#Mr Com//press

[void-draws]

As per usual: Nsfw/Kink dni

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

S-I-M-P. ( HOTD x Reader )

author note: The top vote has won! Modern! Aemond it is! Plus, your Aemond simp's have been neglected by me for too long.. pairing: Modern! Aemond Targaryen x Wife! Reader prompt: I was listening to 'Submissive & Breedable' by Smosh as a joke when writing this. So take it as you will.. Lol word count: 1, 000+ words

When you and Aemond met five years ago, you literally knocked him off his feet. Not in some cute metaphoric sense, like you walked past him as if you were some super model on the runway, or your eyes met across the room like in some cheesy rom com. But you accidentally smacked him in the face with a door. A literal ‘knocking him off his feet’.

After a thousand apologies from you, some tissues for his bloody nose, and a crappy slice of pizza, were shared. It was perfect. You and him were perfect, a little chaotic at times. But, he liked to joke that it was love at first hit. Which was why he wasted no time to put a ring on your finger and officially make you ‘Mrs Targaryen’. He would have no other woman, but you.  

Watching as you help his Mother set up the kitchen table, Aemond couldn’t help the lovesick grin spread on his face, feeling like a puppy. You, his wife, were just perfect. Gods, he loved thinking and hearing about it, you, his wife. You, his wife. Letting out a pathetic giddy giggle under his breath, he knew it was pathetic, but he couldn’t help it. You were just everything to him and there was something so…so perfect about being able to officially be with you for forever that was so amazing and giddy. If he wouldn’t get mocked for it, he’d be floating after you like a cartoon. 

“She has you so whipped. Pathetic.” Aegon jokes, “Like a Simp.”

“At least I am not you, twenty-five, single and living with our parents. What’s it like being a leech and burden to our mother, Aegon?” Aemond insults, the words falling out without a moment's hesitation.

“Ouch.” Aegon scowls, all joy in teasing Aemond dying in an instant.

“Yes, well, I am going to see my wife now. You know, because I have someone to go home to.” Aemonds adds, purposefully rubbing it in his face now. 

“That’s cold.”

“Mayhaps, but it’s the truth.” Aemond nods, taking a sip of his beer.

Snorting as Aegon sulks deeply at the insults and gabs, he cracks a smile as he hears your laughter, his head turning without hesitation. Seeing you laugh at something Helaena said, he brightens up in an instant, perking up in his seat. Any thoughts of bickering with or insulting Aegon are long forgotten. Standing up from his seat, he doesn’t spare Aegon a glance, his attention on you. 

“It was all in good humor.” Aegon mumbles, taking a sip of his beer. 

“Mmm-hm, well, I am going to see my wife. Enjoy yourself.” Aemond mumbles, his eyes on you

“Simp.” Aegon mocks, “Does she also boss you around during sex?”

“No, but at least I am getting some, unlike you. Enjoy your left hand, Aegon. Cause it's all you will be spending your time with.” Aemond mocks back, not bothering to see the fallout.

Feeling a familiar arm wrap around your waist, you turn your head in an instant, perking up at the sight of your husband there. There was something so nice about being able to call him that. Aemond Targaryen, the grumpiest man you knew, was all yours. Smiling brightly, you stand up on your tippy-toes to reach his face, pressing a gentle kiss onto his cheek for a moment. Feeling him melt into your touch, you perk up at it, enjoying the small reaction you could get from it.

“Hello, love.” You mumble, the affectionate nickname falling from your lips naturally. 

“Hello there, what are you three up to?” He whispers, pressing a kiss onto your cheek.

“Just gossip and good fun.” You dismiss, a little too quickly. 

“What kind?” He asks, humming softly.

“We are just talking about stuff, Aemond. Don’t worry, it’s gossip and stuff.” You wave off, not wanting to know the truth.

He’d be mortified if he knew the truth of your conversations, practically melt into the kitchen floor if he knew his Mother had made a joke about his grumpy cat-like mannerisms and how he glowed when around you. Feeling his grip tighten around your waist for a moment, you tense up for a moment, fearing that he’d attempt to tickle the answer out of you. That was the last thing you wanted to happen whilst his family was visiting.

“Well, now I am suspicious.” He teases, a warm smile on his lips.

“It’s nothing, love.” You lie, attempting to brush it off.

“You promise, nothing bad?” He asks, his voice gentle. 

“Nothing bad. I promise. It’s all just teasing and lighthearted. You know it’d do nothing bad.” You reassure, a gentle smile on your lips. 

Watching his reaction carefully, he presses a gentle kiss onto your cheek and neck, his chin resting on your shoulder. He looked so beautiful in his light, all calm and droopy eyed. Chuckling at the way he lazily clings onto you, you welcome the gentle touch, savoring how comforting it felt. Mayhaps, his Mother was right in a way, he was different around you. A tiny pout on his lips instead of the usual scowl. His eyes droopy and soft, instead of hard and calculated. 

“You know that I love you, right?” He whispers, burying his face into the crook of your neck. 

“Hmm?” 

“I said, you know that I love you, Y/n?” He mumbles, his voice gentle.

“I do.” You chuckle, enjoying hearing him say it. 

Shaking your head with a soft giggle, there was this soft dopey look on his face, it was hard to tell if he was fully sober or not. But, a tiny part of you didn’t care in the slightest. Just hearing him say that he loved you, it was the best thing to ever exist. Pressing a gentle kiss onto his cheek once more, he lets out a low hum of approval, his eyes shutting for a moment. 

“I love you. I love you. I love you.” He whispers over and over, “I love you. I love you.”

“You are drunk.” You chuckle, shaking your head. 

“A little. But, I get to call you my wife so it does not matter.” He shrugs, making it obvious he was slightly tipsy. 

“You are going to regret this in the morning, you do realize that, right?” You joke, the soft smile on your lips growing. 

“I can handle Aegon’s teasing. But, so long as you keep on smiling like that, it’s worth a hangover.” He whispers, nothing but love glimmering in his eyes. 

---

@lovelykhaleesiii

@fragileheartbeats

@nightvers

@zaldritzosrose

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

please do something with peter parker for vday. I miss you writing for him

I started writing this one last year for Valentine's Day...forgive me for the long wait

—

‘’No, you don’t understand, Ned. It needs to be perfect,’’ Peter explained, turning to his best friend for help.

‘’My longest and only relationship lasted about sixty hours, so I’m not really the one to come to for Valentine’s Day gift ideas.’’ 

‘’Uncle Ben always gave May flowers and chocolate.’’ And Peter always tried to steal chocolate from the box. ‘’But Y/N is Mr. Stark’s daughter, I can’t just buy her flowers and chocolate. She’ll think I’m poor.’’ 

‘’Didn’t you tell me this morning that you only have five dollars in your pockets?’’ Ned recalled, taking one of the homemade cookies his lola had put into his lunch bag and taking a bite. There was one for Peter too, but he was too busy worrying and panicking.

Peter groaned and hid his face in his crossed arms, frustrated and desperate. Being broke was a second problem to his Valentine’s Day plan. ‘’What am I gonna do? Valentine’s Day is in two days. I can’t not get her anything.’’ 

‘’If you go back to the roots of Valentine’s Day, it’s about celebrating love. You don’t have to spend money to show someone you love them.’’ Peter opened his mouth, but Ned spoke first. ‘’Even if she’s a Stark and bathes in money,’’ he added. ‘’She didn’t fall in love with you because of your economic status, she fell in love because of who you are.’’

On the big day, Peter set everything up in his living room. May was on a date with Happy, so he had the apartment to himself — until 10pm. He didn’t have a projector, so he made one with a shoebox and a magnifying glass, and hung a sheet to one of the walls to turn into a screen. He made cheese pastas and brought over the single chocolate cupcake he was able to afford. 

He was nervous, constantly checking his phone waiting for your ‘I’m here’ text. When he finally got it, Peter rushed to the door, smoothing his button up and fixing his hair before opening. If he was this nervous for Valentine’s Day, he didn’t want to imagine the nervous wreck he would be at his wedding. 

Not that he was planning on getting married anytime soon. 

‘’Happy Valentine’s Day,’’ you said with a smile on your glossy lips. 

Peter said the words back and let you in, gulping when his eyes fell on the small gift bag you were holding. You set it down on the table to take off your coat and boots, revealing a pink sweater and a sparkly necklace that cost probably more than anything in May's apartment.

You followed Peter to the living room, excitement bubbling in your stomach when seeing the frozen image of your favorite rom-com projected on the wall.  ‘’You made this?’’ 

Peter gave you a small nod. Projectors were easy to make. He learned how in a science book for kids when he was nine. May was so impressed when he showed her his ‘magic box’. 

‘’It’s not much, but—’’ he started to say, but you shut him up with a kiss. 

‘’Stop it,’’ you said, guessing his train of  thoughts. ‘’This is the best Valentine’s Day gift ever.’’ 

You never had another valentine before him — beside the little boys in middle school who sent you cards and heart lollipops  —, but Peter’s gift came from the heart. It was thoughtful and personal, therefore meant a lot to you. 

After eating the pastas, you handed Peter the gift bag. He was nervous just from holding it. 

He slowly pulled out the festive tissue papers and groaned when seeing a red and blue plush toy. ‘’Spiderman? Really?’’ Peter made an annoyed face. He didn't want to come off as ungrateful, but he was getting tired of the jokes with the Spiderman merch he had no control over. 

‘’Press his chest,’’ you instructed, ignoring his complaints.

Peter gave you a confused look, but listened. ‘’I love you, my Spidey,’’ the toy said.

You watched his expressions shift from confusion to surprise, Peter’s eyes widening when he recognized the sound of your voice. A genuine smile spread across his face, the small plush taking a whole other meaning. ‘’That's your voice,’’ he whispered, still holding the talking Spiderman plush. 

You nodded, the sparks in Peter’s eyes telling you that no expensive gift could have matched this one. He was truly touched. ‘’I know you don’t like when I get you expensive things, so I didn’t get you a new watch,’’ you explained, thinking back at the Cartier watch you hesitated on last week. He would have hated it. 

Turning toward you, Peter enveloped you in a hug to properly thank you. 

Your arms wrapped around him in return. ‘’Even when I’m not with you, you’ll always have something to remind you that I love you.’’ 

—

Marvel taglist: @xenasolos @chrizzierbsstuff @ayamenimthiriel @alina02 @turtleshavesoulmates @staygoldsquatchling02 @daemonslittlebitch  @wetwilliam02 @haileyismoo @manofworm @rhydianissuperior @supersanelyromantic @nicangel13 @mxxny-lupin  @sweeterheartxamerica @viridwityy @izzy-laufeyson @kenzi-woycehoski @arunaposeidondottie @liidiaaag @katsukis1wife  @amithesimpoffandoms @acornacreacure @chaotic-fangirl-blog  @hawkegfs @mommyruuetrue @youdontneedtoknowthisinformation  @aabananaa @starrrslove  @angeliod @nmedina8611 @1stevelacyfan  @yourfavdummy @laylasbunbunny  @slytherhoes @pedrosprincess  @luvvtxinityy @Eddiefrickenmunson @wandaswigglywoos @mikaelsonsstuff  @tcddszn  @skyesthebomb @a1mzcruml3y @red1culous  @popeheywardssecretgf @kattybug @loverofdrewstarkey  @sl4sh3rfuck3r  @luci1fer @dingus0401  @idontknowwhatimdoing777 @nomorespahgetti  @bloodyhw @papayaboyluvr @slytherinambitious @t-candy  @adaydreamaway08  @johannelis2302nely  @lynbubble @straberryshortcake143 @mymultiveres @hopeurokays @not-liah @beth-gallagher22  @lonelywitchv2 @lausley336 @arinexeisnotworking  @rubyliquor @Danniackerman  @angelxxrose @angelxxrose  @upwritingallnight  @cruzgrecia @evelestrange  @sunnysunny133696 @aesthetixhoe  @hoeforsirius  @secretsthathauntus  @sarcasm-and-stiles

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[wileys-russo]

like a dumb rom com (2) II kyra cooney-cross x catley!reader

final piece of writing from me in 2023 besties! have a safe and happy new years eve x like a dumb rom com (2) II kyra cooney-cross x catley!reader

"well good morning little mrs cooney-cross." you bumped into teyah who was leaving as you arrived, passing one another in the hall as you gave her a playful shove.

"shut up!" you rolled your eyes, chatting with her for a few minutes before parting ways as she headed down to the carpark and you off toward the apartment she shared with kyra.

"waiting for me are we, bit eager?" you teased seeing your girlfriend already leaning in the open doorframe as a grin broke out on her face and she pushed her phone back in her pocket.

"nah i'm actually waiting for my thursday girlfriend. you're friday through monday, remember?" kyra smirked as you punched her shoulder and she pulled you inside, lips on yours as the door was kicked closed behind her.

"kyra lillee!" you shouted forty five minutes later, the brunette yelling back from the kitchen as she filled up your water bottles for training. "come here!" you shouted again with a huff as she appeared in the doorway of the bathroom behind you with a raised eyebrow.

"look what you did!" you moved your hair out of the way and pointed accusingly to your neck, frown deepening at the amused smile which curled onto your girlfriends lips as her eyes roamed over the hickies littering the right side of your neck.

"oops?" the younger girl smiled innocently as you mumbled under your breath. "do you have concealer?" you questioned as she shook her head and bit her bottom lip. "not in your shade babe."

"kyra!" you groaned, hands gripping the sink as your head fell forward to press against the mirror. "in my defence you didn't exactly stop me." the midfielder pressed herself into your back as you shrugged her off. "not helping!"

"we could swing past yours sometime between coffee, breakfast and training? you have concealer right?" kyra stepped past and pulled herself to sit up on the sink. "well yeah but steph will be there, and there's no chance she doesn't notice these. she notices when i've got my shinpads on the wrong feet." you sighed, letting out another groan.

"mm i could distract her? let you dart inside, just say you forgot your boots or something." your girlfriend suggested, poking you with her foot as you swatted it away.

"i'm not you ky i don't forget things." you had to let out a smile as she kicked you again. "i'm sorry baby, really. forgive me?" she jumped down and grabbed your hips, pulling your body into hers with a pout.

"only because i can't stay mad at that stupidly cute face of yours."

~

"so we go in, you distract her, i go to my room and cover them and we leave asap." you recounted as you pulled up outside the house, parking on the curb as to not alert her to your presence right away.

"kyra!" you smacked her when she didn't respond, pulling her head out of the clouds. "right! yes sorry, good plan babe." your girlfriend zoned back in, the two of you getting out of the car and heading up the driveway.

the first hurdle came when you were too slow grabbing your keys out, hearing someone start to unlock the door from the other side as kyra quickly yanked your hood over your head and you hurried to fix your hair.

"hi?" you gave a small sigh of relief seeing it was dean who opened the door, pushing past him and making a beeline for your room. "hey what-" you heard steph as you zoomed past her, ducking under her arm and into your room, kicking the door closed.

"i thought you left already?" you heard your sister call out, kyra making quick work to engage her in conversation as you hunted around for your concealer.

"of course when i need it i can't fucking find it." you grumbled to yourself as you fussed about in your makeup bag, finally pulling it out from the bottom. "fucking kyra." you mumbled to yourself again as you tugged your hood off.

"little leech." you huffed, hearing her laughter ring out from the living room followed by stephs annoyed groans about something she'd likely said to wind your sister up, a skill that never seemed to be out of stock for your girlfriend.

making quick time to cover them up as best as you could you nodded at the job, grabbing one of your textbooks off your desk and opening the door. "ky lets go!" you called out, the brunette detaching herself from steph.

"you're such a pest! no wonder the two of you are thick as thieves, both just as irritating as one another." steph groaned shoving the girls head to the side who grinned. "why the rush back?" your sister questioned, grabbed your arm as you tried to duck past her again.

"forgot this. need to study today!" you smiled holding up your textbook and grabbing kyra. "didn't you already have your sociology exam?" steph questioned with a frown, crossing her arms as you struggled to think of a response.

"some chapters are relevant in her next exam, crossover stuff yanno!" kyra chirped slinging an arm over your shoulder and turning the two of you toward the door.

"well well look whose rubbing off on her little best mate, you gonna hit the books too ky?" steph teased, leaning in the doorway with a smirk as the two of you headed down the driveway.

"i may just surprise you yet stephanie!" kyra yelled over her shoulder with a grin, though your sister wasn't yet to know just how surprising kyra really could be.

~

"come with me please." you whined as caitlin grabbed your bicep, steering you away from the change rooms as everyone else headed for the cafeteria. "cait i'm starving!" you groaned as she tugged you into one of the recovery rooms.

"so you've told steph about you and kyra then?" the older girl questioned with a raised eyebrow, crossing her arms as you gave her a strange look. "no. why do i look like i've been yelled at today?" you grinned but it quickly faded at her lack of joining in.

"well you might want to consider it because she is definitely going to notice those and have questions."

"shit!" you cursed as caitlin pointed to your neck and you grabbed out your phone camera which confirmed your worries. you'd admittedly forgotten all about the little marks from this morning and with a media session upcoming a lot of the girls had showered in between training and lunch, yourself included.

"its not funny!" you groaned as caitlin finally broke her stern facade and doubled over with a laugh. "foordy help!" you whined, wincing a little as you poked the angry marks and cursing your girlfriend under your breath.

"just put a hoodie on and sit far away from steph. then maybe say your prayers?" the older girl laughed, ruffling your hair and leaving the room as you trudged after her, darting into the change rooms again to grab a hoodie.

you let out a yell as someone grabbed you and shouted boo, the all too familiar laughter which followed having you roll your eyes and shove her away. "you're such a child." you shook your head grabbing your hoodie.

"weren't saying that this morning were we babe?" kyra grinned, glancing around before her hands settled on your cheeks and she pulled you in for a kiss, unable to stop the smile which formed as you did.

"oh well hello!" you jumped apart from each other with bright red faces, heads whipping around to meet the amused gazes of vic and alessia. "will you two be coming for lunch or just eating each others faces?" vic smirked as alessia chuckled beside her.

"don't tell steph." you warned the two older girls who waved it off, stating they'd 'known for ages' and pulling the two of you away with them, all four of you falling into conversation.

following caitlins advice you dragged your friends to sit with you as far away from your sister as you could who gratefully was too busy goofing off with jen and beth to notice you..

though that peace of course didn't last.

"stop!" you whispered, ghost of a smile on your face as kyras hand wandered up your leg, teasingly pinching and poking at your skin as instead the two of you resorted to playing footsies.

"oi!" katie scowled turning around as kyra kicked the back of her chair, pointing to you as katie smacked your leg and you glared at your girlfriend who quickly kissed your cheek and gave you a grin, your elbow nudging into her side as jonas continued to talk.

"do you wanna hang out this arvo?" kyra murmured, grabbing your hand in hers and hiding it in her lap as you smiled. "i have to study, one more exam remember?" you whispered back as she pouted and you shook your head, turning back to the screen with a smile, the two of you still tapping and kicking one another as time went by.

it was at the end of the media session where things started to go a little pear shaped, the lights turning on and kyra quickly dropping your hand, but you failed to see your sisters narrowed eyes a few rows back.

dismissed for the day everyone wasted no time collecting their stuff and heading off, most in small groups or pairs as carpooling was a popular option among the team.

"steph!" you yelped as your sister grabbed you, pulling you back into the room by your hood as everyone else headed out. "what the hell is that on your neck?" you paled at her firm glare, warning you out of anything that wasn't the truth.

"nothing! i burnt myself with the straightener." you rolled your eyes and tried to leave but she held a firm grip on you which you couldn't break. "yeah bullshit. i wasn't born yesterday those are hickies, who gave them to you?" steph asked with a glare as you struggled to pull away.

"none of your business, get off!" you huffed, wrenching yourself free and storming off. "have you got a secret girlfriend or something?" your sister scoffed, grabbing the back of your hoodie as you pushed her away.

"just leave it steph! its nothing." you rolled your eyes, her questions following you into the change rooms as you ignored her. "oi! mum and dad made me promise to look after you, you're too young to be seeing someone." steph cornered you by your cubby as you rolled your eyes and a few of the girls looked over curiously.

"i'm twenty one fucking years old steph i'm not a baby and if i want to get a hickey off someone? i'll get a hickey." you grabbed your bag and shoved past her, ignoring the ooh's from beth who fell silent at a firm look from steph.

thankfully she didn't follow after you and with kyra grabbing a lift home with teyah you wasted no time driving off and heading home, determined to get there and lock yourself away before your sister returned home to no doubt continue the argument.

sure enough you weren't even ten minutes into studying, hauled up in your room with snacks and water that you heard her footsteps thump down the hall. you didn't even have dean as a buffer given he was at his own training this afternoon.

with a roll of your eyes you slipped your headphones on, purposefully pretending you didn't notice when your door swung open and calvin bounded in as you gave him a scratch and gently pushed him off your bed.

