eight; final)

(part one)(part two)(part three)(part four)(part five)(part six)(part seven) (ao3 link)

It was an “if” if Eddie would actually be discharged today, but now, after some more poking and prodding, he's finally on his way home with prescriptions for pain meds and physical therapy. 

Wayne helps him up the three creaky, beautifully familiar stairs into the trailer, and Eddie collapses onto the old, beautifully familiar couch the second he gets inside. The weary groan he lets out is only slightly over-dramatized. “I feel like an 80 year old man,” he complains, entire body sore and aching to the bone already. “Now I know how you feel.”

“Oi, I ain't that old,” Wayne protests. When Eddie snorts derisively, Wayne rolls his eyes and chuckles. “Alright, fine, so we both got creaky knees now. You, at least, will be young and spry again in no time, though,” his uncle tells him. “Just get some rest, old man.” 

Eddie heaves a great big sigh, takes another breath to steel himself, and then does just the opposite of that. 

“What did I just say?” Wayne mutters as Eddie moves to stand again. 

“I said I’d call Steve,” Eddie says. Steve had to go to work, but he'd told Eddie that morning to call him if he ended up making it home today. “I’ll dip out of work and come hang out, help you settle in, if you want,” Steve had said. 

Wayne offers, “I can call him for you.” 

“No, no, I got it,” Eddie insists, words broken by a grunt as he hauls himself back to his feet. “I can make it to the phone, Wayne, I'm not a complete invalid.”

“Alright.” Wayne raises his hands in defeat and backs off. He’s never been one to hover. “You just shout if you need me.” 

Eddie limps - slowly, painfully, with difficulty - to the phone on the wall by the tiny dining table they never use, the surface littered instead with unopened mail and haphazard papers scribbled with notes and reminders and important phone numbers. He leans heavily against the table as he paws through the piles trying to find a note of Steve's number. Eddie finds it buried deep, probably long since memorized by now before his memory got erased, but there it is: a notepad paper with Steve's name scrawled on it and two phone numbers written underneath, home and work. 

“Bingo.” Eddie grabs the paper, takes the phone off the hook, and dials the work number. 

The phone rings a couple times, and then: “Family Video. How can I help you?” 

“Hey, Stevie.” Eddie smiles at the sound of his voice, as if he hadn't literally just heard it only a few hours ago. 

“Eddie!” Steve's bored customer service voice brightens. “Are you home? How are you feeling?” 

“Yeah, I’m home. I’m alright. I mean, I’m bone-fucking-tired and feel about a million years old, but it's really really good to be back,” Eddie says honestly. He adds, “I’m under strict orders to rest, though - gonna be bored out of my mind, so I could use the company if you were serious about ditching work for me.” 

“Of course I was serious,” replies Steve. “It's a slow day today anyways.” 

Eddie grins. “Get your sweet ass over here then.” 

A smile is evident in Steve's voice too. “I'll be there in ten.” 

Eddie hangs up, tries his best to wipe this stupid lovesick grin off his face. He stumbles his way down the hall to his room next, flicking on some music from the cassette player on his dresser and looking around. His room is just as beautifully familiar as the rest of the trailer, not much changed from the way he last remembers it. The same music and D&D shit clutter his surfaces, the same posters clutter his walls. His bed is unmade, clothes litter the floor, same as always.

The only differences: his beloved electric guitar no longer hangs on the wall by the mirror (he was told, devastatingly, that she hadn't survived her trip to the Upside Down), and there are photographs he doesn't recognize taped up around the corners of that mirror. Eddie staggers over to get a closer look, only to first be momentarily jumpscared by his own reflection. His face is pale, eyes sunken, and his hair frizzes out in a greasy, tangled mess around his head, unwashed and unbrushed for who knows how long. Gross, but whatever. He manages to ignore his sickly appearance and inspects the pictures he had apparently deemed important enough to stick to the edges of his mirror. 

There are photos of Eddie smiling with Hellfire and his band and the kids, in large groups and small groups, with old friends he remembers and newer ones he doesn't quite. But what catches his attention the most is a photobooth strip of him and Steve. The first picture shows the two of them grinning, arms slung around each other’s shoulders; the second, a silly face photo, Eddie sticking out his tongue and Steve crossing his eyes; the third, Eddie giving Steve devil horns while Steve laughs; and the fourth- 

Eddie plucks the strip off the mirror, stumbles, so taken aback he trips over his own lame feet until he plops down heavily onto his bed, and he stares. He stares at the last image in the row, which depicts - clear as day and undeniably real, immortalized in ink on photo paper - Steve kissing Eddie, tender hand on his cheek, both of them smiling against each other’s lips.

He stares and he stares and he stares. And the longer he stares the more he can almost feel it, taste it, see the events of that photo strip playing out in his mind’s eye like a waking dream. Like a memory. 

~ 

Steve pulls up to the trailer, the one with the metal music blaring from somewhere inside that announces to the whole park that Eddie Munson is back home. He smiles at the sound, gets out of his car and bounds toward it. 

It's Wayne who lets him in when Steve knocks on the door. “He's in his room,” the older man tells him as he steps aside to let Steve in. “Make sure he's stayin’ off his feet, will you? ‘Cause lord knows he won't listen to me.” 

“Yeah, I got it,” Steve says, and his tone and his smile say I got him. Wayne nods. 

Steve makes his way down the hall to Eddie’s room. He raps his knuckles against the door first, but he doubts that can even be heard over the music so he pushes it open without waiting for a response. “Hey, Ed-” Steve starts, only to falter when he sees Eddie sitting statue-still on the edge of his bed, eyes boring holes into a photo strip of the two of them together. “Oh.” 

Eddie blinks, expression unreadable as he looks up and over at Steve. “Why didn't you tell me?” 

“I-” Steve doesn't know what to say, what he should say. His veins buzz with a nauseating mix of hope and anxiety and it's making him feel a bit sick. He takes a deep breath, turns down the music so he can think. “I wanted to. I just- I thought it would freak you out. You didn't know me. I didn't want to force anything on you.” 

“So…we were together,” Eddie says slowly. “For how long?” 

“Since July.” Steve’s desperately searching Eddie’s face for something, anything, to clue him in to what Eddie’s thinking or feeling right now. “Are- are you freaked out? Because you look a little freaked out.” 

“I’m not freaked out,” Eddie says, and it's almost convincing. “I'm just…processing.” 

“Oh-kay…” Steve breathes out, leaning cautiously against the doorframe, still hovering by the exit just in case Eddie decides he doesn't want him there anymore once he's finished processing.

“I’ve, uh-” Eddie looks back down at the photo strip he holds in his hands and takes a breath. “I’ve been remembering some things, you know, little things - in dreams - about us. But I- I thought I just had a crush or something, because I thought if all of that was real, if we had really been that happy - that…in love - then you would've said something. You would've told me.” 

When Eddie's eyes meet his again, Steve realizes he'd misread his expression before. Eddie's not freaked, he's upset, hurt, not because of what he's learned but because it was kept from him. Of all the worst-case scenarios Steve's spiraling mind had come up with over the past couple weeks, he had not considered this one. So preoccupied with his own angst over being forgotten and fear of being unwanted, Steve hadn't thought to consider that him hiding the true nature of their past might make Eddie feel unwanted too. That's the last thing Steve wants; the ache of that trumps any other ache he feels. 

“Eddie, I’m sorry. I just- you didn't know me, and I panicked; I didn't think, or-or I thought too much, but I should've just told you.” Steve pushes off from the doorway and goes to sit beside Eddie, because he can't stand Eddie looking at him with those big doe eyes and not being close to him. He leaves a bit of space, barely holds himself back from taking hold of Eddie's hand. “Because it was real, all the things you've been remembering. It was real- it is real, and I’m so sorry I didn't tell you.” 

Eddie is uncharacteristically quiet for a moment. His gaze flicks him up and down and across his face, and then Eddie grabs him, hands dropping the photo strip to instead clutch at Steve's cheek and jaw as he pulls him in and kisses him. As their lips slide together, familiar, the both of them sigh into the kiss. Steve feels a bursting in his heart, so similar to the way it felt the very first time they’d done this: the giddiness of reciprocation, the intuition that this is right. 

When Eddie pulls back after a few long moments, something is changed, something returned. Steve watches Eddie’s eyes flutter open; and when they do, for the first time since he'd woken up in that hospital bed, Eddie sees him, knows him, loves him. 

“How could I ever have forgotten that?” Eddie says, almost whispered, running his thumb across Steve's cheekbone. “How could I ever have forgotten you?” 

Steve could cry. Tears made of relief and joy blur his vision, because Eddie is looking at him with all the tenderness he'd been missing these past weeks, the painful emptiness of before now filled. It's all back. His Eddie is back. Steve pitches forward and hugs him bodily. Eddie returns the embrace; Steve sinks into his arms and it feels like coming home. 

He closes his misty eyes, buries his face in the crook of Eddie's neck and the tangles of his hair, and he breathes him in, clinging onto him like Eddie might just disappear if Steve ever let go. Eddie holds him just as close, one arm wrapped firm around Steve's waist while his other hand cradles the back of Steve's head and strokes his hair. Steve soaks in every touch, feels every place where they are pressed against each other, so warm and safe and loving after so long without it. He is whole again in the arms of the man he loves.  

“I missed you,” Steve mutters, lips brushing against the skin of Eddie's neck as he speaks, muffled. 

“I know, Stevie,” Eddie murmurs, “my Stevie, I’m so sorry.” 

“S’okay. It wasn't your fault,” Steve mumbles, and he thinks maybe they both need to stop apologizing for this. 

Eddie must think the same, because he says, “And it wasn't yours either,” like he knows every twisted, guilty thought that's been haunting Steve lately and he absolves him of them. He tugs gently at Steve’s hair to get him to lift his head and look him in the eyes. “You know that, right?” 

“Yeah, I know,” Steve says quietly. Eddie reaches up to brush from his cheek a tear Steve didn't even know had fallen, and as he wipes it away he wipes away everything - all blame, all fear, all pain. Eddie had forgotten him, and it sucked, but now he remembers again, and none of that matters anymore. Steve hangs onto Eddie's wrist. “Just-” His voice rasps with emotion, making it rougher. “Don't you ever forget about me again.” 

It's not a promise that can be made with any certainty - anything can happen at any time, just as unexpectedly as it had this time - but Steve doesn't need certainty, he just needs to hear the words, and Eddie gives that to him. “I won't, darling,” he vows, with gentle reassurance. “Never again.”

“Good,” Steve sighs, turning his head into Eddie's hand to press a kiss to the palm. 

The last of his heavier emotions drain out of him then and now he can feel the joy of Eddie's return in its whole entirety. As he rolls his face out of Eddie's hand and settles his eyes on the beautiful boy in front of him, a grin begins to spread across Steve's face; Eddie's smile grows in tandem with his, like he's smiling just because Steve is. Steve says, giddy in full now, “You're back.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie says, lovely and bright, ducking to bump his forehead against Steve's. “I'm back.” 

Steve lets go of Eddie's wrist to tangle a hand in his hair, and he tilts his head up to kiss him again, just because he can, because he's making up for lost time. They draw each other in close once more, lips and bodies moving against each other, easy and natural. Steve could stay right here like this forever, never wants to stop holding him or stop kissing him. 

But a thought - a question - tickles at the base of Steve's skull, and when he does pull back he asks, hopeless romantic that he is, “Just in case - I mean, just so I know - what was it that brought your memory back? Was it like a…true love’s kiss breaking the spell sort of thing?” 

Eddie laughs, gives Steve another quick peck like he always does when Steve says something endearing. “Not quite, Prince Charming,” he responds with a grin so fond Steve thinks his heart might burst. “It was more like…the things I had remembered were just dreams to me, shallow and unreal, but kissing you was like an anchor, a reminder that allowed those dreams to sink in as proper memories and become real.” 

“So…basically it was true love’s kiss,” Steve says cheekily, just to hear Eddie’s laugh again, just to receive another affectionate press of Eddie's lips against his. 

“Yeah, sure,” Eddie concedes, smilingly, never one not to indulge whimsy, “we can call it that.” But then he amends, with a little less levity, “It wasn't exactly a magic cure-all, though. It didn't bring everything back, there are still gaps in my memory.” He looks at Steve with eyes like pools of melted chocolate, soft and endless. “But I remember that I love you; I remember that much.” 

And Steve tells him, “That's enough," and he pulls him in for another true love's kiss.

THE END. taglist: @romanticdestruction @daydreamsandcrashingwaves @paintsplatteredandimperfect @hallucinatedjosten @mugloversonly @estrellami-1 @alongcomesaspider @thatonebadideapanda @tell-me-a-secret-a-nice-one @dragonmama76 @wxrmland @nuggies4life @sirsnacksalot @myguiltyartpleasure @lolawonsstuff @marklee-blackmore @vinteraltus @sebastiansstanswhore @0happyeverafter0 @scarlet-malfoy @hotluncheddie @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @emsgoodthinkin @alyelf @warlordess @stevesbipanic @lil-gremlin-things @rockandrolodex @badcaseofcasey @bat-outta-hel @fandomcartographer @manda-panda-monium @littlewildflowerkitten @giopandaonice @mightbeasleep @queenie-ofthe-void @krazyperson @worldofshea @marvel-ous-m @tartarusknight @a-little-unsteddie @xenon-demon @goodolefashionedloverboi @xxsky-shockxx @mc-i-r @bookbinderbitch @aspenshade88 @slowandsteddie @thedragonsaunt @daydreaming-mood @space-invading-pigeon @irregular-child @a-lovely-craziness (continued in replies)

[inkspiredwriting]

Snapshots of Love

Five Hargreeves x reader

A/N: Hey guys surprise surprise. I'm posting another one shot today because unfortunately I won't be able to do it tomorrow. Have a great day :)

Warnings: none

Five Hargreeves sighed as he walked into the cozy living room of their home, rubbing his eyes after a long day of work. As he stepped inside, he noticed a familiar scene that instantly brightened his mood: his wife Y/n sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by a scatter of old photo albums.

Y/n looked up from a particularly thick album and smiled warmly at Five. "Hey, I found something interesting in the attic today."

Five raised an eyebrow and walked over to her, intrigued. "Is that so? What did you find?"

She patted the spot next to her, and he sat down, leaning in to see the open pages filled with photographs. "I found this old photo album. It’s full of pictures from our life."

Five’s eyes softened as he gazed at the album, a flood of memories rushing back. "I remember that album. I didn’t think we still had it."

Y/n chuckled and flipped through the pages, revealing snapshots of their journey together. "Here, look at this one."

The photo showed a much younger Five and Y/n, standing in front of the Eiffel Tower, grinning from ear to ear. Five was holding a map upside down, looking completely lost, while Y/n was laughing hysterically.

“I remember that trip,” Five said, a smile tugging at his lips. “I insisted we didn’t need a guide, and we ended up lost for hours.”

Y/n laughed, leaning her head on his shoulder. “Yeah, but we found that amazing little café because of it. The one with the best croissants we’ve ever had.”

Five nodded, his smile widening. “You’re right. That was worth getting lost for.”

As they continued to flip through the pages, each photograph told a story. There was a picture of them at a Halloween party, dressed in glamorous outfits. Another showed them at a garden party, looking completely out of place yet having the time of their lives.

Five paused at a picture of them in Rome, sitting on the steps of a temple at sunrise. “That sunrise was incredible,” he murmured, tracing the edges of the photograph with his finger.

Y/n’s eyes sparkled with nostalgia. “I remember. We stayed up all night just to see it. It felt like the whole world was still asleep, and it was just us.”

The photos transitioned to more recent memories: their wedding, their first house, and the birth of their children. Five lingered on a picture of them holding their newborn daughter, Maddie, both looking exhausted yet indescribably happy.

“We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?” Five said softly, his voice tinged with emotion.

Y/n nodded, her eyes misting over. “We have. And look at us now. We’ve built a beautiful life together, despite everything.”

They turned to a picture of their son, Milo, his mischievous grin eerily reminiscent of Five’s. Five chuckled, shaking his head. “He’s going to be a handful, isn’t he?”

Y/n laughed, squeezing Five’s hand. “Just like his dad.”

The last page of the album held a recent photo: the entire Hargreeves family, including five’s siblings, gathered around a Christmas tree, laughing and enjoying each other’s company.

“We’ve had our ups and downs,” Five said, his voice filled with gratitude. “But I wouldn’t trade any of it for the world.”

Y/n looked up at him, her eyes filled with love. “Neither would I. We’ve made some incredible memories, and I can’t wait to make even more with you.”

Five wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close. “Here’s to many more adventures, Y/n.”

They sat there in comfortable silence, the album open in front of them, reminiscing about the past and dreaming of the future. Five pressed a gentle kiss to Y/n’s temple, feeling a deep sense of contentment.

As they closed the album, Five looked at Y/n with a tender smile. “Thank you for finding this, Y/n. It’s a reminder of how strong we are together.”

Y/n leaned into him, her heart full. “Always, Five. No matter what the future holds, we’ll face it together.”

And in that moment, surrounded by the memories of their past, Five and Y/n felt more connected than ever, ready to take on whatever adventures life had in store for them next.

[sports-on-sundays]

hello hello, saw you were a bit bored apparently and had open requests soo…😛

how about a fic where gavi meets the reader during media day for the new kit launch, and as gavi doesn’t really like these events where cameras are, he’s a bit nervous hihi

the reader is the photographer or videographer and she’s shy too, but something between them sparkles🤭 they’re both too shy to talk but in the end gavi makes a move and he takes her on a date or something? just some cutesy fluff:) ty!💞

camera-shy / Pablo Gavi

Summary: Pablo x photographer!female!reader - Two shy people are drawn to each other.

Requested?: Yes!! Thank you lovely!

Author's Note: WHAT A CUTE IDEA! LOVE IT! 💞

"Gavi- Can you look at the camera, please?" the young Spanish man is asked for about the millionth time.

"Hm?" he asks, and looks up once more at the camera.

You snap a few pictures as the PR person who had spoken before says, "Come on; relax your face a bit. Smile. Yes, good. But brighten your eyes, please-"

"How am I supposed to 'brighten my eyes'?" Pablo Gavi asks in confusion and slight exasperation.

It's been a long media day for everyone, but especially Gavi, you can tell. He's not the type that likes the being filmed.

In photography, one of the biggest obstacles are people who are just simply, naturally camera-shy.

And you can tell this footballer, with his big brown eyes, is one of those people. The way he's averting his eyes, getting distracted. His stiff smiles and awkward laughs.

He's a nightmare.

But you, unlike a lot of people with your trade you know, don't get as upset about it.

Because you're one hundred percent more camera shy than him.

Besides the fact that you love the art of it, that's why you became a photographer.

You always get to be the one behind the camera.

A famous footballer being camera shy, though? That doesn't work out as well.

Suddenly, the PR guys taps your shoulder, and asks you, "Don't you have any methods of making his... you know... Appearance, better?"

"S- Sorry?!" you ask softly. Yeah, you're not only camera-shy. You're just shy-shy.

"You know, making him smile bigger, or angles for him to look-"

Suddenly, he's interrupted by Pablo Gavi saying, "Stop bothering the photographer."

You look up in surprise, but quickly look away when your eyes meet Gavi's. You silently thank him, though, as the footballer continues, "There's nothing she can do." He clears his throat, taking a deep breath, and nods, opening his eyes, looking at the camera. "Better?"

