#Ben Hardy x Reader

[taisiabelle]

Doctor: How many sexual partners have you had?

Me, who reads smut fun fictions about different characters on daily basis…

[illfoandillfie]

Imperfect

Pairing: Ben Hardy x Reader

Summary: Ben comes home after being away for a while but the celebration you anticipated doesn't go quite how you thought it would.

Words: 4,191

Warnings: smut, references to periods, oral sex (m and f receiving), gagging (not in a sexy way), P in V sex, sex toys, things don't go according to plan.

A/N: I think this one was inspired by a porn blog i followed (since deleted i think??) who wrote a post about seeing her long distance bf and everything going wrong and i just couldn't shake the idea.

Taglist: @labessieisallama@deakyclicks@jennyggggrrr @drowseoftaylor@i-cant-hangout-im-drumming@queenmylovely@ilovequeenmorethanyou@johndeaconshands@borhapbois@stardust-galaxies@cherries-n-rocknroll@rogersslave@scorpiogemini

“You can’t say stuff like that when I’m so close to my period,” you whined, thankful you were alone in your flat so no one would see your blush, “You know how horny I get.”  “Well if you get off tonight you really should tell me about it. In detail.” Ben replied and you could only imagine his cheeks were flushed too, especially after the filth he’d just come out with. “Actually, I’ve got a minute now if you wanna...phone sex is hot.”  You laughed, “You might have time but, unfortunately, I do not. Rach’ll be here in a min.”  “Not even for one little wank? I promise I’ll be fast. Been so long since I’ve had you that just the word cunt is giving me a stiffy.”  “I’ll make it up to you tomorrow when you get home. Promise.”  “How?” There was the sound of shuffling fabric under the word.  “Stop trying to start phone sex, I’m about to go out!”  “Who said I was starting anything. I gave you a list of things I’ve been thinking about doing to you and I wanna know which you fancy most. If I was tossing off while you told me, whats the harm?”  “You’re terrible.”  “Doubt you’ll think so tomorrow. And I hope you spend the night thinking about everything I said, I want you wet when I get there so I can be in you sooner.”  “Believe me, I wont stop thinking about it.”  “Neither,” Ben groaned.  “Are you seriously touching yourself?”  “Yeah,” he voice was breathier than before, “I got my cock out when I thought you’d be down for a quickie and it was too hard to just leave it. You’ve got a sexy voice.”  A car horn tooted and, peeking out the window, you could see your friend Rachel waving from her car.   You waved back and turned to grab your bag, “She’s here, I gotta go.”  “Your loss.” Ben paused for a moment, letting out a series of fake, but no less arousing, moans, followed by a much more real grunt, “See you tomorrow.”  “Can’t wait, I love you.”  “I love you too.”  “I’ll be waiting for you in bed. Naked.”  Ben groaned just before you hung up, giggling to yourself.    

You weren’t actually in bed when Ben arrived home the following afternoon. Neither were you fully naked, but Ben wasn’t too disappointed. Laying on the couch in only a bra and one of his shirts was close enough, and somehow more erotic.   “Fuck I’ve missed you,” he said as he dropped his bags where he stood.  You pushed yourself to your knees as he swooped in to kiss you, pulling you tight into his arms and then manoeuvring you onto his lap.  It felt like you could breathe again as you wrapped your arms around his neck, though if anything the fierce kissing made it harder. Ben groaned against your lips as your rocked in place, his already semi hard cock trapped within the confines of his jeans. His hands wandered under your shirt and up to your breasts, giving them a quick squeeze over your bra, though stopping when you hissed through your teeth.   “Sorry, my period’s due tomorrow and my boobs are still really sore.”  “Shit, sorry babe. Do you want me to stop touching them?”  “No, it’s okay, just no squeezing or anything too hard y’know.”  “This better?” He asked, rubbing over your nipples with his thumbs as he gently cupped your boobs.  “Mmm, yeahs thats good.”  Ben smiled against your lips as he kissed you again, still carefully toying with one nipple as his other hand slid down to your hip. He gave you a brief squeeze, the motion of it encouragement to keep rubbing against him as he hardened under you. A particularly well timed roll of your hips made Ben whimper against your lips.   “So hard already?” you asked, following the words with a kiss to the corner of his mouth, and then another proper one full on the lips.   “Mmhmm,” Ben hummed, his fingers tangled in your hair as he kissed you back, eagerly parting his lips for your tongue.   “I’m flattered,” you chuckled breathily after another minute, Ben’s lips now on your neck, both hands roaming down to your arse as if checking he remembered what all of you felt like.  “Told you I’d missed you. Have you missed me?”  You reached between your bodies, readjusting a little so you could undo his fly and help free his cock, “Should I show you just how much?”  “Yeah,” he panted as you palmed his hard length, “Bedroom?”  “Not yet baby. Missed you so much I don’t think I can wait that long. Need you in my mouth right now.” At that you slipped off his lap, lowering yourself to the floor.   Ben helped to remove his pants before spreading his legs so you could wiggle into a comfortable position between them.   It was a position you loved being in and one you’d been sorely missing while Ben had been away, so you weren’t inclined to tease him too much as you took his length in your hand, stoking him a few times to make sure he was truely hard.   Ben was panting even before you’d lowered your heard and you were eager to hear more. His moans were fun over the phone but nowhere near as pretty as hearing them from above you while you licked and sucked his cock.  

Ben was clearly enjoying everything you were doing, his panting turning to gasps and groans as you finally wrapped your lips around his head. It was impossible to supress the hum of satisfaction as you revelled in having him this way again, gradually letting yourself sink further down his shaft. His hand was resting on the top of your head, helping to guide you but mostly giving him something to tug on as you stroked what your lips hadn’t yet reached. You gagged a little as you readjusted to his size, but thankfully Ben found that as hot as anything else you’d done, letting out a loud moan as you brought yourself back up to take a few breaths before taking him in again.   “Fuck babe,” he grunted, “Gonna make me cum,”  You hummed again, pressing yourself down further, desperate to prove him right. But it had been a while since you’d last blown him and in your eagerness you rushed things a bit much. It was badly timed, pushing yourself to take more of him as his hips bucked at the feeling of your mouth. You gagged again but this time weren’t able to draw back as fast and so the one gag was followed by another and then another before you could manage to pull back and force yourself to breathe. It was uncomfortable, making your stomach lurch and your throat sting. And you couldn’t imagine it had looked or sounded particularly sexy when it felt so bad, not even with the string of saliva clinging to Ben’s cock and your lip.   “Woah, babe, you okay?” Ben asked, his hand moving suddenly from your hair to instead rub your back.   You nodded, swallowing back the acid reflux in your throat as you tried to breathe normally. “Let’s switch it up,” you said when you finally felt able to talk, “Bedroom?”  “Are you still up to it? We can stop.”  “No, no, I really fucking want to. I just need a glass of water first.”  Ben leaned forward to kiss you briefly, “Probably good I didn’t cum then, huh. More for your needy cunt.”  You whimpered at the growl in his voice, the unexpected interruption not enough to dowse your desire.  

Once you’d had some water you made your way to the bedroom, finding Ben already stretched out in the bed, cock in hand.  “Was worried you were gonna leave me to sort myself out,” he joked with a grin, laying back a little so you could clearly see just how hard he was.   With a laugh you hurried to join him, pulling the shirt you wore off as you went. Before you’d even properly climbed in beside him, Ben’s hands were on your waist tugging you in close, and he was kissing you again. You managed to manoeuvre yourself so you were straddling him again, his cock pressing against your cunt in a way that made your stomach flip with excitement.   “You want help with that bra or d’you wanna leave it on?” Ben asked against your throat, his finger toying with the clasp.  “Umm, leave it. Don’t want any other distractions right now, just need you.”  Ben dipped his head to kiss the top of your breast, his hands slipping further down your sides, and before you’d even registered the change he was gripping you tight and rolling you under him.   You let out a surprised little sound, though you were soon distracted as Ben kissed you again, his hand moving between your legs.   You were wet enough that his fingers slipped into you easily, a groan falling from his lips as he pressed them deeper.  “Babe if I don’t fuck you soon, I’m gonna make a right mess of these sheets.”  You laughed and nodded, eager to feel him fill you properly, though you were also aware you weren’t really properly ready. So you told Ben to get the lube to make things a little easier.  

He was quick about it, moving no further away from you than was absolutely necessary to reach into his bedside table. You bit your lip as you watched him shift to his knees and stroke lube along his cock, his tip so flushed it looked painful. But moments later he was pushing your legs wider so he could better observe as he spread lube around your hole, watching as his fingers disappeared into you.   “Now Benny, please,” you whined, unable to withstand waiting much longer.  Your breath caught as he settled on top of you, your legs spreading wider to accommodate him as he lined himself up and pressed into you. He went slowly, which you appreciated because it meant the stretch was easier to handle than if he’d rushed it, but you suspected he was thinking more about how close he was. His hips stuttered a few times and he had to pause once to let out a long breath, eyes squeezed shut as he tried to keep his composure. It was a little torturous, knowing he was so much closer than you, feeling him move so slowly when you wanted friction, but it was hot too. Knowing he was willing himself to last longer just for you, and that he was only so close because you felt so good around his cock, that was a rush. It made you want to touch him more, to really test his stamina. You grabbed Ben’s arse with one hand, fingers pressing hard against his soft skin which just made Ben groan, his hips jolting a little at the unexpected touch.   “Babe you have to give me a second,” he whimpered, “I’m so fucking close.”  You just laughed, “You don’t have to try and wait, Benny, I love when you cum in me. Just try and fuck me a little too, okay?”  Ben nodded as he let you guide him into another kiss, his brows knitted together as he tried to hold back anyway. But he did rock into you, his pace uneven, groaning on every stroke.   You let your hand slip down to your clit since Ben was already focusing on so much, moaning at the combination of sensations. But, as much as it was working for you, it was even more effective for Ben. A sudden clench was all it took.   “Je-Jesus, fuck, sorry,” Ben managed to grunt as he held himself inside you, his orgasm making him moan. You didn’t mind that he’d finished so quick. It wasn’t as if it was unexpected, and you did love the feeling, and it was nice when he collapsed onto you afterwards, but it was a little disappointing none the less so you decided you should tease him a little anyway.   After a few quiet moments as Ben caught his breath you said, “Well at least you sounded pretty,”  “Fuck I’m sorry honey,” he groaned against your throat, “I really tried.”  “I know you did,” you rubbed his back, “I guess my pussy’s just too good.”  “Oh it is,” he said earnestly, pushing himself up a little so he could see you properly, “But I’ll make it up to you.”  “Oh yeah? How?”  The soft pout he’d been using slipped into a cocky grin as he unentangled himself from you.  Your breath hitched a little as he slipped out of you but he quickly made up for it, scooting down the bed so he could lie between your legs.  “Oh I see,” you laughed, relaxing back against the pillows as his lips latched onto your clit.  

Ben was very good at eating you out. He’d done it on your second date, which was partly why you’d agreed to a third, and had only improved in the years you’d been together. But it was extremely hot when he ate you out after he’d already cum in you. It felt so filthy, especially because he was so talkative about it, telling you how much he loved seeing his cum dribble out of you, how seeing it made him want to cum into you again and again. He fingered you as he spoke, but his mouth was never far away, so you could feel his breath as he moaned about how good you tasted together, how he could eat you out for hours if you’d only let him. And then you’d gasp as he sucked at you again, his fingers steadily thrusting into you as he licked up your wetness and his cum, toying with your clit in the best way. The bonus of having Ben go down on you was that he was getting turned on again to. You liked to watch him sometimes, when he was too preoccupied to notice, pushing yourself up on your elbows to better see him buried between your thighs. But when you saw him rubbing himself against the bed, seeking out any little pleasure as he revelled in licking your cunt, you dropped back to the pillow with a moan. He clearly took the sound as encouragement, becoming somehow more enthusiastic, his touch firmer, his own hums and moans more frequent.   There had been a lot of build up – just being apart and missing him, and all the things he’d said on the phone to work you up, and the joy of finally being able to touch him and kiss him and take him – so Ben had no difficulties in bringing you to the edge and drawing you over it. Your legs tightened around his head but he barely seemed to notice, so intent on prolonging your pleasure and so desperate not to let a drop of your release go to waste. You ended up needing to tug on his hair as you whined for him to stop, your clit becoming oversensitive as he continued to touch it. Though when he looked up at you, pouting a little at being made to stop, chin glistening and hair all over the place, you were so struck by how hot he looked, you nearly pushed him back down and let him keep going.  

“How was that?” Ben asked as he moved to lie his head beside yours on the same pillow.   You didn’t bother with words, letting out a satisfied hum as you stretched a little.   Ben just chuckled and pulled you into another kiss.   He had started to harden again while he was going down on you, but it was too soon for either of you to be properly ready for more so, for a little while, you just lay there and talked. There were a few soft kisses in between but mostly it was just nice to catch up on things you’d missed while he was away, Ben playing with your fingers or pressing his nose into your neck so his voice was muffled and your skin tingled with his breath. You ended up laying perpendicular to him, across the width of the bed, your head resting on his stomach as you laughed at something stupid together. It was whilst you were lying there that you turned your head the other way and saw Ben’s semi had grown. “Can’t even talk to a mostly naked girl without getting hard,” you tutted jokingly.  “What can I say, that bra makes your boobs look phenomenal. And I didn’t really get to fuck you before.”  “Just stuck it in and came straight away.” you laughed.  “Very pathetic, I know,” he chuckled, “Especially after telling you all that stuff yesterday."  You snorted at the reminder, and moved your hand to wrap around his shaft, “Lucky for you I’m willing to give you another shot.”  Ben groaned at your touch but quickly stopped you, “How do you want it? From behind? You always cum easy like that.”  You agreed quickly, already pushing yourself up, eager to feel him in you properly.  

Ben didn’t disappoint. His grasp was firm as he gripped your hip with one hand, using the other to guide himself into your cunt. Though he also thought it was funny to stop once he was situated and pretend to cum instantly. You rolled your eyes at the joke and told him to pop a Viagra if he had to. He just laughed as slid his now free hand over your arse and up to your hip, holding your tight as he gave a quick thrust. It soon became very apparent that the little blue pill was unnecessary. He took his time building into a steady rhythm, finding a pace that worked for both of you. You moaned as you finally got to feel him properly, his length stroking against your walls so perfectly that you couldn’t help but moan. Every now and again he’d add in an unexpected thrust, maybe a little harder than the others, maybe just out of time with what you were expecting. You’d gasp at the surprise but it never failed to make you clench around him, which in turn made Ben from grunt behind you. On one particular rough thrust, you let yourself collapse a little, your arms folding under you, so you were panting into the bedding as Ben held your hips in place and continued to pound into you, not immediately switching back to the previous pace he’d set.  You stayed like that for a moment, just enjoying the feeling of being properly fucked, though you soon realised Ben was reaching his peak faster than you were. With a little effort you managed to slip you hand down to rub your clit. Ben did his best to help stimulate you too, grabbing and squeezing your arse, even toying with your arsehole a little, spitting on it and rubbing around it. And it did help, a bit. You were getting closer, just not fast enough, and not as fast as Ben.   “You gotta cum babe,” he panted, his steady strokes slipping out of time.  “I can’t Benny,” you whined, pressing harder against your clit, getting desperate.   Ben lasted another couple of minutes but there was only so long he could hold out. He moaned as he came. Once again you felt that mix of disappointment (more acutely this time since you’d been closer than before) and pleasure at how good it felt when Ben came in you. And once again, Ben was apologising.   “It’s okay Benny,” you said, rolling over onto your back so Ben could settle on top of you, “Just means we have to go again as soon as you can manage it.”  He laughed and nodded, stifling a small yawn, “Well that shouldn’t take long.” 