"what?" you huffed as your sister yanked your headphones off, holding them out of your reach as you tried to take them back. "who gave them to you?" steph asked, copping a filthy glare as she stretched taller and continued to hold your headphones away.

"none of your business and the more you ask me the more pissed off you're gonna get me stephanie." you warned seriously, snatching your headphones back as she lowered them slightly. "i need to study." you spoke bluntly, pulling them back on and sitting back down at your desk with your back turned.

steph watched on warily with words in the back of her throat before she decided it wasn't worth it, and when you glanced over your shoulder a few moments later the door was closed and she was nowhere to be seen.

with your sister not reappearing for a few hours you used the time to zone in on your studies, your phone sitting on do not disturb on your bed you missed the messages from both your girlfriend and your teammates checking in.

eventually you looked up from your textbook with tired eyes and realised it had gone dark outside. dropping your highlighter and closing your laptop you stretch your back over your chair and sigh in relief as it cracks a few times.

pulling your headphones down around your neck you roll your chair back toward your bed and grab your phone, sighing at the multitude of notifications, too tired to reply to anyone bar kyra.

you noticed two missed calls from your mum and frown checking the time in melbourne realising she'd likely have headed to bed now. sending her a few messages in apology explaining you were studying and would call her first thing tomorrow you slipped your phone into the pocket of your hoodie and stood.

again stretching out your cramped limbs your eyes scan over your planner, plucking off a few different sticky notes with a satisfied nod. your final exam isn't until monday and with the match on saturday you know you at least have tomorrow and sunday free to try and cram in the rest.

though this exam was your last it also happened to be the most content heavy, and though the reward of five weeks off loomed ever closer you knew you had one final push until you hit the finish line.

"done for tonight?" you jumped not having even heard your door open, glancing over to see your sister lingering in the entrance. "yeah. i've still got tomorrow and sunday, i think if i read another word its just going to go in one ear and out the other." you sighed running your finger down what you had left to revise.

"is that how it works when you read something?" you looked up to meet stephs amused smile, but seeing the look in her eyes you know it was as close to an olive branch as you were going to get.

"yeah wouldn't expect you to understand, its hard being the smart one." you quipped back with a smile seeing steph relax a little at your response. "come on, dinners done and calvin misses you." steph spoke with a nod down the hall.

"no dean?" you asked seeing as there was only two bowls of food dished up on the kitchen counter. "out with his team. which means we can watch big brother without his running commentary!" steph grinned handing you a fork as you grabbed the bowl of curry.

"this is so scripted, there is no way someones that dumb!" you mocked his voice. "nah why is she crying? shes doing it for the cameras!" steph joined in, the two of you taking a seat on the lounge with a laugh as steph flicked on big brother.

"hey." you looked over to her a couple of hours later, the two of you now watching a premier league match as calvin slept with his head in your lap, bowls of dinner long washed up and finished. "mm?" you hummed looking back to the tv and groaning as man city scored.

"i'm really proud of you."

"for what?" you frowned at her as she rolled her eyes at your defensive response. "juggling everything. uni, football, living in another country, media commitments, sponsors. it's a lot, but somehow you seem to be managing and thats very admirable!" your sister complimented with a soft smile as you pulled a face.

"you're so weird steph." you shook your head, scratching behind calvins ears as the older girl scoffed. "i'm being nice! that was a very nice thing to say!" she defended with a scowl. "well stop being nice its weird! makes me uncomfortable." you grumbled, never having been great at taking compliments.

"say thank you and tell me you love me." your sister demanded as now you scoffed, ignoring her request and focusing on the tv. "say it!" steph demanded, kicking you as you remained quiet.

"stephanie get off!" you yelled as suddenly her body crash tackled into yours, poor calvin diving off the lounge and moving toward his bed to avoid the squabble.

"you might be bigger now but i'm still older." steph grunted as you struggled to push her off, your arms eventually pinned under her knees as she sat on top of you.

"what are you twelve? get off!" you whined, squriming beneath her and trying to buck her taller frame off without any luck. "no. say thank you and tell me you love me!" your sister ordered, fingers digging into your ribs as you squealed.

"you've very comfortable and you're only making this harder for yourself." steph sighed pressing more of her weight down on top of you as you wheezed slightly. "fine! thank you, love you." you huffed with a roll of your eyes.

"like ya mean it!" steph scoffed in offence, crossing her arms and glaring down at you as you let out a heavy exhale. "thank you for your kind words stephanie, i love you."

"sorry couldn't hear you, bit louder?" "steph!"

"i love you too peanut." your sister cooed getting off of you though not before tightly squeezing your cheeks and shaking your head side to side. "i wish i was adopted." you mumbled with a huff, both of settling back into your previous positions.

"i already told you, we can arrange that if you like?"

~

"ky!" you grunted as she launched herself onto your back, arms locking around your neck and subtly kissing your cheek as you shifted her, continuing about with your lap. "people are going to take videos of this." you sighed knowingly.

"when do they not?" your girlfriend challenged though she slid off of you anyway, falling into step as katie and caitlin appeared on your other side. the four of you conversing about the game you watched with an amused smile as kyra yanked caitlins hair out of its bun and sprinted off, the older girl racing after her.

"so." katies arm slipped over your shoulder and you sighed giving her a look. "you gonna tell your sister about the two of ya then?" katie asked with a smile as you groaned. "not you too! your girlfriends already onto me about it and you saw how she reacted to the hickies." you huffed defensively, turning away so no one could possibly read your lips.

"which is exactly why ya gotta tell her! the longer ya leave it the worse it'll be because you didn't tell her." katie lectured and you sighed knowing there was some truth to her words. "its not that easy! she's insanely overbearing and overprotective, she won't take it well."

"you're twenty one years old catley, whats she gonna do? ground ya?" katie teased as you shoved her playfully. "i do still live with her." you reminded as katie shrugged. "so move out then!"

"let me guess, you can't?" the irishwoman smiled knowingly as you struggled to come up with a response and you looked up as kyra called you over. "seriously though, tell her!" katie squeezed you before heading off for the change rooms as you caught up with kyra and teyah.

"you coming over for dinner? teyahs cooking!" your girlfriend grinned as your friend rolled her eyes. "you're welcome to. we're ordering in!" teyah corrected smacking kyra as the two of them pushed and shoved one another making you chuckle.

"as much as i do enjoy free front row seats to your roomie wrestling matches, i have to study." you reminded as kyra groaned going limp in teyahs arms. "i'm losing to a stack of paper, some pens and sticky notes, unbelievable!" your girlfriend complained as teyah shoved her off and wandered into the change rooms.

"come on. just for dinner? then i'll drive you home. or i can help you study?" she offered eagerly with a smile, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet as you smiled and moved a strand of hair out of her face.

"no you can't." you shook your head as kyra groaned again, slumping into the wall with a pout. "that won't work. my final exam is on monday ky and i have so much content to cover before then." you sighed apologetically, tugging her bottom lip out from her teeth.

"tomorrow?" "studying." "you can take a break! i'll take you out for breakfast, lunch, dinner, a snack, just a drive, anything!" "as sweet as you are, i can't ky."

"can you hear that?" kyra questioned as you frowned, shaking your head. "thats my heart slowly cracking." your girlfriend sighed deeply tapping her chest as you punched her in the arm. "you're supposed to be supportive!" you shook your head with a laugh.

"i am! i'm supporting your health and well being by encouraging you don't burn yourself out and you take breaks in between your studies!" "mmm a likely story cooney-cross. come on!"

with that you linked arms with her and dragged her into the change rooms.

~

"here she is! the scholar herself!"

you laughed as you exited the building, feeling about a tonne lighter now you knew your exam was over and you had five weeks off from your studies.

you still had a whole host of commitments including international break so it was hardly 'time off' but it meant your list of things to juggle grew just that little bit shorter for the time being.

"you didn't need to do this you know?" you grinned as your sister handed you a bouquet of flowers, having requested she get the day off training to chauffeur you to your final exam which jonas was fine with.

"course we did. this is a victory for us too you know? no more sticky notes all over the house to pick up, no more stress head by the minute schedule to navigate, no more late nights helping you revise-" dean tugged you into a hug and ruffled your hair having come along in support.

"excuse me you didn't do any of that mate, that was all me!" steph scoffed punching him in the arm and pulling you into a hug as dean grabbed your flowers for you so they wouldn't be squished. "so so so proud of you peanut." you couldn't help but smile despite the nickname you detested.

"i appreciate all the support, really." you mumbled into her shoulder before you broke apart, starting the walk back to the car. "i don't know how you do it, just reading your planner gives me a headache." dean whistled as he fished out the keys.

"breathing and walking at the same time gives you a headache." you grinned, ducking behind your sister as he swung at you playfully and slipped into the drivers seat.

"oh yes!" you exhaled happily seeing the bagged up food waiting for you on the backseat as you closed your door. "all your favourites." steph chuckled as you eagerly pulled out the first box and a fork, the three of you chattering as dean drove out of camden and back toward st albans.

"does this mean we can have a celebratory bonfire and burn all your books?" dean grinned wolfishly as you parked in the driveway. "no you meat head i still have a year of study left to do after this." you laughed as steph rolled her eyes.

"and we don't burn books!" she shoved her fiance who held his hands up in defence. "and when exactly was the last time you even opened let alone read a book, stephanie?" dean challenged, sprinting off toward the front door as steph raced after him and you shook your head with a smile.

balancing your bag, flowers and leftover food in hand you made your way up after them, almost stacking it up the stairs as you caught your footing and exhaled, stepping inside.

rounding the corner you were met with an almighty cheer and this time you did fall to the floor, landing on your ass with a wince as your face burnt bright red and lia hurried to help you up.

"what the hell?" you grinned in surprise seeing nearly the entire team packed into the living room, half sitting on top of one another as streamers and balloons decorated the walls.

"we all wanted to celebrate you and your achievements." steph smiled, taking your food and flowers for you. "i haven't graduated yet!" you laughed as music switched on and you made your way around the room greeting all the girls.

"i'm just gonna chuck my stuff in my room." you notified steph who nodded and fell back into conversation with some of the others. no sooner had you shut your door did a foot kick it back open as a body slid in behind you and it closed with a soft click.

"hello lover!" the midfielder grinned wofishly and you laughed as she tackled you down onto your bed, attacking every inch of your face with soft kisses. "ky!" you managed to get out, your stomach starting to hurt from laughing as she hovered over you.

"did anyone see you come in here?" "nah i was super stealthy, im like a spy babe."

"i am also very very very proud of you, and now you're free!" your girlfriend cheered and you jolted as she pulled a party popper from her back pocket and let it off with a bang, streamers raining down on top of the pair of you.

"well for five weeks." "hey don't spoil this for me!" "oh for you? so sorry baby, how selfish of me." "exactly! horridly mean girl you are, very hot though so it balances out i guess."

"shut up and let someone else have the last word for once would you?" you smiled grabbing her shirt in your hand and tugging her mouth down to properly meet with yours.

"i missed you so much." kyra mumbled out as your hands tangled in her hair and she shifted, laying down beside you as her hands moved to the small of your back pulling your body flush into hers.

"its been three days!" you chuckled in between kisses. "i know! nearly killed me." she retorted, sending you a cheeky grin before pressing her lips back to your own, the two of you making up for lost time.

"we should really get ba-" but your words fell short as your girlfriend took your bottom lip between her teeth, dragging it down teasingly before pressing your mouths together again in a feverish kiss.

in reflection, kyra really really wished she let you finish your sentence.

"hey peanut we're ordering pizza what do you-" your door swung open as you pushed yourself away from kyra but it was much to late as stephs eyes widened and caitlin peeked over her shoulder with a grimace.

"steffy-" you started as you and kyra sat up, caitlin motioning to your shirt from behind your sisters back as your eyes glanced down and you hurriedly pulled it back down where it had ridden up, kyra doing her best to smooth out her hair from where your hands had been tangled through it.

"kyra go to the living room please." her words were deathly calm and that almost made it worse, your girlfriend looking at you then back to your sister whose eyes burned a hole in your head.

"go, its fine." you whispered, squeezing her hand as she nodded, still looking unsure as she stood. kyra hesitated as she tried to move past steph who adjusted her stance to block the doorway, looking the younger girl up and down wordlessly before moving out of the way as kyra scurried off.

"steph look i can-" you started quietly, stopping in your tracks at the look sent your direction. "hey maybe leave it for now, the whole teams here steph." caitlin stepped in, grabbing your sisters wrist who glanced between the two of you.

"you knew already, didn't you." she directed the words toward caitlin though never broke her hard stare toward you as caitlin sighed, the lack of answer the only answer steph needed.

"we'll talk about this once everyones left, get out of your room." and with that she was gone, striding off back down the hallway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

part 3?

[orphicdreamers-wp]

Oh Baby — Quinn Hughes

Summary: In which you go into labor in another state unsure if your husband will be there to meet your daughter with you

Content Warnings; Labor, Cussing, Needles

Pairing; Husband! Quinn Hughes x Fem Reader

“I’m gonna kill him! Jack, I swear to god I’m gonna kill your brother!” Jack rubbed your back reassuringly, “I know honey. But you can wait to kill him until after my perfect niece is here, right?” You gripped the sleeve of your brother in law’s t-shirt, “If you don’t stop talking Jack, I’ll you first!” A plethora of pain coursed through your body as another contraction ripped through you. Jack gritted his teeth as you clawed his hand.

Jack had always been the one of your two brothers in law that you were closer to, majority of that being the closeness in your ages comparatively to you and Luke. You were 3 years older than Jack and 5 years older than Luke. So you and Jack were closer friends. So when your water broke as you were meeting a realtor for a potential new location for your chain of restaurants, you called Jack knowing he was less than 3 hours away in Washington while Quinn was on his way back from Boston. You had checked into the hospital and gotten situated by the time Jack got to the hospital.

He rushed in holding your hospital bag for the baby, a bag for yourself and another bag of stuff for Quinn. He had called Quinn and reassured his older brother that you were okay, although Quinn could hear you cussing at your ob as she gave you an epidural block. Quinn assured his younger brother that he would be back in time to meet his daughter with you. As time progressed you began to lose hope.

You were in hysterics as you were finally pushing, “Jack I’m scared. What if I’m not cut out to be a mom? I mean I’m only 25 and we just got married. I’m scared that me and Quinn won’t work out.” Jack held your hand somehow tighter, “You are the most amazing person I know, you always know what to say Y/N, you are going to be a perfect mom. And you and Quinn are like a damn rom-com movie. You will be okay, the minute you see your baby girl you will know.” You sobbed as you forced another push, “Thank you.”

The door opened and Quinn rushed in, “I’m here! I may have a ticket but I’m here.” You looked up at your husband, “You made it.” Quinn pressed a soft kiss against your lips, “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” Your OBGYN smiled, “Hey Mr Hughes, you made it just in time. Give me one more push and you’ll have your perfect girl.” You clutched Quinn’s hand, unaware of Jack who had taken out a digital camcorder and had started to record you and Quinn’s faces as you let out a groan and clutched Quinn’s hand as you pushed.

You collapsed back when you heard it, your newborn daughter’s cries. You felt your heart clench as the OBGYN spoke, “So dad, do you wanna do the honors?” Quinn’s eyes welled with happy tears as he nodded, “Your damn right I do.” Quinn took the scissors and cut the umbilical cord. With the doctors okay, Quinn held your daughter oh so carefully and placed her on your chest. You reached your finger out and your heart shattered and somehow felt more filled as your daughter’s tiny hand wrapped around your finger, “She’s perfect. Look at her Quinn. That’s all us.”

Quinn melted into you, “She might be the girl I love most in the world now.” Jack smiled with teary eyes, “So what’s my new best friends name?” You smiled at your daughter, “Lorelei Jacqueline Hughes. After my mom and my girls alleged best uncle.” Jack grinned at his newborn niece, “Rory Jackie Hughes. You are so perfect, and you lucked out in the parent department. You have the best mommy ever. Your daddy is alright.”

You smiled weakly at your husband, “I have never loved two people this much. This is the best and most fulfilling experience of my life. I love you Quinn Hughes, with all I am.” Quinn kissed you softly, “I love you too Y/N Hughes, will everything in my heart.”

[amethystarachnid]

You're doing so much for Tony's fans 🥹

Please can you write a one-shot with Tony and reader going on vacation to a very cold and snowy place? Reader is pregnant, and they want to spend some time together before the baby arrives... Tony pampering the reader, kissing her belly, talking to the baby, cuddling by the fireplace, watching movies, Tony making them hot chocolate... all that cute stuff you can include 🥹💗

SNOWY LOVE - part I

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance fluff,

ᯓ★ Request from: normal request

ᯓ★ Story type: short fanfic

ᯓ★ Part II

ᯓ★ Word count: 6.8k

ᯓ★ Summary: nothing more than what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing, this is really just a rom-com

ᯓ★ Comment if you want to be added to the taglist (specify if you want the everything taglist or for a specific character)

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

Snowflakes drift lazily down from a soft, silver sky as you look out the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse. It’s a quiet morning—rare, with Tony’s unpredictable schedule and the ever-demanding world outside. But here, in the warm comfort of your shared home, you’re both wrapped up in a blanket of stillness. You rest a hand on your slightly swollen belly, the weight of it oddly comforting, already so much a part of you.

Tony watches you with that glint in his eye—the one that means he’s about to say something just on the edge of outrageous.

“So, how do you feel about a vacation?” he says, sliding his arms around you from behind, his hands settling possessively over your belly. His fingers splay out, warm and protective, and he leans down to press a kiss to your temple. “You, me, somewhere snowy. A little chalet up in the mountains. Luxury, of course,” he adds with a smirk. “Just us, before our world gets a lot… noisier.”

You laugh softly, leaning back into him. "Snow? Mr. Stark, are you sure you can handle the cold?"

“Hey, I’ve got plenty of ways to keep you warm,” he murmurs, lips trailing down to your ear. You can practically feel his smirk as he nuzzles you, his hands moving slowly in circles over your belly. It’s something he’s done since you started showing—this fascination he has with your stomach. Sometimes it’s like he’s more excited about the bump than you are.

But the idea of a trip sounds perfect. Just the two of you, tucked away in some winter wonderland with no interruptions, no Avengers business, and no noise but the crackling of a fire.

“Alright, Tony,” you agree, turning around to look into those warm, mischievous eyes. “Book it.”

A week later, you’re gazing out at an impossibly serene winter landscape from the floor-to-ceiling windows of a sprawling, secluded chalet. The world outside is a pristine blanket of snow, untouched and glistening under a brilliant winter sun. The whole place is filled with all the luxuries Tony insisted on, but you hardly notice them. Just being here, far from the city, feels like a dream.

Tony insists on carrying you up to the bedroom, despite your protests. "You're carrying my baby," he says with a grin, as if that answers everything. And maybe it does. You can’t help but laugh as he sweeps you up and carries you over the threshold like he did on your wedding day, placing you gently onto the plush bed, which is already turned down and waiting.

“Comfy?” he asks, brushing a stray hair from your face. “Need anything? Foot rub? Bubble bath? Hot cocoa?”

“Tony, I’m pregnant, not helpless,” you tease, but his attentiveness melts your heart. You can tell he’s just as thrilled as you are to have this time alone together. He lies down beside you, his hand immediately finding its way back to your belly, resting there like it’s his anchor to you and to the little life growing inside.

“Not helpless, but definitely carrying precious cargo,” he murmurs, his thumb moving slowly over the curve of your belly. He’s quiet for a moment, looking almost shy, which is rare for Tony. His fingers trace gentle patterns, and you feel his lips brush against your temple again. He’s practically glued to you lately, as if being close enough to touch isn’t close enough.

“Hard to believe, huh?” he whispers, his voice low and tender. “That in a few months… we’ll be a family.”

You reach up, brushing your fingers along his jaw, softening the intense look in his eyes. “We already are a family, Tony.”

He smiles, and there’s something in his expression that looks almost vulnerable. “Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Guess we are.” He rests his forehead against yours, and you close your eyes, breathing him in. The smell of his cologne, the warmth of his hands—everything feels right.

As the sun dips below the mountains, casting a warm, golden light over the room, Tony pulls you closer. “You know,” he murmurs, voice thoughtful. “I’m going to spoil the hell out of this kid.”

“Oh, I have no doubt,” you laugh, already picturing it. “And the baby will be just as stubborn as you.”

He raises an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Excuse me, I think I’m very reasonable.”

You just shake your head, grinning. “Uh-huh. Sure, Mr. ‘I’ll-Build-a-Suit-Just-to-Prove-a-Point’.”

He chuckles, hands never leaving your belly, and you feel a flutter—small, but undeniable. You both go silent, wide-eyed, as the two of you share this first, private moment of feeling your baby move.

Tony’s hand stills, his face lit up with a mix of wonder and amazement. “Did… did you feel that?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, feeling your heart swell as you look into his eyes. He looks like he’s seen something miraculous, and maybe he has.