"Oh, God, perfect," you murmur as he looks at the camera with a certain playful yet thoroughly serious glint in his eyes. You quick snap some photos.

Pablo will admit he hates PR, and he hates being on camera. As his career has progressed, it's gotten better, for sure. But some days? Some days, he just isn't in the mood to do it.

It's unfortunate that today is one of those days, and it's a whole day completely dedicated to media.

His brain is spinning with the dark room, screen behind him, flashing cameras, rambling managers, and-

And, well, with the pretty photographer.

She's cute, he thinks with a small, shy smile at the girl.

She thinks he's looking right at the camera, and snaps a picture of the little smile. Right after, the PR manager snaps, "Good smile, but put a bit more strength into it!"

What the hell is a 'strong' smile?!

Then, finally, after over two hours of snapping pictures, he's done. He sighs a huge sigh of relief. Apparently, 'that will have to be good enough,' as the PR manager says.

Right, then.

But suddenly, as Pablo is about to leave, a slight disappointment in his chest stops him.

The cute girl. That photographer, I might not see her again...

He looks back over his shoulder, watching as you pack up your camera carefully.

Oh, get over it, he thinks, shaking his head.

You're too awkward to actually talk to her anyway. Just leave it. She's so beautiful, she's probably taken already anyway.

You'll just make a fool of yourself, Pablo.

Suddenly, though, from across the room, you look up.

And your eyes meet.

Pablo can't look away. It's like there's a magnetic force, a spark, holding your gazes together in the air, across the room.

Pablo, it's no use, his anxious brain screams as his legs begin walking over to you. Give it up.

Too late now.

"H- Hey," he smiles when he reaches you.

You gulp. "Uh... Yes... What can I do for you, Gavi?"

Aw. Her voice is so soft, he thinks as he says, "I... I just wanted to thank you for being so patient with me today..."

"Oh," she smiles shyly. "Of course. It's my job."

He lingers, and says, swallowing, "What's your name?"

"Y/n Y/l/n," you smile softly, scratching the back of your neck nervously.

"Oh," he smiles. "Nice to meet you... Uh... so..." he gulps, before sort of blurting, "I was wondering... if, uh, I could have your number...? Maybe, if you're free tonight..."

Your eyes widen as your face flares up pink at the handsome football player's suggestion. "Are you- asking me out?" you breathe.

"I- uh, I mean, if- you know, if-"

"Yeah!" you giggle. "I mean, sure!" You, without thinking, grab a pen and his hand, before scribbling your number on his hand. "That- That way you won't forget it."

"Oh," he nods, loving the fleeting feeling of his hand in your softer, smaller one, for just a moment. "Yeah, sounds good!" he laughs. "We can text the details!"

"Uh, yeah, right!" you laugh awkwardly.

Your head spins as he walks off.

You sit across from Pablo Gavi, over dinner. "So, uh, Gavi-"

"You can call me Pablo," he says right away with a little smile.

"Oh... Okay... So... I'm, uh, sorry... I know I'm kind of awkward..."

He smiles, hastily resting his hand on top of yours. "No, it's fine. I am, too. I was almost too nervous to talk to you."

"Oh?" you laugh a bit. "And don't worry about the filming thing today... I'm actually pretty camera-shy myself, so I get how it is..."

"Oh, you are? That's funny, for a photographer."

You grin with a little giggle, "I always get to be the one behind the camera."

He smiles warmly, his eyes almost shining in a strangely dreamy way, for a girl he just met today, as he says, "You're really cute."

You flush pink. "Oh- Uh- Thank you. You, too..."

He gives a little adorable crooked smile. "Thanks, I guess."

Throughout the dinner, as you continue talking, your fingers slowly entwine with each other. Once you're both finished eating, you're tightly holding one another's hands.

"Thanks for... talking to me, even though we're both a bit hopelessly shy..."

He smiles. "It was worth it... So, would you maybe like to go out again...? I've had... a really nice time with you."

"For sure," you giggle as you stand up together. "I've had a great time, too."

Just as you're about to slip your hand away from his, he uses it to pull you to him, into a hug. You gasp a little by the sudden touch, but immediately lean into it, hugging him back.

You stand there together, for a few moments, arms wrapped around each other, before he whispers, "Thank God I got over my nervousness and just asked you today, because I have a feeling this little date is going to go places beyond what either of us can imagine."

And in that moment, you know, deep down inside, that he is completely correct.

And you smile big, because you can't wait!

[wileys-russo]

blurb req for Georgia stanway if you write for her. Reader going with the team to Australia as staff maybe like a student physio or a photographer or something. Georgia has had a crush on teaser for some time now but refuses to do anything about it because she thinks you’re straight and dating someone else on the staffing team (spoiler: you’re not)

behind the camera II g.stanway

"alright alright i'm comin jesus keira!" georgia groaned as her best friend knocked on the bathroom door for the tenth time, threatening to leave without her.

"we're in australia ke, it's been a beautiful sunny day and we're going to the beach to watch the sunset. why are ya so moody?" the younger girl teased her friend as she finally exited the bathroom, squeezing her cheeks and grabbing her camera off the bed.

"you better have washed your hands." keira grumbled, the two of them leaving the room and catching up with the rest of the group who hung around waiting in the lobby. "what did ya fall in g?" lucy teased as keira blamed her for their late timing.

"shove off." georgia grinned, pushing the taller girl away who attempted to pull her into a headlock before running off after jordan. "ah look your girlfriends coming too." keira mumbled quietly from beside the blonde whose head shot up at her words, seeing you laughing with alex and mary a few pairs in front of them.

"would you stop? she's not my girlfriend and she's straight anyway." georgia huffed, rolling her eyes and busying herself messing around with the settings on her camera readying for the change in light.

"whose straight?" ella barged her way inbetween the two, slinging an arm over georgias shoulder as keira dropped back a little to chat with alessia. "little miss media, georgias had googly eyes at her for weeks now!" keira teased as the younger of the two glanced over her shoulder to send her a pointed glare.

"y/n?" alessia asked as georgia sighed but nodded. "oh g that's so cuute!" ella beamed, pinching her cheek tightly and running off before her friend could pounce on her. "not to assume anyones sexuality but how do we know she's straight?" alessia asked calmly with a raised eyebrow as their feet hit the sand, several of the girls running off towards the water for a swim.

"well she's dating mateo." georgia explained, nodding toward you who was stood with the second string trainer and mary, watching some of the girls attempt to get on one anothers shoulders with an amused smile.

"mateo? are you sure they're together?" alessias frown deepened, folding her arms over her chest and watching the pair off in the distance with scrutiny. "well they're always together, and they go out for coffee most mornings, and for a run like every afternoon, and they always sit together at dinner." georgia defended, missing the look shared between the girls stood either side of her.

"well you sure know her schedule back to front." keira chuckled, watching on as georgia merely hummed, only half listening as she watched mateo try to lift you onto his own shoulders as you threw your head back, your laugh echoing around the beach as georgias face dropped like a kicked puppy.

"g you're only speculating all of this. why don't you just talk to her about it?" alessia asked softly, bumping her shoulder into her friends to gain her attention, ripping her eyes away from you. "cause she'll think i'm a creep!" georgia scoffed, shaking her head and walking off with her camera in hand toward the rest of the group.

"so it's just her that doesn't know mateo has a wife and kids right? and that y/n obviously has something for her." keira sighed, alessia mhming in agreement as the pair watched you notice georgia join the group, immediately excusing yourself from your conversation with mary and mateo and making a beeline right for her.

"god she's thick sometimes." "the daftest girl we know."

"coming for my job are we stanway?" you grinned as georgia pulled her eye away from the lense, face brightening when she saw it was you. "figured i'd best have a backup if this whole football thing doesn't work out. if you can do it mustn't be that hard!" georgia teased as you playfully punched her in the shoulder and sat down beside her in the sand.

"go on then, give us a smile!" you shook your head and pushed her camera away as she aimed the lense at you. "no thank you! this face stays behind the camera." you shook your head as georgia protested and instead took several pictures of you laughing from the side.

"not up for a swim then? i think you'd look dead good in some goggles." you grinned nodding toward tooney, rachel and niamh who were all splashing around with the ridiculous head wear. "and let you capture that and put it on the internet for everyone to see? no chance!" the girl firmly disagreed with a grin.

"hey do you see my cameras anywhere? they banned me from bringing them, something about a work life balance? enjoying my time in another country?" you feigned confusion, stroking thoughtfully at your chin.

"sounds like you're slacking on the job to me, might have to dob you into sarina for the laziness you know." georgia shrugged with a sigh as you smacked at her shoulder, grabbing the camera from where it sat in her lap.

"do you even know how to work this? i know they send monkeys to space now but i didn't think they trained them to use cameras." you teased as now georgia smacked you and snatched the camera back, snapping another few candid pictures of you.

"do you and mateo have anything planned while you're here?" georgia took advantage of a comfortable pause of silence between the two of you to ask, remembering alessia's words and decided to just swallow the anxiety that came with them.

"uh, just working? i guess." you gave her an odd look at the question. "why?" you asked curiously, unsure where it had came from. "dunno, couples normally do stuff together on holidays." georgia shrugged, refusing to meet your eye as she looked off into the distance.

but her head snapped toward you when she heard the distinctive boom of laughter, seeing you doubled over and holding your stomach, georgias features creasing into a frown.

"whats so funny, they do!" "you think mateo and i are a couple?" "well...yeah." "oh god gee i knew you could be slow but i tried to give you a little more credit than this!" "what are you on about? i'm not slow!"

"mateo has a wife and three kids, they were literally there for the goodbye party at st georges park!" you laughed, your abs aching from the ongoing amusement as georgias face flushed deep red in embarrassment.

"but you're always together! you get coffee, you go for runs, you-" "well yeah, his wife is my sister after all. mateo is my brother in law you dope!" you revealed with a grin, georgias blush deepening as she buried her face in her hands.

"and while we're clearing things up for another thing i'm gay." "you are??" "well...i think i meet all the requirements."

"i've also been trying to flirt with you for weeks." you shook your head with a small smile as georgias head shot up and she looked at you, shock plastered all over her face. "you have??"

"clearly not been doing a good job of it if you hadn't picked up by now." it was now your turn to blush, chinks tinting a rosy pink at the confession. "-but now i know you thought i was dating my brother in law it makes a lot more sense." you smiled, georgia groaning and burying her face in her hands again.

"you know mary and millie even gave me an intervention, warned if i didn't start taking more content of the rest of the team and not just you i'd be sacked!" you grinned teasingly.

"can we start over?" the blonde beside you asked hopefully, giving you a charming smile as you shook your head. "afraid not, just can't forget that you thought i was dating my brother in law."

"alright alright! you can stop saying it now." georgia moaned with a pout as you smiled and knocked your shoulder gently into hers, another pause of silence falling between the two of you.

"so...i should ask you out then?" "well i was patiently waiting." "oh shut up. would you like to get breakfast tomorrow?" "nah sorry, missed your chance." you grinned cheekily, snatching her camera and snapping a picture of the offended look which overtook her face.

"breakfast sounds good, your shout since you thought i was dating my brother in-" "okay! we get it, how many times do i need to say im sorry?" "i actually don't think you have at all yet." "well i'm sorry." "sorry for..." "are you really going to make me say it?" "you know suddenly i actually realised i don't like breakfast-" "fine! sorry for thinking you were dating mateo." "who is...my brother in law."

"stop saying it! how many more times are ya gonna say it?" georgia huffed with a frown which only made your amusement grow, kissing her cheek as her expression perked up.

"how many girls are on the team? twenty two? twenty three?" "twenty three." "well then i'll be saying it twenty three more times." "don't you dare!"

[pucked-bunnie]

capturing my interest ⎜t.frederic

pairings: trent frederic x lohrei!reader genre: fluff ⎜romance ⎜ prompts: "just tell me what you want from me." ⎜photographer!reader ⎜ warnings: trent working his big brown eyes ⎜ just trent wanting the reader to love him ⎜slightly sad trent synopsis: you'd heard all about hockey players and their love for hanging girls out to dry from your brother - so you're not quite sure what to do about the bruins puppy dog forward. word count: 3.5k authors note:  i combined some requests for this one! i apologise for how AWOL i've been but I hope some people enjoy this.

(unedited)

“And here is your hot chocolate with a orange and poppyseed muffin.” The server smiles as she slides the take away cup onto the table in front of you, your hand immediately swiping at your textbooks making room for her to position the cup and brown bag. 

“Thank you.” You smile as she stands to move away from your table - the servers smile brightening as the door opens with a jingle. Your gaze follows the servers, watching as the large man in the navy blue suit greets her with a tip of his head, walking up to the counter with a confidence you see in a lot of the athletes you photograph. 

He places his order, his voice so quiet that the server has to lean forwards to hear him properly, her hands moving quickly to get the order ready as quickly as possible. He strides to stand at the pick up counter, his phone looking tiny in his hand as he pulls it out of his pocket. 

The man has to be an athlete for sure. 

And he looks so familiar. 

You turn back to your books, taking a long sip from your drink, a shiver running down your spine at the warm chocolatey goodness making it’s way into your belly. 

“A history of photography?” A voice questions as the empty seat in front of you is pulled out, his suit tight on his thighs as he takes the seat in front of you, the black ring on his pointer finger catching the light as your gaze flinches up to his face.  “Must really be capturing your interest.” He adds, a bright smile on his face as he waits for you to respond. 

You stunned silence must be killing him cause he adds, “see what I did there… photography… capturing.” You nod slowly, confusion tilting your lips upwards as you continue to silently stare at the extra large man in front of you. 

No seriously, what do they feed these dudes sometimes. 

And seriously why is he so familiar? 

“A double espresso for Trent?” The server calls out, your gaze following the man in front of you as he shoots out of his chair to grab the drink off the server, the girl smiling at him through her lashes, without a second glance towards the pretty server Trent turns just as quickly to move back to the seat in front of you. 

“Double espresso?” You question as he slides back into the chair, your focus no longer on the open textbook in front of you. 

“I need some energy for today?” He states, his tone raising at the end in a question, his eyebrows pinching as he glances down at your drink. “What are you? Five?” He asks, with a surprised laugh, your marshmallows perfectly melted on the top of your drink. 

“Some of us prefer drinks that taste good.” You huff, the air pushing some stray pieces of hair off your forehead, your glasses pinching the bridge of your nose as you push them up higher on your face. your phone dings softly on the table besides you, the reminder of your photoshoot in 20 minutes making your hands move to close your books, shoving each one in your bag as Trent watches you quietly. 

“Going somewhere?” He asks as you zip your bag closed, pulling the strap over your shoulder. “And here I am thinking we were about to have a meaningful conversation.” You can’t help the chuckle that falls out of you as you push the lid on your cup, grabbing your phone off the table as you stand smiling at the large man with his double espresso. 

“I have to go to work, but it was nice unofficially meeting you, Trent.” You say softly as he leans forwards with a frown.

“Can I at least get your number or something?” He asks, your gaze flicking down to the numbers written on the side of his cup in thick black marker, before flicking back to him. 

“I think someone else has beat me to it.” You tease, before leaving the cafe and Trent, the stranger glaring at the side of his cup. 

+

+

“We really can’t thank you enough for filling in on such short notice.” Mia, the team organiser says as she leads your through the large arena. “Mason said you had a pretty busy schedule so we weren’t sure if you’d be available for us.” She continues, and you just nod, adjusting the strap on your shoulder as you try to keep up with the long legged manager. 

“Well I cleared up my schedule just for this - can’t let my brother down.” You chuckle, as she stops in front of the two large doors leading to the teams locker room. The team already suiting up for the game against the maple leafs later tonight. 

“Mason, you have a visitor.” Mia says into the locker room, motioning for you to stand besides her in the doorway, a few of the other men letting out low whistles as Mason stands from his bench, throwing a dirty towel at the goalie in the corner making the most noise. 

“It’s my sister you dickheads.” He chides, his face lighting up as he spots you, rushing out the door to wrap you in a tight hug, his arms and chest still sweaty as you try to escape him. 

“Mason, please I’m gonna smell like wet dog all day if you don’t let me go.” You whine, slapping at your brothers back as he just squeezes you tighter, some of his teammates watching through the double doors as they take in their young defence man holding his sister hostage. 

“Oh please, you wished you could smell like this.” Mason teases, as he rubs his sweaty head on the side of your face. You wriggle free, laughing as you wipe your cheek with mock disgust. “Seriously, you need a shower. I love you, but no one should smell like that.”

Mason feigns offence, clutching his chest dramatically. “What would the fans say if they knew you talked to their favourite player like this?” His grin is infectious, and you can’t help but roll your eyes as you step back. 

“Favourite my ass.” Jeremy huffs from inside the locker room. 

“Probably that you need to step up your hygiene game,” you shoot back, crossing your arms. The locker room buzzes with laughter and playful shouts from the other players, a few glancing your way with curious expressions.

“Are you excited for the game tonight?” Mason asks, his tone shifting to something more serious as he leans against the doorframe.

“Absolutely. I’m ready to capture all the action,” you reply, gesturing to the camera slung across your shoulder.

Mason’s teammates are already getting dressed, a mix of focused determination and camaraderie evident in their banter. “Hey, is that really your sister?” one of them calls out, grinning. “Thought she was just a myth.”

“Yeah, she’s like the Loch Ness Monster—rarely seen but definitely real,” Mason replies, a cheeky grin spread across his face as he bumps you with his shoulder. 

“Good luck tonight, Mason!” you call out with a roll of your eyes, feeling the warmth of the team’s energy wash over you. “And try not to get yourself into too much trouble out there!”

He rolls his eyes but can’t hide his smile. “No promises!”

Mia shoots you a grin, ushering you back down the hallway, a tall brunette in the second last stall in the locker room catching your attention, his AirPods shoved into his ears as he focuses on taping the blade on his stick, his head shooting up as your brother claps him on the shoulder. He exchanges a few words with Mason before his gaze lands on you, a spark of recognition flickering in his eyes.

“I’ll set you up with a spot right on the glass - don’t worry too much about getting the perfect shot just take as many as you can.” Mia says quickly, as she pushes her way through the crowd, waving a quick hello to the security guard as she walks you down the tunnel to the reserved spot right by the ice entrance. 

“This is your pass - you can use this for anything from concession if you get hungry or thirsty.” Mia says one last time, making sure you had everything you needed and was comfortable before leaving you in your seat. You pull your camera out of its bag, screwing on the large lens as you adjust the camera hole making sure it would close quickly incase of flying pucks. 

As you tighten the lens into place, the excitement in the air is palpable. The scent of ice and fresh paint mingles with the faint trace of sweat and adrenaline that always seems to linger in arenas. You glance around, taking in the vibrant atmosphere: fans draped in team colours, the chatter of eager voices. 

When a loud cheer erupts from the stands as players start filtering onto the ice for warm-ups, your gaze flicks away from your camera catching sight of the brunette from the locker room, now clad in his gear, weaving through his warmups with effortless grace. His eyes dart around, catching the excitement from the fans occasionally stopping to look at a sign or throw a puck over the glass, but then he locks onto your gaze again, giving a quick nod before joining one of his teammates on the ice, kneeling into a stretch.

Mia’s voice echoes in your head: “Take as many as you can.” You adjust your focus, capturing the energy of the players as they stretch and shoot, their movements sharp and intentional. Each click of the shutter feels like a heartbeat in the bustling arena, and you can’t help but feel alive in this moment.