He was sort of right. A couple of minutes to recover, a little dirty talk to speed up the process, and half of a porn video pulled up on your phone, and he was ready to go again.   You suggested that you’d be on top this time and he eagerly agreed. Unfortunately, that mornings travel and the two orgasms he’d already had seemed to be taking a toll. Ben was clearly exhausted, his cock softening unexpectedly as you were trying to ride him.   His cheeks coloured pink as he realised he wasn’t stiff anymore, “Shit, sorry, give me another min.”  You lifted yourself off and Ben worked on stroking himself back up, the slick left over from your cunt making his fist glide along his shaft.   “There we go,” he groaned, fully hard once more.   You sank down once more, sighing happily at being so full again. But before long you felt his erection soften again.   “Maybe I do need that Viagra,” Ben frowned.  Carefully shifting from his lap, you lay down beside Ben and stroked his hair, “No honey, you’re probably just worn out. It’s okay.” You were going to say more but you cut yourself off when you caught sight of Ben’s cock. “Shit, Ben, are you bleeding?”  “Wha-?” He sat up, both of you examining his now very soft dick.  You grabbed him, perhaps a little harder than you meant to if his sudden sharp inhale was anything to go by, to try and see where the blood was coming from when you realised what it meant and started laughing.  “What’s so funny?” Ben asked nervously.  “You’re not bleeding. I am. My period started.”  “Oh thank Christ.”  You groaned partly because you knew you’d have to get up and find underwear and go to the toilet and you didn’t really feel like getting out of bed, and partly because it would have been nice on Ben’s cock but he clearly wasn’t up to it and by the time he was you’re period would probably have killed your mood. But then an idea came to you.   “What if I used one of my toys?”  If Ben were a dog, his ears would have pricked up.  You absently drew your finger along his thigh, “You can watch and talk to me and touch me and just generally help me get off, and I’ll still get to cum how I wanted to but on a dildo instead of a real dick.”  “I’ll be so helpful.”  You laughed at Ben’s eagerness, “Can you start by getting me a towel? I know my periods just started so it shouldn’t be too messy but I’d rather not risk staining the sheets.”    By the time Ben got back, still naked, holding two folded towels so you could choose, you’d grabbed out the toy and found some clothes to put on afterwards. And once you’d spread out the towel and gotten comfortable, Ben kept being helpful. He offered to lube up the dildo for you, and kissed you a lot as you eased the toy into yourself. It felt nice to be full again, but it was made all the more enjoyable by Ben’s constant stream of talk, telling you how gorgeous you looked, how on a regular day he’d be so hard just from the idea of you wanking in front of him. He kissed your neck and the tops of your breasts, ran his hands over your thighs and rubbed your clit so you could focus on fucking yourself. And when you moaned, he told you to do it again, to keep going because he loved seeing you all fucked out, even on fake cock, and he so badly wanted to see you cum. All you had to do was keep your hand steady and listen to his pretty voice. The way it got deeper as he said more, the way he groaned when you gasped out his name, his cock twitching just a little against you. He made it easy to finish. And when your grip on the toy faltered, when you lost the pace as your orgasm hit, Ben placed his hand over yours and made sure you didn’t stop fucking yourself until you were totally spent.  

You collapsed back against the pillows with a satisfied sigh, Ben propping himself up on one elbow beside you.   “How was that?” he asked softly, reaching over to brush some hair out of your face.  “Good,” you laughed a little when you thought about it, “Not what I thought tonight would be, but still good.”  Ben snorted and shifted to lie beside you properly, pulling you into his arms, “Well it’s a good thing I don’t have to go anywhere else anytime soon. Your period will give me a few days to recover and get my cock working again.”  You laughed more.  “And then we can work through all those ideas I mentioned on the phone.”  “Sounds like a plan.” You rubbed your thumb over his cheek as you caught him in a kiss.  He hummed happily against your lips, only breaking away to say, “This is pretty prefect though.”

[magickcandie]

I Want To Break Free

Roger Taylor x Fem!Reader

You were invited to set by Roger. You had heard the song and loved everything about it; to John’s writing, Freddie’s singing, and you had heard that Roger decided on the theme of the music video. You assumed that somehow, a car would be involved. Boy were you wrong! When you were let in, you noticed John first in an old lady outfit with grey hair! Brian was seen next drinking tea in a set chair, wearing a pink nightie and rollers thrown in his curls. Of course seeing Freddie in a pink top and black leather skirt seemed so crazy, he seemed to be a natural in it. “You know, if you wanted to raid my closet, you could’ve asked!” You laughed. Doubling over, clutching your stomach as if that’s ease the pain of laughter. “Where’s Roger?” “I haven’t seen him yet. Maybe ask her.” John said, pointing to a blonde woman talking to a set director. You ignored the giggles coming off the boys and went over her. What you saw sent you into a fit again. When you tapped her shoulder, Roger turned and looked at you, smiling. A thin layer of pink lipstick on. “What’s… what’s going on!” You said in between laughs. You grabbed the counter to steady yourself but sunk to your knees anyway.

“I told you it’s make Y/N laugh!” Roger said, grabbing your hand and helping you stand again. “Roger set all of this up to try and get you to laugh. Or really seeing if you’d laugh.” Freddie leaned on John’s shoulder, throwing a leg in the air. “Don’t we all look great!” “You’re definitely something. The wigs, makeup, it’s all so great. You look beautiful,” you said to Roger, hooking his chin in your hand. “Kiss?” You leaned in to kiss him. “I’m staying for the entirety of filming. I wan to see how this plays out.” You laughed again, finding an empty chair to watch. And what a show it was. You had come to see John reading a newspaper and scowling at the others. Brian had a new costume piece; bunny slippers. Freddie danced around with a Hoover. God, this is why you loved these men. And especially Roger Taylor. Setting this up just to see you laugh and smile.

[michelle-is-writing]

Protector, Warren Worthington iii

Word Count: 4.5k~

I had been best friends with Warren ever since I met him.

Throughout our years in school, Warren and I had always stuck by each other's side. We hung out together, ate lunch with each other, and nearly forgot about all those people around us who would point out his wings to hurt him. It was like we were in our own little world, and in a way, we were.

We met in the second grade while our class was in the library. While looking for a book, I found Warren, huddled up behind a bookshelf in the elementary school library. He was red in the face and crying as he held his knees close to him. Instantly, I noticed his wings, of course - how could I not?

However, this didn't stop me from going up and asking him what was wrong. I can still remember the way his curls bounced against his scalp as he turned his attention away from his lap and up to me, quickly wiping away his tears to cover up his emotions. Despite being so young, he knew how to expertly do this as he pretended that nothing was wrong and he wasn't crying merely thirty seconds ago.

"What's wrong?" I asked, sitting beside him. I saw him tense up, his back straightening up as he laid his legs out in front of him instead of hugging them to his chest.

"Nothing," He instantly answered me, once again, pretending as if everything wasn't as it seemed.

Instead of saying anything more, I let the boldness I had as an eight-year-old takeover and pulled him into my arms, his figure becoming even tenser. Although, he didn't pull away, and instead, just stayed in that position until I spoke up.

"The kids are mean to me too," I told him, his breath catching in his throat. "And they shouldn't be because you seem pretty cool," I explained with a smile as he turned his eyes up to look at me again. "No one else here has wings, and they're really pretty."

From then on, we were practically inseparable. We weren't seen without each other, and despite bullies picking on us, we didn't let their words bother us. Even as we got older, nothing changed, and in spite of living in an expensive house with nearly triple the amount of space that my house was, Warren chose to stay at my place most nights. His parents didn't care about what he did, and my parents were more than happy to have him over.

When we reached high school, our friendship turned into an actual relationship between two lovebirds (no pun intended). Now we really were inseparable.

However, this changed one night when he went out to grab something from the store. I was sick, and needed medicine; so, being the thoughtful boyfriend he was, he decided he would go out and get some. I guess we underestimated how much mutants were hated in the area as Warren never came back.

Now it's been three months since he disappeared.

Every night since, I went searching for him, only to return to some hotel or hostel without him. I don't know what came over me tonight though. For all my life, I've always been told to avoid putting myself in dangerous settings, and yet, all of those lessons were cast away as I heard people screaming and hollering down an empty and dark alleyway while in Munich. My searching had taken me far away from home, but I wasn't going to stop until I found Warren.

Following the sounds of excitement and fury, I found a hidden door that led to what seemed to be a fighting ring. People surround the caged area, but I push through them, ignoring their waving arms with money held high. I stop at the metal fence separating the people from the ring, only to gasp in horror as my eyes fall over the white, fluffy wings I've loved for many years.

"Warren..." I hear his name being whispered through my lips, tears forming in my eyes as I look at his hurt and pained figure. Fighting for his life against another mutant, he spits blood from his mouth as he wipes away the blood forming on the cut across his cheek. The tattered t-shirt he wears, the same thing he wore the night he disappeared, barely hangs onto his shoulders by a few strips of fabric, the band emblem on the front no longer being recognizable. His arms have fresh bruises forming all along the skin while fading bruises covers the visible parts of torso. How the hell did he get here?

Too shocked to move, I watch as Warren throws a punch at the other mutant, only to hit the fence in front of him, the silver eliciting sparks as soon as Warren touches it. "Shit!" He yells while the blue mutant seemingly teleports to different parts of the cage, only to receive the same treatment as Warren did. Hearing his voice after so long makes me nearly choke on the air in my throat, the tears now falling freely. Seeing Warren makes me want to rip through the fence and save him, but seeing that the metal fence is electric, I can't simply do that.

Blinking the oncoming tears away, I glance in every corner of the underground hideaway and try to find something that might resemble a control panel. It isn't until I see a switch box on what seems to be a surveying floor that I begin running to it, successfully climbing up the steps to the higher level and stopping in front of it. Gazing back to the fighting ring, I see Warren shouting at the dodging mutant while people standing around the cage yell out vile words of hate and absolute greed.

"Warren!" I shout his name as loud as I can, placing my hand on the handle to the electrical switch. Instantly, his head darts toward the voice calling his name, every inch of his being relaxing once he sees me. I smile at him before nodding, his eyes following my hand as it begins pushing the handle downward. Just before the electricity goes out, I see Warren's dirty wings perk up just as the entire underground arena goes pitch black.

In the darkness, the people's screams die down while the clinging sound of the fence being ripped apart follows it. Mere seconds pass before I familiar arms wrap around me and tug me close to their body, Warren's wings flapping rapidly as he lifts us into the air and to the hidden door I entered through. Once we're outside, we quickly run as far as we can before stopping in another alley, far away from the other one.

As soon as we stop, Warren wraps his arms around me and pulls me close to him, his lips immediately attaching to mine in a fervent and much-needed kiss. His hand on my waist never falters in its hold on me, and instead, it squeezes the flesh there as if he were testing if I was real or not.

"I'm here," I tell him, sliding my hands down his face as endless tears fall from his cheeks and onto my hands. Staring into his tear-filled eyes, I can't help but cry tears of happiness as well. "I'm right here."

Nodding, Warren folds his wings behind him, slightly wincing at the pain of them conforming against his back. "Fucking hell," He mutters, placing his forehead against mine, his eyes closed. A few seconds pass of him just holding me before he kisses me once more. "I've missed you so fucking much."

Our sweet reunion is cut short by a black vehicle slamming on their brakes at the end of the alleyway. "Warren," I say his name, concerned at the sight in front of us. Warren turns around, only for his wings to burst out again, shielding me from seeing anything. Peeking under one of the long feathers, I see two men leave the vehicle before one of them points at Warren.

"That's him!" The man yells, "Get him!"

In an instant, Warren swings around and wraps his arms and wings around me, protecting me from the flurry of oncoming bullets. What appears to be eight shots sounds throughout the alley before the same car speeds off again as Warren begins to topple over. Was he shot?

Trying to catch him before he falls on his face, I wrap my arms around Warren and hold him up for a few seconds, only for his size to take over mine and fall to the side. Landing on his back with me on top of him, Warren waves his hand at me while shaking his head, his eyes shut. "I'm fine," He mutters, his voice now suddenly tired and drained.

Eyes wide and concerned, I turn him onto his side and look over him to see blood pouring from his wings. Between the layers of feathers, I find what seems to be four bullet wounds, causing me to practically lose it as the crimson liquid touches my hands. "No, no, no, no, no," I mutter uncontrollably as I place him onto his back. "Warren, Warren," I repeat his name, running my hand against the side of his face, his own blood smearing across his flawless cheek. "Warren, don't go to sleep!"

At my heartbroken plea, Warren opens his eyes, frowning at the sight of tears pouring from my eyes. "Don't cry, my love," He begs, his voice even weaker than before. He lifts a hand to my face, doing the same to me just as I had done to him. I quickly place my hand over his, holding it there as I feel the warmth in his skin begin slowly leaving it. "I... I love you..." He whispers, his eyes closing once again.

Just like a few seconds ago, I feel every ounce of sanity leave me as I watch the love of life wither away in front of me. "Warren, don't do this to me!" I shout, the tears now falling like a waterfall. I could barely manage not seeing him for the three hellish months when he was missing - I can't live the rest of my life without him.

"Warren!" I scream his name again, utter desperation being the only recognizable thing in my voice. Releasing a sob, I push my head against his chest and hear his still-beating heart. However, I know that if I don't get him to a hospital within the next few seconds, his heart won't continue beating like that. But what hospital will even help us?

"Ma'am?" I hear a woman's soft voice coming from the end of the alley, causing me to jerk my head up and see a blonde woman standing twenty feet away. Concerned, she walks closer to me before kneeling beside Warren and me, the knees of her pants becoming stained with his spilled blood on the alley ground. His wings are the first things that catch her focus, making me want to hold him closer.

"Please, don't hurt him," I beg her, my hand holding his hand a bit tighter. "He-he's a-" The woman cuts me off.

"He's a mutant," She points out, looking over at me. Still crying, I nod once, watching as a small smile appears on her face. Within a short second, the fair skin she once had transforms into blue flesh with darker blue scales, her eyes turning yellow and green while her hair changes into a much brighter orange/red.

"It's okay," She assures me, placing a hand on my shoulder. "I am too, and I can help."

Her words, not to mention her sudden change of looks, shock me, but I nod at her, ready to do anything this woman says if it means saving Warren.

"Where's his family?" She asks me, her hand remaining on my shoulder as she kneels on the ground beside me.

"Me," I quickly answer her, tears still falling from my eyes. "I am his family."

"You're not a mutant," She points out, shaking her head with squinted eyes as she looks at me a bit confused. "And you care for him?"

"He's my best friend, the love of my life..." I answer her, my heart clenching as the words leave my lips. "Please, you have to help us!"