He leans down, pressing his lips to your belly, murmuring words you can’t quite hear, but you don’t need to.

The first morning in the chalet is calm and quiet, and Tony seems determined to keep it that way. You wake up to find him already awake, propped up on his elbow, watching you with a soft smile as he strokes gentle circles on your belly. It's become his little ritual, like he's memorizing every curve, every shift. His touch is warm, tender, and though you roll your eyes, pretending you find it excessive, you know it fills him with a kind of awe.

"Good morning," he murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss on your forehead. "How’s my girl? And our little peanut?"

You laugh, a light scoff. "You’re calling our kid peanut now?"

He shrugs, grinning as he continues his lazy circles on your stomach. “I like it. It’s cute. You know, like you.”

The day passes in much the same way. You’re still tangled in blankets by the fireplace hours later, Tony insisting you stay wrapped up, cozy, and “entirely off-duty.” You try to protest, of course, but he’s already thought of everything. He brings you mugs of hot chocolate topped with fluffy marshmallows, tucks you under layers of soft blankets, and ensures you don’t lift a finger.

"Tony," you groan playfully by midday, trying to wriggle out from under one of the million blankets he's wrapped around you. "I’m not going to break, you know."

He raises an eyebrow, shaking his head with a smirk. "Nope. No sudden movements for you. Doctor Stark’s orders. You’re staying right here, keeping warm, and giving me an excuse to keep you all to myself.”

“Tony,” you say, rolling your eyes with a laugh, “you always keep me all to yourself.”

"True," he admits, pulling you even closer, his eyes lighting up as he rests his hand, yet again, on your belly. His thumb traces a lazy arc over the slight swell, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. “But this… this feels different. I just want to make sure you’re safe. Both of you.”

You feel a warm blush creep up your neck. He’s normally so light-hearted, but when he talks about the baby—or you—he becomes almost reverent, so full of purpose. His gaze flicks from your face to the window, where snow drifts down in thick, fluffy flakes, blanketing the world outside.

“Look at that view,” he murmurs, as you both turn to take in the sight beyond the glass. “Snow as far as the eye can see. No distractions, no interruptions. Just us… just this.”

You lean back into him, smiling as he wraps his arms around you, the fire crackling softly in the background. It feels surreal, being here, tucked away from the world in a perfect little bubble. For a while, you both sit in silence, content to watch the snow fall and melt into the earth.

But after a day and a half of this "full relaxation" agenda, you're beginning to go a little stir-crazy. Tony’s fussing is sweet, but you miss having some independence. You shift a bit in his arms, trying to stretch out.

“Tony,” you start slowly, giving him a pleading look. “I can’t stay wrapped up in blankets for another minute. I feel like I haven’t moved in days.”

He laughs, a low chuckle, but there’s a sparkle in his eye, one that hints he’s had this plan all along. “Alright, alright, I guess I can let you get a little fresh air. But only a little,” he teases. “I didn’t bring you here just to let you wander off.”

You swat his arm lightly, rolling your eyes. “I just want a change of scenery, maybe step outside on the balcony and actually feel the snow, not just watch it.”

“Well,” he says with a grin, pulling you gently to your feet, his hands never quite leaving you, as if he’s afraid you’ll topple over. “Your wish is my command.”

He helps you bundle up—because of course, Tony insists you wear every warm layer he can find—and leads you out onto the balcony. The view is breathtaking, the mountains rising high and snow sparkling across the landscape, untouched and serene. You inhale deeply, the crisp air filling your lungs, and a sense of peace settles over you.

Tony comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders, pressing you back against his chest as you both look out over the snowy expanse. His hand instinctively moves to your belly, resting there with a kind of possessive protectiveness. You feel his fingers splay out over the soft fabric of your coat, and you smile, resting your hand over his.

“You’re really into this dad thing already, aren’t you?” you say, a hint of amusement in your voice.

“Never thought I’d say this, but… yeah,” he replies softly, leaning down to nuzzle your neck. “I can’t help it. There’s this little person in there—half you, half me—and it’s… I don’t know. Amazing.” His voice is barely above a whisper, and you can feel the weight of his words, how much he means them.

You lean back into him, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “It’s amazing for me too, you know.”

He smiles, warm and so full of love that it takes your breath away. For a moment, you stand there, quiet and still, feeling like the only two people in the world, with nothing but the mountains, the snow, and each other.

“Alright,” he says finally, breaking the silence with a lighthearted tone. “Now that I’ve fulfilled your wish for some fresh air… how about we go back inside?”

You laugh, letting him guide you back into the warm chalet. He’s never going to let you go five minutes without checking on you and the baby, and maybe that’s okay.

The next morning, you wake up with a mission. The peace and relaxation have been wonderful, but with the Italian Alps right outside, you’re itching for a little excitement. You’ve been sneaking glances at the slopes through the windows, watching skiers carve graceful lines in the fresh powder. It looks exhilarating. And you’re ready to try it yourself.

"Tony," you say, giving him your most persuasive smile as he sits on the edge of the bed, already rubbing a hand over your belly in his customary morning greeting.

"Hmm?" he asks, clearly distracted by the sight of his hand on your bump. It's almost become his morning routine: wake up, say good morning to you, then immediately direct his attention to the baby as if the two of you are separate entities he needs to greet individually.

“I want to learn to ski," you say, leaning forward eagerly. “And snowboard, maybe. We’re here, right? It’d be a crime not to at least try.”

His eyes widen in mock horror. "You want to what?"

“Ski. It’s a pretty common activity in the Alps, Tony. You might’ve heard of it?”

He narrows his eyes, crossing his arms and giving you the classic protective Tony look. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack? You’re pregnant. Skiing seems… let’s call it ‘ill-advised.’”

You roll your eyes, standing up to wrap your arms around his neck, giving him a gentle smile. “Relax, Iron Man. I’ll be careful, we’ll take it slow, and you’ll be there the whole time, Mr. I’ve-got-a-suit-for-everything.”

He sighs, but you can see he’s starting to relent. “Fine. But if anything even remotely looks too intense, we’re calling it quits. Deal?”

“Deal,” you agree, trying to keep the excitement from bubbling over as you pull him down for a quick kiss.

After bundling up and taking a car to the nearby resort, you’re thrilled to finally be on the mountain. The snow glistens under the bright sun, and you can feel the crisp air on your face as you look out over the slopes.

Tony has rented skis for both of you and has been cautious all morning, making sure everything is “pregnancy-friendly.” But you start to get suspicious when he leads you, hand-in-hand, toward the bunny hill—the tiny, kid-friendly beginner slope with ski instructors in bright colors and a smattering of tiny skiers who look no older than five.

"Uh, Tony?" you say, holding back a laugh as he hands you the kid-sized poles. “Are we… are we learning with the preschoolers?”

"Yes, ma’am,” he says with a grin, clearly proud of himself. “Only the best for you.”

You arch an eyebrow, planting a gloved hand on your hip. “Tony, I may be pregnant, but I’m not a toddler.”

"Hey," he says, feigning offense as he crosses his arms. "You’re always saying I should loosen up. This is me loosening up. And look," he gestures to the hill, "the kids look like they’re having a great time."

You look over and sure enough, a tiny kid in a neon green snowsuit zips by, wobbly but determined, his instructor cheering him on. Tony raises an eyebrow at you in victory, and you let out a laugh.

“Alright,” you say, trying to keep a straight face. “Teach me how to ski… over here on the baby slopes.”

"That's the spirit," he says, giving you an exaggerated wink. “Now, follow my lead.” He slides forward with a certain smugness, easing down the slope in a careful, exaggerated snowplow that’s almost as comical as it is effective. You try to copy him, mimicking the position, and you both start inching your way down the hill like two overgrown kids.

"You're actually not bad at this," he calls out, looking back to grin at you. "You know, for a beginner."

“Oh, please, I’m practically a natural,” you tease, wobbling as you hit a small bump. He’s instantly alert, gliding over to make sure you’re steady.

“Natural, huh?” he teases. “You know, if you master the bunny hill, you might just graduate to… the medium bunny hill.”

You give him a playful shove. “Oh, you’re hilarious, Tony.”

But despite all his ribbing, he’s by your side every step of the way, guiding you through the basics. And every time you start to get the hang of it, he’s quick to throw in a joke or a playful nudge, making you laugh so much that staying balanced becomes an impossible task. Eventually, you both end up tumbling to the snow in a fit of laughter.

“Alright,” he says, helping you to your feet and brushing snow from your jacket. “How about we reward ourselves with a little break at that bar up the hill?”

“Best idea you’ve had all day,” you agree, your cheeks rosy and your breath coming in happy puffs.

You find a cozy bar just up the path, perched near the slopes with a view of the mountains beyond. Inside, it’s all rustic charm and warmth—flickering lanterns on each table, cozy booths, and a crackling fire in the corner. Tony leads you to a booth by the window, where the view of the snowy slopes and skiers zipping by makes for a perfect scene.

He orders a mulled cider for you and a whiskey for himself. “To surviving the bunny hill,” he says, raising his glass.

“Almost,” you correct, clinking your mug against his with a grin. “But don’t get used to it. I’ll be an expert by tomorrow.”

Tony laughs, leaning back and draping his arm around your shoulders. “Alright, but if you go pro, I expect a cut of your sponsorship deals.”

“Deal,” you say, laughing as you take a sip of your warm cider. You feel a hand on your belly, and you look up to find Tony looking down at your stomach with a soft, content expression.

“Peanut had quite the day, huh?” he murmurs, tracing a finger in slow circles. “First ski lesson with Mom and Dad. It’s only a matter of time before we’ve got a little snowboarder or skier running around.” He looks up at you, eyes twinkling. “Imagine, a little Stark racing down the slopes.”

You snuggle closer, your heart swelling as you picture it. “Sounds perfect.”

He smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead, and for a while, you both sit in comfortable silence, soaking up the warmth of the fire, the view, and each other. It’s simple, domestic, and so achingly perfect that it feels like a dream.

After a while, Tony’s hand finds yours under the table. “Alright,” he says, giving you a mischievous grin. “Ready for more of the bunny hill tomorrow?”

“Bring it on,” you say, grinning back. “But fair warning—I’m graduating to the medium bunny hill by the afternoon.”

He chuckles, tightening his hold on your hand. "That’s my girl."

As Tony slips away to pay the bill, you settle back in the booth, taking a slow sip of your cider and watching the snow gently fall outside. You’re lost in thought, already picturing yourself attempting to conquer the “medium” bunny hill tomorrow, when a figure suddenly slides into Tony’s seat across from you.

“Ciao, bella,” says a man with a thick Italian accent and an easy, confident smile. He’s tall, with dark hair peeking out from under his knit beanie and an instructor’s badge hanging around his neck that reads Marco. “I couldn’t help but notice you on the kids' slope earlier,” he continues, his gaze lingering a little too long for comfort. “You looked…how do you say…deliziosa on those skis.”

For a second, you’re too surprised to respond, but then you let out a small, amused laugh. “Oh, uh, thank you?”

He leans in, clearly misreading your laugh. “Not many adults are brave enough to take on the bunny hill. It’s very… endearing.” He gives you a grin that, on anyone else, might be charming, but on him is just a bit too self-assured. “I’d be happy to give you a private lesson sometime,” he says, his voice dropping suggestively. “Show you the ropes… maybe even move you up to a real slope, sì?”

“Oh,” you say, putting down your mug and giving him a polite smile. “That’s very nice of you, Marco, but I actually have an instructor. He’s, uh, very attentive.”

Marco raises an eyebrow, glancing around. “Ah, well, he can’t be that attentive if he left you alone. Such a bella donna should never be alone, sì?” He leans back, his gaze sweeping over you appreciatively. “Besides, you deserve someone who can give you all the… attention you need.”

From across the room, Tony turns around from the bar and sees you—laughing, apparently chatting with some random guy who’s leaning way too far into your personal space. Tony’s jaw tightens as he watches, his eyes narrowing. He knows that look; he’s given it a few times himself. And from the way this Marco guy is practically draping himself across the table, it’s clear he thinks he’s got a chance with you.

“Oh, no,” Tony mutters under his breath. “Not happening, pal.”

You’re still trying to deflect Marco’s attention politely when you hear a familiar voice behind you.

“Am I interrupting?” Tony asks, his tone pleasant but with a sharp edge that makes you almost burst out laughing.

Marco straightens up, his brows knitting as he looks Tony up and down. “Oh, scusa, amico,” he says, his smile not quite as confident now. “I didn’t realize she was with someone.”

Tony gives a tight-lipped smile, sliding smoothly back into his seat and draping his arm around you, fingers brushing casually over your shoulder. “She is,” he says pointedly, turning his head to plant a possessive kiss on your cheek, clearly for Marco’s benefit. “I’m Tony. And you are…?”

“Marco,” the man says, trying to maintain his cool as he extends a hand, which Tony promptly ignores.

“Right,” Tony says, looking unimpressed. He raises an eyebrow, giving Marco a once-over. “So, Marco, were you just, what… offering private lessons to my wife?” He emphasizes the word, his voice dripping with amusement and a hint of a threat.

You see Marco’s eyes widen just slightly as he glances at your hand. Of course, Tony had bought you gloves that are so bulky your wedding ring is completely hidden, which must be why Marco hadn’t noticed. He quickly recovers, chuckling and putting his hands up defensively. “Ah, mi dispiace, I did not realize! The snow clothes, you know, they hide… certain things.”

“Sure, sure,” Tony says, giving him a smile that’s as cold as the snow outside. “Easy mistake to make.” He pats his own chest as if in apology. “She’s wearing the ski instructor-approved disguise. Real easy to miss the whole married and pregnant thing, isn’t it?”

Marco’s face turns bright red as he stumbles over his words, looking everywhere but at you. “Ah, yes, well, I should… I should be going. Enjoy your stay, signora. Signore,” he says hastily before practically running off toward the other side of the bar.

As soon as he’s out of earshot, you turn to Tony with an amused smile, crossing your arms. “Was that really necessary?”

Tony huffs, his arm still firmly around you as he shakes his head. “Necessary? That guy was two seconds away from trying to hand-feed you pasta.”

You burst out laughing, nudging him playfully. “You know, if you’d just waited a minute, he probably would’ve figured it out on his own.”

Tony leans in close, grumbling theatrically. “Absolutely not. I have to nip these things in the bud. And, for the record, I don’t appreciate other guys throwing themselves at you while I’m paying for our cozy little cider date.”

“Oh, so you’re the only one who can throw himself at me?” you tease, arching an eyebrow as you take a sip of your cider.

“Damn right,” Tony says, pulling you even closer, his eyes sparkling with humor. “That guy clearly didn’t realize he was dealing with the Tony Stark.”

You roll your eyes, but your grin betrays you. “Well, Mr. Stark, thank you for rescuing me from the terrible fate of ski instructor flirtations.”

Tony smirks, raising his glass. “Anytime, Mrs. Stark. Anytime.” He takes a sip, eyes glinting with satisfaction as he watches Marco retreat out of sight.

Then he turns to you, looking perfectly serious. “Next time, maybe you should wear a sign or something. Like, ‘Taken. Baby on Board. Do Not Flirt.’”

You snort, shaking your head. “Oh yeah? What’s it going to say on the back, ‘Back off, Tony Stark’s property’?”

“Exactly,” he says with a wink, obviously pleased with himself. He settles back into his seat, one hand firmly planted on your belly as if staking his claim all over again. "Guess I’ll just have to keep my eye on you from now on. Can’t have any more Italian Casanovas getting the wrong idea.”

You rest your head on his shoulder, smiling as he holds you close, his hand tracing idle circles over your belly. “Guess that’s what I get for marrying a billionaire superhero,” you say, snuggling up to him with a sigh.

“Lucky for you, I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

And for the rest of the afternoon, with Tony’s arm around you and his gaze occasionally sweeping the bar for any would-be admirers, you realize that even with all the teasing and banter, you wouldn’t want it any other way.

After lunch, Tony insists on checking out the chalet’s indoor pool, especially since you’ve both been bundled up in heavy ski gear all day. He’s unusually excited, already talking about the “therapeutic properties” of a warm dip as he escorts you down the hall, arm draped protectively over your shoulder.

Of course, you know that Tony’s idea of “relaxing by the pool” involves detailed pre-planning. He spent a full five minutes earlier confirming with the staff that the water temperature is exactly within safe limits for pregnant women. You couldn’t help but laugh as he ran through a list of questions so long it could have filled a health inspector’s checklist.

Now, as you enter the pool area, you can’t help but smile at the ambiance. It’s luxurious yet cozy, with ambient lights reflecting off the water and soft classical music playing overhead. Families and couples splash around, and there’s a wall of glass that opens to the breathtaking view of the Alps, snowy peaks standing tall against the sky.

Tony’s hand is on your back as he guides you to the pool’s edge. “Alright, love, just take it slow,” he murmurs, adjusting his position to help you ease into the water.

You roll your eyes, smiling as you step in. “You know, I think I remember how pools work.”

“True, true,” he says, hands still hovering protectively, “but now it’s a whole different ball game. You’ve got precious cargo.” His eyes gleam as he says it, and you can’t help but feel a rush of warmth at the way he looks at you.

Once you’re in, he joins you, holding you close in the waist-deep water. The pool isn’t crowded, but it’s busy enough, with families and couples wading nearby. None of it seems to faze Tony, though. His focus is squarely on you—and, of course, your small but growing bump.

As you float in the water, Tony’s hands find your waist, and then, naturally, his fingers drift to rest gently on your stomach. He’s been in awe of this small swell since it first showed up, and now, he’s practically glued to it. You glance around, feeling a little self-conscious with the other people around, but Tony catches the look and just smirks.

“Oh no,” he teases, voice low. “Don’t you dare get shy on me now.” He presses a gentle kiss to your temple, his hand still resting warmly over your belly. “I want the whole world to know I’m crazy about you and our little peanut.”

“Tony,” you say, laughing softly. “You do realize you don’t have to shout it to every stranger we meet, right?”

“Why not?” he quips, beaming. “I’m proud. They should know. Besides…” He pauses, glancing down with that soft, protective look again, “It’s not every day you have this much to celebrate.”

He leans down, pressing his cheek gently to your stomach, and for a moment you’re sure the people nearby must be watching, but he’s completely unfazed. In fact, he looks content, brushing a thumb over the slight curve and murmuring, “You know, kiddo, you’re going to be loved so much. By me, by your mom here. You’ve got it made.”

You smile, running your fingers through his damp hair as he whispers to the baby. “I think you might be getting a little too into the dad role already,” you say, trying to keep the laugh out of your voice.

“Is that a complaint?” He lifts his head, grinning at you.

You shake your head, smiling as he draws you close, his arms wrapped protectively around you in the water. “Not at all. I love it.”

“Good,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a soft, affectionate tone. “Because you’re both stuck with me.”

After a while of floating and talking about the future—debating possible names, dreaming of first steps, first words, and first Stark-engineered tricycles—you drift closer to the edge of the pool, resting against it with Tony still close. Every so often, his fingers return to your belly as if by instinct, rubbing small circles or tracing a lazy line from side to side. He’s got this way of being tender without even thinking about it.

A mother with two young children paddles nearby, and her eyes linger for a second as she takes in the two of you. She gives you a knowing smile, and you smile back, feeling Tony’s hand on your bump.

As the family moves past, Tony gives you a conspiratorial grin. “You know, you could always give them a heads-up. Let them know there’s another future superhero in the making right here.”

You laugh, poking him lightly in the chest. “They already got the message, I think. You weren’t exactly subtle.”

He chuckles, letting his arm settle around your shoulders. “What can I say? I’m enthusiastic.” Then he leans down, placing another soft kiss on your cheek, his breath warm against your skin. “This might just be the best thing I’ve ever done.”

Your heart swells as he looks at you, his gaze full of love and devotion. And with his arms around you, the warmth of the water, and the snowy mountains in view, you feel like you’re floating in the perfect moment, one that you’ll carry with you long after you’ve left the chalet.

“I love you,” he murmurs, voice so soft it feels like a secret just for you.

The morning after your cozy pool time, you wake up with a scratchy throat and a stuffy nose, which you’re pretty sure wasn’t there when you went to bed. You groan softly, reaching for the tissue box on the bedside table, and give a tiny sneeze.

Of course, that little sneeze sets off Tony’s alarm bells like you’ve just pulled a fire alarm.

He’s instantly at your side, his hand on your forehead to check for a fever, his brow furrowed in deep concern. “Are you feeling okay? You don’t look okay,” he says, his voice going from calm to anxious in a heartbeat.

You try to wave him off, laughing a little. “It’s just a cold, Tony. I’m fine, really.”

But he’s already in full-on crisis mode.