Suddenly, a powerful shot rings out, the puck soaring past the goal and echoing off the boards. You instinctively lift your camera, snapping a series of shots as the players react, laughter and shouts filling the air. Your heart races; you know you’re in your element.

The sound of a whistle blows, signalling the end of warm-ups, and the players start to make their way back down the tunnel for the final prep before the game begins. The brunette you noticed earlier glances over again, his expression shifting from concentration to something warmer as he catches your eye once more.

You can’t help but smile back, feeling a surge of confidence.

As the crowd begins to settle, you adjust your position, preparing for the game to start. The lights dim slightly, and the announcer’s voice booms through the arena, igniting the fans into a frenzy. You can feel the anticipation building, and with your camera poised and ready. 

+

+

The game passes quickly - your brother most definitely finding himself in several tricky situations, the bruise already blooming on his jaw as you turn his head to inspect it. 

“I had to give you a good show, didn’t I?” Mason teases as he wrenches his face from your hands, straightening out his suit as he pulls his car keys from his pocket. “Oh you don’t mind if one of the guys joins us for dinner, do you?” You brother adds just as the tall brunette from the cafe stops besides him, a sly grin on his face. 

“Trent didn’t have anyone else to hang out with tonight and I said it would be cool if he joined us.” Mason explains, your brother oblivious to the way the brown eyed demon nods his head mockingly, a big grin breaking out on his face as you plaster a tight grin on yours nodding your confirmation. 

“Of course, the more the merrier,” you say, forcing a casualness into your voice that doesn’t quite match the flutter in your stomach.

Trent leans against his own car, his arms crossed and a playful glint in his eyes. “Are we heading to yours?” Trent asks pointing to your little brother, who nods his head in response before they both turn towards you, “because I hear your cooking is legendary,” he quips, his gaze lingering a moment too long on you.

Mason chuckles, oblivious to the tension building between you and Trent. “Yeah, she’s got some skills. You should’ve seen her last Thanksgiving—almost set the kitchen on fire with her fancy pants turkey cooking method!”

You roll your eyes, trying to mask your embarrassment with a laugh. “That was one time! I’ve improved since then.”

“Right,” Trent smirks, “can’t wait to see what kind of culinary masterpiece you whip up tonight.”

With a shrug, you slide into Mason’s care, heart racing. The drive feels longer than usual, filled with playful banter and teasing, but you can’t shake the feeling of Trent watching you in the parking lot, his car closely following behind yours. 

As you pull into the driveway, Trent gets out of his car first, moving into the building with an easy confidence. You try to focus on the task at hand—dinner—but every time you catch Trent’s eye, a heat rushes to your cheeks.

“Need any help?” Trent asks, leaning against the counter as you pull ingredients from the fridge, his gaze steady and almost challenging, the soft smile never leaving his lips. 

“Just chopping some veggies,” you reply, trying to sound nonchalant.

“I can handle a knife.” He says, his face more serious but his eyes still watching you curiously.

You chuckle, the tension shifting as you both work side by side, the rhythm of conversation punctuating the sounds of slicing and chopping.

“So, what’s your deal?” Trent asks suddenly, leaning against the counter, arms crossed. “What do you do when you’re not rescuing Mason from himself?”

You pause, considering how much to reveal. “Oh, you know. Just the usual—trying to keep him out of trouble, studying, that sort of thing.”

“Oh come on, I think there had to be more than that.” Trent says picking up the now diced carrots as placing them in the bowl besides you, placing his knife on the empty chopping board to cross his arms over his chest, “you have to give me something to work with here.” 

“What are you trying to do, Trent?” You question stoping the stirring of your pot as you cross your own arms across your chest mirroring his position. “What’s with all the prying?” 

“I’m just trying to get to know you a little bit…” He responds with a shrug, “maybe have that meaningful conversation you skipped out on before.” You can’t help but let out a shocked laugh at his words, his eyes softening as he steps away from where he leans against the counter, his arms dropping from across his chest as he closes the distance between you, your steps taking you backwards until you press against the fridge. 

“You can’t tell me that a little bit of you didn’t feel that jump of excitement when you saw me in the locker room.” Trent’s voice is lower than before, his eyes flicking to the entrance of the kitchen, making sure your brother was still perched on the couch playing his video game. “Because trust me I felt it too.” You let out a shaky breath keeping your arms close to your chest as you feel his own press against you. 

“The onions are going to burn if I don’t stir them.” You say quickly, clearing your throat as slipping out from where he’s trapped you, quickly stirring your ingredients in the pot before adding the carrots he had just chopped. You hear Trent let out a long huff as he moves away from the fridge, pulling himself up and onto the counter to watch you move around the kitchen. 

“Just tell me what you want from me.” Trent says his voice almost a whine as you add the canned tomatoes to the pot. 

“Huh?” You question back.

“Just tell me what I have to do to get you to agree to a date with me.” He says, quickly adding, “Please.” You look up at him, his eyebrows furrowed as he pouts slightly, his soft brown eyes capturing yours. 

God, you’ve always been a sucker for brown eyes. 

“Hockey players aren’t really my type.” You say quickly, “not really a one and done kind of girl, you know.” You add, thinking the extra information will help get the point across, your brother warnings about his teammates ringing through your head. 

“And you think I’m a one and done kind of guy?” Trent’s question throws you off guard, the playful tone he’s had this whole time, gone completely, his hand lifting him off the counter as he nods slowly, “good to know.” He says quietly before leaving the kitchen, joining your brother on the couch. 

The dinner passes by with you each digging into your bowls of lasagna soup, the recaps for the other hockey games that night playing on the T.V. the bowls discarded onto the coffee table as you finish eating, your brother quickly checking the time on his phone. 

“Ah shit, we better be getting you back home, you’ve got classes tomorrow.” He says quickly, your head nodding in agreement, standing from your seat to grab your purse off the counter, checking that you have all your belongings. 

“I can always drive her home if you want? No point you leaving and then coming back.” Trent offers quickly, gathering the bowls from the table and depositing them into the kitchen, snatching one of the take away containers with the leftover soup off the counter. 

“Nah man, I don’t want to bother you with that.” Mason says quickly, searching the counter for his keys. 

“It’s really no bother, let me do you this favour.” Trent reassures, your brother shooting his gaze towards you in question. 

“It’s fine Mase, he said it’s not an issue.” You say quickly, stepping forwards to give your brother a quick hug, poking on his bruise for good measure as you step away, “you played good today kid.” You note, your brother scratching the back of his neck as he walks the two of you to the door. 

“Text me when you get home.” Your brother says and you nod quickly following Trent out to his car as you hear the door to Mason’s building close behind you. 

“You really didn’t have to drive me home.” You mumble as you slide into the passenger seat of the car, shooting a glance over the strangely quiet man besides you. He just nods in response, holding out his phone open on the maps app for you to input your address.  

“I’m sorry for what I said before, I didn’t really think it would hurt your feelings.” You say after ten solid minutes of pure silence, other then the occasional directions from Trents phone. 

“No cause why would you? Why would assuming I’m a man whore hurt my feelings?” Trent says his tone sarcastic as he tightens his hands on the steering wheel. 

“I didn’t mean it like that.” 

“You did, and that’s okay - I’m sure Mason has given you his fare share of warnings.” Trent says shooting a glance your way before letting out a long sigh, “I just wanted a chance, you know. I didn’t think I was such a horrible option.” His words have a tone of joking in them but you can’t help the way your eyebrows lift in sympathy, your hand reaching out to grab hold of his forearm. 

“You’re not a horrible option, Trent.” You say quietly, “I didn’t think one stupid comment was going to stop you from capturing my attention.” You pause for a second, watching as the corner of his mouth tilts up slightly, the callback to his horrendous pun at the cafe making some of the tension release from his body. 

“Did you see what I did there?” You joke softly, pulling your hand away from his arm, his hand leaving the steering wheel quickly to chase after it. 

“I definitely saw what you did there.” He comments, his hand finally finding yours, latching your fingers together as he sits it in your lap. “So, if I’m not a horrible option then why are you trying to delay our future together.” You let out a snort of laughter as he pulls into your driveway, his hand still gripping yours as you look up at your apartment building with a sigh. 

“We can go on one date.” You agree, Trent’s smile growing as he releases your hand, rushing to open his door and slip out of the car, his footsteps heavy on the concrete as he rushes around to your side to pull the door open. 

“I’ll take whatever I can get.” He says quickly, offering a hand to help you out of the car, closing the door gently behind you. “Besides we’ve already had our first fight, we’re essentially married at this point.” 

“Goodnight, Trent.” You chuckle, your smile matching your own as you lift onto your tiptoes to press a soft kiss against his cheek. His neck a flaming red as you make the way into your building, glancing back over your shoulder to see the hockey player pumping his fist in victory as he rounds his car to slip back in the driver seat. 

[mclarengf]

la vida es tan dulce (contigo)

race day with dad!logan sargeant

[2.3k] 

note: woooow this got out of hand quick… well, enjoy my first proper full length fic! #didntknowhowtofinish x

“come on honey, time to go,” your boyfriend calls into the hotel room, still holding the door open for your daughter. 

lottie sargeant, every bit her dad’s lookalike, runs out, a tiny hand placed above the cap on her head to prevent it from falling. 

you stifle a laugh at her mild panic, readjusting the purse on your shoulder as you follow her out. logan closes the door behind him and holds out his arm for you to take. lottie, seeing you’re both ready to go, leads the way to the elevator, hitting the down button as if to summon it faster.

you squeeze her hand as you step in, “are you excited, lottie baby?” 

she grins up at you and nods, seemingly too happy for words.

“you’re gonna do amazing too, honey.”

logan looks up at this and shoots you a nervous smile. he’d qualified p14 the day before, a genuinely impressive result for the twisty streets of monaco. 

“all thanks to my lucky charm,” he’d said afterwards, kissing the top of lottie’s head in thanks. 

“i’ll just be happy if i can stay p14, y’know?” he says now, fidgeting with his watch, “at least it’s pretty tricky to overtake here.”

“daddy’s gonna win!” lottie, having regained the ability to speak now, wraps herself around logan’s leg, a hug of support. logan laughs at her blind faith and pats her head as he leads her out of the elevator and out to the street. 

“thank you, baby, i’m gonna try so hard just for you, yeah?” 

williams had managed to get you holed up in a hotel only a couple of blocks away from the paddocks, so you’re walking a bit slower than your family because of the heels you’re wearing, having wanted to dress up a bit for the prestigious monaco grand prix. lottie, who’s now found herself atop her dad’s shoulders, develops a system of tapping the top of his head whenever she looks back and you’re a bit too far behind for her liking, so that he stops and you get an opportunity to catch up. 

although lottie’s brilliant stratagem means you get there a few minutes later than planned, you all eventually arrive at the paddock entrance. logan puts your daughter down to grab his pass as rifle around in your purse for yours.

“lottie, have you got your paddock pass?” 

lottie reaches for her neck, only to find it empty and pass-less. 

“mummy…” her lip wobbles and her eyes turn sad as she realises what this means. 

logan stops as he’s about to scan his, already thinking of ways to get her in without a pass. she’s a kid- she’s his kid, surely it’ll be fine, right?

“oh look, darling, here it is!” you produce lottie’s pass from your bag, along with your own, and hand it to your girl on the verge of tears. instantly, she brightens and runs back over to her dad. 

relieved he doesn’t have to smuggle his own daughter in, logan lifts her up so she can tap her pass on the gate, before doing the same with his own and pushing through the turnstile. you follow suit, cringing at the photo which pops up on the display. 

just as logan hands lottie back over to you on the other side, a fan recognises him, and then another, and another. soon, logan’s being swarmed, and you’ve been pushed off to the side. lottie, to her credit, isn’t much disturbed by the sudden separation, but does cling to you tighter, probably for fear of being pushed away from her mum as well. logan’s head pops up above the sea of people, eyes searching for you and you gesture vaguely in the direction of the garage and hospitality areas when you spot each other. he sticks a thumbs up in the air before ducking back down to focus on autographing mementoes and taking selfies. 

you’re only stopped a few times on the way to hospitality, by a couple of fans who recognise you as logan’s partner, and a few photographers, looking to snap a ‘candid’ picture of the sargeant family. 

the williams team principal is engaged in a lively conversation with a few team members when you emerge on the second floor of the williams area. 

as soon as he sees you, he crosses the room for a hug, greeting you with a, “how’ve you been? it feels like it’s been ages!” 

“ah, you know, busy with this one always,” you return the hug and help lottie to stand on a chair. 

“hello lottie!” james is ecstatic to be fawning over your daughter, “don’t you look lovely today?” 

she’s dressed head to toe in williams merch, a team jersey layered over a white tutu and tiny williams-blue sneakers. her team cap is slightly askew from the journey here, but at least her pigtails seem intact for now. 

“hi grandpa james,” she reaches for him to hug her, and giggles as she’s spun around in his arms. 

“where’s logan?” james asks you, peeking over your shoulder to spot his missing driver.

“ah, we left him at the gates; i didn’t want lottie to freak out about the crowd.” 

he hums in understanding, still holding lottie. 

“it’s looking good today, you know,” he nods down to where the garage is on the floor below, “weather’s fine, car’s performing; we’ve high hopes.” 

you start to reply when he’s called over by an engineer with a clipboard. he hands lottie back to you with an apology, which you wave off. 

“come on baby, where do you wanna watch the race then?” you shift her weight into one arm as you free the other to fix her hat. 

lottie furrows her brows in deep thought, pondering your question, then points towards the balcony. 

the view from up here is incredible; you’re looking out over the pit lane and back straight of the circuit, and can see all the yachts lined up in port hercule. 

just then, lottie makes a small squeak, looking down at the pit wall. you follow her gaze down to see your partner walking over to gaëtan, greeting his engineer by dapping him up and pulling him into a hug. logan’s already dressed, wearing his fireproofs and overalls, tied at the waist. the two part and start discussing something or rather— most likely the next two hours of racing.

you know the race is supposed to start soon, but if logan’s only now saying hi to gaëtan, surely you’ve still got a little while. enough time to pop down and wish your boyfriend luck, at least. you adjust lottie in your arms again and make your way downstairs. 

logan’s no longer in the pit lane when you reach the garage, so you head towards the drivers’ rooms in the back. you go to knock on the door just as benny pushes it open on his way out. 

“oh hello!” he smiles at you as you catch the door with your foot, but his arms are full of god-knows-what training equipment, so you forego a hug and settle for returning his smile. lottie waves at him as he goes.

“baby?” you turn your attention back to the room, hoping to see logan sprawled out on his massage table, or standing in the middle of the room stretching out. instead, he’s sat on the floor, staring at his phone. 

“hey!” he gets up and takes lottie from you. she settles easily, head dropping onto his shoulder to watch her parents talk. 

“how’re you feeling now, log?” you shake your arms out- lottie’s getting so big so fast- and wrap one around logan’s waist. he rests his chin on your head, breathing in deeply and letting out a sigh. 

you stand together in silence until, “i don’t wanna disappoint the team,” he mutters into your hair eventually, “i’ve finally got a good quali position and i don’t wanna fuck it up for everyone.” 

he takes care to turn his head away from lottie as he swears; she’s at the age where she’s picking up words left and right. 

you move your head back to look at him, taking in every detail about him; the slight bags under his eyes, the freckles dotted across his face, the 5 o’clock shadow growing in. there’s a piece of hair hanging in his eyes which you brush aside as you take his face in your hand. it’s these quiet moments you really adore, where it’s just you two (and lottie) against the world. the sargeant family. even if you’re not technically a sargeant yet.

“you’re gonna do wonderfully babe,” you smile as he leans into your touch, watch as the stress in his face leaves it. standing in front of you now isn’t logan sargeant, the american who made it to f1, or logan sargeant, the other williams driver, each version of himself burdened with massive responsibilities. right now, he’s just logan, the boy you fell in love with.

 “and for what it’s worth, we’re already so proud of you, no matter how you do in the race.” 

at this, lottie perks up and reaches her hand up to logan’s face too, wanting to join in. he melts at the gesture, taking her hand in his to press a kiss to her palm. 

“that’s worth everything.” 

he sits lottie down on the massage table to kiss you properly for the first time today, arms settling around your waist. his hand drifts lower as the kisses get lazier, and soon it’s fully rested on your bum while you exchange slow, open-mouthed kisses. 

remembering where you are and your audience in the room, you pull away first, placing one more peck on logan’s lips as he pouts, wanting more.

he holds you tight as you say, “you’ve got a grand prix to race in now, handsome,” and is only incentivised to let go when you remind him how much lottie’s been looking forward to helping him get ready today. 

lottie helping her daddy get ready consists of watching him pull his race suit over his shoulders and watching you zip him up. she holds his gloves out as he slips his hands into them, and then- logan’s favourite part- gives him a good luck kiss. 

he’ll put his balaclava and helmet on just before he gets in the car, which lottie can’t help with today because you’re watching from upstairs.

“i love you, logan. race hard, yeah?” 

you kiss him one more time before you leave, relishing in the way he doesn’t want to pull away. 

“i love you too. keep your fingers crossed for me- both of you?”

lottie frowns at this; she’s not yet mastered how to cross her fingers by herself, but you laugh at her little expression and promise you’ll help her once you’re upstairs. 

pre-race rituals complete, you tug her away from daddy and return to hospitality. 

logan gets a good start when the lights go out, though a slow reaction from an aston martin ahead means he has to swerve to avoid a huge crash. he manages an overtake on kevin magnussen through the chicane, earning cheers throughout the room, and no doubt from the garage below too. 

the race ends with logan p13, but after zhou guanyu gets a 5-second penalty for leaving track limits, he finds himself in p12. 

logan’s post-race radio plays from the tv playing sky sports f1, “-good race today guys, thanks for helping me not look so bad in front of my daughter,” he laughs. 

crofty is saying something in response but lottie, already ecstatic because of the energy in the room, has stolen your attention by squirming happily in your arms as she hears her daddy talking about her on tv. you decide to take her back into the paddock so she can run around and let off some steam.

logan’s in the media pen when lottie spots him, and, full of excitement, she slides her hand out of yours and is halfway to him by the time you can react.

“-yeah, really happy,” you hear him say before he’s interrupted, “oh-? what are you doing here, baby girl?” 

he picks her up and looks around for you, smiling when he finds you.

“and who’s this gorgeous girl? is this who you were trying to impress in the car today, logan?” the interviewer- thank god- doesn’t seem annoyed by the intrusion, and instead welcomes it, holding the mic up to lottie, awaiting her answer.

“i’m lottie,” your girl says brightly, “my daddy’s the best racer in the whole world!”

logan, the interviewer, and logan’s press officer all laugh at this, while lottie smiles proudly. logan takes the opportunity to carefully adjust the williams cap on lottie’s head, which has been knocked askew from her running.

“lottie, do you want to be a racer like your dad?” 

logan angles her away from the mic before she can answer.

 “oh, let’s not get those ideas in her head yet. she’s already a handful without the stress of karting and racing right now.” 

this earns another laugh from the interviewer, thoroughly amused by father and daughter. the rest of the interview is uneventful due to lottie preoccupying herself with waving at the other drivers as they travel around the pen.

logan makes a beeline for you when he’s released. 

“hi baby,” he lets lottie down and scoops you up just as quick. 

“i’m so proud of you, log. for real.”

he says nothing, enjoying the moment, though you can feel him smile into the crook of your neck as he stays holding you up. you’re accutely aware of some people stopping around you and filming, but you’re just focussed on being with logan and lottie. your family.