The woman nods, giving me a small, encouraging smile. "Kurt!" She abruptly yells, a teenage boy with blue skin and carvings appearing behind her with a blue puff of smoke following. I instantly recognize him as the other mutant in the pin with Warren earlier, and in spite of this, he doesn't try to get back at Warren while he's down.

Pulling his hand to get closer, she makes him get on our level before wrapping his arm around her and me. The stranger, Kurt, then wraps his other arm around Warren's almost lifeless body and tugs him a bit closer as well. "Get us all to the mansion nurse's ward - now!"

With the woman's last words, Kurt somehow does so, causing us to suddenly be in a nurse's station only a second later. This all confuses the living hell out of me, but with Kurt having a tail and red eyes, and not to mention blue skin like the lady, I don't know if I should be questioning the normalcy of anything at the moment.

Immediately, three scrubbed nurses rush up to where we are and pick Warren up from the ground. "He was shot, multiple times," The blue woman quickly explains, standing up from the ground. "He'll need blood, and you need to act quick."

Listening to her, the three nurses nod before taking an unconscious Warren back to what I could guess is surgery. Numb, I sit on the cold tile floor as I reach my blood-covered hands up to cross my arms and hold myself, my eyes stuck on the swinging doors that Warren was just carried through. Beside me is Kurt as he places a consoling hand on my shoulder, giving me a small smile.

"He vill be alright," Kurt assures me, his words helping me out a little. Giving him a small nod of my head, I take his held-out hand and stand up with him. "That is Raven, by the way," He adds as the woman from before moves to stand in front of me, taking my hand in hers despite it stained crimson.

"This is the Xavier mansion," She explains to me, "You're safe; we won't hurt you."

At her words, I nod. "I know," I tell her, giving her a small smile. "I trust you."

Smiling back at me, Mystique's eyes flicker behind me before her mouth slightly parts, her hand holding mine slightly faltering. "Who is this, Raven?" I hear a soft British voice speak up, causing me to slowly turn around and see a man in a wheelchair now in front of me. His eyes quickly catch my blood-covered hands and arms, shock taking over him. "Dear heavens, what happened to you, dear?"

I go to answer him, but my voice defeats me in doing so. Instead, Mystique speaks for me. "Charles, her and a fellow mutant were shot at in an alleyway when Kurt and I were passing by. He has wings, that's where most of the bullets hit him," She explains to him, "She has no ill will toward any of us - she just wants her boyfriend to survive."

A few seconds pass before the man, Charles, nods, staring at me with a frown. "I'm sorry to hear that, love," He tells me, giving me a single nod. "Raven, help her get cleaned up and fetch some fresh clothes for her as well," With that, Charles wheels himself out of the room and into the hallway where he enters the room at the end.

In a puff of blue smoke, Kurt leaves Mystique and me, letting us head to what I presume is her room where she wets a washcloth and begins rubbing the drying blood from my arms. "He will be alright," She tells me, saying Kurt's exact words from moments ago. "Trust me."

I nod at her words, but I can't believe them myself. What if Warren isn't okay? What if one of the bullets when through his spine and he's now paralyzed? I couldn't see all of his wounds so I don't know where they all hit him, minus the few I could see in his wings. What if the nurses and doctors can't do anything and he dies on the table? I can't bear to lose him - not again.

With my arms their original (s/c) color, I change into a pair of pajama pants and matching top with a school emblem given to me by Raven before walking with her to Charles' office. Stopping in front of his desk, Mystique and I watch as the man from earlier sits at his desk with his attention stuck on the novel stuck in his hands. However, it doesn't take long for him to notice our presence and put the book down with his glasses following.

"(Y/n), is it?" Charles asks me, turning his attention up to me. Surprised, I hesitantly nod as he speaks up once more. "No need to worry, dear," He assures me with a smile despite my caution. "I'm able to read minds and communicate through them as well," Charles further explains. "Raven and I were talking while she helped you with your arms and hands,"

"I understand you've been through a lot in the past hour, so I won't force you to talk about it," Charles tells me, making me let out a small sigh of relief. "But I am a bit concerned over the fact that you were in such a predicament that your partner was shot," Holding his hand out, Charles waits for me to place my hand in his. "I won't scour through your brain and look at everything you've ever seen or done - I just want to see what all transpired tonight."

Hesitating, I bite my lip in thought before shakily putting my hand in Charles, his touch being warm and welcoming. I feel as Charles does what he told me he would do, the images of the past month flashing before my eyes. Warren's disappearance, me finding him, and helping him get out are all shown before me like a home movie shot from my perspective. Because of this, I gasp a little, shocked at Charles' ability to do such a thing.

Slowly slipping his hand from mine, Charles' eyebrows furrow in thought before flashing his eyes up to mine, confusion written all over them. "You're a human with no powers or anything," He points out, slightly pausing in his words. "And yet, you've always loved a mutant?"

His words come out as a question, but to me, they're a true statement. I love Warren - I always have - and nothing about him will ever change that. "He's human just as I am," I tell Charles, giving him a small smile. "but, with wings," I further add, my smile growing sad as I lightly shrug. "How could I not love my angel?"

My words washing over him, Charles smiles back. "I like you," He tells me, Raven putting a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "Your friend, I think he'll pull through. After all, he has a great incentive."

Because of Charles' words, I smile and give him a nod of thanks just as a question rises to my mind. "What... what is this place?" I ask, gesturing to the overall building. I know it has to be an establishment of some sort going by the built-in medical wing and wide hallways.

"This," Charles states, pointing his finger to the ceiling while his eyes remain on mine. "Is Xavier's a school for gifted youngsters," He informs me before nodding his head once. "This is a school specialized for children with mutations such as Warren, or Kurt, whom you met earlier."

Furrowing my eyebrows together, another question comes to mind. "Why have I never heard of this place before?" I ask, receiving a small smile.

"We're a relatively small school," Charles simply explains, "Ultimately, if your boyfriend would want to join, he could - now, you're not a mutant, but the unique and understanding attitude you give off, I'm sure we could work something out for you too."

His words make my cheeks turn pink in response to the compliment as I thank him, turning my eyes toward the ground as I try to fight the ever-growing smile on my lips. Just as I do this, I see Charles put a hand to his forehead as his eyebrows furrow before looking over at Mystique with a smile. "Raven, take her back to the medical ward," he tells the fiery-haired woman. "It seems that her friend was easily operable and now they're just waiting for him to wake up."

Almost immediately, I turn and follow Mystique out of the room with my pace just a little faster than hers. Soon enough, we walk through the doors and directly to the beds where only one of them is occupied, and the sleeping body in it is Warren's. The window behind him shines down on him with the bright and early morning sun highlighting his now washed and pure white wings that lie behind him. The sight is a complete contrast to what I saw only an hour ago with the almost black sky darkening everything around us and only emphasizing the dirt and grime that covered Warren's perfect wings.

"We told you he'd be okay," I hear Mystique's gentle voice beside me say, causing me to nod with an onrush of tears rising in my eyes. They were right, and my Warren is okay.

Moving closer to him, I sit beside Warren on the bed and take his hand in mine, his unconscious body unresponsive toward my touch and his perfect face never changing. "I'll let you two be alone," Mystique speaks up before doing as she says and walking back toward the door. Once I hear the swinging door shut, the tears residing in my eyes quickly fall over the barrier and down my face as I try to hold in my sobs.

When you love someone, you never want to see them in pain or hurting, and when they're laid up in a hospital bed with consciousness being a waiting game, it hurts you. It physically hurts you to the point where your chest feels heavy with dread, and your stomach feels sick with worry. It's terrible, and I wish there was something I could've done to protect Warren from getting shot.

"I'm so sorry," I sob, turning my eyes away from him and toward the floor. Raising my free hand to cover my mouth as the sobs tumble out, I don't notice Warren's hand gently squeezing mine until I feel the bed beneath me slightly moves.

Immediately looking back over to him, I see his eyes flutter open and quickly dart to me, confusion taking over his tired face as soon as he sees my crying form. "Why..." Warren slowly starts speaking, his voice raspy and scratchy with sleep. "Why are you crying, love?" He finishes his question, now trying to sit up.

"No, no, baby," I usher him to continue lying flat, moving to stand on my knee on the side of his bed before pushing his shoulders back down onto the mattress. Despite this, he still doesn't listen and moves to wrap his arms around me before pulling me fully onto the bed and holding me to his chest. Finally, Warren does lie back down, but in a matter of seconds, his wings are fluttering around me like any other time I'd be on top of him. My eyes quickly catch sight of the now bandaged wounds, and now that I get a better look, I see that there was one more bullet-wound than I initially thought. "Warren, your stitches!"

"It's okay, love," He sleepily responds, leaning his head back to look up at me with a happy face. "I'm so damn happy to see you," Warren confesses, his eyes gazing over me as if I were a precious gem.

If it weren't for the nurses cleaning the dirt from his face and body, I wouldn't have been able to assess the full damage the fighting ring did to him. Above his left eye is a healing bruise that covers a majority of the side of his forehead, and his bottom lip is split, making it swollen. On top of all of that, his green eyes are sunken in and practically taken over by dark circles.

Still, he continues staring at me, acting as if nothing is bothering him until a look of confusion fall over his face. "Now, are you going to tell me why you were crying?" Warren repeats his question from earlier, making me shake my head as more tears rise to my eyes.

"You almost died, Warren," I inform him, his face still unchanging. "I've been without you for three damn months, and the night I get you back, I almost lost you again - for good!" I add on, raising a hand to wipe away my fast-falling tears.

However, Warren beats me to it and places his hands against my cheeks where he gently holds me, his face now soft. I guess he hasn't assessed the severity of the situation. That, or he hasn't taken the time to fully realize that he has stitched-up bullet wounds adorning his wings.

"I'm sorry," Warren apologizes after a few seconds of silence. Despite expecting those two words, it still doesn't hit me any easier as I'm sobbing once again, this time, into Warren's chest.

Holding me close, Warren waits a few moments before moving his hands back to my face and turning me to look at him directly. As soon as he gets the chance, Warren places his rough lips on top of mine, the skin chapped from the harsh things he's been put through. Despite crying moments ago, my tears ultimately stop as I come to the realization of how much I've missed the feeling of Warren's lips on mine. Chapped or not, his lips are the pure definition of Heaven, and when they're on top of mine, it's like pure ecstasy.

Pulling away for air, I pant above Warren as he does the same, his hands now sliding down to grip my waist once again. "I love you," He tells me, "And I've missed you- God, how I've missed you," Warren adds, shaking his head as a small, almost unnoticeable tear falls down his cheek. "Each day was hell without you, and I can't be without you, not again."

Smiling at him, I lean down once more and peck his soft cheek before nuzzling my head next to his on the pillow, his hold on me never changing in the slightest. "You won't have to, Angel," I tell him, watching his lips quirk up in a smile at my nickname for him. Deciding on leaving the explanation of where we're at for later, I close my eyes alongside Warren and fall asleep, finally able to relax knowing he and I can be together with no one to stop or hurt us.

[mamaskillerqueen]

This is my most favourite thing I have ever written. Every once in a while someone new stumbles upon it and drops a like and I need to reread it. So, today I’m reblogging it because I just love it.

Lover || Ben Hardy x Reader

A/N: This is my entry to @borhapparker​’s writing challenge! It’s a bit different from my usual writing but I hope you enjoy it! Word count: 4,800 Warnings: None that I can think of, per se other than, I went super self indulgent, I am sorry. Prompt: Lover by Taylor Swift

The worst thing about all the travelling and long working hours was, by far, the jet lag. Ben would never once complain about his job. He loved what he did, and he knew how incredibly lucky he was to be living this life. That didn’t mean sleepless nights didn’t suck just the same.

Something mindless had been playing on the TV for hours now, the blonde British man sat staring blankly for nearly as long. Despite the sand paper feel of his now dried out eyes, sleep was impossible. The itch for a cigarette was the only reason he found himself rising from the couch and climbing the stairs of his apartment building two by two to the roof.

Smoking in the flat was strictly prohibited. When he first moved in, he was sure that was going to be a deal breaker. It had been temporary anyways, at least that was what he had been hoping. Now it was three years later and he found he quite enjoyed the view the roof gave of his beloved city below. He was curious what it would look like this late, or early, as it was quickly approaching dawn.

And you’ll save all your dirtiest jokes for me

And at every table, I’ll save you a seat

Lover

With a crumbled brow, Ben shoved the roof access door open all the way. The cigarette stand was propping the door open just slightly, and the melody he heard had him completely forgetting his curiosity about the city lights. He’d heard the song a million times but never had he been this impressed. Or intrigued.

The girl holding the guitar had her back to him, her eyes focused out over the exact lights he’d been hoping to enjoy. She was completely oblivious to him. He was completely enamoured by her.

Keep reading

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

We Were Something, Don’t You Think So?

Series Summary: You are a Russian Grand Duchess in a time of revolution. Ben Hardy is a British government official tasked with smuggling you across Europe. You hate each other.

Chapter 1: Tobolsk, Siberia

Chapter 2: The Middle Of Nowhere

Chapter 3: The Trans-Siberian Railroad

Chapter 4: Moscow

Chapter 5: The Saint Petersburg–Moscow Railway

Chapter 6: Saint Petersburg

Chapter 7: The Gulf Of Finland

Chapter 8: The Baltic Sea

Chapter 9: The River Thames

Chapter 10: London

Chapter 11: Buckingham Palace

Chapter 12: The Atlantic Ocean

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

[rosesvioletshardy]

take my shoes - ben hardy

i honestly can’t believe we’ve been blessed with the amount of ben content we’ve gotten this past week 

anyways i got the idea of this imagine once i saw the pictures of ed sheeran and his wife again where she wears his shoes and her holds hers again so i thought i might right something like it.

warnings: a little drinking, fluff

# of words: 1,437

----

it was finally the weekend and there was nothing better than staying home with the love of your life and food. ben was home from months of filming and then from doing several promos and y/n finally felt like she can have him all to herself all over again which was one of her favorite things. ben was happy over the fact that he gets to relax at home with someone he loves more than anything in the world until he has to go back again which won’t be for a while.

when ben had walked back into the apartment after coming back from the store, she had saw that he a smile that was plastered across his face. after dropping the bags onto the countertop, he came around to her and hugged her from behind

“what’s got you in big, happy mood?” she asked him as she giggled when he pressed  his face into her neck

“i got a very interesting phone call and it seems like our favorite American is here in london.” he told her while pressing a kiss to her neck

“Joe’s here? “

“yeah, he has some filming that he’s going to be doing soon and i know we already had plans for a lazy saturday but i accidently promised him that we would hang out with him, rami, lucy, and gwilym tonight before he starts pre production.” ben said with a sorry look in his eye

“oh, well we can reschedule for tomorrow then. you can go have fun. i know you’ve missed them all.” she told him not really in the mood for wanting to go out

“i know you’re upset about this, i don’t have to go. he’s going to be here for a few months and i don’t have anything for a while. i can just tell him i won’t be coming and we can reschedule for-” ben told her with a sincere look on his face wanting to make sure she was comfortable before she interrupted 

“no, no, no. we can go out, have fun. you’ve worked so hard you at least deserve it. please i really don’t mind coming along. plus it would be really nice to see them all again.” she told him wrapping her arms around his neck

“fine, but i’m still promising you that lazy day tomorrow and i’ll make sure no one ruins a day for just me and my girl.” he grinned pulling her in closer when all she could do was laugh as he started to kiss her neck multiple times.