“Oh no, this is not ‘just a cold.’ You need to lie down. Rest. Hydrate. Whatever it takes to get you feeling better, I’m on it.” Before you can protest, he’s pulling back the covers and gently tucking you back into bed like you’re made of glass.

“Tony,” you say, amused as he pulls a blanket over you, “I can still move. It’s just a cold.”

“Exactly,” he says, leaning down and giving you a soft, serious look. “That means it’s a virus. Which means I have to take all necessary precautions. And you”—he points a finger at you with all the authority of a doctor—"are to stay right here. On bedrest. Doctor’s orders.”

You raise an eyebrow, trying not to laugh at how serious he looks. “Doctor’s orders? You’re not a doctor.”

“Yet.” He winks, then pulls out his phone, typing furiously. “But Dr. Chen is.”

Your eyes widen as you watch him text your OB/GYN in the U.S. “Are you really calling Dr. Chen? Just because of a little sniffle?”

He shrugs, tapping the screen. “Yes. Because I want to be sure I’m doing everything to help you and our little peanut. That includes expert backup, if necessary.”

You can’t help but smile as he waits, phone in hand, glancing up every so often to check on you as though you might disintegrate if he looks away. Then, as if on cue, his phone pings, and he holds it up victoriously.

“She’s on board,” he says with a little too much triumph, showing you a text that reads, If Y/N is comfortable, plenty of rest, fluids, and warmth should help. Call if needed. He holds his phone with a flourish. “See? Expert-confirmed bedrest.”

You laugh and snuggle further under the covers, feeling the warmth of his concern more than anything else. “Alright, alright. Bedrest it is. But only because Dr. Chen said so.”

He nods, clearly pleased with himself, then presses a quick kiss to your forehead, mumbling, “Good call, Doc.” Then he’s off, already muttering to himself about getting you more pillows, a humidifier, and maybe a few dozen blankets.

As you settle in, you watch him scurry around the suite, gathering all your essentials as if you’re stranded on a desert island. He fluffs the pillows, fusses over the blanket arrangement, and keeps glancing back at you every few minutes, as if double-checking you’re still there.

“Alright,” he says, stepping back and eyeing his work critically. “Now, can I get you anything else? How about a hot drink?”

“Hot chocolate would be amazing,” you say, chuckling at how over-the-top he’s being.

“Hot chocolate, coming right up,” he says, snapping his fingers and practically running out of the room.

He returns a few minutes later with a mug of steaming hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and chocolate shavings (he’d never go for anything less than five-star quality). He’s practically bouncing as he sets it down on your bedside table, arranging it like it’s a Michelin-star dessert.

You take a sip, savoring the warmth and sweetness. “Mmm. This is perfect, Tony. Thank you.”

He visibly relaxes as you sip, then settles into the chair beside the bed, clearly not planning to leave your side anytime soon. “So, here’s the plan,” he says, as if he’s unveiling a major Stark Industries project. “You’ll stay here, rest, drink all the hot chocolate you want, and I’ll make sure you don’t have to lift a finger.”

“I can’t imagine it’s that serious, Tony,” you say, trying to reassure him. “It’s probably just from being in the cold for so long yesterday.”

But he’s already waving off your words, leaning forward with an intense look of determination. “Listen, we’ve got less than five months before the baby arrives. That means I need you healthy and happy and not dealing with any unnecessary stress, discomfort, or…viruses. So if that means pampering you with hot chocolate and movies and blankets all day, so be it.”

You laugh softly, reaching for his hand. “Alright, fine, Mr. Stark. I’ll indulge you.”

“Good,” he says, pressing a kiss to your hand, his eyes warm with love and gratitude. “Because it’s really me who’s indulging. Now, I’ll get the laptop so we can watch some of those cheesy holiday movies you like.”

“Oh, so you’re finally admitting you secretly love them too?” you tease, already knowing the answer.

He sighs, rolling his eyes playfully. “Maybe just a little,” he concedes with a smirk. “But only if we can start with the ones where the couple fights, then has a dramatic confession at the end.”

“Deal,” you laugh, shaking your head as he pulls out the laptop, settling it onto the bed.

For the next few hours, you lose yourselves in movie after movie, his arm around you, the cozy warmth of the blankets surrounding you both. Tony doesn’t move an inch unless it’s to refill your hot chocolate, adjust your pillows, or bring you more tissues.

Every so often, he glances over, brushing his fingers over your hair or pressing a hand to your belly, murmuring things like, “How’s the little one doing?” or “Don’t worry, we’ve got you both covered.”

Eventually, as the snow falls softly outside and Tony nestles closer, your eyes start to drift shut. He notices, pulling the blanket a little higher over you, his hand resting protectively over your belly.

“Sweet dreams,” he whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, his voice soft. And as you fall asleep, you feel the steady warmth of his hand, his presence wrapped around you like a shield, reminding you that, no matter what, you’re in the best hands in the world.

After a few days of rest, hot chocolate, and constant pampering from Tony, you feel perfectly fine again—your cold a distant memory. It’s a relief to be able to get up, stretch, and take in the mountain views without feeling Tony’s eagle eyes watching your every move like you’re about to faint at any second. But, just as you’re settling back into enjoying the last of your time at the chalet, the final day of your trip arrives, and it’s time to pack up.

The goodbye comes too soon for your liking. As Tony arranges for your luggage to be sent down, you stand by the window, watching the snow-covered peaks as if they’re already miles away instead of just outside the glass. There’s something magical about this place, and leaving it just makes your heart sink a little—pregnancy hormones only making the ache stronger.

Tony notices the way you linger by the window, quiet and a little sad, and he comes up behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder and wrapping his arms around you. “Ready to go, love?”

You swallow, trying to keep the sudden lump in your throat from turning into tears. “Yeah,” you say softly. “I just… I really loved it here. It feels like we’re leaving this perfect little world behind.”

He pulls you closer, his voice gentle as he murmurs, “I know. It’s hard to say goodbye.” He kisses the side of your head and gives your belly a soft pat, as if trying to comfort both you and the baby. “But don’t worry. I promise you, this isn’t the last time we’ll be here.”

You manage a small smile, leaning into him. “Really?”

“Absolutely,” he says, squeezing you a little tighter. “I’ll bring you and our little peanut back here once a year, at least. A little annual tradition, just for us.”

The promise settles warmly over you, softening the sadness, though the idea of leaving still tugs at your heart. “I think I’d really like that,” you whisper.

On the plane, Tony makes sure you’re settled into the comfiest seat, blankets piled up and pillows arranged just right. He brings you a fresh cup of tea and sits beside you, holding your hand as the jet takes off, lifting you away from the snowy Alps.

The closer you get to New York, the more your emotions start to bubble up. You try to hide it, focusing on the book in your lap and staring out the window at the clouds. But Tony’s eyes are on you, reading every little flicker of your expression like he always does. Finally, he slips his fingers under your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Talk to me.”

You let out a small, shaky laugh. “I don’t know… it just feels silly. It’s just a vacation, right? But… it’s like I’m leaving behind this dream.” Your hand drifts down to your belly, and you feel a wave of warmth spread through you at the thought of the baby growing there. “Everything just felt so perfect there. I feel… I don’t know… safe, in a way I haven’t before.”

He studies your face, his expression softening. “That’s not silly at all. It’s exactly how you should feel.” He leans in, resting his forehead against yours. “And listen—I know I don’t have to tell you this, but you’re safe wherever we are. Doesn’t matter if it’s the Alps, the tower, or the middle of nowhere. I’ve got you, and I’ve got our little one. We’re a team, remember?”

A small smile forms on your lips, and you blink back the tears that were threatening to spill. “Yeah. You’re right.”

He takes your hand, pressing it to his lips before placing it over his heart. “Besides, next year, you’ll get to see the Alps through a whole new perspective—with a mini-Stark tagging along. Who knows what kind of adventures we’ll have then?”

You laugh softly, imagining a future where you’re bundled up with a little one in tow, teaching them to ski down the bunny hills and showing them the same stunning views. “Okay, that does sound pretty amazing.”

“Exactly.” He smiles, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “We’ll have so many new memories, you’ll forget you were ever sad to leave.”

You settle back into your seat, comforted, and squeeze his hand. “You know, I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’re pretty good at this whole husband thing.”

He winks, leaning in for a quick kiss. “Only the best for you, Mrs. Stark.”

As the jet soars through the clouds, he keeps a warm hand on your belly, whispering a few playful promises to the baby about future trips and grand adventures. He says something about building a personal ski lift one day so you won’t ever have to brave the bunny slopes again if you don’t want to.

You laugh, feeling grateful for him, for this life you’re building, and for the adventures you’ve yet to share together. And as you close your eyes, leaning against his shoulder, you let the promise of future memories fill you with peace, knowing that with Tony by your side, you’ll always feel at home—no matter where you are.

in love with this story like really <3

[b00tyliciousbabe]

my baby daddies - ep. 2

wyatt cushman x male reader

summary: the scoop on how wide i buss it open for mr cushman xx

notes: hi beautiful ppl, back again! once he go black, he'll be back again. tell them hoes that it's crunch time, abdomen. yes i cop mad chanel and mad given. she did it again, imagine them!!! sorry nicki ate that verse tf UPPP. bout to make these bum bitches mad again, okay lemme stop. I KNEW EXACTLY WHAT I WAS DOING W THAT BLACK VERSE XOXO. hope you guys are all doing well <3 i will be releasing 2 other series ("the DILFs' and a surprise one which will become coming soon ) so stay tuned! any requests? ENJOYYYY…

you and wyatt met at one of your first shoots. you were the stylist’s assistant and your boss had tasked you with making sure all the models had their hair, outfits, and makeup all ready for the editorials. you were admired by so many in the industry, icons and the public alike, and even though you didn’t have your own company, it was clear that you were on your way to becoming one of the biggest names in fashion history. you enjoyed getting to know all the models personally, and it made the whole process of getting ready much easier. but one person that always had you flustered was wyatt cushman, who you had become really good friends over the years. you definitely found him attractive, but he was so distracting; the agency called him ‘the menace’ with all the harmless trouble he got the two of you into. years had passed, the two of you remained really close, but it wasn’t until the balenciaga show, that the two of you vocalised the unspoken tension between you two.

you were responsible for all of the outfits for the fashion week at balmain, a huge role that olivier rousteing himself appointed you to do. it was a huge success and the press had a field day documenting your achievements. your biggest supporter, wyatt, was there to give you the biggest hug on the runway, garnering an even greater cheer from the crowd. “Y/N, you’re amazing” he said staring intensely in love as he placed his hands on your lower back. the distance between your lips decreased as the two of you shared your first kiss…in front of the entire world. you pulled away; being brought back to reality and how 4.5 million people had witnessed the two of you together, you couldn’t help but laugh, as everyone applauded and jeered at your love. the rest was history.

one thing about wyatt, he is the goofiest mf ever and you love it. he’s always cracking jokes and the life of the party. You feel so safe around him, don’t get it twisted, he’d beat the shit out of anyone who even looked at you the wrong way, but you could handle yourself. flashback to the time where y’all were celebrating your collaboration with vogue: you were dancing the night away with your friends when some guy decided to get a lil too close. the creep groped your ass to which he was served a fat slap across the face. he fell to the ground and the crowd started cheering. wyatt smiled proud that you were able to defend yourself - so proud, that on the way home you took a detour where you guys had the best make out session in the history of rom coms.

the golfer’s wife and the holiday maker:

this man is always travelling and he loves to share those memories with you. other than being his personal photographer, the two of you are able to explore so many different ways of living on your journeys and you dream together of living abroad one day.

On one of your holidays, you had decided to take your boyfriend stargazing “come on wyatt, i don’t wanna miss it” you say gripping his arm as you led him to a quiet space overlooking the ocean. “babe, I’m pretty sure the stars aren’t going anywhere,” he chuckled “and besides, the sky isn’t as pretty as the star right in front of me” he stops and turns to face you. he strokes your cheek, looking down at you with a smile that rivalled romeo’s love for juliet. y’all sat down watching how nature looked so peaceful. he started kissing on your neck, leaving light hickeys to mark you as his. straddling your bf, you deepened the kiss as you felt him grow uncomfortably large in his jeans. you undid his trousers as 8 thick inches of uncut hairy cock made contact with the chill of the night. “you don’t know how much this turns me on, y/n”

you continued sucking on his tip, swirling and drooling all over him as a pool of your spit congealed in his pubes. all the while his hands gripped your roots urging you to take more and more of his cock. you gargled and took him like a champ.

“babe, ughh, I’m bout to, uuhhh shit shit” he came deep down your throat, cleaning your chin with his finger and then poking it in your mouth as he made sure to feed you with every last drop.

you laid down, proud of your efforts to calm him down and your head tucked into cushman’s shoulder, as you began to feel sleepy. your bf noticed this and chuckled to himself, using the blanket he brought to make sure you wouldn’t get cold. “mkay, y/n kinda had a point, this is pretty cool,” he whispered, still riding the high you gave him “but it’s got nothing on him tho, my cute ass bf” wyatt embraced you tighter. the wedding bells were already ringing in his head.

MORE SLUTTY THOUGHTS:

• he deffo has a spit kink. not saying that he’d treat you as worthless scum but, he’d would make sure to slut you out. and you fucking loved it. “you’re a dirty little whore, aren’t you” he’d grunt raw dogging your ass as he spat in your face.

• as dominant as he is, he likes to give you your time to shine, always enjoying it when you spell coconut with your hips as you ride his pole. as I’ve mentioned already his smile drives you crazy, and this position has him cheesing the MOST. wyatt just loves to see how much you’re enjoying the experience, and nothing turns him on more than when he can see the pleasure on your face. “fuck babe, you look so sexy riding my dick.”

• this leads on to missionary, nobody fucks harder in this position than this man. he definitely compensates for his soft strokes in doggy and prone bone because of how hard he hits your hole in missionary. He turns primal as well, feeling your chest bounce up every time he’s balls deep, but all in all he’s crazy for how your bodies are so in sync.

[andieperrie18]

Prompt: what's so hard between picking a woman who intends to stay and have future with you to a woman who just ends up lying and leaving you everytime? Reader is certainly not the type of person to be anxious of a woman. As she is better her.

English is not my first language and have mercy on ny broke grammar. I just needed to vent my jealousy.

----

"He's gonna choose her…"

Y/n felt her brow twitch from the statement that echoed through her earpiece. She turned towards the across her, in another glass containing the very woman her fiance can't seem to ever let go of.

Ada Wong was a past fling, if one could even call her that for the number of times he always coincidentally met her, that he can not seem to forget even when he was about to have a new future with Y/n. And at first, she understood and intended to work harder for their future, and just maybe it will encourage her.

But here she was. Long story short, Leon and Y/n were tasked to find and bring to custody a mad scientist that was currently working on a rather strong strain of the G-virus. And due to circumstances, Y/n was abducted. 

Ada ended up in the class container due to helping Leon escape on one route. It was heartbreaking to find the man who is supposed to be your soon to be husband, find a certain difficulty on who to save. To a point that he forgets why you are ranked higher than him and have more experience, and have easily put down this woman in red to the ground.

"Who is going to be Mr. Kennedy?!!" The scientist cackled loudly as the said gripped his pistol towards the mad man as he stood before two buttons. Where it is pointed to each of the boxes of the woman he is to choose to save.

He can only choose one as if he were to choose both, the scientist would press the control on his hand to kill both women.

It angered Y/n. It angers her that this situation and his obsession with a woman who always leaves him for more, is someone he can not let go of. He could barely even realize the disappointment on his fiances face.

"Captain L/n, this is taking too long enough, this mission will fail if we–"

"Shoot him." Y/n cut off the person on com as here eyes switch back and forth between Ada and Leon.

"Shoot scientist." She said rather loudly.

An action that took everyone in the room by surprise. Leon finally focused towards her but with confusion, the DSO needed the man alive. Why would he shoot the guy dead. "The DSO needs him alive Y/n you know we can not just do that,"

He spat, his eyes looking back at her. She finally looked at her, a sour taste hit his tongue and his chest churned at her stare. Her eyes were blank and devoid of spark. It was as if she was disappointed rather than scared.

"Shoot him. Now." She said once more. 

A wail soon echoed in the room and the door burst open to the lab they were in dropped to the floor. Leon turned to meet soldiers, back up. He turned to the terrace that the scientist stood, he found the guy was now being hold down, the remote away from him.

"We'll take it from here, Agent." A soldier said to him with a rather distasteful tone and the sound of chains lowering was heard. Leon saw the boxes were now lowered and sood both women out.

Ada was confused as no soldier was immediately to grab her. But her eyes directed her towards their savior.

Y/n was surrounded by soldiers that began giving her a bunch of gears. She walked between her fiance and the other woman. Or in Y/n's mind, the only woman that Leon Kennedy could ever love.

Shame was etched on the male's face but Y/n paid no mind.

The woman tossed something to Ada, who in turn caught it messily. It was her trusty grapple gun she always use to get away from Leon.

"Since you like playing chase, I guess you need that. Since you were quite an asset to get the madman, I'll give you an ultimatum Miss Wong. You can leave now and leave your chat with Agent Kennedy for another time…"

Leon frowned at how cold his last name escaped Y/n lips. Considering it was the supposed last name she was intending to carry.

"... Or you can stay here and get to chat with him before I pulverize you to the ground myself. We've fought before, I can assure you that those were not my 100% because I was intending to keep your face pretty since my ex-fiance likes it so much."

There is an animalistic glint in Y/ns eyes. One that made Ada took a step back as the woman loomed over her, surrounded by armed men, out numbering her. So he grappled aways but not before sparing Leon a quick gaze.

One that Y/n didn't not miss.

She then turns to the male. 

Leon failed to form words and had kept his mouth shut. He attempted to walk to her but something told him not to.

"Escort Mr. Kennedy back to the chopper. He is no longer fit carry on the mission."

And she turns her back with him watching.

---+

Who knew love could have a limit.

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"The Taste of You"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Tags: Fresh AU, dark rom-com, dark!Bucky, pre-serum Steve, cannibalism, kidnapping, yandere/basement wife, meet cute-ish, gay sex n' stuff, dub-con

Summary: Steve is so tired of the meat market that modern dating has become. Just when he's deleted all the apps and given up on ever finding Mr. Right, he meets the perfect guy at the grocery store.

A dark, cute, funny, fucked up, and very tasty love story.

A.N.: It's not as murdery as it sounds 😅 But, as per usual: minors DNI. It's a Fresh AU. "If you can't handle the cannibalism, get out of the kitchen"--or something like that

1. Specialty Ingredients

Steve watches, mouth literally hanging open, as it happens again: his date is stomping away, mad.

He just called Steve a scrawny, cock-teasing twink for making out a little on the sidewalk, but then declining to go back to his place to hook up. The guy pressed the issue and Steve got frustrated and told him tersely that he wasn't interested because they just met, okay? That went over like a lead balloon.

Steve scowls as the jerk disappears around the corner at the end of the block. “Well fuck you too,” he mutters, feeling put out—and okay, a little hurt, too. He’s not a cocktease. He’s not scrawny.

Well, maybe that second one is kind of true, but Steve hates how guys will act like they’re into his small stature when they think he’s a sure thing, but then get all derogatory and mean about it once he tries to tell them he’s looking for more than a hookup and wants to take it slow—and not even hetero people slow; gay guy slow, which is super fast in comparison! Steve just wants to get to know a guy for once before sleeping with him. Is that really so bad?

He huffs and turns around, walking dejectedly back to his car. Another handsome asshole, another hope dashed, another pathetic date. He really does have the worst luck, and he’s getting plain sick of it. He checks his phone before he drives away.

Clint: Well???

Steve sighs. He types back a reply to his friend

Steve: another dud

Clint: dude …

Steve rolls his eyes and chucks the phone onto the passenger seat. He turns the key in the ignition, the radio coming on to an old eighties love ballad that just worsens his sense of dejection. “Fucking figures,” he mutters, putting the car into drive.

He leaves the song playing though, because sometimes wallowing is called for.

The next morning, Steve wakes up in a glum mood. He tries to focus on his work for most of the day, rather than his horrible luck with dating, but as he paints the hours away he winds up pouting about it anyhow. He sinks further and further into a depressing pit of self-pity and despair.

Clint texts him, asking if he wants to go out and sing karaoke or something, and Steve knows he’s just trying to cheer him up and all, but he really can’t stand the thought of being cheerful right now.

Steve hates gay guys, he thinks, stomping over to the crappy small sink in his crappy small apartment’s kitchen. He runs the water and rinses off his brushes with a vengeance they don’t deserve. Gay guys suck. Steve hates how shallow they all are, how vapid and self-centered. All they want is to go clubbing and fuck around and that’s it. None of them want a real relationship, and they think Steve is boring for wanting to have a meaningful conversation instead of suck their dicks right away. He gets grumpier about it the more he thinks, and he even has the thought that at least if he were straight he could find someone with feelings, a desire for genuine connection. “Gay guys suck,” he mutters to his poor, abused paint brushes.