[lolathestoryteller]

a boggart in the attic (April 14th; Ridiculous) @jilymicrofics

„Mum?“ James asks, somewhat nervously, as he walks up to his Mother in the sitting room. „Where d’you keep the old photographs, you know, of when I was a kid?“

Euphemia Potter smiles knowingly, placing her book aside to grant her son her full attention. „She finally got you to agree to show them to her then?“ she teases, all too delighted by James‘ girlfriend, whom he’s been talking about constantly since last summer.

James scratches the back of his neck, blushing ever so slightly. „I promised to send one with my next letter…“

„I see,“ Euphemia replies, trying her best not to chuckle at his love struck expression. „They’re up in the attic, I think. Oh, but be careful, dear, if I remember correctly, there’s still a boggart hiding up there somewhere.“

At that, James’ expression unexpectedly brightens. „A boggart?“ he asks, already taking his wand from his jeans pocket.

Euphemia raises a brow at the, in her opinion, rather misplaced excitement. „You’re happy there’s a boggart in the attic?“ she asks doubtfully.

„Yeah, it’s great practice!“ James hollers back, already half way up the stairs.

He rummages through the many, many shelves and boxes for a while, before finally, he notices how his Dad‘s old wooden desk, cramped into a corner, suddenly rattles. „Ah…there you are!“

He raises his wand right at the desk, saying clearly: „Alohomora.“

The box opens at once, a barely visible shadow escaping from its confides.

James readies his wand once again, preparing himself to face Voldemort and turn him into a clown, or maybe rather an old granddad? — but then, for the first time since fifth year, when his biggest fear had changed from snakes to Voldemort (not that much of a change, in his opinion) it isn’t Voldemort‘s pale face or red eyes that he sees…

„No…no, no…“ he whispers frantically, his wand cluttering to the floor as he stares at the body lying there in front of him. „Lily!“ he dives down, kneeling to take her into his arms, her bright green eyes dull and empty. „Lily! No! Lily…wake up, come on…wake up!“ he‘s crying, his entire world shrinking down to the feeling of her, cold and motionless in his arms.

He feels like he’s suffocating. „Lil, please…please…“

He doesn’t hear the footsteps that thump up the stairs, nor does he feel the hands that try to pull him away— away from Lily. He’ll never let go of her. „No! Don’t touch me! Don’t—“

„James! It’s just a boggart!“ he can hear his Mother‘s voice, albeit faintly, like she’s miles away…but he remembers. The boggart.

Though, before he can even look around for his wand, his Mother stands before him protectively, raising her own wand to the changing image which settles, just for a split second, to one of himself — lying there where Lily‘d been.

„Ridikulus!“

[fortune-fool02]

In Her Grasp

Leon Kennedy x Serial killer female reader

Summary: The rookie policeman finds himself in the claws of a notorious serial killer. 

Warning: Angst. Blood. Kidnapping. Dark themes. Torture. Serial killer themes. 

Word count: 2,373

Thank you for reading this. I've been planning this for a bit now and wanted to write something angsty for this baby boy. Please leave feedback and reblog as it really helps and is very appreciated. Thank you. 

Please enjoy. 

The door opened and [Name] stepped into the house, softly humming as she closed the door behind her and took her shoes and jacket off, setting them aside. She carried the bags into the kitchen, setting them aside and pulling out the contents she had purchased. A visit to the D.I.Y shop had given her some rope, thick, black cloth and some other bits and pieces. 

After putting away her shopping, she gathered the rope and cloth, heading towards the cellar door. Darkness completely encased the cellar, making the steps leading down to it appear to vanish beyond the first two. Unfazed, she continued down them, flicking a light switch at the base of them. A weak flicker sparked, casting a small pale yellow light out, doing little to brighten the room. Her guest remained secured to his seat. The man was stripped of his clothing, rope tied securely around his ankles and wrists, binding them together to prevent any attempt of escape. Noise-cancelling headphones over his ears with thick cloth around his eyes, blocking out his vision and hearing. 

He was no one. Someone she picked up a few days ago and had been keeping him here since. Walking over, she stood in front of him and looked at him. Black and blue blotches covered his skin, the hard strike of a bat or metal pole leaving their mark. The rope burns gnawing away at his wrists and ankles, an ugly red raw against his skin. She had her fun with him before, hearing him cry out and beg for forgiveness for something he hadn’t even done. Hell, she didn’t even know the man’s name. There was truly nothing personal about this. He was just there at the wrong time. 

Moving around the other side of the chair, she held up the piece of rope in one hand and used another to drag a stool over, securing the rope to a hook in the ceiling. Giving it a firm tug, she was satisfied with its security before using the other side of it to wrap around the man’s neck, feeling him whimpering behind the gag in his mouth. Once it was on, she tied the other side of the rope to a heavy weight on the table before pushing it off, letting it fall to the floor. The man was lifted up into the air and held there, pained gasps and cries were cut off by the rope. [Name] just stood there and watched his legs try and kick around for a few minutes before his body went still. Pulling on some disposable gloves, she walked over and pulled the cloth off his eyes to confirm he was dead, a small smile tugging her lips at the sight of his hollow, empty eyes. 

A sense of fulfilment flooded her body, a comforting sensation that made the smile on her lips grow more. She savoured it for a bit longer, looking into those empty eyes, imagining how they must have looked in their final moments of light as the life slowly faded from them. Regardless, she turned herself away, her attention now on a new prey, a new target. A photograph was pinned on the wall, those sweet, baby blue eyes staring at the camera with such vibrant light with the shadows casting due to his hair. The policeman uniform peaking just above the bottom edge. The rookie policeman at R.C.P.D. At the bottom of the picture was a name: 

‘Leon. S. Kennedy’ 

Her latest target. It had been chance that they had crossed paths, a man had tried to mug her in the street and he swooped in to her aid. Something about him had made her whole world freeze in place, like the frozen film of a camera. A streak of vibrant colour in her bleak, bland world. From that moment on, Leon was the only thing in her mind, haunting her thoughts like a siren’s song. Any other target was nothing to her anymore, very little enjoyment pulled from their time together. None of them had that look in their eyes like Leon did. That sweet little glimmer, a twinkling star in his eyes. 

There was something about him being a policeman that made the whole ordeal that more enticing. A man in uniform, ready to serve and protect innocents from people like her, and yet, he was oblivious to the threat that stood in front of him. The fly gazing at the spider, falling deeper and deeper into her web.

[Name] disposed of the body, wiping everything down and scrubbing it clean to ensure there was nothing left behind. Nothing of that boring thing's presence as even an indication he even existed. Once done, she picked up her phone and dialled the number Leon had given her.

Her voice soft and sweet as honey as she spoke to him, wishing to speak to him in person to discuss something of importance before hanging up the phone. Grabbing her bag, she headed out. 

- 

Leon sat in his car, looking down at his phone, reading over the text messages. This was the spot [Name] told him to meet her at. The street was quiet, especially at this time of night. A knot of worry irritated his stomach, [Name] wouldn’t say what was wrong, just that they needed to meet in person and it was important. He was off duty so he made his way over as soon as he could. 

His window was rolled down, allowing the night’s cool breeze to brush through his hair, past his cheeks with a gentle touch as his eyes scanned around again for the [Hair colour] woman. He brought his phone back up, his fingers moving along the screen as he sent her a text message and sent it off. A ping behind him drew his attention, the sudden feeling of cloth shoved in his face brought a pang of concern and worry. The grip held the cloth firmly in place while the other hand latched onto his arm, keeping it down as the chemicals entered his system. 

Muffled cries and yells soon grew quieter, his attempts at fighting slowing as his muscles grew heavy, his vision swimming a little before encasing in darkness. 

When he awoke, his head ached. A pounding in rhythm of his heartbeat that made the back of his eyes hurt. He turned his head, trying to bring his hand up to his eyes but found it held firmly in place. The rough texture of rope chewing into his wrists, panic shot through him, forcing the drowsiness away as he took in his surroundings. Darkness filled every corner, making it difficult to make anything out. His clothing had been stripped away, leaving nothing but his underwear, as was his handgun he kept on him at all times. The coldness seeped into his skin, raising goosebumps along his skin. 

He couldn’t panic now. He had to think and try to figure out how to escape. The rope was secured tightly, restricting movement. Faint, light taps could be heard above his head, settled in a steady rhythm. Footsteps. Followed by a click of a lock before the door opened, the footsteps making their way downstairs. A light was turned on, casting a weak light around him. 

“...[Name]?” Confusion was thick on his voice, his eyes locked on the woman. What was going on? 

“Oh, I thought you’d still be asleep.” Her voice held that sweetness to it, the same sweetness that Leon has ever known from her since the moment he met her. She passed by him, setting a bag down somewhere behind him. Leon tried to follow her but he couldn’t turn his head far enough. 

“What’s going on, [Name]? Let me go!” He demanded, trying to keep his voice firm but those little cracks in it gave him away. He felt vulnerable. Weak. He couldn't escape these binds, he couldn't defend himself. Left at the mercy of the woman with the sweet smile.

"I can't do that, even if I wanted to, Leon." She moved around, settling back in his line of sight. A chair scrapped across the floor and she seated herself directly across from him. Their knees touching. There was something unsettling in those pretty eyes of hers, as if he was gazing into the eyes of a viper ready to strike. Dread coiled in his stomach.

"You see, for a policeman, I was kinda expecting you to put up a little more of a fight. Or at least have been more alert, especially when there's a serial killer on the loose." [Name] lightly scolded, as if talking to a child who was misbehaving and being reckless. "But I can't blame you. You're the new rookie. Things like this don't happen to the rookies, eh?"

Leon tried to keep his breathing steady, gripping his bindings a little as he tried to assess the situation and tore his eyes away from her, tried to think of an escape. Something metal flashed in the low light, and he felt the cold kiss of a steel blade under his chin, tilting his head up lightly. "Don't look away from me, Kennedy." Her voice, just like her eyes, held a venom to them that was sharper than this knife under his chin.

"[Name], please. You need help-" The tip of the knife pressed itself into his skin, just enough to draw a single droplet of blood, a stinging sensation followed.

"I've been told I've needed help my entire life." She slowly pulled the knife away from him, her eyes not once moving off of him, "This, all of this, helps me." Her other hand rested on his knee and she leaned close to him. He could feel her warm breath against his lips. She brought the blade to her open lips, gently smearing the droplet of blood on her lips like it was lip-gloss before grabbing a fist full of his hair, yanking his head closer and pressing her lips onto his.

A surprised sound spilled his lips, the taste of his blood on her soft lips, lips he had dreamed about kissing time and time before, but not like this. [Name] held him there for a few seconds, savouring his lips before pulling away with a smile.

"If you behave, like a good boy, then this won't be as unpleasant as I can make it." Beneath that soft, honey-laced tone, beneath those twinkling eyes, there was a threat there. A promise of danger if he doesn't listen to her. A mouse trapped in the claws of a cat.

-

Despite his best efforts to keep track of time, it was hard to do so in this cellar. [Name] had set this little routine of sorts. Whenever she would leave him, she would cover his eyes with a blindfold, and cover his ears with headphones that played different music, music that he loved, all of his favourite songs, at a comfortable audio. All the times they had hung out together, all those moments they shared, she had been learning about him, studying him, picking out information to use in her favour.

But this time, [Name] had something else in mind for him. Leon had attempted to try and escape while she had been "gone". He had gotten free of his restraints, he had made it up the stairs and out the front door, only to find the woman herself sitting on her porch right outside the front door. She had been waiting for him to try and escape. She knew he would try to escape. And the second her eyes met his, and he saw that disappointed look in them, he felt his blood run cold.

Now, Leon was back in the cellar, his body secured so he was laid bare before her on the cold, stone floor. His wrists and ankles tied to prevent any form of movement, any form of resistance was impossible.

"You know, I really didn't want to do this to you, Leon." [Name] spoke, her back facing him as she set something up on the desk across from him. In her hand, she held an old leather belt with a large, metal buckle at the end. Her hand motioned to the clock she had set up. An old pendulum clock. Confusion chewed at him at the sight of the clock.

"Every sixth tick from the pendulum, I am going to hit you with this belt. Every seventh tick, I am going to kiss you." She explained calmly to him, her fingers gently brushing strands of his hair from his face, she wanted to see his expression as she did this.

With that, she pressed the key on the back of the clock and allowed the pendulum to begin swinging.

"Wait, [Name], I-I didn't-" Before Leon could finish his sentence, a piercing snap of leather filled the room, followed by a burning, biting pain in his side from the belt buckle. A pained cry ripped from his throat as his body tensed, the pain throbbing in his side. But not a moment later, her lips were on his cheek in a gentle, almost loving kiss. The two opposite interactions conflicted with one another. Her loving kiss on his cheek was warm compared to the cold bite of the belt buckle. Each time it struck his flesh, her lips were on his skin without fail.

Six strikes. Six kisses passed before the pendulum's dreaded ticking finally fell silent. [Name] setting the belt down beside the clock and moving over to Leon's side, her hands gently on his skin as she stroked his cheek, smiling at him.

"See? If you behave, I won't have to do this. I don't want to hurt you, Leon. So please don't make me, baby." [Name] leaned down and kissed his lips, humming softly as he tried to pull away from her. He only looked at her, his eyes filled with a mixed concoction of fear and unease at her.

She loved that look, but she wanted to see something else in those pretty eyes of his.

"Don't worry, baby." She smiled at him, "You'll learn to come around. Then we can be happy together."

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Shifting Wings: Chapter Fifteen

Shifting Wings: Before the Raven Matthew, there was Jessamy, and Jessamy came with a little sister by the name of Adrienne. Dream adores his two little Ravens, but after over a hundred years of imprisonment and the death of Jessamy, Dream will find that he has not just lost his companion, but his beloved little Raven Adrienne no longer brightens the halls of his Palace. None of his staff wish to speak of where the Raven has gone, but the silent new resident of the palace is cause for question. After all, she was the one who aided in his release. If none of his subjects would help him find Adrienne, perhaps she could lead him to the whereabouts of the missing Raven. If only the woman wasn’t so flighty and hard to track down.

Warnings: Explicit Language, Explicit Material (Unprotected Sex is a No No), You Get ONE Happy Chapter!

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x FemaleRaven!Reader, NAMED Reader (I like the name).

Word Count: ~2.4k

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“I’ve got ‘em, Luce,” You called as you picked up the books that had appeared on the shelving bookshelf, newly written. Lucienne leaned over the railing of the second floor, her brow furrowed.

“That is not your duty, Adrienne,” Holding the books against your chest, you looked up at the librarian with a raised brow.

“I didn’t say it was,” You replied before pointing out the obvious. “But you are swamped and I’ve nothing to do so don’t argue with me.” Lucienne wanted to glare at you as you moved towards the shelves, but she couldn’t argue with that fact.

“If Lord Morpheus catches you…”

“Lord Morpheus is far too busy to be constantly watching me,” You cut her off while sliding a book into place. “And should it come to that, I will handle it.”

“He may be busy but he shall never be so busy that he does not have the time to check on you,” Lucienne warned before shuffling away. You turned back to the shelves and put the rest of the books in your arms, away. Ultimately, you found yourself wandering the halls of the palace, enjoying seeing the many dreamers that now frequented the realm. You preferred it to be more lively for you knew that it pleased Morpheus to see his realm filled once again.

There were a group of dreamers wandering through the open parts of the palace, guided by Pācātus, the dream of calm and peacefulness. Of course they weren’t explicitly supposed to follow her, for the Dreaming was a place to dream not be hindered by walls. Occasionally some broke away to inspect places of the palace closer, like the ballroom, or the billiards room, even the music room was a popular gathering place. Hands behind your back, you wandered yourself, admiring the many murals painted upon the ceiling.

You probably ought to spent a week just walking the halls, seeing all of the murals that decorated both walls and ceilings… but even then it wouldn’t be enough time to full enjoy the place you lived within.

“You like art too?” Upon hearing a voice beside you, you turned your head to see a dreamer admiring the artwork. You smiled pleasantly.

“Very much so, I consider it my profession,” The dreamer raised his eyebrow at your words and his own smile widened. “I haven’t painted murals like this,” You continued, turning your eyes back to the artwork high above. “But I love to draw and paint.”

“Is that why you are here and not with the tour group?” The dreamer asked, taking a step closer. “I mean the dream leading it seems really knowledgable and how often do you get to visit a place like this?”

“I’m not one to follow the predetermined path,” You answered, turning in place to face him. “Do you enjoy the pencil and brush as well? Or do you prefer to appreciate?”

“I’m a photographer,” The dreamer explained to you, he flashed you another charming smile. “I do a lot of portraits and I can say that you are a very photogenic woman,”

“Am I?” You blinked and considered his words. “I do not think I have ever had my picture taken, let alone had a portrait made.”

“Well that’s a shame, you are such a beautiful woman.” You opened your mouth to thank him for his compliment, when someone called your name, your other name.

“Corvus,” Your head snapped around to see Morpheus brooding at the other end of the room. He was glowering, you could see that. He had also called you Corvus. He only did that for official business and even then it was never to you, always in reference. “Come, we have work to do.” Had you forgotten a meeting or talk with him? What had sullied his mood? You couldn’t remember and looked back to the dreamer with an apologetic smile.

“Apologies, but I must return to my duties, please enjoy the rest of your stay within our realm,” You were walking past the dreamer towards Morpheus, unable to see the shock and disappointment on the dreamers face. When you reached Morpheus, he took your elbow and was promptly striding away, pulling you along. Morpheus’s pace was fast, his long legs taking great strides while you scrambled to catch up. “Morpheus?” You asked, panicking that you had forgotten something important with the way he was dragging you along. “Morpheus did I forget—”

You were spun in dizzying circle while ushered into an alcove. Just as your back hit the wall, Morpheus cupped the side of your face and loomed over you, pressing his lips against your own. He kissed you with ferocious passion, highlighted by a touch of possession for he had not liked the sight of a dreamer flirting with you. You were his consort, not that dreamer’s. So the Endless kissed you, licked at your lips with his devilish tongue until you parted them with a soft sigh and then took more.

You whimpered softly when his tongue tangled with yours and lifted yourself onto your toes. Your hands slipped over his shoulders and pulled Morpheus closer to your body, and the Endless fed off it. Morpheus clutched you closer, his free hand wandering over your sculpted body and devouring what he found there. Breaking the tongue lock, Morpheus kissed you again and again, ravaging your lips until they stung and you were gasping. Melting against him.

“You are my consort,” He growled against your lips, his breaths heavy and thick. You shuddered and raised a hand to slip your fingers into midnight strands. He kissed you once more, this time pressing so close your faces were touching. “And I should make you my queen so that all dreamers know the you are not available.” Oh, oh my. Now you understood what had gotten into him. Stroking your fingers through Morpheus’s hair, you pushed back against his rabid kisses. You flicked your tongue along his lips, enjoying the way Morpheus’s grasp upon your body tightened, and then slipped your tongue across his once more. You really could never get enough of his cosmic taste. Several more moments of fevered kisses passed before Morpheus pulled back, resting his forehead on yours and brushing his fingers down your cheek. “I am going to make you my queen, Adrienne, tomorrow if it means that every dreamer knows you are mine.”

You blinked and tilted your head back to look in his eyes.

“Morpheus, I am sure that is not necessary…” You soothed, running your fingers further through his hair and nuzzling your face against his. Your physical touch always seemed to calm him down. “The dreamers are fleeting and ignorant, take no mind to their whims.”