---

a few hours have past since y/n and ben had changed their plans to hang out with the rest of the borhap cast and now she was in their room getting ready and fixing her makeup when ben walked him to find her sitting in front of the mirror. he took a moment to look at the person he gets to call his girlfriend and someone who loves him so much and supports him with everything. y/n felt like someone was staring at her before she looked up at the mirror and saw him leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and smiling. this caused her to blush and get up to turn around to show him what she was wearing. 

“wow. you seem to amaze me every single day.”

“are you sure it isn’t too much?” 

“no, no, no it looks good. you’re dressed so beautifully for a night out. nothing too fancy but still casual and comfortable. i love you.”

“i love you too”

“c’mon let’s go. they’re probably waiting for us. after you my lady.” he said mimicking a butler

“why thank you kind sir” she answered back in the most posh voice she could do

 as they both ended up laughing when they arrived, it wasn’t as crowded but it was crowded for a Saturday night. they walked in hand in hand and looked around before Lucy spotted the both of them and called them over to a booth the rest of them had gotten. walking over, there were hugs and greetings all around before drinks were ordered and conversations' happened

“I’ve missed you all so much. i missed being here in England.” joe told them

“well we’ve missed you too. it’s good to have you back.” y/n told him, taking a sip of her drink

“it feels weird having all of us be back together, but at the same time it really feels good. how is everyone?” gwilym asked 

the next few hours consisted of everyone laughing, talking, and drinking before y/n felt a slight pain in her feet. ben noticed the sudden change in her face when he looked at her and gave her an “are you okay?” look which she simply just nodded and tried to ignore the pain so she could enjoy time with her friends. as the night went on, everyone had felt like they have had too many drinks and thought it was the best to go home at that point. they all got up and said their goodbyes before they started to walk towards where they entered from. as soon as she started to walk, the pain started again, causing ben to stop in his tracks when she let go of his hand

“babe, are you sure you’re alright? because you have this look on your face that you only have when you’re in pain, and please don’t say you’re fine you’re clearly not.” ben asked becoming more worried

"ben i promise you, i am fine. i bought these new heels and i haven't had time to break them in and i thought i could wear them tonight” she said before she started to walk until her heel broke making her almost lose her balance and fall

“you okay?”

“yeah, my heel just broke and i just bought these too. almost got used to the pain too. let’s just go home, i don’t care if people me like this.” she told him before she began to walk again until ben stopped her by not moving while holding her hand making her confused 

"ben, what are you doing? come on."

"take my shoes." he told her making her even more confused and looking around making sure no one was looking at them

"what?"

"take. my. shoes. like you wear my shoes and i'll hold yours" he told her before he let go of her hand and going to sit down at the nearest chair and started to untie his shoes

"ben what are you doing? stop it, it's completely fine."

"no, it's not. you broke your heel and i know you don’t care what others think but i still want you to be comfortable when you walk

"i'm not going to win this conversation, am i?" she asked him before sitting down

"nope. now c'mon, let's take those death traps off and get you into something more comfortable." he said as he waited for her to take her shoes off to give her

“and they say chivalry is dead. i really do love so i can’t hate you” she smiled at him taking his shoes from him and putting them on

“there happy?” she finished standing up 

“very. now, we have a bed, tv, and a dog waiting for us.” he told her leaning down to give her a kiss on the lips before grabbing her shoes

the two of them walked out as y/n had a little difficulty since his shoes were a little big on them. they saw the rest of them waiting for them confused as to what took them a while before the saw the broken heels in ben’s hand and his sock cladded feet with y/n wearing his shoes. there was a few people who they’d recognized as paparazzi and ignored them as much as they could as the cast hung out a bit more before they went back home where they could relax in peace.

when they got home, ben set her shoes by the door as they headed up to their room to see frankie laying on their bed ready for them to come in and cuddle her. after they were finished getting ready for bed, he pulled her into his chest where he gave her a kiss near her lips thinking about how he was able to get someone to love him for himself. he wasn’t really paying attention to what they were watching and all his mind was going to her and how much he loved her and would anything to make sure she was safe and comfortable.

[idkwhylou]

𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

⊹₊⋆*♫⋆｡★*:｡ೃ࿔*

⊹₊⋆*♫⋆｡★*:｡ೃ࿔*

❝I'm just a musical prostitute, my dear.❞

𝐑𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐨𝐫

“Ready Freddie ?”

⚡︎ Nothing yet

⊹₊⋆*♫⋆｡★*:｡ೃ࿔*

[youre-in-the-psycho-circus]

Morning Coffee | Ben Hardy

Pairing: Ben Hardy x Reader

Warnings: none, just some friendly teasing and fluff

Word Count: 2,514

Summery: The sexual tension between Ben and his makeup artist on 6 Underground has been extremely high as of late, and everyone, especially Ryan Reynolds, is determined to see them together.

Requested by @mamaskillerqueen from the prompt list:

23. “You’re more than just a one night stand”

Masterlist

(Y/N) was one of the makeup artists on 6 Underground. While all the makeup artists knew how to do everyone involved in the film’s makeup to some extent, she was often the one responsible for applying ‘Four’’s tattoo to none other than actor Ben Hardy. (Y/N) had seen him in X-Men Apocalypse a few years back, where his characters had a considerable amount of tattoos, on his face no doubt. Damn that character design did not do him justice. He was absolutely breathtaking up close. The first few days she had been so nervous around him. “When did you two fuck? Good god, you could cut the sexual tension with a knife.” Ryan Reynolds had teased her from the other makeup chair once he left, making the other makeup artist chuckle.

“For your information, we haven’t.” She stuck her tongue out at the actor before moving on to her next actor.

The days went by, and slowly (Y/N) became more comfortable around Ben. It helped that he was quite the chatterbox while he was in the chair, always wanting to know what was going on in her life, how her day had been, etc. “Talk, talk, talk, talk, talk. Doesn’t that kid ever shut up?” Ryan chuckled, once again after the young British actor had left.

“When you ask him to.” She smiled.

The further they got into filming, the more often Ben had started to show up early to set, especially when he was scheduled to be first in the chair that morning. He took the time to learn her coffee order and every few days, he was there twenty minutes early, two coffees in hand. As the other makeup artists hung out at craft services until it was time to start making up the cast, they oftentimes had the trailer to themselves and would sit across from each other talking about anything and everything. Their conversations would carry well into the application of his tattoos. Eventually he would run out of things to say, as they saw each other most every day, and would start throwing compliments her way about anything he could think of. Her hair, her eyes, her laugh, the way she was dressed, her smile. He loved it all apparently. “What’s your secret? He never talks to me like that. I’m jealous!” Ryan laughed one day.

“It helps when you have tits.” She smirked with a wink, causing the older actor to laugh.

Each time Ryan had pointed their ever blossoming relationship out, (Y/N) couldn’t help but take notice to how each day he seemed to be subtling hitting on her. Of course, now that she was looking for it, it wasn’t the slightest bit subtle. One day, she decided to up her game a bit. She woke up far too early so she could shower and do her own hair and makeup, a rare occurrence these days. Sure she did some of it every day, but only enough where she didn’t look like a zombie or that she didn’t know what she was doing. She had been taught through her previous jobs that if you don’t look like you can do your own makeup, why should the actors trust you to do theirs. But this wasn’t about the actors trusting her, this was about trying to subtly seduce Ben.

(Y/N) arrived in the makeup trailer at the same time she always did, and set about setting up her work station, so that way she and Ben could chat up until the last moment. She was just fixing her hair in the mirror when the door to the trailer swung open. She turned around, expecting to see Ben, but was met with the cool calculating stare of Mr. Ryan Reynolds. “What are you doing here?” She asked with a raised brow.

“Is it just me, or are the greetings really going downhill around here? What no good morning?” Ryan asked, closing the door behind him.

“I was just expecting…”

“Your boyfriend who’s not your boyfriend.” Ryan rolled his eyes plopping down in one of the chairs. “I know honey, everyone knows.”

“I’m not following.”

“That you two are into each other!” Ryan exclaimed. “I mean just look at you. All joking aside, not that you don’t always look great, but look at you! You look like you’re in the movie with how perfect your makeup and hair are.” He pointed out. “You tried today, and the day before that, and the day before that. You’re trying to impress him.”

“And what if I just wanted to look nice?” She asked, crossing her arms.

“Honey, what kind of fool do you take me for? I’ve been in this business long enough to know that the makeup artists don’t do their own makeup that nicely unless there’s something in it for them.” Ryan rolled his eyes.

“Alright.” She sighed sitting in the chair across from him. “You’ve caught me. You’ve got me all figured out. You going to tell him now?”

“I might be an asshole sometimes, but I’m not a complete dick.” The actor shrugged leaning forward. “I might even be able to nudge him in the right direction.”

She narrowed her eyes at the man across from her. “What do you want?”

“For you to name your first born child after me of course.” Ryan said with a complete straight face. (Y/N) furrowed her brow at the actor. “I’m just kidding, just buy me a drink and we’ll call it even.”

She rolled her eyes, standing to get some brushes out of the cabinet. “Thanks Ryan, but I think I’ve got it all under control.”

“Please, the way you two are going it’ll be…” Ryan started to say until the door swung up.

“Hey (Y/N), sorry I’m a bit late there was a...oh, morning Ryan, what are you doing here?” Ben asked with a raised brow as he entered the trailer.

“Oh I was just having a chat with (Y/N)...don’t mind me, I was just leaving.” Ryan stood heading over to the door. “Have fun you two.” Ryan smirked cheekily with a wink, leaving the trailer.

“What was that all about?” Ben asked walking over to (Y/N), handing her her coffee.

“Honestly, your guess is as good as mine.” (Y/N) shrugged taking a sip of her coffee. “Good good, it just gets better every time. You’re a miracle worker.”

“I’ve gotten better at it I guess. And today…” Ben trailed off going into his backpack. “A (your favorite kind of muffin).”

(Y/N) gasped a wide smile spreading across her face as Ben handed her the paper bag containing the muffin. “God bless you! I didn’t have time to eat this morning.”

“Really? Why not?” Ben asked, taking off his shirt before taking his usual seat in the makeup chair so when (y/n)’s supervisor came in, all she had to do was jump up and start her work.

“Oh I was just busy…” She started before she caught herself before she blatantly admitted what she had been doing that morning. “...over sleeping.” She saved, pulling up one of the folding chairs next to the makeup chair.

“Uh huh...and I assume you did your makeup and hair while you were sleepwalking?” Ben asked into his coffee cup. (Y/N) froze mid bite into the muffin, looking over at the actor with a sheepish look. “Just because I’m a guy doesn’t mean I don’t notice things like that.” He chuckled. “You look very beautiful by the way…” Ben mumbled softly, looking over at her with a soft smile. It was now (Y/N) realized she had been holding the muffin up to her mouth for far too long. She bit into it, looking away from the actor hoping to mask the blush glaring up on her cheeks. “Not that you don’t always…”

(Y/N) smiled up at him before looking away in embarrassment. “Please you’re just saying that to make me feel better because you look like a Greek God.” She chuckled poking at his toned arms.

“Only because people like you help me look that way.” He chuckled.

“Ben, you could wear nothing but a barrel and you’d still make it look good.” She started matter of factly.

“Again, because of people like you. You see what I look like every morning compared to when you’re done with me.”

“Yeah, covered in tattoos.” She chuckled finishing off the muffin, throwing the paper bag into the trash bin with a swish of the liner. “Score!” She cheered throwing her hands up into the air in victory. Ben chuckled softly at the action. Was she just naturally this adorable or was she trying? Whichever it was he didn’t care.

“Hey (Y/N)...? I was just wondering if...well maybe…” Ben started as the door to the trailer flew open and the other makeup artists and actors started to file in. (Y/N) sprang to her feet pushing the folding chair back to its rightful place before she picked up her brushes to start the application of Ben’s back tattoos.

They were greeted with a flurry of hellos and good mornings from everyone as usual. Ryan came into the trailer soon after. “And how is the happy couple this morning?” He teased taking a seat at the next chair over from Ben. “Must’ve been a pretty quick one this morning.” He winked.

Ben and (Y/N) each rolled their eyes. Here they go again with the endless teasing. “Really Ryan, don’t you know it’s rude to ask a person about their sex life?” Ben grumbled.

“Not when yours is like a soap opera. I’m interested so when they ask me what went on behind the scenes of the making of 6 Underground, I’ll have all the juicy details.”

“Ah lay off them Ryan.” Melissa, the other makeup artist giggled, getting his foundation and trauma makeup ready. “Even if they are beating around the bush.” She teased as well causing both the other actor and makeup artist to blush heavily.

“So Ben…” (Y/N) finally spoke after a few minutes. “What did you want to ask me earlier?” Ben looked at the mirror seeing Ryan staring at him intently, also interested in what the younger actor had to say to the makeup artist. He rolled his eyes before quickly typing a response out on his phone before holding it up for her to see. ‘Want to get a drink after filming later?’ his screen read. (Y/N) felt her heart flutter in her chest as she bit the inside of her lip, she chose a good day to wear makeup. She nodded in response. “I’d love to…” She smiled softly making the actor smile brightly in response.

“Finally! He asked her out!!” Ryan announced to the trailer causing everyone to cheer in response.

“Ah bugger off would ya?” Ben chuckled at the older actor.

“Just remember, don’t do anything I would do...but don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. There’s a little grey area there for you guys. Also use protection.”

Later that night, as agreed, (Y/N) and Ben met up on set before piling into her rental car, heading back to the hotel the film was paying for them to stay at. They made a b-line to the hotel bar, just off the lobby, taking a seat at the bar. Ben bought them a round of tequila shots to start off right, the pair clinking their glasses together in a small toast before downing the clear liquid. “Ah, that’s some top shelf stuff there.” (Y/n) smiled in delight at the slight burn in the back of her throat.

“Figured we could both use the good stuff after today.” Ben chuckled. “Well after everything with filming I guess.”

“It’s been a time for sure.” She laughed as their first round of actual drinks were placed before them. A pint of Guinness for Ben, a Bloody Mary for (y/n). “But despite how it can be rough some days I’m glad I met you.”

“Yeah?” Ben asked with a soft smile.

“I mean who else would be kind enough to bring me coffee, not to mention my favorite muffin, whenever he could for no other reason than he wants to.”

“Well I figured you have to deal with my sorry ass every morning, might as well try to make it more enjoyable.” He chuckled warmly. “I’m glad you’re on this film (y/n). I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed sitting in the makeup chair for hours on end unless it’s been you working on me.” She smiled, taking a sip of her drink to hide the blush that was spreading across her face. “You make it so much easier.”

“I try.” She smirked with a shrug. There was a pause in the conversation, the same sexual tension that was always between them in the makeup trailer hanging heavily in the air. They were both wondering the same thing at that point. “So what’s going on between us then?” (Y/n) was the one to ask flat out.

“How do you mean?” The actor questioned taking a sip from his pint.