Nevermind that Steve himself is incontrovertibly homosexual and has no choice in the matter of what his dating pool consists of. After all: ‘Haters gonna hate, players gonna play’. “Gaays gonna gay, gay, gay, gay, gay.” Steve sings the tune under his breath. He just hates it, hates it all. He’s sick and tired of playing the game.

He sends Natalie a nastily self-deprecating text:

Steve: Know any of your girlfriends who might want to date a faggot?

It’s not nice, and he knows she won’t like him using that word in that context.

Natalie Potential Rich!! Buyer: another douche huh?

He sighs and texts back an apology with a huggy emoji.

Steve: Sorry 🤗 Just frustrated. All the good ones are taken and I’m not interested in the skanks who’re left over.

Natalie responds with the “Give that man a Snickers” Diva-meme, which makes Steve realize that he is, in fact, hungry. He needs to get something to eat. He needs to focus on himself for a change. Maybe it’s finally time to stop looking for Mr. Right and just enjoy Steve Rogers. Maybe he should join a gym, start a new hobby, anything to fill up his time with himself rather than another person. 

He goes into the kitchen, thinking that he’ll make something yummy and binge watch a new series off his Netflix list, but scowls at the barren interior that greets him when he opens the fridge door. Nothing good to eat. “Fuck,” he mutters. He’s got to go to the grocery store now before he can sit down with a meal and relax.

And it’s raining outside, too. Just his fucking luck.

His phone ‘pings’ and he looks over at where he’d set it on the counter. The screen is lit up with a new notification from Grindr:

Henry super liked you!

He picks up the phone and opens the app. Henry’s profile pic is only from the neck down, showing off his abs. Steve rolls his eyes. The next picture is his lower half, a pair of tighty-whities stretched over his erection making it lewd, but still within the app’s no dick pic rules. The third pic is of his bare ass in a jockstrap.

Steve spends a second more than he intends appreciating the guy’s backside, but then he growls and jabs his finger at the screen to reject the guy. He’s fucking fed up with this entire thing! On a sudden, right-feeling whim, he exits the app and holds his finger down on the screen until all the icons start wiggling with their little x’s. He quickly proceeds to delete Grindr, Scruff, and Hornet from his phone.

He’s fucking done with dating. He’s giving up. Steve is just not meant to find Mr. Right. Not this year, anyway. He feels lighter after deleting the apps, and he slides his unburdened phone into his pocket with a sense of accomplishment and a shiny new idea: He’s not going to date for a whole year. He’s going to make this The Year of Steve.

Fuck yeah.

He goes to the hall closet to grab his umbrella and rain boots.

The walk to FreshMart is only four blocks from his apartment, but he still arrives at the grocery store a little damp from the gusting rain. He shakes off his umbrella by the door, grabs a basket, and directs himself towards the produce aisle. He’s added fingerling potatoes and some asparagus spears to his basket, and has just started perusing the meat section when he hears a man’s voice say, 

“Hey, have you ever had this?”

Steve looks over. The guy is holding up a package of bloody red … something. Steve blinks. “Um …”

The stranger twists his lips and shakes his head, looking at the meat. “It’s venison. I thought I’d freak my sister out with something a little different.”

“Your sister?” Steve asks, feeling very odd at being asked his opinion in the middle of the meat department. He looks between the package of raw meat and the stranger—He’s unusually handsome, tall and strong-jawed, brown hair styled in an effortlessly flattering cut. Steve licks his lips nervously. “Um, isn’t that like, deer meat?” He takes a step closer to peer down at the label. “Huh.” He didn’t know regular grocery stores sold that kind of thing. “That’s … exotic,” he says, for lack of a better word.

The stranger chuckles. “Yeah, well. I actually don’t eat animals, so …” he shrugs. “But her and her husband and kids are total carnivores. Thought I’d bring something other than my usual bottle of wine.”

“Oh.” Steve peers up at the man, trying to figure him out. The man smiles sheepishly and Steve winds up smiling, charmed, if somewhat baffled. He looks the man in the eyes and is taken by how pretty they are, how intense. Damn he’s good looking. “Well I, ah, couldn’t tell you what it tastes like. I’ve never had it.” He makes a face. “Like I said, it’s exotic.”

“Oh I love to cook with exotic ingredients. I’m kind of an amateur cuisinier. Or at least I try to be.”

“Oh. Right.” Steve gestures to the blood package. “But you ah … you don’t cook only vegetarian stuff?”

The man grins (and shoot, he’s got an unfairly attractive smile, too). “I guess I just like to satisfy other people’s appetites,” he says, lips parted enticingly. And then his tongue darts out in this totally casual, should-be-illegal sort of way. “I take it you’re a meat eater,” he says knowingly.

Is that a double entendre? Steve thinks it might be a double entendre. Yes! he wants to scream. Yes! He is 1000% a meat eater. He gulps as the guy’s eyes flick down and back up his body in a heated onceover, and Steve may not always be the brightest bulb in the box, but he can tell when he’s being considered. Is this guy really flirting with him? Here? In the freaking grocery store? Is that even a real thing that happens, anymore? Steve flushes and pulls his shopping basket up higher in front of himself, like a shield. “I–I see,” he stammers. “Well … um … yeah.” God, he’s hopeless.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Venison’ll probably be … different.” He nods at the stranger, awkward and aware that the other man isn’t moving away. “Well. Good luck.” He turns and vacantly peruses the meats, pretending that he’s more invested in searching out the perfect porkchop than he really is. He hears the guy’s footsteps moving away.

“Fuck it,” the man says, and turns right back around. He takes a deep breath. “I like your boots.”

“What?”

The guy nods downwards. “Your rain boots. They’re really cute.”

Steve looks down at his feet. His rubber boots are pink and printed with the golden girls’ faces. He looks back up at the stranger, stunned. No straight guy on planet Earth would ever say such a thing. “Um. Thanks.”

The guy holds out his hand, friendly, like he’s not aware he’s acting weird as shit. “I’m James.”

Steve probably stares too long at the offered hand, before he hurries to shove the handles of his shopping basket up onto his one arm so that he can take the guy’s—James’—hand and shake it. It’s pleasantly large over his own hand. “Steve.”

James smiles. He’s arrestingly handsome when he doesn’t smile and Steve feels like an even weaker creature when he does. “Sorry,” James says, looking down shyly. “I uh, I don’t usually do this.”

“Do what?” Steve asks, keenly aware that he may just be about to be propositioned. He winces at the idea of having to turn down another good-looking jerk.

James tilts his head. “Would you …” He hesitates, eyes flicking up and over as a woman passes them. She turns and goes down the soda aisle. He looks back to Steve, distracted. “I was gonna be crazy and ask for your number,” he says, flushing. Steve doesn’t even get a chance to say anything before James is scrubbing his hand over his embarrassed face. “Fuck, I’m sorry. You’re probably not even—” He looks back to the soda aisle where the woman had gone. “Sorry,” he mumbles again, and starts to walk away. “Human disaster in the meat aisle. Just ignore me, please.”

“Wait!” Steve blurts. James turns back around. “Why do you want my number? Were you gonna ask me out? Like on a date?” He uses the word purposefully.

“Well, yeah.” James looks apologetic. “Sorry. I know it’s weird.”

It is weird. But Steve is kind of charmed by the guy’s odd methods. He promptly pushes away his resolution of The Year of Steve. “James,” he says, taking a step closer. “Um, you can. Have my number.” He peeks up at him shyly. “If you want.”

James' happy-surprised-enthused smile is the best one yet. They exchange numbers.

Clint: Wait, wat do you mean, the grocery store??

Steve: he came over and just started talking to me.

Clint: … that’s weird, man. That’s shady.

Steve: actually it was kind of cute. Kind of idk old fashioned.

Clint: Kind of weird. Whats his Insta?

Steve doesn’t hear from James for almost three days. He alternates between finding it refreshing, and being disappointed. Maybe Clint’s right. Maybe the guy was just a weirdo.

Then, on the third day, Steve is leaving from his morning shift at Michaels when he hears his phone ‘ping’ with a notification. When he sees the name “Weird Meat Guy” on the screen, his face splits in a grin.

Weird Meat Guy: Been thinking about you since the other day.

Happy butterflies come to life in Steve’s stomach at the flirtatious tone of the text. His first instinct is to force himself to ignore it for at least thirty minutes, so that he doesn’t seem overeager. But then he thinks, fuck it, just like James had said in the grocery store before turning right back around to ask him out.

Steve types a reply.

Steve: hey stranger. Yeah I was wondering how that venison worked out for you. 😂What’s it taste like?

Weird Meat Guy: I don’t eat animals, not even for my sister’s Sunday dinners. But she said it was fine. Not as good as regular old cow, though🐄🥩

Steve: not surprising.

There’s a bit of a pause where he can see James is typing and deleting and typing again. Then,

Weird Meat Guy: Do you want to go out tonight? We could grab drinks or something?

Steve bites his lip, bad memories of “casual” meetups and “just grabbing drinks” dates and what they’ve always led to, in the past.

Steve: let’s go out to eat. At a restaurant or something. A real date.

James texts back almost immediately, and his answer makes Steve beam like a fool.

Weird Meat Guy: Hell yeah. What’s your favorite kind of food?

Steve can’t help it; he has a good-verging-on-great feeling about this guy. He tries to tuck away his expectations that this time it’ll be different. He can still do The Year of Steve if or when this goes wrong. He’ll just try this one last time though. Just once more before he swears off being a “meat eater” for the year.

He tells James that he really likes Italian food, and the next thing he knows, James is sending him the link to a really nice and expensive Italian place in Brooklyn. Steve thrills at James' enthusiasm, and grimaces at the three dollar signs that Google has lined up beside the restaurant’s name.

He tells James okay, figures he’ll just tighten up his budget a bit for a few weeks after.

James meets him inside the restaurant, at the bar. He’s already got a drink in his hand. “It’s an old fashioned,” he tells him sheepishly. “Sorry to start without you.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“I just get a little nervous when I ask a cute guy out to dinner.”

Steve freezes, but then his mouth twitches. “Oh,” he says. “You, ah … you think I’m cute, huh?”

James grins and winks at him in a way that is devastating and should-not-be-allowed. “Yeah. I sure do.”

Steve is charmed.

The hostess seats them in a dark and cozy booth in the back of the restaurant. Steve settles in and looks around, impressed. “This is a really nice place,” he says, genuinely meaning it but also kind of anxious to open his menu and get a look at whatever prices garnered a $$$ on Google.

“Yeah it’s one of my favorites.” James is grinning at him from across the table. “I was so glad you picked Italian, cause then I knew I had the perfect place to bring you.”

Bring you. Steve looks down and tries not to smile too obviously at the words. “I like it so far,” he says, peeking up coyly at James so that he knows Steve doesn’t just mean the restaurant.

James seems to get it, if his expression is anything to go by.

They open their menus and Steve’s stomach drops at the forty dollar appetizers. Shit. He wishes he’d found a way to mention to James that he’s kind of a starving artist.

“Do you like mushrooms?” James asks, oblivious to Steve’s internal panic. He’s looking across the table at him with eager eyes. “They’ve got the best stuffed mushrooms I’ve ever had. I think they put crack in ‘em.”

Steve laughs despite himself, then decides ‘fuck it’ once again, and closes his menu with a nod. “Sure,” he says. “Let’s do it.” He’ll live frugally for a month if he has to.

James orders them the appetizer and an entire bottle of wine that he knows by its specific name and year. All Steve makes out is the “‘94 ” part of it, and his heart rate picks up. He’s about to really worry about how the hell much a place like this is going to charge for an entire bottle of wine that’s older than he is, but then when the server delivers it and pours for them, James shoots him a wink and tells him, “S’my treat.”

Oh. Steve’s heart flutters as much at the gentlemanly gesture as it does at the possibility that maybe James will pay for the whole meal. A guy can dream.

The mushrooms arrive and Steve gushes to James about how he was right: they are amazing. They get to talking, covering the standard ‘first date’ questions, and it’s stupid and awkward like it always is; but also it isn’t, because James seems to laugh about the awkwardness of it, too. And that makes it kind of fun.

James is thirty-seven to Steve’s twenty-seven (Daddy kink: activated). He has a place in Manhattan but his sister lives in Brooklyn, which is why he was shopping at the FreshMart in Steve’s neck of the woods the other day. He’s got one parent still living, grew up with a loving family but “pretty poor” in Jersey. He hasn’t been in a relationship or even been on a date in “a really long time.” He wants to travel more but he lets his work consume him too much. He doesn’t eat animals.

He’s also really good at making the whole first-date interrogation-phase go smoothly. It’s fun with him, Steve realizes, not awful and strained like it usually would be. Their conversation just seems to flow naturally and easily, both of them smiling almost continually as they chat and joke.

Steve is utterly charmed.

“Okay,” James says, as he pops another mushroom into his mouth and then talks around it. “I’ll do another boring one: what do you do for work?”

Steve gulps and delays answering by taking a sip of the wine—a red that downright tastes expensive. “Um, well my passion is my art. It’s what I went to school for.” He tucks his lips in and shrugs. “But, ya know, ‘starving artists,’ and all that. So I work part time at Michaels, too.”

James doesn’t look like he’s thinking that Steve’s a stereotype or a loser or anything like that. “That’s awesome!” he says, sounding like he genuinely means it. “What kind of art? Or like, what medium do you work with?”

Steve blinks. Nobody ever asks him good questions like this, like they actually care and want to dig deeper into who he really is. “Um, mostly acrylics. Some watercolors and pencil-charcoal sketching,” he says, flustering at the way that James pays such close attention to his answers. “I like to mix it up sometimes, but mostly it’s those three.” He shrugs. “I sell online. I have one really loyal patron—she keeps me afloat. S’nothing that special.”

“Sounds like you know your stuff,” James counters, not letting him insist on his own mediocrity. “If you went to school for it and all, then you must be pretty good. Don’t you have to, like, audition for art school?”

Steve blushes and looks away. “Well. Yeah.”

“And I bet you get all your supplies cheap with the side gig, huh?”

Steve stares at him. “Yeah,” he says, impressed. “Employee discount.”

James nods sagely, as if he’s ever had to worry in his life about the utility of an employee discount. He might’ve grown up poor, but he’s clearly well-off now. Steve can tell that the suit he’s wearing is a custom tailored deal, and the wine he’s ordered for the table has a bouquet of oak and dollar bills. “I think it’s really brave of you,” he’s telling Steve, looking like he admires him or something ridiculous like that. “That you’re following a passion like that? That you can just …” he makes a shaping gesture over the table with his hands, “make something with your own two hands and then sell it? That’s incredible.”

The more James talks, the more Steve gets his hopes up that he might actually be A Really Great Guy™️. Steve can hardly stand to take all the compliments, so he turns the question back around on James: “What about you? What do you do for work?”

James hesitates. “... I’m a surgeon.”

Steve’s eyes go wide and his mouth drops open, making him look like A Gold Digger™️, probably. He closes his mouth. “Oh. Wow, that’s … that’s neat. Medical school, then, huh?”

James smiles through a wince, as if being a freaking doctor is no big deal. “Yeah. It was rough for a few years, but I got through it. I’m in a good place now. It’s pretty smooth sailing.”

“So do you work at like a hospital or something?”

“Not exactly.” He stares at him for a long moment, then suddenly says, “Gosh, I’m just really attracted to you, Steve.” Steve blinks, taken-aback. He reaches for a hurried sip of his wine and tries to think of a response to the weird shift in conversation. “Sorry,” James hurries. “I just felt like I had to say it.” He gives Steve a tender look rather than a lecherous one, which is a welcome change from the usual script. “I think I might really like you.”

Steve flusters and averts his eyes to the tabletop, peeking back up at James a few times. The guy is totally focused on him. It’s intimidating, but not in a bad way. “Yeah,” Steve eventually manages to murmur. “Yeah I think you might be nice.”

James teases him about the ‘nice’, and they fall into easy banter again as they finish the mushrooms and open up their menus to choose their entrees. Steve’s once again fixated on the prices, and he immediately starts trying to see if there’s anything under sixty dollars …

“By the way,” James says casually, not looking up from where he’s reading his menu. “I know this place is fucking ridiculous: I got it covered.”

He says it all easy and nonchalant, like it’s no big deal that he’s treating Steve to what’s probably a three hundred dollar dinner, and Steve once again feels like he’s on a date with a hero, a real gentleman. “Kay,” he says smally, feeling delighted and hopeful as heck on the inside. 

He orders a seafood linguini, and James gets a spinach and cheese tortellini dish. “This is so good,” Steve practically moans around a mouthful of his food. 

James makes a noise of agreement, stuffing another tortellini shell in his mouth. “Mmph.”

“So you really don’t eat any meat?” Steve winds up asking. “Like, not even fish or chicken or anything?” Where does he get his protein? James looks like he keeps in good shape …

James chuckles. “Nope. Haven’t touched the stuff for … gosh, almost fifteen years.”

“Wow.” Steve spears up another shrimp from his pasta and wonders if it offends James. “So like, is it an ethical thing or just …”

“No, no. I just kind of had this epiphany one day—while I was tenderizing a thigh, mind you—that all the things I was eating were living creatures, that we’re animals just like they are.” He makes a thoughtful face as he considers it. “It’s not a moral viewpoint so much as it is a …” he trails off and his eyes return to Steve with an apologetic shrug. “I dunno. My viewpoint shifted that day. Couldn’t shift it back. I’ve tried so many other things now, animal meat just doesn’t taste the same anymore.”

“I can respect that.” Steve wiggles his fork that’s speared with a juicy scallop. “As long as you don’t mind this.” 

“No, no way. Don’t you remember where we met?”

Steve snickers. “Oh yeah, how could I forget. What was it you said? You like to ‘satisfy other people’s appetites’?” He chances a flirty look across the table. “Wasn’t that how you put it?”

James chews, smirking, and he winks at Steve again. Goddamn. “Yeah,” he says lowly. “Yeah. I sure do.”

On the sidewalk outside the restaurant they stand close together, bundled in their jackets. Neither one of them seems to want to leave. “Thanks again,” Steve says. “For dinner. It was really nice.”

“My pleasure.” James takes a step closer, so that they’re almost toe to toe. “I was so excited to go out with you,” he says. He brings a hand up and traces the side of Steve’s face with the backs of his fingers, not looking at Steve’s eyes but rather where he’s touching his cheek. “You’re different,” he murmurs. "And I knew it the moment I met you."

Wow, what a fucking intense thing to say. Steve … doesn’t hate it. “I am?” he whispers, watching his breath swirl on the air between their faces.

“Mmhm. I can tell.” 

Steve shivers and fights the urge to press into James’ touch on his cheek. It feels unduly intimate, and they’re already so close. “I was excited for tonight, too,” he confides. “I’ve had a lot of bad luck with dating. Was getting sick of trying, to be honest.”

“But?” James asks softly, and Steve looks up at him, for once feeling open and honest enough to just admit,

“But I didn’t meet you on some app. And you liked my stupid Golden Girls boots.” James chuckles and Steve looks up, taking in his face up close: the dimple in his chin, the creases of age that’ve barely begun to collect at the corners of his eyes, that one tiny patch of grey in his beard. It makes him all the more insufferably handsome. “And you’re charming,” he whispers. “So there’s that.”

James smiles softly. “Aw, shucks.”

“I think you’re a really nice guy, James. I’d like to see you again.”

James' smile widens hopefully. “Yeah?” he says, leaning even closer.

“Yeah. I think, well … I just think …”

“What?” James touches his face again, this time palming his cheek. “Tell me.”

“Oh, it’s nothin’.” Steve finally lets his eyes slip closed, enjoying the feeling of James’ hand on his skin, the cologne he gets a whiff of when they’re standing this close. “You smell nice.”

“Thank you. Still haven’t told me what you were gonna say.”

Steve smiles sadly. “Oh, I’m just getting my hopes up about you, is all.” He’s still got his eyes closed when James kisses him. He inhales sharply through his nose, surprised. But he doesn’t pull away, and they just … keep kissing.

Eventually James cups his face with both hands and Steve moans, because the way James is kissing him feels so natural and good. He feels like he can taste James' good intentions as they make out softly, right there on the sidewalk.

When they part they’re both panting a little, heavy-lidded eyes flicking over one another, gauging, desire tinged with uncertainty. “That was …” James breathes.

“Yeah,” Steve says, and they both stare at each other for another long moment, before Steve says, “Fuck it,” and surges in to grab James by his jacket and kiss him again, this time harder. James whimpers needily into his mouth, and heat shoots through Steve’s belly at hearing it, arousal flaring to life faster than he can handle. Suddenly his pants feel a little tight, and he wants James so badly he can hardly stand it. “Oh man,” he groans, pulling away from the kiss, grimacing at himself for what he’s about to say. “I really, really never do this,” he promises against James' lips. “But … Do you want to go back to my place?”