“Their whims should not involve you, beloved,” Morpheus answered you, soaking in the heat from your lips and face. He wanted more. He wanted so much more and he could have it. You didn’t gasp or blink when Morpheus plucked your feet from the floor, you didn’t mind when sand wove around your body and the alcove disappeared. You definitely didn’t complain when you and Morpheus appeared in your bedroom and you were deposited onto your bed. Morpheus loomed over you, framing you in while his lips carved lines of tingles along your shoulder and neck.

“You know I am only yours,” You whispered, sliding your fingers over Morpheus’s shoulders and up his neck. Turning your head, you kissed his hair. “Did you not form me for you?” A rumble sounded from Morpheus, one caught between satisfaction and yearning. “Your dream of ravens. Your Corvus.”

“I wish for all who sets their gaze upon you to instantly know that you are mine,” He added, teeth tugging at the neckline of your waistcoat, then to your button down. You were always dressed impeccably, there was no denying that, but at the moment? Your clothes were a hinderance. So he got rid of them without a second thought. Morpheus pressed his mouth against your neck, kissing your skin and running his teeth at the point where your pulse of life fluttered.

Moaning sweetly, one of your hands departed onyx locks to drag down Morpheus’s neck. The Endless shivered beneath your touch, raspily groaning beneath your barely there touch. Morpheus had an infinite amount of patience, but not when it came to you. While his hands wandered your body with an increased fervor, teeth scraped up your neck. Morpheus returned his lips to yours. He kissed you hungrily, body draping along yours as remaining fabric separating your bodies disappeared.

Morpheus held your jaw and kissed you repeatedly for a few seconds more, slowly, deeply, making sure that his tongue was as tangled with yours as possible. Your fingertips trickled down his back, tracing the beautiful lines before you sank your nails into his flesh and breathlessly whined. You could only take him kissing you like this for a little while before needed more.

“Morpheus,” You whined, squirming beneath him and scratching further at his skin. Your Endless lover dragged his tongue across your lip and kissed you deeply once more before pulling back to look in your eyes. You gave him a pleading look and tugged on his hair. “Please don’t tease me, not this day,” You whimpered, feeling his beautifully sculpted body pressing against yours. Morpheus nuzzled your face and brushed his lips back over yours.

“Do not despair, my dream, for I do not intend to keep you at my mercy,” Morpheus purred, running a hand down your side and appreciating your gentle curves. That devilish touch didn’t stop until your legs were pushed apart, and even then, as Morpheus slid his cock into your eagerly waiting body, his touch was quick to return to your stomach. He could feel the way you trembled, lavished in your breathy sounds, and thoroughly enjoyed the way you twisted beneath him for more.

“Morpheus, my love,” You gasped out when he pressed the length of his body against yours. You could feel every inch of his length within you, feel every hardened muscle and tendon that was draped along your softer body. Your walls clenched around Morpheus’s cock and he angled your face so he was looking in your eyes once more.

“Are you really that hungry for me, my dream?” He questioned softly. You opened your mouth to reply but midway through your first syllable, Morpheus drew his hips back and sank back into your hot cunt. A strained gurgle departed your lips while you dug the nails of your left hand into his back. He nuzzled your face and brushed his lips against yours. “Hmm? Use your words, beloved,” You wanted to. Oh how you wanted to, but every time you tried he just thrust back into your body and stole your breath and sound. That made the Endless very happy, for his smirk widened every time you whimpered or squeaked when his hips met yours. He liked the feeling your pelvis rubbing against his, the more skin the better.

It was a particular vice of his to feel your arousal slipping from your body and smearing against his skin when he ground his hips against yours. Feel the way you slowly writhed and clung closer each and every time Morpheus’s cock slipped through your clenching walls to bury so deeply you would feel him for days. Morpheus was obsessed with you, obsessed with your touch, with your love, and his being ached with how much he felt for you. You cried out once more, your body clenching around the cock that somehow managed hit the perfect spot every time Morpheus thrust into your body. The pleasure building within your body was getting to be too much, that you knew. Morpheus pressed his lips against the skin beneath your ear.

“Tell me, my dream,” He rasped, urging you, pushing you towards ecstasy in a way that left your nails raking harshly across his back. “Tell me, beloved, how much do you need me?” You gasped and clenched your legs around him, digging fingers into his flesh, bucking your hips into the ones crashing against your own. “Tell me.”

“Ravenous,” You finally managed to wail, twisting your face so your own as near his. You had tears of frustration within your eyes because as much as you wanted to feel the high of an orgasm, your dark and dangerous lover was keeping you at the brink and not allowing you to fall. “I. Am. Ravenous!”  Entirely pleased with your wails, Morpheus kissed your lips and pushed you over the edge.

Head falling back, your entire body convulsed for a few seconds, tremoring and shaking as you came harshly around Morpheus’s cock. The high and pleasure rushing through your veins had such a grip on your body you could barely feel Morpheus continuing to fuck you, eyes glowing as he finally chased after his own pleasure. He spilled his seed into your body, shuddering and clutching you close to him when you whimpered and twitched, your body going slack beneath him. Morpheus allowed himself the pleasure to half lay on you, using your soft body as a place of comfort.

“I do not believe Abel will forgive us if we elope.” You spoke softly, slowly coming down from the high of pleasure and ecstasy. Your fingers returned to dark strands and you stroked Morpheus’s hair “And Matthew said he wants to be a bridesman, but I do not know what that means…”

“It is tempting thought.” Morpheus mused, nuzzling his face into your neck. “But you are right, beloved, many of our people would not be happy if we did so.”

“So what shall we do then?” You asked, wondering what to do about this predicament… because the longer you remained unmarried, the higher the chance there was of Morpheus taking off with you to elope.

“First thing tomorrow I shall convene with Lucienne and Mervyn to discuss planning our wedding, beloved,” Morpheus murmured, kissing your neck. You smiled and stroked his scalp, holding him close and resting your cheek against the top of his head. “We shall be joined within Fiddler’s Green, at the lavender grove, surrounded by our people and family.”

Your heart squeezed in your chest. Jessamy’s remains were buried in the lavender grove. You would be getting married with your sister at your side. Tears prickled at the edges of yours, tears of both sadness and happiness. Jessamy would never truly be gone, for she would live on in the heart of The Dreaming.

“That sounds perfect, my Dream.” You whispered, finally at peace with your sisters passing.

Date Published: 8/9/23

Last Edit: 8/9/23

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[morningsofgold]

Idk if your still doing fic requests but maybe one where one of Vox’s/Val’s “top” workers are harassing her and catcalling her and she’s just been putting up with it because she knows it would be a Hassle to replace them. But when Vox and Val find out they get pissed and protective?

Love this, anon! Jsyk I'm interpreting the "her" here as Velvette; I hope you like it! Blanket reminder that this is fiction and I don't condone the actions of the Vees or think that Vox and Val are secretly chivalrous, but I DO think that if anyone crossed Velvette it would be open season.

“Hey babe. Got a minute?”

Velvette’s shoulders tensed up around her ears. She was standing on one of Valentinos’ heavily perfumed and gaudily lit sets, outfitted to look like a 1980s high rise penthouse. The script was as rushed and thrown-together as any other of Valentino’s projects, but the storyline had something to do with a high powered businesswoman releasing a little after-work stress with one of her assistants. Something something “long, hard day in the office” something something “let’s get comfortable on the couch”, wash, rinse, repeat.

Velvette had only been half-paying attention to the plot, as she was on set to photograph the performers in action wearing some of her latest designs. Sure, she could make one of her employees do it, but why leave artistry to the plebians?

“Hey,” the voice cooed again. “I’m trying to have a conversation here.”

Velvette chewed on the inside of her cheek to keep from snapping at him.

Fucking Rio.

“Can I help you?” She asked, studiously flipping through the shots she had captured with her phone camera.

A black-clawed finger pushed the phone down impatiently. Velvette scowled up at her unwelcome guest. Rio was a tall, broad-shouldered succubus who was currently wearing little more than a collection of crisscrossing leather scraps and the pomade in his spiky hair. He was one of Valentino’s favorites, as he was infinitely flexible, indiscriminate when it came to picking sexual partners, and pretty much down for anything as long as the cameras were rolling. He made Valentino, and by extension the rest of the Vees, a metric ton of cash, so Velvette had thusfar played nice with him. But that didn’t mean she liked him.

“What did you think of the show?” Rio asked, smiling with all his sharp teeth. He had declined to put on a robe after his scene. He was convinced he was Satan’s gift to demonkind, and he was a bit of exhibitionist about it. Not that Velvette was judging. She just wasn’t interested.

“Riveting,” Velvette said flatly. “You’ll be up for an award.”

“Really?” Rio said, brightening.

“No,” Velvette said, returning to her phone.

“Come on babe,” he said, leaning on the wall she was standing against. Most of the other actors and crew members had already dispersed, and Velvette was suddenly aware that she was functionally alone with Rio. Something she generally avoided at all costs. “Don’t play hard to get.”

“You’re the only one playing games. Fuck off, Rio.”

“I love it when you act mean. Why don’t you come back to my dressing room with me and help me rehearse this next scene? I’m sure you’re a natural.”

Velvette just stared at him, trying to reduce him to ash with her gaze. The fact that Rio even had a dressing room was a testament to Valentino’s favoritism, and all the proof Velvette needed that she probably shouldn’t cause a scene over one of Val’s cash cows making a pass at her. Still, she seriously considered gutting Rio with the switchblade tucked down her boot. Just for the satisfaction of it.

“I’m sure you’ll manage fine on your own,” she said. “Your type would rather rehearse with their own reflection in the mirror anyway.”

“But things are always so much interesting with a scene partner,” Rio said, and would would have been bad enough, but then he actually took Velvette’s hand by the wrist and pressed it against the chiseled plane of his abs. “You sure you won’t change your mind?”

Velvette nearly blacked out from rage. She was so taken aback she didn’t even snatch her hand away, just stood there with Rio’s fingers around her wrist, agog at his sheer audacity. Then, like lightning, she came back to herself.

“If you don’t let me go in two seconds,” she hissed. “I swear on my own grave I’ll–”

“RIO!”

Rio jumped back, the smile dropping like a lead weight from his face. Valentino was staring him down from across the set, drawn up to his full imposing height. Valentino had a talent for slouching and lounging around in a way that made him look less threatening when it suited his ends, but he could also command a room at the drop of a dime.

“Valentino,” Rio babbled, putting six feet between himself and Velvette. “Hey man, I didn’t know you were still on set, I–”

“Bitch baby,” Velvette muttered under her breath. She had zero respect for people who couldn’t stand by their own bad behavior. If you were going to be a shit, you should commit to the bit.

“And you think that's the green light for feeling up on my business partner?” Valentino asked, crossing to Velvette’s side with long strides.

“No, Val, I mean, no sir! We were just having a friendly conversation, I didn’t–”

“You alright Velvette?” Valentino asked, holding up a hand to silence Rio.

Velvette rolled her eyes.

“I’ve got this handled," she said. "Don’t ruin your reputation by defending my honor.”

“It’s not about honor, babydoll, it’s about respect.” He took a long, thoughtful drag of his cigarette and draped one of his wings around Velvette’s shoulders. It was surprisingly heavy and warm. “You don’t respect Velvette, Rio?”

“Absolutely I do! I would never–”

Valentino leaned down until he was eye to eye with Rio, who was visibly shaking. Velvette scoffed. Amateur.

“Get the fuck out of my sight,” Valentino said.

Rio disappeared so fast he practically left a trail of smoke in his wake.

“That was unnecessary,” Velvette said, tapping away on her phone. "Get a little thrill from playing the hero for a change?"

“You sure you're alright?” Valentino asked, his expression softening slightly. Velvette knew damn well that Valentino only cared because Velvette was an intrinsic gear in the ever-turning machine that kept Valentino paid and supplied with new talent and copious amounts of drugs, but she also knew him well enough to know when he was faking it. He was genuinely pissed on her behalf.

“Fine, fine,” she said, shrugging off his wing. Valentino replaced it immediately, and Velvette gave up on fighting it. It wasn’t like there were many people around to see the display of affection anyway, otherwise Valentino wouldn’t be doing it.

Valentino pulled out his phone and switched it on to speaker, waiting impatiently for whoever was on the other end to pick up.

"I'm busy," Vox snapped through the phone. This was generally how he picked up.

"Not anymore you're not," Valentino replied. “Some dipshit put his hands on Velvette.”

"What?" Vox thundered. Velvette could practically see his screen short-circuiting through the phone.

"It was Rio."

"One of yours?"

"Not anymore he's not."

"Vox, I'm fine," Velvette said into the speakerphone. "He just got handsy and Valentino told him off."

"Can I kill him?" Valentino asked impatiently.

"Why are you asking me if he's one of yours?" Vox asked.

"Because he's the spokesman for one of your commercials, remember? Toothpaste or condoms or some shit, I can't keep track of it."

"Are you kidding? Pretty faces are a dime a dozen. String him up and send me someone else. And Velvette, take the rest of the day if you want to. Go take a bubble bath or make an intern cry or whatever it is that makes you happy."

"Thanks, Voxxy," Valentino said in that nauseatingly sweet voice. With that, he ended the call.

"What do you want in return for doing me the favor of getting rid of Rio?" Velvette asked suspiciously. Valentino grinned down at her, batting his lashes over the rim of his glasses.

"Can't I help out an old friend?"

"Cut the crap, Val."

Valentino sighed and turned to take Velvette's shoulders in his hands. His grip was light, not punishing. When he spoke, it was devoid of his usual flippancy.

"He's replaceable, Velvette. You're not. You, me, Vox, we're a perfect triangle. We all lean on each other. So I make sure you get what you need so I can get what I need, got it?"

"That might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me," Velvette said sarcastically, but there was a glimmer of truth in it.

"Don't start spreading nasty rumors about me," Valentino said. Then he straightened up and looked over his shoulder, murder in his eyes. "And now if you don't mind I'm going to go make that sack of shit wish he'd never been born."

"Can I come?" Velvette said, her mood brightening considerably. "It's been weeks since I tortured anyone."

"Of course, babydoll," Val said, bowing at the waist and sweeping his hand towards her. "Ladies first."

[vendettaspathfanfic]

Chapter Six

(Chapter Index)

(Previous)

(Next)

This evening, dinner was a simple affair, with only Sonic and his mother seated at the elaborately set table in the grand dining room, a familiar scene given his father's common late returns from the palace. He was a man of significant influence and stature, serving as the indispensable advisor to King Maximillian, a role that demanded much of his time. At seven years of age, Sonic found his father's endless discussions on the complexities of governance tediously dull, a stark contrast to the vibrant tales of his own day that his father rarely had the patience to entertain.

In the comforting presence of his mother, however, Sonic was able to talk as much as he wanted. He excitedly recounted the adventurous escapades from the latest installment of his beloved cartoon series, speaking with animated gestures while their longstanding family butler quietly placed plates of food before them. Unfortunately, tonight's dinner featured lobster, a dish that Sonic loathed.

The pungent aroma that wafted from the plate caused Sonic's face to contort in displeasure, his nose scrunching up as if to ward off the offending scent. He turned to his mother, seeking a compromise, only to find her gaze lingering on a cherished photograph adorning the wall. The image captured a moment of regal splendor, depicting her alongside her father and the other esteemed members of the Royal Court.

"Mom?" Sonic inquired softly, attempting to draw her attention. Receiving no immediate response, he pressed further, the word "mama" punctuated by a gentle nudge on her arm.

His mother momentarily snapped out of her reverie, her eyes refocusing with a slight flutter of her lashes as she angled her body to address her son with a soft “sorry, hun. What?”

Sonic's face contorted into a grimace, his voice dripping with distaste as he lamented, "I don’t want this again… it makes me wanna puke." His words elicited a disdainful huff from the butler, who promptly exited the room with a swirl of disappointment.

"It’s good for you, Sonic," she responded, her voice steady and reassuring, "besides, you remember what we’ve said about being wasteful."

Defiance etched itself into the young hedgehog's posture; he folded his arms across his chest like a barrier, slinking further into the embrace of his chair. His youthful face was wrinkled with obstinacy, as the furrow of his brow channeled the essence of his aversion. "But it's gross!" Sonic retorted, the fervor of his sentiment about the unwanted meal burning as brightly as ever.

"Just eat it, please?" The plea from his mother reached his ears as he turned his head away, embodying the spirit of rebellion. "If you do, we’ll get ice cream and candy."

The promise of such a sweet reward sparked curiosity in Sonic, and he swiveled his head back in her direction, catching the nascent smile blooming on her face, a signal of the incentive that awaited him.

With an effort that felt monumental to his young mind, the little blue hedgehog managed to ingest the detested lobster dish, the glazed carrots that accompanied it no less infamous in his eyes. Upon completing the ordeal, he beckoned for his mother's attention, which had drifted back to the photograph on the wall. She met his gaze with a smile that radiated pride and affection, a smile that could brighten the darkest of rooms. Sonic cherished that smile, for it was not just a mere curve of the lips; it was a symbol of his success in bringing her joy. That was a reward far greater than the promise of sweets.

"Good job, Scourge." The admiration in her voice was unmistakable as Sonic eagerly leaped from his seat to envelop her in a tight embrace. But as he held her close, an unsettling thought wormed its way into his consciousness, leaving him with an unnerving sense that releasing her from his arms could mean never being able to hug her again. It was an absurd notion, surely, for she was ever-present in his life, a constant in his home.

But, she’s never called him Scourge before.

Before he could ask where she heard that name, the space she occupied in his arms became empty. Darkness enveloped him, his world tipping into chaos as he tumbled into an abyss that seemed to have no end. A sense of vertigo overwhelmed him; his surroundings stripped away as if the earth itself had opened beneath him. He flailed, attempting to cry out, but found his voice trapped, his throat constricted by an unseen force.

In the midst of his panic, Sonic's efforts intensified, desperation fueling his struggle. His attempts finally culminated in a muffled, yet alarmed "mmh!" To his relief, the sensation of falling ceased abruptly, replaced by the oppressive reality of a worn, filthy mattress pressing against his back. Heat enveloped him, the summer's sweltering embrace untempered by the absence of air conditioning in the orphanage.

As his eyes snapped open, he lay there, drenched in sweat, his heart racing as the remnants of the nightmare clung to him. He struggled to ground himself back in reality, but it soon became clear that once again, he was a sixteen-year-old green hedgehog named Scourge.

Thankfully, when he awoke with a start, his sudden movement and noise didn't disturb Fiona, who was lying on her side, facing him, lost in deep slumber. The moon's soft glow streamed into the room through the slightly ajar window, casting moonlight gently on her beautiful face. As she dreamt what he hoped was a peaceful dream, her delicate eyelids fluttered.

The faint sheen on her soft, heart-shaped lips revealed the lingering touch of the chapstick she had applied before bed, adding an extra allure to her serene visage. With great care not to disturb her, he turned onto his side to face her, tenderly running his fingers through the fur on the exposed side of her muzzle, relishing the softness and finding solace in the quiet intimacy of the moment. A sense of calm washed over him, slowing his racing heart and quieting his restless thoughts as he took in every detail of his girlfriend, peacefully asleep before him. In that hushed stillness, he found a rare and precious moment to simply appreciate the beauty and peacefulness of his lover.