“I mean there’s obviously some sort of spark between us...as Ryan so loves to point out every time he sees us.” She rolled her eyes, Ben chuckled in response.

“I’ll be honest with you (y/n)...I’ve wanted to make a move on you for so long now. I just didn’t know how to, what with everyone watching us all the time...I also wanted to be sure you felt the same too…” Ben admitted quietly. “I really like you (y/n)...and if you feel the same…” he said slowly getting closer to her. “I’d love to see where a possible ‘us’ goes.”

“I don’t know Ben...I like you, I really do...but I’d be so scared with filming ending soon...that I’d just be another one night stand…” She mumbled sadly, as they both continued to lean in toward one another. “So maybe we should...stop this...before...we…” She trailed off as their lips connected, a spark of electricity passing between them.

Ben stood, never breaking contact, placing his hands on her waist, pulling (y/n) as close as he possibly could. “You’re more than just a one night stand, (y/n)...I can’t imagine my life without you in it…” He spoke softly, gently stroking his thumb across her cheek as she looked up into his forest green eyes. “I don’t care what I have to do, you’ll be a part of my life long after filming is over. The question is...do you want to be?”

(Y/n) smiled softly at the actor gently kissed Ben’s lips again, the spark once again passing between them as it had earlier. This time, however, the kiss was a lot more heated and a lot deeper. She gently ran her fingers through his longer blonde locks on top of his head. “Without question Ben.” She smiled playing with the hairs at the top of his neck. “Remind me we have to cut your hair again tomorrow, it’s getting too long.” Ben rolled his eyes playfully, before silencing her with another kiss. They were definitely going to need their coffee in the morning.

[george-mackay-macfine]

I'm back into the writing mood after some heavy shit.

Now opening up the requests for Will Poulter, Jeremy Allen White, Ben Hardy (and their characters) as well as the usual roster.

Will and JAW girlies slid into the DM's

[drreidsconverse]

Manhattan

Ben Hardy x fem! reader

(a/n): been a minute since I've written anything, but I think this could be good? Hoping this gets me back into the writing mood, I also got a MacBook so I'm hoping I can write more on here.

long or short?: short imagine; I MAY elaborate later with a longer story with full detail of how we've gotten here ;)

what kind?: angst

Inspo?: Manhattan by Sara Bareilles (lyrics will be in color and italics)

(a/n 2): I SWEAR i'll write some fluff later, I used a different writing format then normal for this so I probably didn't proof read this lol.

gif by @ificanwriteiscannon

.....

First person POV:

You can can have Manhattan, I know it's for the best,

I packed the last of my things in a duffle bag, a weeks worth of clothes, zipping it quietly.

Hoping- no praying he didn't wake. Next, I grabbed the note and placed it on the table next to our his bed. My sneakers came next, I slip out of our bedroom without disturbing him or Frankie.

Catching a final glimpse of their sleeping forms, Taking in our Manhattan apartment in for a final time.

I'll gather up the avenues and leave them at your doorstep and I'll tiptoe away, so you won't have to say you heard me leave

Ben's POV:

you can have Manhattan cause I can't have you

"-I just feel

as if we've gone two different directions

I am so so sorry

I love you

forever yours.

y/n."

you can have Manhattan ill settle for the beach and sunsets facing westward with sand beneath my feet ill wish wish this away

"What the fuck, what the actual fuck? Sh- she wouldn't just leave, She didn't get all of her things." I tried to rationalize as I paced the living room.

I put my head in my hands as I tried to find a reason for this to be happening, we were happy; Things were perfect, so perfect, and now it's just gone?

I grabbed my phone dialing her number. My thumb hovering over the 'green cell phone' icon. Pressing it I placed the phone next to my ear listing to ringing for the longest, when I finally moved to end the call she answered.

"Hi." Her voice was broken like she'd been crying. I could hear birds behind her with crashes of waves as if she was at the beach. "Hey" My voice somber and small; "Is this really what you want? For us I mean-" I barely finished my sentence before I was crying.

She took few shallow breathes before answering.

"I- I don't know..."

(a/n): I am not responsible for how you feel after reading this because it hurt me too

[illfoandillfie]

Quality Vs Quantity

Rich Fuckboy Ben Series Masterlist

Pairing: Rich Fuckboy!Ben Hardy x Fem!Reader

Summery:  Spending a day in Ben's hotel room has some unforeseen consequences

Warnings: Basically just fluff with some references to sex - nothing happens on page, Specifically references to oral sex (m receiving) and P in V sex, Rich kid dickishness, hints at dom!reader/sub!Ben but nothing major, discussions of urinary tract infections.

Words: 1,166

A/N: The idea for this one came about because I was rewatching Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (for those that are unfamiliar it's a tv comedy series that features musical numbers, its great, highly recommend) and in on episode the main character contracts a UTI and the guy she's been sleeping with sings a song about how he's proud to have been soon good at sex that she needs medication. It's funny and stupid but it did make me think of my favourite rich prick and I had to write something lmao.

(How could I not use this image lmao)

Taglist: @labessieisallama@deakyclicks@jennyggggrrr @drowseoftaylor@i-cant-hangout-im-drumming@queenmylovely@ilovequeenmorethanyou@johndeaconshands@borhapbois@stardust-galaxies@cherries-n-rocknroll@rogersslave @scorpiogemini

When you’d gone out with Ben you’d figured you’d have a good night letting him be all dominant and then you’d be sent home as soon as he was done, with a slap on the arse and probably some comment about being a whore. You hadn’t expected to still be there the next morning let alone for Ben to get so subby so quickly. You definitely hadn’t anticipated that the night with him would turn into nearly a full day in his bed. But you hadn’t been able to pull yourself away and he seemed reluctant to let you leave. So instead, you’d stayed.  

It was only once you were home (and Bianca had stopped grilling you about your new mystery man, since she had no idea you’d seen Ben again), that you were able to actually think about what had happened. There’d been a surprising amount of kissing when you really thought about it. None of it like how it was when he kissed you in the limo – territorial, cornering you so he could claim you or mark you. It was nicer than that. Sweet and soft and a lot of it had happened when he wasn’t inside you which was maybe the most surprising part. Though, really, the whole thing was definitely unexpected. 

There’d been breaks for room service meals and at one point you’d dozed off whilst laying against his chest, a movie playing on the TV and his fingers playing with your hair. But most of the time had been spent fucking. A, frankly, ridiculous amount of fucking. In all sorts of positions and places throughout the suite, some of it rough, some soft and sensual, all of it very satisfying. Honestly, you couldn’t help but be a little impressed by Ben – his prowess and stamina. But unfortunately, there was unforeseen consequences too, even a couple of days post marathon fuck session.  

You hadn’t planned on telling Ben you probably had a UTI. You’d felt the burning sensation and immediately called your gyno to organise an appointment and on your way home you’d made sure to pick up some cranberry pills and juice to hold you over until then. Ben hadn’t even factored into your thoughts at all except to briefly curse him. And then, out of the blue he’d called.   “You free tonight?”  “Y’know, typically conversations start with some kind of greeting.”  “Hi, Y/N. So are you?”  “That depends. What were you planning?”  “Well something like the other day preferably. There’s more I want to do to you.”  You couldn’t imagine what else he could possibly be thinking of but kept that to yourself in order to tease him a bit, “You must really love being my sub if you’re asking me out again already. Don’t think many girls get invited into your bed a second time and little old nobody me gets a third.”  “I just figured since I got you off so much, the least you could do is suck my cock again.”  You laughed, “Well if a blowjob is all you want then maybe I’ll consider it, but I’m not really up to uhh penetration.”  “Why not? My cock too big for you to handle and now you need a week to recover?”  “No, I just think I have a urinary tract infection so sex is off the table until I can get onto some antibiotics.”  “Soooo,” he stretched the word out thoughtfully, “I wasn’t too far off. You’re pussy just couldn’t handle all the incredible sex.”  You sighed, somewhere between exasperated and amused, “It’s not the quality of the sex and it’s not a comment on your size. It’s just that there was like a lot of sex happening and that led to a very natural transferal of bacteria.”  “No don’t ruin this for me. It’s my huge dick and how good a shag I am, you need medication to cope. It’s actually a complement, so thank you.”  You snorted and heard Ben laugh too.  “But I s’pose that’s a good enough excuse, I’ll let you pay me back some other time. I could probably use a quiet night in anyway.”  “A quiet night? What’s that, only going to one club before you’re newest conquest sees the hotel?”  “Usually yeah,” he chuckled, “but actually I was thinking of staying home and watching TV. Maybe some video games, don’t know yet.”  “Really? You don’t have a model you can call as a plan B?”  “Oh, believe me I have them. I guess I just don’t really feel like it tonight.” There was a short pause and then Ben said, “Believe me, no one is as surprised as I am.”  You had to laugh, but also said, “Well, sounds like it’ll be fun.”  “You could still join me.”  “It’s a tempting offer but I probably shouldn’t. A night on your own will do you some good anyway.”   “Sure it’s not cause I’m so irresistible? Worried you’ll catch a glimpse of my halfie and beg to suck on it?”  “More that I don’t trust you not to talk me into it and I’m still trying to train you to behave.”  Ben gave a soft little whimper that he tried to cover with a cough and you smiled, pleased you could still affect him like that.  

But just when you thought he was being a little predictable, Ben decided to throw you for a loop.   “You are okay though right?  “Yeah,” you said, trying not to sound like you were too taken aback, “I’m fine. UTI’s can become serious if ignored but I’m not ignoring it and they’re pretty easy to treat. I’ll just be out of action or a week or two, no biggie. Unfortunately I had agreed to go with Bianca to a cycling class so I’ll probably have to cancel that. She’ll understand though.”  “Well then let me pay for that. I mean, I assume there’s a cancellation fee.”  “There is but you don’t have to do that.”  “Please, Y/N, if there’s one thing I have, it’s money. It’ll be like losing some loose change in the couch. And...I want to help. I did contribute to your situation after all – y'know, big dick, hot lay, we’ve covered that already. I’d be a prick not to help somehow. Is there anything else I can do? Pain relief or, I don’t know, do you need a lift to the appointment? I could send my car for you.”  You were thrown entirely off balance by how genuine and sweet and un-dickish Ben sounded, “Um no I think I’m all good. It’s really kind of you to offer though.”  “Okay, if you’re sure. But if you need something just let me know. And message me with how much the cancellation costs. And...feel better soon.”  “I will, thanks Ben. Umm, talk soon?”  “Yeah, definitely.”  You were still a little in shock when you hung up, and not at all sure how to break it to Bianca that you might have a crush on the Ben Hardy.

[magickcandie]

Ben!Roger Taylor Masterlist

One (Request)

[michelle-is-writing]

Sick, Ben Hardy

Word Count: 1.2k~

Saturday nights are always date nights for me and Ben. No matter what, we always go out and do something fun together. We'll go to dinner, watch a movie, see a game, anything that sounds like a good time. We always make an effort, and nothing ever stops us from spending time together.

However, as I lay in my bed with nonstop nausea filling my throat and stomach, I feel the need to cancel for tonight. During the seven months that we've been dating, neither of us have ever canceled a Friday night, and that's always something I love about us. Once again, we always make time for each other, so when I think about calling Ben and saying I can't go tonight, I feel even worse.

Reluctantly pressing the green button on Ben's contact, I hold my phone up to my ear and listen to the ringing tone as I wait for him to pick up. As more seconds pass, I find myself trying to hug my blankets as close to me as I can while my body begins to shiver. This stomach pain is starting to cause me to feel cold as well, and it sucks.

"Hello, darling," I hear Ben's voice pick up after the second ring, making me smile. I always love hearing his voice. It carries this tone of protection in it that gives off a feeling of happiness at the same time. "Are you ready for our date?"

At his question, I close my eyes and swallow down the guilt that rises to my throat as my smile lowers into a frown. He sounds so happy - excited, almost. Do I really have to take that away from him? All because of something that could probably be treated with medicine?

As soon as the thought of maybe suffering through the pain and going on a date, another stomach cramp pushes into me, making me almost hunch over in my bed to get through the pain. "Actually, Ben," I start, my free arm wrapping around my stomach as the stinging sensation passes. "I was calling to tell you that I can't come," I explain, my ears almost catching the sound of his heart breaking through the phone speaker. "I think I caught food poisoning from my friend's food at dinner we went to the other night."

"I ate it, and I seem fine," He tells me, his words making me shake my head with an amused smile.

"That's because you have an iron stomach, Ben," I joke, hearing him chuckle on the other end. "And, besides, if you can eat your own cooking, then you can eat practically anything."

"Oi!" Ben dramatically exclaims as if my words hit him with a punch. I laugh at his silliness. "Such harsh and hurtful words from the woman I love!" He further chides as I clench my already hurting stomach from laughing. He soon joins in on the laughing before speaking once more. "But that's alright love. I understand you're not feeling well. I love you! And I'll be over in ten minutes."

Just as quick as he said his last words, he hangs up, leaving me to stare across the room with wide eyes as my phone remains resting in my hand, Ben's picture flashing once before the screen goes dark. Did he really just pull a fast one on me? Just like that?

While thinking about Ben, yet another wave of nausea rolls over me, causing me to turn onto my side with my knees close to my chest, a pained groan escaping my lips at the same time. What if this isn't food poisoning, and it's something contagious, and I accidentally give it to Ben? It's not that I don't want him coming over (I'm glad that he is), but the last thing I want to do is make him sick as well.

For what feels like an eternity, I lay on my sides, switching between the two when another cramp comes along. It isn't long before I hear keys being inserted into my front door, twisting and turning before the piece of wood opens and closes a few short seconds later. Footsteps sound throughout my tiny apartment until my bedroom door gently opens, a head full of blond hair and shining blue eyes staring back at me as I smile from my current predicament on the bed.

"There she is," Ben says with a sweet smile. Wearing a plain grey t-shirt and black sweats, he takes one step into my room before happily sighing. "And just as beautiful as ever."

Blushing, I roll my eyes and flop onto my other side to dramatically turn my back to him, only receiving a laugh back before I feel his warm body settle behind my cold one. As soon as he touches me, it's as if all of my nausea and cramping dissipate, the warmth from his body acting as a heating pad for my achey body.

Ben wraps his arms around me and pulls me close to his body as he kisses my temple, his lips soft and warm like fresh pastries. At his sweet affection, I smile even more and raise my hands to rest on top of his, only for him to interlock our fingers together. Even when I'm sick and not able to do the things we usually do, he's still the best boyfriend I could ever ask for.

"Would you like me to make you some soup?" Ben asks, leaning down to nuzzle his face in my neck. Underneath the covers, his legs intertwine with mine, bringing me just enough warmth to stop shivering so bad.

"No, just lay here with me, please," I tell him, snuggling my body further in his hold as a soft sigh escapes my lips. There's nothing better than lying in the arms of the person you love - especially if they're a natural heater.

"Oh, and like I said earlier," I begin, remembering our earlier conversation. "Your cooking is something special," I remind Ben with a smirk, listening as he snickers behind me. Okay, maybe there's nothing better lying in the arms of your boyfriend and teasing him for his helpless qualities.

"I can put on a video or something, go off of that," Ben suggests, leaning his head over mine to cuddle closer to the front of my neck. "Or, I could be safe and just order something," he offers, making me smile.