James' eyes widen. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Fuck. Yeah, okay.”

They kiss eagerly one more time and then hurry off, giddy, hands clasped, and headed in the direction where James says he’s parked his car.

Masterlist

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[oh-stars]

Tally Marks

Assumption

a Stobin Month 2024 prompt | 851 words | CW: N/A | Rating: G

--

Eddie waits at the edge of the Rom-Com aisle as Steve finishes ringing up Mrs. Jenkins. 

“These are due next Friday,” Steve reminds her as he slides over the tapes, “so you’ll have to come back and see me.” 

Mrs. Jenkins takes the tapes and smiles, looking a little flustered as she bats her eyes at him. She’s old enough to be Steve’s great grandmother, but it’s kind of sweet his boyfriend has this power over people. He should probably hate Steve’s instinctive need to flirt with the customers (and everyone else he meets) but he knows Steve doesn’t know any different. To him, he’s just being polite and working his charm (snaps and all) to make someone’s day, even though everyone else can clearly see he’s being a flirt. 

Eddie’s fine with it. For the most part. 

Robin pushes her cart behind the counter and walks around to the computer, pushing Steve out the way. “Are you setting up a hot date with Mrs. Jenkins in our place of work, Steven?” 

Steve shrugs, tossing Mrs. Jenkins a wink. “What can I say? I can’t help myself around beautiful women, you know that.” 

Mrs. Jenkins waves him off. “You’re too much, Steve,” she says, cheeks rosy. 

“Let me help you to your car,” Steve says as he quickly rounds the counter to take her arm in his. “A pretty lady like you shouldn’t have to open the doors for herself.” 

“Robin, dear,” Mrs. Jenkins says as she and Steve start to take small steps toward the door. “You keep an eye on this one. He’s a keeper and you’re mighty lucky to call him yours.” 

Steve’s eyes find Eddie’s, lips pressed together in a smirk. “Now who’s being too much?” 

Mrs. Jenkins laughs and together, they walk to the door, where Steve holds it open for her. 

As the door shuts behind them, Eddie steps out from the aisle to watch Steve help her into her car and make sure she’s settled. “Does he do that a lot?” he asks.

Robin’s busy pulling something out from under the counter. “Flirt? Eddie, you’ve met him–” 

“No, no,” Eddie says as he takes his rightful place against the counter. “The whole walking her to the car song and dance.” 

“Only with our more senior customers,” Robin says as she uncaps a marker, a whiteboard now lying on the counter in front of her. “And the ones who give him candy for his trouble.” 

She’s marking a tally among a long line of them across the top of the board when Steve walks back in. 

“Butterscotch?” he asks, offering the handful of them he’s holding. Something clinks against his teeth – Eddie tracks the movement to see Steve playing with one already in his mouth. This man has no right making hard candies attractive at ten o’clock in the morning. 

Eddie plucks one out of his hand as Steve sets the rest against the computer’s base. “What’s with the tallies?” 

Steve peers over the counter to see Robin’s board, which she is counting the tallies repeatedly and comparing it to the two numbers at the bottom of the board. “Only two more days, right?” 

“Yup,” she says, “and so far, I'm the closest.” 

“That’s so not fair.” 

“How? There’s no skill in guessing a number–” 

“You’ve got a freaky third sense–”

“Sixth sense,” Eddie and Robin say at the same time. “

Steve rolls his eyes. “I’m not losing.”

Robin sucks in a breath through her teeth. “I hate to break it to you, Steve, but I think you are.” 

“What are you losing?” Eddie asks. 

Steve sighs and presses their shoulders together. “We have a bet going to see who can get closer to the number of people that assume Robbie and I are dating.” 

“And so far, I’m only three off and Steve’s five.” 

“That’s so close!” 

“But no cigar,” Robin says with a grin as she puts the board and marker away. 

“Two days is a lot of time,” Steve says. “I think I can get five people to assume we’re dating.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says with a snort, “like you two have any problems in that department.” 

Steve smirks. “And then,” he says with a little trill to his voice, “Rob will have to buy me lunch for once.” 

“In your dreams, Harrington.” 

Eddie rolls his eyes, but he can’t help the smile that threatens to break anyway. God, he loves these idiots. 

Robin turns to him, unimpressed. “Don’t you have a shift to get to?” 

He glances down at his watch and– “Shit. I’ll see you later.” Eddie chances a quick kiss to Steve’s cheek and tosses a wave over his shoulder as he heads out of Family Video, starting the mighty long journey of walking next door to the Arcade for his shift. What he wouldn’t give to have coworkers half as fun as the two of them, but alas, it’s just Eddie during the day shifts at the Arcade, so he’ll have to have his own fun. Or hope Steve comes to bother him on his break. Whichever comes first. 

--

Thank you @lady-lostmind for beta reading!

Ao3 Link

[madeintheniamh]

vocal rest.

stmf one shot #20.

for #20 i wanted something short(ish) and sweet. and we all know harry is a pain in the arse when he's unwell (in the best way possible), and this doesn't change when he becomes a daddy xx also can't believe we are already at chapter 20. this is madness. thank you all for the support and love <3

You found Harry huddled up on the sofa, swamped in blankets, a solemn expression on his face as his eyes were beginning to flutter closed. His green pools of light widened as you entered the room, a cup of soup in hand, and he began to smile slightly, although the corner of his lips were still downturned. He hadn’t been happy at all when the Doctor had told him he needed to go on vocal rest- in fact, he had actually become rather annoyed, particularly when you had forced him to sit downstairs and stuck an old rom-com in the DVD player for him to watch. He licked his lips slightly as he surveyed what was in your hands, holding out his hands as though in prayer.

“I made you your favourite, Mr Styles,” You chuckled, swiping his brown locks which were falling into his eyes from his forehead, before planting your lips there. “Carrot soup, just the way you like it,”

“T-t-thank you,” He tried to mutter, as you pressed your index finger to his lips.

“Hey, no talking, Mister,” You scolded playfully. “Doctor’s orders,”

He sighed, before blowing on the spoon and putting it in his mouth slowly, staring deep into your eyes as he did.

“You like it?” You smiled, and he nodded in response. You heard a scurry of muffled giggles in the room next-door. “I think you might have some visitors, too,”

You had told the girls to be careful with him, because he wasn’t feeling too well, and needed to rest his voice before his next show. But naturally, as six and four year olds, they weren’t very good at listening, and were dying to see Harry. They nearly knocked you over and trampled on top of you as you opened the door, rushing towards the centre of the living room to see him.

“Remember girls, Daddy’s throat still isn’t feeling well!” You warned them again, but there was no chance that they were listening, Harry beginning to scoop both of them into his arms. “Careful!”

“Daddy, I missed you, I missed you, I missed you,” Lottie giggled, ruffling his hair with her tiny hand. Harry smiled back at her, pulling her closer to pepper a kiss to her cheek. Tilly seemed much more concerned about her Dad, and was surveying the situation around her, taking note of the bandage that had been taped to his hand where an IV full of vitamins had been a couple of hours before, and feeling the warmth of his chest with her fingers. She looked up at him again, her eyes beginning to turn glossy.

“You okay baby?” Harry mouthed, trying to avoid forming the words with his throat.

“Daddy,” She sniffed, pressing her cheek up to his. “You look poorly, Daddy,”

“I’m fine, baby,” Harry whispered hoarsely, swiping a tear that had dribbled down her cheek away.

“Daddy’s voice is just tired, from where he has been singing, dolly,” You smiled at her, as her tiny frame shook slightly. “He’ll be better soon,”

“I don’t want Daddy to be poorly,” She began to cry, as Harry pulled her into his chest. Harry kissed her forehead, before pressing his lips to her ear.

“I love you,” He breathed sharply, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, as you watched the slow rise and fall of his chest, Tilly beginning to become relaxed by the repetitive movement of his hand stroking the side of her cheek, the same way that he always did when she was tiny.

When Harry hadn’t been looking, Lottie had snuck up behind him.

“Boo!” She giggled, as Harry gasped slightly and put his hands up in mock horror. “I got you, Daddy!”

Harry pressed his lips together before nodding and sticking his tongue out at her.

“You got me, baby,” he mouthed, laughing slightly.

“I can talk for you, Daddy,” She cackled, running out of the room to fetch Anne from the kitchen, who had been staying over in one of the spare bedrooms to help you watch the girls when Harry wasn’t feeling up to it. “Nanny, Harry wants a cup of tea!”

“Harry!” You and Anne both cackled, as Anne rushed into the living room with an energetic Lottie tugging at her arm, looking smug with herself for using her Daddy’s proper name. Harry stared at her in disbelief, mouth wide open, lips twisted upwards in a smile.

“Who taught you that, Lottie Anne!” You gasped.

“That’s Daddy’s real name,” She giggled, as she walked back over to Harry and pressed her lips to his nose. “Harry,”

“I’m Daddy to you!” He mouthed.

“Harry!” She giggled, jumping up and down on top of his thighs. “Harry!”

“You know she’s going to call you that for ages now, don’t you?” Anne chuckled, but Harry couldn’t argue, as he wrestled Lottie towards him and attacked her with a round of tickles.

“Daddy!” She flailed around in his arms, bursting into a roar of laughter. “Daddy! Stop!”

“Mmmmhmm,” he concluded after he had finally tired her out, finally setting her down beside him, Tilly now fast asleep in his other arm. You watched all three of them for a while, as Harry and Lottie’s green eyes finally drooped closed. You never quite understood how you had been so blessed.

------

I ALSO DON'T UNDERSTAND HOW I HAVE BEEN SO BLESSED. chapter 20 everyone! thank you for all the support on this series i can't believe it has been 5 months already. i began this series in february when i was trying to process the fact that i was about to drop out of uni. so much has changed in that time and this series has grown with me and will only grown further. thank you to the bestie becca as always for helping me come up with these concepts and listening to me spout thoughts and ideas. lottie and tilly have grown into proper people over the last few months and i hope you're as excited as i am to continue to watch them grow. love you all and...

as always if you enjoyed this one shot i have linked the masterlist for the whole series here! i love writing using your prompts so please feel free to submit any ideas to my inbox. have a great week everyone ALL THE LOVE <3333

[void-draws]

Small pt. 2 of my previous post

As per usual: Nsfw/kink dni

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Aesthetic vs Function

( Don’t forget to come see my on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord )     “Sir, I am getting several urgent dispatches from the loading area.”

Captain Morris looked up from his data pad at his communications officer.

“Is something wrong?” he asked as he stood up and walked over to their terminal station on the bridge. The officer held his hand to his headset, listening to the messages before answering his captain.

“It appears several of the Corvo soldiers are refusing to relinquish their weapons. Security got involved and the Corvo resisted; two arms men were injured.”

This perked Morris’s interest, and not in a good way. The Corvo were allies in the war effort and he had heard of their abnormal customs from other captains so he had been prepared to give them some leeway while they traveled on his ship, but it was another matter entirely when his crew were harmed.

“Mr. Dover,” Morris called out, “a word if you would.”

From the opposite side of the bridge the master-at-arms Tristan Dover strode over to his captain. He was not a tall man, but wide in frame. His broad muscled shoulders meant that in some instances aboard the ship he needed to turn himself to be able to pass through doorways.

Tristan stood at attention and saluted Morris who returned the salute in kind.

“Are you aware of the situation in loading bay…”

 The captain turned to his communications officer who quickly understood the meaning and spoke “Loading Bay 4.”

“Thank you, “the captain replied before continuing, “yes, are you aware of the situation in loading bay 4?”

“I am sir.” Travis replied crisply. “My security details passed the word along to me just now.”

“Any further details?” the captain inquired.

Travis crossed his arms. “I was told that the Corvo refused to relinquish their weapons upon entering the loading bay. When the matter was pressed and the security detail made to enforce the issue the Corvo drew their weapons and attacked them.”

“Casualties?”

Travis shook his head. “Minor wounds only.”

The captain nodded. He paced back and forth between the terminals, stopping to read strands of data or make a quick check with the monitoring officer, then returned back and pointed at the communication officer.

“Tell the security details to hold the Corvo in the loading bay until Mr. Dover arrives.”

The officer nodded and relayed the order over the com while Morris leaned in close to Travis.

“Remind our guests that this is my ship, and while they are on my ship they will follow my rules and that injuring my crew is not to be tolerated.”

Morris leaned back and was about to leave when he stopped himself and leaned back in. “I don’t mind a dirty decking, so long as it is not cluttered.”

Travis nodded at his captain and left the bridge; cracking his knuckles and flashing a smile. -----------------

It took about thirty minutes for Travis to make it to Loading Bay 4. He needed to make a quick stop at the armory to grab a few things. When he arrived he found at least a dozen security officers standing in a line separating the Corvo from the rest of the loading bay. The deck crew still went about their duties save for the occasional glance over at the commotion.

The Corvo were easy to pick out from behind the wall of security as despite having a humanoid form stood roughly seven feet tall on average. They were adorned in a mixture of combat armor and religious robes.

As Travis approached the security officers stepped aside to make a path for him. When he got to the front one of saluted.

“Good to see you sir.” They replied crisply. Travis grunted in response and stepped forward to the Corvo’s.

“I understand there has been an incident here and you have attacked our crew.” Travis began with a calm yet authoritative voice. “I am here by order of the captain to remind you that while we are allies you will follow the rules of this ship while you are onboard.”

One of the Corvo stepped forward and looked down at Travis. His shoulder guard was decorated with three blue stripes signifying that he was the leader; or at least that’s what Travis thought it meant. The only thing he generally cared about in briefings when dealing with aliens were ordinance and cultural triggers for violence.

“I am Mak’t, and I would apologize for this misunderstanding.”

He reached down and began pulling out what appeared to be a sword from a sheath. The security officers made to raise their weapons but Travis forestalled them with a wave.

“These, “ Mak’t began as he pulled the sword free, “are our Okamban blades, sacred to our people.”

As he fully withdrew the blade it burst into bright blue flames as if the very air ignited it on contact.

“It is said that so long as these blades burn the spirit of our ancestors continue to watch over us on the battlefield; and so we could not surrender them as your officers asked.”

Travis watched the flame flicker brightly and whistled in wonder. “A fancier blade I have not seen,” Travis admitted, “but I find it rather odd in this age to bring a sword to a neutron cannon fight.”

Mak’t sheathed his sword once more while shaking his head.

“Forgive me for saying, but the weapons of your people and of our enemies are inferior to our blades.” He rested a hand on the hilt and looked down at Travis, matching his cold gaze with his own. “We have been trained to block their attacks on the battlefield rendering them useless before us.”

Some of the security officers behind Travis rustled at that remark but he paid them no mind.

“Seems we’re at a bit of an impasse here then, friend.” Travis admitted. “Luckily for you the Captain has given me the authority to resolve this situation.”

He pointed to the collection of warriors standing behind Mak’t. “If you and two of your warriors can land a single blow on me with your blades then you can keep them while onboard, but if I win you will surrender them without hesitation and spend the remainder of this journey in the brig for the assault you carried out.”

Mak’t looked puzzled at this challenge. “Why would you face three of us alone?”

Travis smiled. “Thought I’d give you a fighting chance,” he said mockingly as the Corvo warriors growled in anger, “seeing that your disadvantage with weaponry is so staggering.”

Saying nothing at first, Mak’t just looked down at the tiny human before him before nodding in agreement. He made a soft clicking sound and two other Corvo warriors stepped forward, each drawing their blades while the human security officers stepped back to create a ring like circle around the parties.

“So, we’ll go on the count of three then.” Travis announced. His hands casually cradled a rifle between them as he watched the three Corvo warriors prepare themselves. Each took a different stance with the light of their flaming swords casting dozens of differing shadows about them.

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three!”

The Corvo warriors to either side of Mak’t lunged forward ready to bring down their flaming swords in an instant; screaming in their alien language as they got within three feet of Travis before he brought up his own rifle.

In a flash Travis brought up his rifle and fired at the closest warrior. The sudden attack broke the warriors forward momentum as they brought their weapon up to block the attack only to find that rather than an energy blast they were being pelted with dozens of tiny rocks.

The flaming sword blocked some of them but far too many simply went around the sword and embedded themselves into the alien’s skin causing them to scream out in pain and fall to the ground.

From the corner of his eye Travis saw a blur of motion and side stepped just in time to avoid the downward swing of the second warrior. The blade carved into the decking with a loud hissing sound before the warrior pivoted and brought the blade up for a slash at Travis’s midriff.

Pulling a knife free that had been strapped to his leg he casually flung it into the blade rather than around it. The second warrior was confused until they felt the burning hot sting of molten metal the knife had been reduced to shower his body. The armor he wore protected some of their frame but since they were not wearing a helmet a glob of red hot metal landed on the alien’s cheek giving off a stench of burning flesh.

Surprisingly the warrior rallied themselves than give into the pain only for Travis to bring up his rifle and fire another scatter shot center mass sending them balling over in pain. Travis couldn’t see but given the goop now dotted around the floor he wagered some of the rock salt just punctured one of their eyes.

With the two companions dealt with Travis turned his attention to Mak’t who had not engaged like the others when the fight began.

“You fight without honor.” Mak’t announced. “To use such trickery against true warriors is the act of a coward.”

“If I recall you said you were trained to defeat modern weapons,” Travis countered, standing between the downed Corvo warriors, “that my attacks would be rendered useless by your weapons.”

 He unceremoniously kicked one of them hard in the back drawing the ire of Mak’t as he took up a stance for the first time.

“I even gave you a three on one advantage and you still say I am being unfair.”

“Your tricks will not work on me.” Mak’t declared.

Travis didn’t even bother to respond as he casually pulled a canister from a harness across his chest and threw it directly at Mak’t’s feet. Mak’t jumped backwards expecting further trickery rather than attempting to deflect it. To his surprise the canister did indeed not explode but rather began shooting out large volumes of a thick white gas.

The gas began to billow out more and more until the gathered ring of spectators was engulfed by it. Mak’t looked up from the canister just in time to see Travis donning a strange mask over his eyes and mouth.

It was only then that Mak’t heard coughing and gasping from his fellow Corvo warriors behind him and realized the gas must be some form of airborne weapon. He tightly clenched his mouth shut and carefully stepped forward to meet Travis in final combat. His breathing control would allow him at least ten minutes before he needed to inhale again giving him more than enou-

Mak’t made it barely three steps before his eyes began burning. They felt as if hot daggers were being shoved into them and twisted by the most merciless tormentor. This sudden influx of pain broke Mak’t’s concentration and he gasped out for air. No sooner had he taken his first breath did his lungs begin to share the burning sensation his eyes did, forcing the warrior to his knees as his hands feebly wiped his eyes again and again.

Through the blurry sight left to him he watched as Travis walked through the white cloud and stood over him. The human looked down at him and Mak’t could only imagine the look of smug satisfaction he must have held to see him brought so low.

Instead of gloating or boasting about how their weapons weren’t as inferior as Mak’t had declared, he brought down his fist as hard as he could against the alien’s face sending him straight to the floor.

“I think we count this as my win, yeah?” Travis asked the now unconscious Mak’t. He waved over the rest of the security officers who had likewise donned gas masks of their own and began the process of collecting the decorative swords from their guests before ushering them down to the med bay and finally their new home in the brig.

[deepdisireslonging]

Backstage Spender

The Reader works for the Penguin as a dancer. Undercover, Dick Grayson comes in at Jason’s request for a case. He’s distracted more than once in the process.

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Dancer!Reader

Warnings/Promises: canon-level violence, erotic dancing

Word Count: 2750

Note: This is the first part of the Summer Playlist Series! If you enjoy it, reblogs and comments are super appreciated. And keep an eye out for the next four songfics. Enjoy!

Song: “Big Spender” by Peggy Lee

Working for The Penguin wasn’t the safest thing to do in Gotham, but it was one of the best paychecks a girl could get. The Iceberg Lounge had great insurance (needed for when backstage negotiations broke down), dental, and quarterly bonuses. And because the club money was supposedly kept separate from Mr. Cobblepot’s other dealings, you could accept a paycheck without guilt. 

The music pulsed and thrummed as the busiest hours of the night reached their peak. Soon, you’d have to join your coworkers. You were part of the grand finale: a striptease involving large feather fans. (Everybody ignored the fact that ostrich feathers didn’t match Mr. Cobblepot’s usual aesthetic.) You would also have the last dance before the finale. Until then, you and the other dancers helped booze up the patrons. Money exchanged hands at every table for drinks, light dinners, and other ventures you ignored. What you couldn’t ignore was the handsome figure sitting close to the dance floor. 

“Isn’t that one of the Wayne boys,” your coworker asked. “He’s sitting right on your corner.”

Another girl joined your spot by the bar. “You’re gonna show off for him, right? Get all of his daddy’s dough so you can really enjoy your vacation this weekend.” She gasped at your hesitation. “You should! Look at him. Big smile, big pockets. Shake every cell you got-“

“Yes! Get it, girl!”