Realizing that sleep would elude him for the time being, he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead before quietly rising out of bed. Descending the stairs, he made his way to the kitchen, where he reached for a water bottle resting on the counter.

As the lukewarm liquid flowed down his throat, a distinct thumping noise echoed from downstairs, instantly seizing his attention. The source was unmistakable—it emanated from the direction of the freezer.

With a sense of urgency, he hastily replaced the bottle's lid, a quiet “fuck,” escaping his lips as the realization struck that they had neglected to assign someone to keep watch over the freezer that held Miles. Carelessly tossing the bottle on the counter, he grabbed and lit a lantern and dashed down to the freezer, swiftly unlocking it and wrenching the door open.

Thankfully, Miles had made only minimal headway in his attempts to free himself. The most significant achievement was toppling his chair to the ground and making almost no progress in loosening the ropes covered with duct tape.

Amused by the sight that greeted him, Scourge placed the lantern on a mildew-covered shelf and shut the freezer door behind him. "Are you enjoying yourself there, Miles?" he inquired, his tone tinged with condescension.

Miles continued to struggle against his bindings, clearly disoriented from the head injury he had suffered earlier. His mouth muffled by the tape, he could only respond with garbled, indiscernible words.

"I'm sure whatever you just said would have been so terribly hurtful," Scourge began in a mockingly sorrowful tone as he righted the chair. "But it's nothing compared to what you're going to get if you don't tell me what I want to know." With a swift motion, he tore the tape from Miles' mouth, inadvertently pulling away a thin layer of fur from around his muzzle in the process.

Grimacing in pain, Miles averted his gaze from Scourge, his breath coming in ragged pants as he struggled against the dizziness and the throbbing ache in his head.

"Now I can see you renovated the castle a lot since you screwed me over and got me thrown in jail," Scourge remarked, leaning casually against a nearby shelf. "looks real nice, but I’m sure in the process you souped up the security, right? So, if I were to try to waltz in and take back what you took from me, I’d be screwed wouldn’t I? So, either you tell me how to get past security, or you’ll end up getting more than just a punch."

Miles steadied his breath, slowly turning his head to meet Scourge's aiming gaze. With gritted teeth, he growled, "You can't."

Grasping the chair that held Miles, Scourge cocked his head, a grin of amusement playing on his lips. "Well, I doubt that's true. They told us we couldn't escape from Zone Jail, yet here we are. Even the tightest ship can spring a leak."

Miles' widened gaze shifted between both of Scourge's eyes as he swallowed thickly. "Not this ship, you fool. Every doorway, hallway, and corner is monitored by scanning posts. And unlike the ones attached to police lines, this system doesn't just sound an alarm. Every entrance and exit is impenetrable to anyone lacking clearance. Not even rats could infiltrate the sewers. And all of that's hardly a fraction of our security measures."

Impressed, Scourge raised his brows, emitting a low whistle of astonishment. "You've really built an airtight system there, my friend. It almost seems... desperate?"

"With the rapid advancements in technology and cybernetic implants, we can't afford to leave any vulnerability unaddressed," Miles retorted, narrowing his eyes as he regarded Scourge with undisguised contempt, as though he were less than the dirt on his shoes. "As I mentioned before, nothing I can say will aid you in the slightest."

Scourge sighed and shook his head. "That really sucks, man," he said as he exited the freezer, closing the door behind him and ignoring Miles' inquiries about his destination.

Hurrying upstairs to his and Fiona's room, he knelt beside her bag to retrieve her combat knife. Startled by the sound of someone rummaging through her belongings, Fiona's eyes flew open, and she sat up, her expression softening as she recognized Scourge's silhouette, relieved that it was him and not an intruder.

"Jeez, you scared me," Fiona sighed, sleepiness evident in her voice as she rubbed her face. "Are you lookin’ for cigarettes or something?"

"Nope," Scourge replied, revealing the knife he had acquired. "Miles is awake and refusing to talk."

"I'll accompany you," Fiona offered, stifling a yawn as she retrieved her bag from his reach, pulling out a pen and an old receipt. "I can write down what he says while you take care of the dirty work."

"Attagirl," Scourge praised, grinning as he affectionately tousled her hair. "Let's go."

Guiding her through the dimly lit building, they traversed downstairs to the freezer, where Miles continued to struggle to escape.

"Why's she here?" Miles grunted, straining against the duct tape and rope binding his wrists.

"If you happen to come up with a way for us to get through, she'll take note of it. If not, well, then you're of no use to us. And we can't exactly release you since you know too much, so it seems the next step is to kill you," Scourge chuckled, delighting in the horror that washed over Miles' face. "But don't worry. I'll make it nice and slow, giving you time to reconsider and perhaps change my mind about doing it. However, first..." His gaze shifted to his tails, tightly bound together with rope and duct tape. "We need to make sure that you won't have any chances of flying away. Fiona, you might want to fetch the first aid kit. Can't risk him bleeding out before he has the chance to speak."

"W-wait! No! Please don't do this!" Miles cried out, his breaths quickening into hyperventilation as he watched Fiona obediently exit the freezer.

"Listen, I didn't want it to come to this, but much like you, my hands are tied," Scourge said, his voice laced with feigned sympathy as he leaned against a shelf, crossing his arms.

"No! I can help you gain entry! You won't be able to do it without me!" he screamed, his wide eyes blinded by fear.

Scourge's expression transformed into a wide, menacing grin as he slowly uncrossed his arms and straightened up to his full height.

“Really?” The smug green hedgehog asked, striding over to the young two-tailed fox and looming over him, leaning in close as he jabbed his forefinger against his chest. “Well, it’s a good thing you remembered. You could’ve been killed.” His smug grin suddenly gave way to a menacing glare. In a swift motion, he withdrew his hand from Miles’ chest and delivered a harsh slap across his face, causing the chair to wobble and splitting his lip. Scourge quickly steadied the chair and grasped Miles’ chin, forcing him to meet his intense gaze. “Don’t you fucking lie to me again, Miles,” he growled, baring his sharp teeth, sending shivers down Miles’ spine.

When Fiona returned, Scourge briefed her on their change of plans. She took the pen they had previously acquired and began to write finely on the back of the receipt.

The success of their mission hinged on having the right technology at their disposal. Miles, the primary designer of the security system, was indispensable to their plans. Their first objective would be to hack the body scan post for entry, a task that required a neural link to connect to Miles, allowing him to access necessary technology through the eyes of the person with the implant. However, due to the Destructix's distrust of him, he would have to be guarded and sequestered away from the castle to prevent any potential betrayal.

To bypass the body scan post, one would need optical implants that would allow them to scan the post, enabling Miles to use the neural link to hack into it and grant every individual passing through with clearance. Yet, this was only part of the larger challenge— the entire security system needed to recognize the Destructix members as authorized personnel. To achieve this, someone would require an interface plug, a wired implant located at the back of the head, along with a neural interface chip. When the wire was extended and connected to specific machinery, it would grant the individual the capability to hack into the technology.

Once someone was plugged into an access point with the interface, Miles could then proceed to hack the entire security system. This would provide the Destructix with unhindered movement throughout the castle, enabling them to locate the remaining members of the Suppression Squad and eliminate them, ultimately allowing the Destructix to seize control of the throne.

Before Scourge and Fiona could explain the plan to the Destructix in the morning, they found themselves contending with the aftermath of Predator, Lightning, and Flying's excessive drinking the previous night.

"Well, I don't know why you drank so much of that crap, but I hope it made you happy," Simon grumbled with a scoff as he entered through the front door, carrying a tray of to-go cups from a nearby coffee shop.

"Mmmm'kay. Shut up, Simon," Predator groaned, his eyes tightly shut as he sat hunched over in a nearby chair, nursing his throbbing head.

With a roll of his eyes, Simon handed Predator a cup of black coffee, scoffing, "drink up." He then turned his attention to Flying, who was slouched against a nearby wall, struggling to keep his eyes open as his tongue lolled out the side of his mouth. "Got some for you too, Flying," Simon said, prompting Flying's eyes to sluggishly roll toward him, blinking one at a time.

"Is that coffee-tea-fre-" Flying began, before a sudden wave of nausea overtook him, causing his eyes to bulge as he clamped a hand over his mouth and gagged. He scrambled to his feet, dashed toward a nearby window, flung it open, and retched outside.

Simon groaned in disgust and called out, "I'll put this in the kitchen, then..." before handing Scourge his coffee.

"Thanks, man," Scourge said with a courteous nod.

"Thanks for not drinking as much as these idiots," Simon remarked, his disdain evident in his voice. "Have you seen Lightning, Fiona, and Toxic?"

“Lightning’s probably still asleep cause I haven’t seen him yet. Fiona’s giving Toxic a haircut so she looks less like her wanted picture and also we saw a daddy long leg crawl out of one of the mats in her hair.” Scourge said, casually drinking his coffee.

Simon blinked a few times in surprise before muttering, “go figure… Well, if you see the girls, let ‘em know they got drinks with their name on them in the kitchen. I’m gonna wake up Lightning.”

As expected, Simon located Lightning, who was sprawled out on a set of child-sized mattresses, emitting loud snores. With a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head, Simon set aside Lightning’s coffee, knelt down, and nudged Lightning's shoulder, attempting to rouse him. When his efforts failed, Simon noticed that Lightning still had water in his bottle. He unscrewed the cap, tossed it aside, and emptied the remaining contents onto Lightning's head.

Lightning groaned and attempted to turn his face away as the water splashed against his forehead. Without opening his eyes, he managed to mumble out a slurred, "hello?" before some water entered his mouth, causing him to choke and erupt into a fit of coughing as he hastily sat up.

"Hello, Lightning. Coffee's here," Simon said with annoyance, standing up.

As Lightning recovered from the coughing fit, he grumbled and shook his head in an attempt to rid his fur of the water, groaning as the motion exacerbated his headache and nausea.

"You didn’t have to waterboard me, Simon," he groaned, squinting as the bright light aggravated his newly awakened eyes.

"Don’t be so dramatic. You gotta get straightened up. Fiona and Scourge got Miles to talk, and they’ve got a plan they want to tell us," Simon responded, offering Lightning his coffee.

"I don’t want anything else in my stomach right now…" Lightning groaned, the scent of the coffee in his hand intensifying his nausea.

"Well, if you get sick, either puke out a window, or if you do it in here, you're cleaning it. This place is filthy enough without three drunk bastards making it worse," Simon declared firmly, his distaste unwavering.

"Agh… Fuck off…" Lightning slurred, his struggle evident as he fought to keep the vomit down. He staggered to his feet and stumbled toward the window, grappling with it in his disoriented state.

"For crying out loud…" Simon growled, stepping in to open the window for Lightning, who leaned out and threw up.

As he left Lightning to deal with his hangover, Simon muttered bitterly, "it’s like a house full of toddlers. Hell, today I haven’t even had a problem with the actual toddler here.”

After a wait that spanned several hours, the group finally regained enough composure to gather and listen to Scourge and Fiona outline the plan they had devised. They arranged their seats into a communal circle within the same room where they had convened the night before.

“How can we trust Miles to do what we say?” Predator questioned, his voice tinged with doubt.

“He doesn’t have a choice. I know from experience he’s a coward that’ll do anything to live. One of ya will need to stay with him while we work and be ready to gut him if he makes even one wrong move,” Scourge replied, his arms extending in a languid stretch as he reclined back in his chair with an air of nonchalance.

“I volunteer-steer-beer!” Flying burst out with gusto, only to wince as his booming, obnoxious voice aggravated his pounding headache.

“Alright, knock yourself out,” Scourge casually responded with a dismissive shrug, now leaning forward in his seat, his fingers weaving together in front of him.

“Who's getting the implants?” inquired Lightning, downing some ibuprofen that Fiona had supplied to ease his discomfort.

“The rest of you guys. We never know what we’ll run into. Can’t leave any stones unturned,” Fiona declared, her voice firm and decisive.

“Me too?” Toxic chimed in, twirling one of the short pigtails Fiona had fashioned in her hair.

“No way, kid,” Scourge stated adamantly with a shake of his head. “Cybernetics aren’t good for you when you’re that little.”

“I’m taller than Ren!” Toxic contended, climbing onto her chair and stretching to her tiptoes in an attempt to demonstrate her height.

“Tough. You’re still barely taller than a fire hydrant,” Scourge teased, his mocking tone evident. “You gotta wait til you're older.”

“Sit down before you fall and crack your head open,” Simon commanded, his tone authoritative, directed at the young blue hedgehog.

With a scowl of indignation and a growl meant to convey ferocity, Toxic reluctantly descended from her perch and slouched back into her seat, her arms folded in a tight cross.

“Save it,” Fiona interjected with an eye roll, “anyways, Simon, Lightning, and Predator; you guys are going in first. Grab some uniforms from the guard locker room and you’ll easily pass as one of the guards. They know Scourge and I too well, so we’ll wait until the security system is down and you find Patch and Alicia to storm in and join the fight.”

“But what do I do?” Toxic mused aloud, now reclining sideways in her chair, her legs swinging idly over the edge.

“You’ll help Flying guard Miles,” Fiona replied, her tone conveying confidence that this modest assignment would satisfy Toxic’s desire to contribute.

“But before all of this, we gotta remember implants cost money that we don’t got. So…” Scourge began, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through him, his hands eagerly rubbing together, “We’ll be ‘borrowing’ some money from a bank out of town.”

This infectious excitement quickly rippled through the group, with members exchanging eager grins and approving murmurs.

"It's in a pretty wealthy neighborhood. And hey, even you can join us, Toxic," Fiona said, her arms crossed, a hint of pride in her voice as she gauged the group's reactions.

"I can?" Toxic gasped, her voice lifting with excitement as she bounded out of her chair and approached Fiona, her tail wagging like a flag of enthusiasm.

"She can?" Scourge echoed, his tone a mixture of surprise and concern, unsure of involving someone so young in such a dangerous activity.

"Yes," Fiona confirmed, assuring the group with a calm authority, "like I said, it’ll be an easy heist. She can help us take out security. We’ve all seen how she can kick ass. Simon, you can train her on a pistol."

Simon, looking somewhat resigned, pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed deeply. "If you insist, ma’am," he conceded, albeit with heavy reluctance.

"Babe, are you nuts? She’s four years old!" Scourge protested vehemently, his arms thrown up in disbelief.

"So what? Don’t be a fucking dickface!" Toxic retorted sharply, flipping Scourge off with her ring finger. Scourge responded in kind, sneering as he mirrored her gesture.

Pulling Scourge aside from the rest of the group, Fiona's voice dropped to a hushed, persuasive tone. "Look, we made a deal with her that if she didn’t do what we told her she’d be rat food and clearly it’s been working. This is part of that deal, hun. Besides, if she managed to put us through that much hell at first, imagine what she’d do to plain ol’ guards."

"How is it worth the risk?" Scourge pressed, his apprehension evident as he pondered the unpredictable nature of their youngest member.

"It’s like I said, if we broke out of Zone Jail of all things, we can rob a fucking bank even with your crackhead sister tagging along. Besides, we need everyone from the gang there to do different things, and do you really wanna leave her alone? She could wander off and a bounty hunter would snatch her. Then what? Game over," Fiona argued, her logic resonating with the risks they faced.

Scourge's jaw tightened, the truthfulness of Fiona's words sinking in, especially the part about leaving Toxic alone. With a heavy exhale of resignation, he muttered, "this better work."

"It will. You’ll see," Fiona reassured him with a confidence that bordered on certainty, punctuating her promise with a light kiss on his cheek before returning to the group. "We’ll start preppin’ tomorrow. Get all the equipment we need." She turned to address Lightning, Flying, and Predator, her face scrunching in disgust as the pungent smell of vomit and alcohol reached her. "For now, there’s a gym with showers not far from here. Let’s make it reek a little less around the place, hm?"

Nodding in silent accord, the gang made their way to the gym, their footsteps echoing against the pavement as they traversed a desolate stretch of the neighborhood. The eerie stillness of the area hinted at its sparse population, offering them a cloak of anonymity that would aid in evading any potential bounty hunters on the prowl for Toxic.

Upon reaching the gym, they made a beeline for the bathroom and obtained the much-needed cleaning supplies from the dispensers, the clinking of coins and the soft hum of the machines filling the otherwise quiet space. As they each cleaned up in their respective shower stalls, the sound of water cascading down in rivulets served as a welcome reminder of the simple luxury they hadn’t had since their escape from prison.

Despite Scourge's usual indifference to cleanliness, he found solace in the sensation of grime washing away from his body as he stood beneath the shower's stream. Closing his eyes, he allowed the water to cleanse not just his physical form, but also his spirit, feeling the weight of his troubles slowly dissolve and disappear down the drain. During his time in prison, he had been constantly on edge, his natural strength and agility restrained by a control collar that left him vulnerable and exposed to frequent beatings. However, as the water flowed over his face and quills, he realized that despite the lingering risks, he was finally beginning to believe that everything would ultimately be alright. He resolved to face whatever challenges lay ahead with newfound determination and resilience.

After everyone had completed their showers, they returned to the orphanage. While some members of their group were still recovering from the effects of the previous night's revelry, Simon took Toxic to the backyard to teach her how to shoot empty beer bottles off the fence using a silenced pistol.

"Keep one hand on the bottom, Toxic, and don't touch the trigger until you're ready to shoot. Keep your finger to the side, like this," Simon instructed, kneeling beside her and guiding her small hands to demonstrate the proper way to hold the firearm.

"Okay," Toxic responded with an eager nod. "Can I shoot now?"

"Not yet. First, aim at the space between the two small bumps and make sure it's pointed at what you want to shoot," Simon advised.

"Okay," Toxic responded, her small hands adjusting her grip on the pistol with determination. "Now can I shoot?"

"Go ahead," Simon replied with a nod.

Without hesitation, she pulled the trigger, and the sharp crack of the gunshot was followed by the satisfying shatter of the bottle.

Toxic gasped in amazement and giggled, her eyes sparkling with pride as she beamed at Simon. "I fuckin’ gotted it!"

"You sure did," Simon said with a soft chuckle. "Now take out the rest of them."

Leaning against the weathered wall of the building, Scourge and Fiona observed as Toxic skillfully shot several more bottles, her focus unyielding and her aim true.

"Not bad. She's a natural marksman in the making," Fiona remarked with a lopsided grin.

"Good thing she's only shooting bottles," Scourge snidely remarked, retrieving a cigarette and lighter from his jacket pocket. Fiona signaled for one, holding two fingers in his direction, and Scourge obliged, lighting both of their cigarettes. As they inhaled, Scourge wrapped his arm around Fiona, the sun casting a warm glow over them as it descended toward the horizon.

"Do you think we should check on Miles?" Scourge asked, a sudden pang of concern causing his heart to skip a beat.

"I'll feed him later, but there's no way he's getting out. Simon and I tested that padlock we got earier, and it's secure," she replied confidently, referring to the heavy duty lock lock they had obtained during their earlier supply run.

Scourge smirked with pride, imagining the futile attempts Miles might be making to escape, a sense of control and satisfaction washing over him.

"Not much longer," Fiona began after blowing a cloud of smoke out of her mouth, the wisps curling and dissipating in the air, creating a momentary haze around her. Her eyes, filled with a determined glint, scanned the horizon as if envisioning the future. "We'll rule this world again. We'll bring everything under our control, just like it used to be."

"Fiona," Scourge chuckled softly, the sound mixing with the rustle of the wind, and dropped his spent cigarette, the feeble embers flickering before he snuffed them out under the sole of his shoe, his eyes fixed on his lover's with an intense yet tender gaze. "We already do."