"That would be nice," I tell Ben, nodding my head. Just as he goes to get up to grab his phone presumably, I tug him back down and snuggle even further into him. "In five minutes, of course," I clarify, hearing him snicker behind me again.

With a simple "okay," Ben gets himself comfortable once more before resuming holding me close. I guess no matter what, Saturday nights will always be our night and not even a stupid stomach bug can stop that.

[urdreamydoodles]

MARVEL COMICS CHARACTERS X FEM!READER

Your first kiss

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Thor, Loki, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes, Matthew Murdock, Frank Castle, Bullseye, Marc Spector, Taskmaster, Johnny Storm, Reed Richards, Ben Grimm, Susan Storm, Felicia Hardy, Stephen Strange, Namor, Johnny Blaze, Eddie Brock / Venom, T'Challa, Elektra Natchios, Muse, Victor von Doom, Peter Quill & Nova

PETER PARKER (SPIDER-MAN)

- The city is quiet tonight, or as quiet as New York ever gets. You sit beside Peter on the rooftop of his apartment, your legs dangling over the edge, the skyline stretching endlessly before you. The neon lights paint his face in streaks of color, flickering like the embers of something unspoken between you. He’s rambling—about school, about the Bugle, about the latest science joke that made him laugh—until he stops mid-sentence, swallowing whatever he was about to say. His fingers tap anxiously against his thigh, a restless rhythm betraying his thoughts.

- It happens when he turns to look at you, his brown eyes soft and unbearably earnest. There’s something about the way the wind plays with your hair, the way the city hums beneath you, the way the space between you feels like a held breath. His hand, calloused from web-swinging, brushes against yours, tentative but lingering. "I—uh," he starts, then stops, then exhales a nervous laugh. "I think I've been waiting for the right moment, but—maybe this is it?" He’s always second-guessing, always overthinking, but this time, you see the decision settle in his gaze before he moves.

- The kiss is hesitant at first—Peter Parker, for all his brilliance, is still a boy who fumbles when he cares too much. His lips are warm, the taste of laughter and something achingly familiar laced between them. And when you don’t pull away, when your fingers find their place in his hair, he exhales against your mouth like relief, like gratitude. His arms circle around you, pulling you closer, the city forgotten, the night reduced to the way you fit against him.

- When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath unsteady. "Okay," he murmurs, voice edged with wonder, "so, that was—wow." And then he grins, that boyish, lopsided thing that makes your heart stutter. "I think I need to run some tests. Y'know, for science. Just to make sure it wasn’t a fluke." He’s already leaning in again, and this time, neither of you hesitate.

TONY STARK (IRON MAN)

- The night is heavy with champagne and the soft murmur of jazz drifting through the penthouse. Tony, ever the spectacle, had spent the evening dazzling the crowd with sharp wit and sharper smiles, but now it’s just the two of you, the after-hours of the party settling into something quieter, something real. He’s undone the top buttons of his shirt, sleeves rolled up, exposing the scars that speak of past battles and victories that cost too much. His fingers trail along the rim of his glass, but his eyes are on you, dark and contemplative.

- "You know," he muses, voice rich with amusement, "I’ve kissed a lot of people in my time. Scandalous, I know." A smirk, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "But this one—this one might actually matter." The admission is half a jest, half a confession, and wholly Tony Stark—deflecting with humor, with bravado, but never insincere. He leans forward, the world outside reduced to the warmth of his gaze, the space between you shrinking with every breath.

- The kiss is molten, slow but deliberate, the kind of thing that leaves its mark. Tony Stark is a man who takes what he wants, but this—this is different. He kisses you like a man savoring a stolen moment, like he’s memorizing the taste of you, the feel of you, like he’s afraid that if he moves too fast, you might disappear. His hands cradle your face, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones with something almost reverent.

- When he pulls away, his breath is unsteady, his eyes darker than before. "Well," he murmurs, his voice rough at the edges, "that was definitely a top contender for best kiss ever. Might have to do some retesting, though. Y'know, for science." The grin that follows is lazy, pleased, but there’s something softer beneath it—something that lingers as he pulls you in for another.

STEVE ROGERS (CAPTAIN AMERICA)

- The battlefield is silent now, the fight won, but the scent of smoke and steel still clings to the air. You stand beside Steve, both of you breathing hard, adrenaline still crackling in your veins. His shield is strapped to his back, his uniform scuffed and torn in places, but he’s whole. Alive. And for a moment, that’s all that matters. The world around you is chaos, but in this sliver of time, there is only him. The golden light of the setting sun catches in his hair, highlights the worry still etched in the furrow of his brow as he turns to you.

- "You scared me today," he says, voice quiet but steady. Not an accusation, just the truth. Steve Rogers doesn’t scare easily—not when facing enemies, not when staring down impossible odds—but you, you are something else entirely. His gloved hand reaches for yours, fingers tracing the bruises blooming along your wrist, a silent apology for the pain neither of you could avoid. His jaw tenses, and then, softer, "I don’t want to lose you."

- The kiss is inevitable, a culmination of unsaid words and lingering glances stretched over countless battles. Steve moves like a man who believes in purpose, in certainty, and right now, you are his. His lips meet yours with quiet desperation, firm yet impossibly gentle, as if he’s afraid you might break beneath his touch. But there is strength in the way you answer, in the way you hold him closer, fingers curling into the fabric of his suit. The war fades into the background, the ache in your bones forgotten beneath the weight of him.

- When he pulls away, his forehead rests against yours, breath mingling with your own. "I mean it," he murmurs, a promise laced between the syllables. His hand tightens around yours, unwavering. "I’m not letting go." And somehow, you know he never will.

THOR

- The storm rolls in like a heartbeat, distant thunder thrumming beneath your feet as the wind tangles in your hair. You stand beside Thor on the edge of a cliff, overlooking the vastness of Asgard’s golden horizon. The feast is still raging behind you, laughter and music spilling from the halls, but here, in the open air, it is just the two of you. His gaze is on you, blue and endless, filled with something deep and unshaken.

- "You are different from the others," he muses, tilting his head as if pondering a great mystery. "Stronger, in a way that has nothing to do with battle. I have seen warriors crumble beneath lesser burdens, and yet—you endure." There is admiration in his tone, reverence even, as if you are something worthy of legends. His fingers brush against yours, tentative for a god who has known conquest and war. "It is… humbling."

- The kiss is as sudden as the storm breaking overhead—lightning splitting the sky as Thor moves. There is no hesitation, no second-guessing, only the raw certainty of a god who knows his own heart. His lips are fire and fury, the taste of rain clinging to the space between you. He holds you as if he could keep you here, bound to him by the force of his embrace, by the quiet, unshakable devotion that lingers in every touch.

- When he pulls away, the storm settles, the world exhaling as if in reverence. He watches you, eyes dark with something ancient, something unbreakable. "I have lived lifetimes," he murmurs, his voice a promise carved into the bones of the universe itself. "But this—I would live them all again, if only to find you once more.”

LOKI

- The air crackles between you, heavy with something unspoken, something that has been threading through your conversations like a whispered promise for longer than either of you will admit. Loki lounges before you, the very image of ease, but his fingers tap restlessly against the arm of his chair, betraying the storm beneath his skin. His sharp green eyes trace your form, lingering, considering, as if trying to decipher a puzzle he has yet to solve. “Do you know what it means,” he muses, voice a blade honed to silk, “for a creature like me to crave something?”

- The question lingers, woven with challenge and invitation, but you do not flinch. You have never been one to cower beneath his words, and that—more than anything—has always drawn him to you like a moth to an unforgiving flame. He stands in a slow, fluid motion, closing the space between you with deliberate steps, the ghost of a smirk curving his lips. "I have held kingdoms in my hands, stolen secrets from the lips of gods—" his fingers lift, barely grazing your chin, "—and yet, I find myself most drawn to the one thing that refuses to be claimed."

- And then he kisses you. No warning, no hesitation, just the full force of Loki's unyielding will pouring into you like a flood breaking through a dam. It is a kiss spun from defiance and devotion, from a god who has never known worship in the way he craves it from you. His hands—so often wielding knives and illusions—now cradle you as though you are the only thing in this world worth holding onto. There is something desperate in the way he moves, as if he fears this moment will be stolen, as if even now, he expects the universe to take you from him.

- When he pulls away, his breath is unsteady, his usual mask nowhere to be seen. He searches your face, as if expecting you to vanish like another trick of the light. “Do you see now?” he murmurs, his voice quieter than before. “This is not a game for me.” There is something almost fragile in the confession, something that would be a secret to anyone but you. You smile—soft, knowing—and pull him back to you, sealing your answer between his lips.

CLINT BARTON (HAWKEYE)

- The first time Clint kisses you, it’s after a mission gone sideways, when the dust has barely settled and the adrenaline still thrums in your veins like a second heartbeat. The two of you sit on the rooftop of some rundown motel, passing a cheap bottle of whiskey between you while the neon lights of the city flicker in the distance. There’s a gash on his cheek, dried blood beneath his nails, but his grin is easy, effortless, as if you both didn’t almost die hours ago. “Hell of a night,” he says, taking a slow sip before handing the bottle to you.

- He watches you as you drink, something unreadable flickering in his sharp blue eyes. Clint has always been good at watching, at noticing the things no one else does—the way your fingers tremble just slightly when you exhale, the way your shoulders carry the weight of too many ghosts. “You okay?” His voice is quieter now, serious in a way he doesn’t let himself be often. And maybe it’s the exhaustion, or the whiskey burning in your throat, or maybe it’s just the way he looks at you—like he’s already made up his mind about something—but you don’t lie. “Not really.”

- And then his lips are on yours. No preamble, no hesitation—just Clint, raw and unguarded, kissing you like he’s afraid this moment will slip through his fingers like everything else in his life. He tastes like whiskey and recklessness, like battle scars and late-night confessions. His hands find your face, rough and calloused, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones as if memorizing every inch of you. He pulls you closer, like he’s trying to drown himself in you, like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

- When he finally pulls away, he exhales a quiet laugh, forehead resting against yours. “Guess I really suck at timing, huh?” There’s something vulnerable in the way he says it, like he’s bracing for you to tell him this was a mistake. But you just shake your head, smiling as you steal the whiskey bottle from his hands. “Nah,” you murmur, taking a slow sip, “you’re just an idiot.” He grins, and just like that, the weight on your shoulders feels a little lighter.

NATASHA ROMANOFF (BLACK WIDOW)

- The rain falls in soft sheets around you, the dim glow of the streetlights casting shadows along the slick pavement. Natasha stands beside you, her red hair damp, strands clinging to her cheekbones. The mission is over, the enemy neutralized, but neither of you have moved from this quiet corner of the city. She has barely spoken since you both walked away from the wreckage, but you know her well enough to recognize the weight in her silence. “You don’t have to be okay,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “Not with me.”

- She looks at you then, something shifting behind her guarded green eyes. Natasha is a woman who has built walls so high that even she forgets what lies beyond them. But here, in the quiet of the rain, she lets something slip—just for a moment. "I don't know how to do this," she admits, the words foreign on her tongue, heavy with a truth she rarely allows herself to speak. She takes a step closer, close enough that you can feel the warmth of her despite the cold. “But I want to try.”

- And then she kisses you. Slow, deliberate, like a secret unfolding between you. Natasha Romanoff has always been calculated, controlled—but here, with you, she allows herself to be something else. Her lips move against yours with a quiet intensity, as if she’s searching for something she has spent her whole life denying herself. Her hands rest lightly against your jaw, fingers trembling just slightly before she grips you tighter, pulling you in like she’s afraid to let go.

- When she finally pulls back, she stays close, her breath warm against your lips. “Tell me this isn’t a mistake,” she murmurs, and there is something fragile in the way she says it, something raw. You brush a damp strand of hair from her face, meeting her gaze with quiet certainty. “It’s not,” you promise. And this time, when she kisses you again, she does not hesitate.

BUCKY BARNES (WINTER SOLDIER)

- The cabin is silent except for the sound of the fire crackling in the hearth. Bucky sits across from you, his metal fingers curled loosely around a mug of coffee, steam curling in the dim light. Outside, the snow falls thick and heavy, turning the world into something quiet, something untouched. He has been different since coming here—softer, but still carrying the weight of ghosts in his eyes. “Feels like another life,” he murmurs, staring into the fire. “Like I don’t belong in it.”

- You set your mug down, moving to sit beside him on the worn-out couch. “You do,” you say simply, because it is the truth. He turns to you then, something unreadable in the depths of his blue eyes. Bucky Barnes is a man who has spent a lifetime fighting his own reflection, drowning in the echoes of a past he cannot escape. But here, now, you see something else—something softer, something searching. “You make it feel real,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper.

- And then, with a quiet resolve, he leans in. The kiss is hesitant at first, like he’s waiting for the world to pull him away from you. But when you don’t flinch, when you don’t disappear, something in him unravels. His lips move against yours with aching slowness, like he is memorizing every second, like this is something fragile he is terrified of breaking. His hands shake slightly when they settle on your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of your sweater, grounding himself in the reality of you.

- When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath uneven. “Tell me I’m not dreaming,” he murmurs. You smile, pressing another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You’re not.” And for the first time in a long time, Bucky Barnes believes you.

MATTHEW MURDOCK (DAREDEVIL)

- It happens in the quiet hours of the night, when Hell’s Kitchen is caught between the restless hum of the city and the stillness of something deeper, something almost sacred. You sit beside him on the rooftop, the neon glow of a flickering sign painting his face in sharp red shadows. His hands are bruised, his knuckles split open like old confessions, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, his fingers twitch against his thigh, as if fighting the urge to reach for you. “You’re too good for this city,” he murmurs, his voice rough, edged with something that sounds dangerously close to longing.

- You shake your head, smiling softly. “And you’re not?” The question lingers between you, heavy with meaning, with the weight of all the nights spent tending to his wounds, of all the times you’ve felt his presence before he even spoke your name. He turns his face toward you then, unseeing eyes searching, and you wonder if he can hear the way your heartbeat stutters beneath your ribs. “I know what good feels like,” he says finally, his voice quieter now, like a confession. “And it’s you.”

- Then, before you can speak, his lips are on yours. There is no hesitation, no faltering—just Matt, breaking the tension like a dam finally giving way. His hands find your face, fingers tracing the shape of your jaw with a reverence that makes your breath catch. He kisses you like he’s memorizing you, like he’s mapping out something he’s known for years but never dared to touch. He tastes like rain and something bittersweet, something that feels like the beginning of an ache he’ll never quite shake.

- When he finally pulls away, his breath is unsteady, his hands still cradling your face like he’s afraid to let go. He presses his forehead against yours, his voice barely above a whisper. “Tell me I didn’t just make a mistake.” There is something fragile in the way he says it, something vulnerable beneath all the armor. You smile, brushing your thumb over the fresh bruise on his cheek. “You didn’t,” you promise, and he exhales, like he’s been holding his breath for longer than he’ll ever admit.