With a groan, you turned away from him. “He’s just a normal customer.”

“A first-time customer.” She grinned as both of your friends nudged you at the same time. “Give him a show he’ll never forget.”

You looked back. What could it hurt? He watched the rest of the lounge’s bustle with such delight, maybe he would be delighted by a personal show. “I’ll think about it.” With a huff, you lifted your tray of drinks to the sound of your coworker’s continuing persuasions. 

By the stage, Dick Grayson gently held his head on his palm. Underneath his hair, he pressed a com-link deeper into his ear. “Calm so far. What exactly are you looking for, Jay?”

“Some weapon big-wigs should walk in sometime before the main show, then disappear into the back while everybody else leaves.” Jason tsked over the coms. “Whatcha worried about? Your reputation?”

Dick glanced to the side at another table. Money passed over the top, while a small package passed underneath. “Perhaps. Gordon could retire tomorrow in the Mayor’s good graces if he raided tonight. You are keeping an eye out for cops, right? I don’t need to start a wrap.”

“The only cop around there is you. Now keep your eyes open.”

Dick rolled them instead. Again, he glanced at his watch. There wasn’t much time left. Maybe Jason had the meet-up time wrong. Or the day. Or the month. One could never tell-

Blurred by the echo of the room, the stage host announced the last performance before the big finale. 

Dick took a deep sigh as another song from before the 60’s started to play in the very modern setting. He sat up straight as a pair of large broad shoulders walked through the far doors. He sat up even straighter when the shimmer of silver and purple drew his gaze to the center of the stage.

The bar bolted to the floor at the end of the stage was your baseline. You strutted to it, eyeing the men in the front row. At the first roll of the trombone, you sank to your knees. That jump-started the hooting. And really caught the eye of your main target. You maintained holding his gaze. As Peggy Lee’s voice described her beau, you leaned back against the bar, readying for your first series. He watched you circle the pole, eager as anyone in the room to see you climb it. As the trombone trilled again, you began to spin. 

“Wouldn’t you like to have fun, fun, fun?” You leapt off the pole, walking around the catwalk to twirl your bare legs in front of the patrons. “Let me show you a-“ you bumped your hips in time with the music, “good time.”

As the chorus set in again, you dismounted the stage and made for his chair. At first, he seemed hesitant, looking around at the other patrons. Then your shimmering body held his attention. “Hey big spender… spend a little time with me.” Gently, you stepped between his knees and turned away. Glancing over your shoulder, you were delighted to see his hands twitch against his thighs. Instead of reaching for you, he slid a wallet out of his pocket. 

But before he could pull out a single bill, your song sped up, signaling the end. He hungrily watched you walk away. Green fluttered onto the edge of the stage, but you were already twirling around the pole. For the last note, you spun as fast as you could, dangling back by your knees. To applause, you did your best to catch the money people threw at your outstretched hands. You did a quick set of bows around the stage, collecting the larger bills people held up. 

The Wayne man held up a one hundred bill. With a wink, you let your hand trail over his to claim it. Damn, if it wasn’t the end of the night, you’d offer him the private show he deserved. Instead, you slipped backstage to change costumes. 

Dick was speechless. Maybe it was the atmosphere. Maybe it had been the glitter of your costume. But he was thinking about finding you after the show when an irritated voice interrupted his thoughts.          

“Earth to Nightwing?”

Dick shook himself. Eying side to side, he noted everyone around was too busy watching the stage to notice how flustered he was. “Yeah, what?”

“Where’d they go?”

“Who- oh. They, uh, they’re-um-“

Jason groaned. “You lost them? You lost them!”

Dick stood as the finale’s music began. “I didn’t lose them. Had to keep my eyes forward to keep my cover. Will you calm down?” He walked over to the bar, leaning against it to have a better view of the room. Quickly he scanned the tables. The targets were not visible, meaning they must be backstage. “They headed back, probably to a business room. Give me a minute, and I’ll have an in.” He located the stage door just as the music began to swell again. 

On stage, feathers fluttered left and right, creating a wave of cover for everyone to walk out. You tried to catch sight of your biggest tip, finally noticing him against the bar. You tried to wink, but the choreography spun you away. By the time you’d spun back, he was gone. Was he running away from you? Or maybe heading to his car before the exit rush? Deflated, you finished the rest of the number and left the stage with a smile that evaporated once you hit the wings. All around you, your coworkers flitted from one side of the small dressing room to the other collecting their things. Some would go home together to tiny apartments. And some would go home with a new acquaintance met during the night. 

You’d go home alone. 

Stuffing the last of your things into a bag, you walked out into the hall. Engrossed in your phone, you didn’t hear the scuffle until you bumped into it. 

The back doorman had the Wayne son by the neck, pinning him to the wall. Any second now, it looked like he was going to knock his lights out. 

“What are you doing?” You rushed over, tugging at the bouncer’s arm with no effect. “Since when do we beat up patrons?”

“Since when do I just let boys walk back here when you girls are going home?” The guard pinned you with a hard eye up and down. You hadn’t really changed out, opting for a simple black silk wrap dress on top. “Since when does the boss let you take costumes home?”

You’d forgotten about that rule. Quickly, you reached out to try and tug the Wayne to yourself. “He’s with me.” 

The bouncer let go of his neck at least, though keeping a hold on the front of his shirt. “That true, kid?” 

Dick gulped in air, only partially for looks. “Well,” he swallowed thickly, “she did invite me to spend some time with her-“ 

“Is he paying?” 

“Oh, yes.” Enthusiastically, you nodded and managed to rip him out of the guard’s grip.

“Hmm.” With a huff, he nodded at the doors that led to the private rooms. Convinced that’s where you’d go, he left for the bar.

Both of you sighed in relief. 

You recovered first. “So, why were you back here?” Noticing his gaze drifting down your chest, you pulled the silk over your cleavage. “Well? Why’d I stick my neck out for you?”

“Right. Ah- I’m not actually back here for you.” Like a nervous child, he reached up to run his hand over the back of his head. “I’m looking for a friend- an ex friend- who might be giving something of mine to a new friend of his. Do you happen to know where the office is?”

“Maybe.” Crossing your arms, you bit back a grin to see his shoulders slump. “How much cash you got on you?” 

“What?”

You rolled your eyes. “After you snoop, you’re gonna need an out. And since our large, grumpy friend is under the impression that I’m doing an extra session, you need to pay for the dance you’re gonna get. How much cash you get?”

He winched. “Not enough. You guys take card?” 

Was this guy dense? Or just naive? You looked at him. “Yeah. But I don’t take it you want anybody knowing you’re here. There’s an ATM by the bathroom. It ID’s as a coffee shop across town so guys don’t have this place on their bank statements.” 

“Brilliant,” he said, impressed. “I’ll, ah, go do that now and meet you back at… the rooms.” 

At first, you headed to the private rooms. But before the door could close, you stuck your head out. Instead of the direction towards the ATM, your new headache was walking down the hall towards the boss’s office. With a sigh, you removed your shoes and followed him. 

Dick kept an eye out for any more guards but made it to the ornate door without any more problems. From his pocket, he took out a small device. He knelt, feeding it under the door and tapping his ear com. From inside the office, he heard everything he wanted to. And Jason did too. 

“Finally,” Jason said. “Took you long enough.”

“Sorry. I had a shadow. And then a necklace,” he rubbed his neck. “But are you satisfied?”

”Yeah. I’ve got enough. Get outta there.”

Before Dick could say anything else, Jason was gone. Hissing into the com didn’t bring him back, so Dick assumed his exit would be without back up. Even then, based on what he heard… Dick gathered up his tech. Maybe after they left he could-

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder. It spun him around, bringing him face to face with a guard bigger and grumpier than the last one. 

“Wohoo-“

The guard turned. Then dropped after a punch to the jaw. 

You stood on the other side, massaging the ache in your wrist. “What? I’m a Gotham girl. What were you expecting? A Metropolis waif?”

Dick grinned. He was about to thank you when the door creaked. Fast as lightening, he grabbed your wrist and tugged you into the shadows. No one came out. And the guard was hopefully low enough to be invisible to the peep-hole. Penguin didn’t have cameras around the office. Can’t be indicted on hacked cameras if they don’t exist. 

With a nudge, you motioned behind you to the back hallway. You waited until there was a reasonable distance between you and the office before pinning him to the wall by his lapels. 

“I thought you were getting money for our cover?”

He shrugged. “I lied. I’ve already got the money.” He shifted. “Got a Gotham grip too. Ready to-“

You pressed against him into the shadow of some stage crates. The guard you’d knocked out walked by rubbing his chin. He looked like he was headed to the bar. 

“We’d better go. Come on.”

It was the longest, most silent sprint of your life. You didn’t breathe again until the private door was between you and the hallway. You made him sit down in the ‘throne’, as your crew called it, and shed the silk before turning on the lights. Without music, you swayed your hips and leaned into his face. 

He swallowed thickly, suddenly reminded why he wanted to come back while not on Jason’s time. “Thanks for your help. I can just pay you if-“ He gasped as you turned, grinding your ass into his crotch. He grabbed your hips, but you batted him away. “You really know how to distract a guy, don’t you?”

You hummed a laugh. Angling back, you nuzzled your nose against his cheek. “I’m hoping for a bigger tip since I gave you the extra help.” 

“I might do that.” His eyes closed. Once again, his hands slid over your body. But you didn’t push them away as he spoke. “If I can help out financially in any way, maybe you could help me again some- is it safe to talk in here?”

As you spun face him and sit on his lap, it took everything in you not to laugh at the surprise in his face. “Yes. There’s video in case someone gets too hands. But no audio.” You began to swivel your hips, making his mouth drop open. You would be lying if his handsomeness mixed with the danger wasn’t doing something to you too. “Video starts recording when the lights turn on. But there would be too much to listen to and store in security with all the rooms and the floor. So, video suffices.” As you angled your head back to sway, he leaned in and placed a kiss against your neck. It knocked the air out of you. “That- that costs extra, y’know.”

“Mhmm.” He guided you to lean your head the other way with the crook of his finger on your chin. “I’ve got deep enough pockets.” 

You quickly lost control of the dance. Instead, you began to move based on what felt good for you instead of giving your patron all the pleasure. He began to notice your breathlessness. 

“If you need a name to whisper, my friends call me Dick.”

“I bet they do.”

When your eyes closed, he looked you up and down. He waited until it looked like you were blissed out to mummer, “I really have to go.”

“Yes.” You dug your hands into his hair. “You should.” 

With a deep kiss to your chest, he managed to push you away. “We both should go. Your bouncer will be waiting to see me to the door.” His big blue eyes held you in place. Trailing his finger down the side of your face, he managed to whisper, “if I had more time.“

“We could have a lot of fun.” You forced a smile and stepped off his lap. “Maybe some other time. When you come back, ask for Starfire.”

“I’ll do that.”

He helped you back into your robe and saw you to the dressing room door. The guard was outside, indeed ready to escort him out. Peacefully. 

When he was few minutes down the road, the com-link crackled to life. Jason’s usually irritated calm voice had a tinge of worry. “Where are you?”

“On my way home.” Dick failed to keep the satisfied smile out of his voice. “I had to follow a lead.”

“Oh,” Jason teased. “Has Bruce Wayne’s golden child following daddy’s footsteps by claiming his first conquest?”

“No.” Dick rolled his eyes. “Maybe I just like this woman. Not to mention, she’s got a mean left hook. Might ask her to join the team.”

“That’ll be the day.”

***

The next day when you walked in, all the girls were waiting for you. 

“So, how was your night?”

You ignored them with a smile. 

They gathered around. One of them said, “Rebecca had a night with Bruce Wayne a few years ago. Said he was phenomenal.”

It was a hook. And you took the bait. 

“She can keep him. I’ve got the better Wayne.” 

***

***

Masterlist

Other Dick Grayson fics: 

Hey Bartender (Angst)

We’re Closed (Plot, Fluff, implied Smut)

Arrangement (Money Angst, Fluff, Implied Smut) (Start of Series)

[rumbelleshowdown]

-

Author: sourcherryjam

Group: Final

Prompts: Baby milestones. Panic, expect, ambition, compact. Treasure.

-

The Treasure Hunt

Belle held the compass out in front of her, hand on her hip. The needle pointed at Mr. Gold, standing behind his desk and watching her, somehow both with bland disinterest and a little hint of panic.

“You’re not serious,” he said. 

“You can see it with your own eyes.” She pointed at the compass needle. “You’re involved.”

“I’m not participating.” 

At the town meeting that morning, the Storybrookians in attendance had all received what Belle could only describe as a message from above that they needed to find the self-destruct diamond or their town would implode. Belle hadn’t known that towns could implode, or even that there was such a thing as a self-destruct diamond, but here she was, standing in Mr. Gold’s shop with the compass that had appeared in her pocket as if by magic—magic!—because it had led her right to him.

“Why not?”

“Everyone in this town expects me to solve all their problems, dearie,” he said. He folded his hands over the glass counter, but kept his eyes on the compass. “Well, today, I’m closed for business.”

Belle snapped the compass shut. ��Closed for all business?” 

It wasn’t many people who could set a verbal trap for Mr. Gold, but then Belle suspected, after months of popping by to admire a set of first edition Jane Austens and, subsequently, chat, she could only trap him because he allowed her to.

“Have you finally come to make a purchase, then?”

“No.” She leaned onto the glass, careful not to smudge it. “I was thinking a deal.”

When he grit his teeth, eyes straying toward the compass, she knew she’d won.

****

“This is hardly a victory,” Mr. Gold muttered as Belle sat on a towel in the sand, sifting through seashells. 

“It’s a baby milestone.” She discarded a small, broken one. “We solved the riddle, we should feel good.”

“It’s not solving the riddle until we have the next clue.” 

Belle hummed but otherwise ignored him. He’d been crabby at every stop they’d made, from the library to the grocery, but he’d driven them to each one without protest, limping out of the car and watching her flit from place to place, rubbing shelves and walls and furniture to see if anything caught her eye. The compass had so far led them nowhere else, just kept spinning toward Mr. Gold whenever Belle tried to use it, so she figured that clue was done.

“Move over, this is taking forever.” 

Belle hardly had time to register that Mr. Gold had spoken before he was folding himself onto the towel with her. He’d abandoned his jacket in the car long ago, but the image of him in most of a three-piece suit sitting on a towel on the beach, one Oxford-clad foot stretched out so his leg didn’t cramp, would not be leaving her soon.

“That’s the spirit!��� She scooped up the pile of shells she had yet to sift through and dropped it between them.

While she picked through every shell, studied every crack, ran her finger over every crevice, Mr. Gold just stared at the pile, eyes slightly narrowed. She wished she could read his mind right then.

“There.” He flicked a few shells off and pulled out what looked to Belle to be a normal, if slightly shabby, clam shell. “That’s the one.”

She picked it up and ran her fingers along the grooves, into every crack and crevice, and then felt a slight pulse. He was right.

“How did you do that?” she asked.

“I trade in precious objects, Miss French.”

That wasn’t so much an answer as a statement of fact, but she didn’t press. Time was running out. 

Shell in hand, she took the compass out of her pocket to see if this would make a difference, but all it did was continue to point at Mr. Gold. Useless. 

“Okay.” Belle pocketed the shell. “I think we need to go to the woods next.”

She hauled herself to her feet and then offered a hand to Mr. Gold. He could have gotten himself up, she was sure, but instead, he took her hand, allowing her to help.

****

By noon, they’d collected the clam shell, a compact mirror, the leaf from a fiddlehead fern, a handful of loose tea leaves that Mr. Gold stuck in an Altoid tin, and a perfectly spherical rock that looked like someone had taken an ice cream scoop to the sidewalk.

“Does it not bother you that the supposed end of our town is being thwarted by nothing more than a glorified treasure hunt?” Mr. Gold asked as they drove back to his shop. 

It did bother her, actually. It bothered her every time they collected a new, nonsensical item, every time they saw another team out and about.

“Well, what else can we do?” Belle asked. “I’m not just going to sit back and watch my home implode.”

He glanced at her, and she thought she saw the beginning twitch of a smile. She had grown to recognize the expression in their short, almost daily at this point, chats. 

“If we are convinced that this magical divine hand of fate is, in fact, real, and if we are convinced that, if we do not solve this series of inane riddles by midnight, we’ll be destroyed, then I think we need to stop solving the little riddles and try to solve the big one.” 

“I like it.” Belle straightened up. “Ambitious.”

“I’m nothing if not ambitious,” he said. “Besides, the clock on your deal is running low.” 

Belle pursed her lips. Being ambitious herself, she’d only begged Mr. Gold for six hours of teamwork. She hadn’t expected to be creeping up on hour four feeling no closer to the end. “I only traded you for a favor sometime in the future. I’m sure we can work out an extension arrangement.”

He smirked, a much more common expression, though she’d never seen him so friendly.

“I’m sure we can.”

****

“If it’s a diamond,” Belle said, pausing between fries. “Then maybe we should check where diamonds are.”

With her time extended and Mr. Gold assured of two favors, they’d swung by Granny’s. Granny Lucas was so busy, she’d just made to-go containers of grilled cheese and fries, handing them to everyone except Mr. Gold, who she charged full price for both of them.

“I was thinking the same.” He drove with one hand, sandwich in the other.

“Mr. Gold?”

“Yes?”

“Do you really think there’s some sort of doomsday diamond in Storybrooke?”

“I never rule out anything.”

Belle watched him, slowing down her chewing to study his profile. He still wore his waistcoat  and sleeve garters, but throughout the morning, his tie had come a little loose, his hair had gotten a little windswept and salty at the beach, and now he ate a grilled cheese for what she imagined was the first time in his prim and proper life. 

In all her time in Storybrooke, she’d never imagined Mr. Gold would let his guard down enough for her to see him like this. 

She snuck the compass out of her pocket and opened it. The needle was already pointed at Mr. Gold.

****

They stood at the mine entrance, all the trinkets stuffed into Belle’s pocket. She had no idea if this was it or not, but it felt momentous, like once they stepped into the darkness, nothing would be the same.

She hoped Storybrooke would still be there.

“Is it good or bad that we’re the only ones here?” Belle asked.

“Neutral,” he said. “I’m sure Regina will think of it soon.”

Belle nodded. Whatever happened, she had done her best to be the hero that her town needed. 

“What if we’re not the only ones here?” She inched closer to him without thinking, gripping his cane arm.

He looked down at her hand with an expression she couldn’t read—or maybe she could, but she was afraid to at this moment, standing in front of their possible doom. 

“Then we’re not the only ones here.” 

She nodded. “I’ll go in first.”

“No.” He withdrew a small pistol. Had he been carrying that around all day? In his pocket? “I’ve got better aim.”

“You don’t have to do this.” She gripped his elbow. “You stay outside. I’ll go in.”

He cast her a wry look. “I’ve only broken one deal in my life, and I don’t intend to break a second.”

“I guess I’ll owe you a pretty big favor.” She attempted a smile.

“Two pretty big favors.”

That startled a laugh from her, and maybe she was crazy, but she could have sworn that a faint pink tinged Mr. Gold’s cheeks. 

“Wait.” She tugged back on his arm, though he hadn’t moved, and then pulled the compass out of her pocket. “I just want to check one more time.”

He lowered the pistol. She opened the compass. The needle pointed at Mr. Gold.

“I can’t believe that the divine hand of fate would drop a compass into my pocket from nowhere and it doesn’t even do anything.” She snapped it shut. 

“Maybe it only works once for a person,” he offered. “Here, let me try.” 

She could have let go of him, but instead, she waited for him to stick the pistol back in his pocket—his pocket—before handing it over.

When he opened the compass, she couldn’t see over the lid, but she could see his jaw clench. He looked at her, then turned his back to her, shaking the compass.

“Well?” she asked. “Is it pointing at you still?”

“No.” He didn’t move.

“What’s it pointing at?” She tugged on his sleeve and, slowly, as though it took great effort, he turned back to face her, snapping the compass shut. 

“What’s that information worth to you?”

Taken aback, she let go of his sleeve. Why was he suddenly being difficult? He’d been so accommodating all day, even tromping half-crouched through the woods until they found the exact fiddlehead they needed.

“What’s it worth to me?”

He shrugged, his bland expression back. He could have slapped her. “Either you want to know or you don’t.”

Something like fire bubbled up in her. Maybe she could open her mouth and scorch him. 

“How could you do this to me? Right now, at the end?”

He shrugged again. “We don’t know this is the end.”

“Fine, give it to me, and I’ll go in by myself. You can leave.”

She tried to snatch the compass from him, but he held it out of reach, fending her off by barely moving his cane. How was he so much more agile than her? 

“I’ll tell you what.” He held the compass above his head. Her fingertips just barely touched his wrist. “If you check it one more time where I can see, I’ll tell you what mine said.”