[maevesheart]

top secret

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ she-devil (03)

PETER PARKER X FEM!READER

note: --

summary: making you fall for Peter may be a lot easier than he expected, except... he's finding it particularly hard on himself.

WC: 3k

TW: none

GRISWOLD PENTHOUSE, HOME

you tossed and turned all night, trying to come to terms with your new predicament.

peter parker.

how were you ever going to make that happen? you knew boys at school liked you, i mean they didn’t try to hide it.

hell, you were asked to senior prom your freshman year.

but peter was different. peter was sweet, and seemed genuinely upset that you assumed he would say those things.

snapping you out of your treacherous thoughts, your alarm clock finally blared as the number 7 came up on the screen.

your blinds automatically opened themselves, displaying the big, bright, and open city beneath you.

skyscrapers stood tall next to your floor to ceiling windows, and you could barely make out people walking on the streets below.

the sun streamed in, and you peeled yourself out of your sheets, sighing and slipping into your pink fuzzy slippers.

jaela did your makeup and you slipped into your uniform. you opted for a pair of miu miu mary jane platforms, and just kept your h/c hair long and flowing down your back.

grabbing your backpack off the ground after putting a pair of simple pearls into your ears, you went down your large marble staircase that lead into the foyer.

long, wide, and all white marble, the foyer was bright. the elevator sat at one end, and the walls were each 40 feet tall, with a massive archway on the wall opposite the foyer.

the archway led into a pristine and all white formal living room, with a single massive glass chandelier hanging down over the two grey leather couches. the marble fireplace sat in between the two couches opposite of each other.

a large family portrait sat above the fire place. featuring 5-year-old you and georgie sitting in the grass wearing all white outfits. your mother, your beautiful mother, sat in between you two, wearing white jeans and a white blouse and dripping in diamond jewelry, like always. your father was sitting on the other side of her, one hand on your mothers knee, and the other on georgie’s back. axel, your doberman, is a puppy in the painting, and sits tall and proper next to your father.

you take a moment to stare at the photograph, lingering over your mothers smile. she was radiant, and your heart strings pull as you remember her laugh.

the photo was taken a month before her death. it was sudden, and unexpected. they say she had a seizure in her sleep, and she went peacefully. you were happy at least that she went without any pain.

after the formal living room, that was at least the size of a small gymnasium and at least 80 feet tall, there are two archways, one leading to the large, white, marble kitchen, and the other leading to your fathers office, which looked exactly like his office in the gris-rise.

you entered the kitchen, meeting georgie’s eyes with a small smile and sitting down next to him at the first island.

sara stood behind you two at the last island, chopping vegetables.

moments later, gregor enters through the archway on the opposite side of the kitchen that leads to the laundry room, bathroom, indoor pool & patio, alternate elevator, and theater.

his smile immediately brightens up the room and both you and georgie offer him grins.

“hey greg. what’s up,” georgie speaks through spoonfuls of cereal.

“not much, geo. how are the both of you this morning?” he speaks as he walks into the walk-in fridge, which stands opposite you and georgie.

“i’m trying to make the best of it. i barely slept last night.” you sigh and place your hand on your forehead.

“someone’s in a weirdly good mood,” georgie smiles, hitting your shoulder with his.

“i’m trying,” you lightly laugh, throwing a small orange at georgie’s face, which he quickly intercepts.

“what’re you doing here so early, greg? not like you to come anytime before dinner.”

“i’m taking you two to school today, executing my doting uncle skills.” he joked, causing both you and georgie to laugh.

gregor wasn’t actually your uncle. he attended college with your mother and father, and was their best friend. he officiated their wedding, was in the delivery room when you two were born, and was named the godfather of you both.

after your mothers death, he stepped in even more than before, considering he had no children or significant other of his own.

he was also extremely high up at gristech. his phd in aeronautics from MIT and a phd in space engineering from stanford made him especially useful, and he was named the top rocket scientist after his internship with nasa.

he was like your second father, well, most of the time it felt like he was the only father you had.

speaking of the devil, your father waltzed into the kitchen moments later, wearing a crisp grey suit, a grin adorning his face as he gave gregor a playful slap on the back.

“hey, greg. goodmorning, y/n, goodmorning george.” your father gave both you and georgie each a kiss on the top of the head, and approached the massive fridge next to where gregor was leaning against the counter.

“morn, dad.” georgie muffles out in between large gulps of milk. “take it easy, boy. nobodies gonna take the milk from you!” gregor playfully teased, making the four of you laugh, and georgie even spits out some of the milk onto the counter.

“you two have an excellent day, alright. and y/n, i’ll see you later, yes? remember what i told you.” your father sternfully said, nodding his head as he exited into the foyer.

you heard the elevator chime, and your father say a quick goodbye to hayes, your butler.

you sighed, once again reminded of the things you promised your father.

“what was dad talking about? remember what i told you,” georgie light-heartedly laughs.

you trail quietly behind him and gregor to the back elevator, the two of them laughing and spewing jokes every opportunity.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

MIDTOWN CAFETERIA, LUNCH

you picked around at the salad sara had packed for you. harry sat next to you, loudly gossiping with liz, like always.

you felt terrible. thoughts of second period bounced around in your mind as you tried to bury them as deep as possible.

you walked into ap chemistry, taking your usual seat in the front, next to gwen. brad sat behind you, something you tried to block out.

but what was strange, was that instead of ned slipping into the seat on your right (which was entirely because of the seating chart, not because you wanted to sit next to him), peter slid into the chair instead.

you gave him and confused look, before plastering a sickly-sweet smile onto your shiny lips. “morning, peter,”.

peter was confused. maybe this would be a lot easier than he thought. hell, if you already like him, then he didn’t even need to do anything!

“good morning, y/n” he softly smiled back, speaking in a light voice. it was…. kind of cute.

you reminded yourself that this was all for a good cause. you were helping your dad and his company! it would all work out. ….. right?

you laid it on as thick as possible. all class, touching his arm lightly, brushing against him when walking past his seat, asking for help.

he had to know. you were making it extremely obvious.

your heart tugged when you looked back to be met with the dark eyes of brad. the same brad who you loved so much. the same brad who took everything from you and didn’t even apologize.

swallowing your tears, you faked another smile and turned back to peter, nodding as he explained the complex stoiciometry equation.

the harsh bell sounded throughout the classroom, and you quickly packed up your things, giving peter a light squeeze on the forearm as you breezed pass him, tilting your head slightly to smile.

“bye,” he smiled, slighting waving as you walked past. his arm fell awkwardly to his side and he groaned after you left the classroom. suddenly, he wasn’t so sure he would be able to fake this.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

the end of the school day could not come any slower. finally, when the long, screeching bell sounds to signal the end of last period, you bolt for the door.

you rush into the parking lot, searching for the black maserati that will escort you to gristech.

your heart tightens as you watch peter struggle to get his bike out of the bike rack. you look away before he sees you, and bite down the aching want to ask him if he’d like a ride.

slipping into the matte black leather seats, sigmund, your chauffeur, quickly pulls the car out of the crowded parking lot and into the busy streets of new york city.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

GRIS-HIGH

your fathers booming voice is the first thing you hear as you enter gris-high, watching him walk up to you with open arms.

“ready for day one?” he asks, once again displaying his bright white sparkling smile. you nod, tight lipped.

he claps his hands together, “wonderful.”

you silently ride with him up to the labs, spinning the simple gold ring on your middle finger around.

you gasp as you the elevator to the labs opens, revealing peter, already in a lab coat and goggles, hunched over a table, quietly looking through a microscope.

i guess his bike was faster anyways, you tell yourself, making yourself feel better about not offering him a ride.

“hey, y/n,” he squeaks, awkward under the pressing gaze of your father.

“hi, peter,” you whisper, falling slow behind your fathers long footsteps.

“y/n, dr hitch is here to help, and peter’s already had the rundown, he can teach you. you both are free to go at 4. i expect big things.” and with that, he left the room, leaving just you and peter and a whole lot of awkward tension.

“well, um, here i’ll show you,” peter rubbed his neck, and you moved closer to him, arm pressing against his.

you could smell his cologne, which did smell good. you breathed in heavily, trying to get as much of it as possible.

a smirk pulled at the corners of his lips as he watched you, even though he tried to fight it.

you watched him with wide, yet careful eyes as he explained the ins and outs of the labs your father assigned. they were fairly easy, you remembered doing most of it in intro to chemistry during your freshman year.

you peter silently worked, stealing glances every once in a while, and occasionally brushing against each other as you walked past.

his smell was driving you crazy, and he was actively resisting the urge to pull you into his arms.

but he needed to take this slow. make sure he’s really got you before he does anything extreme. he can’t mess this up. mr stark is counting on him.

as much as he didn’t want to admit, and would never admit, he was fucking terrified. you’d been his dream girl since freshman year, when he first saw you walk into advanced latin. he knew he was done for the moment he saw your e/c eyes.

and now here he was, working with the girl he had liked for so long, and his only command from mr stark was to make her love him. something he had been wanting for years now.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

dr hitch walked up to you as you dumped the last of the water out of the graduated cylinder. “you both are free to go. it’s 4.”

you nodded, and silently took the white apron off your body, and then the goggles off your eyes.

“hey,”

you turn to peter as the word leaves his lips, quietly, shyly.

“wanna go get churros or something? to celebrate the end of our first day.”

you nodded, holding back a smile.

it was cold out, the early march air nipping at the exposed skin on your long legs.

you shivered, inching closer to peters warm body as the two of you strolled in central park.

“cold?” peter asked, his cheeks rosy pink from the freezing wind. he looked down at you, his height giving him an advantage in watching you.

“unfortunately, yeah,” you nodded, wrapping your smalls arms around your slim body, trying to conjure up as much warmth as possible.

“here, take my coat,” he offered, slipping off the simple black lined windbreaker he was wearing.

“oh, you don’t have to do that—“

“i insist. i cant leave a lady cold, can i?” he joked, holding out the coat for you to take.

you smiled up at him before taking it out of his hands, and slipping into it. it engulfed your body, making you small as compared to the warm jacket.

you sighed in content as warmth spread across your body.

“better?” he questioned, laughing slightly.

“much. thank you,”

he nodded and looked ahead, spotting the churro stand a few yards in front of you two.

“there it is! i swear, you’ll love them. they’re my favorites, i hope the have the ones with caramel…” his voice trailed off as he imagined all the delicious possibilities in front of him.

you smiled and let out a small giggle at the giddy boy next to you. he was cute, you would admit.

he looked down at you with a big smile and his brown eyes, eyebrows slightly narrowed.

“hey! what’re you laughing at!? i promise, you won’t be laughing once you taste these churros.” he smiles, lightly knocking his bicep into your shoulder, making you sway just a bit.

you laughed again, trailing behind him as he jogged to the stand.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

the two of you found a small bench in the back of the park, surrounded by tall trees staring to blossom as spring approached.

you shared a caramel drizzled churro, alternately taking bites and basking in the comfortable silence.

“so, tell me something about you, give me the essentials,” peter broke the silence, turning to face you, letting his knees hit yours.

“where to start,” you jokingly swooned, making peter laugh.

“well, i’ve got georgie, my twin brother, obviously. he’s my best friend i guess,” you shrugged, taking a bite from the churro.

“um, you know, i really like school. especially stuff with space. um, i wanna be an aerospace engineer. yeah. that’s about it.” you lightly laugh, realizing there really isn’t that much to know about you.

peter nodded. “what about you? what’s the essentials to peter parker?”

he looks ahead, before turning back and answering.

“i love chemistry, and physics. i intern at stark industries, well and now gristech. my best friend is ned leeds, no siblings, i live with my aunt. that’s about it.”

you smile as you listen to him talk about himself. how his eyes brighten when he mentions his aunt. it’s cute.

“you sound more interesting than me, that’s for sure,” you smile, offering the last bite of the churro to peter.

“no thanks, you can have it,” he smiles, watching as you take the last bite.

you debate whether or not you should ask, i mean, you’d feel pretty silly if it wasn’t true. but you need to know.

“peter,”

he looks at you, expectantly.

“i know this is probably silly, and you probably didn’t, but i need to know if you really did tell people that you took my virginity… so, did you?” you ask, searching his face for any sign of an answer.

“y/n, you really think i’d do that? to answer your question, no, i didn’t say it.”

you let out a relieved breath that you didn’t even realize you were holding. “that makes me feel a lot better,” you smile up at him.

“oh, and i’m sorry about the, the um,”

he smirks, knowing what’s coming next.

“i’m sorry for slapping you…” you barely whisper, watching as his smirk turns smug.

“what was that? i didn’t hear you.” he laughs and you playfully hit his arm.

“shut up,” you laughed, his eyes trained on the way your nose scrunched.

“seriously though, i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have slapped you.” you shook your head, remembering what happened in the cafeteria just 2 days ago.

“it’s not a big deal, really. i, i would’ve been pissed too if someone said that about me.” he reassures you.

you give him a small smile and look down to your feet, the guilt slowly fading away.

you look up and make eye contact, watching as he scans your face.

his eyebrows are slightly scrunched, like he’s figuring things out in his mind, analyzing you.

but his brown eyes are soft. they stay on yours. but yours betray you, they flicker down to his lips. his soft, pink lips.

lips that look so inviting.

especially as you two are sat in the back of the park, hidden from everyone’s view.

it’s almost too perfect….

you snap your gaze, looking back up to his eyes. as he opens his mouth to speak, you abruptly look away, standing up.

“walk me home, yeah?”

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

you said goodbye to peter and left him a confused mess on the street in front of your penthouse building as you rushed inside.

as soon as the elevator dinged and you entered the large foyer of your home, you placed your hand to your chest, trying to steady your breathing.

you didn’t like peter, no way. it was just the moment. you’ve been somewhat lonely lately, and that’s fine, you don’t actually like peter.

it was just the moment.

you repeat it in your head multiple times, making yourself believe it.

it was just the moment.

it was just…. fuck.

you want to crawl into a hole as you realize the worst part of it all.

you wanted to kiss peter parker.

not because he was there and it was convenient, but because you like him.

you have feelings for peter parker.

real feelings.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

[beyonddmythoughtssworld]

hi!! first off i absolutely love ur writing “take it out on me” is absolute PERFECTION!! i was wondering if u were open to writing needy/breeding kink Rafe smut where he’s absolutely insatiable come your wedding day and can’t keep his hands to himself all day? thank you if u decide to write!

mine forever | rafe cameron x reader

Summary: On your wedding day, you're the happiest you've ever been, even more so when Rafe makes it clear he's ready to start the next chapter sooner than later.

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: 18+ content, smut, no condom sex hence breeding kink, needy/handsy Rafe, riding, 69, slight voyeurism, dirty talk, choking, spanking

A/N: Thank youuuu! 💕 Sorry for getting to my requests to late with finals and moving back home I’ve just been able to actually sit and write and oof did I enjoy writing this 👀 as you can tell by the word count i once again got a lil bit carried away 😭

You let out a deep breath, your best friend, who's also your maid of honor, doing the last finishing touches of your make up as you try not to cry when it hits you that in no less than two hours, you'll be Mrs. Cameron. Your heart felt like it was about to beat out of your chest, Rafe texting you late last night to soothe your worries.

Rafe: Don't worry about anything other than showing up. I have everything else under control

He'd been so attentive during the wedding planning that you're confident he knows more than you do what needs to happen for today to be perfect. But honestly, despite the bridezilla role you've taken over the last year and a half planning this wedding, you were too happy to even care about anything besides seeing Rafe.

Or, really, Rafe seeing you. Cause you're not one to brag but when Rafe sees you he's going to lose his fucking mind.

"You look gorgeous, honey," Your mom swooned from beside you, hands cradling her face as she looks at you with loving eyes. She'd gone past the point of stopping herself from crying. You get out of the seat, grabbing your mom's hands and kissing her on the cheek.

After a couple more compliments, your bridesmaids rush you to put on the dress, excited to see the whole look together. When you're done putting it on, you walk outside of the dressing room and motion for your best friend to zip you up.

The rest of your bridesmaids gasp once you place the veil on your head, getting your final look as the bride of the day. They all gush as they rush towards you, hugging you and complimenting you. You’re almost overwhelmed at all of the attention, having to remind yourself that this is your day with the love of your life.

“Okay, okay, we have to get out there so you can see the happy groom,” You friend muses, eyes radiating excitement. You take another breath. This is it.

“How do you feel?”

“Excited. Nervous. Like my heart is about to drop to my ass any second,” You answer your best friend, hands fumbling with your dress. At your movements, she grabs a hold of your hands and looks at you assuringly.

“You look beautiful. Rafe’s been making sure everything is perfect- everything is perfect. Trust me,” She squeezes your hand in comfort. “Nothing else is going to matter once you guys see each other.”

•••

You can’t help but giggle as you tap on Rafe’s shoulder, the taller man turning around instantly to look at you. You hear the camera go off, your photographer catching the first look, but your eyes remain on Rafe. Your cheeks are starting to hurt from the smile you can’t get to leave your face, and his expression once he sees you only makes your smile brighten even more.

Rafe looks speechless, taking you in as his eyes trail over you. He steps closer, taking hold of your waist and bringing you into him, eyes not leaving yours. Lightly gripping your waist, he pulls you into a heated kiss.

“You are gorgeous,” He tells you, pulling you into a few more kisses. He backs up, hands holding yours out as he continues to worship you, mumbling to himself absentmindedly. “What the hell did I do to deserve you?”

“You struck gold,” You playfully shrug, Rafe smirking in response.

“Damn right I did.”

“You look handsome,” You compliment, taking the time to check him out. Rafe's eyes darken, and you know you mimic the look of lust on his expression. “Like...really handsome.”

“Yeah?” He teases, pulling you back to him. He's about to kiss you when you hear your best friend call out as she walks past with a couple of the bridesmaids.

“Don’t ruin her makeup, Cameron!”

“Not yet,” He mumbles, eyes not leaving you. You flush, the all familiar look on Rafe's face signaling to you that getting through today untouched was going to be a job on its own. Not that you minded.

“I took photos of the first look, would you like to pose for a few more shots?” The photographer asks, blushing when you guys look over like she's embarrassed to have interrupted the moment.

"Of course, thank you!" You beam at her as you and Rafe get into different poses.

He keeps his hands PG-13 for the most part, only turning it up once you stand in front of him so the photographer can take a picture of him behind you with his arms wrapped around your front. He leans down to kiss the side of your head, the photographer snapping the shot.

He kisses right below your ear, "I can't wait to take a few pictures of our own."

•••

“Rafe, we’re about to tell everyone to get seated. You need to be out there,” You lightly protest as Rafe pulls you into one of the empty break rooms in the venue. After taking pre-ceremony pictures with each other's immediate families and closest friends, you took the time to look at how everything came together.

You couldn't have imagined it being more perfect. Everything you planned: every color, every decoration, every person; it was all there. Not a thing out of place. It was truly your dream wedding with your dream guy, and you couldn't be more excited. Rafe shared this same sentiment, only he was showing it in his pants.

Which led to him grabbing your hand suddenly, pulling you into the wedding venue and opening numerous doors until he found an empty room, wasting no time pulling you in.

“I will baby, just… just give me a few minutes,” He barely finishes his sentence before he's pulling you into a needy kiss. He's grabbing at everything he can get his hands on, settling on your ass and palming it in his hands to pull you closer to him.