FRANK CASTLE (PUNISHER)

- The world around you is painted in blood and smoke, the aftermath of a night that should have ended differently. The warehouse still burns in the distance, the scent of gasoline thick in the air, but neither of you move. You’re standing too close to him, the heat of his body bleeding into yours, the adrenaline still thrumming between you like a second heartbeat. He’s got a cut on his forehead, dried blood tracing the line of his jaw, but his eyes—sharp, dark, unforgiving—are focused only on you. “You shouldn’t be here,” he says, though there’s no real warning in his tone.

- “And you should?” you challenge, your voice steady despite the weight of everything that’s just happened. Frank exhales through his nose, a sound that could almost be a laugh if it wasn’t so hollow. He’s looking at you like you’re something he doesn’t quite know what to do with, like you’re a puzzle with missing pieces. “You don’t get it,” he mutters, his jaw tight. “Everything I touch, it ends up—” He stops himself, shaking his head. But you don’t let him finish. “I’m still here,” you say softly, and those three words cut through him sharper than any bullet ever could.

- And then, without warning, he grabs you. His hands—rough, calloused, steady despite the storm inside him—frame your face, and then his lips crash against yours with a force that steals the breath from your lungs. Frank Castle doesn’t do anything gently, and this kiss is no exception. It’s raw, desperate, full of all the things he can’t say, all the things he’s spent too many years trying to bury. He tastes like gunpowder and whiskey, like violence and something achingly human.

- When he finally pulls back, he keeps his hands on you, his forehead pressing against yours. His breath is ragged, his grip just shy of bruising. “You’re too good for this,” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. But you don’t move, don’t pull away, don’t give him the out he’s expecting. Instead, you just tighten your hold on him, anchoring him to something solid. “I don’t care,” you whisper back, and for the first time in a long time, Frank lets himself believe you.

BULLSEYE (LESTER)

- The motel room is dimly lit, the neon sign outside casting an eerie blue glow against the cracked wallpaper. You shouldn’t be here. Not with him. Not like this. But you are. Bullseye leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, head tilted as he watches you with that sharp, calculating gaze of his. “You got a death wish, sweetheart?” he asks, but there’s something almost amused in the way he says it, like he already knows the answer. Like he already knows that you aren’t leaving.

- “If I did, I’d be dead already,” you answer, and that makes him grin, all teeth and danger. He takes a slow step toward you, his boots barely making a sound against the floor. “Yeah,” he murmurs, tilting his head. “Guess you’re tougher than you look.” His fingers brush against yours, a ghost of a touch, but even that is enough to send something electric skittering down your spine. He’s testing you, waiting for you to flinch, to pull away. You don’t.

- And that’s all the permission he needs. His lips crash against yours, all heat and hunger and something far more dangerous. Bullseye doesn’t kiss like a man who loves—he kisses like a man who consumes. His teeth scrape against your lower lip, his hands gripping your waist like he’s daring you to run, like he wants to see just how far you’ll let him go. He tastes like sin, like something forbidden, like trouble wrapped in leather and bad intentions.

- When he finally pulls away, his breath is uneven, his pupils blown wide. He runs his thumb over your swollen lip, his smirk laced with something almost possessive. “You’re playin’ a dangerous game, sweetheart,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t let you go. He doesn’t want you to. You tilt your head, smirking back at him. “So are you.” And just like that, he’s kissing you again, laughing against your lips like he’s just won something.

MARC SPECTOR (MOON KNIGHT)

- The desert air is cool against your skin, the stars stretching endlessly above you in a sky so dark it feels like you could fall into it. Marc stands beside you, his posture tense, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. He hasn’t spoken in minutes, but you can feel the war raging inside him, the weight of something he can’t seem to shake. “You don’t have to do this alone,” you say finally, your voice quiet but steady. He exhales a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair. “That’s the thing,” he mutters. “I do.”

- You step closer, closing the distance between you. “No, you don’t,” you insist, and something in his expression cracks. Marc has spent years running, years convincing himself that he is nothing more than the sum of his mistakes. But here, now, with you, he feels something he doesn’t quite know how to name. Something terrifying. Something real. He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” he warns.

- And then he kisses you. It’s sudden, desperate, like he’s trying to brand the moment into his memory before it disappears. His hands are firm, holding you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. He kisses like a man who’s afraid this is the last time he’ll ever be allowed to. He tastes like dust and exhaustion, like prayers whispered into the void.

- When he pulls away, his forehead rests against yours, his breath uneven. “I don’t deserve this,” he murmurs. But you just cup his face, forcing him to meet your gaze. “That’s not your call to make.” And when he kisses you again, it’s softer—less like a battlefield, more like a promise.

TASKMASTER (TONY MASTERS)

- The night is heavy with the scent of rain, the pavement slick beneath your boots as you follow Taskmaster through the abandoned lot. His mask hides his expression, but you’ve known him long enough to read the tension in his movements—the tight set of his shoulders, the way his fingers flex at his sides like he’s bracing for something. “You got a habit of walking into trouble,” he mutters, voice edged with something sharp, something protective. “Yeah?” you counter, stepping closer, tilting your head. “Then I guess it’s a good thing you never let me walk alone.”

- He exhales sharply, tilting his head toward you. His mask catches the neon light in slashes of blue and red, making him look almost inhuman. But you know better. You know the man behind the skull, the one who memorizes the way you move, the one who catalogues your tells, your habits, the way your breath hitches when he stands too close. “You keep getting in my head,” he mutters, and there’s something dangerous in the way he says it, something that sounds almost like surrender.

- And then, without warning, he lifts his mask just enough to press his lips against yours. The kiss is firm, deliberate—like a decision made in the space between one heartbeat and the next. His hands find your waist, pulling you closer, his body a wall of heat and tension and unspoken words. He tastes like adrenaline, like a man who’s spent too long in the dark and doesn’t know how to step into the light. You grip the fabric of his jacket, anchoring yourself to him, and he lets out a quiet, almost frustrated groan, like he hadn’t meant to let himself do this.

- When he finally pulls back, his breath is uneven, his mask still lifted just enough to show his mouth, his jaw. He stares at you for a long moment, his fingers still curled against your hip. “This is a bad idea,” he says, but he doesn’t let go. You smile, brushing your thumb over the fabric of his glove. “Then why does it feel like the best one you’ve had in a long time?” He huffs out something that’s almost a laugh before tugging his mask back down. “Damn you,” he mutters, but when he walks away, he reaches back, just once, and takes your hand in his.

JOHNNY STORM (HUMAN TORCH)

- The rooftop party is in full swing, music pulsing through the warm summer air, laughter spilling over the edge of the building like champagne bubbles. Johnny stands beside you, drink in hand, his usual smirk in place—but there’s something different about the way he looks at you tonight. Less cocky, more searching. He’s used to attention, to adoration, to people flocking to him like moths to an open flame. But you—you don’t just admire him. You see him. And that scares him more than he’ll ever admit.

- “You’re quiet tonight,” he muses, nudging your arm with his elbow. “That’s a first.” You roll your eyes, but there’s warmth in your smile. “Just taking it all in,” you reply, letting the city lights reflect in your eyes. He watches you like you’re something he’s trying to memorize, something fleeting that he’s afraid will slip through his fingers if he looks away. “You ever think about just… leaving it all behind?” he asks suddenly, his voice softer than usual. “The fame, the cameras, the expectations.”

- And then, before you can answer, he kisses you. It’s sudden, impulsive—because Johnny Storm has never been one for patience, never been one to hesitate when he wants something. His lips are warm, impossibly so, like he’s carrying embers beneath his skin. One of his hands cups the side of your face, fingers threading into your hair, while the other settles against the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. He kisses you like he’s afraid this moment might burn away before he gets to hold onto it.

- When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the warm summer air. He chuckles, a little breathless, a little dazed. “That was—” he starts, but then he stops himself, grinning. “—about damn time.” You laugh, shaking your head, and he grins even wider before pulling you in for another kiss, because Johnny Storm has never been one for half-measures.

REED RICHARDS (MISTER FANTASTIC)

- The lab is quiet, save for the soft hum of machines and the occasional scratch of pen against paper. You sit across from Reed, watching as he scribbles furiously in his notebook, his mind a million miles away. He gets like this sometimes—lost in thought, in theories, in equations only he can fully understand. But tonight, there’s something different. His brow is furrowed, his fingers tapping against the desk in a distracted rhythm. “You’re staring,” he remarks, not looking up.

- “You’re brooding,” you counter, tilting your head. That finally earns you a glance, his sharp eyes meeting yours over the rim of his glasses. “I don’t brood,” he mutters, and you can’t help but smile. He sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “It’s just… I’ve been considering something.” You raise a brow, waiting. He hesitates, then stands, moving to stand beside you. “An experiment,” he murmurs, voice quieter now. “A hypothesis I need to test.”

- And then, before you can fully process his words, he leans down and kisses you. It’s careful at first—measured, precise, like he’s cataloging every detail, like he’s analyzing the way your lips fit against his, the way your breath hitches, the way your fingers instinctively grip his sleeve. But then something shifts, and the scientist gives way to the man beneath. His arms tighten around you, his hands splaying against your back as he deepens the kiss, no longer thinking—just feeling.

- When he finally pulls away, his gaze is sharp, searching. “Fascinating,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. You blink, still catching your breath, and then you laugh. “Did you just kiss me for science?” He smirks, adjusting his glasses. “No,” he says simply, and then he kisses you again, because some things don’t need an explanation.

BEN GRIMM (THE THING)

- The night is quiet, the world softened by the glow of streetlamps and the distant murmur of the city. You sit beside Ben on the park bench, your fingers just barely brushing against his. He’s always careful with you, always so aware of the strength in his hands, the weight of his presence. But tonight, there’s something heavier in the air, something unspoken. “Y’know,” he mutters, staring straight ahead. “I ain’t exactly what most people would call… kissable.”

- You frown, turning to face him fully. “That’s not true,” you say, your voice firm. He lets out a rough chuckle, shaking his head. “C’mon, sweetheart. I ain’t exactly soft.��� His voice is gruff, but there’s something vulnerable beneath it, something that makes your chest tighten. “Ben,” you say gently, reaching for his hand. He flinches, just slightly, but doesn’t pull away. “You don’t get to decide how I see you.”

- And then, before he can protest, you kiss him. You feel the moment he freezes, the way his breath catches in his throat. He doesn’t know what to do with this—with you, with the way you touch him like he isn’t something to be wary of. But then, slowly, carefully, he responds. His lips are warm, hesitant, like he’s afraid of breaking you, of breaking himself. His hands tremble slightly as they settle against your waist, his fingers barely curling around you, like he can’t quite believe this is real.

- When you finally pull back, he stares at you, wide-eyed, like he’s waiting for you to take it back. “You… you really mean that, don’t ya?” he murmurs, voice rough. You smile, pressing your forehead against his. “Yeah, Ben. I really do.” And for the first time in a long time, he lets himself believe it.

SUSAN STORM (INVISIBLE WOMAN)

- The evening is quiet, the world outside the Baxter Building hushed under the glow of the city. You sit beside Susan, watching the skyline through the vast glass windows, the lights flickering like stars fallen to earth. She is always composed, always poised, but tonight there’s a restlessness to her—a quiet tension in the way her fingers trace the rim of her glass, the way she exhales just a little too sharply. “I never let myself have this,” she murmurs, and when you turn to her, she’s already looking at you, her blue eyes full of something unreadable.

- You know what she means. Susan Storm carries the weight of leadership, of family, of responsibility. She is the glue that holds everything together, the lighthouse in the storm. But for all her strength, for all her brilliance, there are moments—fleeting, rare—where she lets herself be something else. Something softer. Something just for herself. And tonight, you realize, you are one of those moments.

- She reaches for you, hesitant at first, like she’s testing the shape of the decision she’s about to make. And then, suddenly, she moves—decisive, certain, as if she’s crossed some invisible threshold. Her lips meet yours, warm and insistent, the weight of unspoken things pouring into the space between you. There is something fierce in the way she kisses—something that speaks of restraint finally abandoned, of walls finally lowered. One hand tangles in your hair, the other resting lightly against your cheek, like she’s memorizing the feel of you.

- When she pulls back, her breath is uneven, her eyes searching yours for something—reassurance, maybe, or permission to fall just a little deeper. “I don’t want to lose myself in this,” she whispers, but you shake your head, touching her face, gentle and steady. “You won’t,” you promise, and something in her melts at the certainty in your voice. She leans in again, this time slower, softer, the weight of the world momentarily forgotten in the warmth of your touch.

FELICIA HARDY (BLACK CAT)

- The city belongs to you both tonight, the rooftops your playground, the neon glow painting Felicia in slashes of silver and blue. She moves like moonlight—fluid, untouchable, slipping between the cracks of the world with a smile that’s equal parts mischief and danger. “You’re keeping up,” she teases, glancing back at you over her shoulder. “I’m impressed.” You roll your eyes, but you know she can see the amusement flickering at the corner of your lips. “Maybe I just don’t want to give you the satisfaction of losing.”

- She grins, sharp and knowing, because that’s always been your game—this endless push and pull, this dance on the edge of something electric. You don’t chase Felicia Hardy. You don’t catch her. You match her. And that, more than anything, is what keeps her coming back. She leans in slightly, her voice dropping into something lower, silkier. “You know what I love about you?” she muses, tilting her head. “You make me want to break my own rules.”

- And then she kisses you, swift and decisive, like a thief taking exactly what she wants. There’s no hesitation, no uncertainty—only the heat of her mouth against yours, the way her hands find your collar, tugging you closer as if she’s daring you to keep up. She tastes like adrenaline, like the promise of trouble, like midnight secrets whispered against bare skin. The kiss deepens, slow and teasing, a game in itself—because Felicia Hardy never gives anything away for free.

- When she finally pulls back, her lips are curled into that signature smirk, her fingers still hooked in the fabric of your jacket. “Careful, darling,” she purrs, her voice thick with amusement. “I might just steal you next.” But you only smile, catching her wrist before she can slip away. “Maybe I’ll let you,” you murmur, and for the first time in a long time, Felicia Hardy wonders what it would feel like to be the one caught.

STEPHEN STRANGE (DOCTOR STRANGE)

- The Sanctum is still, the air heavy with the scent of ancient books and forgotten incantations. Stephen stands at his desk, eyes scanning the open pages of a tome older than memory itself, but his mind is elsewhere. You can tell by the way his fingers twitch against the parchment, the way his jaw tightens as if battling thoughts he refuses to voice. “Something’s on your mind,” you say, stepping closer. His gaze lifts to meet yours, sharp and contemplative. “You,” he admits, and the honesty of it knocks the breath from your lungs.

- Stephen Strange is not a man who loves easily. He is a fortress of intellect and discipline, a scholar of the arcane who has spent lifetimes mastering the impossible. And yet, here he stands, unraveling just slightly in your presence. He lifts a hand, fingers brushing against your cheek in an almost hesitant gesture—like he is tracing the edges of a spell too powerful to fully comprehend. “I was never meant for this,” he murmurs. “For softness. For wanting.”

- And then, like surrendering to something he cannot fight, he leans in. The kiss is slow, deliberate—a study in patience, in precision. His lips press against yours with a quiet intensity, as if memorizing the very essence of you. One hand rests at the nape of your neck, steady and grounding, while the other lingers at your waist, his touch both careful and commanding. He kisses you like he is trying to rewrite fate itself, like he is making a choice that defies every law he has ever known.