That knocked the wind from her sails. She dropped to her flat feet. “Fine. Hand it over.”

He did without comment or complaint, and she threw the lid open with more force than was probably warranted. The needle wavered a bit, but still pointed solidly at Mr. Gold.

“There. Are you happy now?”

But when she looked at him, his expression was unlike anything she’d ever seen. He might have been about to retch. Her anger evaporated. Mr. Gold wasn’t trying to be difficult—whatever he’d seen had scared him.

“Where did yours point?” she asked.

“A deal’s a deal, isn’t it?” His voice was softer than she’d ever heard it, tinged with something like anguish. “Have you figured out what it’s meant to point at yet?”

If a deal was a deal, why did she still not know where the needle had gone for him? 

“I don’t know,” she said. “It pointed at you and you brought me here, so maybe it’s not about the doomsday diamond at all, but the thing I needed most to get there?”

“I don’t think it’s about the diamond,” he said. “If it was, we’d have seen other people wandering around with their nose in compasses, or maybe a map.”

What was he getting at? Belle knew she was clever, but she felt daft then. “Okay, so—just something I needed most?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps.”

“Mr. Gold, I’ve never raised my voice to you, but I think I might. Where did it point for you?”

His lip twitched, the familiar gesture putting her on more even footing. “It pointed at you.”

She opened her mouth to say that of course it did, if they were meant to be on this treasure hunt together, it made sense that the compass would point to one another, but then it sunk in. What if, like he said, the compass wasn’t about doomsday? What if whatever force had dropped the other clues had dropped this in her pocket as some sort consolation for the end of the world? A way to allow her to spend the whole day with Mr. Gold?

“You need me?” she asked. 

“It would appear so.”

She pursed her lips. “Mr. Gold, don’t be so stubborn.”

He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes as he watched the compass. “Sorry, dear. It’s in my nature.”

Well, it was in hers too. Emboldened by the fact that he hadn’t yet fled for the car, she took a step toward him, then another, then touched her lips to his. The ground shook.

He didn’t move, and she pulled back.

“What are you doing?” he asked, hoarse.

“If we’re going to die, and we both agree that we need each other, I think we should kiss at least once.”

“Do we?” he asked. “Do you? Agree?”

“I agree.” She kissed him again, and this time, he slid his free arm around her waist, and she cupped his cheek, and then the ground shook so hard they both fell over. Belle managed to grab him so that she took the brunt of the fall instead of him and his bad leg, and when the world stopped shaking, he did not look pleased.

“Belle,” he said, filling her veins with warmth. “Now you’re hurt. What have you—”

A high-pitched whine screeched from the mines, and they both hunched. Belle grabbed his tie and yanked him to her.

“What are you—”

“Kiss me again, it’s working!” 

Maybe it was presumptuous to think that pressing her lips to Mr. Gold’s had anything to do with stopping the end of the world as they knew it, but as she did it a third time, she couldn’t have cared less.

-

[ithilwen-lionheart]

Home is where the heart is: Home is where you are - Legolas x Modern Day!Reader

Alternatively:

Ignorance is your new bestfriend

__________

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 (you are here)

[ Part 3. Work Text: ]

There is no downplaying the hatred (Y/N) feels whenever her classmates would make fun of the Legolas that they see in the films.

Not only was it already horribly uncouth of them to brand him -or anyone, for that matter- as effeminate because of the way they looked or acted but they also had to sling “gay” about as if it were a rock meaning to insult instead of one’s sexual orientation. (Y/N) would always find herself muttering on the defensive whenever situations as such would arise, her thoughts simmering a little too hot with indignance and her composure only ever tempered by the winsome pondering that endured alongside it: that if Legolas were gay then he would be an addition to a party of wholly respectable people who followed their hearts and in their wake instead brings love in a cynical world that is already teeming with a troubling surplus of negativity.

It’s an enchanting idea -that dash of sweetness on otherwise stale and acrid coffee- like an exquisite chiffon paired with the cup of tea she indulged in one fine spring afternoon as she perused that slash Fellowship fanfic that featured her resident elf, Aragorn, facial hair, and some razors. It felt like a lifetime ago, she wouldn’t have even entertained the thought then that said elf would just stumble upon her doorstep one stormy night. Granted it was something she may find herself writing about, but more out of the imaginings in her head rather than out of actual experience. 

(Y/N) actually found promise in it -cataloging everyday life with the Woodland Prince. It would make for a good rom-com with a well-balanced lead. Legolas is as naturally romantic and otherwise capable as he is adoringly ditzy around modern technology. With the probability of property damage at an all time low now that he had discovered the magic of WikiHow and search engines, she actually finds herself chuckling at the mere thought of the plethora of reels that could be made out of the blond archer’s previous exploits- multitude of phone replacements notwithstanding.

He’s “beloved protagonist” coded that way. Mr. All Eyes On Me when he enters the room or makes his first appearance on the first panel or chapter, Darling Please Shut Up an entire season after he finally finds a healthier way to process his trauma and ends up letting loose that silly goose that’s been cooped up inside him for far too long. It would be an advantage that Legolas is already built with more empathy than the usual male lead, that he’s already more than just his looks or his poetic words and that his love prevails over what to others would usually be pride and self-preservation before some dramatic loss or divine intervention hard presses them into a much needed system restart- it would almost be too easy to love him-

It would be too easy to love him. It had been for someone as jaded as her, what more for everyone else?

And then she goes to thinking about the fangirls, the fandom, the trolls and the inevitability of negative press and immediately shuts the idea down. (Y/N) is not about to fight fanwars over at twitter, not anytime soon or in the far future if she’s got so much as a say in it. She barely held herself together today and almost went out for blood when one of her blockmates made a “mockery” of Legolas’ name and thought 'Le-gay-las' to be such a splendidly creative attempt to go about it. These are bored university students, she didn’t want to start thinking about what exponentially worse travesties kids who overindulged on questionable YouTube content are capable of.

Thankfully enough, before her overthinking could get even more cataclysmic, she finally reaches the tell-tale porch of her home. The beginning of that chapter in her book- the very stone that Legolas first stepped on before he changed her life forever. It was an image that was so charged with positive emotions it was not unlike a lighthouse to the turbulent seas of her troubled mind- something that grounded her as much as the thought of what life now breathed past her threshold.

A tenacious smile blots out the line of practiced patience that weighed on her lips, her hands a little too giddy and enthusiastic as she retrieved her keys from the pocket of her bag and unlocked the door.

Upon entering, the delectable smell of dinner wafted through the abode. It was a siren’s call to her protesting stomach and yet it was the longing in her chest that championed over the promise of what she knew to be carefully curated food. It is only by sheer good luck that the skilled chef responsible for this also happens to be the only one ever able to sweeten her most sour of moods- today being no more than an everyday foe for one already so adept at putting the worst of her at ease.

(Y/N) padded through the carpeted stairs with the urgency of a child running to their parents after a nasty row with their playground bullies. She wanted to recoil at the comparison -the notion entirely foreign and not at all founded by previous experiences of the sort and yet her chest brimmed with an all too familiar bittersweet ache at the assurance of a nurturing face and comforting words all the same; of warm arms wrapping around her all in a bid to face what demons the world chose to serve her up on an unwanted platter that particular day. She was certain that her hurried footfalls carried the weight of her emotions, that it was amplified even more when she all but flung her bedroom door wide open and off its hinges if she had a little bit more strength.

Then she sees him. In glittering hues she registers the shape of him, the familiar outline drawn with smothering saturation that glows a bit more vividly than per usual- when her eyes aren’t too watery and her ribcage hadn’t been stuffed with a little too much cotton. Legolas sat curled up on her worn bean bag, eyes focused on the horror flick playing on the telly, a bowl of popcorn balanced on his long legs crossed over each other- the paragon of a couch potato. (Y/N) never would've thought that it would be a look anyone would find attractive. Too often had it been stuck on as a warning label for a bottle of crippling indolence but the Elven Prince lounged decked out in modern day clothes and wore it like a badge worthy of admiration. 

He donned a juniper pullover and dove gray sweats and as she walked mindlessly towards him, (Y/N) swore he also had her heart somewhere in his pockets. Swears that he held it a willing hostage there when he subtly presented his cheek for a kiss when she came up behind him, when the corners of his mouth tipped into a languid smile after she did, swears that he tickled it with the sound of the chuckle that bubbled in his throat and the unmistakable scent of strawberries that wafted through the air straight from his mildly damp strands of spun moonlight.

"Legolas,” (Y/N)’s attempt at a careful inquiry proved a futile venture in the face of mirth, “-did you use my shampoo?" she manages with a poor excuse at a raised brow and the galloping echoes of her still missing heart.

A coy little smile and the soft press of thin lips against her own confirmed her suspicion: that he used her shampoo and that her heart was no longer her own.

"My heart lies wherever your feet may take you, en melleth.” he begins as if he shared her thoughts, as if Christmas came early for them and they beat everyone on the entire business of exchanging gifts. He goes on and (Y/N) thinks that it was a fine comparison, “You will have to forgive me for scouring what remnants of you there are if only to keep what little life in me remains in your absence." There was a twinkle in his eyes that belie the theatrical despondence in his words, a playfulness in him that (Y/N) insists warranted the bite on the tip of his sculpted nose.

“That’s what you get for holding mine in a vice grip in your pockets.” She quips and tries not to falter at the mild discomfort on that handsome face.

Soft baby blues look up at her in perplexity. Furrowed brows and genuine confusion making a young boy out of his Elvish immortality, “I do not have anything in my pockets-” he begins and yet his hands find their way into a dutiful search, “As I thought,” he mutters once his foraging concluded and proved fruitless, “Whatever it is you had lost, en melleth. Sadly, it is not with me.” His entire mien was so veritably apologetic, the gears in his head already turning to plot for ways in which he might provide her aid- it was a trait of his that she’d been familiar with. As a sentry to The Fellowship, (Y/N) had always seen Legolas a step ahead of his companions, both in battle of blood and mind. He was only ever second to Gandalf who was a wizard, and on occasions, Aragorn when it came to matters concerning mortals and their ideals. In his pondering, his initial befuddlement had dissipated and had instead been replaced by upset and a very much undue disappointment with himself- (Y/N) didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry at the thought that it was now her incriminating jape that was completely lost at sea, that it was something so abstract that Legolas seemed a bit too obligated at finding. 

She instead settled on helplessly shaking her head all the while dismissing what needless fretting the elf is currently doing, “It’s a metaphor for something else, Legolas. It’s not something that’s truly lost in a physical sense. Don’t lose your pretty little head over it.” (Y/N) gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze and hopes that the whimsical smile she tossed along with it would be enough as she took her place to sit on the floor beside the prince.

“A metaphor,” the blond elf muses, “You did mention something of the sort before now. I fear it remains to be a notion I am still yet to fully comprehend.” there was a sheepishness in his smile at what he seemed to consider was a persistent lapse on his knowledge. As much as the look made him youthful, it was something his wisdom didn’t deserve.

And with all things concerning the Elven Prince and his honor, (Y/N) finds herself donning her figurative sword and shield- ever so ready to step into the fray to fight what shadows crept and posed a threat to his tranquility, “It’s not that it’s something you’re yet to comprehend. You have poetry locked and loaded with how you speak, metaphors come as easy to you as breathing does- it’s my choosing to speak in riddles when I shouldn’t that’s the problem.” She was certain that she made no room for self-loathing in the manner by which she spoke because she knew all too well just how equally as easily Legolas would bleed concern for her.

Still, his hand finds hers all the same as he leaned down to give her his full undivided attention, “And what riddle was it that you regaled me with?” he tipped his head in askance, strands of his hair slipping over his shoulder and pinning her down with the lingering scent of her shampoo.

"I swear someday I'm just going to die of diabetes because of your version of clothes-cuddle." (Y/N) lamented off-tangentially as a means of submerging her compromising statement from before back into its watery grave. She adapted the same dramatics the blond elf used on her not too long ago for good measure and it went as seamlessly as the fluid incorporation of his presence in her life. The idea of it wrapped around (Y/N) like a favored quilt.

Legolas on the other hand, he steeped on a wariness that dwelled on her plaint- a jest that unbeknownst to (Y/N), he so gravely misunderstood. He opts to abandon his popped corn kernels and placed it on the floor in front of him in lieu of reaching out to her, “Come,” 

It was (Y/N)'s turn to blink up in confusion, “What for?”

“Will you indulge me?” Pleading, (Y/N) surmises, is a look best left for cats and dogs and should by all means be rendered an actual criminal offense when wielded by Legolas on grounds of what farce it would deem one utterly willing to commit for his name.

“Will I even be able to say no when you’re looking at me with those eyes?” she finds herself saying with no small amount of tenderness, already accepting defeat for a war that was all in her head. Those eyes were worth more than a dozen losing battles fought, she thinks, worth all the white flags she could wave until her arms fell off her shoulders-

Legolas raises his vacant hand to cover his eyes and (Y/N)’s thoughts skids to a halt.

“What are you doing?”

“Giving you the option to refuse. You always have a choice, meleth nîn. If my gaze impairs your judgment like so then on my head be it.” Legolas answers simply and so so factually that irregardless of how comical he may look to some in that very moment -a hand still reaching out to her and another over his eyes- his words were astute and to (Y/N) he was what she’d want the entire world to be, “A lone tap on the palm of my outstretched hand for a refusal and two for acceptance.”

She’d take limbs off corpses if that’s what it took to continue waving those flags to surrender to him. (Y/N) decides he needn’t know that, if only to preserve what little dignity she had left to lose and to keep the elf from looking at her in terror at yet another misunderstanding of a completely harmless metaphor.

Though, she does find herself laying her cheek on the palm of that outstretched hand and holding it in both of hers and she doesn’t know if waving those undead hands still seemed like such a bad idea compared to this.

At the very least not until she witnesses the gesture startle Legolas enough that the hand over his face falls to his lap and she is greeted by an almost childish uncertainty made soft by enduring affection, “Is this a "yes "?" he queries, voice as gentle as the thumb that absent-mindedly caressed her cheekbone.

(Y/N) thinks she could settle with embarrassing herself like this, figures she could go above and beyond by nodding her head wordlessly and failing at hiding a smile that was both dumb and shy in equal measure if Legolas would give her an even dopier one for her efforts- like what he’s doing. Perhaps he can work on putting a damper to his elvish charms because even then his beauty remained, or, (Y/N) thinks she could just shove it where it matters because there are more things far worth considering then than her insecurities as a damned mortal.

Like how this painstakingly beautiful Elven Prince gently pulled her in by the waist so that she was sitting on his lap, for instance. Or how he wrapped his slender arms around her stomach and rested his head on top of hers with so much tenderness she ironically felt like she was just a breath away from shattering into a million pieces-

And then he buries his nose into her tresses and breathes in and (Y/N) swears he greedily took those pieces of her in and put them back together again with an exhale and that little shimmy he did to settle them snugly into the confines of her protesting bean bag.

No words were exchanged as they resorted to watching what cheesy horror movie it was that Legolas had on. Adept hands that once wielded bows and arrows with killer precision put hard at work massaging (Y/N)’s aching muscles, wise and quiet lips almost childish as he showered her with an unprecedented kiss here and there.

Three movies in and it became nothing short of an indulgent habitude for Legolas and more than once (Y/N) fails to reign in a giggle at the most inappropriate of times. First was during a particularly gruesome death scene from a slasher movie that Legolas looked at her in absolute horror for; second was at a nasty exorcism that had gone so horribly wrong she wouldn’t have blamed The Elven Prince if in that moment he honestly thought she had been off her rocker as he looked at her in alarm once more; and third was that literally bloody elevator scene from The Shining- though it was also then that she had caught up to something and stepped her foot down because the terror-stricken expression on Legolas’ face remained the same as it had been the first two times. She looked at him long enough that she saw the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Looked at him long and hard with narrowed eyes until his resolution faltered and a side of his lips quirked ever so slightly heavenwards- (Y/N) was certain that if she hadn’t loved him as much as she did, she’d have sent him back to his maker along with it when the realization dawned upon her that the entire time, the entire bloody time, he had actually been playing her.

Legolas Greenleaf, son of The Elvenking Thranduil, Prince of the Woodland Realm and the stalwart sentry to The Fellowship had been messing around with her. She thought it to be too scandalous an improbability to even entertain- at the very least previously when she was a little too drunk on love and comfort and how Legolas smelled exactly like her that he could never -would never- drop so low as to pull such an elementary prank as making faces. Now that she was a little bit sober, she scours the catalog her mind subconsciously took of Legolas’ fears and inspects them with keener eyes. A part of her thinks she might be overanalyzing it, that it might just be her looking for problems where there is none, but all of that was clubbed down when she recalls that scene with the Balrog from the Mines of Moria, she places it beside the memory she had of the Elven Prince the first night he flooded the bathroom, that one time she accidentally walked in on him naked and he ripped her shower curtains in an attempt to preserve his modesty- his fear was something that took its time crawling into his eyes, something that could only ever pull so slowly and subtly at his features as he always fought so valiantly against it. 

It was all those and most certainly not raised brows, glittering widened eyes, and parted lips that hosted a gasp.

A godforsaken gasp.

(Y/N) inwardly banged her head against the walls of her mind on account of her stupidity. She should have known it from the damned gasp. Legolas was never one to make such a clear-cut sound of his discomfiture. Even in the direst of situations it was his face that would tell the entire story, whatever it is that will leave his lips would be actual words strung with a purpose.

Three movies in and Legolas frolicked enough to feign three startled gasps that (Y/N) actually believed in and felt sorry for. Three movies in and (Y/N) could actually commiserate with cross girlfriends and what need they felt to throw silly little punches at their guffawing boyfriends’ arms- embarrassment at the blatant comparison to an actual labeled relationship be damned. Three movies in and (Y/N) gets to thinking that she might actually have to cut Legolas’ screen time if he’s going to start making a habit out of pantomiming goddamn teenagers from cheeky television series.

She’d call it when he actually starts showing fascination towards jerseys and convertibles. The telly would have to find a home in the dumpster then.

“Having the time of our life are we, giggles?” she deadpanned, trying her damndest to remain unamused as velvety chuckles assaulted her eardrums, strong arms winding securely around her waist as Legolas pulled her even closer to him and nuzzled against the crook of her neck as if she were a treasured plush toy at every attempt of hers to pull away. It was once again a losing battle -as with everything else that concerned him. (Y/N) didn’t need those figurative swords and shields, not when they were as good as balloons fashioned by clowns at a children’s party in the face of the elf’s almost puppy-like clinginess.

A golden retriever puppy named “Giggles”- it wasn’t a far-fetched idea. If anything, it made a little bit more sense than the words Legolas spoke next.

"For what joy you bring me,” he states solemnly, chin perched on the plane of her shoulder as he looks up at her with serene determination in his gaze as if a gallant knight declaring the decimation of a most fearsome foe for his lady’s honor, “I shall protect you from 'diabetes'.” and before (Y/N) could even process the absurdity of his statement and crack at it, Legolas goes on- almost ludicrous in his earnesty, “Let all those who attempt to so much as lay a single threatening touch on you be dead before their stroke fell." and he was kissing the top of her head as if she were something so precious that she lost all heart to explain to him that diabetes wasn’t exactly something he could shoot or stab at to be rid of. Instead, she joins this little circus and offers her condolences to it in advance because if by some odd stroke of misfortune it takes on a concrete form, she’s certain that the Prince of Greenwood -otherwise known as the retriever puppy Giggles- would certainly be nipping at its tail in no time.

His lady’s tinkling laughter pierced through the foreboding silence of the magical box before them and Legolas allowed himself a slow smile as he too, fixed his attention on the movie.What pride and joy he had for the success of his pretense at obliviousness may have rubbed the Valars the wrong way because no sooner than he relaxed, a monstrous phantom flashed into the screen and the screech that left with what part of his soul was ripped out of him from shock had been a little too genuine.

-----

[ FIN. End of Chapter 1, Part 3 ]

———-

A/N:

As promised!

Also, as per the disclaimer I had put out on my notice, you will find that this part is written as a lighthearted and speedy almost-crack fic. This is due to the entirety of Chapter 1 initially having been written as a whole instead of in segments with this bit in particular having been cut off from Part 2 due to its derailment from the course I ended up taking with its re-written ending.

Additionally, it had been quite some time since I had last worked on a written piece- even longer still since I had last worked on this particular fic- so I apologize for whatever failure in consistency there may have been in my writing.

I find that I should also let you wonderful readers know that I have read, immensely appreciated, and loved each and every one of your comments and reblogs. I cannot thank you enough for your words of encouragement and investment in this story as it had played a significant role in bolstering my previously dwindling passion with this particular craft of mine.

If time and drive permit, this part may end up with an update containing a visual of some sorts. I had been working a bit more on illustrations when I'm not writing so we shall see~

Taglist: @siriuslydestiny, @elysianluv, @daddy-long-legolas, @foxchild-v