You run your tongue across his lip, Rafe immediately granting you entrance as he massages your tongue with his, sucking on it at one point. He bites your bottom lip, pulling off with a pop as he walks you over to a couch. He sits you down, your dress immediately splaying out around you.

Rafe looks at it with a puzzled look, like how he was gonna maneuver around the dress was a calculus problem. You laugh, knowing the dress is puffy and would be more work to lift up than to simply take off. But you also don't want your dress on the floor, so you're conflicted.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” You warn your soon-to-be-husband. He scoffs, looking down at you.

“We both know I can. I'm just trying to find a way to go about this without ripping it off…” He trails off, seeming to remember he was on a time crunch. At that, he stands you back up, turning you around.

“Rafe..” You let out another warning, willing to kill him dead if he ruined this dress before you even made it down the aisle.

“Trust me,” He coos as he leans over, moving your hair so he can kiss your neck, your lashes fluttering in response. “I know you’re nervous about the ceremony, all of those people.”

He lightly pushes at your back, making you bend over on the couch, “Let me help ease your nerves.”

He crouches down behind you, grabbing the ends of your dress and pulling it up until it was bunched around your waist. He lifts the dress a little higher, nipping at the small of your back before he motions for you to help hold the dress up, taking place behind you again.

You feel his breath on you, your pussy clenching in anticipation when he slides your underwear down to your ankles, leaving them dangling around your heels. He spreads your thighs, immediately sliding a finger in.

It goes in easily, your slickness offering enough lube for him to slide another in shortly after. He fucks you with his fingers, you leaning forward to the back of the couch to hold yourself up once he finally puts his mouth on you.

A moan leaves you, and you bite your lip to not do too much to cause attention to the room. Rafe’s tongue is lapping at your folds as he eats you like a man starved. His hands come up to your ass, gripping and slapping at the flesh.

“Such a pretty pussy,” Rafe mutters as he pulls back slightly to rub at your clit, “Just for me, right?”

You moan, nodding your head, “Yes, only for you.”

He growls in approval, going back to licking you. The only sounds in the room are the sounds of his tongue mixing with your wetness and your soft moans, Rafe eating you out with such intensity that it was no surprise when your legs started to shake, your hands gripping the couch as you come on his tongue.

Rafe moans as you come on his tongue, lapping up your release before leaving a few more wet kisses. You feel him stand up, your ears ringing and mind foggy as he pulls your panties up with him.

He pushes your dress back down, straightening it out before turning you around. He takes a light hold of your neck, pulling you into a kiss. He pushes his tongue in your mouth, making you moan at the taste of yourself on him.

“Feel better?” He mumbles. You nod shyly, kissing his jaw as his arms circle you.

“Good, all I’m here for,” He sways you lightly for a few moments, just holding you with his head resting on yours.

Moments like this remind you why you agreed to marry him. One second he was all over you like a feral animal, but he always takes care of you after and isn’t afraid to show the soft side — the side that just wants to hold you close to him.

He let out a content sigh, kissing the top of your head a few times. “I’ll see you out there.”

He starts to walk towards the door, you stopping him by grabbing his hands and making him face you again.

“I love you.”

He pauses, a soft smile on his face now at your words as he pulls you back into him.

“I love you too,” His tone is sincere, as if the events of today are hitting him and he’s afraid if he speaks too loud he’d wake up from a dream. “Til death do us part, baby.”

••

The ceremony was absolutely amazing. You and Rafe decided to write your own vows, something that was nerve wracking for the both of you. To stand up there and bare your soul? But as you two stood across from each other, the rest of the room was empty as you looked at each other.

Rafe shed a tear as you told him how much you loved him and what he’s done for you in the four years you’d been together, you wiping them away only for him to return the favor when you practically bawled your eyes out once he read his vows.

Once taking post ceremony pictures, you change out of your wedding dress to your dress for the reception. You and Rafe make your way over to the dining room where everyone was waiting for the grand entrance. You were a little late to the call, Rafe too busy trapping you in endless kisses.

“You’re acting like we’ve never kissed before,” You tease, pulling away from him only for him to bring you closer again.

“No,” He protests, kissing your neck. “I’m acting like this is the first time we’re kissing as husband and wife.”

“And for the first time ever newlyweds… Rafe and Y/N!”

All of your friends and families cheered as you made your way out, Rafe squeezing your hand to remind you he’s there as you make your way further into the dining room.

The two of you take pictures around your cake, Rafe’s eyes twinkling because this was what he was looking forward to. As you both dig a fork into the cake and wrap your arm around each other’s, you keep eye contact as you eat the cake. Rafe has the same glint he’s had all day, slowly eating the cake as he winks at you.

You ignore how the man doing anything can result in you soaking your panties as you guys go around thanking everyone and mingling. He behaved the rest of the time, only slipping up during the dance.

You’d already had your first dance, the rest of the room joining you two for the rest as the two of you continue to sway, eyes locked on each other. His hands trail down to the top of your ass, and you give him a warning look.

He shrugs, pulling you in closer. He leans down, kissing you softly. The two of you keep dancing, but only slightly as you guys grow more and more entranced by each other.

“I love you more than anything,” He says suddenly, you sharing the sentiment as you gaze up at him. He hums, kissing you again. “I can’t wait until I can properly show you how much.”

•••

The two of you run to the limo, the crows cheering as they throw flower petals over you. The driver opens the door for you guys, Rafe letting you slide in first before coming in after you.

He immediately grabs you, pulling you into a few quick kisses, “We’re actually fucking married, Y/N.”

“I was there,” You mused, not able to take your eyes off your husband. Husband. Even thinking about the word was enough to make your heart feel as though it will beat out of your chest. “I can���t believe it either. Everything we’ve been through has just led us to this… I’ve never been more happy.”

“Everything was perfect?” Rafe asks, and you nod reassuringly knowing that was his main worry for the day. If it were up to him, you guys would’ve went to the courthouse cause he couldn’t wait to call you his wife. But he knew you wanted the big wedding, and whatever you wanted you would get. Forever.

“Everything. Except..” You trail off, Rafe’s eyebrows knitting a little in concern. You smooth out the wrinkles, sending him a teasing smile. “We should’ve planned out at least thirty minutes just for us. It was kind of hard keeping my hands off you today.”

He laughs, shaking his head at you before laying you back on the seat of the limo, hovering over you.

“We have a little time right now,” He said. “And the hotel for the next couple of days while we wait for the flight to the Bahamas. I think that’s more than enough time for you to put your hands on me.”

He presses his lips against yours, moving the sheer skirt so he can spread your legs to make room for him to lay down. You feel him harden, and too impatient to deal with taking your clothes off, you push him back until he’s sitting again.

You lean over, tugging at the zipper of his dress pants. He starts to protest, saying how tonight is about you.

“The whole day has been about me. You’ve done everything to make it amazing,” You respond, tugging the waist of his pants down with a little help from him, immediately taking his cock out of his boxers. “Let me take care of you.”

You wrap your lips around the head of his cock, sliding him into your mouth and down your throat as he lets out a strangled groan. His breathing picks up as he leans his head back, pulling your hair into a makeshift ponytail.

You start to bob your head up and down, spit trailing down and over his cock as you take him deeper down your throat. He starts to buck his hips up, making you deepthroat him. You press against his thighs, making him relax onto the seat so you can do the work.

“Just relax, babe,” You say when you pull off of him, stroking his cock with your hands. You look over at him to see him looking at you in lust, cheeks flushed. He grips your hair tighter, pulling you up into a messy kiss before leading you back to his cock.

You take him into your mouth again, not wasting any time before moving up and down. He starts to moan more frequently as he grows closer, thighs tensing as he grows closer to his release.

The limo stops, and Rafe is quick to pull you up, putting himself back in his boxers. He’s lifting up and zipping his pants just as the driver opens the door. The two of you thank the man, Rafe taking hold of your hand as he rushes through the entrance of the hotel and to the register.

You’re leaned against him as he asks the receptionist for the keys to the honeymoon suite, giggling as you grab him at him while he tries to control your hands. The reception, not shocked at all by your behavior, hands Rafe’s the keys.

The journey to the honeymoon suite was a mix of kissing, risky touches and damn near taking Rafe’s pants off in the elevator. You finally make it to the room, and it’s the first moment where you take a second to look at your surroundings. The room is gorgeous, rose petals leading to the bed as well as fake candles lit around. The lighting of the room was faded, making the glare of the sunset through the windows illuminate the suite.

Rafe turns you around, cupping your jaw to bring you into a kiss, “Welcome, Mrs. Cameron.”

“Thank you, Mr. Cameron,” You respond, Rafe grunting against your lips. His hands trail behind you, grabbing at the zipper of your dress and pulling it down until your dress pooled around your feet.

You step out of it, smirking at Rafe’s slack jaw when he catches sight of your lingerie.

“You weren’t wearing that earlier,” He notes, eyes still scanning you.

“Would you have let me leave the room if you saw me in this?” You ask sarcastically, Rafe still looking at you like you were a goddess.

“You wouldn’t have been able to fucking walk if I did,” He replied, pulling you into a hot kiss as he walks you to the bed. He pushes you down softly, your hands going to your bra when he stops them.

“Keep it on,” He gruffly said. Standing up straight, he undresses himself while looking down at you. His hard length stands proudly once he gets his boxers off, and he chuckles darkly at your expression.

He comes down, catching your lips in a slow, lingering kiss. He moves his hands until they were placed on either side of you. His tongue softly grazes your own, the two of you staying like that for a few minutes.

He pulls off, nodding his head to signal you to move up on the bed. He follows you as you climb back, heated haze on your figure as he settles between your legs. He grips your thighs, spreading them as he blew softly on your clothed center.

The cold air against your heat made you twitch, biting your lip as you look down at the blonde. He smirks, lips grazing over your panties before moving them to the side. His blue eyes darken as he sees your glistening folds, leaning down to place a light kiss on your mound while keeping eye contact with you.

You shudder, goosebumps rising on your thighs as Rafe continues to take his time. He lightly pushes his tongue onto your clit, massaging it before pulling his tongue away and french kissing your folds. You throw your head back in small frustration, pushing him back slightly before flipping the two of you over.

Rafe looks up at you with a mildly curious expression, caught off guard. Your resting just above his chest now, and you’re about to slide up when an idea strikes your mind. It was a position you know Rafe loves.

You turn over, now facing the bottom of the bed with your pussy directly above Rafe’s face. You lean down until your eye level with his member, kissing the tip teasingly as Rafe hisses and gives you a warning slap on the ass.

Rafe's moving your underwear to the side and putting his mouth on you in seconds, and you lurch forward at the feeling. He takes hold of your hips, steadying you above his face while keeping you down. Once you recover, you focus on making him feel good.

You don't waste any time deepthroating him, holding your head down as your throat contracts against his cock, making Rafe groan into your pussy. The vibrations made you moan louder, triggering more moans from Rafe as you guys continue to service each other.

He's rock hard in your hand, your juices dripping down his mouth to his neck. Rafe can't get over the feeling of you soaking his face, and it's no surprise when he places an iron grip around the small of your back to keep you down as he began moving his tongue faster and more deliberate.

Your moan comes out breathless as your head throws back in pleasure, mouth leaving his cock as you began to come on his face. The vibrations of Rafe groaning into you added to the waves of pleasure shooting up your body, and you hold his thighs to ground yourself.

Overloaded with pleasure and wanting to make him feel just as good, you spit on his cock before sliding him down your throat again. Rafe's knees lift slightly off the bed as he tenses in pleasure, and you bob your head up and down faster as Rafe begins to moan more frequently. He was growing close, and it drove you to suck his cock harder.

Once his leg started to twitch, Rafe lands a hard smack on your ass, telling you to get off and lay down. You pouted, but listened as you rolled off of him, Rafe sitting up so you can switch positions.

You're now laying under him, Rafe's hand going between your thighs to rub your clit with his thumb while he slides a finger into you. He watches your expressions of pleasure as he fingers you, only slowing his movements when he leans down to kiss you collarbone as he looks up at you.

“How do you want it?” He rasped, leaning back to stroke his cock above you. Your own hands come out as you trace his abs.

“I want to see you,” You whimper.

“Yeah?” He responds, tapping your thigh. “Move your panties, baby.”

You bend your knees, moving your panties to the side and spreading your legs. Rafe gives you a look of approval, running his cock up and down your folds before pushing into you. You hold your thighs apart, your grip tightening as your pussy flutters around his length.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Rafe groans. “And so fucking wet. Has my girl been needy all day?”

“Yes, fuck,” You raise your head up to watch as he enters you, Rafe starting to increase his pace. “Been teasing me all day.”

“You’re the tease,” Rafe retorts, replacing your grips on your thighs with his own. “Don’t know how hard it was not to fuck your brains out all day. Had to remind myself we were around family.”

“So fucking hard though. You looked so good,” He presses down more on your thighs so they're flattened against the mattress. “So beautiful. The fact that I can call you mine… fuck.”

“I’m all yours,” You agree, taking hold of his face as you bring him down into a incoherent kiss. “And you’re mine.”

“All yours, baby girl,” He nods against you, fucking you into the mattress harder as groans tumble from his lips. “No one- fuck just like that- no one makes me feel like you do.”

“No one takes care of me like you. Only you can make me this happy,” He continues, head tilting back in pleasure. “Can drive me this… fucking crazy.”

“Please..” You beg, not too sure what you're even asking for but knowing you need to feel more of Rafe.

“Please what?”

“Fuck me harder,” You whimper out, Rafe's eyes growing darker as he pulls out. Before you can even think, he's ripping the fabric of your laced panties in half, tugging them roughly off your legs. His hands move to your chest, ripping your bra from the middle and pulling you up so he can take it all the way off.

You fall back on the bed, Rafe following as he takes your breast in his mouth, sucking and biting on it before showing the other breast the same attention. He lines his cock up, pounding himself into you, moving his grip to your calfs so he can push them higher on the bed so you’re completely exposed and open to him now. He hits deeper in this new position, and you moan in ecstasy.

“Like that?” He murmurs, head dropping down to watch himself fuck you. “Fuck I can’t wait to fuck a baby into you.”

His words tigger an involuntary orgasm, your legs shaking as you bring your hands to grip his wrists as a way to ground you as you began floating. Rafe groans, fucking you through your orgasm.

“You like the thought of that? Of me filling you up,” He lets go of your legs, wrapping them around his waist as he leans over you, continuing to fuck you. “Want me to fuck my cum into you, baby?”

“Yes, daddy,” You reply instantly, bucking your hips up to meet his thrusts. “I can’t wait to have your kids. Plea- please fuck me.”

“I’m already fucking you,” He teased, leaning over and placing wet, lingering kisses on your throat.

“You know what I mean,” You whine, slapping at his shoulders before gripping them. “Please give me your cum.”

“Yeah? You want it?” Rafe grunts, and your eyes are squeezed shut in pleasure as you nod. Rafe grabs your throat. “Look at me.”

Your eyes open, seeing Rafe moving above you as he holds your gaze. His expression is heated, face flushed and sweat dripping down his forehead as he pounds his cock into you. He groans loudly, and you feel him release inside of you. The feeling of his warm cum coating your walls had you seeing stars, and your eyes roll back in pleasure as you come with him.

“Fuck- are you coming again?” Rafe asks when he feels you clench around him again. “My desperate little girl… you love feeling me come inside you much you can’t help but come with me, huh?”

You whine as you nod incessantly, hands gripping his shoulders tighter to bring him closer to you. Rafe loosens his hold on your neck as he kisses you softly. You whimper against his mouth.

“What is it?” He mumbles, looking at you with soft eyes. Your words are coming out a little jumbled together, Rafe kissing you again to calm you down. “Come on, baby. It’s okay. Tell me.”

“I want more,” You mewl, hands running up and down his arms, moving to his chest. You want to touch every part of him, feel every part of him.

“More what?”

“More cock, more cum, please just-” You begin to beg, your words coming out incoherent as you grow more desperate. Rafe coos at you, kissing your cheeks and the tears that started to form around your eyes.

“Shh, sweet girl. We have all night. I’m gonna fill you up until you’re leaking with my cum,” He promises, bringing you into a passionate kiss as you continue to run your hands over each other. You make out for a little, Rafe wanting to calm you down before you got too overwhelmed.

When you were ready, Rafe surprised you flipping the two of you over until you were straddling him. Looking down at him with a confused expression, Rafe raises up so he can grab your throat lightly, bringing you into a long kiss.

“I want to see you,” He repeats your words from earlier, smiling softly as he lays back onto the pillows. “Ride me.”

You start to move on top of him, Rafe taking hold of your hands to interlace his fingers with yours. You hold hands as you start to bounce on his cock, rotating your hips above him.

“Shit, you’re so good,” Rafe plants his feet on the bed, pumping himself up to meet your thrusts. His jaw clenches in pleasure. “Such a good fucking girl. You gonna take my cum from me?”

You let out a moan as you nod, “Want you to fill me up.”

“Damn, baby. Keep talking like that,” Rafe's head tilts back, eyes flittering shut. You bring your locked hands up to your mouth, kissing his knuckles as you slow your movements.

“Cum inside me,” You whine, Rafe's eyes opening to look at you with so much want in his eyes that it motivates you to move just in the way he likes. “I want it so bad. You always take c-care of me.. please.”

You fuck yourself on his cock, your grip tightening on his hands as you start to clench around him. Rafe can't handle the combination of your heat with your words, bucking his hips up more as he starts to come inside you. Your releases mix together, you moaning as you unlocked your hands from his.

“Let me ride it out,” You mutter, leaning back until your hands rested agains this thighs to use as support, rolling your hips. “I want all of it.”

“Fuck, baby,” His hands are gripping the sheets, Rafe lifting them up to leave a bruising hit on both of your thighs. “Milk my cock. Come on it one more time.”

Your mouth drops open, head throwing back as you come again, gushing around your husband's cock. You soak him in your juices, Rafe gripping your hips now to help you move once you start to falter, “I got you, baby. It’s okay. Just let go.”

As the last waves of you orgasm rush through you, you lean forward until your chest was pressed against his. Both of you are breathing heavily, Rafe running his fingers over your hair as he soothes you. He brings you higher, his face now at level with your chest as he kisses softly up the middle of it, across your collarbone before leaving tickling kisses on your throat.

You giggle as he kisses his way up to your jaw, looking down at him just as his lips aim to meet yours. The kiss is lazy and soft, your grips on each other tightening. Rafe lifts you, placing you on the side of the bed and kissing your forehead as he mentions a bath.

Within ten minutes, Rafe is walking back towards the bed and lifting you up bridal style off of it. Your head throws back slightly as you laugh, Rafe taking the opportunity to place playful bites on your neck.

You enter the bathroom, and you gasp once you see the roses placed around a huge bathtub, your favorite scented candle lit and soft music playing from Rafe's phone. He places you in the bath, the hot water doing wonders for your slightly sore muscles.

Rafe climbs in behind you, placing his legs on either side of you as you lean back into his chest. You rest there, Rafe placing light kisses on your temple as you play with his fingers. Rafe's kisses move closer to your face, pecking your cheeks.

“I love you. I love you,” He repeatedly stated as he continued to kiss you everywhere he could: your cheek, your jaw, your neck, back up to your temple again. You turn your head, puckering your lips up so he can meet you in another sweet kiss.

“Til death do us part, babe,” You repeated his sentiment from earlier, Rafe biting your lip as he pulls away.

“Til death do us part.”