- When he finally pulls away, his breath is uneven, his usually composed expression softened in a way few have ever seen. “I should warn you,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing absent circles against your skin. “Nothing in my world is simple.” You smile, reaching up to touch his face, grounding him in something real. “Then it’s a good thing I’ve never been afraid of the impossible.” His lips quirk into something small, something almost reverent, before he kisses you again, sealing the spell between you.

NAMOR (THE SUB-MARINER)

- The ocean sings in the distance, waves lapping against the shore like the heartbeat of the earth itself. Namor stands beside you, the moonlight casting silver across his sharp features, his dark eyes reflecting the vastness of the sea. “This world is fragile,” he says, voice laced with something ancient, something heavy. “It does not deserve you.” You glance at him, at the way he watches you—not with admiration, not with softness, but with something deeper, something possessive. “And yet,” you murmur, stepping closer, “I am here.”

- Namor has never been a man to beg. He does not kneel. He does not ask. He takes what he wants, claims what he deems worthy. But with you, there is hesitation, a silent battle waging beneath the surface of his control. His fingers brush against yours, the slightest touch, but it is enough to set the air between you alight. “You tempt me,” he admits, voice low, almost reverent. “And I have never been a man with much patience.”

- And then he kisses you, fierce and unyielding, like the tide crashing against the shore. His hands settle on your hips, drawing you against him as if daring the world to try and pull you apart. There is no hesitation, no second-guessing—only the heat of his mouth, the sharp inhale of breath as he claims you the way he has always wanted to. He tastes like salt and storm, like the very essence of the ocean, like something wild that refuses to be tamed.

- When he finally pulls back, his grip remains firm, his forehead resting against yours as he exhales slowly. “You are mine,” he murmurs, not a question, not a plea—an undeniable truth. And for the first time, you realize you do not mind being claimed, not when it is by him.

JOHNNY BLAZE (GHOST RIDER)

- The desert wind howls through the canyon, a restless spirit caught between sand and sky. The motorcycle beneath Johnny hums like a living thing, its metal frame still warm from the hellfire that lingers in his veins. You sit beside him on the hood of an abandoned car, the silence stretching between you, thick with something unspoken. He isn’t a man of easy words, and neither are you, but there are moments like this—where the quiet speaks louder than any confession ever could.

- He glances at you, the flickering embers of his curse hidden beneath the deep blue of his eyes, and you feel the weight of his stare like a brand. “I don’t get good things,” he mutters, voice rough, shaped by years of regret and roads paved in fire. “Not for long.” You know he means you, means this, the fragile thing growing between you both. And maybe he’s right—maybe fate has already written tragedy into your story—but right now, with the stars burning above and his hand ghosting over yours, you want to defy it.

- He moves before you can answer, his lips crashing into yours with a hunger that speaks of desperation, of stolen chances and borrowed time. His hands are warm—almost too warm, like he’s barely holding back the fire inside him—but he doesn’t pull away. Not this time. The kiss is rough, raw, a clash of teeth and longing, and for a moment, you taste the hellfire that runs through his soul. He kisses you like a man who’s already lost everything once and refuses to lose again.

- When he finally breaks away, his breathing is uneven, his forehead pressed against yours as if grounding himself in the reality of you. “I don’t deserve this,” he whispers, but there’s no regret in his voice—only the trembling remnants of a man still learning how to hold onto something good. You grip the front of his jacket, pulling him closer, and when you speak, your voice is steady, unwavering. “Then we’ll steal it.” A slow smile tugs at his lips, something wild and reckless, and when he kisses you again, it feels like a promise to fight whatever hell comes next.

EDDIE BROCK / VENOM

- The city is a restless thing at night—buzzing, pulsing, alive. You stand on the rooftop beside Eddie, the neon lights casting shadows across his face, the distant hum of traffic filling the space between you. There’s tension in his shoulders, the kind that never quite leaves, the weight of a body that’s never entirely his own. “He likes you,” Eddie mutters, gesturing vaguely to the symbiote that lingers just beneath his skin. “Says I should stop being a coward and kiss you already.”

- A low, amused growl echoes in the back of Eddie’s throat—not entirely his own. “Yes,” Venom rumbles, voice curling through the night air like something alive. “She is ours.” Eddie groans, rubbing a hand over his face, but there’s no real annoyance in it. If anything, there’s something close to agreement buried beneath the exasperation. He turns to you, gaze flickering between hesitation and something darker, something unspoken. “You want this?” he asks, voice rough, uncertain. “Me? Us?”

- You don’t get the chance to answer. One moment, you’re staring at him, the city sprawled beneath your feet. The next, Eddie has you pressed against the rooftop ledge, his mouth on yours, his hands tangled in your hair. The kiss is desperate, consuming, an unspoken plea wrapped in heat and longing. And when the symbiote joins, its inky tendrils curling around your skin, it isn’t unwelcome—it’s protective, claiming, a silent promise that you are theirs, that they will never let you go.

- When he finally pulls back, his breath is ragged, his pupils blown wide. “Too much?” he asks, but you shake your head, fingers still fisted in his jacket. “Not enough,” you murmur, and a slow, wicked grin spreads across his lips. Venom purrs in agreement, and as Eddie leans in again, you realize that whatever this is—whatever you’ve become to them—it’s already too late to turn back.

T’CHALLA (BLACK PANTHER)

- The air is thick with the scent of blooming jasmine, the Wakandan night stretching vast and endless above you. T’Challa stands beside you on the palace balcony, his gaze sharp and contemplative as he watches the city below. He has always been like this—thoughtful, deliberate, a man who carries the weight of a nation with grace that borders on impossible. But tonight, he is not just a king. Tonight, he is simply a man, standing beside the one person who makes him forget the weight of his crown.

- “There is a saying in Wakanda,” he murmurs, voice low, reverent. “That love is not something taken, but something earned.” He turns to you then, his eyes dark with meaning, with unspoken truths. “I do not take this lightly. I do not take you lightly.” There is something beautiful in the way he says it, in the way he allows himself to be vulnerable with you, to let his guard drop even for a moment. You lift a hand, brushing your fingers along his jaw, and he exhales, his composure faltering just slightly.

- And then, like a tide giving way to the shore, he closes the distance between you. The kiss is slow, deliberate, like the turning of a page in an ancient story. His hands settle at your waist, steady, grounding, as if anchoring himself to the moment. There is no rush, no urgency—only quiet devotion, the kind that lingers, that settles deep in the bones. He kisses you with the weight of a man who has spent his life making careful decisions, and this—this is the one he chooses without hesitation.

- When he pulls back, his fingers trace a slow path along your cheek, his gaze still heavy with something unreadable. “You are my greatest risk,” he murmurs, and you know he means it. Because love, for a king, is always dangerous. But when you smile, pressing your forehead against his, he only exhales softly, as if surrendering to something inevitable. And when he kisses you again, it is no longer with hesitation, but with certainty.

ELEKTRA NATCHIOS

- The rain falls in thin silver threads, washing the city clean in its quiet embrace. You stand beside Elektra on the rooftop, the neon lights below flickering against the wet pavement. She is always beautiful like this—sharp, lethal, untouchable. But tonight, there is something different in the way she watches you, something softer, something almost fragile. “This is a mistake,” she whispers, but she doesn’t move away.

- You know what she means. Elektra is not made for gentle things. She is blood and steel, shadow and fury. She has killed men for less than what you make her feel. But even knowing this, even with the sharp edges of her past pressing against the space between you, you do not flinch. Instead, you step closer, watching as something in her gaze flickers—fear, maybe, or something far more dangerous.

- And then she moves, closing the distance between you with a swift, decisive grace. The kiss is not soft. It is not hesitant. It is fire and hunger, teeth and desperation. Her fingers curl into your hair, pulling you against her like she is trying to burn the shape of you into her memory. She tastes like danger, like a storm breaking over the city, like something you should run from but never will.

- When she finally pulls back, her breathing is uneven, her lips slightly parted as if she is about to speak. But she doesn’t. Instead, she presses her forehead to yours, the tension in her body slowly unraveling. “You should walk away,” she murmurs, but when you don’t move, when your hand finds hers in the dark, she exhales, defeated. And when she kisses you again, it is not a warning—it is surrender.

MUSE

- The world around you is a canvas, but Muse does not paint in colors meant for beauty. He sculpts in blood, in the echoes of silent screams, in the jagged edges of chaos where meaning is stripped bare. You should not be here—you, with your warmth, your softness, your ability to turn even the void into something full of light. And yet, he lets you stand beside him in the dim glow of a flickering streetlamp, his hands twitching at his sides as if unsure whether to destroy or to hold.

- "I see you," he murmurs, voice rasping like something broken. His eyes—dark, unreadable, filled with a hunger that has nothing to do with flesh—trace the lines of your face like you are something he will never be able to capture. "I see you in a way I don't see anything else." His art is made of madness, but you, you are the only thing that remains clear in the haze of his unraveling mind. And it terrifies him. It excites him. It pulls him closer, the weight of obsession curling around his ribs like wire.

- His hands move before his mind catches up, fingers ghosting over your jaw as if memorizing the texture of your skin. And then—without prelude, without hesitation—his mouth crashes against yours. It is not gentle. It is not kind. It is a claim, a signature scrawled in fevered ink, a vow written in the space where language fails. He tastes of copper, of sleepless nights and the sharp tang of something unhinged, but he does not pull away. He drinks you in like a man starved, like an artist who has found his only masterpiece.

- When he finally parts from you, his breath is ragged, uneven, his forehead pressed against yours as if trying to anchor himself. "I will ruin you," he whispers, a warning and a promise both. But your hands do not tremble when they pull him back in, when you whisper against his lips, "Then make it beautiful." And for the first time, in a life stitched together by violence, Muse finds himself desperate to create something that will not break.

VICTOR VON DOOM (DR. DOOM)

- The air is thick with the scent of burning embers, the remnants of his latest experiment still crackling in the distance. You stand within the towering walls of Doom’s kingdom, a place where gods are made and broken, where the laws of nature are rewritten by the will of a single man. He watches you with an intensity that borders on divine, his green cloak casting shadows against the molten glow of machinery and magic entwined. Doom does not love like mortals do. Doom does not kneel before lesser emotions. But Doom has chosen you.

- "You are a fool to stand beside me," he muses, voice rich with arrogance, with certainty. "There is no safety in my presence. No mercy. No retreat." He speaks as if this is a warning, as if you have not already chosen to stand in the eye of the storm. You meet his gaze, unflinching, and something in the iron walls of his soul fractures. He does not understand it, this defiance wrapped in something so soft, so steady. He does not understand you. And Doom despises what he does not understand.

- The kiss is not an accident, nor is it impulsive. Doom does nothing without calculation. It is a conquest, a declaration, a moment where even the weight of the world bends to his will. His gauntleted hand cups your cheek, the cool bite of metal a stark contrast to the heat of his mouth against yours. He does not kiss like a man—he kisses like a ruler branding his empire, like a god bestowing a gift upon the only mortal he has deemed worthy. It is overwhelming, intoxicating, and it is absolute.

- When he pulls away, his gaze is unreadable, something ancient and unfathomable lingering in its depths. "You belong to Doom," he states, as if it is law, as if the universe itself would sooner collapse than deny him this truth. And perhaps he is right. For when he kisses you again, you realize that the world has already reshaped itself around his words.

PETER QUILL (STAR-LORD)

- The stars stretch endless above you, the vast expanse of space humming with the quiet melody of a universe still singing itself into existence. Peter leans against the railing of the Milano, his usual bravado dimmed into something softer, something more honest in the quiet glow of starlight. “You know,” he starts, voice lazy, teasing, but edged with something deeper, “if you keep looking at me like that, I’m gonna think you actually like me.”

- You roll your eyes, but the truth lingers between you, unspoken but undeniable. Peter has always hidden behind humor, behind cocky grins and deflective quips, but you have learned to read between the lines, to hear the way his voice wavers when he talks about the things that matter. And you—you are one of those things. He won’t say it outright, not yet, but it’s there in the way his fingers drum against his thigh, in the way he leans closer without meaning to.

- "You ever think about how weird this is?" he asks suddenly, gesturing between the two of you. "Like, of all the people in all the galaxies, somehow, it’s us?” There’s something vulnerable in his voice, something almost hesitant. You don’t give him time to second-guess it. Instead, you grab the front of his jacket and pull him in, and for once, Peter Quill is speechless. The kiss is electric, dizzying, like the first rush of a jump through hyperspace. His hands find your waist, pulling you closer as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear into the stars.

- When you finally part, he’s breathless, grinning like a man who just won the greatest jackpot in the galaxy. “Okay,” he says, voice slightly dazed. “Yeah. That was definitely my favorite thing that’s ever happened.” You laugh, shaking your head, and he presses another quick kiss to your lips, just because he can. “You’re in trouble now, sweetheart. ‘Cause I’m never letting you go.” And when he pulls you into another kiss, you believe him.

RICHARD RIDER (NOVA)

- The weight of the Nova Force thrums beneath his skin, a power that has shaped and shattered him in equal measure. Richard is used to battles, to the endless war against forces greater than himself. But this? This is different. This is not something he can fight, not something he can outrun. You stand beside him on the edge of a dying world, the stars reflecting in your eyes, and for the first time in a long time, he feels like maybe—just maybe—he’s not fighting alone.

- "You make me want to stay," he admits, voice rough with exhaustion, with the kind of honesty that takes more strength than any battle he’s ever fought. He turns to you, something raw and unguarded in his gaze. "That’s dangerous." He has spent too long losing people, too long watching the universe take and take until there is nothing left. But you—you are something the universe has given, and it terrifies him.

- The kiss is sudden, but not thoughtless. It is the culmination of something inevitable, something that has been building since the moment he let himself care. His hands cup your face, firm but reverent, as if afraid you’ll disappear the moment he lets go. He kisses you like a man clinging to the last piece of something real, like a soldier who has finally found a reason to return home. And in that moment, for the first time in a long time, he feels weightless.

- When he pulls away, his forehead rests against yours, his breath steadying. “If I could choose anywhere in the universe to be,” he murmurs, “it’d be right here.” His fingers tighten around yours, and as the stars continue their endless dance above, he wonders if, for once, the universe will allow him to keep something good.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Baby You Were My Picket Fence

Series Summary: You are a first grade teacher in sunny Los Angeles, California. Ben Hardy is the father of your most challenging student. Things quickly get complicated in this unconventional love story.  

Chapter 1: Bad To The Bone

Chapter 2: Should I Stay Or Should I Go

Chapter 3: Light My Fire

Chapter 4: Dream On

Chapter 5: Paradise City

Chapter 6: Have You Ever Seen The Rain

Chapter 7: Let It Be

Chapter 8: Kickstart My Heart

Chapter 9: Sympathy For The Devil

Chapter 10: I Want You To Want Me

Chapter 11: White Wedding

Chapter 12: Welcome To The Jungle

Chapter 13: Peace Of Mind

Chapter 14: Smoke On The Water

Chapter 15: The Chain

Chapter 16: All Along The Watchtower

Chapter 17: No One Like You

Chapter 18: Surrender

Chapter 19: Stairway To Heaven 

Chapter 20: Home Sweet Home

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